Gordy Comes Home - 11. Chapter 11

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New Years Eve was one more night to remember.

John’s dad retired fairly early, rather than greet the New Year. John and Wylie had decided to stay at the ranch. Conchatta left plenty of snacks. They watched football, a couple of movies, and shot some pool.

Alone, the evening settled quietly around them. Just before midnight they turned on the TV to watch the world celebrate.

Their drinking had not manifested an appearance of intoxication. Instead it was simply relaxed sipping. There was a calm, savoring air about them. It had settled in almost as soon as they were alone. Unhurried, relaxed as two people who truly enjoy each other‘s company. Sipping whisky to simply maintain a pleasant glow. It was not that each wasn’t anticipating the changes the new year would bring. It was that here and now there was nothing either needed except to be in the company of the other. Love isn’t always volatile and demanding.

Wylie was comfortable in his conviction. Everything that transpired since making his decision to confront John; only served to strengthen his resolve. At first he felt he would burst a seam if he really had to wait until they were back on campus. He was like a hunter watching a snare, waiting his prey to trip the trigger. The newness wore off as the day passed and John failed to step into the snare. Wylie began to think of their lives after the “confrontation”. The last two nights, left him in little doubt that John had similar feelings for him. Wylie began for the first time not to think of how he wanted John in his life. Rather he began to consider how long he wanted John to be in his life. Wylie mentally explore a future with John. The confrontation lost it sense of immediacy. In Wylie’s mind it became a foregone conclusion. For the first time since reaching his life altering decision, Wylie began to relax. He had a lifetime to spend with the man he loved.

Truth be told it was this “lifetime together” perspective that set the mood for their New Years Eve.

At the stroke of midnight they stood and clinked their whisky glasses together, drank a toast and stared into each others' eyes.

“Happy New Year, Wylie.”

“Happy New Year, John.”

He took John’s glass and set both on the coffee table. Stepping closer he whispered, “Gotta kiss somebody on New Years Eve.”

In the flickering firelight and the glow of the muted television, Wylie took John in his arms and touched his lips softly to John‘s.

There was no hesitation on his part; just tenderness.

John stiffened…. a little.

Wylie ignored the reaction. Gently he let his tip of his tongue caress John’s lips.

John relaxed and in the same instant, sucked Wylie’s tongue into his mouth. When the kiss broke. Wylie took John’s hand and silently, led him to the bedroom.

What followed was a night which left them both exhausted; balls drained, assholes sore and lips slightly swollen. All in the silent language of love. They awoke in each others' arms.

The first words that greeted Wylie, were: “Man! We must have been really drunk last night.”

Wylie forced the look of disappointment from his face. He rolled over and got out of bed. Looking his lover in the eye said, “Yeah, I reckon. I don’t have a hangover, so we must not have drunk that much.” He met John’s shocked look with a sly smile. Nothing more was said.

Wylie was ready, if John pushed the issue. He‘d do it now. He was eager to share his love for John, in the light of day.

John said nothing.

The rest of the time at the ranch blurred until at last they were pulling onto campus. John parked beside Wylie’s “new wheels”. The Grand Cherokee had been detailed. The dark olive color with tan leather seemed showroom fresh. Four wheel drive and a V-eight engine inspired a rising awe in Wylie.

To John, it was Christmas all over again. Wylie didn't even get into the vehicle until he touched every exterior surface. He raised the hood, the rear hatch, folded down the rear seats, twisted knobs on the roof rack and even opened the gas cover. Wylie insisted that John go with him on his first drive.

While they arrived in the early afternoon, it was dark when finally they pulled back into the dorm parking lot. Wylie had taken John to dinner, at a steak house. While driving, he tried every button, device and lever in “his” new Jeep.

John focused on traffic. He didn’t want Wylie’s excitement to end in a fender bender. Even after they got back to the dorm, Wylie continued his enthralled exploration of the Jeep.

John simply soaked up his friends enthusiasm. Finally he convinced Wylie to leave the vehicle. The Jeep chirped several times, as they carried their bags toward the dorm entrance.

