Date: Sat, 18 Apr 1998 15:45:45 EDT
From: Vanderfeld <Vanderfeld@aol.com>
Subject: Adam on My Rib

I so enjoy reading these stories - and have been inspired to write.

Thanks!
stefan

ADAM ON MY RIB
By Stefan Vanderfeld
Vanderfeld@aol.com

My name is Stefan. My life is about learning. Since my birth 19 years ago, my
playground of life has been among the windmills and tulips and country roads
of my native home - Holland. My friends have taught me a great deal about life
- about who I am - and about why I choose the things to be. 

As I look back in my life, I realize though that I have learned the most when
emotion has been at its peak. It has often involved pain or anger. Or perhaps
great joy and even love. This story is about a moment of emotion. And what I
learned.  Living life down the  middle of the road leads you to a life of
middle roads.

The lessons of learning have not been more clear than this last year since my
time in the USA. I have learned what it is like to have love from friends. I
have laughed until my gut ached. I have fallen into love so much that I could
not take tests. 

And here in America, I have learned more about pain. And I have hurt. I have
been called names. I have been hurt because I am white. I have been teased for
just being a nice guy. We learn when we are in pain. 

I have also learned though, that I can learn by helping others in pain. I can
help them - and from doing so, feel a sense of peace. And joy. And perhaps
more, although I never expected it.

Although my mother and father and brothers are in Holland, I now have another
family in Boston I call my own. My host family, the Jarrett's, are kind
people. I am amazed at how much they can love me when they never gave birth to
me. They give me things and comfort me. They ask me questions and they love
me.

I also have a new brother in my life.  Adam. This blonde boy is 16 - and has
been a very cool new little brother. In the beginning, I could tell he was
used to be a cool guy. He kept his space from me - not sure what it would be
like to have to share his parents for the first time. I once overheard Mr.
Jarrett ask Adam if he liked having a new brother. Adam just looked at him. I
felt a bit bad - wondering if Adam secretly despised  having to share. He
didn't say anything.

Before I tell you a story about last week - a word about my English. My father
started teaching me English when I was a young kid. I like to express myself
through English. But I am still learning, so please forgive my mistakes. 

So, speaking of Adam is really where my story begins. A story about new
brothers. A story about comfort and friendship. Of pain and longing. Of things
that are not supposed to be, but perhaps, were meant to be.

Last Friday night, I came home about midnight. The hall lights were on. Mrs.
Jarrett - mom I call her now (although still strange to do so) had left a
large plate of chocolate brownies in the kitchen. As I sat eating these
wonderful American treats (I will take recipes back home with me) I was
thinking about how my life is so much like the movies and TV shows they used
to make about America. I had the perfect setting and like those guys Wally and
Beaver or Ricky Nelson or the boys in the Waltons, I realized how I was really
living the American dream. It was almost too real to be true.

The plate of brownies were piled high, and I thought it strange, knowing that
if Adam gets home before I, he would have eaten half them. I grabbed a
brownie, and headed for my room. As I neared my room, I saw that my light was
on. I could hear my new CD playing - a CD from a group called Bohem. I
remembered that it was a "grandma" weekend and that I would have a roommate
for the night.

Every month or so, "grandma" visits from Connecticut. When she visits, Adam,
my host brother, rooms with me. I had been given the guest bedroom for the
year - and the large bed in my room more easily fits two people than Adams
bed. So, when grandma comes, I share my world for the weekend with my little
brother.

If you looked at Adam, you might think we were brothers. I am about 6 feet
tall and have blonde hair, bright sky blue eyes and a smooth body. This has
proven quite good for me over the years - as it seems that I have the right
look for both guys and girls. It has been quite fun to see how unusual I am
with my blonde hair here in Boston - so full of Italians and peoples of many
ethnic backgrounds. I am an athlete and my body works well for me. 

Outside of my body, I am soft spoken and listen more with my soul than my ears
- and speak more with my eyes than my mouth.

Adam is a smaller image of me. Just having turned 16, he is nearly as tall as
me, but is still filling out in chest and legs. His hair is often thrown
about. His blue eyes are darker and more piercing. His stares often excite me,
but also penetrate to the depths of my soul. He doesn't say much either, but I
know there is much going on under that cute emerging body. 

