CHAPTER NINE (of NINE)
Hospitals aren't fun. That's a given, but worse than that, not being able to work means I'll have very little 'pocket money' during the winter months. Work opportunities are few and far between in the winter, so that's a problem.
At least there is no need to worry about these hospital expenses as they will be covered by Mom's health care plan, which I'm part of until the end of this calendar year, or until I finish my education, whichever is later. Complicating money-matters further, I've agreed to try a semester at community college, and Mom needed to co-signed a college loan for the tuition. Richie is the only reason I'm willing to give college a try. My previous first choice was enlisting in the Marines. You know, "The few, the proud... the Marines!" That's tough stuff.
And, if I find college as unbearable as high school was for me, it will be a 'one-and-done' college semester, and I'll soon thereafter be a Marine recruit at Parris Island, South Carolina. Because of Richie, however, I'm hoping I can stomach college.
As for my current situation, I'm due to be released from the hospital tomorrow, and thank God for that! Richie will, theoretically, be nursing me back to, um, health, I guess. That should be interesting because I despise being in situations where I'm not in control, and being an invalid is the most out-of-control situation I can think of. Actually, I don't see how this will work out well for either of us, but we're going to give it a try and do our best. Optimistically, I'll be up and around in two weeks, so my goal is to try being a good patient for those couple of weeks. As I said, though, I expect it will be challenging.
As I'm thinking about these things, Danny comes into my hospital room and quickly eliminates one of my concerns. Yep, he pops into my room ten-thirty at night, not the least bit concerned that it's way past visiting hours. Fearing, he has bad news, I'm like, "Danny, what happened?" He shoots Ronny with his finger, saying to him, "What's up, Hotshot?" and then pulls the curtain between Ronny's and my beds.
Smiling as he sits in the chair next to my bed, he says, "Nothing's wrong, bro. How ya doing?" I tell him I'm getting out of here tomorrow, and he goes, "Awesome news," and then flips an envelope onto my blanket. I go, "A get well card?" He chuckles, "Sort of. There's a thousand bucks in that envelope. The 'bosses' of both, um, companies agreed you should get compensated for the accidental stabbing and the, um, accidental hit on your head." Frowning, I'm like, "What?" He pats my leg, saying, "Yeah, you deserve this money. Actually, I told Mr. DeCarlo the amount should have been a lot more, but criticizing the bosses' decisions is, ah, well, it's complicated. Anyway, this is what they decided to give you. Better than nothing, huh?"
Still confused, I pick up the envelope and look inside to see lots of fifty-dollar bills. Danny says, "It's also a reward for keeping your mouth shut about the, um, the mugging. What happened to you, ah, well... it's unacceptable. You being my brother and an innocent bystander. Well, what happened wasn't right. That money came right out of Skippy Galo's pocket too. Plus, he wants me to tell you he's sorry." I go, "He's sorry he tried to kill me?" Danny shrugs, "Yeah, he's sorry about that."
I go, "This is fucked!" Danny laughs, and then mutters, "Gangs have rules." Getting up, he says, "I love you, and I'm glad you're getting out of here tomorrow." He leans over and gives me a brotherly kiss. Then, looking at me, he says very seriously, "I'm really sorry about what happened, Mikey. I should never have asked you to come with me. I swear to God I never had a clue it would get, um, get so fucked up. That was totally unusual." Nodding my head, I mumble, "That's okay, Danny."
He goes, "And, you know how it is, whatever you do, don't tell Mom about the money! Jesus, she's so pissed at me already. Stick with the 'mugging story,' okay?" Shrugging, then grimacing because the shrug pulled on my incision, I go, "No problem." Danny smiles, "You're awesome, bro." He pats my leg again, pulls the curtain back, says to Ronny, "Get better, kid," and then leaves.
Ronny looks at me, and I go, "What?" He's like, "Well, what was that all about?" I hold up the envelope, saying, "A get well card."
Tomorrow morning Mom and Richie will be here to take me to Richie's house. Somehow, those two have become 'tight.' God only knows what Mom has told Richie about me. I don't want to do this, but, anticipating their arrival in the morning, I unhook a tube in my arm and, with some pain, made it to the closet where my clothes are hanging. Ignoring the pain in my side, I stuff the folded money envelope in the pocket of my jeans. Sucking it up, I ignore the shooting pain and get back in bed knowing Richie will have clean clothes for me to wear tomorrow.
