Watching Brad

[gsdx]

WATCHING BRAD
Part VII​

Well, now. Things were just getting better and better. Just a few hours ago, Brad was telling me he thought he was falling in love with me, and now he's telling me he wants to suck me off. Now, don't get me wrong. I like head as much as the next guy, but Gee-sus Murphy! Brad was a guy! Granted, he's prettier than The Bitch, but he's a guy! He doesn't even know what sex is, and he wants to have it with me.

You're up to your ass in it now, de Villiers. Look where your curiosity got you.

Hey! Wait a minute! That isn't what he said. He said, "That's what I think I want to do to you." There's a big difference - wanting to do something and just thinking you want to do it. So, he's not sure. He wants to experiment with me. He might be gay, and he might not. He wants to use me to find out.

So, what if I let him do it? What if he likes it and wants to do it again? What if he likes it so much he wants to do it all the time? What if he wants me to do it to him? Even if I felt inclined to suck a cock, what in hell could I do with that pole he carries around? My jaws hurt just thinking about it. And then I remembered him cumming. I had just watched him. He couldn't even take it all in his mouth. He had to let the rest drip down his cock. What if he wanted me to take it like he did? The pizza and beer started rolling in my stomach.

I don't even know why I was thinking about this. Getting a blowjob from Brad simply wasn't an option, especially when he wasn't even sure he wanted to do it. I mean, it's every guy's dream to be able to suck themselves off and have a blowjob instead of having to jerk off, but that didn't make them cocksuckers. It just made them lucky. Brad was lucky, but he wasn't a cocksucker.

"We'll talk about that later, Brad," I said. "Right now, I need a cigarette - or maybe two. . . or three."

"Want some company?"

"Sure," I said.

Brad sat up. "I'll just. . . um. . . clean up first. Oh, shit! I got some on your sofa!"

"It's Scotch Guarded. It washes off. I'll be out back."

I walked to the patio door, slid it open, and walked out onto the patio, closing the door behind me. The humidity was settling in again for the night, but there was a nice breeze. I opened the door again, stuck my head inside, and yelled, "Brad! Bring some beers with you!"

"Okay!" he yelled back from down the hall.

"I need some patio furniture," I said to myself out loud. "A few chairs, a nice table. Maybe with an umbrella. A few loungers. And a great, big, fat butt bucket." I thought of the big, fat, butt bucket and decided right then and there that I would quit smoking. . . right after I finish this cigarette.

I popped one out of the package, stuck it in my mouth, and lit it up. I made my way to the stone wall and sat down. Brad appeared a few minutes later, carrying four bottles of beer. His shorts were all done up now, and he was carefully packed away again in them, but he was still bare- chested. He set two of the beers on the stone wall and sat down beside me, twisting off the caps and handing me one of the bottles.

"Thanks," I said.

"Welcome," he replied. "You know, Perkins never knew I could do that. I never showed him. No-one knows I can do it except you."

"Why did you show me?"

"I don't know. It's like I was saying before. Something's happening to me and I don't understand it. I've only known you for one day and already I want you to know everything there is to know about me. I wanted you to know I could do that. I like being with you. I feel comfortable with you."

"Brad, I'm not gay."

He turned on me. "Dammit, Ted! Do you have to keep telling me that!? You think I don't know that!?"

"Keep your voice down!" I warned him.

His voice dropped to a harsh whisper. "You think I'm going to rape you or something? I wouldn't do that to you, Ted! I don't even want to have sex with you!"

"Then what was all that in the house?" I whispered. "You give yourself a blowjob and then you tell me you want to give me one, too, and now you tell me you don't even want to have. . ." And then it hit me. Square in the face. Full impact. "Oh, shit, Brad. You were going to give me a blowjob so I would be your friend."

In the light of the moon hanging over the rooftop and the light from the livingroom filtering out into the night, I could see Brad nodding his head.

"Oh, Brad." I said. I set my beer and cigarette onto the wall beside me and grabbed Brad by the arms. "Shit! Listen to me, Brad. Are you listening?"

"Yes."

"You can't buy friends," I told him. "You're young. You think you can, but when you get older, like me, you realize that you can't. They stay friends as long as you keep giving them what they want, but the moment you stop, them moment you realize you're only there for one thing, they walk."

"But you bought me all that food, and you took me school and to the Tower and the restaurant and everything."

"And you think I was buying your friendship?"

"Yes."

"I did it because you're already my friend. I didn't have to buy that. You gave it to me. I did it because I wanted to."

"And I wanted to give you a blowjob."

"No, you didn't," I told him. "You thought you had to. There's a big difference, Brad. And you don't have to buy my friendship. You had it the instant you picked up that dresser yesterday. Just like you gave me your friendship."

"Friends do things for each other," he said. There was a whole lot of confusion going on.

"Friends give friends apple fritters. They don't give them blowjobs."

"But what if I really want to give you a blowjob someday?"

"Well," I said as I took my hands from his arms, "I'll have to think about that one."

"So will I," he said quietly.

I picked up my beer and smoke, took a swig of the beer and a drag of the smoke. Both tasted pretty darned good. Maybe I'll quit smoking tomorrow instead. "It's too hot to think," I said. "Can we just talk?"

"Sure."

Can I ask you a personal question, then?"

"Sure," he repeated.

"It's about your parents. They're a lot older than I thought they would be and, to be honest, you don't look like either of them."

Brad shrugged. "That's because they probably adopted me."

"You mean you don't know for sure?"

"No."

"Don't you want to know?"

"No. They're my parents. They're the ones who love me. They're the ones I love. If I have another mother and father, they're not my parents and I wouldn't even want to know who they are."

"I think I'd want to know."

"Not me," he said. "I don't want to know anyone who could give me away."

"They might not have had a choice."

"Everyone has a choice, Ted. If they loved me, they wouldn't have given me away."

"You're talking like you already know."

"I don't know for sure," he said, "but I'm pretty sure I am. I just don't want to know. Mom and Dad are the only parents I want to have."

And then I started to chuckle.

"What's so funny?" Brad asked with a smile. I could see his chipped tooth, even in the dim light.

"I was just thinking about your Mom this afternoon," I said. "You walk into the kitchen with a basketball in your pants and she's embarrassed by your ‘Kiss Me I'm Beautiful' T-shirt."

Brad grinned. "Yeah, well. She didn't like me wearing tight shorts at first until she found out the loose shorts didn't help. Dad's the really funny one, though."

