Date: Tue, 22 Feb 2000 14:17:09 -0500 (EST)
From: David Lemmaire <lemmaire@email.com>
Subject: "Darien's Tears" (2/6) (t/t, inc, oral)

DARIEN'S TEARS (t/t, inc, oral)
by Lemmaire

(Part 2 of 6)

When I woke the next morning, Darien wasn't in bed.

I yawned and wiped the sleep from my eyes, disoriented, wondering where I
was.  For a second, I thought maybe the events of the last night hadn't
really happened -- I hadn't heard Darrie crying -- I hadn't come over to
his bed -- I hadn't gotten under the covers with him and kissed him and
stroked his cock and...

I stopped and felt my stomach.

The thin crust of dried semen I felt told me otherwise.  We actually HAD
done that.  Stroked each other to an urgent orgasm, while I held him in my
arms and kissed away his sweet, salty tears.  He was so sad last night.
Before I knew it, I was comforting him in the only way that seemed
natural.

What a way to re-meet a cousin I hadn't seen in more than six years.  As I
ran my hand across the dried glaze on my abdomen I realized with shocking
certainty that we were a lot more interesting at 14 than we'd ever been at
8.

I looked at the alarm clock across the room near my unused bed, threw back
Darrie's covers and hurried to put on my clothes.  I found my underwear in
a crumpled ball at the bottom of the bed, frantically tugged off in the
middle of last night's unexpected passion.  I threw them in the hamper and
found a fresh pair in my dresser drawer.

Darien's suitcase was open, clothes taken out.  His shirt and jeans and
underwear from last night were folded, lying neatly on the floor, like he
was afraid to use my hamper.  Smiling a little at his continued shyness, I
grabbed them and threw them in with the rest of my already-worn stuff.
Funny kid.  He'd invite me over to his bed for a mutual whack-off, but he
was nervous about mixing our laundry.  It must suck, being that new, in
somebody else's world.

The alarm clock's red readout was a dim pink in the fresh, new sunlight of
the room. It was already ten-thirty.  I usually slept until nine.  I guess
the previous night's activities had worn me out.

Previous night's activities.  Oh, God.

Now I'd have to face him.

I was wondering if he'd feel as strange about it as I did.

When you're in the middle of something...doing it...it's one thing.  But
the next morning....

Ugh.

I'd never had a "next morning" before.  I wasn't quite sure how the
conversation was supposed to go.

I clomped downstairs, trying my hardest to stay calm and natural and not
too embarrassed.  I reminded myself, he'd be feeling the same awkwardness.

I found him in the kitchen, sitting at the table, drinking milk and eating
donuts.  The box was sitting open in front of him.  He had a powdered
sugar one in his hand, half-eaten, and a telltale mustache of white over
his upper lip.

"Hi," he said, startled, wiping at his mouth as if I caught him doing
something wrong.  "Sorry...I saw the donuts...I didn't know if I should
eat them or not..."

He looked flustered, trying to explain, of all things, being hungry.  Like
he had to ask permission or something.

"Moron," I grinned, sitting down across from him at the table.  "I think
if you're going to be living here, you're pretty much authorized to eat."

He smiled back.  A warm smile.  A beautiful smile.  He had such a perfect,
gentle face.  Such amazing, dancing eyes.

"Are you okay?" I asked.  "You were pretty upset last night."

He shrugged.  "Just getting it out of my system.  It was a long day."

We stared at each other nervously.  The box of open donuts like a
miniature wall between us.  I didn't know where to begin.

"Want some?" he asked, pushing the box forward.

"Thanks," I answered, glad he broke the silence.

"Everybody's gone already," he announced.  "Your dad went to work...your
mom took your sister to some girl thing."

I laughed.

"Dance lessons," I said.  "She has them every Tuesday."

The Beast and Ballet.  It sounded like a book title.

I grabbed a donut -- a plain cake one -- my favorites -- and sat there
munching, looking at him inquisitively.

"I suppose we have to talk about that other thing now," he said
sheepishly.

I blushed.  That other thing.  TWO other things, if I remembered it right.

"I was kind of thinking we'd pretend we weren't there," I offered weakly,
still embarrassed at the thought of our urgent tumbling.

He smiled and drank some of his milk.

"Well," he said, trying not to be too overdramatic, "I just wanted you to
know it was nice, and I'm glad it happened and all that -- but if you
never want it to happen again -- I understand completely -- and I swear,
I'll never get weird like that anymore, as long as we live."

