Date: Thu, 04 Apr 2002 19:27:18 +0000
From: Java Biscuit <javabiscuit@hotmail.com>
Subject: Corbusier, finale

This is a story involving teen/teen, male/male graphic sex
and not intended for reading by minors. If you are a minor,
or this type of material is illegal where you live, please stop
now, and go read something else! This story is a fantasy
meant only for the purpose of pleasurable reading.

Other stories of mine can now be found in the prolific
writers index.

Feedback, always appreciated, may be sent to:
javabiscuit@hotmail.com


Corbusier ~ chapter eleven ~ finale

by Biscuit


Colin made Megan's blood boil. She thought I was
dropping out of school because of him, but I wasn't.
I was seventeen and throwing in the towel on my first
year at Cooper Union, a small school Megan and I had
both gotten into. Giving up school to become what she
called a cross between a boy whore and housewife.

"That's all you're going to do," she said, "fuck him
and cook for him." She knew there was more going
on than that but she was exasperated. I think she felt
like I was deserting her but couldn't say it. "If it
weren't for him you'd get through this and stay in
school."

In the first days of spring, cold gray days in the city,
I filed for incompletes in all of my classes -- it was
either that or just not show up. I was depressed, I was
preoccupied and my grades were a mess.

It was my father. My mother had started to make
inquiries about selling the house that winter and it had
brought him back into our lives with a vengeance. His
pride was nothing to be trifled with. It incensed him
that she would consider selling the jewel he'd bestowed
on her. He went from disinterest to plumbing the details
of our lives into fodder for lawsuits. Lesbo mother turns
son into underage faggot sex toy. If we were celebrities,
that would have been our tabloid headline.

And then Colin's dad got sick. Very sick. Suddenly,
he and I were knee deep in our fathers.

It was hard to explain to Megan. It was easier with
my mom, though she wasn't happy about my decision.
As always it was Joe who understood me best. She
was helping me fix up Colin's apartment. She'd booted
him upstairs, finally off her couch. The apartment over
hers came up for rent and she snagged it for him, for
both of us, really.

"You'll go back to school when you're ready," Joe said
to me. She was on her hands and knees hooking up the
spaghetti bowl of wires for my computer and the other
junk that went with it. I think I did more electronic art
than studio work by then.

I was in the fledgling kitchen, basically it was the wall
opposite my work space. The whole apartment was a
big long room with a bathroom in the back corner of it.

My living there had never even really been discussed.
We just moved the crap of mine that had accumulated
around Colin's downstairs, upstairs. Technically I still
lived at home with my mom. A place neither of us
wanted to be anymore. Most nights I was either at
Joe's with Colin, or sometimes, at Megan's in the East
Village.

"Yeah, I guess," I said. My mind was somewhere else.
Colin was at the hospital, visiting his dad, who by then
was dying.

God help us. It all came in a wave. The stuff with his
dad. And the incredible raft of shit from my dad.

I'd been to the corner grocery store and the bakery
and was putting stuff on the shelves over the counter.

At least, I thought, when he gets home, there'll be
something to eat, and TV to look at. Joe had taken
care of that while she was at the business of hooking
shit up. The television was up at the front where we
had our bed. The so-called fuck table had come
upstairs with us. There were piles of clothes.

Despite Megan's characterization of me, I wasn't
much of a domestic goddess. I'd managed to get
linens on the bed and toilet paper in the bathroom,
now a little food in the kitchen. My mom had brought
a bunch of things from the house for us that I hadn't
unpacked yet.

"You're all set up, little lady," Joe teased, brushing
the dust off the knees off her jeans. Of all of us, she
came closest to keeping her spirits up, but even for
her it was becoming a strain. God, my dad was such
an asshole. And Joe was having a harder time fixing
this problem than most. Legal shit was not her forte.

Unimaginable. My dad claiming my mom was unfit as
a mother. He couldn't stop her from selling the house.
It was hers outright, a gift when he married her. But
there was a lot he could do to hurt her. He didn't want
me. That's not what the custody battle was about. He
was just fucking harassing her and finding ways to
renege on the divorce settlement. Because of it I'd
had to see two different court appointed shrinks.

