History with Him (forgiveness -- 2 November 1998)
Dear Reader,
This story contains sexual acts between two teenage boys. If, by some bizarre reason or another, you ended up here without your consent or by pure accident and, once again, by some bizarre reason, don't want to stay, well, leave…gee, not too hard. Also, if you are UNDER the age of consent for whatever authority you submit to, please leave now. Of course, myself being the main character in the story…well, oops, ignore that!
You know how it goes. If you're not supposed to be here, leave. Or just don't get caught. My second attempt to fulfill my fantasy through writing is unfolding before your eyes. Hope you enjoy it. Please send comments, suggestions, and marriage proposals to SilentWisp@aol.com. Following the advice of a very nice gentleman, I decided to not go with the idea of chapters. Enjoy!
Devoid of any literary content as it is, this story is nevertheless mine. Feel free to save it, post it, put it on your web page, and/or wipe your bum with it as long as I'm credited.
Cordially Yours, Mike
History with Him
forgiveness
Midnight. Happy Halloween. I cried as I drove through the drizzle to a point and destination that I had yet to find. The cadenza of Mozart's second violin concerto's andante movement just reached its glorious peak as I pulled over at my favorite haunt, a secluded precipice jutting over the Hudson river. What was I going to do? Jump? No. Life was too good for that. I switched off the windshield wipers and turned the tape over. Beams of headlights from across the river's highway briefly illuminated the darkness like processions of drunken ghosts as I let myself be carried out of the gloom that was my mind by Mozart's angels. Fifteen minutes earlier, I had left the object of my little homosexual affections in my apartment. I had tasted my dreams. Now here I was in my car, crying, depressed, and saddened by the night's revelries. Nevertheless the state I was in, I had to go back to the apartment and confront Blake. Perhaps after a good argument, I could drown myself in the whiskey kept hidden behind my parents' television.
Perhaps.
Driving home proved a challenge. Besides the tears that constantly obscured my vision, assholes drunk on their own "jockularity" with girls still sucking on their cocks walked randomly around the streets of my suburb in a dazed stupor. On the day that I started driving, I had hit something alive and heard it scream and squelch beneath the wheels of the powerful machine that I held in my grip. That same day, my neighbor from two houses down started posting "Missing" ads for her white cat on the telephone poles. After prying a pulpous kitty off my wheel, I vowed never again to act carelessly and haphazardly. I was always to drive with concern for others, whether they are driving or not. I came close to breaking the vow that night. Someone jumped in my path as I turned right onto my street and then quickly jumped away. My feet hit the pedal instantaneously. Heart beating a mile a minute and tennis racquet in hand, I exploded out of my car, "You son of a bitch!" Silence. I slammed the car door as I reentered and then continued the slow crawl to my apartment, which was at the end of the street.
The automatic sensor light turned on as I pulled in the driveway. I fumbled with the keys quietly, listening to the trees in the woods nearby being blown apart by the chill wind. Lights off. Blake wasn't here. His fragrance lingered softly in the doorway. He had left. Gone. And my pants were folded neatly, still fresh from the heated touch of the iron, on my parents' bed. A note lay on top of them that reduced me to silent tears. "I'm sorry."
At least the bag of chips wouldn't feel lonely tonight.
October changed its dress. Leaves died. My soul anguished. Life went on. I avoided Blake as much as possible during school. We both knew where we would see each other pass during the day and used that advantage to take alternate routes. History class was the same. Though seats reverted to the "volleyball team" formation—seven students facing another seven with the teacher pacing in the middle, hoping to hammer dates in our otherwise occupied minds—I still had to face him. Hell, we were exactly opposite of each other! And though our eyes cast down as they were, never met, I knew that he cast quick little glances at me. I did the same, but with more sadness. Luck had it that, one day, our teacher asked us to pair with those corresponding with our positions on the other "team" for a worksheet project. That meant Blake.
