The Boy with the Beautiful Eyes

Copyright © 2013 by Michelle Maibelle

All rights reserved.

No part of this publication can be reproduced or transmitted in any form, electronic or mechanical, without permission from the author.

*****

My parents went through a wretched divorce recently. Even though the court proceedings are done with and my mother moved into a new apartment in a neighboring town, it still seems like they bicker every time the opportunity presents itself. They decided to call it quits after my sister and I 'grew up,' for what reason I don't know. I suppose they had this idea that miserable couples should stick together 'for the kids.' In reality, I think this was a rather foolish idea-we often heard them arguing in every room of our two-story house for five years straight. To not hear them arguing was a strange sound.

So I'm eighteen now, living in a small town with my mother. Not having enough motivation to figure out what to do with my life, I decided to attend the local community college. I figured that my mother chose the apartment complex she did out of concern for me-Cedar Springs Community College was just a fifteen minute walk away from my new front door. That was the problem with my mother: her concern and love for other people sometimes clouded her better judgement. By giving my life more convenience, she extended her morning commute from twenty minutes to thirty-two.

Harriet, my sister, decided to stick it out with our father. She's three years younger than me and one of the most desirable girls at her high school. With dirty blonde hair and slim, firm thighs, it's a bit nauseating to watch all the boys at school turn to stare at her. She seems to enjoy the attention. Perhaps it's better that she does-who knows how long any of us will keep our looks. I'm definitely not what most people would consider stare worthy.

I blame my mother for always giving me whatever I wanted. I'm not fat, but I also never bothered to participate in sports. The only thing keeping me from looking like a concentration camp survivor is all the energy drinks I go through in a day. I'm pasty-white, lanky, and spend way too much time in my room listening and obsessing over music. It might seem like a strange interest for a fag, but there you go. You might think that I'd be interested in things like fashion or art, but I'm not. Not really interior design, either, or photography.

Anyway, enough about that. The story begins as I was just moving in with my mother, helping her put away our things. She had way too many boxes for the space we had in the new apartment, but she still liked to pretend otherwise.

"Laurence, you keep wandering around here with that mopey look on your face," she said. Her hair was the same color as Harriet's, and she wore a blue flannel shirt that she twisted together at her belly.

I rolled my eyes. "Mom, I'm putting away my stuff. How am I supposed to look?"

She shrugged, unwrapping some glasses from brown paper and tucking them away in our new cupboard. "It's a nice day out. Why don't you take a break from moving and go enjoy the sun? There's a park not far from here."



A park? I thought. What am I supposed to do there, go on the jungle gym? It was unusual for my mother to be giving suggestions on what I should do with myself. I was beginning to think that the divorce was giving a new shade to her personality.

"If you want me out, I can go," I conceded.

Her lips puckered in mild disapproval at my passivity. "The divorce is hurting you, I can tell. It's hard for your parents to break things off."

"I'm really not that bothered."

Again, she shrugged. "I'm just telling you like I see it, though I might be wrong. I just think a little sun would do you good. The summer is almost over and you'll be in school, stuck in classrooms all day. You should take advantage of the good weather while it's here."

"Mom, I never went out during summer before, anyway. I'd always stay inside and play games."

"Oh, you can be so difficult sometimes. Go on, get some air. Your mother commands it."

Not having much to add, I did as she said.

It felt strange, walking down a street I wasn't familiar with. There was this looming feeling of dread, like I might end up walking towards a motorcycle gang when I just meant to head for the local convenience store.

The day was pleasant enough. The temperature had to be around eighty degrees, and I often saw minivans shooting past me on the main road with a gang of kids in the back. I thought of all the summers I had wasted being stuffed up in my room, and doing what? I could have been lounging on the river instead, or hiking in the woods. I guess it didn't help that all my friends were as much homebodies as I was... But they weren't gay.

