This story contains mm situations involving hs boys. If this offends you, please leave now. This story is a work of fiction and is copyrighted by the author.
The other day, Tommy asked my how I ended becoming a runner. I wasn't sure how to respond. It's not that I don't know; I just wasn't sure how much I wanted to share. No one knows there full reason why they run, maybe not even me. I told him finally that I started running as way to stop thinking about things. When I run, all I can think about is how much my body is feeling the exertion. My whole existence is focused on putting the one foot down in front of the other as fast as possible.
When I said that, Tommy just looked at me not only like he understood what I said, but that he also understood the part I didn't say. That truth is that while I run to forget, I run really fast and really well, because all too often painful thoughts keep intruding on my run, I can't quite seem to outrun them.
Tommy. Just thinking about my little friend brings a smile to my face. Something I'm not used to doing. Guess I should explain...
I'm 15 years old, closer to 16 if the truth be told. My birthday is only 2 months from now in February. My life has pretty much sucked since Aug 8, 1995, a day that shall always live in infamy in my life.
My parents are really young. Apparently I was conceived after my parents' prom their junior year. This is the south, so there was no talk of abortion or any crap like that (which, despite my sucky life I am really grateful for!) They were both 17 when I was born, but they were married on New Years Day that year so I wouldn't be illegitimate.
My dad loved me from the moment he got his head around the fact he'd knocked up his prom date. My mom resented me for keep her from college and her desire to be brain surgeon (literally). I didn't know how much until Aug 8, 1995. We lived with my grandparents for the first years of my life. My dad dropped out of high school and worked the night shift at a local tech factory. This allowed him to be home during the day, so my mom could finish high school and then start at the local Community College. He'd get home around 6am, get breakfast for us and then take care of me until lunch. My grandma would watch me during the afternoon, so my dad could sleep, until my mom came home from school. Well, it was only supposed to be until she came home from school. Many days, she'd stay away (studying at the library, she said) until 8 or 9pm. At which time, she'd get in a fight with my dad, and then he'd have to take off for work.
Things might have gone on that way, but in 1993 the factory for which my father worked closed. A lot of people were out of a job. Thankfully my dad found another job pretty quick. The only problem was it was as a nationwide truck driver. To add salt to the wound, my grandfather, who also worked at the tech company was out of job as well. Only he was too old to find anyone to hire him locally. But he was also too young to retire. My grandparents had to move away to San Antonio for him to find a job. Since my dad drove nationally we could have followed him, but mom insisted we stay in the area. She had graduated with a Pharm tech certificate and had gotten a job at the local Walmart pharmacy. She said they had no openings in San Antonio. I think she just wanted to make life miserable for my dad.
Thing is, it backfired on her. She was now the one who had to be near home 24/7 to take care of me. Sure I was second grade at the time, so she could work during the day, but She had to make supper for me, and take care of me when I was sick. Dad would be gone for 12 days at a time; home only every other weekend.
Two years was all she lasted. My dad left Monday morning on August 7, 1995 for his twelve day run. In those 12 days, he'd head out to California, head up the cost to Washington state, head over to Colorado and then back home. Monday, everything normal. Well, better than normal. My mom was in the best mood I'd seen her in a long time. I remember she even took me out to this local pizza place that also had go karts and batting cages and put put golf. I should have known some thing was wrong.
That week I had a "day scout camp". We spent each day doing scout stuff, like shooting BBs or making wood projects or trekking through forests. I was gone from 9am to 5pm. My mom signed me up for a bunch of shit like that (not saying it was bad -- most of it was wicked fun) so she could work and not have to pay for a babysitter all day. On Tuesday, when I got home, the house was empty. Something seemed off, but I wasn't sure what. It wasn't unusual for me to beat her home, so at first I didn't think anything of it.
Then I saw it. A note to my dad. It was her writing. I couldn't figure out why she'd leave a note for dad, since he wouldn't be home for almost 2 weeks. At first I just left it there, but when mom still wasn't home after two more hours, I opened it. To this day, I wished I hadn't. That bitch wanted me to find it, but she didn't have the heart to say what she said to my face.
It was short and sweet: Nick (that's my dad), I've had it. That boy has kept me from my dreams long enough. You wanted him, you can have him. I should have had it done like I wanted, and never been saddled with either of you. Good luck on your life.
She didn't sign the note. She didn't even have the guts to do that.
About an hour later, dad called, like he does every night. I read him the letter. He was silent for about 5 minutes. He told me he loved me and that he'd call grandma. She was there by midnight. The next day, she drove me out to Arizona and met my dad along his route. I got to ride with him for the rest of the trip. I'm not sure if I can explain how that was both the worst and the best week of my life, but it was.
My dad had some vacation saved up and he took the next month off. He was a good hard worker and the company worked with him. Grandpa was having health problems, and so I wasn't able to live with them, but dad had a brother who was willing to take me in.
That's how I ended up in this town. Uncle Ken was a runner and I followed suit. I quickly learned that if you run fast enough and far enough, you could leave your problems in the dust, at least for a time. I became only the third freshman in the history of our school to make the Varsity cross country team. The next year Tommy would be the fourth.
The weekend of Oct 11, 1997 brought the Wacona Valley Invitational. The meet was in the afternoon and we had to spend the night at a local hotel. As the two underclassmen on varsity, I ended up rooming with the freshman Tommy. Tommy is a pistol. He's kind of quiet, but when you get him talking, he has the driest sense of humor of anyone I know. It cracks me up. He's also fast. I find myself focusing on him when I run. He's easy to pick out, cause he's normally the shortest runner on the field. Often, I can pace him for the first mile and half before he starts to pull away. He's told me it helps him, too. And it sure helps me. My time has dropped 30 seconds since he joined the team.
