Date: Mon, 24 Nov 2003 22:00:37 -0600
From: Fredric L. Brothers <flbrothers@hotmail.com>
Subject: ANOTHER LAWN BOY STORY - Part 14 (Man/Teen)
ANOTHER LAWN BOY STORY
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By Fred Brothers
Copyright (c) 2003 Fredric Law Brothers - All Rights Reserved
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NOTE CAREFULLY: The following is a copyrighted work and is intended for
private, individual use. It may not be reproduced by any known method,
distributed or posted on additional web sites without the expressed
written consent of the author.
Disclaimer: This story is fiction. It bears no connection or
resemblance whatsoever to actual or specific persons and/or life
experiences or situations. If you do not appreciate gay,
intergenerational (that means man/boy love to the uninitiated or brain
dead) love stories, or you're under 18 years old, then please leave
now! Okay? You have been warned. Enough said!
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Part 14
I've lost him.
Christ!
I've lost him.
Lost my Clayton.
Shit!
I've really lost him.
And do I ever know it!
What a fucked-up mess!
Rejected!
Rejected?
Fuckin' REJECTED!
I'm so goddamned depressed...
and so fucking miserable.
I feel like a piece of shit!
Why? Why did he reject me so quickly ... so summarily? Okay! It
was not that quickly. We did have a few good times together. Didn't
we? They were short - much too short - but good. I know I enjoyed all
our time together. Did he? But he did reject me! What an incredible
change of mood and display of desire from this boy. Couldn't stand
to have me touch his body. Fuckin' shit! Rejection by a sixteen-year-
old boy. A teenager! And this, on my first ever foray into the
delicate world of underage male love. The god-damnedest thing is I
would forgive him...forgive him in an absolute heartbeat! I'd accept
him back immediately - no questions asked...no excuses wanted...or
needed. He's all I think about...all I desire. I can't remember
thinking and feeling about another person quite this same way. So
lovely...so adorable...so desirable. My beautiful, beautiful Clayton.
Jesus! How can I suddenly avoid thinking about him all the time...how
can I stop wishing he were with me...in my enfolding arms...right at
this very moment? And how...HOW?...did we get into this terrible
situation ... just when everything ... EVERYTHING! ... seemed to be
progressing in such a positive fashion? How did I get into this mess?
How did we get into this situation? I hardly know. HOW? What did I
do? What did I do that was so offensive? Put my hand on his chest?
Moved my hand softly and gently over his nipple? That was it! Wasn't
it? Just a gentle...the gentlest...of caresses. A show of love ... a
simple sign of affection. And he immediately becomes so agitated. And
what about the kissing incident earlier...when he practically bolts
from the kitchen? What the hell was that all about? Does he feel he
has to avoid me...avoid my advances...avoid my growing passion...avoid
my burgeoning lust?
Everything has turn to crap! Everything!
Well, he's mine no more...as if he ever was. No use even thinking
about him that way anymore. It's over. All for naught. Well, maybe
not completely; his studies are definitely improving.
Time to move on I guess...
or...
or time to move...
to move out.
That's always been my option.
When things go bad ... I leave.
^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^
After relieving my pent up tension and acute frustration, I dress
and wander into my office. I check my email and notice another offer
from my former employer. I open the message and am bowled over by the
proposal. It is for four months in Moscow, two in St. Petersburg,
followed by nine months in Paris. The salary is stunning...and so are
the accommodations and incidental expenses. This is definitely
something to be considered, unlike previous ones that I quickly
discarded. Surely a most tempting offer.
I compose a quick response to Malcolm's offers. To keep my
options opened, I manage to express vague interest in the assignments,
while quibbling slightly with the monetary remuneration and certain of
the accommodations. The offer is more than generous, brought about by
his willingness, I'm positive, to take a slight "hit" in order to lure
me back into the active fold.
I move to the sofa and stretch out. My mind is in an absolute
jumble of confusing and conflicting thoughts, combined with deep
disappointment and resentment. To resurrect an expression from my
youth, I can't get to second base with Clayton. He seems to be
incredibly fearful. I realize that I may be rushing things...not sure
of my own desires...or my true feelings. Deep down, though...deep down
I know it was not how fast...or how slow...I moved...but Clayton's
seeming anxiety. He obviously has an adverse reaction to the increase
in my attentions - my increased attentions to him...to him as a loving
and desirable person...and to his delicious and tempting young body.
