DYLAN!
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
On the way home, I'm thinking about the past two weeks in Wildwood, worrying about the ordeal Rickie puts Chubby through, although Chubby assures me he can handle it. Our major objective this summer remains earning enough money to get our driver's licenses. It'd be nice if we could have some fun this summer simultaneously, but getting the licenses is numero uno!
My number one developing fun this summer was falling in love with Willie Worthington. An insignificant complication is Willie's so-called dominance as the boss, which comes into play about one percent of the time. The rest of the time, it's fifty/fifty as to who is the 'boss', or more likely, sixty/forty in my favor because Willie is a softy, and I get my way a lot.
I love my kooky boyfriend. He's an original thinker as far as gay dating is concerned. There aren't many boyfriends who are as attentive, as generous, as interesting, as funny, as cute, as loving, or as good at making out, or as good at fucking as my boyfriend, Willie. He is my first boyfriend and we both want to have a long-term relationship.
Willie says boyfriends need to talk with one another every day, which I want to do, anyway. In the coming days, that turns out to be something I look forward to. He's so funny, but only sometimes funny on purpose. I like hearing his voice; it's boyish-sounding and always excited-sounding. It's impossible to be in a bad mood when I listen to Willie with his high level of energy. I love all the corny, mushy stuff he tells me, too. It helps me see myself in a positive light and gives me self-confidence.
One thing Willie and I discussed at Wildwood was going to Maine as guests of Carl and Larry. Willie talked about the trip often, although with less enthusiasm each time it came up. Larry's too often playing the punishment game, so he, Willie, is losing faith in that. It's stupid to start with. Teenagers don't dole out punishment. We try to avoid it, and are good about that as we're always doing something wrong. We're teenagers for Christ's sake.
I listened to all of Willie's concerns, but still haven't told him I was not going to Maine. So, when he stopped talking, I said, "Don't be mad, Willie, but I can't go to Maine. I need to work; I can't get off." He shook his head and said, "I'm not going to be mad at you, Dylan, because I might not go either."
I was relieved to get that cleared up. The fact is, if I wanted, I could get a Saturday off to spend a weekend in Maine, but I don't want to. Carl would probably give me one of his awesome fucks, but that is losing its appeal to me as well. I have my boyfriend, Willie, who does sex on me as well as Carl ever did, and I love Willie, not Carl. Plus, that stupid discipline and dominance crap annoys the hell out of me. I can easily do without that. Anyway, I was thinking about all these things in the backseat as the Moms switched off, driving us back home. Most of the time I kept my eyes closed because their driving made me nervous.
Now, I'm looking forward to Willie's and my Tuesday night date, which he says is a block party in the Cambridge gayborhood that he hangs out in. I guess they block off the street and have a party. I've never been to a block party. It will be fun to be with all those friendly gay guys. There'll be some lesbians and straights there, but primarily young gay guys. What could be better?
Willie continues to introduce me to gay guys of all different ages, and I'm learning the gay lifestyle. It's cool being in it, but I couldn't do it without my boyfriend. He makes it fun, so I don't care if he insists on playing the 'guy's role' while he has me playing the girl's role. It might be Willie's unique concept of dating taken from some nineteen-fifties black and white movie in which the girl has a long skirt with bobby socks on, and the boy, who's holding her hand, has a flattop haircut and a bow tie, or some such shit like that, real corny.
Another thing I contemplated during the long ride home was the extent to which Chubby and I had connected intimately during vacation. It was probably the sleeping together that loosened Chubby's resistance. It also helped that we'd been exposed to the Dickers brothers doing their quick kiss on the lips, but even more than those two things, showering together was the real catalyst to intimacy. The hugging under the shower spray and the exaggerated way of jerking each other off. Wow!
All our lives, we've been intimate to a degree. Him humping my leg, getting 'off' while watching TV together, and me allowing him to do his foot fetish stuff, and his squeezing my hand a million times. All those things that Chubby instigated made me wonder if he was gay, and it's me who turns out to be gay. I still don't know about Chubby.
In any case, I've never felt this close to Chubby before. I've always loved him like a brother, but it's been different lately. It all stems back to my acceptance of my gay nature, thanks to my super mentor, Carl Denton. He's been a super mentor, who has treated me roughly at times, and who is fading in my mind sex-wise; now remembered more as a mentor that sex partner. Willie's my boyfriend, so...
