Disclaimer:
The following piece of fiction contains explicit descriptions of sexual acts between consenting adult males aged over the age of 18. Please do not read further if the subject matter might offend you. If you are aged under 18 (or 21 if that is the law in your state or country) please leave this site without reading further.
Patronising things you should read:
Fictional characters cannot get hurt and do not feel pain. Real people can and do. Actions have consequences, and the author does not in any way condone suicide, self-harm, self-mutilation, or any form of self-abuse as a coping mechanism.
Extra Note from Author:
Sorry it has taken so long for the story to continue. Other commitments just kept getting in the way, and progress on further writing has been slow. Thank you for being patient and I hope the wait is worth it.
Note from Author:
This part of the story is told by Abby, who is Brad's cousin. Brad's version of this chapter will be available soon! To read chapters from the point of view of other characters, go back to the main `Geeks Get Hot' folder.
Geeks Get Hot (part 10) - Abby
It's often said that family parties will end in an argument, but in our family's case that had never applied until now. And I could hardly believe it was happening, or who was instigating it!
It had been a really happy and relaxed occasion up to now too. I always enjoyed Thanksgiving in general, mainly because I typically spent it not just with my mom and dad, but also with other close relatives, and I enjoy having lots of people around me, always have done. This year was no exception, although the celebration would be a little smaller than some years - just me and my mom and dad, and my cousin Brad and his mom and dad (my aunt and uncle).
Because Brad was now living in the same city as me (though, of course, he was living in his college dorm) my aunt and uncle had offered to give me a ride back with them, as they were both driving out to pick Brad up. Quite why both of them had to come to do this I still haven't figured out. I'm sure they meant well, and it was just another example of them caring for him a little too much.
That car ride back to their house which was where we were all having the party this year, was one of the most awkward journeys I've ever had. Brad was being pretty much interrogated about every detail of his life at college so far by his parents, and I just sat there in silence watching his cheeks burn up and the frustration in his face as they pried and poked their noses into his private affairs, not willing to accept that there were some things and experiences that he wanted to keep to himself. In the end, the poor guy pretended he'd fallen asleep just to avoid any more of their questions. I could tell he was only pretending, because sitting in the back seat alongside him, I could see his eyelids occasionally flickering, and his left eye sometimes cracking open a notch to check how close we were to home.
We'd finally arrived, and then after getting my things arranged in the bedroom I'd been shown to, I gave my aunt a hand in the kitchen with planning the food for us all, while Brad vanished up to his bedroom for the rest of the day.
Thanksgiving itself had been a really fun day, the usual food-filled affair, followed by games of charades and monopoly, more food, and finally talking and drinking late into the evening. Brad had seemed to enjoy himself as well, and my aunt and uncle had even turned a blind eye to him drinking two whole bottles of beer, though had stopped him pretty quickly when he'd tried to help himself to a third.
For all my aunt's faults, she could certainly cook well, and we had all enjoyed eating all the food she had prepared. There was plenty left for the next day too, nearly a quarter of the turkey which we cut into slices to have with bread and salad, and half of a delicious pumpkin pie. Brad had had an appointment with his counselor, and with him safely out of the house, the adults had finally gotten around to asking me what they had obviously been dying to ask since we'd arrived.
"So Abby," my aunt had said. "How do you really think Brad is coping with college? You can be honest now, you know he's out seeing his shrink and isn't going to walk in on us talking. Do you really think he's coping ok?"
"Sure," I'd said, indignant on Brad's behalf at their lack of belief in him. "He's already told you how much he's enjoying college life."
"Yes, but, Abby, you know how he is with keeping his real feelings bottled up. You know what he tried to do. I really don't want him to get so unhappy he tries that again. I don't think I could cope with that."
"Relax," I'd said. "You can see just by looking at him how well he is coping. He looks healthier and happier than I've seen him for a long time, and he seems a lot more confident with his posture and how he talks to you. I'd hand on heart say college is suiting him just fine. You shouldn't worry so much about him you know. He is an adult now. He's nineteen, not nine!"
