DYLAN!
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
Sex with Robby was excellent. I'm using wet paper towels to clean my cock as he tells me he is getting a little suspicious of Dodger and Dodger's friend, Vinnie De Marco. I'm thinking, 'Uh-oh!'. Playing dumb, I say, "Vinnie De Marco? What do you mean?" Robby says, "I think those boys are messing around with their dicks."
Not wanting to get involved myself because it's a no-win situation. I mean, if I say anything, Dodger might think I outed him, and anything I say might indicate to Robby I already know about Dodger and Vinnie playing with each other's dick, which I do, and haven't told Robby. I could wind up with both brothers mad at me.
I mutter, "Dodger? Huh. Well, we knew what a horny kid he was. What'd he tell us that time? He jerks off four or five times a day or something. Anyway, lots of kids experiment with boy-on-boy sex. It's normal, more or less. I guess..." I was cleaning the cum off the back of Robby's legs as he said, "Yeah, I guess. I need to hurry now or be late to baseball practice."
Robby had his baseball uniform with him, but before putting it on, I folded a paper towel to lay in the bottom of his jockey shorts, which I then pulled up for him, mumbling, "Cum won't drip through that." As he pulled on the pants part of the uniform, I pulled his hair, saying, "You liked me being rough with you, huh?"
He was chuckling when he said, "Yep, and I know that makes me a perv, but you get me crazy, Dylan," he laid his head on my shoulder, pretending he was a little kid. It gave me a chance to kiss the side of his forehead. Oh God, I love how he smells. I said, "That's about as rough as I feel comfortable being, Robby. I wouldn't want to hurt you or anything." I hugged him and kissed him again.
I'm confused, but maybe I do love Robby more than Willie. Whichever one I'm with wins the number one spot in my heart. Hmmm, maybe that doesn't say much about me. Damn, I wish I had someone to talk to about stuff like this. I used to trust Carl with my personal sexual questions, but he doesn't want me hanging around nagging him for advice. That's what it seems like now that he's in college,
Robby's ready to go. He says, "We don't have enough time together, Dylan. I daydream about you." I confessed to Robby that I daydreamed about doing this with him, too. Haha, after calling ourselves a couple of queers, laughingly, we said a quick 'goodbye,' and I was out the door, jogging down the corridor toward the Framingham High School's newspaper office. My cock and balls and groin, and all around the top of my thighs, felt wonderful. Not that being sexually satisfied will be around all that long, but for now, it's feeling good.
I love gay sex with boys my age. I don't get nearly enough, but that's my problem. Oh man, that last thought is so not righteous of me. I should be grateful and thank my lucky stars that I met Carl Denton when I did.
He showed me I'm gay, and introduced me to gay sex in a very hot and sexy way. Carl's cousin Larry took advantage of me, but through him, I met Willie, and we've had some of the hottest sex together I could ever even fantasize about. I know that most boys my age don't have anywhere near as much sex as me, but that's their problem.
I've also been damn lucky that Elliot wants me to fuck him. That was just last Thursday afternoon, and I'd love to do that again soon. The hottest of all for me, though, is Willie when he totally dominates me, fucking my brains out. It's the hottest of the hots, and I shoot off some major cum loads that burn my dick, but feel so excellent at the same time. I'd like to have gay sex every single day, maybe twice a day. Or, like Eliott said, three times a day would be nice.
Yeah, well, I'm lucky to have it once or twice a week. I should press the issue with Elliot, that's what I should do. It seems Elliot and I can find more available time together than Robby and I, and certainly more than Willie and I. Elliot said he loves to get fucked, so surely, he isn't going to wait for Jay to get around to it. I'll approach Elliot about us fucking instead of waiting for him to approach me. Ho-ho, that's a plan!
I just fucked Robby, and here I am, planning more sex five minutes later.
Damn, it's so cool having sex, though. And I need somebody to fuck me, too! Where's Dodger when I need him, ha-ha. I can hardly wait for next Saturday when Willie will fuck me at least three times to make up for lost dates. I'll be waddling, not walking, when Willie's done with my boy pussy. I laugh at myself. I'm in a very good mood thinking about Robby and me just doing the nasty, and Elliot being a very good possibility, and speculating on Willie fucking me on Saturday. Whoa!
