Awakening – Ch. 1

WARNING: This is an original homocentric love story. All characters and situations are fictional and of my own creation. Any resemblance to real situations or people, living or dead, are completely coincidental. This story contains descriptions of sexual acts involving a man and a MINOR boy. It is not intended to promote illegal acts with minors, but to demonstrate that men and boys can love each other. If the subject of man/boy love offends you, if this material is illegal in your place of residence, or if you are under the legal age for such material, do not read further!By reading this story you implicitly declare and affirm under penalties of perjury that you are not a minor or in the company of a minor and that you are entitled to have access to material intended for mature, responsible members of society capable of making decisions about the content of documents they wish to read.

Copyright Notice
This story is copyright © Shamyn Whitehawk under my pseudonym, 'Draeconin' or 'Draeconin Istraith', hereinafter known as 'the author'. The author retains all rights.The story cannot be used to derive monetary gain in any manner whatsoever. The story cannot be printed, archived, distributed or used in any manner whatsoever without the author's express written permission.

Reference may be made in context to movies, characters, actors, and other personalities that have become part of modern western culture. No other implication about the true personality or the sexuality of the people mentioned or their private lives is intended. The private life of any celebrity mentioned is not known, and any speculation is not to be taken as fact. Any other resemblance to real situations or people, living or dead, is completely coincidental.

All copyrights and trademarks belong to the holders. Any pictures used were taken off the internet, and I claim no right to them. They are copywrited by the photographer. Any picture used is only used as a representation of the character/s in the story and is in no way implying that the person pictured is of any specific orientation.

CAUTION: The characters in my stories do not usually practice safe sex. They are fictional. They cannot catch sexually transmitted diseases unless I allow them to. You are not fictional, and can. Always practice safe sex.

Darren Stockingly was twenty-four years old, and if he had his way, he wouldn't be making twenty-five, even though it was only a couple of months away. Darren was gay. If it had been only that, he might have been able to live with it; even learned to enjoy it. But he was also drawn to younger males; ones that were just coming into the prime of puberty – fourteen, fifteen, sixteen years old. And that was unacceptable. Those he was most attracted to he viewed as perfect pieces of art. And he knew that if he touched them, loved them as he wanted to, that he would be forever marring that art – ruining it. He also knew that his will not to touch and make love to at least one of those beautiful young men was weakening, and he couldn't bear the thought of that. He wouldn't allow himself to ruin a young life.

There were people who would miss him, of course; a small handful of friends; his uncle. He wasn't sure about his parents. Oh, they seemed to love him, but they were so caught up in business and living the life of the socially elite that they had never had a lot of time for him. He was glad that his grandmother, Sarah, had passed over three years ago. At least he could spare himself the thought of maybe killing her through grief. She and his Uncle Tim had won his affections more than any other of his family.

Shortly after Sarah had passed he had been contacted by her lawyers. She had left him a small fortune. Not enough, maybe, to live out his life in luxury, but certainly enough to give him a very good start in life, or to never having to work, if he lived modestly. But in an effort to distract himself from his yearning for the love of a boy, he had quickly run through almost half of that inheritance. Trips to famous and just plain interesting places in the world, clothes, etc; a playboy's life – almost perfect.

The only thing missing was a young companion to share it with, and that lack made everything else seem almost hollow. It had eaten at him until he couldn't stand it any more. So although he wasn't into cars as such, he'd bought himself a nice sports car for its speed and sleek lines, and headed out west. South-Eastern Colorado. He wanted to see the cliff dwellings, then pick out a good spot to end it all.

He'd spent a week touring various cliff dwellings at Manitou, Gila, and Mesa Verde. The cliffs were high enough. He would just have to find a place where his body wouldn't upset a lot of tourists when found. He'd become just one more ghost among all the others. He packed a hiking kit and a lunch, drove as closely as he could, then parked his car, leaving the keys in the ignition. After all, he wasn't going to need it any more, and if someone stole it, then when it was finally found and identified they might think he was somewhere else entirely. Now that his mind was made up, he felt happy again. The end was in sight. He was going to be free.

It was beautiful country in its own way, and his body was in good enough condition to enjoy the exercise. He stopped around noon and had one of the sandwiches he'd brought along and just enjoyed the scenery for about an hour. Then he continued on. A few hours later he came to a place where the vista just opened up. The craggy ground around behind him held no interest, but from here it looked like you could fly into heaven. This would do nicely. Darren found a shady spot, then sat down and just drank in the view. As the sun started dipping below the horizon, he decided that now was the time. He went to the edge of the cliff and looked out upon the world one last time.

Darren was startled. He'd thought he was all alone out here. And from the sound of the voice, the person was male, and young. Now if he jumped, he would again be hurting an innocent. Such a sight would be traumatic. He would have to get rid of whoever this was, and find another place. He turned, and was entranced.

