This is a gay love story between two boys. This chapter contains scenes of sexual activity between them. If you object to this, you are urged not to read it. If reading this causes you to violate any laws in your community, please do not do so. The author does not condone the violation of any laws. This story is copyrighted 2002 under the pseudonym Omnius. You may not copy or distribute this story in part or in whole without the consent of the author.

I wish to thank all who have written to compliment my story and to encourage me. I appreciate it very much. I also wish to thank Richard Lyon for listing my story on his site "Gay Writing on the Internet" at . There are many fine writers represented there and I urge you to check it out.

If you would like to comment on my story, please email your comments to .Thank you for reading my story!

A special comment: After this chapter, I am taking a bit of a break as I write more chapters and enjoy the holidays. The story will resume probably after Christmas. I am very grateful and appreciative for the many emails I have received in support of my story and the encouragement you have given me. I hope the second part of my story will earn your readership as well. Thank you.

Cottonwood Park

by Omnius

Chapter Nine

It had been raining all day. Andy and Sally had spent most of the afternoon moving their endless arguments from room to room, screaming at each other, throwing toys at each other, yelling insults at each other. All his mother had done about their constant conflict was simply to shriek at them and then slam the door to her bedroom. Timothy remained for the entire afternoon in his father's easy chair in the family room, holding a copy of Treasure Island in his lap, staring out the window at the gray sky.

It had been like this for two months, ever since that awful day when the operation had failed and his father had been taken from him. All the security and happiness he had known had ended on that one terrible morning, and Timothy had shut down. He went to school, but he spoke with no one. He walked through the house, but he ignored the chaos caused by his siblings and his mother's usually irrational responses. Trevor would speak to him and he would respond, but there was no life in his replies. His world of assurance and contentment had ended. He simply existed.

It was late afternoon. Trevor had called earlier, asking if he wanted to come over. It had been raining rather heavily and Timothy had no desire to speak to anyone, let alone to go out in a Kansas spring storm and walk five blocks to his friend's house. When Trevor even offered to have his father pick him up, Timothy declined. He had simply replied, `No, thank you,' replaced the receiver of the wall phone in the kitchen, and returned to his father's easy chair in the family room.

At three o'clock, he crawled out of the chair and went to the television in the corner. He turned it on, waited for it to warm up, and then slowly turned through the channels. When he reached one of the Topeka stations, he froze. A movie was just coming on and the theme song featured someone whistling. It was a very familiar song, a song his father had whistled frequently. He stared at the television screen. It was The High and the Mighty, a movie starring John Wayne. Timothy crawled back into his chair.

For the next two hours, interrupted only by the irritating commercials for car dealers and gasoline, Timothy watched the gripping story unfold of an old propeller-driven airliner flying from Honolulu to San Francisco, a plane that was running out of fuel. The crew and passengers desperately threw all unnecessary items overboard, which led to some very difficult choices. In the end, the plane made it to San Francisco and at the climax, the plane is seen landing as the theme song, the sad whistling of John Wayne, plays in the background.

At that moment, the emotional end of the movie, the moment when the passengers and crew, who had thought they would never make it, finally find their way home, Timothy collapsed into tears. All the stony reserve that had sustained him for two awful months suddenly crumbled and Timothy wailed all the pain and agony in his young heart.

Andy appeared at the foot of the steps to the family room, looking at his brother as if he had lost his mind.

"What are you crying for?" he asked derisively.

Timothy was unable to respond. His simply clutched his pullover shirt, and threw himself against the back of the chair as he howled his anguish at an unfeeling universe. Andy rolled his eyes and went back upstairs to the kitchen.

It was several minutes before his cries began to subside. He stared out the window as the rain came to an end and sunlight began to break through the overcast sky. He tried to catch his breath and then, suddenly, another spasm hit and he dissolved into tears again.

As, once again, he began to regain control, his mother appeared in the stairway.

"What's the matter with you?" she demanded.

