"You're obviously not that into me," Jordan complained, "so, fine, whatever, we're done. Okay? Happy?"
An angry flush crept across the bridge of her nose and her jaw clenched. Veins stood out on the side of her neck and her nostrils flared. Her steps were quick and sharp, making her signature French braid bounce like a perturbed tail. Lincoln bowed his head and rubbed the back of his neck, his teeth gritting in a strained expression of pain that he did not feel.
Yes, actually, he was happy.
Sighing, he said, "I just have a lot of my mind."
"You always have a lot on your mind," Jordan snapped. "But never me. We've been dating for three months and you don't spend any time with me. You always have some excuse. I have to pull teeth just to get you to walk home with me. What the fuck?"
Lincoln didn't know how to answer that.
It was a warm spring afternoon and the trees flanking Pine Street budded with new life. Golden sunlight bathed the houses and front yards and kids in light, colorful clothes rode bikes, jumped rope, and played tag, their laughter seasoning the breeze like sepia-toned memories of seasons past. Normally, Lincoln would walk home by himself while Jordan practiced with the basketball team, but today, she told him to wait for her, and from her tone and the look in her eyes, he knew why. Sure enough, here they were, verging on the edge of a break-up.
He had known it was coming for a long time. He did make excuses to not talk to her, and every time she approached him in the hall, he hurried in the opposite direction. On weekends, he was "too busy" to hang out with her and at lunch, the only time they spent together, he virtually ignored her. When they first started going out, her eyes twinkled with happy light and she couldn't stop smiling. Over the past three months, that twinkle extinguished and her smile gradually faded away. She grew tense, short tempered, and demanding. She started to harp and to show up at his house unannounced, leaving him little choice but to spend time with her. He would guide her into the dining room and come up with every possible reason they couldn't go up to his room. It's messy, he'd say, or my mom and dad don't want me having girls in my room. Sorry.
Your mom and dad aren't here, she said once in a seductive tone. She scooted closer and laid her hand on his inner thigh, far too close to his crotch for comfort. He swallowed around a lump in his throat and pulled forcefully away. In the corner of his eye, he saw the look of hurt on Jordan's face, and he was instantly sorry. It was too late, though, the damage had been done. She jumped to her feet, grabbed her things, and stormed off. "Wait," Lincoln called after her, but the only reply was the front door slamming.
Scenes like that one had happened more than once over the past month. Each time, Lincoln would fumble through some half-hearted apology, and Jordan, desperate to believe him, accepted it, if only grudgingly. She reasoned with her heart instead of her brain like so many girls - and boys - before her, and the heart is about as good at logic as Lincoln was at being a good boyfriend. Lincoln would vow to himself to do better, but in a day or two, it was back to avoiding her, not returning her texts, and putting her off.
The final straw came that morning. Lincoln walked her to her first class, her hand in his. It was slimy and warm and gross, but he forced himself to hold it anyway. They stopped at the door and Jordan went to kiss him - she was always trying to kiss him. They had been together three months and they had kissed only once. That was one of her biggest complaints. You never kiss me. What, does my breath stink? Lincoln tried this time, he really did, but the thought of her tongue squirming around his mouth like a fat, pink worm made him sick, and he turned his head at the last minute, taking it on the cheek instead of the lips. Jordan pushed him away and heaved a sigh of disgust.
It was then that he figured they were over. Later, she told him to wait for her, and he knew.
What should he do?
Part of him wanted her to stay, but maintaining a relationship was too much work...work that he wasn't willing to put in. Did he really have anything to prove anymore? Did he in the beginning? Some boys go through high school without having a single girlfriend. He'd had five. He wasn't with any of them for very long and he'd never done anything more than kiss them, but that was enough, right?
As much as he didn't want to be with her, he liked Jordan and he didn't want to hurt her either. You should have thought about that before you started going out with her.
Yeah, he should have. Now he was backed into a corner and he wouldn't be happy no matter what he did. He could keep going out with her and be stressed and miserable, or he could let their relationship die...and kiss their friendship goodbye.
It was like politics, he guessed. People were always complaining about supporting the lesser of two evils and wasn't that exactly what he was doing now? Choosing the option that sucked the least? The problem with the lesser of two evils is that, at the end of the day, it's still evil. You cannot vanquish evil by promoting evil. Only good can do that. In life, though, few things are purely good.
What was the lesser of the two evil options Lincoln had? Leaving Jordan? His first thought was yes, but it was hardly "lesser." It would cause her the same amount of pain that the other option would cause him.
Is there really a lesser of two evils...or is there only an evil that affects us less than it affects others?
Lincoln didn't know, but he did know this: He couldn't b what Jordan wanted or needed. It might hurt, but it would be better to break up with her so that she could find someone who could be what she wanted.
In that regard, it wasn't evil at all, for her or him.
Drawing a deep breath, Lincoln said, "I'm just...not ready for a relationship."
Jordan rolled her eyes. "Why? It's not like I'm some horrible bitch who's always up your butt. I only want some attention now and then. I want to feel like you care about me."
"I'm just not," Lincoln said. "And I'm sorry for not making time for you. It's not your fault, it's mine."
They were on Franklin Avenue now, Lincoln's house ahead on the right. Fragrant spring wind blew through the big oak tree in the front yard and the scent of lavender and honeysuckle found Lincoln's nose.
It smelled like funeral flowers.
"So that's it," Jordan said bitterly, "you don't want me."
Lincoln sighed. "No, it's not - "
"Whatever," she said. She turned around and stalked toward home. Lincoln watched her go, not knowing if he should call out to her or let her go. She rounded a corner and disappeared behind a hedge, and an invisible weight lifted from Lincoln's shoulders. He let out a pent-up breath and inhaled deeply through his nose. All of a sudden, those flowers didn't smell so funeral-y anymore. They smelled like...a fresh start.
Feeling light and good, Lincoln walked the rest of the way home with a spring in his step. He stopped at the mailbox, grabbed the day's haul, and flipped through it to see if there was anything for him. There wasn't, but he didn't get very much through snail mail anyway. He went up the walk, climbed the stairs, and let himself in.
Lynn and Lucy sat on the couch and stared at the TV, where Dr. Phill wagged his finger at a conman who purported to be a doctor and hosted a TV show where he dispensed second rate advice. "You, sir, are a fraud," Dr. Phil said.