Colin came in as Joe was leaving. He looked a little
disoriented, like he was wondering what he was
doing in this place and not downstairs. He was red
cheeked from the wind. He dropped his leather jacket
on the wooden chair that had evolved into our coat
rack by the door.

"The same," I heard him say to Joe about his dad.

"Are you hungry?" I asked him. "I got soup here, and
bread. All kinds of stuff."

He was looking at me as if he hadn't really heard what
I said, but he had.

"Not right now," he said. He was looking at me in a
way that was almost as full of physical need as if he
were going to grab me and say he wanted to fuck me,
but I knew he wasn't going to. It wasn't that kind of
look, exactly, but it would end up the same way.

At seventeen I was as tall as I was going to get, which
wasn't very. I had the world's best posture, to make
up for it. I could look in the mirror by then and
understand what made me attractive even if mine
weren't the kind of looks I liked.

I was a rounded thing, even when I was very thin,
like then. The curves just got shallower. Joe had
told me I had a great body for muscling up if I had
a mind to do it. Unfortunately, I didn't. I'd gone with
her for awhile to the gym but I got so bored, so fast,
I'd never stick with it. The little bit I'd done had
given some shape to my arms and shoulders. I could
admit my ass was good.

My face. I knew it was attractive but I hated to see
my dad in it. There was a ripeness he'd passed on
to me. My cheeks always looked like they were kind
of chubby, like I had a layer of baby fat I'd never be
rid of. My father was always described as classically
handsome by his friends. Maybe when I was young
I thought so. Now there wasn't a thing about him I
could think of as appealing. Unfortunately, that
included my own face. When I looked at myself I
concentrated on the hints of my mom's finer
features.

Whatever it was I looked like, Colin was looking at
me like he couldn't get enough of seeing it. He took
the can of soup I was holding out of my hands and
put it on the counter. Sometimes the hospital made
him quiet and distant. Sometimes he came home like
this.

"Maybe later," he said.

Maybe Megan was right. Without Colin, maybe I'd
have worked through all the shit going on and not
left school. Maybe. Maybe I would have fallen apart
completely. I don't know. But I do know that walking
the halls of my father's alma mater made me feel
physically ill. Of course he'd been an architecture
student. Of course, his name had reflected glory
on the school and being his son had no doubt helped
me get in. All I wanted was out.

Colin ground against me, holding my neck, kissing me
and I was half there with him, half disconnected. My
body was there; just from how he'd looked at me,
knowing he was going to touch me. Nothing could stop
that. Even my thoughts spinning away to Megan, to
how it must have been for him at the hospital, I was
still a hormone-charged seventeen year-old with my
one and only in my arms.

He was that. New York is full of good looking men.
I saw parades of them at Tonio's, on the streets, but
I hadn't seen one yet that I wanted more than him.

Colin never let me go with him to the hospital. He'd
been a handful of times since he'd gotten the call
from his aunt. All the time he'd been living with Joe,
working at Tonio's, he'd been sending money to his
father. I only knew it because I'd seen it in his
checkbook one day.

"Do you talk to your dad?" I'd asked him. Probably
about a year before his dad got sick.

"Not much. He calls me when he needs money. He's still
pissed at me for leaving Fahey. He thinks I could have
owned that pub by now."

Colin told me that Sean Fahey had taken him in, had
fucked him for years, that he'd implied that he'd turn
the business over to him at some point. I asked him if
he was ever sorry that he gave it up. I think I wanted
to hear him say he only cared about being with me.

What he said was, "I think he was full of shit. I think
he said it to keep me there and keep my dad happy."

Colin's hands moving over the front of my shirt got my
full attention. He was undoing the buttons, pulling it out
of my jeans. He slid his hands up under my tee-shirt
and I folded toward him with shivers radiating out from
his fingertips.

It was his shirt I had on. I'd started wearing them
that winter. His old flannels were so worn and soft it
was like wearing something made for a baby. Megan
called it my dyke look.

