Date: Sun, 25 Sep 2011 16:48:08 +0100
From: Mr Skinny <mr.skinny@hotmail.co.uk>
Subject: Geeks Get Hot  -  10-Abby

Disclaimer:

The following piece of fiction contains explicit descriptions of sexual
acts between consenting adult males aged over the age of 18. Please do not
read further if the subject matter might offend you. If you are aged under
18 (or 21 if that is the law in your state or country) please leave this
site without reading further.


Patronising things you should read:

Fictional characters cannot get hurt and do not feel pain. Real people can
and do. Actions have consequences, and the author does not in any way
condone suicide, self-harm, self-mutilation, or any form of self-abuse as a
coping mechanism.


Extra Note from Author:

Sorry it has taken so long for the story to continue. Other commitments
just kept getting in the way, and progress on further writing has been
slow. Thank you for being patient and I hope the wait is worth it.


Note from Author:

This part of the story is told by Abby, who is Brad's cousin.  Brad's
version of this chapter will be available soon!  To read chapters from the
point of view of other characters, go back to the main `Geeks Get Hot'
folder.


Geeks Get Hot  (part 10) - Abby

It's often said that family parties will end in an argument, but in our
family's case that had never applied until now. And I could hardly believe
it was happening, or who was instigating it!

It had been a really happy and relaxed occasion up to now too. I always
enjoyed Thanksgiving in general, mainly because I typically spent it not
just with my mom and dad, but also with other close relatives, and I enjoy
having lots of people around me, always have done. This year was no
exception, although the celebration would be a little smaller than some
years - just me and my mom and dad, and my cousin Brad and his mom and dad
(my aunt and uncle).

Because Brad was now living in the same city as me (though, of course, he
was living in his college dorm) my aunt and uncle had offered to give me a
ride back with them, as they were both driving out to pick Brad up. Quite
why *both* of them had to come to do this I still haven't figured out. I'm
sure they meant well, and it was just another example of them caring for
him a little too much.

That car ride back to their house which was where we were all having the
party this year, was one of the most awkward journeys I've ever had. Brad
was being pretty much interrogated about every detail of his life at
college so far by his parents, and I just sat there in silence watching his
cheeks burn up and the frustration in his face as they pried and poked
their noses into his private affairs, not willing to accept that there were
some things and experiences that he wanted to keep to himself. In the end,
the poor guy pretended he'd fallen asleep just to avoid any more of their
questions. I could tell he was only pretending, because sitting in the back
seat alongside him, I could see his eyelids occasionally flickering, and
his left eye sometimes cracking open a notch to check how close we were to
home.

We'd finally arrived, and then after getting my things arranged in the
bedroom I'd been shown to, I gave my aunt a hand in the kitchen with
planning the food for us all, while Brad vanished up to his bedroom for the
rest of the day.

Thanksgiving itself had been a really fun day, the usual food-filled
affair, followed by games of charades and monopoly, more food, and finally
talking and drinking late into the evening. Brad had seemed to enjoy
himself as well, and my aunt and uncle had even turned a blind eye to him
drinking two whole bottles of beer, though had stopped him pretty quickly
when he'd tried to help himself to a third.

For all my aunt's faults, she could certainly cook well, and we had all
enjoyed eating all the food she had prepared. There was plenty left for the
next day too, nearly a quarter of the turkey which we cut into slices to
have with bread and salad, and half of a delicious pumpkin pie. Brad had
had an appointment with his counselor, and with him safely out of the
house, the adults had finally gotten around to asking me what they had
obviously been dying to ask since we'd arrived.

"So Abby," my aunt had said. "How do you really think Brad is coping with
college? You can be honest now, you know he's out seeing his shrink and
isn't going to walk in on us talking. Do you really think he's coping ok?"

"Sure," I'd said, indignant on Brad's behalf at their lack of belief in
him. "He's already told you how much he's enjoying college life."

"Yes, but, Abby, you know how he is with keeping his real feelings bottled
up. You know what he tried to do. I really don't want him to get so unhappy
he tries that again. I don't think I could cope with that."

