Date: Tue, 27 Aug 2013 20:21:30 -0400
From: Jade <phantomscorpio77@gmail.com>
Subject: Gay/High School : In the Shadow of Our Lives - Wings of Tomorrow 8

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>>).:.(<<


In the Shadows of Our Lives
Part 2 - Wings of Tomorrow VIII
~ No More Words [Every Time I See Your Picture I Cry] ~


"I've gone through changes, I've gone through pain,
But there's not enough reason for me to go insane."

Rock The Night, by Europe


>>).:.(<<

JON

Paul stops by early Monday morning and Ma invites him in, sending him up to
see me.

He startles me awake with a kiss to my forehead.  I could get used to this
quickly, waking to him being tender to me.  But just at the moment I'm
trying to figure what he's doing here sitting on the edge of my bed because
he didn't spend the night.  More so, I'm wondering how I'm going to pull
off skipping off school today now.

Seeing me awake, he answers my unvoiced question, "Hey, I left Jackie's to
go home and change, but I don't want to deal with my Ma right now.  She's
on holidays this week so she'll be home for sure.  I also just wanted to
see you too.  You're cute with bed-head."

"Cute?  Are you're contacts in?"

"Yup, got my eyes in.  Definitely cute."

I groan, "I'd prefer hot or sexy, but cute will do I guess.  Grab whatever
you want from my drawers.  Your shirt is in there somewhere.  Do you want
to grab a shower too?  Sounds like Tim is done in there."

"I was going to wear this shirt I got off you yesterday.  You look sexy in
it so it'll more than do.  Can I grab some boxers and socks off you though?
Do you think maybe Tim will let me borrow some jeans off him?"

"Why not my jeans?"

"Cause everyone knows your baggy jeans, and I've never worn that kind
ever."

I try to imply he's fat, which he's far from, "What?  They won't look as
baggy on you.  Oh, I get it!  Afraid they won't be roomy on you?  Don't
think they'll fit?"

"No!  I'm far from fat.  Your drooling over me tells me so!  It's just,
everyone knows your style and it would stand out on me.  Jackie already
knows something's up with me so I don't want his third degree
interrogation."

Paul reaches into my sock and underwear drawer and spots the boxers Sam
stowed in my suitcase when Chris and I were in New York and had a threesome
with him.  I grab them from Paul's hand and bury them back in the drawer,
"Not those ones.  Any but those."

"But I like boxers."

"Well today you're going to have to like something different, kay?" I say
as I rifle through the drawer to make sure it's boxer-briefs on top, above
the thongs Chris bought me and the jockstrap Duncan sent me.

Trying to hand Paul a grey pair of boxer-briefs, I hear Tim crack the
bathroom door so I turn to him, "Hey Timbo, can Paul maybe borrow some
clothes off you?  Like, I've got most of it covered.  Maybe just a pair of
jeans, even though mine will fit his incredibly fat ass?  You know, since
you guys both wear similar clothes?  So people won't see him wearing
something they know is mine?" I plead.

Tim seems caught off guard by my ambush, looking from me to Paul and back,
"Yeah, sure.  we'll grab him something while you shower."

"I don't have to shower yet; school isn't for over an hour still!  If I'm
in the shower just after Ma leaves for work, I still have time to get ready
for school and not make us late!"

"Or you could skip your first squeaky-bed masturbation session of the day
today, dufus!"

"Yeah, that's it.  Well Paul's going to have a quick shower first," I say
as I turn back to Paul, ignoring Tim's astute observation about my
masturbatory habits as if I didn't hear it.  He likes to embarrass me in
front of Paul, but Paul's doing a good job for himself seeing as how he's
put away the grey Calvin's and dug right to the bottom of my drawer and
found everything I didn't want him to.

He's pulled out a pair of 2(x)ist sports briefs and has them on top of the
dresser with a pair of plain white socks.  Seeing me stare at the upturned
pile in my drawer, he smiles and runs his hand over the cup in the
jockstrap before picking up a thong.  After holding it up and appraising
it, he shoots it at me like an elastic.

Moments later I want to continue to be jovial and fun, but I'm very
un-talkative this morning.  Between Belinda's demands for attention, I read
and re-read a Christmas card at the kitchen table while Tim and I wait on
Paul.  By the time Paul gets out of the shower I'm in some other place.
Tim and Paul talk for a minute and it's like I'm not even there.  Paul
grabs Belinda to leave when Tim finally nags me into taking my morning
shower.  Normally at this time Paul says he's already dropped Belinda off
at Mrs. Allen's, and would be on his way to school.  We've all got to move
or we're going to be mega-late for school.

After Paul leaves I beg off school, insisting to Tim that I don't feel
well.  If he thought I was lying he'd for sure fight me on it, but I guess
something about my outward appearance makes him believe me this morning.

What no one knows is that while I've been functioning normal on the outside
the past few days, I have been nursing an emotional wound in secret.  I
long ago discovered that suffering in silence became second nature to me
alongside life in the closet.  What's been eating at me is that I finally
got a Christmas card on Friday after 10 months of someone ignoring me.  In
turn I tried my hardest to ignore it this whole weekend, but this morning
when I woke it was really nagging at me.

Yeah, you might know where this one's going.  Daniel.  It took him almost a
year to get in touch.  I've tried his old email a hundred times to no avail
because I've never got his new email address.  I was sure his Mom would
have cancelled the AOL he had, but my emails never get returned to me by
MailerDeamon.

So now he has brass balls big enough to type up a letter on the computer
and drop it into a Christmas card without a return address and think that
all is well?  Much delayed, he has the nerve to write that he misses me and
his old life so badly, and hopes that someday once I'm done school and he's
put in his time with the military, that we'll get back together.  The
letter was written to `Tigger' and he signed it as `Timone'.

It's taken me a few days to digest.  On Saturday it was beginning to stir
in the back of my mind, little memories of how much we were in love, and
the hurt I felt before began creeping into me all over again.  Come Sunday
I was feeling guilty for Chris, Paul, and being lucky enough to have a few
other flings, all while Daniel professes his devotion to me still.  Today I
am instead pissed that he'd purposely tear the scar off my heart so easily,
and yet still leave me without so much as a return address.

So there you go, I am a fucking write-off now.  Mmm.  Jim Beam.

It's Monday December 20th, 2000.  It's closing in on now noon.  I'm almost
embarrassed to say that I've hardly made a dent in the mickey of Jim.  I've
actually had more syrup on my stack of Eggo waffles.  But all the same, a
few small swigs of bourbon or not, I'm feeling pretty damn good.  Jeez, I
guess I really am a lightweight with the alcohol after all.  Oh well, no
one needs to know.

Obviously I've skipped off the morning classes.  I thought fighting Tim
would be a major war this morning after Paul left, but convincing him that
I don't feel good was easy.  Almost too easy.  I figure Larry will be on my
case by now too, but there was no call home as of the time I left.  To my
benefit I haven't skipped off in ages, this year at all actually, unless
you count what I missed when the guy died that Chris had a messed up
relationship with.

I do however have an important Calculus test that I have to write this
afternoon so I've cleaned up, showered, and popped half a pack of Ma's
tic-tacs into my mouth.  I don't really think I should be going to school
in this state, but oh well.  I'm sticking to the logic that teachers
shouldn't be screwing us over with major tests on the last day before
Christmas break.  In fact, I don't get why the heck we even have the one
day of school this week.

Unable to force it from my mind as I walk to school, I have decided that
Daniel's card was downright cruel.  I've battled this silently all weekend,
not bothering to talk to Paul about it, nor Tim.  Tim is heading home to
New Orleans Thursday morning and he's seemed a little down lately so I
didn't want burden him with this.  Paul has a lot of family drama going on
and I don't want to weigh him down with this.  Even Duncan's been too
caught up in the festivities of the season to go online lately it seems.  I
think Chris is my only free ear.

Thus, without someone to talk to about this, until this morning my emotions
basically got locked away in some remote part of my mind while I performed
the necessary functions of my day outwardly.  I have definitely resolved
that after all this time, that asshole should have just left me alone.  And
he's wrong!  Wrong about everything!  As the song `I Need You' by America
states, "Now you're gone, I guess I'll carry on and make the best of what
you've left of me".

Probably thinking he's speaking my language, his letter makes several
referenced to songs from my Tesla CD that he had with him at the time he
was forced to move, and must have taken it to St. Louis.  I long ago picked
their CD up at the music store again.  Yeah I knew he had it.  I hoped that
the songs would mean something to him too.  I guess they do, just not what
I'd like them to.  To him they seem to be a pity party that he can to
listen to when he wants to wallow in self despair.  They mean more than
that to me, way more.  To me they mean hope.  They inspired me to move on.
Plus, through a random comment Jackie made, I know Paul is trying to figure
out how to play a couple of those songs for me!

But back to the current topic...fuck you Daniel!  This keeps running
through my now fully sober mind on a feedback loop as I listen to a couple
of my mom's songs I burned onto a CD for my walk to school, telling myself
that I can't let Daniel get to me.  Like, what the fuck?  Really?  Why drop
a line more than half a year after the fact to crush me all over again, and
then be an asshole and say not to bother responding because he won't read
it anyway, when I know the little bitch has read every email I wrote since
he left?  How cowardly!

