Date: Wed, 4 Feb 2004 04:40:54 +1100 From: Janosz Poja Subject: Love Among Boys: Part 2 My sleepover at Rowan's house is the last clear memory I have of our time together. The events following it are foggy, but I will relate them the best I can, and try not to spoil my account with the youthful indignation that still burns in my breast when I recall them. When I arrived at Rowan's house, I noticed that he wasn't smiling, and seemed apathetic. "Hey Daniel," he said, barely looking at me. When we entered his room -- which was so cluttered as to make the color of the carpet indiscernible -- I asked him what was wrong. "Nothing," he replied, with uncharacteristic terseness. "C'mon Row," I said, touching his arm. He looked at me, with bright, wide eyes, and flashed a brief smile. This was enough to make my heart soar, and restore my confidence that Rowan's spirit was intact, and merely stifled. "Nothing's wrong, Daniel," he said, "because you're here," and he kissed my cheek. My penis came to life as if a switch had flicked on somewhere; indeed, at that stage of my life, I often marveled at the body's efficient responses to these things. I discovered, in bed one night, that if I kept the image of Rowan's body in my mind -- his golden skin, smooth ass, lithe form -- I could generate an amazing feeling between my legs, and would spurt like a gunshot, with little aid from my hand. That night, Rowan and I occupied ourselves as best we could until it was time to turn in, but sex was always on my mind, and I daresay his also. A game of Scrabble quickly degenerated into a test of whose vocabulary contained the largest amount of swearwords -- we both agreed that this was "kids' stuff", but by the end of it, Rowan was his old self. "Hey," he said, when the board was tossed aside. "Do you wanna see if I can sneak one of my dad's porno videos?" The idea sounded great to me. Fear went with it, though -- Rowan's dad was scary. We snuck into his parents' room, pushing the door open with care, and found the video beneath a pile of magazines in the closet. This operation was easy -- it seemed like every door in Rowan's house was busted and always hung ajar. Rowan's dad snored like a bear months into hibernation -- he seemed so separate from us, with his fat gut and shorts barely covering him, that I hardly saw him as dangerous. Rowan did, though. Our treasure was called "Lucky Boy". It was about a young man who had to make love with six different women in order to collect the fortune his uncle had left for him in his will. Some of the women had underarm hair. "Do you wanna get into bed and watch this?" Rowan asked. "Sure," I said, not wanting to sound too excited. Now, I wish I had dived on top of him like a wild animal, not bothering to hide the enthusiasm I felt. Rowan kicked off his bulky sneakers and pulled his baggy jeans down, showing the white briefs he always wore underneath. He left his tight green t-shirt on, and got under the covers. I quickly stripped down to my boxer shorts, and joined him. There wasn't much room in the bed, but we made do -- I lent against the wall and he spread his legs over mine. I loved being so close to him. The movie had hardly started before I had a large, uncomfortable erection. The film itself wasn't too arousing, but back then sex felt like a confusing, exciting whirlwind -- everything was part of the one entity, which brought me to excitement at the mere thought. After a little while I turned to look at Rowan, sitting up against the bed head. The screen illuminated his face in the darkness. He turned to me and smiled. "Do you think this guy is good looking?" he said, pointing to the actor on the screen. "Not really," I said. Some of the women were all right. "I think you're better. I'd rather watch you." These words shocked me. He giggled. "Do you have a boner?" He started feeling around under the covers -- light fingertips brushed my thigh, and then my penis. I bucked my hips against his touch, and decided I had to get some relief. "I need to take care of it," I said, and pulled the covers off us. Raising my ass, I pulled my boxers down past my knees, and starting stroking my prick. "I can help you," Rowan said, and slid his shirt over his head. Watching, I stopped masturbating, and climbed on top of him, feeling his chest. His nipples beaded under my touch and his skin felt like silk. I kissed and tasted him, moving downwards. He arched his back to meet me as I did so. When I found the fabric of his briefs with my mouth I saw that his young organ was stiff inside, and decided to lick it right through the cotton. Rowan clawed at the bed and moaned painfully. Neither of us had the composure to last in this manner; we were both at breaking point. I skinned Rowan of his briefs and lanced his young member with my tongue, enveloping it with my mouth, and then released, pouncing with my body over his, letting his hand find my sex as I kissed his face, nibbling his neck. We panted in unison like a machine. Before orgasm I replaced Rowan's hand with my own, stroking harder and faster than before, as though possessed, and the two of us ejaculated simultaneously. The