The Problem with Milo

The Problem With Milo, Chapter 1

Warning! This story is a work of fiction. Any similarity between the fictional characters and any live person is purely coincidental. This story contains fictional descriptions of sexual activity between consenting minor youth. If you are under the age of 18, and/or if you are offended by this content, and/or if it is illegal in your jurisdiction to possess or read such material, please leave now.

All rights reserved. No part of this story may be transmitted or reproduced in whole or in part in any form or by any means, mechanical or electronic, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the Author or Publisher, except where permitted by law. Copyright (c) 2015 by Flip McHooter.

Please send your comments to Flip at 1977.flip@gmail.com both good and bad.

The Problem With Milo, Chapter 1

"Hey, Mason. Whatsup? Have you seen the new campus cop?" Izzy asked as he stealthily pulled up alongside of me as I was crossing the drought-parched lawn, slowly making my way to fourth period class. Izzy was one of my best buds and one of those guys who seemed to be nowhere and everywhere, all at the same time.

"Haven't yet. Should I be scared?" I joked, as I gave him a fist bump.

"No M, don't think so. She's as big as a baleen, so we can definitely outrun her. No worries there, bro. But inside scoop says she's as mean as a pit-bull at a gang banger's backyard dogfight."

"Seriously? A whale pit-bull hybrid? She sounds interesting. I'll be on the lookout. Thanks for the update, budzilla." Not only was Izzy seemingly everywhere all the time, but he was one of those people that knew almost everything that was happening both on and off campus. After a comfortable pause, I asked, "So, everybody blowing out the pep assembly today?" It was Friday, and our Titans were playing the second-place Raptors at an away game up north. Surprisingly, our football team was 4 and 0; a monumental achievement since half our team was mostly made up of small Asian guys. I guess what they lacked in size, they made up in speed.

"Absolutely. The whole crew: Dimey, Raquel, One Eye, Rob Banks..."

"Haven't seen Rob a while," I interrupted. "He still wearing that magic purple underwear?" According to him, it was the antithesis of what folks wore over in Utah.

"Don't know for sure, although Rob says he hooked up with some pretty lady the other day. So I guess it's working for him," Izzy said, absentmindedly rubbing his lumpy package with his big new smartphone. He was the smallest guy in our close circle of friends, but he was legendary in his own right. He had the fattest, longest bratwurst in school – a fact that he was very proud of and wouldn't hesitate to show off if someone wanted to see it. Girls or guys. No worries there. It didn't seem to matter much to him. If he had ever used it with somebody though, he never said anything about it to me. He wasn't anything like Rob, who broadcasted his conquests to anyone who'd listen.

"Well, good for Rob. Now maybe he'll stop boring us with those whack sex stories of his."

"Yeah. I hear what you're saying, bro. There's enough players around here already. Listen, got to jet. See you later?"

"Yeah, most def. Later, dude," I said, but it fell on deaf ears since he was already gone. Like I said, he was weird like that. Sometimes I'd wonder if he had a cloaking device.

Back at the mission at hand, I started following a long line of other teens – and one nine-year-old Einstein – climbing up the stairs towards my classroom at the end of the old brick wing. I was headed to AP European History, a class that had absolutely no meaning to me and was sure I would never need to know about in the future. However, my intention was to get through both high school and college in record time, with as many grants and scholarships as possible, hence the AP classes.

As I walked into Mrs. Sturdevant's class, it made me sigh. It always felt like Alcatraz on a hot day like this one. It's constantly damp and close with the oppressive sweaty smells emanating from all the kids crammed in the old room: adrenaline-charged cheerleaders and goofy stoners seated all around me. Someone told me once, probably Izzy, that when they're wasted, they have a `High-Q' and that's why they did so well in this class. I wasn't so sure I agreed with that. And of course, class wouldn't be complete without the Goths who always stink of gasoline and whiskey and sit in a group on the other side of the room humming Jizz Stains songs. If Sticky Jizzy himself walked through the door with his sparkly BeDazzled accordion, they'd probably have an aneurysm and expire right there on the dirty terrazzo floor.

Mrs. Sturdevant was going on and on, and I thought I was gonna drop dead right there on the spot, blood leaking from my ears. I'm pretty sure that no one would have even noticed me, while I laid there on the Formica desk like an upside-down lifeless cockroach. I was pretending to listen while I slowly looked around the room, not paying all that much attention, and I guess I must have caught the teacher's eye because she asked me, "Mr. Conover, thanks for joining us. Something I can help you with?"

