Feelings

This story is intended for exclusive posting at the Nifty Archive. Usual disclaimers apply (as in "Do not read if you're under 18"). Thanks for the support guys -- and gals. You can reach me at bluedistraction@aol.com

Feelings VIII.

VIII. Shapes in the clouds

I woke up to the crack of dawn and overwhelming contentment. I smiled to myself as I remembered the previous day. Things were definitely looking up for once. I stretched out, yawned loudly, and buried my head under the blankets again. A warm, fuzzy feeling kept me from drifting off again. The blankets were cool and comfortable against my body.

After a while I managed to leave my bed. I wore the same clothes as the previous day, except for the fresh red tee shirt I chose; my mother had always claimed that red was my best color, and she frequently complained because I never wore it. The reflection in the mirror was unusual, and I decided that I liked the change. I almost looked perky.

I padded downstairs and into the living room, and peeked inside. Tommy was still asleep on the couch, breathing deeply. His long body was carelessly sprawled across the sofa; he was smiling in his sleep, with no shadows of nightmares scarring his face. I felt relieved. I could only begin imagine the dreams of this special guy.

I went into the kitchen and fixed some coffee and toast. I chose my favorite mug and picked brown sugar over white because it gives coffee a nice tang. The house didn't seem as empty while I spread butter and raspberry jam so I smiled to myself as I ate my breakfast.

I poured another cup of coffee and went up to the widow's walk. The bare cement floor was cold beneath my feet, but the air was balmy on my bare shoulders; the coffee warmed my throat. I allowed the young sunrays to warm my body as I walked to the railing and rested my arms on it, loving the tranquility of the sea. A seagull squawked overhead, swaying slightly in the light breeze. The garden seemed to be lost among pink clouds as morning dew evaporated from the grass. I closed my eyes, enjoying my peace.

"'Morning," I heard Tommy's voice a while later.

My eyes fluttered open as I turned around. He was smiling goofily, with ruffled bright yellow hair and slightly sleepy eyes. I smiled back as he walked towards me, a tall angel that may have dropped off a cloud for all I knew; he carried a cup of his own. He only wore the shorts I'd loaned him: I decided he could keep them because he wore them very well. They showed off his legs, which were strong; a crease separated his quadriceps from his inner thighs with each step he took; his calves were firm but not overworked.

"Morning sleepyhead," I teased. "Sleep well?"

"Yeah, actually, I did," he said, leaning on the railing, his right arm pressed against mine. He made a production of yawning, then rubbed his eyes. I chuckled, and he flashed me that killer smile of his. Shy yet weirdly confident, mostly easy but with a certain unreachable element to it. It made my day, and it wasn't even 7 am yet. And yes, his every expression deserved dedicated observation, a science all its own. Atommysm.

"How's your foot?" I asked him.

"Much better," he said. He wiggled his toes to prove his point.

"I guess that lotion worked after all," I remarked.

"I guess it did," Tommy smiled at me; he looked at the beach. "It's so nice up here," he said.

"Yeah it is," I answered, wishing I could begin every day by his side. I longed to rest my head on his shoulder; I propped my chin on the palm of my hand instead.

We sipped coffee silently, both of us lost in private thoughts and enjoying the view. It was too early for cigarettes.

"Thanks for staying with me last night," he said after a while. I nodded.

"You had a nightmare," I said quietly.

He sighed and scratched his nose impatiently, accidentally spilling his coffee. He set the cup down.

"Yeah, I get my share of those," he said. "But I never remember them."

"It seemed pretty bad, you were mumbling and stuff," I said, placing my own cup on the railing.

He said nothing, but his eyes clearly told me that he did remember. I hesitated, and then reached over and placed a hand on his shoulder in what I hoped was a friendly gesture.

"You can tell me about it anytime you like," I said, squeezing his shoulder slightly.

"I know Jeremy," he said.

"I really mean it," I insisted. He hesitated.

"Thanks," he said. He glanced down at the beach again.

"I'd love to paint this view," he changed the subject.

"Paint?" I repeated.

"Oh yeah. I love painting," he told me.

"You never mentioned it," I replied.

"It's not like I go telling many people," he said. "I keep some stuff to myself."

He continued:

"Painting is a relief to me, like the only solid thing I can hold on to when everything else in my life sucks."

"Yeah, I know what you mean." I thought about my writing.

"Maybe you'd let me come up here one day and draw a bit?" he asked.

"Sure, `course I'd let you; you shouldn't even ask..." I smiled.

"Way cool," he said.

"We should get going now. It's late," I said. He made a face.

"I'd better go get dressed then," he said.

"You do that," I said. "I'll be right down." He squeezed my right shoulder with a grin and left. A while later, I was still smiling.

"Turn right here," Tommy said as trees canopied above us in a part of town known as Pine Grove, where the established and filthy rich families lived. I braked lightly and did as he instructed while asphalt turned to dirt beneath the car wheels. The road to Tommy's home was bumpy and rough. I wondered about the road to his heart. "Probably rocky," I guessed. My first impressions of him had been proven to be right off target, and continued to mutate as I carefully explored his personality. I was once again reminded of the dangers of stereotyping. Not all gorgeous blonds were dumb and stuck-up, and he had shown me that it was okay to be different.

His innocence continued to overwhelm me at times, but he was not naïve; he understood how the world worked, but he had somehow avoided getting caught up in the grind. I suspected he preferred to inhabit his little dream world instead, and reality failed to budge him from this state.

"This is the oldest part of town," I commented. "How did you wind up living here?"

"My old man was born here," he said, surprising me. "We're actually living at my grandmother's place. She's dead," he added.

"I'm sorry," I said.

He said nothing and Eminem's homophobic lyrics prevented silence as he belched out words that offended anyone who wasn't straight, white or stupid.

So men can "elope" and seek happiness together. So Britney liked to show off

bodies - rightfully so, and no straight guys seem to complain about it. So we're not as "enlightened" as Mr. Shady. So what.

