Date: Thu, 16 Jan 2014 10:20:25 -0500 (EST) From: Erik Pruett <erik.pruett@aol.com> Subject: Please Don't Go - Young Friends - Chapter 9 The regular warnings apply. Don't read this if it offends you, or if it's illegal to do so. Gosh, it's been a while. A year, in fact. I'd like to apologize to those of you who had so devotedly followed this story until I very abruptly ceased writing it. I began writing in the first place for catharsis, as a form of personal therapy, I suppose. But a year ago, I wasn't able to continue. It was too much. But I'm in an infinitely better place than I was a year ago. It's time to continue what I started, and hopefully see it to its conclusion. I hope to hear from the old friends and make some new ones, so feel free to write me. --- SASHA - Age14 We never spoke of that night, afterward. We woke the next morning, enchanted and embarrassed by what we'd done, neither of us sure how to proceed. In the end we kissed and smiled, cleaned the room up, then spent the rest of the day with some of Jaime's friends acting as though it had never happened. Veronica was back by the time we returned to school the following Monday, and with her return did the old void between us return as well. However, rather than returning to our old habits of awkward silences and avoidance, a new habit emerged between us. Something neither of us had planned and hardly the faerie tale ending I'd hoped for for years, but a reprieve nonetheless for the desperate needs and desires that had grown in us since puberty. --- I hear them before I see them, Jaime and Veronica holding hands as they walk up the sidewalk together. They're chatting and laughing, Veronica doing most of both, as they meander up the driveway. It's a sweltering late summer evening, one of the last before the first year of high school commences, and I'm lazing about on the porch, bare but for a black pair of soccer shorts, reading a novel. But Tolstoy can't keep my focus against their chatter, and the moment Veronica sees me sitting on the porch she immediately screeches my name. "Sasha! Hey!" "Hey Vee, how are you?" I ask, barely able to fake enthused to see her. Even since the summer holiday began, she and I have been forced into frequent proximity with one another, given our mutual closeness to Jaime. How she hasn't seen through my fake kindness yet is completely beyond me. "Hey Sash", Jaime chimes in from behind her, almost apologetically. "I'm walking Vee home, figured I'd ask if you wanted to come?" He looks at me hopefully, those emerald green eyes imploring me wordlessly. I know what he wants, even if Veronica remains too dense to see it, and I'm surprised that even after all these weeks it still manages to make my stomach turn, just a bit. Mostly, however, it just excites me. "Yeah, sure", I reply. Jaime smiles. "Awesome!" Veronica half-screeches. "We've got to hurry, though. I was supposed to be back home, like, half an hour ago." I quickly slip on an old pair of Jaime's leather flip flops, nothing bothering to find a shirt, and the three of us had off down the road to Veronica's house. --- It doesn't take us so long to reach Veronica's. Jaime sees her to the door, returns the "I love you" that she whispers to him, gives her a kiss. I do my best not to wince. She takes her time walking up the steps and through her front door while Jaime waves. Once she's inside, he skips over to me. "Ready?" he asks, his voice excited and just a bit husky. I nod. Half of me aches. Even as he takes my hand and our fingers lace together, I know that this will wound me, as it always does. I won't regret this, I tell myself, but I know it's a lie. I always do. We make our way, hand in hand, all the way back to Jaime's house. Rather than going inside, we sneak around back to his father's empty tool shed. Quietly, we unlatch the door, tip-toe our way inside, and gently close the door behind us. In the darkness of the tool shed Jaime seizes me by the waist, pulls me against him and kisses me aggressively. I moan and my lips part for his tongue. "Sasha", he groans. He continues kissing me, grabbing at my ass as I pull the shirt off of him. I slip it off over his head, and the moment it's off he throws me roughly onto the mattress we snuck into the shed. I land with a soft thud onto my butt, Jaime descending down a moment later to rip the shorts and briefs off of my legs, leaving me naked and trembling with an almost nauseating blend of reluctance and desire. He strips his own remaining clothing off, descends upon me. "I love you", he whispers into my ear between pants and moans as he bites along my neck, working his hand up and down my shaft just the way I'm working his. I feel a hollow begin to form in me. He and I roll about the mattress, desperately kissing, biting, scratching at one another, wrestling and sweating. We've long since lost the shyness that defined our first sexual encounter; not since the beginning of the Summer have either of us been so childish in or lovemaking, a fact I can't help but lament a bit. Soon we're on our sides, swallowing up the other's erection and pumping our hips madly into the other's mouth. This is the moment where lust and instinct overwhelm emotion in me, my lingering reluctance crumbles, and I surrender myself to the pleasure of his mouth, his touch, his sound and smell and taste. I'm overcome. It doesn't take long - maybe five minutes at most - before he groans, his balls tighten, and his seed spills into my mouth and down my throat. The sensation is too much for me, and my orgasm follows just behind his. I erupt, desperately trying to choke out the words "I love you" with his dick and cum still in my mouth. My world goes white. And then, just like that, it's over. The both of us still covered in sweat, Jaime pulls my body tightly against his, wraps his arms around me and tangles our legs together. He softly kisses up my neck, along my ear, into the back of my hair, mumbling sweet words and sighing contently. I hold fast to his arms and snuggle myself in even more tightly against him. I need the warmth, the proximity. I crave for it so acutely in the hope that enough tenderness might actually fill the gaping hollow that always forms within my chest, during and especially afterward, because I know I'm not the only one who receives this attention of his. Because the truth is, he's still got a girlfriend. He whispers those same sweet words into her ear after she's satisfied him, I have no doubt. I hold no illusions to the fact that this time we spend together is not to him what it is to me. We aren't twelve years old anymore. It's no longer about romance, innocent desires and genuine affection. Now there's a new element, a compulsion to satisfy biological needs that overwhelms the both of us. So I share myself intimately with the boy I love, and he does the same, but I know that my feelings still aren't reciprocated, after all these years. Jaime doesn't love me. But I still can't stop myself, any more than he can. His rhythmic breathing against my back tells me that Jaime's finally fallen asleep. I start to weep, silently, just as I always do afterward. It'll pass, this pain, inevitably. In a few hours or a few days, it'll pass, and I'll share another intimate moment with him, and it will hurt again. But loving him hopelessly is the only thing I know how to do. No mother, no father. Jaime's all I have. I weep.