Invited

CHAPTER 3

Billy Underwood

I quickly finish emptying the grass clippings into the back of the pickup and then answer my phone, "Hi, Billy," as if we talk on the phone all the time. He says, "Hi, um, ya know, I was in kind of a foul mood that day at the high school, so, my bad."

With my heart going pitter-patter, I take that as an apology and mumble, "Oh, that's alright. How are you?" He says, "I had a root canal last week, a fucking root canal. Can you believe that?" I frown, "Jeez, that's not, um..." He says, "Did you know that the word endodontics comes from the Greek words for 'inside' and 'tooth'?" I go, "Oh, um, huh? Ah, no, I didn't know that."

He says, "Anyway, I'm thinking maybe infection began in my tooth's root some time ago and caused my shitty rude mood that day?" I go, "That was probably it, yeah." He says, "Whatever, I said I'd call you, so I'm calling. I was waiting to call until I got some primo grass to smoke like I had last time."

I'm like, "You scored more of those cigar-sized joints?" He goes, "No, these are regular size but supposedly high-grade cannabis. Um, I haven't tried one yet, but it's, ya know, supposed to be good shit." I'm like, "Wow, that's cool." He says, "So, um, I'll share the joints with you if you wanna do that." I'm like, "Okay, sure, do you mean tonight? I have to work Saturday morning, so I'd need to get to bed kinda early."

He says, "No, not tonight. Mom and Dad are home tonight. I meant Saturday, tomorrow night when my folks will be at a neighborhood party. My brother is always out Saturday night, so nobody will be home, but I won't have a car."

I shrug even though he can't see me do it, then mumble, "What time tomorrow night?" He goes, "Anytime after seven. Maybe we can do more of the goofy fun messing around stuff we did last time. If you wanna do that, I mean."

Not sure what he means, I go, "Yeah, sure, okay." He mutters, "Good, um, I'll see you then. Oh, wait! Instead of beer, can you get vodka this time?" I'm like, "Of course. Ah, how much should I get?" He goes, "I don't know. One bottle should be enough." I mumble, "Sure, one bottle of vodka," and he's like, "Good. See ya," and he clicks off.

Looking at my phone, I ask out loud, "How am I supposed to get a bottle of vodka?" My phone doesn't tell me, so I tell myself, "The same way you got the beer, beg somebody old enough to buy it for me." Lonny calls me, "Yo, Gary, hop to it, buddy. Get that container back down here and bring a couple of water bottles!" I get back to work, feeling giddy that Billy finally called.

Friday night after supper, I lie to Mom, saying I want to meet some guys at the mall to hang out, "So, can I borrow your car, Mom?" She seems happy that I have something to do tonight, "Sure, Gary. Have fun hanging out." Hmm, that was easy, so I asked if I could use the car tomorrow night too. She goes, "I don't see why not. What's going on tomorrow night?" I lie again, "Oh, Billy Underwood and I are going to the movies."

Driving away, I don't go to the mall. Instead, I drive to the Pennsylvania State Liquor Store near the Weis Market grocery store. Sitting in the car, I watch people going to the liquor store, hoping I'll see someone who might buy me a bottle of vodka. There are many people buying alcohol tonight, but none of them look young enough. I need a guy in his early twenties who maybe remembers when he was underage and trying to get booze.

After an hour, I'm losing patience, so when I see a guy who looks about thirty, I put on my mask an get out of the car to stand near the liquor store waiting for him to come out. When he comes out, I'm like, "Excuse me, um, can you help me out?" He goes, "Help you out how?" I shrug, "Well, um, I'd like to surprise my dad on his birthday with a bottle of vodka, but I'm underage, so..." He rolls his eyes, then says, "I'll help you out by pretending I didn't hear that bullshit. I'm a State Police Officer." Oh, fuck!

"I was kidding, sorry," and quickly walk away, but not to my car. I walk down to the Weis Market and go inside. After loitering around for two minutes, I peer out the door to see if that fucker is still there. Of course, he could have been bullshitting me about being a state cop, but why take a chance? To be sure he's gone, I stay in the grocery store another five minutes, then cautiously go outside and hear, "Hey, Gary! Are you doing the grocery shopping for your folks?"

Huh? Looking to my left, I see Lonny and a woman walking toward me, neither one wearing a mask. The woman is his wife, I assume. I go, "Hi, Lonny, um, ah, no, I'm not food shopping. I just bought a, um, a pack of gum." He pats my shoulder and tells the woman that I've been filling in for Jody and doing a great job.

He says to me, "This is my wife, Jen." She smiles at me as I nod, "Nice to meet you," and Lonny tells me, "By the way, just a reminder that next week is your last week with us. Jody will be getting back to work the week after next. I wish we could keep you on all summer, but..." I go, "Oh, no, I understand." He says, "Well, it's grocery shopping for us. I'll see you tomorrow morning, Gary."

Taking my mask off, I'm walking back to the car when I spot a young-looking black dude coming out of the liquor store carrying a bag with a bottle of liquor in it. He's not wearing a mask either. Smiling, I say, "Excuse me." He smiles back, asking, "What'd you do?" I'm like, "Huh, what?" and he goes, "You excused yourself, and I'm wondering what you did that you need to be excused?" I go, "Oh, yeah, ha! Um, would you buy a bottle of vodka for me? I'm, ah..." He goes, "Underage." I nod, "Yep, and I, um..." He goes, "And you want to impress your girlfriend tonight with a cocktail beverage or two, right?" I say, "How'd you know?" He goes, "Because that's what I'm doing tonight. You and I are a couple of good-looking dudes hoping to get lucky with our ladies."

