Invited

Chapter 5

New Haircut

Watching Billy pedal away on his bike, I'm like, could I be in love with him? Nah, that's too extreme; it's not love. It's a sort of infatuation because of the sexy messing around we do together; gay messing around. Damn, though, it's so 'effing unfair Billy's off to Ocean City for two weeks. Those two blowjobs I did for him were fun, sexy, and exciting! Yeah, especially the second one when I did a better job of it.

I'm stretched out on the living room sofa, daydreaming about Billy's dick, when Mom comes in the front door carrying a bag of groceries. She stops in her tracks and stares at me. I'm like, "What?" and then remember my haircut. Blushing and feeling wicked self-conscious, I get off the sofa, my hand going to my head as I defensively mutter, "It was Uncle Tony's idea." She has tears in her eyes, mumbling, "All your curls are gone."

That makes me mad, "Mom, I'm not your little boy anymore. I don't want to go through life with a head full of curls. Tony did a good job with my haircut."

Huh? Why the hell am I defending this haircut that I hate? She wipes her eyes and continues on her way to the kitchen, saying, "You're right, honey, I'm sorry. It was a shock, that's all. You look good."

Oh yeah? I'm not the only liar in the family. I followed her into the kitchen, "Well, I don't like it either, but I wanted to try something new. Fortunately, hair grows out."

Putting groceries away, she goes, "Of course, dear, I overreacted. Hey, here's something nice. At work today, Johnny Baxter told me you're doing an excellent job."

Oh? I'm like, "What'd he say exactly?" Putting a frozen pizza in the freezer, she says, "He told me my handsome son is already a valued employee."

What? "Um, he said handsome son?" She chuckles, "Not exactly. I added that part. I was in the office working on a wages printout for full-time personnel when he walked by saying something like that. He was there telling Dan Stall about the part-timer they hired to replace Grace Mullins, who's moving to Texas."

Trying to get mom to talk about John more, I go, "Jeez, how about those eyeglasses of John's, you know, with the blue frames." Folding the reusable cloth grocery bag she always uses, Mom nods, "They're flashy, alright. He's a nice-looking young fellow." Shrugging, I mumble, "Really? I mostly only noticed his glasses." Lies come too easily for me.

Then, later, I get a much different reaction to my haircut. Dad gets home from work and goes, "Well, I'll be damned. Okay, Gary! That's a real guy's haircut you've got there, son," He hugs me, adding, "I hope you keep it like this. You look great."

Mom rolls her eyes, and goes, "His hair is much too short, Richard. I'm going to give my big brother, Tony, a piece of my mind the next time I see him." So, ya know, different opinions.

I stayed in Friday night, and then, Saturday afternoon, Dave Summerset texted me asking if I wanted to go to the par-three golf course with him and Mac McBride. Naturally, I do, but first, I need to cut the grass. I text him back, and we agree he'll pick me up in an hour. Wearing my grass-stained sneakers, I quickly cut the grass, then take a shower and put on cargo shorts and a polo shirt appropriate for golfing, and, of course, the new sneakers I bought some weeks ago.

Mac says, "Whoa, Gary, that's some haircut," and Dave does a double-take when I get in the backseat. Yeah, well, I guess I should expect that reaction from everybody who sees me for the first time since getting this haircut.

Dave goes, "Gary, dude, that's quite a change." I can't help but blush, feeling self-conscious again. Shrugging, I mutter, "Yeah, a radical new look." He drives us away, "You look like a different person, but in a good way."

That was nice of him to say, and it's also, gratefully, the last mention about my hair for the rest of the afternoon. I don't even know what to call this haircut, assuming it has a name.

Golfing is an outside activity, so no one wears a mask. The par-three golf course is very crowded as it usually is on a Saturday. Guys who play on regular golf courses use this par-three course to practice their short game. Dave and I don't play regular courses, but he thinks we should buy drivers and try playing one this summer. Whether we do that or not, it's a great feeling to have the money to buy a new golf club if I want to. There's no need for a driver on this par-three course, although it's a far cry from a chip and putt layout. The golf holes here are a hundred yards to two hundred yards long.

After golfing, Dave drops off Mac; then we talk more about buying drivers and decide we'll do it tomorrow. So, Sunday afternoon Dave and I drive to a Dick's Sporting Goods store, and, holy shit, inside, we discover that golf drivers are expensive.

Dave goes, "Can you believe this shit? Five hundred dollars for one of these drivers!" We see a couple in the three hundred dollar range, but Dave's like, "Those less expensive drivers probably suck! Still, I can't see paying five hundred dollars, can you?" I make a face, mumbling, "No way." We both bought a Cobra King driver for $299.99, a discounted price!

Anxious to try out our new drivers, we go to the driving range on Route 422, and each of us buys a bucket of range balls, then whack away at them on the second level of the driving range. You tee up your ball on a tube instead of a tee, a little rubber tube sticking up through artificial grass. It's quickly evident that swinging our new drivers as hard as we can isn't working. The balls go sideways and pound off the dividers between each person's spot, or the balls are pounded into the ground fifty feet away. We exchange smirks as Dave looks at me and mouths, 'three hundred dollars for these shitty drivers'.

Haha, as if our crappy driving is the club's fault. By the end of the basket of balls, we're getting some decent drives every third swing or so. Not three hundred-yard drives, but occasionally we're hitting the balls out to the hundred and ninety-yard marker. We agree we need more practice at the driving range before playing a regular course, but today was fun.

This week my work shift is Thursday, Friday, and the weekend, so Monday morning, I get to sleep late. At eleven o'clock, I'm stumbling around in the bathroom wearing only boxer underwear and no longer getting freaked out seeing my hair in the mirror when brushing my teeth or doing my bi-weekly shave.

Yeah, my hair is what it is, so I'm using the butch wax stuff to get my wavy hair lying on my head with the one-and-a-inch bangs in front combed up. The butch wax makes my pale blond hair appear darker, which is a good thing. Fortunately, my hairline goes straight across my forehead because, as hard as it is to believe, this haircut would look even worse if I had the widow's peak hairline that many guys have.

The reason I even have this fucked-up haircut is to get my boss's attention, which is probably another one of my loser-longshot ideas, but it's better than no shot. Anyway, after screwing around with my hair and getting it as good as possible, I go back to my bedroom and forget about John Baxter. Instead, I do a long, slow jerk-off, thinking about Billy's cock in my mouth. The feel of it on my tongue was a real turn-on.

Lying on my bed, I keep my hand at a steady, unhurried pace jerking off, picturing myself sucking Billy's cock. That works for a while, but when I get close to climaxing, I can't help myself and start stroking much faster and, "Ooh, ooh, aah, ahh, ahhhh!" I blow a hard stream of cum, my back arching off the bed, my eyes closed tightly as I grimace, experiencing the most intense pleasure known to hominoids... sexual orgasm.

I'm shuddering at that almost painful streak of pleasure that soared from my groin and the inside of my thighs, spreading out all over me. Too quickly, it fades out entirely. I sigh, "Ahh, nice," and lie here limply. Oh, man, though, that was good!

Yeah, that was good, but I had the best climax of my life from blowing Billy the second time. That was otherworldly. Lying here, rubbing my fingers through my stupidly short hair, I realize it's Billy, not John; I covet the most.

Huh, in one way, this haircut was for naught. It was my fucked-up timing that caused me to get this terrible haircut. It's because Billy hadn't called, so my mind went to the desperate measure of getting John Baxter's attention. Then, an hour after I got the haircut, Billy was back in my life again. Yeah, but if I didn't get this haircut, I wouldn't have been in the drug store looking for a hair product, and Billy wouldn't have seen my bike outside the drug store and come into the store to say hi. Okay, the haircut sort of worked, but in an unintended manner.

Getting dressed, I'm like, yeah, it worked, except now Billy's in Ocean City for two weeks. There's still some value in my original plan of getting John's attention, at least until Billy gets back from the shore. John made such a significant impression on me when we first met that I can't let it go. He's three years older than me, which would make it easy for me to do the girl part if he ever wanted to do any messing around. John would probably be like most guys, preferring what Billy calls the 'top,' but I'm still a novice and don't mind doing the other part.

