Mike and Richie

MIKE and RICHIE

Chapter 14

by Donny Mumford

Mike's been back from the west coast a week now and we've comfortably moved back into our normal routine again, including normal sexual activities, which now includes sixty-nining. I liked the feel of Mike's lips on my dick and I like the feel of my lips on his, but what I really like the most is Mike fucking me.

He hasn't had a call to work for three days now which is good for me because another thing I love is hanging-out with him. So it's all cool except for Tiny Dick nagging me to have a repeat performance with him. Mike's back so I need Tiny like a hole in my head, but I may have encouraged him some that time so it's not all his fault. Mike does need to work tomorrow, Friday, so I finally agreed to meet Tiny Dick at his pool Friday. What Tiny doesn't know is that I'm going there to tell him face to face that there isn't going to be a pool party, there isn't going to be anything happening between him and me today, or in the future. So I'm a little nervous about that, but since Mike and I are having an early Thursday night, I'll concentrate on that and worry about Tiny tomorrow. Mike will be getting up at four in the morning so we even skipped our normal sex tonight, but we did a nice make-out which was awesome.

When I wake up Friday morning Mike's long gone; I didn't hear him leave. After doing my chores for dad, taking a showers and all that, then having a late breakfast, I was feeling good. I missed Mike and me messing around in bed, but I'm thinking he'll make up for that tonight. Nothing left to do but take care of this Tiny matter. It's a bitch of a forty minute walk to Tiny's place so I call his house hoping he can give me a ride, but miss him by two minutes. God dammit, now I've got to walk and it's hot, hot, hot today. As I walk I keep hoping one of the guys will drive by so I can hitch a ride with him, but no luck. I walk the whole way and as I'm coming up to Tiny's front door perspiration is rolling off my face. As I'm about to ring the front bell I hear a big splash around back; Tiny probably just jumped into the cool pool, which sounds mighty refreshing to me now. Maybe I'll take a dip, then tell him to fuck off. No, I don't want to make an enemy, I gotta do this diplomatically.

Forget the front door; I walk around the tall hedges that hide the pool from the street and go up to the chain link fence surrounding the yard and peek through. There's Tiny, in the pool naked, and there's his tiny dick. He has his eyes closed floating on his back unaware I'm looking at him. He kicks his feet a little floating with the help of a blown-up plastic dolphin. As Tiny's body moves, so moves his three inch skinny dick. It bounces from one side of his big package of nuts to the other. How the hell did he get that little penis to grow into whatever he used to fuck me with at our other pool party? That's one for the Guinness Book of World Records, man! The bulb on the end, the head of his little cock, looks in proportion to the rest of his dick now, but when it gets engorged with erectile blood, the head swells up much bigger than the shaft, and it really gave my hole a nice workout. It's plenty big enough to feel real good, and the length expands another inch when hard as well. It's impossible not to stare at that penis of his though, the damn thing looks like it belongs on a ten year old. And, the fact that Tiny is so blase about it amazes me too; I can't imagine the stigma that thing would give me if it were mine. Thinking back to that so-called pool party with Tiny, when he controlled me with that dominating personality of his and that unbelievable self confidence, I find myself getting stiff. He fucked me twice and jerked me off, and he was plenty rough about it too. The nut squeezing he did to me makes me shudder to think about, so why the stiffy? Is it that Tiny, the little guy with the hot body, the cute smile, and pleasant manner can turn into a dominant terror when he chooses?

Rubbing my firm penis, I shake my head to clear it; after all, I'm here to let Tiny down gently with a, "Thanks, but no thanks" kiss off. I start off goofin' on him, calling out, "Hey, that's a big clitoris you got hanging out your pussy, sweety, but where's your tits?" He flips over onto his belly and swims over to where I'm standing. He has his authoritative, superior voice going for him, "Jesus, Richie, you're fucking hilarious! Original too, so please stop 'cause I'm laughing so hard I'll drown." He has something about him alright, something that gets me biting my bottom lip and groping myself. He can only see me from my chest up so I give myself a good rub down there; it's almost a boner already. Tiny's face isn't exactly the cutest, but his normal sweet act is cute, which somehow makes his dominant act more impressive to me. Of course, it could be his sweet persona is the act, and the dominant one is his natural nature. His manner makes me recall how I'm suppose to address him when we're alone, so, in an unexpected docile manner, I say, "Hi, Tucker. Sorry to be late, but I had to walk." Tiny gives me a serious look, then says, "You should have left earlier then!" He gets out of the pool and, putting a towel around his waist, says, "Be on time when we do this again or I'll need to discipline you." I'm thinking, "Get real!!!" but when he said it my dick definitely buzzed. I nod my head noncommittally, and he says, "We'll forget that for now, it's great to see you Richie. Thanks for coming. You keep your word." I walk around the chain link fence to the gate, open it, and come into the pool area, saying, "Yeah, Tucker, I'm like Tom Higgenson." Then I try singing, "My word is gooood". " Tiny asks, "Who the fuck is... that name you said?" I tell him Tom Higgenson sings lead fot the Plain White Ts, and "My word is gooood," are lyrics in the song, "Hey There Delilah." Tiny mutters, "Whatever," as he hands me a bottle of ice cold beer. I'm so hot and thirsty after the forty minute walk, I gulp at it and the beer almost tasted good. I haven't really developed a taste for beer yet; mostly I pretend I like it and sometimes can fool myself into thinking I do. Truth is, I'd much rather have a Coke or a Snapple or a fresh squeezed lemonade or orange juice. One makes do though, so I drank the beer, although I did need to fire-up a cigarette to help kill the beer after-taste. Booze is easier to handle with a cigarette.

Tiny watched me drink the beer, then held his hand out for my smoke and I passed it over for him, thinking he wanted a drag. He didn't; he flicks it over the hedge, saying, "No smoking!" That should have pissed me off, but instead I grope my balls right in front of Tiny as he grins. I can almost see him getting himself all rev-ed up about our up-coming sexy role-playing. He's not a bad guy, he gets off sexually dominating me, and Tony too, to hear Tony talk about it. I begin feeling a little sorry for him because I'm soon going to burst his bubble about today. Tiny's saying that he's thought up a couple of new dominant moves that I should really get my rocks off on; he's been practicing them on Tony. "You're going to love 'em Richie." I shrug, working up to saying what I gotta say. Tiny pokes low on my belly, close to my dick, and says, "I had the best time with you, we fit together so perfectly it's awesome. Like I already told you, you're the best submissive sex partner ever!" Burping after my last swallow of beer, I put the empty bottle on the little table next to the pool, and get ready to tell Tiny it ain't happening between him and me; not today, and not in the future. Turning to him, I open my mouth and he puts his forefinger to his lips going, "Shhhh," as he walks quickly right up to me and grabs my balls, saying, "Let's get those clothes off, right now!" My cock has already firmed up from his earlier commands in that hypnotic voice of his. When he grabbed my package my hands go to his bare shoulders and I'm up on my toes slightly, and as he squeezes my nuts little harder I'm up further on my toes holding my breath, damn, that hurts. He says, "You better have a clean hole today, boy. I let that slide last time, but you'll pay dearly if it isn't clean today." I'm going to tell him it's over as soon as he stops squeezing my balls, but when he lets go them he begins stroking my already firmed-up cock and I'm leaning on him now as my cock gets very hard, very quickly. He's stroking it from outside my cargo shorts just like Mike did so long ago. The pain in my nuts has receded enough that I can say, "Jeez, don't do that Tucker, we gotta talk." It's all I can squeeze out of my throat. Tiny orders, "Don't talk unless I ask you a question" and using his grip on my boner he pulled my crotch closer to him. I stumbled into him and he raps and arm around my back as the hand that's stroking my cock now slides down the back of my shorts and he wiggles his finger inside my hole. "Don't!" I grunt, "Stop a second. I gotta say something import...." Tiny begins finger fucking me, keeping me tight against him as he does it. My arms are around his neck now and I'm way back up on my toes.