His fingertips turned my nipples into tiny raisins. My
forehead dropped onto the hard ridge of his shoulder
and I put my hands on his hips, staring at the close up
fuzzy view of his shirt. More flannel, a blur of blue
and white.

"My dad's close to the end," he said, brushing my hard
points with the pads of his thumbs. You're lucky, I
thought, then I pushed the thought away, feeling guilty.
He was rubbing his cheek against the side of my face,
his breath tickling by my ear.

Not like the times when pure lust would make him jab
at me with his hard prick and announce his intention
to fuck me. But just as needy this lust mixed with grief.
How could I explain it to Megan? I felt more like a nurse
than a whore or a housewife. She'd probably think that
was just as bad. I hung on to his hips, my own pressing
into him to feel hard cock against hard cock; my head
turning to find his mouth with mine.

By the time we got to our bed the wind had whipped
the the overcast sky clean and a hard sunlight, tinged
with cold, attacked the front windows. Colin had a
tolerance for cold that I didn't have. Not that he felt
it less. If you touched him you'd feel he was chilled,
but he could ignore it. I was the one who scrambled
for cover even though he looked annoyed when I pulled
the sheet and comforter over me. He was naked, on his
side next to me, not letting himself be warmed. I was
on my stomach -- the towel, a rough nap under my
dick. He bared just my ass and I didn't complain. He
was stroking, kneading my cheeks before spreading
them and squirting a cold wet snake of lube down my
crack.

If possible, I loved being fucked more than ever.
When the feeling spread through me I wanted it to go
on forever. His thrusting cock was feeding me, stoking
me like an engine; like he was shoveling me full of coal.
My body heat climbed and I was grateful the covers slid
off. I just kept reaching for more with my ass lifting
up to him, until I couldn't stand it and shot over the top,
firing hot strings of spunk.

Afterwards it was Colin, not me, that went into the
kitchen and came out with a couple of thrown together
sandwiches, a bag of chips, and a bottle of beer. We
ate. We shared the chips and beer and watched nothing
in particular on our newly set up television. We lazed in
bed until it was time for him to get cleaned up and head
off to work.

I did clean the crumbs from the bed and remake it. I
tossed my cum spattered towel in the pile of dirty
clothes and put a fresh one on the shelf of the table.

At my computer I worked on a project that a kid I'd
met at school had gotten me into. He paid me to help
him supply a couple of different porn sites with faked
celebrity shots. Photo manipulations that called on my
well honed ability to focus on small patterened fields of
light and dark. There was no pretense of it being real,
just a fantasy thing. I'd started selling my own artwork,
a little bit of it anyway, posting it in online galleries.
Colin didn't mind me using his digital image as long as I
obscured his face. And that's how it went, and that's how
it is. I've got my own website/gallery and it does pretty
well. I get almost as much pleasure manipulating my
lover's image as I get touching his flesh and he doesn't
complain too much about posing for me.

I never did go back to school.

On the weekends I still work at Tonio's, to keep an
eye on Colin and strut my ass but I make my money
at the computer.

Megan was wrong but then again she was right. I didn't
become the things she said but I did choose to build my
life around Colin. Maybe we drifted into it, maybe it
grew up around us. But the bond that started in the park
three years before took on a solidity through the trial by
fathers. His dad died not long after he and I moved up
into the second floor apartment. He told me that in the
end he told his dad the truth about Sean Fahey. He wasn't
sure if his father really understood by then. My father
finally backed off when Joe found my mom a good lawyer.
A guy named Joe Davis who became a friend to our family
for life.

Megan has long since forgiven me and has her degree.
She's still my girl in a way and pries me out of the house
like she used to, keeping me in touch with the world. We
can be found at our favorite cafes with matching chin
length hair, me listening to her latest rhetoric, much
gentler than the old stuff.

My mom sold the Amsterdam Hill house and moved
in downstairs with Joe. And that's how it's been. Joe
turned her bedroom into a studio for my mother and
the two of them moved up into the front of their place,
kind of like our apartment upstairs. I spend a lot of
time out in the scrap of a backyard with my mom
when the weather's warm. When the urge to wield a
paintbrush hits, I join her in her studio. We work
to the soft, happy beats of latin music.