Obligatory warnings and disclaimers:
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If reading this is in any way illegal where you are or at your age, or you don't want to read about male/male relationships, go away. You shouldn't be here.
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This story isn't based on anyone in particular, alive or dead, so any resemblance to anybody is unintentional.
Questions and commentary can be sent to "writerboy69@hotmail.com". I enjoy constructive criticism, praise, and rational discussion. I do not enjoy flames, and will not tolerate them. Unless I often hear from you and would recognize your address, please put the story title in the subject, or my junk mail filter may screen you.
Thanks to everyone who has written so far. To answer a frequent question from those who are unfamiliar with my other stories, they're called "Brian and Tommy", "Thieves", "JC's Hitchhiker", "Tangle", and "Rebound", and they can all be found in the boybands section.
"So, what's the word on the neighbor?" Sam asked, sipping his iced tea.
We were sitting out on my back step, staring into the backyard and waiting for my mother to come tell us that dinner was ready. Sam had come over when his shift ended, pedaling his bike halfway across town rather than just calling me to come pick him up after I'd gotten back from the pool. When we were younger I'd always hoped that my parents would get a pool for the backyard, but looking at it now and realizing that it would just be one of those little round pools that so many of our neighbors had, not really big enough to be of any real benefit to me. It might be fun to play around in, though, especially times like now, when we were bored. Instead of sipping our tea, we could be laying on floats and drifting in lazy circles around the backyard, staring at the sky rather than at the Beckers' house.
Actually, I hadn't realized I was staring at the Beckers' house, and that Sam was following my gaze, until he brought it up.
"What do you mean?" I asked, blinking.
"Well, last time I talked to you, you were sure that he was some kind of burglar or spy or possible mass murderer or whatever crap you saw on TV the night before," Sam began, rolling his eyes and returning the middle finger I flashed him, both of us glancing back to make sure that my mother hadn't seen us from the kitchen. "And now we're sitting in the backyard staring at his house like you're waiting for a silhouette of him dressed up as his mother and carrying a big knife to go past the window."
"Do you do anything at work besides watch old movies?" I asked. "Seriously, did I ever say that I thought he killed them?"
"As a matter of fact," Sam began, and I raised my hands.
"As a matter of fact I think it was you who brought up the switchblade," I said loudly as Sam blushed, his face going bright crimson.
"So, does he have one?" Sam asked as I glanced toward the Beckers' house again. Was Casey in there right now? What was he doing? Watching television? Making dinner? Walking around the house in his little denim cutoff shorts, the front of them riding low and shifting each time he took a step?
"One what?" I asked, shaking my head again. Why couldn't I stop doing that? Every time I looked over there I thought about Casey's bare chest with its firm, sweeping curves, capped by those small hard nipples that so far always seemed stiff and pointed, or his long legs, those tanned thighs and obvious muscles in his calves.
"A switchblade, dumbass," Sam answered, shaking his head. "Are you even listening to me?"
"Yeah, sorry," I said, thinking back to the afternoon, when I'd looked up from my lane at the pool and Casey had been standing above me, wet, the leg of his shorts almost open enough for me to see, well, never mind. I tried to focus on Sam again. "I guess I'm just a little out of it."
"Really, Captain Obvious?" Sam asked, shaking his head again. "I totally wouldn't have noticed if you hadn't pointed it out, because really, right up until then you were right here with me, and I didn't feel at all like you were just nodding your head every time I paused without listening to a single word I said. Nate, dude, what's going on?"
I looked over at Sam and saw that he was serious, his face concerned. I wanted to say something flip to just let everything out, but he and I had gone through too much together. Looking at his eyes, I remembered all the other times we'd sat out here on the back porch, all the other talks we'd had and things we'd dealt with, and I couldn't lie to him. He was my best friend, and he was trying to help with something that was obviously bothering me. I couldn't push him away, but what was I going to tell him? "Sorry, Sam, I can't stop thinking about Casey and what he looks like when he's almost naked." Maybe while I was talking it over with Sam, I could just bring it inside and talk it over with my parents. The four of us could hash it out over dinner like it was the most normal thing in the world, like I was supposed to get hard just thinking about him and wondering what it would be like to run my hands over him, to touch him, to maybe have him touch me.
"I don't know," I said finally, looking down. "I just, I don't know, Sam."
