Date: Thu, 17 Dec 2009 02:23:27 -0500
From: Jade <phantomscorpio77@gmail.com>
Subject: Gay/Highschool : In the Shadows of Our Lives - On Broken Wings 17

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 XVII
~ The Flame [Where Do We Go Now?] ~


Dear Journal:

So we both saw it coming.  It's not that we don't love each other.  We do.
Our sex is so passionate and tender, or at least I think.  We are 17 and 18
and not overly experienced, but we fell into a series of hot and steamy
times together.  We're not sluts but I think our relationship become far
more about the sex than we intended.  When we finally figured out who would
top each time I can't think that either of us could have asked for more!

But here it is: two bottoms don't make a top.  That's what it boils down
to.  Neither of us particularly wants to top.  Sure we'll both do it
gladly, but only after we've lost the playful battle over who gets to
bottom.  Both being preferred bottoms I guess we instinctively know what we
like and aim to provide that pleasure.  In that regard, if we wanted
something a certain way we were completely accommodating of each other.
Still, it's like we're both near exclusive bottoms and this caused a stress
in the relationship that we both tended to dwell on.

I also finally realize that maybe Chris doesn't like being my dark secret.
This enlightenment came in the form of a lecture from Tim.  All the while
Tim knows I'm gay and substitutes the word `someone' for boyfriend when he
yelled at me for keeping my `someone' a secret.  So I have to do something
or else I'll be faced with the problem of having to choose Chris or my
friends.

Chris can't keep living in the shadows of my life and I agree with Tim on
that.  I can't expect it of him.  I realize that now.  And nope, it doesn't
help that I am still fighting with coming to terms with my sexuality.  I
guess I do live in the shadows of my own life, keeping parts of it
segregated and secret from other parts.

But I can't keep having it both ways.  I have to just put Chris first for
once.  Chris has been the motivation behind it all for me.  So that I can
give to him freely as he does to me, so that we can just be ourselves
together, even though now it'll just be as friends.  Yet I am not there as
much as I want to be and I can't keep Chris under my thumb, forever asking
him to be patient and wait on me.

I'll invite Chris over and introduce him to Tim and explain that he is my
friend and former boyfriend.  I chickened out on telling Tim when I had the
chance, when he gave me that lecture on the way back from New Orleans.  I
don't want to burden him with the news now but I can't simply choose to
keep the truth from Tim.  This way, maybe, just maybe I'll manage to hang
on to both friends.

And still I have my doubts.  We'll stay friends, I still love you.  Is it
just a line?  He's promised those words, but does it ever really happen?  I
really like Chris after all.  I don't want to lose my friend; my soul mate.
Not again.

Two bottoms don't make a top.  He also said that at the beach a few weeks
ago.  Don't get hung up on me, I'm not worth it he said this morning.  I
don't think he'd say these things if we really are to stay friends.  They
seem like brush off lines to me.

But what do I know Journal?

Jon.

>>).:.(<<

I sit in my bed, in my darkened room, listening to my discman in the
morning light and finally build up the nerve to call Chris and invite him
over.  He's got some bursary information for school from his dad that he's
been meaning to drop off.

This morning I'm feeling blue about my life, having just listened to A
Groovy Kind of Love by Phil Collins.  I relate it to my situation, because
feeling blue, when I take a look at Chris I'm not so blue.  Once I lead
Chris up to my room I can't contain it anymore and my eyes tear up.

It's must be viral or something, like the way a yawn is contagious, because
my watery eyes cause a similar reaction in Chris.  Through tears he says,
"Don't get hung up on me Jon, I'm not worth it."

"I still want to give you that poster if you want it," I say in return as I
point at the poster I made in art class with the lyrics to Cheap Trick's
song `The Flame' written into it.  In my head I add, `and yes, you are
worth it Chris.'

I don't know why a poster Chris saw in my room once has any relevance to
anything, but it's what my eyes focus on while we break up as boyfriends
for the third time.  Not that we've gotten back together; more like our
break-up has now been played out over three separate acts.  All I know is
that the poster really touched him, and seeing though we intend to stay
friends, I've always wanted to give it to him so that at least someone in
this world has a little piece of me with them.

