This story features bullying and fighting and some masturbation and oral sex among high-school-age males. I visualize the character 'Karl Spivak' as looking like a model called Karl at boyfun.com. 'Brad' looks like a model called Matt at the same site. 'Robby' resembles a haughty-looking dark-haired model in bright yellow track pants, with rings in his ears, that I've seen in freebie ads for badpuppy.com. Comments welcome, to antinous48@yahoo.co.nz.
In part 1, Karl told how he and his slave Nicky were kidnapped by Robby and three other jocks. In part 2, Nicky began to explain how he came to be Karl's slave, and in parts 3-5 Karl and Nicky carried on the story. In part 6, Nicky described licking Karl's cock, and the instruction in street-fighting that Karl gave him. This brought the story up to the point described in part 1. In parts 7-9 Nicky and Karl described what happened after the kidnap: how Karl defeated Pete Petrowski and Steve Dawson but lost to Brad van der Velden, how Brad intervened to protect Nicky when Nicky attacked Robby, and how Brad announced that he was joining the Spivak team. In part 10 Karl described the battle between track-and-field star Robby and muscleman Brad.
Now Nicky takes up the story. ____
I can't bear it any longer. Robby is an arrogant asshole, I know, he has slapped me around, he has called me a faggot, he has been the ringleader in this whole plot to kidnap and beat up my master Karl. All the same, before the business with Karl started, it was Robby that I had my biggest crush on ... and in this unexpected match-up against Brad, Robby has fought way better that I expected. He got the upper hand straight away. Brad had his back to the wall, literally. Brad's huge strength enabled him to escape, and Robby got hurt. But Robby come back. And how! The sight of the monstrous Titan, Brad, being totally dominated by Robby, the young Greek god, with his dimple-cheeked smile and his superb eighteen-year-old torso -- I was in rapture! Victory was in Robby's grasp!
But the Titan wasn't so easily tamed. That superb torso was subjected to a brutal counterattack. Robby was forced to give ground. He fought back bravely yet again, but the fightback was squashed. Now Robby had been karate-chopped on the neck, and, though he is back on his feet, he is clearly in serious difficulty: dazed, unable to focus, scarcely in control of his limbs.
Anyone who walked into the room just at this moment might be pardoned for thinking that Robby is still fighting hard. But no. Robby's body is upright mainly because Brad had him in a bearhug. Robby's arms swing this way and that only because Brad is flinging him from side to side. Brad is treating Robby as if he were a tailor's dummy.
I se their two faces in profile. Brad's face is cold, expressionless, inhuman, as his eyes bored into Robby's. As for Robby's face -- those thick locks of black wavy hair half-covering his forehead, those dark eyes that usually look down so smugly on lesser mortals, those lips that are so often curled into a self-satisfied grin ... now Robby responds to Brad's cold stare with a look that is just as hard, but hard in a different way. Robby still has his pride. He isn't giving up. And, though Robby's muscles may not be as big as Brad's, Robby is tough, mentally as well as physically. That shouldn't have surprised me. He hasn't got to be our school's track-and-field champion just by admiring himself in the mirror. So if Brad wants to turn Robby into a tearful whimpering wreck, begging for mercy, he has an uphill task! Yay, Robby! Hang in there, champ!
And yet ... and yet ... an uphill task for anyone else would hardly cause Brad to break a sweat. Besides, what outcome will satisfy Brad, in his present mood, other than Robby's total humiliation?
In my mind, as if fast-forwarding a DVD, I can picture vividly two possible outcomes for the fight. In one of them, Robby slams his right fist up into Brad's chin. Brad, taken by surprise, slackens his grip enough for Robby to wrench himself free from the bearhug. Hope reawakens in Robby's face. A precisely targeted karate kick to Brad's groin has Brad hunched over and tottering. Then, taking a leaf out of Brad's book, Robby delivers a karate chop to Brad's neck. Brad sprawls sideways and ends up on his back. At last Robby allows himself to smile again. WHUMP! From directly above, Robby puts all his weight behind a punch to Brad's unprepared solar plexus. The terrific force of the blow causes Brad's body to rebound from the mat, his limbs jerking, before he subsides and lies still. The man-mountain is out cold! For a second Robby gazes down at Brad, then he punches the air in triumph. Another stupendous comeback! He turns towards Steve, carefully casual, and says: 'You got your wish, huh, Steve? About the best being saved for last?'
