WAITING FOR A MIRACLE
by Donny Mumford
Chapter 10 'Sex Week'
When I sit at the kitchen table for dinner Monday night, both mom and dad stop what they were saying and gawk at me. After a few seconds, I'm like, "As you can see, I got a butchered haircut at Sal's Barbershop. I'd appreciate it if we left it at that without any comments from the peanut gallery, whatever 'peanut gallery' even means."
Mom says, "Sal has always given you good haircuts, Matthew. You look fine," and dad says, "Christ, it's a welcome change. You were starting to look like your grandfather when he was nineteen. He lived through that ridiculous hippy-sixties-and-seventies 'look.' Hippies with hair down to their asses." Mom goes, "Nick! Please, don't be crude." There is nothing about that I care to comments on, so I don't, which ends the discussion about my haircut.
Tuesday morning at work, however, a few people who have never said a word to me, feel free to comment, saying things such as: 'did you get the Indian's name who scalped you, Matt?" and "A home haircut, huh?" and "Your mom needs to lighten up on the heavy-handed clippers usage, Matthew," and a few innocuous "Got a haircut, huh?" comments. First of all, I didn't realize those people even noticed me before this, and second of all, the fact they knew my name surprises me. To all commentators, I just smiled and shrugged, although it was embarrassing.
I felt the most self-conscious about what Bobby would say, but all he said was, "We both need to change barbers, bro." I muttered, "Yep," and we started working. I'll get 'shit' about my haircut from the guys too when I see them at Kent Park or the bowling alley, but breaking balls is what they do anyway, and I kinda brought this on myself. If I hadn't gone so long between haircuts, the change wouldn't be so noticeable; it would simply be my normal shitty haircut that everyone is used to seeing. Plus, I know this humiliation will be shortlived because after everyone has their say, then that's it, it's over.
The hell with my haircut anyway. Much more important to me is the way I'm expertly handling my job, mostly without needing to think much about what I'm doing. Yeah, I've reached the point where I'm able to do my job without thinking about it, and that's given me the time to, haha, do haircut rationalizations pretending it's no big deal. Most of the rationalizing was bullshit, though. I can't help but care what other people think, which is why I got embarrassed this morning, and I'll feel humiliated when I see guys at Kent Park or the bowling alley sooner or later too.
So, yeah, I'm not as cool about hearing the snarky haircut comments as I tried talking myself into a couple of minutes ago, but so what? Having a boyfriend doesn't change everything, but it deadens the blow of what others have to say. Having a boyfriend is the coolest thing that's happened to me so far in life. I sometimes get a hard dick thinking about Mickey. Not just about us doing sex either. Just being with him, I feel wanted, appreciated, and I'm comfortable with him too. It's a relief to finally be comfortable with someone.
And, what a fantastic thing it is to have an exciting expectation, meaning, the expectation of Mickey and me doing 'it' after work. When you have 'something' great to look forward to, the normal irritations of everyday life seem less important. And, Mickey isn't all that goofy-looking either. I was wrong about that. You see, I focused on his imperfections, whereas now I focus on his good features. Yeah, I see him in my head right now and, no, he isn't 'cute' per se, but he isn't bad-looking. He might even grow into his 'looks' and, you know, be handsome at, say, age twenty-five. For now, I like his 'looks' just fine, and the haircut he got improved his appearance tremendously.
Someone taps my arm, interrupting my musings, "Let's grab a cup of crappy coffee, Matt." It's Bobby, so I nod at him and then smile because he's so good-looking it's sick. Yeah, I haven't abandoned my senses as far as guy's 'looks' are concerned. It's that I've adjusted the relevance of a guy's looks. It's weird, I admit, but I'd rather be looking at Mickey's face right now than Bobby's pretty one. And that's not to say that looking at someone as attractive as Bobby isn't very pleasant because it is.
Bobby and I each put a dollar in the vending machine for coffees and then sit together at a table for two. Bobby goes, "Um, Matt, this is awkward, bro, but I gotta come out and be honest with you. Um, as much as I liked our afternoon together that Friday, I'm really stuck on this girl, Babs, um, Barbara. So, I won't be able to get together with you for a while. I don't know how long." I mumble, "Jeez," and he goes, "It's humiliating to say, but she has me wrapped around her little finger, bro. Omigod, though, I can't get enough of her pussy."
Ha, big deal. I go, "You've got it bad for this Babs chick, huh?" He goes, "Barbara, not Babs. She gets pissed when I call her 'Babs.' And, Holy shit, I get in frames of mind where I think no one is as good at sex as, well, as it was with you, for example. Now, however, I think that's the case with Barbara."
I sip some 'suck' coffee and mutter noncomittally, "Wow, yeah, I understand..." He holds onto my arm, excitedly saying, "Matt, you need to try it with a girl, dude!" Trying to be sophisticated about sex, I'm like, "Yeah, Bobby, no problem, you're probably right that I need to try that. Currently, however, I'm seriously into a relationship with this awesome dude, so..."
Bobby knows I'm inexperienced, but he doesn't throw that fact in my face. He lets me pretend I'm blase and cool about sex. What he doesn't know is, I actually am blase about him dumping me, and that's because of Mickey. Bobby goes, "Do you have a pic of this guy?"
Well, how weird is it that I don't have a picture of Mickey? I never thought about taking his picture. I go, "No. Do you have one of your girlfriend?" He says, "Sure," and shows me about ten photos on his phone. She's an average-looking, albeit slightly slutty-looking girl with long hair and a small ring through her septum. Ugh! I go, "Hot! She's hot, Bobby," and he goes, "Tell me about it, bro."
So, that's that. Bobby and I are kaput as far as sex goes, but we're friends. Back at work, neither of us stops for lunch again today, although I could have and still been over my hourly quota. I decided not to, in support of Bobby. I'll eat lunch when we both can. So, yeah, Bobby and I are friends and, anyway, we couldn't be sex-buddies 'cause I'm abiding my boyfriend's 'rule' that I'm faithful to him.
Tuesday is an easy day at work. And then, since this boyfriend thing is still very new, I'm stupidly excited as I drive to Mickey's house. I need to control my eagerness by obeying the speed limits, and I don't want to seem geeky when I see Mickey, so, as usual, I'm talking myself into being calm and cool. When I'm approaching the house, I see Mickey waiting for me at the curb, so I'm not the only one who's eager. Good!
Driving up next to Mickey, I smile while again thinking how nice he looks with that normal 'regular' guy's haircut. He even looks nicer than I remembered seeing him less than twenty-four hours ago. He gets in the car, grinning and saying, "Hi, Burke! I gotta tell you, bro, my dad thinks you're awesome." I'm like, "Your dad?" He goes, "Yes, he gives you credit for me getting a haircut, and he's right. He'd like to meet you." I'm like, "Oh, um, when? What am I suppose to say to him?"