I grimaced, appalled by the lyrics. Some people simply refuse to accept the fact that a man may harbor tender feelings towards another man, that women can have interests that transcend gossip --and I don't mean male animal abs-, and that probability and genetics can produce hyper-pigmentation (dark-colored skin) just as easily as hypo-pigmentation (pale skin). I took a left turn as I pictured a world populated exclusively by strong heterosexual rednecks and fair-headed housewives whose only purpose in life was to spread their trim legs for their husbands. I thought about Matthew Shepherd and all the potential Matthew Shepherds in the world, myself included, and Tommy didn't notice the single tear that rolled down my cheek as I imagined being killed because I committed the crime of being myself. I thought about a hypothetical "perfect" hetero jock who was never forced to deal with the confusion of same-sex attraction at age twelve, and felt sorry for him as well as he too was doomed to a world where diversity was seen as a bad thing and all the straightness in the world couldn't save him from being immersed in prejudice, no matter how understanding he may be. I cursed intolerance and pitied anyone who thought that they were better off than others simply because they got the so-called better bargain in a one to ten lottery. I felt despair.

I turned the radio off and lit a cigarette.

After a few more directions we finally turned into Tommy's driveway, which seemed never-ending as it led us deep into a large expanse of tree infested land

"Some garden," I commented, smiling.

"Yeah...this house has been in my family for a long time," he explained. "Dad got to keep it when my grandmother died. I guess we're lucky, we're not rich or anything."

"You're an only child, right?" I asked.

"My dad's a shrink," Tommy went on. "You'll like him."

"A shrink?" I asked uncomfortably. I'm always nervous around psychologists and the way they seem to dissect people.

"Yeah," Tommy answered as I parked the car. "He's a really nice guy," he added as we entered the house.

I followed him through several rooms, and into the kitchen.

"Hi Dad," Tommy said.

My eyes popped out of my skull as I saw Tommy's dad for the first time.

"Oh baby," I muttered as the most gorgeous hunk imaginable turned around from the counter and smiled.

"Hey kiddo," he said, dropping a knife on a plate; he walked towards his son and gave him a big hug. Tommy beamed in delight, and at 6` 4``he was a good two inches taller than his dad. They obviously cared about one another. I gawked.

"What happened to your foot?" the hunk asked as they pulled apart.

"I sprained it in gym class," Tommy explained.

"Did you trip?"

"Kindof," Tommy answered as he glanced at me with a smile. I blushed slightly. "But it's pretty much okay now," he added.

"Dad, this is Jeremy," Tommy continued. "Jeremy, meet my dad."

Hunky fixed his eyes on me and smiled again, offering his hand. His hand squeezed mine confidently as I stared into unbelievably beautiful brown eyes. They hinted green and gold, but were actually warm hazel.

"I'm very pleased to meet you Jeremy," he said smoothly.

"Uhm, yeah, nice to uhmm meet you Mr. Nevers" I managed. He wore a navy suit that outlined all the right places, and he had carefully flipped his dark red tie over his right shoulder to avoid messing it up with food.

"Call me Kevin," he told me.

"Uh, okay," I blushed. He laughed, displaying perfect white teeth, and ran his hands through his neatly combed light blond hair. He was scrubbed, polished and trim, belonging in an underwear catalogue and not in a "dad" role. He looked like Tommy's older brother, but he was probably forty. I could definitely see where Tommy's amazing genes came from.

"I'd better drop my dirty stuff in the washer," Tommy said, leaving. Being alone with Kevin caught me between panic and awe.

"So my son slept over at your place last night," Kevin stated as he openly inspected me.

"Yeah, he did," I said, feeling invaded by his gaze which remained under deep currents. I knew right away that he missed nothing.

"I wish he'd called me," he said. "I was very worried." His voice wasn't accusing, but for some reason I thought he was blaming me. His unreadable eyes raped me one last time before he returned to his breakfast; he offered me coffee and toast, and I declined politely.

"I thought he'd called," I excused myself stupidly, watching his fine features flex as he chewed. Kevin faced me again and the tension dissolved with his grin.

"It's okay. You guys were probably caught up with more important stuff," he said wryly. I couldn't think of an answer, so I remained silent. He looked at me.

"What's your last name?" he asked.

"Marks. Jeremy Marks," I answered.

He paused.

"Nice name," he said quietly. I didn't feel flattered by the hunk's compliment; I was still unnerved.

"Here, Jupiter," Kevin suddenly called, clapping his hands lightly.

A dog shyly entered the kitchen through the back door.

"That's Tommy's dog," Kevin told me as the old thing shuffled towards us.

Jupiter was a small mongrel that could have had parrots and donkeys in his lineage. His color was impossible to describe, a brown, white and black mess. A section of his left ear was missing, and he limped noticeably. His tail was pointed at a weird angle, and he had lost several teeth. Nevertheless, and under the circumstances, he was exceptionally well taken care of, sporting a shiny fur and a very generous belly. His brown eyes were warm.

"He's uhmmm..." I struggled to find a politically correct term. "... Quite something."

"He has been in the family for several years now," Kevin explained. "Tommy had wanted a dog for his birthday, so my ex-wife and I took him to an animal shelter. We had been meaning to get this beautiful tan Labrador for him, but then Tommy saw Jupiter. The guys at the shelter told us that they were going to put the dog to sleep, as a car had run over him and there was not much they could do about his injuries. No one was interested in adopting such an ugly and beaten up dog anyway."

"I see," I said, very interested.

"So Tommy got really upset when he heard this. He decided right away to adopt Jupiter instead of the Lab. Deirdre and I tried to change his mind, but you know how stubborn he can be. He was dead set on getting Jupiter, so we let him have his way, not expecting the mutt to last long. Tommy really put his heart into taking care of the dog though, and it actually got better after a few trips to the vet. To this day, I can't grasp my sons absolute devotion towards the dog: he grooms him day in and day out, he's constantly buying dog cookies, and they even share a bed. I'm worried, though, because I don't think it'll be around for much longer, he's really old and beaten up. Tommy's love kept him going for a long time, but even love has a limit..." he trailed off.

