Date: Thu, 24 Jan 2008 22:58:04 -0600
From: Cameron Maxx <cameron.maxx@gmail.com>
Subject: Growing Up Josh 3

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This story is a work of FICTION. While actual people and/or events may
inspire some characters and situations, no implications are intended or
should be drawn. Any similarities to actual events or persons are strictly
coincidental.

THIS STORY CONTAINS GRAPHIC DEPICTIONS OF CONSENSUAL SEXUAL ACTS BETWEEN
TWO ADULT MALES. IT IS INTENDED FOR A MATURE AUDIENCE ONLY! IF YOU FIND
THIS TYPE OF MATERIAL OFFENSIVE, IF YOU ARE UNDER 18, OR UNDER THE LEGAL
AGE TO VIEW SUCH MATERIAL THEN PLEASE READ NO FURTHER.

(c)2007 All original material contained here within is copyrighted by the
author, Cameron Maxx, and may not be reproduced in any form without express
written consent. The Nifty Archive is granted a non-exclusive, worldwide,
royalty-free, perpetual, and non-cancelable license to display this work.

PLEASE NOTE: Feedback, both positive and negative, is welcomed and greatly
appreciated. Abusive correspondence or flames of any kind will, of course,
be strictly ignored - cameron.maxx@gmail.com
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INTRODUCTION

Thanks once again goes to everyone who's shared their thoughts with me
about chapters 1 and 2. The sheer number of responses continues to amaze me
but also continues to be very gratifying. Also, all in all, the feedback
thus far has been overwhelmingly positive and I appreciate you taking the
time to send that my way.

One of the most common things mentioned in your correspondence has been the
request that I not take too long getting new chapters written and posted. I
hear you and am glad to know that you want to know what happens next! My
goal is to get at least one chapter a week posted. That being said, things
happen and that may not always be possible. So, please be patient if a
delay does occur.

Finally, I will continue to work on continuity. I really do try to listen
to what you have to say and take it as constructive criticism. But, as many
others of you have pointed out, it is ultimately my story to tell and I
have to hold true to that. Now don't be angry, but this chapter contains
one of the single, biggest jumping off points of the timeline in the entire
story. So, sorry.

I hope you all continue to read and enjoy and as always, keep your comments
coming!

-Cameron


CHAPTER 3

I was 20 years old, a sophomore in college, when Ryan came crashing into my
table breaking glasses and a couple of bones as he did.

Sitting at the high, round bar table near the back of The Boys Cellar, I
never saw it coming. In fact, because of the loud, pulsing dance music that
has become the ubiquitous soundtrack of almost every gay club in the world,
I didn't hear the screaming or the scuffling that sent him hurdling into my
life. My friends, Mike and John, and I had been there for about an hour,
having used fake I.D. to get in and have a few drinks. They were both on
the dance floor at the time so I had the table to myself save our three
drinks and a few empty glasses.

I didn't dance. No. I did not dance. Even after losing over 80 pounds, I
still stood 6'4" tall and felt I stuck out like a sore thumb at any gay
club I walked into. They were filled with cute little things in their size
28 jeans that were perfectly torn in all the right places; cute little
things that wore tee shirts two sizes too small for even their tiny
torsos. One could see their pierced nipple from the other side of the
club. Their skin was smooth and without blemishes, their hair highlighted
and ever so carefully messy. They moved their bodies to the rhythm of the
music in ways that I simply could not fathom. Even if I'd wanted to try I
was quite sure somebody would run out onto the floor and shove their wallet
into my mouth in an attempt to keep me from swallowing my tongue during
what was clearly a seizure. No. I did not dance.