It was the promise of “have a few beers” that persuaded Wylie.

“Tonight.” Began to echo in Wylie’s head.

Once they entered the dorm, two dorm mates let Wylie know that Mary Anne had been looking for him. Wylie was curious. Maybe she had a gift for him in spite of their agreement.

There were three post-it notes on their door. One from each of the last three days. All for Wylie. All asking him to see Mary Anne. Wylie became mildly resentful and slightly irritated. He had plans.

When John suggested Wylie run out and get her a small gift, Wylie met and held John’s eyes and said softly: “John, I don’t want to lead her on. There’s someone else in my life. That someone is too important to let Mary Anne think there can be something more between us. If she has a present, I’m going to refuse it. In any case I’m to going break it off, with her. She is a great girl. But, there’s someone else I want.“

John blushed but remained silent. Wylie watched as John’s eyes searched his face. Wylie was sure John knew who he was talking about. He smiled with all the love in his heart. A smile, so intense it brought tears to his eyes.

Wylie’s dazzling smile held John’s gaze. John drew closer, halted and turned away. That most intimate moment passed.

Wylie was unphased. Tonight! Tonight!

John had returned to unpacking, “Maybe she missed you. That wouldn’t be hard to understand.” This nonchalant remark was cast over his shoulder, without looking at Wylie.

Mary Anne, had made no real demands regarding his intentions. He had confessed that there was no “girl back home”, once they started having sex. Once, Wylie thought the sex very good. Now, he knew better.

Wylie told John that he had better go 'face the music.' When he came back they could have a few beers and Wylie could tell him all about their conversation. It was obvious to John that Wylie was not looking forward to meeting Mary Anne.

John didn’t question Wylie’s intentions. Truth be told; he was wrapped in contentment, with an undercurrent of anticipation. He wanted Wylie to leave and hurry back. He didn’t want to share him with anyone anymore.

John tried to project an air of casual indifference. He began unpacking and simply encouraged him to go meet Mary Anne. He thought to himself, “hurry back”.

Wylie’s parting words were, “Keep the beer cold. I’ll be back soon.”

He didn’t ask Wylie why he was going to end the relationship. It never occurred to him, to ask.

“Soon”, turned into early the next morning when John was awakened by something falling against their door. That “something”, was Wylie.

John sat up in the dark and watched as Wylie fumbled with his clothes. He had not even looked in John’s direction.

Wylie’s drunken state was not an act. John was curious, but it could wait till the morning. As long as Wylie was here, John was content… almost.

Finally naked, Wylie staggered toward his bed. He almost made it. Somewhere between the discarded clothes and the bed, he simply collapsed in a heap. He began crying and sobbing uncontrollably.

John leapt across the room and cradled Wylie in his arms. He could understand very little of what Wylie was trying to say.

Only with extreme concentration could Wylie mutter, “I destroyed our lives. I love you, but, I fucked up.”

As he talked his fingers lightly touched John’s face as someone blind might familiarize himself with a new intimate acquaintance. Here in the dark, it was sensuous. It sent a chill down John’s spine that tingled his asshole and made it’s way to his balls and ended up at his cock, which throbbed, to full erection.

“I fucked up everything. So bad! I love you. I want to love you. But, you're not drunk.” A sob tore it’s way from Wylie’s gut and ended as a choked cry of despair. “What am I going to do John? "

After a moment, he twisted around until he was facing John. He pulled John’s face into his and kissed him passionately.

The kiss tasted of alcohol and tears. John didn’t mind. He returned the kiss. Wylie needed him. He needed Wylie now. They would solve problems together; tomorrow. He blocked all other thoughts from his mind except the kiss. His body trembled with anticipation as Wylie crushed his lips, deepening the kiss.

The kiss was familiar and different at the same time. The difference was that John was totally aware, totally committed and totally unafraid totally sober. His own hunger matched Wylie’s obvious need.

Wylie groped John’s boxers.