Tommy walked in right then, and his eyes lit up when he saw Jupiter.

"Hey boy!" he exclaimed in delight as the dog instantly scampered towards him, its tail wagging wildly. Tommy dropped to his knees and hugged the old thing, burying his nose in its fur.

"I missed ya," he crooned, petting the dog lovingly. "How's my gorgeous boy, huh," he continued, stroking the dog feverishly. This went on for a moment until Jupiter suddenly started heaving; Tommy quickly pulled away, and bit his lower lip.

"You shouldn't get him so excited," Kevin remarked. Tommy ignored his father as he took Jupiter's snout in his hand, rubbing it very gently. His eyes had misted over, and his face was pained.

"You'll be fine," he whispered as the dog gradually stopped heaving. He embraced the dog again, and Kevin sadly shook his head.

"You're a good boy, a beautiful boy," Tommy's voice broke suddenly, and I had to look away as my heart flooded with love for this incredible, selfless guy. Tommy could have my life if he ever asked.

"Go now," Tommy said, clearing his voice and forcing a smile. "Go find a cute girl and have some fun." The dog growled playfully and licked Tommy's face one last time before trotting out to the garden. Tommy stood up and sighed; he lit a cigarette.

"Thomas, I thought we discussed smoking," Kevin complained immediately; he waved his hands impatiently as if chlorine gas had suddenly filled the kitchen. "And it's so early," he added as if nicotine were somehow more poisonous before midday.

"I won't die right away," Tommy muttered. Kevin didn't appreciate the remark, and his face made this clear as he opened a window. We remained silent for several seconds. I stared at my feet.

"I should go," Kevin said eventually, glancing at his watch. He slid his dirty plates into the dishwasher and adjusted his tie. He was the kind of person who was never late to anything because he was always running ahead of others.

"I'll see ya tonight Dad," Tommy said.

"I hope so," Kevin said, ruffling his son's hair and hugging him quickly. He turned towards me:

"Jeremy, take care," he said; his choice of words seemed odd.

"I will," I said, looking at him curiously. He smiled warmly and winked at me.

"And no more smoking," he warned Tommy, but he was still smiling. Tommy stuck his tongue out at him. Kevin laughed and threw up his hands.

"Kids!" he said. "God help me."

He walked out of the room, composed and pulled together, but I could hear him chuckling as he closed the front door.

"See, I told you he was cool," Tommy said. I nodded in response, unsure.

I followed Tommy out of the kitchen.

"I gotta grab some stuff from my bedroom," Tommy explained as he led the way. I looked around curiously as we walked, noticing that the rooms were very nicely decorated. Even though the house was old, the interiors were modern and lively.

"Dad has a knack for decoration," Tommy told me as we stepped over unpacked boxes in a narrow corridor.

"Yeah, I can tell," I answered.

Tommy opened a door and stepped into his room.

For some reason, I hesitated at the door before entering.

"Are you coming or what?" he smiled.

"Yeah, I'm following you," I answered, and forced my words into action.

His room was divided into two sections.

One was the sleeping area, which was decorated in different shades of blue. The plush carpet was a thick deep blue tone, covering the entire floor. Light crept into the room through long curtains a shade lighter than the carpet; I was pretty amazed by the size of his bed, bigger than any other I'd ever seen, covered with a navy comforter and piles of cloudy pillows. Stacks of textbooks were neatly arranged next to a personal computer on the desk. A bunch of throw cushions were strewn on the floor in a corner of the bedroom; a door at the far right led to his bathroom. The best thing about his place, though, was the woody scent that seeped in through the open windows.

The second section was on a lower area, located towards the left side of the room. I immediately realized what went on there: a short staircase separated the sleeping area from his studio.

The studio's walls and roof were actually thick panes of glass, so it was similar to a big greenhouse. The rugged hardwood floor was spotted with countless colorful smears, a work of art in itself. The place was crammed with canvases and stacks of thick paper; Tommy probably owned every color imaginable in the form of oil paints, water paints and pencils, and he stored them neatly in clear acrylic bins. Paintbrushes of every size and sweep were scattered throughout the studio, as were various paint-stained rags; Tommy needn't be concerned about peepers, as thick vegetation grew outside -- small trees, shrubs and heather -, which protected the room from spying eyes.

"This is amazing," I finally breathed.

"My dad had it built before we moved in," Tommy explained. "I need natural light to paint, so he had the brick walls replaced with solid glass."

"Man, he's really supportive huh," I said in wonder.

"He has always encouraged my painting," he told me.

"No kidding," I said. I couldn't think of many parents who would build their teen son an actual professional painter's studio.

"Want to see some of my paintings?" he asked.

"Yeah," I said.

He walked down to the studio and I followed, knowing that I was entering his private world.

His world was incredibly hot and smelly: the pungent odor of thinner and oil heavily invaded my nostrils.

"It gets pretty warm in here, with sunlight streaming in all day long," he said, grabbing a handle and turning it with a churning motion; this action raised several panes of the glass roof and walls, allowing a light breeze into the room.

He hesitated for a second, facing me.

"I haven't shown this stuff to many people," he admitted.

"If you'd rather keep this to yourself I'll understand," I said what I honestly felt. He hesitated.

"I want to show you," he finally decided, and I felt very happy. I knew it was hard to allow people into ones own world. I doubted there was anything that was more "him" than this room.

I slowly walked around the studio, carefully stepping over canvases and weaving my way around easels. Tommy's wide choice of styles surprised me: although most of the paintings were oil based, I also noticed quite a few carbon black and whites and several drawings painted with plain colored pencils.

