In the Shadow of Our Lives

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In the Shadows of Our Lives Part 2 - Wings of Tomorrow VIII ~ No More Words [Every Time I See Your Picture I Cry] ~

"I've gone through changes, I've gone through pain, But there's not enough reason for me to go insane."

Rock The Night, by Europe

).:.(<<

JON

Paul stops by early Monday morning and Ma invites him in, sending him up to see me.

He startles me awake with a kiss to my forehead. I could get used to this quickly, waking to him being tender to me. But just at the moment I'm trying to figure what he's doing here sitting on the edge of my bed because he didn't spend the night. More so, I'm wondering how I'm going to pull off skipping off school today now.

Seeing me awake, he answers my unvoiced question, "Hey, I left Jackie's to go home and change, but I don't want to deal with my Ma right now. She's on holidays this week so she'll be home for sure. I also just wanted to see you too. You're cute with bed-head."

"Cute? Are you're contacts in?"

"Yup, got my eyes in. Definitely cute."

I groan, "I'd prefer hot or sexy, but cute will do I guess. Grab whatever you want from my drawers. Your shirt is in there somewhere. Do you want to grab a shower too? Sounds like Tim is done in there."

"I was going to wear this shirt I got off you yesterday. You look sexy in it so it'll more than do. Can I grab some boxers and socks off you though? Do you think maybe Tim will let me borrow some jeans off him?"

"Why not my jeans?"

"Cause everyone knows your baggy jeans, and I've never worn that kind ever."

I try to imply he's fat, which he's far from, "What? They won't look as baggy on you. Oh, I get it! Afraid they won't be roomy on you? Don't think they'll fit?"

"No! I'm far from fat. Your drooling over me tells me so! It's just, everyone knows your style and it would stand out on me. Jackie already knows something's up with me so I don't want his third degree interrogation."

Paul reaches into my sock and underwear drawer and spots the boxers Sam stowed in my suitcase when Chris and I were in New York and had a threesome with him. I grab them from Paul's hand and bury them back in the drawer, "Not those ones. Any but those."

"But I like boxers."

"Well today you're going to have to like something different, kay?" I say as I rifle through the drawer to make sure it's boxer-briefs on top, above the thongs Chris bought me and the jockstrap Duncan sent me.

Trying to hand Paul a grey pair of boxer-briefs, I hear Tim crack the bathroom door so I turn to him, "Hey Timbo, can Paul maybe borrow some clothes off you? Like, I've got most of it covered. Maybe just a pair of jeans, even though mine will fit his incredibly fat ass? You know, since you guys both wear similar clothes? So people won't see him wearing something they know is mine?" I plead.

Tim seems caught off guard by my ambush, looking from me to Paul and back, "Yeah, sure. we'll grab him something while you shower."

"I don't have to shower yet; school isn't for over an hour still! If I'm in the shower just after Ma leaves for work, I still have time to get ready for school and not make us late!"

"Or you could skip your first squeaky-bed masturbation session of the day today, dufus!"

"Yeah, that's it. Well Paul's going to have a quick shower first," I say as I turn back to Paul, ignoring Tim's astute observation about my masturbatory habits as if I didn't hear it. He likes to embarrass me in front of Paul, but Paul's doing a good job for himself seeing as how he's put away the grey Calvin's and dug right to the bottom of my drawer and found everything I didn't want him to.

He's pulled out a pair of 2(x)ist sports briefs and has them on top of the dresser with a pair of plain white socks. Seeing me stare at the upturned pile in my drawer, he smiles and runs his hand over the cup in the jockstrap before picking up a thong. After holding it up and appraising it, he shoots it at me like an elastic.

Moments later I want to continue to be jovial and fun, but I'm very un-talkative this morning. Between Belinda's demands for attention, I read and re-read a Christmas card at the kitchen table while Tim and I wait on Paul. By the time Paul gets out of the shower I'm in some other place. Tim and Paul talk for a minute and it's like I'm not even there. Paul grabs Belinda to leave when Tim finally nags me into taking my morning shower. Normally at this time Paul says he's already dropped Belinda off at Mrs. Allen's, and would be on his way to school. We've all got to move or we're going to be mega-late for school.

After Paul leaves I beg off school, insisting to Tim that I don't feel well. If he thought I was lying he'd for sure fight me on it, but I guess something about my outward appearance makes him believe me this morning.

What no one knows is that while I've been functioning normal on the outside the past few days, I have been nursing an emotional wound in secret. I long ago discovered that suffering in silence became second nature to me alongside life in the closet. What's been eating at me is that I finally got a Christmas card on Friday after 10 months of someone ignoring me. In turn I tried my hardest to ignore it this whole weekend, but this morning when I woke it was really nagging at me.

Yeah, you might know where this one's going. Daniel. It took him almost a year to get in touch. I've tried his old email a hundred times to no avail because I've never got his new email address. I was sure his Mom would have cancelled the AOL he had, but my emails never get returned to me by MailerDeamon.

So now he has brass balls big enough to type up a letter on the computer and drop it into a Christmas card without a return address and think that all is well? Much delayed, he has the nerve to write that he misses me and his old life so badly, and hopes that someday once I'm done school and he's put in his time with the military, that we'll get back together. The letter was written to Tigger' and he signed it as Timone'.

It's taken me a few days to digest. On Saturday it was beginning to stir in the back of my mind, little memories of how much we were in love, and the hurt I felt before began creeping into me all over again. Come Sunday I was feeling guilty for Chris, Paul, and being lucky enough to have a few other flings, all while Daniel professes his devotion to me still. Today I am instead pissed that he'd purposely tear the scar off my heart so easily, and yet still leave me without so much as a return address.

So there you go, I am a fucking write-off now. Mmm. Jim Beam.

It's Monday December 20th, 2000. It's closing in on now noon. I'm almost embarrassed to say that I've hardly made a dent in the mickey of Jim. I've actually had more syrup on my stack of Eggo waffles. But all the same, a few small swigs of bourbon or not, I'm feeling pretty damn good. Jeez, I guess I really am a lightweight with the alcohol after all. Oh well, no one needs to know.

Obviously I've skipped off the morning classes. I thought fighting Tim would be a major war this morning after Paul left, but convincing him that I don't feel good was easy. Almost too easy. I figure Larry will be on my case by now too, but there was no call home as of the time I left. To my benefit I haven't skipped off in ages, this year at all actually, unless you count what I missed when the guy died that Chris had a messed up relationship with.

I do however have an important Calculus test that I have to write this afternoon so I've cleaned up, showered, and popped half a pack of Ma's tic-tacs into my mouth. I don't really think I should be going to school in this state, but oh well. I'm sticking to the logic that teachers shouldn't be screwing us over with major tests on the last day before Christmas break. In fact, I don't get why the heck we even have the one day of school this week.

Unable to force it from my mind as I walk to school, I have decided that Daniel's card was downright cruel. I've battled this silently all weekend, not bothering to talk to Paul about it, nor Tim. Tim is heading home to New Orleans Thursday morning and he's seemed a little down lately so I didn't want burden him with this. Paul has a lot of family drama going on and I don't want to weigh him down with this. Even Duncan's been too caught up in the festivities of the season to go online lately it seems. I think Chris is my only free ear.

Thus, without someone to talk to about this, until this morning my emotions basically got locked away in some remote part of my mind while I performed the necessary functions of my day outwardly. I have definitely resolved that after all this time, that asshole should have just left me alone. And he's wrong! Wrong about everything! As the song `I Need You' by America states, "Now you're gone, I guess I'll carry on and make the best of what you've left of me".

Probably thinking he's speaking my language, his letter makes several referenced to songs from my Tesla CD that he had with him at the time he was forced to move, and must have taken it to St. Louis. I long ago picked their CD up at the music store again. Yeah I knew he had it. I hoped that the songs would mean something to him too. I guess they do, just not what I'd like them to. To him they seem to be a pity party that he can to listen to when he wants to wallow in self despair. They mean more than that to me, way more. To me they mean hope. They inspired me to move on. Plus, through a random comment Jackie made, I know Paul is trying to figure out how to play a couple of those songs for me!

But back to the current topic...fuck you Daniel! This keeps running through my now fully sober mind on a feedback loop as I listen to a couple of my mom's songs I burned onto a CD for my walk to school, telling myself that I can't let Daniel get to me. Like, what the fuck? Really? Why drop a line more than half a year after the fact to crush me all over again, and then be an asshole and say not to bother responding because he won't read it anyway, when I know the little bitch has read every email I wrote since he left? How cowardly!

