Date: Thu, 21 Mar 2002 04:25:55 +0000
From: Java Biscuit <javabiscuit@hotmail.com>
Subject: Corbusier, chapter six

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 section of the archive. Thank you, David.

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

Corbusier ~ chapter six

by Biscuit



I can't say my mom became a lesbian, exactly. Joe, her
so-called lesbian bartender, really wasn't one, though
anybody would think so. She was only sort of a woman.
I don't say that because of how she looked, which was
a lot like a tall, slim Antonio Banderas, with arms that
could wrestle a bear. Lots of tall strong women are
women, Joe said, but she wasn't one of them.

"Inside, I'm a guy," is how she explained it, "and I'm
basically a straight guy." She winked at me when she
said that. I fell for her almost as fast as my mom did.

She'd brought my mom home in the middle of the
night. They were probably there in the house when
Colin left and we didn't know it.

When I woke up, it was to see her and my mother
both standing in my bedroom doorway. I'd thought
I would be up long before my mom came home.

But there they were, I heard them talking as my
waking eyes tried to open and focus.

"Smells like a sperm factory in here," I heard, not
my mom's voice, and my eyes shot wide. My mom
started toward me, looking blessedly safe, sound,
and showered; details I processed even as my brain
was sputtering to life.

"Morning baby," she said, sitting plunk right down
in my sperm factory sheets. Apparently ignoring the
stench. She wrapped me up in a hug that was as
fleecy soft as her sweatshirt. "Your door was open,
Corby. It's eleven o'clock."

I was embarrassed but happy, so glad that she was
there, like I'd gone to sleep and woken up to find out
everything was okay. Or kind of okay. Even if a total
stranger was leaning up against my door frame. I
stared at Joe, I couldn't help it. I hate to admit it, but
she was so fucking handsome I felt this tug like a
crush on the spot. She didn't exactly look friendly,
her face set in a small frown taking in the sight of my
room and me. But then she winked at me! It's a thing
you can either do or you can't. Joe did it great.

My mom was sitting back then, looking at me. Her
nose wrinkled. Oh God.

"This is Joe," she said. "She took pity on your poor
old mom last night and brought me home. We've
been waiting for you to get up but you kept not getting
up, so ..." her eyes roamed over my face, like she was
making sure every feature was where it was supposed
to be. Her eyes zeroed in on my neck and when I got to
the bathroom I saw why. A giant bloom covered it from
under my ear to the base of my throat. It looked like
someone had gnawed the bejesus out of me. I couldn't
even remember Colin doing it.

"Why don't you get yourself cleaned up and come have
breakfast."

I could feel that she wanted to launch into a lecture on
the state of my room and my stink, but was holding
back.

The thing is, both of us wanted to lecture the other one,
but we didn't. That time in our life was like some natural
disaster where nothing is normal or right and you don't
expect it to be. We took so much comfort in just seeing
each other live, breathe, and be well, that we tried to
ignore the wreckage.

I know people who think I was a pampered, spoiled kid.
That my mom let me get away with murder. I also know
people who think she was neglectful and irresponsible.
What can I say?

She was young. Young when she got married and still
young when my dad left. He married her when she was
eighteen years old and pregnant. He had an affair with
her while she was an art student studying in Rome. My
dad was twelve years older, already blazing a trail in
his field. He was handsome, had money and a lifestyle
that dazzled her. He married her, stuck her in a house in
New York and pretty much carried on like she was one
more stop on his schedule. What I was to him, I don't
know. To me, it seems like I had a picture of a dad, not
a real one. Sometimes I wondered if I was really his
kid but I was afraid to ask her.

I think my mom did her best.

When I got out of the shower I smelled breakfast
cooking. I didn't realize it was the first of what would
become a tradition. Joe cooking Sunday breakfast.

She was like a short order cook, manning the stove
in her snug jeans, full of decorative tears and holes.
Her upper body was shown off in a skimpy tee-shirt,
broad shoulders and beautiful arms.

My mom and I sat at the table like a pair of little
birds perched in our chairs. Joe loaded food up on
our plates like she thought we hadn't eaten in days.

"So, Corby" said Joe, swinging her leg over the back
of the chair to sit down, like a cowboy mounting a
horse. "Do you know what safe sex means?" Her dark
eyes pinned me, unflinching. "It means don't fuck
anybody, and I mean anybody, without a condom. Not
a boy from school, or a stranger."

Oh God. My mom must have told her about Chad.

"I didn't," I said. "I mean I won't." Her look softened
and I felt like she was liking me.

