Different 1
This is a story about two young men who meet and eventually fall in love. The point is not to get you off, you naughty boys and girls, and although there may eventually be a few sex scenes, *gasp*, there won't be any in this chapter. This story is purely fictional, that means I made it all up. Well... actually it is based very very loosely on an experience I had in highschool. The names of those involved have been changed though, including mine (my apologies to all the psycho's and weirdos out there), and the setting is so far from being what really took place it's laughable. If I have managed to describe anyone you know, or if I have described you by some strange twist of fate, I assure you it is totally by coincidence and in no way intentional on my part. If any of this offends you, or this type of story is illegal where you live, or you are not old enough to be reading it according to the laws of where ever it is that you live, or if it is against your religion, then don't read it. Or if you do, don't get caught, (although if it's against your religion, remember God can see you no matter where you are!) 'cause I will not be able to take responsibility for your naughtiness, I have enough of my own to take responsibility for. :o) I would love to know what you think of the story, likes, dislikes, etc. But only if you tell me why you liked or disliked it, otherwise I probably won't respond. Please send all comments, flames, compliments, death threats, suggestions, etc. to: ZippyTheBookWorm@yahoo.com
Special thanks go to Jason, for inspiring me to post this story in the first place, Bruce for telling me it was perfect, and Devine, for pointing out all the little imperfections I missed. Your help is appreciated much more than words can say. ___________________________________________________________________________________
Different
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Chapter one-Words
Why is it that the word different is so synonymous with wrong, unnatural, evil, terrible, bad, dangerous and sin? Why is everyone so terrified of really and truly being themselves, and why, by God, do I have to be so very very different!? Yes, for those of you who don't know I am gay. I am not ashamed of being gay, far from it, but I can honestly say that if I had a choice I would be straight, it would be so much easier. I don't have a choice though, and I have decided to accept it and move on with my life, which is in turn easier than trying to repress my sexuality. I have also accepted the fact, as depressing as it may be, that I will most likely never find anyone who can love me the way I want, or rather need, to be loved; at least not until I graduate highschool and move on to college.
I was laying in my bed staring dejectedly and the ceiling , thinking about these things when my alarm went off. Oh boy I thought, the first day of school officially begins. My only consolation is that I'm a senior this year and will be able to leave for college next year. The draw back however is that my parents, both of them high up business people who are almost always out of town on business trips, decided to move from Florida to California during the summer, so I have absolutely no friends at this new school.
I hit the 'Off' button on my alarm putting an end to the mind shattering noise and sat up on the edge of my bed. Really, whoever it was that came up with the idea of having everyone wake up to a noise no one would willingly choose to hear, must have had some sort of sadistic streak.
Our new house is something of a mansion and my room has its own attached bathroom. Dragging myself off the bed I looked at my room as I walked into the bathroom. The walls were bare, I hadn't had time to decorate. As you come in the door the bed, a queen size, is off to the left in a corner and the bathroom door is in the back right. My closet is on the same wall as the bathroom. On the wall opposite the door I have set up my computer desk and just next to it is the window. I had seen it all before and was summarily unimpressed with it at this ungodly hour. Still trying to walk straight I staggered into the bathroom and turned on the shower. I was still a bit depressed about the things I had been thinking of that morning and my intention to take a quick shower soon turned into twenty minutes just standing under the water wishing my life wasn't so screwed up. I finally finished ridding myself of a nights worth of dried sweat and turned off the water. I grabbed a towel off the rack on the wall as I stepped out and dried myself off. With no threat of being seen, especially since I was the only person in the house (my parents are on one of they're trips), I let the towel drop to the floor when I was finished with it and looked at myself in the mirror.