He is a good-looking dude. I grin, "That's it exactly." He goes, "Do you got thirty-four bucks? I just bought a bottle of Absolute vodka," He holds the bag up, adding, "I'll give you this bottle and go in to buy myself another one." I'm scrambling to get two twenties out of my pocket. Then, holding them out to him, I say, "Oh man, I really appreciate this!" He goes in his pocket for his money, then takes my two twenties and gives me the bag, plus six dollars, saying, "I hope you get lucky, dude!" I take the bag, "Thanks a million. You too, I hope you get lucky too."

Oh, jeez, what a nice guy! I have no idea if Absolute is a good vodka or not, or if it costs that much, but I don't care. This will impress my date, Billy, and maybe I will get lucky. Oh, wait! I gotta buy a pack of Tastykake Butterscotch Krimpets too! Locking the vodka in the car, I start to go back to Weis Markey but stop. No, I don't want to run into Lonny again 'cause he'll think I'm a weirdo for hanging out alone at a grocery store. Instead, I drive to a convenience store and buy the Krimpets there. Hot shit! This is so cool.

After driving aimlessly around for a half-hour, I realize there's a problem, and it's, how do I get this bottle of liquor in the house? I mean, it's obviously a bottle of liquor. What else would be in this narrow bag? Damn, I'll need to walk right past my parents, who will be watching TV in the living room. Hmm, I need a bigger bag. Driving to the mall where I told Mom I was going in the first place, I bought a pair of skinny jeans and then, at a different store, a package containing three sweat socks.

Back at the car, I put the liquor bottle and the bag with the socks into the bigger jeans' bag, then held it up. Okay, the bottle doesn't stand out, so this will work. I don't need jeans or socks, so the liquor bottle costs me almost a hundred dollars. Good thing I'm fat with cash. Hmm, I hope tomorrow night is worth a hundred bucks.

Saturday at work, I'm thinking about another problem, and it's how to get the bottle of vodka out of the house without Mom or Dad seeing it? Then, when I get dropped off after work Saturday morning, Mom solves that problem. As soon as I walk inside, she says, "Oh, good, you're home. Dad just called. He dropped off his car at the dealership to get some work done on it, but Larry is shorthanded and can't give him a ride back here. I'm in the middle of baking a cake, so be a dear and pick Dad up."

I'm like, "Yeah, sure, Mom." She hands me her car keys then goes back to the kitchen. I get the bottle of vodka from my bedroom and then slip out the front door and put the vodka and Krimpets in the truck. Problem solved, but I should have thought to do this last night instead of buying the skinny jeans and sweat socks.

When I get to the dealership, Dad insists on driving us home, telling me I need a haircut and I also need to cut the grass. He's like a broken record nagging me about getting my hair cut. Back at the house, I cut the lawn in twenty minutes. Big deal, for five weeks, I've been working on lawns ten to twenty times bigger than our little patch of grass.

Finished with the lawn, I ride off on my bike to avoid being harrassed about my freakin' hair, which has finally grown out enough to look okay after six weeks. I stop at Al's Sub shop and take my time with a vanilla milkshake and a cheesesteak. Back at the house, Mom tells me Dad is golfing, so I forget about getting a haircut and, instead, spend a lot of time showering and getting ready for tonight's date with Billy. I even shaved for the first time this week, although there isn't much to shave. Naked, I gawk at my body in the full-length mirror on the back of the bathroom door. I'm not looking too bad, but I should probably think about lifting weights or something.

Later, while eating dinner, I need to hear about not getting a haircut again. I stay calm, though, mumbling, "I'm not ten years old, Dad, but I'll get a haircut sometime next week to make you happy." That lie satisfies him for now, but I need to think more about moving out on my own. Well, I'll need a car and auto insurance first, then a real job. No, I need the real job first. Yeah, Billy and I can party anytime we want if I have an apartment. We won't need to wait for his parents to go out.

When I'm leaving, Mom says, "Don't forget your face mask." I hold it up so she can see it, then at five-after-seven, I'm driving the six blocks to Billy's house feeling nervous but excited that he finally invited me out. I wonder what he meant when he said we could have more of the goofy fun we had last time. I'm hoping he means more kissing and not ping pong. Neither of us gave the other the virus, so we're good as far as the kissing goes.

Parking on the street in front of his house, I get the vodka and Tastykake from the trunk, then, with my heart hammering extra hard and fast, I ring his doorbell. Billy answers the door wearing un-cool baggy shorts with an elastic waistband and a T-shirt with the words on the front: bad decisions make great stories.

His friendly smile is working for him again, "Hi, Gary! C'mon in." Pointing at the bag, I'm holding, he smiles even harder, "Oh, man, that's great! You got the vodka, you hot shit you."

Walking in, I go, "Well, of course, I got it. A bottle of vodka and, haha, also some Butterscotch Krimpets, just like the last..." I stop talking in midsentence when Chicky Demarco walks in from the kitchen smoking a cigarette. I must have a startled expression because Billy goes, "Oh, I guess didn't I mention my next-door neighbor would be hanging out with us tonight?" Chicky exhales cigarette smoke in my direction and goes, "Hello, Wallingford," then holds out his fist. I bump fists with him, mumbling, "Chicky, um, how's it going?"