"Relax," I'd said. "You can see just by looking at him how well he is
coping. He looks healthier and happier than I've seen him for a long time,
and he seems a lot more confident with his posture and how he talks to
you. I'd hand on heart say college is suiting him just fine. You shouldn't
worry so much about him you know. He is an adult now. He's nineteen, not
nine!"

"I know he's 19 Abby," my aunt said sharply. "But he's still my little
boy. And I can't forget what he tried to do. Even now I still have
nightmares about it, about finding him like that, and about what might have
happened. Your uncle and I have to be sure that he's coping. You can't
understand properly, you don't have a child of your own, but we worry so
much. You know he hardly ever calls us anymore. We're lucky to get a
phonecall once a week now. And I am sure he doesn't tell us everything
about what is happening to him. I can sense there is something happening at
college that he doesn't want us to know about."

I bit back what I really wanted to say about them letting Brad have his own
space and the freedom to be a carefree freshman without having to report
back to his parents every five minutes, and ended up saying "well he is
probably too busy studying to call very often. But I'm sure if you check
with other parents a phonecall once a week is still more often than the
average."

"Well, maybe. Oh Abby, I wish he still lived with us, it would be so much
easier to keep a watch on him. Have you ever met his roommate?"

"Who? Anthony?" I asked.

"Yes. Anthony" my aunt said, saying the name as though she had a bad taste
in her mouth.

"No, I've never met him. But Brad seems happy sharing a room with him, and
has always said they get along fine. In fact, from how he's described it,
they seem to have a very good friendship now, considering they have only
known each other since the beginning of the semester. Brad always speaks
very highly of Anthony"

"Yes," my aunt said, "Brad always speaks very highly of Anthony. In fact,
from some of his phonecalls it was as if he worshipped the very ground this
Anthony kid walked on! It was "Anthony this" and "Anthony that"! I can't
help thinking Anthony has too much influence on him. And you know what they
say about English kids, don't you? I don't want Brad being led astray by
him!"

"Now honey," my uncle interjected. "We met him when we picked up Brad don't
forget, and he didn't seem like the kind of kid to lead anybody astray. In
fact, he seemed quite quiet and polite to me."

"Hmph" my aunt snorted. "Well maybe, but don't forget the English let their
kids drink legally when they're 18. That Anthony has probably gotten drunk
more times than all five of us put together. And, yes, he seemed quiet and
polite to us, but when we're not there...No, I can just sense he is a bad
influence on Brad. I wish you had met him before Abby, you'd be able to
tell us what you think of him. We really trust your judgement on these
things."

"What? More than you trust your own son's?!" I said incredulously. "If Brad
says Anthony is a great guy, then that's good enough for me. It should be
for you too. You should be happy for him that he has managed to make such a
good friend that he trusts and gets along with so well. I don't think I
want to talk about Brad anymore now. It feels like you are listening more
to my opinions than what he has told you himself, and I don't think that's
right."

My aunt opened and closed her mouth a few times, reminding me a little of a
goldfish, and then conceded defeat.

"Alright," she said. "But you must promise to tell us if you ever suspect
that Brad is beginning to lose his way at all."

"Yes," I sighed. "I already promised you before that I would keep a watch
on him. But really, so far there is absolutely nothing to worry about. He
is coping fine with everything, and actually, I think if you gave him a
little more space, and leave him to get on with his own life without
interfering, he will get even more independent and adjust even better to
the world."

"We do *not* interfere!" My aunt exclaimed. "It's just...I don't like it
when he doesn't tell us things. Him having secrets from us before about
what was happening at high school is what led to him...you know what, in
the first place! And he *is* keeping *something* from us. There is
definitely something he isn't telling us. And I don't like not knowing
what!"

"Abby's right," my dad said. "You can't control every second of his
life. I'm sure Brad was just as scared about what happened before as you
are, and he will come to you, or to Abby, if he has a problem or feels as
if he can't cope with things. For all you know, this *secret* that you
think he's keeping from you might be something completely innocent. Maybe
he's met a girl he likes, or has started dating, or something totally
normal like that. That's exactly the sort of thing a 19 year old guy might
want to keep secret from him parents"

"What?! Brad? Dating?!" My aunt sounded excited. "Did he ever mention
anything about that to you Abby?!"

