This story is completely fiction, any resemblance to anyone living or dead is purely coincidental. The story will eventual contain sexual situation between teenage males, if this isn't your bag of tea, or you just don't wanna read it, then don't.
RYAN'S ODYSSEY
CHAPTER ONE
The coffee table was strewn with empty beer bottles, a couple of bottles of Jose Cuervo 1800 tequila, two or three shot glasses, and various other bottles of whiskey I couldn't remember if I drank or not. The sounds of Outkast were blazing through the stereo system, well the twenty or more people in the room were either sitting around, standing around, or dancing.
To put it simply, everybody seemed to be having a great time. I was sitting in a large chair, a beer in my hand, trying my hardest to force it down. I knew I had had a lot to drink, but if anybody was to ask me if I was drunk, I would have simple said no, but I am feeling kinda buzzed. If you got drunk, or at least admitted to it, then you were a light weight, but getting buzzed was the goal of everyperson at the party.
I tilted the beer bottle toward my mouth, and with one drink downed the last of the contents of the bottle. The song by Outkast was just ending, when I heard the opening strands of Pink's "Most girls" start pounding through the stereo speakers, I loved the song, so I stood up and started dancing along with everyone else. When we partied, we never danced with partners, everybody just kinda danced together. The song ended and I was starting to feel a little light headed, so with out much ceremony, I made my way outside to get some fresh air.
"Hey Ryan," I heard a voice behind me call.
I turned around to see Kyle Thomas, who owned the house, standing in the door way. "Are you okay."
"Yeah," I answered, "I just needed to get some air, it was getting kinda warm in there."
"Let me get a couple of beers, "he said, " and we can sit out here and just shoot the shit if you'ld like."
"No thanks, Kyle," I said, "I think I'm just gonna go ahead and split on home. I had a fucking great time."
"Hey, bro" He said, "be careful driving home." And with that he closed the door behind him.
When I got to my truck, I knew without a doubt that I was shitfaced drunk, buzzed at came and went after the third shot of Cuervo, and it was all downhill from there. I struggled to put the key in the ignition and pull out onto the street in front of Kyle's house and make the short drive, everything in town was a short drive, to my house.
I never actually got away from the curb, when the flashing red lights started to blind me. what the fuck, I thought, I don't need this bullshit. It was the third time in a month I had been pulled over by the cops, but the last two times I hadn't been drinking, so I was fortunate to still have my license. I wasn't actually driving, at least not yet, I was just sitting behind the wheel, with the engine running. It couldn't have been labeled as drunk driving even though there was probably some law against it.
"Well, Ryan," Officer Sanchez said, "were do you think your planning on going."
"Home," I replied, the alchol making me a little braver then I would have otherwise been. "Now if you'll get the fuck away from my truck, I'll be on my way, and if your not gonna move then you better fucking arrest me."
"It would be my pleasure," He said, "Let me see what I could get you with. Number one, minor in possession, Number two public intoxication, and Number three, attempting to drive a motor vehicle well under the influence of alchol. You thought that by not pulling off the curb, you weren't drunk driving, well you were wrong Einstein."
I was told to shut the engine of the truck off and get out. Officer Sanchez didn't handcuff me. Instead he led me to his patrol car, opened the backdoor and pushed me inside.
"I'm not gonna take you in," he said, "Instead I'm just gonna take you home, but if I see you or even hear of you out tonight, I'll book your ass so face your head will spin. Do I make myself clear."
I didn't say anything, I just slumped down in the backseat of his patrol car.
I was just between that area of completely awake and deep slumber, when the knock on the door came. I had a real good idea who it was. Heck, it wasn't the first time this month it had happened.
"Hello, Robert," I said, when I opened the door , and saw him standing there with my son, Ryan, next to him.
"Sorry, Tricia," he said, "Ryan's drunk and was attempting to drive home."
"I wasn't..." Ryan began to say, but I stopped him mid sentence..
"Shut up. I don't want to hear you, in fact, I don't even want to see you. Know you get your ass to your room and I'll deal with you in the morning."
"Whatever," he said, before stomping to his room.
"I'm sorry Robert, "I said, "I don't know why he's been acting like this lately."
