Date: Sat, 29 Nov 2003 21:16:23 -0500
From: Writer Boy <writerboy69@hotmail.com>
Subject: boys of summer - part 7

Obligatory warnings and disclaimers:

1) If reading this is in any way illegal where you are or at your age, or
you don't want to read about male/male relationships, go away. You
shouldn't be here.

2) This story isn't based on anyone in particular, alive or dead, so any
resemblance to anybody is unintentional.

Questions and commentary can be sent to "writerboy69@hotmail.com". I enjoy
constructive criticism, praise, and rational discussion. I do not enjoy
flames, and will not tolerate them. Unless I often hear from you and would
recognize your address, please put the story title in the subject, or my
junk mail filter may screen you.

Thanks to everyone who has written so far. To answer a frequent question
from those who are unfamiliar with my other stories, they're called "Brian
and Tommy", "Thieves", "JC's Hitchhiker", "Tangle", and "Rebound", and they
can all be found in the Boybands section, which is a subset of the
Celebrity section, for those of you who have not been there.

***

The mustard bottle was pressed into the small of my back, and not only was
it cold, but it had one of those damn plastic points on it, and it was like
it was drilling right into my spine. Next to it, the salad dressing bottles
were clinking together, soft little glass tapping noises as the
refrigerator door trembled because I was leaning up against it and my knees
were shaking like any second now they would let go and dump me onto the
floor. The air coming out of it was a little cold and there were goosebumps
all over the back of my legs, but it was hard to tell if that was from the
cold or if they were just related to the goosebumps all over the rest of my
body.

Casey leaned in, his hands on the sides of my face, his thumbs right at the
edge of my jaw, and the pressure from his mouth tilted my head back a
little. The five o'clock shadow I had seen just seconds before, short and
shimmery, scraped against my chin and the soft skin around my mouth.
Casey's chest was pressed into me, his breath pushing out the swelling
thick curves of his pecs, and I just kind of stood there, one hand still on
top of the refrigerator door and the other hanging uselessly at my side as
Casey leaned in. His lips were soft, much softer than I thought they'd be,
and they pressed against mine firmly, but not too hard.

I was frozen, completely frozen, the mustard bottle poking into my back,
Casey's whole body pressing against my front. I could feel all of him, his
arms brushing against mine, the rounded muscles and the soft hair, his
forearms brushing my neck as his hands held me lightly in place. Oh, his
hands. At the pool he'd just used a couple of fingers, but now I could feel
his hands, the smooth palms, the fingers a little rougher than the girls I
had kissed before, a little harder with creases and a few small calluses,
and his hands, like his whole muscled, compact body just conveying this
feeling of strength.  Strength like the strength in his chest. His pecs
were like slabs, but not flat. Instead they curved, pushed out, pressed
against me, and through my thin shirt I could feel that his nipples, those
round little brown nipples I'd seen and thought about and stroked my cock
thinking about touching, were just as hard as mine, poking into my like
little tiny erections.

Erections.

Oh, God, he had one.

I could feel it down below my belt, pressing against mine. If I looked down
I'd be able to see it, instead of just feeling it pushing into me, tenting
out the front of his shorts. It was hard to tell through the layers of
cloth, but it felt thick, like I'd thought it would at the pool this
morning, like it had looked the times I'd stolen glances out the window and
seen it filling the front of his pants, even soft. It wasn't soft now, not
at all. Instead it was hard, urgent, just like the rest of him. He wasn't
grinding into me, wasn't forcing me, but his whole body rested against
mine, and I could feel his legs pressing against mine, bare skin to bare
skin, muscle to muscle, little shivering caresses of hair rubbing against
hair as the bottles shook in the door behind me.

Jesus, this was like the most intense moment of my life, and I was thinking
about barbeque sauce and Italian dressing. My brain had gone into complete
overload. Casey was kissing me, but a moment that was probably taking only
a couple seconds was drawing out forever, and I couldn't move. He pulled
back just a little, his lips leaving mine but his hands staying in place,
and I could feel his hot breath on my face. His dark blue eyes, half
lidded, the lashes a little long for a guy were right in front of mine,
sparkling and alert below his thin brown eyebrows.

