Date: Fri, 31 Aug 2001 18:30:26 -0700
From: Josh Heilig <joshbabe22@hotmail.com>
Subject: Nifty;'What You Won't Do for Love 03'{JoshBabe}( BB hs rom slow )

What You Won't Do for Love, Chapter 3
By JoshBabe <joshbabe22@hotmail.com>

This work contains depictions of homosexuality. If
that is illegal in your jurisdiction, please, do not
continue reading this.

This work is copyright (c) 2001 by JoshBabe. You may
download and keep an unlimited number of copies for
personal use, but this work may not be used under any
circumstances without the prior consent of the author
with the exception of a personal copy. Aesthetic
changes (font size, font face, whitespace) do not
constitute a change that requires the author's
permission; any non-whitespace changes to the actual
text of the story require prior permission.




WHAT YOU WON'T DO FOR LOVE, CHAPTER THREE

I left you hanging with a kiss. That's the worst kind
of cliffhanger. I'll recap briefly before I go on.

Alex and I were indeed at the same party, so I
interviewed him for the newspaper. I learned all sorts
of new things about him, and afterward I admitted to
myself that I had a crush on him. While I was talking
with Meredith after the interview, I decided to come
out to her. Unfortunately, in the doorway of the patio
where I told her were Jessica and Alex. I panicked and
bolted to my car. As it turns out, they didn't
overhear, but as a result of my desperate marathon I
now had to tell them and Ira. So I did. They took it
pretty well, Jessica and Ira; Alex, though, had
disappeared, and snuck into my car. Before I knew it,
we were kissing. My three closest friends could only
stand around the car and applaud.

So at some point, time started moving again, and the
colossal sensation of kissing ended, and there I was,
in the car -- like Mom said, not in the back seat --
with the most gorgeous guy in the universe, and my
three closest friends are happy for me. Then, the
realization of what I had done hit me. I had just
betrayed Julie's trust. With a guy. One I hardly even
knew.

All those sentiments disappeared when I kissed him
again. I figured, he got to start the last one... it
was my turn. It was the most unbelievable experience
kissing him, like floating on a cloud with all the
worldly cares below. And I had a lot of worldly cares
on my mind, so he was, you can tell, an awfully good
kisser.

I guess we were getting pretty involved, because I was
kind of reclined up against the door when Ira laughed.
He said to us, through the window -- which was still
open -- "This is not a public place, you too, and
while it's not Cheyenne, it's not exactly San
Francisco either. I would go find yourselves a room
somewhere."

Alex pulled away from me, and instantly I began to
blush. Was I really kissing a guy in public?

Oh, and what the hell was I going to tell Julie? It's
not like everyone goes to their girlfriend, at some
point, and says, "I'm leaving you because I'm into
guys lately."

On the plus side of things, it'd be easier than
telling her, "I'm leaving you for another woman,"
because that wasn't a biological question.

So now I had this major decision to make -- what to do
about Julie -- and all that would come to mind was: I
still have Ira's sodas in my trunk. I got out of the
car, and got the sodas out and started carrying them
into Ira's. Everybody else pitched in -- I'd bought,
like, 5 or 6 24-packs of soda -- and it took us almost
no time to get them into the house. That was good,
because I needed to talk to Alex. Soon.

Once everything was inside Ira's, I asked Alex if he'd
be willing to come with me and we could talk.

"Sure." He tried to look happy but only looked
anxious. That pretty well summed up how I felt, too.

I went around saying some quick goodbyes, and then met
back up with Alex by the front door. I refused to look
him in the eye, so I didn't embarrass us both in front
of the entire world.

He whispered, "Where do we meet?" Actually, it wasn't
really a whisper, being that it was a noisy party, but
you get the idea.

Fair enough question, anyway. Where do two guys get
together to talk about a romantic situation at
midnight? On top of all that, it needed to be
somewhere where we wouldn't get caught (it turns out
that Alex was still 17, which was good because
otherwise having sex would have meant statutory rape
for him) breaking curfew. I thought for a moment, and
then it came to me. You see, there was some land on
the other side of the hill from my house that was
unused. We'd always discussed selling it to Metro, the
local tri-county authority in charge of maintaining
things, for parkland. In typical Fletcher fashion,
we'd never gotten around to doing it. It was still
ours.

There was a path that led up to it, so that we could
avoid my mom, who would embarrass me by giving me a
pack of condoms or something. Not like there wasn't
already one in the glove box -- thanks, Mom, but I
have some in my cargos, too. One thing I will say for
her, she was not going to let me get caught without
protection. I swear to God, not many people can say
their parents go overboard in that direction, you
know? I guess, though, because I know I can, and she
won't care, I've never had sex.

OK, so that's not entirely true. I've never gone "all
the way", but I've had my fair share of blowjobs. Five
or six, that is. Like I said, there's no "forbidden
fruit" aspect to it; to me, it's about as exciting as
masturbating, and carries a lot more emotional
baggage.

I hate digressions, but I think you need to know that,
because it'll explain a lot about some of the stuff
that happened later.

Anyway. I knew Alex wouldn't know where it was,
because from the street it looks like somebody's
backyard. But it has a creek down there and a little
mini-canyon (if it's small, I think it's called an
arroyo) where we could go talk. It's pretty, it's
quiet, and evidently it's romantic-- I got sucked off
the first time down there, two years ago. I took a
girlfriend down there; she was, like, totally
unimpressed with me before, but I totally seduced her.
Damn smooth, if I do say so myself.

"Alex? Do you know where that Forestdale Hills
development is?"

He smiled at me. My knees buckled, but I leaned
against the door to brace myself. "Yeah," I heard him
say.

"Meet me down at the bottom there, and we can hike up
to where we're going from there."

He nodded. I opened the door, and we walked out to our
respective cars. I admired the Land Rover another
time, hearing its 8-cylinder motor purr at me. He cut
his lights on and cruised off, in the wrong direction.
Oh, well, I'll get there first.

