Geeks

Poor Michael. He is in a quandary, forced to face thoughts and feelings he would rather leave undisturbed. The onset of puberty can be an unrelenting monster, especially for a gay boy in denial. Jeremy, however, after unloading on his best friend, is feeling a bit of relief after months of his own tumultuous thoughts. We will let him carry the narrative for a bit ...

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Michael and I finish up the evening at his house by researching newts on the internet. I'm a little nervous now about having held that Taricha rivularis in my hand. The 'Wikipedia' says red-bellied newts have enough of a neurotoxin called tetrodotoxin in their skin to easily kill an adult human, or 7,500 mice. (Only a fellow geek would add the mouse part!) I'm glad I didn't eat the little shit. Still, I wash my hands three times at Michael's house before I leave for home and dinner.

It's kind a' nice to get back home. As much as I love Michael, (and ya know the extent of that), I was feeling a bit discomforted in his presence. Oh sure, I did my best to act my normal geeky self around my geeky friend, but I could still feel a bit of tension in the air. It was probably just me, because he seemed to be totally at ease. So it is nice to be at home where the only tension is the usual sort - between myself and my little brother...the Weasel. Weasel isn't really his name. His name is actually Scully - that's right, just like the X-Files. 

Scully got his nickname, Weasel, from my friend Michael. It's because he's always trying to weasel in on things Michael and I are doing. He knows that Michael and I are as tight as pantyhose on a fat lady. He just wants to be included is all. I can't blame him really. He doesn't seem to get on very well with other ten year-olds; but then he's more like ten going on thirty. I guess he's just another Jr. Geek in the making. He is just going to have to make a geek friend of his own like I did with Michael and stop horning in on us. Oh, I love him and everything, it's just that ya know how ten year-olds can be. They can drive ya nuts. Weasel can drive ya nuts times ten. Or, maybe to the tenth power! He is the reason I get up extra early on the weekends so I can slip out of the house before he wakes up. I slip out before Mom wakes up too, so that she can't make me take the Weasel with me.

Actually Michael likes Scully a lot. That's because Scully knows how to butter Michael up like a piece of dry toast. To get on the good side of Michael, all ya have to do is stroke his ego a little bit. Well, Scully over-strokes and so Michael overly likes him. I guess I could consider this a good thing since we are often forced to include him on our adventures. Otherwise, Scully could put a real dent in me and Michael's friendship.

Anyway, me and Mom and Scully are eating dinner and Scully is staring daggers at me. He gets peeved when I take off early and leave him. But he just isn't a morning person and so I can get the jump on him. I'm not a morning person either but I have this new invention in my room ... an alarm clock. 

So, by way of interesting dinner conversation, I'm telling them about the newt I picked up in that little stream. Then I describe what we found out about it when we researched it ... ya know, about the neurotoxin and stuff. I'm looking at Scully, who is wrapped up in my story, and I tell him how toxic it can be and that I had held it in my hand. I hold my hand up to demonstrate and Scully gets this 'Yech' look on his face, looking at my wriggling fingers. Then I reach over and vigorously rub the palm of my hand on Scully's mouth. Oh my God ... ya should see him jump up from the table and start spitting up a storm! "Ptuu ... ptuu ... ptuu!" I'm cracking up and Mom is laughing too. Mom knows I won't really put poison on my brother's lips. 

Now, I have to tell ya about our Mom. She is one terrific lady. She is an attorney and practically raised me and Scully single-handedly. (Our Dad died in a traffic accident when Scully was just a little baby. ) Anyway, Mom let's us have interesting conversations and fun at the dinner table. I guess ya could say that she isn't a strict disciplinarian - but if ya cross her on the things she thinks are important ... watch out! And she doesn't talk down to us and normally doesn't treat us like little kids. Michael is really, really jealous of my Mom. He offered to swap his own Mom for her and throw in his sister to boot ... yeah, some trade.

Anyway, Scully is dancing around the table, wiping his lips with the back of his hand and has this look of panic on his face.  Hilarious! Mom's just sitting there, shaking her head, looking down at her plate and grinning. She looks over at me and says...loud enough for Scully to hear...