Eating a bowl of Frosted Flakes for breakfast, I again reconfirm with myself that I'm gay. That's been hard-wired-in-and-confirmed by now, so there isn't any sense in agonizing further about whether I'm gay or not. I'm sexually interested in guys, period, which means I'm friggin' gay. I'm not interested in all guys, though. So far in my seventeen years, only two guys have interested me, and both of them in the past two months. Before that, nothing.

Yeah, that's weird, but the human mind has been known to play tricks on us. For instance, until that time, staring at Billy's lips and mouth as he ate that butterscotch Krimpet, I'd been suppressing my sexuality, thinking I had none, thinking I was asexual. That was convenient but unfulfilling. And Billy was correct when he said I'd feel relief from finally doing something I'd been subconsciously wanting to do for; I don't know how long.

I'm soon bored again, so I jerk off again and shudder at my satisfying climax. After that, I decide I need to get outside and do something energetic. Maybe there will be guys at the high school, so I ride my bike four miles to the parking lot. I see guys randomly shooting baskets on the blacktop basketball court with no one wearing a mask. Mine is in my back pocket.

I'm sitting here a few seconds before Bobby Brown spots me and yells, "Yo Gary, c'mon over." I coast over to him, and he goes, "Haha, I wasn't sure that was you. What the fuck is up with that butch haircut ya got there?" I shrug, "Trying something new," and he says, "Whatever, dude. Hey, we need one more guy for a three-on-three game. Do you wanna play?"

I knew I'd be invited to play if guys were here, so I'm like, "Yeah, okay," and park my bike. Spike mutters, "Jesus H Christ, Wallingford, I didn't fucking recognize you for a second there." I bump fists with him, and then Clark Burk, a younger kid, says, "What the fuck do you call that haircut?"

Shrugging, I mumble, "A mistake," and Frank Dingle, who was in my homeroom all four years of high school, rubs my head, saying earnestly, "It's an improvement, Wallingford, but not by much." He's wiping my hair gunk off on his shorts as I grin, muttering, "Eat me, Frankie."

Other than that, no one else even mentions my new hairdo. Most people won't give a shit about it, which works for me. We play four games of three-on-three but quit after that. It's scorching hot playing on the blacktop, so three of us go up the block to buy Slurpees at the 7-Eleven. They're too sweet to quench your thirst, and you can get a brain freeze if you suck them down too fast, but they're refreshing too.

Tuesday and Wednesday, I don't leave the house. I watch many gay porn videos in my bedroom, hoping to improve my cock-sucking technique. I also want to be prepared for eventually taking it up the ass, as Billy puts it. The gay porn viewing on Wednesday was especially hot and resulted in three jerkoffs, so that was a pretty good day, ya know?

Thursday morning, wearing my vest, name tag, and face mask, I walk through the employees' entrance, and, as luck would have it, the first person I see while signing in is my boss, John. He's talking with a new female employee. She's probably the one Mom mentioned to me last Friday. The woman appears to be in her forties, so she won't be doing any grocery cart collecting. Anyhow, when John sees my haircut, I get the open-mouth startled expression from him that I expected. Touching my arm as he looks at my hair and goes, "Gary, what did you do?"

I blush, and it pisses me off. I'm still doing that, but I can't help it as I mutter, "I don't know what I was thinking, John, it was, um..."

He squeezes my shoulder, saying, "No, Gary, you look good, buddy," then he turns to the woman, asking her, "Doesn't he look good with short hair, Bett?" She's never seen me with curls, but she nods, "Yes, he's a handsome fella."

John says, "Gary, meet Bett Collect, our new part-time payroll assistant. Bett, this is Gary, my last great part-time hire. Ah, I mean before you." I mumble, "Nice to meet you."

John tells her, "Gary's mother works for us as well, and they're both valued employees." She gets a strange look in her eyes above her face mask, then mumbles, "Oh, um, that's nice." John squeezes my shoulder, saying, "Well, have a good day, Gary," and takes Bett out to the floor.

I noticed John is NOT squeezing Bett's shoulder or giving her chills by squeezing the back of her neck. Too bad, Bett.

Dammit, though, I think John wanted to talk more about my new haircut. He couldn't with her here, though. Fuck, that was a missed opportunity right there. Still, this haircut is getting all the attention I expected, but, shockingly, not in the bad way, I was worried about. I'm almost enjoying the attention, um, except for my embarrassing blushing. Yeah, mostly, it hasn't been nearly as bad as I thought it would be.

Later, I'm rounding up grocery carts in the parking lot when John comes outside with Bett, and I hear him telling her, "Obviously, you won't be doing this, Bett, haha. It's just that I want you to see everything that goes on at Weis Market from top to bottom." Then he waves at me, "Hey, Gary, how's it going?" "It's hotter than the hubs of, ah, um, it's going okay."

My job must be the bottom one he mentioned. They watch me guiding a line of ten carts through the automatic doors, then John tells Bett, "Okay, that's what some part-timers do. We'll check out the stock room procedure now and then what the vendors are responsible for."

She's an office worker, an assistant something-or-other, so John's showing her every job at the market. He only showed me cart collection and grocery bagging, which blows. It's so unfair he's spending the whole morning with her.

As I said before, the only part-timer who talks with me is this guy George Brown. He's friendly and clean-shaven, with amazing smooth tan skin, and, crazily, I'd like to lick his face. Haha, yeah, that's nuts! Anyway, most days, he talks to me as I'm bagging groceries for the register clerk, Janice.

When my shift is almost over, I look up at the windows of the upstairs offices and see John and Bett talking with the fat woman who had me fill out some form when I was hired. Yeah, John's still with Bett, which pisses me off because I won't see him again today.

Then, as I'm signing out, he comes into the employee lounge and puts his hand on the back of my neck, squeezing and sending chills sliding down my back again. I can't help but shiver a little, although he doesn't seem to notice. He says, "Wow, Gary, as if you didn't have enough girls chasing after you already, you've upped your game with this cool haircut. You're not giving the rest of us much a chance with the ladies."

I'm blushing again, mumbling, "Oh, um, there is this one girl..."

He laughs, "One girl, my ass. Good for you, buddy." I say, "Um, I want to mention something, John if you have a second." He raises his eyebrows, nodding his head, and I go, "It's that, ah, FYI, um, if there's ever a particular job that you need someone to work with you on, I'll volunteer. I mean, if no one else wants to do it."

He pats my shoulder, saying, "Well, that's damn good of you, Gary, but until I hire another part-timer to collect shopping carts, that remains my number one need. That's an important job, one that you're doing very well. And you've seen the 'help wanted' signs at the main entrance, right? We'll get another part-timer any day now, and he'll help you with the shopping carts."

Nodding, I go, "Okay, just saying if you've got a nasty job, I'm your man," and he goes, "There is a messy inventory job in the storeroom I'll keep you in mind. It'll probably mean I'll need to bump up your hourly wage."

Grinning, I go, "Oh, great!" I get another neck squeeze as he says, "See you tomorrow, hotshot." He heads back to the floor, leaving me tingling from that last neck squeeze. He's so cool, so good-looking too. And, Omigod, he sure likes this new 'effing haircut of mine!

I'm sure John wasn't serious about girls chasing after me. Perhaps he was feeling me out about my interest in girls. Yeah, maybe he's hoping I have no interest in girls, or, more likely, it's me hoping that's what he's hoping. It's difficult to separate what I wish for from what's real. I sign out feeling my plan of a new haircut still has potential. Ya know, it's one more thing for John to talk to me about. I'll see what tomorrow brings.

Outside, taking my mask off, I see the black guy, George, sitting at the employee picnic table smoking a cigarette. Jeez, another cigarette smoker. Hmm, his shift is over at the same time as mine, so why he's still here?

Smiling, he wiggles his index finger for me to come over to him. I walk over, "Whassup, George? How's it going?" He says, "Good, Gary, um, I meant to tell you earlier how much I like your haircut. Wow, quite a change, though, but a good one." Oh man, this haircut, huh?

Yeah, but why didn't he mention it when he talked with me earlier. Touching my head, I mumble, "Ah, yeah, it wasn't exactly what I had in mind, but, ya know." He says, "Anyway, I wanted to tell you I like the look very much. Um, I've also been waiting for you out here because I want to ask you something."

