I opened my eyes to see the light flecks of dust spreading themselves in every direction they please. Though I'm nowhere near a morning person, it was extremely pleasant to wake up to the warm embrace of fresh sunlight in my warm bed. Then a thought came to mind that made me smile. It was a bright Sunday morning, and I had the whole house too myself.
The cool air had a certain weightlessness to it against my bare skin as I slid out. For some reason, I felt like I had not a care in the world. This day, I would spend completely separated from my life, and I was going to enjoy it immensely. I threw on a simple composition of shorts and a T-shirt, then headed to the kitchen for breakfast. Halfway there, the bathroom tempted me. Inside, my mind wandered off to the strange land of my imagination. Unless being pressed into a situation, it is rare to catch me thinking about really deep subjects like love and shit. I entertain myself in my own way. It maybe pathetic, but as long as I can make myself laugh, I figure I'll be ok.
I looked up. Through a window (yeah, we have a window right in front of our faces as we pee, not awkward staring at the neighbors at all) I noticed that at last it seemed the newest residents of town were finally settling in. It was obvious they come from a lot of money. Besides the fact that the two-story house closely resembled one that Britney Spears previously owned, there was a most exotic assortment of landscaping. From fruity wildflowers to palm trees (really?!?) this family put the rest of the sub-division to shame.
I questioned why when you could live in so many more luxurious places, you choose to live on the bayou (which is certainly not the cleanest sources of water) in a small town in the humid-hell of Louisiana. But, to their credit, they did pick one of the most peaceful and safe neighborhoods, if not a little boring.
Leaving that thought in search of another, I found myself in the kitchen and then remembered I wanted to eat. On the counter, mother left me what I assumed was supposed to be my breakfast. Bacon that I could see was liberally lathered with grease lay on a biscuit dipped in butter with even a little syrup on the side. I rolled my eyes in disgust and annoyance. She's still going on about my weight, huh? I thought. Ever since I've grown a bit and lost my baby fat 3 years ago, she's been under the impression I'm going anorexic on her. Trust me I'm not. I just take care of myself. I'm 125 pounds, 5"7, sadly not very buff at all, but I won't give up! I throw the filth in the garbage and find an orange to go along with toast and apple juice.
I fumbled out of the house on still asleep legs to have a quick jog. The temperature was perfect and the restless sun dove between the numerous clouds never staying out long enough for me to even break a sweat. I went about my normal route, which on the stretch back to my starting point, passed right in front of my new neighbor's house. As I approached, I realized I didn't even know their last names, which is kind of rude considering a few days ago I helped the father recharge his car battery. Try as I might, I just can't pull a name. Curiousity getting to me, I decide to attempt to search the yard or even box labels for a name. When it finnaly neared about a half mile later, I drew close to their side of the street. Of course, I never get anything that easily. There was not a name in sight, and all the boxes were tucked inside no doubt. Then I realized that, though they left no mark of title, their two vehicles were gone.
"So, no one's home..." I breathed. Checking to see if no one was looking (not that I was scared of getting caught, it would just look really awkward), I took 10 long strides to encompass the distance between me and the side entrance. Because all of the boxes were gone, most likely inside, I wondered if they bothered to lock the door.
Very unceremoniously, I gripped the knob and turned it. To my slight surprise, it opened. As so as the door was once again closed, I turned and peered about. As one would expect from a new home, the walls were a barren white, slightly faded in some areas and newly painted in others. The cherry-wood floors lay invitingly, though no welcome rug had yet been laid. The entrance led into perhaps the biggest room in the house. Boxes were piled in neat stacks right in the center. On the side of those, two couches wrapped in moving plastic were placed near an extremely large chandelier.
Straight ahead, a staircase of marble with railings of pristine vines led upwards to what I assumed was bedrooms upon bedrooms. To my right laid the kitchen which had windows on almost all of its walls. Bright sunshine shone off the polished counters and flooring. "Ohhh fancy windows, wait till hurricane season," I whispered, imagining them crumbling in the gale. I hate people who are this "flashy". To my right, a very classic looking oak dining table stood, and it was on that, that I found my target. Four envelops read: "To Mr. and Mrs. Roger Feignt."