Flustered, and still out of it, I could only answer with, "No, ma'am," making the other kids in the class laugh at me. Assholes.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, the old, balding teacher started up again, babbling on and on about the Calvinists or some other kind of crap. I wished she would just shut the hell up already. It was uberwhack. I looked at the clock again for the zillionth time, then turned to my left to see Milo Chavez sitting next to me in the corner. He was slumped over on his muscular arms, his red Titans baseball cap backwards on his head, slobber drooling from the side of his open mouth like a Bluetick Coonhound and pooling a small lake of spit onto his homework. I'm pretty sure he was having a great dream though, since his foot was shaking up and down just like my dog, Floki does when she's dreaming about chasing cats or catching ReddiWip straight out of the can.

Milo wasn't a real friend, actually, barely even an acquaintance. Just some hot-looking jock in my class that lived a few blocks down my street. I've known him since like first grade or so, just like I've known Izzy and Rob – but they don't seem to know much about him either, other than he was a baseball jock – a good one at that. And because Chavez and Conover are so close together, Milo and I were usually only a chair or two apart when we'd have to sit alphabetically in some of our classes over the years. He could be a dork sometimes, but he has a slammin' body. A senior like me, his dark-brown curly hair is styled in some new way that looks epic on him when he takes off his cap – which isn't very often. He's got huge muscular arms from his time spent on the baseball team. I looked down at his big, burly legs as they disappeared sharply into his sockless black and white checkered Vans. Totally hot. Strange thing though, is that we were born one day apart, in the same hospital, no less, and we were two weeks away from turning eighteen.

I was still bored out of my freakin' mind, and couldn't stare at Milo forever, so I started to draw in my notebook, daydreaming, something that I'm particularly good at. I kept thinking about sneaking off campus to chill with my buds over in the Eucalyptus Grove in particular, and pondering my boring life in general. This year has been super-frustrating for me, because I can't wait to get the hell out of here and go to college where I can just be myself. It's difficult to be an almost adult. And not because I pretty much know I'm all gay, either. Not bi, not questioning and certainly not a T, or any of those other letters they seem to add by the week, that's not it. I get I'm gay. I'm chill with it. I'm just not ready to come out to everybody yet. Or maybe I am. I just don't know. I think the day I graduate, I will, for sure. Or not. I'm not sure that it even matters much anymore.

What it is though, is that I was always the dorky, lonely white kid with no moves whatsoever until I learned to surf a few years ago. Not to mention that I'd never done anything sexy before because I don't want to look stupid in front of a guy, or more likely, come on to some hot, sexy dude who turns out to be straight and I'd end up getting my face bashed in, even though I could take care of myself, thank you very much.

And it's not that I don't want a sizzlin' mash-up with a rockin' hot boy either! Of course I do. It's just that only one person knows my secret, because honestly, I don't dress like a male model straight out of GQ, or get all campy with the twinks in the drama club, or watch Looking on HBO (even though I do sometimes late at night on my tablet). I'm me – a regular dude that wants to get out of here, get a good job, go surfing, meet a cool guy and settle down and buy a baseball franchise. I'm kidding about the last part, `cause really, what I had left over from my part-time job filling shopping bags at the Village Market leaves me shy of a billion or two.

I looked towards the clock again, but it hadn't moved, of course, so I zeroed in again over at Milo once more since I sensed he was awake now, and was moving around in his seat. When I turned my head, I spotted him doing something with his hand in his lap, but I couldn't tell exactly what was going on. Weird.

So I went back to doodling, drawing microscopic pictures of mammoth dudes with ginormous hard, leaky Big Jims and the twins doing nasty things to each other. We're sitting in the last row – he's next to the window – so I was the only one who could easily see him except for Mrs. Sturdevant, who wasn't paying attention because she was sitting on the edge of her desk busily picking at her flaky scalp. A stoner guy named – get this – Speed, was in front of me, spaced out and watching his fingernails grow. Next to him and in front of Milo was this pretty Chow Ying girl, profusely taking notes from everything Mrs. Sturdevant was saying as if it were secrets from the I Ching. If a hard cock slapped her in the face, she'd just smile and say, "Tank you, but I no like meat." She's always so nice like that. Makes me want to hurl.

All of a sudden, I got a punch to my arm, and I looked quickly over to Milo, who's giving me this huge shit-eating grin. His bottle green eyes were wide open, brilliant and mischievous looking, but I couldn't figure out what the hell his problem was. But shit, he's so cute when he smiles like that, which doesn't happen very often, unfortunately. His whole face lights up underneath his cap and you just want to swim in those deep dimples, cavernous and dark and oh, so yummy. His parents must have been beavers because – Damn!