I doze. It's a fitful sleep...filled with weird and color
saturated imagery. Most involve Clayton...and plants...and food...and
variations of things we did together this weekend. It's exciting and
disturbing at the same time. When we are in private situations...
whenever I'm ready to remove an article of his clothing...whenever I'm
prepared to uncover a new and specific area of his luscious body...the
dream gets interrupted - either by some event occurring in the dream or
by the sound of a telephone ringing.
I give up trying to sleep. No possible benefit. I answer the
phone. It's Malcolm.
"I'm so glad I got hold of you, Cole. It being Sunday and all."
"No problem."
"And thanks for answering my emails."
"Yeah. Again, no problem." I'm certainly not sounding very
enthusiastic and I'm still a little groggy. Nonetheless, I am
interested in what Malcolm says. The emails have piqued my curiosity
and stimulated my interest.
Malcolm is his usual no-nonsense, down-to-brass-tacks self. He
lays things out clearly, cleanly and concisely. Since I've had many
prior dealings with the man, I listen, acknowledge his remarks, and
know that he is making a concerted plea for my services - although in
typical Malcolm Arnold fashion it does not sound like anything more
than a polite recital of facts and figures.
"So what do you think, Cole?" Malcolm asks after about five
minutes of presentation. "It's right up your alley, right?"
"It most certainly seems that way. But could you go over the
specifics of the operations and the new system again...one more time.
Particularly the ones in Russia?" And he does.
"Great, no?" he averred after setting out the details one more
time.
"Yeah. It sounds that way."
"I can hear the `but' already."
"There's no `but.'"
"Sure as hell sounds like one to me. What is it Cole?"
"Well ... all these proposals sound great...at the start. Then,
when they actually start, reality hits home and BAM...things blow up in
your face."
"I suppose. Nothing goes that smoothly. You know it...I know
it." He pauses. "But we know that's not the reason. C'mon. Tell me.
Tell me everything." He laughs his rather high-pitched but infectious
laugh. "You know I'm a model of discretion. Meet someone?"
So Malcolm knows me...knows me better than I would like. "As a
matter of fact, I did."
"And you're having your usual luck. Right?" He doesn't say this
to be mean-spirited or vicious...but to be truthful. Malcolm does know
me well.
I hesitate. "As a matter of fact, yes," I reluctantly reply.
I guess Malcolm can hear the sadness in my voice because he
responds gently and thoughtfully. "Sorry, Cole."
"Thanks. Well, it's nothing major but...but, I was hoping...as I
always do. You know me - always the personification of hope triumphing
over experience. In addition I also have a great big house now, part
of my plans to settle down."
Malcolm laughs again. "C'mon Cole. Don't bullshit me! All these
domesticated trappings mean nothing...nothing at all. A guy like you
can't settle down. You're a man of the world. That's your place.
That's where you'll always be the happiest."
"Yeah," I reply a little bitterly. "A man of the world ... I
suppose so. But not, apparently, of the world I want to be part of."
He's quiet for a few seconds. "So you'll give my proposition some
thought?"
I'm lost in my own thoughts and cares. "Oh, yeah! Sure.
Definitely. How can I possibly resist. It means Moscow in the winter.
Something not to be missed by any living soul."
"Don't forget St. Petersburg in the winter too," he says and
laughs heartily. "Yeah, but it's also means Paris in the spring and
summer. An incredible restorative for the spirit."
"Ah! Yes. Paris. Quite an intoxicant...and quite a lure. I'm
sure that's why you packaged them together." He laughs again. "When
did you say it begins?"
"June first. And I'm giving you ten days to think it through...
though I'd like an answer up or down even earlier - if that's
possible."
"Ten day. Okay. You're on."
It's only when I hang up that I realize the full import of what I
said to Malcolm. I was now willing to forego everything I'd been
working for and planning, to go back on the road and resume my
itinerant life and lifestyle. And for what? A fist full of dollars...
a fist full of dollars and nothing more? No Clayton with me ... a
stranger in foreign cities again...nothing...nothing to have...nothing
to gain...but money.
^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^
I'm heating the chili, baking cornbread, and about to call Clay
when he walks into the kitchen. He's completely dressed and toting his
bags and crutches with him.
"I cuh-cul-called my grah-gramma. She's guh-guh-gonna pppick me
up in teh-teh-ten mih-mih-minutes.
"You're not staying for dinner?"
"Can't. Nnneed to geh-geh-get huh-home."
"Sure...sure. I understand...yes," I say without conviction. I
walk into the office and return with his assignment list. "Here. Take
this. Fax me the assignments when you've completed them."