Mickey laughs and says, "Don't get all flustered. No special time... whenever, ya know?" Nodding, I drive away relieved, and mutter, "Yeah, sure," and Mickey goes, "I thought about you all day, bro. Do you think we could be in love?" I make a 'face,' mumbling, "Don't be stupid. We're sex-buddies and boyfriends, not lovers. Lovers, that's an entirely, um, different, um, complicated thing."
That response was from my experience with Mark and Bobby. Mickey hasn't had any previous experience with sex-buddies, and he's making the same mistake I made. He's mistaking the thrill of finally experiencing sex, confusing it with being in love. He shrugs, "Nah, I'm in love with you, Burke. Get used to it." I snort out a laugh and then say, "Okay."
As I'm parking the car at my house, Mickey says, "Have you notice we're conversing like normal guys? And right from the start too." Oh yeah, that's true. I go, "I didn't think of it until you mentioned it, but you're right. At least with each other, we're normal," and we both laugh 'cause we don't take ourselves too seriously. We know we're kinda dorky, but now we're 'dorks' having lots of sex. That's much better.
As soon as we're inside the house, Mickey holds my chin, goes up on his toes and kisses my lips. I look startled as he says, "That's what I wanted to do as soon as I got in the car." My tongue moves across my lips, then I say, "Thanks," and I lean my head down, and we have a one-minute make-out. That's all it takes to get boners on both of us. I feel his boner against my leg, and my boner is poking against my jockey shorts. We're horny fuckers because we've lacked a real sexual outlet for years! Whacking off doesn't cut it, not in the long run. Mickey says, "Yep. Let's get in bed." Nodding, I mutter, "Okay," and he takes my hand. My first inclination is to pull my hand away, but I resist that and let him hold my hand, leading the way. Holding hands is kinda 'faggy,' but Mickey likes doing it, and so I go along with it. He's our leader, after all.
Christ, though, he seems so different from just a mere week ago when we got together at the reservoir. He is different, and he looks different too. Obviously, his haircut, but also, he never gets that goofy expression on his face anymore. In my bedroom, he takes my glasses off for me, mumbling, "You forget you have them on." As he puts the glasses next to a box of tissues on the bureau, I'm like, "Aw, you're looking out for me."
He gives me a 'look' like, get real, and mumbles, "Pull your pants down. We need a quicky before we even get in bed." Grinning at him, I mutter, "Good idea," and drop the shorts I've got on, and underwear to my knees. I'm pulling anxiously on my penis, watching Mickey taking his time getting the condoms from our hiding place under my bed's mattress.
Smirking at me, Mickey drops two of the condom packets on the bed, then pulls down his zipper and yanks his almost-hard cock out through his fly. He nods his head at it, and I hesitate for a second, not 'getting it,' muttering, "Yeah, nice cock, Mickey." He puts his hand behind my head to pull it forward, and I go, "Oh, duh, yeah, sorry, heh-heh."
As I'm leaning over, I grab onto his tight cock, then sit on the bed. Bending forward, I get right to it, putting the head of his cock in my mouth. The skin is so friggin' smooth. I move it around on my tongue and hear Mickey grunt as his hips jerk a little. With his cock in my mouth, I can't help grinning and looking up at Mickey. Grinning back me, he nods, meaning I need to get going, so I start sucking his dick as I stroke mine slowly.
Mickey's feet tapdance a little as he goes, "Mmmm, oh yeah, Burke." His dick tastes good. He goes, "Woo-ee," as he picks up, then rips open one of the condom packets. In thirty seconds, his cock is hard as wood, and yet it still feels good on my tongue. After a minute or so, Mickey grunts, "Umpt, Jesus," and then, "Thanks, Burke, um, Mattie, that's good," and he pushes lightly at my head.
When I take his cock out of my mouth, it sticks straight as a poker out Mickey's fly. It's so hard it doesn't move. Still sitting at the end of the bed, licking my lips, I wish I could suck him off completely. He mumbles, "That felt wicked good. Um, you need to turn around now." I get up, nodding my head, turn around and lean over with my hands on the bed, and my ass sticking out. Immediately I feel the slippery nipple of the condom pushing on my asshole. Mickey grips my hips as he's making a funny gasping sound, and then humps his cock in past my sphincter, and I go, "Ow, oooh!"
It hurts, but I don't care. Mickey slaps my ass, SNACK!" and then humps another two inches inside me. I shake and groan, "Ooh, fuck..." He smacks my ass again, hard this time, and then steadily pushes the rest of his boner up inside me as my back arches, the pain coming along for the ride. I grit my teeth against it, hardly believing Mickey's entire cock is inside me already. I can't describe how 'filled-up' I feel back there.
MIckey leaves his full boner inside me for a few seconds, and it grows, it's expanding in my rectum. Even though it hurts, I'm so aroused my cock is as hard as Mickeys and it's sticking straight out just like his was a few seconds ago. He gasps again, then exhales a long breath, and asks, "You okay, Burke?" I grunt, "Oh, yeah," and he goes, "I smacked your butt, hoping to distract the pain 'caused my super cock." It still hurts inside me, but, nevertheless, I mumble, "I'm good. You're the best, Mickey," and, actually, the pain is fading even faster than it did in our earlier fucks.
He humps against my buttocks and then mumbles, "Thanks, man," and, right from the first thrust, he fucks me hard and fast. Long six-plus inch thrusts very fast and hard as he grunts, "Umpt," at each thrust, and then the "Slapping" sounds of his groin smacking against my buttocks begin. He pulls it back and does it again, and again, and again... And, oh, it's so good!
A million nerve endings send a million pleasure vibrations to my brain, and that, mixed with some remnants of lingering pain from his too-fast entry, is a new combination of sensations, and they're fabulous. Pain and pleasure with pleasure playing the bully-role, sending pain on its way, disgraced. Yes!
"Slap, slap, slap," sounds along with incredible pleasure sensation in my ass get me moaning, "Umm, umm, oooh yeah," and I drop down on my forearms, my head on my arms, keeping my ass up for Mickey. His hard thrusting's very rhymic now, jostling me. I'm bouncing too, and moaning at the pleasure with every bounce, "Ummm, oooh... Mickey, ahh, ahh, ooh! Ohh!" Sensations keep building, and my climax is building too, gaining strength right along with the increasing sexual pleasure, building until I know any second I'm gonna blow my load. Oh, yeah, here comes the climax train!
It's as though I can hardly believe the fabulous sensations, and, right at the tipping point of climax, I realize Mickey is already tight against my ass, not thrusting. He makes a noisy breathy sound, humps once on my buttocks, and, from the sound he makes, I assume he's filling up the condom with his semen. I gasp, and then almost blackout climaxing myself, cum burning the piss-slit of my boned-up steel cock as it streams out at the speed of light! My eyes are closed; then, when I open them, I see a long glistening streak of cum across the bedspread.
