Oliver of the Adirondacks
By Dashiell Walraven
Feedback welcomed to dashiell.walraven@gmail.com or via the blog at http://dashiellwalraven.wordpress.com (New chapters always appear there first)
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As much as I wanted to stay awake until Neal got home, the events of the day did me in. When I woke up, the sun was just cresting the horizon and light was starting to pour into the room. I stretched and yawned, looking over to Neal's untouched bed, surprised to see he was not in it. Scanning the room, I found him sitting in the window seat, still dressed in his school uniform, his knees drawn up to his chest, looking as miserable as I have ever seen him. He saw my movement and looked over to me silently, his brilliant eyes glistening with tears. Immediately, my heart ached for him. Before I could rush over to hug him and kiss away his tears, there was a quiet knock at the door. Both of our fathers walked in.
"Oliver," Neal's father said, "can you give us a minute please? I need to talk to my son before I go off to work." I got up out of bed, thankful to have kept my pajamas on. Dad ushered me out and closing the door behind us; as we walked down the hallway, I heard Neal's dad raising his voice, he sounded very angry.
"Dad?" I started to ask.
"Shh, son," he whispered gently, "I'll fill you in with everything that I know soon enough, but for now, we need to keep quiet, okay?" I nodded, understanding, but not quite. Something big was going down and I felt extremely anxious not knowing just what it was. Dad and I sat in awkward silence at the breakfast bar in the kitchen, while the moms prepared coffee and breakfast. Apart from the occasional throat-clearing, and muted please and thank-you exchanges, everybody was mostly silent. I accepted a bowl of cereal from mom, and dad got a cup of coffee and some toast, we both ate in silence; my spoon making unnaturally loud scraping noises against the bowl while dad thunderously crunched through his toast.
On the other side of the house, though I strained to hear, I couldn't make out exactly what Neal's father was shouting about. It seemed to go on forever, making the atmosphere in the kitchen thick and strained. Nobody could pretend it wasn't happening and we all seemed anxious for it to be over, whatever "it" happened to be. Finally, Neal's door slammed in the distance, followed shortly by Neal's father sweeping into the kitchen, exchanging some quiet words with his wife, who nodded and answered in muted tones. He delivered a peck to her cheek, which she seemed reluctant to accept, pulled on his suit jacket and straightened his tie as he headed out to the garage to leave for work.
Dad accompanied me back to Neal's room and instructed me to get dressed. Neal watched me forlornly from the window seat, he had not moved from it. If anything, he looked more miserable than ever, tear tracks streaked down his cheeks; he was a sodden mess.
"Come on, Oliver," my dad said, quietly, "Let's you and me take a ride."
I snuck a look over at Neal, who was staring holes in his knees. I couldn't stand it any further, I went over and embraced him. He didn't return my hug, but did lean his head on my shoulder and let out a short sob.
"Oliver," my dad persisted, "Please, let's go." I looked back over my shoulder at my father and then back to Neal, who was looking up to me with his tear-stained face.
"I don't know what's going on," I said plainly, "but whatever it is, we'll figure it out."
Then I kissed him. On the lips. Right in front of my father. Neal's eyes opened wide and he made a moist gasp as I did so. He looked shocked, scared and amazed, all at once. I hoped for a smile, but nothing was forthcoming, if anything, Neal seemed to look even more deflated. I touched my forehead to his, which only elicited a sniffle. Dad's hand came to rest on my shoulder and I knew he wanted me to go with him. My eyes searched Neal's, but he turned away to stare out the window; it was almost as if he felt ashamed about something.
Sighing, I turned and left the room with my Dad. He walked me out to the car on the curb, where we sat silently for minute. We both started talking at the same time, and then both stopped.
"Go ahead, son," Dad said.
"Neal looks awful Dad, he looks like he wants to die or something, I'm really scared for him," I cried out, "I'm scared too. I don't know what's going on." Dad reached over and put his arm around my shoulders, pulling me close into him. I could smell his aftershave very strongly and it was comforting.
"Well," he started, "firstly, Neal was expelled from his school last night. I'm not very clear on the circumstances, but it seems he assaulted a teacher."
"What?" I sat up, my jaw falling open in disbelief.
"That's the story. I don't have all the details," Dad continued, "but it all sounds perfectly terrible and completely out of character for Neal to do such a thing."
"Wow," I breathed, "holy cow."
Dad nodded. He didn't have much more information to tell me, only that he drove up with Neal's father to the school, packed him up in angry silence. According to Dad, he harangued Neal the entire way back, with Neal speaking nary a word throughout the hour-long trip home.
"So what happens now?" I asked.
"Neal's mom and your mother are going to take Neal to another school in the area, see if they can't get him enrolled there." I digested that news for a little bit.
"Dad?"
"Yes Oliver?" he replied.
"Neal isn't going to go to jail or anything, is he?"
"No, he isn't," he reassured me, "I heard Neal's dad saying something about how lucky he was the school decided not to press charges, or words to that effect."
Still nonplussed, I could not wrap my skull around Neal beating up on a teacher, it simply didn't compute. Dad took me out and about just to keep ourselves occupied and out of the situation. We managed to find the local Children's Museum, which was kind of interesting. They did have a planetarium, which under any other circumstance, I would have found fascinating. During the almost hour long show, seated in the dark looking up at the dome, I found myself distracted thinking about Neal. My mind tried to work out all the possible permutations for how Neal could find himself in such a situation as to attack a teacher. With the stars whirling overhead as the massive projector hummed and turned, I began to feel queasy. The lights came up just in time for me to flee the room and lean on the railing of the staircase near the doors. I'm not quite sure how I managed to avoid vomiting, but the nausea passed as quickly as it came, leaving me in a cold-sweat.
"You okay son?" Dad's voice came into my ear.
"I think the stars moving got me a little motion sick." I said, opening my eyes gently, testing to see if the room would stop spinning. It did, eventually. Dad took me to a picnic bench outside, near where our car was parked.
"Dad," I said suddenly, "I can't seem to stop thinking about Neal, over and over again."
"I'm sure your upset by the whole ordeal, Oliver," he spoke soothingly, "It'll pass."
