Date: Wed, 29 Mar 2000 20:54:00 -0500
From: SoQueer <soqueer@hotmail.com>
Subject: A Year in the Life - Chapters 6 & 7

A Year in the Life
Chapter Six

     Six weeks!  My father gave me six weeks of restriction for coming in
late.  You'd have thought I drug in after midnight for all the fuss he
made!  What made it so bad was that he was home for the next ten days
straight, so there was no getting around it.  I was a virtual prisoner in
my own house.  (Strike that.  It was HIS house, and he reminded me of that
fact little fact each and EVERY day.)  My only reprieve was going to
school.  I was ready to go early every morning and dreaded coming home
every evening.  Looking back, it seems childish, but I don't think I said a
dozen words to either of my parents for two weeks.  In fact, I spent every
moment up in my room that I could.  The only up side to it all was that my
GPA improved from all the extra studying I was doing to pass the time.
     After my father left on his sales route late Sunday afternoon, my
mother came in my room.  "Your father's gone," she said wistfully. . .
     I grunted a reply.  For all I cared at that moment, he could have
jumped off a bridge.
     "Honestly Marky!" she said in her
I-don't-know-what-I'm-going-to-do-with-you tone of voice.  "Being short
with me isn't going to get you off restriction."
     "You didn't stand up for me," I said bluntly.
     "What are you talking about?"
     "I was over at Paul's with your permission.  You stood by and let him
rake me over the coals and then didn't say a single word in my defense."
     Her expression hardened.  I'd hurt her with that one.  "You don't know
WHAT I said to your father."
     The last thing I wanted was to fight with my mother, but her silence
had hurt me more than my father's words and actions put together.  Deep
down, though, I couldn't blame her any more than I could blame myself.  Her
complacency held us both under his control.  She was trapped because she
loved him.  I was trapped because I loved her.
      "You didn't say anything," I said without looking at her.  "You never
say anything.  You keep hoping it'll all get better, but it never does.  It
only gets worse."
     She was fighting back tears.  "How can you say that?"
     "Face it, Mom!"  I said a little louder than I'd intended.  "He
doesn't like me!"  I forced my voice lower, and I looked up at her.  "He
never has."
     Mom said nothing.  She stood there for several minutes looking out the
window at the fading twilight.  After a while, she slowly turned and walked
to the door.  As she opened it, I said, "The only reason I haven't left is
that I don't have anywhere else to go."
     She paused just long enough to hear me, and then she left the room,
closing the door softly behind her.
     My restriction lasted until the second week in February.  By the time
it was over, I was positively stir-crazy.  I was ready to surrender a
kidney if it meant I could get out of the house!  It felt so good just to
be able to walk down the street again, even if the weather was grey and
bleak.  I've always loved a good, long walk, and being cooped up in the
house for the last month-and-a-half made me enjoy it all the more.  Despite
the bitter chill in the air, the tale- tell signs of spring were
everywhere.  I could even feel it stirring inside me.  Ok!  I could feel it
stirring in my jeans, too.
     I turned down the street that lead to Paul's house.  I had no idea if
he was home or not, but I decided to give it a chance.  I hadn't seen him
away from school since before New Years, and I wanted to talk with him.
     I was caught off guard when his mother answered the door.  "Ugh, Hi,"
I stammered.  "I'm Mark Day.  Is Paul home?"
     "So you're Mark!'  She replied.  "Paul's told me a lot about you.
Come on in.  He's in his room."  She opened the door wider so I could pass
by her.  "Paul!"  She yelled.  "You've got company." She walked back to the
kitchen and left me standing in the foyer.
     Paul came out of his room.  He looked spectacular.  His dark hair was
all mussed up, and his face looked like he'd just woke up.  He was wearing
a pair of loose sweat pants that hung low on his hips and, from the look of
it, nothing else.  "Hey," he said with a yawn.  "What brings you by?"
     "Just thought I'd stop by and see what you were up to."
     "I was gettin' a little beauty sleep.  Come on back to my room."  I
followed him back to his dungeon and sat down on his bed.  "I take it
you're off restriction."
     "You take it right.  I'm a free man again."  I didn't say it aloud,
but in the back of my mind I added, "for now."
     "You bring any weed with you?"  He asked.
     "I didn't think of it before I left," I answered.  "I wasn't headed
this way when I started out.  I just sorta ended up here."
     "That's a shame, Man.  I could use a good buzz.  I ain't had any since
you and I got together the last time."
     Was he suggesting what I thought he was suggesting?  "I'd say let's
walk over to my house and get a joint, but my old man's home."
     "Is that a problem?"
     I hesitated for a moment.  I realized that the real reason I'd sought
Paul out was for someone to talk to, not sex.  Not that I was opposed to
the idea, mind you, and Paul looked so cute in those faded sweat pants he
was wearing, but I needed a friend.  "You could say that."
     "Maybe we could go get the joint and then go somewheres else?  There's
got to be a private spot around here within walking distance!"
     Paul obviously wanted to do a lot more than catch a buzz and talk.
What the fuck!  Right?  "I guess.  It won't hurt to try."
     Paul grinned at me.  "That's my guy!"
     Paul changed his clothes and told his mother we were going out for a
walk.  The air was cold, so we walked close to each other to stay warm.
Paul was in a cheerful mood, and I so desperately needed to share in his
enthusiasm.  The closer we got to my house, though, the more anxious I
became.  What if my old man made a scene?  What if he was drunk again?
     When we got to the corner of our property, I put my hand on Paul's arm
and stopped him.  "Paul," I said, summoning up all the courage I could, "I
need to warn you about my old man."
     "What is it?" he asked.
     "He-he can be difficult at times," I didn't know anyway to say it but
to say it all.  "Especially if he's been drinking."
     "What are you saying?"
     "He likes to get plastered on weekends sometimes, and, well . . ."
I'd started it, and now I had to finish it.  I'd never told anyone about my
problems at home.  In fact, I'd done everything I could to hide it from my
friends.  In many ways, it was the worst part of the derision my old man
had heaped on me: He'd made a liar out of me.  Having to tell Paul the
truth about my father was the hardest thing I'd ever done. "Sometimes he
gets mean."
     Paul hesitated for a moment before he spoke.  "Does he beat you?"
