Discovering Gregory

Subject Discovering Gregory chpts 1-3 (Revised)

6-01-01

The Rewrite Of Discovering Gregory

Friends and Readers Of Discovering Gregory & Beyond

While I've continued to stay busy trying to find my way into the realm of paid published writers, the struggle continues. There is interest in my work on several fronts but the books are still on the drawing board, possible, but no sure thing. I won't give up, so think good thoughts and I'll stick with it.

While on the mend after recent eye surgery, I've started to rewrite Discovering Gregory. This will be close to what the book is going to look like. I did start Discovering Futures, the next segment of the Discovering Gregory saga, but few people responded. Once the rewrite is finished, I'll add Discovering Futures so you will know what happened after the accident.

Until then I hope you will enjoy Discovering Gregory series. Support Nifty and other Internet sites that allow us to meet and expand what we know true about one another and the gay condition.

Thank you for reading and thank you for writing. It does keep things fresh, exciting, and alive for this writer.

In Peace & Love, Rick Beck writersrealm@hotmail.com

Discovering Gregory ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^ "Human Rights Commission condemns treatment of gays in American schools." ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^ This story is dedicated to those teens. ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^ You might keep in mind before you start reading my coming of age tale that the Human Rights Commission has just released a report condemning the treatment of gays in American schools. With severe bullying on one hand, indifference and encouragement of the bullying by faculty and administrators on the other, it's a difficult task our gay brothers and lesbian sisters face just to get through high school, and way too many don't make it.

It's up to us to make things better and to create safe havens where we can. We need to offer hope to gay teens so they don't give up. We are tormented when we come out, called despicable when we don't, and verbally assaulted by the churches that now dispatch their venom through politicians and local governments in the new witches brew of state sponsored religion that is working to force everyone to conform to their ideal. What are you doing to make things better than they were for you?

Martin M's Discovering Gregory

Written By: Rick Beck

Prologue

At the time of this story I'd pretty much decided our culture didn't include me. When listening to those who condemn me and those like me, I couldn't figure out how they were so sure of the facts they use to condemn so many to eternal damnation for failing to fit the neat little mold they promote. Then I remembered what my Great Aunt Marie told me when I was twelve,

"There are only two kinds of people, those who say they are good and those who get caught."

It's one of the few pieces of information I was given about sex and sexuality that I haven't forgotten or dismissed as poppycock. She only mentioned this reality after she realized I had overheard a group of good church going women talking about the rape of a young girl I knew and how she had brought it on herself by being attractive and dressing to show herself off. It seemed to me righteous church ladies were nearsighted at best.

When I was first confronted with exploring my sexuality, I embraced the opportunity. Since I could never be acceptable, why make the effort? I was more interested in finding out the truth about myself. I didn't have time to play pretend games in order to convince people who didn't give a damn about me that I was like them.

I do remember a time when the biggest worry for boys was rejection or an inability to get it up at the appropriate time, a problem I've yet to encounter, although if there is a converse, I am he. The only other big question that plagued me in those days of discovery, who eats brussel sprouts anyway?

Mostly I wanted to love and to be loved and being fifteen didn't much matter to me. In my mind I had been alone and lonely for long enough. If you doubt me on this, try it for fifteen years and judge for yourself. When I first saw Greg, I knew the drought was over and he was the boy I would fall in love with, and I love him still.

It all started after school while I was walking on a road that took me to my neighborhood, but in reality I was about to enter the Twilight Zone where I would find Greg waiting for me, and our lives would never be the same.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^ Chapter 1 Hit By A Brick

It was a lazy spring day that followed a too long winter. It was the kind of day when you enjoy walking and noticing that everything around you is coming alive with brilliant green colors. I was walking up the gravel section of Schultz Road that led into my subdivision and to my house when I first saw him coming toward me from the opposite direction. He was a new boy and he was walking with a guy I knew, Alfred.

Alfred was old townie and I was newer townie and we didn't run in the same circles even though we'd lived within a hundred yards of each other all of our lives. I lived in one of the older housing developments that had sprung up as a convenient suburb and he lived on a hill on the edge of that development, and it was once his family's farm. One of the streets even carried his family name but names were all that was left of the once numberous family farms in that section of the county.

My people came from the city and chose this quiet suburb as the place where they wanted to raise their family. My parent's interests usually took them back to the city quite often and I learned I had nothing in common with the sons of farmers that did not know the land themselves, or if they once did they no longer had the farm to work.

I'd been taught in elementary school that I was an outsider. By the time I went to junior high school, the outsiders outnumbered old townies by two to one, and so I found my own groups to run with and never considered the farm boys my friends. I imagine the view from their perspective resembled my own in reverse. What would we have in common? The answer until this day was nothing at all. Today there was the fresh scrubbed new boy in perfectly faded jeans and tapered white T-shirt. I'd never seen a boy like him or jeans filled quite like he filled those. It was as though he had walked out of a dream.

It was his eyes that I noticed first, not Alfred's, the new kid's. I've never seen eyes quite like those, and so there seemed to be a pattern developing. I couldn't keep my eyes off of him and I'd never before had an experience like this. Once we were too close to find a way of avoiding some interaction, there came this silent understanding that we were going to stop and talk, but we would do a slow posturing first.

His eyes were so rich a blue that no combination of colors in your crayon box could ever hope to duplicate it. It wasn't just the color, it was what he made me feel when he held them on me. And he held them on me. It's as though he was looking through me, into the depths of my soul, and I prayed he could not tell what I was thinking. As he drew closer he stared, causing my eyes to become hopelessly lost in his. I stopped while they were still ten feet away. I found myself standing there waiting for him to walk into my life, and protocol would dictate they now must stop as well.

There was this knowing little smile that came to him before we'd ever spoken a single word. I don't know what he thought he knew but the smile was more a smirk. It curled his sensual lips upward with an expressiveness that spoke volumes, and it said he knew something about me that I didn't know about myself until I saw him. I thought, somehow this new boy knows what's on my mind.

There was a scar half way between his lower lip and chin. It was an inch long and a quarter of an inch wide, running at a sharp angle to just below his lower lip. On most people the scar would have been a deformity, but on him it only served to mildly filter his intense good looks. It added character to his flawlessness.

It shocked me to be having the thoughts I was having about someone I'd never seen before. I knew there was something seriously wrong with me at that moment, but it didn't end the stares and the thoughts. If he knew what I was thinking why wasn't he kicking my ass?

