TRIALS AND TRIUMPH -- PART I
Chapter 1: SINKING INTO A PIT OF MISERY
Eric's life was disrupted when he was twelve years old. His mother moved out to live with an already married man she had met while working as a paralegal in a local law firm. The boy couldn't understand why she abandoned her husband and family. He felt she had been a good wife and mother. His father had been a good husband. Sure, there had been a few arguments between them but none of them were violent or prolonged. Why would she destroy two families: her own and that of the man she chose to live with?
Eric had to grow up fast. At his young age he had to learn to take care of himself while his father was at work. Out of loyalty to and sympathy for his father, he took it upon himself to fix dinner every weekday evening, do the laundry, and keep the house neat and clean. But that wasn't enough. Because they had to get along on one income, Eric hustled jobs mowing lawns and doing odd jobs for neighbors. His father, out of pride and concern for his son, objected to the outside work and emphasized the need to do his school homework and have fun with his friends. In the end, after the boy's repeated assurances that schoolwork would not suffer, his father stopped complaining.
Four years passed with not a single contact from his mother who had moved across the country to Oregon. That was a bigger disappointment than when she abandoned her husband and son. Sorrow turned to bitterness. It was not because he had to assume more responsibilities around the house but because he resented his mother's desertion and obvious lack of interest in him, her only child.
At sixteen, he had a part-time job in the grocery store, stocking shelves and bagging. The paycheck was meager but a significant help in the finances at home. It left little or nothing for personal spending money. That meant that he could not participate with friends in the normal activities of teens. He felt isolated but, at the same time, proud of his contribution to the household expenses.
His mother's leaving was a disruption to his life but what happened next was a disaster. His father's job was eliminated because the plant where he worked was closed and all manufacturing was transferred to Mexico. Lacking a job and money to support himself and his son, combined with the frustration of not finding another job. It drew the man into the dark depths of despondency. Regrettably and tragically, the only relief he found from his agony was alcohol. What little money he could beg, borrow, or steal was squandered on beer and cheap wine only to be pissed away after it had dulled and distorted his good sense.
Eric tried to persuade his father to stop drinking but, to his astonishment, it only sparked a furious tirade from the previously good-natured man. He still loved his dad but despised his self- destructive behavior. The pain of watching his dad stumble home at all hours of the night, sleep away most of the day, and make no effort to keep himself clean and tidy was insufferable for the teen. Utterly frustrated that he seemed powerless to help his dad, the love he had for him in earlier years turned into anger. That anger was the spark that ignited a flame, which caused him to say what he would later regret. Eric came home from school to find his father relatively sober but looking like a homeless tramp. After cleaning up the dried vomit in the front room, he confronted his father. "Dad, if you don't straighten up, quit the drunken binges, and go back to being the dad I loved, I'm outta here. I just can't stand to see you destroy yourself."
"What the fuck does that mean?" the man growled.
"It means what I said. Stay sober. Find a job. Be the dad you used to be...the one I was proud of and loved. If you don't, I'm leaving. For good. I can't live here with a man I don't know...clean up his messes...and watch him kill himself with booze."
The man glared at his son and shouted, "You're lecturing me, kid? What makes you so fucking smart to tell me what to do? If you don't like it here, get the hell out. Walk out on me like your mother did, that fucking cunt bitch. I'll be glad to be rid of a goody-two-shoes who thinks he's big enough to fend for himself. Ya hear me, kid? GIT THE FUCK OUT! THE SOONER THE BETTER!"
Eric's attempt at shock therapy had backfired. It had been an empty threat but his father's reaction and his ferocity stunned him. He was left speechless. Panic overwhelmed him. How could he ever manage to live on his own? What would happen to his dad if he left? How could he ever have made such a foolish demand?
He went to his room, flopped on the bed, and cried. Partly because of his now dubious fate, but mostly for the loss of a dad whom he loved in spite of his current addiction to alcohol.
Later, he heard the front door slam. He knew that his dad was on his way to the neighborhood bar. He also knew, because it was by now routine, that his dad would come home drunk well after midnight and sleep it off until near noon the next day. Eric hoped -- in fact he prayed even though religion had not been a part of his life -- that the ugly episode would be forgotten and he wouldn't have to leave home, abandoning his father to the fate of an alcoholic. He went into the kitchen and found a can of soup, which was frequently his only supper lately.