"No, Dad," I persisted, "I keep thinking the same thoughts, like in a circle, as if I can't stop them. I feel really strange." Dad looked at me with a concerned expression and herded me toward the car. He drove me directly to the Newington Children's Hospital, where he demanded to see the doctor. A few quick tests, and a consultation with the doctor, resulted in us both walking out with an adjustment to my medication. I was relieved to be leaving without too much falderal, I felt like I was pretty much done with medical stuff. We stopped at a roadside hot-dog and burger joint where Dad treated me to a massive cheeseburger with French fries. It was delicious and did much to improve how I felt. Even the obsessive, circular thinking about Neal was starting to fade.
After lunch, Dad took me to Bushnell Park in Hartford. The ornate carousel was undergoing renovations, so we couldn't ride, but that was okay with me. Walking around the city center, we made a conscious decision to avoid the huge G. Fox building, where Neal's father worked, and instead, found a spot where we could peer through the chain link fence and watch the construction going on for the huge new coliseum and mall that was being built.
We sat on a bench, soaking up the afternoon sun that helped to warm the chilled autumn air. After several minutes of keeping to our own thoughts, my Dad suddenly spoke.
"I want you to know how very proud I am of you, Oliver," he said, his voice full of emotion.
"For what?" I asked.
"Well, for starters," he said, "you've had an awful lot of shit thrown at you in the past year and a half, son. With every hit, you took it standing tall. Whatever knocked you down, you just got right back up again. That takes guts and it makes me confident you have the makings of a hell of a man." I sat on that bench, stunned.
"Really, Dad?"
"Really, Oliver," he nodded, "many boys would have lashed out, or become what they call `troubled', but not you."
"I still feel kinda knocked down by whatever this thing is with Neal," I said.
"That's because you're worried about him," Dad replied, "you two are connected at the hip. It's no surprise you feel scared and upset for him, even when you have your own crap to deal with."
I smiled wryly to myself, thinking about all the various ways Neal and I had "connected", which of course, led to a swelling in my nether regions. I crossed my arms and leaned on my knees as if being pensive, in an effort to hide the straining lump in my pants. Damned thing sure liked to make its presence known at the worst possible times. I'm sure Dad knew what was going on, because he chuckled and shook his head.
"You are something else, you two," he smiled, looking out over the construction.
"I can't help it Dad," I said, softly, "I love him.
"I know you do, Son," Dad sighed, "I know you do."
Things got really crazy that night. Everything happened so fast, it is hard for me to remember what all went down. I think the medication was still muddying my brain. What I do recall, is that the local private school rejected Neal as a student, based upon, I'm guessing, whatever happened at his old one. This precipitated a tremendous argument between Neal's parents which resulted in dishes getting smashed and glass shattering. I do remember being scared as hell when my Dad burst into Neal's room and told me to get dressed because we were leaving. Neal looked at me with huge, frightened eyes. I frantically stuffed my clothes into the naval kit bag I'd brought along.
"Come on, Neal," my father motioned to him, "you're coming with us." Neal froze, we all did I think. I can still see him standing there, visibly trembling. To my horror, a wet stain started to spread from the middle of his pants, he was pissing himself.
"DAD!" I shrieked, "What's going on?"
"Hurry now Oliver," he said with extreme calm, tossing me my bag, "I'll get Neal changed, go with your mother out to the car please." When I got outside, I numbly stood and watched my mother frantically throwing suitcases into the back of the station wagon as Neal's parents could be heard hollering at each other inside. Dad exited the house with a very limp and shocked looking Neal slung over his shoulder in a fireman's carry. As Dad set Neal into the back seat of the car and I slid in next to him, Neal's parents came out of the house, still screaming. Neal's father looked visibly drunk.
More words were exchanged and the neighborhood began to take notice. Curtains were pulled aside and porch lights began to turn on. The dog next door began to bark through the fence. Words like "don't you dare", "I can't believe you would do this" rang out, but the last ones, "faggot son" suddenly stilled all the commotion. It seemed like the world stopped turning for a moment as we all held our collective breath.
Neal's mom, enraged, pointed her finger right in her husband's face and told him she was finished with him. As if to put a period on her sentence, Neal's father backhanded her, sending her reeling into the hedges. My father appeared out of nowhere and tackled him from the side. They both fell to the lawn, where Dad fastened his hands around the drunken man's throat and started to squeeze. Even though my father is a full head shorter than him, Ned knew enough to surrender immediately.
"If you ever lay another hand your wife or son again, Ned," I heard my father growl, even from inside the car, "I will snap your miserable neck." Dad's voice turned from a low grumble, to arctic cold, "Do I make myself perfectly clear, you drunken piece of shit?" Ned, pinned under my father, made a weak attempt to shrug him off. His eyelids fluttered as my father squeezed his neck a little harder.
One of Ned's neighbors walked over, dressed in his State Trooper's uniform, and tapped Dad on the shoulder.
"WHAT?" Dad spat, still staring into Ned's wide eyes; Ned flinched as some spittle landed on his face.
"I've got him from here, Sir." My dad looked up at the trooper, nodded and slowly released his grip on Ned's neck. There were red blotches on his skin where Dad's hands had been. Ned coughed and protested as the Trooper hoisted him up and wheeled him around to cuff him.
After Ned's arrest, things got calmer. Dad and my mother gave their statements, and Neal's mom gave hers. The cops wanted to interview me and Neal, but my father intervened, saying we'd been through enough. The police agreed, since one of their own observed the attack, they didn't need any more witness corroboration. Ned was unceremoniously cuffed and stuffed into a dark blue police cruiser and taken away. Once that was done, and we all had a moment to catch our breath, we went back inside the house, to the sight of broken dishes and glassware all over the living room.
"Okay, here's the deal." My dad announced to us boys, "Neal and his mom are going to come and stay with us until this all gets sorted out. Oliver, you go with Neal to his room and get him packed up with some clothes and whatever he thinks he needs to stay with us for a while. Your mother and I are going to do the same for Terry. Don't dawdle, were are going to head out shortly."
"We could stay the night," Neal's mom said numbly, standing amid the shards of porcelain and glass, "Besides, I have to clean all this up."
