Tube - 1. Chapter 1

You have to understand, from the beginning, that I loved him. I don't think I had anything to do with what happened... at least I hope I didn't. His name was Rory Geathers, and he was everything a teenaged boy should be. He was long, lean, 6' 4" if he was an inch. I had loved him from a distance for eight months by that point, and I thought myself foolish.

He was totally out of my league.

I was... well, I was nothing special. I was about 5'9", with what I felt were rather dull blue eyes and rather dull blond hair. What they used to call "dishwater blond," in fact, and it bored me as much as I assumed it must bore everyone else. Sure, I had friends in school, and Rory himself would even acknowledge me in the halls (practically stopping my heart each time he did), but no one wanted me. No one pined for me, at least not that I knew of, and not the way that I pined for Rory.

Rory, of course, was oblivious to my affections. I knew he was hopelessly straight, knew he ran track and dated Amanda Minkins, whose blonde locks were so vivid that one would never call them dishwater, and whose Pepto-pink lipstick was often just where I wanted to be... on Rory's lips. Yeah, I was jealous as hell. Sue me.

Anyway, the day that everything changed began much like any other in my house: with Mom trilling "wake up, Tony Ronnig! There's a bright new day waiting for you!" and me muttering things into my pillow that in no way reflected how I really felt about my mom, whom I really did love. After I dragged my protesting carcass into the shower and woke up at least enough to deal with humans, I dressed in semi-loose cargo pants, some bright white kicks, and a maroon polo shirt which wasn't too dorky nor too flashy. Giving myself a last check in the bedroom mirror, I tried not to obsess on the small red spot above my lip. It wasn't Krakatoa yet, but it would be.

I checked my back-pack to make sure I had all the required books and homework. Go figure, we'd all bitched about the new rule that back-packs had to be transparent, but there was an upside in that my "pre-flight check" just required a glance now rather than having to open it and dig around the way I used to do.

I slung the back-pack over one shoulder and left my room, ready for another boring day in my boring life. Mom had breakfast on the table, a couple of sunny-up eggs, buttered toast, and bacon. She almost managed to conceal her eyeroll as I stabbed a corner of the toast into the egg yolk and then salted the hell out of it before taking a bite. I knew she still thought that habit of mine and "bad manners" had something to do with each other, but I can't imagine what. I loved it!

Mom got her keys and purse while I polished off breakfast and put my dishes in the washer, then we were out the door. One of the great things about not riding the bus was that I got to sleep an extra twenty minutes, but there was a downside: Mom controlled the car radio.

Tu, tu eres el iman y yo soy el metal

Me voy acercando y voy armando el plan

Solo con pensarlo se acelera el pulso

Mom was singing along to "Despacito"... in a hideous Spanish accent! There was nobody else in the car, and nobody could be listening, but I still tried to pretend like I didn't know her by scrunching up in the seat and looking out the passenger-side window, wishing I was anywhere else, hopefully somewhere with Rory wrapped around me and kissing me. I know, impossible, or so I thought at the time, but I had a very vivid imagination.

My fantasy of smooching with Rory got me to the Polk High School parking lot, just as Mom was yelling "Pasito a pasito, suave suavecito," and this time I really swear that Larry Boudreaux heard her as he and his friend Danny Witcher-Lee walked by the car. Danny raised an eyebrow, and I died inside for what was usually only one of a dozen times during the school day.

"Have a great day, Tony," Mom grinned. "This day will be your best! Carpe diem!"

Oh, my God.

I bid my crazy mother farewell before she could start rapping with Daddy Yankee and hurried into school. I'd managed to cut my morning routine down to about 25 minutes, but that didn't leave me much time to hit my desk in Ms. Inverness's Geometry class before that infernal bell buzzed. Luckily, I barely made it.

* * * * *

Nothing really interesting happened until 5th Period. That was my history class with Rory. He and Amanda were glued together at the lips outside Mrs. Arispe's classroom, but when I walked past them, Rory separated from Pepto Lips (I told you I was jealous) and grabbed me by the shoulder.

