Date: Wed, 20 Apr 2005 18:19:38 +0000
From: M Williams <kollegekid54321@hotmail.com>
Subject: Living with a Past - Chapter 6

- DISCLAIMER - The following story, novel, or chapter
contains homosexual themes and is not intended for anyone
under the legal viewing age - If depictions of homosexual
activities disturb you - Do Not Continue To Read This Story
- Feedback appreciated
Copyright - 2005 - Max Williams
(Kollegekid54321@hotmail.com)

Chapter 6

     Fredo Richiazzi sat in his bedroom brooding.  This was
craziness, absolute, ridiculous craziness.  He lay on his
back, on his bed, looking at the ceiling and absentmindedly
rubbing himself through his boxers.  He was shirtless and
pants less, laying there comically in his underwear and
socks, sweating in his hot little bedroom.  His curly hair
looked frizzled, and his smooth coffee colored skin was
covered with a shimmering layer of annoying sweat.  Fredo
lived in the smaller bedroom of a three bedroom apartment
over a pizzeria on the outskirts of Capetown.  The other end
of Montgomery Avenue, that didn't terminate in a traffic
circle, skirted around the south edge of the park and then
went directly along the waterfront for about half a mile
before coming to the part of Wyoming County that was known
as Industrial Park.  But it was no park.  There were auto
manufacturing factories piled one after another for a ten
mile strip right along the water between Cape Town and
Jamestown, and nestled in between the capitalist behemoths
were little villages - not cute tourist-y villages like Cape
Town itself, but poor, dirty, and necessary villages that
only survived because something was needed to sustain the
working class assholes that slaved at the factories fourteen
hours a day.
     And in one of the little patches of Settlement, between
the Ford plant and GMC, was a strip of Montgomery Avenue,
here just called Route 5, which housed a bar, a pizzeria, a
restaurant, an ancient hotel, and a few streets of
bungalows.  All of it was small, and almost all of it was
filthy from the steel works down the way.  And living over
the pizzeria was a family so poor that they were considered
the dregs of humanity even among the poor section of town.
And they were the family that Juanita Richiazzi had been
raising ever since her husband, Roberto, had died.  The
oldest, Antonio, was a worker in the factories, like his
father, and behind him were Rosenica and Alfredo, the twins,
both seniors in high school, and the youngest, Juanita, who
had come almost 8 months after Juanita buried Roberto, and
was now only entering the second grade.
     Fredo was a skinny young man, with a bony body and a
dark complexion.  He shared his room with his brother, who
worked from 6 am to 10 pm ever night next door at the
factory, and in the meantime suffered in the hell that
occurred whenever the pizza ovens one floor below were fired
up.  And midday on a springy Saturday outside of Buffalo,
New York is the wrong time to live above a pizza parlor.
Fredo had been sweating for hours, waiting for the day to
end.  His mother was also out working, also in the factory,
and his sister was at her boyfriend's house, doing things he
didn't want to know about.  Little Juanita was in the next
room, sleeping in her crib in their mother's room and
apparently not minding the heat.  And Fredo was thinking
about Jason.
     He absentmindedly rubbed himself harder as he laid
there, his thin body covered in sweat.  He knew it was
ridiculous, but it still really bothered him that his best
friend for a year, at the beginning of high school, had just
begun ignoring him without a reason.  Fredo thought of the
thin, cute guy that used to come to Fredo's house almost
every day, and then pictured that kid next to the tall,
muscular, tan guy that Jason had become.  Fredo peeled
himself off of his bed, leaned over far enough to kick shut
the bedroom door with his foot, and then went back to lie on
his bed.
     Jason . . . hmmm, Jason . . . what a kid.  Fredo began
to relax with the heat, and his eyes momentarily drifted out
the painted-shut little window to look at the great sterile
smokestacks of the Ford factory.  Hmmm, Jason . . . he
rubbed himself harder and gently let the tip of his dick
poke through the slit in his boxers.  He pulled then down
and cupped his balls with one hand while stroking himself
with the other; long, deep, relaxing strokes from the
sensitive base of himself, nestled among the fine curly
hair, to the quivering tip, and back again.  In his relaxed,
semi-amorous state, Fredo easily pictured the times when he
and Jason would skip school and come back to Fredo's empty
house to smoke pot and listen to the hippy records that
Roberto had left.  Fredo remembered when the two of them
would get bored and go down to the lake's edge to swim in
the cool water.  That was risky - the water was too polluted
from the factories to be swum in and there was always some
guard around.  He thought of the times that he and Jason
would go out to the bar down the street and look into the
windows as the dirty old men felt up the young desperate
women that led them upstairs.  Fredo's mind went to one of
his favorite memories; climbing the stairs that went to the
collapsing second floor balcony of the old barroom and
looking in one of the windows.  Jason had followed, timid
and cautious, but was drawn in soon enough by the sight of
the woman, breasts bouncing free, holding up her blonde hair
as she went up and down and up and down in a constant motion
on the fat truck driver's lap. In that little room that had
only room for a bed a floor lamp, the two boys learned their
first lesson about sex.  Fredo's mind went over the months
that they spent talking about that, and then the time they
tried it.
     Fredo's eyes snapped open.  That was a nightmare.  But
Jason had liked it.  Truth be told, so had Fredo . . . but
they had gotten scared, and that was about the time Jason
started spending more time at the gym anyway, and making
new, straighter, friends.  Friends that in their wildest
dreams wouldn't put their lips on another guy's - hey!  He
thought of Jason in school on Thursday, before he'd been
such a fucking ass, and then collapsed, in Music Theory.
Jason had been talking about Greg's party this weekend, and
that was tonight!  Greg Bellgraph ran on the track team and
even though they weren't friends, they knew each other well
enough.  Greg - oh Greg - Fredo rubbed himself harder and a
little bit faster, feeling a dab of pre-cum lubricate the
end of his hard Latin penis - Greg had been talking about
his party in the locker room on Friday and all his best
friends that he was inviting.  Fredo hadn't actually been
invited, no, but he knew that Greg couldn't be too mad if
Fredo showed up.  He rubbed himself harder.  Fredo really
wanted to get Jason back to the point where they were
getting along, and he didn't know how it would happen Fredo
rubbed himself harder, shutting his eyes - but he knew that
it would have to start - he rubbed harder and began gasping
- with a chance meeting somewhere, and if Jason was maybe a
little bit drunk - Fredo began rolling his balls around in
his other hand - it would go just - Fredo rubbed even harder
- that - he started picturing Greg again, in the
locker room with his well-formed round pecs - much - Fredo
felt an explosion come out of his hips and land on his
chest, and continued to rub, gasping and moaning slightly
smoother.  Well, it was set; Fredo was going to see what was
happening in Garden Acres that night.

