Surprise Party

Author's Note:

This story depicts acts of a sexual nature been males. If this isn't your cup of coffee, then I hope you realize that you're not at Starbucks. I know that this chapter is quite different from the previous, but please bear with me. This chapter contains the beginnings of a plot and I want to explore it. I will pepper the story with sex later on, but for now, please give it a try.

Chapter Two

The warm spray from the showerhead came with force. It beat against my back, easing the tension that had risen from the dream. I had woken large and swollen but after finding my phone and seeing the time, I realized I didn't have the time to take care of it. Instead, I eased the shower to cooler water near the end, shriveling me to a more public appropriate state but lacking for my frail ego. I toweled off, one for my body and one for my thick hair, and walked to my room naked. I'd grown accustomed to leaving the damp towels in the bathroom hamper and air drying commando along the upstairs stretch of hallway that Jesse and I shared.

Jesse was the one that had told me about the surprise party. He felt that it would be safer for the party goers because I don't like being surprised; as my first reaction is to grab my pocket knife, slash, and then see if the person I cut deserves an ambulance. I met him near our doorways, our bedrooms sharing one wall.

He spared me a look as he pulled on his boxers, his dick soft and bouncing as he played with the elastic for comfort. "Any hot water left? I tried to make sure I didn't use it all." He let his eyes trail down my still damp body.

I enjoyed the polite attention and said, "It's okay. I needed the cold water anyway."

Our group of friends had always been really close. Personal boundaries don't exist when you become a part of our quirky group. If someone was naked and it was physically appealing, you don't turn away and offend them. The girls will verbally compliment the guys and vice versa, but when it comes to the same sex, the minimal response of a lingering look sufficed.

"Yeah," he started, "I heard you moaning in your sleep." He laughed, deep and hearty, as I blushed. He reached over, tweaking my nipple, before pulling his hair into a loose ponytail.

Jesse was the only one who had hair longer than mine, down to his lower back while mine barely was past my shoulder blades. He was also one of the tallest people I know, standing five inches taller than me at six-three. His build was bigger than mine; lean muscles played along his broad shoulders and down his arms. He reminds me of a modern day Viking, a warrior in flip-flops and jeans. Flat and firm, his stomach was muscled but not with the washboard abs that most guys strive for, but more like the promise of them.

Our coloring was quite different from each other. My raven black hair matched my dark brown eyes and complimented my perpetually tanned skin. He was a light against my darkness. His irises were rimmed with the green of spring leaves shifting to the pale blue of a winter's sky before falling into the black pit of his pupil. They were startling eyes, ones you never forget. His hair was similar to Andrew's, sandy brown, but it looked lighter with the naturally occurring shoots of buttery yellow highlights. The darkest hair he had was his full beard, the sandy brown of his head without the highlights. The arm hair was blond, so was underneath his armpits, and since he was the one that broke me of my fear of nudity, I knew that he had a groomed bush of the same golden color. It was as if in his making, someone chose two palate colors for his head but used them separately for his body. His tan was different than mine. While mine was genetics, his golden hue was due to many mornings out in the surf, paddling for that one wave that got him through his day. I envied his body hair as I had none less than that on my arms, legs, and those special parts that nature deemed worthy of extra insulation. He once expressed his want for my smooth body. I guess we all want what we can't have.

I got dressed in record time, black t-shirt, blue jeans, and red Chucks. I usually let my hair air dry; blow drying turns it into a black cloud. I took the stairs three at a time, the bone carved piece sign pendant around my neck bouncing with my strides. I landed at the bottom at an awkward angle, the woven rug shifting against the polished hardwood floor. Almost landing on my ass, my arms flailing until I caught the banister, I yelped as I lost my balance and fell backwards into Jesse's arms.

"Whoa," he said, "ease down. You made it to twenty-three. Try and make it to twenty-five, okay?" He straightened me up, literally lifting me to my feet before setting me back onto the ground.

"Thanks. I'm such a fucking klutz. Cracking my head on the floor wasn't exactly on the game plan tonight," I laughed, a little dizzy from how swiftly he brought me standing.

I turned and felt the hammer hit my forehead. Dressed in chocolate brown slacks and emerald green button-up shirt, Jesse looked good. His hair was pulled back in a loose ponytail with some unwilling strands falling forward and framing his face. When he caught me, my still wet hair touched the shirt and turned the water stain a darker green. With the shirt on, his eyes appeared to be the greenish blue of Caribbean waters.

I must have stared too long because Jesse laughed, put his arm around my shoulders, and laid a brotherly kiss on my head. "You look good, too."

I blushed. "Trust me. I've learned that with our group of friends, I'm the homely one."

