Waiting for a Miracle

WAITING FOR A MIRACLE

by Donny Mumford

Chapter 15 'Missing Mickey'

The Monday and Tuesday after the cookout at Uncle Shaun's turn out to be routine days for me, routine normal days at work, and then regular awesomely sexy times with Mickey. Wednesday, Mickey has his dance class, so I text Dean after work, and, for a change, he wants to pick me up. I'll ride with him on his motorbike. I'm like, "Um, ah, okay." He's still getting used to riding it, so the trip to Kent Park isn't a wild one like the ride I had with Jello's brother, Bruce, on his monster motorcycle. Jeez, that seems like a long time ago and so much has changed in my life since then.

Anyway, the helmets Dean has aren't nearly as high-tech as Bruce's, but I enjoy the motorbike ride. Here's the odd thing though; Dean never once has mentioned that I stopped texting him. I don't mean to put him down, but I can't ignore the fact that he isn't even slightly interested in what I've been doing.

In the hierarchy of the neighborhood, Dean is in the middle of the pack but then, most of the neighborhood guys are in the middle too. Then there are a couple of neighborhood guys, like Jello, for example, who've evolved over the years as the most popular, or the toughest, or for whatever reason a few guys became neighborhood leaders within our age group. Informally, of course, but they are the ones who organize stuff like pick-up games, or a keg-party, or they have connections for buying drugs, and other stuff like that.

So, Dean's status in our group doesn't change whether I'm hanging out with him or not. Mickey and me, and a couple of others, have always been on the peripheral outside rim of it all. We don't have a 'voice' within the group. We go along with whatever 'they' decide. And none of that has changed, except now Mickey and I are together, and as far as everybody else is concerned, that's a big... so what? They're not mean about it, we're simply not something they especially care about.

I believe, however, the MAIN reason for Dean's lack of interest as to why I've stopped texting him every day is that now he has 'wheels', his motorbike. Until now, he needed me driving him places in my mom's car. I still like Dean and he was my 'security blanket' for interacting socially with the guys. I wouldn't even have had Dean connecting me to the neighborhood's 'goings-on' if I hadn't met him in the Boy Scouts. If not for that, well, I don't know what would have happened except it would have been different, and likely worse for me, so I owe Dean, and I like him, but now I have a true friend who would czre if I stopped texting him, Mickey.

Yeah, I think about that stuff. Kinda weird of me perhaps, but don't all teenagers try to figure out what the fuck is going on and how they fit in? And then, friends are one thing, 'lovers' are another thing all together. I think about that as well. 'Love' is a very different emotion, obviously, and there are different kinds of love. You can 'love' somebody and not especially 'like' them. Relatives mostly fall into this category. Also, you can love a friend who's very special, but you're not 'in love' with them. Hmm, I suppose there are 'degrees' of being 'in love' as well, or is it that you're either 'in love' or you're not? Is it possible to be 'really' in love someone or only sort of in 'love' with them? Who knows all this shit, anyway?

In any case, today Dean acts the same as if I've been with him every day instead of two days in the last three weeks, which was the case. The fact he doesn't ask what I've been doing is stress-free in that I don't need to make up an excuse. It also hurt my feelings a little bit too. It would be nice if he cared, but then that could be wicked awkward telling him I've got a better friend now. It's like my ex-sex-buddies, Bobby and Mark telling me they have someone they'd rather go on a date with, but it's in reverse with Dean.

When Dean and I are at the park, there are only a couple of guys from our neighborhood. Middle-level guys we know to say 'wassup' to but we don't hang out with them very much. There are also four guys on the hill under the bridge smoking grass and shouting harassing insults to some middle school boys tossing a football around. Dean frowns at the guys on the hill, muttering to me, "I don't think I know those assholes. Do you know them?" I shrug, as Dean yells at a bucked tooth kid who just came out of the toilet, "Yo, Goldberg, do you know those guys smoking pot under the bridge?"

He shakes his head, mumbling, "No, just some crazy 'hoodlums' from Upper Darby looking for trouble. And, Morris, don't ask if they're 'selling' if you know what's good for ya." He means selling drugs. Yeah, everyone knows Dean is a bit of a pothead. Dean goes, "Why shouldn't I ask?" Buckteeth goes, "One of them was flashing a gun... the fat kid with the buzz cut. That's why not." He nods at a friend of his who followed him out of the lavatory. A tall skinny kid who's presently playing with himself and talking on his cell phone. Goldberg goes, "My buddy here, Bumgardner, told me he saw the gun. Said it was a 38." Dean mutters, "Bullshit. Bummy wouldn't know a 38 from his dick."

Goldberg lights a cigarette, mumbling, "And I suppose you would." Dean goes, "Are you sure they're not dealing?" Goldberg shrugs, "How the fuck would I know. I just told you I'm staying clear of them." Dean nods at me, and we walk away as he's muttering, "Jesus, those assholes from 4th Avenue are such pussies." He means Goldberg and Bumgardner. Anyone who isn't in our immediate 'circle' is an assumed pussy-asshole, generally speaking.

We skip some rocks in Darby Creek while Dean smokes a Marlboro. Then a couple of girls appear from somewhere and join the Upper Darby guys on the hill. Dean hits my arm, saying, "Jesus, I think that bitch with the cornrows was putting out for Frank Gallo." I go, "No shit?" although I don't know who Frank Gallo is. Ten minutes later, we're just about to take off when the two girls get into a wicked hair-pulling 'cat' fight. Dean mumbles, "Oh shit. Look at that; they're probably fighting over which one gets to blow all the guys on the hill," and we snicker at that.

Naturally, we stay to watch the scaggy-girls fighting. They're clutching at each other, tearing clothes, then they roll down the hill yelling curse words in screechy high-pitched voices that you could hear at the baseball field's backstop. Omigod, now both girls, the black girl, the one who may have fucked Frank Gallo, and the redhead white girl are on their feet throwing-punches. Jesus Christ, they look like a couple of guys fighting. Dean and I do some mock cheering and whatnot until two of the Upper Darby guys finally stop laughing long enough to break up the fight. The white girl's nose is bleeding, and the black girl is pulling on one of her front teeth as if it's loose; both of their clothes covered with grass stains.

So, that was something to see. After that, we go to the bowling alley and screw around with some guys at the video games area. We buy some pizza slices, drink a couple of Cokes, and then Dean drops me off at my house around five-thirty.

During those couple of hours that I spent with Dean, I was basically invisible to everyone except him. I didn't know the guys at the park very well and we didn't even speak to one another, and at the bowling alley the guys I know had already ragged on me about my earring and my bad haircut, so I was no longer of use to them as far as getting laughs at my expense goes. There was nothing new to break my balls about, which was fine with me. My 'invisibility' highlighted how much better my days are when I'm with Mickey.