His themes were equally varied. Most of the landscapes he chose seemed to be from Florida, as he had depicted a lot of sand and palm trees, although I thought I recognized a couple of west coast settings as well. He had also painted lots of portraits, people who meant nothing to me. Some appeared to be more elaborate than others: a few were very detailed and precise, but most appeared to be blurry and diffuse; I assumed it was a matter of style, but I couldn't know for sure as my artistic knowledge was close to zero. Some of the settings were cheery and bright, while others appeared to be gloomy; his moods seemed to be perfectly represented in them: the sunny Tommy I loved and the darker, more complicated guy I sensed existed and desperately wanted to know.

One painting struck me. He'd named it Black Magic, True Voodoo. He'd painted a sinister, surrealistic setting that looked like a bunch of blotches but somehow conveyed an unnerving brooding feeling.

"This is weird," I said.

"That's my nightmare," he replied shortly. I glanced at him but he refused to look at me. So much for not remembering his bad dreams.

"We should go," he said awkwardly. "We'll be late."

I nodded and followed him silently, a bit stung. I stopped walking again when I noticed another oil painting, a big self-portrait propped on an easel. He was shirtless and bold, staring at me sexily with sparkling blue eyes; I felt an immediate sexual rush as I stared back at this paper Tommy I didn't recognize. It was very strange because, although he'd drawn himself in almost photographic detail, the overall effect just didn't seem right. Nonetheless, it was a gorgeous painting; the choice of model wasn't all that bad either.

"Ain't you humble," I laughed as I checked out the painting. He didn't smile.

"What do you think," he asked. I hesitated for a second because he didn't find my comment funny.

"You've drawn yourself very accurately," I finally said.

"But..." he prodded.

"The look in your eyes... I can't really place it," I said. "You look different." I hoped I wasn't offending him.

"Yeah, I've been told," he said.

"Also, your mole is missing," I pointed out, referring to the tiny mole on his shoulder I'd noticed the previous night, after he'd showered.

"My mole," he repeated. I knew he'd wonder about my comment because it implied I had been checking out his body, and the mole was pretty unnoticeable to begin with.

"On your shoulder?" I said, blushing slightly.

"Oh right," he raised his eyebrows quizzically. "I guess I missed that detail."

"Anyway, you can come over to my place anytime you like, if you still want to go to the widow's walk." I quickly changed the subject.

"Yeah," he said. He was distracted, still thinking about something else. He could definitely be kooky at times.

"Thanks for showing me this stuff," I said quietly. He focused on me this time.

"I'm glad you liked it," he said.

"Yeah. You're really talented," I said. He blushed and stared at the floor.

"We should go," I said.

I followed him up the steps, and watched as he gathered several notebooks, a pack of Sweet Apple chewing gum and a bright neon yellow Zippo lighter.

"Cool lighter," I commented. "Very uh Miami Beach."

He smiled.

"Yeah, I kinda like it myself," he said as he placed the items in his knapsack. "My good buddy back at home gave it to me."

So he had a "buddy" at "home". An irrational twinge of jealousy flooded me, then I felt stupid.

"You don't feel at home here," I reworked his statement.

He didn't answer right away, busily grabbing textbooks from a shelf.

"Not yet," he said, and sighed. I said nothing, slightly hurt, even though his baby homesickness wasn't my business.

He lifted a bonsai and I followed him to the bathroom because he asked me to.

Tommy watered the small pine tree and handed it to me. I sat down on the bathtub edge and watched as he quickly brushed his teeth and flossed, nonchalantly sharing his rituals with me. He splashed cool water on his face and scrubbed it, then inspected his image on the mirror and sighed. I thought that he couldn't possibly be unsatisfied with the reflection.

Tommy opened a cabinet, extracted a pill from a box and swallowed it; he reached for a small bottle and sprayed its musky contents lightly on his neck, and the manly scent of wood and cinnamon invaded the room.

"That smells awesome," I commented as he combed his hair.

"Yeah, it beats sweat," he said wryly as he struggled with a rebellious wisp of hair. Frowning, he opened a faucet and quickly forced the curl down with water.

He washed his hands with Dial soap, spreading the lather on his palms and fingers.

"All done," he announced as he rinsed.

"Finally," I feigned exasperation; I had actually enjoyed watching his little routine.

"I just want to look pretty for you," he smirked as he dried his hands.

I just rolled my eyes, but felt warm inside.

I couldn't care less about revolutions and wars, so I drifted into my own world during History class. The sun shone warmly on my face as I indulged in scenarios that featured Tommy, condoms, pillows and no clothes; I wondered what his body would feel like if we were to wake up next to each other after a night of sex. I pictured telling him I loved him for the first time as the sun drowned in the sea while the sand cooled beneath our butts. I remembered the first time I saw him and wondered if he'd felt the same way; my eyes welled up when I thought about never seeing him again. My classmates were taking notes as his lips invaded my mind, twitching into a smile that was directed at me; I longed to make him smile again and to drive his nightmares away. I loved his innocence, the way he never hurt me intentionally, the fact that he was not afraid of me and that he seemed to understand my hurt without even knowing me.

He was my friend, and it was then that I realized I was truly in love. Deeply, painfully in love, because love sprouts from friendship and not from sex or physical attraction (although obviously those two factors also play a big part). I stared at my hands, slowly spreading my fingers on the sun-stricken desk as the thought sunk into me. "My wrists are nice," I thought weirdly as Thomas Nevers took my heart over for the first genuine time. I smiled, hoping that someone in the room would see me and understand. After a while I decided I might as well pretend to be interested in my class, so I grabbed a notebook.

The page was blank and inviting. I stared at it, biting my lower lip and ignoring my teacher's boring monologue. I casually draped an arm over my desk so no one could see, and put pen to paper:

"My confessions:

1. I'm gay. 2. I love him. 3. The loss of my parents killed me inside. 4. I dream way too much, my life is an illusion. I have issues with reality. 5. I fear I'll never be loved."

I frowned, staring at what I'd written. With a sigh, I added one last item:

"6. Call me pathetic, but I feel I might still have hope."

I tore the page out of my notebook and folded it, secrets in my hands.