I bleed inside right now. I hurt more than that fucker. I'm the one who got left behind. I'm the one who had to cry in the corners and the dead of night so that no one knew that I was so deeply wounded. He could wear it on his shoulder like a badge and act out. They know about him no matter what he thinks. Not me, no I'm still a part-time resident of the closet and most people don't know that I'm in emotional turmoil, nor why.

I think that this has been my only thought from my front door at home to my locker at school. I haven't even spared a stay thought for the test I'm going to. All weekend I've had to suffer in silence and this morning I just couldn't cope anymore. Part of me wasn't coming to school today, part of me was. I'm still not sure what part has won. I'm at school, albeit late. But am I really here at all? The physical entity known as Jon Farrows is here, but the spiritual entity is miles away, locked up in some dark recess of my own mind.

I've blanked out and am staring into my locker when I get slapped hard in the chest. The momentary pain and shock snap me back to awareness.

"Mother fucker, that really hurts sometimes you know," I snap in a bitchy confrontational tone.

"And so does getting your ass to school I'll assume," Tim counters, "What gives, I thought you were sick?"

"Fuck you," I say to Tim. I miss the days when I would also repeat that to Neil's smug grin somewhere behind Tim, but they are seriously in a fight now and never together.

Leaving Tim shocked and smarting with my cold shoulder, I walk off down the hall and into my classroom. My mind is unfocused as I write the test, but it seems to be easy. Either I really ace it or completely bomb it. As we get to leave when we're done the test, I head for the door with 10 minutes left in the block. I don't care about my other classes for the day; or the parties this afternoon that I'll be missing. Unfortunately my teacher informs me I'm wanted at the office before I can manage to escape the classroom.

Before the bell rings to signify the end of the class, I've cleared my locker and am on my way to face the music.

Closing the door to his office, Larry gets right to it, "What's gotten into you today? Is it the holidays?"

I look out the window, "No Larry. It's nothing special. It's just me. Today I wasn't worried about you or Ma anymore, kay?"

He got out of that about as much as I could've expected, "What's that supposed to mean?"

I try to get past the explanation and onto the punishment phase, "Nothing, kay? I screwed up. Sorry."

"That sounds like a whole lot more than nothing to me," He points out.

I still can't look at him. Instead I focus on an award on his wall, "Yeah well. Every now and then when you pick an instant family off the shelf, add water and move in with it, you have to step back and remember the thing that drew your attention to it in the first place. No offence, but what you sometimes seem to forget in the big picture is that the youngest kid in your new family is a just a little bit fucked in the head."

Larry takes his best shot, "This wouldn't have anything to do with a Christmas card that came postmarked from St. Louis without a return address would it?"

I guess he saw the card I left out on display after all. What is he, a detective? I never thought to check the postmark. Damn his perception is unnerving. So is his knack for reading me so well. I try not to show how in awe I am of him, "Geez Louise! Give yourself a gold fucking star for that one won't you!"

Larry informs me, "I watched all weekend for this, but you did an amazing job of hiding it didn't you?"

It is it sick that I feel a little proud of the fact? I try to suppress a smile, "Yes, yes I did, didn't I? And you know what too? Daniel can kiss my fucking ass! In like a bad way, not a good way. I hate him!"

"Your anger is understandable," Larry calmly offers. I don't know if I want his pity or for him to explode on me and tell me I fucked up and I need to learn to cope.

Instead I take the opening he offered, "What gives Daniel the right to make me feel this way? Know what? I'm out of here. Say I've got a high fever and I'm acting delusional or something?"

As I don't actually get up to leave, Larry doesn't bother to block the door. He does however state, "No can do."

I venture, "Is that my vice principal speaking or my...I don't know, what do I call you anyways - calling you Ma's boyfriend doesn't sit well."

"Why not, a moment ago you basically called us family," Larry points out.

I press my luck and shoot off, "Another gold star!"

Larry catches me off guard, "Which war are we waging here, personal or business?"

I less than eloquently relate my confusion to his question, "Huh? Say what?"

Larry asks, "Do you want to have this talk as a student and principal, or as we do at home?"

It's a no-brainer to me, "Uh, like at home maybe, please?"

He asks, "Good. Then what did you mean about the boyfriend comment?"

"And here I thought this was about my issues! I didn't mean anything bad, I just don't know what to call you yet. Maybe Dad or step-dad someday, but you're still more than just Ma's boyfriend to me I guess. If it wasn't for you and your being so cool with Daniel and me, and getting involved in my life and stuff, I don't know. I'd never do anything stupid, per se. I'd probably just be a totally withdrawn, self-hating introvert. Instead I'm just a partial introvert, but I'm okay with being me and stuff."

I can't read his face so I nervously ramble on, "It's kinda your fault that I'm not a complete fuck-up, kay? Hope you can live with that. Ma's not the only one that lucked out with you. So it's not like you're the evil step-dad, but then you're not even my step dad yet anyways, so technically I never know what to call you. I mean, I had a dad and no one can ever replace him as my dad, but you cool and stuff, and you kinda are my father figure without trying to act like my dad and being overbearing."

Busting out the kid-gloves for this conversation, Larry thankfully stops the spew from my mouth and cuts in, "Then keeping on that track, before I disappoint you by handing you some breath mints and send you off to class without a gold star, do you want to talk about it?"

"What's there to say? He got under my skin. It's not fair. And the thing is, even though he was my first, and I really loved him, I love Paul more already. So why did that little pandajo get to me?"

Larry remarks, "You've already sworn five times in my office, swearing in Spanish still counts as six."

"Oh Shit! You were counting too? I thought maybe you were going to let those skate this time."

"Only because the doors closed and no one else heard. Otherwise that would now be seven detentions. Instead you can sit here in my office for the remainder of the period and figure out how to tell your Ma about your stunt today."

"Maybe pour the rest of Jim down the drain and throw him out?"

"Or make a point of learning something valuable by keeping Jim around and not touching him anymore? I stopped by the house on lunch but you must have already been on your way here. Jim is already off the coffee table and back in his place. You haven't touched your pot in a long time that I can tell, part of growing up is learning to act responsibly and resisting temptation. Resist Jim too."

"I don't think Ma will buy that snake oil even if it comes straight from you. This is going to be one of her better lectures for sure. I think I'll have to offer up Jim or she might say I have to give up Paul until I can learn to deal. By the way, I really haven't touched the other stuff in forever, but how did you know?"

"I check your little tin under the deck from time to time. The same two from before the summer are still there, although both of them are ruined now. I'd go for something water-tight if I stashed them outside myself..."

Hmm. That's not my stuff. Candace maybe? No, she kept hers in a plastic pencil case. Lacey's been gone since the summer too, maybe hers? Figures she'd nark me out to Ma and have her own stash the whole time. What a bitch.

Larry brings me back to issue at hand, "If you don't have anything pressing left here this afternoon, get your stuff during the break and head out."

).:.(<<

Back at my locker after a long hour in Larry's office, I can feel Tim behind me before I see him, "Shit, I hafta get checked for hemorrhoids or something!"

"What?"

"My ass has been bugging me all fucking day!"

"Huh?"

"Everyone's biting at my ass today. I just need everybody to leave my sorry ass alone already! You included."

Tim doesn't even try to mask the fact he's a little pissed at me, joking back with a bit of snark, "I'd have gone with having to go to the doctor to get your back checked because everyone's on your back. But we're only on your back in the first place because we have your back. Of course with you it's all about your ass..."

I'm such a wuss, I have to fight back tears yet again today. I feel like an ass for being a dick to Tim and his persistent friendship is more than I sometimes deserve. I soften my tone as much as possible and meekly admit, "Believe me, I'm thankful everyone has my back. It's more than I deserve, but that still hasn't stop y'all from taking a bite out of my ass today."

Tim flashes a devious smile and a wink, "I'll leave that privilege to your 'somebody'."

I can't help myself, "Haha, at least you realize it's a privilege. Keep hoping and just maybe I'll give my ass up to you yet!"

"Well, so long as you agree it's all about your ass," Tim says, and then promptly knees me in the butt right after his usual backhand slap to my chest.

"Fine, just for that you don't get my ass," I jokingly threaten.

"Good, let's make that official," Tim says while trying to connect his foot with my butt, "so what's the deal anyways?"

"Tonight, I promise. For now I've gotta get outta here. Larry's sent me home for the rest of the day. For what it's worth Timbo, I'm sorry. I'm really sorry for being a dick to you, 'kay?

Tim nods.

"Catch you tonight then," I say and turn for the nearest exit before I break down and get all emotional again.

What is it with me today? The waterworks constantly want to turn on at the drop of a hat. I have to get out of this school.

