Date: Fri, 3 Oct 2003 09:46:16 -0700 (PDT)
From: Rick Beck <quillswritersrealm@yahoo.com>
Subject: Discovering Gregory Chapter 61

Discovering Gregory
Chapter 61
Calm After The Storm

The therapist gave Greg the next few days off. He went back to lifting
weights. I helped when I could and kept an eye on the storage shed's
doors. I even opened them from time to time to see if the bike had been
disturbed but I found no sign that it had been touched.

Greg remained subdued. He slept more than usual and didn't seem to be too
enthusiastic about anything. His appetite had gone into decline as well and
even when his mother put his favorites in front of him, he pushed the the
plate away before he'd gotten into the meal. None of us said anything for
fear of setting him off again but we were all seeing the same things and
hoping it was no more than a temporary setback.

Late at night I sat with his mother as she knitted and talked about him
when he was a little boy. The stories were always about his curiosity and
fearless bravado as well as the impact he had on people, teachers, and
classmates who came home with him, even in Germany, when he didn't speak
their language and they didn't speak his.

Greg had always run with older boys until he returned to the states at
which time the boys were always a year, or two years, or three years
younger than he was. She didn't understand the attraction as Greg was never
all that friendly to anyone, always assuming the lead and having nothing to
do with anyone that challenged his authority. It wasn't as easy to get
obedience from guys his age back in the states, she thought.

She was sure that most of what was going on now had a great deal to do with
what went on then. Greg had carved out his place in the world and suddenly
the world turned its back on him, except for one little boy. No one
followed him home in an effort to spend time with him. No one called and no
one inquired, and that had to take its toll on someone like him, she mused.

She once again thanked me for my loyalty to her son, but it was more than
that, she was happy I had come to expose them to another kind of boy. My
shyness and reservation was different. I wasn't the kind of boy who usually
followed Greg home, being far too nice and unpretentious.

Doug came home after a particularly excellent spaghetti dinner. He was all
smiles, looking even more handsome, his hair sun bleached, and his skin
darker than I'd ever seen it before. His white even teeth shinned in the
harsh light of the dinning room table, but nothing could out shine the
dazzle on Doug. He hugged both of us fondly, letting his lips brush my neck
as he sniffed in my fragrance deeply and sighed before backing off with his
mother knitting three feet away.

"Where's Cheryl?" His mother asked, knitting one and pearling two with a
dexterity that didn't allow my eyes to keep up with her fast fingers.

"Cheryl? With her family. They went to visit the grandparents. Not what I
wanted to do on a lovely evening like this. How are you, Martin?"

"Fine," I said, unable to keep my eyes off him as he studied me.

"And what did Dougie want to do?" His mother asked, never slowing down but
managing to look up over top of her silver rimmed glasses at her youngest
son.

"Have some of that besketti," he said. "Smells wonderful, mother."

His mother sat down the knitting and hugged Doug on the way past him and
she disappeared into the kitchen. He stood still while I gave him the once
over twice, not trying to hide the admiration I had for his beauty. He
smiled big for me when I got to the soft blue eyes that always had a place
for me in them. The things that Doug and I never said to one another could
have filled a novel.

"How's my brother?" He asked, bringing us both back to reality.

"I don't know," I confessed to him. "Hard to say. He's in one of his
funks."

"Yeah, I wondered how long you'd be able to put up with him once you were
living with him. It's a test, Martin. Greg is a hard man to figure out."

"He's in one of his moods. Nothing seems to interest him. He lifts weights
because he wants his body back. He goes to therapy because he wants to
walk, but he has no interest in either. He just quit on me a ways back. I
let him try to ride the bike and...."

"I know," Doug said, in an effort to save me reliving that particularly
fuck up. "Pop told me he fucked his leg up again. You can't blame yourself
for Greg's craziness. He'd ah done it with you or without you, Martin. Greg
doesn't do anything he hasn't made up his mind to do."

"Yeah, but it was with me and he hasn't been the same since."

"He feels sorry for himself. Poor Greg. I brought something to break the
monotony."

