Owen

'Owen'

Chapter two

by Roy Reinikainen

At the gentle touch of a hand on his shoulder, Owen turned from Sam and squinted into a watery blur. Doctor Johnson's sad grin was full of compassion.

"We've got to be going, Owen." The doctor moved closer, blocking the view of the young men from Owen's folks while Sam tried to control his emotions, without much success.

"He'll be back, Sam," the doctor spoke in a quiet, encouraging voice. "This parting isn't forever." Owen bit his lip, wondering if the doctor was correct. He wanted more than anything, to be gone from Riverton, but that meant leaving the man he loved.

"I hope so, doctor." Sam hiccoughed as he wiped his eyes and blew his nose on Jonah's handkerchief. "It's just . . . I don't know what am I gonna do between now and then." The doctor compressed his lips and glanced at Owen, who stood close by, overwhelmed by his own emotions as well as Sam's.

"You and I'll think of something, Sam. Owen's going to be away getting an education. Perhaps, I can talk to your folks, and see if together, we might arrange something similar for you."

"But, Owen . . ."

"Will return, I'm sure of it," the doctor hurried to interrupt. "And, when he does, the two of you will once again be together. Don't make Owen take the memory of you crying with him to school. This is tough on him too."

Sam sniffed, nodded, and tried to smile, his bloodshot eyes and blotchy complexion giving lie to the lopsided twist of his lips. "I love you Owen," he murmured, as they hugged, melting together, heedless of anyone watching.

Owen nuzzled his friend's ear, inhaling the familiar scent of the person he loved. He took a ragged breath, unwilling to part, and when Sam quickly kissed him on the lips, the feeling seemed to leave scorch marks on his skin, so clearly did his body remember the touch. It was a feeling to be recalled in moments of loneliness, like the scent of Sam's aftershave, or the twinkling of his dark brown eyes, or the gentle touch of Sam's fingers against his bare skin as they sprawled on the grass of their meadow.

Sam backed off far enough to focus on Owen's eyes and face. Owen tenderly brushed a strand of hair away from Sam's forehead and then slowly trailed his fingertips over his friend's cheek, eventually pausing at Sam's lips, oblivious to Doctor Johnson, standing nearby.

"You know my address," Sam attempted to tease as Owen reluctantly lowered his fingers. "I expect to get lotsa letters from you." He hiccoughed again and then straightened his shoulders and gave both the doctor and Owen a tremulous grin.

"Well, I'd better be goin' so I don't embarrass myself any more than I already have. I'm sure there'll be plenty of talk as it is." He looked past Owen, to where Owen's brother and sisters stood, watching the parting. Abigail and Opie were clinging to one another. Jonah stood apart. At Sam's glance, he lowered his head, as if he had been caught eavesdropping on an intimate moment. Owen's mother snuck a glance over her shoulder, but turned away at some comment from her husband.

Sam gave the doctor a brief nod and then reached out and quickly squeezed Owen's shoulder. After only a few moments he turned and walked away without looking back.

"We'd better be leaving." The doctor's voice was soothing and full of understanding. Owen heard the engine of his parents pickup start, followed by the crunch of tires on the gravel road. He nodded, acknowledging the doctor's words, and turned to look over his shoulder. He saw Sam turn the corner, his head still bowed, leaving him and the doctor alone. The town had gone back to being the sleepy place he had always remembered. The only sounds were of a rooster crowing in the distance, and the leaves overhead rustling in the tired breeze.

He hefted his two bags, as he and the doctor headed for the car. "You'll look out for 'im, doctor? Truly?"

Doctor Johnson nodded, wearing a wistful smile. "Count on it. He'll be okay, just as you will." The doctor gave Owen an understanding grin. "It's never easy to leave someone you love behind."

"It's not forever, doctor," Owen protested, wondering if his claim were true. "Just like you said. I'll be back. I . . ." He hesitated. "I can't live without Sam."

The doctor started the car engine and they were off. "He'll be okay. You both will be okay. I'm certain of it." He glanced across the car and grinned as Owen sank back into the seat and stared unseeingly out of the window.

