Chapter Twenty-Six Driving Lessons

The next day, Gerard decided to fulfill his word and teach me how to drive. We had walked home the rest of the way from the park, Gerard not even caring that his van was still in the parking lot of the restaurant. He said he’d rather have it towed then to go back and ruin the nice transition we already had. He wanted to keep me by his side as we walked home, and more importantly, he wanted to walk. It was the one time where we could be out in public, holding hands and sneaking small kisses without being completely caught. The night sky wrapped us in a blanket, the stars and lamplights little holes in the fabric we could see through, to guide our way home. When we saw people sharing the street with us, we’d separate, but still stay relatively close together. There was no denying that we were together, but we left the status of our relationship very vague when strangers were among us.

As we passed the liquor store across from his place, I realized I still had no idea what I was going to tell Sam and Travis on Monday. I had debated telling them that I was just learning art, and Gerard was teaching me, but I didn’t think they would buy it, even if it was true for a little while. I had never shown an interest in art before. They would become skeptical, as if they weren’t enough already. And of course, call me fag. They’d call me a fag under any circumstance though, whether I was learning how to do art, or play guitar, or I said I was stealing from Gerard and that was why I was in his apartment. It was a process of association in their small, thick-headed skulls. If I was hanging around the fag artist, it meant I was a fag. And though the theory in itself was not entirely true, I guessed it did apply on my part.

I was a fag. I was fucking a guy, liking it, and wanting to do it all over again. Deep down though, I knew Gerard was worth it, and the point was only reiterated when he pressed his lips against mine as soon as we were in the sheltered area of the apartment. We were both so tired that we didn’t have sex that night. We merely stripped off our clothing like layers of paint, and fell into bed together. He ran his fingers through my hair, grazing the skin on the back of my neck until the starlight and the artificial light blended into one aura and I had fallen asleep. My head rested on his chest, and I heard the rhythmic palpitations of his heart. It sounded like the fluttering of wings.

In the morning, I was woken up by him straddling me, fully clothed, the thin bed sheets preventing my naked body from hitting his rough corduroy pants. He was waving a key ring in my face, a shiny new key added to the bunch.

“Let’s go driving,” he said, somehow managing to make it sound sensual, and like the best idea I had ever heard. He leaned down to my face, still groggy from the slumber, and proceeded to kiss my eyelids and face, rousing me up. He jumped off my waist as soon as I began to kiss back, opening my mouth and allowing him entry. I laid there on the bed, my arms propping myself up and glared at him. He could not entice me one moment, then back down the next.

Gerard was a tease most of the time in our relationship, dragging out your urges and desires just to fuel his own. He thrived on people wanting to be with him, people wanting to kiss and touch and hold him, and he knew how to drive me crazy so I would want to do those things to him. I needed direction most of the time, and his temptations gave me something to zero my sexual energy on. Our sexual appetites worked well together, and also clashed sometimes, providing an added element to our original dynamics. I didn’t like it when he teased, especially this early in the morning, but I couldn’t help but play along. The way his caterpillar-like eyebrows seemed to take on a life of their own as they wiggled across his forehead, and the way his tiny teeth poised into a devilish smile, just made me want to be corrupted. He stood in the doorway, just then, those familiar features brazed across his face.

“Get dressed and we can have another lesson,” he said, raising his eyebrows and then leaving me alone in his room. I sighed and flung off the covers, grabbing any kind of clothing I could find and then headed out into the main room, where he stood holding the door of the apartment, waiting for me.

He had already picked up the van early in the morning while I was still sleeping, and it was now parked in front of the building, right next to the curb. It always surprised me when he got up at random times and did random tasks. He had horrible sleeping habits; I had come to find out ever since I had begun to spend those nights with him. There would be some days where he wouldn’t sleep at all, staying up past dawn and dusk, watching and painting everything he saw. Then there were other days, where he was mainly nocturnal, requiring naps in the middle of the day to get him through it all. His naps were generally in the mid afternoon, when I always came over from school, where he had these lags in energy that forced him to rest his eyes if he wanted any good work done. Ever since we started our physical relationship, there had been a few days where I came to his place after school and he’d be asleep, but this didn’t happen as many times as it had before we started painting. I remembered the hostility I felt when I came to his apartment on those days, my hopes as high as the sun in the sky, only to find him asleep, his mouth open and eyes glazed over. I was left to clean mugs in an older man’s apartment while he snored loudly, pretending to drink wine so I could have some kind of excuse for going over every goddamn day.