That one long stream of cum seemed to last forever coming out, and it had me shaking and moaning, "Ooooh!" and then a shudder. That orgasm, that climax was so intense it was frightening for a second, and then it was the best thing that's ever happened to me. I feel MIckey shudder too as he's gasping in oxygen, and then he's stepping back, pulling his cock out. That gives me shivers as I drop my hips and lie my chest on the bed, my knees on the floor. I'm lying in my own cum.
Breathing deeply, I squirm on the bed 'cause everything feels so good all over me. It's like I don't know what else to do but squirm and try to increase that sexy feeling of being fucked good. I hear, "Omigod, that was sick," from Mickey. He's standing where I dropped onto the bed with his hand on my ass. Wow, I was truly overwhelmed by the orgasm he fucked out of me. Oh, God, that was so friggin' hot, and so is Mickey!
Another groan/moan from me as I'm getting off the bed to stand next to my 'top.' He rubs his hands lightly on my back now, asking, "Are you doing okay?" I nod and then turn my head to smile at him, mumbling, "Yeah, I'm good. How about you?" He's squeezing his dick, saying, "Ooh, fuck, that was the best yet, bro! Jesus, I wish I could do it again right now." Smirking at him, I'm like, "Me too." He smirks back at me, mumbling, "Dude, look," and he points at my chest, "You got your own spunk all over your titties."
Grinning, I'm swiping at the wetness on my chest, muttering, "Yeah, no shit." He's taking Kleenex from a box on the bureau and then hands a fistful to me, and I wipe my chest and then my ass, as Mickey says, "Give me fifteen minutes and we'll do it again." Nodding, I murmur, "Good God, you're fantastic! I mean, no one could do 'it' better or more frequently... seriously! You're amazing, dude!."
Mickey's wiping at the smear of cum on the bedspread as I'm dropping my tissues in the wastebasket. Looking up at me, he says, "Thanks for the compliments, Burke. Dammit, I'm sorry, I mean Mattie. But, hey, we blew our loads way too quick, doncha think?" My pants and underpants are still down around my ankles as I put my arms across Mickey's narrow shoulders, wanting to hug the shit out of him, but I don't. Instead, I say, "Yeah, but it was our first time today, that's why it was fast. Dude, I was wicked horny; we both were. You were perfect, though. You're my hero, Mickey. I'm glad we made you our lead boyfriend."
He grins, "Thanks, I deserve to be the leader. Christ, I'm doing all the 'guy stuff' so it figures I'd be the leader. And, seriously, I surprised myself how well I'm doing it too. I mean, to tell the truth, I didn't know I had it in me." Trying for 'blase,' I'm like, "Yeah, you've got it in you alright, and then some." As if I'm so experienced, I'd know.
Smirking at me, Mickey surprises me by reaching over, putting his hand around my cock. Pulling on it as if it's his, he says, "Maybe I can stretch this little fellow." I stand here, not moving because his hand feels soft and sexy around my cock. He says, "Small dick, but, Omigod, you've got a good ass on you... that has a lot to do with the great sex we're having." Tugging on my cock, getting me to go up on my toes, he grins, adding, "Plus, you're so cute I get shivers thinking about your perfect skinny body and, even though this dick of yours is small... oh man, I dream about the rest of you, Burke."
He lets go of my pecker, and I'm like, "Let's start a mutual admiration society, the two of us." I'm pulling my shorts up as MIckey's putting his special dick away. Then, he's like, "A mutual admiration thingie, huh? You start." I go, "Okay, you've got a cool haircut," and he goes, "And you're wicked cute." I go, "Hey, thanks, and you're the best 'top' ever!"
He puts his arms around me, and I put my arms around him, and we hug a tight hug swaying side to side, our dicks swinging between us as he says, "Um, this hugging we're doing. It's what a couple of girls would do." Snickering, I mutter, "Bull crap, guys hug, hugging is a good thing, Mickey. Whaddaya talking about?" We let go just in case it was too girlie. He says, "Anyhow, here's another compliment, you're easy to talk to," and I go, "You're a super make-out." MIckey says, "This society thing is starting to creep me out. Thank God there's nobody spying on us 'cause this behavior could end up with the two of us in a psych ward."
I'm looking in the mirror over my bureau, mumbling, "Yeah, we're over the top, I guess, but my excuse is, I was never worshipped before." He snickers, "Worshipped? Do you think I worship you? Bro, you should be worshipping my dick." I mumble, "I probably should, but, fuck, my hair looks like shit. Before it was way too long, and now it's way too short."
Ignoring that, Mickey goes, "Seriously, did you ever think we'd be so perfect for each other?" Shaking my head, looking away from the mirror, I go, "Nope, but I was optimistically hopeful we might at least be friendly acquaintances, and I based that on our first date," and we both laugh. He mutters, "Oh? Was it the five fucks we had?" I go, "That, plus, Omigod, your spectacular fucking technique caught my attention, that and my beyond belief climaxes. Yeah, after all that, I went out on a limb and thought... hmm, there's a long-shot chance of things working out with this dude."
I grab Mickey's arm and pull him down on the bed. We fall near the bottom of the bed, my feet still on the floor, my arm under Mickey's neck and, after a minute or so, he murmurs, "Seriously though, I never thought I'd ever get to experience sex this 'hot'; nothing remotely this sexy-hot. Frankly, I had no idea anything sexual could be this, I don't know, this indescribably good. Did you?"
Looking him in the eyes, his mostly black eyes with the dark blue rim that seems to shine, I pretend I wasn't listening, and mutter, "What was that you said?" and we both bust a nut laughing. Our laughter peters-out and Mickey stares at me, asking, "No, seriously," and I go, "I feel exactly that same way! 'Awesome' doesn't describe the sex we're having. I don't know a word that does."
He mutters, "Yeah, I don't know a word for it either," and I wistfully say, "It's kinda crazy how hot the sex is, but it's also sort of understandable too. I mean, neither of us ever thought we'd meet a guy like, um, each other. It seems so 'hot' to me because this is all new to me, and even newer, by a week, to you." He looks at me, "Whaddaya mean?" I go, "Well, you remember my sexual exploits with Dennis, Mark, and Bobby, right? The ones Dennis told you about. Those experiences make me like a veteran of gay sex when compared to you. Your experience has been only with me." Mickey's biting his fingernail. He rarely does that with me, but from the appearance of his fingernails, he does it regularly other times.