"You doubt yourself too much." He spared me a look, unreadable but there nonetheless. "Come on, let's get going. We're already late."

We drove in his car to the south side of town, near the local nature preserve. I rode shotgun. Around the ninth mile marker, he slowed and took a sharp curve onto a dirt road carefully hidden behind shadows. The car bounced along the puddles from the rain we've been having lately. He parked near an old oak where the road curved farther in.

"We have to walk the rest of the way. I don't think my car could handle these puddles," he explained as we got out. "Everyone's down there waiting for us."

We strode side by side, easing through the darkness with the help of the full moon bouncing in silvery light across the gathering pools of rainwater. There was a light mist coming down, the kind that was barely detectable until you noticed the sheen of water on your skin.

"Hey, I forgot," he said, breaking the peaceful silence, "I got part of your birthday present on me." He patted his back pocket and brought out what looked like a green plastic test tube. Turns out it was one of those cigar tubes and as soon as he popped the top open, I smelled what was in there.

I sniffed the air and gently moaned. "Orange Kush?"

"Good nose," Jesse said, handing the blunt to me along with a lighter. "Happy Birthday, man."

Smiling, I torched the end and puffed on it until the tip turned orange and the taste of Fruity Pebbles crept down my throat to my lungs. I groaned as my taste buds welcomed back the taste of dank weed. "Oh, sweet jeebus."

We passed it between us as we walked. Several times we had to follow a path around the mud puddles as they got deeper. By the time we had finished the blunt, we reached a part of the road where he had to stay close behind me on the narrow line of grass or go wading through several feet of water.

"I have another present for you," he said.

I wasn't really paying that much attention to him, focusing on not slipping into the small lake that encompassed the width of the dirt road. It was as if I had tunnel vision, my only goal was around the murky water, so when Jesse's arms snaked around my waist I started and almost fell.

"Whoa," Jesse laughed, his hold on me tightening. He held me inches above the ground again, effortlessly. When he set me down, still chuckling, he said, "Why so jumpy?"

"Sorry," I said, catching the laughing bug, "I'm stoned." As my laugh faded, I realized his arms were still around me, holding me close enough that I had to take a step forward to make room for his legs. His body was molded against mine intimately, fingers firm against my lower stomach, and when I tried to pull away, he held on tighter. After a few seconds of trying to get away, I relaxed and asked, "What're you doing?"

Jesse rested his chin on my shoulder, our heads now side to side, and repeated, "I have another present for you."

Just as I began to ask exactly what it was, he placed a kiss on the bend of my neck, freezing me in my tracks. His grip on my waist eased up but I was a statue. My buzz from the weed had been put on the backburner, the feel of his warm lips against the soft skin of my neck taking nearly all my attention. I thought I imagined it but that was dashed when he kissed me again, this time behind my ear. One arm left my waist and he tilted my head sideways until my neck was stretched to look at him.

"What're you—"

My voice was taken from me in a rush of his lips against mine. I froze, again, but a beat later, snaked my tongue into his mouth. Jesse welcomed it, playfully nipping at it, as he slowly turned me around to face him. The mud beneath my feet squished, but even with my new shoes destroyed, I didn't care. I took all that he gave me. I wrapped my arms around his neck and pulled him father down into the kiss, which started tentative and reluctant, but became a hunger for lips, teeth, and tongue. I breathed him in through his mouth, consumed his passion, as his hands on my biceps squeezed and broke us into two gasping guys instead of a mass of flesh and need.

When I caught my breath and regained sanity, I almost kneed him in the nuts. Keeping it low, I screamed at him, "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

Jesse smiled and tried to guide me closer to him. I resisted the urge to jump away and made sure there was a respectable distance between us. "What's wrong?"

"What's wrong is," I started through gritted teeth, "I've made my peace with the fact that I can't touch you guys and then you do something like this!"

Though my anger had risen, Jesse placidly stared me down until my blood pressure settled. He always could. His welcoming smile compiled with his winsome stance can always bring me back from whatever emotion I had to just plain awe that this guy would even talk to me. Self esteem issues? Who? Me?

"Listen," Jesse said, "what did I tell you when you came out to me?"

I thought about it for a second, my mind going back several years. "You said that you weren't gay."

He nodded. "And?"

I smiled when the memory of his words came back to me. "But that you'd sleep with me." Then I frowned. "Literally sleep with—but no sex. What is going on?"

He took my hand. "I'm giving it a shot," he said, beaming.

I drew my hand away, this time with little resistance. "Giving what a shot?"

Instead of answering, he moved me towards him, one hand on the small of my back and the opposite arm draped around my shoulders. In this position, with his strength, I knew there was no way for escape, only release. He ground his groin against mine, drawing a whimpering exhale from me as I felt his hard dick bump my thigh.

