Discovering the unknown

Note: This story is completely fictional!

I was laughing and talking with my friends, but I spied him the instant he walked in. I think I felt my chin bounce off the floor because of the vision of his beauty. And I was not the only person to be a-stricken by his sudden presence; from the expression on the face of the two girls in our small group I think they drenched their panties. Six foot three, if he was an inch. Is it right for one boy to say another boy is cute? You would have to if you were trying to describe the perfect example of a god. He was beyond cute, I'm not sure gorgeous is strong enough to describe what my eyes were seeing. His face fit his perfect body like a dream, it was as though his features froze in time when he was boy but somehow continued to mature as he did.

His lips were full and pouty. Eyes that were so stunning they were hypnotic. Dark sandy blond hair, parted down the middle, trimmed to short sculptured sides, and swirled high in the front on each side then tapered and swirled back. His shoulders were so broad and strong, looking as if they could support the world. A waste so slim and taught it looked as if he was born on a workout machine. And those legs and butt! Damn, that butt, so round and firm. And his snug fitting jeans showed the shape of legs that most girls would kill to have. In less than two seconds my eyes and mind had assimilated a picture of the most stunning boy I ever hoped to see.

Steve must have seen me almost swoon. He put a hand on my shoulder and shook me forcefully. "Hay! Jamie. Put your eyes back in your head. Who the hell did you see?"
Just as I broke my gaze with the angel who had just entered his eyes met mine, the cutest smile I ever saw turned the corner of his lips.
"Uh . . . uh, what'd you say Steve?"
Steve quickly scanned the crowd then smiled. "Ah. Yes. Must admit that he's not that bad."

Steve and I had been good friends since first grade. About halfway through this past summer I had confided in him that I though I was gay. Steve's simple response was, "Way, cool!"
He wasn't gay, but he didn't have a problem that I was. I ask him if it would hurt our friendship.
"Why should it? You're still the same Jamie I've always know."

I may have only been a junior but I was wise enough to know when you have a friend like Steve you nurture and care for that friendship. A truly good friend may come along only once in a lifetime. When I was ten Mom had taken me to church where the preacher talked about a friend that sticks closer than a brother, and I knew from that day on Steve was just that friend.

My real father had been killed in a helicopter crash in Vietnam when I was just six. He had only been gone from home a week when Mom greeted two men at our front door and was told Dad was dead. After two years, my Mother had remarried. I was not that crazy about Hank, but he seemed to treat my Mom fine, and he and I got along fair. He seemed to always be displeased with most everything I did, but my Mother encouraged me to do the best I could and he would finally get over being so demanding of me. My stepfather turned out to be a man with itchy feet and because of that, Steve and I was separated for months if not a year or more at a time. However, when my vagabond stepfather finally returned his family to West Port Steve was always there to welcome me back and ready to pickup our lives right where we had left them.

The first time we were torn apart was when I was in the third grade. The big Sky country of Montana had caught Hank's eye with promises of fantastic jobs and big money to be made. For two years I struggled in a school where I just did not fit. I was a southern city dude thrust into the midst of a country and cowboy lifestyle in a small town in north central Montana. A couple of the guys had tried to befriend me when we first arrived however they soon lost interest when they found out I was completely void of any knowledge of the western life and traditions. I think those two years my have been the loneliest of my life. They were spent in almost complete solitude. Not once was I invited to someone's birthday party, or a sleep over, and when Mom would take me to a school function I would spend the evening sitting by her side watching as the other kids played and enjoyed the festivities of the evening. I know what you are thinking, why didn't I just get up and join the crowd? Well I tried that early on but when you are nine years old and are soundly rejected by your peers a couple of times it does not take long for you to find a corner to hide in. The night Hank finally announced we would be returning to West Port I literally spent the evening crying in my Mother's arms because of shear joy.

We moved into a rental house just two blocks from Steve. And he was there the instant our old beat up van pulled into the drive. My sixth grade was fun. Steve again was my best buddy and I was glad to be home. However, I was to soon learn my life was anything from stable. As soon a school was out I once more found myself weeping as I watched Steve disappear in the distance as the old van again left West Port.

My seventh grade I found myself again struggling to find a place in the pecking order of my new school in Houston, Texas. This time there was supposed to be a fortune to be made in the oil fields of Texas.
Eighth grade was suffered through in Denver, Colorado. I didn't even bother to ask Hank what we were looking for there.

