Waiting for a Miracle

WAITING FOR A MIRACLE

by Donny Mumford

Chapter 7... "I Didn't See That Coming"

There are people who have 'weed' hangovers after smoking pot the night before, but I've never had one. I do get alcohol hangovers occasionally, but I didn't drink booze last night, so I'm good there too. To keep my good feelings rolling along this morning, it's best that I avoid interacting with mom and dad. That's especially true today as Ill be doing Tommy's caregiving, which they disapprove of. They're having breakfast, so I slip out of the front door, planning to buy my breakfast at the Dunkin' shop, previously-known-as, Dunkin' Donuts.

My parents say I'm a sap continuing my caregiving; they say Mrs. Singleterry is taking advantage of me. I don't feel taken advantage of; I feel I'm doing a good deed for two people who need help. The harsh happenstance that caused Tommy's injury wasn't anyone's fault. He was in a car accident that wasn't all that serious, just a fender bender with no alcohol or drugs involved. It would have been no big deal except Tommy's head hit the door frame in a one-in-a-million manner that created torquing, cracking his spine. The best explanation the doctors had for what happened to Tommy; it was a freak accident. Nobody else was even slightly injured.

The last time at Tommy's, I volunteered to return in two weeks instead of three. I keep my promises no matter how ill-conceived they may be, so off I go to do just that. Sure, I felt magnanimous at the time, volunteering extra caregiving, but now I wish I hadn't. It's not pleasant work, but on the positive side, it will keep me from fixating on last week's disappointments, meaning Bobby never coming with me after work to have sex, and Mark never getting back to me about a 'date' tonight.

And, to make matters worse, it's raining this morning, and I can't find a parking spot close to the Dunkin' shop. My good feeling when I woke up is being tested, but I put the hood up of my lightweight hoodie and run for the shop. Inside, I'm fairly wet, but it smells nice in here. I get in line behind two 'big' women who should probably pass on donuts this morning, but, of course, they don't. Two Boston cream donuts each.

I order a large coffee, extra cream, and sugar, plus two blueberry muffins, and then take my breakfast to a table as far away from other people as possible. If it weren't raining, I'd have taken my coffee and muffins to the car and consumed them in privacy. As I finish my first muffin, the door opens, and an annoying damp breeze blows through the shop. Looking over, I see three guys dressed like construction-workers; one is a tough-looking young guy who is also cute. The other two are bearded older men, both with annoyingly loud voices as they're bitching about the weather to one another.

It's rare that I see a 'tough' AND 'cute' young guy. And, oh fuck, our eyes just met. It was only for a fleeting second, but that's all it takes for him to know I was looking right at him. Dammit! Quickly gulping down the rest of my coffee, I wrap the second muffin in a napkin and get the hell out of here. Yeah, I hate getting caught staring! Plus, I think I recognized him. I can't recall his name, but I'm sure he was in my freshman homeroom, and, even though that was four years ago, you don't forget someone that's as striking-looking as he is.

Then, outside, standing in the rain, I do a double-take. The construction guys parked their big tree-service truck, partially blocking my car. I don't think I can back out without hitting their truck. It has to be their truck as they're the only people who came into the shop after me. Huh, so that cute tough guy is starting a career in tree service, cutting trees down, I suppose. What other service do they do with trees?

It's curious a guy graduates high school and ends up cutting down trees. Well, is that anymore curious than package-handling, and why am I wasting time thinking about this? Still, I gotta admit one of the cool things about that tough, cute guy is he already has the construction-worker 'look' and 'attitude.' It's cool the way most construction guys sort of swagger and acts 'tough'... real men. In his case, a tough, swaggering baby-faced man.

Getting in my car, I put the blueberry muffin on the dashboard and start the engine. Determined to get out of this parking spot, I'm super careful as I back up and then turn the wheel to the left and go forward inch by inch, then do it again and again. After doing that four times, I put the car in 'park' and get out to check if it's possible to safely get out of this spot now. Wiping rainwater off my glasses, I'm like... hmm, yes, I can back out now, but it's close.

Glancing inside the coffee shop, I see the tree service guys walking toward the door carrying bags with their coffees and donuts. It'll be embarrassing if I can't get out of this spot, especially because the cute guy caught me staring at him. In the car, I'm thinking I should be royally pissed at whichever asshole illegally parked this truck, but I know that construction guys don't give a shit about that. They park wherever they want, stick a yellow cone near their truck as if a yellow cone makes it all perfectly legal.

Okay, in reverse gear, I close my eyes and slowly back out of the spot listening for the scaping of my fender against the truck's bumper. Holy shit, I missed the truck's bumper by a whisker. Oh, Jesus, a bit of luck!

Putting the car in gear, I cockily drive right past the three guys and, Omigod, I think the cute tough-looking guy grinned at me. He grinned at something. Yeah, but my maneuvering getting out of that tight parking spot caused some stuff from my backpack to spread all over the back seat. Mostly it was the audiobooks for Tommy that I buy 'second-hand' on Amazon. They're very helpful because talking is a longer process than reading; therefore, it takes a lot longer 'listening' to a novel than reading one. The longer, the better, as Tommy has a lot of time on his hands.

Answering my knock at the door, Mrs. Singleterry answers, smelling of vodka at quarter-to-nine in the morning, and yes, vodka has an odor. She greets me with a concerned expression on her face. She says, "I'm so glad you're here, Mattie." I'm like, "What's wrong?" She nods towards Tommy's bedroom, saying, "He's had a tough few days, but you always make him feel better, so I'm grateful you're here." Swell, no pressure on me at all, plus she didn't tell me what the problem is.

As she closes the front door behind me, I ask, "Why has he had a tough time?" Perhaps conscious of her booze-breath, she covers her mouth with her hand, saying, "He has a cold, and you know all the problems that go with that for Thomas." Well, yeah, a cold is a bitch for paraplegics because they can't cough-up mucus. On second thought, maybe she didn't cover her mouth because of booze-breath but rather so as not to give me the cold she probably caught from Tommy or vice versa.

Adjusting my glasses and probably sounding accusatory, I'm like, "Well, who gave him the cold?" I wanted to ask that like this... who THE FUCK was around him with a cold? Obviously, that thought needed the editing I did in my head before speaking, which is what I should do when texting... edit before hitting 'send.'

Mrs. Singleterry looks contrite, saying, "It's my fault, Matt. I let Mr. Miller from down the block help me bath Tommy last Wednesday. It was obvious Mike Miller had a cold, his nose was red, and he had a cough, but I didn't want to seem ungrateful to the nice man for helping." To make up for my, um, unintentional accusatory-tone a minute ago, I smile, saying, "Sure, I understand. Don't blame yourself. I'll cheer Tommy up."

That's a good exit line, and I use it to leave the kitchen. Taking a deep breath, and then forcing cheerfulness in my voice, I say, "It's me again, Tommy! And, as promised, I'm here a week earlier than normal." He turns his head and sort of waves the hand of his 'good' arm, doing his version of a smile. Patting his shoulder, I go, "Jeez, dude, I'm wicked sorry to hear you've got a cold. That's a real pain in the ass, huh?" He nods his head slightly and tries grinning again. Staying upbeat, I say, "How about the first thing we do is get you to do a few coughs?" He nods his head and says, "Ank Od, I eed ou off 'uck'n ad," which I interrupt as 'Thank God! I need to cough fuckin' bad'... something like that. He's not happy.

So begins a long day of helping him cough by putting pressure on his diaphragm when he's exhaling, doing that, and wiping his nose every two minutes, plus all the other normal caregiving responsibilities. He's feeling extra shitty due to the 'cold,' so I don't bother doing the penis-part of the massage, and he doesn't care. The only thing Tommy is 'up' for is listening to one of the audiobooks. It's raining so we can't go outside anyway. We listen to the audiobook all morning, and then I feed him soup for lunch, after which he naps and then more audiobook viewing and massage to improve circulation. And, of course, more helping him cough and nose-wiping... ugh. And I mean 'ugh' for both of us. Very little talking, and then he doesn't even try to talk me into coming back in two weeks

So, I did my duty all day, but when I'm done for the day and getting in my car, I don't have a good feeling about myself. I feel guilty I don't do more to help out him and his mom. Their situation is so depressing. At least the rain stopped, and as I'm driving home, I mumble out loud, "Hey dumbass, nobody ever said life was fair, and it sure as shit isn't. Get real!"

When home, I take a long hot shower selfishly trying to get Tommy and his mom off my mind. I can't, though. It's always like this after I do the caregiving, and today I cry hard for him and his outlook, but for just a brief few moments to get it out of my system. The roulette wheel of life has fucked him up. The short, intense cry of helplessness allows me to go on to other things in my life, things I have at least some control over.

Those other things in my life, unfortunately, do not include a sexy 'date' tonight. For me, it's been a whole week without sex, but what's a week compared to the previous nineteen years without sex? I need to remind myself about keeping things in perspective, right? Christ, I have some nerve being disappointed after my fantastic good fortune the past couple of weeks. I'm human, though, and as I'm drying myself, I admit that I am disappointed whether it makes any sense or not... and I'm wicked horny too!

In addition to being wicked horny, I'm wicked hungry as well. I haven't eaten since the blueberry muffins at eight-thirty this morning. As I'm getting dressed, mom yells, "Dinner in ten-minutes, Matthew!" Why does everyone in this house feel they need to yell? I mean, we live in a one-floor, six-room house. Hell, I can hear normal-conversation from the family room when I'm in my 'effing bed!