As I approach the newspaper room, I adjust my attitude a little. Reality is always right around the corner, and there it is, my senior editor's tiny office at the back of the room. Being senior editor of the school paper requires at least two afternoon sessions per week, and the sessions can sometimes last three hours or so. Still, it can sometimes be fun dealing with the kids, especially the underclassmen who look up to me. I was a fairly good writer as a reporter last year, but I don't do much writing as a senior editor. Now, I mostly edit and gently tell kids why their article sucks too much to be printed in the school newspaper. We still print it out on paper, but mostly, the newspaper is read online.
Last year, Carl was senior editor, and he appeared to enjoy being the hard-ass type. He frequently hurt kid's feelings, telling them how horrendous their proposed article was. I hate hurting the kids' feelings, so I work with them in an attempt to get their writing to an acceptable level, although that isn't always possible. Sometimes a kid is too pigheaded or arrogant, thinking he or she is better than he or she is, and they won't take advice. Whatever, it gets complicated, and further complicating the matter is that I get graded on the articles that I feel should be included in the newspaper. Graded by the faculty advisor, who is Mrs. Rosenbloom, this year, and everyone knows that she's a pain in the ass!
Oh well, I can't opt out of this job at this late date. Being senior editor has made a few enemies for me along the way, which is so unfair, but life ain't always fair. Some kids actually think I'm stuck up. I'm not, but because I can't review every project that comes in, every project some kid thinks must be interesting to everyone just because he's interested in it when in actuality it is so esoteric, not five percent of the students would give a shit about it. Oh, hell, why do I go on about this?
Saying "Hi, sorry to be late," to Mrs. Rosenbloom, we started going over last week's approved articles. She accepted some and rejected some. The monthly newspaper gets so bland by the time she has disqualified the articles I thought were interesting if maybe a touch edgy. I've given up trying to change her mind about anything, and frankly, I've given up trying to make the paper better, too. She doesn't inspire me, and in fact, she seems to have little interest in doing anything except protecting her own ass. She does that by keeping anything even slightly controversial out of the paper.
So, this faculty advisor is the reason I've lost interest, and am now just going through the motions. She should be leading the charge to improve the newspaper by infusing enthusiasm and pumping-up her senior editor, and then I'd pump up the reporters. As I said, I've often wished I could talk to Carl about this and other things, too. He certainly enjoyed fucking me, but he also mentored me about things. I learned stuff from him. Fat Carl turned out to be special, but as I said, he's lost interest in me. When he is home from college this summer, I'm going to try sucking up to him by telling him I think he's awesome, and maybe he'll let me blow him, which might lead to him agreeing to fuck me again. Fuck me until I'm walking bowlegged like he did last year. Goddamn, that was so hot!
Oh, well, I need to read and then discuss the proposed articles with the students, who are waiting outside my office. From the loud talking and laughter I'm hearing, I'd guess there are at least five or six of them. They're known as reporters, but most of them don't report anything. They do more of what would be considered feature article writing, like Robby, for example. Last year I recruited him to write some articles on what it's like to be a student athlete here at Framingham High. He took the assignment seriously, and his articles are quite popular. Anyway, glancing out the door, I think, Oh, good, it's Connor Neary. He's first in line, and he is super-nice. I motioned for him to come in.
I love looking at Connor, so our meeting might drag on for a while, probably pissing off Sara Nipple, who's next in line, but so be it. Connor writes for the paper's humor section, and usually brings some good jokes, along with funny incidences that happen to unlucky students, which is another way of saying, embarrassing incidents that happen to Freshman. There's even a chance Connor might be gay. If he's gay, he's deep in the closet, so maybe I'll run into him in there sometime. Ha-ha.
He has very dark brown, wavy hair that's too long, making it necessary for him to constantly finger-comb long hair off his forehead and out of his eyes. His skin is very pale, although not chalk white like an albino. Healthy-looking pale skin with big dark blue eyes that contrast fabulously with the dark hair and pale complexion. He is a very handsome boy, taller than me, so he's at least six feet tall and slim. His perpetual grin turns into laughter very easily, showing off very white teeth that look so perfect it's hard to believe they're real, but they are.
He always wears a blue or white long-sleeved dress shirt with a button-down collar. The collar is always left unbuttoned, and the long sleeves are always rolled up to his elbows, showing his thin, hairless, pale-skinned arms. Ripped jeans and sneakers complete his attire, and it causes me to wonder how many dress shirts and ripped jeans he owns. My guess is two of each. Most of us Framingham kids of all races come from poor families. Irish Connor Neary is no exception, and neither am I. Being poor is also why we avoid barbershops and learn to cut each other's hair or grow it too long to be cool, like Connor.