     "No."  I couldn't look at him.  "But he might as well."
     "Have you told anybody?"
     "Just you.  You won't say anything to anybody, will you?"
     "No," Paul's expression was touching.  "I wouldn't do that to you."
     "Thanks.  I just thought you might need to be prepared in case he says
something to me."
     My hands were shaking when I put the key in the door.  I so hoped he
wouldn't be there sitting in the living room.  My hopes were dashed when I
heard his thick voice bellowing as I stepped through the door.  "Where the
hell have you been?"
     Paul stepped in behind me.  "Out for a walk with Paul," I answered
meekly.  "It's kinda cold, so we stopped by so I could get a heavier
jacket."
     I could tell by his angry expression that had Paul not been there he
would have lit into me with everything he had.  He was so drunk that he
wasn't even bothering to hide the bottle.  "Well shut that door!  I'm not
paying good money for you to heat the sidewalk!"
     "Yes sir," I answered.  I closed the door and pulled Paul up the
stares to my room.
     Paul let out a whistle.  "Your rooms a wreck, Man.  What happened
here?"
     "Welcome to the Sanctum Sanctorum.  This is the real me," I replied
with a laugh.  For once, I was grateful for Paul's reticence.
     Paul pushed back the covers on the bed and sat down.  "My mom would
freak!"
     "Mine usually does.  The room's still a mess, though."  I rummaged
through the my closet and pulled out my heavy jacket.  "Let's hit the
road."
     "Aren't you going to get the weed?"  He asked.
     "It's in my coat pocket.  I have to do my own laundry, so it's the
safest place in the house."
     "Cool!"
     Paul and I slipped out of the house as quietly as we could.  My old
man was no where to be seen, and I was in no hurry to go find him.  We
headed out to the street and made our way to the old school.
     Boston Elementary had been closed for nearly four years.  The building
was deteriorating fast, but it still looked intimidating with its
fortress-like appearance.  The foot-thick brick walls were punctuated by
narrow, ten-foot tall windows.  The overall effect created the illusion of
prison bars.  Whoever designed the building either hated children or held a
very bleak outlook concerning the future of Southern youth.  Something
about the place always brought to mind the concept of "institution".
Still, I liked the place.
     I showed Paul the crack in the wall that lead to the hole in the floor
that admitted access to the interior of the building.  I took him from room
to room and recounted all my memories of the place.  Despite the unsightly
appearance of the building, my memories were all warm and colorful.
Finally, we went into the old teacher's lounge and sat down on the dusty,
vinyl-clad couch.  This had always been forbidden territory for students.
We were never allowed in there.  The scent of millions of cigarettes
permeated the place, and no doubt late at night the distant echos of
teachers complaining about their students could still be heard in the
place.  I pulled out the joint and the lighter.  Paul slid over next to me
and took them from my hand.
     "Let me," he said.  He lit the joint and took a deep hit.  "Here."
     I took it from his hand.  It seemed so appropriate to get high in that
secretive room with Paul, especially given the emotions I'd experienced the
last time I'd been there.  I took a hit and handed it back to him.
     "Thank's for suggesting this," I said, as I let the smoke out of my
lungs.  "I needed a break."
     "I figure you need a lot of things."
     "That too."  I took the joint from his warm fingers and took another
hit.  "But that's not why I came by.  Just so you know."
     Paul took the joint back.  "Why'd you come by, then."
     "To say hello," I said.  He handed the joint back to me.  "But this is
OK, too."
     "I figured you wanted to fool around," he said.  Paul took the joint
and took a deep hit.  He held the joint and took a second hit.
     "Bogart!  Give that back!"
     Paul let out a laugh.  "I thought you didn't want to get high?"
     "I didn't say that!"  I took the joint back.  "I just said that it
wasn't why I came by."
     Paul's hand was on my knee.  I leaned into him as I toked on the
joint.  Paul put an arm around me, and took the joint from me with his free
hand.  "This is about out," he said.
     "Finish it."
     Paul took the last couple of hits off the joint and put it out under
his heal.  We leaned back on the dusty old sofa and snuggled up to each
other.  Paul's warm body felt so good next to me, and I wished we had a
blanket to wrap up in.
     "What are you doing for Spring Break?" Paul asked.
     "Probably spending it on restriction," I said with a wry laugh.
"Why?"
     "'Cause!  My parents have a time-share in Panama City.  They're going
to let me go down by myself if I want to.  They said I could take a friend,
so long as it's a guy."  He looked at me with a mock-serous look on his
face.  "You are still a guy, aren't you?"
     "You tell me," I answered, and I pulled his hand up to my crotch.
     "Yep!'  He said, giving me a little squeeze.  "I'd say your still a
guy, all right!"
     I felt the familiar stiffening in my crotch.  Paul started nibbling on
my ear as I ran my hands up the insides of his thighs.  I let my fingers
graze the surface of his crotch, and I was delighted to feel the fullness
of his erection.  Paul was always so eager to please. . .
     "It's kinda cold in here," he whispered in my ear.  "You want to just
jack off?"
     "Let's go stand in the sun," I replied.  "It'll be warmer."
     We walked across the hall to the old principal's office.  An old
wooden teacher's desk had been left in the room.  We drug it over by the
window and sat down on the top. Paul reached over and started playing with
the bulge in my crotch again.  I reached over and undid his jeans.  I ran
my hand down inside and wrapped my fingers around his stiff tool.
     "Your fingers are cool," he mumbled.
     "Your dick is hot," I replied.  Paul lifted his ass off the desk so I
could pull his jeans down far enough to have easy access to his hard on.
He in turn helped me get my jeans down, too.  We sat there gently playing
with each other's erections, and enjoying the sensation of the warm
sunlight on our bare skin.
     I reached over and ran my free hand under Paul sweater.  I found his
nipple, and I ran my fingers over the little bud until I felt it spring to
life.  Paul took up chewing on my earlobe again, and I gave myself over to
his ministrations.
     All too soon, Paul said, "I'm going to shoot."  I pulled my hand out
from under his sweater and covered the head of his cock.  I felt the hot
blast splatter against my palm as Paul through his head back and let out a
moan.  His hot cum exploded out of the head of his throbbing member again
and again, and my hand was soaked with his sticky, white man-juice.