Thursday, after work, I drive directly to Mickey's house, honking the horn when I'm at the curb. He comes out limping and acting embarrassed, saying, "Hi, Burke." I'm like, "Well, what the hell happened? What's wrong with your leg?" Shrugging, he says, "I sprained my ankle at dance class if you can believe that. And, it's partially your fault 'cause I was daydreaming about your ass and not paying attention when dancing en pointe. Yeah, so I stepped on the back of Amy's foot and sprained the shit out of my ankle. It hurts like a bitch right now but isn't a serious long-term injury."

I'm not going to ask what 'en pointe' means; instead, I'm like, "Gee, sorry that happened, bro. Is your ankle taped-up?" He nods, "Yeah, it happened early in class, so I sat down, and Ms. Foster put an ice packet on it. After class, she put a compression-brace on my foot and ankle that I still have on. It'll probably stay on for another week." I mutter, "Guess we won't be fucking standing up, huh?" He snorts out a laugh and says, "No, and thanks for your compassion. I see you have your priorities in order." I grin, mumbling, "Yeah, well, I missed you yesterday, Mickey. Have some compassion for me; my Wednesdays blow without you."

Mickey wants to know what I did yesterday, and I tell him about the guy with a gun and the two girls getting into a wicked cool 'cat' fight. He goes, "Holy shit! Wow, I would have liked seeing that!" and I'm like, "Yeah, that was a blast to see, but, mostly, it was a boring afternoon without you."

Ten minutes after we get to my house, with Mickey holding my glasses through it all, I'm sucking on his cock and balls. I do it for like ten minutes, doing everything slowly with lots of warm salivae involved, making slurping sounds and, oh, man, I almost blow my load when he climaxes in my mouth. Mickey was shuddering and letting out a funny high-pitched squeaking-sound when his big load of cum was pouring into my mouth. At least an ounce and a half of warm, creamy semen. Yep, a shot glass full of Mickey's jism! Gawd, it was awesome!

Yep, I really like sucking Mickey off. His cock and balls were shiny with my spit, and Mickey, after his squeal, was alternating gasping and laughing, sputtering, "Omigod, you're amazing, Burke. Jesus! I thought my cock was going come off when I climaxed!" See, that was fun, more fun in ten minutes than I had all afternoon yesterday.

We were naked doing the oral sex, of course, and, with no cleaning up necessary, we get in bed, and Mickey puts my glasses on the bedside table. Being careful about our sore pierced ears, we cuddle, our naked bodies fitting together like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle now that I've learned how to meld into Mickey's skinny body exactly the way he wants me to. There's no discussion necessary, we both take it for granted I'm going to do it the right way, and I do.

After a couple of minutes of relaxing together, I mumble, "Did you notice our pubes are coming 'in' as little soft hairs, not sharp bristles as they would have if we just shaved them." Mickey mutters, "Yeah, I noticed that too." My head is partially on Mickey's chest, so I can't help but notice his personal scent. It's subtle, but I can detect it and I like it. Yeah, I could pick him out of a lineup blindfolded just from noticing his personal scent.

After another minute of silence, Mickey slowly rubbing his finger in circles around my left nipple, getting it hard, I ask, "Should we use that other stuff you bought on our pubes?" He murmurs, "Later this week. I'm feeling lazy today." I lift my head and give him a 'look.' He chuckles, mumbling, "No, don't worry, Burke, I'm not too lazy for that. I'm gonna give your pussy ass at least one hard fucking even though my ankle is aching like a motherfucker." I settle back down on him and murmur, "If your ankle hurts too much, you don't have to fuck me today." He goes, "You don't mean that, do you?" I snicker and mumble, "Um, no, not really," and we both laugh.

He runs his hand back through my hair, saying, "We should get haircuts this week; Monday, maybe." I'm like, "Why? I never get a haircut after only three weeks." He says, "Well, you will this time to keep me company, right?" I go, "I guess, but why do you want another haircut so soon? You lived nineteen years without going to a barbershop, and now after only three weeks, you want to go again?" He laughs, "Yeah, that's odd, isn't it?"

I'm like, "Well, yeah, it is, but I like you so much I'll go with you." He says, "The truth is, I used to get haircuts. I mean, as a kid I'd go with my brother. Then, when I was eleven or twelve, I just stopped. My big brother was off to college, so I rebelled or something. I forget why but I just stopped getting my haircut at a barbershop. I cut it myself. Heh heh, I looked like I was Amish or something for years." I go, "So you lied about that. You told me you've NEVER been to a barber." He pinches my nose, mumbling, "I stopped going when I finally had a say in the matter. So, um, I exaggerated a bit." I mumble, "You lied," and he goes, "I didn't lie, I exaggerated for effect." I mutter, "Which amounts to a lie."

He's playing with my hair now, pulling it up to the middle of my head from both sides, saying, "I don't know, but after I got this haircut at Sal's I couldn't help but notice my dad's reaction, um, how happy he was about it. Jeez, I guess I've been an embarrassment."

Looking at his head, I mutter, "Obviously, this is much better," and he goes, "Obviously! Still, I was surprised, shocked, at how enthusiastic dad was about this fucking haircut. So, anyway, I'm gonna be conscientious about my appearance. I hate the thought that I was an embarrassment to dad." Then he wistfully mutters, to himself probably, "I can't fucking imagine why I went all these years hacking my hair." Then to me, "Thanks to you, Burke, I've joined the human race haircut-wise." I go, "Yeah, whatever you say, Mick."

Without thinking about doing it, I started calling him 'Mick.' Not all the time, occasionally. I'm not even sure when I started doing that. Well, I think it was the beginning of the week, and so far, he hasn't said 'yeah' or 'nay' to my nickname for his other nickname.

Finally, Mickey says, "Okay, are you ready to get fucked, pussy-boy?" I sit up, saying, "Always," and he gets out of bed and hops on one foot to the corner of the mattress where we hide the condoms. Lifting the corner of the mattress, he takes two condoms out, and says, "I'll do it with you on your stomach this time. I liked that position, it was premium positioning for my pecker."

He sits at the end of the mattress holding the two foil-wrapped condom packets, and says, "C'mon, you need to suck me another boner, Burke." Getting off the bed, I mumble, "Uh-huh, good idea. Don't even think about getting up, not with that bad ankle." He snickers, "I wasn't. I'm an invalid now, so come to my candy shop and lick my lollypop." I go, "Oh, please, try not to say creepy things like that too often." He grins at me and points at his pecker.

I get on my knees in front of him and get his penis in my fingers, muttering, "Hmm, look at this. You can see all my saliva dried on your dick from my full-blown blowjob earlier." Mickey's like, "Uh-huh, that's nice." I chuckle 'cause he doesn't care. Neither do I as I put his cock in my mouth and suck, lick, and move his six-plus inch penis all around the soft, smooth, warm, and moist areas in my mouth.