"Yeah, you tell him, Dr. Phil," Lynn said. She looked up when Lincoln closed the door and greeted him with a quick nod. "Hey, Linc, where's Jordan?"
"We broke up," he said with an obscene hint of pride.
Lynn and Lucy looked at each other. "Again?" Lynn asked.
Again? What was that supposed to mean? "This is the first time we've broken up."
"You always break up with your girlfriends," Lucy pointed out flatly.
It sounded like an accusation. "At least I've had girlfriends," he sniped. "When's the last time you had a hot date?"
Lucy hung her head in shame. She'd never had a date, hot or otherwise. She was too timid, anxious, and introverted to even talk to a boy. Lincoln could talk to girls. In fact, he loved talking to girls and hanging out with girls. He knew girls in and out because he grew up around them and understood them. Where did Lucy get off making fun of him when she couldn't even look at the boy she liked without blushing and trembling like an idiot.
"He got you there,' Lynn laughed.
'Oh, shut up, you aren't getting any action either."
Lynn's face darkened. "I've had lots of boys into me."
"Why are you still single?"
"Because I want to be," Lynn said.. Her cheeks were painted a deep shade of red and her nostrils flared much like Jordan's had earlier. Struck a raw nerve, did we?
Lincoln felt catty and almost kept going, but forced himself to stop. Lynn was bigger and stronger than him. If she came at him, he wouldn't be able to defend himself, and he really wasn't in the mood to have his face shoved into the carpet and his arm twisted behind his back. Turning his nose up to indicate he was finished here, he went upstairs and into his room, closing the door behind him. He dropped his backpack on the floor, crossed to his desk, and sank into his chair with a weary sigh. He broke one of his best friends' hearts today...why was he so happy? He wanted to feel bad, but he simply couldn't. He was free. Finally free. No more worrying about texting her or kissing her or keeping her satisfied while doing the absolute minimum.
Being with Jordan was stressful. Just like being with Stella was stressful.
Why did he keep doing this to himself? Each time, he knew going in that he wasn't going to be happy. After Stella, he told himself that he wouldn't have to do it again. He had nothing to prove...nothing.
But when he walked down the hall or stood in line in the cafeteria, he had the strongest sense of being watched, like everyone was closely scrutinizing him, searching every fiber of his being and seeing through him as clearly as if he were made of glass. He told himself he was being paranoid but no matter what he did, he couldn't shake the feeling that he was always being watched and judged.
Looking at it from the relative safety of the here and now, it seemed kind of stupid. So what if they were judging him? So what if they knew?
But when he was in the middle of gym class and felt every eye looking at him and every mind forming hateful conclusions, he panicked. He needed to prove something to them. That's how all of his relationships had started and for that reason, they were doomed to fail.
Lincoln tilted his head back and ran his fingers through his shaggy white hair. He used Jordan. And Stella. And all the others. He used them and threw them away. Did that make him selfish?
Stupid question, of course it did.
But did it make him a bad person?
That question wasn't so easily answered. Lincoln once read that selfishness is the root of all evil and that the epitome of good was selfishness. If that was so, putting others before yourself is holy while putting yourself ahead of others is wicked. That made what he did bad. But is it really so awful to think of your own happiness when making important choices? And it wasn't just his happiness he was thinking of, it was Jordan's. He didn't love her, he didn't even like-like her. She was a good friend and an amazing person. She deserved so much better than that. She deserved someone who could make her happy, and that person was never going to be him, because his heart wasn't in it, and when your heart isn't in something, you won't, and can't, do it right.
He could never love Jordan. He could barely even fake it. Even if he could, what good would that do? They could marry, have children, and grow old together, but every kiss, every declaration of love, every word of support and encouragement, would be a lie. No one should have to make a life with someone who doesn't really love them and doing that to her would be far, far more evil than breaking up with her before things went too far. Better to get it over with now when they were both young. Evil? What would wasting ten or twenty years of her life be?
Lincoln scratched his head and got up. He was hungry but he was also kind of horny. For the first time in months, he didn't have Jordan to worry about, and his sex drive was back from the grave. Wow, that didn't take long.
Going to the door, he pressed the thumblock, peeled his pants off, and went to the bed in just his underwear, pulling them down over his pulsing erection and slipping between the sheets. He bent over the bed, grabbed a tube sock from underneath, and slid it over his dick. He picked his phone up from the nightstand, settled in, and went to his saved photos.
The first one was of a muscular man slick with oil. He wore a tiny speedo that clung to his yummy bulge. Lincoln bit his bottom lip and stroked his leaking boner. Heat spread through him, starting in the tips of his toes and creeping across his flesh until his body smoldered with passion. He cycled through the pictures, one after another, each more exciting than the last. He stroked himself faster, visions of pecs, abs, and hard dicks coaxing him closer and closer to his end. The last picture was of a trap in a skirt being bent over by a manly football player. The trap's dick jutted out from beneath his skirt and a bead of precum dripped from his swollen tip. Lincoln's eyes went to the football player's dick penetrating the trap's ass and imagined it was him being fucked from behind, and that was it: His eyes narrowed and he filled the sock with a hitching moan.
Flush and shaky, he cleaned himself off and laid back against the pillow, his chest rising and falling. He licked his dry lips and ran his fingers through his sweaty hair. Muted shame stole over him, just like it always did, and he pushed it away. There was absolutely nothing wrong with being gay, so why did it feel so wrong?
And was he really gay? He'd never actually done anything with another guy. A lot of things sound good in theory but aren't so good in practice. Maybe once he actually did something gay, he'd realize he wasn't gay. It'd be like that time he ordered liver and onions at Golden Corral. It looked delicious in the picture but then he took a bite and gagged.
There was still a chance that he wasn't gay at all.
Only that was bullshit and he knew it. He'd never once been turned on by a woman, only other men. He tried to watch straight porn but always wound up ignoring the woman and salivating over the man. When he daydreamed, it was never about girls. If he was confused, or bi, or anything else, wouldn't he have at least found one girl who aroused him?
Even so, he couldn't be sure about his sexuality - not one hundred percent. He wanted to find out...he wanted a hot guy to kiss and suck and lick just to see if he liked it as much as he thought he would, but he was afraid. He was afraid of everyone finding out, afraid of being laughed at or even worse, bullied. He was afraid of being hated, beaten up, and treated like a monster or a pervert.
