Oscar

Oscar 22

And then the countdown began.

Ten.

`What shall we do now?' I said.

`That's up to you,' he said, stroking a stray stand of my hair back into place.

His fingertips were hot against my forehead and a tingle spread out and around to the back of my head as he stroked, before blissfully rolling down my spine all the way to my toes.

Nine.

Our spoon session over he was on top of me again. In between my legs like before. Both of us still naked on his oversized bed; our cocks soft but our muscled bodies hard. His abs on mine. His chest on mine. My load dry and crusting on my stomach and sticking his chest hair together. Our breath slow and controlled and normal. Everything else far from it.

`Oh yeah?' I said, lost in his dazzling eyes.

Eight.

`Yeah. The way I see it, you have two options.'

`I'm all ears.'

`One, we shower and I take you home. Or two, you stay here a little longer and we make more memories.'

Seven.

`What time is it?' I said.

Rolling onto his side he peered over to a small digital clock on his bedside table. Rolled back on top of me and said, `Eleven.'

Six.

`Plenty of time,' I said.

`For?'

Five.

`Option two.'

`Good lad,' he said.

Four.

He kissed me. On the mouth. Not fast but not slow either. Just the right amount of speed and force and softness and tongue. Perfect.

Everything about him was. His body. His lips. His chin. His nose. His ears. His voice. His laugh. His cock. His power.

I wanted more. I wanted to see what else I could add to the list of what was perfect about Mr. Price is Right.

Three.

`I want to fuck you this time,' I said, my balls tightening at the thought of burying my cock deep between his cheeks.

But he laughed. Raised a single eyebrow and said, `Don't hate me, but I'm not really into that.'

Two. I should have kept my mouth shut.

`Bullshit,' I said.

`Sorry, matey. It's not.'

I wasn't thinking straight. I was too caught up in the moment. Too excited. Too eager. Too idiotic.

One.

`Yes, it is. It's how your wife found you, remember?'

Zero. Playtime over.

His smile vanished. His forehead crinkled. He cocked his head to the side. But not like before. Not smirking like in the park. Not sizzling with excitement like downstairs in the hallway. This time he was confused.

Confused and angry.

It was then I realised what I'd said. What I'd done. He'd told me about his wife. How she'd caught him with another man. In the very room we were lying in. But he hadn't given me the details. The other man had given me those.

`Who told you that?' he said.

There was only one way to play it.

`You did,' I lied.

He rolled off me. All the way this time. Then he walked to the centre of the room and picked up his underwear. Pulled them on and up and turned. Stared at me for a second before moving to the end of the bed. Loomed over me, blocking out the light from above.

His face was partially hidden in the darkness, but I could still make out the whites of his eyes, glistening in the dim. No, not glistening. Burning into me, as cold as ice.

`No I didn't,' he said.

`Yes, you did,' I lied again, sitting up against the headboard and looking around the room for my clothes as nonchalantly as I could. Panic rising in my throat.

I'd put my foot it in royally and he wasn't buying it. The only solution I could come up with was to get the hell out. But there was no sign. No sign of my shirt. No sign of my shorts. Underwear. Socks. Trainers. House key.

Then I remembered. Half of my outfit was outside on the landing. The rest was crumpled in a heap downstairs. Carelessly discarded in the heat of the moment.

I was completely naked. Naked and defenceless and cornered.

`Don't lie to me. I know what I told you, and I didn't say a single word about how or in what way my wife caught me. How do you know this?'

`I must have made it up,' I said, hopping off the bed and walking towards the door.

He sidestepped in front of me. All six-foot-three of him. Muscled and toned and unmoveable.

`Where do you think you're going?' he said.

`To get my clothes.'

`Not until you answer me.'

`Get out of my way.'

`No.'

I had three options.

One was to kick him in the balls and run for it. Fling my leg up and central and then peg it like the wind, snatching up clothes as I went. Which might work in the movies but not in reality.

Tim was a big guy, literally trained in physical education. And he'd played rugby all his life. He knew how to dodge and block and defend himself against oncoming body parts. There was a ninety-nine percent chance he would react and have me down on the floor immobilised in next to no time, even angrier than before.

