The Boyfriend

The Boyfriend 1

The Boyfriend

by

Keith

This is a slightly revised issue of the original text that appeared in the Nifty Archive begining in October, 2001.
Basically, it just has the look I originally wanted it to have. The story is the same.

This story contains details of a gay relationship. If you object to this, or it is illegal for you to read such things, then it is best that you exit right now. Also, if you are under eighteen (and twenty-one in some areas), you shouldn't be reading this. There. That complies with the niceties, since if you're already here you already know about that, anyway. Just don't get caught, okay?

 © is by Keith Mystery, all rights are reserved. This story may be dowloaded and stored for personal use, or even shared use. It MAY NOT be distributed for a fee, or posted on any web site without the express permission of the author. It MAY NOT be distributed by any other electronic or print method otherwise. Not one word may be changed without the permission of the author.

This story also appears at WWW.Archerland.Net -
drop by and read some of the other fine stories being hosted there.

I am a glutton for email, so drop me a note at
Keith_Hackwriter@lycos.com
All notes are answered... eventually. Please, no pictures. Oh, and if you're wondering, yes, I am not above fishing for e-mail.

Chapter 1

"Love Story"

We sat there in the dark, staring at a movie that bored me to tears and I couldn't even bitch about that because I had picked it. That's the worst part of being out on a date, when you pick the wrong thing and you can't stand it after awhile, you have to live with it. And from what I could see Jamie was actually enjoying it so I didn't want to just lean over to him and say let's get out of here. If you've ever seen "Unbreakable", you know what I mean. In the TV ads they made it sound like another "Sixth Sense," but this story line was so bad it couldn't be hawked as a cheap comic book to a ten year old. I mean how lame CAN it be? Security Guard becomes Super Hero. Bruce Willis as a guy who gives up a career in pro sports for love. Right. Like Bruce Willis could give a damn about anything besides himself. Calls for more acting ability than he'll ever have to bring that off.

But I had picked the movie, so Jamie had gone along with it just like he always did. Jamie goes along with almost everything I say anyway. Jamie always gives in to what I want. Sometimes I think its because he's too damn dumb to come up with anything by himself.

No, that's not fair. Jamie isn't dumb. He's not the quickest guy in the world sometimes, but he isn't dumb even though a lot of people get that idea. He's 6'2" and weighs almost 200lbs, and none of it fat, either---we are talking solid guy here. Ever see one of those Marine recruiting posters? That's Jamie. Square jawed, rock solid all-American boy. Well, except for the earrings, but he only wears two at a time. His hair is the blondest you could find without the use of hair dye and his eyes are the clearest, hardest blue this side of the polar sky. He's 17, almost 18, and a senior in high school. Not in the highest jock group, but a jock anyway, just second string football. He'll smile at you and just tell you that he doesn't have the killer instinct to make the first squad, and that's the truth. He's gentle, soft spoken, and generous. He is that guy you hear about who would give you the shirt off his back. In spite of his size, he was never the bullying or intimidating kind. The chicks at school worship him, but they all think he's just too shy for his own good because he never dates. Even my older sister Donna said she'd drag him in back of the stadium and do him, and the one thing her soon to be ex-husband and I ever agreed on was she had the sex drive of a seventy year old nun.

They laid in wait for him, but he just smiled and eased out of it, playing the big good-hearted dufus, too slow to pick up on what they were after. Or rather what they wanted to give him. See, Jamie has a big secret and that is me. Jamie likes his boys, and right now I am his boy. I am not his first. Sometimes I pray to God that I am not his last. Tonight was one of those times.

Now, with all this going for him, you'd think that I had to be some kind of knockout myself, right?

Ermmmmmm, not quite. I'm 5'6", kind of blah light brown hair, and that pale yellowy-brown eye color that my mother calls hazel. Soaking wet I maybe weigh 128lbs (yeah, I make a note about every one of them). My Adam's apple is pronounced and my nose is just a BIT too big. Large mouth, too, and in more ways than one, but I do have a great smile if I have to give myself points for something. I'm no beastie but I'm really not much above ordinary. I am un-athletic to the point of being a wuss, and smart enough to almost get myself into the nerd category at school. Oh, I'm fit enough mind you; I like to run, but I would be a lousy candidate for the track team---I'm too short for the sprints, and my long distance pace keeps me tight but is never going to get me any trophies, so I just run for the sheer hell of it. It keeps me lean and tight. It also keeps me from bulking up at all so a lot of people think I'm like 15, even if I am 18. I'm good with a one-liner, so a lot of people like having me around, and that keeps me on the right side of the nerd line. Still...

