Service Out of the Ordinary 4
Notice: The following account depicts homosexual acts between consenting persons and is intended for mature readers only. Exercise your own judgment, in consultation with the appropriate laws and moral standards of your community, in deciding whether or not to read this work. While this story depicts significant events in the lives of certain individuals, readers are cautioned not to assume that their experiences are in any way representative of those of most homosexuals. Any connection between persons named herein and real persons, living or dead, is vigorously denied. Comments may be sent to paulsgoodboy@hotmail.com. This story may not be copied or distributed without the express written consent of the author. Copyright 2001 All Rights Reserved.
Chapter Four. A Man’s Best Friend
A point of no return, a question of resolve.
I did it! I finally sucked off the boy of my dreams. I sucked off Paul. Paul, who held complete dominion over me. Paul, whose every desire was now my command. Paul, the studliest, sexiest, hottest, most get-on-your-bike-and-ride piece of teen male jock flesh I had ever seen. Paul, who lived directly across the street from me. Paul, my best friend’s little brother!
When Paul finished shooting his cum, he remained standing over me with his fleshy helmet pressed against my tongue. He needed to pause and catch his breath, and he was muttering “oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck” over and over, his shouts now diminished to a whimper. When he had calmed down a bit, he withdrew himself from me. My lips were red and a little swollen from the beating they’d just taken—exhausted yet still willing. The feeling of achievement blazed in me like a comet, and I felt myself orbiting very near the center of the universe.
“Shit. That was... that was... incredible!” he said, looking down into my eyes.
“Really? You liked it?” I sounded just like a child begging for affirmation. Licking my lips, swallowing the rest of what remained of him, I sat up and turned around so I could look at Paul. He was sweaty and flushed with exhaustion. I was beaming. No—I was fawning.
“Are you fucking kidding me? That was the best blowjob I’ve ever had. I wish I had known you were so good at sucking dick before, cause I would’ve made you do it much sooner. Where did you learn how to do that?”
Paul’s natural cockiness had returned. It was obvious that he was speaking to me, but the way he said it, the tone of his voice, sounded as though he were speaking to no one in particular. As he spoke, he tucked himself back into his jockstrap, then pulled up and zipped his pants, leaving the two top buttons undone. The sweat on his face was really visible to me now, and he began to wipe it off with his jersey as he awaited the answer to his question. I swallowed hard, because what I said next made me consider a whole realm of possibility that hadn’t occurred to me before, and the truth is, I didn’t really want to know.
“You’ve had them before?” I asked haltingly, the crushing disappointment in my voice all too plain. This wasn’t his first blowjob? The thought was incomprehensible to me.
“What the fuck do you think?” he said, continuing to wipe his face. His tone made clear that I might as well have just asked him if a bear shits in the woods. A hot teen jock get blowjobs? Who wouldn’t suck his dick? “Of course I have.”
When he said that, I actually heard the period. I was crushed. This wasn’t supposed to happen. This wasn’t the way things were supposed to be.
“You’re fucking best of all, though. The fucking best.”
The best of all? What the fuck! I was supposed to be the best ever, as in ever before and ever again! Paul’s cock was supposed to be mine to suck, and nobody else’s! I must have had this perplexed look of astonishment on my face. It’s weird, but I was suddenly feeling jealous in addition to feeling hurt. Please, Paul, don’t tell me I’m just one more face in the crowd...
“Yeah, man, the fucking best.”
Then Paul did something that really shocked me. He turned around and walked down the hall to his own room! After a few minutes, I heard the shower come on. I couldn’t believe it! Here I’d sucked him off on his own brother’s bed, with my own fucking birthday party going on across the street—hadn’t even asked him or expected him to reciprocate in any way, had done my hell-bent damnedest to make this the best erotic experience of his life—and all he could do was compare me to the others who’d done the same? And then he just leaves me there, without so much as a fucking thank you? I beat my fists into the bed. Fuck, fuck, fuck! Fuck!
I was mad, madder than I’d ever been in my life. Mad at Paul, mad at myself, mad at the whole fucking world. I was a cocksucking pussyboy, not even worth the two extra seconds it would take to say, “Gee, I kind of recognized you’re a human being, there.” I tried to take stock in where I was and what I was doing. I was sitting on Matt’s bed, sitting in Matt’s room. Tears were streaming down my face. The smacking taste of cum was in my mouth, and a huge load of cum was in my stomach. And what seemed like an even bigger load of cum was slowly dribbling its way through the crotch of my shorts and into Matt’s bed sheets. In fact, the whole front of my shorts was soaked clean through with my own jism. The light was on. And I was alone.