I yell, "Be right there!" It's Saturday, and I smell the cabbage overcooking. Ham and cabbage every Saturday night. When I'm in my own apartment, I'm going to have a nice dinner every Saturday night, and guess what food will not be part of that 'nice' dinner. Hmm, I'll need to learn how to cook first. Yeah, but luckily I'm living at a time when we have something called the Internet, and a person can learn how to do anything from the Internet!

Before dinner, I better text Dean and see if we can hook up tonight. I do not want to sit around the house, thinking about how great last Friday and Saturday nights were, and how sucky my current situation is. Then, when I pick up my cell phone, I see a text from Michael Miller. Who's that?

Frowning, I read the short text message, 'I finally got the balls to text you. Can we hook up? I'll understand if you don't want to. Mickey.' Who the fuck? Oh, yeah, Mickey Miller! His dad is Michael Miller, I assume, and Mickey is on his dad's cell plan. Well, maybe 'Mickey' is a nickname for 'Michael.' Didn't Mrs. Singleterry mention Mike Mikker to me today? The guy who gave Tommy the cold? What a freaky coincidence, a text from Jello's friend, Mickey, who jumped in the reservoir with me and he's the son of the man who gave Tommy a cold. Bizarre!

Hmm, Mickey wants to go out; I didn't see that coming! I guess I shouldn't be surprised, though. Yeah, last Saturday at the reservoir we hooked up for a strange, um, I don't know what to call it. We jumped in the reservoir together, and then while swimming, he was rubbing his skinny body against me. Later, drying on that flat rock, Mickey, who I barely know, laid on me for like two minutes. Heh heh, and we both got boners! Before he left, he asked for my number and said he'd text me.

Thinking about Mickey lying on me makes my dick buzz. Unfortunately, he's not cute or sexy. He's skinny and a couple of inches shorter than me, and he's kinda dopey-looking, plus he has that absurdly long blond hair that he combs straight back like he's a mountain man or something. His smile was cute though, um, in a strange sort of way, and he looks younger than shit although he graduated with my class, so he has to be my age. Still, he looks like he's fifteen... a dopey-looking fifteen or sixteen-year-old.

Holding my cell phone, I'm trying to decide what I should do. It's a dilemma. Should I text Dean as always, or call Mickey who I barely know. Hmm, there's Mickey's phone number right in front of me. Well, I'm horny as hell, and I've got a better chance, although highly unlikely, of getting fucked by Mickey as compared to 'zero-chance' of that happening with Dean. Haha, a few weeks ago, I wouldn't have had a dilemma... I'd text Dean. But this is the new 'me' breaking out of my shell as someone recently mentioned, so I'll call Mickey.

He answers the first ring and says, "Hello?" Well, what the fuck? I'm no conversationalist either, so I can't be too critical but, come on, he sees it's me on his caller ID, I'm responding to the text he sent me a minute ago, and all he can say is 'hello'? Well, Jesus, someone needs to say something, so I go, "Um, it's me, Matt Burke, who, um, you texted a minute ago." He says, "I know." Fuck this, rolling my eyes; I say, "Well, yeah, okay, let's hang out. Whaddaya wanna do?"

Silence for five seconds that seemed much longer, and then he goes, "Really? You're okay with hanging out with me tonight?" Damn, it appears I need to take the lead here. This blows 'cause I'm never the guy who leads! Dean, or lately, Bobby or Mark decide, um, whatever.

This is stupid, though, so I mumble, "Yes, really. But what do you wanna do?" He quietly says, "I don't care." Hey, that's what I always say! He's taking my lines, and now I'm forced to say something constructive. Hmm, I'll try asking a question, "Where do you live?" He tells me, and I'm shocked for a second, muttering, "Seriously," and he says, "Yes, I've lived on Salem Street for nineteen years." I'm like, "Oh, yeah, of course. It's just that I was on Salem Street myself a little over an hour ago." He says, "I know, I saw your car outside the Singleterry's house. You were helping that prick, Tommy." I go, "He's not a prick anymore," and Mickey mumbles, "No, I guess he isn't. Um, my father says you're wonderful to help out the way you do. He helps out too, and tried to talk me into helping, but...." Holy Christ, just what I thought, this guy's dad is who gave Tommy the cold! But this is weird, people I don't know, know me?

Well, it's my turn to talk again, so I say, "Yeah, um, whatever. So, how about if I pick you up at eight o'clock?" Another five seconds elapses before he says, "Eight o'clock?" I mumble, "Or whatever time," and he says, "No, eight o'clock is okay. Um, should I wear something special? I mean, are we gonna go to the movies, or maybe play chip 'n putt at that place on Route 1?" I'm getting a headache, and I'm getting irritated as well. I mumble, "Pitch and putt or a movie? Is that what you wanna do?" He says, "No, not really. What I'd really like to do is mess around in the back seat with you, but I thought you might wanna do one of those other things."

What? How in the fuck can this guy be so socially awkward one minute and then the next he comes out with that 'messing around in the back seat' shit? An even better question might be, considering my nineteen years of inadequate social interaction with peers, how is it that I manage to say, "That's what I wanna do too. Wear anything you want. I'll pick you up at eight o'clock. Be outside your house." He says, "Okay," and ends the call.

Omigod! That was ballsy of me, ballsy of both of us! Jesus Christ, my hands are shaky as I'm putting my phone down. Well, as geeky as we both were at first, we were both cool at the end. I start snickering 'cause... me and Mickey Miller? Two losers are finally finding one another... haha. No, we're not losers, just a bit backward socially, and both apparently queer. My mind is all over the place; I don't even know him. Not really. Hmm, should I bring condoms? Of course, bring them, ya dumb ass! Oh shit, though, many uncertainties, such as, who's going to do what first, ya know?

Well, strangely, I'm kinda excited about this. Is it because I'm going out of my mind with horniness? That's part of it, but another part is, I'm likely the most sexually experienced, and that will be an entirely new thing for me. Hmm, maybe not, though. It was Mickey, after all, who initiated the groping we did when swimming. And then later, lying on that rock, he initiated the bodily contact there too. Still, that doesn't have to mean he's more experienced with gay sex than me. It does mean, however, he has bigger balls than mine... haha. Yeah, as sophomoric as all our fumbling around was, I'd have never have had the balls to do what he did, and, then asking me for my phone number.

During dinner, I snicker out loud, thinking about how unexpected and, well, how bizarre this thing with Mickey is. And who the fuck names their baby, Mickey? Well, that gotta be a nickname, right? Mom asks, "What are you laughing at, Matt?" I go, "I wasn't laughing. I was snickering, um, at a joke Dean told me last night." Dad has a mouthful of ham and cabbage, asking, "What's the joke?" I go, "I'll tell you later, dad. It's too risque for mom's ears," and they both laugh out loud. I don't see them laugh too often. And was that even funny? Older adults, ya know?

During the rest of our dinnertime, mom and dad get into a political discussion, mostly mocking the President of the United States. I'm not a fan of him either, but I respect the office of president and, therefore, don't feel mocking is appropriate. Do I offer my opinion on the matter, though? Absolutely not! I don't say shit. I do stick around long enough for dessert, but only because it's a bakery-bought chocolate cake served with Bryers vanilla ice cream. Mom never buys premium brand ice cream, but I will when I have my own apartment.

After dinner, I hang out in my bedroom trying to imagine how this night with Mickey is going to play out, and can't imagine a scenario that isn't an awkward one. Giving up on that, I try remembering more about what he looks like. I remembered his stupidly-long blond hair, so long when it was wet, it hung down his face reaching below his nose. Huh, he has a kinda cute pug nose, though, but his ears stick out through the hair that covers them. I'm trying to have a positive outlook, but none of that sounds too cool, and, as I said, he's basically kinda dopey-looking. No, wait! That grin of his is, um, cute in an odd sort of way. Well, thank God for that at least.

At seven-forty, wearing my 'uniform' of t-shirt, shorts, socks, and sneakers, my new sneakers, I head for the front door expecting mom to ask where I'm going, and she doesn't disappoint. She says, "Hold up there. Where are you heading in such a hurry on a Saturday night, Matthew?" I mumble, "Out," and wave, then emphatically close the front door behind me. I am, after all, a working stiff who is paying room and board. I, therefore, do not feel the need to tell mom where I'm going every time I leave the effin' house. Jesus!

Starting my car, I'm thinking, okay, here goes nothing. As usually happens with me, I start second-guessing my decision to do what I'm doing. In this case, hooking-up with Mickey Miller. Again I tell myself... I don't even know this guy! I mean, yeah, I've seen him around since we were in grade school. Hell, we grew up together in the same neighborhood, same school district anyway, but we've never hung out together. He and I had a fistfight in fifth grade, but that's the total extent of our interaction until that 'thing' we did at the reservoir last Saturday. And, it's super weird he lives on the same street Tommy Singleterry lives on, plus how odd his father knows about me helping Tommy. Yeah, everything about this is bizarre!

Driving past Tommy's house, I cruise to a stop five houses down where Mickey is standing near the curb. He has a frown on his face, so I glance at the dashboard clock to see if I'm late... it's ten of eight. I'm early! Hmm, yet he's already standing out there. His long hair is combed straight back from his forehead; he's wearing a plain white t-shirt, basically an undershirt, and shorts that are, um, too short. His shorts are the kind boys wore in the nineteen-forties in France. If you've ever seen an old movie about France during the Second World War, you'll... well, nevermind. To screw-up his outfit more, Mickey has white-socks on that he's pulled up almost to his knees and then very old-looking docksider type shoes, and the rawhide lace of his left shoe is untied. Christ, maybe I should have told him what to wear when he asked.

Well, I'm not dressed so cool myself. As he tentatively opens the passenger door, I'm cleaning my glasses using the end of my t-shirt, determined to be nice to Mickey 'cause he looks scared. As he closes the door, I'm like, "Hey, Mickey. Thanks for texting. Dean's dad had tickets to tonight's Phillies game, and so Dean's not..." He interrupts, saying, "Hi, Burke."

