Chapter Twelve
Looking at Chubby's note saying he's spending the night at Ricky's house made me wonder, can this be what I think it is? Chubby wrote, "Ricky wants me to sleep with him," then modified that to spend the night at his place.
Thinking about it logically, there are long odds against Ricky being gay. Supposedly, almost ninety percent of males in the world are heterosexual. That's probably a low figure, but still. And what proof, exactly, do I have that Ricky and Chubby are doing anything gay together? There's no proof; it's just an assumption from when I saw Chubby getting out of Ricky's SUV, wiping his lips, and adjusting his pants, and me assuming things from what Chubby says. That's my total reason for thinking that they're screwing around like two gay sex maniacs.
Sticking with reality for a minute, it's not out of the realm of possibilities that Chubby's gay or bi or has some homosexual leanings. I've been with him almost daily, and certain things lead me to think Chubby will likely fall into one of those categories. That macho, asshole Ricky, doesn't seem gay from a percentage perspective, and it doesn't seem likely from the perspective of what I know about him, either.
So, why don't I ask Chubby straight out? Well, he's not here, so I can't ask him, but it makes me feel a little better knowing that percentage-wise and common sense-wise, the two of them are unlikely to be sexually involved, which is a swell thought, but tonight's Saturday night and I'm stuck here home alone. It seems like it was long ago that I was feeling super good from my first three-way gay-sex marathon. It was very intense, and surprisingly, looking back on it, I realize that maybe the best part was making out with both of them. Yeah, and I never thought I'd make out with a guy.
Carl's roommate, Larry, was hot. He was not hot looking, but he had a hot body, and he was a hot kisser, and he fucked me well, too. Yeah, but fat Carl is still the king where fucking is concerned, and even Larry agrees with that. Carl can get me squirming and squealing and feeling like I'm the hottest, sexiest guy in town. And he's made me change my mind about making out. Carl has brought me a long way in experimenting with gay sex, and I'm becoming seriously attached to Carl Denton. Wouldn't it be great if he lost that weight and took me as his boyfriend?
Chubby went to the carnival tonight with his new friends, so why don't I ask Carl out? It could be a gay date taking him to the carnival. He said he was busy tonight, but maybe he isn't. Wouldn't it shock Chubby to see me there with my new friend? Chubby already knows about my first new friend, Robby Dickers, so it'd be like I was suddenly popular. I'm calling Carl right now.
Carl's dad answered on the fifth ring, and I said, "Sorry to bother you again, Mr. Denton, but is Carl available?" He mumbled to someone, "It's that same boy calling for Carl again. What does this kid want to do, move in with us?" Then he yelled, "Carl, phone!"
Dammit! I need Carl's cell phone, not the landline! Making a face, I thought, "No wonder Carl acts like a dick sometimes. He gets it from his father. Carl doesn't say hello; he starts with, "Look, enough is enough. It hasn't been but three hours since I left you. What do you intend to do now, stalk me?" I'm like, "What the...?" My eyes are wide open and stinging. I'm holding the cell phone away from my ear because I can't believe that I'm hearing this kind of shit after the three of us had such a tremendous sexy afternoon together. And now he talks to me like this?
He was still blathering in a superior manner, saying, "I've already invited you to my graduation party; can't you even wait two days to see me again? I know you got the hots for me now, and Larry warned me you'd be following me around like my puppy dog. I'm damn disappointed in you." My face was red and hot and sweaty; this was way too much, so I yelled into my cell phone, "I only called to ask if you wanted to go to the Franklin carnival with me but fuck you! And fuck Larry too! I don't want to go with either of you now. And I'm not going to your stupid graduation party either!" Then, I slammed my cell phone shut, hoping I didn't break it.
It wasn't broken because ten seconds later it rang and the caller ID showed Dentons. My face is still red, my heart is beating fast, and I'm sweating. I'm mad, too! I shut off the phone, yelling into my empty house, "I'm not some dork he can treat like that! That fat fuck Carl can't dump on me like that." Throwing the phone onto my bed, I grabbed my Marlboro Lights and went out for a walk. I was steaming mad, muttering to myself, " When did I turn into someone who begs a fat fuck like Carl to be my friend. Never! That's when!"
My fingers were shaky while lighting my cigarette. I'm still fuming, muttering, "And fuck Chubby and his queer boyfriend, Rickie, too!" After walking a few blocks and taking deep inhales from my cigarette, I began to feel dizzy, and the rage slowly lifted from me. Then, I almost laughed at myself. Where did this wicked temper I've developed lately come from? I'm dangerous! Yeah, that's right, don't fucking mess with me because I'm a badass! Not really...
