Midsommar by Nils Andersson
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I'm grateful to RPN for revising my story.
I hope you enjoy it.
Nils Andersson,
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Midsommar
Even though I was very tired, I couldn't catch my sleep. With only three weeks to Midsommar, it was still light this time of the night, and quite warm. Although I was used to the short summer nights all my life, I still had difficulty falling asleep despite the heavy curtains: there was always a little beam of light peeking through that annoyed me. Tonight it wasn't only a ray of light that kept me awake.
The party had been great. I guess that every kid from our school as well as the school from the neighboring town was there, and our band performed better than ever, way better than the band from the other school. Well, I'm definitely prejudiced, of course, and to be honest, most of the time I was too occupied with my job to notice the difference. It was hard work, but I loved it.
That was one of the reasons why I couldn't catch my sleep. Instead of swapping places at the sound system when the bands change on stage, this guy Christian let me stay and even work with him on the sound mixer when his band performed. That really boosted my ego: he was a guy, about 20 or 21 years old, letting a boy, five years younger, from another band, run the sound system. Thinking back, my heart started pounding heavily again from happy excitement.
But there was also something else that bugged my mind. I still didn't know if it really was an `accident' or not, and maybe the majority of the audience didn't even notice, but what had happened left me confused. Should I be angry or should I be happy? I really didn't know. And with my confusion came the worry: would there be any fallout at school on Monday?
I tried to recall what had happened, but it was still all a blurry memory. It was only a brief moment, completely unexpected, and the party went on after that, with me having to focus on my sound system again.
The visiting band seemed more popular than ours was, but that was understandable. Their gymnasium was bigger and drew a larger part of the public. The boys from the band were also slightly older, and most importantly, their music was much louder. On top of that, they were notorious for having `stuff'. They must have shared it with our band, because both Björn and Freddy looked a bit distracted while playing.
As true pop artists, the visiting band members enjoyed the girls screaming, teased them with fake kisses and even some obscene gestures, and at a certain moment, the audience started chanting, `Kiss, kiss, kiss" when lead singer made suggestive moves to a group of girls who were obviously the band's groupies. The whole audience went wild when he actually left the stage, and moved to the girls and almost randomly kissed one full on the lips.
It sure was fun, and even though their musical performance wasn't as good as ours, it had clearly set an example, because when our band returned on stage, it didn't take too long for the audience to repeat the chanting when Björn and Freddy - not very steady on their feet – copied the obscene moves.
From where I stood, I could see it all clearly, but focused on my job with the sound system, I barely took notice. It was strange, though. Björn wasn't like that usually. Sure, he was the handsome jock, good at playing guitar, singing, and, of course, the A-grade student. He was a very agreeable boy, popular with the girls, but never too conceited to treat others kindly, even the younger ones like me.
Frankly, I thought this chanting was annoying. I was concentrating on the device, hoping they would start with the next song soon, and these girls, screaming all over the place, weren't my taste, to be honest. I knew that Björn wouldn't make a move like the other guy did. I've never seen him being intimate with a girl: it was part of his `noblesse' appearance, knowing to be popular, but not showing a preference and thus disappointing or dismissing others.
But, as the girls chanted, even some boys joining, a bit wobbly, he left the stage and moved towards a group of girls next to me, his lips already pouting.
I was as surprised as everyone else when he moved forward, arms spread to embrace one of the beautiful girls that stood there excitedly waiting for a kiss from one of the popular boys, and instead, at the last moment, made a step aside to embrace me instead of the gorgeous blonde next to me.
As I lay in my bed, I still wondered why I just let it happen. My instinct told me to make a defensive move, maybe just play along with the joke, and not allow any intimacy. But I did nothing of the sort. He kissed me full on my lips. I've never been kissed this way. I opened my mouth instinctively. Our tongues mingle. He moaned and I raised my hand and stroked his cheek.
I only vaguely recollected the mixture of enthusiastic shouts, "Yeah!" and surprised "Ooh la la!" coming from the audience. But I still feel his soft lips, his tongue swirling around mine.
I felt tears coming up. Why did I let this happen? Why didn't I push him away instead of taking his head in my hands, stroking his cheek? Why do I have that warm, glowing feeling inside, instead of wanting to puke?
I was confused. And I was worried. Will I be the homo next Monday at school?
Maybe I worried too much. It seemed as if it lasted for ages, but the kiss must have taken only a few seconds, at least that's what I tried to convince myself of. The only people who saw what happened where the ones that stood nearby: the majority of the audience couldn't see what happened, I hoped.
It must have been a joke, of course. Just as things got really awkward, he broke away, looked around, and with his arm triumphantly raised in the air, he said 'oh there you are' and moved to the blond girl and tried to kiss her on the cheek. She smiled, but not full heartedly. He next embraced another girl playing `drunk' and went back to the stage, and played along with the band for the rest of the evening.
Nobody mentioned anything about it. As usual, we packed our stuff, helped clean the auditorium, and went home exhausted.
When I looked at my watch, it was 3:00 am and finally dark outside. I felt fluffy, almost dizzy: the music still playing in my head, glowing with the pride of assisting with the sound for the visiting band, the fun and the laughter. As so often these days, I touched myself, freeing the sensitive knob from its foreskin, as I relived the sweet kiss, my first. Shocked, I remembered that I'd got hard when Björn kissed me, and stayed hard a considerable long time after.