This time I'm not doing anything slow, plus, I'm stroking the shaft portion of his cock that's not in my mouth. His cock gets very hard, very quickly. Taking out his hard cock, I hold my hand up, and Mickey plops a condom packet in it. Ripping open the packet and roll the condom onto his awesome boner and then pat his leg and get on the bed. Mickey murmurs, "You are my favorite person on the friggin' planet. That felt so good..."

He eases himself up on the bed, being careful with his ankle, and gets on his knees behind me, between my legs. I'm on my stomach, my face in the pillow. I go up on my knees slightly, pushing out my ass, and Mickey spanks me. I make a 'face,' muttering a quiet, "Ow.". Snickering, Mickey pushes the head of his condom-covered boner inside my ass. That hurt but the short spanking gave me something else to think about so it wasn't too bad.

After taking a deep breath and sighing, Mickey murmurs, That felt good," and continues pushing his hard cock in past my sphincter a couple of inches as I'm making a 'hissing' sound at the initial pain. Yes, it hurts, but, I swear, it's a unique type of pain that adds sexiness somehow. For me, it does. It sure as shit doesn't work that way for Mickey; he couldn't bear the pain when I was the 'top.'

Mickey does a little hop forward on his knees, then pushes his boner the rest of the way up my ass and leans against my buttocks as he makes a low, 'Mmmm,' sound. The pain, for me, is already in fast retreat as the pleasure brigade takes over. My prostate pulses out a steady feeling of intense pleasure and already I get the sense I'm about to cum. That sensation increases when Mickey pulls his cock back almost the entire six-plus inches and then pushes it back in all the way, and I go, "Ahhh, ooh." Then, here we go, as the fast, steady "Slap, slap, slap," sounds begin ringing out from Mickey's body smacking against my ass every time he drives his cock in.

This is called fucking, anal fucking to be exact. It's mostly done by homosexuals, but also by straight males when for a long period of time they're without female companionship like in prison, but it's also done by heterosexual couples when the male-partner is persuasive enough.

Whoever is doing it, it feels fantastic to some, but not to all. So far, Mickey is in the latter group, but we haven't given up trying. This week I'm gonna attempt being 'the guy,' the 'top,' and we'll see how it goes. Right now, however, I'm thinking only one thing, and it's how fantastic it feels to be fucked up my ass. It's inconceivable to me anything can be better than this, or as good for that matter.

I was fucked for the first time by Bobby and thought nothing could be better, but this is better because of how much more I relate and like Mickey. For a day or two, I thought I loved first Mark and then Bobby, but, of course, that was due to my inexperience, and I quickly came to my senses. It was a love of getting fucked, not being in love with them. I know the difference now that I'm in love with Mickey. I realize the grand canyon of difference between thinking I was in love and being in love for real.

It's not just that though, Mickey also fucks better than them, and his equipment is better too. Mark even admitted he wasn't very experienced, and by now, I'm positive Mickey has fucked many times more than Mark has. Mickey's fucking only with me, obviously, but, so what? He's fucked me more times than Mark has fucked whoever, and I'm not sure how many times Bobby's fucked, but I'm sure Mickey is better. And the confidence, the rough, in-charge way Mickey fucks now is a big improvement on his earlier efforts. I find it hard to imagine he can still get better at it, but we'll see.

My asshole, after initially protesting at being stretched by Mickey's boner, and the nerve endings around my anus area are doing most of the protesting, but they're all soon singing a song of pleasure. The incomparable pleasure my prostate creates when stimulated by a hefty six-plus hard slippery cock makes it the lead singer in this ecstasy choir of anal fucking-- um, just a couple of stretched-metaphors for pleasure beyond belief.

I also like hearing Mickey's quiet moans as he humps his hard sex organ back and forth in my ass. His moans of sexual pleasure add to my pleasure, I mean, knowing he's enjoying this as much as I am is important. I also like that his hands holding onto my hips sometimes pull me back into his fast thrusts and, mostly, because it's Mickey 'topping' that adds to the sexual thrill as well.

After five or six minutes, here comes the exclamation point; a big one, the crescendo in human pleasure called the sexual climax. After this fantastic five to six minutes of fucking, my cock is stone-hard, parallel with my belly, and getting ready to handle what's coming. And what's coming is my climax and here it comes storming up through my boner and... BAM! I lift off the bed a few inches, my cum flying from my hard dick in a fast line that skims off my chest, and then splatters under my chin! Where else did I expect it to hit with me in this position? I don't care though 'cause nothing feels as good as climaxing, nothing!

I'm shaking and pulling on my cock getting cum droolings out and savoring the zinging after-effects of that sizzling orgasm. Damn, that felt good! Mickey's leaning against my ass moaning, then saying to himself, '"Ummm, motherfucker... yes." He must have climaxed. I was too busy with mine to notice his.

Mickey takes a deep breath, pulls his dick out of my ass, and then goes, "Never disappoints, huh, Burke?" I mutter, "Not so far, nope." He says, "Stay there," and passes me some Kleenex. I clean my chin and chest while he uses Kleenex to wipe the condom's lubricant from around my asshole. My asshole, as usual, feels wide open back there.

Patting my buttocks, he goes, "Okay, you're good," and I flop over on my back. He lies next to me, and I lift up on my side getting settled against him so we can do our cuddling routine. After a few seconds, I go, "Hmm, a couple of weeks ago, I was hoping we'd avoid doing routines like kissing 'hello' and 'goodbye', routines that become meaningless after a while, but I was wrong. Our cuddling is routine, but I really like doing it after sex. I can't imagine it ever getting to be a meaningless routine.

He says, "Move up a little more on me as I showed you before," and when I do that, he adds, "Yeah, good. Try to remember next time. Routine, you said? If either of us notices anything were doing becoming meaningless, ya know, we should mention it." Nodding my head against his shoulder, I go, "Okay, is this good the way I am?" He nods, and I add, "I don't see anything becoming meaningless any time soon. We've only been boyfriends a few weeks; everything is still pretty fucking new."

We don't talk for a while, and then he goes, "Um, are you saying you want us to kiss 'hello' and 'goodbye', um, routinely? Is that what you meant?" Shrugging against his slim body, I mumble, "Not always, no, but, I don't know, you play it by ear and I'll go along with whatever you decide, I guess..." Mickey mutters, "That clears it up for me."

We leave it at that. Later we have a snack and a Coke talking about a trip to Lake Lenape some afternoon to swim and then eat dinner up there and later break into the park after hours to have sex. Then we consider the pros and cons of an apartment Mickey would share with me instead of him living on Drexel University's campus. Mickey and his dad arranged for college loans months ago. The money is Mickey's since he'll be paying it back, so the decision of how he spends the money is his too. In other words, he'll decide if he lives on or off-campus.

