Invited

Chapter 23

( Pat Summers )

Monday night, early March, winter hanging on tenaciously, I stay in my room until almost seven-thirty. Okay, however, it's time to get moving. I go downstairs, put on my puffer winter coat, mumble to Mom, "Billy and I are going to hang out," and then quickly exit before Mom can ask probing questions.

Moving from one foot to the other, I wait outside, expecting tonight to be disappointing in more ways than one because Pat will be with us. With him here, there won't be any messing around, which is a big disappointment.

Not only that, but there will probably be other annoying things, like Pat sitting up front in my seat when they pick me up. That should be my seat, but if I make an issue of it, I'll look like an asshole. Plus, they'll be talking about going to community college together, and then Pat is way better at small talk than me.

Maybe the worst thing of all, though, is that I'm used to being Billy's center of attention, and now I need to share that spot. And another thing is how impressed Pat is with Billy. He's already idolizing him, and he's pretty damn obvious about it too, and Billy eats that shit up.

Yeah, all these are valid reasons for me to be pissed off, and maybe they're even legitimate grounds for me to pout, but I'm not going to do that. Nope, I'm determined to take the high road and be a good sport about everything.

Okay, good; I see Billy's SUV coming down the street now. I walk to the curb, seeing Billy and Pat laughing at something. As I'm getting in the back seat, Pat looks back at me with a grin, "Hi, Gary. Billy told me about the first time you saw him eating Butterscotch Krimpets."

Forcing myself to grin, I'm like, "Oh, yeah? Ha-ha." Then stop, and ask, "Um, what was funny about that?"

Driving away, Billy says, "Me putting the whole thing in my mouth, my cheeks bulging out, and you, being your usual super-nice self, pretended there was nothing weird about me doing that."

The SUV reeks of AXE body spray, and it's not from me; I didn't use any tonight. Pat looks back at me again, "Billy and I are going to buy a pack of Krimpets to eat with our beers. Do you want me to get a pack for you too?"

Goddammit, Butterscotch Krimpets are Billy's and my thing!

Billy drives onto the convenience store's parking lot. He parks and then gives a ten-dollar bill to Pat. Sounding irritated, he says, "What is the matter with you, Pat? Of course, buy Gary a pack of Krimpets. Um, and you've got your own money, so buy a pack of cigarettes for yourself while you're at it."

Pat, seeming contrite now, says, "Oh, sure. I didn't know, um, if Gary likes Tastykakes."

Billy nodded, "Uh-huh, sure. Listen, you can assume Gary is always included in everything I do. Okay? That way, you can't go wrong."

Getting out, Pat smiles and mumbles, "Oh, okay. That makes it easy."

The door closes, and Billy looks back at me and says, "Hi, boyfriend. C'mon up front. Pat can sit in the back."

Shrugging, I go, "Nah, that's okay. It might hurt his feelings."

Billy goes, "So what? Anyway, I can barely breathe with all the cologne he's got on."

Grinning, I get out of the back seat and get in the front. Billy leans over to bump his nose on my cheek, smiles, and says, "You smell a helluva lot better than Pat from Delaware," then squeezes my shoulder, smiling at me.

I stare into his eyes, "I love you." He smirks, "Yeah, I know you do."

The passenger door partially opens, then Pat says, "Oh!" closes the door, and then gets in the back seat, saying, "I didn't see you in the front at first, Gary."

Billy backs out of the parking spot, mumbling, "I begged Gary to sit up here because your cologne was 'effing gagging me. No offense intended." Then he chuckles, asking, "Did the bottle of cologne break?"

Pat goes, "No, but it's gagging me too, ha-ha. I overdid the AXE body spray. Sorry."

Billy hits my arm and mutters, "Would you crack your window, babe?" Then, after a minute of silence, he says, "I'm sure you guys know that ambergris, which is sperm whale shit, is a prized scent used in high-end fragrances. We can all agree no ambergris is part of AXE body spray."

Pat mutters, "Whale poo, eww," and Billy chuckles.

Pat jabbers on about his old high school's football team as Billy drives to the Sears parking lot. Parking the SUV behind the dumpster, Billy says, "I'll leave the car running to keep it warm inside, but we need to smoke the grass outside. If we have a window open, we could probably smoke cigarettes in here because my Dad smokes, but he doesn't smoke weed, so..."

Pat asks, "Is it, um, safe in this parking lot? I mean, don't the cops come around?"

Ignoring that, Billy rubs my head, asking me, "What do you want to do first, Gary, have a beer and eat our Tastykakes, or smoke a joint?"

Pat says, "Smoke a joint first, of course."

Billy smirks at me, then looks back at Pat, "No offense intended, but I wasn't 'effing asking you. I asked Gary because we always do whatever he wants to do."

I laugh aloud, "That's so not true, but I vote for smoking a joint first, too."

We get out into the cold March night and huddle together as Billy fires up an oversized joint, lipping it as usual, then passes it to me. I inhale, hold in the smoke, then exhale and give the joint to Pat, who says, "You lipped it, Gary. It's all slimy."

Smiling pleasantly, Billy takes the joint from Pat and mumbles, "That's my spit," and he takes another hit off the joint. Pat frowns, "Hey, I was going to have a toke; I just..."

Billy smiles as he exhales, passing me the joint. That's all the conversation we have as we pass the joint; Pat took his turn, the slimy-lipped part apparently no longer a problem for him.

Finally, Pat exhales as he's holding up the half-inch roach, and Billy says, "Flick that bitch, Pat." He flicks it against the dumpster creating a flare of red sparks that explodes, then dies out quickly.

"That's some good shit, right there," mutters Pat as Billy puts his arm across my shoulders, pulling me against him for a hug. Leaving his arm there, he says, "Glad you approve, Pat." Then his arm slides from my shoulders to go around my neck, pulling my head against his, asking, "Should we smoke another one right now, babe."

That's one of Billy's questions that isn't really a question. It's his way of telling me what he wants to do, so I say, "Uh-huh, let's smoke another one." Taking his arm away, Billy takes out a joint as I look at Pat; his green eyes are still big from watching Billy being affectionate with me.

I look right at him, feeling cocky, but when he averts his eyes, I feel bad that he's feeling excluded, so I pull on his arm, mumbling, "Huddle up with us, Pat. Share the body warmth; it's cold out here."