Then, something snapped in my head. Sexuality was not on top of my mind. Of course, I wanked, picturing naked girls and things I'd like to do with them. Sure, I joined the macho banter with the guys and I absolutely noticed the girls in my class, even liked them, but I was not really looking at them in a sexual way, like my always horny classmates did. I guess I was just a bit of a late bloomer at 15.
But I wasn't stupid. I knew what this feeling might mean, and I wasn't too happy about it.
I finally slept well, and long, and over the weekend, I managed to push the whole incident away as `party fun & jokes' and didn't think too much about it.
***
The next school day, I noticed my friends acting a little awkward around me, and soon it dawned on me that maybe a few had actually seen what happened as the story got wings and everybody seemed to know. I felt lonely and miserable. I haven't done anything, and now I'm the homo. The remainder of the morning I carefully tried to evade being near my friends and classmates, but, in between classes, I ran into Björn.
"Hey, how are you?" he started cheerfully, but he must have noticed my grim look and said,
"I'm sorry for what happened Friday, Tom."
"Happened? You mean what you did," I replied, snapping at him.
"Yeah, you're right about what I did. I'm sorry."
I replied in an angry voice, "You'd better. People are looking weird at me now."
"Yeah, same for me. I was stupid. I shouldn't have done that. I'll make good."
I shrugged my shoulders. What could he do? The damage is already done. I grumbled something unintelligible and turned away from him. He had always been some kind of hero to me, a nobleman, an example. Now, he'd reduced himself to a grubby pop star, hurting me along the way.
Next break, I couldn't avoid standing with my friends and some classmates. It was the usual banter, but with me around, it had taken a bit awkward feel to it, and I was ready to leave when Bj örn came with his two closest friends in tow, and tapped me on the shoulder.
"Hey Tom, hey guys," he began jovially.
"I grunted something that sounded a bit as `hey' but meant `piss off', and turned to leave.
"Tom, I'm very sorry for what I did at the concert last Friday."
I stopped, what else could I do? This was an apology, in public, no less.
"I was stoned, and a bit drunk, and was carried away with all this chanting, so I thought it was funny to do the same as the lead singer from the other band, and even add a stupid twist kissing you instead of this gorgeous girl next to you. Not funny. I know now. When they asked me, `why kiss a boy, are you that way?', I just felt stupid, but when I think about your feelings, I feel guilty. You had nothing to do with it, and I feel terribly sorry about it, especially when people start spreading rumors. I get it if you want to leave the band because of me, but I do hope you stay. You're by far the best sound operator we've had."
I didn't know what to say. And if I knew, I couldn't, because of the lump in my throat. I nodded and made a sound resembling `thank you'.
Even his friends tapped me encouragingly on the shoulder when they left, leaving me and my friends standing impressed.
"Yeah, you are good with this sound device, indeed," my friend Lars said, "that guy from the other band even let you work with him, didn't he?"
Great! Things are back to normal again. But I needed a break to shed a tear of relief.
The rest of the day, everyone acted as if nothing had happened, maybe one or two remarks to underscore the 'joke' and Björn acted normal to me.
I was back to being the somewhat nerdy 15-year-old tech boy on the band, the mascot.
***
The early summer days are long and during the last weeks of school, quite uneventful.
I pondered about `the kiss' many times, and this undetermined feeling wouldn't leave me and I couldn't even place it. It wasn't lust, but it wasn't disgust either. I've never considered myself being gay, even remotely. I appreciated lean and muscled boys' bodies, well, maybe more like envied, not really appreciated them, at least not sexually. I always wanked picturing girls' boobs, and imagined it's not my wet hand but a pussy around my dick.
The next Thursday, the band had practiced after school, and after practice, Björn and I biked home together. At his house, as I said goodbye, he asked,
"Would you like to come in with me, if it's okay?"
I had been at his place before, so I thought why not, but I was not sure what to expect. There was nothing to say or to do specifically and I sensed a different tone, only barely noticeable. Or am I making things up after what happened?
Once inside he kicked off his shoes, dropped his books in a corner, and turned to me, looking serious, a bit anxious even.
"Do you still think about what I did? I still feel sorry."
He was looking sincere, and a bit uncertain, but also friendly, invitingly even.
I felt myself melting. What is this all about?
"I do, sometimes," I confessed hesitantly. Define `sometimes' I thought immediately.
"Are you mad at me for what I did?"
I stayed silent.
"Can't blame you. I shouldn't have done that in public."
I let his words sink in.
He'd already made his excuse, in front of everybody, and my reputation was saved, his got even better.
No, he should have done that, indeed.
Wait! What? He shouldn't have done that 'in public'?
"I'm really glad you're not mad and walked away," he confirmed, even though I hadn't yet said I wasn't mad.
"It's okay."
I wondered why he invited me into his house. Just for saying sorry again? Or is it to clear the air so that we can hang out again as normal friends?
He stepped closer to me.
"I want to say something," he said and I heard his voice breaking over a lump in his throat.
He suddenly looked tense, even worried.
I looked at his beautiful eyes, his strong, smooth cheeks, his lips, the very lips that had touched mine.
"I want to be honest with you." He was almost whispering now.
He reached out and took my hand.
"It wasn't a silly mistake. I had some weed, true, I was fired up by this other guy and the chanting, but it wasn't just a mistake. I chose you."
His hand was warm as he softly squeezed mine.
Just as at the concert, I didn't react, I just let it happen.
I couldn't utter a word, only gulped.
