You Promised Me a Tomorrow - 1. Chapter 1

I stand in an empty cemetery looking down at a freshly dug grave. It is covered in two-day old flowers, many already dried and withered. Gone are the mourners dressed in black with tears streaming down their cheeks. They no longer stand weeping over a silver coffin with a floral arrangement and a red ribbon with the words, LOVING SON, spread atop it.

Loving Son! Fucking Bullshit! They didn’t love him. I loved him. They hated him for loving me. They hated me for loving him. I rip the ribbon off the arrangement, ball it up and throw it away. It doesn’t belong anywhere near his grave.

The wind blows my hair as I stand over the fresh mound of dirt. I can no longer cry. I have shed so many tears over the past week, my mind has become numb. To maintain my sanity, I have completely shut down all feelings. He is gone, and I don’t think I can live. I don’t want to live. At seventeen, my life feels like it is over. I can no longer go on without him beside me.

I look at the headstone. His name is already carved coldly on the gray granite.

Timothy James Somerset

Loving Son and Brother

Born: 9-17-1989 Died: 4-12-2006

I stare at the words before me. Died. I cannot let my eyes leave that word. Died. Why? Died. Died. Died. God! I’m going crazy!

I don’t want to hate him, but it is hard not to. He promised he would always be with me. We would grow old together. Our love would be never-ending. We would laugh as we imagined ourselves racing around in our wheelchairs in a nursing home. He didn’t keep his promise. I want to hate him for leaving me alone, but I can’t. I promised him I would always love him. I will.

Timothy James Somerset

Loving Son and Brother

Born: 9-17-1989 Died: 4-12-2006

I fall to the ground and clutch at the dead flowers on the grave. I scream out his name. I pray to God to bring him back to me. God doesn’t answer my prayers. With a blood curdling yell, I begin digging at the soil, desperately wanting to touch him one more time.

“Damn you, TJ! You promised me there would always be a tomorrow!”

                                                                                             * * * * * * * * * 

“Randy! Get out of bed! This is the last time I’m going to call you,” my mother screamed down the hallway at me.

I hate the first day of school. I had a lot of fun during the summer, and I sure didn’t want to go back to school. It was all right for kids who had nothing better to do, but not me. I would rather be anywhere but in that hellhole.

“Shit! 7:30,” I moaned as I rolled over and looked at the alarm clock. I never set it. I had my own alarm, and right now it was screeching from the kitchen.

“Randy! Get your butt out of bed. We’re going to be late. I have to get to work.” It was the fourth time she had called me, so I knew I had better get my ass up. Last year she came in the room on four occasions and poured a pitcher of cold water on me. My mother was not one to make idle threats. I had learned that years ago.

I crawled out of bed and headed to the bathroom in my boxers. Yeah, I like boxers. Most guys my age still wear the tighty whiteys, but not me. I like to let it hang free, not that I have all that much to hang! From my experience with most guys, I would guess I’m just about average. I’ve never had any complaints.

I took a cold shower, since I was running late. I can usually stay under a hot shower until the water runs cold. However, I didn’t have time, so I was in and out in a few minutes.

Then I had to make the biggest decision facing most teens- what to wear the first day of school. I was going to be a sophomore, so I had to look somewhat preppy. The urban look, with my pants hanging down over my ass is over, much to my mother’s delight. Boy, did we have several knock down-drag out fights over that. I thought about dressing that way, just to piss her off; but then again, I didn’t want my friends to laugh at me.

Being the first day of school, I had to make a big impression. The chance only comes around once a year. That first day back is like a model’s walk down the runway. You have to look good. If not, you could be labeled the rest of the year- geek, nerd, goth, stoner, fag.

Fag. That’s the one label I don’t want. Sure, I am gay, but the whole world doesn’t need to know. Those that I care about know- my parents, my older sister and a few close friends. Of course, a few of the guys I’ve blown over the years know, too. But for the most part, I try to be discreet.

I hate guys that have to let the whole world know they suck cock and take it up the ass. I’m just as much a man as any straight guy. I just don’t think it’s important that the whole world knows who I sleep with. At the moment, no one. I haven’t had a good lay in almost five months.

I had a brief affair last year. Brief. Yeah, right. Three whole weeks. But the sex was great! I guess that’s why it didn’t last. We were so busy sucking and fucking, we never talked. When the novelty wore off after a couple weeks, we realized we really didn’t have much in common. It’s hard to make a relationship last when you don’t have anything to say other than, “You want to do it again?”

“Randy! Get out here!” There she goes again. I would wish God would strike her mute, but I love my mother- and my dad. I know, I don’t sound like the typical teenager. We’re supposed to hate the rents, right? Nope, not me.

When I came out to them two years ago when I was fourteen, they were great about it. I’d read stories about teens who got kicked out of the house or were shipped off to a distant relative. Wouldn’t want a fag ruining the good old family reputation. But not my parents.