"Hey, Tony, what's up?" he said casually, while Amanda shrugged and flounced away.

"Hey, Rory," I replied, trying to match his casual demeanor, although my hand trembled just a bit as I gave him daps. "What's goin' on?"

"Too much and not enough," he grinned, and I fell in love all over again.

Okay, this is weird, what I'm about to tell you. I don't understand it myself. See, Rory was 6'4", like I said, and in every other way a strapping example of teen maleness. But there was this thing about him, and that thing was his teeth. He had, for lack of a better term, baby teeth. They were rounded at the ends and spaced pretty widely apart, and he had braces on them. On almost anyone else, this would have been a drawback.

That's because almost everyone else might have been self-conscious about them, never smiling or covering his mouth with his hand when he laughed. Not Rory. No, Rory was always smiling. And not just smiling. Grinning, laughing, sometimes howling if he heard a particularly good joke. And always revealing those silly baby teeth in his otherwise ridiculously handsome face. And he was one of those guys whose eyes laughed, too. Those vulpine grey eyes which matured his serious-face, a masterpiece of high cheekbones, sharp chin, Roman nose, and incredibly sexy stubble. When he laughed, they changed from feral to delightful, and... sorry, I'm gushing.

"Tony," he said, and I could swear I saw a blush. "I need help. I'm falling really far behind. Can you help me?"

CAN I? I thought. Holy shit, just try to stop me!

"Uhm, I guess so..." I said. "What do you... uhm... need?

OHMYGOD I JUST ASKED HIM WHAT HE NEEDS.

"I was just hoping you could drop by my crib and help me figure out the War of 1812."

Crib, he said. Baby teeth in the crib. Weird. Okay, you're riffing crazy. I'M GOING TO HIS HOUSE.

"Uhm," I began, a shining beacon of intelligence. "I guess I could do that? Where do you live?"

As if I didn't know. 3231 Hammond Way... stop.

"Over on Hammond," he said. "3231. Can you come over after school? My mom can make dinner..."

And then everything went black.

* * * * *

I woke up in a tube. I mean it. It was this big tube made out of what seemed like Plexiglas. It was about ten feet long and about three feet across. The diameter. Ever hear that joke... what's the difference between a diameter and a radius? A radius. God, I'm a nerd.

So, this tube. I was naked, and I was about exactly in the middle of it. It was like a giant test-tube, except that it had these grates on either end. One about two feet above my head, and one about two feet below my feet. I was being held against the rounded side of the tube by... I don't know what it's called. I guess the same thing that holds you on the wall of that carnival ride where the floor drops out. I saw a girl puke on one of those once, and it wasn't pretty. I'm rambling again...

Anyway, I may have hinted at the fact that the tube was clear. Everything I could see was just white. Like I was suspended in... just... whiteness. And the tube was tilted a little. Like maybe 15 degrees. And, dammit, I was naked. And I was not alone.

Someone else was in the tube with me. He was naked, too, and his name was Rory Geathers.

Rory didn't seem to be conscious, so I took the opportunity to look at him... from head to toe. He was beautiful. Almost hairless except for his pits, his treasure-trail, his pubes, and some light hair on his calves. All the hair was black and stood in stark contrast to his pale, alabaster skin. His nipples were very, very light pink and small on his smooth, hairless chest.

His cock was also very, very light pink. But it was not small. It was long and thick, even soft. I'd guess that it hung about five inches, with a light tan circumcision scar about a half-inch down from the plump mushroom head. His balls were big, too, but relatively hairless compared to his dark black pubic bush.

His tummy was flat like mine, his legs were slim like mine, and his feet were perfect and smooth. And his beautiful, slim and pale neck just begged to be kissed. So I did. Well, he was asleep, after all, and he looked like a sleeping angel, and... but, wait.

WHAT THE FUCK? WHY AM I IN A PLEXIGLAS TUBE WITH RORY GEATHERS?

It must be a dream. Yeah, that's it. It's a dream. I'm having another one of my goofy sexual daydreams, and I'll snap out of it at any minute and Mrs. Arispe will be asking for our homework and...