He looked me in the eyes, the worry was gone, and a very tender, almost loving smile formed around his lips.
"You didn't back off or pushed me away when I did that last Friday," he whispered matter-of-factly. "You let me kiss you. Not just a peck on the cheek. And you stroked my cheek and held my head."
I did. Don't ask me why, but I did.
"It's okay. I loved it, and I'm happy you didn't push me away."
He waited a moment and continued,
"I would've understood if you'd pushed me away, and maybe you should have, but I need to tell you that I loved it. I hope you don't think less of me now."
The little worry on his face came back for a moment until I scraped my throat and mumbled,
"It's okay, I don't know why, but I liked it as well."
Silence. I felt myself blushing and saw Björn blushing as well.
"I've never been kissed that way. Not even when I dated this girl once," I managed to squeak. "But no, I won't think less of you."
We stood there, both not knowing what to do next.
Something deep inside me said, `kiss him, kiss him now, you know you want that'. But the defense mechanism that had been so effectively indoctrinated during my 15 years of existence in this traditional, at times homophobic environment kicked in and with an excusing smile I let go off his warm, tender hand, stepped back, letting my last words 'I don't think less of you' linger as if all this was just about him.
Was it just my imagination, or did I see a flash of disappointment in his eyes, quickly replaced by his typical bravado and macho look?
"Thanks."
He looked hurt nevertheless, even exposed.
He was the 17-year-old macho guitarist in the band, idol of many girls, who just had declared his feelings for me, who had made a move at me, a 15-year-old mediocre tag-along, the tech nerd.
I looked away, down, to avoid his eyes, but I couldn't help but notice his crotch. Was there a bulge, or am I seeing things now?
Breaking the awkward silence, he asked,
"Do you want a drink?"
We sat on the couch, talked about the next party with the band. He played a new riff on his guitar for me, and I sat there looking at his lean fingers moving rapidly over the strings. Fingers that only recently touched mine, for no other reason than to show affection, love even. Fingers that I had let go.
When we wrapped up, he walked me to the door while scraping his throat, "I hope I can trust you with ehm... You know."
He looked vulnerable now, almost desperate.
"Sure."
All the way back home was a blur. Only later, in bed, alone in the sanctity of my room, did I realize the impact. He was certainly gay. And he liked me.
I'd just walked away from it, even though there was this feeling hidden deep inside me. No, not hidden anymore.
***
For the next week and a half, nothing happened, and there were no more jokes at school, but something had changed.
So far, sexuality had not been on top of my mind. Of course, when I was horny I had a wank, and when the boys talked about girls I joined them, well at least didn't walk away. Sex, going with girls just wasn't on my mind all day, unlike it was with many others.
I wasn't checking out girls sexually nor boys either. Of course, I peeked at classmates in PE, but that was merely a quick check to compare and make sure that I was developing normally. I attributed the boners I got to my hormones, not to any attraction to what I saw.
Now, I started to notice that boys, like girls, had nice faces too. I saw not only sturdy legs showing at PE, but sturdy legs disappearing in shorts that covered nice butts. I now connected my boners to the images of boys that played in my head. My warm, wet hand around my dick wasn't any longer only a pussy.
It was not even a shock to realize that Björn must have sensed that I must be like him. I just wasn't ready for that.
I was not ready for a life as a homo. Now I feared I maybe was one, I must be, after these recent jerk-off sessions picturing boys. Not `boys': a boy, this boy.
I couldn't think of a way to accept this as who I was, I couldn't imagine living a life that everyone seemed to condemn. I liked Björn very much, but knowing he was gay was too close to my own uncertainty.
So when I went home with him one day after band practice, and he'd asked me to hang out a bit, to talk about improving the sound system, I hesitated. I loved his attention, I loved being with him, but I was afraid that this might lead to things I wasn't ready for.
I was benumbed when he left me in his bedroom while he took a shower. The sheer idea of this boy being naked just one door away made me shudder. I didn't know where to look when he returned, naked except a large towel wrapped around his waist. He looked gorgeous, but it was too much. I knew he would definitely like to do things with me, but, at this moment, I could just barely breathe. Deep inside I knew I wanted this, but I felt paralyzed. With all the warnings from my parents, threats from the religious die-hards, the general objection against gays, I just couldn't let go.
I think he noticed the stress I was under, so he picked up some underwear from his drawer, and stepped into his boxer briefs with the towel still around his waist, until the last moment. I tried not to look, but when I saw the towel dropping, I took a peek, just in time to see his smooth, white mounds not yet caught in the fabric. I noticed his pubes just above the waistband. And when I looked up, he saw that I saw.
"It's about time I trim these again," he said almost shyly, as if he needed to apologize for a strip of a dark bush showing over the waistband.
I swallowed hard.
"I trim my pubes regularly," he explained as if this was the normal thing to discuss between the guitarist of the band and the sound guy.
"Don't you do that?" he asked, and without waiting for an answer, he stepped forward, his buns still not fully clad in his boxer briefs, and continued, "my bush is very coarse, and I don't like that. Do you trim? Or are your hairs soft?"
"I've never trimmed or shaved them," I uttered.
"Here, have a feel, then you know why I do it," and he grabbed my hand and placed it on the hairs sticking out above the waistband. They were coarse indeed. Long and curly. And dark. Much darker than mine.
"I guess yours are softer, aren't they?"