"So the Feignts huh?" I murmured. "Not a bad name at all." I looked around once again and figured since I was already here, alone, I might as well look around. I was tired from almost an hour of running straight anyways. My first instinct was to look upstairs, so that's just what I did.
The stairs themselves resonated with an extremely satisfying sound, but on second thought I figured that this was no place to sneak about considering the volume at even the lightest touch. Then I mused that the parents may have purposefully chosen them specifically to discourage anyone sneaking out. I came across the first two doors as I imagined the boy of the house (only one to my knowledge) wearing bandanas and smuggling meth in his schoolbag. The thought brought a smile to my lips. How boring, nothing but a toilet in either room.
Suddenly, I got a chill stabbing my back. My hair stood on end. And for a great, very satisfying moment I sighed. My eyelids drooped and my shoulders sagged. "Great, now I don't feel like doing shit." The weariness finally getting to me, I turned to leave. Or tried too.
He stared at me with vivid eyes. His emotions were so pronounced on his face, it was hard to truly tell what he was thinking. The boy of the Feignt family, though I shouldn't call him a boy considering he was exactly my age, had a painful stare. A burning, no, searing blue, that could have belonged to a melting sapphire bore into me. They were beautiful, no doubt, but I didn't let myself lower my guard. He was at least five inches taller than me and looked built and dangerous, like a train. I can still see he has a slight frown, though a frown of rage, and one half fisted hand.
Nervous, I opened my mouth to speak, but stopped. What could I say? Here I was breaking into his house for all his knowledge and snooping around his rooms. I almost panicked. But then I noticed that, very much like myself, he dressed with color to bring out his eyes. His flaring cerulean, like my temperate emerald. We even had on the same brand of shorts. I couldn't help it, I laughed out loud.
For just a moment he looked at me like the very small amount of sanity I had left was just folded up into a paper airplane in sailed to its death in a fiery grave. His eyebrows raised and mouth opened slightly. Obviously figuring that I'm no real threat (not that I could have fought him off for long anyways) he looked at me with a half-smile, which showed he was now curious, but still thought there was something wrong with me. I couldn't blame him.
With our laughs stifling the silence, he spoke at last. "What a way to meet a neighbor. You break and enter often?"
"No, no. Just on the weekends of course." I retorted with just as much sarcasm as him.
He smiled to that. "So, you gonna tell me who you are?"
"My name is Nathan Storme. I'm kind of your cross-bayou neighbor." I pointed out of the window to my house. He turned his head and peered across the small river of water that separated our homes.
"Hmm," he paused. "Were you the one outside last night at 2 am?"
"Oh," I felt my eyes widen the slightest millimeter and my cheeks burn. "you heard me?" I have a habit of tiring of practicing in my room, so in the dead of night I head outside to the cold air and play. At this time of night, there is not a sound. My music practicaly bounds into the clear space with just the slightest echo from nearby buildings. It's enough to give me chills.
"Yeah, it was a flute right?"
"It was." I could feel my blush intensifying.
"You know, you sounded heavenly. Soothing really. Compared to the noise my friends used to make." His words of praise did more for my confidence than any compliment on my personality or body ever could.
"Rap or screamo?" I asked.
" Both terrible, but it was actually country."
"Ahh." This guy ain't all that bad, I realized. We had quite a bit in common already. "You didn't participate did you?"
"Of course not, but I do have my own musical interests."
"Like?" I asked perhaps letting on too much enthusiasm. But I was excited.
"A bit of piano here, a bit of guitar there....And, occasionally I sing."
"A singer?" I inquired. "Wow, you must have women crawling all over you." It was his turn to blush, though you could barely see it on his tan face. He didn't reply. He shifted his weight and instinctively lifted his shirt to scratch a spot right above is navel. I saw his abs. they effortlessly defined themselves without being too pronounced at the same time. They made my mouth water. And look at his...no, come on Nathan, you just met the guy.
Without really planning it, I took as few steps forward. My movement spurred him on. Going from 10 to 60, "Well, since you seem to be so interested, breaking in and all, would you like me to give you a tour?" I stirred in place a bit. He seemed genuinely courteous and even somewhat eager. So much for rich kids being all snobby. I nodded with silent agreement.
