A story I've been working on

Discussion in 'Fictitious Stories' started by hung_me, Jul 5, 2008.

  1. hung_me

    hung_me Member

    Aug 14, 2006
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    The truth of the matter was, I didn't want to go. My mom had been wasting her breath over the last few weeks attempting to coerce me into going to Africa with her, but I wouldn't have it. Normally I love travelling--the cultures, landscapes, history--but this summer was going to be my own.

    "Christopher James-Alexander Dupont, why can't you just trust me and come? I know you'll love Somalia!"
    "Mom, it's not that I don't trust you, or that I think I wouldn't like going to Africa. This summer I just need to do my own thing," I said, not lying.
    "It's Joey, isn't it? I can easily get another ticket," she pleaded.
    "Mom, please--"
    "You can't do your own thing if you're doing it with a boy!"

    She wasn't far off the truth, but I knew she didn't entirely understand...

    I'm Chris, just your average suburban kid...yeah fucking right. I was born in France eighteen years ago where my mother fell in love with my father, and I have essentially never stopped moving since. I've lived on five continents and visited seven, including Antarctica, landing most recently in Vancouver. My mother is also a Royal Historian for the British Crown, and author of several books. Did I mention I'm gay?

    Two years ago, my mother decided that Vancouver was the place she was to make home. She, too, tired of the constant travelling and misguided friendships that inevitably occur with instability. I gave her an incredulous look when she broke the news to me: I, like most 17year-olds, could not bear the thought of life without my friends. Who knew one flight from London to Vancouver could change a life so much?

    * * * * *

    "Good evening, welcome to La Vie Grande. Table for two?" the hostess inquired.
    I nodded curtly. Vancouver was already on my bad side and I had only been there two hours. Our flight was delayed seven hours because of poor weather, my luggage had been misplaced and it still had not ceased raining since I had stepped foot out of the airport.
    As the hostess led us past a nervous-looking couple, I glanced around at the decore. Untrue to its French name, the restaurant had a more medieval-style theme, with an authentic-looking British Knight's suit of armour as the centrepiece in the front entranceway.
    My mother and I took our seats and began to survey the scene, familiarizing and adjusting to our new home. We had not yet gone to our house, but we flew over several weeks prior to see the finished product: my mother had a villa custom-built on the outskirts of the city, which sat lakefront and contained natural hotsprings on the property.

    "Hey, I'm Joey, your waiter for this evening. What can I get to drink for you tonight?"

    I had to stop my jaw from falling open. The man in front of me was an Adonis in his own right, but 'Joey' literally personified my dream man, physically at least: his cropped, yet shaggy dark brown hair; the light stubble on chizzled jaw; and the toned body that I could see even through his shirt.

    Apparently I was staring, because when I finally brought my thoughts back to reality, the waiter was simply beaming at me, and my mother was staring in my direction awkwardly.

    "...Drinks," replied my mother, burning quite a large hole in my face with her eyes.
    "Oh, yeah. Can I get a Long Island iced tea?"
    "Sure. So that's one Long Island and Diet Coke with rye and lime. I'll be right back" he said, smiling.

    Luckily for me, I looked older than my age. Since about 16, I could usually buy my own drinks with my mother at any restaurant (except in the U.S.), and at most bars and clubs. I always had a fake I.D., though, just in case.

    "That was bloody difficult"
    "What was?"
    "Ordering drinks," my mom said, breaking into rather hysterical laughter. Apparently 'staring' was an understatement. "I half expected you to start salivating and drooling" she continued, still in a fit. I looked for a moment, then laughed, not able to say anything. I usually kept my composure around guys!

    I managed to get through the rest of dinner without making a fool of myself again. My mother and I discussed plans to go to Fiji and surf, and how she had an upcoming meeting with the Governor General and Prime Minister. The Steak au Poivre that I ordered was delicious, and I always had at least a little eyeful of the waiter during dinner; perhaps Vancouver was not as bad as I had thought.

    "Can we get our bill please?" my mother asked after dessert. I was certainly glad that we were going to take a taxi or limo home, because I would certainly not have trusted my mother driving by this point---about 8 drinks and an Irish Coffee in.
    "Certainly. I'll be right back." replied the waiter, turning on his heel and walking toward the open-style kitchen.

