by Sarah Havan
Expecting
A
Pine
Wood
Falls
Novel
by
Sarah Havan
Text copyright © 2018 by Sarah Havan
Cover design © 2018 by Melissa Liban
All rights reserved. Any reproduction of this publication either in part or in
whole is prohibited unless explicitly authorized by the copyright holder.
This is a work of fiction. Any similarity to actual persons, places, or events
is just mere coincidence.
First edition, June 2018
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Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One
Chapter Forty-Two
Chapter Forty-Three
About the Author
Chapter One
Mason
“Do I see stubble?” my best friend Conrad asked. He lay on his bed with his hands behind his head, shirtless, his abs on display for all of their six-pack glory. Images of me running my tongue over them flashed through my head.
I rubbed the side of my jaw. “You sure do. At the age of nineteen, I’m finally becoming a real man.”
“Dude, you’ve been a man. Just a hairless one. Are you still hairless everywhere else?” He smiled and sat up, crossing his legs.
“God, Conrad.” I turned around in my desk chair and folded my arms over my chest, pretending I didn’t want to share the information. He knew I’d cave and tell him, happened that way every time.
“Well?”
“If you must know, no.” I glanced over my shoulder at him.
“Chest hair?” he grinned and leaned forward, resting his forearms on his thighs and clasping his hands.
I spun around to face him and shook my head.
“Ah, down there.”
“Okay, we need to stop talking about this and that hair has been there for a couple years now.”
“You’re my best friend. We should be able to talk about everything.”
“Some things, I don’t want to talk about.” I turned back toward my desk, trying to complete my assignment for the class I had later in the day. I loved taking a fiction writing course, but I didn’t like when we had to write papers analyzing books we had read in class, thus me still working on my paper.
“It’s not like you’re the only one who’s had delayed puberty.” Those words, how I loathed them.
“I swear to God, I’m going to punch you,” I said over my shoulder.
“All right, sorry. I know it’s a touchy subject for you.”
“And yet, you decided to have a conversation about it.”
“Just curious.”
I sighed and turned back toward Conrad. “But now, I feel ready to, you know…”
“Have sex?” he asked, raising an eyebrow at me.
I shrugged. “Well, yeah.”
“Because you grew some facial hair?” Conrad rubbed his palm over his jaw which caused my cock to stir in my pants. I had fallen in love with him years ago, and my feelings for him lately had gotten a lot stronger.
“Maybe it’ll make me look older, more rugged, more desirable.” Because I was a sophomore in college and still looked like I belonged in high school.
“If you’re going to be with someone, they should want to be with you no matter what you look like.”
“That’s easy for you to say. You’re six-foot-four and have been all manly since you were like thirteen. I’m five-foot-five, incapable of building my pecs. Instead, I have perky nubbins. Like what the heck is that about? And my Adam’s apple isn’t even all that visible. All of that doesn’t scream sex appeal,” I said, looking over at Conrad who screamed of sex appeal. Besides his gorgeous body, he had the perfect shade of medium-brown hair that he kept short with his bangs a bit longer, which he always styled up. Hair I had wanted to run my fingers through so many times before. And his smile, a bit mischievous but always so genuinely happy.
“I’m pretty sure to some gay dudes that does scream please have sex with me. And your Adam’s apple isn’t visible at all.”
“Shut up,” I said, touching my neck with my fingertips. “I don’t want to be looked at as just some ... I don’t know.”
“Some guys are into smaller dudes.” I swear, half of Conrad’s time was spent trying to help boost my self-esteem.
“And you know because?”
“I don’t know. I think you’re pretty hot.” He looked me up and down. Our eyes met, and he glanced at the floor.
“Really?” I asked, keeping a calm demeanor. What I actually wanted to do was get on my chair and shout to the heavens because he thought I was hot.
“Yeah, sometimes, I catch myself looking at other guys, but they don’t compare to you. I’ve thought you were hot for quite a while.”
“Really?” I asked, warmness spreading across my face, which I’m sure he could see perfectly because my skin was such a pale white.
“Yes, Mason,” he said, his eyes meeting mine again.
“Now what’s a while?”
“This is where you tell me how hot I am.”
“Conrad, you’re well aware, too aware, how hot you are.” The day I met him when I was thirteen, I took note of his hotness, and I had kept notes ever since.
“So you think I’m hot?” He grinned at me.
“Of course.”
“Well, who doesn’t?”
“You’re impossible and not making a big deal out of it or anything, so ... you check out guys but none compare to me?”
He laughed and shrugged.