After I have another shitty night sleeping, bright and early, Mom and Richie come into the room. We all smile and hold hands for a few seconds as they mutter lies about me 'looking good.' I do not look good. Then, Mom decides we need coffee, so while she goes to the hospital cafeteria for that, Richie helps me get dressed in the clothes he brought with him for me. It takes all my willpower not to scream as Richie clumsily pulls my shirt on and then gets my arm back in the sling. I'm sweating from the pain that that little maneuver caused me. Ronny doesn't help matters by giggling at me as I'm grimacing from more shooting pain.
After taking a deep breath, I tell Richie, "Wrap-up the dirty clothes from the closet. Um, just stick them in the satchel you've got there." As he's doing that, I go, "And do not put those clothes in the wash until I check the pockets." Then, to be safe, I show Richie the envelope containing the twenty fifty-dollar bills. His pretty eyes open wide as I mumble, "I'll tell you about this later."
When Mom comes back with the coffees, I sit in the visitor chair, feeling shaky but forcing another smile. We drink coffees, not saying much, waiting for the release paperwork to be completed. When the nurse tells us we can go, I need to sit in a wheelchair, which is humiliating, but she insists. As I'm wheeled out, I go, "See you around, Ronny." He goes, "Probably not, but be cool, dude." And I'm free at last! No, that's a stupid thought.
After some awkwardness getting into and out of the car, I get semi-comfortable in bed at Richie's house. He's fidgety as he says to my Mom, "It isn't a problem that Mike needs to use the bed." He points at the sleeping bag in the corner, adding, "I've been, um, well, I sleep in that sleeping bag." Mom says, "Of course you do, dear," and she kisses Richie on the cheek. Hmm, she didn't appear to 'buy' the sleeping bag bullshit. What do our parents know?
I get a kiss from Mom too, and then she says, "Well, boys, I've got to get to work now. I'm glad you're feeling better, Mikie. Um, but, absolutely no more involvement with your brother's activities! Promise me." I make a 'face' but nod as if I promise. She looks skeptical as she thanks Richie for the fifth time this morning. Then, just before leaving, she says, "I'm furious at Danny!" I mutter, "Don't be," and she hurries out the door heading for her job at the supermarket.
Now it's quiet in the room because Richie and I don't know what to say. After a few seconds, I ask, "Well, do you want to do 'it'?" He grins, knowing exactly what I mean, then he says, "More than you could possibly know, but I'm afraid it will hurt your side too much." I go, "You can do most of the work." Shrugging, he says, "Well, sure, but how would I, um, how would that work?" Giving him a 'look,' I go, "You'll figure it out," and he nods, "Yeah, okay, but first, how about if I help you, um, you know, take a bath?" Ha-ha, how insulting!
I laugh at that and then say, "Yeah, that would probably be best. Good idea." Actually, I love that idea, and add, "It'll feel great being clean... let's do it." He goes, "So, where did the envelope full of money come from?"
I slide off the bed, cringing at the sharp pain in my side. Damn, everything I do hurts. Richie asks, "Are you okay?" Giving him another 'look,' I mutter, "Oh yeah, I feel swell; never felt better," and then tell him about the money. But, oh man, why can't I be nicer to him? It wasn't necessary to be sarcastic about his concern that I'm hurting.
After I tell him about the money, I mumble, "Ah, fuck, Richie, I'm sorry I snapped at you a minute ago. I appreciate your concern and... well, um, would you help me get this sling off?" He helps me do that and then helps me get undressed. Obviously, we're comfortable being naked in each other's company, so there's that at least. If mom had to do this... well, never mind that because I would never let that happen, and Danny helping me do this would be wicked embarrassing for me, for both of us. Thank God for Richie!.
Speaking of Richie, he's cleverly covering my stab wound stitches in front and back with a cut-up plastic bag securing the plastic with tape from a roll of black electrical tape he found in his dad's toolbox. Then, pretending I'm not in pain, I sit naked on the closed toilet seat as Richie runs the bathwater.