As I lifted my drink to my lips, I saw a quick movement from the corner of
my right eye. Instinctually, I pulled my arm higher and started to rise
from the barstool. That was all that kept me from going onto the floor
too. He hit the table with the small of his back. I saw him arch backward
at an awful angle, his feet still on the ground and the back of his head
almost flat on the table. For one brief moment the table tilted and seemed
to hover at a precarious angle and I didn't think it was going to actually
fall over. But then, the metal legs started to slide on the floor and
gravity did the rest. As the table fell our glasses went with it, sliding
off the severely sloping tabletop and hit the floor with a shattering sound
that was somehow still audible over the music. As the table went, it seemed
to drag Ryan with it. As the two of them fell he slid down the curved
outside edge of the table and landed hard on his back. I could actually see
the tears that exploded from his eyes for just a moment before the table
landed with a crunching thud on his left wrist. He screamed when it did and
curled onto his side trying to push the table off him but was unable to do
so. I was still looking down at him, trying to process what was happening
when I heard the loud, angry voice coming at me from the direction that
Ryan had come. I looked to my right.

"You little bitch. I'm going to fucking kill you!"

There was an average looking man standing there, all his attention focused
on the boy on the floor. He looked to be in his late 20's. He was maybe 6'
tall, just a bit shy of it probably. He was stocky but not fat. His face
was red and sweaty. His eyes blazed.

He moved forward again. His voice lower now but still menacing, "get
up. Get up. You're going home with me right now. I'm tired of this
bullshit."

I looked back at the fallen table and the guy still stuck under it. My gaze
shifted left and right and I saw that everyone had stopped dancing and were
all staring, many with mouths agape; nobody moved, they just stared. Right
before the angry, sweaty guy passed me I suddenly felt my arms move forward
and my entire upper body pushed behind them. I still wasn't quite sure what
I was doing. But my palms caught him about mid-chest and the weight behind
them shoved him a good four or five feet before he slammed hard into a
wall. The shock of hitting the wall knocked the air out of him but he was
still on his feet and staring right at me.

He took a deep breath and then said, "This is none of your business,
buddy. I'm sorry about your drinks but you just need to go ahead and fuck
off now."

My heart was pounding in my chest and I could tell my hands were shaking
ever so slightly. I looked back down at the guy on the floor. He was
staring at me now. He looked at the other guy and back at me. His wrist was
still under the table. He mouthed one word, "please."

At that moment, I knew what I was going to do. My hands weren't shaking
anymore. I looked back at the sweaty guy.

"I don't know who you are and I don't know who he is. But you're not going
to touch him again. He is not going with you. This is over. You should
leave now."

I saw the anger flash over his face. "Fuck you!" he screamed and lunged
forward.

Again, without thinking, my right arm swung up as my hand balled into a
fist. My right shoulder and upper body again moved forward behind my
arm. My knuckles connected with the bridge of his nose. His onrushing
momentum combined with my swing; I felt the impact reverberate all the way
into my shoulder. There was a flash of white-hot pain in my hand but I was
already moving forward. As his head popped back, a bright red explosion of
blood exploded from his nose. Some of it splashed onto my shirt, arm, and
neck. My left hand had already found its way around his throat and I
scooped him up and back against the wall.

I didn't move. I felt his legs kicking slightly. I saw the blood running
out of his nose and dripping down over his lips and chin. He looked me in
the face. I saw clarity in his eyes as they began to water. He knew I
wasn't going to let go.

After some time had passed, I don't know how much, I realized there were
two bouncers on either side of me and a bartender standing behind me. The
bouncers were just staring, seemingly unaware of what to do.

Finally, the bartender put his hand on my back. I flinched and looked at
him. Very softly he said, "you need to let him go now, okay? We've got him
now."

I took a deep breath and nodded. I let go of his throat and took a step
back. His knees buckled and he slid down the wall before landing on his ass
with a thump. I took another step back. At last the bouncers woke up and
they bent over, picked him up, and started dragging him across the floor
towards the front of the club.

I looked at the bartender again. He smiled. He had kind eyes. "Are you
okay?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm okay." I looked around. Still nobody moved, they just
stared.