The first thing we do when he comes into the office is a one-arm hug, and a quick pat on the back, saying, "Dude, sup?" Then I asked, "Do you ever get your hair cut, Connor?"
He chuckles and goes, "You know, you ask me that every time I see you, Dylan?"
I go, "No shit. Do I? Well, what do you say every time I ask you?"
Grinning, he says, "I tell you that, yeah, I get a haircut occasionally."
I mutter, "Oh, okay," and we chuckle at our stupid stuff and review two humorous topics he'd written about, both of which happened to Freshman, and both had to do with dicks being exposed to the public. One via a broken fly zipper and the other when the boy's fellow Freshman locked him out of the gym naked.
I'm chuckling and shaking my head at the same time. "You know Mrs. Rosenbloom has zero sense of humor, and situations where students are showing their bare pee-pee probably won't get her to chuckle either, so those stories, as funny and perfect for the humor section as they are, won't make the cut. By the way, do you have any specific details about the pee-pees in question? You know, size-wise. That might be something she would find interesting."
I was joking, obviously, but Connor gave me a look that I wasn't sure how to interpret as he said, "Oh yeah, I got all the specifics about the pee-pees. Maybe you and I could work on an article about that together," and he raised his eyebrows in a humorous manner, leaving me to make a move, maybe. Hmmm? Cool looking boy, this Connor, but I just said, "Or, perhaps we won't. What else ya got?"
He had a joke, and it goes like this: The lady living next door to little Johnnie comes home from the hospital with her new baby, who, unfortunately, was born without ears. Johnnie's family is invited over to see the baby, and before they go, Johnnie's father warns him not to say anything about the baby having no ears... if he does, he's gonna get the world's worse bare-ass spanking. Little Johnnie tells his dad he understands, and off they go. Johnnie's parents assure the lady her baby is beautiful. When little Johnnie looks in the crib, he says, "Your baby has cute feet, cute hands, a cute nose, and beautiful eyes." Then he looked at the mother and asked, "Can the baby see alright?" The mother says, "Oh yes, the doctor expects baby to have 20/20 vision," and little Johnnie says, "That's lucky, cus' he'd be fucked if he needed glasses."
I laughed, then said, "No, Connor, perhaps we won't print that one in this issue." He told me four more jokes, each one dirtier, less politically correct, and funnier than the one before it. When Sara began knocking impatiently on the door to my office, we stopped screwing around and decided on a joke that wasn't all that funny, but would probably pass Mrs. Rosenbloom's scrutiny. As Connor was leaving, he said, "Sure you don't want to work on that pee-pee article with me, Dylan?" We looked into each other's eyes, and the look made me stutter, "Well, what... heh heh, yeah, maybe we should."
He shot me with his index finger, and said, "Any time, dude. You tell me," and he was gone. Damn, why would he come on to me like that? I wonder if he knows Dodger and if Dodger let something slip out about us sexily messing around once in a while. Of course, there are over five hundred sophomores, and Conner and Dodger are sophomores, so the chance they know each other is rather slim. Still, I wonder.
Damn, being in the closet sure complicates possible sexual situations.
If I were out like Jay or Willie, I'd ask Connor directly, "Are you coming on to me, dude? If you are, let's work something out. You're hot." That sure would be a better way to deal with life, but not yet for me. I'm still afraid of what Tris, my Mom, and Chubby will say about me being gay. I don't have enough self-confidence at this point in my life.
After Connor left, I worked through Sara's article with her. It was about abusive language in the corridors of the High School, and I quickly approved it. Two more Juniors had terrible stories; one said he knew it was terrible, but it was extra credit for him if he at least tried to get something printed in the school newspaper. Swell, now I'm the foil for him getting extra credit. I wasted fifteen minutes critiquing his paper, marking it up, and then rejecting it. He took it to his Lit teacher and got the extra credit.
The other junior, an obviously gay student, was very impressed with himself and made faces of annoyance at anything I said that was critical of his proposed article, which was about the school's dress code; he was against it. The junior's name is Marcus Featherstone, and I've seen him talking with Jay a few times. Marcus lisps seemingly on purpose, and calls guys girlfriend. He's not generally well-liked by anyone because of that, and the aforementioned extremely high opinion of himself. He does write quite well, however, so I approved his article after a few changes that he begrudgingly agreed to.
Before leaving, he said, in a superior, lecturing manner, "You seem to know very little about writing, Newman, but you're not an asshole like so many of you straight boys. Do you guys work at being assholes, or what?"