And that's when the water came in.

It was warm, soapy water, and it came in through the tube's top grate with quite a bit of force, washing over me and Rory like a high-pressure hose, rushing past us and out the grate at the bottom.

That woke Rory up.

"What the fuck..." he exclaimed, sputtering through the rushing water. His eyes were shut from the force of the soapy water, so I don't think he knew I was there yet.

After about a minute, the water stopped.

"Some shower, huh?" I said nervously, hoping that Rory wouldn't freak out. Although I don't know why I didn't want him to freak out, since this situation was pretty damn freaky.

Rory's gray eyes blinked open. He looked down at himself, saw he was naked. He looked at me, saw I was naked. And then... unbelievably to me... he grinned, showing off those silly baby teeth and braces.

I loved him.

"Dude," he laughed. "What the fuck?"

I was about to tell him I didn't know, but that was when the rinse cycle began. Warm, clean water came rushing through the top grate of the tube, rinsing the suds from our soapy bodies before disappearing out the bottom of the tube into... well, nothing. Into the void. That was the weird thing. I could see the water going out the bottom grate... but it didn't go anywhere. It just vanished.

After we were well-rinsed and clean, the water stopped. It left two warm, wet teenagers staring at each other in disbelief. One gay and in love with the other, one straight and completely confused. There were no surroundings but the tube. There was no sound but our breathing and our heartbeats. And then a nagging thought formed in my mind... Had I done this?

I mean, it would be my dream come true, right? Stuck in a tube, naked and clean, with Rory Geathers? No distractions, no outside world, just Rory and me... in a tube. This is just like one of those weird daydreams I always had when I looked at him in class, right?

That's what it had to be, I told myself. A daydream. Maybe when Rory asked me over to help him with his History homework, I had passed out and hit my head. I'd wake up on the floor of the school, embarrassed as hell, or maybe even a hospital room, delirious and ashamed. I spent a lot of time ashamed. Yeah, that sounds right. Except...

Except it all felt real. I was warm and wet. I could feel the heat from Rory's skin in the narrow confines of the tube. And the way he was reacting to this situation wasn't like anything my brain might have put together in a fantasy. His grin had vanished after the rinse, and he suddenly seemed terrified.

And I, I realized with mounting dread, was getting a boner.

I know, I know... soooo inappropriate. But what do you expect? I'm naked and wet in a tube with the sexiest, most beautiful boy in school. He's also naked and wet... and he's scared. This stunning, unapproachable teen god was scared. And that vulnerability took him from unapproachably intimidating to... sweet. Sweet and human, and in need of my help. My support. My... are you serious?... my strength. And that was giving me a boner.

Rory's frightened gray eyes searched mine, zipping back and forth between one of my eyes and the other. We were so close that I could see him shift his focus. He seemed on the verge of full-blown panic, and the strangest thing about it was that... I wasn't.

Me! The scaredy-cat. The bored, guarded kid that was Anthony Bille Ronnig. I was pretty calm, really. Other than that semi I was sporting, I mean. I wasn't panicking... even though I had just been ripped from the halls of Polk High School into this weird white void, stuck in a Plexiglas tube with the boy I have loved and pined after for eight long, agonizing months. The boy whose very gaze made me shake and tremble and stutter and come across as a complete freaking mess.

No, I was calm. Even a few seconds later, when warm, dry air began shooting through the top grate and turning the tube into a desert wind tunnel. Because it made sense. We had been soaped, then we had been rinsed, and now we were being dried. It made sense to me.

But that, I concluded as I looked at Rory, who was now trembling, was what disturbed me about this whole thing. I was calm. He was freaking out. And... there was not one single reason this could be happening that made any sense to me except that I had somehow caused it.