Curious, I nod, "What's that?" and he grins and goes, "Um, oh shit, I hope I'm not making a mistake here, but I'm wondering if you'd want to go out with me?"

Huh, what was that?

I go, "Whaddaya mean, go out with you?" He says, "Be my date sometime. Well, specifically for a party this Saturday night."

He said that last part very casually as if there's nothing unusual going on here. I force a flustered chuckle, "Oh, sure, of course, I will, haha." He says, "You will? Great, I'll probably have the cutest date at the party." I keep a grin on my face, mumbling, "No, seriously, I don't understand."

Grinning back at me, he says, "Ya wanna sit down for a second," and when I do, he adds, "You're gay, right?" I'm like, "Huh?" He says, "It's alright, so am I, and I'd be super psyched if you'll be my date for this party."

Like an idiot, I mutter, "The party Saturday night." He smiles, "Yep, that party. Wow, bro, close up like this, you look especially sexy and hot. It must be your new haircut." I mutter, "Thanks, but..." and he goes, "When I was talking with you earlier, I decided I had to take a big chance and ask you out, but I couldn't do it with Janice right there."

My heart is pounding so hard I need to gasp in a breath. He asks, "Do you want a smoke?"

Flabbergasted by this unexpected development, I nod my head. He hands me a Winston cigarette from his pack on the picnic table. I put it between my lips, and he lights it for me, explaining, "It's a party celebrating the twenty-first birthday of a friend of mine. The lucky bastard is twenty-one; he's reached the magic age."

I take a slight drag and cough it out as he grins, asking, "Not a smoker?" Shaking my head, I mutter, "No, not really. Um, are you serious?" He says, "About the party, yeah, I'm very serious, um, unless you have a boyfriend."

Do I have a boyfriend?

I try inhaling again because I can't think of what to say, and I cough that out too, making George laugh and say, "You don't need to smoke the fucking thing, Gary. Jesus, dude. That was cute, though." I say, "I smoke pot alright, but I'm just starting to smoke cigarettes."

His eyebrows go up, and he reaches across the table, "No, don't fucking start! Christ, smoking becomes habit-forming quickly. Here, give me that." Probably because I still don't know what to say, I pull the cigarette away from him, mumbling, "No, I wanna smoke it."

He shrugs, sits back, and goes, "Oh, okay. Since it's a casual party, there's no need to dress up or anything like that."

Nodding, I go, "Uh-huh," and he says, "What's your address. I'll pick you up around eight o'clock Saturday."

As I tell him where I live, he takes his cell phone out and punches in my address, saying, "Springfield, huh? That's pretty close. I live in Lansdowne."

I manage not to cough when I inhale this time, but it tastes terrible. Nodding again, I mutter, "Yeah, Lansdowne is close, um, but why are you asking me out?" He laughs, "Doesn't every gay guy ask you out?" Shaking my head, I go, "No, I, ah, that is, I only recently discovered or found out that I'm gay, plus I don't know any gay guys." He grins, "Yeah, you probably know gay guys. You just don't know they're gay."

He puts his hand on my arm, saying, "You just recently admitted you're gay, huh? Are you okay with it? It's quite a discovery, and some find it a traumatic revelation."

Ignoring that, I ask, "How'd you know I'm gay?" He puts his hand on top of mine, "Well, obviously, I didn't know. I thought there was a chance, or I hoped you might be anyway. Just now, I finally worked up the balls to find out instead of secretly crushing on you, hoping you're gay."

Taking another drag off the cigarette, I'm like, "Crushing on me?" He goes, "Yeah, you're so innocent and adorable I couldn't help getting a crush on you. So, ya know, I took the huge chance of being a rejected dork by asking you out."

I go, "You're not a dork, and I'm surprised you don't have a, ya know, have a boyfriend yourself." He shrugs, "I had one in high school but not since then." I nod and mutter, "Um, haha, you know, ah, I mean, talking about being gay and going on a date, haha, it's so, um, sort of awkward for me."

George puts his other hand on top of mine, both his hands on my hand, saying, "That's understandable. I mean, you being so new at this and all. It's been my life since I was thirteen or fourteen."

I go, "Oh, how old are you now?" He says, "I was twenty last April. How old are you?" I lie, "I'm almost nineteen." He nods, "Oh, then you're going to college this year?"

Nodding again, I lie some more, "Uh-huh, community college." He smiles, "Oh good, you won't be going away to college then. I'm happy about that." I ask, "How about you? Are you in college?"

Before he answers, I remember he told me a couple of days ago that he goes to Drexel. He says, "Yes, I'm going to Drexel University in Philly; my sophomore year is coming up. I live on campus, so I won't be working here while at college, but Drexel isn't far from here. I could still hook up with you if you wanted me to."

I again mutter, "Oh," and he takes his hands off mine, saying, "Well, this has been great. Um, I'll talk to you more tomorrow during my break, and thanks, Gary. You've made my day."

I frown, "You get a break? Do all part-timers get a break? I've never taken a break." He smiles, "See, you're so innocent, and that's an, um, rare quality. Check with John; all part-timers get a fifteen-minute break. Big deal, huh? We get a fifteen-minute break in our five-hour shift?"

"Better than nothing," and he says, "Let's take our breaks together out here at the picnic table." I give him a thumbs-up, nodding, "Sure." Jeez, he's very friendly; plus, I get a break! Fuck the break, though; this is monumental; I'm going on my first date ever.

George heads for the parking lot as I'm unlocking my bike. Riding my bike home, I'm rerunning in my head that mindblowing five minutes with George. I mean, going on a date, holy shit! Sure, it's with George, instead of a girl, but for me, that's preferable. Plus, it strikes me as very ironic that the two guys I have crushes on don't have a crush on me, and the one guy who says he has a crush on me, I don't have a crush on.

And ya know, I wish I had a better word for that unique attraction to someone other than I have a crush. Crush, I guess, means being attracted to someone over and above a friendship kind of thing, and I think it's partially sexual. It's a more profound, more involved feeling, one that's out of your control. Yeah, well, it is easier to say crush than try explaining how you feel. I don't even know why I have a crush on Billy and John; it just happened.

Jerking off in my bedroom again, I've got a hard straight-up boner that I'm tightly stroking up and down, then stop when I see something on the chair next to my bed. It's a pamphlet from Weis Market, mostly hidden under the bathing suit Billy lent me for that pool party. I can see the Weis Market logo, but nothing else. I don't remember a pamphlet. My curiosity overrides my immediate need to jerk off, so I get up and pull it out from under the bathing suit. Huh, it's the Weis Market part-timers' guide. Where the hell did this come from?

Sitting on the chair, the tiny bathing suit under me, I read the table of contents, and the fifth item stands out. I chuckle as I read that all part-timers receive a paid fifteen-minute break each shift of four hours or longer. Oh yeah, now I vaguely remember John giving this to me. He told me to read it, but everything happened so fast that day that I forgot about it. Well, because of George, I'd already decided I'm taking my fifteen-minute break every day from now on. Huh, John's never mentioned a break, so I guess he assumed I'd read the pamphlet and that I've been taking breaks.

Back on my bed, I start over with my jerk-off, trying to think about George, but switch to Billy and have a hot sexy climax that rushed out so hard I made a squealing sound, then took three or four deep breaths. Wow!

At work, both Friday and Saturday, George comes to get me at noon, and we take our break together at the picnic table without masks, both of us smoking his cigarettes. During Saturday's break, he goes, "Ain't it great we have the same shift, Gary?"

I nod, "Yeah, especially since you're the only guy who talks to me. Janice, who I bag for most of the time, is friendly, but there isn't much chance to talk as she's almost always scanning grocery orders with the customer standing right there."

He talks about tonight's party, telling me, "There will be a lot of people there, but don't worry about not knowing anyone because I won't know most of them either." I nod and exhale some of the disgusting Winston cigarette smoke as he goes, "It's not an ideal first date, so, um, well, ya know what, how about walking with me to that dumpster." Nodding without knowing why he wants to do that, I go, "Yeah, okay."

Out of everyone's view at the dumpster, we both get rid of our cigarette butts, and then George says, "I think maybe we should get the awkward first-date kiss out of the way right now. Are you up for that?"

