Thursday, November 29, 2012

Dreaming of Dax Ch. 01

OVER A YEAR AGO I began posting this story on Literotica. It was the first m/m story I ever wrote, and that I did so was kind of a fluke.

It wasn't that I had any issues with writing m/m, but I had never done it before, although I liked reading the genre. Then I started a new story in the "First Time" category about a female college freshman who meets this guy who is a couple years older than her and most of the time he acts like an ass. My original plan was that he was going to change for her and turn into her knight in shining armor. But…

One of my readers left the following comment:
"I assume your protagonist will be deflowered - it is going to be a test of your writing skill to make it substantially different from her dream. Different guy? Dax really is a closeted gay, but ... It is quite a challenge you've set for yourself."

I noticed that he believed Dax was gay, and I thought, "Hmmmm". I'd never really considered it but it sounded intriguing. I felt I was up to the task, a new m/m writer was born and I've never looked back. Good or bad, this is what I do now.

In any case, this is my Dreaming of Dax story, but because I can start completely over, it's isn't the same as the first version. It has been updated which means that a chapter might look the same but I can assure you it isn't exactly. I haven't completely removed my female protagonist, Emily, but she plays a much smaller role in this rendition. Some names have been changed. There is no hint that Dax is bisexual which I considered a weak link in the original but was necessary to tie Dax to Emily since it began as her tale.

Just so you're aware, the changes I made mean that the chapter numbers don't line up with the original Literotica version either. I hope you enjoy it.

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Does Loving Your Best Friend Make You Gay?

My name is Darrell Alan Xavier Stephenson. In this day and age of boys named Josh or Sean or Chris, I got stuck with Darrell. My mother told me a story once that she and my dad sat around drunk one night before I was born and pulled names out of a hat, and that’s how I ended up with my moniker. At least the initials looked good together, so most of my life I’ve called myself Dax. Anyone who doesn’t go along with it isn’t my friend.

I was six when my dad split. He couldn’t handle my mother’s self-absorbed bullshit any more. One day I came home from kindergarten to find her crying in the kitchen of the apartment and him gone, never for us to lay eyes on him again. That was two thirds of my lifetime ago, and I still remember it like it was yesterday.

And what the hell, he didn’t even take me with him! He left me here for my mother to raise, knowing full well what kind of basket case she was. Even at that young age where my main goal in life should’ve been learning to play soccer and how to add 2+2, I could have cared less if we ended up on the street somewhere with my dad out of work just like he was most of my early life. Starving, no roof over my head, wearing cast off clothes from some shelter- believe me when I say I much rather this had been my fate. Except for meeting Mi… well, I’m getting ahead of the story if I go there.

My mother was one of those tragic females who didn’t know how to be happy unless some man was fawning over her and telling her she was the most beautiful creature in the world. I guess now they use terms like co-dependent and narcissistic, but I was just a kid back then. All I knew was that she had her head so far up her ass she didn’t see me at all, especially when it came to the long parade of men she’d bring back to the apartment. And notice, I call her ‘my mother’. She was never Mom or Mommy after Dad left. She didn’t have a heart big enough to earn the right.

I remember my impressionable years as a succession of step-fathers and my mother’s lovers. When she was younger and kept herself slim and pretty, some of the men were very nice, showing an interest and trying to be a true daddy to me. When they were in our lives, I felt at least accepted if not actually loved. We would go places as a family, and I could make believe that they wanted the best for me, if only to make her happy. These guys were decent human beings, many of them smart and wanting a real relationship with her, and it didn’t take long for them to realize they were getting suckered by a woman looking for a meal ticket with nothing of herself to give. Then, it was ‘adios amigos’ to her and me.

Some ignored me and pretended I wasn’t there, and they were okay too. I fended for myself and learned to love peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. I faded into the background of the apartment and, with each new strange man, learned the rules of how far I could push the boyfriend before his apathy turned into anger. They probably had low self-esteem and put up with my mother longer than the nice ones, but eventually they disappeared too.

Some of the men tried to get my mother to leave with them and abandon me. This seemed to come with the territory, the kind of guy who wanted a sex object who wasn’t tied down to someone else’s brat. Once they found out she wouldn’t budge, they were gone. It was a mystery why, with as little attention as she paid me, she wanted to keep me around, and in hindsight, I wish she had dumped me and vamoosed. I don’t exactly know what I expected to happen to me, but maybe (fingers crossed) I might have ended up with a foster family or new adoptive parents who would’ve actually cared about me.

Then, there were the abusive ones. I don’t know if it’s just faulty memory, but they seemed to stick around for the longest time. The mean ones who gave my mom black eyes and bruises, they would scream obscenities at her or force her to have sex with them when she didn’t want it.

I think I was nine the first time I knew what sex was because one of her drugged-up boyfriends dragged her by her neck out of the kitchen during dinner and forced her into the bedroom. Through the wide open door I saw him rip her clothes off and push her down on the bed. I had to listen to the noises their fucking made. It was disgusting how she went from crying over being raped into loud moans of arousal where she just took it, and I finally went outside and sat on the front porch in the dark and cold, trying to block the sights and sounds out of my head. Who wants to be a nine year old boy and see his mother and her boyfriend nude and going at it?

I sometimes got abused too. If my mother couldn’t defend herself, she sure as hell wasn’t going to put herself out there to defend me. But honestly, what kind of woman lets her son be hurt like that and then tries to turn around and persuade him that it’s for the good of us both, and I should just keep my mouth shut and let them do it?

I stayed out of the apartment as much as I dared, hid in my bedroom as quietly as a mouse and stopped breathing if a boyfriend looked at me funny. I got slapped, punched, kicked and shoved on a regular basis. It was nothing to have my hand clasped in a vice-like grip and shoved under scalding hot water for eating a sandwich I didn’t request beforehand. Or to be dragged by the hair and told to stand completely still in a doorway for an hour for not bringing ‘The Man’ a cold beer fast enough.

I remember one night I didn’t get dinner and tried to sneak apple juice into my bedroom, spilt it on the sheets and was accused of wetting the bed. I was twelve at the time, and the boyfriend gave my naked rear end several hard spankings with a belt for that stunt. Although embarrassed as hell, I refused to cry which made him even more brutal. I was just old enough to begin understanding the differences between childhood and adolescence- the paddling actually felt good in a perverse way and gave me an erection. But I never forgot the pain or mortification.

My mother was a hairdresser and worked long hours at the salon, styling and coloring, and for awhile she knew how to take care of herself. When she wasn’t working, she began drinking a lot. She didn’t seem to have any time for me, and I learned very early to do for myself because she wouldn’t. I became a self-reliant little twerp who generally kept to myself because I didn’t want anybody to know how bad things were at home.

You read about kids who were mistreated who accepted their lot in life as normal? Not me. It wasn’t difficult to notice that the other children wore clothes that fit and didn’t have ripped out seams or holes in the knee. They brought a lunch to school that actually filled them up and even had enough pocket change to buy icecream from the musically-tinkling van who set up shop on the corner a block from school every day.

I was the kid whose mother never showed up for parent-teacher conferences or attended the class recitals, and I’d watch my classmates with envious eyes, wanting her approval and to enjoy spending time with me like other parents did. Early on, my big mouth got me into trouble, but my mother provided enough non-verbal clues to prove that, while complaining to her only brought on more of the same, it would be disastrous if I told another adult and wasn’t believed. Mostly through trial and error as I got older, I learned to keep my eyes open and muzzle my thoughts so I wouldn’t get hit… or worse. There is more than one level of hell.