    "So, are you going to ask for his number?"
    "Yeah right, mom. I'm not that desperate. I'll openly gawk at him, but I'm not going to hit on him at his place of work." I said, grinning.
    "Splendid value system you've got."

    "Here you are," Joey said, striding over and placing the billfold on our table. "Thank-you very much, it was a pleasure. Hope to see you back soon."
    "It was lovely," my mother said. "Can I pay via Interac?"
    "Of course, but you have to go to the server booth, and my manager will take care of you." My mother got up as he motioned the direction, and stumbled slightly towards the booth.

    Joey began to pick up our dessert plates and cutlery. "So, what's your name, dude?"
    "Chris. You?" Fuck. That was so stupid. I already know your name!
    "Umm..." he said, chuckling.
    "Haha. I know, I'm really moronic sometimes. Only sometimes, though, I promise," I said, grinning at him. He returned the smile.
    I saw my mother waving me over, signalling she was done. "Anyway, bro, I've gotta go. Mama's calling."
    "Have a good one, man." I got up and started leaving, when he tapped my shoulder. "Chris...um, I don't usually do this at work, and I know it's a bit forward, but do you think I could get your number?" He paused shortly, perhaps expecting a reply. "I'm getting off in about half-an-hour, and if you want, we could go grab a coffee?" he asked with a hesitant smile.
    Until this point in the night, I had not seen Joey demure or shy at all. He constantly walked with his shoulders back, and had an air of confidence (not arrogance, confidence) about him. As he asked me this question though, he looked rather vulnerable and, admittedly, adorable.
    "Uhh..." I said, stuttering.
    "Oh. Shit, man. I apologize...I didn't know...I thought..."
    "No, no! Of course I'd like to get a coffee, it's just a little unorthodox and unexpected, ya'know?"
    "Yeah. Yeah it is," he said smiling, less deflated. There was a pause.
    "Here's my number" I said, writing it down on a serviette. "Let me go ask my mother if I can stay around here and take a taxi back later. I don't think she'll like the idea, but she won't stop me."
    "Where are you supposed to be going?"
    "Do you know where High Park is?"
    "You're kidding me, right?" Apparently it had a reputation.
    "No. But I'll be right back" I said, walking post-haste towards my mother.
  2. hung_me

    hung_me Member

    Aug 14, 2006
    Likes Received:
    PART 2 - JOEY

    "Hey, Chris?"
    "Aloha Joey!"
    "What's up? Where are you?"
    "I'm at that coffee shop you told me to meet you at. The one on King and Main, right?"
    "Awesome. I'll be there in 10 minutes."

    It was 11:20 P.M. in Vancouver, but it only felt like the beginning of the afternoon to me because of the time zone difference. I was sitting in a vintage looking coffee shop, open surprisingly late. There were stools and sitting-pillows positioned around low-lying tables, and the light smell of inscence was present. The dark-stained hardwood, and earthy-coloured decore and patterns gave the shop an Arabic feel. It seemed to me that this place was a haven for coffee and tea connoisseurs, and the occassional insomniac. I glanced around: Rent a Hookah with Complimentary Sheesha ~ $12.00. Figures, I thought.
    The gentle wind chimes that swayed anytime someone entered began to sing.
    There he was. Who thought he could have looked better than before? In his work uniform, he was indeed handsome, but he now looked drop-dead sexy . His tight blue jeans hugged his lower-half better than his standard black dress pants, and the fitted pique polo definitely showed his arms and pecs off quite a great deal better than his dress shirt. His amazingly sculpted, angled features, scruff, and natural, flawlessly-tanned skin were still stunning.
    "Hey, bud!" he called after surveying the scene. He walked over and sat down.
    "What's up?" I grinned.
    "Just a hectic day at work. Did have some good parts to it, though," he said, returning the kiddish smile. He was clearly referring to me.
    "I was thinking maybe we'd grab coffee here, and go back to my place and smoke a joint? 'You down?"
    "Yeah, for sure" I said, excited. "Where do you live?"
    "Certainly not High Park, but I have a bachelor pad a few blocks from here."

    * * * * *

    "Home, sweet home."
    "Wow, this is nice."

    For someone who waited on tables, his apartment was very modern-looking and well-equipped. We entered into a foyer, and immediately to our left sat the combined living-diningroom, with oak table, flat-screen T.V. and a powerful sound system in immediate sight.