But I can picture another outcome too. And it is this one, in all its awful clarity, that seems much more likely. The way it goes is this ...
Brad maintains the bearhug, giving Robby a painful demonstration of his massive strength. He amuses himself for a while making it hard for Robby to breathe. Then Brad releases Robby and begins to target Robby's arms. He pounds Robby's shoulders and biceps and forearms with those terrifying fists. Soon Robby's arm muscles are so bruised and weakened that even to bend his elbows requires a painful effort. His protruding lips, the beads of sweat on his forehead -- they make it plain how much of a struggle it is now for Robby to launch even one weak counterpunch at Brad.
Worse is to come. Robby is backed against the wall. Brad seizes Robby's left wrist with his right hand and pins it to the hard concrete. Robby's left arm is now like a piece of meat on a slab. Brad's left fist, like a meat tenderizer, pounds away at it. The effectiveness of Brad's tactic is all too clear in Robby's face. Soon those formidable left arm muscles of Robby's have all the strength of wet spaghetti. Robby tries to retaliate, punching Brad's belly and flank with his right fist. But the feeble blows that are all he is now capable of have no effect on Brad's iron-hard muscle-swollen torso.
So Brad has virtually disarmed Robby -- literally. Now the real onslaught can begin: the onslaught on Robby's pecs and abs.
At first there is just the sound of relentless rhythmic thudding from Brad's fists, interspersed with an occasional weak counterpunch from Robby. But that sound is increasingly mixed with other sounds that Robby can no longer stifle: staccato groans and gasps of pain. Robby's torso and legs gleam with rivulets of sweat. Brad's blows send Robby lurching around the ring, never quite falling but no longer capable of any serious counterattack. Those graceful strong thighs and calves that have made Robby our school's high-jump champion, topped by that sexy ass -- they stagger drunkenly. By contrast, Brad's legs, the skin of them stretched tight over bulging knotted ropes of muscle, stand as firm as treetrunks. Salty drops of sweat -- Robby's sweat, flying off him -- land on my face.
At last Robby's knees begin to buckle. As Robby's body slowly folds, Brad stands back and watches, cold and expressionless. Robby ends up kneeling on the mat, his head bowed, supporting himself on his fists. I see in profile again Robby's and his glorious abs and pecs, just like when he had Brad in that hammerlock. But how different they look this time! Robby's satin-smooth skin is marred with red blotches, and underneath it his punished muscles twitch and quiver.
Four seconds -- five seconds -- then, groggy but determined, Robby gets back up. Both Brad and Robby know that Robby be getting the same punchbag treatment over again. But how many times can he endure it? Brad will not relent until Robby can no longer get back on his feet unaided. Then Brad will reach down to yank his opponent up by force. At last, with panic in his eyes, the exhausted track-and-field idol will be sobbing and pleading: 'Please, Brad, no, please, I can't take any more ...' That's why Brad has not targeted Robby's face. It's so that Robby's admission of defeat will be clearly audible to us all, not blurred by broken teeth or swollen lips.
I cringe at this vision. Robby may be a jerk, but (dammit!) he is too ... Well, he is too brave to deserve that humiliation. No, I've got to admit, that's not it. Sure, Robby is showing courage. But the real reason I don't want to see Robby lose is that I don't want to see his luscious body beaten to a pulp. Yes, that's it. I can't deny it. Rightly or wrongly, that's why I am so concerned about Robby.
I work out a desperate plan. I stand up: 'Brad! Stop! When you took that vote -- about carrying on the tournament or not -- you didn't do it right! You gotta do it again!'