In the looks department, meh! I was pretty much nondescript as a kid, even into my late teens. My father’s descendents came from Scotland and England, and my mother claimed to be French and Native American, but in me it was all a thrown- together mishmash. Brown-eyed and blond, I wore my hair longer than most kids because my mother didn’t want to cut it. She said it was handsome and I reminded her of Dad. I think she was just lazy. I didn’t learn to swim until I was much older, never went to a pool or the beach after Dad left, so I was kind of pasty looking. Everyone commented that I had a pretty face. Yeah, for some weird reason my mug was mostly spared when I got beaten up. My nose was only broken once and I never lost any teeth.

I guess I was kind of a wimpy thing. When you don’t have decent food to eat it leaves you without the nutrients necessary for normal growth. I’m almost six foot now, but I developed really late and didn’t hit my growth spurt until I was nearly twenty after I learned how to take better care of myself. I had eyesight problems that weren't diagnosed until 4th grade when the school nurse lined us all up in her office to read the eye charts. I failed the test miserably, but once I got glasses it opened a whole new world to me. I also suffered from nightmares and slept restlessly, but then you would too if you lived in such a chaotic world. I was this skinny, pale boy with no body hair past the age most kids go through puberty. I went through my early teen years looking like a scrawny, pre-pubescent girl. Five foot- six and 125 pounds soaking wet. I was just a nobody runt who slipped under the radar.

When I was fourteen, my mother had a boyfriend who seemed kinder than most of the others. I was in the eighth grade and his name was Howard. She was trying to clean up her act a little and wasn’t as drunk so she worked more hours. She was at the salon from noon until almost nine pm, and Howard returned from his job at three in the afternoon, right after I got out of school. We would go places together like the mall or the park. He bought me a video game I’d been asking my mother for but she didn’t have the money to buy.

You know, despite all the shit my mother had put me through I was a na├»ve kid. I had no idea this was how guys like him softened up their prey… by buying them things and spending time with them to make them feel special. It began so innocently. He was just always there in the afternoon, more like a parent than my own mother was. Except that he did things to me that no parent should ever do to a child.

Backrubs became touching, and Howard told me that he loved me and this was the way adults showed it. My humiliation knew no bounds when touching was no longer enough and he was asking for me to do things to him with my mouth. I wish I didn’t have to admit that he did the same thing back to me. I wish I could say it didn’t feel good. He disgraced me by calling me a ‘natural’, but with nobody in my corner who would take me seriously, I was trapped.

So yeah, the man ended up molesting me. It only happened over the course of a couple weeks, but to be on the receiving end of it made it feel as if it went on forever, and I was so ashamed. I guess I was fairly lucky because my mother and him weren’t getting along, and she dumped Howard’s ass very quickly after that. I never told her about it. Don’t ask me; I don’t like to dwell on the unpleasant details, and I don’t care to discuss it. It’s hard enough that I have to relive it in my head sometimes. I moved on.

Yeah, I learned the difficult way that families had secrets, lots of them. I was never a trouble-maker by any stretch of the imagination, but with my past I should’ve been. I was too invisible to be invited into a gang. It was only by cosmic grace that I never veered into any sort of crime, got arrested or developed a problem with alcohol or drugs myself. I think I was paying close attention to my mother’s dysfunction and felt the devastation done to me all too real. No thanks.

Oh, here’s a good story to illustrate how much my mother cared about me. The day I turned sixteen she hired a hooker to take my virginity, and she couldn’t even manage to do this right. She didn’t get me someone young and fairly attractive to make it even remotely enjoyable. The woman was a drug addict acquaintance and had to be in her early thirties, wrinkled with no boobs, a saggy ass and a pot belly. She even had teeth missing and smelled really bad. Of course, my mother didn’t know what Howard had done to me two years years before, but that’s no excuse for letting a diseased hooker even get near me like that. She said I was turning into a pansy and needed to learn to be a man.

The sex act was a cold, clinical business transaction that crushed me. In less than ten minutes the bitch felt me up to a hard-on, slapped a condom on my dick and squatted over me. Physically, yeah I got laid and had my first orgasm ever from intercourse. I was still so innocent, even after the molest, that I didn’t even jack off. But I was unable to feel any emotions except guilt and humiliation. It hurt more than a little and completely lacked in emotional intimacy. I was very bitter towards my mother and out-of-my-depth confused sexually. In reality, it helped me realize what an uncaring bitch she truly was so I could stop needing her love and approval without feeling guilty. But the rape, or whatever you want to call it, became another memory I stored in my brain without discussion, rarely to bring up in my future. It happened, and I got over it.

I knew nothing about sex other than what Howard did and my one time with the hooker. Thinking about it was depressing, talking about it was worse. I guess you could say that technically I wasn’t a virgin but in every other sense of the word I was. I had no clue whether I was straight, gay or asexual. Mystified? Hell yeah! I never felt any tugging on my heart towards either gender. No attraction whatsoever. I’d never had a girlfriend. Only much later would I learn that I was in that tiniest percentage of molested adolescent males who didn’t trickle down my abuse to foul a younger generation. It stopped with me.

I think one of the things that saved me was school which opened a whole new world to me. While I didn’t trust any of my early teachers to tell them about my abuse, that doesn’t mean I couldn’t learn from them. I loved to read and dived voraciously into books which made me smarter, and in trying to escape the abuse at home, something of a daydreamer. I could get lost in stories and most of the time they drowned out the shouting between my mother and her latest fling. I loved the clinical logic of mathematics and the wonder of science.

High school was a disaster. My mother’s sleeping partner a couple of boyfriends after Howard introduced her to the joys of cocaine, and she eventually lost her job at the salon. One time in the middle of the night Mom woke me up, and we just packed up and left. We moved to a community north of San Diego called Santa Bella to get away from said boyfriend and her shitty reputation as a whore and bad mother, making me the new kid in a large, rough high school in the middle of my junior year.

That was fucking awesome! I took advantage of having no abusive men in the household for once to focus on my grades and was a reasonably good student, but I wasn’t interested in clubs or sports. That, plus my zero charisma, granted me geek status right from the start, and in time I out-nerded the nerds. I loved music and had a decent voice with no outlet except glee club, and absolutely no way would I invite that catastrophe. I was the typical teenage punching bag: short and waifish, quiet to the point of non-verbal with no social life and a nearly straight-A student who knew all the answers in class when a teacher would address the students. Popular? Absolutely not!

The bullies, mostly consisting of the muscle-bound jerks on the football team, came out of the woodwork to torment me unmercifully for my size and feminine appearance and call me faggot and cocksucker. Their leader was Lamont Shores, a hulking six-foot-four, 270 pound future NFL linebacker. He was a homophobic bigot but, somehow, one of the most charismatic and well-liked jocks in the senior class. Go figure! Him against me was a no-brainer; in terms of ass-stomping, it wasn’t whether I would get hurt but how badly. Avoiding him and his cohorts so I wouldn’t be beaten occupied a good part of my day and caused unbelievable stress.

So now that we have the background all settled, this is all about me at seventeen during my senior year at Santa Bella High School. By this time I had accepted my differences from other teenagers. I was never going to be the cool kid with the girls hanging all over him; in fact I really didn’t have any friends at all. My afternoons were spent at the city library down the street from the school where I could get online and meet people anonymously in teen chat rooms or listen to music for two hours before catching a bus home. I existed simply to attend school and learn, getting through it with the best grades possible so I could graduate. Go to college and get a job so I could finally- finally- leave my disgusting mother behind and move out to begin a better life on my own.