Anyway, I'm back to a major concern and it's Chubby walking bowlegged after spending two nights with that creep, Rickie. I'm not positive why he was walking like that, but Carl's long second fucks with me as he mentored me had my ass so strained and sore it was challenging to walk, and I walked home with cum rubbing my scrotum raw, my legs bowed. For me, though, remembering how incredibly hot Carl's fucking was and the climaxes I'd had, made it all worthwhile.
That was, obviously, early in my gay days, and the sex was a new thrill, one that beat all other thrills for me. I can think of a number of unflattering things about fat Carl, but he made out and fucked me super fine. He's pretty much part of my history now.
So, after having positive thoughts of Carl fucking me bowlegged, could it be that Ricky is fucking Chubby bowlegged, too? Chubby was grumpy and moody as hell when he got back from Framingham during the middle weekend of vacation. The way he was acting was a far cry from me basking in the glow of how hot Carl fucking my ass raw was, me walking home bowlegged from my mentor's house.
I want to tell Chubby I'm gay, but it's become a complicated thing if Chubby is taking it up his ass and hating it. If I tell him I'm gay, maybe he'll transfer some of that hate of Rickie fucking him towards me somehow. Life is complicated!
Arriving home, I volunteered to unload all the vacation stuff so the moms could go inside and have a gin and tonic. I hoped my magnanimous gesture would be rejected, and they'd both help me, but they said, "Thanks, sweetheart," and went inside. Swell...
I was sweating bullets by the time everything was humped to the basement storage. I took a shower and then called Willie. He was at a pool party that one of his Prep school friends was throwing. I could hear all the chatter in the background and music and, over top of everything, yelling and water splashing as people jumped in the pool. Willie was very upbeat; after he described the pool party scene, he gushed, "I wish you were here with me, Dylan. We could dance and swim and make out, and I'd get you shooting off in your pants again, and we'd have the greatest time!"
He talked dirty for a bit, but then he got sentimental and said I'd ruined him for other boys because now, when he ogles them, he compares them to me and loses interest in them.
I said, "Oh, tell me more." He wasn't at a gay party, though. They were all straight guys, but Willie is comfortable in all kinds of gatherings. He jabbered on about how he loves me. I could hear kids asking him who he was talking to or asking him to tell so and so the joke about this or that. It occurred to me that Willie is popular even though he is out as a gay guy at Prep school. That brought back all the questions about why he let Larry dominate him, and boss him around.
I was on the phone with him for over an hour. He told those who asked, that he was talking to his boyfriend and blah, blah, blah. We said goodbye only when his cell started losing power, and for the first time, I said, "I love you, Willie. Can't wait till Tuesday." He said, "It won't be long, baby. You know I love you, too. Call me tomorrow."
His line was static-filled at the end, but we heard each other's declarations of love. I felt so excited about finally telling Willie I loved him. It was a very nice conversation, and after saying goodbye, I stiff-legged into the half bath and masturbated, taking deep breaths, thinking about Willie fucking me. My foreskin was flying back and forth over the wet head of my boner. Closing my eyes and seeing Willie's cute face with the freckles at the bridge of his nose and his beautiful smile, I murmured, "I love you, Willie."
I squirmed back up against the sink with points of light flashing behind my eyes, then moaning, "It feels so good," and then that spectacular overwhelming feeling in my groin and the head of my cock. Gasping, I bit my bottom lip and shot out a hard, fast-moving load of cum! It was a hard stream of creamy teen cum splattering against the half bath's door.
Damn! That felt so good! Jesus, I kept squeezing my boner tightly, and my nuts pushed up a little more cum and a little more after that. Then, there was the great after-effect, leaving me shuddering with pleasure, and, finally, the after-climax lull, where everything was so calm, smooth, and excellent.
After cleaning up the mess, I put on pajama bottoms and got in the recliner. I felt dizzy and tired. I had that great climax, but even so, my eyes wouldn't stay open. Later, with a stiff neck, I opened my eyes and saw it was one o'clock in the morning. My first thought was, had Chubby gotten home yet? And is he walking bowlegged again? I went out the front door, being as quiet as possible, and there was that piece-of-shit SUV of Ricky's parked at the curb, the exhaust coming out of its tailpipe.
