Date: Sat, 16 Feb 2008 22:39:03 -0700
From: Roy <roynm@mac.com>
Subject: Owen - chapter 2 - Gay College Section

'Owen'

Chapter two

by Roy Reinikainen


At the gentle touch of a hand on his shoulder, Owen turned from Sam and
squinted into a watery blur.  Doctor Johnson's sad grin was full of
compassion.

"We've got to be going, Owen."  The doctor moved closer, blocking the view
of the young men from Owen's folks while Sam tried to control his emotions,
without much success.

"He'll be back, Sam," the doctor spoke in a quiet, encouraging voice.
"This parting isn't forever."  Owen bit his lip, wondering if the doctor
was correct.  He wanted more than anything, to be gone from Riverton, but
that meant leaving the man he loved.

"I hope so, doctor."  Sam hiccoughed as he wiped his eyes and blew his nose
on Jonah's handkerchief.  "It's just . . . I don't know what am I gonna do
between now and then."  The doctor compressed his lips and glanced at Owen,
who stood close by, overwhelmed by his own emotions as well as Sam's.

"You and I'll think of something, Sam.  Owen's going to be away getting an
education.  Perhaps, I can talk to your folks, and see if together, we
might arrange something similar for you."

"But, Owen . . ."

"Will return, I'm sure of it," the doctor hurried to interrupt.  "And, when
he does, the two of you will once again be together.  Don't make Owen take
the memory of you crying with him to school.  This is tough on him too."

Sam sniffed, nodded, and tried to smile, his bloodshot eyes and blotchy
complexion giving lie to the lopsided twist of his lips.  "I love you
Owen," he murmured, as they hugged, melting together, heedless of anyone
watching.

Owen nuzzled his friend's ear, inhaling the familiar scent of the person he
loved.  He took a ragged breath, unwilling to part, and when Sam quickly
kissed him on the lips, the feeling seemed to leave scorch marks on his
skin, so clearly did his body remember the touch.  It was a feeling to be
recalled in moments of loneliness, like the scent of Sam's aftershave, or
the twinkling of his dark brown eyes, or the gentle touch of Sam's fingers
against his bare skin as they sprawled on the grass of their meadow.

Sam backed off far enough to focus on Owen's eyes and face.  Owen tenderly
brushed a strand of hair away from Sam's forehead and then slowly trailed
his fingertips over his friend's cheek, eventually pausing at Sam's lips,
oblivious to Doctor Johnson, standing nearby.

"You know my address," Sam attempted to tease as Owen reluctantly lowered
his fingers.  "I expect to get lotsa letters from you."  He hiccoughed
again and then straightened his shoulders and gave both the doctor and Owen
a tremulous grin.

"Well, I'd better be goin' so I don't embarrass myself any more than I
already have.  I'm sure there'll be plenty of talk as it is."  He looked
past Owen, to where Owen's brother and sisters stood, watching the parting.
Abigail and Opie were clinging to one another.  Jonah stood apart.  At
Sam's glance, he lowered his head, as if he had been caught eavesdropping
on an intimate moment.  Owen's mother snuck a glance over her shoulder, but
turned away at some comment from her husband.

Sam gave the doctor a brief nod and then reached out and quickly squeezed
Owen's shoulder.  After only a few moments he turned and walked away
without looking back.

"We'd better be leaving."  The doctor's voice was soothing and full of
understanding.  Owen heard the engine of his parents pickup start, followed
by the crunch of tires on the gravel road.  He nodded, acknowledging the
doctor's words, and turned to look over his shoulder.  He saw Sam turn the
corner, his head still bowed, leaving him and the doctor alone.  The town
had gone back to being the sleepy place he had always remembered.  The only
sounds were of a rooster crowing in the distance, and the leaves overhead
rustling in the tired breeze.

He hefted his two bags, as he and the doctor headed for the car.  "You'll
look out for 'im, doctor?  Truly?"

Doctor Johnson nodded, wearing a wistful smile.  "Count on it.  He'll be
okay, just as you will."  The doctor gave Owen an understanding grin.
"It's never easy to leave someone you love behind."

"It's not forever, doctor," Owen protested, wondering if his claim were
true.  "Just like you said.  I'll be back.  I . . ."  He hesitated.  "I
can't live without Sam."

The doctor started the car engine and they were off.  "He'll be okay.  You
*both* will be okay.  I'm certain of it."  He glanced across the car and
grinned as Owen sank back into the seat and stared unseeingly out of the
window.


