Year in the Life

A Year in the Life Chapter Six

Six weeks! My father gave me six weeks of restriction for coming in late. You'd have thought I drug in after midnight for all the fuss he made! What made it so bad was that he was home for the next ten days straight, so there was no getting around it. I was a virtual prisoner in my own house. (Strike that. It was HIS house, and he reminded me of that fact little fact each and EVERY day.) My only reprieve was going to school. I was ready to go early every morning and dreaded coming home every evening. Looking back, it seems childish, but I don't think I said a dozen words to either of my parents for two weeks. In fact, I spent every moment up in my room that I could. The only up side to it all was that my GPA improved from all the extra studying I was doing to pass the time.

After my father left on his sales route late Sunday afternoon, my mother came in my room. "Your father's gone," she said wistfully. . .

I grunted a reply. For all I cared at that moment, he could have jumped off a bridge.

"Honestly Marky!" she said in her I-don't-know-what-I'm-going-to-do-with-you tone of voice. "Being short with me isn't going to get you off restriction."

"You didn't stand up for me," I said bluntly.

"What are you talking about?"

"I was over at Paul's with your permission. You stood by and let him rake me over the coals and then didn't say a single word in my defense."

Her expression hardened. I'd hurt her with that one. "You don't know WHAT I said to your father."

The last thing I wanted was to fight with my mother, but her silence had hurt me more than my father's words and actions put together. Deep down, though, I couldn't blame her any more than I could blame myself. Her complacency held us both under his control. She was trapped because she loved him. I was trapped because I loved her.

"You didn't say anything," I said without looking at her. "You never say anything. You keep hoping it'll all get better, but it never does. It only gets worse."

She was fighting back tears. "How can you say that?"

"Face it, Mom!" I said a little louder than I'd intended. "He doesn't like me!" I forced my voice lower, and I looked up at her. "He never has."

Mom said nothing. She stood there for several minutes looking out the window at the fading twilight. After a while, she slowly turned and walked to the door. As she opened it, I said, "The only reason I haven't left is that I don't have anywhere else to go."

She paused just long enough to hear me, and then she left the room, closing the door softly behind her.

My restriction lasted until the second week in February. By the time it was over, I was positively stir-crazy. I was ready to surrender a kidney if it meant I could get out of the house! It felt so good just to be able to walk down the street again, even if the weather was grey and bleak. I've always loved a good, long walk, and being cooped up in the house for the last month-and-a-half made me enjoy it all the more. Despite the bitter chill in the air, the tale- tell signs of spring were everywhere. I could even feel it stirring inside me. Ok! I could feel it stirring in my jeans, too.

I turned down the street that lead to Paul's house. I had no idea if he was home or not, but I decided to give it a chance. I hadn't seen him away from school since before New Years, and I wanted to talk with him.

I was caught off guard when his mother answered the door. "Ugh, Hi," I stammered. "I'm Mark Day. Is Paul home?"

"So you're Mark!' She replied. "Paul's told me a lot about you. Come on in. He's in his room." She opened the door wider so I could pass by her. "Paul!" She yelled. "You've got company." She walked back to the kitchen and left me standing in the foyer.

Paul came out of his room. He looked spectacular. His dark hair was all mussed up, and his face looked like he'd just woke up. He was wearing a pair of loose sweat pants that hung low on his hips and, from the look of it, nothing else. "Hey," he said with a yawn. "What brings you by?"

"Just thought I'd stop by and see what you were up to."

"I was gettin' a little beauty sleep. Come on back to my room." I followed him back to his dungeon and sat down on his bed. "I take it you're off restriction."

"You take it right. I'm a free man again." I didn't say it aloud, but in the back of my mind I added, "for now."

"You bring any weed with you?" He asked.

"I didn't think of it before I left," I answered. "I wasn't headed this way when I started out. I just sorta ended up here."

"That's a shame, Man. I could use a good buzz. I ain't had any since you and I got together the last time."

Was he suggesting what I thought he was suggesting? "I'd say let's walk over to my house and get a joint, but my old man's home."

"Is that a problem?"

I hesitated for a moment. I realized that the real reason I'd sought Paul out was for someone to talk to, not sex. Not that I was opposed to the idea, mind you, and Paul looked so cute in those faded sweat pants he was wearing, but I needed a friend. "You could say that."

"Maybe we could go get the joint and then go somewheres else? There's got to be a private spot around here within walking distance!"

Paul obviously wanted to do a lot more than catch a buzz and talk. What the fuck! Right? "I guess. It won't hurt to try."

Paul grinned at me. "That's my guy!"

Paul changed his clothes and told his mother we were going out for a walk. The air was cold, so we walked close to each other to stay warm. Paul was in a cheerful mood, and I so desperately needed to share in his enthusiasm. The closer we got to my house, though, the more anxious I became. What if my old man made a scene? What if he was drunk again?

When we got to the corner of our property, I put my hand on Paul's arm and stopped him. "Paul," I said, summoning up all the courage I could, "I need to warn you about my old man."

"What is it?" he asked.

"He-he can be difficult at times," I didn't know anyway to say it but to say it all. "Especially if he's been drinking."

"What are you saying?"

"He likes to get plastered on weekends sometimes, and, well . . ." I'd started it, and now I had to finish it. I'd never told anyone about my problems at home. In fact, I'd done everything I could to hide it from my friends. In many ways, it was the worst part of the derision my old man had heaped on me: He'd made a liar out of me. Having to tell Paul the truth about my father was the hardest thing I'd ever done. "Sometimes he gets mean."

Paul hesitated for a moment before he spoke. "Does he beat you?"

"No." I couldn't look at him. "But he might as well."

"Have you told anybody?"

"Just you. You won't say anything to anybody, will you?"