Brad pauses in his torture of Robby. He advances on me, grim-faced. Robby, suddenly released, sits down heavily on the mat. He too peers at me, uncomprehending.
'What d'you mean, Nicky? You'd better explain! It'd better be good!'
Brad comes towards me, arms dangling loose but fists clenched ... Brad himself has protected me from Robby. Now who will protect me from Brad? He has beaten both Robby and my master Karl. In his present mood he could take on all five of us in that room at once and make mincemeat of us ...
'Well, Brad, you counted only three votes! You didn't count your own! And you were against carrying on with the tournament, weren't you? You said you agreed with Pete!'
'MY vote? But I'd joined the Spivak team, remember? It was the Fairfield team voting!'
Brad is looking puzzled but no longer so angry. He hasn't hit me yet. I swallow and take a deep breath and carry on.
'But when you fought Karl, you were on the Fairfield team then! So even though you switched teams, the Fairfield High vote isn't complete unless yours is counted!'
Brad folds his arms. 'Hmm ... You got a point there, Nicky! But what difference does it make? My vote would make it two in favor of continuing, two against. A tie. So, by the rules, the status quo would remain. The tournament would continue. Isn't that so?'
I take another deep breath. He's tolerated me so far, but he won't like this ...
'But you've got to count MY vote, too! Robby forced me into the Fairfield High team, remember? He forced me to hit Karl! So I have a say too! And my vote is ... that the tournament should cease! You and Robby should stop fighting! The vote is three to two!'
There is a pause. A long pause. Brad frowns. Steve steps forward from where he has been leaning against a wall and shakes his head vehemently: 'No, Brad, no ...'. But a glare from Brad silences him. Robby blinks and looks up at me with his mouth open and a kind of awe on his face: it is dawning on him that I may be his unlikely savior.
Then Brad laughs. 'Yeah, I guess you're right, Nicky!' His uncharacteristic angry mood seemed to have vanished. He puts his hand out towards me. Bemused, I find myself shaking Brad's enormous hand while he pats me on the shoulder. A broad smile lights up his face. 'Thanks! You've got us out of a mess. At least, you've got me and Robby out of a mess. Hasn't he, Robby? I ... well, as you know, I'm sorry now that this business ever started. But then I got real angry at you, Robby, and ...' Brad frowns and looks at the floor. Then he sighs and shakes his head, as if he wants to empty it of thoughts of what has just been happening. 'But anyway, it was Nicky who worked out how to get it stopped! I guess we all owe a debt to Nicky!'
By now Robby is on his feet again. He too, looking dazed, finds himself shaking hands with Brad.
Everyone else is too stunned to speak. Brad continues, still in charge: 'Um, I think the four of us -- that's Robby, Steve, Pete and me -- need to sort some things out between us. It'll take just a few minutes. Then I think we'll have something to say to you two guys, Nicky and Karl. So don't go away yet, please! Perhaps you two could sit and wait on the couch over there by the fridge, while we ...?'
As if sleepwalking, Karl and I obey. It's weird. My intervention has succeeded in a way I totally hadn't anticipated. Robby's nightmare is over. The whole so-called tournament is over. Now, Brad (the usual amiable Brad) has taken control and is telling us all what to do.
Karl sits at one end of the couch and I sit at the other. Only then does it dawn on me. Karl!! What will Karl think? Robby is his arch-enemy! Yet I have intervened to save Robby! Karl, no, I wasn't betraying you, I didn't mean to betray you, it's just that ...
I squeeze my hands between my knees and stare at the floor. I can't look at Karl. He will never again call me his faithful slave. I have blown it completely. He was always right not to trust me. Attracted to the embattled Robby in a purely physical way, I had clean forgotten about ... other things. Other more important things. Karl's affectionate touch. Karl's kindness. Yes, he had always tried to hide his capacity for kindness, but I had got him to reveal it, he'd revealed it to me when he consoled me after my rebellious outburst, when he taught me some martial arts moves. Only ... according to Karl's way of thinking, my speaking up for Robby must amount to throwing that kindness back in his face ...
'Hey Nicky, please, I've got something important to say to you.'