Okay, he interrupted my unnecessary explanation about tonight, so I drop it, and again say, "Hey, Mickey," and, before driving off, wait for him as he's having trouble putting on his seatbelt. He can't get the metal end to attach as it should. Without commenting on that, I ask, "Whaddaya wanna do?" He finally gets the seat belt secured and, looking straight ahead, mumbles, "Oh, you know," and as I'm driving away, I go, "Yeah, right, but where are we gonna do the messin' around?" He shrugs at my question. Well, fuck, 'shrugging' is my 'thing.' I shrug when asked anything that requires me to make a decision. Hmm, I go, "Your folks home, are they?" He says, "My dad is home, yeah." So his house isn't an option.

Trying to get him talking, I go, "Just your dad, your mom's not home, huh?" He's still looking straight ahead, as he mumbles, "She 'passed,' um, when I was a baby." Passed what? Oh fuck, does he mean she died? I say, "Oh, I'm sorry." He looks at me and says, "Thanks, but that's okay. I didn't know her." Yeah, well... Jeez, what should I say to that? Probably nothing, which is what I decide to say. He has nothing more to say either, so I turn the radio on and ask, 'What kind of music do you like?" He goes, "All kinds." Yeah, that's exactly what I would have said to that question. Okay, this is going to be challenging...

I'm driving aimlessly around town with neither of us talking, but I'm determined to outlast him this time. I knew this was a bad idea, but it's turning out worse than I thought. Finally, I cave-in again, and asks, "Should we maybe bowl a game or two, or do something until it gets dark? Ya know, then we can drive to the reservoir and mess around in the back seat, as you suggested." He looks at me again and says, "Could you drive behind the Ace Hardware plaza, and we could start messing around now."

No fucking way! Not when the parking lot will be full of shoppers' cars. And, a car behind the stores would attract the police in five minutes. Why the fuck would anyone be parked behind the stores unless they' were 'up' to no good? And, ya know, anyone other than me would be breaking Mickey's balls for that insane suggestion, but I'm not anyone else, so I say, "Yeah, we could do that, but to be honest I don't think I'm as, um, as adventurous as you are, Mickey. I'd be wicked nervous messing around in the back seat in broad daylight." He frowns but doesn't have anything to say to that.

It's become obvious to me already that he's beating me at my own game by not talking. Admitting defeat, I'm like, "How about my idea? We stop in at the bowling alley for an hour or so, and then when it's dark... ya know." Ignoring that, Mickey quietly asks, "Would it be alright if you stopped at McNulty's 7-Eleven so I can buy a pack of gum?" He turns his head to look at me, adding, "So my breath is fresh in case we wanna, you know." I snicker at that until I see he's serious about it, so I seriously say, "Yes, of course. Good idea."

The 7-Eleven is a ten-minute drive in the opposite direction I was going, but that's a good thing 'cause it kills more time. I park in front of the store and ask, "Do you want me to come in with you?" He thinks about that for a while and then asks, "Do you want to come in with me?" Neither of us appears capable of saying anything definitively. We speak in question-format only, and that's because we want to be certain of what the other prefers, neither of us preferring anything in particular. Our motto is... 'whatever; I'm good with that.' Yeah, a couple of indecisive dufuses.

Determined to break the mold, I make a decision and say, "No, I'll wait here in the car." Without a word, Mickey gets out and goes into the store, and now I'm wondering if I should have gone in with him. Perhaps I hurt his feelings by saying I'd stay here. Maybe he'll think I thought his idea of buying gum is dumb? It's not especially dumb. Unnecessary perhaps, but not especially dumb. Hmm, I'm not sure if I'm feeling sorry for Mickey... or myself.

He's back, and when he gets in the car, he offers me a stick of Wrigley's Juicy Fruit gum. I don't want a piece of gum, although, of course, I accept it for fear if I don't he'll feel bad. I mutter,, "Thanks," and we unwrap our gum, and, thank God, Mickey chews with his mouth closed... me too. Still, unresolved is where to go until it gets dark? Jesus, by the time our 'date' is over, it might be the longest-seeming-date in history, considering we've been on it for fifteen minutes, and it feels like two hours.

Oh, I've thought of a suggestion. As I pull out of the 7-Eleve's parking lot, I say, "Let's drive to Lenape Lake Park. It's a thirty-minute drive, and by then, it'll be getting dark, and there are a lot of good places where we can, um, ya know, park around the lake." Mickey nods his head, and off we go. Whew, good to know I'm able to come up with a valid suggestion when I absolutely need to.

Mickey's still not saying anything as he looks out his side-window, apparently comfortable with listening to the radio. Me too, but after twenty minutes or so, I'm getting antsy again. Usually, whoever I'm with fills in extended silence, but, obviously, Mickey isn't going to follow that path. I try turning the radio up, but eventually, I've gotta say something, so I ask something stupid, but it's all I can come up with. I go, "Ah, I'm curious, Mickey, why do you wear your hair extra, ah, well, long? Why is that?" My peripheral vision sees Mickey's signature shrug, which is exactly what I would have done if someone asked me an idiotic question like that, but then he looks at me and says, "I don't know. Maybe because I've never been to a barber." I go, "Seriously, never even once?" He says, "Not that I remember. I cut it myself."

That's extremely weird, but I can't think of anything more to say about it, so I don't. As I'm thinking of something else to say, he mumbles, "I could get a haircut. It's not as though it'd be a problem for me to do that, except what would I tell the barber?" I say, "You know what? I'm never sure what to ask the barber for, either. I've been going to the same dick-head barber since I was a little kid, and I've tried to come up with different things to tell him about my haircut, but, no matter, he basically cuts my hair the way he did when I was a kid." Mickey mumbles, "I'll go with you next time." I go, "Okay, if you want."

It's another five minutes of driving before either of us has anything else to say, and it's Mickey this time who goes, "You're a lot better-looking than me, Burke. Thanks for going out with me." That is both an unexpected and bizarre comment, to say the least, to which I mutter, "Nooo, um, that's not, um..." He says, "I've heard girls at school say 'Matty Burke is cute!'." He looks at me and asks, "Did you ever hear a girl say that about me?" I'm like, "Um, I don't know, um... Oh, wait, you're wicked young looking. Christ, you look like your fifteen, and youthful looks are cute just because they're, ah, well, young-looking." He makes a 'face,' so I add, "Hey, a person's, um, 'looks' are overrated anyway, it's what's in a person's...." He interrupts, saying, "No, looks aren't overrated at all." Well, yeah, I think he's right, so I leave it at that and fifteen minutes later turn left off the highway onto a local road where a sign indicates...LENAPE LAKE PARK, TWO MILES.

It's a very large park completely surrounding Lenape Lake. It also very crowded during the summer, but not at night. In fact, it's closed at night, not that that will stop us from breaking in. Well, not 'breaking in' per se, but we will be entering the park illegally. No problem, though, as there are no guards, just a simple barrier across the main entrance that I'll have Mickey lift so I can drive past it.

As I'm approaching the main entrance, Mickey says, "This was a good idea, Burke." I mumble, "You can call me Matt if you want." He goes, "I'm sorry, I meant to call you that. I tend to do everything Jello does, and he always calls guys by their last name... or a nickname." I'm like, "Yeah, I know," and he goes, "Jello is cute too. Don't ya think?" I nod and mutter, "Uh-huh, for sure."

Past the entrance barrier, I drive only a short distance before it's obvious we're not the only ones who had this idea. I spot cars amongst the trees, partially hidden from this two-lane road that circles Lenape Lake. We pass refreshment stands and locker rooms and such, plus first aid stations and an administration building. There's a charge per car to get in here during the day.

When I'm almost on the other side of the lake, almost exactly opposite from where we entered the park, I begin seeing secluded spots to park. Driving very slowly now, I ask, "How about in there, Mickey," and I point to an opening. I can see a picnic table and space for a car to park, it's lit up by tonight's full moon. Mickey quietly says, "Um, are we really going to do this?"

After driving for over thirty minutes to get here, I ignore that absurd question and park the car. We sit here looking around, hearing crickets, or something in the forest, and then look at one another, neither of us saying anything. Mickey coughs and takes a deep breath, then looks at me and says, "Shouldn't we get in the back seat?"

The gear shift is between us, so, yes, we need to get in the back seat. I nod, and we step outside onto a trillion pine needles underfoot. It's weirdly spongy-feeling under the new sneakers as I step to the back door on my side. After getting in together and closing the doors, we sit here without talking. Oh man, this is strange. I finally say, "This is the first time I've been in the back seat," and then force a chuckle. Mickey just frowns at me.

Nope, he doesn't say anything, so I wonder if he 'read' too much into me saying that. Maybe he thought I meant something else, so I go, "I didn't mean this is the first time I've been in the back seat with a guy. I meant this is the first time I've ever been sitting back here, period." He nods and mumbles, "That's what I thought you meant." I'm like, "Oh, okay, I didn't want you to think..." and I let that sentence peter-out without finishing it.

We're both looking out the windows at the very tall trees surrounding this small opening. It's kinda scary actually, so I lock my door. Mickey hears the 'click' as the door locks, and he glances at me, then locks his door too. He does a noisy deep breath, so I look at him, but he's looking out the side window again.

Oh man, it's so cliche, but now I've got the strongest urge to clear my throat, except he might think it means something other than me needing to clear my throat. Finally, I can't hold off, and I make a loud throat-clearing sound as I put the window down to spit out my gum, hoping to cover-up my throat-clearing. Mickey puts his window down, and he spits out his gum. Insects or some creatures are making buzzing sounds, so we both close our windows, then more silence, oh man! And it's warm in here now that the car's air conditioning is shut off.

