Disclaimer: The story below may contain erotic situations between consenting male adults. I urge you to stop if you find this offensive. Ditto for those breaking any laws by reading it.
The story is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of my imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons is entirely coincidental. No part of the story may be used or reproduced without my permission.
Shout out to those who bothered to email and told me their interest in the story. It certainly motivated me to try harder in part 2. Thanks. Your comments were invaluable.
The Writer Part 2
I haven't written a story before. I don't know if admitting it is a good idea to start one. But there's no going back for me. The backspace key doesn't work. No worries though. Shakespeare did fine with a typewriter. I'm sure I can deal with this ghetto PC.
"Hey John," I called out to my roommate across the room, "If you write a story, how you start?"
He scratched his head, "You writing a story?"
"Yup," My pen hovered over a pad, "I was thinking 'once upon a time dot dot dot.'"
"Can you be quiet for a sec?" John stood still studying his desk. Then he grabbed a pamphlet from a file of papers and stuffed it in his obese bag.
"John... Hello? Any ideas?"
"Try - The sun rose above the mountains spreading crimson color in the sky."
"What was that?" I started scribbling, "The sunflower in the mountains spread across the crimson tide... in the sky?"
John made a face, which I can translate to "Haha. I'd like to laugh, but it's not funny right now. But I don't want you to think it's not funny. You know, I'm a big fan of your sense of humor and this old shtick we do."
"I have to go," he smacked his gym bag and hung another bag over his shoulders, "Got wrestling practice and then off to the library to study my ass off." He paused and braced for my comeback line.
Must come up with a funny response. Good luck studying your ass? Too gay. Opps - time's up!
"Later, Scott," he smiled and left me.
John is my bestest bud. Got mad respect for him. He's an average wrestler but he is super smart. I want some of his intelligence to rub off on me. His name resides permanently in the Dean's List. I don't even bother asking his GPA. He's horribly embarassed by it. By the way, it was he who told me the library's location.
"It's the tallest building in the campus!" It only took him seven words with extra rolls on both eyes.
I do brag about that one time I beat him in spelling bee. He misspelled the word "deliberate" and everyone gasped. I felt so sorry for him. The genius had disappointed practically everyone. That's tough. However, I ended up winning and it couldn't happen at a better time since my dog died two days before.
When John congratulated me, he barely said a word but his smile told me everything. We found out what it felt to be in each other's places. Since then, we've been tight. He can easily get an A+ in Scott 101, but he doesn't know about my ... you know. There are tough prerequisites involved before I can tell him about it.
I haven't seen Anthony since the window display. I do regret taking off. It was free after all. I looked him up in chat rooms, checked the library after Macro ... not there. Instead, I saw a bunch of bookworms putting their filthy shoes atop our table. I nearly had a heartattack.
At nights, I address my thoughts to him, asking for an answer or a sign, at least, as to why he is not showing up in my life. I want a reason for my existence. It's driving me nuts. He must know I think of him all the time. He's surely aware that it's killing me. If this is not pure evil, then I don't know what is. He's probably out there in the real world, doing his own thing. Possibly paying more attention to a more deserving character in another story. What does he want with me? I've got a dick for a brain.
I think I'm still worth something. The dick might command me but the last time I checked I still got a brain. I'm going to write me a story. (That's why I was asking John for help). At least, I assure you, this one wouldn't suck like the first one. I'll be one of those guys who makes a fist in the air and think something strong like - A guy with super powers of mind-reading, invisibility, and above all, boyish good looks, is NOT going to be the end of me!!!
Don't fidget in your seat. You're in good hands of an amateur. Honestly now, tell me how you can carry on without me. I AM the story. What if Anthony wrote the last one? What if he can read my mind? Shit, I can read, write, AND own my mind. It's more economical if the story came straight from its source.
I know I can do this. Don't be underestimating. I've got ideas waiting to burst. Got my Red Bull with me. Usher is playing on Winamp. (Should I listen to Picasso instead?) I just need a ... story. (Pssst story! That's your cue).