He was waiting for me after class, leaning against my car.

"Where have you been?" he asked, but he wasn't whiny or demanding.

I'd been looking for him for the past hour, but I decided not to let him know.

"I was just taking care of some stuff," I said offhandedly. God I cared about him. I unlocked my car. "Hop in, I'll take you home."

The roads were ours as Madonna yakked about the day the music died. Tommy's voice was velvet as he sang along, never missing a note in a song that was purely him.

"And can you teach me how to dance real slo-o-ow?" he sang. I couldn't help blushing, even though he wasn't implying anything.

I can't sing worth a damn, however, I lost all my inhibitions as the chorus rolled along, and we both crooned to the rhythm of the tunes with over-the-top enthusiasm:

"B-aye, B-aye Miss American PAH-EE," we hollered, bidding Miss American Pie goodbye as the music blared from the speakers. I glanced at Tommy as I sang, and I can still remember his face. His blue eyes had lost their intensity but his soul still plagued them as his hair glittered its yellow magic. I noticed his dimples as he returned my smile.

The fun was over as soon as the DJ interrupted the song with some dumb comment.

"That was cool," Tommy said as he lit a cigarette with his yellow lighter.

"Yeah, I love that song. I prefer the original version though," I said; Tommy handed me the cigarette and I took a long drag.

"You have a nice voice," he answered. I swerved and we almost ended up in a ditch because my heart leaped out of my chest. This was my pathetic version of a simple blush.

The rest of the ride was uneventful, and I suddenly felt gloomy as I parked in front of Tommy's house.

"So... I guess I'll see you tomorrow?" I said. Tomorrow was two hundred years away. He nodded.

"You bet," he smiled, clearing the clouds of my mind.

"Bye bye" I said.

"..Miss American Pie..." he smiled. I grinned at him, meeting his eyes despite my best efforts. I hummed Don McLean's song all the way home.

Jason was sitting on my doorsteps, and I couldn't decide how to feel about his presence. I sighed to myself, knowing that I loved him. As a friend.

"Hey Jase," I said. He beamed and hugged me tight. I hugged him back, allowing my hands to brush his hair away so I could nuzzle his neck.

"I've missed you," he breathed.

"Not as much as I've missed you," I said, really meaning it. I loved the way I could be openly affectionate around him.

We hugged for a while.

"How's my favorite babe doin'?" he said as we pulled apart.

"Karen?" I smirked. "I wouldn't know." He thumped me.

"Har fucking har," my best friend said, and then pecked my lips. I kissed him back, keeping passion out of the way. I didn't want him getting any smart ideas.

"You taste so good," he smiled as our lips parted.

"I always do, remember?" I said as I draped an arm around his shoulders and led him inside and into the kitchen.

"Want a drink?" I asked, opening the fridge as he sat on the counter.

"Beer would be nice," he said. I pursed my lips, but grabbed a can from the shelf where I kept his Bud. I always stocked beer for him.

"There ya go," I said, tossing him a can.

"Thanks," he said, opening it with a fizz.

I chose apple juice.

"So what's up," I asked him as I drank my juice. He replied by slowly licking his lips and spreading his legs slightly. I rolled my eyes.

"Perv," I said, smiling. He smiled back and took a long drink from his can.

"You're in love with Blondie," he stated suddenly. I choked, sending apple juice up my nose.

"I knew it," he sighed. He stared at me, and I met his gaze; his green eyes were dim then, but as beautiful as ever. I knew I couldn't keep my secrets from him, mostly because he knew each and every one of them. I trusted him completely though, this amazing guy that had been a part of me since day one. I just hoped he wouldn't feel betrayed.

"Come here," he nodded. I complied silently, moving towards him until my face was only inches away from his.

"God you look good," he sighed after a while. I looked away. He reached out suddenly and pulled me into a tight hug; I couldn't resist him, and leaned my chin on his strong shoulder. He kissed my neck, lingering at my collarbone. Without hesitation, I pulled away from him and slid my shirt over my shoulders.

He knew every inch of my body, so there were no surprises, but his eyes studied me intently anyway. I grabbed his hands and placed them at the top of my pants. He looked at me questioningly and I nodded; he slowly undid the buttons, and I kicked my shoes and jeans out of the way. I silently led him to the breakfast table, and he quickly lost his own workout sweatshirt and shorts. I leaned back on the table and allowed him to rediscover my body. He slowly lowered my boxers, and looked at me with unending love. I knew he wouldn't go too far: I trusted him. He pushed his own boxer briefs down and lay on top of me.

"Just remember that no one will ever love you as much as I do," he whispered in my ear as his big hands rubbed across my chest. My eyes moistened immediately and I held on to my first love, closing my eyes tightly. We held on to each other for a few moments. When I released him, I was shocked to find tears in his eyes. Jason never cried. Never.

"Jesus," I whispered, reaching out to wipe his tears away, completely unnerved and unable to handle them. He pulled his head away, accepting his emotions.

"I need you to understand my feelings," he said, unashamed.

"I've always understood you Jason," I told him. I placed my hands on his waist. "You're my best friend, and no one will ever take your place. But right now, I simply need what I know I can't have."

"I'm scared because the one person I'll never have has always been by my side," he answered with a sigh as he rubbed his eyes. "But I guess we both want it that way."

I kissed his cheek.

"Don't ask me to like him," he warned me. "The guy's seriously weird."

"I don't think he's gay or interested in me," I said. "So don't go peeing around your territory just yet."

Jason smiled his sad smile.

"We'll see," was all he said.

The next morning, Tommy convinced me to ditch class so he could paint the view from my widow's walk.

"I'll use pastels," Tommy was saying as he extracted a bunch of powdery sticks. "I usually prefer oil paints, but I'd like to try out a new pastel technique I read about."

I watched curiously as Tommy set the easel up and propped a thick board on it. He carefully taped a large sheet of light orange paper to the board, and proceeded to open an oversized lunchbox that contained his paints

"I thought you were supposed to use white paper?" I said.