Without realizing it at first, I am on my way to see Chris. Not at his home but at school. I guess I really have lost my mind after all. I have a new boyfriend; I have Paul. So why then am I going to Chris?

When I finally make it to Chris's school, Westwood Park, classes are near over for the day. I take off my headphones and relegate the burned CD now playing in my discman to silence for the time being. After calling him on his cell phone and sneaking out to meet me at his car on a side street by his school, Chris can instantly see what a rough state I am in. As he rushes back into school to empty his locker for the break I debate whether to tell him what's on my mind or not. Reading as easily as a child's picture-book, he drives me to his house.

It's been eating me up for days now, but how do I tell him? The more I dwell on it the more I feel stupid by my reaction to the letter. I can't explain why it got to me. Finally in Chris' living room with a Cherry Coke in hand, I give him the crumpled letter from the Christmas card to read, and start a half hour long tirade on how cowardly and hurtful Daniel's Christmas card is to me.

After going on and on with Chris listening and offering sympathy, Mr. Milner walks in on us as I am stating to Chris that I just have to get away. Mr. Milner joins the conversation and before you know it we get around to talking about my bigger idea of running to Canada with Paul. This isn't news to anyone as I had expressed interest in a college there to Chris and his parents back before the summer. True to his word and my surprise, Mr. Milner has looked further into it on my behalf and the bottom line is that because of what I still mean to Chris, friendship-wise, he's looked into ways that could financially help to ensure that the school in Vancouver is viable for me.

While schools in Canada have a rule that they can't provide full rides for students, Mr. Milner tells me about a small subsidy based on my transcript so far, and about a possible bursary his company can give me and Paul as tax write-offs. He tries to be delicate about it, but points out that my family income and Paul being a single father have more than something to do with it too, helping us each qualify as underprivileged students.

I don't care if it makes me a charity case or if Paul and I have to pretend to be two straight dudes for it, I am dumbfounded enough to accept. I know Ma has some good coin socked away for school for all of us, plus what I have in my bank account, but I know it for sure won't be enough for more than two years, tops. Any extra will help minimize the student loans. The info was supposed to be a Christmas surprise from Chris, but Mr. Milner figures it's close enough. He tells me to bring Paul by tomorrow to show us the information and lay out what we have to do to apply for, and hopefully receive, the subsidies.

Of course that's a whole other story. Paul and I haven't really talked about Vancouver seriously yet. We've agreed on it in principle, both of us harbor hope for it to happen, but silently I have pretty much given up on it because it is too involved. Now the hope of Vancouver not only has new breath, but has been given wings too!

After my venting, and then my elation about the whole Vancouver bit, upon Mr. Milner leaving the room Chris grabs his keys to give me a drive home. On the way he fills me in about his date with Andrei.

He passes it off like he's not hurt, "He's an ass. I should have seen it coming. What would a hot, foreign college boy want with me anyways? The fuckwad couldn't see I was into him so I can't even say he was taking advantage of me throwing myself at him. He actually took me for the literal! He thought just because I was a nice guy or something that I was going to give him an unbelievable deal on some sporty yellow car with blue headlamps. He was so excited that he might actually get his first car, figuring he could afford an old clunker from 1983. He had no idea I was making a pass at his straight ass and that I was referring to my blonde hair and blue eyes.

I am not an old clunker, thank you very much! And I don't even know how he thought the car would be a clunker anyway. I told him I was a sporty 83 model, not a rusted-out jalopy! Babes, you should have seen the shock when I put my hand on his after picking him up for our date! Oh my God! It was MasterCard-priceless! I'll give him kudos though, once he realized that he wasn't going to test drive an actual car, he was totally apologetic and nice about it when he let me down. He even still offered to pay at Pizza Hut, just not as the date I was hoping for."

It hurts to see Chris trying to hide his feelings from me now that we aren't boyfriends. At the stop sign before the turnpike on-ramp I reach over the gear shift and pull him into my arms and kiss the back of his neck, "You don't have to act for me Chris. Def Leppard Babe, `Standing by the trapdoor, aware of me and you are the actor and the clown, their waiting for their cue'. Don't hide your tears with a smile and a joke. Not with me, 'kay?"

When we get stuck in the stop-and-go traffic with people headed to the Rockets game, he turns to bury his tearing eyes in my shoulder, "Why can't someone love me Babes? If I could make it even an hour without checking a guy out, I'd swear off boys and go after a girl. At least they appreciate a sensitive guy, don't they?"

"I don't know, maybe only another sensitive guy does. I mean, sure, girls want us to express our feelings, but we're supposed to be tough and strong, loving but manly. Show you have a heart to a girl and she's as likely to stab it as anyone," I whisper as I hang my hand over Chris's shoulder and soothe it.

Chris is trying not to cry but his sniffles tell me he is. I try to comfort him, "Remember, it's an unwritten rule that our lives have to be harder and more complicated. Just don't give up, when a worthy guy comes along Babe, he'll return everything you have to give with even more of his own. It's not your fault with Andrei. Those European boys all seem kinda gay. Especially if they're hot, what with their cute or sexy accents and all. So it's hard to know for sure. You did the right thing and tried to drop every possible hint with him and he was too naïve to pick up on it. Don't compromise, don't sell yourself short."

As the traffic starts to move again Chris is too somber in his answer for my liking, "Yeah, I know; if you fall off the bull you gotta get right back up and ride that sucker again and all that. Shut up! Don't laugh. I know exactly where your mind's going, don't sexualize that."

"I wasn't," I protest. Of course I was. Even though I should be thinking of Paul, I was flashing back to Brent.

"Really? You're full of shit," Chris says with a smirk, "Anyways, this is about me, not you. So getting back to me and the bull, I'm not getting back up today Babes. When we get to your house I'm gonna push you out the door and send you on your way to your lover. Then I'm going back home to settle in and watch my new porno. Merry Christmas to me! Maybe I'll fall asleep tonight with a tearjerker movie like Bring It On, although it needed a love scene for Les. Like after nationals with that other hunk, or with Jan. Those two could have been friends with benefits, as if Les didn't want what Jan had in his pants. I'll just have to imagine a better ending while I fist myself to sleep afterwards."

Not wanting to leave Chris in his current state of mind I tease, "Can you turn around and I'll stay the night and watch it too, for old time's sake? It's not like we've gotten too far in this stupid traffic yet anyways."

Chris calls me on my tactic, "You're not my baby sitter! Plus, Bobbie would stab you to death if she knew you were trying to step on her toes and usurp her as my shoulder to cry on. Babes, we both hurt but you have your boyfriend to turn to now. I have a hand that knows just how to take me somewhere higher. We'll both live."

"Yeah. But are you sure you're okay? Like since Adam's suicide you've been kinda down. Now more than ever," I say, forcing the truth out in the open.

Avoiding eye contact Chris reveals, "I am. But that's life. I'm still not over you if you must know. If only you could have been a jerk I could at least hate you and move on. This is hard you know? Trying to pretend that I don't still love you is about as easy as pretending I'm straight, and no one buys into that delusion either. At least you still love me too. That makes it easier to pretend it was just a matter of sexual incompatibility."

It hurts like a punch straight to my heart, "What? You mean you'd have switched to a top? Why are you telling me this now? I didn't want another boyfriend, especially that night at the beach bash, but I fell for you hard Chris! I risked everything when I hooked up with you right under everyone's noses."

His face is so perfect, his skin so clear, his teeth so straight and gleaming white through his darling smile. Even in the approaching dusk his baby blue eyes are so crystal clear as tears are flowing from them down into the corners of his perfect pink lips, "Because I never want to lose you. We both know that we have different paths to follow in this life and we'd never make it together. So instead you're friendship is a cherished possession. It's selfish but I want you to be that friend that I can turn to with anything. But I'm just a scared little fag. And still a nearly-exclusive bottom-boy for the record."

I pull his hand towards me and kiss it, "But you're my scared little bottom-boy fag, and I'm yours Chris."

"I know. But I also know Paul was in your heart before I came along, no matter what you might say, and I respect that. In you heart of hearts, you want him bad. I could never change that," He says as if he should be the one to apologize for what my heart desires.

"I've never said that. I never told you about him," I protest.

"You didn't have to. Remember the baseball game between our schools and how I kept calling you? I guess it's safe to say now...I was watching you watch him. He plays first base right? You had this look in your eyes that said it all for you, so I kept calling you because I was jealous. It's the same look Bobbie says I get over you, that dreamy stare of yours. But I never got it from you. Smiles and shit? Yeah. Lost in my aura goo-goo eyes? Nope. So I knew we were doomed, but I tried anyway."

I don't say anything. In fact, I don't know what to say to it. He's right, but do I say so?

