Just For the Week Ch. 03

I smile at him, "I actually wanted to thank you again. That day in the cafeteria when you stood with me against Kevin. I was in real trouble there. Thanks for the save. Like, really. Who knows what could have happened?"

"That guy's been an asshole for four years now. I was just glad I was around." Suddenly his shoes are interesting again. "High school is just about over. I wish I'd taken the time to get to know you better." He looks back up at me. "I have to get back to Natalee."

~~

My friends come back with an assortment of junk food. None of it looks good to me but I take a small dark chocolate almond bar anyway.

Tyson says to Layne, "You are totally boss."

"I have no idea what you're talking about. She tripped." Layne sips a Sprite, "I still wish I could have punched her in the face."

The four of us talk and laugh and just veg out for the next hour. Danny tells me that Layne cried during Rainbow and Layne punches him in the arm, "We both cried."

I ask if my scraped-up face was visible to the audience while I was at the piano and they all tell me, "No."

To prove the point, Tyson takes out his phone, taps at it a few times and hands it to me. It's a still picture he took of me at the piano, showing just my right-side profile. Just then, Connor reappears and tells Tyson that there's something he has to see over at another table. Tyson excuses himself. I look back down at Tyson's phone, but it's gone dark. When I wake up the screen, it's not on the photo anymore. It's showing the contents of a folder. It's a really fucking full folder.

I scroll back and back and back some more. There are pages and pages of photos and videos, all from our ten days together. Some of them I knew he was taking, like the one at the end of the ping pong game. Many of them I had no idea. His collection goes all the way back to that first afternoon in the choir room after I finished playing Vienna. Even the reject photos from the promposal that I made him promise to delete are all here. He chronicled every day, maybe every hour of our time together. This thing meant something to him long before I even knew it was a thing. He has surprised me over and over again. Who is Tyson Courtland? He really is the sweetest, kindest, most generous person I know. What am I doing? Seriously, what the fuck am I doing?

Layne's voice breaks my trance, "Jackson, I would say that tonight was a raging success. When Daniel asked me to prom two months ago, I thought this night would suck."

Danny whines, "Hey...feelings over here!"

"Not because of you, honey. Just the thought of prom. But you really came through Jackson."

"Huh? Oh, thanks," I look at my watch. It's 11:30. I realize that my heart is pounding. I suddenly can't imagine letting another minute go by. I say to Danny and Layne, "I have to go do something. Right now. You two should go too. Get out of here. Enjoy the rest of your night alone. Go have some heterosexual relations, or whatever it is that straight people do."

They look at me, simultaneously horrified and amused.

"I'll call or text tomorrow afternoon. I promise. Now go!"

I find Tyson in the center of a large group. Of course, everyone hangs on his every word as usual. I catch his attention and when he sees me his smile widens. He breaks away from the group. "What's up, Pearson?"

I slip him his phone, take his hand and say, "Follow me."

~~

I drag and pull him down the hall, away from everyone else. This end of the school is dark and quiet. Only scattered emergency lights are on in the shadowy halls. We get to the choir room door and fortunately, it's unlocked. If it hadn't been, I would have been forced to break in. This is where we need to be right now for this moment. Back to the scene where our time together began. I push the door open, flip on the lights, guide Tyson inside and close the door behind us.

He asks, "What are we doing in here?"

"There's one last song I need to play for you."

His smile falls.

"Wait. Poor choice of words. There is a song that I have to play for you right now."

He looks at me skeptically. "Are you dumping me? It's not midnight yet. I still have a half hour."

"Listen to me. I told you that we can't plan our futures around each other. That it would be crazy to make promises we don't know we can keep."

"Right," Tyson sits and folds his arms across his chest. "I'm well aware of your clinical, overly cautious logic."

I ignore the sarcasm and push on, "Here's what I realized. No, we can't plan our futures around each other, but really, we can't plan our futures at all. It's the future. We can guess, we can hope and we can try, but we don't know." I shift on the piano bench. I'm not sure I'm successfully making my point. I wave my hands like I just erased an invisible chalkboard. "Ten days ago, sitting right here in this room, in this very spot, where we began, I played Vienna. It's taken me ten days to realize that you are my Vienna."

Tyson unfolds his arms, "So you want to play Vienna again for me?"

