Date: Fri, 27 Nov 2009 23:24:14 -0500 From: Jade Subject: Gay/Highschool : In the Shadows of Our Lives - On Broken Wings 16 This story is a work of fiction. Any resemblances to any person, place, or written works are purely coincidental. It may contain consensual sex between young men. Do not read if you find that objectionable or if it is illegal for you to view this content for whatever the reason. Copyright 2009 Jade. All Rights Reserved. Do not post, copy, or use this story in any manner without my permission. Comments? Questions? Suggestions? I'd love to hear your thoughts, please drop me a line at : phantomscorpio77@gmail.com. >>).:.(<< In the Shadows of Our Lives Part 1 - On Broken Wings XVI ~ The Big Easy ~ As we pull into the driveway of Tim's house his younger brothers are beating each other up in the front yard. Seeing us, Tim gets up from where he is seated on the porch, reading a book. Casting us a wave he breaks up the wrestling match by picking up Will, the younger of the two, off of Sam and setting him on his feet. "Welcome to the Bayou," Tim enthuses as he slaps me with the back of his hand on my chest as always. "Man, that's a crappy drive," I complain. "Tell me about it! That's why I haven't bothered to visit this summer, what with moving back and all," He relates. Reaching out to Larry's extended hand and looking at Ma he offers, "Welcome Ms. Farrows, welcome Sir." Ma rolls her eyes and then cranes her neck towards me, "Charlene will do, I won't have you calling me Ms. Farrows all year, Tim. Even if we've hardly met. So how's your summer been? Jon here has had the most exciting summer of his life and he's been so keen on you coming back to Houston." Huh? My mom just became a Stepford wife? She never talks like that to my friends. Oh wait, yeah, that's because I purposely avoid having people over! She usually never talks to many of my friends period. And just how have I had the most exciting summer of my life? And Larry didn't comment on what to call him. Ah, an even more complicated situation for Tim than me! For me he's Larry at home now because he's dating my mom, and Mr. Maynes at school. For Tim what is appropriate? Sir for both scenarios works I guess. My mom comments, "My, you have such a wonderful house in a picturesque neighborhood." Tim shrugs, "Uh thanks. Yeah, my dad's from this side of the city, Greenville. He used to play as a kid in Audubon Park nearby. My mom's from closer to the French Quarter, between the Garden District and Storyville. I've heard all the stories that they can remember when there were no houses here and the city stopped a few miles back towards the Quarter and all that good stuff. Still, to me it's not home." Sam is practically pulling Marie, Tim's mother, through the front door. All the while he is complaining that Will hit him again. The two younger boys get banished to the pool in the backyard. Marie and Ma shake hands like they've belonged to the same church group all their lives or something and introduce themselves. Ma has to get in her bit about `the boys lacking manners to introduce them' as she looks at Tim and I. Tim and I shrug our shoulders at each other, not going unnoticed by our mothers. Larry takes the cue and introduces himself to Tim's mom. Mrs. Matthews sizes Larry up and comments, "Well at least Tim will be kept in line. You have my permission to smack him if he gets smart around the house or give him detention or make him do laps till your heart's content. Boys, they all forget their place sometimes." Tim groans, "Mom you're embarrassing me. And he's the head coach for Varsity football, not baseball. Get your sports straight." "Yes, and he's also your Vice Principal, Tim. And you're embarrassing me, greeting guests barefoot and without so much as a shirt on. Get your manners straight," She counters. Oh yeah, she and Ma are going to hit it off wonderfully. As Mrs. Matthews invites us inside I'd smirk at Tim for his scolding but I'm sure Ma would one up Mrs. Matthews just to show how out of line I am. Instead as the adults disappear inside the house I look to Tim's book, "Whatcha reading?" "Just a summer fluff book," He says, trying to conceal the cover. I twist it so that I can read the title. It's a Star Trek book. Star Trek: New Frontier, book 3 to be precise. I comment, "Kinda gay isn't that?" "Gay you say? Don't go there Cheesedick," Tim warns. O.K. Fine. There I go, foot already firmly planted deep in mouth. Way to go me! I fucking rule at eating feet! I smile and offer, "Whatever. Just saying if you want to read the rest of the series I have them all. They're still kinda gay though." "I've got four. They're like a day's read each, hope they go over, they're pretty good. Like a mutinous TNG crew all with serious attitude and dark and deeply wicked humour. I got them off the guy I billeted with when we went to nationals for little league last year." "I didn't know you went to nationals," I say. "Yeah, we did pretty good. Speaking of which, I didn't get drafted last year, but this guy for the Cubs thinks they are going to take me in the mid rounds of this years' draft if I play well. He's even sending another guy in September to test me and set me up with a customized workout. That guy's from Bowling Green. They want me to play for them after high school, might even give me a half scholarship. Dad's holding out for a full scholarship. There's also a guy from the Milwaukee Brewers who's made contact." I almost want to hug Tim, I'm so happy for him. It obviously shows that I'm happy because Tim playfully puts me in a headlock as I offer my congratulations. Tim turns the headlock into a full nelson and is thrashing me back and forth a bit. He's not grinding, but something of his is sandwiched between his stomach and my butt. He initiated this sexually questionable contact, so I thrust my hips back hard against his and bend forward at the same time causing him to break the hold and fall off balance. The idea was to flip him over me but I only half succeed and he rolls sideways past me on the grass. "Picking up where you left off in the apartment?" Larry's voice freezes both of us firmly in place and he knows it too. He can't suppress a smile. "Don't mind me, just getting the swimsuits for the pool," I can almost hear his inside laughter at us. I swear he smells the fear. It's some special skill they must teach football coaches or something. As he starts