Chapter Thirteen
As soon as I stepped into the foyer of my brother’s elegant condo, I knew something was wrong. Christian didn’t answer the door, and the man who did answer it was wearing only a thong. He was six feet, six inches tall with a very athletic build, about thirty years old, with a shaved head and a body entire of body hair. He had some thin metal rings in his earlobes and nipples, small studs in the side of each nostril, and some needle through each eyebrow. His balls were quickly visible on either side of the little thong, and the impression his cock made from inside there left very little to the imagination.
Most people seeing this strange person would go right back out the door, but not me. I’m trying to make sense of this. Then the man complicates things further by telling me, “You’re early!” as if he were expecting me when no one knew I was coming. Then he called out to someone upstairs, indicating that “Chrisie” should give somebody named Felix a nice tip because this twink is choice.
A twink is a young, cute, small gay kid like me. The guy, Chrisie, is my brother, Christain. There is no way I wouldn’t recognize his voice, so what the fuck is going on? This is all happening fast. I haven’t been in the foyer for five seconds. Before I can call out to Christain, the thong man put a hairy arm around my neck, his wrist under my chin, reminding me of that gross experience with my next-door neighbor, twenty-one-year-old Edward.
I dropped my satchel and tried to pry the man’s arm off me, calling, “Christain, it’s Oliver!” Except this animal choked me off with that hairy arm, saying, “You’ve got a lot to learn, sweety. Calm down and stop struggling, or I’ll keep your air pinched off until you pass out. It’s all the same to me, but if you pass out, you’ll have a bad headache when you come to. Now, calm down, you cute thing.”
A long, wet kiss near my mouth followed these instructions. His five o’clock shadow was like a wire brush against my skin. He nuzzled his nose under my chin and inhaled deeply a few times, smelling me. Then, more scrapes from his stiff wire beard. I stopped all efforts to get free and became docile because I needed oxygen, and I could feel myself drifting off.
“That’s better. Now, go completely limp in my arms. I do, and he loosens the hold around my neck. I inhaled deeply as he said, “That’s my boy. You’ll quickly learn to do what you’re told around here. I took a chance and yelled to Christain upstairs, “It’s Oliver!” Thong man cut off my air, asking, “Felix told you Chrisie’s name? He’s not supposed to do that! Fuck! Hey, do you know my name?” I needed to breathe again, so I made myself stay as limp as a rag doll. What’s the use of trying to fight him?
He asked, “Do you,” and he let up on my throat. I inhaled and murmured, “No, but I’m his brother.” He muttered, “We’re all brothers, my friend. The one upstairs is in the shower, so yelling at him is stupid. I’m letting go of your waist for a second. Keep your body limp and leaning back against me.” Then, talking to himself, “Let’s see what we got down here.”
I’m taking deep breaths, enjoying the oxygen. He let go around my waist, unbuttoned my cargo shorts, and pushed his hand inside my underwear as I stiffened like a statue, muttering, “No…” His big hand cupped my cock and balls and squeezed, “Shhh!. Relax, Goddammit!”
I can hardly believe it, but I’m getting used to all the hair on his naked body. He mutters to himself, “He hasn’t been groomed.” Taking his hand out, wrapping his hairy arm around me, his other one still around my neck and under my chin, ready to cut off oxygen, He asks, “Didn’t Felix even tell you about shaving? Chrisie and I like our boys totally smooth. Everybody knows that.”
Then he says sternly, “Up on your toes and walk with me. Take all your clothes off when we’re in the playroom, and I’ll get you shaved. This is a pain in the ass. Next time, you shave before coming here! ” I raise my hand, but he says, “Get walking,” and his arm under my chin pulls up. He’s hypnotic about everything; the way he talks, moves, and so easily controls me. I felt hypnotized to some degree. There was a part of me that wanted to please him. Without consciously thinking about it, I’m being so docile it’s as if I almost have no bones.
Oh, except I just realized I have a boner, and I noticed a slap, slap, slapping sound as if someone is approaching wearing leather sandals, and Christain, just out of the shower, comes around the corner wearing sandals and a bathrobe. I’m looking at him from the crook of the Thong man’s arm still around my neck. All Christain could see was my one eye, but he knew it was me and screamed, “LET GO OF HIM, GLEN! That’s my brother. LET FUCKING GO OF HIM RIGHT NOW!”
Glen let me loose and stepped away, a shocked expression. Maybe Christian had never yelled at him before about anything. I stood in place with my boner almost instantly soft. All three of us looked at the front door when the doorbell rang loudly, followed by a single knock of the big brass door knocker. Glen said, “That’s Felix’s boy prostitute now. Jesus Christ, Chris, I’m sorry. How could I know, though?” He went to answer the door, now seemingly a nice guy.
Christian held his arms out, and I fell into them, mumbling, “Surprise.” He hugged me tightly, then said, Let me get dressed, and we’ll talk.” I mumble, “I’m sorry, Christain.” He said, “I’m thrilled that you’re here, brother. There’s no reason to say you’re sorry. I’m the one who is sorry Glen mistook you for his candy boy. I’ll be right back.”
I looked over, and standing there was a tall, thin boy about seventeen or eighteen. He had a short haircut, a longish, plain-looking face, and a large, bobbing Adam’s apple. He’s incongruously dressed in a pair of little boy’s shortie shorts and a wife-beater T-shirt a few sizes too small for him so that it didn’t reach to his belly button, which had a large ring in it. On his feet were ballet slippers. When he moved, he looked like someone miming a stereotypical gay man with limp wrists and a mincing step. When he spoke, “How’s everyone doing?” He lisped so heavily that it was difficult to understand him.