"I know he's 19 Abby," my aunt said sharply. "But he's still my little boy. And I can't forget what he tried to do. Even now I still have nightmares about it, about finding him like that, and about what might have happened. Your uncle and I have to be sure that he's coping. You can't understand properly, you don't have a child of your own, but we worry so much. You know he hardly ever calls us anymore. We're lucky to get a phonecall once a week now. And I am sure he doesn't tell us everything about what is happening to him. I can sense there is something happening at college that he doesn't want us to know about."
I bit back what I really wanted to say about them letting Brad have his own space and the freedom to be a carefree freshman without having to report back to his parents every five minutes, and ended up saying "well he is probably too busy studying to call very often. But I'm sure if you check with other parents a phonecall once a week is still more often than the average."
"Well, maybe. Oh Abby, I wish he still lived with us, it would be so much easier to keep a watch on him. Have you ever met his roommate?"
"Who? Anthony?" I asked.
"Yes. Anthony" my aunt said, saying the name as though she had a bad taste in her mouth.
"No, I've never met him. But Brad seems happy sharing a room with him, and has always said they get along fine. In fact, from how he's described it, they seem to have a very good friendship now, considering they have only known each other since the beginning of the semester. Brad always speaks very highly of Anthony"
"Yes," my aunt said, "Brad always speaks very highly of Anthony. In fact, from some of his phonecalls it was as if he worshipped the very ground this Anthony kid walked on! It was "Anthony this" and "Anthony that"! I can't help thinking Anthony has too much influence on him. And you know what they say about English kids, don't you? I don't want Brad being led astray by him!"
"Now honey," my uncle interjected. "We met him when we picked up Brad don't forget, and he didn't seem like the kind of kid to lead anybody astray. In fact, he seemed quite quiet and polite to me."
"Hmph" my aunt snorted. "Well maybe, but don't forget the English let their kids drink legally when they're 18. That Anthony has probably gotten drunk more times than all five of us put together. And, yes, he seemed quiet and polite to us, but when we're not there...No, I can just sense he is a bad influence on Brad. I wish you had met him before Abby, you'd be able to tell us what you think of him. We really trust your judgement on these things."
"What? More than you trust your own son's?!" I said incredulously. "If Brad says Anthony is a great guy, then that's good enough for me. It should be for you too. You should be happy for him that he has managed to make such a good friend that he trusts and gets along with so well. I don't think I want to talk about Brad anymore now. It feels like you are listening more to my opinions than what he has told you himself, and I don't think that's right."
My aunt opened and closed her mouth a few times, reminding me a little of a goldfish, and then conceded defeat.
"Alright," she said. "But you must promise to tell us if you ever suspect that Brad is beginning to lose his way at all."
"Yes," I sighed. "I already promised you before that I would keep a watch on him. But really, so far there is absolutely nothing to worry about. He is coping fine with everything, and actually, I think if you gave him a little more space, and leave him to get on with his own life without interfering, he will get even more independent and adjust even better to the world."
"We do not interfere!" My aunt exclaimed. "It's just...I don't like it when he doesn't tell us things. Him having secrets from us before about what was happening at high school is what led to him...you know what, in the first place! And he is keeping something from us. There is definitely something he isn't telling us. And I don't like not knowing what!"
"Abby's right," my dad said. "You can't control every second of his life. I'm sure Brad was just as scared about what happened before as you are, and he will come to you, or to Abby, if he has a problem or feels as if he can't cope with things. For all you know, this secret that you think he's keeping from you might be something completely innocent. Maybe he's met a girl he likes, or has started dating, or something totally normal like that. That's exactly the sort of thing a 19 year old guy might want to keep secret from him parents"
"What?! Brad? Dating?!" My aunt sounded excited. "Did he ever mention anything about that to you Abby?!"