Chicky's first name is Placido. I don't know how he got the nickname Chicky, but a nickname was inevitable with his unusual first name. He graduated a year ago, so I don't know much about him other than occasionally seeing him around the neighborhood. He has a swarthy complexion, and I guess he's what some would call classically good-looking, although I don't especially care for his looks. He has a lot of thick dark brown hair with a low forehead, almond-shaped dark brown eyes, a prominent nose, plus a trendy two or three-day full beard growth. He looks a lot older than nineteen or twenty, that's for sure. If I didn't know he graduated a year ago, I'd think he was an adult rather than a kid from the neighborhood. At six feet tall, he's two inches taller than me and three or four inches taller than Billy, plus he's just bigger than us, period.

With the cigarette between his lips, Chicky puts his arm across my shoulders and squeezes, saying, "Billy tells me you like to party, and I see you brought alcohol to help you get past the, um, awkward parts."

I look quizically at Billy, who smiles, asking, "What's wrong, Gary?" I go, "Nothing, I just, ah, no, nothing's wrong." Chicky keeps his arm across my shoulders, saying, "Why don't you give the vodka to Billy, and you and I can have a seat on the porch while he mixes up a pitcher of screwdrivers."

Fuck! It's not going to be any fun with him here. He's kind of intimidating. On the back porch, Chicky flicks his cigarette butt toward the middle of the recently cut small backyard and says, "I hardly ever see you around, Wallingford," then he adds, "Here, let's share this fucking swing seat."

We sit down, his arm still on my shoulders as he chuckles, then goes, "Christ, loosen up, will ya," and his arm goes from my shoulders to around the back of my neck as he adds, "I hear you're into kissing." I go, "Wha...? No, I'm not! I mean, Billy's into kissing more than me. I don't know what he told you. Um, anyway, we were just messing around."

He sounds exasperated, taking his arm off me, saying, "There isn't anything wrong with a couple of guys, ah, messing around as you call it. Everybody does it. Don't get all dorky on me! Christ!"

Jeez, he gets pissed off easily. My face is red and hot, but Billy wasn't supposed to tell anyone about that night we were smoking pot. Billy comes out on the porch smiling even though his mouth is bulging with Krimpets. He's carrying three empty water glasses that he puts on a rickety little table and says with his mouth still full, "You two look comfortable," and Chicky says, "Underwood, you told me your buddy here was cool with this." I stand up, saying, "I don't know what you're talking about. What'd you tell him, Billy?"

Swallowing the last of the Krimpets, he goes, "Calm down," and I go, "I am calm, but he said you told him I like kissing guys." Chicky goes, "I never said shit about kissing guys. I meant you're a hot make-out with your girlfriend."

Making a face, I mutter, "That's bullshit, I don't have a girlfriend," and Billy goes, "Ah-ha, a misunderstanding then, no problem. Let me get the pitcher of screwdrivers, and we'll fire up a joint and chill out."

Well, I can't very well go right back home ten minutes after leaving, so, shrugging, I mutter, "Yeah, okay, sure," and Chicky, sounding condescending, says, "I was just fucking with you, dude, c'mon and have a seat. I won't bite." I wave my hand, "No, that's alright, I'll stand."

Billy's right back out with a pitcher of ice, vodka, and orange juice. He's smiling, saying to me, "Open that beach chair, Gary, and for Christ's sake, take it easy, bro." There are two old beach chairs against the house, so I open one and sit on it next to the love seat. Billy fills the three glasses with his screwdriver mixture, hands me one, and then takes the other two glasses, passing one to Chicky. Holding up his glass, Billy says, "Let's get this party started!" We all take a swallow, and Chicky goes, "Is there any effin' vodka in this OJ?"

Taking a joint and Bic lighter out of his pocket, Billy goes, "Yeah, one-third vodka to two-thirds orange juice. That's the proper proportions." Well, I don't know what Chicky's complaining about. This drink tastes too strong to me. The vodka is very noticeable and tastes like what nail polish remover smells like. Chicky mutters, "It needs more vodka."

Ignoring that, Billy's got the joint lit, and he takes the first hit off it, then passes it to me. He lipped it again, but I'm used to him doing that. With the wet cannabis between my lips, I inhale a little, blowing the smoke right out. As I'm passing the joint to Chicky, he mutters, "Hold the smoke in your lungs, Wallingford. You're wasting it."

I frown at him as Billy sits on the loveseat, smiling at me. He has these cute tiny spaces between his smallish top pearly white teeth. Chicky takes a big inhale and holds the smoke in for five seconds before exhaling and mumbling, "Which one of you assholes drooled on the joint?"

Ignoring that too, Billy asks, "Well, how was it, Chick?" He nods, "That's some primo shit, alright." Taking the joint, Billy mutters, "Yeah, I told you it was," and he inhales some cannabis smoke. They don't drink their screwdrivers, but I do because I'm nervous, plus I'm disappointed and pissed off that Chicky's here. Without any further conversation, we pass the joint around until it's too small to take a hit off it without one of us burning our lips.

I've got a high going for me already and assume they do too as Chicky puts his arm across Billy's shoulders. They both slide down in the loveseat a little, and Billy kicks off, getting the swing swinging as they cuddle together. I'm feeling spacy staring at the yard. After five weeks on the lawn cutting job, I've become very familiar with the smell of cut grass. Then I glance over and see Billy put his head on Chicky's shoulder. Dammit, he would have had his head on my shoulder if that fuck, Chicky, weren't here. In a daze, I stare at the side of Billy's head, admiring his cute profile, and, without knowing I'm going to say it, I say, "Did you get that haircut at my uncle's barbershop, Billy? It's a wicked short haircut you've got there."

