Ronnie (Chapter 3)
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction depicting teenage males in romantic and/or sexual positions and activity. The people depicted in this story may or may not really exist (many characters may have distant ties to the memories of my past). The places and historical social events are most likely true, but you may not always be able to associate both to the same place and time.
If you are under 18 years of age (or whatever the legal age I your area is) you must leave. If you find this material offensive, you should not be reading this story. If you choose to continue . . . you have been warned, and I trust you to make your own wise choices.
I welcome any comments . . . any of them. I will do my best to answer any email, but please be patient with me if I do not get to you right away - I will respond. The purpose of my writing is to express what has been held for so long without a voice. Hopefully these ramblings will help someone who may be struggling with similar feelings and experiences. Please feel free to contact me at boyzheart@hotmail.com with any comments or suggestions.
Chapter 3
Mike reached down and hoisted me by the upper arms and said, "Come on, were ditching the rest of the day. We have some things to talk about." The firmness of his grasp and the warmth in his eyes told me that there was no refusing (like that would happen) and that there was hope.
"Are you okay?" Ronnie asked.
"Do you only have one question in your pretty little head?"
"Do you always use the floor as your only pick-up line?" That beautiful smile spread over his face.
While bewilderment about how an eighth grader got in the High School lunchroom would normally be enough to send my mind off into a never ending loop of possibilities, the fact that Ronnie and Mike were walking one on either side of me with both my arms tightly ensconced had absolutely pushed my already overwhelmed little mind into hyper shock. The combination of differences in their height, skin texture, and body heat, along with the emotional complexities I was experiencing between my best-friend-brother, and this god-like-icon of my marathon night time self pleasuring sessions as they drug me out of the cafeteria was both stimulating and perplexing.
Somehow we made it out the building and to the parking lot without being stopped by the school Gestapo. Neither of us had spoken since they picked me up off the floor. Mike had relaxed his grip of my right arm, though he still maintained body contact till we approached his car. Ronnie however remained glued to my left side. His grip on my upper arm with his own somehow interlaced in mine was incredible. I didn't realize the strength he possessed. His hand other hand was clutching mine in an awkward angle making it difficult to walk and negotiate. I imagine we looked very strange to any passer-by, but quite frankly - I didn't care one wit.
Mike got in the driver side and reached over to unlock the other door for us. Without communicating, Ronnie and I both climbed into the back seat. I got in first and Ronnie climbed in beside me and shut the door. Mike turned sideways in the seat looking at us with this smug look of self-accomplishment. Ronnie was leaning into me and still holding my hand (somehow he had managed to release the left one and took possession of the right). The silence was piercing and I could feel the tops of my ears getting warmer - no doubt I was a bit flushed with all the focus seemingly on me. I felt pressured to say something, but could not muster any words. Every time I tried to open my mouth, I could feel the ten thousand questions swirling in my mind trying to burst out all at once. It was as if some sort of self-defense (preservation) mechanism had been engaged right about two centimeters behind by jaw sockets - they simply would not open.
I had been forcing myself to stare out the window, waiting for either of these two boy-gods to help me. Looking over to Mike, I saw his expression had changed to a mixture of sadness, and helplessness and he seemed to be looking past me. Slowly I turned my face around to look at Ronnie, tears were now silently falling down his soft face. Without thinking I gently reached out with my left hand to wipe a tear as it fell. (I say I did this without thinking, because how many times have you ever wiped tears from someone's eyes whom you have barely even spoken to before? Not many, right?
Why, because it is a way too personal and intimate act - most likely something only lovers or parents do.)
The tear was warm to the back of my index finger. I instantly was reminded of my own tears earlier this morning and remembered the comfort the warmth my tears had been to my aching heart. I wondered if his were tears of joy, pain, or frustration. I was about to ask him what was wrong when suddenly his silent tears burst into full-fledged crying, with massive heaves and sobs. It was as if my touch pushed him over the edge.
I pulled him into my arms and held him tightly. His face nestled into the hollow of my chest and he just sobbed. I could feel the tears through my thin cotton white uniform shirt and my tee shirt, but that didn't matter to me. (I realized at this strange moment that the rain had finally stopped and the clouds were not so foreboding any longer, almost as if God had decided to lighten the ambiance of the moment. Does He still care about a gay boy's life enough to manipulate the elements?). Just like Mike had comforted me earlier that morning, I was rubbing his silky soft hair, and whispering soft comforting noises. My grip was firm, but not overly. Mike turned in his seat and quietly started the car and began driving. He seemed content to let Ronnie and I work this out between us. No conversation took place; all that was heard was the torments of a fourteen year old and my occasional cooing.
After driving for several minutes Ronnie's tears began to subside, though I could still feel him trembling in my arms. (I noticed Mike was driving in circles because we had passed the 7-eleven on McCormick Street at least three times.) Mike asked if anybody had an idea where we could crash for a few hours until school was out. Our house was obviously out because Mom didn't work and was always home. (No, we didn't have the typical June Cleaver house - I will explain later.)
"No-one's home at my place," Ronnie said barely above a whisper. He never moved his head or shifted his position in my arms. He seemed to gain comfort there of some sort I supposed. This thought brought a soft smile to my face as I continued stroking his hair.
"Cool," Mike said and began negotiating his way to Ronnie's house.
It occurred to me that I didn't know where Ronnie lived. I hardly knew anything about him other than his features I had memorized while he didn't know I was staring at him. Even when I was bold enough to get close to him on the basketball court there was never much dialog between us - always seemed to be a lot of raw energy present though - it was almost palpable. (I wonder how Mike knows where this boy angel lives - I will have to ask later.)
Five minutes later we pulled into the drive of a modest middleclass home. >From the outside it was indistinguishable form most of suburbia, but one could quickly gather that his family was well off enough to afford the private schooling for Ronnie. (I hate the way my mind goes off on auto-pilot like that.)