John allowed himself to be stripped. All the time Wylie was still crying and mumbling. John wound up naked, on his back. He could feel his lover’s need to couple. It matched his own.

John was aware of Wylie kneeling over him, he watched as Wylie reached into his desk drawer and extracted the same little bottle of Vaseline, they had last used at the ranch.

Had Wylie planned this. John’s heart leapt. His pulse began to race.

From far back in his throat Wylie spat, “Bitch.”. It was the first word Wylie had spoken clearly since stumbling into the room.

Distracted for a moment John considered that breaking up with Mary Anne had not gone well.

The thought that Wylie had planned to do this washed away any other consideration. What they had was coming out of the shadows and that idea sent a thrill and a chill down his spine that made his balls draw up and his pucker tighten.

Wylie sat the opened jar on the floor beside them. Resting on his elbows he drew close to John’s face. John legs angle up and crossed across Wylie’s lower back. John couldn’t really see Wylie’s face. He could feel the tears drop onto his cheeks. He could smell the whiskey.

Wylie mumbled “I love you, John. Only you! I need you. Only you. I need you now.“ It was hard to see Wylie’s face even when it was kissing close. John could hear the love in Wylie’s voice. He wanted to say so much. While his actions were uninhibited, his voice remained silent.

Wylie jerked up on his knees as if seeing someone standing at John’s head.

“Fucking Bitch!” Wylie’s voice suddenly shifted to a sharp, hateful tone. There was no drunken slur, no mumbling. The words were clear and filled with hate. His breath came in gasps as his anger at the unseen barreled into rage.

“Fucked up her life! “FUCKING BITCH!

“Fucked up my life. Fucked up school Fucked up me and John.”

Even with the mention of his name John felt no less left out of the conversation. Suddenly his desire wilted. In a dispassionate voice he said, “’Wylie, you need to get to bed now. It’s late. We can talk in the morning.”

“FUCKING BITCH!

Wylie moved back. John’s already separated legs were ready.

“Fucked up everything. Fucking Bitch!”

Instead of releasing John, Wylie twisted John’s legs.

“I HATE YOU YOU FUCKING BITCH!!

John was on his belly.

I Hate You! Fucking Bitch!”

“Wylie, come on now you need to go to bed!” It never occurred to John that he might say, ‘I don’t want to have sex’. Sex wasn’t on his mind.

"Fucking Bitch!"

Wylie tugged at John’s waist to elevate his ass. John complied.
He felt Wylie’s cock push several times around his pucker. Once it slid underneath rubbing along his own shaft. Both rubbing and squeezing his balls in the process. Wylie’s cock throbbed at the contact and John’s own cock distended to full hardness. This wasn’t the accustomed procedure but John wasn’t worried. Everything they had done together was markedly better than any past experience. His complacency was founded in trust and faith in Wylie and more than a little anticipation. He waited for Wylie’s tongue to caress his hungry hole. John moved his ass back a little against a wet teasing presence. His mood shifted further toward sex as the wet presence of Wylie’s tongue teased momentarily at his pucker. John was surprised as a moan escaped his lips.

Wylie roared out in a voice of anger, anguish and hatred.

“FUCKING BITCH I HATE YOU!”

With that he rammed his rod into the waiting hole. Without a smear of grease he rammed balls deep.

John was blinded a brilliant flash of

Pain!

The scream had already begun. John bit down on his fist in an effort to stifle it. Pain fought his confusion. It was no contest. His ass was being ripped wide open. His insides were being cut to shreds by a blistering sword. He had to escape he had to get Away. Away. Away from the PAIN!

John ignored the iron taste of blood on his tongue. The pain was unbearable. He tried to crawl away. Wylie held him. He tried to roll over. Still Wylie held him.

Wylie managed to grabbed John’s wrist in his hands and pin them to floor. His forearms lay across forearms and biceps. John’s arms were effectively disabled. Wylie’s position and determination provided a distinct advantage.