I'm like, "I guess." Shrugging, I add, "Um, I've never been on a first date, so..." Pushing me back against the dumpster, he grins, muttering, "So innocent, Jesus," and he leans in and kisses me on the lips, then says, "Nah, that wasn't real good, sorry, my fault. Let me have a do-over."

Dazed, I nod, and this time, I'm ready for it and kiss back as our noses rub together. He murmurs, "Nice," and then puts both his arms around my neck and leans against me for another kiss, this time with our tongues sliding together.

George grins and goes, "Oh, fuck, I've already got a boner in my shorts," and we kiss again for maybe fifteen seconds, both of us gasping when we pull away. I grope my junk, my cock hard as a rock. Gulping, I mutter, "That was good. I liked that, George." He murmurs, "Me too," and he presses the side of his face to mine, hugging me. He sighs, muttering, "Thanks, Gary."

We go back to the picnic table grinning, then quickly light another one of his awful cigarettes. Exhaling, George goes, "Well, we did that pretty fucking well." I nod enthusiastically, and he touches the back of my hand, saying, "Listen, Gary, um, I'll want to do everything with you tonight, but don't you let me do anything you don't want to do, alright? If it's just a thirty-second makeout you feel comfortable doing, then that's all we'll do. I've got an, um, a serious thing for you, and I want to have a relationship, so I promise I won't push you to do more than you want, um, unless you want to do more."

Shrugging, I go, "Okay." He laughs, squeezes my hand, then asks, "Do you even know what I'm talking about?"

Nodding, I say, "Yes, you're referring to me blowing you and you fucking me." He snickers then snorts out another laugh and goes, "Jesus, you're refreshing. Yeah, that's what I was talking about, or it could be the other way around, depending on you. You're the prize, so you decide."

Frowning, I'm like, "You think I'm a prize?" He goes, "To me, you are, yeah. You don't realize how special you are." I mutter, "Thanks, but you're special too."

Grinning, he goes, "Oh, thank you for that. Hey, we've been out here more than fifteen minutes, so we better get back to work." Walking into the store, he adds, "I'll be by to get you at eight o'clock tonight. Do you want me to ring the bell or just blow the horn?" I shrug, "Whatever you wanna do, but I'll probably be outside waiting for you anyway." Still grinning, he says, "Of course, you will."

Collecting grocery carts in the parking lot, I think how interesting it was that I got a boner kissing George. I would have thought getting a boner would only happen kissing someone I have a crush on. The other thing is that George is overtaking Billy as the nicest guy I know. He's so fucking considerate! Then there's the big thing I'm concerned about, and it's that I've gotta stop being such a dufus nieve dork, if that's even possible. The problem with that is I don't know I'm acting that way until after I say or do something naively dorky. This gay life; it's challenging for me, ya know?

After my shift, I'm back home in my bedroom, jerking off, trying to keep George on my mind as I do it. Somehow, though, I switch to thinking about sucking Billy off, and I'm like, "Ah, ah, ahh!" blowing out a damn good load of cum that flies out in an arc over the foot of the bed. Shaking a little, lying here, I start wondering what I want to wear on my first date.

And surprisingly, I'm not incredibly nervous about going on this date. I think it's because George had us make out a little during our break at work today. That was kind of a genius move on his part. He's experienced and knew it would help relax me as a first-timer going on a gay date. Plus, he said all that complimentary stuff and then put me in charge of what we'll do as far as sexy messing around goes.

That usually would create a bit of pressure for me, but there's no reason it should. He basically invited me to do any and everything I wanted to do. I liked making out with him, so that's happening tonight, and then I'll suck him off. That should be enough sexy activity for a first date. That leaves fucking for a later date, which gives me time to do that with Billy first. That's if he wants to do it. I'll need to be alert for any indication from Billy that he might be willing, then take that as being invited.

I simply feel more comfortable with Billy fucking me first because he's schooled me on making out and sucking cock, and both things are working out great. I don't know; it's like Billy has a way of making everything seem like it's no big deal, and, in some ways, I wish it was Billy who thought I was the prize. Whatever, I'm in over my head again, but, as I said, George is very nice, so I'm expecting it'll go okay tonight.

What to wear, though? Looking through my clothes, everything seems so unspectacular, so run-of-the-mill. Well, George said it was a casual party, so what the fuck? I take a lightweight soft-material hoody off a hanger. Huh, my Grandparents gave me this hoody for my last birthday. I've never worn it, but I think this might be cool to wear without a T-shirt. I'll leave it halfway unzipped, sort of casually sexy-like, showing off the cool necklace I got for Christmas. I don't wear that very often either, but tonight I will. Guys wearing a necklace are somehow cool, right? My necklace is stainless steel with a Yin Yang pendant. No, I don't know what the Yin Yang pendant means. It's Chinese, I think, or Japanese, maybe. It's kinda cool-looking, whatever it is.

Laying the blue hoody and the necklace on the bed, I go through my jeans and shorts, deciding I'll wear the new skinny jeans I bought when I had to sneak the bottle of vodka into the house that time. And I'll wear sneakers with the jeans for the main reason it's either sneakers or the one pair of dress shoes I own, and no one in their right mind would ever wear dress shoes with skinny jeans or any other kind of jeans. Okay, I hope this outfit is casually cool and even a little sexy. To George, of course, it might be a head-scratcher of an outfit, haha. The hoody is a summer one, though, not a winter hoody. Even I'm not that clueless. Yeah, this will do.

Since I'll be doing what I think of as the girl part when I'm taking it up the ass from Billy, I study a few hetero porn videos, watching what the girls do when they're getting fucked. Huh, the girls don't do anything, basically. Ew, though, a girl's twat is not a turn-on, and this is a waste of time. I need to watch what the guy taking it up the ass does, so I go back to male porn videos.

The bottom guy doesn't have much responsibility when getting fucked, so that's cool. Then, I'm back to watching guys giving blowjobs because I'll definitely be doing that tonight. Billy said the last blowjob I did for him was pretty good, but now I'm noticing the pros on videos include some ball licking. And, Jesus, some of these models have dicks twice as long as Billy's and mine. That's rare, though.

Yeah, I've seen a hundred dicks in the high school showers after gym classes, and some guys have four-inch dicks, but most have five or six-inch dicks. There were a few guys with even smaller dicks, and one guy's dick was like an inch and a half long, but you rarely saw it because he kept his hand covering his junk. And, yeah, there were a few guys with unusually long penises as well. Those guys strutted around bare ass naked, hoping to impress. This makes me wonder about George's dick.

I'm taking a piss, but thinking about guys' dicks is getting my dick vibrating a little. After urinating, I sit on the toilet lid and whack off, "Um, um, ooh, ah, ahh!" and blow a nice but smallish load against the bathroom door. Ooh, boy, that was okay. I thought about blowing Billy again as I jerked off. Maybe after tonight, I can alternate jerkoffs, thinking about blowing George one time and Billy the next. Haha, who the hell knows what us gay guys will do next? I've been having a lot more fun lately; I know that much.

Saturday night dinners are always at six o'clock, then by six-thirty-five, I'm in the shower shampooing my short hair and then scrubbing myself as clean as I've ever been. Drying, I'm looking in the mirror, thinking how George and John said I look good with this haircut. George said a couple of times he liked my new look, so maybe I'll keep my hair like this. That's if George and I date more as he said he wanted to. Yeah, in that case, I'll probably get another haircut like this one. Shit, that'll surprise the hell out of Uncle Tony and surprise Dad too. Mom, well, she'll just need to get used to it.

I brush my teeth and gargle with the horrible mouthwash Mom buys, then carefully shave the fifty whiskers on my upper lip and chin. I'm careful not to overdo the AXE Body Spray, then fix my hair using the Butch hair stuff. Dressed, I check myself out in the mirror, then pull the hoody zipper down a little further, exposing more of my hairless chest and the pendant. Hmm, I comb up the front hairs a little more, then stand back nodding 'cause I look pretty fucking, um, okay.

