Here, belatedly, is the next chapter. I appreciate the patience you guys have shown with me as I delayed this ,and hope you'll continue to enjoy the story. I appreciate all (well, most) comments.
This is, of course, fictional, so don't go looking for real people or places here. And if it's illegal for you to access things involving sex among teenagers, or if that's not to your liking, by all means don't read this.
Thanks as always to Flip for his editing, to those good people who offer me comments and encouragement, and to Nifty for providing this site. If you haven't supported it yet, you should.
When the World Changed Part 29
The afterglow from the Dunston weekend faded quickly, as those things will. By Tuesday Brady was slogging through classwork without a backwards thought, still fighting to get to speed in Spanish, still meeting with Wadleigh (who was surprisingly amiable one on one) for algebra help, and finding himself devouring every Shakespeare play he could lay hands on, assigned or not. The freshman basketball coach, Mr. Sorkiss, who taught some of the upperclass French courses, approached him about playing, but he decided to beg off at least for the present, to let his ribs heal the rest of the way. "If you want to come out after the Christmas break, that'll be fine," Mr. Sorkiss assured him.
The idea left Brady with mixed emotions. He'd never really even tried to play basketball, aside from a few casual times shooting the ball on an asphalt court that one of the richer families in Cullingstown had built in their back yard, by their garage. The court was usually crammed with older kids playing pickup games, too old for him to participate, so he'd contented himself with idly dribbling a ball when the players were on the other end, shooting awkward untutored shots. But I know I'm fast, he thought, and I know I can jump. Maybe it'd be fun.
This decision disappointed Evan Campbell, who seemed even more excited to play basketball than he had been for football. Jack Spencer was already splitting time between JV and varsity in basketball. Terry Wolfsen was apparently a fine guard, also on JV. Brady felt, for the first time at Wilson (among his peers anyway) physically outclassed by his peers.
Doug was intent on running indoor track, but that only started formally after break. For now, Bill Fieldstone led daily cross country runs like the one Brady had done while injured. He went a few times, content to run along with Doug and enjoy the company. Fieldstone occasionally would drop back to chat with them, which made Brady more than a little uncomfortable. There had been no further visits to the fifth floor band room, which was a relief.
He focused hard on not showing his feelings, to Doug or to Bill.
He wondered if it worked.
Two weeks passed in a blink, and Thanksgiving week began. Brady was excited and agonized. He'd be going home, of course, but so would Doug - the first time they'd be apart since meeting. Two months - no, a bit more, now. It seemed he'd known Doug forever. The prospect of being apart for even a day sent him reeling. Grow a pair, he kept telling himself, it's not even quite a week. But his turmoil only reminded him of his devotion, of how deeply he'd fallen. He often felt on the verge of throwing up.
Tuesday morning, between classes, he and Doug were hanging out at the canteen, idly munching on two day old donuts. "So," Doug said with an odd tone in his voice, "um, my dad, he talked to Storeman. And he's gonna pick me up this afternoon, after classes end. I only have one class on Wednesday 'cause it's a half day, anyway, and he and my mom like couldn't stand it anymore." He paused, eying Brady carefully. "Pretty weird, huh? They couldn't wait one more day?"
Brady felt his face whiten, then rush with color. The world dropped away and only Doug's words remained echoing in his head. Today. After classes. Gone. He blinked, worked his mouth a couple of seconds. What do I say?
"Wow." Not the cleverest response. "I - uh - that's really, that's great - for you, I mean." He forced a small laugh. "I mean anything to escape as fast as you can, right?"
"Yeah," Doug said quietly. "I guess." He shifted a bit in his chair. "So your mom is coming to get you Wednesday morning?"
"Yeah, she's all hyped up for it. My brother's coming down from Lehigh too. Might even go see my aunt and uncle."
"Cool."
Brady snorted. "Not really. They're sort of assholes. My aunt - my mom's older sister - she's really like snotty and all. She has this thing, here - she thinks the Catholics are the root of all evil and stuff - they're taking over, that sort of crap."
"The Catholics???" Doug said, trying vainly to suppress a giggle. "You gotta be shitting me."
Brady shrugged. "I gotta live with it, right?" He was trying to distract Doug, and himself. "So what time will you -"
"Around 4, I think. Maybe earlier, if they get here. My classes are out before 3, after all."
Brady nodded. "Right." He glanced furtively at his five dollar Timex. 9:18. He had six hours.
Doug leaned forward. "Will you be around? My dad really wants to meet you."
"Why?"
Doug blushed - something he'd never seen Doug do before. It was impossibly cute and erotic, and Brady felt his breath shorten. "Well, it's not like I haven't told him about you. About us. Being buddies, and stuff, you know."