Over the last 6 months, we have become comfortable with each other. When I
first arrived, I shocked him a bit I think when I would often be without
clothes in my room. Since I have my own shower and toilet, I will often not
have clothes on before or after showering. I realized that it was probably not
the custom so much when, after a month of being here, my host mother purchased
a robe and laid it on my bed as a gift. But that is another story.

I remember the first time that Adam walked into my room. I had just gotten out
of the shower, and was putting on some music on my CD player. I was buck naked
and had my back to the door. He came into my room to use the shower, and I
turned around to say hello. He stopped sudden in his tracks and just looked at
me. There I was, standing tall and naked, and he was just staring. He wasn't
staring at my eyes. I just stood there, sort of smiling. After a long stare,
he realized what he was doing, and quickly moved into the shower.

That was one of the longer showers that he took. And a week later, I noticed
that the ugly green shower curtain in our bathing room had been taken down,
and replaced with a clear plastic with shapes curtain. My host mother said
that Adam had helped to pick it out because the other one was old. I found the
see through curtain most interesting. 

When I am forced to define myself, I call myself Bi. I guess that means that I
like both men and women. It is true. The most of my experience have been more
with girls - but sprinkled through out my years ever since age 6, I have been
with guys. The Netherlands is a very open culture. Add to that the fact that
my mother is Swedish and comes from a very body-comfortable culture. Up to age
12, it was not unusual that I and other cousins would be naked up in my
bedroom when they came over. Our parents would see us, and wouldn't say
anything. It was experimentation. They made it clear that it was OK if we were
at home. There were boundaries. 

I don't know if I am like most boys are not, but  I feel like my whole
childhood has been an erection. When I was younger, I remember telling my
cousin that I thought there must be something wrong, because it was always
hard. He told me he was always hard too. We learned a lot from each other that
summer, but that again, is another story. But is has continued, and now that I
am at my "sexual peak" at 19, it still continues. But I have chest hair really
just starting to come in, so I think I still have a few years to peak. I will
probably be crazy by then!

That evening, last week, I walked into the room, feeling a bit light headed
from  the beers I had been drinking earlier at a party (chocolate always goes
well when I have been drinking beer!) I was in a happy mood. As I opened the
door, I saw that Adam was in my - our - bed. Usually, he would be sleeping or
playing video games. But not tonight. His long slender body was not stretched
out, breathing softly as it normally is when I get home. Instead, in the
corner, his body was scrunched into a ball. My navy down comforter covered his
body like a glove. And instead of giving me his usual nod and flash smile
hello, his eyes looked down, in pain.

There are times when I curse the caring soul I have been given. I feel very
often those emotions of those around me - and I care. I care a lot. And that
night, as I walked through the door, I could feel Adams emotion choke the very
brownie from my throat. The room felt dark and sad - like a symphony of
violins playing when the lion cub saw his father killed in the Lion King. 

I said my usual cheerful hello. I never knew quite what to say to Adam. He
said nothing back. I began taking my clothes off, quietly listening to the
orchestrated forest sounds from the CD. As I peeled off my Levi's and my
shirt, my mind was racing, trying to figure out what I should say. Should I
slip into bed and leave him to his silence, or offer to listen?

With nothing left on but my green, Norwegian bikini briefs, I walked over to
the edge of the bed. Adam didn't look at me once. His normally grown up boy
face instead was scrunched into lines of a face that I had never seen before.
I could see anger. And fear. And sadness. Oh, deep sadness.

I sat on the edge of the bed, and before I could say anything, from the face
of my little brother, this person who was normally so shy and quiet about
voices and emotions and fear - a tear fell from his eye. First a single tear
ran fast. Another from the same eye. And then like progression of a rain storm
after a few first drops, the tears started pouring down his cheek.

Tears are moments of truth - gates to the soul. They help us bridge the gap
between our emotions and the realities of life. I love crying - and welcome
their arrival. But when another cries around us - we have such a hard time
letting it happen. We feel their pain and want to solve it. But I have learned
that tears need to come. And should be welcomed.

I have held many a body in  my arms as tears fell. Men. Women. Old. And
young. People seem to notice my caring heart and feel as if they can share.
But for Adam, this was something new. He was an American boy. And in America,
boys - men - don't show their emotion. But the man was fading away, and the
little boy was slowly emerging, asking for help.