Once I was in the BMW, I cut the stereo on, just in
time to catch the incomparable thrill of the guitar
solo 6 minutes into "Stairway to Heaven" on KGON. (I
apologize to whoever wrote that Visa-ripoff ad for
92.3; I really liked it, so I borrowed the material.)
I mean, I don't even like Led Zeppelin, but I admit
freely that it's an incredible solo. Right after that
song, though, came the unmatched all-time best song in
the existence of mankind -- well, no, that belongs to
"Reeling in the Years" by Steely Dan, but this is a
close second. It just perfectly described my state of
mind. Eric Clapton's "Layla". The part that hit a note
for me was:

		Layla, got me on my knees,
		Layla, begging, darling please,
		Won't you ease my worried mind?

So here I was, putting the car in reverse and pulling
out of Ira's, and I couldn't suppress the urge to open
the sunroof and sing along. At midnight. In October.
In Oregon. I'm lucky it wasn't raining.

Soon, I had the car in third, and I was cruising along
much too rapidly for my own good. I made it there in
about five minutes, but I had to wait at least ten
minutes for Alex. About 12:15, I saw the blue Rover
coming down the street. I waved madly, and when he
stopped, parked, got out and came over and gave me a
little chaste kiss and took my hand, I blushed like a
girl.

"OK, so we need to talk, Josh," Alex told me, as we
made our way through the nearly pitch-black path to
the creek.

I nodded. "About what you heard tonight... what we did
tonight..."

"Yeah?"

My hand shook in his. "Please don't tell anyone."

He gasped, and took his hand away from mine. When he
said something, after a long pause, I could
practically hear hurt dripping from his voice. I
winced, but listened to him all the same.

"You're ashamed. I know you won't admit it, of course,
but you don't want anyone to know that you're
attracted to guys. Let me tell you something. You
don't think I went out on a fucking limb, kissing you
like that? Just listen to someone else besides your
own thoughts, for once. I know I'm just another
pretty, dumb jock, eye candy, but that doesn't
preclude my having feelings.

"Ever since I met you, the first time -- you were just
a freshman, but you'd come in to ask Mr. Sellis about
something and we ended up having a conversation --
I've been in love with you. But of course, you don't
remember that, I was just some dumb jock and you were
untouchable. You were the freshman who was the star
trumpet player. The best newspaper writer. Dating a
sophomore cheerleader. Old Man Fletcher's nephew. You
didn't need another jock to try and befriend.

"Well, I fell for you, and hard. I was straight, I had
a girlfriend, I had a reputation, and all I could
think about was how much I loved this kid who I barely
knew. You know what 'fubar' means? It's army slang
from World War II, means 'fucked up beyond any
recognition'. I was fubared, and bad. I was depressed
for three months. I almost fucking committed suicide
when my girlfriend found out from my parents that I
was depressed. They thought they were helping. They
didn't know why I was depressed. I figured, she'll see
right through it. I was practically on the abyss. And
then tonight, when I fucking put my fate in your
hands, all you have to say is 'don't tell anyone'.
Like I'd ever tell a goddamned soul. Josh, I love you,
and I have for the past year."

I looked over and I could see he was crying. I reached
over to put my arm around his shoulder, but he pushed
it away. So I turned, stood in front of him, and,
starting to cry, said something. "Alex, I'm sorry. How
could I ever have known?"

He paused a moment, and then nodded. "You're right,
you couldn't've known. I'm sorry."

Then I did something that surprised even me. I stood
up on my tiptoes, put my left arm around his neck and
my right around his waist. I kissed him. I'm not
nearly as good as he is but I tried my hardest. I
could see the moon, crescent and waxing, out of the
corner of my eye. It was as though it was giving a
kind of natural, pagan blessing to what I felt
blossoming inside of me.

Slowly we broke off the kiss. Then Alex pushed me up
against a tree, careful not to hurt me. He started to
kiss his way down my neck. I moaned and ran my fingers
through that beautiful blonde hair. "Alex..."

His fingers were already under the waistband of my
khakis, pushing. "Alex," I said, louder.

He stopped. "Yeah?"

"Don't. I'm not ready for this."

Two front teeth bit his lower lip. "OK. I can respect
that. You need time." Then he gave me a nervous smile.
"So. Where do we go from there? I mean, it's sort of
customary to have sex before the after-sex talk."

It occurred to me that I was more aroused than I had
ever been before. Alex's fingers teasingly pointed my
arousal out to me. I blushed.

"You think that's bad? Look at me." He stood up and I
saw the most unbelievable tent standing out, from his
white pants. Talk about impressive sizing. He must
have fun buying jock straps to run in.

So we just walked, hand in hand, erections slowly
receding. We made small talk. Then I decided I might
as well tell him about today -- or yesterday, rather.
"Alex? I have something I should tell you about. But
first I have a question. How long have you known you
were attracted to guys?"

He paused. That seemed to be common enough tonight.
Then I heard his voice. So melodious and beautiful.
"This was really hard to admit to myself at first, but
then again, it always is, I imagine. I had a crush on
a friend of mine years ago, when I was in 7th grade.
He was really cute, about my height then -- 5'5" --
brown hair, green eyes, thin, muscular, and with nice
tan skin. The most striking feature was his high,
well-defined cheekbones. His mom was a model. He could
have been more than successful, too. He played soccer,
and thought and talked about it all the time. I took
up soccer to be with him. Then, he moved or changed
schools or whatever, and we sort of drifted apart, you
know? The only thing I have left is that playing
soccer showed me how much I loved to run. I suppressed
the entire episode, of course, until, that is, I met
you."

I was thoroughly impressed, and totally flattered. But
he earned extra brownie points when he said, "He was
one of the most beautiful boys I've ever known. He
looked a lot like you." He gave my hand a little
squeeze. "OK, your turn now."

I took a deep breath. "I fell for a guy kind of by
accident, too. I didn't even know him, but I saw him,
and I knew that was it. He was tall, blonde, and
handsome, with beautiful brown eyes and the most
unbelievable taste in clothes. I think you know him
better than I do. Anyway, I just came out to myself
this morning -- well, yesterday morning -- during the
Homecoming Assembly. I told my mom at dinner. I came
out to my friends and hour ago."

He nodded and flashed me that gorgeous smile. "Who is
he?"

"His name is Alex Wright."