Toc. Toc. Toc.
A gentle tapping on the door caused my head to rotate, disrupting my parked train of thought.
"Coming," said I as I ventured towards the door. I rubbed my chin and pondered as to who might be interrupting me at this hour of importance. I longed for my dear sweet Anthony to materialize behind the portal. I straightened my posture and elegantly swung the door open like a well-mannered gent.
Well, fuck me! It's the gorgeous guy from the library aka Black Shirt and he don't def'ny deserve mah fancee tawk. I almost didn't recognize him with a red T-shirt with white stripes and a blue Tommy Hilfigger jacket.
"Hello. You're Scott Burke?" I detected a slight accent that is both sincere and sexy, but I must keep telling myself he's a piece of shit. He is still the villain, if I plan to keep my hero status.
"Yeah. Who are you?" I got my tough-guy-Sopranos attitude down. I can't keep referring to him as Black Shirt anyway and no way in hell I'd call him White Stripes.
"Mathieu. I'm looking..."
"Matthew?"
"Mathieu. M-A-T-H-I-E-U."
"Ah," You don't fucking spell out your name to a spelling champ but I smiled anyway, "Mathieu. Gotcha."
"Good. I'm looking for somebody. I think his name is Anthony."
"Uhm - what is this about?"
"So you do know him?"
The dude answers a question with a question. I cleared my throat, "What is this about?"
"Perhaps this might look familiar," he takes out Anthony's notebook from his bag. I simply stood there and stared at it.
"Isn't it yours?" I didn't realize he was handing it to me.
"No - " Shoot, those are my words, "It is mine. Thanks." I instantly flipped to the last page. The last line remained the same:
But then he slowed down when my mind began to draw blank.
"That's how I found you. I read the story even though it's not done. It's good so far. I'd like to know what came after."
"You don't want to know," I glared him at the thought of the ending. He stared back scared.
"Come in," I told him on a friendly note, but when I closed the door behind him, I went for the kill, "You must have stalked a lot of guys. There are a lot of Scotts around."
"Yes, but um - I know somebody in your Macro class and I know James."
"James..." Van Der Beek? Gandolfini? Earl Jones? Town?
"He's in the wrestling team."
"Oh Jimbo!"
"Uh sure - that's him," he said with doubt, "So you know where Anthony is at?"
Ah, I see he is getting straight to the point. What, no friendly chitchat?
"How did you get the notebook?" How about that question for a question!
"Anthony left it behind when he took off," he cleared his throat, "Look, if you don't know where he is, just tell me. You got your notebook back. All I ask for..."
"How was it when you fucked him?" I can go straight to the point too.
"Uh - you two boyfriends?" he was backing away, approaching the door, "Look, I didn't know that. He came on to me."
"Just tell me everything and I'll tell you where he is."
"I - uhm - I... No, it's okay."
"Pretty please, with sugar on top. You want me to suck your cock?" I had cornered him and I was ready to shove.
"All right! We kissed a lot. He pulled away and made me chase him. I thought we were playing a game. We stopped by a window. I started unbuttoning his shirt and you know ... we ... you know."
"No, I don't."
His sneaky hand tried to pull the doorknob but my hand leaned and closed the gaping door.
"We didn't do it, I swear. I wanted to, but he was scared. So I promised him I wouldn't put it in but I requested that we, at least, uhm - what's the word - simulate the movement."
What a nervous wreck, and my gut told me to believe him, "So you made the most out of playing his nipples and devouring his neck?"
Mathieu's eyes were open wide, "Yes. He told you?"
"How did it end?"
"He saw a kid ran over on the parking lot. He pushed me, pulled his pants up, and ran away."
With both arms, I grabbed his head and gave him a long and very wet kiss. I was so happy. Silly Anthony. Always running away.
He looked stunned and happy, "You're wel...come." I think he has a crush on me.
