Date: Sun, 19 Aug 2001 14:38:58 -0400 From: W.B. Harrell <wbharrell@hotmail.com> Subject: In the Arms of an Angel Chapter 5 In The Arms of an Angel Chapter 5 By: W.B. Harrell (wbharrell@hotmail.com) Disclaimer: My friend Becky once exclaimed how disclaimers must have inferiority complexes because of us always saying how useless they are. So as not to hurt the poor thing's feelings, I won't say anything bad except the usual: Don't get caught if you're underage, and if you're not, then enjoy. Dedication: To Cyan, for one who doesn't like gay porn and is straight as the Apien Way, you sure are one helluva sounding board. (Becky aka Zarah is vacationing in France with her friends and their bicycles.) Curses! Why can't I be in Paris? That's right, it's the end of summer semester and I'm preparing for fall semeseter. No rest for the sophmores of SCU. Apologies: nightangel; for causing you undo stress. Wisdom for today: Pick-up line not to use: Nice shirt. Comeback: Nice try. Pick-up line to use: Nice belt buckle. Comeback: My place is just down the street... Chapter 5 Chaz. What a name. Chaz, it sounds like some unknown Aztec god, doesn't it. I know very little about Chaz except for the fact that he has my eyes, I've always heard that eyes are the window to the soul, and if we share eyes, does that mean we share the same soul. That we are soul mates? I shook myself out of my thought process before I got a nasty woody. I was thinking thoughts about a guy, who, for all I knew had a girlfriend and a healthy sex life with her. Then I remembered that he was only fifteen and that it wouldn't be a *healthy* sex life. Fifteen was way to young to be a father or get an STD from some slut. But a nice, clean boy like myself...well. For the second time, I shook my thoughts off. I had to stop these awful fantasies before a nurse came in and noticed that my hospital gown had a slight growth. I turned on the T.V. and flipped to Cartoon Network. Great, Toonami was just coming on. I love Toonami, it's a collection of Japanese anime' classics and some new ones as well. The theme from Gundam Wing: Mobile Suit came on and I settled back and immersed myself in the episode. This particular episode featured Trowa's epic battle with some wierd named pink/red mobile suit piloted by Lieutenant Zex. This particular Gundam featured a whip sharper than any razor. Ouch. Eventually, the show ended and my favorite show, DBZ (Dragon Ball Z) came on. Unfortunately, the show had made it halfway through the Freeza saga for the second time and I had already seen this episode, so I turned the T.V. to the local news station. "And in local news, 15 year old Jason Porter has woken up from his month and a half long coma after being hit by a car, Karla Smith has more details," said the anchor. Cool, I was on T.V. "You see behind me the lime green V.W. Beetle that plowed into young Jason Porter just over a month and a half ago. Apparently, the boy ran into the middle of the street, obviously not seeing the car rounding the curve and Tammy Whelk, a 37-year-old payroll attendant for Seqoyah Wood Products, accidently hit the boy." It was scary seeing the car that hit me. The police inpound lot hadn't bothered to clean the blood, MY blood from the hood. "The boy suffered from multiple fractures, broken ribs, a collapsed lung, a compound break in his left arm, a hairline fracture in his right, a deep laceration on his left leg, and the list goes on and on; obviously, this boy is very lucky to be alive," she continued. "But, Shiela, if any credit can be given to saving this boy's life, it comes from a most unlikely source: 15 year-old Charles Whelk, nicknamed Chaz, the passenger in the car that hit also-15 year-old Porter," said the reporter. A picture of the most beautiful boy that I had ever seen came on the screen. His blonde hair was not very long. He wore it in a fashionable style, swept forward and spiked in the front. His face was the face of just what I'd pictured him. An angel. His nose was perfect, his chin strong and only slightly squared, he had a bashful look about him. And his eyes. I could have been lost in them forever. "For those of you out there wondering, Whelk has bloodtype AB-, a very rare type indeed, and for those of you wondering what the significance is, Porter has the same bloodtype, we have an interview scheduled with Mr. Whelk and are contacting the family of Mr. Porter to arrange a meeting between the two," said the reporter. God bless channel 14! I was going to meet Chaz. I thanked God for bringing me this far, hoping that this wouldn't turn out to be some cruel joke. Praying that my soul-mate wasn't straight. A bang at the front door broke my chain of thought. "You decent?" yelled Wil. I swear, my parents have come to terms with his homosexuality and he thinks that gives him the right to embarrass the crap out of me. I smiled. I wouldn't have it any other way. "Yeah, come in," I said. He did. He was wearing one of my tee-shirts. It was obviously too small for his broad chest (probably why he was wearing it) and sported a picture of Mr. Clean on