I had never told anyone about my true sexuality. Looking at me, it would seem fairly obvious that I was just some loser kid that hung around in his basement and watched horrible zombie movies. I often wore black jeans and t-shirts bearing the logos of bands like Led Zeppelin or Iron Maiden. My hair was long, to around my shoulder blades, and slightly curly. If I ever told my friends that I was into playing classical music on the little piano that my grandparents had passed down to me, or that I enjoyed eating quiche and secretly watching Keeping Up With The Kardashians, there's a high chance I wouldn't have any friends to speak of.

I've never dated. Common excuses were always that my standards were too high, or that I had just not met the right girl yet. My friends didn't date that often, anyway, and what girls they managed to cajole into going out with them would always end up breaking it off. One of my friends, Cain, has been with his girlfriend Kate for a pretty long time. He was the type to write poetry, and she was a goth girl into A Perfect Circle and making elaborate shadow boxes. My other friends were your regular creeps-only dating a girl to get in her pants.

I often fantasized about the guys that most of your regular high school girls would have crushes on. I even fixated on boys that I knew were gay and hung around at the school's pride club. I still didn't want people to know my secret, though. I figured that in another time, at another place, I would let everything go and become the person that I really was inside. But here I was, still in my small town and living with my mother. I should have moved to some place like San Francisco or New York City, but I didn't. Even if I came out, who was to say that I'd even get a date?

Mulling on this, I passed the local park and watched as small children played on slides, monkey bars, and swings. A group of mothers were standing to the side, floppy straw hats protecting their faces as they chatted. Life seemed simpler when I was young. Sometimes I wished that I could go back to being a six or seven-year-old playing at the park with a few neighborhood kids. Instead I was a sexually frustrated teenager wondering what I was doing in a town of families and retirees.

I eventually reached the community pool. You had to pay to get inside, but as I circled around the concrete barricade, I quickly realized that I could sit on the bleachers for free and just watch people swim around. A few people were seated up there-mostly old ladies with too much red lipstick on-but they were towards the bottom where it was safer to ascend and descend. I climbed to the top towards a shadowed corner and leaned against the railing. A bunch of kids were lifting themselves out of the water and stampeding towards a few mothers holding out popsicles and juice boxes. A few of the grannies carefully waddled off towards the entrance to the pool to meet up with their families. On the other side of the pool, tearing off their clothes, were a whole different set of people. Mature, nubile people.

I slunk back into my seat as I observed a male swimming team disrobe and then leap into the partitions of the pool. Even when their bodies were partially obscured by the white peaks of splashes, I found it hard to not notice the beauty of their bodies. Their physiques were slim and shoulders broad from the repeated laps they did. I couldn't figure out why others hadn't figured out that this was the perfect place to sit and ogle. The stands were lacking in old greasy men, and only a spare few bored-looking elementary school kids scribbled in coloring books and played on their parent's smartphone. My cock tingled from the sight of all the young men, and I couldn't decide if I should have left at that moment or continued staring from my hidden place.

Of course, I didn't move a muscle. Was it fear at being caught walking away or just a mild hypnotism?

A portly man in blue shorts with a whistle around his neck prowled at the edge of the pool and shouted encouragement every few minutes. I envied the man, momentarily considering a scheme towards becoming a swimming coach myself. He seemed to honestly be interested in the swimmers, however, and the kind words he'd spout made me, oddly, feel a bit better about the day.

"GOOD GOING, LEON, KEEP GOING!"

"KEEP THAT STANCE STRAIGHT, NIKOLAI!"

"PAUL, GOOD ENDURANCE!"

The coach eventually blew the whistle and the boys climbed out of the pool. Twelve of them stood there in black speedos, their hair luxuriously wet and toned bodies gleaming in the sunlight. The sight of them was, for me, like the full spread of Thanksgiving dinner to a starving child. The last of them to get out was the most beautiful of them all: he was tall, had long black hair, possessed a pleasant combination of fat and muscle on his bones, and was blessed with the most beautiful turquoise eyes I'd seen in my life. Even from the bleachers, a good thirty yards away, it was evident that his eyes were more sparkling than any gem.

