Invited

Chapter 4

New Job

The loveseat we're sitting on rocks back and forth, making a squeaking noise as I try thinking what I should say about Billy's offer to let me suck his dick. Smiling, he rubs his hand slowly up the back of my head, murmuring, "Jesus, how about all these 'effing curls."

I mutter, "A curse on them," and he goes, "They're not so bad, but, c'mon, Gary, last night you said you wanted to blow me." Really?

I'm like, "Did I say I wanted to do it, or that I'm willing to do it, um, if you invited me. There's a difference." He makes a face, mumbling, "Willing or wanting, semantics, Gary."

Hesitating, then I go, "But your dad's in the living room." He says, "Oh, that's okay; he never goes into my bedroom." I take a deep breath, "Anyway, I don't know how to, um, blow somebody."

Chuckling at that, he gets off the swing, takes my hand, and, pulling me up, says, "Okay, I see I'll need to help you make the decision. Look, I know from experience that the first time is the hardest one to commit to, but afterward, you'll feel a big relief for having done something you've wanted to do. You'll see."

My heart is pounding out of my chest as I stammer, "Let's wait until we get high again, okay?"

He pats my shoulder, quietly mumbling, "We already got past that part last night, Gary; didn't we?"

I quickly respond, "But, um, I don't remember it." He snorts out a chuckle, "Yes, you do. Listen, if you want to be my secret buddy, ya gotta do secret stuff with me, right? And you know how much fun our messing around is. It's obvious as hell you liked it."

Shrugging, "Yeah, I did," and he says, "Messing around is a helluva lot better than pulling your pud in bed, right?"

Still hesitating in front of the backdoor, I mutter, "I'm, ah, not sure if..." He goes, "It doesn't mean you're queer if that's what you're worried about. It's just us buddies screwing around practicing for when we'll be doing it with girls."

Smiling at me, he squeezes the back of my neck, "Heh-heh, well, it's sort of like doing it with girls, practicing to be cunt lappers." That is so gross!

Omigod, I want to see more of him, so I do a weird snicker, then mutter, "Okay." He smiles and says, "There ya go," and I follow him inside as nervous as I've ever been, having trouble breathing now.

We go through the kitchen, then down to Billy's bedroom without seeing his dad, so that's good. Billy closes the bedroom door and smiles, "Check this out," and he pulls last night's vodka bottle from his bottom bureau drawer. It's half full or half empty. "You drank most of this."

I mutter, "I've got a bitching hangover too." Smiling, he says, " Holy shit, though, I was amazed by how much you can drink, and so was Chicky." I shrug, then say, "I don't like him."

Billy chuckles, "Yeah, well, nobody likes Chicky all that much." He puts the bottle back behind some sweat pants and closes the drawer. Then, still kneeling, he says, "Or, do you want to drink some vodka now? Would that help?"

Do I? It tastes like shit, but so what? Nodding, I mutter, "Yeah, maybe I should have some."

Standing, Billy says, "Okay, I'll get you something to mix it with," He leaves me in the room, and I stood in the corner out of view of the door so his dad wouldn't see me if he went to the hall bathroom. Christ, I'm wringing my fucking hands like an old lady, but, c'mon, this is monumental. It could mean I'll have Billy to hang out with instead of me watching TV in my room every night. Plus, he wants me to do it with him. He's chosen me to replace that asshole Chicky as his secret buddy. I should be flattered, and I guess I am. Goddamn, I'm going to do it!

He returns to the room with a can of Pepsi, "This will have to do, Gary. It's cold at least." Holding up a finger, he goes, "First, though, I should take a piss. While I do that, you make room in the can for the vodka by drinking a couple of ounces of Pepsi." I nod, and he heads for the bathroom. Closing the door, I pop the tab on the can, gulp two big swallows, and then psyche myself up for doing this.

He returns all smiles, then gets the bottle of vodka and pours some into the can. After swallowing a little, he goes, "Oh fuck, that's not too good, haha."

Handing the can to me, he encourages me, "Swallow away." I gulp down some Pepsi and vodka, make a face, and then drink more. Billy takes the can and pours in another ounce or so of vodka, saying, "Drink some more."

As I'm doing that, he puts the bottle in the drawer and says, "When you're ready, the first thing you need to be aware of is, um, well, it's important that you keep your teeth covered at all times, okay?"

I nod, mumbling, "With my lips, right?" He laughs and goes, "How else would you do it?" I go, "Haha, yeah, right."

Guiding me to his unmade bed, he's like, "Let's sit on the bed while the vodka calms you down."

When we're sitting against the headboard, sharing his pillow behind our backs, he says, "If you hadn't told me last night you wanted to blow me, I wouldn't be pressing you today and helping you decide to do it."

Making another face after swallowing more of this hideous drink, I mumble, "I don't remember exactly what I said last night." He puts his arm across my shoulders and goes, "Well, let me put it another way. Do you want to blow me?"

Again, I need to ask myself, do I? Sipping more vodka and Pepsi, I go, "Yes, I guess I do," which surprises me. Then, after saying that, I'm not sure if I want to do it because I'm gay, if I am gay, or if I simply want a buddy to hang out with. Well, either way, I'm going to do it.

He says, "Yeah, I thought you did, but I just needed to hear you reassure me that's the case. If you didn't want to, then we wouldn't, ya know?"

Drinking more of the vodka drink, I'm like, "Do the guys do this a lot? I mean, I don't hang out with the guys nearly as much as you do, so I have no way of knowing."

He goes, "You know what? That's a good question. I, ah, well, I don't know either. The only person I ever screwed around with now is Chicky. He's the one who told me it's common for guys to experiment by screwing around like this when they're young. He introduced me to messing around when I was fourteen, and I did it with a couple of guys at school back then, so, yeah, you're getting a late start at it."

I'm almost finished with the Pepsi, and I am feeling the dizzying vodka's effect, but, on the plus side, my headache is gone. I go, "Chicky's twenty years old now, and he's still doing it."

Billy nods, "Hmm, yeah, I never looked at it like that before. I don't know when you're supposed to stop. I guess when you get serious with a girlfriend."

That makes sense to me, but the vodka has me feeling uninhibited, so I brazenly add, "Unless Chicky's gay, though, right? Then he'll never stop."

Billy emphatically says, "Let's get this straight right now; I'm not gay!"

Finishing the can of Pepsi and vodka, I ask, "Is Chicky?"

Billy rolls his eyes, mumbling, "No, um, or, I don't think he is. Anyway, you're ruining the fun with all these questions I don't have the answers to."

I mutter, "Sorry," and he hits my arm, saying, "Did you know that Ken Jennings in 2004 won seventy-four games of Jeopardy in a row?"

That off-topic question has me frowning. "Ken, who? Um, Jeopardy? The TV show?" He nods, "Yes, he grew up in South Korea but still knew all kinds of America-related trivia, and he has wide-ranging knowledge about everything."

Shrugging, I mumble, "Huh, I've never watched that show."

He asks, "Do you want another Pepsi?" Shaking my head, "No, thanks, I'm feeling dizzy now."

Smiling his smile, he says, "Scrunch down on the mattress, and we'll rest for a while. Give the vodka time to percolate."

Gee, Billy is the nicest guy I know and wicked friendly with his arm under my neck. I go up on my side a little to lie against him. He murmurs, "You like me, doncha, Gary?"

Nodding my head against his shoulder, I mumble, "Uh-huh. I do, yes." He chuckles, "Oh man, though, your fucking curls! They're tickling the side of my face," and he runs his hand against the side of my head to push back my hair."

Dammit, Dad was right, so I mumbled, "Yeah, I know, I need a haircut." He snickers and says, "Yeah, you do, but stay clear of your butcher uncle's barbershop, haha."

Putting my arm across Billy's chest and snuggling against him even more, he goes, "Okay, I get it, you want to buddy-up a little, huh?" and he gets both his arms around me, hugging me and kissing me on the side of my mouth. Again, my dick grows into an iron boner. I got a boner from our kissing a few minutes ago too, and, holy shit, that is the best feeling!

Wow, I never used to get extemporaneous boners like when I'm with Billy. It feels good to be hard like this, so I nestle against him even more, my boner against his side. He murmurs, "I like you too, even though you seem wicked young at times. Ya know, for being almost eighteen."

Doing my shrug again, I mumble, "I won't be eighteen for nine months." He goes, "Even so, um, well... never mind."

We're quiet for a minute, then he says, "How weird is this? South Africa is the only country in the world with three capital cities. Cape Town is one of them, but I'm not sure..."

I mumble, "I think I'm ready now, Billy." He says, "Oh, good, um, for your first time, there's no need for you to get on your knees in front of me to do it. That's so, ah, trite. You know, so conventional and cliched."