"Your Dad? He didn't sound like the funny type to me."

"Yeah, but he is, in his own way." Brad laughed. "He keeps reminding me how much money I'm saving on those penis enhancement pills."

"As if you needed them." I laughed with him and drained the rest of my beer. "Got another beer there?"

He twisted off the cap and handed me the bottle.

I took another drink, and so did Brad, and then said quietly, "Ted? Thank you for watching me tonight."

"You're welcome, I think. Why are you thanking me for that?"

Brad hung his head down, not quite hiding his shy smile. "It kinda turned me on," he said. "I've never done it with someone so close to me like that and it was more exciting than I expected."

"Did you do it to try to buy my friendship?"

"No," he admitted. "I did it because I wanted to. I like you watching me do it."

"Well, I have to admit that I enjoy watching you." I lit up another cigarette.

He looked up at me again. "Would you like to watch me do it again sometime?"

"Would you like me to watch you?" I asked.

"Yes."

"Then I'd like to watch."

Brad stood up then, unbuttoned his jeans and slid the zipper down. Even in the dim light, I could see his hardening cock pushing at the denim.

"You're going to do it here? Now?"

"If I don't, I'm going to hurt myself." Brad hooked his thumbs into his shorts and underwear and pushed them to the grass. He pulled one foot out and kicked them away with the other. I could hear them hit the grass somewhere. He wasn't hard yet, but he was getting there. Fast.

He sat down again, cupping his balls in his hand to keep them from banging into the stone wall, and wrapped his hand around his cock. Within three strokes, he was hard and ready to go.

It was kinky. Sitting out here in my back yard in nothing but his socks and whacking away at his meat. What was worse, my own cock was hard as well. I don't know why I found this so exciting, but I did. I decided not to wait for bedtime this time. I dropped my cigarette to the ground, undid my own shorts, pushed them to my knees, and joined him.

Neither of us lasted long. When Brad started cumming, so did I. I always thought I was doing good if I could squirt all the way to my nipples when I was lying down. I never shot that high when I was sitting up. I did this time, though. Probably because of what I was seeing.

Brad's orgasm was amazing, even after having had one just a little while ago. The first shot cleared his head entirely, landing somewhere in his own back yard. The second and third shots splattered his face and hair. The rest coated his chest and stomach.

When he was finished, he kept stoking gently, squeezing the last drops of cream out of his pump. His mouth was hanging open and Brad was gasping for breath and groaning as quietly as he could. His chest heaved in and out and his whole body jerked in the aftermath. I remember when my own orgasms had felt that good.

He ran his tongue around his lips, gathering the cum which had landed there. "Gee-sus, Murphy!" he said.

Cum dripped off his eyebrow and onto his eye. Fortunately, his eyes were closed, but he clenched them tighter and his hand came up quickly and wiped at the semen. He scooped it onto his fingers and wiped it on his chest, then wiped at his eye again as cum continued dripping onto it. I quickly checked my pockets. No tissue, no nothing. I pulled off my shorts.

"Hold still, Brad," I said when he was wiping the cum on his chest for the second time. I used the leg of my shorts to gently wipe his eye and eyebrow. I stuck my hand in the other leg and sopped up the cum on his forehead, then changed to a dry spot and wiped his eyes again.

"Okay," I said, "try to open your eyes."

He did, slowly, then clenched them shut and opened them slowly again. He blinked hard a few times, opened his mouth and opened his eyes wide, then blinked again. "Well," he said, "that was a damned stupid thing to do."

I laughed lightly as I pulled up my tighty-whities. "You okay?"

"I feel like an idiot, but I'm okay."

"Rather anti-climactic after the good bits, wasn't it. Sure puts a damper on the mood."

Brad turned to me and grinned. "Sure did, didn't it? I guess I should have brought out a Kleenex or something."

"Gee-sus, Murphy, Brad! You need a roll of paper towels to clean all that up!"

We laughed. And then he stopped and stared at me. His hand came up to my cheek, his touch barely a whisper on my skin. "Thank you, Ted."

He must have thought his hand was on my cheek for too long because he suddenly pulled it away and said, "Sorry."

"That's okay. I didn't mind."

He turned to the back yard, scanning the ground. "Did you see where my shorts went? I have to see if I can get in the house without Mom and Dad seeing me so I can get a shower."

"You can use mine," I suggested. "I have to take one myself."

"Cool," he said, "but I still need my pants."

I pointed into the dark. "I think they went thataway."

"You're a big help." Brad stood up and started walking, scanning the ground as he went. A moment later, he said, "Found ‘em." He came back to the wall, carrying his shorts and underwear. "Do you mind if I leave them off until I get showered? I hate cummy clothes."

"Why don't you go in now and have one. I'll have another smoke while you're in there."

"Okay," Brad said. "Can we come back out and sit for awhile after? I like it out here."

"Sure."

"This has been the best day of my life, Ted. Thanks for everything."

"It's been a pleasure, believe me."

Brad tilted his bottle and chugged the rest of his beer, gathered up the empty bottles, and headed into the house. I watched him go. I lit a cigarette and took a deep drag on it.

"What in hell did you just do, Ted de Villiers!?" I asked myself.

"You jerked off watching Brad jerk off, you moron!!" I answered myself.

I thought about putting on my shorts, but they were soaked with cum. Not much of it was mine. It was mostly Brads. Boy, that kid could shoot! With the size of his nuts, though, I shouldn't be surprised. I spread out my shorts and laid them over the wall beside me.

I looked over my shoulder to where that first shot would have landed. You know, the one that pole-vaulted right over his head. It was back there somewhere, fertilizing the grass. I remembered my cock twitched when I saw that. The beginning of it was already above his head before the tail left his cock. And then it continued flying like a party streamer, right on over him, and not a drop landed on him. I was almost waiting for the fireworks to burst.

It was a clean vault. He didn't even wobble the bar. That's when my own orgasm started. I remember that. As soon as I saw Brad cumming, I knew I wouldn't be able to stop my own. Hell, if Brad sold tickets to watch him cum, I'd be first in line to buy mine, and I'd buy a season pass.

And I didn't know why.

What in hell was going on with me? I don't like porn. I don't like watching people have sex. Not even with themselves. But, here I was, getting turned on watching Brad. Gee-sus, Murphy, Ted, you're getting weird.

