Songs of Love : Books 1-3

by M J Calabrese

  My hand stayed on his throat holding him down, squeezing his windpipe. I remember my fist was raised, ready to smash his face in, but something held me back. I shook with the effort to not follow through, but I would not become my abusive old man. I wouldn’t be the asshole who beat me and my mother. It took everything I had to let him go.

  I headed straight to my room. He was screaming at me, demanding I leave his house. Like an automaton, I grabbed a duffel bag and a suitcase. I didn’t think. I just moved. I shoved in some clothes and as many of my journals I could find. I couldn’t leave them here. I knew he would destroy them and the precious words in them were my life. I would never let him see that part of me. He could never read my stories. I snagged my shaving kit, stuffing it with everything in the medicine cabinet I thought I might need. I saw an out of date box of condoms and a tube of lube that I’d never used. I grabbed them too, stuffing them in the travel kit bag. I took them with me even though I had no idea what I would do with them. I was running on fear and instinct. It took all of fifteen minutes to get out of that house and away from the man I’d hated my entire life.

  Jamming my keys into the ignition of my old pickup, I started it and peeled out of the driveway, burning rubber. I took off down the street. I didn’t know then, but this would be one of the last times I would be coming back to this house.

  Chapter Two

  Pulling over into the McDonald’s parking lot, I called Dylan. My hands were shaking so bad I wasn’t sure I could hold my cellphone as I waited for him to answer. When he did, I couldn’t stop my distraught and panicked ramblings.

  “I think I’m about to be arrested, Dylan.” There was pause then Dylan responded.

  “What did you do?”

  Hearing his voice, the tears I’d held back to this point started to flow. “My Dad…. We argued…. I….”

  “Oh, Lord. Heywood, you didn’t kill him, did you? Not that anyone in this town would blame you.”

  “No.” I blubbered, “I just grabbed him and put him on the ground.”

  I could hear the sound of clothes rustling. A muted male voice that sounded pissed came through in the background.

  “Shut the fuck up!”

  “What?” I scanned the area and saw a police car passing. I slid down in my seat, trying to make myself as inconspicuous as possible. Looking back in retrospect, I probably made myself look more suspicious.

  “Not you, Hey. This…, never mind. Did he hit you first?” He snickered, then answered his own question. “Of course, he did, that sonnovabitch.” Again there were sounds on the other end of the line. Sounds of movement, then a squeak followed by a bang, like a screen door opening then closing. “Where are you?”

  “I’m at the McDonald’s.”

  “Um, listen. I’m not at home, but I’ll meet you there in five minutes by the back door.”

  A man’s voice sounded in the background again. He seemed to be following Dylan out to his truck. The guy sounded really pissed off. Dylan tried to cover the cellphone microphone, but he didn’t succeed. “I told you to shut the fuck up, Lance.” Dylan snapped.

  “You’re going?” The voice sounded more distant now.

  “Yes!”

  “Well, fuck you!”

  “Yeah well,” Dylan shouted, “You already did that, motherfucker!”

  “Don’t bother to come back, Dylan.”

  “Don’t worry, I won’t.” My friend seemed to realize I’d heard everything. “Uh, sorry. Listen, head for my place, Hey. We’ll talk. Go! Before the cops find you.”

  My hands shook so bad I couldn’t turn the key in the ignition at first. I sat there, white knuckling the steering wheel as tears streamed down my face. I was terrified. My greatest fear was ending up in jail, or worse, prison, and the thought that my bastard of a father was going to put me there made it all the more terrible.

  Years later, I found out Dylan called my Mom and told her what happened. Told her my father had called the cops. My Mom left work, citing a family emergency and drove up just as a second patrol car arrived. She could hear my Dad inside the house, obviously drunk and belligerent, demanding the officers find me and arrest me. The officer who got out of the second car was a friend of my Mom’s from church. She stopped him, telling him that Dan, my Dad, was delusional. That the alcohol made him believe things that weren’t true. She told him I was staying with a friend and that I’d been gone all night. No way had I been anywhere near the house. Mom reminded the officer of the hundreds of calls to our house and how most of them were a waste of time. The officer nodded, telling her to stay outside. He went in and told my Dad, who was advancing on a female officer, to shut up and sit down. Dad, being the asshole he always was, took a swing at the cop and ended up in handcuffs.

