The TNT Files, Chapter 4
The following story is fiction. It describes sexually-explicit erotic events between males. If you are offended by this material, are too young, or live in an area where it is not allowed, don't read it. In the world of this story, the characters don't always use condoms. In the real world, everybody should practice safe sex.
The authors retain all rights. No reproductions or links to other sites are allowed without the authors' consent.
The song lyrics belong to Nick Cave.
Now, has everybody gone and read 'Dr. Tim and the Boys' in the college section? 'Cause if you haven't you won't understand much of this. Go on, folks, read it. You'll thank me later...
Rib-cracking hugs to Evan, Patrick, Ash, Mickey, Sara, and Tim for their friendship and encouragement, and special thanks to Tim for sending me all those lovely letters...
'This bud of love...may prove a beauteous flower...' --Tom
Onesillyrat@aol.com Part 4: All down my veins...
Timmyboy,
We haven't known each other for that long, but we're buddies, right? Sooo, you gotta do your buddy Tom a favor! For obvious reasons you'll have to install a waiting list - for all those guys who'll want you to do to them what Ced did to Tim. Pretty pretty please, put me on top of that list, will you?
Tommy's a Tiger who needs his Mead!!!
Meow! Roar! GROWWL!
--Tom
Tommyboy,
Ced has done a lot of things to Tim. I'm not sure just what you have in mind, though the possibilities are intriguing.
If you are referring to the last night before Ced went back home, I can tell you that it was pretty frustrating for Tim. Every time Tim thought they were getting into a groove, Ced stopped. Schrecklich!! My namesake in the story admits that perhaps he deserved that, but it was hardly the most satisfying time he and Ced had had together. (And, of course Tim is still thinking about how to get back at Ced and Trey for their escapade in class.)
I'm flattered, though, by your request, and you'll be at the top of my list for whatever we can cook up whenever we get together.
Until then, just remember that mead is a very sweet concoction.
Your buddy,
Tim
Hi Tim, buddy,
Greetings from Swinging London.
I'm staying at a hostel near Great Russell St, close to the BM. 4 guys per room, but it's halfway cheep. The breakfast's horrible, though. They cook the eggs (sunny side up) on the plates on which they're served - disgusting!
Went to see the Marbles and the Mummies today. The night-life ain't half bad either. At the Marquee last night, I had a hard time keeping the guys off my ass. Must have been that mesh-shirt...
Oh man, when I got here, I was so horned-up and ready for it, and now when I can have them, I don't want them. I feel so restless. I have a bus ticket to Penzance in my pocket, for tomorrow. If you want to write, I can check my mail there.
Take care!
--Tom
Tommy,
What the fuck are you going to do in Penzance, of all sleepy little places? I know exactly where it is, but I can't imagine what you could do there this time of year. Too cold for swimming!
Oh well, I guess Rosy Palm is a companion who goes everywhere. Think of me when you and Rosy are having a session.
I'm sending Di chapter 15 with its edits and slight emendations for you to look at when you get back.
Tom, I'm proud, babe, to have this chapter as part of my story. Your two narratives by Chaz have really made the big lug the lovable character he is. Thanks, young stud.
Oh, and watch out for Pirates!
Love,
Tim
Hi Tim,
The sea is calm to-night...
Penzance is always too cold for swimming, if you ask me! Did you know that pen means head, and zance holy ground? I'm a little ways east of it, in Lamorna Cove. There's a little cafe with view on the bay where they serve the best Cornish Cream Tea ever. The first time I was there, I put the clotted cream into my tea instead of on the scones, and my, the Cornish had fun!
Today I'll go visit the Piper and the Merry Maidens - they got turned to stone, 'cause they danced on a Sunday... Some part of me's hard as stone, too, as I'm sitting here, thinking of you. God Tim, what you do to me! Sometimes I'm glad there's an ocean between us. One touch of your hand and I'd be lost.
I'll go back to London tomorrow, and then home by plane. I really want to look at what you did with Chaz's diary!