It was a Friday in late September and had been raining nonstop for a week. Don’t believe the hype; southern California does have a rainy season, and we were awash in mud. I normally left school by the back field gate because it not only took less time to get to the library it saved me the trouble of walking past the jocks who hung out by the main entrance and liked to target boys like me for the fun of it. The janitors had locked the rear gate because kids were tracking too much mud into the classrooms, so I had to go around through the front.

I didn’t see Lamont Shores and his gang until it was way too late to save myself, and they gave me a thorough hazing. Not much in the way of beating me up because there were too many witnesses, but the intimidation was bad enough. Punching me twice in the stomach doubled me over in pain and almost caused me to vomit, and they roughly ripped my backpack off to dump it out on the wet sidewalk and threw my glasses and most of my school supplies into the parking lot. Finally they tripped me over the bushes into a large mud puddle and ran off laughing.

I was picking myself up, bruised, scratched and humiliated, when I heard the voice. It was warm, friendly and honeyed, not like anything I expected to hear outside my high school. Definitely sexy. “Here, let me help.”

A hand reached out and firmly grabbed me by my upper arm, righting me on my feet. My eyes were streaming water, both muddy and the salty tears kind. I was filthy, bleeding and furious as hell, and I almost shook his assistance off before my brain registered alliance rather than harassment. I could hear the snobby bitch girls giggling somewhere close at hand and the outright guffaws of the male students, and I felt totally ashamed. I couldn’t even see the face of my savior through my dim, near-sightedness and the slimy gook covering my own features.

I was vaguely aware that this person was stuffing my spilled belongings in my pack. “Oh damn,” said the comforting boy’s voice again. “I think they broke your calculator.” It was an expensive scientific model I used for physics and pre-calculus, and I swore heatedly to myself, having no idea how I was going to replace it. But presently he had sorted out my satchel, retrieved my cheap plastic eyeglasses and ruined gear from the gutter and handed me his own sweatshirt to wipe myself down. In no time I had cleaned myself up well enough to see again.

I beheld my guardian angel. He was over six feet tall with wavy auburn hair, fringed longer in front, that even in the gloom of the overcast afternoon shone around his face like a burnished helmet. His large, dark-lashed eyes were hazel with flecks of gold in them, topped with equally dark, thick eyebrows. The boy had a rugged face with an aquiline nose, high cheekbones and a deep tan. Broad-shouldered with a strong muscular structure across his upper body and arms, he shivered in a Kings of Leon t-shirt that was getting wetter by the second in the rain and beginning to stick to his chest. I could see his nipples through it. Toned abdomen above well-fitting but not tight jeans and expensive kicks, he looked like a jock. But he didn’t act like one.

I felt a catch in my stomach like a gasp trying to escape as I stood there staring at him. A stranger to me and, yet, he was vaguely familiar. I fought down a sense of panic that told me I was dreaming as strongly as I fought not to lick my lips and act like a crushing fanboy. He was so very handsome, but it didn’t take any imagination for me to realize I shouldn’t be thinking of him like that.

“Michael Capshaw,” he said by way of introduction, his voice again deep and inviting, and offering his hand to shake. He towered over me. “Aren’t you Dax Stephenson?”

That anyone at school knew, much less remembered, my chosen nickname came as a complete shock, and I could barely nod. This boy was actually being nice to me, something unfamiliar but winning, and I enjoyed looking at him and having him look at me back. It made me feel warm inside, despite the weather.

Michael gazed skywards at the clouds and showers that were beginning to fall faster, wetting his hair and making his t-shirt stick to his skin. “Well Dax, don’t you think we should get out of this mess?” He laughed, a pleasant sound that wasn’t directed at my discomfort or teasing in any way, and it gently brushed up against my loneliness. “My car is in the parking lot and I have an old beach towel in the trunk so you can dry off. I’ll drive you home.”

“How do you know me?” I couldn’t help but blurt out as we crossed the asphalt, my shorter legs struggling to stay alongside. I think I was really asking why he had bothered to step up and offer assistance to a stranger rather than make fun of me like everyone else, but I didn’t want to look any geekier than I already was.

Michael laughed again. “I’ve seen you around campus. You were in my history class last year.”

Nothing more was added, although it barely answered my question. To be honest, I was far less interested in pushing for a complete explanation than in noticing how the rain made his shirt cling like plastic wrap to his skin and define the ridges of his muscles and his tight nipples. I didn’t remember anything about my junior year at Santa Bella High except the kids who hassled me. If Michael wasn’t in that category, he had been one of the nameless, faceless members of the school population.

Michael had a brand new black Nissan that he claimed, not in a boastful way, was an early graduation gift from his parents. He remotely unlocked the trunk to fetch the promised towel which he briefly wiped against the wetness his own face and hair before handing it over. I smelled his male scent, giving a hint of woodsy cologne, to towel myself clean if not dry. It was a nice smell, crisp but musky, that I wouldn’t mind having on myself. Michael suggested slinging the towel over the seat cushion for me to sit on, and he started the engine and pointed the car towards the parking lot entrance.

“I could take you directly home,” he offered. Home for me was twenty minutes away- down the main drag, several exits up the freeway to the bad side of town across the proverbial train tracks. “Or we could stop off at my house first so you can clean yourself up and maybe get your clothes dry. I don’t live far from here.”

No fellow student since seventh grade had asked me to his place and shown friendship like Michael’s, and he was offering me a wild taste of diversion. What was there for me to go home to except my mouthy, drugged up mother? She would demand to know why I was filthy and wet and chide me for not standing up for myself, then make a fool of both of us by calling the school and lashing out at the office staff for not protecting her son better from the jock baddies. She had no idea that adults let this happen to people like me. I was used to it.

“Sure,” I said shyly, looking at the way the outer corners of his golden eyes bowed upwards when he smiled. Michael gave me full grin showing very white, very straight teeth, and I noticed how ideal his mouth was: pouty, pink-lipped perfection. He really was very cute, and I wondered why I had never noticed him before at school, especially if he was a senior like me and had been in my class. Maybe I just was that oblivious or I didn’t want to recognize the attraction. And then I felt bad, chiding myself because I wasn’t supposed to notice him that way.

Michael parked his Nissan in front of a two-story, blue and gray faux-French provincial with a flagstone porch and walkway. The house wasn’t extravagant, but it was large, five bedrooms and four and a half baths actually, with definite curb appeal. Unlocking the front door, we stepped into a cool, dark foyer. It smelled of lemon furniture polish and, beyond the walls, I could see large formal and casual living areas. There was not a bit of clutter anywhere, no dust or grime on the furniture or fixtures and the sisal burgundy rug-covered hardwood floors glowed with wax. A beautifully curved staircase led up to the second floor, and that’s the direction I followed him.

As we had traveled from school to bedroom Michael had spoken of his family. His father made a good living as a pharmaceutical representative and traveled frequently. His mother was in real estate and doing well despite the housing slump. He had two older sisters away at college; Jana, age twenty-three and twenty year old Linnie; and the house pretty much to himself in the afternoons. As the only boy and youngest child, he was spoiled unmercifully. By the time we reached his large bedroom, which was more like a suite with a flat-screen TV, expensive sound system, Xbox 360 and a Playstation 3, I could see he was telling the truth.

“Do you need to call home and let your mom know where you are?” Michael asked, smiling deeply and showing off his dimples. In return for his sharing and to make polite conversation I had mentioned that my mother was a hairdresser who single-parented me and left it at that.

