Date: Tue, 10 Feb 2004 20:06:16 -0800 (PST)
From: the illiterati <theilliterati@yahoo.com>
Subject: Mutual Parasitism 1 - Gay

No part of this story may be published, distributed or duplicated with the
consent of the author. All the situations, names, characters, places are
fictional. Any similarities are purely coincidental.

If you think that any of these characters is based on you and believe I
have blatantly whored your life story to all of the world, get a grip, the
world doesn't revolve around you.

This text is not for the enjoyment of people below the age of majority
(legal age) or for those in states, countries, regions or households where
such forms of literature that contain explicit language, situations that
portray sexual attraction between men or any form of sexual act or desire
is illegal or forbidden. If you find such situations offensive or the
powers that be that lord over you find them offensive, turn back now. I
take no responsibility for any trouble you may find yourself in by
accessing, downloading, reading these stories.

Pardon any typos, I am not a good editor of my own works.

Thanks,
the illiterati
theilliterati@yahoo.com


Mutual Parasitism
By the illiterati

Chapter I: High School

	It would be unfair to call this true to life, but it is not
entirely false as well. Somewhere out there two people who must have lived
these lives and maybe my story might help you find out more about about
you.

	And although I am older now and wiser I dare say, not any less
hardheaded. Might as well start from where it all began on that first day I
met him.

	It had not been so long before I stepped into the halls of the high
school section of my then new Catholic high school. I didn't really mind
the whole environment, but I had been set aside in one of the "special"
classes. Not quite the brainiest bunch, but talented nonetheless and the
school propped them higher than the rest of the "regulars".

	Having been an over achiever for the most of my life I didn't mind
the whole set-up at all, thinking that all my other friends were going to
this school as well, it was not going to be a lonely experience. But as
luck would have it, two of them got lumped in the regular freshman class
and three in the advanced class. I was the one stuck in the class in limbo.

	Excuse me would you like your education, rare, medium or well done?

	No one had asked me that question when I first applied, but then
again I couldn't even remember my entrance essay as well, so I was not
about to argue with the upperclassmen who were ushering us into our own
rooms.

	The first fateful bell rang and in walked a man who I immediately
knew was a person unsure of himself. He was rather tall, but not freakishly
tall with a hint of good looks wasted behind a face that must have been
smashed on too many beer bottles. He couldn't be more than thirty I
thought...

	"Good morning, middle section freshmen, I am Mr. Christopher. You
may call me Mr. Chris or Sir. I will be your class adviser for this first
year at St. Francis Xavier's High School, and no do not expect the X-Men to
be coming around for gym class."

	That crack was rewarded by a chorus of giggles that only the
breaking voices of pubescent boys could deliver.  Apparently, it was a
popular joke among the boys of St. Xavier's. But no Professor X here, just
a middle aged Jesuit priest dying from all the cigars he smokes on campus
everyday.

	"If you must know, I also went to high school here and I too was in
the Middle Class ten years ago." Chris, as I decided to call him privately,
continued.

	My mind was suddenly whirring, adding ten years to my then fourteen
years. He's twenty-four, not thirty, I thought to myself. Whoops. Good
thing I didn't say that out loud or else I might not have made a very good
first impression.

	Speaking of first impressions, I wasn't ready to divulge my life
story for them to lap up. I hated the buddy games that we started playing,
especially that one where you stick a paper on your back and ask people to
write things to you. I mean, I have barely spent two hours with these guys
at this point, what are they seriously going to write to me? What was I
going to write to them?

	I didn't think it was proper to start insulting people so early
on. Insults are to be shared among friends as I always thought and these
people are not my friends, yet.

	So we went around the room murmuring to each other, "Dude, can I
write on yours?" or "Write me a message on my back and I'll write one for
you" or my favorite "What do you want me to say about you?"

	Is this self-propaganda writing class or something? Chris, was just
there standing with his slightly unkempt hair and slightly shaven shadow of
a beard, scratching his groin in the middle of room. Does this guy exude
class or what? Here he is our teacher in our slightly prohibitive private
school, giving his balls the "works". I seriously doubt that it was for
show, he was just really that crude and he had that blank look on his face.

	"Unbelievable" I said out loud.

