Date: Wed, 12 Jul 2006 23:59:55 +0000
From: carl_holiday@att.net
Subject: High School: Kiel's Story Chapter 5

This story concerns teenage gay males who may be involved in sexual
situations. If it is illegal for you to read such stories, or if you do
not like to read such stories, please leave now.

This story is copyright 2006 by the author who retains all rights.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either
are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any
resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

This is my first submission to Nifty. Any comments or questions are
welcome at: carl_holiday@att.net

A warm thank you goes out to all who've written. I appreciate knowing
someone is actually reading this stuff.

Kiel's Story

by Carl Holiday

Chapter 5 - A Tim By Any Other Name

Ever wake up unable to move your hands or legs? Ever wake up feeling
pinned to the bed? It certainly isn't the most comforting sensation.

     They're called restraints. Hospitals put people in restraints
because they are a danger to themselves or others. Crazy people get
restraints all the time. I'm so crazy I tried to kill myself twice and
failed both times.

     I was not fully awake, but I could feel the restraints holding me to
the bed. I was not dead. I'd been saved, again. I was alive for no other
reason than my own incompetence at killing myself. You've got to be
pretty pathetic not to be able to do something as simple as offing
yourself.

     Tears filled my eyes, but I refused to open them. The

plastic tube coming out the end of my dick tickled in a disgusting way.
The restraints on my wrists were almost too tight. My nose itched. I
could not scratch anything with my hands bound to the bedrails.

     Then I remembered Kiel died instead. I didn't want to

be reminded that I was alive while my best friend died to save me. The
tears in my eyes burned, but could not open them. His last words, "I'll
go," rang in my ears over and over like some mantra of an Indian holy
man.

     "Geoff? Are you awake, Geoff?" My mother's voice asked.

     I wasn't in the psych ward. They don't allow mommies

and daddies to muck up your shrink's good work. I remembered the stabbing
and realized I must be in a surgery ward, the pediatric surgery ward. I'm
still a kid, even after going so crazy I wanted to end my story.

     Mother's hand pressed lightly on my shoulder. No one else has her
soft touch. I don't know any other women who wear such cheap cologne, it
is nauseously sweet. I've smelt it for so many years it no longer turns
my stomach as much

as it did in the beginning.

     "Geoff?"

     "Yes," I said.

     "You're in the hospital."

     "I figured that," I said, rattling the bedrails by

jiggling the restraints.

     "Will you open your eyes?"

     "Not yet."

     "There's someone to see you. I'll go get him."

     The psychologist, I figured. Doctor Joshua Morgan, PhD, not your
everyday child psychologist. No, Doctor Morgan wasn't well versed in
queer boys trying to commit suicide because their boyfriend died. He
worked the county hospital psych ward trolling for patients who'd lost
their god. Deep down he felt God was in control and that made him very
ineffective as far as I was concerned. He'll be disappointed I tried,
again. I'm not certain I care what he feels.

     "Hi, Geoff," a familiar voice said. "I got your note."

     I'd never heard a ghost talk before. Well, they spoke in movies, but
movies aren't real, are they. This had to be a ghost because I'd seen
Kiel jump over the railing. I'd seen him fall from the bridge before the
knife sunk into my back as easily as a hot poker into warm butter. The
other knife holding back a moment before slipping in to do its own damage
to my young body.

     Yet, this voice continued to talk to me, insisting it was coming
from a living, breathing, substantial teenage boy who had a dick. God,
did that boy have a cock. The kind every boy prayed for on bended knees
at night before going to bed and discovering his own pathetic little
willy was barely a handful. The kind of dick so far out on the bell
curve, average dicks paled in comparison. The kind of dick where being
uncut was an attribute along with its incredible length and girth. The
kind of dick that doesn't need a sock to make a bulge in your jeans.

     "Will you open your eyes, please? I've never talked to someone tied
to their bed."

     He was a scared ghost. Afraid of my craziness. That felt good,
having something over him. My nose still burned from crying, but I opened
my eyes and looked at him standing close to my bed. He wasn't a bloody
ghost. He must have died before hitting, scared of the fleeting,
excruciating moment of pain before Death sucked the life out of you.