He looked up at her through his tears.

"Mommy," he suddenly wailed, holding his arms out to her.

His mother looked stricken, confused, wanting to rush to him, but unable to. After a moment, she shook her head, and muttered, "Go to the bathroom until its over," before turning her back to him and disappearing upstairs.

Timothy looked at the empty stairs in complete bewilderment and then collapsed in utter defeat. He could not cry. It was over. The pain he felt was beyond tears.

He could hear the sounds of pans and drawers slamming and crashing in the kitchen. At one point, he could smell hamburger frying. Eventually, his brother and sister were screaming at each other as he heard them take possession of the kitchen table. He heard his mother utter several profanities and then yell, "Timothy, get up here and eat."

He stared woodenly at his bare feet until he heard Andy sneer, "Timmy's bawling like a crybaby."

He heard Sally giggle before his mother snapped, "Leave him alone."

Taking a deep sigh and wiping his nose on the back of his hand, he slowly stood up and walked up the stairs. Without a word, he passed through the kitchen, climbed the second half-flight and went to his room. He pulled socks and sneakers on, stopped in the bathroom to wash his face and hands, and then descended the stairs to the living room.

"Where are you going?" his mother barked as he turned not to the kitchen but to the front door. Timothy made no reply. He opened the glassed-in screen door, mechanically walked down the steps from the front porch, and trudged across the rain-soaked grass.

A cold breeze made him shiver as he trudged down Union Avenue. A Galaxy 500 with several college girls squealed into the parking lot in front of the girls dorm across the street from him. One of them yelled, "Hey, cute thing!" But, he did not notice. A red Mustang with its stereo blaring some Jimi Hendrix honked at him as it raced toward town. He noticed none of it. He was not even aware whether the light was green or red as he crossed Twelfth Street, (fortunately, it was green).

The early spring crocus were started to open their blossoms through the layers of leaves and winter detritus in the old yards along Eleventh Street. He paid no attention to them as he stumbled east. When he came to the Huckabee's house, he could see the front door was open and as he climbed the steps up from the sidewalk to the elevated yard, he could hear voices emanating from the living room. He climbed the steps to the porch and stood before the open screen. The same acrid odor hit him that had greeted him that first summer evening nine months before and which he had noticed many times since. Though he was accustomed to it by now, it seemed far stronger than before. He could hear Allen lecturing in a slurred, yet animated voice.

"Excellent, David! Excellent. The very point Che made in his..."

He was interrupted by a younger male voice.

"But what about Marcuse's point?"

"What about it? Action is what is needed to awaken the bourgeoisie. Not, pseudo-intellectual posturing by so-called 'liberals.' Action!"

Timothy raised a tentative hand and softly knocked on he wooden screen. It easily gave way and for each knock he gave, the door banged twice. He looked into the darkened living room and saw Allen holding court with several college students.

"Timothy!" he said with some surprise and, the boy could tell, an attempt to hide consternation. "Um, um, come on in."

He could hear some quick movements and the sounds of things being moved. He stepped inside and saw Allen in a chair by the fireplace and half-dozen male college students, each with slightly longer hair than one normally saw in Fremont, a couple even with beards and one with very long sideburns, were scattered across the room. One of the bearded students was hiding a tall object that looked like a rather fancy bottle behind his chair while he seemed to be holding his breath. The acrid, burning smell was overwhelming.

Allen started to point up the stairs, but stopped when he saw the look of pain on Timothy's face.

"Timothy, what's the matter?"

The boy tried to maintain control, but he could feel his reserve giving way. He started toward the stairs and just as Sarah emerged from the kitchen into the dining room and saw him, he fell apart again.

Both Allen and Sarah rushed to him while the college students all looked at each other is stoned confusion. They held him as he his tears burst forth yet again.

Trevor, hearing the commotion over a Peter, Paul, and Mary album, stood at the top of the stairs and when he saw his friend collapsed on the floor with his parents holding him, he panicked.

