Waiting for a Miracle

WAITING FOR A MIRACLE

By Donny Mumford

Chapter 17 'Worried It's Going too Good'

Mickey and I are on our way to the reservoir in the town of Media, which isn't very far from Clifton. It's a little after three o'clock on a hot afternoon the first week of August, and, as we drive silently, I'm thinking how it's 'stunning' to me that so many things have gone right for us, for Mickey and me. I suppose it's natural to accept good fortune as something we often take for granted while we all bitch and moan about things that don't go the way we want. Some good, some bad, is the way life goes, but for Mickey and me, almost everything has gone our way, and now I'm beginning to worry that our lucky streak can't possibly continue. There has to be a huge disappointment for us just around the corner, right? It's a 'law-of-averages' thing...

I mean, a couple of months ago, I couldn't in my wildest dreams believe I'd be in a relationship this perfect. The odds of winning a top lottery prize is something like one-in-fourteen-million. Well, that's about what I would have thought my chances were of being in this relationship... one in fourteen million. That's another way of saying it would take a miracle.

The Media reservoir is where it all began for us when out of nowhere, Mickey dared me to dive into the reservoir from the top cliff with him. We hadn't said a word to one another in years! Then, neither of us dived anyway; we jumped, and, thanks to Mickey's ballsiness, we went out together the following Saturday. Was that the miracle, and if it was, is there another one coming? Or, more likely, as I fear, the law of averages catch-up to Mickey and me in the form of some disaster we're not able to see coming, something totally unexpecting.

We jumped in the reservoir, and now here we are many weeks later, boyfriends and lovers who yesterday dropped $2500 each for a very nice apartment in Philly. As part of our celebrating, we slept together last night at Mickey's house, our first 'sleepover,' haha. Oh, and we had sex five times. Then, today, we fucked again a few hours ago. Not only that, but we have wicked cool haircuts and, Goddamn, we're feeling pretty 'effing cocky about ourselves. Yep, it's been one good thing after another, life going just right for us. I love it, but I'm worried about the other shoe dropping, so to speak.

At the reservoir, I park, we smirk at each other, and then go up the hill where everyone gathers. I'm carrying a small cooler with a few bottles of water and two cans of Coke. Yeah, considering how 'cool' we're becoming, we should probably have beers in the cooler. Well, we still have some 'work' to do with our 'coolness.' Last night we were talking about that, and Mickey was serious saying, "Burke, we're doing something almost impossible. Going from nerd-status to cool-status and that is a more difficult transformation than the histogenesis of pupa to butterfly." I told him to stop showing off with that 'histogenesis' bullshit. Another miracle... us pulling-off that histogenesis thing?

At the top of the reservoir, Mickey points to an open spot near some bushes, and we spread our beach towels on the dirt. Sand would be better, but this is a reservoir, not a beach, and beggars can't be choosy. Lying on my towel, I hand Mickey a plastic container of Coppertone, saying, "This sunscreen has SPF 30," and then add, "Ya better use it, Mick. The sun is a bitch today. I put sunscreen on at home before changing into my swimsuit." He shrugs, muttering, "If you say so. I've done very little sunbathing in my life," and he spreads sunscreen on parts of his body he can reach. I spread the sunscreen where he can't reach.

The past few weeks, Mickey and I haven't always been sitting with the guys at Kent Park, and we don't sit with them here either. We chose our own place to spread the towels even though they're at a better spot nearer the reservoir. I see the 'usual' suspects over there, meaning Jello, Blake, Rick Walsh, and others, including Dean and three of the girls who regularly hang out with those guys.

What happened was, a few weeks ago, Mickey and I, for the first time in our lives, set-up away from the guys at the Park, although now I've forgotten what the reason was; maybe it had to do with Mickey's sprained ankle. Anyway, we continued separating ourselves after that. Today, there are two groups of strangers between the Clifton Heights' guys and us. At first, Mickey and I sitting separately felt 'funny' to me. Then, one or two other 'losers' like ourselves sat with us, and we weren't totally alone, so I'm cool with it now.

Mickey mumbles, "Um, get me one of those Cokes, Burke?" I pass him one, then get a bottle of water for myself and try to catch Dean's eye. I want to wave at him, but none of those guys are paying any attention to us. They're very animated with Jello pointing and saying something, and then there's laughing, and guys begin pushing and jostling each other. I kinda miss parts of being on the periphery of those guys, mostly 'cause Jello is so awesome, and Dean's a friend, but I stick with Mickey now.

Looking at him, I ask, "Do you ever worry that things, too many things, have worked out too perfectly for us? It, I don't know, it seems to defy the law of averages or something." He goes, "Gee, I was thinking the same thing after we rented the apartment. It was, um, like we got the perfect apartment. The thing is, though, maybe negative thoughts like that sneak into our brains because we haven't had many things go our way until we hooked up together, and we're not used to it. Maybe our good fortune of late is the law of averages catching up with us in a good way after years of shitting on us."

Hmm, I'm like, "Yeah, that's a better way of looking at it." Nodding, Mickey says, "Plus, good things don't just happen, Burke. We've made them happen by taking chances together that we would never have taken on our own." I go, "You've taken all the chances. I've gone along for the ride." He shrugs and says, "Yeah, well, I suppose I could be insincerely modest and say it's been both of us, but you're right, I've been the aggressor, our leader, but without you, I wouldn't be motivated to do anything. Without you, I didn't do anything for nineteen years, right?" I mumble, "Well, you were, I don't know, pretty assertive before you took me under your wing. You were more a part of things in the neighborhood than I ever was."

He grins and says, "I had my eye on you for years. It took me forever to pull the trigger and finally have big enough balls to approach you." He points to the ledge hanging over the reservoir, adding, "When I was challenging you to jump off the cliff with me, I was almost peeing in my swimsuit. You could have told me to go fuck myself." I go, "No! I'm not like that!" Mickey murmurs, "No, you're not. Anyway, don't worry, Burke, I'm not going to let anything derail our train. We're gonna stay on this roll of good fortune far into the future." His confidence is contagious, so I feel better already.