The second was to tell the truth. Admit that I'd lied to him. That I knew all about his wife and how she caught him. But then he would wonder what else? What else had I lied to him about. The flood gates would open. How I knew where he ran. How old I was. Who told him I knew he liked cock. He would never trust me again.

Which would have been fine if he was some random hook-up. I would never see or think of him again. I wouldn't care. But he wasn't and I did. Mr. Price was the best I'd ever had and everything I'd always wanted. And I wanted him again. Again and again and again.

Option two was no good. Not in a million years.

Which left option three. Keep lying and then lie some more. Put the blame on someone else. Create a distraction so big it blindsides him from the truth. Make someone else the problem.

Piece of cake.

`Ok. Ok. I'm sorry,' I said backing off. `I shouldn't have lied to you, but I didn't even think it was true.'

`Explain.'

Sitting on the side of the bed I hung my head. Bunched up my body into my shoulders. Made myself look ashamed and upset.

It worked. I sensed his body relax. His muscles unclench. His fists untighten.

`Adam Stanmore,' I said.

I didn't need to look up to know the name had made him flinch. At least mentally. But I did anyway.

Staring at the floor he slumped his shoulders. His eyes glazed over, lost in deep thought. No doubt thinking of the schoolboy he had spent hours with on the pitch. In the changing room. In his car. His home. His bed.

The schoolboy who had made his life come crashing down like a tonne of bricks.

`He came in to school the other week,' I continued. `Fucked up. All battered and bruised. He was telling people his dad had beaten him up because he was bisexual and he didn't care who knew anymore.'

`Fuck,' he muttered. Like he was muttering to himself. Like he'd forgotten I was in the room with him. Then he looked down into my eyes for the first time in two minutes and said, `Go on.'

`We're not friends or anything. But I wanted to talk to him.'

`Why? So you could find out his secrets for yourself?'

`No. Nothing like that. I wanted to see if there was anything I could do. Because I know what it feels like. To be attacked like that. To get the shit kicked out of you for being different.'

He said nothing. Nodded. Then he sat next to me on the side of the bed. Not touching but close. Close enough to feel his heat and smell his body again.

`I waited for him after school,' I said. `To ask if there was anything I could do. But he told me he didn't need my help. He laughed in my face. Said his boyfriend would look after him.'

`He has a boyfriend?'

`Apparently,' I said, giving him a look. A look he deciphered almost instantly.

`He's saying I'm his boyfriend?'

`Not to everyone. Or at least I don't think he is. But he did to me. It was like he was showing off. Bragging about bagging the ex-teacher. Just like he brags about fucking girls at his house parties.'

His features softened and he nodded again. Saying nothing but believing every word. But I couldn't lay off. I needed to close the lie. Slam it shut and cement it over.

`I told him I didn't believe him. That he didn't need to make up stories to make himself feel better, or to make him feel like less of a loser in front of the school gayboy, because I didn't care who he stuck his dick in. But then he told me you and him had been fooling around since he was fifteen. He said he was the reason your wife left you. He said he had you on your back when she came home.'

`He told you that?'

I nodded.

`And you believed him?'

`Like I said, not at first. I guessed you two must have spent a lot of time with each other, what with rugby practice and all, but the idea that you might like guys was, well, honestly it was too good to be true. But then when I saw you out running, I couldn't stop thinking about it,' I said, resting my fingers on his forearm.

My touch snapped him out of his daze. His eyes locked on mine. Kind again. But tinged with something else.

Fear.

Time to seal the deal with the best possible solvent. A sprinkling of truth.

`What?' he said.

`You were right. I did fall over on purpose.'

`What? Why?'

`I didn't know how else to talk to you. I thought you were ignoring me all those times I waved and smiled because Adam was telling the truth. That you two were together and you weren't interested.'

`Why didn't you just say hi?'

`I was jealous.'

`We're not together.'