My heart jumped in some sudden betrayal of my feelings as we all shifted from one foot to another after we got within a few feet of one another. The new kid and I continued to be locked together with our eyes. If they hadn't stopped, I don't know what I'd have done. After they came to a halt, I became certain that they could hear my racing heart.

Alfred started to talk and the new kid stood too close behind him, still wearing that knowing smirk while he took advantage of his height, or Alfred's lack of it, so he could look over top of Alfred's head at me.

"Where you headed, Martin?" Alfred said, being the most he'd said to me at one time since we were about nine.

"Home," I said in a brilliant if brief retort.

"Haven't seen you around none. Where you been?" Alfred had become a real conversationalist since entering high school.

"School mostly. Not much to do over the winter."

"Yeah!"

"I'm Martin."

I reached my hand out as an invitation. I was ready to risk the instant rejection I always avoided so that I could learn more about the new boy. My eyes stayed in his through the entire unsettling event.

Alfred looked at the hand that was extended out beyond his elbow, and Greg looked at it far longer than it should have taken to take it and shake it. I'm sure I was turning red from the embarrassment of having my one arm hanging out uselessly in front of me for what seemed like an eternity. He finally shook it, taking his eyes out of mine long enough to inspect it first, and then he curled his fingers into mine.

If his absolute beauty hadn't been enough to set me on fire, the feel of his hand sure was. I loved his touch. I halfway expected his mocho grip to squeeze me into submission, but the shake was an unexpectedly gentle affair. His hand was strong and soft at the same time. The brainstorm he created inside of me sent electricity through my body. Our handshake ended several long seconds before our hands went there separate ways.

Alfred seemed to become aware of us all at once. He was the middleman in an event that none of us could have foreseen. By chance I had met my love and Alfred had become a catalyst but at the time he was only recognizing the fact that neither of us was paying any attention at all to him.

"Greg, my name is Greg."

The voice was perfect. It sang his words into my ears.

"You're new!" I said in an understatement of the obvious.

"We live on Old highway. I'm Air Force. We lived on the airbase until we moved up there."

"You go to our school?"

"Yeah! He's in some of my classes. That's how I met him," Alfred interjected.

"Pop's a Colonel. Stationed over at the base. I went to school over there until I got transferred over here last month. Not enough girls over there. Plenty of discipline. I like it the other way around."

"We're going up to his house to shoot some pool. He has a pool table in his basement. Ain't that neat, Martin?"

"Yeah!" I said. "Neat!"

He was gone after that.

He walked away as quickly as he walked into my life. He seemed oblivious to what was just started, but I knew my life would never be the same. My stomach followed my heart into turmoil while I watched him march up the road, and he seemed to be walking out of my life as casually as he'd walked into it. The emptiness he left me with there was confusing. I guess I'd met a million people before that day and not one of them had much affect on me at all.

As I stood there alone in the middle of the road I couldn't take my eyes off him. The way his ass filled every bit of fabric in his jeans gave new definition to the front of my own. He more swaggered than walked. This boy had the world by the balls and he knew it. He was way older and way wiser than I was.

They were talking as I stood immobilized. I wasn't going to take my eyes off him until he disappeared. When they got a suitable distance away from our meeting place, Greg took a look back over his shoulder at me. He knew I would still be watching him and I knew he'd turn to check to see if I was still watching him. It left me disgusted with myself for letting him catch me standing there like some goofball, totally captivated by him. His head was cocked slightly to one side, and there was that smirk back on his face. Once he saw what he was looking for, he turned his head away in a flash as though he didn't cared about it at all, and he didn't look again.

I felt like a fool. I didn't know what was wrong with me, but I couldn't get his face out of my brain and it made me sick to my stomach. I made up my mind I didn't like Greg. He was everything I hated about guys. He was arrogant and cocky and hung up on himself, and not only that, he seemed to know exactly what I was thinking.

He was dangerous and I'd avoid him if I could. What he made me feel could get me into more trouble than I was ready to get into. I only knew one gay boy at school, and he was up against it all the time. Everyone picked on him. The boys despised him when they found out he was gay and the teachers despised him for not standing up for what he was. I could see that was a double edge sword that cut you either way you went and I'd avoid it if I could.

That night I woke up seeing his eyes. He seemed like this gigantic cat, watching the mouse he was about to eat, waiting for the right time to pounce. I'd never met anyone so self-confident or self-assured, but I lived in a small town, and as much as I needed to know about him, I couldn't afford to take the risk. Greg was someone I needed to leave alone.

I didn't have a clue why I was thinking about him. I'd met the guy once and everything I knew about him told me he was a prick. We hadn't exchanged two dozen words, but it wasn't the words I was worried about. He seemed to know plenty about me. He knew more about me than I knew about myself. He thought he was in control but I wasn't going to get caught playing his game. I was smart enough to know better.

I always wondered why I hadn't chased after girls the way my friends did. They disappeared from our group one by one, each finding a girlfriend until I was the only one left. Only I never developed an interest in girls. Maybe I was a late bloomer, or maybe meeting Greg told me everything I needed to know about why. I was a loner now and it was best to keep it that way. I didn't want anyone to know me too well and especially I didn't want anyone to know more about me than I did.

Greg invaded my brain when I was least able to prevent it. I would wake in the middle of the night with his eyes, lips, and that chin scar figuring vividly into my dreams. The other thing that nagged me was the imprint in his jeans on the right side of his leg. Its definition was remarkable for a clothed boy and that image frequently woke me out of sound sleep for purposes best left untold.

Why this got my attention more than other things I noticed about him, I wasn't sure. I took a passive interest in the boys in the showers after gym. I made sure I got a locker close to the boys I found most intriguing. Some guys popped a woody from time to time in the shower, though I'd only witnessed half woodies in my classes. Thank heave I was never one of those for who became suspect once they hit wood while cavorting about with other naked red blooded adolescents.

There was always talk that so and so had gotten on a hard. To do it a second time was the kiss of death if the first time didn't do it. You became persona non grata even amongst your best friends while at school. No one dared to befriend such a randy lad without fearing the label would become his as well. Adolescence wasn't a good time to part with your peers on such things as a woody in the shower. While they all seemed overjoyed to see one, once the novelty wore off the questions were still left to be asked.