Yes, a shower would obviously make more sense, but I don't want to contradict his Richie's idea. I need to be nicer and more appreciative of this awesome friend who's so willing to help. And, anyway, as I can't bathe myself, Richie will need to help me take a shower too. Every time I move my right arm, there's a serious shooting pain in my side, so I need Richie's help, which is one more in a long list of humiliating aspect involving my situation.
On a more positive note, the gangsters' thousand dollars sure helps my outlook for the future, pocket-money-wise anyway. As I said, Mom signed for my college loan, so that's a money-problem for the distant future. Plus, the first-semester tuition at the community college isn't a lot, not when compared to most regular colleges.
Oh, shit! Richie just said something, and I wasn't listening. That's another one of my faults; I don't pay enough attention to what he's saying. I go, "Sorry, what was that, Richie?" He mumbles, "I just mentioned that you can get in the tub now. The water is the right temperature."
Nodding, I go, "Yeah, okay," I get up, and he helps me step in the tub. Jesus, it's hot! I yell, "It's too fucking hot!" Dammit, I yelled at him again. Okay, I need to be nicer and, um, what was the other thing? Oh yeah, listen to him when he says something.
Richie goes, "I'm sorry! I thought..." and I go, "No, you were right, Richie. The temperature is okay. It surprised me at first, that's all," and he helps me get both my feet in the tub. With Richie holding onto me, I slowly sit down. Ah, the hot water feels good. Richie kneels next to the tub, asking, "Is the water getting under the plastic?" How the fuck am I supposed to know that? I go, "Um, no, I believe it's all good." He says, "Awesome. Okay, I'm going to turn the shower on for a few seconds to wet your hair," and he does that, then shampoos my hair. Oh man, that feels good too.
He's doing everything okay until I yell, "What the fuck? You just hit my side with your fuckin' elbow!" He goes, "Oh, I'm sorry." Damn, pain shot up like I was stabbed again. Remembering I want to be nicer; I hold my breath until the pain drops to a bearable level, then say, "I didn't mean to yell at you, but let me turn towards you instead of you reaching across my body." He goes, "I'm such a klutz, Mike." I go, "No, you're not. You're an amazing friend. Better than I deserve." He smiles but doesn't disagree. Yeah, well...
It takes longer than it should, but, after getting almost as wet as I am, Richie tells me, "Okay, good, I've washed all of your awesome body except your private parts. How about if you wash there? You can use your left hand, right?" Sarcastically, I go, "Yes, Einstein, I can use my left hand." Taking the washcloth from him, I wash my ass and crotch. He pulls the plug, helps me stand up, and then turn the shower on to rinse me off. Omigod, it feels wonderful being clean!
Richie gently uses a big bath towel, as I mumble, "Thanks for helping me with this." He nods his head, "No problem. Um," and he looks me in the eyes, asking, "You'd help me if our situations were reversed, right?" Very sincerely, I say, "Yes, of course I would, Richie," surprising myself. Surprised that I said that with so much feeling. He smiles, "I know you would..." Jesus, I've become a dork.
We get the sling back on my right arm, and then, with help from Richie, I get onto the bed naked, partially sitting up with two pillows behind my back. I feel amazing good, saying, "That felt absolutely mind-bogglingly good, Richie! Thank you." He shrugs, trying not to grin. Then looking up, he goes, "Um, so, I sit on your, ah, boner, right?" Trying not to sound sarcastic, I mutter, "Yes, that is what I had in mind. Can you think of any other way it would work?"
Shaking his head, he drops his wet clothes on the floor, muttering, "No, I just wanted to be sure." He's so fucking cute! When he's standing there naked, I mumble, "Lubricate that boy-pussy of yours, and we'll have ourselves some fun." He nods his head, smiling as he says, "I can taste your dick already." I'm like, "You're so queer."
As he's getting the lubricant from the bottom drawer of the bureau, he mutters, "Oh, and you're not." I chuckle at that but can't come up with a retort, so I leave his remark hanging there. He can think whatever he wants.