"No," Paul's expression was touching. "I wouldn't do that to you."

"Thanks. I just thought you might need to be prepared in case he says something to me."

My hands were shaking when I put the key in the door. I so hoped he wouldn't be there sitting in the living room. My hopes were dashed when I heard his thick voice bellowing as I stepped through the door. "Where the hell have you been?"

Paul stepped in behind me. "Out for a walk with Paul," I answered meekly. "It's kinda cold, so we stopped by so I could get a heavier jacket."

I could tell by his angry expression that had Paul not been there he would have lit into me with everything he had. He was so drunk that he wasn't even bothering to hide the bottle. "Well shut that door! I'm not paying good money for you to heat the sidewalk!"

"Yes sir," I answered. I closed the door and pulled Paul up the stares to my room.

Paul let out a whistle. "Your rooms a wreck, Man. What happened here?"

"Welcome to the Sanctum Sanctorum. This is the real me," I replied with a laugh. For once, I was grateful for Paul's reticence.

Paul pushed back the covers on the bed and sat down. "My mom would freak!"

"Mine usually does. The room's still a mess, though." I rummaged through the my closet and pulled out my heavy jacket. "Let's hit the road."

"Aren't you going to get the weed?" He asked.

"It's in my coat pocket. I have to do my own laundry, so it's the safest place in the house."

"Cool!"

Paul and I slipped out of the house as quietly as we could. My old man was no where to be seen, and I was in no hurry to go find him. We headed out to the street and made our way to the old school.

Boston Elementary had been closed for nearly four years. The building was deteriorating fast, but it still looked intimidating with its fortress-like appearance. The foot-thick brick walls were punctuated by narrow, ten-foot tall windows. The overall effect created the illusion of prison bars. Whoever designed the building either hated children or held a very bleak outlook concerning the future of Southern youth. Something about the place always brought to mind the concept of "institution". Still, I liked the place.

I showed Paul the crack in the wall that lead to the hole in the floor that admitted access to the interior of the building. I took him from room to room and recounted all my memories of the place. Despite the unsightly appearance of the building, my memories were all warm and colorful. Finally, we went into the old teacher's lounge and sat down on the dusty, vinyl-clad couch. This had always been forbidden territory for students. We were never allowed in there. The scent of millions of cigarettes permeated the place, and no doubt late at night the distant echos of teachers complaining about their students could still be heard in the place. I pulled out the joint and the lighter. Paul slid over next to me and took them from my hand.

"Let me," he said. He lit the joint and took a deep hit. "Here."

I took it from his hand. It seemed so appropriate to get high in that secretive room with Paul, especially given the emotions I'd experienced the last time I'd been there. I took a hit and handed it back to him.

"Thank's for suggesting this," I said, as I let the smoke out of my lungs. "I needed a break."

"I figure you need a lot of things."

"That too." I took the joint from his warm fingers and took another hit. "But that's not why I came by. Just so you know."

Paul took the joint back. "Why'd you come by, then."

"To say hello," I said. He handed the joint back to me. "But this is OK, too."

"I figured you wanted to fool around," he said. Paul took the joint and took a deep hit. He held the joint and took a second hit.

"Bogart! Give that back!"

Paul let out a laugh. "I thought you didn't want to get high?"

"I didn't say that!" I took the joint back. "I just said that it wasn't why I came by."

Paul's hand was on my knee. I leaned into him as I toked on the joint. Paul put an arm around me, and took the joint from me with his free hand. "This is about out," he said.

"Finish it."

Paul took the last couple of hits off the joint and put it out under his heal. We leaned back on the dusty old sofa and snuggled up to each other. Paul's warm body felt so good next to me, and I wished we had a blanket to wrap up in.

"What are you doing for Spring Break?" Paul asked.

"Probably spending it on restriction," I said with a wry laugh. "Why?"

"'Cause! My parents have a time-share in Panama City. They're going to let me go down by myself if I want to. They said I could take a friend, so long as it's a guy." He looked at me with a mock-serous look on his face. "You are still a guy, aren't you?"

"You tell me," I answered, and I pulled his hand up to my crotch.

"Yep!' He said, giving me a little squeeze. "I'd say your still a guy, all right!"

I felt the familiar stiffening in my crotch. Paul started nibbling on my ear as I ran my hands up the insides of his thighs. I let my fingers graze the surface of his crotch, and I was delighted to feel the fullness of his erection. Paul was always so eager to please. . .

"It's kinda cold in here," he whispered in my ear. "You want to just jack off?"

"Let's go stand in the sun," I replied. "It'll be warmer."

We walked across the hall to the old principal's office. An old wooden teacher's desk had been left in the room. We drug it over by the window and sat down on the top. Paul reached over and started playing with the bulge in my crotch again. I reached over and undid his jeans. I ran my hand down inside and wrapped my fingers around his stiff tool.

"Your fingers are cool," he mumbled.

"Your dick is hot," I replied. Paul lifted his ass off the desk so I could pull his jeans down far enough to have easy access to his hard on. He in turn helped me get my jeans down, too. We sat there gently playing with each other's erections, and enjoying the sensation of the warm sunlight on our bare skin.

I reached over and ran my free hand under Paul sweater. I found his nipple, and I ran my fingers over the little bud until I felt it spring to life. Paul took up chewing on my earlobe again, and I gave myself over to his ministrations.

All too soon, Paul said, "I'm going to shoot." I pulled my hand out from under his sweater and covered the head of his cock. I felt the hot blast splatter against my palm as Paul through his head back and let out a moan. His hot cum exploded out of the head of his throbbing member again and again, and my hand was soaked with his sticky, white man-juice.