"I've called the police. They're on their way. I need to go call the
owner. Can you stay with him," the bartender motioned towards the guy still
lying on the floor. I looked down at him and saw that somebody had gotten
the table off him. He'd pulled himself up into a seated position and was
holding his left wrist with his right hand.

"Yea. Sure. I'll stay with him."

He paused a moment, looking hard at me. "Are you sure? You're okay?"

"Yeah, yeah. Really I've got it. Go on, I'm good here."

I must have sounded more confident because he nodded and then took off in
the direction the bouncers had gone with the sweaty, and now bloody, guy. I
looked back over at the boy on the floor and walked slowly towards him. He
didn't look up. Unsure of what to do, I sighed and sat down next to him on
the floor.

I looked at him. "Hi," I said.

He looked at me like I was an alien. His lower lip was busted and
bleeding. There was an angry looking purple circle around his right eye
that would be a nasty bruise in a few hours. His left wrist was purple too
and already starting to swell.

I could tell he was trying hard not to cry. "Hi," he said in a tiny voice.

"Listen, it's going to be okay. I'm going to stay here with you, okay?"

His eyes met mine and whatever he was going to say was never said. His face
crumpled and the tears ran down his cheeks. He was sobbing. I didn't know
what else to do except wrap my arm around his shoulders and pull him into
me. He buried his face in my shoulder and cried.

People had finally recovered and were starting to move and talk again. I
realized there was no music playing. I didn't know when it had gone off. My
two friends walked over and stood above us. I looked up at them while I
held him and he continued to cry.

Mike was the first to speak. "Holy shit, dude! What the fuck was that?"

I just shook my head, "I don't know."

John, Mike's boyfriend and the more introspective of the two, looked at
me. "Alex, are you sure your okay. Can I get you some water or something?"

"Yeah, John. Some water would be great."

I looked back at Mike. His eyes were wide. I could tell he was getting
excited. "I mean, fuck dude ... that was insane. You totally went Rambo on
that guy. Jesus."

I smiled warily. "Yeah, that's me, Mike. The gay Rambo."

----

I stood inside my door looking at him. Joshua stood on the other side
looking back, a slight smile on his face. I looked at him like I was seeing
him for the very first time. And in a way, I was. I was seeing him, really
seeing him, from the beginning all over again. I was seeing him on his
terms; seeing him as an adult. I was seeing him for the man he'd become.

He had stood about 5'10" tall when I last saw him on that sidewalk in
Austin. He'd hit a growth spurt when he was only 11 and had quickly put on
height, shooting up past his mom by the time he was 13. Abbey had told me
that while he'd grown fast it seemed to have stopped early. And indeed,
that seemed to be the case as he stood now at the same height as he had
four years ago. His father was half Hispanic, making Josh about a quarter
Mexican-American. Abbey, on the other hand, was pretty pale. Together their
mix had left him with a warm, golden brown complexion. He looked like a
white kid from Southern California who had a nice tan year round. He'd worn
his hair on the longer, shaggy side for almost as long as I'd known him; he
still did. It hung about mid way down the back of his neck with big, loose
curls near the bottom and around his ears. For the most part he had
straight hair and it only loosely curled at the ends as most everyone's
will if their hair is long enough. It was still a light brown with a few,
subtle honey blonde highlights throughout. I'd known him long enough to
know the highlights weren't from anything in a bottle. They were the real
things. His big, wide set, greenish blue eyes peered at me from behind a
few strands of hair that the breeze had blown into his face. They were the
same eyes I remembered from when he was a child, as was the long thin nose,
and the cherry red, bee-stung lips. He had big teeth. So did Abbey. They
were Abbey's teeth and like hers, his were bright white and somehow not too
big his face. He had some fine, barely visible stubble on his neck and jaw
line. It was fascinating to see the kid I'd known behind this man's face.