"Hey," Sam said, touching my shoulder. "Nate? This isn't about the guy next door, is it?"
"Not really," I answered, swallowing. There was something in my throat, a lump I couldn't get past or choke down, and I felt helpless suddenly, like things were spinning out of control. I felt like a hole had opened under me, like I was at the top crest of a roller coaster that was about to drop. I stood up, pulling away from Sam's hand and walking a few steps into the backyard, not looking at him, afraid of what he might see if he looked at me, or what he might say.
"Boys," my mother said, standing on the inside of the screen door. "Dinner's ready."
She pushed the door open and Sam and I followed her inside without saying anything. Dad, as always, was absentmindedly pleasant, off in a world of his own while he ate dinner, but I caught my mother looking back and forth between the two of us as Sam and I ate in silence. We weren't completely quiet, asking people to pass things and thanking them, but our energy was definitely down. I could tell that Sam thought he'd said something to upset me, and I wanted to reassure him, but I didn't want to do it in front of my mother, where it would open up a whole other can of worms. As bad as it was trying to talk about this with him, it seemed a thousand times worse to talk about it with my parents. My mother seemed to still sense what had been bothering me last night, though, and apparently decided that the best thing she could do would be to meddle.
"So, Sam, tell us about this girlfriend of yours," she blurted suddenly, causing both of us to look up. I caught my dad glancing up behind his little round glasses, and wondered if the two of them had been talking. Sometimes I had the feeling that my parents mapped out strategy when I wasn't in the room, even if, as parents, that was what they were supposed to do. "Jennifer? I think that's what Nate said her name was."
"Yeah, Jennifer," Sam answered, nodding.
"What's she like?" Mom asked.
"She's great," Sam answered, grinning. If there was one thing that could get him talking lately, it was Jennifer. "We write to each other every day, and sometimes she puts little things in the letters, leaves and flowers and stuff. I can't wait until we get back to school, because we're going to live in the same building again, across the hall from each other. I miss her a lot, just, you know, hanging out with her and doing stuff, or just being around her."
"Does she run, too?" Mom asked.
"She runs with me, but not, you know, on the team," Sam answered, shrugging. "She comes to my meets, though, and she's on the field hockey team, so I go to her games and sit with all the other boyfriends, and, you know, a couple of girlfriends, and clap for her."
"That's not a bad thing," Dad said. "It's good for a couple to have separate interests. You know, so they can be their own people and all."
"But they should still have things in common, too," Mom added. "I'm hoping that when Nate meets someone it'll be like that."
"Mom!" I said quickly, a little embarrassed. Sam looked just as embarrassed for me.
"Does Jennifer maybe have a single friend?" Mom asked, not missing a beat. I thought Sam would choke, and I felt my own face going bright red. "Maybe Nate could come visit, and you could all go on some double dates. I used to go on double dates with my girlfriends when I was your age, and we always had such a good time."
"I don't remember double dating with you," my father said lightly, smirking.
"That's because you didn't go on any with me," my mother answered, grinning at him. The idea of my parents dating anyone, much less each other, filled me with a squirming discomfort that made me want to shudder, and when I looked up Sam was staring across the table at me with a sense of trapped panic in his eyes. I couldn't believe my mother was trying to get my best friend to set me up with his girlfriend's acquaintances over dinner. Next she'd be giving out my number to matchmakers like something from a tragically misguided production of "Fiddler on the Roof". "Now, I remember when my friend Debbie and I worked at the McDonald's across the street from campus."
She started meandering off on some trip down memory lane, launching into a story of some date with the mysterious Debbie while my dad threw in assorted sarcastic peanut gallery side comments about the guys that they went on the date with and the kinds of guys that Debbie usually dated. I wasn't sure where it was going, because I'd tuned it out, and when I looked across the table at Sam I could tell that he wasn't sure whether he should laugh or cry. I rolled my eyes and decided that I needed to get this under control before my mother launched into something even more absurd, and Sam clapped a hand over his mouth to cover his snickering.
"Mom, this is great and all, but I don't need Sam to set me up with anyone," I said, holding up my hands.
"Yeah, Nate hasn't ever needed any help with that," Sam added quickly.
"I wasn't saying that," my mother said quickly, although that seemed like exactly what she'd been trying to say. "I just thought, you know, maybe if Sam knew someone."