I'm totally flustered and can't get a word out; his finger feels good in my ass, but I'm determined to ignore it, and my boner. I need to get Tiny's attention so I take an arm from around his neck, and make a fist. Our faces are very close together, Tiny's about five inches below mine. Being so close I can only get my fist about eighteen inches away from his face; then, aiming for his nose, I punch Tiny in the face with all the force I can muster. It's a good hard a jab, but he must have noticed some motion at the last second and moved his head up so instead of hitting his nose, I split his lower lip open... about a half inch cut. It was a pretty hard snap-punch with my knuckles mashing Tiny's lower lip against his bottom teeth. Blood spurted out, as Tiny yells, "Aaaggghhh!" pulling his hand out of my ass and letting go of me. Both his hands go to his injured lip as he holds the finger that had been up my ass away from his face. Blood's dripping off his chin as he screams,

"What the fuck is wrong with you?. What an asshole! Look at this blood, you prick." I take a step back, not at all sure how I felt about this; it's strange. Tiny looks at his bloody hands and, without warning did a swift, hard upper cut punch to my stomach right under my rib cage into my solar plexus. I go, "Ooph!" bending over and holding my stomach with both hands. Tiny's swinging a round house punch that I try to move away from but it connects with my left ear and bells are clanging loudly somewhere. I back up making him miss with two more round house punches aimed at my head, say, "Fuck this!" and start throwing punches wildly myself. We're both throwing a flurry of punches without the slightest boxing technique; just wild flailing. Lots of punches connect on both our faces and it's unbelievable how painless they are now... later it'll be a different story. I never get over how quickly you get tired throwing punches like this. My arms quickly feel so heavy the punches move slower and slower. Still, I'm winning the fight because I'm punching down from five inches above Tiny Dick. He's apparently come to the same conclusion about who's winning because he just stops punching, and dives for my legs and down we both go with me still swinging my fists, but now I'm mostly hitting his back which isn't having much of an effect. Tiny's towel had come loose long ago, so he naked when he gets me in some kind of wrestling hold. Mike and I wrestled a lot in our early days and I'm trying to remember a good move as we're rolling around on the grass surrounding the pool. No words are spoken, just desperate exertion of energy as we attempt to kill each other. I can't remember feeling such rage. My face is pushed in the grass, my teeth have dirt and grass in them when I reverse positions and get Tiny on the bottom with me trying to get his legs in one of the wrestling holds I learned from Mike. It isn't easy keeping hold of him because he's small with a strong tight wiry body and he's soaking wet from the pool and our sweat.

Jostling around his elbow connects hard with the bridge of my nose and I hear a crack as blood flows out both my nostrils. I see black before my eyes and for a second I thought I was going to pass out. The amount of blood startled Tiny which gave me just enough time to clear my head and flip him over violently; he lands on his back and the back of his head cracks on the flag-stone walk around the pool. I jump up to get on top of him as Tiny screams, "No! Wait, don't. My head." There's a little blood near the back of his head which scares me into thinking something serious happened; we both stop fighting. Tiny's real pale and I'm worried something bad might have happened; my heart's pounding and my chest heaving. Blood all over both of us from my nose and his lip, and who knows what else. Sitting back down on the stone walk with my hands behind me supporting me, I try catching my breath staring at Tiny as color seems to be returning to his face, "Are you okay, Tiny?" Tiny goes, "How the fuck should I know. I've got the world's worse headache and I saw stars when you tried to crack my head open on this stone walk". He's pissed, but a lot of the aggressiveness has been knocked out of him for the moment. I've got my breath back, so, up on my hands and knees I doggy walk over to help Tiny sit up.

When he does I check the back of his head; a big lump already, but no blood at all; he'd landed in blood from one of us; either his lip or my nose. I tell Tiny he's find and then put my head back to try to stop my nose from bleeding, using the pool towel Tiny had wrapped around him earlier to press against my nostrils. He staggers to his feet, and angrily shouts, "Ya know what, ya cunt? Why don't you get the fuck out of here! Get going before I kick your ass some more. Go on, get lost you pussy." I give a thought about starting the fight again, but I'm not having much luck stopping the nose bleed so I let it slide and manage to get up unsteadily. Fuming again, I start walking toward the gate dropping his towel along the way to take off my T-shirt and use it for my bloody nose. I say, in that voice that people have when they hold their nostrils together, "You are one sick mother fucker, Tiny! You need some serious professional help for that split personality shit you put out. Just stay the fuck away from me and, and, um, I'm telling Tony to stay the fuck away from you too, ya psycho homo."

Tiny's walking towards the kitchen door dragging the towel with all my blood on it behind him. When he hears what I have to say, he looks back, and screams, "Get the fuck out of here you queer girly boy. Run to Mike. And you don't tell Tony to do shit. I tell Tony what the fuck to do. Get out!" He's enraged like I can't believe. I think of a clever retort, so I screamed it right back at him, "Fuck you too!" That'll show him. I'm dizzy and unbelievably thirsty and I have a forty minute walk in front of me with no shirt to wear, in 90 degree heat, and drenched in blood. Swell! After ten minutes of walking I need to sit down on the curb by the side of the road where the smell of the over-heated black top road becomes nauseating, as my nose throbs with pain. Then that unmistakable feeling comes over me, sweat brakes out on my forehead, and I lean over to vomit in the gutter; all the beer plus some stomach bile splatters at my feet and that revolting smell of puke makes me gag up some more. Gruesome! I need to get something to drink but I'm a total mess. Oh, the hell with that, I need a quart of bottled water! I walk toward a grocery store reaching for my wallet as I go, but of course it isn't there. It must have fallen out of my back pocket during the fight. I yell "Fuck!" real loud, and some old-sounding person behind a fence, says, "Watch your language." The temptation to answer that unseen voice is great, but I figure I don't need anymore trouble at the moment, so I keep my temper under control.

When I walk another five minutes, feeling very hot and sick and hurt, my body and face hurting in numerous places,Tiny pulls up in his car, rolls down his window, and says, "We need to talk, Richie. Come on, get in. I've got the air conditioner going full blast and I got some water for ya... and I found your wallet too." I stand here looking at him for a few seconds, then walk around and get in the passenger side. The seat's covered with a beach towel to protect it from my person, I suppose. He hands me a bottled water and I drain it in one long drink, gulp after gulp after gulp. It's the best tasting water I've ever swallowed. The coolness of the air-conditioned interior is refreshing and I feel a lot better in minutes, although we do not talk. Tiny just drives toward my house. My nose has stopped bleeding, but it's stopped-up with coagulated blood now and I'm very uncomfortable breathing only through my mouth, aches and pains all over my body. Tiny drove with one hand, holding a plastic sandwich bag filled with ice on the large lump at the back of his head with the other hand. His split lip is held together with a strip of white adhesive tape. It's badly swollen and his left eye is puffy and tender looking.

He has three other scrapes/cuts on his face and he definitely appears to have been in a fight. Good! God only knows what I look like, but surely it's no better than Tiny. He pulls up to the curb opposite my house, and as I stsrt to get out, he breaks our silence, "Will ya wait a second, Richie? Look, I didn't mean to call you all those names. I mean, I like you and all that, but you sucker punched me and that made me lose my cool entirely. I've got a bad temper and I'm sorry the fight got so out of control, even though you started it.