The rest of the day was a blur. When he said goodbye to the doctor and stepped onto the waiting bus, he thought he was embarking on an adventure. By the time he made it to the airport, three hours later, and was waiting in line to board the airplane, the adventure had gotten old, and he was dreaming of sitting on the riverbank with Sam.

He was in a totally alien world; picked up and dropped amidst the crowds, the noise, and worst of all, the realization that he had very little clue how to get along in the world. Nothing in his life had prepared him for what he was experiencing. By the time his plane arrived and everyone herded like so many buffalo down the jetway and into the narrow aisle of the plane, he was almost in tears.

Everyone, it seemed, knew what to do, where to sit, what to say. They were all dressed differently from him; they spoke differently. He felt them looking at him as he stood, uncertainty showing in every action. Growing up in the small town of Riverton, he had never been an outsider. Now, even though he was surrounded by crowds of people; for the first time in his life, he felt totally alone.

'Well,' he thought, swallowing past a lump in his throat which threatened to overwhelm him. 'Pops once said that sometimes a person has no choice but to either sink or swim.' He stuffed his two bags into the overhead compartments, imitating someone close by, and folded himself into a nearby seat, squeezing the chair arms tightly. 'I won't allow myself to sink, especially since it would mean heading home like a whipped dog with my tail between my legs. Pops would give me a satisfied smirk which screamed, 'I knew you'd never make it!'

He looked up when a young lady, no older than he, leaned close and asked him to fasten his seat belt. It must have been clear he didn't know what she meant. She gave him a friendly smile and showed him what to do.

"Is this your first flight?" she asked, the first friendly face he'd seen since leaving home.

"Uh, yes . . ." He ducked his head in an embarrassed nod, trying to smile as he followed her instructions. He clicked the buckle into place and pulled the belt tight. "Sorry I'm so dumb," he apologized, feeling like nothing more than a hayseed having blown in on the wind.

She smiled and patted him on the shoulder. "You're not dumb. Everyone on this plane had to learn what to do at some point in their life." She leaned closer. "If there's anything you don't understand, or if you need something, we're here to help." She winked and gave him a friendly pat on the shoulder. "Don't be shy about asking."

He gave her an uncertain smile and began chewing on his lower lip as the plane pressurized and moved away from the terminal. 'Oh, Sam,' he thought, closing his eyes and leaning his head back against the head rest as the plane accelerated down the runway. 'I wish you were here t'hold my hand.'

"Thanks for your help!" Lucas closed the door to his new apartment and let out a gusty sigh, glancing around at the jumble of furniture and belongings. "I never knew I had so much junk," he said, aloud. 'It's a good thing the guys were willing to help me shift all of it from the house, down here.'

He glanced at his watch and hurried down the short hall. His father would be stopping by at any minute. Lucas had offered to drive him to the airport before he realized that he'd be moving on the same day. 'Well, no hope for it,' he thought as he splashed cold water on his face and combed his hair. 'After all, Dad's giving me this place rent free while I'm in school. I shouldn't gripe about taking him to the airport.'

Lucas trailed after his father, moving through the sprawling airport at breakneck speed, heading for the baggage check in. They huffed to the end of the blessedly short line, where Lucas relieved himself of the two large bags. He bent at the waist, his hands braced against his knees, and attempted to catch his breath.

When he stood, a nearby movement caught his eye. A person, about his own age, was shaking his head and frowning at another man. The younger person clutched a couple of what looked like old gym bags and looked determined. Lucas couldn't hear their voices, but the older man looked insistent, and the younger man equally as determined.

After a few more words being exchanged, the older man shook his head in resignation and walked away, looking over his shoulder once, before turning a corner and disappearing from sight.

The younger man seemed to deflate, slumping onto a nearby chair and bowing his head, his bags now puddled at his feet.

'I wonder what his story is?' Lucas wondered.

Neil Horton glanced at his son, with a look of amusement. Lucas looked away from the lonely figure as his father spoke. "A little out of shape, aren't you?" He teased as he set his large briefcase at his feet and straightened, doing his best to suppress his own groan of exhaustion, and used a handkerchief to wipe away the few drops of rain still clinging to his glasses.

