“It’s not a school night,” Peter Bishop said, “so it doesn’t really matter when you go to bed, but,” he placed his keys on an antique bureau, “Lance, take the truck and put Elias’s bike in there when you drop him off. He can’t be riding around at midnight. Even in Rossford.”
Lance nodded and grinned sideways at Elias, his eyes lighting up.
“Joy ride,” he whispered behind the palm of his hand as they went up the steps.
Elias knew that he was in love with Lance then. He’d never understood that until now. And he knew he was in love with Dylan too. The only other guy the same age as himself that he was close to was his brother, so it had taken a while for him to understand how he felt around the two of them. But he couldn’t wait to ride around in a car with Lance, and he loved being up in his room, where he had never been.
Lance was neat. Like Matthew, Elias’s brother. His room was clean, well ordered, and it smelled nice.
“What are you looking at?” Lance said, as he sat on his bed, folding his legs under him.
“You have a really clean room. It smells nice.”
Lance chuckled and Elias said, “I don’t know if I could be friends with you if you weren’t clean.”
Elias closed the door and said, “Are you going to tell me what was wrong?”
Lance’s face changed and Elias said, “Well, never mind. I guess it doesn’t…”
“No,” Lance said. “I should tell you. We’re friends. Right?”
Elias nodded and Lance moved to make space on the bed and so Elias sat on it beside him.
“I… eh had a girlfriend.”
“Okay.”
“You probably think that’s dumb. Cause you know what you know.”
Elias shook his head. “I don’t judge.”
“I don’t really like to be single, and guys don’t take anything seriously.”
By this Elias assumed that Lance meant Dylan didn’t take their relationship seriously.
“Anyway,” Lance said, “I… she said she was pregnant.”
“What the fuck!” Elias spat out.
Without looking at him, Lance put a hand over Elias’s mouth.
“I haven’t told my folks.”
“How?” Elias said. “Who have you told?”
“I haven’t told anyone,” Lance said.
“How…?” Elias began again, and then said, “You can’t go through this by yourself. That’s crazy. What’s going on now? Is she pregnant?”
“It’s out of my hands.”
“Does she even have a name?”
“Sara Dickerson. And like I said, it’s out of my hands.”
“How?” Elias said. Then, “I’m just going to shut up now.”
“You don’t have to,” Lance said, looking at him, tired.
“She’s not having it,” Lance said, flatly. “She and one of her friends are going to take care of it. And then they’re going out of town for the summer.”
“Then… it still hasn’t happened.”
“It might as well have happened.”
Elias was about to say, “Well, then we can stop it,” or come up with some wild plan, when suddenly he looked at his friend and said, “You don’t want it, either, do you?”
“I’m glad I didn’t have to make the decision,” Lance said. “But… I don’t want a baby.”
Neither one of them spoke for a long time and then Lance said, “Eli? Please don’t tell anyone. I don’t want anyone to know.”
“Sure, Lance,” Elias said.
“Do you think I’m some type of a monster?”
“No,” Elias said. “I… just think it’s all kind of sad.”
And he did think Lance was terribly damaged. They spent the night together, and when Lance was dropping Elias off, Elias knew—or thought he did—that Dylan was stronger. He had the feeling that if he had touched Lance in the right way they would have ended up making love, and he was sure this was a bad idea. He needed to find Lance again. He needed Lance to become his friend. Dylan had been his friend all along. When he went to sleep he dreamed of both of them and when he awoke—thank God he’d always had his own room—he touched himself imagining both of them and when he came, slick in his hands, it was to the image of Dylan.
So three days later, when he was in Dylan’s house, and they were in the middle of a movie he lunged across and kissed him.
“What the fuck?” Dylan shrank back.
Elias went red, but wouldn’t let himself be cowed.
“You didn’t like it?”
“Not from you!” Dylan protested.
“Why not?”
“You’re my friend.”
“You don’t like me.”
Dylan stood up.
“You’re not just my friend, You’re fourteen.”
“That’s not true,” Elias chided him. “I’m fifteen in two weeks.”
“Well…” Dylan stumbled, “I am seventeen. Honestly seventeen.”
“You don’t want me?” Elias said.
Dylan’s mouth worked. He looked confused.
Elias thought there was nothing for it. He reached out and touched Dylan between his legs and Dylan shuddered and made a noise.
“You…” he said, “Don’t want me…”
Dylan closed his eyes, and let Elias knead him,
“Please Dylan,” Elias murmured, “Let me just have this.”
“Okay,” Dylan said, standing there, shoulders stooped. “We can both have it.”
Dylan sat down on the couch and let Elias’s hands slip into his pants.
“Just… a little…” he said. “We shouldn’t be…”
Dylan cut himself off. The only other person he’d been with in a long time was Lance, and this felt so good. Elias’s hand felt so nice, and then he felt a rustling and unsettling and he knew Elias was working with his shorts.