I had a certain interest in my friends as they matured. I'd never been overly curious, just comparing notes in my own way, when we were of an age when boys like to talk and brag about what they've done with whom. These activities never led to anything but a need to relieve the tension once I got home after an evening of hearing about how my friends were getting laid. Now I was waking at night with only one thing on my mind.

Upon discovery I'd always masturbated to one degree or another. At first it was as often as I could find privacy. Then it was once a day because it needed to be done, no matter what was said in Sex-Ed or amongst the teenagers who claimed to know blind boys with hands filled with warts. I would need to take my chances if I hoped for a few hours of sleep each night. I'd monitored my hands carefully and saw an eye doctor more than most.

After a couple of years it became, upon wake-up and before retiring, as needed all other times. Greg's presence in my brain had altered my timing on this and I found him interrupting my sleep night after night. I'd wake long before dawn and go at it until I was worn down, using his face until it finally faded, that sneer of his, the bulging in his jeans, those eyes, all used to get me where I needed to go.

For the first time there was a face and a person attached to the fantasy that now powered my fist. The most worrisome thing was that the image of him did not leave me alone when the relief came. For the first time I couldn't depend on once being enough to cause me to drift on wings of ecstasy and toward a few more hours of sleep with messy weapon still in hand. Greg was having his way with me whenever he cared to visit my brain.

At fifteen I knew a secret about myself that no one else knew. That's to say that no one else could possibly be certain of it. I certainly hadn't been certain of it until I met Greg. For the first time in my life I was left to question my sexuality and my feelings about another boy.

I knew fifteen was a bit late to start going through a stage of any duration. There were no provisions at school for any oddly colored stages. While I stole glances of naked guys because it excited me in a mild way, it wasn't the same as dreaming about getting Greg out of those skintight jeans and next to me naked in my bed, or his. I was easy. The evidence was mounting and I was already feeling guilty. I had never once lusted after girls and now I could no longer say that about boys.

When faced with the truth it's best to yield or you risk living a lie.

Chapter 2 The Military Presence

A section of brick houses went up next to the main drag in town a couple of years ago. That's where the military families started to move. At first the kids of the military families went to school on the base but slowly they were infiltrating my school. I was only aware of their presence because from time to time I would hear one of them talking about living overseas. On my way home from school I started examining the new houses where I knew they lived. I also noticed the boys that played together on the streets in front of them. It was the first exciting thing that had happened since the flood of 76 when I was just starting school.

I was part of the first invasion of city dwellers who decided suburban living was the way to go. One by one the housing developments had razed the farms, leaving the farmers without their fields. This put us on the outs with the townies. Invariably the farmers were poor men that managed to get by working their little plots of land. One day the bank came and told them the land had been sold and they'd be compensated for their loss. It didn't endear the first wave of invaders to the locals.

Guys like Alfie were too young to have known farm life very well, but they still held a grudge because their father's did. I'd never mingled with them although they sat beside me in classes and roamed the halls of the same school. Seeing Alfred with Greg indicated that the schism was either disappearing or there was something about Greg that had Alfred overlooking the fact Greg was one of "them". Seeing them together had me regretting that I didn't get closer to Alfred over the years we'd been acquainted.

It took me a few weeks to forget the fateful meeting. Most of my waking hours went without considering Greg at all. Knowing the danger that lurked behind those intense eyeballs made it easier for me to push Greg out of my conscious thoughts. He still visited me late at night and I used the imagery to my advantage while still half a sleep and ill prepared to refuse him.

I didn't see Alfred except in passing at school. I thought about asking him about Greg, and I thought of not asking him. I did what I had always done with the boy that lived in the house on the hill at the back of our neighborhood, nodded and smiled as I went on my way. I was happy leaving things alone. I didn't like what I'd felt that day. I didn't like the questions it put inside my head. I didn't like Greg and I was happy we hadn't crossed paths a second time because I wasn't sure I could keep not liking him.

One day, as I stood at my locker ready to rid myself of my books, a hand slid up on the locker door beside my face. As I tried to open it the hand was in the way. There was a short struggle for supremacy and I turned ready for a confrontation with the jerk that was fucking with me.

"Hi! What's your name again?"

He leaned with his hand extended behind my head, using the locker door for support.

"Martin. My name is Martin," I said indignant, all the time looking for his eyes. When I found them I had to catch my breath. Be still my heart.

"Yeah, that's right, Martin. Remember me?"

"Yeah! George something or other, ...wasn't it?"

I wasn't about to let him know I remembered not only his name, but the contour of his lips, the way his legs ran up to his tight round ass, and that scar, and those eyes. And before I knew it, I was locked in his eyes the same way we'd become locked on the first day we'd met. Trapped like a deer in the headlights of an onrushing Mack truck.

"Greg. My name is Greg," he said, being caught off guard by my lapse.

"Are you sure? I thought it was George," I pondered. "Whatever your name is, could I get into my locker now?"

Greg moved his hand, being thrown by my wit for only a few seconds. He stood so close to me that the heat from his body mingling with the heat from mine, building up between us. Once again I knew something was wrong with me. No human being had ever had the kind of affect on me, and I didn't even know him, and I wanted to keep it that way as I pulled my shirt out of my pants to cover my guilt.

As I fiddled and tried to remember what I was doing there I noticed his arms were bare, and there were some silken blond hairs on his forearms. They were far lighter hairs than the darker blond hairs on his head. His wrist was thick and his arm was well shaped, but not as muscular as I fantasized them to be when I was with him in my room late at night.

His chest had the same affect on his T-shirt that his ass had on his jeans and on me as well. I looked at the impression his nipples made on it while placing my books into my locker. My face felt the cotton in his T-shirt when he refused to move, and I wanted to rub up against him. I inhaled a heavy dose of his scent and immediately went into a total and complete brain fart mode(BFM). There was no way to remember which books I needed for homework and so I did the honorable thing, ditching them all in the bottom of my locker so I could turn around to look at him.

When I turned to face him, I wondered what he wanted from me. I stood there with my back against my locker door as he leaned on the hand he had placed near my ear. I felt cornered and I wanted to hide how flustered I'd become merely because he was there. He could read me like a Playboy Magazine. I became sure I didn't like this smirking boy as he laughed at my indecisive awkwardness. I wanted to escape from him and I never wanted him to leave me.

"You're funny."

And especially I hated the affect he had on me. Man, I wanted to punch him out. I wanted him to leave me alone. I wanted to kiss him flat on the lips with half the school passing around us. His arm sagged down across my shoulder and his eyes leaned on my eyes. How did he know I wasn't going to kiss him?