Chris tries a new tactic to my stubborn pretense of having not broken up,
"We're not really breaking up silly.  We've never really been boyfriends
anyhow.  Maybe at first, but I think we've become better friends along the
way, hopefully lifelong best friends, and we've had the free benefit of
some really great sex thrown in the mix.  We've shared all we have to give
and lived to talk about it."

I sigh, "Yeah, you sure are a great lover.  It was great sex."

I can see the pain it brings him to keep having this conversation with me,
"And you are a great lover too, Jon.  You're so gentle and sensitive to me.
But like I said at Victoria Harbor; two bottoms don't make a top.  Both of
us only top out of absolute obligation, not want.  And we stopped having
sex because of it.  If we truly want to see each other happy we'll both
have to find our own boyfriends."

From my heart I relate, "But I don't want to lose you Chris.  I never know
quite how I feel about anything, but the pain inside me tells me that I
love you.  Screw the sex.  There's more to `us' than sex."

As if he's read my mind Chris pleads, "We'll stay friends.  I still love
you too Babe.  This is the third time we're breaking up.  We've never
gotten back together.  Hell, we never really were together anyhow.  Jon,
Babe.  Please.  Let's stop this.  My heart can't bear to be near you if we
have to go through this again and again."

I reveal how pathetic I am, "You're right.  I know it's selfish of me.
It's just that the only person I can think of going to, to be held and
consoled over breaking up with you, my boyfriend, is you, my friend."

He offers, "You want me to hold you Babe?"

I shake my head in the affirmative.  Chris wraps his arms around me.  We
cuddle for a few minutes before I try to kiss him.  That does it as he
pulls away.  Neither of us say anything.  We've been over it enough that
nothing has to be said.

Still I give him a shrug of the shoulders as if to say sorry, "Come on, we
both saw that coming a mile away!"

Instead we sit apart on my bed and talk about the future.  Chris hands me
the student application for the bursary and tells me his dad is still
looking into the process of going to school in Canada for me, if that's
what I really think I want.  Chris isn't sure what he wants anymore; he
figures he'll be doing accounting or business law here in Texas after all,
or maybe both as he has rich parents to mooch off of while he does a double
major.

We get into talk about where we see ourselves in five years.  Me, I really
don't know.  I guess sooner or later I'll have to start growing up and
making a plan for the future.  Well, perhaps sooner than later.  In the
mean time though I listen to Chris' plan to make it big, and live out of
both New York and Los Angeles.  I think that deep down he still hopes to be
a writer and work for a magazine like Time or Vanity Fair.

The conversation steers towards future guys.  We pretty much describe
attributes of each other as the guys we want to be with and I start to
think I should just switch to being a top.  Chris wants his guy to be a
rich baseball or hockey player.  Or from a sport that isn't going to
physically scar or maim the guy he decides.  Or maybe a swimmer he muses.

Not having any ideas of my own, I say yeah, a hockey player would be cool
as I have a fascination with them all suited up in their seductive
protective equipment.  My friend Duncan and his sort-of boyfriend Benji
instantly flash across my mind.  I guess Paul pops up in Chris' mind as he
asks to see a picture of Paul.  I almost forgot that I had told him about
Paul in New York.

I grab an old yearbook Tim and I were recently looking at and point out
Paul on the different pages he appears on for baseball, class picture, and
just random shots around the school.  Paul's in the yearbook 6 times and I
only have my class picture in it.  Thanks to my association with Tim, at
least this year if the one we have online is any indication I will be in
the next yearbook a lot more once it's printed.

Chris flips through the old yearbook and stumbles across Tim's picture
because Tim wrote in my book under it that he's the hottest stud in the
school.  I explain the just added caption to Chris, and he gets a laugh at
Tim's Timbo signature and starts teasing me.

Our laughter wakes Tim up I guess as he shuffles out of his room in his
boxer briefs and into the bathroom.  I think he purposely avoided looking
into my room.

Chris licks his lips, then whispers, "Oh man, look at his abs.  Good luck
not getting sexually frustrated all year every time you have to look at
that Babe."

"Gee thanks, never noticed before.  You stare like that when he comes back
and he's bound to notice," I inform.