I cracked up.

"Geez," I said, laughing at his speech.  "It wasn't that big of a deal."

A pause.

"Are you sure?" he asked.  "Because it really felt nice."

He stared at me for a second...looking into my soul with those dancing
blue eyes.

"You kissed me," he said softly.  "Guys usually don't kiss each other."

That much was true.  At least it was in my world.

I sat there for a minute, munching my breakfast.  He put his own donut
down on the table.

"Can I be honest with you?" he asked shyly.

I grinned and shrugged a little.  "Well, your cum's dried up on my
stomach.  I guess we're pretty much at the honesty stage."

He turned red for a second.  Looked down and considered his words.

"I'm pretty sure I'm gay," he said quietly.  "Does that make you nervous?"

He looked up quickly, trying to judge my reaction.

I stared at him for a second, then answered.

"No," I said.  "I'm pretty sure I am, too."

His eyes lit up immediately.

"Really?" he asked, his voice high-pitched and surprised.

I could see him breath a sigh of relief.  Visibly.  Audibly.  Completely.

"I was so worried," he said.  "I thought I was the only freak on the
planet, or something."

I put my donut down.

"Follow me," I winked.  "I want you to see something."
_________________________________________________

"Wow," he gasped, when we were back in my bedroom, with the door safely
locked in case Mom and The Beast came home unexpectedly early.  "How did
you get all these?"

He was staring at my small pile of nude magazines -- all gay -- all guys
-- which I'd hauled out from a secret hiding spot under my mattress.

"Promise you won't tell?" I asked sincerely.

"Yeah, right," he grinned.  "Like I'd ever bring it up to anybody..."

"I stole them," I said...my voice almost hushed with embarrassment.  "The
mall's got a bookstore -- a really good one with all kinds of magazines.
There's no way I can buy this stuff, so I go in there about once every
month and rip off a new one."

"Wow," he said again, flipping through the titles.

"Inches." "Savage." "Drummer." "Men."

He flipped one open at random and read some of the copy under the
pictures.

"Baby, it's cold outside," he giggled, "but your big daddy Trent knows how
to keep you warm."

I laughed and flipped open a page myself.  Naked men with impossibly huge
penises sprang to life in full color.

"Dean is no fantasy," I read. "He's all real and he has a nice hard cock
to make all your dreams come true."

We both blushed a little and closed the magazines.

"When did you know?" he asked...his eyes bright with curiosity.

I rolled my eyes.  "Only since forever," I said, thinking back to years
and years of unspoken feelings and unanswered urges.

"Yeah," he grinned, reading my mind.  "Me too."

"The worst part," I added clinically, flipping open another magazine and
scanning the pages at random, "is my mom's starting to play matchmaker
now.  She introduces me to all these gross daughters her friends have.
It's like she's trying to marry me off or something."

Darien laughed.  "My mom too," he admitted.  "I wish they'd just leave us
alone and not worry so much."

"Yeah,"  I answered.  "My mom's always on my case about spending so much
time up here in my room, reading books, when I should be out 'meeting
people' -- at least that's the way she puts it."

I closed my magazine and smiled at him again.  "Hell, if she knew what I
was up here reading, she'd bolt my bedroom door and never let me see the
light of day."

Darien paused for a minute, shifting uncomfortably in his seat.

"So does that mean we can...do some more stuff?" he asked shyly.

I thought for a moment.

The fact that we were cousins -- relatives -- didn't even enter my mind.
To me, he was just a kindred soul -- someone I liked, and could relate to.
At 14, words like "incest" don't take on an overly moral meaning.  At 14,
it's only bodies, and feelings, and love.

"Yes," I answered, turning a little red.  "I'd like that, I think.  I
mean...you know...just to do some stuff...see what it feels like..."

He looked a little uncomfortable, too.  His face reddened.  I could tell
he didn't quite know what to say. He tapped his toes on the floor.  A
subconscious gesture, betraying his excited unease.  His innocent
virginity.

"I really liked that...last night," he said.  "I've never done anything
like that before.  You know.  With another guy."

"Me neither," I admitted, wondering what to do next.

A long pause hung in the air, while we tried to figure everything out.

