Epilog: The Most Beautiful Boys in the World

<disclaimer>
This is a work of fiction. No one was exploited in the creation of this fable. In some locales, even reading about fictional teenagers having imaginary sex is prohibited. Local laws apply.

This story explicitly depicts young men forming erotic bonds with each other. Generally they are between the ages of 14 to 17, and they "generally" agree that peer relationships are best. However, among this particular group of youths, there are some who consider scoring some hot older fellow a coup, while there are others who remain enchanted by younger lads. These liaisons appear as dangerous edges, and the author has attempted to depict such outlawish trysts in a realistic way. Also, some of the fellows depicted here do other "bad boy" things like experiment with drugs and get in terrible fights. Last, being sexually versatile, as jocks typically are, they occasionally even have sex with girls. Ultimately, many are the spirits of the young who, in these pages, simply say, "Fuck the rules."

There is plenty of raunchy sex in this tale, but if all you are looking for is pure fapping material utterly devoted to some precise specialty, you might want to look elsewhere. In publisher's lingo, this is a "Coming of Age" novel.
</disclaimer>

Blessings Never Come without Curses

It was worse, far worse, than hearing that his parents were getting divorced. He hardly saw his father anyway, and after the divorce, he had seen him more. Papa actually started making special trips to visit, and he would take him places.

Moving back to America was sad. He missed his purple Aegean, his little boat Friday, and the bright, brilliant light bouncing around the white walls of the tiny streets of the little towns with all the vendors and wonderful smells. He missed the constant music of his native tongue.

He and his mother had taken him to the train station in the first little town before the city. The train had been late, and Nicky had sat with Ricky the whole time, waiting. His mother had gone across the street to look at the shops and have a tea. She gave them privacy.

Nicky tried to remain calm. The station was so small, there was only room to sit outside on a couple of benches under the large overhang. There was only one other person waiting, and after he had determined that he could bum neither change nor cigarettes from them, had asked them to watch his bag and left.

Alone then with the big switching yard in front of them and all the ancient, rusted equipment, Nicky had fallen into Ricky and cried and cried. This made Ricky cry.

Ricky had tried to soothe him. "We'll be in touch. We'll text. We're on Facebook together. We'll Skype. We'll see each other, Nicky!"

But Nicky just had to cry, and as they heard the whistle blow, even before the train was in sight, they kissed one last time.

As Ricky was ready to board, they hugged. Any observant person would see that they were not really hugging like brothers. Their faces were nestled into each other's necks. The conductor was shouting the same shout conductors had been shouting since the invention of trains.

Their mouths by each other's ears, they said the same words to each other at the same time: "I love you."

Saying "Ricky" and "Nicky," at the same time at the end of their proclamations made them laugh.

Nicky was inconsolable. Nothing would close the hole in his heart. Nothing could fill his empty soul. Until Nicky got home, they could only text, and that was not private, for Nicky had to use his mother's phone. In the evening, they were able to talk on the land line.

During the day, he became so mopey that his mother complained, "Nicky, I know you are sad, but your desultoriness has grown irksome. You need to go for a swim. The water will do you good."

"Good! You could use some reminding of his cheerfulness! Now get some exercise and some sun!"

He was consumed! He felt that he was dipped in diesel and lit afire! He could only scream! He fell the the floor and wailed.

Mama had picked him up and hugged him then, petting him and rocking him like a baby. It felt good. It gave him relief. Finally, he shuddered and sighed. He told her, "I will go and swim, Mama. I am sorry I screamed."

Nicky scrubbed his eyes and kissed her. "I feel like my heart has been ripped from my chest, Mama! I feel cold and dead inside!"

"I understand, My Darling. Go and swim, Dearest. Let the laughing waters caress you."

He changed into the shorts that Ricky had given him — the old cut-off Levis. Ricky was right. They lasted longer than other kinds that wore out from sitting on the rocks and going down the rapids.

When he got to the swimming hole, he sat in the same spot Ricky always sat. There was this one particular niche in the rocks that Ricky like to sit. He was particular. If he could not get that spot, he would stand, and the moment it was vacated, Ricky would claim the spot. It was where he had been sitting when he first saw him. Ricky had even fought the pretty blond twins over it.

Nicky smiled. He was in Ricky's shorts and sitting where Ricky's butt liked to sit. He was feeling better! The sun was warm on his skin, and the sparkling waters winked at him with a thousand sparkling eyes. Ricky had been sitting right here when he had popped out of the water right there!

They had been so aroused! Ricky had told him that he had never had it happen that he had an uncontrollable erection until then. Nicky had not believed him. But he had watched, and he had never seen Ricky ever get an erection against his will. Ricky had a strong will!

Nicky smiled. It had been the same for him. He had had to roll over to hide his, but he was so close to Ricky that he could smell his clean scent, a mix of river and that Ricky smell! Like pine trees! Even Ricky's sweat smelled like the mountains.

He had chosen that moment to reveal his attraction, and Ricky had not hesitated. Within minutes, they were doing it! Not one other boy in the world could do that to Ricky. Only Nicky! He owned him!

Nicky then thought it would be fun to go there. He would jack off to the memory of their first time, that sixty-second sixty-nine! Crazy! It was like they were trying to climb into each other's bodies!

It was amazing how they simply accepted each other. They never fought. They never argued, even when they disagreed, they did not really argue. He with the younger guys, him with the older guys. They shared. They took turns. They went each other's way, and they met in the middle. All those other guys just made them want each other more.

When he returned, he saw his mother on the beach. He went to her and told her he felt better. He leaned against her and kissed her, and she petted his wet hair. He watched the little children play. They looked so cute!

