Free gay sex stories: The Nightmare is Back – Logan & Bryce (A New Series). Author: StudioXPS. This story is includin Fiction, Gay, Teen Male / Teen Male Genres. Hey, guys! Author of the Blake & Ben series, here! I have been working on a new series with new characters lately. This is only half of the first part. I just wanted some feedback on this – curious to know if you guys would like a new series from me. And, no, I’m not ending the Blake & Ben series. Just wanted to try a new story. Please let me know if you’d like me to continue this, or just focus primarily on Blake & Ben. Thanks! Hope you enjoy!
Free gay sex stories: The Nightmare is Back – Logan & Bryce (A New Series)
Author: StudioXPS
I wake up, suddenly, in a cold sweat, breathing heavily. I run my fingers through my jet black hair as I try to bring my breathing down to a normal level. It’s the same recurring dream. Who am I kidding? It’s not a dream – it’s a goddamn nightmare. What makes it even scarier is, it’s not just pictures and made-up “scenes” my subconscious mind is flashing before my eyes – this shit happened to me when I was eight-years-old.
I’ve been able to suppress the nightmares for years, with the help of medication. That, and help from my psychiatrist, Dr. Foster. But, the dreams started again. They started the night after I lost my virginity, or what was left of it, to my boyfriend, Bryce. I thought the first night was a fluke – I had forgotten to take my nightly medication. So, I chalked it up to that. But, every night since being with Bryce, it’s been the same nightmare and I always wake up at the same exact point in the dream.
“If you tell anybody,” the deep voice says, “I’ll fucking kill you…”
I bring my knees to my chest and wrap my arms around them and begin rocking, slowly, back and forth. I don’t want it to get bad again. I don’t want to go back to that hospital. Not again.
I reach over to the nightstand next to my bed and check my phone – 6:38AM. Why even bother trying to go back to sleep? At least the nightmare waited this long. Usually, it’s always a little after midnight when I wake up, shaking, in a cold sweat.
My breathing has subsided a bit as I swing my legs over the edge of my bed and plant my feet on the carpet below. It still takes me a couple of minutes to push myself off the bed. Ugh! Fucking school. I’m sick of the bullshit and constant bullying. The bullying doesn’t bother me, like it used to. It’s just old, stale and annoying now. I can probably spout off the cheeky comments before any of the idiots even open their mouths.
– “Nice rubber bracelets, fag. Madonna, from 1989 called, she wants them back!”
– “Hey, fruitcake!”
– “I didn’t know the circus was in town!”
Blah, blah, ba-fucking-blah! It just never ends. Not even at home. I came out to my parents two years ago. My mother accepts me for who I am. My father, not so much. He blames the incident – the reason for my nightmares. Apparently, he thinks I caught this “disease” the night it happened. I think he’s pretty much disowned me. We barely speak. Our relationship consists of ignoring each other while in the same room, giving each other a wide birth if we meet in the hallway and an all-around yelling fight when he’s had one too many alcoholic beverages.
My little brother, Jace, is a little too young to really know what being gay means. He’s only six-years-old. He notices there’s something a little different about me – he just doesn’t know what it is. He always tells me his friends’ older brothers dress different and they play sports. I don’t have the heart to tell him that all of his friends’ older brothers are also homophobic assholes. Not that he’d even understand what that meant. He would just feel the urge to go tell mom or dad that I just said the “A-word.”
I make my way over to my dresser drawers and pull out a pair of skinny black jeans and slide them on over my lime green American Eagle boxer-briefs. I walk over to the closet and retrieve my purple studded belt and slide it through the belt loops. The metal hangers clink and clang together as I browse through my selection of shirts. I finally choose a snug-fitting black Nirvana t-shirt and slide it over my head. I lean down and grab my purple Supra Skytops and walk over to the swivel chair in front of my computer desk, sit down and shove my feet into the shoes.
I can already hear my mother pacing up and down the hallway, getting Jace and herself ready for the day. I’m seventeen, she doesn’t need to worry about getting me out the door anymore. Not like she used to, anyway – walking into my room, sitting on the edge of my bed, brushing my hair away from my face while saying, “Time to wake up, hun.“ Nowadays, she passes by my door, knocking on it loudly and says,
“Time to wake up, Logan!”
“Yeah, yeah…” is all I holler back.