He says, "Ah.  Still haven't told him yet, then?"

"Nope.  I keep chickening out," I admit.

"Well, it sounds like he's having a shower Babe.  Probably washing off a
wad of cum he just shot all over himself on the other side of that wall.
I'll bet his room smells of testosterone," Chris teases, "On that note I
should get going, Bobbie's waited all summer for me to do her back to
school shopping with her.  So last minute shopping it is.  Just because I'm
gay doesn't mean I know how to dress a girl I tell her, but will she
listen?"

"Alright," I agree, getting up to walk him out and to his car.  I guess
I'll have to introduce them another time.

As we descend the stairs Chris notes, "Oh, and yeah, Paul?  He looks
totally hot.  I'm jealous to be honest.  Hopefully you can get him.  Of
course if you feel like sharing..."

"Just tell Bobbie not to be late for work when you get caught up in ladies
fashion," I kid.

"Yeah.  Hey, thanks for giving her the job too.  I know she doesn't need
it, but she loves working in your music store."

I see Chris out the door and to his Jeep.  It's a different one than the
one from our first date, but his car is getting an oil change today so he
has taken a new TJ off the lot for the day.  I see him on his way and head
back up to my room.  Tim is now parading back and forth between his room
and the bathroom with only a towel wrapped around him from waist to knees.
He catches me look up and heads to my doorway.  He strikes a pose in my
doorway that I swear is meant to make me check him out.  I resist the urge,
instead keeping my eyes on his face.

"So, who was that?  I don't recognize him from school," Tim asks with a
smirk.

"That was Chris.  He had to get going or you could have met him.  I
actually wanted you to meet him but you took a shower and he had to get
going.  I met him through working at the restaurant," I somewhat truthfully
answer.  I did in fact meet him because of my job at the restaurant where
he first noticed me and started checking me out.

Tim surprises me, "He had to go, or you told him to go?"

"Actually, he had to go.  He was just dropping some college info off for
me," I relate.

"Kay.  Well next time tell him I'd have said `Hi' but I was sporting some
morning wood.  Don't tell him the last part though," He states.  Turning,
he strolls back to the bathroom.

A few minutes later he pops back into my room, "You're working at the store
tonight aren't you?"

"Yeah," I absently answer.

He asks, "Kay.  Um, can you show me how the washing machine and dryer work
again?  I have some stuff that I need to wash, and I'll have more after
tryouts for City and practice for school this afternoon."

Tim has a couple pair of jogging pants and a few baseball uniforms in his
arms.  He looks cute in his embarrassment.  I get up and head to the
laundry room to show him, getting stopped along the way so that he can
thrust the pile of clothes into my arms.  After he does this I watch him go
back into his room and grab a tank-top style grey undershirt and put it on.
He tucks the undershirt into his pants and then grabs a belt.  He walks
back to the hall and starts to thread the belt through the white baseball
pants he is wearing.  By the time we make it to the laundry room he is
cinching the belt and adjusting.

I ask, "These are what, polyester?  What temperature do they say?"

He innocently responds, "I dunno.  Does it matter?"

"If you don't want them to shrink, yeah," I explain.

"Oh.  Here," Tim says and grabs a pair of baseball pants from me, "Where's
it say?"

Unable to find one I ask, "Is there a tag in any of these?"

"Maybe in one of them, I usually rip them out because they itch on bare
skin.  Unless they're white," He says.

I don't question why not the white ones, maybe some superstition for all I
know.  We check for a tag but none of them have one.  Tim looks agitated.

"Fine," He says and unbuckles his belt and opens the fly of his pants.  He
reads the label, "It has a yellow water bucket with some dots, a green
thing that looks like an envelope, a red triangle and red iron with an x
through them.  It's like my playstation controller!  Maybe these are a
secret code for a game!"

I can't help but stare, and not because of what he said.  He just whipped
his baseball pants open in front of me.

"Hey, stop staring.  It's nothing you haven't seen before.  So what, just
throw them in and set the temperature to yellow," he asks.

I try not to laugh, "No, there's no yellow setting.  It says wash warm,
hang dry, do not bleach and do not iron."