The next morning he saw father sprawled on the sofa in the living room where he had apparently spent the night in a drunken stupor. Although he went to school, it was a wasted day because his thoughts were consumed with what the future might be for him and for his father. There was nothing he could do to help his dad. If the man had been serious about demanding that he move out, there seemed to be no possible way to live on his own. Where could he live? How could he eat? What about clothes? Already, his worn and shabby clothes had drawn not always joking insults from other students in school.
As he walked from the bus stop to his house, he refined his plan for mitigating the damage he had done when he threatened to leave home. He climbed the four steps up to the front porch of his house not knowing what awaited him behind the front door. Hope and fear battled each other in his mind.
He found his dad in the kitchen slouched over the table with a cup of coffee. The slovenly, prematurely old-looking man had a black eye and a trail of dried blood below a nasty looking wound on his right cheek bone. Ignoring the disgusting sight of a man who had fallen so far from the once model of a good neighbor, citizen, and father, Eric said with as much cheerfulness as he could muster, "Hi, Dad."
The man looked up, scowled venomously, and snarled, "You still here? I thought I told you to get the fuck outta the house. I don't need you to preach to me no more. Get out and maybe you'll learn something about what life is like."
"Dad, I'm sorry. What I said yesterday..."
Interrupting, the shell of a man shouted, "You don't even understand English, twerp!" He staggered to a drawer, pulled out a butcher knife, waved it at his son, and screamed, "GET THE FUCK OUT! If you don't this here knife will give you something to remember. AND DON'T COME BACK! EVER!"
Eric didn't move, frozen by the finality of his plight and the lost hope of reconciliation with his father. But the frightened teen ran when the hulk of a man started toward him. He escaped out the front door of the house and didn't stop running until he was two blocks away. He then collapsed on the lawn next to the sidewalk, panting and on the brink of tears.
He lay there for he didn't know how long because his mind was a jumble of fleeting thoughts. About his father who had become an inhuman creature, willing to injure (kill?) his own son. About his own remorse for threatening to leave home and triggering the anger. About what was once a happy childhood in a loving home, now only a memory. About the evil in a bottle that had poisoned his father's mind. And about his own future. What could he do? Where would he live? How could he survive with only a part time job and not a penny of his own?
He was jarred out of the maelstrom of emotions when a voice registered in his mind. "You all right, sonny?" an elderly man asked for the third time. "Looks t'me like yur not. Kin I he'p ya?"
Eric looked up and saw Mr. Jenkins, a frequent customer in the grocery store. Afraid and ashamed to reveal his troubles, Eric replied, "Yes, Sir. I'm okay. I just laid myself down to rest up a bit after running for a while."
"Better get yourself on home, sonny. There's a mighty storm brewing and coming right at us."
Home! He didn't have a home any more. "I guess you're right, Mr. Jenkins. I'll be on my way now." The distraught teen rose and started walking toward the house in which he was no longer welcome. No longer safe. There was no longer a kitchen with a meager supply of food to eat or a warm bed to sleep in. "But wait," he thought. "Dad will be going to the bar soon like he always does. I can sneak in the house when he's gone, try to find something for supper, and then... Then what? I'll gather up a blanket, a pillow, and a few clothes and sleep in the garage out by the back fence. If I'm careful, the old man won't even know I'm around. Maybe in a few days he'll settle down."
He stopped about a block away from his house (Could he still call it HIS house?) to watch for his father leaving for the evening. He had to wait more than an hour before he finally saw the man ("Was he still my father?") lumber down the front porch steps, amble down the driveway, and head off in the direction of the neighborhood bar. What was he carrying? "MY STEREO!" he gasped. "The bastard is selling my stereo for booze money!"
Fifteen minutes later, Eric was in his bedroom collecting a few things he thought he might need while hiding away in the garage. He also collected his school books and notes. He wasn't sure he'd need them but he did enjoy going to school and wanted to complete his senior year with a diploma. When he carried the last few things to the garage -- a few changes of clothes -- he began to arrange his new "home." The garage was virtually empty; the car had been sold weeks ago to pay a few bills and settle up his dad's burgeoning tab at the bar. Eric looked around. Was there anything in the garage that his dad might come out to retrieve and therefore discover that his son was living there? No. In better times, he would come out for tools but in his present state, there was no danger that he would trouble himself to fix anything in the house or work in the yard.