I bleed inside right now.  I hurt more than that fucker.  I'm the one who
got left behind.  I'm the one who had to cry in the corners and the dead of
night so that no one knew that I was so deeply wounded.  He could wear it
on his shoulder like a badge and act out.  They know about him no matter
what he thinks.  Not me, no I'm still a part-time resident of the closet
and most people don't know that I'm in emotional turmoil, nor why.

I think that this has been my only thought from my front door at home to my
locker at school.  I haven't even spared a stay thought for the test I'm
going to.  All weekend I've had to suffer in silence and this morning I
just couldn't cope anymore.  Part of me wasn't coming to school today, part
of me was.  I'm still not sure what part has won.  I'm at school, albeit
late.  But am I really here at all?  The physical entity known as Jon
Farrows is here, but the spiritual entity is miles away, locked up in some
dark recess of my own mind.

I've blanked out and am staring into my locker when I get slapped hard in
the chest.  The momentary pain and shock snap me back to awareness.

"Mother fucker, that really hurts sometimes you know," I snap in a bitchy
confrontational tone.

"And so does getting your ass to school I'll assume," Tim counters, "What
gives, I thought you were sick?"

"Fuck you," I say to Tim.  I miss the days when I would also repeat that to
Neil's smug grin somewhere behind Tim, but they are seriously in a fight
now and never together.

Leaving Tim shocked and smarting with my cold shoulder, I walk off down the
hall and into my classroom.  My mind is unfocused as I write the test, but
it seems to be easy.  Either I really ace it or completely bomb it.  As we
get to leave when we're done the test, I head for the door with 10 minutes
left in the block.  I don't care about my other classes for the day; or the
parties this afternoon that I'll be missing.  Unfortunately my teacher
informs me I'm wanted at the office before I can manage to escape the
classroom.

Before the bell rings to signify the end of the class, I've cleared my
locker and am on my way to face the music.

Closing the door to his office, Larry gets right to it, "What's gotten into
you today?  Is it the holidays?"

I look out the window, "No Larry.  It's nothing special.  It's just me.
Today I wasn't worried about you or Ma anymore, kay?"

He got out of that about as much as I could've expected, "What's that
supposed to mean?"

I try to get past the explanation and onto the punishment phase, "Nothing,
kay?  I screwed up.  Sorry."

"That sounds like a whole lot more than nothing to me," He points out.

I still can't look at him.  Instead I focus on an award on his wall, "Yeah
well.  Every now and then when you pick an instant family off the shelf,
add water and move in with it, you have to step back and remember the thing
that drew your attention to it in the first place.  No offence, but what
you sometimes seem to forget in the big picture is that the youngest kid in
your new family is a just a little bit fucked in the head."

Larry takes his best shot, "This wouldn't have anything to do with a
Christmas card that came postmarked from St. Louis without a return address
would it?"

I guess he saw the card I left out on display after all.  What is he, a
detective?  I never thought to check the postmark.  Damn his perception is
unnerving.  So is his knack for reading me so well.  I try not to show how
in awe I am of him, "Geez Louise!  Give yourself a gold fucking star for
that one won't you!"

Larry informs me, "I watched all weekend for this, but you did an amazing
job of hiding it didn't you?"

It is it sick that I feel a little proud of the fact?  I try to suppress a
smile, "Yes, yes I did, didn't I?  And you know what too?  Daniel can kiss
my fucking ass!  In like a bad way, not a good way.  I hate him!"

"Your anger is understandable," Larry calmly offers.  I don't know if I
want his pity or for him to explode on me and tell me I fucked up and I
need to learn to cope.

Instead I take the opening he offered, "What gives Daniel the right to make
me feel this way?  Know what?  I'm out of here.  Say I've got a high fever
and I'm acting delusional or something?"

As I don't actually get up to leave, Larry doesn't bother to block the
door.  He does however state, "No can do."

I venture, "Is that my vice principal speaking or my...I don't know, what
do I call you anyways - calling you Ma's boyfriend doesn't sit well."

"Why not, a moment ago you basically called us family," Larry points out.

I press my luck and shoot off, "Another gold star!"

Larry catches me off guard, "Which war are we waging here, personal or
business?"

I less than eloquently relate my confusion to his question, "Huh?  Say
what?"

Larry asks, "Do you want to have this talk as a student and principal, or
as we do at home?"

It's a no-brainer to me, "Uh, like at home maybe, please?"

He asks, "Good.  Then what did you mean about the boyfriend comment?"

"And here I thought this was about my issues!  I didn't mean anything bad,
I just don't know what to call you yet. Maybe Dad or step-dad someday, but
you're still more than just Ma's boyfriend to me I guess.  If it wasn't for
you and your being so cool with Daniel and me, and getting involved in my
life and stuff, I don't know.  I'd never do anything stupid, per se.  I'd
probably just be a totally withdrawn, self-hating introvert.  Instead I'm
just a partial introvert, but I'm okay with being me and stuff."

I can't read his face so I nervously ramble on, "It's kinda your fault that
I'm not a complete fuck-up, kay?  Hope you can live with that.  Ma's not
the only one that lucked out with you.  So it's not like you're the evil
step-dad, but then you're not even my step dad yet anyways, so technically
I never know what to call you.  I mean, I had a dad and no one can ever
replace him as my dad, but you cool and stuff, and you kinda are my father
figure without trying to act like my dad and being overbearing."

Busting out the kid-gloves for this conversation, Larry thankfully stops
the spew from my mouth and cuts in, "Then keeping on that track, before I
disappoint you by handing you some breath mints and send you off to class
without a gold star, do you want to talk about it?"

"What's there to say?  He got under my skin.  It's not fair.  And the thing
is, even though he was my first, and I really loved him, I love Paul more
already.  So why did that little pandajo get to me?"

Larry remarks, "You've already sworn five times in my office, swearing in
Spanish still counts as six."

"Oh Shit!  You were counting too?  I thought maybe you were going to let
those skate this time."

"Only because the doors closed and no one else heard.  Otherwise that would
now be seven detentions.  Instead you can sit here in my office for the
remainder of the period and figure out how to tell your Ma about your stunt
today."

"Maybe pour the rest of Jim down the drain and throw him out?"

"Or make a point of learning something valuable by keeping Jim around and
not touching him anymore?  I stopped by the house on lunch but you must
have already been on your way here.  Jim is already off the coffee table
and back in his place.  You haven't touched your pot in a long time that I
can tell, part of growing up is learning to act responsibly and resisting
temptation.  Resist Jim too."

"I don't think Ma will buy that snake oil even if it comes straight from
you.  This is going to be one of her better lectures for sure.  I think
I'll have to offer up Jim or she might say I have to give up Paul until I
can learn to deal.  By the way, I really haven't touched the other stuff in
forever, but how did you know?"

"I check your little tin under the deck from time to time.  The same two
from before the summer are still there, although both of them are ruined
now.  I'd go for something water-tight if I stashed them outside myself..."

Hmm.  That's not my stuff.  Candace maybe?  No, she kept hers in a plastic
pencil case.  Lacey's been gone since the summer too, maybe hers?  Figures
she'd nark me out to Ma and have her own stash the whole time.  What a
bitch.

Larry brings me back to issue at hand, "If you don't have anything pressing
left here this afternoon, get your stuff during the break and head out."

>>).:.(<<

Back at my locker after a long hour in Larry's office, I can feel Tim
behind me before I see him, "Shit, I hafta get checked for hemorrhoids or
something!"

"What?"

"My ass has been bugging me all fucking day!"

"Huh?"

"Everyone's biting at my ass today.  I just need everybody to leave my
sorry ass alone already!  You included."

Tim doesn't even try to mask the fact he's a little pissed at me, joking
back with a bit of snark, "I'd have gone with having to go to the doctor to
get your back checked because everyone's on your back.  But we're only on
your back in the first place because we have your back.  Of course with you
it's all about your ass..."

I'm such a wuss, I have to fight back tears yet again today.  I feel like
an ass for being a dick to Tim and his persistent friendship is more than I
sometimes deserve.  I soften my tone as much as possible and meekly admit,
"Believe me, I'm thankful everyone has my back.  It's more than I deserve,
but that still hasn't stop y'all from taking a bite out of my ass today."

Tim flashes a devious smile and a wink, "I'll leave that privilege to your
'somebody'."

I can't help myself, "Haha, at least you realize it's a privilege.  Keep
hoping and just maybe I'll give my ass up to you yet!"

"Well, so long as you agree it's all about your ass," Tim says, and then
promptly knees me in the butt right after his usual backhand slap to my
chest.

"Fine, just for that you don't get my ass," I jokingly threaten.

"Good, let's make that official," Tim says while trying to connect his foot
with my butt, "so what's the deal anyways?"

"Tonight, I promise.  For now I've gotta get outta here.  Larry's sent me
home for the rest of the day.  For what it's worth Timbo, I'm sorry.  I'm
really sorry for being a dick to you, 'kay?

Tim nods.

"Catch you tonight then," I say and turn for the nearest exit before I
break down and get all emotional again.

What is it with me today?  The waterworks constantly want to turn on at the
drop of a hat.  I have to get out of this school.

