Date: Mon, 29 Nov 2004 17:16:24 -0500
From: rick lemmon <blue_steele82@hotmail.com>
Subject: matt, part 3

     It's been a month since that Wednesday, and the same
thing has more or less happened 5 other times.  I've barely
gotten a word out of him.  Roman's been ignoring me at
school, too.  I mean, I do see him around, but I receive no
acknowledgement from him, which sucks even more because
before I used to at least get a hello in the halls. Now, I
get nothing.
     I don't know what's happening.  I feel like I should
feel used, except that I don't, because he always does all
the work.  He takes control, and I'm putty in his hands.
He's never done anything more than kiss me and jack me off,
but he turns me on more than anyone else ever has.  And I
don't ever give him anything.  I've tried to, but he always
stops me with a `You don't have to do that, baby.'  And in
those moments, he's so sweet.  But he barely ever talks to
me.  What the fuck is going through this boy's mind?  Every
time I see him outside of our little sessions, he turns the
other way.  And the sick part is that the second he tries to
make some contact with me, I fall at his feet and beg him
for his attention.  I'd just about do anything for him.  How
can someone I barely know have this much of an effect on me?
I hate feeling this much in someone else's control.
     Anyway, Chris is trying to make me come out to a strip
club tonight for our buddy Rob's birthday.  He normally
wouldn't be this persistent, but he knows that I've been in
a shitty mood and this is his way of trying to cheer me up
without being too in your face.  I really appreciate having
friends like him, and I know I should probably go, if only
to make him feel like his efforts are justified and he's not
wasting his time being best friends with an asshole, but I
just don't feel like doing anything - especially not with
hormone and beer high boys.  My mom's out of town again this
weekend (her job involves her going to a lot of conferences)
and I'm thinking I'm just going to stay home and get high by
myself and maybe jerk off a little bit.  I know Chris will
be disappointed, but fuck them all.  I just really don't
feel like it.
     I stay at home tonight.  I know Chris feels really put
out, but I don't care right now.  I'm really fucking high.
I like this - I feel numb, and happy for the first time in a
while.  I download gay porn off the internet and masturbate
to it - or at least I try to, but I just keep closing my
eyes, listening to the grunting and thinking about Roman.  I
remember our times together, how he's touched me, and I
wonder if I'll ever feel that touch again.  He was so gentle
and so sweet - I don't understand how he could be such a
fucking asshole as well as the amazing person I'm so
completely infatuated with.  I just wish he'd talk to me.
     I pass out on my couch at probably midnight.  I've
smoked too much herb and it's put me to sleep.  A little
while later, I become faintly aware of an annoyingly high-
pitched melody droning in the background, but it stops and I
fall back asleep.  And then it starts again, and I can't
fucking ignore it.  It's my fucking cell phone.  I always
leave it on in case someone wants to pick off me, and money
is money so I decide to answer.  I don't recognize the
number, but I pick it up anyway.
     "Hello." I mumble in a voice thick with sleep.  At
least I'm not high anymore.
     "Oh, sorry. I woke you up."  The voice on the other end
of the line sounds dejected, and very depressed.  "I forgot
how late it was."
     The voice sounds familiar, but I don't know who it is.
Normally only people I know call me, because I'm mostly
small time.
     "Who is this?" I ask, maybe a little harshly.
     "Oh, umm." the voice sounds really upset now.  "It's -
it's me," is all he can sputter out.  I don't get it for a
minute.  And then I do.
     "Roman.  Why are you calling me?" I ask.
     "I was wondering if maybe I could come in."  What the
fuck?  I stand up and I walk towards the window at the front
of my house, and I see him parked outside.  Do I really want
to do this to myself again?  Of course I do.
     "Ya, sure," I concede, and I hang up my phone.  I walk
to the front of my house and open my door.  He comes in
silently, and stands with his arms crossed as I close the
door.  He's visibly upset, and when he follows me into the
living room where there are lights on, I can see that he's
been crying.  Maybe this will be different.  I can't believe
that he's been crying.
