All the characters and events in this story are fictitious. Any resemblance to real people, either living or dead, is entirely unintentional.
The story is copyrighted and may not be reproduced in any way without the express permission of the author who can be contacted at pjalexander1753@gmail.com
A Very Ordinary Boy (Part 1)
From Chapter 11:
I reach round in the dark and find my clothes surprisingly easily. I put everything on, including my sweats and hoodie `cause, despite what Noah just said, I am cold once again. At least, I think that's why I'm shivering.
Chapter 12: Questions. Questions.
Seriously? You want to know how I feel about what happened at the weekend? No, don't try to deny it, I can see the amateur psychologist look in your eyes. You're desperate to know so you can `work me out'. I know I'm right, so don't try denying it. And to be fair, even though I don't really see how it's any of your business, it is a reasonable question. How does having had sex with Noah Richmond make me feel? Honestly I have no fucking idea. No, that's not a wimp-out. I really don't know because there is no simple, straight-forward answer. I wish there was.
Part of it, the answer I mean, is in the question (like Mr. Miles says it usually is), `cause, yes, I have finally had sex. Hooray and hallelujah! The boring and ordinary Jack Smith is no longer a boring and ordinary virgin. But that fact just drags up a whole bunch of other questions. Like, is what happened in the back of Noah's van the way I would have wanted to get laid for the first time? And the answer to that is no, not really. Or, here's another one, did it live up to the rose-tinted first time that I'd often imagined (usually when I was wanking)? No, not at all. But did it happen with the one person in the world that I would have chosen? 100% yes. Am I confused? Stupid question! And the stuff that's gone on this last week, since the weekend, has made it way, way worse.
As I lay there, listening to Noah breathing as he slept, shivering with cold, or shock, or whatever, my brain went round and round, going back over and over what had happened. And I don't mean just in the last hour or so in the back of the van, but everything I could remember about me and Noah since the day he knocked me to the floor in FfT. To start with, there was the question of why Noah chose to come over to where I was working in the book area to speak to me in the first place. Yeah, like I told you, he said it was to apologise, again, for knocking me over. And that was okay, unnecessary but okay. But why didn't he leave it there rather than keep coming over more or less every time he came in? It's not as if we'd been, or were ever likely to be, best buds. And then there was the totally confusing question over his sexuality. He was straight, undeniably, completely straight. As far as I, and everyone else knew, he and Tani had been dating for months. They were, like, glued together. And all through high school he'd always had at least one girlfriend, plus an endless line of others waiting to take her place. But how did that square with the interest in all those nude Italian Renaissance bodies - male bodies? Sure, he'd explained it by talking about his mum's heritage but, seriously? But now that I had time (and reason) to think it over, how credible was that? Besides, there are plenty of female nudes painted by the same artists yet he never mentioned any of them. And at school he'd been on every sports team going. Was that some sort of cover so he could enjoy scoping out naked teenage boy bodies in the locker room and shower without anyone getting suspicious? And most confusing of all was where I fit into the picture. And, I s'pose, what he'd done to me last night.
So, all those conversations in the book area, all the times he had specifically come over to talk to me, had that just been a really subtle way of setting me up? Of grooming me? Did he know, right from the start, that I was a vulnerable, closeted gayboy who was totally ripe for the plucking? Was he just softening me up? Flattering me? Making me feel special? And then, once he knew he'd got me to the point where I'd have sworn black was white if he'd asked me to, is that when he went in for the kill and got me to agree to spend the weekend with him, away from home, somewhere with no phone coverage or Wi-Fi? And what were we now -- boyfriends? Friends with benefits? Fuck buddies? Like I said, so many questions.
So many questions chasing each other round and round inside my head and, as far as I could see, there were no clear cut answers to any of them. Eventually, as it began to get light outside and the rain started to fall, my brain decided that it had finally had enough and it let me drift off to sleep.
When I woke up, feeling as if I hadn't slept at all, it was fully light and I could see that Noah wasn't lying beside me. I tried to work out how I felt about that but it was too much effort and I gave up. I was looking round for my Nikes when one of the back doors opened and Noah jumped inside. His hair was soaked and matted down onto his head and his jacket was wet through. Evidently it was still raining hard. Noah sort of smiled at me but said nothing, offering me a pastry from the FfT box. But I was very aware of my morning wood and quickly explained my need to pee before I could think of doing anything else, including eating, even though it looked as if I was gonna get pretty wet in the process. Noah nodded his agreement and wished me good luck. I scrambled out of the van as quickly as I could. Honestly, at that moment, I just needed to put some space between the two of us while I tried to decide what I wanted to happen next.