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The next day, Eric was at school talking to his only friend, Brian, also a loner who, like Eric, didn't mingle with the other students and refused to conform to peer pressure and rigid expectations of behavior. He was bright and almost a straight-A student. That would have been enough to invite envy-based derision from other students but he was also the opposite of a handsome teenage boy: four inches shorter than other boys his age, thin to the point of being scrawny, totally unathletic, and suffered from acne that seemed to linger far longer than with other teens. Eric met Brian in their freshman year but it took two years for either of them to progress to the point of being buddies.
"What's the matter?" Brian asked as the two sat in a corner of the cafeteria where no one had ever joined them at their table.
Ashamed to admit his problems, even to his only good friend, Eric replied, "Nothing much."
"Come on, Eric. You're not yourself today. Is it school work? You know I'll help you with that. Your job at the grocery store? No. I happen to know that you're doing well there. Something going on at home? Tell me. If there's any way I can help, you know I will."
"I'd rather not say, Brian."
"Shit, Man! I thought we were friends. What are friends for, anyway? Oh! I see the problem now. You don't want to talk about it here because somebody else will hear. I understand. Suppose I drop by your house tonight and we can talk in private."
`NO!" Eric almost shouted. "Don't do that!" Having his friend find out how and where he was living would be far to humiliating.
"See what I mean, pal? It's not like you to flame out over nothing."
Before Eric could apologize, the warning buzzer blared signaling time to return to classes. As they got up to return their trays, Brian said earnestly, "Listen to me, Eric. Meet me at the flagpole after school. I know something's wrong and I want to help if I can because I like you. A lot. If you're not at the flagpole, I'll come to your house tonight."
Eric immediately recognized yet another problem. He would have to tell his friend about his predicament. He was certain that Brian would persist until he got the information he wanted. That would add still another layer of guilt and shame on top of what was already crushing his spirits.
Eric dreaded having to tell anyone, even Brian, what had happened but he knew it was unavoidable. He briefly considered making up a lie -- health, school work, an incident at work -- but none of them were plausible and Brian would detect the deception easily. He was good at that; Eric recognized long ago that although Brian was socially inept he was extremely perceptive of others' feelings, intentions, or hidden meanings in what they said. While he quickly perceived others' motives, for whatever reason he simply chose not to interact with people. Except, of course, for the one person, Eric, whom he decided to befriend.
Eric left the building after his last class and saw Brian waiting by the flagpole. "Hi!" he called out, putting as much cheer as he could muster into his greeting.
"Hi yourself," Eric responded. "Let's go over to the football field and sit in the bleachers where we can talk. That is, you talk; I'll listen. And trust me. If there's anything I can do to help, I'll do it in a heartbeat."
Eric related the depressing details that led to his being homeless and barely succeeded in holding back his tears. Brian listened sympathetically until his friend fell silent with his head drooping low.
"Bummer, Dude!" Brian said, breaking the awkward silence. "I said I'd help if I could. Let me think a minute."
Chapter 2: RESCUED IN THE KNICK OF TIME
Brian used his native talent for quickly perceiving and evaluating options and alternatives. He genuinely wanted to help Eric find a way to escape from the mental turmoil and the depressingly spartan living arrangements his friend had been forced to endure. There was another compelling reason for his altruism: he regarded Eric as a good friend, yes, but also -- at least potentially -- much more than that. IF, that is, he had the same secret needs.
There seemed to be few options. He dismissed most of them as inadequate, ineffective, or unacceptable for a variety of reasons. One option, however, seemed to meet Eric's and his own needs.
"I've got an idea," Brian began. Carefully choosing his words in order to gain Eric's acceptance of the plan, he continued. "First of all, we've got to get you out of the situation you're in. Living in a garage is bad enough but the chance of your father finding out is too great. Heaven knows what he would do if he found you there. Not if but when! He's bound to find you. Based on what you've told me about his deranged fury, I think your safety and possibly your life is in jeopardy. My idea is this: stay at my house. It's far enough away from yours that your father will never see you come and go."
"I can't ask you to do that," Eric interrupted.
"Hear me out," Brian urged. "First of all, it solves your immediate problem ... at least part of it: having to sneak in and out of the garage. You'll be able to sleep in a proper bed. When winter comes, you'll have a warm place to stay. It may not solve the problem of your father's irrational anger or help you cope with the loss of what was once a healthy father-son relationship. That will take a long time and you may never completely forget about it. But in the meantime, you'll be safe. You can finish the school year, receive your diploma, and get on with your life. Believe me, Eric. I know for sure that you've got a lot of potential. You're a good student, you've got promise; it would be a damn shame to waste that."