  The officer told my Mom to leave him, just like a hundred others had, but she didn’t. Not until she died five years later. My Dad ended up in prison doing 10-20 for pushing Mom in a drunken rage. She cracked her head on a table. The medical examiner said it was almost instantaneous. At the inquest and during my father’s trial, the prosecution made certain evidence of long term abuse, badly healed broken bones, even newer bruising on her body, and more was brought to light. I went to the trial, but not to the funeral. Even with Dylan and his family by my side, the details of what happened that night was too much to take.

  Dylan waited for me beside the garage. It was after midnight and I was a mess. I walked into my friend’s open arms as he pulled me close and hugged me. Stroking my hair as I sobbed, he kept telling me everything was going to be okay. As my tears slowed, I still clung to him. His warm body felt so comforting. I couldn’t let him go. I turned my head, nuzzling into his neck as I grabbed two handfuls of his tee shirt as a lifeline.

  It wasn’t until later I would realize he stank of booze and sweat blended with cheap cologne and cum. I remember he gently pushed me back and placed a tender kiss on my head as he released me. Taking my hand, he led me to the back door. Quietly, we slipped into the house and up the stairs to his room. Closing the door behind him, he pushed a strand of hair out of my face. “You okay?”

  I shook my head. I thought I might start crying all over again.

  “Don’t worry,” he tried to reassure me. “If the cops show up I’ll say you’ve been with me all night.”

  “But….”

  He stripped his shirt off. Sniffing it, he tossed it and his jeans into the laundry hamper beside the bathroom door. “I stink. I wouldn’t want the cops to think you and I have been fucking all night.” Dylan grinned and headed to the shower. “Climb into bed and try to get some sleep.”

  He flipped on the bathroom lights. Even from a distance, I could see the faint beginnings of fingertip bruises on his right hip, then the door closed behind him. The sound of the shower covered the sound of me crawling to my duffel. I remember I looked at the clothes basket. Almost without conscious thought, I scooted over to it. Picking up his shirt, I noticed white drying cum still clinging to the inside back of the dark red fabric. I never thought about my best friend having a sex life. He was nineteen now. There was nothing wrong with it. In retrospective, I realize how naïve I was. How we rarely talked about sex. I realized then how little I knew about my best friend.

  I slept on the floor that night even though there was more than enough room for the two of us in Dylan’s bed. He’d been surprised to see me on the rug, but Dylan had shrugged and climbed under the quilt, naked. It was the way he always slept with me next to him in my tee shirt and boxer briefs. His excuse was that he got too hot when he wore any pajamas to bed. I hadn’t thought about that until that night. I hadn’t thought about how his nakedness affected me until that night. Until I saw him as a sexual creature and the possibility of so much more.

  Dylan’s Dad pounded on his son’s door a few hours later. I blinked at the sun pouring through the perpetually closed blinds. Opening the door, Vince Greig looked surprised to see me there on the floor.

  “You, two, up! There’s a cop downsta
irs. He wants to talk to you, Heywood.”

  I glanced over at Dylan.

  “He’s been here all night, Dad.”

  “Right. Downstairs now and for God’s sake, Dylan, put some clothes on.”

  A few minutes later we both came downstairs. Two officers looked up at us. I was fully dressed and Dylan stood beside me in a pair of board shorts and nothing else. Even I could see his cock through the thin, white material.

  “Heywood Collins?”

  “Ya…, ya…, yes, officers?” I stammered, unable to help myself, my hands damp and shaking at my sides.

  “There has been a complaint concerning an assault last night. Can you tell us where you were?”

  Dylan leaned in, hip cocked in my direction as he sling an arm over my shoulders. “Oh, I can tell you exactly where he was, Officer.” He gave the patrolman his most lascivious grin. “He’d been here, all night, in my bedroom with me, in me, beside me….” Dylan laughed, “If you catch my drift.”