His eyebrows furrow in thought, "Mom had to bleach them.  There's no way
they'd still be white otherwise.  And I'm sure she dried them too.  Not
the, um, jocks cause that ruins them, but the jerseys, pants, and socks."

There are jockstraps in this pile too?  How kinky is this that in the
jumbled bundle of baseball pants I am once more holding in my arms the
cloth that holds his manhood!  I toss the pile on top of the dryer as he
redoes his pants up and again adjusts.  Tim's cheeks are reddening but I
know he's having fun trying to make me squirm.

Hell, if he's cool with me touching his personal clothing I am too; I'm not
going to act all awkward and give him the satisfaction of debasing me.  I
show him the dials for what he wants and show him the detergent tabs that
usually should first be dissolved in the water before the clothes get
added.  I then show him how to set the dryer and leave it set up for him.
I make him put his own baseball clothing in the wash.

"Um, could you like switch it over for me when it's done?  I gotta get to
the field by eleven and it's already past 10:30," He asks.

As soon as I agree he bolts through the newly finished side door and is
gone.  A few minutes later I have to return to the wash because there is a
clunking noise.  I fish around in the water until I come across the source
of the noise.  There is in fact a jockstrap with a cup in it.  I unfasten
the two snaps, remove it from the pouch, refasten the snaps and toss the
strap back into the wash.  I take the cup upstairs and toss it on his bed.

With Tim gone for baseball I have the better part of an afternoon to
myself.  Tim's going to school right after his City try-outs to get a new
work-out schedule and then the school team has a practice.  Larry is at
school getting things ready for the upcoming year and holding Varsity
football practices.  Ma is at work.

After switching over the wash I take the slightly damp strap upstairs and
toss it on Tim's bed too.  I am tempted more than ever to put it together
and try it on in Tim's absence.  I end up putting the cup back in the pouch
and at the last minute I decide against violating my friend.  He gave me
the jock to `use' back in New Orleans.  It was an attempt at domineering me
then but I secretly got off on it all the same.

He hasn't invited me to play with his jock this time.  It's a different
control game he's playing with me today.  I feel like Tim is almost marking
me as his bitch or something by making me take care of his personal
equipment.  He sure as shit had to know that the metal cup went into the
wash.  He took the plastic ones out last week at his house when he tried to
humiliate me with his laundry so this was intentionally left in.

Instead I hang the strap from the back of the doorknob so that my mom
doesn't have to see it if she walks by, and then I close his door over.

After that I give Brent a call, "Hey, what are you up to?"

He answers, "Dying in this heat like usual and it's not even high noon yet.
You?"

"Not much, I've got 4 hours before work to kill.  Why don't you head over
here?  Maybe we can go swimming or something," I suggest.

His exuberance is cute, "Sure, I'll be over in a few minutes."

He is over in a little less than 15 minutes.

When Brent arrives I am so horny that I sneak a peek at his crotch.

"I thought after the heat from Neil that you didn't want my dick anymore,"
Brent scorns.

Fuck it, why not?  I grab the pull strings on his shorts, "Well, you're in
luck today, my mind says it doesn't, my body says it does."

He's game, "O.K.  You got lube?"

We're near the top of the stairs, I tell him to wait for me there.  I
watched a clip of a porno online where the guys did each other on the
stairs.  I feel like giving it a try.  I scoot to my room and grab my Wet
and a strip of condoms, bringing his back pack just in case he wants to use
the toys again.  I bend Brent over a couple stairs and start a little
foreplay.  Soon I am making him moan.

After returning the favour he thanks me as he pulls his shorts back on,
grabs his backpack, and leaves me to clean up after us.  We don't say
another word until he comes into my store 5 minutes before closing.  He
waits outside the mall for me and we head over to his apartment.  It's time
for a serious talk.

"This has to stop," Brent suggests.

I'm relieved, "I totally agree."

He asks, "Once more?"

I can't believe I'm agreeing, but I am, "Hells yeah.  Only this time you
cum first before I ride you.  You cum too quick.  I want to at least
remember it."

So once again I top Brent first.  Each time I try to penetrate him he pulls
off.  He gets up off his bed and says, "back in a sec."

He ruffles through his closet and returns with the cuffs, and the gag,
"Here, tie my hands and feet."