I said, "That is an offensive comment, and if you're the slightest bit objective, you'll admit that you're actually the asshole for making a generalized statement like that."
He flicked a limp wrist at me and muttered, "Mmm-mmm, you gonna beat me up, Newman? Don't be so fucking macho; I already told you that you're an OK guy." He fluttered his head a bit, stood up, and in a girlie manner said, "If you ever want to switch sides, though, I'll give you a go; you're yummy." He laughed at the expression on my face as he sauntered out my office door.
You know, you can't win an argument or even have a point conceded with someone like Marcus. They know they're right, and they know you're wrong. Arrogance sucks! Never mind that, though, it's wicked odd to have had those two possible passes made at me this afternoon; one from Connor, who's maybe gay, and the other from a known gay student. Should I be flattered?
Well, I'm not the least bit interested in Marcus giving me a go, but Connor, that's another matter altogether. I wish I was more assertive.
I guess, as usual, it does come down to confidence. Something else I've been noticing lately, though, and this is definitely a recent development. It's that guys are asking my opinion about stuff. They're coming to me for advice, and that's role reversal for sure.
Outside my office, the last kid with an article was Ray Ellis, Elliot's hottie of a younger brother. He's a sophomore, too, like Dodger. I wonder if Dodger knows him, too? Like I mentioned earlier, Ray and Elliot don't look like brothers, but they're both sexy in their own ways. Elliot told me that Ray used to be brutish looking as a younger teen, but has grown into some sexy looks. Before the family moved to Framingham, Ray, or Raymond as he prefers to be called, was in with a scruffy crowd. Everyone has long, mangy hair, multiple piercings, and baggy, uncool clothes, but since moving here, he's been hanging with more preppy, cool kids, and his appearance reflects that. Short hair and neater clothes, but cool too.
He still has the earring but discontinued the other ear piercings and the nostril one.
I like Raymond's looks; he's sexy. I say, "Raymond, dude, let's go in the office."
Ray says, "Phew, I thought you were going to bump me till later in the week." He followed me back into my office, and I can't help but think that just a year ago, it was me who followed Carl into this very office, and a week later, he was fucking me... hooeeee!
Ray and I are about the same size and look about the same age. I look a year or so younger than eighteen, and Ray looks a year or so older than sixteen. He's got more of an olive complexion compared to Elliot's palish one, but they both have that vibrant, healthy-looking skin, and they both have nice facial features, different but nice-looking. I guess Ray's looks are a little courser than Eliott's pretty ones, Ray's totally macho.
Looking directly at him, I just realized there is something that's very similar to the brothers. When Ray smiled at me, it was the same smile, the same lips, teeth, and dimples as Elliot's smile. I'll bet Ray's popular with the girls. He's obviously straight, as he sure as hell can't be gay unless he's a world-class actor.
Anyway, with Ray sitting across from me, we went over his article, and I had to laugh. "Dude, Raymond, this is word for word from the Internet. Couldn't you change it a bit or add another source or something? This is plagiarism." He asks, "Play-ger- what?"
I laugh because, I don't know, he has a way about him that's sweet, not girlie sweet, innocent sweet. From what I've heard from Elliot about Ray, I'd never expected him to be sweet. Of course, everyone appears aggressive to Elliot. Anyway, we went to Ray's site, the one he copied the article from, and I cross-referenced a few things and, you know, juxtapositioned a few paragraphs and stuff like that, trying to make it an original work written by Raymond Ellis. It came out okay, and I finally put it in the approved pile. Approved by me, who knows what the faculty advisor will think.
I say, "Well, that does it, Raymond; we can get out of here now."
He stands and says, "Can I ask you something first, Dylan?"
I'm thinking, this is just what I was telling myself twenty minutes ago; guys are coming to me for a talk, some advice, and that is flattering. I adopted a sincere expression, hoping not to be pompous like Carl always was, and say, "Sure, Raymond, what's sup, dude?"
He wiped his face with his hand, mumbling, "It's kinda embarrassing, so can I ask you to keep all this confidential? Keep it just between you and me?"
I shrug, "Of course, consider it private," and Ray says, "You're a senior and all. The senior editor and everyone says you're a pretty good guy. You're someone you can trust. Well, not Mickey Reihon. He thinks you suck big time, but we all know about Mickey, and I guess Julie Martin thinks you're a snob. Un, and so does Tim Burton, by the way."
I put my hands up, and say, "Fuck them; what do you want to talk about?"
