Date: Thu, 13 Mar 2003 17:44:29 EST
From: OneSillyRat@aol.com
Subject: The TNT-Files chapter 4

The TNT Files,  Chapter 4

The following story is fiction.  It describes sexually-explicit erotic
events between males.  If you are offended by this material, are too young,
or live in an area where it is not allowed, don't read it.  In the world of
this story, the characters don't always use condoms.  In the real world,
everybody should practice safe sex.

The authors retain all rights.  No reproductions or links to other sites
are allowed without the authors' consent.

The song lyrics belong to Nick Cave.

Now, has everybody gone and read 'Dr. Tim and the Boys' in the college
section?  'Cause if you haven't you won't understand much of this.  Go on,
folks, read it.  You'll thank me later...

Rib-cracking hugs to Evan, Patrick, Ash, Mickey, Sara, and Tim for their
friendship and encouragement, and special thanks to Tim for sending me all
those lovely letters...

'This bud of love...may prove a beauteous flower...'  --Tom


Onesillyrat@aol.com
Part 4: All down my veins...


Timmyboy,

We haven't known each other for that long, but we're buddies, right?  Sooo,
you gotta do your buddy Tom a favor!  For obvious reasons you'll have to
install a waiting list - for all those guys who'll want you to do to them
what Ced did to Tim.  Pretty pretty please, put me on top of that list,
will you?

Tommy's a Tiger who needs his Mead!!!  <Imagine slurping noise here>

Meow!  Roar!  GROWWL!

--Tom

				 *   *   *


Tommyboy,

Ced has done a lot of things to Tim.  I'm not sure just what you have in
mind, though the possibilities are intriguing.

If you are referring to the last night before Ced went back home, I can
tell you that it was pretty frustrating for Tim.  Every time Tim thought
they were getting into a groove, Ced stopped.  Schrecklich!!  My namesake
in the story admits that perhaps he deserved that, but it was hardly the
most satisfying time he and Ced had had together.  (And, of course Tim is
still thinking about how to get back at Ced and Trey for their escapade in
class.)

I'm flattered, though, by your request, and you'll be at the top of my list
for whatever we can cook up whenever we get together.

Until then, just remember that mead is a very sweet concoction.

Your buddy,

Tim

				 *   *   *


Hi Tim, buddy,

Greetings from Swinging London.

I'm staying at a hostel near Great Russell St, close to the BM.  4 guys per
room, but it's halfway cheep.  The breakfast's horrible, though.  They cook
the eggs (sunny side up) on the plates on which they're served -
disgusting!

Went to see the Marbles and the Mummies today.  The night-life ain't half
bad either.  At the Marquee last night, I had a hard time keeping the guys
off my ass.  Must have been that mesh-shirt...

Oh man, when I got here, I was so horned-up and ready for it, and now when
I can have them, I don't want them.  I feel so restless.  I have a bus
ticket to Penzance in my pocket, for tomorrow.  If you want to write, I can
check my mail there.

Take care!

--Tom

				 *   *   *


Tommy,

What the fuck are you going to do in Penzance, of all sleepy little places?
I know exactly where it is, but I can't imagine what you could do there
this time of year.  Too cold for swimming!

Oh well, I guess Rosy Palm is a companion who goes everywhere.  Think of me
when you and Rosy are having a session.

I'm sending Di chapter 15 with its edits and slight emendations for you to
look at when you get back.

Tom, I'm proud, babe, to have this chapter as part of my story.  Your two
narratives by Chaz have really made the big lug the lovable character he
is.  Thanks, young stud.

Oh, and watch out for Pirates!

Love,

Tim

				 *   *   *


Hi Tim,

The sea is calm to-night...

Penzance is always too cold for swimming, if you ask me!  Did you know that
pen means head, and zance holy ground?  I'm a little ways east of it, in
Lamorna Cove.  There's a little cafe with view on the bay where they serve
the best Cornish Cream Tea ever.  The first time I was there, I put the
clotted cream into my tea instead of on the scones, and my, the Cornish had
fun!

Today I'll go visit the Piper and the Merry Maidens - they got turned to
stone, 'cause they danced on a Sunday...  Some part of me's hard as stone,
too, as I'm sitting here, thinking of you.  God Tim, what you do to me!
Sometimes I'm glad there's an ocean between us.  One touch of your hand and
I'd be lost.

I'll go back to London tomorrow, and then home by plane.  I really want to
look at what you did with Chaz's diary!