This is fucking kinky, I'll definitely remember this time.  Actually I
would really like to be in his position, all tied up to be honest.  It
feels dirty and degrading, but I can't deny it excites me.  I try my best
to make it feel great for him and figure by the way he reacts on certain
thrusts that I am doing pretty good.  I concentrate wholly on that area
that he reacts to, and am rewarded with him starting to arch his back and
buck his hips back in time with my thrusts.  I orgasm first, but not by
much.  Both spent, I untie his binds before I pull out.

Removing the gag Brent informs, "Holy shit!  Now I get it.  It does feel
good."

Yay!  I did a good job!  I don't answer but rather whip the gag off him and
put it in my mouth.  I hand him the hand cuffs and he gathers that I want
him to tie me up like he was.  Only I don't want to be on my back like he
was.  I want to be on hands and knees, even though it felt a whole lot
better on my back on the top of my stairs this afternoon.

My heart is pounding in my chest but I find my voice to ask him, "You were
at the school for baseball today?"

"Yeah, why?"

"Something a friend turned me on to.  Can you grab something from your
stuff for me?  Hold it to my face and humiliate me with it a bit while you
pound me?  Maybe dress in the whole uniform first, and undress for me?"

He goes along with it, also grabbing something of his step-brothers' to
place over my face, and starts to tie my wrists together but I murmur and
shake my head.  I want to feel like a slave, unable to move.  Like I had
him.  He ties my left wrist to my left ankle and then does nothing.

I guess I trust him, but fear does creep into my mind, wondering just what
he's planning.  Finally he presses his hips against mine, his dick going
through my crotch and the head of his penis is right next to the head of
mine.  He removes it and slaps my back with it, my thighs, my cheeks, my
sac, everything.  He then starts to tease my hole with it before he ties my
right wrist to my right ankle.  I am effectively supporting myself on my
face and knees, my face buried in his undergarment.  He takes my t-shirt
and binds my eyes with it.  I am so anxious when he finally places himself
position and slides it in.

"Baby's home," he whispers in my ear.

Paul Hunter flashes through my mind.  Would he be so vulgar?  Would sex
with him be about passion rather than just getting off?  I see him in my
mind's eye; the scene is one of the last time's I've seen him.  His hair
was still normal then.  He was so cute that day, the day he volunteered to
be an usher for the graduation.  He and I both avoided each other that day,
I wouldn't look at him and he had one ear bud in his ear listening to his
Sony Shockwave discman.  Yes, I stalk him enough to know what brand his
discman is.

A sharp pain brings my head back from the clouds, "Ouch, damn-it Brent!"

"What," He asks.

Oh yeah, he can't hear me for the gag in my mouth.  I twist so that I can
get him out of me, landing ungracefully on my side.

He asks, "You want me to do you on your side?"

I nod `no'.

He enquires, "You want me to get you back up then?"

I offer up another nod of `no'.

"You want me to stop," He asks.

I am almost ready to nod yes as he twists me on my back and starts to
unbuckle the cuffs.  I nod `no' once more.

He has no trouble sliding back in partially.  He is forceful and he knows
that I am not enjoying it as my face must be revealing.  Then again, my
face is mostly covered.  After burying himself deep he asks once more if I
want to stop but I soldier on.  I might as well let him finish, it can't
take long because he hasn't lasted this long any other time, so he has to
be near ready.

Instead I try to recapture the image I had in my mind of Paul.  Yeah, there
he is, looking all cute while avoiding my eyes.  The discman creating a
barrier from those around him.  I recall he was listening to Pink Floyd but
had a Def Leppard CD with him.  I remember it struck me as another check
mark in the plus column that just makes him the living embodiment of my
dream guy.  I switch to a mental image of his bulge that he must have
caught me scoping out the day he drove me home.

Brent is getting rougher, he's got to be getting there.  Either that or he
is bruising my organs and they are complaining.  As he forces himself
roughly all the way in one last time and I feel his body arch above me I
start to cry.  The tears are involuntary pain from his final thrust and
partly as a result of my predicament.  The Def Leppard lyrics of Have You
Ever Needed Someone So Bad punctuate the inner frustration brewing inside
me as I recite them in my mind; `here I am, I'm in the wrong bed again.'