"No. I mean, yeah, sure, sometime, but not now. Now, I need to play you the song that's been going around and around in my head for ten days, which might be the most beautiful and potentially tragic song ever written. And So It Goes." I play it.

I let the last notes breathe and fade to silence. I raise my head and, for the first time in three and a half minutes, I look at him. I quote from the song I just sang, "So, yes, I will share this room with you and you can have this heart to break." I turn on the bench, facing him. "I didn't say it back to you before, but I'm saying it to you now. I love you too, Tyson!"

"Are you really saying... Is this happening? I didn't think... I mean I hoped..." He stands and pulls me up too. He squeezes me in a tight embrace.

I manage to croak out, "I want to be your boyfriend. Tonight, tomorrow, all summer and, if possible, forever. I know that 18-year-olds shouldn't be talking about forever. But I know what I feel. I know what I want. And who's to say it can't work out?"

Tyson looks down at me and cocks an eyebrow.

"Okay, fine, I said it. But what the fuck did I know?"

He throws his head back and laughs out loud. "I love you so fucking much!" He put his hands on my shoulders, stares me right in the eyes with a burning intensity and says, "I will never not love you."

And in that moment, I believe him. I stare straight back. "I want to try. I want to make this work." I check the clock on the wall, it's 11:45. "I still had fifteen minutes to spare."

Tyson kisses me. I can't know for sure, but I would bet anything that this is the deepest, longest, most passionate kiss in the more than 50-year history of the Chandler choir room. Well, at least top three. No, definitely number one. I score it a perfect ten. When we finally break apart, we look at each other and say in unison, "Let's bounce."

~~

Driving us back to my house he says to me, "I lied to you."

I say nothing and my heart skips a beat.

"I told you that I hadn't decided what college I'm going to. Well, I did accept at one school."

Whew. I had no idea where he was going with this. I tease, "Well I know it's not Berklee. You have zero musical aptitude."

He scoffs, "Hey. I could play bass, remember?"

"That's true." I laugh, "You do rock the bass guitar."

"No, not Berklee. I've accepted at Boston College."

"Oh..." I stutter, "Oh my god!" My mouth is gaping open.

"I need you to understand, I'm not doing this just to be near you. I mean, you obviously are a huge draw, but it's really a great school. They have a respected Art program and a competitive basketball team. My point is, I'm not settling for less. I'm not compromising my best possible future. Especially when being in Boston with you is that best future."

I punch his arm, Layne-style, "Why didn't you tell me this?"

He feigns injury, "Don't hit the driver." He takes in a deep breath. "I almost told you a few times, but I kept stopping myself. I wanted you to make the decision to be with me because of me. Because I was worth it, not knowing where we'd end up. I didn't want to be an easy, convenient choice. I wanted to be worth the risk. Worth the fight. You had me scared fucking shitless right up to the end."

"So, you were testing me. You know I've been through hell this past week." I put my hand on his knee. "You are so worth the risk." I give a little squeeze. I ask, "When did you accept?"

He turns his head and regards me sheepishly. "The day you told Troy about your Berklee acceptance letter."

I can't believe my ears. "Was that a coincidence?"

He says nothing.

"But we didn't even know each other then. Not really."

"Not yet," he corrects.

I let that sink in as I again realize again that this meant something to him long before I had a clue.

I ask, "So, exactly how close will we be?"

He grins. "4.7 miles. A fifteen-minute train ride."

Now I throw my head back and laugh out loud.

He says, "Be honest with me, if you feel that I'm crashing your party out there, you tell me. I'll give you space. I don't want to intrude in your college experience."

"Intrude? Are you kidding me? Are you new here? In case I haven't made it clear, you are my best possible future too. I expect to see you every weekend."

He grins, "I can't believe this is really happening."

~~

He parks in front of my house and I say, "Please come in."

He's already out of the car.

We take off our tux Troyets and hang them on the back of kitchen chairs. I say, "I want you to stay over again."

"I was hoping you would."

"But this time, not on the couch."

~~

We know we're the only ones home, but we close my bedroom door anyway. I guess we don't want the cat to be an audience. I turn the lock on the knob and spin on my heel, facing my gorgeous man. Forgetting that these are rented clothes, we practically rip them off of each other.

The room is dark, but my eyes are adjusting quickly. I can see his crystal blues staring back at me. I snake my hands inside his undershirt and...oh my god! I have seen Tyson Courtland shirtless three times before -- once glistening in sweat and twice still damp from a shower -- but this is my first time seeing him with my hands. My first touch.