Without warning I felt my own cock shoot a stream of steaming white sperm up and over my head. Blast after blast erupted from my body, covering my coat with splotches of my semen. Paul bent down and cleaned off my jacket with his tongue. I watched silently as he lapped up my seed.

We sat there silently catching our breath. Paul made no move to cover his nakedness, but I was getting cold. I stood up, and redid my pants. Paul still sat there with his dick exposed.

"Mark?"

"Yes."

"Have you ever given a blow job?"

"No."

Paul stood up and pulled up his pants. I knew he was asking for a blow job, but I couldn't do it. I liked Paul, and I enjoyed fooling around with him, but there was always a part of me that held back. Some day, I told myself, but not today.

"We'd better get back," he said, and he left the room.

I walked Paul home. We talked, but most of it was the standard bull guys are always talking. I wanted to open up to him, but Paul always shut down after sex. He never talked about what he was feeling or how all this played out in his mind. I had no idea if he was doing all this to humor me or if he was doing it to sate his own need.

When we got to his house, Paul stopped walking and said, "I was serious about the offer. Do you want to go to Panama City with me?"

"Yeah. I'd like that." I bit my lip. The way my life was going, I knew there was no way my parents would agree to my going. "I'll ask my parents."

"You don't think they'll let you, do you?" Paul had such a dejected look on his face.

"It won't hurt to ask. Who knows? Maybe they'll let me." Paul looked me in the eyes. I saw something there a longing that I hadn't seen before. I realized that it meant a lot to him that I go. "Listen. I'll do my best to convince them. I may have to ask for your help. Either way, plan on my going."

Paul's face beamed. He truly was a handsome guy. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

My father was waiting for me when I got home. I closed the door behind me and readied myself for his onslaught. I didn't have long to wait.

"And just what have you been up to?" He demanded.

"I was just walking around town with Paul. Honest."

"And I'm supposed to believe that?"

"Am I in trouble?"

"You will be if you keep that attitude, Mister!" He edged closer and closer toward me with each statement.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean it that way." Oh God! Get me out of this!

He took a full step toward me. "And just how did you mean it?" His eyes were squinted, and his hands were balled up in tight fists.

I didn't know what to say. "I-I'm sorry, Dad."

"You're SORRY!" He was standing right in front of me now. I could smell the familiar stench of bourbon. God! How I hated that smell! "What were you doing?"

"We were just walking around and talking. Honest."

"You're lying."

"Am I on restriction?"

I never felt the blow hit. Only later, when I saw the palm-print on my face in the mirror, did I realized that he had slapped me rather than hit me. Either way, the result was the same. I suddenly found myself on the floor looking up at him staggering over me.

A key in the front door sounded my mother's arrival. She opened the door just in time to see me spring to my feet.

"You ever put a hand on me again, and I swear to God I'll kill you!" I shouted in his face.

"You'll die trying!" He yelled back at me.

I felt a strange calm spread through me. "I'll be dead, then, won't I?" I turned and sprang up the stairs to my room without giving either of them a second glance. I locked and bolted the door behind me, and only then did I sink to my knees. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I looked at the clock on the night stand. They'd been fighting for nearly three hours. I could barely hear them at times. At other times, though, I was sure everyone in the neighborhood could hear them as clearly as I could. I tried to pull the pillow down over my head to muffle the sound, but it didn't help. The worst part of it was hearing my name come up at regular intervals. They spat it at each other like some sort of curse word. I felt my cheeks burn, and I hated every word they said. I wanted to go out and tell them both to just shut the fuck up, but I knew I'd already done enough. I caused it. I started it by losing my temper. I felt my body draw up in a ball, and I prayed that it would all end.

I heard a door slam. From outside I heard the sound of Dad's truck cranking up and then speeding off down the road. The house was silent. Too silent. I got up and went to the door and cracked it open. I couldn't hear anything, so I ventured out of my room and went downstairs.

Mom was sitting at the dining room table. She looked tired, and her eyes looked red from crying. I walked in the room and sat down beside her. She wouldn't look at me.

"I'm sorry, Mama," I said. It broke my heart to see her like that. "I never meant for this to happen."

She glanced over at me and looked down at her hands. She was fumbling with her wedding ring. "He left."

"Were did he go?"

She took a deep breath, and said, "I have no idea."

"I'm sorry, Mama."

"I told him he has to stop drinking or he can't come back."

"Oh Mama!" What had I done?

She laid her head down on her hands, and she cried.

It was nearly a week before we heard from him again. He sent my mother a letter and a check to pay the bills. My father may have been a tyrant, but he provided for his family. My mother never showed me that letter or any of the following letters that came. I accepted the fact that they were personal and left it at that. As my birthday March 21 approached, a sense of normalcy settled over us. Mom and I had leaned on each other to get through the tough times after Dad left. I did my best not to be a bother to her, and she in turn wasn't very strict on me.

Paul and I saw each other frequently, but we seldom fooled around. When we did, it was mostly mutual masturbation. I wanted more, but Paul was too uncomfortable to go any further. Perhaps it was because I stopped getting him high, but Paul had lost most of his enthusiasm for our encounters. Yet, he continued to press me about going to Panama City with him in April. I tried to explain what was happening at home, but I couldn't bring myself to share any of it with him. I wanted to go, but I couldn't see how I could.

A week before my birthday, I brought up the subject with my mother.

"How are you planning to pay for the hotel room?" was her only question.

"I'm not. Paul's parents have a place on the beach. We'll stay there. It won't cost us anything," I replied.

"The trip there and back will cost you something. You'll have to feed yourself, and all those rides cost money. We can't afford it, Honey." She seemed more disappointed about it than I was.

"I've still got a few hundred dollars saved up from last summer," I said. "I aught to be able to go on that."

