Discovering Love

Written by Rick Beck

Chapter 61

Calm After The Storm

The therapist gave Greg the next few days off. He went back to lifting weights. I helped when I could and kept an eye on the storage shed's doors. I even opened them from time to time to see if the bike had been disturbed but I found no sign that it had been touched.

Greg remained subdued. He slept more than usual and didn't seem to be too enthusiastic about anything. His appetite had gone into decline as well and even when his mother put his favorites in front of him, he pushed the the plate away before he'd gotten into the meal. None of us said anything for fear of setting him off again but we were all seeing the same things and hoping it was no more than a temporary setback.

Late at night I sat with his mother as she knitted and talked about him when he was a little boy. The stories were always about his curiosity and fearless bravado as well as the impact he had on people, teachers, and classmates who came home with him, even in Germany, when he didn't speak their language and they didn't speak his.

Greg had always run with older boys until he returned to the States at which time the boys were always a year, two, or even three years younger than he was. She didn't understand the attraction as Greg was never all that friendly to anyone. He was always assuming the lead and having nothing to do with anyone that challenged his authority. It wasn't as easy to get obedience from guys his age back in the states, she thought.

She was sure that most of what was going on now had a great deal to do with what went on then. Greg had carved out his place in the world and suddenly the world turned its back on him, except for one little boy. No one followed him home in an effort to spend time with him. No one called and no one inquired, and that had to take its toll on someone like him, she mused.

She once again thanked me for my loyalty to her son, but it was more than that, she was happy I had come to expose them to another kind of boy. My shyness and reservation was different. I wasn't the kind of boy who usually followed Greg home, being far too nice and unpretentious.

Doug came home after a particularly excellent spaghetti dinner. He was all smiles, looking even more handsome, his hair sun bleached, and his skin darker than I'd ever seen it before. His white even teeth shined in the harsh light of the dinning room table, but nothing could outshine the dazzle on Doug. He hugged both of us fondly, letting his lips brush my neck as he sniffed in my fragrance deeply and sighed before backing off with his mother knitting three feet away.

"Where's Cheryl?" His mother asked, knitting one and pearling two with a dexterity that didn't allow my eyes to keep up with her fast fingers.

"Cheryl? With her family. They went to visit the grandparents. Not what I wanted to do on a lovely evening like this. How are you, Martin?"

"Fine," I said, unable to keep my eyes off him as he studied me.

"And what did Dougie want to do?" His mother asked, never slowing down but managing to look up over top of her silver rimmed glasses at her youngest son.

"Have some of that besketti," he said. "Smells wonderful, mother."

His mother sat down the knitting and hugged Doug on the way past him and she disappeared into the kitchen. He stood still while I gave him the once over twice, not trying to hide the admiration I had for his beauty. He smiled big for me when I got to the soft blue eyes that always had a place for me in them. The things that Doug and I never said to one another could have filled a novel.

"How's my brother?" He asked, bringing us both back to reality.

"I don't know," I confessed to him. "Hard to say. He's in one of his funks."

"Yeah, I wondered how long you'd be able to put up with him once you were living with him. It's a test, Martin. Greg is a hard man to figure out."

"He's in one of his moods. Nothing seems to interest him. He lifts weights because he wants his body back. He goes to therapy because he wants to walk, but he has no interest in either. He just quit on me a ways back. I let him try to ride the bike and...."

"I know," Doug said, in an effort to save me reliving that particularly fuck up. "Pop told me he fucked his leg up again. You can't blame yourself for Greg's craziness. He'd ah done it with or without you, Martin. Greg doesn't do anything he hasn't made up his mind to do."

"Yeah, but it was with me and he hasn't been the same since."

"He feels sorry for himself. Poor Greg. I brought something to break the monotony."

"What?" I asked.

"What later," his mother said as she brought him a plate of spaghetti, setting it down in the place across from where I sat.

I watched Doug eat. He had the appetite his brother had lost. After two plates and four slices of garlic bread, he finally pushed himself away from the plate he'd emptied twice. How did he keep that body with an appetite like that, I wondered, seeing his taunt chest pressing against his inadequate shirt as his now powerful looking arms bulged as he wiped up sauce with the final crust of bread.

"Don't they feed you over there, Dougie?" His mother inquired, also watching the final dip and the crust disappearing.

"Yeah, but I try to act like I'm not always starving."

"No need to act in front of us, huh? We know you're a pig," she said with a smile. "Want another plate, Dougie?"

"Exactly," he said, leaning to pick up the big glass of milk that he drained before setting it back down. "No, Mom, I'm pleasantly full."

His now reddish lips from the spaghetti were coated in the white sheen of the milk. He licked his lips and watched me watching him, smiling only after I'd kept my gaze on his face. Even with the remnants of his dinner on his face, it was lovely to look at.

"You'll never change, Martin," Doug said, licking his lips.

"Let's hope not," his mother said, patting the back of my hand. "He's the best son I've got and I've got some good ones."

"Yeah," Doug said. "He's a keeper Ma. Don't let him get away."