I glide my fingers around above the waistband of his boxer briefs and his rippled muscles quiver. How can something so strong be so sensitive? His washboard abs are both hard and soft at the same time. If he's even 2% body fat, I have no idea where that 2% can be. I pull his undershirt off. He really should be a model. Or maybe he is the sculpted finished product of a proud artist.

My hands and fingertips have not stopped their exploration. They make their way to his concave belly button and Tyson lets out a soft moan. I lower my hands to his hips and steer him backwards to my awaiting bed. When the backs of his knees bump into my mattress, he loses his balance and falls backwards, but his arms are around me, so I fall too -- right on top of him. We roll around a little, laughing and somehow, we each find our hands entangled in each other's hair. We stop laughing and start kissing. I gave the choir room kiss a perfect 10 earlier, so I have no idea how to rate this. It's off the chart.

We roll some more and now I'm on my back. He's hard against my thigh and I can actually feel him getting harder. I, meanwhile, am poking him in the stomach, but this time, not with my hands.

He pulls his head back for a moment and asks, "Are you ready? Are you sure you want this now? Just because it's prom night doesn't mean we have to-"

I press a finger to his lips. He obviously knows I'm responding and I'm physically ready. But being the sweet, kind, caring, generous man I've gotten to know over these 10 days, I'm not surprised that he's checking in. Making sure. I feel so vulnerable right now under his weight. But I've also never felt safer or more loved. I nod and tell Tyson, "I've never wanted anything more."

Suddenly, my undershirt is off. He has seen me shirtless a couple times before too, but right now, the way he looks at me, without even a touch, he makes me shiver. I'm a runner, but that's it. I have no rumples or ridges. No pecs, no abs. I'm thin, but soft. Unimpressive to my own eyes. But how Tyson sees me...the hunger, the glint, his smile...he likes what he sees in me as much as I do in him.

He dives into kissing my neck and my whole body explodes in tingles. His mouth makes its way to my sternum and begins a slow, deliberate journey south. His hands stroke up and down my sides from my armpits to my hip bones. As my underwear strains against my erection, I realize that I've never been harder. Passed my sternum, his kissing and sucking mouth continues downward. His tongue plunges into my belly button and I bite my lower lip. He kisses and plays around my navel for a while and I almost can't take the anticipation.

But just like with everything else these 10 days, we take it slow. Eventually, his hands grip my waistband and my underwear slides off. I am at full-mast and Tyson takes just a moment to enjoy the view. He shoots back up and kisses me hard before saying, "You are the most beautiful man alive!"

I flush and blush. I shiver and quiver.

Tyson slides back down and without warning, his hands are on me. My eyes bulge and I gasp, involuntarily. This is the first time in my life that someone besides me has touched me there. It's shocking, jolting, exciting and way better than anything I ever imagined. He's using both hands, one is working me, like an artist molding clay, while the other gently strokes up and down. I never imagined anything could feel like this. I moan in ecstasy.

At a little shy of 6 inches, I know I'm not huge down there, but Tyson seems anything but disappointed. He seems to enjoy what he's doing to me as much as I love being on the receiving end. He makes eye contact with me for a brief moment, then returns his attention to my steel rod. Without warning, his gripping hands abandon me, but his warm, wet mouth takes me in. I cry out in elation. He has no trouble swallowing my whole length. I've imagined this moment, but it far surpasses any dream or fantasy I've ever had. I thought I already was harder than I've ever been, but I think I was wrong. I also may have just gained that last quarter of an inch that need to officially make it to 6 inches!

Tyson works me up and down and twists side to side. Sometimes he goes fast, sometimes slow. Sometimes aggressive, sometimes gentle. I don't know exactly how long it's been -- 5 minutes or an hour -- but it's pretty irrelevant at this point. Tyson has been relentless and I'm ready to explode. I forewarn him by intensifying my moans, but he doesn't let up. I grip the bedsheets, bend my knees and thrust my ass in the air. He keeps it going. My eyes roll back, my toes curl and I almost scream as the first orgasm of my life (that wasn't self-inflicted) rocks my whole body. I feel like a blob of jelly as I pant and recover.