"Good boy," she said. "It's about health, not sex. Eat
your breakfast." She was saying personal stuff, but it
wasn't personal. I had the feeling she'd say the same
thing to any kid she thought might be fucking around
without protection. The personal part was how she
looked at me, like she was comparing me to my mom,
seeing if the stuff she liked about her was there in me.

I'm not as fair or as frail and my hazel eyes tend more
to brown than green. Whatever Joe was looking for, she
seemed pleased with what she was finding when she
looked me over. I was checking her out too, probably
more than she was me.

She looked so extraordinary that I kept having to look
to see if she really looked like what I thought she looked
like. If you glanced real quick, she looked like a hot guy.
I didn't want to be rude, but I could hardly take my eyes
off her. Sometimes I caught her looking at my mom.
Pretty intense. If my dad had looked at her that way
I might have been telling a whole different story.

My mom had made it sound like Joe just gave her a ride
home. Maybe. But the way Joe looked at her, I didn't
think so. My mom didn't give herself away like Joe did,
keeping her eyes on her plate, or looking at me. But I
sensed something. As tragic as the prospect had seemed
to me the night before, I was liking the idea that morning.
The more I thought about it, the more I liked it.

I was inspired by the combined example of Colin and Joe,
and I dug out a pair of old jeans that I hadn't worn in a
long time because they were tight and frayed at the edges
of the pockets and knees. I had my trashy black lace on
with a pink tank top under it. Ready for my non date with
Chad.

When I headed out to the living room to show myself
off, I ended up hanging back, staring.

There hadn't been a fire burning in our fireplace in
forever. It was crackling away and in front of it, at either
end of the big Italian leather couch that nobody ever sat
on, my mom and Joe were in matching sprawls with their
feet meeting somewhere near the middle. The Sunday
Times was spread from one end to the other, half on them,
half on the floor next to them. In my whole life I'd never
seen such a scene in my own home.

I stared until my throat got tight. It was almost as bad
as the time Megan caught me wiping my eyes after a TV
commercial for some stupid insurance company; an orgy
of heart-tugging family vignettes.

"All those families, all that shit. It's lies Corby," Megan
had said to me. Well, of course I knew that. But, fuck.

I almost hated Joe for a split second when the anguish
hit; it was so painful to want it to be real, her and my
mom looking so picture perfect.

Then the real world intruded. Chad showed up.

"I hope you're going to put a coat on over that getup,"
he said to me. "I don't feel like getting beat up on the
subway."

What an asshole. He could have at least said I looked
nice or something, first.

He looked like a model for a prep school spread, right
to the rims of his wire framed glasses. My mom was
polite. Joe looked him over and gave a nod, but I felt
her looking at me. I don't think she bought him as a
guy I'd be interested in.

I put on my Ike jacket, just to spite him, because it was
short enough to show off the edge of black lace and my
tight pants. Then I swiped a long cashmere scarf of my
mom's and wound it around my head and neck.

"Perfect, sweetie," my mom said.

The dance wasn't as bad as I'd thought it would be. It
was in the basement of a church that seemed more
like a political action center than any kind of church I'd
ever seen. Posters for meetings and events, everywhere.

Not bad, considering, with colored lights and loud music.
There was a long table full of sodas and chips and snacks,
with little notices about the businesses that had contributed
stuff. A lot of pamphlets about safe sex and STDs. There
was a huge bowl full of condoms. I stuffed a handful in
my pocket.

I was surprised by how many people were there. Mostly
a little older than me and Chad, but some guys our age.
There were maybe sixty or seventy people crowded into
that basement hall. A few girls were there, even though
it was a guy's dance. I would have liked to have Megan
there with me. I was checking out the outfits, wishing I
could point stuff out to her.

Chad, after dragging me all the way down there, hated it.
He was ready to split five minutes after we got there. He
said he didn't like the music. What's not to like, I thought,
vintage disco.

"So go," I said. "I'm staying."

At least I was right about the two of us not wanting
to do the same thing, even if I'd gotten it backwards.

A guy with a thatch of beard hair right under his
bottom lip asked me to dance when Chad took off. I was
flattered and eager to dance. He looked kind of old to me,
for a teenager. He said was nineteen and could get into
clubs, but he liked younger guys than he could meet in
bars. He was almost shouting, because the music was so
loud.

"Guys like you," he said, kind of swooping in to say it
close to my ear, holding my shoulders.

I tried to pull back a little and that's when I saw Colin.

He was just there; bathed in the spinning blue and red
lights. The thatch beard guy took off when Colin put
his hand on him and said something I couldn't hear.
Probably, fuck off.

