Date: Sat, 9 Jul 2005 19:29:52 -0700 From: Kevin Harness Subject: The Love Of My Life 5 The Love of My Life Chapter 5 This story contains descriptions of gay people in real life situations, both of legal age and below 18. These people engage in consensual sex in this story, however your government, local laws, statutes, etc may not allow you to read this story. You are not supposed to be reading this story if you are not 18 years of age. I write this story, as I have all my stories, for true boylovers and the boys that love to be loved by them, everywhere, anywhere. Additionally, this story really happened to me and the character James was a real, live person. Other characters in the story may have their name changed. This will be a hard story to tell, but I'll do my best. Those of you that have read a few of my other stories (Hands On My Heart, Save The Boy, A Boy To Remember, The Education of Joshua) know that these aren't your regular "fuck stories". That being said, read on.... ================================================================== I never moved in with James, and he never moved in with me. We visited each other several times a week, and were exclusively seeing only each other. Sometimes we would just hang or have a meal or watch a movie, sometimes I'd stay overnight at his condo, or he at my house. I don't know why, but we both agreed that it was better that way. In retrospect, James needed a lot of space to come to terms with his worsening condition and figure out what he wanted to do - about it, and about whatever was left of his life. I went to the doctor with him from very early on in our relationship, and James told his doctor that he was authorized to talk to me about anything, anytime. Despite his physical deterioration, James had many, many good day and weeks. Sex with him was absolutely unbelievable. Our most memorable time was on a beach just south of Sunset Cliffs. It was a hotter than hell day, but was only pleasantly warm at dusk. We park my car and headed down to the sandy beach and shed our clothes at once. No, it wasn't a nude beach but looking back on it we just didn't care. The setting was perfect, James was perfect with a slight breeze rustling his hair, and we were both as giddy and silly as we'd ever been. We set out our blanket and then laid down on our backs and looked at the sky. It was a beautiful sunset, reddish clouds hues and purples against a darkening blue sky. James rolled over and kissed me all over, running my temperature up past the boiling point in seconds. He drew it out forever and went slowly, almost excruciatingly so. I was panting and out of control as he engulfed me in his mouth and went up and down so fast I thought I was going to explode. Suddenly he quit, and pulled my legs up, quicking donning protection. He pressed fingers into me and made circular motions with his hand as he applied lube, making me bounce up and down on the blanket. Sliding his boyhood in slowing and quickly ascertaining where exaclty inside I needed to be rubbed, he began. His lean and well-defined chest and abdominal muscles rippling with each thrust, he made it last a long, long time. Finally, when he could hold back no more and sweat was dripping erotically from the blonde hair surrounding his face, he pummeled my prostate in a rapid, short burst of strokes. I am glad we were on a beach, because my exclamatory sounds as I jettisoned sperm over my head was way too loud for civilization. The true joy, however - and you who've been there know what I mean - was the exquisite ecstasy on my young love's face and his eyes rolling back in his head as he came, his whole body tensing with each spurt. After regaining some semblence of composure, we took a quick dip in the water and put our shorts back on. We held hands and walked along the tide line, the water tickling our feet as it came in and went back out. It was the summer of 2000, probably August. A couple of months later, in early October, it seemed that James was more tired than usual and just didn't feel well much of the time. It was considerably off-cycle for him to have such a sag so soon after his doctor had changed up his meds, so we talked it over and decided to ride it out and see what developed. Every night for nearly two weeks, I came over after work and sat with James, his head in my lap as he slept. He loved it when I told him stories of things that'd happened in my life, and so it became kind of a routine. Sometimes he would want a scary story, or a funny one, or one where I had an epiphany due to whatever happened. He really, really loved hearing about my life. It was way, way cool. One day I teased him, "You're going to owe me back a lot of stories someday, you know." He smiled, "I only have two stories. One you already know, and the other is you." I laughed, "Oh no, Mr. Sneaky. You don't e-v-e-n get off that easy and I'm n-o-t falling for that one." "Dammit!" and he laughed at being caught. He sat up and gave me a kiss, and without being all serious about it, said, "Hey Kev, I need to go see my doc." "Ok, babes. Just call tomorrow morn and see when they can get you in and I'll come pick you up and take ya." "Thanks," he said shyly, and comically batted his eyes at me. We saw his doctor the next day, who of course promptly ordered more lab tests that we could believe. The part that was a bit unnerving was that he had us go out for some coffee while he got the lab results back in an hour. Um, ok. He looked at James and said he'd be straight-forward, and to ask any questions as he went along. He then asked, for the first time since I'd been coming with James, if it was ok that I was in the room for this consultation and lab results. James