Date: Wed, 7 Apr 2004 07:09:05 -0400
From: sleeper029 <sleeper029@hotpop.com>
Subject: The Writer (Part 2)

Disclaimer: The story below may contain erotic situations between
consenting male adults. I urge you to stop if you find this
offensive. Ditto for those breaking any laws by reading it.

The story is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and
incidents are the product of my imagination or are used
fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons is entirely
coincidental. No part of the story may be used or reproduced
without my permission.

Shout out to those who bothered to email and told me their
interest in the story. It certainly motivated me to try harder in
part 2. Thanks. Your comments were invaluable.

The Writer
Part 2

     I haven't written a story before. I don't know if admitting
it is a good idea to start one. But there's no going back for me.
The backspace key doesn't work. No worries though. Shakespeare
did fine with a typewriter. I'm sure I can deal with this ghetto
PC.

     "Hey John," I called out to my roommate across the room, "If
you write a story, how you start?"

     He scratched his head, "You writing a story?"

     "Yup," My pen hovered over a pad, "I was thinking 'once upon
a time dot dot dot.'"

     "Can you be quiet for a sec?" John stood still studying his
desk. Then he grabbed a pamphlet from a file of papers and
stuffed it in his obese bag.

     "John... Hello? Any ideas?"

     "Try - The sun rose above the mountains spreading crimson
color in the sky."

     "What was that?" I started scribbling, "The sunflower in the
mountains spread across the crimson tide... in the sky?"

     John made a face, which I can translate to "Haha. I'd like
to laugh, but it's not funny right now. But I don't want you to
think it's not funny. You know, I'm a big fan of your sense of
humor and this old shtick we do."

     "I have to go," he smacked his gym bag and hung another bag
over his shoulders, "Got wrestling practice and then off to the
library to study my ass off." He paused and braced for my
comeback line.

     Must come up with a funny response. Good luck studying your
ass? Too gay. Opps - time's up!

     "Later, Scott," he smiled and left me.

     John is my bestest bud. Got mad respect for him. He's an
average wrestler but he is super smart. I want some of his
intelligence to rub off on me. His name resides permanently in
the Dean's List. I don't even bother asking his GPA. He's
horribly embarassed by it. By the way, it was he who told me the
library's location.

      "It's the tallest building in the campus!" It only took him
seven words with extra rolls on both eyes.

     I do brag about that one time I beat him in spelling bee. He
misspelled the word "deliberate" and everyone gasped. I felt so
sorry for him. The genius had disappointed practically everyone.
That's tough. However, I ended up winning and it couldn't happen
at a better time since my dog died two days before.

     When John congratulated me, he barely said a word but his
smile told me everything. We found out what it felt to be in each
other's places. Since then, we've been tight. He can easily get
an A+ in Scott 101, but he doesn't know about my ... you know.
There are tough prerequisites involved before I can tell him
about it.

     I haven't seen Anthony since the window display. I do regret
taking off. It was free after all. I looked him up in chat rooms,
checked the library after Macro ... not there. Instead, I saw a
bunch of bookworms putting their filthy shoes atop our table. I
nearly had a heartattack.

     At nights, I address my thoughts to him, asking for an
answer or a sign, at least, as to why he is not showing up in my
life. I want a reason for my existence. It's driving me nuts. He
must know I think of him all the time. He's surely aware that
it's killing me. If this is not pure evil, then I don't know what
is. He's probably out there in the real world, doing his own
thing. Possibly paying more attention to a more deserving
character in another story. What does he want with me? I've got a
dick for a brain.

     I think I'm still worth something. The dick might command me
but the last time I checked I still got a brain. I'm going to
write me a story. (That's why I was asking John for help). At
least, I assure you, this one wouldn't suck like the first one.
I'll be one of those guys who makes a fist in the air and think
something strong like - A guy with super powers of mind-reading,
invisibility, and above all, boyish good looks, is NOT going to
be the end of me!!!

     Don't fidget in your seat. You're in good hands of an
amateur. Honestly now, tell me how you can carry on without me. I
AM the story. What if Anthony wrote the last one? What if he can
read my mind? Shit, I can read, write, AND own my mind. It's more
economical if the story came straight from its source.