I get up from the chair and make my way to the bathroom I share with Jace. It’s a long bathroom that separates our bedrooms. For the longest time, I used to have to barricade my door to the bathroom because Jace would open his door, leading to the bathroom, sneak across the bathroom and into my room. On more than one occasion, he caught me jerking off to gay porn. In one quick movement, I’d have to cover myself up and turn the computer monitor off.
Image for Illustration purposes only. The Nightmare is Back – Logan & Bryce
I walk into the bathroom and flip on the light to do my usual morning routines, just like everybody else. Last thing I do is my hair. Oh, yeah… I forgot another typical insult I hear daily.
“Look, everybody! It’s Justin Gay-ber!”
Mainly because I do my hair the exact same way Mr. Bieber does his, post famous haircut. It wasn’t intentional. I didn’t have some sort of gay crush on that tool. In fact, I did my hair this way long before that douche rocket even did his hair this way. But, no matter how I did my hair, it wouldn’t stop the constant smart-ass remarks. It’s a vicious cycle.
I walk over to my nightstand and take my iPhone off the charger. I have a text message from Bryce. I swipe the text notification to the right, to unlock the phone and bring up his text message into full screen. The text reads:
“Hey, cutie. Woke up with a serious case of morning wood. Wish you were here to take care of it. Thank God it’s Friday, right? Can’t wait to hang out tonight, if you catch my drift! 😉 See you at school.”
I smile and reply…
“Morning, you handsome beast! I would SO take care of that situation for you, if I were there with you right now…”
I stop typing. Even thinking about sexual encounters with Bryce brings on a whole slew of horrible flashbacks to that incident. I shake my head – trying to dislodge the bad memories. No, I think to myself. No, get the fuck out of my head. I’m not going back to that hospital. I’m not going to be pulled away from Bryce.
“Fuck,” I say aloud. “Suck it the fuck up, buttercup!”
I smack myself upside the head a couple of times and proceed to finish the text message.
“…Hopefully we can hang at your place tonight. It’s such a pain trying to keep Jace out of my room. See you in a bit! We’ll meet at your locker, right?”
I hit the send button. It shows the status of the message as “delivered.” Then, immediately marked as “Read at 7:09” The message bubble, with three dots, showing that Bryce is replying pops up. I stare at the screen in anticipation. I get excited just texting this boy. Imagine how much I gush when I’m with him, in person. His gray bubble pops up with the following response:
“Yeah, that’s no problem, babe. My house it is! See you at my locker!”
I reply, once more, with a smiley face, hit send and lock the phone – storing the phone in my right pocket. I open my door and make my way into the kitchen to see what mom has cooked up for breakfast.
East Lancing High School – 7:46AM
I check my phone, standing at locker 104 – Bryce’s locker. The time reads 7:46. Where is he? I went and reviewed our text messages from this morning. Yup, he said we’d meet at HIS locker. I lock the phone and put it back into my pocket, just in time to see McKenzie – my best friend and one of the, if not the most, popular girls in school. You’d think us being friends might promote me in the rankings of East Lancing High. If anything, it made it even worse for me. All the other guys, my daily tormentors, were jealous that she hung out with me, always greeting me with a hug.
Two years ago, before I came out, she tried to hook up with me at a party. She wasn’t drunk, I wasn’t drunk. I unfortunately had to turn her down. She was the first person I came out to. I feared that she would be repulsed and would out me to the rest of the school. But, she didn’t. If anything, it brought us closer together. After I came out to her that night, we spent the rest of the night on the couch, at the party, holding hands. Before the night ended, she couldn’t help herself and kissed me on the lips. She just found me extremely attractive. That’s the downfall for a lot of the girls, here, at East Lancing. I don’t mean to toot my own horn; but, I have been known to melt a few hearts. Wow! That didn’t sound arrogant, did it. If only I would have been born straight – girls would be lining up around the corner. Sorry, girls. No pussy for me! I’m strictly dickly!
Like I mentioned, McKenzie spotted me from halfway down the hall and all but ran to me, and wrapped her arms around my neck for a hug.
“Logan,” she exclaimed. “TGIF!”
I accept her hug, wrapping my right arm around her waist. Sheesh! That got me a few nasty looks from the jocks down the hall. I couldn’t help myself, though. I winked at them. I’m quite the smart-ass. I have a feeling my sarcastic, smart-ass demeanor will get me in some serious trouble some day. She released her embrace and stepped back a bit.
“So, what’s up, buddy,” she asks. “Got any plans this weekend? If not, I got ‘The Fault In Our Stars’ on blu-ray. We could totally binge out on empty calories and watch it.”
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