The Root Beer Boys, Part Two - 10. Chapter 10

Tanner's Diary

- March -
Hi di, it's been a long time since I wrote to you. A lot has happened in the last two months. My life has gone from bad to worse to better than I could ever have imagined it. But I haven't been able to use my hands for much the past few weeks, not even to type on the computer keyboard and write to you. That's a story in itself, di, but there's another story before that one.

This may take a while, 'cause I can only type with one finger on each hand, but I'd rather do it than let Mom M do it. She knows a lot, but she doesn't know everything. And I don't want to be the one to tell her, so I don't need to be dictating this for her to type. Besides, who cares how long it takes? Nobody's going to read you but me... probably... except maybe for my boyfriend.

Yes, di, I called her Mom M, not Ms M. That's all part of the story, but I have to write this in the proper order, or it won't make any sense when I come back to read it later. I wonder ... do people really read their diaries when they get older? I plan to keep you forever, di, but I don't know whether I'll ever read you again. I don't really want to be reminded of some of the things that have happened in the past couple of months. But there are other things that will always make me feel good. Those are the things that make me happier right now than I have ever been in my life before now. So who knows? Here goes ...

Early February
I got home from Brian's one night and was really horny, but Mom and Charlie were going at it loud and heavy. All that grunting and groaning about made me sick. At least it sure took care of the raging boner I brought home with me. No, Bri and I didn't do anything. He still doesn't know how much I love him, and he still doesn't love me the same way. But I was too tired to sit in the tree, so I went to bed and turned on my radio to help block out the noise.

Sometime in the night I woke up and realized my hand was pumping up and down on a raging hardon. And it wasn't mine! At first, I was so out of it that I envisioned it was Brian's penis, so I kept it up. Then as I woke up, I realized it wasn't Bri! I jerked my hand away, hitting whoever it was in the face with my fist, and jumped out of bed. When I found the light switch, there was Charlie sitting on my bed in his boxers holding his nose and bleeding all over his hand.

"What the FUCK are you doing in here?" I yelled at him.

"You shut your mouth, you little cocksucker," he growled at me with a look of hatred in his eyes. "I know all about you, ya little prick teaser. I see how you walk, how pretty your face is, how you comb your hair to look just right all the time. I bet you're queer as a hell. You sure were havin' fun strokin' my dick."

"You don't know what you're talking about! Get outta my room!"

"You keep your voice down, you little shit. I think you just broke my nose!"

At that point, he stood up and came towards me. He's BIG. I mean he's tall and heavy. He'd make two of me, at least. I was getting scared.

"You just wait til I tell your mom about you, you little faggot. She's never going to believe anything you say once I tell her you tried to seduce me by playing with my dick. And if you say anything to anybody else about this, I'll turn you into a woman for sure."

He left my room and went to the bathroom to clean himself up. I went back to bed, but I was shakin' so hard I couldn't sleep the rest of the night. I heard him and Mom talkin' when he finally went back to her room. I couldn't hear what they were saying but they sure took a long time sayin' it.

Two nights later, I was lying on top of the sheets stark naked relieving myself of some pent-up hormones when Mom suddenly opened the door to my room and walked right in. I could tell she'd been drinking again. She just stared at my hand on my dick and then watched as I struggled to get my jeans on.

"So Charlie was right the other night," she said with a sneer. "You ARE a little pervert!"

"I'm a fifteen-year-old boy, Mom!" I shouted at her. "Boys my age do this all the time. It's a fact of life! It doesn't make me a pervert!"

I was starting to cry as I walked around the end of the bed to confront her. I was angry and hurt and ready for a fight. The only time my mom had talked to me in more than a week, and she was calling me a perv just because I was beatin' off. All of a sudden, the look in her eyes changed and she reached out and grabbed my crotch.

"Well, maybe my little boy would like to give his momma a present. He looks like he's big enough to do the job."

My dick had been about half hard but went limp as a cooked noodle in an instant. I almost puked. Her breath was foul with liquor, and I couldn't believe she had touched me like that. I blew up, flew right off the handle. I forgot my baseball bat was leaning by the door where it always is.

"Yeah, Mom. You'd fuck anything hard enough to get it in you wouldn't you, even your own son! You make me wanna puke!"