"Sam doesn't know you're gay, does he?" Casey panted, his voice still low,
but there was something else in it now. There was a husky note, a kind of
grinding purring sound, a deep bass tone that seemed to come from somewhere
deep inside him and turned my knees to liquid. I couldn't answer, couldn't
move, couldn't speak. All I could do was stand there as he leaned in again,
his lips brushing against mine again, his body leaning into me. The tip of
his tongue, wet and quick, slid out, just barely touching my mouth, skating
over the edge of my lips, which were still pressed together in surprise.

Casey pulled back again, but this time his face looked different.

"Oh, shit," he breathed softly. His eyes were still searching mine, but I'm
sure mine were blank, not telling him anything, not letting him know how
much I needed this, how much I'd wanted it and thought about it and laid on
my bed or stood in the shower working my hard cock over with my hands
thinking about it. "You don't know either."

Wait, no, yeah I did! What was he doing? Why wasn't I talking? I tried to
tell him, tried to say something, but it was like I was in shock, like one
of those horrible dreams where you see something bad happening and you
can't move or do anything to stop it.

Casey stepped back, stepped away from me, his hands dropping, his eyes wide
and his face scared.

"Oh, shit, Nate, shit, I'm sorry," he breathed, walking backward away from
me, out of the fan of light from the refrigerator, his face and his body
falling into the shadows of the kitchen. His voice was tight, strained, and
so low I could barely hear him.  "I'm sorry. I, shit, I'm sorry."

I stepped toward him, starting to lift my arm, still trying to say
something before he was gone, but he grabbed the back door and pulled it
open. The light from outside spilled across him, and I could see lines in
his face, see the urgency and the strain and the hurt there.

"I'm sorry," he whispered again, and then the door closed and he was gone.

And I was just standing there, against the fridge, letting him walk away!
What the fuck was wrong with me? Why couldn't I have said something? Why
couldn't I have moved or grabbed him or even kissed him back? I'd thought
all day about him touching me, about just that one touch in the pool, that
one instant when his fingertips had skated over my bare shoulders. Since
the day he'd shown up I'd thought about touching him, about what his skin
would feel like, what his mouth would taste like, and now I'd had my chance
and I'd blown it. I'd been too surprised to say anything, too stunned by
his sudden advance to respond, and now he was gone. Now I'd never know what
it felt like, never know any of it.

Unless I followed him.

The kitchen door slammed behind me as I raced into the backyard. I charged
across the grass to the Becker's back door and pulled it open without
stopping to knock. Casey turned, standing by their refrigerator, his mouth
dropping open as I burst in. If he'd had the fridge door open, it would
have been like an instant replay.

"Nate, I," he began, his mouth dropping open and closed, working blindly.
"I'm sorry! I thought you."

I pulled the door closed and charged across the kitchen, batting a chair
out of my way without even thinking as it crashed onto its back on the
floor. Casey's eyes were wide, bulging, as I grabbed his shoulders, and he
was still talking, his voice still low and soft and broken sounding as if
he couldn't stop.

"I thought you wanted," he began, and I pressed myself against him.

"I do," I panted, finally speaking, and then jammed my mouth onto his.

His lips mashed against mine, his mouth falling open, and I jammed my
tongue inside, pressing it against his as my hands grabbed at his
shoulders, pulling him against me, my body suddenly, finally, overcome with
need. I needed him, needed to feel him and touch him and feel him touching
me, and I wasn't leaving until I got it. His tongue pushed back against
mine, seeming to wrestle with it for a moment, and then his hands were on
the side of my face again, holding me, and his tongue was pushing into my
mouth, sliding over my teeth, over my tongue, tasting me, penetrating
inside. I groaned into him as his body pressed against me, and I could feel
his hard cock grinding against mine as we collapsed into each other. He
turned me, pulling me by the head, and slammed me roughly against the
refrigerator as he laid his entire body against mine, the muscles and the
hard cock and the soft, urgently probing mouth all digging into me,
pressing against me.

"You want this?" he asked, pulling back, our mouths both wet. He was
staring into my eyes again, his eyes probing, seeking, looking for an
answer. His hips pushed forward, pressing his hard throbbing prick against
me, the thickness and the steely urgency obvious even through our
clothes. "You want this?"

"Yes," I panted, kissing him sloppily again, my lips just sliding messily
against his, all needy lust and no finesse. Our breathing was sharp and
gasping and almost panting, and my hands were all over his back now,
grabbing at him, feeling the muscles bunch and shift and flex. "Yes!"