Okay. Think. What's the attraction? Is it just the size of his prick? His balls? Is it the way he jerks himself off? Do I wish I had what he had so I could do it, too? Is it his youth? Is it his boyish beauty? These were all questions in my mind, and I didn't have answers to any of them. Just like Brad didn't have answers for his own questions. But Brad was trying to find himself. I wasn't. I found myself years ago. Lindsay was proof of that. But here I was. Looking for answers again.

I shook my head to clear it. Too many beers to think. Tomorrow would be a better time to do it. I always do my best thinking on Monday when I'm at work.

Oh, yeah. I took the next two days off. Well, I'm screwed, I thought. Might as well start now. I lit up another cigarette as I waited for Brad.

People get lost in thought sometimes. I was more than lost. I wasn't even sure which planet I was on. All I know is I almost fell off the wall when Brad said, "Hi, Ted."

"Gee-sus, Murphy, Brad!" I yelled. "Wear a bloody cowbell or something! Whistle! Say ‘Yoo hoo'! Do anything! Just let me know you're here!"

"You're funny when you're scared," he said, grinning from ear to ear as he sat down and set four more beers beside him.

"Yeah, well, it won't seem so funny when you have to help the paramedics cart me off to the Stiff House!"

He giggled, and I couldn't stay mad at him long. His giggle had a way of cheering me up fast.

"Shower's empty," he said after a few moments.

"I'll wait until I go to bed," I said. "I can wait. I dribble when I cum. You paint."

He was quiet as he twisted off the caps of two beers and handed me one. "You know, that's the first time I've ever seen a man do that."

"What, cum?"

Brad nodded. "And masturbate, too," he said quietly. "I liked it. I'd like to watch you again sometime." His head remained aimed at the darkness, but his eyes turned to meet mine. "If you'll let me."

"Aw, come on, Brad," I said, "you don't want to watch an old gaffer like me whacking his Willie. I'm out of shape. My love handles are bigger than your pecs. You've got more hair in your nose than I've got on my chest. I've got a dick that would fit in a Pez dispenser."

"Don't do that, Ted."

"Do what?"

"Put yourself down like that. You're a good looking man, and you're a nice man."

"And I'm almost twice your age, Brad," I said. "Wouldn't you rather find some young buck like yourself to watch?"

I could see his head shaking. "No." He stared at me across the darkness. And then he leaned forward again. I knew he was going to kiss me, but he wasn't aiming for my cheek this time. He was going straight for the lips. I thought he would stop, but he didn't. I thought I would stop him, but I couldn't. His lips pressed against mine. He didn't do anything else, and neither did I. We just stayed there like that for a moment, our lips pressed together, and then he pulled away again, and when he did, I saw that his eyes were closed.

He opened them and looked at me, and then he turned away. He took a deep breath and let it out, then grabbed his beer and set it between us. "Better drink that before it goes flat," he said as he stood up. "If you need help tomorrow, just knock on the door. I'll be home all day."

I stood up. "Brad?"

He didn't look at me. "Thanks for the best day of my life, Ted," he said softly. "Goodnight."

Without another word, he stepped over the wall and left. I watched his silhouette as he walked between our houses and disappeared around the corner at the front of his. I sat back down on the wall and pulled out another cigarette.

Behind me, the light from Brad's bedroom came on. I didn't turn around.

To Be Continued​

 

[Gym_lad_uk]

Wicked story mate!!

 

[kcm17480]

Great writing. I am enjoying the story. Please continue.

 

[sizzlerz]

where r u taking us ,dude? i come from work ,hardly settled in my room and i'm all eager to read this GREAT story!!!! Bravo!!!

 

[harry113]

Neil, This is a wonderful story
Thanks
Harry

 

[Craiger]

WOW! Brilliant!

Craiger

 

[happyepp]

Love the story. Cant seem to stop reading it. Cant wait for the Rest of the story.

 

[Kyanimal]

Neil ... TREMENDOUS!!

And I'm sure you'll let us know where this is going, as soon as you find out, yourself! I'm still in AWE at how you do this!!

THANK YOU!!

Keep smilin'!!
Ky

 

[diumar]

what can I say. Everyone else says the best description your work could have. I cant wait for the next part

 

[caddymac]

I love this story. I am there in my mind and to me both guys are great. I read Chapter 7 last night and could not stop until I finished.
Thank you!!!!!

 

[gsdx]

(Thanks again, guys. Here's the next installment. Enjoy. I should have Part 9 ready for posting tomorrow. I'm posting as fast as I write them. This one is just flowing right along. There's hardly any editing or rewriting.)

* * * * *

WATCHING BRAD
Part VIII​

I snapped awake just before eight. My cell phone was ringing. I found it and answered it.

"Hello," I said.

"Hi, Daddy," a small voice said to me.

"Hi, Sweetheart," I said, trying to sound awake and cheerful.

"You forgot to phone me yesterday."

"I'm sorry, Sweetheart," I apologized. "I was busy unpacking and I forgot."

"That's okay, Daddy," she said.

"Have you decided yet?"

"Yes," she said. "I like the Sunset pink and I like the paper with the unicorns and faeries."

"Then that's what you'll have," I said. "I'll buy it today."

"Mommy says I can't have the unicorns, though. She wants me to have the ballerinas."

Her Mother's voice could be heard in the background. "No unicorns!"

I clenched my jaws and took a quick, deep, calming breath as Lindsay said, "See?"

"You'll get your unicorns and faeries, Sweetheart," I told her. "I love you, Lindsay." I made several kissing sounds into the phone.

"I love you, too, Daddy," she said.

"You have a good day and I'll see you this weekend, okay?"

"Okay, Daddy."

"Can I talk to your Mother for a minute?"

"Okay. Bye, Daddy. I love you."

"Love you, too."

I heard a ‘clunk' from the phone being set on the desk and then Lindsay's voice rang out, "Mom! Daddy wants to talk to you!"

There was silence, and then I heard footsteps and the phone was picked up. "Yes?" came her voice.

"Is Lindsay out of the room?" The anger in my voice wasn't disguised.

"Yes. She's watching television now."

"You listen to me, you fuckin' bitch!" I said. "You keep Lindsay out of this! You may hate my guts, but I'll be damned if I let you drag her into every little dispute you have with me, you hear!?"

"I'm not."

"Like hell you're not!" I shouted. "This is my house and Lindsay will have her own bedroom here! You have no right to tell her what she can or cannot have here!"

"I won't have her growing up believing in faeries and unicorns!"

"Why not!? Thanks to you, she already believes in ogres and trolls and witches, and they're all rolled up into one big, fat package!"