I am not sure why, but the female in my soul reached over and wrapped my
strong arms around him. At first, he clenched tight, and tried to pull away.
But my instinct was to hold on. I wrapped tighter, and slowly, slowly, pulled
him to my chest. By then, he was sobbing. His blonde hair fell down over my
chest, and he laid on my breast plate. I could feel his tears dripping down my
stomach as a steam would run down a  mountain after a spring rain. His tears
were warm. And mixed with the pain I felt in my soul, they felt as if the were
burning as they traveled past my navel and stopped at the boundaries of my
underwear.

Adam laid across my chest and I held him as a mother would hold her young. He
face was buried into my muscles, and I could feel his sobs as they timed with
the beating of my heart.

Adam wrapped his arms around me, and cried. One hand tucked underneath us and
the other wrapped around my legs just above my knees. He needed to hold on as
his now weak body convulsed in pain - sobbing. 

I had a million thoughts running through my brain. But I ignored them all and
told my heart I would follow its lead. It would tell me what I needed to do to
comfort this boy.

Through tears and gasps, he began to talk. His first line was "nobody at
school likes me" which launched into another series of water trickles down my
stomach. I cold feel the top of my underwear no longer stopping the tears and
felt them move past to warmer areas. 

I just held Adam, and somehow, instinctively, just rocked. I remember that I
was torn apart thinking that this poor young kid, this young blond stud whom
surely half the girls (and guys if they were culturally allowed) must be
swooning over, was feeling unwelcome. And I remembered my days of youth -
those days when I thought that I surely must be ill to feel so much pain. 

And Adam talked. As I sat there stroking the blonde mane of this boy, not much
older than a boy myself, Adam talked. He spewed forth emotions through words
and tears that must have been welling up for months - perhaps even years. And
I listened.

When a person is hurting so much, you just want to hold as much of them as you
can. You want to melt with them so that you can share their pain - surely two
people sharing the pain would make it feel half as bad. As he lay on my chest,
my left hand reached down to hold tighter. My hand traveled past the comforter
that wrapped his body. As I reached down, I realized that Adam, usually clad
in flannel boxers, wore nothing that night. My warm hands stroked at his side,
soothing, comforting....feeling the heaves and sobs of his chest, of his
stomach muscles. I didn't even realize what I was doing, and soon, I was
stroking at the sides of his naked body, feeling the hollows in the cheeks of
his butt.

Adam was talking away, and as he did, he laid like a baby on my chest, sliding
lower on my stomach and resting on my lap, just inches away from my dick.

By now, without me realizing it, my tear soaked underwear had started to grow.
The warmth and passion and energy - the feeling of caring so much for this
person sharing his soul with me had surged an unexpected energy into my body -
not one of lust so much as one of deep care. 

I have always thought that the line between deep sadness, extreme joy and
romantic passion is fine. And that evening, in a beautiful way, I learned the
truth.

I asked simple questions. And he kept talking. We talked about his feelings of
solitude at school. We talked of his shyness and of his being an only child.
As we talked, I keep stroking...rubbing...petting as a mama cat would care for
her young. As I did so, instinctively I think, Adam did the same. He started
playing with the light blonde hairs at my navel, that were now near his
talking mouth. And he started stroking my thigh, as a kid does when he absent
mindedly twirls their hair when the are nervous. 

All the time, the energies and passions of life were filling both of us
literally. By now, almost threatening to move his face out of the way, my dick
was filling up and growing strong. And as I realized that this cute young kid
was just inches near my pulsing dick, I only became more excited. 

In the meantime, I had confirmed that indeed, Adam was laying under my
comforter naked, his lithe body that was once all scrunched up, was slowly
unfolding like a blooming rose, as I stroked and petted.

And as I stroked on his left side, I soon felt a new participant on that side
of his body. At first, I just brushed by it, surprised that it would be there
- not really thinking that something like that should pop up. But then,
without actually grabbing it, I massaged his legs and inner thighs...and felt
myself coming closer and closer to a strong source of heat under those covers.

Our conversation turned from that of pain in his life to his appreciation for
me. I asked him if he was angry because I was invading his space. And he
quickly grabbed a hold of my body, as a child would threatened with the
removal of their favorite Teddy Bear. He told me it was a cool think to have
me in his house and how he was so appreciative to have an older brother -
someone who would care about him and really understand him.

For those moments we forgot. We forget that we were men. Or boys. Or Dutch. Or
American. We were just two souls - two bodies that needed one another. We
stroked, and our passion built.