----------


The rest of the day was a blur.  When he said goodbye to the doctor and
stepped onto the waiting bus, he thought he was embarking on an adventure.
By the time he made it to the airport, three hours later, and was waiting
in line to board the airplane, the adventure had gotten old, and he was
dreaming of sitting on the riverbank with Sam.

He was in a totally alien world; picked up and dropped amidst the crowds,
the noise, and worst of all, the realization that he had very little clue
how to get along in the world.  Nothing in his life had prepared him for
what he was experiencing.  By the time his plane arrived and everyone
herded like so many buffalo down the jetway and into the narrow aisle of
the plane, he was almost in tears.

Everyone, it seemed, knew what to do, where to sit, what to say.  They were
all dressed differently from him; they spoke differently.  He felt them
looking at him as he stood, uncertainty showing in every action.  Growing
up in the small town of Riverton, he had never been an outsider.  Now, even
though he was surrounded by crowds of people; for the first time in his
life, he felt totally alone.

'Well,' he thought, swallowing past a lump in his throat which threatened
to overwhelm him.  'Pops once said that sometimes a person has no choice
but to either sink or swim.'  He stuffed his two bags into the overhead
compartments, imitating someone close by, and folded himself into a nearby
seat, squeezing the chair arms tightly.  'I won't allow myself to sink,
especially since it would mean heading home like a whipped dog with my tail
between my legs.  Pops would give me a satisfied smirk which screamed, 'I
knew you'd never make it!'

He looked up when a young lady, no older than he, leaned close and asked
him to fasten his seat belt.  It must have been clear he didn't know what
she meant.  She gave him a friendly smile and showed him what to do.

"Is this your first flight?" she asked, the first friendly face he'd seen
since leaving home.

"Uh, yes . . ."  He ducked his head in an embarrassed nod, trying to smile
as he followed her instructions.  He clicked the buckle into place and
pulled the belt tight.  "Sorry I'm so dumb," he apologized, feeling like
nothing more than a hayseed having blown in on the wind.

She smiled and patted him on the shoulder.  "You're not dumb.  Everyone on
this plane had to learn what to do at some point in their life."  She
leaned closer.  "If there's anything you don't understand, or if you need
something, we're here to help."  She winked and gave him a friendly pat on
the shoulder.  "Don't be shy about asking."

He gave her an uncertain smile and began chewing on his lower lip as the
plane pressurized and moved away from the terminal.  'Oh, Sam,' he thought,
closing his eyes and leaning his head back against the head rest as the
plane accelerated down the runway.  'I wish you were here t'hold my hand.'


----------


"Thanks for your help!"  Lucas closed the door to his new apartment and let
out a gusty sigh, glancing around at the jumble of furniture and
belongings.  "I never knew I had so much junk," he said, aloud.  'It's a
good thing the guys were willing to help me shift all of it from the house,
down here.'

He glanced at his watch and hurried down the short hall.  His father would
be stopping by at any minute.  Lucas had offered to drive him to the
airport before he realized that he'd be moving on the same day.  'Well, no
hope for it,' he thought as he splashed cold water on his face and combed
his hair.  'After all, Dad's giving me this place rent free while I'm in
school.  I shouldn't gripe about taking him to the airport.'


----------


Lucas trailed after his father, moving through the sprawling airport at
breakneck speed, heading for the baggage check in.  They huffed to the end
of the blessedly short line, where Lucas relieved himself of the two large
bags.  He bent at the waist, his hands braced against his knees, and
attempted to catch his breath.

When he stood, a nearby movement caught his eye.  A person, about his own
age, was shaking his head and frowning at another man.  The younger person
clutched a couple of what looked like old gym bags and looked determined.
Lucas couldn't hear their voices, but the older man looked insistent, and
the younger man equally as determined.

After a few more words being exchanged, the older man shook his head in
resignation and walked away, looking over his shoulder once, before turning
a corner and disappearing from sight.

The younger man seemed to deflate, slumping onto a nearby chair and bowing
his head, his bags now puddled at his feet.

'I wonder what *his* story is?'  Lucas wondered.

Neil Horton glanced at his son, with a look of amusement.  Lucas looked
away from the lonely figure as his father spoke.  "A little out of shape,
aren't you?"  He teased as he set his large briefcase at his feet and
straightened, doing his best to suppress his own groan of exhaustion, and
used a handkerchief to wipe away the few drops of rain still clinging to
his glasses.