"What?" I asked.

"What later," his mother said as she brought him a plate of spaghetti,
setting it down in the place across from where I sat.

I watched Doug eat. He had the appetite his brother had lost. After two
plates and four slices of garlic bread, he finally pushed himself away from
the plate he'd emptied twice. How did he keep that body with an appetite
like that, I wondered, seeing his taunt chest pressing against his
inadequate shirt as his now powerful looking arms bulged as he wiped up
sauce with the final crust of bread.

"Don't they feed you over there, Dougie?" His mother inquired, also
watching the final dip and the crust disappearing.

"Yeah, but I try to act like I'm not always starving."

"No need to act in front of us, huh? We know you're a pig," she said with a
smile. "Want another plate, Dougie?"

"Exactly," he said, leaning to pick up the big glass of milk that he
drained before setting it back down. "No, Mom, I'm pleasantly full."

His now reddish lips from the spaghetti were coated in the white sheen of
the milk. He licked his lips and watched me watching him, smiling only
after I'd kept my gaze on his face. Even with the remnants of his dinner on
his face, it was lovely to look at.

"You'll never change, Martin," Doug said, licking his lips.

"Let's hope not," his mother said, patting the back of my hand. "He's the
best son I've got and I've got some good ones."

"Yeah," Doug said. "He's a keeper Ma. Don't let him get away."

Doug got up from the table and headed out of the dinning room and I heard
the back screen door open and then slam. A minute later it opened and than
slammed shut again and Doug came back through the kitchen and laid two
tennis rackets and a cylinder of tennis balls on the table.

"What's that for?" I asked.

"You and the gimp," Doug said.

"Douglas!" His mother objected.

"You know, my lame brother and you."

"Douglas!"

"I thought maybe it would give him something else to do for exercise. It's
a good game and you don't need to freak out playing it. I mean someone can
play it without having to run all over the place. Then as he can move
better, you play harder. At first you just hit it back and forth. He only
has to move as far as he needs to. You'll see. Cheryl's father suggested
it."

He cleared his place and took the remnants of his dinner into the kitchen
before going into the television room and coming back in no time at all.

"It's like seven o'clock and he's sleeping already?" Doug said.

"Yeah, told you, he's lost interest in everything."

"Okay, I'll stay tonight. We'll take him out tomorrow and he can watch us
play tennis," Doug calculated.

"Only one small problem with your plan, Douglas," I said.

"Yeah, that being?"

"I can't play tennis," I said.

"Me either. Cheryl waxes my ass, so I'm no whiz at it. I'll teach you the
rules as we go. Make up what I need to so I can beat your ass. Greg'll want
to play by the time we're done. He'll hate seeing us doing something
together."

"I don't think so," I said. "He's barely doing the things he's supposed to
do. He's stopped walking on his own. I've got to go with him just to get
him to the bathroom. He was going on his own for a while."

"Sounds like my brother. Why do it alone when you can get help," Doug
chuckled before realizing his mother was listening.

"I don't think that's it. He's quit trying."

"Martin, you might lo... like my brother but I know him best. He'll want a
shot at tennis before we quit. All you have to do is act like you're having
fun playing with me."

That brought all kinds of visions to mind but none I felt comfortable
commenting on in front of his mother. I let it slid and just agreed to
disagree with Greg's brother, when there was little disagreeable about him.

It was after therapy and weight lifting the following day that Doug
suggested we go up to the high school to use the courts behind the
gym. Greg was at odds with the idea until he found out that Doug and I were
going whether or not he went. He begrudgingly agreed, not wanting me and
Doug alone anywhere together.

Doug ran me all over the court. It was like I was his ball boy. I could
volley with him if he didn't hit the serve well but when he got his serve
in, all I could do was chase the ball. Greg sat at the side of the court
unconcerned and not the least bit amused.

Once Doug had worn me out, and I was sweating, and huffing and puffing from
the workout, Greg wanted to get in the game.

"Let me play," Greg said.

"You can't even walk," I said.