Now when I walked into his apartment, and found him tucked away into slumber, I didn’t let it depress me. Instead, I usually just jumped right into bed (or got on the couch) with him. I started to acquire that afternoon nap, especially when we spent most of the night fucking or talking. His sleeping patterns began to change and grow even more chaotic when I was brought into the mix, forcing himself to try and remain as awake as he could when I was in his presence. On the weekends when I stayed over (though we hadn’t had that many to compare to), we couldn’t be awake around each other forever, no matter how hard we tried. We consumed coffee pot after coffee pot the first Saturday, just to see how long we could last, but our efforts had been futile at best. No matter how much coffee someone could put into their system, the body is a temple, a vessel, and it will fight back. You end up crashing, and we did hard that Saturday night, but at least we had done it together.

Gerard’s random nocturnal habits extended into him waking at unsystematic times. When and if he did get to sleep at night, it was very rare for him to sleep for more than four hours at a time. Since he regarded the activity in general as fruitless, this shortage of hours was a blessing in disguise. It meant that if inspiration struck him at three in the morning, he could get up and do something and not be too tired after. I’d wake up some nights, and see him painting line after random line down on the page. When I’d ask him about it, he would only say with a fire in his eyes that he just had to do it. It was better than sleeping, than sitting in a dark room trying to sleep, and so forth. I was getting used to the random outbursts of creativity, and even found myself coming upon them.

The phenomena only happened once, when I was at home, but I had woken up at five in the morning with a guitar riff in my head that I had to write down. It had been the first time in ages where I felt genuinely creative. I had felt creative those times at Gerard’s apartment, but that was different. It was a forced creativity – someone sitting me down and telling me to paint, instead of me actually wanting to do it. Or needing to do it. I had needed to play guitar at five in the morning that day. And I did it. It amazed me, and made me happy for the rest of the day. The same event hadn’t happened since then, but I was just going to give it time.

Vivian’s words still echoed in my mind, making me think even harder about the creative element to the things I was being forced to do, and waking up at five in the morning for. I’d catch myself looking at my hands more and more, either as I washed them in the bathroom, or during class, trying to figure out with this other passion was. She had said something about my hands fitting somewhere, but I couldn’t for the life of me figure out what that could be. I furthered my study into looking at Gerard’s as well, something I did anyway, trying to compare the two. We both didn’t have the same marks – artist marks or whatever Vivian said they were. We didn’t match at all with our markings, and it made me sad. I liked bonding with Gerard when we painted. I wanted to have the same craft as him, or at least something similar. I thought I could have gotten that with music, but apparently not. I needed to find this out, if not for myself, then to see what Gerard thought of everything. I had spent the rest of the day when Vivian told me obsessing and worrying about finding it, and only calmed myself down when I thought of that five in the morning playing session. Like with the creativity outburst, I figured my passion, and whatever fit into my hands, would find me. I could never find it if I was looking for it, if it was forced upon me. Gerard always said that things were much better when they were unexpected. Nothing with us ever was.

He had woken up early that morning, when the sun was just peeking over the Jersey skyline in a hue of violent orange, and the first thing on his mind had been getting his van back. He’d wake up in the mornings before me a lot of the time, just to wake up. He didn’t like sleep, and even if he didn’t have creativity holding him by the throat, he would still just get up, even if it was just to think. He never told me, but I knew he watched me sleep. The idea had been planted in my mind, waking up that first morning at his place and he had told me I looked beautiful while I slept. Those words had just stuck with me, and ever since, I could have sworn I felt a presence over me in the early morning hours when I was still stuck in-between the two conscious states. There was another time where my theory was put to the test, and I had vaguely woken up one morning, and spotted him out of the corner of my eyes. He had dragged a kitchen chair to his room, and was placed in it with a sketch book in his lap, his face in his hands, eyes trained on me to just watch. It freaked me out at first, because I had been dreaming about us getting caught (those types of dreams happened a lot, unfortunately), but I calmed when his words of my apparent beauty came into my mind again. And I had fallen asleep again after, waking up an hour later with his kiss on my mouth.

I caught myself watching him too, when and if Gerard fell asleep before me at night. I’d watch the way the light came into the apartment and washed across his face. He would almost always look serene as he slept, his breathing even and shallow, but I once watched him as he had a nightmare. His face was taut and creased, his breathing increasing as his eyes darted across his face. I didn’t want to wake him up, but I wrapped my arms around his bare chest, feeling his heart beat beneath me. He had gripped me back just as tight, his dream taking over and guiding his actions. He grew calm as I began to rub my hands up and down his arms, and fell back into a normal sleep rhythm. I never knew what his dream had been about, and I didn’t bother asking. If he was like me, he wouldn’t like discussing things that went on in his subconscious. And for once, I had been right about Gerard. He never mentioned the dream, and we just slept together.