I couldn't believe it when Coach gave us the hard lemonade. Uncle Ken's let me have sips of his beer, but I never liked the taste and so never had more than the initial sip. I was amazed at how easy the lemonade went down, and then I was amazed at the explosion of warmth in my gut. The euphoria I had being feeling all day from the high of our victory to the fun from swimming was suddenly multiplied several times.
When Tommy and I started wrestling, it seriously did not dawn on me that we were naked until I pinned him and felt the hair of his light colored pubes poke my cock. I was glad he didn't make an issue of it.
I had always liked Tommy, but that night I realized how awesome he was. We talked about so many things while we watched the movie. I don't even remember what it was. We both liked sci-fi and fantasy. We both loved running. We both enjoyed camping and hiking. Looking back, I realize now one of the things I really liked about our talk, was that it wasn't centered around girls. Most conversations I have with other boys always end up talking about girls, something that I'm not comfortable with. Girls just aren't my thing. Every time I start talking to one, she makes me think of my mom and I end up making an excuse to walk away.
If you asked me before that weekend if I liked boys, I'd have stared at you strange. Boys just don't like boys. It never crossed my mind. At least not until Tommy snuggled up to me in bed that night. I was shocked at first; boys don't do that. But somehow it felt right, so when he started to pull way from me, I grabbed his wrist and pulled him in tight. When I felt his grip strengthen, I was amazed at how the butterflies in my stomach, which had suddenly appeared, made me feel more content than any time since I'd been on the road trip with my dad. I fell asleep more soundly than I had in years.
At some point in the night I work up for some reason. At first I was a little disoriented, then I remembered I was in the hotel room with Tommy. His arm was still draped over my chest. Actually, I realized his arm was more than just draped, he was hugging me quite tight. And beside that ...
I suddenly realized what woke me up, Tommy was pressed up against me full body and I could feel something pretty firm pushing against my butt crack. Oh my god, Tommy's sprung wood and he's grinding my ass.
"Tommy!", I whispered loudly as my arm seemed to jab back into his chest reflexively.
"What?", I heard Tommy mutter groggily. Suddenly his whole body went as rigid as a board and I could feel him almost spring back from me like I was a hot stove burner he had just touched.
"Oh my god, Jake, I'm sorry. I was sleeping and I ....."
Tommy sounded like he was about to cry. I felt like an incredible heel. Don't ask me why, it wasn't like I'd done anything wrong, but to hear the scared, hurt voice of Tommy at the moment wrenched my gut all to pieces.
I turned to him. We were now lying in the bed facing each other. The window was behind me, and light from the parking lot came through a crack in the drapes illuminating his face. His sandy blonde hair almost seemed to glow and his hazel eyes shined with what I think were the beginning of tears.
I suddenly knew why I had never been overly interested in girls.
He turned his head slightly so that he wouldn't be looking into my eyes. My hand moved as if on its own accord and rested on his cheek and turned his face back to look at me. I'm not sure I was even conscience of what I was about to say, but I heard "Tommy, it's OK." And I smiled.
For a long moment he resisted my hand. Then, as if a band had been snapped, his head turned back. He sniffed once, and replied with a tentative smile, "really?"
"Hey, were teen age guys, we pop wood at the slightest breeze. You were having a frisky dream. It's all cool." On the one hand, I could hear the words of assurance coming out of my mouth that would make it all go away as some clich teen age boy horn dog mistake. But all the while as I said this, my hand had been softly caressing his smooth boyish cheek.
Tommy's smile wavered back and forth. I kept my light caress going. Suddenly, his smile grew and his hand reached out and stating caressing my cheek and exploring the soft hair of my soul patch. The second his fingers touched me, electricity coursed through my body.
I giggled slightly; I do that when I'm nervous. I shifted my body on the bed so that I was closer to him. There was still about two feet between us, but I swear his body was exuding heat like a blast furnace. I had only moved about 6 inches, yet in addition to the heat, I was suddenly inundated with his smell, like a clean ocean breeze tinted with the smell of a used jock strap, which believe me I considered paradise.
My hand moved down from his face and grazed his chest. Tommy shuddered. I didn't stay long there, however and kept moving lower. I was about to shift again to get closer, when Tommy did it for me. We here now only about 1 foot apart. When my fingers grazed his belly, I could feel him trembling.
"May I?" I asked, but without waiting for a response, my hand closed the final gap and rested on his sleep shorts. I could feel him through the thin fabric. I looked down and was mesmerized by the fact that my hand was on his junk. I looked up at his face, and his eyes were closed with a blissful, yearning look.
I squeezed gently and rubbed.
Suddenly Tommy closed his eyes up tight and his face contorted in what looked like pain. Before I could register what was happening, I felt his dick throb with four sharp contractions and my hand was sticky and wet.
As quick as that, Tommy was out of bed and in the bath room. I waited for him to come out, but he just sat in there. Part of me wanted to go see if he was OK, but at the same time I wasn't sure he wanted me too.
After ten minutes, I rolled over. After another couple of minutes, I calmed my breathing and made soft snoring sounds. Five minutes after that, Tommy opened the bathroom door and climbed back in bed, staying as far to his side as possible.
Shit! What had I done?
To be continued ....
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