Powell and Me

Here it is! The long-awaited sequel to "Powell and Me." I found it tucked away on my computer. Not a lot of sex, but ...

This is a work of fiction. It includes scenes of sex between boys. No resemblance to persons living or dead is intended. If you are underage, or if possession of this text is illegal in your area, leave now. Some of the activities

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Powell and Me, part 2

Everybody was shook up about the lockdown at school. You have drills and stuff, and you think you know exactly what to do, but then it happens, and...nothing happens like it's supposed to. Inside yourself, at least. It's scary. Not Halloween scary or even tough-guys-going-to-beat-you-up scary, but deeper. Way deeper. So deep, in fact, that they had an all-school assembly with this doctor to tell us all we'd done a good job and if it happened again and we did the same things, everything would be all right. But it wouldn't! I mean, nothing happens exactly the same way twice! Like sure, I'm going to charge at the next bully I run into and tell him I'm gay and he's hot, which is what I did when I got stuck in a prep room with Powell during the lockdown.

The thing is, Powell is hot--like porn photo hot. But those photos are only one-sixtieth of a second of a guy's life--maybe less--so there's almost no way that picture will tell you anything real about the guy. That's the difference between Powell and Mike Silvers. Mike and I met when we did this thing for History class about great presidents and why they were great. Like Washington was great because he was the first president and he didn't screw up, and Lincoln was a great president because he got America through the Civil War and got assassinated, and one of the Roosevelts got us out of the Great Depression and Truman blew up Hiroshima and ended the Second World War and Eisenhower built the freeways. We were going to talk about Kennedy and Johnson and civil rights, but we ran out of time, because we fell in love.

It's hard to explain falling in love, if you never did it. And if you did, I guess you already know. I remember the night Mike and I kissed each other--during Truman. We got to thinking about soldiers who died, with wives and kids, and how they didn't get to say goodbye or anything, and Mike started sort of crying. So I just hugged him, because it really hurt me when I saw him hurting. And he hugged me, and the next thing we knew we were rolling around on his bed and kissing each other. We both knew we were gay--I mean, we were pretty sure about ourselves, but neither one of us had said anything to anyone else until that night. And then, wham! And we both discovered that we weren't alone, and pretty quick we were rubbing our crotches together and he came! He took off his clothes to change underwear and then he kind of smiled, and said it wasn't fair that he was naked and I wasn't. So I got undressed too, and we did it again so I could cum and we could see it happen.

After that, we did it every chance we got, for a while, and then we decided we would try sucking each other's cocks--I'm not sure who's idea that was, but it didn't matter because we were both into it. It's kind of weird, having another guy's cock in your mouth, but we already French kissed, so we had each other's tongues in there. And it just tasted like skin. We weren't very good at it, at first, because of when it gets to that part of your throat where you want to puke. But Mike really wanted to go deeper into my mouth, and I felt the same way about it--and about getting deeper into him, too. So I told him to just let me hold it there until I wasn't going to puke anymore and then I took it further, and after a while that worked. And Mike did the same thing, and we got really good at giving each other blow jobs. Which is why we didn't get past Eisenhower.

After a while, I asked Mike if he knew anything about fucking a butt, so we looked at each other's buttholes and even cleaned each other up really good and touched each other's holes, which felt kind of good, but then we tried putting our fingers in each other's holes and we decided that wasn't a good idea, nothing like sucking.

And then, somehow, Mike wasn't in love with me anymore. I thought maybe it was because I suggested fucking butts, but he said that wasn't it, he just didn't want to mess around anymore. I really begged him, and he got pissed, so I begged him to at least say why, but he wouldn't, and we wound up yelling at each other in the hall between first period and second period. One of the teachers was headed toward us to send us to the office for fighting, but the lockdown happened and the teacher just grabbed Mike and ran away.

Powell said it would be better if both people fell out of love at the same time, which I think was a pretty smart thing to say.

Anyhow, I ran for the teachers' prep room, which was the nearest shelter place, and I no sooner got in there, than in comes Powell. After the terrorist attack (it turned out it wasn't a foreign guy, just some nut who wanted to make the cops kill him), I still kept my distance from Powell, but it was mostly so no one would think anything was different. He still called me "faggot," when he was with his buddies and there were no teachers around. But he eased up on banging the back of my head when he got off the school bus. One day some of his buddies got me trapped and said they were going to beat me up, but then Powell said, "Fuck it--little faggot's not even worth beating up." And Powell, like I said, didn't usually hold back like that. So I figured out that was his way of protecting me, sort of, without anyone knowing the real reason why. So I was still a faggot, and he was still a bully, as far as anyone knew.