     It was then I noticed the IV needle in the back of my left hand and
felt something else, the pull of adhesive against my skin. When I was in
the psych ward before, there was a story about a young kid who wanted to
die so much he pushed his hand into the recently stitched incision the
surgeons repaired when he'd tried to disembowel himself. By the time the
nurse checked on him, the boy had pulled all of his intestines out and
his bloody hand was trying to pull out his stomach. He died with his guts
in a gooey pile on the floor. You have to be really, really crazy to do
something like that. It was only a story, of course, told to the new kids
to scare them, to test their own reality, before one of the crazier kids
shoved his cock into your ass.

     I looked into Kiel's eyes. They were real. You can tell a lot about
a person by looking into their eyes. Mine were full of tears. His were
full of life. Except, I'd seen him die.

     "You're dead. I saw you jump."

     "What?

     "On the bridge, before I was stabbed. They made you jump. No, you
jumped on your own. You knew I couldn't do it, so you did it for me. You
died, so I didn't have to."

     "I'm not dead," Kiel said. I could see he was scared. He'd never
spoken to a crazy person before, not up close like this.

     "I still have your note. It's in my bedroom. No one else has seen
it. I can't be what you want."

     "Because of Tim, isn't it? He likes your dick in him, doesn't he?
That's why you're with him so much."

     "What?"

     "I see you with him. You're always with him."

     "He's my friend. I haven't fucked him."

     I turned my head so I didn't have to look at him. He was better
being a ghost. I wanted to scream, but crazy people screamed and I wasn't
so crazy I could scream.

     "I love you," I said, still looking at the other side of the bed.
Fresh tears were falling from my eyes. The kind you get when love begins
to tear at your heart.

     "I can't be your boyfriend. I lost one already. I don't want to go
through that, again. We can be friends, though."

     "Like with Tim?"

     "No, not like that. Tim is different."

     "I can't share you with Tim."

     "I'm not asking you to share. My friendship with Tim is different. I
can kiss you. Tim and I don't even kiss, let alone touch each other. Can
I kiss you, now?"

     Our lips met.

     "I'm gay, you know."

     "I am too."

     "My dad said I was. He was going to send me away. He knew about us.
Will you fuck me if I ask?"

     "No, I will not be your boyfriend. I cannot love you like that."

     "Can you love me, at all?"

     "Yes, some."

     Once more our lips met. I could live with some of his love.

----------

Later, after Kiel had gone home and Mother came back to sit with me, Dr.
Timothy Randall, MD, came into my life. He was so young, so short, he
looked like, well, me. I'd swear he looked not much over fifteen. He was
slender, too, like a diver. His face was older, though. You could see a
lot of years in his eyes.

     His hair was short, half an inch, maybe; and, black like Kiel's.
He'd been in the sun, more. His tan skin glowed with vitality. The grip
of his handshake said a lot about how he probably liked to fuck, not that
I'd ever get the chance.

     "Hello, Geoff, my name is Timothy Randall, but you can call me Tim.
A lot of my patients call me Doctor Tim."

     "I know a Tim. He practically raped me. It was more forced sex than
an actual rape. He deceived me into letting him fuck me. I'll call you
Doctor Randall, okay?"

     "Sure, Geoff, whatever you want."

     "Will you scratch my nose? I can't reach it, with these," I said,
pulling at the restraints.

     "How about if I let you scratch your own nose?"

     Doctor Connor sent him to me. Doctor Randall specialized in teens
who didn't see any point in all the switchbacks on their trail of life. I
suppose looking like a teen helped. I know it helped me. I felt like I
was talking to someone just like me, someone my age, who understood what
I was going through.

     "I'm gay," I said, wanting to get that out of the way. It felt good
saying that, finally. Even though I hadn't said to it Mother or anyone
else, except Uncle Walter and Kiel.

     "Does that matter?"

     "It explains a lot, about me, I guess, now that I think about all
the problems I've been having. Will it be a problem, with you?"

     "No, I don't have a problem with that."

     "I didn't tell Doctor Connor."

     "I know, you didn't tell Doctor Connor a lot of things. That's his
style."

     "Kind of like my Dad," I said, feeling a tear well up into my eye. I
hated him for hating me, but I could still cry for him. "My Dad is dead."

     "What did you like about him?"

     And, so, our first session started. It felt good knowing I was going
to be seeing a lot of Doctor Randall in the days, weeks, months, and
years ahead. He prescribed some pills for me, something to bring a little
sanity back into my life. But, it was his willingness to trust me enough
to remove the restraints that gave him the edge. It felt good scratching
my own nose.