Looking back at me from under a thin film of fog was a depressed looking young man about 6 feet 3 inches tall with long black hair and light grey eyes. His strong arms hung down from broad shoulders and accentuated an equally strong chest which tapered down to a comparatively narrow waist and then continued on in two long, well muscled legs. His stomach was well formed with a very impressive six pack and accept for two patches under his arms, and a thick dark patch of curly pubic hair just above his genitals, there wasn't a single hair on his upper body. Interestingly enough the boy in the mirror had a strangely effeminate face that, despite his very masculine body, made him look extremely vulnerable. In fact, if you saw his face without looking at the rest of his body you might mistake him for someone who was at least a year younger than he actually was.
Truth be told my face has led more than one school bully to believe I would be a pushover in a fight, an illusion they all came to regret. It cost me a few black eyes and a couple swollen lips, but I eventually convinced everyone at my old school that I could look out for myself, the thirteen year's of martial arts training really came in handy when three of them tried to gang up on me at once. I'm really not that excited about having to prove it again, but there's no way I'm going to let someone else push me around! At least I have that much self respect.
I quickly brushed out my hair and decided to let it hang unbound today. Although I have hair as long as most girls I still don't take even half as long to comb it. It probably has something to do with the fact that I don't spend hours putting it in all sorts of different styles. I realize that's very sexist but if you think about it, it's also true in most cases. Don't get me wrong though, my best friend was a girl and she had beautiful long, curly, red hair! Come to think of it, she's the one that convinced e to grow my own hair long, and I am very glad she did! My hair is about half way down my back and although it can get very hot at times I love it!
Picking out something to wear when I was done in the bathroom really wasn't all that difficult. About 90% of my wardrobe is black. I know it looks kind of depressing on some people, but personally I think it looks good on me. I also know that a lot of people disagree, but what do I care about what other people think? I know the normal teenage thing to do is to wonder, 'What will he think of that?' 'Will she like this?' 'Will they make fun of me for these?' When it comes right down to it I really don't care what they think. As long as I think I look good I'm fine.
Once I was done dressing I went downstairs to the kitchen, grabbed an apple and headed for the garage. Now, I love my parents with all my heart, but I would gladly give up the huge mansion and all the money if I could just spend some time with them. Fat chance though! For example, my 17th birthday I wake up hoping to see them home and when I come down to the kitchen, still hoping despite the fact that their bed looked like it hadn't been touched in a week, find on the table a birthday card saying 'Sorry we missed your big day again, but here's a little something to celebrate- Love Mom and Dad.' Under the card were the keys to a new silver BMW Z-3. True that was my favorite car and I had been begging my parents to get it for me for almost a year, but at that moment I would have traded it for just one hug. In an instant I would have! And I still would. Then I realized that the handwriting on the card wasn't even theirs. They must have called Dianne, our live in maid, and had her write it out. That was over a year ago. Either they completely forgot about my 18th birthday, or the card got lost in the mail. They never mentioned it, and neither did I.
Anyway, I got in my car and drove the twenty minutes to school in just under fifteen. I guess I have this theory that if I get enough speeding tickets my parents will finally take some interest in me...so far I haven't managed to get a single one. Either I'm really lucky, or my luck sucks.. I haven't figured it out yet. Maybe if I came out to my parents they would take some interest in me? Naa, your right, bad idea.
It was 7:00 as I climbed out of my car and started towards the registration office of 'Pishley Highschool, The School for Privileged Young Adults.' Or in English, 'If you can afford to send your kids here you have more money than God!' Lucky me. Fifteen minutes later, armed with a killer smile, my class schedule, and a backpack with a note-pad and a couple pens I set out to find my first class. Oh joy, history. The most boring class in the entire highschool curriculum, except perhaps for Indian basket weaving, (which im not taking), and I get to have it first period! The only class I usually disliked more was PE. I don't like team sports all that much and for the last three years I've had PE instructors who were convinced that every red-blooded American boy had to love baseball, basketball, and football. Don't get me wrong, they're all fine sports and I have the utmost respect for everyone who plays them, but they're just not my thing. What I wanted was a weight class, and here at good old Pishley High I had one. I wasn't getting my hopes up though, in all likelihood it was nothing more than a few free weights and a mat. Ah well, on to first period.
