Date: Sun, 4 Nov 2007 10:29:34 -0500
From: Cole Angicent <colebph@gmail.com>
Subject: Chasing Echoes
Everybody knows the story, right? Boy has a completely shit life.
Boy meets Man. Man is young, always under fourty, in any case, unreasonably
attractive, and possessed of enough wealth to make King Solomon blush,
which is fine, because he's got ol' Sol beat in the wisdom department, as
well. Man takes Boy in, either from scum-of-the-earth relatives who want
nothing civil to do with him or from the cold, hard world that he fled to
after everyone died. Man and Boy fall in love and start boning like
rabbits, sometimes with the obligatory "you know people would say this is
wrong" conversation beforehand, usually followed by the "I don't have an
inch of grass in the infield but I know exactly what I want even if you
don't" response from the young lad. Man then calls up his
I'm-your-best-friend-and-will-get-all-the-paperwork-done-in-the-blink-of-an-eye-for-you
lawyer, and legally adopts Boy so the two of them can live in the same
house forever as boyfriends, eagerly calling each other Dad and Son even
though their relationship is now not just pedophilic, but incestuous.
Society rolls over in ignorance, except for the enlightened cop that's
willing to look the other way because he's too much of a hypocrite to
realize that he took an oath to uphold laws he doesn't personally agree
with, and everyone lives happily and hornily ever after.
If that's the best fantasy we can come up with, it's no wonder we're
still outcasts.
My story's a little different. Oh, it's got some of the elements of
the nouveau-cliche -- the boys involved really didn't have the best lives
before I met them. But they don't exactly have ideal lives now, either, and
my life certainly hasn't become perfect for knowing them. As The Princess
Bride will tell you, "Life is pain... anyone who says differently is
selling something."
I suppose at the end of the day, we're better off for knowing each
other. Or perhaps I just like to make myself feel better by comparing their
current lives, which contain struggles and hardships that they find
tolerable and moments of genuine happiness, and the states of near-suicidal
depression that I'd first encountered them in, and telling myself that I
was the factor that produced the most significant changes. Maybe they would
have happened anyway; maybe these boys were genetically predisposed to
become more confident and self-aware at those points in their development,
and I was living out a sort of reverse Yoko Ono deal, getting credit for
all of the positives the way she got blamed for destroying the Beatles,
when in reality it all would have happened whether we'd been there or not.
What's important is that the boys in question /do/ give me probably more
than my share of the credit for the way they carry themselves now, and that
tells me I must have done /something/ right.
But shame on me, I'm bringing you in at the end of the movie, aren't
I? Where was I? Ah yes, I was comparing and contrasting my tale with some
of the more typical smut that graces whatever internet archive you happen
to have found this on. I suppose it's the least I can do, since some
readers present are seeking comfortable fluff and an escape from the harsh
realities of, well, reality. There's no escape in my story, I'm afraid;
reality looms ever present. It doesn't even have a happy ending, although
that's largely because it doesn't have an ending at all. This is a work
about lives in progress, and as such, it's simply going to offer a glimpse
of the journey from Point B to Point C (with perhaps a few references to
Point A and a hint of where the road to Point D might lead) with no
apologies for the fact that not every question will be answered, nor every
plot resolved. This might lead one to speculate that the story is true, and
I would assert that /all/ stories are true stories to some degree; it's
only the details that a writer fabricates or exaggerates in order to make
the story more appealing, the way that crappy green parsley somehow makes
common mashed potatoes look like fancy restaurant food. There may, for
example, be a little more sex in this story than in any alleged real life
history it might be based on, although there'll probably still be far less
of it than one is accustomed to in the cliche fantasy. And really, what
difference does it make if a boy who had black hair in real life is
described in this narrative as a dashing redhead? I happen to like red
hair, I think it has a remarkably appealing gleam when it hits the sunlight
at the right angle. And the boys it comes attached to are usually nicely
freckled, which can create foreplay scenarios that are best left to the
imagination, as any description would do them injustice. Three words:
connect the dots.
