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Wet-Dreams
(Happy Days, Richie/Fonzie)
by Lianne Burwell
May 2002
Originally published in Even Less to Hide
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Richie Cunningham took one last look around before heading 
for the stairs to the small apartment over the garage. With 
Fonzie out of town for the week, it wouldn't do for someone 
to see him heading up to the man's apartment. They would 
just start asking questions that he really didn't want to 
answer.

Only when the door was shut and locked behind him did he 
start to breathe a little easier. Fonzie didn't know that 
he had a key to the place: He'd had it for years, long 
before Fonzie had become a tenant of the Cunningham family. 
He'd used the rooms as a getaway, back when no one had 
lived up here. Someplace he went when he wanted to be free 
of prying eyes. Like now.

He glanced around, taking in the large room that was the 
main part of the apartment. He'd been up here often since 
Fonzie had moved in, but it always amazed him how neat and 
tidy Fonzie kept the place -- one of the signs that he 
wasn't the common thug that most people seemed to assume he 
was. They looked at him and saw a high school dropout, a 
common mechanic, a tough-talking Italian and always assumed 
the worst. They never looked deeper to see the real man, 
the one Richie saw. Even his own parents had been nervous 
around Fonzie until they had gotten to know him. Well, his 
father at least. His mother always thought the best of 
everyone.

And Fonzie *was* the best. The best, most loyal friend that 
a guy could have. Always patient with an awkward, nerdy, 
red-headed teenager who was still learning the ways of the 
world. Ready with advice and coaching and comfort when 
necessary, and if Richie ever needed help, he knew he just 
had to call. Fonzie would be there in a flash.

He also knew that if he asked, Fonzie would have agreed to 
let him use his place to do what he was about to do, 
although he would probably have made a few ribald jokes 
about Richie looking for some privacy to... indulge 
himself.

Feeling a little self-conscious, despite being completely 
alone in the room, Richie started to undo his clothes, his 
pulse already starting to race. He was getting aroused too. 
He stripped quickly, but took the time to carefully fold 
his clothes and place them on Fonzie's small table before 
moving to the man's oversized bed. A bed that had seen a 
lot of action, if the legends were true, and which was 
about to see some more, although of a solitary sort.

The bedspread was crisp and cool against his back as he lay 
back. The pillows were large and fluffy, the detergent that 
the pillowcases were washed in not completely obscuring the 
scent of hair cream and cologne that Fonzie wore. Richie 
turned his head to inhale deeply. The scent was calming. He 
was a little nervous, not because of what he was about to 
do but *why*.

He started to reach for his erection, then paused. He was 
not in his own bedroom, he suddenly realized; a room 
without a lock where his little sister could burst in at 
any second, or worse yet, his mother. Or the shower where 
he could have the privacy, but would have to deal with the 
complaints from his sister that he'd used up all the hot 
water or sarcastic comments from his father that he 
couldn't get any cleaner. He had the place to himself and 
could take his time, not rushing to finish before anyone 
came looking for him. So, instead he moved his hands to his 
chest, just stroking, while his eyes slid shut and familiar 
fantasies started to take shape. Fantasies that he couldn't 
help worrying were wrong.

~~~

Richie had started masturbating years ago when he hit 
puberty and realized just how enjoyable it could be. At 
first it had left him feeling more than a little guilty. 
After all, he'd been told that it was wrong and would lead 
to blindness and other horrible consequences. But despite 
the warnings, he hadn't been able to stop and as time went 
by without anything awful happening, he stopped feeling the 
guilt afterwards.

When he'd started, it hadn't taken much to set him off like 
a firecracker: Just the image of a beautiful woman, usually 
from a movie he'd seen, and the fantasy of kissing her, 
maybe even touching her. He wasn't sure what else you could 
do with a woman, but it was enough to leave him gasping and 
sticky.

Over time, his fantasies had become more elaborate as he'd 
learned more about sex and what was involved. A hushed 
gathering at a friend's house at the age of fourteen to 
watch an older brother's stag film, terrified that they 
were going to be caught, had added to those fantasies and 
had kept him going for nearly a year.

Then he'd met Arthur Fonzarelli and the man had moved into 
the apartment above the garage and everything changed.

~~~

He moved to tweak his nipples which were already forming 
hard points from the excitement and the cool air. He 
pinched one, then the other, and felt the shock go straight 
to his groin. He whimpered quietly.

In his mind, though, it wasn't his hands, his fingers. In 
the fantasy playing out behind his eyelids it was someone 
else.

~~~

Fonzie was everything that Richie wanted to be; cool, 
popular with the girls, older. He was the perfect picture 
of masculinity. As a result, it wasn't *too* surprising 
when Fonzie started showing up in his dreams.

The first time, though, it *was* a surprise. He'd been in 
the middle of one of his regular wet-dreams. In his dream 
he was in bed with Marilyn Monroe, his face buried between 
those perfect breasts, large and soft, when there was a 
soft cough. He looked up to see Fonzie leaning against the 
wall, expressionless. Then he smiled and nodded, and Richie 
carried on, coming harder than he could remember ever 
having done so before. When he woke up all sticky, he 
remembered the dream and wondered: what did it mean, having 
Fonzie show up in a wet-dream like that?