Yeah, it's remarkable how much I've changed my mind about this new haircut. It's because I've been getting those positive comments from pretty much everyone who matters, especially the words from John and George, plus Billy was okay with it too. Billy was even thinking about getting his hair cut like mine. Huh, I'm beginning to see that this haircut is kind of a super-preppy clean-cut look and better by far than those 'effing curls! Combing up the front again, I grin because I like how my hair looks for the first time in my life. Wow, the major way I've changed my mind about it is astounding!

Okay, it's only seven-thirty, so I'm ready a half-hour early. I pace around the room, trying to think up a few clever things I can say tonight. I should compliment George on how he looks, even if he doesn't look too cool. He never wears anything especially cool-looking at work, but neither do I nor anyone else working there. Shit, I wish I knew a joke I could drop in the conversation or one of those bizarre off-the-wall facts Billy spouts out at odd times. No, I can't do any of that. I'd fuck it up, so I'm going to be myself but try hard to avoid the nerdy shit.

At ten of eight, I go downstairs, and Mom, as if she's surprised, says, "Oh, are you going out tonight, Gary?" Nodding, I mutter, "Yes, someone is having a party, and I'm going with a guy from work." She goes, "Oh, who's that?" I mumble, "Um, George Brown. He works in the stock room and stocks shelves on the floor." She says, "I know George. He a sweet young man, very polite." Shrugging, I say, "He's giving me a ride."

Dad looks over at me, asking, "That's all you're wearing? Shouldn't you at least put an undershirt on?" Mom goes, "That's the hoody Mom and Dad gave Gary for his birthday." Dad shrugs, "Whatever, I guess,"

I say, "Um, ah, I think I'll go outside to meet him." Mom's like, "Have a nice time, honey." She is very nice but still treats me as if I'm ten.

I wore a face mask out of the house but take it off while sitting on the stoop. I'm pretty sure George won't be wearing one as he didn't have one on when he was at the picnic table. After a while, I check the time on my cell phone and see it's ten after eight. Fuck, I'm getting that same horrible feeling I got when Lonny was late picking me up the first day I worked on the lawn cutting job. It's like, am I going to look like a fool because George was merely playing a joke on me? At eight-fifteen, I start sweating, thinking about what I'll do if he doesn't show up. I'll need to walk around the neighborhood for a few hours because I can't go back inside. What could I say? Goddamnit, why does shit like this happen to me?

Oh, there's George now pulling up to the curb in a five-year-old Toyota. He's not wearing a mask, so I put mine in my back pocket. Leaning over to shout out the passenger window, he goes, "I am so sorry for being late, Gary."

Getting in, I mumble, "That's alright," and he says, "It was stupid not getting your cell phone number when I got your address. I could have called or texted about being delayed."

He looks nice wearing a short-sleeve button-up-the-front shirt with a collar, pressed new-looking cargo shorts, and dock or boat shoes or whatever they're called, without socks.

He says, "My mom had the car, and I had to wait until she got home. I'll finally get this car exclusively for myself when I start college, and I can't wait to have my own car."

I'm frowning, but not about his car situation. I go, "George, you said not to get dressed up, but you're, um, you look nice." He glances at me, "You're wearing the cooler shit, Gary. Whaddaya talking about?"

I'm like, "Oh, um..." and he chuckles, saying, "Fuck, I look like a goody-two-shoes nerd on his way to Sunday school, and you look sexy and cool." Huh, I can't tell if he's bullshitting me or not. He's always so fucking nice, ya know? I mumble, "Thanks, but you look very nice. I think so anyhow."

He got a haircut, so I said, "Your hair looks nice too." It's a short haircut and the barber razored in a part at the side. He grins, "Well, what did you expect? I got a haircut because I have a hot date tonight."

His hair is wavy like my short hair. He doesn't have the tight kinks in his hair as many black guys have. His facial features are more European than African too, so it makes me wonder if one of his parents is white. That's not a racial thing, though; I don't care one way or another. It makes me curious, that's all. He'd think I cared if I asked him, and I don't care, so I won't ask.

George is a cautious driver keeping his eyes on the road as he tells me, "My friend, the birthday boy, is JR Walker, by the way. He turned twenty-one this week sometime. We met at first-year orientation, and we've been good friends ever since. He's not gay, but he had no problem with it when I told him I am."

For something to say, I'm like, "He's twenty-one as a sophomore?" George explains, "Yeah, JR is a year older than me because he worked in his dad's pharmacy a year before college. After high school, he was sick of studying; then, after a year, he got sick of working that boring, repetitive job and enrolled at Drexel, living on campus to get out of the house."

I'm like, "So, this JR guy is the only guy you'll know at this party?" He goes, "Not exactly. I know JR's girlfriend from Drexel. She's cool, and I like her a lot; plus, there are the two other guys we hung out with at college, and they'll be there. The five of us did everything together. The rest of the people at the party will be his family, their neighbors, and friends JR grew up with."

I ask, "Where is this party?" He glances at me, grinning and saying, "It's on the Main Line, Gary. Rich white people, so you'll fit right in, but me, the gay black guy, I'll stand out like a turd in a punch bowl." He chuckles, glancing at me again, but I don't know what to say to that, so I chuckle too.

After less than a half-hour drive, George turns onto a long winding driveway. I can see a big house, not a mansion, but a big white house with black shutters up ahead. The driveway curves past the front entrance and comes back to connect with the part of the driveway we're on. We don't get far up the driveway because cars are parked from the house down to almost the entrance--George parks behind the last car in line.

Reaching the backseat, he says, "I got JR a gag gift," as he gets a box wrapped in decorated paper that someone might use to wrap a present for a five-year-old. The paper has clowns holding a string of balloons that say 'Happy Birthday' with caricatures of circus animals prancing around.

I'm like, "Damn, I didn't think to buy a present," and he snorts out a laugh, then goes, "You crack me up, Gary. I never know when you're kidding. It's that deadpan delivery of yours."

I was serious. I never try being funny because I can't pull it off. Some guys can say almost anything, and it comes off as amusing.

Walking up the driveway, we hear the rock group AC/DC singing 'Highway To Hell,' so there's probably a disc jockey as AC/DC is unlikely to be here. Geoge says, "JR told me to go around to the back of the house." I nod, and he takes my hand. We walk the rest of the way up the driveway holding hands. It's okay with me; I like it.

When we get to the backyard, I think JR must have had a large family and a lot of friends growing up because there are between fifty and sixty people here, and nobody is wearing a mask. Covid19 fatigue is taking over.

Overhead are many strings of lights, the disc jockey is on a platform, and there's a long table with all kinds of food, plus a half keg of beer and a bar with a bartender. I've never seen anything like this except in the movies. There's a table with birthday gifts, so George drops his birthday gag gift there. George doesn't need to worry about being a turd in the punchbowl because, first of all, there isn't a punchbowl, but more importantly, I see at least a half dozen adult-age black guests in the crowd.

Walking further into the backyard's brightly lit area, we stop to look around for a few seconds, then hear someone screech, "Georgie Brown!" and a tall girl with a small ring on one side of her nose wraps her arms around George for a hug and a sloppy kiss. She's very tanned, wearing pink lipstick with dark blond hair cut in a longish, messy guy's hairstyle. She looks too young to be a sophomore in college, wearing a pink waffle-knit T-shirt that doesn't extend to her belly button, skin-tight jeans that don't reach her ankles, and sandals. Long legs on this girl as she's about an inch taller than George and me, which is unusually tall for a girl, right? We're five-ten, so she is almost six feet tall.

She's kinda pretty, too. She stands away from George with a hand on either side of his shoulders, mumbling, "You're looking good, Georgie." He goes, "Thanks, you too. Jesus, I've missed you guys, Brenda. There's something different, though. Oh, yeah, I like what you did with your hair."

She fluffs her hair, mumbling, "Thanks, you gay guys notice shit like that," George grins, muttering, "That's right, you're hot, girl! Where's JR?" She says, "Oh, he's catching up with his rich buddies. We've been down the shore most of the summer at his parent's summer cottage." Then she smiles cutely and points at me, saying to George, "It looks like you've finally found your dream boyfriend, Georgie?"

He goes, "Oh, damn, how rude of me," and he puts his arm around my waist, saying, "Tuck, meet Gary Wallingford. Gary, this is Brenda Tucker, known to her friends as Tuck. She's JR's main squeeze."

