Waiting for a Miracle

WAITING FOR A MIRACLE

by Donny Mumford

Chapter 5 Can I Believe This

My cell phone alarm wakes me at five-thirty; five-thirty in the afternoon. I look over and see Bobby, who is lying next to me, just now opening his eyes. Well, I'll be dammed, it wasn't a dream. Smiling at me, he says, "My mouth tastes like a garbage disposal." I mumble, "It's the bourbon." He goes, "The beers earlier at the Clifton Inn, and then the bourbon shots, yeah." He sits up, stretches, and then gets off the bed. As we get dressed, he asks, "Do ya mind if I use your toothbrush?" I'm like, "Huh?" Pulling on a pair of shorts, I say, "Oh, um, how 'bout if you gargle with mouthwash instead? We have Listerine Mint mouthwash." He mutters, "Yeah, that too."

As I'm following Bobby out of my bedroom and into the bathroom, he does a loud burp, makes a 'face' looking back at me, saying, "Fuck, I just burped up booze." Touching my mom's toothbrush in the toothbrush holder, Bobby asks, "Is this yours?" Resigned that he's going to use my toothbrush, I say, "No, the blue one." He mumbles, "Thanks, bro," and he takes it and squeezes much too much toothpaste on my blue toothbrush, looks at me and asks, "You don't mind if I use this, do you? Or, do you wanna use it first?" I shake my head, and he turns on the spigot to wet the toothpaste. No, he's not shy.

Stupified, I watch his Shirley Temple curly blond hair bouncing as he brushes his teeth vigorously. After rinsing the toothpaste out with five cupped handfuls of water, ignoring the stack of small plastic cups on the sink, he swigs mouthwash directly from the Listerine bottle he's holding like it's a bottle of beer, three swigs of mouthwash get spit in the sink before he's done.

That's all very odd, but mostly I'm thinking... he's the prettyish guy I've ever seen in my life. His facial features are perfect, and they complement each other, as well. He left the water running during this elaborate procedure, and as he's turning the water off, he grins at me and says, "You're making me self-conscious staring at me like that." I mumble, "Sorry," and look away.

Hmm, my staring made him self-conscious, but using my toothbrush didn't? Bobby puts the toothbrush back where he got it and goes, "Aww, my mouth feels fresh now." I'm at a loss what I should say to that, so I don't say anything. He pats my head, saying, "Well, hasn't this has been a fun afternoon, Mattie boy?" Still speechless, I nod my head, and he grins, adding, "Jesus, you don't have much to say, but that's alright 'cause you let your ass do the talking for you." Smacking my ass, he chuckles and goes, "See you at work on Monday, right?" I mumble, "Oh, yeah, un-huh, right." Jeez, I was hoping he'd suggest we hook up tomorrow.

But, oh man, when he patted my ass, my rectum quivered, and now it feels itchy. As we're walking down the hall toward the family room, I shock myself by asking, "Um, should we do 'it' again before you leave?" He grins, laughs, and then tells me again, "Goddamn, you've got the 'driest' sense of humor, dude! Christ, that's funny. Haha, hey, can you lend me ten bucks? Seriously, I need to gas up my hog." I go, "Hog? Oh, your motorcycle. Sure," and I give him ten dollars. He goes, "I'll pay you back Monday morning, bro."

Going outside with him, I'm like, "Yeah, see you at work, Bobby. Oh, um, Monday after work, are we coming here?" He puts his helmet on, as he says, "Does the Tin Man have a sheet metal cock?" I go, "Huh?" and, with a hot-shit smirk, he does a wheelie taking off from the driveway leaving tire marks. He waves as he speeds down the street. Omigod, I feel weak. I cannot believe I asked him to fuck me again.

Coming to my senses, I check the time on my cell phone, five-forty-five. Mom will be home in fifteen minutes. Well, I don't want to be standing in the driveway when she gets here. Back in my bedroom, I straighten the bedspread, thinking about sex with Bobby. And now I cannot believe that my number-one fear all these years has been a guy's cock up my ass. Jesus, I've been scared for no reason! Bobby smoothly led us through that sex before I had a chance to punk out. Omigod, I think I really am in love with him because, um, because why? I don't need to be in love! Okay, but I need to calm down and act normally when mom gets home.

Let me think. Yes, getting fucked is better than making out, which was a tiny bit better than getting blown. All three were spectacular, though, but, yeah, hands down, fucking is number one, and I can hardly wait for Monday afternoon. I should buy rubbers, um, condoms. Definitely! I'll do that after dinner.

Flopping on the bed, I try to understand my new feelings. It's fantastic being gay and finally having gay sex with cute gay guys. This past week has been such a rush of positivity. In hindsight, it's seemingly impossible to believe this is happening to me, but I'm so glad it is, obviously. And, I've been handling myself borderline-okay too. Not great by any means, but borderline-okay. Neither Dennis, Mark, or Bobby were critical of me. There were a few jokes about my inexperience, but I did okay.

I have a theory about life, and it's that metaphorically speaking, life is a roulette wheel of chance. There is a great deal of luck involved in all of our lives, and I mean good luck and bad luck. Will the roulette ball of life falls on your number a few times, or a lot of times, or never? I've lost the game for nineteen years, but I'm on a lucky steak now, for sure. Yep, luck is a fact of life, and I haven't had much of it until now, so I'm gonna accept it as my rightful do and ride out my lucky streak.

Halfway through dinner, mom asks, "What are you smiling about, Matthew?" I'm like, "Huh? Wha.. oh, I'm smiling because I'm doing good at work. My boss has been pleased with my progress." Dad asks, "What'd you find out about UPS reimbursing you for college?" I haven't found out anything, but I say, "They pay fifty percent, dad." He nods his head and mumbles, "Cheapsakes." Under my breath, I mutter, 'Get serious.' Yeah, I gotta get my own place!

The reason I was smiling wasn't anything to do with work. First of all, I hadn't realized I was smiling, but I don't doubt that I was because I was thinking about getting fucked by Bobby. Maybe I should have told mom and dad that, and then watched their faces. Heh heh. I don't hate my parents. It's just; I don't know, we've grown apart, that's all.

After dinner, I drive to the Rite Aid drugstore that's just around the corner from us and buy a toothbrush and then brazenly ask a clerk, "Excuse me, where are the condoms?" He tells me and Jesus, I'm surprised at how many different ones there are. Annoyingly, an old bald guy watches me as I'm perusing these condoms, and it's making me feel self-conscious. Fuck, I panic and grab a random 12-pack of average-size lubricated Trojan condoms off the rack as if I know what I'm doing, although I don't know shit.

Walking up the aisle to the register, I glace at the condoms and see the price... $8.99. Not bad but, Christ, my face is hot and red. During the short drive here, I promised myself I'm not going to be stereotypically embarrassed about buying condoms, so now I'm upset with myself that I'm blushing. At the register, the guy doesn't bat an eye ringing up the toothbrush and condoms. After I pay, he asks, "Do you want a bag?" I go, "Of course, I do!" and he smiles nicely. Oh, fuck, he was kidding. I snicker as if I knew it was a joke.

Okay, I didn't intend to buy a dozen condoms, but, on second thought, I hope we need them all. Jesus, why am I shaking? Back in my bedroom, I hide the condoms under my mattress and then call Dean.

He's in a lousy mood, asking, "Whaddaya want, Mattie? I'm kinda rushed here." I go, "Well, excuse me for bothering you! I'll talk to you later," and he goes, "No, don't be like that, I'm sorry but, Goddammit, I'm pissed off that I need to pick up my old man. His old car battery has shit the bed or something. AAA road service is backed-up or some such shit, and, of course, mom conveniently is afraid to drive in Philly-traffic... so I gotta do it. Do you wanna come with me?" I mumble, "Nah. Text me when you get back, and we'll do something."

Flopping on my bed, I'm chuckling because, Omigod, for once, I don't feel the need to jerk off! When the hell was the last time I could say that? Oh man, I loved getting fucked! If only Dean was like Bobby. I mean, Bobby's not gay, but yet he has buddy-sex. I wish Dean and I were doing that. He's not anything like my fantasy guy, but we could do buddy sex, ya know? Thinking about that, I reach under and poke at my asshole. It feels strange, probably from the condom's lubricant, right? Hmm, I think I'm horny, Wow, for the first time in my life. First time I've ever had anything to be horny about. Okay, I've riled myself up again... I should chill.

An hour later, I'm still thinking about sex when Dean texts, 'I'm back. Can you pick me up?' I text, 'Yep' and drive over to get him. The thing is, I don't mind picking him up, but it is puzzling that he can use his mom's car to get his dad in Philly, but he can't use it to drive to Kent Park. His mom doesn't trust Dean driving her Mini Cooper. That' sucks, but his parents came through with a cool graduation gift. They gave Dean some kind of motorbike, not a motorcycle, a motorbike that cost like $2500, but it's on backorder. So, fairly soon, Dean will have 'wheels at least for eight months a year. Then, it won't be of much use in freezing wintry weather. For now, though, he still needs me driving him around.

