Chapter Two
Kyle woke slowly the next morning, Sunday. He felt someone warm under him and realized that he liked that sensation. He felt the rhythmic breathing of Mike under his right ear, and softly heard the gentle, 'thump-thump' of his heartbeat. He listened to Mike's respiration and felt the big man's left hand as it had hooked itself under Kyle's left armpit and held the two of them together.
Kyle felt protected, and wanted. This was a feeling he'd sought for all of his life, a person that would shelter him, and hold him. Is this was what being gay was about? His friends from high school would never have understood this. His mother would scream, his father, well who knows what his father would say?
None of that seemed to make much difference now though. Mike was here. He could feel his breathing, could smell him. Mike had a man's smell, a real man's smell. He had scars on his furry body, odd pockmarks that Kyle was sure had a story behind every one of them. Kyle wanted these stories, he wanted this man. He felt like a child.
Mike snored softly, and Kyle opened his eyes, and stole a look at him. Mike's nostrils flared as he snorted softly and took a deep breath of air in, and moved his lips. He shifted his arm softly and then tugged Kyle even tighter, letting off a soft sort of pseudo purring sound. Kyle smiled.
Mike's eyes opened to slits, the pupils looking about and fixing on Kyle's emerald green eyes. He pursed his lips to the air and blew Kyle a kiss.
Kyle blew one back and smiled.
"Morning," Mike said softly.
"Morning," Kyle replied. He leaned up and nuzzled the stubble of the big man and clenched at his body needfully.
Mike smiled, and softly petted Kyle's head, scratching it as you would a dog.
"How you feeling?" Mike inquired.
"Good. Real good."
Mike smiled.
"Unfortunately, you got to move," Mike said.
Kyle looked up.
"I got to pee," he explained, sheepishly.
Kyle grinned, and while he too had to urinate, had not thought about moving to do so, not with Mike there.
Mike nudged Kyle softly and Kyle moved away, sitting up in the queen bed of the flat.
Mike's apartment was simple studio, consisting of a bed, television, some furniture, a sort of open kitchen area and a shower. He had a few posters on the walls, including a rare off printing 'Revenge of the Jedi' poster. His collection of video tapes was well maintained and he had a VHS top loader as well as an older, Beta machine. Mike wasn't a tidy soul, and clothing littered the trail between the front door to the bed, and the bed to the bathroom.
Mike sat up, and rolled his shoulders, Kyle could hear his bones creak, and saw a few scars on his back, long tracing things. Kyle gasped and Mike looked over his shoulder.
"Look worse than they are."
"How?" Kyle barely gasped out the word.
Mike's one word reply was simple, "'Nam"
Kyle was in shock. Not that Mike was so much older, but that he would fight anyone. To Kyle's brief exposure to Mike, he was a gentle man, a man who helped others, and tried to do the right thing.
Mike stood, went to the bathroom, and exhaled audibly in relief as he urinated.
Kyle's bladder spoke to him in the same manner and he made a line of one outside the tiny bathroom. He listened to the dripping sound as Mike shook his member between his fore and middle finger to get the urine off.
Instead of turning, he reached a hand over and flipped on the shower, letting the cold water purge from the venerable piping. A short spurt of crimson water came out, as then steam began to fill the bathroom.
Kyle had stepped up to the toilet and was relieving himself when he found Mike watching him with a grin.
"Shower?" He offered, gesturing.
"Yeah," Kyle smiled.
Inside the mini steam room, both men became hard again. They softly rubbed against each other during the soaping, forced to by the small confines.
Kyle had turned around to let the water pound on his neck and Mike loomed to one side, wrapped his powerful arms under Kyle's armpits, and squeezed him tight.
Kyle shivered, his erection becoming more dominant, poking out past the soft overlap of tummy that his weight created. His nipples were pert and he even had some fatty breasts, which Mike spent some time soaping and playing with. He felt Mike's tool against the crack of his ass, and while that felt good, he knew he wasn't ready for it.