He grabbed the sides of my shirt roughly, the fabric bunching, and there
was a ripping, popping noise as he tore my shirt open. I heard buttons
skittering across the kitchen, and then his hands were on me, just like I'd
wanted, and his mouth was back on mine, sucking at me, his tongue probing
me as he ran his hands all over my body.  He pushed the sides of the shirt
open, one hand sliding over my abs, pushing on them, a finger delicately
tracing the little trail of hair that was growing back in below my belly
button.  The other slid up across my chest, following my pec, toned by
years of swimming, his hand rubbing over my smooth skin. His palm slid over
my hard nipple, eliciting a shiver from me, and then he grabbed it,
pinching it between his thumb and forefinger so hard that it almost hurt,
and I groaned into his mouth.

Casey chuckled, his laughter a soft brush against my neck before he started
kissing there, too, working his way up to my ear. He squeezed my nipple
again, rolling the tip, and I groaned again.

"You do want this, don't you?" he whispered, nibbling at my earlobe. My
body was on fire. My hands crawled over his back as his mouth burrowed into
me, his nose gently tapping me as his lips lit my skin on fire.

"Yes," I panted, letting my head fall back, offering my neck to him. His
hand continued pulling and pinching at my nipple, teasing it and tweaking
it, and his other hand was behind me, holding the back of my neck. It felt
like he was holding me up, keeping me steady, because every time he touched
me I felt like I was going to melt. My voice was barely a pant, a breathy
wheeze that I hardly recognized, and he began to slide his hand down my
chest, over my pec, tracing that thin line down the center of my body
through my abs. "Casey, God, Casey."

"You are so fucking hot," he panted in my ear, chewing at it. He started to
unbuckle my belt and I leaned back, pushing my hips forward to give him
better access.  "I knew it. I knew it the first time I saw you, in the
driveway."

"Casey," I panted, his name the only thing in my mind, my eyes roaming over
him. His body was so tight under that t-shirt, that thin white shirt that
was clinging to him like a second skin, and I could feel it moving as my
hands gripped him. He had my buckle open, and was working on my shorts now,
the button and the zipper, both of us squirming, his mouth still on my ear
and the side of my neck, both our eyes watching his one handed battle with
my clothes.

"I saw the way you looked at me," he panted, as worked up as I was. My
heart was pounding as he got the zipper down, finally, fighting it over my
erection.  "I saw the way you watched, the way you wanted me."

"Yeah," I whimpered as my shorts fell to the floor, the belt buckle
clattering between my feet. I was just in my boxers now, leaning back on
the refrigerator and his arm, the sides of my shirt hanging open, and then
he had his hand, he, oh God, he grabbed my cock right through my boxers,
wrapping his fingers around it, and my hips pushed forward, pushing it into
his hand as I groaned out loud. He wasn't really doing anything, just
squeezing it, lightly tracing my shaft with his fingers, staying away from
the head that was leaking a growing wet spot on the front of my plain white
boxers.

"I wanted you, too," he whispered, turning my head with his other hand,
bringing my lips to his again.

His kiss was different this time, even though I was so worked up I was
grinding my cock into his hand, whimpering, wanting him to please, please
just do anything. I needed him so badly in that moment I would have done
anything he asked, anything he wanted, but all he seemed to want at that
moment was me. His lips settled over mine, his tongue sliding inside again
as his fingers slid through the opening of my boxers and wrapped themselves
around my hard shaft. My cock throbbed in his hands and I pushed forward
again, my shaft sliding through his fingers. He kept kissing me, and began
to lightly work his hand up and down my prick, stroking me, bringing me
closer to the edge, and I whimpered and twisted helplessly against him,
panting and moaning into his mouth as his tongue pushed against mine.

"Casey, please," I panted as he pulled off my mouth.

I stared into his eyes again. His face was so close to mine, his breath hot
on my cheeks.  Every time his hand slid down my shaft, hitting the base, I
let out a sharp wincing gasp, and my hips jerked toward him. Every time he
squeezed my cock it throbbed, and I felt another drop of precum squeeze its
way out to wet my shorts. The feeling of someone else's had on my cock,
someone else's fingers working me over, was more intense than I'd ever
thought it would be. One of my hands slid down from his shoulder, over his
bicep, down to his bare tanned forearm, feeling it flex as he continued to
work me, pumping a little faster now. His skin was soft, smooth, and so
fucking hot, and I couldn't believe I'd waited this long to touch him,
waited this long to feel him and run my hand over him the way I'd thought
about, the way I'd dreamed about. He was chewing at my neck again, his
teeth just barely skirting over it, and his hand was going faster now,
stroking me harder, his grip a firm circle that my cock pushed through as I
felt myself getting closer to the edge.