What I'd like to know is why you sucker punched me in the first place?" I take a deep breath and tell him that if he has no clue why I hit him it will probably take too long of a conversation to deal with it right here and now. I say that it has to do with him thinking he can do whatever the hell he feels like doing to me, even when I said "No!". Tiny counters with, "But that's what we did last time". I admit I gave off the wrong signals then, but I'd come over today to straighten it out, and, "You wouldn't give me a chance to explain myself, Tiny. You just bullied your way along and I'm sick of being pushed around by everybody. I guess I can see your point too, so I'll say I'm sorry it happened. Can we leave it at that and try to move on?"

We talk a little more and agreed, as far as the guys are concerned, when discussing this with them, we'll keep the reason for the fight vague. You know, we just started wrestling around and things got out of hand. We're both sorry about it, but shit happens. We're still buds, we've put the fight behind us and we're moving on. That's our story, and it could have happened that way, but I know Tiny and me will never be close buds again. And also, he now knows not to try any of his dominance shit on me again. We understand each other, in other words, I guess you could say. I promised not to try to turn Tony against him and he promised to keep our experiences to himself. That is the best either of us could hope would come out of this shit storm of ours. Inside my house I take a long bath and then lay down on the bed, still very sore all over. I'd used a warm, wet wash clothe dripping drops of water into my nostrils, little by little, to soften the blood clots and eventually I cleared them out. They bled a little bit more, but didn't clog up again. Thinking back, I guess Tiny deserves credit for swallowing his pride to come pick me up and say he's sorry. I respect him for that, but he kicked my ass and it's hard to have fond feelings for someone causing me all this discomfort. I know he's hurting as much as me, but somehow I don't really care too much about that. I guess I should care how Tiny's feeling, but he's pissed me off and I'm hoping he feels as bad as I do, or maybe a tiny bit worse. Guess I use to be a nicer kid than I am now. Later I fall asleep with a frown on my face, and the next thing I know someone's shaking my shoulder, asking, "What the fuck happened to you?" Mike's just back from the tomato farm. I open my eyes, and oh my God, all my aches and pains returned in a bunch, and there's a wild headache in the center of my face and forehead. I get dizzy sitting up in bed, then weakly say, "Oh, hi Mike. I kicked Tiny Dick's ass and I guess he got in a couple of lucky licks." Mike has an intense, serious, scary look on his face, as he snaps out, "Don't fuck around with me, Richie. Who did this to you? I'm going to kick the shit out of whoever it was. Now, who was it?" His face is dark red and a vein pulses in his neck, a tic in his eye. The threat of violence reverberated in each of Mike's words, like I said, it's a scary thing that needs to be handled calmly. Quietly and calmly I try to bring him down, and as the generic story Tiny and me came up with winds-down Mike relaxes a little, and that thing in his eye faded away and I wasn't scared anymore... scared for Tucker, and scared for Mike. "Really, Mike...we started out just goofing around and I accidentally split his lip and one thing led to another. It's really my fault. Don't do anything, please." He sits next to me on the bed and I can see him calming himself down. His temper has gotten him in trouble over the years, and his brother, Danny's, temper is legendary in Wildwood. Fuck with the Sullivan boys at your own peril, was the word on the street. Jesus, I don't ever want to have Mike that pissed-off at me. It's frightening.

The normal color returned slowly to Mike's face and he softened his features as he gently held the back of my neck and closed his eyes, breathing deeply. Then, with a rub of my buzzed hair, he quietly says, "OK, Richie. I'll take you at your word. When I came in here and saw your face, red flashes blinded my vision and I wanted to hurt somebody bad. If you say it was both your faults, we'll let it go at that, for now," and he hugged the side of my head against his chest; I could feel his heart beating strong and fast. He's still angry, but getting himself under control by the second. I'm soon up and limping around, pretending to be feeling better than I do, and trying not to groan with each step I take. Mike suggested we go see a movie instead of walking the boards and even though I try to convince him I'd be fine on the boardwalk, he can see I'm hurting too much for even a movie, so we stay in and watch the Phillies lose another baseball game on TV. Getting beat-up makes you tired, and the next thing I know I'm waking up in bed, the morning sunshine in my eyes and my sore nose aching. Mike's in the sleeping bag on the floor. I stare at his cute baby face wondering how a face like that can belong to such a tough boy, but there it is. I need to pee so tip toe into the bathroom for a nice long pee and find Mike awake when I walk back into the bedroom. He gives me a sleepy smile and I crawl into the sleeping bag with him. Mike gets his arm around my neck and I put my arms around his chest. We hug like that with my dick growing harder by the minute; Mike smells so clean and sexy. His taut body is awesome to hug. He quietly tells me about helping me get into bed last night, and how I'd basically just been walking in my sleep; I don't remember a thing about it.

Mike slept in the sleeping bag because he was afraid he'd roll over and hit my nose, which is very swollen and tender; plus I have two black eyes. Mike's calmed down now and doesn't want to kill anyone this morning, he says, "You look tough with those black eyes, Richie." I go, "Sure thing, Mike". Then, leaning over, I gently kiss hum on the lips and he hesitantly asks, "Ya think we can, you know, I mean, I'll do it if it makes you feel better." Just to break 'em a little, I say, "Whaddaya mean, Mike?" and he actually chukles, saying, "You know goddamn well what I mean." I say, "Let me get some lube," and I do. Back in the sleeping bag he fucks me, both of us on our sides, and in four minutes I thought my dick would fly off my body 'cause I shot off so hard; my wad of spunk billowed out the sleeping bag a little. What a great climax. Mike filled me up a few minutes later, then stayed inside me for a second fuck ten minutes after that which lasted close to twenty minutes. I'm sore back there now too, but it's worth it. We both have little follow-up orgasms during the second fuck and all in all, what a great start to the day. We take separate showers, Mike first while I'm doing my best to wipe up the spunk in the sleeping bag. After my shower, I get dressed and join Mike in the kitchen giving him a pretend shy look. He chuckles and mutters, "Oh yeah, you're shy alright! Jeez, ya got me fucking ya three times a day." He drops his voice at the end 'cause we hear my dad in the hall. A second later he staggers into the kitchen scratching his chest, asking for his coffee, breakfast roll, and cigarettes. Mike says he'll go get them which makes my dad look up in surprise, and that's when he gets a first look at my face. He goes, "Oh my god, you've been in a traffic accident!" He come over and gently hugs my shoulders, "Are you alright, son?" Mike shakes his head at my dad, and says, "It wasn't a car crash; he'll tell you his story while I'm getting the stuff; I guess I believe him" Mike takes off and I tell dad the cover story, the one Tiny and I are sticking to, about us letting some goofing around accelerate into all out warfare, etc. etc. tc... My dad goes, " Jesus, Richie, how big is this kid, Tiny? He really did a number on ya." Dad's pouring a glass of orange juice to drink with his blood pressure pill as I skirt the issue of size, by saying, "You wouldn't believe how big he is, dad; you just wouldn't believe it." We left it at that.

Mike came back with dad's smokes, plus coffee and donuts for all three of us, saying, "It's on me today, Richie." Maybe I should get beat-up more often; Mike's being wicked sweet acting as my body guard and gofer!