He guided me outside of the apartment building, walking farther ahead of me. It was a bright and clear day, the sun almost at its zenith in the sky, signaling to me that it really wasn’t as early as I thought it was. My heart sunk a little bit, knowing that I would have to go home tonight and I couldn’t be late. I had skipped Friday, and though I wasn’t too afraid of my parents finding out about that, I wanted to stay on their semi-good side. I had to deal with Sam and Travis too, but I pushed that from my mind. If I had only so much time, Gerard was my major focus.

He walked around to the passenger side, throwing me the key ring he had in his hand to me. As I caught it, the sharp edges only grazing my skin a little, I realized what it was. It was my keychain he had tossed to me, a new addition added to the twists of metal.

“You gave me a key to your car?” I asked, my face lighting up. He smiled at me from the other side of the vehicle, nodding his head slowly.

I felt pride well up inside of me. No one had ever trusted me the way he had. No one had ever given me a key to their apartment, then a key to their car without some sort of offer in return. Not Gerard. He just gave and gave. He was taking care of me and trusting me in a way my parents hadn’t even been able to consider. If I had asked to even learn in their car, it would be a battle and a half. Gerard was offering to teach me, and already giving me a reward. He knew I was going to succeed.

“Now let me inside so we can start,” he joked, jostling the door handle on the passenger side. I uttered a quick ‘oh’ in recognition, snapping back into reality and letting him inside along with myself. We sat in the car a while, feeling the warmth radiating from the sunbeams that had filtered through, warming up the interior. The pine air freshener hung loosely, batting away in the wind that came through the small opening of the window on the passenger side.

“Okay,” Gerard said, easing into his seat, his voice relaxed. “First step in this whole learning how to drive lesson is to actually put the key in the ignition.” He elbowed me back into the task and gave me another one of his grins.

“Oh,” I said again, the shock from his trust still not wearing off. His joke made me roll my eyes, knowing that I could play right back as I stuck my key inside. “I know. I’m not completely hopeless.”

“Let me be the judge of that,” he shot back.

“I thought you were the teacher, not the judge?”

He sighed, rolling his eyes. I was getting good at this game.

“I am a man of many talents,” he stated, his smug arrogance coming through, more so for comic appeal. I scoffed at him, keeping my stare on him as I turned my key inside the ignition. The engine made a loud whirring noise I didn’t remember from the day before, almost making me jump out of my skin.

“Maybe the first step should have been seatbelts,” he added, poising his hand to his chin and rubbing with mock contemplation. He was completely unfazed by the engine’s loud gnawing noise, leading me to believe that everything was okay. Still, I nodded my head voicelessly and did up my seatbelt. I pulled the belt tight to create a tension, and made sure it was tight across my body for a ploy at safety. He followed soon after, his belt much looser than my own. He rubbed his hands on his knees excitedly.

“Let’s go,” he stated, and so our lesson began.

I had never driven a single thing before. Unless a riding mower that I had used years ago when I went up to my uncle’s place in the country counted. Even that thing I had a hard time using, almost taking out a fence and only finishing half of his gigantic yard. I had read the book for Driver’s Ed, but I had not committed much to memory and it had been years ago, when I first turned fifteen and the idea had been planted in my head that I really needed a license. After that first week of hardcore reading (and falling asleep while reading) I hadn’t touched it again. But I had seen my parents drive, my friends drive, and Gerard, so I figured there couldn’t be too much to it, right?

Wrong.

I had no idea that the car still moved when I didn’t have my foot on any petal at all. I thought the car was just supposed to stay still when I wasn’t doing anything. It made sense, but apparently not. When the car started to move after I had just put the key in the ignition, I nearly shit myself. I thought I was going to go right into the road and hit the nonexistent cars. Since it was Sunday morning, or early afternoon, most people were out saving their souls in church, while I was killing the small plants on the side of the road as I went up over the curb. Gerard was fairly calm through most of my trials and tribulations, never yelling at me once. His arms went out to the window and the handle on the roof of the car to support himself during my jerky motions, and at one point, I saw him tighten his seatbelt, but he never said a word. He always smiled at me when I looked over at him, and kindly told me to watch the road. He helped me steer a few times when I thought I was going to die, directing me to the near empty parking lot where he told me it was impossible to die in. He was contradicting his own words from before where he had said that nothing was impossible and it seemed that my feet and this van were going to prove him wrong. We were going to die in the vacated department store parking lot on a Sunday.

I kept getting twisted and confused at what lever to pull when I wanted to go where, and what foot to use that I just threw my arms down on the steering wheel once, causing the horn to blare and scaring the shit out of me more. It was fucking hard driving, and I expressed that sentiment many times.

“You have to learn,” he told me, smile still on his face from watching me jump out of my skin.