He pulled his desk over. Dressed in a striped blue and white Gant shirt that accentuated his chiseled frame, he drove me crazy. I smiled. Our eyes met for the first time since that night. Then and there, everything that happened, all past misgivings, unnecessary tears, all were forgiven. We were starting over. He was my friend once more. And this time around I was planning to keep it so. Time found us arguing about the validity of the Articles of Confederation. Then there was the moment in which, in a hushed voice, Blake asked, "Do you want to hang out at my house after school? I really need help on that last ditto. You know Fedele and his killer-ass tests. I didn't exactly read section three last night." To my surprise, I found myself replying, "It's easy, Blake. Even I can get it. All you need to do is read it." "Fine," he said, "but really, man, you have to come over. I've got the new Alanis." Woah. Shock. How the hell did he know I worshipped Alanis? "Hell yeah babe, I'm coming over right away, well, no (smile), I'll meet you on the steps at 3:20; I still have to stay after for that one orchestra lesson I missed," I joked.
Blake stays after school to lift weights with the rest of the football team. Doing so gives him the body of Adonis as well as a nice healthy veil of boy-sweat. He keeps his shorts on, that is, those wonderful blue shorts that leave nothing to the imagination. As I was staring at the smokers congregating at the edge of the school's property, Blake came thundering down the steps. "I don't want to, Seth…fuck you! Just leave me alone!" I turned quickly around. There he was, clad in the famous blue shorts, being pursued by Seth, his close friend. Blake passed me. I called out to him. "Oh shit, Mike, sorry man, forgot…." I followed him to his Mystique and waited for him to unlock my door. He was visibly upset. "Are you ok?" "Yeah, it was nothing, Seth just…never mind."
Another silent ride. This time around Blake was driving and then there was that delicious aroma of Blake's skin, flushed from the chill attacking the acquired sweat. Arriving at his house five minutes later, I couldn't help but form a perfect "O" with my mouth. His house was marvelously huge! The circular driveway alone was bigger than my whole house, not to mention everything else including the powder room. We parked our slightly refrigerated bodies in his warm cozy kitchen. "Want something to eat?" he asked, rummaging through the fridge, "we have some leftover Indian food from last night, oh, and some Godiva chocolates from dessert."
"I'll just get some chocolates, Blake."
"Truffles or regular assortment?"
What the hell? I gravitated towards the living room, noting the nice leather couch, and started looking at his CD collection.
"Hey…what the hell do your parents do to get so rich?"
A questionable "umm…nothing…" followed.
"Chocolates are on the bar, want something to drink?"
Slightly angered for some reason, I blurted out, "Why the hell do you even bother to ask?"
Obviously hurt, he uttered a quiet "guess that'll be water" and then remained silent. But I was mystified and still slightly rattled. For some reason, he had figured out all of the secret indulgences that I've never revealed to anybody: Godiva chocolates, Indian food, and Tori Amos, Mozart, Stevie Nicks, and Shakira all on his CD shelf. I felt slightly invaded. "What are you, Blake, some kind of psychic?" and then remembering a Spanish lesson earlier, asked, "¿predices el futuro tambíen?" His smile made me smile in return. And, with Shirley Temple and Godiva truffles both in hand, he assumed a seat next to me on the couch.
"Mike, I've been wanting to talk to you about something for a while now…"
"Uh-huh, ¿qué?" answered I, munching on a delicious hazelnut rolled truffle, oblivious of what was to come.
"I want you."
Gulp. A sweet chocolate stickiness lingered in my mouth.
Nervously, and in a rush of words, he said, "I was just trying to make you happy. I read your AOL profile. I want you, Mike, it's as simple as that. My body and mind both ache for you. I stir in my sleep calling your name. Hell, I even jerk off thinking of you. This has never happened to me before. In fact it's such a fucking brand new feeling and experience that it's driving me nuts. I'm gonna explode. Fly apart at the seams. I'm going to explode…"
"Yes, you are going to explode, Blake, but in my mouth." I took the initiative and kissed him.
We assumed position in the couch. Truffles and Shirley Temple clattered noisily to the floor, ignored, as us two teenagers explored each other's mouths. The kissing became passionately intense, and soon we were making quiet sounds of ecstasy.