Just to do sort of a family outing: on Sunday my dad, Mrs Sullivan, Mike and me took a day trip to Philadelphia. My injuries are fading and beginning to heal quickly by now. The fight doesn't get mentioned much any more either, so it's going about how we hoped it would. Anyway, in Philly we do the sight seeing routine, including the Duck tour that travels the streets of Philadelphia on wheels, and then the vehicle leaves the road and goes right into the Delaware River. Not that my dad or Mike's mom, sitting across the aisle a few rows up from us, noticed as they're mostly into themselves. Mike isn't exactly thrilled with sight seeing either and he's getting testier by the minute. Water splashing up on us from the dirty Delaware river wasn't doing anything to improve his disposition either. And, neither were the two boys sitting directly behind us who constantly talked loudly during the tour guides speeches. Twins boys, about twelve years old with long hair like the Beatles had in the sixties. Both of them looked like Ringo Star in the early years, which is not a particularly good look for twelve year olds. The parents are sitting behind them letting the boys do as they pleased. Mike kept looking over at me with various annoyed expressions on his face like it's my fault, or like I should do something about it. I frown back at Mike while hoping I kids' parents will correct their boys' behavior. It's not just us, the boys are annoying everyone... well, except our parents who, as I've said, appear oblivious to everything and everyone, but each other. Oh brother, but that's another story.

The two over-active, rude boys keep bumping into the back of the seat Mike and me share until finally Mike mumbles, "Fuck this!" and turns around to face the boys who look back at him. Between clenched teeth, Mike snarls, "If you two nitwits don't shut up and stop banging into the back of our seat I will tie a knot in each of your little peckers." Mike can put enough of a stern expression on his cute face that you over-look the cuteness, plus his voice has the sound of authority to it. Then, add his scary stare into the mix, not only at the twins, but at their parents which made me uncomfortable. Everyone's silent so I take a peek around the side of my aisle seat and see the twin's parents busying themselves looking out the window, pretending nothing's going on that involves them. Mike waits a beat, then says, "Thank you so much, little dudes!" Except for mumbled whispers, nothing more is heard from the boys. I lean over and whisper to Mike, "Let's kick the shit out of them when the bus stops." He laughs, and goes, "Christ, we better not... they'll probably beat you up too." Later, after the tour, we have a really good lobster-tail dinner on the water-front; Mike and I have a glass of white wine with dinner, which is ghastly. The wine's my dad's idea of a treat. Our parents stay at the table after dinner for coffee and brandy while Mike and I go outside for cigarettes. It's been a nice family day, all in all. Mike and I even talk about the possibility of our parents getting married someday... that seems so weird to us, but life is a long, long journey and many things can happen along the way.

Future days on the boardwalk Tiny and I pretend to be fine with each other, but there's definitely a coolness, a distance between us now. We mostly stay clear of each other, particularly when no one else is around. Initially Mike gave Tiny some mysterious looks, one of which had Tiny exclaiming in self defense, "Richie will tell ya, Mike... it was nobody's fault. Right Richie?" I nod my head and mumble, "Mike knows that," and leave it at that. Tiny says I started the fight, and I did, but he provoked it, so we're even. That situation fades into the back ground but not the sixty-nining; Mike and me have fun with that, and he even said he's starting to like my little dick; that it taste like something good, but he can't think what that is. I told him, "Sure thing, Mike." It feels so good to get sucked off that way, and to have it be Mike doing the sucking; now that takes it way up there, temperature-wise. Mike sometimes gets into our sixty-nining as though we're in a contest to see who can get who to spunk first. I know I try sucking him off as fast, and with as much suction and energy as Mike's giving my boner, but usually his boner winds-up inside me before anyone climaxes. And, he's always saying he likes my "little dick" or my "little pecker", but I'm just about the same size as most kids; about five and a half inches, maybe six at times. Mike's dick's at least an inch longer than mine and, like everything else on him, a perfect penis specimen too. Really yummy looking and tasty. No really, better than a lollipop!

Mike's loosening up, letting himself be more open with me lately. He stopped evaluating everything I said or do to see if I'm disrespecting him in some way. He gives me compliments and will say, in a joking way, "God damn, I love you, Richie". He'll say that sometimes when I do him a favor like get up to get him a Snapple or ride his motorbike to get him a pack of cigarettes. I loved to hear the words "love" and "Richie" in the same sentence from Mike. I liked going to Manny's barbershop with him now too, and going on our long rides through the countryside without another person in sight; just Mike and me on his bike. I love it when we're walking together on the boardwalk and Mike will lean over to say something only I can hear, I love the smell of him and all our sexy times together... oh my God the sexy times! I love my life with a passion and I love Mike with a passion too, and Mike's mostly responsible for that.

We're all sitting on our favorite boardwalk bench goofing off and smoking when Mac pops-up, back from vacation. After bragging about what a great time he had with his family in Key west, he invites three of the guys to go water-skiing tomorrow at his uncle's place on the bay at Ocean City. He asks Mike of course, as well as, Kyle and Joey. Ignored, I take a drag on my cigarette and look out at the ocean aware of Mac's jealousy of my closeness to Mike; he has been for months, so he'd never invite me. Tiny, Tony, and Dennis are all yelling, "Hey, what the fuck? Why can't we all go, and take turns in the fucking boat? We know how to water ski." I didn't say anything, fuck him!

Mac's acting like a big-shot explaining that his uncle would allow only four boys at a time, "Maybe you guys can come next time, if you're lucky, suckers!"

Then he explained how all the guys had to be here at this spot nine a.m. sharp tomorrow morning. As he's telling the water skiing boys what they need to bring, I check out Mike's reaction, curious how he's reading this. He's been strangely quiet through out which empowered Mac to get bossier and bossier.

Right away I know Mac's act isn't flying with Mike, who has a sort of bemused expression on his face that I know means, "Are you shitting me?" Nobody else can read it because it's almost a blank look, but his eyes give it away to me.

When Mac's finally done, Mike simply and quietly says, "No, Mac. I'm not going to do that, but good luck with your water skiing." Mac looks like he's been slapped in the face. Mike shoots him with his forefinger, and says, "Come on Richie, lets get some dinner." This burst Mac's bubble of exclusivity and sure enough, Kyle says, "Yeah, Mac, thanks but I don't know if I can make it either." It's like, if Mike isn't going, the other guys aren't sure if they want to go either; like maybe it's not so cool after all. Mac's jaw drops as the boys mumble something about 'sticking together' and follow Mike and me off the boardwalk. Mac hustles after the group changing the rules... now everyone can go. There's general discussion about it as Mike and me get on his motorbike, Mike revs the engine, turns his head and quietly says to me, "Mac, here's an idea: 'stop being such and asshole all the time!". I laugh, holding Mike around his waist tightly, and feeling so good about me and Mike. During the ride home I'm thinking how I haven't spent the two fifty dollar bills dad gave me for Mike and me to have a fancy dinner, so why not use the money to rent a motor boat and take all the boys water skiing. That's what we did the next day, we invited Mac too so there were two boats going at the same time... and lots of laughs. I almost drowned learning how to water-ski, but once I learned how, what a rush! Such a blast. Mike had a couple of for-real laughing jags at the trouble I had getting my skinny ass up out of the water at take off. Jeez, it's fun. Yeah, everyone was included; I even called Tiny myself to invite him, and he happily accepted. Maybe the frost between us can thaw with time after all.

We're having fun times day after day, but each day brings us closer to summer's end and nobody wants that. There are work days for many of the guys too. Mike's been trying to get me on the tomato farm crew for weeks, and then finally my name does come up on the waiting list and I get to be one of the farm boy. I'm excited because now I get to be with Mike during the days he works. After two days I'm thinking, "Jeez! Does this job suck!" Back breaking work in the open fields under the hot, hot sun. I've had enough by the third day and bow-out mumbling something about how I'm neglecting my chores at home. Mike and the farm boys laughed 'cause they know very well that the work was just too hard for me. It emphasized to me just how tough Mike is though; very strong boy. Aside from three days on the tomato farm, this summer has been the best summer of my life. I know, I said the same thing about last summer, which was my first summer with Mike. Now though, last summer is just the second best one of my life and I wonder what number it'll be after next summer? It's less than two weeks before school starts up again and none of us can believe it's almost over; we spend a lot of time saying that too... ha ha.