Then one of the girls, perhaps six, asked him, "Will you play with us, Nicky? My brother says you teach kids to swim! They call you 'The Otter Boy!'"

And Nicky was happy to play with them. He was like Ricky! The Leader! The Protector!

He tried to show them that The River was your friend. If you love The River, He will not harm you, but in order to love Him, you must understand Him. They needed to relax. The waters would lift them up before they would make them sink.

Nicky decided he would have to accept this. It was good to be reminded of Ricky.

A few days later, he was home. In a week, he would start at a new school. High school in Oakland! It was a big school with many, many kids. Some were rich; some were poor. They were all different colors: White, brown, black, and red. This was America!

Nicky missed his little island, but he loved California. He loved their little house in Oakland at the end of a dead end street with all the giant trees and an ivy covered hill behind it with the houses all close together, like Europe except for the cars, cars, cars everywhere. He was glad to have internet again. He and Ricky started Skyping immediately. It was great to see him when they talked, and it was fun to have sex together even that way. They would dress up sexily for the occasion, then put on a show for each other. It was not the same, but it was better than nothing.

Ricky kept dropping hints that things were not well at home. His mother had a new man, and though he was "OK," there was something "off" about him. But when Nicky pursued this topic, Ricky would just indicate that it was "not cool to talk shit."

Sadly, Nicky had a lot of time alone. He had decided that he was not going to go after the high school boys. In Athens, he had gotten a bad rep as malakos. Never again!

Ricky talked him into getting a bike like his: a single speed track bike. Ricky called those kind, "fixies," for they had a fixed gear, and one could not coast. Nicky found some kids nearby who also rode "fixed." It was a trend. It was "hip." But then, suddenly, Ricky was all, "I've gotten into flip-flop hubs."

"Yeah. Gears on both sides of the back wheel. You take the wheel off and flip it around. One coasts, the other not. My dad told me that last month there were these two guys who could not stop their fixies on those crazy hills there in San Francisco? And they fucking hit pedestrians and they fucking killed two people! I mean, there's 'cool' and there's 'full retard!' So I've gone that way, and I've added a front brake. Also, did I tell you? I wrote a letter to the master maker of Kirin racers in Japan! There's a girl at school who re-wrote it in Japanese! He wrote me back! He speaks English just fine! He said he was 'honored' by my respect for his work. Don't you just love Japanese people? But he says that riding without a brake on city streets just 'breaks his heart' when he hears of it!"

Nicky loved his new bicycle. It was a great sport! He rode it everywhere. It gave him the means to explore. One time, on a whim, he went to the port — which was a huge region. It made him feel at home. It was like Piraeus, the port of Athens. There were, as he had suspected, places there where one could buy "anything." That was where the boy prostitutes would be, and he was able to spot them with ease. One, a lovely young maúros — a "black," really caught his eye. He even talked with him, for there were no "tricks" around, and the boy was friendly. Nicky called him To Koráki, "The Raven." But it was not to be. The Raven warned him that he might get his bike ripped off, and there were guys who would beat him up for the fun of it, so he should not "chill" here.

Mainly, Nicky stayed near his neighborhood, but the kids in his neighborhood said that brakes on a fixie was 'gay.'

They did, however, teach Nicky tricks like how to balance without going anywhere and how to make the back tire skid even though one did not have brakes.

The kids were all younger than Nicky; also, they were cute. They were happy to show Nicky all the things they knew, and they were happy that an older kid took lessons from them. For Nicky, it was enough to have the company of cute little butch boys. He liked those kind. But he never initiated anything sexy.

And that too reminded him of Ricky. He had watched Ricky ask questions of older people over and over, never putting on airs about superior knowledge. Ricky made friends that way. Nicky, of course knew the same trick, but Ricky was particularly adept. Nicky came to understand that Ricky knew as many things as he did because he was so humble about knowledge; for this reason, he could get people to tell him their secrets.

Nicky, on one of the side streets, the practice streets, with no through traffic, where the young bikers and the skaters would congregate to practice, was just then getting into an argument with one of the kids when his cell phone buzzed in his pocket.

Ricky would do that. He wanted to make sure that Nicky could text him back. Then he would say stuff like, "What are you wearing?"

Ricky always texted in complete sentences with correct punctuation. Nicky, for whom writing in English was a chore, would always text in "textspeak," as Ricky called it.

Nicky did not immediately text back. He wanted to settle this latest thing with Thomas.

Thomas was pretty much the leader of the gang. He and Thomas had clashed before. Nicky knew that he was jealous and considered Nicky an intruder. Nicky had never quite been able to smooth Thomas out. Thomas was always going, "What? You don't know how to wheelie? What a dork!"

Nicky would laugh and say, "Hey! I just moved here from Greece. All the kids there have sailboats! Not Bikes!" That was not true, of course, but Thomas did not need to know that.

This time it was about Nicky's front brake. None of the other kids had brakes. It was a source of pride to them, but Ricky had insisted that Nicky have a front brake. Ricky, Nicky knew, was conservative that way. He always wanted to be safe. The story about the Japanese man who made his frame who thought it was sad that guys were using his bikes on the street, among pedestrians, without a brake was very moving to Nicky. Ricky had written back to tell him that his letter was very important to him, and he had installed a brake based on his "strong feelings".

Ricky told Nicky that he considered that he had been commanded by The Master. He convinced Nicky not to take his brake off, no matter what the other kids said. So Nicky had the Logos from on high. He was not going to be dissuaded by a pre-pubescent child about truth and justice.

