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 section of the archive. Thank you, David.
Feedback, always appreciated, may be sent to: javabiscuit@hotmail.com
Corbusier ~ chapter six
by Biscuit
I can't say my mom became a lesbian, exactly. Joe, her so-called lesbian bartender, really wasn't one, though anybody would think so. She was only sort of a woman. I don't say that because of how she looked, which was a lot like a tall, slim Antonio Banderas, with arms that could wrestle a bear. Lots of tall strong women are women, Joe said, but she wasn't one of them.
"Inside, I'm a guy," is how she explained it, "and I'm basically a straight guy." She winked at me when she said that. I fell for her almost as fast as my mom did.
She'd brought my mom home in the middle of the night. They were probably there in the house when Colin left and we didn't know it.
When I woke up, it was to see her and my mother both standing in my bedroom doorway. I'd thought I would be up long before my mom came home.
But there they were, I heard them talking as my waking eyes tried to open and focus.
"Smells like a sperm factory in here," I heard, not my mom's voice, and my eyes shot wide. My mom started toward me, looking blessedly safe, sound, and showered; details I processed even as my brain was sputtering to life.
"Morning baby," she said, sitting plunk right down in my sperm factory sheets. Apparently ignoring the stench. She wrapped me up in a hug that was as fleecy soft as her sweatshirt. "Your door was open, Corby. It's eleven o'clock."
I was embarrassed but happy, so glad that she was there, like I'd gone to sleep and woken up to find out everything was okay. Or kind of okay. Even if a total stranger was leaning up against my door frame. I stared at Joe, I couldn't help it. I hate to admit it, but she was so fucking handsome I felt this tug like a crush on the spot. She didn't exactly look friendly, her face set in a small frown taking in the sight of my room and me. But then she winked at me! It's a thing you can either do or you can't. Joe did it great.
My mom was sitting back then, looking at me. Her nose wrinkled. Oh God.
"This is Joe," she said. "She took pity on your poor old mom last night and brought me home. We've been waiting for you to get up but you kept not getting up, so ..." her eyes roamed over my face, like she was making sure every feature was where it was supposed to be. Her eyes zeroed in on my neck and when I got to the bathroom I saw why. A giant bloom covered it from under my ear to the base of my throat. It looked like someone had gnawed the bejesus out of me. I couldn't even remember Colin doing it.
"Why don't you get yourself cleaned up and come have breakfast."
I could feel that she wanted to launch into a lecture on the state of my room and my stink, but was holding back.
The thing is, both of us wanted to lecture the other one, but we didn't. That time in our life was like some natural disaster where nothing is normal or right and you don't expect it to be. We took so much comfort in just seeing each other live, breathe, and be well, that we tried to ignore the wreckage.
I know people who think I was a pampered, spoiled kid. That my mom let me get away with murder. I also know people who think she was neglectful and irresponsible. What can I say?
She was young. Young when she got married and still young when my dad left. He married her when she was eighteen years old and pregnant. He had an affair with her while she was an art student studying in Rome. My dad was twelve years older, already blazing a trail in his field. He was handsome, had money and a lifestyle that dazzled her. He married her, stuck her in a house in New York and pretty much carried on like she was one more stop on his schedule. What I was to him, I don't know. To me, it seems like I had a picture of a dad, not a real one. Sometimes I wondered if I was really his kid but I was afraid to ask her.
I think my mom did her best.
When I got out of the shower I smelled breakfast cooking. I didn't realize it was the first of what would become a tradition. Joe cooking Sunday breakfast.
She was like a short order cook, manning the stove in her snug jeans, full of decorative tears and holes. Her upper body was shown off in a skimpy tee-shirt, broad shoulders and beautiful arms.
My mom and I sat at the table like a pair of little birds perched in our chairs. Joe loaded food up on our plates like she thought we hadn't eaten in days.
"So, Corby" said Joe, swinging her leg over the back of the chair to sit down, like a cowboy mounting a horse. "Do you know what safe sex means?" Her dark eyes pinned me, unflinching. "It means don't fuck anybody, and I mean anybody, without a condom. Not a boy from school, or a stranger."
Oh God. My mom must have told her about Chad.
"I didn't," I said. "I mean I won't." Her look softened and I felt like she was liking me.
