Here is the next chapter. I hope to submit these on a weekly basis now. And, in response to cumulative feedback, I want to make it clear that this story is not intended to make you hot and horny. If you would rather be, press the back button.
Disclaimer: This is a homoerotic story I have written, so if you aren't allowed legally, morally or ethically to read it, then don't. And don't post this anywhere else without my expressed permission. Feedback is very much encouraged, so e-mail me at bluedragon314@gmail.com or hit me up on myspace.
Ch. 12
9-9-00 The first week of school was fun. I have a good history teacher. My English teacher is cool. He won't make us read "The Giver" or anything like that, but cool stuff like "Henry V" and "Lord of the flies." But it's sad how people pick on Piggy. He also challenged us to keep a journal, so I am. This is my first journal entry. I don't know if I will remember to write or not, but I want to try. I bet when more stuff happens I will have more to write, but it's late and dad wants me to go to bed.
-B.M.F
11-16-00
I can't sleep tonight, so I decided to write in my journal. It's been over 2 months since my first entry and a lot has happened. Becky decided to date someone else. But her dad is leaving her family and I still want to help her so we are still friends.
Dad got a promotion at work. He is now the Assistant Sports Editor and he says it means life at home will be a lot easier. I hope that means I can have a brother now. Mom and dad always said I don't have a brother because they can't afford another son, but a promotion means I might finally get one. I always wanted a brother.
That's all I feel like writing right now. Other cool stuff has happened, but I don't feel like writing the rest.
-B.M.F.
12-25-00
Christmas was so stupid. I got a Broncos helmet, a football and a book called "The Lord Foulgrin Letters" and I don't like any of them. My parents didn't think about the stuff I would really want, but stuff they wanted me to have.
And my prayers weren't answered. I didn't get a brother for Christmas. I asked my parents if they want one, but they said one boy was enough for them to love. But who can I love? Dad talks about his brothers all the time and it makes me jealous. I wouldn't even need friends if I had a brother. But I don't really have any friends, anyway.
I wonder if I am being punished. I know I have been falling into sin lately. At least I think I have. I know all about homosexuals in the Bible and how they are wicked and should be put to death, but that couldn't happen to me. My dad's a deacon. But I stayed late in the locker room last week just to see Jimmy Banks walk out of the shower room. I hate writing it, but I liked seeing him without his shirt on. And I know I'm not supposed to like other boys, so I think I am being punished for it. I'll try not to do it again. If I stop, maybe God will change his mind about me.
-B.M.F.
I put Brian's journal down next to me on the bed and laid back on the cushy sheets. I had been reading it to pass time as Connor was in his bedroom. He'd been in there for an hour and fifteen minutes. Now, I know young men have certain time-consuming habits in the morning, but Connor seemed awfully old for that, and I don't know anyone who could keep it up for over an hour.
"Connor," I yelled, hopping off the bed and walking into the hallway. "Are you done?"
"Just a second," was his quick reply.
"It's been an hour and fifteen minutes," I told him, standing at the bedroom door.
"Oh, shit," I heard him say under his breath. "Uh, I'll be out in a minute. Just^Åhang on."
We were supposed to go to town when he got done. The feed store didn't sound exciting, but the arcade sure did.
"If you don't come out, I'm coming in," I declared with my hand on the doorknob.
"Just wait," he said. "I'll be right out."
I opened the door and saw Connor standing on the other side of the room by his bed in front of a full-length mirror. He was trying to straighten his hair and make sure his red flannel shirt was tucked into his jeans just right.
"Close the door!" he demanded.
I reached over and pulled the door shut.
"Don't tell me this is what I've been waiting for," I said.
"Come on, I have to be ready," he said, using precision comb strokes to sculpt his jelled hair.
"What, you want to impress the clerk at the hay and feed store?" I asked.
"Pshh! Come on, dude. You know how it is," he replied.
"For all intents and purposes, I'm not even sure what 'it' is," I said.
"Girls!" he said with strained anxiety. "Have you never obsessed over a girl before?"
"No, I'm gay," I replied, feeling very brave. He couldn't tell anyone at my school, and I was sick of playing the role of the overly-naive straight boy.