"This is Ned's mess," my mother said firmly, "You leave that to him. Besides, none of us want to be around if he posts bail tonight and comes home."
I sat on Neal's bed as he robotically wandered around his room, picking out clothes to put in his suitcase. Feeling sort of helpless, I tried to stay out of his way. He didn't say much as he did so, seemingly defeated and beat-down. Finally, after closing the latches on his suitcase, Neal sat down next to me and leaned onto my shoulder, sighing heavily. Dad came in to check on our progress.
"You guys all set?" Dad asked, smiling gently. Neal stayed glued to my shoulder and wiped a sleeve across his snotty nose, shaking his head.
"No," he said simply, his voice small and reedy. Dad's face dissolved into concern as he sat down next to Neal, rubbing his back.
"Aw kiddo," he soothed, "this is tough for you, I know."
Neal turned around to my father, wrapped his arms around Dad's neck, and broke out the ugly cry. Dad enfolded Neal, drawing him close and hugging him tightly. Neal spent his full payload of emotion against my father, howling like a lost cub, in between hitching gasps and sobs. I wept too, my heart sore for Neal's pain. I wasn't entirely sure, but it seemed like we had just witnessed the dissolution of his family, something I could never even fathom happening to mine. Dad rocked Neal gently in his arms, stroking his black hair while speaking soothingly to him and kissing his hair softly. I don't think I could have ever loved my father more than I did at that moment. It was as if Neal were his own son; anything he would do for me, he would do for Neal. It made me feel warm and safe inside, even as my soul keened for Neal's distress.
I looked up to see both moms standing at the doorway, looking down at the scene before them. Both appeared uncomfortable with Neal's crying, but seemed to understand its necessity. They busied themselves with grabbing the pillows and comforters from both beds. I grabbed the suitcase while Dad stood up and gently set Neal onto his feet. Neal still clung to him, but allowed Dad to walk him out of the door, into the hallway.
By the time we got underway, it was nearly ten o'clock. Even though we drove straight back, with no bathroom breaks or anything, our tires didn't crunch up the gravel of the driveway until about four-thirty in the morning. Neal and I collapsed into my bed and fell directly back to sleep until almost noontime. I actually woke a bit earlier than that, my bladder ready to explode. Returning from the bathroom, as quietly as I could, I climbed back into bed to snuggle up against Neal.
Neal leaned back against me in his sleep, I cradled him against my chest. Instinctively, I reached around his hip and slipped my hand gently into the fly of his flannel pajamas. There, within, I found his warm firmness, which I gripped tightly. He swelled in my hand and moaned softly. Idly, I gently stroked him to full erection, taking my time, in no particular hurry. I simply loved how he huffed softly into my ear. My heart felt close to bursting as I watched him sleep under my protective embrace.
I pressed my own hardness against the warmth of his thigh as I gently pulled his foreskin back and forth over his glans. In rapt fascination, I watched the wrinkled nozzle stretch and retract around his moist knob, only to glide back up and pucker closed once more. Doing this several more times, resulted in a soft, breathy moan from Neal, his penis pulsing strongly in my grip. I took a moment to cup his balls in my palm, gently rolling them between my fingers. I know Neal loves to have his balls played with, his dick became steely and rigid as I did so. His hips started to make slow, subtle gyrations as I fondled him.
Turning my attentions back to his penis, I shifted my position and took him into my mouth. I heard him gasp and it didn't take but a few, languid suckles to make him erupt, and erupt he did. I was almost unprepared for the amount he spurted into my mouth, causing me to choke for a brief second. Driving him deeply into my mouth, I let him fire the rest of his wad down my throat, which made swallowing it easier. He grunted, tossing and turning as I rode with him through his orgasm. Finally, I stopped sucking and just held him in the warmth of my mouth as his breathing returned to normal and his dick slowly subsided.
Neal rolled over and gazed at me for a moment, searching my eyes, almost as looking for my approval. I leaned down and pressed my lips to his, softly. His hands came up and gently held my face as we kissed, I felt salty tears spill across my lips. When I looked up, I saw his bright eyes sparkling with welled up tears.
"Dude," I whispered, "I'm right here, you're in my room and in my bed, you are totally okay."
"Oh Oliver," Neal breathed moistly, and then said nothing more. We looked at each other a little while longer. "I... uhm...", he stuttered, "I have to pee." I nodded and rolled away so he could climb out of my bed. He did so like a pained, old man; he was even stooped over to a degree.
While Neal was in the bathroom, I heard the stairs creaking. I stuffed my semi-hard dick back into my boxers and pulled the blankets up over me. Mom stepped into the room and sat on the bed.
"Hey Ollie," she said sweetly, "Where's Neal?"
"Bathroom," I mumbled. She nodded in understanding.
"So..." she sighed, "I guess Neal and his mom are going to be staying with us for the time being. She's going to stay in the guest room and Neal is going to continue to bunk with you. Does that seem like a workable arrangement?"
Ordinarily, I'd be over the moon, but the situation somehow still seemed fraught with danger. Things were so off-kilter, I hesitated to allow myself take joy from any of it.
"Mom?" I asked, "What happened? I don't understand what's going on." Mom sighed heavily, her brow furrowed, as she thought for a moment.
"Oliver," she said, finally, "Sometimes things happen in families. I think Ned and Terry were having problems anyway, and perhaps Neal getting in trouble at school was sort of a tipping point." Neal appeared at the door, standing there he looked like a little, shirtless, lost waif. His black hair was all akimbo, and his pajama bottoms hung from his hip bones, looking like they might fall off any moment; his fly was unbuttoned, but nothing was visible. The way he looked made my heart ache, I wanted to jump from the bed and somehow enfold him, wrap myself around him and protect him.
"Good morning there, Neal!" Mom said brightly, looking at her watch, "Or should I say, `good afternoon'?" Neal gave a wan, half-smile.
"Hi."
"So, listen, Neal," my mom, suddenly all business, "Your mother asked me to give you a message to get dressed nicely. After a little lunchie-poo, she and I are going to take you around to Oliver's school and get you enrolled."
"They won't take me either," he said in a sullen, monotonous tone.
