Dear Reader,
This is the first time I have attempted writing anything other than essays at school let alone a story about homosexual relationships. I'd like you to keep that in mind, if you continue to read, before you decide I am a terrible writer. I'd also like to appologize for the spelling, grammar, and punctuation mistakes in advance. I am using Wordpad on a computer that has to be from before I was born so there is nothing like spellcheck. Also I am editing it myself and so will probably make lots of mistakes. Please forgive me.
Legal Crap: I have always thought this section in other stories was pointless. Everyone knows the rules. No one listens to them even if they apply to them. There is nothing I, or anyone else, could do to inforce them, nor would they even if it were possible. Once again I will say they are pointless, but for the sake of tradition I will repeat it all for you again. Do not read this story if:
You are not over 18 years old (or the legal age where you live)
It is illegal to read this type of material where you live
You don't want to read about gay/bi people in love or having sex.
You are blind.
Also This story is completely fictional. It does not represent any person or situation. If it seems too real to be made up, tell me because I love compliments.
I am not actually sure if there will be any descriptions of sexual activities in my story because, being my first story and all, I am not sure if I am comfortable with writing that yet. I'll see what happens. This story will also start off qute slowly so be patient. My writing will probably also get less and less formal, as I get more comfortable with this. Also it won't be very realistic. It'll be more like one of those feel-good-predictable-happy-ending disney films, only it's about gay men who can get their doctors degree at 25. If you want reality, go outside. Well, here it goes:
Counseling in Canada CH. 1
Don't you just hate that annoying beeping sound that comes from your alarm clock? I think it has got to be the most annoying sound there is. And yet, I can never get around to figureing out how to change it to play the radio. Serves me right I guess. Anyways, I got out of my soft, warm, comfortable bed, and walked cross my bedroom to my wardrobe to turn it off. I have to put it across the room, or I just fall back to sleep. I never was a morning person.
I live in one of those old houses turned into a bunch of apartments, in downtown Vancouer (B.C. Canada). My apartment isn't very big: 1 Bedroom, small kitchen, a big closet, and a living room. Unfortuneatly I have to share my bathroom with the lady down the hall. There is one bathroom and two apartments per floor. I'm number 5 on the third floor.
Luckily today my neighbor (Roxanne for those of you who like to know names) had left early so I didn't have to wait for the shower. I had my shower, then looked at myself in the mirror. My name is Adam Jackson. I am 25 and have short brown hair. I have eyes that change colour from a grey-blue, to a blue-green. I am reasonably well-built. I don't really work out but I play tennis, swim, run and kayak. I think I look fine: I'm not "hot" but I'm not ugly either. At least I don't think so.
I finished getting ready, (you probably don't want to hear about it. Its boring) got dressed and took off to work. I can never eat breakfast at home. I know its bad for you or something (my mom has informed me of this since I was 12) but I'm never hungry right after I get up. I never was a morning person.
I live about a 20 minute bike ride from work. I am a Family Councellor, and I like my job. Peoples problems are intresting, its challenging, it feels rewarding to help people, and the pay isn't too bad either. I also like the fact that I work for myself and therefore set my own hours, holidays and such.
My receptionist was already at the desk when I got there. Her name is Maria. She is a kind, easy-to-be-around type of person. Actually thats why I hired her. I hate working with people who are stuck up, stupid, narrowminded or unreasonable. Maria, luckily, is none of those things.
She was looking particularily happy today, when I walked in.
"Hello. Hows it going?" I asked.
"Great. You?" She replied
"Fine. You look happy."
"Yup," She said enthusiastically, "Betty's sick today!"
Betty is the receptionist for Roger, the councellor I shared the office with. Betty is kind of a bitch, or so says Maria. She has always been fine to me, but apparently she is a "Bossy know-it-all, with ugly shoes". That is about as bad as Maria's insults get.
I laughed. "Lucky you. When is my first appointment?"
"An hour."
"Good. I'm gonna go get changed."
And that is my morning. I think it would be fair to say that I lead a pretty boring life. I'd tell you about the clients and their problems, but it's all confidential. I go for lunch with Roger the other councellor. Just like every barber needs a barber and every surgeon needs a surgeon, every councellor needs a councellor. No one is very good at analyzing their own problems, and everyone needs someone to talk to. Basically we just talk about our lives for an hour.
Roger is 43. He also has brown hair but with brown eyes. He looks fine. You know, average. He is happily married with two children. A 17-year-old boy and a 15-year-old girl. They are, apparently, good children, who have good friends and get good grades. Good for him.
Today we were talking about how his wife and how she was having some problem with some person at work and how she solved it or something. I wasn't really paying attention (I don't have to listen ALL the time).
"Ya," I said after he told me how she did some wonderful thing to solve this problem, "you sure have a great wife."
"Yup I sure do." he said thoughtfully. Then added, "Have you found someone yet?"
He knows I'm gay, and he has no problem with it. Who, who has taken psycology, would? Actually he is one of the few people who does know. Another being Maria. I figured if I was going to work with these people, I should be honest with them.
"Nope. I think there should be some sort of sign that only other gay people can see that says 'I'm gay and single'. That would help me. Actually, I could patent it and then sell it and make millions. What do you think?"
"I think you should keep your day job." he said laughing. "But seriously, if your problem is knowing whether they are gay, why don't you go to some bar where everyone is gay?"