"Not with pastels. See, you only need to cover certain areas with the powder, otherwise the painting becomes too pasty. So you have to choose the right paper and work with its color to get the effect you want; I picked orange because I want the scene to be warm."

"But the sky isn't orange," I pointed out.

"Nope, but the clouds are sometimes," he said.

"So if you wanted the painting to be gloomy you'd have to use black paper?" I asked.

"No, black transforms the powdered color too much, although it can be done," he explained patiently. "Dark blue is a better choice though because it doesn't alter the colors at all; shadows are blue, not black."

I continued to question him as he rubbed several pastels down with white rice, which removes smudges from the sticks and keeps the colors vibrant. I'd never been interested in painting, but I was really taken by his enthusiasm; he was obviously passionate about his hobby.

And he was very talented.

He started off by quickly sketching the view with a pencil, lightly stroking the lead over the paper; he then began rubbing pastels into the drawing, using the weirdest colors: the grass was yellow and the sky was still orange; the sand was light blue. As he continued to mix the colors, though, the painting gradually made sense until the sea crashed out of the paper, blue and green and red, and the sky was milky white, the way it looks during very hot days. Tommy brought loaded life into his drawing.

Morning quickly turned to midday, and the heat rose.

"Want a sandwich?" I asked as my stomach growled.

"Sure, if you're having one," Tommy said distractedly as he continued to paint. We had fallen silent, mostly because I sensed he needed to concentrate and I didn't want to interrupt his enjoyment.

"Yeah, I'm starving," I said as I got up. "I'll be right back."

Cool air enveloped me as I opened the fridge; I grabbed bread and dug out some cheese and pickles, recalling Tommy's usual cafeteria choice. I chose ham and tomatoes for myself.

I quickly slapped a few sandwiches together and carried them upstairs, along with several cans of beer and pop.

He had removed tee shirt, and I ogled.

"I'm sweating my butt off," he said as I set our lunch down on the floor. He wiped his forehead to make his point.

"Yeah, it's pretty warm," I said, but I wasn't complaining. I offered him a drink, and he chose beer; he took a long swig as beads of sweat rolled down his chest, weaving around tiny golden hairs. I picked up the scent of Pure Sport deodorant that bravely attempted to hide perspiration.

I handed him a sandwich and he took it gratefully; he said nothing as he wolfed it down quickly. I picked uninterestedly at my own food, my hunger all but forgotten, and stole glances at him instead. So maybe one does lose weight when in love after all.

We lay back after lunch, enjoying the sun. I removed my own shirt and hoped I wouldn't burn too badly. A few minutes later found me snoozing lightly.

"A whale!" Tommy cried suddenly, startling me.

"Where, what?" I muttered as I opened my eyes. I rolled over and peered at the beach a hundred feet below us.

"Sorry I awoke you," he said. "Look, up there," he added, pointing at the sky.

"It only takes one beer for whales to fly," I snickered.

"The cloud, you idiot," he retorted. I glanced up and found myself staring at a huge whale-shaped cloud.

"Nah, it looks like a rabbit to me," I said smugly, trying to annoy him.

He didn't bite.

"Different people see different things," he answered. We watched silently as more clouds drifted overhead.

"What do you see there?" he asked, pointing at a complicated formation.

I saw two guys kissing.

"I dunno," I said instead.

"I see an umbrella," Tommy informed me romantically. I rolled my eyes.

We found boats, trees and elephants on skateboards as the afternoon wore on.

After a while, we both stood up, and Tommy sprayed his drawing with lacquer as I leaned on the railing.

"When I was younger, my dad and I used to find shapes in the clouds very often," Tommy said, moving next to me as strong winds speedily cleared the sky.

"That's nice," I answered, pleasantly picturing the hunk and baby Tommy staring at the clouds.

"He always made the effort to be the best dad," he went on. "We're very attached."

"What about your mother?" I asked bluntly. He stiffened noticeably.

"She's all right," he answered quietly. He held on to the railing impatiently and stood on his toes.

"Do you miss her?" I continued to probe, thinking about my own parents.

"Not really," he said. "Things are better now." He was referring to the divorce. I said nothing because I missed both my parents impossibly. Tommy was very lucky, and he didn't know it.

"Are you close to your parents?" Tommy asked me. It was my turn to stiffen as I felt all the blood draining from my face.

"Well, uhm..." I said, and sighed. A damn inside of me finally burst wide open.

"They're dead," I blurted.

"What?" he asked incredulously, facing me with a shocked expression.

"My parents died in a plane crash two months ago," I said with a mechanic voice as I stared straight through him.

He knew I was serious.

"Jesus Christ," he breathed. I couldn't meet his gaze as I felt his pity, so I closed my eyes. Silence ensued, thick and sickly, as he began to understand me.

Then I felt his arms around me silently, unasked questions in his embrace.

Tommy showered first while I cleaned up my room. My mind was humming relentlessly, and I tried to shut my thoughts out as I hastily straightened pillows and blankets.

Neither of us spoke as I entered the bathroom after he'd finished. I could tell he needed a little space and time to work on what I'd told him, and I respected that.

I showered dry sweat and pastel powder off my body, and wished I could wash my pains away too. Still, I felt very relieved.

He sat on a sofa in the living room, hugging his legs to his chest, and smoking. I sat on the opposite end of the couch and faced him.

"Why didn't you tell me?" he asked after a while.

"Because I didn't trust you," I answered. "We've only known each other for a short while." The fact that I had begun to trust him was implicit in my words.

He nodded.

"I understand." He eyed me seriously. "I knew something was up with your parents, so I asked my cousin about it. She told me to ask you about it myself, but I never imagined this."

I mentally thanked Karen for respecting me.

"I tried to tell you many times," I said. "But I just couldn't find the right words."

Tommy stood up and paced.

"I'm not going to say I'm sorry," he finally said. "I know you hate pity." He was right.

