Date: Tue, 26 Jul 2005 10:57:51 -0400 From: abandier@columbus.rr.com Subject: Lover's Lane Chapter 01 This story is a work of fiction. It depicts a romance between two consenting adult males and may contain some descriptions of sexual acts, again between two consenting adult males. If you are not of legal age to read this kind of story, please leave now. If you reside in area where reading stories that include sexual situations between two consenting adult males are illegal, please leave now. This story is for entertainment purposes only. Any similarity to any person(s) living or dead is simply a coincidence. The author retains all rights to this story. It cannot be reproduced in any form without expressed written permission from the author (me). Please contact the author for any requests. Copyright 2005. I feel a responsiblity to remind all of you that sex must always happen between two consenting adults. Please remember to always use proper forms of protection when engaging in any sexual activity. Your life may depend on it!! Feedback (and criticism) is ALWAYS appreciated and welcome. It helps to keep the writing fires burning. Please respond to this story at: abandier@columbus.rr.com I look forward to hearing from all of you. ***Be prepared--this chapter gives a huge amount of background information on the life of our main character. This information is needed to understand the rest of the story. Be patient with me--we'll get to the good stuff soon. I promise.*** One last thing, then onto the story. This is my very FIRST attempt at writing anything since high school. So, comments and feedback on this first chapter are very important to me. Constructive criticism is crucial---please tell me what you are thinking. I need to know what's wrong so I can fix it. And--if you love it--well, it doesn't hurt to hear those comments too!! :) LOVER'S LANE by Jaden CHAPTER ONE: MEMORIES September 2004 I don't think anyone would describe me as particularly outgoing. I have never heard the word "extrovert" and my name used in the same sentence. Most people would say I was a shy. I guess I would have to add the word "painfully" to complete the description. I also tended to shy away from those loud, outgoing people that seemed to dominate my campus. You would never see me at a frat party (or any social gathering) boozing it up and creating lots of ruckus. For that matter, I was rarely at any social gatherings. Nope--I perferred the quiet little world that I had created for myself. Just me and George. That's the way I liked it. Who's George, you ask?? Why, only the best friend I've ever had in this world. He loves me unconditionally. He loves it when we play and wrestle each other. He can be quite obedient, but also naughty too. And--he loves giving me kisses. He wakes me up every morning kissing me all over my face. My loving, wonderful best friend. George---an exploding ball of energy encased in black, silky fur, four legs, and a tail. My faithful companion. What---did you think George was my boyfriend or lover?? I'm PAINFULLY SHY, remember? I've never even been on a date. Flirting and kissing and the other stuff (the fun stuff)--those were foreign concepts to me. At this point in my life, I felt I had a better shot at winning the lottery or discovering the cure for cancer than I did at understanding dating and sexuality My scarlet letter, the big 'V'. Actually, there are reasons (lots of them, and good too) for my remaining a virgin at the age of 21. But--we'll get to that later. I'm getting ahead of myself. So, you can imagine my embarassment and awkwardness when "he" started talking to me. It was the second day of the first s emester of my senior year. As usual on Fridays, I was at the campus gym going through my workout routine (for some reason, the school year started on a Thursday---hey I didn't make the schedule!!). I had a very consistant workout schedule---1 hour of weights on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, and 1 hour of cardiovascular (usually running for me) on Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday. And on Sunday, I rested. Oh--have I mentioned yet that I was brought up in a religious household?? After years of brainwashing--oops, I mean being taught all those things you learn in church, I guess some of it rubbed off on me. Hence, my 'god-inspired' workout schedule. Anyway, let's get back on track (I tend to go off on tangents--so get used to it!!). I had just completed my workout for the day. It had felt good to be back in the old gym at school. I had to swallow the lump in my throat as I thought that this would be the last "first workout of the new school year" for me at the gym. I took a deep breath and tried to memorize the smell of they gym--I know, kind of gross, but I wanted that memory. Just as I grabbed my gym bag and threw it over my shoulder, someone tapped me on the arm. "Excuse me. Can I talk to you for a moment?" Those simple words were the first that I ever heard from him. From Lane--althougth I wouldn't know his name for another few moments. His voice sounded so, so, so--masculine is the best word I can think of. It wasn't super deep. It just had a pleasing masculine tone. For reasons I didn't understand or realize just yet, goosebumps broke out all over my arms---just from his voice!! I slowly turned around and looked at this person with the (dare I say it?) sexy masculine voice. I had never thought a voice was sexy before---I mean, a voice is a