Not sure what he's talking about, I go, "Uh-huh, I guess." He takes his arms from around me, and we separate sightly. He goes, "You can suck me off right here on the bed."

He's wearing another pair of uncool-looking shorts with an elastic waistband that he quickly pulls down to his knees, his underpants come down, and his dick flops out. Pulling on it, he says, "I'll break you in as Chicky did for me when I was a freshman. The difference is, I'll be a lot nicer to you than that prick was with me."

That sounds good, so I nod, and he says, "Ah, you've seen videos of guys blowing each other haven't you?" I nod again, and he says, "Then you know pretty obvious how to do it, right?" "Yeah, I guess. I don't know why I said I'd need you to teach me, but tell me if I do something wrong, ya know?"

Putting a hand behind my head, he murmurs, "Sure, but scooch down the mattress now and then put your face between my legs, um, against my crotch. I want you to get used to the feel and smell of my cock, and all of my junk."

I do that, and he pulls my head against his cock and balls, my nose in his soft pubic hair. I swear his cock and balls look exactly like mine, making me feel good. He says, "Inhale, Gary, move your face around, getting used to my scent."

He doesn't smell like anything. As if he read my mind, he goes, "I took a shower not too long ago, so I probably smell neutral, but there will be other times when you're blowing me when I might smell a little grungy down there. You'll get used to it, though. It's no big deal."

Lifting my head away from his, um, junk, I rustle around on the bed to get more comfortable, meaning on my knees, bending over to his crotch. Even though he said I don't need to get on my knees, I do that.

Billy mutters, "Oh, it's okay if you want to do it that way." He puts his hand behind my head, moving my face against his crotch again, the head of his soft penis sliding against my chin, then he lets go of my head and says, "Okay, that's a start. Now give my dick a lick." I snicker, muttering, "Lick-a-dick."

When the tip of my tongue touches his cock; I immediately pull my head back. He goes, "No, not like that. Lick up and down it. It's only skin, and you've licked my tongue, and there's probably more bacteria in my mouth than on my dick."

I seriously doubt that, but lick up his penis, starting at the head, and taste what I'm guessing is a droplet of piss, so how could there be more bacteria in his mouth than his piss. As if rereading my mind again, Billy says, "Urine is sterile, by the way." I doubt that too.

With my eyes closed, I finish doing three five-inch licks on his penis, then feel pubic hair in my mouth. Billy says, "Hey, that was good. Do that a couple of more times." Ignoring the hair in my mouth, I do what he said, and it's no big deal. I've lost my boner, though, so what's that mean?

Billy rubs his fingers through my curly hair, mumbling, "Okay, now take my dick in your fingers and stroke it a few times." I pick up his penis and stroke it, but it's awkward.

He says, "Use two fingers and your thumb, not your fist." I hold it like that and then jump a foot off the bed when there's a loud knock on the bedroom door with his dad yelling, "Answer your damn cell phone, William! It's ringing in the kitchen."

My head snaps around to look at the doorknob and see the lock button is out. The door isn't locked! I scramble off the bed, glad I've got all my clothes on. As I stand as far away from the bed as possible, Billy calmly mutters, "Coming, Dad."

Pulling up his shorts, he hops off the bed, smiling and shaking his head, "It's always something, huh, Gary? I'll only be a second. Hang in there." I'm petrified thinking about what would have happened if his dad opened the door instead of yelling through it.

When Billy opens the door, I can hear his phone ringing, then it stops, and Billy says, "Yo, Spike, my man, whassup?"

I'm fishing around in my mouth for the pubic hair as Billy comes back into the bedroom, still talking on the phone. He closes the door without locking it and says into the phone, "Yeah? Who else is there?" He smiles at me as he walks over and pulls my hand away from my mouth.

Listening to Spike, Billy opens his mouth wide, so I do the same. Looking closely in my mouth, Billy puts two fingers in, pulls out a pubic hair, shows it to me, and then drops it and says, "Sure, Spike, but I'm with Gary Wallingford." He listens, then says, "Oh, uh-huh. We'll be outside then."

Putting his cell phone on the bureau, he goes, "That was Spike Nichols. He said Sara Donald is having a pool party for a few guys and girls, and I'm, ah, I mean, we're invited."

I go, "She has a pool?" He shrugs, "It's an above-ground pool, but it's okay. Um, do you want to finish blowing me now? We'll need to be quick about it, or you can do it after the party?"

Relieved, I go, "Ah, what? Um, I don't know. What do you think I should do?" He shrugs, "Let's get this first blow job out of the way real quick-like, and then you can blow me after the party too. Whaddaya say?"

I've lost my nerve, so I go, "I think I'd rather do it after the pool party, but, um, I don't have a bathing suit with me."

He laughs aloud, "Well, it would be weird if you did since we didn't know about this pool party until a minute ago." He opens his bureau's middle drawer, moves clothes around, then throws a bathing suit at me, saying, "You can wear my old one."

Catching the swim trunks, I mutter, "Oh, thanks," thinking how sexy it will be wearing his swimsuit.

As I look at the swimsuit, Billy drops his shorts and underwear and puts on a cool-looking swimsuit with legs reaching almost to his knees. The swimsuit I'm holding is a shorty, stretchy one that's almost like jockey underwear. I go, "How old is this?"

He laughs, "Oh, shit, I think I wore that in sixth grade. It might be a little tight on you, but c'mon, put it on. Spike is picking us up in like three or four minutes."

Putting his shorts on over the swimsuit, Billy then puts a pack of Marlboro in his side pocket, mumbling, "Rebecca of Sunnybrook Farm is there, and she has a crush on me. So that should be interesting." I'm like, "Oh, yeah, I think I know her." She has nothing to do with any farm, though.

As I'm taking my jeans off, Billy combs his hair, saying, "Your fucking uncle gave me this shitty too-short haircut a couple of weeks ago, and, Christ, I still can't do much with my hair!"

I mumble, "Sorry," and he smiles at me, "It's not your fault, buddy. Let's go, get that swimsuit on."

Taking my jeans and underwear off, I pull up the too-small bathing suit that leaves nothing to the imagination, my cock and balls stretching the material. Putting my jeans on, I decide I'm not going in the pool. I pick up my underpants, asking, "What about my underpants?"

He smiles, "What about them? I'll throw them in with my dirty clothes. Mom will wash them; then I'll wear them myself, heh-heh."

We walk through the living room past his dad, watching a baseball game on TV. Billy goes, "Dad, you know Gary Wallingford, right? We're going for a swim." His dad goes, "We're eating at six, Billy. Your grandparents will be joining us, so don't be late." Billy smiles, muttering, "No worries, Dad."

Outside, he pats my shoulder, saying, "Sorry we got interrupted, Gary. Look, um, if it doesn't work out that you get to blow me right after the pool party, you can come over after dinner."

I nod, "Yeah, sure," and he goes, "Hey, I won't let you down," and he gets his arm across my shoulders again, adding, "We'll get it on sometime today, and then you can blow me all summer. I'll promise you one thing; it'll cut down on the number of times you'll need to whack off."

Making a face, I mutter, "I don't whack off," and we laugh as he hugs my shoulders. He's a very touchy-feely kind of guy. I like all his touching, but not anyone else's.

Billy points down the street, "Here comes Nichols in his shit-box Chevy." The car stops next to us, Billy gets in the shotgun seat, and I get in the back with Spike saying, "Holy shit, Wallingford, good to see you venturing out with us lowly neighborhood guys."

I'm sitting on my face mask in my back pocket. I'm not wearing it if no one else has one on, and I don't expect anyone at a pool party will be wearing one. "I've been working all summer, Spike."

Billy says, "Whaddaya talking about, Spike? Gary's been out and around, hanging out with me." Spike mumbles, "Whatever. Hey, I had to call you 'cause Rebecca wouldn't stop bugging me to do it. She's got a thing for you." Billy mutters, "No shit."

Spike graduated with us. He's a short, fat kid with buzz-cut hair, and he's wearing only a bathing suit and flip-flops. His chubby boobs bob up and down when he moves. Obviously, he came directly from the pool party.

He says, "Sara was only allowed to invite six kids, but her old lady reluctantly okayed me calling you 'cause Rebecca nagged her or some such shit."

At Sara's house, as soon as we walk around the backyard, Billy smiles and steps out of his low-cut sneakers without socks, pulls off his T-shirt and hands it to me, then drops his shorts and hands them to me. Then, mischievously smiling, he goes up the ladder on the side of the above-ground pool and does a cannonball into the water splattering the two girls there floating on rafts. The two girls are not amused, muttering, "Asshole."