"Holy shit..." I mouthed, not a wisp of air leaving me. When he turned around, his shorts betrayed what was obviously the sexiest butt ever. I could see his high definition and it was pretty easy to tell this firm ass was pure muscle.
Tripped by my own rebellious shoelace. On the ground, I remained stunned not by the pain in my knee, but the vivid memory of his backside. Then, he was there. His hand on my bicept applying a light pressure. I looked up. "Am I gonna have to treat you like one of my little brothers?" he chimed, mock annoyance on his face. "Now get up," he lifted me, with what seemed like no effort, "And try to be a little more careful, ok?"
"Well we can't all be as coordinated as the star quarterback." I blushed.
"Haha. No. Not football. Rugby. But I'm not exactly the star player," he admitted.
"Rugby? Are you kidding me?" I asked in all seriousness. That's unheard of around here.
"I played back in Tennesse." He told me as we slowly walked to what I could only assume was his room. This time he stayed much closed. This made me feel like such a child, which is a feeling I hate. But being so close also made me feel fuzzy inside, which is a feeling I love. Deny all I want, his broad shoulders and protruding (but not rounded) pecs intrigued me almost as much as his sharp calves and strong thighs. And that tan made his face and arms glow in the sunlight. Just put a halo on this boy and I'd bow down and worship him.
His deep and empowered voice brought me out of my mental stare. I wiped my mental drool away. "...but really, in Louisiana, all it seems that matters is football."
"People here are pretty closed minded, honestly, but not all of us. I'd love to try some rugby with you if we ever get the chance. I know I'm not all that big or tall, but I'm fairly fast and can last pretty long!"
He looked at me with a gleam in his eyes. "That's not everything, but I can see you have heart. All the strength in the world won't help you if you don't have that determination."
That made me feel really warm and proud. How sweet of him.
We arrived at his room. Unlike every room in this slowly refurbishing manor, his room was all put together. A beautiful flat screen TV was mounted to the wall of which, it must have taken half of. Directly across was his king-sized bed, neatly folded and unvisited so far. To my direct right there was a desk along with lamp, laptop and a few video games. Beside that was a walk in closet and on the entire opposite wall was a giant window with drawn curtain. The walls were the same as the rest of the house, but the carpet was plush and soft. Placed on various surfaces, trophies, all of which pertained to rugby, displayed themselves proudly. Along the foor, his gear shone. I couldn't help but notice there were no pads. Knowing rugby was a full-contact sport, I questioned this.
"Nope. No pads. It's rare that anyone gets seriously hurt, but..." he lifted his left short leg and revealed a deep purple bruise on his inner thigh, the area around it appeared to be yellow. "Its pretty common to get beat up a bit," he said, his smile showing his glossy white teeth.
"Oh, then I guess you just got lucky," I said. He looked confused. "If it was a little bit higher..." I added with a grin.
He laughed. "Yeah that's happened before."
"You wanna see?" he asked.
I wasn't sure if he was being sarcastic. He must have seen it on my face. He lit up. "Just kidding buddy," he smirked. "What are you into Mr. Flute Boy?"
I wondered if this was a stab at my masculinity. So, I decided to play around a bit.
"Well, other than fasion design, I love being with the girls and, you know, just go shopping!" I mused with my absolute best possible lisp (not good still), and a super happy smile.
He looked at me for a moment.
"You forgot about the manicures and facials!" he copied my tone.
We laughed together. He sat on his bed, revealing his legs halfway up his thighs. I tried to only look when he was distracted elsewhere, but the way his slightly hairy legs slowly lost their pigment the closer to his crotch you got, it was distracting. With a slight pat beside him, he invited me to sit down.
I happily obliged, my shorts rising like his, and our bare thighs almost touching. However, as I sat, that icy felling returned prickling like chilled water running down my spine. I let the chill wrack my body and then submitted to the feeling and fell back onto the bed. I could feel my energy receding quickly. Seeing this, he joined me and tuned on his side looking at me. We stayed this way for several minutes in silence. "You didn't answer me."