He paused and turned over his shoulder to look at me with eyebrows bent in ignorant contemplation.
"You can calm down, I'm not coming on to you," I said.
"No, it's not that," he said. "It's just...what do you think of this outfit?"
He turned to face me with his hands on his hips and stood up straight with his trim chest puffed out.
"Umm, it looks like you work on a horse ranch," I replied.
"Do my shoes match?" he asked with an annoying amount of sincerity.
"I'm not that kind of gay guy," I said. "I don't have any fashion sense, at all."
"Oh, then do I at least look nice?" he asked.
"Sure. I mean, it would take a lot to make you look bad."
"How much?"
"I^×is this about looking good for some girl?"
"Of course."
"I don't know what kind of taste she has."
"But she likes guys, and so do you."
"What? That doesn't matter. Do you and your friends look for the same things in a girl?"
"Pretty much. We all agree that the best part of a girl is her boobs. What's the best part of a guy?"
"Oh crap," I said, rubbing the frustration out of my forehead. "I am not having this conversation."
"Seriously, what makes a guy attractive?"
"The most attractive guy is the one who is confident and makes sure what's on the inside looks better than what is on the outside. You could get a girl who wants to get into your pants, but a girl who wants to love you and marry you won't put up with someone who spends so much time looking in the mirror."
"Wait, go back to the part about getting laid."
"Ugh. Connor, you're acting like a pig. Just because you have a great body doesn't mean you can use it to get others to help you get off. Sex can hurt you. It's not just some toy. It'll take over your life and, before you know it, you can't go a day without it. And then it becomes so important that you want to get rid of all the other stuff in your life that tries to stop it! And, pretty soon, you've pushed away everyone who cares about you and you're left alone with nothing but your cock and some crack whore sucking you off for one more hit! And how dare someone have the audacity to try and love you, because you are too pre-occupied with your own god-damned libido to care!"
Connor stood and stared at me, the look in his eyes saying, "Back away, slowly." I looked in the mirror and saw that my face was very red and a few tears had made their way down my cheeks. I could hear my pulse beating in my ears through the sharp silence in the room.
"Damn, are all gay guys this psycho?" he asked.
"I'm sorry," I said. "I...that had nothing to do with you. Look, if you want some girl to jump your bone, you're doing fine."
"Well, not now, not after that," he said. "I can't stop thinking about some greasy crack whore sucking me off."
I started laughing at the pitiable plight of the poor straight boy, but he wasn't. But he didn't have a lot of tension to let out, either.
"I'm sorry," I said. "I've been having a ton of boy problems lately. In fact, that's why I ended up in Iowa in the first place."
"Boyfriend kick you out or something?" he asked.
"No, his ex got jealous and decided to get rid of me," I said.
"Wow. And he was a crack whore, wasn't he?" he said. It wasn't really a question, but it was confirming of my own thoughts.
"Yeah, he's a whore," I said. "He used to be a really nice boy, but then he decided he liked his dick better."
"But it's a tough choice," he said. "I mean, what would you give up your dick for?"
"Him," I said. "I would never have sex if I could spend the rest of my life with him."
"He must have one hell of a personality," he said. "But I like my dick--a lot--and I want to find a girl who will like it just as much."
"Well, I hope you do," I replied. "But, seriously, sex can end up hurting a lot of people if you aren't careful with it. Instant gratification isn't worth unending pain."
"Come on," he said. "I know not to screw everything in sight. My brother taught me that. He likes to lay every girl he sees and now he's gone through 2 divorces and he's only 28."
"Whoa, that's messed up," I said. "Why did he even get married in the first place?"
"Something about 'turning a new leaf' or whatever," he said.
The doorbell downstairs rang and Connor made one last comb stroke before walking past me, opening the door and going downstairs. I wiped tear marks off my face and followed him down the bending staircase that led to the front door in the only foyer I'd seen outside of a hotel. It had flat stone steps leading to a hardwood front door and a really nice fur rug on the floor.