At least the few tears I cry are hidden by the blindfold made from my
t-shirt.  He removes the gag next and kisses me.  I don't kiss back.  He
releases me from the cuffs.

Before I pull off the blindfold he asks, "You're not attracted to me at all
are you?"

I try to remove the blindfold but he stops me.  Now that he's not moving
and I have come down from the high of orgasm I feel his fullness inside me.
This is the best it's felt of any time with him before, during or after.
But I have to answer, "I thought there might be something, that's why I
tried tonight.  But no, I don't feel anything."

"That's fair.  I'd be lying if I said that I felt anything too.  I thought
I could have more with you than just sex, but I don't see it happening
either," He reveals.

He starts to pull out but I stop him with my hands.  More with an
indication from my hands than actually physically stopping him.  I remove
the blindfold, "Sorry.  I guess we both got what we wanted and now we move
on."

He rocks back and forth very gingerly inside me.  Then out of nowhere he
blindsides me, "For me, I think more than anything it's because you don't
want to have a relationship."

"You are the one who told me honestly that you wouldn't commit," I retort.

He sighs, "Yeah, but you also made it clear that this was all it would be
anyhow.  It's O.K.  Neither of us used each other any more than the other
did.  If we stop now I think things will be fine.  Yeah, I sit on the
sexual fence.  The grass is pretty green on both sides.  If we keep doing
this though, I just might fall over to the gay side of the fence and obsess
over you.  But you're right; I'd hurt you.  I'd cheat on you.  It's who I
am."

"I'm sorry Brent.  There is someone that I just lost, and there is someone
else that I badly want," I pause as he carefully pulls out, "I guess we
stop this now."

Brent kisses me on the base of my penis, where it meets my sac, "Yeah.
Just don't be weird now though.  It was just sex, we can still say hi to
each other, play ball together and maybe even hang out.  If we avoid
talking about this, I think we'll be fine."

I nod agreement.  He encourages me, "I hope you get the guy you're after
Jon.  He'll be so lucky to have you."

"Thanks.  You too," I offer.

He's honest, "Nah.  C'mon.  We both know I'm bound to have a wife and kids
and cheat on her, or have a boyfriend that catches me screwing a chick.
I'll be one of those dirty old men sneaking around in alleys because I'm
too self centered."

These are the conversations that I live for.  Even if the sex was purely
carnal and love wasn't involved, our ability to talk after it makes me feel
good.  I am quite needy for affirmation in the form of conversation after
sex, and tonight will at least change my memories of my encounters with
Brent from sordid ordeals to something not so remorseful.

"Maybe you'll find the right girl that likes it both ways," I suggest.

"I don't care if she likes it both ways or not quite frankly.  I want it
both ways," He again reveals.

"Maybe she'll be into that and use a dildo on you," I snicker.

"It's not the same," He bemoans.

"No, you're right, sometimes it's better.  Or so I hear," I suggest.

He perks up, "You think?"

I offer my insight, "Yeah.  You like taking it up the ass, but you don't
always really like a guy being attached to the dick that you crave."

"No, I do find guys hot too.  I get hard over guys as well as girls.  I'll
figure it out someday," He pensively states.

Making a show of looking at my watch I suggest, "Well I better get going."

He agrees, "Yeah."

After I dress and am leaving his doorway he jokes, "Give Tim a kiss for me
tonight when you get to bed."

Over my shoulder I joke back, "I don't want him puking on me so I'll pass
on the kiss.  Maybe I'll blow him in his sleep for myself however."

"Lucky ass," he laughs.

I cry a bit on my way home.  Not for Brent but for everything.  I'm just in
such a funk today, it's been a crying kind of day for me.  All I want is to
have a boyfriend and be accepted and loved.  I know I have to give all of
those things to myself first before anyone else will, and I think I'm
almost there.

I walk in the house and close the door quietly.  Ma and Larry are still out
back I surmise by the still lit tiki torches that are visible through the
sliding door.  Deanna is sitting in the living room talking with Tim.  He
gets up as I toe off my shoes.