Later, we have sex doggy style with Mickey taking it slow dragging out the pleasure, and as we're cuddling afterward, I ask him to come to Saturday's Fourth of July cookout at my house. He goes, "Sorry, but Dad and his girlfriend, Carmen, and I have a tradition of what we do for the Fourth. For the last three years, we've been going into Philly to the Fourth of July celebration there."

I'm like, "Yeah, we went to the Wawa America Festival one year too, um, I guess it was six years ago, but it was too crowded or something." Mickey says, "Yeah, well, Philadelphia is the birthplace of our nation, so a four-day celebration makes sense. We only go to the 'Party on the Franklin Parkway' though. Then the fireworks at the Museum of Art at night, of course." I'm like, "You sure you wouldn't rather come to our Fourth celebration? You could meet all the people you enjoyed so much last Sunday at the cookout." He snorts out a laugh and says, "Of course, I'd rather be at your place, everyone made me feel so special, but I don't want to disappoint dad and Carmen."

I ruffle Mickey's light-blond hair affectionately, and say, "You wouldn't want to disappoint Carmen... haha. I believe you told me you don't care for her." He shrugs, and a few minutes later, I'm like, "Actually, I wish I could go with you guys, heh heh." He mumbles, "I wish you could too." Gee, I feel so 'close' to him, it's as if we've been best buddies from birth. I snuggle in tighter, murmuring, "You're supposed to hug your pussy boy. Do your job!"

He grins and says, "You're a needy one, ain't ya?" He squeezes me, murmuring, "No one has ever made me feel special until I met you." Oh man, this is what happens when two guys who have been made to feel as though they're losers find a friend who disagrees with the 'loser' assessment.

We don't say anything else for twenty-minutes. Mickey finally mumbles, "I hate to do it, but I gotta get home, Burke." I nod my head, "Okay, my parents will be getting home soon anyway. I'll give you a ride home, and then pick you up again at seven o'clock." He mumbles, "Ya know, Mattie, you're the best friend I could ever wish for. I love you." Oh, man, our mutual admiration society is working overtime today. I mumble, "You too, Mickey. So, do you wanna hang out at your place tonight, or my place, or what?" Mickey says, "I don't know. Let me see what dad's plans are, and I'll text you."

We have another one of our quiet periods as I drive him home. At the curb, I grin at him, saying, "Right now, Mick, in my mind, I'm kissing you 'goodbye'." He says, "And I feel the kiss, Burke. Sweet! See ya," and he gets out. He makes me smile, and I'm still smiling as I watch him go inside the house. I always watch for his last-second little wave before he closes the front door. Whew, I feel good when I've been with him even though parting is a little sad. We've been meeting after dinner to hang out together but haven't yet found a place to have sex after dinner.

So, yeah, Carmen is his dad's girlfriend. I've met her one time when hanging out at his house. As I said before, his dad is nice, he's smallish like Mickey, about the same height of five feet, six inches, and slender. Unlike Mickey, his dad has an 'olive' complexion and a thick but short black beard. Mickey has a very sparse beard that he shaves every day. Mr. Miller's girlfriend is my height but weighs more than me. She's blond with a pale complexion and younger than Mr. Miller. Oddly, Carmen looks more like Mickey's mother than his dad looks like his father.

As I said, Mr. Miller is a nice man, but Carmen's a bit of a cunt. That strikes me as odd because you'd think Mickey, her boyfriend's son, she'd at least pretend to like even if she didn't. Ya know, get in good with her man's kid. Not the case. It's hard to describe, but I felt vibes as though she was annoyed Mickey's there. It's as if Mickey's an encumbrance for Carmen having her way with his father. Older people are mysterious.

Anyway, Saturday, my parents are hosting the Fourth of July cookout. They also host the Labor Day cookout, but they never do the normal Sunday cookouts. How that came about is, dad's the youngest of the three brothers, and when they began doing cookouts dad's two older brothers, Ronny and Shaun, were both married, and dad wasn't, so the married brothers alternated Sunday cookouts with their wives, plus each had a baby. Dad would go, eventually bringing my mom as his date. When dad married mom, the two brothers continued with Sunday cookouts only assigning mom and dad the Fourth of July and Labor Day cookouts. Then the babies grew up, and they had another, and another, and my brother was born, and then me, and here we are.

This year more than in past years, I'm not looking forward to the 'Fouth.' After having Mickey with me Sunday, it'll be that much harder without him. He wasn't any help as far as deflecting abuse I experienced from some of my asshole extended-family but I liked commiserating with him, knowing he'll be on my side. It was disappointing that he wasn't outgoing last Sunday because he's changed so much becoming more outgoing with me and with others as well. We're two nerds who are turning the tables on most of the guys we grew up with even though they don't know it yet.

Tonight, Thursday night, we hang out at Mickey's place without Carmen there, so we have a nice easy time of it in his bedroom while his dad works in his home office, which is in the 'finished' part of their basement. Mickey and I talk about a lot of stuff, get silly, surf the Internet for cute guys with cool-haircuts that we might get next week, and then make out for fifteen minutes... it goes like that. I go home at ten o'clock because I get up early for work.

Friday after work and then again after dinner, I'm with Mickey, and it's a similar day to Thursday. We aren't going to see each other Saturday, the Fourth of July, and Sunday we'll hook-up but it will be different because we won't have my house to fuck at because there is no cookout Sunday, not after Saturday's cookout. Bottom line: we won't have sex again until Monday after work. That will be the first time we've gone two days without sex since we met almost a month ago. We talk about that on Friday wondering how we'll handle it after a month of sex multiple times every day.

Friday night before falling asleep, I'm thinking about that, and then about my job at UPS. We get holidays off with pay but this year the Fourth of July holiday falls on a Saturday, so we were offered Friday off with pay OR work Friday as overtime, which I choose to do. Then, Saturday morning, the Fourth of July, I lie in bed, rolling my eyes because today is unlikely to work out well for me. I say that because I need to cut the grass and then my parents will have me running errands for items they forgot to get, like ice, or cups, whatever they forgot. That isn't so bad, but then the cookout will be bad for all the reasons last Sunday's cookout was bad, plus I won't have Mickey by my side.

And then, I'm pleasantly surprised because, after I cut the grass, the only errand I need to do for my parents is pickup the steaks and other meats they ordered from the butcher shop on 69th street. After completing my two 'chores', I shower and put on my best shorts and a polo-type shirt instead of my usual t-shirt, and I'm ready to endure the cookout, determined to be friendly. My brother, Roger, and his live-in girlfriend, Brenda, arrive at noon to help mom and dad, but everything is under control and mom and dad don't need help.

