Invited

Chapter 8

(The Breakup)

Riding my bike home, I can't stop smiling about our mind-blowing messing around this afternoon. Omigod, as if putting out for Billy three times wasn't fantastic enough, I was also getting complimented like crazy for taking to it up my ass so easily. Billy's been generous with compliments lately, plus I'm sensing him liking me more and more each day.

I depend on Billy's experience at messing around, but what I forget sometimes is that Billy's three or four-year history of doing gay messing around has exclusively been with a couple of high schoolers, and lately, only with that creep Chicky, and they both have a weak rectum. That's why Billy cautioned me so emphatically that it would be painful.

He obviously thinks everybody will feel the same pain he experienced, taking it up the ass. And, yeah, it did hurt a little at first, but nothing compared to how awesome it felt overall. I've watched many gay models fucking, and they, like me, have no issue with rectum pain. I guess that's because we have normal rectums.

When I get home, Mom is in the kitchen talking on her cell phone, and Dad is out, probably golfing. Mom and I smile at each other as I get some spray cleaner from under the sink, making sure she doesn't see the wet spot on my cargo shorts. Outside again, I use the cleaner and a paper towel to wipe off the damp area on the bike's seat.

Putting the bike away, then the cleaning spray, I go upstairs to my bedroom and take off my sticky underpants and shorts. Reaching back, tentatively feeling around my asshole, I find it hasn't closed completely yet. It's itchy again too. Hmm, what should I do about that?

Getting an idea, I look in the back of my bureau drawers for a pack of handkerchiefs I got for Christmas a couple of years ago but never opened. Finding the package, I take a handkerchief out, put on clean boxer shorts, and go to the bathroom. After wetting the handkerchief, I push it in my ass with my forefinger. Ah, that felt good, ha-ha.

Twirling my finger a few times eliminates the itchiness by cleaning out most of the lube and any of Billy's cum that remained. Okay, mission accomplished. After washing my hands, I put the handkerchief, shorts, and underpants in the hamper.

Then, lying on my bed, I'm again going over everything Billy, and I did today, the best day of my life. The most remarkable aspect about remembering it all in my head is that I don't feel an urge to jerk off. That's a big surprise, and rather unusual too.

Billy said it was a miracle I wasn't in pain, but I've felt more pain bumping my elbow or knee the wrong way. His boner hurt for thirty seconds when he opened my ass up, and then the hurt faded as the pleasure train pulled in. After that, it was fantastic beyond belief. Especially the first time when the newness of intense pleasure was a startling shock! It almost blew my mind how great it felt. And, yes, because it was Billy doing it, that added to the ecstasy.

Here's the big question, though: will Billy call me later? He said he would, but it's been hit or miss that he'll follow up and call after saying he will. So, will he call me this time? Probably not.

When I've had my fill of replaying this afternoon in my head, I remember something and mutter aloud, "Damn, it's Saturday. I need to cut the 'effing grass."

Putting on old shorts and my grass-stained sneakers, I spend twenty minutes cutting the grass. Dad gets home as I'm finishing up, and he's like, "That's my boy, cutting the grass without being told to do it five times."

Gawd, I've got to get my own place! Mom and dad treat me like I'm a kid. I force a smile as Dad says, "And you got your hair cut without being told. You're shaping up, Gary!"

I got this haircut last 'effing Tuesday!

Back in my room, I watched more gay porn while double-checking that I'm right about none of the gay models experiencing pain when taking it up the ass, and none of them do. Most of them appear to be loving it. Poor Billy and his inferior rectum. Well, that's not a problem for us, though. I'm his girl/guy, and his penis is working excellently, so his ass isn't an issue.

After dinner, I'm in my room on my laptop again--this time looking for apartments to rent. Apartments are expensive, so I'm only looking for one-room apartments. This will be for the future as I can't afford to move out now. I've saved over $3000, but I'll need more money than that to buy a car and pay for insurance.

What I need first is a full-time job that pays more than eight dollars an hour, so I spend some time checking job possibilities. I've wasted time doing this job search thing before and don't have any better luck this time. There are jobs listed that I could do, but there's a catch-22. I need a car to get to and from the workplace, which puts me right back to saving for a car.

By now, it's seven-thirty, and Billy hasn't called, so I watch the Phillies play the Mets on TV. It's disappointing he didn't call, but I'm what is commonly known as sexually satisfied. That doesn't mean I wouldn't jump at the chance to do it with Billy again tonight, but I'm not climbing the walls horny for it.

Billy still hasn't called by three o'clock Sunday, so I'm back to jerking off.

Stroking my penis, I think about Billy fucking me instead of me sucking his dick. The first jerk-off lasted less than a minute. An hour later, with the Phillies game winding down in the background, I masturbate again and, this time, I hold off for maybe two minutes before, "Umm, umm, ah, ahh, ahh!" firing off a high arcing stream of cum that makes it just over the foot of the bed, silently landing on the throw rug. I mutter quietly, "Ahh, yeah, that was good."