She just laughed at me.

"You fuckin' bitch! I'm warning you! Keep Lindsay out of this or, so help me, you'll wish you had!"

"Don't you threaten me, Ted de Villiers."

My voice dropped to a warning. "That's not a threat, Connie. That's a promise. Now, stop punishing Lindsay just because you can't punish me!"

She hung up on me. I almost called her back, but thought better of it. Instead, I dialed a number I knew well. I also knew that no-one would answer it at this time of the morning, but the answering machine would be good enough for what I wanted to say.

After the introductory message had played and the beep sounded, I began to speak. "Hi, Al. It's Ted de Villiers. Look. I need you to get this moving as fast as you can. I need to get Lindsay out of that house before Connie screws up her mind forever. If you need more money, tell me and you'll get it. Just get me into that court as fast as you can. Call me. Thanks. Bye."

I fell back on the bed. Oh, how I hated that Bitch! Not because of her, but because of the way she used Lindsay to get at me. No-one has the right to use a child like that, especially not my daughter.

I needed to talk to Brad and his mother. I needed their help. Fast! I climbed out of bed and padded to the bathroom. Shit, shower and shave. The works. Then I was heading out the door and walking across the lawn. John's car was gone. I rang the doorbell and, moments later, the door opened and Bernice greeted me.

"Mr. de Villiers, how nice to see you again. Come in, please." I entered and she closed the door. "Bradley is still in bed. I'll wake him."

"No," I said, "don't wake him up. I. . ." But she was gone, as if she hadn't even heard me.

I heard a knock on a door, then, "Bradley. Mr. de Villiers is here to see you, dear."

She soon reappeared. "Would you like some coffee?"

I think I started to drool. "That would be wonderful, thank you."

"Please, come to the kitchen."

I followed her. I sat where I had the day before and she set a mug of coffee in front of me and another for Brad, who was probably still trying to drag his ass out of bed.

"Are you getting settled in, Mr. de Villiers?" she asked as she set a creamer of milk on the table in front of me.

"Please, call me Ted," I said. "And yes, I am. Slowly. Brad's been a big help. I think I'd still be looking for clean socks if it wasn't for him." I poured in the milk, spooned in the sugar, gave it a stir, and took a nice, long sip. Bernice heard my ‘Ahhhh'.

Bernice tittered. "My, it sounds like you're enjoying that."

"I am, thank you," I said. "I found my coffee maker, but I can't find my coffee. I have to go shopping this morning."

Brad appeared in the kitchen, bare-footed and wrapped in a white and powder blue striped terrycloth robe. He still had pillow hair. He walked directly to his mother and kissed her on the lips. "Hi, Mom."

"Good morning, dear," she said with a smile. "Sit down and I'll get your breakfast. Would you like some, Ted?"

"I'm fine, thank you, Bernice."

"He's been living on Timbits and pizza and cheeseburgers for two days, Mom." Brad seemed to have forgot entirely about last night's little ‘kissing' episode. Either that, or he was just playing up to me for his Mother's sake. I couldn't be sure.

Bernice looked at me. "Are scrambled eggs okay?"

"Please. Don't go to any trouble," I said.

"No trouble," she replied. "I'm making them for Bradley, anyway."

I looked at Brad. He just grinned and shrugged one shoulder.

"Scrambled is fine."

"So, Ted," Brad said. "Need my help again today?"

"Not for awhile. I've got to go shopping first. I need to get some food in that place, and I want to pick up the paint and paper for Lindsay's room. She phoned me awhile ago, which is why I'm here, actually. I was wondering when you might be able to do it. I need it done as soon as possible so I can get Lindsay away from her mother."

"The Bitch again?"

"Bradley Nelson Hayes!" Bernice's screaming voice startled even me. "You go to your room this instant!"

"It's okay, Bernice," I said quickly. "It's the only name Brad knows for her. She really is one. She's trying to tell my daughter what colour paint and what wallpaper she can have in her own bedroom in my house. She's using Lindsay to get at me."

"Oh, dear," she said sympathetically. "The Carters? Just down the street? You remember them, Bradley. They were the same way, but they both used the children. They ended up in foster homes."

"That won't happen with Lindsay," I assured her.

"How big is her bedroom?" Bernice asked.

I looked around the kitchen. "About this size, I suppose. Maybe a bit longer."

"How many walls are to be papered?"

"All of them. She wants sort of a wainscoting with a dado rail."

"What's that?" Brad asked.

"Oh, at trim. A chair rail."

Brad nodded understanding."

"It will be about a metre high all the way around."

"Bradley can handle that," Bernice said. "I'll supervise, of course, and cut the strips and prepare it, but I can't get down on the floor anymore. You'd never get me back up."

"I can do it, Mom," Brad said. "So, how long do you think it would take?"

Bernice glanced around the room. "Oh, just a few hours, I should think. Maybe a bit longer if I have to match the pattern. But, the walls should be painted, first."

"If we get the paint this morning, I could start as soon as we get home," Brad suggested. "We should be able to finish it all before the weekend, shouldn't we, Mom?"

"Oh, easily, dear."

"Okay," I said. "Just tell me what I need to buy."

"We have all the papering tools here," Bernice said. "We have the paint materials as well, but you might need to buy some new rollers. I don't know if there are any refills here."

"There's two packages in the garage," Brad said.

Bernice smiled at me. "Shopping is done."

"What paper did she decide on?" Brad asked.

"Unicorns and faeries. Her Mother wanted ballerinas."

"Did you say unicorns?" Bernice asked.

"Yes."

"Bradley, dear, watch this for me." Brad went to the stove, taking the wooden fork from his Mom. "I'll be right back." She disappeared out the door and down the hall.

"I'll go shopping with you," Brad said. "If you don't mind me hanging around."

"No," I said. "I just thought you might be bored. I've got a pile of groceries to buy."

He turned his head to look at me. "I'd be more bored sitting around here." He returned to his cooking duties. "Besides, I can help you carry the groceries."

Soon, Bernice returned, carrying a box the size of a two-sliced toaster in her hands. She set it on the table in front of me. "This is for your daughter." I looked at the picture on the box, then at Bernice. "Go ahead," she said. "Open it."

I carefully opened the box, lifted the tissue paper away, and looked inside. "Oh, Bernice," I gasped. "I can't accept this."

She placed her hand on my shoulder. "Of course you can. My sister gave that to me twelve years ago for my birthday. It sat on the shelf for two days until she went home. It's been in that box in the closet since then."