We had known each other since eighth grade, became best friends after just a couple of weeks of meeting, but now I wanted more than best friend status. And he seemed to want something more, too. His eyes always lingered when I’d change, or he’d go out of his way to touch me. Like if he had to reach something on my desk, he’d put his hand on my shoulder. And every damn time he touched me, my breathing hitched, my heart beat faster, butterflies came alive in my stomach. So recently, I had begun to push the boundaries a bit and now with him admitting w
hat he just did to me, figured maybe I could test the waters a tad more.
“Man, my back,” Conrad said, getting up off his bed and stretching forward. “I think I lifted too much at the gym earlier.”
“Want a massage?” I asked. Such perfect timing.
He nodded. “Sure.” He went and lay down on his stomach.
I went over to his bed and climbed over him, sitting down on his ass.
“Maybe this isn’t the best idea,” I said, rethinking the situation as I sat straddled on him. If we were flipped, it’s something I’d dreamt about many times before.
“It’s giving you a hard-on, isn’t it?”
“Serious, Conrad. But is it giving you one?”
“Shut up and just massage my back already.”
Him saying he checked out other guys was the first time he ever said anything about his sexuality and not being one hundred percent straight. But I’m his best friend, so I noticed things way before his lingering gaze on me. I noticed how he’d flirt with the guy at the coffee shop. Noticed how he wanted to watch certain movies with the same couple of actors. Noticed how he danced with that guy at the party we went to last week.
I kneaded his back and took breaths in through my nose and out through my mouth, trying to keep my burgeoning erection at bay. He moaned as I pressed harder, and it was so arousing. There was no more fighting it, my cock throbbed in my jeans.
Not wanting to talk my hands off his hard, muscular back, I forced myself to finish his massage. When I was done, I lay on his bed next to him. “I think we’re moving beyond best friend territory here.”
“I bet there are other guys who give their best friend’s massages.”
“Yeah, okay. Ones who think their roommate is super-hot?” I asked, pinching his bicep.
He rolled his head to the side and looked at me. “I’m sure. They just don’t talk about it.”
I laughed.
“Now your turn. Take off your shirt and lay on your stomach.” I did as he said and he straddled my ass. It was stuff dreams are made of and fodder for many future dreams and masturbatory fantasies. He squirted oil on my back and worked it in with his large hands.
“Your back is tight. Right here,” Conrad said, pressing down with his thumbs, “is a real large knot.”
“Ow, God, that hurts, but feels good.” It was an oddly pleasurable feeling.
“Just going to work it out for you,” Conrad said, pressing into my back.
I let out a low moan and closed my eyes. By the time he finished, my muscles were relaxed, and I was horny as hell for my best friend.
Chapter Two
Conrad
Mason basically knew everything about me.
All except that I was in love with him.
At first, I thought maybe it was just Mason. But it turned out I found myself wanting to kiss and touch other guys as well. But lately, it had only been Mason that I had wanted to touch. I had yet to tell anyone that I liked men. Let alone tell my best friend who I fantasized about.
Fantasized of the things we could do together.
Before I told anybody, I wanted to make sure that I was comfortable with myself. But I knew the time was coming soon.
I had to be the real me.
But with Mason, we were best friends. I didn’t want to ruin our relationship. But when his hands were on me, I had never been so hard in my life. And when I sat straddled on him, I almost couldn’t control myself. I had such a strong urge to pull down his pants and take him right there. The thought of pushing deep into him almost made me come in my pants. So maybe it was time for me to say something. But saying my feelings out loud was something I was never very good at.
Neither of us spoke as we lay there. His arm brushing against mine, that bit of skin on skin contact, igniting my hard-on again.
“Hey,” Mason said after a while, turning on his side and propping his head up with his hand. “Want to go grab a bite to eat?”
I looked up into his midnight-blue eyes. “Sure.”
He smiled, showing me his perfect white teeth. “Good, because you’re paying.”
“You’re a mooch.”
“You know you love it,” he said, poking me in the ribs.
I grabbed his hand in my fist and squeezed all of his fingers together.
“Ow.”
“Sorry,” I said, letting go.
“Like this,” he said, taking my hand and pushing his palm against mine then entwining our fingers.
We both looked at our interlocked hands.
Mason smiled, and I knew I wanted him to be mine forever.
If I could only somehow let him know.
Neither of us spoke of our massages the day before or how we lay together afterward or how when we went out to eat that day we couldn’t take our eyes off each other.
That he fed me French fries and let me lick the salt from his fingers, and that he gasped and grabbed the edge of the table as I sucked on them, working them in and out of my mouth.
