DYLAN!
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Willie drove off, his kisses still tingling on my lips as I, in astonishment, saw Chubby half a block away. He flicks his cigarette butt across the street, it sparkling like a firecracker when colliding with a telephone pole. My heart is thumping heavily in my chest because he had to have seen Willie and me kissing. What can I say about that?
He walks right up to me and says, "Hey, buddy, was that your new friend what's his name?" I said, "Yes, that was Willie. He just left." My face felt hot, so I knew I was blushing a bright pink color, but because I was standing in the shadows, Chubby couldn't tell. He asked, "What was he doing to you? It looked like he was kissing you, or were you two maybe arguing about something?"
Chubby was up the steps and next to me by now. I know him so well, I recognized a lack of conviction about what he said, making me think he was doing a little friendly ball-busting. If he really thought Willie and I were kissing, he wouldn't be so blase about it. Still, I was nervous, trying to think how to respond. I'm so sick of lying to him about Carl, and now this. Ever since I admitted my true gay nature, I've been telling one lie after another to the person I love most in this world: my best friend ever.
I lied, "Oh, that. Yeah, look," and I held out the pendant cross on my new necklace. "Willie asked if I wanted to buy it. What do you think?" Chubby goes, "Buy it? What's he doing, selling jewelry?" As he said that, he fingered the cross and added, "This looks wicked expensive." I had a guilty conscience, so I kept talking, "He was trying to get the clasp to work behind my neck, and you thought we were fighting. That's a good one."
Chubby opens the door to the stairs to his condo and says, "Or kissing. Well, how much does he want for it? It is really cool!" Talking quickly now, I said, "No, he doesn't sell jewelry. It was given to him by some kid at Prep school. Willie thinks it might be stolen, so he doesn't want to wear it back at school. I said I liked it, and he jokingly asked how much I would give him for it. I wanted to wear it, so he fastened it around my neck. The clasp was a bitch."
Chubby's staring at me, his lips parted, a frown on his cute face. He said, "You lie like a rug. I think you'd rather tell a lie than the truth. I don't give a shit about the necklace. It's your lies I worry about. Are you in trouble?" I said, "Trouble? No!" Then I changed the subject, "Bro, you look good with that buzz cut, and I see your pierced ear." I reached over to touch it lightly and murmured, "Wish I could get mine pierced".
He put his arm across my shoulder and said, "When you're ready to tell me whatever it is you're not telling me, I'm ready to listen and help if I can. As for the pierced ear, I agree that it's cool, but I hated getting it because Rickie told me I had to." I asked if he had another cigarette, and he did. We stepped back outside to share it. Chubby thought that my Mom would give in and let me get my ear pierced now that he had his pierced, and we talked about that. He remembered there were many places on the boardwalk that would pierce just about anything you wanted pierced. We talked about if it had hurt getting his ear pierced and blah, blah, blah...
I relaxed because I could tell we were tight. He wasn't mad at me for lying to him, and he didn't really think that Willie and I were kissing. That would be too much of a leap from what he knew about me. I mean, making out with another boy doesn't happen in our world. Still, he knew I was lying about something, and he has given me leeway about that. Of course, I can't be positive Chubby isn't at least a little suspicious about Willie's goodbye kiss, but he has no way of knowing how much of my lie was actually the truth. There's usually some truth to every lie. In this case, there isn't much, but...
Looking at Chubby's face, illuminated only by the light of a full moon and bright stars, I thought he looked so young and so cute. As he passed me a cigarette, I said, "How about tomorrow in Wildwood? Are you psyched?" He goes, "Way psyched! That's a no-brainer, bro. It's gonna rock!". I reached over and rubbed his buzzed head and said, "You're special, Chubby." He looked at me for a second, taken by surprise that I was so sincere. He looked away, mumbling, "Maybe you wouldn't think so if I told you something; not that I'm going to tell you what that something is. I want you to keep thinking I'm special as long as possible."
I didn't know what to say. He seemed intense. He squeezed my hand and mumbled, "You're more special than me, Dylan. You're special enough for both of us." I exhaled a long stream of smoke and said, "After we get settled in the Wildwood condo, the first thing we do after that is riding that fucking double-shot on forty-third street. Right, Chub?" He goes, "Fucking A!" We did a hug, and I tried to kiss the side of his head like he did to me last night, but he was too quick. We both felt slightly awkward, I guess. We finished our smokes, bumped fists, and went into our separate houses.
I was still awake when I heard Mom come in from work. Chub and I were going to let the Moms sleep in tomorrow morning, but not too late because we have a long drive ahead of us today. It's impossible not to be excited about being on vacation, though, so even the Moms will probably be up early.
I've never felt the same way I feel about Willie. Even with vacation starting tomorrow, I can't stop thinking about Willie. He's replaced how I used to always think about Carl. Well, I still fantasize about Carl fucking me. He's the best. If he lost weight... yikes!
Of course, I love Chubby the most of anybody, but that's a one-sided, non-sexual love affair, and with Willie, it's so much different. He loves me, and I want to be with him. The thought of Willie fucking me the way he does is getting me hard just thinking about it right now. And, it's him too, the way he loves me so much and is so overprotective and, yes., a little bit bossy, too. But bossy in that sweet Willie way, often being naive in some ways and yet sophisticated in other ways. He's always buying me stuff. Whoa, and that's a first, for sure; nobody buys me presents.
Well, Chubby and I never had money before we got our jobs. And now, with the jobs, we're saving every penny, so we still don't have much money to spend. We're fanatical about affording driver's licenses, as I've mentioned a dozen times or so... it's our fixation. We've allocated one week's earnings each for our spending money on vacation. For me, that amounts to three hundred and thirty-six dollars, and Chubby, who makes a lot more than me, is taking five hundred dollars with him. It may sound like a lot, but it'll all get spent easily. We have it worked out that Chubby buys our lunches, and we split everything else.
