Message-ID: <4829eli$9710131737@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Archived-At: From: "OT" Subject: Sixteen Chapter 2 (M/M) Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories,alt.sex.stories.gay,alt.sex.stories.moderated Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d Path: qz!not-for-mail Organization: The Committee To Thwart Spam Approved: X-Moderator-Contact: Eli the Bearded X-Story-Submission: X-Original-Message-ID: <01bcd7b1$c61b6a80$7ef12581@boris-k> This story depicts same sex relationships that may be offensive to some readers. Please stop right now if it offends you. Please do the same if are not 18 yet. The story is total fiction. None of the characters are real. Any resemblance with people dead or alive is purely coincidental. The story or any part of it can be stored, archived and reproduced freely without any limitations, unless it's done for commercial purposes. Neither the story nor any part of it can be used for commercial purposes. Comments, suggestions, criticism: oki_toshi@hotmail.com. Enjoy! Chapter 2. The Mountain. Again Tom was looking through the train window. There was not too much sun that day, but at least it wasn't raining. The green outside of the train window was so abundant and luscious Tom could almost feel it envelop him. "I am essentially green", he thought. That thought pleased him for some strange reason. With his mind's eye Tom tried to go over the events of the visit. Bill was afraid to stay alone with him. He couldn't blame him. He moved to Vancouver so abruptly, without even saying good bye, without telling Bill he was moving. He had Helen and his baby to think about, of course, but did the move have to be that abrupt? In his mind, he kept coming back to what Bill said to him once laughingly about playing with his life. Cutting him off like this was brutal. Mr Mitchell called him a few times in Vancouver. He said he feared for Bill's life. The kid stopped eating, couldn't sleep. Whatever little he ate, his tortured organism would reject immediately. His behaviour became psychotic, he had to go to the hospital. Mr Mitchell said that all that was happening exceeded a nervous break down in his opinion, and he begged Tom to come back. At least call Bill and talk to him. But Tom didn't do it. He cut a piece of himself off and left it in Seattle. That was it. He belonged to his family now. To his baby. There was no coming back. A few years later, he started working on Sixteen. He worked days and nights on it, pouring all of himself into the manuscript. The whole house smelled of coffee. All those years of passion were materialising on paper. Helen kept silent all that time. Only once she observed quietly: "He was stealing you away from me then, he is doing it again now. I know you need to do it. Don't worry". At last the manuscript was ready. Usually Helen edited all his manuscripts before he sent them to the publisher. That was part of their relationship. They were working on it as a team. "You don't have to edit this one, honey", he said trying to put all the tenderness he was capable of into his voice. "It's ok. A book is a book is a book", his wife answered. "I will just look at it as a soulless corrector". And she did it. On the day when she was finally done, he could barely recognise her beautiful face when she lifted her eyes from the last page. He came up to her, knelt beside the table and put her head on his shoulder. She almost collapsed into his arms, her body shook violently and she vomited a yellow liquid substance on his shoulder. "I am ok", her voice was barely audible. "Just tired". Tom shelved the manuscript. Too much pain had already gone into it, how much more did people around him have to suffer? But after that episode, Helen seemed rejuvenated. It was as if she purged herself of all the pain that the events of the past had left. Her yearning for her husband became insatiable. In due course, Kevin was born. "Why don't you publish Sixteen?", Helen asked him once. "Because I don't want you to get hurt again, darling", he replied softly. "Oh, come on! You barely even mentioned me in the novel. I could never figure out why. There could have been an entire episode in itself!" "Honey", he said with a note of surprise in his voice, "this was supposed to be a pure love story, whatever I would say about you, it would just hurt you". "Well, couldn't you write about me being jealous? See, now everyone who reads it would love Bill and sympathise with him. I am totally out of the picture, don't you see it?" "Oh, come on honey. You know the character in the story isn't real. It's a Bill of my imagination, a perfect Bill. I created him". "I know you did. But without so much love for the real one, you couldn't have done it". "Are you implying I wasn't in love with you? Look I left him for you! What can be more of a proof than that? It's just that there couldn't be a place for you in the novel, except as a jealous, suffering wife". "Then this is the way I should have appeared. Ugly and hateful". How am I supposed to understand women – Tom thought later. At first it causes her physical pain, next