Her eyebrows knit together. "No. I don't want you spending your savings on something that frivolous."

"I can make it up, Mom. Summer's coming, and I'll have lots of lawns to mow."

"You don't know that," she said, and she got up from the kitchen table and made a pretense of rummaging around in the refrigerator. "I'll think of something."

It took it a minute for what she'd just said to sink in. "I can go, then?"

"Maybe!" She said in her don't-get-your-hopes-up tone of voice. "We'll see."

I called Paul an hour later and told him what she'd said. "I think it's a go, Paul!"

"Really?" He asked. I hadn't heard that much excitement in his voice in a month. "What did your father say?"

Bam! He hit me right between the eyes! "Uh-nothing. He doesn't know."

Paul was silent for much too long. I was starting to wonder if we'd gotten cut off when I heard him softly say, "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," I lied. "Everything's cool."

Paul hesitated for a moment. "You doing anything right now?"

"No."

"My folks aren't home. You wanna come over?"

I thought it over for all of two seconds. "Yeah. I'll be over as soon as I can," I said, and I hung up the phone.

A Year in the Life Chapter Seven

The weather looked like crap Saturday morning. It had poured rain all night, and it didn't look like it was going to let up any time during the next century. Neither of us gave a damn, though. We weren't about to let a little dampness stand in the way of spending Spring Break away from our parents, and I wasn't at all disturbed at the prospects of being trapped alone indoors with Paul. We managed to get everything packed in my mom's car, and by nine o'clock we were on our way. I headed toward Tallahassee before taking the westerly turn that lead toward Panama City Beach and the week of freedom that was destined to be ours. We were free until sundown Saturday, and I intended on making the best of it.

Panama City is a tourist Mecca designed for the young. Everything about the Miracle Mile is meant to please the taste of teenagers, and our tastes were definitely pleased. As we drove up and down the strip looking for the apartment building, we thought we'd died and gone to heaven. And the bodies! I'd never seen so many gorgeous men, and all of them half naked! I had to keep one hand in my lap to hide the raging hard-on I'd been sporting every since we hit town. Something told me this was going to be the most eventful weekend of my life.

We couldn't wait to check out some of the sights, and it was nearly midnight before we settled into the apartment. It was smaller than I expected, but there were two full-size beds in the bedroom, and besides, who goes to the beach to spend time indoors, right? The night air was warm and moist, so I opened the sliding door out onto the balcony and looked out over the dark water. We were was on the seventh floor, and from our vantage point, the Gulf of Mexico glittered from the reflections of the city's lights. I turned around and looked at Paul. He was lying on his bed watching a rerun on TV. Who goes to the beach to watch TV? "You want to go for a walk?" I asked.

"Sure," he answered, and we headed out the door.

Paul and I talked more that night than ever before. I found out so many things about him that impressed me. I had no idea that he was as smart as he was. We talked about our plans for the future, our past, and our favorite pastimes, even our mutual appreciation of Pink Floyd's music. Paul was showing me things about himself that made me like him even more. I felt my heart beat with anticipation over spending the next several days alone with him.

We'd walked about a mile when Paul stopped in his tracks. "There's something I've got to tell you. I've been waiting for the right moment, and I guess this is as good as any."

"What is it?" Something in his tone warned me this wouldn't be good news.

"My old man's getting transferred again. We're moving to Mississippi."

I was stunned. "Mississippi? What the hell is in Mississippi?"

"A series of fullers' earth mines. They want him to take over the plant in Ripley. "

We both turned and watched the waves gently wash against the shore. "When do you leave?"

"The end of May right after the Prom. I'll even miss the last week of school." Paul sank down and sat in the sand. "I don't want to go. I've moved seven times in twelve years. Next year is my senior year in high school. I'm not going to know anybody. Hell! I've seen Mississippi. There's nothing there."

I didn't know what to say. I sat down next to him and watched the waves in silence. Little fish skipped and danced across the surface of the water. My heart knew just how they felt. I'd come to depend on Paul. He was safe, and I'd taken it for granted that he'd always be there.

Paul stood up. "I'm getting cold. Let's go back."

I stood up, and we walked back toward the apartment. Neither of us said a word the whole way.

I lay awake that night and listened to the sound of the ocean. We'd left the balcony door open so we could enjoy the sea air, and the constant rhythm seemed to help sooth the ache inside me. I couldn't hear Paul's breathing, or the emotions that were ravishing me, or the thoughts screaming to be heard in my head. All I could hear was the sound of water breaking against the shoreline.

"Mark?" I heard Paul ask softly. "Are you awake?"

I started not to answer. "Yes."

"Can I get into bed with you?"

It took a minute for his words to register. "I guess so."

Paul through back his covers and came over to my bed. "I don't want to do anything," he said. "I just don't want to be alone. OK?"

I lifted up the covers for him to crawl in. "I feel the same way, Paul," I answered. "I feel the same way." I rolled over and faced the open door of the balcony. I felt Paul's body press up against mine, and his arm encircled me. Before long, we both drifted off to sleep in the safety of each other's touch.

I was walking along the beach with my reflection. My face was wet from the spray, and my hair was being whipped around by a near constant breeze. I turned and looked into his/my green eyes. His/my auburn hair was whipping around my face in the constant wind.

"What are you so depressed about?" He asked me.

"Paul's leaving." I answered. The words sounded so final.

"Not tonight," he replied. "Isn't he sleeping next to you?"

"But next May!" I exclaimed. Why couldn't he understand?

"You need to learn to stop trying to breathe tomorrow's air."

"I don't understand." I was so confused. Even the scenery didn't make sense. We were on the wrong beach.

"You're all in a twist about what's going to happen in May." He put a cool hand on my shoulder. "What's wrong with letting yourself enjoy today?"