voice. But THIS voice was enticing. I was attracted to this voice. In that brief moment as I turned around, I realized I wanted to hear that voice again as soon as possible. What I saw as I turned around both terrified and excited me. You might be wondering how looking at someone would cause me to feel both terrified and excited at the same time. I will explain in a moment. A flash of memories hit me as I looked at Lane---in that brief moment before I spoke to him, those memories came over me in a complete rush and I remembered....... May 1993 "IT" happened when I was ten years old. None of us--my father, my mother, or me could see "IT" coming. "IT" was horrible, for sure, but "IT" always happened to other people. Not us. Not me. Of course, I always felt pity and some sense of horror whenever I heard that "IT" had happened to another child. But those were always OTHER children, OTHER families. It is hard to understand something when it hasn't happened to you. I was finishing up my fourth grade year at Hudson Valley Elementary School. I had a good year that year--straight "A's" in all of my classes and my little league team had won the county championship. Life was good. Life was normal. Nothing really special or huge ever happened to my quiet little town of Hudson, Massachusetts (about 30 miles outside of Boston, for those who like to know). My dad was (and still is) a graphic designer (he owns his own business now) and Mom was a nurse in the ICU at Piedmont County Hospital (today she is head nurse in charge of the ICU). They had me when they were very young--both 17 and juniors in high school. They had been sweethearts since freshman year and they truly loved each other. Both sets of their parents reacted rather calmly when my mom and dad told them that she was pregnant. I think they knew how much my mom and dad were committed to and loved each other. Everyone thought they would be getting married after graduating high school anyway---my conception simply moved up the time table. One thing my Grandma Scott insisted upon was that I could not to be born out of wedlock--she being the most religious of all the parents. Oh, by the way, I haven't introduced myself yet, have I?? I'm Jaden, Jaden Scott. So, my parents were married in front of the county judge and I was born 6 months later. 7 lbs, 8 oz of healthy baby boy. My parents lived with my Grandma and Grandpa Scott. My dad and Grandpa converted the basement into a rather nice apartment, complete with a kitchen, bathroom, and its own separate entrance. Grandma and Grandpa Scott and Grandma and Grandpa Thompson took turns watching me during the day while my mom and dad finished high school. My dad got an after-school job at a graphic design firm--as an errend boy and such. It was there that my dad started learning about graphic design--which he ended up studying in college. Again, as my parents went to college, my Grandparents took turns caring for me when my Mom or Dad had class or work. My Grandparents helped support my mom and dad financially until they both graduated and got jobs. It was a very loving, supportive, and caring environment--hey, I was lucky and I appreciated it. Maybe I should have realized that my luck was changing. During the past 18 months prior to May 1993 all 4 of my grandparents had died. Grandma and Grandpa Scott had gotten into a bad car accident on very icy roads in January of 1992. Grandma Thompson had been battling breast cancer for about 2 years before it finally got the best of her. She died in October of 1992. I think my Grandpa Thompson died of a broken heart, because he followed his beloved wife just 3 weeks after she passed. By May of 1993, my parents and I were just finally coming out of the shock we all felt from having lost all 4 of them so quickly. Life was starting to return to normal, or as normal as it could be. So, on that warm spring day in May 1993, I was feeling happy as I walked home from school. My teacher had just praised me in front of the entire class for a book report I had written--she said it was the best report she had read in her 10 years of teaching. I was on a high. And then "IT" started to happen. His name was Leon. Leon Mosterel. Ironic last name as we would later realize. (Do you get it?? I like to think my readers are smart so I won't spell it out). As I was walking home from school, this car pulled alongside of me. I slowed down and watched as the passenger side window rolled down. The man driving said, "Hey kid--are you Jaden Scott by any chance?". I stopped walking. I was suprised that this strange guy knew my name and I wary of him. I said, "Yeah. What do you want and how do you know my name?" He said, "My name is Leon and I am one of the orderlies at Piedmont County Hospital. Your dad sent me to get you. There has been an accident at the hospital and your mom is hurt." I was getting scared. My mom---hurt!! "What happened to her?", I asked. "Is she alright?" Leon said, "I'm not sure buddy." (he called me 'buddy'--that still burns me to this day). "All I know is that your dad told me where to find you and asked me to pick you up and take you to the hospital. Get in the car and we'll go!" I had heard all of the lectures--be careful of strangers, don't open the door to the house if you don't know who someone is, and ESPECIALLY never get into a car with a stranger. Yet--at that moment I was confused and emotional. My mom was hurt. She might be dead. I had to get to her as quickly as