The big news at the moment is the moving van parked in front of Tom Brown's door just two houses down from our place. He and his mother have been scheduled to move out for months now but building delays on their new house pushed back the completion date time after time. I'm in the kitchen finishing up the clean up after breakfast feeling relieved that Tom's finally moving away from here. He's browbeat me a number of times to get me to do that spanking routine again, and he's threatened to tell Mike about the time we did it and all that other stuff, but he never followed through with the threat and I've managed to avoid a spanking. Oh, and he's never fucked me like he said he was going to do either. I had that one weak moment where I thought I'd experience the whole thing one last time with Tom, but thank God that didn't pan out. I'm looking out the window at the moving van, having these thoughts; Mike's sitting on the porch smoking a cigarette and reading the sports page, drinking his second cup of coffee. It's all feels very peaceful and pleasant; that is, until... oh no, speaking of the devil, I hear the unmistakable arrogant voice of Tom Brown. Straining to see out the very edge of the window I see him walking from the opposite direction of his house. He mockingly says, "Hey Sullivan, don't you remember me telling you that smoking isn't good for your health. It was only last summer for Christ's sake; even you should be able to remember that far back." Mike looks up, and mutters, "Oh, shit!" as Tom gets closer, still talking, "Plus, do you have any clue as to how offensive cigarette smoke smells to us non-smokers? God, I try to help, but you just can't grasp it, can you?" Mike rustles his newspaper, asking, "What the fuck you mumbling about?" I'm staying out of this 'cause I don't need anymore Tom Brown. Busying myself cleaning the stove for the second time, I hear Tom say,"Ya know, you have the same problems I needed to correct Richie of some months ago." Mike's ignoring him now, as Tom continues, "You're simply not neighborly, and you have bad manners. It hurts me to have to tell you these things but I'm a straight shooter and I'm always trying to help with some constructive criticism wherever I can." To me it's evident he thinks he's being funny, while at the same time, he's getting in some insulting remarks. Mike rustles the newspaper again, and goes, "Huh? Are you still here, Brown? I wasn't listening, but I do strongly suggest you listen to me now. Are you listening?" nothing from Tom. Mike says,

"Okay, here it it; a question. What the fuck do you want?" I snicker as Tom, speaking in even a more pompous voice then before, enunciating each syllable separately, says, "Like I've already indicated, you have no manners. I mean, is 'What the fuck do I want?' a proper way to phrase a question?" Mike goes, "Your last chance, Brown, "What the fuck do you want?" Tom hesitates, then goes,

"Hmmm, not that it's really any of your business, but I just stopped by to see my friend, Richie." I hear Mike's deck chair scrape on the porch floor as he begins to get up. Tom continues in that pompous manner of his, "I've written down my new address and telephone number for him. Richie and I have some unfinished business; well actually, Richie asked me for a favor last winter.

Something that, well, he and I were into together. Nothing to do with you Sullivan, well, not directly anyway." I gasp to myself and feel a chill run up my spine. That bastards going to ruin everything for me.

They can't see me in through the screen because it's dark in here, but I can see Tom finishing his innuendo with a sneaky sounding laugh. Looking closely at Mike I'm glad to see he's sitting back down, getting bored with this whole routine, and basically ignoring most of Tom's rambling story. He looks over at him while finishing his coffee, then lights another cigarette. Blowing smoke in Tom's direction, Mike says, in an off-hand way, "Oh, Richie's busy at the moment, just leave what you want there on the railing." Tom's trying for an appropriate expression of outrage, as Mike adds dismissively, " And, ya know, whatever the rest of what you said... I'll tell him you were here." My hand goes to my chest 'cause my heart's thumping too quickly, plus I have a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach, praying, "Please! Just leave, Tom!".

Then I wonder if I should go out there? What's the best way to play this? Fuck! Tom's settled on an expression of disgust, he states, "Thank you so much, but I insist on handing the new address to my friend personally, to insure he receives it. He'd be so disappointed if he doesn't." Mike blows a smoke ring and sorta chuckles, then says, "Tough, he's still busy." Tom doesn't appear intimidated by Mike, he waves at the smoke taking a step toward him, and says, "You're probably unaware of the brain cell loss caused by your detestable smoking habit. I'm concerned, because of the lost brain cells, you'll forget to tell him I was even here, never mind remembering to hand him this slip of paper." Mike starts to get up again, pissed off now, so he goes, "Are you looking for a fight, asshole? Is that what this is all about?"

Tom doesn't back off, repling emphatically, "Of course not!" He then takes two steps over and rings the doorbell as Mike stands-up all the way up this time, and heads for Tom Brown. Before he reaches him, I'm out the door standing in front of Tom. Nervously, I stammer, "Oh, yeah: ha, I mean, hi, Tom. Sorry I can't chat with ya, but I'm working right now." I take the slip of paper from Tom's fingers before he even knows what's happening. He's baffled for a second, then goes, "Richie, it looks like you've forgotten to be more neighborly already, not to mention your poor manners." Tom has a fake surprised expression on face, like he's shocked at my behavior, and adds. "After all the trouble I went through with you? I even did that favor you asked me to do; remember, you were so anxious that we 'finish-up' our little adventure another time? Well, am I right?" Tom's demeanor is purposely pompous and arrogant to the extent he's acting; playing a role hoping to infuriate his adversary into doing something rash and stupid. It gives me the creeps, but I know his method is to needle Mike and me while insulting us at the same time by insinuating we're a couple of dim-witted clods. Maybe he actually thinks we are, but he's seriously underestimated Mike's tolerance for being disrespected. Mike pushes Tom in the chest roughly, yelling, "I've had enough of your double-talking bullshit, Brown. Either tell me what you're talking about or get the fuck off this porch." Tom, getting a little pissy himself, and says, "Well, the nerve! I wouldn't think of telling you about personal sexual matters that we, Richie and me, engaged in last winter; one doesn't do things like that where I come from!"

Mike's confused now; looking at me quickly, then turning back to Tom, muttering, "Personal, sexual, what....?" his face is getting that dangerous dark red color again as he grabs the front of Tom's shirt, jerking him off balance, and then almost effortlessly turns him around, sweeps his feet out from under him, and pushes him face-first over the porch railing onto the cement sidewalk three steps below. The same sidewalk I would have crashed onto if I hadn't grabbed around Mike's neck while he was giving me that test way back when; the test to see if I'm gay. My immediate thought was, "Is Tom all bluff? Mike handled him like it was nothing!"