"Please," I panted again, not even sure what I was asking for, and he
pulled back, his long hair falling forward over one of his eyes as he
smiled at me, a wide, shining grin, impossibly bright in the dark
kitchen. He had a beautiful smile. He was beautiful, and I wanted him even
more now than when I had first seen him.

"OK," he breathed, dropping slowly to his knees.

Casey moved his mouth down my body as he lowered himself, kissing down the
side of my neck and then washing his tongue through the hollow of my
throat. He knelt in front of me and began licking my chest, and I closed my
eyes and let my head fall back against the refrigerator again, my hands
gripping his shoulders tightly. His tongue swiped over me like a cat,
leaving his hot spit all over my chest. I grabbed his shoulders so tightly
I probably left marks as he fastened his mouth over my nipple, already
sensitive from his squeezing, and sucked it hard while he swiped his tongue
over the tip. I groaned, hissing his name through gritted teeth. I'd never
felt anything like this before, never had someone touch me like this. It
was like he knew where all my hot spots were, and knew exactly what to do
with them.

His mouth slid lower, leaving my pecs glistening with spit, as he kissed
his way down my abs. My hands slid higher, caressing his neck now, kneading
at the spot where his shoulders met it, where the muscles joined, and as he
grabbed the sides of my boxers and began to tug at them I reached out and
ran my fingers through his hair. He made a sighing, purring sound as I did,
and I shivered, feeling how thick and soft his hair was. I tangled my
fingers in it, wrapping the strands around them, and he kept making that
noise of contentment, rubbing his head against my hands for a
minute. Clearly he liked this, and I wondered who else had run their hands
through his hair before I did. I slid a hand forward and brushed it over
his forehead, caressing the side of his face and brushing his hair back so
I could see his eyes, and Casey smiled up at me, his tongue darting out for
a second to wet his lips as he finally tugged my shorts over my hard cock
and down to my knees.

My cock slapped up against my abs, and I winced, but Casey just kept
smiling. He leaned forward, and the whole world seemed to slow down and
then stop as the tip of his tongue reached out toward my cock. A drop of
precum pulsed out of my slit and began to slide down my shaft, and then the
tip of Casey's tongue slid out and scooped it up, following its trail back
up my shaft. My whole body was rigid, my nipples hard and throbbing, my
eyes bulging and my mouth hanging open, and I couldn't breathe as he licked
all the way up my shaft in one long smooth stroke until he got to the head
and actually pushed the end of his tongue into my slit, scooping up more of
my sticky juice. He grabbed my shaft with his hand and pulled my cock
toward him as I tightly held his hair in both fists, and then he began to
lick all over my already wet head, his warm tongue darting out in short
swipes as I shuddered and gasped in huge breaths of air, only to let them
out as high pitched moans and sighs.

I'd had a few handjobs from girls I'd made out with before, and once I'd
even had a blowjob, but they were nothing like this. Those had been more
like a chore, something I'd done because it was just kind of expected that
I would, and the girl who blew me, whose name I didn't even remember now,
had treated the blowjob the same way.  She'd opened her mouth, used her
tongue a little, and sucked until I got off, but there hadn't been any
finesse to it, and there hadn't been any real feelings there. What was
happening now between Casey and I was completely different. My body was on
fire, my nerves singing, and he was attacking me with gusto, licking all
over my head and up and down my shaft with needy, lusty vigor.

One of his free hands began to rub my balls, massaging them and rolling
them around in my sack while gently tugging them away from my body, and the
other continued to hold my cock out while his mouth worked on it. His
breath washed over the head, sending shivers down my spine since my head
was so wet from his spit and my smeared precum, and when I looked at his
face I saw that his lips were glistening, too, and I almost shot in his
face. Seeing him like that, on his knees, my hard cock pointed at his face
and dripping with his saliva, was better than anything I had imagined or
dreamed about.  My hands were massaging his scalp, pulling and tugging at
his hair, and he smiled up at me again before licking his lips, opening his
mouth, and sliding all the way down my cock, swallowing me until his nose
was pushing into my short pubes.