"Tim!" he shouted as he ran down the stairs. He pushed through his parents and grabbed his friend. "Tim!"

Timothy grabbed Trevor and sobbed over his friend's shoulder. It was some time before his tears subsided, but neither Trevor nor his parents moved from him. They held him and comforted him until he finally calmed down. One of the students went to the bathroom and brought out some tissues for the boy, who gratefully took them and wiped his nose and eyes with them.

As his cries subsided, Allen said gently, "Trev, why don't you take him upstairs. Well, call his mom and see if he can stay for dinner."

Trevor nodded and the two slowly stumbled up the stairs. As they went, Timothy overheard Allen say to Sarah, "Its about time he let it out. I was getting scared for him."

"Man, you scared me, Tim," Trevor whispered as they sat of the floor of his bedroom. They rested their backs against the bed and Timothy closed his eyes. "I've never seen you cry like that. In fact, I haven't seen you cry at all since your dad died. I was wondering what was going on."

"I don't know, Trevor. I don't know why I didn't cry. I cried before he died, but I just didn't do it after. I wondered if there was something wrong with me, like maybe I didn't really love Daddy. But, I know that's not true. I loved Daddy so much, maybe, that it was too much for just crying. Does that make sense?"

Trevor nodded. He wrapped his arms around his friend and held him, resting his head on his shoulder.

"You're my friend, Tim. I love you."

Timothy squeezed him and they remained like that until a knock on the door broke the moment. They pulled apart as Sarah looked in and smiled comfortingly at the boys.

"Tim, you mother said it would be alright if you wanted to spend the night here. In fact, since its spring break, you can stay as long as you like."

Trevor grinned. "Cool!"

Timothy looked down at the floor. "I don't have my toothbrush or my pajamas."

"We've got lots of toothbrushes," said Trevor. "Besides, you don't need pajamas."

Timothy looked at Trevor wide-eyed. Trevor giggled.

"I just sleep in my underwear. Besides, I have lots of clean underwear you can wear."

Timothy thought for a moment and then smiled for the first time that day. "OK."

"Good," said Sarah. "it's all settled. Come on downstairs, boys. We have BLT's and grilled cheese sandwiches."

It had seemed rather strange to Timothy that Allen's students had seemed so hungry, They devoured the sandwiches and when he whispered a comment to Trevor about it, a couple of them who had overheard started giggling uncontrollably. Timothy did not miss the smile and the warning look Allen gave them or the scowl Trevor gave them.

Voyage to the Bottom of the Sea was almost over by the time the two boys retreated back to the living room. Allen was on the front porch bidding his students good-by. Trevor was setting up a chess board as Timothy looked at the side of one of the chairs. He pulled out the strange looking bottle he had seen the one student hiding earlier. The water in the bottle was filthy and there was a cone-shaped thing on the side with ashes in it. He scrunched up his face in a look of disgust.

"What's this?"

Trevor closed his eyes in dismay for a moment and then answered, "It's a bong." He took it from Timothy and marched out of the room to his parent's first floor bedroom. When he returned, he plopped down by his friend and resumed setting up his pieces. He did not seem happy.

"What's a bong?"

Trevor pursed his lips.

"I don't want to talk about it."

However, Allen had just come in from the porch and overheard the question. Timothy saw a distinctly uncomfortable expression on his face. He quickly looked at the television, where Voyage had now been replaced by The FBI.

"Oh, we're not watching that fascism," he declared as he quickly walked over to the television and changed to Ed Sullivan.

After two games, both of which ended in draws, Sarah was sitting in the living room reading The New Republic. Allen had retreated to the bedroom, also to read. Trevor leaned back from the chess board and yawned, prompting the same response from Timothy.

"You want to head upstairs now?" he asked his friend.

Timothy shrugged. "If you want."

"You boys get a good night's sleep," Sarah said with a smile.