"Aight. My turn to tell the truth," I said quickly, "I have no darn clue where he is."
"Oh," he didn't even look upset. Smile was frozen on his face and then it melted, "I might have an idea where he is."
Ding! I had an idea too.
"Don't say it. Don't say it." I shoved my hand on his mouth. I couldn't hear myself think. But maybe that's good.
"Take me to him ... mais nous serons trŠs silencieux. Vous conduisez et je fermerai mes yeux. Je sais c'est ‚trange, mais vous devez me fier. Hocher si vous consentez," I am not even sure if I'm butchering the language. My apologies to the French.
His eyebrows were suspended in discomfort. Was he trying to understand my babbling or he thinks I'm a weirdo? Nevertheless, he nodded, "But on one condition... je vous regarde et lui."
He winked.
"Uh... deal!" What the hell did I agree to? Now, he's calling the shots.
"Follow me," Mathieu led the way to his car. It was getting dark. The sun was drowning in the sky's crimson tide. (Daymn - John would have been proud of me with that sentence). Nobody was around in the parking lot. Mathieu had parked near the woods, where the university may afford to put a lamppost but can't afford a functioning light bulb with it.
I sat on the back seat but Mathieu tried to lay me down. I kept telling him my legs wouldn't fit unless the car doors were open. He rolled his eyes and sat on the driver's seat. He started the car, set the radio station to smooth jazz and took out a tie, which I recognized to be Anthony's, from the glove compartment. He then joined me in the back and told me he likes it when the car vibrates a little. The silky tie slithered around his neck and eventually found itself wrapped around my eyes. Mathieu told me to relax. I told him that I'd beat the shit out of him if he does something funny. I hoped nothing dramatic either.
He lifted my shirt. After that, I felt fingertips touching my body... very very lightly. Then the touch upgraded to caresses ... massaging hands ... relaxing the chest and abs. It felt ... aaaaahhh. Why do I even waste my energy describing this in words? Smart John would not even bother. In seven words, he will get it right. "You have to feel this for yourself."
Mathieu's cool tongue descended on my nipple. I cringed at first, but I was seduced eventually. Wet circles. The warmth of his breath. Then his vacuum of a mouth. What an accomplished sucker he is... made me wonder at what age did Mathieu's mom stopped breastfeeding him. He seemed to have years of experience.
"You have to feel this for yourself," said the nipple to the cock.
Blood emptied from my head and rushed to my cock standing erect. The less I make sense, the more I talk like a penis. My pants were unzipped and wala - invisible underwear, the same ones porn stars wear.
Lickity-lick-lick-lick.
Wet rings atop my dick.
I moaned and groaned.
I twitched and kicked.
Mathieu, you blow.
Don't you let go!
"Ahhh," Mathieu expressed as if he had gulped a refreshing soda. I started to swallow. I was thirsty myself. From the AC vent, I felt a cool breeze surrround my cock. I guess that's refreshing too. Then the engine died and the music stopped.
"Let's go," Mathieu nudged me to get out of the car. I removed the tie and blinked in darkness. I got out of my car and followed Mathieu, who already began walking. What the -
"Quick, it's getting late. He might not be there anymore," he said. Fuck - am I not allowed to have orgasm anymore? Why does this keep happening to me? I'm a good person. This is surreal d‚j... vu... with a French guy! Oh this is just grrrreat!
We arrived at the tallest building in the campus. A weird ammonia smell attacked my nostrils. Mathieu approached the lady on the front desk. I couldn't hear what they were saying, but the lady checked her chart and pointed the way towards the elevator.
"Hurry," Mathieu was walking fast. We dived into the elevator before it closed. A couple of guys in white coats gave us a look. Mathieu and I flashed them goofy grins and jumped out the moment the doors opened on the third floor.
Third floor. North wing. Haven't we been here before? We passed by the familiar rows of bookcases. I am beginning to doubt Mathieu at this point. If Anthony were to hide from me, then he certainly wouldn't be here. Even if he were, he would have left by now because he'll know I'm coming.