"It's a public school, Neal," Mom smiled, "They can't refuse you."
"Neal is going to school with me?" I brightened, sitting up in the bed.
"Yes, Oliver," mom said, "and we're making arrangements for Neal and his mother to rent one of the cabins. You two can be best friends year round!"
For a moment, a saw a flash of a smile from Neal and I felt one dash across my face as well. I wanted to throw off my bedclothes and dance around the room in giddy delight, but I didn't dare.
"Alright then," Mom said, getting up and putting her hand on Neal's shoulder, "I'll expect to see you boys at the kitchen table in a few minutes." She gave Neal a warm hug and playfully scrubbed his messy hair. He didn't react in his usual manner, which would have been to twist away, giggling; he just stood there and accepted her gesture.
I got out of bed, threw on some clothes and then helped Neal pick out an outfit from his suitcase. He looked very sharp, standing there half dressed in a shirt and tie, yet naked from the waist down. I grabbed him a pair of briefs, helped him step into them, and pulled them up, gently tucking him in and kissing his dick through the cloth. I had this crazy desire to lay him down on my bed and make love to him for as long as I could. Unfortunately, being expected at the kitchen table shortly, prevented me from ravishing him right there.
Neal took a pair of dark trousers from his suitcase and slipped them on. Normally, when Neal was dressed like this, he cut a very fine figure, making me pant for him even more. Now his clothes looked like they hung loosely on him, a size too big. I wondered if he'd lost weight.
We both went down to the kitchen to eat lunch. I sat down while Neal's mom hugged him for a long time, rubbing his back. When they broke apart, she smoothed his shirt, adjusted his tie, and tucked his shirt tail into his waistband for him. We mostly ate lunch in quiet before the two moms gathered Neal up and left with him. Dad and Garrett, who had been working on the winter preparations for the whole property, came in to fix themselves lunch and sit with me.
"How goes it, Oliver?" Garrett asked, "Feeling any better after all that doctor stuff?"
"Actually," I shrugged, "I am. I'm hoping we got the medicine right, because it made my thinking all fuzzy and stuff."
"Cool beans," he smiled, "I was worried about you." A warm flush came to my face, it was nice having Garrett say that, especially since we had all worried so much about him after his accident, almost a year earlier. In a weird way, I was happy to be the person Garrett had to worry about now. I'm not sure what I was thinking, my seizure medication, while effective, made me distrust my thoughts at any given moment.
"Dad?" I asked, after discarding the remains of my tuna fish sandwich, "What the heck happened?" My father cast a sidelong glance to Garrett and put his sandwich back onto his plate.
"Well Oliver," he said gravely, "I think I have a better handle on things now, I'm just not sure where to begin."
My father leaned forward on his elbows, as if to compose his thoughts. When he finally looked up at me, his face was inscrutable.
"It seems that Neal got into trouble with one of the teachers," Dad paused while he cracked his knuckles and flexed his hands, "From what I was told by his father, Neal was brought into the headmaster's office where he was told that one of his teachers had made a statement that Neal had been acting very inappropriately in his class. Neal was asked to explain himself, and that is apparently when he attacked the teacher."
I let that sink in for a few moments, but it didn't make sense to me, I worried that my medication was muddling my understanding.
"Dad," I said, finally, "that makes no sense whatsoever."
"I know Oliver, none of this does," Dad agreed.
"And that stuff with his father... I just, I don't know," I shook my head.
"Yeah, well," Dad continued, "I sort of knew Ned and his wife were on the skids, but Neal's timing couldn't have been worse." Puzzled, I just sort of cocked my head at him with raised eyebrows. "You see, Oliver," Dad said, folding his hands before him, "The teacher's accusations against Neal were sexual in nature." Garrett, sitting between us, looked surprised, but remained silent. I felt kind of tremulous and a little sick. "The teacher said that Neal was making advances toward him, trying to touch his genitals and being generally very suggestive." I lowered my head to the table and laid it on my arms; I felt more than a little overwhelmed.
"Dad, seriously?" I whined, "Neal did that?"
"The teacher claimed that Neal threatened to make it known that the teacher molested him if he didn't get a good grade."
"Neal would never do that!" I shouted. Blood rushed to my head and pounded at my temples; I felt a coppery taste in my mouth. Both my father and Garrett looked at me with alarm, I suddenly felt very queasy.
"Oliver," Dad said loudly, "I need you to calm down." Garrett came over to me and started to rub my back as I lay my head back down on my arms, my head felt all swimmy. "Deep breaths, Oliver," Dad commanded. I did as he said, taking some deep, sighing breaths, which did make me feel better.
"Good work, Oliver," Garrett soothed, running his fingernails through my hair and neck, making me tingle all over.
"I'm sorry son," Dad said softly, "I know this is upsetting for you."
"Just can't believe Neal would do that, Dad," I moaned into my arms, "He just wouldn't."
Faggot Son. Ned's words rang in my ears and suddenly I understood. My belly felt leaden and I moaned, starting to sniffle and cry.
"What is it Oliver?" Dad asked, concern in his voice.
"Neal's father," I keened, "He believes the teacher, he thinks Neal WOULD do that! He called him a faggot last night!" I heard my father sigh.
"Oliver, listen to me," Dad spoke softly, "I need you to pay attention for a minute, okay?" I nodded, but didn't lift my head from the table. "Neal needs you to be brave right now," he said, "he's going through some stuff now, and he doesn't have his father to lean on."
"His parents are splitting up, right?" I asked.
"Well, yes," Dad explained, "There is more to it though. Apparently Ned is not only being charged with hitting Terry, he's also being charged with beating up on Neal too."
"WHAT?" I sat bolt upright, my queasiness evaporating.
"Yes Oliver," my dad nodded, "Apparently Ned has developed a habit of drinking lately, and every time he has done that, he's smacked his wife around, blaming her for making Neal into a homosexual."
Homosexual.
The word stopped me cold. It made me angry. I could hear Peter Gilbert whispering his terrible poison into my ear, his goons punching their hands and grinning, waiting to set upon me; the hair on my arms and neck stood up. I suppressed an urge to flee the room and run screaming down the road.