Tom Brown lets out a scream as he goes flying over the railing, his shins scraping against the splintered top rail. He quickly follows the little scream with a grunting sound, flopping heavily on the cement, then a long groan of pain as he slides on the sidewalk. Mike put a lot of muscle behind that shove and Tom landed hard leaving blood where his knees scraped the cement. Still red-faced, Mike sarcastically says, "Oops, so sorry Tom, but my brain blacked-out there for a second due to my lack of brain cells. Those fucking cigarettes, ya know?" Tom tries getting up, but sits right back down. He has those wet eyes you get from pain and embarrassment. Big rips in his jeans at both knees where he'd landed and blood on the palm of his hand from sliding along, which knees are scraped raw and bleeding. Tom swallows hard looking at the palm of his right hand; the one he'd used trying to break his fall. It has a nasty looking brush burn with small sand-sized gravel pieces embedded in the scrapped flesh. Mike's looking at Tom as if he'd just come across this ass-whipped boy, instead of being the one who'd caused all the damage. I stupidly say, "Thanks for the address, Tom." Mike glances at me with a snort of distain, then walks over to the porch step leading to the sidewalk as Tom's slowly and painfully pulling himself up, holding onto the porch railing for support as he does it. He's finally lost his cool and completely dropped the phoney pompus act; with a spray of spit flying from his mouth, he screams,

"Fuck both of you, you fag losers. Oh, by the way, I sure enjoyed that blow job, Richie. I hope you enjoyed the spanking I gave you too, and there's no need to pout you little cunt because I'll still make time to help you get off during your next spanking." Tom turns his head quickly to look at Mike, who's got a quizzical expression on his face now, an expression that is presently being directed at me; I'm looking anywhere except at Mike. Tom spits out, "The next time I see you, Sullivan, I'm going to kick your skinny faggy ass all over town. Now that I know your a sneaky, dirty fighter, I'll be ready for it... you're a punk, a low class punk!" Mike looks back at Tom now, all pissed-off again, "How about right now, dickhead. You see me right now dont'cha? What are ya gonna do about it?!" He starts down off the porch and Tom Brown takes three or four hopping steps backward, toward his house, calling out for somebody named Matty. Matty did not appear, but the distraction allows Tom to get closer to his house. Mike waves at Tom disgustedly, and mutters, "Ah, fuck you maggot, I'll be watching for you though, ya sicko. Feel free to bring on your sorry-ass-act any fucking time you can work-up the balls. Any time at all, and frankly I can't wait." Tom's right at his porch now and he's energetically giving us the finger, and then, with a grunt, limps pathetically up onto his porch and disappears into his house. Mike stares down at the door Tom went through for a minute as movers come out carrying stuff from the house; still no Matty though. I'd made a tight, soggy ball of the slip of paper with Tom's new adress and telephone number, then flicked it into the street as my heart's hammering in my chest.

Mike continues staring at the last place Tom Brown had been, probably processing Tom's comments; then he slowly turns to look back at me. I looked right down at the recently painted porch floor and feel sick to my stomach as my face gets hot and red. He stares at me some more and it's like he can look right into my head. My hands go into my pockets, I clear my throat and shuffle my feet, then mutter, "What?" Finally Mike quietly says,

"All you need to do is look me in the eyes and tell me he's full of shit, Richie." I bite my lip, staring at the floor, Mike says, "Richie?" Not being able to look Mike in the eyes and lie to him, I turn around and quickly walk back through the house to our bedroom, tears of fear and humiliation sliding down my face. Mike blows out a lot of air as the screen door slams, then two minutes later I hear the screen door slam again, followed by the heavy wooden door slamming behind it. I hear Mike turning on the air-conditioner in the family room and I hear my heart beating scary fast too. Mike walks back to our bedroom slowly, his feet deliberately banging the floor with each step. I look around in desperation, see the window but know that's even too stupid for me to do. Without a choice, I sit on the bed and await my fate... our fate. Mike comes in with an angry look on his face, but he looks hurt and confused too. He begins speaking in a tight, angry manner, "I opened myself up to you Richie, and trusted you like I've never trusted anybody except my brother Danny, and you make me look like a fool. You do it behind my back with a worthless piece of shit like, Tom Brown? You made it possible for that turd to laugh at me because I wasn't aware that my number one best bud in the world

has been blowing guys. Sucking the cock of that .....that, pile of phony horse-shit garbage, that arrogant bastard!? I yell, "No Mike, it wasn't like that. He made me, I mean he tricked me into saying and doing things. Mike, please I, ....I didn't mean to do or say those things. I mean, I didn't do those things! He's a liar!" Then I try to give Mike my story in one long outburst of words, "Tom Brown almost broke in the house last winter and he did that fucking talking-in-circles thing he does and he got me to say we were gay and then he kissed me and to keep him from telling you about that I let him give me a spanking... that's his fetish, spanking guys. I think Robert Conti from our class has been coming over Brown's place to get spanked too. You know Robert, the junior class vice president. Mike, please believe me! Tom shot a load in his pants spanking me, honest to God. Can you imagine that? Then he made me lick the finger he had up my ass; oh yeah, he stuck his finger up my ass, and other stuff too. He blew me Mike, I never did anything to him..."

As I'm rambling on Mike's shaking his head, mumbling, "Are you shitting me, that asshole Robert Conti involved in this too?" When he asked that his teeth grind together while he made and unmake fists with both hands. Realizing I'm not being clear and that he wasn't absorbing all I said, I babble, "NO! Not Conti! Tom blew blew me..." Mike whips his open hand around and smacks my face harder than my old man ever did it. I sat there on the bed with my back straight, my hands grabbing a handful of bed linens on either side of me, a trickle of blood running from my left nostril, and tears running down my face in a silent cry. I held my face out there for another smack if Mike wanted to, and said, "Mike, Pleeeeeeze believe me. I love you more than life. Please believe me, I didn't do anything to Tom Brown and I've never spoken to that dork Robert Conti, he and Tom have something going... not with me. It was that one time Tom caught me right after my shower, I only had a towel around me, I thought it was dad forgetting his keys again...." Then I ran out of steam, repeating stuff randomly, "He spanked me because that's his fetish. If I didn't go along with him he was going to tell you we kissed and we didn't; he kissed me as I struggled to avoid it... he was going to say we're gay." Now Mike looks like he's going to cry himself as I ramble on, "You were just about to move back in with me and I didn't want anything to ruin that. He tricked me and threatened me. I didn't blow him or kiss him. He did it to me. Please Mike... please I love you." I recited my disjointed speech with my face held out for my next smack, but Mike's not going to do that. He's got that look in his eyes like he's mad at himself. It's a look I've seen before; it's for after he's done something mean to someone and he immediately knows he was wrong to do it. He looks angry with himself and confused from my ramblings, hesitant to do anything when I stop talking. Then he looks up at the ceiling, and mutters, " God damn-it all!" He blows out a couple of long breaths, like he did that time he'd yelled at Kyle on the boardwalk. A few seconds later he's still mumbling, almost to himself, "My fucked-up temper." He takes two steps to the bed and sits next to me, an arm around my shoulders. Taking another big breath, he then, in an apologetic, contrite manner, says, "What I did is just plain wrong! I got no right to hit you; you of all people. You don't have to explain yourself to me, Richie, I don't own you; I'm just jealous. I had a jealous fi Richie... over you. I shouldn't have smacked you, I had no right to do that and I feel horrible about it... kinda sick to my stomach; please forgive me." Then a squeeze on my shoulders, and he says, with his face against the side of mine,

"I hate myself sometimes." I go, "No, don't hate yourself; that's a terrible thing to say! I love you, Mike."