Anyway, I pick him up, and we go to Kent Park. Jello scored a case of Rolling Rock beer from his brother Bruce, who isn't with him, and the park is where we drink beer as not in-crowd guys. Us underage boozers don't have a lot of options. 'In crowd' dudes rarely hang-out at Kent Park, they're too cool to do that. I don't know where they hang out.

Dean and I sit at the picnic table with Jello and his little shy buddy Mickey Miller, who shows up once or twice a week. I have no idea what his 'story' is, nor do I care. Also at the table is Grace Falco, who has on shorty-shorts that barely cover her vagina. The 'top' she's wearing is sort of like a guy's sleeveless t-short that exposes most of her stomach. There's another girl with Grace, and her first name is Ronnie. I don't know her last name. She's overweight, and every time I see her, she's wearing stretchy clothes that emphasize she's fat. She seems nice, though.

Jello's friend Mickey graduated with our class, but the only thing I know about him is he and I had a fistfight in fifth grade. Other than that, we barely have spoken to one another. He isn't a bully being too small for that. He's average-looking, um, more like goofy-looking, but in an average way. The most noticeable thing about Mickey is he has ridiculously long blond hair that he combs straight back; it's like white/blond hair actually. Except for Mickey and me, everyone is smoking cigarettes while bitching because no one has grass to smoke.

I sneak glances at Jello when he's not looking. He's looking extra sexy and cute tonight wearing a Phillies baseball cap backward and cool dark, round sunglasses. He gives my cheek a pat as if I'm a little kid and then says, "How's it going, Burke?" Pulling my head back, I go, "Hi, Jello." It's twilight, but he continues wearing his sunglasses anyway.

Jello acknowledging me gives me the opportunity to look at him more openly although I can't take full advantage of that 'cause I can't come up with anything to say. He doesn't care as he lights a cigarette off the end of the one he just smoked and then bumps my arm, asking, "Who's your favorite mime, Burke?" I'm like, "Mime? I don't know any mimes," and he goes, "Oh, no? You're so quiet all the time, I assumed you had a mime hero, one you're emulating." Everyone laughs as I frown at him and say, "Very funny." He hugs my shoulders, "You're my bud, Burke. Just breaking your tiny nuts a little bit, ya know."

I'm cleaning my fogged-up glasses when I see two guys walking from the parking lot. Putting my glasses on, now I can see that they're Charlie Snyder and his 'shadow' Artie Guy. Charlie calls over to us, "Look what I got, assholes," and he holds up a bottle containing either gin or vodka, a clear liquor. Jeez, I think about the bourbon I drank hours ago with Bobby knowing that now I'm gonna need drink some of this booze or get called a pussy.

Here's a crazy thought... how would I act if say, Mark, was one of the guys hanging out with us tonight or, God forbid, Bobby? I wouldn't know how to act around either of them, I mean, without giving away we had sex together. Glancing at Jello, who has just done a perfect smoke ring, I'm thinking... God, Jello's wicked cute, but Bobby's even better looking. Yeah, as usual, I've got guys on the brain, more now than ever before.

For a couple of years, I've considered Jello the best-looking guy I know, but Mark is as cute as Jello, or even cuter, and then Bobby is beautiful. All three have startling good looks but in a 'guy' kinda way, not a girlish cute or beautiful. It's hard to describe, um, the point being I'm having gay sex with two of the three cutest guys I know. Holy shit, that's so hot!

It is strange that, until I spent time with him recently, I'd never noticed how cute and good-looking Mark is. I mean, hell, I've always thought he was cute, and it's not like I haven't seen him in the halls at high school, and even on rare occasions at the bowling alley, the one we often frequent. So, I'm aware of him, but my oversight at noticing his level of cuteness is because I rarely looked directly at him, or anyone. Yeah, instead, I look over a guy's shoulder on the rare occasions I have something to say. Other people must notice how cutely good-looking Mark is, but yet I've never heard it mentioned. I won't mention it either for fear someone will think I'm queer. So many new things to ponder recently, although this is the best time of my life by far.

Eventually, we all get drunk from drinking beer and swigs of vodka. All night everyone except me was breaking balls, and the girls doing it too, plus there's some inappropriate touching too, although much of it was initiated by the girls themselves. There's a lot of laughing, some of it raucous laughter, but that happens when we're drinking and in the mood for a good time. A lot of the stuff we laugh at isn't all that funny, but we laugh as though it is, and I join right in with the laughter. I laugh when the other guys laugh. I'm not good at differentiating what's a joke and what's not, so I laugh at what the others laugh at. I'm also prone to going along with too many bad ideas, like drinking this rotgut vodka tonight... I don't wanna be different, ya know?

Of course, the mosquitoes come out, but Ronnie has a can of mosquito repellent that we spray on each other. OFF is the name of the spray. It works okay, but when both the vodka and OFF is gone, we surrender to the mosquitos around eleven-o'clock and go home.

At home, I take a fifteen-minute shower, and after drying myself, I use my new toothbrush. I don't like the new one as much as the old one that's now looking back at me from the trashcan, but whaddya gonna do?. No problem though 'cause I'll take the tradeoff... an afternoon of sex with Bobby over an old toothbrush anytime. He's my new favorite sex-buddy, although Mark is a close second. And, in that regard, even though Mark never texted me this week, I won't let myself believe that he isn't going to text eventually, not after that 'hot' night we had together last week.

Saturday morning, I work in my grandmother's yard, digging up shrubs and planting new smaller, but better-looking ones. It's a hot June day, and I sweat a lot under normal conditions, so I'm not surprised I'm drenched in sweat after all this physical labor. Finally, grandma says, "Okay, Mattie dear, that's all for now. Um, except you need to dispose of all those old overgrown shrubs you dug up." Swell.

Two things: one, last Saturday, mom said I needed to help her do this. What she meant though, was I'd be doing all the work as she and her mother watch me, and two, where the fuck am I supposed to dispose of this pile of old shrubs? And another thing, how can my mom complain that Mrs. Singleterry is taking advantage of me when it's her, my mom, who takes the most advantage of me?

Leaving me staring at the big pile of dirt and shrubs, Mom and grandma go inside complaining about how hot it is today. Hmm, after thinking about it for a minute, I call Dean, and he says, "Yo, Mattie! That fucking OFF didn't help at all last night." Like that's my fault? I mumble, "Jeez, I'm sorry," and he goes, "I got mosquito bites all over me, including one on my dick!" I'm like, "Really? I don't have any mosquito bites, um, but I was wondering if you can borrow your cousin's pickup?" Then, I tell him why, and so forth.

Sometimes Dean's a good friend, like today. He borrows his cousin's shit-box pickup that's thirty years old, and then Dean helps me put the dirt and shrubs in the truck. There's a problem though, and it's that the town of Clifton Heights doesn't allow organic trash dumping, so what to do with the dirt and shrubs? What we do is drive to Kent Park and dump everything behind the pothole-infested parking lot. When I've finished sweeping the last of the dirt from the bed of the pickup, Dean points at the pile of dirt and overgrown shrubs, mumbling, "It's like we're helping beautify the park." I go, "Yeah, except for the sign saying 'NO DUMPING.' Let's get the fuck out of here before someone sees us."

Dean drops me off at my house so I can shower. He'll return the truck, have lunch, and then I'll pick him up to go swimming in the Media Reservoir, which is unlawful but, who cares? Yeah, there's are 'NO TRESPASSING' signs every twenty feet on the chainlink fence surrounding the reservoir. First, our illegal dumping, and then later illegal swimming. Ya see, we don't give a fuck. Yeah, while getting drunk last night, swimming at the reservoir was what was agreed we'd do today. Jello promised to score some pot, so we chipped-in ten bucks each for that. Everyone knows Jello will profit twenty bucks buying the 'weed,' but so what?

In the shower, I wonder if we're an unusual group as far as our alcohol and marijuana usages are concerned. I've no way of knowing, but I'll bet we're not all that unusual. There are some teens I know who are worse than us. They're into heavier drugs such as cocaine, but even more popular than cocaine is 'vaping' or inhaling fumes of household-products such as spray paint, rubber cement, felt-tip markers, and other dumb-ass substances like that. I don't have any curiosity about the 'high' I might get from inhaling a paint thinner's fumes. To each their own, though.

After picking up Dean, I drive twenty minutes to the town of Media, and then, to get to the reservoir I need to drive over a large chain that at one time blocked the road. I park with the other cars near an opening that was cut in the chainlink fence years ago, allowing us access to the reservoir. We join the group we were with last night, although we are not the only people hanging out at the Media Reservoir. Four distinct age-groups that total about twenty-five people are here this afternoon, both guys and girls. The groups are spread out over this large flat open space at the far end of a wooded area surrounding the reservoir. As usual, almost everyone here is drinking beer and/or smoking joints. As for swimming, it's a twenty-foot drop to the water from the cliff, and then a short swim to the rocky shore, and a hike up a trail to get back to the top.

I'm slightly hungover and not in the mood for beer or pot, but I go through the motions of sipping at a can of Bud and taking a small drag off a joint when Jello passes it to me. I took a drag, mostly so Jello wouldn't call me a pussy, plus I also was interested to see if I could feel his saliva from when he dragged off the joint. Jello is a boy I'd love making out with, although I'm not so stupid to think that will happen.

