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.
For those of you who've asked, other stories of mine in this archive are: Boy in a Pink Box -Dec.16, Vancouver Island-Jan.4, Willow-Jan.20, and Back to the Playground Feb.22 in the Young Friends section. Ongoing in the Adult/Youth section is Babying Reuben.
Feedback, always appreciated, may be sent to: javabiscuit@hotmail.com
Corbusier ~ chapter four
by Biscuit
It was only a week later that Colin nearly gave me a heart attack when he knocked on the glass wall of my bedroom.
Maybe it was the fashion show I was putting on that he couldn't resist, or the haircut.
It was Saturday night, the night of the day of tears. Maybe I'd cried as much as a baby as I did that day, I don't know. But I certainly never had in living memory.
Not all at once. It happened in shifts.
I cried with my mom in the afternoon, I cried even harder with Megan that night. By the time Colin showed up I was holed up in my room, alone. Exhausted but too wound up to sleep after all I'd been through that day.
My mom was out with Janice. They were prowling dance bars, something that made me nervous, but at least they were together and they'd stay downtown at her place, taking cabs, not driving. My mom had promised to call and check in at some point to let me know she was okay. I knew I wouldn't be able to sleep until I heard from her.
I was guess I was putting on a pretty good show, trying on everything in my closet. I was assessing how stuff looked with my new lack of hair and auditioning things for my big non-date with Chad Grossman the next day.
So strange to look in the mirror and see my head, my whole face. To me I looked like I was about ten years old. My mom loved it. She'd gotten so excited when I came home with my shorn head that she'd made me sit down for her to draw.
"Corby, you're so beautiful! My little Tuscany angel." My mom always knew how to pour it on.
I listened to her rave about the shape of my head and my face and sat still while she ruffled the short nap of my hair. It was cut so precisely it clung to my head unless you ruffled it up with your fingers -- then it would right itself, hugging my skull. The only place it could be messed up was on top or in front; the long part -- a whole half inch! I rolled my eyes and groaned and generally acted like I didn't want to hear her fussing over me, but really, I loved it. Partly, because it was her, and she wasn't drinking. Partly, it was because I'd just had two feet of hair chopped off and I was quietly freaking. It helps, when you do a thing like that if someone says you look great, even if it's your mom. I loved being in the studio with her, minus loud jazz and wine, having her look at me while she sketched with her pastels.
It made me feel brave enough to open my mouth.
Not about Colin. About me. I couldn't tell her about Colin, but I told her about Chad Grossman. Well, not the bathroom part.
Chad had asked me to go with him to a dance, like a mixer for teen fags is what I'd call it. A dance on a Sunday afternoon, which seemed dumb. A dance at a church, of all places, which seemed really dumb. But it was in the Village, which was a good thing. I was thinking about going with him, figuring that if I hated it, which I was pretty sure I would, I could split and go to the Sunday flea market in Chelsea that I'd gone to with Megan a few times.
What I told my mom was that a kid I knew at school was going to go to this thing. And of course, she said it sounded like a wonderful opportunity for young gay people, and that I shouldn't talk about it so condescendingly. And then I told her I was thinking of going with him.
The earth didn't stop but it slowed to a crawl. She looked at me a long time, after I said the part about going to the dance. I was praying she wasn't going to ask about Colin.
"Baby," she said to me, gently, "I think it's a fine thing to do. Do you feel all right about it?"
I nodded, drawing a sigh of relief. We probably would have been okay if we'd stopped right there, but we didn't. She asked me if Chad was the real reason that Megan and I had broken up.
That's the part that did me in. I couldn't talk about what was really wrong between me and Megan without getting teary. My mom couldn't see me start leaking from the eyes without losing it herself. That's when she came and squeezed herself into the armchair with me, hugging me. She cries pretty easy at the best of times, and there was more than enough going on in her life to make tears run close to the surface. I know we were both crying about a whole lot more than anything either of us was saying.
We were in that chair for a long time. We got quiet for awhile and it felt good to have her holding me, smelling like her pastels, not like wine. Finally she gave me a last big squeeze and said she thought I should call Megan.
And I did. You could have wrung out my phone and filled a bucket by the time Megan and I hung up. She missed me just as bad as I missed her. At the end she was grumbling about Todd who she didn't like any better now that she was dating him than she ever had. Things weren't normal between us, that wouldn't happen for awhile. But the gap had been breached.
So there I was, standing in front of my closet mirror in my underwear, staring at myself with eyes glazed from weeping, trying to identify myself in the kid with the bare neck. I kept shaking my head, feeling the strangeness of no hair swinging.
I was standing with my back to the mirror, craning my neck to see the back of me, thinking how pathetic I looked. What in the world, I wondered, had made Colin Daley want to fuck me. I can still work up a cringe thinking about him having been out there the whole time, knowing he saw me slide the back of my underpants halfway down my butt and stare at it. It was not like he said afterwards, that I got turned on looking at my own ass. I got a boner because I was thinking about him, and I started to stroke myself, still looking at my ass.
That's when he just about scared me half to death by knocking on the glass wall. I think I spun and would have punched him in the face again if he'd been there in front of me.
I wanted to kill him for scaring me, but he looked so fucking good. He was leaning on the heavy glass with his chin on his forearms, grinning at me. Oh God. He backed up then, pointing toward the front of the house. Damn.
I tried not to think about everything he'd just seen me doing and grabbed the first pair of pants my hands touched on the floor. Christ, how long had he been there? By the time I looked over my shoulder again, he was already disappearing over the top of the wall.
It was near midnight and he was freezing cold. I jumped about a foot when he touched me and backed away from him.
"What do you think you're doing?" I said. "Why can't you show up like a regular person for once."