     Without warning I felt my own cock shoot a stream of steaming white
sperm up and over my head.  Blast after blast erupted from my body,
covering my coat with splotches of my semen.  Paul bent down and cleaned
off my jacket with his tongue.  I watched silently as he lapped up my seed.
     We sat there silently catching our breath.  Paul made no move to cover
his nakedness, but I was getting cold.  I stood up, and redid my pants.
Paul still sat there with his dick exposed.
     "Mark?"
     "Yes."
     "Have you ever given a blow job?"
     "No."
     Paul stood up and pulled up his pants.  I knew he was asking for a
blow job, but I couldn't do it.  I liked Paul, and I enjoyed fooling around
with him, but there was always a part of me that held back.  Some day, I
told myself, but not today.
     "We'd better get back," he said, and he left the room.
     I walked Paul home.  We talked, but most of it was the standard bull
guys are always talking.  I wanted to open up to him, but Paul always shut
down after sex.  He never talked about what he was feeling or how all this
played out in his mind.  I had no idea if he was doing all this to humor me
or if he was doing it to sate his own need.
     When we got to his house, Paul stopped walking and said, "I was
serious about the offer.  Do you want to go to Panama City with me?"
     "Yeah.  I'd like that."  I bit my lip.  The way my life was going, I
knew there was no way my parents would agree to my going.  "I'll ask my
parents."
     "You don't think they'll let you, do you?"  Paul had such a dejected
look on his face.
     "It won't hurt to ask.  Who knows?  Maybe they'll let me."  Paul
looked me in the eyes.  I saw something there a longing that I hadn't seen
before.  I realized that it meant a lot to him that I go.  "Listen.  I'll
do my best to convince them.  I may have to ask for your help.  Either way,
plan on my going."
     Paul's face beamed.  He truly was a handsome guy.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
     My father was waiting for me when I got home.  I closed the door
behind me and readied myself for his onslaught.  I didn't have long to
wait.
     "And just what have you been up to?"  He demanded.
     "I was just walking around town with Paul.  Honest."
     "And I'm supposed to believe that?"
     "Am I in trouble?"
     "You will be if you keep that attitude, Mister!"  He edged closer and
closer toward me with each statement.
     "I'm sorry.  I didn't mean it that way."  Oh God!  Get me out of this!
     He took a full step toward me.  "And just how did you mean it?"  His
eyes were squinted, and his hands were balled up in tight fists.
     I didn't know what to say.  "I-I'm sorry, Dad."
     "You're SORRY!"  He was standing right in front of me now.  I could
smell the familiar stench of bourbon.  God!  How I hated that smell!  "What
were you doing?"
     "We were just walking around and talking.  Honest."
     "You're lying."
     "Am I on restriction?"
     I never felt the blow hit.  Only later, when I saw the palm-print on
my face in the mirror, did I realized that he had slapped me rather than
hit me.  Either way, the result was the same.  I suddenly found myself on
the floor looking up at him staggering over me.
     A key in the front door sounded my mother's arrival.  She opened the
door just in time to see me spring to my feet.
     "You ever put a hand on me again, and I swear to God I'll kill you!"
I shouted in his face.
     "You'll die trying!"  He yelled back at me.
     I felt a strange calm spread through me.  "I'll be dead, then, won't
I?"  I turned and sprang up the stairs to my room without giving either of
them a second glance.  I locked and bolted the door behind me, and only
then did I sink to my knees.
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     I looked at the clock on the night stand.  They'd been fighting for
nearly three hours.  I could barely hear them at times.  At other times,
though, I was sure everyone in the neighborhood could hear them as clearly
as I could.  I tried to pull the pillow down over my head to muffle the
sound, but it didn't help.  The worst part of it was hearing my name come
up at regular intervals.  They spat it at each other like some sort of
curse word.  I felt my cheeks burn, and I hated every word they said.  I
wanted to go out and tell them both to just shut the fuck up, but I knew
I'd already done enough.  I caused it.  I started it by losing my temper.
I felt my body draw up in a ball, and I prayed that it would all end.
     I heard a door slam.  From outside I heard the sound of Dad's truck
cranking up and then speeding off down the road.  The house was silent.
Too silent.  I got up and went to the door and cracked it open.  I couldn't
hear anything, so I ventured out of my room and went downstairs.
     Mom was sitting at the dining room table.  She looked tired, and her
eyes looked red from crying.  I walked in the room and sat down beside her.
She wouldn't look at me.
     "I'm sorry, Mama," I said.  It broke my heart to see her like that.
"I never meant for this to happen."
     She glanced over at me and looked down at her hands.  She was fumbling
with her wedding ring.  "He left."
     "Were did he go?"
     She took a deep breath, and said, "I have no idea."
     "I'm sorry, Mama."
     "I told him he has to stop drinking or he can't come back."
     "Oh Mama!"  What had I done?
     She laid her head down on her hands, and she cried.
     It was nearly a week before we heard from him again.  He sent my
mother a letter and a check to pay the bills.  My father may have been a
tyrant, but he provided for his family.  My mother never showed me that
letter or any of the following letters that came.  I accepted the fact that
they were personal and left it at that.  As my birthday March 21
approached, a sense of normalcy settled over us.  Mom and I had leaned on
each other to get through the tough times after Dad left.  I did my best
not to be a bother to her, and she in turn wasn't very strict on me.
     Paul and I saw each other frequently, but we seldom fooled around.
When we did, it was mostly mutual masturbation.  I wanted more, but Paul
was too uncomfortable to go any further.  Perhaps it was because I stopped
getting him high, but Paul had lost most of his enthusiasm for our
encounters.  Yet, he continued to press me about going to Panama City with
him in April.  I tried to explain what was happening at home, but I
couldn't bring myself to share any of it with him.  I wanted to go, but I
couldn't see how I could.
     A week before my birthday, I brought up the subject with my mother.
     "How are you planning to pay for the hotel room?" was her only
question.
     "I'm not.  Paul's parents have a place on the beach.  We'll stay
there.  It won't cost us anything," I replied.
     "The trip there and back will cost you something.  You'll have to feed
yourself, and all those rides cost money.  We can't afford it, Honey."  She
seemed more disappointed about it than I was.