I didn’t have a cell phone of my own, so he let me borrow his. I called my mother and told her I was with a friend. She was so astonished she didn’t ask any questions, and I told her I’d be home by… Michael held up five fingers… five o’clock. No problem, my mother replied in an awed voice, and I’m sure she was relieved. The less she had to put up with me, the better, and happy on her that I finally found someone to hang out with after school. I was loath to give her any additional information on Michael because I suddenly made up my mind that this was none of her business. I was almost an adult now, more so than she had ever been, and she didn’t have to know my every move.

Michael went immediately to his walk-in closet and pulled a robe out of it and handed me clean boxers and a large, fluffy towel. He indicated the adjoining bathroom. “Go undress and take a shower while I put your clothes in the laundry.” He looked at my narrow hips. “You’re a lot smaller than me, but I think the shorts will fit you. After everything is dry I’ll take you home.”

I nodded, a little uncomfortable, not understanding why this boy was putting himself to such trouble for me. After all, he could’ve just driven me straight back to my apartment and let me wash up at home. But for some unknown reason Michael decided to be friendly and considerate and compassionate, and in that minute he introduced me to a world I had never known before- a person who cared, not because he was paid or it was his job, but out of unearned deliberation. Our being alone in his room together signaled a kind of camaraderie I didn’t truly understand but wanted.

The bathroom was as clean as the rest of the house. Michael gave me the privacy to take my wet, muddy clothes off and I quickly shoved them outside the door in an untidy pile of jeans, t-shirt and underwear. The shower was large and roomy, and when I turned on the warm water there was no annoying clanging in the pipes like at my apartment. I used his herbal shampoo and scented shower gel and felt like a million bucks. His old clothes fit me too, and I again took in Michael’s woody bouquet on the robe he lent me.

Stepping out of the steamy bath, I was shocked to find Michael lounging on his queen-size bed, reading one of his textbooks in just a pair of soft gray sweatpants. Sweeping my gaze higher, I stared at his naked upper body that gave shape to the muscles I’d guessed at earlier- sculpted pectorals on his brown chest with rosy brown nickel-sized areolas and flattened nipples. Golden red hairs sprinkled the chest area sparingly, light against the dark skin, becoming thick and wavy as they crossed his torso in a v-shape to disappear into the waistband of the fleece. His shoulders sported toned triceps and biceps I would die for, and his abs rippled when he hopped up. The tied fleece rode low on his hip bones, and I blinked and flushed warmly before looking away. I wasn’t creeped out but my mouth went dry.

“The wash load is almost finished,” he informed me kindly with a wide smile that stretched his pouty mouth in a way that was very attractive. He didn’t seem to notice my staring or the way my face turned red. “I think there’s some leftover pizza in the fridge, and we can play video games in the meantime.”

I wasn’t in charge at Michael’s house so all I could do was concur with everything, not that I disagreed with his plans. He darted downstairs, leaving me blessedly alone to take some deep breaths and clear my head. Daring to focus on the positive, I felt more in control. Video games were common ground I could handle and knew I would be able to acquit myself at well. When he brought up half a pepperoni pizza and two Cokes, I was prepared and we played Call of Duty until almost 4:30. The time flew by.

Michael disappeared again and returned with an armful of clothing, his and mine mixed together, and dumped it on the bed. I pulled out my jeans, t-shirt and underwear and started for the bathroom to change. “Keep the boxers,” he told me. “They’re too small for me.”

I turned around to thank him. His back to me, he was already shucking off his sweatpants in the middle of the room. Not only that, but he was naked underneath. He was naked all over. I had heard of guys going commando before but had never seen it, not up close like this. I tried not to gawk but it was hard to tear my eyes away.

He had a beautiful ass under his nipped waist; round, golden brown cheeks with smooth skin and good glutes. It was obvious he tanned in the nude because there was no change in skin color from calf to waist. From the rear I could see his egg-sized balls hanging between his legs and the occasional swing of his flaccid cock. I blushed and felt a stirring in my groin that both scared and fascinated me. My own cock stiffened and began to tent the shorts, and I ran for the bathroom before Michael saw it too. No, this wasn’t right, I argued in my head, I was not going to allow myself to be so desperate that I misconstrued his intentions.

It took almost ten minutes of calm breathing and thinking of anything but Michael- Mrs. Grover, my ugly-ass English teacher who smelled like stale cheese; the lyrics of my favorite Foo Fighters song, Learn To Fly; the Periodic Table of Elements- for my body to behave and my penis to soften enough to hide it inside my jeans. I stepped out of the bathroom defying myself for control, but he was oblivious to my dilemma and completely dressed, and we left the house. I thanked him profusely, embarrassingly so, as I climbed out of his car in my apartment parking lot.

“It was nothing,” Michael beamed with his quick smile. “I don’t have a lot in common with many of the other students, so it was nice having you over. We should do it again.”

I couldn’t believe his lack of popularity at all and threw him a confused glance he seemed to misunderstand.

“No Dax, I’m talking about hanging at my place for games, tv, music, homework, however you want to meet after school. I hear you’re smart in math and science, and that’s where I need help if I want to get better than a ‘C’ this semester, but I have the skills in Government. We can trade.”

I could see his point and shrugged, smiling. I speculated on whether there was a hidden agenda, but really, there was nothing in his eyes but honest goodwill. What had he done except be my friend? I seemed to be the one with the over-reaction. “Sure Michael, that’s solid.”

Throughout the weekend I struggled with my observations and anxiety. My responses to Michael, both corporal and emotional, strongly hinted that I might be gay, but on top of everything else that was ‘wrong’ with me, I didn’t want to wear this label either. I might look effeminate, but I wanted to be what was considered normal and made me less of a target. Michael’s behavior brought up the question- did he think of me as homosexual and was he coming on to me under some kind of misguided vibe I was unknowingly putting out? Actually, he had done nothing, and it looked as if any reactions were all one-sided by me. But hell, it was such a huge boost to my ego to be liked for a change, I stuffed down my worries.

Michael and I became fast friends and started spending almost all our spare time together. We didn’t share any classes but he’d drive to school early and wait for me at the bus stop to hang out until the bell rang. For lunch, we’d eat together or he would sometimes drive me off-campus to whatever fast food meal suited our fancy. I didn’t have the money for burgers and burritos, and I felt bad when he offered to pay for me.

“I know you can afford it,” I said a week later when, after eating at Burger King the previous day, he insisted on Subway the following afternoon. “It’s cool, but I feel like I’m leeching off your generosity.”

He shook his head and grinned wryly, pulling a package of Cheetos out of his backpack. He was brown-bagging it so we could sit together on the senior patio. “And I’d so rather eat these than buy a roast beef sandwich.”

“Better Cheetos than the shit the cafeteria tries to pass off as food,” I joked back, giggling.

In the afternoons I’d meet him near his locker and we’d go to his house to work on assignments, watch DVDs or play the latest video game. Michael enjoyed suspense films which were a little too much for me sometimes because I had little internal restraint for the building tension in them that made me want to hide my face in the pillows. We had the same tastes in music- indie, alternative rock and metal, and Michael was a huge 3 Doors Down and Avenged Sevenfold fan while I favored Nine Inch Nails and Tool. In games, I loved Halo 3 but always got killed in the middle of rescuing Cortana, and Michael was a bit further along in the game progress than me and showed me what I’d done wrong.