"You got your hair cut," he said, not even bothering to answer me, reaching out for me again. I braced for the cold and let him, shivering when his hands touched my bare shoulders, one of them moving up the side of my neck and exploring the feel of my head. "When's mom coming home?"
We were barely a foot inside my front door. I could only see him in the light coming from the kitchen. I put my arms up across my chest to ward off the touch of his ice cold jacket.
"Late," I said, wanting to say--not till morning--but afraid I'd sound too eager. I couldn't believe he was really there. I forced my arms to unfold. Even if his jacket almost hurt my tits, he was kissing me and his warm mouth made up for it.
He tasted like a beer, not that I cared. I think whatever he tasted like would have been imprinting on my brain as good. I had my hands under the back edge of his jacket, feeling his ass. His butt was small, round and hard. The tops of his thighs were even harder.
"You like my ass as much as you like yours?" he asked, and I froze up, remembering what he'd seen me doing. I didn't know enough then to understand that he was turned on by it, not making fun of me.
"I wasn't," I started, but what was I going to say? It had to be worse, I thought, to say I'd been thinking about him. My hands pulled back and I pushed at him, but he wasn't budging. Then he just let go of me.
"Oh yeah you were," he laughed, unzipping his jacket.
Fuck. He parted his jacket. A flannel shirt, and jeans like a second skin. His cock looked like an iron bar jammed down the front of his pants.
"You want a beer or something?" I asked, trying to change the subject and not stare.
"No," he said, shaking his head, still with a half smile on his face. He pulled me back in his arms, his hand dropping to my butt, more like right between my cheeks, pinching up the loose cloth of my painter's pants. "I want to fuck you," he said.
I got my arms under the cold leather, his shirt was soft and his body so hard under it. Every push of his tongue through my mouth made my dick harder and wetter. I would have climbed right up his body and speared myself on his cock if I could have. He was the one that stopped me, literally tugging me off him by the seat of my pants.
The sight of the piles of clothes in my bedroom cooled my jets but Colin didn't seem to give a shit. He was stripping down without a word as I cleared my stuff off the bed. Seeing his body made my knees weak and my dick shoot back to life. He was so fucking beautiful, lean and tight; like a miracle to see him right there on my bed, tearing open a condom packet because he wanted me.
"My mom's not coming home tonight," I said and I saw a flash of something in his eyes, the corners of his mouth twitching up a little like he was trying to hold back a a laugh.
"You asking me to spend the night, princess?"
Did he have some kind of radar for saying the thing that would humiliate me the most?
God, I hated him. Why did he have to say that?
"I don't care," I mumbled, trying to take my pants off as casually as he had. It was such an obvious lie I'd uttered I could feel the heat climbing the sides of my face.
"Turn around," he said. "Show me that ass." Oh God. I did it, relieved to be hiding my face. My pants were in a pile at my feet and I stepped out of them, turning my back on him. Then I felt his hands on my hips, he was pulling my underwear down, like I'd done when he was watching me from outside. The elastic clung across the middle of my cheeks and stuck on my hard dick. He got them like he wanted and pulled me closer to the bed. Then I felt his mouth on me and just about died. He was practically biting my ass between long swipes of his tongue. I could feel his nose rub into my skin. I couldn't stand still, he was killing me.
He traced the edge of my briefs, turning me around, stopping short of my dick. I was so close to unloading.
Colin let go of me, lying back on the bed, his latex covered cock waving like a flag up his belly. His face was flushed and his blue eyes narrowed at me. He picked up the tube of KY he'd put on my bedside table and he started coating his dick with a big glob of it.
I almost tripped trying to get my briefs off and out of my way, feeling a thousand times more naked without my hair sliding on my shoulders, at least partly hiding my face. I wished I looked like he did, not like me, not like a ten year old kid with no hair.
But Colin was liking how I looked. He couldn't have a boner like that if he didn't, right?
Then Colin was touching me and it didn't matter. He got on his knees between my legs, and he leaned forward, running his hands up my stomach to my chest. He pinched my nipples and then looked at them framed by his hands, brushing his thumbs over them.
"You should have been a girl," he said, bringing his face close to mine, almost close enough to kiss and I tried to lift my head to do it, but he didn't let me, pulling back at the last second. Was he sorry I wasn't a girl?
"You wish I was?" I asked him.
"Fuck no. What happened to that chick you were trying to nail in the park?"
"Nothing," I said, not thinking how he'd know she hadn't been around. I was burning up; him being glad I was a guy making me hot enough to give off smoke. I tried to kiss him again and this time he let me. My legs were climbing his back.
His wet dick slapped at my butt cheek before he got it where he wanted it. I tried not to tense up but my asshole wasn't listening. Like being wedged open by rounded crowbar, he kept shoving from different angles without pulling back until he was in.
I loved it. Even the wave of aching like a cramp, my insides trying to close down on him; it all felt good to me. I was a trained monkey who knew he'd get the reward if he hit the bar that gave him a shock. I knew that right on the other side of the pain was something so awesome that even the hurt felt good.
What made it so hot, as if his cock turning me to butter wasn't enough, was how much he loved it. Knowing it was my ass making him him pant and groan; my face he was staring down at through his lashes. Sometimes his eyes squeezed shut, but when they opened and he'd see me, he'd dart down at me with his mouth open and kiss me or lick me.
Way too soon I was painting my own belly and chest with hot spunk. Colin just fucked me harder, like he could force it all out of me from the inside. And I knew he was creaming, a strangled sound coming out of his throat as his hips jerked flush to my ass.
His cock was still kind of hard when he pulled it out of me and collapsed on his back.
You could either say my mom had an instinct for shattering an afterglow, or that she was thoughtful enough, in a psychic kind of way, to wait until we were done. The phone rang and my dead body jerked to life.