Eric looked up at his friend with a blank stare. After a moment's pause, he asked, "Why are you doing this? Helping me, I mean."
"Simple!" Brian replied. "Two reasons. First, I like you. You're the one person in the whole goddamn student body who treats me like a decent human being. You may recall that I resisted your friendship for a long time. What you may not know is that I didn't trust you. I thought you were just trying to kiss my ass in order to get help with your school work. Or worse, set me up for some kind of malicious prank. I was wrong! You didn't need help in school; you never asked for it. Over time, I recognized that you are incapable of malicious behavior against anyone. It took me a long time to realize that you're friendship was just that and no more. You'll never know how much I appreciate that, Eric. Sure, I project the image of a guy who doesn't give a rat's ass about other people. But that's just a façade, a wall I build to protect me from taunts and snide insults. In short, you've given me far more than I'm now offering you."
Eric was stunned by Brian's earnest confession. He had never given enough thought to the matter to fully recognize how lonely Brian must be. He, like everyone else, had been fooled by the "misfit's" highly effective pretense of not caring about others or their opinions He wanted to know more about this isolated person who had a mind that bordered on the brilliant but trapped in a body that drew nothing but contempt and hurtful criticism from thoughtless peers. Inside that unappealing body was the mind and soul of a veritable gem ... a priceless diamond in the rough. Eric replied with what seemed at the moment to be needed, "You're a prince, Brian. I'm honored to be your friend."
Ignoring the compliment, Brian continued, "That's the first reason. You'll be better off staying at my house. Here's the second. It will make me feel good. To be able to help a true friend in need. So how about it? Will you accept my offer?"
"I'm tempted. But what about your folks? Will they agree to take in a stray?"
"I'm sure they will. I'll ask them tonight. How much can I tell them about the reason? Would you be comfortable if I told them why your safety and possibly your life is in danger?"
"Geez. I don't know. I suppose you'll have to tell them so they understand the situation. But ask them not to tell anybody else. Okay?"
"Deal!"
Eric wanted to hug his friend in gratitude for offering him a place to stay. But that would not be proper and they might be seen. Two boys all by themselves in an otherwise deserted football stadium hugging each other would surely generate rumors that would spread throughout the student body and result in cruel persecution. Brian also resisted the urge to hug his friend to demonstrate his compassion and to comfort a friend in pain -- and to express a long-felt attraction to and even affection for Eric. But it would be premature and counterproductive to risk too much physical contact while Eric was in emotional pain. He would have to proceed slowly and carefully to gain what he fervently wanted.
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Eric walked the two miles from school to his austere temporary home in a garage. It wouldn't do to arrive there when his father was still home. Although he walked slowly, he still arrived in his neighborhood long before he knew his father would be going out for the evening to drown his sorrows. He had to wait almost two hours before his father's normal departure. But he didn't see him leave the house. Had he already gone to the bar? Was he still in the house? He waited another hour before convincing himself that his father had left earlier than usual and that he could sneak into the garage undetected.
Nearing the house in which he grew up and that held so many fond memories, he saw a alarming sight. All of his clothes and personal possessions (few though they may be) were piled at the curb for the next morning's trash collection. With utmost caution, he maneuvered behind bushes on a route that might, with luck, allow him to reach the garage unnoticed. Inside his temporary shelter, he was shocked again. There was a pile of feces on his blanket; his clothes were damp and smelled of urine. The flashlight he used to study after dark was smashed. His school texts and notebooks were scattered across the dirt floor of the garage. All he could do was crumple down to the floor and sob.
It was getting dark when he managed to pull himself together and think clearly. His father had obviously discovered his hideaway and, in his deranged mind, got revenge on his son for confronting him. Not willing to face the truth about himself, he transferred his self-hatred to his son. The idle threat to leave and the insistence on sobering up was just a spark that ignited an inferno of anger. Eric decided that his father was sick. Sick by reason of addiction to alcohol. Sick because of a deep, unacknowledged hatred of who he had become. Sick in a way that a teenager was powerless to help. The frustration of losing the loving father he once had and not being able to do anything to help or turn back the clock was unbearable.
Then a question burst into his consciousness: What to do now?