Then I started to worry, almost panic. What was I going to do about my shorts? What was I going to do about Matt’s bed? How was I going to get back to my birthday party? What would Matt do if he found out? Most worrisome of all, what was Paul going to do?
It’s amazing how well the mind can sometimes work when you’re on the verge of being utterly overwhelmed by anger, fear, and panic. Here’s what I did: First, I suddenly realized that despite the fact that Paul had yelled his head off, his mom never came upstairs to investigate. And he had spoken to her before coming up to Matt’s room. Ergo, she must have told him that she and his dad were going out for awhile, and thus I could walk around the house without fear of anyone’s discovering my little problem, at least as long as Matt didn’t come over to find out why I wasn’t back at the party. As quickly as I could, I ran down to the kitchen to find something, anything, that would leave a dark stain. I looked in the fridge. Grape soda. Perfect! I went back upstairs, took off my shorts and underwear, placed them next to the cum-stained spot on Matt’s bed, and dribbled soda over the whole mess. Then I dug a pair of Matt’s shorts out of his dresser, put them on, wadded up my own shorts, underwear, and Matt’s sheets into a ball, got a clean set of sheets from the hall closet, and remade Matt’s bed. Viola! The scene of the crime had been cleaned up, the evidence of the crime effectively destroyed, and all of it done in such a way that would give me an alibi for being gone so long. I was impressed!
Then I became conscious of the fact that I was alone in the house: Paul was no longer in his room. Fuck, where did he go? On my way out, I looked into his room and saw his baseball uniform on the floor. He had showered, changed clothes, and left. Had he gone out to see his friends? Was he out with them now bragging about what a good cocksucker I was? Was he telling them how I was the “fucking best”? And were those same friends of his thinking to themselves that they knew I was a faggot all along and that though they hadn’t beaten me to a pulp before, they sure as hell were going to do so now?
I was so scared. But, back then, I was so stupid, too. What I didn’t realize at the time was that there was no way Paul would tell other people about me. First of all, he’d have to tell them that he let a guy suck on his dick, by which I mean, let a guy suck his dick rather than beat him up. Instant attack was the assumed natural reaction in a place so rigidly homophobic. Not having done so would be seen as merely a mistake. Actually letting the fag act on his desires, well, that would make Paul practically a fag himself.
Second, Paul told me he would have made me do it long ago if he had known about me, which was the same as to say that he planned on making me do it again, and he couldn’t do that if others knew, because that would definitely make him a fag. So third, no matter what Paul might have done, he’d end up looking bad, maybe even as bad as me. He thus had just as much an interest in keeping this quiet as I did. The only question which did resolve itself for me that night was this: would Paul tell Matt? The answer was clearly no, for the simple reason that Matt and Paul did not get along.
Never mind all that for the moment, though. Right then the problem before me was how to suddenly appear back at my own party without making an entrance everyone would notice. I walked across the street as casually as I could, and stood on my doorstep for a deep breath. My plan, such as it was, was to step in quickly and make a beeline for my own room. There I would deposit my little bundle of dirty laundry, then slip out into the backyard, and try to work my way back into the fold from the shadowy outer edges of the crowd, all the while pretending to have been gone for a much shorter time than I actually was. Given that I could be a social wallflower par excellence, that wouldn’t be too hard, even if it was my own party. The truth was, I had been gone for over an hour, but I doubt many people had noticed.
Well, it was a good plan, but I never got to see if it would work. I opened the front door, and who should be standing right there, but Matt! “Hey, man, where have you been? You’ve been gone for, like, an hour or something. I was just about to come over and look for you!” Typical Matt. Exuberant, loud, the center of everyone’s attention. Half the people in the room were looking right at me. “Hey, man, what’s that under your arm?” Now all the people in the room were looking at me.
“Oh this, well, I... ah... I... Well, I...” Okay, I thought to myself. You can do this. To make this work, you’ve got to really sell your story. Say it like it’s really true: “Oh, dude, these are, like, your sheets. I was, like, sitting on your bed when I spilled this grape soda all over. Yeah, on my shorts, too. But don’t worry, I changed the bed, and I can stick this in the laundry here at my house. Oh, and I’m wearing a pair of your shorts. I hope you don’t mind.”