	"Wha?" my classmate, who was writing a dedication on the paper on
my back, asked.

	"Nothing" I immediately took back, embarrassed that I was almost
caught checking out my teacher, not that I meant to of course.

	"Oh, alright, do you normally talk to yourself?" he grinned.

	"Yeah, it's a trait that comes with my unstable personality" I
laughed.

	He seemed to enjoy my comment, "Want me to add that to what I
wrote?"

	"Your call."

	"Okay... look...like...slightly..unstable...person...beware"

	"Alright, thanks"

	Our conversation was cut short as the time allotted for the
activity expired. I reached over my shoulders and yanked the paper and the
double-sided tape off the back of my shirt.

	Naturally, only a class of thirteen or fourteen year olds could
ever write such witty prose such as the ones I saw chicken scratched on my
paper:

	"Dirk you're da best!" signed by a guy named Robbie. Now I thought
he seemed judgmental, assuming and not to mention insincere. "Kirk, I hope
to get to know you better in our four years at St. X's" was another one
written by a guy named Marcus, seemed optimistic - if not confused about
what the hell to write. "Kirk, good luck in high school!" was from a guy
named Erik, probably Swedish chap or something, but sounded awfully generic
- had no potential career in writing Hallmark cards.  "Peace bro!" from a
guy named James. I also found out that the last guy who wrote on my back
was named Kevin, "Carpe diem Kirk! Tho you look like a slightly unstable
person. Beware!", precious, absolutely precious.

	Alright, I was fourteen, nerdy and thought that I was better than
everyone else. Cut me some slack or something. I was about to crumple that
sheet when I noticed a message I didn't notice before. It was written in
black ink so rich and so deep and dark that it seeps all the way through
the fibers of the paper. "Hi Kirk, Nice name."" signed Dirk.

	That short note broke through my walls of cynicism. I looked around
the room scanning the name tags on everyone's chests for someone named
"Dirk". The moment I saw I was, distant. He looked good, if not short, but
definitely a cocky looking bastard. Coal black fair, pale face with too
much facial hair for a kid and the beginnings of a furry forearm.

	"Hey" I said.

	"What do you want?" he smirked back.

	"Just wanted to say 'Hi', I'm Kirk" I held my hand out.

	He looked at my outstretched hand for a moment, after giving it a
thought for a second or two, he shook it.

	"Nice to meet you Kirk. Am Dirk."

	"Yeah, nice name." I said.

	"Well, you're not very original, I used that on you first."

	"Yeah, I know" I replied, pointing to the wrinkled sheet in my left
hand.

	"S' ok, not everyone can be Dirk. So Star Trek huh?"

	"Excuse me?"

	"Your name, it came from Star Trek?"

	"Oh that, yeah, I guess so. Well knowing my dad, if had it his way
I'd be named Spock."

	"Nice." he said with a slight hiss.

	At this point the conversation felt that it had been stretched too
much, it was going nowhere. I didn't care for Dirk much, he looked like an
idiot. The thought of him as "sexy" hadn't even crossed my mind. Sure he
looked objectively good looking, but I wouldn't spend the rest of my high
school days lusting after him during Physical Education class.

	Dirk was "cool" or at least as real as the word could manifest
itself in the real world. He was athletic played football and basketball a
lot. He wasn't particularly muscular, but as the saying goes, carried
himself well. He never made the teams because of his height, but that
didn't stop him from playing. He made crude jokes and drawings of people he
thought were beneath him, like fags and nerds. And well, looked hot for the
most part of high school.

	Not exactly the type the serious teen that i was, would hang out
with. My life was dedicated to studies, though I didn't excel that much. I
had left my glory days behind when I entered St. Xavier's.

	The funny thing was is that I didn't spend my time lusting after
Dirk at all, I spent my time chasing skirts over at St. Mary the Queen's a
couple of blocks away. Plaid skirts looked good next to our relatively
liberal uniform or rather "dress code". While I didn't attend socials like
my other classmates, Dirk being one of them, who were just dying to meet a
chick to bang. I had no problem meeting girls, they always seemed to warm
up to me quickly enough and I had no patience for their little soirees,
horny Catholic guys one side and pseudo-demure Catholic girls on the
other. The mating game is just filled with so much bullshit that after the
sex, they hardly have enough substance to build a relationship.