Nicky was telling this to Thomas, adding that the fixed gear riders in England all used brakes, and Lance Armstrong did too.

"Are you calling me a pussy?" Thomas asked, sneeringly. They had gathered a crowd. They were both astride their bikes.

Nicky remembering one of Ricky's advices, moved with his bike to within striking distance. He hopped off, keeping his bike between them.

Damning the consequences, he said, with a cool smile, imitating a Ricky expression, "Have you ever had your nose broken for talking too much shit, Thomas?"

This was a line that Ricky had gotten from a movie with Vin Diesel, who Ricky thought was "hot as fuck."

Nicky, though his heart was pounding, acted cool. He said to Thomas, "I am calling you something much worse than a pussy. I am calling you a fool, a coward, and a fucking cunt! I am tired of your shit talking. You have something to bring? Bring it!"

Ricky had told him, "Do not ever say such a thing unless you mean it, and make sure you are in range first. Also, get into the right stance."

Nicky was in the right stance. He could pop Thomas a good one and easily defend against a strike. If he had to, he would use his bike as a weapon, bringing it up and swinging it!

Ricky had told him, "Bullies can always tell when you mean business, so in order to handle them, you have to mean BUSINESS! Besides, they always back down — well, usually — when they see you want to fight! And even if they do fight, it is no problem because they were not used to fair fights."

One had to be careful, however, for bullies, Ricky told him, had no honor. They would fight dirty and might have hidden weapons.

"Aw, fuck it," Thomas said. "If it's that important to you, keep your fucking brake!"

Thomas then hobbled with his bike away, somewhat awkwardly, Nicky noted, and he flubbed getting into his pedals with the toe clips and straps that all fixie riders used.

Nicky held his ground. Casually, he reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. The other kids remained around him in silence. Nicky knew they all understood what had just happened. Thomas had tried to show that he was the boss, and Nicky had shown him just the opposite.

Nicky's heart was pounding like the crashing surf. What a rush! Is this how Ricky feels when he goes into battle? No wonder he does it!

Being a little guy, but also being by nature a friendly person, Nicky had never initiated a physical confrontation in his life. And it was not that Thomas was smaller. Though thirteen, he was at least four centimeters taller than Nicky.

As he texted Ricky back, the other kids dispersed and began riding around again. Nicky had no desire to take Thomas' spot as leader. He just was tired of taking shit from him. Later, he would ask Thomas if he was still mad at him. He would offer to buy him a cold drink. Thomas liked "Rock Star" energy drinks. But for the moment, Nicky texted while acting completely indifferent to the hush around him.

"*Where* are you riding it?" Ricky texted back, instantly. Always those little "star" thingies. Ricky told him that meant "emphasis." He was obviously watching his messages.

Nicky could not spell "Neighborhood" and the spell checker could not figure out what he was trying to spell because he spelled English so badly. One could not tell how words were spelled from the sounds in English! Finally he texted, "next street over form house."

When Ricky did not respond right away, Nicky texted, "just got in fight almost."

When Nicky still did not get a response, he was about to text yet another message, but then he heard Ricky with his ears?

Nicky's skin erupted in goosebumps, and the hairs on his body stood up. For a fleeting second, he seemed like he was outside his body, flying into the sky.

Ricky whacked Nicky's back lightly as he glided by. Nicky stared at him open mouthed as Ricky circled him, the wind catching his golden hair, the setting sun painting him in glorious light! He was wearing tight, pocketless pants that ended just above the knee and made his big cock look huge and a riding jersey with red flames that matched the frame of his bike. As Ricky circled him, Ricky saw he had a water bottle in the pockets of the jersey at the small of his back. Even his shoes were perfect, sleek and black with low socks. He looked like a racer!

He was grinning so happily and laughing exultantly, tossing his head, even howling like a wolf! Hoo! Hooooo!

Nicky, still at a loss for words thought, thinking of the other kids, then coming around to check out the new guy, Yes. The BIG dog is here!

Ricky, smiling, keeping his eyes on Nicky, ran elegant figure eights through the throng. His magnificent thighs and glorious ass were pumped up like a Tour-de-France racer.

Nicky answered, "This is my friend Ricky. He is the one who got me into fixies."

"Nah, Ricky answered serenely, "I suck at tricks. I'm into speed! I run big gears, check it, dude! I got a fifty-five up front! I'll bet you are way better at tricks than me!"

He had talked with his mother about how Ricky could brag and defer to others at the same time. Mama said that was called, "humble bragging."

He stopped then next to Nicky, holding a balanced pose on a front wheelie for a good five seconds, showing that he did in fact know some tricks, and one that they could not do because they had no front brake.

But the kids wanted to show off, and Ricky encouraged them. His praise was sincere, but there was something in his tone that hinted of a parent's praise for a child. Ricky did not think of these kids as peers, and they looked up to him.

Nicky wondered, awestruck, once again, How does he DO that? They are all, "Look at ME! Look at ME! Look at ME!"

Even Thomas, who had been distant, had to show off. He pulled one of his amazing wheelies, keeping it going, even stopping and turning around before he had to drop the front wheel. Nicky had seen him start going again. That was not his best wheelie. When he arrived near them, he avoided Nicky's eyes but looked at Ricky for approval.

Thomas grinned at Ricky but looked at Nicky with an expression that had a little too much of a hint of a sneer for Nicky's taste. Making sure Thomas could hear, Nicky said to Ricky, "Careful what you say to him. You say something nice, and then he thinks you want to lick his balls. He's very immature! Obviously!"

