Young and Horny: 10 Gay Erotic Short Stories by Matthew Rettenmund

Author:Matthew Rettenmund [Rettenmund, Matthew]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Tags: Fiction
Published: 2014-01-05T05:00:00+00:00

Training

From "Wanderlust: Homoerotic Tales of Travel" (Badboy, 1996), edited by David Laurents.

It was freezing cold when he left Little, so cold that Karl was surprised his frozen joints managed to carry him up the flight of temporary steps and onto the train.

He paused and turned around, as if to wave a last farewell to his parents.

Karl was a picture-perfect Aryan, an image so frighteningly pure it might have been the last, fantastic thought in Adolf Hitler's dying mind a half-century ago. He was blond, so blond his hair was nearly white. His hair was close-cropped and without shadow, evading contour even as he stood in the darkened doorway of the train. If a man had been boarding behind Karl, and had looked directly up at the boy now, he would've seen that the eyes that seemed Technicolor blue at a distance were actually transparent up-close. Only Karl's cheeks and lips showed any real color, the former as pink as a bracing blow and the latter as candy red as if he'd methodically diminished a cherry lollipop with them on the ride over. But he hadn't.

Karl's parents were cardboard cut-outs beyond the gate. They seemed harmless enough now, behind chain-link. But they were not harmless; they were abusers of body, mind and soul, quashers of Karl's freedom.

Karl's parents had stopped waving as soon as he'd turned to board, and now were caught off-guard by their son's last-minute stare.

"You aren't waving anymore," Karl's eyes accused, even as he smiled slightly, hoisting his bags. "Good-bye."

"All aboard, son," said an old geezer from within the train. A minute ago, the geezer—the conductor—had been ingratiating himself to two elderly black women who sat in the very first seats after the entrance, taking their first train ride. Karl had overheard him pulling their legs, making them giggle like little girls. For Karl, the conductor used a different voice, a softer tone. He used a speech that seemed cowed by Karl's youth, as if it were something the conductor either craved or uncomfortably remembered.

Karl had been born 18 years ago that day, at 4:49 in the afternoon, after what he'd been told (often) was a long, painful labor. He checked his watch: 4:48 and 50 seconds. The train was a little late, late enough that Karl spent the exact minute of the anniversary of his birth boarding. His mother had dutifully forced some angel food cake on him earlier in the day, but he wasn't 18 years old until now, right now, as he about-faced and sliced the rest of the way up the stairs.

Karl doubted he'd ever seen his parents again, not because the university was so very far away, not because he expected them to die soon, but because he planned to avoid them like he'd always avoided the truth. They would have to take drastic measures to see him again, and perhaps sell something to afford the trip. They hadn't had the money for the inexpensive wool coat Karl now shrugged from his shoulders, nor would they have the money for a day-long train trip.

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