It's been weeks and weeks and weeks, I know. Please, don't lynch me. It's been a busy few months. Short story, my baby sister is now a PhD, and thus even more insufferable than I could ever portray here in this story world. But that meant a trip to the UK. And of course, work.
And then a scare with a possibility of losing EVERYTHING on my computer. Thankfully, that was mostly avoided, but it put a dent in my time.
Anyway, here is the next installment. It's transitional and brings to an end the 3rd quarter of the over-all story arch. 1st, Boston. 2nd Pre Prom, 3rd Post Prom to graduation and now...onto the 4th and final quarter. It's outlined. I just need to pound it out and get it to you as quickly as I can.
Bear with me. Enjoy.
!DAM!
DISCLAIMER: The following fictional story deals with sex among males. If you are offended by such material, are too young, or reside in an area where it is not allowed, depart. Though not observed in this story, care enough about yourself and humankind to practice safe sex.
The author retains all rights. No reproductions or links to other sites are allowed without the author's consent.
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Speeches, Invitations, Nervousness, Goodbyes, and Brunch at the Radisson: A Southern Nerd Graduates
B: D A Mackey
Hundreds upon hundreds of cultures around the globe have various rites of passage for young men and women who reach a certain age, meant to signify the movement from childhood into adulthood. Many of them seem barbaric to our rather sedate Western ways.
For those of us here in the United States, one such ritual would be learning how to drive a car and getting the little rectangular piece of plastic with your always horribly unattractive picture plastered on it that signified that ability. Or perhaps High School Prom. And the most recognizable: sweating to death in the summer heat while wearing a polyester gown and a funny square hat replete with tassels in order to walk 20 feet across a stage in front of family and friends to receive a rolled up piece of paper and a handshake from an administrator we very rarely saw over the past four years.
High School Graduation.
The ritual itself must seem absurd to those outside of our culture. Hell, just the description alone makes little logical sense. But it happens every May or June with surprising regularity and it brings with it crying parents and overwrought younger siblings.
There were plenty of both to be found at my own graduation on the morning it finally arrived.
Well dressed Southern ladies sweated profusely and seemed to constantly be checking their melting faces in small compact mirrors while they tried to fan themselves with the card stock Graduation programs.
It was a futile attempt, of course.
The weather could not have been more clear and bright. Not a cloud to be seen in a sky that seemed competing to defy the true definition of the word blue. In the shade, of which there was little to be seen (why they schedule these things for High Noon, I will never understand) the temperatures reached well into the upper 90's. On the vast open lawn of the Quad, it was an easy 103 degrees.
South Carolina in the summer: it is not to be fucked with.
Southern Mamma's are known for their control over their younger children. You rarely see a wild and out of control southern child running around a chain restaurant in the south. At least, not without getting a firm pop on the behind. It's not uncommon for them to be sent to the car to chill out should they get even a tiny bit restless. But in the heat of that day, every Mamma had given up all hope of keeping their younger kids at bay.
First came the fidgeting.
Then the whiny complaints in high pitched screeches.
And finally the release, as a veritable tourist of 5-10 year olds bolted from the rows of folding white chairs and did what children do best: ran around in a dizzying array of tiny suit jackets and easter dresses like a human model of electrons come to life.
A few Mammas tried in vain to contain them, but it was no use. They eventually shuffled back to their seats and just focused on surviving the afternoon. Literally, surviving it. The amount of moisture they sweated out made me worried that some might shrivel up and die of dehydration should they begin to weep when their child crossed the stage. They couldn't spare the moisture.
All in all, it was surreal.
I watched and observed it from my seat in the front row, doing my best to stare at the podium and rehearse my upcoming valedictorian speech in my head. By the time I'd actually delivered the thing, I had nearly picked apart the gold and blue chord that signified my rank as Valedictorian until it was a haphazard knot of barely recognizable glimmering threads.
Apparently, I have a few nervous ticks.
I'm not entirely sure I can recall the actual words I spoke. I mean, of course I have it on video. Several videos, to be more precise. But I don't quite recall actually speaking the words.
What I do recall from that blur of 5 minutes is Daniel.
He was in the front row simply beaming up at me. His knees bounced up and down as he struggled to contain the very obvious pride and joy he felt while I spoke. His smile was broad, wide, unassuming and utterly captivating. I half expected him to leap from his seat at any moment and crush me to his chest in a hug before I'd finished my greetings and salutations.
But thankfully, he controlled himself.
For the most part.
Behind him, seated in the first row not reserved for the graduates themselves were his Mother and Father, dressed to perfection and seeming not to sweat a drop. They didn't even fan themselves with their programs like everyone else. I wondered if they were somehow superhuman and that's how they'd produced such an immaculate specimen of a son.
In the same row, my parents sat in stark contrast.
My mother was a weeping, sweaty mess. She did her best to keep her sobbing to an acceptable decibel level, but from the depth of the eye rolling my sister was presenting for all the world to see, I could tell she was thoroughly mortified to be associated with the two parental figures on either side of her. My father was just looking highly uncomfortable seated on the other side of my sister. This was the first time since their separation that my parents had spent any significant length of time in the same room. Or in this case, open lawn.
On the aisle at the end of the row was Adam.
Though I could scarcely tear my eyes from my Daniel as I spoke, every now and then I would glance back to the row where our families sat and my gaze would fall on him. He sat with his legs spread so wide in his khaki dress pants that his right leg was fully in the middle of the center aisle.
And he stared.
I don't mean he watched me. Everyone was watching me, (something I was still not yet comfortable with) but Adam's eyes seemed to bore deeply into me. His right hand rested on his lap and he ever so slightly squeezed the outline of his stiffening prick as it snaked down his right thigh.
He wanted me to see it.
He was hoping I would see it.
Well, I saw it. I couldn't help but see it. Adam made very sure of that. And the small smirking grin he wore plastered on his face made it clear he enjoyed knowing that I saw him.
I made a note to talk to Daniel. He may have been the younger of the two brothers, but I had little doubt that he could easily outmatch Adam if push came to shove. In a physical confrontation or a cock measuring contest. Take your pick.
After all the normal bells and whistles, the walking across the stage and the hand shakes and the commencement speech by some distinguished former alumnus (of which there were several from which to pick), the Head Master of the Upper School gave the closing remarks and all at once...
...A sea of black satin caps flew into the air...
And Daniel pulled me to his chest and kissed me so hard it knocked the wind from my lungs until I thought I would just crumple into him like an empty soda can.
I melted into him. And it had nothing to do with the heat.
I felt my pulse rising, my body responding and every care and worry from the morning and previous night wiped from my mind.