Then I thought of Willie and my date earlier tonight and about laying in his bed with him before and after he fucked me. Oh my God, I get so aroused just thinking about the way he makes love to me. I'm always thinking about the next time we have sex. It's kind of funny and fun to let him be bossy, too. Carl calls it dominant, but I prefer to think of it as Willie being bossy. He takes his role so seriously, too, but the slightest objection to anything by me, and Willie apologizes. Then he'll slowly slip back into the alpha dog role, all the time testing to see if it's okay with me.
Wouldn't it be something if Willie is my first and last boyfriend, and we wind up spending our lives together? Wow, what a thought. Chubby can be my best man at Willie's and my wedding. Oh man, that's too much! Ha ha. But wait a minute! Willie would want to have the best man. I'd have to have a maid of honor, or is it a bridesmaid? I better find out. Ha, ha!
That was the last thing I remember contemplating last night. Man, did I have a sound night's sleep! This morning, I'm raring to go. After using the bathroom, I went up to the Romero's condo. I know where they keep the outdoor key and let myself in; then, slip into Chubby's room quietly. He was still sleeping, so I'm wondering, what the fuck time is it anyway? His alarm clock on the night table showed eight o'clock. That's late enough, so how should I wake him? I'm only wearing boxer shorts, so I slipped under the covers with Chubby.
Oh God! His Chubby smell quickly enveloped my senses as the covers floated down on me, and his wonderful natural aroma, which had accumulated under those covers all night, came drifting out in a wave of warm, yummy-smelling air. I took a big, quiet inhale and shivered at how much I loved that smell. It was like my piece of Chubby to savor as long as it lasted. As I lay there, loving every second of it, I looked at Chubby. He was facing me, and I had this silly grin that I couldn't get rid of. He sure is a cute boy, and ya know what? The buzzcut actually looks good on him. He looks tough! I inched over on my side till my nose was a fraction of an inch away from his and tried not to laugh. If he opened his eyes, he'd scream his balls off. My hand was on the back of his neck, his skin so smooth and warm.
Damn, my dick was wicked hard, poking straight out the slit in my boxers. I had to be careful it didn't poke him. I almost laughed again, thinking what he'd do if my boner touched him and woke him. Oh, Jesus, Chubby would be so pissed. Reaching down to adjust my boner, inching even closer to Chubby, I can't stop myself and put my arm over his side to slowly pull him into me. Oh shit, he feels so good against me, so nice. My cock is just starting to get a drop of wetness at the pee slit when I detect movement in Chubby's body, so I get really rough in hugging him like I was wrestling.
Just like that, his legs get me in a scissor hold, and I get him in a headlock. Fantastic! He's laughing and saying, "You're such a dick, Dylan. Hey, let go of my head!" We ease up on the wrestling and settle into an embrace. Chubby says, "I was afraid of this! We're a couple of fucking homos. I've been wrong all these years." He's saying it like a joke, so I pretend to kiss him, and to my surprise, he doesn't move his head, and our lips touch for an instant.
Chubby didn't freak out or anything. Instead, he muttered, "I'm kidding, you dumb shit! We're not homos." I go, "Oh, okay. I thought you were serious." We let go of one another, chuckling. Out of his bed now, Chubby's saying he still felt tired getting to bed so late last night, adding, "As you already know, Mr. Bullshitter." I ask, "Whatever are you talking about now?" He ignored that and said, "I'm tired but rested enough to handle vacation, although there's a misconception about vacations, Dylan." Following him to his bureau, I mumble, "Oh yeah, what's that?"
I'm willing my boner to go down as Chubby puts on shorts and a tee shirt, saying, "Well, you better be rested up really well for vacations as they're often more exhausting than regular life. It's sort of like when you go into the hospital. You better be wicked healthy if you hope to survive a hospital experience." I put on a pair of Chubby's shorts, muttering, "Isn't that a tad negative, Chubby?" He mutters, "Don't be a dick, "blah, blah, blah.
It was fun being with Chubby. We're not going to be eating breakfast this morning, so Chubby said he'd go in and start the process of getting his Mom moving and that I should do the same with my Mom. Framingham, Massachusetts, to Wildwood, New Jersey, is a seven-hour drive. We need to get things moving. Halfway down the stairs, I see Mom's boyfriend, Jake, at our front door carrying a suitcase. Oh, no! He's not coming with us, is he?
I mumble, "Hi, Mr. Rollins." He looks me over, then says, "Oh, so you slept with the Romero kid again last night, huh?" Surprised he knew Chubby's last name, I said, "Ah, no, but I had to wake him. We're going to Wildwood later this morning." Jake nods, "Yeah, I know. Lucky you! I promised your Mom I'd bring this suitcase over for her to use."
There is something off about this dude. I say, "Mom usually sleeps a little later than usual on Sunday morning. Um, did you want me to wake her, Mr. Rollins?"
He was now staring at my crotch, then said that unoriginal horseshit line, "Call me, Jake, okay? Mr. Rollins is my father. No, don't wake your Mom. Just tell her I dropped this off for her. Okay, Hottie?" I'm thinking, "Hottie?" Instead of commenting on that, to be a prick about it, I say, "You call your father Mr. Rollins?" Jake gave me a look, hesitated a second, and then chuckled as he shook his head slowly. It wasn't a funny-ha-ha kind of chuckle, though, and with the body language, I got the feeling he was thinking I was a smart-ass punk, or something like that. I don't like him, and maybe it's because he's taking my Mom out.