Mind you, I'd never kissed anyone before if you don't count my grandmother and somehow I didn't think that counted. I didn't think the kind of kiss I was thinking about sharing with Greg was in any way akin to that. Oh, I'd once suspected there was more to kissing than pecking old granny but no evidence surfaced and so it was one of those mysteries of life there was no way to answer until you meet someone like Greg. I was satisfied with not knowing until then.

I had grown to realize I was likely going to go through the rest of my life being asexual. Most of my former friends were locked into relationships and bragging about scoring every time I ended up in a conversation with one of them. Then they'd ask how I was doing in that department and there just weren't a lot of options when your girlfriends are just friends and nothing more. The only one I figured I was destined to "know" was my right hand and on those perverted occasions when I wanted something more, my left, but I never dared tell anyone I was ambidextrous that way.

I'd never done anything with anyone up until then, nor did I want to. Then came Greg and I wasn't sure what I wanted but wanting anything with him or from him was too scary to consider. Living in a small town, everyone knows everyone else. We met each Sunday in front of the churches and again on Wednesday evening. There was no way I could or would risk being discovered as someone people could hate. There was no where to run and no one to turn to once that kind of thing got around because even sympathetic people knew better than to become identified with anyone outside the norm established by our community leaders.

It was better to stick it out alone and hope for better days than to be labeled about the worst thing a kid my age could be labeled. To be labeled in a way that could get you killed isn't something I wanted to play around with. I didn't want anyone to know about what I felt or know what I did with whom in mind.

Then came Greg and I hated him. I had never hated anyone that I know of before. I found myself staring into those eyes as the fog lifted from my addled brain. The entire school moved around us, but I felt as though I was alone there with him. I tried my hardest not to pass out. I became aware of my heart going crazy inside my chest. My stomach turned over about the time my mouth went dry. I didn't want to throw up on the guy. He just stood there waiting, for what I don't know. His eyes just stayed in mine as we contemplated our next words while the air became more scarse.

"What's up, doc," I said as cheerfully as I could while trying to cover my growing excitement with the too short tail of my shirt.

"You really want to know," he said curtly, glancing down at the too short tail of my shirt. Shit!

I was then I used my sweating and now bookless palms which was all I had left to hide the rising... temperature. And of course he didn't miss anything, staring at my hands as though he knew exactly what was going on under them. The smirk left and it was only me and my eyes suspended there waiting for his. He didn't know how little control I had left. He chuckled and shook his head before finding my eyes again.

"I just wanted to say there's a party Friday night, my house. My parents will be away this weekend. Some beer and whatever people bring. Interested? Mostly air force kids. Guys you don't know."

I knew the answer. I wasn't a fool. I knew all the dangers he represented. I'd carefully been able to keep control of my life and I sure as hell wasn't giving that control up to some smirking, arrogant, cocky, gorgeous guy that made me dizzy every time I looked at him.

"I don't even know where you live," I said, fighting the words. It's not what I meant to say.

"Come on. I'll show you. We'll shoot some pool. You do shoot, don't you?"

I wasn't going anywhere with him. The thing I needed to do was tell him no. The thing I needed to do was walk away from him. The thing I needed to do was stop looking in his eyes. What was happening to me?

The thing I did was, follow him out of the school like I was a puppy on a chain and he gladly led the way. Only after we were out of the parking lot did he slow down so we could walk side by side. I had no trouble bring up the rear and the view it gave me. Well, I was following him, I figured I might as well make the most of it. I watched his jeans shifting from side to side as he walked.

"You lived here long?" he asked.

"All my life."

"Not yet, I hope," he said, looking at me and smiling without the smirk.

"Where'd you come from?" I asked.

"My mother's belly," he said.

"Give me a break. Where did you live before you live where it is you live at present?"

"You want to know where my father was stationed last? Rhine-Main, that's in Germany."

"You speak German?"

"Not fluent, but I know a lot of the words. It's not that hard. German, I mean."

"What's Germany like?" I asked. `

"Nice. People are a lot nicer. They all like Americans so it isn't hard to make friends. Not like over here. Everyone's stuck up."

"You don't seem to have any trouble making friends," I said.

"Meaning we are becoming friends," he said, not asking but telling me with certainty.

Once again I knew the answer. The last thing in the world I needed was a friend like Greg.

"Yeah!" I said, angry with myself for saying it.

"I figured that. I don't like just anyone, you know. I've got to be careful who I like. People tend to hang on me. I don't like that. It's easier to pick out the ones that you can do things with. If you take your time, you can have the ones you need and not the ones that are a pain in the ass."

"Like me?" I asked.

"Yeah! Maybe like you. I don't know yet. You seem okay from what I've seen. Alfred says you're cool. Says you don't make friends with people he runs with though. He thinks you're stuck up, but he still thought you were cool enough to talk to."

"Alfred and I don't have anything in common. His old man's a farmer and mine works for the phone company. He runs with guys that are farmer's sons. I don't think they like us much. Most of the newer housing developments were once farms. I mostly make friends with blue color types. That's who lives around me. Alfred's fine. I like him okay. You said he was cool enough, cool enough for what?"

"Yeah! He's okay. Not very good at pool. You any good?"

"We talking about pool now?" I asked. "I keep having the feeling we may not be having exactly the same conversation here. Cool enough to what?"

"I was talking about pool. You play or what?" He said, looking me over with that knowing smirk again.

"I know which end of the cue to use. Cool enough for what?"

"Great. I'd like to find someone that can play a good game. Cool enough to play with me. He introduced me to some of the farm boys thinking he could get over on me that way but he couldn't. He still lost."

"Maybe you need to train someone to compete with you, huh? To play with you I mean. That's what you want?"

"No one can compete with me," he said self-assured. "Lots play with me. Few are very good."

"We're speaking of pool?"

"Pool."

He looked me over once he'd said it. It occurred to him that I had some idea about what the conversation was really about.

"The farm boys?"

"Some times."

"For some reason I don't find that hard to believe, and I don't think it has a thing to do with pool. They cool enough?"

"What do you mean?" He said with honest innocence in his voice for the first time as he studied me. "With pool?"

"You're different," I said, thinking out loud. "I've never met anyone quite like you."

"Different! What do you mean by that crack? I'm no different than you are. I just don't waist a lot of time."

