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If you have read this story before you will know that the author “Chance” is me, “Larkin” This is an effort to re-compose my old roster into a new roster comprised old and new works, re-written and done with more careful editing. (omitting junk) I hope you will understand.
Please send comments to: larkin@tutanota.com And I will respond
This is a short complete story that could be real. It has been re-written.
The
Fugitive.
by Chance
Fictional Story, sexual content, male/male Copyright Larkin 2008
The
Fugitive.
by Chance
I
couldn't tell that he was cute until I got up close and looked into
his face. He was so intense. Maybe it was the hair destruction or the
silver ring in his nose, I don't know for sure but I was under a
spell. His fierce exterior covered up a guarded sensitivity. I saw it
in his eyes. Taller than me by a foot, he wore ravaged clothes
printed with images and symbols of anarchy. He spit on the ground.
He
said to me, "Little dude, you think you are okay but you are
fucked up like everyone else."
He looked at me and then was
sorry about what he had just said.
I said, "I know."
He
didn't expect someone my age to give him an answer like that. Robin
swayed on his balance and then changed his position to secure
stability by propping one foot up on a peddle and the other on the
ground.
"Little dude, they are all assholes and they
are lying to you about everything."
I didn't really
understand what he was telling me but somehow I felt it was true. His
laugh was lonely and isolated. When I heard it I had no idea why but
wanted to share what little I had with him. No one had ever affected
me this way.
He twisted his mouth and said, "Ya know, I hate
adults."
He paused for a moment and then said, "I can't
help it. I hate all teachers, priests, psychologists and mothers.
They are the jailers of the mind. The punishers of anyone who strays
from their fake fucked up world."
I said, "They're
not all that way."
He grudgingly said, "Well mostly."
I
had never heard anything like that before. I didn't even understand
it but it lit a fire inside of me. I wanted to believe him. He was
cocky and contentious but I could see underneath, it was just a
defensive show of defiance. From that moment on I knew I wanted to be
with Robin and no one was going to stop me. He didn't look like
everyone else and he didn't act like anyone I had ever known.
He
said, "Little dude, you don't wanna hang with me because I am
seriously fucked up."
I said so he could hear me, "I
don't care."
He nodded and said, "Okay, it's your
funeral."
He looked at me and said, "Hop on."
He
meant the back of his bike.
When I did, like finding a lost puzzle
piece, my whole world suddenly became complete. I put my arms around
his waist and we flew down the hill.I had let myself be kidnapped,
willingly. Resting my head against his back I felt like I never
wanted to let go. If his whole thing was an act, it worked because I
am totally hooked.
I said his name silently to myself,
"Robin."
Where do fugitive kids go? We rode past strip malls, supermarkets, laundromats and rows of run down houses. From above, we were two boys on one bike in a sea of cars, trucks and lights. We passed under highway overpasses and through parking lots and then, finally down neighborhood streets. Robin's house was worn and unpainted.
The front lawn was untended and there was sign that said, "For Sale By Owner"
Inside
the house it was dark and musty. We were very quiet. There was a man
asleep on a couch in front of the TV. I saw the red and blue mandalas
of Fox TV swirling perfectly.
We climbed creaking stairs. Robin's
room was small and stacked with cardboard storage boxes. His bed was
a small mattress enclosed in the corner. It was covered with old
blankets and mismatched pillows. Unlike the rest of the house, this
little bed was his home. We fell down on it together as if at the end
of a long journey. Robin's agreeable scent hung in the air. I didn't
mind, in fact, liked it because it made me feel close to him.
We
had barely known each other more than an hour and he had become my
closest friend. I needed to be physically close like when I was
behind him on the bike. My intimacy with him was happening so
naturally, that I wondered how anything could be wrong with it. We
talked in hushed tones.
He said, "Little Dude, you are so
awesome, I just met you and I feel so relaxed like we are best
buds."
He continued, "Why would you want to hang with
someone as fucked up as me? I mean like, everything I do is wrong or
fucked up and I am always in trouble with someone or something."
I
had no idea except that I wanted to be with him. I could not resist
cuddling closer. He put his arm around me and I rested my head on his
chest. I could hear his heart beating.
He moved to get more
comfortable and then moved again.
He whispered to me, "I
can't help it, Little Dude, I gotta jerk off. It'll only take a
minute, I promise."
Maybe I was too young because I had no
idea what he was talking about until he opened his pants and pulled
it out. I didn't move, I just lay and watched. I had never connected
sex games with intimacy until this moment.
Robin said, "I
always do this alone, it's so different when you have someone with
you."
I didn't do a thing except cuddle up close to him.
Barely knowing each other we formed an everlasting bond. His moans
and cries made me fall so in love with him. Afterwards he was
embarrassed and apologetic. I moved even closer and did something I
had never done before. I hugged and kissed him.
It disarmed him
and he became exposed and vulnerable.
I had to go home.
Please send comments to: larkin@tutanota.com And I will respond