After a while, he turns his head to look at me. I look back at him, and he squints his eyes, asking, "Are you ready yet?" I nod, and he says, "Okay, let's pull down our pants." He stands and pulls his shorts down to his knees in the confined space of the back seat in this smallish car. Stepping with little sidesteps, he then gets in front of me. Why he did that, I can't imagine, but I purposely avoid looking at his private parts to show him I'm not a pervert.

With him standing in front of me, his pants down at his knees, it's even more difficult for me to stand then it was for him. So I don't stand. I merely lift my butt off the seat a little and then awkwardly pull my shorts down. Sitting again, grinning nervously, feeling awkward, I mutter, "Cold. Um, it's warm in here, but the seat still feels cool. Um, on my bare ass." He nods and mumbles, "It's from the car's air conditioning driving here," as if I didn't know that.

I sit here, and Mickey stands in front of me, and we stare at one another. I clear my throat again, and he reaches a hand over to take my glasses off. He looks through them for a second, making a 'face' and then hands them to me, mumbling, "They might get broken." What? What's he think we're going to do? Whatever, I put my glasses in the storage pocket on the door. When he leaned over to get my glasses, some of his long blond hair fell over his face, so now he's running his fingers through the hair to get it back in place, saying, "You should turn around, you know." Oh, he wants to be the 'top.' Well, good!

Hesitating a second, I ask, "Ah, you have a condom, right?" He shakes his head, "Nah, it'd be too embarrassing buying one, so I squeezed some Vaseline onto a paper towel," and he reaches down and takes a folded-up paper towel from his shorty-shorts. Unfolding the paper towel, he shows me a big glob of shiny Vaseline. I frown at that and tell him, "No, don't use that. I've got a condom you can use." He shakes his head, "Can't I use this instead, please? I've always imagined it'd be perfect for, um, well, for this."

Christ, I don't know. Maybe it'll work fine as a lubricant, who knows? It's just that I never heard a gay model in porn videos referring to Vaseline. No, but that doesn't seem important enough to burst Mickey's Vaseline bubble, so I let it slide. I get turned around facing the back seat, and as soon as I do that, I feel Vaseline being pushed up my ass with Mickey quietly saying, "I'll use most of this on my dick."

Yeah, sure, but aren't we skipping a step here? Sucking dick or making out, or something to create boners. I better not say anything though, he may know what he's doing, and I'm not gonna embarrass myself questioning him. The three fucks I've had so far don't necessarily qualify me as the more experienced one and, anyhow, I prefer that Mickey, or anyone I'm doing this with, be the leader.

I drop my forearms on the seat and rest my head on my arms. My legs are partially bent, so my ass, while up in the air, is not too high for my fuck buddy, who is shorter than me. Mickey's still rustling around behind me doing something. Glancing back, I see he's stroking his cock. Okay, that's how he's gonna get a boner. There's a subtle squishy sound as his fist slides on the Vaseline. Trying not to be obvious about it, I strain my head further to one side so I can get a look at his cock. I should have looked when I had the chance.

Whoa, okay there! Mickey's dick is as long as Bobby's. No, it's even a little longer, and it's definitely fatter. Ya know, I kidded with myself that this skinny little guy might have a big dick, and I was right. Jesus, it looks odd being so big hanging there between his skinny legs and him being so short. Oh boy, though, I bet that cock of his is gonna feel good up my ass.

Mickey drops the gooey paper towel on the seat next to me and begins pushing the head of his cock against my asshole. Christ, maybe he doesn't know what he's doing after all. I mean, his dick isn't hard enough for this. Be that as it may, he somehow gets the head in past my sphincter muscle... and that hurt! There's no 'effing way I'm gonna cry out though. I close my eyes and grit my teeth as Mickey keeps forcing his not-very-stiff cock up inside me. Fuck, that hurts worse! And then, oh, thank God, he stops. That shy little fucker has a touch of sadism in him.

He's not pushing his dick up my ass now, but he's still busy back there. I glance back again and see him rubbing his hand on his t-shirt... the hand with the Vaseline on it: sloppy move, bro. Hey, wait! I can feel his cock getting fatter. Holy shit, it's getting harder inside my ass. Only an-inch-and-a-half of his cock is in past my sphincter, but it's feeling bigger and bigger and harder and harder by the second. Oooh, fuck, it's pressing right on my prostate too. Oh, boy, that's feeling good!

Mickey isn't saying anything, not that I thought he would, as he begins pushing on his now hard cock, and in it goes tightly up my ass about another inch. Vaseline, while better than nothing, isn't as good as regular sex lubricants, but it's working. Another inch of boner tightly goes in, and it feels big! And, it's still hurting like a motherfucker! Not wanting to, but now I can't help groaning out, "Ow! Oh, balls. Ow... that hurts." Mickey continues pushing his cock up my ass, my cries ignored, he pushes until his crotch is pressing tightly against my buttocks.

The pain hangs on for a bit, but I think that's because he shoved it in too fast. None of my previous fucks went this quickly. I mean, once Mickey got it started, it only took two seconds for him to get his entire cock inside me. Wham, bang, and up it went, and I've never felt this 'filled-up' back there before. Jeez, and yeah, this happened with Bobby too; now, I feel the need to shit, but it's a phantom need, not a real one.

Wow, Mickey's not giving me any recovery time either. He pulls his boned-up cock right back out, and I mean out almost all the way, and then immediately it goes right back in, and then right back out almost completely, but this time when it's going back in it's feeling pretty good, and the 'hurt' portion of this sex act has almost faded out completely.

It's feeling good now, and I suppose it feels good to Mickey too as he pulls it back and pushes it in faster and faster until there's a dull 'Slap' sound when he smacks into my buttocks. Yeah, well, that's called fucking. Still, there no rhythm to Mickey's thrusting. It's more like deliberate, separate humps and bumps... hard thrusting actually, and hard collisions against my buttocks, all without a word coming from Mickey.

I'm not complaining, though, Mickey's boner is filling me up fabulously, and the flow of pleasure sensations have increased to a level that I need to make a conscious effort not to moan with each thrust. Moaning is almost involuntary when experiencing this much pleasure, but I'm still holding off because, well, I'm not sure why, actually.

Mickey murmurs, "Oh, my God," as all of a sudden, his fucking technique seems more under control, steadier, smoother. He's probably just as excited about this as I am, so it took him a minute to get things going the right way. His hands gripping my hips yank up, and I lift my ass a little, and what follows are steady slapping sounds, Mickey's crotch slapping against my ass, "Slap, slap, slap." Not loud slapping sounds, but flesh hitting against flesh and it's wicked cool-sounding. Plus, I almost visualize his six-plus inches of hard cock being driven into my ass followed, a fraction of a second later by his body smacking my buttocks. Mickey's got it going great now, smoothly pulling and thrusting that hard boner back and then shoving it in, his sizable boner spreading my bowels each time it plows up inside me again and again, and now it's better than anything.

He appears to be in control now, feeling confident enough to lie his chest on my back, his arms going around my stomach, and his hips really moving fast and steady, fucking me faster and harder. It keeps getting better, the intensity of the sexual pleasure by now, um, it's like I'm not sure how to handle all of it. I partially lift up off the seat, my arms extended as brilliant sensation soar from my rectum, and now there's no way I can stop the moans of pleasure, "Mmm, mm, mm, ooh, ooh, umm, ooh." Mickey's gasping with each thrust of his awesome long thick boner, sensitizing my prostate gland perfectly, letting it be all it can be.

Time is impossible for me to gauge during sex, but I'm guessing it's been a fabulous two-or-three-minutes at least. Oh man, I'd like to stay in this 'zone' of perfections forever, except I feel my climax getting ready to burst into life. It's 'powering-up,' reaching a degree of strength that's kinda scary. Omigod, during these last seconds before orgasm, I'm experiencing a depth of intense pleasure that's almost unbearable, but not quite, as I moan, "Ahh, ahh, ahh... Mick, ooh!"

My whole life seems to be titering on the absolute brink of perfect pleasure, or is it the brink of pain? Then pleasure wins and, "Aaaaaah!" I almost pass out at the indescribable sensation of hot semen exploding up my hard cock, streaking out the sensitive head of my throbbing boner as a burst of radiant-colors explode in my head and then, Omigod!, another blast of semen, a shorter version of my first awesome ejaculation. I'm shuddering all over, moaning, "Ahhhh, ooh, mmm, ooh, fuck..." and then everything fades into a most wonderful memory.

But, no, there's more... remnants of that climax still sizzle all over me, and I shiver at the pleasure of it all, and then, feeling faint, I drop my head to my forearms again and quietly murmur to myself, "Ooooh yeah, this was a better idea than texting Dean. This is good; this is sick good; this is perfect." For a second, I wonder why this felt so much more intense than my earlier sex with Bobby and Mark, but then quickly write it off to my body; it's learning to appreciate all there is in the experience known as anal sex. A learning curve for my senses.

Maybe every time anyone fucks me, it'll feel better, or could it be as simple as Mickey fucking better than Bobby or Mark? Whatever, I feel so good I can't envision anything better... a dreamy feeling still lingers. I'm limp, my head bouncing off the back of the seat from Mickey continuing to thrust. No problem, though; his boner still feels good in my ass. How could anything two humans do together feels better than this?

Then, one second Mickey's humping against my ass, the next second he stops on a dime and lets out a desperate whiny noise and, well, I suppose he's finally climaxing his hot creamy semen into my bowels, although I didn't feel anything. Another hump against my buttocks as Mickey gasps and squeezes his arms around me so tightly I gasp too. A sigh from him, and then he lifts off my back to do a few lazy thrusts, his cock moving slippery-like in his cum. Okay, I'm seriously hoping it felt as good for him as it did for me. Ya know, so he'll want to do this again sometime.