"Well, no, but even if he had, that would be his business," I said. "Now
can we change the subject please?!"  And we did, but my aunt was now
obviously fixated with the thought of her precious Brad possibly having
started dating and having a secret girlfriend hidden away at college.

A while later, we heard the door slam and the sound of male teenage feet
pounding up the stairs. I also thought I heard the faint sound of
humming. Evidently Brad was back from seeing his counselor and seemed in a
good mood.

My aunt had just gone out to the kitchen to begin fixing us something else
to eat, and she stuck her head round the door.

"There he is," my aunt said. "Should we ask him now about whether or not he
has started dating?"

I groaned to myself and bit back my retort.

"I am sure he will tell you in his own time if he is," my dad said, trying
to make her see sense. "After all, it was only a possibility I suggested as
to why you think he might be hiding something from you."

My aunt looked a little crestfallen and went back out to the kitchen to
resume her cooking. Soon we were all sitting down at the table to eat big
steaming bowlfuls of turkey stew. Brad was last to arrive. One look at him
and I could tell I had either been completely mistaken about hearing him
humming happily to himself when he arrived back home, or his good mood
hadn't lasted. Unfortunately, my aunt was not as good at reading body
language and launched into an interrogation about how his counseling
session had gone.

Brad mumbled some monosyllabic grunts in answer to her questions, and then
she dropped her bombshell.

"So, Brad we haven't gotten round to asking you about your love life
yet. So are you dating anyone at college at the moment?"

"No, I'm not!" He sighed.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes!" he snapped, "I just told you! Enough with the questions already!"

"Are you sure you don't have your eye on some nice pretty little girl in
your math class?"

"I JUST SAID! NO!!! I'M NOT DATING!!!"

I was shocked that Brad had shouted. And for somebody that spoke so quietly
most of the time he sure could shout loudly!

"Alright honey, no need to shout, I understand. You haven't got a
girlfriend and you're not dating. Yet." My aunt (who did not seem to
understand at all) just could not read the signs, and carried on regardless
of the glowering look her dark-haired bespectacled son was giving her. "But
there must be some pretty girl you've seen in one of your classes or
perhaps in the library, or the cafeteria, or the college bookstore that
you'd like to ask out..."

Brad threw his spoon down onto the table and stood up, his chair scraping
noisily along the floor behind him as he did so.

"NO!!! THERE'S NO GIRL I HAVE A CRUSH ON, I DON'T HAVE A GIRLFRIEND, I'M
NOT DATING, AND I'M NOT GETTING LAID!!! NOW JUST STOP FUCKING ASKING ME
ABOUT IT!!!"

He stormed away from the table and out of the room, slamming the door
behind him and leaving us all wide-eyed and silent in shock from his
outburst. We heard his footsteps stamping up the stairs toward his bedroom
and then another doorslam so loud I looked up at the ceiling above me to
check it hadn't cracked.  My uncle recovered first and got up from his
chair, a look of fury on his face, opening the door and standing in the
open doorway to yell up the stairs at Brad. I realized then who Brad had
inherited the volume of his shout from.

"BRADLEY NICHOLAS GRIFFITHS!!! HOW DARE YOU SWEAR AT YOUR MOTHER LIKE THAT!
NOW YOU COME BACK DOWN HERE AND APOLOGIZE RIGHT THIS INSTANT!"

"FUCK OFF!!!" came the loud but muffled reply from upstairs. Actually, it
sounded to me as though the words were being screamed through an
uncontrollable cascade of tears.  None of the other adults seemed to pick
that up though.  My mom and aunt gasped at the swearword, as if it was the
first time they'd ever heard it. What century were they living in?

My uncle came back into the room, the anger gone from his face to be
replaced by nervous uncertainty.

"Um, what do I do now?" he asked us.

"I don't know honey," my aunt said, her voice trembling a little. "He's
never reacted anything like that before."