I knew what would be next. He was going to touch me. I'm not ready for this yet, I panicked. I should step aside now, I should stop him. But instead, I just stood there when he placed his hand on my belly and slowly but resolutely let it disappear under the waistband of my jeans, deeper, until he reached the waistband of my underwear.
My cock pushing upwards seemed to prove the contrary, but I wasn't ready for this.
"Please, Björn," I whispered, "please, no."
His hand stopped and he looked at me anxiously. I smiled weakly and I saw him relaxing a bit.
"I'm sorry, I was just curious," he said apologetically, but I knew better.
"It's okay. I think I should go now."
He really looked sad when I said that. I realized that I must have sounded accusatory, and added,
"In a couple of weeks' time, it's summer vacation. And I'll have my birthday then. I'm planning a party at my dad's boat-house on the island. Would you like to come too?"
His face lit up as if I was a parent promising his kid a nice Christmas present.
***
My parents seemed to have noticed that I spend more time than usual with the band, even though I was just the sound guy. And maybe I talked a bit too much, too enthusiastically about Björn.
I knew my mom liked him, but she seemed to have noticed something or had heard the rumors about the kiss at the concert. She asked some indirect questions, which were oh so slightly suggestive.
They must have talked about it, because Dad suddenly started mentioning things about gays. Not explicitly homophobic, and not directly, but whenever the issue even remotely came up on the news or TV, he stated in general that it's a sin. The Lord might have made men gay, but that's a fallout from Adam & Eve's sin, and their fate in life was to battle their homosexual urges, like everybody else who have one burden or the other to carry.
I had never felt gay before, and frankly, I didn't feel gay now, even if I had just come to realize that I must be a homosexual. A fact of life. The Big Secret of my life now. But the world turned and everything appeared to remain the same.
I had no further private encounters with Björn, just the regular things with the band, the fun and banter, nothing exciting happening.
Until the rumor started spreading that he had a girlfriend. Not `a' girlfriend, but 'the' girlfriend: Annika.
Lord, was she beautiful. She would instantly cure all the homos who struggled with their conversion therapy at the blink of her eye.
She was one year above him at school, and she had the gift of combining grace with beauty, which made all boys drool. Like Björn, she was always friendly to girls and boys, the popular and the unpopular alike. She was never alone, but didn't join the girls' gossiping or the flirting with the boys. She was like an angel out of reach for us mortals.
Up to now, she'd never had a boyfriend, and every boy was almost glad she hadn't: it meant they still had a chance.
The way she talked with every boy, the jocks as well as the nerds, made her stand out of the crowd. In a way, she was like Björn. The way girls worshipped him, the way he paid attention to them without excluding the less attractive girls, the subtle way he played with them: the girls even accepted the kiss he gave me as just something to tease these screaming girls.
I was confused. I just came to realize that I wasn't as straight as I thought I was or wanted to be, and I was only recently accepting that this older jock had the hots for me, and now he turned out to be straight after all.
It was nothing short of sensational at school, it seemed. Boys and girls falling in love, breaking up, falling in love with someone else was just the way it should be. But this love stood out, and many boys and girls must have been disappointed. Most boys were happy for them, but at the same time disappointed now they knew that they would never be Annika's chosen one.
Teachers and parents must have picked it up as well, because when I finally dared to ask my parents one day if it was okay that I went to Björn, my dad approved instantly without any hint referring to 'things that men should not do', and mom just stating that they are `a lovely couple, good people to be with'.
Little did they know that Björn had asked me to come over after dinner to talk about something serious.
I knew what it would be about.
He would tell me that he liked me, but not 'that way'. What had occurred between us was sincere, but merely a `pubertal hick up', a hormonal glitch, maybe an exercise like young birds flapping their wings for the first time, not knowing how to use them properly, and aside from this one kiss, nothing had happened, right?
I felt disappointed and relieved at the same time. Disappointed to lose the one and only boy who stirred my hidden feelings, relieved that my deeper, forbidden feelings wouldn't be stirred any longer.
Björn was in the living room when I placed my bike against the oak tree near their front lane. He opened the door and immediately I saw that his smile was as beautiful as ever, but did not seem really sincere. He looked rather stressed.
I sat on the couch with the drink he gave me, feeling a bit awkward.
After some nitty-gritty talking about school, teachers, the asshole every grade seemed to have, he went silent for a moment. He took a deep breath. I knew what was coming and felt myself already deflating. Better get it over with. I wouldn't be angry, I only hoped that he wouldn't dump me.
"These past weeks, things appeared normal, since we pretended as if nothing had happened," he began, "but something did happen. I cannot deny that."
I waited for him to move on.
"I'm going steady with Annika now, you know."
I nodded. I knew. The whole town knew.
"I want to talk with you about this. I want to know how you feel about this."
I looked him in the eye and saw that he was nervous. I couldn't tell why, maybe it was because he regretted what he'd said about his feelings for me, and now having to dump me or, at best put me on second place?
I shrugged my shoulders. What could I say? He was the boy that made me realize that maybe I wasn't as straight as I thought I was. He was the boy who declared his feelings for me, but kept his distance again and very effectively managed that one public misstep without having either of us damaged.
"I'm happy for you to be with Annika," I almost whispered.
I felt tears coming up saying this. I was much more into this sweet boy than I'd ever allowed myself to accept. And he saw it.
He placed his hand on mine, stroked it tenderly.
"This isn't easy for me to say," he almost mumbled.
Oh God, here it comes. I was shivering.