"Yeah, well, remember, I'm the one carrying all your worldly possessions," Lucas groused, good-naturedly. "What have you got in there, anyhow?" He asked, nodding to the two bags. "You're only heading to Europe, not the moon!"

"Next!" They both turned as the woman behind the ticket counter shouted and motioned them forward with an impatient motion of her hand.

"Yes, ma'am," Lucas mumbled, hefting the bags and following his father.

He could hear his father's faintly amused voice. "Be nice, Lucas. When the Valkyrie says move, we move." Neil Horton attempted to smile at the large flashing-eyed woman who could easily have been cast as a Valkyrie, one of the operatic characters. All she needed was an appropriate costume.

Lucas grinned to himself, fancying that she probably stowed her helmet, complete with pointy horns, behind the check-in counter. She glared at him as if she could read his thoughts and opened her mouth to speak at the same moment there was a loud clap of thunder, causing everyone other than the woman behind the counter to jump.

"Complete with sound effects, too," Lucas mumbled, moving to his father's side and ignoring the long-suffering look his father cast in his direction.

"Who's next?" The woman shouted, imperiously motioning to the next person in line, dismissing Lucas and his father, after rubber stamping Neil's boarding pass, using a large red-inked stamp which she slammed onto the pass with an authoritative bang. Neil grabbed the duly authorized card and quickly moved away, lest he be ordered to do so. He slid his ticket and boarding pass into the inside pocket of his coat, and then bent to pick up his briefcase.

"Have a good trip, Dad." Lucas hugged his father. Neil patted his son on the back and waved a jaunty salute as he headed off toward the boarding gates.

"Next!" The distant voice echoed. "Who's next?"

Lucas shook his head, heaved a sigh of relief, and turned to look around the largely-empty airport, remembering the excitement he would always experience as he headed off on a trip.

'Well, no trips for me,' he thought, thrusting his hands into the pockets of his crisply creased slacks. 'School's going to take up all my time.' He grinned, as he began crossing the large expanse of floor under the vaulted skylight. 'At least this year I'll be living near campus and won't have to take the subway to school every morning.'

The drum of rain, accompanied by another clap of thunder and flash of lightning shone through the airport's interior, causing him to frown and glance back toward the check-in counter. 'The roads are going to be hell,' he thought. 'I'm glad I don't have to get onto an airplane in this weather!' He shuddered at the thought, just as he caught sight of the lonely figure he had seen earlier, now leaning forward, his elbows resting on his knees and his hands covering his face. The light blue, slightly rumpled, shirt which stretched across the guy's broad shoulders, was tucked into a pair of jeans. His white tennis shoes were scuffed.

The guy sat up, leaning back in his chair and looked toward the ceiling, running his fingers through his short blond hair. He massaged the back of his neck for a moment before dropping his hand to his sides, looking totally lost.

Lucas paused, knowing he needed to help and thinking instantly of his sister, and how she would often tease him for getting involved in other people's troubles.

"Lucas, the bleeding-heart of the Midwest," she would declare. "Never wiling to leave well enough, alone. Always bringing home a stray of one sort or another."

She was correct. His goodhearted overtures had turned out well . . . mostly, except for his one-time boyfriend, Bailey Wilkins, that is. He quickly corrected himself. 'We weren't boyfriends. We grew up together, and happened to have sex a couple times.'

He wanted to shake his head to drive the thought of Bailey as a boyfriend from his mind. Even the thought left a bad taste in his mouth. Not that there was anything really wrong with Bailey, that a good dose of humility wouldn't cure. He was sexy, Lucas would readily admit that, though not in Bailey's presence. But, Lucas had come to realize being sexually attractive was not enough.

'The trouble is,' Lucas thought, 'not only am I soft-hearted when it comes to strays, I'm a pushover for a sexy man.' It was clear to Lucas that the man sitting so forlornly on the chair, was not only a person who needed to hear a kind word, but he also was about as sexy a man as Lucas could ever remember seeing.

