Chapter 2 - Jesden.

So I'm staring at the sketch I made of a stranger in the park this afternoon and jerking off for the third time when I hear the intercom squawk and Martha's voice telling me that dinner is ready whenever I choose to come down. Hmm, dinner or another orgasm? That's really a no brainer. Of course I'm going to ignore the housekeeper and keep on stroking my cock. I'm so close as it is, it shouldn't take too long.

I focus my attention back onto the drawing of my latest fantasy man, squeeze a bit tighter around the length of my cock and speed up my pace. There's already plenty of lube on both my hand and my dick and my fist glides smoothly up the length of my shaft. The tip is a dark plum shade now, proof that I'm not far away from my release. As my hand nears the head of my penis I twist it around with a quick little jerk that catches on the fluted edge just enough to cause a jolt of extra electricity which echoes through my synapses. In my mind I'm imagining that little twist and jolt are caused by the way my mystery man's lips suck at the tip as he blows me with his exquisitely talented mouth.

Shit! His sweet mouth is so perfect wrapped around my dick. In my mind I can see his crushed cranberry lips, now swollen from their labor, dripping spit as they wrap lovingly around my thick cock. He's looking up at me with smoldering dark gold and green eyes. As he sucks me off with his perfect lips, his hands are caressing my thighs, my balls, my ass. His long fingers brush against the puckered folds of my asshole causing my hips to twitch and jerk with each passage. I imagine that each jerking motion drives me deeper down his accepting throat. The images swirling around in my brain make the physical sensations even more intense. I want him so bad. It's like I can really feel him here with me. I want him. He wants me. The idea of him alone sparks the final fuse that sets my body on fire and I cum with streams of sticky white erupting all over my chest and stomach.

'Fuck! That was perfect! Shit, I shot a bucketful even if it was the third time this afternoon. Hmmmm. You, my little fantasy friend, are definitely a keeper. Now, if only you were real and not a product of my imagination combined with my good right hand . . .'

I blow a kiss towards my sketch and then have to hurry off to the bathroom to clean up. As indulgent as she is with me, Martha will give me hell if I'm too late getting down to dinner. It's probably for the best anyway. My dick is pretty sore after all the recent self-abuse. Better to give the old boy a bit of a rest for an hour or two.

"Jesden Tennyson, you get your skinny blond ass down here to supper, you hear me," Martha's voice spits through the intercom just as I'm pulling on a clean shirt. "Everything's getting cold and you know how annoyed that makes me. So get your hands out of your pants and get yourself down here right now or I'm coming up there myself."

I pause long enough to press the intercom button on the console next to the door. "I'm on my way, Martha. Don't get your knickers in a twist. And, by the way, my ass isn't at all skinny. It's rather nice and plump from all your excellent cooking. So just lay off the ass comments, please," I tease her right back.

I hear the ghost of Martha's laughter right before I release the intercom button, glad once again that my housekeeper, cook and sometimes babysitter is also my friend. At least I have one friend in this world who seems to care that I'm still alive. Well, I remind myself, there's also Hector, my driver - he's also more of a friend than an employee. And there's always Dahlia, who's been my friend since kindergarten, although we don't get a chance to talk much ever since her folks sent her off to that prep school in California. However, my towering popularity, as evidenced by these three friends, does little to make this huge house seem less empty.

Trying to rid myself of further lonely thoughts, I make my way down to the kitchen. Martha's got dinner for the two of us set up on the modest table in the corner. I hate to eat alone all the time, and she knows it. Thankfully she almost always takes time out of her duties to sit with me through dinner. Most days it's the closest I get to any feeling of family. And, seeing as it's February here in the Pacific Northwest, which means cold and rain and grey skies without let up for at least another four months, I doubt I'll see my real family any time in the near future.

Despite my lonely and somewhat gloomy surroundings, though, I guess I'm still an optimist at heart. I can usually shake off my brooding thoughts at least long enough to enjoy dinner with Martha. We've always got along swimmingly. And if I ever seem too swamped by loneliness or my inherently introverted nature, Martha is always there to tease me back to a semblance of humor.

She's also been the one constant in my life for longer than I can remember. My parents always made sure I never wanted for any material comforts, but they've never really been there for me emotionally. My father would rather be jaunting around the country 'seeing to business' while my mother shops, visits friends or vacations. As far back as I can remember it's been just me and my father's employees here in this big empty house. Most of those, however - the nannies and maids and tutors and whatnot - came and went, never staying more than a year or two at a time. Martha's really the only one who's stuck around.