"But, but...," I stammered, "Neal likes girls too!" Both Garrett and Dad grinned stupidly at me, I clapped my hands over my mouth.
"Birds of a feather, eh Garrett?" my father quipped, cryptically. Garrett nodded with a wry smile. "Listen, son," dad said, "None of this squares with the young man I know Neal to be, so we all suspect there is more to be revealed. The trick is to be careful and let Neal and his Mom tell their stories in their own time. Inasmuch as we are having trouble wrapping our brains around this nonsense, they must be having a difficult time sorting it all out for themselves. Do you understand what I'm saying?"
"I guess so," I nodded, "have to give them some space."
"Exactly," Dad beamed and gripped the back of my neck warmly, "how did I manage to end up with such a bright kid?"
"Apple doesn't fall far from the tree," Garrett said, quietly; I could hear the admiration in his voice. Dad smiled back at him and winked.
We cleared the table. Dad shrugged the straps of his overalls from his shoulders, grabbed the daily newspaper and disappeared into the bathroom. As I washed off our plates, cups and silverware, Garrett dried them and put them away.
"Hey Gare?" I asked, nonchalantly, "Did uhm... you and my dad... ever...?" Garrett snorted, gave a small laugh and then a sigh.
"No Oliver," he said with a sly grin, "but it sure wasn't for lack of me trying."
"Really?" I asked, turning to look at him.
"Yeah," he nodded, "He's given me some great advice, but he never would do anything with me. Said it wouldn't be right."
"Why, because you're younger than him?"
"Nope," Garrett said, wistfully, "he made a commitment to your mom when he married her, and he would never violate that trust."
"Yep," I agreed, "that sounds like Dad."
"So," Garrett smiled, changing the subject, "what are your plans for the rest of the day?"
"I dunno," I shrugged, "I think I'm gonna go down to the lake and maybe give my hunter's cabin one last going over before the snow flies."
"Air was kinda snappy today," Garrett said, "I get the feeling we're in for a year like last year, snow-wise." He was right about that, I thought. When it is getting ready to snow in upstate New York, the air takes on a crispness and there is a definite smell that foretells its arrival. People that don't live there are frequently confused when they hear a resident say that it smells like it is going to snow, but you definitely can tell.
I emerged from my little hunter's cabin around three o'clock, having spent a few hours sweeping up, and reglazing a cracked window pane. After putting the putty and putty-knife away in the tool shed, I walked back down to the cabin to secure the padlock. I wondered why Neal and our mom's hadn't returned yet, but figured they'd probably stopped by the grocery store to do some shopping. Trudging up the beachfront and along the path from the beach to the parking area in front of the Lodge, I heard Lizzie calling my name from the driveway entrance.
"Oliver! Wait up!", she called. I turned and stuck my hands in my pockets, waiting for her as she jogged up the drive.
"Hey Liz," I said as she came to a stop in front of me, her breath making little clouds in the air.
"So..." she said, catching her breath, "Uhm... this is weird, but totally thought I saw Neal in school today with his mom and yours."
"Oh really?" I said, feigning ignorance. That earned me a sock in the arm.
"Don't be a dick, Oliver," she scowled at me, "Neal looked fucking terrible, what the hell is he doing at our school?"
We moved to a pair of rockers on the porch of the Lodge, and I recounted the whole story to her. Liz gasped in all the right places and looked righteously indignant when I told her about Neal's father.
"Holy shit," she said, getting up and pacing along the railing of the porch like a caged lioness. "I can't believe it! What a tool!" I did not say much more, she appeared to have enough trouble processing it all; I knew her frustration there. "Do you really think Neal would DO something like that?"
"I don't know what to think," I shrugged, "it sure doesn't seem like something he would do."
"Shit," she breathed, "If I were you, I'd be pissed if he did that."
"Huh?" I perked up, "Why?"
"Well, I mean," she said, quietly, "if I found out my boyfriend was messing around with someone else..." I felt my face flush hotly, too shocked to say anything. I never even considered that a possibility, and I had no idea why the very thought made me feel so angry. "... especially if it was like, an older person...", Lizzie continued.
"Stop Lizzie!" I shouted, "That's not what happened!"
"Okay!" she put up her hands defensively, "I'm just saying, you're taking this better than I would have, is all."
Was I fuming? I wasn't sure. The noisy thoughts in my head, along with my churning stomach and clenching fists, sure felt like I was angry, but there was something else too.
"My dad thinks there's more to the story," I said, my jaw tight, "and so do I, I think there is stuff we don't know about yet."
"That's probably right," Lizzie said, softly. "Hey, Oliver?" she turned to me and put a gentling hand on my knee, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to get you upset, that was pretty stupid of me to say."
"S'okay Liz," I muttered, "I'm just so... I dunno... mixed up about all this."
"Well hey," she said, "whatever is going on, you know that I got you guys' back, right?" I nodded silently, as she ran her fingers through my hair and tugged on my ear. "I love you two goofballs," she chuckled, "we make quite the triangle, don't we?"
Dad give Neal and his Mom their pick of any of the eight, winterized cabins we had to rent. They chose the one that was set back furthest into the woods, and nearest to our house. It wasn't the largest one of the bunch, but I think it suited them perfectly. Built in more of an alpine A-frame style, it featured tall windows that afforded a view of the entire property, and the lake could be seen glinting through the trees. The position of the cabin made it the longest walk from the lakefront, but that hardly mattered to kids our age.
The minute Neal's mom got the keys, she started making it her own. She seemed to relish the task, eager to throw off her old life and set herself apart from it. Neal's room was smaller than the one he had in his capacious old West Hartford home, but it came with a built in bunk bed, and a generous closet. His mom got the bedroom in the loft.
Terry, she insisted we all call her by her first name, chose not to go back to her maiden name, for Neal's sake, and took a job working for a local lawyer. This turned out to be a fortuitous choice because when Attorney Jonathan Lark heard her story, he took her case pro bono and launched aggressive divorce proceedings. He also pursued assault charges, which Ned was ultimately was convicted of, even though he didn't serve any time. As unfair as that was, at least the conviction helped serve as grounds for divorce.