Standing beside Glen, the visitor said, with a lisping spray of saliva and girlish tilt of his head, “My name is Martin.” He looked first at Glen, who appeared shell-shocked after the mistaken identity stunt, and said, “Are you Glen? Mr. Felix said I needed to shave my hot body and report to this Glen person.”
Now fully clothed, Christian said, “Glen, do something with your guest,” then to me, “Oliver, come with me.” I followed him into a room with a bar like you might find in a small upscale hotel. In front of the bar were four beautiful dark red leather stools with arms and backs and brass foot rails. A long, thick mirror was behind the bar with about thirty bottles of booze lined up in front, reflecting to the room. There was a large flat-screen TV on the wall and framed autographed photos on the dark, wood-paneled walls. I recognized a few sports figures and a woman from a TV news show.
He poured Jack Daniels into a short, squat glass and drank it in one swallow. Then, poured a larger one and set it on the bar. “Do you drink, Oliver?” Christian asked the question without actually looking at me. In a flat-sounding voice, I told him, “Not much, no. What’s going on, Christain?”
After staring at me for a few seconds, he said, “I’m embarrassed you saw this. Well, embarrassed doesn’t begin to cover it. This is way past embarrassing.” He took a long pull on the bourbon and said, “It’s not all that unusual. Um, I’m bisexual, Oliver. Glen and I were going to have a sexy role-playing deal with that goofy-looking prostitute. There’s no reason for you to understand or relate to that, but there it is.”
He did an ironic chuckle, then followed it with a groan and said, “And it had to be the one night you decide to fly in from fucking Pennsylvania. I can’t believe my fucking luck.” He finished his second drink and put ice in the glass for his third. There was a lot of Jack Daniels and a splash of water in his third drink. Christian lit a Marlboro Lite 100 with a shaky hand holding a fancy, silver cigarette lighter. “I don’t suppose someone as brilliant as you are not dumb enough to smoke, right?”
I was sitting in front of the bar on one of the beautiful bar stools. Christian was behind the bar, close to the booze. I picked up his pack of cigarettes, shook one out, and lit it with the silver lighter. My hand was shaky, too. Christian grinned, muttering, “Oh, shit.”
Ignoring that, I tried to blow a smoke ring like Pete had been teaching me. It didn’t work; it was just a cloud of smoke that Christian first frowned at and then waved at to help dissipate. I did one of my fake coughs and sat there in silence, smoking. “Goddammit, Oliver, talk to me. You can’t be surprised I’m bi, right?” Biting my fingernail between puffs of my smoke, I asked, “Why shouldn’t I be surprised?”
He looked at me, frowning, then said, “I don’t know.” I felt terrible for him and asked, “What could I drink, Christian? Something not too harsh.” He made me a vodka, lots of ice, and grapefruit juice. It was tasty. I drank some, lit another cigarette, and said, “The thought you might be Gay never entered my mind. But now, I think back to you being drunk and giving me that sexy kiss on my lips at my graduation. Um, but so what? I don’t love you any less, and there is a humongous irony about all this, too.”
Interrupting us, we hear the roar of a motorcycle muffler and tires squealing on the pavement. Christian smirks, muttering, “That’s Glen’s way of saying good night.” Then Christian tells me he met Glen at a gay pick-up bar his first month in Seattle. They are friends and occasionally sex buddies, too. Glen spends an occasional night/day here, so he’s very comfortable and familiar with the place. He’s a good gay bud and not the tough, dominant type he was role-playing.
Where can I find an opening to tell Christian I’m gay? Christian shrugged and mumbled, “Actually, the bisexual stuff is an exaggeration as I’m gay, not bi, Oliver. I’ll never get married, so it’s up to you to provide the grandchildren for Mom and Dad.
Well, balls! I need to do a lot more thinking about telling Christian I’m gay, too. That’s not happening this visit. There’s too much else to digest. Before Christain got drunk, I started telling him about my best friend, Frankie. Omigod, Christain was thrilled I finally had a new best friend. After losing Tyler, I never made friends. Throughout most of my teen years, I moped around, trying to understand Tyler’s death while at the same time dealing with my secret gayness and the constant yearning for gay sex.
So, the idea of me making a best friend now made Christian happy; he felt It was a big deal, a positive step for me. I switched topics to give myself time to work up the courage to ask for the two thousand dollars I needed to save Frankie’s ass, literally save his ass. I told Christian about my girlfriend, Pattie, but I had to embellish the relationship to make it sound somewhat meaningful. Christian was sincerely happy for me. He said it appears that my life was shaping up at last. I told him about the great times I had in the Mini Cooper S he’d given me.
“We all knew that you were the best of us, Oliver. It was just a matter of time before you started showing the world what Oliver Nickerson is about. We’ve always been so proud of you.”
I realized that’s the kind of statement you make when you’ve had one too many adult beverages. I liked hearing the praise, Jack Daniel’s induced or not. I made another drink for myself and told my brother about Frankie’s debt with the bookie, Fallon, and the five percent per week interest on the two thousand dollars. I told him about the torture done on Frankie to get him to promise to do gay prostitution to pay down the money. I shed a tear or two, reciting Frankie’s dangerous position.
Christian got bullshit mad about the torture. I didn’t even need to ask for the money; he insisted I take it before I even mentioned it. He took me to his bedroom and showed me a hidden safe and told me the combination was my birth date, so it would be simple for me to remember if anything ever happened to him, like a car accident, everything in the safe was mine. He took out two thousand dollars in hundred-dollar bills. It didn’t look like much when he handed it to me. I put it in my satchel, feeling positive now that Frankie was safe.