Without realizing it at first, I am on my way to see Chris.  Not at his
home but at school.  I guess I really have lost my mind after all.  I have
a new boyfriend; I have Paul.  So why then am I going to Chris?

When I finally make it to Chris's school, Westwood Park, classes are near
over for the day.  I take off my headphones and relegate the burned CD now
playing in my discman to silence for the time being.  After calling him on
his cell phone and sneaking out to meet me at his car on a side street by
his school, Chris can instantly see what a rough state I am in.  As he
rushes back into school to empty his locker for the break I debate whether
to tell him what's on my mind or not.  Reading as easily as a child's
picture-book, he drives me to his house.

It's been eating me up for days now, but how do I tell him?  The more I
dwell on it the more I feel stupid by my reaction to the letter.  I can't
explain why it got to me.  Finally in Chris' living room with a Cherry Coke
in hand, I give him the crumpled letter from the Christmas card to read,
and start a half hour long tirade on how cowardly and hurtful Daniel's
Christmas card is to me.

After going on and on with Chris listening and offering sympathy,
Mr. Milner walks in on us as I am stating to Chris that I just have to get
away.  Mr. Milner joins the conversation and before you know it we get
around to talking about my bigger idea of running to Canada with Paul.
This isn't news to anyone as I had expressed interest in a college there to
Chris and his parents back before the summer.  True to his word and my
surprise, Mr. Milner has looked further into it on my behalf and the bottom
line is that because of what I still mean to Chris, friendship-wise, he's
looked into ways that could financially help to ensure that the school in
Vancouver is viable for me.

While schools in Canada have a rule that they can't provide full rides for
students, Mr. Milner tells me about a small subsidy based on my transcript
so far, and about a possible bursary his company can give me and Paul as
tax write-offs.  He tries to be delicate about it, but points out that my
family income and Paul being a single father have more than something to do
with it too, helping us each qualify as underprivileged students.

I don't care if it makes me a charity case or if Paul and I have to pretend
to be two straight dudes for it, I am dumbfounded enough to accept.  I know
Ma has some good coin socked away for school for all of us, plus what I
have in my bank account, but I know it for sure won't be enough for more
than two years, tops.  Any extra will help minimize the student loans.  The
info was supposed to be a Christmas surprise from Chris, but Mr. Milner
figures it's close enough.  He tells me to bring Paul by tomorrow to show
us the information and lay out what we have to do to apply for, and
hopefully receive, the subsidies.

Of course that's a whole other story.  Paul and I haven't really talked
about Vancouver seriously yet.  We've agreed on it in principle, both of us
harbor hope for it to happen, but silently I have pretty much given up on
it because it is too involved.  Now the hope of Vancouver not only has new
breath, but has been given wings too!

After my venting, and then my elation about the whole Vancouver bit, upon
Mr. Milner leaving the room Chris grabs his keys to give me a drive home.
On the way he fills me in about his date with Andrei.

He passes it off like he's not hurt, "He's an ass.  I should have seen it
coming.  What would a hot, foreign college boy want with me anyways?  The
fuckwad couldn't see I was into him so I can't even say he was taking
advantage of me throwing myself at him.  He actually took me for the
literal!  He thought just because I was a nice guy or something that I was
going to give him an unbelievable deal on some sporty yellow car with blue
headlamps.  He was so excited that he might actually get his first car,
figuring he could afford an old clunker from 1983.  He had no idea I was
making a pass at his straight ass and that I was referring to my blonde
hair and blue eyes.

I am not an old clunker, thank you very much!  And I don't even know how he
thought the car would be a clunker anyway.  I told him I was a sporty 83
model, not a rusted-out jalopy!  Babes, you should have seen the shock when
I put my hand on his after picking him up for our date!  Oh my God!  It was
MasterCard-priceless!  I'll give him kudos though, once he realized that he
wasn't going to test drive an actual car, he was totally apologetic and
nice about it when he let me down.  He even still offered to pay at Pizza
Hut, just not as the date I was hoping for."

It hurts to see Chris trying to hide his feelings from me now that we
aren't boyfriends.  At the stop sign before the turnpike on-ramp I reach
over the gear shift and pull him into my arms and kiss the back of his
neck, "You don't have to act for me Chris.  Def Leppard Babe, `Standing by
the trapdoor, aware of me and you are the actor and the clown, their
waiting for their cue'.  Don't hide your tears with a smile and a joke.
Not with me, 'kay?"

When we get stuck in the stop-and-go traffic with people headed to the
Rockets game, he turns to bury his tearing eyes in my shoulder, "Why can't
someone love me Babes?  If I could make it even an hour without checking a
guy out, I'd swear off boys and go after a girl.  At least they appreciate
a sensitive guy, don't they?"

"I don't know, maybe only another sensitive guy does.  I mean, sure, girls
want us to express our feelings, but we're supposed to be tough and strong,
loving but manly.  Show you have a heart to a girl and she's as likely to
stab it as anyone," I whisper as I hang my hand over Chris's shoulder and
soothe it.

Chris is trying not to cry but his sniffles tell me he is.  I try to
comfort him, "Remember, it's an unwritten rule that our lives have to be
harder and more complicated.  Just don't give up, when a worthy guy comes
along Babe, he'll return everything you have to give with even more of his
own.  It's not your fault with Andrei.  Those European boys all seem kinda
gay.  Especially if they're hot, what with their cute or sexy accents and
all.  So it's hard to know for sure.  You did the right thing and tried to
drop every possible hint with him and he was too naïve to pick up on it.
Don't compromise, don't sell yourself short."

As the traffic starts to move again Chris is too somber in his answer for
my liking, "Yeah, I know; if you fall off the bull you gotta get right back
up and ride that sucker again and all that.  Shut up!  Don't laugh.  I know
exactly where your mind's going, don't sexualize that."

"I wasn't," I protest.  Of course I was.  Even though I should be thinking
of Paul, I was flashing back to Brent.

"Really?  You're full of shit," Chris says with a smirk, "Anyways, this is
about me, not you.  So getting back to me and the bull, I'm not getting
back up today Babes.  When we get to your house I'm gonna push you out the
door and send you on your way to your lover.  Then I'm going back home to
settle in and watch my new porno.  Merry Christmas to me!  Maybe I'll fall
asleep tonight with a tearjerker movie like Bring It On, although it needed
a love scene for Les.  Like after nationals with that other hunk, or with
Jan.  Those two could have been friends with benefits, as if Les didn't
want what Jan had in his pants.  I'll just have to imagine a better ending
while I fist myself to sleep afterwards."

Not wanting to leave Chris in his current state of mind I tease, "Can you
turn around and I'll stay the night and watch it too, for old time's sake?
It's not like we've gotten too far in this stupid traffic yet anyways."

Chris calls me on my tactic, "You're not my baby sitter!  Plus, Bobbie
would stab you to death if she knew you were trying to step on her toes and
usurp her as my shoulder to cry on.  Babes, we both hurt but you have your
boyfriend to turn to now.  I have a hand that knows just how to take me
somewhere higher.  We'll both live."

"Yeah.  But are you sure you're okay?  Like since Adam's suicide you've
been kinda down.  Now more than ever," I say, forcing the truth out in the
open.

Avoiding eye contact Chris reveals, "I am.  But that's life.  I'm still not
over you if you must know.  If only you could have been a jerk I could at
least hate you and move on.  This is hard you know?  Trying to pretend that
I don't still love you is about as easy as pretending I'm straight, and no
one buys into that delusion either.  At least you still love me too.  That
makes it easier to pretend it was just a matter of sexual incompatibility."

It hurts like a punch straight to my heart, "What?  You mean you'd have
switched to a top?  Why are you telling me this now?  I didn't want another
boyfriend, especially that night at the beach bash, but I fell for you hard
Chris!  I risked everything when I hooked up with you right under
everyone's noses."

His face is so perfect, his skin so clear, his teeth so straight and
gleaming white through his darling smile.  Even in the approaching dusk his
baby blue eyes are so crystal clear as tears are flowing from them down
into the corners of his perfect pink lips, "Because I never want to lose
you.  We both know that we have different paths to follow in this life and
we'd never make it together.  So instead you're friendship is a cherished
possession.  It's selfish but I want you to be that friend that I can turn
to with anything.  But I'm just a scared little fag.  And still a
nearly-exclusive bottom-boy for the record."

I pull his hand towards me and kiss it, "But you're my scared little
bottom-boy fag, and I'm yours Chris."

"I know.  But I also know Paul was in your heart before I came along, no
matter what you might say, and I respect that.  In you heart of hearts, you
want him bad.  I could never change that," He says as if he should be the
one to apologize for what my heart desires.

"I've never said that.  I never told you about him," I protest.

"You didn't have to.  Remember the baseball game between our schools and
how I kept calling you?  I guess it's safe to say now...I was watching you
watch him.  He plays first base right?  You had this look in your eyes that
said it all for you, so I kept calling you because I was jealous.  It's the
same look Bobbie says I get over you, that dreamy stare of yours.  But I
never got it from you.  Smiles and shit?  Yeah.  Lost in my aura goo-goo
eyes?  Nope.  So I knew we were doomed, but I tried anyway."