He pulls his cock from my ass and plops down on the seat beside me, somehow pulling up his shorty-shorts as he's sitting. He's quick, but I got a look at his cock, shiny with Vaseline and cum. Huh, he didn't even wipe it off. Well, whatever, this was surprisingly excellent! Super nice!

After some deep breathing, Mickey looks over and sees I haven't moved. I'm not as fast transitioning from getting fucked to something else, but now I slowly push up from the seat and, half-standing, I turn around, and Mickey goes, "Just a second," and he picks up the paper towel on the seat between us and wipes a streak of semen off the seat. I mutter, "Good move," and watch him fold the wet Vaseline and cum portion of the paper towel under the dry section and then he hands it to me, quietly saying, "If you hold that on your asshole as you sit, maybe you won't get my jism on the seat." More good advice.

It's obvious to me condoms have it all over a paper towel with Vaseline, but I'm not mentioning that right now. Pulling my underpants up to trap the paper towel against my asshole, then pulling up my shorts, I sit next to Mickey. There's a contented grin on my face 'cause this is the first time in eight days I don't feel horny. Way to go, Mickey! He murmurs, "Yeah, that should work okay." He's obviously referring to the paper towel usage. Whatever, I'm feeling good, so I snicker and nod, but, damn, my ass is gooey, definitely gooier than after getting fucked with a condom. I mumble, "Yes, good suggestion, Mickey."

Oh boy, though, no complaints at all, that was good. We both exhale deeply and then glance at one another, but don't say anything. I can't describe how relaxed I feel. Horniness sucks, and, now that Mickey took care of that, I creepily, feel grateful. I know that isn't an appropriate reaction. Sex is a mutual endeavor; no one's doing anyone a 'favor,' and yet I glace at him and want to hug and kiss him and tell him he's the most awesome... blah, blah, blah. I don't do that because even I know that's bogus, but, curiously, I didn't have this reaction for either Bobby or Mark. Well, I did think I 'loved' them, and that was stupid of me, but I was totally inexperienced back then.

Getting my shit together, I'm thinking clearer. Although I thought it was excellent sex, I'm not even sure Mickey knew what the hell he was doing. So what though, the result was wicked good. I'm feeling his body heat, plus it is really hot in the car. I could easily bemoan the few years I missed out on this, being clueless to guys' suggestive 'feeling-me-out' about sex process, but I'm not going to do that. Instead, I'm going to enjoy what's happening in my life now.

Mickey and I are used to these silent periods, but I almost jump when Mickey finally breaks the silence, asking, "Did I do it alright, Burke... er, Mattie?" Chuckling, I turn my head to look at him, "Oh, yeah, you did great, Mickey.!" He nods his head, and I nod mine, then we grin at each other, and he mumbles, "It was really good, wasn't it?" More nodding heads, but that's about it.

His grin is his cute 'look,' so I had another urge to lean over and kiss him. I don't, though, and even better than his grin is his smile that I've only seen once or twice. A smile changes his sort of 'dopey-look' into almost a cute one. Well, I don't want to get carried away. Not exactly 'cute' but sort of dopey-cute and, mostly, he's likable. And even though it's stupidly-long, his white/blond hair is kinda cool too. Hell, I wish I had hair like his.

As I'm daydreaming, still feeling wonderful about how this turned out, Mickey startles me again by reaching over and tentatively squeezes my hand, and then he holds it. After frowning at him, I shrug and mumble, "That's okay," and we sit like this for, I don't know, fifteen minutes or something, both of us looking out the side windows, holding hands.

Yeah, we're basically parked in a forest of tall trees and evergreens. And, yep, I know, this is another one of the super unique experiences I've been finding myself involved in lately. I feel fine about it, better than fine actually. I feel special and happy and, yeah, I'm good, no problem.

My hand in Mickey's gets to feeling sweaty after a while, but that's alright. Then Mickey mumbles, "Okay, yeah, I think I'm good to go again, Burke, or, I mean Matt. Do you prefer Matt or Mattie?" I shrug and mumble, "Either one." Letting go of my hand, he partially stands, quietly saying, "Is it okay if I do it the same way?" I nod, "Yeah, sure, but, um, you mean now? You're going to, um, do it again already?" He nods eagerly but then says, "Oh, unless. I mean, if you don't want to, it's..." and I go, "No, no... sure, now is fine. You were really good," and then I get up to awkwardly turn around and lean forward, putting my forearms on the seat like before, my head on my arms. Looking back, I wait to experience awesomeness again, and I don't need to wait long... and I'm not disappointed at all.

Everything goes smoother this time. I don't believe my asshole ever closed up, or it didn't close up much anyway. Like the first time, Mickey pushes his fairly soft cock inside my rectum that's still lined with plenty of Vaseline, plus Mickey's cum this time. The cum that hadn't had a chance to drool out yet. It's plenty slippery in my ass. There's hardly any pain, and I find myself thinking Mickey's a fabulous fuck buddy.

Everything's pretty much the same as last time, his cock gets hard fast and then up, up, up, my ass it goes. From the start, Mickey lies on my back with his arms around my stomach, and I think it's so cool of him to assume that dominant position. And I like that he tells me, "Spread your legs more." When I do, immediately his hips start moving, and the first thrust of his long, pudgy, hard, boner up my ass goes smoothly. In no time at all, Mickey's back to fucking me really fast. No style points and no pretenses, we're like two dogs fucking fast to reach our climaxes as quickly as possible. A couple of dogs in heat.

Oh, God, does this ever feel good! This time I don't even try containing my moans of pleasure. Mickey already knows how good his cock is making me feel, which is way too good to pretend it doesn't. Our fucking goes on at least twice as long as earlier with me moaning quietly, "Mmm, mmm, ooh, feels good, Mickey... ooh, ah, ahh, yeah, right there, ooh fuck, Mickey, yeah..." My moaning seems to increase the excitement and pleasure, so I do it right through until I eventually have a climax, an explosive one as pictures of my life seemingly flash by while cum is streaming up and out of my wicked hard cock. Another great fuck by Mickey!

He was moaning too, but mostly it was heavy, noisy breathing coming from him. Near the end, Mickey had the side of his head resting near the back of my head as he hugged me for dear life, his hips firing that sex organ back and forth... it was really quite awesome! By the time he climaxed, the side of his face was against mine, and his raspy breathing was right in my ear. We almost climaxed at the same time too. Right after I blew my load, Mickey humped hard against my buttocks and climaxed. Germs in semen? I don't know; I gotta Google that.

He sighs; then, like he did the first time, Mickey pulls his cock out after only a few lazy thrusts and again pulls his shorts up before sitting down without wiping the glistening Vaseline and cum from his cock. I stand, and Mickey quietly says, "Wait, a second, Burke." There was a 'new' sound to his voice. Was it confidence in his voice? Was that it? He pulls a clean paper towel from his pocket and wipes my asshole. Then, handing me the paper towel, I fold it and do the same thing with it I did the first time.

When I sit, Mickey murmurs, "Don't forget your glasses." I reach in the pocket on the door, get my glasses, and put them on. Mickey smiles at me and, oh man, that is a cute smile he has. I go, "This is so cool, Mickey. I'm glad you thought to text me." He smiles again and puts his arm across my shoulders, murmuring, "Lie over against me," then gently pulls me against his side. He's shorter than me, so his arm is reaching up to go across my shoulders.

Sitting like this feels strange, and I guess he senses I'm just a tad tense, so he sort of jerks on my shoulder and then squeezes it, and I try to relax. It still feels wicked odd, though, and then it gets odder still when he puts his other arm around me. What the hell, he really is a nice guy, and I did have some embarrassingly affectionate thoughts about him a little while ago, and this is kinda sweet anyway. Goofy, but sweet, so I completely relax against him, and eventually, it feels, um, less weird.

He's moving his head to the side a little, saying, "I'm not the only one who needs a haircut." Pushing at my hair, he's trying to flatten it, I suppose, so I mutter, "Yeah, I know." He says, as a reminder, perhaps, "If I can go with you some time, I'll get a haircut when you do." Hmm, yeah, I see a picture in my head of me, Mark, and Mickey sitting side by side in barber chairs, haha! The three stooges.

I'm not a large person, but I'm large compared to Mickey, so, with his arms around me like this, and me lying against his slim body, it's a little 'much' and a little creepy. Even with that a fact though, a strange warmth come over me anyway, a warmth of good feelings for MIckey. They're even stronger than the fleeting feelings of affection I had for him a while ago. I don't know what he's thinking, but maybe holding me like this, he wants to reassure me that everything is okay. I already thought everything was okay, but no way am I going to ruin this for him by mentioning that I'm feeling, well, uncomfortably creepy.

We're silent again, and after a few minutes, I try letting myself go limp against his smaller body, and Mickey sighs. Still, no words are coming from either of us, but oddly it's almost as if I can feel vibrations of affection coming from him. Sex with Mickey seemed more 'real' than either time I had sex with Bobby or Mark. Isn't that the strangest thing? I mean, those other guys are experienced, and things went smoother and more, um, 'normal,' but I liked Mickey's inexperienced sex better. Yeah, Mickey is who I should have fucked with first, although I'm not sure I even know what I mean by that.

Huh, lying against him like this, Mickey smells like AXE antiperspirant. That's a coincidence as I use the same deodorant. Of course, maybe it's my AXE I'm smelling. Whatever, we stay like this for quite some time, and I'm more comfortable the longer we're like this.

