The Weight of a Secret - 9. Chapter 9

Neither Connor nor Zack hesitated to call on me when they needed a ride. So St. Patrick’s Day Weekend was especially busy. Zack was invited to a St. Patrick’s Day party thrown by Cillian, an OLIC student who lived a few towns away in a very rich neighborhood. Cillian had told Zack he could bring anyone he wanted to the party. So I drove Zack, Patrick, and a few others there and spent some time enjoying myself. Three hours in, Zack asked me to drive him and a girl named Gwen to her house. They had sex in the minivan while I desperately tried to pay attention to the road instead of them.

The very next morning, Connor texted me to ask me for a ride to a party that was being held that night to celebrate the start of the baseball season. Connor was on the JV baseball team as well as the JV football team. The tradition at OLIC was for one of the seniors on the baseball team to throw a party to mark the start of baseball season. The senior throwing the party this year was from a particularly prominent family and lived just a few blocks away from Cillian.

Connor knew his parents would never let him go to a party at which alcohol would be served, so he came up with a workaround. He arranged a "sleepover" with Liam. The plan was for me to drive both of them to the party, pick them up at a predetermined time, and then drop them off at Liam's house for the supposed sleepover. I wasn’t thrilled about the timing, but, of course, I agreed. It was for Connor, and I never wanted to let him down.

It was about 7 PM when we got there, and the party was already in full swing. The house was humungous - a large, two story brick colonial. The lot on which the house stood was immense, and through tall bushes you could make out the large back yard where some of the party had spilled out despite the cold. Music thumped into the night, and the street was packed with cars.

Connor looked at his phone when he got out and said, “please pick us back up at 11:30 - that should give us enough time to get back to Liam’s by midnight.”

“Yeah,” Liam exclaimed, “my mom thinks I'll turn into a pumpkin if I’m not home by the stroke of midnight.” Connor and I both laughed.

“OK,” I replied, saying nothing about how inconvenient it would be for me to make the forty- minute drive there and back twice. “Have fun, guys!”

They got out, and I watched them walk toward the front door. I waited for them to disappear into the house before driving off.

When I got home, I went across the street to my grandparents’ house for dinner because the rest of my family was away that weekend. Mark’s primary sport was baseball, and his travel team was playing a series of games in another state. My parents always did their best to attend Mark’s games, so they and my youngest brother Peter, had traveled to see him play.

After spending some time with my grandparents, I went back to my house and decided to get some homework done. I had just completed an assignment when my phone buzzed with a text from Connor's number. It was about a half hour earlier than I would have left to pick them up at the agreed-upon time.

"Hey, this is Liam get us pls," the text read.

I replied instantly. "Is Connor OK?"

The response came a moment later. "He's sick."

My heart sank. My mind immediately went to the worst-case scenario. Was he hurt? Was he in trouble?

“Sick?” I replied. “Is he OK?”

“He had too much to drink, pls come”

“I'm on my way," I texted back.

The drive felt longer than it should have. I navigated the dark, winding back roads. When I finally pulled up to the house, I could see two figures sitting on the curb between two parked cars.

Liam had Connor propped up against a light pole. Connor's face was pale in the dim light, his head lolling. The pungent smell of vomit hit me as I got out of the car. There were wet spots on his shirt and jacket where he had thrown up.

"Dude," Liam said, his voice a mix of frustration and concern. "He got into it with some of the seniors and just got hammered. I've been trying to get him to drink water, but he's just... gone."

"Is he okay?" I asked, my voice low.

"He threw up, but he's breathing fine," Liam replied, "just totally out of it. He was trying to keep up with seniors and they kept on giving him shots and stuff. I found him in the back yard, and it looked like he was about to boof, so I got him out of there."

I walked over to Connor and knelt down next to him. His eyes were half-closed, and he smelled like stale beer. "Hey," I said, my voice gentle. "Hey, man. It's Andrew. We gotta get you out of here."

Connor groaned, his eyes fluttering open for a moment. He looked at me, a flicker of recognition in his glazed expression. "Andrew," he mumbled, his voice slurred. "So glad you’re here."

"Don’t worry," I said, gently grabbing hold of his shoulder, "We'll get you to Liam's. Just hang in there."