I yawned. "Yes, this is a very comfortable bed."
"That wasn't the question," he replied, his brow furrowing. "The question rarely matters," I said, my eyelids half-closed. "It's the answer that's the meat of the whole equation."
"I don't recall mentioning math either."
"Yeah, let's keep it that way." I could feel myself slipping into sleep. I didn't fight it. This blanket is wonderful. Just so enticing. I love it. I love it. I love it... My fading mind repeated again and again.
With a soft laugh, he spoke in a low whisper, "I can tell you and me are going to make great friends."
Eyes closed, I murmured. "I love it," and was asleep.
He woke up not even 30 minutes later. Nathan lay snuggled into my bed. I watched the slight lift of his chest that accompanied his soft breathing. He shifted slightly and then slowly opened his eyes. I turned back to my computer. I had already found Nathan on Facebook. From what I could tell, he was very much into music, including arranging it. He also plays tennis occasionally, and runs for recreation almost every day. However, the one thing that I really wanted to find in his personal information was unanswered.
Nathan let out a soft moan as he stretched. I turned back to him. He was looking around with a bleak fear in his eyes. I laughed to myself. He must not remember where he is. I stood from my chair and spoke," Nathan."
He found me and our eyes connected. I could feel such a pulling sensation from the contact. His eyes, face. Wow. For what was perhaps the 5th time, I wondered how the hell such a beautiful boy could have wondered into my home.
The fear that wrapped him just moments ago disappeared and was replaced with a tired looking smile. "Hey..." he said as he rubbed his eyes then paused, "you know, you never told me your name."
I couldn't believe myself. Here was a guy lying in my bed, a guy I'm really starting to have feelings for, and he doesn't even know my name. Replaying our conversations in my head, I realized that he was right. I could kick myself sometimes.
"I'm Logan." I said simply.
"Logan?" he spoke in almost inaudible whispers. "Oh."
He shifted, awkwardly, and fell silent. The disappointment of those two words filled me with worry. As my mind sifted through what I just said, adamant to find what set him off, he emitted a painfully familiar sound. A Sob. His head fell and eyes were obscured by his hair. I got scared when his body when slack. Panicking, I did the only thing I could think of. I strode over to him and wrapped an arm around his shoulders. A second gasp, this one unmistakable followed the first. Then, he moved.
Before I could react, his face was buried in my shirt, his forehead resting in the nook of my neck and shoulder. I tensed and jumped back for just a moment, then relaxed. I wanted to say something. His cries were coming on full force now. His back trembled beneath my hand. I wrapped both my arms around him, now desperate to soothe him. Softly, "Hey, hey, hey. Nathan. Come on man. What's wrong?"
"Oh God, I'm sorry L...Logan," He forced my name out, though it was anything from easy. He lifted his hand and quickly wiped away the tears. My shirt was wet where he laid, but I far from cared. "I'm just... tired."
It was easy enough to tell he was lying, but I didn't want to press him. I tried to think, but I already knew what was wrong. He freaks out when I tell him my name. He finds it hard to say. Someone with my name is already in his life (or has been) and they must be pretty important to him. Unsure of how to proceed, I just stayed silent and watched him. Eyes still smarting, he began to stand up. My heart leapt. I didn't want him to leave at all, plus it seemed irresponsible to just let him go in that state of mind. I grabbed his arm. His toned biceps bulged as he tried to escape. I held on. I couldn't let go. I couldn't.
My whole body ached, but nothing hurt so much as my heart.
Of all the freakin names in the universe, it had to be his too. My body trembled at even the thought that this boy had any sort of connection with him. Sure, it was just a name, but it was more than that. He... he reminds me of him a bit. The gleam in his eyes. The strength of his hands. The warmth of his voice.
It makes everything worse, brings back all those terrible feelings of hopelessness, denial, and helplessness.
Logan, the first significant Logan in my life, was a friend. Only more than that. I'd known him since middle school, but my freshman year is when I truly met him. We bonded over a period of three weeks at a series of camps. First was tennis, then two band camps. As two freshman boys, our similar interests brought us together and literally made us best friends. We spent much time together doing anything and everything that guys our age would do. On days of tennis practice, we went to his house for whatever banquet his mother (lovely woman!) would home cook and then upstairs for video games or outside for a dip in the pool. Any other day we would be at my house either riding around in our boat or taking the ATV's out for a ride.