"Yeah, well, remember, *I'm* the one carrying all your worldly
possessions," Lucas groused, good-naturedly.  "What have you got in there,
anyhow?" He asked, nodding to the two bags.  "You're only heading to
Europe, not the *moon*!"

"Next!"  They both turned as the woman behind the ticket counter shouted
and motioned them forward with an impatient motion of her hand.

"Yes, *ma'am*," Lucas mumbled, hefting the bags and following his father.

He could hear his father's faintly amused voice.  "Be nice, Lucas.  When
the Valkyrie says move, we *move*."  Neil Horton attempted to smile at the
large flashing-eyed woman who could easily have been cast as a Valkyrie,
one of the operatic characters.  All she needed was an appropriate costume.

Lucas grinned to himself, fancying that she probably stowed her helmet,
complete with pointy horns, behind the check-in counter.  She glared at him
as if she could read his thoughts and opened her mouth to speak at the same
moment there was a loud clap of thunder, causing everyone other than the
woman behind the counter to jump.

"Complete with sound effects, too," Lucas mumbled, moving to his father's
side and ignoring the long-suffering look his father cast in his direction.

"Who's next?"  The woman shouted, imperiously motioning to the next person
in line, dismissing Lucas and his father, after rubber stamping Neil's
boarding pass, using a large red-inked stamp which she slammed onto the
pass with an authoritative bang.  Neil grabbed the duly authorized card and
quickly moved away, lest he be ordered to do so. He slid his ticket and
boarding pass into the inside pocket of his coat, and then bent to pick up
his briefcase.

"Have a good trip, Dad."  Lucas hugged his father.  Neil patted his son on
the back and waved a jaunty salute as he headed off toward the boarding
gates.

"Next!"  The distant voice echoed.  "Who's next?"

Lucas shook his head, heaved a sigh of relief, and turned to look around
the largely-empty airport, remembering the excitement he would always
experience as he headed off on a trip.

'Well, no trips for me,' he thought, thrusting his hands into the pockets
of his crisply creased slacks.  'School's going to take up all my time.'
He grinned, as he began crossing the large expanse of floor under the
vaulted skylight.  'At least this year I'll be living near campus and won't
have to take the subway to school every morning.'

The drum of rain, accompanied by another clap of thunder and flash of
lightning shone through the airport's interior, causing him to frown and
glance back toward the check-in counter.  'The roads are going to be hell,'
he thought.  'I'm glad I don't have to get onto an airplane in this
weather!'  He shuddered at the thought, just as he caught sight of the
lonely figure he had seen earlier, now leaning forward, his elbows resting
on his knees and his hands covering his face.  The light blue, slightly
rumpled, shirt which stretched across the guy's broad shoulders, was tucked
into a pair of jeans.  His white tennis shoes were scuffed.

The guy sat up, leaning back in his chair and looked toward the ceiling,
running his fingers through his short blond hair.  He massaged the back of
his neck for a moment before dropping his hand to his sides, looking
totally lost.

Lucas paused, knowing he needed to help and thinking instantly of his
sister, and how she would often tease him for getting involved in other
people's troubles.

"Lucas, the bleeding-heart of the Midwest," she would declare.  "Never
wiling to leave well enough, alone.  Always bringing home a stray of one
sort or another."

She was correct.  His goodhearted overtures had turned out well
. . . mostly, except for his one-time boyfriend, Bailey Wilkins, that is.
He quickly corrected himself.  'We weren't boyfriends.  We grew up
together, and happened to have sex a couple times.'

He wanted to shake his head to drive the thought of Bailey as a boyfriend
from his mind.  Even the thought left a bad taste in his mouth.  Not that
there was anything really *wrong* with Bailey, that a good dose of humility
wouldn't cure.  He *was* sexy, Lucas would readily admit that, though not
in Bailey's presence.  But, Lucas had come to realize being sexually
attractive was not enough.

'The trouble is,' Lucas thought, 'not only am I soft-hearted when it comes
to strays, I'm a pushover for a sexy man.'  It was clear to Lucas that the
man sitting so forlornly on the chair, was not only a person who needed to
hear a kind word, but he also was about as sexy a man as Lucas could ever
remember seeing.

