My Boys Ch. 01 by Tinman_1903
My Boys Ch. 01
Quick writer’s note:
The tags for this story are Polyamory, Polyamorous, Poly, Open Marriage, Romance, and Sharing.
This story is about three lifelong friends, two guys, and a girl, who grew up together and loved one another. It follows their lives from elementary school through high school, college, and into adulthood, and recounts the trials and tribulations of a multi-partner relationship.
Stories where three lifelong friends end up in a polyamorous relationship, either on purpose or as a result of cheating, are common here in LW. I don’t think I’ve seen many where it’s what the triad wanted. So hopefully, you will find this to be a refreshing take on a reoccurring theme.
My Boys is quite long. I broke it into two chapters to give readers a break between acts. They should post within a few days of each other since the entire story is already written. I’ve turned off comments for Chapter 1. Please read both chapters and score or comment on them as a unit after Chapter 2.
I want to thank my editors for their collaboration and advice. Charlie, John, KenD, Demosthenes384bc, Ma Fille Rouge, and HighLuster assisted. Each contributed to the story in their own way. The whole is greater than the sum of the parts.
Collaborations consistently improve results, so I’m always open to expanding my editing team. If you’re interested in participating in our collaborative effort, please send me your email address through private messaging. I’ll shoot you my stories.
Where does my story start? That would be in the third grade, in Ms. Wilson’s class at Creekside Elementary School in San Diego, California. My family moved into the area about a week after school had already started in late August.
On my first day in the new school, Ms. Wilson sat me between the two boys who flanked the only open desk. It took no time to discover that those two were best friends and, according to them, had been since pre-school. Their shared middle name must have helped them bond immediately.
Even then, they made a funny pair. Timmy sat on my left. He was taller than the other boys in the class, with dark brown hair and the most bottomless hazel eyes I’d ever seen; they were a glorious brown-green color. There was a touch of gold to them and an uncommon soulfulness. Even when he was only nine years old, I could tell that Timmy was quiet and reserved. He wasn’t quite awkward, but he could have been labeled that way if not for Mark.
Mark sat to my right. His piercing blue eyes complimented his bright blonde hair and his amazing smile. Mark’s height was average for a nine-year-old, but nothing was average about his personality. He could be brash, deliberate, and aggressive, but mostly he was fun, wild, and charming. His personality would only get better with age and wisdom.
“Hi, what’s your name?” Mark was the first to greet me, though I couldn’t help but stare at his keen partner in crime.
Turning towards the impressive blonde dynamo, I said, “I’m Briella, but everyone calls me Brie.”
“I’m Timmy.” The voice came out from behind me. Even then, Timmy was a man of few words.
“I’m Mark.” He boasted like it meant something to me. It didn’t at the moment, but that would change in time.
“Alright, class, please take out a piece of paper, and we’ll have a quick pre-quiz on this week’s vocabulary words,” Ms. Wilson called out. I looked into my backpack only to find that my mother hadn’t filled it with the appropriate school supplies.
“Ms. Wilson, I don’t have any paper,” I said quietly to avoid drawing attention to myself. Mark’s blonde mop shook as he laughed at my predicament.
Life could’ve been different at that moment if it wasn’t for the quiet steadiness of the dark-haired boy on my left who slipped several sheets onto my desk.
“Mark, give her a pencil.” His piercing eyes held the soulful gaze of Timmy for a second, smiling as he handed me a new pencil.
That was it.
We became ‘The Three Amigos.’ ‘The Three Musketeers.’ ‘The Fab Three.’ ‘The Three Stooges.’ ‘Hellspawn.’ It all depended on who was calling us and for what. We were the best of friends. Our parents thought it strange, but we didn’t care. If you saw one of us, the other two weren’t far off.
Mark and I came from affluent families. His father was a real estate developer, and his mom stayed home to take care of their two sons. My parents were both tax attorneys, so they were always busy. I was pretty much a latchkey kid, and it felt like I had always been one. Mark lived a street over, so I spent a lot of time at his house. His mom loved me and treated me like the daughter she longed for.
Timmy lived with his single mother in an apartment complex just outside the district’s border. She was a secretary at the school’s district office, which facilitated an enrollment variance for the school we all went to. It was the best in the district.