    "Really, really nice."
    "Thanks a lot. Didn't expect to hear that from you."
    I was a little taken aback. "Why not?"
    "Well, you live in High Park."
    "I haven't even unpacked my clothes! And what does that even mean, 'I live in High Park'?"
    "The area's filled with snobs. Trust me, I used to live there."
    "No way."

    Joey took out some potent-smelling chronic, and started breaking and rolling it up. He explained how he was born in rural British Columbia, then moved to High Park when he was 5-years-old.
    "I moved out on good terms with my parents three years ago, when I was eighteen. I couldn't bear it anymore."
    "What do you mean?"
    "Does 'homophobic-pseudofundamentalist-evangelical-corporate-slaves' mean anything to you?"
    I laughed. "Yeah, I've been there. I've lived all over the place. Really conservative area?"

    He sparked the joint and began to toke it, then passed it over to me. "What are your parents like?"
    "Well, I never really knew my father. He left my mother when I was very young...I'd rather not get into it."
    "I'm sorry."
    "Don't be. It's just complicated. My mother is amazing, though." I said, toking hard. "She's my idol. She's an author, Royal Historian and prodigious cook. Not to mention a rad mom."
    "Wow. That's phenomenal. Does she know?"
    "Know what?"
    "That you're gay..."
    "Oh! Of course." I found it a strange question, only because my mother was the first person I ever told of my sexuality. She was a bit shocked, but entirely accepting.
    "You're lucky."

    I looked at him. He looked pained. Then it struck me: it wasn't just the people in his community that were conservative--his parents were the homophobes, too. Something strange then happened. I felt pain, too; I wanted to make him feel better, and it hurt me that he was anguished. I was positive that I had truly loved before this point, but I now began to doubt.

    Joey and I talked for hours uninterrupted, until I finally looked at the clock: 3:13 AM. "Damn man, it's getting late and I have an hour cab ride ahead of me."

    "Why don't you just stay here for the night? I can drive you home tomorrow, because I don't have work until dinner rush."
    "I don't know. I'm doubting my mother will take it well that I don't come home my first night in the city. Plus, I won't be that much fun, I'm tired."
    "Oh, I'm sure we could have some fun," he said, an impish smile creasing his cheeks.

    I couldn't take it anymore. He had been teasing me all night.

    I leaned forward, uninhibited, and pressed my lips to his; it was met with little hesitation as his lips parted and our tongues entwined passionately. I grabbed the small of his neck and pushed our heads together, feeling as though I could not get close enough. My loins stirred and I felt the blood pumping already. I moved my hands down his back, slowly bringing his shirt over his abs. He pressed his hand to my midsection and began rubbing my stomach. He began to play with the waistband of my boxers, kneading my obliques. I slipped my hands down the back of his pants and grabbed his ass. Fuck...two tanned orbs of muscle. He slowly rubbed down my midsection to my crotch. He broke the heated kiss and began to nibble on my lip, looking down. "Fuck, dude" he breathed.
    I grabbed his shirt and pulled it fully off. He was a sight to behold. His entire body had smooth, supple skin, tanned golden brown. His shoulders were broad, and his pecs were defined, peeking off his body, while his abs where lean and carved, creating the perfect 'V' formation torso.
    I felt like an animal in heat. This man was sex on legs.
  3. flaman

    flaman New Member

    Feb 2, 2006
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    Nice story. Don't leave us hanging. Please continue on. I'm getting excited.
  4. ConnerM360

    ConnerM360 Active Member

    May 26, 2008
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    Very good story.
  5. lbw

    lbw New Member

    Apr 8, 2008
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    please carry on i cant wait for next episode
  6. kathybates

    kathybates New Member

    Jun 18, 2008
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    This is fantastic. I love that you didn't just launch in to sex, and that it's going slowly. Even better, I'm not bored to death; it's almost like this is from a novel! I love it and can't wait to read more =).

    My ONLY critique - and yes, I had to have one as I'm an English major - is the dialogue. The two men are gay in the story, and they're using words like "dude" and "bud." It seems to be a bit like a conversation between friends, not a young dating couple. I'm gay myself, and I have to say my vocabulary is a bit more... intimate when I'm dealing with the same sex =p.
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