Spike giggles, "Jesus, Underwood's crazy. Did you see that?" Well, of course, I did. I mutter, "Ha, uh-huh," and then Spike goes up the ladder and does his version of a cannonball. His fat round body creates a much bigger splash than Billy's smallish body, the girls screaming, "Stop it, fool!" then, in a quieter voice, grinning, the girl with red hair mutters, "You two assholes." I think the redhead is Rebecca since she's who Billy, smiling, as usual, has his arms around, floating together.

Hmm, I think I felt a stab of jealousy seeing that, although I'm not sure because I can't recall ever being jealous before. I'm standing here, unsure what to do; then Bobby Brown comes over carrying a can of orange soda, saying, "Hey, Gary, good to see you."

We bump fists as I go, "Hi, Bob, yeah, um, I was over Billy's hanging out, and Spike called, so..."

Nodding at the pool, he says, "Above-ground pools are for shit, ya know? Better than nothing, I guess. It's hot as a bastard today, so you can at least float around a little to cool off, but Sara's old lady only allows three or four bodies in the pool at a time. Hey, do you got a smoke?"

Well, he sees Billy's box of Marlboros half out of his shorts pocket, so I go, "These are Billy's, but he won't mind." He takes a cigarette from the box and lights it with his lighter, muttering, "Thanks."

He's a tall thin guy with blond hair almost the same shade as mine, but his hair isn't curly. He was a bench player on the varsity basketball team for three years, and he ran for president of our junior class but didn't win. He's popular, though, and a super friendly kid. I didn't know he smoked cigarettes, though. I was under the impression that kids smoking cigarettes was rare--smoking pot was not as rare.

I'm glad Regina O'Neil isn't here. She'd embarrass me by asking why I never called her to go out on a date. She teases me, saying she has a crush on me, and I can't handle that nearly as well as Billy handles Rebecca's crush on him. He appears to be enjoying himself.

Bobby blows out some smoke and asks, "Where are you going to college, Gary?" I lie, "I'm starting at community college but will probably transfer after a year. How about you?" He's going to a college in Boston and blah, blah, blah.

After a while, Billy and Rebecca get out of the pool and walk right by us, heading to a plastic cooler on a table with an umbrella. I watch them get sodas from the cooler and sit on chairs around the table. Bobby stubs out his cigarette butt on a trash can, saying, "I'm going for a dip in the pool to cool off. Wanna join me?"

Shaking my head, I mumble, "Not right now," and walk over to Billy and Rebecca's table.

Rebecca sees me and says, "Oh, um, your Gary, right?" She said that as if she was wondering what I was doing here. Billy goes, "Yeah, he came with me. Didn't I mention that?"

Rebecca grins at him and hits his arm, "No, you didn't, but it's okay." Then to me, "Care for a soda, Gary?" "No thanks, I had a Pepsi a little while ago." I'd be super uncomfortable being here uninvited if I hadn't drunk that vodka.

Billy snickers and say, "Gary's a soda and vodka drinker." She's like, "Oh, well, there's no drinking allowed here, or my mom would have a shit fit." I'm still holding Billy's shorts and T-shirt, but his sneakers are back where he took them off. He says, "Here, let me have the clothes, Gary, and have a seat."

He takes a cigarette from the box, "Do you have a light, Rebecca?" She goes, "Ew, no! No icky cigarette smoking allowed."

I guess she didn't see Bobby smoking. Billy rolls his eyes and puts the cigarette back in the box, mumbling, "Killjoy." She hits my arm and says, "So, you're hammered on vodka all the time, huh? Is that why we never see you around?" She's smiling and trying to be funny, I think. I shrug and grin, muttering, "Not really."

She says to Billy, "He's a mystery man, aren't you, Gary?" I go, "Whatever," and Spike comes over dripping wet. He flicks pool water on us, and Rebecca mutters, "That was childish and uncool of you, Spike."

Bobby joins us, grabs another orange soda from the cooler, and, gratefully, they stop talking about me and talk about what else? They talk about where they're going to college, Billy defending his choice of community college, calling them snobs, but smiling as he said it. Another guy and girl are splashing around, giggling in the pool as Rebecca's mother comes out with a platter of Nacho cheese dip and tortilla chips. Ugh!

Everyone but me digs in eating that crap while making smacking mouth sounds. Ya know, I'm beginning to think I'm not missing much by not hanging out with the neighborhood guys. This is boring.

After the mother leaves the house a little later, everyone wants to crowd into the pool. Not wanting to be the only one who isn't in the pool and, thereby drawing attention to myself, I take off my sneakers and socks, drop my jeans, then take off my T-shirt to join them. Rebecca asks me, "Omigod, Gary, is that your grandfather's swimsuit?" Bitch!

We can barely move with all eight of us in the pool, but I guess the bodily touching is the whole idea. It would be alright with me if I were touching Billy. The problem is I'm feeling everyone but him, and I don't like it.

After seemingly forever, mercifully, Billy needs to leave for dinner, so Spike gives us a ride to Billy's house. I ride my bike home and arrive just in time for dinner. Dad's like, "Goddammit, son, you need a haircut. How many times," blah, blah, blah. I'm like, "Yes, Dad, I know. This week, for sure."

After dinner, I'm in my room jerking off, unsure if I'm hoping Billy calls or he doesn't. By eight o'clock, I know he isn't going to call. It wouldn't be so bad, but I hate the thought that maybe Rebecca is blowing Billy. I'm determined to learn how to do that better than her.

The next day I'm back working on the lawn cutting job, finishing my last week with them. Billy doesn't call all week, but I think he's probably waiting for the end of the week when his parents are out for the night.

After work, Lonny said goodbye to me, telling me someone named Jody is starting work tomorrow, Saturday. He gave me a pat on the back and a hundred-dollar bonus, saying I was a good worker. They dropped me off at my house, and now I'm unemployed again. Yeah, but I earned $2800 and only spent three hundred of it, mostly on lunches and that hundred-dollar bottle of vodka with skinny jeans and sweat socks on the side.

Billy doesn't call Friday or Saturday either, and I seriously think about calling him, but I can't do it. If I'm not invited, I can't feel comfortable. Then, late Sunday morning, with nothing better to do, I ride my bike to the Weis Market where Mom works and, wearing my mask, get a job application from the service counter. All the Weis Market employees wear masks, but most shoppers are maskless. After eighteen months of this fucked up pandemic, people are beginning to ignore it.

I'm filling out the application hoping for a stock room job or something similar. Mom says the starting hourly wage is eight dollars. That's a buck less per hour than my lawn cutting job, but this will probably be easier working in an air-conditioned building. She also told me that they'd probably only hire me part-time.

Well, she's part-time, too, as there's something about not wanting to pay for employees' benefits packages. Anyway, twenty hours a week times eight dollars is a hundred and sixty dollars. I'll have enough, added to the money I made cutting grass, to buy a used car and auto insurance in a couple of months. Then, I'm off to the races, so to speak.

Holding the completed application, I'm at the service counter to turn it in. After waiting for two women to buy scratch tickets, I hand my application to a redheaded freckled-faced kid who's about sixteen years old, expecting that will be the end of it for now.

He holds up a finger, though, and says, "Wait while I call upstairs. They'll probably hire you on the spot. We're short a couple of part-timers." I'm like, "I was hoping for a full-time job."

He says, "They only hire high school kids as part-time help." I'm like, "But I graduated." He picks up the phone, saying, "It doesn't matter; the same applies to recent graduates. I don't make the rules around here, okay?" Well, Mom told me it would be part-time.

Turning his back, he talks on the phone, then hands the application back to me, "Go on upstairs for an interview." What? I'm not prepared for an interview!

Hmm, I guess I have no choice, though. When I turn around, I hear the kid mumble, "You're welcome," and I mumble back at him, "Oh, yeah, thanks."

Fuck, I'd typically need to psyche myself up for an interview, but I don't have time for that. I go up the stairs that freckles pointed to, next to the service counter. I'm met at the top by a middle-aged potbelly man who isn't wearing a mask. The man holds his hands out, saying, "I'll take that," meaning my application.

He has an absurd-looking mustache and a prominent chin with an ass-crack at the end. I give him the application, and he smiles, showing many big square teeth that look like Chiclets, "This way, please."

Gee, he really should put that mask on to hide his lower face. I follow him to a desk and sit in the chair next to it as he glances at my application, saying, "Neat handwriting."

I can't think of anything to say to that. He puts the application down and says, "I'm Dan Stall, the human resource manager. You're vaccinated, right?" I nod, "Yep, and the booster shot too."

He goes, "Good, um, our most immediate part-time need is for a parking lot shopping cart collector and bag boy. The pay is eight dollars an hour to start, and if you can start tomorrow, consider yourself hired on a trial basis." Holy shit, just like that?

Figuring I've got nothing to lose, I ask, "Any chance of getting a full-time position?" Dan gives me his big-teeth smile, "No, sorry," so I say, "What time tomorrow?"

