Date: Sun, 20 Dec 2015 17:26:31 -0800 From: Douglas DD DD Subject: Rough Edges Chapter 36 Welcome back for another chapter. Phil has admitted to himself that he is grateful Larry is his boyfriend. Now he has to figure out how to tell Larry. The story is mine. It contains minors have sex. They remind you to be safe. I remind you to please donate to Nifty. I love reader email. Thanks to those who have written lately. Douglas. thehakaanen@hotmail.com CHAPTER 36 THIS MUST BE LOVE The night my brother Troy had me make a gratitude list is one I will never forget. Emotions started to slowly build as I overcame my adolescent stubbornness and started writing things that made me grateful. I was surprised by how many times I wrote things having to do with Larry. It slowly dawned on me that I had many things to be grateful for, and Larry and Troy were responsible for much of that gratitude. As I wrote my list I forgot, at least for the moment, a lot of the negative feelings inside of me. I forgot that downstairs my father was getting drunk with my thirteen-year-old brother, Keegan. I forgot that my mother was alone in her bedroom. I forgot that my family might soon be split up for good. Troy had stripped down to his boxers and was supine on his bed, busily reading something for school. I was sitting at our desk, still fully clothed, tapping my face with my pencil until I came up with something new to be grateful for. I would write the item on my list and then go through the same ritual again. When I wrote, "I am grateful Larry is my best friend," my emotions were a jumble. I knew what I really wanted to write. I'd wanted to write it since the first time I put Larry's name on the list. Deep down I'd wanted to say it for months, even as I buried that thought in some corner of my mind. I had no doubt what replacing the word best would mean—it would mean I was everything I had denied being. It would mean I was gay, a queer, a faggot. It would mean I was putting a great deal of faith in another twelve-year-old, because I didn't want to begin contemplating what it would do to me if Larry didn't have the same feelings I did. When I scratched out "best" and slowly wrote "b-o-y" I had crossed a line that few twelve-year-olds would ever cross, even those who knew without a doubt they were gay. I had made a life-changing decision. Writing the word "boy" brought out all of the emotions that had welled up in me not only that night, but for weeks and months. I burst into uncontrollable sobs. Troy sat up on his bed and asked me what was wrong. "I...I...I...," was all I could choke out. Troy stood behind me and wrapped his strong arms around my chest as I fought for breath, fought for control of myself, fought to accept who or what I was. "Phil, it's okay. You're okay. Please, tell me what is happening." All I could do was point to the last line on the list and to the word that connected "my" with "friend". Troy pulled me up from the chair and plopped me down on his bed. I fell onto the mattress like a limp rag. He lay down next to me and hugged me so tightly against him I almost couldn't breathe. He loosened up some when he discovered my distress. "Are you sure, bro?" he asked. "Y...y...yes," I sobbed. "No doubts at all?" "I...I...I'm s...s...sure." "Does Larry know how you feel?" I took a deep breath. "No." "Does he feel the same way?" Troy whispered. I cried out, "I don't know," and then let out a long, anguished wail. Troy rubbed my chest through my shirt. I wished we were both naked so I could feel his hand on my skin—I wanted all of his touch, pure and unfiltered. I wondered if he still loved me the way he always told me he did—unconditionally. "I love you my sweet little brother. You are a very special person." I sighed a contented sigh, getting a moment of control for the first time since I'd made the change on my list. Troy loved me exactly the way he said he did, which made life better. "I love you, Troy." I fought a sob and then asked what was probably a stupid question, but I had to be sure. "Are you mad at me?" "Mad at you for what?" "For being gay." "I love you for being you." He and I would have conversations in the future about sexual orientation. He would tell me that how I felt at twelve wasn't necessarily how I would feel at twenty. It didn't take many of those conversations to convince him that how I felt at twenty was going to be the same as I felt at twelve. I had no doubt about my sexual orientation and no doubt about where my sexual desires lie. "Pet me," I whispered. "I will." I started tugging off my t-shirt. He let go of me and helped yank it off. I pulled off my pants, stripping down to my briefs and socks. I wasn't hard, in fact I wasn't even thinking of