I'd have been a lot more shocked if I weren't getting
used to the way he made sudden appearances. Still, this
wasn't my bedroom.

"What are you doing here?" I asked him.

"I followed you guys, what do you think?  How come
he walked out and you're still in here?"

He kept glancing around the dance floor like he was
seeing something dangerous. He drew me close to him
to speak in my ear and then seemed to change his mind,
guiding me off the dance floor toward the door. I pulled
back, I didn't want to leave.

"What do you mean, why am I here?" I knew what he
meant, but I said it anyway. Obviously, a teen gay dance
was not Colin Daley's idea of something a guy should be
caught dead at. You only had to see his face to know it.

"I wanted to dance," I said, when he didn't respond.

He closed his eyes, shaking his head, like he just
couldn't believe his ears. When he looked at me
again it was like he was talking to a two year old.

"This is too freaking weird, even for you," he said.

I wished with all my heart that he'd put his arms
around me and sweep me out on the dance floor. All
he wanted was to drag me out of there as fast as he
could, with as few people seeing us as possible on the
way through the door. Then my brain seized on the
fact that he'd followed me. It was both scary and
wonderful.

"How come you followed me?"

He didn't answer. He just looked a whole lot more
uncomfortable, if that was possible.

"Let's get the fuck out of here," he said.

"I'll go if you dance with me first." That face. I almost
laughed out loud at the expression of disbelief.

"This isn't a joke," he said.

"Sure it is," I countered. "It's a big joke, you'll fuck
me but you won't dance with me."

He took that in, like a a grown up letting a child strike
him. I wanted to go with him but I didn't want to give
in. With my heart doing a jackhammer thing in my
chest, I turned around and walked away from him.

I took a quick look around for somebody that looked
like they wanted to dance. I was making tracks toward
a knot of guys near the soda table when he clapped his
hands on my shoulder from behind, to stop me.

Poor Colin. He looked like a guy steeling himself to
do the unthinkable, and of course, he was.

"One dance," he said, "and we're out of here."

I nodded, my heart flooding.

For a guy that didn't want to dance he was too
awesome for words. Maybe it was because he only
wanted to be focused on me and not think about
where he was or what was going on around us. Maybe
it's just that being him, in those tight jeans and his
leather jacket, anything his body did looked good. I
was happy enough for both of us, eating him up with
my eyes and turning around to shake my little butt
at him.

I think it was halfway through the dance when the
tension broke in his face. Just enough to let a smile
touch his lips. I'm sure I was looking up at him like
a love struck calf. He shook his head a little and
put his hands on my shoulders, one hand sneaking
up to touch the side of my neck where he'd left the
rose bloom on me.

When the song ended he leaned down to my lips.

"Only for you," he said, and he kissed me. I
followed him out of there with stars in my eyes.

In a perfect world I could have snuggled up to Colin
Daley on the train ride home, like Megan used to do
in my arm when we rode the subway. He didn't even
sit with me. He pointed to a seat and I sat down.
He sat down across the train from me. He kept
his eye on me and never stopped doing a slow visual
patrol of the subway car. It took me awhile to figure
out, but I caught the pattern eventually. He kept track
of who got on, the doors into the next cars, who came
near me, all the while looking like he was kind of
sleepy and didn't give a shit about anything. Me, I sat
there with a serious case of killer wood, dying for him.
Thank God for the long tails of the scarf.

I was about to get my first taste of Colin Daley's
world. He took me to a movie theatre on Broadway,
at the edge of his neighborhood. I'd never have gone in
that place by myself in a million years. Even with him
I was nervous. There were guys hanging around in the
lobby, clustered in groups. I could only think they had
to be selling drugs or something, they sure as fuck
weren't there to see a movie. Colin hooked his arm
around my shoulders and guided me through.

Judging from the smell of that balcony we weren't
the first guys to make use of it. And we weren't the
only ones doing it then. I tried not to look at the other
shadowy shapes scattered through those seats. I can't
believe they even bothered to run a film in that place,
but it flickered away in the dark, some kind of Kung
Fu movie. You could hear and feel the rumble of the
IRT right through the building.

It was easier once his hands were on me, his mouth.

In the darkest corner of the last row of seats we
made out until we were gasping for air, with our
hands in each other's pants. I came like that, with his
tongue fucking my mouth and his hand working my
dick. Then I wanted to get down and suck him but he
wouldn't let me touch my knees to the floor, it was
really gross and considering how my spunk had shot
God knows where, I could only imagine what the
floor was like. I hung over his lap with the arm of
the seat stuck in my ribs and got as much of his dick
in my mouth as I could through his unzipped pants. I
hated where we were but I loved what I was doing;
his hand moving over my back and my head, the
way his hips were moving.