	This went on for the most part of high school and I took pride in
having my fair share of girlfriends. Two actually, and when the trend was
to last only a couple of months, both lasted at least a year. In particular
my second girlfriend, Amanda and I were steady for two years.

	It was just after my first anniversary with Amanda, and I was
already in Junior year at this point. We had spend a particularly good
evening in town where we are dinner at a fine Japanese restaurant. It turns
out that she's quite allergic to seafood and I had ordered a Sashimi-Sushi
Boat. It wasn't a case of food poisoning, but Amanda had forgotten to take
her antihistamines and started to react violently to the ebi sarada
temaki. She said she didn't know that ebi was shrimp as her jaw started to
swell in red blotches. I for one didn't know how she could not know it was
shrimp at all. It was pinkish-orange for crying outloud and the tiny tail
was sticking out of the nori wrapping.

	"I'm sorry Kirk, I just really have never eaten in a Japanese
restaurant before."

	"It's all right" I said, trying to stand up to ask the waiter if
they had antihistamines or something.

	She grabbed me by the side of my shirt, pulling towards her.

	"Please Kirk, don't leave me here. I can't-"

	And that's all it took. I don't know but the sudden movement, the
dizziness or something, but at that moment, as she tried to stop me from
leaving, she let it all out. It wasn't pretty at all and all over my best
dress pants and finest shirt.

	I wasn't angry with her, not at all. She looked at me with pleading
eyes, hoping I wasn't mad. I wasn't. A waiter rushed to our table, with
rags and all and I helped him clean up her mess. She went to the ladies
room to do her thing while I waited at the table. As soon as she got pack,
she apologized profusely for her behaviour. Honest to god, I wasn't mad,
but I'd be lying if I said I wasn't upset. Money down the drain and all
that. That's nothing, but its still money wasted. I excused myself to go to
the mens room.

	It was a particularly nice mens room, with a relatively low sink
and finely polished mirror that extended to the ceiling. The walls were
deep red and the gold faucets complemented the black marble floor and
basins.

	Thank god for the abundance of paper towels and I wiped the vomit
off the front of my shirt and my pants.

	"That was pretty decent of you" I heard someone whisper behind me.

	I turned around, which was stupid because I was right in front of a
mirror.

	"Dirk!" I exclaimed, he looked great in his maroon, long-sleeved
shirt, although he looked a bit weird cleanly-shaved. "What are you doing
here?"

	"Eating, same as you I suppose, fine dinner show you and
whats-her-name gave us to day?"

	"Yeah, Amanda, well I didn't know she was allergic to shrimp. Damn,
that girl won't tell me anything."

	"Does she put out?"

	"Yeah, but not tonight, I don't expect a blowjob with her mouth all
swollen like that."

	"Aw, poor Kirk, no release tonight." Dirk pouted.

	"How bout you what are you doing here?" I asked as I continued to
wipe myself.

	"Here, let me help you with that" Dirk offered. He pulled a couple
of fresh paper towels and started wiping the front of my torso with it.
"I'm here with my family, younger sister's birthday" he continued.

	"Oh..." was all the reply I could muster. He was rubbing the towel
against by chest, over my nipples, which were slowling starting to harden
with his brisk strokes.

	"Uh, Dirk... She didn't throw up on my chest..."

	"Oh right sorry" he chuckled as he moved his hands downward.

	Downwards, he wiped my lap delicately, but no matter how light his
strokes were, enough pressure was applied on my groin. My dick has started
to twitch at his tickling touch and I was definitely becoming aroused. That
coupled with his other hand stroking and holding on to my back to support
me.

	"Dirk, I think that's enough." I said as I pushed his hand away.

	"You think? Well, yeah that looks good."

	"Thanks, Dirk" I said as I turned on the faucet, hoping that the
cold water would somehow cool my heated blood.

	"Thanks what friends are for Kirk, we boys should take care of each
other."

	Friends? Funny, I never thought of him as a friend....

__________________
Comments, suggestions, constructive criticisms, post-colonial readings,
direct them to theilliterati@yahoo.com