Yes, that was enjoyable, but it can't compare to those orgasms Billy's messing around fucked out of me yesterday. I'm thinking about maybe texting him, but I get called to dinner instead. Then, back in my room after dinner, I'm wondering if Billy has another guy he messes around with. Maybe that's what he does instead of calling me.

Hmm, I don't think he's messing around with Chicky, so who else might it be? I don't know anyone else who's gay, although George told me there are probably gay guys I know; I just don't know they're gay. That doesn't narrow it down a whole lot.

At seven-fifteen, my cell phone rings, and I get chills seeing the caller ID is Billy's. Well, it's his father's cell phone account, but I'm pretty sure his father isn't calling me.

Trying for casual calm, I answer, "Hello, Billy," and Billy says, "Hi, Gary, wassup?" I go, "Not much." He says, "I've got my Mom's SUV if you want to hang out." I'm like, "Yeah, sure," and he goes, "I'll pick you up in five minutes. Um, don't forget to bring, um, you know." I'm about to tell him I'll bring condoms, but he already clicked off--Billy's quick like that.

I'm stupidly excited now, running around changing my shorts and shirt, using a touch of AXE Body Spray, and unnecessarily recombing my hair. Four minutes later, I have an optimistic three condoms in my pocket, standing outside the house. The sky is clouding up as Billy pulls to the curb in front of me with a big smile on his face. Oh God, seeing him makes my dick move in my pants.

I get in the car, and Billy goes, "Goddamn, Gary, you looked cute standing there. Oh fuck, that was an awfully gay thing to say, wasn't it?"

He laughs as he drives away. I mutter, "No, it wasn't gay. It was nice of you." Looking at his profile, I'm like, "You're a cute guy too, Billy. A person doesn't need to be gay to be cute."

He goes, "That's so true. It must be our haircuts." I'm nodding, "Yeah, that's probably it." He laughs aloud, " Why are we even talking about this?" Shrugging, I'm like, "I don't know," and I laugh too. It's so great being with him.

He asks, "Do you have any idea where we can go to mess around?" I'm like, "I was thinking about that, and the only place I could come up with is the Sears parking lot."

He goes, "The abandoned store?" I say, "I don't think it's abandoned completely, but nothing's going to be happening on a Sunday night." Nodding, he mutters, "We'll drive over and see what's up."

In the back of the Sear parking lot, there's a tractor-trailer or the trailer part of one. The only other thing in this huge parking lot is the dumpster George parked behind. The thing is, though, it's still daylight and, therefore, seems less like a safe place than it did at night.

Billy goes, "I don't know about this. Part of this big-ass SUV would be noticed behind that trailer if a cop drove in here on some kind of a routine spot check or something."

I mutter, "Yeah, it'd be better at night." He looks at me, "You have rubbers, right." I nod, "Yep, but it'd be better at night." He smiles, "You just said that five seconds ago," and we nervously snicker at that.

We decide we'll wait for nightfall, then drive to McDonald's, where Billy says guys hang out. He knows that, whereas I don't because nobody ever invited me to hang out there.

Parking at the side opposite the drive-thru window, we get out of the SUV. Billy hands me a cigarette as we walk toward the guys loitering there. Billy calls over to Spike Nickols, "Spiky boy, do you got a light?"

Spike is smoking a cigarette as he hands a Bic lighter to Billy, asking, "Where have you been hiding, Underwood?"

Billy lights my cigarette, then his. Passing the lighter back, he goes, "I was at the shore for a couple of weeks."

The neighborhood bully, Ron Smart, says, "What the fuck? You two have the same faggy haircut. What's up with that?" He flicks his finger up the front of Billy's hair. Billy blows exhaled smoke toward Ron, saying, "Eat me, Ron. And, if anything, it's you who's the fag for talking about our hair like girls talk about hair."

Bobby Brown walks around from the front of McDonald's and goes, "Hey, Gary, where'd your curls go."

He has the same blond hair I have, except his hair is straight. I go, "Where do you think they went, Bobby?" He grins, and we bump fists as he adds, "You look good, dude. Seriously."

Judy Myers makes a rude sound and says to a girl I don't know, "Can you believe these childish guys are going to college? They're like little boys, all of them," and the two girls walk around to the front door of McDonald's. Mark Matters pushes his eyeglasses up with his middle finger, muttering, "Stuck-up bitches."

A few feet away, Wayne Mickelson and a girl I've seen at school have their arms around each other's waist, talking quietly and not paying any attention to the rest of us. They're in their own little world.

Ron ignored Billy's comments and flicks his finger at the front of my hair now, mumbling, "And you, Wallingford, are you doing everything Underwood does? Is that it?"

I go, "Eat me, Smart. You're a fag for talking about hair like some snatch." Billy hugs my shoulders, laughing and saying, "That's funny, Gary," then to Ron, "Yeah, he repeats everything I say."