"Yeah, well, I don't need to walk to beat your ass at tennis," Greg
retorted.

He stood up and limped, more dragging his bad leg toward Doug, taking the
racket from him. He then struck the ball with the racket and sailed it over
my head. Once again I ended up chasing balls as Greg stood in one spot,
hardly moving.

Each time I hit a ball, I did my best to hit it right at him, so he could
have a shot at it. A couple of times he had to move a step to the right or
left to get to it. I never put enough on the ball to cause him to take more
than one step a shot. I thought I had handled the situation pretty well,
when it became clear that the only thing I handled was my own irrelevant
mind that was rarely as clever as I thought it was.

On one particular shot that came close to me but not close enough for me to
get a clear shot, which caused me to hit it back with a little more
velocity than I might have liked. Up until then every ball I hit was an
easy floater that gave him no challenge whatsoever to return a shot. This
ball whizzed back over the net and headed just beyond his reach, or so it
seemed from my vantage point.

Greg had several options. Stand still and watch it zip past. Take a step
and try to get in front of it and that would leave no hope of returning the
ball in any controlled manor, or he could lunge at the ball with his racket
outstretched and maybe hit it as he was falling probably on his face. Well,
there was no doubt in my mind what he'd do, take a step and end up in front
of the ball, knocking it down so it didn't skitter away. That's what he had
done every time before.

Greg was totally focused on the ball from the time it left his racket. For
a long time he didn't move at all, and then, suddenly, he shoved out the
racket and lunged toward the ball, connecting with it in a big way, and
launching it straight at my head. Which left me falling down as I stumbled
backward in an effort to avoid getting my block knocked off.

Greg also fell down, laughing his ass off as he saw me falling away from
his mighty blast. He couldn't just adjust to his limitations. He had to get
in one clear shot at my head so that he felt better. No one was more amused
by this triumph than he was. Doug went over to him to help him up but he
was laughing to hard to stand. The game was over.

We decided we'd had enough tennis but Greg wanted to come back and try it
again soon. Doug had known his brother better than I did but he never
mentioned it again. He was gone back to Cheryl's before the weekend and
said he'd be back before school started. No one said he should do anything
different, although it was nice having him around.

We added tennis to our daily routine. Greg liked it and the one step and
occasional lunges turned into two steps and then three. He could move
fairly quickly on the first step, and he could reach almost anything I hit
him with that, but on those errant blasts that had the ball out of his
reach, he'd make a game effort to get to it. In one step and then follow it
up with one or two more before letting it go, which he didn't often do.

Ever so slowly the energy was coming back. We'd gone a week without having
sex and that was the longest I could remember. He hadn't mentioned it but
one day while I was rubbing him with mineral oil, his libido returned with
a vengeance.

First he wanted to wrestle and that meant my clothes were covered in the
oil I was using on him and he liked that. Once I was shed of them, he found
it easy to get a hold on me, while no matter where I grabbed him, my hands
slipped off. He would laugh and get another hold on me until we were in a
position he could make the most of. There was no doubt it was hard for him
to hide his enthusiasm for our physical contact.

Using the oil and while kissing him, I clutched the prize between his
thighs. It looked a little like a big fat bull frog the way it swelled in
my fist as the oil facilitated my massaging of it. It was only a couple of
minutes with me enjoy the feel while working it for all I was worth. I did
all with in my power to swallow his tongue and while concentrating on that
I felt the hot burst of fluid on my arm, and then watched another long
straight line shoot up his stomach and onto his chest.

His kisses were passion filled and demanding as he forced his hips at my
hand to empty out the pent up lustiness that had come back to life.

"Damn," he said, looking down at the mess he had made on his front side. "I
couldn't stop it. I've never lost it that easy before."

"You mean that hard, don't you," I said, squeezing the fast fading fistful
of cock as we both studied its posture.

Even soft he was thicker than I was hard and only a little
shorter. Thinking he was done, I let up on my manipulations, but at a time
like this, Greg was only getting warmed up.