“Wait,” Liam said, “there’s no way he can come to my house like that! My mom will call his mom immediately. We’ll both be screwed!”

He had a good point. “Won’t your mom call if he doesn’t show up?” I asked.

Liam shrugged, “I’ll just say he decided to go home instead - had something to do tomorrow morning.”

“OK,” I replied. “Can you help me get him into my house? He can spend the night there. My parents aren’t home.”

“Absolutely,” said Liam, in a relieved tone.

Just then Connor started groaning. He heaved again, twice. The puke poured out of his mouth weakly on to the grass with some dribbling down his chin onto his shirt.

“You’re OK, bro,” said Liam. “We got you.”

I went and got wet wipes from my car and came back. I must have used half the canister wiping as much as I could off him.

“Can you help me get him up?” I asked. With Liam on one side and me on the other, we slowly got him off the curb and shuffled him toward the car. He wasn’t as heavy as I’d expected, but the fact that he was mostly dead weight still made it difficult. We finally managed to get him into the bench seat in the middle row of my minivan, where he immediately slumped over.

I pulled a plastic bag from the glove compartment and handed it to Liam. “Can you watch him and let me know if it looks like he's going to throw up again?” I asked.

Liam grabbed the bag. “Got it. Thanks so much for coming so quickly.”

The drive back was much quieter than when I’d driven them to the party.The only sound for a while was the low hum of the car engine and a few soft groans from the back seat. The car had a stale smell, so I cracked the window to let in some fresh air.

"You're a lifesaver, man," Liam said, breaking the silence. "Seriously. Connor owes you big time."

I glanced at him through the rearview mirror, but he wasn't looking at me. He was watching Connor, who was now fully passed out.

"I didn't want him to get in trouble," I said simply. "His parents would kill him."

"Yeah, I know,” Liam said. “He's lucky to have you. You're like his... his guardian angel or something."

"Hardly," I scoffed and chuckled.

"No, for real," Liam insisted. "I remember back in middle school. You were the only one who seemed to get what he needed. Like that time with the uniform. That was weird, man. A kid with his very own laundry service... but you just went with it. No questions asked."

I smiled to myself as I thought back to those days. "I don't know," I said, choosing my words carefully. "I just... I saw how hard he worked. How much football meant to him. It wasn't about being popular or anything else, not really. It was about being the best at what he did."

Liam was silent for a moment, and I could feel him processing my words. "Yeah," he finally said, his voice soft. "That's cool, man. You are a really good dude."

We pulled into my driveway, and I opened the garage with the remote. The car rumbled inside, and I killed the engine. The sudden silence was deafening, broken only by Connor's soft, ragged breathing from the back seat.

"Okay," I said, unbuckling my seatbelt. "Let's get him inside."

We opened the back door, and Liam and I each took one of Connor's arms. He was a dead weight in the back of the car, but as soon as we started to pull him out, he groaned and his eyes flickered open. He was semi-conscious, swaying on his feet.

"Sorry bro," he mumbled.

"It's okay, man," I said, trying to reassure him. "Just focus on walking. Let's get you up the stairs."

Moving him was a painfully slow process. He'd take a step and then we'd have to support his weight. The concern that he'd puke again, this time in my house, was ever present. He groaned with every slow, unsteady step he took toward the back door of the garage and then into the kitchen. The kitchen was cold and dark, the only light coming from the moon through the window. With Liam helping, we navigated him through the kitchen and toward the stairs. Each movement was a struggle.

We guided Connor up the steps carefully. I went first, climbing backwards one step at a time. Connor held on to the hand rail with one hand and my upper arm with the other. Liam stayed behind him with a hand on his shoulder to make sure he didn’t fall back. He wobbled with every upward step, but we finally reached the top landing in front of the bathroom. He took a final step onto the wooden floor and stumbled, his legs giving out completely. He fell toward me with Liam grasping him from behind, breaking Connor’s fall and guiding him the best he could. With Connor falling forward, I too lost my balance and went down first with him landing directly on top of me.

“Are you OK?” asked Liam.

“Yeah, I'm good,” I replied. “I think I got it from here,” I said as I looked up at Liam and smiled. “Thanks for helping me get him up here.”

“Are you sure?” Liam asked as he looked at his watch.