*********************************************************

     "Hey - that looks pretty good.  Thanks."  Jason was in
Sean's room, trying on one of Sean's father's shirts.  Sean
himself was seated, amused but bored, at his desk, looking
up recipes for mixed drinks.  After the ridiculous
conversation in the car, Sean had offered to let Jason
borrow some of his clothes and then just drive the two of
them to Greg's house later.  Trevor and Dave had gone on,
and now Jason and Sean had been hanging out for an hour,
talking more than anything else.  Sean looked over
aimlessly.
     "Mmmph."  Jason looked back at him, smiling.
     "What the hell does that mean?"
     "It means put something on and lets go", Sean said
testily.  Jason shook his head.  Sean's energy and
livelihood was a good time when they were having fun, but
when things were slow he could turn into a pretty bitchy
kid.
     "I'm coming dude - nothing of yours fits me."
     "That's why I got my dad's clothes out."
     "I know, but nothing of his fits me either."
    "I dunno, put your fucking sweatshirt back on.  If I
hadn't wanted to stop here you'd still be wearing it
anyway."
     "Hey . . ." Sean looked over.
     "Hey, what?"
     "Nothing.  Gimme my sweatshirt then, but give me a t
shirt to wear under it.  Its fucking cold out there", Jason
conceded, unbuttoning the uncomfortably tight polo shirt
he'd been given.  Sean groaned, but got up and plodded to
his dresser.  "I've only got wife beaters" he muttered as he
dramatically pulled one out, threw it to Jason and fell face
up onto his bed.  "Can we go soon?"
     "Yeah, yeah", Jason said, throwing the polo shirt
neatly into the pile of Sean's dad's clothes.  Jason took a
moment to scratch his chest and yawn, and then put his lean
muscled arms over his head and stretched for a moment,
flexing every muscle on his body and emitting a low groan.
     "Aww", he said, smiling and coming out of the pose,
"that felt really good."
     "Yeah", Sean said sarcastically from the bed, "it was
really sexy.  Can we go?"  Sean stood up and bent over to
pick up some of the clothes on the floor.  At the same
moment Jason bent over to pick up the wife beater he'd been
given, and when they both straightened up almost ran into
each other.  Smiling, Jason reached out to catch Sean by the
arms, and laughed trying to make a joke out of it.  Sean
looked annoyed as he caught Jason's eyes, and Jason tried to
laugh again.  Their eyes were locked, and Jason immediately
felt uncomfortable.  He smiled again, but Sean just narrowed
his eyes as he looked up at the bigger man, and Jason looked
away, then looked back and was caught.  After a moment,
Jason put his hands on Jason's arms.
     "Hey . . . Jase?"  For a reason he didn't understand,
Jason's heart was pounding as he looked at Sean's symmetric,
finely boned face.  The short dark hair with the blond
highlights was perfectly spiked, and the even white teeth
were slightly visible as Sean's mouth hung slightly open.
     "Umm . . . yeah", Jason said nervously, suddenly
embarrassingly aware of the face that he was still shirtless
and that Sean's strong hands were lightly accidentally
rubbing his chest hair.
     "Can you burn a hole in me with your eyes later?  I
want to get to the fucking party dude."  Sean's expression
was annoyed again, and Jason felt his hands being pushed off
of Sean's arms.  He let his hands drop, and picked up the
undershirt, not quite shirt what just happened.
     "Oh, right.  I didn't know what the fuck you were
doing.  Yeah, let's get to the party . . . you fag!"  Jason
pulled on the tank top and then grabbed his sweatshirt, gave
Sean a hard punch on the shoulder and ran out of the room.
     "Hey - wait I - you asshole!"  Sean was laughing again,
now that he had something to do.  He chased Jason down the
stairs of his house, said goodbye to his parents, and then
the two guys ran out to Sean's old, but sporty Grand Prix.
The used car grumbled to life, and the guys were off.