"We go to different schools," I said, exasperated. "There are lots of girls at mine, too."
"Nate, you don't have to take that tone with me," my mother said quickly. My father was back to staring at his plate, and Sam got that look he always got when we got into family discussions in front of him, the one that said he was having a great time but would really enjoy being somewhere else at this particular second. "I just want you to be happy."
"I am happy!" I practically yelled. All three of them looked up at me, and I realized I had raised my voice a little too sharply. "I'm fine, guys, really."
"Nate," my mother began, and I opened my mouth to cut her off, but my father beat me to it.
"Look, Nate, it's obvious that something's bothering you," he said, and I caught Sam nodding. Damn it, he was supposed to be on my side. "Your mom's just trying to help."
"I'm fine," I repeated stubbornly. Why couldn't I have cold, unfeeling parents who didn't pay attention to their kids? Why couldn't I be a nice, abandoned latchkey kid, rather than having these touchy feely parents who wanted to talk and feel and work everything out?
"I just thought maybe you were lonely," my mother said, taking on the suffering martyr pose. "I didn't realize it would be such a sore subject for you."
"Mom."
"I mean, I'm just trying to help, and you get all angry and defensive."
"Mom."
"And in front of company, too."
"Mom!" I said, giving up again. "It's just Sam."
"Hey!" Sam said sharply.
"He's hardly company," I pointed out. "And I appreciate what you're trying to do, but really, I'm not lonely."
I thought, or maybe hoped, that would be the end of it, and that I could go back to my dinner in peace, but she just wasn't going to let it go. Instead she took a few minutes to gather her wits and then started again on a different tack.
"Then what's wrong?" she asked bluntly, catching me off guard. I wasn't sure if I wanted to scream at her to leave it alone or if I should actually answer her question. I was that surprised, but what she said next surprised me even more. "Are you jealous of Sam?"
"What?" I asked. Sam dropped his fork.
"Well, here's Sam, in love with this Jennifer, who seems like a very nice girl," Mom explained. "And ever since you've been home you've just been moody and withdrawn, and I can't think of anything else it could be."
"It's not that," I said sharply.
"I don't think we," Sam began softly.
"You can say it if it is," Mom said, overriding him. "We're all adults here, and if you're upset because Sam is pulling away from you, you can say so and we can get past it. You don't have to start shutting us out because you don't know how to approach it."
"Sam's not pulling away from me," I said, shaking my head. I looked over at him, wondering why we were talking about him as if he wasn't even here. "Tell her."
"He's right," Sam agreed truthfully. "Jennifer's not the problem."
"Then what's wrong?" she asked, folding her hands. I didn't need this right now. I didn't need her probing and pushing and poking at something that I wasn't even sure of. Why couldn't everyone just stay out of my business and let me work this out on my own?
"I don't want to talk about it," I said, shaking my head.
"Son, we just want to help," Dad began, backing up my mother, confirming that they'd been planning this together. They'd probably even decided to wait until Sam was here on purpose, like this was some kind of intervention or something with the three people I cared about most in the world here to support me, just like on a talk show or a sappy movie on Lifetime.
"I said I don't want to talk about it!" I barked sharply, standing, my chair making a scraping sound on the floor. All three of them were staring at me as I dropped my napkin onto the table next to my plate and hurried from the room. "Excuse me."
I was through the kitchen and out the back door before I even heard anyone's chair move, and the screen door banged shut loudly behind me as I stomped into the dark backyard. Down at the far end there was a cluster of trees, a little group of them with the trunks close together, and I headed for it, looking for somewhere quiet. When we were younger Sam and I had built a little fort between the trunks, like boys with trees are known to do. It was a clumsy little thing, with plywood boards for sides and an old tarp for a roof, the kind of thing that wouldn't be able to hold up during a strong wind. My dad had offered to help us with it, to reinforce it a little, but Sam and I were too proud of our accomplishment to take any help with it, and the one night when my mother actually gave us permission to spend the night out there, with sleeping bags and snacks in brown paper bags we thought we were the coolest kids in the neighborhood.
