Date: Wed, 05 Mar 2003 14:16:47 +0000
From: tommy nofeet <tommynofeet@hotmail.com>
Subject: Brothers and Lovers - Part 4

DISCLAIMER: the following FICTIONAL story may contain vivid descriptions of
sex between young boys. If this is offensive to you, or viewing of such
material is illegal where you're at, you know where the 'back' button is.
Otherwise, enjoy it. It's a love story, and I hope you have the patience to
read it all the way through.


Chapter 10 - Return to Me
My birthday was a watershed. Mike was coming back to me. Of course, there
was no instant cure, no overnight healing. Mike would still cry on my
shoulder every night, but at least he was crying. I was a part of his life
once more. I really knew he was back for good when his horniness came back
to him. We'd both been too caught up in the pain of his mother's death to
even thing about fooling around for the previous few months. But now all
that pent up tension welled up to the surface, and we became virutally
unstoppable. It was a good thing my dad had installed the lock on my door,
because Mike and I were more often naked and hard in my room than clothed.
Our passions renewed, we would spend hours kissing, lying naked on my bed
and humping slowly against each other. More often than not, we would both
climax just from the friction, but once in a while we would also exchange
oral sex or get into the classic sixty-nine position and really go for it.
We were crazed, and eventually had to agree to stop each other when our
foreskins became red and sore from all the abuse. Two days abstinence was
all we could muster before we decided that we'd both healed sufficiently to
go about causing ourselves further injury.
It wasn't all sex, though - sometimes we had to go to school, too. It was
great being in the last year of primary school beefore we moved on to
secondary school. We were the big kids now, and I found out quite how
popular Mike was. I would sit there and smile as friend after friend came up
to attempt to involve Mike in their games. What was even better was that he
would never accept without checking with me first. I don't think anyone ever
suspected how we felt about each other - at that age, you make jokes about
'gays' but few boys really know what they're talking about. And somehow, I
never got jealous of all the attention, maybe because I realised that almost
as soon as we were through the door into my house we would be in each
other's arms.
It was quite a small school, really, which was great because it meant that
everyone of the same age had to be in the same class. I wasn't apart from
Mike all day, and we were together all night. I think you can see what's
coming next, though - it's obvious for anyone who's been in a very close
relationship. Both Mike and I could feel the tension building between us,
until one day it all came to the surface and we ended up standing in the
middle of the playground shouting at each other at the top of our lungs.
Neither Mike nor I have any recollection of what the problem was (it was so
obviously your fault though : ) - Mike), and the next thing we knew we were
in front of the headmaster, who was looking at us rather strangely over the
tops of steepled fingers.
'So. Thomas. Michael.'
That was all he said. He just sat there watching us, waiting. I know the
tactic now - if you make people feel uncomfortable enough, they talk. And
talk we did. We ended up in such a huge argument with each other that the
headmaster had to shout to be heard. He separated us, seating MIke in the
corner of his room, and me in his secreatry's office. And then he did the
unthinkable - he called my dad. Fifteen minutes were spent nervously staring
about the office, trying not to make eye contact with Miss Abrahms, the
headmaster's secretary. When my dad arrived, he looked sternly at me once,
before being ushered into another room to talk with the headmaster. They
were gone about ten minutes, during which time I tried as hard as I could to
hear something, but to no avail. All I could hear was a mumbling, low talk.
My dad emerged looking only slightly less angry than he had before, although
this time when he looked at me I noticed a little worry in his eyes too. He
gathered Mike from the headmaster's office, and led him out to me. We were
forced to shake hands, and apologise to each other, though I don't think
either of us was really sorry at that point in time. My dad left, and Mike
and I were told rather sharply to get back to the lessons that had started
while we were being reprimanded.
The rest of the school day was hell. I kept feeling Mike's eyes watching me,
but whenever I looked at him, he was staring out of the window. I nearly got
caught a couple of times watching him, wishing I could say I was sorry, but
knowing that I couldn't. I couldn't back down, no way. I couldn't give him
the satisfaction of winning. And I hated the fact that all I wanted to do
was crawl into his arms and kiss his soft lips. The school bus home was even
worse. Mike was at the back of the bus surrounded by all his friends,
laughing with them, and I was alone at the front, staring out of the window
as the trees and grass flashed by. I kept running through the fight in my
head. Again and again I was shouting at Mike, telling him how much I hated
him. I could feel my face redden, and tried as hard as I could to hold back
from crying. It just about worked, though I had to pretend that I had
something in my eye to wipe away a little moisture now and again. Not that
anyone noticed - I realised that without Mike I was a bit of a nobody at the
school, which just deepened my depression.I could hear his laughter from the
back of the bus, and had no idea until much later quite how forced it was.