"You're cocky. Self confident. Most guys around here aren't so sure as you. My friends aren't. I'm not and the farm boys sure aren't. Does that make us bumpkins or something?"

"I can't help it if you guys were brought up in the sticks. I know which end is up. I've been around. It's part of the military experience. You learn about new places and new people."

"And how to get what you want from them?"

"What are you saying? I don't get anything they aren't willing to give. I have no trouble attracting people. I don't want anyone around me that's a drag."

"It's okay, Greg. I'm not cutting you down. You stand out and it's obvious you've been around. You're different in a good way is all I'm saying. You are different than most of us because you've had more experience with other people. That makes you interesting."

"Yeah, that's true."

"I guess we are from the sticks, and that means we don't know as much about life and people from other places. I also suppose that's why people like you come around. It's how we learn about stuff... like pool. Cool enough for what?"

"Cool enough to know what they like."

"You?"

"I suppose. You find me interesting?"

"You know I do. You turned around to make sure I was still watching you that day. You knew I was curious about you."

"What day?"

"Right! What party? You're inviting me to your party because you know I find you interesting. You know stuff I don't know. There's only one way to find stuff out."

I figured I'd get it out there so he couldn't use it against me later. I was trying to justify it to myself at the same time so I might be able to make a get away if I found out I wasn't cool enough.

"Ask the new kid?"

"If he's cool enough... to ask. You are cool enough?"

"In a manner of speaking. I thought you were calling me queer or something for a minute. I ain't no queer, so don't even go there."

I don't know where that line came from but it startled me when he said that particular word with the emphasis he placed on it. What in his mind brought him to that word? I'd always been queer in one way or another. I didn't like what other people liked. I didn't feel what other people said they felt. Queer is not the word I would have chosen to delineate it.

I became lost in my fog again. To me Greg was an enigma magnified times ten and this is coming from someone who little understood much about anyone, including myself. The only time I heard the word queer was when someone was using it to insult someone else. It was best to ignore the word because if you didn't, you became immediately suspect. I knew that word described what I felt about myself at the times I was being honest about what my feelings were, or what I thought they were, and I wasn't about to go near it for fear of having something of the word rub off on me.

This was likely a cowardly way for me to feel about it but beatings and insults being the result of being heroic, it didn't take much to make me realize that keeping my secret was conducive to my good health and well being. Everyone that I had ever known of that was labeled a queer didn't do too well among his peers. I may not have been very bright, but I was smart enough to know when to keep my mouth shut. Some kids couldn't hide it and other kids couldn't leave them alone because of it. I felt bad because I never once offered aid or comfort to another guy after it became known he felt like me. I never knew a lesbian girl so I didn't identify so much with their difficulties. I figured girls could hide it better in school.

This sudden use of the word got my mind on it and what it meant and how painful it was when I heard it. Whatever was going on between Greg and I, it wasn't anything that had gone on between me and anyone else before. There was something working that had him at my locker at a time when I would have preferred to get on with my life not knowing anything more than I already knew about him. He decided to take it beyond that first meeting. He had to feel something because I knew all that energy didn't start and end with me. Where had it been all my life up until then?

I watched him walking beside me and caught a glimpse of the package in the front of his jeans. I could see the outline running down the inside of his right leg. The tight jeans left little to my imagination but I didn't need much. I'd given up trying to hide what had sprung out of our proximity. If he noticed after we left my locker he wasn't talking. I don't think he cared if I got a clear view of the wood in his pants or not. His mind was on something else as we walked. He made no effort to hide it or monitor where my eyes fixed on him, but then there was the question, why the word queer and what the hell were we doing if he wasn't? What was all the posturing about? What did he want if he didn't want guys to want him? It all seemed too covert for me.

As we came to the end of the path Greg turned around to face me. I let him get far enough ahead where he couldn't catch me watching his butt as he walked. Now I was faced with the other end of my dilemma, and as I closed the distance between us he adeptly used his palm to push the bulging onto the inside of the pant leg before he turned to step onto the shoulder of the road where we would walk.

He didn't say anything about his last second maneuver before entering inhabited ground and there was no way I knew to bring it up that might get it out into the open, so to speak. He either didn't mind that I saw that he was excited about something, or prospects of something, or he knew exactly what he was doing and did it for my benefit. Either way it intrigued me enough to keep me on his trail.

When faced by a gift horse, never turn your back on him.

Chapter 3 Svelte Felt's Feel Or P Rhymes With T

Pool wasn't something I excelled at but Greg certainly did. He could run the table at will but he chose to miss a shot from time to time so he could lean erotically against his stick while eyeballing my technique. I guess having a pool table in your basement did make it a lot easier for him. I'd have done better but for some reason I couldn't keep my mind on my game and therefore I mostly watched him shooting pool. His air of superiority was obvious as he danced around the table calling his shots while I sat patiently by waiting for his occasional miss.

Half way through the second game he unexpectedly took his T-shirt off. He extended his arms straight up over his head. The fluffy tufts of hair under his arms showed for a second. It was a lighter blond than the hair on his head, perhaps a shade or two lighter, but it was a quick look and the sweat might have changed the natural color.

There were tracks of similarly colored hair running just below his belly button, disappearing at his belt buckle. They were sparse but evident. His pants hung low on his hips well below the waist I wasn't sure was there. His stomach was flat and refused to hold up his pants no matter how tight they were.

His shoulders were wider than what I would have expected, considering he was only two or three inches taller than I was. His arms had a fine definition with little or no bulging and they fit his thinner build perfectly. His chest showed surprising definition for his age and I found myself self-consciously looking at my own fixtures, noticing this boy was way better built than I was.

His nipples were the size of nickels, darker than light chocolate but not as dark as the bittersweet. They weren't completely round, being more oblong with an odd shine to the flesh when I caught more than a passing glance. They perked out a bit in an exciting display of boldness, but they weren't ostentatious or feminine in the least.

"Get comfortable," he said, pressing his package against the table as he considered his next shot.

The invitation was subtle and he didn't seem to care if I stripped off or not, but of course he wouldn't. Greg was a stud and he had everything a well-equipped stud needed, and he wasn't afraid to show it off. In fact he liked showing it off. Most of the guys my age were just then getting some kind of separation between chest and waist. Greg was already built like a man, lacking only a few pounds here and there to take his body over the final hump into manhood.