She holds out her hand and shakes mine limply as I mumble, "Nice to meet you." Tuck grins, "Likewise, Gary. And, Omigod, that cute fucking haircut of yours is perfect for your baby face," then to George, "He's fucking adorable." George says, "The exact word I used for him yesterday," and he puts his other arm around me, grinning and saying, "Adorable, except, so far, we're just friends, not boyfriends."

Tuck looks at me and says, "You'll be hard-pressed finding a better boyfriend than this guy." I grin and nod, leaving it at that. They talk about information they got in the mail from Drexel and what courses they have for the first semester, then Tuck says, "Hey, why the hell are we standing here without something to drink?"

Shrugging, George goes, "That's a good question," and, with his hand on my shoulder, we start walking further into the very crowded backyard with loud music, loud talking, and lots of laughter. People are eating, drinking, laughing, and dancing. The crowd comprises many more older people than guys and girls in our general age bracket. They're the adult relatives and neighbors that George mentioned. And the more I hear the disc jockey's music choices, the more obvious it is that he's playing to the older generation. And I'm not saying that's necessarily a bad thing; the tunes are fine.

George wants beer, so we go to the tapped half keg near the bar. It's a pour-your-own draft thing with stiff drinks prepared by the bartender at the bar a few feet away. Tuck says, "I'm getting a rum and Coke. I'll be right back."

George pours me a plastic cup of beer and hands it to me, saying, "That girl is a wild thing, Gary. Holy Christ, Tuck, JR, and I almost got expelled one night when..." He doesn't finish his story because two guys come over and hug him from behind, making George spill the cup of beer he was pouring for himself.

One of the guys, the one wearing baggy shorts and a Drexel T-shirt, says, "You asshole, Brown, you should have come with us to Ocean City, Maryland, last month." The three of them hug it out, and then the other guy, who's also wearing baggy shorts but with a bright, primarily orange Hawaiian shirt, says, "Holy shit, we scored the best dope down there from some dude who was so high himself he was almost giving the shit away."

Grinning, George goes, "Is getting high and lying on some beach all you two potheads think about? I need to work, unlike you rich fucks."

I'm standing away, gulping my beer. George reaches over and takes hold of my arm, pulling me to him, telling the guys, "This is my friend, Gary Wallingford. Gary meet Rick Noble and Arnie Wright, good buddies of mine from college."

We bump fists as Rick, wearing the Hawaiian shirt, asks, "Friend or boyfriend, Gary?" George answers for me, "Friend, so far, if it's any of your business, dickweed." To me, he says, "These two have already, at their tender age, burned up most of their brain cells drinking themselves silly and smoking dope, so you can't take anything they say seriously."

Tuck comes over with a plastic cup of rum and Coke saying to Rick and Arnie, "Our Georgie-boy finally got himself an adorable boyfriend." Arnie says to me, "It's about time. Ya know," and he nods at George, "We tried fixing this asshole up with one gay guy after another the entire freshman year without success. We made it our freshmen class project, but Georgie screwed up every one of them."

George chuckles, then mumbles, "For the record, there was only that one homeless guy you numbnuts tried getting me to go out with. And, I say again, Gary and I are just friends, not boyfriends." Tuck says, "Not boyfriends YET."

These college guys don't act much different than the seniors I went to high school with, except they seem to have more money to buy booze and drugs. Well, they're only a year or two older, so why would I expect them to be noticeably different?

They reminisce about frat parties and so forth as I stand next to George, looking at Rick and Arnie. They're standing shoulder-to-shoulder across from me. They're the same height, about five-eight, and both slender, neither of them good-looking. Rick has pinched facial features; everything on his face is too close together and centered in the middle of his long head. Arnie's nose is too small, and his mouth is too broad, but here's the main thing. Rick is on my left and Arnie on my right, neither of them paying any attention to me, but, looking at them, I can't stop thinking of the number 10. I say that because Rick has a longish head while Arnie has the roundest head I've ever seen on anyone; therefore, their heads form the number 10.

I'm not mentioning that to them, obviously, but, damn, those two ARE the number 10. Yeah, that's weird, alright, and I need to suppress a grin and look away. Then a tall, biggish guy comes over, saying too loudly, "It's about time you got your black ass here, George!" He and George hug like crazy, the tall guy mumbling, "I've missed you, bro," as George says, "Happy birthday, JR, ya rich lucky fuck."

Backing off, JR goes, "This is great. Here's my beautiful Tuck getting smashed again, the tens are high as usual, and now George is with us too. We finally got the band back together," and he puts his arms across Arnie's and Rick's shoulders. Ha! He called Arnie and Rick the tens! Well, it'd be impossible not to notice that.

Then, looking at me, JR goes, "And who the fuck is this, our lead singer?" I've only said about three words since we arrived and have no inclination to add to that total, so George answers for me again, saying, "This dude, JR, is my new friend, Gary Wallingford."

Tuck says, "Gary's going to be Georgie's boyfriend." George rolls his big brown eyes, mumbling to me, "Ignore them" JR holds out his hand to shake, so I shake hands as he says, "Welcome, Gary. Can you sing?" I snort out a laugh, "No," and he lets go of my hand, saying, "Well, none of us can play a musical instrument either, so you're the perfect lead singer for our band."

He seems okay; all of them seem okay. Maybe a tad over-exuberant, but they haven't seen each other for two months, or some haven't. JR is big, as I said, and he's okay looking, I suppose, but here's the thing. Recently I saw someone with an ass-crack chin, and now I see JR with an ass-crack nose. The end of his nose has a crease in the middle of it. Yeah, and that's even worse than the chin thing. JR has longish hair that's cut similar to his girlfriend's hairdo. Maybe they went to the same hairstylist.

George fills a cup with beer, passes it to JR, and gets one for himself as the tens go, "Hey, how about us?" George goes, "It's not either of your birthdays, is it?" Snickering, Arnie mutters, "Uppity minority!" He fills cups of beer for him and Rick. I guess they joke around all the time about George being black. It makes me uncomfortable, but the five of them seem fine with it.

Even though George told his friends that he and I are just friends, he has his arm across my shoulders or around the back of my waist most of the night. It's okay with me and apparently okay with everyone else as well. We stand around the keg, refilling our cups of beer, stepping aside as others come over for beers from the tap. JR introduces us to his neighborhood friends, some of whom hang around bullshitting for a bit and then drift off. Most of the adults, the older adults, ignore the keg and get stiff liquor drinks from the bartender.

After maybe an hour and a half of telling stories about their exploits as freshmen at Drexel and the trouble they got into, laughing too hard about everything, JR and Tuck go off to dance. Then, Rick, Arnie, and George laugh ridiculously hard, bumping into each other while talking about the spring break they went on together. Arnie laughs so hard he snorts beer out his nose. So, they're having a great time getting drunk on beer, and I can't help laughing at them because they tell funny stories, so it's an okay time for me too. It helps that I'm drinking more beer than anyone else, but, yeah, it's an okay time.

JR and Tuck come back after dancing for a half hour or so. They bring with them a tray of six shot glasses filled with, according to Tuck, "Some good shit, but I forget what I asked for," and she burst out laughing.

JR goes, "She had two shots before ordering the six you see in front of you. It's Chevis Regal 18, an eighteen-year-old velvety Scotch whiskey." We each flash down a shot. Uh-huh, whatever it is, it burns going down, but I guess not nearly as bad as some shots I've had, not that I've had very many.

Tuck sends JR back for another six shots as George and the guys reminisce about a shot drinking contest their first semester at college. It appears that Tuck is pretty much the leader in this group, but from the stories I hear, it's like George is the most popular or the center of attention anyway.

It's getting near ten-thirty by now, and I'm pleasantly smashed but not too-too drunk. Smashed enough that when George wants to dance, I say, "Okay," and he holds my hand, leading me to the dancing area in front of the DJ.

As we're walking away, Tuck says, "Aw, that's so cute. Georgie's got a boyfriend." George mumbles to me, "Just keep ignoring them, Gary." It doesn't bother me that they think we're boyfriends.

Okay, this is embarrassing, but I taught myself to dance. Yeah, I watched dance videos when I was in eleventh grade, imitated basic fast dance moves, and sometimes danced by myself in my bedroom. This is the first time I'll be making the dance moves with a partner.