I saw him stop dead in his tracks. "I did that? How?
This morning?"

I let it sink in with a quick pause. "You got up and
spoke at the assembly this morning. I interviewed you
tonight, so I could meet you. Now, I've fallen for
you."

As usual, watching him smile made an absolutely
incredible sensation come over me. But this time, it
was a little different. This was no adolescent lust,
no schoolgirl-like infatuation. He was putting his
heart into my hands. But I wasn't sure I was ready for
it yet. After all, how long had I known I liked men?
Less than 24 hours. He'd had years. But I needed to go
slowly now. I didn't exactly know where I was headed
or what I was doing, you know, and I had a girlfriend,
and, if I wanted it, a boyfriend.

"But I need to tell you something. I'm not ready for
this, Alex. You need to understand, I'm sort of on
sensory overload, here. Not a good situation to be in.
Give me some time to sort my life out and then we'll
discuss this." I grasped his hand and held it. I felt
the soft skin dampen with sweat. I looked at him in
the dim light, strong and powerful in a pair of white
drawstring khakis and a bright orange sweater. I'd
made a mess out of his wonderful hair, but that only
made it look better. Actually, in retrospect, I
probably couldn't see him worth squat. Memory is a
funny thing. You can play with the lighting, the depth
of field, the focus, and make a perfect snapshot of
the moment. If only I had a printer for that memory.

He finally heaved a deep breath and responded to my
question. "Josh, I love you, and if it means waiting,
if it means carrying boulders to the ends of the
earth, I'll do it. I'll do it gladly, if it means a
chance at your heart. That's all I ask for."

And that was that. If I hadn't just broken the heart
of the most beautiful being in existence -- OK, that
was a really shallow thing to call him, he was also
really bright, and really sweet, but his beauty was
what came through most clearly. Anyway. If I hadn't
just broken his heart, I'd come awfully damn close. I
felt terrible, but I couldn't bring myself to promise
something I wasn't ready to give. There were too many
loose ends to tie up. Julie. The rest of the universe.
Then there was my family... and, God, Jackson. God
save me from his uber-religious self-righteous
preaching, if I ever had to tell him. What was I ever
going to do?

I did the one thing that was still available to me. I
started to sob. It came lightly at first, but soon
enough I was getting pretty close to hysterical.

Once the dam broke and I felt myself falling over,
firm, strong arms, suddenly caught me and I heard
Alex's soothing voice. "It's OK, Josh, it's OK." He
ran his fingers through my hair. It was already a
mess, so it was OK. He cradled me against his chest.
He kept up with his refrain softly, every so often,
and after twenty or thirty minutes I started to
believe him. By that time, the tears had stopped
coming, and I just needed emotional support.

As we started to walk back to the cars, I heard him
humming, and I recognized the song -- it was one of my
mom's favorites, Bobby Caldwell's "What You Won't Do
for Love".

		"What you won't do,
		Do for love...
		You've tried everything,
		But you won't give up.
		In my world, only you
		Would do for love
		What I would not do.
		My friends wonder what
		Is wrong with me...
		But I'm in a daze,
		From your love, you see."

Softly I sang along, savoring the moment. He gave me a
grin, and I smiled back. It was then that I knew what
I needed more than anything else in the world. I
needed a friend. Someone who understood what I was
going through.

"Spend the night at my house. I have bunk beds, ...
we'll sleep separately, of course. But I want to have
time to talk to you."

He patiently heard me out and then nodded gravely. His
forehead was wrinkled slightly. When he answered,
though, there was no tension in his voice. "You need a
friend, someone to help you through this. I
understand. Lemme just call my parents, get some
stuff, and I'll meet you at your place."

I nodded, smiled weakly and waved at him. I opened the
door to the car and started it, heading off to my
house. "Shakespeare in Love" came off the shelf and
into the VCR. What an awesome feel-good flick. If you
haven't seen it, I recommend you do so. Not the best
movie I've ever seen -- that's "Almost Famous", but it
hadn't come out when all this happened.

Sorry. As usual, digressions.

Once I located the DVD (my mom never, ever watches VHS
anymore) I placed it in the player and went off to fix
some quick snacks. Specifically, homemade popcorn,
some strawberries with melted chocolate sauce, a few
of the cookies I baked the previous weekend, and ice
cream sundaes.

If I do say so myself, I would make a pretty good find
for anybody. I mean, I can cook! That alone gives me
value. But then again, when you live with a divorced
mother, well, something is bound to rub off.

Soon enough, I heard a knock at the door. Good for
him, he figured Mom would be asleep. I walked over to
the door, opened it, and there he was. So beautiful.
My resolve to not have sex with him -- at least
tonight -- evaporated instantly. God! Stop! No getting
aroused!

"I see somebody's happy to see me. Or at least, part
of somebody," he told me. He leaned in and gave me a
kiss on the cheek. "If it makes you feel any better, I
wear boxer briefs so no one can tell I'm sharing the
moment. It usually works."

We both laughed, and then he gestured at the bag and
sleeping bag. "Where can I put these, man?"

"Uhh, just set 'em down in the entertainment area.
Feel like a movie?"

"Of course," came the instant response.

I pondered. " 'Shakespeare in Love' or something a
little more ... manly?"

He laughed. I was mildly hurt, but I kept an even
face. "I'm OK with sensitive tonight, Josh. And I
smell chocolate."

"They're strawberries in chocolate. Plus popcorn,
cookies, and some other goodies."

"Damn, you are such a great find. Like striking gold.
Hot, smart, sensitive, funny, and you can even cook!
You know that's the best way to a man's heart."

I was mildly uncomfortable with this train of
discussion, so I derailed us by asking, "After all
this, are you still O.K. with me writing the focus?"

He ran his left hand through his hair. He was, I noted
briefly, right-handed. I could tell, because the tips
of his hair were overlapping his watch as he ran his
hair through it. Cool. Diversity is good, and most of
my friends were, like me, lefties.

"Why not?" He was radiant. "But if you're concerned
about it, run a feature on someone else. Doesn't
really matter to me, to be entirely honest. It's not
like, with a year minus any females besides an
occasional flirt, rumors aren't running already. I
have nothing to lose. You do."