He shrugs, mumbles, "Oh yeah, you're right," and continues biting his nails. We have another silent minute or two with me casually running my finger in the hair on the side of Mickey's head, wishing my haircut looked like his. Finally, I ask a goofy question just to get us talking. I go, "Truthfully, when was the last time you jerked off?" He snorts out a laugh as he's pushing my hand away, and then says, "Seriously?" I'm like, "Yeah, when was it?" He goes, "Well, shit, I guess it was the day before our Saturday at the lake. I haven't felt I needed to jerk off since then." Nodding, I go, "For me, amazingly, it's been almost three weeks!"
He stops biting the nail on his forefinger and frowns, mumbling, "Bull shit," and I go, "No, it's not bullshit, it's true? Before I went out with you, I had that fortuitous interaction of a sexual nature with a few guys, as I just effin' mentioned." He goes, "Oh, right, but you had nothing in the way of sex before those guys, right?" Shaking my head, I go, "No, nothing. And now, of course, I'm obeying your 'rule' which means I won't be doing 'it' with anyone but you. You're my only 'top.'"
He spits out a small fragment of the fingernail, then he sits up and mutters, "Yeah, and you better follow my rule too 'cause that's the only thing I can see fucking up what we got going here." Sitting up too, I go, "Well, I have the same rule for you, so don't you fuck it up, either." Looking at me, he opens his big black eyes wide, "You didn't say anything about a rule." I go, "Well, I'm saying it now." He laughs out loud and then goes, "Well, okay, but who do you think I'd have sex with? I'm goofy, Michael Miller, who has no offers." Shrugging, I go, "They don't know what they're missing, and you're not goofy!"
Standing, I go, "Do you want something to drink?" He nods, gets off the bed, and takes hold of my hand, mumbling, "Yeah, any kind of soda." Then he's serious, saying, "I was just wondering, um, if you, ah, I don't know, are you okay that I'm our leader. I mean, you're bigger, much better-looking, and more popular than me?" Closing my hand on his, I pull on his hand to get us walking out of my bedroom, saying, "Neither of us is popular." He goes, "Okay, we're even there, but you're taller and, bigger and stronger than me, and you are much better looking, so normally you'd be the leader for most guys similar to us two." I mutter, "So what? And, don't put yourself down, Mickey."
In the kitchen, I let go of his hand and open the refrigerator, then take out two Cokes, saying, "But, since you ask. No, I don't feel funny about it. You're my leader because you're ten-times more proactive than I am. You've got balls, bro. Hell, you took steps that led us to the way we are today. I'm grateful, actually. I already told you, you're my hero." Taking the can of soda I'm holding out to him, Mickey mumbles, "Damn, that gives me goosebumps, Burke. Hearing you say that, and the sincere way you said it too." Popping the tab on the Coke can, I'm like, "Yeah, well, don't get a big head about it... heh-heh."
Probably most guys wouldn't be, um, as humble or as willing as I am to admire Mickey's tenacity, or whatever it is about him that got us together. Acknowledging I look up to a 'peer' as my 'leader' is kinda weird of me, I know. Ya know, whatever 'leader' even means in our situation. It's just that I don't see anything wrong with it. If not for Mickey's courageousness putting himself out there as 'gay,' we'd never be in this position. Most secret gay guys, like myself, stay in the 'closet.' That's a fact, not opinion.
We lean against the kitchen counter, drinking our sodas, and not talking. Finally, Mickey goes, "Ya know, my dad can't get over this haircut I got. I told you about that, but, dude, I never knew he gave a rat's ass about my long hair. He's never said anything about it, but he's been wicked nice to me since I got it cut, so I guess he hated it." I go, "Ya never know, ya know? That's why it's best always a good idea being honest about shit, and tell people what you think." He's like, "Yeah, but total honesty can also hurt someone's feelings." I mutter, "Yeah, there's that, but you and I will be honest with each other." He goes, "Yeah, well, we're boyfriends. Are we're best friends too?" I nod, "Yeah, you're my best friend." He goes, "I thought so."
Another minute of silence, me thinking about what he just said, and I go, "Is there something about me you don't like, but you don't wanna tell me because it could hurt my feelings?" He mumbles, "Nope, nothing." Then he says, "Now, um, I'm ready to fuck again. That's if you're ready, too," and assuming I am, he adds, "We'll do it in bed this time." I nod, "Let's go. I'm ready and willing and eager." He swats my ass, saying, "Get a move on then, pussy boy." I take his Coke can from him, and it put it with mine in the recycle bin, mumbling, "Yes, leader."
In the bedroom, we get naked, and Mickey picks up the other condom, saying, "There are only a couple of these things left in the box... three, I think. It's my turn to buy." I nod, "Okay," and Mickey holds onto one of the condoms as we get in bed. We move to each other snuggly, and he says, "There's gunk from inside the condom on my dick, so I guess you wouldn't want to blow me again, huh?"
Gunk? I'm like, "There's no gunk on my dick," and Mickey goes, "Oh, okay, you're right. It's my turn to try being the pussy boy. I'll suck your dick, and we'll try it with me being the 'bottom.'" Grinning, I mumble, "Well, you're our leader, so if you say so..." He snickers and then slides under the covers. Holding my pecker in his fingers, he says, "Sucking your dick is less of a problem for me because we used 'Nair' on our pubes." His words were muffled coming from under the covers, but he's right. It's a lot better sucking a guy's dick without the pubic hair to deal with. It's a cleaner, neater endeavor. I'd do it with pubes too, but this is better, he's right.
My whole body shivers when Mickey strokes my limp penis. Someone touching my dick is still a new sensation. My dick goes in his mouth, and it gets hard pretty fast, but I don't stop Mickey from sucking it 'cause it feels too good. I'm licking my lips, murmuring, "Um, um, ah, ah," until Mickey stops and, holding my boner in his fingers, his head comes out from under the covers, "Hey, you pre-cummed in my mouth. Why didn't you stop me?" I shrug, "I don't know. It felt good." He shakes his head and then goes under the covers and rolls the condom on my cock. That feels good, too. Having a condom on my pecker is another new sensation.
I'm sure it's going to work this time. I'm very optimistic. I can hardly wait actually... haha. Christ, I'm giddy about it. Ooooh, it's gonna feel goooood! Mickey pushes the covers down, looks at me, and says, "Burke, listen. I read a blog online by this super experienced gay guy who advises first-timers to experiment with fingers, one finger, then two, before moving on to a guy using his boner." I go, "Oh, in that case, why'd you suck my dick into a boner and then put a condom on it?" He laughs out loud and goes, "That was funny, Burke. I mean, you were so serious with a straight face when you said that. Haha, that struck me funny. Um, and, I don't know why I did that," and we both laugh.
