This story is a glimpse into loving hearts and into the lives of teenagers who are drawn together to celebrate that love sexually. It is a work of erotic fiction involving teenage boys. If such depictions offend you or violate local restrictions, I respectfully ask you to leave. Please don't display this in such manner as to offend others. These stories are Copyright (1999) 2000 by the author, who has placed a single copy in the Nifty Archives. No other reproduction or distribution than Nifty Archives is permitted, without the author's permission.

These events occurred somewhere in a place I've been. A place where time passes dreamily. A place where our heart's desires are fulfilled. Where every yearning heart is held and kept and lifted up in loving embrace. Please play safe and be kind to yourselves and to one-another.

How We Were

Our community always felt like a small town. In truth, it is a semi-rural enclave on the outskirts of a large northern city. But it is one of those places that people don't seem to move away from. Or they do, but only for a while, and then they're back again. Our parents and grandparents came here and put down roots -- and boy, what roots! Most of the people in this story still live in the same houses, these grand old cozy big homes that once rang out with the shouts of their parents' voices as children. Grandma's cooking smells are still there, in the walls somewhere, if your nose is keen enough.

Anyway, a few years have passed -- not a lot -- and some of us have moved away. But the place just keeps drawing us back. Some to raise a family, some to heal. And I still see these people in the course of a day and often we have a moment to stop, perhaps to touch, and to look each other in the face and smile, remembering how we were.

Chapter 6

Open Arms

The day after… Cicely and all, I had to work in the morning. That's On The Ice at 5:15. My partner was supposed to be this older girl. She was in town for several weeks, and we were supposed to be running through some standard stuff. I was up early, so I got in through the warming hut entrance. They flood the park in the winter, so it has doors to the outside for the outdoor skaters to skate up and step in for a rest. You don't want to sit down outside when it's bitter. You can literally freeze your ass.

So, anyway, I got in and the P.A. was on. That P.A. system hisses 'till it warms up, so I could hear it. So I yelled up to the booth, while I was putting on my skates. When nobody came to the window, I skated over to the intercom and keyed it. James came over and looked down from the glowing booth window to see who it was. I could see him, silhouetted in the booth, with his coffee cup.

"Oh, hi, Derek. Here early. Want some warm-up tunes?"

"Sure, thanks, J. How about tape seven?"

"You got her, Derek!" Click.

I did some basic stretches and stuff, as I waited for the tune to come on. My tapes have one song per side, repeated up to twenty times, with sixty seconds between and a sixty second leader. I stood there, focused intently, as the song played through once, getting the feel, the mood, the cadence. Something lyrical and sweet, called "Open Arms," off a Journey album I have. Three minutes, eighteen seconds. Nice, flowing, three-three with these stronger interludes that sounded kinda like a march. I had listened to it a thousand times, visualizing what I might someday try on the ice. The tune started the second time.

Pushing off with the first piano note, climbing for speed, I started out fast, to the sweet, tinkly keyboard intro: some sweeping turns, then on my left leg, backwards, coming into tighter circles, as the intro slows toward the end. Forward, into the waltz-y, lyrical vocals with some pretty turns and little hops, spins. Mostly mellow, gliding, staying on the ice. Phrase ending. Pushing off, the same again, for the second phrase. Then, as the strong piano starts: Up, into a high single. Another. A series of high, lazy, floating singles, head turned past my shoulder. Then, as the drums come in and the vocals soar, three linked doubles! Backwards and around into the next three, the other way. Remaining, gliding, on the ice for the repeat. We're at about 1:30, here, and I feel Great! A little breather through the instrumental interlude: some showy, easy stuff. The vocals again, soaring, higher now, more lyrical, tempo slowing, my jumps higher, hanging, effortless, so strong and so effortless. Maybe a minute to go. Skating STRONG. Exultant! BIG! HIGH! Ahhh! GRAND! My body so Young, So Powerful, Slowing, gentle, ending, coasting in.



I felt this tenderness and this grace. For Brand, and for Cicely. Something new had come to my skating. A new power. A new fluidity. Expessiveness. Loose, but so perfectly "on." All my moves bigger. Arms and legs longer. Loads of time to set up, to hang. Perfect landings. Effortless control. Almost languid: plenty of time to watch myself in the aerials.

By the time Mr. Ambrosini arrived, I had forgotten I was in warm-up and had given myself over totally to the music. I could do no wrong. I couldn't fall, unless Journey missed a beat. Just couldn't miss.

As the tune ended, I was gliding toward the staff area, cooling down, when I heard the applause. Two people. I came in fast, feeling good. Mr. A was there, and he just shook his head.

Stopping: "What?"

"Do I have to tell you?" He drilled into me. "That was fucking magnificent!"

"Whoa!" I beamed. "It did feel pretty solid."

"It wasn't 'solid.' It was stellar. Stellar, Derek! Let's talk later. This is Stephanie. She's from Albany."

"Hi, Stephanie!" I welcomed her, grinning, "Thanks for choosing our training facility." Mr. A talking to John in the booth.

"Hi." She seemed kinda shy, timid. Sweet, though.

Returning home that afternoon, I felt great. Brand's mom was with Dustin, taking a nap with him, so Brand came over to my place.

"Hi, Big Guy!"