"Excuse me."  Now that Lucas was closer, he felt as if his heart would
break.  The sense of loneliness emanating from the blond haired man was
almost palpable.  'He can't be crying . . . can he?'  The man sat back and
looked up trying to smile a polite inquiry, without much success.  'No,'
Lucas thought, 'not crying, but very nearly.'  He appeared to be exhausted,
and near the end of his emotional rope.  His pale-skinned cheeks were
blotchy and his grey-eyes appeared exhausted.

Lucas sat down and turned to face the stranger.  "If you don't mind my
saying so; you look awful."  The stranger attempted to grin, his grey eyes
brightening slightly as he huffed a silent laugh.  The smattering of faint
freckles on his nose only increased his boyish good looks.

"I have'ta admit, I'm not feelin' very good at the moment."  His voice was
wonderful, a furry sort of tenor, with a hint of an accent Lucas couldn't
place.  The blond wiped his hands over his face and puffed out his cheeks,
before letting his breath out, slowly.  "Truly," he added, as an
afterthought.

Lucas extended his hand in greeting.  The hand enclosing his was
long-fingered, work-roughened, and strong.  The muscles of the guy's arm
flexed as they shook hands, hinting at a strength, no one Lucas knew could
boast of.

"My name's Lucas.  I saw you sitting here and thought you looked like you
needed a friend."  He caught the slight flicker of the blond's eyes at the
word, friend.  The person compressed his lips, but other than a slight jerk
of a nod, remained unresponsive.  "Is there something I can do for you?
Are you here alone?"  Lucas looked around the large room and the few people
moving about.  "Was someone supposed to meet you?  Didn't they show up?
Was that guy I saw you speaking with a few minutes ago, supposed to meet
you?"

He smiled a sheepish smile.  "Sorry, I'm talking so much.  I just hate to
see someone look as unhappy as you.  May I help?"

'There,' he thought with pleasure.  'I've managed to coax a bit of a
smile.'

"I'm Owen," the blond said, a slight flush turning his pale cheeks a light
shade of pink.  "No, I don't know that person."  He looked in the direction
the man had taken and then back to Lucas.  "He wanted me . . .  Well, I
don't know him, and asked him to leave me alone."  Once more, his eyes
flicked in the direction the man had taken.

"So . . . to answer your question, no, no one was supposed t'meet me."  The
smile faded.  "I'm alone."  He looked away in an attempt to hide his
thoughts.

'More than just a hint of an accent,' Lucas thought, loving the way Owen's
voice seemed to wrap him in a comfortable blanket.

"This is the first time I've been away from home."  He made a vague
gesture.  "I'm finding everything to be so . . . big . . . so, different.
There are so many people . . . here . . . on the airplane."  He paused.
"Everywhere!"

Lucas followed Owen's gaze around the sparsely filled airport, and
gestured.  "Do you consider this a lot of people?"  Owen gave him a
hesitant nod and smiled, a pair of dimples making their appearance.

"Yes.  For me, it is."  He sighed and leaned back in his seat, his
long-fingered hands absently rubbing over the front of his jeans.  "I tell
you, Lucas.  This has been the roughest day of my life.  I don't have a lot
of experience with . . ."  He paused and gave Lucas a chagrined smile.  "I
don't have a whole lot of experience with anything.  Y'see, I've never been
more than sixty-miles away from home . . . a town of less than two hundred
people.  But, *I* wanted to be a student at a big university, so here I
am."  He made a vague gesture and then ran his fingers through his short
hair.  "I'm overwhelmed.  Truly."

He seemed to retreat into a deep thought.  "I don't know why I'm tellin'
you all this."  Another flick to where the man disappeared.  "I wouldn't
have told *him* anything about me."  Lucas wondered if he detected a slight
shudder . . . of what?  Revulsion?

Both Lucas and Owen looked up at the skylight and another flash of
lightning.  "I guess I should have planned better," Owen continued with a
resigned sigh.  "But, *how*?"  He heaved a half-hearted shrug and bowed his
head.  "I don't know.  I guess I imagined I'd just . . . figure things out
as they happened."  He huffed a tired laugh.  "I just never imagined
there'd be so many things needing tending to.  Now," he continued.  "I'm
here.  It's raining.  I don't have any idea how to get from here to
*there*, and even if I did, it's the middle of the night.  Besides, I'm not
really sure where *there* is, and I'm more tired n' I can ever recall
being.  So . . . so much for figurin' things out."

He tried to grin in Lucas' direction, and then bowed his head.  "I'm pretty
much of a mess," aren't I?"

"You say you're going to be a student at the university?"  Lucas asked.
Owen nodded, still not raising his head.

