Date: Thu, 2 Sep 2010 12:47:42 -0700
From: Zack McNaught <zackmcnaught@hotmail.com>
Subject: Matt and Jake

DISCLAIMER: the following story is about a pair of young teenaged boys
falling in love. 'Matt and Jake' contains very few explicit sexual
references, but all the same if this kind of material offends you, or is
likely to get you into trouble, now's the time to leave... Still here?
Good, then settle back and enjoy the ride.

Luvz,

Zack Mack
(zackmcnaught@hotmail.com, www.asstr.org/~zack/, twitter.com/zackmcnaught)


Matt and Jake


1.

"Make a new friend!"

It was my mum's usual advice, and it had a bittersweet kind of humour to
it. It was an in joke for the pair of us, except that not far beneath the
surface it wasn't very funny at all. She said it to me each and every time
I walked out of the door on the first day at each and every new
school. Which was more times a year than you might think.

Not that it was my fault to be starting a new school yet again. It was all
my mum's doing, and she was well aware that it wasn't the best situation
for a young lad to be in. She couldn't help it, I suppose. With my dad
nowhere to be found she was the sole bread-winner for the family, and even
though the family was just us two, it was still a tough call to keep us
going. She worked pretty hard, but always on projects, and when the project
ended, it was onto the next one, in the next town. She was a consultant of
sorts, on civil engineering projects. Even now I can't stand to see some of
the stuff she built, because of what it meant for my childhood.

When you move around a lot, friends are hard to make and harder to keep. I
guess these days it would be easier, because of the internet, but when I
was young it hadn't yet taken off, and Facebook was but a twinkle in some
geek's eye. So each time we left for a new town, and sometimes that was
three or four times a year, all my friends would be left behind. If, that
is, I had managed to make any.

I don't want you to feel sorry for me. This isn't meant to be a sob
story. I'm not trying to get therapy for free by telling you all this. It
just helps with the context. I was a fairly messed up kid, but without any
real ambition to be bad, so I just muddled through being extraordinarily
plain. It was easier for me to blend into the background and make the
non-controversial choice for friends. Even now I can walk into a room and
pick the safest, most boring person to make friends with within about five
seconds. They'll be the ones with whom an association never leads to
excitement or long-term commitment, but also, crucially, never leads to
trouble.

So it was that, at the grand old age of thirteen years and four days (what
a birthday that had been! Actually, no, that's unfair – my mum was
great, it's just you hope to be seeing in your teenage years with your
mates, right?), I was off to school number fourteen of my short
life. That's a lot, by the way, just in case you didn't have anything to
measure it by. A lot.

Anyway, I knew the drill by now. I wandered a bit in the general direction
of the school, until I saw some people wearing the same uniform as me, and
then followed them. Thank God for school uniforms – I'd have been lost
without them. Quite literally. This brought me to the school gates, and
from there it was a fairly easy task to find someone who knew what they
were doing (i.e. an adult) and ask where the office was.

All these places were the same. You'd sit down with the deputy headmaster
(sometimes the head, but not often) and he'd go over your record.

"So, three schools in the last four years, eh?" would be practically the
first question out of their mouth. Behind it all I knew they were thinking
`trouble-maker', but then their eyes would alight on my clean-as-a-whistle
disciplinary record and they would have to take a mental step
backwards. Some were smoother about it than others, and on one rare
occasion the guy had actually read my file before I turned up in his
office, but usually there was a brief, awkward phase of carefully worded
questions. I got used to putting them out of their misery quickly, if I
thought they were nice.

Then it would be on to the introductions. I would be shown my new class,
who by now would be bored in some lesson or other and be quite keen for the
interruption. Then I'd be shown to my desk and expected to be up to speed
almost straight away. That was usually it. Some of the nicer schools would
catch up with me a few days later, see how I was getting on. Most didn't,
though. I was just left to it, really.

Actually, that wasn't so bad. I never really thrived on attention, so to
slip quickly into the routine was all that I really desired. To be ignored
for the first few days was alright. It would have been preferable for some
really cool kid to come along and invite me into their inner circle, but
the reality is that kids are kids, and they steered clear of what they
didn't know.