~~~

His fingers carded through the fine red hairs that were 
finally covering his chest, proving that he was now a man. 
He'd been later than most of his classmates in growing body 
hair, a fact for which he'd been teased unmercifully. At 
least he didn't have to listen to the Howdy-Doody jokes 
anymore.

~~~

After that, Fonzie showed up in his dreams on a regular 
basis. At first he did nothing, just watching and smiling 
in approval. Richie wasn't sure *why* he was there in his 
mind, but quickly got used to it. In a way, it was kind of 
hot. At first it was the same as the first dream -- he 
would turn his head and there the man would be, just 
watching silently. That went on for months. Then, one 
night, Fonzie wasn't silent. Richie didn't really remember 
what the man said, other than it was some sort of advice on 
what he was doing. Maybe, he told himself, it just 
reflection on the way that the older man gave him advice on 
dealing with girls in real life.

~~~

Next he stroked his stomach, right above the groin, 
occasionally brushing against his pubic hair, also a dark 
red. The muscles twitched and tightened under the light 
touch. Workouts suggested by Fonzie had firmed and toned 
those muscles, giving him a body to be proud of in the 
locker room at school. He was breathing in quick pants now.

~~~

Once he was comfortable with the advice, it became more 
again. Instead of just giving advice, Fonzie started 
*showing* him what he meant. In the dreams, Fonzie got into 
bed with Richie and whatever girl was starring in his 
dream. He would watch the way the man touched her, then 
imitate the motions. He'd never touched a naked girl in his 
life, but Richie started to feel that if he did, he would 
know exactly what to do. He was even imagining Fonzie in 
the fantasies he built during those quick jerk-offs he 
snuck the time for. It just felt right for him to be there.

~~~

He bypassed his erection, determined to take it slow for 
once. Instead of jerking himself to fast climax, he stroked 
the insides of his thighs, his legs spreading further apart 
as the sensitive skin reacted to the soft touch. This was 
so much better, so much more exciting. The only thing that 
would have been even *better* would be if he weren't alone.

~~~

But a few weeks earlier, he'd woken from a wet dream in 
shock. Fonzie had been an active participant in his dreams 
for a while now, and even with a girl between them, they'd 
brushed against each other regularly, watched each other. 
But this time had been different. This time, there'd been 
no girl. This time, *all* of Fonzie's touches had been for 
him and him alone. Fonzie had touched him in places that no 
one else had. Instead of a girl, Fonzie had been kissing 
*him*. It had been so intense that it had scared him. He'd 
convinced his mother that he was sick and should stay home 
for the day. He wasn't sick, but he needed to think about 
what had happened.

~~~

Finally too far gone to hold off any longer, he brought one 
hand over to cradle his balls, carefully rolling them back 
and forth in their sack, making sure not to squeeze them 
too hard. They were very sensitive, he'd found. He brought 
his other hand up to his mouth and licked his palm, coating 
it with saliva before reaching down to grasp his erection. 
Two pearly drops ran down the sides in reaction and he 
moaned loudly. No need to worry that it would attract the 
wrong kind of attention now.

~~~

He'd thought about it for the entire day, so distracted 
that his mother was genuinely concerned. By the end of the 
day, he'd come to a few conclusions, but still had 
questions. Was he a homosexual? He still liked girls and 
the idea of being with them, but he had to admit that the 
idea of Fonzie was just as appealing. He experimented with 
a variety of fantasies over the next few days, imagining 
doing... things with Fonzie, although he knew there were 
other things that he didn't yet know about. Was he in love 
with Fonzie? He wasn't sure. He admired the man, and he 
could now say that he *wanted* him. For the time being, 
that was all he needed to know.

That was why he'd snuck into Fonzie's apartment to jerk 
off. He wanted to feel closer to the man, to imagine that 
Fonzie was doing to him the things he wanted done. To dream 
that maybe Fonzie could want him the way he wanted the 
older man.

~~~

He quickly built up a rhythm with long, hard strokes from 
base to tip, pulling a steady stream of pre-cum from his 
dick. Gradually, he picked up the pace, finding all the 
spots he liked best. His hips started pumping up in a 
steady rhythm. He could feel the electricity forming, 
starting in the furthest parts of his body and moving 
inwards in steady pulses. His back arched as he started to 
come in long spurts and he called out...

"Fonzie!"

* * * * *

He fell back onto the mattress, breathing in long gasps. He 
released his now-soft dick and ran a finger in circles 
through the pearly fluid splattered all over his chest. He 
should get up, get dressed, go back to the house, but he 
was feeling too weak-kneed, too relaxed and contented to 
move. In the fantasy that was finishing out, Fonzie lay 
next to him, whispering hot words in his ear, stroking his 
stomach where the muscles still twitched. It was so good 
and at the same time, so disappointing. Because that was 
all it was: A fantasy.

Then he heard it, a sound from both his dreams and his 
nightmares.

A cough.

Dreading what he would see, he opened his eyes and looked 
towards the door. Fonzie was standing there, 
expressionless, watching him. The door swung shut behind 
him. Fonzie wasn't supposed to be home until Sunday night. 
It was only Friday. Why was he back early?

How much had he seen and heard? And what was he going to do 
about it?

Richie held his breath, waiting for some sort of reaction. 
His stomach was twisting in knots inside of him. He felt 
sick. He was scared.

He was getting aroused again, just from the steady, dark 
stare.

Slowly, Fonzie grinned. The expression was soft and 
seductive, like the one he'd seen the man smile at 
countless girls. He stepped away from the door, heading 
towards the bed.

Richie relaxed, suddenly sure that what he was feeling 
*wasn't* wrong, echoed the smile and held out his hand.


THE END