He mumbles, "I believe you'll be on the nine in the morning to two PM shift, but John, our floor supervisor, will give you a definite on that. First, though, there's paperwork to complete. Do you have your Social Security card and a driver's license?" I do, so he takes me over to a lady, "Here you go, Gary. Sally Day will take care of you."

To Sally, he says, "Gary is our newest part-timers." She's fiftyish with watermelon-sized jugs and a huge ass. Sally is wearing a mask and is seemingly frustrated that she needs to deal with me. She rolls her eyes and does a long audible sigh, then slowly gets her fat ass up, grumpily saying to Dan, "It's my lunchtime, Dan, and you know that."

With a strained smile, he says, "You can put that off for ten minutes, can't you, Sally?" She waddles to a file cabinet and pulls out some forms, mumbling, "I'll apparently have to." Dan says to me, "You're in good hands, Gary."

It takes less than ten minutes to fill out the forms, and then when I hand them to Sally, she barely glances at them. Shaking her head as if I'm a huge burden, she calls on the intercom so you can hear her all over the store, "John Baxter to the office. John Baxter to the office."

Apparently exhausted from doing that, she sighs again and says, "John will be with you momentarily," She indicates I should sit on one of three chairs near a coat rack, adding, "Give this form to John, and good luck."

I nod and mumble, "Thank you," and she goes off to, I assume, have her lunch. This has been an unprofessional-feeling process so far, but I'm kinda giddy about getting another job so easily.

A young guy wearing glasses walks toward me two minutes later, so I stand. He holds out his hand, saying, "Wow, hello there. Nice to meet you; I'm John Baxter. Sally tells me you're our newest part-timer, so welcome to the Weis Market team."

We shake hands; then I give him the form, and, without looking at it, he explains, "I saw Sally as I was coming upstairs." I mutter, "She seemed, um," and he goes, "Yes, Sally doesn't like it when something interferes with her lunch."

He said that with a twinkle in his eye, so I grinned, mumbling, "Oh, uh-huh." It was curious of him to say 'wow' when he met me.

He pulls his mask off, grins at me, then pats my shoulder, saying, "I can't breathe in this thing. Come with me." Leaving my mask in place, I follow him down to the main floor. He tells me, "Dan Stall, who you've met, is my boss, but I'm the boss on the floor for part-timers. I worked part-time for three years as a high school student and then became a full-time employee when I graduated two years ago."

Walking beside me, John has his hand on my shoulder, guiding me to a room near the lavatories explaining that this is the employee lounge and it's where I'll sign in for my shift, coming in through the employee entrance. Pointing at a corkboard, he says, "That's where the shifts are listed each week. Beginning tomorrow morning, your name will be on this schedule for Monday's nine to two o'clock, five-hour shift, and it's the same Monday through Thursday. You'll be on a Thursday, Friday, and weekend shift the week after. It's a rotating two-week schedule."

He puts his hand on my shoulder again, this time with a squeeze thrown in, making me think about Billy's touchy-feely action. John says, "If you have any questions or problems concerning your shift assignments, you'll need to come to me. Tomorrow, I'll meet you here and go over your duties."

Nodding, I mumble, "Sure, okay." He grins, adding, "Your job responsibilities are pretty simple. You'll spend approximately a half-hour collecting shopping carts from the parking lot; then you'll be bagging groceries for one of the register clerks, then another half-hour collecting shopping carts, etc. So, it's not brain surgery, right? A bright fellow like yourself won't have any problem with it, assuming you don't pass out from boredom, haha. Any questions?"

I'm like, "Um, if you're not here when I sign in tomorrow, how do I contact you?" He says, "I'll be here," and he hands me a pamphlet, adding, "This outlines the company's part-timer policies. Give it a quick read, okay?"

Taking the brochure, I go, "Okay, sure. I'll see you tomorrow at nine o'clock." He goes, "Good to have you on the team, Gary," and he squeezes the back of my neck, giving me chills. Sexy, pleasant chills.

That was, um, unusual. Walking out through the employee exit, I'm thinking, Whoa, my boss is super good-looking! He looks cool wearing glasses too.

And he also might be gay, and I say that because of his 'wow' when he said hello to me and how he looked me over. I don't know exactly, but there was something there. Too much eye contact, maybe, and then he held onto my hand a second too long during our handshake. Not that it matters if he is gay, but it's an exciting possibility, especially considering his squeeze on my neck and those chills I got.

Or, he could just be an amiable young guy and not gay at all. He's my height, very slim, clean-shaven with peaches and cream complexion and, as I said, he's handsome with light brown hair cut in a conservative hairstyle parted on the side and, I don't know, he's very, um, clean-looking, ya know?

But here's the most fantastic thing; his eyes are a startlingly bright shiny blue, and the frames of his eyeglasses are the same blue color! It was a double-take kind of thing when I first saw him. A mesmerizing combination, the frames of his glasses the same startling blue color as his eyes! Whether he's gay or not, I can't think of anyone I've ever met who had this much of an initial impact on me.

Back home, Mom and Dad are super impressed when I act casual, telling them I've been hired. Mom goes, "Did you mention I work there, honey?"

I go, "No, but I put it on the application." On his way out the door for his Sunday golf outing, Dad goes, "Good for you, son."

I let them think it was all planned out by me when it was a spur-of-the-moment kind of thing. I probably would have procrastinated otherwise. Anyway, I was only unemployed for two days. Pretty 'effing good!

I jerk off thinking about my new boss, John Baxter, in my bedroom. That's the first time in six weeks I thought of someone other than Billy while jerking off. Grunting, "Um, um, um," I go, "Ahhh," and shoot off a long stream of creamy cum. "Oh, fuck, that felt good. Goddamn, whew...

After lying on my bed, savoring that climax for a few minutes, I head for the kitchen and make myself a ham and cheese sandwich. After eating the sandwich, I ride my bike to Billy's but don't stop. I keep going down MapleStreet, then circle back and ride by Billy's house again.

Obviously, it's a long shot, but I'm hoping he'll somehow walk out or see me and call me over. That would qualify as being invited, but it doesn't happen.

Monday, I'm at the employees' entrance at quarter to nine locking my bike. It's a fifteen-minute ride from my house to the store, and since Mom works different shifts, I'll need to use my bike, which will suck on rainy days.

I go inside, and there's nobody here, but my name's on the schedule! I see a computer printout sheet on a clipboard with signing-in names. My name is included, but I don't sign in yet. I'll wait for John. A minute later, two women come in, give me a curious look, then sign in on another clipboard. They put on face masks, then flimsy vests with name tags, and go out to the store talking about one of their daughters getting her driver's license.

Then, a stream of employees come in, some already wearing the flimsy nametag vests; all of them ignore me except a good-looking black kid who smiles and says, "Hey, how you doing? Um, are you the new part-timer?"

I nod, "Yeah, I'm waiting for John. It's my first day." He puts his vest on, saying, "Oh, thank God they hired you. I was doing double duty collecting shopping carts and working in the back too, and it gets hot out there."

I mumble, "I'm Gary, by the way." He points at his nametag, muttering, "George, George Brown, it's nice to meet you," As John walks in, George walks out a door leading to the back of the store. Yeah, George is nice-looking. I said he was a black guy but he had creamy light brown skin that looked wicked smooth.

John has a mask on, but it's down on his chin. He looks just as good this morning as he did yesterday. He rubs my shoulder smiling and saying, "Good, you're on time, Gary. That's job one, being on time."

He opens a closet door explaining that I need to wear an employee vest, "These vests are goofy-looking but necessary so that a customer with a question about something will know you're an employee." He hands me one,

"Here's one for you," and he writes my first name on the nametag, adding, "Throw the vest in the wash once a week or so, okay?"

I go, "Sure," and he puts his vest on, then a face mask. With his hand on the back of my neck, he says, "We'll walk through the store to the parking lot."

His hand gives me shivers and chills, and I feel my dick squirming in my pants. Holy shit, I'm experiencing the second crush of my life, crushing on my boss. Omigod, I hope John is gay. I might be fooling myself, but I think he's attracted to me. I know I look young, and I've got a babyface, or that's what I've been told anyway. So, if he is gay and attracted to young-looking guys with a baby face and if he invites me to do something with him, I definitely will. That's quite a few ifs, though.

John takes his hand off my neck to sweep his arm in the parking lot, saying, "You see the shopping carts scattered out there. Our wonderful customers leave the carts wherever they've unloaded their groceries. We've provided parking corrals for the shopping carts, but that's too much of an inconvenience and too considerate a move for most shoppers. So, we have guys like you rounding up the carts. You'll do it like this," and he grabs two carts and inserts one into the other, then rolls the two carts to the next closest random cart and rolls the two carts inside the third.