A few minutes later, hitting my arm and then pointing at the path leading from the parking area, Mickey goes, "Hey, is that Artie Guy coming up the hill?" I look over and mutter, "What the...? Huh, yeah, it is. Ya never see Artie without Charlie Snyder." Charlie is Artie's security blanket as Dean was for me. I watch as Artie stands there for a second, looking at Jello's crowd, and then at Mickey and me.

He hesitates only those few seconds, and then walks over to us, asking, "Hey, is it okay if I sit here, Mickey?" Mickey mutters, "Sure, Guy, why wouldn't it be alright?" Artie mumbles, "Thanks. Hi, Mattie." I wave and mumble, "Hi, Artie." He has a half-size beach chair with him that he opens and then sits on it and says, "Um, is it true you came 'out' Mickey?" Mickey shugs, "Yep, last week, I finally did it. I'm gay, Artie, but you're safe 'cause my boyfriend won't let me be gay with anyone but him."

Artie should have chuckled at that, but instead, he looks at me. I know what's coming, so I'm grinning at him, as he says, "I'm not gay, Mattie." I go, "Nobody said you were." and he says, "What I meant to add is, I don't care if you're gay." I mumble, "That's nice," and none of us says anything for ten minutes until Mickey asks Artie, "Where's Snyder?" Artie goes, "Charlie caught a summer flu or something. I wasn't gonna come here today, but it's so fucking nice out I took a chance you'd be here. I was glad to see you and Mattie, um, away from them," and he nods his head at the other guys, adding, "Ya know, ah, this is more relaxing." Mickey goes, "Uh-huh."

The sun is bright and hot today without a cloud in the sky. After another five minutes without talking, I ask Artie, "Do you want to use some of this sunscreen?" He nods, "Could I? Yeah, thanks! I forgot to bring mine." I pass the tube to him, and he rubs some on, and then goes, "Mickey, would you put some on my back?" Mickey sits up and does that, and then we're quiet again. We're quiet, but no one else is. It's loud up on top of the reservoir. Radios tuned to different stations are turned-up too loudly, plus guys and girls are yelling and laughing, running around... so, yeah, it's quite active.

Then I see Tom Berry and Billy Buck appear at the top of the hill. They stop to look around like Artie did. Billy, who's still carrying around a lot of baby fat, nods his head at us, and then Tom nods, and they come over to stand next to Artie's chair for a second. Mickey and I, shading our eyes with our hands, look at them, and Tom goes, "Yo, Mickey, is it okay with you if we crowd in with you guys?" Mickey says, "Yeah, sit wherever you want," then, to me, he mumbles, "Burke, how about if you move over."

No problem, I move nearer the bushes and Mickey moves too, then Artie, so now there's room for the two new guys. They drop their towels and sit. Tom and Billy are not quiet guys like Mickey, Arite, and I are, so I prepare myself for hearing some gossip. Tom, who smokes cigarettes, lights one, and says, "Jesus, Mattie, I already told you once, but, dude, your haircut is sick! You are looking cooler than shit lately. You too, Mickey, what's up with that?" I snort out a chuckle, then mumble, "You don't know this, Billy, but we've always been cool." He mutters, "Ya kept it a secret, huh?"

Tom and Billy aren't as 'peripheral' in the group as I was, but they're not 'main' factors in the neighborhood either. Billy, because he's fat, gets no respect, and Tom doesn't either because he's too smart. He's a straight 'A' student, and he wears big glasses with wire rims that aren't cool at all. He's a little geeky, but a nice kid too.

Billy shows up at Kent Park a lot; he's no stranger, and he isn't the quiet type either. He has a loud voice that can be annoying, so, ya know.

Anyway, he goes into detail about the pool party yesterday and how this kid, Muchie O'Brien, wasted a gram of marijuana by accidentally dropping it in the swimming pool. Then, Tom goes, "Did you guys hear about that black girl from Springfield?" He tells us a bizarre story about some girl taking bad drugs and wandering down the middle of Baltimore Pike with her tits out, and then Artie has a BS story about Charlie Arnold turning down a scholarship to Uconn, and blah, blah, blah.

I notice that when anyone is telling the group something, their focus is on telling Mickey, looking at him as they talk. It appears that Mickey's become the leader of us, not just me, but all us loser types. I'd noticed little indications of this dynamic when we'd show up at the park or the bowling alley. Yeah, fellow-losers and nerds like myself, and Mickey for that matter, guys who the more popular guys don't pay much attention to, have gravitated to Mickey. A side benefit of that is I'm considered Mickey's 'wingman' so I'm sorta like second in command, ya might say. Of the peripheral guys, I mean.

And, it's isn't like Mickey wants to be a 'leader.' It happened organically on its own. I suppose it helped that in the past, Mickey has been known to tell bullies, like Terrence, to go fuck themselves. And it helps, as I said earlier, that MIckey has been, until six weeks ago anyway, one of Jello's disciples and, therefore, closer to a 'regular' guys than I ever was. Plus, it's obvious that Mickey's a different guy now than he was a couple of months ago. He's changed and become more confident and changed his appearance as well. These are the things, I suppose, that made it easy for guys like myself to kinda look up to him.

Unlike Artie, as I mentioned, Tom and Billy are 'talkers,' and they get all of us talking because what they're saying often requires responses, and then we're laughing at what Billy tells us. Overweight loser or not, Billy's funny. He has a funny way of telling a story, exaggerating details, and dropping in lots of curse words. Today he's self-deprecating telling stories on himself about dumb shit he did at his part-time job.

Then, when Tom lights another cigarette, Artie wants to try smoking, which is good for some laughs, and later, Gene Saturday and his younger brother, Ron, join our group, asking, "What's so funny, guys?" Gene and Ron are considered to be losers for the simple reason they hardly ever hang out with the neighborhood guys. Yeah, they're inside the house all the time playing computer games. When they do show up at the park, the guys give them a lot of crap about that, which is why they came over to sit with us.