--Tom

This one's for you:


Come into my sleep - Nick Cave

Now that mountains of meaningless words
And oceans divide us
And we each have our own set of stars
To comfort and guide us
Come into my sleep
Come into my sleep
Dry your eyes and do not weep
Come into my sleep

Swim to me through the deep blue sea
Upon the scattered stars set sail
Fly to me to through this love-lit night
>From one thousand miles away
And come into my sleep
Come into my sleep
As midnight nears and shadows creep
Come into my sleep

Bind my dreams up in your tangled hair
For I am sick at heart, my dear
Bind my dreams up in your tangled hair
For all sorrow it will pass, my dear

Take your accusations, your recriminations
And toss them into the ocean blue
Leave your regrets and impossible longings
And scatter them across the sky behind you
And come into my sleep
Come into my sleep
For my soul to comfort and keep
Come into my sleep
Dry your eyes and come into my sleep


                                           *   *   *


Tommy, sweet boy,

As soon as I saw the first line of your email, I thought of you, sitting
there on the "naked shingle."  I love the Arnold poem.  I often find it
depressing, but I'm always touched by it somehow.

And there you are, not in Dover, but in Penzance.  What you want to do with
the clotted cream is put it on strawberries, but they're hardly in season
right now, are they?

Stay out of the water.  Protect those jewels!  My only experience with the
South Coast was a visit one chilly day in April to Chesil Bank, which is
between Weymouth and Lyme Regis.  No sand.  Just gravel, which the sea
hurls constantly at the shore.

Still no pirates lurking?

Tommy, you used a quotation from Nick Cave very effectively in "Icy's
Revenge."  Now you send me "Come into my sleep."  I assume this is a song
lyric.  If so, I MUST find a recording of it.  Is it on a cd?

You know, hot stuff, in my real life there is no Ced, no Trey, no Chaz.
But if you could ever come to me, we could write our own poetry.

Tommy, your mind, your personality, your beautiful spirit give me a hardon.
Maybe some day you'll tell me what you look like.

Hugs,

Tim

PS: Clotted cream indeed!  You devil!  I've been thinking (just finished
lunch) of things to do with clotted cream.  When we get together there are
places where I'd like to put it and then lick it off.

				 *   *   *


Hi Red,

Was that chat hot yesterday, or what?!  Too hot, if you ask me!  Lucky you,
you could go and change your shorts afterwards.  I was sitting in this
cyber-bar with the hardon from hell.  Thank God I'm not as leaky as you
are.  (You'll have to work for it, babe - man, will I ever have you work
for it!)

If we meet.  Or when we meet?  We will, will we?  With me, you wouldn't
have to worry about creaming your pants, honey - I'll love to take care of
that, wherever, whenever!

Now you probably think I'm only interested in your cock.  Hey, I wanna get
my hands and else on your skinny ass, too!

But most of all, I just want to be with you, do the simple things, talk,
read, listen to music, take long walks, watch TV, that stuff.  There's so
much I want to share with you!

You asked about my looks.  Now, I'm pretty average all over, 5'8", dark
blond hair that gets lighter in summer, green eyes, skin that tans easily.
Only little body hair. You know already that I'm 20.  The thing is, I don't
look my age. Not at all. Gets me sometimes a kind of attention I don't care
for.  That's mostly why I started working out two years ago.  No endurance
stuff, only weight training.  I wanted to bulk up a bit, you know.  Now I'm
more packed than I used to be, but those daddies just keep coming on to me.
Don't worry, sweetcheeks, it's not about age, though at 26 you seem of
course ancient to me <VEG> (you know that means very evil grin, right?),
it's the type, regardless of age.  I fell for one of them when I was
sixteen, all in all it wasn't very pretty.  That's when I got my piercing,
btw.

Tim, I already trust you a lot.  I guess it was kind of easier because you
are so far away.  But now I'm at a point where I want more.  I want to
touch that red hair of yours, and muss it up.  I want to see that
full-body-blush, and make you blush some more.  I want to taste your sweet
honey, love, and make you make some more.  I want to feel safe with you,
and I want to love you.  But I'll take what I can get.

--Tom

Another one for you:

The One that I've Been Waiting For - Nick Cave

I've felt you coming, love, as you drew near
I knew you'd find me, 'cause I longed you here
Are you my destiny? Is this how you'll appear?
Wrapped in a coat with tears in your eyes?
Well take that coat, babe, and throw it on the floor
Are you the one that I've been waiting for?

As you've been moving surely toward me
My soul has comforted and assured me
That in time my heart it will reward me
And that all will be revealed
So I've sat and I've watched an ice-age thaw
Are you the one that I've been waiting for?

Out of sorrow entire worlds have been built
Out of longing great wonders have been willed
They're only little tears, darling, let them spill
And lay your head upon my shoulder
Outside my window the world has gone to war
Are you the one that I've been waiting for?

O we will know, won't we?
The stars will explode in the sky
O but they don't, do they?
Stars have their moment, then they die

There's a man who spoke wonders though I've never met him
He said "He who seeks finds and who knocks will be let in"
I think of you in motion and just how close you are getting
And how every little thing anticipates you
All down my veins my heart-strings call
Are you the one that I've been waiting for?