2.

Making friends wasn't actually that hard, if you knew where to look. For
good, safe, intelligent friends, a good place to start is the library. Kids
who are in the library at lunch time are usually there because (a) they're
smart, and (b) they're not that great at making friends. I'm no
intellectual heavyweight (as I'm sure you guessed from the writing!), but I
do like my mates to be able to string a sentence together, and often that
requires them to be smarter than the average bear.

This particular day (the one I started talking about a long, long time
ago), I sauntered into the library with my classmate radar on. It was
pretty rare to score a hit directly, but almost as soon as I had walked
through the doors I spotted a kid who had been in my first lesson of the
day, English.

The funny thing is that although I can look back and realise that he was
really rather good looking, at the time I hardly noticed. All that mattered
was that he was my age, in my class and clearly didn't have that many
friends of his own. I went over to him straight away.

"Do you mind if I read here?" I asked. That was always the opening
gambit. Never just say `do you want to be friends?'. It makes you look a
bit special.

"Sure," he said in a high, tiny voice, only audible because of the hush in
the library. He smiled at me, too, which was a good sign. I sat down and
pulled my battered copy of Lord of the Rings out of my bag and started to
read. Occasionally I would glance across at him – I can't remember what
he was reading – and once when our eyes met he gave me another smile,
yet another encouraging sign.

We sat that way for the remainder of lunch, just reading our own
books. That's the technique, really – don't freak them out by trying to
be their best friend on day one. Let them realise you have things in
common. Let them make the first overt move toward friendship.

Mum was, of course, out when I got home. It hardly bothered me, if I'm
honest. I just got on with the job of doing my homework (got some on day
one!) and getting some food. I was watching TV when she got home, and gave
all the usual non-committal teenager answers to her questions – I was
getting into the act pretty quickly!

The next day was pretty much like my first. I met the same boy in the
library again, and by this time I knew his name was Jake. It's funny,
relating this makes it seem as though I were stalking him, and in a way I
was. I needed a friend, just someone to keep me sane, and I'd sort of made
my mind up it would be him. Either way, we spent the lunchtime in the same
physical space, if not actually together in the truest sense.

The afternoon brought one of those moments which in hindsight was a turning
point in my whole existence. They rarely seem that way at the time though,
do they? I got back to my locker and opened it to get a few books for
double chemistry, and found a note on top of the pile of stuff in
there. Having made a mental note to change the combination on my lock, I
pocketed the missive and rushed to chemistry, not wanting to be late.

3.

In a quieter moment, I opened the note. It was unsigned, but the content
was clear enough. Five words: `Careful of Jake the Homo'. My stomach
lurched. At the time I didn't understand why I started to shake as I read
and re-read it, though looking back it was probably a mixture of anger and
excitement. I pulled out a pen and spread the note on the table, carefully
writing `fuck that!' below the warning. Jake, next to whom I'd already
determined to sit as often as possible, frowned slightly as I subtly passed
the note to him. When he read the original, and then my addition, a mixture
of emotions crowded his face.

Uppermost was happiness, a shy smile curling the corners of his mouth. But
not far beneath the surface was pain, and a lot of it. Suddenly I felt my
stomach drop. Jake had been hurt a great deal, whether or not there was
anything to the accusation. Being the only son of a single mother I was
always slightly more sensitive than the other guys in my year, and even
though we'd hardly shared a word I felt that Jake and I had the opportunity
to be good friends, and already it hurt me to see him this way. I smiled
warmly at him, and his eyes finally reflected the curling of the corners of
his mouth. We shared what is often referred to as a `moment', though really
it was nothing more than young friends confirming that they were indeed
that.

We were brought out of our reverie rather sharply by the teacher, who was
suddenly reprimanding Jake for not paying attention. Immediately I owned
up, desperate to save my new friend's skin, keen that he shouldn't get in
trouble for something I had done. I was told to see the teacher after the
class, and to take the note with me.

As he left with the rest of the class, Jake gave me a slight smile and
raised his eyebrows, signs of solidarity. I flashed a quick grin at him,
then went to face my fate.