The fort, of course, was long gone, and Sam and I wouldn't fit inside it at the size we were now, anyway. There were still a couple of stumps back there, in the circle of the trees, and I sat on one, holding my head in my hands. I couldn't believe that I'd just screamed at everyone, but it had felt like too much for a second. They were just all there, and pushing, and I knew that they meant well, but no one seemed to be listening to me. On the other hand, why was I getting so defensive, anyway? They'd only been trying to help, but for a second I'd just felt overwhelmed. I didn't want to Sam to set me up with some girl. I didn't want to find one on my own, either. It was really easy to sit and tell myself that I didn't know what I wanted, but the problem was that I did, and I just didn't want to face it.
I wanted to know what it felt like to touch another man the way that I touched myself in the shower, or alone in my room. I wanted to know what it felt like to kiss another man, to feel his mouth against mine, knowing that it wouldn't be the same as a girl's mouth, and that he wouldn't kiss the same way. I wanted to touch another chest, or another pair of arms, muscled like my own. I wanted to know what it would feel like to have another man touch me, to have him run his hands knowingly over my body. It was different when a girl touched you, because their hands were always exploring as much as they were caressing. A man wouldn't do that, because he'd already know the territory. He already knew the equipment, and what would feel good, and I wanted to know what it felt like to have a man make me feel that way.
And it wasn't just any man that I wanted. I wanted Casey. My body had known it before my head did, my cock pointing it out before my brain had a chance to rationalize it, but what was I supposed to do now? Was I supposed to act on it? I didn't even know him. I didn't know anything about him besides his name and how he looked, and I had no reason at all to think that he might want the same things that I did. After all, just look at him. I couldn't be the first person who looked at him and wanted to touch, the first one who had stared into his eyes and wanted to get closer. He could have any girl that he wanted, and was probably well versed in what to do with them. Someone like him wouldn't have any need for someone like me.
And what did I need, anyway? Maybe I just wanted to try it. Maybe I just wanted to know what a man would be like, and then that would be it. I'd heard enough times that all guys went through a phase like this, that everybody wondered, at least once, what it would be like. Maybe my phase was just coming a little late, and maybe, just maybe, if I tried it once I'd find out that I didn't like it, or that it was just some stupid little daydream fantasy and wasn't anything that I really wanted. After all, I was, according to textbooks and talkshows, at the height of my sexual peak, all full of urges and hormones and everything else, and maybe my brain was bound to throw a misfire every once in a while.
Sure, that had to be it. This was just a one time thing, because I wasn't like that. I couldn't be.
"Nate?" Sam asked from behind me. I heard him carefully stepping around the branches on the ground. He might not come over here as much, but he still knew my backyard as well as his own. "Are you back here?"
I debated not answering, but I could tell from his voice that he was worried about me, and I knew that he'd never hurt me, not on purpose.
"Yeah," I answered, watching him pick his way toward me, backlit by the light from the house. He was alone.
"You ok?" he asked, sitting down on the stump by me. I thought about it, feeling him close to me, knowing that he was here for me.
"I think so," I answered. "I'm sorry I yelled at you."
"It's ok," Sam said, sighing. "You were upset."
"I was rude," I added, without really arguing. "I didn't mean to. I know you guys were just trying to help. I just, I don't know."
"I said it was ok," Sam said, getting up from his stump. He shoved me over on mine a little, so that there was room for both of us, and we sat side by side in the dark, his shoulder against mine. "Are you sure you don't want to talk about it? Just with me?"
"Sam, I don't know," I said, shaking my head. "I mean, I want to, but I just, I don't think I can right now."
Sam draped an arm across my shoulders, pulling me against him for a second.
"Whenever you're ready, bud," he said quietly. "I'm still your best friend."
"I know," I said, nodding. "Thanks, Sam."
"Can I ask you something?" Wasn't that a question by itself? Sam continued a little defensively. "I know you don't want to talk about it right now, but can I just ask one thing? Please?"
"Sure," I answered, waiting.
"Is it what your mom said?" Sam asked. I could feel him tense next to me, his body stiffening a little as if he were afraid of what I would say. "Is that why you won't talk to me?"
"Because of Jennifer?" I asked, and he nodded. My eyes had adjusted to the light enough that I could see him moving, and I could see the expression on his face, his mouth pressed into a thin, worried line and his eyes wide. "Sam, can I ask you something?"
"Anything," he answered without hesitating.
"Do you want me to be alone?" I asked, not sharply. "Do you want me to spend my whole life without someone else, without feeling the way you feel when you're around Jennifer?"