“Why? I can walk places,” I shot back at him, not meaning to be so resentful. He took none of it to heart, my words washing over him and out the car window.

“You won’t want to walk everywhere, trust me,” he said, leaning over to grip the wheel again. I had forgotten about ‘the car still moves when you don’t touch anything’ rule and was focusing on hitting the brake too hard. This seemed fucking hopeless.

“Sometimes it’s just nice to drive somewhere, for the hell of it,” he continued, his demeanor calm and reassuring.

I couldn’t help but think that this was probably one of the most normal times we had had together. He was still trying to teach me something, to prepare me for the world or whatever, but he was not going into too many philosophies on life. He just told me that I had to learn to drive. It was what people did, and it was one of those things that I was allowed to, and (for once) needed to conform to. I was glad he wasn’t relating anything with double meanings at this moment, because I was still stumbling over the first meanings in what the fuck the car was suppose to do.

“You can blast your radio and CDs and just drive away from your problems for a little while,” Gerard continued to state, getting about as philosophical as he would that day.

I could understand what he was getting at there. I loved to blast my music in my headphones as I walked, especially around the school. It made me feel like I was in my own little world and that nothing could touch me. And I did that same thing when I was in the car on long road trip with my family. I could see the appeal in it all, and I decided I would try harder. I had been trying hard before, but my nerves were getting in the way. I took a deep breath and started again.

I had a little more success after that, only crashing into the curb once. The curbs, I had decided, were evil. I didn’t see it, and the next thing I knew, I would be over it. They jumped out at me, I swore over and over again to Gerard, who just laughed at my explanation for almost denting his van, shaking his head, and just telling me to keep going. I had no idea how long our lesson was supposed to last, but when I almost collided with the only car near the back of the lot, we both decided that we were good for the day. We practiced parking, something of which I nailed right on the first try.

“You did well,” he informed me, after the whirring engine had been shut off and we were now alone in the vehicle again. We were surrounded by two cars on either side, giving us the effect of darkness, and like we were in our own room again. We had undone our seatbelts, but only to turn to each other and talk.

“Don’t lie,” I sighed, shaking my head and putting my hands over my face. I felt a little bit embarrassed at the horrible display I had put on, but I wasn’t too worried about him judging me. I was able to laugh at myself, instead of feeling like I had to crawl into the trunk and hide.

“I never lie,” he declared matter-of-factly. I peeked at him through a space between my fingers, giving him a skeptical look. He shot me one right back and continued. “I may leave out some details, but if you really sucked, I would say so.”

“Like the first time with my guitar,” I shot at him jokingly, but he didn’t see it that way.

“Frank, I already told you that I was extra hard on you then,” he explained again, his voice becoming sincere. He extended a hand to my knee, rubbing it tenderly. I felt awkward under his touch for the first time in a long time. I had never been good at taking compliments or criticism, especially if I didn’t know how to tell the two apart.

“Yeah, I know,” I said, trying to change the topic, my voice coming out rushed and choppy. “But still…”

“But what?” he asked, not letting this drop. He furrowed his brow and stared at me intently. “You’re a good guitar player, Frank. Really good.”

“That one day in your bedroom was a fluke,” I informed him, batting my hands in front of my face as if to shoo the topic away. Again, Gerard ignored my passive requests.

“No, it hasn’t just been that, Frank,” he assured me, his eyes becoming more and more intense by the moment. I had to look away, but I kept my attention on him, excitement mounting inside me, but being ready to take a beating. Just in case.

“The times that you just play when you’re around home are really good, too. When I paint and I hear guitar, I sometimes don’t think it’s you; I think it’s a CD you brought. It’s actually good, Frank.” He paused, scrunching up his face as he noticed me trying to disappear into the polyester of the seats. I didn’t take compliments well, especially from someone I respected so much.

“Frank, don’t hide from this.” He leaned forward more, putting his hand on my shoulder, drawing me in and making me look at him. I looked beyond his screwed up countenance and the olive of his eyes and tried to see what else was in his head. I could hear in his voice how sincere he sounded, but seeing was believing. And he believed in me. He meant what he was saying.

“Okay…” I said slowly, the realization that I could actually have still sinking in. “But what do I do now?”

“Ah,” he breathed, his smug show coming forth again. He leaned back into his seat, shrugging his hands up, showing that he didn’t have an answer to that question. “You have to decide what you want to do with it.”

I sighed. Heavily. He was back to being himself again, the philosopher who gave you just enough information to make you think, but never enough to answer your questions for you. I really hated thinking for myself sometimes, especially about matters like this, but I couldn’t help but laugh a little.