**********************************************************

     The floorboards were dank and smelly, and it was
debatable whether it was the marble that had crushed them,
or just their own weight.  The man was feverishly working,
barely aware of the disgusting miasma that filled the dark,
dank cellar room with the scent of ammonia.  His yellowed,
crackled fingers were digging into handfuls of the black
rotted wood, and his dry skin loved the wet sodden stuff.
His yellow eyes were watering, but keenly focused on the
peculiar part of the floor in what turned out to be the
fruit cellar.  Shelves of jars surrounded him, hung off of
rotting bead board walls and emitting a deathly stale scent.
But he had been right; the floor was entirely flagstone,
throughout the entire basement, except for this unnoticed
corner of the fruit cellar that Providence alone had
dictated he should find.  If it weren't for that beam . . .
the man's head swam at trying to calculate how long it would
have taken to find this piece of floor in an unlit basement
with such a disgustingly overpowering scent.
     The heavy piece of marble was half-buried in the rotted
floor, and the man was digging in vain with his fingernails
around it, trying to pry it out.  He was successfully
covering his fingers with more molds, and more bumps,
bruises, and those curious cuts that wouldn't bleed and
wouldn't heal.  And in the meantime, every time he made a
hole in the wood, the heavy marble would just shift in that
direction and fill it in.  It was a ridiculous proposition,
and he despised it . . . but when you're looking for a
hidden treasure and come upon a hidden space . . . the
chance was too great to not take.  He resolutely went back
to digging.