"I know you've never told anyone about what I have confessed to you before, and I know you'd never say a word about what I'm going to say now, right?
I nodded.
"I'm with Annika now. But she knows that my heart is with someone else."
I immediately knew what he meant. My heart skipped a beat and my mouth opened, but there were no words coming out.
"I love you, Tom."
"But Annika?" I stuttered.
"What about you?" he evaded my question.
I gulped. The feeling was there again. The same feeling I had when he'd kissed me by surprise, the same feeling when he took my hand and declared his feelings for me. The same feeling I tried to push away when I lay in bed at night while my hand fondled a part of me that knew better.
I really liked him, too. No, it wasn't just like. He'd said `the word'. That's what it was. I looked down. I knew it was not just 'like', but I wasn't ready for this, so I said,
"I like you too, Björn."
I instantly felt my heart going into overdrive, and I quickly added as if in damage control mode, "We're friends from the band I mean. I've never been in love before, never been with a girl, or a boy, so I'm not sure what I feel, but I do like you very much."
"I haven't loved someone either until you opened my eyes. To be honest Tom, you're the first one I ever kissed."
I look at him surprised, in disbelief even.
"I kiss girls, but nothing more than a quick peck on their cheeks. My reputation is wilder than my factual life."
I knew his reputation. Everyone knew. He had the image of a lady's man combined with the appropriate behavior of the prudes we were expected to be in our traditional village.
"I've never kissed someone before, too," I confessed. "You were the first and the only one, I added unnecessarily.
He sat there looking at me with his beautiful eyes. I gaped at his friendly smile around his sweet lips.
He squeezed my hand.
"Thank you," he whispered, sounding relieved.
I looked up and saw that I wasn't the only one with watery eyes. He moved to me and hugged me. Our hug was more a friend's hug than a lover's hug, but it felt special to have him in my arms, and feel his strong arms around me.
He nibbled at my ear and placed a sloppy kiss in my neck.
"But what about Annika?" I asked again.
"She knows that I do have feelings for a boy. She's okay with that. I haven't said anything specifically, though," he hastened to assure me, "certainly nothing about you".
"But if you love me, how can you love her at the same time?"
"Leave Annika to me, Tom, it'll be okay," he said reassuringly and when I nodded acceptingly, he placed his hand on my shoulder, ever so softly pushing me back against the couch. His hand moved tenderly from my shoulder, over my shirt down to my chest where he left it for a moment, his fingers ever so softly toying with the nipple underneath. His hazel eyes never went away from mine, and his hand traveled lower and lower until it rested against the belt of my jeans.
My treacherous part instantly grew at the unexpected attention, but my brains geared into fight-freeze-flee mode. He must have seen what happened under my jeans, and I must have sighed desperately at his touch because his beautiful smile broadened as he grinned, and he leaned down, but stopped when we heard the sound of the front door announcing his mother's return.
"Tom," he said, "don't you worry about Annika, I got that covered. We'll talk about that tomorrow, okay?"
"Okay."
"I wanted to cuddle with you for a long time," he sighed, "this is so new to me; I'd never thought that I was capable of doing this."
I didn't know what to say and just nodded. I was confused, but also happy. I now knew for sure that he was gay, and that I was too. It didn't even feel strange. It was just much. Too much.
At dinner that night, I was glad that I'd just in time found the excuse `well maybe because Björn might quit the band now he is with Annika' in answering my mom's question why I was so absent and didn't eat as much as usual. She accepted it with an `off course, these things happen', adding some words on how she thought these two were a perfect pair and how glad she was I was befriended with them.
***
The next day, Björn tapped me on the shoulder at lunch break.
"Follow me," he said secretively, and I followed him to the far end of the school playground.
"I talked with Annika," he began, "and she is okay that you know our secret."
"What secret?" I asked surprised.
"She'll tell you, but I want to know first if it's okay with you that she knows it's you. I haven't said anything about you yet."
"But what secret?" I asked suspiciously, "I don't want to get involved in something illegal."
"Maybe `secret' isn't the correct word. It's not an ugly, dark secret, nothing illegal, it's `private' and very personal and we definitely want to keep it that way."
I chewed on this for a moment. He is dating a girl, or even going steady with that girl, but he has told me that he loved me. And now he has a secret with this girl and wanted me to get involved?
"Well, okay," I surrendered.
"Good. I'll tell her. What's your last class today? I'll try to get us three together right after."
And he did.
That night I haven't slept at all. We had talked indeed. I was shocked.
I knew that Björn was gay, and that Annika knew that as well, but I was stunned when she told me that she was gay, too. And it suddenly dawned on me. This was a masquerade! They were playing couples to hide their true identity, and were both glad they could. It made perfectly sense to me.
I realized then that my fear about being a homo wasn't about my personal worries but more about `what would people think or how would they react'.
I'd read that the whole world considered our country to be very modern, social, and open-minded, but the truth is, there are still homophobes, as well as racists, and quite often both. Maybe people in the cities are open-minded, but in our small, rural and religious villages not so much.
I felt honored though that they'd let me in into their secret and let me join them during breaks at school where everybody could see. It even started to rub off a bit on me.
***
Finally, summer vacation was there. School has closed its doors for the next ten weeks, the holiday residents from the big cities in the south and east were coming to their holiday homes for the summer, and everyone was preparing for the Midsommar festivities.
I'd convinced my dad that I was old enough now to stay a night at our boat-house on the island with some friends, and I had planned some occasions for swimming, canoeing, spoiling good food on the BBQ, and staying at the boat house overnight.
