Date: Wed, 9 Oct 2013 16:26:19 -0400
From: Ronyx <ronyx@woh.rr.com>
Subject: Birds Don't Sing Before a Storm   Chapter 7

The following is a work of fiction. Any similarities to anyone are purely
coincidental. The story is intended for a mature audience. It may contain
profanity and references to gay sex. If this offends you, please leave and
find something more suitable to read. The author maintains all rights to
the story. Do not copy or use without written permission. Write
ronyx@themustardjar.com with your comments. Ronyx is a prolific Nifty
author. Visit my personal website at www.themustardjar.com for more
stories.


Birds Don't Sing Before a Storm     Chapter 7


"Can we fix dinner again like we did before?" Lane was bouncing around the
kitchen on his tiptoes with an excited look on his face.

I opened the refrigerator door, took out a carton of milk and poured us
both a glass. I then went to the cupboard, removed a box of Animal
Crackers, and placed them on the counter. After sitting down, I reminded
Lane, "That didn't go over very well the last time. Except for your mother,
no one even touched it."

"I know," he replied, "But it was still fun."

I let out a sigh. I knew making dinner would again turn out to be a
disaster. I didn't know my father's schedule. He would probably work late,
and then he would go straight to his room as he normally does when he comes
home.

Preparing anything for Rodney and Curtis was futile. I think they would
rather eat the remains in the cat's litter box than eat anything I
cooked. After the exchange in the gym, I was rather sure of it. However,
Lane seemed excited about doing it, and it was becoming increasing more
difficult to say no to him.

"Okay," I said. He let out a scream and clapped his hands together. I
walked over to the refrigerator to see what was available. I discovered a
five-pound rump roast in the meat compartment. I assumed that Karen was
planning to prepare it for dinner soon.

"Voile!" I held it up and showed Lane what I had found.

He asked excitedly, "What is it?" I explained it was a nice piece of pork,
and that we would have to find a cookbook with a recipe since I had never
cooked one before.

He jumped from his seat, ran over to a drawer and pulled out one of his
mother's cookbooks. He asked as he handed me the book, "Does this have a
recipe?" We sat together for the next few minutes thumbing through the
cookbook. I explained what various terms meant, and I helped him pronounce
many of the ingredients we would need. Soon, we found a recipe we thought
was easy enough to make.

Lane was like a little machine as he gathered the spices from the
cupboard. I showed him how to preheat the oven, and he kept guard until it
finally made a little ringing sound to indicate it was hot enough.

While he did that, I busily prepared a rub for the meat. Lane helped me,
but he got more on himself than the meat. "This is fun," he exclaimed
excitedly as he applied the rub onto the roast. I had him put it on a
roasting pan, and then we put it in the oven. We set the timer, and I
looked at the clock.

"It should be ready by seven," I informed a cheerful Lane.

He asked, "What are we going to make to go with it?"

I looked into the pantry and pulled out a big bag of potatoes. I looked
into the refrigerator to see if there was any shredded cheese. I took out a
bag of mild cheddar and waved it in the air. "How about some scalloped
potatoes?"

"Sure!" he said excitedly. "I don't know what scalloped potatoes are, but
it sounds good."

"It is," I assured him as I thumbed through the cookbook to find a
recipe. There was a picture, and I explained to him what we were going to
do. He watched carefully as I peeled the potatoes. He wanted to help, but I
was afraid he might cut himself. He was happy to mix the ingredients
together and pour them over the potatoes. He then helped me sprinkle the
cheese over the top. He was beaming with pride when we finished.

"Um," he said as he looked at our creation. "That looks good."

"Wait until you eat them," I said. "They'll make your stomach feel good."
He giggled when I reached out and grabbed him and started tickling his
belly.

With the rump in the oven, and the potatoes prepared, I suggested that we
go down into the family room to watch television. He curled up beside me
when I sat down on the leather sofa. I found a channel with old
cartoons. Lane laughed loudly as he watched the coyote try to catch the
roadrunner.

"This is fun," he almost purred into my shoulder as he rested his head
against me. "Rodney and Curtis would never watch television with me like
this."

I replied, "They don't know what they are missing." He pressed his body
closer to mine.

I thought he had fallen asleep until he whispered softly, "Are we being
queers?"