Now, around this same time, I was going through a very nippy situation. I'd had a few girlfriends, just as he had, but I noticed something. Whenever one of my friends would end up in another failed high school relationship, their hearts would be crushed. They'd be bawling like a lost puppy without a home or guidance. Whenever my girlfriends would abandon me, I would feel nothing. I couldn't figure it out. It's not like I didn't like them. I did. I just brushed it off as thinking it wasn't meant to be.
But I was wrong. I knew I had been having gay feelings since somewhere in 7th grade. However, I never thought that I would be gay myself. There was no way.
Irony is a bitch. As pornography became more and more a part of my life, I couldn't help but be curious. Ever since the first time I took the safe search off of Yahoo Images and typed "gay", I'd pretty much been hooked. Sure I denied and denied. Just thought it was a phase. I stayed with this mindset until halfway through my sophomore year of high school. And I finally accepted myself and became what I was always meant to be. I told a select few friends, mostly girls that I knew could trust, and they were so very supportive. And this is the state I was at when I was invited to a party where it happened.
The party was for the end of school, which had passed three days ago. It was a fun time, but Logan was nowhere in sight, though he promised he'd be there. In the meantime, there was plenty other things to distract my attention. We danced to the crashing bass and clubbing songs, but eventually everything calmed down to everyone coming around a warm fire and enjoying each others company with stories and laughs.
Call it luck, but I slipped out just at the right moment. As I approached the bathroom, I finally found him! Logan stumbled up the stairs, the opposite of steadily. Whoa, he is fucking wasted! I declared to myself. I'll admit I wasn't all that sober myself, but I could get up the stairs without nearing a concussion.
I looked up at him as he reached the top of the stairs. Suddenly, I felt myself getting hard. My eyes boggled at the prospect of even thinking of my brother that way. Then I took a second look, this one much more detailed. His tight shorts let on that he really had a much more muscled ass than I've ever seen before. His legs had a shining coat of light brown hair covering their powerful bulk. He worked out, a lot. He seemed to notice he'd been standing there still for a while. He snapped back to reality with a start. He took a left and headed to what I recognized as a guest room I'd stayed in before. His slim but packed torso limp, he walked forward with slightly drooping eyes, not really paying attention to his surroundings.
Slightly worried, though more so horny, I quickly followed him upstairs to see what he was doing so late and why he didn't want to come visit with the rest of us. When I reached the door and turned the nob, I noticed he attempted to lock it, but didn't close it all the way. Taking all the liberty, I stepped into the room quickly and shut the door without a sound. No one was in the room. My eyes wandered a bit, confused. But then I remembered the bathroom and sure enough I saw a light on under the sliding door.
For a reason I could not comprehend I got very nervous. Before just barging in, I put my ear to the door and listened.
I could hear something. A light tapping noise. And, was it... wet sounding? Through my alcohol muted brain, I put two and two together. He must be brushing his teeth! I decided, and slid the door open with a smile on my face. Boy, was I wrong.
Logan stood there in front of a rather large mirror, his shirt off, shorts around his ankles. His chest glowed from the sheen of sweat the accommodated his beautiful heavenly tan. One of his hands was on his pec (perfect from hour of working out) slowly rubbing his nipple. The other hand ran along the length of his fully hard and practically trembling cock. The sensations enwrapping him, his eyes remained closed and mouth hung slightly open, moaning the tiniest bit. He didn't even notice me coming in.
My knees went weak at the sight of it all. All of a sudden, any worry, any care, any feeling other than lust was vanquished. This boy, my best friend, my brother, I wanted him so bad. His shining dick strained with need. His jerking began to speed up and before I knew it, he was nearly hyperventilating. I may have watched him for 5 seconds before I made my move.
From behind him, I gently wrapped my arms around his torso and abs. My left hand lingered on his abs as my right hand took care of his other nipple. I pressed my chest against his sweating back. The scent of his masculine heat invaded me. It was driving me to a new place that I never thought I'd go, especially not with Logan.
