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Stories posted in this category are works of fiction. Names, places, characters, events, and incidents are created by the authors' imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual persons (living or dead), organizations, companies, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you.
A Boy's First Kiss - 1. Chapter 1
“Your cousin Neil is going back to the islands to graduate from high school, but we have something extra special for you, too, Pat.” His uncle’s words swam in his head as Pat stepped down from the bus into the small town of Warnton, New York, on that September morning in 1971. For some reason he was immediately reminded of the islands where he grew up, especially the main island where he went to school and where most of the business was located. Only here there didn’t seem much a tourist could do except going out to Warnton College. A college bus with a big banner that said “Welcome to Warnton” on the side was calmly waiting in the small parking lot. He went over to the luggage bin and claimed his items and was swarmed with helping hands who seemed more than willing to take his load.
Once everyone had boarded, the bus backed up and headed down a small lane then turned onto an even smaller lane between apple orchards waiting to be picked; from his point of view, as someone who knew nothing about the ripening of apples, this year’s crop looked exceedingly scrumptious making his stomach growl in anticipation of a good breakfast. When the bus stopped in the lot behind one of the larger buildings on campus, Pat figured this was thought out long ago.
Pat waited for the others to exit before making his way to the front of the bus. Just as he exited, an older boy came up to him and held out his hand, “Hi, I’m Chris, you must be Pat.”
“Hi,” Pat whispered while trying to make an earnest effort to smile. It was almost more than he could handle; he should be entering his old high school as a junior, but when he was put in that Seattle high school his test scores showed he should already be a junior. But he wasn’t going to get the chance to be a high school senior because of some deal his uncle made with the college’s trustees, he was now entering college as a freshman.
“God, has anybody said your eyes are absolutely alluring. The green so beautifully contrasts with your complexion” Chis said causing Pat to cringe at the thought of another gay boy coming on to him. It was bad enough with his cousin Neil, but he had just arrived at college and already a boy was putting the make on him. “I’m an art major, so get any of those nasty thoughts right out of that head of yours.”
“Yeah, my cousin was turned on by my eyes, too,” Pat said, hoping he hadn’t said too much, while all the time suspecting he had. The hand he shook was attached to a very slender boy about six feet tall, taller than him anyway. Actually, he was practically skinny, but in an apparently lithe and narrow frame that didn’t have any bony prominences. If he was inclined, he might say the boy was cute, but he wasn’t ready to admit that. The way his long blonde hair was pulled back into a ponytail again reminded Pat of his cousin Neil, who just happened to be gay. So he threw in a safety line that turned into a jigging line by the time he was through. “A lot of good it did him, since I was living in his house and besides we are related.”
“Are you saying you’re gay, because if you are it doesn’t matter to me,” Chris said, admiring the boy for admitting so much about himself to a stranger.
“I wasn’t admitting anything,” Pat said, wondering why he was so talkative with this boy. “It’s just my cousin who likes boys.”
“Whoa there!” Chris exclaimed. “There’s no need to get mad at me. It’s just the way you were talking came out that you like boys.”
“Well, I don’t, okay?” Pat asked.
“Sure, sure, that’s fine, but just between you and me, I am,” Chris whispered.
“Are you two going to unload his luggage? Because this bus is leaving any minute.” the bus driver asked. He was a big man who’d lost nearly all his hair in a fight with genetics, but he smiled a lot, too.
“I’d better go get a couple hand trucks,” Chris said, turning to leave.
“Hold on there skinny,” the bus driver said. “I’ll be moving the bus before you get back so I’d suggest getting his luggage out before I leave.”
The boys worked quickly and silently moving Pat’s luggage from the bus and putting it on the sidewalk. When they put the last box and typewriter on the pile, Chris said, “Okay, I’ll get a couple hand trucks.”
Chris wondered how old Pat was. He knew the boy was starting college early, yet had no idea of his precise age. He decided to play on the assumption that Pat was seventeen, almost eighteen, the normal age for a high school senior. That made him the kind of boy he hoped to meet at college, but had yet to find. It was as if all the cute boys in the Warnton brochure didn’t actually go there; maybe they were only actors hired to look cute and fresh. He made it back to the luggage with the two hand trucks in front of him and nearly lost it all. The way Pat stood in the morning light made him look so innocent and delicious, and, of most importance, very, very young.
********
“My current father, he’s French, has lots of money, and moved out of the house last year when he told Mom he’d found the man of his dreams and would never cross the threshold again, except he did when I got appendicitis three months later. He brought his boyfriend, who didn’t look much older than I did. Mom and Tommy got on terribly well, which just pissed off Pierre. That’s my dad. I stopped calling him dad or father or even poppa sometime around eighth grade, Christmas if I remember right. I’ve had four fathers and all of them lived in Mom’s place, which is a block off of Central Park West and, yes, we do have a chauffeur. Does my rambling bother you?”