He turns to leave and then turns back, a little bit theatrically I thought, asking, in a sarcastic manner, "By the way, Cool. How was the band last night?" I'm like, "Huh?" because no one knew Willie and I were going to the concert last night. I asked, "What'd you say?" He says, "The concert; how was the concert you and your boyfriend were at last night? I saw you there with the boy who has that goofy old-time flattop haircut.
He saw Willie and me last night? Holy shit! He's on the steps going down, turned around, looking at me, adding, "By the way, you guys make a hot couple." My mind was racing, and Jake was looking smug because I was no longer the smart-ass. He says, in an even more condescending manner than I'd used on him, "My great uncle used to wear his hair like your boyfriend's. Of course, he was much older. He was my Dad's brother, but twenty years older than Dad. Uncle Gordon got hit by a bus, oh, ten years ago or so. Still had that weird flattop haircut right up to the end."
I was staring open mouth at him now, totally out of it. I mumble, "Mr. Rollins's brother was twenty years older than him?" Jake nodded with a mean-spirited smirk on his face that told me how much he was enjoying my discomfort. We looked at each other for a bit without talking. Did he say I looked hot? What was that? I'm thinking, he's a bastard, alright. Then I studied him a second, figuring Jake couldn't be thirty years old, going by how he looked. His very cool-looking light red hair was cut in a short, fashionable manner. Pale, clear skin, and he's nice looking. He was probably wicked cute as a teen.
All that's true enough, but I still didn't like him and he still didn't seem right for my Mom somehow. What would the right guy be like, though? I guess I don't know. Mom's thirty-five years old, or almost, and she's pretty and young-looking, too. He broke the silence, saying again, "Yeah, you and your boyfriend make a cute couple." I thought he had said that before, and now I knew he had, and my face went from pale to bright red. I could feel it get hot.
Perspiration broke out on my forehead as I muttered, "Huh?" Jake laughed and said, still in a sarcastic manner, "I'm teasing you, for Christ's sake! Don't feel too bad, I use to blush like that when I was a little kid. It happens at the worse times, doesn't it? Man, what a bitch that embarrassing blushing is. So, how was the concert? You haven't said."
I gulp, and say, "You were just kidding?" He goes, "Yeah, calling your friend your boyfriend. I did that as a joke. You know, just for the hell of it." There was a meanness to his voice, an edge that had developed over the last minute or so as if he really couldn't stand me and he was playing some kind of a pricky game, making me sweat because I was not sure how much he knew about Willie and me.
He scared me a little bit, too, so I tried being nice to him now, hoping he'd drop that mean edge to his voice. Looking sincere and totally unchallenging, I said, "The concert was great. We, er, I, um, we both liked it and had a good time. Where you there, Mr. Rollins?" He was outwardly arrogant now, leaning on the suitcase, looking at me smugly, "I told you to call me Jake, didn't I tell you that?" and I go, "Oh, I'm sorry, Mr.. er, Jake. Yeah, you did. Ah, Jake" and I made a goofy face.
He had total control of the situation now. Definitely, no more smartass stuff from me. He said, "No, I wasn't at the concert per se, but I was obviously in the area since I saw you and your boyfriend. By the way, I used the generic word there. Do you know what generic means?"
I enthusiastically nodded as if it was really important. He gave me a tough look, did something dismissive with his eyes, and, in a manner one might use when talking to a retard, he said, "I was not at the concert per se, but I was at the Pavilion as they are one of my clients." I did the enthusiastic nod again, not sure what he was talking about, but trying to get him to like me now so I could find out what he knew about Willie and me.
He told me that after my Mom's and his Cape Cod trip, he dropped my Mom off here at the house, and right after that, he had to work. He distributes kegs of draft beers to various venues, including three gay clubs. This encounter with Jake has robbed me of all my great, positive feelings about going to Wildwood for two weeks. This prick holds my secret in his hand. He stared at me hard, like he was daring me to say something wise-ass.
I looked down, unable to look him in the eyes, and he went on to say, "Very lucrative business. For the venues, I mean. The draft beer costs them about twenty-five cents a serving, and they sell it for six to eight dollars a pop. Not bad, huh?" He had dropped some of the arrogance by the end of his statement there, but I had to wonder what was the need for him to specifically mention the gay clubs. He had to have seen Willie and me walking around outside the tent, Willie with his arm around my waist as we walked. God dammit! This is worse than awkward. I'm like, "Ah, Mr.,er, Jake, um, why didn't you say hi when you saw us, um, saw me?"
Jake was lighting a cigarette as if he was planning on being here a while. This is another one of those role reversal situations that seem to be happening to me recently. When I first met Jake Rollins, he was trying to suck up to me. He probably figured, since I'm his girlfriend's kid, why not get on my good side? But I was put-offish to him, and I only gave him slightly arrogant, short answers to his questions. It seemed to me then that there was something off about him, but I didn't know what. I still think there's something off, and I still don't know what, but now I'm the one who's doing the sucking-up and trying to get on his good side because I'm not nearly ready to tell the world about being gay.
Jake purposely and very deliberately blew a long exhale of smoke in my face and said, "I was talking with a client when you two walked by, so I couldn't say hi. Then, when I looked for you later, I guess you'd gone in to find your seats. I didn't have a ticket, so," and he blew another long exhale of smoke in my face. I fought off every impulse to wave my hand at the smoke, thinking of Joel and the time I accidentally blew smoke his way. All I could think to do was to somehow get him to like me and not tell on me. He said, "You do know, don't you, that your pecker was poking out your shorts when you came out of your friend's house five minutes ago?"