I noted he was wearing some vintage, low slung jeans above his
sneakers. The sky blue, jersey style tee shirt he wore had a faded red surf
board image on the chest and fit him snugly. The bottom of the shirt just
barely met the top of the jeans that were hanging low on his waist. On his
left wrist was the woven, leather "rock star" bracelet I'd given him on his
16th birthday. With a sudden rush of unexpected joy that hit me like a wall
of water bursting from a broken dam, I realized I thought he was absolutely
beautiful. He was beautiful and I'd never been so happy to see someone in
all my life.

He stood very still this whole time, seemingly comfortable and accepting of
me drinking him in the way I must have been. Then, before I had any idea
what I was doing, I took one step forward and hugged him. I pulled him into
me and hugged him tighter and closer than I thought I ever possibly
could. Much to my relief, he hugged back just as fiercely. There was a
sense of having found something that had been lost for a very, long
time. Eventually I took a step back and looked him up and down once
more. This time, he had a huge grin on his face.

"So, hello there," he said.

"Hi."

"So, I'm here."

"Yes, you are. And you're wearing the bracelet."

At that he looked down at his wrist and then back up at me. "Yeah, well I
remember when you gave it to me you said I should wear it whenever I wanted
to feel like a rock star. And, I couldn't think of a better time to feel
like a rock star than my first time in LA."

"Yeah, well. Yeah. That's actually a really good point. All you're missing
is some rock star shades."

"Oh, I've got those, too. They're just in my bag. I didn't want to give
your old heart too much of a jolt. You know, I didn't know how much
excitement was too much at your age."

I gave him a look that I hoped said fuck you better than the words
themselves would have. "So, I see you're still a smartass."

"Nothing but the best for you."

I stood looking at him, judging the slight grin on his face. I tried to
discern the intended subtext, or if there even was any, in his
words. Finally I decided it was way too early to even be thinking of shit
like that.

"So, are you going to let me come in or should I just stand here at your
front door with my bags for a little longer?"

I laughed, "yeah, come on it. Here, let me help you."

And then it happened. The memory that I'd been fighting to push down for
the last few minutes fully broke the surface of my conscience. Standing
there at my door with his bags, he reminded me of Ryan. As much as I didn't
want it, I was reminded of that beginning from so many years ago.

----

I was sitting in my bedroom, typing a paper for my literature class when
there was a knock at the door. I looked at the clock on my computer; it was
a little after 4:00 in the afternoon. My roommate wasn't home yet so I
started towards the front door. Walking out of my bedroom and across the
living room I wondered who was here. I wasn't expecting anyone. Maybe it
was a delivery for my roommate. He did more online shopping than anyone I'd
ever met. I reached for the door and swung it open. Standing on the other
side was the last person I'd expected to be there. It was Ryan and he had
two suitcases.

"Hi," he said.

"Hey. What's going on?" I asked.

The last time I'd seen him was the day after the incident that had brought
him crashing into my table. That was about a week ago.

He paused briefly, looked at his feet, and then back at me. "I know ... I
know this is really sudden. But, I was hoping ..."

He trailed off and looked at his feet again, shifting back and forth just a
bit from left to right, left to right. He was biting his lower lip.

"Ryan, what is it?"

"I was wondering if, maybe - do you think I could stay here with you for a
couple of days?"

When the police had finally arrived at the club they had arrested sweaty,
and now bloody, guy and put him in the back of their car. They called it a
cruiser. With him safely locked in they came back and got statements from
Ryan and myself as well as a few other onlookers. Sweaty, bloody guy's name
was Stephen. He had been Ryan's boyfriend; more specifically he'd been
Ryan's abusive boyfriend of over three years. Ryan had told him he wanted
to break up. Stephen hadn't taken to that news very well - hence, the
fallen table, broken bones, bloody nose, police officers, and
cruiser. After the cops got everything they needed, they asked Ryan if he
needed an ambulance. He declined; he said I'd take him to the emergency
room. He had assumed I would, and I did.

