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”“Yeah, she can. Well, come on. Let’s take care of Steph and Charlie.” I drove us home and put her to work slaving in a hot kitchen. That’s almost funny. She loved my kitchen and had me helping her cut, shred, prepare, and any other menial task she could dream up. It was really something we did together and we both enjoyed it. We enjoyed it almost as much as partaking of the results.After dinner we decided on a movie, but she asked if she could make us a drink first. She often shared a bit with me, so I agreed and told her to surprise me. Boy did she, with a few fingers of Wild Turkey American Honey on ice. We sipped and watched a romantic comedy ending with, go figure, the girl winning the guy over. I joked about it being a surprise ending, NOT!“Hush. It was a good movie. And romantic. Almost reminded me of...” I interrupted her by pulling her in to me and kissing her.“Don’t say it. You’ll get me to start getting mushy. Can’t have that.”“You’re already a softie, Charlie. That’s one. Even so, one of SOL's guidelines is a minimum age of fourteen for any character engaging in sex, or any other type of erotic activity, including nudity or masturbation. (From their guidelines page.) That in mind, every character in this story is fourteen or older.No worry about me. I'm nineteen in the story (21 in real life), and Ricky is fourteen. His sister is sixteen, but she has no role, significant or otherwise. He is my cousin in the story, though I have no cousin named Ricky in real life. I've sucked one of my cousins, but he is not Ricky's role model. I modeled Ricky on myself, so I could be auto-fellating myself in the story, LOL. Follows, the story.I was nineteen. Ricky was five years younger. I was queer, queer as you get. I'm what gays call an emo twink. Ricky was straight, and almost fifteen. He had sucked me, experimentally, just a little bit."I thought you'd be bigger," he said thoughtlessly."I'm bigger than you are, dude." Not by much," he pointed out.That was true..
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I was watched the rest of the day in the room, visited by a social worker who wanted to know what had caused my attempted suicide and poked for blood once an hour, other than that I slept. The next day I was transferred into the mental ward of the hospital, assigned a room and a psychiatrist and went back to bed. For three days after arriving at the hospital, all I could say was that I was functioning. I ate, attended counseling sessions and I slept. On the forth day I woke up at sunrise and really noticed what it looked like and how I felt. For the first time since I had tried to kill myself, I was actually glad to be alive. I showered and dressed then stepped out to walk the halls. On my first round the social worker joined me and let me know that Michelle was going to come in later that day to see me and to talk with my councilor and I about what happened. I thought it would be good to see her and I thought that maybe we could figure out what the problem was and fix it. I was.

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