I don't say anything.  In fact, I don't know what to say to it.  He's
right, but do I say so?

Finally parked in front of my house an hour later, he hands me the sinister
Christmas note from Daniel as he pushes me to the door, "Go share this with
your boyfriend.  You want him more than anything, so let him in.  Leave me
to heal on my own; I have more of it ahead in my life and I know how to
cope.  But give me a call in the morning?  I still like to hear you babble
incoherently when you first wake up."


>>).:.(<<

PAUL

It hurts that Jon thought he couldn't come to me with this.  It's the first
time he's had an opportunity to come to me with a problem and the first
time that he's instead closed himself off to me.  I mean, I've slept with
him now.  Slept with him as in sleeping in the same bed together, not as in
sex.  We're boyfriends in every sense imaginable except for full-blown sex.
But we have made it to third base; oral.  Anyhow, I know he doesn't want to
burden me with this situation, especially considering that it revolves
around an ex-boyfriend of his.  I get that.

I know I have been a little distant lately too; I haven't managed to reveal
to Jon that some of my unaccounted time has been playing violin with a
group from a few local churches.  Yes, violin.  So I can understand the
hesitation in broaching the subject with me, but still, I wish it was me
that he came to first about it, not yet another ex-boyfriend.  At least
Chris sent him my way tonight.

After I got home from work I packed Belinda up for a planned night staying
at Jon's and headed over.  This is going to be a test of my Plan as I am
staying over with Jon a couple nights before Christmas.  My parents don't
seem to mind or care all too much either.  I think they are somewhat
grateful that Belinda won't be underfoot the entire time through Christmas
with so much already on their plates.  They didn't question earlier in the
month when I stayed over at Jon's.  Point in fact, they didn't even know
where I stayed other than I was going to be staying the night at a
`friends' with Belinda.  They haven't pried or even asked about it other
than my Daddy telling me to keep it in my pants this time.

My brother J, on the other hand, is all over me about where I'm staying and
who's bed I'm sharing.  In the end I tell him to back off or I'll let our
parents know about his sexual conquests that they are still blind to.  Even
if only temporarily, I believe that would take the spotlight fully off me
as my parents tend to believe I've already ruined my life anyhow.

If I honestly felt otherwise I wouldn't say it, but it seems to me that
number 6 of 7 [me] is a lost cause in my parent's eyes.  They just don't
know how to handle me, whether it's disappointment in me or feelings of
some innate sense of failure in themselves.  I haven't much felt loved by
them in any way since I told then I got Stacey pregnant.  Their baby James
on the other hand is still free and clear of fatherhood.  They see him as
their chance of redemption and clamp right down on him, watching his every
action, or so they believe.  How wrong they are.

At least I have other things to occupy myself with.  As I just mentioned, I
play violin and am in a joint-church Christmas presentation this year.  We
mostly play classic Christmas songs but my favourite is the last piece we
play, centering around Pachelbel's Canon.  A group called Trans Siberian
Orchestra has a song called Christmas Canon that I've heard on the radio
this year and last, with a children's choir singing to it, and it's pretty
moving.  We've tried our best to replicate it.

Not to brag, but if it has strings, chances are I can play it, well.  I
often waver on the violin, I'm generally more at peace with the Cello if I
play a bowed instrument, but right now I do love the warm tones of a
violin.  I actually would have preferred to be one of the cellists, because
I already know the piece on Cello from last year, but still I like the
challenge of something new.  Currently, I especially like the ambiance the
season presents as we practice with the lights dimmed and so many more
candles burning than usual, cocooning us with their warm flickers in the
back of the church, while we learn the pieces we don't know.  I have the
added benefit of sitting next to Nat in the pit, so that keeps it fun.

But back to the present, meeting Jon at his place, I find that I am
terribly nervous.  I am still nervous over a lot of things such as sleeping
in the same bed again with him, with his Ma, V.P. Maynes, Tim, and Belinda
all in the house.  I'm nervous that Daniel is going to resurface and take
everything away from me.  I'm nervous that there's still something between
Jon and Chris; and that while the sex wasn't compatible between them that I
better put out soon or he's going to go back to Chris.  I'm nervous that
maybe Jon's Ma won't let me stay over after all, seeing that it is already
a busy Christmas season in her house too.

By the time I get over to Jon's it's a quarter to midnight.  Belinda isn't
happy about her change of scenery and cries until I manage to bounce her to
sleep on my lap.  If things progress the way they are at home lately, I'll
have to talk to V.P. Maynes and take him up on his offer to stay at his
place in order to give her a sense of stability.

With Belinda finally asleep, Jon ambushes me with a tattered Christmas
letter in hand.  I read the note Daniel sent him.  Jon explains the
pertinent details, from getting the card last week through planning to get
drunk over it this morning, right up to the part of telling Chris about it
first.  By contrast, my coming clean over my involvement in the church
musical is small potatoes.  Jon apologizes profusely, pleading that he
didn't want to scare me away because of the note, and that he knows he
should have come to me with it first.  I agree and am hurt, but I lie to
him and assure him that I understand instead.  I'm playing with fire here
and I guess I just got my first burn.

Thankfully I am able to cast off self-doubt by the sheer passion Jon
conveys as he hugs me tightly in his bed and lovingly kisses the back of my
neck, until he finds a trigger spot and starts driving me crazy with his
tongue passing slowly and tenderly behind my ear.  Who knew that the ear
was so sexual?  I writhe in silent ecstasy until I can't take any more of
the sensory overload.  I roll over and we start making out.  In this
position it's clear that we are both trying to poke each other through our
underwear.  I get up to turn the light off and return to bed.

Back under his sheets we pick up where we left off.  I make the first move
this time, grabbing for the steel rod that is pointing my way.  I'm not one
for butt-floss, but the Y-back of his 2(x)ist underwear shows off his small
little round cheeks in a good way and makes his butt cuter than I would
have thought possible.  I aggressively tug his hot thong down his legs and
put my hand on my prize.

His tongue pushes further into my mouth in response.  This gives me an
idea.  I'm damn sure that I want to taste his most sensual of organs.  I
jack him a few more strokes while psyching myself up to cross this barrier
before parting out lips.  I draw my legs under me so that I am kneeling,
and rotate on my hips until I am turned 180 degrees.  My head is at his
knees so I scooch up a bit.  I somehow manage to knee Jon in the mouth in
the process.  You don't see clumsiness like that in porn!  I guess I'll
have to start a sex-blooper-reel.  Damn, am I smooth...not!  He's
snickering so I take it he's alright.

I take the plunge.  Holding him by the base I point his penis towards my
mouth.  We'd have to measure to see who is bigger, but it occurs to me that
right about now I would like him to be smaller than he is.  Here goes
nothing.  I touch my tongue to it.  His snickers turn into a gasp.  In my
mind I've practiced this moment countless times, and I always take the time
to kiss it and lave it with lots of attention with my tongue before taking
it into my mouth.  Of course, over the past few years, in my mind I became
quite accomplished at pleasing Jon sexually.

But here in the moment it's different.  It's not that I have to go for
broke before I chicken out.  I'm not going to chicken out.  It's more that
now I am here with this beautiful moment happening, another part of me has
assumed the driver's seat and lust is making me forgo the way I romanced it
in my head.  In my first time with Jon in my mouth I'm gobbling him down
like a kid in a candy store.  I have to pause to really consider if it even
tastes good or bad.

No, he doesn't taste bad.  He doesn't taste like sweet candy, or sour
vinegar, salty pretzels, or bitter like tonic water.  He doesn't really
taste at all.  Smell, yes.  With my nose so close to him, he does have a
faint smell.  Not foul thankfully.  A little musty, a little manly, and
oddly, a little sweet.  If this is what he smells like down here after a
long day I hope he's ready for me.  I bathe regularly, but I know I'm more
pungent down there.  I stop sucking on more than half his length like a
Hoover vacuum because he's getting rather deep into the back of my mouth
and it feels weird, and because I need to take a breath and get some air
into my lungs.  With all my effort I pull off and slow down to do this
right, do it the way I want it to be.  I want to romance it and give him a
sensual experience that blows his mind.

I've read enough to know I have to cover my teeth, so I make an oh with my
lips, ensuring that my top teeth are covered and extend my tongue over my
bottom teeth.  I lean forward again and take a good few inches into my
mouth.  I am still absolutely shocked at how much thicker he seems inside
my mouth.  He whispers not to worry, that he's clean.  I'm not sure what
he's exactly referring to.  STD's I guess?  A little late to share if he
wasn't.  Or maybe he means clean as in he washed himself down there
recently?  Who knows?  I start sucking a little and bobbing my head up and
down, his foreskin sliding a little with my movements.  I don't think I'll
be taking the whole thing down tonight, but someday soon.  At the first
appreciative sounds from Jon I am hooked on this.  It's everything I
thought it would be, and it has me rock hard and twitching.

Jon tugs my erection out the fly of my Old Navy boxers and starts giving me
great head.  Quickly we are 69ing like there's no tomorrow.  One of his
hands starts fondling my sac and with his other hand he starts tracing his
finger up and down the crevice of my butt, from my tailbone right down to
my anus.  I practically jump at the touch and force my hips forward.  He
takes my full length and keeps on going.  Thankfully I don't bite down on
my new favourite toy.