But most of all...he was afraid he would like it, and that all doubt would be removed.
Throwing the sheet off, Lincoln swung his legs over the side of the bed and pulled his underwear on. Stripping out of everything else, he grabbed his towel and went to the bathroom, where he took a long, hot shower. He let the water beat down on his back, and his tense muscles gradually relaxed. He washed thoroughly, then cut the spray, dried off, and got out. Wrapping the towel around his waist, he stood at the sink and wiped the condensation from the mirror. He studied his reflection for a long time, then brushed his teeth and gargled with mouthwash.
Fresh and ready to face anything, even his own sexuality, Lincoln snapped off the light and left the bathroom.
The next morning, Lincoln woke to the hiss of rain. Thin wisps of mist clung to the wet ground and gray water swept bits of litter through the gutters. He rolled over and checked his phone.
Five minutes until his alarm went off.
SItting up, he stretched and yawned. He got up and went into the gloomy hallway. A crack of light shone under the bathroom door.
Lola.
Lola was the only one who got up earlier than him...because it took her so long to get ready in the morning. Lincoln could never understand how putting on your make up and fixing your hair required two and a half hours. He might be gay but he wasn't girly, and getting ready took him five minutes tops.
Ten minutes later, she came out in a puff of steam wearing a towel on her head like a Hindu's turban. "All yours, Lincy," she said..
"Thanks."
Lincoln peed, brushed his teeth, and put on enough deodorant to keep him smelling good and clean all day. Back in his room, he dressed in a pair of jeans and a dark blue zip-up hoodie. Downstairs, he grabbed a cereal bar from the pantry and ate it on the walk to school, head ducked against the rain.
The floors of Royal County High were all tile and all slippery; the soles of Lincoln's shoes squeaked all the way to the cafeteria and he blushed with embarrassment even though everyone else's shoes were doing the same.
He sat at an empty table and looked around for Jordan, but didn't see her. He did, however, see Chandler McCann.
The captain of the football team, Chandler was tall and handsome with rugged, manly features and a sweep of brown hair. His green eyes were dazzling, his smile was heart stopping, and his strong, wiery body made Lincoln tingle all over. Lincoln had always had a crush on Chandler, but so did every girl in school. Presently, a gaggle of cheerleaders clustered around him like a harem around a sultan; they gazed at him, giggled at his jokes, and bit their lower lips in the clearest fuck me gesture Lincoln had ever seen.
Lincoln was comfortable with his gender and never thought for one second of becoming a woman, but right now, he wished he was one of those girls.
That way he'd actually have a shot with Chandler.
When the bell rang five minutes later, he sighed, got up, and joined the crush of humanity flowing into the hall.
His first class of the day was science. He sat in the very back and stole quick, furtive looks at Chandler, who sat in the front row talking and joking with a friend of his from the football team. Lincoln rested his chin in his upturned palm and stared at him with a love drunk little smile. Chandler's sly smile and sparkling eyes made his stomach fluttered, and he lost himself in fantasies of kissing Chandler's lips and running his hands over his chest.
The teacher's voice brought him out of his reprieve. "It's that time of year again. Science fair."
Everyone groaned.
"I'll be assigning everyone a partner, and each team must complete a project for the fair. This will count for half your grade, so make sure you impress me."
Lincoln hated science - he was much better at English - and dreaded science projects, Mrs, Becker, unfortunately, loved them as much as he despised them and assigned the class one every single month. It was torture.
She pulled out a list and started calling out names. "Beverely, you'll be with Stan. Bill, you're with Mike. Eddie and Ritchie. Ben and Henry. Lincoln...you'll be with Chandler."
As soon as Mrs. Becker's words sank in, Lincoln's heart skipped a beat.
Him? With Chandler?
Chandler looked over his shoulder and gave Lincoln a grin and a nod. It was meant to be friendly, but it came across as seductive. Then again, everything Chandler did was seductive.
"Alright, everyone, get with your partner and come up with something fun. You have two weeks."
The class shuffled and rearranged, everyone sitting next to their partner. Lincoln's heart raced and his knees trembled, leaving him unable to stand. Chandler got up, grabbed his books, and came over, and Lincoln started to panic. Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God, here he comes. Do I look okay? Do I smell okay?
Dropping into the seat beside him, Chandler let out a weary sigh. Lincoln unconsciously breathed through his nose. He caught a whiff of Candler's masculine scent and his dick stirred between his legs. He snapped his thighs closed and blushed so hard he probably looked like he was going to turn into a tomato. "How's it going, partner?" Chandler asked.
Partner.
That word made Lincoln giddy.
He swallowed a beaming smile and stammered out a response. "H-Hey, C-Chandler."
"You got any ideas?" Chandler aked, getting right to business. "I'm not good at this shit."
Lincoln looked down at his desk, both in shame and to hide his obvious lust. "Uh...that makes two of us."
"Nice," Chandler said.
"But I'll think of something," Lincoln added quickly. He pulled out his phone and typed SCIENCE PROJECT IDEAS into Google. He scrolled through page after page, but most of the sites he found were geared toward kids. Finally, he stumbled across one that claimed you could build a battery with rock salt, pencils, and paper clips. "This looks interesting," he said.
"Let me see."
Lincoln hesitated.
His phone was filled with gay porn. He didn't think you could get from Google to the photo gallery by accidentally pushing one wrong button, but if you could and Chandler happened to do it, he'd see all of Lincoln's darkest desires: Mustachioed muscle men dicking down little twinks, traps with open mouths and cum splattered faces, cocks, buttholes, futas, and boys dressed as girls and sucking other boys. If Chandler saw all of that, Lincoln would die of humiliation.
Chandler sensed his trepidation and raised his eyebrow. If he didn't hand over his phone, he might look like he had something to hide...like maybe he had a literal butt load of gay porn downloaded.
Swallowing hard, Lincoln handed Chandler the phone, and Chandler read the page. "Huh," he said.
"What?" Lincoln asked anxiously. Did he like the idea? Did he think it was the dumbest thing ever? Come on, tell me, YOUR OPINION MATTERS TO ME!
"I didn't know you could do this," he said and shook the phone. "Make a battery out of a pencil and a paperclip. Good find, Loud."
A big, goofy smile touched Lincoln's face and he took a moment to bask in the praise of the boy he liked. "Thanks. I figured why not?"