“You don’t have to…” Dylan said hoarsely. “Please don’t.”
“I want to,” Elias said.
Dylan looked down at him helplessly, and Elias felt helpless too. He held Dylan in his hands surprised by the size of him, the increase of the other boy’s erection.
“I knew it,” Elias said.
“You knew…” Dylan said. “What?”
“You were always my friend,” Elias said, not look at Dylan’s face. “I think people think friends are Ken dolls. I wondered if I could ever face this.”
He held Dylan’s penis in his hands and Dylan closed his eyes.
“I wish I could tell you to stop,” he said. “I wish I could mean…”
Dylan cried out and Elias pulled him into his mouth. When it happened, there was no noise and it went on for a long time, Elias was better than he should have been, Dylan was able to hold himself back until his fingernails gripped Elias’s back like claws, and he said, “Stop. I’m gonna…”
But Elias didn’t stopped and Dylan surrendered with a groan as he felt himself shooting into Elias’s mouth. It felt so good. And he’d always wanted to do that. He knew now he’d wanted to have sex with Elias. Even as he came in his mouth, and Elias gagged, Dylan came harder and felt relieved, defeated and afraid to know he wanted fo fuck him.
“Rinse your mouth out, Eli,” Dylan said, shallowly. “I need to wipe up. I don’t want to drip in my shorts.”
Elias stood before him solemnly and Dylan watched the other boy swallow his semen.
“I’ll get a cloth for you, though.”
When he came back, Dylan cleaned up and Elias asked:
“Are you mad at me?”
Dylan kept cleaning, and folded the cloth as he laced his shorts.
“You have every right to be mad at me,” Elias said. “But… if you couldn’t stop, I couldn’t either.”
“I’m not mad,” Dylan said. “I’m just really fucking confused.”
Elias nodded his head.
“How do you feel?” Dylan said. He turned red. “I… I’m a little embarrassed.”
“Dylan, we’ve already started. Can we have sex this weekend?”
Feeling odd and defeated, Dylan nodded his head and said, “Sure, Eli.”
“You act like you don’t want to.”
“I shouldn’t want to,” Dylan said. “And that’s almost the same thing.”
When he did come over that Friday night, Elias brought his usual overnight bag, and they ate in the kitchen—they never used the dining room—with Fenn and Todd. Laurel and Maia were there too. They all went out to the mall after that, and when Maia asked if anyone wanted to see a movie, and Dylan seemed hesitant in answering, it was Elias who said no, and that he was tired and they should all go to the movies tomorrow. As they departed, Laurel said she wondered how Lance was, and nobody answered.
They hadn’t talked about sex since the time Elias had brought it up, and he was eager now to get it over with and, at the same time, thought how strange it was that he should think of it as “getting it over”. But Dylan had promised it to him, and he had already gone down on him. This thing was hanging in the air about them, and had to be done, and his stomach shook with nerves almost until he was sick, because he realized he would be the one to make it happen. Not Dylan. No, left to Dylan this electric would hang in the air forever.
When they got back to the house on Versailles, Elias went into the shower. He wasn’t stupid. He believed in study, and he had read about this already.
Anal sex is often seen as the definitive form of gay love-making. You might think, and be pressured to think, that if you’re not doing it, be you top, bottom or versatile, you must be some sort of second rate closet case. But is it for you? It can hurt (a lot) at first, comes as something of a shock to the system, and might well be termed an acquired taste. If you fancy it, here are a few tips on how to begin to acquire that taste…
That was the most unappealing thing he’d ever read, but he read on.
Spend time on your own discovering your anus before having sex with others. Run a bath and get naked. Go to the toilet. Then put some lube on a finger, work it around the outer anus, stay there awhile, and start pushing it in.
The sensations you get might already be quite intense. If you’re unsettled, use your other hand to masturbate and reassure yourself with feelings with which you’re familiar. Allow yourself to enjoy the new feelings. Relax and feel free to fantasise. Explore and get a sense of the shape and texture inside you. Then, when you’re comfortable, try inserting a second finger. Be careful, but rest assured your anus can certainly cope with this.
When you withdraw you might feel you want to defecate again. This is normal. Probably nothing will happen. If anything does, don’t worry. Clean up when you’re done, and there’s no shame attached. It’s just a reflex reaction.
You might also want to experiment with something more life-size. If so, use a proper dildo – not a deodorant canister or a cucumber. You don’t want to scratch the lining of your anus or have something nasty break off in there. And, yes, the guy in the sex shop may well take one look at you and know exactly where it’s going to end up. But so what? He’s seen it all already. Just acknowledge to yourself that you’re doing this as part of your exploration of yourself as gay.