“What’s so funny?” Gerard asked me, his eyes perplexed as to why I shared his happy demeanor all of a sudden. We were both resting leisurely against the back of the seats, our lips twisted into smiles. Only for the most part, I was usually not this chipper after he gave me a proposition like that. For once, I was the one confusing him and it made me smile even more.

“You,” I answered, taking in another comical breath. He cocked his head at me, waiting for me to continue. There were definite role reversals going on. I sighed contently, then brought my gaze to match his own.

“You realize this is the one time we’ve had a semi-normal conversation, without your constant musings?” My words hit his ears, and processed for a while before his eyes grew wide in realization.

“And,” I added. “Now you’re the one that’s confused, while I know what’s going on.”

His eyes widened a little more while his full lips dropped down into a shocked gaze. I began to laugh again, closing my eyes and leaning my head against the seat. Suddenly, I became aware of a new sensation in my lap, gripping and kneading the fabric of my jeans on my inner thigh, and a raw wetness over my mouth. I opened my eyes to see Gerard leaning over in the seat, his lips pressed against mine, moving feverishly while his hand cupped and groped my crotch. Though it felt good and I could feel myself start to get turned on by his hands and delicate fingers, I pulled away from his mouth and looked up at him.

“Gerard?” I questioned, looking at his face, which had now returned to its devil-like ways.

“You’re right,” he stated, bringing his lips together with mine once more before he continued. “Things were getting way too normal.”

He began to kiss me again, while his hands found the top of my fly, undoing it and sticking his hand inside to find my cock. His strong grip wrapped around it, clutching it and stroking it until it became fully hard. I kissed back fiercely, feeling warm and comforted under his hands. I had no idea exactly why we needed to be kissing right then, other than to disrupt normalcy, but I wasn’t complaining. Gerard was in somewhat control again, his actions retaining their double meaning they had lost for the short driving lesson. My role had been short lived and I was back to confusion, but it was fun while it lasted. Right then, I was too focused on Gerard, his thumb hovering over my slit and rubbing it as a bead of pre-come came out, lubricating his hand as he slid down it. I felt a sudden loss as his lips were removed from my own, but I was no longer grieving at the new location they were headed.

He gave me a quick smile before his head dipped down lower, his lips devouring the already swollen head of my cock. I moaned as I felt the warm heat engulf me, his tongue sliding out and around, touching and teasing my slit. I placed my hands on his shoulders, squeezing him tight as he began to lower himself on the rest of me. I sank into the seat, opening my legs more to accommodate his head and long hair, which I could feel tickling my thighs as his hands rocked the rest of my jeans off my hips.

I loved it when Gerard gave me blowjobs, especially unexpected ones like this. Although half the fun of sex was usually the anticipation, surprises were just as welcome. There was something about having his mouth around me, his tongue sliding and licking everywhere as the tip of my head hit the back of my throat that made me hard just thinking about it. Gerard’s mouth was so warm and wet, it just felt so good.

Fucking felt good too, but it was tighter. When I had sex with Gerard and I was inside of him, it was relatively the same hot and tight sensation, only changed by my hip thrusts. I could control my thrusts (most of the time) and I knew when I was going to come from them, because I made the action as such. When Gerard gave me a blowjob though, the sensations would always change. It would just be a soft warm wetness one moment, then he would without warning start sucking hard, hollowing his cheeks and making me think that he was going to leave hickeys on my dick. Gerard was the one that controlled the actions when he gave me a blowjob, and I was always surprised.

Sometimes I would thrust into his head, but he had pinned my hips down the first time I did that, showing me that he wanted to be the one to control it all. Gerard liked the control, and I was going to let him have it. When I touched him as he was sucking me off, I would never force his head onto my cock. I personally always thought that was a bit rude. I knew from sucking his own cock that it was a hard task, and finding your own rhythm was one of the more difficult parts. It was just awkward when someone else put their hands on your head and tried to guide you. More often than not, they would only end up making you gag. Therefore, Gerard and I both made our own rhythms when we gave each other head. It was easier and a lot more sensual that way. I felt like I could just give myself over to him, and he would take care of me.

He started to suck me hard in the car all of a sudden, sending my body lunging forward from the immediate shock of pleasure that ruptured through my body. I slammed my hand forward, but ended up hitting the horn instead, causing a loud noise to erupt through the car. I jumped out of my skin, being in a completely other world of pleasure and tongues. Gerard jumped as well, and I was thanking God that he didn’t bite down. I also thanked God that he had been the one giving me the blowjob, because I didn’t know if I would have acted as calmly as he did. He started to laugh at my clumsy display, his mouth still halfway on my dick, sending vibrations through the skin and feeling so fucking good. I moaned a bit, despite my nerves still being shot from the horn.