He mumbles, "Ah, so you forgive me?" and forces a jokingly, exaggerated wrap of both arms around my neck, pulling the side of my face, the side that's been slapped, to his lips kissing my face. Then, continuing in a forced light hearted manner, he goes, "You didn't say if you forgive me yet..." I know he's trying to smooth the situation out without emphasizing on his, to him, embarrassing apology. I also know he's sincerely sorry he smacked me. Nodding my head up and down in agreement with him, I'm saying, "Sure thing, Mike, I forgive you, but will you forgive me?" He hesitates a second, then says, "You don't need to be forgiven, you didn't do anything wrong; I don't think you're capable of doing anything wrong, it's just not in your nature." I know better, but I'm leaving it at that. I meld into the side of his body; it once again feels so safe and wonderful here. Pulling his head away, he repeats, "I don't own you; you do know that, right Richie? You're free to do whatever you please." He's half kidding, but I'm dead serious when I look him in the eyes, and say, "Please, Mike. Own me. Please!" He did sort of a chuckle, then another nice kiss on the side of my forehead, and another one near my ear where he says real low, like he's whispering a secret to me, "It's so hard for me to admit I screw up things. Hell, I guess I'm a phony too, Richie; I mean, I can barely get out the words, 'I love you'." I'm holding on to the arm he has around my neck with both hands, my heart's beating fast because Mike's saying things I've never heard him say before. Sure, he's trying to pretend to be half joking, but I know him too well now; I know he means what he's saying, he just thinks it's too corny to be saying them. And, what a relief it is for me to finally hear him say, straight-out, "I love you." Mike adds, in his whispery voice with his lips brushing my ear, "Sure, I love you, but I don't have the guts to tell you that, Richie. You've always had more guts than me when it comes to being honest with yourself. I know it's not an addiction I have for you, it's love." He's hugging around my neck tightly, moving his head a little bit back and forth against mine, and I begin to worry he's going too far now and will resent what he's said tomorrow, or an hour from now, for that matter. Like last time something like this happened, it was at the school dance, he expressed his feelings for me while drunk and then left me for a month that time. This time we're silent for ten seconds as I tried to think how to handle it all, but Mike's on a roll and apparently can't stop himself so he continues speaking in that low whisper that I can barely make out; it's almost like he's telling himself things; things that surprise him. "Jeez, Richie, it's weird, but I love the way you love me... ya know? And I love how nice you are to everyone, and God almighty, I'm so fucked up right now, but fuck it, I'm gonna tell you anyhow; I love your cute face and the way you taste and the way you squirm when I'm making love to you, and that little squeal you make when you cum. Hell, we're not just the two best buds the world has ever seen, you're right again; we're the two best gay buds ever, ya know?"

I'm in a daze, but he sounds so sincere I don't want to break the spell. He's even dropped the pretend, face-saving, joking attempt of earlier. The side of my face is wet from my tears, and I think from a few of the first tears I've ever known Mike to shed. Quite unexpected! It's like Mike's dumping out all his emotions in one long confession, and he isn't done yet. "Richie, I'm blown away that you've never once mentioned that you saved my life. You never use that fact to try and get your way or make me feel guilty when I'm acting like a prick, and I really admire you for that." Man, this is almost too much to handle at one time, but I remain quiet, nodding my head against his from time to time. Something tells me he's pretty much through with his confession, as he says, again with a little chuckle, " Hope you can remember all this Richie because I'll probably never have the balls to say this stuff again. If I hadn't smacked you and gotten this fucking guilty feeling I don't think I'd have been able to work up the guts to say it now." In a voice as quiet as his, I murmur, "Sure thing, Mike. Thanks for saying it, you know it means a lot to me." We're both out of words and in a bit we drift over side-ways to lay on the bed with Mike still hugging me loosely. I close my eyes and thank all the worlds' Gods for my blessings! We both eventually fall off to sleep for a morning nap; always a welcome surprise for a teenager. Love to sleep! Actually, I think there was a huge emotional out-pouring from both of us, so a naps a nice way to recuperate, but we didn't nap long.

I wake-up first, sitting up in bed with this feeling of peace and happiness about me. Thinking back to the wonderful words Mike said to me and his sincere manner makes me wonder, "Should I get out my unspoken secrets too?" I'm referring, of course, to the whole Tom Brown story, as well as, all the Tiny Dick stuff. After comtemplating this for about a second and a half I decide not to mention anything more about either; I'll leave everything just the way it is and keep enjoying the very nice way I'm feeling. Mike wakes-up a few minutes later, squeezes the back of my neck, quietly asking, "You okay, Richie?" I looked around at him, and say, "Sure thing, Mike. And even though I know you don't want to hear this every ten minutes, I gotta say it, 'I love you, Mike! Love ya more than I thought it was possible to love someone." Mike makes a face like, "Oh brother!" while scratching his buzzed blond hair and taking a deep breath, then blowing it out in an exaggerated manner, he clearly says, "You're right there, Richie! I don't want to hear that shit every ten minutes, or every ten friggin' days either." I smile to myself because Mike is sounding just like Mike again, and that ain't all bad; there's a comfortable, familiar feel to it that I'd miss if it were to evaporate somehow. He gets up and stretching, mumbling, "Unforunately I can't pretend this morning never happened, but I just want you to know that I feel like a total asshole blubbering all over you like I did, Richie. I swear to God I can't ever remember losing control of my emotions like that, and I'm feeling embarrassed as hell about it too. Damn! Just thinking about the stuff I said makes me want to puke." He's taking off his nylon sweat pants to put on something cooler and talking without eye contact in his regular, 'matter-of-fact voice, not the apologetic one he used a little while ago. He continues, talking lower now, "A guy can feel stuff inside, but he doesn't need to bore everyone, embarrassing himself in the process, babbling about it night and day. It's just... well, in my case, I stupidly smacked you because I was jealous of you being with that jackass Tom Brown, and shit, I shouldn't have done that!" I'm sitting in bed staring at his back as he's going through our little chest of drawers looking for something, and randomly mumbling basically things he's already said before, "Oh fuck, I don't know, it's just that I had such a guilty conscience and, you know, all this shit comes pouring out of me, and all that other stuff. The tears and all, it was a fucking freak show and I'm really, really embarrassed about it." He turns around to look at me now, doing an uncomfortable forced laugh, saying, "You and me are not going to be discussing this shit again Richie, you do understand that, right?" I nod energetically, and go, "Sure thing, Mike."

My eyes stay on Mike as he bumps around our tiny bedroom not sure what to say or do next; it's new to him, but not knowing exactly what to do or say frequently happens to me. I can't think of anything to say that might help Mike either, so I just keep quiet. Keeping my mouth shut is something I should probably do more often. Breaking the silence, Mike goes, "So Richie, that's all I got to say about it. I mean, you and me know exactly how we feel about each other by now, right? We don't need to turn our lives into a fucking soap opera, ya know. It's like I feel, I don't know, I always feel responsible for you and all." Nodding my head again, I'm thinking, "He has to be done beating himself up by now..." but no, he continues. " Hell, it's just that you were sitting on the bed, not doing anything wrong, trying to explain what happened and I smack you. WTF? Who does that? I hate to think I'm that kind of kid, ya know? It just blows me away at how jealous I felt at that moment... and at what a prick I was to do that to you, so I tried making it up to you, and hell, everything came tumbling out." He blows out his cheeks, follows that with another nervous chuckle, and adds, "I don't know why the fuck I'm still talking about this; it's over and we're going to forget about it. We are going to leave this entire fucking episode right here in this room, right Richie?" I say, "Sure thing, Mike," and tug on his arm while he's trying to put a pair of shorts on. He looks back at me with a quizzical look on his face and I give him a good smile. He smiles back, and says, "You're so gay."

I nod and he takes the one leg he has in his clean shorts back out and climbs back into bed. I look at his face, then lean in to kiss his lips, and he kisses me back, and we let one thing lead to another and before long cum is flying around our bedroom just like it normally does. At one point I'm thinking, How unique and wonderful it is to see Mike so open with his thoughts and feelings, but on the other hand, there's something to be said for normalcy too!" Not being a fool, since that morning I have not mentioned any of this, and neither has Mike. But he's right, we do now know how we feel about each other, especially after his stream of consciousness true confessions. I don't need to 'assume' anymore. Everything is pretty much the same between Mike and me again, same as it's always been except now I know how it feels to be openly loved, and that's no small thing.