Now he grins and gets right next to Billy and me, "Yeah, it's wicked cold," and he puts his arms across my shoulders as Billy's getting his saliva on the new joint. After holding the smoke in, he exhales, makes a funny face, then passes the joint to me.

These are fatter joints than the one Billy, and I smoked this past weekend. This second one is putting me further into la-la land. Pat leaves his arm across my shoulders, and, as we smoke, Billy puts his arm across Pat's shoulders, and my arms go around their waists, our heads almost touching now, so we've basically formed a tight circle with marijuana smoke drifting up as if we're a human chimney.

Not a word is spoken as I glance at Pat, startled at how good-looking he is. Our eyes are droopy when I finally drop the small roach in the middle of our feet. Our arms still on each other, we sway a little, our foreheads touching now as we seemingly float, our faces squishing against one another, three young gay guys enjoying a tight, comradery, dreamy experience together. It seems so perfectly fitting to share this intimate experience with like members of my gender. My eyes closed; my lover, our new awesome-looking friend, and I were almost one for a few minutes.

It's not long, though, before Billy snickers, then with a laugh, he mutters, "Pat's 'effing AXE cologne!" and Pat and I giggle as we break apart. I mutter, "Ax that AXE,' and Pat got laughing so hard he's leaning over, his hands on his knees, laughing uncontrollably, spitting out, "It's not that bad," which makes me laugh as if that's the funniest thing I'd ever heard.

Then, my eyes blinking, I stop laughing and earnestly say, "Hey, I'm cold," which gets us laughing again as Billy goes, "No shit." The laughing winds down as we realize nothing funny has been said. Still high as a kite can fly, we stumble inside the SUV, the three of us sitting on the bench seat behind the front bucket seats; Billy, me, then Pat, who slides the door closed after him.

We sit there a few seconds, and then Billy goes, "This is fucked, Gary. We forgot to put the 'effing seats down," and that gets us laughing again, bumping against one another until we again realize nothing funny has been said. Settling down, we sit with our heads on the back of the seat, not saying anything. Then I hear whimpering from Pat. When it sounds like sobbing, I look at him and ask, "What is it?"

He sniffles, "Nothing," but I see tears running down his face. Tentatively, I put a hand on his shoulder, "What's wrong, Pat?" and he turns into me, his face against my shoulder, so what else can I do but put my arms around him, asking again, "What's wrong?"

Billy's leaning over now, too, as Pat mutters in between sobs, "Leonardo, he, we, um, and I, we were as close as you guys are, and I'll never see him again."

Leaning over me to rub Pat's shoulder, Billy says, "Delaware isn't that far, Pat. You can see him again. Um, Gary and I will take you to Delaware some weekend. That's no big deal. Hell, a road trip will be cool."

Pat's hugging me, sobbing, then he turns his head to look at Billy, "Really? You'd do that for me?"

Billy goes, "Sure, we'll go with you, but why couldn't you do it yourself? I mean, it's what, an hour and a half drive?"

Sitting up, he rubs at his eyes, mumbling, "Yeah, but it's not the drive. We had a fight about him joining the Coast Guards, and we never made up before he left."

Calming down now, blinking his pretty green eyes, he goes, "But it was so nice of you to offer to go with me."

I'm wiping at the wetness on my puffer coat from his tears as Pat, rubbing his eyes again, says, "I feel like crap now because, Omigod, I've made such a fool of myself."

I go, "It's alright, Pat. Don't worry about it. Hell, I make a fool of myself daily."

Billy says, "Yeah, Gary's right. Um, I don't mean he makes a fool of himself; he doesn't do that. I mean, he's right that it's alright crying over a lost friend or whoever."

Then when Pat murmurs, "Thanks, guys," Billy smirks and adds, "Of course, we'll need to mock the shit out of you about this once you've fully recovered."

Nodding his head, a slight grin on his face now, Pat mumbles, "Of course, that goes without saying."

Billy reaches to the back of the passenger seat, gets a few tissues from the package we usually use to clean up cum shots, and gives the tissues to Pat. He blows his nose and mutters, "Thanks," then, "It's the pot that got me losing it and bawling like a baby. Sorry."

The marijuana effect has drifted chiefly off as I go, "Should we put the seats down now?"

We get out, and Pat watches as Billy, and I put the second and third row of seats down; then we climb back in the SUV with Billy muttering, "Cold as a bitch tonight."

It's warm inside the SUV, so the three of us sit back against the front seats, Billy with his arm across my shoulder, asking Pat, "So, how long were you and this Leonardo, um, best friends?"

Pat is pulling cans of Bud from the plastic binding of the six-pack, shrugging, "All through my senior year right up until a month ago when he joined the Coast Guard. He graduated a few years earlier, but I knew him from the neighborhood. He, ah, sort of adopted me as his main, um, friend."

He passes a beer to Billy, who says, "Thanks. Gary and I will share this can."

Pat snaps the tab on his can of Bud, takes a big swallow, then goes into the bag for a pack of Butterscotch Krimpets, wistfully saying, "I loved him with a passion so strong I couldn't breathe sometimes."

Huh, that sounds familiar.

Billy says, "Oh, so you've probably had, um, earlier meltdowns like this one, huh?"

Pat takes another long guzzle of beer, then mutters, "Every night, yeah. I'm sick of doing it, but I miss him so much I can't stop. It's probably unhealthy. I've tried, but I can't stop loving him."

After swallowing some beer, Billy asks, "Did this guy return your feeling for him?"

Shaking his head, Pat says, "Not really, no. Um, sorry, but could we stop talking about this, please?"

I put my arm on his shoulders and hugged him, murmuring, "Sure. Are you going to share those Krimpets?"

He nods and grins as he opens two packs of twin Krimpets and passes Billy and me one. Giggling like little kids, we all put the whole thing in our mouths the way Billy did when we walked home from the high school's basketball courts long ago.

We look at each other's bulging cheeks, then laugh, blowing some Krimpet wet crumbs out our mouths, then chewing and swallowing. Chugging some beer, Pat goes, "I thought the butterscotch would go with beer better than it does." We chuckle, then drink more beer.

As I expected, the conversation turned to Pat asking questions about college and Billy answering, then adding information about blah, blah, blah. It's not so bad, though, because Billy keeps his arm around me, hugging me against his side. None of us mentions the gay word, although we all accept it as a fact that we're three gay boys.