“Frank,” Gerard said, pulling me completely out of his mouth. The cool air hit my slicked cock and made me shudder. I was so fucking turned on, I wanted to wrap my own hand around my cock and finish myself off, but Gerard pinned me down as he reached up and whispered into my ear. “Backseat.”

I nodded against his neck roughly, leaning in and leaving open mouth wet kisses on his exposed neck. He laughed again, and began to move into the backseat, signaling for me to come with him. In a hurry, I rushed back, not even bothering to tuck myself back in my pants. I was going to be taking them off in a matter of minutes, anyway.

Gerard had taken one of the two sets of seats in the back out of the van to make room for his canvasses and art supplies and subsequently, for fucking. He cleared the supplies out of the way before I came back there to join him. We were both on our knees as our faces crashed together again, my lips pecking at his, nibbling the bottom one fully. He glided his hands along my neck, meeting at the hairline and then combing their way through my hair. He pulled my body closer, the girth of my already hardened cock hitting his clothed thigh. I placed my hands in between us, trying to undo his own pants as our lips locked and unlocked, finally releasing him. He was only half hard, but I was determined to change that. I began to pump him with one hand as I started to slide his pants off his thick hips with the other. He moaned as I grazed his ass, and broke our kiss, starting to shower my neck with kisses.

Once most of his pants were discarded to the knees, I began to work on his shirt as he did mine. We broke our embrace temporarily to finally remove all of the articles of clothing we were wearing. I was losing some of my hardness from lack of touch, so I grabbed his hand, placing it on my cock and then letting him take over. We began to kiss again, tongues darting in and out of mouths as his hand pumped me in between both of our hard dicks. We pulled away once again, only to help in the act we were about to commit by lying down. He got on his back and pulled me on top of him, signaling that he was the one that wanted to be fucked this time. I kissed him slowly, propping myself above his body with my arms, our bare lower torso area grinding together gradually, trying to maintain both of our erections. He was having a difficult time getting hard again, which I was probably why he wanted me to fuck him in the first place. I didn’t mind, and I was getting used to the fact that sometimes, he just didn’t come. It took him longer to get up most days, but with our usual hours of foreplay, I barely noticed. There would be some times where he would just give me a blowjob and forget about himself, too.

At first, the transition into understanding that his body just didn’t work sometimes had been hard. I had always thought the purpose of doing things together was to get each other off. He seemed just as happy though, making me moan and come than if he had done so himself. The amount of times we had sex probably contributed to him not being able to come as much, and it made it seem like the ‘issue’ happened more than it really did. It was essentially a rare occurrence if we had calmed down in our sexual activities, but that was simply not an option for us. We were both artists, and no matter the art form, it was sexual. Everything was sexual and we were damned if we weren’t going to show this sexual affinity for each other.

I started to trail kisses down his exposed flesh, stopping and sucking on each of his nipples. I placed my fingers on his chin, dancing in front of his lips, waiting for him to take the invitation to lather them up before I entered him. There was something so sensual about Gerard sucking on my fingers, that I could feel my cock twitch as the first one entered his mouth. Sometimes, before or after sex as part of the tenderness we showed, he’d just kiss the pads of my fingers, one by one, inspecting them as if they were a delicacy. Preparation for fingering was way different, though; I could feel him suck down hard, much like he had with my cock moments earlier. And when I felt the salvia pool and collect in the side of his mouth, I knew we were ready to begin.

I slid two fingers into him easily and waited for him to adjust before I slid the third one in and began to stretch his hole. I braced myself with my other arm on the van floor, watching Gerard’s facial expressions, to see how I was doing. I was getting better at fingering, a few times managing to hit his prostate before I even got my dick up there. When he in took a quick sharp breath followed by a low moan, I knew I had done it again and that I was ready to enter him.

I prepared myself with the remnants of spit and pre-come from Gerard’s blowjob from moments earlier, adding my own bit of spit before I positioned myself at his opening. I could see his cock, the red and purple veins running through it and throbbing hard. Hitting his prostate usually helped with his erection difficulties and I smiled to see him fully hard as I slid in.

The first penetration was always the most intense, no matter how many times we had had sex. The pain was gone for the most part when he entered me, but there was still the initial shock of invasion, and the tightness wrapped around me when I fucked him. I was glad that shock was always there; it snapped us both back into reality and made us realize what exactly we were doing.

I brought my lips over Gerard’s open mouth, dipping my tongue inside as I began to thrust in and out of him slowly. No matter how fast our foreplay may have been, or the act of removing clothes, it was still important that we try and go slow. It just felt so much better then, so much more secure. If we went fast, it gave the illusion in both of our minds that we were running out of time, that we didn’t have much time to spare. And even though, in most senses of the word that was true – we didn’t even know when our time was up – we still felt the need to go slow. We’d rather take in every last detail of the person we were with, remember every last sensation felt, than just go through it a dozen times, and not remember a single thing distinctly. Going slow gave us the illusion that this could go on forever, and we liked that.