When they had closed the door, Timothy noticed that Trevor locked it, which he thought strange. He never locked his door at home, but he said nothing about it. Trevor turned to him. The room was dark, lit only by the lonely blue glow of the street light in the alley. Trevor stood by the door, looking at Timothy, who stood motionless.

"I'm glad your sleeping here tonight," he whispered. Timothy smiled.

"Me, too."

Trevor walked over to him and put his arms around him. He kissed him gently on the lips and Timothy kissed back. After a moment, Trevor pulled away.

"You're the best friend a guy could ever have."

"I'm so glad you're my friend," Timothy replied. "I need you really bad right now."

Trevor kicked off his shoes and pulled off his socks, after which, he climbed up on his bed and sat with his back against the east wall.

"Turn on the radio on the night stand," he said to Timothy, who was sitting on the edge of the bed removing his own shoes and socks. "Put in FM 89."

"The college station?"

"Yeah. They play really cool jazz on Sunday nights."

Timothy set the radio and then sat back next to his friend.

"Yeah," said Trevor. "Miles Davis. Cool."

Timothy grinned at him and said, "You know so much about music. You're so smart."

Trevor shrugged. "I've just listened to all kinds of music my whole life. My parents made sure I got to hear all the different kinds. I'm not really smart. You're the smart one."

Timothy looked down at his lap.

"Daddy used to tell me how smart I was and how proud he was of me."

"You miss him."

"Yeah. I miss him so much."

They were silent for a moment.

"I'm so glad I have you, Trevor. I don't know what I'd do without you. Mommy is so weird and Andy and Sally just don't seem to care. My grandparents love me, but... you're the only person who really understands me, now that Daddy's gone."


They were both silent for a moment.

"Its weird," Timothy finally said. "You're the only person who calls me Tim. Everyone else calls me Timothy. I don't know why. I always hated Timmy. But, nobody calls me Tim except you. I like it. Its like its your own special name for me."

Trevor leaned over and kissed Tim on the cheek. Tim turned and kissed him on the lips.

"Trevor, do you think its weird that we kiss?"

"No. I think its cool."

"But, guys don't kiss other guys."

"We do."

"I know. But, people would think that's weird."

"I don't care what people think. Besides, who knows we kiss?"

Tim looked at his lap. He was getting the feeling and all of a sudden, his dick started getting stiff.

"Daniel saw us holding hands last fall."

"Yeah, well, Daniel's a twit and nobody listens to him anyway."

Tim paused and then asked, softly, "Is a fag a guy who kisses other guys?"

Trevor squeezed Tim to him.

"Saying fag is like saying nigger. Don't say fag."

"But, is it true?"

Trevor sighed.


After a moment, Tim, nearly whispering, asked, "Well, if you're not supposed to say fag, what do you call guys who kiss other guys?"

"I don't know and I don't care. All I know is I like to kiss you. You're my best friend and I love you. And, when your dad died, I felt so awful because I knew how much you hurt and there wasn't anything I could do to help you. It almost killed me. It almost killed me when I saw you crying awhile ago. I love you, Tim."

The two boys looked each other in the eyes and leaned forward again. Their lips came together and they kissed. Their faces remained together for many minutes.

Tim pulled back and sighed. Trevor smiled.

"Let's get in bed."

Tim did not respond. He looked down at his lap again. His dick was rigid in his pants.

"What's the matter, Tim? Don't you want to get in bed? We can cuddle all night. It'll be nice."

"Yeah, but..."

Timothy blushed fiercely and, even in the faint glow of the alley light, Trevor could see the flush in his face.

"Tim?" he said softly. He took his friend's hand and squeezed.

"Trevor, you promise you won't think I'm weird or anything? Promise you won't hate me."


He took a deep breath.

"Trevor... I... I have a stiffy."

Trevor grinned and struggled not to giggle.

"Don't laugh!"

That, however, was the wrong thing to say, for suddenly, Trevor could not control himself. His giggles became almost ferocious as he squeezed his friend in a tight hug.