Pat finished his two cans of beer before Billy and I finished sharing our four cans. We all have another Tastykake to finish them off; then we smoke Pat's Marlboro cigarettes with Billy and me sharing one the way he likes to do it.

Staring at Billy and me, Pat says, "It's so sweet the way Billy takes care of you, Gary. Leonardo was the opposite; he was rough with me."

With a slight beer buzz on, I'm like, "Whaddaya mean rough?"

Shrugging, he blows a smoke ring, then says, "He's a tough, macho guy, although he was pretty too. Yeah, I thought he was pretty. Not the way you and I are pretty, Gary; he was, um, he's macho handsome in an appealing way." Then, he gets his phone out and shows Billy and me a picture of Leonardo.

Yeah, I guess you could stretch it and say he's kind of good-looking, but he's way too macho for me with his long red ponytail and stubby red beard. Plus, he looks a lot older than any of us. I say, "Oh, yeah, very handsome."

Billy mutters, "What? Handsome? That motherfucker looks like he's a thirty-'effing-year-old biker."

Annoyed, Pat clicks off the photo, "No, he's only twenty-two."

Billy goes, "Whatever. With the three of us smoking, we better open some doors and air out the van a little."

Moving to the end of the SUV, I open the door upward as Billy and Pat open the side doors. We all get out and light a couple more of Pat's Marlboros. Exhaling smoke, Billy sarcastically asks Pat, "Don't cigarettes taste better when you buy your own?"

Huddling close together, Pat snickers, "Not really. They're ten bucks a pack. Yours taste better to me."

Billy goes, "I was thinking the same thing about yours."

I mumble, "I get it. I'll buy the next pack, jeez."

Billy holds our shared cigarettes to my mouth, and I take a drag enjoying the feel of his spit on the filter as Billy mutters, "I never thought I'd hear those words coming out of that cute mouth of yours."

Then he kisses my cheek, "No offense intended."

I smile contentedly, "None taken."

Pat hugs himself for warmth, his green eyes shining as he says, "I'm so jealous of you two."

Billy kisses me again, smiling, saying, "We're gay, so it's normal for us to do shit like this."

It's not only unheard of for Billy to tell anyone that, but it's the first time the gay word was spoken tonight. I'm getting increasingly concerned about what Billy said earlier today about us coming out as gay boyfriends. That he's even remotely considering that I would never have believed until I heard him say it. He rationalized fifty ways that messing around sexually with friends was NOT gay, and now he's blasé about saying we're gay.

It's almost ten o'clock when Billy looks at his watch and says, "I've got a nine o'clock class tomorrow, and I need to review that reading assignment. Heh-heh, I was distracted this past weekend and didn't spend any time on my studies."

Pat says, "I'm going in with you tomorrow morning, right Billy?"

He nods, "Yeah, we better be on the road by eight o'clock, though. The traffic blows."

We step on our cigarette butts, then Billy and I put the second and third row of seats up, then get in the SUV, close all the doors, and with Billy and me in the front, Pat in the back, we drive off the Sears parking lot.

Pat says, "Tonight was awesome. Thanks for letting me come along, Billy. Um, you too, Gary."

Billy goes, "No problem, but not tomorrow night. I need to get caught up with schoolwork."

That's disappointing to hear.

Instead of the logical progression of dropping me off first, Billy drops Pat off first. Pat doesn't say anything about that. Instead, as he's getting up to get out of the van, he grins and asks, "Can I get a friendship kiss goodnight?"

Still grinning, Pat leans over the front seats. Billy smiles as he puts a hand behind Pat's head, pulls it over to him, and kisses him on the lips. He mumbles, "Good night," and Pat goes, "That was cool."

Smiling, Pat rubs my head as he gets out, "You guys are the best," and he shuts the door, then jogs to his house.

I'm looking at Billy raising my eyebrows like... what was that?

Smiling broadly, he mutters, "Pat has nice tasting lips," and he drives away from the curb with me still staring at him until he chuckles, then says brightly, "You know, I think Pat's already got a crush on me. Hell, and to think it took you like ten years before you got a major crush on me."

Hitting his shoulder, I go, "I've got more than a major crush on you. Why'd you kiss Pat?"

Glancing at me with his big smile, "To tease my awesome boyfriend, that's why."

Rubbing my nose, I mutter, "Don't tease me," then I ask, "Hey, where we going? My house is that way."

Billy goes, "I know where your 'effing house is! I'm taking you back to the dumpster to do more than kiss you," and he glances at me as I try not to grin but grin anyway, muttering, "Oh."

Reaching over, he squeezes my hand, "I can't disappoint you, can I, Gary? And, heh-heh, I liked that cute grin you had when I told you where I'm taking you."

Unconsciously squeezing my junk, I mumble, "You've never disappointed me."

Parking behind the dumpster again, Billy leaves the van idling to keep the heat running and says, "We don't need to put the seats down. That second bench seat will work."

Unhooking my seatbelt, I slide to the side edge of my bucket seat and get my arms around Billy's neck, my face against his, murmuring, "You're the most fantastic guy/guy who ever lived," and we do a long slow lover's kiss.

He rubs his nose against mine and mumbles, "You're probably right about that. Get in the back seat."

Instead of doing that, avoiding the gearshift as best I can, I snuggle tighter against him, my face against the side of his neck as he wraps his arms around me, mumbling, "Oh, boy, I never thought anyone in my entire life would ever love me as much as you do."

Rubbing his hand up the back of my head, he kisses the side of my forehead and murmurs, "As I've said before, your love for me is kind of scary. I mean, I don't know if I can live up to what you expect from me."

Carefully moving my right leg over the gear shift, then over his legs, I sit on his lap facing him, my arms around his neck, the steering wheel against my back, "You don't need to do anything except love me back."

"I swear, I don't know how I've ended up here, but..." and we make out until, lifting my head, I go, "Ow, my dick is so hard it's poking against my jean's zipper, and it hurts."

Billy mumbles, "It's trying to get free, huh?" He opens the door, "Slide off me. We'll get on the bench seat behind us."

As I'm awkwardly getting off his lap and out the door, my foot gets caught on something, and I start to fall. Billy catches me, sharply saying, "Watch what you're doing!"

Standing on the blacktop, my breath looking like smoke in the cold air, I mumble, "Sorry."