"…give me your cock, Blake…"
But that wish wasn't to be fulfilled, yet. Instead, he came out on top, straddled me flat on the couch, and set on fulfilling another wish. I got lost in his eyes as he playfully took off his shirt, excruciatingly slow, pausing at each silver button with a smile and a wink. I helped slide the cloth off his body and proceeded to unfasten his belt. "No, not yet, you'll have your turn." I sat up and took his left nipple in my mouth. Oh, it was so damned delicious! Memories of that first night flooded my already flooded brain. To taste and lick the remnants of the boy-sweat off of Blake was a dream. I moved up and licked his neck all over, chewed playfully on his earlobe, and resumed once more my ardent exploration his mouth. All through this I undid his belt and unbuttoned the first button of his pants. "I thought I told you to wait," he said, "I never got a chance to pay you back for that first time."
With that he pushed me down and eased my shirt off my body. His tongue roamed my stomach and tickled my sensitive nipples. He teased and tortured me to the brink of insanity. When he finally released me of the burden of my pants, I was just about to explode. But he continued the torture, slowly exploring the suppleness of my inner thighs and sucking each individual toe tastefully and with grace. I moaned. I was living in a dream. Blake was on top of me, on the verge of taking in my cock. With more enthusiasm than I previously had, he did just that. In an instant I was swimming. I looked down to see his cherub face going up and down between my legs. The feeling was so unforgettable. My cock was in pleasure heaven: so warm and moist. I grasped his head and viciously fucked his face. With his tongue, he pleasured me, going up and down my six-inch shaft. My balls he took into his mouth, one by one, and loving every minute of it. As he did this, he lowered his pants and revealed the crowning glory of his manliness. The sight itself sent shudders through me. I felt the familiar tensing, the pleasurable pain, and the delicious sin. I was going to shoot. My breathing grew faster, "Blake…shit! I'm gonna shoot it all in you!" And with that I unleashed torrent after torrent of my seed. Blake graciously took it all in with a delicious come-soaked smile for my dessert. With that he kissed me and for the first time I tasted it. The delicious tangy "stuff". At that point, enjoying my post-orgasm "feeling", I wanted to see if mine tasted like his.
I propped him up in a sitting position. God's angel he was. Naked, true, erection in hand, yes, mouth open in an "O" of ecstasy… "Mike, suck me, fast, please!" No problem, I thought. I want it as bad as you do Blakee, so… I took his erect cock in my hands and proceeded to jerk it off. He started moaning really loud; at that point I pondered whether or not we where alone in the house. But, far as we already where, I didn't give a flying cow turd. His cock, seven point five inches and all, I swallowed. And hell did I have a damn good time doing so. I explored every inch of it, tongued its lovely slit, pulled at the sparse brown hairs that crowned its beauty, and engulfed the balls that stood out so ripe for the picking at its base. As I straddled him, my own cock hard once more slapping his stomach, he came. As I kissed him, he came. As I went back down to catch what I thought were the last few drops, he came. Hell, I've never seen so much of it before. It was all over the both of us and we made it a point to slowly and sensually savor every drop.
"Still want some chocolate?", he asked.
"Sure," I answered, "but I'd rather have you any time." I smiled.
Relishing in the afterglow, I decided against lying there on the couch with him. I asked, "Are you sure nobody's going to be home until tomorrow?"
"Yep, both parents are at a business meeting," he said sadly.
"I guess nothing can stop me from getting as much of you as I can until tomorrow, right?"
"Yep. Seth was supposed to come over for some math help but…"
"What did happen today with Seth at school?"
"Nothing."
"Ok. Hey, where's your Alanis CD?"
He smiled, "I never had one. If you were smart, you'd know that the new album is coming out tomorrow!"
We wrestled on the living floor naked for a while until I finally had him pinned.
"Guess what? My parents' new hot tub was just installed yesterday. It's out in the back. Who's up for a nice warm dip?"
I raised my hand fervently, "Me!"
"Me," said a voice behind the organdy curtains.
We both jumped but while Blake's hands flew to the nearest couch pillow to cover his nakedness from the intruder, I took a chimney stoker and headed for the curtains. Blake let the pillow go when a muffled "help" came from behind the curtains and stopped me, saying, "Mike, stop, please…it's only him."
Continued in part 3: "through his blues"
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