possible. With everything that had happened with my grandparents over the last 18 months, I guess I wasn't thinking clearly. So, I got in the car. I'll spare you the gory details of the next 36 hours of my life. Whenever we talk about it at home, we always say that "IT" happened. I don't remember all of "IT", but unfortunately I remember alot. The aftermath of the ordeal was not pleasant, to say the least. Leon was dead (thank you Police). He actually did work as an orderly at the hospital and knew my mom. Apparently, he saw me a few times when I would visit her at work. Since he was dead, we never found out how he knew I would be walking home at that time. Maybe it was chance, maybe he had stalked me. We'll never know. I was in the hospital with varying degrees of injury. The worst physical injury was to my jaw--it was badly broken--and to my teeth. I would require 4 surgeries over the next 6 months to get my jaw to heal properly. As for my teeth, I had every type of dental surgery you could possibly imagine and I wore braces until I was 18. Of course, the damage emotionally was devastating---for me and for my mom and dad. Almost immediately after getting to the hospital, a trauma therapist that specialized in child abuse cases was brought in to see my parents and me. Up until that point, I had never given therapists much thought--at 10, I really didn't understand what their job was anyway. But that first therapist (and the 2 more that I would have over the next 11 years of my life), along with my loving and supportive parents, saw me through the worst pain over those very difficult first few days and months. Even now, I still see a therapist once a week--I'm not sure if or when I will ever stop. The main physical injuries healed and, luckily, I didn't have any outward scars that resulted from my ordeal (all of my jaw surgery was done inside of my mouth), but the emotional scarring was much more severe, and much, much, much harder to heal. I had all of the typical reactions to my ordeal--inability to sleep, scared to be alone, scared of strangers, nightmares (when I did sleep), etc., etc. One reaction we didn't see right away--but we discovered it once I started going through puberty. The best way I can describe it is that I became asexual. I had no sexual feelings at all. None. No attractions to other people--nothing. I was clearly going through puberty yet I never had any erections. No "wet dreams"--nada. The damn thing was always as limp as a noodle. My parents and my therapist were teaching me everything about puberty and what should be happening to me (both physically and emotionally)--and I had to report (much to my embarassment) on a weekly basis the status of my feelings and my limp dick. At 14, those conversations are mortifying to have with any adult, especially the 'rents. As frustrated as I was over not getting any erections (I really wanted to try acking off--all the boys at school had been talking about it for years), I became increasingly more frustrated with my lack of feelings for other people. At that point, I didn't know if I was straight, gay, or bi. Hell--by the time I was 16 I would have been happy to find a lamp attractive. But, I never got butterflies in my stomach when I saw someone at school. I never got a "crush" on anyone. It was if that part of my brain was completely turned off--and I didn't know how to flip the switch back on. It was frustrating--and scary. Half of me feared that I would never find love, that I would always be alone. The other half was terrified to even try any type of relationship at all---I really didn't like people to touch me (a side effect of "IT"). I had a hard time getting used to hugging and kissing my own parents after "IT" happened. I definitely was terrified of sex--I wasn't sure if I would ever be comfortable having that sort of intimacy with another person. I was a walking contradiction. The effects of "IT" transferred over to my life in high school. I had somewhat of a hard time during those years. I was so torn up from "IT" that I never tried to make myself attractive to others. I was too afraid someone would like me---how the hell was I supposed to handle that?? I was the kid that never dated anyone (every school has at least one, right?). And it wasn't like I was ugly or anything. I went through the normal awkward phase during puberty like everyone. A few blemishes, etc. My body was in decent (OK--good) shape. My dad had always been into physical fitness--I started the workout schedule that I still have to this day when I was 13 years old. So, my body was, at the very least, above average compared to the other guys in my class. Not that I gave anyone a chance to see what my body looked like--I always wore oversized shirts and shirts with long sleeves. Nobody had the chance to see what my upper body looked like. Even in gym class I managed to stay hidden--plus nobody really paid any attention to me anyway. I also wore baggy shorts and pants--so my ass wasn't drawing attention either. I have blond hair--well, perhaps more of a dirty blond--but I always kept my hair long and not in any fasionable style. I was always in a baseball hat anyway. I never smiled--first of all I never had anything to smile about, but I was very aware of my braces and I hated the way they looked. I didn't play any sports in high school, even though I was athletic and coordinated. I shied away from doing anything in school that involved a group of people. Of course, rumors