When he was able to regain control, he grinned at Tim.

"Its OK, buddy. I'm hard, too."

"You are?"

"Yes. Its nothing to be embarrassed about with me. I get hard all the time. Don't you get hard a lot?"

The sense of relief in Tim's voice gave Trevor another smile as he gave his friend another hug.

"Well, yeah, I guess I do. It happens at really weird times, like when I see something really beautiful, like a really neat sunset, or like when I'm listening to `Walk Away Renee' or `Pretty Ballerina' or..."

"You, too? That is so cool. I knew you were special when you liked The Left Banke, but now I know it. I love those guys' voices and the violins and the sad sound. It always makes me hard when I listen to it."

Timothy shook his head.

"I thought I was really weird for that."

Trevor chuckled.

"Well, if you're weird, then so am I. So we might as well be friends!"

They both grinned at each other.

"Sometimes," Timothy continued, relieved to finally be able to talk about with someone, "sometimes I get hard when I look at Will Robinson."

Trevor grinned.

"Yeah? He's cute. I get hard when I look at Sandy on "Flipper."

"Yeah, he's cute."

Then Timothy blushed again in the pale, dim light.

"You know what else?" he asked softly.

"What?" Trevor responded breathlessly.

Tim swallowed.

"I... also get hard whenever I'm around you."

Trevor wanted to sing. He wanted to jump up and down and dance around the room. The moment he had been waiting for since summer had come. Tim continued.

"Every time we hug or kiss, I get hard."

Trevor put his arm around Tim's shoulder again.

"I know. Me, too. I love you, Tim. You are the coolest, cutest guy in the world."

He leaned over and kissed Tim slowly on the lips and then crawled off the bed. He stood before Tim with a rise in his jeans, prominent even in the dim light.

"You ready to go to bed now?" he asked with a grin.

Tim smiled and nodded.

"Yeah. Let's go to bed."

As Timothy Holbrook sat on his friend's bed, looking up into the eyes of his best friend, he thought Trevor Huckabee was a gift to him from God. He had taken away his father and nothing would ever replace him in Tim's life. But, Trevor was the most incredible friend imaginable and the love bursting forth from his young heart that moment was one of the most intense emotions he had ever known.

Trevor held out his hand and Timothy leaned forward and took it. Trevor pulled him up and the two stood face to face. He reached forward and took hold of the bottom of Tim's shirt and slowly pulled it up over his slim frame. Tim raised his arms and as Trevor brought the shirt up over his friend's head, he slowed for a moment to look at Tim's slender torso. He then pulled it up the rest of the way and lay it across the back of the chair by the music stand. He then smiled at Tim and pulled his own shirt off.

Standing on the rug in their bare feet, the two boys looked at each other, silent, each afraid to take the next step. Trevor, again, took the initiative.

"Do you... want to sleep naked?" he asked in a husky whisper.

Tim looked him in the eye for several seconds, trembling with a new excitement, an intensity that frightened him, yet made him feel more alive than ever. It was little more than a shudder, but he nodded.

"Will your parents catch us?" he whispered.

Trevor smiled reassuringly and took Tim's hand.

"I locked the door, remember? Besides, they never come upstairs at night. And, even if they did, they wouldn't care."

Tim sighed as Trevor released his hand. Carefully, he took hold of his own snap, released it, lowered his zipper. Tim's eyes moved down Trevor's body to the open jeans. Trevor hooked his thumbs inside the elastic of his shorts and pushed them down. Sliding his pants down all the way, he stepped out of them and then stood straight. Tim's eyes locked on Trevor's penis, which was rigidly erect and stood up at a forty-five degree angle.

It was only the second time Tim had seen it, though before, on the Fourth of July, it had not been "stiff." He could not take his eyes away from it. He was fascinated with the slight upward curve, the almost perfect shape, the cone at the end, the way it seemed to bob with Trevor's heartbeat.