I know I'm supposed to breathe through my nose when my mouth is full of my
boyfriend's cock, but I am just too turned on!  In the moment I am too busy
with hundreds of nervous thoughts fighting with pleasure to stop and
remember that detail.  Instead I keep pulling off to take a good few
breaths before starting up again.  I'm not going to last very long at all.
Maybe he'll indulge me and allow me a second orgasm?

I guess he can tell by my body and my breathing that I am almost there.  He
pulls off me, "Whenever you're ready, don't worry, 'kay?  Just let it go
and enjoy.  I um, I kinda like to swallow.  Only if you're cool with that,
that is."

A heartbeat later his lips are all the way back down to my base.  I guess
he doesn't think I smell too funky down there at least.  The brief pause of
his attention seems have given me a little endurance.  I was so close but
now I have it under control for the moment.  After circling my anus for a
little while I can feel myself opening up to the ministrations of his
roaming fingers.  He senses it too because he stops, pulls off my penis yet
again, licks a finger and resumes his intent.  He takes one of my testicles
into his mouth and distracts me with this new sensation while he positions
his finger back on my hole.  Letting my ball fall out of his mouth he
wiggles his finger back and forth and I clench involuntarily.  I guess he's
prepared for this because as soon as I relax he slips inside me.  It's my
turn to stifle a loud gasp.

I don't know how to explain the feeling.  It's certainly not exactly
comfortable as he wiggles his way fully inside, but it's not painful
either.  My best physical description of his invasion into my body is just
that it's new and unusual.  Emotionally I feel vulnerable and deeply
embarrassed at this new contact.  As I ponder my sexual deviance, he finds
a part of me that reacts quite pleasurably.  It's like he's just worked his
finger right into the base of my penis the way my body is reacting.  I
guess this is my prostate he is playing with?  No matter, it feels damn
good!

Without warning his mouth is back on my cock, expertly deep throating me.
I pull off to let him know that I am about to shoot again.  Before I can
even warn him, he pulls off too and again whispers that he knows, and
reassures me to just go with it and fill his mouth when I'm ready to.

We get back to pleasuring each other and he's going for broke this time.
In no time at all it happens.  His finger gets me to the very top of the
hill and he knows it.  He pulls back so that I am in his mouth and not his
throat, sucks for all he's worth, all the while focusing the attention he's
giving me with his intrusive finger.  My body tenses and I start releasing
inside his mouth.  In the throes of my pleasure he slowly removes his
finger.

Once I come down from my orgasm I can see he is idly playing with himself.
I can't blame him.  I came too early.  Unquenched lust, more than guilt,
has me resuming my first attempt at giving a blowjob in no time.  He slips
his finger inside himself and again whispers, telling me that he'll warn me
when he's about to let loose.

I have to say I'm surprised at how soon he gasps and whispers, "Oh fuck.
Gonna blow.  Pull off now babes."

I can feel his body tense up.  I shake my head in the negative and his hips
arch into me.  His free hand is at the back of my neck, pulling my face
into his crotch.  For the first time I have his whole length inside me, my
lips are touching his trimmed pubes.  Finding the back of my mouth sets him
over the edge.  His body is gently thrusting as he dumps his load of semen
into my throat.

We kiss a little and then Jon tugs my boxers over my feet and off.  He
slides his thong off his ankles as well.  He slips my boxers on and then
hops over me.  After he leaves the room I can hear the sink running briefly
in his absence.  Washing his fingers I suppose.  Upon his return he shucks
my boxers and hops over me and gets comfortable under the sheets.  Our
kissing gives way to cuddling.

Before falling asleep, Jon explains the last few days to me again and
apologizes over and over.  He promises me he'll come to me first in the
future.  I'm mad and hurt, but I understand.  I soon drift off to sleep
with him spooning me, his erection between my legs.


>>).:.(<<

JON

When I finally wake up my bed is empty as usual.  I guess I freaked Paul
out last night.  Shit.  So much for a good thing while it lasted.  Last
night was scorching, even if it was his first time and one of the worst
bj's I've ever had.  He was really good at everything else and my whole
body was tingling with burning desire for him.  I'm pretty sure neither of
had much stamina last night because it was his first time, and I really
think it was as hot for him as it was for me.  I resign myself to the fact
that I'm going to actually beg him to give us another try, and console him
that what we did last night, and his feelings, are okay.

Returning from a shower I find I'm delightfully wrong, as Paul is sitting
on the edge of Tim's bed with him, both intently playing NHL 2001.  While
Tim is sitting in just his boxer-briefs like usual, Paul is still shirtless
like Tim, but he is otherwise totally dressed in my clothes, right down to
the black 2(x)ist band I see above my cargo shorts.  I smile and go to my
room to get dressed.  Seeing Paul's discarded boxers from last night, I
can't resist sniffing the crotch before stashing them in my hamper.
Fighting the urge to pull them back out and wear them today, I instead
throw on the pair of his Haynes I confiscated a week ago and washed for
him.  He has no idea yet what a turn on this is to me!

Dressed, I make my way to Tim's room and wedge myself between them.
Neither pull away.  I don't expect Paul to flinch, and he doesn't, when I
massage his lower back with my right hand and snake a finger into the top
of the crevice between his muscular butt cheeks.  I don't go as far with
Tim, but it's surprising that after checking to see my other hand under
Paul's waistband, he lets me continue to knead his lower back and pinch his
butt a couple times through his underwear.  He doesn't stop me until after
the third try, and even then only repositions my hand a little higher on
his back.  I wonder if it's coincidental, or is he such a baseball player
that he signalled three strikes and I'm out.

When they finally finish up, Paul has actually beaten Tim.  I tell Paul we
have somewhere to go and Tim tells me, "Buzz off Farrows!  Don't you know
by now that the late riser doesn't get to dictate anything?"

I cock my head and glare at Tim, "I think the saying is the early bird gets
the worm.  So unless you're telling me you want Paul's or my worm, I have
first dibs on my boyfriend."

He relents, "Fine.  I was just trying to spend some quality time with your
boyfriend, you know, show I care and all."

"Timbo, he's mine.  Get you own," I say, sticking my tongue out at him as
Paul blushes, "But why don't you come with us?"

Tim blasts right back, "Cheesedick, I don't want you or your boyfriend, or
either of your worms.  Sheesh, get your mind out of the gutter already!"

Before I can answer, Paul hesitantly interrupts the banter, "Where are we
going, anyway?"

"Chris's.  His dad has a whole game plan to get us to Vancouver.  Like,
he's gone and done a lot of leg work on this and wants to show us what he's
come up with," I explain.

Talking in the third person because he just got cut out of the conversation
Tim cracks me up, "Timbo can't go.  Timbo has, well, like all his Christmas
shopping to do.  Minus returning Neil's gift.  So if Farrows would be so
kind as to remove his hand from my ass, Timbo will leave you two now."

Paul takes a backwards glance to see where my other hand in fact is.
Thankfully it's on the bed sheet and not even touching Tim.

I roll my eyes at Tim, "Whatever.  Just come Timbo, we'll hit the mall
after.  You'll get your shopping done twice as quick with me there, and
then I'm already there for my shift tonight.  I did grow up in a mall if
you'll recall.  It's what I do!"

He shoots back, "Yeah. Like I believe that!  Chris maybe, that kid has
taste.  You, you grew up in a music and video store.  I don't think rock
t-shirts and posters for everyone will go over well with the fam."

"No, but I can help with the list your mom gave you of what to get
everyone.  Suit yourself though, you don't get the list unless you come
along," I bribe Tim, while going to his dresser to retrieve the list and
sticking it down the front of my pants.

Tim lightly slaps Paul in the chest, "That's your department!"

When we get to the Milner's Chris is surprised to see that Tim has come
along too.  Still, he welcomes each of us with a hug.

As universities in Canada don't give out much in the way of scholarships,
Mr. Milner has a small bursary worked out for us through Chrysler that
should cover the costs of books and student activity cards.  Additionally,
if Paul sells his car to Mr. Milner's dealership here, he will even set up
us with a car through a Chrylser dealership locally when we get there.
Apparently cars there have a different speedometer and something called a
block heater.  This is Chris's Christmas gift to me and I am literally
brought to tears.

I've wanted to go to school in Vancouver and Paul has embraced the idea
fully.  Daniel's card this weekend has made me realize I need a fresh start
somewhere else.  Now we have a little help towards that goal of going, and
the car idea Mr. Milner has pitched us actually helps Paul hide his
whereabouts if anyone starts looking for him.

Left to our own devices we would never be realizing our dreams, we both
thank Mr. Milner profusely.  Just before we leave, Chris hands me my
discman that I left in his car last night, commenting that he loved the
songs I burned onto the CD.

From there we make it to the mall and help Tim out with his shopping.
While in The Gap getting a shirt for his sister Makenzie, Tim points out
that the song playing should be Paul's and my song.  Paul rejects the Spice
Girls song, stating that it has to be one he can sing and he'll never be
able to sound good doing Viva Forever.  So when we are in Sports Authority
getting new soccer shin pads and shorts for his brother Will, Tim suggests
Pretty Fly (for a White Guy) by Offspring.  Shopping for Sam in American
Eagle, Tim suggests Eminem's The Real Slim Shady.  By the time we get to
Sears for his parents and White Christmas is playing, Paul and I pre-empt
Tim and tell him that is not going to be our song either.  Our afternoon
ends when I have to start my shift.  Tim, Paul and Belinda see me to work,
Paul talks to Jackie for a minute, and then they are gone.