Connor opened the door to a man in a black suit with sunglasses who said, "Good day, Mr. Benson. May I inquire as to the whereabouts of Mr. Wilson?"
I immediately recognized the bad Agent Smith accent as Peter's and almost ran up to hug him, but decided to let him have his fun.
"Connor! That's the guy who kidnapped me!" I shouted.
Without a second though or a chance for Peter to defend himself, Connor punched Peter in the gut with a tight right hook. While Peter was lurched over I ran over and grabbed Connor around the waist and pulled him back to the rug before he could kick Peter in the face.
"What are you doing?" Connor asked.
"No, it was a joke," I said. "That's my friend, Peter."
Peter stood up with his a hand holding his gut, took his sunglasses off and used his other arm to hold himself up in the doorframe.
"I drive^Åhundreds of miles^Åto save you from mortal peril^Åand this is the thanks I get?" he said.
"Sorry," said Connor, stepping forward and extending his hand to Peter.
"It's cool," said Peter, taking Connors hand and giving it a firm shake. "It wasn't your fault."
I hopped up the stairs and threw my arms around Peter and said, "I'm so glad to see you."
"You the boyfriend he was talking about," asked Connor.
"No," said Peter. "Wait, you told him you're gay?"
"Yeah," I said, leaning my head against Peter's neck.
"It was, like, 2 months before you came out to me," said Peter. "You know this guy--what, a week--and spill your guts?"
"He didn't make a big deal out of it," said Connor. "He actually got more upset when I talked about straight sex."
"What?" he said, grabbing my shoulders and pushing me back so he could look me in the eye. "You are the right Kyle, right?"
I reached around and took a nice, firm hold of his left butt cheek, enjoying myself immensely.
"Sure you're not his boyfriend?" asked Connor.
"Yeah," said Peter.
"You just gonna let him stand there and feel your ass?" Connor asked.
"No," said Peter, bending down, putting his arm around my waist and standing up with me over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. I reached out with both hands and grabbed his ass for spite. Then he hopped up and spun me around so my back was on his shoulder.
"Ready to go, Captain Horny?" asked Peter.
"Hey! If I'm Captain Horny, you're Rear Admiral Horn-dog!" I rebuffed, my face warm with the blood rushing to my head.
"Wait, what about your stuff?" asked Connor.
"All I had^×Peter, if you would please." He turned around and my red face looked up at Connor's. "All I had was a book I left on the bed," I said.
"I'll go get it," he said, and ran back up the stairs to the room I had been staying in.
"Nice place," said Peter.
"Put me down," I insisted.
"No," he said, flatly. "I really like the spacious interior.'
"Is Chris here?" I asked.
"He's outside in the car," said Peter, turning so I could face the driveway outside. But I was too dizzy to see any passengers in the blue, riced-out lancer parked by the front steps.
"Here you go," said Connor on the other side of Peter. "And that paper has my number and stuff on it. Well, see you later, Kyle."
"Bye, Connor," I said, fighting gravity and disorientation to wave at him.
"Kyle says 'bye,'" said Peter.
"He can still hear me!" I said.
"Thanks for keeping him in one piece," said Peter, backing through the doorway and down the steps.
"Don't fall in any more rivers," said Connor as he shut the door.
I saw the Benson Family Ranch turn into a blur and come to rest at the front door as Peter turned around and got out his keys.
"Are you going to let me down now?" I asked.
"I need to get something in the trunk first," he said.
"What?" I asked.
"You," he said, dropping me in the trunk and closing the door.
When Peter opened the trunk again, we were in a parking lot by the side of the highway.
"That'll learn you to get some random thug to attack me," he said, grabbing my arm and helping me out. We were standing in front of a roadside diner and I could see the Rockies in the western skies, a sign that we were getting closer to home. He was still wearing the black suit, but the white shirt was un-tucked.
My first thought was to wake my sleeping foot on his shin for stuffing me in the trunk, but I didn't want to see what his nest move would have been.
"Connor is no thug, but^×wait, when the hell did you get a car?" I asked.
"There is much to explain," Peter said, putting an arm around my shoulder and leading me into the diner.
