Where Peace Blossoms 2

Foreword

This is a work of fiction. In other words, the story is made up, and if anything in the story resembles an entity or entities in the real world, it is mere coincidence. The following story also includes contents not appropriate for any person under the legal age (which is specified by law in the country you reside in), namely graphical sex committed by the characters. Please also make sure it does not violate anything you hold dear before you proceed.

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Here's chapter 2 / 5.

Where Peace Blossoms

Part II – Dreams

Stanley was puzzled when he looked down his pants the next morning. First perplexed by the faint wet spot on his boxers, then perplexed by the weird smell that filled the tent space (this I knew from observing his expressions and the odd movements of his nose). The most intriguing thing for me was that he wasn't even embarrassed or anything. He was actually the one who initiated the discussion about what happened.

I offered him no good answer with a detailed logical flow. The conversation ended kind of abruptly, and I reckoned that was a good thing.

I told him it was all a dream.

On the first day since our arrival, we watched a lot and did very little. Asuma assured he'd let us work our butts off after a few days' observation. "Watch before do," he said confidently. Clearly expressed, notwithstanding English grammar. Well, he was Japanese, so that might've been okay.

It was still peaceful, standing on the paths between the divided sections and looking forward at the illuminated horizon, but I would be lying if I say I enjoyed the fervent summer heat that could've easily led to a heatstroke. The belt of gold exalted the nothingness ahead of us, but the sun above remained cruel despite the display of magnificent nature.

Perhaps I was mistaken, but I felt Stan had been avoiding me all day. When we had fried pork and fresh vegetables at noon, he didn't sit next to me. The truth was I saw him and he saw me, and we shared a glance. Then he intentionally moved to the other table and sat alone in the corner, without really talking to anyone around him. This was something to ponder upon for an entire afternoon, but I gave up when sunset approached, when light turned to dusk and brightness declined into the absence of the sun. But then came dinner (we had fried pork again, but with a different variety of vegetables and fruits this time), and the scene at lunch sort of reenacted itself. Then my pondering continued, deep into the night when total silence once again brought a unique kind of peace. Only this time there was a kind of dread encroaching on my heart.

The tent seemed smaller today and I felt like I couldn't breathe. Lying next to Stan, who hadn't uttered a word to me since this morning after my mentioning of the "dream," was especially difficult. I wished we could communicate without words; I wished we had some kind of divine telepathy. Then I realized this was real life and those things only happen in made-up stories.

I couldn't sleep. Soon the snoring became the only noise. I was alone now. But even this was so, I couldn't figure out what was going on with Stan. Maybe he knew clearly what I did; maybe he was suspicious. My hunch told me that he knew every single bit.

But his beautiful body was lying under the faint light of the evening (Stan left a crack on the top tonight), all inviting and welcoming. Every night I was presented a perfect opportunity to cross the line of ordinary friendship. Right now my heart told me I would always ignore that line. I would always cross that barely visible line, even without knowing what lurked on the other side.

My curiosity never subsided, and soon I was repeating what I did last night, only with more experience and more skillful maneuvers this time. His body was a wonder. And my hands lifted his shirt, slowly meandering through the tiny spots of imperfection ญญ– birth marks, one, two minor scratches, and little pink lumps from mosquito bites – on his body, like isolated rocks on a riverbed and drifting leaves of various shapes deposited. And so my hands followed downstream, deriving pleasure from all kinds of features that came into contact. I don't know if it made sense, but his imperfections only made him more perfect than he already was.

There was no morality when a sensation like this arose in the heat of the moment, sparkling a tension and excitement intensified by each gentle caress. There was danger in this beauty, but I wasn't afraid to go further. The softness of the ball sac met my hand as I explored further and deeper. I thought he was moaning in his sleep then.

Soon came the stage of hyperventilation just like the previous night. But when I looked over, his eyes were wide open with shock. I expected a smirk or a nod, or some kind of signal. Anything. Anything to tell me that it was okay to do what I was doing. Anything to tell me that he liked it. Still his eyes burned with shock. I stared at him for a few seconds, not knowing what to do and not knowing what to say. In the end, I did the only thing I had in mind because I could no longer stand his blank expression.

I ran outside.

Out of the tent and further out. I stopped near the end of the section of farmland where our tents rested. I looked up at the moon and looked behind me. It was a peaceful night, and no one was following me. But my heart had never been messier and noisier before.

I walked under the moon and neared our tent eventually, after minutes of quiet. When I saw a figure sitting up, his head seemingly tilting sideways, the only two things left for me to do were to close my eyes and sigh.

I turned back. I wandered the forest for a long time that night. When my exhaustion was so overwhelming that I couldn't continue, I returned. When I returned, he was asleep. Without making a sound, I lay down and assumed my previous position, maintaining a considerable amount of distance from him. The raging thoughts never stopped, but my tiredness eventually overcame my tumultuous mind and I was taken from the night without being asked.

I was glad. At least for a while.

No sooner had I escaped reality than I woke again, but probably in another world. I knew this from the strangeness of the place. It was a small opening of flat land, no larger than a standard football pitch. I swiveled and came to the conclusion that I was exactly at the middle. To my left were trees and flowers and darkness beyond. To my right were buildings and cars and fog beyond (or smoke, or smog, or whatever). The whole place didn't make sense. First, it felt like a miniature of something. Second, how the urban half met the rural half didn't make sense. It was sudden; there was no gradual decline to speak of. Well, it was a dream. I stood for what felt like fifteen minutes (I didn't know what time meant in wonderland, so perhaps it didn't matter at all). All that time, I didn't move. I stood firm precisely at the spot in the middle. Yeah, I was like the football when a match was about to start, at the precise middle.

Then there was a flash of light, an absolute brightness. It kind of blinded my eyes for seconds. After that white rush, my vision became blurry, and all I saw were shapes and figures. I thought I noticed mom and dad, and I figured that was Sam right behind me, only showing me half of her. Then more people came in my vision. I thought I saw Stan, and behind that some other vague and unrecognizable entities. Again, I was stuck at the same spot, so I couldn't move or reach out or anything. I could only watch. All I can say is that the vision felt a bit like the afterworld from a fairy tale, where all was white and white was all. I swear I had no idea how I saw the shapes and figures when everything, including them, were white. Not everything in a dream has to make sense, right? Then I saw squirrels, a thousand, a million of them rushing over to where I was. Yet I couldn't move. Then another flash, and another second of blind white.

Suddenly I was back in the tent space, but with a little twist. I was looking down at two thirteen-year-old boys, one of which was me. Yeah, this might've been some kind of out-of-body experience that people often talk about. Anyway, I saw my other body shifting closer and closer to the boy next to me. Slowly I saw my other self reach out a hand and do his thing, all the time pretending he was asleep. How pathetic. How sad. I had to show pity because it was me I was looking at after all.

When morning came, when I opened my eyes, Stan was gone. Evidently, this was the price of crossing that line. I was driven out of paradise because I tasted the fruit even I knew it was wrong.

My Other Stories:

- Growing Intimacy

- A Love so Star-crossed

- Wes and the Sea

(Just look over at the page of prolific authors if you want to locate exactly and read them)