Brady gulped. "Oh yeah, sure," he breathed as casually as he could. "That's cool."
Doug smiled. "And fair warning: my mom wants to like talk your ear off. She can be a handful sometimes like that."
Brady forced a laugh. "Yeah, moms can be like that. I mean, look at how my mom like doted on us during open weekend, right?"
"Exactly." Doug was grinning as well now, that daybreak smile that broke Brady's heart even as it enraptured him. "So, are you up to meeting them?"
"Yeah, sure. That'd be cool." He'd do anything Doug asked at that moment. Run through a blast furnace? No problem . . .
"Great. I'm sorry about this being sort of sudden. I - I had been kind of hoping we could hang out tonight and all. I mean, since there's probably nothing really going on in class tomorrow, and nothing to do during study hall. But, you know -"
"No, you - you gotta see your family, and all. That's important, y'know?" The concession - the letting go - was like death.
"Yeah, I guess." He pulled his chair closer. "Maybe on the next open weekend - the one in like February - you could come back out to Mechanicsburg and spend it at my place?"
Brady felt his heart leap. "Yeah! Sure!!! That'd be, that's really . . . thanks. I'd, uh, like that." He breathed. "A lot."
"Cool!" Doug's smile was dazzling, wrenching. Brady felt himself leaning closer.
"Conover!" Bill Fieldstone shouted from the counter, as he turned with a cup of coffee in his hand. Brady hadn't even seen him come in. Had he heard anything? "You running winter track?"
Brady swallowed, glancing sideways at Doug. "I dunno, Bill."
Fieldstone stood over their table. An empty chair was next to him, but he ignored it. "You should."
"Right, yeah. Well, it's just - "
"C'mon, Bray it'd be fun!" Doug was grinning. "I'm doing it - I want to run the 440, 880. Not the really long stuff like you do, Fieldstone." He giggled a bit. "That's like nuts."
Bill regarded him tolerantly. "Yeah, that's me. Total nut case." He looked back at Brady. "Let me guess - Sorkiss is buttering you up about basketball. He sees a tall kid, he gets a little boner in his coaching pants."
Doug started laughing at that, and Brady joined in, though artificially - his sense of humor was overwhelmed for the moment by his nervousness. "I suppose, sort of. I mean he knows I've never really played or anything, so I'd probably be awful."
"That's OK, the freshman team is usually awful anyway. Sorkiss is a joke."
Brady and Doug exchanged uncomfortable glances. Neither felt right saying stuff like that about a Master - at least not without knowing him, and not publicly. Privileges of being a senior, I guess, Brady thought.
"Well, anyway you can think it over on break. Not a lot happening on that front until after Christmas anyway. Basketball might start up before finals, but no track stuff till sometime in January."
"Right. Thanks, Bill." He really wished Fieldstone would just leave. Bill seemed to split his gaze between Brady's crotch and appraising once overs of Doug; Brady wasn't sure which bothered him more.
"No problem." He took a long swig from his Dixie cup of coffee. "OK, I have calculus next period. Taber's been on a tear, so I need to be ready to do battle. Have a good break." He wandered off.
Doug leaned back in his chair. "That was the nicest he's ever been to me," he observed.
Brady was alarmed. "Don't buy it, OK?"
"What? You've been the one telling me Fieldstone's an OK guy, and now all of a sudden he's freaking you out?"
"No, I - I just - it's complicated, OK?"
"You guys have some secret Bevans thing in the attic at midnight where you drink blood and cornhole each other?" Doug said with a laugh.
"No!!!" Brady shouted. Conversations paused throughout the canteen, as people turned to see the reason for the outburst. Brady reddened. "Sorry."
Doug was studying Brady carefully. "Bray, what is this shit?"
"Nothing. Nothing, OK? I - he's just, you know, been really bugging me. About winter track, and - and stuff. And I haven't, like, made up my mind, or anything. Yet." He kept his eyes averted, lest they betray him. "I - I just need a break, from him bugging me, OK? And - and I don't want him, like, enlisting you to pile on." He felt miserable, for the lying as much as for what he'd done. "I'm sorry."
"Hey, it's OK. I didn't know he was being a prick about track stuff. Relax, Bray. I think we're all a bit edgy, ready to get away, even just for a long weekend, y'know?" Doug was smiling at him, but its beauty filled Brady with pain and longing. You're going to leave, he thought. I can't stand that.
"Yeah, I guess so," Brady grunted shakily, standing without warning. "Look, I gotta get ready for class here. I - I'll see you before you take off, I hope."