Finally parked in front of my house an hour later, he hands me the sinister Christmas note from Daniel as he pushes me to the door, "Go share this with your boyfriend. You want him more than anything, so let him in. Leave me to heal on my own; I have more of it ahead in my life and I know how to cope. But give me a call in the morning? I still like to hear you babble incoherently when you first wake up."

).:.(<<

PAUL

It hurts that Jon thought he couldn't come to me with this. It's the first time he's had an opportunity to come to me with a problem and the first time that he's instead closed himself off to me. I mean, I've slept with him now. Slept with him as in sleeping in the same bed together, not as in sex. We're boyfriends in every sense imaginable except for full-blown sex. But we have made it to third base; oral. Anyhow, I know he doesn't want to burden me with this situation, especially considering that it revolves around an ex-boyfriend of his. I get that.

I know I have been a little distant lately too; I haven't managed to reveal to Jon that some of my unaccounted time has been playing violin with a group from a few local churches. Yes, violin. So I can understand the hesitation in broaching the subject with me, but still, I wish it was me that he came to first about it, not yet another ex-boyfriend. At least Chris sent him my way tonight.

After I got home from work I packed Belinda up for a planned night staying at Jon's and headed over. This is going to be a test of my Plan as I am staying over with Jon a couple nights before Christmas. My parents don't seem to mind or care all too much either. I think they are somewhat grateful that Belinda won't be underfoot the entire time through Christmas with so much already on their plates. They didn't question earlier in the month when I stayed over at Jon's. Point in fact, they didn't even know where I stayed other than I was going to be staying the night at a `friends' with Belinda. They haven't pried or even asked about it other than my Daddy telling me to keep it in my pants this time.

My brother J, on the other hand, is all over me about where I'm staying and who's bed I'm sharing. In the end I tell him to back off or I'll let our parents know about his sexual conquests that they are still blind to. Even if only temporarily, I believe that would take the spotlight fully off me as my parents tend to believe I've already ruined my life anyhow.

If I honestly felt otherwise I wouldn't say it, but it seems to me that number 6 of 7 [me] is a lost cause in my parent's eyes. They just don't know how to handle me, whether it's disappointment in me or feelings of some innate sense of failure in themselves. I haven't much felt loved by them in any way since I told then I got Stacey pregnant. Their baby James on the other hand is still free and clear of fatherhood. They see him as their chance of redemption and clamp right down on him, watching his every action, or so they believe. How wrong they are.

At least I have other things to occupy myself with. As I just mentioned, I play violin and am in a joint-church Christmas presentation this year. We mostly play classic Christmas songs but my favourite is the last piece we play, centering around Pachelbel's Canon. A group called Trans Siberian Orchestra has a song called Christmas Canon that I've heard on the radio this year and last, with a children's choir singing to it, and it's pretty moving. We've tried our best to replicate it.

Not to brag, but if it has strings, chances are I can play it, well. I often waver on the violin, I'm generally more at peace with the Cello if I play a bowed instrument, but right now I do love the warm tones of a violin. I actually would have preferred to be one of the cellists, because I already know the piece on Cello from last year, but still I like the challenge of something new. Currently, I especially like the ambiance the season presents as we practice with the lights dimmed and so many more candles burning than usual, cocooning us with their warm flickers in the back of the church, while we learn the pieces we don't know. I have the added benefit of sitting next to Nat in the pit, so that keeps it fun.

But back to the present, meeting Jon at his place, I find that I am terribly nervous. I am still nervous over a lot of things such as sleeping in the same bed again with him, with his Ma, V.P. Maynes, Tim, and Belinda all in the house. I'm nervous that Daniel is going to resurface and take everything away from me. I'm nervous that there's still something between Jon and Chris; and that while the sex wasn't compatible between them that I better put out soon or he's going to go back to Chris. I'm nervous that maybe Jon's Ma won't let me stay over after all, seeing that it is already a busy Christmas season in her house too.

By the time I get over to Jon's it's a quarter to midnight. Belinda isn't happy about her change of scenery and cries until I manage to bounce her to sleep on my lap. If things progress the way they are at home lately, I'll have to talk to V.P. Maynes and take him up on his offer to stay at his place in order to give her a sense of stability.

With Belinda finally asleep, Jon ambushes me with a tattered Christmas letter in hand. I read the note Daniel sent him. Jon explains the pertinent details, from getting the card last week through planning to get drunk over it this morning, right up to the part of telling Chris about it first. By contrast, my coming clean over my involvement in the church musical is small potatoes. Jon apologizes profusely, pleading that he didn't want to scare me away because of the note, and that he knows he should have come to me with it first. I agree and am hurt, but I lie to him and assure him that I understand instead. I'm playing with fire here and I guess I just got my first burn.

Thankfully I am able to cast off self-doubt by the sheer passion Jon conveys as he hugs me tightly in his bed and lovingly kisses the back of my neck, until he finds a trigger spot and starts driving me crazy with his tongue passing slowly and tenderly behind my ear. Who knew that the ear was so sexual? I writhe in silent ecstasy until I can't take any more of the sensory overload. I roll over and we start making out. In this position it's clear that we are both trying to poke each other through our underwear. I get up to turn the light off and return to bed.

Back under his sheets we pick up where we left off. I make the first move this time, grabbing for the steel rod that is pointing my way. I'm not one for butt-floss, but the Y-back of his 2(x)ist underwear shows off his small little round cheeks in a good way and makes his butt cuter than I would have thought possible. I aggressively tug his hot thong down his legs and put my hand on my prize.

His tongue pushes further into my mouth in response. This gives me an idea. I'm damn sure that I want to taste his most sensual of organs. I jack him a few more strokes while psyching myself up to cross this barrier before parting out lips. I draw my legs under me so that I am kneeling, and rotate on my hips until I am turned 180 degrees. My head is at his knees so I scooch up a bit. I somehow manage to knee Jon in the mouth in the process. You don't see clumsiness like that in porn! I guess I'll have to start a sex-blooper-reel. Damn, am I smooth...not! He's snickering so I take it he's alright.

I take the plunge. Holding him by the base I point his penis towards my mouth. We'd have to measure to see who is bigger, but it occurs to me that right about now I would like him to be smaller than he is. Here goes nothing. I touch my tongue to it. His snickers turn into a gasp. In my mind I've practiced this moment countless times, and I always take the time to kiss it and lave it with lots of attention with my tongue before taking it into my mouth. Of course, over the past few years, in my mind I became quite accomplished at pleasing Jon sexually.

But here in the moment it's different. It's not that I have to go for broke before I chicken out. I'm not going to chicken out. It's more that now I am here with this beautiful moment happening, another part of me has assumed the driver's seat and lust is making me forgo the way I romanced it in my head. In my first time with Jon in my mouth I'm gobbling him down like a kid in a candy store. I have to pause to really consider if it even tastes good or bad.

No, he doesn't taste bad. He doesn't taste like sweet candy, or sour vinegar, salty pretzels, or bitter like tonic water. He doesn't really taste at all. Smell, yes. With my nose so close to him, he does have a faint smell. Not foul thankfully. A little musty, a little manly, and oddly, a little sweet. If this is what he smells like down here after a long day I hope he's ready for me. I bathe regularly, but I know I'm more pungent down there. I stop sucking on more than half his length like a Hoover vacuum because he's getting rather deep into the back of my mouth and it feels weird, and because I need to take a breath and get some air into my lungs. With all my effort I pull off and slow down to do this right, do it the way I want it to be. I want to romance it and give him a sensual experience that blows his mind.

I've read enough to know I have to cover my teeth, so I make an oh with my lips, ensuring that my top teeth are covered and extend my tongue over my bottom teeth. I lean forward again and take a good few inches into my mouth. I am still absolutely shocked at how much thicker he seems inside my mouth. He whispers not to worry, that he's clean. I'm not sure what he's exactly referring to. STD's I guess? A little late to share if he wasn't. Or maybe he means clean as in he washed himself down there recently? Who knows? I start sucking a little and bobbing my head up and down, his foreskin sliding a little with my movements. I don't think I'll be taking the whole thing down tonight, but someday soon. At the first appreciative sounds from Jon I am hooked on this. It's everything I thought it would be, and it has me rock hard and twitching.

Jon tugs my erection out the fly of my Old Navy boxers and starts giving me great head. Quickly we are 69ing like there's no tomorrow. One of his hands starts fondling my sac and with his other hand he starts tracing his finger up and down the crevice of my butt, from my tailbone right down to my anus. I practically jump at the touch and force my hips forward. He takes my full length and keeps on going. Thankfully I don't bite down on my new favourite toy.