"Hi, Brand," I said, feeling my heart fill, "It's... it's really good to see you." A gentle, comfortable smile.

"Yeah, Mmmm." Slipping into my arms just to hold me for a moment.

"God, you feel good." My urgency rising.

"You smell good!"

"Good honest sweat. I had a great morning! Mr. Ambrosini wants to coach me. For free, Brand!"

"Wow!" In a tone of awe, "He's one of the Best, isn't he?"

"Some say THE best, but there is no such thing."

"Huh? Whadda you mean?"

"It's a 'fit' thing. Like there are no 'best' shoes. You have to find your fit. But he's right up there, and he's known me and he likes me and we work well together. And HE volunteered: Taa-Daa!"

"Wow!" Nuzzling my cheek. Musta meant "I love you, now shut up," cuz I read it that way, and I did, content to be held, kissed, nuzzled. I began to pant a little, I think.

Brand kissed me slowly, his lips relaxed, languid, almost somnolent. Stepping back just enough, he began unbuttoning my shirt. Pushing it off. My jeans. The buttons sliding free like butter. Now his shorts, his boner springing free, and his tee. He knelt to kiss my swelling dick, through my briefs, my balls scrunching, before gently running his finger around the waistband, soothing there, and peeling them down to my knees, trapping my legs, setting me free.

Reaching up, he pinched the skin of my sack, softly, pulling the folds away from my thighs, freeing them, blowing on them to dry and cool them. My dick couldn't, ever, get any harder.

Giving my penis one soft, chaste, almost reverent kiss, he stood to pull me to him. My lust was sharp; Brand's was still gentle, awakening. One long kiss later, we were on the bed, our souls gradually pouring back into our bodies. I caressed his brow, his cheek, and rested my hand over his heart. It made him hum, hardening further, as I traced lazy circles around one perfect nipple, then the other. Tiny satin treasures. They hesitated a moment, and then scrunched up, enthusiastically, getting crinkly and hard. Nuzzling down his belly, lips on his perfect skin, down the trim, hairless abdomen to his dark auburn bush. Fragrant thicket, surrounding the mysterious source of his penis. To his penis, chubby and hot. Content, for now, to be erect, to be caressed, acknowledged. The tender head, chubby and boyish, demanding my lingering kiss. My fingers running down his flank, his tummy twitching and clenching: a giggle. His left nut heading for cover. Relaxing then, bouncy, as I inhaled him, mouthed and kissed them. His musk doing something deep inside me, making me suddenly more urgent. A brief caress down the backs of his thighs, making him stretch his long self hugely, on my bed. His penis lolling from his happy sack. A twinkling drop.

Back up for a kiss. Gentle at first, turning sharp, demanding, purely lustful.

He barely lingered over my body, merely running his hands down me, across by butt, between, pleasuring my crack.

My dick in his mouth. Deeply electric. Suddenly so full, so urgent. Urgent to turn the inside out. Ahhh! Too sweet! Rising sharply, no warning, the sweet, sweet cream filling the white-hot get-ready place. A clenched and keening climax. Gathering. Hanging... my breath forced out in a high hiss. My tribute leaping joyously, triumphantly to his lips. Wonderful, loving, tender lips. My spasms strong, strong, going on long after I am empty, drawing further and further apart.

Timeless, for a while: Impossibly detached from that body and this world.

"Oh-h-h," Unsteadily, dreamily.

Brand: "Humm... " sliding back up.

One deep kiss, and I was down with his straining penis. Its desire frank, now. Its straining urgency manifest in a string of fluid, like an icicle, to the glassy spot on the sheet below. Breaking the thread with my thumb, I brought a drop to anoint my lips, and it was comforting, salty.

Taking the frank and trusting head between my lips, I wet my mouth with his fluid. My mouth now immensely soft, wanton. The precious head between my lips. My lips seeking the valley behind the head, coming home to dwell there, content to suckle there. Immense flowing tenderness. Connected. Rolling his extra skin over the margins of my lips, my lips loving and secure in his valley. Humming there. A little sigh of contentment. Moving my tongue, now. Ever so slowly.

Knowing. By his moans, by his hardness, moving so slowly, the lining of my mouth buzzing with pleasure. My mouth a sex organ. A little faster, barely. His tummy and flank, contracting hard, holding like that. Breathing in brief gasps. His penis impossibly hard, now even harder, the head swelling gladly, blooming. A frozen moment. His shudder, deep and long. Hanging, hanging. Then the prize, a projectile, congratulating my tongue, my throat, thanking, thanking, thanking.

I finished him up hard, with my hand and lips. Taking his everything. Farther apart now, his tummy finally un-clenching. A sharp release of breath. A trembling inhalation. Then his voice.

"Hoh! Hoh! Huh! Whew! God... God, Derek... "

"Hmmm?" Still in me.

"Derek, I love you."

"Hmm Hu Hooo!" Releasing and rising to kiss.

"You hungry?"

"Naah. Whew!"

Send comments to: I hope you enjoyed this story. This is dedicated to the hope and energy of youth as they gather about them their strength and their glory. And to our own love for that part of ourselves which we can only truly understand and cherish in retrospect. Any constructive feedback will be appreciated and gratefully reviewed. I intend to answer any messages received. Flames... are simply irrelevant.