"You don't understand."

"And you don't trust me."

I looked at our surroundings. We were at the beach, but it wasn't on the Gulf. The Gulf is green. The waters stretching away from us were deep blue. "Trust you? I don't even know were I am!"

He looked out at the ocean. "Oh! That's the Atlantic. The beaches are better, but I didn't bring you here to show you a beach." He was pointing down the beach to guy standing alone. I had the sense of other people being present, but they all drifted into the background. All I could see was the lone figure of a tall guy about my age with his back to me looking out over an endless ocean. There was such sadness in the set of his shoulders. I knew if I looked him in the eyes that I'd never be the same. My heart longed to go to him . . .

I felt a cool hand on my arm. "Not yet!" My reflection exclaimed. "You'll meet him soon enough."

"So who is he?"

"The future."

I turned and looked into the green eyes of my host. "How do you know?"

"How do you think?" he replied, as if that were all the answer I needed. He started walking around me in circles. He made several passes before he spoke again. "I know it the same way I knew you'd end up with Pauli Boy." He stopped circling me just long enough to look me in the eyes again and say, "I asked." He started circling me again. "Besides, you talk in your sleep."

"Oh." The sea was roaring, and the spray was soaking me. I looked up the beach at the lone figure again. There wasn't a building in sight. Water poured off my body. "Is this supposed to be a wet dream?"

"Cute." He said flatly. "You left the windows open, Sherlock. Didn't anyone ever tell you about fog at the beach?"

I opened my eyes. The room was grey with fog. Everything, and I mean EVERYTHING, was coated with dew. I through back the damp covers and jumped out of bed. Paul stirred and opened his eyes.

"What?" he asked sleepily.

"Get up. Everything's soaked. Help me get some towels so we can dry this place off." Paul climbed out of bed. He was naked. We looked at each other and started laughing. "Who knew?" I asked. "Whoever heard of the dew falling on the seventh floor?"

Paul and I ate an early breakfast, and we spent the whole day together. We lay out on the beach most of the morning, and that afternoon we went back to the apartment for a nap. Around six, we went to the amusement park and road rides until nearly one in the morning. We were exhausted by the time we got back to the apartment.

"I want to take a shower. You mind?" I asked.

"Go ahead," Paul answered. "I'll take one after you."

I went into the bathroom and pulled off my clothes. The second day of Spring Break had proven much better than the first, and I had hopes for the third. It had been a couple of weeks since Paul and I had done anything, so I was nourishing a little fantasy that he'd crawl back into my bed again. I finished my shower and went back in the bedroom. Paul was stretched out on his bed still fully clothed. "Next!" I shouted.

Paul got up and closed the door behind him. I took the towel from my waist and started digging through my clothes for something to wear to bed. Something about my reflection in the mirror caught my eye, and I straightened up to look at myself. The morning sun had done a lot to reinforce my tan, and the band of white around my middle made me look like I was still dressed. I had a good body, and it seemed a shame to cover it up. Paul had seen me naked before, so I decided I'd sleep in the nude. Beside, I told myself, if Paul climbs into bed with me tonight, it'll make it clear to him I'm interested in playing around.

I through back the sheets on my bed and got under the covers. Paul came out of the bathroom wearing his underwear. To my dismay, he through back the covers on the other bed and got in. I suddenly felt very naked under the sheets. I reached over and turned out the lights and went to sleep.

The next day was more of the same. Seeing all those half-naked men was driving me insane, and Paul seemed to purposely avoid any suggestion of sex. I needed to touch and be touched by another man. I needed to know the feel and smell of Paul's body next to mine. I wanted intimacy, and if I couldn't get that, I'd have settled for plain, old raw sex.

By Wednesday morning I was nearly a mental case. Every night, Paul would come out of the bathroom wearing his underwear. Every morning I'd climb naked out of bed. Paul made no comment about my lack of clothes, and I began to doubt if he even noticed me being there. My week of hedonistic abandon had turned into monastic hell. I was sure my nuts were turning blue!

Thursday afternoon, Paul and I took a stroll up and down the beach. It was so nice having this good-looking guy walking nearly naked beside me. At times, it felt like it was just the two of us, and Paul seemed as comfortable in my presence as I was in his. After a couple of hours, we stopped at a concession stand and bought something to quench our thirst. Two girls came up as we were standing in line, and Paul started talking to them. One thing lead to another, and Paul pulled me aside.

"Hey, look," he mumbled in my ear. "I'm going to take this chick to the place, ok?"

"Yeah." I said. I tried not to let him know he'd just ripped my guts out. "Sure." I watched as Paul and what's-her-name walked away. He was taking her back to do what he was supposed to do with me. He was going to hold her in his arms. He was going to fuck her.

The bimbo's friend was standing there looking at me with an overly expectant look in her eye. "Excuse me," I said. "I gotta go barf up a lung." I didn't turn to look at her expression as I headed off in the opposite direction from the one Paul had taken. I didn't care if I'd hurt her, either. She was nothing to me. The only thing I cared about at that moment was getting as far away from Paul as I could.

I walked for what seemed like hours. I knew it was getting late, but I had no idea what time it was. I was on a less popular stretch of the beach, and the relative seclusion suited my dark mood better. I saw a restroom up ahead and made my way toward it.

I went inside the musky-smelling building. Sand covered the floor, and the stalls had long since lost their doors. I walked up to the middle stall and pulled down my trunks. I let the tension flow out of my body along with the hot yellow stream, relishing the feel of a much needed piss.

A bit of movement caught my eye. I'd noticed a hole in the wall when I'd walked into the stall, but I hadn't paid much attention to it. Now there was a mouth there an open mouth. I stared at the glistening tongue as the last drops of piss fell from my cockhead. I'd heard about this sort of stuff in locker room talk before, but I didn't believe it.