“Yeah,” I replied, “it’s all good. Don't miss your curfew.”

As he turned to go, I felt a shudder run through Connor's body. A low groan escaped his lips, and then I heard it: a soft hiss that seemed to cut through the quiet, followed by a steady trickle. It was unmistakable. I didn't have to look up to know that Liam had heard it too. I could feel his gaze on us as the sound reached our ears.

"Is he... is he peeing?" Liam's voice was a shocked whisper.

I felt the sudden, shocking warmth. A liquid heat seeped through the heavy denim of my jeans, spreading from my crotch to my inner thigh. The fabric quickly went from rough and cool to heavy and saturated against my skin. Then the smell hit. It was faint at first, a mix of something sharp and acrid. The scent cut through the lingering staleness, a new, pungent odor. He hadn't just leaned on me; he had released himself entirely, the last of his tension draining away.

"Oh man, are you sure you don’t want me to help get him off you?"

No," I grunted, with a mix of resignation and exhaustion. "I've got it. You better get going if you’re going to make it home on time."

Liam looked eager to leave and didn't argue. "Okay, man,” he said as he turned to go. “Thanks again. I’ll leave his phone on the kitchen counter." I heard the front door open and close, and then I was alone with Connor.

His head had landed on my shoulder, and I just held him, my attention drawn fully to the sensation that had spread across my crotch. I lay there until I felt the stream of urine stop then waited another minute, just to be sure. His body went slack against mine, and his breathing evened out into a deep, slow rhythm. With his bladder now fully relieved he was out cold.

Even though I was lying there soaked in his piss, I wasn't disgusted. My mind knew it was gross, but this was Connor. I simply gazed at him as peace settled into his features. The feeling was a strange, messed-up mix of immense responsibility and a quiet, profound honor. He had put all of himself out there, and I was the one who absorbed it in a way that marked the moment as uniquely ours.

I knew there was a lot of work ahead of me, but I allowed him to rest peacefully for a little while. I held him on top of me with one arm with the other on the floor for balance. I started to move, pushing us toward the bathroom using my feet as leverage. It was a clumsy, slow slide across the wood, our bodies a single, awkward lump. We moved an inch at a time, leaving a damp trail behind us, until the final push put us onto the cool tile of the bathroom. It was a large jack-and-jill bathroom, with doors that opened into the hallway and the rooms of my brother and me.

I carefully got him off me and propped him up against the wall inside the large walk-in shower. He was still out, his head lolling to the side. I started to strip him. His shoes, still tied, were a pain to get off, and I noticed the sides were splattered with puke. I pulled off his stained jacket and shirt, then unbuttoned his jeans. They, along with his boxers, were soaked, a dark, wet, stained mess. I pulled them down, and with one final effort, got him completely naked.

I threw the soiled clothes in a pile on the floor to deal with later, turned on the handheld shower attachment, and adjusted the water to a soft, warm temperature. I started at his feet, washing the dirty residue off his skin. The water woke him up, but he didn't stir. I just heard a soft, contented groan escape his lips as his eyes opened. A thin smile came across his face before his expression changed in a way that suggested that he was about to get sick again. I moved the nozzle close to his chest when he coughed and started heaving again. Nothing more came out, but I waited for the heaves to subside before continuing to wash him. I worked my way up his legs, his torso, and finally his arms and face.

Once I was sure he was completely clean, I turned off the water. I got a clean towel and managed to dry him off. He was still out of it, a peaceful expression on his face, the exhaustion of the night finally taking its toll.

I slowly got him up on his feet. He was still wobbly, but he managed to stumble into my room. Grateful that I had put clean sheets and pillow cases on my bed that morning, I got him into my bed and pulled a blanket over him. He was out again as soon as his head hit the pillow. I just stood there for a moment, looking at him, the chaos of the night slowly ebbing away, replaced by a quiet sense of duty.

I moved back into the bathroom and stripped off my own shirt and jeans, now pungent with the smell of urine. I put them in the pile with Connor's clothes. I knelt on the floor, wiping up the puddle of piss on the wooden floor. I sprayed it with lemon scented wood soap and scrubbed until it was clean again. I then took a quick shower myself and got dressed in my sleep shorts and t-shirt.