When we were together, the bullies left me alone. I started to relax and not worry as much about others and just enjoyed being myself… and Michael’s friend. My mother got real inquisitive about the new stranger who monopolized all my time, but I refused to so much as tell her his name, and for once I stuck up for myself and wouldn’t let her ground me. She was just sneaky enough to ruin things for me or find some way to turn this into an advantage for herself. He was the first and only person in my life she didn’t have a connection with and I didn’t have to worry about.

I met Michael’s parents. Donna and Robert Capshaw were honest-to-goodness nice people who enjoyed being involved in their children’s lives, and they acted like my hanging around all the time was not a burden. They asked me the normal questions about my parents and didn’t mind that I was from a broken home. They never judged me for being poor. All they cared about was making sure I wasn’t some drug abusing trouble-maker who was going to take their son into the dark side. Michael would always stick up for me and tell them how smart I was, that I wanted to attend college and had dreams and goals just like him.

As Michael and I got to know each other better I began sharing about my past, and Michael was fascinated by the life I’d led with my mother. I guess I could be fairly matter-of-fact over the abuse and neglect, but watching it reflected in his face sort of brought back the horror and made me appreciate how resilient I was. I could even laugh a little about losing my virginity with the fat old hooker, and Michael shivered in irony at all the right places in the story. He was the first person I ever mentioned the molestation to, and he didn’t condemn me at all or act like a spaz about it.

He seemed to be totally cool about our friendship. Whatever weirdness, for lack of a better word, I might have imagined that first day, disappeared, to be replaced by an easy company where we both thought on the same wavelength. Of course, there were no more mud puddle incidents requiring me to shower at his place, and I began to think it was the stress of Lamont Shores’ bullying or some other trick in my mind that made me think there could be any real affection between us or we liked each other in a different way than most other boys do. I admired him, envied the casual hotness he exuded in his jeans and t-shirts and tried to keep up.

Two weeks went by, and Michael asked me if I wanted to stay over on a Friday night. I literally told my mother I wouldn’t be home from school that night, and except for her morbid curiosity about him, she didn’t protest. It was a fun evening- we played football in the park until way past curfew with several of his neighbors- and I was accepted as Michael’s buddy. The evening seemed to solidify our friendship, and from that point on, weekends together were the norm.

I was naturally curious about the way the other half lived, seeing as how I had grown up in cramped, dingy apartments where two bedrooms were a luxury. The cubbyhole under the stairs on Privet Drive that the Dursleys made Harry Potter sleep in? Mine was a coat closet or the bottom shelf of the linen cupboard until I got too big to stretch out, and then I graduated to a ratty loveseat in the corner of the living room. I didn’t have a room of my own until we moved to Santa Bella. So when Michael led me around his house, I kept my eyes open and asked questions he was more than willing to explain. For instance, I found out that his intoxicating scent was entirely due to his cologne which he stored on the counter in his bathroom, a bottle labeled Creed Original Santal. No, I wasn’t exactly jealous, merely inquisitive.

The one downside of us becoming such close pals was a peculiar subtext I began to pick up as I moved through the halls at school. Gay jokes had always been loudly bandied about in my direction, but this seemed more direct and less like general bullshit. Faggot I could deal with but like, what the hell was a twink? I Googled it and learned it more or less described me physically; yes, I was slender, had very little body hair and relatively short, but damn it, I wasn’t gay. I liked Michael as a friend, but I wasn’t in love with him. He certainly wasn’t in love with me either.

The week before Thanksgiving a personal crisis completely changed my life forever. My mother died.

The stupid woman drunkenly stepped off a curb in front of a fast-moving car and- splat! It was all over for her. I was at school when it happened, and of course there was nothing on record in our new town about her next-of-kin. When a police car was sent around to the apartment building that afternoon to see if anyone else lived there, I was with Michael. At six I returned to the empty dark which was somewhat unusual but not completely out of the norm and waited. And waited. I started to feel nervous when it was time for bed and she still wasn’t back, and I stayed up watching tv because it was way too quiet. Get this! I found out about my mother’s death on the eleven o’clock news.

I still didn’t have a phone, and a neighbor let me call Michael. He and his parents showed up at the same time as the police and Children’s Services worker. Dry-eyed and emotionally unperturbed, I had this bitch-and-moan discussion with all these adults talking about what was best for me which was a hoot because they could care less. I was almost eighteen and, despite how much influence the Welfare woman tried to manipulate me with, the government legally couldn’t force me to live in foster care. But at the same time, I was in a bad situation. I hadn’t seen my father for nearly twelve years, so it was likely I had zero known relatives; no place to go either and how was I supposed to support myself and stay in school to graduate in seven months?

Michael and his folks took over. First of all, the Capshaws, awesome people in their own right, had been the go-to neighborhood parents for their children’s friends for many years. I guess they had made up their minds in the eight weeks I’d known him that I was polite and hard-working. He made it plain to them that I desperately needed a lucky break, and they agreed to move me into their home, at least temporarily, until the powers that be either found my bio dad or gave up trying. I guess being a successful real-estate saleswoman speaks loudly in small towns. The Welfare lady didn’t have much to say on the subject except wish me luck. I packed my very few belongings and walked away from my past forever. I wanted nothing of my mother’s because her shit was not any part of me, just like she’d had little to do with my life other than feeding her own self-pity.

Michael’s family went out of their way to make me feel welcomed. I started out sleeping in one of the sisters’ bedrooms, but this was a temporary solution. By the weekend Mrs. Capshaw, or Donna as she insisted I call her, moved her home-office out of the small bedroom next to their son’s and gave it to me. I had a single bed with sweet-smelling sheets, a dresser and nightstand of my own, decorated in shades of brown. These people who didn’t know me from Adam treated me more like their son than my own mother had.

Within a month, Donna and Robert were set up as my legal guardians, and they didn’t seem to mind clothing and feeding me. For the first time I wore clothes that fit me and weren’t second-hand. They even bought me a cell phone and took me to the doctor for a physical examination. My eyesight prescription had changed, and Robert, Michael’s father, offered me the option of wearing contact lenses. Michael urged me to get them, smirking over how the girls in school would love the ‘new me’. For the first time in my life I didn’t see myself as being completely dorky.

I settled in and bloomed under the Capshaws’ love and guidance, no longer feeling like someone’s unwelcome appendage. Every protest I raised about how I’d find a way to pay them back fell on deaf ears until Michael had to tell me to stop whining and taking their enjoyment away from them. As I relaxed, I began to put on weight and stopped looking so sickly and pale. I had suffered from nightmares for years about my physical and sexual abuse, but they dwindled to only two or three times a week. I didn’t think anyone even knew.

Michael and I were together all the time except for our different classes at school. All of a sudden it was as if we turned into instant brothers, but without the sibling rivalry. Even though we were the same age, it felt as if Michael was way older than me, probably due to size differences and his always seeming more mature. He had these great life experiences from a secure home and loving parents, and suddenly he was sharing it all in a way that made me feel appreciate and valued.

This naturally started long discussions about teenage boys’ favorite subject- sex. Ever the more knowledgeable one, Michael revealed how he started fucking girls when he was fifteen. I gave a tentative smile at this piece of unrequested information. “I don’t need to know the details. My one time was bad enough.”

He couldn’t help teasing me over it. “That wasn’t sex, Dax; that was a troll’s nightmare or something right out of Dante’s Inferno. But with a cute, willing girl at the right time…”

“I’ll pass.” I shuddered. I just didn’t want to imagine the whole scenario of what body parts fit into where and what you were supposed to do with them, especially when memories of the hooker intermingled with it. The prevalent image in my mind was Michael’s golden, naked rear end changing out of his fleece pants. I shivered.