Billy gets out, slamming the door, saying, "No, fuck, it's me who's 'effing sorry for snapping at you like that. I was afraid you'd hurt yourself. Be careful."

Getting on the bench seat behind the front bucket seats, Billy mumbles, "Christ, I thought you were going to fall and crack your head on the blacktop. How would I explain that? So, I lost it and yelled at you."

Nodding, then shrugging, I murmur, "That's alright, you can yell at me," and I snuggle against him again.

His arms come around me as he grins, asking, "How's your boner doing?"

Snickering, I go, "I moved it to the side, but it's still a steel rail."

"Well, get your pants off, and we'll see what I can do about that."

Then, as I unbutton my jeans, he asks, "You've got a condom, right?"

Nodding, I take a condom packet from my pocket, and he says, "Hold onto that and lie on your back."

I do that and rip open the condom packet. Billy unties my sneakers as I'm wrestling my jeans and underpants down past my knees. Dropping my sneakers on the floor, he pulls off my jeans and jockey shorts. I move my feet back, my knees in the air, and my hard boner against my belly.

Getting between my feet, Billy unzippers and then pulls his semi-hard dick out to stroke it a few times while holding out his left hand. I give him the opened condom packet; he takes the slippery condom out, drops the wrapper, and rolls the condom onto his hard penis, then smiles at me, "I admit, doing with you is wicked hot, although I can't imagine wanting to do it with anyone else."

Thrilled hearing that, I'm shivering with anticipation as he pushes on my calves, lifting my anus. Staring into my eyes, my blue eyes and his brown ones shining brightly, he hesitates for a second and then plugs the head of his cock inside me.

My back arches a little as I hold my breath, but it only hurts for a few seconds. He murmurs, "Gary's miracle ass. If it weren't for that, I don't know, um..." and he leans forward, his boner sliding very tightly up inside my rectum as I make a quiet grunt, "Ah..."

With his crotch snugly against my buttocks, fully impaling me with his engorged five-inch boner, Billy leans over until our lips come together, and we kiss, his tongue sliding on mine, then my tongue is inside his mouth, moving along his thinnish, brilliantly white front teeth, feeling the tiny space between each of the top ones. I make an unexpected squeaky sound, shuddering as his scent fills my head.

After another ten-second kiss, his knees spreading as wide as my feet, he lifts and pulls his engorged boner back until the lips of my anus grip the head to keep it inside me. No worries, Billy pushes it in, spreading the walls of my bowels, sliding inch by inch past my prostate, making me moan, "Mumm, oh, umm, Billy, it feels so good."

With his hands on the seat on either side of my chest, Billy murmurs, "It feels good, alright," and does slow thrusting until I'm squirming on the seat in an ocean of sexual pleasure, my prostate in a frenzy, and the thousands of nerve endings around my anus sparkling with an itchy pleasure impossible to describe, all of it creating a living ecstasy for me.

I lose track of time, wanting this to go on forever, but Billy and I seem to have synchronized climax buttons because as soon as my button gongs, he gets a desperate look in his eyes and very noticeably speeds up his thrusting. Holding my breath, I wait for the slapping sounds, and I don't need to wait long.

Billy's face scrunches up as he does fast, hard but shorter thrusts, his body slapping against my buttocks, "Slap, slap, slap," with pleasure sensations soaring and my boner lifting straight up in its hardness.

Soon, I gasped, then, with a squeal, blew my load in a hard stream up, up, up, almost hitting the roof of the van. Then, as I squeeze tight all the muscles in my body, another streak of cum shoots out, and I thrash around on the seat; my eyes open wide, watching the cum shots submit to the pull of gravity and begin the trip back down, both cum shots just missing me by an inch to splat on the floor.

While that was happening, I heard Billy's breathy "Ahh!" and knew he had blown his climax into the condom. He's slowly lying forward until he's on me, his cock pulling out of my ass. I hug him and wildly kiss his face and the side of his neck as he mutters, "Jesus, that felt good."

Hearts thumping in our chests, we breathe deeply as sensations fade and our bodies go limp. The top of his head is close to my face, his clean hair smelling as good as the rest of him. My hands rest lightly on his head, my fingers moving in his soft hair. I'm so fantastically contented I grin and murmur, "My top guy/guy is the best there is. You are perfection personified, Billy."

Lifting his face off my chest, he says, "Yes, I guess that sounds about right, but you make it easy for me, so I guess we're quite the pair, huh?" Slowly shaking his head, he murmurs, "It's all; all of this is so unexpected, though. You know?"

Smiling and rubbing my hands up and down his arms, I nod, "I'm lucky to be with you, Billy. Isn't there any way I can see you tomorrow?"

He moves off me, dropping his feet to the floor. Pulling tissues from the pack behind the passenger seat, he says, "We'll see. I want to get off to a good start this semester. It worked last semester, and keeping my grades up is the deal I made with my old man to get him and Mom to agree I can share that college apartment with you. Not needing to drive back and forth to college will be fantastic."

Gee, I was hoping that would be the secondary benefit of sharing an apartment. Sitting up, taking some tissues, I push up off the seat to wipe my lube-slippery ass, muttering, "Well, I'm not getting the apartment without you. If you're commuting from home next year, then I am too."

He smiles, "It looks as if I'm stuck with you, huh?" He opens the door to toss out the condom. Handing more tissues to me, he nods at the floor, mumbling, "Go ahead, clean up your mess."

Wiping up the cum shot from the floor, I say, "Don't even joke about you being stuck with me; you love me!"

Taking the tissues that I wiped the floor with, Billy throws them out the door and says, "You're too sensitive, or have I mentioned that before? And do either of us really know what being in love means?"

Putting my underpants and jeans on, I mutter, "Yes, if you think you're in love, then you are. And I'm sensitive about anything to do with our love but nothing else, and I don't pout, so don't try bringing that up again."

He rubs my back as I lean over to tie my sneakers. "Well, you are one lovable motherfucker; I'll give you that?"

Sitting up, "And you are one sweet-talking motherfucker; do you know that?"

He goes, "Hey, you can't talk to your guy/guy like that. You need to behave, right? If not, your guy/guy might need to give them a good spanking."

Chuckling, I go, "Spanking? Fuck that! If you had a real girlfriend, you'd be one of those so-called chauvinist pigs, wouldn't you?"

We get out of the SUV, then into the front seats, and I ask again, "Wouldn't you be a chauvinist pig to your girlfriend?"