sex. I turned on my side to face the big brother I loved and admired and respected as much as anybody in the world. "Pet me," I whispered again. And he did. He petted my back, he petted my chest, my belly, my smooth, bare thighs—he petted the globes of my ass. He whispered how much he loved me. I was twelve and couldn't help but become erect. But I wasn't looking for an orgasm, I was looking for what Troy gave me, the touch of his love, pure and unfiltered. I think I purred as I fell into an untroubled sleep. +++++++++++++++++++++++++ When I woke up the next morning my bladder was filled to almost overflowing. I untangled myself from my naked brother and dragged my raging erection to the bathroom to relieve myself through it. I checked myself for dry cum, but even though Troy had taken his clothes off before falling asleep, he hadn't used me for sexual relief—unless, of course, he'd decided to rub off on me and cum on himself. As I strained to pee, I came to the conclusion that my brother was better than that. Troy was awake when I returned to the room. "Ready to shower?" he asked. "What about dad? What if he catches us showering together?" "Fuck him, he's leaving us anyway." "We're gonna stay here for sure?" I asked apprehensively. We had ignored that topic the night before. "I don't know, but I'd be willing to bet my silk jockstrap on it." "You have a silk jockstrap?" He ruffled my hair as we padded to the bathroom together. "You can be a very gullible little boy for one who claims to be so tough and sophisticated." "I can still beat you up," I crowed confidently. "Only in your dreams." I set the shower to the temperature we both liked while he peed. He flushed the toilet, which upset my settings until the tank filled. "Thanks for messing up my temperature," I said. "You want to fight over it?" he threatened with a big grin. "No, I want us to take our shower." This was our ritual on the mornings we showered together. "You seem to be feeling better," Troy said as he washed my back and rear end. "I need to talk to Larry," was my noncommittal reply. "Understood." He started to suds my hair when dad came in. "Aren't you guys getting a bit old to shower together?" he grumbled as he started to pee. "This is where we discuss important brotherly things," Troy said. "I got three sons, two faggots and one alcoholic drug addict. I'd like to know what the fuck I did to deserve the three of you. I think I'm glad your mom doesn't want to go to Texas." The flow of pee stopped and Troy yelled out, "Don't flush!" but he was too late. We stepped out of the way as the water temperature shot up. "I gotta say, you two could learn from your brother. The boy can pack the beer away. Now, get your asses out of the shower, I'm running late and having this damned hangover doesn't help." The temperature settled down and I washed Troy as I let the shower rinse my hair. "We'll be out in a minute," Troy said. He was obviously in no hurry. Dad certainly did not intimidate him. I turned off the water and we stepped out. Dad looked at us approvingly. "You two have really grown since I've been gone. You got some nice bodies on you. That's something better than that soft brother of yours. Guess those bodies will attract all the faggots in your schools." He stepped out of his boxers. It was the first time I'd seen him naked in a long time. His cock hung out of his hairy groin, an impressive six inches soft. I couldn't wait until I was as big as him and Troy. I went to the bedroom with Troy to finish drying. "Dad's got way more than he deserves in you and me, bro, and don't you ever forget that. You're the best," he told me as he hugged my damp body close to his. "I love you more than I can ever say, and don't ever forget that, either." "I love you, Troy." I wasn't much at expressing emotions of love and friendship, but I could work those three words out when necessary. Usually saying "I love you" felt awkward, but not this time. This time it felt like they were the most important three words I could say. Dad left while Troy and I breakfasted. He didn't eat and didn't say a word to us. While he had a way of breaking a spell of good feeling, I didn't allow him to do so this time. All I could think of was seeing Larry. Keegan came into the kitchen just after dad left, wearing nothing but a pair of droopy boxers. He grabbed a glass, filled it with water, and guzzled it down. His face was pallid and he had dark circles around his eyes. "I'm staying home. I think I got the flu or something," he mumbled. "It's called a hangover," Troy pointed out. "Fuck you, you don't know shit. Dad said last night you're fucking queers and queers don't know shit." He left the kitchen and Troy started laughing. "What's