“Or maybe it isn’t the girls that catch your eye?” Michael stared at me with a huge grin, gauging my reaction.

I was learning to roll with it. “Fag,” I teased, giggling.

“Who’s the fag?” he rejoined with a gleam in his eye and punched me in the shoulder. But it was all in fun and never did I suspect that he was aware of my September fantasy.

A couple weeks went by. I had my first enjoyable Thanksgiving and Christmas holidays in memory where I met Michael’s sisters. Jana and Linnie were smart, pretty and flirty, but on a sexual meter, they did nothing for me. His family treated me like I belonged there and bought me gifts, and Michael helped me select presents for them too. In awe, I watched how most people lived their lives apart from abuse and looking back at my past I could finally admit how shabbily I had been treated by my parents. That was the point where I finally started to grow away of who I had been.

Michael’s bedroom connected to mine by an adjoining bathroom, meaning we could go into each others’ rooms without his parents being aware we were even up. Actually, it was more like I’d wander into his bedroom because he had the queen-size bed, and he’d move over so we could lie on it together and whisper. Like most brothers do, we wrestled and rough-housed, and he’d hold me down to tickle me until I begged to be let up. He was forever ruffling my long hair, and the ‘fag’ epithets and gay jokes flew fast and furious. We rarely shut the bathroom door, and it was nothing to see each other naked, pissing or getting out of the shower.

This led to the inevitable comparison of our junk. Both of us were circumcised. Flaccid, my cock is about three and a half inches long and the width of two thumbs, a rosy-pink shade. The head was a perfect mushroom shape and it nestled with my hairless balls into my dark blonde, silky pubic hair. Michael’s dick was maybe an inch longer, thin and tan-mauve, topped by a flared knob. His auburn carpet stood out prominently in small, tight coils, blending into the light, wavy hair extending from his navel in an upside-down V.

Michael was gorgeous in my eyes. Tall with the face that always smiled, ripped without having to work hard at it, and this brown skin tone that just glowed. I figured it would be difficult for anyone not to develop at least a tiny crush on him. He had many of the high school girls drooling but seemed impervious to their lust, and I never saw him so much as hold one of their hands. He was also followed around by two or three boys who were obviously gay and wanted to be included in his circle, and I felt myself burn with jealousy if he encouraged them. Having no experience with male bonding at all, wasn’t this just the normal feelings any boy would have for his best friend?

We had just arrived home from school the Wednesday after New Years, and I’d grabbed a bowl of pineapple on the way up to my room to settle down for some serious studying. It was nearing the end of the semester, and I had a big term project in my economics class. Michael was going through DVDs to watch a movie and called me into his room. I took the time to finish a short note and walked through the bathroom. He wasn’t there and I ruefully settled on his idea of a hide and seek game which was typical of him. To make a long story short, he tricked me into making this big circle searching for him to simply walk off with my snack, him being the brawny big brother who thought he could get away with it.

It had not been the best day in class, and I stared at him, with juice dripping down his chin, across his bedroom floor. I was mildly annoyed. “You couldn’t go down to the kitchen and get your own?”

“What’s it to ya, Cutie?” he smirked, popping the last piece of fruit in his mouth.

Frustrated, I launched myself into him and tackled him to the bed. I could never win these battles but that didn’t stop me from trying. I was on my back in minutes with him hovering over me, hands pinning my shoulders to the sheets and his mouth inches above mine. “Yield?” he asked, his tawny eyes sweeping up and down my body to come to rest on my face.

Anger gone but still squirming, my upper body trapped under his and blushing from his scrutiny, it was like a haze cleared in my head. I don’t know what caused it, but I quickly felt this slight nudge in my crotch and recognized it, going ever redder in embarrassment. Oh god, I was getting hard. I had to get off the bed. Now!

“I yield,” I shouted in horror as I continued to stiffen. If his eyes moved a fraction down he’d see it too.

Under normal circumstances I would never gave in. Michael gave me a surprised look at my change in tactics and laughed. He licked my chin, and I gasped at how erotic it felt. I was staring at his pink lips now, nearly wishing he would kiss me; in fact, my head moved upward just a tad, almost straining towards him. His eyes darkened with this unfathomable expression, and I thought he was moving in to kiss me back. But my cock flexed again into a raging boner between my legs, and with strength born from humiliation combined with catching him off guard I pushed him to the floor and ran out of the room.

I’m not gay, my brain screamed, I’m not. But I could feel tears behind my eyes that made my protests sound like a lie. I slammed the door between us, shutting myself into my room.


Ka-boom! My eyes flew wide open a couple nights later as a brief, brilliant light flooded my bedroom through the window, and the house seemed to shake off its foundation. I have been a total chicken-shit about thunder and lightning ever since I was eleven and got locked out the apartment by one of my mother’s live-ins during a bad storm. It scared the shit out of me. We don’t get many in southern California, but the ones we do… Ka-boom!

I was out of bed so fast I don’t think my feet touched the floor. Instinct took me sliding through the bathroom and wheeling around the doorframe into Michael’s room to hurl myself into the empty side of his large bed.

“What the fuck…?” Michael awoke with a start at the bouncing, and I could feel him rolling over towards the middle. I had my head under his extra pillow, crushing it against my ears, and his words were muffled. “Dax, what the hell are you doing?”

Vaguely, I heard another rumble of thunder and winced involuntarily. Seconds went by; my eyes smarted and I knew I was close to crying. “It’s just a thunderstorm,” he mumbled factually. “A lot of noise, it won’t hurt you.”

I was unconvinced and lay there trembling with my eyes squeezed shut. There was no way I was going back to bed by myself, and I didn’t care how much of a wimp it made me look. I heard him chuckling.

“Come here, you big baby.” He grabbed me by my shoulder and waist and easily dragged me backwards so that my shaking body was lying next to him and he was shushing me. Something about being in an awkward position fired into my brain but I ignored it. Except for our boxer shorts, both of us were naked in his bed, and I knew I was behaving like a child, but his comfort was quite effective. If this was a seduction scene packaged into an unarranged lucky break, I was too grateful to resist it.

Gradually I calmed and came out from under the pillow. I looked up over my shoulder at Michael and all joking died at the sight of his hazel eyes staring into my brown ones as if I was the most precious thing in the world. A sweep of longing and need burst out of my lonely heart that I didn’t understand and it suddenly enveloped me. I wanted him to kiss me. I wanted to kiss him. I pushed myself higher on the pillow and lifted into him to flatten myself on the bed, my gaze never leaving his face. His hand found my throat, warm fingers cupped my chin, and he leaned over me, gently placing his lips on mine.

You’ve heard of lovers seeing stars or feeling butterflies in their stomachs? That didn’t happen. When Michael’s mouth found my own, the noise in my head shut up. It was like being in a vacuum, quiet and peaceful, experiencing the gentle joy of being kissed for the very first time by someone who cared about me.

It was brief, questioning what my intentions were and whether I would accept him or not. Shock ripped through me and made me hesitant at first but a determination stole over me, knowing I wanted the embrace. I turned into him and gave the same kiss back, hanging on a fraction of a second longer. I felt his tongue dart towards my mouth and swirl against my lips, silently asking me to open and accept him. Just the barest of partings and his tongue made contact with mine, the instant connection of two wet surfaces gliding against each other in the friction of dancing taste buds and nerve endings. I savored toothpaste and felt wet, soft and warm push against my tongue while I readily slanted my jaw to lengthen the kiss.