So fucked up. I think Sean Fahey courted him right
in that balcony, treating him to movies on weekday
afternoons when he should have been at school.

We took a bus up Broadway as far as the park and
then started up the hill on foot. It was near the
end of that walk home that I first had the nerve
to ask Colin Daley about his life. My wheels had
been spinning since leaving that movie house.

We were on my street. I guess I felt safe enough on
home turf to open my mouth.

"So, are you in high school?" I asked him.

"Nope."

"College?"

"Fuck no."

"You know, you've never even told me how old you
are," I said. Not that I'd told him either, but it was
different.

"How old do you think I am?"

"I don't know, eighteen," I said, giving him the
benefit of a year. I figured seventeen, but it seemed
like he should still be in high school at seventeen. He
laughed.

"Last time I looked I was twenty-one." He said it
kind of reluctantly.

"No shit." I stopped walking, to look at him. Not
that I could see him all that well. It was pretty dark
by then, between streetlights. We were practically
at my house.

"No shit," he said, softly. "You punched a grown
man in the face, princess."

"I didn't mean to do that."

"I know." He pulled my scarf up so it covered my
ears and he kissed me. His lips were cool but his
tongue was warm and I got hard again, feeling it in
my mouth.

He teased me, pulling back from my mouth, only
giving me little brushes of his lips.

"That guy Brian still gives me shit for not teaching
your ass a lesson."

"That guy wanted to hurt me," I said, feeling more
scared right then than I'd felt when it happened.

He pulled me closer to him, his hand rubbing down
my back.

"I wouldn't let him hurt you. Not him or anyone
else." He started to kiss me a lot more seriously,
letting me feel the nudge of his hard cock. It made
weak with wanting to feel his dick rub across mine.
I wished we weren't standing out in the cold with
two layers of jeans in between us.

If only I could just bring him in with me.

I tried to imagine getting to my room, past Joe and
my mom. Would Joe still be there? What the fuck,
I thought, I'll just introduce him, blush like an idiot
and take him to my room. What can they say?

"Come in with me," I said. He made a groaning
sound, holding me away.

"Can't. Not tonight. I'm in deep shit already."

"But it's early," I pleaded, trying to burrow back
into his arms. He let me hug him, his hand sliding
around my hip to my ass.

He gave in to me but not to going into the house.

Colin knew the shadows of my street better than
I did. He drew me into the darkness at the side
of our neighbor's garage.

"Drop your pants," he whispered. "And keep your
voice down."

Oh Jesus, if I hadn't been on fire with wanting him
I couldn't have done it. But I was, and I did; shoving
my tight pants down my thighs. I could hardly see
him, but I heard the sound of the condom packet
tearing and knew he was going to fuck me right there.
He turned me toward the wall of the garage and took
hold of my wrists, leaning with me against the brick
wall.

"Okay?" he said, close to my ear, and I nodded, my
heart going crazy. I was scared but so excited. My
dick was so hard, in spite of waving in the cold air,
and it got harder when I felt his breath on my ear
and his cock nosing around in search of my hole.

It felt like he could have lifted me right off my
feet on it. I had my eyes squeezed shut, my face in
the rough wool of my sleeve. His arms were around
my arms, his hands on my wrists.

"It feels so good to fuck you," he breathed the
words against the side of my face. All I could
answer was groaning; overcome by the pleasure
I'd only ever felt with my body stretched wide
open around his cock.

I was so hot you could have seared a steak on my
ass. Colin wrapped his hand around my dick and I
couldn't stand it. I lasted maybe thirty seconds of
that bliss, riding his cock and fucking his fist and
wanting to scream. Colin aimed my dick at the wall
and I painted the bricks.

Afterwards wasn't so good. Fumbling in the dark
to get my pants up over my sore butt and my damp
cock. Not good at all to kiss him good-bye in the
street with no more word than ever of when he'd
show up again. Really not good. I felt as bad then
as if the day had been a disaster.

Joe wasn't there. My mom was up in her studio.
The music was soft though, classical, not blues.

She looked over the railing when I came in. She
asked how the dance went.

"It was okay," I said. I knew that was no answer.
I knew there was a lot that had gone on, for both
of us, that she might want to talk about. But I didn't
feel like I could. What could I say about the dance
when all I could think of then was that movie house
and how I'd just gotten fucked against the wall of
of our neighbor's garage. I made the excuse of
homework.

I was surprised when she nodded, not so eager to
talk herself. She didn't try to keep me from
heading off to my room.