"Good boy," she said. "It's about health, not sex. Eat your breakfast." She was saying personal stuff, but it wasn't personal. I had the feeling she'd say the same thing to any kid she thought might be fucking around without protection. The personal part was how she looked at me, like she was comparing me to my mom, seeing if the stuff she liked about her was there in me.
I'm not as fair or as frail and my hazel eyes tend more to brown than green. Whatever Joe was looking for, she seemed pleased with what she was finding when she looked me over. I was checking her out too, probably more than she was me.
She looked so extraordinary that I kept having to look to see if she really looked like what I thought she looked like. If you glanced real quick, she looked like a hot guy. I didn't want to be rude, but I could hardly take my eyes off her. Sometimes I caught her looking at my mom. Pretty intense. If my dad had looked at her that way I might have been telling a whole different story.
My mom had made it sound like Joe just gave her a ride home. Maybe. But the way Joe looked at her, I didn't think so. My mom didn't give herself away like Joe did, keeping her eyes on her plate, or looking at me. But I sensed something. As tragic as the prospect had seemed to me the night before, I was liking the idea that morning. The more I thought about it, the more I liked it.
I was inspired by the combined example of Colin and Joe, and I dug out a pair of old jeans that I hadn't worn in a long time because they were tight and frayed at the edges of the pockets and knees. I had my trashy black lace on with a pink tank top under it. Ready for my non date with Chad.
When I headed out to the living room to show myself off, I ended up hanging back, staring.
There hadn't been a fire burning in our fireplace in forever. It was crackling away and in front of it, at either end of the big Italian leather couch that nobody ever sat on, my mom and Joe were in matching sprawls with their feet meeting somewhere near the middle. The Sunday Times was spread from one end to the other, half on them, half on the floor next to them. In my whole life I'd never seen such a scene in my own home.
I stared until my throat got tight. It was almost as bad as the time Megan caught me wiping my eyes after a TV commercial for some stupid insurance company; an orgy of heart-tugging family vignettes.
"All those families, all that shit. It's lies Corby," Megan had said to me. Well, of course I knew that. But, fuck.
I almost hated Joe for a split second when the anguish hit; it was so painful to want it to be real, her and my mom looking so picture perfect.
Then the real world intruded. Chad showed up.
"I hope you're going to put a coat on over that getup," he said to me. "I don't feel like getting beat up on the subway."
What an asshole. He could have at least said I looked nice or something, first.
He looked like a model for a prep school spread, right to the rims of his wire framed glasses. My mom was polite. Joe looked him over and gave a nod, but I felt her looking at me. I don't think she bought him as a guy I'd be interested in.
I put on my Ike jacket, just to spite him, because it was short enough to show off the edge of black lace and my tight pants. Then I swiped a long cashmere scarf of my mom's and wound it around my head and neck.
"Perfect, sweetie," my mom said.
The dance wasn't as bad as I'd thought it would be. It was in the basement of a church that seemed more like a political action center than any kind of church I'd ever seen. Posters for meetings and events, everywhere.
Not bad, considering, with colored lights and loud music. There was a long table full of sodas and chips and snacks, with little notices about the businesses that had contributed stuff. A lot of pamphlets about safe sex and STDs. There was a huge bowl full of condoms. I stuffed a handful in my pocket.
I was surprised by how many people were there. Mostly a little older than me and Chad, but some guys our age. There were maybe sixty or seventy people crowded into that basement hall. A few girls were there, even though it was a guy's dance. I would have liked to have Megan there with me. I was checking out the outfits, wishing I could point stuff out to her.
Chad, after dragging me all the way down there, hated it. He was ready to split five minutes after we got there. He said he didn't like the music. What's not to like, I thought, vintage disco.
"So go," I said. "I'm staying."
At least I was right about the two of us not wanting to do the same thing, even if I'd gotten it backwards.
A guy with a thatch of beard hair right under his bottom lip asked me to dance when Chad took off. I was flattered and eager to dance. He looked kind of old to me, for a teenager. He said was nineteen and could get into clubs, but he liked younger guys than he could meet in bars. He was almost shouting, because the music was so loud.
"Guys like you," he said, kind of swooping in to say it close to my ear, holding my shoulders.
I tried to pull back a little and that's when I saw Colin.
He was just there; bathed in the spinning blue and red lights. The thatch beard guy took off when Colin put his hand on him and said something I couldn't hear. Probably, fuck off.
I'd have been a lot more shocked if I weren't getting used to the way he made sudden appearances. Still, this wasn't my bedroom.