“Yeah, I noticed.” Matt said loudly, as much to me as to everyone else in the room. He seemed to have bought the story, though, which was good because that meant everyone else would buy it, too. I smiled and affected a mock sarcastic tone.
“Well, I’d hoped to be able to slip in here without anyone noticing, so that I wouldn’t look like a dufus on my own birthday!” I said it loud so that everyone would hear. A few people started to laugh, and then Matt did, too.
“Yeah, okay buddy.” He put his arm around my shoulders. “I guess I kind of blew that one for you, huh.” I breathed a big sigh of relief. Everything was going to be okay. Matt was laughing, other people were laughing. Even I was laughing. Then another voice spoke up.
“Oh, that’s a bunch of shit. You know he was over there wanking it, probably thinking of you, Matt.” It was Mark, one of the guys from the baseball team. Mark was probably my least favorite of Matt’s friends. I hadn’t really known him that long since he went to public school before high school, and he was kind of a jerk. He was mostly that way because he was jealous of Matt. Matt was a better ball player. Matt was more popular with the girls. Plus Matt did better in school, so Mark had plenty to be jealous about. Why Matt was friends with him, I didn’t know, but by insulting me, Mark was really insulting Matt. To him, I was inconsequential, but by suggesting that I was a fag, well, that rubbed off on Matt, cause now Matt would have to defend me. Normally I would have been terrified. I was, after all, standing there with the mess I made from sucking another guy off tucked neatly under my arm. But somehow I instinctually knew that Matt was Mark’s intended target. Plus, Mark was a little drunk, which, for the time being, surprised me more than what he said. There was liquor at my party? Where was my mom?
Matt was right on the ball. “Shut up, Mark. More likely he was thinking about your sister, like you do.” The line was perfect. Everyone present had a laugh at Mark’s expense, and he couldn’t respond with much more than a “fuck you.” That little scene over, I gave Matt a look that said, “What the fuck is going on here? Where did the liquor come from?” He knew exactly what I meant.
“Everything’s okay. Don’t worry about it. Go throw the laundry in your room, and I’ll get rid of Mark. Meet me in the kitchen, and I’ll explain everything.”
“Where’s my mom?” I asked.
“It’s okay. She went upstairs to go to bed and left me in charge. Now hurry up because I’ve got a surprise for you.”
So that’s what I did. I ran upstairs but didn’t turn on any lights because my mom’s room was across from mine, and if she was asleep, I didn’t want to wake her up. I noticed that the door to her room was cracked, probably so she could hear if things got too rowdy downstairs, so I poked my head in. She was definitely asleep, so I went ahead and shut her door all the way and went to my own room. I knew it like the back of my hand, so I didn’t need a light. I went straight to the closet and stuffed my dirty secret into the hamper. When I turned around, I realized someone else was in the room, and standing right behind me!
“Holy shit!” I nearly screamed in terror, but a hand came up and covered my open mouth. At the same time his other hand grabbed me under the armpit to hold me up, because I nearly fell over. Tears burst out of my eyes, and I tried to yell for help.
“Shhh!” the stranger said. Then I knew who it was. Paul.
Seeing that I was no longer going to scream, he took his hand away but still held my shoulder with the other. “Holy fuck! You scared the shit out of me,” I blurted out in a shouted whisper. “What are you doing here?” Paul didn’t say anything, but stepped back into the darkness. There were some rustling sounds, and then one with which I was very familiar. A zipper.
“Come here,” Paul whispered. I did. Then he put his lips to my ear. “Suck my cock.”
“What?” I nearly shouted, my earlier outrage at him boiling up. He put his fingers to my lips to quiet me and then whispered again.
“Suck my cock.”
Still I was heated. “You’ve got to be kidding me. Are you fucking out of your mind? There’s no way...” but Paul cut me off.
“Suck... my... cock.” He forcefully enunciated each word, in a way that made me know I was going to do it. I was mad at him, yet I wanted to do it. Part of me tried to resist, but I didn’t struggle against Paul. My battle was internal. The very last thread of my self-control fought to hold me back. Yet since I belonged to him now, totally and completely, his will was my will, his desire my desire. From now on, there would never really be any question of that. Knowing full well that this was the point of no return, I struggled against myself and I lost.