Fuck. I had forgotten about Julie again. I must have
looked distressed, because he asked concernedly,
"Josh? Is something the matter?"

I tried my hardest not to look concerned. "It's OK,
man, really. I'm just kind of under the weather."

He nodded.

"Let's just start the movie." So we did, and got
cuddly and close like two girls at a sleepover. I had
the popcorn, and he had the strawberries, and we'd
pass each other something occasionally. Every time
lust flooded my system. I would miss the next few
minutes of the movie, just gazing at him. I caught him
stealing glances, too, a couple of times, and we
laughed about it each time.

Once it was over, we laid down there, on the floor in
our sleeping bags.

"So I have a good question for you, Josh, babe. How
did a sophomore like you get to be the big man on
campus?"

I thought about it for a minute, blushing furiously
all the while. "You know what?" I said in the interim,
while the little transistors and vacuum tubes in my
mind worked away. "I like that nickname. Josh babe.
I'll have to remember that."

While we waited, the sounds of a block of Dire Straits
made their way out of the radio. Finally, I came up
with a nearly adequate response. "First of all, I'm
Old Man Fletcher's nephew, and both my parents went to
this school. My name rang bells and opened doors and
windows everywhere. My father edited the '75 New
Frontier. My mom was the social studies department's
darling. Both my uncles were valedictorians. But, of
course, I do have some innate talent somewhere,
although connections sure help."

He smiled and I felt the warmth radiate. "A lot of
innate talent. But yes, connections always help."

After a moment, I glanced over at him. "So how 'bout
you? You've got no meager accomplishments, yourself.
How'd you get there?"

"A little talent and a lot of good looks. I've had a
lot of sex to get where I am-- with both genders,
where necessary. Never teachers, thank God. Whatever
it takes, though." He grinned. "You looked
scandalized. You've never done that?"

"Unless you count head as sex, I'm a virgin."

I heard him laugh. "If head is sex I'm the biggest
stud -- and similarly, the biggest slut -- in the
whole school. But head can't be sex. It's not a
reciprocal act. Sex is."

I pointed at the wall, at an autographed photo of the
President we had hanging on the wall. -- See, he'd met
Mom and I as Forestdale's delegation when he came to
Portland. They took a picture of us with him, shaking
hands, and the next day, at a community meeting, he
personally presented it to us and signed it. That was
last fall. -- "Head can't be sex. The chief of state
says it's not."

We both laughed.

"You know what's funny? People were pissed about the
Starr report, but if they knew that would barely raise
an eyebrow online, the Republicans would be banning
the Internet right away," I pointed out with a grin.

But Alex laughed and then asked me, "You know what the
difference between the Starr report and Net porn is?"

"What?"

"Net porn is composed of at least one good-looking
individual."

Again, laughter all around. We were really on the same
wavelength.

"OK, so, really, what sports do you play, Josh? I
mean, I know it's not for a school team, but you've
got such a nice, toned body, you can't possibly be a
couch potato."

For a moment, I considered shrugging off the question,
because the truth is really embarrassing, but lying is
no way to make friends. "I road bike. Tight shorts,
spandex, velcro and metal."

Alex licked his lips. Oh, fuck -- arousal alert. Just
what I needed.

When Alex saw me, he smiled wistfully at me. "If only
you'd let me take care of that," he mused.

"If I did, I'd have to -- well, no. It would be hard,
in my current emotional state, to do that, Alex."

He just grinned again. "All the same, it would be fun,
wouldn't it?"

"I don't think I've ever been so directly
propositioned, Alex," I said in a shocked tone of
voice. Mockingly, I continued, "Whatever would your
parents say?"

"They don't know I'm gay."

That time, I really was shocked. "A year, at least,
and you've never told them? My mom knew and hour and a
half after I did."

"Your mom also has no problem with you having sex. My
parents were shocked when one time Dad caught me
jacking off."

Unfortunately for my already minimal self-resolve, the
mental image of Alex jacking off was sure an enticing
one. I was already seeing him naked (we still had our
clothes on).

He continued, "Your mom is really different from my
parents. Remember, they went to Kennedy, too, about
the same time. Your mom was one of the hippies, if you
will -- not like, trashy fast, but more like free love
among friends." That much, she'd told me. "It never
hurt her, so she figures it can't hurt you, as long as
you're always protected; when did she first show you
how to put on a condom?"

I thought a moment, trying to put my finger on a date.
"Sixth grade. When I went on my first date. She also
explained all sorts of slang to me, and concepts, so
I'd know what to expect."

He nodded gravely. The usual twinkle in his eye was
gone. "That's about when I had my first formal sex
talk. I'd learned a good deal on the playground, of
course, but my parents didn't know that. The last
sentence of that talk was, 'Of course you know that
your mother and I don't condone underage sex. In
short, just say no.' The night before my first date,
my sister -- she's now in college -- showed me how to
put on a condom. She gave me hints, suggestions. So
did her boyfriend, who was a secret from our parents.

"I showed Eric much the same thing when he went on his
first date, because by that time, Lynn had left for
college in New York," he added.

I had lost the point of all of this. "So what does
that have to do with being gay? Not every gay person
is promiscuous, just as not every straight person is,"
I said, reciting a piece of liberal catechism.
"Socially, there's almost no difference in the two
communities, with the obvious exception of sexism. The
difference is wholly biological."

He started to cry softly while I was speaking. "Oh, my
God, you're so lucky to live with normal beliefs." I
cradled his head against my chest and softly stroked
his hair. He kept on. "My parents view homosexuality
as a choice, and immoral. They don't buy into the
Biblical crap about it being a sin, but they're
convinced homosexuals are out to rape their children
and pervert society. They wouldn't take the news that
their son was 'one of them' very well."

I sighed. "You can come live with me and my mom, and
live a free-sex-among-friends existence."

He grinned through his tears. "One friend
specifically." I blushed radiantly. "No, seriously, I
wish I could, but I just can't, you know?"

"Now who's resisting?"

Guess who blushed.