Karl's voice is quiet. Humble, even. What is he saying? 'Please?' Karl has never said 'please' to his slave ... I half- turn my head in his direction, but only far enough to see his feet in those old scruffy sneakers.
'Hey, Nick, you aren't making this easy for me! Please, dude, c'mon man, look at me, I ain't so hideous ...'
I can't help it, I giggle. 'No, Karl, you aren't hideous!' And I look at him.
There he is, with the untidy honey-blond hair and the upturned nose and all. He has that now familiar anxious uncertain look on his face. But he smiles with relief, seeing me sort of smiling at him. (Sort of.) He puts out his hand and edges along the couch towards me. He seems to want to ... do more. But he ends up, awkwardly, giving my cheek a gentle rub with his knuckles.
'Nicky, you're one helluva guy.' (Whaaat ...?) 'I've never known anyone as brave as you are.' (!!!!) 'The way you spoke to Brad just now -- the way you got him to stop ... what he was doing. He coulda killed Robby. I saw it in him. Not deliberately, maybe. But with Robby not giving in, and with Brad in that mood ...' I'm gaping at Karl now, flabbergasted. 'That's why I was about to wade in there myself.' What?? But yes -- I remember now, out of the corner of my eye, I had seen Karl standing up just when I said what I said to Brad. 'But that wouldn't have done any good. Brad would have just wasted me again, and then finished wasting Robby. Whereas you -- you little genius, Nicky -- you used your brain! You stood up to Brad, and ...'
Karl was interrupted by me, hugging him. At last! My arms around my brave master's neck, my cheek against his cheek ... feeling his arms around me, at first hesitantly, then hugging me tight. So Karl had been as worried on Robby's behalf as I was!
I heard Karl sigh deeply. Or rather, hugging his ribcage, with the palms of my hands pressed against his shoulderblades, I felt a great gust of air flow into his chest and out again.
Oh Karl, at last, at long last ...
'Ah, sorry, excuse us, guys ...'
It's Robby's voice. Damn Robby! Yet it's because of Robby that Karl and I are hugging each other. Life is full of ironies.
We break apart rather sheepishly and look up. Robby is standing above us, still shirtless but with his pants back on now. That strong sexy torso is blotched and grimy but not seriously injured, it seems. He has an un-Robby-like expression on his face: crestfallen, apologetic.
From somewhere behind Robby I hear Steve's voice, harsh and angry. 'Hey, Robby, unlock the door and let me out, will ya? I'm not staying to listen to this kiss-and-make-up crap. I'm outa here!'
Robby and Steve go up the stairs. The door slams. Robby rejoins us. Brad is standing behind Robby, smiling, arms folded. He is clearly still in charge, but Robby has been given the role of spokesman for the Fairield High team. Peter Petrowski is standing in the background, some way away, as if he is uncertain whether he is part of this little delegation or not.
'Nick.' It's Robby again. I turn and look up at him. He is looking down at me seriously. It is the first time he has ever spoken to me without either contempt or anger in his voice. 'This whole business has been a bad mistake. I want to thank you for what you did just now -- speaking up. And I'm sorry for what I said to you earlier, and for hitting you, and for making you hit Karl. This whole business has been so ... stupid' (he says that with a heavy shuddering sigh) 'and I feel ... just ... ashamed. I've got no right to expect you to accept an apology from me. All the same, I'd like to apologize.' And he puts out his hand tentatively towards me, with a sad beseeching expression.
Arrogant handsome Robby -- humbly apologizing! To me, insignificant nerd Nicholas! I savor the moment, I must admit.
I say coldly: 'Well, Robby, you sure have plenty to apologize for.' And I make no immediate move to shake his hand.
Robby withdraws his hand and rubs the top of his head with it. (Oh nice! A view of sticky curls of dark hair in his armpit!). He turns towards Brad with an expression on his face that seems to say: 'I told you so! It's no good!'
No, no, Robby, don't give up so easily! I'm melting, I've already melted, it's just I just wanted to ...