were spread about me when people did notice my presence. I overheard people whispering behind my back, wondering what was wrong with me. In the middle of sophmore year I was finally labeled as "gay". Once you get labeled as gay, you never get away from it. Luckily for me, there was no school bully that threatened to beat the living shit out of me everyday. Mostly I was an outcast--I was the loner. I didn't have any real friends. I spoke to other kids when I had to--like for a school project or something like that. The rest of the time I kept to myself. I did my school work and got great grades (I was # 3 in my class). I never got into trouble. I existed on the fringe of world. I was 17 (and a senior) when it finally happened---I woke up one morning and there it was in all its glory. AN ERECT DICK!!! MY FIRST HARD-ON!! I almost screamed with joy. I happily noticed I was normal sized. When you have to wait until you are 17 to see your boner for the first time, well, lets just say I was stressed about size. I think that's a normal reaction considering what had happened to me. I later measured my dick at almost 7 inches (authors note: I really hate these stories where every guy is like 9 or 10 inches--that is not the reality that I know. Sure some are, but everyone??). That morning I had my first orgasm--holy shit, I thought, I was missing out on that all these years!!??!! (just another reason to hate good old rotting, decaying, hopefully being tortured in hell Leon). I usually never thought of Leon anymore--but that morning he got a big "FUCK YOU" from me. And dammit--I cried that morning. For the first time in many years. I cried for my lost innocence. I cried for the pain he caused me. I cried because I was happy and relieved. I was finally on the road to full recovery. I couldn't see the end of the road just yet, buy hey--I was on that damn road. If I had known then that it would take another 4+ years to achieve that full recovery, I wouldn't have been so happy. I was sitting in the lunch room at school one day about a month after my first hard-on (they were infrequent at first, but becoming more consistant). As usual I had my head buried in the latest book I was reading. A loud noise suddenly filled the room as some poor freshman dropped his lunchtray and splattered food all over the floor. I looked up at the sound and my eyes went right to him. John Miller. John Miller!! JOHN MILLER!!!!! And, suddenly, he wasn't little Johnny Miller anymore. Not the kid I had known since 1st grade. He was hunky, gorgeous, beautiful John Miller!! He stood about my height (6' 1") He had short, spiky black hair. He was wearing a blue tank top that was just molded to his upper body. OH MY GOD--those thick shoulders!! those baseball sized biceps!!. And the chest--perfection (plus he was wearing one of those puka-shell necklaces that seemed so right on him) He was wearing a pair of blue jeans that had to be a sin somewhere in this world. Tight, tight, tight. They held nothing back from the imagination. The amazing ass, the perfect sized bulge in front. I was hard instantaneously. I honestly thought I would cum right then and there. I started sweating and I felt like I couldn't breathe. Why had I never noticed this stud before?? I can honestly say I had given John nothing more than a passing glance in years and years. Then another realization hit me---yep, I'm gay. I didn't even think twice about it. In that instant, I just knew. Well, at least that question had been answered. My therapist was going to be sooooo happy. I wasn't too sure about mom and dad. I forced myself to look away from John once I realized I was staring at him. Luckily, no one noticed, as they rarely paid attention to me. I managed to get to the nearest bathroom (with my bag conveniently covering a certain area of my body) and locked myself inside one of the stalls. Thank god no one was in the bathroom right then. I yanked my pants down, sat on the john (no pun intended) and within 2 strokes on my dick, I erupted in the biggest orgasm I had had to date. The room started spinning and I thought I was going to black out. I sat there, panting like I had just run about 5 miles. Holy shit--that was intense and exciting. And suddenly, the black cloud was back and I was scared. Please don't ask me to explain the psychology of what was happening to me. All I know is that for one brief moment I had actually imagined John touching me and me touching me in a completely sexual way---and I was scared shitless. I thought I was going to throw up. The thought of anyone touching me like that made me sick inside. Damn Leon!! Damn him to hell!! And then, the tears were back as I suddenly knew that this psychological scar was going to take ALOT longer to heal than I had ever dreamed possible. Thoughts started swimming into my head: Would I ever get over this?? Would I ever be able to not only fall in love but express that love in a sexual way?? How long was this going to take?? Needless to say, I was extremely thankful that my therapy session happened to be that very night. The aftermath of that one incident reverberated on my life for the next four years. After a few days of moping, I finally told my parents what happened (in much less detail, of course!!). I admitted to them that I was gay. After dinner one night later that week, I told them that I needed to talk. "Well, there is no easy way to say this. So, I'm gay" I said. I looked at my mom and then my dad and back