Date: Thu, 20 Jan 2005 23:38:07 +0000
From: Billy J MacKenzie <mynameisbillyjoetoo@hotmail.co.uk>
Subject: Take My Hand Chapters 1 and 2

Disclaimer: I do not know any of the celebrities involved, or their
sexual orientation. All trademarks are copywright of the owners, and
not linked to, in any way, shape or form, to myself. Remember in reality,
HIV, AIDS and other STD exist - so be careful and don't forget lil' Jonny!

Thankyou

Billy


~ Take My Hand ~

Chapter 1: The Man In The Rain


It was cold this January, and with the window open, colder still. I
was sat on my windowsill, reading Orwell's 'Nineteen-Eighty-Four',
and moodily smoking a cigarette. It was twenty past ten in the evening,
and only three hours earlier I had been sat at a table in a restaurant,
having dinner with my boyfriend and deciding our next move in the
relationship we both cherished.
Yet now it was but half past ten, and I was alone and left, he had just
split off the love of months passed, and left me alone in a city I
couldn't call my own.

I was nineteen, and furtively aware of the fact that I was far too young
to be living with someone in a city across the planet from home. Originally
from Long Beach, California, I was at a loss in London without him - it
had been but three weeks since we left for here, he had a new job, I had
my love for him.
The only thing was, I wasn't devastated, and I certainly wasn't missing
him. It was like a weight from my shoulders, a burden I didn't have to
carry anymore, and a new lease of life ahead of me. I had taken up a
Literature course at college, and was re-reading the novel for coursework.
I slowly read the final line, then set about putting pen to paper. Mark
had been out since we left the restaurant, and I had made my way back
to the apartment, thrown his clothes and possessions into the corridor
and locked the door, bolted it and put the chain on.

I wrote my name at the top of the paper - 'Billy J. MacKenzie', and
began to write. The themes and topics of the novel were straightforward,
and I finished the essay within two hours. Lighting another cigarette,
I put it in my bag and put the pens away. Checked my 'phone. No missed
calls, one message. My mom. Asking how I was. I threw the 'phone on the
couch and went to make myself a sandwich. Outside, the rain was lashing
the windows, and the thunder made the door frames rattle. I looked
across the street to the Underground Station, the couples slowly emerging
one by one, walking down the street to the hotel around the corner.
There were few single people, or people who appeared to be single at
least, yet one person stood out from the others. He was medium height -
about 5' 10", and his pale face was illuminated in the lightning to show
handsome features and dark hair - and even from here, I thought I could
recognise him. I went to my cigarette packet. I had run out. Damn.

Grabbing my coat, I walked out of the apartment and down the stairs,
hoping that Mark wouldn't be able to get in - I couldn't remember him
taking a key, and went out into the rain. It was harsh and cold, and
the wind was whipping round my hands and face like ice. I began to walk
down the street, when the guy who had been standing across the road ran
across to me. He was soaking wet and, by the looks of it, lost.

"Hey," he said, in an American accent, "do you have a cigarette?"
I replied, "No, but I'm going to buy some - want me to show you?"

We walked for a while in silence, his resemblance niggling in my brain.
I had a definite idea that he looked like the guy from that film - the
one with that crazy blue rabbit dude. Anyway, he was telling me about
his trip to England - how he had to get away from work, and the people
he was staying with, so he had hopped on the tube and let it take him
somewhere - and he had got off here, at Russell Square. He was lost and
cold, but worst of all - dying for a cigarette.

We approached the off-license and he thanked me prematurely, digging his
hands into his pockets for his wallet. We walked in and bought a packet
of cigarettes each, before quickly thanking the shop-keeper and leaving.
I asked him what he was going to do...

"I don't know," he replied, innocently.
"You want to get back to the tube and get home?" I asked.
"Not really," he said, his obvious boredom with the idea screaming at me
to take a more direct approach. My lack of talent at proposal came from
ten months of complacency.
"How about you come over and watch a film, or have a drink or something,"
I blurted out, wistfully expecting a reply that was the unlikeliest thing
on Earth to occur.
"Yeah, cool!" he said, his excitement apparent, and his eyes expectant.
"OK," I replied, shocked into near silence and complete disbelief. The guy
was hot - and he looked like a celebrity - I guessed that unlikely things
happen all the time with this guy.

We turned the corner.

"Oh, by the way," I said, "I'm Billy - Billy MacKenzie."
He replied. My ears were lying to me.
"Jake," he had said, "Jake Gyllenhaal."

