You Belong With Me...?

by O. Fletcher, TIM

  Even the awk-fest of a conversation that would probably ensue was better than algebra homework. I opened my curtains; pen and paper ready at my finger tips and saw his shadow hidden behind the blinds. He was crying again, soft sobs were wracking his body, making his shadow quiver and it broke my heart to know this and not be able to help.

  It was sort of like witnessing a car crash in motion, I wanted to look away but I just couldn’t. I sat there, vigil at my window for a good ten minutes before I saw him peek through his blinds to see if I was home. In hindsight, I probably creeped the shit out of him sitting there staring like that…

  When his shadow rose from his position in front of the window and left, I thought I really had scared the crap out of him but within a few seconds the blinds were lifted and he held his notepad and pen in his hand.

  He knew that I knew he’d been crying. I could tell by the hesitant way he raised his hand and waved.

  I wrote ‘HI.’

  He wrote ‘HI’ back and from that simple start came the conversation that turned us from acquaintances to friends and my feelings from lust to something more substantial.

  We stayed at our windows well into the early hours of the morning and he explained to me, reluctantly, why I saw him crying. His father, Richard Stevenson, was the CEO and founder of a multi-million dollar shipping company who held favor with a lot of influential politicians; he also had a terrible drinking problem.

  Brad’s mother died tragically in child birth and his father had turned to alcohol as a way to dull the pain of losing not only his wife but their second child, Brad’s sister, as well.

  ‘HE WASN’T ALWAYS A BASTARD’ Brad wrote before going on to explain that until his mother had died when he was five years old, his father had once been a very happy and attentive dad. The kind that took him to baseball every week and snuck him ice cream behind his mother's back right before dinner time.

  I noticed that he had a sad smile on his face when he was telling me this.

  Over the years, Richard’s alcoholism turned him into a spiteful, bloated and angry version of the man he used to be and unfortunately for Brad, his father's rage manifested into physical violence. His one saving grace was that he never hit Brad as a child, but once he turned fourteen, his father deemed him ‘a man’ and it was open season for both physical and emotional abuse.

  Brad said that being hit by his father was one of the reasons he joined the football team, to learn how to hit back – hard.

  By age sixteen, Brad was taller and stronger than his unhealthy dad and started to give back more than he got in regards to punches. That had stopped him for the most part; getting your ass beat by your teenage son probably wasn’t great for a person's ego. But still on nights when he was a particularly mean drunk he would start a fight with Brad by calling him all kinds of horrible names, eventually devolving the situation into a slugging match.

  When I’d seen him crying by his window it was always in the aftermath of one of these altercations. I could tell by the way he wrote that he hated the fact that he let it get to him so badly, he didn’t want to be ‘that guy’ with daddy issues.

  When I could see the light reflecting off of his tears I decided it was probably time to change the subject, too much pain already for one night.

  ‘WHAT A PAIR WE R. UR A SADCASE AND I’M A LOSER.’

  He laughed and I breathed a sigh of relief, that could’ve majorly backfired.

  ‘I DON’T THINK UR A LOSER.’ He wrote,

  ‘U R PROBABLY MY BEST FRIEND AND I’VE NEVER SPOKEN 2 UR FACE’ he added after a painfully long time scribbling.

  I smiled at that. It was true that Brad now knew more about me than my other friends. The secret friendship we had was, in my eyes, somehow special because no one else knew. No one needed to if Brad didn’t want but I would like to be able to talk to him at school. It’d be nice to actually have a real conversation.

  ‘DO U THINK WE COULD?’ I wrote hesitantly.

  ‘OK. WHAT ABOUT SATURDAY?’

  I swallowed nervously. I was actually going to spend time with Brad.

  SURE. WHAT U HAVE IN MIND?

  ‘COME W/ ME 2 SEATTLE?’

  Oh my God. I was going with Brad to Seattle, ALONE. I was about to have a panic attack.

  ‘WHAT WILL WE DO THAR?’

  Please say ‘have crazy teenage sex’. Please say ‘have crazy teenage sex’.

