Authors: Renae Kaye

Shawn's Law (7 page)

You can feel the tension rising just crossing those train tracks.

Immediately testosterone began to surge through my body. I could feel its primal beat as I stood taller and wider, dropped Shawn’s hand, and began to watch for danger.

“Relax,” Shawn said. “We’ll be fine.”

He turned us down a road. “Where are we going?”

He stopped and frowned as he looked around him. “I thought it was just….” He looked up the next street with a delighted cry. “Ah ha. Found it.”

I walked up to have a look. “TimeZone?” I asked perplexed.

“Absolutely. I haven’t been here for ages. C’mon.”

He began dragging me toward the gaming arcade, making our way around teens and preteens who should’ve been heading home. I hadn’t been to TimeZone since I was about sixteen and discovered the plight of endangered animals. “Shawn….”

“Don’t be a wimp,” he told me, his face and eyes lit up with excitement. “Let’s go and have some fun. You can win me a prize like they do in the movies.”

I rolled my eyes and tried to not feel self-conscious about entering what was essentially a child’s domain. There were kids everywhere, and thankfully a number of adults too, which made me feel a little better. There were arcade games, laser games, simulator games, pinball machines, ball pits, sideshow games, kiddy rides, and ten thousand screaming kids. But Shawn was smiling broadly and pushing his way to the money changer machine. He threaded a twenty-dollar note in and received a cup of coins in exchange.

“Let’s go,” he exclaimed, and I couldn’t help but laugh along with him.

And we did have fun—a lot of fun. We raced each other on the car simulator, shot each other in the laser room, and made absolute fools of ourselves on Guitar Hero. I spent thirty bucks on a number of sideshow games in order to win enough tickets to buy Shawn a stuffed penguin I saw him eyeing.

Finally we spilled into the street. We were laughing and happy, and my cheeks were hurting from the constant smiling. “Let’s go,” I told him. “I wanna see the city lights from Kings Park.”

I took his hand again, this time relaxed about being seen in public as a gay man. The bible bashers were in bed and the other people were not quite drunk enough to want to start a fight. We chatted as we strode the dimly lit streets.

“Have I told you I love your hair?” Shawn said.

I was glad it was dark as I blushed a little and fingered my plait. Some guys were fascinated with it and more interested in the hair than in me. A man having long hair also seemed to invite touches—some welcome and some not so much. I’d had a lot of strangers touch it, as if it weren’t actually attached to my body and belonging to me.

“Um, yeah.”

“How long did it take to grow it?”

“Twelve years now,” I answered.

“Is it a lot of work to take care of?”

I snorted. “Yeah. Probably. But I’ve been doing it for twelve years, so I’m used to it. Sometimes I think it’s a lot of work combing out the knots and washing, but then I reckon I’m saving a fortune on hairdressing and hair gel and all that. I don’t have to shell out money to get it cut, and I don’t have to worry about styling it. A brush and a plait and I’m done.”

Shawn was very perceptive that night. “It sounds like you don’t actually like it?”

A large sigh left me. I was feeling mellow and happy in the darkness, so the truth slipped out. The truth I didn’t always tell everyone. “If I had a choice, I’d cut it. But it’s a promise, and it’s one that I’m happy to keep.”

“A promise?”

I sighed again as I tried to work out where to start the story. “It has to do with my dad, and to tell you that part of the story, I have to take you further back. Way back to before I was born. I call my dad a free radical—the good type. He was free and he was radical in his beliefs. He was a true hippy soul—make love and not war, and all that jazz. That’s why I found your nickname for me so funny. He spent his twenties smoking pot, singing love songs, and protesting the Vietnam War. Then in his thirties, he discovered matrimony. He was a good father, no matter what anyone may say. It’s true that he didn’t parent the ‘accepted’ way, but he loved us. I was the third boy. I have two older brothers, Bran and Dylan, and Dad raised us the best he could. It was the four of us together, and the rest of the world didn’t matter. You see, when I was only two, my mother gave birth to a baby girl, then took her and abandoned the rest of us.”

“She just left you?” Shawn was shocked.

“Yeah. My sister’s name’s Jade, and I never met her until I was twenty. Mum took her away, married some old fart with money, and raised Jade and two other girls she had. She sent them to private school and brainwashed them with institutionalized education. Meanwhile, us three boys were raised by Dad and whoever he could get to babysit us while he worked. We spent time down south on a lot of orchards and farms. Then later we moved back to Perth so we could have some stable schooling.” I smiled happily. “I love my dad. He’s the greatest man on earth as far as I’m concerned. He always had long hair when I was growing up. In primary school I had hair longer than what was considered the norm, but it didn’t really bother me. Once I hit high school, I was more interested in fitting in than before, so I had it short.”

“So? What happened?”

“My dad got cancer. Prostate.” Shawn squeezed my hand in sympathy, and I squeezed back.

“How old were you?”

“Eighteen.”

“Sheez, that’s young.”

I took a big, deep breath as I remembered those dark days and the endless trips to doctors and hospitals. “He had a big operation to have it removed, then chemo and radiation. He had this long mane of blond hair, not as long as mine is now, but still long. It began to fall out. The drugs were really harsh, and he was sick and depressed and mostly sick of being sick and depressed. When his hair started to go, he was devastated. So I promised him that I would grow my hair for him. My brothers both got Mum’s black hair, so I’m the only one with hair similar to Dad’s. I promised him that if he got through it, I would keep my hair. I promised that I would grow it, but if he died I would cut it. So he’d better not die on us.”

“So, I’m guessing he’s still alive, then?” Shawn asked.

I chuckled. “The bloody old bastard,” I said jokingly. “I’m sure he’s doing it just to torture me. The doctors told him two to four years. That was the prognosis on his lifespan. Twelve fuckin’ years later, I can nearly sit on my hair.”