Ron mutters, "You're both assholes." Billy says, "And for the record, Gary got his haircut before I did, and I got my haircut at the shore. That's what's called a coincidence. Oh, Ron, the word coincidence means..." Ron goes, "Fuck you," but he's grinning too.

Bobby taps my shoulder, "Gary, can I bum a smoke?" I go, "Um, I don't..." and Billy says, "Here ya go, Bobby," and holds out his box of Marlboro's.

Spike tells a bullshit story about someone named Rymer who was screwing a girl in the restroom at the mall when blah, blah, blah. After a while, it again occurs to me that I haven't missed much not hanging out all the time with these guys.

Billy tells one of his weird non-sequiturs about the world's record for holding your breath. He goes, "This is from the Guinness World Records. Some guy inhaled pure oxygen and then held his breath for 24 minutes and 3 seconds." Ron goes, "Bullshit alert! Underwood, you're so full of crap." Billy's like, "Google it, Ronald!" And so on...

By the time it's dark enough, Billy and I have smoked three cigarettes and had a large Hi-C drink from McDonald's. In the car, I'm like, "Those guys are okay when I meet them separately, but in a group, they can be pricks."

Billy goes, "What? No, they're good guys. It was just that dickhead Smart." I leave it at that because I have something more intriguing to think about now that we're on our way.

After driving to the old Sears parking lot, Billy parks the car behind the big ass trailer at the back of the lot and says, "Holy shit, it's dark tonight." I'm like, "It's cloudy as hell, no stars, plus it's supposed to rain."

A second later, a big raindrop hits the windshield. Billy mumbles, "Let's get out and put the second and third row of seats down before it starts pouring rain on our asses."

This SUV is a Ford Expedition, and when we get the seats down, there's a lot of room back there. We crawl in behind the front seats and lie on our backs, almost able to stretch out completely, but not quite.

We hear big raindrops thudding on the roof as Billy turns to me smiling, mumbling, "I'm scared, Gary." He left the car running to keep the air conditioner going, so the dashboard lights gave enough illumination that we could see each other.

A brilliant flash of lightning is followed a few seconds later by loud rumbling thunder. Billy and I grab each other and, giggling, I mutter, "That lightning seemed right above us. Protect me, Billy." He hugs me, laughing, then we kiss, and it's the most serious kiss I think I've ever gotten from Billy; from anybody. It felt like what a lover's kiss might feel like.

The kiss lasted a few seconds, and then I gulp and snuggle in against him as he murmurs, "None of those guys tonight have the guts to mess around the way we do," and he rubs his nose against mine and kisses me again as both my arms hug around the back of his neck.

And I was worried the screwing would replace the making-out. Ha, it appears we're doing both those tantalizing activities tonight.

After an intensely sexy-hot but short make-out, Billy mutters, "Give me a condom and pull your pants down."

As I get a condom from my pocket, he pulls his shorts down. Oh boy, his cock is like a fattish wooden five-inch dowel sticking straight out. He gasps, then mutters, "Let's do it on our sides." I get on my side, facing away from him, very anxious and excited about doing this again.

Billy is too, apparently, as he gets the condom on in two seconds, and right away, I go, "Ahh," as he pushes the head of his boner inside me, BANG! "Ahh," then some pain burst in my head, and I quietly mutter, "Ow, ow," my boner losing some of its stiffness. Billy reaches over my side and strokes my dick using two fingers and his thumb, murmuring, "Are you okay?"

The hurt is fading quickly the way it does in a normal rectum, so I take a deep breath and murmur, "Oh, yeah, Billy. It's feeling better by the second." He mutters, "Unbelievable," and pushes more of his hard cock inside me. It feels big and much more significant than I know it to be, but that's good.

Billy appears more eager and aggressive than the previous times doing this, and right away, it's, "Slap, slap, slap," three-inch steady thrusting with Billy grunting, "Um, um, um," with each quick hump. It feels marvelous, otherworldly, remarkable, and sexy-as-hell, but we both climax in less than a minute.

Almost screaming, I shoot off a hard fast sizzling stream of cum that burns the head of my penis, coming out hard and fast, splattering against the side door across from us. Billy humps hard against my buttocks, squeezing his arm around my belly as he climaxes, grunting, "Ooh, umm, fuck."

We lie on our sides with his cock still in me for fifteen seconds before he exhales noisily and mutters, "Holy shit, ha-ha, that was fast. It felt good, though."

He rolls onto his back, pulling out his dick in the process, and adds, "Whew, we're into it now, Gary. That was top-notch messing around, bro." As he pulls off the condom, I'm still shivering with pleasure sensations that are taking their time fading. Yep, that was spectacularly good.

Billy slides the door open a bit and chucks the condom out in the rain as another bolt of lightning brightens the inside of the SUV for a half-second, followed quickly by thunder. I lie right next to him, my right arm across his stomach, mumbling, "You really know how to fuck, Billy."

He chuckles, "You give me too much credit," and he smiles at me, saying, "I've now done it with you one more time than I did with Greg Morris in eleventh grade. Now we need to match the times I've done it with that fag, Neil Butler. It's all instinctive anyway; anybody could do it."