"Now, Honeychild, what have you got planned for this evening," Martha asks as we finish our dinner a pleasant half hour or so after she called me to table. "If you want to go out, I know that Hector would be happy to drive you. You could maybe call up a friend and go to the movies or something. It's just too gloomy around here tonight, what with all this rain, to sit inside moping all by yourself. A handsome young thing like you, Jes, should get out more, you know."

"Nice try, Martha", I give her credit for caring about me at least. "But you know that: 1. I don't have any friends and, 2. I hate to go to the movies by myself. Besides, I'll be fine on my own tonight. I just spent all afternoon sketching in the park and I want to work on finishing up a couple of the drawings. I might even paint a little if I feel suitably inspired. So don't worry about me. I'll be fine. I know you've got plans with your sister tonight. Besides, now that I've turned seventeen I'm pretty sure I don't need a babysitter anymore. You go ahead and have fun and I'll be just fine."

With just a little bit more reassuring, I've got Martha convinced I'll be fine on my own for the evening. She heads out to meet her sister. I head back up to my apartments alone.

But, notwithstanding what I told Martha, I'm really not in the mood for drawing or painting. Instead I'm planning on wallowing in self-pity for the rest of the evening. With a heavy sigh I flop down onto my bed ready to start the pity party.

My floppage accidentally knocks over the large sketch pad with the image of my latest fantasy man. I can't have that. His beautiful face is the only company I'll have tonight so I can hardly leave him hidden in the bed clothes like that. I promptly prop him back up so I can admire everything about the pretty boy I captured on paper.

Yes, the young man I'd drawn was practically perfect in every way. When I'd seen him dozing on the park bench that afternoon I'd felt compelled to draw him. He was young - probably around my own age but maybe older, it was hard to tell - tall and slim, but not at all gangly despite his height. He had the kind of build you see on long distance runners or swimmers, with those long ropy muscles that are strong but never bulky. His hair was long and a bit shaggy, the dark auburn curls catching even the scarce Oregon sunlight in order to show off the brighter copper strands. I was sitting too far away from him at the time to really see his eyes, but I imagined they were also dark. When he leaned back and let his eyes close I could tell how long and thick his lashes were even from a distance. And those lips - shit, those lips just made for kissing - were a dark, luscious red that reminded me of the red cranberry jelly Martha always served at the holidays. Like I said, he was fucking perfect. And a perfect foil to my own short stature and fair skin. We would look so great together. If only . . .

Someday I might even manage to find a real man like that. Someone that would be more than just a fantasy. Someone I could actually touch and kiss. Some gorgeous, tall, dark-haired man who'd romantically sweep me off my feet and instantly declare how passionately in love with me he was. We would then fall into bed together where the dark stranger would claim my body and relieve me of my virginity. Then we will inevitably live happily ever after with a huge house full of children and I will never ever feel lonely again.

Yeah. Someday. Maybe. If I ever get up the courage to tell my parents I'm gay. Or get the balls to go out and actually meet someone. The only problem with my little fantasy is that I'm a fucking coward. I'm way too scared of my formidable father to dare tell him his only son is a fag - he'd be even more disappointed in me than he already is. Oh, and I'm also way too chicken shit to talk to any guy I might find attractive. All I can ever manage is to draw them from a distance of not less than ten meters. I figure that there's really no point in coming out to my family until I figure out how to do something about it first.

Which probably explains why I'm spending another night lying here alone on my bed jerking off again to the picture of a boy I'll never have the courage to meet. Although, if I could ever find the guts to approach anyone, I think it would be this guy. The one I'd seen earlier today. I probably just imagined it, but there seemed like there was some connection between us. I could barely tear my eyes away from him. He was so . . . compelling. Of course, I doubt he even knew I was there drawing him. He looked preoccupied and more than a little bit sad.

But, yeah, I just know he could be the one. The one who needs me as much as I need him. And I so fucking need him right now. Tonight. Here in my bed. Touching me. Making me his. Touching me everywhere. I just wish this man, boy, whatever, could really be mine.

And as I'm lying here tonight, this time the fantasy feels so real. The young man in my drawing feels real too. Is it something in the air tonight? In me? It's like the whole perfect ending I've been dreaming of all my life is just waiting out there for me to grab ahold of it. All I have to do is open myself up and it will happen for me. And the man I've been waiting for is also waiting for me just out of sight but if I listen hard enough - with my heart as well as my ears - I'll find him.