'But I accept your apology!' I blurt out. I stand up and put out my hand to him.
He turns back, delightedly smiling, and takes my hand shyly. Then his other arm goes round my neck, and I find myself pulled towards him in a businesslike hug. My shirtfront is pressed against that brave battered chest ... But only for a moment. (What will Karl think about my goofy ecstatic grin?) Then Robby steps back and beams at me, a charming radiant smile: 'Thanks, Nicky, thanks, I ... I don't deserve it, but I'm so grateful, that's really big of you.' My head swims ...
I'm dimly aware that Robby has turned towards Karl now. Karl is speaking: 'It's OK, dude, no need to say it. 'S all over now, in the past. After what you went through with Brad -- hey, the slate's gotta be wiped clean! Robby, you may not have beaten him but, man, you were awesome! I gotta admire your guts!'
He gives Robby a light punch in the chest -- then Robby flings his arms around Karl. What a sight! My two most favourite guys in the world -- well, each in his own way -- with their shirtless torsos pressed together, hugging each other like long-lost brothers! I'm not quite sure what I think. A ridiculous but consoling thought goes through my head: 'I beat you to it, Robby! I hugged Karl before you did!'
At last they separate. 'Well, I'll be off upstairs,' says Robby to us all. 'If any of you guys want a shower, you're welcome.'
Now Peter Petrowski sidles forward, out of the shadows. He offers a hand to Karl first: 'I'm sorry, Karl, I shouldn't have got involved ...'
Karl takes Pete's hand: 'Sure you shouldn't have. But I guess you paid the price, huh? So we're all square now.'
Then Pete turns to me. 'I'm sorry, Nicky ...'
I look at him coldly. It suddenly occurs to me that it is Robby who has taken the blame for this whole kidnapping farce. But didn't Pete tell me that it was his idea? I continue to look at him coldly, and make no move.
Then Brad speaks: 'Seems to me, Nick, if Karl can forgive Pete, maybe you could too ...'
Brad! I had almost forgotten about him. I look at Brad and then at Karl. Karl gives a little smiling shrug, then nods agreement.
All right, then. 'It's OK, Pete,' I say, and put out my hand to him. He grips it in both of his and blurts: 'Great! Y'know, I hope, Nicky, like I said, we can be friends ...'
I feel myself blushing. You idiot! You tactless fool! Maybe Karl has forgotten about my little ... uh ... flirtation with you earlier, or maybe he's forgiven me. But you've sure as hell reminded him now!
Perhaps Pete realizes he has boobed. Anyway, he lets go my hand and backs away. 'Ah ... I'll be off too then. Um, I just want to say, Karl: you're a lucky guy!' Then he vanishes up the stairs, like Steve and Robby before him, leaving me annoyed but puzzled. What did he mean, saying that Karl is a lucky guy?
'This is like Haydn's Farewell Symphony,' Brad says.
'What?' I think I'm normally pretty sharp, but just now there seems to be too much to take in, what with Robby and Pete and now the composer Haydn! What the hell has Haydn got to do with anything?
'You know, Haydn's Farewell Symphony. Where the musicians all walk off the stage one by one in the last movement. But never mind. Anyway, I should go too. You two guys -- well, you'll have had enough of us ... So 'bye ...'
Brad is nearly at the stairs. Suddenly the thought of being left alone with Karl -- things are all different now, but in a good way or a bad way I can't tell, I'm so confused, after all that's happened --
'I should go home, too, I guess ...' I hear myself say. At exactly the same time, Karl is saying: 'Ah, I'm coming too, Brad ...' We don't look at each other. Instead we look at Brad. Brad, halfway up the stairs, turns. He looks hard at both of us, shakes his head and retraces his steps. One of his hands comes down on my right shoulder. The other comes down Karl's left shoulder. He steers us firmly towards the couch by the fridge and sits us down on it. Brad himself squats in front of us. He looks at us as if he were a kindergarten teacher and we were two silly preschoolers.