Doug got up from the table and headed out of the dinning room and I heard the back screen door open and then slam. A minute later it opened and than slammed shut again and Doug came back through the kitchen and laid two tennis rackets and a cylinder of tennis balls on the table.

"What's that for?" I asked.

"You and the gimp," Doug said.

"Douglas!" His mother objected.

"You know, my lame brother and you."


"I thought maybe it would give him something else to do for exercise. It's a good game and you don't need to freak out playing it. I mean someone can play it without having to run all over the place. Then as he can move better, you play harder. At first you just hit it back and forth. He only has to move as far as he needs to. You'll see. Cheryl's father suggested it."

He cleared his place and took the remnants of his dinner into the kitchen before going into the television room and coming back in no time at all.

"It's like seven o'clock and he's sleeping already?" Doug said.

"Yeah, told you, he's lost interest in everything."

"Okay, I'll stay tonight. We'll take him out tomorrow and he can watch us play tennis," Doug calculated.

"Only one small problem with your plan, Douglas," I said.

"Yeah, that being?"

"I can't play tennis," I said.

"Me either. Cheryl waxes my ass, so I'm no whiz at it. I'll teach you the rules as we go. Make up what I need to so I can beat your ass. Greg'll want to play by the time we're done. He'll hate seeing us doing something together."

"I don't think so," I said. "He's barely doing the things he's supposed to do. He's stopped walking on his own. I've got to go with him just to get him to the bathroom. He was going on his own for a while."

"Sounds like my brother. Why do it alone when you can get help," Doug chuckled before realizing his mother was listening.

"I don't think that's it. He's quit trying."

"Martin, you might lo... like my brother, but I know him best. He'll want a shot at tennis before we quit. All you have to do is act like you're having fun playing with me."

That brought all kinds of visions to mind but none I felt comfortable commenting on in front of his mother. I let it slide and just agreed to disagree with Greg's brother, when there was little disagreeable about him.

It was after therapy and weight lifting the following day that Doug suggested we go up to the high school to use the courts behind the gym. Greg was at odds with the idea until he found out that Doug and I were going whether or not he went. He begrudgingly agreed, not wanting me and Doug alone anywhere together.

Doug ran me all over the court. It was like I was his ballboy. I could volley with him if he didn't hit the serve well but when he got his serve in, all I could do was chase the ball. Greg sat at the side of the court unconcerned and not the least bit amused.

Once Doug had worn me out, and I was sweating, and huffing and puffing from the workout, Greg wanted to get in the game.

"Let me play," Greg said.

"You can't even walk," I said.

"Yeah, well, I don't need to walk to beat your ass at tennis," Greg retorted.

He stood up and limped, more dragging his bad leg toward Doug, taking the racket from him. He then struck the ball with the racket and sailed it over my head. Once again I ended up chasing balls as Greg stood in one spot, hardly moving.

Each time I hit a ball, I did my best to hit it right at him, so he could have a shot at it. A couple of times he had to move a step to the right or left to get to it. I never put enough on the ball to cause him to take more than one step a shot. I thought I had handled the situation pretty well, when it became clear that the only thing I handled was my own irrelevant mind that was rarely as clever as I thought it was.

On one particular shot that came close to me but not close enough for me to get a clear shot, which caused me to hit it back with a little more velocity than I might have liked. Up until then every ball I hit was an easy floater that gave him no challenge whatsoever to return a shot. This ball whizzed back over the net and headed just beyond his reach, or so it seemed from my vantage point.

Greg had several options. Stand still and watch it zip past. Take a step and try to get in front of it and that would leave no hope of returning the ball in any controlled manor, or he could lunge at the ball with his racket outstretched and maybe hit it as he was falling probably on his face. Well, there was no doubt in my mind what he'd do, take a step and end up in front of the ball, knocking it down so it didn't skitter away. That's what he had done every time before.

Greg was totally focused on the ball from the time it left his racket. For a long time he didn't move at all, and then, suddenly, he shoved out the racket and lunged toward the ball, connecting with it in a big way, and launching it straight at my head. Which left me falling down as I stumbled backward in an effort to avoid getting my block knocked off.

Greg also fell down, laughing his ass off as he saw me falling away from his mighty blast. He couldn't just adjust to his limitations. He had to get in one clear shot at my head so that he felt better. No one was more amused by this triumph than he was. Doug went over to him to help him up but he was laughing to hard to stand. The game was over.

We decided we'd had enough tennis but Greg wanted to come back and try it again soon. Doug had known his brother better than I did but he never mentioned it again. He had gone back to Cheryl's before the weekend and said he'd be back before school started. No one said he should do anything different, although it was nice having him around.

We added tennis to our daily routine. Greg liked it and the one step and occasional lunges turned into two steps and then three. He could move fairly quickly on the first step, and he could reach almost anything I hit him with that, but on those errant blasts that had the ball out of his reach, he'd make a game effort to get to it. In one step and then follow it up with one or two more before letting it go, which he didn't often do.

Ever so slowly the energy was coming back. We'd gone a week without having sex and that was the longest I could remember. He hadn't mentioned it but one day while I was rubbing him with mineral oil, his libido returned with a vengeance.