Michael moved in above me, mashing his lips against mine, his tongue sweeping in to take everything I had to offer and more. His thumb pad stroked me under my chin, adding to the lovely stirrings waking me up, and I moaned. Hell yes! A million charged beats headed for my groin to stiffen my sleeping cock. I groaned again into Michael’s mouth and gave up fighting against my primal instincts that demanded me to acknowledge how much I desired him. This- this was where I belonged, in his arms, in his bed. I rolled closer, now facing him, my own hand reaching around behind his neck and stroking his fiery hair flowing against my fingers.

“Oh Dax,” Michael husked against my open mouth and slowly stroked his hand down my side. “I have dreamed about this for so long.”

My heart pounded inside my ribcage, and I ceased to be aware of the storm raging outside. There was a storm raging inside too, all by way of Michael’s mouth on mine as he kissed me and nipped at my bottom lip. He was up on his elbow to lean over me and gain more access to my upper body. Those same lips trailed a line of passion across my cheek to nibble on my earlobe and then south to the juncture of neck and shoulder, sucking gently on the tender skin there to leave a bruise. I writhed under him, eyes closed in bliss, moaning at the pleasure his embraces caused. My hand found Michael’s shoulder to draw him nearer to me.

My cock continued to harden and brushed up against my abdomen, leaking precum into my boxers. I could feel Michael’s own erection trailing against my hip. There was no denying that he wanted me as much as I needed him, and accepting this kernel of truth made my emotions go a little wild. I began to press my lips against every inch of Michael I could reach- forehead, eyes, cheeks and chin, like a delicious taste test searching to stimulate him to greater foreplay. He rewarded me by strumming his fingers against my chest and touching my instantly erect nipples, sending more instructions to my dick. Rearing against the cloth to tent my shorts, I felt gentle vibrations that made me focus on the wonderful sensations of my groin and how every other part of my body was tuned into arousal.

His head moved downwards on the bed, coming level with my chest, and he began to lick and suckle on my nipples. Fingernails and teeth worked both sides, building strong urges that dominoed through my body. The sensations in my cock screamed for release, and I threw back my head and gasped raggedly.

“Oh god, Michael.”

I wanted to beg him to touch me, to take my dick in his hand and stroke me, anything. I could feel my precum oozing from the head, the wet spot it was creating in my shorts getting bigger. Michael’s mouth loved on me in a way that was tantalizing, but it was adding to my need, not sating it.

Teasing in its indolence, Michael’s hand left my chest and slowly felt its way down my torso. He rubbed my abdomen softly, his fingers stretching downward to the elastic top of my boxers, hovering just above the band. His tongue continued to bite at my nubs, making them red and sensitive and driving me out of my mind. His fingers reached for my hip and settled on my bare thigh. Oh fuck, I could hardly stand it. I was whimpering continuously now, gripping him in a vice, forcing myself not to plead with him to touch me. Just a few inches over I wanted to beg him; I arched my back and strained my hips upwards.

Michael’s cock reared against my hip again, and I dropped my hand to feel the outline of it against the cotton of his shorts, gently sliding my fingers up and down its length. He was so firm and long, his own boxers wet with precum. Michael groaned, moving his fingers to touch me, skin to skin, tentatively. Taking my cues from him, I felt inside and curled my hand around his thickness, and we began to pump each other.

“Fuuuck,” I groaned, shuddering and rocking my pelvis into his fist. His was the first hand besides my own to ever touch me on purpose, at least with my permission, with my best interests in mind.

“Too many clothes,” he grunted back, yanking my shorts down to my knees. I helped him discard his, and he lifted his hips to assist. Soon we were both naked, and Michael shifted his lower body and threw a knee over my hips. He was astride me, his cock atop mine, and he rotated his groin into me. At last I had an object to hump against and satisfy my needs.

Slowly we began to grind against each others’ cocks and balls, hips rocking back and forth in relief. He was so soft above me, but also hard, like a pipe covered in velvet. The growing need to let go made us both cry out in pleasurable agony. I circled my hips, my balls bunching and pulling as the pressure built inside. Our precum flowed, lubricating the way as our cocks massaged each other. The mutual stimulation felt so damned good. I wanted to prolong it, but I knew I wouldn’t last because I was nearing the threshold of climaxing. I could feel my seed simmering inside, could feel the muscles of my abdomen tensing and the steepening pitch of ecstasy.

Michael clasped me in another long, frantic kiss, his arm thrown possessively over my shoulder. The friction was building up inside my cock as, sweating and grunting, I pushed desperately against him. Like balancing on the point of a knife lifting me ever higher, ever more aroused, I swiftly detected the change inside me, a vibration that began deep, rising and spreading out. My balls contracted almost in pain, and I gratefully pitched headfirst over the edge as my hot cum bubbled through my cock, burning at breakneck speed to spew in exit.

“Oh shit,” I only had time to moan, and I began to shudder uncontrollably. I was cumming forcefully between our stomachs in the most exquisite release that made me spurt four lines of lustrous sperm on Michael. It felt like warm sparks were shooting from my groin to find exit in my extremities, a beam of blazing light behind my eyes at the strength of our coupling.

Michael was cumming too. “Fuck… oh Dax, uuuhhh.” He convulsed tight against me, back arching, chest muscles rippling. “So good… Dax,” he cried. “So long since…” I felt warm jets of his cum shooting across our torsos upwards on to my chest, intermingling with my own, and he dug his fingers into my hip. His body crumpled on top of me, his soft hair tickling my chin and neck. I could smell his pungent sweat as he dripped on me, and our cum was sticky between our bellies.

Trying to catch our breaths, we lay together in the warmth of post-orgasmic glow. For Michael it sounded as if he had been celibate for awhile. For me, it was the first positive sexual experience I’d ever had. There was no pain, no humiliation, just the closeness of my body to Michael’s and wrapping our arms around each other. It made my heart turn over in warmth and appreciation.

And then the enormity of what had just taken place began to register and doubt pushed into my brain. Michael must, of course, be gay. Why hadn’t I seen it? I was that stupid to live with him for the past two months and not even realize. What clues had I missed- the fag jokes? All those times we were in the bathroom together he must have been checking out my ass. I didn’t totally begrudge him because I guess I’d done the same thing, but still...

I was silent for a long time, staring at the ceiling and wondering what kind of freak I was turning into. Enjoying sex with Michael meant I was gay, didn’t it? Oh god, I’d let another boy hold my cock and rub against me. All the taunts from the bullies at school, the ones calling me faggot and cocksucker, flooded over me. Did I really want to identify myself as gay? Was I even strong enough to withstand being what everyone at school suspected me of? Gay boys got beaten up that way.

A minute later I shoved Michael aside and pushed out from under him to roll away to stare into the dark, afraid and embarrassed. He dragged his body after me and put his hand on my arm. I shrugged it off.

“It’s okay, Dax. There’s nothing wrong with what we did. It’s normal.”

“Easy for you to say,” I muttered, furiously wiping at the tears that sprang into eyes and desperately hoping he didn’t know I was crying. “You’re not the one who looks like a little boy and has to listen to the queer jokes.”

He laughed, but not at me. Blessedly he didn’t try to touch me again or I might have punched him in the mouth.

“Dax, I discovered I was gay when I was thirteen. I’ve been out at Santa Bella High for the past two years, but maybe you haven’t been paying attention. The gay talk you hear is directed towards me as much as it is you, probably more. Those prejudiced assholes can say anything they want. I don’t care. I’m proud of who I am.”