     I sit on the couch, and motion for him to sit down
beside me.  Instead, he seats himself as far away from me as
he possibly can while still sitting on the same piece of
furniture.  We sit in silence for a few moments.  I'm kind
of pissed off at him, like I always am, and I don't really
want to have to be the one to break the ice.
     "Where's your mom?" he finally says.
     "Out of town again."  I'm not fucking getting this
conversation rolling.  If he wants to talk, he can talk.
     "Oh." is all he can say.  I meet him with complete
silence.  This is all his fucking fault.  He stares down at
his lap and doesn't say anything else.  This time I know for
sure that the silence is uncomfortable.  I can hear the
clock ticking.  Finally, I can't stand it anymore.  I hate
him for doing this to me.
     "Why are you here?"  He looks up at me, and his eyes
begin to water again.  He's so fucking adorable at this
moment - his blue eyes painted even bluer by the water color
of his tears, his bottom lip quivering like he's a child.
     "I just - I just wanted to see you."  That's what he
said last time, right before he made his move, and the time
before that, and the time before that.  He's not getting
away with it this time, though.  For some reason, tonight I
don't feel like being used for sex, or helping someone hide
from their issues.  I want to know what the fuck this boy is
thinking.
     "Why?"  I look him straight in the eye when I say this.
He hesitates.
     "I just. sometimes feel like I need you."  I don't say
anything.  I wait for him to fucking elaborate, and I think
he eventually finally realizes that this time is going to be
different.  "I don't know why this is so hard," he
continues.
     I look at him now, and I smile slightly.  "You know you
can say anything to me."  But that's all I'll give him.
     "Every time I see you, I try to you tell you these
things, but I just can never find the words.  You must think
I'm such a fucking asshole.  It's just that. you scare me so
much.  Because I feel like you get me more than anyone else.
And you turn me on so much.  And all I want to do is make
you happy.  And I've never felt this way, and I never
expected to feel this way about a guy.  Umm. I can't fucking
be gay."  He buries his head in his hands.  What the fuck?
He can't he just lay this all on me.  I want to yell at him,
I want to kick his fucking ass, but instead I just silently
urge him to continue.
     "The problem is, I can't help how I feel.  And I know
I've hurt you a lot.  I can't stand to talk to you, because
it just makes me more aware of what I've been doing to you.
And I'm never sure that I could control myself around you.
That's why I ignore you at school.  And every time I bring
you to my house, I plan on saying things to make things
better - on apologizing.  But I'm such a fucking pussy.  So
I can't say anything.  And I just. My parents would fucking
kill me.  They hate me enough as it is."  He's been trying
to hold back tears the entire time, and he can't anymore.
He explodes, and I shuffle down the couch to hold him.
     I want to take all his pain away, but at the same time
I want to hurt him because he can't get over his homophobe
issues.  Even though I haven't told anyone, I'm comfortable
with myself, and I hate him for hurting me so much because
he isn't.  But I care about him too much to see him in this
much pain, so I just hold him and let him cry it out.
     After he's done, I kiss him on the forehead and look
him dead in the eye.  "So what do you want to do?"
     "I. I want to be with you."
     "I can't be with you if you don't want to be with a
guy.  You told me before that it wouldn't be a problem."
     "I'm gonna try and make it not be a problem.  I just
can't have anyone knowing."
     Not telling anyone is not an issue for me.  There's a
reason why I'm still in the closet.  There are a lot of
bigots at our school, and I know someone would get their ass
kicked if people know they were a fag.  And furthermore, I
know a lot of these people are casual friends with Roman.
     If you don't understand how someone as accepting as
Roman could be friends with such prejudiced dickheads, you
have to understand our school better.  It's about 90% white
suburban kids, and so people are very unaware of ethnic
differences.  And because of this it's completely possible
for white supremacist types who direct all the anger and
shittyness in their lives towards those that are different
than them to exist within the halls and never cause much of
a problem.  In fact, a lot of these people are nice and fun
people to be around - if you're white and Christian and they
don't know you're gay.  And so they have a lot of friends
with completely different beliefs as they do, because those
beliefs are rarely pushed to the surface.