"Well, you sure outta be fuckin' somebody, boy, before word gets out that it's only little boys you like," she said, her face an ugly mask.

"Yeah, Mom? What do you want me to do, go downtown and find some slut like you that'll fuck me for the change in my pocket? Wanna give me some of that coke you're sniffin' so I can get a REAL hooker, not just some slut?"

Let me tell you, drunk as she was, that woman was fast. I guess I really pissed her off because before I could react, she had grabbed my bat and was swinging it at my head. I barely got my arm up in time to protect my head, but I could hear AND feel the bones break as it connected with my wrist.

I guess the pain made me stupid. I screamed in pain and then yelled at her again.

"Christ, Mom! What the hell are you doing? You just broke my arm, you drunken bitch!"

She just stood there staring at me with hatred, the bat still in her hand, resting on her shoulder. That's when the stupids really took hold of me.

"Whadda you want to do, Mom, break the other one?" I taunted her as I held up my good arm. "Because you're right! I AM GAY. You won't have to worry about me bangin' some backstreet whore like you!"

Like I said, drunk as she was, she was fast. She swung that bat off her shoulder and connected with my good wrist before I could react. CRACK! That one broke, too. I fell to the floor in tears, cradling both hands in my lap. The pain was something I had never felt before, and I think I must have passed out. When I woke up, Mom was gone and the door to my bedroom was shut.

I struggled to a standing position, hunched over in agony, and went to the door. I tried to open it with my elbows on either side of the knob, but the effort shot rivers of pain down both arms and I blacked out again. When I woke up, everything was quiet, and it was still dark outside. I looked at the clock and saw that it was only 3:30 in the morning. I knew I couldn't just lie there doing nothing, so I forced myself to get up and go to the window over my study desk.

Since I couldn't get the door open, the window was my only alternative. Fortunately, we live in an older house with windows that are big enough to crawl through. This one went almost to the floor, but I had to move my desk out of the way to get to it. I pulled the chair out with my bare foot and used it to climb up onto the desk. As I brushed all the books and stuff off onto the floor with my feet, I wondered how I was going to break the glass.

I thought about just breaking it with my foot but was afraid I'd cut an artery or something. After I had the desk cleaned off, I climbed down and was able to move it with my foot. I tried grabbing a book in my teeth and throwing it at the window, but I couldn't get enough force behind it and ended up just hurting my arms in the process. Then I remembered the bat which had been lying on the floor beside me when I woke up.

I kicked it over to the window, then laid down on my back and worked to picked it up with my feet. By this time, I was getting pretty dizzy, and my arms were killing me. Every movement seemed to cause pain that went all the way to my shoulders. I finally had the bat between my feet and raised it to where it was resting next to the window. As I paused to get my breath, I thought I was going to be sick. But I didn't throw up. When I thought I was as ready as I was ever going to be, I pulled my legs back as far as I could, held onto the bat with as much pressure as I could with my feet and then plunged it at the window.
I missed. The bat slipped and hit the windowsill. I tried this about four times, getting more and more frustrated each time. By the fifth try I was crying - from the pain, from the frustration and from the fear that Mom would hear me and come hit me again. But the fifth time was a success. The bat hit the glass and broke it. Big and little pieces were all over the place, and the noise seemed horrific.

But with success came a moment of carelessness. The relief that came from breaking the glass allowed my leg muscles to relax and the handle of the bat fell onto my shattered wrists. This time the pain was so great I did puke. I was able to turn my head so some of it missed me, but a lot of it went all over my chest. God, did it stink.

I was afraid Mom would have heard the noise, but I couldn't move for several minutes. Evidently, she was really zonked, because she didn't come into my room. After several minutes I was able to get up and crawl to the window. I used my head to knock the screen out, then crawled through, falling on my wrists as I did. I hadn't noticed a jagged piece of glass in the lower corner and ended up cutting my leg really bad on the way out.

I lay in the bushes outside my window and cried in fear and agony. Now that I was out, I took stock of my situation. I was barefoot, shirtless, bleeding profusely from the cut on my leg and had two broken wrists. I stunk to high heaven, was dizzy and felt like I was going to be sick again. Where could I go? The nearest hospital was more than 5 miles across town. Looking back inside, I could see the clock beside my bed. It was 4:30. I had been at this for an hour.