Hmm, it's idiotic to assume I wouldn't know to do that without John showing me, so maybe he likes spending time with me. Or is that wishful thinking on my part? In either case, he stays with me for fifteen or twenty minutes as I gather up another nine shopping carts, then he says, "Twelve is pretty much all you want to deal with at a time."

He takes over and demonstrates how to maneuver the line of carts inside the automatic doors. That does take a little technique as the line of carts tends to curve, and the first carts are twenty-five feet in front of the one I'm pushing.

Okay, so that's probably why he stayed with me this long. Then, he stays with me as I collect another twelve carts and try maneuvering them inside. It took three tries getting the first line of carts to activate the automatic doors, but I quickly got the hang of it. John says, "You've already mastered the technique," and, with his awesome hand giving me chills on the back of my neck again, he says, "Inside, we'll bag groceries for my favorite register clerk, Janice McBride."

There are four registers in operation. Janice, wearing a mask, is working the third register, and she looks about twenty years old, an average-looking girl. She gives John a little wave of her hand, then continues scanning, um, ringing up a customer's large grocery order.

With his mask covering his mouth and nose, John has me watch him bag groceries. Janice scans each item and then pushes it to where John is standing in the collection area. He explains the things that should go together in the same bag and which ones need a separate plastic bag, like a dozen eggs, for example.

Weis Market is a full-service supermarket, so there are food items, plus items from the pharmacy, household items, and even hardware items and books, etc. John has me watch him bag three customer's orders, then says, "Your turn, Gary." I start bagging, and he corrects me when I get something wrong. Jeez, I had no idea there were right and wrong ways to bag groceries. Janice scans items on the register faster than I can bag them, so she helps bag while the customer uses the credit card devise to pay.

After watching me for a while, John pats my back, saying, "You're looking mighty good, Gary. Use your best judgment when you need to collect carts and then get back to bagging for Janice."

She says, "I'll keep my eye on him, Johnny." I get a final squeeze on the back of my neck from John, and then I don't see him again until almost noon when he comes over asking, "How's it going, Gary?" I'm like, "Great, John. This is the longest I've had a mask on since graduating, but I'm getting used to it again. Um, the parking lot was free of shopping carts ten minutes ago."

Janice looks up, "He's a good bagger," and that's the last I see of John until two o'clock when he comes over to me, pats my back, and says, "Time to sign out. Good job," and that ends my first five-hour workday, forty dollars richer. The five hours flew by because I was constantly busy. So, not too bad.

Back home, I go to my bedroom and jerk off, thinking about the chills I get when my new boss squeezes the back of my neck. What a thrill it was climaxing while thinking about John Baxter. I'm shuddering, still clutching my dick. Jesus, merely thinking about those incredible chills he gives me gets me aroused.

Okay, that was good; now I have the rest of the day and nothing to do. I ride my bike to the sub shop for a late cheeseburger lunch, then swing by Billy's house three times without seeing him. I'm guessing he hasn't called because his parents aren't going out for the night. Both times he's called me before, his parents were out of the house. That would be a valid explanation for why he hasn't called, except he was letting me blow him with his father home. A more probably reason he hasn't called is that he's letting that bitch Rebecca blow him. He doesn't need me now.

Tuesday, I'm back at Weis Market signing in, but I don't see John until ten o'clock when he comes over asking, with a hand on my shoulder, "Everything cool, Gary? Any problems?" I stare into his eyes, purposely making eye contact for too long, saying, "No, everything's good, John."

He doesn't squeeze the back of my neck, though. Hmm, this time, I need to settle for a quick shoulder squeeze. I see John occasionally during my shift, but he doesn't come to specifically see me until he walks by to remind me, "It's two o'clock, Gary. See you tomorrow." It was more fun yesterday getting trained by John for over an hour.

It's the same Wednesday and Thursday, meaning I hardly have any contact with my boss. I wonder what he does all day. Janice, my register clerk, is friendly, although there isn't much time to talk because she's constantly scanning grocery orders.

The only part-timer I've briefly spoken to is George, the black dude who stocks shelves. He makes a point of stopping daily to talk for a couple of minutes. He's apparently fixated on girls because he asks me leading questions about my association with them. How many girls I've dated and so forth.

Those questions gave me the opportunity to lie my ass off. As I said before, he's my height, but with broader shoulders, although his waist is about the same as mine, meaning thirty inches. He wears his hair in its natural state and on the short side. As I said before, he's nice-looking with nothing out of the ordinary except he has the smoothest light brownish tan skin I've ever seen on anyone. He's a sophomore at Drexel University, living on campus. I like talking with him because he's a friendly cool dude, and I'd like to speak with him more, but he only stays for a few minutes. Plus, I'm bagging groceries the whole time we're talking, then he says he's going to get some fresh air and have a smoke at the employee picnic table.

There are also two high school girls and a retired man bagging groceries when it gets busy. They're at different registers, though, so there isn't an opportunity to speak to them. Well, I don't especially want to talk to any of them anyway. When it's not that busy, they stock shelves or do whatever else, and I collect shopping carts. This is not the kind of job where I can interact with anyone except Janice and not do much with her.

By the end of the week, I have my doubts about John being gay. That pipe dream is pretty much out the window unless I can think of a reason to spend time with him. Give him the opportunity to invite me to do something with him. If only he'd put me on a special project working closely with him, we'd get to know each other. I'm a likable person, but I can't imagine why we'd be working together.

I don't have work on Friday this week, so, wearing a mask, I reluctantly give in and go to my uncle's barbershop for a haircut that will satisfy my nagging dad. He told me at dinner last night he saw a barber set for home haircutting at the drug store, and he's going to buy one if I don't get a haircut. See, you must obey their rules when you live at home. He sounded serious about the home haircut, so here I go.

While riding my bike to the barbershop, I practice what I will tell Uncle Tony. I've surfed the Net and found a picture of a guy with a haircut that looks exactly like John's preppy haircut. My latest crazy idea is to try getting the same haircut my boss has. Since it is a short hairstyle, there's a chance Uncle Tony will oblige me.

Yes, this is a last-ditch effort to get John to notice me, talk to me, and get to know me better. Do some touching, a squeeze at the back of my neck, and the like. I usually don't like being touched, except for the two crushes I have, one on John Baxter and the other on Billy Underwood. I figure the immense contrast between my mop of curly hair and a conservative haircut like John's is bound to get his attention, necessitating some discussion.

So, Friday at eleven o'clock, I find Uncle Tony sitting in his barber chair reading a year-old Sports Illustrated magazine. He's not wearing a mask, although he does when cutting hair. He goes, "Ah, I think I remember you. You're my nephew, right? Um, Larry, is it?"

I roll my eyes, mumbling, "Hi, Uncle Tony. It hasn't been that long." He gets out of the chair, saying, "Gary, I'd like to see you more often, that's all. What's new with you."

Sitting in the barber chair, "You saw me last week at the Fourth of July cookout." Putting the barber cape over me, he goes, "Oh, was that you? I thought it was someone who promised to come for a haircut the following Monday. That was almost two weeks ago." I mutter, "I'm working for Weis Market during the day now."

With me, Uncle Tony leaves his mask off, and I take mine off as I hold my cell phone. He clips the cape behind my neck; I say, "Before you start, would you look at this," and show him the picture, adding, "Can I get a haircut like this guy's?"

Uncle Tony shakes his head, "Gee, Gary, that guy has straight hair and, um, you've been blessed with curly-top hair." I go, "But it's not too curly on the sides and back after you give me a haircut. If you left it a little longer on the sides and back but shorter than usual on top, wouldn't that work."

He says, "Sorry, Gary, but it'll still be too curly, and you couldn't comb the front hair, your bangs, over to the side as the guy in the picture does." The way John does it.

I shrug, giving up. He goes, "There are ways people straighten curly hair using some kind of heating iron or whatever, but I'm a humble old-fashioned barber, and that sort of thing is out of my limited range of hair styling expertise."

Shrugging at that, I'm pissed off because I thought I had a good idea. He says, "If you are tired of your curly hair, I can cut most of it off and just leave the hair long enough in the front to flip up. How does that sound to you? Do you wanna try that new look?"

Ha, of course, I DON'T! Why don't I, though? I mutter, "Thanks, Uncle Tony. You know what, yeah, I guess I'll try that."

Two frowning boys, about thirteen or fourteen, come into the shop wearing face masks. They look alike, so they're probably brothers. Uncle Tony says to the boys, "The Foster brothers! Hi guys."

One boy has a Phillies cap on backward. He's the only one who mumbles, "Hi, Tony." They sit two seats away from each other and watch a game show on the TV without sound. Uncle Tony knows almost all his clients by name. He's the neighborhood barber, an amiable guy.