Milo's liquid eyes locked onto mine for a brief second, then darted down to his crotch. Then back up. And finally back down. Holy shit. I followed his eyes all the way down the second time, and finally I saw it. Fuck me! He had his hard, hefty-looking Boeing 787 controller sticking straight up and out of the fly of his stylishly old and intentionally ripped jeans. What the hell was he doing? Here in class? This is where my co-worker friend Tracy would say `Scandalabra!' Shit, I thought, what do I do now? I couldn't give myself away, especially here in class – no freakin' way. It was just way too sketchy. This could be some kind of sick prank or a setup he and his jock buddies cooked up that I sure as hell wasn't going to fall for. So I shot him a hard glance with my face all twisted up that I hoped portrayed something like `what the fuck, dude?' Next, I flipped him off with both fingers for an added bonus. A double fuck you, thank you very much.

I tried to catch my breath, because all I could think about was his hard dick. It looked so freakin' awesome! From what I could see, it wasn't too big or too small, but it was sort of on the fat side. It was hard to tell since it was still part-way in his pants, but it sorta looked like mine, which I thought was strange. Same color, same size. Totally weird. But unlike me, his was uncut, but didn't seem to have all that much skin. The head was dark pink, and I could clearly see a shiny drop of pearly-white dick juice starting to blurp out the meaty tip and sparkle in the harsh fluorescent light. It made me uncomfortably horny. Not only that, I had to stealthily rearrange my throbbing tackle without anyone noticing me.

Totally confused, I went back to drawing in my camo-colored notebook. I'm trying to make a gay, X-rated Walking Dead comic book. Unfortunately, I'm nowhere as good as Charlie Adlard is – if he's even gay, which I have no idea. But I couldn't focus because my heart was beating so damn fast, and my dick was straining uncomfortably in my favorite Unico boxer-briefs.

I so wanted to look over and get another peek at that hot stiffy. Damn, it was so pink and luscious looking. After what seemed like hours, but was probably only seconds, I took another quick glance out the corner of my eye, but unfortunately it was too late. His cock was tucked neatly back into his faded jeans. He was staring out the window on the other side of me now, looking up at Channel Five's `Action Now!' news air ship, probably coming back from filming some crazy freeway chase as it slowly turned in the eastern sky to line up with the helicopter port on the top of the Mediterranean-looking Rincon building. I was both relieved and disappointed. Relieved that I wouldn't be caught staring at his salami, and disappointed because I really wanted to take another look at this guy's hard, pulsating junk. Oh, well. I guess that was all for the better.

A couple of minutes later, I get a second punch on the arm, this time not so hard as before, and he tossed a small folded-up piece of paper onto my desk. Geez, I thought, were we back in third grade? Playing finger football at lunch on a rainy day? I looked dubiously over at him, while at the same time unfolding the communique. It said in dark block letters almost too small to read, "Meet me after class. We can ditch to my uncle's house down the street and party. Just you and me. I'm house sitting for him. He's got a great place. We'll have fun. Please. I really need to talk to you."

Oh crap, I thought, what's up with this guy? I had no idea what was going on with him, but wasn't going to fall for this steaming pile of donkeyshit. So I scrawled back, "No thanks. Gonna chill with my buds back in the Grove like we do every Friday." I passed it back and continued drawing. I tried not to look at him, but when I did his face had a strange combination of worry and irritation, and somewhere in his bright eyes, sadness. That made me wonder. What if this wasn't a joke? Was it possible he just wanted to goof around with me? Like, goof around NAKED? Shit, this day sure had taken a strange turn to freaky-deaky land.

Next thing I know, here comes another note. I picked it up, but didn't open it right away and instead, looked over at him to try to figure out what the hell this was all about. His face was unreadable now, and kind of pale. I slowly unfolded it and read the new note. It said: "I'm serious. I'm house-sitting for my uncle. He's away for the week. He has an awesome pool, and some seriously badass tequila. I want to talk to you about something important. Please?"

It was five minutes until the bell rang. Mrs. Sturdevant was handing out our homework assignments for the weekend, and the class was starting to get all rowdy, wanting to get to the gym. I was totally conflicted now, not sure if Milo was sincere or fucking with me. On one hand, I was super curious about what he wanted to talk about. On the other hand, I was still worried that this was some sort of a setup. Like his jock friends trying to prank me or something. And on my third hand, if I had one, was that there was no way I was going to the stupid pep rally.