Like I said, when I got to high school, I found out pretty quick Mike and I weren't the only gay guys. There was even a rumor that Alan Nordman, the super-jock captain of the wrestling team, was one of us, but he wasn't with anyone---at least not anyone at school. The thing about Alan was that he was easy to talk to. Maybe he got all his anger out wrestling, or something. Or maybe he was just a decent, friendly guy. There have to be some of them around, right? He knew I was gay, and it didn't make a bit of difference. He told me wrestlers got teased a lot about being gay, but they backed off when he offered to show them a few take-down moves. He offered to teach me some, but I was pretty sure it wouldn't help.

Anyhow, about Powell. Like I said, there was this little bit of him I'd seen in the prep room during the terrorist alert, like a stray cat, maybe. Cats are dangerous, with their claws and all, but they also can look at you like they want to be friends, or something. That was the Powell I saw in the prep room, for just a second. And I realized I wanted to see more of that, which was like saying I wanted to pet a cat that really, really didn't want to be touched.

I wanted Alan Nordman because everybody wanted Alan Nordman, and I wanted Mike Silvers because I missed the fun we'd had, and I wanted Powell--and that scared the shit out of me.

And then, one day, I was sitting on the bus, stuck in an aisle seat, and we came to Powell's stop and I braced myself for him to hit the back of my head, and he did, but he also dropped a piece of paper in my lap. At first, I thought it was used chewing gum, but it was too flat, so I unfolded it and it said, "Eddie-- get off the bus when I get off. I want to talk to you." Well, it was too late to do that by the time I got the note unfolded and read, of course, but maybe he'd known that and wanted me to do it tomorrow.

I didn't know what to do. I mean, a little part of me was excited, but the biggest part of me was saying I was an idiot and that he wanted to kill me, or something. Then, I got to thinking, if he really wanted to kill me, or anything like that, all he'd have to do is tell his buddies and I'd be toast. So maybe he really did want to talk.

I couldn't tell my folks, of course, or Mike. So I called Alan. I told him about the note, without saying who I got it from, and I asked him pretty much straight out if he knew about anyone at school who ambushed gay kids and beat them up, or something. Alan said he never heard of anyone doing shit like that. So then I made him swear not to tell anybody, and I told him a little about me and Powell in the prep room and all. Alan got kind of quiet for a few seconds, and just when I was going to ask if he was still on the phone, he said "Sometimes, a guy needs to talk to someone about shit--maybe he chose you. I mean, it seems like you guys got pretty tight, that day."

"Yeah, but this is way tighter than I thought."

"What if...what if you're the only guy Powell knows that he can talk to, about...some shit."

"You mean, like sex stuff? Like he wants me to...you know?"

"How about you tell Powell you want to talk to him someplace sort of public--there must be a fast food place or a coffee place or something. And I'll be there, out of sight."

That fit right with the little part that was excited, so before I could have any second thoughts, I agreed. After school the next day, I got off the bus at Powell's stop, and Alan got off with the other kids. I looked around, and saw Powell a few seconds later, but before I could say anything he said "Follow me," and he walked across the street to the branch library! That had to be the safest place ever, I thought, so I followed him and he led me to a table at the far end of the Math and Science section, squeezed into this little space where nobody could see us.

"You doing okay?" Powell asked.

"Yeah. I mean, I'm having some trouble in math, but--"

"'Cause I was just wondering, you know. Nobody's messing with you?"

"Not really."

"My guys aren't messing with you, are they?"

"No. I mean, they call me faggot and stuff, but they don't hit me, or anything like that."

"Good. I sort of told them to leave you alone."

"That I wasn't worth hassling. I heard."

"Hey--long as it worked."

"Yeah. Thanks."

"So...Anyway, I wanted to ask you something."

"Okay."

Powell looked up at the ceiling, and behind him, and kind of squirmed in the chair like he had to pee, or something.

