Green Room 29
GREEN ROOM
Chapter 29
(c) 2006
Regardless of what sort of reaction I'd get, I phoned Brett. His moods were unpredictable, but this time I was in luck.
"Hey, mate, wanna rock over here for a while?" he said cheerily.
"I thought you were mad at me. You've been so damn quiet all week. You hardly said a word when we walked home this afternoon."
"Sorry, mate. It's the pressure of study and stuff. I'm still in uniform."
"Don't change `til I get there!"
"Pervert."
Brett opened his front door and greeted me with a grin, then I followed him to his room. He was a very tidy person who took quite a while to change out of his school uniform, neatly folding and hanging his clothes. "Hey," I asked when he was almost finished. "You gonna stay in your boxers?"
"Yep."
"Why?"
"'Cause I feel like staying in my boxers, that's why. And if you stop staring at me long enough you can strip down to your boxers as well."
"I'm wearing briefs."
"So?"
My briefs were my favorite; white with a pouch and narrow sides. "That's the only prob with white briefs," I said as I stepped out of my shorts, "the wet spot makes them see-through."
"What wet spot?"
"The one I'm gonna get. That's why I tuck my dick down into the pouch."
"You should swim in those briefs. I'll take Susan along to watch. She'll get so horny she'll wanna make love all night."
"She fancies me, huh?"
"Get stuffed. She digs white briefs."
There we were, two horny teens in their underwear with neither having the courage to initiate some sort of shenanigans. Instead, we spent a while in the kitchen where Brett rustled up some food that we took back to his room. I sat on the side of his bed while he chose the chair at his desk.
"You still missing Rick?" he asked.
"A stack. But don't gimme that crap about your being a substitute again."
"Chill. I've had a chance to think about it. It's cool."
"Can I massage you?"
"Go for it."
I stood behind him and worked his powerful, silky-smooth shoulders. Occasionally, my hands explored his awesome pecs and squeezed them. He didn't seem to mind. Then, when I saw the telltale wet patch on his boxers, and the evidence of a major hardon, I reached down to the elastic waistband. He took my wrists and returned my hands to his shoulders.
"Sorry."
"No biggie."
"Can you stretch? I wanna see something."
"Like what?"
Yeah, right, as if he didn't know. "Just stretch!" He clasped his hands on top of his head and leaned back. "Wow! Every pec and ab muscle is screaming down there!"
He allowed my hands to glide over his exquisite definition before calling a halt. "Piss off, Kyle. I should've known better."
"If I were Susan you'd let me play a little."
"You're not Susan," he laughed, "so shuddup." Then he stood, pointed to his chair and asked me to sit and stretch the same as he did. His fingers lightly explored the contours of my chest and abs. Then something weird happened. His hands began to shake and he withdrew.
"What's wrong?"
"Nothing."
The phone rang at that very moment and Brett wasted no time answering it. The caller was Susan. He explained he had to go see her.
"You better change your boxers."
"What for? One wet patch is the same as another."
"So how come you got a wet patch now?"
"I gotta go, Kyle."
"Answer my question."
"Hey, I dunno why. Okay?" he replied sharply as he dressed hurriedly. "We're all a pile of guts, mate, made from chemicals that do their own thing. I don't know why certain things happen, they just do."
"Thanks for inviting me over."
"Cool, bro. And I'm sorry for being moody lately."
"We're mates. Don't stress."
"Thanks."
One afternoon during homework in my room, Brett paid a surprise visit. He explained he couldn't stay long but that he needed to talk. There was a problem at the pizzeria. "You gonna quit? You make good bucks there."
"No, I'm not gonna quit but I sure as hell felt like it today," he said, planting his butt on the side of my bed. "I worked a long shift and felt pretty damn bushed when one of the kitchen staff stuffed up an order. The customer complained so I had to pay for the damn pizza. I was so mad I got into an argument in the kitchen."
"They gonna fire you?"
"Nah. I just needed to tell somebody."
"Somebody?"
"Hey, mate, you care what happens. Okay? Apart from Susan you're the only one who does."
"Have you seen Mitch's eye? It's taking ages to heal. You must've clobbered him good."
"He deserved it. Anyway, I gotta jet. Thanks for listening."
"No worries. Anytime. Hey, when's your birthday?"
"October 17. Why? Oh, I see. Hey, listen, Kyle, don't go making any fuss, okay? I don't need that kinda shit."
Friday rolled around and Brett gave me one helluva workout in the ring. Afterwards, in the showers, I complained. "Were you trying to hurt me? Because you did!"
"You know what to do if you can't take it."
"I can take it, Brett, but we're supposed to be training not trying to kill each other."
"Whatever."
I hated that word, and his offhandedness. "Has SFB been at it again? I worry about you, Brett. I wonder if you'll get married and think it's no big deal to climb into your kids."
"Jesus, Kyle, don't you have enough to worry about already without worrying about what might happen in ten years? For fuck sake, drop it."
One morning I did lose it. I ripped off my headgear and gloves and bitched, "Okay, Brett, you can keep your fucking boxing." But I was back next morning, and flattened him twice.