     I know I can do this. Don't be underestimating. I've got
ideas waiting to burst. Got my Red Bull with me. Usher is playing
on Winamp. (Should I listen to Picasso instead?) I just need a
... story. (Pssst story! That's your cue).

     Toc. Toc. Toc.

     A gentle tapping on the door caused my head to rotate,
disrupting my parked train of thought.

     "Coming," said I as I ventured towards the door. I rubbed my
chin and pondered as to who might be interrupting me at this hour
of importance. I longed for my dear sweet Anthony to materialize
behind the portal. I straightened my posture and elegantly swung
the door open like a well-mannered gent.

     Well, fuck me! It's the gorgeous guy from the library aka
Black Shirt and he don't def'ny deserve mah fancee tawk. I almost
didn't recognize him with a red T-shirt with white stripes and a
blue Tommy Hilfigger jacket.

     "Hello. You're Scott Burke?" I detected a slight accent that
is both sincere and sexy, but I must keep telling myself he's a
piece of shit. He is still the villain, if I plan to keep my hero
status.

     "Yeah. Who are you?" I got my tough-guy-Sopranos attitude
down. I can't keep referring to him as Black Shirt anyway and no
way in hell I'd call him White Stripes.

     "Mathieu. I'm looking..."

     "Matthew?"

     "Mathieu. M-A-T-H-I-E-U."

     "Ah," You don't fucking spell out your name to a spelling
champ but I smiled anyway, "Mathieu. Gotcha."

     "Good. I'm looking for somebody. I think his name is
Anthony."

     "Uhm - what is this about?"

     "So you do know him?"

     The dude answers a question with a question. I cleared my
throat, "What is this about?"

     "Perhaps this might look familiar," he takes out Anthony's
notebook from his bag. I simply stood there and stared at it.

     "Isn't it yours?" I didn't realize he was handing it to me.

     "No - " Shoot, those are my words, "It is mine. Thanks." I
instantly flipped to the last page. The last line remained the
same:

     But then he slowed down when my mind began to draw blank.

     "That's how I found you. I read the story even though it's
not done. It's good so far. I'd like to know what came after."

     "You don't want to know," I glared him at the thought of the
ending. He stared back scared.

     "Come in," I told him on a friendly note, but when I closed
the door behind him, I went for the kill, "You must have stalked
a lot of guys. There are a lot of Scotts around."

     "Yes, but um - I know somebody in your Macro class and I
know James."

     "James..." Van Der Beek? Gandolfini? Earl Jones? Town?

     "He's in the wrestling team."

     "Oh Jimbo!"

     "Uh sure - that's him," he said with doubt, "So you know
where Anthony is at?"

     Ah, I see he is getting straight to the point. What, no
friendly chitchat?

     "How did you get the notebook?" How about that question for
a question!

     "Anthony left it behind when he took off," he cleared his
throat, "Look, if you don't know where he is, just tell me. You
got your notebook back. All I ask for..."

     "How was it when you fucked him?" I can go straight to the
point too.

     "Uh - you two boyfriends?" he was backing away, approaching
the door, "Look, I didn't know that. He came on to me."

     "Just tell me everything and I'll tell you where he is."

     "I - uhm - I... No, it's okay."

     "Pretty please, with sugar on top. You want me to suck your
cock?" I had cornered him and I was ready to shove.

     "All right! We kissed a lot. He pulled away and made me
chase him. I thought we were playing a game. We stopped by a
window. I started unbuttoning his shirt and you know ... we ...
you know."

     "No, I don't."

     His sneaky hand tried to pull the doorknob but my hand
leaned and closed the gaping door.

     "We didn't do it, I swear. I wanted to, but he was scared.
So I promised him I wouldn't put it in but I requested that we,
at least, uhm - what's the word - simulate the movement."

     What a nervous wreck, and my gut told me to believe him, "So
you made the most out of playing his nipples and devouring his
neck?"

     Mathieu's eyes were open wide, "Yes. He told you?"

     "How did it end?"

     "He saw a kid ran over on the parking lot. He pushed me,
pulled his pants up, and ran away."

     With both arms, I grabbed his head and gave him a long and
very wet kiss. I was so happy. Silly Anthony. Always running
away.