With the mess taken care of, I went to the laundry room, threw both our sets of clothes into the washing machine, and started a cycle. I returned to my room to check on Connor. He was sound asleep, curled on his side, his face serene. He seemed to be in a comfortable, deep slumber.

I retrieved his shoes and took out the insoles, which had a strong, musky smell, and cleaned them with disinfectant spray. Then, I wiped down the shoes themselves, not just the puke stains, but also the scuffs and dirt. When they looked pristine, I put them aside to dry.

I went back into my room and sat on the floor, leaning against the wall. I didn't want to leave him, not even for a minute. The only time I moved was to switch the laundry from the washer to the dryer. I sat there, just watching him sleep, feeling the quiet peace of the night settle in. Later, when the dryer buzzed, I folded the laundry, now clean and soft, and placed his clothes neatly on a chair in my room, ready for him to wear when he woke up. I grabbed my sleeping bag and a pillow and lay down on the floor next to the bed. I was out as soon as my head hit the floor but slept much more lightly than usual. I woke up to him calling my name softly. “Andrew?”

Looking up from the floor, I saw Connor sitting on my bed with his feet planted on the floor as he looked down at me, his face pale and his eyes wide with confusion.

"Morning," I said softly.

"Andrew? What... What am I doing here? What happened? Oh, my head is killing me!"

"You had a rough night," I said as I got out of my sleeping bag and stood up. "Liam texted me and I picked you up. You weren't in good shape, so I brought you here since my parents are gone."

His eyes went wide and he groaned holding his hands to his head. "Oh my god. I'm so sorry. I... I threw up, didn't I?"

"It’s all good," I said with a slight shrug. "It happens. You're fine, though. You're clean, and you've got a fresh pair of clothes waiting for you." I gestured toward the chair where the neatly folded pile sat.

"And your shoes," I said, bending down to pull them out from under the bed where I had placed them. I handed them to him.

He took them, turning them over in his hands. He was quiet for a long moment, staring at the shoes and the clothes. He finally looked up at me, his eyes welling up a little. "You really are... amazing," he said, the words barely a whisper.

"I need to get home," he said, his voice a little panicked. "My parents think I'm at Liam's. They'll be expecting me to get home at some point this morning."

"Right," I said, remembering the sleepover plan. "What's a normal time to get home from a sleepover?"

"Any time before noon," he said, with a quick glance at the clock on the nightstand. "Oh, I have plenty of time."

He got out of bed and, without any self consciousness about his nudity, started pulling on the clothes I had cleaned for him. I felt blessed at the complete trust he'd developed in me.

As he dressed, I caught a whiff of his breath. It singed my nose hair. “Dude, your breath smells like ass.”

Connor smiled and playfully blew in my direction. I laughed and said, “follow me.”

We walked into the bathroom and I pulled out a package of Alka-Seltzer from the medicine cabinet, opened it, and dropped the tablets into a glass of water. “Here, drink this first,” I said. “It will help with your head and stomach.”

I opened the drawer and took out a new toothbrush and a tube of paste. “Here, when you’re done drinking the Alka-Selzer, you can brush your teeth. I'll go down and get some breakfast ready.”

The tablets finished effervescing and Connor took a sip. “Ugh, this tastes horrible!”

“Yeah, but it will help you feel better, trust me,” I replied. “Mark swears by it.”

He drank the rest, then picked up the toothbrush, and started brushing. I could hear the sounds of the water running and Connor spitting as I went downstairs.

I started to prepare a light breakfast, some toast with butter, and I put out a bottle of gatorade.

I heard him coming down the stairs. “My head,” he complained, “feels like it’s going to explode.”

He picked up his phone from the counter and said, “ugh, 10 texts from Maddy.”

“You should let her know you’re OK,” I suggested.

“Yeah,” he replied as he sat at the kitchen table and typed on his phone, “I told her I’m here, I love her, and I’ll call her later.”

“Here,” I said as I pushed the toast towards him, “try to eat some of this.” I opened the gatorade and put that in front of him too.

He picked up and took a bite out of the toast then took a huge sip of the gatorade. I grabbed a bowl and had some cereal. We ate in silence until he finished the toast.

“Want more?” I asked

“Nah,” he replied, “but I’ll take some cereal.”

