Luke's Secret Art Chapter 1 4/13/00
Written By: Justin Case
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Words from our author: Hey, boys, how's it going with all you peeps? Great to be here in sunny Connecticut and have you out there in "Netsville". So wassup, my dawgs, my faithful? I want to thank you all for the many letters of encouraging words you write me. I am truly humbled by your awe. Hey, let me share some of the many comments I get with you, and, oh yes, as I've said before, feel free to fast forward through this if you want. One guy IM'd me and asked if I wanted to trade pics; REALLY, I left the young gay chats behind for that reason. "NE 1 GOT PICS S2R" Jeesh, I hated that shit. There I was trying to cyber and no takers, and those guys pissing on my parade.
The other day a guy IM's; can I tell him how big my dick is, hey what story you reading? I say, he says yours. Then he wants to know if he can smell my undies. I mean, come on, hehe :) I don't even do that! I wrote a couple stories for the Adult/Youth; man, the moon must have been full on that one. Perv galore, they should name that archive. I got an IM from a guy, says, "hey, sexy thing, read ur story My Little Friend, u horny?" Like I'd tell ya. hehe :) Oh the best one; guy IM's me wants to know how many times a day I "wanke" it? To which my reply; as many times as it takes to satisfy, babe, "Wanke Wanke" :)
Now on with it, the trilogy continues. Letting go of your secrets will set you free.
It was a cold December morning on the Commons of Boston, Massachusetts. All the Christmas decorations were hung in the city merchants' windows, the streets were alive with the holiday spirit. I hate this time of the year; I can't stand all the phonies. I hate people; I saw a bumper sticker in Tower Records Store that summed up my feelings. It read, "The more people I meet, the more I like my dog". I couldn't have agreed more. I go to school at Sacred Heart, 'THE' Catholic high school of the old Bean Town.
My name is Luke Rogers, and I am a sophomore in Sacred Heart High, which is located in downtown Boston. I have lived here all my life with my folks. We have a townhouse apartment that we own, just off State Street. I'm average looking, nothing to rant over, and not one of the "in" crowd at Sacred Heart.
I get by, I mean I have a couple of acquaintances, no real friends. I haven't got time for "friends", too much work, and I'm always busy with my paintings.
My loves and friends are my oils on canvas and putting my colors to the world. I have never been one to conform. I question all authority. Who died and left them kings? I remember, when I was younger, the nuns telling me I was going straight to hell, for my bad attitude. As far as I was concerned the nuns were whacked, I mean they don't even know the 'Big Guy'. Last I heard he died like two thousand years ago and hasn't said a word since.
Well, I might as well tell you what I look like, so you'll know me if you see me floating around the Commons. I'm short for my age, only five foot two inches, I got short changed, part of me must of run down my Mom's leg while she got pregnant, I think. I weigh ninety-five pounds, and that's with clothes on. I'm the smallest fifteen-year-old I know. I have nice hair though, dark brown wavy hair. I love my hair. I wash it twice a day. I use herbal shampoos so it always smells nice and fresh. I have a slight build, but am not one of those jocks. I got pretty cool eyes; they're brown and I like 'em. I have really long eyelashes. I have a big nose; man, I hate my nose. I swear to God it looks like a ski slope. I have a huge overbite; I sucked my thumb as a kid. I never wore braces to correct it. People always say I have a nice smile. I don't like it though; I hate my teeth.
Yeah, so Christmas is upon us again. Shit, I'd shop online; only problem is you never know what condition the stuff will be in when you get it. You may have to return it, and wait for mail and, well you get the picture. So I am downtown doing the last minute shop; all right, I'm doing my shopping last minute. I am a procrastinator; I just can't seem to get motivated to spend my hard-earned money on others. The lines are crazy. I hate being in the lines behind the registers.
I'm in Alston Beats, getting my Pops a shirt and tie. In the Rogers home we all do Christmas lists, with exact and specific desires for gifts. "Hey, if you want a red cotton turtle neck you have to ask, otherwise you might get socks." That's what my Mom says to justify her need to control everything, and have everything fit just so. What happened to surprise? Well, I'm rambling; anyway, Pop's list says he wants a Van-Heusen shirt, all cotton, size sixteen neck, thirty three sleeve, light blue or green with matching Jerry Garcia tie. What the hell is a Jerry Garcia tie? Now, I found the shirt no problem, but the tie, I will need some help. GRRR! You know what its like trying to get help when the Christmas rush is on - pure misery.