"Well, no, but even if he had, that would be his business," I said. "Now can we change the subject please?!" And we did, but my aunt was now obviously fixated with the thought of her precious Brad possibly having started dating and having a secret girlfriend hidden away at college.
A while later, we heard the door slam and the sound of male teenage feet pounding up the stairs. I also thought I heard the faint sound of humming. Evidently Brad was back from seeing his counselor and seemed in a good mood.
My aunt had just gone out to the kitchen to begin fixing us something else to eat, and she stuck her head round the door.
"There he is," my aunt said. "Should we ask him now about whether or not he has started dating?"
I groaned to myself and bit back my retort.
"I am sure he will tell you in his own time if he is," my dad said, trying to make her see sense. "After all, it was only a possibility I suggested as to why you think he might be hiding something from you."
My aunt looked a little crestfallen and went back out to the kitchen to resume her cooking. Soon we were all sitting down at the table to eat big steaming bowlfuls of turkey stew. Brad was last to arrive. One look at him and I could tell I had either been completely mistaken about hearing him humming happily to himself when he arrived back home, or his good mood hadn't lasted. Unfortunately, my aunt was not as good at reading body language and launched into an interrogation about how his counseling session had gone.
Brad mumbled some monosyllabic grunts in answer to her questions, and then she dropped her bombshell.
"So, Brad we haven't gotten round to asking you about your love life yet. So are you dating anyone at college at the moment?"
"No, I'm not!" He sighed.
"Are you sure?"
"Yes!" he snapped, "I just told you! Enough with the questions already!"
"Are you sure you don't have your eye on some nice pretty little girl in your math class?"
"I JUST SAID! NO!!! I'M NOT DATING!!!"
I was shocked that Brad had shouted. And for somebody that spoke so quietly most of the time he sure could shout loudly!
"Alright honey, no need to shout, I understand. You haven't got a girlfriend and you're not dating. Yet." My aunt (who did not seem to understand at all) just could not read the signs, and carried on regardless of the glowering look her dark-haired bespectacled son was giving her. "But there must be some pretty girl you've seen in one of your classes or perhaps in the library, or the cafeteria, or the college bookstore that you'd like to ask out..."
Brad threw his spoon down onto the table and stood up, his chair scraping noisily along the floor behind him as he did so.
"NO!!! THERE'S NO GIRL I HAVE A CRUSH ON, I DON'T HAVE A GIRLFRIEND, I'M NOT DATING, AND I'M NOT GETTING LAID!!! NOW JUST STOP FUCKING ASKING ME ABOUT IT!!!"
He stormed away from the table and out of the room, slamming the door behind him and leaving us all wide-eyed and silent in shock from his outburst. We heard his footsteps stamping up the stairs toward his bedroom and then another doorslam so loud I looked up at the ceiling above me to check it hadn't cracked. My uncle recovered first and got up from his chair, a look of fury on his face, opening the door and standing in the open doorway to yell up the stairs at Brad. I realized then who Brad had inherited the volume of his shout from.
"BRADLEY NICHOLAS GRIFFITHS!!! HOW DARE YOU SWEAR AT YOUR MOTHER LIKE THAT! NOW YOU COME BACK DOWN HERE AND APOLOGIZE RIGHT THIS INSTANT!"
"FUCK OFF!!!" came the loud but muffled reply from upstairs. Actually, it sounded to me as though the words were being screamed through an uncontrollable cascade of tears. None of the other adults seemed to pick that up though. My mom and aunt gasped at the swearword, as if it was the first time they'd ever heard it. What century were they living in?
My uncle came back into the room, the anger gone from his face to be replaced by nervous uncertainty.
"Um, what do I do now?" he asked us.
"I don't know honey," my aunt said, her voice trembling a little. "He's never reacted anything like that before."