They had to be kidding me! Surely this wasn't the first time Brad had
rebelled in this way. Jeez, I was always flouncing off up to my room in an
argument when I was a teenager living at home. I'd hated to have seen my
aunt and uncle have to deal with a real rebellious child. They'd never have
coped.

"Maybe after he's had a minute or two to calm down, I could go up and try
to talk to him," I offered. "There must be something on his mind to make
him react like that, and I expect he would be more willing to talk to me
than anyone else."

"Oh would you Abby?" My aunt asked, desperation in her voice.

"Of course," I said, although I wasn't intending necessarily to question
him about anything (I got the feeling he had had enough of questions for
one day), just to be there in case he needed a hug from somebody, because
my gut instinct told me he might do.

I slowly climbed the stairs and stood outside the closed door to Brad's
bedroom, hesitating, not sure how he would react to me. I knocked softly as
I pushed the door open.

"Brad, may I come in?"

Brad was lying on his bed, curled up in a fetal position. His breaths
sounded like little hiccupping sobs, as if he were just finishing crying,
but not quite succeeding in managing to stop completely. He raised his head
and turned to look at me, his eyes behind his glasses red and puffy from
crying, and his cheeks shining wet with tears.

"They're mad at me, aren't they?" He managed to force out between his
little sobs, his voice sounding very high and small.

I crossed the room and sat down on the foot of his bed, resting my hand
gently on the side of his body.

"Brad, who cares if they are?!" I said. "Your parents, your mom especially,
need to adjust to you becoming an independent adult. And if that means you
answering them back and shouting a few times, it can't do them any
harm. I'm more worried that something is bothering you so much that you
ended up losing your temper so quickly in the first place. It's not like
you at all - I don't think I've heard you shout like that since...well,
actually, I don't think I've ever heard you shout like that. You know you
can tell me if you have something on your mind. I know I'm not your
counselor, but if there is something wrong, maybe I could help you. I
promise not to ever tell your mom or dad if you don't want me to."

Brad sniffed a few times and wiped his cheeks with his hand.

"Well, I...I...I'm..."

Fresh tears filled his eyes, and he stopped talking, his sobbing
restarted. I patted his shoulder a little awkwardly, and wondered whether
or not to put my arms around him to comfort him, remembering he didn't like
being hugged.

"Brad, whatever it is, you can tell me." I tried to remember what topic
we'd been talking about when he'd lost his temper. Oh yes, his mom had been
pretty much demanding to know whether he was dating or crushing on anybody.
It seemed a weird thing to get upset over, but then Brad never had been the
most normal of people.

Brad was wiping his face again now, taking his glasses off and holding them
in one hand so as to clear the remnants of tears from his eyes. He replaced
his glasses on his nose and looked at me. Then he looked down at his
pillow. Then he looked up at me again. When he spoke, his voice was quiet
and small again, and his words juddered every now and again, reminding me
that his sobbing was barely finished.

"It's just...I just got some news and it put me in a bad mood. That's
all. Yes, that's right. I was in a bad mood, and...and then all those
questions...all th-th-those f-f-fucking questions...I just snapped. I don't
really understand it, and I can't explain it. I've been s-s-so happy these
last few weeks at college, but now coming back h-h-here...Suddenly I don't
feel happy anymore. It affects me...being here...in this house...in this
room...I hate it here, Abby. I only just realized it, but I do. This room
used to be the only place I felt safe. Now it's just full of bad memories,
a reminder of how my life used to be before college. I was so looking
forward to seeing Mom and Dad after all these weeks away from them. And I
love them both so much, but they are always on my case and worrying about
me, wanting to know everything that's happening. I just can't wait to leave
and go back to college again. I'm so much happier there...If I was still
there I wouldn't have gotten this upset over such a small thing, but here,
the smallest thing affects me so much...and I can't help it it's this room,
this FUCKING ROOM! ..."