looked at me and I nodded, and he told the doc sure, no problem. The doctor was going to try a very different combination of drugs, but from what he could tell, James' body was just shutting down. The immune system which had normally been holding its own would degenerate rapidly, leaving James susceptible to everything. I'm not a doctor, so I asked a helluva a lot of questions at this point. I was behind James and had my arms around him. He was trembling. A lot. "James, is it ok it if speak and ask a fairly, point-blank question here?" I asked. Scared as hell, he nodded. "First of all, thanks for all you've done for James. I mean it. Thanks. Ok, help me our here. Boil this all down, tell us what to expect, and I guess what the options are." James smiled at me, like I'd done ok. The doctor explained that unless the next barrage of meds made a significant impact on arresting the decline of James' immune system, it was not good. And the next meds would almost for sure make him feel like shit, so there would be no way to tell 'shit that was helping' from 'shit that was bad' until we ran lab tests again at 6 weeks and 12 weeks. He went on to explain that if the meds failed, they could of course try different combo's and keep on firing away at the condition, but the failure of the new cocktail at this point would have marked a serious enough decline in James' system to nearly make him bed-ridden. James turned 21 about a month later on Nov 10th, and we spent the eve with a bottle of champagne and watching TV. It was a blast, with both of us just getting tipsy enough to not be impacted by the seriousness of recent developments, and enjoying each others' company. I'd given him a card and a gift card for The Rack, a clothing store not too far from where he lived. Still, I asked him if he'd like to do anything else on his birthday. "Just be with you, Kev," he smiled. "Well, I know that, silly boy, and that's a done deal 'cuz here I am." He gave me his best Cheshire cat grin, followed by a James-hug that always melted my heart completely. At the end of November we did lab tests again, and the results showed the decline we were hoping to avert. James, although chipper and alert, was taking hit-points that would crunch an Army tank. The tests in January were equally conclusive - the meds were having no effect whatsoever. The doctor wanted to try one more round of meds, some of which were very new to the market and had good promise (although the trials on the meds hadn't proven out well for such an advanced case as James'). Ok, James agreed, one more round. In my own mind, I had to ask myself the questions: Why only one more round? What then if it turned out badly? What would James do? I didn't have long to wait for those questions to be answered. The lab tests after twelve weeks, which ended in April of 2001, were tragic. James was beginning to mirror the virus' effect - losing weight, nearly always tired, not hungry, and weak. At the end of April, we talked for a long time and he let me know he had to go back home. He couldn't stay here as there was no one to watch over him during the daytimes, and he forsaw he'd be fairly bedridden within a couple of months or so. I argued long and hard that I could visit him at lunch and dinner and stay with him overnights as much as he needed or wanted, but we both knew it wouldn't be enough. His mom was home most of the time, and could effectively care for James. I'd talked with her several times, and she was indeed a very, very nice mom and loved James a lot. She had already offered James a place 'to rest', as she called it, and didn't mind helping him out 'until he got better'. I prepared to quit my job and move, and James would have no part of it. We then had one of those reality talks you never ever want to go through, but which was likewise inevitable. "Kev, you can't come with me." "Yes I can." "No, you can't, and even though you already know, I'll tell you why." I listened, not wanting to hear what he was going to say. He came around behind me and put his arms around me and his head against my back, and then I turned so he could be against my chest. "Kev, we both know how this is probably going to turn out. No, we don't want it that way, but we've both seen the writing on the wall here. Am I right?" I nodded, unable to speak. "You can't go for however many months, you'll lose your job. And then when it's all over you'll come back to California with no job, no money, and nowhere to live. I can't let you do that, I love you too much to inflict that much hurt." "James, you know my view," I managed through increasing tears. "I'd do anything for you and nothing else matters." "I know Kev. But it does matter. You know that, too. We obviously can't change what is about to happen, heaven knows we've tried. And you. You've stood beside me no matter what, encouraged me, helped me, made love to me, and truly made me feel so wanted and loved that there's no way to explain it." "I know, but....." "No buts, Kev. You wouldn't let me be hurt or injured, right?" "Right." "Ok, Kev. Same with me to you. I can't let you hurt yourself because of me. I can't. I have to ask you...." "Please don't...." "I have to ask you to not follow me home. I know you want to, Kev, and part of me wants you to. But you can't." I knew why, he knew why. We'd both mentally covered this ground a thousand times before this conversation. He was his strongest when he was helping me, correcting me, making me see the right way to do something or view something. I knew I couldn't go with him. "Kev, did I ever let you take me around and sorta 'show me off'?" "No. Well one, cuz you're shy, and two, cuz you're very not all about yourself." He