The red came back in my face again as I looked down at my shorts. I sure didn't have a boner now. My dick was shriveling up by the second. I wanted to run to my bedroom and crawl into bed, but I couldn't because there wasn't room to get by Jake and the suitcase, and I couldn't very well go back up to Chubby's. What reason would I have for doing that? I felt trapped.
Jake said, "Don't worry about it, Dylan. I've had a hard-on now and then myself. Maybe I can get some free tickets for you and your boyfriend. That'll give me some brownie points with your mom. Taking her only son to a concert or a ballgame, maybe. We wouldn't need actually to go to the ballgame, of course." I looked at him with a puzzled look on my face as he says impatiently, "Oh, did you forget your lie to her? That's where you told your Mom you were going last night, to a baseball game?"
Blushing again, I said, "Huh?" I'd come full circle back to that clever retort. He goes, "Ah, don't worry about it too much. I'm not going to tell on you unless you piss me off. Hey, I'm kidding again." I did a dumb fake laugh and mumbled, "Oh, man. Oh... ha ha... Thanks, Jake." As soon as I said thanks, Jake, I realized I had just entered into a conspiracy with this guy, and that meant I was admitting I had something to conspire about, and Jake knew what it was, maybe two things. I lied about where I was going last night, and I'm gay. Minor things. I was lying and deceiving. I felt like shit, total shit.
Is Jake like the Marine? A bisexual guy. I scrambled to think what to say and came up with this, trying to suck in with him more than ever, "Would you really get me some free passes, Jake? I think it would be cool to hook up with you sometime to go to The Garden or something." He handed me his cigarette butt and said, "Yeah, I'll bet you would, kid. Get rid of that thing for me, would you? And, take the suitcase to your mother. You best stay on my good side, alright, kid?" I did my overly enthusiastic nod. He gives me a look, shakes his head at how pathetic I am, and mutters, "See you around, and tell nice things to your Mom about me, and I'll tell her, well, maybe I'll tell her nothing, right?"
He laughed at that, shot me with his index finger, pulled the trigger with his thumb, and went down the steps, whistling off tune. He sure has me where he wants me. I'm not sure where that might be, but it's going to cost me something. I've got these debts, or whatever they are, adding up. One for Carl, one for Joel and our supposed weekend together after my vacation, and then there's the Marine who I promised to email, setting-up a date for him to fuck me with that huge cock. Fuck me until I become his boy or something like that, and now, Jake, who knows my secret. What does he want, I wonder. The only person I can talk to about this is Willie.
I need to talk to someone because I'm just getting myself into a deeper mess week by week. What am I doing wrong here? I mean other than lying and deceiving ... what else?
I'm still standing here, frozen outside my condo door, looking at the spot Jake vacated seconds ago. I'm holding his smoldering cigarette butt between my fingers, hating on myself for acting like a wimp with him. Chubby comes out his front door to the top of the steps, looking down at me, and says, "Come on, Dylan, get dressed. The Atlantic Ocean's waiting on us." I mutter, "Yeah, sorry, Chub. Um, my Mom's boyfriend dropped this suitcase off, and we had a lovely chat together, so I lost track of the time.
Coming down the steps, Chubby mumbles, "Lovely chat? Since when have you used the words lovely and chat?" I dropped Jake's cigarette butt and, in a daze, asked, "What, Chub?" He pats my shoulder, "I'm going to need to spend a lot of vacation time with you, Dylan. I need to get your ass straightened out! You're fucked up."
My ass?
Chubby follows me inside as I drag the suitcase inside. Shaking my head, I mumble, "I'll only be a minute," and then hurriedly put on a T-shirt and sandals. I knocked on my Mom's bedroom door, "Time to get up, Mom. Vacation has started." She said, "I'm getting up, sweetheart. Get us some coffee, okay?"
Fifteen minutes later, Chubby and I return from Dunkin' with the coffees. I hear a lot of laughter from the kitchen as the moms are in that vacation frame of mind now. I wanted to join in with some laughter, but I had a few worries. Even so, I did manage to fake being in a vacation frame of mind pretty convincingly. A half-hour later, we were in the ten-year-old Volvo station wagon our families shared. It was loaded to the max, and we were off for Wildwood. Our Moms had rented the second floor of a fully air-conditioned four-room duplex five blocks from the boardwalk and beach. There were two bedrooms with their own bath, a big eat-in kitchen, a living room, and a cool deck out back. It gets hot and humid in New Jersey in July, so you need air conditioning.
There is usually a nice breeze off the ocean, so the beach is often fairly comfortable. We had to bring all our own linens, beach chairs, a cooler of food, and blow-up toys for Chubby. I was kidding about the blow-up toys. We used to bring buckets, shovels, pails, blow-up tubes for the beach, and water when we were little kids. Now, Chubby and I spend a great deal of time posturing in the evenings on the boardwalk, looking as cool as we can for other kids so they can admire us.
Chubby and I will do a lot of swimming and screwing around in the ocean during the day, walking the beach, and, mostly, just being together again. Our moms sit on beach chairs, getting sun and reading magazines, but they mostly talk. How they find endless things to talk about is a mystery. The Moms go on the boards at night for a little while, but later, they try out a few bar scenes. "Trying to pick up some guys." is what they'll say when we ask why they wanted to leave the boardwalk. Chubby and I loved the rides best, and second best was acting cool and posturing, as I mentioned.