  'I NEED TO GET SOMETHING. COULD BE FUN?'

  Damn…

  ‘OK. I NEED 2 BUY A NEW SKETCH BOOK NE WAY. LOL.’

  Before Brad could reply his phone rang. He held up a 'BRB' sign. I picked up my phone and put it on video then zoomed all the way in. He seemed at first happy to be talking to whoever called but then it quickly escalated into a screaming match. He sighed deeply and looked at his phone; whoever it was hung up on him.

  Almost immediately he returned to his window, and without me having to ask he held up a sign:

  ‘GIRLFRIEND DRAMA… SIGH.’

  ‘WOULDN’T KNOW…' I replied.

  He laughed at that and beamed me a smile that almost made me fall off my chair. God, I was so screwed. How was I supposed to spend a day alone with him in Seattle without at least touching him inappropriately?

  Brad held up:

  ‘I NO UR A VIRGIN BUT HAVE U KISSED NE 1?’

  Yes, I did notice that it was gender neutral. He fucking knew didn’t he… shit.

  ‘I’D MAKE A GREAT MONK.’

  (Well, except for the gay thing)

  ‘WHAT DO U NO, U R A LOSER :P’

  God, what an embarrassing conversation. I won’t be able to look him in the eye on Saturday if this keeps heading the way it's going. I always feel so uncomfortable talking about sex, with anyone let alone the guy who makes me sweat just thinking about him.

  ‘AND ON THAT AWKWARD NOTE, I’LL B GOING. XD’

  ‘NIGHT.’

  I didn’t wait for a response.

  Perhaps it was a bit of a cop out, but the way I see it if I keep up a conversation about sexy times I’m bound to let something slip about how awesome washboard abs are. I’ve never actually told anyone that I’m gay. Jen figured it out easily enough, and Damian caught me drooling over pictures of some guy from Riverdale on the internet. I don’t know how actually saying the words to someone face to face would go.

  ***

  Friday morning came, the day before Saturday *gulp*

  Most of the day went by fairly quickly in a school colored blur. People kept asking me if I had taken something. I just ended up telling everyone that I was more than likely patient zero in the upcoming Zombie apocalypse.

  Jen noticed that I was particularly out of sorts and cornered me at lunch.

  “Tyler, are you okay? You’ve been acting really weird today and you’ve been different the last couple of weeks,” she asked me, sounding concerned.

  It took me a second to register what had been said. I was really out of it apparently.

  “I’m fine, thank you Jen. Just preoccupied.”

  “You know if you need to talk…”

  “I know and thank you.”

  Our conversation was abruptly cut short as Brad and his two best friends walked past our table. Jen couldn’t keep her eyes off Daniel, one of Brads best friends, and I couldn’t keep my eyes of Brad, who sent a sly, heated look towards me. I pretty much melted into a puddle in my seat.

  I sighed quite audibly. I was so screwed.

  Damian seemed to notice the exchange.

  “Um, Tyler. You got something you wanna tell us?” He said with his eyes alternating between me and Brads retreating form.

  I looked at Brad, then looked Damian in the eyes and said, “I don’t have a clue what you’re talking about, man,” his brow furrowed and he was about to retort when the end-of-lunch bell rang.

  I don’t think I’d ever been so relieved to go to algebra.

  Being the last class of my school week, this lesson was usually quite tough to give my full attenti
on to, but that day it was like pulling teeth trying to stay focused.

  Half an hour into the lesson my eyes were drooping and my head was held by the cradle of my arms. It was painful sitting there in limbo between sleep and attention. I needed to get out of there, just for five minutes to clear my head and walk around.

  I stuck my hand up and waited until the teacher called on me.

  “May I go to the bathroom please?” I said in my politest tone.

  “Yes Tyler, go on,” she said, sounding annoyed.

  She held out a hall pass for me to grab on my way out. I was so happy to leave that room I almost skipped down the hall.

  In an effort to spend as much time away from class as possible, I walked slowly to the boys toilets, stopped to get a drink from a fountain (getting most of the water on my shirt instead of in my mouth) and read every notice on every board on the way there.