Then I feel like talking, so I tell the guys about Mickey's and my apartment. Oh boy, the guys are wicked impressed. Billy goes, "Fuck, I wish I was gay. You guys got the world by the balls." So, yeah, it's assumed I'm Mickey's gay boyfriend, although Mickey is the only one who has made his sexuality official by 'coming out.' Mickey sarcastically, mumbles, while grinning, "Yeah, closeted gay guys would be drooling over you, Billy." Well, yeah, we do some ball-busting too, but we're not mean about it.

After an hour or so, we're all wicked hot. Tom says, "Hey, Mickey, what do you say we go for a swim?" See, that right there, that was Tom subtly asking Mickey's permission. Well, not permission exactly, but it's like if Mickey doesn't want a swim right now, we'll all wait until later. Mickey says, "Awesome idea," and the seven of us walk over to stand on the cliff above the reservoir. We're doing the normal shit of pretending to throw each other off, and so forth, with a lot of laughing along with some unnecessary yelling, until we finally decided we'll all jump off together. Seven guys hitting the water at the same time create a huge splash, which annoys the girls swimming below. The girls' annoyance amuses us and then some of the guys, being sexually normal, sexually 'straight,' flirt with the girls, and then do some ass-grabbing, and flirting.

It turns out to be a pretty good afternoon, and when Mickey and I are getting our stuff together preparing to leave at five-thirty, the other guys do as well. All seven of us walk down to where the cars are parked, as Tom asks, "Yo, Mickey, are you doing anything tomorrow night?" Mickey goes, "Nah, just hanging out with, Burke. Why?" Tom goes, "My sister's summer job is an internship with the Philadelphia Phillies. She's working in the broadcast booth, and she gets bleacher seat tickets for free. Do ya wanna go to Monday night's game?" Mickey nods his head towards me, and Tom goes, "Yeah, of course, I mean Mattie too. And, here's another thing; Sandra is twenty-one, so she and her girlfriend will bring beers down to us during the game."

Mickey looks at me and shrugs, like, 'Do I wanna go?' and I go, "Hell, yeah." Tom points his thumb over his shoulder at Billy, saying, "He's coming too, plus my cousin. Meet us at my house around four-thirty, and we'll do some 'tailgating' in my driveway before the game." So, that's what we're doing tomorrow night.

We slap hands with Tom and Billy, say goodbye to the others, and when we get in my car, I'm like, "Hey, my first Phillies game this year." Mickey goes, "Mine too. Dad doesn't like baseball, and normally I don't either, but since it's free..." Grinning, I mutter, "And you being half Jewish and all..." He laughs out loud.

I drive us to my house, where no one's home. They're at Uncle Dennis's for the Sunday cookout. We anticipated that, of course, so Mickey told his dad he was eating at my place tonight. As we go in the front door, he asks, "How's your ass, Burke?" I go, "Is that all you think about? Fucking me?" He nods, "Pretty much, yeah. So, how's my pussy boy's, um, pussy?" I shrug, "Well, in all seriousness, it's still a little sore, but I'm game. I find you hard to resist." I said that kinda smart-ass and MIckey laughs, then mutters, "I know you do, all joking aside."

We're hot and sweaty, but it's cool inside with the air conditioning blasting. Putting my arm around Mickey's neck, I hug him to me, murmuring, "All kidding aside, you're right, I think you rock! You're my man, Mick." and I kiss him while holding his smaller body against me. He kisses back, and, after a mere minute of making out, I've got one of my hardest boners ever. Maybe it's Mickey's leadership status this afternoon that has me extra cranked-up for him.

Gasping, our mouths come apart, Mickey licks slowly across my lips, me holding my head steady for him, and he licks across my lips again and up the front of my nose. I cough when inhaling the saliva he left there and, staring into my eyes, he reaches behind me and smacks my ass, then says, "Get the 'jelly.'" I gasp again, grab my junk, and ask, "Where are we gonna do it?" He grins, mumbling, "In the kitchen. It was 'hot' watching you shoot your load across the kitchen tabletop that time."

We bought KY Jelly a few days ago, plus more of the hair removal crap. For now, I let go of Mickey, asking, "Are you gonna fuck me, bareback?" He goes, "Yeah, I am. That's if you ever get the 'effing lube." Groping my boner, I hot-foot it to my bedroom and get the KY Jelly.

Mickey's in the kitchen now. He takes the lube from me, muttering, "Pull your swimsuit down." I do that and then rest my hands on the kitchen table, and stick my ass out. Mickey says, "Ya know what? I should have taken care of this already, bro. I gotta take a piss," and he hands me the lube tube, mumbling, "You lube up your ass while I go to the bathroom."

No problem, I squeeze out some lubricant, reach back and push lube up my asshole, and then, since I have lube on my fingers anyway, I stroke my boner. Oooh, God, that feels good, haha. Yeah, it's been a while since I jerked myself off, but I have memories of when this was my only means of sexual relief. Sure, jerking off feels good, but can't compare with how good it feels to be fucked as good as MIckey does it. Oh, boy, I've got my fist around my boner sliding my hand up the shaft and over the super-sensitive head. Oops, out spurts some pre-cum. Hmm, I better stop.

Taking my hand away, I'm smiling to myself when the sound "SMACK!" rings out simultaneous to my ass stinging. I go, "OW!" and Mickey says, "I'm back. Do you want me to put you over my knee and spank you? That's what's going to happen if I catch you touching yourself again." We both snicker, and then I mutter, "I got excited thinking about how awesome you fuck me, Mick." He mumbles, "I know you do, and it makes me feel like a stud, heh-heh."

Then, he takes hold of my wrist, pulling my hand over to his dick, mumbling, "Stroke this." I wrap my hand around his longish penis and drag the foreskin back and forth until his cock gets fatter and longer. It's hard now, so the foreskin is taut, but Mickey goes, "Ummm, a few more times, Burke." With the lube helping, I slide my hand over the head of his cock a few times, mumbling, "I'd rather suck it for you." Pushing my hand away, he goes, "Dammit, why didn't you say that before getting lube on it?" I mutter, "I don't know," and he says, "Turn around and bend over..."