  I couldn’t believe he was saying this. I cut my eyes in his direction. I was afraid the officers wouldn’t believe him, but then again, the cock-sure way Dylan was looking at me. I almost thought there might be something to his story. I always admired by best friend’s ability to lie without the least bit of conscience. Unfortunately, this skill was one that would, in the future, get us into trouble more than once.

  “Dylan.” Mr. Greig sighed and shook his head.

  “Too much TMI, Dad?”

  “I told you not to bring your boyfriends home, son. If you want to fuck, get a room in some cheap ass motel like adults do.”

  My best friend’s grin widened. He reached up and placed his hand on the opposite side of my head as he brought me closer to place a kiss on my temple. I was too scared to say or do anything. I just stood there waiting for the officers to arrest me. My life was over.

  The officers looked at Dylan’s Dad, who shrugged. The lead officer sighed. “Okay, thought that might be the case, but we have to check. Sorry to bother you folks.”

  Mr. Greig walked them to the door. He waved to them as they returned to their patrol cars. It took about one minute before he started tearing into us. “What the fuck happened?”

  I stood there, head down and gave the older man a literal blow by blow account of what happened with my father. “So, Dan Miller got his ass handed to him by his kid. Well, that’s been a long time coming. Sorry, Heywood, but your old man is a mean, sonnovabitch. Glad you stood up for yourself.”

  “Thank you, sir. But now I don’t think I have a place to live.” I looked at my boss. “Do I, at least, still have a job?”

  Mr. Greig looked at his son. “And you. Saw you with Lance before we left the site. He’s not a good one to hang with, son.”

  “I can take care of myself, Dad.”

  “I know. That’s why you had all those Jiu jitsu lessons. But I don’t mean like that. I mean he’s….”

  “I know. I’m careful. Swear.”

  His father nodded, but the look of concern didn’t leave his eyes. I envied Dylan. A few months after he told me he was gay. He came out to his parents. Neither one made a big deal out if it and they figured Dylan was pretty much going to do what he wanted to do. As long as he stayed out of trouble, they were cool with him.

  “Well, since I had to lie to a couple of cops. I think there needs to be some repercussions for your actions.”

  That’s how we ended up, despite it being Sunday, being at the construction site cleaning up the debris left over from the week. We’d been at it for a good four hours before Dylan waved me over. He used the bottom of his tank tee to wipe the sweat and grime from his brow.

  “Let’s go grab a burger and a beer.” He didn’t wait for my response. He knew I’d follow as I had for the last six years. Dylan Greig’s shadow.

  “But, your Dad….”

  “Fuck, my Dad!” He continued to walk toward his truck. He knew I was watching him. I was mesmerized as his hips began to sway suggestively. With exaggerated grace, he deliberately placed one steel-toed boot in front of another. He took long strides, pounding down his foot with each step like a Victoria’s Secret runway model on TV. A few more steps, then he stopped. Turning back halfway, head lowered, Dylan looked up at me through long, thick lashes. Lips pulled into a sexy pout. “Well? You coming?” He deliberately scanned my body from my face to my hardening cock and smiled. “Well, not yet anyway.”

  I remember I stood there, confused by his flirting with me. He was my friend, but Dylan was looking at me as potential hook up. I didn’t understand it, but my body responded to every look and every suggestive remark. That first night in Dylan’s room I laid there in the dark on the floor. My body tingled, knowing that Dylan was in his bed naked next to me. I couldn’t help, but think about him with his male lover. My cock had pressed against my boxers, begging me to take it in hand and give it some relief, but I couldn’t, I wouldn’t jerk off with the object of my desire so close. Even in the light of day, I was drawn to him. I remember I followed him that day. I watched him move and my cock got hard. He was teasing me and I didn’t know what to do about it.