I looked around behind me. There was no one else in the building, and I was sure I could hear anyone approaching in time to pull away. Cautiously, I turned and put the head of my hardening dick on the tongue. I was rewarded by the sensation of having the head drawn into the warm, wet mouth.

I was instantly hard. I pushed myself against the wall, letting my hard-on protrude all the way through. Fingers reached in and pulled my nuts through to the other side. A strong, firm hand started jacking me off while the other hand fondled and caressed my tender balls. The man on the other side bent down and licked the head of my dick. His tongue swirled around the tender head several times before he plunged down on me. I felt my rock-hard cock being swallowed deeper and deeper into his hot, waiting mouth. A groan escaped my lips as I felt myself go all the way inside him. He started squeezing and massaging my erection with his throat. My knees were getting weak. I grabbed a hold of the stall and pushed against it with all my strength. I wanted him to suck my entire body through that tiny hole. I wanted him to pull me inside that incredible sucking machine of a mouth and draw every ounce of cum out of me I could produce.

He started moving his head up and down on my shaft. He was taking every inch of my tool, and I was straining to give him more. He fucked my dick with his mouth until I was nearly wild. I cried out and shot my load inside him. I was pounding against the barrier between us, making loud crashing noises with each shot. Again and again I felt my loins pour out their hot, white juice into his tender mouth.

I was out of breath. Sweat poured from every inch of my body. I hung there limp against the stall wall, my now soft dick still poking through to the other side. I pulled out of the hole and pulled up my bathing suit. It was time to see who was on the other side of that stall. I walked around only to be greeted by an empty toilet seat. The guy had gone, and I never saw him again.

I stood at the end of the pier and tried to ignore the party going on behind me. I closed my eyes and concentrated on the way the pier twisted and moved under my fees as the waves broke against its pilings. There was something about that sensation that connected with the feeling that had been boiling up inside of me. The harder I tried to stand still the more the earth seemed to move under my feet. I wasn't sure of anything anymore. I opened my eyes and stared out across the dark expanse of water. I wondered what would happen if I dove in. Would anyone notice? How far would I get? How deep would I have to sink before I lost consciousness?

"So many lies," I muttered to myself. I felt so alone. "You've told too many of them, Marky-Boy, and now they're coming back to you." I was sick of it. I was sick of the hiding and the half-truths I was telling every one to keep them from finding out about me. I wanted to be free of the yoke of lies once and for all and to walk openly with a guy at my side. I wanted the old dream of a house in the country with a picket fence and a dog in the back yard. I wanted someone I could come home to. Standing there, looking out at a world every bit as dark as my mood, I knew it wouldn't be with Paul. He could never live that kind of life. He'd always be the kind of guy that refused to put down roots. He'd move from place to place all his life, picking up and moving whenever the people he loved started getting too close to him. He'd never stay and face life. It just wasn't in him. He was a runner. What I wanted was someone just like me. I'd rather be alone than live that other life, I told myself, and almost immediately I heard a voice within me answer that it'd be the same outcome regardless.

My thoughts drifted back to the memory of my father's angry glare as he stood over me. It was the last image I had of him. Suddenly, I lost my nerve. I couldn't let that be my end. I'm a good guy, I told myself. I deserve a happy ending.

No, I had to chart a course that would bring all these dreams to their fruition.

"Hi!" I heard a voice around me. I spun around to see a cute guy standing there with a beer in his hand. "You looked like you could use this," he said as he thrust the can at me.

"Sure!" I replied. "Let's party!"

The lights were off in the bedroom when I got back. It was three-fifteen in the morning, and I had a hell of beer-buzz going. I tried to move around quietly, but the room kept spinning around. I bumped into something and sent it crashing to the floor.

The lights flashed on. "Where the hell have you been?" Paul demanded.

"Out," I said, laughing at my own joke.

"It's not funny." Paul got out of bed and put his hands on me. "Are you drunk?"

"Naaaaaaaah!" I answered. "I'm just a wee bit tipsy, 'sall. "

"You're skunked." Paul put a hand around the back of my neck and pulled me close. "Why didn't you come get me? I like beer."

"Didn't want to interfere with yer date?"

"She left twelve hours ago."

I pulled away and sat down on the edge of the bed. "J'you fuck 'er?"

Paul sat down next to me. "Yes."

"I'm happy for you."

"I didn't cum."

"Whoopee!" It took a minute for what he'd said to swim through the beer. "You didn't shoot?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"'Cause," he said, his face turning red. "I was hoping you and I could . . . "

"Dance in the dark?"

"Something like that."

"I'm too drunk."

"And you stink, too." He stood up and helped me to my feet. "Go take a shower."

I stood up and fell back down.

"You're a real piss-ant, you know that?" Paul reached down and pulled me up. His skin was warm and soft, and he smelt so good. I let him pull me to the bathroom and sit me down on the toilet while he got the shower going. He turned and looked down at me with his hands on his hips. He looked so sexy standing there, a boy-wonder in his underwear. I wondered if Batman ever saw Robin in his BVD's and started to laugh.

"What's so funny?"

"Where's your cape?" I asked. I fell to the floor in a fit of laughter. My super hero just stood there looking down at me until I stopped laughing. I looked up at his face. "You going to help me up or what?"

Paul bent down and lifted me to my feet. He pulled the hem of my shirt up and over my head. The steam from the shower made his skin glisten, and I ran my hands along his strong arms. Paul pushed my pants down, and I stepped free of them. My erection brushed against the white material of his cotton briefs.

"Get in," he said hoarsely. "I'll go turn your bed down."

"Don't you want to scrub my back?" I asked him playfully.

