again. He wanted to be a doctor, wanted to help people the right way. He was already looking up and away.
For a while I worried that maybe he wasn't really gay. Maybe his feeling safe with me was warping his sexual responses. Then one day we were following an attractive couple down the street. She was a blonde, hair down to her butt and tits so big I figured her plastic surgeon deserved hazard pay. He was a redhead with a body-builder physique. At the next block, they stood arguing as we drew near and then crossed the street.
"What do you think of those two?" I asked, about to comment on the size double-Es.
"Way too much muscle," Toller said. "I don't like guys who look so top-heavy they might tip over. Although the little jazz beard was cute."
"The blonde was kind of pretty," I said mildly.
"I guess. I didn't really notice."
I grinned to myself and put that worry away. My boy was gay, all right.
September and the check-in dates for the dorms rushed toward me at light speed. Toller was booked on the train five days before Labor Day. I spent that last week watching him, while trying to pretend I wasn't. He was busy, finishing up at his jobs, saying goodbye to the friends he had made the past year. One other boy was headed to New York although to a different school, and they'd made arrangements to meet up at the train station.
That last night, we made love in the bed for the first time. It was some kind of mutual consent. We'd already gone two rounds on the couch, sucking each other off and then him fucking me into the cushions. Now we were spooned together in our usual position, his front to my back. He rocked against me gently, and I could feel he was hard again. Without discussion, I leaned back into him, lifted a leg back over his hip, and guided him against me. He pushed inside, my ass ready and wet and finally done clenching in aftershocks.
It was slow and painfully sweet. I never got hard, never cared. He rocked against me, pressed in just right so he stroked over me a little with every move. I came from just the feel of him inside, deep ripples of climax that had me leaking a little without true ejaculation. No matter. It was glorious and hot and hurt deep, like I'd never hurt before. When he was done, he slid out and pulled me in tight. His chin pressed into my shoulder. Everything he owned was packed in two big duffle bags by the door. This was all that remained.
"I'll write a lot," he said. "All the time. I'll call you, tell you all the shit I've been up to."
"No," I said. "Don't."
He tensed. "What?"
"Don't write. Don't call."
"I don't get it. You don't...want me?"
He would have let go of me and turned us around but I gripped his arms, digging my fingers in to keep them locked around me. I couldn't say this face to face. "Toller, you're eighteen and going off to college. Your life is just starting now. You don't need to be looking back at me. You need to move ahead."
"But I like looking back at you." He laughed softly. "You're not exactly a father or a brother, but something like that. You're family. The only one I have."
"I know." I lifted one of his hands to my mouth, kissed it and wrapped it back around me. "But you're not my family."
"I'm not?" There was a world of hurt starting in his voice.
I just said it. "Toller, you're the second person in this life that I have loved with all my heart."
"Oh? Oh." The first word was happy again. The second quieter.
"Yeah. I wasn't going to tell you, was going to play the fuck-buddy back home who's glad to hear all about your adventures in the big city. But I can't. I'm just not that strong."
"I love you, too." God, I'd wanted to hear that, but not in that tentative voice. "I don't have to, I don't know, meet new guys or hook up. If it bothers you."
"That's exactly what I mean. No. You go on to New York, and you don't write, and you don't call. Because I want you to have a glorious new life. I want you to love your classes and study hard, and I also want
For a while I worried that maybe he wasn't really gay. Maybe his feeling safe with me was warping his sexual responses. Then one day we were following an attractive couple down the street. She was a blonde, hair down to her butt and tits so big I figured her plastic surgeon deserved hazard pay. He was a redhead with a body-builder physique. At the next block, they stood arguing as we drew near and then crossed the street.
"What do you think of those two?" I asked, about to comment on the size double-Es.
"Way too much muscle," Toller said. "I don't like guys who look so top-heavy they might tip over. Although the little jazz beard was cute."
"The blonde was kind of pretty," I said mildly.
"I guess. I didn't really notice."
I grinned to myself and put that worry away. My boy was gay, all right.
September and the check-in dates for the dorms rushed toward me at light speed. Toller was booked on the train five days before Labor Day. I spent that last week watching him, while trying to pretend I wasn't. He was busy, finishing up at his jobs, saying goodbye to the friends he had made the past year. One other boy was headed to New York although to a different school, and they'd made arrangements to meet up at the train station.
That last night, we made love in the bed for the first time. It was some kind of mutual consent. We'd already gone two rounds on the couch, sucking each other off and then him fucking me into the cushions. Now we were spooned together in our usual position, his front to my back. He rocked against me gently, and I could feel he was hard again. Without discussion, I leaned back into him, lifted a leg back over his hip, and guided him against me. He pushed inside, my ass ready and wet and finally done clenching in aftershocks.
It was slow and painfully sweet. I never got hard, never cared. He rocked against me, pressed in just right so he stroked over me a little with every move. I came from just the feel of him inside, deep ripples of climax that had me leaking a little without true ejaculation. No matter. It was glorious and hot and hurt deep, like I'd never hurt before. When he was done, he slid out and pulled me in tight. His chin pressed into my shoulder. Everything he owned was packed in two big duffle bags by the door. This was all that remained.
"I'll write a lot," he said. "All the time. I'll call you, tell you all the shit I've been up to."
"No," I said. "Don't."
He tensed. "What?"
"Don't write. Don't call."
"I don't get it. You don't...want me?"
He would have let go of me and turned us around but I gripped his arms, digging my fingers in to keep them locked around me. I couldn't say this face to face. "Toller, you're eighteen and going off to college. Your life is just starting now. You don't need to be looking back at me. You need to move ahead."
"But I like looking back at you." He laughed softly. "You're not exactly a father or a brother, but something like that. You're family. The only one I have."
"I know." I lifted one of his hands to my mouth, kissed it and wrapped it back around me. "But you're not my family."
"I'm not?" There was a world of hurt starting in his voice.
I just said it. "Toller, you're the second person in this life that I have loved with all my heart."
"Oh? Oh." The first word was happy again. The second quieter.
"Yeah. I wasn't going to tell you, was going to play the fuck-buddy back home who's glad to hear all about your adventures in the big city. But I can't. I'm just not that strong."
"I love you, too." God, I'd wanted to hear that, but not in that tentative voice. "I don't have to, I don't know, meet new guys or hook up. If it bothers you."
"That's exactly what I mean. No. You go on to New York, and you don't write, and you don't call. Because I want you to have a glorious new life. I want you to love your classes and study hard, and I also want
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