Shawn laughed aloud at that. He had a great laugh. It went through me and headed south to my sensitive regions. It seemed it wasn’t just the sight of Shawn’s butt that turned me on. We entered the grounds of Kings Park and headed for the grassed area overlooking the city lights. There were plenty of cars and other couples up on the grassy knoll, so I strode past them, heading for the war memorial. We poked around the statue for a bit, and read some of the inscriptions before I felt bold enough to yank Shawn behind a majestic gum tree.

The park wasn’t completely dark, but it was shadowy, which gave us discretion but not absolute privacy. I pushed Shawn against the trunk of the tree and held him there with my body. His stuffed penguin fell to the ground.

“Is this okay?” I puffed. For some reason, my heart was thumping hard, galloping like I’d just run a race.

Shawn moaned and tilted his head up to mine, standing on tiptoe so our mouths would meet. As a first kiss, it was electric. I think I fell a little in love right then and there. No one who can kiss like Shawn should be without a boyfriend, and I was completely willing to be his slave. The chemistry between us was phenomenal. I know I sound like a complete idiot when I say that, but when it’s right, it is right.

We kissed for ages under that old gum. I leaned against Shawn and rubbed my erection into his.

My brother Bran was once talking about a hot date he’d had with this beautiful girl. I remember he got to the part where they were enjoying a mild pash, and my brother said he was glad his date stayed on her side of the couch, because then she didn’t realize he’d gone hard. I was confused.

“You didn’t want her to know you were enjoying the kiss?” I asked.

Bran frowned at me. “Girls don’t always like it when you get a stiffy, Harley. They think it means you’re pushing them for sex.”

“What?” I asked, astonished. “Don’t they realize how many times a day you get an erection? You don’t have to get off every time you have one.”

Bran laughed. “Man, I’m so jealous of you gay guys. No, I don’t think they do realize. Women get really funny talking about erections. You usually have to hide that you have one until she gives you the green light that she’s interested in a little more than kissing. That’s the unspoken rule.”

“A stiff dick is a compliment,” I argued. “If I was kissing someone and he
wasn’t
getting hard, I’d panic.”

“Yeah, well,” Bran sighed. “That’s the trial a heterosexual must go through. If you’re both the same gender, then you can relax a bit, because you know about things like morning wood, pre-come, masturbation in the shower, and pornography. I have the unfortunate genes where I must go chasing perky tits and wet pussy.”

And was I ever glad to be the same gender as Shawn while we made out in the darkness. Two hard pricks rubbing against each other is the best feeling in the world. Since I was free balling, my cock was tenting my pants, creating a wet spot on the fabric.

I began to get a bit adventurous with my hands, sliding them over Shawn’s chest to feel his muscles move under his skin. His hands were on my shoulders as he pulled himself up to my height because, as Shawn is always groaning, he’s a shorty.

I don’t care.

“Holy shit, Shawn,” I whispered as we took a break. “You’re hot. You make me hot. Fuck, I want you so bad.”

He kissed the skin on my chest revealed by the deep vee of my shirt. He let his hands wander south and pushed between us so he could feel my erection. That was more than fine with me. He palmed my hardness, then moved lower to cup my balls.

“Fudge in a hand basket,” Shawn cursed. His little nonrude curse words were adorable. “Are you wearing any underwear?”

“No,” I admitted, tilting his face upward so I could kiss him again. “I don’t like underwear.”

“Oh, thank goodness.”

I still remember Shawn’s reaction. Over the years, I’d had many men remark in surprise and disbelief. There were the ones who wanted to know why, and the ones who asked a lot of questions about the mechanics of it, but Shawn just sighed in ecstasy and slipped his hand under the waistband of my pants.

My powers of observation and mental awareness were rapidly diminishing when a flash of blue caught me by surprise. I count myself lucky, because when Shawn’s hand reaches for my dick, my brain stops functioning rapidly. Shawn had only just started to stroke me when the nearby torchlight registered. I had time to jerk away from Shawn and push him behind me before a torch shone directly in my face.

“Harley? Shawn?” a familiar voice said.

I groaned loudly. “Jesus Christ, Warren. You really are determined to gate-crash my first date, aren’t you?”

He lowered the torch’s beam to my feet, and I could see the shape of our favorite police officer in the darkness. He chuckled. “What are you guys doing here?”

I sighed loudly and allowed Shawn to emerge from behind my back. “First date. Remember? Ringing any bells? What do you like to do on your first dates?”

I like to think that Warren was blushing in the shadows, but I can’t be sure. He caught on to my meaning and cleared his throat uncomfortably. “Oh. Uh… yeah. Listen, we’ve had a report of a guy in a trench coat wandering around in the dark, flashing people. You haven’t seen him, have you?”

A good old-fashioned flasher? That was just the cherry on my cake. “Nope.”

“Ok. I’ll leave you lads to it then… um… although, as an officer of the law, can I suggest you take it somewhere else? Somewhere like a house or hotel?”

I heard Shawn’s squeak of mortification and wrapped my arm around his shoulders to pull him near. “Sure. No problem, Warren. We’ll head off now.”

A piercing scream filled the air, and Warren turned and raced toward the sound. Shawn giggled. “Do you think that was the flasher?”

I bent down, picked up Shawn’s penguin, and brushed the sticks and leaves off his fur. “Probably. I don’t know if I’m disappointed or relieved not to be flashed. Warren didn’t tell us if it was an attractive flasher or an ugly one.”

We laughed and strolled out of the park. There was a yell behind us and I turned to see a naked man in his fifties racing up the path with two police officers on his tail. I pulled Shawn out of the way and he thundered past, followed by Warren and his partner.

We looked at each other and burst out laughing. What a surreal end to our first date.

Six