Date: Tue, 20 Mar 2001 03:42:56 -0600
From: Eric N Draven <ericdraven10@lycos.com>
Subject: Nicholas And Mark Chapter 3

This story is intended for those over the age of 18. If you are not 18,
please leave. The story depicts sexual acts between men. If this offends
you, then don't read it. All other disclaimers apply.

Comments are welcome. Please send all comments to ericdraven10@lycos.com
Copyright 2001 Eric Draven


Chapter 3

	The hot water splashed against my body, driving the day's dirt and
sweat from my skin. I had hoped that the water would wash the thoughts of
Mark from my mind as well, but I had no such luck. Mark was all I could
think about. I was sure that I was sick for these thought, but I couldn't
stop them from entering my mind and staying there.
	Mark was oblivious to what I was thinking about him. If he had any
idea, I was sure that he would run from the trailer and sleep on the
street. I could hardly look at him without trying to picture him naked and
in my arms. I wanted him, and I couldn't face that fact.
	As I dried myself after my shower, I tried to think of other
things. I thought about what it was going to be like to face our father
again. I knew that the next time, my sexuality would finally be out. I
wasn't sure how I felt about that. I knew that it wasn't going to be easy,
but I also knew that it was time.
	Our father was a very small-minded man. He hated everything that
was different from him. I remembered the last time that Dad took me
fishing. There was a black family at the pond that day, and Dad told me not
to talk to their children. When I asked him why, he told me that we were
better then "those" people.
	I never really knew what to think about that at the time. I learned
a little later in life about prejudice and bigotry. When I learned the
meaning of those two words, I knew that my father was both. I didn't like
that at all. I didn't want my father to be a "bad guy". In school, we were
taught that prejudice was bad, and bigotry was certainly the same thing, so
that had to be bad, too.
	I learned early to hide the way that I thought. I never challenged
my father about the things that he believed in. I simply kept my own
beliefs to myself. It was hard, though. I had many friends in school, and
not all of them were white. I could never invite them over to my house, but
none of them seemed to care about it.
	Mark had been just as unlucky as me. I think it may have gone a bit
further for him, though. I remembered when he wanted to play football. He
would have been one of the only six white players on the team, and my
father wouldn't let him play.
	Mark had always gotten the bad deal at home. I could remember
several times when Mark had fallen outside of what Dad called, "The Rules."
Mark was a people lover. He always got along with everyone, and Dad thought
that made him strange. I was always too busy trying to hide everything
about myself to form any opinions about the way that Mark acted or who he
associated with.
	I was thinking about that when I walked into the living room and
found Mark sitting on the couch in his underwear. He was watching
television and hadn't noticed me standing there, yet. I was wearing my
baggy pants, and I was so happy for that. The sight of him had awakened my
dick immediately.
	I stood there and stared at him outright. He was beautiful. I
couldn't stop thinking those words over and over in my mind as I looked at
him. He was just so beautiful.
	He was sitting with one foot under the opposite knee, and I could
see a nice sized bulge in the front of his underwear. I wanted to walk over
and rub that bulge with my hand. I wanted to hear him sigh and know that I
was the one that caused it.
	I looked at his newly forming pecs, and I could tell that he had
been working on his body. I liked the way he was forming out. He was
completely smooth like me, and I could see his little pink nipples. God, I
wanted him.
	I looked up at his short brown hair and those mesmerizing green
eyes. I had heard many people say that Mark had the prettiest eyes they had
ever seen. Hell, Mark was the most beautiful guy I had ever had the
pleasure of looking at. He was young, and youth was definitely being good
to him.
	"Are you just going to stand there?" he said, and I realized that
those green eyes of his had been looking directly back into mine for a
while.
	"Sorry," I said, looking down. I'm sure my face was as red as
fire. "I'm just not used to anyone being here."
	"It's ok," he said, and he turned his head back to the
television. "I was thinking about eating some chips. That ok?"
	"Fine, Mark," I said. "You can eat anything you want. You live
here, too."
	"Thank you for letting me stay here, Nicholas," said Mark, not
getting up to get his chips.
	I was still standing in the same spot. At first, I didn't know what
to say to him. To me, letting him stay here was the natural thing to do. If
I were in his shoes, I would have gone to him, too.
	Well, I thought, maybe I wouldn't have. His being gay was not the