There really was only one place to go. I knew the neighbors would just call my mom or bring me home. Brian's house was my only refuge. And besides, I HAD to see him, maybe for the last time. So I struggled to a standing position and started the two mile walk to his house. By the time I got there, I was lightheaded and could barely make it up the three steps to his front door. I don't know what time it was, but the sun was just starting to come up. And it was COLD. So cold.

I tried yelling for Brian but found I could only croak a loud whisper. I tried pushing his doorbell with my nose but couldn't hear it ringing. Finally, with the last bit of energy in me, I started kicking at their storm door with my bare foot. I passed out on the stoop not knowing if anyone had heard me.

I woke up in the hospital with Mom M and Bri sitting in chairs next to the bed. Mom M looked awfully mad. Bri had obviously been crying. All I could do was whisper.

"Where am I?"

They both leapt to their feet and looked down at me, one on each side of the bed. I don't think I'll ever forget the look on Bri's face. Tears were streaming down his cheeks, and he just stared at me, his eyes unwavering, glued to my own.

Mom M was stroking my forehead, brushing the hair out of my eyes as she answered me.

"You're in the hospital, Tanner. Brian found you on the stoop this morning after you woke him up banging on the door. He had to go out the back way because you were lying against the storm door, and he couldn't get it open."

"Tanner, I was so scared when I saw you lying there in all that blood. I was afraid you were dead!" Then he started crying again. Did he love me after all? Were these tears of love? Did I dare hope? I just wasn't sure.

"What happened Tanner?" Mom M asked. "I know you haven't wanted to give Brian your address or phone number, but we need your phone number now so we can call your mom."

"NO! YOU CAN'T CALL HER! SHE CAN'T KNOW WHERE I AM!" I screamed at her and fainted.

I woke up several hours later to find Brian lying across the foot of my bed, asleep. The room was fairly dark with only a dim light on over the bed. It was dark outside, too. I figured out that it must be nighttime again. But which night? How long had I been here?

I laid there and watched Bri sleeping. He was curled up around my feet, his head pointed in my direction so I could see his face. He was so beautiful in sleep. The tears were gone, the look of fear and anguish was gone. He was peaceful, and I loved him more than ever. I began to cry, thinking of how much I loved him, still convinced that he couldn't really love me. I thought of what my own mother had just done to me and convinced myself that if she didn't love me nobody else would.

I guess he must have sensed that I was looking at him, because Brian woke up after about 30 minutes.

"Hi sleepyhead," I said. "You getting enough rest down there?"

I must have embarrassed him. He jerked into an upright position and moved to the edge of the bed. His face was turning red again and he looked away from me, down at his hands lying in his lap.

"You going to tell me what happened?" he asked softly.

"No. Not right now. How'd I get here? What have they done to me?" I guess my brain wasn't working on all cylinders yet. I hadn't even looked at my arms which were still under the sheet that covered me.

"I found you on the stoop and Mom drove us to the hospital. The doctors had to do surgery on your wrists, they were broken so bad."

"What day is it? How long have I been here."

"It's Friday. You've been here two days, asleep mostly. The surgery took four hours. Mom had to go to work, but she wrote a note for school and let me stay here with you. The nurses broke the visitors' rules and let me stay in your room. I tried to sleep in the chair, but I kept waking up, so I moved over to the bed a few hours ago. I hope you don't mind."

"Mind? Why would I mind? You make a nice foot warmer." God how could I be so stupid and so crass? He blushed and looked away, and I was sure I had hurt his feelings with that remark. I tried to cover my blunder with more questions.

"How come I've been asleep so long?

"You lost a lot of blood from that cut on your leg. That and the surgery made you sleepy.

I laid there in silence and watched as he began to cry again. I started crying, too. We were both crying when a nurse came in to check on me. That's when I found out about the casts on my arms. I had forgotten about my wrists for a minute and almost knocked myself out trying to hurriedly brush the tears from my eyes. The nurse did it for me and then held a tissue to my nose.

"Blow."

Geez, how embarrassing to have to blow my nose with some strange woman holding the tissue.

After she left, Brian started quizzing me again.

"Did you get beat up because you're gay, Tanner? Is that what happened? Tell me who it was, and I'll make them pay."