Ten minutes later, all my blond curls are piled up in my lap on the barber cape. Even though the hair is less than an inch long, it's still wavy on the top of my head. Not curly, but wavy. Same for the inch-long hair in front. Tony rubbed Lucky Tiger hair wax in all my hair to keep it lying forward on top and sticking up in front. He says, "There ya go, Gary. How do you like it?"

He holds a mirror behind my head so I can see the front and back reflected in the big counter-long mirror.

Jesus, I look as if I'm as young as the Foster brothers. I say, "Yeah, I like it. Thanks, Uncle Tony."

Not really; I hate it. On the other hand, everybody, including my boss, will notice the startling difference between this and an unruly head of curls.

Getting out of the barber chair, the two boys stare at me, making me feel self-conscious. I've never had a haircut this short before, and I feel conspicuous. Shit, it's not as if no one ever gets a summer-short haircut, though, so why are these two dorks staring at me like that?

When I'm reaching in my pocket for money, Uncle Tony goes, "You know better than that, Gary." I nod, then lie, "Thanks, Uncle Tony. Um, I like my new do."

As I walk out, one of the brothers says, "A buzzcut, Tony." Ha, see, other guys get wicked short haircuts. I should hang around and stare at their short haircuts. Hmm, that's a very mature thought... NOT! Still, I feel weird. Damn, I wonder what Billy will think of my new look? Yeah, that's another concern.

Back at the house, I jerk off thinking about blowing Billy. I've already licked his penis, and, except for that initial taste of urine, his dick didn't taste like anything. I can go all the way and give him a complete blowjob if he gives me another chance. If he ever calls me. Gasping at the force of my growing orgasm, I realize I'm thinking about Billy while jerking off instead of my boss for the first time this week. Huh, that's interesting.

Lying on my bed, grunting and moaning, I stroke my boner until I groan, "Ummm, ooh, fuck," and blow a long arching string of cum that disappears over the foot of the bed. Jeez! Mmm. Wow, with my dick in one hand, I use the other to feel my short bristly hair all over my head.

Weirdly, I was motivated to get a radical haircut so my boss would notice me, but I ended up thinking about Billy while jerking off.

I'm all fucked up. Putting my dick away, I jump up and stare at my reflection in the mirror, turning my head this way and that. Hmm, I think I made a big mistake. Shit, I let my frustration get the best of me by agreeing to try this fucked-up haircut. Maybe if I shampoo the Tiger wax out, my hair will look longer. I shower, shampoo my hair, and then use Mom's hair conditioner lotion.

MY HAIR LOOKS WORSE when I dry myself and use Mom's hairdryer. It's all frizzy, sticking up three-quarters of an inch, and wavy as shit. Goddammit, my regular haircuts sucked, but they were still better than this! Getting dressed in shorts and a T-shirt, I put a baseball cap on and ride my bike to the CVS store. I'm going to buy that stuff Uncle Tony used in my hair to get it lying on top and up in front. And, why do I always have ten times more problems than anyone else in this 'effing world?

I'm looking through the men's hair products in the store, looking for the Lucky Tiger gel, wax, or whatever. Dammit, CVS doesn't stock it. That's typical! I pick up a jar of Butch Wax with a picture of a boy with a flattop haircut. Ew, that's worse than my haircut, but what the fuck? I'll try this.

Turning around, I bump into Billy. He's full of electricity as he goes, "Gary, bro! Hi, what's that you're buying?"

It's stupid, but I'm blushing like mad, my face on fire, embarrassed about my stupid haircut. I go, "Wha..?" and he takes the Butch Wax jar from my hand, looks at it, and asks, "Whacha need this for?"

I'm like, "Um, well," and he reaches up smiling and lifts my hat. Putting my cap on his head, he goes, "Holy shit," and rubs my hair, mumbling, "No more curls to tickle my face. Your short frizzy hairs will still tickle, though, huh?" I take the jar back, then take my hat off his head, annoyingly saying, "It won't be frizzy with this gel shit."

Billy's just standing there, his mask under his chin, but he always seems in motion. He puts his arm across my shoulders, squeezes, and says, "Hey, don't be like that. I think you look cool, Gary. And talk about a coincidence, bro; I was driving to Supercuts when I saw your bike outside the store. I was like, hey, I gotta say hello to my buddy Gary. Anyway, I like your extreme haircut."

I go, "Really?" He says, "Yeah, really. Um, not that I'd ever get a haircut like that myself, but on you, it's okay, kinda." There's an insult in there somewhere.

We walk toward the register clerk, Billy's arm still across my shoulders, as he says, "After my haircut, do you wanna hang out?"

Oh boy, an invitation! I'm trying not to act all excited about that as I give the register clerk a twenty-dollar bill and the jar of hair gel. I try being blase, "Yeah, okay. Whaddaya wanna do?"

Dammit, I said that too fast. He chuckles, then goes, "Well, to start with, we've got unfinished business, right?"

I'm like, "Oh, um, you mean, ah..." He goes, "Yep, exactly. I'll let you do it. Is anybody home at your house?" I pocket the change from my twenty and take the bag with the hair gel, mumbling, "Um, right now there is, but today my mom will be returning to work at three o'clock for another two hours. So we can hang out at my house for two hours."

Outside, I ask, "Why don't you go to my uncle's barbershop? It's right down the street?" He shrugs, "Nah, remember I swore I'd never go back there. Keep me company at Supercuts."

First of all, he got a too-short haircut from my uncle only three weeks or so ago. Billy's light brown hair barely touches the tops of his ears, so I wouldn't even consider getting a haircut if my hair was only that long. I mutter, "Supercuts? No, I've got my bike." He shrugs, "We'll put it in the back of the SUV."

Well, it's great being with Billy again, so I struggle my bike into the back of his mom's SUV. Billy takes my hat off again and goes, "It would be weird of me to get the same haircut as you, but it'll be kinda cool too, doncha think? Radical as hell."

I go, "I guess," and we get in the car. Billy starts it up, saying, "The electric power grid we rely on in the US was built in the friggin' nineteen-fifties. It's getting to the point where usage is nearly overpowering the system."

He drives us away as I go, "Huh? Oh, um, jeez, that's, ah..." He says, "I thought of that because your haircut is sort of like what a guy would get in the nineteen-fifties." Frowning, I mutter, "Guys get this kind of haircut nowadays too. What the fuck you talking about?"

Smiling, Billy goes, "Yeah, I guess you're right. Damn, I'd need to use some of that hair gel you bought if I got a haircut like yours." As he's driving us to Supercuts, I want to ask why he hasn't called me for the past two weeks. I don't ask, though; that would be too whiny of me.

Parking, he smiles at me, saying, "Can you believe I'm actually thinking about getting my hair cut like yours?" I mutter, "No, I can't."

Why does he keep bringing this up? I don't care what haircut he gets, although I'm noticing that my crush on him is still very intense. His profile is really cute. I like how he looks now, so I mutter, "Maybe you should get your regular haircut, Billy. You look good, um, with, you know, your everyday look."

He grins, "I don't know who has the bigger crush on me, you or Rebecca. She calls me every fucking day, though, and you never call, so I guess she wins."

I sputter, "Huh? I don't have a crush on you. Whaddya talking about?" He smiles, "Yeah, you do. That's okay, though; I'm letting you blow me, so I obviously like you too."

That's something else I'm dying to ask him about. Ask if she's blowing him. No, that would be another too-whiny question.

When we get out of the van, I'm like, "Ya know, um, I don't want to wait for you in Supercuts." Pointing at the McDonalds across the street, I mumble, "I'll get a soda or something and meet you back here, okay?"

He takes my baseball cap off and puts it on his head, saying, "Yeah, sure. I'll wear your hat, so you'll be surprised when I take it off to show you the haircut I decide on."

Shrugging, I mutter, "I don't care what haircut you get, seriously." Smiling, he goes, "At this moment, I don't know what I'm gonna tell the lady barber." Shrugging again, I can't help smiling back at him as I mumble, "You'll think of something."

As I walk across the street, I'm still smiling because I'll be hanging out with him this afternoon. Billy has so much energy that he's even making a game out of his haircut. If he does get a haircut like mine, that'd be a bonding thing between us. That'd be something Rebecca couldn't match.

Fifteen minutes later, I'm leaning again the SUV finishing one of McDonald's' artificial milkshakes as I'm watching Billy coming out of Supercuts wearing my hat and, what else? He's wearing his signature smile, too. Of course, he is.

He walks over and takes off my hat, saying, "Ta-da!" showing his regular nondescript haircut. He puts my hat on my head as I sarcastically mutter, "Yeah, well, the suspense was killing me." We chuckle and get in the SUV.

Driving out of the parking lot, Billy goes, "There's no one at your house now, but my mom might need the car so let me drop this off at home and get my bike."