I'm like, "You should have sucked my finger and put the condom on that 'cause I'm not sticking my bare finger in your shit hole." He goes, "Fuck you, and your germ phobia." I'm like, "You're saying there are no germs in shit?" He waves his hand, saying, "No, you're right. Calm down." He reaches down the mattress and gets the third condom. Kneeling next to me, he rips open the condom packet and says, "Hold out your finger." He rolls the condom on my finger, and I go, "It's too big." He mutters, "Yeah, well, it's too big for your little pee-pee too." We laugh, and I mutter, "You prick," and he says, "The guy online said to try it with the 'bottom' pussy boy, on their side. He didn't use those exact words, though."
I shrug, and he gets on his side, facing away from me. Holding the condom at the open end with fingers on my other hand, so it stays on the finger, I poke my finger at his asshole. Believe it or not, it doesn't go in easy; not until I exert more pressure than I expected would be necessary. Christ, it's only my friggin' finger, but it's still wicked tight getting it inside his ass!
My finger is in only to the first knuckle, but he goes, "That did not feel good!" I mumble, "It's only one finger for Christ's sake." Pushing it in further, I snicker, and he goes, "Burke! It's not funny, it hurts..." That makes me snicker harder, covering my mouth and try not to make a sound, although my body is shaking a little. He goes, "Stop it! You're making fun of me."
Gee, he's sensitive. I laughed along with him when he said I have a small penis, which I don't. It's a regular size penis. Moving my finger, Mickey goes, "Omigod, I feel like I'm gonna cum. Why is that?" That's his prostate I'm rubbing, and I tell him. He goes, "Seriously? Your finger on my prostate makes me cum?" I shrug, although he doesn't see me do it, as I'm muttering, "Apparently." Rubbing the same spot, Mickey yells, "Stop! I don't wanna have a, um, a false orgasm, or whatever it would be. Try two fingers."
Pulling my finger out of his ass makes me giggle again, but I again covered my mouth. And, no, this isn't sexy to me at all. Is it supposed to be? Being careful not to touch the part of the condom that was in his ass, I get my middle finger in next to my index finger and try getting two fingers inside his rectum. I get the two fingers in, but I can tell from how tight his body is that he's in pain. Two fingers only, and only barely inside, but it's hurting him! Oh man, I pull out and say, "Fuck this. Let me try it with my cock."
He nods his head but doesn't say anything, and now my cock isn't hard. Carefully taking the condom off my fingers, I toss it toward the wastebasket. It hits the side and sticks there for a second before dropping to the floor. Blowing air out in a noisy-sounding exhale, 'cause I'm frustrated, I then do the best I can stroking my dick with a condom on it. Lots of lubricants come off on my fingers, but it feels pretty good on my dick, the rubbing getting it fairly hard. Mickey, meanwhile, has rolled onto his back, watching me. I smile at him encouragingly, saying, "This will work, I'm feeling it."
He screws-up his mouth with a doubtful 'look' on his face but goes back on his side. With more effort than is sensible, I'm finally able to get the head of my condom-covered cock inside, I think past his hard sphincter muscle. If it was his sphincter muscle, it put up one helluva fight trying to prevent my entrance. The good news is, I haven't heard anything from my pussy boy. Wow, his ass muscles are gripping the head of my boner in the most awesome manner, although, my God, it's tight!
After waiting forever, or closer to ten seconds probably, I hold my breath and hump in another inch of my boner. It is tighter than, well, I was gonna say tighter than shit, but nevermind that, the important thing is, there's been no yelling about it hurting. Yeah, but I see the side of his face is bright red, so he's holding his breath, probably in pain. That's to be expected, right? I feel some pain in the early going too, so I push my dick in another inch, and then another inch... and Mickey screams! He screams, violently jerking away, pulling off my boner completely.
He gets in a sort of 'fetal' position with his knee drawn up and, oh damn, his shoulders are shaking, so I suppose he's crying. More than likely, he's embarrassed as well as in pain. Yeah, I'm pissed off that he can't do this, but more than that, I feel bad for him, so I wait a few seconds and then rub his shoulder, murmuring, "It's okay, Mickey. Fuck, don't worry about it, bro. You're not the only guy with a, um, a twisted colon, or something. It's not your fault, Michael!" He flops over on his back with tears in his eyes, and I mumble, "Plus, boys don't cry, ya dumb fuck." He does a half-grin and mutters, "You called me Michael, nobody calls me that. Not even my dad." See, I'm talking inanities, trying to get his mind off this latest disaster.
I go, "Hey, motherfucker, what'd the teachers call you in school?" He snickers, "Oh, yeah, they called me 'Michael.' Or Miller." I'm like, "So, how'd you get the nickname of Mickey. Ya know, there's an old cartoon mouse..." He's like, 'Yeah, yeah, yeah. Mickey Mouse. Fuck him, and Walt Disney World." We both sit up against the headboard, and he goes, "I wasn't crying, by the way, my eyes watered a little because of the extreme pain you caused me. But, boys and real men do cry, ya know." I go, "Bunch of pussies," and he chuckles, then says, "You're nice, Burke." I shrug, and he mumbles, "Why is it so painful, though? I wanna do it, so I tried to take it, but, fuck, it was wicked painful and kept getting worse!"
Squeezing the back of his neck, I say, "I don't know, but hey, did you notice how friggin' glib I was getting your mind off the pain just now? I was saying all that shit to get your mind off your latest failure?" Looking at me, he goes, "Hey, I was glib too, motherfucker," and we laugh. I go, "I'd be tongue-tied trying to be glib with anyone else. I'd be like, "Um, ah, oh, I mean, um..." He says, "No, seriously, you were one glib motherfucker, Burke." I go, "Yeah, I know that, motherfucker!" and we laugh some more. Christ, my eyes are tearing up; I'm laughing so hard.
Then we stop laughing and sigh. A minute later, Mickey, mumbles, "I never say 'motherfucker'... ever." I'm like, "Me neither, but that's because we didn't use to be cool, and now motherfucker, we're too cool for school." He snickers and then gets serious, "Seriously though Bruke, you really are a nice, um," and we both say, "Motherfucker," and chuckle. No laughing this time 'cause we beat that word to death already.
Another sigh and Mickey says, "I'll try it again tomorrow, okay?" Shaking my head, I go, "No, let's not put a time limit on it. We'll try again 'some time,' that's close enough. Keep it vague." He shrugs and goes, "I got the nickname 'Mickey' from my grandfather. He's always called me that because he and dad are both named Michael too." I ask, "Are you close with your grandfather? I mean, you said you aren't especially tight with your dad, so..." Shrugging again, he mutters, "Nah, I'm not really close with grandfather. I mean, how could I be, the motherfucker lives in Nevada," and we both laugh our nuts off.
Catching my breath, I go, "I've never been there." He looks over, asking, "Nevada?" and I go, "Well, I've never been there either, but I meant Walt Disney World." He goes, "I was there once when I was like five or six. My aunt and motherfucking uncle took me, not my dad." I'm snickering, and then MIckey goes, "How about if I wash the gunk off my dick so you can suck a boner on me, and then I'll fuck your brains out?"