"Yes. That's why I'm not going to do it." And he left the room.

I let the water flow over my body. What was wrong with me, I asked myself. The guy I had let suck me off in the bathroom obviously found me desirable. Why didn't Paul? I soaped down my torso and let my mind drift. The water was so warm, and it flowed over my body like a tongue. I imagined myself as giant prick being sucked and caressed by a hot, pulsing mouth. Every nerve in my body danced under the warm spray.

A jolt ran through me when I felt a hand on my back. "Don't turn around," I heard Paul say.

I leaned into the spray and let him lather up my back. Paul slowly ran his soapy hands along the entire length of my back, his fingers massaging and squeezing each muscle as he went. I felt his chin resting on my shoulder as he started washing my ass. The stubble of his sparse beard bit into my skin and made my cock leap. Paul reached around and began running his hands along my chest. I pushed myself against him, and pulled his arms around me in an embrace. Paul drug his chin across my back, his beard stinging into the tender skin between my shoulder blades.

We stood there, our bodies interlocked, with the water flowing over us. Paul felt so slick against me. The only movement between us was our breathing, and that was growing increasingly faster. Paul's cotton-encased hard-on was wedged between my ass-cheeks, and I squeezed my buttocks together from time to time to give him an additional thrill. I was so hard, and the feel of Paul was so sensuous, that I felt myself rising to the brink.

I through my head back and let out a deep sigh as the cum shot from my body. It splashed against the tile so hard that I heard it even above the spray of the shower. Paul moaned and started pumping his cock against me. "Fuck!" He shouted, and I felt his warm fluid spread between us.

Paul left as abruptly as he'd come. I turned the shower off and dried myself. I wrapped the towel around myself and turned out the light. Paul was in bed with his back to me, and the room was dark. I through my towel against the wall and climbed into my bed.

My mind was racing too fast to close my eyes. I could hear Paul's breathing, and I fought the urge to get up and go to him. So much had happened to me. Even though I needed to sort it all out, the need to be held weighed out.

"Paul?"

"What?"

"Thank you."

"Don't mention it, Piss-ant."

I tried to close my eyes. My body was exhausted, but my mind refused to slow down. I rolled over and faced the windows. I heard a rustling of sheets behind me.

"Move over," Paul told me. I shifted over in the bed and felt him lie down beside me. His warm arms engulfed me. I closed my eyes and nestled myself in his masculinity.

I was on the beach again. Rain stung my face, and the seas were dark against the grey skies. I looked around for my reflection, but I couldn't find him.

"Where are you?" I asked. The rain was pounding against my face. Sea foam blew past me, and the sound of the waves crashing against the shore was deafening.

"I'm right here," he answered. We were no longer on the beach. He and I were sitting on the island in the middle of Beasley's Pond, a private place where I go from time to time to get away from everyone. The sun was shining through the longleaf pines, and I could hear birds twittering away in the bushes. "I'm never very far from your secret places."

"This place is no secret," I replied. "My brother used to take me here all the time."

"I don't mean the place, Dick Wad. I mean the fantasy."

I felt myself blush even in my dream. "How do you know about that?"

"I know a lot about you." He got up and waded out into the still, clear water. "So you want to have sex here. Why haven't you brought Beth here, then?"

I saw the answer more than said it. I'd had the same fantasy since puberty. It always involved coming to Beasley's Pond with someone who's face I couldn't see. We'd kiss, and then have the most incredible sex I could imagine. I could never put a face on the body, but whoever it was, his body had developed over the years into a tower of strength and power. The fantasy had become so strong that, at times, I'd have to slip out to the pond and jack off just so I could be closer to the reality of it.

"You're right. She was never the one you wanted to have sex with not here, at least. This place represents a part of you that you've hidden from. This place is where your secrets live." He looked at me and grinned. "You've got a lot of nice bodies floating around inside your head."

I stood up and walked out into the cool water. "No. Just one, really. I'll meet him some day."

"Perhaps," he replied, "but you don't make it easy."

My reflection dove into the water and came up on the far shore. I dove in after him, and I let the cool wetness envelope me. I popped up and pulled myself up on the shore next to him. We were both lying naked in the sun.

"Did you enjoy that little encounter in the bath house yesterday?"

"I-uh-I, well, yeah. I did."

"You're welcome."

I turned and looked at him. "That was you?" I asked.

He laughed. "Not hardly. It was just my idea. "

"Thanks."

The scene shifted. My reflection shifted into the familiar image of my perfect man. I'd grown up with this guy. I'd watched as he took shape in my fantasies, shifting from a vague, genderless form into a strong, vibrant man. He was more real than ever. I could feel his body heat as he lay in the sun next to me. My heart was beating so fast that I couldn't bring myself to look at him. He felt so real.

"Race ya!' He said to me in a deep, powerful voice, and he dove headlong into the icy water.

I felt Paul stirring next to me. I was awake now, but I refused to open my eyes. I didn't want to wake up. I'd been having 'the dream' again. I'd been at my secret place with THE most incredible man, and we were holding each other. My clothes melted away from my body from all heat we were generating. His strong arms were wrapped around me, and he lowered one of his hands to my ass. I began exploring his tender flesh with my fingertips. I let my touch graze along the ridges of his spine and descend down to the two dimples just above the rise of muscle at the start of his ass. I cupped his strong, well-muscled ass cheeks in my hands, pulling and rubbing my way into the moist warmth hidden inside. I teased and played with his opening, letting my fingers threaten to plunge inside him only to pull back when I felt his sphincter tremble with anticipation. I wrapped my legs around his waist and let his strength hold me up. I rode his thrusting torso like a bucking pony. His legs quivered under me. I felt the sudden rush of a heat flare up between us, and I knew he was cumming. I could hold it no longer. I could feel the pressure building in me, the floodgates of hot cum straining to burst forth from my quivering rod. I-I . . .

