Marking Time

MARKING TIME

By C. J. Anthony

Smashwords Edition

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C. J. Anthony on Smashwords

Marking Time

© 2012 by C. J. Anthony

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. Thank you for downloading this free ebook. This book may be reproduced, copied, and distributed solely for non-commercial purposes, provided the book remains in its complete original form.

This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are fictionalized. Any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

MARKING TIME

CHAPTER 1

September 8, 1997

They always say you remember the exact moment you met the person you’ll love forever—you remember exactly what they were wearing and what they looked like and what they were doing. Well, I don’t remember what he was wearing and I only remember the day because it was also the first day of fourth grade for me. But hey, I was only nine—my mind was not exactly on the rest of my life that day. I do remember thinking he was about the coolest person I’d ever met.

I had been home from school for a while and was sitting at the kitchen counter eating a snack of cheese and apple slices, telling mom all about how Josh had puked on the playground and Ashley, the drama queen, had accidentally stepped in it and ran screaming to the teacher.

The front door opened and my older brother Bobby, clattered through, banging his backpack against the doorframe. He was yapping loudly about something and there was another voice with him. The door slammed, mom yelled, and Bobby threw back a Sorry, Mom!

And then, there he was—Chase Michaels. He and Bobby were both new freshman at the high school and they’d met in English class. Even at fifteen, Chase was a giant, especially to little nine year-old me sitting on a kitchen stool. I craned my neck to look up at him. He was starting to come out of that awkward stage of pudgy kid into solidly built teenager. He had short dark hair and these eyes that were an incredible mix of blue and gray.

Bobby rolled his eyes as he introduced me as his dweeby little brother Adam, but Chase actually looked me in the eyes and gave me a big smile. Hey little man. He spoke to me! I just stared up at him. Hi, was my wordy response.

They stayed just long enough to make peanut butter sandwiches and then they stomped up the stairs to Bobby’s room. All I could do was watch him go, in awe. Even then, I was drawn to him, though it was clearly nothing sexual at the time. It was more like the hero-worship of a big brother—if your big brother wasn’t an asshat to you like mine was.

He and Bobby quickly became best buds so he was always over at our house. As soon as he saw me, Chase would always acknowledge me with a Dude! or What’s up Little A? while ruffling my hair or squeezing me in a headlock.

I wasn’t allowed in Bobby’s room when they were there, but if they were going somewhere—like down to the corner convenience mart or to a movie—I always tried to tag along. Of course, Bobby never wanted me to come and screaming and yelling would escalate from both of us. Sometimes mom would intervene, either keeping me home or ordering Bobby to take me. But more often than not, Chase would cut in before Bobby got a chance to protest. He always was cool with me hanging out with them, even as Bobby made a disgusted face or punched him on the arm.

Eventually, they both went off to college and I was left to deal with puberty alone. At first, I thought I was just a late-bloomer because I just didn’t see what was so hot about any of the girls at school like the other boys did. I sort of began getting an inkling that there was something different going on with me when I found myself watching Tommy McCafferty a lot. He was one of the guys at school who had already started developing a little earlier than the rest of us. He had golden-blond wavy hair that hung down to his jaw and peach fuzz growing on his chin. I kept wondering what it would feel like to touch it.

Then, Bobby and Chase came home from college for summer break, and I knew. It became very crystal-clear where my preferences lie; by the near-constant hard-on I sported all summer. Chase had matured a lot through high school, but a year of college had made quite a difference. He’d played football in high school, earning him a scholarship to Ohio State and the expensive training facilities provided by the college had transformed his body. His bulk had turned into hard muscle and lean abs. Hell, even his face was more chiseled and defined.

I was thirteen that summer. As teenagers tend to do, it was almost noon by the time I strolled downstairs. My brother had been home from college for a few days, and at supper last night he had mentioned Chase was due home today. So I was heading to the kitchen to forage for some breakfast—well okay, almost lunch by that time—when the loud raucous voices outside distracted me. I was a nosy kid, so I made a detour on my route to look out the living room window and that’s when it happened. Bobby was washing dad’s car, his trade for borrowing it to take Suzy McIntyre out on a date later. He and Chase were horsing around with the hose, getting more water on themselves than on the car. Chase’s white t-shirt was plastered to his chest, and I could see everything—his flat stomach, his defined pecs and his very, very pert nipples. He was smiling and laughing, water dripping from his hair, which had grown out some. I probably would have stayed there forever watching, had I not felt the blood rushing to my groin and my gym shorts starting to tent. I looked down in horror and ran very uncomfortably up to my room and slammed the door shut tight. I sat down on my bed and just stared at my shorts. I tried thinking of every distracting thing I could think of— dead animals and sports scores and I even tried to play my favorite Zombie video game in my head. Just as it would start to go away, the image of Chase would flash through my head again and it would come roaring back to life, harder than before. Finally I couldn’t take any more and I took a shower to get some relief. I tried to imagine some of the naked women in the nudie magazines the boys at school passed around. I stroked and stroked myself, trying to make myself come. But, nothing . . . until the pictures of long blond hair and blood-red lips and humongous breasts slowly morphed into a firm chin and a wide grin and broad shoulders with water dripping down his wet t-shirt. Less than two strokes later, I was exploding all over the shower tiles.

