Love Story (Part Two)

The first time that I touched another boy’s dick I was nine. I was at my friend’s house; we were playing soldiers, when his older brother asked me if I wanted to see his dick. I looked at him for a moment not certain what to say. After some silence I nodded and he pulled his pants and underwear down. I scrutinized it for a minute before reaching out and placing my fingers around it. I moved my fingers away for an instant when it grew in size. I looked up at him and his smile reassured me. I was about to place my fingers back on it when another thought comes to me. I leaned forward and placed my mouth around it. He pushed himself further inside my mouth but I didn’t hesitate to take him in further: shortly after a warm fluid was sent down my throat from inside of him.

That was several years ago, and I haven’t seen him since that day. They moved away that summer. Since that day in my friend’s room I have thought of other boys in ways that I am certain would not please my parents. On several occasions I overheard them talking about me. They would talk about the homosexuals and my dad would say that I would grow up to be one if she keeps treating me like a baby. I want to tell them that they are wrong, but somehow I know that I am doomed to grow up a homosexual.

I sit on the edge of my bed and I consider the many boys that I had crushes on since I realized that I am attracted to boys instead of girls. The times in the locker room at school, changing in front of the other boys, watching as they undressed, and watching as their privates hung between their legs. I would watch them, trying not to be noticed, as they walked around with only a towel and sometimes not even that. Those times were like paradise to me, moments of bliss that made up for the embarrassing moments in gym.

I wake from dream, a mix of the boy’s locker room and that day at my friend’s brother, and I come to the understanding that I desire to be with another boy. Before now I would merely imagine a life with those boys but now my determination, to find the boy of my dreams, makes dreams pale in comparison to what waits for me this day. My plan is to go looking for the boy of my dreams instead of waiting for him to come to me.

I walk to the park down the street, walking through the tress looking at the groups of people. I know that I will not find him among these groups of people. I walk toward the lake wondering if I will ever meet that boy or if I shall live out the rest of my days alone.

I am tired so I decide to sit down somewhere. I see a bench at the edge of the lake. I think that I will sit down and forget my quest when I notice him sitting on the very bench that I am walking toward. He seems to be in a trance as I sit down on the bench next to him. He looks over at me and by some force beyond my control I am drawn to him. Our bodies inch closer together. Our eyes connect as our lips meet. Our tongues exchange. I tell him that I am thirsty between kisses. He invites me to his house and soon we are on our way.

His house is at the edge of the park. He tells me to sit in the living room while he goes to the kitchen for a glass of water. I sit in the living room for a moment and then I begin walking through the house. I look into every room until I find his room. I dig through his laundry basket, his dirty clothes, and I find a pair of boxers. I hold the boxers up to my face and I think about him wearing these. I replace the boxers and sit on his bed. I can hear him coming down the hall so I lay down. I pull down my pants and boxers.  I am there on the bed of some strange boy’s bed exposed as such waiting for the boy to find me. He walks into the room with a glass of water. He places the glass on the dresser, joins me on the bed, and soon we’re naked. Our bodies come together on that bed. Flesh against flesh. Flesh within flesh as fluids exchange.

We fall asleep intertwined only to wake with his parents standing over us. I wake first to them watching me. I realize that we are naked and that our dicks are still pressed together between us. I wake the boy that hasn’t even told me his name, but I know already that I love him.

His parents tell us over and over again that what we shared was wrong; that what we did is not right. I wonder why love could ever be immoral. I wonder if they love each other or if this is an attempt to impede true love since they lack what we have. I leave the house thinking that I’d never see him again. 

I find out that his name is Joe. I wonder if he ever thinks of me. I sit outside his house at the very edge of the park in hopes of catching a glimpse of him through an open window. I sit there and cry because I am so close to the one that I love and yet so far.

It is a week since I met Joe on that bench and it is raining. I sit, soaked, in the park watching that house waiting for anything. I close my eyes as the tears merge with the rain. I want to walk home and forget Joe when I feel a hand on my shoulder. I look up to find Joe’s dad standing with an umbrella. He looks at me and tells me a story about when he was a boy: a time when he shared his love with another boy. He tells me that he understands, that Joe and I should be together because we are in love, and he tells me that Joe is waiting for me in his room.

I walk into the house, Joe’s mom smiles at me from the kitchen, and I walk down the hall to his room. I knock on the door and soon I am in his embrace again: my wet clothes piled on the floor. The stars shine through and we fall asleep intertwined, as this love we share is all that we need.