Am I imagining this, or is that fucking car rocking slightly? I was crazy thirsty, which I think is what woke me up, so I crept back into the house and went to the kitchen. I got an ice-cold can of Coke. I was drinking it at the window, spying on that SUV. Five minutes later, I'm done with the coke, but now I've got to pee.
Dammit! I don't want to miss Chubby getting out of the van, so I try holding off the piss. Fifteen minutes later, I'm going to pee in my PJ bottoms, so I hurry to my bathroom and pee as fast as I can, but pee can take a while and won't be rushed. I scurry back toward the window, hearing a car door slam. I see Chubby waving goodbye. He doesn't seem upset. I can see his white teeth shining in the street light, smiling. What the hell?
Running back to my bedroom, I grab my Marlboro Lights and, preparing myself to act casual, as if I couldn't sleep, I open my front door, and as soon as I step out, Chubby says, "Dylan! Hi! What luck!" I say, "Oh, Chubby. I came out for a smoke. Couldn't sleep. Um, you can't be just getting home from work, can you?"
He was in a great mood, and after taking my offer of a cigarette and lighting it, he explained he'd just finished straightening out everything with Rickie, and things should be better going forward. "Oh yeah? What things did you straighten out?"
Chubby goes, "Technical window washing matters," and I casually mumble, "Ah, Chubby, there isn't anything technical about washing a window." Chubby asks, "Why are we both smoking a cigarette instead of sharing one as we always do?" I mutter, "I don't know."
We look into each other's eyes and then, at the same instant, blow smoke in each other's faces while smirking at one another. We're glad to be together again, goofing around. The hell with giving Chubby the third degree. He'll tell me what's up with Rickie when he's ready to.
After thinking that, I couldn't stop myself from repeating my question, "What things, exactly, did you and Rickie straighten out?" Chubby didn't get mad; instead, he repeated the technique adjustments bullshit. Adding, "Evaluating the length of time between washings, or if screens are left on the windows year-round, or when there are trees near the house, etc. These things dictate when and what is used to get a professionally clean window. Rickie and I had different opinions about such matters... and other things.
Rickie said that even more importantly, Chubby, would be doing certain things that he resisted doing in the past. Chubby mentioned he needed to accept that.
It was catchy bullshit, pretty good lying, but I rolled my eyes. Chubby ignored that and went on saying he hadn't been respecting Rickie's position as the boss of their work crew. Tonight, though, he'd agreed to do precisely what Rickie wanted, the way Rickie wanted it. "In other words, Dylan, I stopped being a stubborn jackass and accepted that Rickie is in charge at work. We talked in the SUV tonight, right outside the condo. It was difficult at first for me to look up to Rickie and accept his criticism because he and I are the same age, we're classmates, and all that, but fuck, he's my boss, and I've got to do what he tells me. I admitted to Rickie that he was right and I was wrong. That's all there is to it. We're good now."
Should I believe this? Chubby stopped talking and took a drag off his cigarette, looking at me to see if I had anything to say. I shrugged because I had nothing to say. Later tonight, I'll think, "Damn, I should have said this or that..." Right now, all I was sure of was Chubby's entire explanation sounded like a convoluted bunch of double-talk. Which is another way of saying, it's a crock of shit. Sure, there was some truth in there somewhere, but most of it was the rationalized BS.
I'm standing in front of him with a puzzled frown. Chubby took a deep breath and quietly said, almost whining, almost desperate for me to approve, "Hell, Dylan, I had to admit that Rickie's tough approach to me broke my resistance down. I believed he was going to fire me at one point, and I couldn't have that, so I let my ego go and said I'd do everything he wanted, and I feel much better about it, too. Better than I've felt in a month. He has what I need, that ten-dollar and fifty-cent-an-hour job. There aren't many jobs like that around for us kids. When I gave in to him, Rickie told me I'd need to do some make-up, er, extra stuff to make up for my past defiance, but after that, if I do what I'm told, it should work out better for everyone, and I get to keep my job."
Chubby doesn't like authority figures, so him giving in to Rickie is hard to figure out. Chub has always been the king ay rationalizing things to his viewpoint, so that's what he's done here. I don't know if this about some forced gay sex, or is it about something else altogether?