My cock is even harder than it was a minute ago. I can't resist giving it a few strokes as I'm doing what I'm told and "Smack!" Mickey's open hand whacks my ass, and I laugh, turn around and let go of my boner, thinking how cool it would be getting spanked by my little leader.

Putting my hands on the kitchen table and bending over, I spread my legs slightly and push my ass up. God, I love getting fucked by Mickey. His cock is so perfectly long and just the right heft so it never feels loose in my rectum, always tight!

As I lick my lips, anxious to start, Mickey gives my ass another hard smack, saying, "Push your ass out and up more, the way I like it, Burke." Getting with the program, I stop daydreaming about it and exaggerate pushing my ass up, straining. It's weird that I need to do that because, at the same time, I need to bend my knees slightly to accommodate the fact MIckey's shorter than me.

Putting a hand on each of my butt cheeks, Mickey spreads them apart and pushes his thumb into my ass, muttering, "It's always so perfectly tight... your asshole, I mean." Yep, it's tight alright, even his thumb going in my ass made me grunt, and he smacks my ass again, chuckling and mumbling, "Why'd you grunt? That was only my thumb, Burke." I go, "I know, you should probably spank me some more, MIck. I've been a bad boy."

Skinckering, he mutters, "Gladly," and smack, smack, smack, smack, until I go, "Okay, okay, I'm good now, thank you!" He snickers again, mumbling, "You're so Goddamn much fun, Burke," and the head of his cock just touches my asshole, the lube on his dick feeling cold compared to the lube in my warm ass, so I go, "Oh!"

Looking back at my fantastic 'top', I see that look of concentration on his face. He's got a firm grip on my waist too as he thrusts his hips forward pushing his hard cock past my sphincter. Pain sparkles nastily but feels good at the same time, and I moan, "Ow! Ummm." Mickey was so cooly confident when he did that first big thrust, it's like he's almost blase about this by now. He reaches under to give my balls a squeeze, mumbling, "You dropped your ass," another squeeze on my balls and he adds, "Keep your pussy up!" I push it up again and then push it back a little more. He murmurs, "That's my boy," and steadily pushes his boner up my ass until his crotch is tight against my buttocks.

Leaning against me, he humps against my butt cheeks a few times, asking, "How'd you like that, Burke?" I hold up a hand, nodding my head, waiting for the pain to recede, which it does right on schedule. Then, I go, "It felt fabulous, MIckey. Nobody can fuck as good as you." He snickers, mumbling, "You like getting fucked, don't ya?" Yeah, I do, this feels good!

Mickey pulls his hard-as-a-rock cock back and then begins hammering it back and forth in my ass, "Slap, slap, slap!" Waves of pleasure soar from my rectum; my cock too, and it's unbelievably hard sticking straight up against my belly. Oh boy, the extra hardness gets it moving away from my stomach to stick defiantly straight out, and now it isn't moving at all. It's so hard it aches deliciously, pre-cum drooling out the piss slit.

"Slap, slap, slap," Mickey's crotch slapping against my firm buttocks, slap, slap, slap. The sensations rolling from my rectum overwhelm me and I need to let my head hang down between my arms 'cause the pleasure is so monumental I feel weak, I feel a slave to it.

Mickey was right. There isn't anything in the world I like as much as getting fucked up my ass by him. I can't believe anyone on earth enjoys this as much as I do. Or, maybe everyone is like me and feels that this is the type of pleasure that's beyond description. It's only natural that, since Mickey Miller is providing the pleasure, my feelings for him grow more and more intense, rising to a level that must be 'love.'

Why wouldn't I be willing to accept that it's love? By now, I'm hoping it doesn't spill over into me worshiping him. That's how fantastic I think his fucking technique is, and by extension, how fantastic I think Mickey is. And, yes, I know he enjoys the shit out of this too, no pun intended, but I can't help but focus most of my concern on how I feel about it. This is a pleasure that's indescribable and never gets old. Plus, we've been doing this for over two months now, so I have a good solid foundation from which to say... this never gets old.

When I think it can't possibly feel better, it does feels better when the thrill of sexual orgasm peaks, and the approach of sexual-climax is near. That's another level of pleasure altogether. Indescribably awesome doesn't begin to do it justice, and when my climax is at the tipping point, it's as though physics breaks down, and we're into a different dimension of time.

Mickey's absurdly-hard and wonderful penis tightly slides continually back and forth, very tightly inside my rectum, and I can picture that happening in my mind. Then, there's a flash, a brilliant flash of color that gets my eyes blinking a fraction of a second before WORLD'S COLLIDE and BOOOM! Cum forces its way up and out of my granite-hard penis to fly three feet straight before touching down on the tabletop where it slides slimily another foot.

The explosion of pleasure reaches heights beyond pleasure for six, seven, eight seconds. That's how long my climax lasts with me leaving this world to drift out there in space before coming back and gasping, tightening my buttocks muscles to feel more intensely Mickey's moving boner. Then, he stops moving it and humps against my butt cheeks, uploading his cum inside me. It seems, momentarily, to be extra warm inside me as his creamy cum swarms before sticking on my bowels. Or maybe I just imagined that.

Mickey inhales noisily while after-effects of my climax zip around my ass and groin. Oooh, I squeeze my cock getting cum droolings on my hand, and mutter, "Awesome, Mick. Beyond belief awesome," and we both gasp in another deep breath. He takes a step back, and his cock pulls out of my ass, leaving me gaping open back there. He sighs and then says, "Whoowee, that was good. Oops, my cum is coming out of your ass already, Burke," and he grabs a paper towel off the roll on the counter and hands it to me. I press it against my asshole, muttering, "I'm sore again." Mickey mutters, "Whiner," and he snickers as he gets another paper towel to wipe stuff off his softening dick.

Turning around and then, leaning my back against the table, hold the paper towel on my asshole, smiling and saying, "Seriously, MIckey, that felt fantastic. I never gave a thought to my sore ass when you were fucking me in the most perfect manner imaginable." He throws his paper towels in the trash, pulls his bathing suit up, and says, "It felt fantastic to me too, and I'm sorry if that got your pussy sore again. I feel bad about that."