'Y'know, I may be "brainless Brad", but sometimes I think I'm the only person around who has any common sense! So let's go through this one step at a time. Nick, you like Karl, don't you? We four, we were wrong to think he was intimidating you, huh? At least, today, for example, you were meeting him in that shed because you wanted to, right? He wasn't forcing you?'
'Yes, sure, I like Karl, he wasn't forcing me ...'
'OK, good. So, Karl, do you like Nicholas?'
Karl squirms, screws his fist into the old couch, looks down, looked towards the other end of the gym, looks everywhere but at me. 'Yeah, I've already told him he's brave ... I admire him ... but ... Christ, Brad, what in hell would a really smart neat kid like Nicky see in a guy like me? Seriously?' At last he looks at me, sort of an angry look, then he glares at Brad, as if accusing Brad of ... I don't know what.
Brad smiles. 'I think Nicky should answer that question. Nicky, why would a guy like you like a guy like Karl?'
Oho, I understand now! "Brainless" Brad, indeed!
'OK, have you got all night? Number one, he's taught me things. He's taught me to stand up for myself. Against him, too, sometimes! Number two, he's kind. Number three, he's brave, and strong, and ... and ... well, like we've seen tonight. I was right, wasn't I? The Fairfield High team never stood a change against Karl! Number four, he doesn't just follow the herd, like most folks do. He's not afraid to be different. He thinks for himself. Which brings me to number five: he thinks! Yeah, he doesn't let it show much, but he's smart. And number six: he's so cute! Sometimes I just want to pat him and stroke him, like a kitten, or like a ... like a tiger cub! Karl is dangerous but beautiful!'
What?? Am I really saying all this? Yes I am! It's all pouring out! And it's marvelous! Brad is sitting on the floor, arms on knees, smiling. Karl is gawping at me as if he can't believe his ears, but would like it to be true. I babble on: 'Well ... you know ... what more can I say? I like him just because he's Karl! He's wonderful, marvelous, cool Karl!' And for the second time that night I put my arms around Karl's neck.
Brad again: 'So -- are you satisfied, Karl?'
Karl's voice is unsteady. It's sort of a laugh, sort of a sob. 'Yeah, I'm satisfied! Yeah, man, I'm satisfied! I've never been more satisfied in my life! Oh, Nicky, you ... you sweet kid ...' These last words are whispered close to my ear as he hugs me tight.
'OK, so now I want to hear it from you, Karl. What did Pete mean when he said just now you were a lucky guy?'
Karl lets go of me and looks towards Brad with an uneasy expression: 'Well ... how would I know? Ask Pete!'
'C'mon, Karl! You DO know! Say it! Nicky has said plenty! Now it's your turn to say something!'
'Ah well, maybe he meant ...'
'No "maybe"! He DID mean it ...'
'Ah, OK, what Pete meant was that I'm lucky that Nicholas likes me. And (yeah, yeah, I'm gonna say it), Pete is right. He is one hundred per cent right. I ... I mean, Nicky is such a smart, brave guy ... you know it, Brad, you've seen it ... it's a privilege to know him! And ... and he's nice-looking too!' (I don't know which of us blushed more at this point, Karl or me.) 'So for him to actually LIKE me -- to like ME -- wow, that's way more than a privilege, man! I don't deserve it! Which is why I shied away from believing it! But OK, I accept it's true, and ... what more can I say? It makes me so happy! Nicky makes me so happy!'
I don't see Brad leave. I just feel his hand squeeze my shoulder. I guess he squeezes Karl's shoulder too. Then, somewhere in the distance, I hear him walk upstairs. But it doesn't matter. For Karl and me, at this moment, the whole of the rest of the universe doesn't matter much ...