Mikes hands soaped the young visitor, even past his own personal scrubbing, using the bar softly on his skin. He soaped up Kyle's armpits, chest, stomach and pubis, even giving his tool some soft hand care. Then the soap went between his ass cheeks, creating a sensation the like of which Kyle had never imagined.
Mike did not need to hear Kyle, he felt him, and whispered, "Come by again, and we can go slowly. I want you to enjoy it." He stepped aside, holding Kyle's ass apart, and letting the hot water drift from the small of his back down the crack of his butt. Kyle shivered, and nodded.
"Hungry?"
"Starving," Kyle answered as Mike wrapped a towel around Kyle's head and rubbed briskly.
"All I got is cereal and toast," Mike said. "Didn't honestly figure anyone would be coming home with me."
Kyle shrugged, "that's all I've got at home, and I didn't know I would be going home with anybody."
Mike laughed a belly laugh and then wrapped his hands around Kyle pulling him tightly. Kyle's breath was squeezed out of him as Mike's mouth invaded his lips. Kyle had only the barest of stubble on his chin, it was soft, and dewy. Mike broke away and patted Kyle on the rump.
Kyle's pulse was pounding and while he didn't want to leave, he understood, on some subconscious level that he was supposed to do something. There was a deep need inside of him, to not want to disappoint and he scuttled into the kitchen.
Mike watched him go, his tool rising to half-mast as he saw the pale white ass. It had been a very long time since he'd had someone so young. Hell, since he'd had anyone at all. Usually he just was ignored as the old man.
Kyle had washed out some bowls he found in the sink and put milk, what cereal he could find, and tossed bread in the toaster. He did these things without thinking about them, automatically. He smiled as Mike came out, wearing a towel around his waist, carrying one for Kyle.
"Trust me, you don't want your butt on that Naugahyde," he said, handing the towel to Kyle.
Kyle smiled and wrapped it around him. He put the toast on the table and brought butter and jam.
Mike looked at the spread, "damn, Kyle. You're gonna make someone a good wife."
Kyle flushed red, but also felt a certain sense of pride. He sat down and waited until Mike was done pouring his cereal and milk to get his own. As he was waiting, he looked at the four sparse photographs on Mike's dining area wall. Mike watched him and explained:
"Okay, top left. That's my family. My dad, mom, and my sister. This was taken in sixty-eight, before I left. I was twenty-five then. I think my sister has a few more kids now than then. I lost track after three, I just send them money. One on the right is my squad. I ended up being the old man of the group, and so they called me poppa."
Kyle nodded. Poppa was not a name used in his family of origin.
"Down here," he gestured with a spoon, "is pride of last year."
"Pride?" Kyle inquired.
"Gay Pride. It's a big deal around here. You start hanging with us long enough and you'll get snagged into it. Kind of like a big party." Mike said. Kyle swallowed and began to understand his entry into the gay subculture.
"And that's my little brother, I just got him two months ago. In fact, I'll have to kick you out about noon or so, as I go to see him on Sundays."
"Your parents had a kid late?" Kyle asked, confused.
"No no, hell I don't think my parents even have sex anymore," he laughed. "I do volunteer work for the Big Brothers of America. Jimmy there is eight. It's like having a grandkid, you go out, buy 'em crap, pump 'em full of sugar and send 'em home. Jimmy's grades aren't none too good, so I go over some schoolwork with him, and have him read and stuff."
Kyle nodded. His grades were poor although he was literate and well read, he just hated school.
"So how about you?"
"Not much to tell. Graduated in eighty-five, moved out. That kinda thing."
"So you ought to be getting close to twenty-one. The bar scene will be calling you." Mike noted.
"I don't know. I guess so, but I'm not sure. I watch from my apartment, the front part of the North Bank, the men come, the men go. A lot of them look plastic, unreal. I'm not sure any of them would want me. I'm fat, I'm not attractive. I don't know what I'm doing." He looked down, away from Mike.
"Hey, Kyle. We all had to start somewhere. No law says you have to go to the bars anyway. You can always hang out in the theater along with the rest of the pervs," he grinned.