There was clearly no denying it anymore, no more trying to say, well maybe, no more pretending—I got off on boys. Men. And right now, not just any man—I was hard for Chase.

After I got out of the shower, I sat on the edge of my bed, shaking for what seemed like hours. My world had just been turned upside down and my mind was racing. What did all this mean? Would people be able to tell when they looked at me? And why? Why me?

What would my parents say? My Mom said she’d love me no matter what, but would she love me through this? And my Dad. Oh God, my Dad. He was not as touchy and huggy as mom; he was a man’s man, an ex-Marine. He was tough but I’d never questioned that he loved us, in his way. But would he love me now? Could he love a son that was a . . . a . . . a faggot? A queer? A sissy? About a dozen more words meandered through my brain, every word I’d ever heard from my friends, from adults, from TV. Was that who I was now? Were those words me now?

My stomach started feeling queasy and I think my body and my brain were starting to shut down. It was way too much to deal with right now. I climbed back in bed and curled up on my side, pulling the covers completely over me, even though it was probably eighty degrees out. I escaped into the safety of sleep for a while.

Mom stopped up once in the middle afternoon to see what I was doing and was concerned, of course. I told her I was sick and didn’t feel well. Which wasn’t far from the truth. I was still huddled under the covers; I didn’t even turn to face her. She reached across my bed and touched her hand to my forehead in that classic mom move, to see if I had a fever. It apparently satisfied her enough that she left me alone to rest.

I think I dozed some more off and on. The sun coming through my windows had started to fade when the next knock on my door came. My heart sped into overdrive at the deep baritone voice.

Little A? How’re you doing there kiddo? Crap! I didn’t know what to do. Maybe I could just pretend I was sleeping. Yeah . . . except that I was turned toward the bedroom door he was standing in front of and my eyes were open. He took a step forward and ducked his head to look right at me. I was totally bummed to hear you were feeling sick, I’ve been waiting all semester for the chance to squash you in Zombie Attack III.

I tried to resist, tried to will myself not to react. But of their own accord, my eyes lifted up to look into his searing blue-gray eyes. I gulped, as I felt my dick start to perk up and quickly bunched the thin blanket around me so that he would not see.

Aw, you do look a little flushed, A. Your mom sent some soup up for you if you’re hungry. I realized he had placed a tray on the nightstand. A few awkward moments of silence passed, as he waited for me to say something, but I kept my mouth shut.

Okay, well . . . I hope you feel better. Get some rest, sport. He turned and left, shutting the door behind him. I flopped over onto my back and threw the blanket over my head in embarrassment.

I was starved though. Apparently gay guys needed to eat too. I sat up and wolfed down the soup. My dick eventually calmed back down to normal. I slept a little more and the next morning when I woke up again the sun was shining and the birds were chirping outside my window. Just like normal. I got up to go to the bathroom and when I was done I caught sight of myself in the mirror. Other than looking a little groggy from sleep, I saw the same thing I did every day—same floppy, dirty-blond hair, same green eyes, same fair skin with a few acne spots here and there. I didn’t look any different than I did yesterday, or the day before. I didn’t feel any different—well, as long as I didn’t think about Chase. I still felt like me. There was nothing about me that screamed out I LIKE BOYS, at least that I could tell. So maybe no one else would be able to tell either?

I glanced back at my bed, but I knew I couldn’t hide there for the rest of my life. The world would go on spinning, each new day would dawn, the same as the day before and the day before that. And I was still going to be gay. Every day. So I guess I needed to learn how to deal with it.

I showered and headed downstairs. My heart thudded nervously when I saw Mom in the kitchen, but when she turned and saw me, she smiled as big as she always did when she saw me. Actually she fawned over me more than usual, but that was just because she had thought I’d been sick.

I braced myself for every encounter I had that day but no one treated me any different. My dad came in from work and did pay me a little more attention than normal, again because I’d been sick. Then he was back to giving a kiss to mom and telling her about his day while she made dinner. Bobby pretty much