the front. "You're stretching my shirt, you freak," I growled. "Shut up," he exclaimed, "you're just mad because I make this shirt look good." He flexed and I groaned. "Whatever," I mumbled, "just keep telling yourself that." "Anyway, it's time for your physical therapy lil' bro," he said, "get your ass out of bed and come on." "What physical therapy?" I asked, "who ever heard of physical therapy at five in the afternoon?" "The slave driver in ward ten," he said, "and he *IS* a slave driver." He finished the last bit in a coy tone. I raised an eyebrow. "You haven't been hitting on my physical therapist?" I asked. "Not blatantly," he said, trying to look innocent though he had the look of the proverbial cat who got the proverbial canary. "You'll hit on him too when you see him," he continued. "I think not," I said, "I'm not really anxious to get a wood in front of a guy who gives weekly reports to my parents, I mean, dude, can you imagine this: Great progress on the treadmill, and Oh yes Mr. and Mrs. Porter, I caused your son to become aroused today," I said in my best impression of a buffed up body building physical therapist. "You wanna look good for your hunk of beefcake on T.V. don't you?" asked my brother. "How...what?" I sputtered. "Don't trip, lil' bro, I'm getting vibes off you like stink off a skunk," he said, holding his nose, "and he *is* quite a hunk." I looked downward and studied my feet. This seemed to make my brother angry. He grabbed my chin and pushed it up. "Don't you EVER do that again," he said heatedly, "you are what you are and there is nothing to be ashamed of, you can hide it, but in my presence, you will NOT be ashamed." "That's easy for you to say," I said, "you got off easy, all you had to do was to say that you didn't have to take it and hang up the phone, what could I do when they told me that I was dirty and wrong and not their son? What was I supposed to do when Mom accused me of molesting Max? What could I say to stop Dad from beating me when he reached my room?" Wil flinched. "Dad hit you?" he asked. I shook my head. "I tackled him on the stairs on the way from my room before I ran out the door," I replied. Wil shook his head and sat down on my bed. He patted the space beside him and I got up and moved over to that spot. "I know Mom and Dad hurt you, hell, they hurt me too when I came out," he said, "but they know better now, you'll have to forgive them sooner or later, and the longer you wait, the worse they hurt." "Does their chest still hurt of bruised ribs, will their legs be scarred for life?" I asked bitterly. Wil gingerly punched my arm, not lightly enough to be nonviolent, but hard enough to hurt the stiff muscles. "Your legs will never be scarred for life you dork, the skin's alreay grown over the wounds, and they have grafts that'll grow over the scars, however, there will always be a place in your heart that hurts from all the bad things Mom and Dad said to you, but you'll know that they didn't know what they were saying and that they will always be sorry for saying them," soothed Wil. "Yeah, I guess," I said grudgingly and struggled to my feet, grasping my I.V. pole for assistance, "now let's go see this stud physical therapist of yours." "Easy boy," Wil said, holding up his hands, "we've got to get you properly dressed first. *** One thing I have to give my brother. He has a excellent sense of style. After I gave him my sizes, he left for thirty minutes, and I walked around my room, trying to get my land legs back. It was harder than I thought. I could barely manage to shuffle, much less lift my feet like a normal person. Eventually my nurse came in with my dinner and made me sit down and fussed over me. She opened the entree dish that held my dinner and I grimaced. If they really wanted anyone in this hospital to die, all they had to do was have them breathe the noxious fumes from this garbage. The nurse left and I eyed the bowl of red beans and rice and boiled shrimp. I swear it eyed me back. It was a bit disconcerting trying to eat food that you thought was looking back. I was about to be brave and try it when Wil came in. He was carrying several large paper sacks and a McDonald's bag. "Wouldn't you rather have this?" he asked, gesturing to the McDonald's bag. I nodded thankfully and grabbed the bag and fell onto the Big Mac and supersized order of fries. "I already drank your coke," he continued, "sorry." I motioned to a can of Sprite sitting at the edge of my dinner tray. "Got it covered," I said between bites. It took me a record three minutes to polish off the whole meal, every crumb, seaseme seed, and drop of special sauce. I looked up to Wil who was eyeing me amusedly. "See something funny?" I asked. "Nope, I was just thinking how much you've been through to appreciate something like McDonald's so much," he said seriously. "Whatever," I said, "lets see those clothes you got me." He grinned and pulled over the first sack. Inside was a pair of black and silver Nike sandals and a bottle of CK One. "Gotta smell pretty," he said. I rolled my eyes and tried on the