They sat me down, and we talked for hours. They held me while I cried. My dad even told me how proud he was of me. Proud. Wow! I was blown away. My mother let me cry on her shoulder and wiped my tears away. The next day we went to a bookstore, and they bought several books about teens coming out. We took turns reading them, and then we discussed them around the dinner table at night.

So, I’m proud of who I am. My parents made sure that I understood my sexuality. I guess it is because of them that I don’t need to shout to the world, “I’m Here, I’m Queer!” I’m me, Randy Lawrence. Son of Milton and Evelyn Lawrence. That makes me feel good.

My sister is also very supportive. Sharon is four years older than me, and she attends the state university two hundred miles away. We’re really close, but we don’t get a chance to see each other except on holidays and an occasional brief weekend visit. She has a boyfriend, Brad. They are planning to marry when they graduate in two years.

“I’m counting to three, Young Man!” Trouble. In minutes she will be coming through the door with a pitcher of water in hand.

“ONE!”

“I’m almost ready, Mom!” I opened the door and shouted down the hall. I quickly put on a pair of beige khaki shorts and a green Old Navy shirt I had bought over the weekend. The green shirt matched my green eyes. Okay. They’re really a dull hazel color, but the contacts make me look like I have green eyes. Since it is hot outside, I decide to go with a pair of sandals.

I applied some gel to my blonde hair and spiked it on top. I stepped back and looked at myself in the mirror. Damn! I look hot, even if I have to say it myself. If I was not me, I’d be all over me. Bet that makes a lot of sense!

Now, out to face a new day.

“You look cute, Honey,” my mother said when she saw me.

“Mom! Puppies look cute,” I whined.

“Alright, then. You look handsome.” She walked over and applied a little spit on her finger and wiped some dried toothpaste off the corner of my mouth.

“Jesus, Mom! That’s disgusting!” I yelled as I stepped away from her. She frowned and walked back to the kitchen counter.

“I guess next you’ll want me to stop kissing you,” she said sadly.

“Never, Mom.” I walked over to her and kissed her gently on the cheek. It brought a broad smile to her face. It made me feel good, too.

“You ready to go back to school?”

“You’ve got to be kidding, right?” I answered. “Three months of nothing but sun, fun and swimming, and you ask me if I’m ready to go back to school.”

“You’ll never get anywhere...” she started.

“Without a good education,” I finished. We both laughed.

“Hurry and eat. I have to get to work.” My mother is a legal secretary for a law firm. She had arranged with her boss to go into work after dropping me off at school in the morning. School starts at 8:30, so she reports for work at 8:45. I rarely see my father in the morning, except on weekends. He is a plant supervisor and has to be at work at 6:30. We usually get to spend time together in the afternoons before my mother gets home.

My father is a great cook and usually prepares most evening meals. Ever since I was a little boy, I have helped him out in the kitchen. As a result, I have also acquired a knack for cooking. Between the two of us, my mother rarely cooks at night. Most of her friends want to marry my father and adopt me as their son.

After eating a quick breakfast, we jumped in her Honda and headed to school. It is a short drive since we only live about a mile and a half from my school. At night I usually walk home. If it was raining, I will call my father on my cell phone and then wait about 30 minutes for him to pick me up. I have my license, and my mom will let me borrow her car whenever I need it on the weekends; but I still want my own car. They told me I can have her car when I graduate. But that is two years away. I can’t wait that long!

I gave my mother a quick peck on the cheek, got out of the car and looked around to make sure none of my friends saw me kiss her goodbye. That would really be a good start to the beginning of my sophomore year! I would be branded a momma’s boy for the rest of the year. All my close friends know how I felt about my parents, but a stranger could make my life a living hell.

I entered the heavy double doors to good old Dwight D. Eisenhower High School. How lame is that? Going to a high school named after a World War II general and president. They have pictures of him in the lobby. Man, that dude is old! Why can’t they name schools for what they really are, like Hellhole High?

“Randy, wait up!” I heard a familiar voice shout out. I turned and watched as Dean approached me. He keeps looking better each year. We’ve messed around a few times, but Dean is more like a brother to me. I feel guilty every time I suck his dick. I feel like I’m committing incest. But I’ll say one thing, Dean is a loyal friend. If I ever need someone to go to bat for me, Dean is my go-to guy. We’ve always got each other’s back.

“Hey, sexy!” I said as he got near enough so no one could hear me. He did look sexy. He had grown about two inches over the summer. He is now about 6 feet tall and weighs 160 pounds. He had put a tint on the edges of his dark curly hair. It accented his beautiful features and flawless skin. He even had a slight mustache! Damn, he looked good! What did I say about him being like a brother? Forget that! Just kidding.

“Damn, Randy! You look hot!” he whispered in my ear. “Let’s forget school and head over to my house.” He stepped back and gave me an evil grin.