My feelings were getting a little hurt there. Ray gave me a little grin, and said, "Yeah, fuck them. I need to ask you something, just between you and me. Do you think my brother's queer?"
I'm thinking, uh-oh, here we go again. Robby asked me about his brother, Dodger, and now Ray's asking about Elliot. What I casually say is, "Do YOU think he is?" and Ray tells me he didn't use to, although, "Elliot's always looked like a fag, don't you think, but of course, he's never made a faggy move on me, or anyone I know. I didn't think he was queer until he began hanging with Jay Reeves. Everybody knows Jay's queer."
I shrug, "It's none of my business who's gay and who isn't. That's a private matter until the person wants to make it public."
Ray gives me a skeptical look and mumbles, "Excuse me, but that's kind of avoiding the question, ain't it?"
I shrug again, "Yeah, it is."
Ray says, "Well, that's not what I wanted to ask you about, anyway; not the main thing. The main thing is, ah, um, how does a guy know if he's queer or not? Not that I am; I'm just wondering if there's a definite way to find out about yourself. I didn't know who to ask, so I'm asking you. And remember, this is private; I think I can trust you, Dylan."
He's still standing in front of my desk chair with me sitting in my desk chair, staring at this sexy sophomore who is asking how he can tell if he's gay. This is an eerily similar situation to that of Carl showing my gayness to myself. Holy crap, what's with this senior editor position.
And I'd love to show Ray the world of gay sex. When he ran out of words, he was blushing. I'll bet he doesn't do that very often. I say to him, "Come on, Ray, be honest with me, dude. You're wondering about yourself being gay, not someone else, right?"
He looked down and blushed a little darker red, reminding me of his brother Elliot. Unlike Elliot, though, Ray can look you in the eyes, and when he looks up, that's just what he did to me. Biting his bottom lip, his face flushed, he looked me in the eyes and nodded slightly, mumbling, "I guess I do mean me."
It made me feel so mature that this normally macho younger kid would confess something of such a personal nature to me. He came to me with his problem. He's not acting macho now, so I tried to look real understanding and compassionate for him. I said, "First off, you came to the right guy. I care, and I'll help you."
He was growing on me. I like his looks, for starters. As I already said, Ray's sexy, and now that he's exposed himself by telling me this big secret, he appears vulnerable, too, which makes me like him even more. And did I mention he's sexy looking? Ha!
Oh man, I just had a hot fuck with Robby a couple of hours ago in the equipment closet, and already I'm thinking how sexy this hot sophomore is. I'm just being honest about stuff, and now that I'm at it, Ray may even be sexier than Elliot, but for a different set of reasons. Ray's a nice-looking kid with kind of a rugged appearance, so the parents must be extremely good-looking people, or maybe it's simply the mix of genes that's created sons who are so different, but still oh-so-hot.
Where Elliot is delicate-looking with thin limbs and a thin body, Ray is the opposite. He's quite muscular with strong, good-sized arms and legs, but not overweight at all. He's fit and tight, although he probably weighs twenty pounds more than me, and maybe forty pounds more than Elliot. Not only are the brothers different looks-wise, they're also different personality-wise. Elliot's shy and quiet, and Ray's usually bold and outgoing in that macho, tough guy way of his.
But, as I said, he wasn't acting very tough now. He was more like a little kid looking for help from someone older and more experienced, someone he respected, perhaps. Anyway, I hope that's why he's come to me for advice. Again, I thought about me and Carl Denton, about the way I ended up admiring Carl so much, which is odd in retrospect considering how I at first couldn't stand him. At first, I thought Carl was a fat, pompous loser with bad breath.
Christ, I hope Ray isn't thinking I'm a skinny, pompous loser or something like that. Nah, he doesn't. I can tell from his eyes, his body language, and the way he's talking to me that we're cool. Anyway, Carl came on to me, so it's not the same thing as this thing with Ray.
I asked, "What brought this on, Raymond? And, can I call you Ray; would you mind?"
He says, "Sure, you can call me that if you want, I don't mind. And, nothing brought this on, or rather it's not just one thing. Fuck, I feel like such a dork talking about this shit. It's hard to talk about, and it's so fucking hot in here."
"Yeah, it is hot in here, so let's take a walk outside."
He nods, and I get up, as he asks, "Do you think I'm a dork or a loser because I asked about queers? And, remember, I'm not saying I think I am one, I just wonder how I can know for sure. I'm not a loser, so don't think that. Not that I'm saying someone is a loser if they're queer, or hell, maybe some are."