"Rah-rah-right." He moves his stuff and leaves it all by the
front door. "Thah-thah-thanks for the greh-great weekend, Cole. It
wuh-wuh-was really wuh-wuh-wunderful."
I cannot reconcile these sharp mood swings this boy goes through.
"Clayton, you know...I'm sure you know that you exhibit ... display...
sudden changes of mood."
"Yeah. Thah-thah-that's why I tah-tah-take certain meh-meds."
"Yes...yes...of course. Medications. Tell me, do you also see a
therapist?"
"For a wha-while I dih-did."
"No more?"
"Nuh-no muh-muh-more." He looks away. "I goh-goh-got so muh-much
trouble talkin' thah-that..." His voice trails away.
He turns to face me. He raises his arms...and we embrace. It is
tender and I begin to feel overwhelmed by the emotions.
"Why? Why Clayton?" I whisper in his ear. "Why are you doing
this?"
He is silent. We break the embrace just as the door buzzer
sounds.
Franny is alone. I carry Clay's belongings to the car, then hold
the door open for her. She gives me a delightful little-old-lady
smile. Nobody speaks.
Clay climbs into the passenger seat, belts himself in, and lowers
the window half way. He stares straight ahead.
I lean over and speak to him a very low voice. "Why? Why
Clayton? Why are you..."?
"You ask tha-thah-that beh-before." He now turns to face me.
"'Cause it's wha-wha-what I thi-thi-think's ruh-ruh-right. I nuh-know
thah-thah-that. I nuh-know it. Fuh-for buh-buh-both of us. Both!"
He lazily raises his left hand and gives me a small wave. The car
very slowly turns out of the circular drive.
Clayton Narrating
---------------------------------------
It's hard leavin' Cole's place. Very, very hard. But I gotta do
it! And I know I'm right.
Seein' him standin' in the driveway and wavin' makes me very sad.
I wave back a little.
Maybe I'm makin' a mistake. Maybe I should stay. Cole's real
nice ... doin' everythin' to make me comfortable...and happy. But...
well, I'm not sure. And grampa always says that when you're not quiet
sure, go back to the beginning. Return to where you start from. So, I
do that.
It was like a real nice weekend, though. He was nice. We had fun
together even when doing the studyin'. We had fun, and I loved goin'
to the nurseries. That was so, so great! He seems so interested in
the plants we bought and the ones we planted and the ones I put around
the house in the different rooms.
Gramma drives so slow it makes me like totally nuts. Always five
mile below the speed limit. That is, except if the speed limit is
forty or higher, then it's ten miles slower than the limit. Christ! A
ten-minute drive takes thirty minutes!
When we finally get home and I grab my stuff outta the trunk and
drag it all inside and into my room. I close the door. I don't want
any questions from them. Not yet! I don't unpack. But I do take off
my prostheses. I just leave `em on the bed and flop down.
What a fucked-up mess! Christ! How did I ever get into this?
With this guy? With this old guy. I mean, he's gotta be like three
time older `n me. Right? And all he wants is to get into my fuckin'
pants ... and play around with my bod. I mean, who the fuck wants to
play with my body . play with the miserable excuse of a body I got?
Shit! As if that's any big deal! Nobody else wants to! I know! They
all know better than to try...`cause I'll let `em and then they'll
really be up shit's creek.
I laugh out loud.
Then I just as suddenly start cryin'. I mean really cryin'...
cryin' very hard. I'm just fuckin' bawling my eyes out! What a big
fuckin' baby I am! It don't make sense. Nothin' makes sense!
And nothin' makes me stop. What's happenin'? Why'm I doing this?
Why'm I so upset and tense and cryin' like this? Shit! I know why! I
mean down deep I know. It's just that I don't wanna admit what's
happenin'...or what's already happened.
That fuckin' asshole of a doctor better like increase my dosage.
He fuckin' better! I can't stand livin' like this any more. I can't...
just can't go on this way. It's too hard. That shit eatin' quack
better set things right!
^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^
"You're awfully quiet tonight, Clayton," gramma says at dinner.
"Everything going well with Dr. Avery and your studies, dear?"
"Yeah. Fuh-fuh-fine."
Grampa's been watching me close `cause I don't have my prostheses
on and I hopped into the kitchen to eat. He doesn't say anything. I
think gramma said somethin' to him so that he's not raggin' on me
tonight. "I notice that you are stuttering very badly tonight,
Clayton. When did this begin?" he asks.
"Uh, earlier tuh-tuh-today."
