Date: Fri, 01 Aug 2003 00:24:54 -0700
From: Mark Smith <evanstory800@hotmail.com>
Subject: evan - part 1

The characters in this story are based on real people, but the names have
been changed to protect privacy, and the events are fictional. If you are
offended by consensual homosexual activity between consenting minors, this
installment shouldn't mess you up too badly, but the next one probably will.
;-)

If you have any comments or suggestions, I can be reached at
evanstory800@hotmail.com

*****************************************

Evan - Part 1

From the moment I walked into Mrs. Jacob's 8th grade English class on the
first day of school, I knew I would have trouble focusing. I knew because
the first thing I saw was a pair of piercing blue eyes cutting through me as
I entered the door. Their owner was all the way across the room, but his
eyes might as well have been an inch away from mine. Suddenly I realized I
had been staring, and my face burned red. Mrs. Jacobs showed me my assigned
seat and I slumped down into it, hoping that the blue eyes hadn't noticed.
Mrs. Jacobs introduced herself, and gave us the standard prattle about rules
and classroom behavior. Believe it or not, she wanted us to behave. Who
would have thought? I was far too busy trying to seek out the eyes to pay
any attention to her. Eventually I found him, slumped in his seat like me,
his head tilted back in boredom, eyes peering lazily at the ceiling. My
chest began burning. I let my eyes run down him. Silky, light brown hair
laid flat against his head, with the standard gelled front spike. Then, of
course, there were his eyes, two sky blue orbs that looked deeper than the
sea, and stood in stark contrast to his perfect, tanned face. Under that, a
quick grin revealed perfect, dazzling white teeth. He was wearing a red
sweater with a black shirt underneath, and blue jeans. Black shirt and blue
jeans. My kind of guy. I hadn't been in school for more than 10 minutes and
I was already gone on him.
Mrs. Jacobs began to call roll, and when she got to him, I learned that his
name was Evan Winslow. By the time the teacher had worked her way up the
alphabet from Z and reached me, I was already dreaming about the life that
me and Evan were going to build together. I didn't hear her when she first
called me. Only her sharp second call of "Bruener, Mark", startled me enough
to gulp out a weak "present". Several girls giggled. My face burned for the
second time that day.
As I again looked over to where the object of my infatuation sat, he began
to sit up, and turned his head towards me. Our eyes met. I quickly turned my
head away, but for the instant that we had looked into each other's eyes, I
had melted inside. The bell rang before I had a chance to look again and see
if he was still looking in my direction.
	Perhaps I should introduce myself. My name is Mark Bruener, I am 14, and I
live in Redwood City, California.. I have jet black hair, brown eyes, and
dark skin, mainly because of my father's Native-American blood. I am about
5'8, and 130 pounds. I have been blessed with an muscular build, and my
friends always say that my broad shoulders make me look like a brick wall.
	So anyway, I sleepwalked through the rest of the day, never fully able to
focus on anyone or anything with those blue eyes peering at me in my mind.
When I reached my 7th period P.E. class, the last one of the day, my hopes
that I would have any other classes with Evan been all but crushed. I
quickly seized a locker in the prized back room territory. These lockers
were coveted by every boy in the school, not only because they were larger
than all of the other ones, but because they were the farthest back from the
P.E. teacher's office, so you could practically set off fireworks back there
without anyone noticing.
As I sullenly changed into my standard issue grey t-shirt and black shorts,
I caught a flash of brilliant blue out of the corner of my eye. I turned my
head slowly, just in time to see Evan standing a few lockers down, removing
his shirt. I couldn't help gaping at this site. His body was as perfect as
his face. He was built much like me, with broad shoulders that I had not
been able to see when he had been slumped down in his chair with his baggy
red sweatshirt on. He stood about 5'6, two inches shorter than me. Not that
it mattered. His chest and stomach were just as tan as his face, and they
revealed not an ounce of fat, nor a single hair. As he slipped off his
jeans, I almost had to look away. I was going to have one right there in my
P.E. clothes. He had beautiful, smooth, legs, and his white boxers revealed
a decent-sized bulge. As he finished dressing, I stuffed my street clothes
into my locker and headed outside to my assigned area.
	At our school, Michael L. Safford Middle School, you don't have the same
P.E. teacher for the whole year. We rotate between the 4 (or 3, depending on
the period) teachers in each period. The P.E. periods consist of 4 ( or 3,
depending on the period, obviously) classes,  each with their own numbered
section of the blacktop for roll call and warm-ups. These areas are also the
basketball courts, and if you were lucky, you would have the right number
during the right period of the day, and the backboard of the hoop would cast
a rectangular shadow on you, blocking the hot sun while the rest of the
class fried on the hot asphalt.  This wasn't one of those times for me. It
was, however, one of those times for Evan, and when I thought about it, I
wouldn't have traded with him. I was so crazy about him, I preferred he have
the shade. I spent the rest of the period sweating profusely and grinning a
grin meant for only myself.
	I decided that I would introduce myself after I got changed. I threw on my
clothes quickly and sat on one of the benches, leaning back against the
lockers and trying not to look like I was waiting for something. Evan took
his time getting dressed, and I began to walk slowly away from the back
room, so as to look inconspicuous as possible. When I turned around, he was
gone.
	Damnit!, I thought. I've lost him. I didn't hear him walk up behind me.
	"Hey, how you doing? I don't think I've met you," he said slowly as I just
about leapt out of my shoes.
	"Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you," he said quickly.
	Maybe too quickly, I let out a nervous laugh, and said, still chuckling
"You didn't scare me."
	"Good," he replied. "I'm Evan. Evan Winslow.
I introduced myself, and told him that we had first period English together.
	"Why haven't I seen you around campus?" I asked.
"Oh, I'm new around here, my family just moved last week from Half Moon Bay,
down the coast a bit."
I knew full well where Half Moon Bay was. My parents would take me and my
little brother there quite often on the weekend to eat at the Half Moon Bay
Brewing Company and relax on the beach. But I wasn't about to throw away a
perfectly good conversation topic.
	"Oh really? I've heard of the place, but I've never been there. What's it
like?"
	In addition to a brief history of Half Moon Bay, I learned all about my new
friend that day. I learned he played baseball (like me), loved John Lennon's
music (another score), and was kind of a computer geek, despite his good
looks (bing bing! We have a winner!).
	After school, we went by the local cafe and got a couple of drinks, and I
showed him around town, pointing out all the landmarks and good places to
eat. After I had shown him just about everything there is to show, and
exhausted every conversation topic I could think of, it was time to go home.
We had spent the entire afternoon together, doing nothing in particular.
	"Well, thanks for showing me the sights," he said as we walked back towards
the neighborhood we both lived in. Suddenly, he leaned into me with his
shoulder, a sign of affection that shocked me, not only because I was
completely, madly crazy about him, but also because I had only known him for
about 2 hours. I returned the lean, and with a smile and a flash of those
blue eyes, he turned, rounded a corner, and was gone.
	This had been a good first day of school.


More to come