We're walking while Ray's babbling. He has this nervous habit of not knowing when to finish his thoughts or his sentences. I'm listening, but I'm also looking at the side of his face, thinking that he has the same facial structure as Elliot; their heads are basically the same; it's just their facial features that are different. And I just had another thought. It's that Ray's complexion is very similar to Chubby's. I'll bet that's the reason for my initial attraction to Ray, and I am attracted to him.
Being attracted to him is all the more reason I don't want to take advantage of his current vulnerability. I'm guessing he probably feels vulnerable for telling me about his gay worries.
He continues talking in that pleasant boyish voice, rationalizing, rambling on, which is another opposite personality trait from Elliot. I let him talk until we'd walked off the school grounds to the brick wall separating school property from wetlands. We can sit on the wall to talk, and I can smoke here without getting in trouble. I gestured at the wall, and we stop. Ray was into an explanation of why he wasn't a homophone, blab, blab, blab... and I held up my hand to say, "Excuse me, Ray, sorry to interrupt, but would you like a Marlboro Light? I'm hooked on this damn smoking habit."
I was getting a cigarette out for myself as I asked him that. He goes, "Oh, I don't smoke, but I don't mind if you do." The interruption seemed to break Ray's train of thought, and he stopped talking.
Lighting my cigarette, I took advantage of Ray's silence by saying, "First off Ray, I need to clarify something, and it's this; I don't officially know shit about how you can tell for sure if you're gay. Truth is, I don't know shit about a lot of things, but I can definitely give you my uneducated opinion on any topic, including this one, if you want it."
Later that day, I thought of a way to tell if a person's gay. It has to do with what he fantasizes about when masturbating. What stimulates a person's sexual arousal? I think of things after the fact.
Anyway, Ray looked startled by my admission of incompetence. As I took a drag on my smoke, his expression morphed into a puzzled look, followed right away by that little cute grin that both he and Elliot have in common, and he said, "Damn, Dylan... that's cool of you to admit that. Most guys can't admit they don't know something; most guys bull shit about stuff they don't know anything about. I guess I knew you weren't a genius or something, just a smart kid, so I guess your opinion will help, um..."
I held up my hand again, and smiled at my verbose companion, then said, "No, no... I understand. Something occurred to me and even though it's weird that I'd notice something like this, I gotta tell you about it. Ah, well, it's about your smile. Did you know you and your brother have the exact same smile?"
Ray gave me a look like what the fuck does that have to do with anything, then he did that shy, little-boy version of the Ellis boys' grin again, the one I've seen Elliot do so often, and mumbled, "No, I didn't know that, but I'll bet you just came up with that little gem of information to get me to shut-up?"
He chuckled and added, "Am I right? I know I can't stop talking sometimes, but since you mentioned Elliot, I gotta say he's one of the reasons I'm wondering about myself being queer."
This is hitting awfully close to home since I just fucked Elliot last Thursday, and the memory had me adjusting the crotch of my jeans. Almost afraid to say it, I go, "Elliot's one of the reason you think you may be gay, how's that?"
He used twice as many words as were necessary to tell me about the episode of brother sex that had almost broken out at the end of last summer. Coincidentally I'd gotten a smidgen of information about this topic from Elliot last week, now I got the whole story. It seems Ray's best friend was into having his younger brother suck his cock. The little brother then got his asshole plugged with big brother's boner. Ray's quite convinced, was adamant, in fact, that his friend isn't gay. Not gay, just playing around getting his rocks off.
The big brother being straight is a very dubious possibility, but I didn't say anything. Apparently, the kid's little brother was fine with getting fucked, and Ray, being a bit of a follower, was talked into getting his own brother involved in a four-way brother-sex-a-thon.
Elliot is the older brother, but would qualify as the little brother because of his size. Ray said it would only work for him if he got to play the big brother role to Elliot's little brother role.
Maybe I need to get in touch with Ray's friend. Anyway, when I'd adjusted my hardon, Ray went on to explain why it's occurred to him the need to discover a fool-proof method of finding out if he's gay. There are two reasons: Elliot is hanging with Jay Reeves, who is gay, and last summer Ray, and his buddy drank some booze, getting wasted, and at home later in his wasted condition, Ray stuck his tongue in Elliot's mouth. Elliot didn't like that, but to Ray's surprise, he enjoyed licking Elliot's tongue. He'd started boning up when he rubbed tongues with his brother, and he's been thinking about that for the past six months.