"Excuse me, Miss, can you help me?" I asked the red head I saw coming out of the back room of the Men's Department. She looks like she has been overrun by Attila the Hun and his gang. Her hair is all out of place, and she has a nice white blouse and a red skirt on and the back of the blouse is coming out of the skirt. She has a pencil in her mouth and a box in her hands. She came out onto the sales floor doing the mad dash. She stops, looks at me with the queerest look on her face, and paces off. "Merry Christmas," I say with all the boyish charm I can muster.
Just then, a fat lady with three whiney brats in tow barrels right into me; she just keeps on going. "Hey lady, watch where you're going, will ya," I yell after her. Man, I hate this; oh wait, here comes a guy, looks like he works here. Finally, get the fucking tie and get out of this madness. Wow, take a look at him, will you; he's a doll. Oh yeah, did I mention I like boys? I mean I really like 'em. Oh, I keep it to myself, don't want to get the shit kicked out me or something. Did you hear about that poor boy Mathew Shepard? College kid out west, the pukes tied him to a fence and left him to die cause he was gay.
Look at this guy, will you? Hey, he's coming my way. He looks about five six, nice blonde. Look at those sexy green eyes, would ya? Man, and that smooth baby face too; he is hot. Is he smiling at me? Yeah. "Can I help you with something, Luke?"
"Do I know you?" I say, melting like the snow on the sidewalk. I can't take my eyes off him. He is looking right into my eyes. "Where do you know me from?" I asked him.
"Last year we competed at the art show down in Carver. I'm Travis, Travis Jensen," he says, and reaches his hand to me. I can't believe how soft his hand feels to my touch. Travis has a real warm hand and it feels so fleshy.
"Wow, I am sorry, I don't do well with faces." I am astounded, how did I not remember this hunk? Look at him, will you. I mean he has that smooth face, and, man, look at his smile, those bright teeth. His mouth is all teeth, and those lips.
"It's OK, I remember you and your painting, 'She Waits'. I loved the strokes and the colors you used in the sunset. I only wondered why she had her back to us?" he was saying, and has that look of interest on his face too.
He must have liked it, I mean he remembered the name of it. It was an acrylic I tried; it was like the second I did in acrylics. I prefer oils.
"Yeah, well, I guess I never thought of it. I just painted from my mind. I didn't even use a photograph for that one," I was saying while keeping my eyes locked on him.
"Hey, well, I get out of here in about an hour. I'd like to have lunch with you if you're not busy," Travis, this masterpiece of the universe, is saying to me.
"Yeah, that's cool, I just gotta get my Pops a Jerry Garcia tie to go with this shirt; maybe you could help me out," I am saying to him like I've got all the time in the world. I love Christmas shopping.
"Sure, come with me." He takes me by the hand; will you look at this? "Here's a nice one, I like it anyway." He is showing me this great looking tie, and I can't keep my mind on the task at hand. I can't take my eyes off him. Man, did you see his ass?
I am walking to the register and he's right behind me. I can't look at his ass; I want to see that ass again. I mean the way the Dockers he was wearing are hugging it, its a shame he's behind me. Yeah, but guess what? When we get to the checkout he'll be facing me and I'll get to check his bulge. I'll walk a little faster, this I gotta see.
"Hey, follow me," he is saying from behind to me. "I know a register, no one will be there."
I turn and watch him walk the other way. There is a God, look at the way those cheeks move. Man, he has a cute little ass. "Hey, so what you wanna eat?" I'm trying to keep him reminded about our lunch plans.
"I like pizza."
"Cool, me too." I mean, I do.
He rang me out, and told me to meet him at Pizzeria Uno Chicago Deep Dish over on Commons Avenue for one. I am sitting here waiting for him now. Man, can you smell that pizza? That aroma is the best, isn't it? Garlic, onions, peppers, pepperoni, sauce, all clinging to my nostrils. Did you hear my stomach growl just now? Hey, look at the snow falling out there. I hope it sticks; 'bout time we have a white Christmas. I mean, here I am in Boston, and I haven't seen snow for Christmas since the last time John Williams conducted the Boston Pops. I was only like ten.