Chubby flicked his cigarette butt high off the telephone pole across the street, and I followed with a flick of my butt that went off the side of Chubby's cargo shorts. He picked it up without comment and adroitly flicked it into the gutter. I said, "If you don't mind me asking, what are these so-called make-up penalty things you must do?"
Chubby goes, "Oh no, Dylan, you're not going to spoil my positive outlook by trying to find fault with Rickie's methods. I'm on board with him now. I can handle it just as I have in the past, and I gave him my word, so that's that. Save the cynicism for another topic. I'm good! I'm looking at things more positively for once, and I don't want to get into any particulars with you. That wouldn't serve any useful purpose. I can handle what I need to
do, and that's all you need to know."
I hugged him and pulled his head beside mine to say, "It sounds awful, Chubby; I'm worried about you." He goes, "No need to worry, I can handle this, and guess what? Rickie told me that if I keep this new, positive attitude, he'll keep me part-time when school starts in Steptember. That's important to you and me because we'll need to finance the car we buy, which means monthly payments, and don't forget the high gas prices, too. In that regard, here's something you should consider. There are always openings for bag boys at the start of a school year at Super Stop and Shop. Get your application in now, and you can help with the car payments."
Chubby was upbeat and excited for once, so what would be the point of questioning him further? Whatever is between Chubby and Rickie is staying between Chubby and Rickie for now. Pricky/Rickie insisting Chubby do things his way and then saying they'll be extra work as punishment for past attitudes reminds me of Willie insisting I do things his way or there could be some punishment. Fuck that! It's different because I love Willie; I know Chubby can't stand Rickie. I remember him saying we'd get even with people, Rickie included, at summer's end. So, now, maybe we won't.
Chubby was tired, so he headed for the stairs to his condo above Mom's and my condo, saying, "This was a good thing tonight between me and Rickie. I had to swallow my pride, but I did the right thing. Next year, we'll be getting ready to start college, and window washing will be left to that prick, Rick. Haha, I mean, to my boss, Rickie. You and I will be off to college. So, it's only for the next year at the most that I'll need to do it for him."
Chubby was still rationalizing, trying to convince himself more than me. I changed the subject and said, "Chub, it's still vacation. The last day. We should do our Wildwood sleeping-together routine one last time."
He stopped in his tracks, turned around slowly, then took a deep breath and said, real seriously, "Dylan, that's another thing I promised myself I'd take care of, and I might as well do it now. I was thinking about this on the bus Friday. It's that I've led you down a shaky path with all our goofing around stuff. The showering together and, you know, the other stuff. It's my fault for encouraging you to do that stuff. I've always been the touchy/feely kid, and you have always been reluctant to go along with it, but you do it for me anyhow. You're the best friend ever, and that's what I want us always to be: the best friends ever."
"We always will be, Chubby. What's wrong with our goofing around, though?" He pats my shoulder, "It's that you take our pretend homo stuff too far. It's fun and goofy, but you've taken it too seriously lately. I could cry sometimes the way you do things for me. You think too highly of me, Dylan. I'm so far from perfect; it's pathetic. We're almost in our senior year of High School, and it is past the time we put that stuff away. You do not want to get involved in any serious homo shit. Take my word for that.
In shock, I said nothing. We hugged, and he went up the steps to his condo. I walked into mine like I was in a trance. Where did all that come from? How did we get from that kiss on the lips in the shower on Thursday, all the way back down to almost nothing?
Thank God for Willie. I brushed my teeth again and crawled into bed. I'd already slept three hours tonight, so I lay here for a while trying to sort it out and came up with more theories. What good are theories, though? I'll bet my left nut that Chubby won't want to discuss this. His deal with Rickie, whatever the fuck it is, will have sunk in as stark reality by tomorrow, and Chubby will have second thoughts about it. Like buyers' remorse.
That's what I expect from knowing Chubby since birth, but to hell with my amateur psychology. The next morning, I was up early doing my morning bathroom routine, and then I snuck up to Chubby's, got the key from under the doormat where no burgler would ever think to look, and unlocked the front door. Quiet as a mouse, I go up the steps to Chubby's room.
Hmm, he's still deeply sleeping, looking like he's thirteen years old. The side of his cute face rested on his hands, which he had in the prayer position, his slim body in the fetal position under just a sheet, as the thin summer blanket was in a ball at the foot of his bed.