"No, Bri, it wasn't anything like that. Wait til I get out of here and I'll tell you everything. Right now, I gotta get some rest. I feel sick."

Brian ran to the door and hollered to the nurse across the hall. She came in and gave me an anti-nausea shot with Brian standing right there watching as she stuck the needle in my bare ass. Knowing he was looking at my bare butt caused the object on the other side of my body to start growing. At least I knew that hadn't been damaged.

As the nurse rolled me over onto my back and straightened the sheet, I turned beet red. There was a tent in the sheet that wasn't made by any hospital equipment. She just ignored it and went away, but I saw Bri looking at it. I couldn't help it. The darn thing started throbbing like it does when it gets that way, and the sheet was moving up and down. I saw him grinning, so I moved my arms down to hide it.

That's when I got the first good look at the casts on both arms. They went from elbow to fingertip. On both hands, the only thing showing was the thumb and a little more than the first knuckle of each finger. Fortunately, that shot must have had some sedative in it, because I fell asleep before I could think about the problems these casts were going to create.

The next day, Mom M showed up about 8:00. Brian had gone to the cafeteria for a soda, and I heard them talking outside my door.

"He doesn't want to talk about it in the hospital, Mom. He said he'd tell us later. Can he go home with us?"

"Well of course he's coming home with us. So far, the hospital thinks he's your brother and I'm footing the bills, so keep things quiet for a while, huh?"

I was crying with joy (and love for Bri) when they came in the room. Mom M rushed over to the bed and started fussing over me, wiping my eyes and making cooing noises, telling me everything was going to be OK. The doctor came in around 9:30 and said I could go home. Talk about bedside manner. He didn't have any. He was quick and gruff and seemed to be in a hurry to get to a golf course.

"You'll be in those casts for at least eight weeks. We'll take some pictures after that time and see how well your bones are mending. You're going to need some help getting into and out of your clothes, bathing, that sort of thing. I'll have home services come up and talk to you about home nurses before you leave."

Brian about came unglued.

"Forget that, Doc! I can take care of Tanner all by myself. He doesn't need some stranger putting his clothes on him!"

"Thanks, Dr. Morrison, but my son is right. We can take care of Tanner quite well by ourselves."

"Very well. I'll leave you to it, then. The boy's discharge papers will be ready for you when you reach the payment desk downstairs. He can leave whenever you're ready."

The doctor left and I went to grab the sheet so I could get out of bed. Right away I could see how much help I was going to need. Even though my fingertips were showing, the cast was in the way, and I couldn't get any two fingers to touch each other. It suddenly dawned on me that I wouldn't even be able to hold a fork. There WAS an immediate blessing to my failure to get out of bed, though. It gave Mom M a chance to get out of the room before I bared my backside in that stupid gown I was wearing.

I stood there by the bed while Brian laid out my clothes. My clothes? I had only been wearing my jeans. I didn't have any clothes, not even underwear. But lying on the bed were briefs, socks, a shirt and a pair of slacks. They were Brian's clothes. I recognized them right away. I started to tear up for a minute but managed to keep it in check.

When everything was ready, Brian told me to step away from the bed. He moved behind me and untied the string holding the gown closed at my neck. I remember thinking that now was the time when Brian, the boy I loved so desperately, was going to see everything I had. I would be standing in front of him in all my naked glory. NOT!

He stayed behind me the whole time. As I stood there, he brought the briefs down and had me step into them, then he pulled them up without so much as TRYING to see anything. Then he helped me into the shirt and buttoned it from behind. Then he held the slacks the same as he had the briefs. He was even careful to avoid touching me when he zipped them up and buttoned them.

I was so frustrated and so convinced that this was a sign he didn't love me that I couldn't hold back my tears. I sat on the bed and cried as he pulled the socks onto my feet. Two pair, because I didn't have any shoes. Everything he owned fit me except his shoes. DAMN! I couldn't even hide my face in my hands because of those damn casts.

When he wiped my eyes and held a tissue to my nose so I could blow, he didn't look directly at me. But I could see tears running down his cheeks, too, and he grabbed a fresh tissue and blew his nose after helping me with mine. I was so confused. Why was he crying? Why wouldn't he look at me? Didn't he want to know what my uh huh looked like? Didn't he care? Wasn't he curious? I knew I was curious about HIS uh huh. Was he as big as me or bigger? Cut or uncut? Hairy or fuzzy? SHIT!