Unlikely couple, right?

Not really. See, in our school neither of us knows with any certainty if there are more than two gay guys -- in other words, us. The odds are in our favor that there are more, but right now we only know about each other, so I guess you can say we fell in together by default. Lack of alternatives made us boy friends.

Looking back of course I could make a story about how we found each other in a sea of despair, longing and loneliness; two kindred lost souls seeking each other out and falling madly in love.

I wish.

I've read all those stories up on the Nifty Archive, and I soak them up every chance I get because there's this big mushy romantic in me. I wanted that first scary stolen kiss, that big scene where we look into each other's eyes and tell each other how much we have secretly yearned for one another for all these many years, where we kiss and hear the choir and see the fireworks, when we both decide it's to be us against the straight world forever.

But the reality was more like . . . well, read it here.

God, that whole thing was such a mess, more from the stroke story section than Teen Love Stories....

* * * * *

It was August, the summer of 2000 fading fast, and even though the sun had slipped down, the sky was still way too bright for me when I slid my Tercel into the Route 3 rest area and grabbed the first spot I could.

I'd heard about the place in jokes, and even checked it out on-line at a cruising site. Huh. A cruising site for cruising sites. Kewl, huh? I'd been scouting it out during broad daylight since June and been telling myself that I was going to give it a try. Here it was, just two weeks before Labor Day and the start of my senior year, and I still didn't have the balls to go in.

I had decided back in June that this was going to be the summer that I did It. The big It, the one every teenage boy, straight or gay, yearns for, fantasizes about, lies about. This was going to be the summer I got laid. I had a driver's license, access to a car, trusting parents who went away a lot, an older sister who had gotten married and moved out and a job to finance my cruising. It was a great job, too. I had managed to get a spot at Borders' Books up at The Loop, the new shopping center. Now, I know that working at a book store doesn't sound all that cool, but Border's also has a great music section (can you say discount on CDs?), a small but trendy clothing section (ok, accessories and caps, but the stuff is way cooler than what you usually see), and a reputation for a great gay magazine and literary section. That meant plenty of gay guys, right? And some of them had to be young; maybe not as young as me, but close enough. Besides, I'd be eighteen in the fall anyway, when I started my senior year. Why couldn't I hook up with some kewl college stud that dropped by for the latest issue of Advocate or Genre? It was an option, and I had decided that this summer I was going to explore all my options. Borders' was one step in my master plan of Getting Laid.

My schedule would be a mix of days and evenings, and I figured if I had a day shift, I could use the time in the evening to hit the mall up in Salem and do a little looking around there. An evening shift gave me time to hit the beach in Salisbury or Hampton, and I had a modest selection of immodest Speedos to attract attention. I may be short and slender (jeez, that DOES sound better than skinny), but I am tight, and my running had given me a great set of legs and a pretty good ass. I filled the front nicely too; I'm no monster down there, but there is plenty to fill one of those snug little pouches. Besides, I love the beach. Short and skinny yes, but at least I'm one of those guys that actually bronzes nicely with only a mild sunscreen, and my normally dull light brown hair gets these wild NATURAL golden high lights running through it. So each day I combed the beach, hanging out at the State Reservation Pavilion (I had been hearing rumors about that place since I was old enough to know what sex was) and checking out the Black Rocks Barrier that protected the mouth of the non-existent harbor of the Merrimack River. I spent hours sunning myself in those tight little suits and trying to look sexy. I guess I did to a degree, because I always had chicks moving in on me. The attention was nice but the gender was the wrong one for me, and I wondered where all the gay men were that supposedly came here looking for young guys. If they were there, they didn't seem to notice me much. The best I ever got was in invite for some pick-up volleyball. Aside from that about the only male attention I got was from Officer Paul Cayman, who after seeing me three days a week for the month of July sort of wandered over to me one afternoon.

"Go easy kid."

"Huh?"

"Just a word of warning---go easy. If you're selling, move on. If you're giving it away, that's cool, just don't get caught. If you do, I promise you the lock-up and a call to your parents."

I know I turned red, and I started to protest, but he just turned and walked off. I did notice he had a great ass. Wasn't that old, either. Probably a summer cop, some college guy picking up some bucks and college credits in criminal justice by protecting the summer sun people of the Massachusetts beaches. I took his word to heart though, and spent some extra time up in Hampton. There were a lot of guys up that way, too. But every now and again I'd still go to Salisbury... hoping... and avoiding Officer Cayman.