     "I've still got a few hundred dollars saved up from last summer," I
said.  "I aught to be able to go on that."
     Her eyebrows knit together.  "No.  I don't want you spending your
savings on something that frivolous."
     "I can make it up, Mom.  Summer's coming, and I'll have lots of lawns
to mow."
     "You don't know that," she said, and she got up from the kitchen table
and made a pretense of rummaging around in the refrigerator.  "I'll think
of something."
     It took it a minute for what she'd just said to sink in.  "I can go,
then?"
     "Maybe!"  She said in her don't-get-your-hopes-up tone of voice.
"We'll see."
     I called Paul an hour later and told him what she'd said.  "I think
it's a go, Paul!"
     "Really?"  He asked.  I hadn't heard that much excitement in his voice
in a month.  "What did your father say?"
     Bam!  He hit me right between the eyes!  "Uh-nothing.  He doesn't
know."
     Paul was silent for much too long.  I was starting to wonder if we'd
gotten cut off when I heard him softly say, "What's wrong?"
     "Nothing," I lied.  "Everything's cool."
     Paul hesitated for a moment.  "You doing anything right now?"
     "No."
     "My folks aren't home.  You wanna come over?"
     I thought it over for all of two seconds.  "Yeah.  I'll be over as
soon as I can," I said, and I hung up the phone.

A Year in the Life Chapter Seven
     The weather looked like crap Saturday morning.  It had poured rain all
night, and it didn't look like it was going to let up any time during the
next century.  Neither of us gave a damn, though.  We weren't about to let
a little dampness stand in the way of spending Spring Break away from our
parents, and I wasn't at all disturbed at the prospects of being trapped
alone indoors with Paul.  We managed to get everything packed in my mom's
car, and by nine o'clock we were on our way.  I headed toward Tallahassee
before taking the westerly turn that lead toward Panama City Beach and the
week of freedom that was destined to be ours.  We were free until sundown
Saturday, and I intended on making the best of it.
     Panama City is a tourist Mecca designed for the young.  Everything
about the Miracle Mile is meant to please the taste of teenagers, and our
tastes were definitely pleased.  As we drove up and down the strip looking
for the apartment building, we thought we'd died and gone to heaven.  And
the bodies!  I'd never seen so many gorgeous men, and all of them half
naked!  I had to keep one hand in my lap to hide the raging hard-on I'd
been sporting every since we hit town.  Something told me this was going to
be the most eventful weekend of my life.
     We couldn't wait to check out some of the sights, and it was nearly
midnight before we settled into the apartment.  It was smaller than I
expected, but there were two full-size beds in the bedroom, and besides,
who goes to the beach to spend time indoors, right?  The night air was warm
and moist, so I opened the sliding door out onto the balcony and looked out
over the dark water.  We were was on the seventh floor, and from our
vantage point, the Gulf of Mexico glittered from the reflections of the
city's lights.  I turned around and looked at Paul.  He was lying on his
bed watching a rerun on TV.  Who goes to the beach to watch TV?  "You want
to go for a walk?"  I asked.
     "Sure," he answered, and we headed out the door.
     Paul and I talked more that night than ever before.  I found out so
many things about him that impressed me.  I had no idea that he was as
smart as he was.  We talked about our plans for the future, our past, and
our favorite pastimes, even our mutual appreciation of Pink Floyd's music.
Paul was showing me things about himself that made me like him even more.
I felt my heart beat with anticipation over spending the next several days
alone with him.
     We'd walked about a mile when Paul stopped in his tracks.  "There's
something I've got to tell you.  I've been waiting for the right moment,
and I guess this is as good as any."
     "What is it?"  Something in his tone warned me this wouldn't be good
news.
     "My old man's getting transferred again.  We're moving to
Mississippi."
     I was stunned.  "Mississippi?  What the hell is in Mississippi?"
     "A series of fullers' earth mines.  They want him to take over the
plant in Ripley. "
     We both turned and watched the waves gently wash against the shore.
"When do you leave?"
     "The end of May right after the Prom.  I'll even miss the last week of
school."  Paul sank down and sat in the sand.  "I don't want to go.  I've
moved seven times in twelve years.  Next year is my senior year in high
school.  I'm not going to know anybody.  Hell!  I've seen Mississippi.
There's nothing there."
     I didn't know what to say.  I sat down next to him and watched the
waves in silence.  Little fish skipped and danced across the surface of the
water.  My heart knew just how they felt.  I'd come to depend on Paul.  He
was safe, and I'd taken it for granted that he'd always be there.
     Paul stood up.  "I'm getting cold.  Let's go back."
     I stood up, and we walked back toward the apartment.  Neither of us
said a word the whole way.
     I lay awake that night and listened to the sound of the ocean.  We'd
left the balcony door open so we could enjoy the sea air, and the constant
rhythm seemed to help sooth the ache inside me.  I couldn't hear Paul's
breathing, or the emotions that were ravishing me, or the thoughts
screaming to be heard in my head.  All I could hear was the sound of water
breaking against the shoreline.
     "Mark?"  I heard Paul ask softly.  "Are you awake?"
     I started not to answer.  "Yes."
     "Can I get into bed with you?"
     It took a minute for his words to register.  "I guess so."
     Paul through back his covers and came over to my bed.  "I don't want
to do anything," he said.  "I just don't want to be alone.  OK?"
     I lifted up the covers for him to crawl in.  "I feel the same way,
Paul," I answered.  "I feel the same way."  I rolled over and faced the
open door of the balcony.  I felt Paul's body press up against mine, and
his arm encircled me.  Before long, we both drifted off to sleep in the
safety of each other's touch.
     I was walking along the beach with my reflection.  My face was wet
from the spray, and my hair was being whipped around by a near constant
breeze.  I turned and looked into his/my green eyes.  His/my auburn hair
was whipping around my face in the constant wind.
     "What are you so depressed about?"  He asked me.
     "Paul's leaving."  I answered.  The words sounded so final.
     "Not tonight," he replied.  "Isn't he sleeping next to you?"
     "But next May!"  I exclaimed.  Why couldn't he understand?
     "You need to learn to stop trying to breathe tomorrow's air."
     "I don't understand."  I was so confused.  Even the scenery didn't
make sense.  We were on the wrong beach.