Shrugging, I pull up my bathing suit leaving the paper towel in there and say, "My ass will be fine," and I get my arm around his neck again and hang on him as I'm murmuring, "You were right MIck. About me being in love with you, I mean." He smiles, mumbling, "Or, maybe it's what you said; it's merely what you and I think love is, not the real thing." I go, "No, you were right; we are in love or, I'm in love with you, anyhow. I'm thinking about worshipping you too, hee-hee. Seriously," and I kiss his forehead; a sloppy ten-second kiss as I hug him too tightly."

Mickey goes, "Jesus, Matt, you're the best thing that's ever happened to me! The way you feel about me, and the way you so generously show it and say it; well, I can't begin to tell you how wonderful that makes me feel. I love you so much I can't even put it in words, so I won't try." Smiling, I give him another hug, mumbling, "No, go ahead, give it a try," and he chuckles as he hugs back for three or four seconds, and then says, "Let's clean up your mess on the table, and then take a shower together."

That's what we do, and, after the shower, we lie together in bed and talk about our apartment. Talk about who we'll get to help us move in, and what we need to buy like sheets and towels and lots of stuff. We're quiet for a few minutes thinking about all that, and then I say, "You're our leader, Mickey," and he says, "Yeah, I know." I go, "No, I don't mean just my leader. Of course, you're the leader of us two. I mean guys at the reservoir think you're their leader too." He makes a 'face' and mumbles, "I did sort of notice that today, so, yeah, I guess, but it isn't something I especially like. I prefer being your leader, mostly; that's what I like. You and me living in our apartment will be a dream come true for me. I can hardly believe it's happening, seriously."

All I can do is grin and nod my head because there isn't anything else Mickey could have said that I would have liked hearing him say more than that. I snuggle tighter against him... this is happiness.

Later, we cook and eat a frozen pizza, and then I drive Mickey home; we were both surprised that it was eight o'clock already. When he's getting out of the car at his house, he says, "Super time today, huh, Mattie? See you tomorrow." I mumble, "Yeah, a great day. What should we do tomorrow, boss?" and he goes, "Did you already forget we're going to the Phillies' game tomorrow night." Nodding, I go, "Oh, yeah. That'll be cool." I wave, and then watch him go inside.

Monday at work, Bobby easily keeps ahead of his work quota, and then around eleven-thirty, he holds up a paper bag, grinning and asking, "What do you say, Mattie? Should we have lunch?" Holy shit, eating lunch together! That's a first, and, for the hell of it, we swap sandwiches. He eats my egg salad sandwich, and I eat his ham and cheese. We talk about the progress Bobby's friend Alan is making at the UPS plant in Philly.

As expected, Alan still isn't meeting his work quota for package handling, but he expects to do that this week. I'm surprised and encouraged that it may be possible for Alan and me to change job locations before September 1st. To that end, I make sure to touch base with Tully, my boss, before leaving, so he's aware I'm still hot to get this transfer to the Philly UPS. He won't commit to it yet, but he says he'll accommodate me if it's 'feasible,' which doesn't tell me much 'cause I don't know what 'feasible' means as far as he's concerned, but whatever, it's better than Tully saying 'no'.

Mickey and I were recently talking about how I may need to look for another job if UPS doesn't cooperate with the transfer. Mickey thinks I should threaten Tully to quit if I can't transfer to the Philly office. Quitting is a last resort, though, and, in any case, I'm moving into the apartment with Mickey on September first.

When I first mentioned to my parents that Mickey and I were getting an apartment together, they rolled their eyes like, 'Oh, sure.' Then, last night, when I told them we have the apartment, and we've already paid the first and last month's rent, they tried to talk me out of it. Told me to get my money back. Jesus, I told them it was a 'done deal,' and they finally gave me their blessings, so to speak.

I'm not sure, but I think the realization just hit them that their two boys, my brother and I, don't need them anymore. I guess it's a shock to parents when that happens. Me moving away from home shouldn't be a shock, though, as I've been telling them I'm doing that since the day I graduated high school. They didn't take me seriously, and I think I know why. They didn't believe I could afford my own place, and they would have been right about that if Mickey wasn't splitting the cost of this apartment. I couldn't afford the apartment we got, although I could afford what is called an 'efficiency' unit, meaning one room, plus a bathroom. In the living room would be a kitchen plus the bedroom. Not ideal, but that would be all I could afford without a roommate. Hell, I would have done that, but this is MUCH better.

After the 'apartment' conversation, I told them I wouldn't be home for dinner tonight because I was going to the Phillies' game, and mom said, "Oh, you're a big deal now, huh?" She's hurt that I'm moving away from home, and perhaps she's resentful as well, although I don't know why. What the fuck, why would she be resentful instead of being happy for me that my dream is coming true?

So, anyway, that's on my mind as I pick Mickey up after work. He gets in the car wearing new baggy shorts and a Polo-type golf shirt, looking pretty sharp. He has on his super-cool sunglasses too, and his new hairstyle is combed just right, plus he hasn't shaved and his mustache, almost invisible because it's a pale blond color, looks hot. Yeah, that's right, Mickey is looking cool. Yeah, he does... for real! I go, "Wow, you're styling! You look cool, Mickey." He snickers, mumbling, "Who would have believed I'd ever be considered cool-looking, huh Burke? Mickey Miller being called 'cool.'"

We're idling at the curb as I go, "Um, I'm not the least bit surprised by that, but moving on to another matter, um, I was wondering, ah, I mean, do you think we have time?" He says, "Have time? Christ, we're early," and I go, "No, I mean, do we have time for me to suck your dick, and then you fuck me?" He chuckles and says, "Oh, that, haha. No, Burke, we're due at Tom's house for a tailgate party in his driveway."