I just sat and let him talk, not really understanding half of what he was
saying, but sensing he just needed to get everything out of his system, and
vent his frustrations with his parents, his room, and his life in general.
I couldn't see what was wrong with his room myself, (although the color
scheme wouldn't have been my own first choice). It looked perfectly
adequate for a boy of his age - plenty of shelves and desk space, a closet
for all his clothes, space on the walls for posters (not that there were
any hanging up). I gazed around, and my eyes alighted on a pattern drawn on
the wall right next to his bed, just to the left hand side of his
pillow. Actually, it wasn't a pattern as such, but a neat collection of
tally marks inked in red on his cream colored wall. I counted and there
were 12 altogether.

"What's with the check marks Brad?" I asked him curiously. "Not a record of
your conquests is it?!"

He turned and looked at them, as if seeing them for the first time.

"No, no," he said. "At the rate I'm going, I'll be lucky to sleep with
twelve people in my entire lifetime! No, that's just something I did
to...oh you wouldn't understand."

"Try me" I said patiently.

"Well," he said, a little embarrassedly, "there's one mark for every day in
high school since I was a sophomore that I made it through without crying."

"Oh," I said, a little puzzled. But then the reality of what he'd said hit
me. Twelve *days*. Twelve days in three *years* of high school that he'd
been happy...no, not even that he'd been happy, just that he'd made it
through without crying. Fuck! Twelve *days* in three *years*...

"Oh Brad," I said, resting my arm on his shoulder again, wanting to comfort
him, and understanding now a bit better why he might have wanted to do what
he did. He must have been so unhappy.

My head was a mass of whirling thoughts and I looked away from Brad and
down at my feet as my mind struggled to process them. My feet were resting
on his dark green carpet. My eyes shifted left. That was weird, the carpet
didn't seem as dark just there. In fact, there was a whole big round patch
of carpet right next to Brad's bed that was faded to a much lighter green
than the rest of the carpet in the room. I hadn't noticed from the doorway
- you couldn't really see it until you were near it, or lying on the bed,
but then it was really obvious.

I wondered what might have caused it. And then it hit me.

"Brad," I said, pointing down at the floor, "is that where..."

"Yes," he said, following my finger with his eyes. "They sponged the sick
out and washed the carpet to get rid of the smell, but the soap they used
bleached some of the color away. So I got me a permanent reminder of my
little um...episode." He tried to make light of the situation, but my brain
was already working, trying and failing to comprehend what it must feel
like trying to fall asleep staring right at the faded place on the carpet
where you'd puked after swallowing a whole jar of pills.

"Why didn't you just move your bed on top to cover it?" I asked getting
up. "Look, let's do it now, you and me together."

I went to move his bed, but then realized it wouldn't move. It was screwed
to the wall or the bedroom furniture to the side of it, a permanent
fixture.  I sat back down again. Suddenly, my mind was filled with thoughts
of anger. Anger at my aunt and uncle for not altering his bedroom, at
allowing the bad memories of his high school years to remain. No wonder he
was a little unhinged, coming back from college life and all the freedom,
and fun he was having, and the chance to be "normal" for the first time in
ages, to sleep in a room filled with such terrible reminders of all the
fear and sadness he'd had to go through.

I suddenly went into supportive cousin mode.

"Right well how about I speak to your mom and dad and tell them you are
unhappy with your room as it is, and maybe I can persuade them to let you
redecorate it. That way all the bad memories will be painted over, and you
will get a new carpet so you won't be constantly reminded about what you
did. Hey, if they agree, it could be your Christmas present from
everybody. How about that?"

He looked up at me, the glimmer of a smile in his tear-covered face, and I
was struck by how simple a thing could make such a difference to him.

"Would you really do that for me Abby?"

"Sure I would. I love you Brad, don't you ever forget that. All of us
do. Even your mom and dad. Their over-protectiveness is just a bad way of
them showing it. Speaking of which, you probably ought to go apologize to
them for swearing."

He blushed.

"Oh crap. I forgot I did that."

"It's okay - I figure they've heard the word `fuck' before. Just maybe not
from your sweet angelic lips, until now! Hey you'd better go wash your face
first though."

He bounced off of his bed, his mood drastically improved at the thought of
having his bedroom made over, and after giving me a quick kiss on the
cheek, and a shy, mumbled "thanks Abby, you're the best", he headed out the
door to wash the tears off his face.