“Don’t tempt me, Man. Look at you. My little boy has grown up!” I threw my arm around his shoulder as we both began laughing.

“Hey, Randy.” I rolled my eyes when I heard a sweet, girlish voice. Dean began laughing.

“What’s up, Deanna?” I forced a smile. Deanna is Dean’s twin sister. She has had a crush on me for over five years. We were in the same room in the fifth grade and sat at the same table. She marked me as her property that year. She got into at least four fights with other girls because she thought they were flirting with me.

She knows her brother is gay, but she doesn’t suspect that I am. Maybe she does and is holding out hope that maybe one day I will ‘change.’ Dean is my best friend, and we spend a lot of time together. If she ever came into his room on one of my sleepovers, she would know that I would never be her boyfriend. I wonder what her reaction would be if she walked in on us one night when Dean is ramming his cock up my ass.

Deanna is very pretty. If I was straight, she would be my first choice as a girlfriend. She and Dean look remarkably alike. She has the same dark curly hair as her brother. Her eyes shine a bright sparkling brown, and she has beautiful features. I have never known her or Dean to ever have a facial blemish. Unlike me, who’s been known to have an embarrassing zit break out occasionally on my face. I always keep a tube of Clearasil handy.

“You ready for a new year.” She asked flirtatiously. “Maybe we’ll be in some of the same classes this year.”

'Maybe not,' I thought. “Yeah, that would be nice, Deanna,” I said instead. She smiled and then grabbed my arm, leading me off to the cafeteria. Counselors and teachers were sitting along the side of the large room, distributing student schedules. I found Sophomores- J-L, and then stood in line ten minutes waiting for my prison sentence.

“Oh, no!” I screamed, just as Dean approached examining his schedule.

“What’s wrong Randy?” He looked down and read my schedule.

“I’ve got Old Lady Watson for Algebra II this year. Sharon warned me about her. She says she’s a real bitch. She gives a ton of homework each night,” I moaned.

“You think that’s bad. Shit! I’ve got Toupee Tommy for chemistry,” he said sadly. Toupee Tommy is Mr. Waters. He is a dictator in class. Students are scared shitless around him. It isn’t unusual for first year students to go running out of his class crying. To add to his sinister countenance, he wears a black toupee that is always just a little tilted on his head. If he wore a small, black mustache, he would look like Hitler.

“I’m doomed!” Dean cried. “I’ll never pass his class. Shit. I’ll have to take summer school next year to get the credit.”

“That sucks, man,” I said with a frown.

“I’m going to see my counselor. Maybe she can change my schedule.” He quickly disappeared out the cafeteria door, leaving me alone.

“Excuse me. Can you help me?” I heard a timid voice behind me, but I wasn’t sure it was directed at me. Then I felt a slight tap on my shoulder. I turned and let out a short gasp as I looked at the boy before me. Holy Shit! He is cute! No, not cute. Puppies are cute, right? Damn, what is wrong with me? I can’t even think straight. Talk about first impressions. He probably thinks I am some sort of an idiot.

“Yeah, Dude. What do you want?” I finally managed to squeak out. He looked into my eyes, and there was an instant connection. I felt he was reading my soul with those pretty baby blues. We stood in the middle of the cafeteria, just looking at one another. Finally, he broke the gaze and looked down at his schedule.

“I’m new here, and I don’t know my way around yet. Can you tell me where room 212 is?” He looked up and smiled. I was mesmerized. We are almost the same height- 5’11.” He looks thinner than me, maybe about 150 pounds. He has beautiful curly light brown hair, combed back over his ears. It appears to be sun bleached. He probably spends a lot of time at the beach, because he is well tanned.

But if he was trying to make a good first day impression, it wasn’t working. His clothes looked tattered. Not the kind of look a suburban rich kid would try to wear. His looked like real hand-me-downs, or maybe purchased from Goodwill. They appeared clean, but very used. If I had to label him, I guess it would be poor boy. I could see this guy being picked on by some of the elite students of our school.

“Hello! Anyone home?” He began to giggle, waving his hand in front of my face. I was suddenly jolted back to reality.

“Sorry, man. What did you say?” I knew my cheeks were red with embarrassment.

“Room 212? You know where it is?” He laughed as he pointed to his schedule.

I took it from him and examined it. Timothy Somerset. This beautiful Adonis has a name. Timothy, Tim or Timmy? I wondered which he prefers? I scanned his schedule and found out we had three classes together- 1^st, 5^th and 6^th. There is a God in heaven! I would start my day saying hello to him; and end it by saying goodbye.

“Yeah, Timothy. Actually, we have first period together. You can walk with me,” I replied as I handed him back his schedule.

“TJ,” he said.

“What?”

“TJ. My name’s TJ. Only my mother calls me Timothy.” He began to blush. It was so cute. Alright, not cute. Yes, cute. With TJ everything is cute- just like a puppy.