smiled, and nodded his thanks. "But Kev, hear me. I don't want the last images you have of me to be a wasted-away shell of my former self. I'm a little proud that way. So, all those things together sort of add up to why I said you can't follow me." "I know," I sobbed, "I just don't want to lose you." "I know, Kev, I know. Me too, more than I'll ever be able to tell you. I wouldn't even have made it this far without you." I nodded. We laid down on the couch and decompressed for a long time through kisses and lessening tears. After quite a while, he spoke, sounding like the little boy inside that made James who and what he was. "Kev?" he said giggling. "Yeah?" "Make love to me?" "You sure?" "Oh fuck yeah," he grinned. That usually meant he was hard as a rock, and yup, sure enough he was. "How?" "Um, you lay flat, face-up and I'll sit?" "Yeah!" I grinned, and he was up in a flash grabbing all the necessary stuff. As he sat down on me, the look on his face as I entered him to my full length was written like a picture on his face. Matching every bounce he did one me, I used a lubed hand to keep pace on his considerable boyhood. I'll always remember the bounce of his blonde hair shimmering, and the look on his face as he was ravished by someone he truly loved. It had been a while so we both came in considerable volumes, watching the face of the other. James laid forward with me still in him and whispered to me. "I love you, Kev. I really, really love you." "I love you too, babes. Thanks for being you." He laughed out loud and said, "Ya silly goof, who else would I be?" and we both howled like it was the funniest thing we'd ever heard. Showering later, James broke down a bit, and began to apologize for putting me through all of this. It was one of the very few times I showed any anger. "No, don't you do that!" I said in a measured, controlled voice. "You know how it is with us. If it was me, you'd have done the same thing if not more. There is no sorry, ever. OK?" He nodded. "Good," I replied. "No, it hasn't been easy, and yes some parts of it have been hard, but James, it's been with you so it's all good babes. Period. End of story. I wouldn't have done it any other way." He nodded again, and smiled. He started to speak, and I sssh'd him quietly, and kissed his head. "I love it when you do that," he cooed. "I know babes. Me too," and I laughed a little. We slept on our favorite couch, with our favorite person, in our favorite configuration. James left for home in May of 2001, and we talked several days each week. I talked to his mom constantly, who was an amazing woman. She thanked me immensely for all my support, and I could only reply, "Ma'am, it's no problem. It's James. He's my boy and I love him." As the summer months edged on, it was evident that James was weakening both from what his mom would tell me, and from the duration and content of his conversations with me. Curiously enough, his birthday was Nov 10th, and mine's Nov 11th. Not previously explained, however, is that I am an avid amateur rocket guy, and my group and I go to the desert once a month to launch rockets. Lots of fun. So, in Nov of 2001 I went to the event, which was a Sat Nov 10 & Sun Nov 11. I'd left on Friday and had called James wishing him a happy birthday, which his mom relayed to him because he was napping. Saturday was his birthday, Sunday was mine. My friends all gave me a nice party at the rocket launch, and everyone signed a huge rocket that a friend of mine had built for me. I had a great time and it was lots of fun, but I couldn't help but thinking that James had just turned 22 the day before. I couldn't wait to get back home so I could call him (my cell phone didn't work when I went to the desert). I came back to my home on Sunday to a message recording from James' mom for me to call her right away. Early Saturday a.m. James and his mom had talked for a long time, with James expounding on how much I meant to him, and how he'd hurt me by leaving and not letting me follow. He told him mom to be sure to tell me several things after he was gone, and his mom promised. Later that day same day James took an over-dose of sleeping pills and took his own life. He'd told his mom earlier that he not only didn't want to become some shadow of his former self, he didn't want to be a burden to everyone and drag them through the horrible ending that was coming. So, he exited as cleanly as he could. His mom and I talked a long time on Sunday, and she said that James had told her to tell me thank you so much for being his love, and that I had made his life for him. I told her that was pretty funny, as that was my view of James on my life. She said that despite his illness, she'd never seen James so happy, especially when he talked about he and I. She told me all the things that James had told her to tell me, one of which was that I could still talk to him anytime I wanted. That made me smile, because it was so James to say that. I still talk with his mom now and again, and she sent me two poems that James had written as an early teen. They were soooo cute, and I could hear a younger James' voice reading the lines. To be truthful, yes, the sadness was very overwhelming and the weight of the loss was the most crushing thing imaginable that someone could experience and still sort of live through. I don't know the exact line, but you'll know what I'm talking about when I describe the question - "...whether it's better to have loved and lost, than to never have loved at all." I now know the answer to that question, at least for me. I'm happy I'm a boylover, and consider myself the luckiest guy on Earth to have been privileged enough to spend four years of James' life with him.