I straightened up the comforter where he'd been lying, and heard a
crinkling sound under the sheets as I did so. Intrigued, I pulled back the
comforter to see what had made the noise, and found myself looking at a
magazine turned facedown, a busy advertisement for cellphone ringtones
staring at me. There was also some evidence on the sheets that Brad had
enjoyed some solo fun in his bed since arriving home the day before, and I
half-smiled to myself, feeling glad that despite everything he'd been
through, Brad was still a horny, red-blooded teen guy, completely normal to
his peers in that respect.  I wondered how my aunt coped with the stains
that confirmed her darling baby had grown old enough to have very adult
sexual urges, and snickered to myself at the face she must pull when
sorting the laundry.

I flipped over the magazine, fully expecting to see a half-naked
big-breasted porn star pouting suggestively at me on the cover, but to my
surprise, there was a black and white male model showing off his six pack,
with the caption "five steps to keep your summer body" emblazoned beneath
him.

My cousin had a copy of a men's exercise magazine in his bed.

Well, he had bulked up a *little*, you could tell that he wasn't quite as
scrawny as he had been when he first arrived at college. I cautiously
opened the magazine and turned the pages, noticing as I did so that a
couple of them were a little wrinkled and stiff, and one, opposite a
full-page advertisement for Calvin Klein boxers had a very strange colored
tinge to it.

What did this mean...?

I turned to the center page, and two thin pieces of glossy paper fell out,
pages that had been torn out of other magazines. My eyes opened wide, as I
saw the English actors Robert Pattinson from the Twilight movies on one
page, and the Harry Potter star Daniel Radcliffe on the other, both wearing
very little, and both pages blighted with a dried substance I was certain
had nothing to do with vampires or wizards.

Oh. My. God.

The penny dropped, as I realized my cousin... Well, that explained an awful
lot. An awful lot of things from when he was a little kid suddenly all came
clear. It would also explain why he got so uptight when his mom was
questioning him over which *girls* he was crushing on.  I wondered if I was
the first person to know. The first person to find out that he was gay.

I heard his footsteps in the corridor outside and quickly replaced the
magazine and pictures back beneath his comforter. Now probably was not the
best time to tell him I had stumbled across his secret. He was in a fragile
enough state as it was.

I couldn't help but look at him afresh, with new eyes, as he entered the
room and stood in the doorway. I would never have guessed. There really
must be a lot going on in that head of his if he was keeping this bottled
up and hidden from everybody.

I found myself walking over and putting my arms around him, hugging him
tightly, not caring if he felt awkward or tense about it.

"What was that for?" he asked, after I'd released him.

"Oh, just...like I said before, I love you. And I do. And I always will. No
matter what. You can trust me Brad. I'd like to think you could tell me
anything. Anything at all that was bothering you or worrying you. And if
you ever were to tell me something that you were afraid I would judge you
for, I can promise you I wouldn't and I would still love you afterwards
just as much."

I had opened up every conversational avenue I could think of to make it
possible for him to tell me if he wanted to, and for one moment, I thought
he actually might be going to. His cheeks were red and he seemed to open
his mouth ready to say something, but then he closed his mouth again and
smiled sadly at me.

"I know Abby. And thanks. That means a lot to me."

He seemed a little tearful again all of a sudden, and I forced myself not
to prompt him, or prod him further.

"Abby,"

"Yes"

This could be it. This could be the moment my cousin comes out to somebody
for the first time. I readied my face for a look of sympathetic
understanding.

"Would you tell them that I'm sorry for shouting and that I'll come down in
a little while. I need some time to myself for a bit."

"Sure Brad. Was that it?"

"What?"

"Was that all you wanted to tell me. Nothing else? Nothing you want to get
off your chest? Nothing at all I could help you with?"

We stood in silence for a long while, but eventually he shook his head and
went into his room, closing the door softly behind him. I stood in front of
the closed door for a couple minutes, a little sad that he hadn't felt
ready to tell me yet.

Never mind. I was sure he would come out in his own time. And if he needed
support from me, I'd be there.