Boy Town: Gay Young Adult Romance Stories by Derek Clendening

Author:Derek Clendening
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Publisher: Rainbow Reader Press
Published: 2015-05-01T04:00:00+00:00

“What rhymes with glass?” Ty asked.

“Glass? Why do you need a rhyme for glass?”

“Well, I think it’d be great if, somewhere in the poem, we pointed out to Will that he has a really great ass.”

I gave him the most disapproving look I could work up.

“What’s wrong with that?” he asked. “Glass, sass, bass. There’s got to be some slick way we can say he’s got a killer seat on him.”

“That’s not the point. You want a poem to be sweet and smooth and eloquent.”

“Yeah, and all of those things are just like Will’s awesome rear end. All except the elegant part.”

“Eloquent. And you don’t have to rhyme.”

“Yes, you do. That’s what poetry is, isn’t it?”

“We’re not talking about some stupid limerick you saw scribbled on the boy’s room wall. You think I did any rhyming in my poem?”

“Okay, I get your point.”

“If we’re going to do this, we’re going to do it right. That means using sweet, thoughtful words and focusing on the more flattering things about him. His eyes, his smile, his personality, the way he lights up a room when he enters it. Can we do that?”

He shrugged.

Ever since I’d shown up at his house, I felt like I’d been on the defensive. On the defensive and doing all the work, to be exact. I guess it’s easy to get defensive when I cared about Will for all the right reasons and all Ty cared about was the kid’s backside. I’d shown up right on time and we’d gone up to his bedroom to do the work. I’ve got to admit it was neat being in Ty Grom’s bedroom. I’d said he wasn’t the kind of guy I’d want to date, but he was still gorgeous and this was my first time in the bedroom of an incredible-looking guy.

Come on, people. Don’t get any big ideas. I knew my limits. Besides, he was definitely chasing Will, not me. But a guy can enjoy the moment, can’t he?

I sat in a beanbag chair while he stretched out on the bed. I had a pad and pencil in my hands. He’d asked me why I wasn’t writing on my laptop and I told him I don’t write as well that way. I need a pad and pencil to let the words flow through my body and out my fingertips. Sure, I’d written just one stinking poem, but I’d learned enough about my own writing process to figure that out.

I’d also learned that this would be just like in school when the class is broken up into groups to do work. The rest of the group looks to the nerd—i.e. me—to do everything. I’m the putz with the pad and pencil and the ideas and I’m also the one writing them down. And then the rest of the group gets as much credit for it. The difference here is that Ty would get the credit for the poem and the boy of my dreams.

Oh boy, that’s way worse.

“Okay,” I said. “I’ll do it.

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