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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. 

A Shot of Bourbon - 3. Chapter 3

chapter 3:

: distilled by viv :

Back again huh? Couldn't get enough? Or, did you just stick around to watch me race?


Didn't think so, and yes, there is more to tell about Rusty and me. After that second encounter, if you want to call it that, we fell asleep in each other's arms on my bed. Don't get me wrong, it was wonderful. I would have wanted nothing more in life at that point. I was, however, oblivious to certain things that became awfully clear in the months that preceded that little tryst and the many that followed.


While we slept safely wrapped in each other, my parents decided to trek home from their civic duties at the shelter, and before my dad wanders over, let me be the first to tell you, that as cool and accepting of other people's privacy he may be, he doesn't care for locked doors, especially in his house. Well, to make a long explanation short, I could have a lock on my door, but they would have a key.


Don't look so shocked. Yes, what you think happened; did. After knocking on the door several times, my dad instituted his right to parental entry, and yes, he saw his son wrapped in the arms of another teenage boy, both naked as the day they were born. I do have to say he handled the whole scene rather well. He didn't pluck us from the loving arms of our dreams. Instead, he backed out and locked the door as he found it.

Rusty left somewhere in the night, I vaguely remember a kiss and a whispered 'I love you' as he slipped beyond my reach. I should have called him a bastard, leaving me to face the interrogation alone, as he moved quietly out of my house under the cover of darkness.


The interrogation began the next morning over a bowl of Frosted Flakes. Dad had been strangely quiet that morning. I guess it was the reality of catching his son nude twice, I don't really know, but his silence wouldn't last for long.


I sat down at the table, a large bowl of the sweetened cereal before me. My hair was wild with pillow head; different clumps jutting out at various angles. Dad had his nose buried in the paper even though his eyes were watching me. He was trying to figure the best way to broach the subject. I think he found it as I ladled a rather large spoonful of flakes into my ravenous pit.


Dad folded his paper and laid it on the table in front of him.


"How long?" he asked rather bluntly causing the shovel full of corn flakes to stick in my throat.


"How long?" I repeated dumbly.


"How long have you known? How long have you been sleeping with Rusty?"


It's funny when life up and decides to change on you, how the simple act of enjoying your breakfast, could lead to a point when all bets were off. All right, so the bowl of flakes didn't lead to this point, but the game was up, and the Prez's policy of don't ask, don't tell, no longer applied to my home life.


Can I ask, how was I supposed to answer him? I did the best I knew how. A sullen shrug of my shoulders as I stared into the bowl of cereal, my appetite fled, screaming into the distance. It took my stomach as a traveling partner I guess, cause all I felt there was a hole.


"It's alright Bourbon," Dad said grabbing my shoulder. "Nothing in this world, or heaven, could change my love for ya, Boy, and that includes who you take to bed. I just want you to be safe, and above all else, careful."


I was silently crying now, my head still down avoiding him as best I could. I felt, I hate to say this, but I felt shame. Shame, like maybe I had let him down. Shame for the things I'd done with Rusty, because they felt good, and feelings so good had to be bad.


"Do you love him?" Dad asked his voice soft, wise.


That question caught me off guard, but I still couldn't look my dad in the eye as I nodded my head.


"Then why the tears?


Again, I failed to answer.


"Christ, Kid," he sighed as he pulled himself from his seat, and in turn, pulled me from mine. "You can't tell your heart who to love, if you think you can, you're a fool. I don't raise fools," the words flowed with out effort from his lips while he pulled me into a hug. "So tell me how you met him," he asked as he broke the hug.


"One day last June, Mom was on me to mow the lawn, so I was out front," I began to tell him about the day I had I met Rusty.


"It really doesn't surprise me that your mom had a hand in this. No matter how far removed," Dad laughed, and I couldn't help but chuckle with him through the drying tears.


"I had the bike out and was revving it, just screwin' around," I said continuing to tell him the story.


"Christ, Bourbon, that bike gets you into more trouble." Dad observed shaking his head and smiling all the same. Again, we shared a laugh. It was one of those good, soul cleansing type of things I guess. The fact is, his humor helped me realize he really was okay with Rusty and me.


"Rusty came up and asked about The Beast, and I looked into his eyes, and well, it was over after that," I sighed.