The Mall at Rockingham Park in Salem, NH also became one of my favorite areas. How many stories had I read about pickups at malls? You dressed cool, shopped, hung out on the benches or played in the arcade and sooner or later some hot stud dripping with sincerity and honesty moves on you and the two of you head off to his place. To be honest this one guy did check me out every time I went. He was about fifty, had a face that looked like he had been walloped not with the ugly stick, but actually had the whole forest land on him. He was damn nice though, and while he never got insistent about anything or made a nuisance of himself, you got the idea that he would be more than happy to help a young guy out. Then he'd be off, and every now and then he would see me and just say hi and stop for a couple minutes of casual conversation before moving off. He never hinted at sex. Sometimes I kept an eye on him to see who else he spoke to, but he ran one of those booths selling cheap jewelry and gaudy paintings so he knew pretty much everyone. I suppose if I had just asked, he would have steered me the right way, but I never did.

A couple of times I did sense some eye contact and flirting from a distance from other directions and those few times damned if I didn't suddenly start running into almost everyone I knew. Timing was all. My timing seemed to truly suck.

Well, my three-pronged assault on losing my virginity seemed to fizzle. I saw a lot of copies of gay magazines and novels passing over the counter, but generally they were either too old or just plain not interested in a kid. Most of them would stare at the counter while I rang up the sale like I didn't exist, or maybe they were hoping they didn't. The only bright spots were my manager Karen (well, one of the assistant managers really) who had to be the funniest chick I ever met, and Dave Sciuoto. I knew Dave somewhat from school. He was a good-looking guy with black hair and eyes almost as dark. He was short but still taller than me, and a similar slender build but it all seemed to go together a lot different with him. He had one of those bodies that clothes hung on just right, whether they came from Macy's or Wall-Mart. His features were fine and even, and everything registered on his very expressive face. You always knew what kind of mood Dave was in, and it was usually a good one. Not that he was that annoying type of "sees some good in everything", but he was really a great guy. He had a stunner of a smile exposing teeth that would never need an orthodontist and an even better laugh. He was Italian (like Sciuoto could be anything else, right?) with that slightly olive skin. Years of middle school and high school gym classes and showers told me he was almost hairless, way different from the other Italian kids in the school who were already turning into hair rugs (oh and hey, I know what you're thinking, and yeah, I DO look around in the locker room and I admit it. And I've caught more than one other straight(?) kid checking to see how he compares. Difference between them and me is they don't have to give the cold water an extra twist in the shower).

Dave also had something else that was terrific. Remember that Kodak commercial awhile back, the one where they're passing around some cheap camera and one of the girls snaps a picture of this dude's VERY nice ass just before the teacher grabs it? Well that's what Dave's ass looked like. I mean it was the perfect picture of young male butthood, and that perfection was how Karen picked up on me being gay. She must have caught me checking it more than once but never really said anything. But one day I was going over some order lists at the main counter and Dave was working on a display, bent over and just a few feet away. I must have had that dazed look I sometimes get when I am miles away from reality. She saw me and busted me for it. After that she busted something else on me every chance she got, but she never said a word to anyone else, especially Dave. She even admired my taste.

"Ask him out."

"Huh?"

"I said 'Ask him out.' What have you got to lose?"

My mouth got very small and my eyes very wide "You mean Dave's..."

"I have no idea, but what the hell? He's cute. He's nice. What have you got to lose?"

I slumped down and looked up at her. "How long have you been out of high school, Karen?"

She didn't answer of course, just narrowed her eyes some and gave me That Look women use when their age comes up. The question is not an appropriate one. "Ok, try and think way, WAY back when. What happened to the gay kid when you went to school?"

She did that Dana Scully thing with her lips. "He got the shit kicked out of him."

I nodded. "I go to school with Dave, Karen. He might very well be like me, but if he isn't, I go back this September and he drops the 'g' word, I spend nine months in hell."

"Massachusetts has laws, Chris. School's are safe havens for gay youth."

"They have laws against criminal assault when you were my age?"

"......"

"And make no mistake about it Karen, a teacher or guidance counselor can still use the term 'gay youth' and make it sound like 'fuckin faggot.'"

She sighed, scowling some. "High School still sucks, I guess."

I leaned forward on the counter and sighed my agreement. She rubbed the back of my neck, and her voice had that low soothing sound some people can do. "Your time will come, Chris. You're cute and cool and nice. One day, if you play your cards right, it will come."

"Oh, it comes all right. It's just my right hand is getting worn out playing solitaire."

She laughed, and swatted me across the butt. "There's a new shipment loaded with stuff for the Gay Studies and Literature section, and I saw this really hot looking pair of college boys browsing over there a few minutes ago. Why don't you go over and do some stock?"

My eyebrows shot up.