Thanksgiving was always a fairly big thing with my family. Our Lodge was the biggest gathering venue in four towns adjoined by the lake, and many of the winter residents didn't have family willing to venture to the north woods of the Adirondacks for a day's celebration. Over the years, it just became a local tradition to celebrate the holiday in the Lodge among friends and family. Whereas Christmas in the Pines was a nearly two week-long event, Thanksgiving was a more sedate few days. Upwards of twenty or thirty guests would arrive the night before, spend the following day helping to prepare the gluttonous feast, and then leave that night or the morning after.
By then, Neal and I had settled into a routine. We rode the bus to school together, shared many of the same classes and were able to play the part of best buds without arousing too much suspicion. Lizzie played it cool and I'm aware of at least two instances where she quelled a nascent rumor about Neal and me. We were looking forward to having Thanksgiving and the day after, off from school, and we spent the afternoons before, helping Dad and Garrett get the Lodge prepared for the incoming guests. There were linens to put out on the beds, food to stock up in the giant walk-in refrigerator, and logs to put in the woodbin next to the giant fireplace.
Our guest list included five boys, who had all requested to bunk together in one of the bunkrooms. Neal and I set up the room with rubberized mattress covers, for obvious reasons, and then made the bunks up with warm, flannel sheets and thick comforters. We made them all on upper bunks, because young boys always seemed to want to be in those. If one decided they wanted to be on a lower one, it wouldn't be very much trouble to move the bedclothes. Once finished, we both attended to our bunks and then sat down together on mine.
"Oliver?" Neal asked, quietly.
"Yeah?"
"How come you, uh," he faltered, "how come you never asked me what happened?"
"I dunno," I shrugged, "I figured you'd tell me when you were good and ready." Neal looked down at his feet, twisting this hands in his lap. He seemed uncharacteristically anxious.
"Uhm," he started, "so this thing with the school..." Neal dug at the floor with the toe of this shoe. "I was having a little trouble with my math homework, and so I asked Mr. Estes if he could help me out, you know?"
"Is that the teacher you punched?" I ventured.
"Well, I didn't really get to punching him, just sorta tackled him when I jumped over the desk."
"Jesus," I hissed, "holy cow!"
"I wanted to punch him, I was gonna," he said, clenching his fists in his lap, "I would've if they hadn't pulled me off of him."
"Why?" I asked.
"Well," Neal said, calming down some, "he told me I could attend his afternoon office hours where he had students come in for extra help. The first time I went, there was these two other boys in there, and he helped us all in turn. He was so nice and helped me out with a bunch of stuff and I got all my homework done even before going off to sports and dinner."
"So he was like, tutoring you?" I said.
"Yeah, exactly," Neal nodded, "he said I did real good, and that I was a great student; he really made me feel nice."
"Okay, but then what happened?"
"The next day, none of the other kids were there, it was just him and me, working some math problems. I was really struggling with this one thing, and I was getting upset. He told me to stop, put down the pencil, and shut my eyes. I did that, and then he started to massage my neck."
"Oh wow," I said, "I know how you like that."
"I know, right?" Neal agreed, "I was really tense and when he started to do that, I just felt all that tension start to leave my body. At one point, he cupped my jaw in his hand and pressed against the base of my neck in the back and gave it a little snap."
"Really?" I blinked at him, amazed.
"Yeah," Neal breathed, "it was the most amazing thing, I just felt all weak and relaxed like. After that, we tackled the problem again and I was able to work it through!"
"Wow," I whistled, "that's kinda cool."
"Yeah," he agreed. "So, the next few times in his office, he's doing the neck rubs and head scratches, kinda like my dad used to do for me, you know, before he started drinking."
"He was doing that for you?" I asked, feeling kind of jealous, "I do that for you too."
"Nobody does it better than you, Oliver," Neal grinned. "So yeah, and I didn't mind because it felt nice and I was doing really good in his class." He shifted on the bunk, pulling a leg under him, I couldn't help but let my eyes drift to his crotch, the denim of his jeans bunched up nicely there for me. I returned my gaze to his face, his dazzling eyes were upon me.
"Okay, then what?" I prodded.
"Well, he could see that I was kinda bothered about something, so he starts asking me questions. I let him in on how my parents weren't getting along, dad's drinking, and how he'd slapped mom and I around some."
"How'd he take that?"
"He was real nice to me, Oliver, okay?" Neal sounded a little angry.
"Uhm..." I stuttered, "Okay. What do you mean?"
"He sucked my dick Oliver," he sobbed, "and I let him do it." I sat there in stunned silence for a minute, while Neal sniffled.
"Whoa!" I breathed out slowly. I suddenly stood up, my world felt like it was spinning, that metallic taste was in my mouth again.
"I'm so sorry, Oliver," he moaned miserably, "I should never have let him do that. Are you angry with me?" I was angry alright, but not with Neal.
"Dude," I said, leaning on the bunk over him, "I am not angry with you, but what the fuck?"
"That's not the only thing Oliver," he sobbed. I sat back down next to him and hugged him.
"Did he do something else?" I asked, pulling his head to my chest. Neal nodded silently into me and wept.
"He told me that if I did that," he sniffed through gasping breaths, "If I let him do that to me, I would get a good grade in his class."
"I thought you were getting a good grade already?" I asked, quietly.
"That's the thing," Neal groaned, "I didn't care, he told me he loved me like a son and he liked it if I called him Daddy. He made me feel good and when we did it, I couldn't help it, I jizzed almost every time."
"Really?" I asked, intrigued, "He was that good?"
"It wasn't that," he rolled his eyes, "I guess I just missed how close I am with you, and my relationship with my own father. It felt like he loved me, I felt loved."
"What went wrong then?" I asked.
"So this one day, we were in his office and I was sitting on his desk with my pants around my ankles, and he's blowing me hard. I just started letting loose in his mouth when the door opens up and some kid just walks in. He pulls off of me and I'm just shooting all over his face."
"Holy shit." I whispered.
"The kid turns all red, and excuses himself, and shuts the door behind him. I'm panicking, and he's all like, not worried. Mr. Estes tells me, `He's one of mine' and tells me not to worry. So we clean up and I go back to the dorm. Two days later, I'm called to the Headmaster's office and there's Mr. Estes looking like he's about to throw up, and my father, looking like he's ready to fucking kill me."