**********************************************************

     Fredo swore at the fucking bus driver again.  Fredo was
dressed to the nines with his red shirt open to his chest,
suit coat and pants, and shiny shoes.  He had sunglasses
pressed firmly into his shiny curls, and a scowl on his face
as he offered the bus driver another magazine from his
bookbag.
     "C'mon man, you know you want it."  The bus driver eyed
Fredo suspiciously.
     "Yeah . . . why're you giving it up?"
    "I don't want to man, but I need to get to Cape City.
C'mon, just take it."  The bus driver sneered, but
momentarily took the copy of Boobs, Babes, and Baked Goods
and mulled it over.  When you have no money, you improvise.
And Fredo knew how to improvise, especially when he was
dealing with the perverted late night bus drivers and had
access to Antonio's collection of old porn.
     "Cape City, huh?  That's gonna be two mags, and a
video", the bus driver concluded, rolling up Boobs, Babes,
and Baked Goods and putting it under his seat.
     "Hey - a video?!  What do you think, I'm a fucking
store?!"
    "Okay, fine", said the bus driver, moving to shut the
door.
     "Wait!  Wait!  Gimme two seconds!"  With that Fredo
dumped his bookbag on the floor of the empty bus, and seeing
the bus driver fold his arms in annoyed acquiescence, ran
out of the bus, past the bar, past the pizzeria, and up the
back flight of stairs.  He burst into the apartment, looking
around.
     "Video . . . video . . . ", he muttered, looking
around.  He picked up a copy of his little sister's Bambi,
and started reading the back.  No . . . he ran into his and
Antonio's room and ripped open Antonio's trunk, rifling
straight to the bottom looking for a video.  Nothing, all
magazines.  Some condoms.  Condoms?  Umm . . . no.  Fredo
looked around desperately, and then picked up the first
movie he saw in his closet.  Drill Sergeants and the
Sergeants they Drill.  Whoa, that was one of his - how'd
that get there.  He threw that under his bed and then had an
idea.  Going back into Antonio's trunk, he started rifling
through the magazines again, and at the first full page
centerfold he saw, ripped her out of her magazine and threw
her on the desk facedown.  He dowsed the back of the photo
with glue, and by the time he got back from the living room
with Bambi, she was ready to be applied.  He carefully stuck
her to the front of the plastic case, wrapped her around the
back, and then was off like a flash.
     The bus driver had his head down in Fredo's bag by the
time he got back, and as Fredo jumped on the bus, he saw the
old pervert's head fly back up.
     "Hey kiddo, you've got some good shit there."
     "Hey, thanks.  Now look, here's a fucking video, and I
can see you've just taken every other magazine that you
wanted.  So now, fuckhead, can I get the fuck to fucking
Cape fucking City, or fucking not?!"  The bus driver
blanched, but looked nervous and nodded.
    "Yeah, sure kid.  Now siddown and shut up.  And . . .
by the way . . . wait for me if you ever want to get
somewhere else again."