"You seem to know a lot about me," I replied.

"But I want you to know that, in a way, I feel your pain," he continued. "I know what it's like to lose people you love. And if you ever want to talk about it, I'm here for you."

"Thank you," I whispered and bit my lower lip. He moved towards me and placed his hands on my shoulders, lowering his face until it was only inches away from mine.

"I really mean it," he said softly. "Don't hide inside that stubborn head of yours. You can count on me. Always."

I nodded, unable to speak. I stared at his lips. He smiled gently and released me. I tried to find the right words to thank him as he stared at a framed picture of my parents. I stood up and joined him.

"You take after your dad," he said after a while. "But your eyes are your mother's."

"They had a wonderful life," I said sadly.

"Yeah, they had you," he answered gently. He hugged me for the first time, surprising me. I held on tightly.

"Thank you," I whispered almost inaudibly.

He pulled back and pretended to punch my chin, smiling goofily.

"Methinks you're turning into mush," he teased. I blushed.

We both nearly jumped out of our skins as a door suddenly slammed open. Kimmy walked into my living room, eyes wild and arms folded across her chest. Tommy quickly moved away from me with the face of a cornered animal. Kim raised an eyebrow but said nothing; we stared at each other for what seemed like an eternity. Her anger seemed to boil out of her body in thick waves.

"Ain't this cozy," she finally spat.

"What the hell are you doing here," I blurted angrily, still shocked. She had never barged in like this before.

"I just came to confirm my suspicions," she sneered at Tommy. "You are a fucking faggot," she whispered.

"I'm not!" Tommy exclaimed indignantly.

She just shook her head and left. I closed my eyes miserably, just for a second. It was over.

Tommy was looking at me with weird eyes.

"Should we go after her?" he said softly.

I couldn't bring myself to look at him. My own suspicions had been confirmed as well, I had heard it from him. He wasn't gay.

"I'll go, you stay here," I couldn't keep the pained tremble out of my voice.

He didn't protest as I walked out into the night.

Kim hadn't wandered far; in fact, she has sitting on the grass a few feet away from the front door. She knew I'd chase after her. I braced myself for I knew what was coming.

"What's he doing here, Jeremy?" she cut to the chase as I plopped down next to her.

"Nothing much, we were just hanging out," I replied innocently, trying to keep my defensiveness out of my voice, failing miserably. "He's keeping me company."

"I see. Why?"

"Why what," I replied evenly.

"Why are you doing this to me?" she asked. I stared at her incredulously.

"I ain't doing nothing to you," I tried to sound decisive, but ended up being ridiculous. "Just cos you two have issues doesn't mean I can't be friendly towards both of you."

"Yeah, I'd say you two are very close friends," she stated with a deadly look in her eyes.

"What's that supposed to mean?" I asked her, feeling trapped and claustrophobic.

"Oh, I think you should know," she said. I stood up abruptly.

"You can leave now," I said coldly, striding towards the house.

I heard her sigh loudly as she got up, but I didn't look back.

"Jeremy, wait," she said. I ignored those words, refusing to be bossed around by her, and scared out of my mind. Her footsteps were brisk behind me, so I changed direction, not wanting to create yet another scene in front of Tommy. I quickened my pace, moving towards the top of the cliff.

"C'mon Jeremy, don't do this," she called again. Wordlessly, I reached the ledge and sat down, my feet dangling over nothing. She joined me soon after, and sat down beside me; I knew this was a big effort for her, as she was terrified of heights.

"Hey..." she said. "I didn't mean to say that."

"I know," I sighed. "These days, its seems like we're all saying lots of things we later regret." I knew I was going to tell her, and I wondered if I'd regret it. My mind was reeling with hundreds of convenient excuses, but deep down I knew what I had to do.

"Yeah... Doing things we later regret too," she mused.

"Kimmy, look," I took a deep breath. She stared at me miserably, probably knowing what was coming. "I'm uhmm..."

Sorry? Depressed? Angry at you? Not a nice guy? Weird? Immensely disappointed? Confused? Very Confused? Nope, I'm....

"Gay?" My voice trembled, and it ended up sounding like a question, but I'd finally said it. Relief invaded me and for a moment I was immersed in a strange moment of blissful happiness. Until I saw her face, that is.

"Shit," she muttered. "Christ..." She hugged her legs and covered her face with her hands. I closed my own eyes, the consequences of my words dawning on me. There was no going back now.

"Kimmy, I'm sorry," I began, not knowing what to say. She shook her head and held up one hand, and I shut up, and just let her be. I lit a cigarette and peered down at the ocean, hypnotized by it. I couldn't believe this moment had actually happened.

Presently, Kimmy looked up and my heart broke when I saw tears streaking her beautiful face. The sight of this tough, invincible girl reduced to a mass of tears and snot frightened me in a strange way, like witnessing a mountain collapse to the ground, or the defeat of a lion. It hurt me too, because I was the only one to blame for it. I was suddenly at her side on the swings, stealing her last green M&M, bravely defending her in elementary school from that idiot bully who had dared shove her when she was only six... no one messed with my baby best friend and got away with it. But she wasn't a kid anymore. She was a teenage girl, and she was in love with me, probably since she could remember. I shook my head miserably.

"Kim," I said sadly, "I'm sorry I kept this from you. I know I..." She interrupted my speech by suddenly wrapping her arms around me tightly, pressing her damp cheek to mine.

"Goddamn you, Jeremy" she whispered with tears in her voice. "Goddamn you..."

I closed my eyes tightly, fighting tears, feeling her pain. We held on to each other for a long while, and I sadly bid farewell to my lifelong girl -- friend, as nothing would ever be the same between us again, not after this. She wanted something she would simply never have, and I was to blame. My throat contracted as, once again, I cursed my nature.

She eventually pulled away from me, and looked into my eyes.

"I always knew," she said sadly. "I just never wanted to accept it." Her eyes welled up again.