     He looked stunned and happy, "You're wel...come." I think he
has a crush on me.

     "Aight. My turn to tell the truth," I said quickly, "I have
no darn clue where he is."

     "Oh," he didn't even look upset. Smile was frozen on his
face and then it melted, "I might have an idea where he is."

     Ding! I had an idea too.

     "Don't say it. Don't say it." I shoved my hand on his mouth.
I couldn't hear myself think. But maybe that's good.

     "Take me to him ... mais nous serons trŠs silencieux. Vous
conduisez et je fermerai mes yeux. Je sais c'est ‚trange, mais
vous devez me fier. Hocher si vous consentez," I am not even sure
if I'm butchering the language. My apologies to the French.
     His eyebrows were suspended in discomfort. Was he trying to
understand my babbling or he thinks I'm a weirdo? Nevertheless,
he nodded, "But on one condition... je vous regarde et lui."

     He winked.

     "Uh... deal!" What the hell did I agree to? Now, he's
calling the shots.

     "Follow me," Mathieu led the way to his car. It was getting
dark. The sun was drowning in the sky's crimson tide. (Daymn -
John would have been proud of me with that sentence). Nobody was
around in the parking lot. Mathieu had parked near the woods,
where the university may afford to put a lamppost but can't
afford a functioning light bulb with it.

     I sat on the back seat but Mathieu tried to lay me down. I
kept telling him my legs wouldn't fit unless the car doors were
open. He rolled his eyes and sat on the driver's seat. He started
the car, set the radio station to smooth jazz and took out a tie,
which I recognized to be Anthony's, from the glove compartment.
He then joined me in the back and told me he likes it when the
car vibrates a little. The silky tie slithered around his neck
and eventually found itself wrapped around my eyes. Mathieu told
me to relax. I told him that I'd beat the shit out of him if he
does something funny. I hoped nothing dramatic either.

     He lifted my shirt. After that, I felt fingertips touching
my body... very very lightly. Then the touch upgraded to caresses
... massaging hands ... relaxing the chest and abs. It felt ...
aaaaahhh. Why do I even waste my energy describing this in words?
Smart John would not even bother. In seven words, he will get it
right. "You have to feel this for yourself."

     Mathieu's cool tongue descended on my nipple. I cringed at
first, but I was seduced eventually. Wet circles. The warmth of
his breath. Then his vacuum of a mouth. What an accomplished
sucker he is... made me wonder at what age did Mathieu's mom
stopped breastfeeding him. He seemed to have years of experience.

     "You have to feel this for yourself," said the nipple to the
cock.

     Blood emptied from my head and rushed to my cock standing
erect. The less I make sense, the more I talk like a penis. My
pants were unzipped and wala - invisible underwear, the same ones
porn stars wear.

     Lickity-lick-lick-lick.
     Wet rings atop my dick.
     I moaned and groaned.
     I twitched and kicked.
     Mathieu, you blow.
     Don't you let go!

     "Ahhh," Mathieu expressed as if he had gulped a refreshing
soda. I started to swallow. I was thirsty myself. From the AC
vent, I felt a cool breeze surrround my cock. I guess that's
refreshing too. Then the engine died and the music stopped.

     "Let's go," Mathieu nudged me to get out of the car. I
removed the tie and blinked in darkness. I got out of my car and
followed Mathieu, who already began walking. What the -

     "Quick, it's getting late. He might not be there anymore,"
he said. Fuck - am I not allowed to have orgasm anymore? Why does
this keep happening to me? I'm a good person. This is surreal
d‚j... vu... with a French guy! Oh this is just grrrreat!

     We arrived at the tallest building in the campus.  A weird
ammonia smell attacked my nostrils. Mathieu approached the lady
on the front desk. I couldn't hear what they were saying, but the
lady checked her chart and pointed the way towards the elevator.

     "Hurry," Mathieu was walking fast. We dived into the
elevator before it closed. A couple of guys in white coats gave
us a look. Mathieu and I flashed them goofy grins and jumped out
the moment the doors opened on the third floor.

     Third floor. North wing. Haven't we been here before? We
passed by the familiar rows of bookcases. I am beginning to doubt
Mathieu at this point. If Anthony were to hide from me, then he
certainly wouldn't be here. Even if he were, he would have left
by now because he'll know I'm coming.