A week after school started Mike, me, and our two parents are out to a special dinner; another family-doing-stuff-together affair, which is nice, but slightly awkward too. After dinner they drive us to see a beautiful new house with a distant view of the ocean. The house isn't quite completed, but ultra cool. Mike nods his approval, then asks, "What's with the house you guys?

Who's is it?" My dad tells us that he and Mike's mother bought this house together which has Mike and me looking at each other, like, "Un oh?" but then we both shake our heads and go, simultaneously, "No way?" Mrs, Sullivan chuckles, then says, "Way, boys. You two are going to be step brothers, or whatever the hell it's called." As a joke, my little-brother-to-be does an exaggerated hug of my shoulders, going, "Bro! My big brother!" as we all laugh nervously wondering if this is a good idea or not. The marriage is scheduled for Thankgiving eve and I'm to be the best man. When Mike hears that, he goes, said, "That sucks, dude! It leaves me as maid of honor!" He's nervously joking again, 'cause this is a new situation and Mike's not initially great with new stuff. He's not maid of honer, of course; Mrs. Sullivan's father passed away three years ago so Mike will gives the bride away. Mrs Sullivan's sister will be matron of honor. All these plans were made without Mike and me knowing about it, not that we care, but you'd think their children would be consulted. Maybe they knew we'd be good with it somehow.

The house they'd bought is a three bedroom house with two and a half baths. When Mike and I first toured the house, before it was completed, we looked at each other, mouthing, "Separate bedrooms?" Later though, Mrs Sullivan asked if we'd mind sharing a bedroom so she could have a guest room for her various family members when they visited. We stammered a little, but obviously we have no problem with sharing a bedroom. Mike and I didn't know exactly how we feel about being in the same family; not that it's a major concern, just odd some how. We half expected that our parents would get married, but we didn't think it would be this soon I guess. They seem to be perfect for each other and Mike's mom has been dropping big hints for some time that a marriage is a strong possibility. The two parents were having a lot of fun planning the wedding and furnishing the new house so Mike and me basically just shrug, make a face at each other, and go on about our lives. At school Tom Brown stayed away from both of us, but he especially made a point of staying clear of Mike.

It's evident, even to Tom Brown once he thought about it, that Mike could put him in the hospital in a fight. I asked Mike if he intended to instigate a fight and his reply was, "Why would I do that, Richie? If Brown has come to his senses and stays away from me I'll just leave it as it is. You know from your fight with Tiny Dick that even if you win a fight you're still going to take a beating. I'm not a fighter, Richie, I'm a lover, dude! You know that."

We're scheduled to move into the new house in a few days and I'm surprising myself by feeling kinda sad about leaving this little place of my dad's; especially my tiny bedroom. My life has changed so much in this place, it's special to me. Oh well, we're moving on; they'll be other moving-on experience growing up I expect so maybe I better get used to them. The new house is furnished with mostly brand-new furniture and one day Mike and me are checking some of it out. We're curious about a new double bed in what's going to be our bedroom. We double-check that the bed is, in fact, in our room and it is. The master bedroom has a kingsize bed and the other bedroom doesn't have a bed yet, but it has real girly curtains on the windows, so that's not our room. What the hell's going on here? We'd come over on the spur of the moment after school so our parents are working and we can't ask them. Puzzled, I ask Mike, "Wouldn't you expect they'd put in twin beds for us?" We look at each other with confused expressions, and a growing suspicion, "You don't suppose they know?" is my question for Mike. Thinking about it, he's shrugging his shoulders, looking uncomfortable, then mutters, "Yeah Richie, I guess I do. How else to explain a double bed for two seventeen year old boys?" My heart beats a little faster, thinking, "My dad knows I'm gay! Oh man!" and then Mike adds, "And aren't we lucky to have parents like this; parents who actually care what their kids want?" Yeah, I guess, but it still feels strange knowing my dad knows he has a gay son. I can't help thinking back to that comment my dad made about, "We'll support the big decisions you guys make in your life!" When was it he said that?

Thunder booms in the distance and fat raindrops periodically hit against the side of the house as the wind picks-up considerably and begins blowing the big rain drops side-ways. A bright, scary-close lightning bolt splits the sky outside our bedroom window, and then an unbelivable down-pour begins... it's impossible to see three feet outside the window. This is a midsummer, heat induced New Jersey, fast-moving thunder storm happening in mid-September; rare indeed. We both go over to the window and watch the rain come down so hard we can't see Mike's motorbike parked right outside. Mike goes, "Damn, it needs a good washing, but this is ridiculous!" I say, "Hey Mike, remember us getting caught in that big thunder storm so long ago?" He didn't look at me, quietly saying, "Yeah, I sure do... I'll never forget it." Then, just like that, the rain stops and the sun breaks through the dark clouds and I'm really intrigued now, chills running up my spine as I'm thinking how similar this is storm is to Mike and my first big storm together. While wondering if there will be a rainbow, I ask about something else, "Thinking back on it, when your mom wanted to know if we'd mind sharing a bedroom, didn't she seem to have a funny look on her face, and sort of a big tease in her voice?" Mike's still looking out the window amazed at how quickly the rain stopped, he quietly answers, "Um, ah yeah.. you're right, she did, Richie." He turns then and looks in my face, biting his bottom lip, mumbling, "Jeez, wonder how long they've known about us.

It's kind of cool, but embarrassing too, don't ya think?" I go, "Yeah, it's gonna be wicked awkward seeing those two now." Mike shakes his head, saying, "It'll be okay, Richie, but don't bring the subject up unless they do; that's how we're going to handle it. They've obviously known for some time now and they didn't bring it up, so let's follow their lead and see where it goes." Sounds good to me 'cause I sure don't want to talk about it yet. I say my usual, "Sure thing, Mike." And ya know what, I feel better about the whole thing already. I like the armed forces philosophy... "Don't ask, don't tell!" I know it's kinda the easy way out, but let me get a little older before I need to act like an adult... that's all I'm saying.

Mike's repeating, in a thoughtful manner, almost to himself, "We're really lucky with our parents though, ya know?..." I'm staring at the back of Mike as he's turned to watch the weather changing outside our new bedroom window as all of a sudden the full force of the sun emerges from behind the last cloud in the sky, it's as bright as a spotlight, taking my breath away. The sun shines on Mike like a spot-light and immediately a rainbow rises in the sky making it appears like Mike is surrounded by it; the bright colors shimmering against his body like he's floating in it. A tear runs down my cheek as a shiver runs through me; my mouth is open as I share this magical moment with Mike. He says, "Jesus, look at that fucking rainbow, Richie." Of course, it's somehow our other rainbow from way back when saying hello, but Mike's not a romantic so I didn't offer this concept to him. I say, "Yes, it's beautiful and I agree, we are lucky alright, but I'm the luckiest of us all 'cause I won the prize... I get to love you, Mike." He turns around slowly and looks at me, then he smiles the sweetest smile I've ever seen him make, and says, "Guess we're just a couple of lucky gay boys, huh, Richie?" I nod my head up and down, unable to speak; the rainbow appearing, and then Mike admitting we're a couple of lucky 'gay' boys is something to absorb and savor. He crooks his forefinger, saying, "Come a little closer, Richie..." then, "A little closer than that," and with his arm around my neck he pulls me against him and kisses the side of my forehead for maybe 15 seconds, then whispers, "Let's try out our new bed and see if it causes you to have a different little squeal." How wonderful is the never-ending miracle of love...." Same little squeal though.

The End

Donny Mumford thinat20@yahoo.com

Note: I visited with Mike and Richie one time since finishing this, they're getting ready to leave for college almost two years later. It's a relatively light piece just to see how they're doing. If you'd like a copy, just say so. Thanks for reading my story.