"Casey!" I bellowed, feeling my body tighten. I wasn't going to last long,
especially not with my hard cock trapped in the wet tunnel of his mouth. He
pulled back and lashed his tongue over the head for a minute as his hands
slid around to grip my ass, pulling me toward him. "Casey, Jesus."

My voice was high and breathy and tight, and he must have sense my urgency,
because he pulled off, letting my cock slide out of his mouth as he smiled
up at me.  His hands rubbed the sides of my hips lightly as he tongued my
head again, licking the slit over and over, jabbing at the little bundle of
nerves right underneath, and my shaking hands were still all tangled up in
his hair.

"You are so fucking hot," he panted, kissing my shaft, letting the head rub
all over the side of his face. "Nate?"

"Yeah?" I panted, watching him, sweat breaking out on my forehead as he
looked up at me over the smooth planes of my body.

"You're close, aren't you?" he asked, his tongue swiping out again. He
licked at my balls, pushing them around with the tip of his tongue while I
sighed and whimpered and then realized that I was supposed to answer.

"Yeah," I whimpered.

"You gonna shoot a big, fat load out of your big, fat cock?" he asked, and
I almost did all over his face. Oh my God! I hadn't even ever said half
those words out loud, and hearing them come out of his mouth had my brain
on the verge of shorting out again.  It was too much, too hot, and my hands
gripped his hair convulsively. Jesus, the other day he hadn't even been
talking, and now he was on his knees talking dirty while he licked my
balls.  Casey grinned, nuzzling his head against my hands again. "You like
it when I talk dirty, Nate? You like hearing me talk about your tight
little body and your stiff nipples and your hard, dripping cock?"

Wow, that totally wasn't helping me hold back.

"Yes," I panted, biting my lip. His hands were on me, his breath was on me,
and in another second his mouth would be on me again. I felt like any
second my knees would give out, and if the refrigerator wasn't behind me I
would probably be on the floor. I couldn't manage to string an entire
sentence together, since I was having enough trouble just remembering to
breathe. "Casey, Casey."

"I want to taste you, Nate," he whispered, licking my head again. "I want
to taste you."

Without saying anything he leaned forward, his mouth dropping open again,
his lips making a tight ring around my shaft as it slid into his
throat. His tongue pressed my cock against the roof of his mouth, and his
cheeks caved in, creating a hot wet tunnel that caressed my cock from every
side at once. I pulled urgently at his hair, guiding his head forward, and
he pulled on my hips, moving me toward him and back again. I sighed and
said his name, over and over, as he began to bob up and down, sucking hard,
his tongue washing over my head each time he pulled back. I caressed the
side of his face, brushing his hair back again, feeling the firm curves of
his cheekbones and the smooth tanned skin of his forehead, and when he
looked up at me his eyes were so blue and open in the scant light of the
kitchen that I felt like I was falling into them, like I was getting
lost. I barely knew him, but I'd never felt closer to anyone than I did to
him at that moment.

I felt myself tightening up, felt my balls drawing up and my breath getting
short, felt my chest swelling and my nipples throbbing and sweat starting
to bead up on my forehead.  The only sounds in the kitchen were my gasps
and sharp groans each time he pulled back, and the wet slurping sounds of
his sucking. I saw a thin trickle running down his chin, and reached down
to wipe it away as he hummed contentedly around my cock, the vibration
driving me even closer to the edge. Casey, still kneeling, must have sensed
that I was getting closer, because he began to speed up, sucking harder,
his hands pulling my hips back and forth. Following his lead, I grabbed his
hair and began to pump in and out of his mouth, and his moans and humming
around my cock told me that he was enjoying that, too. His hands continued
to squeeze my ass, cupping my firm cheeks, and then suddenly I felt one of
them sliding into my crack, one of his fingers quickly probing toward my
asshole. I wanted to tell him to stop, didn't want him near there, but I
couldn't think clearly, couldn't speak, because I was too focused on the
tightening waves of pleasure radiating through my entire body, and then I
felt the tip of one finger pressing against my hole. He didn't push it in,
just pressed against it, but that was it. My whole body locked up, my chest
tight, and my flexing arms crushed his face into my pelvis as my jerking
hips and throbbing cock unloaded shot after shot down his throat.

"Casey," I roared, feeling his throat work as he swallowed my cum.

He pulled back and lashed his tongue over my head, and I yelped, trying to
pull him off of me. My cock was always sensitive after I came, and now it
was too much.  He sucked softly, cleaning it without using the tongue, and
finally pulled back enough to let my cock fall from his lips. He kissed it
gently, and then smiled up at me.