But still, why was he asking me to party at his uncle's house? Just the two of us? It seemed so weird to me. Like I said, we'd known each other a long time, and we'd run into each other sometimes, but we weren't real friends. We didn't dislike each other; it's just that we hang in different crowds and we never had much, if anything, in common to talk about.

I took a deep breath, trying to get my brain to wrap-around all of this, and decided that I'd go with him, but he had to tell me what this was all about before we got to his uncle's house. Besides, I've always been taller than him, and I'm a lot faster. I might not be a buff-ass jock like him, but I'm in good shape from surfing and working out a couple times a week at my neighbor Angus' garage gym. And I run almost every day. I'm no slacker. I know how to defend myself, growing up with three asshole older brothers. I don't like to fight, but I will if I have to. Plus, I'm fast, and my bro's will tell you, I can take a punch. But I had to find out what this was all about. I just had to know. It was starting to drive me insane.

So I scrawled on the dirty paper, "Okay, this better be good or I'll have to f you up." I tossed the note to him and watched his reaction as he read it. When he did, that great smile invaded his face again, and the color came rushing back. So, so epically beautiful when that grin transforms him, and I had to repress a deep sigh.

"Awesome," he said under his breath, and leaned over and whispered at me. "Follow me down the stairs. We have to hurry so that new campus cop doesn't catch us." He smelled an intoxicating mix of Diesel and sweat and cocoa-butter soap and something else I couldn't quite put my finger on. It was so heady and masculine that I wanted to lick his armpits and sample his crotch right there in the middle of class.

"Okay," I whispered back. I was all too familiar with ditching class. At least once or twice a week, I'd try and ditch to meet up with my crew in the Grove.

The bell finally rang, and everyone made a wild sprint for the door. This had to be the longest and weirdest f'n class on record, I'll tell you that. I followed Milo out the door, across the hallway and down the swarming and jam-packed concrete stairs. We were out of the building in record time since Milo seemed to be blazing past everybody and making a wide track for me in his wake. Guess he didn't want me to get lost or something – like I would. We navigated across the quad, then cruised the rest of the campus, practically sailing down freshman and sophomores with no regard. We slipped out the west-side gates with ease. Hardly anyone was cutting the assembly – just us and some Goths, and a couple of Chapstick lesbians from the girls' volleyball team who waved when they recognized Milo.

Crossing the busy street, we headed down Halcyon Drive and out of sight. We were maybe two dozen or so houses away from the school when we made a sharp right turn on a side street I don't remember the name of, and a fast left, then down and around to a dead-end street. It's not a place I was familiar with, and I started having second thoughts. I slowed down and pulled Milo aside and asked, "Dude! Put it in park for a sec. What's this all about?"

He turned and moved up close, right in front of me. Almost too close. Even so, it was the look on his face that had me wondering once more what this was honestly all about. He looked pale again for a second, like he didn't know what he was doing or why he was out here with me.

Finally, after what seemed like he was staring at me forever, he said, "I've been thinking how I can ask you this, Mase, and I guess the only way to do it is just blurt it out. It scares me. It truly does. And, you know, this is really hard for me...so, uh...don't be pissed, okay? Please? And you can't tell anyone. You have to promise."

"Geez, dude. Don't freak on me!" I backed up a bit, and after a long contemplating pause, I said, "What do you want? Do we need to come up with our own special fist bump with fingers wiggling and amazing sound effects? A pinky swear? All right, I promise." I had no idea what he wanted to tell me. Who knows? Maybe he caught that Cambodian flesh-eating virus, and he was gonna be dead day-after tomorrow. Or Mad Cow or some other brain eating disease new to this part of the world that could be coming in with those little kids from Guatemala that keep crawling under the border fence over in Texas. I was skeptical, but infinitely interested.

"Okay, well here goes," he said, standing up straight and looking intently at me with those beautiful green eyes again. "My dad got a new job in Dubai that pays like a buttload of money. I mean, like a lot! He can't pass it up. So, um, the bad part is, he had to sign a contract to work there for the next two years. And the worst part is that our whole family has to go, too."

I digested that for a second, and said, "That doesn't sound so bad to me. I mean, it sounds kind of exciting, actually. I think I heard they have some fly wave pools in some of those malls." I didn't see what the big deal was. Sure, he'd miss his friends, but how cool would it be to move to a wealthy foreign country like that? Maybe live in one of those super-ginormous high rises on the 134th floor and play Camel Polo all day? "Hey! Doesn't everybody drive Bentley's over there?"