Huh? I'm like, "Oh, well, I think you're wicked experienced doing the guy part."

He mutters, "The guy part, ha-ha. That's funny. No, I'm not all that experienced, but maybe I'm a natural top. I'll tell you; it never went this well with Chicky. That's why I say it's YOU who makes it work so perfectly."

I mutter, "Thanks," and he's like, "But be honest with me, are you sure you've never gotten fucked before we did it?"

I'm like, "I'm being honest about that, and I've never kissed a guy or sucked a dick before I did it with you." He rolls up with a hand on either side of my chest, looking down at me, "Maybe we're both naturals. Whatever, messing around with you is ten times more fun than with that prick Chicky."

Oh man, I've got a big smile, "Really?" He goes, "Yeah, really, and I've told you that before. We're a team, Gary. We're excellent messing-around partners, maybe the best in the world."

He's smiling like mad as he lowers his head slowly. Our lips meet for a sweet sloppy kiss, then he flops on his back again, saying, "This is a bitch of a thunderstorm, huh? Did you know that lightning on Jupiter can be one thousand times more powerful than here? That's a scary thought, huh?"

I'm like, "A thousand times? How do you know all these odd bits of information?"

Shrugging, he mumbles, "It's interesting stuff. I probably spend too much time Googling stuff, and it sticks in my mind." I go, "You must have gotten good grades in school." He looks at me smiling, saying, "Not especially because the shit we learned in school wasn't interesting. It wasn't to me anyhow."

He talks about conflicts with some of his high school teachers and how bored he was most of the time. It sounds a lot like my experience with school and boredom. He's more realistic than me about going to college, though, saying, "I expect to be bored in college too, but not boredom at the high school level where you have no choice of subject matter. College is something I gotta do because getting a job without a college degree is extremely problematic. That's unless you have an aptitude for a trade, as my dad has for plumbing, which I don't have."

Yeah, he's more realistic than me.

Billy tries to talk me into going to community college with him, but I've made my bed this year and need to lie in it. Maybe I'll rethink it next year. I tell him how I want to get a car and an apartment this year.

He says, "That would be so cool, Gary! We'd have a place to mess around whenever we wanted." Can I believe my ears? Billy sees us as long-term messing around partners!

Hmm, I probably shouldn't say this, but I do anyway, "But, Billy, what about your plan to start dating girls in your college years?"

He looks at me with a smile, "I can do both. Oh, hell, you're too much fun to give up when college starts."

Nodding, I smiled back at him, "Thanks, I was, um, you know, wondering about that." He goes, "I'm not dumping you for some girl I haven't met yet. I think you're special. We're special together. Don't you know that?" I nod, "Oh, yeah, I know that."

Smiling, he says, "The other thing is, I'd feel terrible about disappointing you. It's pretty 'effing obvious you've got a thing for me, but just remember what I've warned you about. We're not gay, Gary. We're a couple of guys with the balls to do a little gay messing around, and that's as far as it goes. But, since you started doing it so late in your teen years, and I'm the one who introduced you to it, I'm willing to put off my dating girls the entire first year of college if need be. I'll do that for you because, as I've told you, I like you and think you're special."

Moving my head to rest on his shoulder, I murmur, "Thanks, Billy. You're the nicest guy ever."

He chuckles and rubs my hair, mumbling, "Haha, yeah, I am. We've got to keep getting these haircuts too, bro. Our messing around took off when I got mine."

Sliding part of my chest on Billy's, I move my left leg between his, and he chuckles, then rubs my back, murmuring, "Jesus, messing around with you is so much friendlier than it was with the high school pricks. We were always snapping at each other and bickering about this or that. We didn't buddy up nearly as well as you and I do it," and he hugs me.

My dick is hard again.

We snuggle like this, rain pouring down on the SUV, Billy running a finger back through my short dry hair. He never lasts long without talking, though, so he says, "At this very minute, about 2000 thunderstorms are happening around the world."

I mutter, "I have another condom," and he says, "Good, let's use it." I ask, "Do you want me to suck a boner on you?" "Yeah, I would, except there's a silicone-based lubricant on the inside of condoms, some of which is on my dick. I wouldn't want you getting that in your mouth."

I'm like, "Is it poison?" He shrugs, "No, small amounts won't harm you because silicones are not adsorbed into the body, but lubricant might feel funky on your tongue. I don't know for sure as I've never had a silicone-based lubricant in my mouth."

I'm like, "Is it okay if I try it at least?" We'd pulled our pants up, so Billy pulled his down again, mumbling, "Yeah, sure, okay, go for it, partner." Sliding down, I pick up his dick and lick it. Making a face, I mutter, "It's not that bad," and suck the head into my mouth.

It doesn't take much licking and sucking on the head to get rid of the skinny layer of lubricant, my dick getting even harder from sucking on Billy's penis head. I'm stroking his slightly slippery shaft that soon becomes a hard boner.