"Been a dream of mine since I knew what a university was.  I wanted to go
to someplace big."  Another silent huff of a laugh.  "My high school
teacher suggested I go here."  He looked up, as if the university might
somehow materialize in front of him.  "I got a good scholarship, and pretty
much figured that was all I needed to do, other than study, and things.
Somehow, I never imagined everything else.  I mean, *hell*, just gettin'
here has been . . . a challenge.  I hate to think what might be heading my
way."  He barked a dispirited laugh.  "All of this, just so I could find
myself and grow into what I know I can be."  He shook his head.  "Stupid of
me is all I can say.  If m'father was here, I wouldn't have to be sayin'
it.  He'd be sayin' it for me."

"I take it your folks didn't want you to come to school?"  Owen shrugged.

"Yeah.  They're good people, but they don't want to do anything new.  No
one they know has ever moved away from town, therefore no one ever
*should*!"  He leaned back.  "After today, I'm beginnin' to see why they
think like that."  He immediately corrected himself.  "Ah, hell.  I don't
mean that.  I shouldn't be talkin' bad about them.  It's just . . . It's
just that I'm so exhausted, is all.  Just not thinkin' straight, I guess."

"Would you let me help you out?" Lucas asked.  Owen looked up.  "I hope I'm
not being like that guy who spoke with you earlier.  If I am, just tell me
to shut up and get lost."  When Owen didn't say anything, Lucas continued.

"I'm a student at the university, also.  In fact, I've got a place right
across the street from the school.  Why don't you let me give you a ride to
my place, and you can stay there until you find a place of your own."  He
smiled at Owen's suddenly hopeful smile.  "If you're not comfortable coming
to my place, we can find you a hotel to stay at.  At least that way you'll
be away from the airport and closer to school."

"Truly?  You'd do that for me?  I mean, we just met!"  The transformation
was almost embarrassing in its intensity.

"Since leavin' home I've only met one person other n' you, who seemed to
care enough 'bout me to even *talk*."  He turned to Lucas.  "I accept.
Yes!  Thank you!  If you're sure, your place would be wonderful!"


----------


The drive home through the heavy rain wasn't nearly as bad as Lucas had
feared, primarily because he was amused at Owen's amazed reaction to
everything he saw.  He would crane his neck in an attempt to see the top of
each tall building they passed, and never failed to be amazed by the number
of people scurrying through the rain on the largely empty sidewalks.
Finally, he sat back and was quiet, seemingly unable to think of any more
superlatives.  Still, his eyes seemed to drink in everything he saw.

His naivete was endearing as much as his accent, both totally unlike the
fake worldliness Lucas disliked about many of his friends.  Owen had
obviously come from a totally different environment.

He fancied taking Owen to meet his sister, Allison, and could almost
imagine her expression when he announced.  "Look what I found, Allison.
Isn't he gorgeous?  Can I keep him?"  He smiled, thinking of how she would
roll her eyes, and probably make some quip about bringing home strays.
Even so, he was sure Allison would find Owen as refreshingly intriguing as
he.

"You're smiling," Owen said, turning toward him in the flickering shadows
of the traffic lights.  "Did I say something wrong?  I'm sure I sound like
a farm boy, compared to your friends.  There's no denying it though; that's
what I am."

Lucas took his eyes from the road and saw Owen's worried look.

"No, you've done nothing wrong.  I was just thinking how . . . refreshing
. . . you are."  He smiled.  "I like how you sound.  Your voice is
. . . soothing.  Has anyone ever told you that?"  Lucas would rather have
said that he felt as if he could become lost in that wonderful voice; how
he would like to wrap himself in it just as much as he would like to wrap
Owen in his arms and not let go.

Owen turned to look out the side window of the car.  "Yes," he murmured, in
a voice barely heard over the traffic noise and sound of rain drumming on
the car's windshield.  "Yes, someone has told me that before."

"Well," Lucas paused, wondering what could possibly be wrong.  "I agree
with her . . . him."

"Him," Owen supplied before lapsing into silence.

Thankfully, they were nearly to his apartment.  Owen seemed to have totally
shut down, not talking or looking out the window, or asking questions.

"Are you homesick?"

Owen turned to him with a wan smile.  "No, not really.  Home was okay, but
I've always wanted to get away.  I'm just . . ." He shrugged before turning
and looking out of the window at the mirror-like sidewalks.  The
combination of the rain, reflections, and low hanging clouds imparted a
dream-like quality to their drive.  "I don't know what I'm feelin'.  Like I
said a bit ago, I'm just totally exhausted."