**********************************************************

    As they pulled up to Greg Bellgraph's house, Sean and
Jason inhaled and whistled at the size of the beautiful new
home.  Most of Garden Acres was built on a bluff overlooking
Lake Erie, and the developers had done their homework
figuring out sites that gave every house a startlingly
dramatic view of the water.  Sean and Jason had been driving
around the subdivision for half an hour now, looking at all
the different styles of houses.  Sean had like the low
modern one with the steel siding, and Jason had liked the
turreted and shingled Victorian revival . . . he wasn't sure
why.  When they finally pulled up to the classically
arranged fa‡ade of the white, colonial Bellgraph house, it
was dark out and the party was clearly started.  They parked
on the street with the numerous other cars of varying makes
and sizes, and Sean locked the doors as Jason got out and
put his sweatshirt on over his almost bare body.
     "Whoa", Jason said into the chill night air.
     "Yeah", Sean breathlessly agreed.  The Bellgraph's
house was one of this biggest they'd seen yet, with two low
wings symmetrically sticking off the main bulk of the house
and a white pergola stretching down the entire left side of
it.  Beyond the house and through the ornate white fence,
Jason and Sean could see a green backyard and a swimming
pool lit with low outdoor lights, and then beyond that a
sharp drop off that probably went straight down to the lake.
     "Amazing", Jason pontificated.
    "Yeah", Sean breathlessly agreed.  The guys looked at
each other, and Jason smiled his pleasant smile as Sean
smiled his fun-loving one, and together, they advanced up
the brick walkway.
     The party was in absolute full swing.  Inside the
paneled front door, a brilliant hallway greeted Jason and
Sean.  Though they couldn't appreciate the intricate
historically appropriate detail that the house had been
constructed with, they were immediately aware that this was
a high style place.  The hallway was resplendent with white
woodwork and pale yellow wallpaper, and immediately facing
the guys was a huge wide staircase that swept up half a
story to an equally wide and beautifully tall Palladian
window that gave a view of the entire lake.  To the left of
the hallway was a living room than ran the length of the
house, beyond which was a den, a guest bedroom and bathroom,
and a sun room off the pergola with Greg's exercise
equipment, and to the right was a dining room than ran the
length of the house, beyond which was the kitchen, family
room, breakfast room, back stairway, and a few other offices
or something that Jason couldn't recall.  Upstairs, he was
told, were six bedrooms, most with their own baths, and
another two over the garage, which was just to the right of
the pool.  Jason and Sean knew they'd have a good time in
this place.
    Trevor and Dave were already there; true to Trevor's
style he was being restrained and orderly, organizing a
poker game at the beautifully veneered dining room table.
Dave was in the living room, making the fifteen people
spread around on the silk couches rock with laughter.
People were coming and going from everywhere, and everyone
had a cup in their hands.  Some of the harder partiers were
already drunk, rocking back and forth with laughter by the
landscaped pool outside, but lots of people were just
beginning to loosen up.
     Jason and Sean knew what to do; they'd been to plenty
of parties before, albeit in humbler surroundings, and went
to seek out Greg for inviting them.  Jason immediately went
to seek out Greg and thank him for inviting them, and Sean
went to go find the beer and then laugh at Dave's antics.
     Jason patted Trevor on the back as he passed through
the dining room, then hit the white swinging door to the
kitchen and passed into another beautifully proportioned
room that had a ridiculous amount of white cabinetry and
gray marble countertops, and more importantly, box after box
of imported beers and cigars.  Jason made a mental note to
come back to them, and then spotted Greg, sitting in the
middle of the family room watching a movie with about six
other people, whom Jason recognized as Mike Warrick, Dave
Pellegrino, Jay Billings, and the remainder of the gaggle of
other guys that were famous around Cape City High for their
sporting prowess, most of them with their girlfriends.
    "Hey Jase!"  Good looking Greg got off the couch once
he spotted Jason, and got up to high-five him.  "Whats up
dude!  Hey - I heard about you passing out in Braun's
class."
     "Hey - yeah, I did.  It sucked", Jason said, smiling at
Greg but avoiding his eyes.  Greg was very tall, but at the
same time had a broad kind of build that made him seem wider
than he really was.  In reality, he was just amply muscled
with round, hard muscles that were very apparent through the
beautifully fitted blue silk shirt he was wearing.  His
brown hair was spiked up for the night, and his blue eyes
seemed interested, but not overly curious, about Jason's
predicament.
    "All right, well, it's glad to have you back man.  Go
get some shit then come back and talk."  Greg gestured to
the beer on the counter in the other room, then sat down
again and immediately had a girl on his lap, throwing
herself against his chest and otherwise all over him.  Jason
thanked him and went back to the kitchen, grabbed one of the
cold bottles and started walking around the house, seeing
who was there.  After running into rooms full of drunk
people he didn't know, Jason came into the living room and
threw himself on one of the soft, seep sofas to watch Dave
make an ass out of himself.
     "Oh hey Jase -", Dave said, stopping in the middle of
what he was saying.  "So anyway, this dude comes in and he's
like `Fuck yo' couch!' and then Charlie Murphy's all talking
about the shit they pulled on him . . . "  Jason sipped his
beer as Dave went on and on with his story.  People were
riotous with laughter, but Jason figured it was also because
of the numerous empty bottles that covered the inlaid coffee
table.  Sean had been in the living room for a while, and
Jason looked over to see that his finely boned face was
slowly getting less and less lucid as he drank something out
of a glass.  Sean was sitting on the arm of an overstuffed
armchair that otherwise held a busty girl that Jason didn't
know, but had seen at Cape City High.  She was drinking too,
and kept surreptitiously looking up at Sean so he wouldn't
notice, and Sean did the same with her.
     Jason immediately had a mental picture of himself
fucking the nicely proportioned girl, and he liked thinking
of his hot defined self pumping into her.  Then he pictured
Sean on her, and imagined his well developed abs and chest
reacting with her feminine curves, and Jason pictured Sean's
handsome face open in the pained smile that comes with a
really intense orgasm.  Then Jason got a mental picture of
himself doing Meghan while Sean did that girl; buddies doing
their girls.  Looking at each other, asserting the other
one's manliness.  Feeling each other, seeing the other one's
technique.  Kissing each other . . . whoa!  Jason snapped
back to reality and was embarrassed to find he was hard.  He
looked around and took a deep drink of his beer before he
realized Sean was staring at him.
     "What?" Sean mouthed silently.  Jason shook his head to
say "nothing" and Sean, looking irritable at Jason again,
turned back to the blonde.  Jason quickly crossed his legs
and looked back at Dave, who was weakly doing some other
impression.  Now Dave, Dave could never be Sean.  Sure, Dave
had nicely proportioned body from all the karate he did, and
a head full of straight spiked black hair, but he didn't
possess the light, bright kind of frat-boy attractiveness
that Sean had.  Jason smiled, thinking about it; yeah Sean
is one good guy to have around - he's so hot Ill have all
kinds of pussy in my lap.  Jason saw Dave eyeing him, and
immediately came back and turned his smile of condescension
into one of appreciation by laughing at Dave's last joke.
Dave warmed up immediately, and smiled back, then
dynamically turned away and screamed "HEY IM GONNA GO
STREAKING" and hunkered down behind the coffee table to see
who was actually going to mistakenly do it.