A young man of about fourteen stood not twenty feet away from him. He was about five foot three inches tall, and slender. Dark, coppery skin, shoulder length black hair in contradiction to the current fashions, and blue eyes that denied that this was, indeed, a young Indian boy.

"Does it matter?" the young man replied. "You seem to have decided that the spirit world is better served by your presence than this one."

'This boy is extremely mature for his age.' Darren thought, intrigued despite himself. "How old are you?"

"Fifteen and a half. I'm on a vision quest. I wish to become a medicine man. Do you mind if I ask you some questions?"

"Why not? It's not as though you'll be around to be bothered by the answers, right?"

The boy's directness was like a dart to his heart. "Why do you think I was going to jump?"

Darren shook his head in amazement at the young man, but didn't answer the question. "What do you want to know?"

"I thought we'd already established that. Now: why do you want to die?" The young man repeated.

Darren decided he might as well satisfy this young man's curiousity. "Because of you," he replied.

For the first time the young man's self-assurance was shaken. "Because of me? I'm sure I've never met you before." The question was implicit in the statement.

"Not you, personally," Darren clarified, "but because of every beautiful young man like you." The young man's cheeks tinted at the compliment. "In the parlance of the day, I'm a queer, and I have a thing for young men like yourself." Darren waited for the shock, disgust, and horror that he was sure would come. It didn't. All he saw was surprise and confusion. "I can't help what I feel, and I refuse to ruin a young man because of my lusts," he explained. The young Indian's confusion didn't go away, but what he said next was entirely unexpected.

Darren had dreamed of such a thing happening, but even if it could, the world wouldn't let them enjoy their happiness in each other. "What? Willing to subject himself to the horrors of society's hatreds and prejudices? Even if being discovered didn't mean I'd be in prison for years, I couldn't do that to someone." The bitterness in his voice surprised even him.

The young man was silent for a moment, studying him. "You're a good man," he finally said. "What's your name?"

"Don't mock me, please. James will do." He cocked his head at the older man, looking for something, then said, "I think, for you, I will allow 'Jimmy'."

Darren felt honored that the young man felt like giving him the right to use the informal name, and also felt just a bit of humor that such a young man was being so serious about it – but he wasn't about to let the boy's misapprehension lie uncorrected. "I wasn't mocking you, Jimmy. Why do you think I was?" Darren asked.

"You're a young man, and I was being formal, just as you were when you gave me permission to use 'Jimmy' instead of 'James'. I wouldn't mock you. Even in this brief time I can tell that you're probably more intelligent and mature than most people several years older than yourself."

A slight flush appeared on his face, then Jimmy said, "Thank you, Mister Stockingly."

"Call me Darren. And no thanks are necessary. You seem to be a remarkable young man." A feeling of grief washed over him, that he couldn't get to know this young man better. "Shouldn't you be getting home?"

"You don't need to lie to me. And as long as you're not willing to live, I'm staying right here," Jimmy said.

"I like you. I want to get to know you better," Jimmy said. His direct approach was refreshing.

This beautiful young man was gay? Coincidences like that only happen in stories! But Darren couldn't let this happen. "Even if I were to agree to try to have a relationship with you, what about your parents, your schoolmates, your friends? Not to mention I don't like the idea of being locked up for years if we were discovered."

"My parents are dead. I don't have any relatives that I know of, except for Grandfather, and he knows about me. He's teaching me the ways of a medicine man. I don't have many friends, and as for laws, the Res has its own. Besides, the Res is huge, and no one would need to know if I had a special friend. But who said I wanted a relationship with you? The possibility is there, but I want to get to know you first, and I think you should try to get to know me beyond being in lust with the way I look."

"Bullseye," Darren remarked, grinning wryly. Hope hurt, but just maybe . . . However, again, he saw confusion on the young man's face. He managed a small laugh, and explained. "You just proved again how mature you are. I surrender. Death can wait. But how is your grandfather going to react to you bringing an older man home?"

Jimmy shrugged. "Like I said, he knows about my orientation, and he's okay with it. I think he'll accept you after he gets to know you. No way to find out until you meet him. For now, you're just a friend anyway," he reminded, smiling. "Come on; it's almost dark, and we have a ways to go."

"I hope you know what you're doing – what we're doing – because I haven't got a clue." Darren stood to follow the young man, but a small rock turned under his foot and he fell backwards, flailing to regain his balance, and failing to find it. His head hit something hard. There was pain, and then darkness.

When Darren regained consciousness it was dark and he was being jostled, carried in a stretcher – or something similar. He groaned at the pain in his head.

A Scottish accent was just about the last thing he'd been expecting to hear. And the stars were spinning. "Wha—" he started. The stars fell, and darkness came again.