digging in the back of the van he adds, "Oh, and your mothers said for you to join us." Larry tosses me my gym bag and my backpack. I opted against Chris's suit case this trip in place of my own bags. I like all the extra pockets to keep things in, and since they're not going on a plane I don't have to worry about them getting squished or mishandled. Tim leads me inside and to his room. His room has very little to suggest that it is his room at all. It will be mostly a guest room and his mom's sewing room he explains pointing to a sewing table and machine, until Sam and Will figure out that they can have separate rooms if one of them claims it. He searches his closet and finds a pair of soccer shorts. I put my bags on the floor and search for something to swim in. I forgot my navy and white Hawaiian Billabong shorts at home but I have a pair of navy and white Quicksilver that will do just as well. I love these shorts because they have a white area that runs up the sides and across the top of the ass, with lime green piping around the lower curve of the white, and a logo planted right on the upper white part of the ass. I'm at a loss to explain why, but navy and white board shorts have always been my pool attire of choice. Now without a pool I normally wear them just as shorts. As I rifle through my bag Tim drops his shorts and boxer briefs and put on green Adidas soccer shorts with the three white stripes around the lower left leg opening. Different colour, but otherwise they're a match for the shorts I used to lend him when I had a pool. I'm wearing a thong that I didn't intend for Tim to see. Ditching my camouflage cargo shorts I husk the thong off in one smooth motion with them and try to dress in my board shorts as quickly as possible. I stumble around a bit and I feel my face flushing. I sure love my tan, it hides most of the reddening. Tim is looking at me strange; like Bandit does when I go to the fridge and take a swig of Soda and don't have food in my hand, as he only equates the fridge with food, and for someone to not walk away from the fridge with food is perplexing to him. Yeah I digress, anyway, I get that very same cocked head/perplexed look from Tim. I snatch the underwear up, ball it up and stuff it in a pocket of the shorts, fold them and put them on top of my bag and then take off my taxi-yellow NYC t-shirt, fold it and put it on top. Then I peel off my white ankle socks and strew them on top of the neatly folded clothes to add juxtaposition. Tim shakes his head at me as he grabs a couple towels from the bathroom closet and leads me out to the pool. Despite my mom having had Deanna almost 10 years before Tim's mom had him, she is only 2 years older than Marie. They are different women for sure, but have a lot in common. Normally Tim and I would be wrestling inside of a few minutes which usually leads to me getting pantsed, but we are cautioned to set the example for Sam and Will. After an hour in the pool and on the deck Mackenzie and Will have teamed up on their middle brother, Sam, and Marie is getting to the breaking point with their splashing and fighting. Tim suggests that we'll take them to the store to get ice cream if they'll just behave. When they start acting up again minutes later Tim grabs some money and our shirts from his room and tells his siblings to get ready to go to the store. I have a thing against wearing my running shoes barefoot, so I grab my ankle socks from on top of my shorts. When I do so I notice the shorts are not folded the same way like I left them, but rather they are sort of bunched up. Curious. We get to a store that is a good half a mile's walk and Tim has had to separate Will and Sam twice. By the time we are at the store they are pleading to get Pokemon cards instead of ice cream, Mackenzie included. Tim relents and his twenty dollars are gone with hardly any change left. Tim doesn't let them open the packs until they get home so that he can enjoy the few minutes of peace he has bought. All three of the kids get their albums and converge at the picnic table in the back yard to see what cards they got and then to trade. In the ensuing peace Marie wants to get started on dinner and Ma is insisting on helping. With Mr. Matthews not home yet Tim suggests we go to a park and toss a ball around. Seeing as though Tim suggested it to Larry and I, I assumed he meant a football. He emerges from his garage with a couple ball gloves and a bat and ball. Ah, this sport again, the one I am fucking hopeless at. Great. At the park Tim bestows upon me his `game glove'. He gives Larry one he tried but didn't like, and he keeps a new one that he says he is slowly working in. Great, I have the pressure of having his good mitt on my shoulders. My hand actually, but on my shoulders all the same. We toss the ball around in a triangle. Larry can throw the ball pretty damn hard as I discover catching from him. I on the other hand can't, and still cannot even manage to throw the ball accurately to Tim sometimes. Naturally this leads into teaching me how to not throw like a girl, again for like the thousandth time in my life. Tim tries to explain at what point to release the ball, how to grip the ball and other techniques. All I get out of it is the knowledge that throwing a ball is a precision I will never master. I get into a bit of a mood. I never had a dad to do this with and it strikes me a bit that Larry is here instead. Nothing against Larry's being here, I just wish I had the chance to have done this with my father and namesake, Jon Farrows Sr. Once Larry leaves to check on dinner Tim comments, "You're throwing like a fag today." It stings that he says this, knowing that I am a fag, and more so because he's never put me down before. Seeing the crushing blow his words are to me he immediately apologizes for the comment. I try to buck up, as they say, but my mood has soured. Before Larry has the chance to return we are on our way back to Tim's house. When we get to Tim's house his father is home. Dinner is still about half an hour off so we go back to the pool. Next door there are two guys roughly our age playing around in a pool also. Tim introduces me to them, Marcus and Nate. The neighboring brothers have the darkest skin of anyone I've ever met, even for African-Americans. In my sheltered life I have managed to discover that my Texan accent is definitely distinguishable, especially when