"You seem sad.  Did you have to leave a girlfriend behind?"

"No," Owen answered.  "No girlfriend."  He met Lucas' eyes and grinned,
once again becoming the impressed tourist as Lucas pulled into the parking
garage of his apartment.

"Is this where you live?" He asked, looking around the garage.  "I mean, I
know you don't live in the parking lot, but, the building above us is
huge!"  Lucas chuckled and slapped Owen on the back, picking up one of his
surprisingly light bags.  He motioned in the direction they were to take.

"Actually, I just moved my stuff here earlier this afternoon," Lucas
answered, as they stepped into the elevator lobby and he pressed the call
button.  He noticed Owen studying his every motion.  "So, I guess I would
have to say that I haven't actually lived here *yet*.  I haven't even
hardly moved in and I'm having a house guest," he smiled, gesturing Owen
into the elevator.

Owen gingerly stepped into the elevator cab and looked around.  "Today's a
day of firsts," he murmured.

"Never been in an elevator before?"  Owen shook his head wearing an
embarrassed smile.

"I've hardly done anything."  He watched, wide eyed as the elevator door
closed and they began their ascent to the fifth floor apartment.  "You must
truly think I've come from the back of beyond.  No town I've ever been in,
until today that is, has an elevator."  He shook his head in wonder.
"Amazing."


----------


"Son."  Sam's father stepped out of the house and onto the front porch of
the house, a troubled expression on his face.  "Ya doin' better?"  Sam
shrugged a response, not looking up.  He wanted to be alone.  His father
continued speaking.  "You been moping around ever since Owen left."  Henry
Bridgers' deep voice seemed puzzled.  "It ain't normal, a guy acting like
you are."

Even though his father's words were said in kindness, it was too much for
Sam to take.  He pushed himself off of the porch railing where he'd been
sitting and faced his father, shaking with sudden fury.  Henry's eyes
widened at the look on his son's face.

"Then I guess I'm not normal.  D'you hear me?  I'm not normal.  I've never
been normal, and I never will *be* normal!  Make whatever you want out of
*that*!"  Rather than maneuver around his father, in order to take the
steps, he vaulted the railing and began to walk away, his hands clenched
into fists at his sides.  After taking less than a dozen steps, he turned
back to his father, whose mouth was hanging open in surprise.

"Wherever Owen is, is where *I* want to be, not stuck here where there's no
future.  He's always had the right of it.  Get out as fast as possible and
don't look back!  He asked me t'go with him.  I only wish I had!"

"Sam!" Henry Bridgers called.  He was answered by nothing more than an
angry wave in the air, and the sight of his son's retreating back, fading
into the darkness.  When it became obvious that Sam wasn't going to
immediately return, Henry muttered to himself and walked back inside with a
stuttering step, closing the screen door behind him.

The town seemed abandoned as Sam walked down Main Street, his hands stuffed
into the pockets of his baggy shorts.  In the days since Owen had left, he
felt adrift.  Very little seemed to have any importance.  He sighed as he
stepped off the end of the concrete sidewalk and turned towards the river.

His father was right about one thing.  He couldn't go on as he had been.
Owen wasn't here; *he* was.  He could only hope that Owen would come back,
or that he would find some way to join Owen, but until either of those
things happened he would have to carry on.

But . . . 'oh, what I'd give to hear Owen's laughter, and be able to hold
him.'

Sam paused and looked over his shoulder toward the darkened building which
held Doctor Johnson's office.  'Tomorrow,' he vowed.  'I'm gonna go see the
doc and take him up on his offer to help me out.'  He looked back in the
direction he'd come and shook his head.  'I'm not goin' home; not tonight.'
He headed for the river, the half-moon casting pale flickering highlights
on the leaves overhead.  The night birds rustled and chattered from time to
time, while the dancing specks of firefly light danced in front of him,
heedless of his anxiety.  He slowed and looked up at the sky and its thick
spread of stars, through the leafy canopy, inhaling the smell of damp earth
and night blooming flowers.

He paused a moment to wipe a spider's web away from his face with a frown
and an irritated swipe of his hand.  A moment later he gasped in surprise
as he slipped on a rock and sank knee deep into the shallows at the river's
edge.