so funny?" I asked. "Looks like the Keegan we know and love is back." "That's not so funny." "No, it's tragic, but it doesn't look like I can do much about it, so I might as well laugh." That's when I started laughing. "What's so funny?" he asked me in return. "I was just thinking...you got two brothers. One's a queer and the other is alcoholic. Like dad said, what did you do to deserve us?" "I love you both, Sport, I love you both." When I got on the school bus, I was disappointed to see Perry sitting next to Larry. But I knew what I wanted and I asked Perry to take a different seat. He was a good friend and moved to the empty seat next to Ben. I sat next to Larry and felt something warm shoot through me. I had been afraid on my walk to the bus stop that what I had written the night before was not how I really felt. But as I sat next to my best friend—no, my boyfriend—I knew what I had felt when I changed the word best to boy was what I was feeling right now and would always feel. "I need to talk to you," I said. "Yeah, I'd say that's true," Larry said a bit coolly. "So talk." "Not now, after school." "We have soccer practice right after school, in case you forgot since I guess you quit soccer." "Quit being snarky. I gotta talk to you. We'll talk after practice, is what I meant to say." "So you're coming to practice?" "I like you better when you're not trying to be stupid. I brought my practice gear." "Mom's not expecting you for dinner." "So let's surprise her; you said you've done it with the other Wonkeys." Larry gave me his signature grin that wiped out all of his previous skepticism. "I like it," he said. I breathed a long sigh of relief. "What you have to tell me must me pretty important." "It's important and scary and I don't want to talk about it until after practice." Larry surprised me by grabbing my right hand and squeezing it. "You don't ever have to be scared of talking to me," he uttered sincerely. He had no idea of how hard I was quaking. I'm sure that having an intimate conversation was hard, if not impossible, for any twelve-year-old boy, but at that time I was certain no boy has ever had to say what I planned on telling Larry after soccer practice. I was scared shitless. Phil was almost normal when he got on the bus Tuesday morning. He said he wanted to talk to me after soccer practice, probably to apologize for being a dork. I was happy he was going to practice—I'd been worried that he had quit. But even though he was acting somewhat normal, I could tell he had something on his mind. He was adamant about talking to me about whatever was bothering him. The school day moved along pretty routinely, even with Perry giving us all instant hard-ons at lunch. He had us all listening intently when he told us about jerking off in the back of Mr. Hargrave's class. "I bet he's one of those teachers who likes boys," Perry said with conviction. "Why, because he turned you on?" Q smirked. "Fuck that. Some man with a hairy body is not going to turn me on." "But if he has a big penis, that could be a big factor in turning you on," Jung chortled. "You know you like the big tools on the high school kids who hang around your house." "Whatever. I think he's one of those guys because I know for a fact he saw me with my dick out while I was pounding on it and he didn't say anything." "Damn, Perry," I said, "you're lucky he didn't snag your ass." "I wasn't worried. I was pretty sure what he was like, and after today I know exactly what he's like." And I was pretty sure Perry, the sexual daredevil, was going to find himself in a shitload of hurt some day. But I also had the feeling he was stretching the truth about what Mr. Hargrave saw. "Did anybody else see you?" I asked. "Only Riley Fenton who sits in back, too. I think it's why Hargrave came to the back of the room, cuz Fenton had his eyes looking at my crotch. He's a total geek, but he's kinda cute and I think he's gotta big one." "How do you know that?" Daniel asked. "Cuz I looked over at him after I blew my load and I could see a pretty big bulge in his jeans. I gotta find a way to see it naked." "Where did your spunk end up landing?" Q wondered. "Most of it on my briefs, but you can see the cum stain on my jeans if you want." "You're crazy, Perry." "It's not like you haven't done shit in school, Q." Q grinned and went back to eating. I was so horny I wanted to jerk off right there in the lunchroom, but I wasn't quite as daring as Perry, Q, and Jung could be. I did notice Phil paying close attention to the dialog with Perry, but he didn't say anything. I couldn't tell if he had a boner. During the bus ride home Phil asked me about the game he had missed after school. I gave him the details and told him