	*	*	*

Chapter 2: Tell The Truth - It's What Makes Us Human


The warmth of my apartment came screaming at me as I entered the front
door. Lighting a cigarette, I shut the door behind us and bolted it again.
Jake looked quizzical and I told him that my ex was on the rampage. He
looked understanding before I asked him what he wanted to drink. I fixed
him a Bacardi and Coke, before getting out the vodka for myself. I always
had to shot vodka, so I grabbed a shot glass from the cupboard and took
it through aswell. Dumping my sodden coat in the hall, I looked at myself
in the long mirror. 5' 9", with jet black hair, bright green eyes, and
pale skin. My hair, swept over my eyes and poker straight usually, was
tousled from the wind, and clung to my skin like cling film. My thick
black jumper was drenched too, my baggy denim jeans dripping on the wood
floor. I took off the jumper and observed my body. At nineteen, it was
currently flawless. Defined stomach and smooth, tight chest, my arms were
quite muscular, and my back was rippled nicely. I had three tiny stars
tattooed on my lower back, and the water dripped over them as I looked in
the mirror. I then stopped admiring myself and trudged through to my
bedroom,
changing it for a tight black and red t-shirt, and threw on a pair of baggy
3/4 length jeans. My socks and shoes had been discarded to the corner, so
I put on a pair of black sneakers and left the laces tucked into them.
Calling to Jake nervously, I asked him if he wanted to change, but he said
he was OK, and I wasn't ready to argue. I walked back through, my hair
still dripping wet, but my clothes dry and the cold gone. I poured a vodka
and knocked it back, letting it warm me. Then I turned to the TV, flicked
onto a music channel, settled down to an old Green Day track, and chatted
to one of the most famous actors on the planet.

It was about three before we realised what time it was, and by then we
knew quite a lot about each other. In fact, we only realised what time
it actually was due to my 'phone sounding. I went to it. Mark had sent
me a message saying he was staying with a friend for the night. Like I
cared. Jake asked me who it was. I laughed and told him the ex again.
He laughed too - I had told him about Mark. Everything apart from the fact
that he was male. And that I was gay. He could have freaked. I thought he
might. I told him what time it was. He cursed. I said he could stay if he
needed to. He told me he didn't. But he'd like to all the same. I smiled.

"Well, Jake," I said, "take your pick. The couch - or the bed - with me."
He laughed, then replied, "Well, I've been sat on this couch nearing three
hours - so if it's ok with you, I'll take the bed with you!"
I laughed in reply and said, "Cool - if you go in the top drawer in my room
you'll find a t-shirt or something for sleeping in."
"It's OK," he replied, "I sleep in my boxers usually."

I thought he was joking and I nearly laughed along with him. But no, he
wasn't joking, and within ten minutes I would be sharing a bed with a very
gorgeous young film star. My heart raced.

"Me too," I replied.

And here I was, ten minutes later, chatting to him in bed, his sexy and
slightly hairy yet muscular chest and stomach just peeking from under the
covers, his bulge expressing a problem with the sheets, and his muscular
arms tucked behind his head. I had nearly died. I was laid on my stomach,
my smooth white back exposed and my tattoo just visible. I played with my
hair and tried to ooze sex from every pore, like the lead singer of Blink
182 can - know what I mean? I hoped it worked, because every few minutes
he would look down and flash me his beautiful smile. I would laugh at his
jokes and basically flirt 'til my ears fell off. It wasn't until nearly
four that he said something rather shocking to me.

"Hey, dude - you look tense - d'you want a massage?"
If I hadn't been in bed I would have fallen over in shock.
"Erm... yeah - sure," I replied.

He straddled my back and started to massage me. As he got further down my
back he moved to sit on my ass, then on my legs. I felt his bulge rub
against my ass, and my cock gently started to tingle. I could feel it's
nine inches ascending under my stomach, and I daren't move for fear of
moaning. It was then that another feeling hit my upper back. Hot breath.
His face was next to my back, and he was blowing on it gently. Then I felt
it. He gently and quickly kissed my back. I let out a sigh, and he took
the signal. Gently nipping my skin with his teeth, his hands felt my ass,
and massaged it tenderly, letting the fingers rub my hole through the
material, making my cock quiver. As he felt it, he kissed and licked my
skin, making it tingle. A hand slipped under my waist band, and felt the
smooth pale skin of my ass. His other hand tucked the waist band around my
butt, letting him play with the skin fully. I felt a finger explore my
smooth crack, before a single digit pressed slightly on my hole. I sighed
again, and the digit slipped past the ring, exploring my ass. His kisses
fell lower and gradually he came to kissing my tattoo. The kisses descended
again, and I felt a little tongue lick the crack from top to bottom. He
finally parted my cheeks, and let his wandering finger up for air, before
gently lapping with his tongue. It turned out that the little tongue was
actually quite long, and it explored my hole with extreme sensitivity. I
was loving it, and was undecidedly upset when it was removed and the waist
band replaced. He turned me over, and whispered into my ear...

"Fuck me."

To be continued...


Any comments? It's a first time attempt so be nice...

(And by the way - yes Billy is based on me...)

E-mail to: mynameisbillyjoetoo@hotmail.co.uk