The Price of Friendship
by Jingjok
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WARNING: The following story contains references to sexual activity. If the laws of your jurisdiction do not permit you to view such material, please leave here at once and go where you can learn how to work to change the laws of your jurisdiction. If you are offended by such material, please seek psychiatric counseling to discuss why you are here in the first place.
On the other hand, if you simply don't care for the type of material indicated by the story codes, well, have a nice day.
gay, nosex
DISCLAIMER: The following is entirely a work of fiction.
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I raced ever upward, along the obscure, overgrown path; branches scratched my flesh. Behind me, I heard him call. I couldn't let him catch me. Couldn't face his anger.
I recalled another time. We were seven, sharing his Christmas pair of roller skates. On one wheeled foot apiece, our arms grasped the other's waist as we sped down the sidewalk, free feet hopping between us in a mad, three-legged race.
I ran on, hearing his footfalls behind me. Why had I done it? After so many years, how had I lost control? My hand had groped his trousers; I had felt him begin to firm. Then I had seen the look of shock on his face; seen the wild panic in his eyes.
Cold leaves clutched at my skin as I tried to escape. A grey cloud beneath the white sky marked my destination.
I remembered the time he had held me in his arms. An after-football dance, in our senior year. Her name was Ellen Ives. She had moved my hand to her covered breast; then she had felt my pants and gripped my softness. I had fled, running blindly around the corner of the gymnasium, almost knocking him down where he had gone to sneak a smoke. He had held me until my heart stopped pounding, and like a true friend, never demanded explanation.
All those years, now thrown away. I burst free from the bushes, onto a wide ledge just below the hilltop. Before me, the dark cloud beckoned. Almost free, I raced for the precipice.
His voice was close now. I heard him grunt, and then he caught my ankle. I fell onto the hard dirt; my fingers scrabbled for the edge. His strong hands pulled my arms to my side, and he lay heavily upon my back; his flat groin pressed against my bottom.
"Why, John?" he panted beside my cheek.
"I couldn't face your anger," I said. "I couldn't live knowing you would hate me."
"I could never hate you, John," he said. Softly, he continued, "I could never hate you. We'll be friends forever."
Friends. Forever. I willed my heart to stop, but it kept on beating. Slow now, and regular. No longer squeezing oxygen to feed my aching legs. I took a deep breath, and let it out. His sigh whispered in my ear.
My heart was calm now. Just an empty muscle, moving the blood through my body. In a moment, we would get up, and he would lead me back. We would dress my cuts, and go on as if nothing had happened.
And I would pay the price of friendship, and live another day.
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The end.