So, for that reason and because Elliot is now hanging with a known gay, Ray thinks Elliot's gay, too, and maybe it runs in the family. He's had this on his mind for some time and finally worked up the courage to come to someone for advice. Sort of like I started doing with Carl Denton while discovering I was a homo. The rest of the story is that Ray never got a chance to experiment with sex because his friend and his friend's little brother got caught in the act of anal intercourse, and the older brother is now a student at the Valley Forge Military Academy.
Finished my smoke, I accidentally flicked the butt off Rays backpack, which thankfully he didn't notice. Kicking at the butt, I say, "Ray, why haven't you ever asked Elliot to do some brother sex, just him and you. You were gonna do it if your friend and his little brother were involved? Elliot might tell you if he's gay."
He makes a face, and said, "Yuck! I don't want to do queer stuff; I just happened to like the feel of Elliot's tongue on mine. That's the extent of it."
He went on to explain, in agonizing detail, that if his friend was showing him and Elliot how to do everything, and how with all four of them messing around together, it didn't seem like queer stuff. It seemed like what his friend said it was; brothers messing around for fun and laughs while getting their rocks offs in the process. It would seem no more serious to him than the youthful circle jerks Ray participated in at age thirteen or fourteen. To Ray, doing something with just one other boy, would seem queer.
Jesus, what convoluted thinking. It's more like Ray is rationalizing his interest in sex with a guy. Everyone rationalizes things when they think they need to, not just us teen boys. It seems fairly clear to me, though, that Ray has strong leanings toward homosexuality, and he's rejecting most of the obvious indications because he doesn't want to see himself as a homo. The few leanings that he hasn't rejected resulted in this quest to find some sort of test that spells it out for him.
He undoubtedly wants a so-called test that'll prove he's straight, not prove he's gay. It's hard for some kids to accept that they've been born differently and experienced nurturing differently than the vast majority of their peers. I feel bad for him, I really do.
My next question gave Ray that quizzical look again. I asked, "Do you like brussels sprouts?"
He goes, "Fuck no! Dude, they suck."
I say, "What do they taste like?"
Ray makes a face, shrugs his shoulders, and says, "I don't know, is it cabbage? I'm not eating those little fuckers."
I say, "See?"
He goes, "What...?" and I tell him that probably he's not going to like brussels sprouts if he does eat one, but he won't really know that for a fact until he does. He can't be positive that he doesn't like them until he actually tries one.
Ray's no dummy, so he says, "So, you're saying I can't be sure I wouldn't like diddling with another boy until I do it and find out for sure."
Trying to soften the concept, I say, "Yeah, but it doesn't need to be with Elliot, and it's just a suggestion. It's only my opinion. And it doesn't mean you're gay even if you do like it; maybe you're bi; some guys claim they're bi."
He looked thoughtful and for once stayed silent, thinking about what I just said, I guess. After a bit, Ray takes a big breath, scrunching his face, undecided. I'm watching his chest expand and his biceps grow, thinking how sexy he is. As a tiny vein is pulsating at his temple, he mumbles, "I don't know, Dylan. Did you ever try any gay stuff?"
I say, "Sure, and it was okay, but I'm not about to label myself gay, or bi, or straight just yet."
Then I worried he'd ask if I've ever tried sex with a girl because what would I say to that? Lie, I guess, or keep it vague. Ray was nodding, unwrapping a piece of gum. Hmm, maybe I should have lied and said I'd never tried anything gay. Dammit! Ray, chewing his piece of gum, offered me some, and when I took a piece, he gave me his little boy shy half-grin and quietly said, "I know this contradicts what I said earlier about doing something queer, but would you try some queer sex with me, Dylan? It would be as an experiment only, so I can test your theory. I trust you."
I must have had a weird expression because Ray quickly added, "You and I could do whatever it was you said you'd tried with a guy. That's all, and nobody will ever know about it."
Good God! Less than five days after Elliot asked me to fuck him, his brother is asking me, as an experiment, to join him in some unspecified gay sex. Since coming out to Carl, I've been on a magic carpet ride, sex-wise. I managed not to jump up and down screaming, yes I'll have sex with you, you sexy thing!
Calmly, I mumble, "Gee, I don't feel qualified, not totally, although I'd like to try helping you Ray because I respect you for having the balls to discuss this kind of personal thing with me."
Ray put his arm around my shoulders and squeezed, saying, "Elliot's right about you, Dylan; you're a rocking dude, and thanks." Then he laughed, saying, "This is wicked awkward though, huh? The two of us talking about this stuff. I can tell you're not gay, and I'm almost sure I'm not either, but being almost seventeen, I'm confused. Did you feel that way?"
