Newsgroups: rec.arts.erotica Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d Organization: rec.arts.erotica immoderation Keywords: mm teen X-Moderator-Review: 6: low on sex; imperative tone, strong characters
Archive-name: obj-hs
Warning: What follows has male/male content, but little in the way of sex. Forgive me, I simply can't write sex in this story when it's simply a fantasy involving a real person who's straight. Please send any and all comments to the appropriate place. Grammar, spelling corrections welcomed. Don't claim my story is yours. Don't troll for reposts. If you don't like the subject, don't flame. Just go away.
If you're under 18, go ahead and read this. After all, I know all your secrets already.
Note: This is a minor corrected version as opposed to the one that appeared in alt.sex.stories. I had the lyrics wrong to two songs (one is a breakbeat song, so figuring out the lyrics was obviously hard), and some spelling errors. So I'm anal.
Also: If you're gonna archive this, try putting it in /pub/erotica/gay/high-school.
I'm 17, and in college, but also in high school and so is Niles... come on. Living at home, all that... high school. Duh. Not college.
Well...
Object
You say the world has come between us
And our lives have come between us
Still I know you just don't care
-- Deep Blue Something, "Breakfast At Tiffany's"
He came to me again. I don't know, I shouldn't be surprised, but I always am. It's a basic thing, a primal fear, I suppose. I don't expect it. I always expect that something will have changed and suddenly I'll be on my own again, alone. Scared. Bored.
But he came to me again.
I sat on the bleachers and watched him run, grab, catch, pound into the others. It always seemed pretty mindless to me, a way to express the whole primal thing. But then, who am I to judge?
He took off his helmet, smiled in my direction. Of course, he can't really acknowledge me much more than that in public, and that's what strikes the fear, the desperation in me.
Then the coach called them all together, gave them whatever speech he normally gave them and they ran off to the gym building and presumably to the showers.
I will admit a shameless curiosity there. But I digress.
I was waiting in the car when he returned. Returned? I suppose that's the best way to explain it. When he's away, it's painful in a way I don't understand. A different kind of painful than before we... truly met each other.
Niles was smiling his typical huge bright smile. Infectious, arousing. I mustered a grin and asked, "How did practice go?" even though it really didn't matter.
"Oh, it was okay."
"So what are you doing tonight?"
"Nothing. And what are you doing tonight?"
"Oh, I think I can pencil you in for a couple of hours."
He laughs and looks out the window, waving to some friend as we drive off.
Presently we arrive at his house, and he looks out the window again.
"I'll come get you at eight, okay?" I proclaim.
"Sure, that'll be great," he says, smiling once more. He could melt rocks with that smile. He reaches over, patting me on the leg, a touch that excites me so thoroughly and so silently. Sometimes, I wish he didn't do such things. He notices my state and grins even wider. "That'll be great," he repeats.
The door closes and he heads for his house. I pause for a moment, scanning his form, the butt made by God. Allow me my vices.
This is the man I fell in love with, 6'1", and 200-some-odd pounds. The actual bodily numbers don't matter so much as the way he fills out his own form.
Myself, I'm not so much to look at. I've always considered myself more to listen to. Perhaps that's another source of my great anxiety.
I sharply arise from my reverie and put the car in gear. A fifteen-minute drive puts me at home amidst sighs and horrid thoughts.
Eventually I relax. I put in the token appearance at dinner, moderately passing for the seventeen-year old I'm expected to be.
And then I'm free again and in my car. Pedal down, roaring at the speed limit (damn my driving record!), trying to make up for lost time. Music blaring, emotions reeling. Tension, nervousness, excitement.
I cannot bear to see you leave me, I'm begging you don't go
And when you tell me that you love me, sometimes I just don't know
-- Awesome 3, "Don't Go"
I pull up at his house at 8:17. SHIT! God, if I didn't have to worry about losing my license...
He walks out the door, dressed to the nines. Me, I'm just plodding along in a shirt and some jeans. Okay, so once more I'm left wondering.
"Sorry, I'm late, parentals and all..."
"I understand, Andrew, relax... I have them too."
"God, Niles, I... um, you look really nice tonight."
It is then I notice his scent: pure man mixed with some cologne I can't place. I didn't even slap that on. Underclassed, inadequate.
"Say it, Andrew."
"I, uh... I love you." I lean towards him, hoping for a kiss. My heart races at the prospect.
"Not here, are you crazy? We're still in front of my house!"
"Oh. Yeah." I fucked up again. What else is new?
"I love you too, Andrew. You know that, don't you? Now drive," he charms, laughing.
A feeling of spillage, a broken but not quite broken heart is the feeling as I smile. Happiness of an extreme. An end to my means.
He touches my leg again. I practically jump from the electricity.
There's not a lot of folks around here
We don't have much, but what we've got, we hold dear.
-- Adam's Farm, "There's Nothing That Rhymes With Racine"
I drive as quickly as possible. As legal. Okay, I went a little over. We arrive at our usual place for rendezvous. I bar myself from describing it simply to prevent its discovery. Sorry, nothing personal.
I sit down on the couch and wait, my back to an arm.
He sits down, then pivots. Lays, head in my lap. I run my hands through his hair and he begins to speak.
"They don't understand me. At all. It's all about getting drunk, getting high, getting women to have sex with them. It's plastic, totally expendable. Meaningless. It's nothing to do with creation for them. I wrote a story, and none of them cared. You know, the one when I was a little kid? None of them wanted to hear it. I didn't bother reading it, they would've just laughed anyway."
I run my hands through his hair, and lean over, kissing him on the forehead. He sighs and says, "Sometimes I wonder. I feel so messed up inside. But then you come back and I feel better. Do you understand?"
"Yes, I do," I say, running my hands down his neck, onto his chest.
"I love you," he says.
"That's all you have to say," I say.
I don't like to kiss and tell
The looks you give they cast a spell
And I'm not one for quantity
The school of angels, coming for me
-- Channel 69, "Exposure"
-- Moderator, rec.arts.erotica. Submissions to erotica@unix.amherst.edu. Administrative mail to erotica-request@unix.amherst.edu. Please, no reposts, first drafts, or requests for "subscriptions," stories, GIFs, or archive sites.