"What are you doing here?" I asked him.
"I followed you guys, what do you think? How come he walked out and you're still in here?"
He kept glancing around the dance floor like he was seeing something dangerous. He drew me close to him to speak in my ear and then seemed to change his mind, guiding me off the dance floor toward the door. I pulled back, I didn't want to leave.
"What do you mean, why am I here?" I knew what he meant, but I said it anyway. Obviously, a teen gay dance was not Colin Daley's idea of something a guy should be caught dead at. You only had to see his face to know it.
"I wanted to dance," I said, when he didn't respond.
He closed his eyes, shaking his head, like he just couldn't believe his ears. When he looked at me again it was like he was talking to a two year old.
"This is too freaking weird, even for you," he said.
I wished with all my heart that he'd put his arms around me and sweep me out on the dance floor. All he wanted was to drag me out of there as fast as he could, with as few people seeing us as possible on the way through the door. Then my brain seized on the fact that he'd followed me. It was both scary and wonderful.
"How come you followed me?"
He didn't answer. He just looked a whole lot more uncomfortable, if that was possible.
"Let's get the fuck out of here," he said.
"I'll go if you dance with me first." That face. I almost laughed out loud at the expression of disbelief.
"This isn't a joke," he said.
"Sure it is," I countered. "It's a big joke, you'll fuck me but you won't dance with me."
He took that in, like a a grown up letting a child strike him. I wanted to go with him but I didn't want to give in. With my heart doing a jackhammer thing in my chest, I turned around and walked away from him.
I took a quick look around for somebody that looked like they wanted to dance. I was making tracks toward a knot of guys near the soda table when he clapped his hands on my shoulder from behind, to stop me.
Poor Colin. He looked like a guy steeling himself to do the unthinkable, and of course, he was.
"One dance," he said, "and we're out of here."
I nodded, my heart flooding.
For a guy that didn't want to dance he was too awesome for words. Maybe it was because he only wanted to be focused on me and not think about where he was or what was going on around us. Maybe it's just that being him, in those tight jeans and his leather jacket, anything his body did looked good. I was happy enough for both of us, eating him up with my eyes and turning around to shake my little butt at him.
I think it was halfway through the dance when the tension broke in his face. Just enough to let a smile touch his lips. I'm sure I was looking up at him like a love struck calf. He shook his head a little and put his hands on my shoulders, one hand sneaking up to touch the side of my neck where he'd left the rose bloom on me.
When the song ended he leaned down to my lips.
"Only for you," he said, and he kissed me. I followed him out of there with stars in my eyes.
In a perfect world I could have snuggled up to Colin Daley on the train ride home, like Megan used to do in my arm when we rode the subway. He didn't even sit with me. He pointed to a seat and I sat down. He sat down across the train from me. He kept his eye on me and never stopped doing a slow visual patrol of the subway car. It took me awhile to figure out, but I caught the pattern eventually. He kept track of who got on, the doors into the next cars, who came near me, all the while looking like he was kind of sleepy and didn't give a shit about anything. Me, I sat there with a serious case of killer wood, dying for him. Thank God for the long tails of the scarf.
I was about to get my first taste of Colin Daley's world. He took me to a movie theatre on Broadway, at the edge of his neighborhood. I'd never have gone in that place by myself in a million years. Even with him I was nervous. There were guys hanging around in the lobby, clustered in groups. I could only think they had to be selling drugs or something, they sure as fuck weren't there to see a movie. Colin hooked his arm around my shoulders and guided me through.
Judging from the smell of that balcony we weren't the first guys to make use of it. And we weren't the only ones doing it then. I tried not to look at the other shadowy shapes scattered through those seats. I can't believe they even bothered to run a film in that place, but it flickered away in the dark, some kind of Kung Fu movie. You could hear and feel the rumble of the IRT right through the building.
It was easier once his hands were on me, his mouth.
In the darkest corner of the last row of seats we made out until we were gasping for air, with our hands in each other's pants. I came like that, with his tongue fucking my mouth and his hand working my dick. Then I wanted to get down and suck him but he wouldn't let me touch my knees to the floor, it was really gross and considering how my spunk had shot God knows where, I could only imagine what the floor was like. I hung over his lap with the arm of the seat stuck in my ribs and got as much of his dick in my mouth as I could through his unzipped pants. I hated where we were but I loved what I was doing; his hand moving over my back and my head, the way his hips were moving.