---------

The new school year at North Park High started without me. I showed up a
couple weeks later. It takes a while to recover from a stabbing by
someone who knows where to put in the knife. Only, they missed a lot of
arteries, by only fractions of an inch, though. I could've died on that
bridge. They were that close. Nicked my liver, trashed the lower right
lobe of my lungs to where removing it was the better option. The scars
from the surgery were much bigger than the stab wounds. The scars in my
mind were even bigger.

     My girlfriend, Monica, was waiting at the front door.

     She'd been bringing me my homework and taking it back to the
teachers. The perfect friend, no questions, no fear, willing to standby
no matter what. She'd changed, too, over the summer. Her hair was pulled
back in a bun making her look more studious. She was still just a little
above average, though, but she did look like one of the smartees.

     "Nice dress, is it new?" I asked, wincing a little from the climb.
Five steps shouldn't be that much to a fifteen year old boy, but I was
still compensating for the lost lung and the incision. It was much worse
in my mind, than in my body.

     "Yes, thank you for noticing. That's a lot more than anyone else
said."

     "Ouch."

     "Football players! God, what a bunch of egotistical dummies."

     "How is your tight end? Still the great kisser? Or, is it something
else that attracts you to him?"

     "Why do boys always think . . ."

     "Because we take PE and get to see what's hanging between the legs,
not that your tight end has anything to brag about."

     "God, Geoff, you'd notice something like that, wouldn't you?"

     "Well, it is . . ."

     "Stop it! I don't want to talk about, well, you know."

     "Penises?"

     "Stop it!"

     "Cocks?"

     "Damn it, Geoff, stop!"

     "Made you say it! You'll have to go to confession now."

     "You're impossible."

     "I love you anyway."

     "Yeah, I know. Say, do you want to go to a movie Friday night?"

     "With who?"

     "The gang, you know, Mark, Tim, Kiel, and me."

     "Tim, huh?"

     "What's wrong with Tim? I thought you liked Tim."

     "Yeah, I thought I did, too."

     "Did something happen last summer that I should know about?"

     "No, nothing you need to know about."

     "Do you want to go?"

     "Yeah, it'll be great seeing Tim, again."

     My first week at school went rather quickly. I was excused from gym
for a couple months. Not that I was bothered, too much. Having the
athletic ability of a piece of kindling doesn't do well in a class where
that matters. They put me in the Library helping Mrs. Chambers who'd been
there since the beginning of time. The rumor around school was she
actually dated Moses a couple times before he had to go do all that stuff
in the Bible.

     And, then, it was Friday evening and I was sitting in Kiel's bedroom
watching him put on a clean shirt. He hadn't been paying attention to
what he was doing and got my come all over his other shirt. We weren't
lovers, yet. We gave each other orgasms. He sucked my dick and I, well, I
got to hold a really big cock and do things to do it, too. Make it
perform tricks. Make it give me a surprise at the end of every
performance.

     Tim was going to be picking us up. He'd gotten his driver's license
during the summer and his parents just bought him a '53 Ford Coupe. It
was a little worse for wear with patches of skin cancer here and there,
but it ran good enough to get Tim to school and back. He came over every
morning to pick up Kiel and, eventually, I acquiesced into tagging along.
Tim seemed uncomfortable near me, but Kiel kept the three of us together.

     We were supposed to go see that new movie with Brandon De Wilde and
Paul Newman, but Mark didn't like movies in black and white. I tried not
looking disappointed, but any movie with Brandon had to be good. I'd
written to Uncle Walter about getting Brandon's autograph, but he said
I'd have to do my own star searching.

     We ended up going down to Lake City and watching something
forgettable, again. Monica was right, football players are a bunch of
dummies. What I didn't like most, though, were all the night shots
because Tim's hand was in my crotch nearly every time the theatre
darkened. Finally, I'd had enough and got up to go to the rest room. I
didn't see Tim follow me.

     I was standing at a urinal trying to make a show of having a full
bladder when I saw Tim standing next to me. I started getting hard.

     "What's with the hands?" I asked, turning to Tim. I hoped we were
alone because I left my dick out.

     "I thought you liked it. You certainly seemed to like it when Stevie
did it to you."

     "How could you see that?"

     "He told me."

     "He told you he felt me up at the movies?"