I was in New York. Listening to these guys banter with Tim I realize that despite the closeness of location in the United States to Texas, Louisiana definitely has it's own accent. The brothers invite us to hang later in the night with them. Dinner is buffet style in the backyard as the kitchen doesn't comfortably hold 9 people. Tim and I both get instructed to put our shirts back on for dinner. Tim's mother is a lot more direct than I remember; a little less June Cleaver and a lot more Jill Taylor. You know, the mom from Home Improvement? Tim says that his brothers are going to drive her to the nuthouse, thus she is a lot more commanding with them. Shortly after dinner Ma and Larry take their leave to check in to the hotel they had booked at. I figured I would be staying there too, especially in light of Tim knowing but not knowing about me. Tim however convinces all adults that it makes sense for me to stay with him and will save on the costs of an extra room. I wonder if his parents know about me too, or if he's neglected to bring up the subject of my sexuality? At any rate after Ma and Larry leave we head over to the neighbor's house and chill in their pool. The brothers are 18 and 16, so a year younger or older than us. After visiting with the brothers we go back to his house and played a little baseball on his brothers' play station. Around 10:00 we head to Tim's room. This is when my stomach knots up again. What gives? He sends me an email highlighting that he's heard I have a boyfriend and now I am going to stay in his room? Presumably in his bed? This miffs me and I don't know how to act. I almost just come out and say what I have to say. Almost. Instead I ask, "Do you have a sleeping bag because I didn't bring one, thinking I'd be sleeping at the hotel and all?" After a deliberately drawn out pause he answers, "Nah. Share the bed. It's not like I'm going to wake up with you all over me, right? You always keep to your side until you're asleep. The inner conflict of something totally innocent happening would just about kill ya anyways, I'll bet!" It's like he's reading my mind. I answer with a simple, "Kay." I don't vocalize it, but what I want to add is "but I can't help it if we touch Tim, I won't do anything on purpose, but if we touch? It doesn't mean anything.' I want to say this, and more. However, it means getting into a discussion that might involve me outing myself to him. I don't want to be kicked out tonight and have to figure out how to find the hotel after all, so I just shut up. Tim changes right in front of me, giving me a full 360 in front of his closet and puts on a pair of burgundy Fruit of The Loom boxer briefs. He's direct, "You have something to sleep in beside that butt floss you had on earlier?" "Yeah," I answer as my cheeks flush presumably as dark as his underwear. I turn away and peel off my board shorts, then grab a pair of charcoal CK boxer briefs from my bag and slide them up my legs lightning quick. Tim comments, "Lotsa Calvin's? Man Cheesedick, you only wear the best now huh? You've got a thing for underwear don't ya?" "Aww, you've noticed! You really do care," I nervously shoot back intending to imply he's checked me out. I realize it sounds like more a hopeful question from me even before thinking about what the hell I am actually saying. "Yeah, you're all about the expensive labels now, and kinky gay shit. Are the expensive ones really any better," He asks. This conversation is completely out of left field. I don't think straight guys talk about their underwear to each other. I can't figure out where this conversation is going, especially by suggesting I have a fetish and that the underwear I prefer is `kinky gay shit'. If he thinks my underwear are expensive he'd choke over what Chris spends on his. I answer, "Yeah, they are actually." "Even the butt floss ones?" He pushes. "Um, well yeah, I guess." I say, shrugging my shoulders, "But different." I leave myself open for the inevitable next question; `what are you gay?' Instead he says, "Oh. Well I finally switched to these because boxers ride too freely and bunch up and stuff. But I'm not sure I like the confinement of these. It's a way different feel. Maybe when you borrowed a pair, you'd have probably found that you like boxers. Anyhow, these take a lot of getting used to, but I barely packed when I came home so I when I was at Walmart I figured why not give these a try." "Yeah, I like them all right, boxer briefs that is." I absently agree, desperately hoping that the conversation takes another direction. Borrow a pair of boxers? What, is Tim suggesting that I borrowed a pair of his? Why was there such emphasis on borrowing a pair? The only boxer's I've ever handled other than Chris' are the ones Sam hid in my suitcase. The lights are on. Tim must see how red my cheeks are getting. Fuck, it's a full on body blush by the time he's done speaking as I can see my shoulders and upper chest / lower neck is pink too. I really think he's having fun making me feel uncomfortable, "Your more adventurous than me though. I don't think I could ever wear a thong. Speaking of which, Neil says you're finally protecting your boys at baseball. I doubt you brought your peanut shell along so we could play some ball, huh? Hey, kill the lights if you want so I don't see your uncomfortable situation there, Cheesedick." He even called me out on my somewhat obvious growing erection! I'm not sure I want him around for the whole year if this is how he's going to be. He's changed, and it's into a person I've never seen before. I don't know what else to do or say for fear of breaking out into tears. Why is he being so deliberately mean? I get up and let my hard-on show as I reach for the lights and then turn to the bed. Getting into bed nothing more is said and I pretend to fall asleep. My mind is racing way too fast to actually rest at the moment, but I can sense Tim also awake. Feigning sleep occurs to me a the best option available, plus I've found that sometimes in pretending to be asleep I regulate my breathing and focus enough that I actually nod off for real. I can only hope tonight is one of those times. Despite the air conditioning, the bed is uncomfortable and neither of us pull up the sheet. Tim actually doesn't even have his wife-beater tank top on which he most always sleeps in. Not that I am faced his way, these are just observations from before. In