He lined up with the rest of them and listened to the coach talk. About what, I wasn't certain, but I felt eerily out in the open now that the entire team was above ground and able to rove their eyes beyond more than someone else's paddling feet. Thinking that I was pushing my luck, I decided to quickly and quietly make my way down the metal seats and walk towards the exit out. There was a convenience store further down the road, and I planned on trekking down there to get a frozen drink before heading home. As I was leaving, though, I noticed that the boy with the beautiful eyes was watching me. When we made eye contact and he shot me a playful grin.

What?

I responded by simply ignoring him and disappearing behind the concrete wall as quickly as I could. As soon as I was behind the barrier, I leaned against it and tried to get myself together. I looked down at my pants to make sure that I wasn't pitching a tent, and rearranged my cock so that my erection was well hidden. I wished that I could dip myself in ice cold water to make the overwhelming hormones pumping through my body cool down. The images of that boy flashed through my mind-his tanned abs, white smile, strong thighs, the way his goggles laid lazily against his chest...

I forced myself to walk, hoping that the activity would flow some of the blood from my dick to other areas of my body. I tried spotting the more ugly patrons of the park as well, hoping that it would help, but also feeling guilty about what I was doing.

I wondered over and over in my head on why the boy had smiled when he'd seen me. Was he just being friendly? Had he thought that I was someone that he knew? The idea that he was gay was out of the question to me. Even if he did like men, there was no way that he was into a pasty-white, skinny guy like me. When I thought of gays, and the guys that gays were into, I never saw myself as part of that equation. I didn't wear rainbow bracelets, didn't dress in fashionable clothing, didn't watch musicals, didn't work out, and most certainly did not give off what most would refer to as a 'gay vibe.' They gayest thing about me was that I looked at pictures of naked men.

Okay, maybe watching Keeping Up With the Kardashians is kind of gay.

I walked to the convenience store, paid for the slushy, and then continued to fantasize about the mystery swimmer as I went home. Mom was still putting things away as I walked through the front door, though her eyes were plastered to some daytime talk show.

"Enjoy the walk?" She asked.

"Yeah," I said, clearing my throat. "It was nice."

"Good," she smiled. "See, I knew that you would get a lot of good out of enjoying the sunshine."

I ambled to my room, musing to myself about how she had no idea how right she was. I would probably never see the boy again, considering that I was too cowardly to be seen again at the pool. Still, I stored the image of him in my mind, slipping my hand down my pants as I laid down on my bed. I tugged the zipper down, and pulled my stiff cock from my grey boxer briefs.

"Fuck," I mumbled, taking in the engorged sight of my dick. I'd only seen it so stiff a few times in my life, and playing with it in my hands, it felt like it was made of stone instead of flesh. I imagined placing my lips on the cock of the boy at the pool, using one of those stalls for changing. I stroked with more speed as I imagined him digging his hands into my hair and moaning my name as I sucked his cock down into my throat. His tight black speedo would be shoved down to his knees, and the only thing on both of our minds would be the explosion of release.

"Oh God Laurence, yes... Laurence..." He'd moan.




My first class the next day was Calculus. Why I had chosen to study math at 8AM, I can't say. Attempting to remember what I'd learned in Trigonometry and Algebra II while also attempting to stay awake was a challenge that I barely managed through. I'd at least been alert enough to respond during roll call when the professor got to 'P,' my last name being Perlith. Driving through the labyrinth of people at the crack of dawn in order to find a parking spot also required more brain power than I was probably qualified to handle.

Despite my lack of direction, I was a bit of an honor student in high school. Because I had passed the AP English test before graduating, I didn't have to take a basic English class at the community college. So instead of taking some kind of technical writing class for credit, I decided to take Russian Literature. I can't say why I took a particular interest in the Russians. The name of the course sort of jumped out at me, and I enjoy a challenge. Before showing up for that class, however, I met up with some friends in the quad.

Hey man where u at?

A text message from Rusty. I was a mere twenty feet away from where we were supposed to meet before he was too impatient to wait any longer.

Behind you asshole, I responded with my flip phone.

Rusty turned, a happy smile on his fat face. He had a thin beard growing out and was dressed in black, like me. A Giants cap was on his head and his t-shirt traced over his beer belly.

His hoarse voice croaked out to me, "Sneaky bastard."