"I'm not sure. But the thing is," he stammered, "Is that...you have to swear you won't say anything...okay? Is that...I...I'm gay, and I won't ever be able to have a boyfriend. Not over there, anyway. Shit! They throw guys off roofs over there. And...please! Don't get mad...but I've noticed you looking at guys lately in class. Like Dom the Bomb when he walks past us in class in those ridiculously tight pants. And even Speed Weed, in front of you with his flat ass-crack showing over his gross basketball shorts he wears all the time. And, um...oh god...I can't believe I'm saying this but...I think you're cute, Mase, I really do. Don't look at me like that! It's true! And your long hair totally turns me on. So I thought this might be my only chance to do it with a guy. A cute guy! Like you, Mason. Please don't hate me. I really like you and I'm totally attracted to you. I have been for a long time now, and I don't want to wait any longer."

"Mother fucker! You're fucking hilarious!" I yelled, looking around and balling up my fists because I was really close to punching him. "So where's the freaking camera? Those cable dudes standing around that van over there? They filming us? You and your baller buds going to punk me and make a YouTube video or something?"

"I'm serious, dude," he said, moving back in a bit too close one more time. "You don't look at girls, really. Just the guys. I've been studying you. And if you were watching me, you'd see that I don't look at girls all that much either."

That sure shut me up. Obviously he made me. All I could do was stand there and look at him. Talk about being conflicted: Here's this super-hot jock who wants to get all sexy with me, but then again, this was from Shortstop Milo, a guy who could really wreck my world if he told everybody! And seriously? He wants me to be part of his mercy fuck? No way. I don't do shit like that. At least, I don't think so.

Totally pissed, and extremely confused, I did what I normally do: I turned around and started walking back towards school, ignoring him and this whole Springer drama. I still had time to hustle over to the Grove and mix it up with my buds.

The next thing I know, he's right behind me again, and suddenly grabs my arm hard, spinning me around. Scared the crap out of me. "You think I'm playin' with you, right? Well, check this." He leaned in and kissed me. FUCKING KISSED ME! Right there on the street where anyone could see. I tried to resist, but his lips felt so soft and firm, and warm too. I was almost sure I heard music playing in the background, but it could have been the gardeners somewhere running their weed-whackers. It was all I could do not to wrap my arms around him, pull him in tight and melt into his sizzling body.

It was chaste and sexy and scorching and soft and hard all at the same time. Holy shit! I totally dug it. Unfortunately, it was way too short. When we broke apart, I stood there looking at him with crazed wonderment, and just as quickly anger started to creep in. I mean, c'mon! First, he flashed me his hot looking boner, then, he kisses me on the lips on some sidewalk where anybody could see us. I couldn't believe I was suddenly thrust into the vortex of this crazy drama of his.

"You like it like that, dontcha?" he smiled.

"What the fuck are you doing, dude? Fuck!" I yelled, pushing my hair back behind my ears and taking another quick look around. I was steaming, and the tips of my ears felt like they were about to spontaneous combust. "Anybody could see us, you fucking asshole!"

"I don't care anymore. Let's go get naked," he said softly. "I want to do crazy-good things to your body. All over. Every inch. I promise I'll make you feel soooo awesome. I mean, damn, you're just too hot for your own good and it's driving me crazy, buddy. Let's go."

That made me laugh, sorta sarcastically, and when I did, he looked like he was going to cry, or maybe burst into flames, possibly both. He seemed like he was sincere, and I truly wanted to believe him, but still, I wasn't a hundred percent sure I could trust him yet. I don't think I've ever changed my mind on something so fast, that affected me so much, in such a short period of time. It was making my head spin. Finally, after blowing out a deep breath I said, "Okay, where's your uncle's house? We seriously need to talk first. And no more freakin' PDA's out here on the street. Got it? You may be leaving for Dubai, but I'm stuck here. I don't need some crazy reality TV drama bullshit to live with."

"Okay, okay. Yes! It's right over there. This is going to be so awesome, Mase. I promise!" he said, pointing across the street and down a little bit. His body was suddenly electrified, and it looked like he was doing everything in his power to keep from walking around on the tip of his toes. "C'mon! Let's go!" He grabbed my wrist and shit, we were off.