“Please, Oliver, I love you, so never insult me by mentioning this money again. It’s a gift, and I already forget it. If you ever need money, tell me, and it’s yours.” I nodded, then cried softly, grateful that Christian had been there for me all my life when I needed him. Christian got pensive and then told me that his gay friend Glen was a good guy but that Glen knew guys who weren’t good. He said there’s no reason for me to know more, but perhaps Glen can have someone check on this Fallon fellow and his muscle boys burning the legs of teenagers.
“Torturing a teenage boy, Oliver, isn’t done, and certainly not for a measly two thousand dollars. This amateur, Fallon, will give the mod guys in his area a bad name.” The thought of those animals getting some of their own medicine was enough to give me a hard-on. And Christian was legitimately mad as hell about it. That’s probably because of Frankie being my best friend, and Christain being so happy I had a best friend. But Yeah, I’d love to think the fat fucks who beat up and burned Frankie with cigars might get the shit kicked out of them someday soon because of what they did to him. We were getting drunk, and I was tired. It was three hours later for me than it was for Christian. My head and body were on East Coast time.
Christian went to take a leak, and as tired as I was, I was hungry, too. Then I thought about the bizarreness of us both being gay and how I’m not now, nor have I ever been sexually attracted to Christian. I love him to death, but I never fantasized or ever gave a single thought to having sex of any kind with him.
I thought we’d be eating at some fancy restaurant tonight. That was my fantasy about surprising him, but this has been very different. Christian microwaved two frozen meals, and we ate them. We were done smoking and drinking, so he showed me my bedroom. I had my own bathroom, too. Christian said this room has never been used. These condos are brand new, and no one has been in my room—nice big queen-sized bed with matching bedroom furniture. A blown-up picture of Tyler and me with our arms around one another’s shoulders brings another tear to my eyes.
I went into the black and white tiled bathroom for a quick shower. The clear glass shower stall had three separate water nozzles, one on each wall, all with excellent water pressure. Jesus, what a great shower. I then brushed my teeth twice, and that felt great. When I came out of the bathroom, I got in bed and was sleeping almost instantly.
Waking up, I had a slight hangover, but what I marveled at was Christain being gay. What a shocker! And then I remembered the two thousand dollars that would save Frankie. Oh, and the vague possibility that Christain’s friend, Glen, might have mod connections that could put the hurt on Fallon. Gee, I’m excited. I don’t know what time it is, but I went back to sleep in this awesome bedroom, catching up on the three hours I lost flying from the East to the West Coast.
The next time I woke up, I smelled coffee. I took a shower last night, so I skipped that, but I did everything I needed in the bathroom, dressed, and met Christain in the kitchen. He was smiling, “Good morning, Oliver. What a treat seeing you first thing in the morning.”
“Good morning, Bro. I need to apologize for causing all that confusion last night. I should have asked if I could visit, not barge in on you like I did. I’m so sorry.” Christain waved that away, “Nonsense. Barge in on me any time. Listen, I blurted out my sexuality, which wasn’t cool. I hope it didn’t freak you out too much.”
Damn, I don’t know what to do. Should I tell him about me? I shrug, “No, I’m cool with that, Christain.” We’re both relieved to leave it at that. Christain tells me the plans he has for us today. We’re sightseeing today, and then dinner at his Country Club tonight. We did the Harbor Cruise, had brunch at a classy restaurant, then did the Space Needle and Chihuly Garden and took a bus tour of the city.
It wasn’t mandatory to wear a sports coat to dinner at the Country Club tonight, but Christain bought me a blue blazer that I can wear with my tan khakis and boat shoes. We showered at the condo, Christain had a Jack on the rocks, and we both smoked cigarettes, talking about Chirstain’s lack of success at gay clubs.
Then, a drive to Christain’s Country Club and seated in a spectacular dining room with high ceilings and wide windows from floor to ceiling that over-looked the golf course. I ordered prime rib, medium rare, a baked potato with butter and sour cream, and a salad with Russian dressing. Christian had two Manhattans, lamb chops with little brown potatoes and asparagus. We both had two Irish coffees for dessert, and I was feeling a little woozy from the Jamison Irish whiskey after finishing.
The next morning, Christain had to go to work, so I went into the city and did more sightseeing. It’s a great city. Christain didn’t get home from work until eight o’clock. After a quick shower, we met Glen and had dinner at the Capital Grille, where he said hello to half a dozen different acquaintances, none of whom seemed gay, but often you can’t tell. The dinner was even better than last night. They had a $300 bottle of wine that I tasted, and to me, it tasted like the crap they had at the company picnic.
The following day, he sent me off in a stretch limo, the driver holding the door open, waiting for me, and calling me “Mr. Nickerson” or “Sir.” Christain gave me a going away gift that I could only open once I went to the airport. I opened it on my way to the airport and saw a beautiful leather wallet with my initials in gold on the outside and ten one-hundred-dollar bills on the inside. There was also a credit card with my name on it; the billing address was Christian’s. Even without the money for Frankie, without these incredibly expensive going-away gifts, and all the food and glitter of Christian’s place, without all of that, it would still have been the most special three days of my life.
Flying home in my first-class seat, I feel unworthy to be loved unconditionally as my brother loves me, making my eyes misty. And I’m unsure if I did the right thing by not telling him I’m gay, too. I didn’t want to complicate things further, but maybe I should have told him. I don’t know.Later, my mind switched to realizing how anxious I was to see Frankie, which made me think about dinner last night when Glen said he felt he owed me for mistakenly manhandling me when I first arrived at the condo, so he’d arranged for that dipshit, Fallon, in Pittsburg and his thugs who tortured Frankie to be decommissioned. I did not ask what decommissioned meant, but Christian said he wouldn’t want to be in those assholes’ shoes, meaning Fallon and his musclemen.