It was raining hard so I made a dash for it in the direction of the nearest tree cover. My need to pee was strong so I immediately positioned myself behind a large oak, released my cock and let go. Relief! It was only then that I realised that things didn't feel exactly right with my butt. There was an unfamiliar soreness. I finished peeing and returned my cock to the warmth and safety of my briefs before putting my hand down the back of my sweats where I carefully felt around. Even from outside of my underwear I could feel the dampness down between my legs and straight away knew it was Noah's cum from last night -- the `leakage' he had mentioned. Gross! All I wanted to do at that moment was get out of those briefs. I didn't care how hard it was raining, I just wanted them off. I pushed down my sweats but then couldn't get them off over my Nikes. It was like some stupid vintage silent film, me propping myself up against the tree but still wobbling about, hopping from foot to foot, trying to untie the laces but with my sweats half way down my legs and the rain pouring down. Finally, out of my Nikes and sweats, I quickly pushed my briefs down and off. When I glanced inside (yes, sick I know, but you would've done the same thing) I saw not just cum, there was blood, too. No wonder I felt sore. Fuck! What had Noah done to me? This was so not cool.
There I was, naked from the waist down, in the pouring rain, in the middle of a national park campsite, a couple of hours from home, on my own with the guy who, I was beginning to realise, had likely abused me last night, trying to make sense of what I was feeling about him, about me and him, about us. Then I heard a shout. It was Noah's voice. He was yelling at me to hurry up and get back to the van. Not a good idea, you're thinking? But what were my options? At least the rain meant there would be no trail-riding today. Not that I could have got on a bike anyway, not with my butt as sore as it was. In fact, the amount of rain probably meant we'd be heading straight home. Sounded good to me so I pulled on my sweats (I stuffed the dirty briefs into a pocket), pushed my wet feet into my even wetter Nikes and headed back.
When I reached the van Noah was sitting in the driver's seat. He'd already stowed the bikes and the tarp in the back. As I climbed into the passenger seat he handed me another left-over pastry from the box, said there was no point hanging round hoping for the weather to improve and turned the key to start the engine.
The ride home was very strange. Noah kept up a more or less constant stream of chatter about pretty much nothing -- the weather, a soccer game he'd watched on TV a couple of nights before, the decorating job he'd be working on that week. He didn't seem to be expecting any sort of response, which suited me fine `cause I definitely wasn't in the mood for general chat. The one thing he very definitely didn't mention was anything about the events of the night -- nada, nothing, zilch! Was he deliberately avoiding the subject or was it simply of no importance to him? Was he feeling guilty about it? I had no clue. And anyway, what would I have said if he had brought it up? I still had no idea what to think about what had happened and I totally hadn't had time to process it. And there was no way I was gonna say anything about the blood, so maybe it was for the best that the subject of sex was never mentioned.
Eventually he ran out of irrelevant things to talk about and switched on the radio. I can't remember what station was playing but I was happy that there was some sort of noise to fill the obvious gap between us. Being still fairly early on Sunday the traffic was light so we made good time and were back home by mid-morning. I gave Noah directions to my neighbourhood, pretty much the first thing I'd said since we'd left the park. I told him to drop me at the end of my street and that I'd cycle the last hundred yards or so to my house. He didn't argue, said he'd see me in the week and drove off, leaving me standing at the side of the road damp, confused and really, really sad.
When I walked in I went straight to the kitchen in the hope of finding something in the fridge I could heat up and take to my room. What I actually found was Rosa and that really surprised me cause she almost never works Sundays. I must have looked as bad I felt and she threw herself on me, greeted me like she hadn't seen me in, like, 100 years -- hugs, kisses, the whole works -- then she insisted I sit down (not so comfortable on a hard breakfast bar stool) while she made me something to eat cause I obviously hadn't been doing enough of that during my "expedition to the country". You'd think I'd been stranded in darkest Peru for a month the way she fussed. It was nice. As she whisked up eggs and cheese to make an omelette she explained that my dad had gone to the airport first thing to cover for a sick colleague and that my mum was at her office prepping for some big national conference she was due to be attending later in the week. Genuinely I didn't take much notice as she chatted on but it felt good to be home and I was grateful not to have to think about what had gone on over the previous twelve hours. Shit! Had it only been that long? It seemed like way, way longer.