There seemed only one answer: salvage what he could -- with his school work as a high priority -- and leave. For good. But where? Of course! To Brian's house. It was still uncertain that his friend's parents would agree to the arrangement. It was a slim chance but the only hope he had left. He would have liked to call Brian on the phone but it had been disconnected weeks earlier for nonpayment of the bill. He realized then that he couldn't just walk over to Brian's house because he didn't know whether his parents would agree to his living there. And he couldn't stay in the garage because his father knew he was there. It was an imponderable dilemma.
While desperately trying to solve his problem -- what to do and where to go -- he gathered up his school papers and books. In the process he found a note. In barely legible writing it said, "Can't fool me, you dumb shithead. LEAVE. You're not my son anymore. Fact is, you probably never were MY son. You're no better than your cunt mother."
"Never MY son?" Eric said aloud. What did that mean? What could it mean? Was his biological father just a temporary boyfriend of his mother? The possibility only intensified his resentment of her. But it also helped to explain why his father was so irrational and insistent that he leave home.
He put all his schoolwork, a few unsoiled clothes, and a half-full box of dry cereal into a large shopping bag and walked despondently and confused out of the garage. Passing the pile of his things at the curb only served to remind him of what he had lost and his desperate and destitute situation. He scanned the pile and checked how much room was left in the shopping bag. There was room enough for a few things, small things that wouldn't take up a lot of space but were, especially in his situation, treasures: a photo album with pictures of happier times in his childhood, a small trophy he won for being the outstanding player on his Little League team, his boy scout Eagle badge -- odds and ends, really, but symbols of when his life was happy. There were more items he wanted to salvage but the shopping bag was full. Regretfully and painfully, he would have to leave them behind to become part of the trash in some stinking, rat- infested landfill somewhere. He would remember them not as personal possessions but as symbols of the good times, good times that were now irretrievably lost.
Ominous black clouds overhead foretold an impending thunderstorm but contributed to his gloom and represented the sorrow and helplessness he felt. He trudged off. To where, he didn't know.
Only half a block from his former home, a van passed by him on the residential street. Curiously, it came to a sudden stop and backed up. Eric heard a familiar voice call, "Eric!"
Brian jumped out of the passenger side of the van and walked toward him. Eric dropped his shopping bag, ran to his friend and hugged him. It was not the "proper" thing for teenage boys to do but Eric was no longer in control of his jumbled mind. He clung to Brian as tightly as a drowning man would to floating debris from a ship wreck.
"You all right, pal?" Brian asked. "You're trembling like you've seen a ghost or something."
Eric willed himself into releasing his grip on Brian. He fought to hold back the tears that had been building up over the misery he felt but also tears of joy at having at least one good friend who had, if only for the moment, stood by him. He struggled to say (in a distinctly shaky voice), "My Dad found out I was staying in the garage. He trashed the place. Left a note warning me to get out. All the stuff from my room is at the curb for the garbage man tomorrow morning."
Brian broke the hug, held his friend by the shoulders, and looked intently into his friend's eyes. "Settle down, Eric. It's going to be all right. Mom and Dad have agreed to let you stay at my house. Let's load your stuff into the back of the van. We're going home ... my home and your new home."
Without thinking of how it appeared, Eric resumed hugging his savior as the only way he knew to express his boundless gratitude. He was startled to hear a voice coming from the van, "All right, guys. Enough of that. Let's be on our way before the storm hits us. If we hurry, we'll have time to collect your belongings back at your house."
The rain started just as Brian's father, Dr. Winston, drove up the driveway, pressed the button on the remote garage door opener, and pulled the van into the attached, two-car garage. Safely inside, the man turned around to speak to the two teens in the back seat. "Welcome to your new home, Eric. Brian will take you upstairs. Can I help you carry your things inside?"
"Thanks, Dad," Brian said, "but Eric and I can take care of that."
"Actually, Sir," Eric said. "All I need immediately is in this shopping bag. Would it be all right to stack the rest in the corner of your garage and take care of it later?"
"Of course. I'm guessing that means you and Brian have a lot to talk about so I'll leave you alone until dinner time."
The two boys climbed the stairs and walked down the hall to Eric's bedroom.
"But this is YOUR room," Eric protested.
"No, it's OUR room now," Brian chuckled. "My older sister's bedroom is across the hall but Mom took it over when my sister got married and moved out. She turned it into a studio -- she's quite an artist. I hope you don't mind sharing a bedroom."
"Anything is better than a dirty, dusty garage but it makes me feel like an intruder. I can't tell you how much I appreciate your help but giving up your privacy is too much to ask."