Next week, back at school, everyone notices changes. Brad is his usual self, but Robby, Pete and Steve are strangely subdued. And people had seen Karl and me go off with the four jocks in Robby's van. So now word gets around that things didn't turn out the way Robby and his friends had planned. The rumor is that Karl and I took on Robby, Steve, Pete and Brad all at once in Robby's basement Jim, and defeated them. Not surprisingly, Karl and I get a nickname: the Dynamic Duo. Karl is Batman, of course, and I am Robin. Different suggestions are whispered as possible labels for the other four: dour Steve as the Joker, perhaps? Robby the Riddler? But the only label that sticks is Peter the Penguin, he being on the swim team. Pete isn't too pleased, but there's nothing he can do about it. This whole story is grossly unfair on Brad, of course, but the amiable muscleman doesn's seem to mind.
As for Karl and me, the Caped Crusaders -- we're quite happy to be seen going around together a lot. The people who might be inclined to make snide remarks are the sort of people who take their cue from Steve Dawson, but Steve says nothing.
My homework sessions with fellow geeks Abe, Sheila and the others continue as usual at my house. The only difference is that nowadays Karl comes in half way through, flops down in an armchair, and says: 'Hurry up, you guys! Nicky and me are meant to be going out tonight!'
Abe says: 'OK, Karl, we just need five minutes to finish this ...'
Karl grins and fetches himself a Coke. 'Well, five minutes max! Then I'll snatch him from ya! The poor kid' (he ruffles my hair) 'needs to have some fun!' Sheila and Abe look at me sidelong, kind of amused, kind of envious.
Three weeks later I am walking along with Abe one day. By the throat-clearing and furtive glances at me I can tell there's something he wants to say. 'OK, Abe, what's on your mind? Don't keep your buddy in suspense!'
'Ah, Nick ... I've always wondered why you're so down on Pete Petrowski. I mean, I know he was part of ... whatever happened back then. But you seem to get on OK now with Robby and Brad. So why don't you like Pete?'
Well, I haven't told Abe or anyone about the details of what happened that night. All six of us who were there have reasons of one kind or another for keeping those details private. So I'm in no hurry to spill the beans.
'What does it matter? Why d'you ask, Abe?'
'Well, because -- well, a couple of weeks ago, Pete asked if I'd like to go to the bowling alley with him. Me! I was amazed. Well, I went. It was fun. He seemed a real nice guy. I mean, real nice, quite apart from being ... you know ... super hot. And a couple of days later we went to the movies. That was fun too. And again last week, bowling. Now he's asked me out to dinner on Friday! At Guarini's! Like ... a dinner date at the best restaurant in town! I mean ... it seems like he really likes me! You know? And the way he is with me -- he's so considerate and he takes such an interest in me ... and ... I can hardly believe it, but it seems like this is really building up to something! And, well, I know you're going out with Karl and all, but you gotta admit, Pete is gorgeous! So how come you seem sort of hostile to him?'
This all figures! Abe looks a bit like me, smallish, nerdy, though (I've got to say it) less handsome. Pete has seen how the land lies. Karl and I are obviously a couple now, but nobody is giving us a hard time. So cautious Pete is prepared to put a toe in the water. If he can't have me as a boyfriend, well, Abe is an acceptable alternative. Besides, Pete knows that he is the only guy in our class who is rich enough to afford a restaurant as expensive as Guarini's, so there's no risk that he and Abe will be seen there by any of our classmates ...
'Look, Abe, go for it! I've really got nothing against Pete. If you like him, that's all that matters.'
The following week, sure enough: 'Nicholas, my life has changed for ever!' This is dreamy-eyed Abe speaking. 'I mean, you and I are still buddies of course, but now there is ... someone ... whose strong arms have clasped me to his chest, whose lips have pressed themselves against mine, so gentle, yet so insistent! Someone whose loins ...'
'Yes, yes, I get the picture! Well, I'm really pleased for you, Abe. Pleased for you both.'
Contrary to my expectation, Abe is still in the same dreamy state at the end of the school year, months later. Well, perhaps I have been doing Pete an injustice, perhaps he's not such a flibbertigibbet after all. Meanwhile, Karl and I have been saving up -- me from my allowance, Karl from his wages at the convenience store and the auto repair workshop. We figure that taking Brad and his girlfriend out to a slap-up dinner at Guarini's -- that's the least we can do for our fairy godfather.
THE END