Mark and I walked to school. Timmy’s mom dropped him off each day. During the summer, Timmy would ride his bike the thirty minutes it took to come to spend the day at Mark’s while his mom worked a second summer job at a daycare center to help make ends meet. It was no wonder that he grew up independent and self-reliant, almost to a fault. They were traits that I would learn to love and rely on.
Timmy disclosed his love for me during the summer between our seventh and eighth grades while Mark was on vacation with his family.
“Brie, I like you.” He was looking down at the ground. “Like, a lot.”
“I like you too, Timmy.” His head shot up, looking me square into my brown eyes. I could see the sparkle there, “You are one of my best friends.”
“I mean, I like, like you.” Those eyes. Those damn, soulful eyes. They had darkened with his emotional revelation.
“Oh.” My own heart soared; I think I had always been in love with Timmy. I just didn’t know how to express it without turning things weird. “I really like you too.”
“Do you want to be boyfriend and girlfriend?” Again, my man of few words always cuts to the heart of the matter. Those eyes were hopeful once again.
Of course, neither of us knew what that really meant at that age. We didn’t understand the commitment we were making to each other. Our relationship had developed so naturally, so organically, that it felt like it was just meant to be.
I said “Yes,” and that was it; Timmy was my boyfriend. We would hold hands and just be together all the time.
Mark was unfazed when he got home. We told him, but it didn’t change anything between us. The three of us were still spending every minute we could together, and I still spent most of my time at Mark’s house.
That nothing changed might be why the relationship never grew between us. As school started in the fall, we stopped referring to each other with pet names, and it was all three of us again, as always. There was never an official breakup. Secretly I liked it that way, and that might have been the root of my confusion in the coming years.
Timmy remained the responsive friend he always was. Mark continued to be the center of our group. My common sense was the glue that held us all together. It was a strange three-way arrangement.
High school threatened our little threesome. Our more demanding classes, my volleyball, and the boy’s football all took a chunk of our time. Still, we were together every moment we could be.
Mark was a starting running back for the junior varsity team. At the same time, Timmy, now Tim, was a starting defensive end for the varsity team. He was a six-foot-four, two-hundred-pound solid wall, a dominating threat to any team. For a guy his size, Tim was fast. And he was handsome. He could have had his pick of any of the girls that year, but he didn’t seem interested. He spent whatever free time he had after school, football practice, and his part-time McDonald’s job with me. And Mark.
Mark and I didn’t have to work, so we spent our additional spare time together. He finally asked me out on an actual date. Soon after, we were officially dating. Timmy was his usual quiet, reserved self. When he smiled and told us he was happy for his two best friends to be in a relationship, I almost believed him.
Mark’s approach to relationships at that time was best described as aloof and distant. When I was with him, I felt loved and alone, both at the same time. I was devoted to Mark and our connection. He took our relationship simply as a point of pride and just another notch on his adolescent post.
We all still went to parties, movies, and school dances together. We took some ribbing from the other students, but we never let that impact our friendship.
During the summer between our freshman and sophomore years, Mark and his family went on an extended multi-family European vacation. They were joined by the Smith family, which included a red-headed bitch named Rebecca.
Mark and I talked, and he suggested it was best if we officially split before his vacation since he was going to be gone for six weeks. I had a feeling that he was more interested in little Miss Rebecca than he let on. I knew why we broke up.
The breakup initially left me feeling empty. I wasn’t overly hurt by our breakup even though I loved Mark. I loved him more than as a best friend, but it wasn’t the all-consuming lover’s love. I loved Tim as well, maybe the same way. I was more hurt when Tim couldn’t spend as much time with me as I wanted him to after Mark left than I was when Mark left. It was all so confusing.
Tim’s part-time father had given him an old piece-of-shit muscle car that he had inherited from his father. Tim loved that rusted-out piece of junk. It did have potential. All 1969 Pontiac Firebirds do. Tim spent every dime he had on that thing just to keep it running. It was ugly, but at least it was a set of wheels that usually had a full gas tank. Since I was just fifteen and Tim was already sixteen, with a freshly minted driver’s license, Tim drove over to see me each day. My parents would leave by eight each morning, and Tim would arrive around nine to hang out till he went to work in the afternoon. We ate junk food, he worked out at my dad’s home gym, and we watched TV together. Those days were special.