My dad nodded. "Dangerous things, eyes... They'll make you feel and do things you never would," he commented as he sat back down and lifted his paper.


It was like he was done. I had confirmed what I knew he knew. The game was closed, well almost, he had received his answers, but I had yet to get mine. Well seeing as the truth, was being served for breakfast, I figured I might as well ask my questions.


"Pa?" I asked, reverting to the moniker I had used all through my childhood.


Dad lowered his paper and glanced at me, looking as if he was ready to answer anything I could throw at him.


"How did you know?"


He chuckled softly. "To be honest, Kid, you didn't hide it all too well. The way you looked at him was a clue, then there was the kiss you planted on him in front of God and everyone after you broke the ground."


His answer brought a flush to my cheeks, partially out of embarrassment, and partially because I was reliving the moment, I accepted my fate, and changed my world. "Of course, catching you bare-assed with him... twice... really laid to rest any lingering doubts I had, but the ringer was the kiss in my opinion. It definitely looked like a good one," he finished in a fit of laughter.


Have you ever seen "Who Framed Roger Rabbit" or any Looney-Toons? If you have, you would know how much I coveted one of those ACME instant holes. As much as I wanted to crawl under a huge rock and die, my curiosity had the upper hand.


"So you're not disappointed then?" It was a stupid question to ask, I know, but I had to ask it just to be sure. Naive me was expecting a 'why would I?' retort. Nope, that didn't happen. It was there in the back of his mind. His face changed from jovial, to pained.


"I'm not going to lie Bourbon, it scares the hell outta me, more than I could ever tell you. If the choice was mine, 'Id like to see you with a girl, but it's not my choice, I guess it wasn't yours either. So scared? Yes, but only for you. Disappointed? Only that you had to ask the question to begin with."


His answer caught me off guard, which it shouldn't have, but it did. Only because I often overlook what a great man he is. Well I did what any guy in my situation would have done, a great big hug. Even though the angle was a little awkward cause he was sitting down, it still felt great.


"Thanks, Pa," I whispered as I held him.


"De nada, Kiddo," my dad hugged me back. "So when do you want to go riding again?" he asked after I had finally let go of him. "Maybe even some camping...," he continued.


"I'm always ready, you know that." I interrupted, already feeling an itch in my fingers and tremble in my thighs at just the suggestion of riding.


"Next weekend?" he countered, already knowing the answer.


"Can Rusty come?" I asked, or more like pleaded but you didn't hear that from me.


"Boy, don't ask silly questions." We shared another laugh as I cleared the bowl of soggy cereal from the table. "Oh, and Bourbon."


"Yeah, Dad?" I responded, somewhat distant, thinking about all the trouble I could get up to with Rusty.


"Look into getting him some sunglasses. If ya'll are going to be messing around, I want him wearing protection." I must have turned at least fifty shades of red at his comment, which, I think, made him laugh even harder than his joke did.


Well the day pretty much wore on with yard work and various other chores, and my dad didn't bring up the relationship again. He had said his peace on the subject, and as far as he was concerned, there wasn't anything else to talk about, Dad's a very face value kinda' guy, in that respect I guess. I was glad he wasn't running out to join any parents of gay, bi and lesbian groups though. He's just not the rainbow type. Can't say that I blame him there, neither am I.


That Saturday night found me in the relatively dark kitchen at Rusty's house, we had been talking in hushed voices about what had happened between my dad and me earlier that morning. He was amazed it went so well. He really wasn't the only one.


Enter the Mad Cow...


All right, so his mother isn't a cow, quite the opposite actually, a striking forty year old divorcee. That was the problem though. She knew she was beautiful, and she used it to further her agenda. You ever notice how the most beautiful people are also the most ugly creatures we'll ever meet? She maintained her Betty Davis looks with, rather regular, Botox injections. A prick a day keeps the wrinkles at bay, or something like that.


By day, Rusty's mother is a very successful prosecutor for the DA's office, and by night, she was very popular with assorted, well-to-do bachelors in the area. Then there were the nights when no callers would ring the bell and whisk her out of her hateful, large tract home. Nights like tonight, where the bottle of wine didn't last nearly long enough, and the five bedroom'd houses' only other occupant bore her wrath.