4.

T he teacher was fairly young, probably not long out of university. He held
out a hand for the note without saying a word. I watched him as he read it,
and watched the blood come into his face. He was very, very angry, and I
suddenly realised I was in a word of trouble. His voice, though, when he
spoke, was calm and cool. Or should I say, full of ice.

"Sit down, Zack," he said.

I obeyed, and then was surprised to see him pulling one of the class chairs
round and sitting down across the table from me.

"Where did the note come from, Zack?"

I shrugged. It was true, I had no idea who had written it.

"It was just in my locker after lunch, sir."

"And did you write the bit on the bottom?"

I blushed fairly strongly at this point. I'd written one of the rudest
words I could have, and the teacher had read it. Normally, I would have
been in detention for that.

"Why did you write that?"

"I wanted to show Jake I didn't like what they wrote, sir."

"I don't like it either, Zack. Not one bit. Are you sure you can't tell me
who wrote that note?"

I shook my head.

"Alright then, you can go. No more passing notes in class, alright?"

"Yes, sir. Sorry, sir."

He nodded and I left the classroom, somewhat relieved to be getting away
with it. That often happened for me when I was the new boy, but this felt
different. There was some other reason I'd got away with it this
time. Mr. Mitchell had been really bothered by what the note said, and I
didn't think it was the swearword I'd written that upset him.

5.

I didn't see Jake again that afternoon. Most of the kids had already left
by the time I got back to my locker and worked out which books I needed to
take home. He was there in the library the next day, though, and waved `hi'
as I approached.

"Thanks for yesterday," he said as I sat down. "Did you get in a lot of
trouble?"

I shook my head.

"Nah, it was no problem. He just let me off with a warning."

"Thanks for the other thing, too. You know..."

He tailed off, and I could see his eyes beginning to well up a little. I
gave him a smile, and he blinked away a couple of tears.

"It's OK," I said. "I meant it, too. Fuck them!"

The last was said as quietly as I could manage it – what a rubbish rebel
I made. But it made Jake giggle, and that made it worth the risk of getting
into trouble for the second time in as many days.

"I looked for you outside school yesterday afternoon, but you weren't
about," I continued.

"Oh, right," he replied, looking somewhat uncomfortable. "Yeah. My mum
picks me up. It's easier that way."

I looked puzzled, and said nothing, which seemed to encourage Jake to
continue.

"It's to do with what they wrote in the note," he explained. "They beat me
up once and now my mum won't let me walk here or home on my own."

"Oh."

That was all I could think of to say. What was I meant to say? I was a
thirteen year old boy, not full of life experiences and insightful
comment. Fortunately, Jake seemed keen to continue.

"It's not true, you know," he said.

"What's not true?"

"What they said about me. That I'm a homo."

"Oh."

There it was again. The monosyllabic, unhelpful reply. I'd always prided
myself that I was a better conversationalist than I was proving to be. Jake
seemed quite willing to hold up both ends by himself, though.

"There was this boy in my old school. He started saying we'd done stuff and
somehow he found out something about me, and they found out it was true and
they said that meant we'd been messing around playing with our dicks and
stuff. Then I came here but one of the other boys from my old school came
here too, and they started saying things about me again. Nothing I could
say would stop them."

Suddenly I felt really bad for Jake. He sounded genuine, and for some
reason some kids had made his life hell. He looked so small sitting there
explaining everything was wrong, and I could feel myself on the verge of
tears for him. Damn, I had to get a grip.

"That's really crap," I said, stating the obvious. Still, it was better
than what I had been saying. Jake shrugged, but I could tell that he was
struggling to maintain control. Then he was no longer struggling. He lost
it.

Jake did what any young teenager would do under the circumstances. Rather
than sitting there and crying in front of his friend, he fled.

I don't know where he went, but he still made it to the afternoon
lesson. He sat down next to me with a rather sheepish look on his face. He
gave me a brief flash of a smile which didn't touch his red-rimmed eyes,
and then ignored me for the rest of the lesson.