My eyes lingered for too long in places where I'd never let them linger before. Knowing what I knew about him, I knew that was stupid, but for some reason I didn't have the self-control around him that I'd always exercised around the boys I knew all my life. When I realized he was watching me watch him, I tried to stop looking at his chest, the bulge, those lips, and the deceptive warmth in his clear blue eyes.

I watched as he stood with his legs spread apart with the pool cue running up between them and across the bulge, and up through his right hand. He used his hips on the stick from time to time, pushing the bulge hard against the wood, rubbing it up and down just enough so I could tell he was humping it.

Greg even strutted while he was standing still. I sheepishly looked at the table wondering whose shot it might be when he caught me watching him use it on the stick. My diverted eyes somehow ended up on his pool cue again and in an understandable progression, I was watching as he rubbed it across the lengthening bulge with more exaggeration than before.

Each time he came away from a shot he was in a different state of arousal. The more difficult the shot and the more he studied it, the more likely he was to come away with a maximum display. Other shots were quick and it slid around in his jeans when it wasn't extending down the leg or pointing out to one side. He caught me staring at it on numerous occasions and I stopped trying to hide the fact I was enjoying the view. My own display rose and fell with the intensity he showed. He didn't seem to notice or if he did I never caught him.

Then there were the times my chair was in the way and he'd brush me with his arm or his leg as he posed or positioned himself. Only once did he pass behind me when I was positioning for a shot and I felt it as he rubbed it against me in a slow motion move that he apologized for, but only if he'd broken my concentration. I had no concentration as long as he was around. I looked back to check it's condition and position in his pants once he'd worked himself to the other side of where I was standing, and he hadn't found our physical contact any hindrance to his ongoing arousal as far as I could tell.

"You're low balls?" he said after one particularly long eye engagement

"I was thinking you had the low balls," I said, when he looked at me as thought he was serious.

"Low enough," he said. "Your shot."

"Yeah! Just looking for a shot," I said, with a very bad case of dry mouth.

"We could make this interesting, you know, since you get to play free. We ought to have a bet or something to make it interesting," Greg suggested.

"I only got six cents left from lunch," I said.

"Not money. I've already got my shirt off. We'll play strip pool. I'm at a big disadvantage. You've got enough clothes to hold out until it's time to quit. Who knows, you might get lucky and get a real good look, Martin."

I knew the answer was no, but then did I leave and if I left when would I get this chance to be this close to him again? I thought about the day I met Greg, and how I couldn't take my eyes off him. He knew what I was thinking all right. Greg had been around. He was a year ahead of me in school and a light year ahead of me in experience. I just wasn't sure what his game really was or where I would eventually fit into it.

I knew the answer was no but knowing what no might mean to the hope that I would be seeing more of Greg kept me from saying it. I searched for a polite way to decline this suggestion without creating the idea I wasn't interested in whatever it was that the strip pool game might be leading us toward. While that mystery bothered me, it didn't bother me as much as I thought it should. I wanted more but not knowing what more was kept me cautious but not too cautious.

"Is this what you do with Alfred and the farm boys?"

"Something like that."

"Something like that? There's more than stripping?"

"That's up to you. Some people like more. Some don't. You decide what you like."

"Strip pool? Your invention?"

"German boys taught me. Breaks the boredom. Funny how getting naked lightens everyone's mood. They do it while drinking beer."

"The party this weekend. This part of that?"

"Usually. Depends on the mood and what guys want to do."

"Farm boys?"

"Not usually. One or two come up now and again. Mostly air force brats like me. They're all cool enough, the ones I hang with anyway."

"No one I know?"

"Maybe Alfred. I haven't decided. He's cool but a little much at times."

Greg didn't seem to mind the questions. For the first time we talked normally, no stares, and we didn't create some super strain of energy that demanded you collide with something. I was communicating with a guy that threw me for a loop. I didn't have a clue what love was and I wasn't sure about liking people. It was all very complicated and painful.

I wasn't sure what the rules were or how you decided which people to like and which to leave alone. With Greg there were no decisions. It wasn't a question of yes or no. It was the question of how do I get to spend more time with him while looking like I wasn't a faggot which I was sure he thought I was, but then if I was, what the hell was he?

"Sure, I'm game."

Greg broke the next game and sunk the eight ball. I don't know if he was that good and did it on purpose to break the ice or if it was by fate. I expected him to toss one of his shoes aside but instead he carefully unsnapped his jeans, sliding the zipper down in slow steady motion as he watched my face. He peeled the jeans off over his shoes and tossed them inside out into the corner.

His boxers were sparkling clean. The bulge was obvious and moved around when he moved. Each time I lost something, I was in more distress. When I finally lost my T-shirt, my own excitement became more evident. There was no way to push it or move it so it didn't show. He now got a good look at my skinny narrow chest, tiny waist, and the bulge that would not die.

It was then I felt like the fly that had just discovered he has landed on the spider's web. I kept trying to hide it down in-between my legs each time he was sizing up a shot, but it just refused to stay there, and he found my attempts to force it humorous. Every time I bent to take a shot, when I stood up, it was saluting him. He looked at it long enough to let me know he knew I was horny as he was. There was no prolonged interest beyond that or if there was he wasn't showing it.

"What happens when you win them all? You gonna make me go home naked? You know you're going to win. I know you're going to win."

This is the kind of question that comes to you as time goes on. I hadn't considered what the result of losing these games to Greg might be, but with only my pants and underwear left between me and glory, I wondered about it. At the pace my clothing was dropping by the wayside, it occurred to me that he might have a plan like that in his mind. Humiliation is a potent weapon in the toolbox of a sadistic boy.

"No. No. I'm not that cold hearted. We'll see if we can't work something out. You can do something for me to get me to give them back. Fair enough? I mean I could make you walk home naked if you lose them to me."

"Is this how the farm boys escape your basement with their clothes?"

"They aren't very good pool players. Play you got to pay don't they say."

"They've got to perform for you to get them back? Some of those guys look like they could get pretty mean."

"Perform? That's a neat word. I like that. Sometimes they... perform. They're honorable boys and when they agree to terms, they pay up."

"Alfred?"

"He's too easy."

"In front of his friends?"

"They mostly come up together and so it limits what they'll do. It's when one of them comes back that it can get interesting. Farm boys just want to have fun."

"You always win? They always perform?"

"So far. A few come back claiming what they really want is a rematch. They're the most fun."