I drew myself out of him bit by bit then pushed back into him, just as slowly, filling him up to the hilt each time. He did the same sharp intake of break again, followed by that moan, and I did all in my possession to keep hitting that same spot inside of him, over and over again. Near the end, when I could tell we were both getting closer, his breathing picking up over my constant hitting and my dick actually hurting because he was clenching around me so much, I grasped him in my hand and began to pump again, slowly but surely. I remembered the park from the night before as I felt him arch his back into me as he came, the jets shooting onto his chest and my hand. I tried to look at him then in that moment of passion and weakness rolled into one, but I was too distracted by my own orgasm approaching as I slammed into him once more, spilling myself and then collapsing on top of his sweaty chest in exhaustion.

We laid there a while, catching our breath as he played with my hair, before I pulled out and grabbed some paper towel he had under his car seat to clean off with. His come never disgusted me, despite the fact that it got everywhere some days, turning up in my hair at one point. It didn’t really bug me that much, because it was normal. I had the exact same stuff in me and it came out of me just like him. It wasn’t a big deal with us. We cleaned it up and never made a fuss. If it got on us, oh well. We could have a shower later, and then that would start another adventure. I was never a big fan of swallowing it, because it didn’t really taste all that good, but if some got in my mouth, it was no big deal. It was Gerard, after all. I had taken him inside of me in more than one way. I had also had far worse things in my mouth.

Gerard shared the same sentiments as I did for swallowing, though I had never asked him out right. He swallowed sometimes when he gave me a blowjob to orgasm, and though he never seemed to like it per se, he did it anyway. I figured it was because it was just a part of the human body, and the human body in his mind, was a work of art. Each function it did, its action and reaction was like a little miracle being performed. He was always fascinated by the art of breathing, how we didn’t have to think; it just happened. Learning a language was another function of the human body and mind that obsessed him, and how some people could learn several languages at once and be able to communicate fluently in them. This obsession probably fueled his French fascination even more, and what gave him his desperate attempts to learn the language. He was getting kind of good at it too, but he knew that he had to be immersed in the culture in order to fully get it. He was in no rush for that just yet. There were other bodily mysterious that kept his interest. Like the orgasm, for instance. The way your body felt so free and weightless, the endorphins running through the bloodstream, making you feel invincible. The orgasm was the greatest thing the body could do, Gerard was convinced and as we lay there, basking in its afterglow, and I could not agree with him more.

“What are you going to tell your friends tomorrow?” Gerard questioned, after we had been basking for a while. He was on his back, my head on his shoulder, body hidden in the crook of his torso. I crushed my eyes closed, hearing my own internal question out loud.

“I don’t know,” I answered honestly, flicking my fingers against his skin. I found myself succumbing from my independence and just wanting him to tell me what to do. I wanted him to give me the answers, and not have myself think about them. I had already worked so hard at everything else he was trying to teach me, I needed a freebie. I looked up at him, my eyes wide and pleading. He met them and looked away, placing his thumb to his chin, thinking it over.

“I could tell them I was painting…” I said out loud, trying to show Gerard just how desperate I was.

“Or playing guitar,” he cut in, his eyes lighting up. I looked up at him, less enthused.

“Yeah, or that…”

“What’s wrong with that idea?”

I thought for a moment, thinking about why it just wasn’t putting a good feeling in my stomach. The only thing I could come up with was lame. “Why would I play guitar? I had never mentioned it before.”

“Why do other people play guitar?” Gerard asked me right back. “Remove yourself from the situation. Why would a teenage boy play guitar? What could possibly come out of it?”

I bit my lip, taking his thought into consideration. I started to play with a hangnail on my thumb as I tried to scrape some ideas together. I had started to play guitar because Gerard told me to, and before that, my father had. But why had he started?

“To perform?” I answered, asking it as a question, because I wasn’t even sure. As the words came out of my mouth and I saw a look in Gerard’s eyes, something so obvious inside of me clicked. “To make a band!”

Gerard gave me a squeeze, encouraging my thought process. “Good. Tell your friends you wanted to start a band,” he stated matter-of-factly, only beginning to help me out and give me a little bit of a free answer. I nodded happily that I had thought of something, but I still had doubts. Luckily, he saw them clouding my face right away and stepped in, stopping the storm.

“That other short kid, the rambunctious one,” he started, motioning with his hands and making facial expressions, letting me know he was referring to Sam. “He’s a piece of work. He could probably play drums. Give him something to bang and he would be happy.”