Mike turned off the ignition and said, "guys, we'd better go inside before anyone sees us out of school in the middle of the day." Ronnie and I did not seem to be in a hurry to break the embrace we were in to get out of the car.
"Come on Andy, bring him inside," Mike said as he opened his door and slid out of the car.
Reluctantly, I followed Mike's instructions. I leaned forward slightly and kissed the back of Ronnie's head, and gently pulled him to a full sitting position. There was a definite blank page on his face. My shirt was soaked with his tears, and his eyes were focused straightforward on the closed garage door in front of the car. I reached behind him and opened the door with my right hand and shoved it open slightly. Ronnie did not move. I leaned forward and kissed him ever so slightly on the cheek. I gently lifted his chin and turned his face to mine and whispered, "Come on babe, it's gonna be alright."
He nodded slightly and swung his feet out of the car and stood up. I slid out and quickly. The break of contact left me cold almost immediately, I had not realized the amount of body heat he and I were generating. (I wonder if he felt the coldness as well). I reclaimed my spot beside him and literally had to take him by the hand and lead him to the door where Mike was already waiting.
"In the flower pot on the far end of the porch," Ronnie said before Mike could ask.
Sure enough, Mike fished out a shinny brass key and lifted it up with a sort of victory look on his face. He opened the door and went in first like it was our house instead of Ronnie's. There was a deacon's bench on the right side of the entry way and we all peeled off our jackets and tossed them in a heap, kicked off our shoes and made our way toward the stair case.
"Got any soda's?" Mike asked.
Ronnie nodded in reply.
"You two go on up to Ronnie's room, I will be up in a minute," Mike said in his self-assuming take-charge mode that I never seemed to challenge.
I glanced at Ronnie, who nodded again, and motioned upward with his head. I followed closely behind him. I could see his figure quite well from this view and was it great. I wanted to reach up and pat his beautiful bubble-butt as it shifted with his strides. I could see the firmness of his thighs as the muscles contracted and relaxed. Every feature of this boy was absolute perfection. He could have been the boy posing for the statue of David - absolutely perfect.
His room was at the top of the stairs (naturally, like when have you ever seen a room half way up the stairs - duh!), and to the right. I saw several more doors down the hall, all closed, which must have been the rest of his family's secret retreats from life's daily assaults. We entered his room almost side by side. We were holding hands again, but I didn't remember taking his. I glanced around the room. Everything was exactly as I imagined his room would be (yes, I fantasized about being here more then once - okay!). Where mine was small and slightly cluttered with both Mike's and my abandoned clothes - here everything was clean and orderly. Everything had a place. I mean, you could tell that each detail was carefully thought out. The trophies were all uniformly placed on his dresser (chronologically placed from left to right I later understood). The only poster on the wall was of Sammy Sosa and Mark Maguire sort of fading together with both in a position undeniably at the end of a homerun swing, Sammy on the left, Mark on the right; both looking toward the center of the poster and at center field where their two home fields had morphed into one and a single baseball was sky-rocketing over the home-run porch and into the sunset. The caption said. "Do you believe?"
There was a full size bed with an NBA comforter that had obviously been purchased for a much younger Ronnie - perfectly made up. (I thought of mine that I left at 4:30 this morning and realized that I definitely did not make it before I left home. Ronnie was at practice before I was.) There was a small tidy desk off to one side with a PC on it; the tower was neatly staged to the left on the floor. To the right was a TV stand with a PS2 - all neatly organized, controllers stored, games stacked in order (alphabetically). Beside it was an ordinary looking bookcase housing videos and books as well. I took all this in instantaneously.
Ronnie made his way over to the bed, sat down and pulled me down beside him.
I looked at him and was immediately hypnotized by his gorgeous blue eyes. They seemed to have subtle changes of tone - perhaps they changed with his mood. (My Mom's eyes do that - creeps me out big time. I mean one time their hazel, the next their green! Too weird - and way not what I want to think about right now.)
I pulled myself to reality and knew I must start this conversation. I was after all two years older than him. In the overall scheme of eternity (where do I come up with these thoughts?) two years is a drop in the ocean, but the two years from fourteen to sixteen were light years apart. He was no doubt as confused about all the events of the day as I was, but the look in his eyes now told me that his anxiety went well beyond today. (Why hadn't I seen this before? Was I that self-absorbed? Sigh - probably.)
"Ronnie," I began, "I don't know what happened today. I don't pretend to understand it at all, but I only know one thing . . .I know I am glad today happened with you."
An obvious sigh escaped from Ronnie. "Oh, Andy . . . I was so afraid I had ruined everything," he cried, and fell on his back on the bed. His hands immediately went to his eyes. He turned onto his right side and rolled up into a fetal position. I spooned in behind him and worked my arms around him.
"Ronnie," I whispered, "you didn't ruin anything - it's just beginning." His tears started over again, and his small frame once again began sobbing. I couldn't help but smile through my own tears as I kissed his hair and ear, knowing this time the tears were tears of relief. I could feel him relax into my body and snuggle closer with each outward breath. After sometime the crying stopped and we drifted off to sleep. He pressed against me, my arms around him, my left hand caressing his lower abdomen and my right tightly holding his left pectoral. My lips were on his neck right where it transitioned into his shoulder - in sort of an extended kiss. I saw the poster over the bed and drifted off with the thought, "Do you believe?"
Yes, I thought to my self . . . I believe . . . and . . . thank you God for not being mad at me, I'm sorry for ever doubting . . . . . . .
That's all for now. Thanks again for taking the time to read, hope you enjoy. Those who have responded have meant the world to me. Thanks!. boyzheart@hotmail.com
-Andy