Brenda stays in the kitchen talking to my parents while Roger, after saying hello to mom and dad, gets a beer and comes outside where I am. He likes me or at least does an excellent job of faking it, one or the other. I'm leaning toward the former as he gives me a good hug, saying, "It's awesome seeing you, bro.' Then, standing back, he goes, "Jesus, Mattie, that earring of yours is sick. So cool! How is life treating you?" I tell him I'm having a great summer and then tell him I bought a car, got a job, and made an awesome friend. "I'm having the best time ever, Roger." He gulps down some Budweiser, and says, "I'm happy for you but how come you don't visit me and Brenda. I've asked you a dozen times. Bring your new friend."

Trying to decide if I should say what I'm thinking Roger waits patiently, grinning at me, knowing I sometimes take a few seconds before answering questions. Finally, I blurt out, "Brenda doesn't like me." He says, "Well, you're misinterpreting her reaction, bro. She's, um, she gets uncomfortable when you don't say anything for like six hours at a time," and he laughs, hugs me again, and says, "That was a joke." I'm like, 'Oh, ha, yeah, but I am quiet. My new friend, Mickey, and I are working on that. I can talk easily with him, and to you too, but Brenda, um, I don't know what to say to her." God, that's pathetic, bragging about talking okay with my friend as if that's something not every-fucking-body can do.

Here's an aside, for as long as I can remember, Roger's friends have called him 'Burkie,' a form of our last name. I think it's because 'Roger' isn't a cool first name for a kid. He's called 'Burkie' and it's stuck until now, although Brenda calls him Roger. So do I, but everyone else uses his nickname. No one has ever called me 'Burkie', but my first name isn't as unusual as 'Roger' and I've never heard the reason he was named that.

Roger and I don't exactly look alike although people usually recognize that we're brothers. We're pale complexed with brown hair and light brown eyes; well, sometimes our eyes appear green in the right light. We're the same height, we're both slim, and so forth. Here's the funny thing though, and this is a weird thing for me to say, but, while we look alike enough to be recognized as brothers, Roger is 'average' looking while I'm, well, I'm kinda cute. It's not conceit; it's a fact, a weird fact.

I mean, lots of people have said I'm 'cute', and I kinda agree with them. Roger and I have similar facial features and, as I said, but my eyes look bigger than Roger's, and everything about my face is more symmetrical, my facial features are symmetrical, and, haha, well, I'm not sure exactly what the hell it is. I'm not talking about me being 'knock-out' cute here, no, I'm only a little bit cute. Lots of guys are cuter than me and, of course, I'm gay so I can speak of guys being cute with some authority.

Yeah, I've tried to figure it out, the cuteness factor, but I can't describe it any better than I already have. Anyway, being slightly 'cute' is the only thing I've got going for me, so, ya know, I've thought about it a bit. People say Roger's nice looking though, so there's that.

After drinking some beer, Roger says, "I obviously exaggerated when I say you don't say anything for six hours, but you are a quiet fucker, and that makes her nervous." I go, "Yeah, well, as I said, I'm working on it." He asks how long I plan on staying with UPS, and I'm like, "Well, right now I'm kicking-ass there, but it's boring. I'm planning to go to either trade school or community college at night, and, eventually, I'll get a better job."

He wants to know about my new friend, and I tell him what I can without getting into Mickey's and my sex life. Oh, to finish about my brother, while I may be cuter, Roger's smarter than me, brainier than me, and he's good at sports too. He played on the high school basketball team and started during his senior year. And, he doesn't have Aspergers. He was popular in school while I wasn't, so, yeah, differences. I've always loved him like a brother though, and brothers don't always love each other. Because Roger is seven-years older than me, we've never been what you'd call buddies. It's strictly been big brother, little brother.

And, he was the only person I found easy to talk to when I was younger. That may have been because he seemed interested in what I had to say. Interestingly, that's what Mickey said the reason was that he quickly found it easy to talk to me. Roger goes, "Yeah, it's good to hear this guy Mickey and you are helping each other out." I go, "I'll say, and he's mostly the reason for me having fun this summer." He mumbles, "Hmm, you guys sound like you've got a good, um, friendship going there." He probably thinks I'm gay and I'll probably tell him I am before I tell my parents.

We walk around to the driveway, and I show him my car. He gets in it, saying, "Pretty nice ride, Mattie, kinda cool." From the corner of my eyes, I see Brenda heading for us from the back yard. She walks purposefully like she's on a mission. She's carrying a drink, one that appears to be a gin and tonic as she calls over, "Hiya, guys, um, how are you doing, Matthew?" Roger goes, "Hey, Brenda," and she says, "I wondered where you two were hiding. Oh, is this your car, Matthew?"

I'm like, "Hi, Brenda, ah, this is, um, yes, it is. Roger said it was, um, he said it's a ..." and Roger goes, "Mattie's got himself a cool 'ride' here, huh, Brenda?" She nods, "Very nice. Oh, I see you've got an earring too, huh?" The way she said that sounded to me as if she said, 'I never thought a dork like YOU would do something as cool as getting an earring.' I'm like, "Um, yes, my friend and I decided to, well, yeah, I got an ear pierced." Roger tells Brenda, "Ya know, I got my ear pierced when I was in high school." He did it when he was a sophomore.

Brenda is olive-complexed with short dark hair. She's nice-looking in a stern way, meaning the skin on her face looks tight given her a no-nonsense appearance, and she doesn't smile a lot, not around me anyway. She's short, about as tall as Mickey, and I suppose 'straight' guys would think WOW! Nice figure! So I guess she's 'hot' in that regard. I've never asked Roger what he sees in her. I've never even thought to ask that.

She says, "Yes, Roger, I know when you got your ear pierced. I was with you, if you'll recall. Well, come on now, you've goofed off long enough. Help bring out the food. Everyone will be here any minute now." Roger goes, "No. You go ahead and help, Bren, I'm not through catching up with Mattie." She hesitates, not liking that one bit, finally mumbling, "Suit yourself," and she turns and walks away briskly. Roger looks at me and says, "Be careful of live-in girlfriends, or boyfriends for that matter," and he smiles at me, adding, "Let me take your hot car for a spin. See what she's got. Hop in the passenger seat."

We do that as I'm wondering about Roger adding the 'boyfriend' part to his live-in warning. Not surprised he said it, just wondering. I don't follow up with a question about that though 'cause I'm afraid where it might lead, and I'm not ready for 'that' discussion.

Rogers drives to a 7-Eleven store and parks, saying, "Just between us two, bro, I'm buying a pack of cigarettes. Brenda has a shit-fit when I smoke, so I gotta sneak them as though I'm fifteen again. Come on in with me." He buys a pack of Marlboro for $10.00 and four $10 scratch tickets. He gives the girl behind the counter, who is a good-looking twenty-something-year-old girl with a sweet smile, a fifty-dollar bill. The girl and Roger exchange mysterious smirks and on the way out of the store, Roger gives me the scratch tickets, saying, 'Get lucky, Mattie. Win something for yourself." I'm like, "THANKS!"