"Damn," he muttered, sharply inhaling, feeling the sudden cold of the water
against his bare legs.  'Good thing Owen's not here.  He'd be hootin' with
laughter.'  He paused to consider what he'd just thought, and shook his
head.

'There's no pleasin' me, is there?  One minute I'm wishing for him to be
back, the next I'm glad he's not here to see me wadin' in the water.'  The
night sounds ceased as he awkwardly splashed to the bank, grasping a low
hanging branch to help pull himself out of the river.  Once on dry land, he
collapsed on the grassy embankment with his arms stretched wide, staring at
the silent specks of light.

"Shouldn't'a talked to the Old Man, like I did," he groaned aloud, feeling
guilty about his recent confrontation with his father.  'I'm just missin'
Owen so.'

He propped himself up on his elbows and made a face as he contemplated his
sodden pants and shoes.  'Well,' he thought to himself as he stood and
peeled off his clothes.  'I'm not headin' home tonight, so I might as well
get out of these.'  He used his shirt as a towel, rubbing his legs and feet
dry, and then hung the clothes over a bush to dry in the warm, late-summer
night air.

He walked back to the center of the moon-dappled meadow, stretched and
yawned, arching his back and slowly twisted from side to side while
thrusting his hips forward.  The muscles of his bare butt flexed, and those
of his shoulders and arms stood out.

The thoughts of being naked, and the caress of the gentle breeze over his
bare skin caused his cock to began to thicken.

He sank onto the soft carpet of green and lay back, lacing his fingers
together behind his head, grinning as he looked at the stars hanging in the
black sky.  Owen had once confidently told him that there had to be at
least four hundred stars.  They'd been sitting in this very meadow,
back-to-back, still too young to know what being in love meant, but knowing
they *had* to be together.

His grin blossomed into a smile.  'We must have been at least six years
old,' Sam thought.  'Course, I believed him!'  He chuckled in the darkness,
and then quieted.  They were no longer children unsure what their feelings
toward one another were.  They were young men, and now, after coming to
realize their depth of feeling toward one another . . . they were no longer
together.

He tightly closed his eyes, willing himself not to cry.  Owen wouldn't cry.
Owen was always so strong, so self-assured.

His penis responded to the gentle puff of breeze and to the recalled warmth
of Owen's body, lying next to him on the grass.  They'd spent many warm
nights at one another's side in this meadow, Owen holding him close, his
arm draped over Sam's chest.

The thought of Owen's naked body filled his imagination.  The last time
they'd been together was made all the more poignant because they both knew
they would be parted the following morning.  He'd tried to memorize
everything he could about that night, while feeling Owen's warmth, but time
ran out.  He compressed his lips.  'No,' he thought.  'Time continued on,
oblivious to his wishes; but his time with Owen, at least until some
indefinite future, ended on that night, lying on the grass, surrounded by
the heady smell of the night blooming flowers.  Yes,' he thought to
himself, recalling Owen's weight on top of him, the feeling of his friend's
tongue in his mouth, and erection penetrating his hole.  'Time went on,
just like Owen, leaving me behind, and feeling abandoned.'

Sam heaved a sigh, disgusted with himself.  'Dad is right.  I've *got* to
pull myself together and get on with my life.  I can't mope around like
this for the next four years.  Owen's done what's best for him.  I have to
do what's best for me.'  With this realization, it seemed as if a weight
had been lifted from his shoulders.  'Tomorrow, I'm gonna see Doc Johnson.
Together, we can figure out what sort of future I should aim for.'

His eyes stared unseeingly into the night.  'Owen'll be back.  We'll be
together.'

He yawned.  The air was soft with warmth, the thick grass smelled of
new-mown hay, and the fireflies wove dizzying patterns overhead, vying with
the stars for attention.  Dreams began to waft through his mind.

'If only . . .'

He slept.

He could hear Owen's voice, urging him to hold onto his hand and not worry
about falling back into the river.  He seemed to always be wet . . . always
being rescued by Owen, the boy who had his hand in a vice-like grip.

"C'mon skinny," Owen laughed.  "Put some muscle into it!"  He pulled at the
same time Sam found firm footing, bent his knees and pushed off.  He
laughed at Owen's surprised look, and then landed on top of his friend with
a wet squish.

Owen responded to being knocked onto his back with a startled expelled puff
of breath.  "Ouff!"  A moment later he realized he was both wet and muddy.

"Ewww," he teased.  "Now, *I'm* all wet, too."  He laughed at Sam's
expression.  He was as surprised at landing on top of Owen as much as his
friend.