I nod at him, and we both get out of bed as I'm asking, "How many condoms are left? Did you say three?" He goes, "Ah, I think there are only two now. We would have had three if you didn't need one for your motherfucking finger." Omigod, it's funny hearing Mickey say that... I can't help laughing. I go, "What, you wanted me to stick my finger in shit?" In the bathroom, he turns on the hot water spigot, saying, "Did you see any shit on the condom?" I shrug, muttering, "Well, no, but maybe if you weren't such a wimp, and I could have pushed my finger up a little further, there would have been some."
He washes his penis, getting off the spermicidal gelly from inside the condom. I go, "What is the purpose of that stuff inside the condom?" He says, "I don't know. Maybe in case the condom breaks or something." After rinsing his dick off, he dries it, and then, holding his penis out, saying, "It's all sterilized and ready for your mouth." I go, "Yum, I like sucking your dick."
We walk back to my bedroom, and Mickey gets another condom from our hiding place under the corner of the mattress, as he goes, "Are you breaking my balls with that BS?" I go, "No, I like sucking your dick, for real. I get 'hard' sucking on your penis." Rolling his eyes, he mutters, "If you say so. And, by all means, feel free to suck me off whenever you want, boyfriend."
We get in bed and under the covers again as I'm like, "Oh, man, what time is it?" We both look at my little alarm clock on the bedside table and say together, "Five-of-five?" I mutter, "We're good time-wise," and then go under the cover to suck a boner on Mickey's dick. Yeah, we've recovered from that failed-attempt disaster, but 'time' is becoming a factor this afternoon.
As I suck Mickey's dick, I keep my fist around the shaft 'cause I like feeling it as it gets bigger and harder. He has an excellent penis, he really does. When his cock is a full-blown boner, I hold it against his belly and lick his scrotum, moving his nuts in there, and then drag my tongue in a circle around his genitals on his smooth, hairless groin. Christ, this turns me on, and I'd keep doing it except Mickey's pulling my hair getting me to come out from under the covers.
He mumbles, "I almost blew my load, Burke. Gawd, don't you wanna screw?"I go, "Yeah, of course, I do. How do you wanna do it?" He goes, "Doggy style, okay?" Nodding, I get up on my hands and knees as Mickey rolls our next to the last condom from the original twelve on his boner. He makes a 'face' saying, "This feels good," and then he gets behind me and spanks my ass, "SLAPSLAPSLAP!" until I go, "Ow, dammit, Mickey! That's enough." One more "slap," and he humps his cock in past my sphincter muscle. I grunt, "Ah!" as he's leaning forward, pushing his boner up my ass. It hurts but not that much, and as he leans against my buttocks, fully impaling me, he asks, "How's it feel, Burke?"
Gasping quietly, I grunt, "It still hurts a little, but go ahead and fuck me the way you did it last time. That was awesome." He pulls his hard cock back slowly and then pushes it back in just as slowly, and then does it again, saying, "No, not like last time. I'm the leader, and I want this to last longer. Mmmm, it feels so good on my cock doing it slowly..." He does a half dozen deliberate drives up my ass, slow and steady, pulling his cock back even slower. Yes, the sizzling sensations are tantalizing and feel wicked good, but at the same time, it's almost a teasing effect, teasing how fantastic it would feel three or four times more sensational if Mickey would fuck me faster. I whine, "Faster, Mickey, Ummm, faster, ahh, ahh, ooooh."
He snickers and says, "It's so cool being in charge like this. You want me to fuck you faster, huh?" Nodding my head, pushing my ass back at his humping, I go, "Uh-huh, please, and harder too." He continues doing the slow, deliberate thrust, inch by inch, his hard boner goes inside me sliding over my prostate gland until I'm squirming on the bed, swaying back and forth, bumping into his groin. Mickey slaps my ass, saying, "Stay still, pussy boy; stop moving. You're screwing up my rhythm."
Pleasure sensations twirl around my brain, but I want more. My climax is taking its time building, just out of reach. The blizzard of sensations I get from fast-fucking is teasingly just not quite there yet. This slow fucking, this slow build-up of anticipation of orgasm, is probably alright for more experienced individuals, but I want the THRILL. I'm still looking for that fast thrill that takes my breath away. But, Mickey's doing 'the guy' part, so I better do what he says. I stop squirming and quiet my moaning. Then, I try to stop humping back into his slow thrust and just be docile on my hands and knees.
He murmurs, "Thank you. This feels like the most delicious slow pleasure trip, but it is almost torture too, huh? Christ, I wanna see if we can last ten minutes. Oh God, this feels good," and he takes five full seconds pushing his engorged penis up my ass, and when he leans against my buttocks, a plop of pre-cum drops out of my cock, and I groan, "Mmmm, ooh, fuck." When it gets too intense, I grab onto my hard boner and start stroking it. The sense, the feeling of almost cumming but not quite reaching the tipping point, is driving me a little wild.
Mickey yells, "No, stop jerking yourself off! Oh, okay, Burke, I'll fuck you hard now," and he does. Really hard and fast, and I'm back in a world of ecstasy, moaning, "Ahh, ahh, ahh, ooh, oooh, ooh," a trillion pleasure vibrations swarming in my brain until my climax blasts out. Not nearly as much cum as there was the first time, but, like always, it felt just as good. Again, I shudder at the wonderfulness of climax of sexual orgasm, and then I squeeze my cock moaning, "Ooh, yeah, Mickey, mmmm, aah that felt good."
He's doing his thing of leaving his boner in me, holding his breath while blowing his load in the condom. Then Mickey moans with relief and pleasure, "Mmmm, oh, wow..." I'm pretty sure he doesn't care if I blew my load or not. When your climax explodes, believe me, you're not thinking about anything except your climax. The problem is in the nature of climaxes; they are wicked fast, very quick. The tsunami of pleasure, a pleasure you can't even believe... rules! Climaxes rule, but only for a comparatively brief moment in time! It takes over your brain for, if you're lucky, seven or eight seconds or so.
Mickey's cock pulls from my ass when I drop down off my hands and knees to lie flat on the bed. I'm like, "Fabulous fuck, Miller," and he says, "Mattie Burke, your ass is magical!" I'm bathing in the afterglow of that awesome orgasm lying cozily on the bed. I hear a snicker and, at the same time, feel Mickey pushing his sloppy-feeling concom-covered semi-hard cock back up my ass. He gets it in with no trouble as I'm wide open back there, then he fully lies on me, his cock in my ass, and his arms are pining mine to my side.