After a while, to avoid any more pot or beer, I accept an unexpected dare from Mickey Miller to dive off the cliff into the reservoir with him. This is very strange because, as I said, we never speak to one another. Anyway, after handing my glasses to Dean for safekeeping, I follow Mickey to the edge of the cliff. We both chicken-out diving... we jump off the cliff instead. The reservoir is very deep, but there are cars and sharp, dangerous shit sunk in the water that you want to avoid. We manage to do that and then swim for twenty minutes or so, dunking each other and whatnot.

And, yeah, as a result of the unbelievably good fortune I've had with gay guys the last ten days, I feel almost comfortable with Mickey grabbing at me as we swim around. He's almost hugging me at times with his crotch against mine. Well, I gotta wonder if Mickey is yet another gay guy? Ha, maybe a lot of guys are partially gay and having sex with gay buddies. Even guys I heretofore would never have thought would be like that. Or maybe not.

Mickey's long blond hair is almost to his mouth now that it's wet. Even though he's short and skinny, his body rubbing against mine feels 'sexy-hot,' so to avoid doing something embarrassing, I break it off and swim to the shore, then climb up on the rocky bank. Mickey follows me, and we lie on a huge flat rock that's perfect for lying on to dry off in the sun after a swim. Mickey has his arm over his eyes blocking the sun's brightness as he asks, "You know Dennis Hover, don't you?" If he had just said 'Dennis,' I would have thought immediately of Mark's gay friend who has that dumpy 'crib' in Darby, but the last name gave me pause for a second. Then I go, "Yeah, I met Dennis one time. How do you know him?"

When he doesn't say anything, I turn my head to look at him and see he's lifted his arm a little so he can look at me. His foot moves over to rub against my ankle as he goes, "Oh, I buy some drugs from him occasionally." I mutter, "Oh, yeah?" and he adds, "My older brother introduced Dennis to me, so now, once in a while, I'll buy some grass or something from Dennis." When I squint my eyes, he says, "Roger is my older brother," as if that means anything to me. Moving my foot away from where his foot was rubbing it, I mumble, "So?" He goes, "So, Dennis is, um, queer. Didn't you know that?" I'm like, "So what? Are you or your brother queer too?" He mutters, "No, don't be an asshole, I'm just saying..."

What is he, 'just saying'? I can't tell from his smirk if he thinks he's telling me something I don't know, or if he's insinuating I'm queer just because I know Dennis. And how the hell does he know I met Dennis? I'm like, "What are you saying, Mickey? And, um, how did you know I met Dennis?" He goes, "Wouldn't you like to know?" Shaking my head, I mutter, "Forget it... I don't care."

The odd thing is, I actually DON'T care. Fuck Mickey! We never talk anyway. We don't have anything more to say for five minutes, and I almost doze off until he says, "I didn't mean to piss you off, Burke. Um, well, I bought grass from Hover this morning, and he said something about all the barbershops in Clifton must be closed. Ya know, cause I need a haircut and, in that regard, he mentioned your name and Benny Dingles' name. Ya know, 'cause he thinks we all need haircuts. Some such shit like that. No offense intended." I mumble, "None taken," and he sits up and says, "I've never messed around with Dennis although I think he wanted to. He's too old, though, don't ya think?"

When I don't say anything, he goes, "You don't talk much, do you?" He's sitting up now, leaning forward to rub dirt off his leg. As I said, he's skinny, and I can see many of the vertebrae of his spine and the top of his ass-crack where his Speedo bathing suit has pulled away from his waist. His blond hair is shiny in the sun now that it's dry, and it's a pretty shade of almost white-blond. Ya know, it might be sexy to hug him with his skinny arms around me and his white-blond hair in my face as we kissed. Jesus, that's a weird thought! Get a grip on yourself, Matt!

Mickey isn't attractive, but my newly discovered horniness has me thinking crazy thoughts. Lying back again, he turns his head and gives me a smirking smile, asking, "Would you like me to lay on you? Protect you from the sun." What the fuck? I can feel my mouth hanging open like some dufus, but I can't think of anything to say to that outrageous question. Mickey very slowly leans over, sideways, toward me, and, with his right-hand landing right next to me he is over me now and he hovers there a foot above me as he mumbles, "Do you dare me?"

I've managed to close my mouth, but I still can't find a word or words that fit this particular situation, so he lowers himself on top of me. We're self-conscious, obviously, so we're both tight like a fist until Mickey relaxes a little, then he relaxes his body more until he's snuggled on top of me with our various body parts comfortably fitting together. He's a couple of inches shorter than me, so his head is only up to my ear, his white/blond hair partially on my face.

Nothing is said, but my heart is beating fast. Mickey must feel it against his chest because I feel his heart beating fast against mine. As I said, the top of his head reaches only halfway up my left cheek, and a breeze moved his long blond hair across my mouth, but, oddly, I don't mind. We lie like this for only a few seconds, and then he moans, and, lifting his head, he looks into my eyes, murmuring, "I'm joking... just messing around here." I feel Mickey's boner against my belly, so this is some weird 'messing around.' I glance at him and, wow, as goofy as his face is, he has beautiful eyes. The pupils are large, making the thin outer rims of his dark blue irises striking. What the hell is it with eyes on the gay guys I'm meeting? That assumes Mickey's gay, which is a sensible assumption.

He lays his head against my shoulder again, and I don't move. My arms are at my sides with his arms over them. We just lie like this, undetectable from the top of the cliff, but anyone who jumps off the cliff will see us. The possibility that someone will soon jump is almost certainly the reason Mickey only lies on me for two minutes, and then he gets off me and lies on his back next to me. Both our swimsuits are little tents, our tent-pole-boners holding the 'tents' up. Maybe thirty-seconds pass before Mickey quietly says, "Don't tell anyone, okay?" For once in my life, I think of the perfect thing to say, "Tell anyone what, Mickey?" He mutters, "Exactly," and that's all we say.

As it happens, Mickey could have stayed on top of me another ten minutes because that's how long it was before I hear a scream followed by two splashes from the two guys who just jumped into the dangerously compromised water. As I said, there are lots of junk items that have been illegally dumped in the reservoir, so jumping into the water risks life and limb. We're too young and fearless and too stupid to worry about that, though.

Having used up my surplus of 'perfect' things to say, I don't say anything else to Mickey. Finally, he sits up again and asks, "How'd your boner feel, Burke? Mine felt awesome." I glance at him quickly, and mumble, "Yeah, uh-huh," and he stands and holds his hand down for me to take hold of and then he helps pull me up, as he's asking, "Do you wanna hang out with me sometime?"

I think about that, and as we start the long walk up the path to the top, I say, "Yeah, okay," and he smiles at me. Holy shit, he looked kinda cute when he smiled. That's good, but, except the few times he grins or smiles, as I've mentioned, he looks sort of dopey. We don't say anything the rest of the way to the top where he goes over to Jello, and I go where Dean is talking with Grace Falco, who says, "How you doing, Mattie?" I nod, mumbling, "Hi, Grace." Dean gives me my glasses and says, "Why don't you get yourself a beer?"

Nodding, I get the message and walk across the field to the cooler, but I don't get a beer. I walked away because Dean was trying to set up another 'date' with Grace. For the next twenty minutes, I sit on a rock twenty-feet above the reservoir's water, not thinking about anything in particular. Mickey interrupts my peace when he comes over to me and hands me a can of beer, saying, "Um, I saw you didn't have a beer, Burke, so um, I got one for you." I say, "Thanks," even though I don't want it. I stand up, and we stand next to each other at the edge of the cliff, his shoulder touching my arm. We're looking down at a group of people swimming, and I'm thinking how rare it was that no one was swimming when Mickey and I swam earlier. If someone had been swimming, we never would have had that time together.

Mickey says, "Do you mind?" and he takes the can of beer from me, the one he just gave me, and then drinks quite a bit of it. Swallowing, he hands the can back to me and says, "I don't talk much either." I snort out a laugh and then look at him but can't think of anything to say, so instead, I put my arm across his shoulders, he leans against me as I swallow some beer.

I'm just now noticing various aspects of his appearance. Mickey has a pug nose, and his ears stick out, and he's skinnier than I am, and, like me, he doesn't have body hair. He has a light beard, but no body hair. Huh, neither do Mark or Bobby. I just thought of that. Hell, most guys around our age have at least a little hair on their chest. I don't like that, but I didn't know I didn't, not until now. I never gave it a thought before this.

Feeling self-conscious, I take my arm from his shoulders, and Mickey asks, "Can I have your phone number?" I tell him my number. He repeats it two times while smiling, so I automatically smile back at him. He taps my chest, saying, "I'll text you, okay?" I nod, and then Jello calls out, "Hey, Miller, we're leaving. If you want a ride, get your ass over here." Mickey says, "Bye, Burke," and off he goes. Hmm, could it be that Dennis told Mickey about him jerking me off, and that's why Mickey was so, um, ballsy? Yeah, and maybe Mark told Dennis what we did and... oh, fuck, I don't know. Do normal guys talk specifically about the sex they have with whoever? That seems like a sleazy thing to do.