I reached in with a delicate touch and lifted it out. "This is so beautiful," I whispered. "Lindsay would love it." I tenderly set the unicorn on the table so I could look at it without fear of dropping it. It was ceramic and the unicorn was painted in a high-gloss, snow-white paint - even the mane and tail. The head was turned slightly, looking to the side at me. The hooves were jet black, standing in emerald blades of grass. The eyes were black as well and the spiral horn was a glossy, metallic gold.

"I want your daughter to have it," Bernice said with finality.

I stood up and kissed her cheek. "Okay, but only if you give it to her yourself this weekend."

Her hand rose to her bosom. "Oh, may I?" she asked, clearly honoured that I had invited her to do so.

"I want her to know it's from you."

"Oh, my," she said, her face all smiles. "May I wrap it for her?"

"She'd like that, too. She likes getting gifts." I gave her another kiss on the cheek.

"Mom, I think this is done," Brad said.

She patted her chest once, smoothed her apron, and moved to take over from Brad, who joined me at the table again. With a feather touch, I replaced the unicorn into the box and placed the tissue around it. My daughter was going to be a very happy, little girl.

* * * * *

Breakfast was delicious and I was working on my second mug of coffee. "Good eats, Mom," Brad said as he stood and gave his Mother a kiss. To me, he said, "I'll grab a quick shower and be ready in a few minutes."

"Take your time," I said. "I'm enjoying this coffee too much to hurry." Brad smiled and left the kitchen.

"I hope you don't mind Brad hanging around my place all the time," I said to Bernice.

"Not at all, Ted," she was quick to proclaim. "I don't mind at all. It's nice to see Bradley finally have a friend again. It's very difficult for him. If he's not at school or here at home, I'll know where he is and I won't have to worry about him."

This surprised the hell out of me. "You mean he doesn't have many friends?"

"None that he likes to spend time with," she said. "Bradley is much to shy and reserved and self- conscious to make friends. I don't think he likes the people who want to be his friend." She paused. "You look surprised."

"A bit," I admitted. "I don't see Brad as shy and self-conscious."

"That's because he likes you. Oh, yes," she nodded, "I can see now how you would think like that when he wears those tight clothes. I don't care for them. I think they're rude. But. . ." She paused again and craned her neck as if looking for Brad listening at the doorway even though we could hear the shower running. She leaned forward and spoke softly. "When Bradley was thirteen years old, I bought him loose pants and a some of those boxer shorts to try to hide. . . um. . . ‘it'. The new clothes looked much more decent, but the first day he wore them, he hurt himself badly just riding his bicycle. The poor boy. I can still hear his screams and see his tears. I took him to the doctor to make sure there was no permanent damage. I learned my lesson, though. I threw those pants and the shorts into the trash. I may not like it, but whatever I might think, I would rather see him dressing like he does than to see my baby in pain again."

Well, there was that question answered.

"No, Ted," she continued. "I don't mind Bradley spending time with you at all. I just hope he isn't a bothersome pest."

"Not at all."

"Bradley has always got along with gentlemen of your age better than with people his own age. I think it's because John and I were already in our forties when Bradley came to us. I think he just feels more comfortable with older people. Not that you're old, of course."

I sat up straight. "Excuse me, he ‘came' to you?" I asked.

Her head bent down and she smiled knowingly. She nodded, then reached across and placed her hand over mine. "You're a very intelligent man, Mr. de Villiers. Either that, or you're very good at listening."

"Both," I said. "Please, Bernice, tell me. I'd like to know. I swear I won't say anything to Brad or anyone else."

She took her hand away and nodded to me again. She looked to make sure her son wasn't listening. "I don't think Bradley wants to know this. He's never asked us about it. He was a foster child at first, and we adopted him. His parents were drug addicts, and Bradley was a heroin baby." She stopped talking, looking down at the mug in front of her and running a fingertip around the rim. "Mr. Hayes and I couldn't have children of our own, so we decided to become foster parents. There was a such need for drug babies - those poor, innocent dears - so those were the only ones we would accept. Bradley was our fifth foster child. He came to us when he was four days old. He didn't even have a name yet. He was just a number. I started calling him Bradley because he looked like a Bradley to me. John thought he looked like a Nelson."

She paused and refilled our coffee mugs, even though they didn't really need it. When she was seated again, she continued. "We were just supposed to keep him until he recovered and the drugs were out of his system, and then he would go up for adoption. Bradley was special. I was prepared for all the sleepless nights and the crying and rushing him off to the hospital, like we had to do with the others, but Bradley hardly ever cried. He never fussed. He would coo when I held him and he would look at me with those beautiful green eyes. And he would smile at me. The doctors told us that it was probably because he had so many drugs in his system - that it was like he was on medication. I didn't care. I fell in love with him. After he recovered, he was the same little boy he was before. He still cooed and smiled, and he began to laugh when I tickled his little belly. I simply fell so much in love with him that I couldn't give him away."

She paused to dab at her eyes with the hem of her apron. "John tried to talk me out of it. He said we were too old and it wouldn't be fair to Bradley. He said we would be ready to retire when Bradley was ready to start college or university. He said Bradley deserved better than that. He deserved younger parents who could grow up with him. I let him go."

She took a deep breath. Her tears were gone now as she remembered. "The day they came to take him away, the lady from Children's Aid took him out of my arms and he started to cry and scream and kick and throw his tiny, little arms around. She tried to calm him, but she couldn't. John just walked over to her and took Bradley out of her arm and he stopped crying and he gave Bradley to me. All he said to the lady was, ‘We want to adopt him. Tell us what we have to do.'"

She looked up at me then, her face sad with remembrance, but full of love and compassion as well. "Bradley is our son, Ted. If he wants to know the truth, I will tell him if he asks me, but I will never tell him if he doesn't. I beg you not to say anything to him."

I smiled encouragingly at her. "He talks about you all the time, Bernice, and he loves you and John very much. I don't think he wants any other Mom except you. Not even if he knew who his real parents were. And don't worry. This conversation never took place."

"That's what I thought you would say. Thank you."

And one more question was answered.

* * * * *

"I think we need another cart," Brad said. "We've still got three aisles to go and we haven't even hit the dairy cases yet."

I looked down at the cart, almost over flowing with boxes and cans and plastic containers. There was so much stuff I needed. "Watch this cart, would you? I'll get another one."