First he wanted to wrestle and that meant my clothes were covered in the oil I was using on him and he liked that. Once I was shed of them, he found it easy to get a hold on me, while no matter where I grabbed him, my hands slipped off. He would laugh and get another hold on me until we were in a position he could make the most of. There was no doubt it was hard for him to hide his enthusiasm for our physical contact.

Using the oil and while kissing him, I clutched the prize between his thighs. It looked a little like a big fat bull frog the way it swelled in my fist as the oil facilitated my massaging of it. It was only a couple of minutes with me enjoy the feel while working it for all I was worth. I did all with in my power to swallow his tongue and while concentrating on that I felt the hot burst of fluid on my arm, and then watched another long straight line shoot up his stomach and onto his chest.

His kisses were passion-filled and demanding as he forced his hips at my hand to empty out the pent-up lustiness that had come back to life.

"Damn," he said, looking down at the mess he had made on his front side. "I couldn't stop it. I've never lost it that easy before."

"You mean that hard, don't you," I said, squeezing the fast fading fistful of cock as we both studied its posture.

Even soft he was thicker than I was hard and only a little shorter. Thinking he was done, I let up on my manipulations, but at a time like this, Greg was only getting warmed up.

He held my hand and used his hips to press his cock into it while we kissed some more. In only a few more minutes he was rising to the occasion again and the quality of his kisses never left it in doubt.

It wasn't unusual for him to stay hard after getting off the first time but he hadn't been that horny for some time. If there was to be a second round, it usually started pretty fast and got us right back into the heat of battle. This time he was content to kiss and let me feel him coming back to life until there was no doubt we were going at least one more round.

Having had enough of handling him, I slipped down his sloppy torso to start working on the head, remembering it took time to stretch my mouth over him. Keeping my jaws relaxed was the secret to swallowing most of Greg's erection. It took time and concentration so I didn't gouge him too deeply with my lust for his hungry cock.

I felt a little like the python after constricting his prey and then slowly swallowing it whole so his body could be nourished. With each gulp, I moved further down the shaft, smelling his fragrant balls from the days activities, the mineral oil, and the cum. The aroma made my head swim and kept me swallowing until the animal I was consuming came back to life on me. First my lips felt the vibrations as the hard prick twitched against my teeth that sunk into the gristle of his dick, and more spasms caused it to pulse in my mouth as the head swelled against the back of the my mouth and closed in on my throat.

"Sorry!" He breathed out the word heavily before I tasted the tangy and pungent liquid squirting into my throat as his hips raised up and his hand held the back of my head so I couldn't back off.

The familiar moan followed and his hips shook as more musty liquid squirted in jolts of potent thick jelly. Forcing my mouth down on his hot to trot cock wasn't the brightest idea he'd ever had.

My mouth was fairly well accustomed to the fattest part of it, but his forced introduction to a few more silly millimeters had my teeth biting the hell out of him. Past experience told me that this wasn't all together disagreeable to his effort to bust the biggest nut he could muster and so I went with him as long as he wrestled my mouth in his lustful effort to feed me his true love.

Once again he retreated rather faster than usual, allowing me to come up for air before I was desperate for the stuff.

"Sorry!" He said again, "I wanted to make it last. I know I haven't been giving you enough attention."

"Hell with making it last. There's always more where that came from," I answered, moving back to kiss him again.

"Yeah, but you still haven't done anything. I wanted you to cum that time."

"When I do, you'll know it, but I can't keep reloading and you can. This is good for me. I'll manage."

"True," he said, thinking back. "I can do better."

In the shower I soaped him up as he leaned under the showerhead. His muscles were hardening and his ability to walk and stand were improving. As I slid up behind him and wrapped myself around him, he used his ass on me in a suggestive way, making no attempt to stay out of reach.

Slipping beyond the boundaries of earth was always a rush for me, especially when I had his pocket rocket in my fist, pumping it up to keep the propellant igniting his flame. It never took long for me once we achieved orbit. I became dizzily frazzled on the jagged edges of my mind. It was perfection and once I had done the deed, he turned in my flaccid arms and gazed into my dazed and soulful eyes.

"I love you, Martin, and that was about the best sex I've ever had. You're so fucking wild when you cum. I might go often but you are champ when it comes to cumming big time."

He had gone soft and there were no ulterior motives for his remarks, nothing to be gained or lost in the heat of the moment, and so it was good. It was very, very good and as I dried his hardening body, he held onto the towel rack, watching me wipe his thighs free of moisture. It's then he laughed and at first I wasn't sure he wasn't laughing at me, but I was always prepared for some wiggle room to worm its way into something he had said.

"God, I'm lucky. God you are so cute. I want to dry you when you're done."

"That would be great, Greg, but you can't bend your knees. How do you expect to accomplish that?"

"I can sit my ass down on the throne, can't I? I can dry you off from there, and maybe even do some business while I'm at it."

We both laughed at the specter of him taking a dump and drying me off at the same time, speaking of an economy of motion.

There was nothing economical about my love for him. It was incredible being with him, especially when he was completely alive. Times were tough on both of us but there was still joy in our world that kept us going.

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