                                                   *   *   *


Tom,

You know words are my thing, so to speak.  I can rattle them off -- in
writing or in person.  Goes with being who I am, I guess.  But your letter
is so beautiful, baby, it leaves me tongue-tied.

The Tim in our story is a lucky guy.  He has the perhaps too-perfect
Cedric, and Trey still hankers after him as well.  I've never had a guy who
was interested in me.  I've had a hardon for your mind, your spirit, your
elan since that first letter you wrote me.  But that you want me is
difficult for me to understand.

I"m shorter than EVERYBODY (except our friend Jack, who's REALLY short).
I'm not at all good-looking.  And the hair you call red is really not that
sexy carrot-top that can be such a turn-on.  Have you ever seen the breed
of dog called an Irish Setter?  That's my hair.  Almost maroon.  Not quite
chestnut.  And my ass isn't the only thing that's skinny.  I'm built like a
boy.  And you, my boy, are built like a man!  (Why IS it that gays seem to
be so much more into physical appearance than straights?)

So, as I said, I'm touched and admittedly excited by the generous things
you say in your letter.  I just can't understand what's there.  Tommy,
please don't think I'm fishing for compliments.  Just know that I'm a bit
overwhelmed.

I long to meet you, to grab you and kiss you and climb your frame.  But I"m
afraid a face-to-face (or <VEG> dick-to-dick) encounter would be very
disillusioning for you.

BTW, as you describe yourself, you could be Trey's little brother.  His
eyes are hazel rather than green (there's a trait you and I share!), and
until you grow a couple of inches, he's taller than you.  But the hair and
skin are the same.  Is yours pale blond or that dark, tawny blond like
Trey's?  Either way, you have no idea how much I long to bury my nose in
it.  But then, sweet boy, I spend a lot of time fantasizing about things we
might do together.

If this letter isn't what you expected, I apologize.  You know I love you.
But you need to know that I worry lest what you feel for me is infatuation.
Infatuation enhanced, perhaps, by the image you have of the fictional Tim,
enhanced even by the huge ocean that separates us.  Infatuation that
wouldn't survive a first meeting.  And I just couldn't take your
disappointment if that happened.

I do love you, you know.

Tim

				 *   *   *


Tim,

You are right.  The fictional Tim is very hot.  As are Ced and Trey and
Stan and the other guys there.  And lucky boy that I am, I can get them all
in one package, scrawny as that may be.  Can't I?

You are right, too, when you say words are your thing.  They're my thing,
too.  You, baby, could make me come by whispering in my ear.

You say what I feel may be just infatuation.  How can I prove you wrong?
Why do you need proof?  Why can't you just believe in me?

Aren't you the one who keeps extolling the virtues of my beautiful spirit
and mind?  All that from the few letters and story bits I wrote?  And when
I go and do the same (and I had lots more material to work with), and see
what a bright soul, what a loving, compassionate, and exciting man you are,
you doubt me.

Think about it, Tim: Isn't it maybe the image you have of me that's an
ideal?  Haven't you taken the glimpses you've had of me, and shaped them
into something you want to see?  Maybe you're subconsciously aware of that,
and that's the reason of your doubts.  Shouldn't I be the one afraid not to
meet your expectations?  But I won't question my luck.  I'll take that
chance.

Of course, we both have so high opinions of each other that we're bound to
get disappointed sooner or later.  We're only human, after all.  I know
that, expect that, and will be able to deal with it.  What about you?  Will
you balk at the first sign of trouble?

You know that under that cheeky, flippant attitude of mine I'm a person
with some insecurities and fears.  You say I have the body of a man, yet
you keep calling me 'sweet boy.'  If any other man called me that, I'd run.
I've worked hard for my looks, because I didn't want to be the 'boy' in a
relationship ever again.  Man, all I ever got to do was to bottom.  I
guess, compared to you I am still a boy in many ways.  I'm not as mature,
as grown-up as you.  I don't have that huge knowledge of literature and
music either.

Can you trust a boy with your heart, and a man with your body?  If you can
love a boy with a man's body, why shouldn't I love a man with a boy's?
Obviously I get the better deal.

But I have to tell you this: Sometimes, I will want to revel in being
bigger and stronger than you, in feeling your smaller body under mine, in
having you at my mercy.  And there'll be other times, when I'll need you to
take control, to feel the power you have over me.  Can you do that?  Will
you go there with me?

It's up to you to decide if you can trust me, and when.  We won't rush
things, okay?  When we meet, I don't want to see fear or apprehension in
your eyes, but love and trust.  As you'll see in mine.

--Tom


So, folks, admit it, that was sweet, wasn't it?  But was it enough to
convince Tim?  Or is the trouble just beginning?  And why do we have to go
and make things so complicated?  Yes, I pinched that one.

Immoral proposals to: Timmead88@yahoo.com or Onesillyrat@aol.com


Thanks!