The bell rang, and everyone got up to leave. No! He didn't get enough of Chandler. He needed more, more I say. Chandler got to his feet and stretched. "You wanna meet up later and work on this thing?"
"Yes," Lincoln said excitedly. Getting himself under control, he said, "Sure. You can come by my place. I think I have everything we'll need."
"Cool," Chandler said.
They exchanged phone numbers, and Chandler tapped his index finger to his forehead in a farewell salute and Lincoln did the same. He twisted around in his seat and watched Chandler go, his eyes immediately darting to Chandler's toned butt. Lincoln clamped his bottom lip between his teeth and imagined, not for the first time, what Chandler would look like naked.
Hot, that's how, freaking hot.
Issuing a dreamy sigh, Lincoln gathered his things and hurried to his next class.
For the rest of the day, he dreamed of taking Chandler into his room, closing the door, and throwing his arms around his neck. In his fantasies, Chandler was (impossibly) gay as well, and passionately kissed Lincoln. They stumbled to the bed, ripping each other's clothes off as they went. They tumbled back, wrapped themselves in the sheets, and took their time exploring each other's bodies, first with their hands, then their lips, and finally, their tongues. Chandler took control, mounted Lincoln from behind, and sank himself into Lincoln's waiting butt. He was big, huge, massive, and Lincoln's skull swelled with pain. He bit the pillow to stifle a squeal and held on as Chandler began to pump. Lincoln's body gradually adjusted to Chandler's length and girth and it went from hurting to feeling indescribably good. He reached down and stroked his own cock, going faster to match Chandler's speed. Their balls slapped meatily together, and when Chandler injected Lincoln with his hot cum, Lincoln spermed all over the bed.
By the time the final bell rang, Lincoln's underwear was sticky and he had to stop in the boys' room and jack off before leaving. At home, he looked up a list of supplies he and Chandler would need to make their rock-salt batteries. There were other ingredients that were supposed to react with one another and cause friction or something, but none were common items your dad would have stored in the garage next to the salt. Luckily for him, his second to youngest sister was a scientist with a well-stocked supply dump in the basement. She paid Lincoln fifty dollars a week to manage and organize her surplus inventory since he was the only one she trusted to handle toxic and volatile chemicals without "blowing us all to Kingdom Come."
At the head of the basement stairs, Lincoln snapped the light on and descended, the ancient treads creaking beneath his feet. Dust and cobwebs coated the stone walls and shadows flickered in the corners like restless ghosts waiting to strike. Lincoln crossed the dirt floor and stood before the bank of shelves containing Lisa's extra chemicals. He scanned the bottles, vials, and beakers until, one by one, he found everything he needed. He took it all upstairs and laid it out on the dining room table. By the time Chandler showed up fifteen minutes later, he was ready. "Hey," Chandler said when Lincoln answered the door, "nice place."
"It's kind of a dump," Lincoln said self-consciously. Having Chandler, the boy he liked, here in his living room, Lincoln was suddenly aware of every dent and ding in the wall, every water splotch on the ceiling. The air smelled kind of funny, like nail polish mixed with stale food and an undercurrent of dirty feet. Lincoln's heart sank and he was terrified that Chandler would notice and say something, or worse - leave in disgust.
"I've seen worse," Chandler said. He probably meant it to make Lincoln feel better, but it made him feel worse because Chandler was basically acknowledging that his home was a dump, though not the biggest dump he had ever been in.
They sat next to each other at the dining room table. Having Chandler so close made it hard for Lincoln to breathe...and to think. He took a series of deep breaths and willed away the erection threatening to split his jeans. "So what are we doing here?"
"We have to mix the Carbonium-5 with the noxite sulfuriate. I know how to do this from watching my sister. She's a huge science geek."
Lincoln got a metal mixing bowl from the kitchen, brought it into the dining room, and sat it on the table. He fetched two pairs of goggles and two pairs of gloves from the basement, and handed one of each to Chandler. "Safety first," he said.
"This shit isn't dangerous, is it?" Chandler asked.
Sitting down, Lincoln started to pull his gloves on. "Not really, but if it splashes in your eyes, it might cause mild irritation."
Chandler nervously licked his lips and put his goggles on.
First, Lincoln poured some of the rock salt into the bowl, then followed it with a slug of liquid Carbonium-5. As soon as it hit the salt, white mist formed and wafted from the bowl. "Whoa!" Chandler cried in alarm and sat back.
"It won't hurt you," Lincoln said, "the mist is harmless."
Next, he added noxite sulfuriate. Chandler watched, interested, and Lincoln nodded. "There we go. Now we have to mix it." He picked up a wooden spoon. "Care to do the honors."
He half way expected Chandler to beg off and make him do all the work. Thus he was surprised when Chandler took the spoon without protest. "Sure," he said. "Not gonna lie, this shit's kind of cool."
As best he could, Lincoln explained the chemical process. He wanted to impress Chandler by sounding authoritative, but wound up stumbling over his words and pausing to collect his thoughts a lot. Chandler asked questions and seemed to be legitimately engaged. '
While they worked, they talked about nothing of great import. When their conversation turned to video games, Lincoln was pleasantly surprised to find that Chandler was a huge gamer who loved Call of Honor: Custer's Last Stand and Steal That Car: Tehran just as much as Lincoln did. "You ever watch wrestling?" Chandler asked.
'Sometimes," Lincoln lied. He had never watched wrestling in his life, but he wanted to endear himself to Chandler.
"You should totally play AEW: Cosplay Assault. It's pretty sick. You can literally drown someone in a vat of orange juice. We should play sometime."
There was only one game Lincoln wanted to play with Chandler, and that involved lots of sweating, grunting, and kissing. "Yeah, that'd be cool," he said. He looked at the bowl and pursed his lips thoughtfully. "Wanna do it now?"
Chandler sat on the edge of Lincoln's bed while Lincoln popped Steal That Car: Tehran into the X-Station. On the TV, a split screen appeared, Lincoln on the bottom and Chandler on top - just like it would be if they had sex. Lincoln sat next to Chandler and handed him a controller. Taking the other for himself, he asked, "Deathmatch?"
"Let's do it," Chandler said.