Still, it's impossible to ignore what I noticed earlier; it's hotter than hell in this car. With Mickey hugging me against him, we're both perspiring. Maybe if we put the windows down, there's a breeze or something. Plus, now I can't ignore that my ass is itchy from the cum and Vaseline that's still up there, plus sweat is dripping off my face onto his neck. I hate to disrupt our tender moment here, but I squirm against him a little, and Mickey takes his arms away, muttering, "It's hot, huh?" I go, "Yes, but that was nice, Mickey. I like you, dude." He nods his head, "I like you too." Christ, I really would like to kiss him, but I don't. Instead, I say, "What do you say we go skinny dipping to cool off?"

I'm already used to Mickey hesitating before replying to anything that requires a decision, so I'm not surprised, after a few seconds, he repeats what I said, "Skinny dipping, huh?" I go, "Yeah, we're sweating, dude, and, um, my ass feels nasty." He mutters, "Nasty..." I'm like, "I mean from the Vaseline and, you know, your, ah, your cum. The sex, your fucking techniqu,e was primo, it was awesome, but now, um..." Mickey giggles and says, "I can't believe I actually did that so well, twice."

Hmm, I'm like, "Are you saying this is the first time you've..." Running his fingers back through his too-long hair, he says, "I wasn't going to admit that because it's embarrassing, but yeah, I never did it before. I can admit that because I know you won't make fun of me. I wouldn't admit it to someone like, um, Jello. I lied to him when I said I wasn't a virgin." I go, "Huh? What about Jello?" Shaking his head, "No! We didn't have sex. Are you crazy? He asked me if I was a virgin, and I said I wasn't. Jello isn't queer."

Shrugging, I say, "Well, Jello was rude to ask you that. Um, but how about my idea? My skinny dipping idea." Mickey shrugs, "Okay," and we take our clothes off. Getting out of the car, the pine needles feel good under my bare feet, but I'm like, "Wait, Mickey. The lake is a couple of hundred yards away. I'll drive us closer. C'mon, get back in the car." He mumbles, "Okay," and as he's getting in the car, I get the key 'fob' thing from my shorts on the back seat. Still naked, I drive us to within five yards of the lake.

We sit here looking at the lake, the moon seemingly hanging over it. Mickey breaks the silence, asking, "Do you see anyone in the lake?" He's apparently hesitating about skinny dipping, and I'm having second thoughts about it too. Straining my eyes looking, I'm just about to tell him I don't see anyone when there's a bump against the back fender of the car. We both jump and look back. "Do you see anything, Mickey?" He mumbles, "It was on this side of the car, but I don't see anything." Grinning, I say, "Well, hop out and take a look." He turns his head to look at me, and we both burst out laughing. He goes, "Fuck that," and we giggle some more as he locks his door.

I'm straining my neck, trying to see out the back window and then mumble, "No one is there," and to prove I have a pair of balls on me, I get out as Mickey's saying, "No, Burke, don't..." I hear rustling in the bushes on the other side. Yeah, some animal is quickly moving away after bumping into the car. After all, we are in an 'effing forest. Sticking my head in the open door on my side, I put my glasses on the dashboard and say, "It was a squirrel or something. C'mon, get out, and we'll see if the water's warm enough to swim in.

Mickey gets out tentatively, looks around, and then carefully begins walking around the car. As soon as he gets next to me, he takes hold of my hand, saying, "I'm a pussy about things that go bump in the night." Holding hands feels nice, so I give his hand a squeeze and hold onto it, saying, "Me too." We look where we're stepping as we make our way to the edge of the lake.

At the edge, still holding hands, our dicks hanging out, we seem perfectly fine being naked, which is kind of an important part of skinny dipping. I murmur, "Here goes," and step into the water. It feels cold at first, but after taking another step, pulling Mickey with me, it seems warmer. It seems fairly safe going further out, and we do until the water's to my knees, and above his.

Stopping, Mickey asks, "Is the yucky stuff we're stepping in, mud? My feet are halfway sunk in something." I giggle and say, "I hope it's mud and not something worse." He goes, "Like what?" I say, "I don't know. Fish poo, maybe." We both laugh and go out further until, I'm like, "Oh fuck!" it's as though we walked off the end of the earth, and the water goes over our heads.

We hit bottom fast, Mickey not letting go of my hand even when our feet touch the bottom. Yeah, we touched bottom fast so we couldn't be in very deep. I stick my arm straight up, and my hand is out of the water. Mickey, letting go of my hand, begins splashing to get his head above water which ain't hard to do, and then we both keep our arms moving sort of floating here fifteen feet from shore. Spitting out lake water, Mickey says, "Balls, that scared me." I nod, "Me too. Let's swim around. The water's nice."

We swim out further from shore, where the water is deeper. Giggling, we start doing the same groping we did at the reservoir, but this time we're grinning and laughing, the complete opposite of when we did this in the reservoir. We were solemn then without a word. It's more fun grinning and giggling like tweeners. It's refreshing too, plus I'm visualizing lake water going up my ass cleaning out some of Mickey's cum. That's probably isn't happening, but maybe.

Wrestling around, Mickey ends up with his back against my chest and my arms around him. He stops wrestling, so I do too and then kiss his cheek. He murmurs, "That's the first kiss I've ever had from a guy. I'm glad it came from you, Burke." I mutter, "My pleasure," and he goes, "Damn, I can't break that last-name habit." I loosen my arms so he can turn around facing me, and I say, "Habits are a bitch to break, huh? It's okay though; you can call me 'Burke'. That's my name as much at 'Matt' is." He nods his head and leans in to kiss me.

We float in toward the shore until our legs bump into the ledge we fell off. We need to get our hands on top of the ledge to pull ourselves up so we can stand where the water comes only up to my knees. We stand close together but without touching. After a minute, silently looking around, I say, "Do you find it easier to talk to me than anyone else? I do with you." Mickey, staring out over the large lake, shrugs and then mumbles, "Not really, but, well, maybe. I don't know, I guess."

Feeling affection for him, I finger-comb his wet hair off his forehead, and he looks at me and goes, "Tonight went much better then I expected. How about you?" I nod, "Definitely, and I give you most of the credit for that." He wipes his nose, mumbling, "Thanks. Um, I think you're right." I'm like, "About what?" and he says, "What you said about it being me who got things going tonight. Took charge, sort of. You weren't gonna do it. I am more adventurous than you. If I waited for you to initiate anything, we'd be in the back seat still looking out the windows," and then he chuckles to show he's kind of kidding, but I know he isn't, so I say, "You're right. You're a lot more ballsy than me."

Letting that sink in for a minute, Mickey then lightly punches my shoulder, saying, "Well, I am more ballsy, but then I did have the insider information that you're gay. That helped me be ballsy. If I didn't know that I'd just go on admiring you from afar." I look to see if he's pulling my chain 'cause I'm not good at interpreting guys' subtle comments. He goes, "What? Why'd you look at me that way?" Shrugging and feeling embarrassed, I mumble, "To see if you were kidding." Frowning, he goes, "About what?" I go, "About everything you said." He shrugs, "Nope, I'm serious. I've had this secret crush on you ever since I kicked your ass in that fifth-grade fight we had. You were my first and definitely my biggest crush." He's grinning, so I'm still not sure how much of what he just said was a joke and how much he meant, maybe a little of each.

Instead of dwelling on that, I go, "What was that thing you said about 'inside info' that I'm gay?" He goes, "Oh, um, nothing," and he leans his head up to kiss my lips. I like the way Mickey, being shorter, needs to lift his face when we kiss. That tells me he wants to kiss, and I don't need to wonder if it's the right thing to do or not. Kissing has always been my fantasy preference. I still really, really like kissing a guy, and that's true even though I've learned there are sexier things to do with a guy. I like kissing Mickey, which is very odd because in my fantasy, it's always a cute guy I'm kissing, and Mickey isn't cute unless he grins or smiles.

We don't kiss again, though; we walk out of the lake and over to the car. I'm not sure what to do now, and then Mickey says, "I'm ready to do it again, but maybe I should use your condom this time." His wet hair is hanging at the side of his face again, so I finger-comb it up on top of his head, saying, "I want to do it this time, Mickey. I've never been the 'top' guy." He goes, "Never? Well, I kinda knew you were almost as inexperienced as me, but I'm surprised you've never done the, um, guy part." I snicker, "Being the 'top' is not called the 'guy part.' Both parts are guy parts. We're both guys, right?"

My back is against the driver's door as Mickey leans his wet body against me and says, "I guess. I mean, of course, we're both guys! It's just that I always thought the guy doing it on top was 'the' guy, and the bottom guy was sort of his bitch." Then he laughs, adding, "I'm kidding. That was a joke." Ha, I wish everyone would explain when they're joking. That would make my life so much easier. Putting my arms around him, I go, "Have you noticed we're both talking now?" He nods his head, mumbling, "Yeah, I was wrong. It is easier talking to you. It seems strange to me, but I think you care what I have to say."

I poke his chest with my finger, mumbling, "Of course I care what you say." Mickey murmurs, "Yeah? That makes me feel good." Then, we're stuck, neither of us coming up with more to talk about. We both are looking at the lake, which looks a little ominous at night with a reflection of the moon, creating a yellow pattern of light in the middle that sort of shimmers. Determined to say something, I mutter, "We're going to the barbers together for sure." He says, "Okay, but as I said, I want to have sex now, as the 'guy' again. You can do the 'guy' part on our next date." This 'date' has similarities to Mark's and my 'date,' except Mickey, wants to have another 'date,' whereas I was the one assuming that, hoping is more like it, for another date with Mark.