Inside we found Chris sitting at a table in the corner by a window. He was wearing a faded yellow t-shirt with a Nintendo Entertainment System on it that said, "Old School" and he was playing a Nintendo DS. Well, from the glossy look in his eyes, it looked like it was playing him.
"Hi, Chris," I said, leaning over and giving him a hug.
He went real stiff and leaned over so as not to lose sight of his game, but found it in his heart to say, "Hey, Kyle."
Peter sat down on the other side and I asked, "How long has he been like this?"
"Ever since he became a Final Fantasy junkie," said Peter. "He beat VII and had to play all the others."
"He does know those games have been around for about as long as he has, right?" I asked.
"Don't dis' the classics," Chris said.
"If you can get that DS away from him," said Peter, "he'll do anything to get it back."
"Like break your jaw," said Chris, not taking his eyes off the screen.
Just for curiosity's sake, I reached over and, without even getting close to the hand-held, Chris' hand sprang out and grabbed my wrist, pinning my arm to the table.
"Now try doing that in a moving car," said Peter. "It's a gas."
The waitress walked over and took our orders, though she didn't get much out of Chris. My stomach told me I was eating the best burger ever, but I knew it was just because I was sharing it with my friends.
"So, where did that car come from?" I asked.
"Police auction," said Peter, putting down his milkshake.
"How?" I asked. "Cops only use Fords."
"It was never a cop car," explained Peter. "It's like this: Crack dealer gets busted, crack dealer's car gets impounded as evidence, crack dealer gets several decades in jail, cops have unwanted car in their basement, cops put it up on auction for a few thousand doallars."
"You bought that car for a few thousand dollars?!"
"No, just one. Mr. Richards, being a DA, hooked us up with some inside deals."
"But, where did you get $1,000?"
"Chris. He had some money he'd been sitting on and used it to reserve a PS3. The day it came out, he sold it again for $2,500 on eBay. We used that to but my car."
"Your car?"
"He got over-confident and bet me I couldn't beat him at DDR. Poor kid, never knew what hit him."
"You play DDR?"
"Sure. Keeps my ass nice and perky. Anyway, since I have a car with great mileage and Chris has $1,500 in petty cash, Aaron convinced us to rescue you."
"Ugh, I told him not to."
"He said you would say that. But it's safe to come back. We told Mr. Richards about what happened and he says the DA's office has been looking for a good excuse to get Stone and thinks you might be able to help. Kidnapping is a federal crime."
"They want me to testify against a mob boss?"
"I don't know what they want, but I doubt it will kill you. And at least your aunt and uncle aren't a problem."
"They might still be looking for me."
"No, I took care of that."
"How?"
"The safest plotter plots alone, my friend?"
"What? But what about Chris?"
"The only thing he's been plotting for the last few days is how to get Cid to let him use the airship. But we have you and the $20,000, so there's nothing to worry about."
"$20,000?"
"You think they would take you into their home for free?"
"Well, that makes sense, I guess. But how did you know there would be money?"
"I watch Columbo. Anyway, after lunch, we're not making any more stops until we get home. But we're going to Chris' house first. Mr. Richards wants to know what you know so he can take down Stone as soon as he can."
"Can we go see James after that?"
"Sure thing."
I took a long swig from my Mt. Dew and looked down at my plate of cold fries that I had neither the room nor desire to finish. I leaned over a took a look at Chris' screen and said, "You wouldn't happen to have another one of those, would you?"
Staring at the DS, he reached into his pocket, pulled out an onyx-black Gameboy SP and put it on the table in front of me.
Peter, seeing my delighted surprise, said, "That was his first gameboy, then he found out they only made the FF III re-release for DS and he got one of those instead. He'll probably even let you keep it."
"Don't say I never gave you anything," said Chris.
I leaned over to give him an enthusiastic and heart-felt hug but, fearing it was another attempt on his DS, Chris stuck his elbow out and nearly impaled me.
If you want to read more of the story sooner, I posted the rest at www.awesomedude.com. There is also a forum at AD for feedback, so e-mail me at bluedragon314@gmail.com or join the forum and tell me what you think.