When Darren awoke the second time he was lying in a small, wooden-framed bed next to an old Franklin wood stove. The ceiling was of rough lathe, and the walls were of old, unpainted wood that had long ago weathered to grey, and had a great many things hung upon them – old pictures, bundles of herbs, old, rusty tools, and other bric-a-brac.

Looking around, he saw the Indian boy he'd been talking to on the cliff top. What was his name? Jimmy. That was it. With his head throbbing like it was, it was hard to think. Jimmy was sitting – well, half-reclining would be more accurate – in an old, worn, wooden kitchen chair, asleep. It was a wonder he didn't fall on the floor, his position looked so precarious. Nobody else was in sight. "Jimmy?" He tried to whisper, but it came out as more of a croak.

The young man must have been a very light sleeper, because he woke up right away. Of course it made sense. If you were sleeping in a straight-backed chair, you'd have to be a light sleeper in order to keep from falling on the floor.

Darren frowned slightly. There was too much anxiety and caring in the young man's voice. Far more than could be accounted for by their short acquaintance. But there were more pressing issues. First, "Where am I?"

Darren concentrated. "I have a horrible headache, and I have to use your bathroom, but otherwise I think I'm okay. How long was I out?"

Jimmy was right there to steady him. "Yeah. I guess your head didn't like making the acquaintance of that rock when you fell," he said with a little smile.

His little joke was successful. Darren smiled too, and then winced as his head throbbed.

"We don't have a bathroom," Jimmy continued, "just a shower. You'll have to use the outhouse. It's kinda primitive out here."

"Why didn't you take me to a hospital?" Darren asked in his rusty voice as they made their way out the door.

"Nearest hospital's almost a hundred miles away. Grandfather said you'd be okay, but Óengus wanted to take you to the hospital. Grandfather won, though. You are okay, aren't you?"

"Óengus, not 'Angus'. Óengus O'Herlihae. Sounds pretty much the same, but you don't swallow the 'a' sound. He helped carry you here."

Their arrival at the outhouse cut short that conversation. Besides, they were both panting by the time they got there. Darren was weaker than he thought he should be, but maybe that's what happened when you were unconscious for too long. When he was finished, he had also recovered enough to walk back to the house, albeit slowly. He made it almost all the way without help.

Darren had to return Jimmy's grin – it was infectious. "Anything to quiet the raging beast."

Jimmy cocked an eyebrow at him in question, and then he grinned again as he caught on. He turned and made his way to the kitchen. "How many sandwiches do you want?" he inquired.

Wincing as his head throbbed particularly hard, Darren asked, "I don't suppose you have aspirin?"

Consternation was immediately obvious on the boy's face. "Should have given you that first off," he said apologetically.

Jimmy didn't answer as he crossed the room to an unfinished wooden shelf laden with many small bottles and tubes, some of which were immediately recognizable as over-the-counter medications. He reached for a clear plastic bottle with a white label, and brought it back to the man on the bed. Handing Darren the bottle, which contained ibuprofen, Jimmy went out to the kitchen – either not hearing, or ignoring Darren's thanks – then came back with a glass of water.

Darren took it, threw the three ibuprofen he'd taken from the bottle into his mouth, and drank. "Thank you," he said, hoping the pills would work quickly.

"If you feel a debt, don't try to pay it with words," Jimmy said, looking quite serious. "A future service to me or to someone else is much more meaningful than empty words."

Darren thought about it. "I understand what you're saying, but for me not to say anything conveys that I'm taking your kindness for granted," he said.

Darren opened his mouth to reply, and paused. The boy was right. "Yes. Yes, it should. But it's a rare commodity today, Jimmy. I'm sure you're aware of that."

Jimmy nodded, but remained silent. He could see that this handsom man wasn't finished speaking yet.

Jimmy studied the man, unsure of how to answer. Darren had a point, but thanking others for their gifts rather went against the grain amongst his people. Reciprocating or passing on the kindness was more appropriate. It wasn't that Jimmy, or any of his people were unfamiliar with the white man's way of thanking one for a kindness or service, but whites had a tendency to think that doing so was enough. He tried to explain this to Darren.

"So your gifts and kindnesses come with strings attached?" Darren asked, a strange feeling of disappointment rising in him.

"No. You do not have to give a gift or kindness to the one who was kind to you, but it is expected that you will somehow pass on that kindness to another when they are in need and you are able to help. This shows that you are truly grateful."*

This was easier to understand, and he was relieved that his incipient disappointment had been for nought. But to not express your gratitude to the one who directly affected you? That was harder to comprehend. Darren shook his head as if to clear it when his thoughts threatened to become bogged down, and was immediately sorry for it as his headache let him know in no uncertain terms that the pills hadn't yet vanquished it.

"I can see the passing on of a kindness," Darren finally replied when the pain spike had subsided, "and I rather like the idea – but don't expect me to be able to throw off a habit that has been instilled in me since I first learned to talk."