So there I was for the second time, kneeling before my teen god, sucking his cock, expressing my devotion. In that moment, the dreams of so many months were again made real. How he got up into my room, I still don’t know. But at the time I didn’t care. All that mattered to me was his beautiful, reddish pink, rigid as a baseball bat, sweet-tasting cock. This time, the experience was just as earth-shattering as before. After letting me give him a tongue bath for about thirty seconds, Paul just grabbed both sides of my head, forced himself into my mouth, and started fucking. I nearly choked a few times, but that didn’t slow him up a bit. He fucked and fucked and fucked, pummeling the back of my throat with his cockhead, slapping my chin with his ball sack. I did my duty and formed my mouth into the best receptacle for his raging penis that I could. I held myself up so that he could get the best angle, though he guided my head with his hands. His thrusts were too rapid and forceful to give me time to swallow, either my own spit or his precum, so it all just leaked out around my lips and ran down my chin.
Paul was there to get off and get off quickly, so I knew it wouldn’t last long. Yet I was in heaven. All the cares of the world melted away when I had Paul’s dick in my mouth, for he was the unparalleled center of my existence. When I served him, everything else was behind me, out of sight. There was Paul and only Paul, and it was my job to see that he got what he wanted. My job to see that his demands were met. My job to see his desires fulfilled. My job to see that his experience of pleasure was in fact an experience of erotic rapture, to see that not only would he lose himself in a moment of bliss, but that he could ride that wave of desire to a higher plane, one of pure power. I would make him forget his own name, forget he had a body, forget he was even mortal, because he was my king and I would worship him like a god. His transcendence was my happiness, and in return, he would feed me with the gift of his body and sustain me with the fluid of his maleness, the substance of which would soon be flowing through my very own veins. His semen. My lifeblood. His sexual apotheosis. Meaning to my being alive.
Paul didn’t waste time. He fired five copious volleys into my mouth, completely emptying himself, and had three additional near-dry contractions. Cum went down my throat and up the back of my nose. It spilled down my chin and dripped onto Paul’s sandaled feet. I wasn’t going to waste a single drop if I could help it, not after working so hard to get it in the first place. When he pulled his dick out of my mouth, I swallowed hard, snorted down what stuck in my lower nasal tract, used my fingers to wipe up what ran down my chin, and used my tongue to lap up the globs of cum on his feet. Paul took great pleasure in my licking his feet, especially around his toes. To me, it was an obvious expression of my humility and unworthiness in his presence. To him, it proved how eager I had been, and how thankful I now was. Unable to stop myself, I started to lick him just to lick him. His feet, his ankles, his lower legs. I couldn’t taste him enough. I had served him well, and he dispensed his magnanimity upon me. His ego was soaring.
“Good boy.” And that’s all he said.
Was I no better than a dog to him? Could I do no more than sit in front of him, my eyes filled with adoration and yearning anticipation? Could I do nothing but instantly respond to his command, and beg for affirmation after a trick well done? Could I feel nothing but blinding gratitude when he fed me the treat in his pocket? Could I not express my loyalty to him in any other way than by licking, licking, licking wherever he’d let me?
When I came back to the human world, I got up quickly, shut the door to my bedroom, and cut the light on. After the first few blinding seconds, Paul started to laugh at me. He was wearing a tight fitting pair of tan shorts, a Hawaiian shirt, and a pair of Tevas. He looked gorgeous. I followed his gaze and looked down at my (Matt’s) shorts. Fuck, I had done it again. A huge cum stain all over the front, from an orgasm I had been too preoccupied to even feel. And a little rivulet of cum running down my inner thigh toward my knee. Further, the front of my shirt was wet from all the spit that dribbled down my chin and neck. Fuck, what have I done? There’ll be no explaining this one, to anybody. Seeing my dilemma, now it was Paul’s turn to think fast.
“Quick, change into something else, anything, just do it fast.” Another command. I unhesitatingly responded. I kicked off my shoes, pulled off my shirt, and pulled down Matt’s shorts. I wasn’t wearing underwear. For the first time, I was completely naked in front of Paul. He stood there, with his own dick still hanging out, watching my every move. But, seeing me in the buff, his expression never changed, never signaled his approval or disapproval of what he saw. Paul merely waited for me to do what I was told. I used my shirt to mop up the cum in my crotch and on my leg, pulled some new clothes on (my fourth outfit of the day—would I be able to keep it clean?), and threw a third soiled mess into the hamper on top of the first two. No grape soda to hide anything this time. Oh well. I put on my shoes. When I was ready for the next command, Paul continued.