"I'm not a queer if that's how cool you're talking about."

It's not something I would have said to anyone else. It isn't a word I would use on anyone else I knew, but Greg had said it first, and I was becoming a little worried about the something he might have in mind for me to do. I might do anything with Greg he wanted, but I wasn't just going to dive for it. He was the kind of boy, once he got the upper hand, he'd never give you a chance to turn the tables on him. I was sure Greg wanted what he wanted and there was only so much he was going to pay to get it. There were still more questions than answers when it came to him.

"I didn't say you were, now did I?" he said, smirking. "I have trouble with my shoulders. You could give me a massage when you want your clothes back. That's when you decide you've had enough. Like I said, you go as far as you like. I just go along for the ride."

"And the performance."

"When possible," he said more seriously. "I'm easy."

"That's cool. I could do that," I said. "But nothing else, okay. I don't think I want to do more than that. I don't really know you."

"Sure, nothing more than that."

"Cool."

"You going to shoot today or what?"

I wasn't about to tell him I was already thinking about being able to touch his body. I became worried about making a mess in my jeans if I touched him. That's if I still had my jeans. What if I didn't? What if I made a mess in my underwear and he saw it?

My heart began to race with anticipation. I'd never really felt anyone else's skin before. Not in a way like I was going to get to feel his. I knew he'd give me any access I wanted but how far could I go without admitting something about myself I wasn't ready to let anyone else know about? How did I manage to get myself into this spider's trap? Had there ever been an option?

There was an immediate escalation in my expectation for this get together. If I was to have a heart attack, I hoped it would hold off until after I gave him the massage. I lined up another shot, trying to look as casual as possible, and then I accepted defeat gracefully. I didn't make much of an effort at getting my balls into his pockets and sat down to and took my time taking my jeans off over my bear feet.

"You rush your shots. You've got to draw lines with your eyes to figure out where the ball will go once you hit it. You need to take your time."

He seemed sincere in his criticism.

"I do that a lot. Rush! I'm just a kid you know?"

"Here, let me show you. Come on over here and take your cue."

He held out my stick and watched me fold my jeans neatly and place them in the middle of the chair. Even with my underwear on I felt naked when I turned around to face him. There was no way to hide it so I let it push out the front of my white briefs. I knew the leakage was probably a stain by now and so he was going to see it anyway. I was just going to go with it and try not to look any worse than I had to.

I took the cue while he set up my last botched shot which I hadn't really intended to make anyway.

"Now check your angles. Pick a pocket and decide how you need to strike your ball with the cue ball.

"My angles?"

I looked at the ball down the barrel of the cue and tried not to look out of the corner of my eye at the way the front of his boxers stuck out. I hit the ball without really seeing it and it bounced around and rolled into the middle of the table about an inch from where it had been before I moved it.

"Here, let me set it up again," he said, moving balls around.

He moved behind me and leaned over my back with his lips almost on my ear.

"Now, remember the angles. It's all in how you line up the cue ball on your ball. You know if you just clip the ball you'll get a big angle and if you hit it square you'll get a small angle. It'll come off the bumper at an equal angle according to how you strike the ball."

His chest barely brushed my back and my eyes closed and I was feeling warm all over. He reached across my back and rearranged the way I had the cue, placing his arms on top of mine. His chest now covered my entire back. He was sweating slightly and I could feel the dampness of his underarm on my shoulders. His face brushed mine ever so slightly as we studied the table.

His smell drifted into my nose and my eyes closed again. I was feeling dizzy and alive and wonderful.

"Line up your angles and I'll show you where you need to make contact with your ball."

He leaned forward forcing the front of his boxers into my thigh as he reached across the table, placing his finger right where he wanted me to hit the ball. I started to sweat. His face pressed against mine as he checked the angle again. I gasped as he stood up and away from me.

"Stroke it easy. One motion. Don't jerk your shots."

"Stroke it easy. Don't jerk it," I said.

"You've got a one track mind. Just shoot," he said.

"Just shoot," I repeated for him with the bulge in his boxers now right next to my face. "Just shoot. Right!"

"You're taking too long, Martin. When you line it up just go for it. They aren't going to move."

"Like this?" I asked, hitting the ball lightly and it ran out of gas four inches from the pocket we were lined up on.

"That's enough. It's getting late. I can show you next time. You don't concentrate. You need to concentrate."

When I stood up after the shot, he was turning at the same instant and the front of our underwear ended up colliding with a predictable result. We both hesitated keeping our mutual bulges engaged albeit through the material in our undershorts. I was surprised to see Greg looking at where we had come together. The power of our hard wired connection kept us pressing together as it sent an electric shock through me. I couldn't break the contact and for some reason Greg didn't until for several long seconds.

Greg seemed flustered once he backed away. It wasn't a shaky kind of flustered like I might have experienced, but it was obvious he had been thrown off his game for a minute. There was this incredible awkwardness that followed. It kept us from looking at each other as we went to neutral corners for the mandatory eight count. He grabbed his jeans and started to turn them right side out.

"The massage?" I said, not wanting to end it yet. "I can't go home like this. You said if I...."

Greg was standing back in the shadows so I couldn't see his face. He stepped forward and sat on the corner of the table, letting his jeans fall back onto the floor.

"I forgot you owed me."

He stretched out with his stomach pressed against the felt. I stood to one side looking at his golden skin. My fingers were frozen at my sides while perverted thoughts of what I wanted to do to him ran around inside my brain.

"Come on, get with it, we don't have all day. My father will be home soon. Just a quick once over."

"How do I? I mean I can't...."

"Climb up on the table. You can't hurt it. It's slate."

I knelt in-between his legs and leaned forward over him. I moved my legs until they were snuggly against the bear skin of his inner thighs. I felt flushed and the temperature was rising fast, mine anyway. I leaned forward to take my first calculated feel of his lovely skin. His face rested on the back of his hands. He held his eyes closed and waited patently for me to take my next shot.

Putting my hands tentatively on his shoulders, the skin was softer than I expected. It took me a second to realize I was really touching him. I used my thumbs to massage his muscles and I slipped my fingers over his gentle warm skin. My heart did a tap dance in my chest and I became enraptured by the feel of him and his sighs as my hands explored his flip side.

His muscles tensed as I felt them. I leaned forward to do his shoulders and the front of my briefs leaned on the back of his boxers. His eyes swung open and were filled with a substantial fire.