"Nonsense!" Brian snorted. "Fact of the matter is, I'm delighted to have the company. You already know I don't have any friends at school ... only you. What you may not know is how lonesome it can be. Dad's in his office seeing patients all day and doing hospital rounds until eight at night or later. Mom is busy keeping house or in her studio and doesn't like to be disturbed in there. Not that I'm complaining! Dinner time and sometimes on the weekend we're all together. But mostly I'm almost as alone in the house as I am at school. Having you for company will be a real treat."
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After almost two hours of largely one-sided conversation (Eric talked, Brian listened and occasionally asked questions.), they heard Mrs. Winston call them for dinner. It was the best meal Eric had enjoyed for many weeks and he had to continually remind himself not to make a pig out of himself. The conversation over dinner was lively but Brian's parents were discrete; they asked no questions of Eric about his troubled life with a drunken father. Eric's offer to help clear the table after the meal was politely but emphatically declined. "You two probably have homework to do," Mrs. Winston smiled. "So go on upstairs and we'll see you at breakfast."
The boys did more talking than homework but by half past nine Eric was clearly physically and mentally exhausted so Brian suggested, "Let's get some sleep. If you want to shower, the bathroom is at the end of the hall. There's plenty of soap, shampoo, and towels. Don't be shy about using them. After all, this is your home now, too."
Eric luxuriated in the hot shower. Growing up, he had access only to a bath tub. The first time he showered was after Phys Ed in Junior High School. Recently, he had to shower at school after Gym class; there had been no hot water at home (his FORMER home, he reminded himself) because of a delinquent gas bill .... It only had electricity because of a city ordinance that mandated minimal electric service to occupied residences. While lathering up, he was sure to get clean all over. He would be sharing a double bed with Brian and didn't want to offend him with any residual body odor. His cock responded rapidly to the attention it was getting, attention that had been absent for ... what was it? ... almost two weeks while Eric was obsessed with dealing with his father. The ejaculation was copious and extraordinarily gratifying.
Brian, meanwhile, was refining his strategy. He would have to move very cautiously and never rush things. The first night, he concluded, he would simply lay an arm across his friend's chest and whisper reassuring comments about how Eric had turned a corner in his life. The tribulations of the past were behind him. Gradually, Brian hoped, the physical contact would continue and lead to ... But the probability of that was minimal.
Chapter 3: HIDDEN AGENDAS
Eric returned to the bedroom wearing only his tattered boxer shorts. "That was wonderful!" he said. "It's almost like washing away the agony I've felt for a long time. At least some of it."
Brian grinned and replied, "That's good. I'm sure it will continue. Every time you shower, every time you have a decent meal, every time you sleep in a comfortable bed, more and more of those memories will fade."
Brian's eyes inadvertently dropped to the slight bulge in the front of his friend's boxers. Normally, he was adept at controlling his glances but having speculated on what might eventually happen between himself and Eric must have weakened his customary discretion.
Eric noticed the wayward glance and said, "Kinda worn out, aren't they? My shorts, I mean. I've got a better pair in the shopping bag. But I didn't want to parade through the hallway totally naked. Excuse me a minute while I change."
Brian's new roommate turned away and bent over to retrieve fresh boxers from his stash of possessions, which gave Brian a tantalizing view. But when Eric removed his underwear, the bare, firm, graceful contours of a very appealing ass triggered a tingle in Brian's crotch.
Having pulled his fresh boxers up, Eric turned around to face Brian and said, "There! They feel better and I'm sure they look better."
"They look fine, Eric." And fine they did! They fit somewhat more snuggly and therefore revealed more. The bulge almost defined the size and shape of the penis it hid.
"I don't have any pajamas. I hope you don't mind my sleeping in my skivvies."
"I don't mind at all," Brian replied. "That's how I sleep, too." He lied about his nighttime attire; he normally wore nothing at all. But it was a white lie to make Eric more comfortable.
The sight of Eric's defined chest, lightly sprinkled with hair, and the prominent package between his legs was too much for Brian who knew he would have to make an exit before his swelling cock became an embarrassment. "Crawl into bed, Eric. I'm going to shower. I won't be long."
While Brian showered, his mind's eye imagined in vivid detail what was lurking inside his friend's underwear. The result was a raging hard-on that demanded relief and could not be ignored. It was far too soon to provide that relief with Eric -- it would require time and patience before anything could be attempted with his friend -- so he made do with his fist. With the vision of Eric in his mind, the orgasm was among the best he had ever enjoyed.