“Good. Now when you go down there, tell Matt you stopped to talk to your mom, and then decided to change your shorts because, since you were free-balling it, you thought you’d do Matt a favor. You needed a new shirt to match, and since you’re doing the other part of his laundry, you’ll do the shorts, too. See? Easy. Now go.”
I have to admit, Paul was pretty good. I didn’t say a word but listened to everything he said. I had been gone about eight minutes so far, and Matt was expecting me back in less than one, so every second needed to be plausibly accounted for. When all the people downstairs saw me in yet another set of clothes, who knows what they’d think. But that didn’t matter. The only one who was important was Matt. If he believed it, everyone else would too.
I started to go back downstairs, but Paul reached out his hand to stop me. “Wait a sec,” he said. Then he used his left hand to milk a few lingering drops of cum out the end of his flaccid dick, and with the first two fingers of his right hand, he wiped them across my upper lip in a layer so thin it felt like he’d only dabbed on some moisture.
“Don’t lick it off,” he said. “I want you to smell me.”
I nearly creamed another pair of shorts that evening. It was such an incredible thing for him to do, like he was marking me with his scent but in such a way that only I would know whose territory I was in. Having that thin layer of cum across my lip, just under my nose, sent a clear message: “I am your master, and there will be no others.” He wanted me to know that amongst that whole crowd of people downstairs, I belonged to him, and only to him.
More particularly, it confirmed a new reality. From now on my friendship with Matt could continue, but it would be a lie. Matt was now a false idol. To worship him in any way, to seek his guidance or protection, would be a sin of disloyalty to Paul. Paul would be my one true god. Paul would teach me how to offer perfect adoration. Paul would make me see that I lived in a world that had no place for me but to be here with him. Paul would train me, bring me into the fold of his complete domination, and show me that my only worthy function would be to act as a willing receptacle for his penis.
Unable to resist, I licked the remaining cum from the tips of Paul’s fingers and playfully sucked them up to the second knuckle, my eyes trapped the whole time in Paul’s warm, piercing gaze. I wanted to suck him—just to do so, just to feel myself in the act of sucking him. Just to feel, in the most tangible way possible, his domination over me. Whenever, wherever, whatever. I would be a good boy. A good, good boy.
I started downstairs just as Matt, wouldn’t you know it, was starting up to look for me. “What the hell,” he said quietly, so as not to wake my mom. “What are you doing up here... and another outfit? That’s like the third tonight and your fourth today!” Leave it to Matt not to miss a thing and to immediately state the obvious. How time would have stopped had I said, “Well, Matt, I just finished sucking off your little brother. And for the second time today!” But I didn’t say that and instead gave him the story Paul had scripted for me. It was the second time that night, and really the second time in my life, that I deliberately lied to Matt’s face. I hated doing it, but I had no choice now. The scent of Paul filled my nose.
Matt explained that he sent Mark home (how I don’t know), and then he took me back downstairs to my waiting surprise. Unbeknownst to me, Matt had also gotten a few bottles of bourbon with my birthday beer and stashed them in my backyard. One of them had been found while I was over in Matt’s bedroom sucking Paul, and had already made the rounds. Hence Mark’s sloppy condition earlier, and the general air of exuberance drifting through the party. No one else had got drunk, Matt made certain of that, and now with the second bottle, Matt gave me a birthday toast. It was a neat surprise. We were all gathered in my mom’s large kitchen and Matt passed around a package of little plastic Dixie cups, the kind you take pills with. He poured everyone who wanted one a small shot, making sure to fill mine all the way to the rim. Then he raised his glass, with everyone following his lead.
“This is one awesome party, and we’ve all had a great time. But let’s not forget the reason we’re all here!” Matt could have been speaking of himself, but at his point he turned to look at me, as did everyone. My extreme shyness got the best of me, and I blushed a deep red and started to get a small tear in my eye. Matt gave me the most beautiful smile, the most tender, happy look in his eyes. “To our friend, and my best friend...”
But before Matt could say my name and finish his toast, he saw my eyes get big and turned to look where I was looking. There was Paul, his usual cocky self, standing right in front of the crowd, hands on hips and grinning wildly. Matt’s face registered surprise for a second, then irritation, but he continued, almost as an afterthought: “...well, happy birthday!” to which everyone responded in kind, loudest among them Paul. Matt glared at him.