I remembered walking into Symphony Hall. This huge red brick gothic style building dwarfed amongst the mosaic of glass and steel monstrosities placed helter-skelter by the modern architect. I remembered walking through the doors, my little hand in my Mother's, and being overtaken with the walk back in time. Everything inside was like something out of the "House of Seven Gables"
It was beautiful listening to the guy who wrote the theme song from "Star Wars" direct his orchestra. My favorite song was "Jingle Bells" especially when they make the whip sound. I was five years old and thought it was the best. They even let us sing along to a couple. I remember looking up during "Silent Night" into my Mother's eyes and she was crying. Ever since, when I hear "Silent Night", it takes me back to Symphony Hall and my Mother's tears of joy.
I really love the violin. I remember the first violinist was oriental and she did a solo. It was beautiful. The sounds she made were like none I had ever heard. The Boston Pops hasn't been the same since Williams left town.
Here he comes now, look at this guy; he is adorable. I hope we can become friends. I mean I don't really have many. OK, so I don't have any people friends. I need a friend, someone I can keep my secrets with, and someone I can keep secrets for.
"Hey, Luke, sorry I'm late. Christmas rush streets are a mess with the snow, and sidewalks are jammed with the hustle bustle crowds." Travis is looking into my eyes, do you see it? His green eyes are right on me.
"Yeah, I love Christmas." Did you hear what I just said?
------------ Whenever I tell the story of meeting my Travis, I tell it as it is happening in the now. The truth of the matter is, this tale of mine took place some months ago. When I met Travis, time seemed to stand still for me. I have never gotten beyond our first meeting, the one I remembered anyway.
We sat in the pizzeria for only an hour; Travis had to get back to work. I studied his every move while I intently listened to him tell me his story. Travis was sixteen and also a painter. He had been painting since he was nine. He was a single child and, like me, always wanted a big brother. His Mom and Dad were divorced and he lived with his Mother in Boston. He went on to tell me he had already sold a couple of his pieces to an art collector in Hamburg, Germany. His Mom had put the money aside for his college; he planned on going to some art college from NYC after graduation. He was such an enchanting speaker I hung on his every word. That was not all I was hanging to, I was clinging to the hope that he would become my friend, the person that I had longed for.
I remember smiling my goofy smile through the entire lunch. I only added an occasional "Mmm" or "yeah"; I just wanted to hear about him. I wanted to let him tell me everything about himself and his life.
"Oh, my God, look at me, I've just gone on and on about myself. I wanted so much to get to know you and I have monopolized the whole conversation. Can you ever forgive me? I hope you'll let me buy you dinner sometime, I really want to get to know you, Luke." He was deep red in the face from embarrassment. He not only had manners; Travis was thoughtful and sincere.
"I'd really like that, I don't have many friends and would really like to be yours, Travis," I said to him, now it was my turn to turn red in the face. "Just say the time; I never do anything except school and paint. I have the whole ten days until we go back to school after the New Year, with nothing to do," I finished and hoped he would make the plans definite.
"What are you doing tonight? I get out at six. You want me to call you and maybe take in a movie and dinner?" Travis said, looking through those beautiful green eyes at me.
"Yeah, I'd like that, really; let me give you my number," I said, as I reached for the napkin and a pen I carried with me.
"No need, I looked your number up a long time ago. I wanted to call you many times but was... I dunno...umm... I just don't know how to make friends. I don't have many either and when I saw your painting, then met you down in Carver... well I felt... I... Well, anyway, I'll call you tonight before seven," Travis stammered.
"I really appreciate it, Travis, you're something else. I mean wow," I said and was floating higher than the snowflakes coming from the clouds above. I couldn't wait. Not only was he good looking, we had so much in common.
We split the check and parted company. The snow was coming down in a fury; the wind was from the northeast. The flakes were pelting me in the face, stinging my cheeks as I walked home, but I didn't notice. I had such a feeling of warmth and at the same time my stomach was in knots. I wanted to sing, I felt like skipping. I did, I skipped home in the Nor'Easter that December afternoon five years ago in Boston. Man, Christmas was the best season of the year.
That's chapter one of this tale. I hope you enjoy it. This is the third book of the trilogy I call "Secrets". My first book set that deals with real gay life issues. The entire set discusses love, death, and taxes. Each book examines one the these facets of lives, the common thread running through the series is secrets and how they affect lives. I hope you read the others in the trilogy - Michael's Secret Love, and Guy's Secret.
Hey, thanks for all your support; I love the letters. If you feel so inclined, send them my way. Justin69SK@aol.com