Hell, we both know we're doing as 'gay' a 'thing' as it's possible to do. No, I guess there are even 'gayer' sex acts than 'sucking' and 'fucking'. I don't know what they might be, but I have a sense that whatever those 'gayer' sex acts are, they're too advanced for us. Oh, there is one I know about from the Internet. It's called 'rimming,' which I can't imagine I'd ever want Richie to do. As for me doing that... ha-ha, nope!
They would never happen, but I am wicked anxious for Richie to suck on my dick. We did oral sex one time in the hospital, which made me realize how I'd been taking our sex for granted. As for fucking my boy here, Omigod, I can hardly contain myself wanting to do that again. I'm so hooked on gay sex with Richie that, well, I don't want to even think about not doing it. Sex with Richie is the reason I easily gave in about going to college. That's a poor excuse for going to college, but then, I never even considered college until I met him.
Damn! Just watching Richie pushing that sex lubricant in his asshole is making my dick hard. He's so fucking, um, well, as I've said fifty times, he's a cute motherfucker. More than that, though, he's so 'effing special in so many 'effing ways I can hardly believe he's real. He's conscientious beyond belief. I mean, look at him concentrate, biting his bottom lip while basically finger fucking himself. There's no sense denying it; Richie turns me on. He gets me 'hot'!
Taking a deep breath, a sigh actually, Richie looks at me with that cute-as-a-puppy-grin, and says, "I can't wait to do this," and he gets on the bed, on his knees between my legs. Oh, boy!
Picking up my already firm cock, he seriously says, "Tell me if I do anything that hurts you, Mike, and I'll stop right away." All I can do is nod like a geek because I'm so anxious to feel his warm, soft tongue on my dick. He leans down and licks it, licks it from my balls to the head of my quivering penis, and then sucks the head into his mouth. Omigod, his tongue is so warm and soft and slippery. Everything about this makes me squirm with pleasure, squirm mightily. Of course, my squirming causes a series of sharp pains in my side, but I stifle a groan. My fingers ruffle through his light-brown hair as I mutter, "That feels good, Richie." My side is throbbing with pain, but fuck it...
I can't stop squirming on the bed as he rubs the head of my steel boner against the inside of his soft wet cheek. Soon, though, pain is spiking so much, I groan, "Wait." His beautiful bluish/greenish eyes go up to the top of their sockets to look into my eyes. Staring back, I mumble, "No, it's good now," and he goes back to his cock sucking, which he's become excellent at. Well, I've never had my cock sucked by anybody else, so it probably can somehow be done better, although Richie does it plenty good enough for me. I can't imagine this feeling better than the way he does it.
He only needed to do it for a minute to get my penis harder than stone. Without a word, Richie takes my stone dick from his mouth, and, holding onto it, he gets on his feet in a crouch, then moves his feet outside my legs. Grinning at me, he positions his asshole over my boner and then tentatively sits on the head.
The moment his rosebud, hairless asshole touches the head of my boner, I get shivers all over. My shivers are so noticeable, Richie asks, "Is this okay?" I nod my head enthusiastically, saying too loudly, "Yeah, why'd you stop?" Dammit, I didn't mean to yell! He says, "Sorry," and, still holding my boner upright, he sits down on it. The head slides very tightly into his rectum as Richie is scrunching up his face at the pain before grunting, "Ow."
His calf muscles are hard-looking holding himself in this position to, I assume, allow his anus to get used to the idea of my boner stretching it unnaturally. It doesn't take long; his anus must have quickly got the message and eases up on the pain it's causing Richie. I see his face relax, and then he grins again, mumbling, "No problem. This is working out pretty sweet, huh?" I mutter, "Uh-huh," and he sits down another two inches or so, and I go, "Umm, oh, fuck...!" My shoulders shudder as vibrations from millions of my penis's nerve endings get me gasping at the fast-moving pleasure train exploding from my tightly encased boner!
And, as Richie again grunts, "Oow..." he sits all the way down on my stone cock, all the way down until he's sitting on my lap. He goes, "Omigod! Oh, shit, Mike..." Then, a few seconds later, he says, as if he's surprised, "Jeez, this feels awesome." Yeah, it does. Huh, I don't believe my cock has ever been this far inside him before. Sensations in the form of streaming-pleasure-throbs continuously throb from my supersensitized hard penis, so much so I can't speak. I shudder again as I'm nodding my head, agreeing with Richie that this feels good. And that's a major understatement.