As I watch Mickey jog across the field, I'm slowly shaking my head, wondering again, what's going on here? Even if Dennis did say something about that night, it'd be weird if Mickey is another gay guy. I'm not complaining, but it's more than a little bit mysterious how gay guys are all of a sudden popping up in my life while previously I was under the impression no one I know was gay except me.

Drinking the unwanted beer, I think about how I let Mickey lie on me without objecting and decide it's all been a domino effect of my Friday night encounter with Joe. That incident with Joe was the starting point of my sexual revolution. We didn't do anything, Joe and I, but his actions and words, specifically when he asked me if I'd ever messed around with another guy, made me think he may be gay. He meant messing around 'sexually,' although he didn't say the word.

Yeah, I was taken unawares when he said that, and I let the opportunity pass right by me, but the experience made me realize I need to be more responsive to opportunities. Then Dennis reinforced I need to do that when we got stoned together. Joe was feeling me out, but since I didn't respond, he said no more about it. Later, I knew I'd missed an opportunity, so when I ran into Mark at the bowling alley, I was more receptive to what he had to say even though, at first, I didn't think it was sexual. Then later, when he was holding my hand doing his bogus palm reading, I began to think... maybe he's gay too. But even earlier that evening, I was getting bolder by agreeing to smoke pot with Mark instead of meeting Dean, my security blanket, at Gambol's Bar.

Hmm, the dominos, metaphorically speaking, kept falling with Mark and Dennis leading me into some sexual activities, well Dennis mostly at first. Dennis was, um, testing me with his touching, and then the marijuana took over. After that, I helplessly went along with Dennis's touching and eventual jerking me off.

Yeah, but no, it's not as though I were a victim 'cause I wanted to experience something gay, and after I let him jerk me off, I told Dennis all my secrets. Yes, I was stoned, but saying all that shit out loud to Dennis seemed to free-me-up to do what happened later with Mark. Making out with him, us both naked in Mark's bed. My first gay sex happened then when Mark sucked my dick. That was definitely my first real gay sex.

Happenstance took over at work with Bobby, my new co-worker, who says he isn't gay but does gay stuff with buddies. He saw something in me that made him think maybe I was gay. Without my earlier experiences with Dennis and Mark, I likely wouldn't have allowed myself to be swept along in Bobby's wake of confidence. It was Bobby carrying me along to everything we did, but only after getting me to agree, I wanted to do it.

And now this semi-gay experience with Mickey Miller who, by the way, seems to be almost as socially awkward as me, although he's a lot braver than I ever was. I mean, Mickey lying on my bod the way he did... that took balls, mostly on his part but a little on my part too because I let him do it. In any case, I wouldn't have been able to go along with any of the childish body-exploration Mickey, and I did in the water and then later on the rock without the time I had with Joe that led to the times I had with Dennis, Mark, and Bobby.

So, yeah, I think that's the cause and effect of what is happening lately regarding gay guys and me. Yeah, but it's still unbelievable! Unbelievable but wonderful, although I don't think any of that qualifies as a miracle. Dennis was wrong about that. Or, maybe Dennis was the miracle. Or maybe there is no miracle. Yeah, fuck miracles cause I want to give myself some credit here. I had a lot of guidance from those cute awesome guys, but as someone once said, I've broken out of my shell in that I at least participated. Yeah, I deserve some credit for being able to finally, after nineteen years, do that much.

Interrupting the analysis of my good fortune of late, I hear my name called and turn to see Dean waving at me, saying, "How about we leave now, Mattie? I've got a dinner date tonight, and I need to do a lot of cleaning up." We get our stuff and walk to my car as I ask, "Where are you taking Grace to dinner?" He goes, "She's packing a picnic basket, and I'm supplying the booze." I'm like, "You're going to Kent Park?" He goes, "No, dummy! Not Kent Park, we're going to the much classier Ridley Park. Her parents are going out at nine o'clock, so after we eat and get a little drunk, we go back to her place and fuck." I mumble, "Oh, uh-huh."

I mean, I don't doubt him, but the thought of fucking a girl has zero interest for me. I used to call heterosexual fucking 'gross,' but after I was recently fucked up the ass, it would be hypocritical of me to continue calling guy and girl intercourse 'gross.' I'll have to come up with some other pejorative word for it. In any case, I don't care to hear about Dean's plans about fucking Grace, so I don't say anything more.

Dean is used to me not saying much, so we don't talk on the drive to his house. While he's texting, I hear my phone make a 'ding' sound, meaning I just got a text. Since I'm driving, I leave my phone in my pocket for now, but I'm thinking it's probably Mickey texting since he said he was going to do that.

After dropping Dean off at his house, I drive home. As I'm driving, I decide I don't want to hang out with Mickey. Not tonight anyway. There are too many new 'things' in my life lately. Unaccustomed to that, I need to step back for a bit and get my bearings.

My parents aren't home, which is odd, but then I remember mom telling me this morning they'll be at an awards dinner to give moral support for grandfather. They obviously left early for the six o'clock cocktail hour at a restaurant in Philly. Oh man, I suppose I love my parents as we're sort of required to 'love' our parents, but for the last couple of years, I haven't 'liked' them very much. Hell, they probably could say that holds true for me. So, we're even.

My bathing suit has dried by now, so I kick off my flip flops and lie on my bed. Hmm, I feel like jerking off, but I'm not going to. I mean, I was fucked excellently yesterday, right? Jerking off is for kids anyway, except Mickey's body lying on mine at the reservoir is what has me thinking about it. Hey, maybe I will hook up with him. Oh, I forgot to check the text message. Looking at my phone, I expect to see the text is from Mickey, but it isn't. Huh, it's from Mark. Hot shit, he texted me!

Hmm, it'd be better if I call him instead of texting. He answers right away and, purposely keeping elation out of my voice, I say, "Hiya, Mark. What's up?" He says, "Hi, Mattie! What's up is, I got a job, dude. The problem with it is, it's the seven PM to three AM shift. The night-shift!" I nod my head even though he can't see me do it and say, "Oh, that sucks, but I guess it's a good thing you got a job though, right?" He doesn't sound enthused as he mumbles, "Yeah, I guess. It's a shitty job at the Amazon warehouse in South Philly, so that sucks, but it pays well. Anyway, that's why I didn't text you this week, but we're still on for tonight, right?"

Huh? I don't remember making plans to hang out tonight, but so what? I go, "Absolutely. Do you want me to pick you up?" He says, "Nah, I've gotta do some things and, um, how about if we meet at Dennis's 'crib' in Darby?" I mumble, "Gee, I'm not sure I remember how to get there." He goes, "It's easy," and he gives me directions and then says, "I'll see you there about eight-o'clock, okay?" I mutter, "Sure."

His driving directions don't make a lot of sense to me, but I write them down anyway. Jeez, I'm wicked excited thinking about the surprise I have for him. I'm really gonna surprise him, suggesting we fuck. Haha! Oh man, last week I wouldn't even agree to blow him and, well, what a difference a week makes.

As I'm showering, I wrestle with the question of whether or not I should mention to Mark about Bobby and me having sex. No, I better not, although I'm not sure why. Damn, I gotta be cool, though. Halfway through shampooing my hair, I stop as a shiver runs through me. That happened because, I mean, ten days ago, I was a virgin without prospects, and then, bang, my world turned upside-down in the best ways possible. I'm so fucking happy I hardly know what to do with myself.

Drying after my shower, I tell myself that millions of guys have a 'date' Saturday night and assume they'll have sex during their date. They don't get the 'shivers' showering and thinking about that. No, they're 'normal', and it's a fairly normal thing to do. For me, I guess I'm back thinking it's all a miracle, an unlikely miracle that's come true for me. I mean, ten-days ago, would I have thought I'd be in this position? No, I'd have thought it would take a miracle... so I guess maybe it is a miracle after all.

Shit, I'm having trouble catching my breath again, so I stop drying myself and calm myself down. Getting dressed, I can't lie to myself, I can hardly wait until Mark, and I fuck. Nothing has ever felt as good as Bobby and I doing that, and it makes me shudder thinking about doing it again. Surprising myself, I laugh out loud. Yeah, I'm so happy my life has finally 'turned on', so to speak.

I'm dressed and ready to go, but it's only six-forty-five. Okay, good, I haven't eaten much since breakfast, so I make two grilled cheese sandwiches for dinner. After eating, I'm wicked anxious about what's coming later, so I leave my house at seven-fifteen even though it's only a ten-to-fifteen-minute ride. That's assuming Mark's directions for getting to Dennis's 'crib' don't get me lost.

As I'm getting the key fob for my car, I pass the mirror in the foyer and see my reflection. My hair looks like shit, and I haven't shaved since Friday morning. Hmm, the 'fob' goes in my shorts' pocket, and I go into the bathroom to do 'something' with my hair. I rub hair gel through my hair, then try combing my hair with a pompadour, but my hair is too long for that, so I comb it straight back like Mickey combs his hair. Oh, fuck, I look 'tough'!