I pressed my lips to his neck, opening them the tiniest bit to nibble on his hot flesh. All the while my heart fluttered, its pace not exactly steady, increasing tremendously when he would groan or sigh. My hands moved all about him, trying to love every single part of him above his waist. He didn't seem to mind, or even notice me, though I could feel him tense wherever my greedy hands molested his smooth skin.
From what I could tell, he liked it hardcore, and that might even be an understatement. Just moments later, he was beginning to buck his hips back and forth and stroke his cock like a man. His tight chest began to heave from his pleasure strain. His rich voice, losing all subtlety began to moan and speak softly," oh yeah...ohh." With one cry out, his head fell back onto my shoulder, and I quickly began kissing the front of it. His pulse on my lips vibrated, strong and vigorous as the beat of a never-ending drum cadence. And then, suddenly I knew he would hit the point of climax.
So I ruined it. I grabbed his hand and stole it from its position on his rod. For just a moment, he froze, every part of him flexed in that moment of pure ecstasy just before ejaculation. But, he was quickly stolen from that moment when he realized he did not cum. He attempted to move his hand back, but I held it firm. His eyes opened so fast. In them I saw desperation, but then also recognition when he realized who had been grabbing him for the last few minutes.
"Nathan?" he questioned, stupidly. I didn't know what to think. All I wanted was for him to cum, but to my hand. I was still sucking on his neck and pawing his upper body as I pressed my right hand all the way up to his neck. I slowly bore my way down, to his chest, to his abs, navel, pubes, and finally, the star of my show, his manhood. When I grabbed it, he gasped at my firm grip, determined not to let go. I stroked him with all the love I'd ever felt to him up until that moment. I was gentle, but unrelenting. There was nothing in this universe that was going to stop me from getting what I wanted, and that was Logan's complete sexual satisfaction.
His eyes lingered on my for a bit, then once again closed. He slacked his body against mine and leaned back, enjoying my handjob. I couldn't tell who could have been enjoying it more though. My cock poked his thighs as I began to rub against him in every possible way. I felt myself getting close to orgasm too.
After what felt like 2 hours but was really only 15 minutes, he began to plead silently to me. "Please, please man. Let me come. I'll do anything." With that, I began to speed up, encouraging him to cum. His moans grew in intensity and I could feel his need for release, because I needed it too. I cupped his balls into my hand. They were huge bull balls that swung around in their sack loosely, this allowed me to pull and caress them with ease. And that was the last straw. His balls shot upwards, his body tensed and he cried out in a high pitched, pushing groan.
His cum hit the mirror and splashed off into the sink and all over the floor. What was left was coated onto my hand, warm and wild. I smiled as he sank into me, completely spent. After one last kiss on his neck, I dragged him to the twin sized bed. Before his head hit the pillow, he was sleep. I tucked him in, and covered him. Then before I left the room, I took a last glance at his beautiful face.
I went directly home after that, not caring that I was driving under the influence. Nothing could bring me down from my sexual high. What I did with Logan, it was a once in a lifetime opportunity. He was my straight best friend. And I got him.
However, the next day at school, I would regret it. Because he was obviously so drunk, I thought he would have no memory of the night, or at least he wouldn't mind considering how much he seemed to enjoy it, but I was wrong in both ways. He refused to talk to me, no matter how much I provoked.
It's still pretty much the same today, though I've stopped trying months ago.
So, there I was, with this boy whom is so similar to the Logan I once knew. The more I thought about him, the more I realized it's true. However, there was something a bit different in this Logan. It's the way he looked at me like he's never gonna see me again. The way he won't let go of my hand, won't let me leave him. His presence is soothing and warm. It's like the pull of a magnet, attracting me in like a fly to honey.
Using a slow and steady movement, he tugs at my arm. He slowly forces me closer literally until I'm all but sitting on his lap. He holds the small of my back and the back of my neck firmly, and draws closer to my face. His eyes show his sincerity in this movement.
"I don't want you to hurt anymore," he whispered.
And then our lips locked.