This is a story involving teen/teen, male/male graphic sex and not intended for reading by minors. If you are a minor, or this type of material is illegal where you live, please stop now, and go read something else! This story is a fantasy meant only for the purpose of pleasurable reading.
Other stories of mine can now be found in the prolific writers index.
Feedback, always appreciated, may be sent to: javabiscuit@hotmail.com
Corbusier ~ chapter ten
by Biscuit
On New Year's Eve I was suffering the torments of hell, trying to spend a quiet evening with my mom and Joe until the promised hour of eleven when they would take me over to Tonio's. They were going to let me stay there by myself and come home with Colin who was on until twelve thirty that night. He was working a staggered shift with three other guys.
Waiting was agony. If I'd been home, I'd have been knee deep in clothes trying on a million outfits just to be sure I'd absolutely, positively, picked out the right thing to wear. I'd resurrected my acid green Wranglers, hoping Colin would recognize them, and matched them with my birthday present from Joe, a vintage Sex Pistols tee-shirt that was black, tight, and sleeveless.
Unlike Christmas Eve, this was a big party night and Tonio's was packed, part of a circuit that a lot of guys made from bar to bar. I was miserable that Joe wouldn't let me go in alone, but she steered me through the bodies to the bar, conjured a barstool for me as if by magic, and stuck me in it.
"Be good," she said.
"I will!" I whispered urgently, beside myself with the excitement of being there, wanting her to go so I could begin to pretend she hadn't practically walked me in by the hand. And suddenly Colin was there, flipping a coaster into place in front of me and a cola with a pair of cherries floating in it.
"I'll take care of him, Joe," he said.
She planted a big fat kiss on my cheek before she left, and even though it made me feel like a kid, I did like that.
Colin grinned and I could have wet my pants. He was already moving away, but as he set up a pair of tall glasses under the beer spigots, he glanced back at me. My dick went half hard and I doled myself one of the cherries from my coke.
"Is that your boyfriend?" the guy sitting next to me asked, and you could have lit the room with my cherry stemmed smile when I nodded.
Guys did look at me, I realized that night. A lot. They looked, groped, cajoled and displayed themselves. It was a different world than being there with Joe and my mom interposed between me and the rest of the bar. In time, I would learn to almost take that attention for granted, but in the beginning I had no idea what a prime piece of boyflesh I was. To me, my age was like a giant wart in the middle of my nose and I thought it was a miracle, a huge compliment, that any grown man would overlook it to flirt with me. I sat there like the little princess Colin thought I was, swirling cherries through my soda, telling any and everybody who talked to me that the bartender was my boyfriend.
Soon I'd learn to discourage guys a lot more sharply, but that night I politely pried hands off my thighs and my ass, and twisted around in my seat to avoid contact.
I had a sea of drink markers in front of me from a steady stream of traffic on either side as guys moved in to size me up, bought me a drink and moved on.
Colin had his eye on me, for sure, but he had no idea of the kind of action that was going on below his line of sight, hidden by the edge of the bar. He banged a few beers down at guys who got too close to me. There really was only one guy who didn't get a load of my teenage passion for Colin and leave me alone. He was a big guy, crowded in between my barstool and the next one. He looked kind of like Joe, only bigger, and maybe I looked at him with more interest than I should have. He was leaning on the bar with a twenty dollar bill in his hand, waiting for his drink, his hips cocked at me to show off what looked like a zucchini shoved down the front of his pants. Colin set the beer down hard and plucked the money out of the guy's hand as he leaned across the bar.
"My tip for you," he said. "Back off." The guy shrugged. He made a joke of putting his hands up in the air as he moved away. But I was embarrassed, feeling like it was my fault for looking at him and thinking he was cute.
I gave Colin a sheepish look and muttered, "Sorry." But he didn't seem pissed at me. The crooked grin he gave me as he cashed in another one of my markers for a fresh coke, replete with fresh cherries, was his equivalent of Joe's wink.
There was a groundswell of noise and corks popping as midnight approached and I watched Colin pour a sea of champagne. I think I was the only one in the place who didn't have a tall sparkling glass of it in front of me. I didn't care, though. It was New Year's Eve, I was out at a bar and Colin was mine.
At midnight the lights in the place flashed and the busboys set off exploding streamers. And much more explosive, Colin reached for me right across the bar. I balanced on the rung of my barstool and leaned forward, my blood pumping jungle beats through my body. His big hands framed my face, smelling of champagne and citrus, and he was kissing me like he could eat me.
Part of the reason I'd wanted to be there that night was to assert myself in the face of the threat of all those hungry eyes I'd seen on him the week before. I succeeded beyond my wildest dreams with that kiss.
I don't think anybody he worked with, or anybody who drank there, for that matter, was fooled by the chill that Colin gave off. The only one naive enough to fall for his straight guy facade was him. Tonio told Joe that they'd dubbed him the Ice Queen. But between my telling everyone in sight that he was my boyfriend, and that New Year's Eve kiss, his rep was set. They called him my husband, my Daddy, whatever -- he was married to a schoolboy in people's minds, ever after.
The crowd evaporated after midnight; the bar of choice being a dance club once the New Year struck. Colin came out from behind the bar to clean up and I helped him. He let me tag along with a bus bucket picking up trash. I loved it.