"Actually, on the topic of my parents, you remember
how I told you "The City and the Pillar" was my
favorite book? Well, I actually had a pretty close
call with that one. My parents found it when they were
cleaning the house the day after I'd picked it up --
before I had started it. Luckily, I always bought my
class reading books, so I told them it was for an
English assignment. They got upset and decided to call
the next morning and talk to Mr. Sellis. I ducked out
early the next morning, in time for zero period, and
begged him to help me out. He was the second person I
ever came out to. He lied to my parents, and even told
us that day in class that it would be our next reading
assignment. I nearly burst with relief, when he said
that. It was, like, he just saved me from certain
death. I went in and thanked him the next morning, at
least 50 or 60 times. Best damn teacher in the whole
school."

I nodded gravely, not knowing what to say to that,
except, "Well, now you have someone to talk to." I
grasped his hand. He looked into my eyes and leaned in
and kissed me. I pushed him back on the floor. I felt
his chest as I lay on top of him. He was a little
taller than me, so I had some compensating to do --
about four or five inches -- but that was taken care
of instantly.

Then, I heard my mom coming down the hallway, and she
cut the light on in the kitchen. Of course, knowing my
luck, the kitchen opens on the entertainment center.
(At one time it was the dining room.) She smiled and
gave me a big thumbs-up.

I slowly peeled myself off of Alex, and took him by
the hand, to my mom. "Mom, this is Alex Wright. Alex,
this is my mom, Elise Fletcher."

She and he shook hands. Then, she gave him a kiss on
the cheek. Seeing the nervous look on his face, which
she read with an absolutely deadly accuracy, she said
evenly, "Don't worry. Your secret is safe with me.
Even from your parents."

He broke down and sobbed then. My mom and I took turns
comforting him. At last, the tears stopped coming, and
he gave us each a hug and a kiss -- although mine was
a little better. OK, a lot better. As usual, we got
kind of involved in it -- it was just, I can still
hear myself whining, that he kisses so well, like the
Michael Valentine Smith or something. If you've never
read Robert Heinlein's "Stranger in a Strange Land," I
would stop reading this story right now and go buy
yourself a copy of the best book in the existence of
mankind. Beyond even "The City and the Pillar".
Anyway, Mom broke us up with a cough. "I'm going back
to bed. You know where to find condoms, sweetie, if
you need them," she told me, eliciting a furious
blush, "and Alex, honey, if you ever need somewhere to
just hang out or spend the night or anything, our
front door is always open to you."

My heart burst with love for the woman who'd raised me
single-handedly, and who could take anything but
alcohol, drugs, cigarettes and unprotected sex in
stride. I fervently wished that Alex had someone like
that, too.

He looked at me, still puffy and a little out of it
from the crying but with a twinkle evoking the
irrepressible Alex in his eye. That was the Alex I was
getting to know better and better by the minute. I had
to admit, when I looked him in the eye, that was when
I knew I was in love with him.

Now, before you start condemning me as an
irrepressible romantic, remember that teenagers fall
in and out of love constantly. It is the effect of
hormones mixing with genuine friendship, and, unlike
adults, teens are actively changing physically and
emotionally. This is not helped by the fact that every
teen relationship revolves around the desperation to
identify with someone, or some thing, that typifies
the 13-19 existence. In short, there are a lot of
disingenuous "I love you"s floating around among high
school students. Fair enough. It's weird, though, and,
to draw on J.D. Salinger's Holden Caulfield a moment,
"phony".

So I said to myself: I love him. But I'm not ready to
love him.

Luckily for my emotional health at that point in time,
I didn't love Julie. I did like Julie, quite a bit,
but the two are not mutually connected for high
schoolers, just as they are not for adults.

OK, I've proselytized enough. Back to the plot!

Once I admitted the simple truth to myself -- in fact,
the second time in less than twenty-four hours I'd had
to make a self-admission -- which was, in short, "I
love Alex Wright," it was much easier just to be
around him. All the rest of the night, we just lay
there, cuddling on the floor. At some point, we fell
asleep, though, because when Mom came downstairs, she
was appalled to find us on the floor, having shed our
shoes but otherwise fully clothed, and asleep
together. "I mean, geez, you guys were kissing so
heavy I had to stop you from making love on the
kitchen floor! Now, you sleep with your clothes on?"

Alex was still asleep. I rolled my eyes at her. She
smiled sweetly.

I told her sarcastically, "I love you, Mom. Now let me
sleep."

You see, she worked half-days at the office on
Saturdays, which meant she left about 7:30 and came
home about 1:00. When she came home, we were still
asleep on the couch. Fully clothed. Still.

"Rise and shine, sleepy boys," she called as she
walked into the kitchen. "The time is 1:03 p.m., and
the grapevine says Jessica's throwing an invitation-
only party at 5:30. That leaves only four hours and 27
minutes to prepare!"

By that time I was up. Alex was getting, well, closer
to awake. I screamed in mock horror. "Oh, my God! I
only have, like, four hours to get ready! Will I be
able to do my hair in time?"

She squealed with delight. She and I loved to play
"Clueless". "Oooh! Do I have enough time to buy a
whole new ensemble? Like, the one I bought yesterday
is sooo yesterday!"

I heard Alex moan. "And here I thought I might finally
escape the valley girls, once and for all. I told
myself, being gay has perks. No more dating
cheerleaders. What kind of weird wake-up call is
this?"

He sounded stressed, or maybe just weirded out -- not
like it really mattered -- so I went over and gave him
a kiss. A good one, but fast and light, so we would be
able to break it off without someone else's
intervention. "Mmmn, that's better," he said as I held
up a bikini top and a fluffy feather skirt Mom had
brought down.

"Don't I look marvelous in it?"

He just sighed. "So. Do you mind if I hang around
while you get ready?"

"Don't be ridiculous! Of course you're coming. Jessica
thinks you're really cute. Don't tell her I said so
but" -- I was back in Valley Girl emulation -- "she's,
like, sooo right!" I giggled.

He threw a pillow at me. "Josh, if I'm going, I'd
better duck outta here and get dressed. Do I meet you
there or here?"

"Here. Bring your Rover if you can; if not, I'll
drive." I thought for a moment. "Be here at 5:00.
We'll leave at 5:15. Jessica expects punctuality, if
nothing else."