We lean against my car as Roger smokes a cigarette, and I use a dime to scratch my scratch tickets. The first scratch ticket pays $10, which is what it cost, so it's a free ticket. The next two don't pay anything but the fourth one is a $100 winner. Roger's thrilled for me, cheering as if I did something special, and I'm like, "Can I keep this?" He goes, "Well, hell, yeah! They're your tickets, but don't buy more scratch tickets with your winnings. You used up luck for today."

Oh, boy! I fold the tickets and put the two winners in my back pocket, saying, "Thanks, Roger!" He grins at me, mumbling, "I love seeing you smile, Mattie," and he hugs my shoulders so hard my eyeglasses end up at the tip of my nose. As he smokes another cigarette, Roger tells me about taking Brenda to Atlantic City two weekends ago. He lost a 'lot' playing blackjack, but she won a thousand bucks on the slot machines, so that covered Roger's losses, although he goes, "Brenda doesn't share, bro, so I still lost a thousand plus expenses." Hmm, I think he's getting ready to break up with her. Jeez, that can't be easy after like nine or ten years together. Well, if you're a boyfriend/girlfriend combo that long without getting married, what's that tell you? Um, I don't know, actually.

Anyway, my time with Roger, aka Burkie, was the highlight of the Fourth of July cookout for me. Oh, dad cooked some good food on the grill, so that was good too. And, I got a bit 'high' drinking rum and Coke, so that helped, plus I snuck off to my room for an hour too, which also helped. When it got dark, we all drove to the high school and watched some pretty good fireworks.

Then, I was up until midnight helping my parents clean up the mess so we wouldn't need to do it in the morning. Dad was saying to my mom, "Can you imagine doing this every other Sunday?" Referring to what my uncles and aunts do on alternating Sundays. Mom said, "It was fun, though, having everyone here." I say, to myself, 'God forbid!'

Sunday, we all sleep late, and then mom made brunch at one o'clock, and that was good too, so not a horrible experience at Saturday's cookout and then Sunday morning. Around two-thirty, I text Mickey, pick him up, and drive to Kent Park. While driving we tell what we did yesterday and the most exciting thing was me winning $110 from the scratch tickets. We don't bother to say we missed each other... the way we touched and smiled when Mickey got in the car, it was obvious we were glad to be together again.

When we get to the park we join Dean and some of the others who had their shirts off getting some sun lying on the grass while getting 'high' smoking pot. With Dean are Artie Guy, Charlie Snyder, and a good-looking tough kid who rarely shows up at the park, Phil Rivers. Phil and I were in the same homeroom last year. He slaps hands with me, mumbling, "Burke, looking good, dude. Is that your car? The one you drove up in?" Dean goes, "No, dipshit, he stole it." We both ignore that as I go, "Yeah, I bought it after graduation." Mickey asks, "Who'd you guys buy the grass from?" Phil looks at Mickey, and says, "Hey, Miller, you're too little to be smoking grass, dude, hit the road." Mickey says, "Bite me, Rivers," and I ask Dean, "Who's got grass?"

I notice that Dean's been at Sal's Barbershop since I was with him last Wednesday and he looks awful with a fresh buzz haircut because it's too short, like a quarter-inch, which is how Sal does buzz cuts. I don't say anything, though. I'm not like the rest of these guys, ready to break a guy's balls about anything different or new. Dean says, "There was a black dude selling grass in the parking lot a while ago, but he left." He holds his joint up to me, and I take a drag off it although I'd rather not. I didn' be rude turning down a 'sharing' gesture though.

Mickey is talking with Artie, laughing about something, and sharing Artie's joint. Artie's 'shadow,' Charlie, comes over, saying, "Hi, Mattie." I go, "Yo, Charlie, whassup? Hey, you're not getting high, huh?" He shakes his head, "Nah, I never smoke pot. I don't even like the smell of it, but that puts me in the minority around here, I guess." I shrug and ask how his summer is going, and we talk about that. He's working for his father, but that's temporary, and he doesn't want to go to college, so he's thinking of joining the Navy and blah, blah, blah.

The sun is wicked hot today, so, after forty-five minutes, Mickey and I leave, mumbling something about maybe having a swim at the reservoir. As we drive away from the park, Mickey says, "I'm trying to be cool about this, Burke, but I'm wicked horny for you. Where could we go so you can at least suck me off?" I'm like, "Christ, yeah, let's think of someplace." He goes, "It's been tough, us not having sex for a few days, but I promised myself I wouldn't regress back to jerking off."

Shaking my head, I mumble, "I can't think of where we can go, Mick. Hey, didn't you tell me your dad goes to the office on Sundays?" He shrugs, "Yeah, he does sometimes, but not today. Carmen slept over last night, and they're in the back yard working on their 'tans.'" I'm like, "Well, your backyard is on the other side of the house from your bedroom, so that's an option. First, though, I'll drive by my house and see if my parents went out."

I cruise past my house, seeing both mom's and dad's cars in the driveway, so I keep on going to Mickey's house. He says, "It's pathetic of us that we can't go two days without fucking. Something is wrong with us." I go, "We can go two days without screwing, but why should we if we don't need to. That's all I'm saying." Looking at Mickey, my balls tighten up. Nevermind two days, I don't want to go two more minutes without him fucking my ass. God, I've got it bad for Mickey.

He mumbles, "I don't need this bad enough to take a chance of dad or Carmen somehow catching us doing 'it'. The embarrassment of Carmen seeing us doing 'it' would be something I'd never get over." I take hold of his hand, saying, "Okay, we won't take a chance." I squeeze his hand, driving one-handed, as we turn the corner and cruise down his street. Mickey mumbles, "Sometimes we act like we're fourteen, Burke. Do you ever get that sense?" I say, "No, it's more like we're twelve."

Parked at the curb outside his house, I say, "Let's get something to drink and see what your dad and Carmen are up to." Mickey mutters, "Carmen's car is gone. It was parked in front of the garage. C'mon, let's go inside." Inside, there's nobody home. Mickey's been known to bite his nails and right now he's biting his thumbnail, which I know means he's thinking. He nods his head, spits out a tiny piece of his thumbnail, and says, "C'mon, we'll walk through the house," and after we do that, there's still nobody home. He mutters, "Just making sure dad's not here." I go, "So, we can go to your bedroom and..." He waves at me, saying, "I don't know when they'll be back, though." Shrugging, I roll my eyes but don't say anything. It's his house, and so it's his decision.