George grins at me as we dance, then says, "Thanks for hanging in there with me, Gary. I realize this can't be much fun for you, but I haven't seen these guys for almost two months, and it's great fun reconnecting with them." I nod, "No problem, they're funny. You all get along really well."

Huh, I'm surprised George doesn't dance better. We're both doing fine, except I expected he'd be a better dancer, and no, it's not because he's black. I'm assuming he's danced with people before, and I haven't. The other thing is, I can't help but notice the curious looks we're getting from others dancing around us. It doesn't take a Mensa candidate to know why we're getting stares from others. It's because we're two guys dancing together, obviously.

Funny that George appears obvious to it, though. After two fast tunes, George holds me close, and we dance to a slow number with him whispering in my ear, "I want to make out with you so badly, but I can't leave here much before midnight. It'd be rude, you know? I have a plan for a temporary escape, though, if the opportunity presents itself." I'm concentrating on following his feet without stepping on them.

The side of his face is so smooth, his arms around my waist feel good, and I like having my arms around him. Our crotches grind against one another, so this is quite special. I murmur, "Yes, George, I want to make out too, but I understand we can't do it here. Um, do you feel my boner?" He goes, "Yep, do you feel mine?" I go, "Uh-huh."

After the slow dance, the DJ takes the mic and announces, "Ladies and gents, boys and girls, the birthday cake is here! Where's the birthday boy?"

Oh, jeez, this is gonna be awkward for JR. Two people are bringing out this giant birthday cake with surprisingly bright sparkling candles. The DJ starts singing the corny happy birthday song, and others join in. George takes my hand, saying, "Speaking of an opportunity! C'mon, fuck the cake," and he leads me out of the lighted area to the line of cars, saying, "I barely finished telling you I had a plan when, bingo, the cake comes out. That was an opportunity not to be missed."

I'm grinning, looking at his rosy lips that go perfectly with his, um, well, his beautiful pale brownish tan skin. I think his complexion is gorgeous. It's a striking combination of sexy rosy lips and his perfectly smooth, blemish-free tan skin and perfect shiny white teeth. Even though he's not what most would call cute or handsome, I like his looks. He's nice-looking if you know what I mean. He has a pleasant calm face with narrow eyebrows and big shiny dark brown eyes, a preppy haircut, perfect teeth, and, I don't know, I like him more with every minute that passes.

We walk down the line of cars, and at George's car, he says, "The backseat is best, don't ya think, Gary?" I nod, and he opens the back door, letting me get in first.

As soon as I get in the back seat, I scooch over, looking at him as he gets in. We smile at each other, and then George holds my head between his hands and kisses me. We get quickly into a riot of out-of-control kissing, running our hands over each other, hugging and squeezing one another. Sloppy kissing, our tongues sliding together, mixed saliva all around our mouths, then more kissing until George gasps and rubs noses with me. I lick his cheek, and it feels as smooth on my tongue as I knew it would, so I lick him again.

George chuckles at me, licking him, mumbling, "You're a hotty, ain'tcha?" I'm highly aroused; my cock is a heavy rock in my pants. George slows us down, doing long, lover-type luscious kisses now, seriously sexier kisses causing a moan of arousal from my throat; my dick is now a hard, heavy-feeling block of cement with precum leaking. Gasping, I murmur, "If you want me to, I'll suck you off, George." That's one way to get an invitation.

He nods his head, smiling, "Sure, that would be great," He lies back on the seat, bringing his knees up, unbuckling his belt, and unsnapping his shorts. When he pulls down the zipper, I get up on the seat on my knees. George pulls his underpants down, hooking them under his nuts, his hard cock leaning stiffly to the side.

Oh man, I want to get his six-plus-inch penis in my mouth so bad I can already taste it, but I make myself lean over slowly, then take it in my fingers, pulling it up straight. There is no way I'm not going to blow a load in my pants sucking George off.

His dick is not only longer than Billy's and mine but also heftier with a larger swollen head that's as rosy pink as George's lips. When I lick his penis from his balls to the head, I smell cologne but don't know its name. George put a dab of cologne down here just in case. His pubic hair is soft and kinky. Two more licks up his cock, and then I lick his balls, moving one over as George grunts and rubs my shoulders.

Carefully covering my lips, I move my mouth up and down on just the head a few times, then suck it into my mouth and lick all around it with my tongue. Precum drools out as George moans and squirms on the seat, both his hands squeezing my shoulders. I feel my climax building as I'm stroking George's hard shaft feeling it getting bigger. Stroking it the way Billy taught me, then I go down on it far enough, so the swollen head hits the back of my throat, and then do it again. George lifts his ass off the seat, goes, "Ahh, ooh," and blows his load in my mouth.

I'm swallowing a lot of cum, disappointed he climaxed so fast. When I'm sucking Billy off, I cum too, but he never climaxes this quickly. George relaxes, mumbling, "Sorry, Gary. Fuck, I never cum that fast. It's you; you're too sexy for me." That's a shocker as I'm supposed to be the novice here!

Taking one last good suck on the head, I let his cock slide out of my mouth, then say, "That's okay, George. Thanks for letting me blow you."

He snickers, grinning and saying, "I can't tell if you're breaking my balls with that or not." Sitting up, he's pulling his jockey underpants and shorts back up as he mutters, "Goddamn, seriously, Gary, I never cum that fast. It's embarrassing, bro. It felt awesome, though."

Nodding, I say, "You have a very nice penis," and he laughs aloud, sputtering, "Now I know you're breaking my balls, haha. You're something with your deadpan humor." I'm like, "No, seriously, you do have a, um, a good penis."

He laughs again, mutters, "Yeah, right, haha," and then he goes, "Hey, how'd you learn to do that so well? I thought you were like a virgin or something." I'm like, "Oh, I watch a lot of videos, gay porn, and tried to copy what they do." He looks doubtful but then says, "Well, my turn, right? Would you like me to suck you off now? I'm more than happy to oblige."

Now I'm blushing because I never expected him to say that and, um, I'm not ready. He says, "Or next time maybe," and I nod, mumbling, "Yeah, next time would be better."

He swings his legs around, drops his feet to the floor, then puts his arm across my shoulders, saying, "You've never had your dick sucked, have you?" Shaking my head and feeling self-conscious, I snort out an inappropriate laugh, "Nah, I never have, haha."

Hugging me against the side of his broad shoulders, he asks, "How old are you, really?" I shrug, "Seventeen, but I graduated, so..."

He snickers, muttering, "So what? What's graduating have to do with this?" Making a face, I mumble, "I don't know why I told you I was almost nineteen. I lie a lot."

He chuckles, "I don't care how old you are, Gary, and I know you're very new to, um, most of this. And I already told you I'm crazy about you, and I already told you I don't want to do anything you don't want to do, so we're good, right?"

I go, "Oh, fuck, yeah. We're better than good, George. I am for sure, um, ya know, I'm good with this. I wanna do anything, um, everything you wanna do. All you gotta do is invite, um, I mean tell me what you wanna do, so you don't need to worry about that."

He snickers, "Except for me sucking you off tonight." I'm like, "Oh, after this good talk we're having, I'm over that now. You can blow me." He laughs and goes, "Okay then, I'd like to do that right now."

Looking at him, I chuckle, "Sorry, I made a mess of this. What should I do?" He says, "Pull your jeans down, and I'll kneel on the floor between your legs and suck on your pecker, okay?"

I mutter, "Oh, yeah, of course. I didn't expect this, but now I'm excited about it." He leans over and kisses my lips, sort of sucking on them, then he goes, "You're so fucking special, but you make me laugh. For real, though, I can't believe my good fortune. After suffering so many losers, I meet a winner like you."

As I unbuckle my belt, I say, "You're embarrassing me with all the compliments, George. I don't know why you think I'm so special. I feel that my inexperience, my dorkiness, should be like a pain in your ass, an annoyance or something." He mutters, "Nope, nothing could be further from the truth."

Lifting my ass off the seat, I pull my jeans and underpants down to my knees. George can't get between my legs as he said, but he's kneeling on the floor in front of me, looking up at me, smiling, then saying, "That's a good-looking penis, Gary, and I'll bet you give it a pretty good workout, doncha?"