Shrugging, he mumbles, "I don't know how to be that. I'm not that way with you even though you're the one who made me our so-called leader. We're equal, um, boyfriends, I guess, although, sure, I do need to take care of you sometimes because you're slightly socially challenged. No offense intended."

"I'm not socially challenged; I simply prefer to be invited to do things. I don't want to force myself on anybody. I admit I'm not glib like you, and I'm hampered by an inability to do boring small talk, but most people, such as yourself, find me irresistibly likable."

Making a face, rolling his eyes, and driving off the parking lot, Billy goes, "Thank Christ, nobody can hear this conversation we're having. We sound like a couple of dorky nerds. And, Gary, we don't want to be nerds, so please stop talking me into bizarre conversations like this one."

Shrugging, I don't say anything, then I go, "You started it by calling me too sensitive."

He laughs, "You are too sensitive, but that's alright." Glancing at me, smiling, he adds, "It's alright because I love you, right?"

He sounded as if he weren't sure. Then, when Billy stops at the curb in front of my house, I say, "Well, as for me, I found our conversation enlightening and satisfying."

He smiles, "That's because you got me to say I'm in love with you."

Grinning, I shrug, then take my seatbelt off, "Well, yeah, there's that."

Chuckling, he pulls my head over and gives me a sloppy kiss, "Good night, Gary."

"Good night, Billy," and happy as a clam, I open the door, and he asks, "Hey, is your mom working tomorrow afternoon?"

"Yes, she's on the twelve to five shift. Can you come over for a while?"

He nods, "Yes, I guess I want to, and so I will, but only for an hour or so."

Getting out, I grin, "I knew you would." He smiles and points at me. I close the door and watch him drive away until he turns the corner.

Being in love is an incredible rush!

Going to sleep with a smile on my face, I wake up at nine-fifteen the next morning and smile, thinking about Billy. He seems surprised, shocked actually to discover he loves me. Big turnaround from claiming our messing around wasn't even gay. I can't recall when he made the one-hundred-and-eighty-degree switch, but it's been a spectacular change as far as I'm concerned.

After doing my bathroom routine, I get dressed and find Mom in the living room watching a women's talk show on TV. "Good morning, and happy birthday, Gary. Let me make a birthday breakfast for you, dear."

"Aw, you remembered my birthday. Thanks, Mom! I'm just going to have some cereal and coffee this morning. I can get it; enjoy your TV show."

She says, "Gary, when have I ever forgotten your birthday? How can you think that?"

Grinning, I shrug, "I don't know."

She says, "There are a couple of things in the kitchen that Dad and I got for you in Florida. Enjoy your week off from work."

There are two boxes on the kitchen table that Mom gift-wrapped. There's a card too. Haha, the card is appropriate for a six-year-old, making me think of George giving a gag gift to JR wrapped similarly to this card. On the front is a boy dressed as a cowboy holding balloons; Happy Birthday, Buckaroo! Inside, "Have fun on your special day, son!

It's signed; Love, Mom, and Dad."

Good grief, a gag birthday card and probably gag birthday presents. Ripping the paper off a shoe box, I find inside a baseball cap with the logo of the ritzy Florida resort they spent three nights at. It's kind of cool. I put the hat on and opened the other box. In it is a T-shirt with a matching logo to the hat, plus a fifty-dollar bill. These are NOT gag gifts; fifty bucks is no joke. Hot shit!

Taking the hat off, I pull the T-shirt on over the shirt I'm wearing, put the hat back on, and go into the living room. "Thanks, Mom; I loved the card, hat, T-shirt, and generous fifty-dollar bill!"

She stands and gives me a hug and a kiss on the cheek, "You're welcome sweetheart," then, stepping back, "Oh, no! The T-shirt is too big. I should have gotten a medium size for you."

I say, "Nah, I like big T-shirts. It's perfect; so is the hat, and thank you again for the fifty dollars!"

Back in the kitchen, leaving the hat and T-shirt on, the fifty-dollar bill in my pocket, I make a mug of coffee and a bowl of Frosted Flakes and milk. As I'm eating, George Brown texts me, 'Hey, Buddy, I don't have a class until two o'clock. I want to get out of the dorm and do something. Let's hit some golf balls. It's forty-five degrees, and that's not too cold; we're not pussies.'

Chewing a mouthful of Frosted Flakes, I text back, 'Let's do it,' and he texts that he'll pick me up at ten-thirty.

As I put the cereal bowl in the dishwasher, the new guy, Pat Summers, calls, "Hi, Gary. I'm already heading back home from signing up for community college. My guidance counselor person, or whatever her title is, said she received my records, and I've got a schedule set up to start classes on Monday. Do you want to hang out?"

When I tell him about hitting golf balls with my friend, George, he asks, "Can I come? I was on the golf team in high school. I'll be home in twenty minutes."

What could I say? No, you can't come with us?

I'm like, "Sure, Pat. We'll pick you up around ten-thirty."

Sounding excited, "Thanks, Gary, you're the best."

Ha, I was under the impression he thought Billy was the best. Oops, thinking like that is petty. Pat's okay, and he was on the golf team, huh? Maybe he can give George and me a lesson.

Taking off the birthday T-shirt but leaving the hat on, I'm outside in my puffer coat practice-swinging my driver at ten-twenty-five. I'm always outside when someone is picking me up, and George is right on time.

He gets out of the car, grinning brightly, "It's always nice to see you, Gary. Nice hat!"

We bump fists, then do a guy hug, "You're getting better looking by the day."

Smiling and shaking my head, "You're too nice to me." He opens the trunk so I can put my driver in there with his, then we get in the idling car.

Fastening my seatbelt, I mumble, "You flatter me way too much, but thank you, and right back at you 'cause you're the good-looking guy in this car. Any updates on your love life?"

Shaking his head and driving away, he mumbles, "I've been looking high and low, but I can't find your doppelganger."

I chuckle, "You probably don't think I know what doppelganger means, but I do. Someone who's my double."

Then I remembered Mark, the guy I had lunch with when I was hired for the full-time job. "Hey, I just remembered; I have a prospect that might be what you're looking for. He's a guy I met while getting my full-time job. I don't think he looks like me, but girls in line at a food truck thought we looked like brothers."