The boathouse was one of the few that was allowed in the nature-reserve part of the island, and had been in our family for ages. There were only a few of these boat houses at this side of the island, and camping was not allowed there. But as long as I knew, no one had ever even checked once, unlike the boat houses on the other side of the island where tourists stayed. During summer, we had our canoes outside, and we restacked the bout house to make it a rec room of sorts, even with two twin beds at the rear end.
The Saturday before Midsommar I ran some errands in town, and when I rode back, I saw Björn lazily hanging on the porch of his house.
He waved at me, and I stopped and turned to him.
"Hey."
"Hey, hey. How are you?" he asked while getting up.
"I'm fine, just bought some stuff, preparing for Midsommar," I replied.
"Doing anything special?"
"No, not really. You know, the usual. Eating with the family, playing a game, and then go to the antique car show."
"Same here," he said, clearly showing boredom.
The band hadn't practiced since school closed last week, and I'd only met Björn a few times since.
Without him around daily to remind me of my gay feelings, I'd relaxed and even came to the conclusion that maybe I wasn't that gay after all. At least that's what I was telling myself.
I looked at Björn and thought it was a good thing not being around him too much, and maybe it was better to keep it that way. He was a nice guy, handsome, but I wasn't ready for that, if ever. So, I thought it better to keep my distances.
"Would you like to come to our boat house?" I heard myself asking.
Wait, what did I say?
"Sure, sounds fun. When?"
`No, no, don't, he's gay, and I am not! Stay away from this!' I thought, but instead I said,
"Ehm, tonight will do. There is nothing else to do anyway."
"I'm game," he said, suddenly beaming with energy, "I'll get some stuff. Do I need a sleeping bag and an inflatable mattress?"
"No, we have two twin beds. Get your stuff, I'll drop the groceries at home and come back to pick you up."
I was confused. How could I want to keep my distances and at the same time invite him to the boat house? For a sleepover no less.
My parents were okay with Björn staying at the boathouse, and didn't even ask about his girlfriend. After my initial reserves, I was thrilled to stay the night on the island with someone. We could go midnight swimming, grill some fish on the BBQ, we had a TV-set, so if we didn't know anything else to do, we could watch a movie.
***
Swimming, canoeing, roasting fish, and chatting was enough to spend the afternoon and evening, and we lazily enjoyed the warm, serene night in the reserve.
It was only when we went to bed, and Björn started to undress, that I suddenly felt that horrible feeling of hormonal desire overrun by the poison of community morals, and religious biases and suppression again. Also, I was here, alone with this nice gay boy who'd declared that he loved me.
I noticed a slight hesitation, or was it disappointment, when I pointed at the twin bed near the far end for him to sleep on. It was still warm, and light, he sat on the bed in only his boxer briefs, legs crossed under him, while I lay on my back in my boxers and t-shirt, arms under my head, and after we'd talked for a while about all regular stuff, the subject changed to how he still fancied me.
"Is it okay if I sit next to you?" he asked, sounding unsure.
My heart skipped a beat. My brain said this was not a good idea, but I nodded and skipped a little aside, and he quickly moved over to my bed.
"Look, I've trimmed these," he said with a mischievous smile, and lowered the waistband of his boxer briefs a little to show his still full dark bush.
I swallowed hard.
"I trim my pubes regularly," he explained as if he had forgotten that he'd told me that before.
"You've never done that, have you?" he asked, "here, have a feel, they're much shorter now."
My head shouted `No, No Don't Do It,' but my hand reached towards the exposed hairs and touched them. It felt different. Not soft, a bit prickly even, but the skin below was soft, and warm.
"I guess yours are softer, aren't they?"
I felt his warm hand on my belly, two fingers stroking along the elastic of my boxers, pushing the waistband down a little until the fingers touched the first hairs that peeped out.
"Wow, you've got very soft hairs," he exclaimed when his fingers touched the hairs. He slipped his fingers a bit deeper under the elastic waistband. I sighed at the wonderful feeling. But as soon as I felt my dick rapidly inflating, pointing its head upwards to where his fingers played with my pubes, I gripped his hand and softly but resolutely pushed up to my chest just before my dickhead arrived at the spot where his hand was.
"Don't worry," he said, "I won't touch it. I'd like to feel the hairs though. Is that okay?"
I whispered "okay".
His soft hand returned, moving slowly from my chest, down to my belly button and onwards to the sparse hairs that peeped over the waistband of my boxers. This time, I let him. He moved his fingers carefully under the elastic, towards my hip, and tenderly caressed the hairs he was so fond of.
The feeling was sensational. This was okay. He didn't touch my dick. This wasn't sex with a boy, so it was okay. In my mind, I played this excuse repeatedly, fully knowing what I really wanted but couldn't allow myself to enjoy, and fully knowing what he wanted, but couldn't allow him to do.
I relaxed under his stroking hand and placed my arms under my head, stretching out on the bed. I was hard, and he had his hand in my boxer, but he didn't touch me `there', only playing with my pubes, so it was okay.
His hand moved from right to left over my belly almost touching the top of my erection. I loved the feeling. I'd never realized I was so sensitive there. The hand kept on playing with the curly hairs, and he moved it very slowly from left to right and back again, each time a bit lower over my belly until the side of his hand touched my dick head. I gasped, and he halted.