how much we missed him. "There's no way you give up two goals to those guys on the Lightning," I told him. Phil shrugged, but didn't say anything. My mom was happy to see Phil come into the house with me. "It's nice to see you Phil. We haven't seen you here for a while." "I've been having some problems," he intoned. I was surprised he didn't use his "I wasn't feeling well" excuse. "Anything I can help you with?" mom asked with concern. "Maybe later. I need to talk about some things with Larry first." Mom glanced at me—all I could do was shrug. I was as much in the dark as she was. Phil was full of surprises at practice, too. He not only surprised me, he surprised the Wonkeys and the rest of his teammates, as well as the coaches. He turned some heads at the regular pre-practice meeting. "We missed you the last few days," Coach Allen said. "I hope you're feeling better," he said with a touch of skepticism. Knowing what I do now about how a coach thinks, I am certain he thought that Phil had quit. After all, Phil never bothered to call any of the coaches. The only communication with the coaches was my lies about Phil being sick. "I want to apologize for missing practice and the game," Phil announced with quiet conviction. That caused a bit of a stir with the players, including me, and the three coaches. "Oh?" Coach Allen asked. "You're apologizing for being sick?" "No, I want to apologize for not being sick. I had some problems and wanted to quit." "Larry said you were sick." Coach Allen looked in my direction, making me feel about six-inches high. "Larry is my friend and teammate. I think he was hoping I would come back. I let everybody down because I was selfish and thinking of myself and I am really sorry for that." "Well, are you back?" "Yes, sir," Phil stated with conviction. Then he added quietly, "I mean if you want me back." "I need to apologize, too," I said before the meeting broke up. I could see Coach Allen fighting a grin—he knew what was coming up. "I lied to protect my friend, and that was wrong of me, too. I messed up just as bad as Phil did." Coach Allen thought for a moment and then said, "How about you two have a little chat with me while everybody does their warm-ups." The result of the talk was Phil and me doing laps for the entire practice. If Phil still wanted to come back after that, then Coach Allen would keep him on the team, although he wouldn't start the next game. I was going to sit out the next game, too, and wouldn't be able to perform my duties as co- captain for the next two games. The only thing that saved me from losing that spot altogether was my speaking up and apologizing for my own transgressions. Looking back at the incident, I thought Coach Allen handled it with compassion and intelligence. So, while the team practiced, Phil and I jogged around the field. We were so dedicated to the task that Coach Allen allowed us to stop early and participate in the last drills. Practice ended with Q, who was a co-captain, saying, "Welcome back, Phil. We accept your apology." It was obvious the team seconded Q's statement. "Thanks, guys. I'm, like, really grateful to be on this team." Phil would have one more surprise left that day, which he revealed after dinner. Mom had cooked up plenty to eat. She was used to surprise visitors and knew how to deal with the food situation. I have often thought about how she would have dealt with two tweens and their friends had Austin not been killed. There was no doubt in my mind she would have juggled the needs of both of us perfectly. After eating, we quickly finished our homework in the dining room. Luckily neither of us had much to do and we retired to my room after a half-hour. "Only one more week of soccer practice left after this one," Phil said as we settled in my room. While we had more than a week of games left, daylight savings time ended two weekends from now and we wouldn't have enough light left to get practice in. "I'm sorry I got you into trouble," Phil said. "But I had to tell the truth about why I missed the practice and the game." "It's cool. I should never have lied to the coaches. You did the right thing." "You are a good friend." Phil's voice was surprisingly quiet. "You're the best friend I've ever had." I was about to ask him if I was a better friend than Andy, but managed to just say, "So are you." I was learning how not to stick my foot in my mouth. I wanted to ask him what it was he wanted to talk about, but once again I kept my mouth shut. Phil would tell me what he wanted to tell me when he wanted to tell it to me. The result was neither one of us saying anything. Phil and I sat side-by- side on my bed staring at the Major League baseball curtains hanging across my