sweet smelling, copious semen took with it not only our sexual desires at that moment, but also our energy. We collapsed on the bed, a comfortable, warm tangle of limbs. The bed itself was a mess from our activities. Rowan and I slept that night in each other's arms, the private place we had made for each other. When I woke up, however, all was not well. "Daniel," Rowan said, looking frightened, "Daniel. Oh no. I forgot to put the video back before we slept. My dad's gonna kill me!" I could hear Rowan's dad slamming around outside. "We have to escape," Rowan said. "Just for now. Then we can come back. I promise." I quickly got out of bed, my morning erection aching in the cold, and pulled my clothes back on. Our passage of escape was Rowan's bedroom window. "I took the fly screen off last year," he said, "so I could get out easy." We ran around to the front of the house and jumped on Rowan's bike -- he sat on the seat, and I used the basket at the back, my arms around his waste. We still smelt, I thought, of sex. It was a sweet smell. We stopped in the park. "I come here sometimes," Rowan said. We sat on the swings. "My dad just gets real angry, and you need to keep out of his way." I wanted to talk about the night before, but couldn't find the words. Rowan found them for me: "you were like a wild animal last night!" he said, laughing. "It was great." I made growling noises and pawed at Rowan's chest; we both laughed. Then, our history changed. Rowan stopped laughing and looked over at the field adjacent to the playground -- older boys were approaching. "I know those guys," he said, quietly. "They don't like me for some reason." I observed that they were behaving just as every other bully I had encountered did. They walked in a group, five of them, swaggering and jolly, and pretending that they hadn't seen us, all looking at the ground, although it was clearly us they were approaching. I heard a peal of obnoxious, fake laughter from one of them. Someone yelled, "faggots!" and the peal rose. They returned to their facade, though, as if we weren't there. I felt truculence rise in me. Who were they to try to spoil things? Who did they think they were? Everything was going perfectly, and would continue to, if I could help it. "Fuck them," I said to Rowan, and by that stage they were clambering over the railing separating the field from the playground, pretending to tackle each other, and generally playing around. Finally their gaze fixed on us. "You two faggots, or what?" asked the biggest of the group. The look on his face was complete disgust. "No no, c'mon man," said another boy, whom I noted was better looking than his companions. "Here man," he said to me, "have you ever seen one of these?" He held a cigar proudly in front of my face. "Yeah," said one of the others, a little guy, "he probably thinks it looks like a dick, man." "Yeah," I said, the word sounding louder than I'd intended, "I think it looks like your mother's dick." I was only young. "What? Little fucker^Å" The bigger guy stepped forward and tried to grab the front of my t-shirt. I leapt on my heels and let my fist curve through the air, my knuckle grazing the guy's head. It wouldn't have hurt him much, but it angered him considerably. I heard Rowan call my name, and turned just in time to see him climbing onto his bike. Dodging the grasp of all six of my assailants, I ran and jumped on, wrapping my arms around my friend's waste. Something whizzed past my ear. "Rowan, you little cock-knocker! I'm going to fuckin' kill you!" Rowan's breath heaved. He pedaled as fast as he could, over the rough park terrain. A rock struck the back of my head. The pain was delayed by a second, and then quickly made up for lost time. Then a rock hit Rowan in the temple and the bike tipped over. Voices/sounds: A crash. "I think you really hurt him, man." "Good." "Let's fuckin' go before we get into trouble." "I don't like the sound of that breath^Å" The assailants left. I was stupid. I didn't try to get help. "Rowan?" I asked, crying. "Rowan, get up, please? They've gone." He turned over on his chest, his legs still wrapped around the bike, and grasped at his stomach, his eyes wide and startled. I bent over and looked at him, confused, scared, uncertain. He managed a look at me, and said, in a raspy voice, what sounded a lot like "I love you." "I love you too, man," I said, "but just try to find your breath." He had never told me that he was an asthmatic. Kids don't find that stuff important, it's uninteresting for them, just part of the everyday world. By the time he closed his eyes, I realized things were more serious than I thought, and I started running towards the nearest street, screaming for help. A gray haired man came to my aid. He had been washing his car in the street, and called an ambulance when I told him what happened. But there was nothing that could be done. I cried like I was having a seizure. I still blame myself, and the memory still stings, but I was just a kid. I didn't know how serious things could suddenly become. All that seemed important was our love, and it's still here, right with me. But the guilt burns there too.