When we reached the wall, I couldn't believe my eyes. It's the sight of Anthony sitting on a chair. His eyes were closed and his hand upon a bulge in his pants. Something jolted him awake and was stunned to see Mathieu and me in the same room.
Anthony looked down at the sleeping patient in front of him, to make sure it's not a table. His eyes quickly scanned the room to assure himself he was still inside a hospital, not the campus library. He looked at me bewildered and I winked back.
Gotcha.
His adorable face was eaten by shock. He opened his mouth but sounds are too frightened to come out. He only managed to rise from his seat and my head told me to run. I just pulled a big one and I knew he'd want to know how I managed to track him down.
"Wait. Scott," he finally cried out.
I ran towards the end of the corridor, dodging wheelchairs and oh yeah, sick people. I wanted him to feel "it." I wanted him to feel what it's like to be left behind. I wanted him to run with a mind freshly bashed. Let him wonder and wander in this hospital, like the way I did in the library. To read about it is not even close to experiencing it. How do you like it, Anthony? Seven words, man. You have to feel it for yourself.
I opened the side door and rolled down the stairs. Seconds later, I saw Anthony burst out the same door and I caught him. He didn't realize I didn't actually go down the stairs. I was waiting behind the door. His eyes were hysterical. His arms were shaking.
"I-I thought you've r-rolled the down t-the stairs. You tricked me!" he said and embraced me.
"Hey, it's okay," I tried to calm him down, "I won't really leave you. I'm not as mean as you."
He shoved my shoulders in playful contempt. I chuckled so he knew there were no hard feelings and to release us from the tension built. He smiled back, the same smile I saw on John's face when I won the spelling bee. Yeah, I guess, Anthony and I did swapped places too.
"I should have known you were up to something. You were speaking French. What the hell did you tell him?"
"Uh..." I wanted to laugh, "Take me to him, but we will be quiet. You drive and I will close my eyes. I know it's weird, but you've got to trust me. Nod if you agree... Well, I don't know if I really said that in French but you get the idea."
"Oh shit," Anthony was beginning to understand, "Close your eyes? Be quiet? You were daydreaming. You fed me thoughts of lies while you hid the reality that Mathieu was driving you to me."
"Can a figment of imagination HAVE a figment of imagination?" I said sarcastically.
"So Mathieu didn't really blow you, right?" He begged for some piece of mind.
"Uh," I liked the feeling that he's jealous, "Did you hear me rhyme? That should've given it away!"
We laughed our toned asses off.
"You're fucking brilliant," he gave me a big kiss in the mouth and then he froze, "What was the one condition?"
"You won't believe this," I scratched my head and then whispered in his ear, "I promise he can watch us... play?"
Anthony faked a laugh, mismatched by his worried face.
"I don't care about that, really," I told him, "I won't force you into anything. I am just glad I have you back. I really am. Tell me we're okay."
He smirked, took my left hand, and pulled me back to the corridor.
"I was so pissed when you ran the freshman over. That was just wrong!" he cried as we headed back, "I felt responsible. I wanted to punish you. You just don't hurt someone because he's simply a character."
"Oh, like the way you hurt me!" It was supposed to sound funny but it hit him in the gut.
He squeezed my hand hard, "Wow. You're on a roll, mister. I'm sorry, okay? But don't do that again. I should have not told you."
"Considering how things worked out, I'm glad you did," I opened the door and we entered the room smiling. How romantic that we shared a secret that the whole...
"I'M JUST A CHARACTER?" Mathieu yelled. He had another notebook in his hand and shock had eaten another face. Thank goodness the freshman patient was still sound asleep.
"What is he holding?" I asked Anthony in my head.
"The rest of the first story and then some."
D'oh!
... To be continued...
Questions? Thoughts? Comments? Advice? I want to know which parts of the story are in need of more explanation. That way, I can address them in the future.
Sleeper029@hotpop.com