I smiled. "My dad says when you want to say something that's hard to say the best thing is just to say it, and you can always explain after. He says it's like pushing a car: the hard part is just starting."

"Your dad sounds smart."

"Well, I'm not sure he's smart about everything, but he knows some stuff." Powell looked at the ceiling again, and went back to squirming, so I leaned forward and said, "Just start pushing."

Powell leaned toward me and his voice dropped to a whisper and he said, real fast, "How did you know you were...you know?"

"Gay, you mean?" I whispered back, and then didn't breathe.

Powell nodded. His eyes were shut really tight.

"Sixth grade. Summer camp after sixth grade," I said, very carefully.

"You just sort of woke up and knew, or what?"

"All the guys in my cabin...somebody had this dirty magazine with naked girls and the guys were all excited, and I..." It was my turn to squirm in my chair. I mean, I knew I wasn't turned on to the pictures, but I never actually said it out loud to anyone before. So I took a deep breath, and I pushed. "I saw the other guys were hard and then I started to get hard and I wasn't looking at the pictures and I started to think about the swimming instruc...tor." I forced myself to look at Powell. "But it wasn't like I just knew 'Oh! I'm gay!' But I started to notice stuff. About myself. About people I liked--not just guys I knew, but like guys in movies and stuff. And...I realized I wasn't like the other guys, and...I just started putting pieces together."

"But...I mean, say there's this guy who isn't queer, like he's not all skinny and pretty and femmy or any of that--"

"You don't have to be like that to be gay! A guy could be as mannish as you are and--" I froze. My dad told me once that my big mouth was going get me killed, one day--not really killed, probably, but--

"So...if a guy, just a regular guy, a guy guy--is there some kind of a test, or something?"

"There is." Powell and I both jumped about a foot, and Alan came around the end of the bookshelf.

"What the fuck?" Powell charged right over the table and went for Alan. I jumped out of my seat and ducked behind a bookshelf, then peeked over the tops of some books and watched the two of them go at it. Powell was strong, and he wasn't playing by any rules like in a wrestling match. But Alan was really fast, and when he finally got in close, he had the advantage. They were tangled on the floor when a librarian appeared.

"Stop that right now, you two! I've called Security!"

For a few seconds, it looked like neither of them had heard her. Then Alan rolled free and Powell just lay there, dazed, I guess.

"It's all right, Ma'am," Alan said, standing up and brushing himself off. He reached out his hand to help Powell get up, but Powell ignored it. "Just a little misunderstanding. We'll leave quietly."

"You wait right here until Security gets here!" And like magic, the Security guy appeared. "Get those two out of here!" the librarian said. Then, she saw me. "Are you all right, young man?"

Apparently, in her eyes there was no way I could have been part of the brawl. She was right, of course, but it still hurt, somehow. "I'm fine," I smiled. I turned to the Security guard. "They're best friends, Officer. But they both like the same...person, and things got a little heated."

The Security guard sighed. "Boys," he muttered, as if he wasn't one. "On your feet! Let's go. Move it!" He more or less herded Powell and Alan toward the exit. The librarian and I followed. After we got out of the bookshelves, she gave me a suspicious look and went back to her desk, and I followed the guys and the Security guard out of the building.

"You two start anything on library property--or the street--and I call the cops, understand, boys?"

"Yessir," Alan and Powell both answered, and we all started slowly down the street, very quietly.

"Why you spyin' on us?" Powell snapped.

"Watching out for my man Eddie," Alan said.

"You his boyfriend, or what?"

"Could say that," Alan said.

"You Mike?" Powell turned to me. "Is this that Mike guy?"

"I'm Alan."

"Shit, man," Powell said, staring at me. "How many fucking boyfriends do you got?"

Alan broke out laughing. "Dozens," he announced. "Eddie's got dozens of boyfriends, all fighting over him!"

"Geez, Alan," I protested. Then I saw the look on Powell's face, and I started laughing, too.

Powell looked at the two of us, jaw clenched. "Fuck you guys," he said, turning away.

"Wait!" I said. "Powell! Wait! We're just messing with you!" And as soon as I said that, my jaw dropped. Literally. I was messing? With Powell!? Death wish?

"Fuck you guys," Powell repeated.

Alan pointed back toward the library. The security guard was still in the doorway, watching us. "You know, maybe it would be easier if you just told us--or Eddie, at least--what's going on," Alan said. "How about we swear nobody will ever hear?"