Rubbing Billy's hair, Chicky goes, "Yeah, it is a wicked short haircut," and all three of us start laughing our asses off. Billy catches his breath, looks at me, and goes, "Supercuts was busy, so I went to your uncle's barbershop, and that barber-butcher cut my hair like I'm an eight-year-old. Never again, though," and we're all spitting and laughing so hard we can't breathe. Then, as abruptly as we started laughing, we stop. Billy reaches the rickety little table for his glass, saying seriously, more severe than it deserves, "It's so sad that he's your uncle, Gary." He and I spit out the screwdriver mixture we just drank, and all three of us are laughing as if that's the funniest thing we've ever heard in our lives.

When it occurs to me that nothing funny has been said, I stop laughing and drink two big gulps of my drink. The joint was regular-sized, and each of us had only a third of it, so it's not long before the high has passed us by. No more outbursts of laughter, but it was fun for a while.

Now Billy's into the nonstop nonsense-talking he's known for, saying, "We're lucky to be guys, ya know? Unlike girls, we get to keep our last names our whole life, and we can wear T-shirts to water parks. Hell, we don't need to wear T-shirts at all, and car mechanics tell us the truth, and, um, the whole world is our urinal. We never need to try another gas station because the first one is too icky to piss in, as girls might say; plus, we don't need to think twice about which way to turn a nut or bolt and all kinds of shit like that. Girls have all those things to deal with, and..."

He gives other examples of why it's better being a guy than a girl, but I've finished my twelve-ounce drink, and the vodka is kicking in, so I'm floating a little bit from the vodka now. What I'm doing instead of listening to Billy is, well, I'm trying desperately to think of a way I can change places with Chicky and have my arm around Billy.

Then Chicky's chuckling about something, mumbles, "You're out of your fucking mind, Underwood. Ya know that?" Billy's like, "Whaddaya mean?" Chicky goes, "All that shit, you're always babbling. Where do you come up with it?" Ignoring that, Billy gets up and pours me a new drink, then tops off his and Chicky's drinks that they've barely touched. When Billy sits down again, Chicky puts his arm around the back of his neck, saying, "Actually, you're kind of funny with all that misinformation you spout out," and, just like that, they do a five-second kiss right next to me.

Holy shit, my mouth hangs open as I stare at them. I'm not sure which one started it but watching them kissing gets my dick bone-hard, and an involuntary gasping sound slips out of my mouth. Chicky looks over at me, saying sarcastically, "We're just messing around, right, Wallingford?" I nod my head and then gulp two more big swallows of my second drink.

It pisses me off to think back to how Billy threw a ram when I barely kissed him that time, and then later; he brazenly kissed me a half dozen times. It's not that I didn't like him kissing me. It's just that he is into kissing this guy Chicky too. I wonder what else he does with him. Well, I have no intention of telling anybody about this, but that was borderline gay behavior.

Billy says, "C'mon on over here and join us, Gary." I mutter, "No, that's a two-seater." He goes, "Well, you can sit on my lap." Oh man, sit on his lap? Yeah, that's too good an offer to pass up, so I stand, asking, "Seriously?" He nods and holds his arms out.

Feeling dorky, I grin and mumble, "Okay, why not?" I sit on his thighs, my back to him, and he puts his arms around me, saying, "This is goofy, huh?" I'm holding my drink while their drinks are on the rickety little table, and untouched since being topped off. I gulp some more of my drink, almost finishing my second screwdriver, then put it on the table with theirs.

After roughly rubbing my hair, Chicky says, "Shirley Temple hair." I go, "Huh? What's that mean?" He goes, "Nothing, you've got great hair; that's all I meant. Lighten the fuck up and lean back." I tentatively lean back against Billy, and he murmurs, "There, that's better. Three buddies messing around, right?" I go, "Uh-huh," and he kisses the back of my neck and says, "You smell good." Blushing, I mumble, "It's AXE Body Spray," and Chicky goes, "Let me smell," and he pulls my head over to smell my neck. He goes, "Oh yeah, nice," and then he twists my head around and kisses me on the lips, adding, "Nice lips too."

Gulping, I mumble, "Hey, no!" and he gives me another kiss. A sloppy kiss this time that lasts two or three long seconds, then he asks, "How was that?" I try saying his whiskers are scratchy but gulp, and it comes out garbled, making him and Billy laugh. Then Chicky says, "You're alright, Wallingford," and he rubs my head again before letting go of me. I was getting a boner sitting on Billy's lap, but Chicky's kisses had the opposite effect, and now my dick is limp again.

Billy says, "My turn, Gary. Turn your head," I turn partially around on his lap and feel Billy's unmistakable boner bumping against my ass. He kisses me then puts his tongue in my mouth. As my dick is getting hard again, I try moving my tongue against his and then kiss him back, my dick quickly becoming hard as steel. He breaks off the kiss, gasps, and says, "Now kiss Chicky like that." I go, "Um, I need another drink."

Chicky says, "Don't be a cunt, Wallingford," and he puts his hand behind my neck, pulling my head over. I reluctantly let him kiss me. He squeezes the back of my neck painfully until I open my mouth, grunting, "Ow," and his tongue, feeling mushy and big, goes in my mouth. He makes out with me for maybe ten seconds, although it felt like a lot longer than that to me. Taking his mouth away, he says, "I guess I was right after all, huh? You do like kissing guys." I mumble, "No, it's just that Billy said he wouldn't tell anyone, so I, um..." He goes, "So you lied to me, right?"