"How late will we be there?"

I ran my left hand through my hair. I figured, hey, I
needed to redo it anyway, why worry? "Dunno. Depends
on what your parents say, I imagine. Most of the time,
the ten invitees all crash at her house."

"But I'm not invited, though, right?"

I laughed. "After last night, I know you're invited.
If it makes you feel better, though, I can call her."

He wrote down his cell phone number for me, grabbed
his wallet and keys, said goodbye to my mom, and
walked out the door toward the garage. Once he had
left, I started thinking, and put on my best 'please
let me waste money' look. I mean, usually, I hate
shopping, but I really did have something special in
mind for tonight. It would wow everyone. Especially a
certain someone.

I jumped up off the couch, which was where I'd been
briefly, and leapt into preparation. After all, like
Mom said, I have less than four hours to prepare now!
"Mom?"

She looked over at me. "Yes, sweetie?" she said, still
watching TV and reading the newspaper at the same
time.

"Can I go buy a new pair of jeans today? I have a pair
that doesn't fit me anymore, and I need to replace it,
and besides, I have something special in mind." I gave

I saw her smile. Yes! Yes! Let me go! "Umm, OK,
sweetie. I know just jeans are never enough, you'll
probably want a sweater or something like that, too...
let's set a limit. $75?"

"$100?"

She bargained. "$85?"

"$90 and we're set." I extended a hand.

"I'll take it. $90, and anything over, you pay." We
shook hands. Sometimes, she could be a little over-
the-top on the formality front. "I expect receipts on
return. Don't spend more than two and a half hours or
you'll be late to the party."

I did a quick time-check. 1:08. Shit. And I haven't
showered or anything today. Oh, well. I'll just wear a
hat, put on some deodorant, brush my teeth and get
outta here. I raced up the steps, threw on some
clothing that made me look cute and rakish but not
exactly what I'd call carefully styled, a pair of
black Adidas warm-ups and a light grey Kennedy Cold
Warrior sweatshirt -- yes, our school newspaper really
did have sweatshirts -- plus a red Structure cap. I
topped the whole thing off with a pair of tennis
shoes, and I was ready to go shopping.

I brushed my teeth and raced downstairs, grabbed the
keys, and hurried out. There was a lot of traffic --
turns out there was a big accident on I-84 going
eastbound and that always slows everything else down -
- but all the same I made it downtown without wasting
too much time. I parked, in the Pioneer Place garage
since that's easy to get parking validated for
downtown, and headed off.

First stop was to get some jeans. I had decided I
wanted something faded, and not really baggy, since
the whole point was to impress Alex, who really did
have exquisite taste in clothes. They needed to fit,
in short, but not be, like, really tight, either. I
also didn't want to spend too much money on them,
because I wanted a new sweater too, and besides I was
going to split the outside seams of the legs about
four inches. That also meant I needed them to be a
little long. OK, so about three and a half inches
long.

Because of those criteria, I stopped at Gap first.
Their original-style jeans would be almost perfect for
the situation. Unfortunately, they were also $36 a
pair. Oh, wait, they're on sale. 25% off... $27. OK,
I'll bite. I found a pair that would fit me -- a 29-34
-- and then tried to see if I could find a 29-38. Good
luck. Most people that tall don't have teensy waists
like I have. I described what I wanted to the lady who
offered to help me out, and she went and looked in the
back, and found a 30-38. I tried it on, and figured, I
need a belt, but they still fit reasonably well
everywhere I wanted to emphasize, and I'm only using a
little over a third of my allotment.

While I was waiting in line at the checkout, I
happened to see Autumn, a good friend of mine, but who
isn't really part of "the group," if you will. She's a
lot of fun, although if I met her at the mall I needed
to brace myself for a shallowness onslaught. "Autumn!"
I called out.

She came over, and I took a quick look. Yep. Shallow.
Dressed to the hilt, in a pair of tight jeans and
black wool sweater, her reddish-brown hair straight
and perfectly brushed, face pale but radiant with
makeup. Once she got to me, I gave her a big hug.
"What's up?"

"Not a lot. Jessica called me to see if I wanted to
come to her party, so I needed some new clothing for
the occasion." She waved her Starbucks mug
enthusiastically at something. "Oh, look at that! That
would be so cute!"

I rolled my eyes mentally and looked. Wow. She was
right. That was really cute. It was a bluish-purple
sweater set matched with a grey skirt. "Have you seen
anybody else at the mall? Everyone -- well, except
Ira, of course -- buys new clothes before Jessica's
parties."

Autumn nodded gravely, and then I saw her grin at me.
She whispered ferociously with delight, "Wait. Look!
It's the Ditz Queen and her latest boy toy."

We both looked over to see Tara, who we worked with on
the newspaper, with someone; neither of us knew who he
was. He was actually kind of attractive, but in a
very, very aggressively straight way. Oh, well. Didn't
matter. We both kind of turned around, so she wouldn't
notice us and come over and say hello. She passed by,
and kept on chatting happily.

"Hey, guys!" we heard call out at us, just a little
bit later. When we turned around, we saw Michael, who
was a friend of ours -- we worked with him on the
newspaper. Nice guy. He had to make up a lot in
personality, though, what he lacked physically: short
(about 5'6"), uninteresting brown hair, large nose,
chronic 5-o'clock shadow. He was wearing a pair of
jeans and a gray cashmere V-neck sweater, plus a pair
of faded, beat-up Nikes. With him was the perennial
Starbucks latte, always, he said, "a decaf mocha with
a shot of (something)". So I had to ask, of course,
what it was.

"A decaf mocha with a shot of orange," he said,
nonchalantly, and then cradled it against his chest as
he rolled his eyes and pulled his phone off his belt.
"Hello? Hi, mom... No, I'm not at the grocery store.
I'm downtown... What do you need there? ... Milk. OK.
Can do. ... See you when I get home." He chuckled
lightly, and clipped the phone back on. "Sorry about
that. Gotta love mothers. How's life, guys?"

I smiled at him. Autumn gave him a hug. "Not bad. Are
we going to make this month's deadline? I don't want
to be there until ten again," I whined.