thing you know – she wants to appear in it, even in the least attractive way. Go figure! Nevertheless, he followed his wife's advise. After such a long time he almost lost interest in the novel, but no matter how little he thought of the work now, he wanted to see it in print. The novel was very well accepted both by the media and the public. Just like Helen predicted, everyone loved the character of Bill Snyder. Then one diligent reporter discovered the real Bill. His picture appeared on the cover of one of the tabloids without his consent. To avoid any further publicity, Bill didn't sue the tabloid. The reporters besieged him. His perspective marriage was off, his good friends became aloof, and even his family seemed somehow to be pushing him away. With time the raucous just died down by itself, but like a hurricane, it passed and took most of Bill's life with it. When Tom came back home from a visit with his publisher, Helen was sitting in the living room, reading. He bent down and kissed her. "Oh, honey", she said returning his kiss, "While you were out, a young man stopped by. He said he was bringing something he promised you in Seattle. It's a painting". "Really? Where is he?" "He had to catch a train back and Kevin volunteered to take him to the station." "When was that?" "Oh, about an hour ago". "That's strange. The station is not that far away, he should have been home by now!" "You sound worried. What do you think could have happened?", Helen asked, now worried herself. "Well, I don't know. It's probably nothing. Where is the painting?" "It's in your study. On the desk". Tom went into the study and turned on the lights. There it was. In a roll on his desk It was called "The Mountain", and it was not a realistic painting. Close to post-impressionism, Tom thought. What caught the eye right away was a spot painted with many shades of blue. Around it green was thrown in abundance. Bright, passionate, even violent. The mountain was all white, with some shades of pink and grey in it. It was towering over the blue spot – apparently the lake. Tom couldn't move his eyes away from it. Bill was right about the kid's passion. That lake and the mountain. Almost exactly the way he remembered it. His first time with Bill… The summer day was almost over, they were sweaty and a quiet little lake opened to their tired gaze. It was luring them in. They both knew they couldn't resist it. Bill stripped first. He was just tearing apart all his clothes, the sweaty tank top almost burst as he was trying to peel it off running towards the lake, kicking away his sandals one far away from the other. He dived with a splash. Tom laughed and followed him. They both emerged from the water facing each other, laughing and shaking the water off from their eyes and splashing each other at the same time. Then, on an impulse they moved closer and with a groan locked each other in a bear hug. And then it was clear that neither was going to break it. Tom looked Bill in the face. The boy's face was suddenly very serious. Tom closed his eyes and his lips touched the soft surface of Bill's mouth. He pushed further holding his breath, waiting for the body that was so tense in his embrace to start kicking him, waiting for Bill to run away and the world to come to an end. He knew the line was crossed, and he was amazed, happy and scared that he crossed it. But nothing happened. He felt Bill relax in his arms, and all of a sudden his tongue was touching Bill's teeth. It seemed to last forever… He looked at the painting again. Did Chris know? Bill had been discussing this with his student? He couldn't believe Bill would reveal anything this sacred to a mere student. Deep in his thoughts, he did not hear his wife approach him from behind. "It's beautiful!", she said. "Yeah", he agreed absentmindedly. "It is beautiful". "So much passion", she paused. "Burn it". He rolled the painting up and stared at her with wild fear and astonishment in his eyes. "What did you say?! Are you out of your mind?!" "I said, burn it! It's HIS painting, I don't want it in our house. Is that too hard for you understand?!" "Helen, it's art, you can't destroy it. Besides he didn't paint it. It was Chris, the young man who brought it". "Nevertheless. HE is everywhere in this painting. I can feel it. He still loves you, and that's what it's all about. I don't want it hanging from our walls reminding me of that love". "Hmm… I am not sure. It's Chris's picture. Perhaps you are right. But maybe love here is that of Chris's". "Are you saying they are having a relationship?" "I don't know. It's possible…" "Well, whatever it is, I want it out of my sight", said Helen closing the door on her way out. Tom lighted up the fireplace. He made himself comfortable in his recliner, stretched the painting in front of himself and looked at it for a long, long time. Kevin still had not come home. -- +--------------' Story submission `-+-' Moderator contact `------------+ | story-submit@qz.little-neck.ny.us | story-admin@qz.little-neck.ny.us | | Archive site +--------------------+------------------+ Newsgroup FAQ | \ .../assm/faq.html> /