I know I'm supposed to breathe through my nose when my mouth is full of my boyfriend's cock, but I am just too turned on! In the moment I am too busy with hundreds of nervous thoughts fighting with pleasure to stop and remember that detail. Instead I keep pulling off to take a good few breaths before starting up again. I'm not going to last very long at all. Maybe he'll indulge me and allow me a second orgasm?

I guess he can tell by my body and my breathing that I am almost there. He pulls off me, "Whenever you're ready, don't worry, 'kay? Just let it go and enjoy. I um, I kinda like to swallow. Only if you're cool with that, that is."

A heartbeat later his lips are all the way back down to my base. I guess he doesn't think I smell too funky down there at least. The brief pause of his attention seems have given me a little endurance. I was so close but now I have it under control for the moment. After circling my anus for a little while I can feel myself opening up to the ministrations of his roaming fingers. He senses it too because he stops, pulls off my penis yet again, licks a finger and resumes his intent. He takes one of my testicles into his mouth and distracts me with this new sensation while he positions his finger back on my hole. Letting my ball fall out of his mouth he wiggles his finger back and forth and I clench involuntarily. I guess he's prepared for this because as soon as I relax he slips inside me. It's my turn to stifle a loud gasp.

I don't know how to explain the feeling. It's certainly not exactly comfortable as he wiggles his way fully inside, but it's not painful either. My best physical description of his invasion into my body is just that it's new and unusual. Emotionally I feel vulnerable and deeply embarrassed at this new contact. As I ponder my sexual deviance, he finds a part of me that reacts quite pleasurably. It's like he's just worked his finger right into the base of my penis the way my body is reacting. I guess this is my prostate he is playing with? No matter, it feels damn good!

Without warning his mouth is back on my cock, expertly deep throating me. I pull off to let him know that I am about to shoot again. Before I can even warn him, he pulls off too and again whispers that he knows, and reassures me to just go with it and fill his mouth when I'm ready to.

We get back to pleasuring each other and he's going for broke this time. In no time at all it happens. His finger gets me to the very top of the hill and he knows it. He pulls back so that I am in his mouth and not his throat, sucks for all he's worth, all the while focusing the attention he's giving me with his intrusive finger. My body tenses and I start releasing inside his mouth. In the throes of my pleasure he slowly removes his finger.

Once I come down from my orgasm I can see he is idly playing with himself. I can't blame him. I came too early. Unquenched lust, more than guilt, has me resuming my first attempt at giving a blowjob in no time. He slips his finger inside himself and again whispers, telling me that he'll warn me when he's about to let loose.

I have to say I'm surprised at how soon he gasps and whispers, "Oh fuck. Gonna blow. Pull off now babes."

I can feel his body tense up. I shake my head in the negative and his hips arch into me. His free hand is at the back of my neck, pulling my face into his crotch. For the first time I have his whole length inside me, my lips are touching his trimmed pubes. Finding the back of my mouth sets him over the edge. His body is gently thrusting as he dumps his load of semen into my throat.

We kiss a little and then Jon tugs my boxers over my feet and off. He slides his thong off his ankles as well. He slips my boxers on and then hops over me. After he leaves the room I can hear the sink running briefly in his absence. Washing his fingers I suppose. Upon his return he shucks my boxers and hops over me and gets comfortable under the sheets. Our kissing gives way to cuddling.

Before falling asleep, Jon explains the last few days to me again and apologizes over and over. He promises me he'll come to me first in the future. I'm mad and hurt, but I understand. I soon drift off to sleep with him spooning me, his erection between my legs.

).:.(<<

JON

When I finally wake up my bed is empty as usual. I guess I freaked Paul out last night. Shit. So much for a good thing while it lasted. Last night was scorching, even if it was his first time and one of the worst bj's I've ever had. He was really good at everything else and my whole body was tingling with burning desire for him. I'm pretty sure neither of had much stamina last night because it was his first time, and I really think it was as hot for him as it was for me. I resign myself to the fact that I'm going to actually beg him to give us another try, and console him that what we did last night, and his feelings, are okay.

Returning from a shower I find I'm delightfully wrong, as Paul is sitting on the edge of Tim's bed with him, both intently playing NHL 2001. While Tim is sitting in just his boxer-briefs like usual, Paul is still shirtless like Tim, but he is otherwise totally dressed in my clothes, right down to the black 2(x)ist band I see above my cargo shorts. I smile and go to my room to get dressed. Seeing Paul's discarded boxers from last night, I can't resist sniffing the crotch before stashing them in my hamper. Fighting the urge to pull them back out and wear them today, I instead throw on the pair of his Haynes I confiscated a week ago and washed for him. He has no idea yet what a turn on this is to me!

Dressed, I make my way to Tim's room and wedge myself between them. Neither pull away. I don't expect Paul to flinch, and he doesn't, when I massage his lower back with my right hand and snake a finger into the top of the crevice between his muscular butt cheeks. I don't go as far with Tim, but it's surprising that after checking to see my other hand under Paul's waistband, he lets me continue to knead his lower back and pinch his butt a couple times through his underwear. He doesn't stop me until after the third try, and even then only repositions my hand a little higher on his back. I wonder if it's coincidental, or is he such a baseball player that he signalled three strikes and I'm out.

When they finally finish up, Paul has actually beaten Tim. I tell Paul we have somewhere to go and Tim tells me, "Buzz off Farrows! Don't you know by now that the late riser doesn't get to dictate anything?"

I cock my head and glare at Tim, "I think the saying is the early bird gets the worm. So unless you're telling me you want Paul's or my worm, I have first dibs on my boyfriend."

He relents, "Fine. I was just trying to spend some quality time with your boyfriend, you know, show I care and all."

"Timbo, he's mine. Get you own," I say, sticking my tongue out at him as Paul blushes, "But why don't you come with us?"

Tim blasts right back, "Cheesedick, I don't want you or your boyfriend, or either of your worms. Sheesh, get your mind out of the gutter already!"

Before I can answer, Paul hesitantly interrupts the banter, "Where are we going, anyway?"

"Chris's. His dad has a whole game plan to get us to Vancouver. Like, he's gone and done a lot of leg work on this and wants to show us what he's come up with," I explain.

Talking in the third person because he just got cut out of the conversation Tim cracks me up, "Timbo can't go. Timbo has, well, like all his Christmas shopping to do. Minus returning Neil's gift. So if Farrows would be so kind as to remove his hand from my ass, Timbo will leave you two now."

Paul takes a backwards glance to see where my other hand in fact is. Thankfully it's on the bed sheet and not even touching Tim.

I roll my eyes at Tim, "Whatever. Just come Timbo, we'll hit the mall after. You'll get your shopping done twice as quick with me there, and then I'm already there for my shift tonight. I did grow up in a mall if you'll recall. It's what I do!"

He shoots back, "Yeah. Like I believe that! Chris maybe, that kid has taste. You, you grew up in a music and video store. I don't think rock t-shirts and posters for everyone will go over well with the fam."

"No, but I can help with the list your mom gave you of what to get everyone. Suit yourself though, you don't get the list unless you come along," I bribe Tim, while going to his dresser to retrieve the list and sticking it down the front of my pants.

Tim lightly slaps Paul in the chest, "That's your department!"

When we get to the Milner's Chris is surprised to see that Tim has come along too. Still, he welcomes each of us with a hug.

As universities in Canada don't give out much in the way of scholarships, Mr. Milner has a small bursary worked out for us through Chrysler that should cover the costs of books and student activity cards. Additionally, if Paul sells his car to Mr. Milner's dealership here, he will even set up us with a car through a Chrylser dealership locally when we get there. Apparently cars there have a different speedometer and something called a block heater. This is Chris's Christmas gift to me and I am literally brought to tears.

I've wanted to go to school in Vancouver and Paul has embraced the idea fully. Daniel's card this weekend has made me realize I need a fresh start somewhere else. Now we have a little help towards that goal of going, and the car idea Mr. Milner has pitched us actually helps Paul hide his whereabouts if anyone starts looking for him.

Left to our own devices we would never be realizing our dreams, we both thank Mr. Milner profusely. Just before we leave, Chris hands me my discman that I left in his car last night, commenting that he loved the songs I burned onto the CD.

From there we make it to the mall and help Tim out with his shopping. While in The Gap getting a shirt for his sister Makenzie, Tim points out that the song playing should be Paul's and my song. Paul rejects the Spice Girls song, stating that it has to be one he can sing and he'll never be able to sound good doing Viva Forever. So when we are in Sports Authority getting new soccer shin pads and shorts for his brother Will, Tim suggests Pretty Fly (for a White Guy) by Offspring. Shopping for Sam in American Eagle, Tim suggests Eminem's The Real Slim Shady. By the time we get to Sears for his parents and White Christmas is playing, Paul and I pre-empt Tim and tell him that is not going to be our song either. Our afternoon ends when I have to start my shift. Tim, Paul and Belinda see me to work, Paul talks to Jackie for a minute, and then they are gone.