window, lost in our own thoughts, whatever they were. I was a patient boy for a twelve-year-old, but the silence started to make me antsy. I started to think of something to say when Phil broke the silence. "I had to do something for Troy last night because things were getting shitty at home." "What did he make you do?" I felt stupid asking such an obvious question since any idiot knew that Phil was planning on telling me what it was. But I also wanted Phil to know I was listening. "He wanted me to write ten things I was grateful for. I couldn't think of hardly any. Then I started writing and when I got to ten I kept on going. I wrote you down lots of times." A pleasurable jolt of warmth shot through me when I heard that, but I maintained my silence. "I wrote that you were my best friend...then I scratched it out." This wasn't going at all the way I thought it would, especially after Phil told me that I was the best friend he ever had. I finally broke my silence. "You mean I'm not your best friend?" The warmth that I had felt was replaced by a feeling of emptiness. I didn't know what to think—one minute I was Phil's best friend and the next minute I was the same nobody I had been the week before. I saw the tears forming in Phil's eyes and worked to hold back tears of my own. "I changed best to a different word. If I tell you what it was do you promise not to hate me?" For the first time that evening we touched as I scooted over a notch and placed my arm around his shoulder. I didn't know what my best friend was about to say, but he had made himself extremely vulnerable with his question. The warmth I had felt before replaced my momentary emptiness. Today I know that I was feeling overwhelming love, and even then I had an awareness that what I was feeling was love. "I could never hate you, Phil. I love you." I could see that those last three words hit a nerve. He placed his head on my chest and within minutes my practice shirt was damp with Phil's tears. "I...I...changed the word," Phil told me again between sobs. "What word? What did you change it to?" Phil took a deep breath and fought for control. I didn't understand at the time that there were only two people in the world Phil trusted enough to bare his emotions to: Me and Troy. "Don't hate me." Okay, we still had a little ways to go in the trust department, but that journey was close to finished. "Never." He pulled his head away from my chest and took my right hand, the one that I had draped around his shoulder, into his right hand. "I changed the word best to boy," he got out without hesitation. I had to pause and think about what he said. In the emotion of the moment I didn't comprehend what difference it made. Then the wheels turned and everything clicked into place. "I'm your boyfriend?" I asked, somewhat awestruck by the idea. He looked at me straight in the eye and nodded. He seemed to be conquering his fears. "Does that mean you're...?" "Yeah, I'm gay," he blurted out before I could finish my question. He stared at me with anticipation. "Then I guess we're both gay and I think I got me a boyfriend." We gazed into each other's eyes. There was no fear, no wondering who was going to say what, there was only love. For the first time in my Iife I recognized love as something beyond special, something more than just a word, something much different from the love I had for my parents or my friends. I saw love as a sensation that was in almost a different plane of existence. I had been infatuated by Phil from the first time I had ever seen him. I had told him I loved him. I'd had strong sexual feelings for him. But as I gazed into his beautiful brown eyes I knew without a speck of doubt that what I saw in his eyes was love and what he was seeing in my own blue eyes was love. The heat that engulfed my body was much the same as what I felt when I was totally turned on, and yet it was so much different. I had become rock hard, but right then I realized I didn't need sex to feel satisfaction with Phil; all I needed was Phil in my arms, which is where he was at that moment. "I thought you'd never be gay," I said. "I didn't want to be gay, but that is what I am. I've known it since I spent all those nights with Andy—I just couldn't say it. Now I can." "I love you Phil, my boyfriend." "I love you Larry, my boyfriend." Any adult spying on two preteens uttering those words in their prepubescent sopranos would probably say that they were full of shit—they were too young to know what they were talking about. Those adults would have been so, so wrong. "You need to spend the night," I said. "How? It's a school night." "Follow me." We went downstairs, still garbed in the t-shirts and soccer shorts we'd worn to practice. The