Damn, he was excited. Me? I was too, but still skeptical. And yet, I have to admit that I had the hardest boner of my life straining deep in my shorts, and my boxer briefs were starting to get moist and clammy. Plus, with him pulling me along, I had a great opportunity to check out his great looking meaty-jock-boy buns, making me even hotter. I couldn't stop thinking about the possibility of what we were about to do. We rushed across the street, and past a couple of nice-looking houses with perfect picket fences, dead lawns but perfect pretty pink rose bushes. Thank God nobody was out to see us, other than a couple of fast-moving FedEx guys, and they weren't paying attention. As we rounded a curve, he started to walk across the front yard of one of the largest houses on the street. No lawn, just cool native plants and gravel pathways, which everybody was doing these days because of the drought.

I couldn't believe this guy's house. It wasn't like the cookie-cutter track houses that I've always been in. Oh, no. This one had to be designed by an architect, because it was so different from anything else around here. It was modern, and low to the ground. There was a big garage off to one side and angles of corrugated metal, and tangerine and dark sage colored plaster on the other part of the house. The few windows on the front were like ones in an office building, kind of tinted dark, but sexy and totally fit the design. A house that should be in the foothills instead of this part of town.

Milo turned around and fished out his key from his tight back pocket, giving me another unobstructed view of his delicious looking bubble-butt. He told me to wait on the porch while he punched in the code to the alarm inside. When he yelled for me to come on in, I had to suck in a breath because the interior of the house was freakin' outrageous. While he went around and opened all the big sliders to let in the warm breeze, I took a second to look around. The outside façade totally betrayed the interior. I don't know what I was expecting, but it sure wasn't this.

The big house looked like it had come out of some fancy-schmancy magazine, like Gold Coast Digest or Architectural Monthly. The awesome one-level design seemed to defy explanation and couldn't be made to fit into any one particular style, at least to me. You walked up a couple of steps into this cavernous space – perhaps eighteen or twenty feet tall and maybe thirty or forty feet wide. Huge. It was sort of loft style, maybe, with the living room, media area, dining room and ultra-modern kitchen all opening onto one another. Big, ancient wooden beams and exposed, hand-forged wrought-iron trusses seemed to hold the place tightly together. It even had a tinted and polished cement floor that felt amazingly cool on such a hot day.

Off to the left, the living area was modestly furnished, with low, comfortable looking contemporary furniture pieces, all in bright colors sitting on large, vintage looking Persian rugs. It played nicely off the white-washed walls and the light wood ceiling and beams. There were a few pieces of big, colorful abstract art on the walls, and what looked like an antique stone fireplace that might have come from a castle in the moors of Scotland, or stolen from the set of Game of Thrones. On the other side, the kitchen was awesome, and huge too. In an oddly redundant fashion, there were two of every appliance, but it didn't seem out of place. This house would be so epically great to throw a killer party in.

The building was sort of U-shaped, with two wings running down either side leading to what I figured were the bedrooms in the back. The coolest part was the middle. The inside of the U was constructed with tall windows and tinted sliding glass doors that looked out over a huge sparkling azure pool. It looked to me like you could open all the sliders and go from room to room around the pool. It was totally private, and quiet, too. Big urns with plants, miniature fruit trees with colorful flowers spilling over their sides were placed strategically around the deck, softening up the hard cement lines. At the back, at the top of the U, was a row of hedges and thorny bushes that kept the neighbors at bay, so the pool and the center of the house were completely private.

After I closed my mouth shut in amazement, I looked back at Milo, who asked me what I thought. "You like?" he said, crossing his big meaty arms over his broad chest.

"Yeah, man. It's freakin' dope. What does your uncle do to afford a house like this? And he lets you stay in it when he's gone? You're golden, dude," I said.

"I know," he said as he closed and locked the front door. "He's a motivational lecturer for large international corporations specializing in cyber intrusion and security or something like that. He's so damn vague all the time. I hate that about him. Anyway, he's never home, though, because he works like crazy, and is usually off flying somewhere around the globe. Right now, he's doing a couple of meetings in Moldavia, and then he's off to Brunei. I get to stay here and watch the house. It's awesome."

"Is it okay if I'm here? You won't get into any trouble, will you?" I asked, not that I really cared one way or the other. I was only trying to play nice, for now.

He shrugged his shoulders, flexed his big guns and gave me that shit-eating grin of his, and said, "I won't tell if you don't."

"What's that supposed to mean?" All of a sudden, my nervousness came back full throttle. Once again, I was thinking this was a bad, bad idea. "Dude, I'm so out of here. I don't want to cause a stink and get anybody in trouble."

"No, wait. It's nothing, really. I've never had someone over here before. I swear. You're the first. My uncle told me no parties, which makes sense, and besides, he'd literally kill me if I did. Anyway, he's cool, mostly. One friend over to go swimming or something isn't a big deal," Milo said. "Come on over here and let's have a shot of tequila like I promised you. He has the best stuff. You'll like it."

