Date: Tue, 18 Apr 2006 20:32:39 -0700 (PDT)
From: Douglas Grant <dlgrantsf@yahoo.com>
Subject: gang-of-five-4

Copyright 2006 by dlgrantsf@yahoo.com; all rights reserved.

Next installment in a short novel about friendship, growth, and different
kinds of love, in different combinations, between five high-school boys.

First warning; as the story develops, it also gets very sexual.  If I were
to code it properly, it might be
(BBBBB/group/oral/anal/mast/rimming/awholebunchelse).  Be aware.

Second warning; the characters (eventually) talk about politics, the
potential for a military draft, and the state of the U.S. and the world,
among other aspects of their lives.  They have some fairly strong opinions,
as people will do.  Offense to any reader is not intended.

More after the end of this chapter.  Thanks for reading . . . .


***********************************************************************

Gang of Five -- Part 4

-----------------------------------------

The four of us, sitting side by side on the grass up on The Hill, watching
the traffic and the little mini-mall down below us, and sipping our coffees
on a warm, golden afternoon.  Maybe beginning to reconnect; a little.
Maybe.

"So," went Tim, after a pause in the conversation.  "It must have kind
. . . of sucked for you, leaving your friends in England behind."  He
hesitated a second, looking over at Jarod.  "I mean, first you had to leave
us behind; then you . . . made new friends over there, and . . . now you've
left them behind, too."

Something changed, slightly, in the atmosphere.  I could sort of feel Jarod
watching me, as Tim said it.

"Yeah," I said, softly, looking down.  "It did suck.  And I'll miss them."
I glanced over at Tim and Jarod, and then over at Zach.  "But I wasn't as
close to them as I was to you guys.  Not nearly."

"Are," said Jarod.

"Huh?"

"ARE close."  And Jarod shoulder-bumped me, and Tim was flushing a little
and nodding, and Zach bumped my other shoulder; and I felt warmer.  A lot
warmer.

"Tell us more about them, then," went Jarod.  "We didn't hear that much, in
your emails."

I shrugged, then paused for a second.

"Me mates?" I started, in my best Eastenders accent, which is very
marginally better than Tim's.  "Me mates?  Oi, a bloke's got 'a hav 'is
mates, do's'nt he?  Do's'nt he?"

"See, I KNEW he could do it!" laughed Tim, clapping his hands and falling
backwards against the slope of the hill.

"'A Canadian who spent time in Poland'?"  Jarod lifted his eyebrow.

"Different accent.  I never tried East London."

"I can see why."

"All right!  I know."  I grinned at him, and looked back down between my
feet, thinking.  "Well, my best . . . mate was probably Robert; he's a
Brit, but his dad's with the Foreign Office, and he spent a lot of time
growing up overseas when he was a kid -- "

"Here?  In the US?"

"No, Africa, mostly.  And in India."  I thought about Robert -- some of his
disgusting eating habits, and his lame jokes, and his loyalty, and
good-heartedness, and I realized all over again how much I really WOULD
miss him.

And that I had to email him, tonight.  The way Zach had emailed me.

"And there's Jose; he's from Chile, his family's here -- I mean, in England
-- for a couple of years, only.  He's really, really interesting; I would
so like to visit Chile, someday.  It just sounds incredible."

"And he invited you over, of course," went Jarod.

"Well, yeah.  And I'd like to go."  I picked another blade of grass, and
looked at it, close.  Looking at the cut-off tip, from the last mowing; a
little brown, and ragged.


"No girlfriends, in London?" asked Zach, out of nowhere.  Evenly.


Talk about conversation stoppers.

Nobody said anything, nobody moved, as I went on looking at that blade of
grass, kind of drawing in my breath; the sort of pause you take, before
doing something really stupid.  Or dangerous.

Or final.

"Well," I started.  Trying to sound casual.  "I had a massive crush on
Philippe Coudrot, at school, but he didn't even know I was alive."  I tried
to keep my tone light.  "His loss.  And yeah, I'm about as totally queer as
you can get.  Like, totally."

Long pause.  LONG pause; at least, to me.

And then, a bunch of things seemed to happen at once.

I heard a kind of `whoop!' coming from Tim's general direction; and then
Zach had his arms around me from one side, squeezing so, so tight, burying
his face in my neck, and then Jarod had his arms around both of us, really,
and he kissed me on the cheek -- I think it was Jarod, Zach was still
pressed too tight against me to move -- and then Tim kind of barreled into
all three of us from the front, knocking us all back against the hill in a
clump --

And, stupid, emotional git that I am, I began to kind of tear up.  Because
it was the single best moment of my entire life.  So far.  No possible
comparison.

And then, everybody began talking.  At once, of course.

"I told you.  I told you," Jarod was saying, calmly, looking past me at
Zach.

"Four out of five!  Eighty . . . . percent!" Tim was saying, with this huge
grin.

"Jesus, Christian," Zach was saying -- I probably would have laughed at
that, in any other circumstance -- "Jesus, Christian, why didn't you
fucking SAY something?  Just give us a fucking hint?"

He wasn't mad; he was saying it kind of wonderingly, like he really didn't
know.

"What do you mean?"  I was confused.

"You can't count Liam as all-heterosexual," Jarod was saying to Tim.