"Hear what?" I asked.

"I'm thinking Powell's--knows somebody, maybe, who's afraid they may be gay. Or something like that. A closet case," Alan said, then turned to Powell. "A closet case is--"

"A fag that nobody knows is a fag. I know that," Powell interrupted.

Alan just nodded.

"So," I said, "do you know some guy you think might be--"

"Yeah!" Powell said. "It's like he'd be fucked up if anyone knew, like all his friends and his folks and all and everybody's just...they'd beat the shit out of him, you know? Maybe try to kill him, even!"

"That's so fucked," Alan said. "What the hell is wrong with loving somebody? Whose business is it?"

"Everybody's, it seems," Powell muttered.

We walked a little further, and then Powell looked at Alan and said, "When did you know?"

"I think I always knew," Alan said. "I mean, I didn't why or what to do, but I always was into other boys, and looking for excuses to wrestle with them." He chuckled. "That's how I got so good at it."

"I knew you wrestling guys were queer."

"Huh-uh, Powell. Most of us aren't. That's the toughest part, for me. Rolling around with other guys, half-naked, and I can't say anything about how I feel."

"So you're one of those closet guys?"

Alan sighed. "Yeah. I guess I am. I mean, a few people know--like Eddie."

"Do you guys--"

"No," Alan and I said at the same time.

"I'd like to, though," I added.

"I think we're getting off the subject, here," Alan said.

We stood there, looking at each other for a few seconds.

"There's a pizza-by-the-slice place a block over," Powell offered. "But I never go there."

"Perfect," Alan said. "Lead the way, and I'll buy."

Alan bought us slices and drinks, and we found a table where we could talk. One taste of the pizza, and I knew why Powell didn't go here. We focused on our drinks.

Powell sucked down half of his Coke, looking at us. "What questions do they ask to find out if you're a queer?"

Alan frowned. "Who? I mean, who's asking?"

"Say maybe cops, or a doctor or someone," Powell answered.

"What does cum taste like?" Alan said.

"What do you think about when you jack off?" I said.

"What's the hardest part about sucking cock?" Alan said.

"The cock!" I replied, laughing.

"Guys," Powell said, looking around to be sure nobody could have heard. "Help me out here, or get the fuck away from me!"

"There is one foolproof way to find out if you're gay," Alan said, leaning toward Powell.

"Don't you touch me!"

"Why not?"

"Because I'm not queer!"

"What about when we were in the library, wrestling?"

"That was a fight, dammit!"

"You got hard."

Powell's eyes went wide. "Yeah," he said uncertainly. "Well, so did you."

"You got hard?" I said, astonished.

"Yeah, but it doesn't mean anything," Powell protested, sounding a little bit desperate.

Alan smiled. "It happens with wrestlers--they talk about it in training, about how it's just the body contact."

"That how you get away with it?" I asked.

Alan nodded. "Pretty much. Like I said, it's not easy."

Powell looked at each of us. "How would I know? I mean, if I was like you guys?"

"You jack off?" Alan asked.

"Of course! But everyone jacks off!"

"What do you think about?"

"Just...like, bodies, sometimes. Naked bodies, like everybody else."

"Naked boys' bodies?"

"Fuck no!" Powell snapped, then dropped his voice to a whisper. "If I--if somebody did, would that mean...you know?"

Alan and I just waited, looking at him.

"It's...this guy I know..." Powell looked at each of us, hoping we'd say something. But we just sat, looking at him. Waiting. At last, he dropped his eyes and spoke to the tabletop. "Started when I was nine, about. This Captain Man guy, on TV."

"Henry Danger was way hotter," I said, then blushed.

"Captain Man was built! Henry was just a kid like me!" Powell snapped.

And then we both looked at each other. "Now, we blow bubbles. And fight crime!" we said, quoting the show's catch phrase. Then we started laughing. Powell's face changed completely when he laughed, and right then I wished he could always look like that, so...happy.

But then, his face resumed its normal, dangerous look. "But I never did anything queer!"

"You mean, like touching another guy, or another guy touching you?" Alan prompted.

Powell nodded, vigorously. "Yeah, like that."

"Why not?" Alan asked.

"Why do you think? They would have beat the shit out of me!"