The names, of course, have been changed to protect the guilty,
insofar as those characters named in the tale may bear any resemblance to
any real world people in the author's life. The characters, both the
generally good and the generally evil, make choices that might not
necessarily fall in line with the accepted standards of behaviour for
people in their position, and as such, they certainly shouldn't be used as
role models for anyone out there. Man does not always say or do the "right"
thing here (I mean that in the ethical and moral sense of the word, of
course -- legally speaking, we already know he's not going to stay on good
terms with Johnny Law) where Boy is concerned, and Boy is not always the
charming deviant perfectly content as long as his Man stands by him.
That said, it's not /all/ gloom and doom, but by now, anyone who was
looking for a purely fluffy and light tale should have been eliminated, and
all of this exposition isn't doing anything to advance the tale in any
way. So, with no further adieu, let's go for a journey. One that
catalogue's a chapter in the middle of our main character's life, and is
thus preceded by the end of the previous chapter...
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"I don't want to be boyfriends anymore."
Staring into the boy's eyes, Andrew found the sensations of the
moment that followed to be surreal at best. There was a sympathetic sort of
pain reflected in the beautiful pools of blue that shone up at him from the
twelve-year-old's face, the kind of expression a person wears when they
know that their words are causing harm to someone they care about. Several
instincts within Andrew competed for attention; the desire to comfort his
preteen lover, as he had always done whenever the boy was unhappy, vied
with his urge to weep with joy that the boy cared for him so much. Neither
instinct, of course, was rational in view of the boy's actual words, but
those words were still jumping around in the back of Andrew's brain,
fighting to get past layers of disbelief and denial in order to be
processed.
The brain had a number of tricks up its sleeve; it surveyed the
boy's body and conjured up memories of more comforting times in the
past. The jacket that hung open on the boy's frame was the one they'd
bought together on their last date in the city a month ago, and the shirt
underneath was the first one that Andrew had ever slipped his hands under,
on the night they'd made out for the first time. It was getting tight on
him now -- had the boy passed five feet during his winter growth spurt? Soon
they'd have to hit up a Wal-Mart, perhaps next weekend.
A small gust of wind came from a passing car on the highway, and
Andrew reflected on what a strange sight they must be, a man and boy
standing in the middle of a dentist's parking lot at two in the morning on
a cold January night, staring at each other so intently. They'd made a
habit of taking a walk together every weekend, usually by themselves
although sometimes a mutual friend or two would join them. This one was a
little later than usual, though, usually they were back by one, why had
they waited this long before coming out this time? Right, because they'd
had a friend over, and the boy had wanted to wait until their friend had
gone to sleep because he wanted to discuss something important.
Something he really, /really/ must not have heard correctly.
"Josh... I don't understand," Andrew replied, his own face already
starting to mirror the pain on his soon-to-be ex-lover's because, of
course, he understood perfectly. At least, he understood /what/ the boy
said. Which left the obvious question.. "Why? Did I do something wrong?"
"No," Josh replied quickly, holding up a hand to symbolically push
back such a notion. "It's nothing like /that/, it's just..." He sighed,
taking a moment to collect his thoughts. Usually Andrew was polite enough
to give him the time he needed to express himself accurately.
This was not a usual occasion, however, and Andrew's mind was
already filling the void of knowledge with theories. "You met someone your
own... someone at school?" In a failed attempt at levity, he added, "Boy or
girl?"
"Neither," Josh replied with a roll of the eyes, glancing around to
see if anyone could see them before reaching out to take the twenty-two
year old's hands in his own. He took another deep breath. "I love you," he
confessed solemnly, squeezing those hands tightly.
"Pretty lousy reason to break up with someone," Andrew quipped, his
first sniffle escaping as he pulled his hands away to wipe his nose.
Josh nodded. "It's the secrecy, man. I just can't deal with it
anymore."
"What secrecy?" Andrew asked. "Your mom is okay with us, your co--"
"And that's a big part of the problem right there, Andrew," Josh
pointed out. "You didn't ask me before telling my mom about us."
Andrew backed up a step, raising his voice slightly. "We had this
fight months ago. Yes, it was a mistake, we should decide together who we
tell, but I explained why I did it. You can't keep punishing m--"
Again, the youth interrupted, his own voice rising also. "It's not
about you telling people on purpose, it's about the way you act around me,
you're too... obvious."