"Excuse me." Now that Lucas was closer, he felt as if his heart would break. The sense of loneliness emanating from the blond haired man was almost palpable. 'He can't be crying . . . can he?' The man sat back and looked up trying to smile a polite inquiry, without much success. 'No,' Lucas thought, 'not crying, but very nearly.' He appeared to be exhausted, and near the end of his emotional rope. His pale-skinned cheeks were blotchy and his grey-eyes appeared exhausted.

Lucas sat down and turned to face the stranger. "If you don't mind my saying so; you look awful." The stranger attempted to grin, his grey eyes brightening slightly as he huffed a silent laugh. The smattering of faint freckles on his nose only increased his boyish good looks.

"I have'ta admit, I'm not feelin' very good at the moment." His voice was wonderful, a furry sort of tenor, with a hint of an accent Lucas couldn't place. The blond wiped his hands over his face and puffed out his cheeks, before letting his breath out, slowly. "Truly," he added, as an afterthought.

Lucas extended his hand in greeting. The hand enclosing his was long-fingered, work-roughened, and strong. The muscles of the guy's arm flexed as they shook hands, hinting at a strength, no one Lucas knew could boast of.

"My name's Lucas. I saw you sitting here and thought you looked like you needed a friend." He caught the slight flicker of the blond's eyes at the word, friend. The person compressed his lips, but other than a slight jerk of a nod, remained unresponsive. "Is there something I can do for you? Are you here alone?" Lucas looked around the large room and the few people moving about. "Was someone supposed to meet you? Didn't they show up? Was that guy I saw you speaking with a few minutes ago, supposed to meet you?"

He smiled a sheepish smile. "Sorry, I'm talking so much. I just hate to see someone look as unhappy as you. May I help?"

'There,' he thought with pleasure. 'I've managed to coax a bit of a smile.'

"I'm Owen," the blond said, a slight flush turning his pale cheeks a light shade of pink. "No, I don't know that person." He looked in the direction the man had taken and then back to Lucas. "He wanted me . . . Well, I don't know him, and asked him to leave me alone." Once more, his eyes flicked in the direction the man had taken.

"So . . . to answer your question, no, no one was supposed t'meet me." The smile faded. "I'm alone." He looked away in an attempt to hide his thoughts.

'More than just a hint of an accent,' Lucas thought, loving the way Owen's voice seemed to wrap him in a comfortable blanket.

"This is the first time I've been away from home." He made a vague gesture. "I'm finding everything to be so . . . big . . . so, different. There are so many people . . . here . . . on the airplane." He paused. "Everywhere!"

Lucas followed Owen's gaze around the sparsely filled airport, and gestured. "Do you consider this a lot of people?" Owen gave him a hesitant nod and smiled, a pair of dimples making their appearance.

"Yes. For me, it is." He sighed and leaned back in his seat, his long-fingered hands absently rubbing over the front of his jeans. "I tell you, Lucas. This has been the roughest day of my life. I don't have a lot of experience with . . ." He paused and gave Lucas a chagrined smile. "I don't have a whole lot of experience with anything. Y'see, I've never been more than sixty-miles away from home . . . a town of less than two hundred people. But, I wanted to be a student at a big university, so here I am." He made a vague gesture and then ran his fingers through his short hair. "I'm overwhelmed. Truly."

He seemed to retreat into a deep thought. "I don't know why I'm tellin' you all this." Another flick to where the man disappeared. "I wouldn't have told him anything about me." Lucas wondered if he detected a slight shudder . . . of what? Revulsion?

Both Lucas and Owen looked up at the skylight and another flash of lightning. "I guess I should have planned better," Owen continued with a resigned sigh. "But, how?" He heaved a half-hearted shrug and bowed his head. "I don't know. I guess I imagined I'd just . . . figure things out as they happened." He huffed a tired laugh. "I just never imagined there'd be so many things needing tending to. Now," he continued. "I'm here. It's raining. I don't have any idea how to get from here to there, and even if I did, it's the middle of the night. Besides, I'm not really sure where there is, and I'm more tired n' I can ever recall being. So . . . so much for figurin' things out."

He tried to grin in Lucas' direction, and then bowed his head. "I'm pretty much of a mess," aren't I?"

"You say you're going to be a student at the university?" Lucas asked. Owen nodded, still not raising his head.