Looking at him there in the breezeway, with the cast on his left wrist and
the still swollen purple skin around his eye, I felt a sense of forward
rushing events that I knew I had very little choice in. For better or
worse, Ryan was going to be part of my life for some time to come.

I nodded and reached for the bigger of the two suitcases. "C'mon in."

We had been at the emergency room for a little over three hours that
night. I'd learned more about him as well as the ex. Stephen had been his
first; his first everything: first boyfriend, first love, and first
lover. After being treated like shit for so many years and taking the
occasional slap or punch, Ryan had decided it was time to set sail for
smoother waters.

We waited for the x-rays to come back. They confirmed his left wrist was
broken and two fingers on his other hand were badly sprained. The nurses
iced his eye and cleaned up his puffy, still bleeding lower lip. He was
tiny, only five and half feet tall, maybe an inch over I'd guess. He
couldn't have weighed more than 120 pounds or so, with clothes on. I felt
an instinctual urge to hold him, protect him. I found it particularly
offensive that someone, much less someone who was supposed to love him,
could have done something like this. It was beyond my grasp. I told him he
had to press charges. He couldn't just let this go. He asked if I'd help
him; go to court with him. I said I would. He told me he'd lived with
Stephen for the last year or so and that he was going to have to move back
in with his parents. I assured him that they would understand; they already
knew he was gay and were very supportive. They'd rather have him back at
home, knowing he was safe, than living with Stephen for even a single day
longer.

He was finally discharged with a one weeks supply of painkillers and
sleeping pills. We walked out the glass doors of the E.R. and into the
parking lot. It had gotten cold. He shivered and I put my arm around
him. It was just a little after 4:00 AM and everything was bathed in an
unnatural orange under the glow of the sodium vapor streetlight above us. I
asked him where his car was. He said it was at Stephen's place. I offered
to take him to the car or to his parents. He asked if he could spend the
night with me. He didn't want to be alone.

I took him back to my apartment. We didn't speak much on the way
there. When we got there, he asked if he could use my shower. While he was
washing, I undressed and got into bed, pulling the covers up over me. My
fist ached. Actually, my whole arm was sore. I smiled. The pain was
gratifying because I knew that it meant I'd broken that fucker's
nose. Whatever pain I felt was money well spent.

Having drifted into a shallow slumber I was awakened by Ryan sliding into
bed with me. He was under the covers and curled himself against me. I felt
his smooth warm skin. I could smell the faint, clean, soapy scent of his
shower. My arms wrapped around him and pulled him closer. I buried my nose
in his hair. He radiated warmth but was still shivering. I ran my hand up
and down his back, my one palm and finger length covering more than half of
his spine. I felt his lips on my cheek, nudging me, urging me on. One of
his legs lifted slightly before draping itself across my waist. My body
responded and he rubbed his inner thigh against my hardness. He kissed down
my jaw, past my chin, and began to nibble at the base of my neck where it
met my chest.

He rolled over and sat up so that his bottom pressed against me; moving
backwards and forwards he rocked his ass against my dick. I could feel his
tightly puckered hole burning against the head of my now throbbing dick. He
leaned down and renewed his assault on my neck with his lips. His smooth
torso rubbed against my lightly hairy stomach. I tried to protest, tried to
tell him it was too soon. He insisted, he begged me to be with him. He
needed this. I was so tired. Feeling overwhelmed, I thought that I might
actually need this as much as he did. I reached for the side table and
grabbed a condom and the lube. He took both from my hand and rolled the
rubber down my erect dick. He squeezed some lube out and ran it up and down
the condom then reached around behind himself to add a little there. With a
swift move he raised up and then slid back down again taking my entire
length in one, smooth motion. I gasped when his warm, tight body surrounded
me. He moved up and down a couple of times before settling into a steady
rhythm. As he rode me, I reached up and put one hand on his cheek. He
closed his eyes and sighing, leaned into my palm. His own hard dick bounced
up and down as he rode, softly bumping against my stomach each time he came
down. I saw a bead of pre-cum appear on the head and reached out and
grasped him. I began to slowly jerk him off as he rode me. A few minutes
later and I felt him tighten up before he moaned and his dick exploded into
orgasm. The first shot of his cum flew up my chest and hit under my chin,
the second landed only an inch or two lower. I don't know how many shots
there were, but when he finished I was wet with his sticky fluid. It was
like he hadn't cum in weeks. Just as he was finishing I moaned deeply and
felt my own release filling the condom. He moaned again as I shot inside
him. When we were both finished he laid down on top of me. His head nestled
under my neck. I felt him start to cry. I wrapped my arms over his back and
stroked his hair. I was still inside him. I told him it would be okay,
everything would be okay. I whispered it into his ear over and over as I
held him. I whispered it until we both fell asleep and the first golden
rays of dawn broke over the horizon.