Then, pointing, I go, "Turn here. A new friend wanted to hit golf balls with us, and he was on his high school golf team. He might give us some pointers, plus he's another prospect I think you might like."

George made the turn where I pointed, asking, "Any chance either of these guys is gay?"

I'm like, "Yep, the guy we're picking up, Pat, is definitely gay, and the doppelganger might be too. I'm not sure about him, but he was sort of coming on to me, I think. Or, he may merely be an amiable guy. Anyway, Pat is nice looking, skinny as me and my height, although not a virgin, unfortunately. And, um, he doesn't have blond hair."

George says, "Gary, he sounds hot, but please don't embarrass me by telling him I'm looking for a boyfriend."

I'm like, "Of course, I won't do that. He doesn't know you're gay or anything about you except you're a friend."

Unlike me, Pat is not outside waiting to be picked up. George blowing the horn doesn't get him to come out either, so, rolling my eyes at George, I mutter, "Damn," and get out of the car, walk up to the house, then ring the doorbell.

The door opens, and a cute ten or eleven-year-old girl with pigtails opens the door and says, "Hi, I'm Jena, Patrick's sister. You must be the cute one my brother told me about. Are you Billy or Gary? I forget which one he said was the cute one and which one was the chiasmatic irresistible one.

Huh?

I hear Pat yelling, "Get away from the door, Jena!"

I grin at her, "That's quite a vocabulary you've got there."

Pat steps in front of her, his face blushing brightly. He's holding an expensive, cool-looking driver, sputtering, "Don't pay any attention to the brat. I couldn't find my golf clubs, Gary. Half the boxes from the move are still unpacked."

Jena squeezes next to Pat, being a brat, saying, "Patrick always tells me about his boyfriends. He's still brokenhearted about Leonardo."

I shrug, and as Pat tries covering her mouth with his hand, she asks, "Do you have any sisters my age? I'm almost eleven."

Shaking my head, "No, no sisters."

Handing me his driver, his face red as a beet, Pat says, "I'll get my coat. Ignore her!"

As I take a practice swing with Pat's driver, his sister, playing with her right pigtail, frowns at me, saying, "You don't look old enough for college, or is the college boy the other one?"

I mutter, "He's the other one," and Pat picks up his sister and gently sets her down behind him, Saying, "I'm sorry about this, Gary."

The door closes behind him, and as we walk to the car, I hand his golf club to him and grin at his discomfort. Pat mutters, "You think it's funny, but you don't know how lucky you are not to have a little sister. It's my fault, though, for telling Jena anything."

I'm like, "Obviously, you're out as gay to your family. When did that happen?"

Shrugging, "Gee, like five years ago. I was fourteen and just came out to Mom and Dad, bluntly saying, I'm gay."

"What'd they say?"

He goes, "They didn't believe me. Said I was too young to know that. When I was sixteen and going on steady dates with a boy in my class, though, it just became a fact I was gay, and it was like no big deal."

"Well, was your sister right that I'm the cute one?"

He snorts out a laugh, "Yeah, you're the cute one."

I say, "If I work really hard at it, maybe I can be chiasmatic and irresistible too."

Chuckling, he goes, "Probably."

We get in the car, and I introduce Pat to George, "This is Pat Summers from the state of Delaware. Then, Pat, meet George Brown, my buddy from a job we used to work at together." They do an awkward fist bump, and off we go.

To make conversation, I say, "Pat's transferring his first semester credits from Wilmington University to the Philadelphia Community college." Then, looking back at Pat, "George is a sophomore at Drexel University, living on campus."

George asks if Pat's decided on a career path and when Pat tells him he's interested in an electrical engineering degree, George goes, "Well, hell, Drexel has a college of engineering for both undergraduate and graduate degrees."

So, they talk about that the rest of the way to the driving range.

We each rent a basket of range balls and walk down the upper level past four golfers who are also ignoring the cold. Taking three spots together at the far end, Pat says, "Let me see you hit a few, Gary."

Teeing up a ball, I'm like, "It'll make me nervous knowing you're watching."

I heard "Thwack," and George said, "Oh man, that was a good one. Beginner's luck."

Pat tells me, "Okay, I won't watch you."

I know he's watching, but fuck it. After two practice swings, I address the ball, try relaxing, then swing and hear "Thunk" as my club hits the deck an inch before the ball. Without looking up, I listen to snickers from both of them and yell, "Don't watch me!"

After hitting a couple of okay drives, I watch Pat. Wow, the difference between George's and my drives compared to Pat's is a lot. He looks like he's swinging easily, but the balls shoot off his driver high and far. It takes watching closely to realize his swing is much faster than mine, and that's so even though he doesn't appear to be swinging harder.

Pat doesn't offer advice, but after we've hit all the balls in our baskets, George says, "What do you think, Pat? What am I doing wrong?"

Pat says, swinging his driver, "I didn't want to come off as an obnoxious know-it-all, but since you asked, I have a few suggestions."

George goes, "Let me get another basket of balls, and you can give Gary and me a lesson."

Pat grins, "Sure, I'm happy to tell you what my coach was always telling us guys on the golf team."

George takes our empty baskets and leaves to buy another basket of balls. Pat asks, "Is George black?" I go, "He says he's black, but his dad is a white man with blond hair. George is very good-looking, don't you think?"

Nodding, Pat says, "Yeah, he's kind of pretty but not the way Leonardo is macho pretty. You and me, Gary; we're good-looking/cute, ha-ha. We're who guys like Billy and Leonardo gravitate towards. They're our men, and we're their boys."

Making a face, I go, "Billy's not my man; we're boyfriends. Whaddaya talking about?"

Shrugging, he says, "I guess it's semantics. Yes, you and Billy are boyfriends, but he's the man. He looks out for you and treats you with care while you look up to him and do what you're told. There's no shame in that, though. I was the same way with Leonardo. As for George, yes, he's attractive but way too nice for me to be attracted to as my man. I'd want a boyfriend who's my macho man, someone I need to please. If not that, then a boyfriend such as you would be my boy. That'd be cool too."

Shaking my head, "Well, I sure as hell try to please Billy, but I can't see myself being his or your boy. But, ha! So, Billy's my man, huh?"

His man/boy designations are simply Pat's version of my guy/guy and girl/guy designations.