"Your emails.  It was like -- like you cut us out of that part your life,
after awhile," went Zach.  He'd lowered his voice, talking just to me, eyes
on my face, as Jarod and Tim went blathering on.  "I -- we -- thought it
was because, well . . . "

"He SAYS he's straight," went Tim, to Jarod, from my other side.

"Yes, but look what he's doing with us, every other day or so.  You think
that counts as straight?"

"Well, I didn't mean to!"  I said to Zach.  "I just -- well, look, there I
was in London, alone, and the four of you were here, and -- nothing from
you about any of that stuff, either -- for a LONG time -- and then, about
Liam getting all involved with a girl . .  I don't know . . . "  I looked
down at the grass.  "I was afraid I was the only gay one, " I went on,
softly.  "And that you guys -- well, straight boys fool around."  Pause.
"When they're young."

I looked up at Zach again, as Tim and Jarod went on arguing about --
whatever.  I watched his face soften, and then he hugged me in close to
him, again; a long, long hug.

"Oh, Christian," he murmured, into my neck, at last.  He held on to me, a
little longer; his body against mine was so warm, just shockingly warm and
alive, his face against my neck so smooth.  "Jesus . . .  I am sorry."  He
let me go, looked into my face again.  "Maybe we both screwed up; but I
guess, also . . . maybe I just didn't think.  I mean, we all had each
other, back here -- Tim and Jarod and Liam and me -- and you were alone
over there.  How could you know -- ?"

"Or you about me," I went, not very articulately.

It occurred to me that maybe -- just maybe -- I'd been a little
self-involved, when it came to The Question.  That if I'd put myself in
Zach's place -- and Tim's and Jarod's -- maybe I wouldn't have been quite
so paranoid.

And that maybe, even if they'd all turned out straight -- the love we'd had
for each other would still have been there, one form or another.

Maybe.  Maybe.

Not that I didn't still have questions.  A lot of them.

"So -- all three of you?"

"What?", from Jarod.  By this time we were still sort-of-clumped,
sort-of-apart, up against the hillside.

"Gay."  I felt myself flushing, some.  "Like me."

If you've ever come out -- you know what I was feeling.  These three boys
were the first human beings I'd ever told, about me.

It had been the single hardest thing I'd ever said.  To anybody.

Zach reached over and massaged my neck, slowly, comfortingly.  "Gay like
me.  Sounds like a `fifties movie title, doesn't it?"

I glanced at Jarod, just in time to see him give Zach one of his patented
looks.  Or Looks.  "Did you ever have any doubts?", he asked, turning to
me.

"About me?  No.  I always knew.  But, you?"  I looked at each of them.

"I should have said something before you left," said Zach, still massaging
the stiff muscles in my neck.

Driving me crazy in the process.  The massaging, I mean.  It had been so
long . . .

"But -- what about Liam?"  I asked.  I really didn't get it.  "He's still,
like -- getting together with you?  Like, at Zach's house?"

"With us," said Zach, firmly, and Tim did his nodding thing, and I felt
more wetness in my eyes.  "With us.  You're back, now."

"Liam says he doesn't believe in labels," went Jarod, kind of gently.  "But
he's really fixated on Candace.  And, well, they haven't done very much
together, yet.  Physically.  Kissing; I guess."  He glanced over at Tim.
"So he comes over sometimes, after a date, and . . . it's a lot of fun.  He
can get kind of wild."  I saw Tim turn pink -- or pink-er -- and I
wondered.

"But you'll see him tomorrow," went Zach.  "If you want, anyway.  My dad's
gone for the weekend, and Jarod and Tim and Liam are coming over --
Saturday night, too, and, and, it would be cool if you wanted to come over?
Sleep over, I mean?"

He sounded -- almost shy.  Zach, shy.  That was something new.

I could feel myself flushing, bright red.  Redder than Tim, even.

"Friday and Saturday?  Both?"

"I'd like it," said Zach, simply.  "And Dad likes it, when I have company
while he's gone."  He looked sideways at me.  "Would that be okay with your
folks?"

"Uh-huh," was all I said.

Having a weekend by themselves, while their morose teenage son re-connected
with his best friends?  His best friend?  Who they loved like another son?
And who lived four houses over?

"So . . . you want to?" Zach asked.  Gently.  A little tentatively.  As his
hand kept massaging, massaging.

"Yeah.  Oh, yeah," I got out, looking down, almost whispering it.

And I got wrapped in a group hug again, but more gently than last time; and
to my utter embarrassment, my eyes really WERE filling with tears this
time, and running over, but I didn't really care, because these really were
my old friends, and in this one important way, anyway, I was home.


***********************************************************************

Part 5 will be uploaded shortly.

Comments, reactions, and criticism are welcome at dlgrantsf@yahoo.com.

I'm particularly interested in hearing from people who may have had similar
physical and emotional friendships with other boys; similar friendship
groups.  I get the impression that such arrangements used to be a lot more
common than they are now, which is -- in a way -- a shame, I think.  Even
if it does indicate progress, in a way.

I'm also interested in hearing from expatriates.  Christian's predicament
is partly based on experiences of several friends of mine.  I have enormous
(retroactive) sympathy for them both.

Many, many thanks to Nifty for providing this priceless service.

My previous Nifty story is `Naked with Connor', in the High School
directory.

Thanks to everybody who has already written.  And, thanks again for
reading.