"Shit." I said, alarmed.
"Yes," Neal nodded, "I was scared shitless. Then the Headmaster said to me he was expelling me for sexual misconduct with a teacher."
"So the kid narced?"
"Probably," he said, "I'm not sure, but I was totally floored. Estes wouldn't even look at me. Then my father says something like `tell me exactly what happened'."
"What did they say?" I asked, wide-eyed.
"I couldn't believe it," Neal said, he tears being replaced with anger, "the Headmaster tells my dad that I made `inappropriate sexual advances' toward Mr. Estes, and that if I didn't get a good grade, I would make a false report to the authorities that he had been raped me. Can you believe that shit?"
"Oh my GOD!" I gasped.
"So my dad goes, `Did you rape my son?' and Estes is all like, `Of course not!' and that's when I tried to climb across the table and jump on him, I was SO mad!"
"What happened next?"
"I got pulled off of Estes, there was a lot of shouting and I got tossed into the back seat of the car. Your dad was there, and I guess he helped my dad pack up my stuff. My dad screamed at me the whole way home."
"That is crazy," I muttered. Neal nodded silently in agreement.
"I haven't told mom yet," he sighed, deeply.
"You have to though!" I exclaimed.
"I'm scared to tell her about the stuff he did to me though, she'll think I'm a fag." My God that word was beginning to get on my nerves lately.
"Hey listen," I said, suddenly feeling very smart, "turn it around on him. Tell your mom that you were scared and that he threatened to hurt you. She'll believe you over Mr. Estes and your father."
"She probably would," he agreed, "but I'm still scared."
Neal told his mother that night. I offered to go with him, but he asked me not to, because he felt it was something he needed to face on his own. By the time the guests started arriving at the Lodge, Attorney Lark was taking Neal's statement in his living room, with his very angry mother, sitting and seething next to him.
Thanksgiving day was a welcome relief from all the drama. With all of the five boys arriving the evening before, Neal and I were on duty to sleep with them in the boy's bunk. One of them was a local boy, Oscar Billings, a cheeky fellow, and the oldest at age ten. The four others came in the same convoy of cars that arrived around eight-thirty. After a quick snack of milk and cookies, they were already starting to fade and we had them snuggled in by nine-thirty.
Seamus and Kieran McClellan were two red-heads. Irish twins, their mother called them. They weren't actually twins, but they were eleven months apart and could easily have passed for identical twins. Seamus was the oldest of the pair, at eight, with Kieran being seven for all but one month of the year. This apparently caused Seamus some consternation when his brother "caught up" with him each year, then was soon relieved twenty-seven days later when he leaped forward once more.
The other two brothers, Mark and Bobby Lawrence, were four and six, respectively. Both had lustrous, oakey-brown hair in bowl cuts, and both insisted on shucking their PJs to climb into their bunks as naked as they day they were born. This, naturally, caused some chuckling among the other boys, but nobody seemed shocked or put out by it. I doused the lights, and was almost ready to fall to sleep when a musical, little fart whistled from beneath the covers of one of the McClellan brothers. Peals of little-boy laughter rang out, because farts ARE the most amusing thing ever to a band of little boys. I confess to snorting a little, into my pillow before admonishing them to go to sleep. I looked over to see Neal's eyes glittering in the spare moonlight, a big grin on his face.
Mom and Dad had Neal and I entertained the boys while the big meal was underway. Even as we were eating breakfast, the turkeys were already roasting in the big Vulcan ovens, along with various delicacies being prepared like pearl onions in a cream sauce, yams and marshmallows, green bean casserole, turnips and squash, a huge repast.
We took the boys down to the docks where we watched minnows dart around in the cold water. There were no frogs to be found, but one of the boys did manage to bang some dried up cattails together and shower himself with a flight of seeds. After that, it was a free for all, as they bashed the cattails, making clouds of seeds float off over the lake and into the sunshine. That was fun, but it made for an interesting time, trying to clean off the seeds that clung to our clothing. I snuck into my house and borrowed my Dad's lint brush and managed to get the boys mostly cleaned up before going inside to eat.
Even as we started up the path from the lake, we heard Dad ringing the big dinner bell, starting a mad dash from all of us. By the time we all reached the porch, we were all winded, I had a stitch in my side that bent me over a little bit as I sucked in air. Neal sounded more than a bit wheezy, making me sort of concerned for him, but he waved me off. Neal's mom walked out and pulled a puffer from her apron and discretely gave it to Neal. He shook the inhaler vigorously and took a deep lungful of the medication, which seemed to help a lot. Terry took the inhaler back, giving Neal a quick pat on the back, and disappeared back inside. We followed her in.
A huge fire roared in the fireplace, which made the room delightfully warm, especially after playing in the cold air. Neal, me, and all of the boys, sat on the hearth and warmed our backs as the adults started laying out the food on the tables. Of course, we were relegated to the "children's table", but we didn't mind. Parents came over and made sure the boys were seated properly, napkins in their laps (or stuffed into their collars like a bib), and warned to mind their manners. As we bowed our heads, one of the town elders stood and gave a long, rambling grace. Even though most of the turkeys had been already carved, my father sat at the head of the grown-up's table and ceremoniously carved the biggest bird of the batch as we all started passing plates and taking food.
"Hey, Oliver?" Neal asked as he spooned some stuffing onto a plate for one of the boys, "Where's Lizzie-B?"
"Her family goes to her grandmother's near Lake George," I answered, doling out some gravy to several of the kids. Neal nodded his understanding, as we made sure the boys were all served. Luckily for me, most of the boys turned their pert little noses up to many of the seasonal delights, sticking mostly with the turkey, stuffing and mashed potatoes. That left plenty of pearl onions, yams, green bean casserole and turnips for me. Neal ventured to try them too, and did pretty well.
"Ugh, I don't like the turnips though," he grimaced comically, sticking out his tongue and shivering, making the other boys giggle and snort.