Or how I squeezed behind him in the doorway earlier, and stood there for a moment, grabbing his hips, my erection pressing against the top of his ass. How I might’ve licked and sucked on his neck, leaving us both panting and breathless.
I squirmed in my chair thinking about it, knowing there were only a few minutes left in class and that I probably needed to stay seated until the excitement in my pants went down.
“Conrad,” someone called.
I looked up and this girl Jill, who I went out with a while back, smiled at me. I guess we were still friends. She was tall with long red hair and a smattering of freckles across her face. I still thought she was beautiful. But now when my mind would think of someone’s looks, I always ended up comparing them to Mason and how no one was as beautiful as he was. His long lashes, his full bottom lip, his flawless porcelain skin. Every inch of him was beautiful, from his golden-brown hair down to his thin waist and perfect round ass.
“Hi. What’s up?”
“I’m meeting up with a few other sports medicine majors and thought maybe you’d like to come. I told them that I knew you, and they wanted to talk to you.” She hugged her books to her chest and smiled.
“They want to talk to the washed-up pitcher of Ohio Valley University?”
“Conrad, you injured your shoulder. Never being able to play baseball again because of it is not washed up.” Perhaps what she said was true. But I still had some troubles grasping it. Going from being this hotshot pitcher that had pros scouting him to just any other guy in class came as a bit of a shock to my system.
I had become ordinary.
“People love to remind me about the not being able to play again.”
Jill scrunched up her nose. “Sorry.”
“Nah, it’s okay. It’s not like it isn’t the truth. Let’s go hang with these sports medicine people.”
“Hey, guys, this is my friend, Conrad,” Jill said, introducing me to a group of about five others sitting around a table in one of the student lounges.
“Hi,” I said, shrugging off my winter coat.
“Have a seat, man,” a guy wearing a button down and a baseball cap said.
I took a seat next to Jill. “So, ask me anything.”
“How did you injure your shoulder? I’m Dale by the way.” Dale stood up and shook my hand over the table.
“Conrad, but I guess you all know that. But I tore my rotator cuff.”
“It wasn’t just some little tear. He tore it all the way. And twice, right?” Jill asked.
“Yes, but it was the second time that did me in. Never the same after that surgery.” I tore it halfway through the season last year. The first time was back in high school. Maybe because I was younger then, more elastic or something, I was able to bounce back. But now, the speed I can throw at is just kind of sad.
“Well, that sucks,” Dale said. A few of the others nodded.
“It does. And now you want all the boring details about rehab?”
“You know we
do,” said another guy who wore an Ohio Valley University baseball shirt.
“That’s where I met Conrad, actually,” Jill said. She was the beautiful young intern deciding if she wanted a career in sports medicine, and I was the sad guy with an injured shoulder who needed some attention and reassuring.
I then filled them in on all the stuff only aspiring physical therapists would find interesting. And we seemed to be getting along fine until Dale opened his mouth and spewed out words that made me want to punch him, cause him serious harm.
“You’re always hanging around that fruity little fruitcake,” Dale said with a laugh.
“Yo, shut your fucking mouth,” I said, shooting up to my feet.
“Sorry.” He held his hands up in the air like he was under arrest. “Just saying, he’s like super gay.”
“One, that’s goddamn offensive, and you can’t be super gay, you’re just gay. It’s not like you achieve some sort of level. Gay, a bit gayer, super gay. And stop stereotyping people. There’s no one way to be gay.”
“Actually, there is a scale to measure gayness,” a girl with a blond ponytail pointed out.
“I don’t give a shit,” I said, glancing over at her and then refocusing on Dale. “Why do you have to even mention his sexuality? If I saw you across the quad, I wouldn’t be like there’s that super straight guy. Homophobic, perhaps that’s what I would say. There’s that guy who makes fun of gay people.”
“Well, thanks for ruining our afternoon.” Dale sat back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest.
“You ruined it yourself. I’ll see you later, Jill.” I gathered up my backpack and coat and took off.
“I’m coming with you,” Jill said, getting up.
“Me too,” said the blond girl who had yet to introduce herself.
“You mentioned a scale?” I asked the blond girl as we walked away, taking a few breaths because I was still a bit riled up.
“Yeah, it’s called the Kinsey scale, but a lot of people don’t like it because it’s putting a label on your sexuality and kind of erases some sexual identities. I probably shouldn’t have mentioned it, but what do you think it’d say about you?” She took her ponytail and wrapped it around her pointer finger.