Usually, you can determine where the "first move" was. That day, it was hard
to say. I found myself leaning over and kissing his blonde hair as his face
nestled into my stomach. Adam in the meantime, was just sort of letting his
fingers roam, as he talked and stared at my big dick in front of his drying
face. The music of forests and sounds from the CD player continued on, and so
did we. Time stood still, and soon, our mouths were without words as we
explored each others bodies.

My hand traveled closer to the source of heat between Adam's legs. As it
neared, his body instinctively rolled toward the hand. In the meantime, his
hands were all over my stomach, and soon, was edging under my green briefs. He
kissed the areas where his tears had fallen. He nibbled and tasted the salt of
his tears.

And like always, when I sleep, the head of my dick no longer could be self
contained in such a small space as my briefs. As he lifted the top edge of my
underwear, my dick shot out and pushed forward as a flowering bud pushes from
the earth in spring time. As it lay there, on my belly, wet and shiny from
Adam's tears, my own boy juice beginning to drip forward. 

In an almost simultaneous move, my hands reached down and lifted at his balls
as his tongue reached out to taste the tip of my dick. We both clenched and
were strewn into passion. 

My hand wrapped around his long shaft as my cock descended into his hot tongue
filled mouth. I felt warmth extend from my hands to the tip of my dick as he
suckled onto the end like a child who had not been around his pacifier for
days. Adam was on fire. And I was on fire. Adam's hands tugged at my underwear
and ripped them right down. He leaned forward and took the whole of my dick
into his mouth and sucked. And sucked and sucked. My hands traveled north and
felt the giant head of his dick, moist with pre-come and pulsing with heat. I
pulled back the comforter, exposing his long naked body and wrapped my legs
around his whole being, attaching myself to this boy as to never let go.

He tongued move up and down my dick and his fingers reached under and cupped
my balls. The ached with desire. And as he rubbed and rubbed, he moved down
and enjoyed the warmth between my butt.

As I had his dick in my hand, I started slowly moving up and down. In a few
short seconds, his  body took over and started to thrust in and out of my warm
fist. His years as a gymnast was evident. My four fingers stayed wrapped
around his shaft, as my thumb flitted and played and teased with his dick
head....sliding around from the slick stuff that kept oozing out. It was
really oozing and I couldn't help pulling away for just a second to take a
taste of this beautiful man. It tasted so sweet and so - fresh.

As I pulled away, he sort of whimpered and in a high pitched noise, the sound
we make before our voices change, Adam said, "Don't stop." Him stopping what
he was doing  was enough to motivate me to return. As I continued to stroke,
he continued to lick - to suck as I have never been. But this wasn't done with
strategy or skill - it was natural - and that was the best. He tasted and ate
and licked as his body told him. 

The passion was too much. Adam had unfolded his body, and this boy - this
large boy was wiggling and shaking all over as he laid on my body. I could
tell he was close to coming, because his head seemed to be moving faster and
faster and his tugging on my balls were stretching. And then, suddenly, Adam
tightened. His butt went tight. His shoulder reared back into me. His head
went straight down as my dick went half way down his throat. And the dick that
was in my hand went hard as a rock. A thousand bolts of electricity shot
through his body and then, I felt it.  The hot liquid started pouring forth in
my hand...on my arm and all over his chest. And that was enough spark for me.
I could feel my balls race up to my gut as they prepared to fill the mouth of
my new little brother. My butt also went small as my body convulsed like it
hadn't before in months. My arms, my hand, my stomach wrapped around his head
as I instinctively wanted to hold him tight and fill him with my creamy cum.
The sounds of music were drowned out by two young boys as moans and primal
grunts issued forth - more real than any sound that could be recorded from a
forest. And as Adam pumped forth, I pumped. And we spread our seed and shared.

Convulsion after convulsion left our bodies shaking, with little sparks and
twitches afterward. As our hearts slowed, my hand still attached to his cock,
and my dick still at the edge of his mouth, we laid without saying a word.  We
lay without words and without pain. We new love and we new comfort. And for a
moment, until fear started to surface, wondering what we had just done, we
just held each other.

Without looking into his eyes, I simply held him tight and told him that I
cared very very much about him. And as we dozed off to the sounds of rain on a
CD, I whispered to him, "I am glad grandma is here this whole weekend!" 

And in a cracked but refreshed voice, he said, "Me too!"