‘Time is evanescent. Memories are forever.’
Stuck in a traffic jam on the highway, in the middle of a record-breaking heat wave, Adrian Greene has more on his fevered mind than praying for rain and getting home. With little else to do, his thoughts stray to a better time in his life—his youth and an adventurous three years spent with his first boyfriend. If there’s one thing he longs for, it’s a chance to relive it all.
The air was stifling. The pavement and anything metallic caressed by the sun rippled in heat waves. So far, the summer had been brutal. The worst in a decade, with no end in sight, according to local forecasts. The Fraser Valley had gone an entire month, from Vancouver to the agricultural landscape of Chilliwack, without a drop of rain. Lawns were quilted in patches of dead grass. Every tree had brown-tipped leaves.
As for where I sat, the black leather seats, black dash, and black paint added to the sauna inside my Jetta. The air conditioning felt good on my face and upper torso, but did little to stop the odd trickle of perspiration from sliding down my spine. I didn’t dare open the sunroof for fear the outside hot air would get in.
Traffic moved at a crawl. The lights changed and a dozen vehicles made it through the intersection, but less than a minute later the green switched to red. Stop and start, that’s all I did for over an hour as the highway appeared in the distance, the forever-elusive carrot dangling in front of my face. The highway meant freedom, a break from the clusterfuck I was fighting and a chance to go home.
I’d been away for several days on a business trip to Seattle, Washington. My job is to negotiate the export of raw goods to furniture manufacturing plants; to put contracts in place that will bring both sides a profit. Once I’d convinced the CEO to sign, we had dinner followed by a taxi ride to SeaTac Airport and then home. Vancouver International had never looked so inviting; sleeping in a strange bed, not my thing.
I hooked my fingers around the bottom of the steering wheel and inched the Jetta forward, then stopped, the breaks exhaling a screech. The radio started to play a string of memorable tunes from the eighties, and I adjusted the volume. Singing along did provide a distraction, but eventually my concentration and the music faded into the milieu—the rush of air conditioning and vibration of the engine—my thoughts strayed to a period in time I could never forget. The year was 1986, and I was in grade ten. At that time the school had seen a large influx of new students.
I’d realized my sexual preference early on. When I’d hit puberty, my attraction to guys matured as my body did. I wanted a boyfriend, and sex, and my first glimpse at a true Adonis happened to be a jock by the name of Timothy McKellen. He’d been the goalkeeper for my high school soccer team, among other sports.
Perched on the bleachers, I nibbled on chips—a bag of sour cream and onion—and watched the game. After countless attempts, our team had finally scored and the entire sideline roared with cheers. The match had come to an end and we’d won. Everyone was riding the high of the win; the Blazers would head to the Provincial Tournament next. The whole structure quaked with movement, but I remained seated, the wood sinking under my ass as other students jumped down from the higher seats.
And that’s when I first saw him in all his glory.
He emerged from the soccer field like a ship through fog, with a slow, confident swagger, laughing and goofing around with his teammates. Tall of stature, with an athlete’s build, longish, light strawberry-blond hair, moss-green eyes and freckle-flecked skin—even his thick lips. He had powerful calves and solid thighs wrapped in knee length satin shorts: a paragon of virgin sex appeal.
A bunch of the players crowded the stands, and he gaze met with mine, unflinching and cool. I dropped the bag of chips in my lap to hide the growing erection poking my shorts.
“Geek, this is Tim,” said one guy, some jerk-off from my math class. “He wanted to meet you.”
“Hi,” I managed to squeak.
“Hey.” Tim notched a cleat on the seat directly below me, climbed up and shoved his hand inside my bag. His fingers groped, pushing downward and it brushed my hard cock. I stared nervously at him, hoping he hadn’t felt the physical manifestation of my desire. He grinned and stuffed the chips in his mouth. Cheeks bulging, he cuffed my shoulder hard and the other guys laughed. Me, I frowned, feeling the embarrassment rise up my throat and soak into my already-warm cheeks.
He swallowed and wiped his lips with the back of a hand. “It’s Adrian right?”
I shaded my eyes from the sun, peering up at him. “Yes.”
“I’ve seen you around. I think we’re in the same science class together.”
“We are. Mr. Gilchrist’s, room 201.”
“Since I’m kind of new here, I thought I’d throw a party tonight at my place…get to know everyone—celebrate the win. Wanna come?”
I’d never been invited to anything the cool kids did. I gulped quietly, not knowing what to say.
“I wouldn’t bother asking him, he’s a geek!” another soccer player chided.
A burly brunet added, “Yeah, geeks don’t know how to party!”
Tim cracked a huge smile. “Piss off!” He motioned for them to leave. “Can’t you see I’m trying to make a new friend here?”
His teammates laughed and mocked me again, telling him I was a waste of space, and wandered in the direction of the school gymnasium.
“Don’t pay any attention to them.” He propped his hands on his hips. “They didn’t mean it.”
My nerves were on edge; we were alone and he had a great smile—not to mention I’d noticed the nice package inside his shorts. I couldn’t put two coherent thoughts together with a boner sticking up between my thighs. “It’s okay…I’m used to it.”
“That’s not something you should get used to.”
I shrugged, pressing my legs together tighter.
“So, what do you say?” He suddenly had his hand inside the bag again and it nudged the head of my cock, sending a sharp ache straight through my testicles to my ass.
“They’re right, I don’t party…well.” Clutching my books and snack, I leapt to my feet and without looking at him, jumped down the bleachers, and nearly took a nosedive at the base.
I think he actually pursued me for a short distance, but I ran. And I could run like the wind when scared. God, I’d made a fool of myself.
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