Hmm, this is also the way Mark combed my hair when we were in the bowling alley, which was an odd thing for him to do, but I enjoyed the attention. Thinking about Mark, my ass twitches, then I think about Mickey for a few seconds. Yeah, I'll bet I've had more experience with gay sex than Mickey. It would be HOT to have sex with a novice like him. Hmm, I'd probably want him fucking me, though. Haha, oh yeah, a little guy like Mickey 'fucking' me is a cool thought. Hey, I'll bet his dick is bigger than Bobby's... haha.

Shaking my head, I say out loud, "Getting carried away, are we, Matt?" Yes, we are, but it's fun. Picking up my can of Barbasol shaving cream, I put it right back down. I'm not shaving. My faint mustache and goatee are cool-looking. And, I'd like to 'come off' to Mark as casual. You know, as if this date with him isn't so important, I felt the need to shave. Yes, this is how I need to act, blase. No, I can't pull-off 'blase' so I decided to be myself.

I have no problem driving into Darby, but then I get lost. If I knew Dennis's address, I could program my GPS. I don't know it, so my best option is to text Mark for help, except I'd like to avoid doing that if I can. I'm not a spaz... I can figure this out. Driving unfamiliar streets for ten minutes, I finally see row houses on my left that might be Dennis's place. There's a house near the end of the row with plywood over a window. I remember that from last week.

Getting out of the car, I start across the street and then stop. A better idea is, I'll wait for Mark to get here. It's still light outside, so it's not as scary as last week when it was dark out. I lean against the fender of my car and watch an SUV drive by with three young guys in it. All three look at me as the guy in the shotgun seat yells out, "Hey, we'll be right back, and you can blow all of us, faggot." Fuckin' asshole! I say nothing. Yeah, but I better get in the car and keep the motor running.

The SUV doesn't stop and, as I open the car door to get in my car, I'm startled by a stumblebum who appears from an alley ten feet from me. Christ, that was unexpected! The fragrant bum, wearing all the clothes he owns, mumbles, "Do ya got a couple of bucks I could have?" I mutter, "Um, I, ah..." then, hell, I feel sorry for the guy.

Jeez, he isn't as old as I thought he was now that I look at him a second time. He's probably a down on his luck guy, maybe homeless. I pull out the first 'bill' I touch in my pocket, and as I hand it to him, see it's a five-dollar bill. Well, okay, I hope he'll do some good with it but he probably won't. He says, "You're a nice kid, God Bless you," and then he almost trips on a crack in the sidewalk as he's moving away. Getting in my car, I wonder what could that guy's life story be? It probably includes drugs... too much of the worst kinds.

Man, that was depressing! After watching the guy walk out of sight. I sit here idling for a few minutes and then drive slowly around the block and, by chance, see Mark in the passenger seat of an old Ford pickup driving right past me in the other direction. Slamming on the breaks, I back into an alley, turn around, and follow the pickup. It doesn't stop at the row homes I was at but goes right by them and turns left at the intersection. When I turn the corner, I see Mark is out of the pickup and waving at the driver as the pickup drives away.

I blow my horn once, and Mark looks over and waves at me. Pulling up and then parking, I get out, and, as Mark gives me a quick hug, he says, "We arrived at the same time, bro. That's cool! How are you, Mattie?" I go, "Good, I'm good," and he points at my head, saying, "You combed your hair the way I did it for you last week. Sweet, dude!" I shrug, and he goes, "I work nights, and you workdays, but next Saturday I'm taking you to my barber 'cause you're hair is too long. You'll look way better with short hair." I start to tell him he needs a haircut too, but he beats me to it, saying, "I know, I know... I need a haircut too. We'll get haircuts together."

That'd be cool, but I shake my head, saying, "I can't do it next Saturday 'cause I'll be busy all day with something." I don't want to go into my caregiving thing. Mark doesn't ask me what it is I have to do. Instead, he goes, "Oh, alright, but we gotta do that soon, right?" I nod and mumble, "Yeah, okay," and he holds up a key, saying, "Dennis gave me a key to the front door. He's not in there, but he left two joints for us. I'll run up and get them." I nod again, and mumble, "Yeah, I'll wait here, no problem." I'm glad we're not smoking the grass in Dennis's crib.

Getting in the car, I bite my lip, and tighten my sphincter muscle, tighten all the muscles in my ass because Mark gets me feeling horny. Jesus, being horny is a new feeling for me, one I don't especially care for. Being horny makes me feel out of control. Yeah, but it's also fun anticipating having something as exciting as gay sex with Mark to anticipate. He looked cute and sexy from the quick glance I had of him. He's not as pretty as Bobby, who is absurdly good looking, but Mark meets the cuteness quota for all the fantasies I've ever had. ,

Well, nevermind that, here he comes. I have no problem staring at him when he isn't aware of it, but when we talk, I need to force myself to look into his eyes, although lately, I am getting better at eye contact. The thing is, I'm not sure when staring in a guy's eyes is too much, ya know? When it begins being awkward for both of us. There's a cutoff point I'm trying to figure out.

Mark gets in the passenger seat, saying, "Dennis never lets me down," and he holds up two joints. They're not fat like the ones we smoked last week and, hopefully, they're not laced with cocaine either. I ask, "Are those joints just plain grass?" He mumbles, "Just pot," and I ask, "Where should we go?" Mark looks at me and smiles, saying, "Is that a joke? We're going to the party in Philly, of course. I told you about Mouse's party last week. You're my date." Oh yeah, I do remember Mark and Dennis talking about the party in Philly. Mark's like, "If you don't want to go, we can do something else."

He's so nice! I shake my head, "No, I'm good, the party is good. I'm a party animal." He snickers, mumbling, "I don't believe that, but I'm hoping to turn you into one. Can you dance?" I go, "Oh, um, dance? What kind of dancing?" Mark laughs again and mutters, "Oh Christ, Mattie, um, but no, it's okay. I'll teach you to dance tonight." Huh, I wonder why we had to stop here for the marijuana joints if we're going to see Dennis at the party?

I forget about that and, with Mark giving me directions, I concentrate on driving. It's only a twenty-minute drive to a downtown Philadelphia apartment building, and then we need to search for a parking spot. We find one two blocks away, and I back into this small parking spot like a pro. Mark goes, "Nice park-job, dude!" Pure luck! Good to see the hypothetical 'ball' is still falling in my number on the roulette wheel of life.

As we walk back to the building, Mark says, "The guy throwing this party is a 'hood,' a rich 'drug lord' or something. Everyone calls him 'Mouse' but you and I probably shouldn't. I met him one time with Dennis. He's, um, dangerous, not that we'll be hanging out with him." I'm nodding, not really listening 'cause I've got that horny 'thing' going for me again. I'd like it better if we skipped the party and get right to the sex.

We go into the lobby of the 'swanky' building, stopping at a line of elevators, and Mark says, "Hit the 'penthouse' button." I look at him to see if he's kidding, and he nods his head, "That's right, Mattie, we're big-time now, dude!"

When we get off the elevator at the top floor, the penthouse floor, we're directed by a guy dressed as a waiter to a staircase that leads to the roof. That's where the party is happening and, Omigod, when we step out of the door onto the roof... it's so cool! It is not a 'tar-paper' roof as I imagined. This is like a ballroom more than a rooftop. A ballroom with skyline-walls and a ceiling of stars.

Mark and I stand at the entrance to the rooftop party, gazing around at a hundred men and women, some of whom are dancing to a live band, or maybe it's more like an orchestra. It's a diverse crowd that appears equal parts Hispanic, Africa Americans, and Caucasians. The ages of people ranging from the twenties to maybe fifties. The bar serving drinks has two bartenders. It's at the far end of the roof and appears to hang in space from where we're standing. The decorations are strings of lights around and above us with many large plants in white ceramic pots surrounding the dance floor. In front of the dance floor, there are tables with flowers on them, many tables with people sitting around them. Waiters stroll through the guests offering hors d'oeuvre and glasses of champaign. The live band is loud and even louder is the laughing and loud talking. Very lively atmosphere.

It seems Mark isn't sure what we should do now, and then Dennis appears and gives Mark a hug and a quick kiss on the lips. Dennis is wearing white jeans and a purple t-shirt, and he's acting 'swishy,' meaning very gay-acting. He has pale blue eyeliner under his eyes. Turning to me, he goes, "Mattie, you're adorable," and I get a hug and a kiss too. I mumble, "Hi, Dennis." I taste lipstick, so he apparently has lipstick on as well, but I didn't want to stare, so I don't know what shade it is.

"Come with me," Dennis says as he puts an arm across Mark's and my shoulders leading us to a table near the edge of the roof. There's a wall surrounding the roof, so it's not as if I'm worried about falling off it. The wall is about four feet high and has a string of lights along the top. The rooftop is covered with faux hardwood that shines as though it was just polished.

Dennis introduces us to his boyfriend, saying, "Mark, you know Patrick, right?" Mark nods, mumbling, "Yeah. What's up, Patrick?" Patrick is average 'looking' with makeup a woman would put on, and he has long dangling earrings in both ears. He's wearing a man's white shirt with the tails tied at his waist and the shirt open to his belly button showing his hairy chest. His shorts are so short his 'package' is obvious and on his feet are hightop sneakers, retro Converse sneakers. Dennis says, "Mattie, meet my boyfriend, Patrick. Patrick, this is the adorable boy I told you about." Patrick holds out his hand, saying, "Nice to meet you, darling," and I sort of shake hands with him although it's more like touching fingers. I mumble, "Likewise."