There's never a slow moment until the store closes. It's so busy throughout the night that when an extra helper for the Christmas season leaves without asking, Jackie instead stays without being asked. While I'm closing out the tills he approaches me and starts asking about my sisters.

I am at a loss as to what he is digging for so I ask him outright, "Why the interest in them? You know Dee, you've met her here a few times. I've barely seen and hardly talked to Lacey since the summer, which is fine by me, and Candace is probably done her tour for the day and catching the last few rays on a beach while her ship is in port in Cozumel."

He brushes it off, "Oh, it's really nothing. I just thought Paul might be trying to hook up with one of them. I didn't realize that they don't live at home."

"What, because he and Tim are hanging out now?" I ask, trying to propagate the lie that it's Tim, not me that Paul visits.

"Yeah, that's it, him and Matthews. Who knows, maybe I'm wrong. Maybe that really is all it is. I don't know. It's just the way he gets. When he likes a girl he talks shit like the rest of us. When he really likes someone, he shuts up and doesn't say anything. Not even to Wayne and me. He talked my ear off about Stacey, but then I know he never loved her. Now he's shutting up and Wayne and I haven't seen him looking at any girl in particular. The only girl he talks about at all now is Queen B. So if you know what skirt he's trying to look up, by all means feel free to share."

"I don't know Jackie, maybe it's just that Belinda keeps him busy. Or the Christmas season," I dismissively say.

He starts to walk away and then turns back to me. He steps real close and I can feel his intense stare at my back. He waits until I swivel around and look him in the eye. Placing a hand on my shoulder Jackie blows out a breath of air and then reveals, "Look. This is so not my place to say with you as my boss, but with him as my best friend it kind of is. He talks nonstop about Tim. You're the one he's shut up about. Be careful with him. I could pretend I haven't figured it out, you know, just pretend like you guys pretend? But I know you're together. I also know that he plans on getting the hell out of home and as far away from his parents and brothers as he can, as soon as he is eighteen. Once he's legally an adult Belinda is fully his, and his parents lose their legal control over him and her."

"I see," I concede, "Well then Jackie, you're mostly right. But he's sticking around until he graduates."

He's pauses to think, "So is he going to Cali, Seattle or New York? Nat and I are applying to UCLA because of him."

I've put the cash box aside to focus on Jackie, "If you're best friends why's it a secret then?"

"I don't know. Fear I guess. I know he's liked you for at least as long as rumours about you being gay started going around. Hell, I've known he likes dick probably since the same time he did, and have tried every way possible to hint to him that I'm gay-friendly. Hello! I work for you and say nice things about you all the time to him despite the fact he knows I saw you and your last boyfriend holding hands. For the record Jon, I never called you what others do. Anyhow, I even dare to wear a pink fucking triangle on my back pack! I've done everything but take him down to Montrose and buy him a rainbow necklace."

It seems to end the conversation when I say, "Well, I won't speak for him where it isn't my place. You'll have to clear that up with him. I've known real love. I'm starting to feel that already with Paul and I won't betray it. As for school, we're seriously trying for Vancouver, Canada."

When I get home Tim is playing a playstation game with Mickey. I stop by his door and say hey to them both. Noticing the time as I join them in Tim's room, Mickey says hey back to me and then to Tim that they better save the game and pick it up after Christmas. I have a quick shower and change when Tim leads Mickey downstairs to see him out. I don't get it. Mickey will let me work out with them at school, and even show off his body, all of his body, either purposely to tease me, or completely unintentionally. Bottom line is he thinks I'm a fruitcake. I just know it. So if he's that way in public to me, why does he scurry off when I get home? Is he that afraid of a homosexual when it's almost a one on one environment? Or am I overanalysing it like I do to everything?

Having showered, I wrap my waist in a towel and head into my room with my clothes in hand. I am going to have a long day tomorrow with work, and with hosting a Christmas party with Deanna here for our staff, so I grab some more clothes and head downstairs to start a wash. When I get back up to my room Tim is sitting crossed legged on my bed and has the CD from my discman playing through micro speakers that I inherited from Deanna when she moved in with Scott. I guess I won't be going to bed right away after all.

"Wassup Timbo?" I ask.

"We never talked about yesterday Jon," He bluntly states.

Oh yeah that. That seems ages ago already. So many emotions since then, so many things I've done since then. But he's serious about beating it out of me because he called me Jon. He never uses my first name. He either calls me Farrows in public, Cheesedick when it's just us, or more often than not doesn't use any name when addressing me.

"Kay. Say what you have to say and get it over with. I've moved on from that already," I offer.

"I thought maybe something was wrong between you and Hunter at first, but thankfully not," He starts.

"Nope, all's good on that front," I interrupt with a smile.

He smiles back, but it's clearly exaggerated, "You sure? A string of ABBA songs ends with Chiquitita, then you've got Comfortably Numb by Pink Floyd, and I don't even know what this song is. Put together, this CD sounds like a depression CD."

I just stare at him in response.

He points to my discman / mini-stereo, "You left your CD player in my car, so after I cleared out 20 of your CD's from the back seat I popped this one out of your discman and listened to it to see if you had anything new. Off topic, you seriously had more than 20 of your CD's in my car. If I'm not your bitch, I don't know who else is."

Not sure what the smile a moment ago was for, or where he's heading with the conversation I try to derail his train of thought by joking, "We've been over this. You won't give your ass up to me. Hence you're not my bitch. On the other hand, you let me faithfully wash your unmentionables, and more than once I've offered you the pleasure of my ass. That makes me your bitch."

"Back on topic, you also left Daniel's Christmas card beside the computer the other night, just so you know. Your mom found it, and then she found the actual letter in your room tonight. She asked me about it. We've all read it."

"So end of discussion then, Tim. I'm sure you never heard me play Europe before, but I'm gay, and this song that's ending right now by them is called Coast to Coast. It happens to appeal to me when I feel alone, because its message is that we're not alone. Plus, you know me and how I find a song for everything. This song is the beginning of an upswing on the CD, after the ABBA songs wind down and bottom out with Floyd."

"So what's it all mean? What was with bitching out of school on me yesterday to drink alone?"

I explain, "After bottling it up all weekend because there never was a good time to deal with it, yes, I tried to get a little drunk yesterday morning. When the house was finally empty I screamed at a non-present Daniel for a while and cried my very last tears for him. That would be the Ozzy song coming up, No More Tears. I wrote out some of the lyrics from the Green Day song F O D in an email to him. Something he wrote in his letter tells gives away the fact that he still checks his account, even if he pretends not to."

"So that's it? We don't have to be on suicide watch?" Tim cautiously jokes.

As I replace the mixed CD with Dookie, by Green Day and cue up F O D, I point out, "What does this song say? `I've felt this burning in my guts now for so long. My belly's aching now to say, You're just...a fuck, I can't explain it 'cause I think you suck. I'm takin' pride in telling you to fuck off and die.' That's what it says Tim. He left. My life had to go on. I think I've finally let him go. I'm truly free of him at last. I think I'm now onto the healing stage of my grieving process. "

Tim gives me the same long, drawn-out okay that he did when I surprise kissed him in my sleep months back.

Smiling inside at the memory, I ignore it and explain, "It gets easier every time now, but that card took me by surprise. Once I worked most of it out of me I went to school. And yes, I was an ass to you yesterday and I'm sorry. That's why I cut out of school, saw Chris, and we consoled each other."

Tim looks shocked so I further explain, "We just talked. I would never mess around now that I have Paul, even with you. And then last night I told Paul everything. I confided it all to him. You were next Tim, and you know that's the God's honest truth, but we haven't had the time."

"Alright. Just let your mom and Larry know you're good then. Now let me see your poster here," He says, as he grabs a rolled up poster I brought home from work and threw on my bed before my shower.

The poster was a promotional piece we had in the back store room for a romance sale Deanna had put together for the past spring. It's a three foot by five foot black and white of a silhouetted couple holding hands on a beach. There were three variations done on vinyl; a bunch of the main ones with your standard guy and a girl, one with two girls, and one with two boys. At first glance you may not catch the difference; you have to actually compare to see that the one is two girls and one is two guys. Dee liked the set and thought it would be subtle enough to use. She had ordered them before Michael came at Daniel and me, and afterwards opted to play it safe and not use the gay and lesbian ones. I found them in storage a few weeks back, and after my talk with Jackie tonight, in red sharpie over a large white area on the gay one I wrote the lyrics to the song Tomorrow, by Europe. If I knew any lesbian I'd do the same with the lesbian one and give it to her.