At the time, it was killing me, and eventually I got off the bus a stop
early and decided to walk the twenty minutes between the neighbouring
village and my own. I arrived at my house to find my dad seemingly casually
tinkering with the lawnmower, which I didn't realise at the time was his way
of worrying without seeming to do so. He tried to look casual when I walked
up to him.
'Decided to walk back, then?' he asked.
'Yeah.' I didn't feel like saying anything more than that.
'Mike told me. He said you just got off the bus and walked away. You're
still not talking, then?'
'No.'
'Right, then you'll be glad to hear I've moved him out of your room into the
guest room.'
I wasn't expecting that. I couldn't believe my dad would actually separate
us just for fighting once. I think he could see the shock on my face,
though.
'Hang on a second, don't get angry,' he said. 'It's just for the time being.
You've spent all your time together as long as you've been friends. That's
why you fought. Just take a little time off, ok?'
So we had time off. It was hell. A week later, we still weren't talking
properly. The animosity wasn't open any more, but I could sense that he
hated me almost as much as I still loved him. My dad decided that enough was
enough after a fortnight of failure to make up, and sat us down one day to
tell us that he was going to get the loft converted into a room so that Mike
could permanently have his own place to live. I couldn't believe things had
deteriorated to that level, but there was nothing I could do. I was still
unwilling to back down, and Mike acted as if he didn't care what happened to
our relationship.
And so the room went in. It was little over a month before half the loft had
been converted into a spacious living space for Mike, with its own shower
and toilet. I was furiously jealous, and decided to add the names of my
parents to the list of people I lived with but refused to talk to. I was
alone and isolated in the house. My dad did with Mike all the things we used
to do together. He let him ride on the mower as it ran around the garden, he
took him out fishing, and they even went out cycling together into the
forest. I just shut myself off in my room, and spent a lot of time crying
quietly. It was about that time that I started to seriously begin to write
about my emotions, and looking back on that work I really cannot believe an
eleven year old could have such dark feelings. I cried when I read those
words recently, as research for this story. Mike cried too.
My moods became darker, my separation greater. I just about had a
relationship with my mum, who tried to get me out of my room. But nothing
worked until one Sunday in March. I was sat on my bed drawing, another one
of my passtimes, when a knock came at the door. I just grunted, and when
no-one came in for a while, I thought that whoever it was had obviously not
needed to see me that much. But after about thrity seconds, just when I was
getting back into my picture, the door opened, and there stood Mike. His
head was down, and I could see he was covered in splatters of paint. I knew
he and my dad were going to be redecorating his new room today, and wondered
what they could poissibly want with me.
'We could really do some help, Tom.'
He had me. I was furious, because he knew that if anyone asked for help, I'd
been brought up to never refuse. He knew that I couldn't say no, as much as
I was loathe to assent. As slowly as I could manage, I lifted myself from
the bed and walked toward the door. Mike would walk a little distance away
from me, and then look back nervously, almost begging me to follow, the way
a dog does when it has something really exciting to show you. I think I
managed to make the trip from my room to his, all of ten metres and a flight
of stairs away, last over five minutes. When I finally rounded the corner
into his room, my jaw nearly went through the floorboards. It was a typical
boy's room, painted navy blue on three walls, and pine furniture everywhere.
But it was the fourth wall that had grabbed my attention. I couldn't think
of the right word to describe it, other than amazing. The whole wall was
painted with a huge version of a photograph that I knew very well. It was
the photo of Mike and me holding hands and smiling on our holiday in Crete.
It was my favourite picture of us, and the one which adorned my bedside
table in a simple wooden frame which only served to heighten the impact of
the image. Only Mike and I knew how important that picture was. I stood
gaping, hardly hearing his explanation of how it was done, something to do
with projectors and slides, then colouring in. Then I realised that Mike had
gone silent, and that it was because he was waiting for me to answer a
question.
'Sorry?' I said.
'I asked if you liked it.'
'I love it,' I said. 'I really love it.'
I still couldn't look at MIke, but had no choice as he came round to stand
in front of me, raising his head to stare me directly in the eyes.
'Tom, I'm really sorry,' he said. I could see concern etched on his face, as
if I could possibly do anything other than accept his apology. I accepted,
and gave my own, profusely and repeatedly. In the end, Mike had to shut me
up by kissing me until I stopped mumbling, and melted into his arms.
Together, we slumped onto his bed. It was a good thing Mike had shut the
door behind us when we came in, otherwise my parents might have heard things
they weren't comfortable hearing...



That's it for part 4. I know it's a bit shorter than the others, but I
finished this bit and decided not to add another chapter afterwards, because
this works better on its own.
Let me know what you think at tommynofeet@hotmail.com - I really appreciate
comments, positive AND negative, and I try to respond to all your mail.