Shaking my head, I'm like, "Not lied, no. It's ah..." Billy says, "What the fuck difference does it make who said what? Hop off me, Gary, and I'll get another joint." I get off his lap, and he goes inside to get a joint. Chicky pulls on my arm to get me sitting next to him. Putting his arm around the back of my neck, he pulls me against him, saying, "You're a cute fucker, ya know that?" and then kisses me again. I hate his whiskers, plus he has an odd scent, or his clothes do. It's sort of the smell of a sub shop when they're frying onions.

He takes his lips off mine and says, "You act like a cunt, ya know that?" I shrug, "No, um..." He snickers and tries to get his hand down past my belt in front; his fingers against my bare skin feel odd. Nobody except me has touched my belly there since I was a toddler. He says, "Undo your belt." I shake my head and Billy's back with another joint, emphatically stating, "No, Chicky! Stop that horseshit." Chicky takes his fingers out and then squeezes my junk between my legs, snickering and saying, "He's like every girl I've ever taken out. He wants it but pretends to be hard to get, ya know?"

Billy mutters, "Leave him alone. He's only seventeen." Then he lights the joint, takes a hit off it, and passes it to Chicky, who asks me, "Seventeen? Did you skip a grade or something?" Shaking my head, Billy tells me, "Get up, Gary, and I'll let you sit on my lap again." I do that, and Billy puts both arms around me, murmuring, "Lie back and enjoy yourself."

I reach over for my fresh drink and then lie back against him as he giggles and says, "Your curls are tickling my face. Slide down a little." I slide forward a couple of inches, and Billy pulls his hand up my forehead flattening my curly hair, then he kisses my cheek, murmuring, "That's better. I know you like this, so stop acting as if you don't." I nod, "Okay, Billy." He goes, "Good. Okay, here ya go," and he takes the joint from Chicky and holds it in front of my mouth. I take a hit off it as Chicky says, "Hold the fucking smoke in this time, Wallingford." Billy says, "Yeah, Gary, hold it in a little longer."

Because Billy asked me to, I hold it in for a few seconds, and as I'm exhaling, I'm feeling high already. I gulp some screwdriver as Billy takes a hit of marijuana, then passes the joint to Chicky. This is how we smoke the joint down to a roach; Billy holding the joint for me to inhale off it while he hugs me and coaches me to hold the smoke in my lungs longer each time.

Soon, I'm so high it's as I'm on a cloud. The cloud being Billy, his body feeling wonderful to lie back on with his arms around me. When Chicky kisses me again, my head is lulling around; he gropes my boner and balls, his tongue in my mouth.

When I realize it's Chicky, I move my head muttering, "Billy, he's..." but Billy goes, "Shh, it's okay." My cock stays hard this time. Chicky mutters, "He's ready. Let's take him in your bedroom and get him undressed." Billy goes, "No, leave him alone. Let me think more about it."

I'm floating in la-la land near the end of the second joint. Somewhere in my head, I realize my belt gets unbuckled and Billy's giggling like mad. Then a hand is inside my underpants, fingers going around my hard cock. Billy goes, "Oh fuck, not out here, Chicky! Jesus, dude, haha. Don't..." but he's laughing too, the side of his head against mine. My underpants come down.

I mutter, "Um, wha..?" and then realize it's Chicky's hand again, and lurch up off Billy, spilling some of the drink I'd forgotten I was holding. My jeans drop to my knees, my underpants halfway down my thighs. Billy and Chicky double over laughing so hard they can't catch their breath, choking and gasping as they laugh.

I'm dizzy, staggering away from them a few steps before putting the glass on the table and pulling my underpants and jeans up, sputtering, "What the fuck is wrong with you, Chicky?" He stops laughing to growl, "Nothing's wrong with me, dork. We're just messing around. Don't be such a cunt." Billy says, "C'mon, Gary. It's alright; we're just messing around, that's all."

Chicky mutters, "And I'm not singling you out to pick on. Look," and he reaches over to push his hand down the front of Billy's baggy shorts, the elastic waistband making it easy to do. Billy pushes his crotch up off the swing, going, "Oh, haha, fuck, Chicky! Hey, don't fucking stroke it, you asshole! I'll cum all over your fucking hand." I can see Chicky pumping up and down in Billy's shorts, saying, "Your little dick is like Wallingford's little dick."

Billy's pulling on Chicky's wrist until Chicky mutters, "You two pussies!" Then he takes his hand out, rubbing his fingers together, "Ew, precum." Billy stands up, adjusting his shorts, saying, "I was already about to blast off with Gary on my lap, my hard dick pressed against his cute ass." I'm swaying on my feet, a frown on my face, but I'm also mightily aroused, and my cock is hard as stone in my pants.

Picking up what's left of my drink, I sit on the beach chair and chug the rest of the screwdriver, as drunk and high as I've ever been in my life. Billy asks, "Are you okay, Gary?" I nod my head, muttering, "I think so," and grope my junk which makes the guys laugh, then Chicky mumbles, "I'll do that for you." He starts to get up, but Billy pushes him down, muttering, "That's enough. Leave him alone."

They get their drinks, and Billy goes into this thing where he pretends he's at a Chinese doctor's office asking questions. Playing both parts, he says, "Doctor, should I reduce my alcohol intake?" The Chinese doctor goes, "Oh, no. Wine made from fruit, brandy distilled wine, fruit good for you, and beer made from grain, all good food groups." "Well, what about increasing my exercise program?" The doctor answers, "No, my philosophy is, no pain... good." "Well, how about fried food?" The doctor, sounding irritated, "You not listening. Food fried in vegetable oil. How can vegetables be bad for you?"