Pulling away from the curb, I can't believe he'd rather do that than fuck me, and; Omigod, I realize I'm pouting, as I say, "We don't NEED to be there early, ya know! You're my bossy-boss, though, so I need to do what you say no matter what I want. And, how the hell do I get there, anyway?" He says, "What's up with you? Um, turn here," I do that, and then there are two minutes of silence before I ask, "Well, where do I go now? I can't read your mind." Mickey says, "Okay. Fuck it, if you're going to be like this, we'll skip the tailgate party. Go to your house."

Well, I could say, 'No, that's okay, we'll do what you want,' but I don't. Instead, I don't say anything. Trying not to grin, I take a left and head back to my house. Mickey mumbles, "What the hell? You know I like to 'screw' as much as you do, Burke, but I thought we could skip it for one afternoon. And, hey, weren't you the one whining about your ass being sore yesterday?"

I glance at him, saying, "I wasn't whining, and we already skip 'it' every Wednesday, um, Wednesday afternoons anyway, but you're our leader, Mickey, you decide. Are we doing 'it' today, or not? I don't want to drive around in circles." He's pissed off now, saying, "Hey, don't give me that smart-ass attitude." I go, "Why not? You give me a smart-ass attitude whenever you feel like it." He says, "Alright, smart ass, now we're not doing 'it.' Turn around in that driveway! We're going to Tom's." I go, "What?" and he says, "Do as your told. I don't want to talk about it anymore. I made my decision... we're skipping 'it' today. And, I don't want you acting grumpy with Tom and Billy, either."

Fuck! I pull recklessly into the driveway he pointed at and turn around with the wheels squealing, then go back the way we came, again. My eyes are stinging the way my eyes would sting when my parents chastised me years ago when they felt I was smart-assing them. Mickey and I don't talk until we get to the spot where I turned around the first time, and then Mickey says, "Keep driving to the traffic light and take a right. Tom's house is on Elm Street. It's the last house."

I don't say anything, and at the red light, Mickey mumbles, "Ya know, this has been bugging me for some time, and I've wanted to talk about it. It's this, um, you're immature. You need to start acting your age, and I mean like yesterday." What the fuck? I don't say anything because I can't think of anything appropriate fast enough. I've heard that I'm immature once or twice from others. Mostly, my mind is frazzled 'cause I hate conflict. Then, Mickey goes, "And, while we're on this topic, I need you to stop making that childish pouting 'puss' you're doing right now. Stop acting like a child, you'll embarrass me in front of the guys."

My heart is beating too fast as I'm thinking in my head, 'We're the same age. He can't talk to me like that. Fucking bossy Mickey! If he thinks he can... I'm not gonna... he better watch it..." Mickey says, "The light's green, get your head out of your ass, Burke." I do a jack-rabbit starts with the tires squealing again. Mickey, mutters, "Oh, for Christ's sakes."

At Tom's house, I park at the curb and sit here. I can feel how hot my face is, so it's probably red too. Mickey says calmly, "Come on, get it together, Mattie. Let me see you smile. We're going to a Phillies game. Christ, you're the one who likes baseball! This is supposed to be fun." Yeah, well, I'm just about ready to tell him he ruined the fun, and for him to go fuck himself! Instead, I say, "Don't be mad, Mickey. I'm sorry. Don't be mad at me." He goes, "That's my boy. Let me see a smile," so I force a smile, and he musses my hair, mumbling, "There ya go. Now, be good or I'll make you stand in the corner. Haha, c'mon, let's have a good time."

Holy shit, I get out of the car feeling like I'm ten years old again. Forcing a grin, 'cause I don't know what else to do, I look at Mickey, and mumble, "I was just, um, well, you're right, Mick." He pats my back, giving me a little shove, saying, "Okay, you need to act your age. We'll talk more about this later. I mean, Christ, we're gonna be out in the world on our own in three weeks, Burke. We're not kids anymore." and he gives me another push. I shrug, feeling I've definitely been put in my place, and docilely get in step with him walking to the side of the house where Tom, Billy, and another guy I don't know are yucking it up and drinking beers on the driveway.

They give Mickey a big 'Hello' and a pat on the back, as Tom's saying, "We got started early." Billy gets Mickey a beer from the cooler. Patting my shoulder, Tom goes, "Yo, Mattie, get yourself a beer, bro!" They have a charcoal grill fired-up, and next to it is a table where there are hot dogs and hamburgers, rolls, plus some condiments. I get a beer as Billy's telling Mickey something that makes them all laugh. Then, the guy I haven't met bumps my arm, and says, "Hi, I'm Todd Bridges, Tom's cousin." He holds out his fist, so I bump fists, telling him who I am.

Todd is stocky and bullish. He's only an inch taller than me but much bigger, without being fat. His dark blond hair was cut in a buzz cut maybe two months ago, and that's grown out unevenly, plus he has a beard that looks, scraggy. What I can see of his face looks fleshy. Big facial features, but he's not freakishly ugly or anything. As I pop the tab on my can of beer, he says, "So, I'm told you and the little guy over there," as he points at Mickey, "Are queer boyfriends. Is that right?" For me, the night goes downhill from there.

Mickey hardly pays any attention to me all night. All of a sudden, he's become the 'life-of-the-party.' He's telling jokes he never told me. I'll bet he memorized the jokes from the Internet for tonight. You know what? Tonight I'm feeling 'peripheral' again. Peripheral to this group of peripheral guys while Mickey is playing Jello's role. I can't help being jealous that Mickey's not paying exclusive attention to me.

Then, at the Phillies game, Tom sits on one side of Mickey, and Billy sits on the other side, so I'm stuck with Todd, who asks, "Do ya like baseball?" I shrug, "Yeah, I've been a Phillies' fan since I was a little kid," and he says, "So, gay guys like sports, huh?" I mutter, "Some of us do, yeah." He seems fascinated to be talking to a real live queer, and he asks me the most intrusive questions until I ask him, "Why all the questions. Are you thinking about being queer too?" He punches my arm, acting angry, muttering, "Don't be an asshole, dude. I'm just being friendly, stuck on the end of the row with you." The Phillies lose the game 10 to 2.