Robert just smiled and said, "He's a teenager."
Tricia really didn't have a problem with her son drinking alcohol. She had in fact on more then one occasion bought him and his friends beer, but the only rule she had was they were to drink it at the house, and if any of them got to drunk, then she would drive them home, or they would stay there and sleep it off. He had never been a troubled kid, so she was kinda having trouble figuring out why he was all of a sudden it was becoming a common occurance for the police to bring him home. She had managed to raise both her children by herself for the last fourteen years. Of course there were times, she had wished there was a man around the house to help Ryan with some of the growing pains of becoming a young man, and answer some of the questions she didn't know much about.
My head felt a little tight, and I could feel the rumbling of my stomach, as I rolled over onto my bed, placed the pillow over my head, and tried to block out the rays of sunlight sneaking in through the window. Saturday, the day I usually slept in 'till at least eleven.
But not this day.
At around seven the door to my room flung open and my mother was yelling at me to get up.
"Ryan Paul Suttermill," She yelled, "You get your ass out of that bed, right now. And if you made any plans to hang with your friends today, I suggest you cancel them. In fact I think you better cancel them for the rest of the week, and every Friday and Saturday for the next two months."
Now I realize I should have just done as she said without saying a word, but you tell me one teenager who can do that. Instead of doing as I was told, I got mouthy with her.
"The fucking cops are only out to get me," I said.
She started laughing, "You are so stupid sometimes. Robert bought you home.
He didn't take you to jail, where you would have spent the night, because I won't have went and picked you up. You would have lost your license 'till your eighteen. And they're out to get you."
She turned around and walked out of the room.
I could tell she was pissed. I was sure it wasn't because I had got drunk, hell she had bought me alcohol and watched me and my friends get shit-faced drunk in the front room for my sixteenth birthday. I figured it might have been because the cops brought me home for the third time that month. Whatever the reasoning I decided I had better not piss her off anymore. When I got to the kitchen she was sitting at the table drinking her cup of coffee. I grabbed my own cup of coffee and sat down next to her. The silence between us was erie.
"Ryan, " she finally said, "If you're having any kind of problem, I would appreciate it if you would talk to me. Your behavior over the last month will not be tolerated. Me and Robyn are going to the Grocery store and then to visit your grandmother, we will be back around three, and in that time I want you to clean your room. And I don't wanna hear you say it's my room, just close the door if you don't wanna look at it. I want you to wash the dishes, mop the kitchen floor, do the laundry, and dust every piece of furniture in this house. When I get back, I'll find some more things for you to do."
Now would probably be as good a time as any to tell you a little bit about myself. As you already know my name is Ryan Paul Suttermill, I turned sixteen two months ago. I'm around five foot ten, one hundred forty-five pounds with blonde hair I like to keep long down the middle and short on the sides. I'm not really into sports that much, except for football. Last year I lead the divison in rushing and was second in the entire state behind some black guy from Weston High, who had set the national high school individual rushing record for a season with 3,235 yards in one season. I don't consider myself to be good looking, but then what person wakes up everymorning, looks at themselves in the mirror and says "I"m a really nice looking kid." My father went to work one day when I was two, and I have never heard from him since. My mother had met a man, when I was eight, and they had my sister Robin, but it turned out he was married to another women in another state. I quess you could say I'm just your average teenage boy with average teenage problems.
Well that's not entirely true.
I do have one problem. You see I'm gay.
Some people can think back to the exact moment when they realized they were gay. When I think about it, I can not pinpoint one moment in my life, when the realization came to light. Most of the things I do subconsciously. I would find myself renting movies based on how many cute boys the movie had in it. Secretly buying Aaron Carter, Billy Gilman, N'Sync, Backstreet Boys, Hanson, and The Wilkinson's CD, and not because I thought Amanda was a babe, but because I liked the way Tyler looked on the cover. These were my secret stash, I listened to by myself, with my friends I listened to what was supposedly cool.
If your wondering if I have ever had sex with another male, well the answer is no.
I had made a promise to myself, a long time ago, that nobody and I mean nobody would ever learn of my true feelings. I would supress them and be a normal hetero-sexual male.