The toast over, several people came up to me, patted me on the shoulder, shook my hand, told me what a great party it was. I thanked everyone, and then the party resumed into a background blur of music, talking, and laughter. The bourbon burned in my stomach and made me cough, but soon melted out into a warm glow. It was my first hard liquor, and it went down much more smoothly than I would have expected, but not without a bite. Then Paul walked up to me, with Matt, who had gone round to collect the “dead soldiers,” close behind.
“You mind?” Paul asked me, picking up the nearly empty bourbon bottle. “I didn’t quite make it in time for the toast.” Matt was looking at me from over Paul’s shoulder, with a look that said, “Don’t worry, I’ll get rid of him.”
“No, it’s fine,” I said, directing my gaze to both Matt and Paul. Paul picked up a cup, emptied out the last of the bottle, and, with a sort of manly flourish, threw the bourbon back in one gulp. Matt didn’t say anything, but clearly looked pissed off.
“Happy birthday, dude,” Paul said. “I didn’t really mean to crash your party, but it blows over at my house, so I thought I’d come over here. I didn’t bring a present, but I’m sure I can think of something special to give you later.” I was about to die, as I knew that Paul was deliberately rubbing my face in what had happened earlier, but the slight sarcasm in his voice kept Matt from thinking anything strange was going on. To him, Paul was just acting like the typical prick he often was. Matt was ready for him to leave.
“What the fuck are you doing here, Paul?” Matt said, the impatience in his voice plain.
“Oh hey, bro, I didn’t see you standing there, right behind me,” Paul responded, as if to say, “Go fuck yourself.”
“Look, Paul, you’re not invited, so go home.”
“Bite me. You can’t order me around.”
“I don’t have to. Either you’re going to leave, or I’m going to carry you out.” Matt meant what he said.
“Well gee, bro, don’t you think our host should decide who stays and who leaves?” Paul challenged.
“Yeah, I think he should.”
Now the liquor I’d just swallowed really started to go to my head. This was more than I wanted, more than I could handle right now. My best friend and my new master standing right in front of me, each demanding that I choose between them. How can you placate two angry, jealous brothers?
Matt looked furious, and Paul, his blood also rising, just smiled with overweening self-assurance. I realize now what Paul was doing by guzzling down his brother’s liquor and then forcing a confrontation between them. He was testing me, seeing if I would be loyal. Finding out if I would be a good boy. And how could I not be? Looking at him standing there asserting his authority over me, over Matt, over anyone who dared to challenge him, I grew weak-kneed, and I had to resist with all my might the desire to kneel down and suck him off on the spot. The decision was a no-brainer.
The decision seemed a no-brainer to Matt, too. You can just imagine the look of shock on his face when I said, meekly, “No, it’s okay, Paul can stay.” It was my first visible act of loyalty to Paul, my first visible act of disloyalty to Matt. The first felt his dominion confirmed, and the second his recent acts of generosity betrayed.
“Thanks, man. I won’t forget this,” Paul said. Then he looked at me intently and cocked his head. “Hmm. Looks like you’ve got a bit of a milk mustache, there.” I think my face must have gone white at that point. At any rate, I suddenly felt very, very sober. When I didn’t respond or even move, Paul reached out and kind of scratched at the corner of my upper lip with his thumb. “There. That’s better. You can’t see it anymore.” Paul just smiled, and I knew he was laughing his head off inside. I wanted to cry. Matt just fumed.
Then, as smoothly as he had insinuated himself between Matt and me, Paul made his exit. Patting me on the shoulder, he said, “Well, you boys have a good time. I’m going to check out the rest of the party while I’m here.” And as he walked off, he added, as though speaking to himself, “Hmm, somebody’s wearing a really nice cologne around here...”
Looking at Matt, I blushed with shame. What had I done? What could I do to make it right? To make things worse, five or six people lingering in the kitchen had seen the whole thing. In the glasshouse world of teen male egos, I had blundered through like a blind elephant. Each broken shard now cut into me as the tears of pain, regret, fear, humiliation, and repentance rolled down my cheeks.
“What’s the matter with you?”
“Matt, I’m sorry. I just thought... well, I... I didn’t want you and Paul to...,” but I didn’t really know what I wanted to say. The anger in Matt’s eyes burned straight into the wall behind me as I tried to reach out to him. He turned to walk away, but not before telling me exactly what he thought about my lame attempt to justify my actions. Given the same situation, how would you respond?
“Fuck you, man. Fuck you.”
Look for “Chapter Five. A Long Distance.”
Comments may be sent to paulsgoodboy@hotmail.com.