only reason that I let him stay with me, but my being gay would have been
the reason that I would not have gone to him if the roles were reversed. I
wouldn't have wanted to take the chance of him knowing and not accepting
it.
	"Mark, you don't have to thank me," I said. "I am your brother. Did
you think that I wouldn't let you stay?"
	"We were never very close, Nick," he said. "You never said more
than three words to me when you lived at home, and after you left, you said
even less."
	"Mark, I didn't want to let you get close enough to me to find out
that I was gay," I said. "I wasn't as brave as you. I know that I am not as
brave as you are even now."
	"That's the only reason?" he asked.
	"The only reason," I said. "You are my little brother, Mark. You
have no idea how much I wanted to be close to you. I wanted the closeness
that only brothers can have. I wanted to tell you secrets and have you tell
me yours."
	"Now, we are at least talking more," he said, looking back at the
television.
	I sat down on the couch beside him. We were both quiet for a
while. I guess we were both searching for what to say to each other. I
didn't know how to continue the conversation. Years of avoiding someone can
become a habit that is really hard to break.
	"Mark, I hope that you and I can become that close now," I said
finally.
	"I hope so, too," he said, still not looking at me.
	"You want to know a secret?" I asked him, thinking that I could at
least try out the newfound bond that seemed to be forming between us.
	"What?" he asked, finally looking at me.
	"I have had the biggest crush on Pete since like the seventh
grade," I said. It was strange how good it felt to actually tell someone
about the way I wanted Pete.
	"Pete?" he said as if he was stunned.
	"Yes, Pete," I replied, smiling at him. "Don't tell me you don't
think he's cute."
	"Cute isn't the word for it," said Mark, smiling back. "Pete is
like a God!"
	"I know," I said.
	"I used to stare at him when he would spend the night with you," he
said. "God I wanted to be in your room so bad when he was there."
	"If only we had known all this back then," I said, thinking of the
times we could have had.
	"Yeah," he said.
	The conversation went on well into the night. We finally did eat
chips and drink a few sodas. Mark told me all about his first crush. It was
a teacher at school. Mark had had the biggest crush on Mr. Frehley. He was
his chemistry teacher. I admitted that Mr. Frehley had not been there when
I went to the same school.
	We talked about everything from our favorite kinds of music to how
much we had both liked it when we had to go to the doctor for physicals. It
was the best conversation that I'd ever had with anyone. I hadn't even had
this kind of conversation with Pete, and he was my best friend!
	"Do you think Dad will ever calm down about this?" he asked, as we
were both getting quiet again.
	"Mark, I don't know if he will or not," I said. "But, you know that
you never have to leave. If Dad doesn't get used to the idea that we are
both gay, then you can live with me for as long as you need to."
	"I hoped that you would say that," he said.
	We were both quiet for a long time after that. I didn't know what
to say to that, and he apparently didn't know what to say after that. I
looked at the clock and saw that it was a quarter past two in the morning.
	"I don't know about you, but I have got to get some sleep," I said,
stretching my arms over my head and yawning.
	"Yeah," he said.
	Neither of us moved. I knew what was wrong. He was not comfortable
sleeping with me. I have to admit that my heart sank a little at that
thought. I didn't want to make him do anything that he was not comfortable
with, though.
	"You don't have to sleep with me, Mark," I said. "I can give you a
pillow and a blanket for the couch. It will be uncomfortable, but you can
sleep here if you want."
	"I just don't know what sleeping with you is going to be like," he
said. "I have never slept with anyone in my life. Well, maybe Mom and Dad
when I was little."
	"Like I said, you can sleep here," I said, standing. "I understand,
Mark."
	He looked up at me for a moment, and then he got up and followed me
to the bedroom. We were both quiet as I pulled the covers back and climbed
into bed. He climbed in after me, and I reached over him to turn off the
light.
	My heart started racing the minute he got in the bed. I didn't know
if I was going to get any sleep at all with him lying right beside me. I
was almost afraid to go to sleep. What if I started to dream about him and
touched him the wrong way in my sleep?
	I settled in behind him, and then turned over onto my side and
faced the wall. I could feel him in the bed, and it wasn't doing anything
for the hard on that I was trying desperately to make go down.
	I kept thinking of him in the shower, and then I thought my balls
would explode. I had to stop thinking about him that way. That was the last
thought that I had before I drifted off to sleep.

(to be continued...)