Going into the back and seeing the kitchen was so cool. The kitchen itself was mostly shut down--just some guys cleaning up and a cook making up a platter of food for the help. This was the inner sanctum: rows of gleaming stainless steel pots, some looked big enough to drown in, and shelves crowded with giant cans of tomatoes and spices. It was like being backstage at a theater after the show.
As Colin introduced me, my pride knew no bounds. But when he drew me into the darkened corner at the back, where the shut-down ovens still gave off heat, I sailed right past happy into ecstasy. His arm twined around my neck and he kissed me, his hand dropping down to squeeze my ass. A few incredible scrapes of his hard dick across mine and I almost lost it right there. This awful groan came out of me and he laughed.
"I just mopped up back there," one of the guys called out from the front of the kitchen. Oh Jesus. Colin was dropping to his knees in front of me.
It was shadowy back there, but not really dark, and I shut my eyes, trying not to think about it because I wanted what he was doing so bad. My body throbbed like I was nothing but dick; my pants down my thighs, his awesome hands around my bare ass and his hot mouth on me--I doubt I lasted a half dozen strokes of wet heat before creaming him. Colin stayed down on me like he hadn't gotten his fill, pressing his face, his lips into my stomach, licking the patch of fur above my dick.
Why a guy who didn't want to look queer was willing to do it for me is a mystery. I've got my theories, but like anything to do with the whys and wherefores of Colin, it's all speculation. Joe thinks, among other things, that it's because of Sean Fahey.
"He's like a guy who says I'll treat my kid better than my dad treated me," she said to me once, a ways down the road. It was from her I got most of my information about him, and sated my need to talk about things. Even though there was nowhere near the difference in our ages that there'd been between him and his 'uncle,' in Colin's head, at least, he was the grown up and I was the kid. That much I knew without Joe telling me.
In the kitchen that night he wouldn't let me reciprocate. Like I was the kid that he was indulging. Which was true enough. I swear he flaunted his hard cock in those tight black pants as he walked me out of there, like a rooster parading his little chick through the barnyard.
Two weeks into January, Tonio offered me a busing job on Colin's weekend shift.
"You're here all the time, kid. You might as well make some money," is how he put it. My mom balked, afraid I'd neglect my school work, but Joe talked her into it.
To me, Joe made it clear I'd be sorry I was ever born if I didn't keep my grades up. I swore I'd be good as gold, and I was.
Everything was getting better for me as that winter progressed toward spring. At school, I started to come back to life. Megan was hanging out with me again, whether her boyfriends liked it or not. Once again, our matching heads could be seen bent over our lunch trays, or side by side in studio classes. She dated a number of different guys but not too seriously. She was sharpening her image as a feminist and I happily listened to every rant she had to go off on. She started taking a bit of a butch stance with me, oddly mirroring Colin. I was more than happy to have her touching me again. It wasn't sexual so much as affectionate, and maybe a little proprietary-- like she wanted people to see that she still had a right to touch me, whatever the fuck they thought about it. She liked to hang her hand on my shoulder, or ruffle up the nap of my hair. I ate it up. In my own mind, only Colin superseded her claim on me.
My grades climbed. Other kids drifted closer, finding me easier to talk to again. I even got more friendly with Chad.
The worst stumbling block had been telling Megan about Colin. She went ballistic. I knew she would. But I had to tell her. If I wanted her for my friend, and I desperately did, I knew it had to come straight from my mouth and it couldn't wait.
I did it not long after that New Year's weekend, on our first walk home from school together in a long time. So good. I asked her to come in and hang out. Then I took my life in my hands and told her. Oh man! She was like a pinball careening from one end of my room to another, like she couldn't sit still as she lectured and yelled at me.
"You idiot ..." was only the start.
"You're worse than a girl!" she flung at me. "Jesus Christ, Corby, do you know how fucked up this is? It's like fags who love guys who hate fags syndrome or something."
I sat there and took it until she ran out of steam. The worst, or in a way, the best part, was when she did a whole riff pretending to be me, rolling her eyes and wiggling her hips.
"Oh he's so cute, so tough ... no, Corby, he's not. He's an asshole!"
Fuck. She'd exhausted herself for the moment, standing by my drawing board, staring at me with her hands on her hips.
"If you tell me you love him," she said, soft and so dangerous, "I'll kill you." Megan wasn't the pushover my mom was.
I said nothing. I'd said nothing since she started.
"Do you?" she demanded. Oh God.
"Maybe," I said, not wanting to die. What a wimp. In my own defense I can only say that I was willing to do or say just about anything to make her love me again. I guess I picked the right answer. Megan took a deep breath through her nose, breaking into a compressed kind of smile. Like she didn't want to smile at me ,but she couldn't help it.
"Okay," she said, walking toward me. I sensed that my forgiveness had come and stood up, hoping to be hugged. She put her arms around me and squeezed. "Just don't say I didn't warn you," she said, "when he breaks your little stupid ass heart."
She would come to tolerate Colin, but she'd never like him. He, on the other hand, liked her a lot. She would always be my girl, in his eyes, which in his skewed view of the world made him more of a man. I'd go so far as to say that the illusory scent of my straightness was a major turn on for him.
Even when Megan became the most aggressive of in- your-face lesbians and thought nothing of baiting him, calling him a pseudo macho faggot pig, it only made him more fond of her and hotter to fuck me. "Your little dyke is so tough," he'd say to me, with a look in his eyes like, 'way to go, stud.'