     "You're all in a twist about what's going to happen in May."  He put a
cool hand on my shoulder.  "What's wrong with letting yourself enjoy
today?"
     "You don't understand."
     "And you don't trust me."
     I looked at our surroundings.  We were at the beach, but it wasn't on
the Gulf.  The Gulf is green.  The waters stretching away from us were deep
blue.  "Trust you?  I don't even know were I am!"
     He looked out at the ocean.  "Oh!  That's the Atlantic.  The beaches
are better, but I didn't bring you here to show you a beach."  He was
pointing down the beach to guy standing alone.  I had the sense of other
people being present, but they all drifted into the background.  All I
could see was the lone figure of a tall guy about my age with his back to
me looking out over an endless ocean.  There was such sadness in the set of
his shoulders.  I knew if I looked him in the eyes that I'd never be the
same.  My heart longed to go to him . . .
     I felt a cool hand on my arm.  "Not yet!"  My reflection exclaimed.
"You'll meet him soon enough."
     "So who is he?"
     "The future."
     I turned and looked into the green eyes of my host.  "How do you
know?"
     "How do you think?" he replied, as if that were all the answer I
needed.  He started walking around me in circles.  He made several passes
before he spoke again.  "I know it the same way I knew you'd end up with
Pauli Boy."  He stopped circling me just long enough to look me in the eyes
again and say, "I asked."  He started circling me again.  "Besides, you
talk in your sleep."
     "Oh."  The sea was roaring, and the spray was soaking me.  I looked up
the beach at the lone figure again.  There wasn't a building in sight.
Water poured off my body.  "Is this supposed to be a wet dream?"
     "Cute."  He said flatly.  "You left the windows open, Sherlock.
Didn't anyone ever tell you about fog at the beach?"
     I opened my eyes.  The room was grey with fog.  Everything, and I mean
EVERYTHING, was coated with dew.  I through back the damp covers and jumped
out of bed.  Paul stirred and opened his eyes.
     "What?" he asked sleepily.
     "Get up.  Everything's soaked.  Help me get some towels so we can dry
this place off."  Paul climbed out of bed.  He was naked.  We looked at
each other and started laughing.  "Who knew?"  I asked.  "Whoever heard of
the dew falling on the seventh floor?"
     Paul and I ate an early breakfast, and we spent the whole day
together.  We lay out on the beach most of the morning, and that afternoon
we went back to the apartment for a nap.  Around six, we went to the
amusement park and road rides until nearly one in the morning.  We were
exhausted by the time we got back to the apartment.
     "I want to take a shower.  You mind?"  I asked.
     "Go ahead," Paul answered.  "I'll take one after you."
     I went into the bathroom and pulled off my clothes.  The second day of
Spring Break had proven much better than the first, and I had hopes for the
third.  It had been a couple of weeks since Paul and I had done anything,
so I was nourishing a little fantasy that he'd crawl back into my bed
again.  I finished my shower and went back in the bedroom.  Paul was
stretched out on his bed still fully clothed.  "Next!"  I shouted.
     Paul got up and closed the door behind him.  I took the towel from my
waist and started digging through my clothes for something to wear to bed.
Something about my reflection in the mirror caught my eye, and I
straightened up to look at myself.  The morning sun had done a lot to
reinforce my tan, and the band of white around my middle made me look like
I was still dressed.  I had a good body, and it seemed a shame to cover it
up.  Paul had seen me naked before, so I decided I'd sleep in the nude.
Beside, I told myself, if Paul climbs into bed with me tonight, it'll make
it clear to him I'm interested in playing around.
     I through back the sheets on my bed and got under the covers.  Paul
came out of the bathroom wearing his underwear.  To my dismay, he through
back the covers on the other bed and got in.  I suddenly felt very naked
under the sheets.  I reached over and turned out the lights and went to
sleep.
     The next day was more of the same.  Seeing all those half-naked men
was driving me insane, and Paul seemed to purposely avoid any suggestion of
sex.  I needed to touch and be touched by another man.  I needed to know
the feel and smell of Paul's body next to mine.  I wanted intimacy, and if
I couldn't get that, I'd have settled for plain, old raw sex.
     By Wednesday morning I was nearly a mental case.  Every night, Paul
would come out of the bathroom wearing his underwear.  Every morning I'd
climb naked out of bed.  Paul made no comment about my lack of clothes, and
I began to doubt if he even noticed me being there.  My week of hedonistic
abandon had turned into monastic hell.  I was sure my nuts were turning
blue!
     Thursday afternoon, Paul and I took a stroll up and down the beach.
It was so nice having this good-looking guy walking nearly naked beside me.
At times, it felt like it was just the two of us, and Paul seemed as
comfortable in my presence as I was in his.  After a couple of hours, we
stopped at a concession stand and bought something to quench our thirst.
Two girls came up as we were standing in line, and Paul started talking to
them.  One thing lead to another, and Paul pulled me aside.
     "Hey, look," he mumbled in my ear.  "I'm going to take this chick to
the place, ok?"
     "Yeah."  I said.  I tried not to let him know he'd just ripped my guts
out.  "Sure."  I watched as Paul and what's-her-name walked away.  He was
taking her back to do what he was supposed to do with me.  He was going to
hold her in his arms.  He was going to fuck her.
     The bimbo's friend was standing there looking at me with an overly
expectant look in her eye.  "Excuse me," I said.  "I gotta go barf up a
lung."  I didn't turn to look at her expression as I headed off in the
opposite direction from the one Paul had taken.  I didn't care if I'd hurt
her, either.  She was nothing to me.  The only thing I cared about at that
moment was getting as far away from Paul as I could.
     I walked for what seemed like hours.  I knew it was getting late, but
I had no idea what time it was.  I was on a less popular stretch of the
beach, and the relative seclusion suited my dark mood better.  I saw a
restroom up ahead and made my way toward it.
     I went inside the musky-smelling building.  Sand covered the floor,
and the stalls had long since lost their doors.  I walked up to the middle
stall and pulled down my trunks.  I let the tension flow out of my body
along with the hot yellow stream, relishing the feel of a much needed piss.
     A bit of movement caught my eye.  I'd noticed a hole in the wall when
I'd walked into the stall, but I hadn't paid much attention to it.  Now
there was a mouth there an open mouth.  I stared at the glistening tongue
as the last drops of piss fell from my cockhead.  I'd heard about this sort
of stuff in locker room talk before, but I didn't believe it.