At first, we're both giggling as if this is sexy silliness, but his cock begins getting harder, and all of a sudden, Mickey's humping his hips up and down fucking me again. Brilliant vibrations begin sparkling all over me, and it's almost as if this is the first time for us fucking today. We don't say anything, both shocked, I think, as his cock is being pulled up by his hips and then, all six-plus hard inches of it drives back down into my ass. I'm thinking... 'No, this isn't possible.'
Awesome sensations tell me otherwise, and I'm like, "Umm, ahh, mmmm, oooh." Mickey's on his elbow; his head lifted off my shoulder as he gets his hips moving smoothly, and it's startling how great it feels in my super-sensitized rectum. With me flat on the bed, there are awesomely new sensations from his boner driving straight down my ass hitting inside my rectum differently.
We're still not talking as Mickey is mostly grunting from the effort of humping his hips up and down. I'm moaning and groaning at the sensations that build and build. Mickey fucking me while lying on my back is new. His head above mine no more than a foot, so I plainly hear, as well as feel his rough breathing against the back of my head with sweat forming between our bodies as that longish boner continues traveling in and up, in and up like a piston moving in my ass. The lips of my asshole are tightly scraping the shaft of Mickey's condom-covered boner creating the most unusual itchy, sexy, enticing feeling that makes me whine again as I start a mantra of, "Oh, oh, oh, oh," that goes on for a long time until I feel hypnotized in a wonderful world of constant pleasure that I never want to end.
It never quite builds to a climactic orgasm for me, but after the longest most awesome time Mickie makes a sound likes he's in pain; a long hissing noise and then he's rotating his hips on my ass gasping and muttering something before completely collapsing, limp as a ragdoll on top of me, his cock still in my ass, shriveling up noticeably. Mickey's face is sweaty against the back of my neck, and his breath is moist as he breaths deeply.
Huh, he had a third climax! I didn't, but yeah, he deserves it. What an unexpected fuck that was! Heh heh, Mickey's even a hornier sex maniac then me. Then 'time' I realize 'time' has become a major factor. I can just see the alarm clock from my position lying on my stomach, my boyfriend on my back. It's five-twenty. Not a serious problem time-wise yet. Hmm, although a shower would be a good thing to do before the 'rents get home from work, I don't think there's enough time for that. Maybe if we hurry...
Mickey's chest has stopped expanding against my back as his breathing returns to normal. I wait another minute and then say, "If we do it right this second, we can take a quick shower before I need to drive you home." Mickey sighs and says, "Okay, good idea. Ya know what I was thinking? What if we can sleep overnight together?" He slides off me with his cock pulling out of the condom, leaving it, the condom, in my ass. Swell...
He pulls the condom out, and we get off the bed. I pick up the 'finger' condom where it dropped next to the trashcan, and we carry the used condoms to the bathroom with Mickey asking, "Wouldn't that be fantastic? Sleeping all night together, I could fuck you five times as I did when we were at the lake." I'm slowly shaking my head, mumbling, "What amazes me is how you managed to fuck back to back like you just did. Holy shit, it's spectacular, and, yeah, we've gotta figure out a way to spend the night together. Maybe you can go six times in a night. I can't imagine it, but... Hey, did you climax this time?" He goes, "Oh yeah! You didn't, though, did you?" I go, "No, but I loved every second of it up to the disappointment of not climaxing."
In the bathroom, we flush the condoms, and I get the shower running. We're still naked, obviously. Waiting for the water to reach the right temperature, I'm like, "After dinner, I think I'm going to text Dean. It's been like a week since the last time, and I used to text him every night. He's my friend, and I don't want to just blow him off. Do you wanna hang out with us?" Mickey shrugs and says, "Yeah, sometime, but I can't tonight because Tuesday nights dad and I watch the Home Box Office series we're 'hooked on.' It's the only night we watch TV together, so..." I'm like, "You watch TV with your dad? That's weird," and we get in the tub and close the shower curtain.
We're quickly washing as he says, "And tomorrow afternoon I've got my dance class. It's from three o'clock till five, so I guess I won't see you tomorrow." I go, "I'll text you after dinner, alright?" He goes, "Yeah, cool, but I thought you'd want a night off without me." Standing right under the shower head rinsing off, I sputter, "Why would you think that?" We switch places, and he goes, "Oh, that's some of my old-time lack of self-confidence, I guess. You know, why would anyone want to hang out with me every day?" I go, "Well, I do, and I mean, even if we can't have sex, although I can't imagine why we couldn't."
I'm out of the tub, drying myself as he says, "We couldn't last Sunday." Nodding, I'm like, "Oh yeah, my ass was too sore after Saturday night. My ass is fine now, though." He gets out and turns off the water. Taking my towel, he starts drying himself, and I go, "You can use a fresh towel. You don't need to use the one I used." He goes, "That's alright. Your mom might wonder if you took two showers, ya know?" I go, "I'd throw the towels in the dirty clothes hamper."
We're sort of dry as we walk back to my bedroom. MIckey says, "Well, I didn't want to help you do the wash again." We chuckle and get dressed. At five-forty, I'm driving Mickey home. I mumble, "Awesome fucks today, Mickey." He goes, "Except for that one, I screwed up." I go, "Don't be hard on yourself. You're our leader, but, even so, I'm gonna insist on this one thing. We don't try it with you acting as the pussy boy for at least two more weeks. Let all the bad vibes from our earlier failures fade from our memories, and we start fresh." He mumbles, "It wasn't 'our' failures; it was 'my' failures." I say, "Don't blame yourself; it's something wrong with your ass. You're trying, but your body won't cooperate. Maybe it's temporary, and, in any case, I'm not doing 'the guy' role for at least two weeks." He murmurs, 'Thanks, Burke, um, Mattie."
Idling at the curb in front of his house, he says, "I should have kissed you goodbye before we left your house." I go, "I already told you, I don't want to get into a routine doing stuff by habit, like us feeling we need to kiss 'hello' and 'goodbye.' Forget that." He goes, "Oh, are you our leader now?" I snicker, and say, "Only when I need to be." He gets out, saying, "Good, I don't want all the pressure on me. See ya, Thursday, Mattie." I go, "Congratulations! You remembered my first name. See ya, boyfriend," and I drive off.
I lied. I didn't wanna mention this, but my ass is a little sore. Skipping Wednesday is probably a good thing. The question is, how horny will I be by Thursday? I'm guessing I'll be very horny, but not horny enough to jerk off, I bet. I'm in my room straightening the bedspread when I hear mom and dad come home. They're both talking at the same time, but it doesn't sound as though they're arguing. That's good.