Pat hugs my shoulders, mumbling, "I was the man with my sixteen-year-old boyfriend, and that was fun. If you were my boyfriend, you'd quickly learn that I was your man. With Leonardo, however, I quickly became his boy. There was no confusion there. I was thrilled he wanted me."

Shrugging, "Whatever you call it, I'm thrilled to be Billy's boyfriend or boy, or whatever. Titles don't mean much to me."

He pats my cheek, muttering, "You're awfully young, and I mean that in more ways than one. Billy's lucky to have you as his boy. But, holy shit, yeah, if you and I were boyfriends, you'd definitely be my boy. I'd like that a lot too. How 'bout you? If it doesn't work out with William, can you envision us as boyfriends, me being your man? We'd be a super cute couple!"

Holy shit, my dick moved in my pants, getting stiff; I gulp, "Um, I don't know if I could be your, um..." and then, saved by the bell, George is back, saying, "Hey, the guy didn't even charge me for this basket of balls."

Pat grins at me, "Give it some thought, Gary." Then he then takes my hat off, puts it on his head, and musses my hair, murmuring, "Something to keep in the back of your mind, right? You'll learn how Gay relationships change all the time at our ages."

Not paying any attention to Pat and me, George tees up a ball and whacks it out about a hundred yards, then asks, "So, what am I doing wrong, Pat?"

Over the next twenty minutes, Pat corrects our shoulder angle, then positions the ball forward in our stance so it's in line with the instep of our left foot. He emphasizes making contact with the ball at the center of the golf club's head, increasing our swing speed, and taking our hands back further for a longer arc.

It's one thing to say you know all those things you're supposed to do and another thing to do them correctly. George and I take turns trying, but without noticeable results.

Carrying our golf clubs and the empty basket, we walk to the counter, drop off the basket and go down to George's car. Pat says, "You guys probably don't think you improved, but I could see both of you were fundamentally doing things better."

George says, "How about lunch? After that, though, I've got to get back for my two o'clock class."

Still wearing my hat, Pat puts his arm across my shoulders, giving me a squeeze, saying, "Great idea, George. Okay with you, Gary?"

We go to Friendlies, where Pat sits snuggly next to me in a booth across from George. A waitress with a ring through her left nostril says, "How are you boys doing today?"

Pat mumbles, "We're doing great," and she gives us menus.

As we look at them, I'm sneaking glances sideways at Pat. He's very cute and looks his age. I'm still thinking his stubby ponytail looks cool. It looks badass, actually, and while walking in here, I noticed he has a small black shiny stud in his left earlobe. Jeez, that's cool too. I'll see what Billy thinks about us getting our ears pierced. Did Pat have that in his ear yesterday, though?

George orders a chicken salad sandwich with potato chips. Pat and I order cheeseburgers with fries, and we all get Cokes.

George, smiling brightly, asks, "How long have you been golfing, Pat?"

He tells us he took lessons at his dad's country club when he was ten and has had lessons throughout middle school. He adds, "I'm still a fourteen handicap, though, and I have been for the past two years. I can't seem to get over the hump to improve on that."

I go, "What do you mean handicap?"

He explains it, but I'm not paying much attention. Looking at him as he talks, I can't help but notice his startling green eyes again and a beauty mark on his right cheek. His skin is very pale and as creamy and blemish-free as George's skin. That makes me shiver thinking back to licking George's cheek when we dated for a couple of weeks.

Then, I'm thinking about how Billy had that kiss with Pat last night and said he has tasty lips. Pat has pouty bow-shaped lips; I can see that, but not how they taste.

Our lunches arrive, and Pat nudges me, looking into my eyes as he grins, saying, "Looks good, huh, Gary?"

I grin back, nodding and feeling my dick stiffen up again. Our eye contact lasts too long by about a whole second. A second is longer than most people realize.

We talk about our golfing and, as I eat, I think there's nothing wrong with me admiring Pat. That's not being disloyal to Billy. Anyway, Billy's the one who kissed Pat last night, not me.

After lunch, walking to the car, George looks at his phone, saying, "Look at the time. Damn, I hope the traffic isn't too bad, or I'm going to be late for my class. That waitress took forever getting our check."

Pat mumbles, "It's not even one o'clock, George."

"Yeah, but it's slow getting through the traffic, plus parking is a bitch around the university."

At the car, Pat gets in the shotgun seat, so I end up sitting in the back; Pat says, "George, drop Gary off with me at my house to save you a few minutes."

Fastening my seatbelt, I suppose I should complain about Pat making that decision for me, but I don't, so George drives us to Pat's house. As we get out of the car, we bump fists with George, who says, "That was fun. Thanks for the golf lesson, Pat. It was nice meeting you. I'll be in touch, Gary."

With his hand on my shoulder, still wearing my hat, Pat nudges me toward his house, "Come inside with me, and I'll show you my new bedroom. New to me anyway," and he smiles his smile.

Huh, it reminds me of Billy's smile. They both have great smiles. Billy told me that an exceptional smile is something you're born with. Most people never think of it that way, but it's apparently true.

As Pat unlocks the front door, he mutters, "Mom's car is gone, so she's out someplace with Jena. Probably getting her enrolled in school."

Going upstairs, Pat's hand moves from the back of my neck to ruffle my hair, saying, "Your hair is way too short."

I shrug, all of a sudden feeling kind of timid but with a buzzing in my balls. Pat mumbles, "You were kind of quiet today, Gary. Are you okay?"

Nodding, "I'm fine. I don't talk a lot, um, usually."

Actually, I'm not only in this weird timid frame of mind, but I'm also feeling sort of weird and short of breath. It's because Pat's demeanor is so much different from yesterday. I mean, he's been very lovely and friendly and all that, and especially nice to George, which I appreciated because I'm very fond of George. There's something else, too, though. I mean, he seems smooth, confident, cool, and very sexy and likable today. Yeah, sexy, although I can't describe it. It's more than just his very cute looks.

In his bedroom, he showed me some golf trophies he had won and a picture of him and Leonardo, who doesn't look any more appealing to me in this photo than the photo of him on Pat's phone that he showed Billy and me last night. In this picture, Leonardo has his arm around Pat's neck, and Pat's gazing at him, like 'My hero.' Then I realize Pat's staring at me, grinning.

I go, "What?" and he says, "Nothing, it's just that you're the cutest guy I think I've ever seen, um, any place."

I frown, definitely feeling funny and awkward, mumbling, "Thanks, um, but, heh-heh, as you mentioned at the driving range, you're pretty cute yourself."