This time, when he held my hand, I didn't pull away, but I did have enough sense in me to ask, "What about Jules?"

His fingers entwined with mine, he stopped the gentle stroke of his thumb on my palm when he heard his girlfriend's name. "She's waiting at the party," he said, clearing his throat.

Addressing him but watching our hands as his fingers restarted their comforting touch, I asked, "Does she know about this?"

Hesitating, Jesse said, "No, she doesn't."

"We shouldn't do this," I said. "Fucking around with you is one thing. Helping you cheat is another."

"Tell me," he said, thrusting his crotch harder into mine, this time, causing a response from me in the form to shocking pleasure from dick to the sudden lump in my throat. He still held me but not as tightly. "Tell me you don't want to do this and I'll let you go. Tell me that you don't want one night with me, all of me, and this gift was never presented."

I could feel the potential of escape; I heard the truth in his words. If I reject this offer, I reject it forever. I sighed and rested my head on his chest, wrapping my arms around him like a cherished, childhood teddy bear. "I want to," I said, almost stuttering, "I want to have you, even for just a night, but I like Jules. She's always been nice to me."

"And I'm trying to be nice to you," he said, running his fingers through the strands of my hair until he found the black tie. Unbinding my hair, he continued his exploration. "In the three years I've known you, you've ask nothing for yourself. You stand idle while we go through women."

"Pretty boys like you guys are known to be heartbreakers," I joked, breathing in his scent through the partly unbuttoned shirt.

"Yeah, but I didn't expect to break your heart."

I'm certain he felt me tense in his embrace because he suddenly grabbed me by my arms and put just enough space between our faces for our eyes to meet, our lips a mere breath away. "No, you don't do that. Not with me," he said. "I love you. I may not love you the way you want to be loved, but I do love you in my own way. No one will change that. Not even Jules. So let me help ease some of the pain and longing we've caused you."

I was with him up until that last part. I backed away from him as much as the small pond would let me. "Does everyone know? Is that what this is? A pity fuck because you're all tired of seeing me moping around? Well, forget it. I don't need your pity."

"It's not pity," he said. "It hurts me seeing you pained. Why won't you let me help?"

"Because Mark likes to be in control of everything," a familiar voice said from behind, startling me.

I looked around, trying to find the disembodied voice.

"Leave, Logan," Jesse ordered, eyes concentrated on me. "We'll be there in a minute."

As if by the conjuration of his name, Logan stepped out of the shadows and into the moonlit night. He was a scant shorter than me. Tight jeans hugged his legs, ripped with holes and fraying at the edges. A shirt I recognized him wearing before paled into a light purple under the silver light of the full moon. His brown curls were still an unruly mop atop his head and the matching beard still needed to be filled in at certain spots. "I would, but they sent me out looking for you after an hour passed and still no birthday boy."

Startled, I asked, "How long have you been there?"

Grinning ear to ear, he responded with, "Long enough to see that Jesse can get hot and heavy with a guy."

"Logan," Jesse said through gritted teeth. "I would leave, now. This doesn't concern you."

I knew that these two particular boys were different from the other friends I have. Undoubtedly, they were best friends, but for some reason, Logan has been a caustic thorn on Jesse's side as of late, and it didn't look as if the night was going to prove any different. As Logan stepped closer to us, following the narrow strip of grass and mud, the only path around the puddle, Jesse put his hand on my shoulder and moved in close. The movements made me feel awkward, not because it was very much like he was marking his territory—though that's what it clearly was—but because he faltered in the middle, and through that small opening I noticed fear.

"I know Mark a little bit better than you," Logan taunted.

"Cornering him won't get you anywhere."

Jesse noticed what he did, staring at his hand as if it had moved on its own accord, and immediately released me. "So what? You fucked up your attempt and now you think you're entitled to get a second chance? Mark isn't something you can put in a box after you're done with it and expect him to still be there. You can't just use a second life to try again."

Eyes volleying between them, I asked, "What attempt?"

They thoroughly ignored me.

"Halloween doesn't count!"

"Getting too drunk is not an excuse," Jesse retorted.

Then it hit me what they were talking about. Last Halloween marked a very embarrassing day for me. Drunkenly, Logan and I had engaged in some heated kissing and groping in a dark alley down from bars on Front St. Though I had achieved erection in record time, Logan's innate sexuality preference kept him from getting hard in front of another man. He promised to make it up to me, to what purpose I still had no clue, and in the months that passed, it had still yet come to fruition. His seeking redemption at this moment also was a piece of this increasingly annoying puzzle.