His hands are on my shoulders now as he asks, "So, what have you got to say, huh? How does this feel?" Christ, ha-ha, he's acting cocky now. Well, why shouldn't he be cocky? He looks taller than me now that he's sitting on my thighs. Obviously, I prefer feeling more in charge than this, but considering everything, this is pretty fucking awesome. I manage to mutter, "It feels okay." He snickers, "It feels better than okay to me, Mike." Yeah, well...
After squirming on my lap, Richie mutters, "Okay, here we go," and he lifts overly enthusiastically pulling totally off my boner. I yell, "NO!" Realizing that sounded too desperate, I manage to sound calmer, mumbling, "Ya dumb shit. Do it slower." He looks hurt, so I rephrase that, "I meant, you're doing awesome, Richie, but, um, could you try doing it a little, um, less abruptly." He nods his head, and I add, "No, seriously, um, truthfully, you're fantastic, Richie." He says emphatically, "We're fantastic, Mike!"
Shrugging and nodding my head at the same time, I'm like, "Okay, sure, but would you be so kind as to put my boner back where it belongs." He reaches behind him to take hold of my cock, saying, "I like that you said 'where it belongs,'" and when he sits on it again, I can't help but moan, "Ooh, umm, oh yeaaah..."
I watch his calf muscles move from tight to tighter as he lifts and then sits down on my incredibly hard, pleasure-giving boner. Up and down he goes and, as usual, it isn't very long before we're both gasping at the sexual pleasure, our bodies almost as tight as our cocks, and we both moan, "Oh, ooh, oooh!" Then, also, as usual, our climaxes fire off too quickly. We blow our loads almost at the same time, basically, climaxing simultaneously. Holy shit, that was so hot!
Richie's cock was as hard as mine, his sticking out straight, pointing at my breast bone. I watched, fascinated, as the piss slit on the head of his boner opened and closed like a fish out of water, and then his semen came flying out. Fortunately, he grabbed hold of his boner and jerked it upward, or his ejaculation would have hit my chest. As it was, some cum spray hit my forehead as the blob of spunk flew by my head. Meanwhile, I was filling him up... filing up his bowels with creamy cum while grimacing at the power of climax. Then, Richie gives his tight boner three strokes, squeezing cum bubbles out the swollen head, which, by the way, is three inches from my neck.
As the fantastic climax sensations fade, my injury begins hurting like a motherfucker. Yeah, well, there was a lot of jostling during our climaxes; my whole-body shuddered violently as I blew out my load. Sexual climax, as I've mentioned before, is indescribably fantastic. For us animals, our out-of-this-world sexual climaxes are something Nature threw in the mix to ensure a continuation of the millions of animal species on earth. Scientists figure that even stupid species must have 'feel-good' climaxes or, otherwise, they wouldn't take time out from hunting for food to fuck. I can't believe any species has 'feel good' climaxes to equal humans, though. Of course, that would be hard to prove one way or the other, until; for example, we learn to ask the dolphins about it.
And, that's a topic I don't spend more than a microsecond thinking about. I mutter, "This was a wicked good idea we had, Richie. Well, both ideas; the bath and then this." He goes, "Let's do it again."
Ha-ha, it's awesome being a teenager enjoying the height of our sexual appetite... and teenagers' abilities to do it frequently. Except, I'm like, "Yeah, well, you wouldn't say that if you were paying the price in pain that I'm dealing with. Not that it wasn't worth it, but I need a little time to recuperate." He nods, "I know, Mike, I was only kidding, anyway."
We don't do 'it' again today, but we have sex daily, at least once a day during the next two weeks. In addition to being awesome at riding my boner, Richie turns out to be an excellent 'nurse' as well. I'm not surprised by that in the least. He's conscientious about everything he does.