Patrick is not friendly. He's aloof, giving the impression that Mark and I do not 'measure up' somehow. There are two other guys at the table. One is named, Tyler, and the other is Anthony. The drug 'lord' named Mouse is somewhere else. I'm sensing that both Tyler and Anthony are gay, too, although neither one is 'swishy.' It's just a 'look' they have. Mark and I get introduced, but they aren't especially friendly either. That doesn't matter though, because Dennis is the 'alpha dog' at this table and he's very friendly.

Trays of drinks are brought to our table by a young, good-looking waiter. Patrick orders for all of us, which means we're all drinking shots of Patron Silver Tequila with beer chasers... Dos Equis beer. Neither the shots nor the beer is a pleasant drink, but I manage not to throw-up, and after two rounds, Mark says, "Well, fellows, if you'll excuse us, Mattie and I are going to dance to this awesome band." Dennis says, "Enjoy yourself, boys," and the other three guys at the table either roll their eyes or wave a hand dismissively.

The conversation at the table was drug-related, and I got the feeling they were uncomfortable discussing their illegal drug business with Mark and me at the table. I didn't feel comfortable either so, even though I can't dance, I'm glad we're leaving the table. Mark leads me to the edge of the dance floor and says, "Okay, Mattie, tap your foot to the beat of the music," and he does it to demonstrate what he wants me to do. Feeling stupid, I do that, and he says, "Good, you can feel the beat," and he does a few 'moves' that I try to emulate. Fifteen minutes later, I'm dancing pretty well. Plus, Mark is so cute, smiling all the time, so it's fun looking at his face as we dance. Not looking directly into his eyes, but at his cute face in general. I'm proud to be with him, proud I'll soon be his fuck-buddy as well.

Glancing around, I determine I'm not the worse dancer on the dance floor, but the ones I feel are worse appear stoned to the gills. There are women here dancing with men, but they're outnumbered two-to-one by guys dancing with guys. To me, that's a very unusual sight. I've never been to a gay bar or club, so seeing men dancing together is a new experience. Dean told me there were a few gay couples brave enough to go to the senior prom, but since I didn't go, this is my first time seeing guys dancing together. It also is strange there are so many gay drug dealers. Or, maybe these people aren't dealers so much as they're clients of the drug dealers. Or distributors, or merely friends. What the fuck do I know?

We danced for forty-five minutes and then got bottles of beer at the bar and, leaning against a wall near the bar, we drink the beers. We're both perspiring, but there's a breeze up this high that's refreshing. Mark asks, "Are you having a good time, Mattie?" Nodding, I say, "Yeah, but slightly feeling out of place too, I guess. It's all wicked interesting. Actually, this is by far the most interesting, um, party I've ever been to. And, yeah, it was nerve-racking at the table with those drug lords. Mostly, I feel good being here with you, that's what I care about."

Holy shit! That's the longest speech I've ever made. Mark mumbles, "Yeah, it's an unusual party for sure. This will help, um, hold my beer, and I'll fire-up a joint." I go, "Here?" and he laughs, "Yeah, of course. Didn't you smell the pot smoke drifting past us while we were dancing?" I go, "Yes, now that you mentioned it, but I was mostly concentrating on my fabulous dancing style." He goes, "Uh-huh," as he's chuckling, and then lighting a joint. I also noticed people sniffing cocaine off the back of their hands, or the top of tables using rolled-up dollars. Scary!

Mark takes a drag and holds the smoke in his lungs while reaching to take his beer back. As he lets the smoke drift out, he passes the joint to me. We don't talk while we smoke the joint. Finally, Mark takes the last 'hit' off the roach and flicks it over the wall and says, "I need to kiss you." His arms go around my neck; the head of his beer bottle in his right hand is cold, touching the back of my head. It's a great kiss, a hot and sexy-kiss. It got my penis hard.

My number one fantasy has been to make out with a cute guy, and, as I've said, Mark is plenty cute enough to fulfill my fantasy. And as I've also said, I've always thought he was cute going all the way back to when we first met, both of us first-year students. Seeing him up close like this though, up close and wicked personal, I realize he's even better looking, cuter than I ever realized. Plus, I like his hair, it's an amazing shade of red, and he combs it cool too. Well, Goddamn, I'm on a date with Mark Baker! Haha, what would his prick-of-a-bully cousin, Terrence, say about me now? How do you like me now, asshole?

Mark and I kiss for five or six minutes without stopping. My cock was hard early, but now it's poking out my shorts, my cock stretched almost painfully hard. I finally gasp and lean my forehead against Mark's shoulder, catching my breath. When I'm able, I murmur, "My cock is a steel shaft, Mark. Can you please stay like this, so no one sees it." He chuckles, mumbling, "You're so fucking innocent, Mattie. Hey, bud, nobody gives a shit about your boner. Well, except me. Seriously, twenty guys probably have boners right here, right now," and he laughs, adding, "I had one myself a minute ago."

The shots and beers, plus the pot, have me feeling 'high' but not so high I don't know what I'm doing. That's a good thing, or I might tell Mark how desperate I am to have him fuck me. The memory of us naked in bed merely exacerbates my horniness. We have another beer and then later dance a while before Mark asks, "What do you say we take off? Have you had enough of this scene yet?" I go, "Yeah, um, whatever you wanna do, Mark." He takes a look around and says, "Let's bounce. We stayed long enough so that we're not dissing the party if we leave now. This isn't really my thing. I only came because Dennis wanted me to see this elaborate party, but I'm not comfortable with all these drug-dealers, ya know?"

I'm not either, so I say, "They weren't very friendly. The guys with Dennis, I mean." Mark goes, "No, they weren't. This is the first time I've met them, um, except for Dennis's boyfriend. I don't know anyone else. C'mon, let's get outta here."

We leave without saying goodbye to anyone, and as we're going down in the elevator, Mark says, "I didn't tell Dennis we're leaving because now he won't know when we left. I'll tell him we got stoned and left at midnight or something." All of a sudden, it occurs to me that I've been good with my interaction, my talking with Mark. That is curious, and while I'm wicked glad about it, I don't know why it's happening. Well, I was pretty good, although not this good, with Bobby too. Maybe it's the prospect of impending sex.

I'm still okay to drive, and as we drive away, I ask, "Where should we go?" He's like, "There are people at my house. My parents have friends of theirs over tonight. How about your place?" I shrug, "My parents are out, but they probably won't make it a late night." He says, "Well then, let's go to Dennis's 'crib.' We know no one is there." Not my favorite place, but where else can we go? If I had an apartment...

When we're stopped at a red light, he punches my shoulder and says, "Hey, you seemed hesitant when I mentioned Dennis's crib." Shrugging and shaking my head, he asks, "So, you're okay with going there, right? We can make out, and then you owe me a blow job... heh heh." I go, "Oh?" He's like, "Yeah, we take turns doing those sorts of things. You're up for it, right?" Jeez, all of a sudden, I feel intimidated, and I regress to my old ways as my face gets hot, and I mumble, "Oh, um, yes, sure, Dennis's place is fine." Then I get even nerdier and say, "We're boyfriends, or, I mean, we're not boyfriends, but... Well, yeah, it's my turn."

That was an impossibly stupid-geeky response. Jesus! And I just complimented myself for being almost normal! Gawd! Mark doesn't appear to mind. He's chuckling, and in an off-hand manner, mumbles, "What is it with you and the 'boyfriend' thing?" Shrugging, I have the common sense to leave it at that. Why the fuck did I say 'boyfriends'?

That bungled and tongue-tied babbling brought me back down to earth, and as I shakily park at the curb in front of Dennis's dumpy 'crib,' I'm trying to get m,y equilibrium back. Trying to regain a semblance of 'cool'. Mark apparently sees I'm acting weird, and he pats my shoulder, saying, "It's all good, Mattie. We're good." Christ, why would he want a goof like me for a boyfriend anyway? I go, "Yep, uh-huh." It's best that I don't try to explain myself, that would just make it worse.

Inside, it smells musty, and when Mark turns on a light in the kitchen, I see our trash from last Saturday has been cleaned off the kitchen table. Mark mumbles, "C'mon," and I follow him to the room with a cot where Dennis and I napped last week. Mark opens the top drawer of the bureau and takes what appears to be a clean sheet from the drawer. Holding it, he asks, "You okay?" I nod, "Sure," and he's like, "Good! Um, take everything off, Mattie, we're gonna 'party' in bed." Oh boy!

As I kick my sneakers off, I'm telling myself to forget my recent 'babbling' setback. Mark spreads a second sheet, then he tosses a clean pillowcase to me, saying, "Would you put this on the pillow?" I go, "Sure," and as I'm doing that, he looks at me, and with another mischievous grin on his cute face, he says, "This is exciting, isn't it?" Taking off the old pillowcase, I'm like, "Yep," and then add, "Um, but I was wondering if you wanted to, um, well, if you wanted to fuck me?"