"Been a dream of mine since I knew what a university was. I wanted to go to someplace big." Another silent huff of a laugh. "My high school teacher suggested I go here." He looked up, as if the university might somehow materialize in front of him. "I got a good scholarship, and pretty much figured that was all I needed to do, other than study, and things. Somehow, I never imagined everything else. I mean, hell, just gettin' here has been . . . a challenge. I hate to think what might be heading my way." He barked a dispirited laugh. "All of this, just so I could find myself and grow into what I know I can be." He shook his head. "Stupid of me is all I can say. If m'father was here, I wouldn't have to be sayin' it. He'd be sayin' it for me."

"I take it your folks didn't want you to come to school?" Owen shrugged.

"Yeah. They're good people, but they don't want to do anything new. No one they know has ever moved away from town, therefore no one ever should!" He leaned back. "After today, I'm beginnin' to see why they think like that." He immediately corrected himself. "Ah, hell. I don't mean that. I shouldn't be talkin' bad about them. It's just . . . It's just that I'm so exhausted, is all. Just not thinkin' straight, I guess."

"Would you let me help you out?" Lucas asked. Owen looked up. "I hope I'm not being like that guy who spoke with you earlier. If I am, just tell me to shut up and get lost." When Owen didn't say anything, Lucas continued.

"I'm a student at the university, also. In fact, I've got a place right across the street from the school. Why don't you let me give you a ride to my place, and you can stay there until you find a place of your own." He smiled at Owen's suddenly hopeful smile. "If you're not comfortable coming to my place, we can find you a hotel to stay at. At least that way you'll be away from the airport and closer to school."

"Truly? You'd do that for me? I mean, we just met!" The transformation was almost embarrassing in its intensity.

"Since leavin' home I've only met one person other n' you, who seemed to care enough 'bout me to even talk." He turned to Lucas. "I accept. Yes! Thank you! If you're sure, your place would be wonderful!"

The drive home through the heavy rain wasn't nearly as bad as Lucas had feared, primarily because he was amused at Owen's amazed reaction to everything he saw. He would crane his neck in an attempt to see the top of each tall building they passed, and never failed to be amazed by the number of people scurrying through the rain on the largely empty sidewalks. Finally, he sat back and was quiet, seemingly unable to think of any more superlatives. Still, his eyes seemed to drink in everything he saw.

His naivete was endearing as much as his accent, both totally unlike the fake worldliness Lucas disliked about many of his friends. Owen had obviously come from a totally different environment.

He fancied taking Owen to meet his sister, Allison, and could almost imagine her expression when he announced. "Look what I found, Allison. Isn't he gorgeous? Can I keep him?" He smiled, thinking of how she would roll her eyes, and probably make some quip about bringing home strays. Even so, he was sure Allison would find Owen as refreshingly intriguing as he.

"You're smiling," Owen said, turning toward him in the flickering shadows of the traffic lights. "Did I say something wrong? I'm sure I sound like a farm boy, compared to your friends. There's no denying it though; that's what I am."

Lucas took his eyes from the road and saw Owen's worried look.

"No, you've done nothing wrong. I was just thinking how . . . refreshing . . . you are." He smiled. "I like how you sound. Your voice is . . . soothing. Has anyone ever told you that?" Lucas would rather have said that he felt as if he could become lost in that wonderful voice; how he would like to wrap himself in it just as much as he would like to wrap Owen in his arms and not let go.

Owen turned to look out the side window of the car. "Yes," he murmured, in a voice barely heard over the traffic noise and sound of rain drumming on the car's windshield. "Yes, someone has told me that before."

"Well," Lucas paused, wondering what could possibly be wrong. "I agree with her . . . him."

"Him," Owen supplied before lapsing into silence.

Thankfully, they were nearly to his apartment. Owen seemed to have totally shut down, not talking or looking out the window, or asking questions.

"Are you homesick?"

Owen turned to him with a wan smile. "No, not really. Home was okay, but I've always wanted to get away. I'm just . . ." He shrugged before turning and looking out of the window at the mirror-like sidewalks. The combination of the rain, reflections, and low hanging clouds imparted a dream-like quality to their drive. "I don't know what I'm feelin'. Like I said a bit ago, I'm just totally exhausted."