Shit! Why did I say that?

Dammit, I'm back to my awkward stage of not knowing what I'm doing or supposed to be doing. I never felt that way with Billy and haven't felt that way with anyone since Billy and I became boyfriends.

Pat cups my chin with his hand, "I never had a chance to kiss you goodnight when Billy dropped me off last night," and he kisses me on the lips. He does have tasty lips; Billy was right about that.

I should object, but I don't, and he kisses me again, then says, "Let's lay on my bed."

My heart is beating like mad; his arm is across my shoulders, and I stifle a gasp. Then, as we're walking to his bed, Pat says, "Billy won't mind if we do a little friendship making out. It's not uncommon for two gay pals who aren't boyfriends to do some friendly making out. That's what's great about being gay. We can hit some golf balls together and then make out a little. Straight guys can't do that."

I'm mesmerized by how he's so casually confident in such a smooth, natural way. Oh, I already said that, didn't I?

I hesitate at the side of his bed, and he stops right next to me. My mind is blank as he looks at me. Gulping, I say, "It's my birthday today."

That was so stupid!

He grins, "Yes, I know. You told me yesterday that your birthday's today."

I nod, and he says, "Happy eighteenth birthday," and, with gentle pressure on my shoulder, I lie on the bed next to him. Pat takes my hat off his head and puts it backward on my head, the bill propped up against the pillow. He leans over and gives me a sexy kiss, then another one that's so nice I can help but kiss him back.

He lies partially on me then, his hand lightly squeezing my crotch. Lifting his head, he murmurs, "Let me see your tongue."

In some kind of trance, I stick it out a little, and he grins, "It's very pink," then he licks my tongue, sucks on my upper lip, and kisses me again. His face is so smooth as he slides his cheek against mine, murmuring, "Jesus, you are totally eatable, Gary."

I'm sort of lost now. Before I know it, I get into a serious make-out with him, getting into it as much as he's into it. I don't know; for maybe ten minutes, we kiss and lick until my cock is hard as a brick. He squeezes it and murmurs, "Me too. My boner is achingly hard. I want you to suck me off now. It'll just be between you and me."

Surprising myself because I want to do that so badly, I shake my head, "No, not now. I mean, never because I'm Billy's boyfriend."

He nuzzles his face against the side of my neck, kisses me there, then sits up, saying, "I respect that. Okay, we'll wait and see. Don't tell Billy about this. He won't want to hear it."

I don't know what to do, but Pat does, "Come on, Gary, get up, or I won't be able to resist you."

We put our coats on and go out the back door onto their small deck, then sit on a bench built against the railing. Pat lights two Marlboros, passing one to me, and says, "My parents can smell cigarette smoke in the house that's two weeks old. There are no more ferociously anti-smoking advocates than people who smoked most of their life, then quit."

What? Smoking? I'm feeling guilty for making out with him. I say, "I don't want to do the making out again, Pat."

He pats my knee, "You're a novice at this gay game, aren't you? Tell me, besides Billy and me, who have you made out with?"

I lie and say, "Nobody else." I don't want to tell him about George's and my little fling.

He asks, "Well, how long have you known you're gay?"

Feeling I'm in over my head again and in an awkward situation, I avoid answering by muttering, "What difference does it make how long I've been gay?"

He sternly says, "How long, Gary?"

Shrugging, I mutter, "Nine months, I guess."

He hugs my shoulders, "See; you're a novice. You're unaware that it's okay to make out with gay buddies and even have a roll in the hay with them. It's perfectly alright to do that, but you'd never hurt your true love by telling him about it. Hell, Billy even kissed me right in front of you last night. He's experienced, though, and knows it's no big deal."

Shaking my head, I stand, "No, I'm not doing that. I'm true to Billy."

He pulls on my arm, chuckling, "Sit down, please. You had to have seen Billy kiss me last night, right?"

I shrug, and he mutters, "Okay, have it your way. For now, we'll be gay friends who don't make out or roll around in the hay together."

Grinning, I go, "We'd be hard-pressed finding hay to roll around in any way."

He gently rubs the back of his fingers up my cheek, then my chin, saying, "What a baby face you have. Smooth as a baby's ass. Do you shave at all?"

Shrugging, "Sometimes, yeah."

Pat blows a series of smoke rings, then says, "I need to shave every day. You're lucky."

I ask, "Did you have that earring in your ear yesterday?"

Touching it, he goes, "I'm not sure. I usually wear it; why do you ask?"

"I don't know; I guess I think it's wicked cool. I like your hair like that too."

Grinning, "Thanks. Why do you and Billy rock those old-time short haircuts, if you don't mind me asking."

"I don't know. I got my hair cut short because I have a head of girly curls." I didn't tell him it was also to get my ex-boss to notice me.

He flicks his cigarette butt, asking, "Was another reason because Billy's hair was short, and you do everything he does?"

Shaking my head, "No, I got this haircut before him."

Raising his eyebrows, he mumbles, "Interesting." Then, "If I promise not to nag you for more, can I have one last kiss?"

Tossing my cigarette butt over the railing, I shrug, "Okay."

He turns toward me, puts his arms around my neck, and grins as he moves his head to mine, and we kiss for maybe thirty seconds with my dick getting rock hard again.

We stop when his sister slides the glass door to the deck open and says, behind me, "That didn't take you long, Pat. Is it the cute one or the chiasmatic irresistible one?"

I take my arms from around Pat, surprised I was hugging him. Pat chuckles, saying, "The cute one, again. Now scat, brat!"

She closes the sliding glass door, and I say, "I've got to get home now. I'm meeting someone at four o'clock."

Pat mumbles, "I wonder who that could be?" Then he chuckles and adds, "Mom's home, so I'll borrow her car and drive you home."

He goes inside, and I walk around the side of the house to the driveway to avoid the embarrassment of his sister telling her mother Pat and I were kissing on the deck. Billy comes out the front door holding up the keys, saying, "I got busted for smoking. Mom smelled it on my clothes."

Inside the car, I ask, "Are you in trouble?"

He goes, "Nah, I'll need to listen to a lecture from pops at dinner. That's about it. Hey, I'd like to see your bedroom. It's only a quarter to three, so we've got time to do that."

Huh? My bedroom?

To be continued... donnymumford@outlook.com

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