They had to be kidding me! Surely this wasn't the first time Brad had rebelled in this way. Jeez, I was always flouncing off up to my room in an argument when I was a teenager living at home. I'd hated to have seen my aunt and uncle have to deal with a real rebellious child. They'd never have coped.
"Maybe after he's had a minute or two to calm down, I could go up and try to talk to him," I offered. "There must be something on his mind to make him react like that, and I expect he would be more willing to talk to me than anyone else."
"Oh would you Abby?" My aunt asked, desperation in her voice.
"Of course," I said, although I wasn't intending necessarily to question him about anything (I got the feeling he had had enough of questions for one day), just to be there in case he needed a hug from somebody, because my gut instinct told me he might do.
I slowly climbed the stairs and stood outside the closed door to Brad's bedroom, hesitating, not sure how he would react to me. I knocked softly as I pushed the door open.
"Brad, may I come in?"
Brad was lying on his bed, curled up in a fetal position. His breaths sounded like little hiccupping sobs, as if he were just finishing crying, but not quite succeeding in managing to stop completely. He raised his head and turned to look at me, his eyes behind his glasses red and puffy from crying, and his cheeks shining wet with tears.
"They're mad at me, aren't they?" He managed to force out between his little sobs, his voice sounding very high and small.
I crossed the room and sat down on the foot of his bed, resting my hand gently on the side of his body.
"Brad, who cares if they are?!" I said. "Your parents, your mom especially, need to adjust to you becoming an independent adult. And if that means you answering them back and shouting a few times, it can't do them any harm. I'm more worried that something is bothering you so much that you ended up losing your temper so quickly in the first place. It's not like you at all - I don't think I've heard you shout like that since...well, actually, I don't think I've ever heard you shout like that. You know you can tell me if you have something on your mind. I know I'm not your counselor, but if there is something wrong, maybe I could help you. I promise not to ever tell your mom or dad if you don't want me to."
Brad sniffed a few times and wiped his cheeks with his hand.
"Well, I...I...I'm..."
Fresh tears filled his eyes, and he stopped talking, his sobbing restarted. I patted his shoulder a little awkwardly, and wondered whether or not to put my arms around him to comfort him, remembering he didn't like being hugged.
"Brad, whatever it is, you can tell me." I tried to remember what topic we'd been talking about when he'd lost his temper. Oh yes, his mom had been pretty much demanding to know whether he was dating or crushing on anybody. It seemed a weird thing to get upset over, but then Brad never had been the most normal of people.
Brad was wiping his face again now, taking his glasses off and holding them in one hand so as to clear the remnants of tears from his eyes. He replaced his glasses on his nose and looked at me. Then he looked down at his pillow. Then he looked up at me again. When he spoke, his voice was quiet and small again, and his words juddered every now and again, reminding me that his sobbing was barely finished.
"It's just...I just got some news and it put me in a bad mood. That's all. Yes, that's right. I was in a bad mood, and...and then all those questions...all th-th-those f-f-fucking questions...I just snapped. I don't really understand it, and I can't explain it. I've been s-s-so happy these last few weeks at college, but now coming back h-h-here...Suddenly I don't feel happy anymore. It affects me...being here...in this house...in this room...I hate it here, Abby. I only just realized it, but I do. This room used to be the only place I felt safe. Now it's just full of bad memories, a reminder of how my life used to be before college. I was so looking forward to seeing Mom and Dad after all these weeks away from them. And I love them both so much, but they are always on my case and worrying about me, wanting to know everything that's happening. I just can't wait to leave and go back to college again. I'm so much happier there...If I was still there I wouldn't have gotten this upset over such a small thing, but here, the smallest thing affects me so much...and I can't help it it's this room, this FUCKING ROOM! ..."