I snort out a laugh, mumbling, "Yes, I do work it over pretty good, yeah." He picks it up, muttering, "Ah-ha, I believe I detect a bit of precum here. I'd be thrilled if I had something to do with that." Grinning, I go, "When I was blowing you, um, I got aroused, you might say."

When he touched my dick, I did an involuntary gulp and sat up straighter. No one has touched my dick since that asshole Chicky jerked me off at Billy's house.

George mumbles, "You okay?" I nod, "Uh-huh, I was, ah, yeah, I'm good." George casually strokes the foreskin back and forth as I bite my lip. He mumbles, "Ya know, it's tremendously encouraging to me that you got aroused during oral sex on me. I'd be devastated if I didn't appeal to you."

Gasping, I go, "Oh, don't worry about that. Just a little while ago, I was thinking that I like you more every minute." He snickers, then says, "Excuse me for snickering, Gary, but I'm not used to anyone quite as open and straightforward as you. It's, um, charming." I'm like, "Thanks."

George mutters, "Here goes." He leans forward and guides my dick into his warm, wet mouth, then slides it side to side on his warm, moist, smooth, slippery tongue. I make a face, holding my breath as a grunt slips out of my throat, "Ah!" His two fingers and thumb stroke up and down on my cock while his other hand lightly squeezes my nuts. "Umpth," I lean back hard against the seat, making a low squawking noise at the sensations coming off my cock. Omigod, he's tantalizing the head with his lips and tongue. I go, "Ahhh, ooh, ooh, um, ah."

My hands go to George's head and rub his short, surprisingly soft wavy hair. Whatever he's doing with his mouth has me holding my breath again, then he bobs down on my cock, and the head of my boner goes into his throat, then out as he lifts his head and does it again. My face is scrunched up as I moan, "Ooh, ooooh, umm," and three quick bobs up and down with suction on the head when it comes out of his throat.

That gets me squealing, lifting my ass off the seat, and blowing out what feels like a long creamy rope of cum. I'm shaking like mad as he bobs up and down on my cock two more times, cum drooling out both sides of his mouth. Shuddering at the streaking pleasure that's running all over my body... holy shit, that was phenomenal. I've never felt anything like it.

He sits back, wiping his mouth with his hand, then shrugging, he goes, "You blew off as fast as I did. I hope it felt as good for you as it did for me," and he stands up, then sits next to me and goes, "So, how was it?"

Slowly shaking my head, I say, "That was the best orgasm I've ever had in my life." He laughs, "Oh, sure." I'm like, "Seriously! It was fabulous, thank you!" He's like, "Huh, that's the first time anyone has thanked me for doing that."

I'm pulling up my underpants, then my skinny jeans, muttering, "Oh, yeah? Well, I thought that was incredible." He gets his arms around me and hugs me, saying, "I've fallen for you so bad! Jesus, Gary, you'll have me wrapped around your little finger in no time. Omigod, it'll be pathetic of me, but I won't care."

I murmur, "Nah, I'm just hoping for another invitation from you." He asks, "Whaddaya mean, an invitation? Do you mean me asking you out? If you do, I'm asking you out right now for, um, how about going to the movies with me tomorrow night?" Nodding, I'm like, "Yeah, thanks. That'll be great."

Rubbing noses with me again, he kisses me, "It's a date then!" We kiss a few times, and he says, "Unfortunately, we've got work tomorrow, so we'd better get back with the guys, have a last beer, and then take off. Is that alright with you?"

I shrug, "Sure, um, and thanks for tonight; it's been, ah, well, a night I'll never forget." He nods, "Yeah, it's turned out great for me too, for sure."

I'm kind of floating as we walk up the driveway. Being on the, um, receiving end of a blowjob was fantastic, to say the least. George grins at me as we walk, so I'm like, "What? What's so funny?" He shakes his head, "Nothing's funny. I'm finding it hard to believe my luck, that's all. I mean, I couldn't fantasize, couldn't make up a better boyfriend than you."

I'm like, "Wow, that's wicked nice of you, but I didn't know we were boyfriends yet." He takes my hand, mumbling, "Well, yeah, one date doesn't qualify us as boyfriends, but I'm very optimistic we're gonna be boyfriends sooner rather than later."

What's it even mean to be a boyfriend, anyway? What do you have to do to qualify for that designation? I'm not asking him as I've already done and said enough stupid nerdy shit for one night. We walk back into the brightly lit backyard that's louder than ever now that the liquor has reduced inhibition. The talking and laughing are louder and louder, competing with the loud music--a vicious circle.

As we approach the beer keg, I spot JR and Tuck at the bar with a dozen others, some of whom we've been introduced to earlier, not that I remember any of their names now. George pours half a cup of beer for each of us and mutters, "I'm dying for a cigarette but haven't seen anyone smoking, so I'm guessing it's a no-smoking backyard."

Nodding, I'm like, "Or the other smokers here are working under the same assumption, waiting for someone else to light up first." George smirks, "You're probably right. We're all politically correct wimps."

I see JR glance over here as he laughs at something, then he bumps Tuck's arm and points at us. I tell George, "Here come JR and Tuck." He turns and waves at them, saying to me, "Good, we can say our thanks and goodbyes."

They stagger through the crowd, and Tuck hugs George, asking, "Where have you two been? You missed the birthday cake, horseshit." George says, "That was our intention. Where are the tens?"

JR is pouring a cup of beer as he slurs his words, saying, "They're behind the garage getting higher than the Empire State Building." Tuck mutters, "JR is drunk again," and he goes, "That's because I can't drink as much as my sweety pie drinks. You drink like a, um, lumberjack." It sounded like 'loberjack.'

We chuckle at that, then George says, "Gary and I have to work tomorrow, so we need to take off."

Swaying, then holding onto Tuck's arm, JR goes, "You work on Sunday?" sounding like 'soondie.' Snickering again, George says to Tuck, "Please tell me the tens aren't driving back to New York tonight."

She goes, "God no! They drove down yesterday and stayed here with JR and me. They're staying here tonight as well, then, hungover like crazy, they'll drive back to the city tomorrow."

George asks, "And what are you guys going to be doing?" She says, "Oh, get this. JR and I are off to Iceland Tuesday morning. We've always wanted to stay in an ice hotel." JR goes, "YOU always wanted to do that, not me." She grins and rubs his shoulder, "Well, whoever wanted to do that, we're doing it."

The rich are different, ya know?

Tuck puts her arm across my shoulder now, hugging me against her side, asking, "And how about you, Gary, did you have a good time tonight with the five of us Drexel nutcases?" I nod, "Yeah, it's been great!"

I said that over-enthusiastically with George's blowjob on my mind. She smirks at George, and he goes, "Get that dirty mind of yours under control, Brenda." She laughs, and JR says, "I feel sick. I think I'm going to throw up."

George rolls his eyes and goes, "With those familiar last words from my buddy JR, we'll say goodnight to you all. It has been fun as it always is with you guys."

They hug, mumbling about reconvening the nonsense at Drexel in five weeks. As we toss our beer cups in the trash can, George says, "Happy birthday, JR. Love you guys. Tell the tens goodbye for me," and we finally end the goodbye ceremony and head for the driveway at eleven-forty.

As George drives us home, I ask, "Are the tens gay?" He's like, "Nooo! They're cock hounds. They're not especially successful at it, but they're always on the prowl, and their standards are very low. Anyone with a pussy who will give it up qualifies as extremely desirable to the tens."

I laugh, "Oh, that is pretty liberal of them." He chuckles, telling me a few examples of Rick's and Arnie's dating exploits. I hope he's exaggerating how unattractive some of the girls the tens have dated, but it's funny too.

We get to my house at ten after twelve, and George gives me a quick kiss, mumbling, "Thanks for a great night, Gary. See you at work tomorrow."

I nod, "Thank YOU, George! I had a really good time." Getting out of the car, I thought that was sort of an anticlimactic end to the night, but what did I expect? Well, this was my first date, period, not just my first gay date, so how would I know how a date should end? We're going to the movies tomorrow night, and it's after the movies that's what I'm mostly looking forward to.

To be Continued... donnymumford@outlook.com.

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