Billy grunted, "Um, oh, um," running his fingers back and forth in my hair. With my teeth covered, I go down on his boner, my lips sliding easily on the thin cover of lubricant.

Up and down on his hard penis, both our boners hard as stone now. With another grunt, Billy's pushing at my head, mumbling, "That's good, that's enough. Thanks."

I watch as Billy rips open the condom packet and easily rolls the condom on his bone-hard dick that's pointing up. Smiling, he says excitedly, "Let's do it doggy style. You get on your hands and knees, and I'll," then he looks up at the ceiling and says, "Well, I can't stand behind you, so I'll get on my knees."

We get in position, and Billy goes, "Spread your knees. Your ass is a little bit too high." I do that, and he mutters, "Perfect," and takes hold of my hip with his left hand, his right-hand guiding the head of his boner against my asshole. There's barely any pain when the head tightly goes inside.

Billy murmurs, "This is the best fun I've ever had." I feel my rectum spreading as his chubby five-inch boner moves up inside me with sparkling vibrations of pleasure sizzling with every inch it goes. I moan, "Oooh. Mumm."

Billy gasps when his crotch presses against my buttocks, "Omigod, this feels good, Gary." I murmur, "Yes, it does. Can we see how long it can last this time?"

He goes, "Mm, mm, sure," and he starts out by doing slow, long thrusts as I squirm at the pleasure exploding inside me. Shortly, speedier thrusting creeps in until it's again, "Slap, slap, slap," with Billy grunting, "Ah, ah, ah!" Sensations soar, and quickly my climax takes control and, seeing bright dots floating high in the sky, I'm screeching a little, "AHH! OOH! Shit, oh, jeez, yes..." cum splattering silently on the SUV's carpet.

Grinding against my butt cheeks, Billy's gasping and, I assume, filling the condom with his spunk.

Pulling his cock out of my ass, Billy flops on his back, moaning, "Omigod, electric sparks shooting from my dick, ooh, wow, that was super nice." Shivering at the after-effects, I slowly lie beside Billy, then let out a long exhale, mumbling, "That never disappoints, huh?" His chest is going up and down as he breathes deeply, gasping, "Nope, it keeps getting better."

The rain has stopped, so we stand outside and smoke cigarettes. Billy explains how the typical thunderstorm is only about 15 miles in diameter and lasts only for 30 to 45 minutes. He goes, "That's a small area compared to much wider areas for normal rain or snowstorms."

I nod, "Oh," and he smiles, adding, "I can't help spouting out this random information. Tell me if I'm boring you." I go, "You're never boring, Billy." He looks at me grinning, exhales smoke, hugs my shoulders, and goes, "I like the way you idolize me." Shrugging, I murmur, "You're the best friend I've ever had."

After exhaling cigarette smoke, he taps my arm and says, "Hey, I didn't tell you that I'll be working the next couple of weeks. That's what I was doing yesterday."

I'm like, "Working? Where?" and he tells me he's working where his dad works. Because of employees' summer vacations, the office's mail/stock room has been neglected and is in shambles. Billy will work with one of the stock room employees to straighten out the mess.

I ask, "How do you feel about that?" He shrugs, flicks his cigarette butt, and says, "I'm okay with it. I'll have some extra spending money. I've been getting by using the two hundred bucks from my folks and grandparents for graduation along with the twenty bucks a week I get as an allowance for doing chores and shit. It'll be nice having some extra coin in my pocket."

Jeez, twenty bucks a week as an allowance! I've never gotten a weekly allowance. When I flick my cigarette butt, Billy says, "Help me put the seats up. I need to get up early tomorrow for work."

Damn, I was hoping for another messing around hat trick tonight. We put the seats up, and Billy uses a couple of Handi Wipes to wipe at my semen spots on the door and carpet, then he drives me home.

At my house, I'm unsure if I'm to kiss him goodnight. Billy says, "How about tomorrow night, Gary? Want to mess around some more?"

I'm like, "Yeah, sure, thanks for inviting me. After dinner, is that alright?" He nods, then smiles and says, "Let me taste your mouth again," and, straining against his seatbelt, he leans over to kiss me.

It's a sloppy kiss with lots of tongue action; then he licks my chin. Grinning, he goes, "I hope to hell I'm not getting a little gay for you, you cute motherfucker you." I can't help but grin at that, then say, "Nah, you're too straight to be a little gay."

As I get out of the van, I lick around my lips which are wet with his saliva. And, yep, my dick is hard again. Jeez, I'm a lot more than a little gay for Billy.

In bed, I get shivers thinking about how much I love him. It's a more powerful feeling than I ever expected. Well, to start with, I never thought I'd be in love with a guy or anyone. The possibility of that happening never entered my mind until recently.