the humid night I try to clear the clutter out of my mind and focus on sleep. Problem being Tim knows just as well as I that I'm not asleep. He whispers, "Hey." To my non-response he calls my name, "Jon." I still don't reply, even after what he next says, "Look I'm sorry if I pissed you off." I really was starting to drift off the next time he speaks, "Sorry. I purposely looked for a nerve. I found it, exposed it, and I rubbed it raw. Sorry." I don't acknowledge him. It's morning already and Tim wakes me by tickling my feet. I wake up and last night is forgotten for the briefest of moments. He sits in a chair and waits for me to wake to my surroundings. Satisfied that I am fully coherent he looks me in the eyes and apologizes, "Sorry for being a dick last night." I nod. I want to say it's O.K. I want to say that it's my fault and my problem anyway. I want to voice that I accept his apology. I hope that he's not going to push me any harder. The best I can manage is the nod of my head. It's enough for him and he cracks a slight smile. Tim informs, "Coach and your mom are here. Sam and Will wanted to jump on the bed to wake you. I told them we'd dunk them in the pool and not let them play all day if they did. They were up to the challenge so I shoved them off and woke you instead. We're gonna go to the boardwalk with Coach and your mom this afternoon. Mom's going to stay home and watch the brats. Dad's off for the rest of the week after today. What else do you wanna do?" "I dunno. Have a shower and get dressed for starters," I answer. "Sure," He says, pointing to a bath towel he's put on top of my stuff. The rest of the day he doesn't make any gay references or force the issue. Nor does he for almost the rest of the week for that matter. The odd time there is a comment that just comes out and we both avoid that it could directly relate to my sexuality. The next day we play a little 3 on 3 baseball with Larry, Tim's dad, and his brothers. That night we all go on a riverboat dinner and get a shrimp and crawfish feast. Thursday we go on a fishing charter and catch some massive Louisiana reds and speckled trout, as well as bass, flounder, and sheephead. That afternoon we take a tour of the marshes by flat bottom boat and see all kinds of interests. We spot a burial ground for `swamp people', alligators, pelicans, herons and lots of ducks. I feel stupid for correcting Tim when he points out a crocodile, but crocodiles are from Australia and alligators are from America. Friday we go to the French Quarter and I get a tame tour of Bourbon St. Tim takes every opportunity to point out all the sex shops and the quite liberal signs that identify all kinds of sexual fetishes that are special to each certain shop. The ones that advertise the most sexual freedom also garner me a nudge in the ribs from his elbow. Jeez, compared to what people do in public here I am quite confident that my sexual hang-ups and experience peg me as normal if not plain old boring! I can live with that. Friday afternoon Ma and Larry leave to get back to Houston. Larry has a team meeting and practice scheduled for Saturday that he wants to be at, to get another look at the players so that he can assess the varsity football and JV teams this year. Saturday morning Tim wants me to play baseball with him and some of the guys he's met in the neighborhood. He suggests that to play I'd have to wear one of his older uniforms that his mom had packed away for when Sam and Will are a little bigger. He grabs one each for him and I, and tosses a cup at me to wear. I fumble catching it as I realized what it is. He scoffs at me, "Just put it on." Wear a piece of equipment that has been embedded in your crotch? Fuck Tim, can I go masturbate with this Holy Grail that you've bestowed upon me too? I try to decline, "Um. I'll pass but thanks for the thought." He is all smiles, saying, "So it's my cup, it's clean. Seriously, it's no big deal. Some guys even like this, find it erotic and shit! It's just cloth and plastic. Plus, you've worn my shorts commando in the pool before." No big deal??? Some guy's even like it and find it erotic? Again I have to wonder, has he been spying on my personal thoughts? Do I talk in my sleep or something? "Seriously, wear it. And no underwear unless you wear that thong of yours. Anything else gets too bunched up in it for my liking and pinches. C'mon, let's go, the guys are waiting," Tim says as he strips naked, pulls on an identical jock, adjusts himself and then bends over to slide the pants on and up, giving me a money shot of his ass. This is too weird. He probably knows I'm wearing another thong to begin with. This one is a y-back. As if watching from the third person perspective I strip down naked and put the jock on as he commanded. It's almost sexual, me being dominated and told to do something. He knows he has absolute power over me and I can see the hint of satisfaction on his face as I pull up the royal blue pants and do them up. Tim hands me a belt to wear in the pants as his waist was still bigger than mine is now, whenever he wore these pants before. He puts a hand on my shoulder and taps the cup with the knuckles of his other hand, making an off comment, "Don't worry, these ones are comfortable. You'll be soft and forget about it in no time. It's no big deal Cheesedick!" After we are finish playing baseball some of the guys announce they are going to a McDonalds. Tim makes me come along as he we have obviously missed lunch at his place, and it's his last chance to hang with the guys he met this summer. When we get there he orders for me and pays too. "Thanks. I'll pay you back, kay. But damn, I feel like your girlfriend or something, you deciding on my food for me and all," I complain. He arches his eyebrows at me, "Fish Filet and root beer. You order that, and only that. Every single time. It's not like you were going to spontaneously change your pattern today and get fries with it or a Big Mac instead." Damn, come to think of it, he's right. He knows me so well he's picked up on a habit I didn't even recognize. I love him. From time to time he shoots a quick glance to my crotch and then raises his eyebrows and smiles while looking me in the eyes. He is purposely not letting me forget that I am wearing a personal garment of his. Crap, he is blue balling me and I am not going to get a chance to masturbate until I get back home. When