One weekend, Susan and Melanie organized a `girls night out' so Brett and I played pool at a local pub. We sat at a table, opposite each other and, for a while, sipped our beers and watched the other pool players. Then, unexpectedly, Brett giggled. "I would never have seen us as mates. I used to see you hanging out with the swim team and thought what an arrogant prick you were; always loud, always laughing, always full of shit. Hell, Kyle, you still are! Then I got this brainwave. Because you're such a short shit, and there was no way you were gonna challenge me, I shouted `faggot' across the quad just to burst your arrogant ass-bubble."
"Got to you, though, huh?"
"When you walked up to me, I had this thing about really putting you down. I was gonna send you flat on your smart ass. When you hit me, I knew you were dead meat. I was determined to hurt you and I did. So why did you bother?"
"Bother what?"
"To visit me in hospital? I thought you'd be the first to party."
"Nah. I had to see you in hospital `cause I knew you'd be naked under the sheets."
"Fuck off, Kyle. Jesus! I'm trying to be serious here."
"So am I." Brett raised his hand and threatened to smack me. "So you hated me `cause I was always laughing?"
"It pissed me off. So, why did you visit me in hospital?"
"To make sure you were hurting bad."
"You must've been pretty pleased, then."
"No," I admitted. I came to see if you were okay because I liked you."
"For hurting you?"
"No. Because you're the tough, macho, Rambo type nobody fucks with. You were a challenge for me."
The conversation drifted to school, the girls, swimming, Brett's mom and SFB, before Brett made a surprise announcement. "My dad called. Actually, he called a few times since Father's Day. He wants me to visit him in Perth for the school holidays."
"You gonna go?" I asked, as if he were about to disappear out of my life.
"Probably. I've been thinking about it quite a bit. Hey! Stop looking so down! It's only a week."
"I'm not down. Visiting your dad is cool."
"It's just that he's been on my mind lately, and I'd like to get a good relationship going. I really fucked up as a lightie, and he did his best. Well, the best he knew how, anyway."
The conversation, probably the most meaningful we'd had to date, was so engrossing, time evaporated. I invited Brett to sleep over, "my folks are out `til the wee hours and I'm scared of the dark."
"I don't have my PJs with me."
"I got some really cool invisible ones."
A gourmet chef I was not, but Brett seemed happy with my toasted sandwiches, as well as the fact that I was fussing over him. We took the food out to the pool where we sat on the edge and dangled our feet. The underwater lights provided a shimmering, liquid canvas of dancing blues and whites and greens that proved too enticing for Brett to resist. "The water's like ice," he commented. "Wanna get wet?"
"You're kidding."
"Nope, I'm amped for a swim."
A few seconds later, I swam naked. Brett hesitated a moment before stripping, then dove in. I tackled him from behind, but he instinctively reached for my nuts and squeezed them hard, forcing me to release my grip. Then he quickly retreated to the steps and giggled but I was right behind the bastard. "It's not funny!" I complained, and cupped his balls in my hand.
"If you hurt me, Kyle, you're dead."
"They're huge--more than a handful--and they hang like a boxing spring ball."
"Just remember what I said."
In a timeless void that was exclusively ours, we swam around each other in circles, allowing our fingers to drift along the entire length of the other's body. It was a highly erotic water ballet using spontaneous choreography. A couple of times, we swam underwater at the deep end, each circling the other, and admiring the other's body. Eventually, Brett headed for the wall, heaved himself out of the water, and sat on the edge with his legs dangling. No longer was the water chilly. No longer did it matter. "You got a silly grin on your face," I said as I arrived between his knees. "What's so amusing?"
"This is so crazy it feels ordinary. I mean like natural ... and special. A while ago I could never have anticipated my being in such a situation."
"Like?"
"Like ... okay, can I say something without you doing an amateur Freud?"
"Shoot."
"I sometimes wonder what it would be like for a guy to be blown by another guy. And just now, underwater, I was waiting for you to take a chance, and wondering how I would react if you did."
"So, what would you do?"
"Because it's you? Probably nothing." Then he smiled and added, "maybe I'd even get a kick out of it." My arms rested on his thighs while my fingers played with his abs and belly button. "I'm not sure I'd have the guts to blow another guy," he said.
"In case the word got out?"
"It's not that. I'm just not sure."
"Would you let me blow you?"
"Not right now. But seriously, if I wanted a guy to blow me then I guess it would be you."
"Wanna have a competition to see who's best?"
"Best at what?"
I raised my fist. "Champion jacker! We play in the water and see who's first to grab the other guy's dick and jack him. First to cum is the loser."
"I'll take you on," Brett grinned as he slipped back into the pool. "But only because you think I'm too scared, you little fuck."
For the next few minutes, we sent tall sprays of water in all directions while we giggled, splashed, wrestled and writhed in a tangle of arms and legs. However, it was all over when Brett grabbed my boner and jacked it. In no time, long ribbons of thick juice rose to the surface, bobbing around like lazy invertebrates.
Brett exited the water with a dolphin's leap. "Chicken," I yelled.
"I'm not swimming in your jizz!"