--Tom
This one's for you:
Come into my sleep - Nick Cave
Now that mountains of meaningless words And oceans divide us And we each have our own set of stars To comfort and guide us Come into my sleep Come into my sleep Dry your eyes and do not weep Come into my sleep
Swim to me through the deep blue sea Upon the scattered stars set sail Fly to me to through this love-lit night >From one thousand miles away And come into my sleep Come into my sleep As midnight nears and shadows creep Come into my sleep
Bind my dreams up in your tangled hair For I am sick at heart, my dear Bind my dreams up in your tangled hair For all sorrow it will pass, my dear
Take your accusations, your recriminations And toss them into the ocean blue Leave your regrets and impossible longings And scatter them across the sky behind you And come into my sleep Come into my sleep For my soul to comfort and keep Come into my sleep Dry your eyes and come into my sleep
Tommy, sweet boy,
As soon as I saw the first line of your email, I thought of you, sitting there on the "naked shingle." I love the Arnold poem. I often find it depressing, but I'm always touched by it somehow.
And there you are, not in Dover, but in Penzance. What you want to do with the clotted cream is put it on strawberries, but they're hardly in season right now, are they?
Stay out of the water. Protect those jewels! My only experience with the South Coast was a visit one chilly day in April to Chesil Bank, which is between Weymouth and Lyme Regis. No sand. Just gravel, which the sea hurls constantly at the shore.
Still no pirates lurking?
Tommy, you used a quotation from Nick Cave very effectively in "Icy's Revenge." Now you send me "Come into my sleep." I assume this is a song lyric. If so, I MUST find a recording of it. Is it on a cd?
You know, hot stuff, in my real life there is no Ced, no Trey, no Chaz. But if you could ever come to me, we could write our own poetry.
Tommy, your mind, your personality, your beautiful spirit give me a hardon. Maybe some day you'll tell me what you look like.
Hugs,
Tim
PS: Clotted cream indeed! You devil! I've been thinking (just finished lunch) of things to do with clotted cream. When we get together there are places where I'd like to put it and then lick it off.
Hi Red,
Was that chat hot yesterday, or what?! Too hot, if you ask me! Lucky you, you could go and change your shorts afterwards. I was sitting in this cyber-bar with the hardon from hell. Thank God I'm not as leaky as you are. (You'll have to work for it, babe - man, will I ever have you work for it!)
If we meet. Or when we meet? We will, will we? With me, you wouldn't have to worry about creaming your pants, honey - I'll love to take care of that, wherever, whenever!
Now you probably think I'm only interested in your cock. Hey, I wanna get my hands and else on your skinny ass, too!
But most of all, I just want to be with you, do the simple things, talk, read, listen to music, take long walks, watch TV, that stuff. There's so much I want to share with you!
You asked about my looks. Now, I'm pretty average all over, 5'8", dark blond hair that gets lighter in summer, green eyes, skin that tans easily. Only little body hair. You know already that I'm 20. The thing is, I don't look my age. Not at all. Gets me sometimes a kind of attention I don't care for. That's mostly why I started working out two years ago. No endurance stuff, only weight training. I wanted to bulk up a bit, you know. Now I'm more packed than I used to be, but those daddies just keep coming on to me. Don't worry, sweetcheeks, it's not about age, though at 26 you seem of course ancient to me (you know that means very evil grin, right?), it's the type, regardless of age. I fell for one of them when I was sixteen, all in all it wasn't very pretty. That's when I got my piercing, btw.
Tim, I already trust you a lot. I guess it was kind of easier because you are so far away. But now I'm at a point where I want more. I want to touch that red hair of yours, and muss it up. I want to see that full-body-blush, and make you blush some more. I want to taste your sweet honey, love, and make you make some more. I want to feel safe with you, and I want to love you. But I'll take what I can get.
--Tom
Another one for you:
The One that I've Been Waiting For - Nick Cave
I've felt you coming, love, as you drew near I knew you'd find me, 'cause I longed you here Are you my destiny? Is this how you'll appear? Wrapped in a coat with tears in your eyes? Well take that coat, babe, and throw it on the floor Are you the one that I've been waiting for?
As you've been moving surely toward me My soul has comforted and assured me That in time my heart it will reward me And that all will be revealed So I've sat and I've watched an ice-age thaw Are you the one that I've been waiting for?
Out of sorrow entire worlds have been built Out of longing great wonders have been willed They're only little tears, darling, let them spill And lay your head upon my shoulder Outside my window the world has gone to war Are you the one that I've been waiting for?
O we will know, won't we? The stars will explode in the sky O but they don't, do they? Stars have their moment, then they die
There's a man who spoke wonders though I've never met him He said "He who seeks finds and who knocks will be let in" I think of you in motion and just how close you are getting And how every little thing anticipates you All down my veins my heart-strings call Are you the one that I've been waiting for?