"GOD DAMMIT, RUSSELL JAMES!" his mom's shrill voice filled the spacious kitchen and living room, and as it did, Rusty's body tensed visibly. She cleared the open space in a matter of seconds, and deftly landed her hand on the backside of his head, his hair silencing the smack into a dull thud.


I watched Rusty cringe with the blow, and it took all I could do not to get up, and lay the woman on the floor. The more her tailored pantsuit got dirty the better. I can't tell you what she was yelling about this time. Probably something about the half-full trash can that should be empty at all times. I know that was a hypocritical statement at best, but the woman is anal.... Mad Cow, I tell you.


Somewhere in my fantasies of beating her down with the nearest blunt object, which by the way; was a silk flower centerpiece, she stormed out the room leaving Rusty and I alone again. His muscles were rigid with a healthy mix of embarrassment and anger, and his eyes had focused on the glass tabletop and his lap below. I can't say that I would feel any different were the situation reversed.


"Rusty, you okay Kid?" I asked, sounding stupid, but I didn't know what else to say. Rusty slowly shook his head. His nostrils flaring with every raspy breath he expelled, trying to fend off crying in front of me.


"No, how could I be?" His voice was dark with emotion, perfectly fitting the near lightless room where we were sitting. "I just wish I was someone else."


What do you say to that? I hardly thought 'shut the fuck up' was appropriate, ya know? How do I describe how those words affected me, like a knife piercing the flesh of my heart?


"NO," I said sternly. For the first time he looked up from the table and glanced at me, his brown eyes clouded with pain.


"You know I was channel surfing the other night and happened upon Will & Grace. The second my mom realized what it was, she went ballistic. Started screaming about fags on TV, about how the morals of America were going down the crapper with yesterday's lunch," he paused to fill his chest with air. "How do I tell her that I'm gay?"


Christ, I felt like an asshole. Here were the most beautiful eyes I had ever seen, trembling with unshed tears. Yet my only concern, up until that point, had been myself, denying the obvious seriousness of what he was struggling with.


"A fucking cock sucker," the words drifted from his lips like a poison gas.


Any thoughts I was having came to a screeching halt so quickly, I could feel myself being thrown from them.


"Fuck that shit!" I hissed in a whisper, as not to attract the attention of the Mad Cow. "Fuck that label! Your life is what you make it Kid, a stupid label imposed by society can't dictate your life... ever."


Rusty recoiled looking at me as if I hated him, and he knew it. In that moment I did, I honestly truly did, only because he seemed so defeated, so resigned to the Machiavellian madness of his mother. And I continued to hate him for what seemed like hours; loathed for the self-pity he showered upon himself without thought to the torture it would bring to those that truly loved him. So we sat in silence at that dreadful kitchen dinette, him hating himself and me, right there with him.


That was, until the tear, with quickening pace, slid down his round cheek. So, maybe it wasn't him that I hated. Maybe it was the emotions he was going through, the crappy situation. Sure, I had an understanding father. He had the tyrannical mother. I was outgoing, where he was more reserved, but in all those shitty romance movies, opposites attract, right?


It honestly felt like together we made one whole. Soul mates one could say, I guess, if you buy into that whole love for eternity vibe. Which brings an interesting question: What would happen if one half of the whole were reincarnated as a dog? It's my understanding that there are bestiality laws.


Damn I got off track, sorry...


Back to the solitary tear, the one single thing that made me see through the fog of awful pity I had for him. What's a smitten guy to do? Yes, I leaned my cute ass self across the table and kissed that lil' drop away. Hoping if all else failed; the cow would catch it and have a heart attack.


No such luck... She was probably passed out, snoring audibly to the characters of the ER rerun that played out on her bedroom television set.


"I love you, Kid," I whispered to his cheek.


"Why?" he asked.


"Boy, don't ask silly questions," I said pulling away. Can you tell my dad has a lot of influence in my life? "Besides, why wouldn't I?" I continued.


"Because, I'm me."


"I wouldn't rather you be anyone else, Kid."


This brought a smile to his face. The best one I had seen. Yes it was better then his after sex grin. He was in a dark place, and that wonderful smile was my reward for loving him as I did, everything else was merely a bonus.


"Your eyes are gorgeous when you smile." I know, cheesy line, but I was getting horny what can I say?


