This is a story involving teen/teen, male/male graphic sex and not intended for reading by minors. If you are a minor, or this type of material is illegal where you live, please stop now, and go read something else! This story is a fantasy meant only for the purpose of pleasurable reading.
Other stories of mine can now be found in the prolific writers index.
Feedback, always appreciated, may be sent to: javabiscuit@hotmail.com
Corbusier ~ chapter eleven ~ finale
by Biscuit
Colin made Megan's blood boil. She thought I was dropping out of school because of him, but I wasn't. I was seventeen and throwing in the towel on my first year at Cooper Union, a small school Megan and I had both gotten into. Giving up school to become what she called a cross between a boy whore and housewife.
"That's all you're going to do," she said, "fuck him and cook for him." She knew there was more going on than that but she was exasperated. I think she felt like I was deserting her but couldn't say it. "If it weren't for him you'd get through this and stay in school."
In the first days of spring, cold gray days in the city, I filed for incompletes in all of my classes -- it was either that or just not show up. I was depressed, I was preoccupied and my grades were a mess.
It was my father. My mother had started to make inquiries about selling the house that winter and it had brought him back into our lives with a vengeance. His pride was nothing to be trifled with. It incensed him that she would consider selling the jewel he'd bestowed on her. He went from disinterest to plumbing the details of our lives into fodder for lawsuits. Lesbo mother turns son into underage faggot sex toy. If we were celebrities, that would have been our tabloid headline.
And then Colin's dad got sick. Very sick. Suddenly, he and I were knee deep in our fathers.
It was hard to explain to Megan. It was easier with my mom, though she wasn't happy about my decision. As always it was Joe who understood me best. She was helping me fix up Colin's apartment. She'd booted him upstairs, finally off her couch. The apartment over hers came up for rent and she snagged it for him, for both of us, really.
"You'll go back to school when you're ready," Joe said to me. She was on her hands and knees hooking up the spaghetti bowl of wires for my computer and the other junk that went with it. I think I did more electronic art than studio work by then.
I was in the fledgling kitchen, basically it was the wall opposite my work space. The whole apartment was a big long room with a bathroom in the back corner of it.
My living there had never even really been discussed. We just moved the crap of mine that had accumulated around Colin's downstairs, upstairs. Technically I still lived at home with my mom. A place neither of us wanted to be anymore. Most nights I was either at Joe's with Colin, or sometimes, at Megan's in the East Village.
"Yeah, I guess," I said. My mind was somewhere else. Colin was at the hospital, visiting his dad, who by then was dying.
God help us. It all came in a wave. The stuff with his dad. And the incredible raft of shit from my dad.
I'd been to the corner grocery store and the bakery and was putting stuff on the shelves over the counter.
At least, I thought, when he gets home, there'll be something to eat, and TV to look at. Joe had taken care of that while she was at the business of hooking shit up. The television was up at the front where we had our bed. The so-called fuck table had come upstairs with us. There were piles of clothes.
Despite Megan's characterization of me, I wasn't much of a domestic goddess. I'd managed to get linens on the bed and toilet paper in the bathroom, now a little food in the kitchen. My mom had brought a bunch of things from the house for us that I hadn't unpacked yet.
"You're all set up, little lady," Joe teased, brushing the dust off the knees off her jeans. Of all of us, she came closest to keeping her spirits up, but even for her it was becoming a strain. God, my dad was such an asshole. And Joe was having a harder time fixing this problem than most. Legal shit was not her forte.
Unimaginable. My dad claiming my mom was unfit as a mother. He couldn't stop her from selling the house. It was hers outright, a gift when he married her. But there was a lot he could do to hurt her. He didn't want me. That's not what the custody battle was about. He was just fucking harassing her and finding ways to renege on the divorce settlement. Because of it I'd had to see two different court appointed shrinks.
Colin came in as Joe was leaving. He looked a little disoriented, like he was wondering what he was doing in this place and not downstairs. He was red cheeked from the wind. He dropped his leather jacket on the wooden chair that had evolved into our coat rack by the door.
"The same," I heard him say to Joe about his dad.
"Are you hungry?" I asked him. "I got soup here, and bread. All kinds of stuff."
He was looking at me as if he hadn't really heard what I said, but he had.
"Not right now," he said. He was looking at me in a way that was almost as full of physical need as if he were going to grab me and say he wanted to fuck me, but I knew he wasn't going to. It wasn't that kind of look, exactly, but it would end up the same way.
At seventeen I was as tall as I was going to get, which wasn't very. I had the world's best posture, to make up for it. I could look in the mirror by then and understand what made me attractive even if mine weren't the kind of looks I liked.
I was a rounded thing, even when I was very thin, like then. The curves just got shallower. Joe had told me I had a great body for muscling up if I had a mind to do it. Unfortunately, I didn't. I'd gone with her for awhile to the gym but I got so bored, so fast, I'd never stick with it. The little bit I'd done had given some shape to my arms and shoulders. I could admit my ass was good.
My face. I knew it was attractive but I hated to see my dad in it. There was a ripeness he'd passed on to me. My cheeks always looked like they were kind of chubby, like I had a layer of baby fat I'd never be rid of. My father was always described as classically handsome by his friends. Maybe when I was young I thought so. Now there wasn't a thing about him I could think of as appealing. Unfortunately, that included my own face. When I looked at myself I concentrated on the hints of my mom's finer features.
Whatever it was I looked like, Colin was looking at me like he couldn't get enough of seeing it. He took the can of soup I was holding out of my hands and put it on the counter. Sometimes the hospital made him quiet and distant. Sometimes he came home like this.
"Maybe later," he said.