John was desperate to get away, to ease the pain. Nothing mattered except the pain. Even though each movement only served to increase the burning, tearing pain. He had to escape.

Wylie foiled every attempt.

John collapsed to the floor.

Wylie and his still embedded cock followed him down. The fall knocked the breath out of John and the already balls deep cock seemed to plow even further into his burning guts, and torn ass.

"Fucking Bitch. Fucking right.”

The pain in his ass was like a torch had been shoved inside. It burned everywhere Wylie’s cock made contact. John had felt pain, burning pain in his ass before, but it was never like this. This was unrelenting searing, tearing, pounding pain. There was no peak. There was no end. This was not a flash. This was a continuum of intense flashes. Every movement of Wylie’s cock took the tearing, searing pain to an even more excruciating level. John was on the verge of nausea. On the edge of madness. Madness because this was Wylie!!!!

John tried to find purchase with his feet, with his knees. He flailed his legs trying to strike Wylie. His forearms were trapped against the carpet. Trapped in Wylie’s hands and body weight. He could feel Wylie’s cock pulling out, igniting a higher level of the already unbearable pain.

John felt a glimmer of hope. He was to be freed from this burning hell. His thoughts momentarily shifted to “what then?“

His ass was on fire and probably bleeding. The pain, even as Wylie withdrew, was excruciating. Every movement seemed an eternity of hellish pain.

The movement, Wylie had made, was not to vacate John‘s burning ass. It was simply the first of another in the unending series of pummeling assaults against John’s tortured asshole. The assaults were accompanied by an occasional, “Fucking Bitch.” The angry voice tinged now with sexual lust. Wylie’ lust began to punctuate each thrust.

Wylie had initially held John’s forearms against the floor to inhibit his escape. Now he released John’s arms and rested his elbows on either side of John’s head. John was still trapped. The weight of his body rested on John. Only his ass moved to continue the relentless pummeling.

Vaguely, John became aware that Wylie was saying something. He wasn’t even half sure he wanted to listen. Pain held his focus.

A drunken whine, mostly mumbled, slurred, garbled words made it to John‘s ear. Previous words were blocked entirely by the pain each time Wylie’s cock bottomed out. The pain was too intense to hear any thing. Now he heard everything. “Pregnant Fucking Bitch, I hate you.“

The voice in his ear began to increase pitch and intensity. “Pregnant Fucking Bitch” became a litany. Repeated with each thrust of Wylie’s hips. The thrust and litany increased together, until the voice was almost keening in John’s ear. At last the keening slipped into a cry that was pain filled, vulnerable and dominant at the same time.

With that cry, Wylie raised himself, grabbed John’s shoulders and shoved even deeper into John’s ass.

Wylie froze. The cry faded into a single,“ oomph” as Wylie collapsed onto John’s back.

Overwhelming sadness blanketed but did little to reduce the pain. “Mary Anne’s pregnant!”

John was so used to silence during intimacy even this thought, simply echoed through his brain. The thought danced around inside his head, like a loose banner whipped by the wind.

Everything within John was driven by, and riding on, the pain that tore at his ass. There was a new pain. This pain tore at his heart. It didn’t override the physical pain. They combined to make his entire being unable to sense anything but PAIN!.

John felt the physical sensation of his heart being ripped apart. His chest lurched! Sobs came with a gut wrenching intensity that threatened to empty his insides. Each sob seemed to rip at his heart and tear at the burning flame that roared in his ass.

Semi-conscious, he became aware of being crushed under Wylie’s weight.

Before, part of Wylie’s weight had been borne on his elbows. Now his entire weight was crushing John and making it hard to breathe.

The pain in his ass had leveled off to that of a constant burn that demanded relief. Part of that burn was due to the fact that Wylie’s cock, though now softened, still invaded John’s asshole.

John didn’t try to awaken Wylie. Didn’t give a damn about Wylie. Instead he rolled over. An unresisting Wylie rolled with him. As they rolled, the invader was withdrew.