"Just remember though, take 'em into the back room for the orgy, ok? That's new carpeting over there and I don't want stains all over everything.

I was very mature, and stuck my tongue out at her.

"And Chris? You're right. Dave's IS great," she said, and took my place leaning on the counter pretending to go over the order sheets while Dave was still bent over his display. I sniggered as I went off and busied myself unpacking a box of stuff while the two college guys looked everything over excluding me, I think, but all they did was giggle once or twice and they left.

And that's where things had stood all that summer -- me looking and wishing, hanging out and peeking, and day-dreaming about Dave Sciuoto's backside. Then one Friday I just couldn't take it any more. I had been toting a half rock inside my Dockers all day at work, and about an hour before my shift ended I decided I was going to do more than just hang at the mall or wander aimlessly at Hampton that night. My parents were going away for the weekend and I was going to be on my own, so I had the perfect situation going for me if I could just find someone else to share it with. I knew this time my hand and the few improvised "toys" I had acquired were not going to cut it tonight. I at least had to try something different or I was going to go out of my mind. Thank God Dave was off that day or I would probably have made a move on him in the stock room.

I raced home in my beat up Tercel and threw my clothes off as I made my way to the upstairs, headed for the shower which I immediately cranked up to cold hoping to take the edge off things. It worked for a while, but after slipping on a pair of shorts and a tee and some flip flops I could feel it stirring again by the time I got down to the kitchen. I had half a bologna sandwich thrown together when I just said, "screw this" and hoped I had remembered to lock the door when I came in and that my parents hadn't suddenly made a U-turn on the highway today. My man business didn't take long.

* * * * *

So, here we are again. The August sun has finally gone down and its gradually beginning to darken and I am sitting in a rest area on Route 3. It's one of the old style ones, a sharp ramp off the highway, and plenty of woods around it. Picnic tables and a big map, but no "facilities" as they call them except for a quick step off to the side behind some trees. It's Friday evening, and the highway itself is packed with vacation travelers heading for the mountains of New Hampshire and shoppers for the "bargains" in the no-sales-tax state, just prices that are 5-10% higher than these same people would have paid in Massachusetts. I sat in the car, the woods blocking the sight and a lot of the sounds of the rushing motorway and looked around me. It was just that hour I guess they call twilight, when the shadows begin and things start becoming a little less distinct. There were half a dozen cars in here already including my own. One guy who was maybe forty was walking up and down the cracked asphalt sidewalk, looking each car over and presumably the occupant as well. Oh, yeah, occupant, as in singular. According to the website that led me here, this rest area was one of the crusiest spots in northern Middlesex County. I don't know how they polled it, but they guaranteed that 90% of those stopping would be gay men looking for.... companionship. Sounded good to me. I was tired of being in the minority every place I went. Anyways, the old dude was checking things out and taking his time about it. Eventually it was my turn --- I had taken the first spot I saw when I came in, just off the ramp. That way I figured I could keep a better eye on things.

He paused, looking directly at me, and smiled.

I froze in my seat with my head aimed straight ahead, shaking a bit and desperate not to show it. Shit, what if he starts to hit on me? What was I going to say? Yeah I thought I might be approached by some older guys, but somehow when I thought of older I pictured some guy in his twenties, not someone almost my dad's age. I mean he wasn't bad to look at really, no gut or anything and he was dressed nice and all, but DAMN I didn't want my first time to be with someone who COULD have been the father of one of my friends. Bisexuality exists, right? The potential was there. If I had to meet a bi guy, I'd just rather he was out of the daddy danger zone.

I heard a quiet laugh and saw him move back up the row. He approached one of the cars, and leaned forward to talk to someone. Just they way he stood and talked told me they knew one another.

He looked back at me, and then a head was stuck out the window and this other not-so-older guy looked my way, and I could hear them both laughing. I sat there, fuming. Just what was so damned funny? Were they so old they couldn't remember what it was like the first time? Weren't they ever seventeen and so horny they didn't know what else to do? Or maybe they did remember, and it was the memory of their own nervousness that triggered their laughter. I smiled a bit then, and shook my head. If nothing else, they had both just helped me to relax. It also ticked me off enough to make a decision.