Sam began to roll off.

"Don't," Owen murmured, wrapping his arms around Sam and holding tightly.
The two boys stared into the other's eyes, feeling each breath the other
took.  Owen's grey eyes no longer sparkled with mischief.  His pale skin
was flushed, and surprisingly Sam could feel Owen's penis thicken beneath
him.  He blinked at Owen, unsure of his emotions.

The moments ticked on and neither boy moved.

"I love you, Sam," Owen murmured, tearing his eyes away from Sam's.  "I
just now realized how much."  He returned to Sam's brown eyes and tried not
to grin at his friend's muddy, wet-dog appearance.  A drop of water dripped
off of Sam's chin, landing on Owen's neck.  He could feel the small drop
make a trail down his neck until it was finally absorbed by the collar of
his shirt.  "Don't hate me for how I feel, please.  I can't help it."

"Shhh."  The corners of Sam's lips tweaked into the barest hint of a smile
a moment before he relaxed and touched Owen's lips with his own, for the
first time.

'This is what I've always wanted,' Sam sighed to himself, as he parted his
lips and welcomed Owen's tongue.  'I never knew what it was I needed.'  He
felt a tremor course through his body.  'Now, I know.'

"There's something I have to do," Owen murmured, loosening his embrace and
gently moving Sam off him, rolling him onto his back.  Owen got on his
knees and hurriedly stripped off his shirt, and unzipped his shorts,
pushing them along with his underwear down to his knees, and then kicking
them off, kneeling next to Sam, his young erection bobbing in front of him.

Sam watched wide-eyed as Owen reached out and began to unfasten the buttons
of his sodden shirt, exposing his smooth chest.  "Oooh," Owen cooed as he
leaned forward and began nibbling on one of Sam's nipples.  "You're even
better'n I imagined."  He helped Sam struggle out of his shirt and then
reached for the zipper of Sam's muddy shorts.

By now, both boys were trembling with anticipation.  They were letting
instinct carry them forward.  Neither had ever been with anyone else.

Sam raised his hips as Owen tugged his shorts off and threw them aside.
"Oh, Sam," Owen whispered, leaning close to Sam's ear.  "You are so
handsome."

"I look like somethin' muddy, the cat drug in," Sam chuckled.  "Don't try
to fool me."  Owen smiled and tenderly caressed Sam's throbbing erection.

"I think you look perfect."  He ran his hand down the length of Sam's
erection, pausing at its base.  "Just perfect."  Owen seemed to concentrate
on Sam's cock.  "I love it that you don't have much hair," he murmured.
"Just like my dreams of you."

"Really?"  Sam managed, trying to raise his head and look toward his groin.
"I . . ."  The words trailed off.

"I love it," Owen murmured, beginning to work his way over Sam's chest and
belly, heading for his friend's erection.  "Truly."

Sam watched, amazed, as Owen seemed to examine his erection and then slowly
covered its head with his mouth.  "Oh geez," he sighed, laying back and
surrendering himself to the new sensations.  "Oh geez. . ."

The warmth of Owen's mouth surrounded his erection while his fingers gently
pulled on his scrotum.

"Ohhhh, Owen," he sighed, reaching out to his sides and grasping at the
thick blades of grass.  His eyes widened as a tingling sensation spread
from his prostate outward.

"I . . ."  He gasped for a breath.  "I'm gonna shoot, Owen," he managed to
choke out, a moment before his orgasm overtook him.  He arched his back,
thrusting himself deeper into Owen's mouth, and pulsed his sperm into his
friend's mouth.  Owen had made a slight choking sound, but had swallowed it
all.

The night sounds abruptly quieted as Sam shouted out in his dream, and then
slowly resumed when he seemed to drift into a dreamless sleep.

Above him, the fireflies flickered and danced above his closed eyes, and
the upward turn of his lips.


~ to be continued ~


Thank you for taking the time to read my work.  I *always* welcome your
email and enjoy hearing your thoughts.  If you would like me to send you a
pic of the character(s), please ask.


My other stories on Nifty include:
Phalen  (located in the Gay College Section)
Phalen - Finding Happiness   (Gay College Section)
Chris   (Gay College Section)
Leith   (Gay College Section)
Owen   (Gay College Section
Wesley   (Adult Relationships Section)
Jess (Soon to be in the Gay Incest Section)

I hope you enjoy them all.


Roy Reinikainen
roynm@mac.com