When we got home, Mom M set me up on the couch with blankets and pillows and then went in to fix us some lunch. I finally told them everything while we ate our sandwiches. I cried a lot and so did Brian. He held tissues to my nose over and over again, and I did catch him looking at me with this funny look in his eyes.

Mom M just got redder and redder as I told them what happened. It started at the bottom of her neck and crept up her face to her hairline. I don't think I have ever seen a person so mad. At one point I understood that old phrase "if looks could kill..." One look from Mom M and my mother would be dead meat.

I finished by saying I didn't know what I was going to do, where I could live, that I couldn't go home again. I was crying so hard, even Mom M had tears in her eyes. Brian finally came over to the couch and hugged me till I thought I was going to suffocate. Then Mom M took charge in a big way.

"Tanner, you'll be staying with us from now on. I wouldn't let you go back to that woman's house if the Sheriff himself came to get you. But from what you've told us, she doesn't even know about Brian, much less where we live. So she'll not come looking for you here. For the next several weeks, we'll arrange with your school to send your assignments here. I'll home school you until you're fit to go back. By then we will have settled things with that woman. I refuse to call her your mother. She doesn't deserve it."

Brian lifted his head off of my shoulder and turned to look at her.

"How are you going to fix it Mom?"

"Don't you worry about it, Brian. I already have a plan forming. I just need to work it all out before I put it into motion. But I'm pretty sure I can take care of things. Just leave it to me. Your Mom is a pretty resourceful lady when she needs to be."

"I can believe THAT, Mom," Brian said.

Mid-March
In a lot of ways, the next four weeks were pure hell. I couldn't use my hands for anything at all, so Brian had to dress me, undress me, go to the bathroom with me, wipe my ass when I took a dump, and feed me. I couldn't let water get into the casts because it would soften the skin and create a risk of decay or infection. So he slipped plastic bags over my arms and closed them with tight rubber bands around my biceps to keep the water out when I took a shower. But Brian had to wash me.

And you know what di? All these things he helped me with when I was naked or had my pants down around my ankles, he did without looking at me. EVERY TIME I was exposed, his eyes were either closed or he was looking somewhere else. Even when he was washing my butt and my goodies, he wouldn't look at them. And another thing I noticed. There was only one wash cloth in our bathroom, the one he used on me. That meant he didn't use one for himself. He washed his own body with his bare hands, but he used a washcloth on me. I slowly became convinced that he didn't like me OR my body.

Talk about frustration! Here was a guy who was kind enough to share his house with me and take care of me hand and foot, even wiping my ass after a dump, but who acted like he wasn't the least bit interested in my body. Oh he was always nice. But he might as well have been a professional nurse or something the way he ignored what I was giving him to look at and play with. Dispassionate! That's the word. He was just so damn dispassionate about it all.

Mom M had put me up in the guest room which shared a bathroom with Brian's room. We left the doors to each room open, so I didn't have to worry about getting to the bathroom. I could get my pajama pants down ok, but I played hell trying to pull them back up. Since I couldn't grip anything, I had to pull them up one leg at a time, holding the waistband between two hands.

The beds were arranged so that we could see each other through the bathroom. So if Brian was awake whenever I had to take a leak, he'd come in and push my pants to the floor and have me sit on the john. That way he didn't have to hold my penis for me. Either he didn't like the idea, or he thought this would be less embarrassing for me. All the while, I was aching for him to touch me.

And every night I could hear him beating off in his bed. A lot of nights there was enough moonlight coming in the windows of his room that I could even see him doing it. He was always under the covers, but I could see the motion of his hand moving up and down. And I could always tell when he came. It gradually drove me nuts.

Every night for four weeks I'd no sooner get in bed than I'd have a raging hardon. I'd listen to him or watch him take care of his own needs, but I couldn't take care of mine. Once or twice, I think I almost had wet dreams, but each time I woke up before it happened. Finally, my emotions got the better of me. Four weeks of frustration without release broke the dam. As I laid there listening to him beat off, my dick harder than a rock, I began to cry. I couldn't help it. I yelled at him.