That night I felt pretty rubbish. I didn't think Jake was angry with me,
but I still felt our friendship was going wrong. It put me totally
off-kilter. I didn't even go through the typical nightly routine of a
thirteen year old boy. It was a day which stuck in the memory.

6.

The next day was a watershed. I made it into the library as normal, but
there was no sign of Jake. That worried me a little, and as I sat there
reflecting on the situation it got more and more worrying. Just as I was
beginning to run through ways I could possibly contact Jake, he sauntered
through the door as though nothing had ever been wrong.

I gave him a small wave as he came over to my table, which he returned
before seating himself. He didn't pull a book out of his bag, but just sat
there with a strangely excited, or possibly nervous look on his face.

"Hi Zack!"

It was nerves, I decided. Something was making him extremely anxious.

"Do you have time to talk? Somewhere else."

I nodded, and followed Jake out of the library. We found a quieter corner
of the school to have our chat, and I finally found out what it was that
was making Jake so jittery.

"It's my birthday in a few weeks," he said. "Normally I don't do anything
with people from school. No-one would want to do anything. But I was
talking to my mum about you and she said I should ask you if you wanted to
come with us to Alton Towers."

For those of you who aren't familiar with it, Alton Towers is a theme park,
easily the best in the UK, though nothing like a match for Disney. It was a
great place for a couple of teenage boys to spend the day, and I readily
agreed. Even if it wasn't something so cool, I would have assented. I was
rapidly growing to think of Jake as the best friend I'd ever had, and I'd
known him less than a week.

His response upon hearing my positive reply was to jump slightly into the
air, pumping his fist. It was then that I realised how much my acceptance
meant to him, and once again my heart went out to him. I wasn't the best
friend a boy could ever have, but right at that point in time I was the
only one he had.

7.

Over the following weeks Jake and I became increasingly close as
friends. We began to visit each other's houses, and I met his mum, and
introduced him to mine. It was all pretty much typical young mates stuff,
riding bikes, watching TV, playing video games, that sort of thing. We just
seemed to have that natural affinity for one another that makes the
friendships formed at that stage of life typically stronger than any
others. We became inseparable, and that's where the problems started.

As I'm sure you've guessed from the narrative to this point, the kids we
went to school with weren't the most well-informed, new age bunch of teens
in the world. They'd already made Jake's life hell, even though as he had
insisted to me he wasn't gay. And now, because of my friendship with him,
they turned on me, too.

It was only little things at first, but then the abuse became very
personal. It angered me not so much that they were bullying me, but that
they were so wrong. I simply wasn't what they were accusing me of being. I
wasn't Jake's boyfriend, or as they delightfully put it, `bum chum', but
they relentlessly wheeled out the insult as though it were the gospel
truth, and no amount of protesting would make the taunting cease.

We dealt with it by withdrawing – mature, huh? I suppose at least we
didn't turn to violence and gun down our classmates. Though where we would
have got a gun is beyond me. We had each other as friends, and we came to
the unspoken agreement that that was all we really needed. As long as we
didn't have to face it alone, it was almost bearable. It's funny –
speaking about it in these terms makes it seem like our relationship was a
foregone conclusion, and yet at the time we were both so adamant that it
was nothing more than friendship in adversity.

8.

The day of Jake's birthday trip fell two days after his actual birthday. It
was a Saturday, predictably enough, since we were in term time, and I was,
for the first time in our friendship, going to stay the night at his house
afterwards. We were absolutely bouncing off the ceiling with excitement,
acting much younger than our thirteen years. There was something rather
liberating about having a friend who was so unwilling to judge my
behaviour, and I took advantage of the fact, acting like a bit of a clown
because I knew Jake wouldn't care. In fact, it was the opposite. Normally
such a quiet boy, Jake was suddenly full of chatter, bursting with things
to say, and I found myself fascinated by the way he could talk about a
topic for so long without repeating himself. He just held my attention, and
if I'd had half a head on my shoulders I would have realised why.