we finally get back to his house he suggests that I have a shower first. I madly want to masturbate in the shower but I am not about to. Returning from my shower I try to open the door to his room it is locked and he says, "Just a minute." I swear I hear him grunt a few seconds later. When he finally opens the door he's naked. I fling the jock at him and the towel around my waist drops. The towel dropping was not planned. As he catches the jock I ask him, "Where do you want that?" He throws it back at me and says "Keep it until it's clean. I don't want your junk in it. In fact, clean this one too! I'm having a shower." I catch the other jock that he throws at me; the one that he wore. I hold it like a dirty diaper, arm fully extended, hanging it by the damp back strap between my thumb and forefinger as he brushes by me and picks up my towel. He wraps himself in his towel and carries mine back to the bathroom. I drop the jock on his bed and close the door so that I can change and not be seen. Tim walks back in with the shirt, pants and socks I was wearing and dumps them in a pile. He grabs the gear he was wearing and piles it on top. Then he grabs a black pair of boxer briefs from the floor on the opposite side of his bed and puts it on top like whip cream on a dessert. There is a tell-tale wet spot on the seat of the boxer briefs that he makes sure to expose briefly before folding it over. The spot is even still white from having just been expelled from his body. "I'm going to have a nice relaxing, long shower. Take your time too, just lock the door," he suggests. I play dumb, "Why." He rolls his eyes at me, "Like it's never going to happen. As if I'm not going to hear the five knuckle shuffle from you at night, or you from me. Use this." Tim's composure isn't what he'd like it to be, but he picks up the jock he wore earlier and presses it to my stomach so that I have to handle it again. With that he closes the door behind him as he leaves and reminds me quietly, "Just lock it." Once I hear the shower start I grab a white sock from my bag. If I tuck it away in my bag afterwards he won't notice the wet spot and therefore won't have any confirmation I did what I am about to do. I can't believe that he's given me his sweaty, worn jock to jack off to. He's prominently displayed his cum-rag underwear for me too. All of a sudden we are back to my first day here and he has been pushing the envelope towards this all day. For 4 days in between he laid off the innuendo and suggestive knowledge of my sexuality. Now, today he is pushing my buttons again with uncanny precision. It's like he is purposely dominating me and has some innate knowledge of just how to do so. Like he knows not only that I am gay but what gets me off too. Fuck-it. If he wants it that way then fine. I do pick up the jock he wore, and getting closer I grab for his underwear. Before my hand touches it I pull back. I can't do it; I can't do this. I can't encroach upon him this way, I can't desecrate his cum rag. That is too private an item for even me. Instead I focus back on the item that he handed me. I do the deed fast and furious. Spent, I feel so dirty and guilty. I secret the sock away in my gym bag and am fully dressed with the door open when Tim returns from the shower. He looks as shameful as I feel. This time it's his cheeks that are red. I have to get it out, "Look Tim...Um that was totally fucked up. You know that right?" "Completely," He agrees, avoiding eye contact. I'm a deer in the headlights, "I don't get it then." "There's nothing to get," Tim says. Looking away he adds under his breath loud enough for me to hear, "Just let it go?" I challenge him, the exasperation clearly evident in my voice. "Just let it go?" He balls up the underwear he used as if in attempt to hide the evidence all of a sudden, "O.K. That was totally dumb of me, I'll admit. Still, someone had to bring it up, 'cause we're both guys and presumably we both do it. I have never talked about it with another guy. I haven't even taught my brothers because they're too young. But I thought it had to be brought up. If we're going to share room for the next year one of us is going to catch the other doing it, and I know you wouldn't broach the subject. So this was my way to break the tension and bring it up." "Kay, so we both...you know...do it. I don't understand why it had to come up," I relate. He grasps for an answer, "Because I feel totally on edge about the idea of you walking in on me doing it sometime, or even knowing I may be doing it in the next bed while you sleep. And I don't want it to be a big deal if I like walk in on you or something. I know you like to be open about some things to some people so I thought we should square it away before there is an awkward moment." I offer, "Kay. I understand. Just pretend to ignore it if we like, have a moment?" Neither of us can make eye contact. From the corners of my eyes he nods yes. "Kay, glad that's settled Cheesedick," Tim admits, "By the way, I do it like twice a day when I can." Too much info, you're going to get me hard morning and night listening for the sounds of you spanking the monkey! Returning his candor I agree, "Me too, when I can." We both laugh. In the nervous laughter Tim points out, "This is like in The Basketball Diaries where the guys brag about how many times they do it and you see DiCaprio doing it in different places!" Ah, good memories; Leo pretending to jerk off on film. Tim grabs the pile of baseball clothes and pulls the cups out of the straps, adding them to the pile. He asks, "Did you?" "Uh huh, but I didn't use your cum rag," I concede. He doesn't ask any more questions, I offer no details. "Kay, teach me how to do laundry again?" Tim sheepishly requests, adding insult, "I doubt you'll be doing it for me at your place unless you get off on my dirty laundry." Does he think I shot my load in the same place he did? I show him how to start the wash and put the soap in so that it all dissolves before the clothes goes in. Then I put the clothes into the wash, one item at a time including his cumrag. I make a show of opening it up, casually looking at it and nodding approval at him before putting it in the wash. After we have the wash going I follow Tim to the kitchen where he grabs two bottles of water out of the fridge. He tosses one at me and leads me back to his room. I want to ask why he's picked up on my way