He laughed, and set down the bags he'd already
accumulated. I guess he'd done a lot of shopping; he
had a Structure bag, a Banana Republic bag, and a Nike
Town bag.

Damn rich kids have everything so easy. I bet he's
spent at least $200, and he's not done shopping.
Probably got to take his dad's car today too. $95,000
worth of Range Rover. 4.6 liters. 8 cylinders. British
luxurious interior. Lucky.

Oh, and look who's talking.

Hey. Not fair. The BMW's worth a quarter of that
thing's value.

It's still worth more than most people's cars.

Quit having conversations with yourself! It's
distracting.

"I sure hope so," he said, letting the awful
Midwestern twang hang for a second on 'sure'. "It's
not like I wanted to be there 'till ten either. But I
won't send a paper to press until it's done."

Autumn asked him, "Why couldn't you just let Mary take
the blame for it if there's problems? I mean, she is
the editor-in-chief. You're the news editor. You work
too hard as it is."

Michael just grinned. "Oh, well. One issue down, eight
to go. OK, answer the question. How's life, Autumn?"

She shrugged, and I noticed that she had much better
form than I did. "Not bad." Then, I heard the cashier
say, "Next, please," and I moved forward, leaving them
to talk. "Hi," I said, trying to make conversation.

"Did you find everything all right today?"

"Actually, yes, I did, thanks," I told her, and pulled
my wallet out of my pocket.

"That'll be ... $27." Oh, yeah, I forgot to gloat: We
don't have sales tax here. I gave her my credit card
and signed the receipt, and when she gave me my copy,
I stuck it in the bag right away. I was done there. I
walked back over to Michael and Autumn, and asked
them, "Are you guys both coming to the party tonight?"

Michael shrugged. "I'm not much in the mood, but I
can't turn down one of Jessica's invitations or she'll
take me apart, bone by bone, and then burn the
remnants as an offering to the gods."

Whatever you say. I blinked. Sometimes, he got a
little over-the-top. Not like I don't, but I kind of
go the other direction, in terms of terseness. He's
famous for verbosity.

"OK, guys, I've gotta run," I said, checking my watch.
"I still have to hit one more store, and it takes me
forever to find sweaters that fit right. I'll see you
guys tonight." Then, I took off, headed for Structure
first, being the closer of the two options.

I didn't like any of the styles they had -- all too
baggy, for one, and much too grungy-looking for
another -- so I headed out pretty quickly and walked
the four or five blocks to Banana Republic. It was a
huge store, bigger than anything we'd ever had before,
which had just been finished. Absolutely incredible.

Through the big glass front doors I walked, and
started looking for sweaters. Immediately something
caught my eye. It was a brown cashmere sweater, a V-
neck, and it was on display with a nice white button-
down shirt, shirtsleeves rolled up tastefully to the
sweater's sleeves. Wow. I like that. It would look
awesome with what I have in mind, too.

"Oooh! I wonder if they have that in my size!" I
exclaimed. I got some weird looks. So much for the
universality of "Clueless".

Anyway, I started rummaging under the tables, and I
found one I liked a lot better, a nice dark green. It
turns out it wasn't cashmere, it was just fine-grained
wool, which was cool because that meant I could save a
little money. I figured, hey, I'm saving money, I'll
splurge, I'll get the shirt, too. I tried them on,
liked them, and went over to the cash register and got
checked out. "That'll be $94.50, Mr. ... Heilig," she
said. "Do you want to put that on your Banana Republic
card?"

"Actually, no, I'll just pay credit, thanks," I told
her, curtly, and then pulled out my wallet. The
ensemble was complete, and I was only $31.50 over my
limit. Not bad for me.

She handed me my bags, and I was out the door. I had
to stop by Silvetti's and pick up my new suits, which
were being altered. It was a gift from my father, who
had been promoted as of last year and had a lot of
money to spend lately. He'd had them shipped down for
me, along with a couple of shirts and a selection of
ties, from the Seattle store. He and I were going on a
cruise over winter break, and we needed to get this
done before the Christmas shopping craze, since my
size tended to leap off shelves.

As soon as I walked in the door, all of the
salespeople said hi to me. My mom was friendly with
the owner, and so they all knew me there. I tried them
on, and I had to admit, they looked incredible on me.
He had excellent taste in clothes. The only thing was,
the shirts were too short, and I didn't like solid-
color ties, so we picked out some new ones, and found
the shirts in a longer sleeve size.

"Parfait," Don breathed. "You look great. They should
be ready in... how's a week?"

I nodded. "Ideal, thanks." I handed him the clothes,
and waved goodbye. That was that, and I headed out the
door again, and then walked right back in. "Forgot to
get my parking validated. You can do that for me,
right?"

Don nodded at me. "Of course. Two hours or one?"

"Two, please."

He stamped it, and handed me the ticket. "Looks like
you'd better get moving if you want to make the two
hours..."

I shrugged. "I walk quickly. Thanks a lot!" I waved,
and headed out the door.

Once back in the car -- and yes, I did make the two-
hour limit, which meant I got free parking, even
though I forgot to validate it at either Gap or Banana
Republic -- I caught "Reeling in the Years" and also
"My Old School" from a Steely Dan block on the radio,
and then they put on Jethro Tull. Yes! I love Jethro
Tull! I love "Locomotive Breath"!

I was ecstatic. I was headed off to a party... and
Alex was coming... and I was going to look awesome
that night. Low-top Doc Martens, my jeans, after I'd
split them up the seams, that white shirt and the
green sweater, plus my hair done up extra-special,
Nick Carter-style. Just for him. Of course, all of
this would probably mean coming out to my other
friends, too, but that was OK. I wonder who's coming
tonight? Hmm.

I wheeled into my driveway and started getting ready,
for the second time in less than 24 hours, for a
party. Except this time, I didn't need to worry about
Alex.

It took me about a half an hour to get my hair done
right, because, like I said, I was trying to look like
a naturally blonde Nick Carter. (My hair was more like
a golden brown, on a good day, but you get the idea.)
The trick was to use this stuff I have, gel that never
hardens, and really lightly, because you want the tips
in the front to frame the cheekbones nicely... it's
really hard to do, but I came awfully close, with my
mom's help.