Tim unrolls the poster as I hold the top. We both look at my perfect handwriting frame the couple in the poster and say nothing for a long few moments. Breaking the silence Tim suggests, "I know the perfect place for this."

Looking at my walls I ask, "Yeah? Where's that?"

Instead of answering directly, he takes his end and starts walking to his room. I follow. He pulls the silly putty off the corners of his Jeff Bagwell poster above the head of his bed and lets it drop roughly to the floor. Still clad in only a towel, I help him position the new poster and secure it with some pushpins through the eyelets.

"All you have to do is sign it, right there," Tim says, pointing to the lower right hand corner.

I protest, "That's cheesy Tim."

"Yeah? Tell me that when I frame it and put it in my dorm room. Tell me that when I am married with kids and it adorns a vaulted wall in my house. It is so you. I'm going to keep it forever," he promises.

I hug him.

He pushes me away, "Now get some clothes on and go talk with your mom!"

Tim follows me back into my room as I drop my towel and walk over to my dresser. While I step into a pair of gym shorts, Tim picks up the CD he was first grilling me about, obviously intent on taking it, "Some of your shit is questionable, but you sure do keep introducing me to stuff that drips emotion. I'll deny this, but I can see how you get into these songs."

I head down to the kitchen in just the shorts to face my ma. She's sitting at the table with Larry. Great, even though he and I talked about it at school yesterday, this interrogation looks like it's going to be a two-on-one! Now I wish I had fully dressed. Let me guess, Ma will play bad cop to Larry's good cop? Yeah, I'm sure that'll be the tactic.

Not like I think it will do me any good, but much like usual in a lecture from Ma, I take the offensive right away before she has a chance to really lay it on thick, "Ma, you know it's how I cope. I get hurt, I get all moody and I mope, and then I get over myself. It's cyclical. Well not really a cycle because life's usually pretty good lately, but it's how I deal with life when it turns against me."

"Jonny," she starts as I absently play with a post card on the table from Candace. It's addressed to Ma, me, Larry and Tim. I know she talks to him when she calls, which strikes me as a little odd. I guess they really hit it off when he drove her to Panama City to start her job on the cruise line, and I figure she just wants him to feel like part of the family when she calls rather than ostracize him. Funny, looking at the post card as I tune Ma's first salvo out, I could almost swear that the dot on the letter ` i ' in Tim was a heart until she consciously corrected it. Interesting. I'll have to kid her about that when we talk next.

I cut Ma off, looking at Larry but talking to her to get her off her tangent, "Back to what I was saying. I'm getting better with it too. I got the card last Friday. I brushed it off at first but it took its toll on me by Sunday night. I screwed up Monday morning, but I only missed one day of classes. I got it all out of me and that's that."

"It's not that simple Jon," Larry's commanding voice starts, telling me clearly that it's his turn to speak, "Your coping mechanism is your own. It fits a standard pattern. Showing you're emotionally vulnerable to your peers is anathema in high school. We understand that. If you want to go through it with me some time we can hit off all the points from depression to anger, right, along to acceptance."

Ma interjects, "Do I have to get all of the liquor out of the house?"

"It's not that Charlene. He didn't even polish off a fifth of the bottle. At most there are two ounces gone," he correctly points out. Well good job Sherlock Holmes.

I try to better explain my side of things, "Kay. Here it is. He sent me the card. I was hurt. I got sad. Everybody's busy and stressed with Christmas so I kept it all in. By Monday morning I just needed the house to myself so that I could finally curse him and cry without everyone watching me. I'm over it. Leaving Jim and the shot glass out in the open wasn't a cry for help, nor was leaving the card at the computer. I actually meant to put it with the rest of the cards. Despite what's inside, I like the picture on the front of it."

Ma gasps in exasperation.

"So yesterday? It was me letting it go. Sorry Ma but a fact's a fact: growing up in this shoebox of a house it was hard enough for me to jerk off, let alone silently cry, and not be heard! I didn't mean to alarm anyone. I just wanted to quietly feel sorry for myself and then move on."

"We get that Jon. That's not where your ma's coming from," Larry explains, "You're in line for some awards. Along with those awards come subsidies and bursaries. That's what's at stake. After Chris' father called us many weeks ago, I also have looked into a lot of them, and recommended you for some here at Houston University, and applied for other broad range ones that allow you to use it where you choose. As long as I don't officially live here, you situation and grades are almost a sure thing to take you on a partial ride to where you want to get. I can doctor your attendance only so much without it setting off alarms. For the rest of the year though you need perfect attendance. Don't draw any more undue attention upon yourself."

I'll just pick my jaw up off the table now, "Um. Sorry. And thanks!"

Larry nods, "And no man wants to have their mother worry over them, but you need to change your outlet. Instead of bottling it up all weekend just let it out. Come to the gym with me and beat the crap out of a punching bag, tire yourself out with some weights, or run yourself to exhaustion on a treadmill."

Ma cuts in, "Even Tim sees that sometimes your heart is out there on your sleeve. You can really express it well when you're inspired. We all snuck a peak of your poster when you were in the shower. Talk to your Ma, Jonny. Talk to Larry. Talk to Tim. Talk to Paul. Talk to Bandit. Heck, If you can't use the gym at school, let Bandit drag you for a walk while you get it out. On that note, just take your dog for a regular walk, period. But just get it out sooner."

"So what are you anyway, some kind of therapist?" I jokingly ask Larry.

He bites, "Coaching 45 of you emotionally repressed teenagers a season would qualify, definitely. Then there's the whole being a Vice-Principal thing too. The days are definitely long in navigating with the hormonal teenage psyche."

I chuckle, "Yeah, tell me about it. For us too."

He's not done yet, "But above that, yes, I've been working part–time towards my PHD in psychiatry for many years. How do you think I got my connections at Houston University for you?"

"Uh, through the school?" I surmise.

"Well, there's that, but more of my connections are because of my studies there than from being a washed up high school football coach," He answers.

"Cool! But you'll have to tell me this all again when I am not dead tired and longing for bed," I state, getting up from the table and stifling yawn. All throughout the conversation I note that Tim is on the phone, as indicated by the red light on the cordless base in the kitchen.

As I pass Tim's room I can't resist. I pus his door open more than the crack he had left it, and stick my head into dark room, aglow from his cordless phone. I loudly wisecrack, "Jeez Tim! Get your hands out of your boxers and quit licking the phone. Oh, and say hi to your mother for me while you're at it!"

He throws something at me as I try to duck back out of the door. I bend to pick it up off the floor and my fingers slip through something slimy. Go figure, it actually is his cum-rag underwear! They smell intoxicating. I debate holding onto them and mixing my seed with his thick fluid, but then I remember to respect our boundaries and toss it back at his head. Of course it misses by five feet. I say good night and close the door over again.

Out of his sight, I can't fight the urge. I have a decent glob of his cum on my forefinger. I sniff it and it smells like what I've come to recognize in his laundry, only better. Yeah, way better. So good in fact that before I can even think, I'm bringing my finger to my tongue. Damn, the boy tastes good. I know my own flavor, and I've now sampled Paul's cum a couple times. Tim's is definitely different. I wouldn't say sweeter, or saltier, I can't say exactly how, but different all the same.

I cross another barrier when I reach down my shorts and wipe the remainder of his DNA on the head of my rising monster. As I quietly work myself to climax in bed, naughty thoughts about how to get more of Tim's semen tease my mind. His underwear just may not be safe in my hands again.

Once, he offered his cummed up pair to me to jack off in. That was a while back, at his place in New Orleans. I refused to violate him then, but now I may not be able to help myself anymore. I'm a little too into it because when I blow my load into a sock, I can't repress a grunt. Fuck, that was a great jack-off session, I don't even care that the whole house probably heard me cum. That will be one of the first times, they hear, if not the very first. If Tim says anything more about me beating off every morning the instant Ma leaves for work, I'll let him know I'm now quite aware when he jerks off after his middle of the night whispered phone call, that he takes three shallow gasping breaths before he shoots into his undies every night.

I'm fully asleep when Tim tickles my toes to wake me, "Get some underwear on and slide over stud."

"Huh?" I groggily ask. If I had my wits about me I should have told him to go fetch me the ones with the wet spot he threw at me earlier.

"Get your junk in some shorts and slide over. I'm hopping in," Tim says.

"Wet the bed again?" I ask.