again. In all of my years, it was the only time I saw what looked like disappointment (directed at me) flash through both of their eyes. Still, they knew it was a possibility. "Are you sure?", my mother asked. "I wouldn't have said anything unless I was 100% sure.", I said. "Well, OK then. First we both want you to know that you are still our son and we still love you--as much as always.", my dad said. "I won't say I completely understand your feelings, because I don't, but we will support you no matter what." "Mom??", I asked. "I guess I need to dig out that old PFLAG brochure. It's around here somewhere.", my mom smiled at me. Please, you don't have to tell me--I hit the lottery when it came to parents. I knew it and I was grateful. Maybe they were more accepting because they were still so young themselves--both my mom and dad were only 34 years old at this point. I'm not sure, but I'll take it. After the "incident" as I referred to it in my thoughts (I love naming important happenings in my life---"IT", and now "the incident"), I became more of an asexual person again. The scars inside my mind still needed time to heal. I graduated high school # 3 in my class--I had kept that ranking all four years of high school. I had applied and been accepted at an Ivy League school a bit north of where we lived. It was less than a two-hour drive from home to get there. One of my graduations presents from my parents was George--my good buddy. We hit it off instantly. Luckily, my college did not have any hard rules about freshman living on campus. I found an apartment near to the school. It was actually a converted basement of a house (I was happy about that--just like my parents when they were in college). An older lady--a widow--owned and lived in the house. She rented the basement apartment to the local students. Thankfully, she allowed dogs, so me and George moved in. I stayed in my shell during the first three years of college--almost exactly similar to my time in high school--with one exception. My appearance. Before I left for school, my mom convinced me to get a mini-makeover. I went ahead and did it--my braces came off about 2 months before I graduated high school, and I was already feeling better about myself. I got my hair cut to a much "cooler" look. My blemishes had gone away before I was 18. Another of my graduation gifts was a completely new wardrobe. I never knew until she took me shopping just how much my mom hated my "style"--or should I say lack of style. She had so much fun picking out new clothes for me and dressing me up. She knew what she was doing---even I had to admit that I looked much better. My mom was a big proponent of form fitting clothes, so I was going to be showing off my body alot more. If you desperately need to know, here is my description at the start of this story: 21 years old, 6 ft, 1 inch tall, weighing at 170 lbs. Dirty blond, short hair, hazel green eyes, and an awesome bod, if I'm allowed to admit that about myself. I kept up with my workout schedule as I stated earlier---I didn't want to be a bodybuilder or anything, just fit and healthy. My favorite part of my body was my six-pack abs. I worked really, really hard to get those. I thought I was good looking--I wasn't sure though. Like all moms, mine told me that I was the most beautiful child ever created, so I really couldn't put too much stock in her opinion. Because I kept to myself and was so shy, I can't say that in the first 3 years I would have noticed if someone was hitting on me. I certainly didn't put myself out there. I wasn't very social at all--I knew a few people who were in the same year and major at me (by the way, I am majoring in Creative Writing and English). A group of 4 of us ended up in many classes together and those other 3 became my closest acquaintances on campus. We studied together on many occasions. Stephanie, Marissa, and Ryan were there names. All really nice people--luckily for me Ryan was straight (not my type anyway) and both Steph and Marissa had serious boyfriends. I never had to worry about any of them hitting on me. So, I was able to keep up my asexual living style. Until that day at the gym....... September 2004 So, I had heard this wonderful, sexy voice and now I was staring at its owner. If you recall, I told you that what I saw both terrified and excited me at the same time. I hope after reading the story about my life up until this point in time you might understand why I was feeling so terrified. This was the first time--the first time---since the John Miller incident that I was finding someone attractive again. Not just attractive but sexy as well. And--I had only heard his voice briefly and gotten one (good) glimpse of him. Time seemed to stand still in that moment before I started to speak. My brain was processing information at one million miles per hour. I was processing this amazing voice, this vision of sexiness, and all of my memories in a split second. When I try to remember that moment, my most vivid memory is thinking that I was going to pass out. "Hi. What can I do for you?", I said. I was happy I didn't start stuttering. I thought that actually sounded smooth, considering the jumble my mind and body was in. "Well........". TO BE CONTINUED AAARRRRGGGHHH!!! Don't you just hate that--a cliffhanger. Man--I hate it and I'm writing it. What does Lane want from Jaden? What the hell does Lane look like that got Jaden all worked up?? Tune in to chapter 2 to find out.