Aggravated by both parties, I had enough of the double talk and voiced my opinion, which usually leads to trouble, by getting between and poking them on the chest hard enough to bruise them and almost break my finger. "First off, I'm right fucking here, so don't talk about me like I'm not. Second, there's something going on between you that you're not telling me, so spill."

To emphasize my point, I pointed at Logan as I said the last and tried my best to keep a straight face. I don't like being serious, since each time I try ends up with me breaking down in laughter at the first sight of uncomfortable silence. I must have been able to control my expression because neither laughed from the stare I gave.

"I wasn't lying, or pitying you," Jesse said. "I meant what I said. I love you, and it hurts seeing you so lonely."

"I'm not lonely," I protested, weakly. "I've got you guys."

Logan stepped closer and when Jesse didn't argue, he stopped beside me and put an arm around my waist. Our difference in height made my arm fit perfectly across his shoulders so that's where I put it. This type of touching between us guys has made certain people uncomfortable in the past but we've jumped that hurdle a long time ago. It just made sense to fall into the comfort given than reject it because of social taboos.

"You've got friends, countless of them," Logan started, "but you never have one you can call your own, a special one who helps keep the bed warm at night. We've noticed that recently, but according to Nicole and the girls, it's been going on for a while. There are some of us who want to rectify that."

At the mention of her name, I filed a reminder to pinch my best friend in the neck next time I see her. "I confided in her," I whispered.

"She didn't betray you," Jesse interrupted. "She was just there when we realized what was up with you. We kept going into different scenarios, the next one worse than the prior, until she set us straight."

I shifted away from Logan and pushed them together so I could face them side by side. I could never think straight when they touch me. "Yes, but this was my private pain, my own personal hell. Is the reason why there's a surprise party because of this? If so, I'm not attending. I may be alone, but that doesn't mean I don't have my pride."

I started walking back the way we came, my head spinning from the sudden surface of a subject I assumed was personal has now turned public. The shame I felt overran the lust that Jesse had brought in me and the anger that Logan stirred. Nearly halfway back to the car, I remembered that I didn't drive here, Jesse did. Frustration and anger boiled forth as my breathing quickened. I could tell that if I kept it up for a minute or two, I'd be hyperventilating, so I did the only thing that would ease everything.

I punched a tree.

Within the fourth or fifth connection against the outer bark of the pine, I noticed my hand began slipping more and more as the punches were thrown. Blood stained the stripped portion of the tree, the rough bark now just so much red stained litter on the forest floor, and I kept hitting it, imagining the face of all those who I used to torture my psyche.

Jesse came first, the taste of him still on my tongue, then Logan. A whirlwind of images formed on the tree trunk; Justin, Adam, Brandon, Matt, all of them were targets for my profusely bloody fists. I was in the middle of a right hook aimed directly at Andrew when someone pulled me away from the tree, their arms locking mine behind my back. I struggled against their grip, managed to get one arm loose, but was finally contained when Jesse took one arm while Logan kept his grip on my other.

"Let go!" I struggled a few more times but between my heavy breathing and the throbbing of my bleeding knuckles, I ended up dropping my weight until I sagged against their hold. My knees touched water and for the first time I realized that I had been moved away from the line of trees and was now calf deep in muddy water. "Leave me alone," I said, between panting breaths.

They dragged me back onto solid ground. My pants were ruined, so when I touched soft grass I sat down and leaned against the very tree I was pummeling, not caring that the seeping mud was soaking my jeans until they wore like a second skin. I picked up a bloody piece of bark and it wasn't until then that the pain in my fists hit. My dominant hand, my right, had the biggest gash, a tear in my fist that started from the knuckle of my index finger, across the base of my middle finger, and ending with a constant, pulsing stream of blood at center knuckle of my ring finger. My left hand fared better, simple scratches with one exception of a slight laceration on the thumb. I tried my best to not move my hands but morbid curiosity had me closing and opening fists until the pain got to be too much.

I heard the sound of fabric tearing and looked up to see Logan ripping up his shirt and winding the tatters around his own fist. Jesse bent down next to me and held my hands by the fingertips, careful not to cause much strain on the wounds. He tried to use the light of the full moon to see but the constant blood flow was too distracting.

Logan knelt on the mud beside me. "We have to get you to a hospital and get you stitched up. Let me bind your hands."

"Looks like I'll be missing my surprise party after all," I whispered.

Jesse looked up from where he was helping Logan wrap first one hand, then the other. "What?"

"Nothing," I lied. "I just liked that shirt."

They exchanged a look but finished up on my wounds without another word. They guided me back to Jesse's car. I felt bad for ruining the interior, but they both told me to shut up as Jesse drove with Logan in the backseat, reminding me to keep my hands elevated. Only three more hours until the clock strikes the twenty-third anniversary of my birth.

I fucking hate birthdays.