My heart was blank before, and now it's filled with a fever; it's a burning passionate love clinging to my heart so hard it's almost a burden. Nothing will ever be as sweet a burden the rest of my life as this first love. It's unimaginable that anything can ever be as precious as this. My heart thuds in my chest, filled with the scary possibility of him never loving me back the way I love him. No, he doesn't even need to love me back as much as I love him, just love me enough that we stay together forever.

I can't sleep from thinking about him. I can smell him and taste him and see his smiling face in my head, the little spaces between his top pearly-white teeth, see his bow-shaped lips that give me a thrill when they touch mine. Billy's right, too, in some magical way; him getting his hair cut like mine elevated our relationship into this special status.

It's special mostly because Billy thinks it's special, while I've always thought it was special. He's even feeling a little bit gay for me. That's what he said, sort of.

Finally falling asleep, I don't wake up until ten o'clock Monday morning. Lying in bed, I picture Billy working in the stock room of his dad's office and wish I was working alongside him. Snickering as I get out of bed, I'm thinking we probably wouldn't get a lot of work done. I'd want him inside me, not alongside me. Oh man, I can't wait to be with him tonight!

I do everything I need to in the bathroom, and then, getting dressed, my cell phone rings. Billy? No, it's George. That's right; he's back home after his three-day weekend at the shore. We don't have our work shift until Thursday, and, Omigod, he'll want to come over. George is such a nice guy, but I'm in love with Billy now.

"Hey, George! How ya doing? Did you have a good time at the shore?"

He's like, "Mostly, I missed you, and then it rained one day, but it was okay, I guess." I ask, "Well, how about your reunion with your ex-best friend?"

He's like, "Oh, Jackie Blake, yeah. He had his new best friend with him, and I felt like a third wheel hanging out with them. He's changed; Jackie has." I say, "Oh, I'm sorry it wasn't as good a time as you expected." He brightens up, saying, "Well, I'm back now. Do you wanna hang out?"

I've got Billy on my mind, but I don't want to hurt George's feelings, so I try sounding excited, "Yeah, of course. Ah, do you want to come over here?"

"Yes, I do, but I can't until this afternoon. I've got things I need to do at home first."

Oh, good. I try sounding disappointed, saying, "Well, my mom will be home from work at one-thirty, so we can't, you know, hang out here this afternoon. I know what we can do, though; we can start your golf lessons, um, if you'd like that."

That's what we agreed to do. He'll pick me up at two o'clock, and we'll hit some golf balls at the park or someplace. Dammit, this is a huge problem, though. It's not fair to lead George on by continuing to mess around with him. Not now that Billy and I are boyfriends? Well, Billy doesn't want to admit we're boyfriends, but we are, and we're getting together again tonight.

This is so hard because George is such a great guy. Let's see; he'll be off to college in less than three weeks, so somehow, I'll need to make up a bunch of lies until then. College activities will surely take up a lot of George's time once he gets there, and maybe he'll meet another perfect boyfriend. Oh, sure he will. Who am I kidding?

No, I need to be honest with him! I promised to tell him right away if I ever fell in love. He said he hoped it was with him, but it wasn't. This is another situation where I'm in over my head. Well, keep it simple, stupid. I told George I'd tell him, so I will. He is so 'effing nice I hate hurting him, but I like him too much to lie to him. It would be totally fraudulent of me to continue messing around with him when it's Billy I'm in love with.

Oh, fuck, I hate doing this!

All morning, I'm moping around the house wearing only boxer shorts and a T-shirt, not even wanting to eat anything, jerk off, or watch porn videos. I finally take a shower and get dressed.

In the kitchen, I force down a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, then get out my golf clubs and do some practice swings in the backyard. I should buy a pair of golf shoes. Dave has golf shoes while I play the par-three course in sneakers.

A horn blows in the front of the house. I carry the golf bag around and see George grinning in his mom's car. I can't help but smile because he looks so pretty with his perfect creamy tan skin and beautiful smile. He hops out of the car and opens the trunk, saying, "Yep, you're still the cutest guy I've ever known." We bump fists, then hug as I mumble, "You flatter me too much, George."

He takes the golf clubs from me and puts them in the trunk, saying, "Stand there, Gary." I go, "Wha? Why?" He takes his phone out and clicks off two pictures of me. "I was kicking myself in the ass the past three days for not having a picture of you to look at. Of course, I have the picture of you in my head, but a real one is better."

Oh, jeez! George is not making this any easier for me.

We get in the car, and as he drives, he says, "I know a place in Lansdown where we can hit some golf balls." I'm biting my fingernails, mumbling, "Okay, good." He asks, "What's wrong, Gary? You seem, um, not your usual charming brilliant self."

I mutter, "I'm far from charming or brilliant, George. You are, though."

He mumbles, "Thanks, Gary. Okay, I won't pry, but I know something is bothering you. If I can help in any way, you've only to let me know and I'll do whatever I can to help."

Shaking my head, I mumble, "You're far too nice to me. Oh, fuck, here goes. Um, remember when I promised I'd tell you when I fell in love?"

He goes, "Oh, no. I mean, yes, I remember, but I can tell it's not me you've fallen in love with. Is it?"