From what Glen told Christian, Fallon is some sort of low-level crook unaffiliated with organized crime in the Pittsburgh area. His action with Frankie and a couple of other college kids who bet through him was giving “bookies” a bad name, and this request from fellow organized guys from the West Coast was the last straw for the East Coast guys. They were going to step on Fallon a bit. That doesn’t sound fatal, and I’m glad. I don’t want anyone getting killed, but stepped on a little; that sounds just right.
My seat partner in the first-class section, sitting beside me, was a fourteen-year-old boy who would, had he been a few years older, have had me groping myself from Seattle to Pittsburgh, except his kid was a bit of a chatter-box. If he wasn’t so much fun to look at, I might have had to stick a sock in his mouth. He had Frankie’s haircut but with blond hair instead of red. I must have rubbed his head two dozen times during the flight. He didn’t seem to mind it. Cute, but the kid came out with all these annoying quiz questions that he thought were funny. I didn’t, but it gave me a reason to look at him while he was saying them. His mouth struck me as so sexy. Very white teeth, slightly bucked, and the two front ones were longer than the others.
When we said goodbye in the Pittsburgh airport, he said, “Oliver, If Jimmy cracks corn and no one cares, why the fuck is there that stupid song about him? If no one cares, who wrote the song?” I said, “Well, who said nobody cares?” Thankfully, his parents called him as conversations such as that one can become tedious.
The same limo company that drove me to the airport three days ago was here to drive me home. I wonder how much all this cost? Anyway, the driver was a handsome, young, light-skinned African American who reminded me of Alexander, so I had another boner in my pants looking at the side of his face. Yeah, thinking about Alexander made me run my fingers through my hair, and I needed a haircut before leaving for the city and the University of Pennsylvania.
That night, my parents had many questions about Christain, and I was able to truthfully report only good things about him, minus him being gay and drinking way too much. I kept that info secret, along with similar info about myself.
Frankie was still in Wildwood, but he’ll call me when he gets back sometime on Saturday. I can’t wait to hear if he dropped the bomb on Darleen yet, and I want to give him the money for Fallon, but I was not going to tell him about the West Coast mob getting someone to “step on Fallon a little,” whatever that might mean.
I’m getting ready for my weekly Saturday night date with Pattie. I’m going to tell her about how long-distance relationships don’t work, and yadda, yadda, yadda. It’s been fun, have a great life, blah, blah, blah. One last movie with her, one last make-out with her, and one last awkward avoiding sex with her. There is always the possibility I’ll run into Myers while I’m picking up Pattie, and I have no idea what to expect from that hot tamale. There’s never a dull moment around him.
Pattie answers the door, wearing a bathrobe with her hair still in these big rollers and no make-up. “Oh, Oliver, why are you always on time? I’m way behind as usual, but Myers needs your help, so please do that, and I’ll finish getting ready.” I nod, unsure if there was a message in all that. I can’t read girls, so I take what they say at face value.
Off she goes wiggling her ass like maybe she has a cramp in one of her buttocks. I head downstairs wondering what this little prick, Myers, has conjured up for me this time. I shake my head in the basement and mumble, “Where are you, Myers?” From the other side of the furnace, I hear, “Over here, Oliver.” Walking over, I see it’s a partially finished recreation room. Myers is in the half bath washing his hands.
I remember running into him in his boy prostitute outfit. I sarcastically asked, “Are you going to call me any more insulting names, Myers?” He had on his phony, sincere expression, “No, I’m really sorry about that, Oliver. I didn’t mean any of those things I said about you. How was the bachelor party?”
We made small talk for a minute as he dried his hands. Myers was being as nice as he could be, looking in the mirror, messing with his short hair, and mumbling, “Take a look at this, Oliver.” Stepping into the small bathroom and looking around, I said, “Look at what?” Myers took my hands in his and held hands with me while he said, “I’m not wearing any make-up, Oliver, just like you told me.”
I said, “That’s nice; you’re a hot-looking Myers; you don’t need ladies’ stuff on your face.” For some reason, he continued to hold my hands, mumbling, “So, would you do me in here? Ah, as I said, I’m sorry I was such a jackass the last time I saw you.” My breath caught, and all I could do now was another one of my world-famous fake coughs. He caught me off guard again. I was thrown off because, for one thing, I love holding hands with a boy. I’ve always felt it was ultra daring and sexy, but how did Myers know that? He pulled me to him, and I smelled his teen BO again. I thought, “Fuck. That’s sexy too!” And it was. Maybe I’m the only one on the planet who would think so, but I don’t care. Myer’s BO is yummy hot.
He let go of my hands, wrapped his arms around me, and laid the side of his face on my shoulder. His body odor enveloped me, and without thinking, I put my arms around his neck to hug him back. He said, “You make me so hot, Oliver. Nobody else affects me like you do. Why is that, do you think?” I told him I had no fucking idea, but it was difficult getting the words out because he had me so aroused I felt dizzy. Every move of his arms generated a puff of his fresh teen boy BO, and I gulped, realizing I was rubbing my cheek against the back of Myer’s head in an affectionate way. He’d just gotten his back-to-school haircut, which was short. “Please do me a quickie, Oliver.” I reminded myself that I’m supposed to act in situations like this.