So. Forty minutes out, which meant I had an hour and
twenty minutes until Alex came over. My nerves were
wrecked from the frenzy, and I was totally panicking -
- would I look good for him? -- so I threw on some
music. What to play, what to play? I have a 3-disc
changer, so I had some choices to make. In the end I
settled on Steely Dan's "Can't Buy a Thrill", their
first album, which always calms me; plus Jethro Tull's
"20 Years of Jethro Tull"; and Elton John's "Honky
Kat", a fun album if not his best.

With "Kings" rolling out of my stereo, I started
splitting the seams in the jeans. It's a lot harder to
do than it sounds. The trick is to make sure you don't
cut yourself, which means always cutting away from
your body. You also have to cut the cuff, which is the
hardest part... I started with the X-acto knife about
four inches above the cuff, and cut away from myself
until I reached the cuff. Then I got Mom to help me
split the cuff with a pair of scissors. Enough so we
could cut it, anyway.

OK, the jeans were done. It was 4:30. I started
hurriedly putting my clothes on, jeans -- how do the
split seams look? So I had to stop, put my shoes on,
check the seams, make sure they worked. Yes. They
weren't too long, and they fanned nicely over the
sides of the shoes, without dragging on the ground.
After that, the white shirt, rolling the sleeves
carefully up. Over that went the sweater, and then I
finished rolling the shirtsleeves and buttoned them up
over the ends of the sweater's sleeves. I looked at
myself in the mirror. Nice.

"You've really outdone yourself this time, sweetie,"
said Mom, vocalizing what I was thinking. "He's going
to love it."

I pretended to be shocked. "I'm not just doing it for
him! I'm doing it for myself, for the party."

She nodded at me. I knew that look. "I know you are,
sweetie."

Why does it matter whether you are or not?

Because he's not my boyfriend! He's just a friend of
mine.

Yeah, a friend you're awfully attracted to. Who you've
spent a hell of a lot of time kissing.

So?

What do you mean, 'so?' I think I've proven the point.
You even said yourself you're in love with him.

And you aren't?

Of course I am, damn it! He's gorgeous. He's fun to be
with. He's sweet. He's even smart. Well, most of the
time, anyway. How much more could you ask for?

Well, it would be nice if I didn't already have a
girlfriend.

I sure hope she isn't coming tonight.

Me too. I want to be with Alex.

"Sweetie? That's the doorbell, I bet that's Alex," Mom
broke into my reverie. "Do you need me to get it?"

I hurriedly raced into my closet and grabbed my shoes,
and started trying to find my cell phone. "Could you,
Mom? That'd be awesome. I'm kind of frazzled today."

Without saying anything, she headed downstairs. That's
the kind of nice mother I have. Always doing little
things like that for me. But of course, I was in a bad
spot, since I couldn't find my phone. Oh, wait! I know
where it is! It's downstairs, in Mom's charger! Down
the steps, in a fury, I raced, grabbed the phone and
belt clip, threw it on, hurried back upstairs and
brushed my teeth. "Josh? Are you ready yet?" Alex's
voice called up the steps.

"Almost. I'm brushing my teeth before we go... I'll be
down in just a sec," I yelled back. "I want to be
extra-fresh, so I'm not, like, a social outcast." I
reapplied my deodorant, and then put on some cologne.
"Ready!"

"Dad wouldn't let me take his car, so I take it you
want to take your mom's?"

I thought a moment. "Yeah. Do you know how to drive
stick?"

Mom's voice interjected into our conversation sharply.
"Alex, you may be a wonderful kid in every aspect, but
you are not driving my BMW. Did you hear that, Josh?
I'm putting my foot down."

Oh, well. So much for letting Alex be the aggressive
driver today. "OK, Mom. I hear you. I'm driving. Do
you mind if we stay over tonight? We'll probably be
late. You can get a hold of me, you know my number,
you know Jessica's."

I came down the stairs, and drew in my breath sharply.
Mom called, "Yes, sweetie... have fun, boys!"

Around his waist he had tied a reddish plaid button-
down shirt. He looked godlike. I looked at him,
straight in the eye. What a beautiful sight it was,
really, seeing him like that. "You look gorgeous,
babe. Absolutely. I like the jeans especially... they
show off those nice legs of yours."

"Well, thank you, Alex," I said, blushing lightly.

He stepped up and gave me a kiss... oh, God, one of
these. I was backing up, toward the door, and opening
it. "Alex!" I managed to gasp. "We need to go. We
can't do this now!"

"You're right," he commented briefly. We were both out
of breath. "But you even taste nice. OK, off to
Jessica's."

But I didn't have any air to say anything back. I was
stunned. Alex looked, well, better than I'd ever seen
him, although that wasn't saying much. I had only
known him for a day. This was his third set of
clothes. But God. I was so right about his fashion
sense. He was wearing a pair of loose-fitting cargo
khakis in a kind of off-white color, and a light blue
polo shirt, with all three buttons undone to show off
a beautiful upper chest. Plus a red Cubs cap, which
unfortunately hid his hair. It looked good on him.

"Alex? Do you have to wear the hat? Your hair looks
much better without it."

He grinned at me. OK, knees, save me this once. "OK,
I'll leave the hat here. You're driving... let's get
going."

COMMENTS FROM THE AUTHOR

OK, so those of you that have been following the story
know that the disclaimer is deceptive. In fact, I've
come to a decision. Any sex that happens in this story
is going to be done obliquely. I'm not going to get
into the trap of letting Josh and Alex's sex life (or
lack of it) become the focus of the story. If that
doesn't interest you, I'm sorry, you can find another
story... this one's about love.

Sorry for the delay on this chapter. I've been trying
to get one up per week, but I forgot to do it last
weekend and when the alarm on my Palm went off, the
one for THIS weekend, it occurred to me that I had
never done last weekend's. "Oops! Should I leave a
note?"

Keep the comments rolling, if you feel like it. I'm
joshbabe22@hotmail.com. Flames go straight to
/dev/null, UNIX's hell.