Billy and Chicky laugh their balls off at this boring, unfunny stuff as I drift off thinking about sitting on Billy's lap and springing a boner. Hearing him going on, I too wonder where Billy comes up with the shit he says, and, as my head begins clearing, he goes, "The guy asks if chocolate is bad for you, and the Chinese doctor goes, "You crazy? Hello! The cocoa bean is another vegetable!"

As they laugh, I get up and pour more of the screwdriver mixture into my glass. Billy asks, "Gary, are you hearing this funny shit?" I go, "Why aren't you guys drinking?" He goes, "We will. I'm telling Chicky the funny shit I read online." Nodding, I sit down, and he says, "So, the doctor tells the guy how life should not be a gruesome journey to the grave, arriving there in your attractive and well-preserved body. Instead, it should be a skid sideways with a beer in one hand and a Hersey Bar in the other, your body totally worn out from partying as you scream WOO-HOO, what a ride that was."

Chicky says to me, "Hey, Wallingford, are you paying attention to the good advice from the doctor? You might as well party and have a good time experimenting with new stuff 'cause nobody will give you a medal for being boring."

By now, I'm more drunk than high. None of us has even had the equivalent of a whole joint yet, and those two have hardly touched their drinks, so they must have gotten a lot more from the grass than I did. Meanwhile, I'm gulping down my third drink, mumbling, "Hey, I'm not boring," but I don't say it with much conviction, and they weren't paying any attention to me anyway.

We go to the basement with our drinks to play ping pong. I lose to Chicky, then lose to Billy. I chug two full drinks while babbling about how good screwdrivers taste. Billy decides we'll share the third joint in his bedroom. With his arm around my waist and my arm across his shoulders, he helps me stagger up the steps as Chicky says, "Let's take our shirts off," and Billy goes, "Yeah, good idea. It's hot in my bedroom." I'm like, "How about turning on the air conditioner."

Chicky rubs my head, mumbling, "Nah, he's got the big window fan. We don't need no stinking air conditioner." Then he closes his fist on a fistful of my hair, pulling my head over, and gives me the sloppiest kiss ever. It leaves a lot of his saliva all around my mouth. I mutter, "Hey, don't..."

In the bedroom, Billy says, "Put your arms up, Gary." I do that, and he pulls my polo shirt over my head and folds it before putting it on a chair. Chicky rubs his hand on my stomach, his fingers again going under my belt. Billy laughs, mumbling, "You're so bad, Chicky." They both snicker as they take their shirts off. I snicker now, too; not sure why, but it's fun to snicker. Chicky gets behind me, his arms around my waist, and humps against my ass. Billy's shaking his head, then he burst out laughing again, saying, "Stop it, Chick. Jesus, you're incorrigible!"

There is not enough room on the bed for three guys, especially with Chicky's broad shoulders. Giggling, we squirm around with lots of bodily touching until I'm lying flat on my back between Billy and Chicky, those two up on their sides facing each other, supporting themselves on their elbows. Chicky plays with my curly hair as he's kissing me again. Billy lights the third joint, then takes a hit off it. He goes, "Yeah, same good shit," and he holds the joint to my mouth. I'm fucked up from the vodka, the room spinning slightly, so I go, "Nah, no, I'm fucked up enough."

Chicky angrily goes, "Bullshit! Take a drag!" Billy touches my lips with the end of the wet saliva-saturated joint, saying, "C'mon, Gary," so I inhale marijuana smoke and, quick as a wink, Chicky covers my nose and mouth with his hand. They giggle as I struggle between them until Chickie takes his hand away, muttering, "That's how long you should be holding the smoke in, pussy."

Still chuckling but sounding angry too, Billy says, "C'mon, Chicky, stop being such a prick to Gary! I mean it now." Chicky takes the joint, mumbling, "Don't you turn into a pussy too, Underwood." Billy mutters, "And how about if you try not being such an asshole all the time."

Those are the last words spoken for the next five or six minutes as we smoke the joint, Billy holding it to my lips when it's my turn and me dutifully holding in the smoke. Billy finally goes, "Oh fuck, I'm as high as I need to be," and he gets rid of the roach somehow, then lies on half of me. Chicky lies on the other half of me, both of them giggling and groping my junk, and I'm okay with it.

The room still smells like a joint was just smoked here, so the fan has some work to do. We're all in la-la land for ten minutes, sweat forming between their bodies and mine. I can't tell what is fucking me up more, the vodka or the pot. I hallucinate that the fan has left the window and is coming toward me, toward us, but, of course, it isn't. I work that out in my mind and settle down as Billy mutters, "I'm skydiving like a motherfucker," and the three of us begin giggling like mad again.

Chicky lifts his head and, solemnly, asks, "Where's my screwdriver?" Billy burst out laughing, and then Chicky does too, but I'm feeling claustrophobic and start struggling to get the guys off me. Still laughing, both of them hold me down, their bare chests rubbing against mine. Chicking has a lot of chest hair while Billy and I have none. I'm laughing now, too, while still almost wrestling with them.

My laughing stops when I realize Chicky has my jeans unbuttoned again, and the zipper down. His hand is inside my underwear, and he's stroking my cock. Then Billy pulls my underwear down so Chicky can stroke my cock straight up and down. I moan, "No, nah, ah, um, ah, no, ahh," and then I stop struggling as Billy kisses me and says, "There ya go, Gary. Take it easy, buddy; it feels good, doesn't it?"