By the time we pulled into Wildwood, I'd put my worries on the back burner because it was time to enjoy being on vacation. Chubby and I slept through half the trip here, and when awake, we both had iPods and our cell phones, so we listened to music. I learned the art of rationalizing by observing Chubby do it. He's a rationalizing genius. I rationalized my Jake problem by acknowledging that sooner or later, everybody would know I was gay, and the moms and Chubby will still love me; so, fuck you, Jake! My Mom will love me, gay or straight. I've never heard a homophobic word come out of Tris or my Mom's mouths.
Sure, Chubby has a homophobic remark to leave his mouth every ten seconds or so, but he doesn't mean it. And even if he did, he'd make an exception for me. Plus, I'm not so sure he isn't a little bit gay himself, or maybe bi like Jake and Tom. So, I'm not worrying about that too much. And, since I've rationalized that situation out, I'm certainly not going to be needing to kiss Jake's ass anymore. That's right, no more ass-kissing. Instead, it's back to me being a smart ass to him. That leaves my other two major concerns, Joel and the Marine.
When I really think about it, the Marine is no problem because I'm simply not going to email him. On the other hand, Joel is a problem, but only for six weeks. After vacation, my job will be over in six weeks. So, I got myself a six-week problem with Joel and his bizarre idea about a weekend together. I've got to figure out something there. I'll work on it. Willie isn't a problem. I love him, and I'm not giving him up, so there you go, Jake! Stick that up your ass!
There, I feel much better. Mom said, "Unload the car, boys. Tris and I will deal with the rental office. Don't go anywhere till we make our plans." Chubby and I nod at my Mom and roll our eyes at each other. They forget we're almost eighteen and still treat us as if we're ten years old. Taking my duffle bag full of clothes and a beach chair, I climbed the steps to our temporary home. I was anxious to see the sleeping accommodations, and when I looked, YES! HAHA! I'm psyched because only one of the bedrooms had twin beds. The other smaller bedroom had a double bed.
Mom and Tris do not ever share a bed, so yes! Chubby and I would have to squeeze our teen bodies into that double bed. Oh, thank you, Gods... all of you! I was in the best damn mood now. I laughed out loud just as Chubby stumbled in with that fucking suitcase of Jake's and Chubby's own duffle bag. "What's so funny, Dylan?" I mutter, "Oh, I stubbed my toe," and laugh again with Chubby's laughing along with me and calling me a dick.
This place was almost new, which is wicked nice. It must be expensive, but I don't want to ask because it will just set the Moms off on a list of things we need to be careful about: Don't spill juice on anything, don't touch any of the controls for temperature, or the refrigerator, or any of the settings on the remote control, and on and on. Oh man, I don't care; I love being here, and did I mention there's only one bed in our room?
Chubby comes out of our bedroom and says, "Hey, cool. I get to sleep with you for two weeks. Don't pout now, Dylan." I said, "Why would I pout? That was the old me, I told you that. The new me goes with the flow, bro." He's like, "Oh, right! I forgot that you're into heavy drugs now."
We got the rest of the stuff out of the car and up here on two more trips. Then we put the food we'd brought in the pantry or refrigerator. The moms bring a lot of food from home because they say everything costs much more here than in Framingham. Everything was unloaded and put away. Chub and I were on the deck, sharing a cigarette and enjoying the view. It was a beautiful afternoon with a nice breeze on our second-floor deck.
Chubby says, "This is life, Dylan. I might live at the shore after college. I mean, get a job here and live here year-round." I said, "Then I'm doing that, too." Chubby looked at me with a serious expression, confused. It was like he hadn't thought about what I'd do after college, but he didn't say anything. I stared back at him, almost daring him to say I couldn't live here, too. I stared back even though I didn't know exactly why he'd given me the look in the first place.
Shortly, Chubby's Mom joined us on the deck and said to Chubby, "Gimme a drag, Honey." She took a drag off the Marlboro, with Chubby saying, "You Moms nag Dylan and me all the time about smoking, and yet you guys smoke." She says, "We're real old, Sweetheart. Our lungs are already corrupted, while you and Dylan are still our babies with bright pink lungs that we think should stay that way. It's always best to listen to your mother." Chubby mumbles, "Oh brother, what a crock."
As Chubby and I walked the five blocks to the beach, excitement was building, anticipating that first look at the ocean. After three blocks, we could see the boardwalk and not being able to contain ourselves, like the little kids we used to be, we raced each other the last two blocks and ran right up the ramp onto the boardwalk, and there was the beach and the vast Atlantic ocean right in front of us.
The beach stretches for miles in each direction. It varies in depth from twenty yards to a hundred yards of white sand as far as you can see to our left and our right, endless ocean straight ahead. High sky, a bright yellow sun above with squawking seagulls floating in the air. And then there's the boardwalk itself. The boardwalk is two miles long and twenty to thirty yards wide in many places, all supported on huge wood pilings. A metal railing along the beach side with openings on each block for steps leading down to the beach, fifteen feet or more below the boardwalk. It's called a boardwalk because it's made of wood boards; you can see where new pressure-treated wood has replaced old wood in many sections. So, there is a railing on one side. Hundreds of shops are on the land side, along the entire two miles, except for the opening of the ramps leading up from the street. At night, it's two miles of neon lights; some of the lights extend way up into the air where the amusement park thrill rides reside.
Stores and shops of every conceivable type, souvenir shops selling cheap junk stuff to other shops selling expensive jewelry, and many clothing shops specializing mostly, but not exclusively, in all kinds of beach wear. There are specialty candy shops for nuts, cotton candy, and the like. Some shops, like the saltwater taffy ones, make the taffy right before you. The fudge shops have high-school-aged boys in the front of the shop stirring vats of fudge by hand, using long paddles, so people walking by on the boardwalk can ogle them through big plate glass windows. There are all kinds of food shops, mostly open-front shops with a counter and stools on the boardwalk. You can stop at a stand and sit down to order or wait in line for an open stool.