"You seem sad. Did you have to leave a girlfriend behind?"

"No," Owen answered. "No girlfriend." He met Lucas' eyes and grinned, once again becoming the impressed tourist as Lucas pulled into the parking garage of his apartment.

"Is this where you live?" He asked, looking around the garage. "I mean, I know you don't live in the parking lot, but, the building above us is huge!" Lucas chuckled and slapped Owen on the back, picking up one of his surprisingly light bags. He motioned in the direction they were to take.

"Actually, I just moved my stuff here earlier this afternoon," Lucas answered, as they stepped into the elevator lobby and he pressed the call button. He noticed Owen studying his every motion. "So, I guess I would have to say that I haven't actually lived here yet. I haven't even hardly moved in and I'm having a house guest," he smiled, gesturing Owen into the elevator.

Owen gingerly stepped into the elevator cab and looked around. "Today's a day of firsts," he murmured.

"Never been in an elevator before?" Owen shook his head wearing an embarrassed smile.

"I've hardly done anything." He watched, wide eyed as the elevator door closed and they began their ascent to the fifth floor apartment. "You must truly think I've come from the back of beyond. No town I've ever been in, until today that is, has an elevator." He shook his head in wonder. "Amazing."

"Son." Sam's father stepped out of the house and onto the front porch of the house, a troubled expression on his face. "Ya doin' better?" Sam shrugged a response, not looking up. He wanted to be alone. His father continued speaking. "You been moping around ever since Owen left." Henry Bridgers' deep voice seemed puzzled. "It ain't normal, a guy acting like you are."

Even though his father's words were said in kindness, it was too much for Sam to take. He pushed himself off of the porch railing where he'd been sitting and faced his father, shaking with sudden fury. Henry's eyes widened at the look on his son's face.

"Then I guess I'm not normal. D'you hear me? I'm not normal. I've never been normal, and I never will be normal! Make whatever you want out of that!" Rather than maneuver around his father, in order to take the steps, he vaulted the railing and began to walk away, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. After taking less than a dozen steps, he turned back to his father, whose mouth was hanging open in surprise.

"Wherever Owen is, is where I want to be, not stuck here where there's no future. He's always had the right of it. Get out as fast as possible and don't look back! He asked me t'go with him. I only wish I had!"

"Sam!" Henry Bridgers called. He was answered by nothing more than an angry wave in the air, and the sight of his son's retreating back, fading into the darkness. When it became obvious that Sam wasn't going to immediately return, Henry muttered to himself and walked back inside with a stuttering step, closing the screen door behind him.

The town seemed abandoned as Sam walked down Main Street, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his baggy shorts. In the days since Owen had left, he felt adrift. Very little seemed to have any importance. He sighed as he stepped off the end of the concrete sidewalk and turned towards the river.

His father was right about one thing. He couldn't go on as he had been. Owen wasn't here; he was. He could only hope that Owen would come back, or that he would find some way to join Owen, but until either of those things happened he would have to carry on.

But . . . 'oh, what I'd give to hear Owen's laughter, and be able to hold him.'

Sam paused and looked over his shoulder toward the darkened building which held Doctor Johnson's office. 'Tomorrow,' he vowed. 'I'm gonna go see the doc and take him up on his offer to help me out.' He looked back in the direction he'd come and shook his head. 'I'm not goin' home; not tonight.' He headed for the river, the half-moon casting pale flickering highlights on the leaves overhead. The night birds rustled and chattered from time to time, while the dancing specks of firefly light danced in front of him, heedless of his anxiety. He slowed and looked up at the sky and its thick spread of stars, through the leafy canopy, inhaling the smell of damp earth and night blooming flowers.

He paused a moment to wipe a spider's web away from his face with a frown and an irritated swipe of his hand. A moment later he gasped in surprise as he slipped on a rock and sank knee deep into the shallows at the river's edge.

"Damn," he muttered, sharply inhaling, feeling the sudden cold of the water against his bare legs. 'Good thing Owen's not here. He'd be hootin' with laughter.' He paused to consider what he'd just thought, and shook his head.

