Enlightened (5 page)

He felt that how people understand the Bible stemmed from their background. For example, if your father believed that homosexuality was wrong and taught that to you your entire life, you would interpret the Bible in a similar way because it was what was taught to you. To me, this meant that ten different people could read those same passages that Preacher Moore had and come up with ten different meanings from them. Some would agree with how he understood it, and some wouldn’t. The site went on to talk about how this man of God interpreted the Bible on the topic of homosexuality. The story of creation, the story of Sodom, and even the same passages from Romans that Pastor Moore had used took on a whole different meaning for him.

So, another religious source believed that we weren’t going to hell. That gave me hope.
If scholars and religious men could not agree on the subject, it must not be set in stone.
That one small detail made me feel better. Again, I checked out the window to make sure I was still alone before clicking the print button and printing the long explanation for Jamie, because I wasn’t sure if I would be able to relay all the information accurately enough or answer questions that he might have on it. I wanted him to see the article for himself. Watching the paper come slowly out of the printer, I had to admit, even just to myself, a sense of relief. After the dozen sheets printed, I grabbed them from the tray and clicked the close button on the browser. It was only then that I remembered the other window that was open. Sneaking yet another glance around and out the window, I reopened the browser, allowing myself to look at it again. I felt embarrassed and guilty about looking at it, but I was curious.

That one flash of the screen I had seen before I minimized it made me really fucking excited. I looked over each of the couples until my eyes focused on one pair. One boy was lying on his back, his head thrown back in obvious pleasure, while the other boy, a blond, performed oral sex on him. It wasn’t the act that caught my attention, it was the blond. He was beautiful.

Just then the wind rustled through the leaves of the huge maple tree next to the window. I checked guiltily over my shoulder again before turning my attention back to the blond on the screen. He was beautiful because he reminded me of Jamie. It was like watching Jamie give head. It made me hard just to think about it.

I shut down the computer quickly and, chancing another glance out the window, walked to my room. My shorts were tented when I closed the door behind me; those wild, decadent images had been burned into my mind. Only in my head, it was me on my back and Jamie was on his knees over me. Taking the printed papers, I hid them under a shoebox on my closet shelf, even though no one ever went into my closet since I did my own laundry. I didn’t want anyone coming across them by accident. Grabbing the towel I had used to dry off earlier, I walked over to my bed. Then I checked the window next to my bed, which also overlooked the drive, and saw it was still empty. I pulled the covers back and, after doubling the towel, spread it on the bed.

I had masturbated countless times over the last few years, and I had always forced myself to think about girls to try to pigeonhole myself into the mold I thought I belonged in. This time I wanted to think about Jamie. Though I couldn’t imagine why he would be attracted to a scrawny, mousey-haired boy like me, average in every way, right down to a mild case of acne. The only thing about my own appearance that I really liked was my curly hair. Having let it grow out over the last few years, I noticed the resemblance to my mother much more clearly now. That single piece of paper that I had carried with me from place to place and house to house was the only picture I had of my parents. When I was about eight, one of my older foster siblings, one of the few nice ones, had helped me find the news article on the computer, the one that described my parents’ deaths. We had printed it quietly, in the dead of night after everyone had gone to bed.

I pulled off my shorts and boxers, feeling more naked than I ever had, and lay down on the towel. Every time I had done this before, I had always just pulled my sleep pants down over my hips and pulled them right up afterward because I felt ashamed. However, this time I didn’t feel ashamed as I thought about Jamie’s kiss from earlier that afternoon, sweet and full of promise. I ran my fingers over my lips, remembering the perfect feeling of his lips on mine. My erection was throbbing as I moved my fingers down over my chest. That was something I had not done previously; I hadn’t thought that I should take such delight in the act. Masturbation was just something that needed to be done, not something to revel in. My hips rolled as my nipples hardened, the light caress of my fingers causing my skin to tingle. I couldn’t stop the low moan that came from deep in my chest as my head pressed back against the pillow, and my hips bucked uselessly up into empty space.

As my back arched, my bottom pressed hard into the mattress and my fingers traced a slow line across my flat stomach. I spread my legs wider as my right hand encircled my erection and my left trailed farther down between my legs. My hard cock pulsed in my hand as I rubbed my scrotum and thighs. I pictured that image of the two boys in my head, only they turned into Jamie and me. He looked down at me with a perfectly wicked smile as he held himself propped up on his hands. I could almost feel his hard body against mine. Then, with his eyes never leaving mine, he lowered himself slowly, and I watched the head of my cock slide between his lips.

I moaned between my clenched teeth, hissing almost imperceptibly as I inhaled. Lying on my back, I opened the top drawer of my bedside table with one hand, blindly searching for the hand lotion, which I found easily by its distinctive shape. I brought it out, flipping the cap open as I closed the drawer with the back of my hand.

Holding myself steady with one hand, I squeezed the tube over the head and allowed a small measure of lotion to drizzle over my erection. Capping the container, I tossed it onto the bed and used both hands to spread the cool lotion over my hot skin. My right hand greased my shaft while the left concentrated on the head. It felt so fucking good. A soft whimper escaped me as my fingers danced over the ridges and grooves of my cock, just like I imagined his tongue might do. As my hips bucked up into my hand, I pictured his willing, eager mouth around me.

Just then, another image came swiftly to mind. In another corner of the screen, I had seen one boy kneeling near the shoulders of another. I could almost see his hips jerking down, so that his cock was sliding in and out of the boy’s mouth beneath him. I rolled over, getting up onto my knees and pitched forward onto my left forearm. My cheek rested against the cool fabric of my pillowcase as I reached down with my right hand to continue stroking. I spread my legs further so that my aching erection was almost touching the towel beneath me. Closing my eyes, I pictured Jamie’s sweet face beneath me as I pumped into my hand.