But he moved on, and in the absence of any protest, his fingers moved all over my pubes, occasionally diving under my cock. It felt sensational. My sighs must have given him a signal and after a while, it wasn't just his fingers caressing the soft curly hairs, but his whole hand stroking my pubes, all the way from left to right, even passing under my erection, leaving a wet trace on the back of his hand.
Occasionally he moved his hand further down, towards my thigh and back again, making me shiver in pleasure. I felt his hand drawing little circles on the upper part of my leg, slowly moving up, almost touching my balls.
He'd promised that he wouldn't touch my cock, and my balls weren't my cock, were they? Touching my dick was sex, but touching my balls wasn't, right? Even though I effectively had surrendered to his touching, my mind was still looking for excuses not to give in to the sin of the flesh.
I heard myself groan when he finally, oh so lightly, touched my sac with a finger.
"You have no hairs here, haven't you?" he asked, obviously fishing for consent.
Silence.
"That must feel very nice?" he tried again.
I only groaned.
I almost fainted when his other hand went into my boxers as well, and ever so lightly explored my sac, looking for the non-existent hairs.
"Wow," he said.
"Wow," I thought.
All my resistance fled when I felt his fingers tenderly brush my sac while his other hand caressed my pubes under my dick. At first, the feeling of his hand there caused some friction at my dick head, but it didn't take long before the back of his hand was coated with leaking precum.
No, he still wasn't touching my dick, was he? He didn't grab it, he didn't stroke it, my dick was there only a bit in the way of his stroking hand, but nothing more than that, right?
"It's a funny idea," Björn said pensively, "here you have these long, soft curly hairs, and there you're still bald. I like that. I wish I had no hairs on my balls," he sighed. "You want to feel what it's like, hairs on your balls? Go on, touch me."
Before my protective and indoctrinated mind found some moralistic reason not to touch him there, my hand moved from under my head to his crotch, straight under the fabric of his boxer briefs. His balls were soft and very warm. And large. And hairy. I'd never realized that you could get hairs there as well. I'd seen boys naked a couple of times, but never paid attention at hairs down there. It felt amazing. I didn't understand why he preferred bald balls. This was how a man should be, not like my bald kiddy balls.
Playing with his balls gave me a mesmerizing feeling, and I enjoyed the forbidden horny feeling it gave me and so did his hands. When I masturbated, I always used a firm grip, but now I felt two hands only lightly touching me, not even touching my dick. It felt awesome. My patch of hair was wet now, as was the back of his hand. The moment I pictured the image that I held his balls in my hand while at the same time, he held mine in his' and his other hand made quick, short strokes over my pubes with my sensitive cockhead resting on the slippery back of his hand, I couldn't hold it any more.
A small, choked, sound clawed its way between my clenched teeth, and Björn suddenly was aware of the feeling of warm wetness flowing over the back of his stroking hand.
The movements on my pubes and balls stopped, but the hands remained there and I briefly marveled at the little charade we apparently were playing. All I hoped for was that he just took it as `an accident'.
I let go of his balls, and he wiped the wetness on his hand off on my boxers before he took it out.
He didn't say a word about what had happened.
"Is it okay if we cuddle a little?' he asked pleadingly.
Cuddling was fine with me. At 15, the time when I cuddled with my mom was long gone, but here I was with an older boy, a gay boy, who fancied me, who'd just caressed me and effectively made me cum. I melted at the thought.
Again, I didn't say anything, not wanting to explicitly approve, suggest I was willing, or even look eager. I just turned on my side and made place for him to lay behind me.
He lay behind me and put his right arm over my hip, shoving his left arm under me and pulled me against him.
It was a revealing sensation. It must have been more than seven or eight years ago that I'd last cuddled this way. The feeling of his strong arms around me, the warmth of his body against my back, his legs against my legs, it was tremendous.
I felt his warm belly against my back and relaxed, until I felt his erection pressing against my bum. He purred like a happy kitten, grinding his hips with slow moves against me. His mouth rested against my neck and I heard him sniffing in my hair. I was putty in a gay boy's arms.
His grinding got a bit more intense, until he backed off a little and with his right hand wrestled his boxer briefs down. When he finally managed to get them down far enough to kick them off with his feet, he gripped me again, and this time I felt his huge boner not only stroking over my buns through the two layers of fabric, but now directly poking in the cleft that was only covered by my boxers.
I enjoyed the closeness and the warmth, and it took a while before I felt some wetness at the seat of my boxers. Did he...?
But the grinding went on, and his hand on my hips stealthily pushed my waistband a bit lower before returning to my pubes to play with them.
I knew what he wanted, and I knew that I wouldn't object, but I couldn't admit it. His breathing got heavier, like mine, and with each push, my resistance diminished further. I felt like I was surrendering without telling him.
Maybe he sensed it, because his soft hand left my pubes and moved to my back, and pushed my boxers down, below my bum.
I stirred and held my breath.
"No worries Tom," he soothed, "I won't do anything you don't want: just say stop whenever you want."
Next I felt the warm, slippery flesh against my butt making a wet trace over my crack.
"Is it okay if I put it between your legs?"
I wanted to refuse, but I knew he was horny, and doing that must be a great feeling for him. And he'd made me feel good, so how could I refuse?
I didn't answer. It was too much. This was going to be sex, and I wasn't ready for that yet, but, at the same time, it was going to be sex and I wanted that. I just let it happen. I was still scared.
"Does it hurt?" I squeaked.