     I looked around behind me.  There was no one else in the building, and
I was sure I could hear anyone approaching in time to pull away.
Cautiously, I turned and put the head of my hardening dick on the tongue.
I was rewarded by the sensation of having the head drawn into the warm, wet
mouth.
     I was instantly hard.  I pushed myself against the wall, letting my
hard-on protrude all the way through.  Fingers reached in and pulled my
nuts through to the other side.  A strong, firm hand started jacking me off
while the other hand fondled and caressed my tender balls.  The man on the
other side bent down and licked the head of my dick.  His tongue swirled
around the tender head several times before he plunged down on me.  I felt
my rock-hard cock being swallowed deeper and deeper into his hot, waiting
mouth.  A groan escaped my lips as I felt myself go all the way inside him.
He started squeezing and massaging my erection with his throat.  My knees
were getting weak.  I grabbed a hold of the stall and pushed against it
with all my strength.  I wanted him to suck my entire body through that
tiny hole.  I wanted him to pull me inside that incredible sucking machine
of a mouth and draw every ounce of cum out of me I could produce.
     He started moving his head up and down on my shaft.  He was taking
every inch of my tool, and I was straining to give him more.  He fucked my
dick with his mouth until I was nearly wild.  I cried out and shot my load
inside him.  I was pounding against the barrier between us, making loud
crashing noises with each shot.  Again and again I felt my loins pour out
their hot, white juice into his tender mouth.
     I was out of breath.  Sweat poured from every inch of my body.  I hung
there limp against the stall wall, my now soft dick still poking through to
the other side.  I pulled out of the hole and pulled up my bathing suit.
It was time to see who was on the other side of that stall.  I walked
around only to be greeted by an empty toilet seat.  The guy had gone, and I
never saw him again.
     ----------------------------------
     I stood at the end of the pier and tried to ignore the party going on
behind me.  I closed my eyes and concentrated on the way the pier twisted
and moved under my fees as the waves broke against its pilings.  There was
something about that sensation that connected with the feeling that had
been boiling up inside of me.  The harder I tried to stand still the more
the earth seemed to move under my feet.  I wasn't sure of anything anymore.
I opened my eyes and stared out across the dark expanse of water.  I
wondered what would happen if I dove in.  Would anyone notice?  How far
would I get?  How deep would I have to sink before I lost consciousness?
     "So many lies," I muttered to myself.  I felt so alone.  "You've told
too many of them, Marky-Boy, and now they're coming back to you."  I was
sick of it.  I was sick of the hiding and the half-truths I was telling
every one to keep them from finding out about me.  I wanted to be free of
the yoke of lies once and for all and to walk openly with a guy at my side.
I wanted the old dream of a house in the country with a picket fence and a
dog in the back yard.  I wanted someone I could come home to.  Standing
there, looking out at a world every bit as dark as my mood, I knew it
wouldn't be with Paul.  He could never live that kind of life.  He'd always
be the kind of guy that refused to put down roots.  He'd move from place to
place all his life, picking up and moving whenever the people he loved
started getting too close to him.  He'd never stay and face life.  It just
wasn't in him.  He was a runner.  What I wanted was someone just like me.
I'd rather be alone than live that other life, I told myself, and almost
immediately I heard a voice within me answer that it'd be the same outcome
regardless.
     My thoughts drifted back to the memory of my father's angry glare as
he stood over me.  It was the last image I had of him.  Suddenly, I lost my
nerve.  I couldn't let that be my end.  I'm a good guy, I told myself.  I
deserve a happy ending.
      No, I had to chart a course that would bring all these dreams to
their fruition.
     "Hi!" I heard a voice around me.  I spun around to see a cute guy
standing there with a beer in his hand.  "You looked like you could use
this," he said as he thrust the can at me.
     "Sure!"  I replied.  "Let's party!"

     The lights were off in the bedroom when I got back.  It was
three-fifteen in the morning, and I had a hell of beer-buzz going.  I tried
to move around quietly, but the room kept spinning around.  I bumped into
something and sent it crashing to the floor.
     The lights flashed on.  "Where the hell have you been?"  Paul
demanded.
     "Out," I said, laughing at my own joke.
     "It's not funny."  Paul got out of bed and put his hands on me.  "Are
you drunk?"
     "Naaaaaaaah!"  I answered.  "I'm just a wee bit tipsy, 'sall. "
     "You're skunked."  Paul put a hand around the back of my neck and
pulled me close.  "Why didn't you come get me?  I like beer."
     "Didn't want to interfere with yer date?"
     "She left twelve hours ago."
     I pulled away and sat down on the edge of the bed.  "J'you fuck 'er?"
     Paul sat down next to me.  "Yes."
     "I'm happy for you."
     "I didn't cum."
     "Whoopee!"  It took a minute for what he'd said to swim through the
beer.  "You didn't shoot?"
     "No."
     "Why not?"
     "'Cause," he said, his face turning red.  "I was hoping you and I
could . . . "
     "Dance in the dark?"
     "Something like that."
     "I'm too drunk."
     "And you stink, too."  He stood up and helped me to my feet.  "Go take
a shower."
     I stood up and fell back down.
     "You're a real piss-ant, you know that?"  Paul reached down and pulled
me up.  His skin was warm and soft, and he smelt so good.  I let him pull
me to the bathroom and sit me down on the toilet while he got the shower
going.  He turned and looked down at me with his hands on his hips.  He
looked so sexy standing there, a boy-wonder in his underwear.  I wondered
if Batman ever saw Robin in his BVD's and started to laugh.
     "What's so funny?"
     "Where's your cape?"  I asked.  I fell to the floor in a fit of
laughter.  My super hero just stood there looking down at me until I
stopped laughing.  I looked up at his face.  "You going to help me up or
what?"
     Paul bent down and lifted me to my feet.  He pulled the hem of my
shirt up and over my head.  The steam from the shower made his skin
glisten, and I ran my hands along his strong arms.  Paul pushed my pants
down, and I stepped free of them.  My erection brushed against the white
material of his cotton briefs.
     "Get in," he said hoarsely.  "I'll go turn your bed down."