Maybe Megan was right. Without Colin, maybe I'd have worked through all the shit going on and not left school. Maybe. Maybe I would have fallen apart completely. I don't know. But I do know that walking the halls of my father's alma mater made me feel physically ill. Of course he'd been an architecture student. Of course, his name had reflected glory on the school and being his son had no doubt helped me get in. All I wanted was out.
Colin ground against me, holding my neck, kissing me and I was half there with him, half disconnected. My body was there; just from how he'd looked at me, knowing he was going to touch me. Nothing could stop that. Even my thoughts spinning away to Megan, to how it must have been for him at the hospital, I was still a hormone-charged seventeen year-old with my one and only in my arms.
He was that. New York is full of good looking men. I saw parades of them at Tonio's, on the streets, but I hadn't seen one yet that I wanted more than him.
Colin never let me go with him to the hospital. He'd been a handful of times since he'd gotten the call from his aunt. All the time he'd been living with Joe, working at Tonio's, he'd been sending money to his father. I only knew it because I'd seen it in his checkbook one day.
"Do you talk to your dad?" I'd asked him. Probably about a year before his dad got sick.
"Not much. He calls me when he needs money. He's still pissed at me for leaving Fahey. He thinks I could have owned that pub by now."
Colin told me that Sean Fahey had taken him in, had fucked him for years, that he'd implied that he'd turn the business over to him at some point. I asked him if he was ever sorry that he gave it up. I think I wanted to hear him say he only cared about being with me.
What he said was, "I think he was full of shit. I think he said it to keep me there and keep my dad happy."
Colin's hands moving over the front of my shirt got my full attention. He was undoing the buttons, pulling it out of my jeans. He slid his hands up under my tee-shirt and I folded toward him with shivers radiating out from his fingertips.
It was his shirt I had on. I'd started wearing them that winter. His old flannels were so worn and soft it was like wearing something made for a baby. Megan called it my dyke look.
His fingertips turned my nipples into tiny raisins. My forehead dropped onto the hard ridge of his shoulder and I put my hands on his hips, staring at the close up fuzzy view of his shirt. More flannel, a blur of blue and white.
"My dad's close to the end," he said, brushing my hard points with the pads of his thumbs. You're lucky, I thought, then I pushed the thought away, feeling guilty. He was rubbing his cheek against the side of my face, his breath tickling by my ear.
Not like the times when pure lust would make him jab at me with his hard prick and announce his intention to fuck me. But just as needy this lust mixed with grief. How could I explain it to Megan? I felt more like a nurse than a whore or a housewife. She'd probably think that was just as bad. I hung on to his hips, my own pressing into him to feel hard cock against hard cock; my head turning to find his mouth with mine.
By the time we got to our bed the wind had whipped the the overcast sky clean and a hard sunlight, tinged with cold, attacked the front windows. Colin had a tolerance for cold that I didn't have. Not that he felt it less. If you touched him you'd feel he was chilled, but he could ignore it. I was the one who scrambled for cover even though he looked annoyed when I pulled the sheet and comforter over me. He was naked, on his side next to me, not letting himself be warmed. I was on my stomach -- the towel, a rough nap under my dick. He bared just my ass and I didn't complain. He was stroking, kneading my cheeks before spreading them and squirting a cold wet snake of lube down my crack.
If possible, I loved being fucked more than ever. When the feeling spread through me I wanted it to go on forever. His thrusting cock was feeding me, stoking me like an engine; like he was shoveling me full of coal. My body heat climbed and I was grateful the covers slid off. I just kept reaching for more with my ass lifting up to him, until I couldn't stand it and shot over the top, firing hot strings of spunk.
Afterwards it was Colin, not me, that went into the kitchen and came out with a couple of thrown together sandwiches, a bag of chips, and a bottle of beer. We ate. We shared the chips and beer and watched nothing in particular on our newly set up television. We lazed in bed until it was time for him to get cleaned up and head off to work.
I did clean the crumbs from the bed and remake it. I tossed my cum spattered towel in the pile of dirty clothes and put a fresh one on the shelf of the table.
At my computer I worked on a project that a kid I'd met at school had gotten me into. He paid me to help him supply a couple of different porn sites with faked celebrity shots. Photo manipulations that called on my well honed ability to focus on small patterened fields of light and dark. There was no pretense of it being real, just a fantasy thing. I'd started selling my own artwork, a little bit of it anyway, posting it in online galleries. Colin didn't mind me using his digital image as long as I obscured his face. And that's how it went, and that's how it is. I've got my own website/gallery and it does pretty well. I get almost as much pleasure manipulating my lover's image as I get touching his flesh and he doesn't complain too much about posing for me.
I never did go back to school.
On the weekends I still work at Tonio's, to keep an eye on Colin and strut my ass but I make my money at the computer.
Megan was wrong but then again she was right. I didn't become the things she said but I did choose to build my life around Colin. Maybe we drifted into it, maybe it grew up around us. But the bond that started in the park three years before took on a solidity through the trial by fathers. His dad died not long after he and I moved up into the second floor apartment. He told me that in the end he told his dad the truth about Sean Fahey. He wasn't sure if his father really understood by then. My father finally backed off when Joe found my mom a good lawyer. A guy named Joe Davis who became a friend to our family for life.
Megan has long since forgiven me and has her degree. She's still my girl in a way and pries me out of the house like she used to, keeping me in touch with the world. We can be found at our favorite cafes with matching chin length hair, me listening to her latest rhetoric, much gentler than the old stuff.
My mom sold the Amsterdam Hill house and moved in downstairs with Joe. And that's how it's been. Joe turned her bedroom into a studio for my mother and the two of them moved up into the front of their place, kind of like our apartment upstairs. I spend a lot of time out in the scrap of a backyard with my mom when the weather's warm. When the urge to wield a paintbrush hits, I join her in her studio. We work to the soft, happy beats of latin music.