of saying O.K. People have playfully pointed out that I never say it right, but it's just my thing. I'm gonna say it that way till the day I die. Ah, I better let it go. If he's picked up on my way of saying it then I should just be flattered. Imitation is the best form of flattery I've heard. "I use a sock. And if we're sharing our perversions, just so you know, I sleep naked with the door closed," I relate as I flop down on his bed. He jokes, "Good to know. Don't borrow your socks. Maybe I'll start a journal and put all of today in it. Weird shit huh?" "This is too weird," I readily admit. "Change the subject?" He more suggests than asks. "Yeah," I whole heartedly agree. I'll have to tell him I'm gay another time. It's just dawned on me that all along Tim's been thinking we're going to be sharing a room at my house for the next year and he's been cool with it. He's too cute, "Just so you know, we aren't going to share a room. Ma and Larry are using Deanna's room this year. You know, the dining room? I've got Ma's old room and your stuff is in Candace and Lacey's old room." He asks, "So Lacey's out for good?" "Looks that way. Things aren't working out well with the bf, but she's determined to try." "Remember that fat chick that ratted you and Daniel Rice out for holding hands? Debbie Van Burger or something," Tim changes the subject as he turns on his lap top. "Timbo, we weren't holding hands," I protest. He ignores me and forges on, "Holding hands, not holding hands, whatever. That's not my point. She voted you the hottest boy in the class. I'll bet that's why she got so jealous of Rice." I'm curious; I'll bite, "Seriously? How would you know that?" "Mickey emailed me a link to this site. It's like Hot or Not, or something, but it's just a small part of this chick's web site. Actually, it's Maria Anderson's site. You know, Neil's cousin? Supposed to be a super-secret girls only thing. So anyway, most of the girls in our class have voted for who's the hottest guy," Tim says, pointing to his name on the top of the list. I could have told him that. This gay boy whole heartedly approves of the top choice. Number two, Mickey Dawson, not so much. I scan down, Paul Hunter is number five. Good for him, although I'd make him number 1b, or even 1a. Three names further down the list, at number 8, I spot my name. Eighth? What the fuck? I'm way hotter than number 6 or seven. Dennis Elliot is not hotter than me. And Tom Carson? No way. His nose is so big you could park a car in it! Clicking on Tim's name, a picture of him pops up. It's taken from our yearbook and my favourite picture of him. He's in his baseball uniform, playfully leaning up against the fence of the diamond behind home plate at school. I remember that day. He was trying to look all sexy and sultry for the picture. Damn if he didn't succeed admirably. I'd love to have a physical copy of that picture, but asking Nat for a double would be a little too obvious. I check out my picture and it's a close up of a group shot of us at the grad. I look damn fine in that picture if I do say so myself. The boy in that at picture is worth better than eighth place damn it! "Well at least I got 14 first place votes. More than the two dweebs above me. They only got 11 and 13," I point out the stats on the screen to Tim. "Yeah, but you also got 22 first place votes for most likely to be gay. I only got one! I'm not even in the top 25 for that. Cheesedick, hate to tell you, but your tied for fourth. I think it's also because you didn't do well on the best dressed. Say hello to number three. You were like top 25 on the worst dressed." "Yeah, number 1 and 2 on most gay are also 1 and 2 on best dressed. What's that say about you if you're number 3 best dressed? And there's nothing wrong with the way I dress," I point out while Tim clicks on different links and makes all the names magically restructure in different orders for this various lists. I scan the names of girls that think me most likely to be gay. I'd like to write them down and egg their cars or houses, or something. Instead I close the lap top and stare off into space. So the fact that I am not a snappy dresser is what kept me from being higher on the most likely to be gay list? Does Tim really think that? Why don't people just mind their own business? These lists are hurtful, and the worst part is that I'm sure they will translate to social status at school, rather than follow existing status. At least my best friend is top dog, or close enough. He'll be living with me, so I just hope that he can deal with me being a poorly dressed gay friend. As if he can read my thoughts he hugs me from behind. I jump slightly in the chair, but not far because his firm grip holds me pretty much in place. "Don't get all introspective on me. Who cares what a bunch of vaginas think of you? As far as I'm concerned they can all go to hell. You're smart as can be, they obviously think you're still hot, and they don't know you if they think you're gay. But they missed some things. You know where you rank number 1? You are the most genuine friend I've ever known, and if they don't know that it's their loss. You live your life like it means something and I know that your heart is 10 times bigger than the rest of ours." "Whatever Tim," I say. It's easy for him to say that; he's the hottest guy in our grade. "No, not whatever. You give so freely of yourself. I mean sure, you bottle stuff up inside, but you'll go to the ends of the earth for someone you care for. Me living with you this year says that and more. I don't care if you are wearing Abercrombie or Metallica. Hell, knowing you you'd blend them into Metallicrombie anyways!" I half joke, "No, Scorpions get cargo's or khaki's from Gap or Old Navy. Iron Maiden get American Eagle Jeans. Linkin Park get baggy Levi's. Europe? They get my best. Nothing less than Abercrombie or Hollister pants and shorts for them." Tim just stares at me. He knows that I'm more than half serious as he waits for me to finish. (Kay, fine, we both know that I was totally serious. I coordinate, so sue me. What can I say?) Then he goes on as if I didn't just admit to my wardrobe decisions, "Rock T's and hoodies or not, you're the first guy in my life I've ever loved as a friend. It's not even in the same league, but I'd give up top billing on every list imaginable just to know I'm number one on your list of friends." "You should