That sounded interesting because I had downed tequila only a couple of times before and kinda liked it. I followed him into the spotless, shiny kitchen. Off to the side, splitting the kitchen from the dining room, was a huge, incredibly tall, antique pine cupboard that was full of beautiful colored liquor bottles. It looked like he had one of everything ever distilled.

"Won't he miss it?" I asked. "And how do you know which one is the best stuff? The only tequila I've ever had was some cheap crap I had at a beach parties a couple of times. It was sorta good, and did the job. Usually we always drink Jack."

I felt momentarily bad for wanting to drink his uncle's tequila, but I rationalized it by my need to fortify my courage to go through with this thing we were doing, whatever it was. Plus, my boner was starting to ache with the possibility that I might actually be having sex – real sex – sometime soon. So a shot sounded good right about then. I really needed to chill for a moment.

"I know it's good because he only buys the best. Besides, I've sampled a few of them," he said. "Here, I like this one." He opened a fragile-looking glass door and reached up high to the top shelf where he pulled out a very tall, very narrow dark-brown bottle with the numbers 1942 on it. It was more than two-thirds full with amber-colored liquid. It looked so expensive I was scared to touch it.

"That's a cool bottle. Do we need a beer chaser or salt and quartered lime?" I asked.

"No, dude. Good tequila like this tastes awesome all by itself! You just take a shot straight and savor the flavor. It's not like that stuff at parties that makes you choke, or what peeps blend margaritas with to make it go down easier." He set the bottle down on the big granite bar, reached in another cupboard to pull out a couple of shiny crystal-looking glasses that reflected brightly in the early autumn light. They must have cost his uncle a small fortune. He uncorked the bottle with a pop, and carefully poured a good amount into both glasses. "Here, try this. It's epic."

I almost laughed out loud at this, because he was being the perfect gentleman, the perfect host, the James Bond of Harbor View High School. He picked up the glass, and when I picked up mine, he clinked my glass and said, "Salud!"

Down the hatch they went, and I gotta say, it tasted outrageously great. So great in fact, that the smooth and smoky flavor had me smiling. I could get used to this stuff.

"Good shit, huh?" he asked after I downed the second one, smacking my lips. That stuff worked fast, and now I was feeling the burn deep in my gut. Like after a hard workout when you haven't eaten in a while. Or when you wake up with a throbbing woody that needs attention like right fucking now.

"Yeah, it's great. But, listen Milo, we still need to talk," I said.

"We can talk later. Wanna go for a swim? The pool heater's on and it's nice and warm. Let's get naked and go skinny dipping!"

"Milo, hold on a second, man," I said, grabbing his arm. "What's going on? Seriously? Do you really want to get naked and fuck? Just like that? I mean, this seems so bizarre. Fast, too."

"Geez, you sound like a girl. `Fuck'. That word seems so cold and clinical. That's not what I want. I want to make love to you. Slow and sweet. Something to remember me by. Don't get weirded out by this, but I've been fantasizing about being here with you for a while now. You're not just some random hook-up to get my rocks off."

"Screw you! I'm no girl. I'm only saying that because I figured that my first time would be different, is all. This whole morning has been freakin' crazy and not something I was expecting to do, you know? Especially with you, no offense." I said trying to rationalize all of this, but it didn't seem to be working. "It's just going kind of fast and I'm trying to catch up here. Obviously, you've been thinking about this for a while now, but shit, I'm into this for what, like forty-five minutes?"

I couldn't believe what he said next.

"Don't you like me? I thought you liked guys? Here's your chance to get lucky," he said, with a shy smile. He paused while he took off his cap and ran his fingers through his slightly curly hair. Suddenly he manned-up. "Seriously, I like you. I've been attracted to you since the first time I realized I liked guys. Or even before. I don't know. It's weird, this strange attraction I have for you. I told you already that I thought you're hot. Way hot!"

"But..."

"Sometimes I stare at you when you wear that dark-blue Hollister shirt that's too small for you. I love it when it rides up your belly showing off that hot flesh between your belly button and your secret place. God, you look so good in that. I can't believe you never caught me staring at you. I get lost in your long blond hair and your eyes, too. Shit, I'm surprised I haven't failed Mrs. Sturdevant's class because I'm always looking at you. Listen, I want to do it with you, not just because I have to move, but because I like you. I want you to be my first. I...I, um, I want you to be the one to take my butt cherry."