We had the best day out I think I've ever had. I can't remember a time when
I've spent so long laughing. I wrote in my diary at the time (how else do
you think I remember this stuff?) that I couldn't think of anyone I'd
rather have as my best friend. Again, with the benefit of hindsight...

We were pretty tired heading back to Jake's house. It was a two hour drive,
and we were both asleep not ten minutes into the journey. It turned out to
be just what we needed, though, because as soon as we were back at Jake's
and woke up again, we were as lively as ever, and ready for a night of
videos. Jake had already persuaded his dad to get us a load from
Blockbusters, and now we were going to spend the whole evening in the TV
room watching them and generally having a great time. And the best part of
all, Jake's parents were actually going away for the night and leaving us
on our own! They needed to be at an appointment about the custody status of
Jake's half brother the next morning (which lawyer has meetings on a
Sunday?), and the meeting was a hundred miles away, so they were straight
out the door after making sure we weren't going to trash the place.

Well, the first thing we had to do was sort ourselves out for the
evening. We grabbed all of the food we thought we could conceivably eat,
about twenty cans of Coke and all of the videos, and settled down to watch
our way through them.

We'd already decided to sleep in sleeping bags in the TV room, since there
was no-one to tell us to go to bed, and we'd both already got changed into
our sleeping clothes – shorts and t-shirt for me, and just a pair of
jogging bottoms for Jake. I don't recall being surprised that he was
topless, but as we got straight into our sleeping bags I decided to join
him, hauling off my top and throwing it across the room, bringing a rather
childish giggle from Jake.

We sat next to each other on the sofa, in our separate sleeping bags, for
the first half an hour or so, but pretty soon it became clear that we were
both too hot. Jake was the first to react, pushing it down and off his feet
into a pile on the floor. I followed suit straight away, and there we both
were, sat on the sofa together in not a great deal of clothing.

Normally, that would have been a major issue for me. I was skinny as hell,
and hated my body, hated being seen this way. But somehow the fact that I
knew Jake wasn't going to take the piss meant that I was ok with being
topless in front of him in such a casual situation. Yeah, we'd both been
that way in swimming lessons at school, but there was something
fundamentally different about just the two of us doing it in his parent's
house on our own.

"What are you going to do if you get really hot?" I asked. I don't know
what compelled me to do so. It was clearly a very loaded question, but it
was utterly non-premeditated. I certainly didn't expect Jake to pull his
pants off and thrown them across the room to land on my t-shirt. That I did
not expect.

9.

I gawped. He just sat back, naked as the day he was born, with everything
on show, arms folded across his chest. He had a very serious look on his
face, but it was apparently quite forced as only a few seconds later he
dissolved into a giggling fit of epic proportions.

Still he didn't cover himself up, though, and as I laughed myself, drawn in
by his enthusiasm, I kept an eye on the most private part of his body. I
couldn't have told you at the time what drew me to Jake in this way. I
chastised myself later for not turning away, or at least for having taken
such an active interest. Perhaps I had subconsciously convinced myself that
it was just idle curiosity, and that all boys checked other boys out, if
just for the sake of comparison. Of course, whatever the motive, I did make
that comparison. If you were keeping a checklist, you'd probably have
called it a draw and referred it to the judges.

His giggling fit over, Jake turned to look at me, his head slightly on its
side. He was smiling still, and thank God I smiled back, otherwise I think
he would have had a massive crisis of confidence and probably fled the
room. It certainly would have ruined the friendship. For some reason, under
his gaze, I felt compelled to join him, and quickly whipped off my shorts,
also throwing them as far as I could, scoring extra points for managing to
drape them over the door handle.

Jake just watched me for a moment, eyes slightly widened. It was pretty
obvious what had caused his shock. I'd known that I was excited, but hadn't
really joined the dots when I impulsively pulled off my shorts. I was
naked, just like Jake, but unlike Jake I was also showing quite visual
signs that I was very much enjoying what was happening. I followed his
gaze, and when I looked back up and our eyes met, Jake nearly killed
himself laughing.