Halfway through my freshman year we suddenly left Denver on our way back to West Port. I offered no resistance to this move. It was good to be headed back to what I considered home. I knew we were deep in debt because of the drifter lifestyle we had led, and I also knew Mom and Hank was having problems keeping their marriage intact.

The second half of my freshman year, and sophomore year were enjoyable despite the problems at home. Mom and Hank bickered all the time, which finally lead to an almost sullen atmosphere in the house between them. Things finally peaked this past summer when once again Hank informed us that we would be moving.

I was the first one to balk. There just wasn't anyway that I was going to move again to only God knew where. Hank exploded when I told him hell could freeze over before I would pack another suitcase. The more he threatened me the more determined I became to stay put this time. Our feud continued well into the evening. The more demanding Hank became the more determined I became that I was not leaving West Port again.
Finally in total desperation I screamed at him, "You can go straight to Hell, but I don't have to follow you!"

I never saw his hand coming. The back of his it split my lip, and rendered me unconscious. I awoke cradled in my Mother's arms with a cool washcloth on my forehead. I had a terrible headache, but it was a small price to pay for the fact that this had finally given my Mother the courage to stand up to Hank.
By the next morning the war was over and he was driving out of our lives. He took the van and everything he could pack in it. We were broke, no transportation, and my mom had no skills that would get her much of a job. But, we had each other and that got us through.

It's hard for a teenager to get a job that will make more than spending money. But I worked hard, was dependable, and by the end of the summer the company I worked for had given me two raises and had promised I could work all the hours I wanted after school started. Mom finally found a good job and we were getting by. However, the most important thing was we were both happy for the first time in years.

The trailer park we lived in was nice enough. Mr. and Mrs. Taylor, the older couple that owned the park was wonderful to Mom and I after Hank left. Instead of kicking us out when we couldn't pay the rent they simply brought us what seemed to be a car full of food and told Mom she could pay the rent when she got a job.

I worked for one of the larger yard maintenance services in West Port. And since the growing season is year round here in the Deep South I was assured of all the work I wanted with them. I liked Mr. Barney and I always went the second mile for him. He often patted me on the back and told me if he could find men who would do half as much work as I did he could retire in a couple of years. When high school started he was paying me nine seventy-five an hour. He ask that I not tell the others though, because I was now making more than some of the other men who had been working for him for several years.

With Mom's new job, and my income, we could now actually pay all of our expenses. Mr. Taylor refused to accept any back payment on our rent, "Let's just call this the new beginning" he insisted. And the best part for a teenage boy was that I could now buy a few new clothes for school. Then to top it all off the night before school started Mom even treated us to our first meal in a restaurant since Hank had left.

I had noticed for a couple of years that girls made good friend, however, they didn't seem to hold much in the way of interest for me. During the summer I was always hot and sweaty when I got home from work so I would quickly change into my swim trunks and head for the community pool at our trailer park. It was here that I first began to notice which gender evoked the most reaction in me. The pool area could be filled with nice looking girls and women, and I would look and compare notes so to speak. But when a sharp looking guy showed up my interest would suddenly peak, not to mention something else.
Steve was always there on the evenings he was free and we would swim and lounge around together. I seemed to always have the same problem when I was with Steve and he was half naked, I could not keep my eyes off him. For some reason I had never realized before this summer just how cute and well built he really was. Each time he stripped off his shorts to reveal the pair of brief Speedos he always wore I would go instantly hard.

My little ritual of peeking and getting hard had gone on for a few weeks when one afternoon we were lounging by the pool I noticed that Steve kept glancing at me as I lay beside him.
"Ah . . . Bud, is there something on your mind."
He turned on his side to face me.
"Well, I was just wondering about something."
"Wondering about what?"
"I thought you were gay?"
"I am." I answered softly, taking a quick glance around to make sure no one had heard what he had just ask me. "Why do you ask?"
"Just wondering why you wear those baggy trunks. You got a great bod and it really looks good after all the sun and work you've done this summer. Just thought you'd want to show it off some."
I chuckled a little. "Sounds like maybe someone else my be considering the gay life?"
"Nope. But I still like to look at good bodies male or female."
"OK. Anything to please my best Bud, be right back."