They started on opposite sides of the map and worked their way toward the middle, all the while avoiding the Islamic Revolutionary Guard soldiers mounted on camels. When they met up, Lincoln whipped out a rocket launcher and fired, but Chandler ducked behind a building. "Shit!"
"Damn it," Lincoln said.
Chandler came out firing an AK47, and Lincoln hit the deck. "I'm gonna get you, Loud," Chandler said.
Desperate, Lincoln mashed every button on the controller. "No! NO! NOOOO!"
A Molotov cocktail landed next to him and suddenly, his character was on fire, screams of pain rising from its backening form. Chandler laughed wickedly and Lincoln crazily slammed buttons and swiveled the joystick in a futile attempt to save his character from dying in the street like a dog. It got to its feet, started to run, still engulfed, then sank to its knees and flopped face-first to the pavement. Lincoln threw his head back and groaned, and Chandler laughed even louder. "Did you see that? I burned your ass like a Thanksgiving turkey."
"It's not fair," Lincoln said, "I wasn't ready."
"Well, get ready and I'll do it again."
Was that a challenge? That sounded like a challenge. "You're on," Lincoln said.
The game started again, and again, they battled it out in the streets of a Middle Eastern city. Chandler was good but Lincoln had cheat codes memorized. He punched one in and summoned a group of suicide bombers to attack Chandler. Chandler gunned most of them down but one got close enough that the explosion knocked him back and cut his health meter down to 5%. "That's cheating!" Chandler cried.
"No it's not," Lincoln said. His character jumped onto a passing camel and whipped out a sword. Chandler screamed and tried to run away, and Lincoln chased him down. He tapped X, and the sword fell through the air in a deadly arc. Chandler's head (rather, his character's) flew off in a spurt of blood.
Chandler slid off the bed and sat heavily on the floor. "Damn. You got me. Best two out of three?"
They played again. This time, Chandler trampled Lincoln with a camel, then kicked him to death while he was down. "Four out of five?" Lincoln asked.
Lincoln shot Chandler in the back of the head with a revolver.
"Six out of seven?"
Chandler chased Lincoln down in an airplane and crashed it into him, killing them both. For an hour, maybe two, they traded deaths until finally, Lincoln threw in the towel. "Alright, alright, you win."
"Damn right I do," Chandler said with a twinkle in his eye.
Back in the dining room, they checked on their mixture. "I think it needs to sit longer," Lincoln said. He picked the bowl up, carried it into the kitchen, and shoved it into the fridge. "It should be ready by tomorrow. When it is, we can add the rest of the ingredients."
"What do we do after?"
Make out, Lincoln thought but didn't say.
Aloud, "Then we have to shape the salt into balls or lumps or something. They have to be a certain size or they either won't work or they'll be too powerful."
Chandler hummed. "What if they're too powerful?"
"Then they'll blow up in our faces."
The jock winced. "Yeah...let's not do that." He glanced at the Felix the Cat clock next to the fridge. Its tail swished back and forth, counting off each second with a soft click. "Hey, I gotta get going."
Sigh. Lincoln figured. "Yeah, I got...some stuff to do too."
He did not, in fact; he was just covering for how disappointed he was. Go ahead, leave, it's not like having you here makes me happy and I don't want you to go. Pfft, please. I have lots of better things I can be doing than hanging out with you.
"Alright, man" Chandler said, "see you tomorrow."
Though it killed him, though he didn't want Chandler to go, Lincoln said, "Later."
After Chandler had gone, Lincoln sighed and sagged against the counter. Was this the greatest day of his life? He tried to think of one that topped it, but couldn't come up with anything. He got to spend the whole afternoon with the guy he liked and they actually got along really well. This might even be the beginning of a solid friendship…
...or something more.
Lincoln frowned. No. Chandler was straight. He went out with tons of girls and always had them simpering around him. The best that could possibly happen is that they got close as friends. And there it would end, like a sperm cell in an anal cavity - no place to go because there was place to go.
Did Lincoln really want that? To be friend zoned by the perfect boy? To be close with him, but never as close as he wanted to be? As he craved to be? To be always near him but never with him? To watch him kiss and date girls when, Lincoln, wanted to kiss and date him but never could?
That sounded like hell, to be honest, and Lincoln would rather just pine from afar. It was safer that way.
For him.
Taking a deep breath, he pushed away from the counter and went upstairs to stew. An hour later, he was lying in bed with his fingers laced over his chest and a faraway expression in his eyes. Memories of the day - Chandler's smile, Chandler's laugh, Chandler's presence - flickered through his mind like a romantic slideshow, and his heart ached like an abscessed tooth. Someone knocked on the door, and he pushed himself up on his elbows. "Yeah?"
Lola poked her blonde head in. "Mom said dinner's ready," the eleven year old said.
Oh.
The only dinner Lincoln wanted was dinner with Chandler. Either by starlight or candle. He wasn't picky. Just as long as Chandler was there, he would be happy. "Okay," he said glumly.
Lola started to leave, but stopped. "You alright?" she asked. Unless you had spent as many years around her as Lincoln had, you would miss her obvious concern. Her tone was strained and put upon, but if she didn't care, she wouldn't have bothered to ask at all.
"Fine," he said, "I'm just kind of depressed. Over Jordan."
The lie came so easily that he was barely aware of uttering it. Lincoln was not shocked, disturbd, or nonplussed at the tiny dishonesty. Lying was a way of life for him, and always had been. Even if he didn't open his mouth, he was lying by presenting himself as something he was not and by allowing people to assume things that were not true. He would continue to lie as long as he stayed in the closet, and that might be forever.
Though sometimes he wanted to open up. He wanted advice and guidance and to be reassured. He did not believe that his family would hate him for being gay, but they would likely never look at or think of him in the same way ever again. Was he ready for that? Did he want that?
No. His sexuality did not define him. He was who he was no matter what got his motor racing. But then again, your sexuality is such a big part of who you are and how you see the world that to deny it is to deny yourself.
Lola was looking at him funny and he realized he was going off on another existential tangent. "I'm fine, though," he said.
"You sure?" Lola asked.
Not taking his word for it and leaving meant she was really worried.
Damn it.
Way to draw attention to yourself.
"Yeah, I'm fine. I swear."
She lingered for a moment, then said, "Okay," and left.
A few minutes later, Lincoln followed. The warm smell of roast permeated the air and Lincoln's stomach rumbled. Guess he did want dinner after all.