“Really?” I rolled back over to stare into his decisive eyes. I could scarcely believe he was telling the truth, but there was no denying that he liked sex with boys. I grabbed on to his words like a lifeboat.

“Really,” he stated firmly. You shouldn’t let it bother you. Don’t be afraid to be who you are.”

“But why did you choose me.” I almost didn’t want to know the answer. “Am I that easy and pathetic?”

Michael chuckled and gave me a quick kiss on the ear. “There is nothing easy or pathetic about you. Did you know I fell in love with you the moment I saw you walk through the doors of my history class last February? It has been killing me to find a way to meet you where I wouldn’t scare you half to death. And then this year when you weren’t in any of my classes? I wanted to march into the office and demand to have my schedule changed, but how could I without arousing suspicion when I didn’t even know your schedule? I’ve wanted to ask if I could eat lunch with you all year, but I was afraid you wouldn’t accept my feelings. I didn’t know if you had the same… desire… for me. I didn’t want to push you.”

I shook my head, only partially convinced. “So what, you planned all this?”

I saw apprehension in his face for the first time but he tried to smile. He pulled my head to his shoulder, and I let him. “Well, no. Some of it was mere coincidence, like the day you got harassed by Lamont’s friends or… when your mom died. She treated you like shit, and you deserve to be happy. But I admit to taking advantage of your landing in the puddle to meet you and invite you home. I like you living here and having you for a brother, not just for sex. You’re my friend.”

Yeah, friends with benefits. But I was starting to wonder if that was so bad. Michael sounded as if he’d cared about me for a long time- almost a year- without ever making a move. And the sex was pretty good.

“Dax, look,” Michael continued. “If anything’s going to happen between us, I want you to be comfortable with it. You know, in your own skin. You need to want it too. Until then, I won’t rush you, I promise, no pressure.”

He trailed his index finger down my sternum and sighed. “Tonight we got each other off because the tension has been building for a long time. I don’t know if you felt it, but you had me so horny! And we can go slow and easy to see if it’s something you really want. But I love you, Dax. You have no idea how special you are, and I want you for my own. I want to be lovers in every sense of the word. Don’t you care about me even a little?”

Seconds went by and I didn’t answer. Did I care; was I willing to admit I wanted this? Was I really gay? Or was I pushing myself to make him happy? I didn’t like to think that my decision could crush my best friend who had been there for me for the last three months. Did I even know what I really felt? I liked what Michael and I had done together, and the way he was running his hand over my hip and ass made arousal build again inside me. Deep in my mind it almost felt as if I had been preparing myself to accept my homosexuality for a long time.

I rolled back into him, looping my arm over his neck and gave him a big kiss. Turning it back on me, Michael sweetly took my mouth, lengthening and deepening the embrace, sucking on my tongue in a way that made me hard again in minutes. He stroked my chest, grazing my nipples with his fingertips, and I gasped.

“My beautiful Dax,” he breathed into my ear. “I want to love you and teach you everything.”

Michael found a towel and we used it to clean the drying cum off our bodies and the sheets. The storm outside was dying away and he lay down and resumed the kiss. “Just this one thing tonight,” he whispered softly. “I want to relax you and help you sleep.”

I gave him a puzzled look and he explained. “I know about your nightmares, Dax. You talk in your sleep, and I can hear you through the door.” He raised his hand to my forehead. “Let me be the one to erase your fears.”

I arranged myself straight on the bed and, leaning into me, Michael began to play with my balls. Teasing me, he softly ran the back of his hand across them, his fingernails gently scratching the sac, and I moaned my pleasure. Gently he took his other hand and cupped my dick in his palm, wrapping the fingers around and began pulling at me. Sliding up and down, he used the precum that bubbled up from the slit to lubricate the head, and his other hand slid over my smooth cap and played with the mushroom-shaped ridge. Again using his fingernails, he stroked the very sensitive spot where the head met the shaft underneath, and my hips bucked.

“Oh… god… don’t stop… oh, Michael.”

My tipping pelvis began to catch on to his sliding rhythm. He worked his hand up and down on the shaft into powerful demi-spasms that flooded me with delight and I could feel myself swinging upwards into bliss. His fingers were magic- kneading, stroking, pulling, guiding me into hot desire and caressing me to the juncture of surrendering. I groaned, thrashing on the bed, wet with sweat, my hands fisting and fluttering against the sheets. I felt my balls pull up sharply inside. I cried out, and my dick violently erupted to expel my sperm.

“Fuck yes, oh, yes,” I hissed, rising up on my heels, corded tendons taut, as the contractions pumped in clotted, thick streams onto my stomach. A fiery mist wove behind my eyes, and I struggled to breathe. Michael’s hand continued to milk me, drawing every drop of cum from my cock. It had pooled in a sticky puddle in my navel, and my penis twitched. As I came back into full consciousness, somehow I began to breathe again.

His hand stilled against my over-sensitized member and I bathed in the deep contentment of two intense orgasms in one night, completely spent. My tense muscles relaxed and my cock began to shrink back into my pubic hair. I felt exhausted and wanted nothing more than to sleep.

“You okay, Dax?” Michael gave me a light kiss on my cheek as he got out of bed.

“Yeah, just tired.” He laughed and squeezed my shoulder. I started to doze off, and somewhere in my semi-conscious state I felt him return with a warm, wet washcloth to clean off my abdomen. “Thanks,” I mumbled.

“S’okay, bro,” he said as he slipped back beneath the covers. He put his mouth right up next to my ear.

I love you if you drink; I love you if you smoke, I love you for the words you stuck inside my throat. I love you for the sin; and the way you turned away, and I'll heal you in the darkness and I'll hold you to the day,” * he recited. I knew he was smiling and I tried to smile back.

“What’s that?” I was having a very difficult time keeping my eyes open.

“Just some words from a song,” Michael soothed. “I know how much you appreciate indie music. It's what you mean to me, Dax. I love all of you.”

“Okay…,” I barely managed. My eyes were closing in peaceful slumber. Hardly aware that we were both still naked, I felt him take me into his arms and cuddle into me, and I snuggled back into his warmth. For the first time in my life I knew what it was like to fall asleep in the embrace of a lover.

*Just A Dream by Griffin House

(To be continued...)


  1. oh wow :) I don't think I read this story on lit but what a beginning. I may just go on lit and read both versions cuz now i'm curious about what the differences are.

    This first chapters is almost like a short story but knowing you I know there will be many twists and turns before the story is told.

    Thanks for sharing you're gift of writing.

    Happy Holidays :)

  2. There is so much heartache in Dax's life. I can't wait to see how his relationship with Michael develops.

  3. Oh cool! I loved Dax on Lit. It was an awesome story with so much depth and struggle. I can't wait to see what you decide to do with this version. So happy!

    But I do have to admit that taking Emily out of the big equation seems to work better in my opinion. When I first started reading Dax on Lit I thought maybe the chapters were mis-labled because the begining made me think it was going to be a m/f story and was kinda disappointed, but when I progressed through the chapters I saw what it was all about. Glad it ended up a m/m story(cuz I'm obsessed with them) and it turned into an amazing 5 year journey.

    There are lots of comments and praise I was to make but I will wait for the new chapters. I don't wanna ruin it for the first time readers here. But anyways, kudos to you girl. You are awesome.

    Katie []

  4. I love this story! I'm so glad to see it here and I can't wait for more.

  5. I fell in love with Dax when you posted the first chap on lit! This is such a great story, and so true-to-life. Can't wait to see the rest if your re-work!