“With milk?” I asked.

“Nah, just dry,” he replied. I handed him the box and he stuck his hand in to grab a bunch of flakes to munch on.

When he was done, he sighed, a deep breath out that seemed to pull the last remnants of the night’s chaos from his lungs. He looked up at me, a faint smile on his face.

"Okay," he said. "I'm in better shape now. Ready to go."

"Let's walk," I said. "The fresh air will do you good."

The air was crisp and cold, a stark contrast to the warm house. The sun was fully out, painting the street in a golden light. We walked in comfortable silence. He still seemed to be processing what had happened, his face filled with a mix of gratitude and embarrassment. As we approached his street, he stopped. He turned toward me looking serious, and his mouth opened as if he wanted to say something important. He seemed to change his mind, though, as his expression shifted back to one of simple gratitude.

"This is good," he said instead. "I'll take it from here."

I nodded, understanding. "You sure?"

"Yeah," he said. "I'm sure. Thanks again, Andrew. For everything."

I just smiled. "Any time," I said. "Now go home and get some sleep. You look like hell."

He laughed, a low, hoarse sound. "Yeah, I probably do," he said. "I'll see you in school."

He called me the next day, Sunday.

“Hey,” I said, my voice quiet. “What’s going on?”

His voice was tight with embarrassment. “Liam told me what happened.”

I knew exactly what he was talking about but took a deep breath, trying to keep my voice light. “Oh. He did?”

Connor replied “Yeah. He said… he said I peed on you.”

The words hung there. I stayed calm and tried to project nonchalance. “He’s not wrong.”

Connor sighed. “Dude, why didn't you say anything?”

“What was I going to say?” I asked, keeping my voice even. “’Hey, you peed on me?’ Why would I embarrass you like that? You were out of it. It wasn’t a big deal.”

He stuttered, “It kind of was, Andrew.”

“It’s not,” I insisted, my voice softening. “It was an accident.”

“I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve you, Andrew,” Connor replied, sounding amazed and grateful.

I paused. “Just… promise me one thing,” I said.

“What?” he asked.

“Don’t ever drink so much that you pass out like that again.”

“Deal. Thanks, Andrew. For everything. Seriously.”

“Liam was really good too,” I added.

“Yeah, " replied Connor, “he’s a good friend.”

As a freshman on the JV baseball team, Connor wasn’t a regular starter, but as the year went on the coach started to have more confidence in him and began to bring him into games in difficult situations. His most significant appearance came in the championship game. With OLIC leading 3-2 in the fifth inning with 2 outs, Connor was brought in after the starting pitcher had walked the bases loaded. Zack, Patrick and I watched as he threw two quick strikes. His next pitch was a ball which the batter took. Connor followed with a fastball that appeared to clearly be in the strike zone. Incredibly, the umpire called a ball!

The OLIC fans booed loudly at the call. Connor, on the other hand, radiated calm. With the count now 2-2, he took a breath and went into his wind up. He threw an absolutely filthy splitter which the batter missed by a mile. He went on to pitch a scoreless 6th, allowing only one hit. The coach then brought in the closer to finish off a scoreless 7th for the win. It was a wild celebration, and Patrick, Zack and I exchanged hugs.

Watching Connor play in the championship game was a rare distraction from everything else that was going on in the final months of my Junior Year. That spring was one of the busiest periods of my life as I prepared to take the SAT and visited the colleges to which I was most interested in applying. I went on three separate trips. One lasted for a week and the whole family went as we visited five colleges. Another was a day trip to a nearby school with Zack, his mom and my parents. The last one was to Harvaleton, the university Zack and I most wanted to go to. Zack came along with me and my parents.

During that trip, Zack told me once again about how he wanted a slave. I’d always thought he was joking, but he made clear just how serious he was. He even gave me a little taste of what he would want a slave to do. In the hotel room we shared that night, Zack had me jerk him off and catch his ejaculate with a towel while he lay comfortably in bed. He also insisted that I strip naked before I started. I wasn’t ashamed of my body, but Zack had no reason to demand that except as a show of power over me.

Many times during my own masturbation sessions at home, I had imagined Zack having an orgasm. I imagined how good it would feel for him and I reveled in that feeling as I ejaculated. I was ecstatic to have the chance to give him a hand job and actually experience his orgasm in person. Not surprisingly, I was rock hard the entire time.