Mac's Pizza is everywhere; there are ice cream shops of all types, from Italian ice to soft serve to forty varieties of premium ice cream, funnel cake shops, other types of cotton candy being spun in front of you, and popcorn and caramel corn and regular shops and restaurants with hot dogs, hamburgers, seafood, steaks, Chinese, Italian subs or spaghetti dinners, and on and on and on. Then, every ten blocks or so is an arcade with high decimal noise generated from all the computer games, shooting galleries, and the like. There are large water parks as well as miniature golf courses and carnival-style games like Guess your weight or Knock down Three Pins and Win a Stuffed Animal; games like that.
And, then, the best are the various amusement parks, some large and some small, up and down the boardwalk. Some are on piers jutting out toward the ocean. They advertise that there are more amusement rides on the Wildwood boardwalk than at Disneyland. Chubby and I walked the two miles up and the two miles back, taking in the boardwalk's daytime sights and sounds. It's much different at night when it's jammed-packed with people of all ages and all races and all types, from best to the worst. From the safest person you can imagine to some of the most dangerous ones, all of them putting their differences aside to have fun on the boardwalk.
Yeah, this place rocks. You got to have money with you, of course. The more money, the better, too, because nothing is cheap on the boardwalk. Some feel everything is overpriced. Do you think four dollars is too much for a cup of lemonade? Or a slice of pizza? Or a soft pretzel? Ha ha, bring your wallet to the boardwalk. Chubby and I were giggling about the cost of things, and I was thinking about Jake Rollins saying a cup of beer costs the Pavilion twenty-five cents, and then they sell it for eight dollars. I wonder how much a cup of lemonade costs to make... ten cents?
Back at the duplex, our moms were happily into their third gin and tonic, and by now, they were openly smoking as they sat out there on the deck. Chub and I knew not to make a big deal out of the smoking as they were on vacation, too, relaxing and enjoying a change of scenery. They'd made fried chicken from scratch for dinner. It was crispy and warm in the oven with buttery mashed potatoes and a salad featuring New Jersey tomatoes and cucumbers picked by the farmers earlier today. Mom adds some sweet red onions, some olive oil, and a touch of red vinegar. It's a mighty tasty meal. I don't want to forget the corn on the cob, which was also picked this morning. Boiled for three minutes, slathered in sweet butter and plenty of salt. Hey, salt's good for kids.
The boardwalk isn't as crowded on Sunday nights as on Friday and Saturday nights. Those two nights have all the regular vacationers here for their two or three weeks of vacation, plus all the weekend people. The number of people on the boardwalk balloons way up, and it's barely manageable. As we planned, we stood in line for the double shot thrill ride first.
This is a five-sided tower ride with six seats on each side. Buckle in tight, and just when you think the delay indicates maybe something's wrong with the ride, it snatches you up in the air one hundred feet in one-third of a second. Your shoes and your stomachs are left behind. Before the screams of terror from first-time riders reaches its peek, the Double-Shot shoots you up another hundred feet and immediately drops you in a free-fall almost all the way down to the ground before stopping inches short of crashing, then you're jerked halfway up again, and you don't know what the fuck is coming next. It lets you down slowly, but you're worried all the way down that any second now, it's going to shoot you back up at that ridiculous rate of speed, and something is sure to break loose, and your seat will probably fly off the top, and you'll wind up in orbit.
Most of the night, we were walking the boards with me, looking for cute boys, and Chubby looked for any of the kids we knew from back home or, in lieu of that, for people to make fun of. "Jesus, Dylan, check out the water buffalo with the triple order of funnel cakes. Do you think she could put any more powdered sugar on those fucking things? She Looks good in that spandex outfit, too." I'm like, "Shhhh, she'll hear you. Damn, look at the Neanderthal that's with her. Cute couple."
We're such pricks! It's fun though, and we're not hurting their feeling because they can't hear us. Chub says, "Ain't it great, being so perfect ourselves, we can criticize others to our heart's content?" There were all types of teen boys here, too. From the nerds with the pimples who need to constantly push their glasses up with their middle finger to the hot, tough dudes who I don't want to get caught staring at cause if I do, they'll ask rudely, what the fuck are you looking at, faggot?
And then there are the ultra-cute, safe-looking boys to ogle. I take the chance and ogle them plenty. Most are straight boys, not gay. They never even know I'm staring at their hot bodies or cute faces. They're oblivious that another boy might be attracted to them. Then there are the rare ones who catch me staring and stare back at me, a few even smile shyly back, and then the others give back a bad vibe or a sneer. I'm rarely sure who is gay and who isn't. If I traveled in a gay crowd like Willie does, I'd learn the signs, and eventually, I'd develop my gaydar. At least that's what Carl told me. I don't talk about that sort of thing with Willie, though.
Chubby and I spent twenty-five dollars each tonight, and we only had one drink each... no food. All the rides aren't five dollars, but they're at least a couple of bucks, so it's almost a good thing that we had to stand in so many lines, or we'd spend all our money in one night. We did two double shots, one roller coaster, and three other lesser thrill rides. "Ain't this great, Dylan?" We did one more ride, but getting to bed late last night caught up with us, and we headed home, very tired.
Sharing our last cigarette of the night, we walked in silence, and a thought came to me. It's not the obvious thought that Chubby may have seen Willie and me kissing last night, but why was Chubby getting home so late? Funny, I didn't wonder about this before. I was on my date with Willie, but what's Chubby's excuse, or reason, for getting home after one in the morning? I saw him getting his ear pierced in the Mall around seven o'clock, so what the hell was he doing for the next six hours? Damn, I can't really bring it up, though, or we're back to was Willie kissing me or not. I'm guessing that I'm not the only one with secrets around here.