Thomas, to his credit, did not flash back at Nicky. He even looked down for a second, then looked up at Nicky with a hurt expression.

Then Ricky was hollering cheerfully, "Nice to meet you guys! Me and Nicky got some catching up! Be seeing you! And keep up the sick tricks, brotha's!"

Nicky, panting to keep up even though he could see that Ricky was hardly trying, riding with no hands, spreading his arms, and making like he was flying, tried to talk.

"Ricky! Fuck! When? How? Why? Why did you not tell me you were coming here? Arrgh! Slow down!"

Ricky said, "Show me your neighborhood. I got money. Let's get hamburgers! I'm fucking hungry!"

Already, they had hit a main street with the heavy traffic typical of an Oakland evening. Shouting over the din, Ricky fired back at him, "It was hard, Nicky. I wanted to surprise you, and right up until the last second, I was not sure, but this is a good surprise! Isn't it?"

"It is!" Nicky shouted back, adding excitedly as he hopped a curb to come along side his beautiful Ricky, "It is! Turn here!"

Ricky followed Nicky then, and talking loudly, "So that cute kid what's-his-name with the bad ass wheelie? That's who you fought with?"

"Yes," Nicky answered. He told Ricky the story as they waited at a long light, Nicky on the sidewalk by the light pole, Ricky on the street at the curb.

He understood that Ricky wanted to sit down with him before he told Nicky how he came to be in Oakland, so he let Ricky lead the conversation. Ricky would tell Nicky everything. But Ricky liked a good story, and good stories were ruined by giving away too much too soon, so Nicky let himself come into Ricky's spell.

Nicky told him, "Make a right at the light. It's a few blocks up on the left. Some Spanish name. I forget, but there's a picture of a fish on the sign, and the sign is gold."

Ricky swooped past him. They had to ride single file. Nicky thought, Fuck, but Ricky has the best ass on the planet! Shit! I am in love with the most beautiful boy in the world!

When they got to the stoplight, Ricky remained on the street, and Nicky rode up on the sidewalk. The concrete there was molded so that there was dip that allowed wheelchairs to get into the crosswalk. Nicky had learned how to use the slope of the walk to rock back and forth, keeping his feet on the pedals and balancing. The trick was called a "track stand."

He turned to look at Ricky, seeing if he noticed. Ricky noticed. Ricky always noticed. He said, "Dude. You have got to teach me how to do that!"

Nicky grinned. That was his Ricky. Typical fucking Ricky! Shameless in his ignorance, lavish in his praise.

Riding along then, this time with Nicky in the lead, Nicky thought, I am loved by the most beautiful boy in the world!

His eyes were watering as they waited at the next light. Then Ricky said a funny thing. He said, "You know what Nicky? It just came to me!"

"Funny, Ricky," Nicky said, keeping his voice level but singing inside. Since they were at the reading each other's minds stage, Nicky needed not to say anything more.

The demarcation between southern Berkeley and northern Oakland was invisible, but there was a culture shift. Suddenly, there were more pedestrians, more restaurants, and more bookstores. The shops had nicer and more specialized things. It was subtle, but distinct.

In silence they pulled into the restaurant. It had a cozy outdoor section, which was nice, since they needed to wheel their bikes in. But that was just typical Berkeley. It always had that college town flavor, while Oakland had a certain industrial quality. Ricky was his usual regal and charming self, ordering for the both of them, saying to the waitress, "I hear you have the best fish tacos! Please tell your chef that he is feeding very hungry young men. Let him make a platter for us. I could eat at least four! And you Nicky?"

She said, "How about I bring four for starters. That is two each. We'll give you lots of chips and salsa. Also we have a salad bar. Would you like salads?"

"This is not Mexico," she laughed. "How about sodas, or perhaps coconut water?"

"And," Ricky added, "two Coca Colas. Not Pepsi! You do have Coke, right? Only Coke has real vanilla. It makes a difference! And do you have the Mexican Coke? They make that with cane sugar, not corn syrup!"

"Actually," the waitress laughed. "our head chef is always saying that the Coke from Mexico is different and better. I'll check to see if he has some bottles stashed, OK? I see we have a connoisseur!"

They made their way to the salad bar, and Ricky loaded up a plate with raw spinach, shrimp, and spicy-sweet, honey mustard dressing. Nicky copied him. Ricky knew food!

"Yes! Have you moved here! Do you live here?" Nicky was almost fainting with the delirium of the possibility.

"OK, Nicky," Ricky said, talking even with his mouth full, which Ricky never did, so he must be excited too!

Nicky hopped up from his chair and jumped up and down, spinning around. He sang, imitating a cowboy movie song, "Yipee yi yo kai yay-ee-YAY!"

Suddenly, Nicky saw that everyone in the restaurant was staring. But the looks were amused. Nicky, in a loud voice, explained, "I just found out that my best friend has moved here! I am happy!"

Ricky grinned as Nicky sat down. He said, "I guess we have that in common, Nicky. We both like the spotlight!"

"Yes!" Nicky agreed without hesitation, but hurried into his next question: "So what made your Papa change his mind? I thought you said your mom was opposed and he was cool on the idea anyway? And that was very cruel to not tell me!"

"No, Nicky," Ricky said, shaking his head and munching on a taco. "It would have been cruel to get your hopes up. And it all happened suddenly! My mom's new boyfriend? The one I told you about? He and I had a terrible fight! It was awful! And my stepdad was fighting for the house, so my mom agreed to move out in exchange for a better child support deal, so she did! But then my stepdad just 'seemed to never have the money...'"