My face scrunches up as my body gets stiff. I moan, "Um, um, um," then, when Chicky finishes me off, I go, "Ahhhhh!" and out pours a long stream of cum shooting straight up. I'm shuddering as the guys, laughing, yell, "Heads up!" and they scramble off the sides of the bed. My long cum shot comes down, landing where Chicky was lying.

I'm moaning, "Ooh, umm," while stroking my dick a few times. I think I'm in my bedroom jerking off, but then who is pulling off my sneakers? My jeans come off next, then my underpants. Chicky goes, "Hey, it's not as small as I thought." Billy goes, "No, it's the same size as mine," and they both laugh as if that was funny. I sit up, muttering, "Hey," and crawl off the bed, almost falling on my face, which gets them laughing louder and harder.

Billy goes, "Oh, my Christ, I'm gonna piss myself." Then, he gets his arms around my waist, saying, "Be a good sport, Gary. C'mon, that was funny." I shrug, "I'm a good sport." Chicky goes, "Oh, man, I almost pissed myself too," and he presses his finger against my asshole. I go, "Billy, he's..." and Billy's like, "Stop it, Chicky!"

Taking his finger away, he mutters, "You and your cute girlfriend make me sick. Let's get our drinks." Billy guides me out of the bedroom as I'm thinking I'm missing something, but I like Billy's arms around me.

The drinks are in the kitchen. Billy refreshes their drinks and makes me a new one. It's not until I'm on Billy's lap on the swing that I remember what's missing... my clothes and sneakers. That's only a concern for a second because Billy's cuddling with me and then giving me a long kiss.

Huh, how he do that? Then I realize I'm facing him with my knees on either side of him. His hands are on either side of my face as he follows up the kissing with a long lick across my mouth, then up the front of my nose, his saliva all around my face as my cock is again a throbbing hard boner poking his stomach. As he does another quick lick up the front of my nose, Chicky is squeezing my left butt cheek. Billy hugs around my neck, murmuring, "I told you we'd have more fun tonight, didn't I, Gary?"

I'm like, "Uh-huh," and lie my forehead on his shoulder and reach between us to pull on my dick a few times. Chicky presses on my asshole again; I go, "Ah," as his finger goes inside a tiny bit. He pulls it out and tries to put it next to my nose, but I turn my head. Then, drinking his screwdriver, he mutters, "You're monopolizing our sex toy, Underwood." Billy goes, "He don't like you. He likes me, doncha Gary?" I go, "Uh-huh," and close my eyes.

When I open my eyes, I'm lying alone on the swinging loveseat that's not swinging. Huh, what, where?

Sitting up, I look around and hear music coming from the house. Holy shit, I don't have any clothes on, and it's getting cool out here. It takes me a while to figure out where I am; then, I try remembering where my clothes are. Getting off the loveseat, I stagger a couple of steps and look at my feet. I'm wearing only my new sweat socks!

Naked, I walk inside, unsteady on my feet. The music is coming from a radio on the counter in the kitchen, and I hear mumbling from the bedroom. Oh, wait! That's where my clothes are.

I should be mortified walking around naked, but I'm not because I'm still drunk as a skunk. Opening the bedroom door, I can just make out Billy and Chicky on the bed. Huh, and I'm not the only one naked. Billy sounds excited, "Oh, good, you woke up, Gary. C'mon over here and join us."

Squinting and frowning, I mutter, "What are you doing?" Chicky mumbles, "It's what we already did. Not what we're doing. You missed out on it, dork." Billy says, "Goddammit, Chick, I told you to stop being such a prick to him!"

With a more friendly voice, Billy holds his arms out and says, "C'mon, get in bed with us, Gary," and I stubble over and lie on him face to face. He smiles, asking, "How about a nice kiss, huh?" He looks a lot cuter in profile than full face, but his smile is super nice. We kiss for maybe a minute as our cocks get bone-hard between us. I'm totally relaxed and loose on his hot smallish body, except for my hard boner, that is.

Chicky makes a disgusted grunting sound, then says, "It's sickening how you baby him, Underwood." Then he bumps my shoulder, saying, "It's time you sucked my dick, pussy." Billy shouts, "Fuck you, Chicky. He doesn't want to suck your dick." Chicky mutters, "You didn't mind doing it, did you?" Billy mutters, "Yeah, I did."

It is hard to resist humping my hips against Billy's privates with our hard dicks rubbing together. It's taking all my willpower not to do that. Billy rubs my back, and I put my lips on his ear and whisper to him, "I'll suck your dick, Billy, um, if you tell me how to do it."

Chicky goes, "Jesus Christ, now you two are whispering like a coupe of snatches! Fuck this!" He gets off the bed, and Billy goes, "Don't be like that, Chick." He gently lies me over where Chicky was lying and gets off the bed naked to follow Chicky. I roll over to where Billy was lying and listen to them arguing in the kitchen.

The next thing I know, Billy is shaking my shoulder, saying, "Wake up, Gary. It's almost time for my parents to get home." I mumble, "Oh, what time is it?" He looks at his watch, "Twelve-thirty. C'mon, get dressed," and hands me my underpants. He's dressed, holding my arm to steady me as I step into my underpants. He says, "I'm going to drive you home, then I'll walk the six blocks back here." I can't think straight and just nod, mumbling, "Uh-huh."

He takes the car keys from my jeans' pocket, hands me the jeans, and helps me put them on. In the car, I'm like, "Hey, this is my Mom's car." He snickers then mumbles, "Yep, it is." After a three-minute ride, he parks in front of my house, hands me the keys, and asks, "Can you get inside alright?" Frowning, I mutter, "What? Um, of course." He walks with me to the front door, sees my bike parked next to the porch, and says, "I'm going to borrow your bike. I'll call you tomorrow."