By the time I'd done eating I felt completely wrecked. I needed to sleep. More importantly, I needed to shower, partly to warm up (I'd started shivering again) but mostly I needed to wash off the feeling, the feeling that had been building up more or less since I'd woken up that morning, of being dirty all over. I thanked Rosa for breakfast and gave her a huge hug. As I let go I realised there were tears running down my face. I turned away and got myself out of the kitchen and up to my room as quickly as possible, hoping that Rosa hadn't clocked the state I was in, not just `cause I didn't think I'd be able to come up with any sort of believable excuse for why I was crying, but also I knew, whatever I came up with, however credible and convincing, she'd tell my mum and dad and that was a scenario I totally was not ready to face.
The water was hot, as hot as I could take it, and I stood under the spray until my skin was the colour of an over-ripe tomato. I must have used nearly a whole bottle of body wash and it took a long time before I risked feeling around my butt hole. It was still sore to the touch but when I brought my hand away I could see no blood. What a relief! So things back there could have been worse but that didn't make it any easier to understand what had happened to me, much less accept it. What could Noah have been thinking? Well, the obvious answer was that he was thinking that I was okay with him fucking me, and why wouldn't he think that? I mean, it was obvious that I'd been completely into everything that had happened right up to the point where he stuck his cock in me. And let's face it, at no point did I tell him to stop, and when he asked me if I was okay with what he was doing, what was my answer? So, yeah, I never said "No", but I never told him I was ready to have my butt ploughed either. And shoving my face down into the sleeping bag, what was that about? I've seen it done often enough on porn, you know, where the top squeezes the bottom's throat or pushes him into the mattress or pillow. So it happens, so the fact that Noah did it to me doesn't prove he was trying to shut me up, like, you know, making sure I couldn't tell him to stop. Maybe that rough kind of stuff is meant to make the sex feel better or something. I didn't know, and the more I went round and round trying to come up with the answers the more conflicted I became.
The water started to run cold and that was something I definitely didn't need. I'd only just stopped shivering so I reckoned the best place to be, once I'd dried off, was in bed. That turned out to be a good choice `cause I pretty much immediately fell asleep. I woke up a couple of hours later and at first everything seemed normal but only for, like, a few seconds. I tried to get out of bed but I couldn't, my arms and legs wouldn't co-operate. And instead of my brain quickly shaking off that sleep fug that hangs around for a few when you first wake up, it seemed like fug had turned to fog and it was totally clogging up my brain. I felt heavy and sluggish and really, really sad again.
Shit! It was so weird. Why did I feel like that? I mean, I'd had sex, right? Like, who doesn't wanna have sex? I wasn't a gayboy virgin anymore. So why wasn't I feeling good? Was it `cause Noah had seemed off and totally ignored the subject on the ride home? I admit that that hurt -- a lot. Believe it or not, I'm not so naïve as to think my very first time was gonna be with the love of my life, the person I'd want to commit to forever. But wasn't it meant to be at least a bit special? For both of us? Didn't I deserve better than I got? Noah seemed to want to pretend nothing at all had happened and, increasingly, I felt used and disregarded and dirty.
I don't remember much about the rest of that Sunday. Most of it I spent in bed, trying to keep warm and also avoid mum and dad. Of course, the person I really wanted to talk to was Dyl but that just wasn't possible. I mean, not only had we had the biggest falling out ever, but I'd never told him about being gay so how was I supposed to be able to tell him I'd had gay sex for the very first time and it had totally fucked with my head? No, not possible. Not even close. So I slept, on and off. In the times when I wasn't dozing the feeling of sadness would sweep over me and I'd realise I was crying, not big, heaving sobs, more a quiet, unstoppable weeping. I didn't seem able to control it at all and I wasn't convinced I'd be able to keep it together if I had to have a conversation with the parents. Looking back on it now I realise that that was completely stupid and exactly the wrong way to think about things, but at the time it made total sense. Just goes to show that I may have been less ordinary than I had been but I was still just as stupid.
As an author, it's REALLY encouraging to know that there are people out there who are taking the time to read what's been written, and then bothering to send a response. So please do feel free to write to me at the email address given at the top of the chapter. I welcome all comments and guarantee to write back. PJ
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