When I moved slightly away, he sat up, gave me a puzzled look and asked,
"Did I say something wrong?" His reaction seemed innocent, but I wondered
why he had asked me such a strange question.

"No," I said as I put my arm around his shoulder and pulled him back toward
me. When he was rested again, I asked, "Why would you think we are being
queers?"

He replied, "The boys at school say when you like another boy, you're being
a queer."

I pulled him tighter to me and assured him, "Bestest buddies can like each
other and it doesn't make us queers. Okay?" He nodded his head and rested
his head on my shoulder once again.

He sat quietly for a few minutes, but he kept fidgeting. I knew something
was bothering him. "What's the matter?" I asked after he wouldn't sit
still.

He started crying, and he buried his head into my chest. "If I tell you,
you'll hate me."

I rubbed the top of his head and told him, "I won't hate you. We're bestest
buddies, remember?"

"But if I tell you," he sobbed, "you won't like me anymore."

I had him sit up. I held his shoulders and made him look me directly into
my face. "I won't hate you, Lane," I assured him. "Now tell me what is
bothering you."

"I'm a queer," he cried as his head fell against my chest. I held him while
he cried uncontrollably. I let him cry for several minutes before I
attempted to find out why he thought he was gay.

When he seemed to relax, I had him sit back up and face me. "Tell me why
you think you're gay?"

He sniffled several times as he tried to hold back his tears. Finally, he
let out a loud sob and declared sadly, "Because I like playing with
Donnie's willy." His head fell into my lap as he continued to cry.

I didn't know whether to laugh or cry. I'm sure that he had probably
experimented with this boy Donnie. I was convinced that Lane was probably
too immature to understand his sexual feelings. However, to make sure I
didn't say the wrong thing, I continued to console him and wait for him to
explain what had happened.

After a few minutes, he got up and went into the bathroom. I could hear him
blowing his nose. I also heard the water running, so I assumed he was
probably washing his tear-stained face. When he returned, he didn't seem as
upset.

He flopped down on the sofa and looked over at me sadly. "Are you mad at
me?"

"Why would I be mad at you?"

He sniffed several times and then said, "Because I told you I play with
Donnie's willy."

I put my arm around his shoulder, and he scooted against me. "You want to
tell me about it?"

"Donnie's my best friend at school," he said. Then he added quickly, "But
he's not my bestest buddy like you." I smiled and nodded my head. "When we
go to the bathroom, the teacher makes us go with someone else, so me and
Donnie go together."

I nodded my head again and said, "Go on."

"Me and Donnie pee side by side," he continued. "One day his willy got real
hard, and he dared me to play with it. Mine got hard, so I told him he had
to play with mine first. So he did. Then I played with his."

"That doesn't make you a queer," I assured him. "You just made a bet."

His face reddened as he admitted, "But we do it everyday. I like it when we
do it." Tears appeared in his eyes once again as he asked, "Does that make
us queers?"

I didn't want to tell him that he possibly could be gay. I was sure I was
gay, but I didn't know if Lane would understand his sexual feelings just
yet. I didn't want to tell him he was gay, when he possibly wasn't. He
could just be experimenting, although he and Donnie seemed to be doing it
quite a bit for it to be just childish play.

"I want you to promise me one thing," I said. He looked up at me and nodded
his head. "I don't want you doing it at school anymore. If someone walks in
on you, you'll get in a lot of trouble."

He smiled a devilish grin. "There's a lock on the door. We make sure it's
locked before we pull down our pants."

I laughed, "That's a little bit too much information." Suddenly, I thought
of something else that I should ask, but I felt uncomfortable bringing up
the subject.

"Ummm," I stammered. "Do you and Donnie, like... do anything else?"

His face reddened as he said, "You mean like put my mouth on his willy?"

"Yes," I said, "I guess that's what I mean."

He wriggled his nose. "No," he replied. "That's gross." I let out a sigh of
relief. However, I was still worried that their experimentation may someday
go in that direction.

"Tomorrow," I said, "I want you to introduce me to Donnie."

"Okay," he replied cheerfully.

I frowned and said, "But you gotta promise me you won't tell him that you
told me what you do. Okay?"

"Okay," he said. "I promise."