When I asked that, he'd just sat on the bed to unlace his black leather high-top sneakers, but he stops. Looking at me, he asks, "Are you serious? You're okay with me, fucking you? I mean, last week you said..." and I interrupt, getting my mojo back, I say, "That was last week, and this is this week, so yes, I really would like that." He's excited now, "Well, you hot-shit! Damn, though, I don't have a condom with me. I never expected you'd want to do this, ya know?" I pull out the two condom packets and hold them up. He goes, "Oh, fuck, you're full of surprises tonight, ain't ya? Hell, yeah, let's do it. I've never 'had' a guy's cherry before!" Oh, yeah, that, hmm...

We get undressed while exchanging smirks. I'm trying to be 'cool', but now there's a funny feeling in the pit of my stomach. I didn't expect to be nervous, not after Bobby fucked me yesterday after work, and I might have told Mark, but I won't now after he seemed to be excited about the 'cherry' thing. Or, should I tell him because of that?

When we're both naked, standing next to the cot, Mark says, "As I told you last week, Mattie, I'm sexually experienced, um, especially compared to you, but not so experienced I don't still get excited about doing it. And I want you to know that, in case, um, I don't know, in case it doesn't turn out as perfect as you expected, you shouldn't get disappointed. The first time often doesn't work out real well, um, sometimes it does, though. What I'm saying is, don't be discouraged if it doesn't." Damn, I feel guilty for not telling him I had my first time already... is it too late now?

We're still standing here with me holding the condoms, not sure what to do with them, so I ask, "Should we make out?" He goes, "Oh, I was waiting for you to suck my dick. Get it hard, ya know?" I'm like, "Oh, uh-huh, but I thought, ah, us fucking would bypass that 'sucking your dick' part." He snorts out a laugh and musses my hair causing it to hang in my eyes. He goes, "No, let's not skip that part." Oh fuck...

Finger-combing my hair off my forehead, I take a deep breath and say, "Okay, I'll do it." He mutters, "Don't worry, you won't get any germs. I'm clean, plus if you're worried about piss on my dick, there isn't any, and even if there was, it's sterile... urine is sterile." Is he kidding me with that? I'm still looking leery, I guess, so he says, "Oral sex happens a million times every minute somewhere on earth. You'll be the million and one for this minute." I snicker, and mumble, "Yeah, well, what do I do?" He says, "Sit on the cot, I'll stand in front of you, and you pick up my pecker. Um, we'll take it step-by-step, and there aren't many 'steps'."

Sitting on the cot, I'm like, "Was that a joke, or were you serious? The sterile thing you said." He musses my hair again and chuckles, saying, "Yes, I was serious... Google it. And, what the fuck? I mean, you watch porn, don't you? You know how a blow job is done." Mumbling, "Yeah, I know. You're right," Tentatively, taking hold of his dick using only my thumb and forefinger, I look up at Mark in case he wants to tell me further instructions, and he gently takes my glasses off, saying, "I'll put these on the bureau, okay?" I nod. No problem. Even without my glasses, I have no trouble seeing something as close as his dick is, I'm nearsighted.

He drops my glasses next to the candle as I take a good look at the dick in my fingers. This is the first time I've looked closely at it. For one thing, it's longer than my dick but just a little longer, and it's fatter than Bobby's. Like most of us, Mark's been circumcised, and the head of his cock is rosy-colored with one eye. Heh heh, one piss slit and the shaft is skin-tone like the rest of Mark, which is to say, um, pinkish-white, sort of. In other words, this is a normal-looking male penis.

He's standing in front of me with his legs spread and his hands were lightly touching my shoulders. His legs are slightly hairy, although his torso is free of hair. Yeah, well, I already knew that. Squinting, I see a tiny bit of wetness that can only be, well, a drop piss that Mark claimed wouldn't be there. Still holding his penis, I look up at Mark again, he grins and says, "Go ahead, lick it." Oh, man! Okay, here goes, and I stick my tongue out, then hesitate, and then lick right across the head. The drop of wetness didn't taste like anything. Mark goes, "Uuuu, ooooh," and I do it again.

Nope, I didn't detect any taste, plus I'm noticing that Mark's body has a nice scent. I couldn't describe the 'scent,' but I like it, and he's right, he is a clean guy. His cock is soft, but still long enough that I can get my fist around the shaft with the 'head' above my fist. I guess his penis is like, um, a total of five-and-a-half inches long. What the hell, here I go, and I begin sucking on the head, making slurping-sounds as I do it. It's like I'm sucking on an all-day pop. Jeez, I like doing it too. What was I thinking all these years? Germs? Fuck germs!

Mark is grunting, and then he taps me on my head, and I pull my lips off his cock, my eyes looking up at him. Mark goes, "You're doing awesome! Absolutely awesome. Um, but you're squeezing my cock too tightly, and your teeth are sharp." I go, "My teeth?" Even I know that's something to be aware of when blowing a guy. "I wasn't biting your dick." He goes, "Not actually biting, but your fabulous teeth scrape across the head, um, occasionally. If you could just stop doing that, it'd be almost perfect."

I loosen my death-grip on his cock and notice, surprisingly, it's firn now, not flaccid as it was thirty seconds ago. I guess I'm doing alright, my teeth notwithstanding. I mumble, "Okay," and put his cock back in my mouth. I can't get over that I not only don't mind doing this, I like doing it. In that regard, I put more of his cock in my mouth and, covering my teeth with my lips, I bob up and down on his cock, imitating how Mark did that last week. Imitating fifty blow jobs I've seen on porn channels.

It's not even two minutes when Mark's pushing my head away, saying, 'Whoa, okay, okay, I'm hard, bro." He steps back, and his boner sags to the right, away from his body, looking heavy. He strokes his cock a couple of times, saying, "Good, very good, Mattie... sweet! Now roll that condom on." Whew, I've got a boner too. Jesus, I didn't even realize that until now.

Tearing open the condom package, getting lubricant on my fingers, I roll the condom onto his cock. That went well, and I look up at Mark for further instructions. Yeah, I'm anxious and stuttering a bit now, "Ah, now what do I do, I mean, um, ah, how do I...?" He says, "Lie on your back with your legs pulled back. That way, I can look at you as I'm fucking your sweet ass." Nodding, I flop on my back and do as he says, my legs are kept out of the way with an arm around each one. He goes, "Omigod, Mattie, the look of anticipation in your eyes. I didn't expect that. I thought you'd be scared." Shaking my head, I mutter, "No, I was just, um, for a second... no, I'm good, um, I trust you."

I'm pulling my legs back so hard my back is curved, and when Mark touches my right knee guiding his cock to my asshole, I rock back and forth on the cot. When I feel the tip of the condom hit my asshole, I gasp and shiver with anticipation. I want this desperately and almost say, 'C'mon, do it!' I don't say that, of course... I whimper with desire instead. I never imagined I'd be this receptive to getting fucked. That's totally the last thing I expected, and then Bobby fucked me, and my opinion changed forever.

Be that as it may, when Mark humps his hips, and the slippery head of his boner squeezes in past my sphincter, I go, "Ahhhh, ow, ow! No, don't stop." Even though it hurt, I hump my buttocks at his cock. Yes, it hurt, the stretching of my asshole hurt, but it's easy to ignore when compared to how good it also feels. My eyes are closed as I bite my bottom lip, totally into this sex.

When I don't sense any additional movement from Mark, I open my eyes and see him staring at me with a look of disbelief on his face. I mumble, "Um, what's wrong? It feels good," as if I need to explain myself. Mark says, "You've been pulling my chain, right? You're experienced with this." Shaking my head, I go, "No! Honestly, I'm not. Okay, I admit I was fucked yesterday afternoon, um, it was unexpected... totally a surprise, and I should have told you. Seriously, I didn't have any expectation that was going to happen, and, um, I swear to God it was the first time in my life doing that. He's my new co-worker, and one thing led to another and..."

He holds his hand up to get me to stop babbling. He's like, "Okay, I believe you. You've gotta tell me how that went sometimes, but not now." I nod, mumbling, "Oh, sure," and he goes, "Holy shit, it's just that I was completely shocked at how much you appear to be enjoying this, and we've barely started." I mumble, "Oh, um, it feels good, Mark. Didn't it feel good when your fuck-buddy 'did' you?" He goes, "Yeah, eventually, but it hurt like a motherfucker at the beginning... and I thought it was your first time, so... but, Christ, even your second time, um, this is wicked unusual, that's all I'm saying." I go, "I can't explain it except to say the hurt was there, but it felt so good at the same time I ignored the hurt."

As I'm saying that, I realize I'm inching forward on the cot, trying to get his cock to move up my rectum a little more. He notices what I'm doing and snickers, saying, "I can not believe how much you're 'into' this," and then he humps two more inches of his awesome boner up my ass and I go, "Ummmmm! Ooooh, Mark... Umm."