'There's no pleasin' me, is there? One minute I'm wishing for him to be back, the next I'm glad he's not here to see me wadin' in the water.' The night sounds ceased as he awkwardly splashed to the bank, grasping a low hanging branch to help pull himself out of the river. Once on dry land, he collapsed on the grassy embankment with his arms stretched wide, staring at the silent specks of light.

"Shouldn't'a talked to the Old Man, like I did," he groaned aloud, feeling guilty about his recent confrontation with his father. 'I'm just missin' Owen so.'

He propped himself up on his elbows and made a face as he contemplated his sodden pants and shoes. 'Well,' he thought to himself as he stood and peeled off his clothes. 'I'm not headin' home tonight, so I might as well get out of these.' He used his shirt as a towel, rubbing his legs and feet dry, and then hung the clothes over a bush to dry in the warm, late-summer night air.

He walked back to the center of the moon-dappled meadow, stretched and yawned, arching his back and slowly twisted from side to side while thrusting his hips forward. The muscles of his bare butt flexed, and those of his shoulders and arms stood out.

The thoughts of being naked, and the caress of the gentle breeze over his bare skin caused his cock to began to thicken.

He sank onto the soft carpet of green and lay back, lacing his fingers together behind his head, grinning as he looked at the stars hanging in the black sky. Owen had once confidently told him that there had to be at least four hundred stars. They'd been sitting in this very meadow, back-to-back, still too young to know what being in love meant, but knowing they had to be together.

His grin blossomed into a smile. 'We must have been at least six years old,' Sam thought. 'Course, I believed him!' He chuckled in the darkness, and then quieted. They were no longer children unsure what their feelings toward one another were. They were young men, and now, after coming to realize their depth of feeling toward one another . . . they were no longer together.

He tightly closed his eyes, willing himself not to cry. Owen wouldn't cry. Owen was always so strong, so self-assured.

His penis responded to the gentle puff of breeze and to the recalled warmth of Owen's body, lying next to him on the grass. They'd spent many warm nights at one another's side in this meadow, Owen holding him close, his arm draped over Sam's chest.

The thought of Owen's naked body filled his imagination. The last time they'd been together was made all the more poignant because they both knew they would be parted the following morning. He'd tried to memorize everything he could about that night, while feeling Owen's warmth, but time ran out. He compressed his lips. 'No,' he thought. 'Time continued on, oblivious to his wishes; but his time with Owen, at least until some indefinite future, ended on that night, lying on the grass, surrounded by the heady smell of the night blooming flowers. Yes,' he thought to himself, recalling Owen's weight on top of him, the feeling of his friend's tongue in his mouth, and erection penetrating his hole. 'Time went on, just like Owen, leaving me behind, and feeling abandoned.'

Sam heaved a sigh, disgusted with himself. 'Dad is right. I've got to pull myself together and get on with my life. I can't mope around like this for the next four years. Owen's done what's best for him. I have to do what's best for me.' With this realization, it seemed as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. 'Tomorrow, I'm gonna see Doc Johnson. Together, we can figure out what sort of future I should aim for.'

His eyes stared unseeingly into the night. 'Owen'll be back. We'll be together.'

He yawned. The air was soft with warmth, the thick grass smelled of new-mown hay, and the fireflies wove dizzying patterns overhead, vying with the stars for attention. Dreams began to waft through his mind.

'If only . . .'

He slept.

He could hear Owen's voice, urging him to hold onto his hand and not worry about falling back into the river. He seemed to always be wet . . . always being rescued by Owen, the boy who had his hand in a vice-like grip.

"C'mon skinny," Owen laughed. "Put some muscle into it!" He pulled at the same time Sam found firm footing, bent his knees and pushed off. He laughed at Owen's surprised look, and then landed on top of his friend with a wet squish.

Owen responded to being knocked onto his back with a startled expelled puff of breath. "Ouff!" A moment later he realized he was both wet and muddy.

"Ewww," he teased. "Now, I'm all wet, too." He laughed at Sam's expression. He was as surprised at landing on top of Owen as much as his friend.

Sam began to roll off.