As I'm driving Mickey home after the game, he says, "Well, I guess I'm not missing much by not being a baseball fan. That game dragged on forever, it seemed it would never end." I go, "Uh-huh," and we don't talk the rest of the way home. At his house, Mickey opens the car door, saying, "I'm not going to make an issue about your attitude tonight. Not now, anyway, but between now and tomorrow afternoon, you better get your head on straight or don't come to pick me up tomorrow after work. I decided a week ago I'd need to have a talk with you to straighten you out about a few things, Burke. I hate doing it. I love you, but you need to grow up! I'm an upfront guy, so I needed to tell you that, and we'll have a 'talk' about it when you' tell me you're ready to hear it and willing to pay attention to some constructive criticism."

Thinking, 'Go fuck yourself,' I nod, looking at his shoulder, unable to look in his eyes. He says, "So, if you can't get it together by tomorrow, I have dance Wednesday, so I guess I'll wait to see how you're feeling about everything on Thursday. Maybe by then, you'll be receptive to having the 'talk.' Alright?" I go, "Whatever," and he goes, "I wanna know if you're on the same page with me about what I'm telling you, Burke?" I go, "Uh-huh," and he says, "Look at me," and when I do, he mumbles, "What's wrong with you?"

That's a good question because I forget what started this, um, this childish pouting I'm doing. What did I say when I picked Mickey up? What started our argument? Shrugging at Mickey's question of what's wrong with me, I mumble, "I don't know, um, you said.. um. Ah, you ignored me all night," and I know that was an immature thing for me to say. He says, "Are you 'effing serious? I wasn't ignoring you. You refused to, um, associate with any of us. You were back to your old introverted ways; as you were before, we became boyfriends." I'm like, "I was never introverted; you were!"

Oh, fuck, maybe he's right. My head is all fucked up. He's slowly shaking his head now, so I mutter, "But, okay, I'll, um, do what you said." He goes, "What part of what I said will you do?" I go, "Whatever you said. You're the big-shot bossy leader, so I do what I'm told." He looks sad, mumbling, "Don't be like this, Mattie." I go, "What, be like what? Um, I agreed with the part about, um, well, I already said I was fuckin' sorry, didn't I? Fuck, I'll be good tomorrow. You'll see."

Did I just say, 'I'll be good?' What the fuck? Who says that to a friend? Nobody! He pats my shoulder, mumbling, "I can only hope so. Um, so, guess I'll see you tomorrow then?" I nod, and he makes a 'face,' starts to say something, then shakes his head again, mumbling, "We'll see how it goes tomorrow. This is the first time you've ever disappointed me."

Before I can think what I should say to that, he slams the car door, walks to his front door, then goes inside without looking back. What the fuck? I don't know what happened tonight. Driving away, I feel like crying. I don't cry, but I have a lousy night's sleep. I keep going over everything in my head, but it's all jumbled as to who said what first. How'd it even start?

The next morning, as I'm on my way to work, I remember how it started. It was him saying something like... I need to do what I'm told. Yes, I'm sure he said that. Hmm, that doesn't sound exactly right, but it was something he said that was damn close to that, and who the hell does he think he is to tell me that? Um, well, I keep telling him he's our leader, but that doesn't give him the right to... to what? Oh, man, I don't know what I'm even telling myself.

After twenty minutes on the job, Bobby asks, "What's wrong, Mattie. You look sad." Shaking my head, I'm like, "Noo! I'm good, just trying to concentrate on doing the job." Bobby looks doubtful, saying, "If I can help with anything, just let me know, okay?" Nodding at Bobby, I just remembered telling Mickey, 'I'll be good.' Who the fuck says 'that' to a friend? Nobody! Well, it's a normal thing a three-year-old will say to his mommy, but it's not something you say to a peer! Jesus H, Christ!

Bobby cheers me up at lunch, telling me about some stupid things this guy he knows does when smoking pot, and I get a laugh out of that. He makes a big deal of switching sandwiches with me again and, damn, he's a good looking dude! He's got his Shirley Temple-curls growing back pretty good by now, and, damn, he's got pretty hair. I know, that's a weird thing to say about a guy's hair, but it's true... he's pretty! He's really nice too, um, except for dumping me that time for the girl that he dumped a month later.

After work, I give a thought to not driving to Mickey's house only to realize I'm already a block from his house. I drove on autopilot, so I park at the curb. I'm nervous because I don't know how I should act. The thing with Mickey is he's willing to cut off his nose, to spite his face. Meaning, in order to get something his way, he'll sacrifice all he's gained, boyfriend-wise. After our first great date together, he told me if I have sex with anyone but him we're through as boyfriends. That ultimatum from someone who never had sex with anyone before me in his life! He sticks-up for himself. Maybe too much.

I'm sure there are many guys my age who would know how to act in this situation, but I'm not one of them. After sitting here a minute, I blow the horn, "Toot," and the front door opens. Mickey waves and yells, "I'll be right out," and he goes back inside. Even though I'm not sure what to say, I wanna be the one who says something first.

Less than a minute later, Mickey comes out and walks over to the car. He opens the door, and I say, "Let's forget about what we both said yesterday and start fresh." When he's in the car, he says, "That's exactly the opposite of what I think we should do, Burke. We need to clear the air. First of all, I'm not sure if I said something that needs an apology, but if I did, I apologize. I'm sorry that I upset you." Hmm, that was very clever of him. Nodding my head, I go, "That's, um." No, I shouldn't say 'clever' because that has a snarky overtone to it, so I go with, "That's, um, very nice of you, and I say the same to you, although I already said I was sorry last night."

Running his fingers through his hair, Mickey goes, "Sure, but Burke, here's the thing. Ah, the point I was making last night is still a valid one. If I expressed it the wrong way somehow, that's what I'm sorry for." Smiling, I try getting this conversation onto the 'lighter' side, saying, "Well, make your point again but try to be nice about it this time. I have every confidence you can do that." He mutters, "That's cute, but the fact remains you were acting childish last night and, well, as I said, you need to grow up if we're to continuing being boyfriends. It's partially my fault because I haven't said anything about you acting childish until last night. I shouldn't have put off talking to you about it. I'm gonna be taking college very seriously, plus we're gonna have grown-up responsibilities living away from home, paying bills, buying groceries, cooking, and whatever. I'm only semi-adult myself as it is, and if you're the child, I can't carry both of us."