I hesitated only a second and said, “Do you have a condom?” He let go of me immediately and dropped his nylon basketball shorts, and I noticed he had a nice boner sticking out of a dark patch of pubic hairs. He had a condom packet in his hand, mumbling, “You better take off those cargo shorts, Oliver, or you’ll get lube on them.”
Myers must have been pretty sure I’d come across. As suggested, I took off my cargo shorts and jockey underwear. Myers turned around and bent forward a little, saying, “I can’t wait to feel you inside me, Oliver.” I told him to take off his T-shirt, too. He immediately pulled it over his head, and now I could smell those armpits. Should I tell him about deodorant?
My cock was wicked hard. With the condom in place, I pushed my cock between Myer’s buttocks cheeks, looking for his hole. Myers’ ass is chubby but firm. I didn’t mind it at all. I found his anus and humped the head of my cock passed his sphincter muscle and continued right on up his rectum until my pubes were squeezed tight against that chubby, firm ass of his. Felt good.
He’s got a nice body. Myers grunted and then moaned. After waiting a few seconds, I started pulling back slowly, and Myers let out a long breath he’d been holding from the initial pain of insertion, but he was fine now. He gasped, then said, “Holy shit, Oliver. Your dick feels good inside me.” I put my arms around his bare chest and pulled him up straight, his back against my chest. Without thinking about doing it, I started giving him a hickey on the side of his neck as I lazily humped in and out of his ass. He squirmed and then moaned again as I sucked and tongued the same spot on his neck repeatedly. Myers continued his moaning and began pushing his chubby ass back into me with each of my humps. I never stopped the hickey activity the entire fuck.
Myers began to whimper and moan my name. His head lulled back against my face, and his dark, short hair added to the erotic sense. Myers asked for a quickie, but I don’t believe he had this quick in mind; I was almost ready to blow my load already. He’d begun a fairly fast jerk off as soon as I started with the hickey. His reflection in the mirror showed a sexy-looking, looking contended with his eyes closed, licking his puffy lips.
In less than four minutes, I fired cum into that condom, and right after that Myers splattered the mirror with his cum, a big splat with a lot of spray. Then another shot, along with a strained squeal from Myers. The BO was so heavy by then that I could almost see it floating around us. For a few seconds, I thought I’d forgotten how to breathe. My climax was so drastic everything went black for a second. Fuck! Awesome climax. I stopped sucking his neck when I filled up that condom. And, wow, I’ve never seen a bigger hickey on anybody’s neck than this one I’d just given Myers.
He was oblivious to the hickey but ecstatic about his climax, and he wouldn’t stop stroking himself. He said he’d rarely climaxed that hard. He’d shot a hell of a lot of cum on that mirror. He’d had enough of his hand-job, and wet a hand towel with some warm water while I slipped off the condom and flushed it down the toilet. Myers began washing my crotch area with one hand while he used toilet paper to wipe at the lube leaking out of his hole with the other.
I’m not going to break up with Pattie after all. With her as my girlfriend, I’ll have a legitimate excuse to see Myers. He said, “Splash some cold water on your face. You’re flush and disheveled. We’ll tell her we’ve been lifting some heavy shit down here.”
Myers goes to his room, and Pattie finds me sitting in the family room smiling. She smiles and asks, “Should we go now. I’m sorry I’m late and aren’t you looking extra cute, Oliver.” Why is he so sexy and Pattie’s so…not. I made sure to put on a good show for her after the movies. I wanted to make sure she’d be up for the long distant relationship. She thought I was so hot for her body by the time I was done. For a second there I was afraid she was going to get out of her clothes and then it would have been all over for me. A female body is a huge turn-off and seeing it in the flesh might cause me to lose my lunch. At one point she said, “Hold it right there you, mister horny boy, you. We’re going no further. You got me wet down there already.”
I got home before midnight and there was a note that a Frank Nerney had called and I should call him any time before midnight. I speed dialed right away and he picked up on the first ring. “Oliver, hi!”
Frankie was excited telling me that he’d heard earlier tonight that Fallon and his two muscle men spent Thursday night in the hospital. The father of one of Frankie’s cousins is a detective on the police force and he said it looked like gang related violence. Two unknown guys attacked Fallon and the two thugs who visited Frankie. It was at the race track when they were in the lavatory. I didn’t want to involve my brother in any way and Frankie didn’t have any need to know anyhow.
In wonder, Frankie said, “And that’s not even the best part. Two hours ago, Fallon left an email message that I had already worked off and/or paid back the two-thousand-dollar debt. And he said I’m never to contact him again for any fucking reason, EVER! Haha, I can’t believe it! What do you think, Oliver?” I smile, feeling fabulous, and say, “I’m stunned, Frankie, but obviously, do what he said.” Frankie said, “I prayed for the first time since sixth grade that a miracle would get me out of this mess, and now I need to go to church. Cam you believe that. Do you think I need to go?”
Hahaha. Now that he’s got what he prayed for, he wants to renege on the promise he made to God! I mumble, “I’d go, if I were you.” We talk about me driving to see him tomorrow. He said we had to talk about him and me, plus he’d fill me in on the Darleen situation as well. After we said good night, trying to rationalize what to do with the two thousand dollars. Will Christain be insulted if I send it back? He seemed very happy to be able to help me out by helping my friend out. Hmmm?
Sunday, feeling as good as I can ever remembering feeling, I headed out for Frankie’s place, about an hour’s drive. With the top down and beautiful weather, listening to hot tunes on the radio, I was thinking about all sorts of things, marveling at how much my life has changed in the last year, and especially the last six months. My confidence level has spiked way up there as compared to a year ago. Not quite from a mouse to a lion but, but at least, I’m no mouse anymore. Christobal got me started on this wonderful roll I’ve been on and, oh boy, I was so naive back then, and I guess I still am in some ways, but not in all the ways I use to be.