write for Hallmark Timbo," I say and then sniffle. "Nuh uh. I'm only that emo with you. I wouldn't dare share my soft side with anyone else!" From that point, the night is primarily him packing his stuff and getting it to fit in the car. He has enough new clothes to dress both of us, plus what he left behind in Houston in June. I comment, "Timbo, I don't think you're gonna have room in your dresser for half your clothes." "No? Why not?" "Cause it's basically full already and even if it wasn't it wouldn't fit what you're bringing. I could do my back to school clothes shopping with your extra's." He smiles huge, "Yeah, Mom went a little overboard. Tell you what. You can have whatever doesn't fit. If I like it we can share. We'll get you up on the best dressed list after all." "I'm not a charity case." "Never said you are. If anyone is, it would probably be me 'cause you're taking me in. Seriously, you could rock some of these clothes better than me." "Uh, in that case, I might as well tell you now. Your American Eagle jeans? I may have borrowed them." "You went through my dresser?" "Uh, well, I did help move it a couple times. It got messed up and smelled a bit musty when we moved it to my place so I washed and folded everything again. I kinda saw everything in it, yeah." "Which jeans?" "The American eagle ones. You know, the ones with the funky back pockets that you wore a lot for like parties." "Oh those ones! Kinda dark with the faded thighs and seat? Got a hole in the back pocket?" "Yeah those ones." "How'd they fit?" "Pretty damn good. I thought they'd be too big but they fit fine." "Look good?" "What?" "Did you look good in them?" "Uh, I think they looked good on me. Yeah, I think I rocked them." "Yeah, figures. They were a bit tight and showed my fine ass off well. If they do the same for you, they're yours. Cut the bottoms off and let them fray. Wear them with sandals. But no concert t-shirts with them. Unless you put a dress shirt on top. Not your church one either. One of mine from Hollister maybe. Button it mostly up, roll the sleeves up, show off your cool watch and a get a sea-shell necklace to finish it all off. Then you'll take anyone you want home from the parties. If not, you'll still have me." "Sure, thanks." "What else did you see in my dresser? My A & F cargo's are too small, but they might be perfect on you too." "So what, if I get all your hand me downs maybe I'll be number 4 next year? Is that your idea? I'll probably make top 10 worst dressed because the girls will know it's your old clothes and I'm trying to be your clone." "Don't worry. It's not like we're overhauling your image. Just giving it another dimension so that you can attract a wider range of people. I don't think you'll ever fully give up your studded leather bracelet or the choker dog collar you accessorize your Guns `N Roses t-shirts with. The watch is versatile, but if you wear a fuck-me necklace with it from time to time at school you might just open yourself up to a wider variety of girls. Or people." What? Or People? I'ma let that slide, "That's not all I wear. I have Khakis, cargoes, polo's, rugby shirts." Tim reasons, "Yeah, but you hardly ever wear them to school. The student body knows you as a rocker chick that's stuck in the 80's based on what you show them. Wear some of your better clothes already and we'll get you new concert shirts to save for good. Just saying." "Maybe. I don't know. Now that Larry's around money's a little more free. But I'd rather still save and dress myself in a college degree instead of an overpriced shirt." "That's cool. When I get you to the gym at lunch every day you're gonna bulge out of whatever you wear." "What? I'm so not playing gym at lunch every day. My days of shooting hoops and kickball are officially behind me. Larry may be living with me, us I mean, but I don't feel a need to impress him and try out for the football team." "Not playing gym. Working out. You know, gym?" "Why would I put myself in that smelly weight room with a bunch of steroid freaks?" "Train's not a steroid freak. I'm not a steroid freak." "Train's hardly a friend anymore, I never saw him the whole summer. You are a freak if you think I'm doing that. Why do you have to work out at lunch? I thought you work out enough already." "New routine. Plus if Neil's with us in the gym we don't have to listen to him and Tania natter at each other." "Yeah, but that still means I'd have to work out." "Could be worse. I mean imagine if instead of building pecks and biceps you built tits and a belly." I rub my stomach, "No belly here. I may not sport abs like you but if I flex they're there." "Cheesedick! Just get over it. Accept it. I'm going to the gym at lunch, and you know you are too because you can't say no to me. I mean yeah, you can say no, but we know in the end you won't. You might even get to like the gym. Exercise makes you feel better. Whacking off may be a sport, but it's not a substitute!" Once we have Tim's car packed we head out back and sit on the deck with his parents. I still can't believe with everything Tim left in Houston that his car is as full as it is! His mom sets him up with some immediate spending money and then he and his dad go over the lap top computer one more time that his dad is giving him. It's his dad's old work computer, but it is pretty sweet all the same. Come bedtime I have a slight conundrum because I've worn all my underwear, and am down to the thong I was wearing today. I packed more than enough underwear thinking that I would be sleeping nude in a hotel bed, but I currently find myself one pair short now that I've had to wear boxer briefs in Tim's bed. I should have done some of my own laundry. I relate my problem and Tim digs through his stuff until he finds a white pair of small Calvin Kleins. I am a small-medium, he is a large. I reluctantly take the underwear from him. "Kay, thanks," I drawl. "They're your's bitch. Wearing another guy's underwear would be kinda gay. I wouldn't do that to ya, but then some guys get off on that sort of thing, I think. Don't worry, they're yours from the mess at the apartment when we had to change. You washed them with my laundry and I accidentally packed them when I stuffed everything from the dryer into a bag." "Oh. Kay. Thanks," I say, remembering the events and realizing he's right. "They're a little see-through if memory serves me, but you like your shorts