"I'll get it," Brad said, and he was gone before I could object. He was the man in white today. White sneakers, white socks, white shorts, and white T-shirt. His shorts were snug, but not tight like his T-shirt. Still, they showed as much as ever, which is probably why Brad never tucked in his T-shirts in public. The only bit of colour was the beavers playing hockey decal on the front of his shirt.

Now that I was more aware of his personality, I began to see it coming through. He rarely talked to people and he avoided their gaze. He spoke quietly to me, as if to avoid drawing attention to himself, and he dressed as comfortably as he could and did his best to hide himself. I did notice that he wore tight T-shirts more than loose shirts, though, and the ones I'd seen had witty remarks on them. I began to wonder if he did that so people would look at his chest instead of his crotch.

Bernice had amazed me, really, the way she was so up-front (pun intended) when she talked about Brad's ‘up front'. But I could see her point. No decent parent would ever want to see their child in pain. I know how frantic I got when Lindsay fell during a dance class and scraped her knee. When she had her tonsils taken out, I cried two tears for each one she shed. I could only imagine how Bernice must have felt with Brad.

I don't know why I thought of that kiss last night at that moment. It wasn't really a kiss, actually. Just a pressing of lips together. Was I surprised that he did it? No. Was I surprised that I let him? No. Was I surprised that I enjoyed it? Yes. Was I surprised that I wanted to kiss him for real? Hell, yes! And that had me concerned.

I was still thinking about it when he returned with an empty cart.

To Be Continued​

 

[gsdx]

I would love to see someone other than Ted come about that would treat Brad like the person he is and I would defiantly like to see that someone take Brad's huge cock in their mouth or up their ass without hurting them.

Are you volunteering?

 

[Kyanimal]

Man! You got me Misty Eyed with that one!

 

[caddymac]

Wish Brad was close to me.

 

[Craiger]

Neil,

Another astounding chapter. I'm happy to hear the next chapter is almost finished. I look forward to each day you post another.

Thank you!

Craiger

 

[gsdx]

I think you'd have good chances succeeding in a writing career, unless of course you already have.

I don't have a career in writing, but thank you for the thumbs up. And thanks for registering just to honour me with your compliments.

The next chapter will be posted in the morning. Fortunately, this story doesn't require much editing or rewriting. All I do is proofread it. So far, I've been averaging about a chapter a day even while I'm still finishing up the Stargate Sequel story. (I think I'm finally on the last chapter in that one!)

 

[Drumlargan]

Awesome story, man.

You just know how to write.

Keep at it.

A Fan

 

[Trent0n1]

Thanks Neil...I'm still loving this story, and looking forward to the next chapter. Cheers!

Trent

 

[gsdx]

My assumption was that this story was frictional or was my assumption incorrect.

As I mentioned before, the story and characters are fiction, including Brad. The only things which are real are what's in Brad's pants. They are real, and belong to a friend I've known for over 20 years.

I don't know what's going to happen in this story. It's writing itself. All I know is that I have no intention of bringing in another character who can handle Brad easily, either with their mouth or their ass. That's not in Brad's character, and it would make him a lot less real in my mind, and in the minds of the readers. I wouldn't do that to them, nor to myself.

As much as I'd like to see Brad happy and satisfied, I have to remind myself that happiness means different things to different people. I don't know if having someone who could deep throat him or take him up their ass would make Brad happy. Somehow, I don't think it would.

So, that being said, on we go with Part 9. . .

 

[gsdx]

WATCHING BRAD
Part IX​

"You take the beer," Brad told me. "I'll get the rest."

I looked at the trunk, bursting full of plastic bags and boxes and cans of paint and rolls of paper, and I remembered that the back seat was just as full. "You're not going to carry all that yourself."

"Oh, yes I am," he said sternly. "I saw how much you were panting just loading it into the car. I handle the humidity better than you. Now, do as you're told, Theodore Something-Or-Other de Villiers."

"Don't you ever call me that again, Bradley Nelson Hayes, or I'll shove this case of beer right up your ass!" I warned him. Then, quieter, I said, "Besides. It's ‘Something-Or-Other Theodore'."

Brad began pulling bags out of the trunk. "What's the ‘Something-Or-Other'?"

"That you will never know."

"Might as well tell me," he said. "I'll just peek at your license."

I patted my wallet in my back pocket. "In case you haven't noticed, I always keep my wallet close to my heart. Unless you're a pickpocket, you're never going to see it."

"How quickly you forget," he said with a wicked grin. "Whose shorts were used to wipe the cum off my face last night?"

I smiled in remembrance as I looked down. "Oh, yeah." I looked at him again and said, "Francis."

Brad's head jerked back slightly and he blinked. "What's wrong with that? I like that name."

"I don't," I said. "Hate it. Almost as much as I hate Theodore."

"As in ‘Cleaver'?"

"That's the one. If this was the sixties, you'd be calling me ‘Beaver'."

"Let's just stick with Ted and Brad."

I nodded my agreement.

He grabbed a large bundle of grocery bags in each hand and stood up, grunting with the effort. His lips pressed tight and his muscles bulged. His forehead wrinkled and his nostrils flares as he sucked air into them. I hurried to open the front door. I set the beer on the counter and Brad dropped the bags to the floor as gently as he could. I hoped there weren't any eggs or glass bottles in them. He stayed bent over for a moment, panting for breath.

"Either you carry smaller loads, or I help you carry them." I put my hand on his back. His T-shirt was already moist with sweat. "Are you okay?"

He stood up, looking at his hands and flexing his fingers. I could see where the plastic handles had cut into them. His laugh was an embarrassed one. "That's what I get for trying to show off." He sucked in a deep breath, made a small ‘O' with his mouth, and blew it out, his cheeks inflating as he did so. He took another deep breath. "Okay," he said, "you start putting this stuff away and I'll get the rest." He grabbed the waistband of his T-shirt and pulled it over his head. He looked around for a place to put it, then dropped it on the floor at the end of the counter.

When he was gone, I picked it up and laid it over the oven door handle and began the task of finding a place for all this food.

* * * * *

Brad had changed. He wore sandals and no socks. He brought a clean T-shirt with him when he came back, but he didn't have it on. He had different shorts, too. Still cut-off jeans, but these were older and more worn and tattered. There was a thread-bare hole under the pocket on his right butt cheek and a few more spots which threatened to become holes any day now.

The pile of paint materials sat on the floor where all the grocery bags had been just awhile earlier.

"Got a pen and paper?" Brad asked.