Everyone was gathered at the dining room table. Everyone who still lived at home, that is. Lily, Lisa, Lola, Lana, Lucy, and Lynn, who had just graduated high school and would be going off to college in the fall. Luna worked at a radio station, getting the hourly news guy his coffee and taking out the trash and wouldn't be home until later. Luan was in college out in Berkeley and Leni lived on her own across town. Lori and Bobby lived in Great Lakes City with their three children. Lori came from a big family and Bobby came from a culture where pumping out twenty kids was as normal as being a man hating and childless feminist into your forties was in America, so Lincoln expected them to have a small army by the time it was all said and done.
Lincoln sat in his usual spot between Lana and Lola and dug in. Mom went around the table asking how everyone's day was. When she got to him, Lincoln swallowed a bit of beef and said, "It was pretty good."
He couldn't miss Lola's questioning sidelong glance. You're lying, it said.
No, he wasn't. It was a good day. He got to hang out with Chandler. It only started being not such a good day when Chander had to leave and go home. Before that, it was peaches and cream. It would have been even better if he and Chandler had done more than just play video games, though. Oooh, it would have been the perfect day if Chandler tied his hands behind his back with the controller wire, spread his legs, and fucked his ass from the front. His mind instantly called up a vision of Chandler gripping his ankles and slamming into him, their love swelled balls rubbing sweatily together and Lincoln's leaking cock poking Chandler's hard ab. Lincoln could only wish for a day that beautiful and erotic and -
"...honey?"
Lincoln shook himself awake. "What?"
"I said did anything exciting happen today?"
Well...yes, it did. I had a cute boy on my bed. "Not really," he lied. "Me and a guy from school are working on a science fair project. We did that then played some video games. Other than that, not much else happened."
He blushed and stumbled over his words talking about Chandler. He was nervous that everyone would see through his fragile facade of masculinity like a pane of smooth, polished glass and know, but no one said anything or even looked at him, and he breathed a sigh of relief.
No longer hungry, he asked to be excused, and took his plate into the kitchen. He scraped his leftovers into the trash can, washed his plate and fork, and put them both in the drying rack. Beyond the window over the sink, night had fallen and the only thing he could see was his own haggard reflection. He looked away but not before catching a flash of guilt in his eyes.
How much longer could he go on lying about who he was? How long could he continue to hide his true self from his family? Every time he thought about it, he felt a little more claustrophobic than he did the time before. There was nothing more stressful, nothing more hellish, than keeping up a lie around your closest loved ones. You could never relax, you could never let your guard down, you could never be comfortable in your own home...your own life. It was a heavy burden to carry around and sometimes, Lincoln got so sick of it that he could die.
In his room, he sat up in bed, stripped down to his underwear, and stared down at his phone.
At Chandler's number.
He pictured himself texting Chandler "just to talk" and wondered how Chandler would react. What would he do? What would he say?
Instead of finding out, Lincoln rolled over and went to sleep.
The next day, Lincoln and Chandler walked to Lincoln's house after school. "I'm kinda stoked to see if this works," Chandler said.
I'm stoked to be with you, Lincoln thought. Out loud: "Yeah, me too. I wonder if you can actually use it to power stuff."
"I dunno," Chandler said after a thoughtful pause, "if it works, you'd think they'd use it instead of the old school stuff."
Lincoln shrugged one shoulder. That was true. He doubted it could power anything big, like a car, but imagine if you could use it on small stuff like phones and blenders. You'd have your own personal power source.
They got to Lincoln's a couple of minutes later. Lynn and Lucy were sitting on the couch and watching the news: A famous evangelist stood before a private jet, bling around his neck and a jewel encrusted ring on every finger, and spouted off about people on welfare getting too many of his tax dollars. Lynn looked over, recognized Chandler, and nodded. "What's up, McCann. Come to get your ass kicked at another pick up game?"
Lynn and Chandler were both into sportsball and travelled in many of the same social circles. Lincoln would be worried about her putting the moves on him if she wasn't adamantly against dating "manly-men." I like weak, shrimpy guys, she outright said once. Like Clyde. I'd totally go for him. Unfortunately for her, Clyde was dating a blonde girl named Kelsey and they were pretty serious. As in "they've had more than one pregnancy scare" serious.
"Not this time, ponytail," Chandler said and swatted Lincoln's chest with the back of his hand, "I'm here to do science shit with your brother."
"You got the wrong Loud, then," Lynn said, "he doesn't know shit about science. Go see Lisa."
An embarrassed blush colored Lincoln's cheeks. Don't put me down in front of the guy I like.
"He knows more than I do," Chandler said. "And probably more than you too."
Lynn flipped him off and he waved his middle finger at her as he and Lincoln went into the kitchen. Ha, take that Lynn. Hands off my man. I might not get to have him, but I'll be damned if I'll let one of my sisters move in.
He opened the fridge and took out the metal bowl. He carried it into the dining room and sat it on the table. "I'll be right back," he assured Chandler, "just have a seat."
Dropping his backpack onto the floor, Chandler sat. "You want me to do anything?"
"Actually, yeah, Our gloves and goggles are in the drawer next to the fridge."
"Got'cha."
While Chandler did that, Lincoln went downstairs and grabbed a few bottles from Lisa's shelf. Stacking them in his arms and hoping to God he didn't trip over his own floppish feet like the world's biggest doofus, he went up the stairs and carefully sat them on the dining room table. Chandler sat where Lincoln had left him, his gloves and goggles on. Lincoln's goggles sat neatly on his gloves. Something about how perfectly they were placed struck Lincoln as sweet.
"Alright," Lincoln said and rubbed his hands crisply together, "let's get to it."
They did not, in fact, get to it.
The website Lincoln got the instructions for their project from said to let the mixture "cool". He took that to mean "put it in the fridge," but was apparently mistaken. The concoction was hard and crusty, and they had to throw it out and start all over again. "This time I'm going to leave it on the back porch," Lincoln said. "Unless it rains or something."
"I'll check," Chandler said and whipped out his cell phone. A minute later: "Nah, man, we're all good."
Lincoln finished up, got to his feet, and took the bowl out the back door, sitting it in a corner where none of his sisters could possibly knock it over. Back inside, he stood over his chair, took a deep breath, and looked down at Chandler. "Wanna play Call of Honor?"