I just sat and let him talk, not really understanding half of what he was saying, but sensing he just needed to get everything out of his system, and vent his frustrations with his parents, his room, and his life in general. I couldn't see what was wrong with his room myself, (although the color scheme wouldn't have been my own first choice). It looked perfectly adequate for a boy of his age - plenty of shelves and desk space, a closet for all his clothes, space on the walls for posters (not that there were any hanging up). I gazed around, and my eyes alighted on a pattern drawn on the wall right next to his bed, just to the left hand side of his pillow. Actually, it wasn't a pattern as such, but a neat collection of tally marks inked in red on his cream colored wall. I counted and there were 12 altogether.
"What's with the check marks Brad?" I asked him curiously. "Not a record of your conquests is it?!"
He turned and looked at them, as if seeing them for the first time.
"No, no," he said. "At the rate I'm going, I'll be lucky to sleep with twelve people in my entire lifetime! No, that's just something I did to...oh you wouldn't understand."
"Try me" I said patiently.
"Well," he said, a little embarrassedly, "there's one mark for every day in high school since I was a sophomore that I made it through without crying."
"Oh," I said, a little puzzled. But then the reality of what he'd said hit me. Twelve days. Twelve days in three years of high school that he'd been happy...no, not even that he'd been happy, just that he'd made it through without crying. Fuck! Twelve days in three years...
"Oh Brad," I said, resting my arm on his shoulder again, wanting to comfort him, and understanding now a bit better why he might have wanted to do what he did. He must have been so unhappy.
My head was a mass of whirling thoughts and I looked away from Brad and down at my feet as my mind struggled to process them. My feet were resting on his dark green carpet. My eyes shifted left. That was weird, the carpet didn't seem as dark just there. In fact, there was a whole big round patch of carpet right next to Brad's bed that was faded to a much lighter green than the rest of the carpet in the room. I hadn't noticed from the doorway - you couldn't really see it until you were near it, or lying on the bed, but then it was really obvious.
I wondered what might have caused it. And then it hit me.
"Brad," I said, pointing down at the floor, "is that where..."
"Yes," he said, following my finger with his eyes. "They sponged the sick out and washed the carpet to get rid of the smell, but the soap they used bleached some of the color away. So I got me a permanent reminder of my little um...episode." He tried to make light of the situation, but my brain was already working, trying and failing to comprehend what it must feel like trying to fall asleep staring right at the faded place on the carpet where you'd puked after swallowing a whole jar of pills.
"Why didn't you just move your bed on top to cover it?" I asked getting up. "Look, let's do it now, you and me together."
I went to move his bed, but then realized it wouldn't move. It was screwed to the wall or the bedroom furniture to the side of it, a permanent fixture. I sat back down again. Suddenly, my mind was filled with thoughts of anger. Anger at my aunt and uncle for not altering his bedroom, at allowing the bad memories of his high school years to remain. No wonder he was a little unhinged, coming back from college life and all the freedom, and fun he was having, and the chance to be "normal" for the first time in ages, to sleep in a room filled with such terrible reminders of all the fear and sadness he'd had to go through.
I suddenly went into supportive cousin mode.
"Right well how about I speak to your mom and dad and tell them you are unhappy with your room as it is, and maybe I can persuade them to let you redecorate it. That way all the bad memories will be painted over, and you will get a new carpet so you won't be constantly reminded about what you did. Hey, if they agree, it could be your Christmas present from everybody. How about that?"
He looked up at me, the glimmer of a smile in his tear-covered face, and I was struck by how simple a thing could make such a difference to him.
"Would you really do that for me Abby?"
"Sure I would. I love you Brad, don't you ever forget that. All of us do. Even your mom and dad. Their over-protectiveness is just a bad way of them showing it. Speaking of which, you probably ought to go apologize to them for swearing."
He blushed.
"Oh crap. I forgot I did that."
"It's okay - I figure they've heard the word `fuck' before. Just maybe not from your sweet angelic lips, until now! Hey you'd better go wash your face first though."
He bounced off of his bed, his mood drastically improved at the thought of having his bedroom made over, and after giving me a quick kiss on the cheek, and a shy, mumbled "thanks Abby, you're the best", he headed out the door to wash the tears off his face.