"What, I'm supposed to treat you like a leper when friends are
around?" Andrew asked mockingly. Now anger was seeping itself in, and he
was taking comfort in it. Anger is a better feeling than despair.
Josh, however, wasn't about to be pulled into it. "It's not your
fault, you're a very open person." He shrugged. "It's one of the things I
always liked, really."
"So then what do you care if one or two people start to suspect
something?" Andrew demanded.
Josh snorted, shaking his head. "Do you even /understand/ what
people could do to us?" Andrew's blank stare was all the answer he
needed. "You don't get it, Andrew, you had two parents and an easy
childhood, you don't know what life is like."
"Easy?" Andrew protested. "I got picked on every day in elem--"
"And how many times did you have to turn away a drug dealer, or keep
your mouth shut about someone bringing a weapon to your little catholic
school?" Josh answered angrily. "How often did you have to go out for the
wrestling team to keep an A in Social Studies?"
Andrew sighed. "Okay, you've had a hard life. But that doesn't mean
I don't know what they'd do because I do, we talked about it, remember?"
"We talked about being separated and you going to jail," Josh
recounted. "We didn't talk about them sticking me in therapy for years
until I tell them you were a con artist who tricked me into giving it up,
or me getting taken away from my mom for letting it happen. We didn't talk
about all my friends in school asking me when I'm going to ask Christina
Riley out and me having to keep coming up with excuses because I can't even
tell them I've already got a BOYfriend because even if they could deal with
the gay thing, they'd want to know who he was. Fuck, man, we didn't even
talk about what /your/ mom would go through if you went to prison, or what
life would be like after they let you out."
Andrew lowered his eyes to the ground. "We decided it was worth the
risk," he said meekly.
"Well I just changed my mind," Josh replied.
Accepting defeat, Andrew nodded. An urge to cry bubbled up inside,
but he suppressed it. He wanted to show Josh he was strong enough to take
this easily, so the boy wouldn't be so sad about it. "Eighteen months, I've
said you were mature enough to be in this relationship." He reached out to
run a hand through the boy's hair. "Ironic that your last proof of that
would be in ending it."
Josh swatted Andrew's hand away before it could reach his red
locks. "That's /exactly/ what I'm talking about. We're in public, how would
you explain touching my hair if someone saw? Even if they couldn't prove
anything, do you know what the /rumors/ would do?" He sighed. "Look,
man... someday, when I'm sixteen, maybe... but for now, we have to go back
to just friends."
"I... I'm gonna need time before I can do that," Andrew declared,
his voice barely above a whisper. Another sniffle.
Josh nodded. "Just call me when you're ready."
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Two years later...
Andrew awoke with a start, bolting out of bed. He glanced to his
right, briefly taking note of the fact that his queen-sized bed was still
empty save for him and his cat, and sighed, realizing that he had once
again had the dream.
The dream, more memory than fantasy, was of the first time Josh had
orgasmed in his mouth. He could still remember the look on the boy's face
when he swam up to him in the apartment complex pool without even saying
hello, nestled close so that his chin was resting on the boy's bare
shoulder and his breath was tickling the bottom of the boy's ear, and
whispered gently, "I heard about what happened."
Josh's cheeks reddened and he immediately submerged, staying under
for at least thirty seconds before coming up, playfully pushing Andrew
back, and swam towards the deep end.
Andrew followed, idly pondering the shine that the water was giving
to the redhead's bare back and legs as the sunlight hit them. He didn't say
anything, waiting for his young boyfriend to process the statement.
"Mom?" Josh guessed.
Andrew nodded to confirm it, his grin widening. At that point in
time Josh's mother was unaware of the fact that he was dating her son, but
she still enjoyed a good bit of gossip at the boy's expense.
"Figures," Josh grimaced, falling into a treading pattern near the
far edge. "I can't believe she'd do that. She's probably gonna tell
everyone."
"Well, you have to admit, it's a funny story," Andrew surmised.
Josh scoffed. "Funny if you didn't live it."
"What the hell made you decide to masturbate with perfume oil
anyway?" Andrew asked curiously. To his delight, the blunt question made
Josh's cheeks flare an even brighter shade of red. Any brighter and it was
going to match his hair.