"Well, how much time do you think he has left Jeremy?"

"Well Mom ... by my watch ..." and I glance down at my wrist, "he should have been dead about 10 years ago ... har, har, har!" 

Scully just realizes he has been made the mark of my practical joke. 

"Oh, real funny Jeremy. You too Mom! Why do ya encourage him?"

"Well my dear ..." Mom replies to him, "I call it tough love. If you don't love it ... tough!" She's stands up while she says this and reaches over and tousles Scully's hair. She grins at him and he just shakes his head in feigned exasperation. He's used to it. So am I, because sometimes the tables are turned and she just grins when Scully slips one past me. I guess that is some of our Mom's unconventional child rearing practice. Oh well, Scully and I think she is pretty neat.

We manage to get through dinner without the Weasel running off to gargle. And then after dinner the two of us clear the table and do the dishes. We know the chore routine and usually do it without having to be nagged. It just makes life a little bit easier. Mom retires to her study to do some case work, Scully heads for the TV in the living room and I go up to my bedroom.

When I get to my bedroom I turn on my computer and let it boot up while I strip and head for the shower. Weekdays I shower in the mornings but on the weekends I do it in the evening. This lets me get up early and out the door before you-know-who weasels in on my day. When I get back to my room I slip on my 'jammy' bottoms, which are my usual evening attire. I know Scully is going to be absorbed in his programs so I can get down and dirty on the internet. Yeah, that's right ... porn hunting! Now I guess I am technically underage to get a porn hunting license so I have to stalk my 'game' surreptitiously. I keep a password protected file with all the url's I have discovered. This keeps Scully from making any accidental discoveries when he snoops through my computer. Yeah, I know he snoops cause I know how to set traps for anyone that plays around with it. Mail me a thousand bucks and I'll tell ya how to keep yer computer safe from prying ten year-old eyes. (Or parents or whoever.) Anyway, I delete everything from my browser when I'm finished so I don't lay a trail for the little snoop. If he accidentally saw the sites I like to visit - the proverbial shit would hit the proverbial fan and splatter all over the proverbial walls. (Proverbially speaking.)

There are teen sites with guys who are supposed to be over eighteen (but look a lot younger) and these are normally pay sites. Now, I don't know about yours, but my Mom would have a total hissy fit if I used one of her credit cards to buy time on a gay porno site. And I don't know many banks that are going to let a thirteen year-old have their own credit card. But, I have found some forums that hackers use to post usernames and passwords that sometimes work to get into the sites. Holy bat cave, Batman! Ya should see some of the stuff these guys do together. I guess there isn't an orifice in the human body that is really safe from some kind of intrusion!

Ya know what's really funny, (and I mean strange funny - not ha ha funny), is that four or five months ago I could have cared less about looking for stuff like this. It's really weird how hormonal urges will twist ya around and turn a young Dr. Jeckle into a demented Mr. Hyde. When I decided I was going to look for it, it took me less than two evenings to find these sites and figure out how to hack into them. That's how good I am with a computer. The scary thing is that my ten year-old brother is just as good with a computer as I am and so, as Elmer Fudd would say ... "I have to be vewy, vewy quiet ... ha ha ha ha ha." Because if I'm not then it would be ... "ebb-idee, ebb-idee, ebb-idee ... that's all folks!" (That's Porky Pig if ya didn't figure it out. Cheeze, some people are dense!)

Anyway, by bed time I have some extreme boner making material that I carry with me (mentally) to bed. The covers are restless this night cause I am raiding imaginary orifices right and left like a Viking warrior run amuck. Afterwards, I lay there in the dark, letting the days events play through my mind. Ya know, I'm not feeling all that uncomfortable now about outing myself to Michael. There is a kind of relief that I have finally told someone about all this crap that's been floating around in my head. I just hope it doesn't eventually make Michael so uncomfortable that he starts avoiding me or something. That would just about kill me. Michael is the best friend I have ever had in my whole life. I mean, even before I thought his bod was hot ... what little I have seen of it. But laying there, thinking about him exposing himself to me today, even for such a short time, I feal myself rising up to new heights once again. Wow, this is getting ridiculous. This is like about the third time tonight. If I wear this thing out I can't just go to the hardware store and get a new one. And I have no idea how ya would go about putting a splint on yer peter. 