At dinner, mom tells me, "Plan on coming to uncle Shaun's with us this Sunday, Matthew." I go, "And why would I do that?" She says, "It's your dad's birthday celebration; that's why." Dad goes, "You don't gotta come if you don't want to, Matt." I'm like, "Oh, but I do want to be at your birthday party, dad. Can I bring a friend?" Mom goes, "Ah-ha, I knew it. You've been acting almost happy recently, so what's her name?" I'm like, "What's who's name?" Mom goes, "Your date for dad's birthday cookout, her name." I go, "His name is Mickey. A new friend of mine. Not some girl." Dad says, "Sure, bring whoever you want, Matt."
Mom harps on me about not having a girlfriend and blah, blah, blah. I'm not listening. Instead, I'm thinking, Mickey and I are going to look for my apartment sometime soon. We can take a break from sex for an hour or so and check out apartments for rent. When I have an apartment, that's how we'll have our 'sleep-over'!
Finished dinner, I put my dishes and silverware in the dishwasher and say, "I'm gonna see if Dean wants to do anything tonight, so I might be going out." Dad waves a hand like whatever, and mom says, "You should bring Dean to your dad's birthday cookout, you've been friends with him for..." but that's all I hear before slamming my bedroom door.
Flopping on the bed, I think about Mickey's and my fucking this afternoon. It's definitely NOT getting old. It's as if every time we do it, it's new. I have these odd, um, affectionate feelings for Mickey. They are new because, except for the bogus short-lived 'in love' feelings I thought I had for Mark and Bobby, I've never felt 'affection' for another guy before this. I don't love Mickey, not like 'that,' but I really, really like him. It's happened so fast too.
Before I got to know him, Mickey is maybe the most unlikely guy I'd develop true affection for I know of. Ya can't tell a book by its cover, though. I got to know him, and it just happened: we are totally comfortable with each other, I can't imagine having better sex than we're having, and I really like him. Yeah, we still have silent periods, but that's just us, and we're not even slightly uncomfortable or awkward with one another when we're silent. In fact, it's the opposite.
Wow, he's a good make-out too. I really get aroused making out with him. I got aroused making out with Mark too, so... Bobby doesn't make-out with guys, but, Jesus, Bobby's good-looking, though. It's fun looking at him. At work, I mean. Mickey's looking better too. That haircut made a huge difference for the better.
Okay, I'm stuck in another one of my cycles! Jeez! Shaking my head, I say out loud, "I'm gonna text Dean now." I send my usual text, 'Hey, Dean, wanna hang out?' He texts back, 'Meet me at the park in twenty minutes.'
Hmm, he means Kent Park, obviously, but, oddly, he doesn't need a ride. He and I met years ago at Boy Scout camp and became friends, and we've stayed friends for the last three years because, mostly, it's been me more often than not who's had the use of a car. Mom carpools to work, so I was able to use her car to get Dean and me where we wanted to go. Now he doesn't need a ride? Curious.
Driving to Kent Park, I'm thinking all kinds of bizarre reasons Dean doesn't need a ride but overlooked the obvious one. As soon as I pull into the pothole infested parking lot at Kent Park, I'm like... oh, yeah. I see his 'ride.' It's his graduation present that was back-ordered. His parents bought him a motorbike. A cool one too. Yeah, I remember a month or so ago Dean was showing me a picture and bragging about it.
He's standing next to a red, cool-looking smaller version of a motorcycle. It's nothing like Bruce's or Bobby's motorcycles. As I'm walking to where Dean is, I hear him telling Charlie Snyder and Artie Guy, "This is a Lifan. It's a KP200 model with 200 cc's, and street-legal obviously, and..." and he sees me, yelling, "Mattie, get over here. My friggin' bike finally came in. I got it last week." I go, "It's wicked cool, Dean! Why didn't you call me and tell me you got it?" He goes, "I was going to, but, um... Well, look at this baby." He spouts off particulars about the bike that don't mean diddly to me although I nod my head and mutter, "Cool," a few times.
Someone's yelling from the park that Charlie and Dean need to, "Get your asses over here if you wanna play," and Dean tells me, "It's a two-hand touch football game against those turds from Media. Come on, Charlie," and Dean adds, "Nice haircut, Mattie," as they run off, leaving Artie and me looking at each other. Artie says, "Hi, Mattie. You got a haircut, huh?" I roll my eyes and then smile at Artie. I can't get mad at him, so I mumble, "Gee, you noticed, huh?"
We walk toward the park, as I ask, "Did you know about this football game?" Artie goes, "Yeah, last Friday Brad Barnhart set it up with a couple of guys who graduated a year before we did. It's seven on seven, two-hand touch, but it'll wind-up being mostly tackling." I nod, "Yeah, I know how that goes. Um, didn't you want to play?" Artie shrugs, "Nobody asked me." I go, "Well, you, me, Mickey Miller, Terry Bird, um, guys like us, we're peripheral guys who hang around the 'cool' guys ready to fill in when necessary." He goes, "Heh, heh, yeah, that plus I suck at sports." I mutter, "Me too."
We sit with ten or twelve guys and a few girls to watch the carnage. It starts out okay, but soon the tackling and rough stuff start; then, a fight breaks out. Pushing, name-calling, and grabbing that ends up with both guys rolling on the ground. That wasn't much, but a little later, a for-real fistfight starts, and fistfights are scary when nineteen-year-olds are involved because they can seriously hurt each other. Oh, Christ, awesome! It's that asshole Terrence Baker, Mark's cousin, with a bloody nose. That ends that fight with Terrence, the loser, but it doesn't end the cursing and finger-pointing. The game resumes as Artie saying, "That was cool. I hate that guy with the bloody nose." I mutter, "Everyone should."
The roughnecks from Media win the game, and there are some accusations of cheating and some shoving, but soon everyone is drinking beer, and the smell of marijuana is swirling around. Artie drifts over to become Charlie's shadow; I drift over to my security blanket, Dean, who's talking with Jello, both of whom avoided the fighting.
Jello takes a drag off a joint Billy Henderson passed him. Jello sees me and points at my head. I make a 'face' like ' it blows, but whaddya gonna do?' and when Jello exhales, he says, "I told you, Burke! Fuck, I told you to come with me to the Sport Cuts barbershop. Look at that haircut Sal gave you. It's the one I got there when I was ten fucking years old." I mutter, "I know..."
No one else even comments on my shitty haircut, and I'd mostly forgotten about it anyway. It is what it is. Dean pulls me aside 'cause he has his own joint. We share it sitting up under the bridge by ourselves. In between totes off the joint, he tells me many more things about his motorbike than I need to hear. What he doesn't do is ask where I've been this past week. That kinda hurts my feelings, but in another way, it's good because it means I won't need to lie to him.
It's a normal night for a recent graduate in Clifton Heights, so I drive home thinking it was okay, but mostly I think about Mickey, and then I'm thinking about my job. Thinking about those things in that order...
To be continued... Chapter 11 "This Is The Real Deal"
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