"Sure," Chandler said, "prepare your ass."
Oh my ass is ready.
So, so ready.
Every day for a week, Chandler came over after school. He and Lincoln would sit at the dining room table and work on their project, then knock off and go upstairs to play video games. They made several different batches of what they came to call The Juice, and made "batteries" of varying shapes, sizes, and designs to see which worked the best and why. They tested them with a special device Lincoln borrowed from Lisa and then connected each one to a converter into which they plugged a number of appliances. Disappointingly, none of the batteries could power anything bigger than a blender. Chandler wondered aloud how big a battery would need to be in order to run a TV, and they decided to find out. They staked out a spot in the basement and, for nearly a week, worked on a single battery until it was three feet tall and four feet wide and resembled a chunk of raw granite.
Even that wasn't big enough to do the job.
After they were done for the day, they would play video games. One afternoon, they went to the park and tossed a football back and forth. Chandler was surprised at how good Lincoln was. "Not gonna lie, dude," he said, "I expected you to suck.'
Lincoln laughed. "I grew up with Lynn throwing balls at my face, so it was either get my nose broken every day or learn to catch."
"You throw good too."
"So I can break her nose back."
A few evenings, Chandler had football practice, and Lincoln missed him terribly. He would sit at his desk and doodle in his notebook. Hearts, his and Chandler's names - the kind of thing a schoolgirl does when she has a major crush on the cutest boy in school but does not have the courage to ask him out. On Friday, Mom invited Chandler to stay for dinner, and while Lincoln was happy for extra Chandler time, he was terrified of his family doing something embarrassing. It was also unnerving to have everyone there, looking at him when Chandler was around. Surely, they would see the way he acted around Chandler and know.
They didn't.
His possible gayness was not something that Lincoln dwelled on, but constantly being around Chandler forced him to stare it in the face day after day, and over time, it came fully to the front of his mind. The feelings of guilt and shame intensified, the sense that he was living a lie increased until he began to collapse under its weight. He could barely sleep, hardly ate. He went through his days in a fugue and only felt good when he was with Chandler.
His family started to notice something was wrong with him, but he wouldn't tell them what. One day, he was sitting in his room when Luna came in unannounced. She sat on the foot of the bed and fixed him with a direct and searching gaze. "Dude, what's the matter? Something's not right."
Lincoln sighed. "It's nothing -"
"Don't give me that shit," she said. "There's something wrong and I wanna know what it is." Her features softened and she surprised Lincoln by reaching out and laying her hand on the back of his. "I wanna help you, bro."
He didn't mean to open up...he intended to retreat deeper into the relative safety of his metaphorical closet, but he found his emotions spilling out of him anyway. "I...I think I might be gay."
From there, he told her everything, and she listened with patience and forbearance, her thumb brushing comfortingly over his knuckles. When he was done, she took a deep breath. "To me, it sounds like carrying this around with you is too much on your shoulders, man. You need to embrace who you are and to do that, you have to come out."
Lincoln sighed. He suspected as much. "It's okay," Luna said, "everyone will accept you. You know that."
"I do, I just…" he trailed off. "I don't want them to treat me differently."
"They won't," Luna assured him.
Would they?
He guessed there was only one way to find out.
That evening, he gathered everyone in the living room. Lori and Leni were both there for Memorial Day weekend so he figured now was the best time. He stood in the middle of the room, Luna beside him for support, and figuratively twiddled his thumbs. "What's up, Linc?" Lynn asked from the couch. Lucy and Lola flanked her on either side. The others were packed together like sardines in a can. Dad sat in his armchair, looking tired, and Mom was perched on his lap, most of her weight on her knees.
Lincoln took a deep breath. The best way to do this, he thought, was to be quick, like ripping off a Band-Aid."I'm gay," he said.
Mom blinked in surprise. "Oh," she said.
Dad's face turned beet red and the muscles on the side of his neck strained. Mom looked at him and tensed. "Lynn...don't."
Lincoln swallowed around a cold lump of fear, and Luna stroked his back. I'm here for you.
Dad's eyes widened and he began to shake like a rocket getting ready to take. "Dad," Lynn said seriously, "come on, don't."
To his credit, Dad tried, but it was all too much for him to take, and he popped off.
"Hi, Gay, I'm Dad!"
Everyone groaned.
"You owe me ten bucks, Lynn," Lori said.
Lincoln lifted his brow.
"You let me down, Linc," Lynn said as she pulled out her wallet and handed Lori a ten.
"You guys had a bet on whether I was gay or not?" Lincoln asked.
Lori pocketed the bill. "Yep. And I won. Also, we love you."
Everyone clustered around Lincoln, and the conversation ended with a group hug.
Later on, Leni and Lincoln sat on Lincoln's bed. She had been trying to get him to let her paint his nails for an hour. "I'm gay, Leni," he said, "but not that gay. No."
That wasn't exactly the truth. He did have some make-up and sexy girl-clothes that he tried on from time to time. It was less about wanting to be or look like a woman and more about wanting to be and look like a woman for a hot guy. He didn't just dress up to dress up, he did it as part of a fantasy. He'd imagine a guy touching and kissing him like he was a girl and get so hard that he pushed out the front of his little miniskirt like one of the traps in the porn he jerked it to.
Leni had never known a gay person before and asked him a million questions with child-like wonder. Now, just before midnight, it was Lincoln's turn to ask some questions. "Let's say there's this boy I like," he said, "and he's straight. I really, really want to tell him how I feel but I'm afraid to."
"You shouldn't be afraid," Leni said. "Just be yourself. That always works."
"Even on someone who probably isn't into guys?"
Leni's head bobbed up and down. "On everyone."
Yeah...he doubted that, but after finally articulating his emotions to another person, he realized just how badly he wanted, nay, needed to tell Chandler how he felt. He had already come out to his family, which was a big first step, now he needed to complete the process and pursue a boy. Even if he failed, at least trying was a milestone in of itself. It was, like, a positive affirmation of who he was.
He would tell Chandler, he decided.
Tomorrow.
The next day, Lincoln was knotted with nerves and struggled to keep from abandoning his mission before it had even begun. His mind entered Panic Mode, complete with flashing red lights and an ear-piercing alarm, and threw out every excuse it could think of in rapid-fire succession. You'll ruin your friendship with Chandler; Chandler might beat you up; everyone will find out and laugh at you; and a thousand others. Lincoln ignored them all. He was determined to do this, no matter the cost. Like night, he talked the talk by telling his family he was gay, now it was time to walk the walk by going out and actually being gay.