"Uh, yeah," I said. "Sure." I went to my bedroom and grabbed a pen and pad out of my briefcase and took them to Brad. "Here you go."

"I only need one piece," he said as he pulled a sheet off the pad and handed the pad back to me. I set it on the counter.

Brad put the paper on the counter, wrote ‘I.O.U.' at the top, made a short, single, vertical line, and signed his name at the bottom.

"What's that for?" I asked.

"The beer I drink," he said.

I reached for the paper, but he yanked it away. "Come on, Brad. Don't be so foolish."

"We've got a deal."

I laughed. "You're kidding me, right? I'm not going to charge you for the beer you drink."

"I'm not joking, Ted," he said seriously. "We made a deal yesterday. Today I start to work and today I start to pay."

"Who's going to know whether or not you pay for the beer?"

"I will," he said.

The grin disappeared from my face. "Gee-sus, Murphy. You're really serious, aren't you?"

"I made a deal and I gave you my word. I intend to keep both of them."

Where in hell did this kid come from? He had honour and integrity and respect on top of a killer personality. You don't see that these days in kids his age. Listen to me? Calling him a kid! This was no kid. This was a man, and it was a man that I had the sudden urge to kiss.

So I did.

I think I scared Brad at first. Hell, it scared me. He pulled away from me at first, and then settled into it. It was a real kiss this time. Closed eyes, parted lips, and searching tongue. At least my tongue was searching. Brad's didn't. But he parted his lips and started to kiss back. The tip of my tongue ran across his teeth and I found the chip and brought me back to my senses. My eyes snapped open and I jerked away from him.

Poor Brad. He stood there, staring at me with a stunned expression on his face. Neither of us spoke for a long time as we stared at each other. Finally, I found my voice. "I. . . um. . ." I wanted to say something. I should have said something. But there was nothing there. My brain was empty. Brad stood there, still staring at me. He hadn't even blinked. I could see his chest heaving and I could see questions all over his face. How could I answer questions for him when I couldn't even answer them for myself. "Shit!" I said, grabbed my bottle of beer, and marched outside to suck back a beer and a smoke.

It was awhile before Brad slid the door open. "Can I come out?" he said weakly.

"Sure," I said back to him. He stepped out, closed the door, and walked across the grass, carrying his bottle of beer. He sat beside me, but not close enough to touch.

Again, there was silence. I knew Brad was waiting for me to say something, but what should I say? What could I say? Warren would tell me to say what I needed to say, but I didn't know what that was. Come on, Ted! Say something! Anything! Don't leave the poor kid hanging!

Aw, shit! There I go again, calling him a kid. He's a man, dammit, and I just kissed him! I just kissed a man and I liked it and I don't know why!

"I'm sorry, Brad," I said at last. "I don't know why I did that."

I could see him turning his head so he could look at me, but I couldn't look at him. His voice was soft and gentle, like waves washing on shore. "I'm not disappointed that you did." He fell silent again and, after a minute or two, I turned my head to look at him, too. "I would be disappointed if you didn't want to do it again."

I stared into his eyes, and then I looked away and took a swig of beer.

"Look, Ted," he said. "Something's happening to me, and I don't understand it. But I'm starting to." He paused for a long moment. "I like what's happening to me."

I looked back at him. "Believe me, Brad. I think the same thing is happening to me, too, and I think I like it, too. But it's scaring the hell out of me. This is going way too fast for me. I can't keep up with it."

"You think we need to slow things down. Let ourselves catch up."

"Yes," I said. There was hurt in Brad's eyes. I hastened to ease it. "I need to make Lindsay my priority, Brad. I'm not dismissing what we're feeling, but I need to concentrate on her. I need to do what I have to so I can get her back."

"And you're afraid that The Bitch will use this against you."

I looked quickly at the ground, worry and concern blasting its way into my gut. "Oh, shit. I never even thought of that."

"I'll stay away, Ted," Brad said. "I'll do my work, but I'll stay away otherwise."

I looked back at him. "I don't want you to do that, Brad."

"You really mean that?"

"Yes, I do. I mean, I think we should slow down on this whacking off and kissing thing, but I don't want to stop building this friendship. It's important to me."

"It's important to me, too. You have my word. I won't do anything to hurt your chances of getting Lindsay back." Brad raised his bottle of beer in toast. I raised my own and clinked his. I drained my bottle, which was almost empty anyway.

"Time for a refill," I said, and started to stand up.

"I'll get it," Brad said. "Stay here and relax. Be right back."

I lit up another cigarette as I waited. It took a few minutes for Brad to come back again, and, when he did, he had changed shorts again and had pulled on his T-shirt. His shorts were like the shorts he'd worn to Toronto, except they were black. He opened the beer and handed it to me.

"You didn't have to change," I said.

"I gave you my word, Ted." And then he smiled. "And don't bother sitting out here at night looking at my bedroom window. You won't see anything."

"You don't have to go that far."

"I can't slow things down. I have to stop them if I want to keep my word."

I just stared at him and I wanted to cry. I could feel a lump forming in my throat and my stomach was doing flip-flops. I wanted so much to kiss him again for that, but I sucked on my beer bottle instead.

* * * * *

Brad was in Lindsay's bedroom giving the ceiling a fresh coat of white paint when my cell phone rang.

"Hello."

* Hi, Teddy. *

"Warren!" I said. "Good to hear from you, buddy. What's it been, twenty-six? Twenty-seven hours?"

* Hey, when you're in love. . . *

"So, what's up?"

* Bill's here with me. He's listening. *

"Hey, Bill."

* Hi, Ted. *

* Look, Teddy, what have you got planned for next weekend? *

"Nothing that I know of, Warren. Why?"

* Bill and I are getting married. *

"Well, it's about time, you old farts! Finally caved, eh, Bill?"

* Yeah. Can you come? *

"When and where?"

* Two weeks, Teddy. Metropolitan Community Church of Toronto. You'll be getting your invitation in the mail. I sent it to your old place. I hope Canada Post forwards it soon enough. *

"I'll watch for it, and the new owners said they'd hold anything that goes there for me."

* So, can you come? *

"Try to keep me away, pal."

* You're not bringing The Bitch, are you? *

"What? And spoil my dinner? She won't be there, pal."

* Great. But you can bring someone. I've already got you marked down as ‘two'. Got a new lady friend yet? *

"No. I'm not even looking. Not sure if I'll ever look again."