But he continued unabated, "...and basically... well, we didn't even have enough money for food! Oh, Nicky! It was ugly! Back and forth. Back and forth! She had no money for a lawyer. He was spending all his money on his! So my mom did what she always does when she can't support her kids. She finds a guy who will! And I was having none of that!

"And then I was yelling at my mom's new boyfriend, 'She's just using you too!' And he whipped off his belt and started slashing at me with it, shouting, 'How dare you speak of your mother that way!'

"But I did not fight him back. That would be wrong. I just took it, you know? My mom needed him, and could not do that for her, you know, pay the bills? And anyhow, fuck him! Mom can not pick guys! Anyhow, I just grabbed my backpack, got some water, and took off. I got on my bike and rode here."

Nicky looked at him astonished. said, "From your house in the valley? That is like two hundred miles!"

"That's funny Nicky. That's the first time I've heard you say a dimension using English measurements."

"'Miles' are Roman, Ricky, but that is how I learned the distance. I Googled it because I wanted to find out how far away from me you were, but you rode all that way?

"It took me two days. I slept in a field. I had some money for food. The main problem was I kept running out of water 'cause I just had one water bottle, and I drank from a canal and got the runs bad, but at the next store I bought two more water bottles, and I showed up at my dad's — he's got a new house; it's super cool, all 'post-modern' my dad called it, with gray steel siding and a hot tub and all, small, but cool — and I just basically fell down on the floor and begged him! But? Also? I told him he owed me. He owed me for not being there for me, and I told him I'd call it even if he let me stay. Man to man. You know? And that got him."

Fucking Ricky. The guy had balls. He just hops on his bike and leaves. He rides two hundred miles. He tells his dad, "Fuck you, bitch. You owe me!"

Nicky's mom called then. No matter how many times Nicky told her to text him, she refused, saying, "When I call, you will answer, no matter where you are, no matter who you are with."

In kind she answered, "Where are you? Are you not enjoined to be home at this time?"

Nicky, though he knew he was in trouble, happily said in the natural eloquence of his native tongue, "I am with our beloved Ricky at La Pesquería. He is feeding me well and telling me how he came to be here! Allow us this time, Mama, and I will kiss your feet! Indeed, come here and seek us out. You will like the salad bar, I think. There are rich olives, succulent avocados, and goat cheese in the Mexican style. They have here not the watery American lettuce but spinach and kale! Come join us! You may have wine and the company of those who love you like the Moon adores the Sun! Be not angry Mama! Take not from us this miracle! It is a time of celebration! Let us be happy!"

"And most joyful greetings to you Mama Maria!" Ricky said, grinning, even as he was catching the waitress's attention and holding up fingers which said, "Four more!"

"Yes," he said. "My father has asked me to come stay with him, not five miles from here! Naturally I sought Nicky out. We are having a joyful reunion. Will you join us? I did not mean to get him in trouble! He is excited! Please forgive him!"

"No, Mama. He is in my care. Only God Himself could bring harm to him, and God would not harm His angel!"

He handed the phone back to Nicky. His mother said, "You must arrive home before dark, Nicholas. You have no more than an hour!"

Nicky said, "She will not let you leave, once we are at my house... ah, that is, well, she will not let you leave alone! I will wager she is calling your father right now!"

"Let her!" Ricky said, "He already knows I am hunting you down, and I told him not to expect me home tonight! Do you have an extra toothbrush?"

Nicky laughed, and leaning close in the crowded place said, "After sticking your tongue in my ass, do you really need your own toothbrush?"

The next platter of tacos came, they were so hot they could hardly hold them. Delicious!

Quickly then, Ricky told him his father had sold his house in the South Bay at a crazy profit and bought a renovated house near the University. It had two stories and a hot tub. Ricky had his own room. Patrick would stay with his mother, and Ricky would take care of his father's place. His dad was getting Ricky into the high school. Though a public school, by virtue of it's proximity to the University and the wealth of the neighborhood, it was famous. Ricky was excited. It had a good athletics program, but a poor record, being in competition with the big Oakland school with all the working-class kids. Ricky, always the rooster, vowed he would change that! Also, he could continue with university classes and be a "shoo-in" for "tough entrance requirements."

This last delighted Nicky so much he could have jumped up and shouted again. "You can draw the lines for our boat! We could build it together!"

They forgot about everything else and talked about the design and construction of boats until they finished their meal, then sped back to Nicky's house.

They arrived at the edge of dark, pushing, as was their wont, the outer limit, always.

Nicky's mother received Ricky graciously, hugging and kissing him, and though her words were polite, she required him to sit with her and tell her every detail of how he came to live near them. Ricky managed to evade discussing the fight with his mother's new boyfriend only by insisting that there was an "altercation," and it was a "private matter," adding that she might speak with his mother about it.

To Nicky's amusement, his mother caught Ricky off guard when she said, "Now Ricky, now that you are here, one suspects that your father, who travels much, will leave you alone. I trust that you will keep me informed of such?"

"Good. I do not feel comfortable with my son spending the night at your house without your father present. But you are always welcome here."

"I already have. He as well knows your tricks. He trusts you, Ricky, but it was no small matter for him to let you stay with him, for he cannot always be there, so his trust is not a thing to take lightly."

"Yes, Mama Maria," he said. Then, suddenly, he blurted, "I have another deception that I have hidden from you, and I wish to confess."

Alarmed, Nicky's eyes flashed to his mother, who only looked at Ricky curiously, and said, "Yes?"