At lunch, he sat with Clyde and gazed at Chandler from across the room.
He was sooo dreamy.
Later on, after the final bell, Lincoln went home. Sitting in his room, he texted Chandler. We have to talk.
Chandler hit him back a minute later. K.
Fifteen minutes later, the doorbell rang. Chandler wore jeans and a black tank top that revealed his strong, muscular arms. A thrill went up Lincoln's inner leg and his underwear felt a little tighter. "Sup, Loud?"
"No much," Lincoln said, "you know...same stuff."
"Yeah, I hear you."
They went up the stairs, Lincoln leading the way. He took a series of deep breaths and amped himself up for what was to come. In his room, he closed the door and turned around to face Chandler. Without meeting his crush's eyes, Lincoln said, "You're probably gonna hate me for this, and it's fine, but, uh, I...I really enjoy hanging out with you and being -"
"I know," Chandler said nonchalantly.
"And I, well, I think I l -"
"I know."
Lincoln's brow furrowed and he looked up at Chandler. "You don't understand, I -"
"You're into me. Dude, I already know."
Lincoln's stomach turned. "How?"
Crossing his arms over his chest, Chandler leaned back against the door. "The other day when you went to the basement to get more stuff and you were gone for a while. I didn't know what to do so I went in your notebook looking for a list or something and - "
Even as he spoke, Lincoln understood. He must have seen the doodles. "Oh."
"Yeah," Chandler said.
Now Lincoln was sick and fevered and could hardly breathe. "How, uh...how did it…?"
Chandler was quiet for a moment as he though, and suspense gripped Lincoln's chest. "I'll be honest," Chandler said, "I, uh, I'm not against it, you know? I've kinda been wondering what it would be like. And, I just, I…" he was blushing now. Finally, he said, "I think femboys are kind of hot."
Lincoln's heart bounced. "Go downstairs," he said.
"What?"
"Go downstairs. I'll text you when I'm ready."
With that, he pushed Chandler out the door and locked it. After a giddy jump and girlish squee, Lincoln got to work. Stripping naked, he pulled on a pink skirt and a low cut pink top that bared his shoulders. He rolled long white stockings up his slender legs and stepped into a pair of heels. Kneeling next to the bed, he dug out a pink wig. Sitting at his desk, he applied pink lipgloss to his lips and glittery blue shadow to his eyes. He posed in front of the mirror, one leg cocked and his hands on his hips, and smiled.
He was beautiful.
He drenched himself in perfume, then painted his fingernails. It would be a bitch getting it off but right now, he didn't care.
When he was ready, he texted Chandler and waited, doing his sexy pose. A few minutes later, the door opened and Chandler came in. He saw Lincoln and gaped. Lincoln strutted over, hips swishing, and pressed his body to Chandler's. He reached out, putting his weight on one foot and kicking the other behind him, and pushed the door closed with a soft click. His crotch rubbed lightly against Chandler's and Lincoln could feel Chandler getting excited.
He slipped his hands up the front of Chandler's shirt and ran his fingertips over Chadler's warm skin. "Am I pretty?" Lincoln asked.
Chandler swallowed hard. "You're...you're kinda hot."
Lincoln pushed Chandler's shirt up and placed a wet kiss on his flesh. He kissed again, Chandler's strong scent intoxicating his senses, and again, getting lower each time. He dropped gracefully to his knees and unzipped Chandler's jeans. His dick made a yummy bulge in his boxers and Lincoln's heart fluttered. He pulled the boxers down and Chandler's dick sprang out to greet him, its musky aroma making his mouth water.
There was no doubt about it.
Lincoln was totally gay.
He ran his fingers gingerly over Chandler's shaft and giggled at the way it twitched. Rolling his eyes up to look at Chandler, he took it in his hand and swirled his tongue around the opening. The warm, salty-sweet taste of Chandler's dick danced on Lincoln's lips, and Lincoln let out a moan. He took Chandler deep into his mouth and stroked him with his tongue, being careful to not scratch his sensitive skin with his teeth. He cupped Chandler's balls and fondled them as he bobbed his head back and forth. Chandler's precum coated the inside of Lincoln's mouth and Lincoln's dick ached for release.
A few minutes in, Chanalder pulled Lincoln to his feet, held him by his arms, and kissed him. Lincoln's knees shook and he threw his arms around Chandler's neck to keep himself upright. Chandler dipped him back and their tongues grappled for dominance.
Chandler laid Lincoln back on the bed, and the skirt hiked up over his dick. Lincoln got on his hands and knees and thrust his butt into Chandler's face. Chandler held Lincoln's hips and prodded his butthole with the tip of his dick.
After a minute of fumbling, he thrust his hips, and his dick speared Lincoln's body. White hot agony filled Lincoln's head, and gritting his teeth, he held onto the sheets. Chandler's dick throbbed in his narrow rectal cavity and the alien sensation of pulsing hot flesh expanding against his butt walls sent a shiver through his body.
Just like in his fantasies, he slowly got used to Chandler's dick. Chandler went slow and gentle at first, but pumped furiously as his passion overcame him. Lincoln buried his face into the pillow and threw himself back into Chandler's thrusts. With one hand, he jacked himself off and came moments before Chandler's boiling cum filled his ass. Lincoln bared his teeth and squinted one eye at the swampy feeling.
When it was over, they laid side by side and stared up at the ceiling, the wig askew on Lincoln's head and the skirt up over his dick. "Was it good?" Lincoln asked.
Chandler nodded. "Yeah, actually, I really enjoyed that."
Lincoln snuggled up to him, and Chandler put his arms around Lincoln's shoulders. For a while they cuddled, then Chandler sighed and got up. "I gotta go."
Before he left, Chandler kissed Lincoln.
With tongue.
"See you tomorrow?" Lincoln asked breathlessly.
Chandler brushed his tongue over Lincoln's chin. "You sure will. Partner."
That made Lincoln feel warm and nice inside. "Bye," Lincoln. "Partner."
Alone in his room, Lincoln laid on his back and clenched his butt to keep Chandler's cum inside.
He couldn't wait to see his lab partner again.
And to experiment more with him.
THE END.