I checked the face and hair in the mirror. Great tan, I thought, and those high lights in my normally dishwater hair were great. I had worn a white A&F polo (not too baggy, and not too long I hoped; I had enough problems trying to look over fifteen), and had spent some time picking out a pair of shorts that were just right. Not long, not the shapeless cargo shorts everybody (including me) wore. These were a pair of red running shorts, cut a bit high. I had skipped underwear, but they had a nice jock in the crotch to keep the goods from flopping around too much but loose enough to allow for easy access if The Moment ever came. Cotton, too. That silky synthetic stuff manufacturers use looks good and feels nice and hangs right in all the best places just the right way, but eeeeeeeewwwwwwwwwwwww they hold in the heat and the sweat. I didn't want someone to get a whiff and gag on me. Well, yeah gagging was ok maybe but I didn't want them doing it because of the smell. I had debated wearing a hat, but today my hair was an asset and I wanted it on display. Sandals sounded like a kewl idea and looked good, until I thought about the woods. I dug out a pair of plain white Nikes.

I had tried my "casual" act in front of the full-length mirror at home leaning and standing different ways, trying out different expressions that would make me look cool and sexy. Everything from Aguilar Sultry Sex Pot to Brendan Behr Naivete. Of course I looked ridiculous.

Then there were the "enhancements'. At one point I even tried out a sock in the crotch thinking that might help some. That just made me look ridiculous and deformed. Besides, a casual brush of the hand would tip off anyone only interested in size that I was faking it. In the end I decided it was pointless trying these things out, so I just settled for what I thought would make me look kind of hot which was just how I was, and aside for a pair of small silver hoop earrings (can't I just remember the bitching when I came home with those on the first time) left everything else the way it was. I figured if I could walk and talk and not trip over my tongue I would do just fine.

Except I wasn't doing just fine.

The twilight turned to night, and the cars came and went at a steady stream. I could see shadows slipping into the woods. A few times I could hear someone let out a deep moan not more than a few feet from me. I could see the guys walking, leaning against the hoods of their cars, sitting on picnic tables. Sometimes they paired up and talked a bit and moved on. Sometimes they got into each of their cars and drove off. A few just got into the car of one or the other and then you'd see a head suddenly disappear. Others drifted into the woods, while others came out hurriedly and drove off. Some actually peeled out. Me, I sat in my cramped Toyota trying to get up the nerve just to open the door and step into the night. I had been thinking of doing that for over an hour now. Then suddenly I did, and was standing beside my car, kicking the door shut. I shuffled over and plopped myself down on the hood. There must have been thirty-five cars in here now, all single occupancy, parked on either side of the driveway and pulled up onto the grass when the strip narrowed down. I glanced at the woods, but decided I wasn't that nuts. I'm only 5'6", and while 90% of the guys in here were gay (or so they said) I didn't much want to wind up running into one of the minority who thought it might be fun to beat up on a small gay guy. Yes, I HAVE heard of Matthew Shepherd, thank you. And while what I was doing wasn't all that smart or all that safe, there were limits to just how dumb I was going to be. I wasn't about to wander from my car. And no matter how horny I was (and believe me, I was) I was NOT going to go running into those woods, or just jump at the first guy who made a move. We would talk for some first, get to know each other a little. Being friends is important, right? Oh, sure, I was looking for friendship. Then, after a while...

"Hey stud."

"Huh?"

A silhouette stepped out of the darkness. Then some of the moonlight hit his face, and I could make out his features. Not bad, I thought. Bigger than me, but who wasn't? Maybe mid-twenties, nice build. Strange build though--- muscular arms and chest, real narrow at the waist but skinny legs. Tats and no shirt. VERY small cut offs. Work boots? Well, weird but kind of cute. "Jesus baby, you just out of grade school?" A rough, harsh voice I didn't take to.

"I'm seventeen!"

"Uh, huh. Almost legal. Young hung and full of...." Then he grabbed my dick.

I panicked, tried to pull myself back but he was all over me in a second, blocking my escape and almost face to face. I could smell beer, and sweat...and something ugly. No, his face wasn't ugly, anything but. But his attitude was. "C'mon baby lets go into them woods and I can show you the best time you'll ever have."

"...um..."

"Whatsa matter, baby? Little chicky boi afraid of the big hung stud?"

"Look... please.... "

"Yeah, you'll be saying please," he said and leaned his face into mine and took a nip on my nose. "Please sir, go deeper." Then my chin. "Please sir, go harder." He bit my lower lip. "Please sir, pass me to your friends. So, you ready for some real action kid?"

I was scared, more scared than I had ever been of anything else. He had both my wrists pinned to the hood, leaning me back so I could get no leverage on him. My legs were spread and he pressed himself straight into my crotch, kicking my feet wider to throw me off balance. I was leaned back over the hood and there was no way I could bring a knee up to hit anything that would do any good. "Come on chicken boy, give your new daddy a kiss..."

He was airborne. I didn't know how, I didn't know why. I didn't care. I saw him jerk back suddenly, rise up, and fly into the side of a trash bucket.