I walked in and handed my schedule to the teacher, a rather short skinny lady named Mrs. Fiddlemyer, who looked like she should be one of the students instead of a teacher. She looked at my schedule, welcomed me to the class and told me to find an empty seat. Since it was still about ten minutes to the bell, that wasn't going to be a problem so I chose a seat in the back corner opposite the door so I would be able to observe everyone else as they came in.
As it got closer and closer to 7:30, (when class starts), more and more people came in. I could go on for pages about them, but in short they were rather disappointing. They were all very good looking, most of them anyway, but they all looked the same somehow...almost like they had all been made from the same mold and then slightly accessorized to make them discernable from each other. This one a girl, that one a boy. This one a blond, that one a brunette. This one tall, that one short, all of them with the same boring attitude. And, as if to drive it home, they all seemed to be wearing the same clothes. There was no school uniform, I've checked, but it seemed as if the students had put on one of their own. They all had dark pants and light shirts. And all the boys had the same haircut. It looked like a class of drones and it terrified me.
Class started and Mrs. Fiddlemyer started a lecture about the beginnings of history. This was an American history/ government class, but in the great tradition of all history classes, we had to have a short lecture on the beginnings of history. About five minutes into her lecture I was completely zoned out. Although I usually get A's in most classes I could tell already this one would require quite a bit of effort just to stay awake in, let alone get an A in.
Then, fifteen minutes into the lecture that had most of the class struggling not to pass out, the door opened and the first interesting person I had yet seen walked through. He was about six feet tall, broad shouldered with an impressive looking chest under his tight shirt and a smile that could make you faint.
"Hello," he said to Mrs. Fiddlemyer, "sorry I 'm late. I'm new here and the numbering on these doors is a bit strange."
"Don't worry about it Mr. Cross," she replied, "Now please take a seat and I will continue the lecture." Thank-you God, the only chair in on the room that wasn't taken was next to mine. After getting the Ok from the teacher he looked around for an empty seat, and, spotting the one next to me, he started forward. When he sat down I extended my hand and introduced myself, "Hi, I'm Chris Thompson."
"Hi," he responded with a firm handshake, "I'm Adam Cross." When he spoke it was if angels were singing. My heart fell out of my shirt and I barely stopped myself from holding on to his hand as he pulled it away. His hair was short, dark brown, and absolutely gorgeous. And his eyes were the most heart-melting brown I have ever imagined. Add to that the fact that they seemed to see into your very soul and this was one of the most perfect looking human beings I have ever met.
The next half hour was an eternity of agony. I kept glancing at Adam and trying not to let him see that I was looking at him, and every time I saw his smooth skin and beautiful mouth I would get an instant hardon. I have never fallen this hard for a guy, not even at my old school. When the bell finally rang I almost jumped out of my chair and sprinted out the door for my life.
"Oh, hey," Adam said to me as we both got up, "I'm kind of new here, do you think you could show me around a bit?"
"Hehe, boy did you pick the wrong guy to ask," I said chuckling to myself, "I'm new here too. Perhaps we could fumble through together. What class do you have next?"
"Uh, math, room 153."
"No way!" I said surprised. "That's my next class too. Hey, let me see your schedule."
As it turns out Adam and I have first through forth periods and sixth period together. Fifth period we both have PE and he's on the volley ball team. Five out of six certainly isn't bad, and I doubt I would be able to control myself at all if I had to watch him undress in the locker room.
I know it's stupid to dream impossible dreams, but I want this boy! With my luck he'll be straight though, and homophobic to boot. Oh well. We hit it off as friends that very day, and although I know I am probably setting myself up for a big fall later on, I would rather have him as a friend then not be able to be near him at all. End Chapter One
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Thanks for taking the time to read this. If you disappointed by the fact that there isn't any sex you obviously didn't read the forward ant the top. Once again I would very much appreciate all comments sent to ZippyTheBookWorm@yahoo.com Tell me what ya thought, good, bad, and everything in between. This story is far from over, but it's future is not set in stone either. I would greatly appreciate an suggestion along with your comments.