I laughed; that was so Sam, but I thought of a better role for him. His voice was always so different, rising and changing octaves like no one’s business. He would probably be a good singer. Travis was a loner and would probably do anything Sam told him to. He could do drums. It seemed relatively perfect. I told Gerard my ideas and he nodded his head happily.

“See? Excuse taken care of. You can play guitar, and who knows, maybe it may actually be more than just an excuse.”

I laughed, thinking he had made another joke, but was surprised when met with a serious countenance. I could feel my face blushing, knowing what was coming next.

“Seriously, Frank,” he stated again, deep olive eyes growing. “You could do this. You can do anything you want, if you just work at it. As cliché as it sounds, it’s true.”

“Easy for you to say,” I scoffed, hiding my face under his shoulder. He didn’t let me off that easily, and moved his body so I was visible again. “You were born with talent.”

“No one is born with talent,” he informed me, shaking his head at his own compliment. “Talent just comes to us through hardships. And I had to work hard. Really hard. Remember? I told you about living in a shit-hole apartment, trying to make money to go to art school. I told you about leaving my dreams of Paris to come stay here again. And I told you I gave up for two years, thinking that I really didn’t have anything to offer the world.” He seemed saddened by his speech, his tone falling into a somber tone.

“Yeah, but that’s different,” I tried to argue, knowing that it would probably go nowhere. “Art chose you. It’s in your hands. I don’t know what chose me. Vivian said it wasn’t guitar. What if I’m just wasting my time?” I looked up at him, begging yet again for another freebie answer.

“And what if you’re not?” he asked me right back, shutting me up. “What if you actually are onto something? Vivian could be wrong, you know. We’re all human. We all make mistakes, and even if you do make a mistake in this then it will be worthwhile. You may find what you’re supposed to do by going this way.” He paused for a second, recollecting his thoughts. He pursed his lips together, rubbing his index and forefinger on his chin, distinguished. “When I gave up my passion, thinking it was never that to begin with, the answer was right in front of me all along. I wasted two years just thinking. Just debating. I don’t like that stage. I don’t like the indecision of being. I like the knowledge of being; especially being free.”

He looked down at me, his eyes wide and hopeful of the future that I still didn’t want to come yet. “You’re still young, Frank. You don’t need to waste those two years like I did. Just go for it. Don’t stay in the state of indecision. Branch out. Do things you may think are not for you. They’ll lead you the right way.”

He brought his head down to mine and placed a chaste kiss on my lips. I leaned forward for more, but only found him pulling away from me. I wanted him to stay. I wanted to keep kissing him, if not for the act itself, then to keep him from saying what I knew was coming next.

“If you go for this, it’s one step closer in finding yourself. It’s one step closer in actually being free,” he whispered, still holding my face, along my jaw where he had drawn me closer to him, while drawing me away at the same time. “It’s exciting and I want to be there for you. I want you to go on Monday, and tell them. Tell them you actually want to do something with your life and maybe get out of Jersey. Just because I’m stuck here, doesn’t mean you have to be, too. Tell them your dreams, Frank, whatever they may be, just tell them. Then come back me and tell me how it went. I want to hear, and I’m sure if you give your friends a chance, they’ll want to hear about this, too. Now, will you?”

He looked down at me again, his strong eyes begging for something I didn’t think I could give just yet. But I agreed, if only so he would place his lips on mine once more. He smiled, watching me nod meekly to his request and gave me what I wanted, all I ever wanted; a kiss on my lips, our tongues only touching briefly before it was all too painfully over. He drew me close in a hug instead, his enthusiasm and pride beaming in his voice.

“I can’t wait for you to fly,” he said, placing a small kiss on my bare shoulder, almost as bare as the soul I had right then. I squeezed him back, weaker than I thought I had been, not answering his statement. I couldn’t answer it.

In all honesty, I didn’t want to fly just yet, and I was doubting my ability and urge to fly at all. I wanted to stay with Gerard, clinging to his side like I was right then in the back of his dirty old van, carcasses of art that used to be all around us. I didn’t want to be free; I wanted to be in this nice state of delirium, trying to figure everything out. I didn’t care if I was completely clueless, confused, and stupid. I wanted to stay here, because this was the place where Gerard was. This was the place where I lived with Gerard in my spare time, and he kissed me, slept with me, and played with my hair. Where we did art, and music, and everything else and it didn’t matter if it was in our hands or not, because our hands were meant to be in each other’s. This was the place we had built for ourselves - this was the state I wanted to stay in. I didn’t want to fly.

But it’s so hard to not spread your wings, especially when someone is pushing you out of the nest.