I nod, saying, "In a couple of months, I might have a car." He says, "Lucky you. Going to college, I won't get my car until I graduate and get a job four years from now." I lightly punch his arm, saying, "I'll drive you around when I get my car." He nods, "You can be my chauffeur."

At Billy's house, he parks the SUV and goes inside to drop off the keys while I pull my bike out of the back. As we pedal our bikes to my house, I ask, "Aren't you going to get a job this summer?" He says, "It doesn't look that way. In six weeks, I'll be starting college. My brother and I are the first Underwoods in our family to go to college, so my parents are proud of that, and they don't hassle me too much about getting a summer job."

When we're walking inside my house, taking off my mask, I get a weird nervous sensation, realizing I'll soon have Billy's penis in my mouth. These past couple of weeks waiting for him to call, I told myself I'd be happy to blow him, but now that it's time to do it, I'm hesitant again and having the same trouble breathing. He asks, "Do you wanna do it in your bedroom?"

Do I wanna do it at all is the real question. I shrug, "Where do you think we should do it?" He smiles, "In your bedroom."

Nodding and trying to smile back, I gulp and mutter, "It's upstairs." He's like, "Lead the way."

As he follows me upstairs, he goes, "Remember about covering your teeth." Thump, thump, thump goes my heart as I mumble, "Uh-huh."

In my bedroom, he says, "Oh, look at that big bed you've got." I shrug, "It's just a regular double bed." He says, "And it's made up too. Do you do that every day?" Shaking my head, "Nah, Mom makes my bed up."

Billy flops on the bed, landing on his back. He goes, "C'mon, get on the bed with me." I climb onto the bed next to him but stay on my knees. Without the vodka, I'm not sure I can do this. Billy pulls his pants down, saying, "Pulls my shorts off for me, please."

Getting off the bed, I take off his loosely tied sneakers. He's not wearing socks again today. Then pull his shorts and underwear off and glance at his cock and balls. They still look just like mine.

He says, "Thanks, now get between my legs and pull your dick out." When I do that, he says, "Lean forward," and he puts his hand behind my head, gently pulling my face close to his crotch, "Start by licking my prick a few times, and feel free to pull on your dick whenever you want. We'll both get off, maybe at the same time."

Closing my eyes, I drop my face against his crotch, my nose in his soft pubic hair, and my chin against his limp penis. He pulls his knees up so his thighs are on either side of my head.

When I realize I'm not breathing, I inhale with my nose against his skin, and this time I detect a scent coming from Billy's privates. I can't describe the smell other than saying it's not offensive. I breathe in and out a few times, relaxing slightly.

Billy says, "Do the licking on my dick that you did last time." The last time I licked his dick, I lost the boner I had from our kissing. I don't have a boner now, but I'm getting aroused and feel a boner coming on, so that's awesome.

Licking from the rosy head of his penis to the root embedded in his soft, brownish pubes a few times, get both our dicks firming up. I do that five-inch lick four more times, our dicks getting harder with each lick. Why was I hesitant? This isn't bad at all.

Billy has his hands on my head, murmuring, "Good, feels good, Gary. Now, pick it up and stroke it the way I told you to do it last time." I stroke the foreskin back and forth using my thumb and index finger. Billy mutters, "Ahhh, yeah." Then he goes, "Suck on the head, but keep stroking the shaft." Yep, this is a better way to bond than having the same haircut!

Hmm, sucking the head of his dick for the first time is easy, and it is very sexy too. And knowing I'm the reason his dick is getting hard is sexy as hell too.

My dick is getting wicked hard; that's an unexpected bonus. I've got my fist around my cock with the fingers of my other hand stroking Billy's. He has his hands on either side of my head now, just holding on gently as he makes a "Sssssing" sound between his lips. Sliding the head of his cock side to side on my tongue while stroking the shaft gets Billy moaning. "Ahhh, umm," followed by, "Cover your teeth now, and bob up and down on it."

My fist squeezes my boner as I try doing what he said. At first, it feels odd because I'm just moving his foreskin back and forth, but as my saliva wets his hard cock I begin sliding up and down on it easier. Billy squirms on the bed, still holding my head as he groans, "Do it tighter, Gary," so I clamp down harder and get more energetic with my bobbing, and the head of his boner begins hitting the back of my throat with each quick downward bob of my head.

After a full minute of bobbing up and down on his hard cock, Billy's legs shoot out flat on the bed, and his whole body becomes very stiff. He's moaning, "Ahh, ahh, oooh!" His ass lifts off the bed, then a lot of gooey liquid floods my mouth, with some of it coming out the sides, drooling down my chin.

Well, it's cum, obviously. Billy pushes my head away; his cock comes out of my mouth, and a final squirt of cum hits my upper lip. He's stroking his cock, and I'm stroking mine, grunting, "Ah, ah, um, um, ooh!" as I shoot off a hot stream of cum, catching most of it in my other hand, or it would have hit Billy.

Omigod! My whole body is shuddering. I lay over on my side shaking, but that was a great climax. Mine, I mean. Billy says, "I enjoyed that; it was good, Gary. Yeah, especially for your first time."

Taking deep breaths, I sputter, "Uh-huh, it was good. Oh man, I blew off harder than you." He pulls the top sheet from under the blanket and uses it to wipe my mouth, snickering and saying, "If you swallowed it faster, it wouldn't gush out both sides of your mouth like that. How'd it taste?"

I'm smacking my lips, then mutter, "Gee, I didn't notice anything bad. Um, I can't say it tasted like anything."

He rubs my head, then goes, "That damn glop will made your hair sticky." Sliding off the bed, I toss him his clothes. He pulls up his shorts, saying, "That was a decent blowjob, so I'll let you do it again later. Do you got any sodas or something to drink?"

Damn, after that, I thought he'd want to mess around making out or something. I mutter, "Yeah, we have Cokes in the refrigerator. Um, I need to wash this jism off my hand first, though."

Following me down the hall and into the bathroom, he goes, "Do you feel relieved you've finally done it?" Nodding, "Yep, I feel good about being able to do it, um, just as you said I would. Do you do it to Chicky very often?"

I'm washing my hands and face as Billy says, "Nah, I hardly ever blew him. Well, as I told you that time we smoked pot, Chicky and I hadn't messed around together for like six months. When we were messing around regularly, though, he usually sucked me off, and then sometimes he'd stick it up my ass and that hurt. I sort of did whatever he wanted since he was the experienced one."

Oh, this is the first time he's mentioned fucking. I'm not ready for that yet, so I ignore it and say, "You already told me you don't mess around with anyone else, but does Chicky mess around with other guys?"

He's taking a piss, mumbling, "How the hell would I know that?"

I'm like, "Well, did you miss not doing it for the six months between doing it with him?" Putting his dick away, he shrugs, "No, not really. You're the one who got me interested in messing around again."

I'm like, "Me? What'd I do?" I'm drying my hands as Billy stands behind me and puts his arms around my neck; leaning against my back, he murmurs, "I don't really know. That day we walked four-miles home from the high school, there was something, um, the way you looked at me or, fuck, I don't know." He takes his arms away, muttering, "Why do you ask so many damn questions?"

Muttering, "I'm sorry," I turn to lean against him face to face and murmur, "Do you wanna mess around on my bed?" He goes, "No, I'd appreciate that Coke, though." I can't help myself, I kiss him real quick, and he goes, "No! Christ, Gary, stop it."

Making a face, I say, "Sorry. I'm always saying I'm sorry, so I'm sorry for saying I'm sorry so often too."

He shrugs, muttering, "How 'bout that Coke?" I nod toward the hall, and we walk to the stairs and go down as Billy tells me, "The oldest condoms ever found dated back to the 1640s and were made from animal intestines."

I go, "Ew, gross" At the bottom of the steps, he asks, "Which way?" I nod to the left, and we go into the kitchen. As I'm getting two Cokes from the refrigerator, he asks, "Have you ever bought condoms?" Shaking my head, he smilingly says, "Well, you'll need to buy some if you want me to mess around sticking it up your cute ass, right?"

Giving him a can of Coke, I mumble, "I don't want you to do that," and he grins, "Yes, you do."

Popping the tab on the can, I drink some Coke, then ask, "Did anyone but Chicky ever fuck you?" He drinks four big swallows of soda, then burps loudly and laughs. I make a goofy face, then ask again, "Did anyone else fuck you?"

He goes, "There you go with more questions. Yes, Chicky buggered me when we started. Then I was the top guy. Satisfied?" I'm like, "Top guy?" and immediately know what he meant by that, so I quickly add, "So, in the end, you were the guy, and Chicky was the girl. That's what I'll be, your girl."