So fucked up. I think Sean Fahey courted him right in that balcony, treating him to movies on weekday afternoons when he should have been at school.
We took a bus up Broadway as far as the park and then started up the hill on foot. It was near the end of that walk home that I first had the nerve to ask Colin Daley about his life. My wheels had been spinning since leaving that movie house.
We were on my street. I guess I felt safe enough on home turf to open my mouth.
"So, are you in high school?" I asked him.
"Nope."
"College?"
"Fuck no."
"You know, you've never even told me how old you are," I said. Not that I'd told him either, but it was different.
"How old do you think I am?"
"I don't know, eighteen," I said, giving him the benefit of a year. I figured seventeen, but it seemed like he should still be in high school at seventeen. He laughed.
"Last time I looked I was twenty-one." He said it kind of reluctantly.
"No shit." I stopped walking, to look at him. Not that I could see him all that well. It was pretty dark by then, between streetlights. We were practically at my house.
"No shit," he said, softly. "You punched a grown man in the face, princess."
"I didn't mean to do that."
"I know." He pulled my scarf up so it covered my ears and he kissed me. His lips were cool but his tongue was warm and I got hard again, feeling it in my mouth.
He teased me, pulling back from my mouth, only giving me little brushes of his lips.
"That guy Brian still gives me shit for not teaching your ass a lesson."
"That guy wanted to hurt me," I said, feeling more scared right then than I'd felt when it happened.
He pulled me closer to him, his hand rubbing down my back.
"I wouldn't let him hurt you. Not him or anyone else." He started to kiss me a lot more seriously, letting me feel the nudge of his hard cock. It made weak with wanting to feel his dick rub across mine. I wished we weren't standing out in the cold with two layers of jeans in between us.
If only I could just bring him in with me.
I tried to imagine getting to my room, past Joe and my mom. Would Joe still be there? What the fuck, I thought, I'll just introduce him, blush like an idiot and take him to my room. What can they say?
"Come in with me," I said. He made a groaning sound, holding me away.
"Can't. Not tonight. I'm in deep shit already."
"But it's early," I pleaded, trying to burrow back into his arms. He let me hug him, his hand sliding around my hip to my ass.
He gave in to me but not to going into the house.
Colin knew the shadows of my street better than I did. He drew me into the darkness at the side of our neighbor's garage.
"Drop your pants," he whispered. "And keep your voice down."
Oh Jesus, if I hadn't been on fire with wanting him I couldn't have done it. But I was, and I did; shoving my tight pants down my thighs. I could hardly see him, but I heard the sound of the condom packet tearing and knew he was going to fuck me right there. He turned me toward the wall of the garage and took hold of my wrists, leaning with me against the brick wall.
"Okay?" he said, close to my ear, and I nodded, my heart going crazy. I was scared but so excited. My dick was so hard, in spite of waving in the cold air, and it got harder when I felt his breath on my ear and his cock nosing around in search of my hole.
It felt like he could have lifted me right off my feet on it. I had my eyes squeezed shut, my face in the rough wool of my sleeve. His arms were around my arms, his hands on my wrists.
"It feels so good to fuck you," he breathed the words against the side of my face. All I could answer was groaning; overcome by the pleasure I'd only ever felt with my body stretched wide open around his cock.
I was so hot you could have seared a steak on my ass. Colin wrapped his hand around my dick and I couldn't stand it. I lasted maybe thirty seconds of that bliss, riding his cock and fucking his fist and wanting to scream. Colin aimed my dick at the wall and I painted the bricks.
Afterwards wasn't so good. Fumbling in the dark to get my pants up over my sore butt and my damp cock. Not good at all to kiss him good-bye in the street with no more word than ever of when he'd show up again. Really not good. I felt as bad then as if the day had been a disaster.
Joe wasn't there. My mom was up in her studio. The music was soft though, classical, not blues.
She looked over the railing when I came in. She asked how the dance went.
"It was okay," I said. I knew that was no answer. I knew there was a lot that had gone on, for both of us, that she might want to talk about. But I didn't feel like I could. What could I say about the dance when all I could think of then was that movie house and how I'd just gotten fucked against the wall of of our neighbor's garage. I made the excuse of homework.
I was surprised when she nodded, not so eager to talk herself. She didn't try to keep me from heading off to my room.