I try to shield the tears that are still welling up in the corners of my
eyes as Tim nears.  He's all big grin and white teeth showing.  Dee motions
for me to come see her.  Even though Tim bounds up the stairs to leave us
alone Deanna suggests a walk.  Oh brother, this ought to be fun.  She's
still my favorite sister, but I can feel the lecture coming.

We walk silently to Freed Park, just down the block.  Settling down in the
cool grass under my favourite tree she informs, "I talked with Tim.  He
joked that you were out having sex tonight with Chris.  You are very late
if you're coming right from the store.  You can't just pawn him off on Ma
and Larry like you did with Bandit."

I let out a groan.  Again I rely on Brian Bozworth from the old Right Guard
deodorant commercials; the best defense is a strong offence.  I let it fly,
"Here I am, doing my best attempt at sneaking in late, after having another
senseless night of sex with Brent.  Yeah, Brent.  Chris and I are over.
Still friends but we're not compatible as boyfriends."

"Brent," she asks.

I toss my head to the side dramatically, "Yeah, Brent Liddle.  Candy and
Lacey would know him and Tim plays baseball with him and his step-brother.
I don't know what prompted it.  I don't know why I did it.  He was pretty
cool with the idea and one thing led to another.  No strings attached, just
the way we both like it.  Me?  I got what I wanted out of it and we'll
leave it at that.  Now that I've had time to think about it I feel pretty
cheap again.  What more do you want?"

She cuts to the point, "Well, for starters, tell Tim about yourself.  He
knows, you know.  We were talking about it.  He started by using an
ambiguous term, like you're `seeing someone'.  But as we got talking Moody,
he told me he's hurt that you keep your boyfriend out of reach.  Like
you're afraid that he'll somehow ruin it.  Just tell him."

"He's been pushing me all week.  Last week in New Orleans too," I change
the subject, "By the way, I got something for you from there.  It's a Hard
Rock t-shirt, but not a cheap one.  It's a golf shirt like your one from
Cancun.  I got it just off of Bourbon St."

"Whatever Moody.  I have to go get Scott.  I'm driving him back from a stag
party and he's already paged me twice since we left the house."

"Oh yeah, I forgot.  Damn, summer really is over.  Iron Maiden's tomorrow!
I'll crash on the couch and change my bed; you guys can use my bed tonight.
Good luck getting Bandit to share though."

"Just tell him Moody.  Don't make him a prisoner in our house," She
asserts.

"I won't make him a prisoner, Dee.  I will tell him," I again promise.

[to be continued]


>>).:.(<<

Note to the reader:

Writing this has been a fun challenge at times, a cumbersome burden
(compulsion) at other times.

I wrote pieces of this chapter, and chapter 18 before posting chapter 4 of
On Broken Wings.  Yes, even as I was writing the beginning of Jon and Chris
in part 3, I was writing the end of them.  I seem to write best like an
Oreo cookie, having the end firmly established in my mind to match the
start, and then work towards that ending.  Of course part 18 has under gone
numerous (seriously, countless!) overhauls to reflect developments I hadn't
initially planned on.  Now that I'm there, I'm rethinking it all over
again...

A little insight, not that it matters; the lines `Don't get hung up on me,
I'm not worth it' and another one a tad too personal to highlight by
`Chris', as well as a poignant line from `Brent' come from someone real.
`Chris' and `Brent' are otherwise completely fictional, but I hope
throughout this story in `Chris' I reflected the sweet, tender, caring, and
deeply passionate glimpses I saw in the real guy.  For what it's worth, I
think he was wrong.  In fact I know he would have been worth it.  But that
was years ago and fate set us along different paths.  No regrets; his
rejection led me to find the love of my life.  But I wanted to memorialize
him somehow, hence `Chris'.

My thanks to all of you for continuing to read, and especially to anyone
who's sent feedback!  Even with my slow response time lately, your emails
are sometimes what I needed to continue writing, knowing that someone is
reading.  I also appreciate the connections with some of you; it's made the
experience of posting on Nifty all the more enjoyable and rewarding.  As
always, I try to get to writing and your emails when I can, as much as I
can, time permitting.

Up next : The final chapter of Part 1 - On Broken Wings.

~Jade