"Don't," Owen murmured, wrapping his arms around Sam and holding tightly. The two boys stared into the other's eyes, feeling each breath the other took. Owen's grey eyes no longer sparkled with mischief. His pale skin was flushed, and surprisingly Sam could feel Owen's penis thicken beneath him. He blinked at Owen, unsure of his emotions.

The moments ticked on and neither boy moved.

"I love you, Sam," Owen murmured, tearing his eyes away from Sam's. "I just now realized how much." He returned to Sam's brown eyes and tried not to grin at his friend's muddy, wet-dog appearance. A drop of water dripped off of Sam's chin, landing on Owen's neck. He could feel the small drop make a trail down his neck until it was finally absorbed by the collar of his shirt. "Don't hate me for how I feel, please. I can't help it."

"Shhh." The corners of Sam's lips tweaked into the barest hint of a smile a moment before he relaxed and touched Owen's lips with his own, for the first time.

'This is what I've always wanted,' Sam sighed to himself, as he parted his lips and welcomed Owen's tongue. 'I never knew what it was I needed.' He felt a tremor course through his body. 'Now, I know.'

"There's something I have to do," Owen murmured, loosening his embrace and gently moving Sam off him, rolling him onto his back. Owen got on his knees and hurriedly stripped off his shirt, and unzipped his shorts, pushing them along with his underwear down to his knees, and then kicking them off, kneeling next to Sam, his young erection bobbing in front of him.

Sam watched wide-eyed as Owen reached out and began to unfasten the buttons of his sodden shirt, exposing his smooth chest. "Oooh," Owen cooed as he leaned forward and began nibbling on one of Sam's nipples. "You're even better'n I imagined." He helped Sam struggle out of his shirt and then reached for the zipper of Sam's muddy shorts.

By now, both boys were trembling with anticipation. They were letting instinct carry them forward. Neither had ever been with anyone else.

Sam raised his hips as Owen tugged his shorts off and threw them aside. "Oh, Sam," Owen whispered, leaning close to Sam's ear. "You are so handsome."

"I look like somethin' muddy, the cat drug in," Sam chuckled. "Don't try to fool me." Owen smiled and tenderly caressed Sam's throbbing erection.

"I think you look perfect." He ran his hand down the length of Sam's erection, pausing at its base. "Just perfect." Owen seemed to concentrate on Sam's cock. "I love it that you don't have much hair," he murmured. "Just like my dreams of you."

"Really?" Sam managed, trying to raise his head and look toward his groin. "I . . ." The words trailed off.

"I love it," Owen murmured, beginning to work his way over Sam's chest and belly, heading for his friend's erection. "Truly."

Sam watched, amazed, as Owen seemed to examine his erection and then slowly covered its head with his mouth. "Oh geez," he sighed, laying back and surrendering himself to the new sensations. "Oh geez. . ."

The warmth of Owen's mouth surrounded his erection while his fingers gently pulled on his scrotum.

"Ohhhh, Owen," he sighed, reaching out to his sides and grasping at the thick blades of grass. His eyes widened as a tingling sensation spread from his prostate outward.

"I . . ." He gasped for a breath. "I'm gonna shoot, Owen," he managed to choke out, a moment before his orgasm overtook him. He arched his back, thrusting himself deeper into Owen's mouth, and pulsed his sperm into his friend's mouth. Owen had made a slight choking sound, but had swallowed it all.

The night sounds abruptly quieted as Sam shouted out in his dream, and then slowly resumed when he seemed to drift into a dreamless sleep.

Above him, the fireflies flickered and danced above his closed eyes, and the upward turn of his lips.

~ to be continued ~

Thank you for taking the time to read my work. I always welcome your email and enjoy hearing your thoughts. If you would like me to send you a pic of the character(s), please ask.

My other stories on Nifty include: Phalen (located in the Gay College Section) Phalen - Finding Happiness (Gay College Section) Chris (Gay College Section) Leith (Gay College Section) Owen (Gay College Section Wesley (Adult Relationships Section) Jess (Soon to be in the Gay Incest Section)

I hope you enjoy them all.

Roy Reinikainen roynm@mac.com