Feeling so exposed in that position, I whimpered loudly between my clenched teeth, almost grunting in time with the motion of my hips. My legs spread, my ass in the air—almost as if I were waiting for him. It was then that I heard the slamming of a car door outside. I panicked for a second, knowing that there was no way I would be able to stop. I stroked myself harder, paying particular attention to the head as I rocked my hips faster. My moans became unrestrained, and I turned my face into the pillow to contain them. Just as the front door closed, I cried out, the sound muffled by the pillow. I came in hard, jerking movements onto the towel beneath me, groaning long and low as the rest of my orgasm coursed through me.

The sound of footsteps on the stairs threw me into action. I leaned over and made sure my discarded clothes were pushed all the way under the bed. Grabbing the sheet and blanket, I jerked them up over me. I had just pressed my body against the semen-covered towel and my head had just hit the pillow when my door opened.

“Are you all right, Brian?” Carolyn asked as she stuck her head in my doorway. “The school called and said that you had run out of gym class before the final bell. No one knew what was wrong with you, and Coach Williams was worried.” I looked over at her, feigning the most innocent expression that I could.

“I wasn’t feeling well, so I came home to lie down,” I said quietly, trying in vain to sound sick. It felt strange to be lying in my own semen while talking to my foster mother. I really just wanted her to go downstairs so I could get cleaned up and dressed.

“You do look a little flushed; do you want me to bring you up anything?” she asked, guilt creeping through me at her motherly concern.

“No, I’m feeling better now, maybe I was just overtired. I’ll be down in a little while,” I told her, laying my head back down on the pillow. She closed the door quietly, and I let out a sigh of relief. Remembering the feeling of a few minutes earlier, the best orgasm of my life, I moaned into the pillow.

Chapter 3

T
HE
following Monday, I tried all day to speak with Jamie about what I had found during my Internet search. He’d been busy with yard work for most of the weekend, so we hadn’t had a chance to get together, and this was certainly something I wasn’t going to get into on the phone. I wanted him to know that maybe we weren’t broken or wrong, maybe God didn’t hate us. Maybe knowing that even scholars couldn’t agree on whether or not being gay was a sin would help him sleep better at night. Unfortunately, whenever we had a few minutes to talk, we were always surrounded by people. I wasn’t going to risk being overheard, not about this. Finally, during art, I was able to at least have a discussion with him about coming over after school.

During class, I still felt awkward around Mr. Barnes.
Now that Jamie and I had kissed, now that we had defined our relationship as something other than friendship, would he know? Did we give off a vibe like he did?
We were sitting side by side working on painting a bowl of plastic fruit. I tried not to notice the symbolism and instead focused on the way Jamie’s brush caressed the canvas, stroke after stroke. When I asked if I could come over, it made him happy. I liked that he didn’t even care why I wanted to come over; he just seemed happy to be able to spend time with me.

We let our eyes lock for a little longer than was really necessary. When I caught myself and looked around, I realized with relief that no one had noticed. Criticizing myself immediately, it occurred to me that I was going to have to be more careful. After that, we worked on our projects in relative silence, only talking to ask for a different paint color or water. When class was over, we walked quickly to his house.

“Hi, Brian, you’re looking better,” Mrs. Mayfield greeted us as we came in through the back door. It took me a minute to figure out what she was talking about; church had been over a week ago, even though with all that Jamie and I had discovered, it seemed much longer. I must have looked fairly ill after the preacher’s sermon for it to have made such an impression on her. Briefly, I wondered how many other of the preacher’s flock had noticed me, pale and sick-looking, practically running from the “queers are going to hell” tirade.

“Yes, ma’am, I’m much better, thank you,” I replied, smiling at her. Right now, I wanted nothing more than to be alone with Jamie. I was excited about what I had found and couldn’t wait to share it with him. I wanted to talk to him and see if it answered as many questions for him as it did for me. However, Jamie was perfectly at ease and sat down at the kitchen table after grabbing a bag of chips from the cupboard. Giving him a meaningful look behind his mother’s back, which wasn’t difficult, as she was a rather large woman, Jamie looked back at me questioningly. Sighing, I pulled out a chair next to him and sat to have chips and a Coke with him. He was right, of course; we didn’t want to seem too eager, and that was his afternoon ritual.

As his mama tied her hair back with a strip of some kind of cloth, she prattled on about a sweet elderly woman at church she wanted to take supper to. When she moved her hands, I saw that the strip of cloth must be denim because it matched her long denim skirt. It never ceased to amaze me how this woman always wore such long skirts, no matter how hot it was. Carolyn was perfectly comfortable in a T-shirt and cut-off shorts, but as far as I had seen, Mrs. Mayfield and a few of her church friends never even wore pants, much less shorts. Apparently, God wasn’t a fan of jeans either. Thankfully, that didn’t apply to Jamie. I wondered if Mr. Mayfield had interceded on his behalf.

Finally, Jamie put the chips away, and we went upstairs to start our homework. When we walked into his bedroom, I pulled his door almost closed and sat down on the bed near his desk. Jamie started to pull books out of his bag and laid them on the desk, but I put a hand on his arm.

“I have something for you,” I told him quietly, but before I could open my bag to give him the printed papers, he caught my wrist in his hand. Glancing at the door, I looked back to give him a tentative smile.

“I bet you do,” he said with a smirk, his voice low. The desire in his voice escalated the nervous excitement in my stomach, and I was too stunned to say anything. Then his lips were on mine. I moaned at the swiftness and urgency of his kiss. It was almost like he had been waiting all weekend to kiss me, to touch me. For all I knew, he had.