I stood there shaking for a few seconds and came to one of the better decisions I would make that night. I got back into my car and did my best to make the Tercel leave its first patch of rubber, ever. Aside from a quick check to see if I had wet myself (I hadn't) the only thing I did was drive the thirty odd miles back to Haverhill as quickly as I could. I screeched to a halt in the drive way and hit the ground before the engine had even died and ran inside, fumbling the lock and looking over my shoulder. Common sense told me the freak was still back on Rte 3 wondering what the hell had hit him, but another part of me wanted the safety of my house, of my bedroom, of my bed, and my covers pulled up over my head. I slammed and locked the door behind me in one move, and leaned against it panting. Then I staggered into the kitchen, shaking, and opened the fridge and grabbed a beer. I never did much care for the stuff, still don't, but I wanted something that might give me a buzz and I didn't have a clue how mixed drinks worked. Beer you just opened and swilled. Swilling was good. That was safe, that was easy.

I checked the clock in the kitchen. Only 9:45. Two and a half hours ago I had looked at that same clock and swore the next time I saw it I wasn't going to be a virgin any more. Right now I was thankful I was breathing. I just sat and drank. I almost stopped shaking when I heard a knock at the door.

I froze.

Jesus, how the hell did he find me?

Another knock, just a bit louder than last time, followed by one of those almost-shout whispers.

"Chris?"

If it was my buddy from the rest area, his voice had a familiar tone to it although I couldn't quite place it. I knew the voice, just not well.

I slowly narrowed the distance between the door and me. I could see a large frame outlined by the porch light. Hesitation. Terror? Oh yeah, terror. I pulled back the sheer hanging there and looked out. I knew that face and I sighed in relief. It was Jamie Levesque, not my attacker, thank God. I knew him from school, but far from well. We traveled in different circles. We never had any problems but we never spoke much either. He was in a few of my classes, too. What the hell was he doing here?

I opened the door, trying to smile, trying not to shake. As soon as it opened he grabbed my shoulders with both hands, gripping my shoulders so hard in those incredibly big hands of his it hurt. He leaned down some (6'2", remember?) and looked me directly in the eyes.

He spoke in that odd voice of his, a low register with a breathless quality. Remember the classic dumb jock Dauber on TV a few years ago? Jamie sounds like that. Somehow when he went to speak the first sound you expected to hear was "duh." A lot of people hearing him, seeing him for the first time always assumed 'just another dumb jock' but in reality Jamie was smarter than most. "Buddy are you ok?"

I never really knew what flabbergasted was until that moment. "Well ... yeah ... why shouldn't I be?" What's up with this?

Relief registered on his face. "When that guy grabbed you I thought he hurt you is all, and I had to make sure you were all right."

Panic. Jamie had seen me? Omigod. Quick, think of a reason to be there.

"Don't worry Chris, he won't be able to hurt you again. Or anyone else for that matter, at least for awhile." His hands were still on my shoulders, gripping me. Totally unexpected, he pulled me to his chest and hugged me close, so close I had trouble breathing. "Jesus, I'm so glad you're ok."

I was confused, and still scared, and was having a little trouble breathing from the bear hug I was getting so I tried pushing this hulk back. "What are you talking about Jamie? Umm, I mean, I've been home all night...," I started unconvincingly.

He eased me back, but his arms were still on my shoulders. He was grinning, and there was mischief in his eyes. "C'mon, Chris. I know that car out there, and the hood's still hot from screamin' down the highway. And if someone else was driving it, damn if he wasn't dressed same as you, and damn if he didn't LOOK just like you."

Trapped. I was about to be outed. I knew that. One of the reasons I had driven almost thirty miles to Rte 3 was the hope of avoiding anyone from Haverhill. There's a good cruisy spot here in town by the river and there's a big gay dance club on Water Street I could have at least hung around if not in. But of course, that meant I could have been spotted oh, so easy and I was oh, so ready NOT to come out. Just over the state line on I-93 was another rest area that was the same story-way too close. Rte 3 is remote for us, and that far south and west is completely out of the way for anyone from here. I was busted big time and I knew it.

One hand cupped my chin gently and he tilted my head up to his. Jamie had this big ass smile on his face, his eyes glowed in his head. "Don't worry babe, its cool. I was there for the same thing."

I stepped back and stared.

He looked at the beer on the table. "Got another one of those?"

"Um, yeah, hold on." I popped another cold one for him.

"LaBatts. Good stuff." He sipped some. I grabbed my can and guzzled again. "Hey, easy. I know you don't hang with the booze crew so that stuff will kick you fast."