I straightened up the comforter where he'd been lying, and heard a crinkling sound under the sheets as I did so. Intrigued, I pulled back the comforter to see what had made the noise, and found myself looking at a magazine turned facedown, a busy advertisement for cellphone ringtones staring at me. There was also some evidence on the sheets that Brad had enjoyed some solo fun in his bed since arriving home the day before, and I half-smiled to myself, feeling glad that despite everything he'd been through, Brad was still a horny, red-blooded teen guy, completely normal to his peers in that respect. I wondered how my aunt coped with the stains that confirmed her darling baby had grown old enough to have very adult sexual urges, and snickered to myself at the face she must pull when sorting the laundry.
I flipped over the magazine, fully expecting to see a half-naked big-breasted porn star pouting suggestively at me on the cover, but to my surprise, there was a black and white male model showing off his six pack, with the caption "five steps to keep your summer body" emblazoned beneath him.
My cousin had a copy of a men's exercise magazine in his bed.
Well, he had bulked up a little, you could tell that he wasn't quite as scrawny as he had been when he first arrived at college. I cautiously opened the magazine and turned the pages, noticing as I did so that a couple of them were a little wrinkled and stiff, and one, opposite a full-page advertisement for Calvin Klein boxers had a very strange colored tinge to it.
What did this mean...?
I turned to the center page, and two thin pieces of glossy paper fell out, pages that had been torn out of other magazines. My eyes opened wide, as I saw the English actors Robert Pattinson from the Twilight movies on one page, and the Harry Potter star Daniel Radcliffe on the other, both wearing very little, and both pages blighted with a dried substance I was certain had nothing to do with vampires or wizards.
Oh. My. God.
The penny dropped, as I realized my cousin... Well, that explained an awful lot. An awful lot of things from when he was a little kid suddenly all came clear. It would also explain why he got so uptight when his mom was questioning him over which girls he was crushing on. I wondered if I was the first person to know. The first person to find out that he was gay.
I heard his footsteps in the corridor outside and quickly replaced the magazine and pictures back beneath his comforter. Now probably was not the best time to tell him I had stumbled across his secret. He was in a fragile enough state as it was.
I couldn't help but look at him afresh, with new eyes, as he entered the room and stood in the doorway. I would never have guessed. There really must be a lot going on in that head of his if he was keeping this bottled up and hidden from everybody.
I found myself walking over and putting my arms around him, hugging him tightly, not caring if he felt awkward or tense about it.
"What was that for?" he asked, after I'd released him.
"Oh, just...like I said before, I love you. And I do. And I always will. No matter what. You can trust me Brad. I'd like to think you could tell me anything. Anything at all that was bothering you or worrying you. And if you ever were to tell me something that you were afraid I would judge you for, I can promise you I wouldn't and I would still love you afterwards just as much."
I had opened up every conversational avenue I could think of to make it possible for him to tell me if he wanted to, and for one moment, I thought he actually might be going to. His cheeks were red and he seemed to open his mouth ready to say something, but then he closed his mouth again and smiled sadly at me.
"I know Abby. And thanks. That means a lot to me."
He seemed a little tearful again all of a sudden, and I forced myself not to prompt him, or prod him further.
"Abby,"
"Yes"
This could be it. This could be the moment my cousin comes out to somebody for the first time. I readied my face for a look of sympathetic understanding.
"Would you tell them that I'm sorry for shouting and that I'll come down in a little while. I need some time to myself for a bit."
"Sure Brad. Was that it?"
"What?"
"Was that all you wanted to tell me. Nothing else? Nothing you want to get off your chest? Nothing at all I could help you with?"
We stood in silence for a long while, but eventually he shook his head and went into his room, closing the door softly behind him. I stood in front of the closed door for a couple minutes, a little sad that he hadn't felt ready to tell me yet.
Never mind. I was sure he would come out in his own time. And if he needed support from me, I'd be there.