We watched television for another hour. I should say, I watched television
and Lane rested his head in my lap, fell asleep and snored lightly. I
didn't want to disturb him, but I could smell the roast in the oven.

After waking him, we went into the kitchen to inspect dinner. The roast was
looking delicious. Lane watched as I inserted the thermometer. He giggled
and asked, "Are you taking its temperature up the butt?" I pulled the
thermometer out, looked at the temperature and announced that the roast was
finished.

Lane squealed when I grabbed him and told him he was next to have his
temperature taken. He grabbed the waistband on his shorts and ran from the
room laughing.

We set the table as we had done the other night, but I knew we would
probably be eating alone. Since it was a Friday night, Rodney and Curtis
would be playing basketball. I was sure that Dad and Karen would also
attend. Lane told me earlier that they go to almost all the games.

Lane beamed with pride when I walked into the dining room, looked at the
table and said, "You did a good job." He giggled when I tousled his hair on
the way back to the kitchen.

He walked up behind me, grabbed me around the waist and gave me a big
hug. "What's this for?" I asked as I let him squeeze me tightly.

"For being the best big brother a little brother could ever have," he said
as he squeezed me tighter. Tears welled up in my eyes. I guess I hadn't
wanted to admit that he was the little brother I had never had.

Just then, we could hear someone enter the front door. Seconds later, Karen
hollered out, "Is anyone home?"

"Yeah, Mom," yelled Lane. "Me and Casey are in the kitchen."

Karen walked in smelling the air. "My goodness," she said. "What smells so
good?"

Lane informed her proudly, "Me and Casey cooked a roast."

She tousled Lane's hair as she stated, "Casey and I cooked a roast."

Lane giggled and said, "You didn't help him. I did." Karen looked at me and
shook her head.

She turned and headed from the kitchen. "I'm going to change into something
more comfortable," she announced. She looked at the clock on the
wall. "Your father should be home shortly. Tonight we're going to sit down
and eat like a family." Lane looked at me and smiled.

My father came home around five-thirty. Karen met him at the door, and told
him to change from his suit into something more suitable for dining. He
asked if they were going out to dinner, but she took his arm and led him
from the foyer before he had a chance to look into the dining room.

Lane and I were sitting together at the table when they entered. My father
looked at the meal on his plate and said, "This looks and smells better
than what we would get at Adolpho's." I wasn't familiar with Adolpho's, but
I was sure it was probably a nice restaurant. He sat down and immediately
started eating.

Karen took a bite of the roast, looked over at Lane and said, "This is
delicious." He looked over at me and grinned. Even though I had prepared
the meal, I was glad she was including Lane in the compliments.

Not much was said as we ate. Karen asked me about school, and I told her it
was hard to say anything after just attending one day. I debated whether I
should mention the incident with Curtis, but I decided that was something I
would have to deal with on my own. I was already unwelcome in his home, and
making him think I was some whiny crybaby would only make matters worse.

When he finished eating, my father looked at his watch and announced that
he would have to leave soon to go watch `his boys' play basketball. "Before
I go," he stated as he looked at me, "I'd like to have a word with you." He
looked over at Karen and asked if she and Lane could clean up while he and
I went out on the patio.

I followed him outside, and he pointed to a lawn chair. "Have a seat,
Casey." He pulled up a seat in front of me. "We need to talk. I've left you
alone to get settled in, but it's time now to lay down a few rules."

I immediately became defensive. Since arriving in his house, I had stayed
to myself in the makeshift bedroom he had prepared for me. I had enrolled
in school as he requested, and I had even prepared a couple of meals. I was
making every attempt to make the best of the situation, at least for the
time being. If it weren't for Lane, I probably would have already
considered leaving.

I crossed my arms and asked angrily, "What rules?"

"Your mother told me..."

I jumped from my chair. "You're not even going to give me a chance, are
you?"

"Sit down, Casey!"

"She's already poisoned your mind," I yelled. "You left when I was eleven,
and you didn't even say goodbye."

"That's enough, Casey!" he shouted. "I had my reasons."

I was trying hard to hold back tears. "What reason could you have possibly
had to leave a boy without his father?"

"I told you, I had my reasons," he stood and faced me. I couldn't tell if
his face was filled with anger or hurt. "You don't understand."