  Nothing particularly interesting, just a poster about the Halloween dance that was on next Saturday night and a couple of flyers about the school affiliated Youth Group.

  Finally, I pushed through the door to the toilets and stopped abruptly.

  “Fucking balls,” I blurted out when I saw Brad standing over one of the sinks splashing his face with cold water.

  His head whipped around to stare at me lurking in the doorway to the men’s room.

  I had been preparing myself all day for the event of having to talk to him, tomorrow. Not now, not in a fucking toilet.

  “Ah, hi,” I said quietly. A small smile crept onto his face then he crossed the space between us and held a finger to my lips. The contact burned, I had to suppress a shiver.

  He took a pen and a piece of scrunched up paper from his school pants and wrote on it. He shoved it into my hand and hurried out of the bathroom. I opened it up, it said:

  ‘DONT TALK. C U TOMORROW.’

  Okay seriously, this was getting a little weird right? Do normal teenagers have friendships like this? No of course they don’t, but in terms of unconventional friendships, does this count? Because the way he looked me in the eyes and held his finger against my lips was far more intimate than I’ve ever been with Damian or Jen… This whole thing with Brad was messing with my equilibrium.

  I walked back to my algebra lesson in more of daze than I had been in all day.

  The last thirty minutes of the lesson droned on. I didn’t catch a single thing the teacher said. The end-of-school bell rang with the relieved sigh of the whole class and I hurried off to the music room to get changed into my band uniform and get ready to perform as the opening act for the football game that evening. It was an important game tonight, against Acacia Prep – our most hated rival and everyone was pumped up… even the band geeks.

  5:00pm came and we marched out onto the football field where the stands were only just starting to fill up. Parents, alumni and locals alike all showed up for important games like this one. We played for the audience until 5:30pm and after a rather rushed Star Spangled Banner the match started and I took my place in the seats reserved for band members.

  I realized that whenever Brad was in my general vicinity I pretty much had tunnel vision for his ass. I couldn’t tell you a thing that happened during that game except that we won. (I clearly remembers Brad's booty bouncing up and down in a rejoicing manner.)

  After the game, when I realized we won, I got caught up in the winning atmosphere and was messing around with some of the other band geeks walking back up to the school.

  I was strolling out of the oval when something caught my eye. It was waving, Brad was waving at me… I grinned widely and waved back then Tara hijacked Brad’s attentions.

  Still, the interaction was enough for me to ride home on a teenage-hormone-fueled-high, smiling broadly and humming love songs. I realized, to my horror, that I was a lovesick teenager. I arrived home to an empty house, mom was working late again – I offered to get a more permanent job to help out (I generally only worked about eight hours a week in the school’s IT department) but she wouldn’t hear of it. She said my job was to go school and have the chances she never did… and then when I was a rich doctor I could pay to keep her comfortable. Seemed like a good deal to me, not that I wouldn’t have looked after my mom in any case, after all she’s my only living family and I love her to bits.

  I walked into the kitchen, grabbed chocolate, vodka and OJ again (how many times do you have to do a bad thing before it becomes a bad habit?) and headed up to my room. I huffed as I switched on my computer, alone again on a Friday night. It sucked. Damian was usually at Youth Group since his dad was a church deacon and Jen was always working at one of her family’s restaurant.

  Well, time to relax and attempt to forget about Brad, and tomorrow. I fired up Netflix and played one of my favorite movies (which was also one of Brad’s) Role Models and drank and laughed for the next two hours.

  The movie finished and I supposed I should’ve gone to bed or something, but I was drunk and honestly not that tired. My body was wound up from worrying about tomorrow and laughing for the last two hours straight. In my drunken state I wondered if Brad was home. I picked up my binoculars and attempted to pull them into focus. And as if on cue Brad turned on the light and walked through his bedroom door. It was strange that I could see him at all since he usually kept his blinds closed except when we were exchanging notes.

  “Oh God,” I whispered aloud, he was starting to get undressed. This was wrong, watching him like this and he probably didn’t think to bother pulling the blinds since my lights were off, logically implying that I was out or asleep. It was kind of like in a movie when someone’s head gets cut off, you can’t look away but you know you should. Except this was much, much sexier.