Turning my head, looking him in the eyes, I stare for a second at his big pupils with the thin line of dark blue iris around it, before mumbling, "Is it fair I need to wait until our next date?" and he says, "Probably not, but I have a much bigger cock than yours so, ya know." My mouth is open, ready to go, 'What the fuck' but I see him trying not to laugh, and then he does laugh, and I do too. I mumble, "You like to break my balls, doncha?" and I bump against him. He's making jokes now!

Mickey's still chuckling, bumping against me, saying, "No, not really, I'm not especially adept at 'breaking balls,' but let me do the guy part again while I'm on a roll. Alright?" I nod, "Yeah, okay. You do the guy part awesomely, and I've never done it, so yeah, you do it." He asks, "Where's the condom?" I tell him it's in the pocket of my shorts, and he opens the back door, then stops and says, "Let's do it out here." I shrug, "You're the guy, and I'm the pussy, so I do what you say." He grins, asking, "Isn't this the most fun ever?" I nod, and he gets the condom as I'm smiling, thinking... this is the most fun I've ever had, yep, and I mean... for real! Omigod, I can't believe how much I like Mickey.

He brings out two condom packets, mumbling, "You had two in your pocket. Are they both the same?" and he holds one of the packets up. I go, "They're identical," and he's like, "This is the first condom I've ever had in my hands." I'm like, "It's the first time I've ever bought condoms, so when I took one out of the box, it was the first time I ever touched one too." He looks at me and, in a serious way, says, "We're alike more than I thought, Burke. Ya know, when I learned you're gay, I thought because you're so cute, you've have had boyfriends galore and gotten fucked many times from like middle school onward." I shake my head, mumbling, "Nope, just three times, and my first time was like a week ago."

Mickey nods his head and says, "Yeah, I know, but it surprised me when Dennis told me that 'cause I thought... well, ha, I just told you what I thought." I mutter, "Yeah, well, I don't think it was right that Mark told Dennis, and Dennis told you." He nods, "But if I hadn't bought the pot from Dennis, and he hadn't told me about you and Baker, we'd still be strangers to one another." I'm like, "What exactly did Dennis tell you about Mark and me?"

Mickey looks away, saying, "I wasn't supposed to say anything to you, which is why I didn't tell you earlier. Hover, um, Dennis, told me about him jerking you off, and then you and Baker, um, you know. I should have told you everything in the reservoir. Hell, knowing you were gay is why I asked you to jump in the reservoir, and it's why I was so blatant about everything. I feel sneaky for deceiving you, and I'm sorry. I apologize."

Huh, I'm not mad at him. I'm mad and disappointed that Mark couldn't wait to boast to Dennis he fucked me. Jeez, and Mark was so sweet about everything too. Mark was making out with me that first night, and then him blowing me, I thought he was the nicest guy. I'm such a sucker. He set me up when I blew him, and he fucked me. Not that I minded, but him telling or bragging to someone about it isn't cool at all. And I thought Mark was cool before this...

I hear, "Are you mad at me?" I snap out of my unhappy thoughts about Mark and Dennis, saying, "No! Not at all. Well, maybe a little, but you're so good at doing the guy part of fucking I forgive you." He goes, "Whew. No more lying by omission, I promise." Shrugging, I mutter, "I can't believe those guys are discussing their, um, conquests or whatever." Mickey's eyes shine as he says, "Yeah, well, I can't wait to tell Jello I boffed your ass three times." Ha, even I know Mickey's joking about that, so we both laugh. Then I ask, "How many people know you're gay?" He goes, "Counting you?" I nod, and he says, "One," and we chuckle with him, mumbling, "I'm serious." I believe him.

We've been naked for the last forty-five minutes, and we're comfortable with that, so we'd be good nudists. Holding the condom in his left hand, Mickey strokes his cock, asking, "Burke, do I put the condom on my pecker, or do you do that?" I shrug, "I don't think it matters, Miller." He makes a 'face,' mumbling, "Sorry, I meant to say, Mattie." I'm like, "That's okay," and I push his hand away from his pecker, mumbling, "Let your pussy-boy stroke your dick for you." He grins as I stroke his long cock until it's fairly stiff. Jesus, haha, as I was doing that, my cock got stiff on its own. Mattie goes, "You're getting a boner from giving me one." He reaches over and strokes my dick for me. Grinning, we stroke each other's dick until they're both tight boners with bubbles of pre-cum peeking out.

Mickey asks, "Would you suck my dick like you did Mark's?" I let go of his boner, my eyes get big as I stammer, "Um, Dennis told you that too? Um, I, that is, your dick was in my, I mean, you fucked me in my ass. The germs, um..." He says, "I don't mean now, Burke... some other time." Surprised I'd be willing to do that for him, I nod, 'Yes, sure, some other time, of course. I mean, you're 'the guy,' and I'm the pussy." I was making a joke, but he nods and hands me the condom, "Here, ya go, pussy boy. You put it on. I'd probably screw it up."

Just like that, I decide I'm gonna do whatever I need to do to keeps him from being like Bobby and Mark. Meaning, as soon as they had an alternative to me, they both went with the other person. I see that now. Bobby and Mark don't know each other, but they both recognized, or assumed, I'd be there when they need me as a fallback option. Well, surprise! I have another option, and he's better than either of them, in some ways I mean, and I'm going to try to keep Mickey happy with me. I wanna be Mickey's first option.

He's still sort of pushing his crutch out, his boner sticking straight out ahead of everything else and, damn, that boner looks big and tight. I roll the condom on that awesome boner as Mickey's quietly asking, "How should we do it out here?" I shrug and then remember Bobby telling me to hold onto the bureau, so I mumble, "I'll hold onto the fender and push my ass up for you to mount me, and then you fuck me just like before." He snickers, saying, "That sounded funny the way you said, 'mount' like a horse mounts a mare." Nodding, I mutter, "Whatever," and then turn and put my hands on the fender, spreading my legs, and stick my ass out." He steps behind me, mumbling, "This condom feels good on my dick. Um, but could you bend your legs a little? Your pussy is too high for me," and we both giggle at the word 'pussy' as I lower my ass.

It hurts when Mickey's pushes his cock forcefully right up my ass. None of that softish-cock routine this time. Wow, that hurt! We need to talk about that for future sex, but for now, I grit my teeth and take it. Mickey doesn't know it hurts this much, but that's because he's only been the 'top,' he'll see things differently when he's on the other end, so to speak.

The pain fades quicker this time, and I quietly let out a held breath, thinking... I love this! Yeah, there's some pain at first, but gay sex with Mickey is worth a little 'hurt.' Clueless about that aspect of our sex but, as I said he'll find out, Mickey begins thrusting, his hips driving his boner in and out of my ass... yeah, it's called anal fucking. In ten seconds, I'm not even thinking about pain 'cause, Omigod, we're like dogs in heat again. Mickey humps his boner rapidly, and I hear the, "Smack, smack, smack," sounds as his body smacks against my buttocks. He's doing it hard enough that the palms of my hands are slipping on the fender with every hump of his hips.

This doggy fuck results in the same spectacular pleasure sensations as our earlier ones. Awesome sensations of pleasure that after five or six minutes become so intense I can't even do my previous moaning; instead, I'm holding my breath, my mouth opens with great anticipation what's coming, meaning the enormous climax that's building, and then it explodes in the most fantastic manner, almost a relief, but mostly it's an indescribable pleasure. Semen blasts-out the head of my impossibly hard cock splattering off the fender, cum spray flying back at me, hitting my legs. Fireworks are going off in my mind as I grovel in the expanding waves of sexual pleasure. I'm hoping not to faint at the increasing cyclone of swirling vibrations making my shoulders shudder and... well, nothing else could possibly be this good!

All those years dreaming about making out with a cute guy, and sure, that is a fantastic thing to do, but this full-blown sex with another guy is mind-blowing euphoria that's so fabulous it's a reason enough for living even if you don't think there's another one. I have other good reasons... just saying.

Also, this is very new to me, so I'm sure that's a factor in my enthusiasm, the 'awe' I feel at the power of gay sex is something special. It's Mickey too, of course. We're sort of 'equals' in our discovery of sexual pleasures; gay sexual pleasure shared together. We're amicably on the same page, the same basic level of experience with sex. My limited sex with Bobby and Mark was great too, but not nearly the huge big deal to them that it was for me. With Mickey, I don't know how to explain it, but it's better.

Pulling his cock from my ass, Mickey mutters, "Jesus, it just gets better," and I chuckle 'cause I was just thinking that. He bends over, his hands on his knees as he takes deep breaths shaking his head as though he can hardly believe it. See, Mickey and I are simpatico in this discovery of sex. We equally feel our sex is fantastic, so fantastic, as novices, we can hardly believe it's happening this good. I step over to Mickey and rub his back, asking, "You okay?" He nods, "I'll say I am! Actually, I'm so much better than 'okay' it's freakin' crazy."

When he straightens up, I pull the condom off his limp penis and toss it on a bush, then get it off the bush and throw it over the bush, mumbling, "That was crude-looking, a condom hanging on that pretty shrub." We get in the back seat but don't get dressed. Pushing our clothes off the seat, Mickey puts his arm around me and pulls me down, so we're both lying on the seat. Again it's very awkward for me because I'm partially on top of Mickey's smaller body. He murmurs, "I need to take care of my pussy boy, so he'll know I care for him as a friend too... not just my sex toy." I groan, muttering, "Oh, Gawd, try not to say creepy things like that, Mickey." He goes, "That was a joke. Don't you 'get' jokes?" I mutter, "Yeah, I get 'good' jokes. Well, no, not always, um, no, I don't usually get jokes, I guess."