* Well, bring someone. What about that guy you brought to Ryerson yesterday? He sounded like a nice guy. I'd like to meet him. *

"I'm sure you would, Warren. But he just helped me move. He's just a friend."

* Ask him and get back to me. *

"Hang on then. He's here now, painting Lindsay's bedroom. Hang on."

I began walking toward the bedroom. "Hey, Warren, I get Lindsay this weekend. What say we come up and you can give her the presents yourself?"

* You mean it? Really? *

"Of course I mean it."

* Thanks, Teddy. I love you, man. *

"Give him a kiss for me, Bill. Okay, I'm with Brad. Hang on."

I dropped the phone away from my face as Brad stopped rolling paint on the ceiling. He turned his head to look at me. "Hey, Brad," I said. "My friend, Warren, is getting married in two weeks. He wants to know if you'd like to go with me."

"I thought he was gay," Brad said.

"He is. He's marrying his boyfriend, Bill."

"A real wedding? With a church and a minister and everything?" Brad asked.

"Yes."

* He sounds awfully cute, Teddy! Bring him! *

Brad looked at the phone in my hand. He'd heard him.

I raised the phone to my ear. "Bill? Stick something in his mouth, will ya?" Warren giggled. I took the phone away and looked at Brad.

"Do you really want me to go?"

"I wouldn't have asked if I didn't want you there."

He looked down for a moment, deep in thought. "I've never been to a gay wedding before." He looked up again. "I think I'd like to go. And I'd like to meet your friend."

* Yipee! *

I spoke into the phone. "Stuff it, will you, Warren? We'll be there."

* Bring him for dinner next Sunday, too, Teddy. Bill will be here, won't you Sweetie? *

"You sure?"

* One more place at the table. You know your friends are always welcome, Teddy. *

To Brad, I said, "You're invited for dinner this Sunday with Lindsay and me, too. Wanna go?"

"Sure."

"Set the place, Warren. He'll be there."

* Great! Look, Teddy, I've got a doctor's appointment in an hour. I'd better get going. *

"You take care of yourself, Warren. And Bill? Make sure he does everything the doctor tells him to do."

* I will, Ted. And thanks. *

* Love ya, Teddy. Bye. *

"Love you, too, pal. Later, eh?"

We hung up.

Brad was still standing there holding the long-handled paint roller. He'd turned his entire body to face me. "Are you sure you want me to go?"

"Why not?" I asked. "It's just a wedding."

"No, I meant this weekend. The dinner thing. Wouldn't you rather go alone with Lindsay?"

"Believe me. Warren is already making plans to include you. If you don't show up, he'll disown me."

"But you said you wanted to slow things down."

"It's dinner in Warren's parents' place and a wedding in a church. You can't get much slower than that," I joked.

* * * * *

Brad stopped long enough for a few slices of pizza and a beer, and then he was back at the painting. I worked at my computer for a few hours, stopped to take a leak, and took a peek inside Lindsay's room. Brad had taken off his T-shirt. He looked cute splattered with tiny white and pink polka dots. When he saw me standing there, he must have seen an odd, discouraged look on my face. He stopped rolling, set down the paint roller, and grabbed up his shirt.

"Sorry," he said. "Even with the air conditioning, it was getting too hot."

"Leave it off, Brad. I don't mind," I said. "That's not the problem." I looked at the walls. "That isn't the colour I picked out for Lindsay. It looks horrible."

Brad looked at the wall.

"That's the primer," he said sheepishly.

I looked at the colour again, hoping I didn't look as stupid as I felt. "Right! Primer. I knew that."

I could see Brad grinning and I wasn't even looking at him. "No you didn't." I could hear the grin in his voice.

I looked at him for real. Yup. He was grinning. "You're right," I said. "I didn't." Thank goodness I remembered the wallpaper before I asked him why he wasn't priming it all the way to the bottom of the walls. "Look. It's after nine. Maybe you should stop for the night."

"I want to get this priming done so I can start painting tomorrow. I'll only be another hour or so."

It was over two hours later when Brad finally appeared in the livingroom. He was carrying a towel. He looked exhausted and sore. He laid the towel out on the sofa and gingerly sat down, heaving a heavy sigh as he did so. "I'm beat," he said. "Everything's packed up and clean."

"Want a beer?"

"I'd love one," he said, "and then I'm going home to bed." He started to rise.

"Stay there. I'll get it." I stood up and went to the kitchen, grabbed two beers, marked a single line on Brad's IOU sheet, and headed back to the livingroom. Brad's head was lying against the back of the sofa. His mouth was open and soft snores were coming from his nostrils. I set down the beers, put my hand on his shoulder and gave it a gentle shake as I called his name. He didn't respond.

I stood up, went to my bedroom, grabbed a pillow from my bed and a clean, light blanket out the linen closet, and went back out. I dropped the things on the sofa, knelt down, and pulled Brad's shoes and socks off. I looked at him as I knelt there between his legs and my eyes were drawn to his crotch. The mound was right there. Right in front of me. It was so close. I could see it and I could smell it. And I suddenly realized I was almost touching it. My hand was hovering over it, ready to settle down on it, and I jerked it away. When had my hand moved? Who moved it? I gulped and shook my head to clear it. It must have been me!

I rose to my feet. I had come so close to betraying Brad's trust. He looked so at peace sitting there. So beautiful. Not handsome. Brad was beautiful. I couldn't betray him like that, and I hated myself for almost doing it.

Again, I shook my head, gathered my wits, and placed my hands on his shoulders. I guided him to his side on the sofa. He didn't stir. He didn't wake up. I lifted his legs and curled them up on the sofa and grabbed the pillow, lifted his head, and slid the pillow under it. Brad stirred then. Just nuzzling into the softness of the pillow. His mouth was closed now and he sucked a big breath through his nose. I watched his chest expand as he sucked it in, and then I watched it contract as he let it out again. And then I watched him breathe for a minute or two. So young. So innocent. So. . .

I picked up the blanket, fluffed it open, and carefully laid it over him. I pulled it up to his neck, and then I found my hand on his hair, brushing it flat with slow caresses. I stopped my hand and slowly took it away. And then I bent down and gave him a soft, whispery kiss on the forehead. I wasn't betraying him by doing that. At least, that's what I told myself.

I grabbed the beers, locked the doors and turned out the lights, and went to the kitchen. I put the unopened bottles back in the refrigerator, scratched off the line I'd made on his IOU sheet, and then I went to bed.

To Be Continued​