As if we weren't stuffed enough, after dinner was cleared, the women paraded around with a train of apple, pumpkin and pecan pies, and set them down on the table. A bowl of vanilla ice-cream was provided for those of us inclined to a la mode (and who wasn't?) to enjoy with our pie. By the time we were done, I was so full, I seriously hated myself. Neal looked to be in a similar state, his normally flat belly looked pudgy and he moved a tad more slowly. Luckily, the prodigious meal had a similar sedative effect on the children, who all took up positions on cushions in front of the fire.
Oscar, who had no real interest in any of the other boys, threw himself across one of the bigger cushions, to read a superhero comic book. Seamus and Kieran contented themselves with selected volumes from the bookshelf full of tattered Nancy Drew and Hardy Boys mysteries. Mark and Bobby found the box of wooden trains and tracks, setting up the figure-eight track and dragging the little, wooden engine around. Neal and I sat our bloated selves on a nearby sofa to watch the boys play. The warmth of the fire and the fullness of my belly, conspired to draw me into drowsiness.
"Hey," Neal was shaking my shoulder, "Oliver, you're drooling on me." I sat up, blinking.
"Oh, sorry," I said, sheepishly, looking at the wet spot on his shirt, near his collarbone. Neal smirked at me, and I couldn't help but smirk back. I looked over at the table where the adults were now set up in groups, laughing, smoking and playing cards. I noticed some of the adults had retired already, and as I scanned the boys, I saw that both Mark and Bobby had sort of just sprawled out on the ground to fall asleep among their little wooden village. I glanced over to Neal, who nodded in agreement.
Standing up, I walked over and picked up Mark and gently slung him over my shoulder. He sleepily hugged against me as I hoisted him my hands under his butt. Neal did the same with Bobby. Seamus and Kieran saw us taking the younger boys up, and decided to follow. Oscar looked over his shoulder at us, and went back to reading his comic book. The McClellans scampered up the stairs ahead of us as Neal and I slowly climbed with our dead-weight Lawrence brothers. Mark snuggle into my neck and hugged me closer, and I could feel that his little pecker was hard against me. I'm sure he wasn't aware of it, it was just one of those things.
Once in the room, the McClellans both stripped down to their undies and dived under the covers. I stood Mark on his feet and pulled his shirt off over his head. He put a sleepy hand on my shoulder as I helped him to step out of his shoes, and then out of his pants and briefs. As I did this, I leaned over, and felt his little engorged penis poke me in the cheek and brushing past my face. He seemed to give a little shiver when this happened, but the contact was brief as I lifted each leg in turn, out of the pants gathered around his ankles.
"Anybody need to go to the bathroom?" Neal asked. No surprise, it turned out they all needed to go. The McClellans both jumped from their bunks, and lead the way as both Neal and I took Mark and Bobby by the hand to the bathroom. Neither Mark nor Bobby were quite tall enough to use the urinals, so Neal and I took them each into a stall. I heard Bobby start to pee almost immediately in the next stall over, but Mark's little wiener was still pointing skyward. He just stood there in his near stupor, not doing anything.
"You gonna go Mark?"
"Can't" he said, slowly swaying, his little weenie bobbing in the chilly bathroom air. I had him lean over the bowl and rest his arms on the tank, which aimed his tumescent dick correctly toward the water, and flushed the toilet. The sound of the water trickling back into the tank seemed to do the trick, as a dribble of urine started flowing, shortly followed by a full force stream. When he was done, I dabbed him with a square of toilet tissue. Poor Mark was so tired, I picked him up and carried him back to bed.
Mark had to climb up into the bunk, but needed me to give him a boost. He was probably completely asleep by the time his head hit the pillow. I covered him up with his comforter and gave him a pat on the butt. Turning around, I saw Neal doing much the same with Bobby, who closed his eyes immediately and fell directly to sleep. Looking over to the McClellans, they were both looking back at us, their bright eyes sparkling in the light from the bare bulb in the ceiling.
"Alright you two," Neal admonished, "You can go to sleep now."
"But we ain't tired yet!" Seamus declared.
"Yeah!" young master Kieran agreed.
"Want me to read you a story?" I asked, then greeted with nods all around. I pulled out a bin from under my bunk that I kept stocked with some children's books, and picked out "Winnie the Pooh". As I read to them, Oscar meandered in and quietly shucked his clothes.
"Hey Os," Neal said to him, quietly.
"Ho," Oscar acknowledged amiably, standing there stark naked.
"Hitting the hay?"
"Yeah," he nodded, yawning and stretching his arms over his head. I looked up from my book as he did this, impressed at his hairless frame. For ten years old, Oscar was tall for his age. His shoulders hadn't broadened out much, but his narrow waist and legs showed the makings of an athlete. Oscar was a fixture in the local Little League as a good runner and outfield man, which seemed to be sculpting his body for him quite nicely. He climbed up into his bunk, giving everyone a view of his white butt before he scrambled under the comforter. I finished the story, mostly to the sound of gently snoring little boys.
Oscar was still awake when I turned off the lights. Neal, for his part, had climbed into his bunk during the story and was sound asleep himself. I wanted to kiss his forehead, but since Oscar was still awake and following me with his eyes, I elected to not. Instead, I walked over to Oscar, tousled his hair and bid him good night.
"Why didn't you give him a kiss, Oliver?" Oscar asked mischievously.
"Cuz I'm saving my kisses for your mother," I said, dryly. Oscar giggled and smiled.
"Ouch!" he grinned, "You got me on that one."
"Just kidding Os," I said, tweaking his nose.
"Me too," he smiled.
I gave his hair one last shake, smiled at him and got into my bed. I fell to sleep fairly quickly and it seemed like the night went quickly. I dreamed about Neal and I on the rock at the Indian Cave; I was laying on my back with my hands interlaced behind my head as Neal gently stroked my penis, making the head pop in and out of the foreskin. He smiled and touched me so lightly, it wasn't long before I was prepared to blow off a huge load. As often happened to me with such dreams, I started to wake up just as I reached my peak. I felt my semen burst from my dick, arch through the air and land on my chest in thick, gooey ropes. When I opened my eyes, I looked down my belly, glittering with drops of semen, to see Oscar standing next to my bed, with a huge grin on his face. It was his hand on my penis.