"WOULD YOU PLEASE STOP DOING THAT?"

As soon as I said it, I wished I hadn't. I rolled over with my back to the door so he wouldn't see me crying. I hated everything at that moment. I hated my mom for what she had become after Dad died. I hated myself for being so dependent on other people and for being so unlovable. And I hated Brian for not loving me, for treating my body as though it were an inanimate object, and for beating off every night when he knew I couldn't.

I didn't hear him come into the room, so I was surprised when I felt him sit down on my bed. When he laid his hand on my shoulder, I thought it was going to burn me. His touch had never felt so warm before.

"What's the matter Tanner? Are you ok? Does something hurt? Come on buddy, talk to me."

I tried to pretend nothing was wrong by making a joke of what he had just said.

"We can't be buddies."

"Why not."

"Cause friends are friends, and pals are pals, but buddies sleep together."

I know it's an old joke, di. It's one my dad told me. Brian didn't laugh at it either. He was just silent for a minute. Then he whispered to me.

"We could be buddies, Tanner. I'd like us to be buddies."

I couldn't believe what I thought I'd just heard, di. Was he saying he wanted to sleep with me? Did he mean it the way I hoped he did? I rolled over onto my back and looked at him.

"What did you say?"

"I'll tell you after you tell me what's wrong. Why did you yell at me?"

It took a minute for me to work up the courage to admit it to him.

"Brian," I said. "I''m so fucking horny I can't see straight. I get hardons all day long, I get one when you wash me, I go to bed with one and listen to you beat off. Sometimes I can even see you doing it. And I can't do anything about it! I haven't cum in four weeks! I haven't even had a wet dream for crying out loud!"

And then I started crying again. Just saying it had made me hard again, despite how upset I was. He MUST have seen it throbbing under the sheet. He was quiet for a few seconds, then he spoke to me real softly.

"Do you want me to do it for you Tanner?"

I looked up at him, his face in shadows caused by the light from the bathroom behind him. He was offering to play with me. Would I be taking unfair advantage of him if I said yes? It didn't matter. I couldn't say no. I was so hard and so horny my nuts hurt.

"You'd do that for me too?"

"Sure. I'd love.... be happy to."

With that, he slipped off the bed onto his knees and slid his hand under the sheet. I hadn't worn pj's to bed that night because I wanted to be able to go to the bathroom by myself if I needed to. His hand touched my bare thigh and rested there for just a minute while he looked at me. Then he laid his head on the bed facing my feet and slid his hand onto my aching erection. I thought for a second that I was going to climax before he stroked it even once. The thrill was so much more than I had ever been able to give myself. The feel of his hand on me was euphoric. My heart rate must have instantly jumped at least 10 or 15 beats a minute.

He started out real slow, but my whimpering must have told him how desperate I was, so he speeded up really quick. I don't think I ever came so fast or so hard or so much in all my life before. When we were done, it was all over me and the sheets. I just lay there for a couple of minutes trying to catch my breath when I realized Brian hadn't moved. He still had his hand wrapped around me and his head was still lying on the bed just like before. After another minute or so I heard him sniff and realized he was crying.

I didn't understand. I didn't know what to do or what to say. So I didn't do or say anything. I just laid there enjoying being held by him. I wondered if he knew that he still had my penis in his hand. Then I began wondering why he had done that under the sheet. He still hadn't looked at my naked body. Was I that ugly to him? Was beating me off just another chore to him? I began to cry too.

When he heard me crying, he raised up and withdrew his hand, wiping it on the sheet. Then he wiped his eyes and moved up so that he was still kneeling on the floor, but right at my head.

"Why are you crying Tanner?"

"You must hate me, Brian. I wish I were dead. I wish my mother had finished the job she started!"

At this point I was wailing. I never cried so hard in my life. I felt like I was crying for Dad and my brother Brian and this kid beside the bed whose name also had to be Brian. I tried to turn away from him, but he held me down and climbed onto the bed and laid down beside me, holding me, his head on the pillow beside mine.

"Tanner! Don't you dare say such a thing! How could you ever think I hate you?" His tears were obvious in his voice.