There is no denying that I give off some sort of signal that I’m a gay, and I must be attractive enough that they approach me and, I’m lucky they do because I haven’t been the one to initiate a single relationship with a guy, or a girl either, for that matter. My one and only girlfriend, Pattie, came on to me and invited me to go on that first date. Every relationship I’ve ever was initiated by the other person. I don’t know what it all means, if anything.
Frankie isn’t going to church this morning; maybe he’ll start going next week. His parents always attend an eleven o’clock church service and then have lunch at the Town Diner. I’ll get to his house at eleven and we’ll have a couple of hours to, ‘sort things out.’
I didn’t like the sound of that ‘sort things out’ comment, but I’m trying to stay optimistic and not look for things that could go wrong. I knew Frankie would be in his back yard and after my last visit I now know the way around the tall hedges to the secret back yard entrance. I broke through the hedges right on time with a smile on my face. Hell, I was proud of how I got help eliminating Frankie’s gangster problem.
Frankie was wearing only a pair of old flimsy pajamas that were now too small for him, and flip flops. The shirt portion of the pajamas was unbuttoned all the way down and hung open on Frankie like a long-sleeved vest. His pink skinny hairless chest and his pink flat hairless belly made my mouth water. I wanted to lick him there. I wasn’t dressed much better, wearing basketball shorts made out of a cheap nylon material, with a mesh jock so I didn’t have on underpants. Sandals, and a thin cotton, sleeveless T-shirt competed my clothing choice for today.
Frankie was holding the sports section of the Sunday newspaper, standing next to a small lawn chair that was one of four around a table with an open umbrella over it. Odd because Frankie never stood if there was a sit-down option. Hmmm?. On the table next to his eye glasses was an empty plate and a half full glass of orange juice. Biting my lower lip, I stared at him for a minute. I couldn’t help myself because, for me, there’s something slightly magical about Frankie. I quietly walked up behind him and was going to scare him but, at the last second, I didn’t. He might think it was Fallon or his men going back on their word and faint.
Instead, I did a quiet version of my fake cough and he turned around with that smile that gives me a boner. “I didn’t hear you, Oliver.” Frankie gave me his hug, and a quick kiss. I’d bought us Dunkin’ iced coffees and bagels with cream cheese. “Yum”, said Frankie, who is always hungry. We set the food on the umbrella table and sat down. The only other lawn furniture in his back yard was that chaise lounge with the soft looking cushions that Frankie had been laying on the other time I was here. I spread some cream cheese from the little take-out container on a half a bagel and asked Frankie about his injuries and was happy to hear they were pretty much healed. He wanted to know all about my Seattle trip. I kept the details involving Christian vague and concentrated on the first-class airplane trip and the limo rides.
Then I told a couple of jokes I remembered Rocky telling us guys the week Frankie was out. Frankie laughed some, but he wasn’t acting like his old self. I hoped we’d gotten all Frankie’s troubles taken care of by now. After fifteen minutes, in a flat tone of voice, he said, “You’ll never guess what.” Oh no!
I looked at him and raised my eyebrows and nodded my head for him to go on. He told me that the third day of their Wildwood vacation Darleen told him she wanted to have a talk with him. She’d beat him to it, he said. Darleen told him she’d noticed that he didn’t seem to feel the way about her that he used to and what’s up with that? For once, Frankie, to his credit, didn’t back-down. He told her that she was right, he’d lost that loving feeling. She said that if he had lost the loving feeling then so had she, and it’s his loss. I expected bad news of some sort. Now I need to concentrated on not smiling or worse, laughing out loud because he wasn’t seeming excited or happy. He seemed kind of melancholy about it.
Yeah, but that’s just like him though. He’s feeling sorry for her. He told me he feels he’d let Darleen down. “You know, Oliver, she said I changed when , to quote her, ‘that know-ot-all Oliver started brainwashing my mind.” she said to him that he started changing when that “Know-it-all Oliver” showed up.” I asked, “Is that how you see it, Frankie?”
“Yes, but I think it was a good thing because she was the one brainwashing my mind.”
I was proud of myself, but didn’t say anything to Frankie. I did my little encouraging head nod and listened. Frankie said she felt I was a bad influence on him and I was probably the reason Frankie had lost interest in her, but she didn’t see what there was to do about it now; what was done was done. Darleen finished by telling Frankie they were free to explore other relationships. I wanted to say, NO SHIT! I didn’t, though.
He told me that, naturally, her parents were cool toward him from then on, which was an awkward situation the last week in Wildwood. I tried to give Frankie a hug, but he pulled away, saying, “I’m sorry, but that’s another thing, Oliver. I want to be best friends with you, I don’t want to be gay. I told you that before, dude.” I was stunned again! He had tears in his eyes, asking, “Can’t we just be best friends without being gay? ”
He’s too smart to think he can be, or not be gay because that’s what you want at the moment. He took a long drink of his iced coffee, and then said. “I think that’s what Darleen was implying is that you and me are gay. I don’t want people saying that about me. She might spread it all over the West Chester University campus. I know a lot of guys there. None of them are gay!” He was all worked-up, but I still didn’t say anything. Frankie drank more iced coffee. I did my fake cough to hide my irritation and then we were both quiet.
He wouldn’t look at me. I waited him out, and after a minute I heard Frankie giggle, staring at me with a wry grin, asking, “Would you settle on spit-swapping best friends, Oliver? We’re like brothers, man. We don’t have to be gay. Do we?”