Just as I am drifting off to sleep I think of what Suzzane had said about my peter. 'Little' she had called it. Well, okay, maybe it wasn't in the class of those teenagers on the internet but I wouldn't call it 'little'. Shoot, I can use three fingers when I do the dirty deed. Besides, if I can't tear ya up with it I can at least tickle ya to death. And that's about the last thought that floats through my mind before I hear the alarm clock go off the next morning.

"Wrrrrrrrrr..." this horrible sound is intruding on a sweet dream. My eyelids crawl open and I reach my arm over and slap the damn clock. I lay there for a few minutes letting my mind, soul and body re-converge. Crap, waking up is such a horrible experience. I mean, being wokenfrom a sound sleep is a horrible experience. Waking up naturally after a nice twelve or fourteen hour snooze is great. But, I don't get to do much of that anymore. Not with the Weasel in my life. 

Now ya might wonder why I don't just let my brother tag along with me. I mean, Michael likes him alright and everything. And I love the little guy, after all he is my brother. And we get along together really well (when we aren't teasing the shit out of each other). The thing is, Scully is just so damn smart that I can just see him figuring out my new feelings towards Michael. There are times that I can't help making sideward glances at my buddy and getting trouser bulges. And my little brother is like this miniature Sherlock Holmes. Give him one of those funny caps, a big crooked pipe and a magnifying glass and he would discover one of my boners in a flat second. He might need that magnifying glass - but he is quit capable of putting two and two together and coming up with 'perv'. 

Anyway, I've just about got all my senses together and I reach over to my night stand and grab my glasses. When I slip them on, what do ya suppose is the first thing I see? That's right, THE WEASEL ... in all his glory, standing at the end of my bed, fully dressed, looking at me and grinning like he has just robbed a candy store! I shoot up in bed!

"What the sam hill are ya doing up so early" I demand.

"Oh, ya know Jer. Yesterday I had Mom pick me up one of those new inventions ... ya know, AN ALARM CLOCK! Giggle, giggle". "I just looked at the time you had yer clock set for and then set mine for ten minutes earlier." 

"And ... before ya tell me I can't go with ya ... " he says, "Mom told me I could wake her up and she would tell ya different. Now Jer, I don't think ya want me waking up Momma Bear do ya? Giggle, snort".

Scully walks over to the side of the bed, to get closer to me. Now he has this serious, sad face on.

"Jeremy, why don't ya want me tagging along with you and Michael anymore? I mean, ya used to let me do all sorts of stuff with you guys and ... and Michael likes me and stuff. Don't ya like me anymore Jeremy?"

Ah ... shit! What am I supposed to say to that? The little pecker-head just melted my heart. In truth, I'm feeling guilty about slipping out on him so much. But what's a guy to do? I'm scared that it's just a matter of time before he discovers his big brother's quirky, pervy nature.

"I'll tell ya what Skull." (Skull is my nickname for him; Michael likes Weasel.) 

"Michael and I made up this secret code phrase that has to be said, verbatim and unerringlybefore anyone can join our secret society. If ya think you're old enough, wise enough and capable of saying it, then I will tell ya the code phrase. But I'm giving ya fair warning, right now, if ya mess it up then you're out on yer ear!" 

He's looking at me like he's already figured out I'm full of shit. But I guess he is willing to go along with it, up to a certain point.

"OK Jeremy, I'll bite. What is it?"

"Well, it's like this Skull, ya not only have to repeat it verbatim and unerringly but ya have to say it as fast as ya can five times in a row".

He's looking at me now like he'd enjoy thumping me in the forehead with my alarm clock. 

"All right Jer. Let's hear yer silly Sally Sue sells seashells by the seashore gambit and get it over with."

'Little smart ass,' I think. OK...that's the one I was going to use - but he's obviously practiced that one before. I don't dare try 'rubber baby buggy bumper' on him either, for the same reason. However, there is one I made up myself that I know he hasn't heard.