Doug was visibly surprised. "Um, yeah, OK. Go - go get ready. For class, and all. I - I guess I'll see you later."
"Right," Brady managed to mumble as he yanked his overcoat on and practically ran out the door, nearly slipping down the frosted worn stone steps outside. He bit his lip hard to keep himself from falling apart entirely. Focus, Conover, focus.
Bill was leaning on a tree outside, towards the center of campus. His smile was placid. "I had a feeling you'd be booking out on him."
Brady was brought up short. "Why d'you say that?" he asked, trying to suppress his fears.
Bill laughed easily. "You're really scared of being found out, aren't you, Conover?"
"Found out?"
Fieldstone bounced himself off the tree and started walking towards Geiger, Brady following him unconsciously. "Relax. Nobody knows about our trips to the fifth floor. Feel like a little climb? Maybe send you home with a smile on your face instead of looking like you swallowed a fucking hairball."
Brady stopped. "Um, gee, Bill, I - "
"Let's go." They did.
The band room was freezing. The windows didn't even pretend to keep out the outside air, frost seemed to lie on almost every surface. "Bill, I really dunno about this, man. It's a Goddam icebox in here."
Fieldstone stepped up behind him, a hand sliding across his chest. "Then we better keep close." Bill's thumb and forefinger closed on Brady's left nipple, though his dress shirt and undershirt. Brady squirmed a bit.
"Hey," he protested. But he didn't move. He found breathing suddenly hard.
Bill pinched and rolled Brady's small flat nipple between his fingers. Brady felt it start to thicken and protrude, tingling. He realized he was leaking into his underwear, and was hard. He tried to turn towards Bill, but suddenly Bill's other hand was pinching his other nipple, and he wrenched backwards against Bill.
"Shit," he managed to gasp. "What're you doing to me?"
Fieldstone chuckled, his nose in the back of Brady's hair - sensation that only worsened Brady's wobbling. "Is that a complaint?"
"It's - I -" And then Bill spun him round and kissed him, tongue sliding into his mouth. Brady groaned and responded, their crotches pressing together now. Part of Brady's brain was screaming to get the hell out of there, but his body wouldn't let him. All the twisted feelings - about Doug, about Bill, about his family, about what he was doing in a seedy frigid abandoned room - resolved instantly to animal lust. He wanted, he needed this, and to hell with anything else. He realized his hand was squeezing Bill's slender muscled buttock, and Bill was mumbling something into his mouth as they kissed. "Wh - what?" he gasped.
"I said," Bill smiled as they broke apart, "that I'm gonna do you real good now." He spun Brady back around, tugging at Brady's belt. A moment later, Brady dimly felt his pants and underwear tugged downwards, and the cold air rushed about his genitals. A warm hand grabbed his erection. "You're drippy, Conover," Bill breathed into his ear. His hand was rubbing his asscheek now, the other grabbing a nipple up beneath Brady's shirt, pinching it.
"Please," Brady whispered. "Please."
Bill's hand slid into Brady's crack. "Please what, Conover?"
"I - I dunno, just - oh God, . . . " as Bill pinched harder, and his cock slid along Brady's crack. Bill was stroking him now as he humped slowly along his asscrack, and Brady felt himself moving in time, head lolling to one side as Bill kissed his throat.
"Yeah," Bill said huskily, "you're so ready for it." Bill pulled back momentarily; Brady heard him spit. A finger, slicked up, now began to prod at him. It felt good, but weird. He moved involuntarily with its probings.
"Hey," he whispered, "is, um, that a good idea? I mean it might be _"
Then Bill's finger pushed deep into him, and he had no hope of finishing the sentence.
Brady flopped forward, grabbing onto a cane chair in front of him, gasping. It was more than one finger, he realized, and the intensity of the feeling now was accompanied by some mild pain. It was a good pain, though, and in his addled condition it only compounded his yearning. He shoved his ass backwards against the invasion.
Bill chuckled again. "Keep it down, Conover."
Brady blinked, momentarily back in reality. "Was - was I - ?" But then another finger slid into him, and he was back in his fog.
All of a sudden he was empty. He blinked a few times, wondering what had happened. As if from a great distance, he heard bill spit again. He felt himself being prodded again, carefully. Then Bill held him by the hips with both hands, and thrust.
Brady was silent for a long moment before he screamed. The pain was beyond anything he'd ever experienced. Bill's hand clapped over his mouth as Brady squirmed to get away. Bill held him fast for a long moment. "Relax, Conover, let it in. It stops hurting. Relax."
But Brady couldn't relax. Everything repulsive about being queer suddenly crashed in about him. He's trying to fuck my ass, he thought. Where shit comes out. Oh God, what am I doing . . .