I opened another can for myself and took him into the living room. I dropped to the center of the couch. He slid in next to me, closer than he should have.

He seemed relaxed. I was still scared out of my mind, my third shock of the night. I looked at Jamie. How could this guy be gay? He was built solid. He had a reputation for being one of the nicest guys at the school, which I had to admit was true, because even though we weren't really friends, whenever we had spoken he'd always been nice to me. He even slammed a guy who was giving me a hard time when we were freshmen. The guy had been a junior but he never bothered me again, and no one ever messed with Jamie after that. That included the guy he slammed, who actually got him into one of the better cliques at school. Girls fell on him, but he joked with the guys that he had plans and staying in Haverhill raising a kid wasn't one of them so they left him alone when he didn't nail them. Jesus, he played football too. He'd done some hockey for a while but passed on it after sophomore year. I mean, that was what I heard anyway. It wasn't like he and I had ever discussed it, or anything else for that matter. Now here he was sipping a beer with me, sitting next to me on my couch -- rather closely on my couch -- and he had basically told me he was gay.

I gave it a shot. "So you were there for the same thing? You had to take a leak?"

He gave me a look I can't describe but it said volumes. "Chris, you don't sit in your car for an hour and a half thinking of taking a leak. I saw you pull in. I was parked up on the grass way on the left. And I KNOW your car, Chris. We were both there for the same reason. I'll spell it out if I have to. We were both looking for a guy. A guy to have sex with."

I was silent, starting to shake some; yeah, I was that scared. Then I felt his arm across my shoulders, and suddenly Jamie Levesque was very close and very much in gentle contact with me. I looked up into his face and saw nothing like the fear I felt, just deep concern and...what else? His arm across my back felt good. His large fingers suddenly caressing my cheek felt even better. He leaned into me, and I felt his full lips brushing lightly against mine. It was the best feeling I ever had.

Don't ask me what happened next. We were flat out on the couch, angling around each other. I was trying to yank him on top of me and he was doing his damndest not to crush me. Then we were on the floor, and I was on top of him. We both started laughing. I jerked up and with a jolt of pain sent the coffee table over a few feet and then fell off him, still laughing. Suddenly I felt something cold dribbling down. The beers had spilled, and I was drenched with it. Jamie was grinning ear to ear as he took off his black tee and started mopping up first the carpet, then the table.

"C'mon," I said. "Upstairs."

"But the rug. Your mom...."

"Would just wonder where the clean spot came from. Besides, they're coming to do the carpets down here tomorrow anyway."

"So -- you said upstairs -- does that mean?" his eyebrows shot up.

"Damn right it does. Unless you don't want to....."

"NO! I mean, YEAH! I mean..... aw hell I don't know what I mean."

"Well, I do. Upstairs and to the left."

"Your parents..........."

"Are up at Lake Winnepesaukee for the weekend. Won't be back till late Sunday."

Then he startled me. He picked me up in his arms like I was a five year old, grinning at me like a six year old, and up the stairs we went.

We stood in the door way to my room, stepped in, and he eased me down. I wrapped an arm around him, and he leaned down to kiss me again, not full tongue and mouth like the last had turned into but just a sweet kiss. I took his hand and led him to the bed, a double. I could tell he was pleased it was a double looking at it. I tried to picture us in my old single. I snickered. Jamie looked at me questioning and I told him what I was thinking. He laughed.

"Please. That's like a guy at U-Mass Lowell I was seeing for awhile. Bunk beds even. He had the upper bunk."

I was shocked. "You mean you guys... with a room mate... "

He shook his head. "Just when his roomie was out of town, or not coming back till late."

I tried to picture it, and giggled. All that -- meaning Jamie -- and another guy, in a narrow upper bunk? I looked Jamie over again. No shirt this time, just his powerful chest, and I was fascinated with his nipples. They were rock hard and standing out. I wanted to taste those, pinch those, and finger those... I reached into my pocket deliberately, and trying for nonchalance emptied the contents. A string of Sheiks. Then several small "personal- sized" tubes of KY. I was sending a message here and I wanted to make sure it was read.

Jamie read very well, and ran his fingers slowly up my rib cage, but he shook his head. "I don't use those," he said.

I stepped back. "Look, Jamie, I'm sorry..."

"Because I need these," he added, and reached into the pocket of his black jeans and pulled out several black packets and handed them to me. Condoms I saw, but a bigger package. I looked at the gold lettering on the black plastic. 'Magnum.' I felt the size of the ring and this time it was my eyebrows that shot up.

"Yours would just split open on me, Chris. I mean I'm clean and all, no worries there, but still..."