So I try it. I take several deep cleansing breaths, lie flat on my back with my arms open wide and simply wait, listening to the night with my whole soul. I'm just drifting. Open. Waiting. Listening.

*AAAAAAAHHHHUNHUNHUNHUNNNNN!!!*

My brain seems to almost explode with the pain-filled wail that echoes inside my skull. I’ve never felt or heard that much anguish. I’m almost paralysed by the sheer weight of need encompassed by that singular cry.

'What the fuck?'

I really DIDN'T expect to actually hear anything. It was just me being my silly seventeen year old romantic idiot self. I must have been imagining things, right?

*PLEASE! Somebody! Anybody! Please don't  let THIS happen! Please! Just stop them! Can't I get even just one fucking little break in my overwhelmingly crappy life, huh? Just one good thing? Just one? Isn't there ANYONE out there who gives a tiny fucking piece of crap about me? Is anyone at all even listening? If you're out there, now would be the perfect time to prove you exist. Find me. Save me. Please!*

The words keep pummeling me. I'm NOT just imagining things here, people. I couldn't possibly be imagining that much terror or pain. I'm actually hearing these words. These words that are seemingly being shouted directly into my brain without involving my ears at all. And somehow I can feel the presence of the person behind the words. This is real. He needs me.

*I'm here. I hear you* I tentatively think the words back at the presence I can feel calling to me. I have no idea if he can hear my reply but I put all my will behind the thoughts I'm sending, hoping it's enough. *Who are you? Where are you? How can I help you?*

*Shit!* There's a sense of sobbing laughter behind the words now. *I'm fucking hearing things now too? As if my life wasn't bad enough. Perfect time for a complete mental breakdown. Fuck! Is that them . . .* The thoughts I'm hearing die out amid a fresh burst of panic.

*You're not crazy* I think back at him, trying to impart a sense of calm into my thoughts. I try not to think about the impossibility of what's happening and focus only on the frightened person I'm trying to help. *I'm here. I want to help you. Just tell me what to do.*

*What? . . . W-w-who?* Behind the words I'm now also getting a hazy impression of dark, damp, cold, hard surroundings. It's like an image projected against the inside of my eyelids. It adds to the sensations of fear I'm getting.

*My name is Jesden. I don't know what or how this is happening, but I CAN hear you. Who are you? How can I help?* I hope that my thoughts are projected in a way that will reassure him. I need to find out more if I really am going to help him.

*Ryan . . . I'm - my name's Ryan . . . There's three men . . . I'm hiding from them, but I think they're coming for me still. I can hear someone down the street.* His thoughts are disjointed, accompanied by a flood of fear.

*Good, Ryan. That's good. Now tell me where you are, okay*

*I'm . . . I'm . . . Fuck! I don't know where I am. Downtown somewhere. I was running. Trying to get away . . . Somewhere in Chinatown, maybe? Fuck!*

'Chinatown? Like in San Francisco or something? Shit! He might as well be IN China. How the hell can I help this guy from Portland, Oregon.'

*I'm in an alley. It's about two blocks from Waterfront Park.* Waterfront Park - that's the park I was sketching in earlier today. Does that mean he's here in Portland? I didn't even know we had a Chinatown here. I make a mental note for future reference. *I ran the opposite way from the park. There wasn't anywhere to hide out there . . . * Ryan's thoughts seem to be slowing gradually and they're becoming a little more coherent but I can feel the edge of panic still hovering behind the words. *Please help me. Please . . .*

'Yeah, so what exactly is the protocol for a situation like this? Do I call the police? And, if so, what would I tell them? I heard somebody calling to me in my thoughts while I was lying in bed masturbating. I don't know who he is or exactly where he is either but I know he needs help. And then what? I smile while they tote ME off to the looney bin and Ryan's still left out there hiding in the rain from some anonymous bad guys? That doesn't sound like it's going to help much.'

Fuck it all - there's only one thing I can do. *I'm coming to get you, Ryan. Stay where you are and keep hidden. I can be there in about ten minutes. Just hold on, okay!*

"Hector! Get the car! It's an emergency," I scream into the intercom while I'm pulling on the first pair of pants I find. "I'll meet you in front in thirty seconds. We have to hurry!"

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