Brian was disappointed when he returned to the bedroom. Eric seemed to be asleep. He carefully slipped into the other side of the bed. There would be no physical contact tonight, he regretfully thought. But he was wrong. Eric said softly, "I can't thank you enough for what you've done. I was at my wits end when you rescued me from ... from an uncertain future."
Seizing the opportunity, Brian rolled over to face his friend, laid an arm across his bare chest, and said, "I thought I explained it, buddy. We're doing each other a favor. You have a safe place to live and I have a friend to keep me company. Matter of fact, I feel I'm getting the better deal. I recognize and appreciate your gratitude but please ... don't beat a dead horse about it. Okay?"
Eric had not resisted or reacted in any way to an arm across his chest, which pleased Brian and allowed him to maintain the position. It would, he reasoned, be an important first step in his friend's comfort with skin-to-skin contact and later ... well ... maybe more. With no further conversation, both teens soon fell asleep.
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The next morning, the two roommates waited at the corner for the school bus. Six other teens were also waiting. Normally, they completely ignored the unsociable and unattractive "nerd" as he did them. However, they took note of the stranger in their midst and puzzled over the fact that the uncommunicative loner was chatting with the newcomer. Some glanced, a few stared, and all spoke in hushed tones to each other. Not one greeted the outsider much less bothered to introduce themselves. Brian expected to be ignored but regretted not warning Eric of the silent treatment they would most likely receive.
The bus driver's reaction to an unfamiliar passenger was more overt. "And who are you? You've never been on the bus before."
Brian was ready with an answer. "It's okay, Sir. This is a Eric Mathews. He's a senior at Grady" [High School] "and he's staying at my house while his dad is sick."
"Okay this time," the driver said with no noticeable displeasure. "But notify the office at school. I could get in trouble giving a ride to anybody not on the approved list."
"Will do," Brian smiled. "Thanks."
That night after dinner, the teens went to THEIR bedroom to finish their homework. One of the few interruptions came when Eric said, "That was clever ... the way you covered up for me on the bus this morning."
"It was the truth, wasn't it?"
"It wasn't false. I'm just glad he didn't ask about my dad's sickness. That would have been embarrassing."
"I was ready for that if he had asked. Your dad has some sort of nutrition imbalance. `Course I'd have said that with terms he didn't understand -- some words that I've heard my dad use -- but it would have satisfied him."
"You're truly amazing, Brian! I knew that before but you continue to amaze me."
The teens finished their homework and went down to the kitchen for a snack before getting ready for bed. Brian went into the garage to get some ice cream from the large freezer. Eric waited at the kitchen table with his back to the entryway. Dr. Winston entered the kitchen and said, "Hi, son. Homework done already?"
"Your son is out in the garage getting some ice cream. And yes, our homework is done."
Dr. Winston grinned and replied, "I apologize for taking the liberty to call you son' but that's how I think of you ... as Eric's sort-of' brother. I hope you don't mind. If you don't, feel free to call me `Dad'. I know I'm not your real dad but I'd like to play the part."
"No, Sir. I don't mind. In fact, I'm flattered."
"What did you say?" the man asked in a pleasant but earnest tone.
Eric repeated himself.
"That's what I thought. If you want to address me as Sir' I'll accept that but I would prefer that you call me Dad' and let me call you `Son.'"
"Thanks ... Dad. I may slip up once in a while but I'm extremely grateful that you have not only taken me in but accepted me into your family."
The man looked around to assure himself they were alone, placed a hand gently on Eric's shoulder and whispered, "And I'm grateful to you, son. Your friendship has made a world of difference in Brian. I'll say no more now; he may return at any minute. But thanks and welcome to the Winston household." With fortunate timing, the man was opening the cupboard to get a tea bag when Brian returned with the ice cream.
"You seem rather cheerful," Brian remarked.
"I am that!" Eric gushed. "I'm getting used to living a more normal life and that makes me very happy."
Unseen by his two `sons,' Dr. Winston smiled broadly.
<><><><><>
A few days later, at three in the morning, Brian was awakened by a screaming "NO!" from his bed partner. Instantly awake and utterly worried, he asked, "What's wrong, Eric?" Eric was sitting bolt upright and trembling. He didn't respond to Brian's question. "What's wrong?" Brian repeated.