This hurts.

I go, "No, I'm sorry, but it's Billy. I don't know exactly how it happened, and maybe I was in love with him earlier and didn't realize it. I don't know for sure 'cause I've never been in love before. This past weekend, though, I knew I was in love with him."

Nodding his head, George says, "Nobody has much control over that. Is he in love with you?"

Shaking my head again, I mutter, "Nah. Or if he is, he's keeping it a secret." He nods, "Gary, it was brave and honest of you to tell me. I admire that."

Looking at him, I earnestly say, "I'm really sorry, George" He shrugs, "We can still be great friends, though, right?"

I'm like, "Oh, absolutely, I'd love that, George!" He grins, "Oh, you said my name and the word love in the same sentence!" I squeeze the back of his neck, making him hunch his shoulders.

He mutters, "Shivers!" Feeling relieved, I say, "You've been wonderful about this really awkward situation. Thank you so much for that."

Glancing at me again, he says, "Well, I know how special a first love can be, but I also know it can be tenuous as well. I sincerely hope it's the exception for you and turns into a love of a lifetime, but if it doesn't work out for whatever reason, I'm going to be in the wings keeping my dream alive."

I'm like, "I cannot believe some guy hasn't snatched you up. You're so unimaginably nice."

Driving into a small parking lot, George says, "I've had a couple of, um, proposals of that sort, but they weren't my dream boyfriend. I'm holding out for my dream guy."

I say, "At Drexel, you'll have a new large selection of freshmen prospects." He laughs, "Uh-huh, but, in the meantime, I'm going to be the best friend you've ever had." I go, "We can be gay-kissing friends," and I lean over and kiss him. He grins, "Nice, Gary! Good move, good idea. Dude, you handled this breakup like a pro."

Shit, it was a breakup, wasn't it? I wasn't thinking of it like that until he said it.

Getting out of the car, I mumble, "You helped me through it, George." He pats my shoulder, and I go, "Here's something that just occurred to me. I love George Brown as my friend. There, I said your name and the word love in the same sentence again, but in a better way." We hug as he mutters, "Yeah, you did. Thanks, I'll take you up on that."

Omigod, I feel so relieved! And I wasn't lying either. I do love George as a friend. Who the hell wouldn't?

I'm glad we have the golf lesson to get us talking about something else, though. We take my golf bag of clubs to the edge of what is a baseball field with a baseball diamond, backstop, and large outfield. We're in the outfield.

Holding a seven iron, I say, "The most important part of a golf swing is the grip. Do not hold the club as you would a baseball bat. That's number one."

George, like me, is right-handed, so I explain that you first hold the club's handle with your left hand, so the heel of the palm is at the top of the handle with a nub of the handle still showing. The heel of your right-hand goes on top of your left hand's thumb, and blah, blah, blah.

After he practices getting the grip right, I say, "Try keeping your left arm from bending when you swing the golf club, George. Something like this," and I swing the club three times, just skimming the grass.

There are two boys on the other side of the outfield kicking a soccer ball around, so I don't want to hit golf balls with them there. George just practices holding the club properly and swinging. I look through my golf bag and find a plastic golf ball with holes in it that George can try hitting. The ball won't go far, but we can see if he's hitting it straight. He's not. The ball is going to the right, which means the clubface isn't pointing straight, and/or his lower body is sliding ahead when he hits the ball. He tries correcting that.

When the soccer kids leave, I drop a few golf balls on the grass and, swinging the seven iron easily, hit a few balls high and straight but less than a hundred yards. Dropping three more balls, George tries hitting them. The balls go all over the place as I'm trying to keep a straight face. He mutters, "That wasn't too bad," and we both bust out laughing. After he's hit a dozen balls, which is all I have in the bag, I say, "Now we're on an Easter egg hunt."

We search for the golf balls, putting them in our pockets when we find them. This goes on for two hours without a lot of improvement, but George wants to keep trying, so we stay until four-thirty, and he's now hitting the balls straight two out of three tries. He says, "Everything feels unnatural, starting with the way I need to grip the club." I say, "But you're hitting the ball straight most of the time now."

Cars pull up, and little leaguers jump out and start tossing a ball around the baseball diamond, so we collect the golf balls in the outfield and take off.

In the car, George asks, "Would you like to stop at my house? It's a mile from here, and we can get a soda or a beer." I'm like, "Sure, that's cool, but what do you think about this frustrating game of golf?" He says, "I want to get better so we can golf together."

I'm like, "We'll go to the driving range on Route 422 tomorrow, and you can keep practicing the seven iron, and I can practice using my new driver." He's like, "What time?" I shrug, "We have all day. We can start in the morning and maybe go to the par-three course in the afternoon."

At his house, we go in the back door and find his mom ironing clothes in a small washer/dryer room, clothes on hangers, and in a neat pile on the dryer.

She smiles, "I was wondering what you were up to, Georgie." He says, "Mom, this is my friend from Weis Market, Gary. We were golfing." She goes, "Golfing, huh? Nice to meet you, Gary."