"All right Skull, this is it. Now listen carefully ... " and I tell him very slowly ... "Peter Pan poked peanuts up his peter and pooped popcorn." Now I am the one grinning like Popeye sipping Olyve Oyl.

His eyebrows jump up two notches when he hears that.

"Say that again, Jer, a little faster. I didn't quit catch it."

"OK boyo" I say, and then I repeat, more quickly ... "Peter Pan poked peneers up his ... I mean, Peener Pan poked ..."

"Ah ha ... " he yells, before I can finish. 

"You can't even say it twice yerself Jeremy and so ya shouldn't even be in this secret society of yers! Maybe I should tell Michael to throw yer butt out!"

I just stare daggers at him for a minute. Then I can't help giggling at him. Heck, I have no intention of holding him to this anyway. He just pissed me off by one-upping me with the alarm clock and I want to get even. He even blew me out of the water with my own Peter Pan ploy. I know when I'm whipped.

"All right Scully, ya got me dead to rights. You can come along. But I get to whip ya and beat ya and mortify ya and make ya my slave boy. And ya have to smell Michaels farts and say "some more please", OK?"

"Screw you Jeremy ... even you can't stand Michael's farts. I think he must live on stink weed and skunk butts because that's what he blows out of his arse!"

Boy, he's right on the money with that one. One of Michael's farts will melt the enamel off yer teeth if you're stupid enough to be grinning while he's farting. I don't know how anyone who looks so cute can make a smell like that. I've never actually seen him eat stink weed or a skunk's butt but then I don't know what he snacks on after I leave. Scully definitely has me laughing now.

"Snort ... snort, chortle. Okay, bugger butt, I'll have to hand ya that. He's probably the only guy I know with visible farts. When ya see that purple cloud ya know it's time to run for the hills."

We are both cracking up now. We can just visualize Michael with this huge purple cloud surrounding him while he stands there just-a-grinning. This is one guy, who if he asks ya to pull his finger, ya just run like hell!

"Well ..." I tell him, "since it's so damn early, and neither of us are morning people, what say we just get a little more shut-eye before we head over to Michael's?"

"Uh, uh mister. I'm not giving ya the chance to sneak out of here while I'm sleeping."

Scully just flops down across my bed and across my legs. 

"If ya even try to get up you're going to wake me" he says.

Crap, there is no way I'm going to be able to go back to sleep with him squishing my appendages. Besides, he actually has me wide awake now anyway.

I make this huge yawn, smack my lips a couple of times and say ...

"All right, I'm going to go pee and brush my teeth. Go down to the kitchen and make us a couple of bowls of cereal, slave boy."

"Yes master" he exclaims. "Yer wish is my commode." And then he grins at me. 

"As a geeky boy once told me, Skull, don't quit yer day job" and I pull my feet out from under him. He gets up and heads out the door. I slowly get up, stretch and adjust the morning tent in my 'jammys'. 

"Hello, little fella" I say, looking down. "Fancy meeting you here. I'm just going to have to drain ya and make ya go away ... snicker".

Skull and I finish our cereal, rinse the bowls and put them in the dishwasher and then head out the side door. It's promising to be another warm, Autumn day. And, even though I'm not a morning person, I do love the smell and feel of a newborn day. Scully and I smile at each other and I slip my arm around his shoulders as we walk along. And while we walk, I start remembering that this is the first new day after my revelation to Michael and I'm going to have to pretend like nothing happened between us. Especially with Sherlock Holmes along for the ride. Man, what a tangled web we weave when first we practice to be a perv. 

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To Be Continued ... 

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Well there you have it folks. Another chapter in our continuing saga of boydom. You've met a new character too. One who just may spell trouble for one of our geeks down the road. Do you suppose the geek I am referring to is Jeremy? Well, think again. It takes two geeks to make a gackle and Michael is the other half of our duo. And it just may be Michael who runs afoul of our little Sherlock Holmes and his snoopability. Hmm ... methinks there may be another outing in the process.

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Don't go dancing off to someone else's story now. After all, you promised to be faithful to me. Send me an email and maybe I'll put you into my last will and testament. 

© 2007. All rights retained. No duplication without author's permission. No posting on another web site without approval. No French kissing in class - unless it's French class.