"Was that what you wanted?" he whispered, grinning.

"Yes," I answered immediately. "Yes, I, wow."

He started to stand, kissing my cock again, the head this time. I was still
hard, but not so urgent, not still in the throbbing straight up flat
against my abs way I had been when he pulled my boxers down, but his touch
was still so light and soft that I shivered again. He kissed my stomach,
tracing my abs with his tongue again, outlining them and darting the tip of
his tongue into my navel. He licked up the short line of hair below my
belly button, shaved off during swim season but starting to grow in now,
and then back up my chest.  He stopped for a moment to kiss both nipples,
sliding back and forth between them, and then kissed his way back up my
neck, his eyes closed, just going by feel.  His hands followed him, sliding
over my skin, not grabbing or pulling, just touching and caressing, and
then his face was right in front of mine, his mouth moving toward me.

His mouth.

The mouth I'd just cum in.

What the fuck had I just done?

Oh, fuck, I really was gay. I really was a cocksucker, a pansy, a fag. I'd
just let some guy I barely knew pull my clothes off and suck my dick, and,
Jesus Christ, I'd begged him to do it! I'd wanted it, wanted him to swallow
me! I remembered his finger probing at my ass, and wondered for a quick
second if he'd wanted to fuck me, if he'd wanted to fuck me up the
ass. He'd probably done it before, done it with all kinds of other guys,
let other guys do it to him. I didn't know him, didn't even know his last
name or anything about him, and now I'd let him blow me and swallow my cum
and he was about to kiss me with the same mouth I'd just had my dick in.

I turned my head at the last second, and he kissed my cheek, near the side
of my mouth.  My whole body stiffened, and his eyes popped open as he
sensed that something had changed.

"Nate?" he asked, his eyes concerned.

I couldn't do this, couldn't let him kiss me again. I couldn't really want
this, couldn't really be like this. I wasn't gay. It didn't matter what I
thought or how I felt. This was just a phase, a passing thing, something
stupid I did because I was drunk. That was all, just one guy getting off,
and another guy letting him. It didn't mean anything.

I didn't want to be gay, so I couldn't be.

"Nate?" Casey asked again, his voice a little louder, his tone a little
more firm. "Nate, you ok?"

"I'm fine," I lied, my eyes darting around the room. We were in the
kitchen, which faced my kitchen. Oh my God, what if Sam had come downstairs
and looked over? What if he'd seen us? What if he knew? Would he tell
people? Would he tell everyone that I was faggot? I grabbed my shorts,
tugging them up, not worrying about my shirt, which was hanging open. I had
to get out of here, had to get away. Casey, seeing him, it did something to
me, and I couldn't let that happen again.

"Are you sure?" he asked, stepping back. I'm not sure what he was thinking,
but I saw his face pinch, as if he was hurt, and his shoulders dropped a
little. "Are we ok?"

His voice was so soft and quiet when he asked that, the tone in it already
resigned to what he must sense was the answer.

"Yeah," I lied. I knew I didn't sound very convincing, but I couldn't fake
it. I had to get out of here, had to get home, back to my house, back to
where I was me, Nate, the friendly quiet swimmer guy who liked girls even
if he didn't date much and who just wasn't, couldn't be, gay. "Yeah, I
just, um, Sam is all alone over there, and he's drunk. I better go take
care of him."

"Yeah, I guess," Casey said softly, not meeting my eyes. He turned away,
and I knew he could tell what I was thinking. I felt a little pain as I
realized that I was hurting him, but I couldn't let that bother me,
couldn't let it keep me from walking out the door. Casey followed me to the
door as I realized that I was being a dick. I was being a total heel.  Even
with the way I was feeling, there wasn't a need to treat him like this, to
act like it hadn't meant anything, but as he opened the door for me and I
saw the light from outside wash over his face, I could see that it was too
late. He'd reached out to me, and I'd rejected him, and it hurt us both.

"Good night," he said, not meeting my eyes as he swung the door closed.

I didn't know what to say, so I walked slowly back to my house, letting
myself in the back door.

I didn't want to be with him. I couldn't be. That was just a dumb fantasy
daydream. I couldn't live my life like that.

But if pushing him away and walking out was the best thing to do, why did
it hurt so much?

***

To be continued.