`I know that now. Well I went ahead and assumed after tonight. But I like you. I've fancied you since I can remember. I thought you and me would never get together, not in my wildest dreams, so I ignored what Adam said. Passed it off as bullshit from the world's biggest bullshitter. But then, watching you run around that field in your red t-shirt and your tiny shorts, I had to find out for myself. I'm sorry I didn't tell you before. I thought it would be best if I just pretended like I didn't know anything.'

`But why?'

`Because you'd think I was sad. And desperate. I would.'

He didn't reply. Not for a while at least. But he did put his arm around me. Around my shoulders. Then he pulled me into him and kissed me on the side of the head.

`Thank you for being honest, Oscar,' he said.

`I'm sorry for not telling you sooner.'

`It's ok. I understand. It's difficult.'

`Are you ok?' I said.

`I've been better.'

`Can I help?'

`Not really.'

`You sure?'

`Just promise me you won't say anything about this to anyone. I could get in a lot of trouble if people hear what he's saying.'

`He's eighteen now.'

`It doesn't matter. What we did was wrong. And at the end of the day it's his word against mine. He's the star rugby player and I'm the disgraced ex-teacher. I don't like my odds.'

`So it's true? He was the guy she caught you with?'

`Yes. But the rest is a lie. I haven't seen or spoken to him since I quit the school.'

`I'm guessing that's the reason you're not into taking it up the arse.'

He nodded. Then he nudged me playfully. Said, `It does look like a lot of fun though.'

I laughed. But nowhere near as hard as I'd wanted. Mr. Price had just bought my utter bollocks about Adam and I'd managed to save myself by the skin of my teeth. I would have cackled like a maniac if I could. Then the room went quiet and neither of us spoke for almost two minutes.

`Should I go?' I said.

`Probably,' he said.

`Can I see you again?'

`Yes. I'd like that.'

`When?'

`How about this weekend? I'll cook for you. You can let me know exactly how terrible I am in the kitchen.'

We laughed. Then ten minutes later we were dressed. Two minutes after that I was in his car.

The journey to my house was five minutes and we talked the whole way. Talked about how hot the evening had been. In the woods. On his sofa. Against the wall. On the landing. In his bed. We talked about how funny it was that I'd thrown myself in front of him and how glad he was that I had.

He parked a few doors from my house and placed his hand on my leg.

`Oscar, I just want to say thanks for tonight.'

`You really don't need to thank me.'

`I do. It was nice to have someone to speak to. All the stuff about Adam aside, until tonight I didn't know how nice it could be to just be myself with someone. Someone who doesn't judge me over my past. So, thank you.'

His words hit me. Hard and soft at the same time like a sledgehammer made of marshmallow, right in the centre of my ribs.

Then something peculiar happened. Something I hadn't felt in a very long time. A swelling in my chest. In my heart. Warm and strong and powerful. Heating and radiating through me. Pulling my lips into a smile I couldn't shake even if I'd tried.

I liked him. Not just his body or his heavenly legs or the fantasy of Mr. Price. I really liked him.

`It was a pleasure, sir,' I said, still unable to shake my smile.

`Just one more thing.'

`What?'

`Is there anything else I should know? Anything else you're not telling me?'

I thought about sitting on Adam's bed all those weeks ago. Listening to his stories. Coaching out the juicy information. Leaving him high and dry and laughing in his face. Then searching and stalking Mr. Price on my reconnaissance missions in the park. Waiting for the right time. Telling him I was eighteen. Pretending to know nothing about his past. Then, naked in his bed, lying some more.

Looking into his eyes, a small part of me wanted to tell the truth. The part buzzing and tingling from his words. This was my chance. But, if I did, then what? It would be over. If I told him what had really happened, I would never feel that feeling again.

`No,' I said. `There's nothing else. I promise.'

`Good,' he said smiling. `Sleep tight.'

What was the harm in one more lie?

More than I could have imagined.

To be continued ...

Head over to my website to learn more about Oscar, including exclusive content about my upcoming eBook series Oscar Down Under.

Copyright Jack Ladd 2016

Please consider donating to Nifty. As a volunteer-run organisation every penny/cent helps!