"Yes. That night after the dance? We had Sarah cover for us. In fact, Nicky and I went to a party and we both did drugs, and I know Nicky is fainting right now from this confession, but if we are to have a new beginning, we must start fresh, and, anyway I threw up all over the place, and the next day? Do you remember how I got into a fight? I was out of sorts from the bad influence of those poisons. I am sorry. Even after you warned me, I did that. You trusted me, and I promised."

Nicky, was not "fainting." In fact, he was relieved. Of course he knew that Ricky had omitted certain, critical details.

His mother shook her head. Nicky could tell she did not know whether to be angry over the mis-deeds and deception or be glad for the honesty. She looked at Nicky, who nodded. She looked back at Ricky.

Before she could say anything, Ricky added, "But here is something important. I was prepared to do the same again! I planned it. I arranged it. I created the perfect opportunity, but it was your Nicholas who stopped me! You see? You asked me to watch him, but it was he who watched me. He told me that if I wanted to do that, it would be without him. He said it lacked areté! He said it was not the way of athletes and scholars."

She said then, gently, "Ah. So then! Hmmm... I confess as well, Ricky, that I am quite at a loss for words. For now, we will consider it an excellent lesson properly learned. Have you told your father?"

But then she told them, "How about my two darlings kiss me good night? I have had a long day, and I expect you two would like some time together; also, may I say, please shower! You smell like goats!

Nicky loved that Ricky pronounced it correctly. He said, "mah-MAH," not "MAH-mah."

Nicky, after, after hugging his mother, excitedly led Ricky to his little attic room with its dormers and view over the other houses. In the distance was a haze that suggested a large body of water.

"Well there you have it. There are some who enter the arena. They fight in the sand. They accept life's challenge and do battle. These are the winners!"

"Yes!" Nicky agreed, "And the one's who do not strive at all? The one's who sit in the seats and only watch? These are the losers."

Afterword: True Confessions

I want to thank the people who have written me with words of appreciation and observations of things I should probably fix. Especially, I want to thank those of you who understood the story was never meant to only and merely toss happy, gay flowers around everywhere. A story without conflict and danger is no story at all. I meant to shock the shit out you upon occasion. If you are reading this, you probably understand that.

I was much gratified to learn that people liked stories that were actually stories and not merely a collection of gratuitous sex scenes. This gave me the motivation to try to write a better story, so thanks for that too.

At this writing, the book still needs work. A number of readers have spotted errors and were kind enough to let me know. For one, I recently learned that the foreign characters I've used to transliterate Greek and Italian were not displaying properly! This has to do with something called "character encodings" and can be fixed at your end by selecting "Encoding -> Unicode -> UTF-8" in whichever modern browser you use. Future, revised versions, will require no fix at your end and should display well on even the most ancient browsers, so that's a belated workaround.

There are a lot of other goofs. To name a few, I confuse Labor Day with Memorial Day. I write "to" when it should be "too," "their" instead of "there" (or vice-versa), and other stuff like excessive use of "then" or "just." I have a long list of typos and wrong words to re-check. I have quite a few clunky sentences, misplaced or missing commas or quotation marks, and other minor punctuation mistakes. Writing a long piece is a lot of work! Mainly the errors are simply the result of being tired and losing the diamond sharp focus it takes to write perfectly. I'll get to them all and upload the fixed chapters as needed again, so when you read this, I might have already fixed such details, but, at this moment, I need to rest. One thing this book taught me was to adopt a more methodical writing style to keep from getting burned out. Better to write at a steady pace, going back over each section sooner rather than later than to write furiously ever onward.

In the meantime, in answer to reader questions about the life stories behind the story, I thought I'd share with you a little about myself. Fiction can gloss over or erase a lot of crap, and my life has been full of that.

Have you ever read The Life of Pi? Perhaps you have seen the movie. (I'm going somewhere with this, so bear with me.)

What happens in the story is that a young man, name "Pi," is shipwrecked. The ship was carrying animals from the zoo his family owned in India but had sold to a Japanese company. They were on their way to Japan. He finds himself in a liferaft with a hyena, a zebra with a broken leg, and an orangutang. Within short order, the hyena has killed both the zebra and the orangutang. Pi then discovers that a large tiger has been hiding under the tarpaulin, who kills the hyena and eats him. Pi discovers the tiger gets seasick, and he uses this weakness to "condition" the tiger. He has many strange adventures before he finally washes ashore in Mexico. The tiger runs off without a backward glance, never to be seen again. In the hospital, he is interrogated by two Japanese officials conducting an inquiry into the shipwreck. They find his story too far-fetched to believe. So Pi tells them another story. In this story, there are no animals. Instead, there is the ship's cook, a sailor with a broken leg, and his mother. The cook cuts off the sailor's leg for fishing bait. He then kills and eats both the sailor and Pi's mother. Pi himself kills and eats the cook.

Pi points out that neither story answers the questions about how the ship was wrecked. He asks them which story they prefer: the one with the animals, or the one without?

This story I just told you is the one with the animals, not the one with the cannibals.

The setting was based on a real place, and the characters were based on real people, but the real life endings were not so cheery.

First, Ricky is not a projection of me. He's a different person. He sees more action in nine weeks than I did through all of junior high and high school. After high school, the drug-crazed orgy scene was replayed many times — though I played a different role than Ricky or Nicky, and my scene involved mixed genders, but, Ricky learns in a day what took me a decade.

Second, that fight scene with Collin? In real life, that was actually me getting my ass kicked by a gay guy I had ridiculed in high school. Oh, he stomped me good!