Nodding, I hold his arm and lean over to try kissing him, but he pulls his head away, saying, "Fuck that! The party's over, Gary. Don't you know anything? Get inside." I stumble inside, lock the door, put the keys on the table, and somehow get upstairs to the bathroom. After a monstrous piss, I flop on my bed fully clothed and pass out for the third time tonight.

Sunlight is pouring in through my bedroom window when I wake up. I've no idea what time it is as I get undressed. Still drunk, I get under the covers wearing only my underpants and fall off to sleep again. The next time I wake up, I'm hungover like a motherfucker and groaning, barely able to move, my mouth tasting like a chicken coop. That thought makes me think... Chicky! Then, oh no! Last night started coming back to me. Not all of it, though, because a couple of hours of last night are blacked out, although what I remember makes me cringe with humiliation. Omigod, what a fucked up night.

My head is pounding like a drum as I look at the clock on my bedside table; it's eleven o'clock Sunday morning. I go back to sleep, getting out of bed at one-forty-five, purposely not thinking about last night. Doing everything a normal person does in the bathroom, including showering, I stagger downstairs and catch a huge break. Mom and Dad are out somewhere, so I avoid being grilled about why I slept so late after, supposedly, going to the movies last night.

After taking three Tylenol, I cook and eat an egg sandwich on toast while gulping a sixteen-ounce Snapple, then go outside for a ride on my bike to clear my head, but my bike has been stolen. Goddammit! My head pounds harder as I sputter and rage at life's unfairness and my terrible luck!

Walking down one block, then another, I realize I'm walking to Billy's house. Everything I remember about last night shines favorably on him. I mean, he was really nice to me. It was that horrible Chicky who was an asshole of a prick all night. We did a lot of kissing, which was fabulous when it was Billy, but horrendous doing it with that bearded Chicky. Omigod, he jerked me off! That's right, um, unless I dreamed that. Did he jerk me off; is it even possible someone would do that?

Holy shit, there's my bike lying against Billy's front stoop. What a relief! How the hell did it get here, though? I'm standing next to my bike as Mrs. Underwood comes out the front door carrying her purse. She goes, "Hello there, Gary. Billy is in the back yard." I nod, and she says, "Walk around the side of the house, so you don't bother Mark." I mumble, "Thanks," figuring that Mark must be Billy's dad or brother. She goes to her car and gets in. I hear her drive away as I walk to the backyard, feeling nervous and unsure if I should be doing this. I guess I was invited because Mrs. Underwood told me to walk around the side of the house, right? What if Chicky is in the backyard?

Billy's alone, sitting on the porch step smoking a cigarette. Hesitantly, not sure if he'll be in a smiling mood or the mood he was in at the basketball court, I say, "Hey, Billy, wassup?" He looks over and, with his wonderful smile, says, "Yo, hi Gary!" Holding up the cigarette, he goes, "I'm not allowed to smoke in the house. C'mon, we'll sit in the swing."

I walk up on the porch, muttering, "Chicky's not around, is he?" He ruffles my curly blond hair, grinning and saying, "Nah, don't worry. He's hardly ever around. C'mere and sit with me. Last night was fun, wasn't it?"

Nodding and grinning, I'm like, "Sure, it was fun with you, but Chicky, um..." I sit next to him on the loveseat, and he puts his arm across my shoulders, smiling and asking, "How can you drink so much? I couldn't believe how much you drank!" I lean against him, "Well, I don't know, but I don't remember a lot of the night." He chuckles, "That's probably for the best."

He kicks his foot, and we swing a little as he squeezes my shoulders and says, "It was a wild night doing all that kissing, and, hey, we're you serious about wanting to blow me?" Blushing, I go, "What? No, um, did I say that?" He shrugs, "Yeah, but it's okay. I'll let you blow me after I finish my smoke. My old man is watching a baseball game, but you can do it in my bedroom. And, as for me telling you how to do it, well, it's pretty simple."

My face is a forest fire as I gulp, then mutter, "No, that's okay. I, um. Nah, I don't, um..." He exhales a smoke ring and excitedly goes, "Did you see that? I blew a smoke ring." I ask, "When did you take up smoking cigarettes?"

He's trying to blow another smoke ring, then he says, "I've smoked since freshman year. It's cool." I ask, "And your parents let you?" He says, "They both smoke, so, you know. I can't smoke in the house, but they don't either." I ask, "Did Chicky, um, jerk me off last night?" He gives me a look, "Well, yeah. You shot off like a firecracker too." I nod, "I wasn't sure if I dreamed that. He shouldn't have done that. Ah, do you guys do stuff like that often?"

He flicks his cigarette butt halfway across his backyard, then goes, "Nah, not anymore we don't. That was the first time in the last six months we messed around doing that goofy shit. We used to do more of it when he was still in high school, but, hey, you and I can do a lot more of it. Do you wanna do more of it with me?" I shrug, "I don't know. Well, I guess if you want to, so do I." He says, "Sure, it's no big deal except it's our secret, obviously."

He twists his head to look into the kitchen through the screen door, then goes, "The old man's in the living room, so he can't see us. Turn your head toward me." When I do that, he kisses me. I kiss him back for three seconds, then he pushes two fingers against my boner, mumbling, "Good, you got hard. C'mon inside, and I'll let you suck me off."

To be continued... donnymumford@outlook.com.

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