There's never a slow moment until the store closes.  It's so busy
throughout the night that when an extra helper for the Christmas season
leaves without asking, Jackie instead stays without being asked.  While I'm
closing out the tills he approaches me and starts asking about my sisters.

I am at a loss as to what he is digging for so I ask him outright, "Why the
interest in them?  You know Dee, you've met her here a few times.  I've
barely seen and hardly talked to Lacey since the summer, which is fine by
me, and Candace is probably done her tour for the day and catching the last
few rays on a beach while her ship is in port in Cozumel."

He brushes it off, "Oh, it's really nothing.  I just thought Paul might be
trying to hook up with one of them.  I didn't realize that they don't live
at home."

"What, because he and Tim are hanging out now?" I ask, trying to propagate
the lie that it's Tim, not me that Paul visits.

"Yeah, that's it, him and Matthews.  Who knows, maybe I'm wrong.  Maybe
that really is all it is.  I don't know.  It's just the way he gets.  When
he likes a girl he talks shit like the rest of us.  When he really likes
someone, he shuts up and doesn't say anything.  Not even to Wayne and me.
He talked my ear off about Stacey, but then I know he never loved her.  Now
he's shutting up and Wayne and I haven't seen him looking at any girl in
particular.  The only girl he talks about at all now is Queen B.  So if you
know what skirt he's trying to look up, by all means feel free to share."

"I don't know Jackie, maybe it's just that Belinda keeps him busy.  Or the
Christmas season," I dismissively say.

He starts to walk away and then turns back to me.  He steps real close and
I can feel his intense stare at my back.  He waits until I swivel around
and look him in the eye.  Placing a hand on my shoulder Jackie blows out a
breath of air and then reveals, "Look.  This is so not my place to say with
you as my boss, but with him as my best friend it kind of is.  He talks
nonstop about Tim.  You're the one he's shut up about.  Be careful with
him.  I could pretend I haven't figured it out, you know, just pretend like
you guys pretend?  But I know you're together.  I also know that he plans
on getting the hell out of home and as far away from his parents and
brothers as he can, as soon as he is eighteen.  Once he's legally an adult
Belinda is fully his, and his parents lose their legal control over him and
her."

"I see," I concede, "Well then Jackie, you're mostly right.  But he's
sticking around until he graduates."

He's pauses to think, "So is he going to Cali, Seattle or New York?  Nat
and I are applying to UCLA because of him."

I've put the cash box aside to focus on Jackie, "If you're best friends
why's it a secret then?"

"I don't know.  Fear I guess.  I know he's liked you for at least as long
as rumours about you being gay started going around.  Hell, I've known he
likes dick probably since the same time he did, and have tried every way
possible to hint to him that I'm gay-friendly.  Hello!  I work for you and
say nice things about you all the time to him despite the fact he knows I
saw you and your last boyfriend holding hands.  For the record Jon, I never
called you what others do.  Anyhow, I even dare to wear a pink fucking
triangle on my back pack!  I've done everything but take him down to
Montrose and buy him a rainbow necklace."

It seems to end the conversation when I say, "Well, I won't speak for him
where it isn't my place.  You'll have to clear that up with him.  I've
known real love.  I'm starting to feel that already with Paul and I won't
betray it.  As for school, we're seriously trying for Vancouver, Canada."

When I get home Tim is playing a playstation game with Mickey.  I stop by
his door and say hey to them both.  Noticing the time as I join them in
Tim's room, Mickey says hey back to me and then to Tim that they better
save the game and pick it up after Christmas.  I have a quick shower and
change when Tim leads Mickey downstairs to see him out.  I don't get it.
Mickey will let me work out with them at school, and even show off his
body, all of his body, either purposely to tease me, or completely
unintentionally.  Bottom line is he thinks I'm a fruitcake.  I just know
it.  So if he's that way in public to me, why does he scurry off when I get
home?  Is he that afraid of a homosexual when it's almost a one on one
environment?  Or am I overanalysing it like I do to everything?

Having showered, I wrap my waist in a towel and head into my room with my
clothes in hand.  I am going to have a long day tomorrow with work, and
with hosting a Christmas party with Deanna here for our staff, so I grab
some more clothes and head downstairs to start a wash.  When I get back up
to my room Tim is sitting crossed legged on my bed and has the CD from my
discman playing through micro speakers that I inherited from Deanna when
she moved in with Scott.  I guess I won't be going to bed right away after
all.

"Wassup Timbo?" I ask.

"We never talked about yesterday Jon," He bluntly states.

Oh yeah that.  That seems ages ago already.  So many emotions since then,
so many things I've done since then.  But he's serious about beating it out
of me because he called me Jon.  He never uses my first name.  He either
calls me Farrows in public, Cheesedick when it's just us, or more often
than not doesn't use any name when addressing me.

"Kay.  Say what you have to say and get it over with.  I've moved on from
that already," I offer.

"I thought maybe something was wrong between you and Hunter at first, but
thankfully not," He starts.

"Nope, all's good on that front," I interrupt with a smile.

He smiles back, but it's clearly exaggerated, "You sure?  A string of ABBA
songs ends with Chiquitita, then you've got Comfortably Numb by Pink Floyd,
and I don't even know what this song is.  Put together, this CD sounds like
a depression CD."

I just stare at him in response.

He points to my discman / mini-stereo, "You left your CD player in my car,
so after I cleared out 20 of your CD's from the back seat I popped this one
out of your discman and listened to it to see if you had anything new.  Off
topic, you seriously had more than 20 of your CD's in my car.  If I'm not
your bitch, I don't know who else is."

Not sure what the smile a moment ago was for, or where he's heading with
the conversation I try to derail his train of thought by joking, "We've
been over this.  You won't give your ass up to me.  Hence you're not my
bitch.  On the other hand, you let me faithfully wash your unmentionables,
and more than once I've offered you the pleasure of my ass.  That makes me
your bitch."

"Back on topic, you also left Daniel's Christmas card beside the computer
the other night, just so you know.  Your mom found it, and then she found
the actual letter in your room tonight.  She asked me about it.  We've all
read it."

"So end of discussion then, Tim.  I'm sure you never heard me play Europe
before, but I'm gay, and this song that's ending right now by them is
called Coast to Coast.  It happens to appeal to me when I feel alone,
because its message is that we're not alone.  Plus, you know me and how I
find a song for everything.  This song is the beginning of an upswing on
the CD, after the ABBA songs wind down and bottom out with Floyd."

"So what's it all mean?  What was with bitching out of school on me
yesterday to drink alone?"

I explain, "After bottling it up all weekend because there never was a good
time to deal with it, yes, I tried to get a little drunk yesterday morning.
When the house was finally empty I screamed at a non-present Daniel for a
while and cried my very last tears for him.  That would be the Ozzy song
coming up, No More Tears.  I wrote out some of the lyrics from the Green
Day song F O D in an email to him.  Something he wrote in his letter tells
gives away the fact that he still checks his account, even if he pretends
not to."

"So that's it?  We don't have to be on suicide watch?" Tim cautiously
jokes.

As I replace the mixed CD with Dookie, by Green Day and cue up F O D, I
point out, "What does this song say?  `I've felt this burning in my guts
now for so long.  My belly's aching now to say, You're just...a fuck, I
can't explain it 'cause I think you suck.  I'm takin' pride in telling you
to fuck off and die.'  That's what it says Tim.  He left.  My life had to
go on.  I think I've finally let him go.  I'm truly free of him at last.  I
think I'm now onto the healing stage of my grieving process. "

Tim gives me the same long, drawn-out okay that he did when I surprise
kissed him in my sleep months back.

Smiling inside at the memory, I ignore it and explain, "It gets easier
every time now, but that card took me by surprise.  Once I worked most of
it out of me I went to school.  And yes, I was an ass to you yesterday and
I'm sorry.  That's why I cut out of school, saw Chris, and we consoled each
other."

Tim looks shocked so I further explain, "We just talked.  I would never
mess around now that I have Paul, even with you.  And then last night I
told Paul everything.  I confided it all to him.  You were next Tim, and
you know that's the God's honest truth, but we haven't had the time."

"Alright.  Just let your mom and Larry know you're good then.  Now let me
see your poster here," He says, as he grabs a rolled up poster I brought
home from work and threw on my bed before my shower.

The poster was a promotional piece we had in the back store room for a
romance sale Deanna had put together for the past spring.  It's a three
foot by five foot black and white of a silhouetted couple holding hands on
a beach.  There were three variations done on vinyl; a bunch of the main
ones with your standard guy and a girl, one with two girls, and one with
two boys.  At first glance you may not catch the difference; you have to
actually compare to see that the one is two girls and one is two guys. Dee
liked the set and thought it would be subtle enough to use.  She had
ordered them before Michael came at Daniel and me, and afterwards opted to
play it safe and not use the gay and lesbian ones.  I found them in storage
a few weeks back, and after my talk with Jackie tonight, in red sharpie
over a large white area on the gay one I wrote the lyrics to the song
Tomorrow, by Europe.  If I knew any lesbian I'd do the same with the
lesbian one and give it to her.