     "Don't you want to scrub my back?"  I asked him playfully.
     "Yes.  That's why I'm not going to do it."  And he left the room.
     I let the water flow over my body.  What was wrong with me, I asked
myself.  The guy I had let suck me off in the bathroom obviously found me
desirable.  Why didn't Paul?  I soaped down my torso and let my mind drift.
The water was so warm, and it flowed over my body like a tongue.  I
imagined myself as giant prick being sucked and caressed by a hot, pulsing
mouth.  Every nerve in my body danced under the warm spray.
     A jolt ran through me when I felt a hand on my back.  "Don't turn
around," I heard Paul say.
     I leaned into the spray and let him lather up my back.  Paul slowly
ran his soapy hands along the entire length of my back, his fingers
massaging and squeezing each muscle as he went.  I felt his chin resting on
my shoulder as he started washing my ass.  The stubble of his sparse beard
bit into my skin and made my cock leap.  Paul reached around and began
running his hands along my chest.  I pushed myself against him, and pulled
his arms around me in an embrace.  Paul drug his chin across my back, his
beard stinging into the tender skin between my shoulder blades.
     We stood there, our bodies interlocked, with the water flowing over
us.  Paul felt so slick against me.  The only movement between us was our
breathing, and that was growing increasingly faster.  Paul's cotton-encased
hard-on was wedged between my ass-cheeks, and I squeezed my buttocks
together from time to time to give him an additional thrill.  I was so
hard, and the feel of Paul was so sensuous, that I felt myself rising to
the brink.
     I through my head back and let out a deep sigh as the cum shot from my
body.  It splashed against the tile so hard that I heard it even above the
spray of the shower.  Paul moaned and started pumping his cock against me.
"Fuck!"  He shouted, and I felt his warm fluid spread between us.
     Paul left as abruptly as he'd come.  I turned the shower off and dried
myself.  I wrapped the towel around myself and turned out the light.  Paul
was in bed with his back to me, and the room was dark.  I through my towel
against the wall and climbed into my bed.
     My mind was racing too fast to close my eyes.  I could hear Paul's
breathing, and I fought the urge to get up and go to him.  So much had
happened to me.  Even though I needed to sort it all out, the need to be
held weighed out.
     "Paul?"
     "What?"
     "Thank you."
     "Don't mention it, Piss-ant."
     I tried to close my eyes.  My body was exhausted, but my mind refused
to slow down.  I rolled over and faced the windows.  I heard a rustling of
sheets behind me.
     "Move over," Paul told me.  I shifted over in the bed and felt him lie
down beside me.  His warm arms engulfed me.  I closed my eyes and nestled
myself in his masculinity.
     I was on the beach again.  Rain stung my face, and the seas were dark
against the grey skies.  I looked around for my reflection, but I couldn't
find him.
     "Where are you?"  I asked.  The rain was pounding against my face.
Sea foam blew past me, and the sound of the waves crashing against the
shore was deafening.
     "I'm right here," he answered.  We were no longer on the beach.  He
and I were sitting on the island in the middle of Beasley's Pond, a private
place where I go from time to time to get away from everyone.  The sun was
shining through the longleaf pines, and I could hear birds twittering away
in the bushes.  "I'm never very far from your secret places."
     "This place is no secret," I replied.  "My brother used to take me
here all the time."
     "I don't mean the place, Dick Wad.  I mean the fantasy."
     I felt myself blush even in my dream.  "How do you know about that?"
     "I know a lot about you."  He got up and waded out into the still,
clear water.  "So you want to have sex here.  Why haven't you brought Beth
here, then?"
     I saw the answer more than said it.  I'd had the same fantasy since
puberty.  It always involved coming to Beasley's Pond with someone who's
face I couldn't see.  We'd kiss, and then have the most incredible sex I
could imagine.  I could never put a face on the body, but whoever it was,
his body had developed over the years into a tower of strength and power.
The fantasy had become so strong that, at times, I'd have to slip out to
the pond and jack off just so I could be closer to the reality of it.
     "You're right.  She was never the one you wanted to have sex with not
here, at least.  This place represents a part of you that you've hidden
from.  This place is where your secrets live."  He looked at me and
grinned.  "You've got a lot of nice bodies floating around inside your
head."
     I stood up and walked out into the cool water.  "No.  Just one,
really.  I'll meet him some day."
     "Perhaps," he replied, "but you don't make it easy."
     My reflection dove into the water and came up on the far shore.  I
dove in after him, and I let the cool wetness envelope me.  I popped up and
pulled myself up on the shore next to him.  We were both lying naked in the
sun.
     "Did you enjoy that little encounter in the bath house yesterday?"
     "I-uh-I, well, yeah.  I did."
     "You're welcome."
     I turned and looked at him.  "That was you?"  I asked.
     He laughed.  "Not hardly.  It was just my idea. "
     "Thanks."
     The scene shifted.  My reflection shifted into the familiar image of
my perfect man.  I'd grown up with this guy.  I'd watched as he took shape
in my fantasies, shifting from a vague, genderless form into a strong,
vibrant man.  He was more real than ever.  I could feel his body heat as he
lay in the sun next to me.  My heart was beating so fast that I couldn't
bring myself to look at him.  He felt so real.
     "Race ya!'  He said to me in a deep, powerful voice, and he dove
headlong into the icy water.
     I felt Paul stirring next to me.  I was awake now, but I refused to
open my eyes.  I didn't want to wake up.  I'd been having 'the dream'
again.  I'd been at my secret place with THE most incredible man, and we
were holding each other.  My clothes melted away from my body from all heat
we were generating.  His strong arms were wrapped around me, and he lowered
one of his hands to my ass.  I began exploring his tender flesh with my
fingertips. I let my touch graze along the ridges of his spine and descend
down to the two dimples just above the rise of muscle at the start of his
ass.  I cupped his strong, well-muscled ass cheeks in my hands, pulling and
rubbing my way into the moist warmth hidden inside.  I teased and played
with his opening, letting my fingers threaten to plunge inside him only to
pull back when I felt his sphincter tremble with anticipation.  I wrapped
my legs around his waist and let his strength hold me up.  I rode his
thrusting torso like a bucking pony.  His legs quivered under me.  I felt
the sudden rush of a heat flare up between us, and I knew he was cumming.