His voice is wavering, "Look, just do it. Please?"

"Kay," I cautiously say.

As I get up and grab a random pair of boxer-briefs from my dresser to put on, he explains through a sniffle, "It's not a gay thing. Or a bi thing either. Just so you know. I let you squeeze my ass this morning, but I don't want your worm, or to feed you mine."

"Kay. But what is it then. Just so I know," I ask as I slip under the sheet again.

"It's a friend in need thing," He answers.

I have no idea what is going on here, "Wow, way to be evasive Tim. You are the one that woke me and are now between the same unwashed sheets that my boyfriend and I sleep between. I already told you I'm good. I'm not in need."

"Uh huh. You're a stud. You let us all know an hour ago when you went to bed. So is Hunter," Tim whispers into my ear. Once he has snuggled up to me and has his arm around me he asks, "How can you listen to that music? It's so sad. There I was, alone in the night, unable to sleep as it plays in my head... yes it did make me wet the bed, with tears."

I take in the moment. Inhaling the slightly heady scent of his armpit from his bicep that my head is now resting on, feeling the warmth of his body as it spoons mine, flexing my fingers with his intertwined with mine. My body melts.

"Let me get this straight. This? It's a need thing? Like a you-in-need, not me-in-need thing?"

I can feel the stubble from his cheek burn my neck as he nods a yes.

"Kay. The songs then? They make you cry. Well, that's your answer right there. Those songs, they make me feel. I feel the pain in them, and that makes me happy again."

I can sense he's crying again, "Yeah, but her voice...Singing to a Chiquita banana or not... It's beautiful...God is it beautiful...but haunting. And some of the words, so very haunting."

I wrap myself tighter in his embrace. I don't bother educating him that ABBA actually had two female singers, or that the name of the song is Chikitita. After bringing our hands to my face and kissing his knuckles I relate, "Then you've finally discovered what music is all about to me. You've found a connection to a song on a deeper level. So what's really up? What's got my best bud hurting so much that he's here in bed with me?"

He sniffles, "It's Christmas and I'm lonely Jon. I miss my family, my Mom and Dad. I miss Mackenzie and Sam and Will a lot, even if I'll see them in a couple days. Shit, as dumb as it sounds, I miss you Jon. I miss us. I love you so much it scares me. Emotionally, not physically. I'm jealous of Paul. You and me, we spend so much less time together now that I live here than we used to before I moved in, and even less now that you're with Paul. I easily spend more time with Larry and your Mom than you. Larry and I have our chats and he plays Dr. Phil to me and offers advice. You had your melt down. This is mine. That CD pushed me over the edge."

"Well, thanks for thinking enough of me to share like this. I miss you too. I always forget that while you're my rock, that you don't have it all figured out yet either. I'm always so in awe of you that maybe I take your composure for granted. Sorry," I offer.

He kisses the back of my neck. This is messed up. He exposes himself further, "Nah. You're the one with composure. You're so grounded, I have like only one foot on the ground compared to you. You are who you are, and you are so much more confident than you know. It intimidates the hell out of me. It's part of what drew me to you and made me want you for a best friend back in the spring. Even more than Neil, and we were best friends for years. That, and for a born and bred Texan, you accent is off. You're ma's Italian accent comes through in you."

I confide, "And while I love you with all my heart too, snuggling with you is going to fuck me up. I once thought Paul would be the one. The one that got away that is. But it will always be you. All because you have to go and be straight and like girls."

He jokes, "Yeah, I got one of those too, one that got away before I ever had the nerve to express myself. But girls still rock. Even if I'm spooning you."

I don't mention his reference to Nat, especially as I thought he had expressed his feelings pretty clear to her that he was way into her. Instead I address a more pressing issue. Like his flaccid penis pressing against my bottom cheek, "Speaking of which. Don't get weirded out by this. Kay? It's not a gay thing. It's just a comfort thing. Kay? Do you trust me?"

"Yeah," He acknowledges.

"Then just let it happen. I'm not going to do anything to violate you. I'm just going to adjust and make the situation a little better," I promise him as I reach a hand back behind me to grab his flaccid penis through his boxers and move it from its downward position, instead nestling it in the gap between my cheeks and thighs, "There, that's it. Are you O.K. with that?"

He cups my balls and the base of my erection and gives it all a little shake. His penis slides down my leg and flops back to its original hanging position, "Yeah. We're good."

Of course he pulls away almost immediately so that we're not in contact down there. He's up against the wall, so I press my hips back into the void between us, so that he has me completely enveloped from my knees to my neck again.

Tim sighs, his breath is sweet in contrast to the musk of his body, "Ah. Just like old times. I miss this in a fucked up way. You're the only one I've ever had this contact with, and it makes me long for a real relationship where I can always have this."

"Um, just like what old times? That was a dream I revealed to you once. My dream, not yours," I correct him, failing to mention that I can feel him getting stiffer against my thigh even if there is two layers of cotton in the way.

"Just a dream he says! You wish," He corrects me, "When you would sleep over all those Friday nights, you always tossed and turned and kept me from falling fully asleep. That is until you pushed your butt into me enough that in my sleepy state I'd give in and spoon your sorry sleeping ass!"

As his erection adjusts and springs free through his open fly, now resting in the crack between my thighs I question him, "So we spooned in your bed and you never told me?"

He offers, "Yeah. What would you have had me say? Your ass seeks me out in bed and makes me hold you while we sleep. The first time I woke with an arm around you, you looked so peaceful. So after a few times waking with you curled into me, I timidly put my arm around you and your breathing instantly changed and you totally relaxed."

"Seriously?"

"Seriously."

"Oh shit no way! I'm sorry. Well, not really, but sort of."

"Uh huh. And as wrong as it was, I really liked having you all curled up inside my embrace. All those times your Polo Sport and sweaty pits clearly said you weren't a girl in my arms, but I felt so good wrapped around you. So how do I tell my friend who I know is gay but won't admit it, that I don't mind the feel of his body next to mine when he's unconscious. But in a plutonic, non sexual way. More in a sad desire for basic human contact way. Right up until you start to grind and get me hard. Then I have to turn you and you try to hug me from the front, so I have to nudge you over to your side. Nah, like a cheap whore I just ate it up and kept it to myself. Until tonight. If it's O.K. with you I want to hold you until I fall asleep. Nothing sexual. Just a simple connection I need. I need you tonight."

I concede, "Alright. But is this somehow cheating on Paul?"

He makes light of the situation, "No. You have sex with him. Tonight you're just being my safety blanket. I swear my semi will deflate at some point and stop teasing you!"

I jest back, "Well, maybe I'll help you there by telling you I'm enjoying the feel of it. It may be even bigger than I thought, and I gave you credit for a pretty big one. If you want to grab a condom from the tin in the bottom left drawer any time and surprise me, I won't ever act any differently to you afterwards."

"Hmm. Tempting. Sorry baby. But you just hold that thought as you drift off to sleep," he shoots down my real offer.

"Our loss then. But tonight let's do this differently. Turn around and curl up a bit. Tonight you be little spoon and I'll be big spoon," I offer.

As we roll over I tuck my penis between my legs, but once we are pressed together it springs up and nestles in Tim's crack with only a dual layer of cotton blends between us. I go to adjust but Tim says no, and that it's kinda nice.

A few minutes later when I think he's dozed off, Tim mentions, "I'd have gone with the lyrics to Kick Him When He's Down. The Offspring had it right, `Little men come when anything goes.' You should have written that in your response to Daniel's Christmas card."

Tim falls asleep before me, and I hold him until I drift off too. Sometime before morning I partially wake and register that he is gone. In the morning I join him on his bed, both still only clad in our underwear and take my usual beating in NHL 2001. The day is going to be crazy-busy, but we agree to dedicate a couple nights a week for just us once he gets back from New Orleans in the New Year. And to that, Tim assures me that he will be coming back so not to worry.

.:.(<<

Dear Reader:

I am sorry this took so long. I have a few more chapters in different stages of completion now so that I can at least finish off Wings of Tomorrow. Beyond that? Time, life, resposnibilites, yada yada. Trust me, I WISH I had more time to write. We'll se how things go now. I would still love to hear what your thoughts are! Your comments are always greatly appreciated, write me anytime @ phantomscorpio77@gmail.com For the love of (fill in the blank appropriately for yourself here), please write me. I'd love to know someone's out there! :)

I also have a web page (yahoo group) where I post this along with my other stories! The format is way cleaner to read (pdf), both on the computer and on mobile devices, and if you join the group it will send notifications when new chapters are posted. http://ca.groups.yahoo.com/group/phantomscorpio77

Cheers,

~Jade :)