He tried to catch his breath, to ignore Bill's now onehanded grip on his hip and the stroking of his erection. "Please, Bill, it hurts," he moaned, trying to pull away.
"Relax," Fieldstone said, and pushed forward again.
The white pain shot through Brady harder than before, and he twisted away, knocking the chair over. He stumbled, pants around his knees, and clutched at his ass. "No, dammit!"
Fieldstone looked at him calmly, a slight smile playing about his lips. "OK," he said quietly. "No problem. This was a bad idea. Sorry." He zipped his pants up and motioned for Brady to do the same. As Brady tugged himself back into place, Bill picked the chair back up. "You OK, Conover?"
"No! Well, yeah, I guess. Bill, I just - that was really like awful, I don't - "
"It's OK. Relax. This wasn't the right way to try this at all. I was stupid. Never think with that head, right?"
Brady shook his head at the notion that there could ever be a right way to endure something like that. "I don't ever want to do that again, Bill."
Bill nodded. "Your call. It can actually be pretty amazing. Trust me. You just have to get past the first time. I mean, it's that way with girls, too, you know. When you pop their cherry. They bleed and hurt and stuff."
Brady nodded back, though he wasn't completely sure this was true. Christ, he thought, am I bleeding? "Well, I know about the hurting part." Fieldstone laughed.
"OK," Bill said, "let's get the hell out of here. Your Banshee wail there might bring somebody up here, even with classes going."
As they slipped out the door, they heard footsteps coming up the far, southern staircase. Brady panicked. Bill pointed to the center stairs, and they moved as quickly and quietly as they could, slipping around the corner before being seen. They ran tiptoeing down to the fourth floor, where Bill pulled him onto the hall so they could calmly walk to the north end stairs. They made it all the way down, and out the door, before Brady breathed.
"Fuck," he muttered, sweat turning chill on his cheeks in the breeze.
Bill laughed. "Wipe the dust off your pants, Conover. It's tell-tale."
Brady made it back to Linsley, shivering all over. Evan was emerging from the dorm as he approached. "No class today, Conover?"
Brady glanced at his watch. He had three minutes to get to Mr. James' English class. "Shit!!!" he exclaimed and tore off, forgetting that he didn't have his text or notebook.
Lunch that day was informal, given that a number of boys had already headed out. People sat where they wanted, upperclassmen took the place of many Table Masters, and kids helped themselves as opposed to being served by a boy serving as waiter. A few boys had parents or older brothers (who appeared from the way they know their way around to be alumni) sitting with them. The conversations were animated by the thrill of the impending vacation. Brady sat with David, looking about for Doug. "Relax, Conover, he'll be here. He's probably taking advantage of not having to be at lunch on time for once to get stuff done. God knows I should have."
Doug walked in a moment later - with his parents. Brady felt himself shrivel. Doug's father was tall, wiry, with steel grey hair and steel rimmed glasses. He looked like Doug. His mother was a small plump woman with teased brown hair and a giddy smile, clutching her son's arm. Doug waved halfheartedly at Brady as they approached. 'Oh, you must be Brady!!!" Doug's mother exclaimed as they got to the table. "I am so glad to meet you at last!" Brady found himself enveloped in a hug before he could say a word. Doug looked like he wanted to crawl between the floorboards. Brady wished he could join him.
Doug's father stood, looking bemused, until Brady was freed from the embrace. "Brady, glad to meet you," he said with a warm smile. His handshake was firm. "Fred Garrettson. Doug's told us a lot about you."
Brady flushed. So did Doug. "Well, I hope he lied and said something good" Brady replied.
Doug's mother squealed delightedly at the joke - far more than it deserved, in Brady's mind. Doug looked down, embarrassed. Brady saw David roll his eyes.
They left Geiger in a group, with Doug's mother chattering constantly. Doug's hands were thrust into his pockets, and his chin was firmly planted on his chest. Brady felt awful for him. David looked like he was having the time of his life. Doug's father nodded absently at his wife's comments. Once or twice, he glanced at Brady and his faint smile grew a bit wider, more rueful: hey, what can I do? Brady liked that.
Unfortunately, Doug's mother chose that moment to shift her focus from how beautiful the campus looked (in truth, it was barren, cold, and pretty wintered out, in Brady's view) to ask Brady a bevy of ncomfortable questions: How was his mother, did she miss her husband, had she been dating since his death, was Brady hoping for a stepfather, did he have a girlfriend back in Cullingstown. Brady found himself mumbling barely audible answers, his cheeks flushing, until Doug's father interrupted to list the relatives coming to their family Thanksgiving dinner. This launched Doug's mother in another direction, filling Doug in on all sorts of family gossip. Brady nodded slightly to Doug's father, thanking him for the relief. Doug, on the other hand, looked as miserable as a wet cat.