“No, you had a family. I didn’t get a chance to have one of those,” Pat said, hoping he didn’t sound too pouty. They were up in his dorm room and he was unpacking. Chris was sprawled in the lounge chair looking as cute as ever. Pat had previously given in to the fact that Chris was very cute and someone he’d love to get to know, even if he wasn’t gay.
“Did you think I was gay when you first saw me?” Chris asked with a wry smile. In many situations, he found it easier to put that right out on the table as it tended to clear up a lot of unasked questions.
“Well, no, I guess,” Pat said, getting back to his unpacking. “Actually I think you’re kind of a neat guy and Central Park West sounds like a quaint little town out in the sticks where you find lots of cows making milk. Does your chauffeur drive one of the tractors?” Pat asked. He found a certain mysterious air about Chris and he was easy to talk to. He felt he was about to be asked out on a date and then he’d have to explain. “You’re not from that kind of place, are you?”
“I’m a freshman, like you, except I started at summer term and no I’m definitely not from a place like that,” Chris said.
Pat shook his head and went over to the biggest box, pulled out Maxine, and tossed her to Chris.
“It’s a stuffed animal!” Chris exclaimed.
“Well, of course it is, a real cougar is much longer than Maxine, but then real cougars are not as nice to sleep with as Maxine either.”
“What’s a Maxine?” Chris asked. Yes, Pat might not be eighteen, but that wasn’t too young to date. Was it? “Or, rather, is this the only example of a Maxine. Do they have them in the woods around where you’re from? Speaking of which, where are you from, Pat, out west somewhere?”
“I was born and raised on Diego Island up by the Canadian border,” Pat said wondering when he was going to have to explain the situation and decided now was as good as anytime. “Daddy died when I was five and then Momma started getting sick a lot and had to go to the hospital, quite often. So, this time it was either get farmed out to another foster home or something else. That’s when a couple aunts and uncles I didn’t know I had stepped up saying they were willing to have me move in with them down in Seattle. Unfortunately, with my cousin being gay and me being bumped up to be a junior, my uncle decided it would be better for me to skip my senior year and come straight to college so he arranged for me to be here this year.”
“So, let’s see, you missed half your sophomore year when you became a junior, you’re not seventeen?” Chris asked. He felt his stomach quiver with the knowledge Pat was still a kid, a cute kid, but a kid just the same.
“Sixteen, actually I won’t be seventeen until March,” Pat said with a frown. Obviously, whatever could have been was not to be, not that he was even vaguely certain his interest lay in getting to know Chris, that way.
“Okay, where’s the cougar?” asked a large young man at the threshold. “Hi, I’m Leonard and this is Butch and what are you still doing here?”
“We were talking,” Chris said. “That’s all, just talking.”
“Go get another freshman,” Butch said. “Do your job for once in your life.”
“He doesn’t need to get another freshman,” Pat said authoritatively. “He’s been assigned to me for the duration or until I prove the college was right that I’m too young to be here.”
“Assigned to you?” Chris asked.
“Yeah, a blond haired man with a silver mustache, name on the desk said ‘Dean of Admissions’,” Pat said. “He said it would be great to have Chris kind of show me the ropes until people start ignoring fact I’m nowhere near eighteen. You know, Chris, you should go down to your room and start packing your stuff; and don’t even think of trying to sway the dean’s decision because I guess most of the administrators here think it’s a good idea, too. Go on, I’ll be down to help.”
“But, you’re sixteen, I can’t be in the same room as you,” Chris said. “We need to talk, more.”
“Sure, Chris, as soon as I finish unpacking,” Pat said.
“Who told you about the cougar tradition?” Leonard asked as Chris wandered out of the room.
“My uncle, he went here before the war,” Pat said.
“We don’t do the cougar thing anymore,” Leonard said, “but that’s a very cute cougar. Look, uh, Pat, you should be careful of that boy. You don’t need to be messing around him, okay?”
“Because he’s gay?” Pat asked. “Or is there some other reason?”
“Don’t be getting mad at us,” Butch said, “we’re just passing along a little message.”
“Well, tell whoever is worried about me that I can take care of things myself,” Pat said. “I’ve been taking care of things myself for over ten years and it wasn’t my idea to come to this backwater college. I’ve been put here because somebody is afraid I might be gay and is doubly afraid I might try to mess with their little boy who is actually older than me.”
“Hey, hey, don’t get in an uproar,” Butch said.
“What positions do you guys play, linebackers?” Pat asked.
“Yeah, how’d you guess?” Butch asked.
“Big and smart,” Pat said.
“Versus big and dumb,” Leonard said. “Thanks for the compliment kid, oh, uh, Pat, right?”
“Yeah, and I hope you two help make this a memorable football season at Warnton,” Pat said.
“Warnton hasn’t had a winning season since 1935,” Butch said. “This is the kind of school mediocre coaches come to retire.”