"No, I'm not going to do that. Just between your legs, that'll be fine."
He pulled me closer, and I felt his dick disappearing between my legs, just below my balls. It felt great.
After a couple of minutes of slow thrusting between my legs, he said hoarsely, "I need to make it slicker."
I heard him wetting his hand abundantly with saliva, and I gasped when I felt him coating my crack and the upper part between my legs with it.
The feeling was even better now, and I felt how his poking dick was producing precum copiously.
I didn't want to give him the impression that I liked it, and I just lay in his arms, letting him move against me, but secretly enjoying the feel of his strong body.
His slick dick poked between my legs and occasionally slipped into my crack, making me tense up, and every time when the dick returned to its spot between my legs, I relaxed. I got used to this occasional trespassing, and the warm flesh poked now more frequently between my butt cheeks, touching a sensitive spot, which I knew was my arsehole. This was the forbidden area, I knew that. And I knew Björn knew that.
After a while, the poking stopped, and what remained was a nice but firm pressure against my arsehole.
"Is this okay?" he whispered tenderly.
"Uh-um," I confirmed.
The feeling was okay indeed. It was more than okay. My dick was back up again, maybe even harder than it was when Björn stroked my pubes. Feeling his warm, wet cock between my legs was a strange sensation, but it was okay. The soft dickhead poking at my anus was another sensation, much better even. But, above all forbidden.
All the things I learned about `wrong relations', sex and the virtues of a prudish religious life flooded back into my brain, making me tense up again, and he must have sensed it.
"Relax, Tom," he whispered. "I won't do anything you don't want to happen."
I sighed.
"You know that I'm gay, and that I lust after you. And I know you are not gay. I'm so happy you allow me to cuddle you, even though you're not into boys. Thanks."
I let his words sink in, and felt a warm, sloppy kiss in my neck. He pulled me even closer to him.
"I expect you to say `stop' any moment you want to quit, but I hope that you can enjoy this intimacy as much as I do, in your own way."
I quietly listened to his words.
"What you feel now is maybe how it feels for the girl you will one day embrace and cuddle. If I make you feel good this way now, you will know how to make a girl feel good later in your life."
He was right, I lied to myself. I'm not homo, I'm just learning, and he's my coach. I felt his warm arms around me, and his groin grinding against my buns. He must be very stiff, because his dick doesn't bend forward to move between my legs any more, it is only pointing up, slipping through the moist cleft. This must be what my girl would feel when I cuddle her as we make love. When I'm the man to please her and protect her.
I decided to relax.
We lay almost completely still for some time and I was even feeling a bit sleepy. I completely surrendered to his tender kisses in my neck, his soft hand stroking my hip, over my belly, scrolling through my pubes, only incidentally touching my now rock-hard dick.
His grinding had stopped, only the pressure remained, and I felt almost unnoticeable little pokes against my anus. Without thinking, I flexed my sphincter, squeezing the bulbous head, and immediately Björn groaned, which made me repeat the action and in turn Björn increased the pressure a little.
We lay playing like this for a while, only Björn's heavy breathing filled the air, and his nudges rocked me softly. I squeezed my buns again to tease him a little. Is this how a woman plays with a man when they do the deed? It must be a pleasant feeling because Björn moaned each time I squeezed, and each time he increased his grip on me, pulling me harder against him, increasing the pressure.
My head was spinning. I frantically imagined laying with a girl, trying to imagine what she would feel when I pleased her, when I pushed my dick into her vagina. I sighed. Björn sighed.
"Keep on doing that, it feels terrific," he whispered. And I did. It was a strange but wonderful feeling every time I squeezed the soft tip and felt it slipping back, only to return immediately, each time with a bit more pressure.
I didn't remember for how long we played this charade, and maybe I drifted into a slumber, but it was as if I suddenly woke up when I realized that his glans this time didn't squeeze out when I pinched it playfully with my sphincter. I squeezed one more time and Björn nudged a little deeper.
This was it.
"Ooh," I uttered.
He was in me, but I wasn't truly surprised. I squeezed my muscle again, making him moan softly.
I had tried my best to imagine this boy-girl thing, but all the time I knew I was in the arms of this strong gay boy who had declared his love to me, and I knew that I must be a homo too. I just was not ready for that.
"You okay?" he asked, nibbling my earlobe.
I nodded and sighed deeply. I had surrendered.
The little nudges slowly became strokes, little strokes at first, culminating in tender but fierce thrusts. There was this special, wonderful feeling when he pushed slowly back into me, and my dick was dripping as never before.
His right arm moved from my belly up, over my chest, lightly touching my nipple, towards my face. His finger stroked my nose, my lips, his soft warm hand caressed my cheek.
This time the "Ooh" was his'.
I felt his dick pulsing deep in me, and I even felt some hotness inside.
He lay panting for a while with his hot, sweaty body pressed against me, his member a little deflated still in me.
"Thank you," he whispered.
I didn't reply, only grabbed his hand and moved it to my lips and kissed it.
"I want you to do this with me, too," he said softly while he pushed his face into my hair and sniffed lovingly behind my ear.
That night, we did.
=== ===
Thanks for reading; I hope you've enjoyed it. I'm looking forward to your comments.
I'm currently writing a multi chapter story The Lost Tribes of the West that is being published in the Nifty/Gay/Young Friends section, and I have also written Brodadcopul and Curiosity at the slumberparty
Maybe you like them, let me know.
Nils Andersson,