The group separated as Doug and his family went on up to the third floor to his room. Brady exhaled deeply as he and David closed the door to their room. David dropped onto his bed and laughed. "Hurricane Garrettson!" he exclaimed.
"Jesus, how does Doug even breathe?" Brady muttered. The idea of living with such a mother was unimaginable.
"I'm sure she's just excited to see her little darling," David deadpanned before bursting into laughter again.
The door opened and Doug slid in. "Geez, I'm really sorry, Bray. My mom, she gets all excited and she can't stop talking and asking really stupid stuff and -"
"Forget it," Brady said, waving a hand dismissively. "She's like happy to see you, right?" he added, glancing at David.
"I guess. Drive me nuts sometimes, though."
Brady swallowed. "So, are you out of here then?"
Doug shrugged slightly, looking abashed. "I guess, yeah. Soon. My mom's packing stuff up. I think she might peel off the paint while she's at it." Brady suppressed a laugh, and Doug smiled at him for a moment. "I, uh, I thought I should, you know, come by and say, um, happy Thanksgiving. And all." The silence between them grew tense. "I mean, I'll be back on Monday, an' so'll you, but -"
"Wow, look at the time," David interjected, scrambling to his feet. "I gotta head out here."
Doug glanced at his watch. "For what? Next class isn't for half an hour."
"Yeah, well, I got stuff to do before that. Before I leave, and everything. Have a good weekend, Garrettson. Brady, I'll see you later I guess." He grinned as he slipped out the door, closing it firmly behind him.
Brady's palms felt damp. He glanced nervously about the room, started idly picking up his socks from the floor. Doug chuckled. "You don't have to clean the room up for me, Bray. It's pretty good already. Better than Dunc keeps his stuff, that's for sure."
"Right," Brady breathed, sitting down backwards on his desk chair, facing Doug but still avoiding eye contact.
"Gonna be weird, isn't it?" Doug asked after a pause.
"Wh - what is?"
"Not being here. I mean it's like been more than two months, very day."
Brady inhaled slowly. "Yeah," he answered. "Well, except for the open weekend."
"True, but we were together that whole time." Doug took a long breath is his turn. "That was cool, Bray."
"You liked it? I mean you had fun and all?"
"Course. Your mom's cool." He laughed. "I thought all moms talked all the time."
Brady grinned too, nervously. "Yeah, well, mine can get going too, believe me." He took another breath. "So, you're heading now?"
"Yeah." More silence. "I just, you know, wanted to say bye, before I left. Private, without my mom and dad around."
Brady felt his heart stir. "That's, um, nice. Thanks."
"Bray, you're - you're my best friend, OK. I mean like ever. And it's weird, 'cuz going home - it's like hard, for some reason."
"Yeah," Brady whispered. "I know."
They both stared at the floor for what seemed like a long time.
"So . . ."
"Right," Brady replied quickly. "So, have a good trip and stuff. What's it, about five hours?"
"Not quite, but it depends on the traffic. The Penny Turnpike can be ugly on holiday weeks."
They stood at the same time, facing each other uncertainly. Brady gulped, and stepped forward, closing the distance. "OK, then, see you Monday night." He clapped his arms carefully around Doug's back.
"Right." Doug suddenly grabbed Brady into e tight hug, his chin on Brady's shoulder. "You're the best, Bray. I'm - I'm so fucking lucky."
Brady was glad Doug couldn't see his face. He squinted madly to stop the tears, held his breath to keep from shuddering. "You too," he managed to croak out. Then, before he could stop himself, "I love you."
Doug stepped back, momentarily panicking Brady. But he had a grin on his face. "Love you too, man. You're the best." He tousled Brady's hair, his cheeks flushed, and left the room.
Brady stood there for a long time, alone. He should have cried, or screamed, or something. But he felt nothing. He was empty.
The campus felt already half deserted as he walked slowly through the cloudy chill air to his last afternoon class. He heard no one's conversation, he felt no cold or wind. The world had fallen away from him, and he was utterly alone. Was this what it would always be like?
Someone bumped his elbow. He turned to see David alongside him, his cheeks rosy with the biting wind. "You holding up, Conover?"
Brady choked back his voice and nodded. "Only like five days, right?"
"Sure. Pass like lightning, right?"
"Yeah. Like that."
"You gonna puke?"
Brady had to laugh. "No." He breathed. "Maybe lock myself in a broom closet someplace."
"Nah," David replied. "You're already pretty locked up,"