Sunshine Boys.

Sunshine boys.

It was always in his smile. That look of "come here boy, I want you." And at such a young age I could barely contain my erection as his hands and fingers stroked the bareness of my skin. Being young had it's advantages. When things "came up" because of friction it could always be passed off as pubescent reaction. I loved when he'd smile at me! It always made me feel comfortable and at peace. He was my first real crush and my first real heartache. It started out very simple and it never blossomed into anything complicated. When he and I would roll around on the bed together I knew that my lust for him was doomed. The memory sockets in my brain keep him locked inside of me and I hold a constant craving to feel the way I did when we were together.

I never understood why he and I clicked so well. Our friendship started out as a brotherhood. I was attracted to his older brother at first, but grew to like him more when we got to know each other. He had this mole on his left cheek that was more of a beauty mark and less of a mole. My fingers would graze over it in teenage curiosity as he slept by my side. His somewhat shaggy brown hair brushed over the arch of his brow and parted over to the left side of his scalp. After a shower he would comb it so perfectly and then shake it out like a dog who had just been ambushed with a pail of water. His eyes were like dark pools of chocolate and they were so inviting whenever he'd flash a wink my way. I suppose if he meant anything other than "hi" when he looked at me, I was oblivious to his intentions.

He loved his father, but he hated his father. Growing up with him I knew what he meant. His father was selfish and manipulative and not at all like a man who was supposed to be responsible for his actions. I can see a lot of his fathers ways in the man that I am today and I think that has to do a lot with the fact that my Mom chose to keep him around as long as she did. His father could be cruel and hateful, so in each other we found sanctuary. I felt comfortable in his arms or pinned underneath him. He was my saving grace in a world that I assumed didn't exist to me because I felt awkward or ugly. Unlike the gorgeous Adonis's or beautiful princesses who had each other or lusted after one another, I had no one who showed a remote interest in me other than him. Had his father known about my intentions I surely wouldn't have lived long enough to tell the story.

In the short time that we spent together we did what boys our age would do. Correction, we did what boys who were not allowed to socialize with their peer group would do. We chilled around in my bedroom and listen to Garth Brooks and Reba McIntire. We wrestled around on the bed till each of us was out of breath and then we kept going for more. These little encounters we shared were always innocent and never escalated passed playful tickling and the occasional peck on the lips or cheeks. I could feel my days in school as I sat in a classroom thinking about the end of the day. The end of the day met more frolicking for he and I and I could hardly keep my hard on from showing as I thought about it. Whenever this happened I kept a pillow between our bodies so that I didn't come off as a fag to him because he was exciting me. I knew he knew what was going on. And he knew that I knew he enjoyed doing that. And we remained doing what we did because our world of comfort never went passed the bedroom door.

I can think of him, the way he looked and the way he smelled. I can remember my nose curiously inhaling the scent of his masculinity at the nape of his neck. Maybe we were curious about each other because our youth presented no other options. He had his bull riding and his fathers stock car to keep him occupied for the most part and I had music and writing to keep me occupied. Together we got a job bussing tables and cleaning dishes in a dive restaurant and we got some cash under the table for doing so. And then one day he didn't come home from school. He didn't leave a note to explain where he had gone. He never said goodbye to me and I found out later that he had gone back home to live with his mom in Michigan. I never saw him after that. For months I toiled in depression wondering why he never gave me a clue. I wrote him a letter to get my feelings out of my head and the pain out of my heart. Then I threw the letter away and decided that love between boys, whatever it was, would never be easy for me.

It's obvious that I still think about him. I wonder how his breath would feel on the back of my neck sleeping together. I imagine his youthful smile and muscular frame chuckling to myself with a thought that time may have made an old man out of him. I miss him. I miss the innocence of our youth and the freedom we had to be buddies. Mostly I miss the feelings that inspired me not to have a care in the world. I try to find him every now and again on the computer. I doubt that will ever pan through. I hope he is doing well and I hope he has thought about me a time or two over the years.

Peace!