"No," I said, "and you'll never understand me. I didn't want to come live
with you, but Mom kicked me out of the house. I was going to run away, but
she called the cops."

"Sit down, Casey," he pleaded, "so we can talk man to man."

I laughed, "Man to man? You're going to give me rules and treat me like
some little boy?"

"Your mother told me..."

"Told you what?" I shouted. "That I'm some deviant who is always causing
problems?" I stood directly before him. "Is that what she told you?"

"Casey, please..."

"You know what?" I shouted, "Fuck you. I don't need you. You gave up your
right to tell me what to do years ago." I regretted what I was saying, but
too much emotion had built up inside me over the years. I was finally
letting it escape. By the look on my father's face, I knew I had hit my
mark.

I turned and headed for a gate. He kept shouting out my name as I went
around the house and stormed off down the sidewalk.

I walked several blocks to a small carryout that I had noticed as I walked
home with Lane earlier. I went inside and purchased a pack of cigarettes. I
hadn't smoked since arriving, but I needed a cigarette. The storeowner
looked skeptically at me as he took my money. I think he knew I was
underage, but I looked old enough for him to convince an undercover cop
that I did look eighteen.

Once outside, I opened the pack, lit a cigarette and took a deep puff.

* * * * * *

It was after one when I entered the house through the back door. My father
was waiting up for me, but he didn't say anything when I walked past him on
my way to my room. He was sitting in the dark in a recliner. When I went
into the bathroom a few minutes later, he was gone.

After returning from the bathroom, I lay down on the bed, but I had trouble
falling asleep. I was at a complete loss as to what to do. I really had
little options. I couldn't return home, and there was no other family
member I could call. I didn't want to stay in my father's home. However, I
was only sixteen. If I ran away, my father would report me like my mother
had, and I would probably be labeled unruly and be sent to a juvenile
facility. It happened last year to one of the students in my class. She ran
away, and her parents asked the courts to send her away until she was
eighteen. To get rid of me, my mother would do it in a heartbeat. I wasn't
too sure about my father. He seemed remorseful for leaving me when I was a
kid.

However, his remorse wasn't enough to make me want to stay. I'm sure my
mother had told him all about me. He surely knew about all the problems I
had caused in school.  I was certain my mother had told him about
Rollie. Why else would he want to make rules for me to follow? From what I
had seen, Rodney and Curtis didn't seem to have any rules. They seemed to
come and go whenever they wanted.

I was awakened in morning when someone opened the door and barged in. I
lifted my head to see Curtis and Rodney walking over to the weight set. I
mumbled sleepily, "What are you doing?"

"Taking back our room," replied Curtis angrily. "This is bullshit we can't
workout because Mom turned this place into a bedroom for you." He walked
over and glared down at me. "Why are you here anyway?"

I sat up and responded, "Fuck you." He instantly jumped on the bed and
began hitting me. I attempted to hit him, but he had me pinned to the bed.

Rodney pulled Curtis off me and tossed him like a rag doll against the
wall. He stood before him and shouted, "Stop it!"

Curtis pointed at me and yelled, "I'm sick of him disrespecting me."

I jumped from the bed and angrily approached him. Rodney was caught in the
middle as we attempted to fight. "You stupid mother fucker," I hollered. "I
haven't done anything to you. You've been on me since I got here."

Rodney pushed me back as he kept Curtis pinned against the wall. Curtis
tried to pull away, but Rodney was too strong for him. He looked over
Rodney`s shoulder and shouted, "No one wants you here, Faggot!"

With one strong thrust, Rodney pushed Curtis toward the door. "I think
you've said enough," he yelled angrily as he pushed Curtis out of the room
and slammed the door.

He waited a minute to see if Curtis would return. When he didn't, he turned
and said to me, "I'm really sorry, Casey. Curtis shouldn't have said the
shit he did."

I didn't reply as I reached under my bed to get out one of the bags in
which my mother had packed my things. It was still full of clothes just in
case I decided to suddenly leave.

Rodney grabbed my arm when I pulled the bag over my shoulder. "Where are
you going?"

"Fuck this shit," I replied angrily. "I don't need it." Rodney stepped away
as I brushed past him and headed out the door.

* * * * * *

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