     When we reached the wall, I couldn't believe my eyes. It's
the sight of Anthony sitting on a chair. His eyes were closed and
his hand upon a bulge in his pants. Something jolted him awake
and was stunned to see Mathieu and me in the same room.

     Anthony looked down at the sleeping patient in front of him,
to make sure it's not a table. His eyes quickly scanned the room
to assure himself he was still inside a hospital, not the campus
library. He looked at me bewildered and I winked back.

     Gotcha.

     His adorable face was eaten by shock. He opened his mouth
but sounds are too frightened to come out. He only managed to
rise from his seat and my head told me to run. I just pulled a
big one and I knew he'd want to know how I managed to track him
down.

     "Wait. Scott," he finally cried out.

     I ran towards the end of the corridor, dodging wheelchairs
and oh yeah, sick people. I wanted him to feel "it." I wanted him
to feel what it's like to be left behind. I wanted him to run
with a mind freshly bashed. Let him wonder and wander in this
hospital, like the way I did in the library. To read about it is
not even close to experiencing it. How do you like it, Anthony?
Seven words, man. You have to feel it for yourself.

     I opened the side door and rolled down the stairs. Seconds
later, I saw Anthony burst out the same door and I caught him. He
didn't realize I didn't actually go down the stairs. I was
waiting behind the door. His eyes were hysterical. His arms were
shaking.

     "I-I thought you've r-rolled the down t-the stairs. You
tricked me!" he said and embraced me.

     "Hey, it's okay," I tried to calm him down, "I won't really
leave you. I'm not as mean as you."

     He shoved my shoulders in playful contempt. I chuckled so he
knew there were no hard feelings and to release us from the
tension built. He smiled back, the same smile I saw on John's
face when I won the spelling bee. Yeah, I guess, Anthony and I
did swapped places too.

     "I should have known you were up to something. You were
speaking French. What the hell did you tell him?"

     "Uh..." I wanted to laugh, "Take me to him, but we will be
quiet. You drive and I will close my eyes. I know it's weird, but
you've got to trust me. Nod if you agree... Well, I don't know if
I really said that in French but you get the idea."

     "Oh shit," Anthony was beginning to understand, "Close your
eyes? Be quiet? You were daydreaming. You fed me thoughts of lies
while you hid the reality that Mathieu was driving you to me."

     "Can a figment of imagination HAVE a figment of
imagination?" I said sarcastically.

     "So Mathieu didn't really blow you, right?" He begged for
some piece of mind.

     "Uh," I liked the feeling that he's jealous, "Did you hear
me rhyme? That should've given it away!"

     We laughed our toned asses off.

     "You're fucking brilliant," he gave me a big kiss in the
mouth and then he froze, "What was the one condition?"

     "You won't believe this," I scratched my head and then
whispered in his ear, "I promise he can watch us... play?"

     Anthony faked a laugh, mismatched by his worried face.

     "I don't care about that, really," I told him, "I won't
force you into anything. I am just glad I have you back. I really
am. Tell me we're okay."

     He smirked, took my left hand, and pulled me back to the
corridor.

     "I was so pissed when you ran the freshman over. That was
just wrong!" he cried as we headed back, "I felt responsible. I
wanted to punish you. You just don't hurt someone because he's
simply a character."

     "Oh, like the way you hurt me!" It was supposed to sound
funny but it hit him in the gut.

     He squeezed my hand hard, "Wow. You're on a roll, mister.
I'm sorry, okay? But don't do that again. I should have not told
you."

     "Considering how things worked out, I'm glad you did," I
opened the door and we entered the room smiling. How romantic
that we shared a secret that the whole...

     "I'M JUST A CHARACTER?" Mathieu yelled. He had another
notebook in his hand and shock had eaten another face. Thank
goodness the freshman patient was still sound asleep.

     "What is he holding?" I asked Anthony in my head.

     "The rest of the first story and then some."

     D'oh!


... To be continued...

Questions? Thoughts? Comments? Advice? I want to know which parts
of the story are in need of more explanation. That way, I can
address them in the future.

Sleeper029@hotpop.com