"It's nothing to be concerned about, Clarence. It happens
sometimes to the dear boy when...you know, when the appointment date
gets near."
"Yes. Yes, of course. But it seems to have come on quite
suddenly."
"Nuh-not really," I reply.
We continue to eat. The silence is terrible. All I can hear is
the clink-clink-clink of the knives and spoons and forks on the plates,
these two old people slurping their coffee, the sounds they make
whenever they swallow and the clicking of their false teeth. Probably
didn't use enough Polygrip this morning.
I excuse myself from the table and hop back to my room. I know
all I want to do is sleep. Must be very depressed. But I sit down at
my desk and do some of the assignment stuff Cole gives me. It's harder
to work with him not bein' around to answer my questions. But I plug
along and after an hour I fax him the stuff I did. I get a reply in
about thirty minutes and it's good. I got a few problems wrong but I
had the right procedures so he wasn't too upset.
Gramma comes in about 9:30. She sits down and I know that means
she wants to talk. But I don't wanna talk. For two reasons - I got
nothing to tell her and my stutterin's gettin' so bad that it's hard to
say anything and make sense.
She kisses me on the forehead before sittin' down. It's just like
Cole does and I feel myself gettin' teary when she does it and I like
remember him doin' it. Christ! What does she wanna talk `bout?
"I see you are working, Clayton. How are the studies
progressing?"
"Good."
"That's nice." She picks up a piece of paper from the floor and
tosses it in the trash. "How are things going with Dr. Avery? Are you
boys getting along?"
"Okay, I geh-geh-guess We geh-geh-geh-get along guh-guh-good."
"'We get along well'," she corrects. "That's nice."
Shit! Will she stop saying that?
"Is everything right between you and Dr. Avery?" I nod. "The
reason I ask this Clayton is that your stuttering is certainly very bad
tonight ... the worst it has been in months...and you don't see Dr.
Newcombe until Wednesday."
"Juh-juh-just happens."
"I suppose it does." She takes a deep breath. "I also noticed
that you and Dr. Avery did not say anything to each other when I came
to pick you up."
"Nuh-nuh-nothin' to seh-say, I geh-geh-guess."
"I see." She stands and looks around the room. "But things did
seem a little...well, they seemed a little cool...tense. Any reason for
that? Any reason why I got that impression?"
I shake my head.
"Very well then, dear. You have a history test on Tuesday, don't
you?"
I nod.
"Are you studying that subject?"
"Duh-duh-doin' it rah-right nuh-nuh-now."
"Very good. Then I will just day good night, Clayton. And if you
do want to talk about anything...and I mean anything at all ... please
talk to me. I think I will have much better answers than your
`friends' will have."
Again trashin' my friends. "Guh-guh-good night, grah-grah-
gramma."
"Oh, yes, dear. One more thing I want to mention. When we see
Dr. Newcombe on Wednesday, we should ask if there is any way your
dosage could be...um...be better regulated. I know he has told us that
it could be dangerous if he increases it...but...well, I think there
has to be a way to prevent these roller coaster changes you...you seem
to experience so frequently." I stand and give her a hug. "Thank you
Clayton...and good night, dear."
When I'm alone again, I return to studyin'. But it's like no use.
I read and read and the shit goes in my eyes and right into the
trashcan of my brain.
But she's right about my so-called friends. They're like a bunch
of shits ... only out for their own fun. Kerry's the most. I suppose
Seth and Kyle aren't like too bad...they never do anything to embarrass
anybody else. But the rest...they're pretty much slime...and morons.
Rich slime...but still slime.
It's funny that I'm thinkin' `bout `em this way. I mean I never
think `bout `em much ... but to think `bout `em this way is very
different. Maybe...maybe it's `cause what Cole says when we talk. The
way we talk how they do things to me. He says it's like abuse. Maybe
it is. Maybe....
I hear gramma and grampa talkin' in their room. If I can hear `em
then it means they're havin' an argument. And the argument's always
`bout the same subject - ME! I just hate bein' the cause of so many
problems. Their life together should be so happy and peaceful now that
they're old. But it isn't. It's pretty miserable...`cause they got a
cripple, diseased grandson to take care of. People this old shouldn't
have...have such...
I close my book and hop over to my bed. I look at my arm and leg
lyin' on the bed. They make me sick...realizin' that I'm just `bout
helpless without `em and that half my body is on the bed and not
attached to me. I take off my clothes and get under the covers wearin'
only my underwear. I feel tired...and a little chilled ... but not
sleepy.