"Oh, God. Are you serious?" I asked. I was beyond incredulous, and I started to giggle, something I do when I get nervous. "Do you even know how to do it? And I'm telling you right now that there is no fucking way you're going to fuck me up my fucking butt. So don't even think about fucking doing that fucking shit to me. That – I am not prepared for." No matter how hot he was, I honestly wasn't ready for that. Well, not yet, anyway. Maybe, sometime. But not now. Strangely enough, I always thought that when I finally did it with a dude for the first time, I'd be the bottom.

"That's cool," he said. "I can do other things to you to make you feel good. And yes, I think I know how to do it. Haven't you watched Internet porn before? You can screw me like Johnny Rapid gets plowed. I know I'll dig it – just like he does. And you will too once you sink your bad-boy up my backdoor. Besides, I've been practicing with a dildo."

I stood there in his uncle's kitchen in total freakin' shock. I'm sure my eyes bugged out of my head as far as they would go because I couldn't believe this hot jock just admitted that. It was absolutely the last thing that I could think of that he would spew from his lips. I busted up laughing over the mental image of him in front of the computer, one hand on the mouse and the other hand shoving a big, glossy-pink dildo up his ass, sitting all sideways in his chair.

"Oh my God! I don't believe it. I fucking don't believe it!" I said, sitting down on one of the titanium bar stools and slapping my hands on the glossy granite counter. I had no idea who this Rapid guy was, and couldn't believe that Milo knew porn actors by name. I hoped his fantasy porn-dude wasn't some screaming queeny guy, or worse, some wanna-Bieber all tatted up. The few and far-between times that I looked at porn, I always felt that there's nothing worse than seeing some macho-looking, buffed-out tattooed guy throwing his leg's towards the stars, screaming like a Disney princess the second he starts getting plowed by some equally large, grossly-hairy guy with a huge, angry-looking brick-hard cock.

"It's true. I ordered the first-timers training dildo kit online and had it shipped here to my uncle's house. Not the cheap shit made in China that has poison chemicals and god knows what else in them, but the expensive ones made here in the good ole USA. You can get anything you want from Amazon," he said matter-of-factly. "I'm on the third one now. It's big, long and kinda bendy, and feels so..."

"STOP! I know, well, not really, but...just stop, already."

"C'mon. Let's go," he said, grabbing my hand and pulling me to my feet, making us change the subject. "The water's great and feels so super sexy when you go skinny dipping, and I want to get naked with you. I mean it, Mase. It will be so sensual and awesome. We don't have to screw if you don't want. Let's just go for a swim and see what happens next. There are lots of other things we can do to get our sexy on. Just us – our secret. I promise. No one will know."

"Give me another shot, and maybe we'll see where this goes," I said quietly, acquiescing. I was slowly starting to lose my resolve. Or warm up to him – not sure which. Plus, I was having trouble trying to keep thinking with my bigger brain and not the little one between my legs that was rapidly boning up and tenting my shorts again for like the fiftieth time in as many minutes. That tiny brain seemed to have so much power over me lately.

He poured us another drink, and barely before I had a chance to down it, he towed off his surprisingly clean Vans and swiftly shimmied out of the rest of his clothes, dropping them in a small heap on the shiny-gray floor. He stepped back and put his hands on his hips, showing me he was serious about doing the nasty.

Watching him strip off his clothes, standing there buck-ass naked in the middle of that great big space with his pulsing A-Rod pointing up to the sky, made me tremble with uncontrollable lust. I remember seeing him naked once or twice before when we had to shower after seventh grade P.E. during middle school. Back in the day, he was no rock star. But now, wow-wee! He obviously had done some serious working out getting fit for baseball because it totally showed. Nice pecs, a flat stomach with exactly the right amount of definition, and a cute mole an inch or so above his perfectly trimmed pubes. Actually, that one was weird because I had one too in almost the same place.

And his dick! So hard, throbbing and sexy, sticking almost straight up towards his belly button like a banana and covering his perfectly groomed treasure trail. Droopy, shaved balls swinging causally to and fro. I knew right away this was no joke, and he wasn't faking me out. There wasn't going to be any spy cameras or dorks from the baseball team crashing in on us. No, this was for real. And instantly, with that realization, I was all in.

Please send your comments to Flip at 1977.flip@gmail.com both good and bad.

Special thanks to my editors Hans Schreiber (on sabbatical) and Paul S. Stevens, both prolific authors here on Nifty. Be sure to check out their stories.

Finally, please consider making a donation to Nifty to keep this great site running.