So, anyway, I survive these two weeks since leaving the hospital, survive pretty well, actually... a lot better than I expected. That's mostly because Richie is so 'effing accommodating and helpful and cheerful. That prevents me from feeling sorry for myself. Richie is unbelievable although I can't envision being like that myself, and I mean no matter how much I cared about someone. When he's not looking, I find myself staring at him with admiration. How can anyone be so, um, so 'giving' of themself?
He's doting on me so much I need to insist he take a break. I insist he go outside, go to the boardwalk, enjoy himself for a few hours. I mean, most of the time, there isn't anything he can do for me anyway. That's because the healing process mostly requires 'time.' For me, it's boring lying around the house waiting for my body to do its thing, but there is very little either of us can do about that.
Richie has been riding my motorbike to and from the boardwalk and he's excited about that. Allowing him to do that makes me feel good. From the time I was sixteen and got the motorbike from Danny as a birthday present, Richie is the only person to ride it, other than me. Who better than him, though?
I've never in my life had this much time to do nothing except think about stuff. The 'stuff' I think about the most is Richie's and my relationship, and what I need to do about it. It's, uh, complicated. Maybe it is for Richie too except he seems very comfortable with our gay relationship; it doesn't appear to be complicated to him. And, yeah, there isn't anything else I can call it... it is a gay relationship. Yeah, but still, there's no need for us to put a 'name' to it, and we never have. Others can do that if they must, and I'm sure they will.
Yeah, in time, behind our backs, people will begin referring to Richie and me as two gay guys... a gay couple. Maybe they are already doing that. Our parents probably already recognized that Richie and I are doing gay stuff, but they will be, have been, supportive. I'm not so sure about Danny's reaction. And, I'm not ready to find out either. I'm also not ready for my 'gang' to know. I mean, fuck, I still have trouble admitting it to myself. Obviously, I'm doing gay sex with Richie, but I can believe I'd do it with anyone else! I'm only 'gay' with him. That's an anomaly... or something. Um, a weird convergence of factors that defies the law of averages.
Sigh, thoughts such as that last one happen because I'm stuck here in the house with too much time to think. Daytime TV sucks, plus I can't concentrate enough to get into reading a book, so I'm left thinking all the time about this gay situation I'm in. My speculation, a fantasy really, is that Richie and I will come to our senses and stop doing gay sex, We'll soon settle on being best friends. Ha, that's pathetically unlikely. That's not going to happen, and the saddest part of it is... I don't want that to happen.
Yeah, I'm screwed royally. One conclusion I've come to out of all this time I've had to 'think' is that, while I still need to be nicer to him, Richie actually likes, prefers that I'm, ah, bossy to him. I can't think of another way to explain why he never complains about my 'bossy' unfair treatment. It's not physical mistreatment; it's verbal mistreatment, not that that is okay either.
And there is another thing. With all this time on my hands, I've been Googling 'relationships' and stumbled on what is referred to as a "submissive/dominant" relationship. That is a relationship where one person, gay or straight, likes being submissive to a dominant partner. Richie fits the submissive, um, 'role,' but I don't feel I'm intentionally dominant.
No, it's more like I get annoyed easily and snap out a mean-spirited comment or two. Then I feel guilty about it and promise myself I'll be nicer. And, I do try being nicer, but, fuck, old habits are hard to break. I'd never do all the sadism and masochism shit I've read about that the dominant partner does to the submissive one. No, that's where Richie's and my relationship split off from submissive/dominant relationships. The only aspect of it that fits is Richie's submissive attitude. Or, oh Christ, I don't fucking know. It's something like that.
Perhaps I'm using this Googling information to partially rationalize my bad behavior, but, if so, how is it that Richie never gets upset with me? Sure, believing he prefers being submissive helps relieve some of my guilty conscience, but I'm still going to concentrate on treating him better. And I am serious about that! If anyone deserves being treated better by me, it's Richie Mealey.
After saying all that, I personally can't imagine why anyone would prefer being submissive to another. Hmm, except, I'm sort of like that to Danny. Holy shit, I need to think about something else. I know Goddamn well that most nineteen-year-old guys do not need to waste their time thinking about this shit. There's no sense in me feeling sorry for myself either... that never helps.