I rest some this afternoon after Cole leave me in my room...in the
guest room...after I panic again. Panic when he touched me ... touches
me in a sexual way. Why does this happen? Why does it happen with
Cole? I mean he's so great to me...so very, very great. And it's fun
being with him. More fun than being with anyone I can remember. He's
kind ... and gentle...and understandin'...and he likes me. And I like
him. So why? Why do that to him? Why'd I push him away... and not
even talk to him...or explain? I don't tell him why I do those things.
Maybe it's `cause it takes me so long to say anything...with this
fuckin' stutterin' and all. Shit! I can't just say what I wanna say
quick and easy. Everything's a production. Everythin' takes so long.
Yeah. That's why.
I remember how he touches my stumps. God, that feels so great! I
so love it when he does that. Who knew it can be so wonderful. And
then ... then he massages and kisses...and makes real love to my arm
stump today. God! It feels so super. He just seems to know exactly
what to do and what I love him doin'. And then the warmth of his lips
and tongue rubbin' up and down on my arm...and how wonderful it feels
when he licks at my armpit...and pulls at the hairs with his lips...so
gentle-like. Cole's so nice. Real nice! There's none of this phony
shit of bein' nice to the cripple boy - to the big, fuckin' loser kid.
I begin rubbin' one of my nipples with my stump...and I start
playin' with my dick usin' my hand. It feels good...and I relax some.
Then ... then I remember how I panic. And how I push him away.
Shit! What an unthinkin' asshole I am!
I mean I know I'm not like normal. I know I'm so terribly fucked
up ... so horribly undersexed and all...but...but why do I reject him
like that? And without even sayin' anythin' to him. That's real lousy.
I mean what was he gonna do? Nothing! Nothing that I didn't want
him to do, that's what!
That's not true...not true at all. Who am I tryin' to bullshit?
I can't fool myself any more. I don't say anythin' to him `cause I'm...
I'm scared. I'm like totally fuckin' terrified. I'm scared that he's
gonna find out `bout me...see me...see all my body...and know all the
problems I got. And I know he'll reject me. Like the others do.
Yeah ... but is that so? I mean he sees me without my leg and my
arm ... and he doesn't freak...or push me away...or ignore me. He still
wants to be with me. And seein' me with no arm and no leg is pretty
fuckin' gross. But...but he accepts me. He still treats me nice...and
seems to care a lot `bout how I'm doin' and all.
Yet...yet, he does like to see me wearin' my prosthetics...and he
likes...likes to touch and rub both my stumps. It really seems to like
turn him on.
But what happens when he finds out...finds out the truth...finds
out that I can't...can't give him what he really wants from me - sex.
I mean I can't be a proper boyfriend...I can't be a man. I'm a sexless
nothing! When he finds out...when he knows...it'll all be over. I
know it!
When I go to his office to speak to him again, he's on the phone.
I hear him clearly. He's talkin' to somebody `bout Moscow and Paris
and...and leavin' Chicagoland...and leavin' me. He doesn't know I hear
him. Now I panic worse `n before.
Shit, shit, shit! Did I ever fuck up! I reject him so clearly...
so completely...and now he's gonna be leavin'...leavin' his house...
leavin' this area...leavin' me!
Well, he should! He should leave m!. I deserve it. I'm no good
for him? I'm like poison...poisonin' everything I come in contact
with. What a fuckin' Jonah I am! That should be my name - Jonah, not
Clayton. I bring bad luck to everyone I know...and everywhere I go...
everyone I meet...and everyone I love.
Everyone I love. Everyone ... I ... love ...
I sit up quickly.
What was that? What was I thinkin' just now?
Love?
"YES!" I say out loud.
The sound of my voice almost frightens me.
Yes! That's it! Why couldn't I say it before? Why couldn't I
tell him?
I love him! I love him very much! I'm in love with the guy. I'm
in love with Cole. I'm fuckin' in love with Dr. Cole Avery!
Now what do I do? How do I get outta this situation...this mess I
got myself into?
And...and do I want to?
I start cryin' again.
I get out of bed. I'm havin' a real problem seeing anythin'. I
start puttin' on my hook arm and my leg. I dress quick and walk to
gramma's room. I knock on the door.
The End of Part 14
(To Be Continued...)
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You have just read Part 14 of my latest story. Thanks so much.
I'd like to know your reactions to the characters and story - anything
you may want to say is greatly appreciated.
flbrothers@hotmail.com
Also, please put the name of the story on the subject line of any
email. Thanks again.
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