Tim unrolls the poster as I hold the top.  We both look at my perfect
handwriting frame the couple in the poster and say nothing for a long few
moments.  Breaking the silence Tim suggests, "I know the perfect place for
this."

Looking at my walls I ask, "Yeah? Where's that?"

Instead of answering directly, he takes his end and starts walking to his
room.  I follow.  He pulls the silly putty off the corners of his Jeff
Bagwell poster above the head of his bed and lets it drop roughly to the
floor.  Still clad in only a towel, I help him position the new poster and
secure it with some pushpins through the eyelets.

"All you have to do is sign it, right there," Tim says, pointing to the
lower right hand corner.

I protest, "That's cheesy Tim."

"Yeah?  Tell me that when I frame it and put it in my dorm room.  Tell me
that when I am married with kids and it adorns a vaulted wall in my house.
It is so you.  I'm going to keep it forever," he promises.

I hug him.

He pushes me away, "Now get some clothes on and go talk with your mom!"

Tim follows me back into my room as I drop my towel and walk over to my
dresser.  While I step into a pair of gym shorts, Tim picks up the CD he
was first grilling me about, obviously intent on taking it, "Some of your
shit is questionable, but you sure do keep introducing me to stuff that
drips emotion.  I'll deny this, but I can see how you get into these
songs."

I head down to the kitchen in just the shorts to face my ma.  She's sitting
at the table with Larry.  Great, even though he and I talked about it at
school yesterday, this interrogation looks like it's going to be a
two-on-one!  Now I wish I had fully dressed.  Let me guess, Ma will play
bad cop to Larry's good cop?  Yeah, I'm sure that'll be the tactic.

Not like I think it will do me any good, but much like usual in a lecture
from Ma, I take the offensive right away before she has a chance to really
lay it on thick, "Ma, you know it's how I cope.  I get hurt, I get all
moody and I mope, and then I get over myself.  It's cyclical.  Well not
really a cycle because life's usually pretty good lately, but it's how I
deal with life when it turns against me."

"Jonny," she starts as I absently play with a post card on the table from
Candace.  It's addressed to Ma, me, Larry and Tim.  I know she talks to him
when she calls, which strikes me as a little odd.  I guess they really hit
it off when he drove her to Panama City to start her job on the cruise
line, and I figure she just wants him to feel like part of the family when
she calls rather than ostracize him.  Funny, looking at the post card as I
tune Ma's first salvo out, I could almost swear that the dot on the letter
` i ' in Tim was a heart until she consciously corrected it.  Interesting.
I'll have to kid her about that when we talk next.

I cut Ma off, looking at Larry but talking to her to get her off her
tangent, "Back to what I was saying.  I'm getting better with it too.  I
got the card last Friday.  I brushed it off at first but it took its toll
on me by Sunday night.  I screwed up Monday morning, but I only missed one
day of classes.  I got it all out of me and that's that."

"It's not that simple Jon," Larry's commanding voice starts, telling me
clearly that it's his turn to speak, "Your coping mechanism is your own.
It fits a standard pattern.  Showing you're emotionally vulnerable to your
peers is anathema in high school.  We understand that.  If you want to go
through it with me some time we can hit off all the points from depression
to anger, right, along to acceptance."

Ma interjects, "Do I have to get all of the liquor out of the house?"

"It's not that Charlene.  He didn't even polish off a fifth of the bottle.
At most there are two ounces gone," he correctly points out.  Well good job
Sherlock Holmes.

I try to better explain my side of things, "Kay.  Here it is.  He sent me
the card.  I was hurt.  I got sad.  Everybody's busy and stressed with
Christmas so I kept it all in.  By Monday morning I just needed the house
to myself so that I could finally curse him and cry without everyone
watching me.  I'm over it.  Leaving Jim and the shot glass out in the open
wasn't a cry for help, nor was leaving the card at the computer.  I
actually meant to put it with the rest of the cards.  Despite what's
inside, I like the picture on the front of it."

Ma gasps in exasperation.

"So yesterday?  It was me letting it go.  Sorry Ma but a fact's a fact:
growing up in this shoebox of a house it was hard enough for me to jerk
off, let alone silently cry, and not be heard!  I didn't mean to alarm
anyone.  I just wanted to quietly feel sorry for myself and then move on."

"We get that Jon.  That's not where your ma's coming from," Larry explains,
"You're in line for some awards.  Along with those awards come subsidies
and bursaries.  That's what's at stake.  After Chris' father called us many
weeks ago, I also have looked into a lot of them, and recommended you for
some here at Houston University, and applied for other broad range ones
that allow you to use it where you choose.  As long as I don't officially
live here, you situation and grades are almost a sure thing to take you on
a partial ride to where you want to get.  I can doctor your attendance only
so much without it setting off alarms.  For the rest of the year though you
need perfect attendance.  Don't draw any more undue attention upon
yourself."

I'll just pick my jaw up off the table now, "Um.  Sorry.  And thanks!"

Larry nods, "And no man wants to have their mother worry over them, but you
need to change your outlet.  Instead of bottling it up all weekend just let
it out.  Come to the gym with me and beat the crap out of a punching bag,
tire yourself out with some weights, or run yourself to exhaustion on a
treadmill."

Ma cuts in, "Even Tim sees that sometimes your heart is out there on your
sleeve.  You can really express it well when you're inspired.  We all snuck
a peak of your poster when you were in the shower.  Talk to your Ma, Jonny.
Talk to Larry.  Talk to Tim.  Talk to Paul.  Talk to Bandit.  Heck, If you
can't use the gym at school, let Bandit drag you for a walk while you get
it out.  On that note, just take your dog for a regular walk, period.  But
just get it out sooner."

"So what are you anyway, some kind of therapist?" I jokingly ask Larry.

He bites, "Coaching 45 of you emotionally repressed teenagers a season
would qualify, definitely.  Then there's the whole being a Vice-Principal
thing too.  The days are definitely long in navigating with the hormonal
teenage psyche."

I chuckle, "Yeah, tell me about it.  For us too."

He's not done yet, "But above that, yes, I've been working part–time
towards my PHD in psychiatry for many years.  How do you think I got my
connections at Houston University for you?"

"Uh, through the school?" I surmise.

"Well, there's that, but more of my connections are because of my studies
there than from being a washed up high school football coach," He answers.

"Cool!  But you'll have to tell me this all again when I am not dead tired
and longing for bed," I state, getting up from the table and stifling yawn.
All throughout the conversation I note that Tim is on the phone, as
indicated by the red light on the cordless base in the kitchen.

As I pass Tim's room I can't resist.  I pus his door open more than the
crack he had left it, and stick my head into dark room, aglow from his
cordless phone.  I loudly wisecrack, "Jeez Tim!  Get your hands out of your
boxers and quit licking the phone.  Oh, and say hi to your mother for me
while you're at it!"

He throws something at me as I try to duck back out of the door.  I bend to
pick it up off the floor and my fingers slip through something slimy.  Go
figure, it actually is his cum-rag underwear!  They smell intoxicating.  I
debate holding onto them and mixing my seed with his thick fluid, but then
I remember to respect our boundaries and toss it back at his head.  Of
course it misses by five feet.  I say good night and close the door over
again.

Out of his sight, I can't fight the urge.  I have a decent glob of his cum
on my forefinger.  I sniff it and it smells like what I've come to
recognize in his laundry, only better.  Yeah, way better.  So good in fact
that before I can even think, I'm bringing my finger to my tongue.  Damn,
the boy tastes good.  I know my own flavor, and I've now sampled Paul's cum
a couple times.  Tim's is definitely different.  I wouldn't say sweeter, or
saltier, I can't say exactly how, but different all the same.

I cross another barrier when I reach down my shorts and wipe the remainder
of his DNA on the head of my rising monster.  As I quietly work myself to
climax in bed, naughty thoughts about how to get more of Tim's semen tease
my mind.  His underwear just may not be safe in my hands again.

Once, he offered his cummed up pair to me to jack off in.  That was a while
back, at his place in New Orleans.  I refused to violate him then, but now
I may not be able to help myself anymore.  I'm a little too into it because
when I blow my load into a sock, I can't repress a grunt.  Fuck, that was a
great jack-off session, I don't even care that the whole house probably
heard me cum.  That will be one of the first times, they hear, if not the
very first.  If Tim says anything more about me beating off every morning
the instant Ma leaves for work, I'll let him know I'm now quite aware when
he jerks off after his middle of the night whispered phone call, that he
takes three shallow gasping breaths before he shoots into his undies every
night.

I'm fully asleep when Tim tickles my toes to wake me, "Get some underwear
on and slide over stud."

"Huh?" I groggily ask.  If I had my wits about me I should have told him to
go fetch me the ones with the wet spot he threw at me earlier.

"Get your junk in some shorts and slide over.  I'm hopping in," Tim says.

"Wet the bed again?" I ask.

His voice is wavering, "Look, just do it.  Please?"