I leaned over him to enjoy the sexy smell rising with the heat from his body, and wanted to kiss his forehead like you might do to a sleeping child, but I didn't. I went to the other side of the bed and crawled under the covers just like I'd done two weeks ago. I had to hold my breath because it excited me to be next to him again like this. We'd spent the best two weeks in Wildwood sleeping together, and I missed it. Not daring to touch him after last night's lecture, my goal was to get myself as close to his body, without actually touching him, but still sharing his pillow.
Well, hell, yeah, I'm touching him and feeling the smooth skin on his arms, body, and legs. Lifting away slightly, lying beside him gives me a wicked hard boner. I played with my boner for a bit, and then I dozed off because it was so early, and the next thing I knew, Chubby was up on his elbow next to me, shaking me. I opened my eyes, and Chubby, red-faced, said, "We just agreed last night not to do this kind of thing anymore. It was just last night we agreed!"
I said sheepishly, "I wasn't doing anything." He lightened up some and mutters, "Damn, I'm sorry I yelled, but we're quits with all that stuff, right?" I asked, "Why do we have to be quits? We're not hurting anyone or anything. It's fun to be with you, you know, hugging and whatnot."
When Chubby got out of bed, I noticed he had himself a semi-boner, and he tried to hide it from my view, turning his back to me. He went into his bathroom, calling out, "You take things too seriously when goofing around. I don't want to lead you on."
I heard his pee hitting the toilet water, and a minute later, his electric toothbrush started up. I walk to the open door of the bathroom, and said, "If I promise not to take it seriously, can we go back to our old ways, like in Wildwood?"
He finishes brushing, probably thinking about what to say to my question. A small shake of his head, and he says, "Nah, we should break away from the kid stuff and move on. We'll keep working our jobs, get driver's licenses, pay for auto insurance, finance a nice used car, and we'll be seniors in high school getting ready for college. We won't be twelve-year-olds playing with our peckers."
He chuckled, making sort of a joke out of it; then added, "I already told you all that goofy homo stuff was my fault. You were the sensible one all along; why the change?"
I told him I'd come around to his way of thinking. "Ever since that fight that put you in the hospital, Chubby, I've come to appreciate you, and, well, physical contact is a good thing; it's very therapeutic."
Chubby goes, "Hey, you're good, bro! That's compelling rap right there, but I don't buy it. You're too impressionable, and I've misled you. Now I want to fix it."
I said, "It ain't broke, so it don't need fixing!"
He snickers and says, "It was listing badly." I was giving up on the argument for now. Chubby wanted to take a shower and then skip the regular Sunday breakfast for the Moms, "Instead, Dylan, how's about you get four breakfast sandwiches at Dunkin'? With coffee, that will be this Sunday's breakfast." I muttered, "Yeah, sure," and went to my place to finish getting dressed.
On the sidewalk, just outside our condo, I heard. "Hey, slick! Hold up." Turning around, I see Mom's Framingham boyfriend, Jake Rollins, swaggering toward me. He snottily slurs, "What the fuck did you do to your hair, douchebag? Christ kid, you're one of the lucky ones, like me, with great-looking hair, but you keep getting ridiculously short haircuts every fucking time I see you. What's up with that? Here, show me some love, Dylan." He's very drunk.
He was right in front of me with his arms outstretched like he expected a big hug. "Come on, kid, don't leave him hanging like this!" I mutter, "Oh, Mornin', Mr., ah, Jake." He's wiggling his fingers like, come on, let's hug, so I stepped into him lightly and barely put my arms around him. He gets me in a big bear hug, twisting me slightly to the right, then the left, murmuring, "Mmmm, you smell good, dude. I'll bet your boyfriend likes that smell, although I'm not sure he'll like this fucking haircut too much."
Even with my head crushed against his shoulder, I could smell alcohol on his breath. "You are one good-looking kid, alright. Anyone ever tell you that?"
I talked into his shoulder, "Oh, thank you, Jake. I believe you mentioned that very thing to me before." Jake let loose of the hug, but got an arm around my neck in a semi-headlock, put his face down to almost touch mine, and said, "You can't help yourself, can you? You've always got to be a smartass, a wiseass punk. I'm trying to be nice to you, kid, and what do I get from you, huh?"
Why does this shit always happen to me? These dangerous bullies!
To be continued...
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