Mark mutters, "This is past surreal, that's all I meant. It's great, don't get me wrong, but, Jesus, dude," and he pushes his hips forward inch-by-inch until his crotch is tightly against my butt cheeks. I'm making a long wheezy breathing sound 'cause it's a fabulous feeling, and I can't help making sounds of pleasure. His cock sliding over my prostate gland created unimaginable pleasure, so much I lifted my ass off the cot. Mark gasps now as he humps against my buttocks and mutters, "Jesus..."

With his hands on the cot, one on either side of my waist, Mark's leaning forward as he begins humping his hips, moving his hard cock back and forth in my ass. Incredible sexual pleasure rolls over me as I moan and squirm under him on the cot, my eyes closed in ecstasy. I expect to hear the 'slapping' sound of Mark's body slapping against my buttocks, but I soon realize he's not doing full thrusts the way Bobby did. Mark is moving his boner four or five inches back and forth, never quite smacking against me. Even so, it's still creating enormous ebbs and flows of sexual pleasure, a blizzard of pleasure vibrations have me groaning and moaning.

I'm already aware that nothing I'll ever experience the rest of my life will be as enjoyable as taking a guy's cock in my ass, and that's a shocking revelation considering I never thought I'd ever do this. I was squirming on the cot, but now the waves of pleasure have me docile, staying still, so his fucking rhythm doesn't get disturbed. It's as though he is in control of me as I lie here, allowing my body to be used as he sees fit. I've surrendered to his 'topping,' somehow knowing that nothing could feel better the way he's doing it, so I lie here and enjoy the incredible 'ride'.

Totally overwhelmed with the power of sexual pleasure, I don't want to do anything that might detract from what Mark's doing. It's like I'm almost delirious with pleasure but, surprisingly, still able to notice a subtle sound associated with Mark's hard cock sliding in the slippery-lubricant. That's the subtle sound I noticed, along with the obvious moans of pleasure from Mark and me. Quiet moans and groans at perfect, pure-pleasure to a degree I can hardly believe is real, or even possible, but it obviously is. When Bobby fucked me, I thought nothing could ever be better than that, but maybe it gets better every time I do it.

It's perfection, but, unfortunately, it's also shortlived. Sensations of extreme pleasure are bursting like soap bubbles in my brain, too many to appreciate as my senses turn to that orgasm in me that's building quickly. I increase my moans and, with a climax roaring up on me, I begin humping back at Mark's thrusts, hopping up off the cot as my mighty climax has powered-up to almost a frightening strength, easily overwhelming my expectations and, on the verge of blacking out, I get stiff for a second and then go, "Aaaahhh!" as my 'load' of semen, my orgasm blows straight up in the air in three spurts. The cum streaks just missing the top of Mark's head as he's leaning over me still thrusting. Gravity has its way and down comes the shots of cum to splat, splat, splat... one on my chest, one on my shoulder, and one next to me on the clean sheet. Three splats of creamy wetness that seems insufficient to have caused the tsunami of pleasure that I experienced.

As taut as my body was during my climax, the opposite is true now. I'm limp as it's possible for a body to be while Mark's still thrusting in his effort to climax, his thrusts justling my limp body on the cot as I savor orgasmic after effects. I stopped holding my legs when climaxing, so now Mark has a hand on each of my ankles holding my legs back as his thrusting becomes desperate and a bit erratic. I'm looking at him, and it's Mark who has his eyes closed now, and then with a hard thrust, he leaves his boner inside and humps once, then again, climaxing into the condom, I assume.

He opens his eyes and grins, then mumbles, "That was absurdly wonderful," and he straightens up and steps back, pulling his cock from my ass. I go, "Ooooh," and then giggle like a girl 'cause I was just fucked like one. NO! I don't mean that. I mean, well, I don't know what I mean. I say, "That felt better than anything, Mark." He takes hold of my legs and drags me from sideways on the bed to full length on the bed and squeezes onto the bed beside me, saying, "Pull that sheet over us and tell me that bullshit story of how you've only done this once before in your whole 'effing life."

Reaching down, I get the sheet and pull it over us, saying, "Are you mad at me?" Leaning on his side a bit, he rubs his hand over my chest and down my stomach to grab my cock. Holding it and lightly squeezing, he says, "That's the second time you asked if I was mad at you. You asked me that last week too. Why do you think I might be mad at you? And, I'm not by the way, and I wasn't last week either."

I shrug, mumbling, "I'm not good at, um, reading a person's tone of voice, or their facial expression, or whatever." He lets go of my dick and says, "Oh, okay, whatever that means. " Leaning over, he kisses me and then says, "I gotta thank you for getting me to appreciate kissing. It isn't something I hardly ever did before. Well, I never made out. I'd kiss a guy 'hello' once in a great while, like with Dennis, but that was the extent of it until I met you. Now I think a hot make-out session is super sexy."

I'm like, "See; even I can teach you something." He laughs and mumbles, "Your innocence is fucking charming." There's barely enough room on this cot for us to both to lie our backs. My right arm is off the cot, actually. But, oh God, I feel so wonderfully happy. We lie here without talking for a minute; the sides of our bodies are touching from shoulders to the sides of our feet. It's as though I've known Mark all my life in someways. I can't explain it. He finally says, "Tell me about the other fuck you had, if you don't mind doing that."

I don't mind, so I say, "First of all, it's not bullshit," and explain I met Bobby at work and then a little about how hard it is meeting our quotas at UPS and how we commiserated about that which led to Bobby asking me to have a beer with him Friday. I'm nervous doing this much talking, so I go into a lot more details than necessary, similar to the way I tell Tommy Singleterry about stuff. With Tommy, I want to stretch the stories out to fill our time together. Obviously, that's not necessary with Mark, but I get in a cycle of fifteen minutes talking about unimportant things before I get to what Mark asked about; the sex part.

He doesn't interrupt, though, and seems to be enjoying my recitation. He has a pleasant expression on his face, almost a grin, as I relate what happened in the Clifton Inn, and so forth. Finally, I tell him about how smoothly Bobby handled my first fuck, and when I run out of words, Mark says, "Bobby seems like a nice guy. What does he look like, um, is he cute?" Yeah, that's the only 'part' I didn't tell Mark about because, well, because Bobby's even better looking than Mark and why would I go into that?

I'm like, "Um, he's good looking, but he has Shirley Temple hair which he hates." Mark laughs and says, "He has tight little curls all over his head?" I'm like, "Heh, heh, yeah. Tight little blond curls. He said he wishes he had hair like mine." Mark roughly runs his fingers through my hair, mumbling, "You've got nice hair but way too much of it." I mutter, "I know!"

I've apparently satisfied Mark's curiosity, and he goes on to again tell me how amazed he was that, right from the get-go, I embraced anal sex. He says, "On the other hand, what the fuck do I know. Maybe you're more normal in that regard than I think. I'm only going by what I've experienced and what I've heard gay guys say about 'first' times."

Dropping that topic, Mark talks about regular life, non-sex parts of his life. He tells me he isn't enrolled at college for the fall term, but he'll be going to Penn State next year. He wanted to take a year off, and his parents are okay with that. He gets along well with his parents and blah, blah, blah. It's not so much what Mark chooses to talk about that I like; it's that I like listening to his youthful voice. If you didn't see how young he looks and only heard his voice, you'd probably think he's as young as he looks... like fifteen or sixteen. Not that he says the dumb things a fifteen-year-old says.

That makes me wonder how wonderful it would have been if I were attuned enough to have picked-up on Mark's advances he claims he made to me in freshman year. Oh God, Mark and I as fifteen or sixteen-year-old boys doing 'it'. I never had a clue back then... what a waste.

Somehow, and I don't really know how it started, but we get into another make-out session that ends up with Mark fucking me again. As he said with a grin, "No sense letting this other condom go to waste." Christ, it was better than the earlier sex. Yeah, he did 'it' the same way with me on my back holding my legs, but Mark fucked harder this time, and it was different in a good way. I liked getting fucked hard like that, except I made a mess. I had a bigger orgasm than my first one tonight, and it got on both of us. Fuck, we were laughing our asses off at that.

I felt guilty driving home, guilty about us leaving, the cum-coated sheets on the cot, but Mark said, "Fuck it." When I dropped him off, we didn't even kiss 'goodbye'. He said, "Cool time tonight, Mattie. I'll text you." Yeah, well, we're 'buddy-sex-buddies,' not lovers! Buddies don't kiss 'hello' and 'goodby' unless, like Dennis, the buddies are swishy-gay. According to Mark, we're not boyfriends either. I know as far as Bobby and Mark were concerned, our sex was cool but not extraordinary to them. It's extraordinary to me but 'normal' to them, and I understand that.

Yeah, I'm trying desperately to be realistic, to be more 'normal'. And, yes, I recognize that these last two weeks that have changed my life have been extraordinarily unusual. So um, usual, I suppose that word 'miracle' has to apply someplace in this whirlwind of my good luck, but exactly where it applies, I can't say. It's all too recent. But I've discovered that 'love' has nothing to do with any of it. I'm hoping for 'friendship' to go along with my new 'buddy-sex-buddies'. I don't think that's too much to hope for.

To be continued... chapter 6 'Disappointment... And Then It Gets Better' donnymumford@outlook.com

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