"A nightmare. My father was chasing me with a butcher knife yelling obscenities at me."
Brian sat up and, with no motive other than to comfort his friend, grasped him in an embrace and said, "It's all right now. You're here with me. You're safe."
Eric wrapped his arms about Brian, clung to him tightly, and laid his head on his friend's shoulder. "When will it stop, Brian? When will I forget the misery and fear?"
"Honestly? I don't know. All I do know is that it will get better. You'll still remember what happened but the emotions -- the fear, the sadness, the frustration -- will diminish over time. And know this, my friend: I'll be at your side to help you through the bad times."
They lay back down but neither boy relinquished his hold on the other. It was only then as they lay locked in an embrace with expanses of bare skin pressed together that Brian thought of his hopes for even more intimacy. But he consciously dismissed that thought partly because it might cause a swelling in his loins but mostly because the clear priority was to give support and comfort to one who was still hurting.
Although Eric thoroughly enjoyed the comforting hug and the close contact that was evidence of true friendship, he broke the hug, pulled away, and said, "Thanks. I'm sorry I woke you up. But I'm okay now. I think I'll try to get back to sleep now."
Brian accepted the words at face value but what he did not know was the real reason that his best friend terminated the embrace. The reason was not because he had recovered from the traumatic nightmare. Instead, the troubled young man's thoughts had suddenly realized that he was hugging and being hugged by another male ... and they were both almost naked! What now disturbed Eric was not his nightmare and nor memories of his ordeal with his drunken dad. They had been replaced by concern over his swelling penis. There's no way he would let his good friend and generous host know about getting an erection while in his arms. Eric might interpret it as something sick and perverted. It could destroy a friendship and cost him his only chance to avoid homelessness.
<><><><><>
Eric had been living in his new home -- with his new family -- for nearly five weeks. He was finally feeling at ease with the situation and not like an intruding guest in a strange household. The friendship with Brian grew stronger by the day as they talked, laughed, and shared thoughts openly. Eric had begun to leave his former life behind. The painful memories of his dad's alcoholism and angry outbursts were losing their power to depress him or to arouse feelings of fear (for his safety) and panic (over an uncertain future).
Brian recognized the change in Eric from a desperate, hopeless teen toward a cheerful, confident young man. It was time to begin implementing his strategy of seduction. He had delayed doing it because he didn't want to take advantage of a vulnerable person. If there were to be any intimate sex, Eric would have to agree to it willingly. It HAD to be consensual. If Eric refused to engage in sex, he would abandon his strategy out of respect for his best and only friend. But conquest seemed within his grasp.
It had been extremely difficult for Brian to be in bed next to his friend, a friend with a body he admired enormously ... and envied. Many were the nights that he yearned to touch, to caress, to fondle, and MORE -- to do the things he had never done but had craved to do and fantasized about for years. But he endured the frustration of being inches away from a nearly naked, very masculine body while harboring the hope that one day he and Eric would unite in mind-blowing sex.
The opportunity to launch his strategy came when Dr. and Mrs. Winston left for a weekend to visit their daughter in Sacramento. He and Eric would be alone in the house for two days. Brian knew he would have to keep his lust in check and progress in carefully measured steps. Moreover, every tactic had to be executed in a way that would permit him to withdraw his advances if Eric showed any signs of resistance or disapproval. The goal was gay sex but there would always have to be a retreat plan, one that would at least preserve their friendship. It would be difficult but he had considered (or so he hoped) all the techniques and settled on a plan of attack. Conquest was likely but an honorable withdrawal must remain a possibility.
What Brian didn't know was Eric's deepest feelings about homosexuality. They had never discussed it. Both, it seems, regarded the subject off-limits. Nor had Eric ever unconsciously showed any signs of attraction to men. On the contrary, he had often commented about particularly attractive girls at school. That was but one of the dangers Brian faced in seducing his friend. But given his strong desire for gay sex, he considered it as just another challenge along the path to his goal.
There was another thing he didn't know about Eric: that he was exceptionally skilled, after years of practice, in concealing his socially and religiously condemned interest in men. Both of his parents had been virulently homophobic as he grew up. And his peers at school reinforced his determination not to project the wrong image nor say the wrong thing lest he be persecuted and punished mercilessly. He learned early and often to keep that part of himself very deep in the closet.
To be continued
My thanks to Iatia for his consistently meticulous editing and for his continuing encouragement.