Finally, the eleven-year-old shrugged. "I thought it would feel
good?" he suggested.
"Heh, yeah, if you weren't allergic to it I'm sure it would have,"
Andrew agreed. "I heard you ran to the neighbor's house naked banging on
the door and yelling that your dick was gonna explode."
"And not in the good way," Josh joked.
"They didn't circumcise you, did they?" the college student asked,
concern in his voice now.
Josh smirked. "No, the goods are still intact," he assured his
boyfriend. "Won't be touchin' `em for awhile, though. Still swelled up and
tender as hell."
"Heh, how big did it get when it was swelling up?" Andrew
wondered. Josh made an estimate with his hands that was likely
exaggerated. "Careful what you wish for, ey?"
"No kidding," Josh remarked with a roll of the eyes.
After that Andrew changed the subject, and the pair had fun of the
platonic variety, splashing about in the pool and going off to a skate park
later in the day. That night, however, the topic resurfaced as they were in
Josh's room, a small couch seat propped in front of the door to prevent
anyone from walking in and surprising them. Josh's hands were down Andrew's
pants, rubbing his hand over the young man's underwear, but when Andrew
attempted to respond in kind, he got a preteen wrist slap instead.
"Uh uh," the boy whispered. "Tender, remember?"
"Awww c'mon, I don't even get to inspect the goods?" Andrew teased.
Josh smirked. "Well, maybe window shop," he suggested, removing his
other hand from Andrew's crotch and stepping back to do a proper
striptease, swiveling his hips and slowly dragging down the zipper.
"Oh c'mon," Andrew complained, "just get it out. Part of this is
actually non-horny curiousity, y'know."
Down came Josh's khaki shorts and boxers, revealing a perfectly
hairless four-inch erection with a lot more width than it usually had, the
foreskin red around the edges where it met with his sensitive glans.
"Daaaaamn," Andrew murmured.
"What, it looks bad?" Josh asked self-consciously.
Andrew grinned, looking up. "No, it looks as hot and juicy as
ever," he assured the youth. "I could just stare at it for hours every time
I see it." He reached out to grasp it with his hand, but again, the preteen
protested with a swipe of his own hand against the adult's.
"Well stare is all you get to do today, no touching. I can't even
touch it myself."
Andrew looked up, a mischievous grin on his face. "Wait, this
happened like three days ago, didn't it?" Josh nodded. "Three whole days
and you haven't made it go off once?"
"Don't remind me," Josh admitted. "Believe me, I've tried, it just
hurts too much."
"Mmm," Andrew agreed, "it's this pulling motion." He pantomimed
jerking the young boy off, his fingers a half-inch above and below the
preteen's rod without actually touching it. Glancing up at the boy's face,
he smirked and added, "You need some lube. I think I know where to find
some perfume oil..."
Josh smirked in kind and grabbed a pillow from the couch seat,
bonking Andrew playfully on the head with it.
Andrew chuckled, and then he leaned in and blew hot air onto the
boy's sore member.
"Oooooooh," Josh moaned, closing his eyes. "Do that again." Andrew
complied easily. "Mmmm... I bet it wouldn't be sore if you used your mouth
on it. Y'know... `if we've been seeing each other long enough'." The last
part was added sarcastically, an allusion to Andrew's insistence that they
take their relationship more slowly than Josh felt any need for.
Andrew grinned. "Three days? I think we can make an exception for a
dire emergency like this..." And with that, he leaned forward and took
Josh's four inches of flesh between his lips, sucking slowly and
rhythmically to see if his young member would accept such ministrations
without complaint.
And accept them it did, with ease, prompting Josh to moan softly
again and place his hands on the back of Andrew's head. Later, when the
poor boy was healed up, they would engage in this activity with more
ferocity, but that night it stayed all gentle, even when the rhythm picked
up speed and Josh had a dry climax inside his lover's mouth. In reality,
this was followed by ten minutes of cuddling and playing with each other's
hair after which the eleven-year-old softly whispered, "I love you,
Andrew," into the man's ear.
In the dream, however, Josh cuddled up against Andrew's hairy
chest, leaned in close, and plucked out one of the hairs, whispering, "I
don't want to be boyfriends anymore."