At its departure, there was another blinding flash of pain. John’s entire body tensed at the searing flash of pain. Even as he did, the flash of pain subsided to it’s former constant burning.

John was lying on his side, facing away from Wylie. Wylie lay, on his back, next to John.

The still excruciating, albeit slightly diminished pain, forced John to gingerly finger his anus. Nothing was hanging out. The hole seemed to be closing. He couldn’t tell if the moisture he felt was blood or cum or a combination. The exploration caused him to grit his teeth. Finally, assured he probably was in no immediate danger of bleeding to death, John crawled toward his bed. Once there he let his torso lie across the cooling sheets.

Wylie began to snore.

John felt the anger build and wash over the pain. Before he opened his mouth to scream, he grabbed his pillow and wrapped it around his face. He tried to bite into the pillow. Muffled screams of anguish filled the pillow. These soon melded into visions of physically beating Wylie. He saw himself shoving a baseball bat up Wylie’s ass. He could see the shock, disbelief and horror, in those blue eyes. That vision was too much.

Physically beating Wylie was difficult enough to imagine. Violating him? He reused to even consider. This was Wylie. Wylie. Wylie? He felt guilty that it had even occurred to him, even though the knowledge of his own violation was fresh and in the forefront of his brain. John couldn’t think of doing such a thing to Wylie.

“Violation”; that was a word John had never used in a personal context. Now, it seemed that all the times he had heard it, flashed through his mind. At last now, he understood what each of those victims had felt.

He had been VIOLATED! He had been RAPED!

There was no qualification, no gender bias, he had been raped… as surely as Mary Anne was pregnant.

Mary Anne is pregnant! The statement insisted on sharing his immediate thoughts of the rape. Those two terms floated in his head and aggravated the still burning, insistent pain.

John felt dirty! Dirty for what had happened to him. Dirty because he had welcomed the initial advances. Dirty because, because? Because Wylie, the one person he would have trusted with his life, had betrayed him. Had shattered his hopes, his heart and had, had nearly killed him by RAPE!

John was unaware of how long he had been there; knees wide spread to accommodate his inflamed asshole.

At some point the screams had turned to sobs and the sobs had punctuated his tears. Eventually even tears seemed to desert him. There were no more left to shed. He raised his head and tossed the, now weighted, pillow toward the head of the bed. That simple act of tossing the pillow brought his rage to a boiling point. But, in that same instant a stabbing pain from his asshole quelled the rage. They seemed to somehow cancel each other.

He was calm now. No more tears to shed. His sobs were further apart. When they came, they were no longer gut wrenching. They were almost hiccups. His asshole still burned but even that had lessened to a somewhat tolerable degree. The sobs merely tweaked the pain. Wylie stilled snored.

John shakily stood. He looked at Wylie. Naked, defenseless, unaware.

Who was he? Was he really, unaware? How could he have violated John? Did he not care? Did he not think what this would do to them? Did Wylie think, as John himself had initially, they were making love? This last thought quelled the anger, but it made his bile rise again.

He blocked all those questions from his mind, swallowed hard and for calm; for numbness.

Still watching Wylie… hearing him snore… John saw someone other than the handsome man with the dazzling smile. He saw someone who had violated his ass and broke his heart.

He wanted to beat Wylie until he woke, then demand he explain. Beat him while demanding an explanation. Beat him while he explained. How could someone say “Love” then, a moment later RAPE the one he loved?

John was suddenly afraid. Afraid that if he continued to watch Wylie sleep, continued listening to his soft snores, he would unleash his thoughts. He was afraid that even if he got the answers, he would continue to beat him.

“Him”, not Wylie. “Him” who raped him. “Him” who ruined their lives… their love. He hated “Him”.

With a heavy resigned sigh, John admitted he loved Wylie. His love, rage, and pain battled for supremacy. Each demanding a physical action. Pain won. He realized how tense, how close, how ready he was to kick and beat the sleeping form.

He sighed through one more sob and slowly picked up his boxers. He turned away from the sleeping form, put on his boxers and left the room.

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