As we walked silently, I looked over at Chubby, and he looked back and mumbled, "What?" I said, "Oh, nothing. I'm just happy to be here with you." He squeezed my hand and said, "That's sweet, but no kissing tonight, okay?" He was kidding about that, but I pretended he was seriously worried that I'd kiss him, so I said, "Just one, maybe," and he said, "Okay, one, but that's it." Now neither of us knew if we were kidding or not. I smiled, sort of, just in case.
The moms were sleeping, so we were quiet; Chub whispered, "I'm sticky from the heat and humidity out there, so even though I'm dead on my feet, I'm still gonna take a quick shower." I said, "I was thinking that same thing myself, so hurry, Chub," He said, "Come on, Dylan, we'll take it together. We've never been shy with each other." I nodded and muttered, "Good idea," and we quickly got undressed. There was a free-standing, Plexiglas-enclosed shower in the bathroom, which was big enough for us two skinny boys. Chubby turned on the water, and we stood side by side while I tested it until it was warm. I nodded at him once, and we went in. It was so neat showering with Chubby.
He said, "Fuck, remember when we took all our baths together? That rocked. Of course, I was always jealous of your long dick." I said, "I didn't have a long dick when we were taking baths together, you numbnuts. We were just little kids." He goes, "Are you sure?" and I say, "Chubby, you're always worried about that tiny penis of yours. And it's crazy because everybody knows the average size of the human male penis is in the range from just under three and a half inches to almost six inches. I just happen to be exceptional, having this extra-long cock."
Chubby rolled his eyes at that comment as he stretched his flaccid penis out and said, "You gotta be shitting me! Three and a half inches? To think, all this time, I've had a normal size dick and didn't know it." I mumbled, "Well, let's not get carried away here. It's within the rather generous limits of average and barely at that."
Chubby laughed. We washed each other's backs and shampooed each other's hair, but other than that, we washed ourselves. I couldn't help but think that this could be the start of something good. Dried off and feeling nice and clean, we climbed into the double bed. Chubby goes, "Oh, nice mattress. Come on, Dylan, let's do our homo act. I love squeezing your wickedly skinny body," and we got wrapped up with each other pretty well. Unfortunately, I don't remember anything after that.
I'm sure we both were out cold in less than a minute.
The next morning, the sun shining through our bedroom window woke me up, shining right in my eyes. I'll need to remember to pull the shade before I go to sleep tonight. It seemed early, and I reached the nightstand to check my watch. it was only six o'clock. Chubby was still sleeping soundly. I've been in bed with Chubby quite a bit for the last couple of days, and I love it! Oh boy, by ruffling the sheet, I got to enjoy that concentrated smell of Chubby again as the air drifted out from under our sheets. Then I gently got my arm under his neck and lightly laid my face alongside his.
Oh, boy, my dick got hard really fast, and I tightened my whole body to keep from grunting or groaning. Little by little, I tightened my hold around his neck until his face was moved up a little, and our lips were together. I pretended to make out with him. Smelling him and feeling him with our faces full against one another and even our lips together. Oh man! I thought this would be a fun thing to do, but it got me so aroused that my groin muscles were tightening up repeatedly, and I had to bite my bottom lip to contain myself. This was so hot,
Allowing my imagination to play games, I could almost feel Chubby's tongue in my mouth, and the head of my hard cock became wet. I was panting, and Chubby groaned out some sound right in my face, and he rolled his leg on top of mine and settled in against me again. I lasted about a minute, being almost under him with our faces still touching when I grunted, contracted my stomach muscles, humped my crotch, and squeezed a string of cum into my jockey shorts. My face felt hot as I strained out another longer string of cum into my underwear, and then, when I relaxed, a little more cum drooled out to pool against my belly.
I only enjoyed the last drooling part because the first two shots were kind of shocking to me. It scared me that one minute of contact in this awkward position with my best friend and the boy I love could cause me to have an orgasm. I took my time reversing my holds on Chubby because I didn't want him to know about this... he'd think I was a freak. When I'd separated myself from Chubby, I slipped quietly out of bed and into the bathroom to clean cum off my shaved crotch. If I want to enjoy sleeping with Chubby, I can't be doing this every night. I quietly rummaged through my suitcase to first hide the cum drenched jockey shorts and then get out clean underwear, this time boxers. Back in bed next to Chubby, I rationalized away the whole incident and, in short order, decided what was so wrong with it.
It didn't take long to fall back to sleep and the next thing I'm aware of is Chubby shaking my shoulder, saying, "Come on, sleeping beauty, let's get started. It's after nine o'clock." I get up looking sheepish, thinking about what had happened earlier in the morning. I might need to do more rationalizing about that later. We had OJ and cereal with the Moms. They told us they were signed up for a cocktail cruise at five, so we boys were on our own for dinner. The Moms would be home late. "Have fun, boys. We love you two to death!" hugs and kisses, and finally, Chubby and I escaped and were free all day.
We headed for the beach, each carrying a low-to-the-ground beach chair; we wore sandals, T-shirts, and boardie swimsuits. Cool sunglasses completed the picture of us styling and feeling good. I had a small backpack with towels, bottled water, cell phones, and sunscreen. Chubby had smokes and some money in his pocket, so we were set for the day. We were going to set up our chairs close to the water when I caught a vision out of the corner of my eye of identical twin boys, maybe sixteen years old; they were sitting in beach chairs very close to one another.