That's when I opened my eyes. Paul's hand was on my cock, and he was gently squeezing and toying with the object of his affection. I felt my eyes roll back in my head as I shot my cum all over his hand.

"Good morning," he whispered in my ear. I could feel the head of his cock pressing against my opening. This was what I had longed for all week. Paul's arms were wrapped around me, and he was pulling me down on his shaft. I brief shock of pain coursed though me as he pushed his way inside my ass.

"My Prince," he muttered as he slowly impaled me. I didn't want to think about what he was saying. The sensation of his movements were quickly turning from pain to pleasure. My cock sprang back to life and was throbbing for attention. I rolled over and lay on my belly. Paul pushed my legs apart with his knees and began earnestly pumping his rod in and out of my backside. I was moaning involuntarily with each thrust.

I'd never felt anything like it, and Paul was doing everything in his power to heighten my pleasure. Paul reached underneath me and pulled me up on my knees so he could fondle my erection. His hands toyed with my nuts and squeezed my shaft as he pulmulted me from behind. He leaned forward and took my ear in his mouth, biting and nibbling on the tender flesh.

I was ecstatic. I reached underneath me and played with his balls as he plunged into me. I began squeezing my asscheeks together as he withdrew to add to his sensation. Paul went wild. He clutched me tightly in his arms and reared back. I was physically lifted from the sheets both by the grip of his strong arms and the power of his upward thrusts. Again and again he lunged deep inside me. His cockhead pounded against my prostrate, sending my engorged penis into a frenzy. We both shouted out as our hot loads poured forth from our straining bodies. Paul pushed himself as deep inside me as he could. My cock was forced up at an even steeper angle, and the change in trajectory caused my spunk to spray all over the wall above the headboard.

Paul's breath was quivering. He fell back on the bed and pulled me down on top of him. He gently kissed my neck and shoulders as he caressed my heaving chest. I could hear him muttering something, but I couldn't make it out. I was too lost in the moment to care.

It was nearly dinnertime (uh that's lunch if you live up North) before we got out of bed. Neither of us bothered to dress. We made sandwiches and sat naked on the balcony as we ate. I didn't feel much like talking, but Paul was busting at the seams. The last twenty-four hours had left me with a lot to think about, and I needed a bit of space. I suggested we go out and catch some sun, and Paul quickly agreed. We finished our meals and went back inside to pull on our bathing suits.

"Mark?"

"Yeah?" I replied as I pulled on my bathing suit.

"Nothing."

I went over to Paul and sat down next to him on the bed. "What is it?"

"Are you . . ." He looked me in the eyes. I knew what he wanted to ask, but I hoped he wouldn't. He sat there quietly for a moment before he spoke. "I don't want to go."

"I'm not wild about the idea, either. I've gotten used to having you around." I decided I had to be honest with him. I'd done enough lying for a lifetime, and I wanted no more of it. I'd tell him the truth, even if I knew it would hurt him. "There's not much we can do about it though."

"We could run away." The look in his eyes was so innocent. "We just wouldn't go back."

I thought seriously about what he'd just said. "You mean just like that?"

"Just like that. You and me. We'll hit the road and see where it takes us."

"But my Mom's car. . ."

"We'll ditch it. We can leave it at the police station if you'd like. That way you know she'll get it back." He'd obviously thought about this for a while. Then it hit me. This had been his plan all along. Paul brought me here with the intention of getting me to run away with him.

"What about your folks?"

"Fuck 'em! And don't ask me about yours. I know you don't give a fart about them, either."

I stood up and walked over to the window. "Seeds sown!" I mumbled. Paul was dead wrong about my feelings, both about him and my family.

"What do you mean by that?"

I turned and looked at him. He was so handsome, and I had every reason to take his hand and ride off into the sunset. He was going to make some guy very happy, but it wouldn't be me. "It's something my grandmother used to say: 'You don't make beans by sowing peas!' I can't do it, Paul. I can't leave."

"Why not?" He stood up, walked over to me, and took me in his arms. "Don't you want to go with me?"

I knew he was really asking another question, one that he still couldn't bring himself to utter out loud. That was part of the reason I couldn't do it. I couldn't see either of us being open about our relationship. Hell, Paul couldn't even be honest with himself about it. "I don't want you to leave, if that's what you're asking. I just . . ." I closed my eyes. I couldn't say it while looking at him. "It wouldn't work."

"Why not?" He asked. The tone in his voice reminded me of how I sounded when I argued with my mother about something she wouldn't let me do. "We've got a few bucks. We could hitchhike out to California and live on the beach."

"And when the money runs out?"

"We'll get jobs. It'll be just the two of us. Me and You."

"It won't work, Paul. I'm not in love with you." I opened my eyes. Paul was visibly stunned. I knew it hurt him, but I had to say it. There had been a time when I'd have lied to him to protect his feelings, but I wanted all that behind me. I needed honesty, and I couldn't ask for something I wasn't prepared to give. I kissed Paul on his cheek. "You mean the world to me. Even so, it just wouldn't work. You're not ready for this, and neither am I."

"But I . . ."

I put a finger on his lips and stopped him. There were tears forming in his eyes. I saw so much there, and I hated myself for not being what he needed. I'd have hated myself more, though, if I had lied to him. I ran my fingers through his hair and pulled him close.

Paul pulled away from me. He picked up the towel and walked over to the door. "You still want to go lay in the sun?" he asked.

Amazing, I thought. He acted like nothing had happened between us. The boy was a master at self-manipulation. "Sure," I replied, and I followed him out the door.

(Stay tuned for chapter nine!)