********
“Sorry we couldn’t go to the Thirsty Cat, but you know sixteen is pushing the outer limits of fake IDs,” Pat said as he and Chris walked into the soda fountain next door.
“Did I hear someone needs a fake ID to get into the Cat?” asked an older man at Chris’s shoulder.
“Oh, hi, Pete, how’re doing?” Chris asked. “Pat, I want to introduce you to Peter O’Malley, he owns this place and the Thirsty Cat and a few other places in town, from what I hear.”
“We’ve just outlived nearly every other family for miles around,” Pete said, “nothing but apples now. So what brings this fresh face to Warnton, as if I didn’t know?”
“I wish it wasn’t so obvious,” Pat said. “O’Malley, you know that’s my last name too, but I’m from Washington State, up in the islands. I doubt if we’re related.”
“What’s your father’s name and how old is he?” Peter asked.
“Well, his name was Peter David O’Malley, but he died eleven years ago,” Pat said.
“Damn boy, did you say Peter David? My middle name is David and I’m named after my mother’s youngest brother who I believe died about ten years ago. He lived on Diego Island. You wouldn’t have lived there, too, would you?”
“Then your mother is my aunt Annie,” Pat said a warm shiver coursed through his body.
“Okay, no fake IDs for either of you,” Pete said abruptly.
“I don’t need a fake ID, I’m eighteen,” Chris said.
“If you’re Pat’s friend, then you can’t go into the Cat until Pat is eighteen or your relationship, whatever it is, ends,” Pete said with a wry smile. “And, if it’s your fault, you might think of transferring to a different school.”
“But that’s a year and a half from now. Can’t I have a beer at least once in a while?” Chris whined.
“Come to dinner tomorrow after church,” Peter said, smiling. “You two do go to church, right?”
“I was never confirmed,” Pat said.
“I don’t go to your brand,” Chris said.
“Don’t worry, either of you, Father Charles likes all kinds of newcomers,” Peter said, “but you, Pat, will get most of his attention. I can almost guarantee that. Now what kind of soda do you two want?”
“Strawberry, please, uh, Peter, sir,” Pat said, mumbling the last.
“What’s with the sir?” Peter asked, frowning. “I’m your cousin, praise Jesus. I’m Peter and I’ll warn you right now there’ll be another Patrick at the table. My oldest, just turned sixteen.”
“Can I have a beer soda?” Chris asked.
Causing the other two to break out laughing.
********
Later, after both boys settled into their beds and turned out the light, Chris asked, “Pat? Why did you pick me?”
“I didn’t pick you,” Pat said, hoping what was to follow was a discovery of the truth. “It was the Dean of Admissions who made the choice.”
“No, I asked and you demanded on having a roommate, specifically me,” Chris said, hoping the conversation wasn’t going to lead to trouble. Pat was too special for that to happen.
“So what if I did? I like you and you’re better than having no one,” Pat said, hearing his voice rise to nearly a whine. “I bet he didn’t tell you about that. That I wasn’t going to get anyone because of my age. They wanted to protect me, you know, from older boys who might have improper feelings toward me. So, I suggested you because, well, we kind of know each other and we’ve already gone through the improper feelings.”
“Have we?” Chris asked, wanting very much to get out of his bed and go lie down on the other, but he knew that was a foolish idea because almost certainly there was going to come a time when Pat was going to come to his bed.
“Have we what?” Pat asked, knowing that wasn’t the answer Chris was looking for.
“Taken care of all the improper feelings,” Chris said.
“Oh, those,” Pat whispered. “I don’t know what to do.”
“Well, since today was your first date,” Chris said, “I suppose we should start with a first kiss. If you want to, that is.”
Pat didn’t know what to do. After everything that happened today, yes he did want to kiss Chris. He kind of wanted to do some more improper things, but saw the older boy’s intent. So, he pulled the covers back and sat up. “My bed or yours?” Pat asked.
“Oh, definitely mine, in our relationship it will always be you coming to me, okay?” Chris asked.
“Okay, sure, that makes sense,” Pat said as he pulled his feet out from under the covers and put them on the floor. He sat there a moment trying to hear what was going on over at Chris’s bed, but his heart was beating so hard he couldn’t hear anything except for the steady pulse of arteries in his head. It wasn’t so dark that he couldn’t see Chris’s bed because he could see the other boy sitting on the bed. He walked over and sat down. “Now, what?”
“That’s up to you Pat,” Chris offered.
“Big help you are,” Pat said. “What did you do your first time?”
“This is my first time, too,” Chris whispered.
The End
_____________
Author’s Notes:
This story is a sequel to Merry Christmas Patrick. There will be a third story, it’s already rattling around in my head.
Once again, a big thank you to Sharon, my editor.
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Stories posted in this category are works of fiction. Names, places, characters, events, and incidents are created by the authors' imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual persons (living or dead), organizations, companies, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you.
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