"You are still in pain," Jimmy replied instead of acknowledging Darren's words, giving the man the impression that the discussion was only postponed until he was feeling better. "Sleep," the younger man ordered.

Jimmy walked outside after the man had finally fallen asleep, exhausted with his activities so far. The sun was just starting to go down, the dying light painting the sparse clouds hanging in the skies over the mesas a light gold.

Jimmy's grandfather, Wolf Running, had been named William Wolf by the government schools when he was young, but was commonly known only as 'Wolf', now. He was a strong, spry old man in his early seventies. His hair was an iron grey, his skin wrinkled and weathered from many long years of being exposed to the elements. Originally nearly six feet tall, the years had shrunken his frame to a mere five foot eight inches. He was dressed in a denim jacket over a faded yellow button-down shirt, soft, bleached-out denim pants, and worn leather boots. "He does well?" he asked of the man inside.

"Well enough. I need to make a thick stew for him. He needs to regain his strength."

Wolf knew his grandson well, and something in the boy's manner alerted him. "He is your Chosen, then?"

Jimmy looked at the ground, embarrassed, then took his courage in his hands and looked his grandfather directly in the eye. "Yes," he said simply and quietly, his words pitched only for his grandfather to hear. "I will be his wife, if he will have me."

Wolf nodded, accepting this with only a small amount of sadness and regret. Although he wished his grandson could have given him great-grandchildren, he had known for a while now that it was not to be. But people like his grandson had a place in the tribe; they were considered to have 'strong medicine' – more strongly in touch with the world of nature and the spirits that inhabited it. The boy would be a strong medicine man for his people, both revered and looked down upon. "And his heart?"

"He already wants me. I think it will not be long before his heart follows. But I also think we may have much to do, you and I, Grandfather, to marry him to the land, before I will marry myself to him."

Jimmy stared at his grandfather in surprise and blushed, but then gave a small nod, a tiny grin gracing his face, too.

The 'house' – more of a shack, really – that Daren had woken in had only the main room, which also held Jimmy's bed, a small bedroom in which Jimmy's grandfather slept, an even smaller kitchen, and a large, closet-like room that held the shower. Each room had one window of four panes each, about two feet wide and thirty inches high.

The kitchen had a small wood-burning stove and one propane burner with a five gallon tank attached, and an ancient refrigerator with no freezer. There was also an old, but solid wood table with three paint-chipped and battered chairs around it – the fourth being in the main room.

Jimmy hadn't continued to sleep in that chair, of course; he'd fixed up a small pallet on the floor next to his bed, where Daren was sleeping. Daren had offered to sleep on the floor himself, share the bed, or switch off with the young Indian, but as long as Daren was still recuperating, Jimmy refused any other arrangement.

There was electricity, but it only powered two lightbulbs, a small water heater, and a radio. Grandfather thought today's television programming was morally debilitating.

Óengus had dropped by the day after Darren had awakened. Darren had imposed upon the man to find out about his car.

Less than a week later, Darren was back to normal. But in that time he'd found out that he'd have to get quite a bit more fit than he had been in order to keep up with Jimmy. It wasn't that Jimmy was stronger than Daren, but that Jimmy's endurance was much higher. Daren could do anything Jimmy could and more, but not for as long. Daren would have liked to blame it on lack of recuperation, but it would have been a lie. Jimmy was used to walking and running for long distances and working long hours, whereas Darren had never run more than a mile for school races, and had never had to really work, at all.

During that week, he and Jimmy had been getting to know each other. Daren found that besides being quite mature and wise for his age, the young man could also be quite shy, although it certainly hadn't shown on 'that' night – luckily for him. Jimmy also had quite a sly, mischievous sense of humor that would sneak up on you when you least expected it. In short, Daren found Jimmy to be utterly charming and unendingly interesting.

'Grandfather' was an interesting person, too, his long, iron-grey hair obviously being the model for Jimmy's. Wolf and Jimmy were a lot alike, although Wolf was never shy. He'd tell you to your face just what he thought of you, and why.

So far however, he was treating Daren well, if cautiously. He was friendly, but a bit distant, as though he were withholding judgement. He had in fact told Daren, in front of Jimmy, that he had doubts about his grandson's choice, but would wait to see what developed. It went without saying that Jimmy was less than pleased to hear this, but Darren had expected much worse, and was grateful for the chance to prove himself.

As for Darren's car, it had not, for a wonder, been stolen, and Óengus took him to it in his Land Rover. The dirt roads they travelled over had Darren thinking that he'd need to trade the car in for something more practical for the terrain: maybe one of those four wheel drive pickups with a back seat. Grandfather's 1976 Jeep pickup still worked, but it had seen better days.

*A/N: I have absolutely no idea whether any NA tribe or nation practices this or has it as a part of their philosophy. I just love the idea of passing on a kindness instead of leaving things with a simple 'thank you'.