I swallowed hard. "I've never... I mean... "

"We don't have to do it that way."

"Yes. We do," I stated firmly.

He picked up a smooth wooden cylinder about ten inches long with a tapered, rounded end. I had sanded it very smooth, and coated it heavily with urethane. He was smiling. "I got something like this at home," he said with a smirk. Then he looked at me with that killer grin of his again. "I guess you're not a complete virgin, huh?"

I smiled some myself just then. "The net is a wonderful thing. Funny what you can pick up on the Web," I said innocently.

"Not to mention along the highway. 'It's Only Me From Across The Sea'?"

"Yeah, but he suggested starting with a candle. I've had to move on."

He stripped his pants off and stood in front of me. His look was different, very serious. So was his voice. "Now, listen. If you want it this way, okay we can try. If you don't think you can handle it, we stop, even if I'm all the way in. Even if I'm almost there, you call it and we stop. The last thing I want to do is hurt you. You say the word. And if I think you're holding back, we stop anyway. I don't want to be taking you to the hospital for internal bleeding."

"Awfully conceited about yourself, aren't you?"

He kicked his boxers off.

"Still think I'm conceited?"

My jaw dropped. I just hoped the Magnum's were big enough.

* * * * *

The first time I heard someone talk about it, I just shrugged and figured it was just something someone said, nothing that was really possible, and even though I was too young then to understand what they were saying and had no concept of what gay was, it sounded interesting to me as an idea. Later on when I did understand things like gay, I still wondered if it was possible. Then one day on the net, I found out just how possible it was. I had thousands of pictures showing just how possible it was, and that a lot of men liked doing it and receiving it. Myself, I liked the whole idea of it, but I was fascinated with the receiving end of things. From the first moment I saw the image appear slowly in my AOL browser proving that men could do exactly that to each other, I began looking at the guy on the bottom and thinking how much I wanted to be him. I read the stories, and gleaned information about how to ease into it. Some websites offered very clear and explicit instructions on just how a young virgin male could best prepare himself to receive. I practiced with a self-made dildo, that wooden cylinder. I enjoyed the feelings I had when it was inside me as I slowly stroked myself. I know when I used it I always came heavier. I understood how to relax my muscles, and learned to push down and not tighten up. Any average guy I could have probably taken easily, if slowly. But Jamie was very definitely not average. Even for an experienced man, taking Jamie would be a very slow and careful process.

He did everything he could to make it easy for me, to relax me. He even did something else I had only imagined might happen some day, and I wasn't sure that I would be able to return the favor, but Jamie never hesitated for a moment. What he did felt incredible. He also told me later that it was something he truly enjoyed because he was doing it for my pleasure, not just something he was doing to make me feel better about things. Maybe, I thought to myself, one of these days I can return the favor... When he finished, his slicked fingers helped prepare me even more, and given his hands I was surprised when he announced he had inserted a third, and that we were ready to try.

We took it slow and easy, first with me very slowly easing him into me by gradually lowering myself onto him. It took forever, we had to stop and sometimes I had to go up instead of down but finally I felt his body under my butt, and I totally relaxed. He thrust up some but slowly and carefully. I rose and fell in a slow, steady rhythm setting our pace. Eventually, all the pain ebbed away and we gradually worked ourselves into the position I really wanted, that all my fantasies told me was the right way. I looked at that handsome face above me, covered with sweat, heard his heavy breathing. I locked my legs around his neck and pulled him down onto me trying to make him increase his pace, but he was slow and steady, still afraid that if he really let go it would hurt me. Then his jaw locked up and a sudden hard, savage thrust almost split me in half. I know I yelped. I knew what had happened. And I was in heaven, knowing that I had brought him the deep pleasure so much different than the pleasure he had been giving to me so slowly and steadily for.... I have no idea. It had seemed to take forever but it still wasn't long enough.

He eased out of me, and I heard a popping sound and suddenly I felt so empty, and so weak. Slowly he began kissing my body. The he gave me my second First that night (well, third if you count the kissing...oh yeah and fourth for the way he loosened me up). Jamie could do magic things with his mouth, and he did as many to me as he could before the oh-so-short fuse in me went off. I lay there content, waiting for him to just draw close to me and take me in his arms again.

In all the stories I had ever read, it was always the same; the guy spoons you, and the two of you drift off into blissful sleep. Deep sensuous dreams, and a magic morning after. I was ready for it, all of it.

That's when romance died. I felt this sharp crack across my backside and heard those hellishly fateful words.

"Dude, that was one awesome hump. What say we hook up?"

To be continued...

© 2001-2002 by Keith Mystery.

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