He was trying to lighten the moment and, fuck, he is so cute; beautiful actually. I said, “Maybe we don’t need to act on our gay tendencies, but let me tell you some things you apparently don’t know. Come on over to the lounge chair with me. No gay stuff, don’t be scared Frankie. Come on now, dude.”
Frankie wanted to make-up and he wanted us to stay best buds. I knew that and I knew he’d give in and be with me on the lounge chair, which he did. We weren’t touching, but I was sort of on my side looking at him while I talked. He listened looking straight ahead with a neutral expression. I said, “Ya know I’m gay because I told you I was. That doesn’t mean you are, or that you have to be. You are the only one who knows about your sexuality for sure.’
I inched in a little closer to his pajama-clad, skinny, tight body. Close enough to smell his natural scent, and say, “But, there are reasons I like being gay and here’s one of them. Being gay I get to openly admire your bright red hair. I get to tell you that each strain is like a short, thin piece of silk that goes perfectly with the rest of you.”
Looking at me from the corners of his eyes, Frankie gave me a smart-ass smirk. I ignored it; then, running my fingers back and forth over the top of his flat-top fade haircut, I said, “Your hair feels like soft, thick, velvet. and it looks so cool on you. I slid my right arm around his neck and pulled his head next to mine. Frankie rolled his eyes to the side, and I said, “Best friends do this.” I put my face against the side of his face and said, “See, as a gay best friend I get to do things like this, because you’re accommodating your best friend who, unfortunately, is gay.”
He knew I was being goofy, giving a goofy lecture because we’d been goofy with each other all summer. I could feel his body relax against me. I didn’t have a plan; I just wanted some bodily contact with him, and see how emphatic he was about resisting his gay urges. His pajama top wasn’t buttoned and his whole front torso was exposed so I lightly touched his chest with the fingers of my left hand as I said, “See here Frankie, this is another thing a straight boy couldn’t do no matter how much he wanted to.”
With that I massaged his nipples one by one and then rubbed lightly down to his right hip, just above his crotch area. Then gently tickled across his belly below his belly button. Hesitating for a second, I see Frankie holding his breath, and then I pushed my hand under his PJ’s waistband and rubbing around Frankie’s semi-hard penis. Massaging around there I said, “This feels good, right? It’s another benefit of having a gay best friend. Frankie sucked his lips against his front teeth and took in a long breath.
I kissed the side of his forehead and took in a long breath of my own. My dick was semi-hard as I kissed him again lower on his face. Frankie gasped and opened his mouth and we did a long, slow, deep, tongue involved kiss. We were off to the races then. The two of us knew what we liked and it might seem messy to a lot of guys, but we liked clear, bubbly saliva. We smeared it all around our mouths and then began spreading it out, mixing our saliva together until our faces were slippery and we’d rub our noses back and forth against one another, our tongues out so each pass allowed our tongues to press and lick together.
We began grunting with the effort of getting each other hotter and hotter and our cocks harder and harder. Both of us with rock hard cocks, and I know that because I could feel mine and I had Frankies’ in my fist. Frankie had put his arm around my neck and was holding on for dear life as we kissed and licked each other’s face. We were rustling around on the chaise lounge, and along the way my flimsy shorts slipped past my skinny hips. I took my hand off Frankie’s boner and reached back to help my left leg get out of the shorts, and I was naked from the waist down.
Breathing noisily, the sides of our faces pressed tightly together, my arm around Frankie’s neck and his arm around mine. Deep breathing, hearts pounding, sweat dripping mixing with our spit. Catching my breath, I swung my left leg over Frankie’s hips, straddling him on his belly with my bare ass on his stomach just in front of the head of his dripping, hard boner. I reached under to adjust my boner which was squeezed between us, just below Frankie’s nipples. Our faces together again.
Looking into his eyes for some kind of okay to proceed, Frankie, in a strained voice said, “I can barely breath, Oliver. Don’t move, though, it’s not you sitting on me, I like that.” He gasped in a shuddering inhale and said, “It’s that I get so excited when we do our spit swapping my breathing gets fucked-up. Give me a minute.”
I could use a minute myself; then, when Frankie started playing with the hair on the back of my head I knew he had his breathing back under control so I picked my head up off his chest and we kissed eagerly and held our lips together and sucked and lapped each other’s tongue. Oh, how wonderful it feels to have precum drool out of my cock. I reached behind and positioned Frankie’s wet cock head at my anus and held it there by pushing back on it slightly. Frankie murmurs, “No, Oliver, don’t.”
With the side of my forehead against Frankie’s cheek, it was so intimate I pushed back on his boner some more and it slowly opened my asshole and then the wet, throbbing head of his cock popped inside me and we both moaned, “Ohh, aahh.”
Frankie said again, “Don’t Oliver.” Biting my lip, then licking my lip so I could speak, I said, “Please Frankie…..I love you.” I could feel him moving his head back and forth, his chin moved against my forehead. His cock had slipped at least two inches up my ass. Frankie said, “Oh my God,” and he couldn’t stop himself from humping his hips and driving his boner up another two inches. He went, “Mmmm…!’ and he humped it inside me the full seven inches, maybe a little more by now. I felt the sperm churning and getting hot in my balls, and the head of my boner expanding. I pulled off his boner almost all the way before sitting back on it and Frankie again said, “Oh ,my god,” and wrapped his arms tightly around my shoulders. “Just stay still, Oliver,” and, holding me motionless against him, he fucked me in a furious way.