I could hold it no longer.  I could feel the pressure building in me, the
floodgates of hot cum straining to burst forth from my quivering rod. I-I
. . .
     That's when I opened my eyes.  Paul's hand was on my cock, and he was
gently squeezing and toying with the object of his affection.  I felt my
eyes roll back in my head as I shot my cum all over his hand.
     "Good morning," he whispered in my ear.  I could feel the head of his
cock pressing against my opening.  This was what I had longed for all week.
Paul's arms were wrapped around me, and he was pulling me down on his
shaft.  I brief shock of pain coursed though me as he pushed his way inside
my ass.
     "My Prince," he muttered as he slowly impaled me.  I didn't want to
think about what he was saying.  The sensation of his movements were
quickly turning from pain to pleasure.  My cock sprang back to life and was
throbbing for attention.  I rolled over and lay on my belly.  Paul pushed
my legs apart with his knees and began earnestly pumping his rod in and out
of my backside.  I was moaning involuntarily with each thrust.
     I'd never felt anything like it, and Paul was doing everything in his
power to heighten my pleasure. Paul reached underneath me and pulled me up
on my knees so he could fondle my erection.  His hands toyed with my nuts
and squeezed my shaft as he pulmulted me from behind.  He leaned forward
and took my ear in his mouth, biting and nibbling on the tender flesh.
     I was ecstatic.  I reached underneath me and played with his balls as
he plunged into me.  I began squeezing my asscheeks together as he withdrew
to add to his sensation.  Paul went wild.  He clutched me tightly in his
arms and reared back.  I was physically lifted from the sheets both by the
grip of his strong arms and the power of his upward thrusts.  Again and
again he lunged deep inside me.  His cockhead pounded against my prostrate,
sending my engorged penis into a frenzy.  We both shouted out as our hot
loads poured forth from our straining bodies.  Paul pushed himself as deep
inside me as he could.  My cock was forced up at an even steeper angle, and
the change in trajectory caused my spunk to spray all over the wall above
the headboard.
     Paul's breath was quivering.  He fell back on the bed and pulled me
down on top of him.  He gently kissed my neck and shoulders as he caressed
my heaving chest.  I could hear him muttering something, but I couldn't
make it out.  I was too lost in the moment to care.
     It was nearly dinnertime (uh that's lunch if you live up North) before
we got out of bed.  Neither of us bothered to dress.  We made sandwiches
and sat naked on the balcony as we ate.  I didn't feel much like talking,
but Paul was busting at the seams.  The last twenty-four hours had left me
with a lot to think about, and I needed a bit of space.  I suggested we go
out and catch some sun, and Paul quickly agreed.  We finished our meals and
went back inside to pull on our bathing suits.
     "Mark?"
     "Yeah?"  I replied as I pulled on my bathing suit.
     "Nothing."
     I went over to Paul and sat down next to him on the bed.  "What is
it?"
     "Are you . . ."  He looked me in the eyes.  I knew what he wanted to
ask, but I hoped he wouldn't.  He sat there quietly for a moment before he
spoke.  "I don't want to go."
     "I'm not wild about the idea, either.  I've gotten used to having you
around."  I decided I had to be honest with him.  I'd done enough lying for
a lifetime, and I wanted no more of it.  I'd tell him the truth, even if I
knew it would hurt him.  "There's not much we can do about it though."
     "We could run away."  The look in his eyes was so innocent.  "We just
wouldn't go back."
     I thought seriously about what he'd just said.  "You mean just like
that?"
     "Just like that.  You and me.  We'll hit the road and see where it
takes us."
     "But my Mom's car. . ."
     "We'll ditch it.  We can leave it at the police station if you'd like.
That way you know she'll get it back."  He'd obviously thought about this
for a while.  Then it hit me.  This had been his plan all along.  Paul
brought me here with the intention of getting me to run away with him.
     "What about your folks?"
     "Fuck 'em!  And don't ask me about yours.  I know you don't give a
fart about them, either."
     I stood up and walked over to the window.  "Seeds sown!" I mumbled.
Paul was dead wrong about my feelings, both about him and my family.
     "What do you mean by that?"
     I turned and looked at him.  He was so handsome, and I had every
reason to take his hand and ride off into the sunset.  He was going to make
some guy very happy, but it wouldn't be me.  "It's something my grandmother
used to say: 'You don't make beans by sowing peas!'  I can't do it, Paul.
I can't leave."
     "Why not?"  He stood up, walked over to me, and took me in his arms.
"Don't you want to go with me?"
     I knew he was really asking another question, one that he still
couldn't bring himself to utter out loud.  That was part of the reason I
couldn't do it.  I couldn't see either of us being open about our
relationship.  Hell, Paul couldn't even be honest with himself about it.
"I don't want you to leave, if that's what you're asking.  I just . . ."  I
closed my eyes.  I couldn't say it while looking at him.  "It wouldn't
work."
     "Why not?"  He asked.  The tone in his voice reminded me of how I
sounded when I argued with my mother about something she wouldn't let me
do.  "We've got a few bucks.  We could hitchhike out to California and live
on the beach."
     "And when the money runs out?"
     "We'll get jobs.  It'll be just the two of us.  Me and You."
     "It won't work, Paul.  I'm not in love with you."  I opened my eyes.
Paul was visibly stunned.  I knew it hurt him, but I had to say it.  There
had been a time when I'd have lied to him to protect his feelings, but I
wanted all that behind me.  I needed honesty, and I couldn't ask for
something I wasn't prepared to give.  I kissed Paul on his cheek.  "You
mean the world to me.  Even so, it just wouldn't work.  You're not ready
for this, and neither am I."
     "But I . . ."
     I put a finger on his lips and stopped him.  There were tears forming
in his eyes.  I saw so much there, and I hated myself for not being what he
needed.  I'd have hated myself more, though, if I had lied to him.  I ran
my fingers through his hair and pulled him close.
     Paul pulled away from me.  He picked up the towel and walked over to
the door.  "You still want to go lay in the sun?" he asked.
     Amazing, I thought.  He acted like nothing had happened between us.
The boy was a master at self-manipulation.  "Sure," I replied, and I
followed him out the door.

(Stay tuned for chapter nine!)