     "Yeah, he told me a lot of things about you."

     "Damn it, Tim, I thought Stevie was my best friend."

     "Yeah, I did, too. Are you still mad at me for what happened?"

     "Some, but, hey, how about a little peace offering. Go ahead, give
it a good feel."

     "What if someone comes in?" Tim asked. His soft fingers wrapped
around my erection. His eyes were in constant motion looking at my eyes,
the stalls, the door. His fingers worked their magic along the length of
my dick then slipped into my briefs and fondled my balls.

     "Then I'll put it away and you can play with it another day."

     "I'd like it better if we could both do this."

     "You have a hair trigger."

     "Yeah, that's what Stevie said."

     "Maybe I could do something about that. It's a lot better if you can
make it last a while."

     "I've always wondered what that would be like."

     "When?"

     "Tomorrow afternoon?"

     "Tomorrow night?"

     "Sunday afternoon?"

     "Yeah, I can do that. Do you want to meet me somewhere?"

     "No, I could pick you up."

     "What about Kiel?"

     "Oh, shit, yeah, maybe it would be better if, no, look he won't
mind. Really. He's been bugging me to make up with you. He won't mind."

     "Well, okay, but no kissing and telling."

     "Why would I do that?"

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

I felt weird waking up Saturday morning. Then I saw Kiel naked, sitting
on my bed, his dick standing firm, ready for action.

     "Uh, my mother?"

     "She had to take Sally somewhere," Kiel said, pulling my blanket
back and crawling into my bed. His erection pressed against my thigh as
he began unbuttoning my pajama top. "I saw her outside and she said I
could come up and wake you. Do you want to wake up?"

     "Will you punish me with your big stick?"

     "No, I will caress you and make love with you," Kiel said,
tightening his lips around my right nipple. His teeth nipped as my pecs
tightened against his assault. A hand floated down across my abs tickling
as much as arousing until it stopped at my pajama bottoms where fingers
quickly popped open the snaps.

     "You know what I want," I said, turning onto my side away from him.
He was gentle, comforting as pulled my pajama bottoms down, kissing the
white skin of my buttocks. I waited, not wanting to say anything to ruin
the possibility that my wish might come true.

     Kiel's strong hands, soft fingers pushed my pajama top up and over
my head as his lips and tongue followed behind laving my skin with
gentleness. He pushed my shoulder down, forcing me onto my stomach. Teeth
nipped at my ears as I felt his hardness press against the point of my
desire. I was not ready for him. I had not prepared for a dawn attack.
Yet, I did not struggle. Relaxing instead, opening myself to his
earnestness.

     He barely broke in before I felt the spasms, his hot come released
to lubricate further passage. But that was not to be, not today. Kiel
held back, allowing his orgasm to subside with only the head past the
gate.

     "I love you," I whispered, feeling the dampness of my own orgasm
under me.

     Kiel pulled me over and lowered his lips to my come sodden pubes. He
looked into my eyes. I smiled.

     "I love you," I whispered, as his come moistened lips met mine.

     He lay down beside me and began to weep. I knew we went too far this
morning, beyond the limit he set for our love. I would have him, though.
My desire for his love was insatiable. I would have him inside me,
expressing his love with long, steady strokes. Today was but a tiny step,
removing a small brick, weakening his wall only slightly.

     "Tim called me this morning and told me you let him rub your dick in
the rest room last night," Kiel said without emotion. He rolled onto his
side and began to massage my left nipple with two fingers. "He said
you're going with him tomorrow afternoon to fuck and do whatever to him.
You told me you couldn't share Tim, but I know it will be different with
him. I like you Geoff. I like you a lot; and, I like Tim, a lot. I can
share."

     I wanted to scream. Tim! What kind of person was he? Was this some
kind of joke with him? Did he think Kiel wouldn't tell me? And, yet, Kiel
was willing to share, but for how long? How long did I have until I'd
have to choose?

     "He said he wouldn't say anything," I said, trying to sound
apologetic, sorry I had given in to Tim's desire. "I can't help wanting
him. I've never fucked another boy and Tim wants me to do him. I said I'd
go slow with him, try to get his orgasm to last. God damn it, Kiel, I
love you."

     "But you want to fuck Tim."

     "Yes."

     "Then enjoy yourself and give him pleasure. I'm sure he'll call and
say he had a wonderful time."

     "I'm sure he will."