Long humping strokes up inside me as fast as he could hump his hips in and out of my sweaty, slippery hole. Hump after hump and grunt after grunt until my sperm exploded out of my nuts and up my cock to spew out between our bodies, soaking another of my T-shirts. Frankie followed with a shrill sound and dug his fingernails into my shoulders as I felt the sharp stab of his hot, gushing cum shot inside me and I felt the wetness as Frankie’s teenage cum rolled from my rectum to drool down my thighs. Simply an explosion of sensation all around my groin, thigh and belly; too many to recognize all of them; a cacophony of sexual vibrations, pleasure streaking all over me. Frankie continued to pump my asshole until his soft cock slipped out smearing more cum on my ass and thighs.
We breathed heavily for a while and I began to worry. He had said “No!” When he didn’t say anything after his climax, I thought I better, so I said, “I’m sorry, Frankie. I heard you say no, but I couldn’t stop myself.” To my amazement Frankie kissed the side of my face and told me he’d only said “no” because he wasn’t positive that he was safe. Fallon had made Frankie participate in sexual acts with him and Frankie was almost positive Fallon always used protection, although he wasn’t positive. He hadn’t wanted to take the chance of infecting me with something.
When I started to ask what sort of things, he told me to drop the subject. Then he said, “Why didn’t you tell me you wanted me to fuck you? I’ll give you a good fucking when you need it. Better me than some pervert off the street. Humping you doesn’t make be gay, and neither does letting you suck me off did. I’m doing the guy part, and you’re doing the, um, other part. As you said, Oliver, you’re gay. I expected you’d want gay sex and as your best friend, I’ll provide it so that you don’t go to the streets or whatever. I’ll look out for you. That’s all, though. We’re not gay boyfriends as you’d like. I’m a straight guy.”
What a preposterous rationalization of not being gay! I love it!
Still, there were so many things wrong with his thinking that I wouldn’t know where to begin listing them, but did he say he would fuck me if I needed that? We can deal with his fucked-up logic another time. Darleen is out of the picture and Frankie and I are still best buddies; me gay and his as straight sexually as a May pole. Fine, that’s more than good enough for now, and much better than I’d have dreamed possible a half hour ago. We lay together on the chaise lounge for quite some time talking and making plans for getting together at our respective schools. Frankie’s cum had dried around my hole and down both sides of my thighs. It felt stiff there. Ah, what bliss!
My cum was still damp on my T-shirt which didn’t feel fine, but who’s complaining. Frankie told me he’d never swap spit with another boy and he never did it with Darleen, either. He felt his lack of hetero sex with Darleen was a primary reason he fell into the spit swapping sessions with me and the other things that occasionally happened between us, too.
I checked him a few times, squinting to see if he was breaking my balls with his convoluted logic, and caught his suppressed grin. There is no way to know how much he believes from all his double-talk because Frankie’s good at putting me on. He can be so convincing at first and makes me believe him about some outlandish theory, then he keeps embellishing the premise until I catch on that he’s teasing. Frankie went on and on as I lay first on top of him and then tightly next to him.
Now that I knew he didn’t believe all that crap he was saying I was having the best time. I loved him so much it was silly. He talked about how much he loved girls and this and that, and I nodded, occasionally stroking his cock. Frankie didn’t appear to mind me being practically naked until we heard a car door slam. “Oh fuck, Oliver, they’re back. Time really flies, don’t it?” I got my pants back on as Frankie went inside for something. It’s occurring to me that, after more than two months of mostly seeing Frankie five or six days a week, for eight hours or more hours a day, I was only going to get to see him once in a while, for a few hours if I’m lucky.
When I say goodbye to him today, that’s it for at least two weeks, maybe longer. He came back with a couple of Snapple bottles and we drank them in the garage smoking a cigarette together. He sadly told me he had to go with his folks visiting his grandparent in a few minutes. I said, “I’m going to miss you something terrible, Frankie.” He said, “Me too.” I mumbled, “Would you do your gay best friend who is playing the girl part another favor and fuck me one more time?” Frankie said, “You broads are all alike. It’s easy for you; you don’t need to do anything but lay there. Us macho, straight guys need to get hard-ons and do all the work.”
Frankie did finally fuck me, both of us blowing hot cum loads, and I held onto him when we were all climaxed-out and felt my eyes tearing up. I didn’t know it was possible to love somebody this much. He held onto me too and rocked slowly back and forth. Frankie had my head wrapped up in his arms and he mumbled something into the top of my head. I’m pretty sure it was, “I love you too, Oliver.” I did hear him say, “I’ve got to go Oliver. Are you all right?”
I guess I was crying; I have a history of that sort of thing. I wiped my eyes with the back of my arm and said, “Sorry about that.” he said, “I feel like crying too.” He touched my arm, starting to say something, but shook his head and murmured, “Bye, Oliver,” and left the garage. I waited a few minutes and then went through the hedges to my car. Driving home I tried to sort it all out, but we had mixed in so much joking around in between the serious talk it was hard to know what was what.
Since the first day I met Frankie, right up till today, I’m only sure of one thing, and it’s how I feel about him. I’m glad I never had a doubt about myself being gay. Makes it easier. It one of the few things in life I got right.
Tomorrow, I begin college. Getting off to a good start is important. So is staying connected with Frankie. I’m curious about reestablishing a relationship with Cristobal, seeing if the fire still burns there. I intended to call Alexander, and I will because I’m anxious to have some noncommitment-type sexy playtime with him. And I sure would like to run into Ryjohn again. My life has exploded was stagnant for years, then it exploded after Cristobal set me in motion, and it’s been a thrill ride. Now college!
I still miss Tyler, though.
THE END
Next: Further Travels Of Oliver