When we were done, Zack said, “oh that was good,” and a few minutes later, he added, “I hope my eventual slave can do it as good as you just did.”

His comment stuck with me. Did I have to be Zack’s slave to get as close to him as I wanted? Or would becoming his slave simply ruin the friendship that meant the most to me? One thing I knew for sure is that it wouldn’t be easy. He’d always seemed to take pleasure in humiliating me.

When I was younger, he once rubbed his bare ass on my face. Another time, during a sleepover, he had me kneel in front of him so he could piss into the diaper I was wearing because of my enuresis. The very next morning, he pissed into a clean diaper while I was in the bathroom and insisted when I came out that I put it on. And, of course, he’d forced me to apologize to Patrick and Connor by kissing their feet. I knew that becoming Zack’s slave would only make it easier for him to humiliate me.

In the aftermath of jerking Zack off at the hotel, there was a significant shift in my masturbation thoughts and patterns. I started masturbating to fantasies of being Zack’s slave—of being under his complete control and subject to whatever humiliation he chose to inflict on me for his amusement. I also started to think as I masturbated about how others had humiliated me and the pleasure it must have given them to do so.

Being at Zack’s mercy did not remain confined to the realm of fantasy. Once we returned from our trip to Harvaleton, Zack began to routinely call me over to his house to jerk him off and to help him in a variety of ways, including watching his autistic brother, Trevor. I felt increasingly under his thumb as his demands ramped up. Fortunately for me, my most intense period of service to Connor was in the past, so I could serve Zack without putting too much of a strain on my time.

Both Zack and Connor benefitted from the services I performed for them, and both loved the feeling of power and control that flowed from my obedience. I felt subordinate to each of these assertive, good looking, charismatic guys, but at the time, my relationship with each of them seemed fundamentally different to me.

Connor’s desire for power and control was just as intense as Zack’s. I’ll remember to my dying day how the very first time I voluntarily kissed Connor’s feet, he’d not been at all shy about telling me just how much he wanted me to put my lips on his sweaty feet. “I want to feel that power,” he’d told me bluntly. “I know it won't be pleasant for you, but I want to."

Even after he graduated from middle school and we were both at OLIC, Connor continued to call me over for foot massages when he felt stressed or frustrated. During these massages, he often used my face as a massage tool for his feet and as a means to gratify his desire to exercise power and control over another human being. Although being at his feet like that put me in a submissive position, I never had the sense that Connor had any burning desire to humiliate me. He simply wanted to get his needs and wants met.

Even during the time he was blackmailing me, he took steps to avoid embarrassing me in front of Liam. If others had seen what I was doing for him, they might have thought I’d been placed in a demeaning position, but I never felt that. Once Connor apologized for blackmailing me, I never felt humiliated by anything I did for him. The only possible exception was cleaning Connor and Patrick’s shared bathroom, but that came from what I had to do for Patrick, not from what I did for Connor.

Even more importantly, there was a balance in my relationship with Connor that was lacking in my relationship with Zack. Connor looked to me for advice and guidance in a way Zack never did. I’d helped Connor improve his grades, get into OLIC, and figure out how to deal with Becky. As he’d told Maddy, I was like a brother from another mother. In fact, he seemed to trust me more than he trusted his brother Patrick. I had no doubt that Connor respected me even when I put his needs and wants before my own dignity.

My relationship with Zack was different. I relied on him for advice, guidance, and friendship. And unlike Connor, Zack seemed to glory in humiliating me. Once I started serving Zack after the Harvaleton trip, for example, Zack would insist that I strip naked whenever I jerked him off even if he was partly clothed. The joy he apparently took in humiliating me as he ordered me around, even in front of his brother Trevor, pissed me off even as I found myself eroticizing the humiliation in the privacy of my own bedroom. On top of being pissed off, I worried that my submission would ultimately erode any respect that Zack had for me and that my most important friendship would wither as a result.

I put up with Zack’s demands because he was my best friend and because it was in my nature to respond selflessly when a guy like Zack or Connor asked me to do something for them. That said, I often found myself wishing that my relationship with Zack was more like my relationship with Connor.