When he recovered this time, he turned back to watching the film, though I
noticed when I glanced over that not only had he joined me in a state of
excitement, but he also had a hand idly toying with the long skin which
overhung its end. He wasn't playing with himself, not properly anyway, but
the hand was still there. Totally flummoxed by what was happening, I
decided to put it out of my mind and watch the film.

By the time the credits rolled, we were both back to being normal boys, and
it was as though our nakedness meant nothing. We chatted about the film,
wandered about the house to go and take a leak, that sort of thing, and
with no mention of the fact that we were unclothed. Indeed, the remainder
of the evening passed the same way, with no further notice taken of our
nudity.

10.

I left just after midday the next day. When I made it home I was
immediately sent to the shower by my mother, who seemed to be able to smell
that I hadn't bathed that morning. How sensitive the noses of mothers, eh?
I could remember that shower even if I hadn't poured my heart out to my
diary that night, because for the first time in my life as I hunted for an
image to fill my mind at the point of no return, it was a boy's young,
smooth groin which filled my mind's eye. Jake's groin.

Guilt flooded my body like adrenaline, doubling me over as it made my
stomach churn. Only by force did I prevent myself from throwing up all over
the bathroom. I gasped for air, floored by the feelings washing through
me. I had violated so many unsaid oaths that I felt retribution would be
instantly forthcoming, that God, my belief in whom was still alive if
rapidly dwindling, would strike me down now and not bother waiting for
judgement day. I staggered to my room, towel around my waist, and fell back
onto my bed. What's worse, ten minutes later I did it again.

I could hardly bear to look at myself in the mirror. Every time I thought
about what I'd done, my stomach lurched a little, as if in fear. I think
that may actually have been it, in fact. I feared discovery. I feared that
suddenly everyone knew I was gay. That's how I thought of myself, too –
as suddenly being gay just because I'd thought of my best friend in the
whole world at one particular moment. Well, twice, if you counted the one
on my bed. And not just thought about him, not just imagined his face, but
thought about that most private part of him, sat there displayed to me and
only me. I was gay and the world was going to hate me. What would happen
when everyone found out? Oh God, my life was over.

11.

School the next day was painful. I tried to act normally, and I think I
probably did. I don't reckon too many people noticed I was distracted.

One person was bound to sense it, though. Jake. He came straight over to me
before lessons even started with this sort of half cheeky, half embarrassed
look on his face. He hadn't looked that way on the Sunday morning, so I
wondered what could have caused it now.

"Hey," he said, mock casually, and then had a small, barely contained
giggling fit. I couldn't help but laugh, too. When I finally managed to get
him calmed down enough to speak, he admitted that he was still pretty hyper
about what had happened on Saturday night. I, on the other hand, was less
impressed with myself, because of the mental torture I was putting myself
through about being gay.

Of course it affected our friendship. How could it not? Especially since
every time the hormones in my body were sufficiently recharged, which was
about twice a day at this point, I was forced to find a quiet place to deal
with the problem, and every time a certain image would pop into my head, of
a small, upright tube of pinkish flesh.

As soon as the problem was dealt with, the guilt would rush in to take its
place, filling me with a sense of dread. I hated the very sight of Jake by
the end of the week, just because of the feelings he stirred in me. Just
looking at him sent flashes of imagery through my mind. Or imagery of
flashes, I should say. Things got so bad that on Friday I refused to talk
to him at all. Jake couldn't understand, and naturally left in a huff.

12.

I felt even worse, of course, so bad that I couldn't bring myself even to
enjoy the simple pleasures like staying up late on a Friday night to watch
TV. My mother, of course, joked that I must be coming down with something,
and I hate to bite back the retort, "yes, gayness!".

I woke in the early hours of Saturday, resolved to do something about
this. I couldn't let it go on any longer without saying something to
Jake. On the one hand I knew it was suicide, but on the other I was so
desperate to be free of the burden that I knew I must tell him what had
been going through my mind.

I agonised over it all the way to his house. I turned my bike back twice,
but both times I realised I was chickening out. I had some crazy idea in my
head that he deserved to know what I was thinking about him, so that our
friendship, if we still had one, was no longer based on lies, or at least
untold truths.