"Who?" I asked.

"Everyone," Powell said. "Who do you--"

Astonishment must have been painted all over my face. "Everyone in school is scared shitless of you!"

"A guy's got to protect his reputation, though!"

"But if it's not who he really is," I protested. "If you were gay, it wouldn't matter: you could still handle anyone who--"

Alan signaled me to stop talking. "You're stuck," he said to Powell, very gently. "A guy who can't be who he is, a guy who has to, like wear a mask all the time--"

"Like you?" Powell challenged.

"Not exactly. I just--I mean, nobody knows, and I just keep my...it's different with me!" Now Alan's voice had that desperate sound.

"How?" I asked. "Because nobody at school turns you on? Because you're seeing--are you seeing somebody outside of school?"

Alan blushed. "I'll graduate in the spring, and then I can...It won't matter who knows."

"But it matters now!" Powell snapped. "So you're stuck, just like--anyone else!"

"Well, at least there's someone I can talk to, someone I don't have hide it from, or anything. If it wasn't for...him...I'd explode, or something! You've got to have somebody you don't have to hide from!"

"You don't know what it's like," Powell said, urgently and terrified. "Seeing guys--hot guys all over the place and not--like Kurt! The blonde guy with all the zits?"

"Yeah." I nodded my head. "Wears those black shirts every day."

"I hang with Kurt sometimes. You should see his cock!" Powell tried to save himself. "I see it when we piss, is all. Fucker's huge!" He took another swallow of Coke. "And he moves like a cat, sometimes, real quiet and soft, and then bam! And his hair is so..." Powell stopped and looked at us, our eyes riveted on him, and he dropped his gaze to the table. "He's hot," he finished, quietly.

"Anthony Garza," Alan said. "We used to wrestle, until I moved into the next weight class. I tried not to, even tried not eating, but...Tony had these brown eyes you could almost swim in, and this real short hair that tickled me. Tickled everyone, probably, but me especially. He knew it. He won matches that way, sometimes. And a dick--it was kind of short, but the damn thing was--you'd swear he had a steel pipe under his singlet, it was so hard. I never wanted anyone so much! For two fucking years! Fuck, I still do!" he confessed.

I nodded. "Mike--Mike Silvers was so...it was like whatever part of my body he touched just...tingled, sort of. He was a good kisser, and...never mind."

"Huh?" Powell challenged. " We're spilling our guts, here, and you just say, 'never mind?' No way, kid!"

I nodded, swallowed, and confessed. "I loved the way he smelled."

"His cologne?" Alan asked.

"Um...no. His...his pits."

"Eeew! Said Alan.

"Gross, man," said Powell. "Really?"

"Yeah. I know it's gross. Usually, I mean. But there was something I couldn't...never mind."

"Garza's neck. I think it was his hair goop, though."

"He used hair goop on a buzz cut?" Powell frowned. Alan blushed again. We were quiet for a few seconds, slurping our drinks.

"How do you..." Powell looked around to see if anyone was there, then leaned toward us. "If somebody's hot, and you want to...how do you ask them without getting your teeth knocked out?"

"You mean, if you don't already know they're gay?" I said. "It's tricky. I mean, Mike and me, we didn't ask. It just sort of happened."

"First time, there were four of us, at this wrestling meet," Alan said. "And the night before we left, we had a jack-off contest, and there was one kid, Tyree, and we kept looking at each other, and...one thing led to another. We had different ways of doing it: I did these real fast up and down moves, and he had this thing where he'd use two hands from the tip right down to the base, over and over. So we decided to try our 'techniques' on each other, and then--like I said, one thing led to another."

"Yeah, but you can't pull that shit when you're older and everybody knows what's going on. They'd flatten you!" Powell snapped.

"You keep saying that," Alan frowned. "But nobody takes you on, do they? You're scary. You scared me, in the library back there."

"Yeah, but it's different if it's just you and some guy and you're supposed to like each other, or at least you like him."

"You could just say that," I offered. "You could just say, 'I like you.' Like that." I leaned to Powell and looked straight at him. "I like you," I said, softly.

"I like you, too," Powell answered, like he was in some kind of daze. "You're kind of brave and geeky at the same time. I never met anyone like that before. Like you."

"I think I should be leaving," Alan said. Or something like that. I wasn't really paying attention.