Standing next to him, I put my arm across his shoulders and lean against him. His arm goes around the back of my waist, and somehow, we're all of a sudden face to face making out. Not in some panic, though. We're doing slow wet sloppy kisses with our arms around each other, my fingers in the hair on the back of his head. God, I could eat him up! And, I like that he needs to reach his face up and go on his toes, being shorter than me. That tells me how much he wants to do this, and it gives me confidence. His scent gets in my head, and I moan as my cock gets wicked hard, our bodies squirm against one another as we lick each other's mouth and then suck on each other's lips and then our tongues slide together as Mickey's hair flops softly against my forehead.

It's an unhurried make-out that goes on for two minutes or so, but when we pull our heads back to breathe deeply, Mickey has those red blotches on his cheeks that he gets when especially aroused, and all around our mouths there's shiny wet shared saliva. I have no problem at all looking into Mickey's big eyes, making eye contact with him is no problem. His eyes are mostly black pupils but with iris rims of dark blue. He says, "Okay, let's take a chance," and he takes my hand, leading me upstairs to his bedroom.

In his bedroom, for once, the bed is made. I go, "wow, you made your bed!" He gives me a 'look' muttering, "I've been keeping my bedroom neat ever since you shamed me about my messy bedroom one time. I'm like, "Good! If we get an apartment together I won't have as much picking up and cleaning to do. He chuckles, "I wasn't serious about you doing all the housework, bro. Most of it, sure, 'cause I'm the guy. I'll chip in and help now and then. I go, "That's another joke, right?"

He smirks at me and then pulls my pants down. Immediately my boner springs free of my underpants and sticks up hard as wood. Mickey's cock comes out through his unzippered shorts, and it's as hard as wood too, but longer wood than mine. Mickey says, "Hey, we don't have a condom, Burke." I gasp, "Do it anyway," and he drags the head of his cock up my ass crack leaving a wet pre-cum trail in its wake. He mutters, "I don't want to hurt you," and then does a gasping inhale and mumbles, "Doncha think I'll hurt you too much?" I mutter, "Try it," so he pushes the head against my asshole, then pushes harder, and it doesn't slide in very far although the pain starts up big time.

Gritting my teeth, I stifle a scream when the head of his cock finally gets in past my sphincter, and I'm not all that disappointed when Mickey pulls it out, saying, "No, it's not sliding in. There's no lubricant, no natural lubricant in your rectum." I wasn't expecting it to be that difficult. I mean, people fucked without condoms in the olden days, right? How the hell did that work? Turning around, I'm like, "Did it hurt your dick?" He shrugs, "It didn't feel right. Um, I don't wanna do it this bad. It'll hurt you."

Well, fuck, now I don't want to suck him off either. I mean, he did have the head of his cock in my ass. This was a disaster. Mickey says, "I'll wash my dick, and you can at least suck me off." Oh, so, this isn't a disaster, it's a three-minute setback. I mumble, "That's what I was thinking," and I pull my pants up. Mickey puts his dick back in his pants, we look out the window to see if Carmen's car is back, and then walk to the bathroom.

In the bathroom, Mickey says, "People fuck without condoms, but they use that jelly." I go, "KY jelly. That's what it's called, and, hey, let's use the Vaseline." He stops wetting a washcloth, and says, "Of course! I'm not thinking straight. That's what we'll use." He gets the Vaseline container, asking, "How come we didn't think of this first?" As I'm pulling my shorts down again, I shrug, then turn around and put the toilet lid down. I mutter, "I don't know. We did it the bathroom before and I kinda liked the 'slapping' sounds bouncing off the tile walls."

Mickey's already got a glob of Vaseline in my asshole, all worries about his dad and Carmen are forgotten. "Aaaah," I grunt as Mickey plugs the head of his cock in my ass. He grips my hips and forces his cock all the way up there and then fucks my ass fast like he's late catching a bus.

"Slapslapslap," my body jostling to and fro, me holding onto the toilet tank to keep my face from bouncing off it. Christ, it feels good but this sex only lasts like ninety-seconds before we both make embarrassing sounds, loud ones, as we climax at the same time. "Splat' goes my hard stream of cum against the toilet tank while Mickey's silent stream of cum coats my bowels. He grunts and thrusts for thirty seconds after blowing his load.

"Omigod," groans Mickey as he pulls his cock out. "Omigod, Burke. I never 'came' that hard before in my life. It was, I don't know, unbelievable." Stepping back, he goes, "An overused word, 'unbelievable', but that fucking climax I just had was unbelievable." I'm squeezing my cock, making a 'face' because I agree. My dick head is burning from how fast and hard the cum came streaming out. I grunt, "My ass burns, and my dick is burning too. Yeah, it was unbelievable, but I want to feel that all over again."

Mickey's already put his dick away though, and he's at the sink washing the Vaseline off his hands, mumbling, "Let's not take any more chances right now. Clean yourself up, please." I wipe my ass, dropping the toilet paper in the toilet, mumbling, "Yeah, but that was awesome, Mickey." He turns his head, grinning at me, "Yeah, it was, wasn't it?" Leaving a pad of toilet paper in my underpants to soak up the cum that'll be drooling out, I go, "Let's buy some of that KY Jelly shit. I like the thought of having your cum inside me." He goes, "You're strange, Burke. You like me way too much." I mumble, "No, I don't. What's that even mean, anyway?"

Walking back to his bedroom I'm smiling, groping my junk, saying, "Why do you think it's strange I like part of you inside me?" He shrugs, "I don't know, but you make me feel good saying that. And, um, the way you, um, think I'm the most awesome lover, that I can't do anything wrong, is building up my ego nicely, so thanks. I've never experienced anything like you. You're special, Mattie, and you make me feel special too."

Hell, I'd do anything for him, but I'm conscious of not overdoing it, verbally, so I go, "Well, I'll put it this way, you're the best lover I've ever had, by far! And, what have you done wrong? Nothing, so, of course, I'd think you're, um, infallible." We flop on his bed, and Mickey holds his arm out for me to cuddle against him. Without even thinking, I get into our regular after-sex position against Mickey and he hugs and then kisses me doing 'the guy' part of showing his pussy boy I'm appreciated.

I squirm a little until my 'puzzle' pieces fit in with Mickeys, and we're quiet for a few minutes. This feels so nice. Feeling wanted is grossly underrated and, yes, feeling loved is too. I'm no longer feeling uncomfortable because I'm bigger than Mickey. He does the 'guy' part during our cuddling fine, his left arm around the back of my neck, him holding me against his left side, my head on his shoulder and chest as his right-hand fingers ruffle through my hair, pushing it back. He says, "You know what, boyfriend? I think you'd look good with a shorter, but still stylish haircut. Not this uneven short haircut that butcher Sal gave you, and definitely not as short as Morris' horrible buzz cut, but you look cutest with short hair." I murmur, "Okay, whatever. Um, this feels good, Mickey. Your fingertips on my scalp make me shiver nicely." He does a sort of scalp massage then, and I grin, mumbling, "Yeah, like that."