  First he unlaced his shoes and threw them towards the door, I gulped. Then he lazily pulled off his long uniformed socks and put them in his washing basket. I couldn’t believe I was watching this… and dear God I hoped he didn’t stop until he was breathtakingly stark naked. He lifted the hem of his shirt and slid it over his head and revealed his perfectly formed pectorals and abs. I was already hard, apparently voyeurism and alcohol mix well.

  Sweet Jesus, he was undoing his pants. Was he purposely doing this slowly like a strip tease or was my mind trying to torture me? Either way I didn’t care. I shifted the binoculars from my right hand to my left and my free hand started to venture downwards, softly stroking myself through the material of my boxers.

  Brad’s uniform pants were sliding down his long tanned legs revealing his red Calvin Klein boxer briefs underneath. I was so incredibly turned on right now, it's possible my balls might explode of their own accord.

  After he took the shorts off I turned my full attention to the only clothing he had left on and sweet merciful miracle making Jesus, he was hard. And stroking. I’m pretty sure I blacked out a little at his point, because the next thing I remember was him sitting on the edge of his bed sans boxers slowly masturbating, one hand on his gorgeous cock and one teasing a nipple. I was sitting in my chair furiously rubbing myself whilst watching him. I was so close but damnit! I wasn’t going to come until he did, even if he had no idea what was going on.

  He was really taking his time, teasing, stroking lazily. He had his head flung back, his eyes closed and his lips slightly parted. His body was covered with a light sheen of sweat and I could not imagine that there ever was or ever will be a more arousing and sensual demonstration than this. I was wrong.

  Minutes later as his pace quickened, his left hand left his nipple and fumbled to open a drawer beside his bed. I saw him remove some sort of tube and flick the lid open one handed and pour some of the contents on his dick and left hand before chucking the bottle on his bed. Obviously whatever he was using for lube was doing the job because I saw his mouth open in barely concealed moans of pleasure as he worked himself up and down, his breathing growing more ragged than my own. Then he lay back on his bed (only his cock and legs visible to me now) and his wicked left hand moved itself in-between his
legs, past his balls and he started fingering himself. That was the final straw for me; I lost it and came fucking hard all over my windowsill. I didn’t let myself shut my eyes for a single second, knowing if I did I could miss the most amazingly hot thing I’d probably ever see in my life.

  The vague thought of Why the hell didn’t I film this? crossed my mind as Brad added another finger to himself and I whimpered. He was coming now, hot waves of white covering what I could see of his stomach and I wished I could’ve seen his face when he came, watched him as he stifled cries of pleasure.

  After he finished he switched on his bedside lamp then walked to the other side of his room and into the ensuite bathroom, leaving the door open as he showered.

  “Guess that’s my cue” I mumbled to myself and I grabbed a tissue and wiped the spent cum off my windowsill.

  I closed my curtains, put my binoculars to rest on my chair and got into my own bed. It was only after snuggling my pillow for five minutes that I realized… I had to spend the day with him tomorrow. How was I meant to do that without reliving tonight’s events over and over in my mind and getting hard every three seconds?

  Chapter Four

  Saturday morning came; (as I along with it after remembering what I witnessed last night) I woke around 9 o’clock with a bit of a headache and a terrible taste in mouth. I had just gotten out of the shower when I realized that Brad and I had never organized a time or place to meet or even how we were getting to the city. It was a bitch of a bus ride, not too long by train but the station itself was a half an hour walk from here. I didn’t have a car and I just couldn’t wake mom to ask her to take me after she worked all night.

  How was I meant to contact Brad about this? I didn’t even have his cell number to text him or anything. Maybe this lack of organization was an excuse to avoid spending the day with him? Because I still didn’t think I could face him after last night.

  I walked back into my room with a towel around my waist; I was about to drop the towel and get dressed when I saw through the gap in my drawn curtains a sign on the outside of Brad’s blinds. I quickly grabbed my binoculars from where they were resting behind me on the chair.