I felt so foolish, I went over to his house to apologize. I was never a good fighter when, in my heart, I knew I was wrong. He was deeply impressed by this confession. I was equally impressed by his dignity and his honor — not to mention that fact that he proved to me that gay guys could be badasses! We became intimate. I got to know him well. Ricky's personality is based on that guy, and "Ricky" was his real name. I should not have used his real name, but it was too late. The first draft went into the wild before I could change it.

I am actually more like Collin than any other personality in this book, though as portrayed, he's got a streak of misogyny I never had. I knew another guy who looked a lot like Collin. He really was that beautiful. But he and I merely I had some sexy, guiltily furtive "sword fights." We were much alike. I stayed in the closet and fucked a lot of girls, in actual numbers, more women than men while usually bored by hetero sex. I felt like a prostitute, "just doing my job."

Third, I was in my twenties in the eighties. That dates me of course. Further, I lived in San Francisco during one of the most sexually liberated and promiscuous eras in history. It is no exaggeration to say that ninety percent of the guys I knew died of AIDs related complications (of which suicide is one).

Fourth, though it may seem far-fetched, in my youth, I did actually look like Ricky. When you are a good looking guy, you experience a world where people look at you and smile. Opportunities come. Doors open. Pretty people see the world differently than, well, not so pretty people. I can write honestly about that. At the local bear bar and at a nearby bathhouse, I do not ever find myself without a hookup, even in middle age. I can write frankly from the viewpoint of one for whom sex is easy to obtain. That yearning and pining for the unobtainable — so common in gay lit — is foreign to me.

I also have fairly accurately portrayed the attitude of gay jocks towards effeminate men: They are different tribes who rarely mingle.

Fifth, Nicky is based on an older guy much like him. There is a good, romantic story back of that. Nicky's physical description: Dark, fluffy hair, cute — yet masculine — face, and hard, gymnast's body is how my friend and mentor — let us call him "Matteo" — looked in his youth. He was Italian, not Greek. He had grown up on what people refer to as the "Italian Riviera" where his mother owned a motel. His father had been killed fighting the Allies in World War II. Near the end of the war, they hid a young German naval man in their attic. This young man, "Lothar," was only sixteen! He was a couple years senior to Matteo. He had served on a yacht the Germans maintained for their officers, and much of the sea-faring lore comes via that channel. He and my mentor had a life-long affair. They had moved to the US in the late fifties after selling the hotel. But Lothar had died before Matteo rescued me.

I had been doing charcoal portraits of street boys. These I would cajole into sitting for me by obtaining weed for them. This work was never popular, for it was frightening. I called it the "Dead Boy Series." Years later, in the SF MOMA (San Francisco Museum of Modern Art), I saw a series of photos with identical subject matter and similarly disturbing faces. To this day, I wonder if the photographer saw my work and copied my idea. It does not matter. Matteo saw what I was doing and appreciated my "classically informed, dark impressionism."

In my writing, you will often see references to art. I do not usually express my own opinion though. I prefer to let others have their own, and I have certainly heard many, many, opinions and theories about art.

By that time I met Matteo, I had learned to never deceive an older guy about my willingness to "put out." I did not put out. I was notorious for that. San Francisco may be a big city, but the upper class gay scene, the "A-Gays" as they so smugly called themselves, was a small club, and I had a reputation — not a good one, for I had scammed several guys by hinting at promises of sex so I had a place to crash, then not delivering (to some limp-dicked, wrinkled, old poof, right?). Matteo was fine with me as I was. He called me a "beautiful anachronism," a man "out of his own time."

Right away, he put me to work as butler and secretary. (Like Ricky, I am a good cook and enjoy domestic chores.) Trained in Milan, Matteo worked as a designer for a number of architects, decorators, and furniture makers. Before long, he had me building things for him, and this led to one of the careers that I enjoyed as much as art.

Matteo also insisted that I receive a "proper, gentleman's education." With his logistical help, I did that. (Classical literature and languages, in case you wondered.) He was a genuine European aristocrat who thought that rich Americans were generally gauche, disgusting peasants with derivative tastes and purely materialistic ambitions who were yet very much full of themselves without having earned any status at all. I have noticed again and again that truly classy people are kind to the help. Arrogance is a sign of low class. The size of one's house and the newness of one's car has nothing to do with class. You might have noticed this ancient, aristocratic attitude reflected many times in Boys of Summer. Nicky, as represented, should not have appeared as an art connoisseur, and neither was Matteo: He was a man connoisseur. Finally, I was appreciated.

I routinely brought women back to my room at Matteo's place, but he was OK with that. It amused him, actually. He thought of me as a stud. One of the great, open secrets about the pickup scene in San Francisco was that it was ridiculously easy to hookup with women due to a lack of competition for their attention. And yet, after my "lay of the day" had left, I'd snuggle up on the couch, or crawl into bed with him. They gave me sex. He gave me love.

Now, at the time, we were all simply unsure about how contagious HIV was, so intimate contact was a dicey operation, and Matteo, who was HIV positive, had no wish to see me infected.

In Boys of Summer you see Ricky and Nicky again and again having "pillow talk." Well, that's Matteo and I. That was total realism. He loved to tell me stories, and I loved to listen. He accepted me, warts and all. He often told me how I looked like Lothar. I was his "type." Like Nicky, he loved those big, strong, German looking, pretty blonds.

So I had in mind to bring Matteo — another AIDS casualty — back to life, to "paint a portrait," as it were, of one who got me off drugs and unburdened me of the shame of my sexuality. He made me want to become an honest person. He restored my dignity and self-respect after an abusive upbringing. How can one repay such a thing?