"I just wish I'd had the guts to tell you long before today," I said frankly, my lower lip trembling; I wouldn't cry, however. She sighed, shaking her head.

"No Jeremy, you told me today because you were ready to do so," she said. "This is probably the most important thing you'll ever tell me in your life, and I understand how hard it was for you. You don't have to be sorry, this is not your fault. But, in your own way, you've told me millions of times. I was just too much in love with you to realize."

I looked down.

"I'm sorry," I whispered again.

"Don't. It's my own fault. I just so blinded, and chose to see something that wasn't true... I should have known though, no straight guy can resist me." We both laughed.

"Does Jason know?" she asked after a while. I had expected that question, and debated over my answer. I decided to be honest.

"Yes he does," I said sincerely. I left out the bit about Jason's own bisexuality, not wanting to go there, mostly because I had no right.

She nodded.

"I should have known, I guess. You two are best buddies, and you prolly tell each other everything."

Close enough, I thought.

"Yeah, he has known for a while," I said. "He's okay with it."

"I would expect so," she said shortly. We said nothing for a while.

"So I guess we're competing now?" she said.

I raised an eyebrow.

"Competing?" I repeated worriedly.

"You know. Over Tommy," she explained.

"You must be kidding," I said, shocked.

"Actually," she said, "I am. I'm not interested in him. I told you, I've always wanted you."

I looked down.

"But it's okay," she continued. "I'll get over you, eventually."

"Am I that disposable?" I asked with a pained smile.

"Yeah..." she said with tears in her eyes and a smile. "Not... You're the most amazing guy alive, Jeremy. I hope you know that."

I shook my head, not believing her.

"But I'm gay..." I whispered.

"So what? It's all part of the package. Your sexual orientation doesn't make you any less perfect to me. It just makes you... unattainable. I'll always love you, even knowing I'll never have you nor your package," she said slyly. I shoved her playfully, and she hit my arm lightly.

"Gay basher!" I cried in mock horror. She laughed and I hugged her. I was happy when she didn't tense up at my embrace. I thought of something I really wanted to do.

"May I kiss you?" I asked hesitatingly, feeling the urge to kiss a girl for the first - and only, I might add -- time in my life. She pursed her lips.

"I don't think so," she answered quietly.

"I'm sorry." I said quickly.

She just laughed and grabbed my head, pulling my face towards hers.

"Hey, hey, easy," I laughed as her lips neared mine.

"Not a chance," she smiled. The kiss was sweet and very brief, not too bad but definitely not my thing.

"Gawd, you're even better than I imagined," she cried with mock enthusiasm as soon as it was over. I blushed immediately.

"I could really get used to those," she added.

"Don't," I said, suppressing a smile.

"Thank you Jeremy," she said, suddenly serious. "Thank you for trusting me."

"Thank you for loving me," I answered. She nodded, and I wiped her tears away.

She sighed and said:

"I should leave now. I have lots to think about."

I nodded, understanding.

"Would you mind if I stopped inside for a second, though? I really need to talk to Tommy."

"Go ahead," I said. "I'll wait right here." I didn't feel the need to ask her to keep quiet about my confession, I trusted her.

She went inside, and I stared at the stars. Man, what a day. I vaguely wondered about Kim and Tommy's conversation.

Kimmy was out several minutes later.

"Everything okay between you two?" I asked her.

"Yep," she answered. "Leaving now."

"Okay Kimby. See you tomorrow."

"See ya," she said. I sadly stared at her as she walked to her car. I knew she was hurting very much inside, and my feelings were confirmed when the car's interior lights illuminated her face for a split second. Soon, she was gone.

I walked back inside, my mind racing. Tommy said nothing, but he looked at me curiously. I couldn't decide how to feel right then. I hated him for not being gay.

"Everything okay?" he asked after a few minutes. I just nodded, miserable and struggling to bottle up my feelings again. He patted my shoulder gently, but his touch did nothing to comfort me. Eventually, though, I managed to pull myself together.

"Women..." I said with a weak smile. It was his turn to be silent. I wondered about their talk. I started to ask, and then fell silent.

"It's late, I'll drive you home," I said instead, because I didn't want him around anymore, and I certainly didn't want him sleeping over.

He paused.

"You sure? Maybe I could keep you company," he said.

"It's not like I'm not used to being alone," I said with an edge, then forced my voice into friendliness: "I appreciate your intentions though."

"Okay, let me get my things," he said, eyeing me dubiously.

I closed my eyes miserably as he went upstairs. He wasn't gay.

Sometimes he was as quiet as a cat, so I didn't hear him until he was standing in front of me again.

"Ready to go?" I asked, trying to keep the sadness out of my voice. He just nodded and we walked to the doorway in silence. He stopped suddenly and slid the painting into my hands.

"You can keep this," he said, as if he'd suddenly decided to let me have it. I stared at him.

"I can see the real thing every day," I said. "I want you to have it That was the whole point of your coming here." At least technically.

"Yeah, but you are all about black, gray and blue," he said quietly. "Maybe the painting will bring some nicer colors into your life. You need to see some orange and red."

I bristled immediately and began to bark back defensively, then caught myself. He wasn't criticizing me, he was just showing me he cared. I stared at him in wonder, unable to grasp what he saw in me

"Maybe I do," I finally said. "Thanks." I hugged the painting to my chest.

"Let me sign it," he said. He produced a black pencil and I handed him the painting. He scribbled something on the back and set it down on a coffee table.

"You can read it later," he said.

"Okay," I replied. "Thanks.... Tomboy." His new nickname just sprouted out of my mouth, surprising me; I don't usually like nicknames, but this one seemed really appropriate.

"I like that," he smiled. "Now take me home."

Tbc

Feelings IX

IX. Gracie Mayfair.

Hope you liked this chapter; I appreciate all comments (positive AND negative) bluedistraction@aol.com . As I mentioned in October, I lost a lot of unread emails at my old Hotmail account; please re-send and I'll be happy to respond. The FAQ is still available.