  Six beers and three whiskey chasers later, on top of no food and some dehydration from being on the job site through the hottest part of the day, I found myself pinned up against the alley beside the bar with Dylan’s tongue burrowing into the back of my mouth. He had his hand wrapped around my swollen cock, stroking me hard and fast. I couldn’t breath and I was two seconds away from coming all over Dylan’s hand. Every time I tried to come up for air, my friend dove back in. Between his mouth and my cock, I was becoming overwhelmed. The dueling sensations vying for supremacy. I loved how it felt, but as I struggled for air, I wasn’t sure I wanted it. I thought about pushing Dylan away, but my body demanded completion. I loved the feel of his hands on me. I loved the malty taste of his mouth. In the end, he worked me expertly until I exploded over Dylan’s hand and abs.

  I still remember the sounds of my moans as he continued to plunder my mouth. All of a sudden, Dylan stopped kissing me. He pulled his hand out of my jeans, wiping my cum on the front of my shirt. Reaching down, I watched as he unzipped his jeans. Pulling his cock from the confines, he reached up and rested both hands on my shoulders, gently pressing me downward. It didn’t take a Rhodes scholar to figure out what he wanted.

  “Come on, Hey. You know you’ve wanted to do this for a long time. I’ve seen the way you look at me. Suck me off, babe.”

  I’m sure I must’ve looked like a deer in the headlights as I dropped to my knees in the dirt. “I don’t know what to do.” I murmured.

  “Just open your mouth, Hey. Yeah, just like that.”

  I kneeled there, mouth agape, but I still wasn’t sure I wanted this. I wanted Dylan, but did that mean I was gay? Was I bisexual? I shook my head. At nineteen, Dylan was my first kiss. I never dated in high school. Dylan was my date to prom our senior year. We’d danced together and everything, but the real question in my mind was, was I gay or just curious?

  Dylan was my best friend. He’d just jerked me off and he wanted reciprocity. I couldn’t blame him for that. Dylan’s hand slipped behind my head. His strong, blunt fingers twinning in my long hair. His cock rested on my swollen, lower lip. Then he stopped. I could see the change in his eyes as he finally realized what I’d said. I remember I looked up at him and said the words a little louder. “I don’t know how. I’ve never given someone a blowjob before.” I felt sick as I watched Dylan frown.

  “Never?”

  I shook my head. “Never…, never been kissed…, never fucked…, never….”

  I could see the understanding cutting through the haze of the alcohol.

  “Never.”

  I nodded. I remember he laughed. It would’ve hurt more if I hadn’t been so drunk.

  “You’re still a virgin.”

  I stood, fighting back angry, hot tears. I started to walk away. A minute later, Dylan was there. Leaning against me, holding me even though I foug
ht to escape. Now, as I look back, I was wondering if that embrace was more to keep us from falling than it was affection. Grabbing my arm, he steered us toward the sound of the quad cab doors unlocking.

  “Get in.” His warm, boozy breath caressed the side of my cheek.

  “We can’t drive.” I protested. “Too damn drunk.”

  He opened the passenger side door and shoved me in. “Not gonna drive. Gonna talk.” Dylan circled the hood until he reached the driver’s side. Climbing in, he turned on the engine just long enough to roll down the side windows. He cocked his head and looked at me. An amused smile gracing his lips. “So, how did this happen?”

  I looked away. I knew what he was asking. How was I still a virgin? To look at me I was some girl or guy’s wet dream. Dark, sun streaked hair, deep brown eyes. My body was as ripped as Dylan’s, but I was afraid he wouldn’t understand so I never told him of my dilemma. To be honest, I’d never met anyone I wanted to have sex with in high school. I had a few offers for dates, but I didn’t take them up on it. I don’t know what I thought at the time. I had convinced myself I was waiting for the right person. I never considered who that person might look like.

  I grew up watching my parents tear each other apart and the only love I saw was through a series of episodes of violent make up sex in the middle of the living room floor. In my house, that was how you made love. Sex was my mother screaming profanities at my father as he held her down and fucked her. I hated what I saw. The two of them seem to thrive on this sick and twisted arrangement. The only other sex I saw was porn, both gay and straight. I couldn’t imagine having a loving relationship with anyone of either sex, so I never tried.

  “Are you straight?” Dylan’s voice broke through my thoughts.