"Message only, thank you. If I ever get the urge to be cornholed, I'll notify you."

"Sorry," I said, easing myself off him and cussing my stupidity.

I wasn't invited to leave and I didn't offer but I was sure I found something I liked as much as I liked looking at him. He went back into his trance and I rubbed all the way down to his waistband, taking my time to memorize his body.

"Just push your fingers under,' he said, keeping his eyes closed.

"You said!"

"I said get your dick out of my ass. You can massage me there. It's part of what you owe. Don't be such a wimp, Martin."

I slipped my fingers into the back of his underwear before he was able to change his mind. They didn't stop until I felt the top of his crack. His legs tightened against mine when the tips of my fingers were working around the split. His ass felt as nice as it looked and my mind was lost in the feel of him.

"That okay?" I asked, swallowing hard and trying to figure out the lay of the land as my fingers dipped in and out of his crack.

"Yeah, fine. Don't talk, rub, you owe me and time's short. Get my legs."

I felt a bit odd fishing my fingers out of his underwear. I wondered what the hell I was doing there. His legs spread wide a part on the table and I backed down to about his knees as I traced the black hairs from half way down the inside of his thigh, up, up, up to where they entered his boxers. It was a sparse line and the darkest hair on him.

As I started to rub the back of his legs, I could see his balls lying there in the left leg hole. I used both of my hands on his right leg while watching them. There was hair, but not enough to distort my view, and as I leaned toward the left I could see the space behind his ball and more scattered blond hairs. I changed legs, gulped as I swallowed hard as I placed my hands in a position where I could take advantage of this over exposure.

When I had leaned forward to do his shoulders, it wasn't a calculated move to get a thrill from rubbing myself against the crack of his ass, but my next movements were all thought out ahead of time. I'd take giant steps and then pause, giving him time to rebuke me, and then if he hadn't cried foul, I'd take another leap into the unknown. What had come over me I didn't know, but my entire being was bent on having as much of Greg as I could get, and I wasn't sure where my plot ended and his begun.

&

, and I let the back of my hand rest against both of his balls all at once, being sure he'd tell me to get off as quickly as the contact was made. He remained silent and did not move. I acted like I was massaging him as the back of my hand moved around on one ball and then the other. He seemed to have fallen asleep by the time I got all ten fingers up inside the leg hole as I was feeling the most adorable skin. As I reached the point where his leg ended and his crotch started, I dug my fingers into the quite hard flesh, causing him to shift ever so slightly as he raised his left knee until it was wedged against the cushion. It was then, I could see his brown spot if I tilted my head a little to the left. I let all ten fingers work the four inches of flesh between his legs. It was an all consume activity and I prayed he wouldn't make me stop yet.

He got still as death with spittle leaking from between his lips and onto the back of his hand. I became more bold and let my fingers feel one ball and then the other before taking both of them in my hand. As I suspected he stirred from this coma when I was touching his testicles.

"Do what you were doing before, dude."

"What?"

"Behind my nuts. Do that some more."

Greg's voice seemed weak and a bit taut. He lifted his head while he spoke but he didn't make eye contact and placed his head back down immediately. He liked it. I liked it. What was to worry about. I rubbed more vigorously and I could feel him pressing his hips down against the felt. He seemed to squirm as I spent long minutes rubbing and squeezing this ever more sensitive space.

When I got to the brown spot I decided I had to see what it felt like. I knew we were getting close to forbidden ground but he'd told me he liked it. It was only an inch from where my fingers were get a great response. I continued moving my fingers until my forefinger and second finger pushed on the middle of his hole. The rest of my fingers were feeling around to distract him from this escalation. At first I was surprised he didn't jump or growl and tell me to get my fingers back where he said, but there was absolute no reaction that I could identify.

The next thing I knew he was pushing himself off the table and my fingers ended up on his balls. With his ass in the air he pivoted in his right arm and sat down with his ass on the table and me still halfway between his scissoring legs.

"I didn't say that. I didn't say touch that. Did I?"

His eyes sparked and his face was full of displeasure for the liberties I'd taken with him. I was surprised his admonishment didn't last longer or intensify. The eyes broke away from me as he checked where he was on the table. I was waiting for him to get off the table or tell me to, but instead he leaned back and placed his hands behind his head, spreading out across the table without further reprimand.

His legs brushed across mine as he got comfortable. He watched me carefully as though he thought I might steal something. Keeping his knees bent somewhat and his balls were hanging out in clear view. I didn't want to stare at them but there wasn't much I could do.

My hands were still between his legs and I started rubbing his right thigh without being asked. Once again he stared at me like he wanted to kick my ass big time. I no longer wanted to be there with him, but that didn't stop the back of my hand from being in contact with his balls before I had time to plan it. The spell had started to break and I wasn't sure what to do but touching him was too strong a potion for me to resist. He was drawing me in and didn't think I could resist.

We watched each other as my hands kept working on his skin.

"Higher," he said in a low invitation and he reached up to turn off the overhead lap that lit the table. Rays of light came in through the basement window and we were only partially in the shadows.

I came up on my knees and placed my hands on his stomach, keeping them flat against his stomach, I moved them up over his chest and up onto his shoulders. His head was back flat on the felt and the light made his eyes seem irredescent as my face moved over top of his. His legs shifted and the front of his shorts were against the front of mine. I gasped when I felt his steel dig into mine. I felt myself struggling to breath to stay in control.

My eyes were unable to come away from his, but my eyes were in the shadows and a dusty light hung just above his. He blinked and looked up at my face as neither of us moved.

"What do you want?"

"Want?"

"You know what you want. I know what you want."

His question was a challenge. His voice had a touch of evil in it. His eyes were different though. The anger and intensity had washed out of them. They still sparkled even in the fragments of light that , replaced by some curiosity I was not familiar with. I stayed on top, pressed hard against him only at the one place, feeling a rush of passion and lust coming from our connection.

My hands barely brushed his skin now. It wasn't a massage. I was feeling his skin, drawing the excitement out of it. My face was slowly drawing closer to his. Once again some force beyond my own reality took over and drove me to think of kissing this strange boy who had invaded my brain.

As my lips got within a few inches of his the light came on at the bottom of the stairs and just a few feet from where we lay. I heard footsteps on the stairs and pushed myself back off him, kneeling between his legs and looking up in a panic as my lust drained out of me.

writersrealm@hotmail.com