Jay Bell - Something Like Summer.pdf

(1047 KB) Pobierz
Something Like Summer © 2010 Jay Bell
Published by Jay Bell at Smashwords
Smashwords Edition, License Notes
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book may not be reproduced in whole
or in part without permission.
Warning: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this
copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including
infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is
punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000. If
you do steal this book, at least have the decency to leave a nice review or
recommend it to a friend with more cash to spare. ;)
This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or
dead, or events is purely coincidental. They are productions of the
author's fevered imagination and used fictitiously.
Cover art by Andreas Bell
Also available in paperback format:
ISBN-13: 978-1453875049
ISBN-10: 1453875042
A very special thanks to my editor, Linda Anderson, for being so
generous with her time and her talent. And of course my friends and
family for being so supportive in this endeavor.
To Andreas - my guiding star, my happy thought, and my dream come
true. I love you, baby!
Something Like Summer
By Jay Bell
Part One:
Houston, 1996
Chapter 1
This is not a coming-out story. I put all that behind me two years
ago, at the tender young age of fourteen. I’d known I was gay since I was
twelve and my best friend Kevin moved away to Utah. I was heartbroken,
which I suppose is considered normal behavior for most kids. After he’d
been gone for two weeks I decided to take a Greyhound bus to see him.
The guy at the counter wouldn’t sell me a ticket so I tried passing myself
off as the kid of a boarding passenger. That didn’t go well. The bus
driver made me get off and the station manager called my parents. Their
reaction to my little plan is what tipped me off that my feelings for Kevin
went way beyond the norm. Well, that and how I got a hard-on every
time I thought of him.
Ben’s fingers hesitated above the keyboard of his laptop as he reread
what he had just written. He took a deep breath, the ozone smell of the
slowly overheating machine filling his nose before he sighed. Why did it
always sound so trite when he tried to write about his life? He wanted to
write something that was different and real, but it always ended up
sounding like the porn stories in his small stash of magazines.
Next time he swore to write with old fashioned pen and paper. At
least then he could enjoy crumpling the displeasing results before
throwing them in a little metal trashcan, like they always did on TV. The
most Ben could do was to carefully save his document, close the
program, and drag the file to the recycle bin. As he right-clicked to
empty the bin, he wondered if the problem wasn’t that he couldn’t write,
but that the porn stories in his magazines were just really well-written.
He was beginning to wish he hadn’t deleted it when the clock in the
bottom right-hand corner caught his eye. Ten minutes until seven.
Almost time for Mr. Blue Shoes to go jogging.
Ben struggled with himself for a moment. Part of him recognized just
how creepy his behavior was. He wasn’t sure if it qualified as stalking,
but it was dangerously close. But what else was there to do? Writing
hadn’t worked and there was nothing on TV but summer reruns. What
harm was there in an innocent stroll through the neighborhood, and if he
happened to see Mr. Blue Shoes, then so be it.
Switching off his laptop, Ben tried to remember the last time he had
done this. Was it yesterday? Surely it was the day before. How many
times this week already? Since they appeared to be about the same age,
Ben was sure that Mr. Blue Shoes would be attending his high school
and he didn’t want to be obvious. Being out at school led to enough
taunting without the added ridicule of being criminally desperate.
Ben slipped on his shoes and quietly closed his bedroom door behind
him. The sound of MTV’s Mega Summer Beach Party or whatever they
were calling it this year drifted from the direction of his sister’s room.
For once she wasn’t hogging the bathroom. Ben rushed across the hall
and flipped on the light, knowing that time was running out, that he only
had a brief moment to check his appearance.
His blond hair was due for a cut but was still passable, he decided as
he tried to smooth it into shape. His chestnut brown eyes regarded
themselves momentarily, making him wish that his parents had bought
him the colored contacts he had asked for last Christmas. Green, blue,
purple, anything but brown. At least the braces were off now. He smiled
wickedly, scanning for any sign of the spinach soufflé his mother had
served for dinner. If there were more time he would have brushed his
teeth. Just in case life played out like one of those porn stories. If only.
He was happy to see some remnants of sun on his face from camping
last weekend, but not as pleased to note the dopey Smashing Pumpkins
T-shirt he was wearing, which wasn’t his kind of music at all. The shirt
had mysteriously turned up in a stack of fresh laundry one day. His
sister’s boyfriend had left it during one of his nocturnal visits, and once
Ben figured that out, he wore it just to torture her. This wearable
blackmail was a few sizes too large for him and draped off his ramrod-
thin frame like a tent. Ben bit his lip and decided against digging through
the hamper for something better. At least this shirt was clean.
Flipping the light switch, he took the stairs two at a time, landing at
the bottom with a thud that was sure to trigger a yell from his mother. He
paused but the only sound he heard was prerecorded studio laughter.
Thank god for the hypnotizing properties of television! Ben slipped out
the front door, undetected by all but Wilford, the family dog.
The August evening was still bright, but not as much as it had been
last month. Ben pondered the symbolism of the earth growing darker
with the approach of a new school year as he jogged down the street
toward the end of the block. Behind the row of houses here were woods
that connected with a large public park. He chose the yard whose owner
was least likely to complain and crossed it. With the house and unfenced
backyard behind him, he was faced with one of the finest forests in
modern suburbia.
The mix of pine and cedar trees was disturbed only by a single dirt
path that disappeared into their midst. The trail, eternally marred by the
crisscrossing grooves left by countless bike riders, snaked back and forth
through the trees, causing ten acres of woods to feel like a limitless
Ben turned to the right and walked up a slope toward a more
civilized path, one paved and dotted with benches and trashcans as it
wound its way around a small man-made lake. He scanned the horizon
for his quarry. At first he saw no one except for a middle-aged couple
walking hand in hand, but then the thump, thump, thump sound of
running attracted his attention.
There he was. Mr. Blue Shoes. He could more aptly be named Mr.
Neon Electric Blue Shoes. Oh, how Ben had searched for a pair of those
shoes after seeing them for the first time. Not only did he think they
looked awesome, but they would have been a potential conversation
starter. Hey, you have the same crazy shoes that I do! Despite tagging
along on all of his mother’s shopping trips, he never found them. Ben
wasn’t even sure what brand they were. Some sort of exotic Italian brand
that Mr. Blue Shoes had preferred before moving here to the States, he
fantasized. Not that he was necessarily from Italy, of course, but it would
explain the deeply tanned skin and jet black hair.
Ben snapped out of his reverie and realized that the object of his
desire was jogging directly toward him, and all the while he had been
standing there staring. Usually Ben made at least some attempt to act like
he was out for some exercise. His muscles froze as he tried to decide
what to do. He should probably turn to the right and walk away, so as not
to appear obvious. He started to do this until he realized that he wouldn’t
be able to get a look at Mr. Blue Shoes, and so Ben turned back to the
front. Unfortunately his confused brain didn’t trigger the muscles needed
to actually begin walking. Ben was left standing, just as he had been
before, except now he was facing Mr. Blue Shoes and it was too late to
do anything but stare.
Lust brushed away any remaining self-consciousness. Ben looked up
from the oddly colored shoes, his eyes taking in the black hairs on the
finely muscled legs before darting up to check out the package bouncing
away behind maroon gym shorts. Not wishing to press his luck he
continued upward to the considerable pecs. The evening wasn’t hot
enough that he was running shirtless, but the grey tank top was minimal
enough to reveal muscular arms with a sexy swirl of black hair under the
armpits. Ben looked up at the handsome face, ignoring the sweaty strands
Zgłoś jeśli naruszono regulamin