You see in Nicky a guy who is at once old and young, brilliant and silly, profound and frivolous. I knew the man. I imagined the boy. The book is a love story. I did not have to fake that part. He saved my life. After him, sex required a true bond in order to interest me. After him, I realized it really didn't matter whether it was with a guy or a girl. That had always been a stupid, arbitrary, irrelevancy. As it happened, I went almost exclusively gay, but, strangely and surprisingly to me, I started having better relationships with women. Looking back, it seems I was slowly sliding right on the Kinsey scale over the course of many, many years. Or, if you prefer, I became more honest.

Most of my homo-erotic experiences in the period were with older guys, for they were the ones who could handle me. Later, I had a chance to "pay it forward"; in fact, my next story is a fictionalized version of one such experience. People who say they don't like boys have obviously never been adopted by one. (That's an old joke. Heh. I replaced "cats" with "boys.")

I was never as kind and courageous as Ricky; however, as I said, I did know a guy like him, and we did have a chance to love each other. In this story, I got to bring him back to life too. This book is an homage. A dude like that does find a companion like Nicky in his youth. Not me. The real Ricky, like so many other great men, was lost to the plague. In the true tale, the heros die and the cowards live.

So I gave my beloved Ricky the guy he deserved, and I gave my beloved Matteo the guy he deserved.

It is a miracle I did not die. But then, like the characters in the story, I was fastidious, and I was always extremely particular who I let "back there." Additionally, when it came to gay sex, I was hundreds of times less promiscuous than my peers.

Finally... The appearance of Joshua is based on was a guy he looked just like that. Let's call him "Jonathan." At fourteen, Jonathan a had a horse-sized cock and not a trace of pubic hair. I have never seen anyone like that before or since, but we were hardly lovers. In fact, we had an intense competition over a girl — which I won, and which infuriated him.

I was one of those kids who grew up more slowly than most others in my age group, so I was shy and did not get sexually active until later than most. I have noticed that big-dicked dudes tend to be aggressively sexual earlier in life than others. At the time, I was still pretty much equipped like a twelve year-old, and that big cock he repeatedly flaunted — as he changed clothes in the cabin of a place I went for church camp — haunted me. However, only Joshua's appearance was based him. The personality, history of abuse, ability to bounce back, and amazing technical skill he had were based on survivor's tales I have collected from people who have risen above such tragedies. It happens, but according to my observations, it tends to happen only to strong-willed, ambitious, and creative types.

Funny thing is, years later, prowling the streets of the Mission District of San Francisco, I bumped into Jonathan again. He had always lived in what we call the "Bay Area." In Northern California, that means the "San Francisco Bay." In satellite photos at night, it looks like a megapolis of light all around the bay, more so to the south than to the north, however. He was a local, and the places you went to look for street boys were fairly small and distinct sub-districts. I was hunting for models to draw as described above. So it was not odd that we might meet again by chance. He swore he was straight, and he was doing "gay for pay." It was a typical story I had heard from many male prostitutes. Who knows? Those stories might even have been true.

One day, a few weeks later, we chanced to meet again in a café, and he asked me if I wanted to "make some green" to be in a porno. I had no interest in that, but the fat, old guy who was filming it told me he wanted to cast me as the top, and the chance to fuck Jonathan's ass was too good to pass up.

That grainy, old, dark, Super-8 film still shows up on free porn sites as a "vintage" type. Somewhere along the way someone must have made a camcorder copy. You might have even seen it. In front of the camera, Jonathan lets me kiss him, and he kisses me back with my cock in his ass. We were supposed to flip-flop, but I refused, and I told the guy he could keep his money. Jonathan got paid, however. He always claimed that kiss was "acting." If so, he was a good actor.

Ricky would have been a good sport, but Collin would laugh at such a prank. My appearance was like Ricky, yet my personality was like Collin's — an abusive asshole, who, nevertheless, kept questioning, wanting the truth, even if it hurt.

I was genuinely and mainly interested in girls who seemed to really like me, and the feeling was mutual. With the exception of the real life Ricky, my experiences with gay guys at that time were not positive. Pretty boys have many of the same reactions as pretty girls towards people who are only, or excessively, interested in their bodies. Homophobia thus remains a theme in my work. In my writing, I try to confront that. There will always be a dark side to my words, for that is true to life. I have seen a lot of bad things, and I have heard worse.

I have had quite a few guys ask if I am in a relationship. No, I am not. I really don't do "relationships." "Friendship with benefits" is the thing I do. I have learned that I'm a pretty good friend but a terrible husband. I need my freedom and am simply not wired for monogamy.

What made me even take up writing at all was motorcycle crash that laid me up. I could not stand, let alone walk. That forced a break in my always physical work. So I decided to try writing. It was an experiment. Writing porn simply made it fun rather than a chore. I have other, "serious," work in the pipeline. More than anything else, Boys of Summer was an experiment in seeing things and presenting things from totally different points of view than my own. Boys experiment, you know?

Which is the better story? The one with the dead men in the past or the one with the living young men and bright futures?

My next story, however, is an exercise in realism. I am curious to see whether it is more popular and which audience it reaches. We shall see.

Questions? Comments? Critiques? Don't be shy. Let me know. All feedback is useful. Your letters have been helpful and encouraging. Heck, I'll even write you back. I like to do that.

Cheers, Dorian
(dorianswift@tutanota.com)

A great resource like Nifty costs money to run, and maintaining the archive is a lot of work. Your donations help. Feel free to throw a gift of change into this wonderful fountain. http://donate.nifty.org/donate.html

Epilog: The Most Beautiful Boys in the World

Blessings Never Come without Curses

Afterword: True Confessions