I say, "Nice to meet you too, Mrs. Brown." She's a pretty African American with very short hair, big round hoop earrings, George's eyes, and his creamy smooth skin, although it's a darker brown. George looks a little like her.

As we walk past his mom, George says, "Yeah, Gary is teaching me how to golf. Um, we're going to get something to drink." Nodding, his mom says, "Do not take the last two beers in the refrigerator. Your dad would not be amused."

There's a short hallway to the kitchen. Walking down it, George says over his shoulder, "We'll have Cokes then."

He opens the refrigerator door that has many things magnetized on it. One of the things is a photo of George, around thirteen years old, his mom, and a white, blond-headed man who has his arms around Mrs. Brown and George. They're standing in front of the entrance to Disney World. I'm assuming that man is George's father, but I don't ask about it.

George passes me a Coke and closes the refrigerator, saying, "How about a cigarette?"

We walk by his mom to go out the back door with me wondering if his mom is wondering if I'm gay. She probably is considering that as George has been 'out' since his early teen years. George passes me a Winston cigarette, and as he lights it for me, I mutter, "I need to buy you a pack of these cancer sticks."

He goes, "Nah, don't do that, and I don't think I'll get cancer. I only smoke four or five of these things a day. After college, I've promised myself I'll stop this habit."

We joke about George's golfing, bumping against each other, sitting on the back steps, holding hands. I don't mind holding his hand; I like it, and I like him a lot. I'm not sure what I meant when I said we could be kissing gay buddies, so I ask George.

He makes a face, saying, "Hell, I don't know. I guess it can mean whatever we want or whatever you want it to mean." I nod and mumble, "I don't feel right about us blowing each other and rolling around making out, but a kiss with a hug seems something best gay buddies would do. Whaddaya you think?"

He says, "First of all, from my point of view, I think you're smart to have us talk this out." He bumps my side and grins, adding, "Second of all, I think your idea is genius. Best gay buddies surely can kiss once in a while," and he leans over to kiss my cheek."

Chuckling, I mumble, "It appears best gay buddies will still spring a boner from time to time as I feel one coming on right now."

He hugs my shoulders, "You're so fucking cute. Everything you do or say gives me a boner."

Out of nowhere, my eyes fill up. Looking away, I murmur, "I'm so sorry for letting you down, George." He hugs me again, "Don't be sorry. I'm happy to have a new best friend and a gay one at that. You're far superior of a best friend than Jackie Blake ever was."

Wiping my eyes, making it seem part of wiping my forehead, I go, "Good! That makes me feel a little better."

When a car pulls into the driveway, George mumbles, "Daddy's home." I thought he was being funny saying daddy, but when the man in the photo on the refrigerator door gets out of the car, George and I stand, and he calls to him, "Hi, Daddy. Meet my friend from work, Gary Wallingford."

His father smiles a really nice smile holding out his hand. We shake hands as he says, "Well, aren't you a good-looking fellow, Gary. Great to meet you, son." I go, "Thank you. Nice to meet you too." Another smile, then his dad gives George a hug, asking, "Whacha been up to today, son?"

George says, "I'm learning to golf. Gary's teaching me." His father is our height and as slim as George and me. He says, "Great! Georgie, maybe you can teach me after Gary's taught you."

Geroge goes, "Absolutely. That'd be fun." At the back door, his dad grins, saying, "We'll need to join a country club!" George goes, "Riiiight, sure we will."

That was kind of sweet. I can see that George's niceness comes naturally from his parents. They're all super nice.

It's five-thirty, so George drives me home, saying, "Any night you don't have something to do, I hope you'll want to hang out with me. You know, as best gay friends. You won't get any pressure from me to be more than that. That is until you want to be more than that."

I nod, feeling my eyes fill up again. I manage. to say, "Absolutely. See you tomorrow morning." I get out of the car, "I'll call you in the morning, Gary."

Back home, Mom says, "Dinner in a half-hour, Gary. Your dad is working late tonight, so it'll be just us two." I say, "Okay, Mom," and plop down on the sofa. Taking a deep breath, I tell myself that the breakup went better than I had a right to expect. George is a fantastic friend and better than I deserve. Still, I'm proud of myself for being honest with him.

After brooding about that for a while, my cell phone rings in my pocket. Fumbling it out, I go, "Hi, Billy!"

He's like, "Oh, man, work blows. How you doing?" I mumble, "I'm okay. Um, whassup?" He says, "Well, I can't get my mom's car tonight. Come over, and we'll hang out here doing whatever. Mom will be out, but Dad will be here. Anyway, bring you know what, just in case."

I go, "Sure, definitely. I'll be over around seven if that's okay." He goes, "Perfect," and clicks off.

Damn, how the hell are we going to do it when his father is home? It didn't work blowing Billy in his bedroom with his dad home that time and taking it up the ass with his dad in the next room is even more unlikely to work.

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

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