He smiles, "I've never thought of it that way, but basically, it's sort of like that, I guess. Hmm, you want to be my messing around boyfriend/girlfriend. Is that it?"

Shrugging, I go, "Yeah, if that's what you want," and he gives me a one-arm hug, saying, "I knew there was something special about you. This will be fun." I kiss him again, just a quick kiss on his lips. He gets a disgusted look on his face, so I say, "Sorry," then asks, "So, um, do you still need to hang out with Rebecca?"

Oh fuck, that was so weak, so whiny of me. He gives me another look, an exasperated one this time, then he goes, "I don't hang out with her. She always calls me, teasing and pretending she has a crush on me, but I haven't taken her out." Good!

Yeah, I'm determined to get excellent at blowing him, and I'm gonna buy some condoms too. When he wants me to blow him, I'll do it, and if he wants to fuck me, I'm doing that too. In other words, I'll come across for him.

Billy finishes his Coke and says, "You're new to this messing around, Gary. I need to tell you something, and it's not to make more of it than it is. You've been looking into my eyes as if you think I'm your boyfriend. We're buddies messing around, is all. You understand that, right?" I'm like, "Of course I do. Christ, I'm not stupid!"

Who is he fooling? Of course, we're boyfriends, and I'm the one who is the girlfriend/boyfriend, um, part of it, or something like that.

We go back to my room and play computer games that Billy is proficient at. He must spend a lot of time on his laptop. After winning the second game easily, Billy asks, "Are you up for blowing me again?" I'm like, "Sure, if you want me to." He says, "Look, if you don't want to blow me again, just say so." I quickly say, "You want me to, don't you?" I need to be invited, ya know?

Chuckling, he stands up, drops his shorts, and then points at his dick, mumbling, "Sure, why not? You might as well start doing it the right way, though." I'm like, "You mean, on my knees in front of you, right?" He nods, "That's how it's usually done, uh-huh. C'mon, you've watched videos."

I don't mind getting on my knees in front of Billy. That's my part in our secret sexy messing around play. Dropping to my knees, I unzip and pull my pecker out. Squeezing my dick, I pick up his and suck on the head, stroking his limp shaft.

He snickers, "You couldn't wait to get it in your mouth, could you?" He's right; I liked doing it. Covering my teeth, I try bobbing on his cock a few times, but it's still too limp, so I go back to stroking it and licking the head. Damn, the head feels good on my tongue. My dick has firmed up faster than Billy's, but in sixty seconds or so, we've got nice five-inch boners, his in my mouth and mine in my fist.

With every bob up and down on Billy's hard cock, my fist goes up and down my hard cock. It's like I'm in a sexy zone where the only thing I can think about, the only things in my world, are the two cocks I'm intimately in contact with. Sexual arousal soars in me to heights I've never experienced before.

Oh boy, it's thrillingly exhilarating how my orgasm is building to a roaring climax as groaning sounds come from my throat until "Oooh!" cum explodes from my cock shooting between Billy's legs an inch above his shorts that are hanging below his knees. An unbelievable dizzying supernova of pleasure spreads out from my groin, moving all over me, my toes curling and the roots of the short hair on my head vibrating. I stop bobbing on Billy's cock; my nose pressed to his belly as I shudder and moan.

From somewhere far off among the stars, I hear, "C'mon, Gary, finish me off." Blinking then gagging, I realize the head of his cock is partially in my throat. Jerking my head back, his cock plops onto my tongue as I take a deep inhale, moan again, then bob up and down on it, and less than a minute later, he grunts, "Oh, fuck..." and blows his load in my mouth. I swallowed quickly, but it was a much smaller cum shot than the first one, so none of it escaped my mouth. Pulling my head back further, his cock flops out of my mouth as Billy mumbles, "Nice, that was pretty good, bro."

Sitting back on my ankles, looking up at smiling Billy, I murmur, "That was almost scary. I've never had a harder, more explosive climax than the one I just had."

Billy's pulling up his pants, "Huh, neither Chicky nor I ever shot off while blowing the other. Anyway, wait until you experience taking it up your ass." I nod, then stand, murmuring, "I'm not ready for that, Billy. I read where it can hurt and, um, maybe I can't do it."

He pulled his pants up without wiping his dick off, so I put my dick back in my jeans, too, still feeling some final sizzle from my latest and best climax ever.

Billy pats my shoulder and says, "Let's go outside so I can have a smoke, and we'll talk about it." Nodding, I go, "I'm not saying I won't try it, but I think I should do more blow jobs first."

He snickers at that, saying, "You're one of a kind, Gary. Sure, I'll let you mess around sucking my dick as often as you want, but messing around taking it up your ass is the way to go." I shrug, "Of course, you'll be the top guy, and I'll be the girl/guy. That goes without saying."He snickers, muttering, "Girl/guy, haha. You're funny."

Outside, we sit on the stoop at the front door. Billy lights a Marlboro cigarette, asking, "Do you want one?" Shaking my head, "No, thanks." He exhales smoke and says, "It's natural to be afraid of having a guy's cock in your ass. That's normal, and once you've experienced it, you'll maybe want me to do it even more than blowing me."

I mutter, "Maybe," and he hugs my shoulder, smoke coming from his nose and mouth as he says, "Well, I was right about the oral messing around, wasn't I?"

Wow, he sure was right about that, so I'm like, "Uh-huh, I want to do the girlfriend part of taking it up the ass for you, but not right now; not yet, ya know?" Leaving his arm across my shoulders, he mumbles, "Sure, I understand. No problem, buddy."

As I've thought a hundred times, Billy is the nicest guy I know, and now I have more than a crush on him. I think I'm in love with him, which pretty much answers my question about if I'm gay or not. I'm gay for Billy for sure.

It's been thirty seconds of silence, which Billy doesn't care for, so he goes, "A strawberry is not an actual berry, but a banana is."

Looking at him, I go, "A banana is a berry?" He nods, "Yep," and takes a drag off his cigarette. He looks cool smoking that cigarette, so I mumble, "Let me try a drag, Billy. I smoked pot, okay, so I'll try a cigarette."

Smiling, he goes, "It's different," and holds his cigarette to my lips as he did with the joints that night. I liked that. Not surprisingly, he's lipped the filter, so it's sexily wet with his saliva between my lips. Any part of Billy is sexily okay by me. Taking a tentative drag off the cigarette and inhaling it, I cough and sputter, my eyes watering as I mutter, "That's horrible." He laughs and hugs my shoulders again.

Wiping my eyes, I ask, "Um, when do you think you'll want me to blow you again?" I'm hinting that he should invite me over to his house tonight or meet tomorrow, something soon. He's trying to blow a smoke ring, then he says, "Well, fuck, it won't be for two weeks 'cause it's my family's turn to use my grandparent's place in Ocean City. It's on the bay, not the ocean, but the bay is great for water skiing, and they have a motorboat. It's so cool, and the boardwalk is cool too. Did you ever go water skiing?"

I'm in shock! He'll be away for two weeks! Omigod, just when we're really into me blowing him? Shaking my head, I stupidly mumble, "You'll be away for the next two weeks?"

He chuckles, "Yeah, starting tomorrow. I just said that." Getting stupider, I say, "That's so unfair!" Billy goes, "Aw, you're going to miss me. Hey, I'd invite you to come with me, except it's a small house and my asshole brother already invited his girlfriend. Sorry, Gary." I mutter, "I've got a job anyway. It's just that we are, um, getting along so well and, whatever."

Christ, why don't I start crying like a cunt? Getting it together, I mumble, "Well, sure, I'm gonna miss you, but two weeks isn't that long."

Hell, he's gone more than two weeks between calling me, so I should be used to that by now. Billy flicks his cigarette butt into the hedges separating my yard from the Myers' yard next door and says, "Tonight I need to pack my shit for the shore, but maybe if I finish early enough, I'll call you, and you can blow me again before I leave." I go, "Okay, try to finish early."

He stands, mumbling, "Your mom will be getting back from work soon, so I'm gonna take off. It was fun, Gary." Standing, I'm like, "She won't be home for a half-hour. Um, do you wanna mess around on my bed a little bit?"

He smiles, "Jesus, you make me feel good the way you like me so much. You wanna buddy-up with some hugs and kisses, doncha?" Shrugging, I go, "I don't care. I thought maybe you'd want to."

Chuckling, he mumbles, "I gotta get going." Outside, he gets his bike, "When I get back from the shore, I'll buddy-up with you all you want. You are even more fun than I thought you'd be, and I thought you had great potential to start with, so..."

Grinning, I mutter, "Thanks," and he goes, "If I don't finish early tonight, I'll see you in two weeks, Gary. Be cool, dude," and he rides off.

God, this is painful. My heart aches for him while he's simply blase about everything. Two fucking weeks, you gotta be kidding me!

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

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