Tom,
You know words are my thing, so to speak. I can rattle them off -- in writing or in person. Goes with being who I am, I guess. But your letter is so beautiful, baby, it leaves me tongue-tied.
The Tim in our story is a lucky guy. He has the perhaps too-perfect Cedric, and Trey still hankers after him as well. I've never had a guy who was interested in me. I've had a hardon for your mind, your spirit, your elan since that first letter you wrote me. But that you want me is difficult for me to understand.
I"m shorter than EVERYBODY (except our friend Jack, who's REALLY short). I'm not at all good-looking. And the hair you call red is really not that sexy carrot-top that can be such a turn-on. Have you ever seen the breed of dog called an Irish Setter? That's my hair. Almost maroon. Not quite chestnut. And my ass isn't the only thing that's skinny. I'm built like a boy. And you, my boy, are built like a man! (Why IS it that gays seem to be so much more into physical appearance than straights?)
So, as I said, I'm touched and admittedly excited by the generous things you say in your letter. I just can't understand what's there. Tommy, please don't think I'm fishing for compliments. Just know that I'm a bit overwhelmed.
I long to meet you, to grab you and kiss you and climb your frame. But I"m afraid a face-to-face (or dick-to-dick) encounter would be very disillusioning for you.
BTW, as you describe yourself, you could be Trey's little brother. His eyes are hazel rather than green (there's a trait you and I share!), and until you grow a couple of inches, he's taller than you. But the hair and skin are the same. Is yours pale blond or that dark, tawny blond like Trey's? Either way, you have no idea how much I long to bury my nose in it. But then, sweet boy, I spend a lot of time fantasizing about things we might do together.
If this letter isn't what you expected, I apologize. You know I love you. But you need to know that I worry lest what you feel for me is infatuation. Infatuation enhanced, perhaps, by the image you have of the fictional Tim, enhanced even by the huge ocean that separates us. Infatuation that wouldn't survive a first meeting. And I just couldn't take your disappointment if that happened.
I do love you, you know.
Tim
Tim,
You are right. The fictional Tim is very hot. As are Ced and Trey and Stan and the other guys there. And lucky boy that I am, I can get them all in one package, scrawny as that may be. Can't I?
You are right, too, when you say words are your thing. They're my thing, too. You, baby, could make me come by whispering in my ear.
You say what I feel may be just infatuation. How can I prove you wrong? Why do you need proof? Why can't you just believe in me?
Aren't you the one who keeps extolling the virtues of my beautiful spirit and mind? All that from the few letters and story bits I wrote? And when I go and do the same (and I had lots more material to work with), and see what a bright soul, what a loving, compassionate, and exciting man you are, you doubt me.
Think about it, Tim: Isn't it maybe the image you have of me that's an ideal? Haven't you taken the glimpses you've had of me, and shaped them into something you want to see? Maybe you're subconsciously aware of that, and that's the reason of your doubts. Shouldn't I be the one afraid not to meet your expectations? But I won't question my luck. I'll take that chance.
Of course, we both have so high opinions of each other that we're bound to get disappointed sooner or later. We're only human, after all. I know that, expect that, and will be able to deal with it. What about you? Will you balk at the first sign of trouble?
You know that under that cheeky, flippant attitude of mine I'm a person with some insecurities and fears. You say I have the body of a man, yet you keep calling me 'sweet boy.' If any other man called me that, I'd run. I've worked hard for my looks, because I didn't want to be the 'boy' in a relationship ever again. Man, all I ever got to do was to bottom. I guess, compared to you I am still a boy in many ways. I'm not as mature, as grown-up as you. I don't have that huge knowledge of literature and music either.
Can you trust a boy with your heart, and a man with your body? If you can love a boy with a man's body, why shouldn't I love a man with a boy's? Obviously I get the better deal.
But I have to tell you this: Sometimes, I will want to revel in being bigger and stronger than you, in feeling your smaller body under mine, in having you at my mercy. And there'll be other times, when I'll need you to take control, to feel the power you have over me. Can you do that? Will you go there with me?
It's up to you to decide if you can trust me, and when. We won't rush things, okay? When we meet, I don't want to see fear or apprehension in your eyes, but love and trust. As you'll see in mine.
--Tom
So, folks, admit it, that was sweet, wasn't it? But was it enough to convince Tim? Or is the trouble just beginning? And why do we have to go and make things so complicated? Yes, I pinched that one.
Immoral proposals to: Timmead88@yahoo.com or Onesillyrat@aol.com
Thanks!