Date: Wed, 22 Sep 2004 21:02:05 -0500 From: James Clark <niftywriterjc@hotmail.com> Subject: Out of a Dream: Chapter 4- Getting to Know You Not much to say, so READ, DRONES, READ!! he he he. Out of a Dream by: James Clark Disclaimer: If it is illegal for you to read this, or if material of this sort offends you, leave now. The author, James Clark, reserves all aplicable rights to this story. It is lawful only for Nifty.org to display this as a public work. All others will be prosecuted to the full extent of the law. PLAGIARISM IS ILLEGAL! THIS MEANS YOU GET IN TROUBLE IF YOU DO IT! If you should want to post this story elsewhere, or want a hard copy of it, then you must e-mail me and I will mail you written permission to do so, should I deem it worthy to do so. Thank you and enjoy the story! Chapter 4- Getting to Know You "You realize we know almost nothing about each other", I say to Wyatt. "Yeah, so my b-day is February 11th, I'm 16, I'm 5'9", black hair, and blue eyes. Anything else you just have to know?", he says. "I'm glad I know you're not actually being bitchy", I say with a smirk. "But really, don't you think that it's about time for a really long talk about you, me, where we came from, what we think about everything, blah blah blah?", I ask. "Well, I guess so", he says. "But you have to start", he adds quickly. "OK. Well, my birthday is July 19, 1989. That makes me 15. I've lived in Columbia my entire life. My mom and dad are divorced. I really don't like my dad. I have four siblings, a brother and three sisters. Ummm, what else? We live in a trailer, and my room is the smallest, but I don't have to share with anyone else. I like to draw, and I love to play my sax. You know I'm a know-it-all. I guess that's about all that comes right to mind", I say. I leave out a lot of stuff, mostly on purpose. I don't tell anybody everything that goes through my head, at least, not yet anyway. "Your turn". Wyatt takes a breath and begins. "I was born Feb 11th, 1988. So, I'm 16. I'm an only child, and I've lived here as long as I can remember. My mom and dad are together, but I hate my dad. He is a complete ass. I don't know how I'd ever admit to him that I'm gay. He's always saying something about faggot this, or faggot that. I love the 70's. Music like Jimi Hendrix and Bob Dylan and all that is awesome. I also really like all of the ideals people had then. It was way more peaceful, and let's face it, rap fuckin' sucks ass. I live out by the highway. Well, that's about it", he finishes. I can't believe this guy, he's fucking awesome. How in the world did he just all of a sudden show up in my life, when I've never noticed him before now? I'm not even going to question it. It's all so wonderful. Even now I feel a little twinge somewhere in my chest just at the memory of the loneliness I knew before I met Wyatt. I love him so much. I mean, I know most would think that it is just lust, but I know the difference. Lust is when you wanna fuck 'em and be done with it. Love, on the other hand, is when you ask yourself if you can live with missing them everyday, if you can live without them, if you could live if they didn't love you, and the answer to this is no. Yeah, I got it bad. "Hey, man", Wyatt says, cutting through my thoughts. "Do you wanna go to my house? My mom and dad aren't home right now, so we can hang out there". "Sure, sounds good. Can we drop by my house first though? I wanna go get some stuff." "Yeah, let's go". We head for my car, dodging the principal as he walks by the parking lot. I unlock the doors and climb in. Wyatt jumps in and we pull out, heading for my house. On the way, I turn on the radio and "Purple Haze" by Hendrix blares out of the radio. It's like fate! "Holy shit, I love this song!", Wyatt exclaims. I turn up the music, and listen as Wyatt sings all the lyrics and even the guitar riff. "Ba da da, da da da, da da da". All I can do is laugh at him. It's without a doubt the cutest thing I've ever seen. He's doing the whole air-guitar thing and all. "What!?", he asks, genuinely surprised at my laughter. We get to my house and I jump out and say "Be right back". I ran in the house, grabbed my extra papers, a little baggie, and a pack of cigarettes. I keep all my stuff like that in a locked tool box in the bottom of my closet. Only I know the combination, so it's safe. I get back in the car and ask Wyatt, "Where do you live, again?". "Out by the highway, I'll show you". I slowly reach out and put my hand on his thigh. He puts his hand on top of mine and kisses me on the cheek, reassuring my confidence. I love him so much. We get to his house. A house, mind you, not a trailer, like what I'm used to. "Come on in", he says with a smile. For a second, I dont' even know how to act. Like, should I wipe my feet off or anything, just in case? Once inside, Wyatt nearly attacks me. His mouth goes straight for mine. His tongue wrestles with mine, and he puts both hands on my buttocks. He pulls off me, breathing hard. "I've always wanted to do that", he whispers. "Whoa, boy", I say. "I brought something you and I can enjoy. Check it out". I hand him the baggie. "That's hydro".(*Weed terminology-- Hydro- really good shit. expensive, too) "Dude, how much did this cost?", he asks, wide-eyed. "Only about thirty bucks. It was a pretty good deal. Well, quit staring at it and roll it up. I thought we should have a little celebration now that we're going out." I kiss him on the lips gently, just enough to let him know that I love him more than anything else in the world. He rolls up, and we smoke. Now, a lot of people think weed causes impaired judgement, and this would diminish the effect of my tale. Let me clear this up now; IT DOESN'T! Anyway, back to the story. After we're through, we cuddle on his couch and watch TV for a while. Then, he just looks back at me and says, very simply as if he just realized it "We're in love, aren't we?". I kiss him over and over, and finally say "Duh, stupid-face". We keep on kissing. Suddenly, the kisses got hotter, more hungry. I started to grope on him. I found out that he is really well endowed. His and my dicks are both rock-hard. I feel his hands fumbling at my belt-buckle, and my breathing gets faster... Well, that's about it. I know, still not very long, and not much happening, but it gets better, I promise. E- mail me and tell me what you think. Come up with something good and I might be able to work it into the story. You can get me at niftywriterjc@hotmail.com I love e-mail, so talk to me some time. Keep reading. I'm going to put out another story soon, so keep on the lookout.