His reverie was broken as Trevor took a step forward. Tim looked up and saw a warm, encouraging look on his friend's face. Trevor reached forward and unsnapped Tim's pants and slowly unzipped them. Tim gasped as he felt Trevor's hand slide down the front of his pants, pressing against his fiercely hard penis. He began to shake, first his hands, then his whole body, as if he were freezing. He looked with fear and hope into his friend's eyes. Trevor nodded.

Tim stepped out of his pants. The two boys stood naked before each other until Trevor reached forward, taking Tim's hand and guiding him toward the bed. Never letting go of his friend, Trevor pulled the covers back and crawled into bed. Tim followed and the two pulled the covers over them.

Tim continued to tremble. Trevor wrapped his warm body around his friend, pulling him tightly to him, their naked bodies perfectly meshing together. They both moaned at the feel of their warm naked skin sliding against each other. Tim could feel Trevor's arms wrapped around him as he ran his hands up and down his friend's back, pausing over the soft, pillow-like orbs of his behind. His breath was ragged as he gazed into Trevor's eyes.


The boy smiled and closed his eyes. This was the moment he had been waiting for. For nine long months, he had dreamed of loving the shy, serious, decent little red-headed boy with whom he had fallen in love. Watching the college kids making out in Berkeley, Trevor had dreamed of the day he could do the same and now, he could.

Slowly, he moved his lips forward. He could feel Tim's ragged, fearful breathes against his lips. He could smell the scent of his friend, feel the tremble in his body.

Their lips touched and for an endless moment, they held until Tim moaned and pressed back. And, then, they kissed again and again. Their kisses became intense, fevered, crazed. Their bodies began to rub against each other and suddenly, as his rigid little penis pushed against Trevor's abdomen, Tim felt the most incredible sensation of his life. Suddenly, the feeling made sense, the feeling when he became hard, the feeling when he was looking at something or someone beautiful. It made sense. There was always the need, the idea that something was missing, that he needed something. Now, he new what he needed.

He thrust his hips against Trevor.

"Nnnnggguuuhhhh," he cried out as his hips took on a mind of their own. They began to thrust against Trevor with increasing fervor. A low growl came from deep within his friend as Trevor, too, began to thrust. In seconds, both boys were wildly writhing against each other, their arms and hands caressing and feeling each other, their hips madly thrusting, their mouths locked to each other as they cried and moaned in the discovery of the beauty of physical and emotional love.

The feelings were unimaginable to Timothy. They seemed to grow, starting in his penis, expanding into his loins, and exploding throughout his entire body; and, just when he could not believe he could stand anymore, they grew even greater. And, then, it became too much. His last rational thought was of the greatest joy he had ever known and the love he felt for the boy in his arms.

The two boys cried out at once, thrusting and pulling and gasping as wave after mindless wave exploded between them. And, then as abruptly as it hit them, it ended.

They lay, gasping, for several moments until Timothy whispered, "Oh, my God." Trevor smiled.

"I didn't know it was going to be like this."

Tim's eyes grew wide.

"You knew about this?"

"Of course," he replied. "Didn't you?"

Suddenly, the sounds he occasionally heard coming from his parents' bedroom at night made sense. His father didn't have indigestion all those times. They were doing what he and Trevor had just done.

"Why didn't you tell me about this before? Why haven't we done this before?"

Trevor grinned.

"I didn't know if you would want to do it and I didn't want to lose you as a friend if you didn't. I wanted to wait for the right moment. I wanted it to be good and beautiful. I love you."

"Oh, Trevor. Wow. I love you, too."

And, slowly, the two boys kissed again. They ran their hands over each other, exploring, learning, loving, coming to know each other in ways only two people deeply in love could. And, as their passion grew again and the feelings became more intense, they clung together yet again, sharing their love and delight until, once again, they passed the point beyond which nothing else mattered. And, they fell into the peaceful sleep of two boys in love.