He had already tried it a few times, and he used the enema bottle tonight in the little bathroom down the hall, and then he showered, He hadn’t been able to buy a dildo. There was just no way to be fifteen years old in Rossford and do that, but be had used a few fairly safe things and pulled them out, surprised by the pleasure of their entry and then surprised by cleanness of his ass. But would he make a mess with Dylan? More than the possible pain or any idea of how he or their relationship would come away changed from all this, the embarrassment of making mess a terrified him.
When he had come out of the shower and dried himself, he stood looking in the mirror at a boy—did he look like a man? Man enough?—with a square face, square jaw, dark eyes, serious expression, short cut hair that spiked a little and looked almost black after the shower. He was square shouldered, and his white body was loosely muscled with coral nipples on lightly defined breasts. He pulled away his towel to look at his sex, but he couldn’t judge it. He had only seen his brother naked. He didn’t like to take his clothes off in the locker room, and he never seriously looked at the other boys. He had seen Dylan’s, the other day, but never Dylan totally naked. Would he be good enough for him? No, none of that! He was good enough for him. He would have to be.
When he came back into the bedroom in red shorts and a tee shirt, Dylan said, “You took forever. Is there any hot water for me?”
Elias tried to grin.
“It’s all back now. Most of the time I was just fucking around with my hair.”
“I don’t know why,” Dylan shrugged, picking up his night shorts, “We’re just going to bed.”
Of course, every Friday night they just went to bed, but it sounded so different when Dylan said it now, and still he wasn’t entirely sure what Dylan meant by it, if he remembered what was supposed to happen tonight.
When Dylan came back to the room some time later, Elias remembered that the older boy, who was only a little taller than him, never had those awkward feelings about his body. He didn’t come in wearing a tee shirt, but bare-chested, his boxer shorts almost hanging off of him, his torso like white marble—and it was so strange, because Dylan took so much pride in his Black family—muscled like a Renaissance statue, and he was wearing that good cologne.
“What?” Dylan frowned, looking worried.
Elias came up and pulled his face down and kissed him, wrapping his hands around Dylan’s waist, wanting to pull down his shorts. Dylan didn’t respond in fear, but fell right into it, kissing him hard, his tongue pressing into his mouth. He had just brushed his teeth and his tongue tasted like Listerine. He smelled so good and so clean and his hands were strong, gripping Elias’s shoulders. Elias’s eyes stung. He hoped Dylan didn’t notice. It was only, Dylan did want him. He wanted him after all. But he kept himself so aloof. Seeing Dylan come in, so much more confident, so much more beautiful than Elias ever felt, was too much for him. He would have to be accepted all the way, or rejected. That was why he had made his move. His hand gripped Dylan’s penis and began to massage it, but Dylan pulled away.
“Wha?” Elias said, dumbly.
Dylan put a finger to his lips. His erection, thick, pushed out of his boxers. He didn’t care about that, though. He moved back to lock the door, and then came back to Elias. They stood in the room holding to each other, kissing and not quite pulling off each other’s shorts, though Dylan had pulled off Elias’s tee shirt and bent to kiss his throat, suck on his nipples, run his hands down Elias’s body.
“You’re so perfect,” Dylan marveled, and Elias wanted to cry because that someone so perfect thought he was perfect. Dylan went past his shorts and kissed his thighs and his knees and his feet, and then slowly, reverently, took down his shorts and pulled him into his mouth. Elias’s eyes went to the ceiling, but before he gave in, he looked to the windows to make sure the blinds in Dylan’s room were closed. He placed his fingers in Dylan’s short buzzed hair. Goddamn, why did he want to cry since the moment Dylan came into this room and how could Dylan make him feel this good? The only thing that would make him feel better was making Dylan feel like this.
Though they couldn’t stop touching each other, they weren’t quick about it. Soon they were on Dylan’s bed, pleasuring each other, and Dylan’s mouth was on him while he filled his mouth with Dylan and his hands, in reverent wonder, ran over his round ass, over the line from anus to balls and he mimicked all Dylan did to him until, mouths full, they cried out as best they could. When Dylan finally fucked him it was slow at first until Elias’s leg’s linked around him, told him he didn’t want it gentle. He bit Dylan’s shoulder to not make noise while, like a piston, the other boy fucked him. It was now, his finger’s slipping on Dylan’s sweaty back, that he understand all of Dylan’s reserve had been to hold back an intense desire. Dylan had wanted this for a long time.
“I’m about to—” Dylan began, but Elias wouldn’t let him pull out. Even though it was his house, and Dylan was worried about the noise, he did cry out, as if he had stubbed his toe, and he felt Dylan, pulsing inside of him, his semen, like a fountain with a heartbeat, pumping and pumping, as his body twitched and stretched and he came.