"Because I think, if I got up the nerve to go, that I would get there and find a bunch of people who just want sex. I could never do that. I'd feel dirty. And of course I have to take into consideration the fact that I can't dance. They'd probably beat me, throw me out, and say, 'You, sir, are a disgrace to gay people everywhere. You would come in third in a dance competition between you and a dead duck. Yes, third. Leave NOW!'"
He started to laugh again. "You have quite the imagination."
"Well you're born with some gifts and not others. Some people are creative, some can dance."
The conversation went on like that. Me telling him even if I found a single gay guy that I liked, I would never be able to ask him to do anything. I am too shy. Then he told me I was just insecure and feared rejection. I made some remark that was basically 'No shit' in more and politer words. So on and so forth. We have had this conversation before and we never get anywhere. It was no different today.
After a few more appointments, I got to go home. Maria still had some paperwork and phone calls to make. I told her that she didn't need to worry about that, but she said she had to get it done sometime and 'this is better than having to stare at Betty's ugly shoes while I am on the Phone'. So I left for the bike-ride home.
When I got to the apartment building, I was suprised to see a moving truck outside. 'I wonder who is moving,' I thought, 'I hope it is that peron in number 2 whose likes to listen to loud opera.' Alas, it wasn't the opera fan. It was, however, my floor mate, Roxanne. I went to go find out who I'd share my floor with and how long they took in the shower.
I got to the top floor, and went to the door of my apartment. While I was unlocking the door someone behind me said in a beautifully rich, sexy, English accent,
"Hello. I am Ryan, the new ocupant of number 6. Do you live here?"
I turned around and saw him. He was amazingly hot. He looked to be in his early 20's, with dirty blonde hair. He had amazing grey eyes. He seemed fairly well built. A little smaller than me, but firm.
"Yes, Ryan of number 6, My name is Adam and I do live here," I replied, then mentally kicked myself. This is exactly what it would be like if I approached someone: I'd say something, trying (but failing) to be funny, and then look like a loser. My dad once told me that eventually you stop caring about what people think of you. I don't see it happening. Anyways back to me being a fool.
He laughed nervously. Then came that aweful, awkward silence where neither of you know what to say. He broke it first by saying,
"Well, I'd better get back to moving... I'll see you later."
"Do you need any help?"
"No. Thanks anyways though," he answered.
And that was that. 'That may be part of the reason I'm still single,' I thought. I'm horrible at first impressions. Well, as my dad would say, "Life, she goes on." Don't ask me why life is female, but apparently she is.
I went into my bedroom to get my swimming stuff. I like going swimming in the evenings; Its refreshing. I got my stuff together, got in the car, and drove to the swimming pool. It was not very crouded, which I like. I swam for about an hour and a half, then I left to go home. I got up almost to the top of the steps, before I heard a sound. Now I'm not usually someone who spies, or is nosy or anything but today I couldn't help myself. I quietly got to the top and saw two men making out by Ryans door. I could only actually see the guy closest to me because he was huge and was covering most of the other guy while pushing up against the wall. Actually he was so rough it looked alot like the beginings of rape. Or would have if the smaller guy with dirty blonde hair wasn't kissing back, or if he took his hands out of the back of the bigger guys pants.
As much as I would have liked to stay and watch, I decided it was more important that I didn't get caught. I went quietly back down stairs, then went up again only this time I practiacally stompted. Then I made a big deal of 'accidentally' dropping my keys then swearing reasonably loudly. 'That should be good,' I thought.
By the time I got to the top, they were saying goodbye.
"I'll talk to you later, okay?" The smaller, and now more recognizable, Ryan said to his friend.
"Ya. Call me," The other guy said. He looked to be the sort of person whos name would be 'Kronk', or 'Gork'. He looked big and a little mean. I don't usually judge people on their looks but Kronk was an exception.
I unlocked my door and went inside. Well I knew whether Ryan was into other guys now, but unfortunatley he looked like he was taken. You'd think I'd be used to my luck by now, but I guess not. I made myself some dinner (instant soup) then went on the computer for my e-mail and some good 'ol porn.
When I was finished, I went to bed. It was nine something, but when there is nothing to do, and you have trouble getting up as it is, you go to bed a little earlier.
I dont remember exactly what my dream was about, but I remember Ryan was in it, and when I woke up, my Boxers were wet.
End of Chapter 1.
Well, the first chapter is done. Bet you can't guess what's going to happen. Isn't it quite the coincidence that they are both in their early 20's, good looking, and gay? I think so too. Since this story is free, and I spent alot of time on it, I want something in return. I want you to e-mail me. I don't care what you say, tell me about my story: whats good, what blows, what should happen, how it relates to you etc. Or tell me about you: Your life, your family, your country, your favorite music, your dog's food dish, anything. Just e-mail me, with your name (I don't care if its fake, I just need something to asociate with the e-mail adress). I actually do want to be a councellor "When I grow up" ( a gay councellor? Who's heard of that?), so if you need to tell someone something but want it confidential then tell me. Sure, I may only be 15, but I'm good at making people feel good about themselves. And if you're worried about me knowing you're e-mail adress 'cuz it has you're name in it, then make a new one. Got it? You're going to e-mail me.
imawriter00@yahoo.ca
(if sometimes I put @hotmail.com, its because I'm used to it. Also notice the ".ca". Thats short for Canada. Thats where I live. Remember its not ".com", it's ".ca")