The story below is a work of fiction, set in the format of reality. Any resemblances to real people, alive or in the hereafter, is entirely coincidental in nature. It is not meant to accurately reflect upon persons, in towns, cities, countries, nor governmental areas, which the story is staged. If a sexual scene involving male-to-male relationships offends you, then you should not read this story. Additionally, if you are under 18 years of age, in most state and countries, you are not allowed to read this story, by law. Check with your local laws regarding such. % Sexual safety matters. Remember guys, this is fiction. In real life, use protection.
%
"For The Love Of Michael" 05 wriTten by T. Chase McPhee
%
Dean wasn't totally himself in school. He felt a little strange.
"Remember Savage, find out about Michael," came the warning from Jim Hart.
Right after Hart departed, Michael jumped out of the chaffeur's car.
"Must be nice."
"What?"
"Riding to school like this everyday," Dean nodded towards the long, black vehicle.
"Tell you the truth, I can't wait til I get my own set of wheels."
Just one of the things sixteen year olds dream about, appealed to both.
"What kind?"
"I'm not sure. My mom likes fancy cars, but my dad says it's better to get something practical. It's okay. Mom has last say in stuff, when it comes to shopping for me."
"Shopping, Michael? You treat it like it's a... a..."
Dean looks straight at Michael, at his chest, then stomach, as if checking out his bod, "shirt or something.
"By the way, nice shirt."
"You like it?"
"Yeah. Did somebody accidentally drip paint on you?"
"Nah. It's the style."
"It's cool."
"Thanks. I wore it for..."
Michael almost goofed. He didn't want to make Dean think he liked him or anything, even though he did!
Dean joked, "For me?"
Since it was the truth, Michael came out with, "Nah. Last clean shirt in my closet."
For sure Dean guessed Michael lied, but didn't know the reason. A guy, delivered to school in a black limo, has got to have more than one shirt to wear.
"By the way, did you pick the subject for our team report?"
"I've sort of narrowed it down."
At that precise moment, a cool breeze blew across the front of the building.
Michael says, "Looks like rain. It's supposed to."
It gave Dean a few minutes to gather his thoughts. His mind wasn't only on social studies. Right now, he looked at Michael's shirt. His bookbag was the sling type. The strap fit from his right shoulder, slicing his body in half, to his left hip. Pulling on his shirt, with the cool wind, the equation came out to hard nips. Poking through the fabric of Michael's polo shirt, where the dark fabric of his A&F shirt faded to light blue, above the paint splats, his left and right nubs stood out, as if imprinted.
Looking down, Michael seemed to look where Dean was looking.
"What?"
"Um, I..." A quick diversion was needed! "I thought one of the paint spots was toothpaste."
"Prolly wouldn't know the difference, eh?"
"Prolly not."
Dean guesses it's the first time he's ever used the abbreviation for probably'. He wasn't exactly into the cool culture'!
"I think I felt a drop of rain or maybe I'm dreaming."
"I felt it. Let's head inside," Michael said.
The feeling of Michael, even patting his elbow felt like lightning bolts, as he hinted.
"So, the report?"
The electric shocks must've mixed up Dean's thoughts.
The sixteen year old blurted out, "The Great American Dream... no wait..."
"Great American Dream? That's fantastic!"
"It is?"
"Yeah. We can kill two subjects at once. Great one, Savage!"
"It is?"
"C'mon. Don't play dumb. I know you're smarter than that. I'll see ya later. You're fantastic!"
Maybe more than the dual report was making Michael ride high, as he did something Raj would do. Before he skipped out, he gave Dean a peck on the cheek.
%
"What's with you and Michael?" Juan questioned.
"What do you mean?" Dean played dumb.
"Don't play stoopid. He kissed you in front of the whole student body!"
"Did not."
"Maybe not the `whole', but enough. It's all over school."
Sitting down next to Dean, Juan set his tray of food on the table.
"So? You going to fill in your best bud, amigo?"
"My best bud? Your `amigo'? Yesterday at the pool you didn't want to know me!"
"Eh, that was only me being touchy. I apologize. Friends?"
Juan didn't wait for an answer.
"Cool. So, what's up with you and Michael?"
Not really caring about an apology, his friendship with Juan, going back to sixth grade, didn't really matter.
"Nothing. I told him the subject of our social studies project, sort of..."
"Wait. What do you mean sort of?"
"I kind of made a mistake."
"This I gotta hear."
"It's no big deal. I was kind of daydreaming and confused English with Social Studies."
Dean didn't mention Michael's nips. Taking some chips in his mouth, Juan stopped crunching.
"So?" He spit out some chips with his words.
"You're such a slop."
"Forget me. What about Michael?"
"Nothing I tell ya. I mentioned the english project, `The Great American Dream' and he thought I meant for social studies."
Chips silent, not crunching, was a hint to Dean, of Juan's confusion.
"So?" He spat out more finely chopped bits.
"You're a slob!"
"I know. What about Michael?"
Dean was getting to it. All Juan cared about is the kiss, but Dean wanted to make sure he knew the details.
"So, Michael thought I meant `The Great American Dream' for a social studies project."
"And that's why he kissed you?"
"I think. He was so excited for me."
"For you?"
"Both of us I guess, since we're both working on the same project."
"How do you think Mr. Lassiter is going to feel, you stealing his project and calling it social studies?"
"I don't think it matters. Michael thought it was great."
"And so he kissed you for it!"
"Sure."
"No. There's gotta be another reason. People don't kiss people over ideas like that."
"Same thing I thought."
Something else was strange, at the lunch table. Juan stopped eating. He never stopped eating, til every morsel was cleaned from his tray.
"Did it ever occur to you Michael likes you?"
"Likes me? I only met him yesterday!"
"Same here."
"Does he like you?" Dean posed the question to Juan.
"I guess. He like, like' likes me, but he doesn't like, love-like' me."
"Love? You're talking crazy now, Juan."
"Hey, I'm not the one who got kissed. Being kissed means more than being `liked'!"
Just then the lunch bell rang. It was onto gym class, a special double period for swim team members, opting out of study hall, to spend gym time at the pool. Sometimes it made them late for band class.
%
2B continued...
Copyright 2007 T. Chase McPhee This story may not be sold, nor made part of any collection, without prior consent from the author.