The last few hundred yards were the worst. My stomach churned so badly that
I could hardly turn the pedals. I carried on though, determined to make it
at whatever cost. I think I must have been possessed, or at least appeared
so to anyone who saw me urging myself along what was really quite a flat
road.

13.

I knew he'd be up. Jake was always up this early, even on a Saturday. He
was just one of those people who need all day to burn off enough energy to
sleep at night. But by the same token I didn't want to wake up his parents,
so knocking on the front door was out of the question. I hadn't really
thought this part through, but when I got there, I realised I could hear
the TV coming from the room where we had spent that fateful night, and the
room was on the ground floor. It was easy enough, then, to creep up to the
window and alert him by tapping on it.

He spotted me before I even had a chance to knock. His initial scowl turned
to merely a look of consternation as he answered by beckoning and came over
to the window. I started to try to explain, but he hushed me and indicated
he was coming to the front door.

"I need to talk to you about some stuff," I said once we'd exchanged
greetings.

"What stuff?"

"Well, sort of personal stuff," I answered.

"Oh," he said. Now he was saying it!

"Look, I get it if you don't want to talk to me, but I really need to say
some stuff."

He sighed, then said,

"Ok. Go round the side of the house."

That meant we would be going into Jake's back garden, and at the bottom of
the garden was a den, hidden from view behind an old shed. His parents must
have known it was there, but if they knew what happened there they never
said anything. But that's getting ahead of myself. Right now I took my bike
and waited by the massive back gate.

A few seconds later it opened. Jake at least managed a weak smile this
time, though it was clearly a bit forced. I realised this wasn't going to
be as easy as I had hoped.

14.

The den smelled as musty and damp as it always did. Weak sunlight filtered
down through a dirty old sheet of corrugated plastic, which served as the
roof. Jake pulled the door (an old fence panel) shut behind us, and then
just looked at me with his hands in the pockets of his tracksuit pants.

"Ok," I started. Good start. Now to just bite the bullet and go for
it. "Ok, so I was pretty horrible to you during the week, and I wanted to
say why. It was because I accidentally thought about you when I
was... well, you know..."

Jake looked really confused for a moment, and then obviously realisation
dawned on him. The look of shock on his face sent adrenaline racing around
my body. There was about a 95 percent chance he was going to tip over to
fully freaked out and disgusted, and so I did what all stupid boys do in
that situation, I started babbling.

"Look, it wasn't deliberate, ok? Well," I added, "not the first time. But
it doesn't mean anything. I mean, we can still be friends, right?"

Jake just looked at me, processing what I'd said. I started to go again
with the babbling, but he interrupted me.

"Matt, can I tell you something now?"

I just nodded my head, finally getting the idea that quiet was a good idea.

"Right. Well, you remember how I told you a boy made up loads of stuff
about me and another boy?"

Nod.

"Well, it wasn't true that I was messing about with another boy. Actually,
it was the boy who was telling the stories I messed around with."

My jaw pretty much bounced off the floor.

"See? We both have little secrets."

"And we're both gay..." I said, dejectedly.

Jake shrugged.

"So?"

"So what do we do now?" I asked, desperation edging into my voice.

"Well, I don't know if I'm gay or not, Matt, but I reckon if I want to kiss
you and you don't mind, then I should."

I just looked at him absolutely confused out of my mind. What? That didn't
follow at all...

15.

Jake closed the gap between us in one stride. In the same movement his
hands went to the sides of my head, and a heartbeat later his lips touched
mine.

I was still too flabbergasted to understand what was happening. Jake tried
again, and thankfully this time I got it. This time I realised what was
happening, and that quite frankly I loved it, and I wanted to do more of
it.

It's funny to think how quickly you learn to kiss, especially with passion
involved. A minute later my lips and chin were covered in slobber from our
rather wet coupling, and a surge of adrenaline close to lightning bolt
strength was racing through me as a hot, soft hand reached inside my shorts
and took possession of all of me.

The End


If you enjoyed `Matt and Jake', please let me know:
zackmcnaught@hotmail.com

For more stories, visit the Zack Mack archive at www.asstr.org/~zack/