"Kay," I cautiously say.

As I get up and grab a random pair of boxer-briefs from my dresser to put
on, he explains through a sniffle, "It's not a gay thing.  Or a bi thing
either.  Just so you know.  I let you squeeze my ass this morning, but I
don't want your worm, or to feed you mine."

"Kay.  But what is it then.  Just so I know," I ask as I slip under the
sheet again.

"It's a friend in need thing," He answers.

I have no idea what is going on here, "Wow, way to be evasive Tim.  You are
the one that woke me and are now between the same unwashed sheets that my
boyfriend and I sleep between.  I already told you I'm good.  I'm not in
need."

"Uh huh.  You're a stud.  You let us all know an hour ago when you went to
bed.  So is Hunter," Tim whispers into my ear.  Once he has snuggled up to
me and has his arm around me he asks, "How can you listen to that music?
It's so sad.  There I was, alone in the night, unable to sleep as it plays
in my head... yes it did make me wet the bed, with tears."

I take in the moment.  Inhaling the slightly heady scent of his armpit from
his bicep that my head is now resting on, feeling the warmth of his body as
it spoons mine, flexing my fingers with his intertwined with mine.  My body
melts.

"Let me get this straight. This?  It's a need thing?  Like a you-in-need,
not me-in-need thing?"

I can feel the stubble from his cheek burn my neck as he nods a yes.

"Kay.  The songs then?  They make you cry.  Well, that's your answer right
there.  Those songs, they make me feel.  I feel the pain in them, and that
makes me happy again."

I can sense he's crying again, "Yeah, but her voice...Singing to a Chiquita
banana or not... It's beautiful...God is it beautiful...but haunting.  And
some of the words, so very haunting."

I wrap myself tighter in his embrace.  I don't bother educating him that
ABBA actually had two female singers, or that the name of the song is
Chikitita.  After bringing our hands to my face and kissing his knuckles I
relate, "Then you've finally discovered what music is all about to me.
You've found a connection to a song on a deeper level.  So what's really
up?  What's got my best bud hurting so much that he's here in bed with me?"

He sniffles, "It's Christmas and I'm lonely Jon.  I miss my family, my Mom
and Dad.  I miss Mackenzie and Sam and Will a lot, even if I'll see them in
a couple days.  Shit, as dumb as it sounds, I miss you Jon.  I miss us.  I
love you so much it scares me.  Emotionally, not physically.  I'm jealous
of Paul.  You and me, we spend so much less time together now that I live
here than we used to before I moved in, and even less now that you're with
Paul.  I easily spend more time with Larry and your Mom than you.  Larry
and I have our chats and he plays Dr. Phil to me and offers advice.  You
had your melt down.  This is mine.  That CD pushed me over the edge."

"Well, thanks for thinking enough of me to share like this.  I miss you
too.  I always forget that while you're my rock, that you don't have it all
figured out yet either.  I'm always so in awe of you that maybe I take your
composure for granted.  Sorry," I offer.

He kisses the back of my neck.  This is messed up.  He exposes himself
further, "Nah.  You're the one with composure.  You're so grounded, I have
like only one foot on the ground compared to you.  You are who you are, and
you are so much more confident than you know.  It intimidates the hell out
of me.  It's part of what drew me to you and made me want you for a best
friend back in the spring.  Even more than Neil, and we were best friends
for years.  That, and for a born and bred Texan, you accent is off.  You're
ma's Italian accent comes through in you."

I confide, "And while I love you with all my heart too, snuggling with you
is going to fuck me up.  I once thought Paul would be the one.  The one
that got away that is.  But it will always be you.  All because you have to
go and be straight and like girls."

He jokes, "Yeah, I got one of those too, one that got away before I ever
had the nerve to express myself.  But girls still rock.  Even if I'm
spooning you."

I don't mention his reference to Nat, especially as I thought he had
expressed his feelings pretty clear to her that he was way into her.
Instead I address a more pressing issue.  Like his flaccid penis pressing
against my bottom cheek, "Speaking of which.  Don't get weirded out by
this.  Kay?  It's not a gay thing.  It's just a comfort thing. Kay?  Do you
trust me?"

"Yeah," He acknowledges.

"Then just let it happen.  I'm not going to do anything to violate you.
I'm just going to adjust and make the situation a little better," I promise
him as I reach a hand back behind me to grab his flaccid penis through his
boxers and move it from its downward position, instead nestling it in the
gap between my cheeks and thighs, "There, that's it.  Are you O.K. with
that?"

He cups my balls and the base of my erection and gives it all a little
shake.  His penis slides down my leg and flops back to its original hanging
position, "Yeah.  We're good."

Of course he pulls away almost immediately so that we're not in contact
down there.  He's up against the wall, so I press my hips back into the
void between us, so that he has me completely enveloped from my knees to my
neck again.

Tim sighs, his breath is sweet in contrast to the musk of his body, "Ah.
Just like old times.  I miss this in a fucked up way.  You're the only one
I've ever had this contact with, and it makes me long for a real
relationship where I can always have this."

"Um, just like what old times?  That was a dream I revealed to you once.
My dream, not yours," I correct him, failing to mention that I can feel him
getting stiffer against my thigh even if there is two layers of cotton in
the way.

"Just a dream he says!  You wish," He corrects me, "When you would sleep
over all those Friday nights, you always tossed and turned and kept me from
falling fully asleep.  That is until you pushed your butt into me enough
that in my sleepy state I'd give in and spoon your sorry sleeping ass!"

As his erection adjusts and springs free through his open fly, now resting
in the crack between my thighs I question him, "So we spooned in your bed
and you never told me?"

He offers, "Yeah.  What would you have had me say?  Your ass seeks me out
in bed and makes me hold you while we sleep.  The first time I woke with an
arm around you, you looked so peaceful.  So after a few times waking with
you curled into me, I timidly put my arm around you and your breathing
instantly changed and you totally relaxed."

"Seriously?"

"Seriously."

"Oh shit no way!  I'm sorry.  Well, not really, but sort of."

"Uh huh.  And as wrong as it was, I really liked having you all curled up
inside my embrace.  All those times your Polo Sport and sweaty pits clearly
said you weren't a girl in my arms, but I felt so good wrapped around you.
So how do I tell my friend who I know is gay but won't admit it, that I
don't mind the feel of his body next to mine when he's unconscious.  But in
a plutonic, non sexual way.  More in a sad desire for basic human contact
way.  Right up until you start to grind and get me hard.  Then I have to
turn you and you try to hug me from the front, so I have to nudge you over
to your side.  Nah, like a cheap whore I just ate it up and kept it to
myself.  Until tonight.  If it's O.K. with you I want to hold you until I
fall asleep.  Nothing sexual.  Just a simple connection I need.  I need you
tonight."

I concede, "Alright.  But is this somehow cheating on Paul?"

He makes light of the situation, "No.  You have sex with him.  Tonight
you're just being my safety blanket.  I swear my semi will deflate at some
point and stop teasing you!"

I jest back, "Well, maybe I'll help you there by telling you I'm enjoying
the feel of it.  It may be even bigger than I thought, and I gave you
credit for a pretty big one.  If you want to grab a condom from the tin in
the bottom left drawer any time and surprise me, I won't ever act any
differently to you afterwards."

"Hmm.  Tempting.  Sorry baby.  But you just hold that thought as you drift
off to sleep," he shoots down my real offer.

"Our loss then.  But tonight let's do this differently.  Turn around and
curl up a bit.  Tonight you be little spoon and I'll be big spoon," I
offer.

As we roll over I tuck my penis between my legs, but once we are pressed
together it springs up and nestles in Tim's crack with only a dual layer of
cotton blends between us.  I go to adjust but Tim says no, and that it's
kinda nice.

A few minutes later when I think he's dozed off, Tim mentions, "I'd have
gone with the lyrics to Kick Him When He's Down.  The Offspring had it
right, `Little men come when anything goes.'  You should have written that
in your response to Daniel's Christmas card."

Tim falls asleep before me, and I hold him until I drift off too.  Sometime
before morning I partially wake and register that he is gone.  In the
morning I join him on his bed, both still only clad in our underwear and
take my usual beating in NHL 2001.  The day is going to be crazy-busy, but
we agree to dedicate a couple nights a week for just us once he gets back
from New Orleans in the New Year.  And to that, Tim assures me that he will
be coming back so not to worry.


>>.:.(<<


Dear Reader:

I am sorry this took so long.  I have a few more chapters in different
stages of completion now so that I can at least finish off Wings of
Tomorrow.  Beyond that?  Time, life, resposnibilites, yada yada.  Trust me,
I WISH I had more time to write.  We'll se how things go now.  I would
still love to hear what your thoughts are!  Your comments are always
greatly appreciated, write me anytime @ phantomscorpio77@gmail.com For the
love of (fill in the blank appropriately for yourself here), please write
me.  I'd love to know someone's out there! :)

I also have a web page (yahoo group) where I post this along with my other
stories!  The format is way cleaner to read (pdf), both on the computer and
on mobile devices, and if you join the group it will send notifications
when new chapters are posted.
http://ca.groups.yahoo.com/group/phantomscorpio77

Cheers,

~Jade :)