We didn't just suddenly get kidnapped by aliens, after all. There weren't scary gray dudes with shiny black eyes getting ready to give us anal probes. Whatever was happening was going just as I would have scripted it. Nude, forced together, washed, rinsed, dried for... whatever. But I also guessed that I knew what that "whatever" was supposed to be... at least what I wanted it to be. So I wasn't scared. But I was bothered. Bothered because I couldn't see any reason for Rory Geathers to be put through this ordeal... which had now caused tears to start falling from those amazing eyes... except for my own desires.

Okay, this was fucking weird.

* * * * *

It was about five minutes later that the warm air stopped. The tears had dried on Rory's face, and the water had dried on both of our bodies. Rory hadn't spoken, and neither had I. I think that we were both just trying to absorb the reality of the situation, and maybe our own parts in it. Finally, I had to say something.

"Rory?" I began.

He looked up at me, his eyes an ocean of confusion.

"Tony?"

"Rory... I think this is my fault."

He cocked his head, not speaking, but urging me to go on.

"What I mean is," I said slowly, "that I might have kind of wished this would happen."

His face crinkled in what I was afraid was the beginning of anger.

"What are you talking about, Ronnig?"

I shifted my naked back against the Plexiglas and my ass made this weird farty Whoopee-Cushion sound that made me want to die, but I went on.

"I mean that I... I mean that I like you, Rory."

"I like you too, man," Rory smiled. "I always have. But..."

"But..." I paused, not sure how to continue. "But I mean I really like you."

Rory's eyes narrowed, and he didn't say anything for a while. I bit my lower lip, suddenly ashamed and afraid of what he might be thinking. I was also trying like hell not to look at his cock. I mean... DUH!

Rory had this thing. He would always hold his left elbow with his right hand while his left hand held his chin. That's how people knew he was thinking. He wanted to do that now, I could tell, but the dimensions of the tube and his proximity to me made that habit impossible to achieve without physical contact with me, and I highly doubt that was what Rory wanted right now.

Instead, he kind of shifted against the Plexiglas, and -- rather than my weird farty noise -- his body made this strange squelchy vacuum noise. I fought the urge to giggle and just waited for him to speak. While I did so, I considered his hair. Rory had amazing hair. It was short, styled, and the back of his gorgeous neck always looked as if it had been shaved five minutes ago. He had perfect hair. Everything about him was perfect except for those silly teeth... but that just made the whole package even better.

"You like me like Amanda likes me."

The way he said it wasn't a question. And he didn't call me any of those nasty names I'd been called in the past. He just made a statement, and I nodded my assent. I could see his arms twitching like he REALLY wanted to do that thing with his elbow and his chin, but he stopped and just started rolling his head around. I fought a grin, thinking of my mom once telling me that if she tied up my arms I wouldn't be able to think or talk.

"Okay," said Rory at last. "Okay. You have a thing for me. I asked you over to my house to help me with history. So..."

I nodded.

"So," I continued, "why wouldn't I just come over to your house, get you comfortable with me, and then confess my feelings to you?"

"Right," Rory breathed. "I mean, it makes no sense. And I don't mean you liking me. I mean... this can't be you, Tony. This makes no sense. You don't usually have the power to make shit like this real... do you?"

I had to laugh. I shook my head in the negative. Oh, hell, I was starting to bone up again. I had to talk so he didn't notice. Talk, I told myself. Talk.

"Uhm... no," I said. "But what I'm thinking is... shit. I'm sorry, Rory, I'm really sorry for what I'm about to say."

"Go for it." He smiled tightly. "I'm not going anywhere."

I decided to be honest, for once in my stupid life.

"I like you, Rory. But it's not just that. I pine for you. I yearn for you. I look at you like I have never looked at anyone in my entire life. I think..."

I paused, breathing heavily and looking down at our feet, hanging in space.

Rory moved his right arm toward me and brushed my hip with his index finger.

"Go on, man," he said quietly.

"I think," I continued, "that I haven't ever been able to do anything like this until now. I think... I feel... oh, shit. I know that you are the only person I could have done this because of, and I think I did."

"Do you think it, or do you know it?" he whispered.

I stared at him blankly. Tears began to run from my eyes, and I fell in on myself emotionally. Because I couldn't answer.

Yet.

*****