to have the big name labels," He jokes as he folds down a corner of his bed and gets in. Only when wet, I think. However he also looked at my goods, which makes me happy. I remember wearing those small ones that day specifically to try and hide boners I get over him. The boxer briefs were actually Daniel's. I ask, "You really think I should get a new wardrobe?" As I turn off the light and hop into bed with him he states, "Your call. I don't care what you wear. But you sure like your labels down there, and shit I wouldn't dare try. Whatever works for you buddy." In bed Tim pretends to start jerking before slapping me and telling me he's only kidding. In the morning he finishes loading up his Mustang and we are on our way back home. With only one week until school starts our conversation revolves around the excitement about getting back into the swing of life. I jokingly ask, "So are you going to make a move finally with Nat?" Rather snidely he answers, "No. But let's just say that if I do, I'll tell you. How about you? Anyone in your sights?" "Not really. If there is I'll tell ya," I lie, knowing my track record proves otherwise? Quite calmly he disagrees, "No you won't." I protest, "Sure I will. What makes you think I won't?" "Past experience," He counters. I don't protest. This allows him to launch into a lecture, "Let's just say that I know about a certain someone. That you were seeing someone and you never told us. You kept your two lives separate and we never met. That wasn't fair to your friends. You weren't fair to that person either, whoever it happens to be. You kept that person under your thumb and made sure that we never got a chance to meet. Well, your someone probably can't live that way. If this someone is still in the picture I'd like to meet. Or if there is a someone else in the future, bring your separate worlds together and let us, or at least let me meet that person. Who knows, maybe it'll be my hot clothes on your number 8 body that attracts someone." "Well clearly you have this whole thing figured out," I mutter. "What?" "Life. Your life, my life. Fuck, must be nice. Can I borrow your Cliff notes sometime because I'm not up to speed," I snarkily answer. We're both left smarting as we make our way along the interstate. After a little time Tim strikes up the conversation as if the lecture never happened. I feel like I am going to get motion sickness from pushing forward to the point of telling him and then backing off. I give up the idea of coming out of the closet to him as we drive home. Another time I guess. Yet again. >>).:.(<< Dear Journal: As we lumbered down the highway just leaving the New Orleans city limits on our way back to Houston I felt downright sick to my stomach. The whole time in New Orleans I kept waiting for the perfect time to tell Tim. So many times I wanted to just say it and be done. But the perfect opportunity never came. Well, it did a bunch of times, but the words just got stuck in my throat. Now as we are back in Houston and the familiar green spaces mixed in with the steel and concrete jungle that we grew up in, I can't find it in me to do it. I had so many opportunities to tell him. To see how it sits with him for real and give him a chance to rethink living with my family for the next year. But it's obvious now and probably goes without my saying now anyway, I think. I don't know. When do I? Tim was so hot and cold with me the whole time. He certainly made it seem at times like he knows and it's nothing to him, to the point he honestly thought we'd be bunking in the same room together. Now would be a cowardly time to say something. It's got to be a hard thing leaving your family. His running back home to them at the first setback when he was his own man proved that with the apartment. Maybe I'll just protect him. He doesn't need the distraction and friction it'll undoubtedly cause. So I guess I'll just stay in the closet and live my life in the shadows. I'll deny everything and play it straight. No, wait, that won't work either. It's hard to deny it having slept with Brent if he outs me. Kevin dropped that bombshell that Neil and Justin peeked at me in Brent's bed. Kevin outing me would create more friction because Tim seems to know much more than he possibly could already. He's made too many offshoot comments here and there that are uncannily on the mark. I guess if it's got to be Chris and my secret happiness, or Tim and my day to day happiness I guess Tim wins. Even If Chris and I are just friends now. I'll miss Chris. But that's stupid. People know. Tim knows for fuck's sake. And to boot, Chris and I are still good friends. I don't want to kiss him goodbye completely. Why can't I just pop those few words out to Tim? `Tim, don't worry, I don't like you, but I'm gay.' That is the memorized line I have prepared, because that's all I think I'll be able to say before my throat tightens up on me. But I just can't find it in me to say it. This week has been strange. I can't figure out how the hell he has so much personal insight into me. How did he know about my underwear collection? I'm pretty sure he's only ever seen my boxer briefs aside from the two thongs this week. How did he know it's a fetish to me? Maybe he saw the thong I wore the first day and hid in a pocket of my shorts as I changed to go into the pool. But I still can't believe that he actually fished it out of the pocket I hid it in and looked at it! Then he made a comment about it that night before going to bed, asking if it feels good. All the while he acted like he knows not only that I am gay, but that I won't touch him. He was smug when he made the comment that he knows he's not going to wake up with me all over him, that I keep to my side. Although he did throw in that's while I'm awake. I hope I haven't been humping him in my sleep! It's like he knows the inner conflict that I have over him and he's toying with it for fun, like yesterday he made me wear one of his jocks, somehow knowing he had the upper hand on me. He suggested that some guys find it erotic as if he knew for sure I'm not only gay but one of those aforementioned guys. Then standing naked after having just jerked himself off he suggested I beat off to his jock and left his cum filled underwear on display. And then the conversation about `someone'. Well that takes the cake. How do I make things the way they used to be Journal? [to be continued]