Just like he enjoyed doing those things to me, I can't wait to get my hands (and mouth) on him. I push him down on his back and traverse the rocky road of his pecs and abs. When I pull off his underwear, he too is already at full attention. Tyson is 6 inches taller than me. I figured that everything would be proportionate...and it is. No, he doesn't have a 12-inch monster -- that would probably just scare me and make me duck for cover. No. He looks to be the perfect 7.5 that I've fantasized about.

But this isn't just like in my dreams. Not at all. I don't lust after Tyson. Okay, maybe I do a little come on... He's Tyson Freaking Courtland. No. I love him. He's perfect. He's smart and funny and kind and sweet and generous... It almost doesn't even matter that he's ridiculously hot. Almost. Or that every part of him from his wavy blond hair to his gigantic basketball player feet is flawless.

I can't believe I almost let this get away. I almost let him get away. I was almost an idiot, but I came to my senses with only minutes to spare. I'm human and I screw up, but not this time.

I turn my attention back to a flawless part of my flawless boyfriend. I can't quite fit all of his manly length, but I use a hand to complete full coverage. Based on Tyson's reaction, I think I do okay. By the time I'm done with him, he's racked with shakes and quakes that last a surprisingly long time.

I crawl into his strong arms and we both fall asleep.

The end of our last day. And the beginning of all the others.

~~

For the second morning in a row, I wake up in Tyson's strong arms, though today in my bed rather than on the couch. I feel like the weight of the world has been lifted and I just might be the happiest person on planet earth. I turn onto my back and lace my fingers together behind my head. I meet his eyes and we both have big stupid grins on our faces. I never thought I'd lose my virginity in high school, but as of sometime after midnight last night, I just snuck it in under the wire with one week to spare. I guess we both did. We've officially been deflowered. Our V-Cards have been swiped. If someone would have told me that this is where I'd be today just two weeks ago... This is so colossally, massively, monumentally fucking insane. Tyson Courtland is in my bed and I can't stop smiling.

Tyson says to me, "So, that happened."

"Twice."

"Each!"

We both laugh.

I nuzzle my face into his chest, enjoying his scent. I say, "And it's about to happen again."

~~

As much as I never want to leave this bed, I begin to extract myself. He asks, "Where're you going?"

"Meet me in the kitchen in 45 minutes." I pull on a pair of socks, jeans and a t-shirt. "Forty-five minutes. Kitchen."

He calls out, "Are we going for a run?"

Halfway down the stairs, I yell back over my shoulder, "Not today."

I begin making eggs in a frame, for two. It's the birthday that Tyson celebrates, so I will indulge in a bit of bread. I set the table and pour an orange juice for him and water for me. Just as the bacon is smelling like it's done, Tyson walks in, still damp from a shower. In lieu of his tux or his smoky, dirty bonfire/fight clothes, he's wearing a pair of my running shorts and my baggiest Bulls sweatshirt, that is not at all baggy on him, with sleeves that end only halfway down his forearms. His humongous feet are stretching out a pair of my Addidas crew socks. He looks like a twelve-year-old trying on last year's clothes after a sudden growth spurt. I'm jealous of my own clothes right now because they are wrapped around Tyson Courtland's body, and I am not. He's ridiculously cute.

He looks around and says, "You're spoiling me. We could have ordered in."

"I wanted to do something special for your birthday." I kiss him. "Happy birthday."

"How did you-?" He pulls out a chair and sits. "Miranda told you."

"Don't be mad at her. She cares about you."

"But it's not even real. It's dumb. Half-birthdays are for infants and toddlers."

I take his hand, "It's not dumb. How or when you celebrate your birthday is your choice. This is what your family decided for you and I think it's awesome."

"Really?"

"Yeah. Besides, it's super annoying when people have the nerve to celebrate their birthday too close to Christmas. How selfish can a person be?" I grin at him and he gives me one his trademark playful shoves grinning back.

I say, "Seriously, you get to do you and I get to do it with you." I flush at that, "I mean..."

He laughs, "I know what you mean." Then his smile fades, "So, you knew when you 'decided' last night? I didn't want my birthday, where I go to college or anything else to influence your decision. I wanted you to...no, I needed you to want it enough on your own."

"But I do though. I did not choose to be with you out of pity. I swear. I just finally woke up and extracted my head from my ass." I set my fork down, "Okay, so I just found out about your birthday less than forty-eight hours ago and, well, let's just say that a lot has happened in that time. I haven't gone shopping and I honestly didn't even know if we'd be together at this point."