So, for ten minutes, we snuggle together, my ass feeling wonderfully fucked even if it was too quick. Yes, I needed that sexual relief. Once you've experienced being fucked, there's no turning back. I've said it twenty times already, but it's true; I don't believe anyone could fuck me as good as Mickey. Then, we hear car doors slamming. We look at each other, then Mickey sits up, "They're back." Well, that's okay. I sit up too, and Mickey gets off the bed to look out the window. "Yeah, it's dad and Carmen. Let's go downstairs."

We get our clothes straightened out and hustle to the kitchen. Mickey's got the refrigerator door open when his dad and Carmen walk in the front door. Taking a container of juice from the refrigerator, Mickey calls out, "Hi, you two. Burke and I are getting something to drink." They come into the kitchen with Mr. Miller saying, "Hi fellows. What's up?" I shrug, and Mickey says, "We were over Kent Park getting some sun rays. It's a hot one today, huh?"

Carmen sniffs and says, "You two look wrinkled like you just got out of bed," and Mr. Miller says, "Micheal, that's the fresh lemonade I made this morning." He means in the plastic container Mickey's holding. He adds, "Pour me a glass too, please." Turning to Carmen, he asks, "Do you want a glass of lemonade, Car?" She says, "No, thanks. I need to visit the little girl's room," and she walks off to do that.

Mickey pours lemonade in two glasses and asks me, "You want a glass, Burke?" I shake my head, and he hands a glass to his dad as he says, "Burke and I are going to look online for different haircuts to get next week. Aren't we, Burke?" Oh, he's serious about doing that? Whatever, I nod, "Uh-huh," and Mr. Miller raises his chin at me, and saying, "I've got you to thank for my son finally getting a haircut, don't I, er, Burke, um, Matt?" I shrug, and Mickey says, "Yep, he talked me into it, and now I'm hooked and want a more stylish hairdo."

After gulping down the glass of lemonade, Mickey puts the glass in the dishwasher, and says, "C'mon, Burke, let's look online. See ya later, Dad." I follow Mickey upstairs, and we go into his bedroom. He goes, "I was checking this out earlier. Look what haircut I think you'll look cool with," and he sits at his desk to turns on his laptop. It's a foregone conclusion by now that we're getting haircuts this week, so I stand beside him, my hand on his shoulder. He brings up a site titled '18 Cool Haircuts For College Freshmen'. He points at the one called 'High Fade w/ Textured Crewcut.' It doesn't look anything like I thought a crewcut was. Nothing like the haircut, Bobby's girlfriend gave him.

The model's haircut Mickey's pointing at has a close fade on the sides and back, meaning mostly clippers to the skin on the sides of the head and then 'faded' up to the top of the head at about a quarter-inch and the hair on top is at least an inch-and-a-half long, combed forward to stop at the hairline, without any bangs in front. I mumble, "Okay, but I don't know where we'd go to find a barber or hairstylist that can do that haircut. I mean, do it as good as someone did it for the model in that picture." It's kinda cool.

Mickey mumbles, "We'll find a barber or hairstylist. Look, here's the haircut I want. Whaddaya think?" I see the one he means and it's called 'A Comb Over' and is the basic 'fade' on the sides and back, as almost all the modern haircuts have, plus longer-hair on the top, combed over, with a part on the side. I say, "It's a shorter version of what you got at Sal's. You can go to Sal's and pay fifteen bucks while I'll go to a hairstylist in Philly and pay a hundred bucks."

He chuckles, "Don't be like that, Mattie. We'll find a local barber online who can do modern haircuts at a reasonable price." Ha, I think it's funny the way this went from me protesting that, 'I don't ever get a haircut after three weeks!' to fifteen minutes later saying, 'We'll need to find a hairstylist to do that haircut for me'.

It's Mickey! He has a way of quickly convincing me that I want to do 'something' and then it's almost as if it's my idea. That makes me grin. He makes me grin! He's still scrolling through the modern haircuts, looking serious. Leaning down, I kiss him on the cheek and then rub his hair. He glances at me, asking, "What?" I shake my head, "Nothing. I just felt like giving your cheek a kiss."

He finds a barbershop advertising 'fade' haircuts as their specialty. The shop is in Secane called 'Secane Station Barbershop'. They 'specialize in high or low fades.' Their motto is, "You will be satisfied." Walk-ins welcome, but 'Appointments Are Suggested.' Mickey says, "That's two miles from here. I'll call Monday, okay?" He's actually excited about this, so I go, "Sure, okay," and muss his hair some more. Whatever his haircut, he has the best hair of anyone I've ever known.

We lie on the bed again, snuggling in our familiar way, and after a few minutes of silence, I ask him why this sudden interest in his hair? I mean, he had no interest for many years. He says, "Well, I told you about my dad being wicked happy I got my hair cut after all these years, but, mainly I'm interested in my hair so I'll look as good as I can for you." My first inclination is to say something 'smart-ass', but because he was so serious, I mutter, "Oh, gee, thanks, Mickey. I like how you look, though, so don't worry about that." He murmurs, "You are the nicest fucking guy ever! Why didn't I ask you out years ago?" We do a sweet kiss, but before we can do more, his dad calls up the stairs, "You need to get ready, Michael." He yells, "Okay!"

I look at him, and he goes, "I forgot. We're going out to dinner. I need to get dressed." I'm like, "Bummer," and we get off the bed. He says, "Burke, er, Mattie, no one has ever liked me the way you do. It's so, um, well, I can't even put it in words, but you make me feel worth something. Thank you." I nod, mumbling, "And, you said that without even knowing how much I like you. You'd get a big head if you knew. Think about that!" He goes, Omigod!" We chuckle, and I say, "I'll see you tomorrow after work." He walks downstairs with me, mumbling, "I'm already looking forward to that, boyfriend."

His dad and Carmen are at the foot of the stairs when we come down, so they may have heard some of that. Mr. Miller says, "Nice to see you again, Matt," and I say, "Oh, thanks, um..." and they go upstairs. Mickey walks out to the car with me, rubs my back, mumbling, "So, yeah, I'll see ya tomorrow." I nod and smile at him as I'm getting in my car.

We wave as I drive away, and while driving home, I'm marveling at the intense feelings I have for him, it's an insane affection I have for Mickey. It's scary, almost. For the life of me, I don't know how it happened. Everything we've done together has been awesome, but that wouldn't necessarily, or logically, lead to the love I feel for him. But yet... there it is.

To be continued... Chapter 16 'Time flies' donnymumford@outlook.com

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