He held my hand and used his hips to press his cock into it while we kissed
some more. In only a few more minutes he was rising to the occasion again
and the quality of his kisses never left it in doubt.

It wasn't unusual for him to stay hard after getting off the first time but
he hadn't been that horny for some time. If there was to be a second round,
it usually started pretty fast and got us right back into the heat of
battle. This time he was content to kiss and let me feel him coming back to
life until there was no doubt we were going at least one more round.

Having had enough of handling him, I slipped down his sloppy torso to start
working on the head, remembering it took time to stretch my mouth over
him. Keeping my jaws relaxed was the secret to swallowing most of Greg's
erection. It took time and concentration so I didn't gouge him too deeply
with my lust for his hungry cock.

I felt a little like the python after constricting his prey and then slowly
swallowing it whole so his body could be nourished. With each gulp, I moved
further down the shaft, smelling his fragrant balls from the days
activities, the mineral oil, and the cum. The aroma made my head swim and
kept me swallowing until the animal I was consuming came back to life on
me. First my lips felt the vibrations as the hard prick twitched against my
teeth that sunk into the gristle of his dick, and more spasms caused it to
pulse in my mouth as the head swelled against the back of the my mouth and
closed in on my throat.

"Sorry!" He breathed out the word heavily before I tasted the tangy and
pungent liquid squirting into my throat as his hips raised up and his hand
held the back of my head so I couldn't back off.

The familiar moan followed and his hips shook as more musty liquid squirted
in jolts of potent thick jelly. Forcing my mouth down on his hot to trot
cock wasn't the brightest idea he'd ever had.

My mouth was fairly well accustomed to the fattest part of it, but his
forced introduction to a few more silly millimeters had my teeth biting the
hell out of him. Past experience told me that this wasn't all together
disagreeable to his effort to bust the biggest nut he could muster and so I
went with him as long as he wrestled my mouth in his lustful effort to feed
me his true love.

Once again he retreated rather faster than usual, allowing me to come up
for air before I was desperate for the stuff.

"Sorry!" He said again, "I wanted to make it last. I know I haven't been
giving you enough attention."

"Hell with making it last. There's always more where that came from," I
answered, moving back to kiss him again.

"Yeah, but you still haven't done anything. I wanted you to cum that time."

"When I do, you'll know it, but I can't keep reloading and you can. This is
good for me. I'll manage."

"True," he said, thinking back. "I can do better."

In the shower I soaped him up as he leaned under the showerhead. His
muscles were hardening and his ability to walk and stand were improving. As
I slid up behind him and wrapped myself around him, he used his ass on me
in a suggestive way, making no attempt to stay out of reach.

Slipping beyond the boundaries of earth was always a rush for me,
especially when I had his pocket rocket in my fist, pumping it up to keep
the propellant igniting his flame. It never took long for me once we
achieved orbit. I became dizzily frazzled on the jagged edges of my
mind. It was perfection and once I had done the deed, he turned in my
flaccid arms and gazed into my dazed and soulful eyes.

"I love you, Martin, and that was about the best sex I've ever had. You're
so fucking wild when you cum. I might go often but you are champ when it
somes to cumming big time."

He had gone soft and there were no ulterior motives for his remarks,
nothing to be gained or lost in the heat of the moment, and so it was
good. It was very very good and as I dried his hardening body, he held onto
the towel rack, watching me wipe his thighs free of moisture. It's then he
laughed and at first I wasn't sure he wasn't laughing at me, but I was
always prepared for some wiggle room to worm its way into something he had
said.

"God, I'm lucky. God you are so cute. I want to dry you when you're done."

"That would be great, Greg, but you can't bend your knees. How do you
expect to accomplish that?"

"I can sit my ass down on the thrown can't I. I can dry you off from there,
and maybe even do some business while I'm at it."

We both laughed at the specter of him taking a dump and drying me off at
the same time, speaking of an economy of motion.

There was nothing economical about my love for him. It was incredible being
with him, especially when he was completely alive. Times were tough on both
of us but there was still joy in our world that kept us going.

				   *****

quillswritersrealm@yahoo.com

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