shorts were fairly loose and managed, for the most part, to hide the bulges in our crotches. My mother and father were in the den reading and listening to Mozart on the stereo. "Phil needs to spend the night," I told them without fanfare. It was not a question or a request—it was a statement of need. Mom looked up from her book. "Have you two been fighting?" "No." "You both look like you've been crying." In our rush to get things done we'd forgotten to wash the tears off of our faces. "Please mom, Phil has to stay. I'll explain everything later." I had moved from the positive statement to the request phase of negotiations. One great thing about my mother is that she had an instinct for recognizing boys in need, and she recognized our neediness that night. "I'll call your parents," was all she said. Phil and I breathed for the first time since we'd come down the stairs. "Talk to my mom, not my dad," Phil pleaded. Since this was his day to be honest, he quickly told her why. "My dad is probably drunk and he'll say no." Mom got out of her chair, stepped over to Phil and gave him a big hug. "You poor boy...you can stay with us any time you want, and don't you ever forget it." We had one more lucky moment when Phil's mother answered the phone. Our mothers had become friends and the phone call was short— permission had been granted. "I have all of my school books, and I have extra clothes here (that was true of Q, Jung, and Perry as well) so I don't need nothing else," Phil informed her in one breath. She already knew he had a toothbrush on standby. Mom looked at the clock. "You will both need to be in bed in forty-five minutes." "We're going to bed now," I told her. Mom and dad got good-night hugs from both of us. It seemed like it took us mere seconds to get naked, brush and floss and wash and pee, and scramble into bed. "What are you going to tell your mother?" Phil asked. "About what?" "You said you'd tell her why we'd been crying. We were so dumb not to wash our faces—it's not like we couldn't see each other's faces." "Well, it's done. If it's okay with you, I'll do what you did today and tell the truth." "Like, you're going to say you're gay?" "That and say why we aren't starting our soccer game on Saturday." "I'm okay with you telling your parents you're gay, but I want to be with you when you do, because you're telling them I'm gay too. Right now just you and Troy know, and yeah, Troy is cool with it." "Fair enough. We will do it together." "I might be able to tell my mom, but never in a zillion years could I tell my dad. But if I'm lucky, he's gonna get transferred out of my life." As we talked we scooched closer together, our warm naked bodies touching. My cock touched Phil's, sending an uncontrolled shiver through me. I kissed Phil and he opened his mouth to receive me. The heads of our young erections rubbed lightly, and while we were kissing deeply and trading tongue, it wasn't the wild, passionate type of kiss we so often shared. And while our cocks were hit by spasms of overwhelming feeling we didn't dry hump with the hunger we normally had for each other. We simply held each other, connected at our mouths and crotches, as we rubbed our cocks against each other's with a steady, but sedate rhythm. The feelings that were building inside of me would normally have me sexing so hard that the act became close to a wrestling match. But this time we simply let our erections rub as if they were just getting acquainted with each other. Our tongues slipped in and out of each other's mouths while our cocks rubbed each other with short, slow thrusts. My cock started feeling like it was going to explode. The feelings spread until my entire body shook over and over and I finally couldn't hold back, pressing my cock hard against my lover's as I exploded with the fire of lust and love, shooting what seemed like endless drops of clear boy cum over Phil's cock and balls and hairless pubic area. Phil moaned and his own emission blew out of him, mixing with mine. I could see nothing but flashing stars and feel nothing but the electricity flowing through my cock and balls and body and tongue as well as the touch of his sweaty, damp torso. "I love you Phil, my boyfriend," I was finally able to croak out. "I love you Larry, my boyfriend," Phil replied. We knew we'd uttered more than words. Deep in our preteen souls we understood everything that had happened: from Phil's confession to us having sex that was as much love as it was lust. We also knew that our lives had changed forever. While we were young and had a lot more maturing to do in order for us to better understand what had just happened to us, I knew that if this was love, I wanted more of it. Next: The Proposal