That had been a week ago and now I was carrying his suitcase into my
bedroom and he was following behind me. He was in my apartment again. He
was in my life.

----

Josh followed me back through the entryway, closing the door behind him. I
could hear his sneakers squeaking on the concrete floor as we passed the
little half bath on our left.

"What is this place," he asked.

"What's it look like? It's my home."

"No, I know that. I mean what did it used to be?"

"It was a warehouse. Pretty much every building for the next block or two
over used to be warehouses."

We rounded the corner at the end of the little hall and climbed the five,
steel stairs that brought us up to the main floor of the building. My
living room stretched out before us with the kitchen and dining room at the
far end on the right. I heard him come to a sudden stop at the top of the
stairs.

"Dude, this place is huge."

"No, it's actually not that big. It just looks that way because of all the
open space and the high ceilings."

I had stopped and turned back to look at him and couldn't help but
smile. He was standing there, his suitcase and bags forgotten in his hands,
looking up at the ceiling. His eyes were wide and his mouth was actually
hanging open a little. I laughed at that.

My laugh tore his attention away from the ceiling and he looked back at
me. "What are you laughing at?"

"You. They way you were staring, one would think you were a hick from Texas
who'd never seen a roof over his head before."

He shot me a look. "Shut up. I've seen plenty of roofs before, just not one
this tall." He paused before looking back up again. "How high is it?"

"I don't remember exactly, but in the living room here where we're standing
I think it's like 15 or 16 feet."

"Jeez ..."

I laughed again and then said, "come on. You'll have plenty of time to gaze
at the ceiling later. Follow me so we can set your stuff down in your room,
okay?"

Again I watched as he seemed to physically struggle to pull his gaze back
down. "Yeah, okay. All right, you lead. I'm following. Let's go, I want to
see my room."

"Which reminds me; your room is not quite ready yet because you're not
supposed to be here yet."

"Oh, that no big deal. I'm sure it will be fine."

I studied him for a minute. "By the way, why are you here now? What
happened?"

He looked at me. I could tell he was pondering the question and his
answer. "Nothing really. Mom dropped me off early at the airport and they
had an early flight available so they bumped me up. No biggie."

"Okay. But why didn't you call me and let me know?"

"I don't know. I guess I just didn't want to bother you."

I tried to read his face. Something wasn't quite right. I didn't know if he
was actually lying to me or not but I knew he wasn't quite telling me the
truth either. He sensed my suspicion.

"Look, I just thought it might be fun to surprise you. I wanted your honest
reaction to seeing me for the first time. It's not that big of a deal is
it?"

Finally, I nodded. "Alright. Whatever. C'mon, let's go."

I turned away from him and started back in the direction we'd been
heading. I heard him following. His words kept playing back in my head. I
couldn't quite figure out what was going on here, but if there was one
thing I did know, it was Josh. I knew he was holding something back and it
gnawed at me like a low burning fire in my brain. I couldn't get to it, but
I could see the smoke and I didn't like it.