     So Roman's friends with a lot of people, like his
friend Ryan from the party that night, who would hate him if
they knew that he was messing around with another guy.  I
can't stand how that must feel.  I'm pretty sure most of my
friends would be okay with it - if I ever get up the nerve
to tell them.  For now, keeping this thing - whatever you
want to call it - a secret is fine with me, and I tell him
this.
     He decides to spend the night in my bed again, but we
don't do anything sexual tonight.  Too much has happened,
and while we both feel content to lie in each other's, the
innocence and the honesty of the night would be ruined by
sex much like a virgin is.  He spoons me again, all night,
and again I wake up before he does.
     This time, I decide to not give him a chance to leave
before we can talk through any of his possible reservations,
or at least before he eats some breakfast, so I very
carefully untwine my body from his arms.  I quietly pad
downstairs, turn on the stove and set the bacon cooking.
     About half an hour later, I have two plates loaded with
eggs, bacon, and toast, as well as two glasses of orange
juice, ketchup, cutlery, napkins, and a flower set up on a
tray that I very, very carefully carry up to my room.  I
push open my door with my hip, and set the tray down.  He's
still sleeping, so very gently stroke his chest until he
begins to move.  This time, when he opens his eyes, he looks
up at me and smiles.
     "Morning," I whisper at him, and I pick the tray up and
set it on the bed next to him.  He seems happy.  Thank God.
We eat in silence, though.  When we're done, he actually
looks at me and says:
     "So, what do you want to do today?" It's Saturday,
which means that we have all the time in the world to just
do whatever we want.  I obviously don't do homework until
Sunday, so we're good.
     "Absolutely nothing," I tell him with a smile, which I
guess is a good idea, since we're keeping this max on the
d.l., and people can't be seeing us together all over town.
So the first thing we do is clean the dishes.  And then we
watch some TV, and then we go up to my room and talk.  I'm
relieved to find that we can still do this, and do it well,
and that it is something that I love to do with him.  He
seems a little uneasy at first - like he's still silenced by
guilt - but he gradually becomes more comfortable throughout
the day.
     After we've been talking on my bed for a while, we
begin to make out.  We strip down to our boxers, and this
time he lets me give, which is good, because I like to give.
And this time, he decides he wants to give more.
     He begins to kiss and suck on my neck, and moves down.
He licks and bites my nipples - I can tell he's been
thinking about doing this for a while, like he's planned his
moves or something.  He kisses his way down my stomach, and
then begins to slide down my boxers.  I'm feeling nervous
now, for him, not for me.
     "You don't have to-" I begin, but he quickly shushes
me.
     "I want to."  And he slowly slides my dick in his
mouth.  He can't fit that much in, but he's not doing to
badly for his first time.  Granted, he's obviously less
practiced than most of the other people I've fooled around
with, but this is a huge deal for him and I love that he's
doing it for me.  It reminds me a little of when I went out
with Tina and the first time she gave me head, except that
I'm more excited that it's coming from him than I ever was
for her.
     He's not very adventurous when he's down there.  He
sucks my dick and covers the rest with his hands, and he
plays with my balls a little, but that's all.  I don't blame
him, though.  In his case, I think having a dick in his
mouth is risky enough as it is.  It's not amazing head, but
he does succeed in bringing me to orgasm, and I'm very
thankful to him.
     Afterward, we cuddle in bed, and he nervously asks me
how he was.
     "Pretty good for a rooky," I tell him with a laugh.
"And to be honest, the fact that it was you doing it made it
much so better."  But he seriously wants to know how he can
do it better.
     "I want to be able to make you feel like you make me
feel," he tells me.  So I give him some tips, and before you
know it, he's trying it again, this time with me telling him
what's good and what's not so good, and this is how I become
his instructor.