My two other friends were there, as well. Henry was about as skinny as me, but his face was covered in acne and he kept his head shaved. My other friend Ben had a more normal body type and wore jeans, a white t-shirt, and a hoodie. The weather was still relatively pleasant at around eighty degrees, but he still insisted on wearing that beaten grey thing.

I greeted each of them by slapping hands, and then we started talking about our classes.

"I don't know what you were thinking taking a math class at eight in the morning, bro," said Henry. "I could barely take an art class at that hour, let alone deal with numbers."

I shrugged. "You have a class soon?"

"Yeah, at 10:15. Accounting. Gag me. I'm only taking it because my dad forced me to."

Rusty lit a cigarette and sucked on the end. Some passing students glared at him, and each of us eyed him with a mixture of reverence and fear. We wouldn't be caught dead smoking at our high school.

"Are you allowed to do that here?" Asked Ben.

"I guess I'll find out," responded Rusty with a smirk before tapping some of his ashes away into the wind.

The four of us sort of took in our surroundings, wondering if an administrator or teacher would give us crap. Some attractive girls wearing mini skirts passed us instead. They were decked in full makeup for their first day of school and their hair was carefully flat-ironed or curled. I caught the eyes of Henry, Rusty, and Ben glaze over.

The inevitable, "I'd hit that," emerged from Henry's lips.

"Yeah, who wouldn't," said Rusty.

"College girls or high school girls?" Implored Ben.

We all took a minute to mull on it. I forced myself to spit out, "I try not to discriminate."

"Yeah, right!" Said Henry. "You've got less game than even Rusty. At least Ben let him sniff his finger."

I let out a small laugh. Ben checked his watch at the mention of the comment and said, "Hey guys, now that you mention it, I've gotta meet up with Jocelyn. She's probably just gotten out of her pottery class."

"You're her little bitch now, huh?" Asked Rusty with a smile.

He returned the smile. "I'd use another word for it, but we can go with that."

"Well, don't pussy out and start listening to N*Sync or some shit!" Said Henry. "Then we really will have to tar and feather your ass."

"Hey, you know she's not lame like that," Ben responded.

"Yeah, she likes that Perfect Circle shit."

Ben shrugged. "Nothin' wrong with that, as far as I'm concerned. Anyway, I gotta go. See ya, losers."

"Bye, Ben," we all said.

"I probably gotta go, too," I added. "I've got English next."

"Sure. See ya, Laurence." Rusty stubbed out his cigarette on the ground and began walking away with Henry in the opposite direction of me.

As I went, I wondered how long I would be friends with them all. I was glad that my main group of friends were about as motivated to do something with their lives as I was, but would we grow apart after time passed? I would probably transfer to some other university soon, but where would that be? I lived in suburban Southern California, but really had no motivated to stay there, besides to reside near my mom. I always wanted to go somewhere more romantic to study, outside of the bubble that I grew up in. Southern California could have its charms, but could I say that I wanted to stay there? Not really. Perhaps if I were to pursue plastic surgery, it wouldn't be such a bad idea.

I walked into my next class about five minutes before it was scheduled to start and noticed that it wasn't quite full yet. There was a mix of guys and girls seated, though it learned more towards a female majority. The professor handed me a neon-green handout when I passed her, and she sent me a fresh smile. She looked to be in her thirties, and she wore a light summer blouse with slacks. Her short red hair was curled and she wore a shade of red lipstick that demanded attention. Based on her looks, I decided to judge her as agreeable enough. From my experience in high school, you could usually judge the character of an instructor by the feeling they gave you on the first meeting. This woman seemed respectful but also a bit on the foxy side.

I took a seat towards the back, the places next to me being empty. I noticed that the professor had written her name on the board-Dr. Tanya Ninvosky. I felt bad for her, realizing that she had a PhD in her field but was only working at a measly community college. At least she had a job, I guess. I knew that a lot of the humanities majors were having a hard time finding employment. Then the thought of my own future struck me... What would I do with my life? If I was being honest with myself, the class that I really looked forward to that day was the intermediate piano class. But playing piano didn't really pay the bills.