sandals, they fit perfectly. "Next up," said Wil as he pulled out the second bag. There were three shirts inside. An orange Abercrombie tee-shirt, a white Tommy Hilfiger polo-style shirt, and an Old Navy button-up shirt. I picked the tee-shirt. "Pants now," said Wil and pulled over the next bag. Inside was a pair of Tommy cargo shorts, a pair of jeans, and some Arizona khakis. I picked the shorts. "Extras," said Wil as he pulled the final, smaller bag over. Inside was a pair of CK boxers, one sporting Elmer Fudd, the other a plain black silk pair. Black silk....heeheehee. There was some socks a bottle of spray-on Degree deodorant, and...a small white package. "What the hell is this?" I asked as I held it between my thumb and forefinger. "Oops," said Wil as he grabbed the package from me, "that's for me." I rolled my eyes and went into the bathrom to change. The I.V. posed some problems. I eventually got tired of it, so I turned it off, and unhooked the tube from the needle. *** "Wow, you look nice, if you weren't my brother, then..." said Wil, letting the sentence trail off. He smiled at his own joke. I hoped *he* thought that it was funny. I raised an eyebrow and rummaged through the rest. There was socks, some soap and shampoo, the last three books of my favorite series, Animorphs, and an I-zone sticky film camera. Cool. I've always wanted one. "For the happy moment," he said secretively. "What happy moment?" I asked. "Oh...for when you meet the physical therapist," he said after a small pause. I wondered why I needed this all these new clothes for a physical therapist. "Brush your hair," he said and my hand instinctavly went to my hair. It was the length I liked it. "Mom had a hairstylist keep it cut just at the length you liked it," he said. "That was nice of her," I said bitterly. "Don't push your luck kiddo," he said in that cocky attitude of his, "if I have to tell you Mom and Dad have changed one more time, I'm going to have to *really* hurt you." I shut up and brushed my hair. After a few strokes, it looked presentable. "This is from me," he said, reaching into his pocket, "gotta keep up with style." He handed me a white flat-shell choker. I nodded my thanks and put it on. It matched the ensemble perfectly. "Are we *done*, now," I asked impatiently, looking at the watch on my wrist. What? Since when did I wear a watch? Must have been another one of Mom and Dad's guilt gifts. "I suppose, let's go," he said. I hooked the I.V. back up and headed out the door. *** "Dammit, Wil," I exclaimed, "why do I have to have my eyes closed?" "I don't want you seeing the way to ward 10, you might decide to give yourself to the PT one day and I don't know if Mom would like that," he said. I bit back a bitter remark. The elevator chinged and I could hear the door open. "Okay, now walk forward," said Wil, pushing me forward, "now left, okay now straight forward from here." I heard an odd commotion in the distance. It was odd for a hospital to be so loud. "Okay, lil' bro, uncover your eyes," I did so and looked around. People were standing everywhere and they started to clap. I looked to Wil, a bit disoriented. "Look over there," he said pointing to a corner. A lady...wait a sec. I knew her. It was the lady from the news! "Jason Porter, meet Chaz Whelk," she said in a grandous tone. Then, from behind her back, stepped...MY ANGEL! He stood there, gracefully as a swan. The picture didn't do him justice. He stood somewhere near six feet, his shoulders were broad, he wasn't skinny, then he wasn't muscled either. He had the look of someone who kept in shape by running or swimming. His legs had a light dusting of hair and his goatee was more noticable than it was in the picture. He wore a yellow tee-shirt that advertised Nesquik, tan cargo shorts, and a pair of Nike Max Airs without any socks and the laces tucked in. I stumbled up to him. He cautiously stuck out his hand. I took it and looked into his eyes. I saw something there, some look of thanks...then it was gone, hidden by the icy depths. I blinked and mumbled a hello. I couldn't help it, I had to touch him, to make sure he was real. I hugged him. I nearly fainted when he hugged me *back*. I couldn't hold back the tears any longer. I let loose and began sobbing. All the pain held in me over my parents, the horror of their hate, it all was siphoned into my tears. I felt a slight wetness begin to develop on my shoulder and a shudder from Chaz. He was crying too. "I was so scared that you were going to die and I'd never have a chance to talk to you," he whispered lightly in my ear, "meet me later in the waiting room on the second floor." "Okay," I said weakly, "and thanks for my life." The reporter asked us questions, but we just held each other and cried. End Chapter 5 Okay, I know I promised you guys some sex, but that's going to wait. I have a new plot twist that will push back the sex about a chapter or two, but then i PROMISE PROMISE to have at least some good jack-off scenes. P.S. Sorry that this story Saturday, I was hanging out at the beach and forgot to bring my laptop. Sorry guys.