"Nate, I know what you're saying, but you're not answering the question," Sam said, not willing to run off into after school special territory and heartfelt platitudes. "I mean, there's all that stuff you asked me the other day about what it felt like to be in love and how I knew and all that other stuff. Why did you ask me all that?"
"I was curious," I answered, shrugging.
"That's all?" Sam asked.
"Yeah, it really is," I answered. Both of us sighed, and I felt bad that there was this kind of doubt between us suddenly. I didn't want to say it out loud, but I could see that everything was twisted together. Sam must be feeling a little guilty for spending so much time with someone who wasn't me, I was all confused with everything going on in my head right now, and now my mother had thrown this onto the table and messed everything up. Sam was my rock, the person I turned to when I needed to be steady, and now he was sliding out of my grip. "I wish my mom had just kept her mouth shut."
"She was trying to help," Sam said, patting me on the shoulder.
"Yeah, and look what good that did us," I sighed, shaking my head again. "Sam, I'm not jealous of you and Jen. I want you to be happy, and if it changes stuff between us a little, well, that's going to happen someday anyway."
"I know," Sam agreed. "Nate, I want you to be happy, too. So do your parents, and that's why it bothers us so much to see you like this."
"Like what?" I asked, trying to play it off. "I mean, yeah, I've been a little moody the past couple of days, but."
"It's not just the past couple of days," Sam interjected. "Ever since you got home this summer you've been kind of detached, like you're not always really here. I know you're thinking about whatever this is, but you can talk to me, Nate."
"Sam," I began, not wanting to get into this again.
"No, I mean it," Sam insisted, his voice rising a little. "Stop shutting me out. Whatever it is that's bothering you, whatever's got you this upset, I'm your best friend. Jesus, Nate, we've always talked about everything. Whatever it is, I'll understand. You know that."
"I know," I agreed, standing. "I just, I can't right now, Sam, ok? I can't talk about it right now, but when I can, I promise."
"You know I'll hold you to that," Sam said, walking up next to me. Both of us stared out at the yard, standing close together, our shoulders touching again. I caught a faint whiff of his cologne.
"I should probably go apologize to my parents," I said, blushing a little.
"Probably," Sam agreed, snickering. I elbowed him in the ribs, and he smacked me in the arm. I smacked him back, and the next second we were both giggling and wrestling in the middle of the backyard, trying to knock each other over.
A noise distracted us, and we both looked up to see Casey standing near us. He was wearing a pair of baggy cargo shorts, his bare feet twining into the grass, and a tight white beater, his shoulders gleaming a little in the moonlight. I let my eyes slide over him as Nate and I sheepishly stood, straightening our clothes, memorizing the way the thin cotton clung to every ripple of his torso, wishing it was just a little brighter out, because I just knew it was the kind of thin little undershirt that you'd be able to see the dark shadows of his nipples through. His hair hung over his forehead, shadowing his face, but I caught a little glistening flicker of his eyes, meeting mine, and I looked away, quickly. If it was lighter, he would have seen me blush, and in my shorts I felt myself thickening, but not yet hard.
"Hey," he said softly, a little tense, like he was about to dart back to his yard.
"Casey, hi," I said, grinning. Sam glanced back and forth between he and I, his head cocked to the side a little like it did when he was confused about something.
"I heard you guys wrestling when I was locking the back door," Casey explained, jerking his head back toward the Beckers' house in a way that made his hair wash back like a waterfall and the cords in his strong neck stand out for a second. I could see now that there was a little tight necklace around his throat, a small dark bead resting in the hollow. It looked tight, and somehow just seemed to make his upper body look bigger. "Thought I'd come over and say hi."
"Hi," I repeated stupidly, displaying my usual verbal wit with him. Oh my God, I was doing it again! I fumbled for something, anything, to say that would make me look less like a drooling idiot. "Casey, this, uh, this is my friend, Sam. Sam, this is Casey. He lives next door."
Sam made a little "oh" noise of realization as he reached out and shook Casey's hand, and I watched them, trying not to see the way the muscles in Casey's bare arm shifted when he gripped, trying not to see the way the veins stood out just a little, but I was beyond stopping myself. I wanted Casey, and I knew it, and now, here he was, shaking hands with my best friend. I guess they had to meet sometime.
To be continued.