I nodded and muttered, "Yeah, I guess, but we all do grow up eventually, but the bottom line is that I'm willing to experiment with you."
He immediately asks, "Is anybody home at your house this afternoon?"
I can't hardly believe this, then realize I'm playing with myself. Ray doesn't notice me playing with myself as he looks excited. Taking my hands out of my pockets, I calmly said, "No, nobody's home during the afternoons on weekdays, but you and I need to think about this more to be sure. How about we wait until Thursday? You tell me what you think about the idea then."
Ray didn't seem disappointed; in fact, he appeared relieved and left me worrying that I'd blown my chance with him. He'll probably change his mind after thinking about the reality of us actually participating in homosexual activity, but I do not want to be an older guy taking advantage of Ray. I've got a conscience. If I blow this chance with sexy Ray, at least I'll know I did the right thing.
Ray mumbles, "I sure made the right decision coming to you. I don't want to get goofy/corny, but I respect the hell out of you, Dylan." He held out his hand, and we did the fast handshake-one-arm-hug and pat-on-the-back with me mumbling, "No problem, dude!"
Ray took off, telling me he'd catch up with me on Thursday. I waved goodbye, again thinking I may have blown that opportunity. In my heart, though, I knew this course of action is the right one. It makes the most sense, and is the responsible thing to do. If he comes back Thursday with the same request, well, good for me! I went looking for Elliot's boyfriend, Jay; he's my ride home this afternoon.
Jay was in the auditorium rehearsing the high school's musical production of The Sound Of Music ... ugh! I had to sit and watch the rehearsal for half an hour before Jay could get away. The last fifteen minutes of my wait, Elliot was with me, his marching band practice got out early today.
We whispered back and forth trying not to disturb the performers, but still got a few stern looks from Mrs. Cronkite, the faculty adviser for the show.
Elliot's short hair brushed the side of my face as he whispered, "I'm getting that, you know, um, what do you call it? Ah, that itch to have you and me, you know, do it again."
He smells good even after marching around blowing a trumpet with the high school band on the football field for two hours. Elliot's got a natural, yummy scent, even when perspiring. I read a book for last semester's Senior English class titled The Persian Boy, by Mary Renault. The book's about Alexander The Great, an admitted homo, or at least bi-sexual. The story's Historical fiction with emphasis on the historical part, and in the story, it stated that Alexander had a natural sweet body odor, even after doing battle.
Anyway, that's what I'm talking about here when I refer to how nice someone smells. I guess it's a gene that they have, or something. Elliot has it, both the Dickers brothers have it, and of course, Chubby, who smells so good I get boned-up, has the gene. Willie has more of a sexy odor, I can't describe it any better than that.
I whispered to Elliot, "I'll do it with you any time, dude, but I'm going to start charging you for my time."
Even Elliot's sharp enough to know that was a joke, and he giggled with his great dimples showing; so fucking cute. He whispered, "Well, when can we, you know, do it?"
I'm thinking, not tomorrow cause Robby and Dodger are coming over for haircuts after school, and after that, I've got to work at Stop & Shop.
Chubby will be home from his window washing job when I get home from work, so Elliot couldn't come then. What's happening Wednesday?
I whisper, "Probably Wednesday. I need to check my work schedule, but we can do it either right after last class, or after my Stop & Shop shift at five. Okay?"
He whispers, "I'm excited and nervous again, but it was so cool last time."
I mumble, "We're on, then. I'll tell you Wednesday morning what time."
I was back to playing pocket ball again, YES! Things are rocking for me, and Saturday is my date night with Willie, so I've also got that going for me! I'm hoping for a sleepover at his house, too. Omigod, all this potential sexy fun has my ass squirming in my shorts just thinking about it.
Also, I'll be with Robby Friday night, but whether or not we get time alone is the big question. Us guys do lots of stuff in groups, so Robby and I will need to sneak away. Yeah, that fuck he and I had in the equipment room has me wanting more, more, more. Damn, my sex life is hopping and rocking big time! That's my magic carpet ride!
Finally, Jay drove me home and then drove Elliot and himself to his place to hang out together, but since they didn't invite me to hang out with them, it might be a tad more than hanging out that they're up to and good for them.
Then, oh shit, there's Jack Rollins' car in front of our condo. What's he doing here?
(Author's note: What Jake is doing here is not going to turn out well for you, Dylan.)
To be continued... donnymumford@comcast.net
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