Jokes or not, I'm too tall to lie out on the seat, so my legs are bent at the knees, and it's far from comfortable. Plus, I need to clear something up, so I'm like, "Mickey, I probably don't need to say this, but, um, you realize we're just screwing around calling the 'top' the 'guy part,' right? Both parts of gay sex are 'guy parts,' as we agreed earlier. And the pussy boy bullshit too, right? We're saying that just for shits and giggles." He says, "Of course, jeez, Burke. I'm not that clueless. We're just screwing around with that shit, having some fun." Yeah, well, okay, then. I mumble, "I knew that I just wanna make sure you know it."

We rustle around on the seat some more, trying to get comfortable, mostly me trying to get comfortable while being held by Mickey. He ends up with his back partially against the seat, and I'm partially on my back, half on him, his arm his under my neck, as he's lightly rubbing his hand on my chest, my stomach, and some touching on my dick too. This is probably how he envisions it should go, ya know? I'm not doing anything except listening to him talk, and he's talkative now.

He tells me his full name is Michael Ryan Miller, named after his father, but he's not Michael Ryan Miller the 'second' because he has a different middle name. His middle name is his grandfather's first name on his mother's side. Okay, that was too much information, but I let him talk because, from my limited experience with him, I've never known him to talk this much and don't want to discourage it.

Mickey goes on telling me that he's been told his mother died of heart failure, although he's discovered that that's a lie. He found out online that she committed suicide. It was a carbon monoxide suicide in the garage of the house they lived in. They moved to Clifton Heights some months after that. I say, "Jesus! I'm so sorry," and he tells me the same thing he told me the last time I said I was sorry his mother died. He tells me it's okay because he didn't know her. Still, me saying 'I'm sorry' is appropriate even though he pretends to be blase about it. Not having his mother's nurturing in the early years of his life was probably a bigger deal to his psyche than he lets on.

After telling me several other personal things, he stops for a second and then says, "I've said more than you probably care to know about me, so I'll give it a rest." I'm hoping the right thing to say to him is, "I'm interested in knowing stuff about you, Mickey. Thanks for sharing that with me."

We're silent so long this time, the threat of falling asleep becomes real, so I break the silence by telling Mickey about my family. I've already told him about my job. I tell him how my aunts, uncles, and cousins, are all on my father's side, and about my brother, Nicky, making tons of money selling legal drugs and about my cousin, Lewis, who can't stand me but who I used to have a major crush on. I tell him about Three Brothers Roofing and how my grandfather acts like a big shot, but I think he's a pompous ass. And, it's weird, but I only realized I felt that way about my grandfather when I said it just now.

When I take a breath, Mickey has his second breath and tells me his dad is an attorney, but they're far from rich because his father does so much pro bono lawyering he has little time to make a living. His dad is politically left to an extent Mickey thinks he's maybe a socialist. Mickey doesn't approve, although his biggest concern about his father is Mickey thinks he associates Mickey with his mother's death somehow, but won't say it. That sounds like paranoia, but, obviously, I don't say that. I usually can't think of appropriate things to say, and in this case, it's understandable that I can't.

We're quiet again because it's sort of my turn to tell stuff. I don't want to do that though because, even though it may be callous of me, I don't want to hear any more 'heavy' shit about his life, like suicide. So, after an extended period, breaking the silence, Mickey asks, "Do you think we should use the other condom?" Holy shit, that's the last thing I expected to hear!

I mumble, "Um, ah, sure, but you're kinda special, dude." He snickers and says, "I once jerked off nine times in one day." I'll let that bullshit slide. Getting ready for our next fuck, there's no discussion who will do the 'guy part,' it's gonna be Mickey again, of course. This time he wants to fuck me on the picnic table. Initially, we try doing it' with me lying 'on my stomach, the way Mickey's suggestion. It's a bad idea though, as the picnic table is too hard and when I get my ass high enough I need to be on my knees, and I get a splinter and... no, that's not sexy.

Eventually, we get in the right positions, copying Bobby's preferred position for fucking. Me at the edge of the picnic table on my back, pulling my legs out of the way, and Mickey standing on the ground, just tall enough to hammer away, driving his prodigious boner directly in and out of my ass-pussy... heh heh. We're still kidding around with the 'pussy' word, but when it's close to 'go' time, and our climaxes are ready to blow, we're grunting and moaning. I gasp as my cock fires off a small stream of cum, my boner sticking straight up, and the cum-stream arches over to hit Mickey's chest on its way down, and we can't stop laughing.

After our climaxes, Mickey crawls onto the picnic table and lies on me the way he did at the reservoir when we were on that rock drying off after our swim. Tonight we're making out, him lying on me with his long hair on my face. We say nothing as we're making-out for maybe two-or-three minutes. Mickey groveling on top of me, our private parts between us and our mouths together, his pink tongue in my mouth as we kiss and suck and lick until Mickey rolls off me and almost falls off the table, but I grab him in time.

There have been so many absolutely perfect things about tonight that it's impossible to pick out just one, but if I had to, it's the way everything we did together turned out good, and we did it all fully conscious, meaning no drugs were involved... no liquor, and no grass. Another big factor about tonight was how much I've come to like Mickey even though he doesn't fit into any fantasy 'nitch' I've ever had. There's a real connection between us, and, obviously, we have a strong sexual connection. I can't describe or understand either of those mysterious connections, but I'm sure I will in time.

When we leave the park, we're sexually satisfied, duh, I guess so! It's a faster drive back home, and when I come to a stop at Mickey's house, it's ten minutes of three. He takes his seat belt off, and says, "Against all the odds, I have a boyfriend, and you're him. Heh, heh, yep, it's you, Burke. Whaddaya think about that?" I go, "Yeah, sure, we're boyfriends. Cool..." I'm keeping it 'light,' ya know?

Looking at me, he says in a serious manner, "The thing is, you need to be exclusively mine." I go, "Ah, well, alright. Um, whaddya mean?" I feel funny in my stomach, or maybe it's my balls, but I'm not sure if it's a 'good' funny feeling or something else. Something about the way he said all that didn't sound right: well, I misinterpret what people say at times, so I go, "The way you said I'm your boyfriend 'exclusively' sounded, um, ominous or something. Or, I probably misunderstood... sorry."

He goes, "No, I don't think you misunderstood. It's like, well, first of all, let's be honest, I never thought in a million years I'd have a boyfriend, certainly not one as cute as you. Well, surprise-surprise, I do have one as cute as you, and while I can hardly believe my good fortune, and I can't believe I'm going to say this, but I'm going to say it, you can't do what we did tonight with anyone else. If you do, you won't be my boyfriend. To me, exclusivity is the difference between 'boyfriends' and 'friends.' If you want to be my 'boyfriend,' that's my rule..."

I'm speechless, I've reverted back to my old speechless ways because I don't know, I guess it's the nerve of Mickey to put it that way that has me speechless. Can I believe quiet, shy Mickey is giving me an ultimatum after one date? When I don't say anything, he goes, "I'm sorry, but it's how I've promised myself I'd be if I ever had a boyfriend. In any case, I gotta be true to myself first, Mattie, and I know I couldn't bear knowing you were fucking with anyone else. I know myself, so I know I couldn't deal with it. And, since I am gonna be doing the 'guy part,' I get to make the rules, right?"

I'm still staring at him, thinking there's a chance, there's still a chance that there will be a punch line. I can't 'read' people like most guys can, as I've said a hundred times already, so, to be sure, I finally go, "Um, are you being serious? No, joking?" He nods and mumbles, "I'm sorry, but, yes, I am, um, please understand..." He looks pleadingly at me, so I'm sure he is serious.

Huh, Mickey has the biggest balls ever. Well, I already knew that, and I gotta give him credit. I mean, he's gambling a lot here. He never thought he'd have a boyfriend, and now that he unexpectedly does, he's willing to throw it away unless I obey his rule. Hmm, he's biting his bottom lip, waiting for what I'm gonna decide about his 'rule.' Yeah, well, I'm desperately thinking of what the right thing to say might be.

He's patient because we both understand each other's lack of ready answers. Mickey's swiping his hair off his forehead as I look away and it seems like forever, but it's been only ten seconds when Mickey takes a deep breath and goes 'all in' by asking right out, "Considering my rule, Mattie, do you wanna be my boyfriend or not?" I mutter, "Yes," and he says, "Omigod, thank you," and we bump fists to seal the deal. After all the sex and making-out we've done tonight, we bump fists on this boyfriend 'rule' of Mickey's. Omigod, we're still nerds, I guess.

Nothing else is said. He gets out, waves at me, and I watch him until he goes inside. Only then do I slowly head for home. After like a minute of driving, I say out loud, "We're going steady. That's all he meant. Lots of fifteen-year-olds go steady, and that's our sexual experience level. No, it not. Very few fifteen-year-olds are fucking five times on their first date. Still, we're late bloomers. Hey, we'll catch up.

And, Christ, I like Mickey being our leader. Totally fucking unexpected, but, well, no, it's not 'totally' unexpected. I mean, not when it's been Mickey all along who has initiated, um, got us started on everything we've done together. Plus, he and I are a lot alike, he's right about that, but with one big exception, and it's that little skinny dopey-looking Mickey has more balls than me... more balls than I ever dreamed about having, more balls than a Christmas tree. Another way of saying that is he's more willing than I am to put his balls on the line. He takes chances. He's willing to suffer rejection, willing to look like an ass, a loser, or whatever. I'm not sure if that's admirable or unnecessarily foolish. I've never tried that approach.

So, okay, I'm willing to see how things work out... what do I have to lose. I mean, I never saw this coming in the first place. Sure, there are some matters needing to be cleared up, but we'll work out the details. What an excellent start tonight was... um, 'start' to what, though?

To be continued... Chapter 8... "More Mickey and Me" donnymumford@outlook.com

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