I'm looking at him as if he just landed from the used-to-be planet Pluto, a Plutonian. He goes, "What? Why are you looking at me like that?" I mutter, "We just turned nineteen. Most of the world thinks nineteen-year-old people are children and, therefore, expect a certain amount of childishness from them. It's called 'teenagers having fun.' He asks, "Seriously, who do you know who has more fun than you and me?" I'm like, "You have a point, and, yes, I was childishly jealous you didn't pay attention to me last night. I admit that, so I think we're on the same page. Point taken, and our 'talk' is over. Nice job."

He goes, "It's not a joke, and there was something else I wanted to mention, but I can't recall what it is." I go, "Oh, I've got one more thing for you too... don't you ever make me say 'I'll be good'... don't ever do that again." He frowns, "Whaddaya mean?" I go, "Well, I was kinda joking just now, having a little fun, but making a point too. Last night you had me so flustered I told you 'I'll be good.' Ya know, like a three-year-old says to his mommy. I don't want you to do or say anything that will make me say that again. It's on you, bossy, to watch what you say in that regard!"

He points at me, sputtering, "Me, I didn't... it was you who said..." I go, "Huh? What's that you're trying to say?" and he snorts out a laugh and says, "Oh, fuck it. Are we going to your house, or what?" I drive away, mumbling, "Just saying..." He mutters, "It'd be nice if I knew WHAT it is you were 'just saying...' ya know?" I go, "I've said enough," and he says, "You've said too much," and I go, "No, maybe I haven't said enough."

Stopped at a red light, he asks, "What else do you wanna say?" Looking at him, I'm like, "Well, how should I put this? Oh, I know, you're too 'effing bossy with me." He shrugs, "Yeah, I thought you might complain about that, but I am the 'effing leader, so I need to 'lead'. And, ya know what? I realized I was going to need to be the leader after our first date. Way back then, I knew I'd need to be a little bossy with you 'cause you're childish sometimes. And, by the way, the word 'bossy' is a childish word. You should have said you don't want me telling you what to do all the time."

As we park in my driveway, I'm grinning while muttering, "I hope you won't get wicked pissed off, but I feel like I might start pouting again because of what you just said! And, I take it you're not changing your ways of communicating with me, not changing your bossiness." Mickey goes, "Hmm, this will be a challenge, but maybe I'm going to need to handle a child after all. Dammit, I think I can do it too. I mean, it appears I'm going to have to, so... " Turning off the engine, I go, "If you want that child to continue being your pussy boy, you're damn right, you can handle it." As we get out, he goes, "Good point."

We meet at the front of the car and hug as he says, "I had a great speech to say to you, but it flew out of my head because when I opened the car door you ambushed me by speaking first. That's the last thing I expected from you." Letting go of one another, I mumble, "Ya never know what children will say, or do." He goes, "That's true, and when the child is as cute as you are, the adult is willing to overlook some of the little fellow's childishness." I pat his shoulder, "There ya go, bossy. We got ourselves an understanding." He snickers, mumbling, "Yeah, I guess we do at that."

Three minutes after going inside, we're fucking like crazy wild animals, ones who have been in-heat and caged-up separately for a week. Nothing was said inside. We took a right and walked to my bedroom, got naked, I got on my knees and sucked an enormous, engorged, six-plus inch boner on him, then leaned over with my hands on the end of the bed while MIckey was quickly pushing some KY Jelly in my ass. He smeared it on my butt cheeks and spanked me for thirty seconds. "SMACKSMACKSMACK!"

Omigod, my cock was roaring hard and sticking straight out, my buttocks burning like fire, and then that big hard cock of his rammed up my ass. My back arched as I grunted, Aaahh," and then hard fast thrusting followed for no more than sixty seconds before my climax reached the boiling point and I squealed like it was my first climax, cum streaming from my hard cock so fast it burned my piss hole, and then another flash of cum streaked out as Mickey was humping his huge load of cum up my ass.

I fall forward onto the bed, Mickey on my back, both our knees on the floor at the end of the bed, him being shorter, his cock pulled out of my ass. Breathing deeply, we stay like this for maybe a minute before Mickey stands up behind me and pulls on my hips. I get back up, and he slides his cock up my ass again, and this time, he fucks me for maybe ten minutes. It was pure ecstasy, the sexual pleasure soaring from my rectum to my penis to my toes and my head, all over my body. I shuddered with it the last couple minutes before climaxing a watery something that shot from my boned-up cock.

Mickey pushed me onto the bed this time, him next to me with an arm over my back as we waited to come back down to earth, so to speak. Finally, I murmur, "Why are we on the covers instead of snuggling properly under the covers?" e mumbles, "Who's bossy now?" We get under the covers, Mickey gets his arm behind my neck pulling me against his side, then there's a little more movement to get properly together, and we're good.

I sigh, "This is nice, Mickey, and that sex we just had was world record material. You are amazing." He murmurs, "That was something special alright, but don't give me all the credit, you had a tiny part in it too." I go, "Yeah, well, it's okay, you can be as bossy as you want. I'll be good." He snorts out a laugh, then asks, "How did you like that spanking I gave you?" I go, "Super sexy-hot spanking, bossy. I almost shot off my load." He mutters, "As impossible as it is to believe, you're probably telling the truth about that."

I snuggle in tighter and he snickers, and says, "I already knew I could be as bossy as I wanted... you'll take it 'cause you can't resist me." I go, "Oh, no! You've figured me out." He squeezes his arm around my neck and kisses the side of my head for five seconds, then murmurs, "I love you."

Well, I don't think we settled anything. We're both going to continue being like we've been, but it's better that we said the words we were thinking, said them to each other out loud, thereby getting them off our minds. Not that it changes anything, as I just said, but it's just better to not hold things inside.

To be continued... Chapter 18 'On The Same Page'

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