Work Text:
Peter Kissed Me
Part 1/1
The confrontation with Tom Halliwell, principal of Greenleaf High, left me shaken.
So shaken, that I actually went to confession. And I'm not even Catholic! But something the kind but clueless priest said put the idea in my head.
I would fuck Emily now. I had been waiting for our wedding night, wanting her to know that I respected her.
At least, that was what I kept telling myself.
After a three-year engagement, how could I admit that the reason I never slept with my fiancee was because I never wanted to sleep with her?
When we first started dating, I convinced myself, and Emily, that her plumpness was what kept us from consummating our relationship. But Emily pulled a fast one. She actually lost weight, started exercising, and proved to be quite attractive.
After we became engaged, I convinced Emily that the proper thing to do would be to wait for our wedding night.
And Emily just wanted to be loved so badly, wanted to belong to someone so desperately, that she accepted my high-handed decree. She even sat through umpteen viewings of Barbra Streisand's Funny Lady.
But things were reaching critical mass. The entire town of Greenleaf was ready to believe I was gay, just because I taught high school English, I was tidy and, as some of my seniors had no qualms about telling me, I was prissy.
I am not gay!
Why did no one believe me? I mean, if I were gay, wouldn't I be the first one aware of this little fact?
Well, after I saw the priest, I hopped on my trusty bike and pedaled my way to Emily's house. She was dressed in black leotards and tights, and an exercise tape was in the VCR. Her skin was coated with a sheen of perspiration, but I ignored that and yanked her into my arms.
She gave a little yelp, and when I pressed my mouth to hers, her lips tightened. I was aware as never before that she never responded to my french kisses. On those few occasions when I french kissed her.
I drew back, pulling off my jacket and tossing my tie off to the side somewhere.
"I'm not gay, Emily!" I panted, as I tore my shirt open. "I love you and we're getting married on Sunday!"
"Yes, of course we are Howard. Your Mom ordered the cake, the church is all decorated and my dress is ready! I lost weight for you!"
"We're going to make love now!" I informed her. I toppled her over onto her daybed and kissed my way from her shoulder, up her throat, along her chin and down to her other shoulder.
Her response was less than enthusiastic, but she was willing to go along with me. Emily stroked her hands over my back, and I shuddered when I thought she was about to reach under my waistband and cup my buttocks.
But she didn't.
And then I heard this voice saying very perkily, "Let's do Michael! Michael, Michael, bo-bichael." And Richard Simmons was leading his hoard of followers as they sweated to the oldies.
For a second I was mesmerized by his hairy thighs and calves. A whine of protest from Emily brought me back to reality. "Howard, you're crushing me!"
In horror, I leaped off her and backed away. The entire time I had kissed and caressed her and had lain on her, I had been soft. But the sight of those bulging calves had turned me on.
I moaned and grabbed my shirt, wrestling into it, then scooped up my jacket and threw it on. "I'll see you tomorrow, Emily. At the church! Tomorrow!"
"Howard...!"
But I ran for my bike and flung myself on it. I tore off down the main street of Greenleaf, the wheels spinning in a blur.
I needed to get away, I needed to think. I needed to...
I needed to avoid that car whose path I was about to cross!
The driver of the car spun his steering wheel sharply to the left and skidded on the gravel. I twisted the handlebars of my bike and used my foot to control the spin of my wheels. The front wheel hit a clump of grass and I was send flying off onto the side of the road.
The driver bounded out of his car. "My God, Howard! Howard! Are you all right?"
I lay in the grass and dirt, trying painfully to catch my breath. "No-" I panted. "I-am--*not*--all -right! I'll never be all right! Oh, God, it's you!"
He had the nerve to look around as if seeking someone else. "Why, yes, it is me!" he smiled.
I growled at him. "This is all your fault! If you hadn't come here, questioning everyone in this town..."
"Howard," he said patiently, "everyone in this town loves you!"
I rolled to my side and started to get to my feet. Peter Malloy moved closer to take my arm and help me. I jerked away from him and stumbled. "They love me as long as I'm not gay! Oh, why am I talking to you? How could you possibly understand?" I sat heavily on a natural rock formation that the town fathers had dedicated to some obscure hero and buried my head in my hands.
The news commentator removed his sunglasses and regarded me carefully. "Howard, I'm gay."
I couldn't believe how calmly he made that statement. As if the world would not come to an end. As if everyone would still love him.
As if my job, the one thing I loved more than anything else on the face of the earth, the thing I was really, truly good at, would not be taken away from me.
"You came out?" I repeated stupidly.
"Sure. To my parents. To my boss. To my dog!"
I looked at him in confusion. "What happened?"
"Well, my mom cried, for about ten seconds. My boss said "Who cares?' And my dad said, 'But you're so tall!'"
For a moment it was almost as if I might hope..."Well, be that as it may, I am not gay!"
"Oh no? What was Barbra Streisand's eighth album?"
"Are you crazy? It was Color Me Barbra!"
Peter flirted with his lashes and murmured, "Stud!"
I could feel the blush, which started below my collar and went up to my hairline. I licked my lips and opened my mouth to protest. I mean, that was an easy question. Everyone knew that!
Didn't they?
"You know what you need, Howard?" he asked nonchalantly.
Him.
Jesus, where did that thought come from? I spoke rapidly so he'd never realize how close I came to doing something stupid. "I need for this never to have happened!" I snapped. "I need to get married tomorrow! I need...!"
And then I couldn't say anything else, because his mouth was on mine. His hands were tight on my arms, but I could have broken his hold, if I had tried. If I had wanted...
Only I was lost in the magic of that kiss, in the warmth and the damp and the smooth glide of his tongue in my mouth.
I hung from his grip, my legs as limp as over-cooked spaghetti. I couldn't think straight. All I knew was that I wanted more of that mouth plundering mine. Somehow I managed to get my left leg hooked around his waist, and dragged his lower body closer.
And, oh God! He was hard!
He let me go, and I stumbled in a circle, trying to regain my senses. "You...you kissed me!" I sputtered.
Peter looked insufferably pleased with himself. "You noticed!"
My fingers explored the shape of my mouth, sure he had branded me. I ran my tongue over my lips, tasting him, and my cock, which had been so soft for Emily, was rock hard, tenting my trousers.
But aside from a slight puffiness, there was no indication that Peter Malloy had kissed me, and rocked my world.
Which was a good thing, because just then my folks drove by in their station wagon, the five-tier wedding cake taking pride of place in the back seat.
"Hi, sweetheart!" my mother called. "Everything all right?"
"Um, yes, Mom," I responded, rubbing my mouth. "This is my Peter, I mean my friend Peter! We just ran into each other in the intersexual...I mean the homosection...the intersection... I've got to go prepare! I'm getting married tomorrow!" I ran for my bike and up righted it.
"If you're Howard's buddy, please come to the wedding," Mom told Peter, and I groaned under my breath. "Oh, you're with the news show!" she gushed.
Peter put his sunglasses back on and gave her a beaming smile. "Thank you!"
"Darling..."
"Gotta go, Mom!" I threw a leg over the sissy bar of my bike and thrust off.
I heard the wagon drive away, and risked a glance over my shoulder.
Peter was just standing there, watching me. And the smile on his face...
Well, it made me really sorry I wasn't gay.
~End~