They had strawberry-blond hair pulled back into identical stubby ponytails. The cuteness factor was off the fucking charts with these two, and I just knew this was going to be the best Wildwood vacation I've ever had. Chubby says, "Yes, this is a good spot, Dylan." I mumble, "How about further down the beach to our left? See that open space." Chubby's mumbling about one spot looking like the other, but we walk down to the left anyway. When we arrived at the perfect viewing spot for twins-watching and ogling, I went, "This is perfect!" Chubby gave me a look, shrugged, and dropped his chair.
"This is ideal, huh, Dylan?" Chubby is always reinforcing the premise that everything is great. I like that about him. "Yes, it's great, Chub! The only way it could be any better is if you were sitting on my lap." He checked if anyone heard me and said in a stage whisper, "You're always screwing around like that. What if someone hears you? For Christ's sake, Dylan, use your head." I pretend my feelings are hurt and hop my chair a foot away from Chubby, and he hops over next to me again and says, "Don't be a dick! I don't want people to get the wrong idea. Okay?"
That's apology enough, so I smirk and take a drag. Chubby says, "We better do the sunscreen." We did each other, and that was fun! He and I have had bodily contact since we were infants. We slept in the same crib hundreds of times and took hundreds of baths together. We adopted our unusual way of watching TV together, with Chubby snuggled up next to me when we were toddlers, and continue it till today. We've slept together with our arms around each other into our teens and cut one another's hair. Touching each other is as natural to us as breathing, but saying words that might cause someone to think we're gay gets Chubby in a huff. Now that I've recognized that I am gay, the touching takes on a whole new significance for me.
After we're both covered in sunscreen and back sitting on our beach chairs, Chubby wants to chill out and listen to music, so I take the opportunity to check out the twins some more. They might be younger than sixteen, but I don't think so. Their bodies are well-formed and have very tight, smooth torsos with fine, natural definition. They are not in the same league as the Dickers brothers, but then... who is? These boys have very fit bodies, though, and although they're not much taller than Chubby, they have especially long-looking, well-defined legs with a sprinkling of light blond hairs on their calves. They have nice feet, and they appear to enjoy bumping against one another.
Several seagulls were squawking over French fries on the beach, and the twins turned to see what the fuss was, looking in my direction. Whoa, holy shit, they have large green eyes under long, pale eyelashes. There are freckles across their pug noses and big dimples when they smiled, and then look out at the ocean again.
A little later, the twins got up and wandered to the water. I asked, "Chub, do you want to go in for a swim?" He said, "Not now." I got up and walked into the ocean. I went out till I was almost chest-deep in the salty water, waiting for a wave to use for body surfing into the beach. I got one, and I collided with one of the twins while surfing toward the beach. We came up, spitting water and rubbing the salt water out of our eyes. Someone behind me said, "You okay, Noah?" Noah is the twin I collided with. He nodded that he was fine, and the other twin asked me, "Are you okay?" I nodded, too, and took the blame for the collision.
I said, "Sorry about that, my fault. We seem to be the only guys who are body surfing, and I run into one of us. I'm Dylan Newman, by the way," and I held my hand toward him to shake. The talking twin said, "Nice to meet you, Dylan. I'm Nathan North, and this is my identical twin brother, Noah." Oh man, I got a huge smile from Noah, and he did the handshake, one-arm hug, and pat on my back. He looked at Nathan, nodded his head toward me, and they both laughed. Nathan says, "Noah says you remind him of a friend we met here on the beach last year, Oliver Nickerson. He collided with us just like you did. You don't happen to know him, do you?" I say, "Oliver? No, but I know a Dodger?"
We'd waded out of the water and toward the chairs as Nathan asked, "Are you gay, by any chance? Our friend Oliver and our brother, Alexander, are gay, and we wondered if you were because we seem to be attracting gay boys the last year or so." I was flabbergasted! First, the straightforwardness of the question! Secondly, the accuracy of their gaydar, and thirdly my lies. "No, sorry boys, I'm not gay. Far from it. Not that there's anything wrong with being gay." The boys looked at each other skeptically and made a look with their eyes of some kind, and Nathan said, "Oh, too bad."
Two yards from us, Chubby says, "Jesus, am I looking at some kid who's looking in a mirror, or what!?" We all look at him, and I say, "Here's my best bud, Chubby Jeffrey Romero," then I introduce the North twins to Chubby. They shook hands briefly, and Nathan said, "Oh, we thought you were brothers." They explained they'd seen us sitting here, and since they're gay, they had been sneaking stares at us because we're both so cute.
He says the most outlandish things, so matter-of-factly, it's hard to believe. Chubby's mouth was hanging open at the directness of Nathan's statements, and even though I'd had exposure to them already, they were still startling--Chubby mumbled, "Oh, so you're gay identical twins. That's not unusual at all." Noah nodded in agreement. A booming voice makes us all look over at a bald-headed man with a significant pot belly saying, "Nathan and Noah, come over here, please."
Nathan says, "Our parents don't trust young guys around us. Strangers, I mean." Chubby and I are exchanging looks, like... can you believe this shit? Then, a more frantic call, "Nathan... Noah... now!" The boys laugh; Nathan says, "They're very protective of us. It's a bit of a pain in the ass, but what are you gonna do? See you boys later." They did little waves, turned around, and ran to the skinny bald man standing beside a fat, pale lady. Those two couldn't have produced the beautiful twins... no way!
Chubby and I rolled our eyes, went in the ocean, and were busy body surfing and dunking each other for an hour. When we came out, the twins were gone. I asked myself: why in the hell didn't I say I was gay? I answered: Duh, because I'm in the closet.
To be continued...
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