So, for now, I'm going with the premise that Richie chooses to embrace his submissive nature, but, at the same time, I'm going to double my efforts at treating him better... he deserves that. I can't change his nature, but I can try improving mine! Gee, yeah, that sounds good. If only I can pull it off...
Anyway, the days roll by as they always do, and my injuries heal a little more each day. Tomorrow, Monday, is Labor Day, a holiday here in the good old U.S of A. It's also the official end of summer, Labor Day is. That means our town of Wildwood will soon seem empty after a summer of 'NO VACANCIES.' There are still some vacationers hanging on during September, but the numbers taper-off precipitously throughout the month. That's the opposite for Memorial Day, when vacationers create the remarkable feat of a slow-motion explosion, increasing Wildwood's population enormously until the town is bursting at the seams the Fourth of July.
So, it's the end of summer, which means it's the beginning of something else. Yeah, two weeks ago, Richie enrolled both of us at the community college. We'll be in the same courses and, therefore, I can miss the first week or two of classes with Richie filling me in on what I'm missing. They don't pay a lot of attention to 'attendance' at college, which is one of the major improvements over high school administrators' philosophy in that regard.
So, life is pretty good, although recuperating from a concussion and stabbing isn't something I want to experience again. The concussion symptoms faded away ten days ago, and the stitches have mostly been absorbed, front and back, and now the itching part of healing is driving me nuts.
Monday afternoon Richie and I are on the front porch drinking coffee and smoking when a moving van pulls to a stop two houses down from ours. "New neighbors," Richie mumbles. My stab wound is wicked itchy, so I'm like, "Yeah, whatever. Um, Richie, how about if you lightly scratch the scar tissue on my back for me? It's difficult for me to reach back there." Richie gets his hand under my t-shirt, I lean forward, and he lightly scratches over the not fully healed scar tissue there.
I'm looking at my sneakers as someone says, "Oh, didn't mean to interrupt an intimate moment." Looking up, I see a good-looking guy about our age standing at the bottom of the porch steps. Richie gets tongue-tied, explaining why he has his hand under my shirt, and the guy has a few smart-ass replies. I'm thinking that this new guy is an overly-confident ball-busting wise-ass, who is also very quick on the 'up-take'; his responses dripping with double-entendres of a gay' nature. For the moment, I let Richie deal with this guy. His name is Tom Brown, and when he leaves, I tell Richie, "That kid is going to be trouble... trouble with a capital 'T.'"
And, Tom Brown does prove to be a problem, but not a big one. I eventually need to get a tad physical with him. Still, I never could figure out if he had a personal agenda or was simply preternaturally serene and, therefore, so happy about being himself that normal matters never occur to him.
Whatever, I feel as content as I've ever been in my life. And, ha, what a sweet development! Sure, I still have the 'gay' problem that will be hideously awkward dealing with when it becomes common knowledge. There's another potentially awkward developing situation in that our parents, Richie's mom, and my dad, are obviously into what I can only describe as a 'romance' of sorts. That's just one more in the long line of odd happenings since I met Richie.
Also, as I've said, Richie and I are almost positive our parents are aware of our gay activities...so, that's awkward too! Well, they haven't said as much, but still... they know. Being uncomfortable due to awkward situations is a small price to pay for me feeling better about life than I ever have before.
Thinking these thoughts, I glance at Richie, watching him conscientiously reading over our first-semester college classes, and, I don't know, some kind of warm feeling comes over me; it makes me feel really good. I've never liked or loved another human as much as I like and love him. And, I can't imagine what could happen that would be monumental enough to fuck up what we've got together. I see us traveling together through life, and quite successfully too, for a long, long time.
And they do too.
This is The End... The end of "Mike's Perspective," but not the end of his story with Richie. It's just that from here, Mike's and Richie's perspectives become understood by both and work okay during their life-long journey together. The description of that, in much detail, am be found in the original story titled "Mike, His Bike and Me." That story is told from Richie's perspective, so we know Richie's thoughts too. We also know his activities when he isn't with Mike. Many of those adventures Mike never finds out about, just as Richie is unaware of much of Mike's activities when Mike's on his own. Two different worlds to a degree; but, their 'world' together is their most important 'world' by far.
donnymumford@outlook.com
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