From: HA
Newsgroups: rec.arts.erotica
Subject: Object
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d
Date: 27 Nov 1994 11:18:18 -0500
Organization: rec.arts.erotica immoderation
Keywords: mm teen
X-Moderator-Review: 6: low on sex; imperative tone, strong characters

Archive-name: obj-hs

Warning: What follows has male/male content, but little in the
way of sex.  Forgive me, I simply can't write sex in this story
when it's simply a fantasy involving a real person who's
straight.  Please send any and all comments to the appropriate
place.  Grammar, spelling corrections welcomed.  Don't claim my
story is yours.  Don't troll for reposts.  If you don't like the
subject, don't flame. Just go away.

If you're under 18, go ahead and read this. After all, I know all
your secrets already.

Note: This is a minor corrected version as opposed to the one
that appeared in alt.sex.stories.  I had the lyrics wrong to two
songs (one is a breakbeat song, so figuring out the lyrics was
obviously hard), and some spelling errors.  So I'm anal.

Also: If you're gonna archive this, try putting it in
/pub/erotica/gay/high-school.

I'm 17, and in college, but also in high school and so is Niles... come on.
Living at home, all that... high school. Duh. Not college.

Well...


			     Object


     You say the world has come between us
     And our lives have come between us
     Still I know you just don't care

                  -- Deep Blue Something, "Breakfast At Tiffany's"

He came to me again.  I don't know, I shouldn't be surprised, but
I always am.  It's a basic thing, a primal fear, I suppose.  I
don't expect it.  I always expect that something will have
changed and suddenly I'll be on my own again, alone.  Scared.
Bored.

But he came to me again.

I sat on the bleachers and watched him run, grab, catch, pound
into the others.  It always seemed pretty mindless to me, a way
to express the whole primal thing.  But then, who am I to judge?

He took off his helmet, smiled in my direction.  Of course, he
can't really acknowledge me much more than that in public, and
that's what strikes the fear, the desperation in me.

Then the coach called them all together, gave them whatever
speech he normally gave them and they ran off to the gym building
and presumably to the showers.

I will admit a shameless curiosity there.  But I digress.

I was waiting in the car when he returned.  Returned?  I suppose
that's the best way to explain it.  When he's away, it's painful
in a way I don't understand.  A different kind of painful than
before we... truly met each other.

Niles was smiling his typical huge bright smile.  Infectious,
arousing.  I mustered a grin and asked, "How did practice go?"
even though it really didn't matter.

"Oh, it was okay."

"So what are you doing tonight?"

"Nothing.  And what are you doing tonight?"

"Oh, I think I can pencil you in for a couple of hours."

He laughs and looks out the window, waving to some friend as we
drive off.

Presently we arrive at his house, and he looks out the window
again.

"I'll come get you at eight, okay?" I proclaim.

"Sure, that'll be great," he says, smiling once more.  He could
melt rocks with that smile.  He reaches over, patting me on the
leg, a touch that excites me so thoroughly and so silently.
Sometimes, I wish he didn't do such things.  He notices my state
and grins even wider.  "That'll be great," he repeats.

The door closes and he heads for his house.  I pause for a
moment, scanning his form, the butt made by God.  Allow me my
vices.

This is the man I fell in love with, 6'1", and 200-some-odd
pounds.  The actual bodily numbers don't matter so much as the
way he fills out his own form.

Myself, I'm not so much to look at.  I've always considered
myself more to listen to.  Perhaps that's another source of my
great anxiety.

I sharply arise from my reverie and put the car in gear.  A
fifteen-minute drive puts me at home amidst sighs and horrid
thoughts.

Eventually I relax.  I put in the token appearance at dinner,
moderately passing for the seventeen-year old I'm expected to be.

And then I'm free again and in my car.  Pedal down, roaring at
the speed limit (damn my driving record!), trying to make up for
lost time.  Music blaring, emotions reeling.  Tension,
nervousness, excitement.

     I cannot bear to see you leave me, I'm begging you don't go
     And when you tell me that you love me, sometimes I just don't know

                                  -- Awesome 3, "Don't Go"

I pull up at his house at 8:17.  SHIT!  God, if I didn't have to
worry about losing my license...

He walks out the door, dressed to the nines.  Me, I'm just
plodding along in a shirt and some jeans.  Okay, so once more I'm
left wondering.

"Sorry, I'm late, parentals and all..."

"I understand, Andrew, relax... I have them too."

"God, Niles, I... um, you look really nice tonight."

It is then I notice his scent: pure man mixed with some cologne I
can't place.  I didn't even slap that on.  Underclassed,
inadequate.

"Say it, Andrew."

"I, uh... I love you."  I lean towards him, hoping for a kiss.  My
heart races at the prospect.

"Not here, are you crazy?  We're still in front of my house!"

"Oh.  Yeah."  I fucked up again.  What else is new?

"I love you too, Andrew.  You know that, don't you?  Now drive,"
he charms, laughing.

A feeling of spillage, a broken but not quite broken heart is the
feeling as I smile.  Happiness of an extreme.  An end to my
means.

He touches my leg again.  I practically jump from the
electricity.

     There's not a lot of folks around here
     We don't have much, but what we've got, we hold dear.

            -- Adam's Farm, "There's Nothing That Rhymes With Racine"

I drive as quickly as possible.  As legal.  Okay, I went a little
over.  We arrive at our usual place for rendezvous.  I bar myself
from describing it simply to prevent its discovery.  Sorry,
nothing personal.

I sit down on the couch and wait, my back to an arm.

He sits down, then pivots.  Lays, head in my lap.  I run my hands
through his hair and he begins to speak.

"They don't understand me.  At all.  It's all about getting
drunk, getting high, getting women to have sex with them.  It's
plastic, totally expendable.  Meaningless.  It's nothing to do
with creation for them.  I wrote a story, and none of them cared.
You know, the one when I was a little kid?  None of them wanted
to hear it.  I didn't bother reading it, they would've just
laughed anyway."

I run my hands through his hair, and lean over, kissing him on
the forehead.  He sighs and says, "Sometimes I wonder.  I feel so
messed up inside.  But then you come back and I feel better.  Do
you understand?"

"Yes, I do," I say, running my hands down his neck, onto his
chest.

"I love you," he says.

"That's all you have to say," I say.

     I don't like to kiss and tell
     The looks you give they cast a spell
     And I'm not one for quantity
     The school of angels, coming for me

           -- Channel 69, "Exposure"

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