"That's all you like about me? My eyes?"


"Kid if that's all I liked about you, I'd go crazy axe murderer and cut them out. Keep them forever in a jar by my bed," I wiggled my eyebrows and smiled.


He laughed, I laughed, we laughed and our laughter filled the terrible huge house that the Mad Cow built.


"Shuddup," he chided as he leaned in and kissed me, the echoes of laughter bouncing off the empty walls in the terrible house the Mad Cow built.


That quick kiss, which I meant to steal in the dim light of the dinette, mutated into a small fire, my mouth exploring his, while he explored mine. Faster than I knew it had happened, my hands had snaked their way past his zipper and were greedily stroking his length through the fabric of his boxers.


"Stop," he only half-heartedly protested.


"Why?" I whispered pulling my lips from his. My hand tightened its grip around the rod in his shorts. Rusty let out an involuntary growl as his hand grasped my shoulder for support as his knees weakened slightly.


"We could get caught," he offered as a weak defense.


"Yeah?" I pulled my hand out of his shorts, dragging his erection through his fly. He sighed in relief; thinking I had resigned myself to stopping.


Right!


He realized the error of his ways as I gave the palm of my hand a broad lick to moisten it. I swear the sight almost made him cream, judging by the way that his eyes bulged. I shot him an evil smile as my tongue lingered on my fingertips, tasting the pre cum that had so easily seeped through his drawers.


Rusty smiled slyly and began to shake his head.


"Damn you," he chided playfully as his fingers tweaked my shirt-covered nipple.


It was my turn to growl now, and growl I did, as my spit-slicked hand found his erection. Slowly, I moved my hand along its length. It had the desired effect; his hands groped fistfuls of my shirt as he struggled to stay upright, releasing a sigh of defeat. Damn he's cute! Especially when his eyelids clamp shut and his cheeks get mottled with a blush.


I digress...


I had him just where I wanted him; he knew it, and went willingly. If he had a problem with the location, this wouldn't be happening. I think somewhere he wanted to be caught by the wretched Mad Cow, and if it felt good in the process, why the hell not? Rusty's head fell easily on my shoulder, no longer fighting the feelings, just letting them lap through him, like the rising tide on a beach, his hot breath rushed through the fabric of my shirt.


"So," I spoke as my hand glided along his shaft, never relenting, even though the awkward position made me a little sore. "Were going camping next weekend. Wanna come?"


He couldn't answer, or wouldn't, I couldn't tell, so I gave mini-Rusty a little squeeze to bring him around. He groaned loudly and his dick throbbed menacingly in my hand. My eyes widened as it spasmed again. I couldn't believe he was running on a hair trigger. He never had before, but we were always behind closed doors before, never in his kitchen, the Mad Cow looming somewhere on the foggy edges of existence.


It happened... Where? All over the kitchen table.


Damn, Rusty was excited, by the amount, much more so than I was. "Christ," I whispered as I continued holding his deflating dick.


With a sigh, Rusty let go of my shirt and gave my hair a ruffle while he kissed my cheek. "Thanks," he muttered hazily.


"For?" I asked, still staring at the volume he had unleashed.


"For doing what I never asked you to do," He answered, resting his weight with ease against me.


I knew what he meant. And yeah maybe he never vocalized it, but his heart screamed it every chance it could. Through all the shyness and anger that I had seen, it was there, two words. Two words I would gladly always heed.


Love me.


He agreed to go camping the following weekend, noting his mother would barely notice him gone. How anyone could fail to notice his absence was the highest crime to me. I understood what he meant anyhow. The Cow did intrude the dinette that evening, stumbling as she did. Her eyes bagged with dark circles and barely coherent slurs. She asked what was all over the table. Rusty was about to answer. I beat him.


"I spilt my milk," I smiled as I plopped my finger in the viscous goo and brought it to my mouth.


Rusty's eyes opened like saucers and his face turned deep red.


I winked, She shrugged and stumbled off into the dank darkness of the terrible huge house that she, the Mad Cow, built.

NOTICE: The following story is a work of fiction. All characters, places, and plot-lines are fictional. Any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental. A Shot of Bourbon and its characters, remain the property of the author. The story and/or characters may not be reproduced or republished elsewhere without the strict written consent of the author.
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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. 
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