A Battle For Sexuality – Part II

WARNING: WARNING: WARNING:

This chapter involves NON-CONSENSUAL SEXUAL ACTIONS concerning a young boy and several other teens. Please, PLEASE, look at the themes above this note, and if any of these turn you off, look elsewhere. I swear I am not a pervert or anything of the like – all of these actions are fictional and I do not condone them in real life.

—————————————————————————————————————————
PART I

He had never been good at video games, not extremely good, anyway. Tim liked the challenge they presented, teasing his mind, but his hand-eye coordination had never been spectacular. Cassie was the one who could sit in front of a screen and beat any level he threw at her, thumbs flicking rapidly over the controls. But today, Cassie was lounging in front of her laptop, polished nails no doubt typing to her sort-of boyfriend, and Tim didn’t have the energy the pour into his video games as he usually did. Not to mention his mind was still full of what happened two weeks ago over his neighbors house. Derek and Seth had been unbelievably kind to him since then, giving him both of their cell phone numbers and telling him to call them whenever he needed to talk.

Armed with his new knowledge about himself, Tim began tentatively exploring his new role as a homosexual male. He hadn’t told his parents or his sister yet – hadn’t told a soul except Seth and Derek – but he felt better about himself. More at peace. He still felt a little weird and awkward when her jerked off in the shower to thoughts of men, but his body responded hard and quick, so he didn’t feel there was any harm. His sketching had actually improved, and he began trying his hand at watercolors. It had been a relatively peaceful two weeks, and he was comfortable enough with Derek and Seth not to be embarrassed around them.

However…

He couldn’t stop fantasizing about them, running images and scenarios in his head over and over again. His mother seemed to know, instinctively, and showered him with opportunities to date girls, meet girls, kiss girls, do anything with girls. Actually, she was pretty much forcing him to go out and meet teenagers his own age. But he couldn’t tell his mother how he felt – it was too risky. His father, especially, would be completely pissed. Timothy’s father was a stocky, burly man with rigid morals and a severe intolerance for anyone who didn’t fit into his Irish-Catholic-Republican viewpoint. Timothy didn’t fear him as much as his mother – mostly because his father was gone most of the time, driving his truck all over the country.

Telling anybody never crossed his mind, although his sensible thoughts told him it was only a matter of time. He couldn’t picture himself dating a girl just to keep up a pretense, so he knew the day would have to come sooner rather than later. But as the days for school to start crept closer and closer, he knew he was just procrastinating. It would be easier to tell his parents when he was more comfortable with himself, he instructed his mind. Once he felt reasonably confident about his preferences, he would tell people. Right now, he was content to stay in the proverbial closet, as it were. As long as he knew this much about himself, he was fine.

As the languid, syrupy days of summer dissolved seamlessly into the crisp, biting days of autumn, school supplies began going on sale. New books, pencils, pens, paper, and rulers all flooded in, and Cassie threw herself into the mad frenzy of senior year. He permitted Mrs. Larks to buy him a new backpack, a new cell phone, and a slush-pile of new junk which would undoubtedly make him seem more popular in school. All he really asked for was a new sketchbook and a new set of pencils. His mother had refused to buy him both, so he scrounged around the house for drawing paper until he could convince Cassie to pick up some the next time she went to the store.

And then the days of school arrived – the first day of school dawned bright, fresh, and had the snap of autumn chill in it. Cassie had already selected her new outfit to make an impression – a buttery yellow shearling coat and tight black jeans which hugged her ass and made her look even prettier. Tim, on the other hand, came down for breakfast that morning with a tee shirt and sweatpants. He wasn’t concerned.

“Tim, please,” Cassie begged. “My friends are going to see you, and I don’t want them to see what a slob I have for a brother.”

“Cassie, it’s just school,” He sighed, but obediently went upstairs and began rummaging through the stiff new clothes his mother had bought for him. There was a large pile, all of it designed to make him look buff and macho. Muscle shirts, loose jeans and the like, but he wrinkled his nose at everything. It was only when he reached the bottom of the pile when he saw something that caught his eye.

Much better, He said, and smoothed the plain white tee shirt flat over his desk. Uncapping a felt-tipped permanent marker, he set to work.

Cassie’s mouth dropped open when her brother came whistling down the stairs, wearing the new loose black jeans their mother had bought and a plain white tee shirt. But it wasn’t the plain clothing which shocked her, it was the message he had emblazoned over the front of the shirt. In Timothy’s neat, upward-slanting strokes, he had printed:

SORRY BOYS, I’M STRAIGHT

And beneath it, in smaller letters –

But It May Just Be A Phase

Mrs. Larks dropped the coffee pot.

“Timothy Jackson Larks, take that shirt off this instant!” She spluttered, her eyes frozen on the words ‘phase’. “How dare you! It’s…lewd! It’s obscene! Take it off!”

“No,” Tim said, and sat down. His cheeks were flushed but his deep brown eyes were determined. “I like it. It’s funny, and it’ll make an impression.” He looked at Cassie, eyes asking for help. His older sister still seemed floored, and he took a big bite of his cereal and tried hard not to look at his mother. “Plenty of kids have worse shirts,” He told her, and it was true. Just the other day he had seen a girl walking down the street with a pink tee shirt that had said “If it smells like chicken, keep on lickin’. If it smells like trout, get out.”

“Timothy Jackson Larks -” His mother began, but he pushed away his cereal and stood up abruptly.

“I’ll be late for the bus,” He said, and headed out the door.

Cassie looked at her mother. Mrs. Larks looked at her daughter. “What has gotten into him?” Mrs. Larks gasped.

“Just the age, I guess,” Cassie muttered, looking at her brother’s slender frame disappearing around the corner. “I hope he grows out of it quick, he’s going to embarrass me in front of all my friends.”

—————————————————————————————————————-

PART II

“Hey, man, nice shirt.”

He had been hearing comments like this all day, but this one came from a particularly intimidating specimen.