An empty house. A perfect opportunity to explore each other.  The secret
air already cleared between us.  A chance to do more of what we did last
night.  What we'd both enjoyed so much...and found so much comfort in.

"Wanna take off our clothes," he asked, a little shyly.

"Yeah," I answered quickly.  "But...can we turn the lights off...or close
the curtains or something?  I just feel..."

"A little weird," he answered, once again reading my mind.

"Exactly," I said.  "I'm just not...well...I guess I'm not used to this
stuff yet."

He nodded.

"I mean, I like it..." I said quickly.  "I just...I'm...I'm shy, or
something."

He nodded again, understanding.

"I feel exactly the same way," he said softly.

I walked to the wall and pulled the drapes.  When I turned, he was already
taking his shirt off.  I watched him for a second, admiring his smooth,
young skin...and then I did the same.

A few more seconds passed...a few more zippings and unsnappings...and then
suddenly, there we were...standing in front of each other, completely
naked...nervous and awkward.

He grinned weakly.  Shrugging.  Shaking.

"Now what," he asked.

"I guess we should lay down or something,"   I answered, not really sure.
Three years of looking at stolen jerk-off books and I still didn't know
how it worked in real life.

We went to the bed and laid down next to each other.  There was silence
for a second -- our hearts beating fast and uncertainly -- and then he
asked...

"Would you kiss me again?"

I nodded and leaned into him.  His mouth was sweet.  It tasted like
powdered sugar.  Gently, our tongues found each other.  He held me tight.
I hugged him back.

After several minutes of quiet kissing, he looked me in the eyes and
spoke.

"Can I suck you...?  Would that be too weird...?"

"Right," I grinned nervously.  "Like I'm really going to turn anything
down at this point."

He smiled back and he leaned over my dick.

He was hesitant, unsure of what to do at first.  His lips barely grazed
the tip of my head.  My body tensed and I sucked in air.

Then his tongue came out -- just the slightest bit -- and he licked me
shyly.

"Mmmm," I said, involuntarily...embarrassed instantly, because it sounded
so dumb.

He opened his mouth and took my head inside.  The warmth was hard to
describe.  It was a tight, soft vacuum, filled with heat and softness.  I
winced slightly as his teeth scraped my skin.

"Sorry," he said, jerking his head up for a second.

"No problem," I answered, hoping he wouldn't miss again.

Then he went back to sucking me with more confidence, developing a rhythm
and a skill as he went along.

I opened my eyes and watched him, hovered over me.

His small head bobbed up and down on my dick...the smallest little gulping
noises coming from his throat as more and more of me slid further into his
mouth.

It felt like heaven.

Soon, my hips were thrusting up to meet his motions.  I held my hands up
in the air in front of me, not sure what to do with them.  Hoping he
didn't get freaked out, I eventually got brave enough to lay them on the
back of his head, feeling his soft, silky hair...using his head as a
brace...pushing it down further on my dick as I thrust up to meet him.

"I'm gonna cum," I whispered in a husky, shaky voice.  "Take your mouth
off."

"No," he mumbled...his mouth still stuffed with my cock.

He wanted to taste it.  The fact that he wanted me to cum in his mouth
made me so hot, it sent me over the edge.

I grabbed his head firmly, almost pulling his hair -- I felt him wince a
little because my grip was so tight.

I shoved his head down on my pumping dick and pushed into his mouth as
hard as I could.

He gagged.  I moaned as my body shivered and small drops of hot semen shot
out of my dick and into his mouth.  He swallowed them all, continuing to
suck me up and down until I held his head still, sensitive and ticklish to
any further movement.

"Was that okay?" he asked innocently, looking up at me.

What an understatement.

"That was awesome," I sighed.  "I always wondered what that would feel
like."

He grinned.  Traces of my cum were still on his lips.

"I always wondered what that would TASTE like," he echoed, smiling.

"My turn," I told him.

"You don't have to," he began.

"But I want to taste it, too," I answered simply.

Because I really, really did.

I wanted to do to him what he did to me.  I wanted to see what it was like
to have someone pushing their dick in and out of my mouth.  I wanted to
know what it tasted like -- what it felt like in my throat.  I'd wondered
for years.  I'd wondered before I even had the right words for it.

He laid back on the bed and we shifted positions.

I licked my lips and opened my mouth.

Taking a deep breath for luck, I leaned over him and began.
___________________________________________________

END OF PART 2
TO BE CONTINUED