"You never look at me! ...(sniff)... You never look at my body. When you wash me or wipe me, you're always looking somewhere else, never at me. ...(cough)... You jerk your hand away in the movies, you don't hug me or hold me. You never offered to let me sleep in your bed, even when I first got here. ...(sob)... Even tonight, just now, ...(cough)... when you beat me off, you wouldn't look at me. Am I really that ugly to you?"

By this time the bed was shaking so hard I didn't know whose fault it was. He seemed to be crying as hard as me, and I tell ya, di, I was almost uncontrollable. All the pent-up self-hatred and frustration just burst forth and poured out of me with my tears. And I couldn't even wipe my nose cause Brian had my arms trapped in his strangle hold. Not that I could have anyway with these damn casts on.

All of a sudden, I thought I was having a heart attack. I couldn't breathe! Brian was lying on top of me, forcing his hands and arms under my back, hugging me so hard my chest wouldn't expand. And he was smothering me with kisses, licking the snot off my face, lapping up my tears with his tongue and replacing them with his own. I struggled to get my arms up and wrap them around him. I didn't understand what was happening, but I held onto him for dear life. We both continued to sob as we held and kissed each other. I couldn't keep my head still or my mouth still or my tongue still. He licked, I licked. He kissed, I kissed. He licked, I kissed. He kissed, I licked.

Eventually we calmed down and he rolled over to get some tissues off the bedside table. He blew his nose and then held a clean tissue to my nose.

"Blow," he said with a giggle.

I blew. And blew again. And kept on blowing through three tissues. When we were both finished blowing our noses, he got up, lifted the sheet and slipped in with me.

"Ooh! A wet spot. I hate wet spots," he said and we both laughed.

"Serves you right for not coming prepared."

"Well, you were certainly prepared to cum!"

We chuckled at that and then I asked him,

"So why haven't you ever looked at me when I was naked?"

"Oh Tanner. I wanted to so much. It's been torture for me to wash you, especially down there. But I wanted you so bad that I was sure I'd spring a boner if I ever looked at you. I just wasn't sure how you felt about me. I love you so much I couldn't bear to lose you as a friend, and I was afraid I wouldn't be able to keep my hands off of you if I let myself see you. It's been hard enough even with a washcloth between my hands and your skin. And the last couple of weeks I've actually been afraid of raping you with my hands and mouth. And I didn't want to embarrass you even more by gawking at your body when I didn't know you wanted me to. Oh, and I wasn't jerking my hand away in the movies. It's just that every time you touched me was a surprise. So I jumped, but I wasn't jerking it away. It was always right there."

"You love me? Did I hear you say that? You really LOVE me? Bri, is it true?" I started to weep again. I couldn't believe it. How could he love me? I'm unlovable. I told him that, too. I thought he was going to hit me with his fist, but he hit the bed instead.

"DON'T YOU EVER SAY THAT AGAIN! You ARE lovable. I love you more than words can say. I've loved you since the first night we met. Even Andy said it that night. I was making love to you with my eyes. But you've been wearing this mask for so long I didn't know which parts of you were real and which weren't. I didn't know how you felt about ME. I STILL don't."

"Oh Bri, I love you so much. I must love you more than you love me. I thought I was dying when you started kissing me tonight. I've waited so long and gone to sleep every night just thinking about your lips. That night my mother hurt me, all I could think about was getting to you, to the only person I care about. I thought I was going to die a couple of times on that walk to your house. Each time I fell I just wanted to lie there and die. But I couldn't. I had to see you one more time. To say goodbye. Then when I felt myself losing my hold on everything right there on your porch, without seeing you, I ached. Not my hands or the cut on my leg, but my heart. It HURT, Bri, it really did. I thought I was dying and couldn't bear the thought of losing you. I can't believe we've been hiding it from each other, afraid of each other. Look at how much time we've lost."

We hugged and kissed and cried some more, and all the time he'd been stroking me - my arm, my chest, my back. And in spite of the tears, I'd grown hard again, and I could feel his penis throbbing against my thigh too, even though he still had his pj bottoms on. He must have seen the tent in the sheet cause he moved his hand down across my stomach to my penis.

"You want another one?" he asked.

"Only if you want one too."

"Can I watch this time?"

"Only if I can watch you too."

So he did me and then himself and it was great. Wonderful! Awesome! He's pretty down there, di. I love him so much!