Walking, I shook my head at myself because I knew this wasn't my normal behavior, but since that fight with the Chavez brothers, things have changed so much that I hardly know what or who I am anymore. Feeling calmer now, I sat on a low brick wall in front of a small strip mall and thought about what an ass I'd made of myself on the phone. Why hadn't I just calmly explained myself and corrected Carl's misunderstanding about my wanting him to fuck me again? I can hardly believe that egomaniac, though. He actually thought I was calling to get him to fuck me again only three hours after our sex marathon! Come on! No, he's too intelligent to think that's why I called. I'll bet he feels as bad about what he said to me as I do about what I yelled at him. We mean something special to each other. Carl's been a true mentor to me and really helpful, too. Oh, man! I feel bad about the way I yelled at him.
Well, that being said, there are still practical matters to consider. For example, I was hungry, which made me think of pizza. I like Bertucci's Brick Oven pizza, and Bertucci's was within walking distance, so I headed that way. Of course, the thought of eating it there alone never entered my mind. I'm much too self-conscious for that. I'll get take-out.
Later, when I got home with my small take-out cheese pizza, I began thinking about this coming Monday and how I'd blown off that party at Carl's. I wanted to go to the party and see Carl and Larry. How hot was that make-out with Larry and Carl, especially Larry's make-out? Carl fucks best, and Larry makes out best, but I've blown the chance for another threesome by having that childish outburst on the phone. Dammit!
The first thing I did right after ripping off a slice of pizza was check my cell phone. Two missed calls. The first one I already knew about. Well, I knew who placed the call, but what would Carl say? He probably wanted to scream, "Fuck you too!" I was nervous about hearing this second missed call, but I punched up the missed call and heard Carl's voice. He sounded calm, "Hi there, Dylan. I know you're there because you just slammed the phone off in my ear. Heh-heh, it's alright. I'm sorry I yelled at you. My old man was pissed because we've been getting too many robocalls, and it seems it's always him who answers, and mostly he's always pissed off about something anyway. The calls aren't just from you, but Larry's main squeeze and roommate, Willie, from prep school, has been calling for him here a lot, too."
I'm thinking, so Larry has a boyfriend. Never mind that, though. I was beginning to feel good about the way Carl was sucking up to me in this phone call. It's a good thing, too, because I'm not some dork. Carl's message continued, "So, Dylan, buddy, I know you like me fucking you, but come on, dude, it's only been a few hours. Let's give it a little rest, okay? We'll both forget that the last phone call ever happened, and you just came over on Monday as we planned. I promise to take care of you because you're so cute, hot, and sexy. Um, don't call back; just be here Monday. I'm glad you've got the hots for me. I'll have you moaning out my name again, okay?" He hung up the correct way after saying goodbye. Not like me, slamming the phone shut mid-word.
That couldn't have worked out any better for me and made me ponder whether I have the hots for him. When I second-guessed myself about blowing off the party, it was Larry and his make-out that I thought about just as much as I thought about Carl fucking me. Hell, I'm so mixed up anymore; I don't know what I'm doing half the time. You know, I think maybe I do have a crush on Carl. Even though I acted childish, he was so mature with this mess, and I admire that.
Thinking about Carl and the way he fucked me and the hot way he gave me this hickey that's still stinging like mad. Still, I love it. I go to the mirror over the sofa, pull off the big Band-Aid, and look at my hickey. God, that's so sexy-looking! And Carl fucking me as he sucked this hickey on my neck is so hot!! I'm grabbing my crotch, thinking about all that. Yeah, I have a crush on Carl. I'm going to officially ask him to be my boyfriend.
Visualizing Carl's face, he's handsome but not what you'd call cute. He fucks so good, too!. Jeez, can I think about something else for once? I must be the world's biggest sex fiend. It's funny, considering I didn't even know I was gay until two months ago. Then, returning to listen to Carl's message again, I notice another missed call. Robby Dickers asked if I wanted to go with him and Shaun Reilly to the carnival. Is every kid in Framingham going to the carnival tonight? Goddamn, this is great. I hurriedly called Robby back, and his brother, Dodger, answered the phone. "Dodger, this is Dylan Newman. Can I talk to Robby?" Dodger goes, "Sorry you missed him, Dylan; he left fifteen minutes ago for the carnival with Shaun."
I mutter, "Damn, I was out and... um, never mind. Tell him I called," Dodger says, "Sure, but how about coming over here for a swim with me? I hate amusement rides. I get sick to my stomach twirling around on them, so I didn't want to go. But you and I can have some real fun here. Nobody's home but poor little lonely me."
It was tempting, but I begged off because I'd have to walk, and it's at least a twenty-minute walk. And even worse, coming back home alone in the dark with the Chavez brothers hovering around is always a concern. They said they weren't through with us for getting the cops involved. "Sorry, Dodger, I'd love to, dude, but it doesn't make much sense without a ride to and from." He nagged, saying the pool was heated, so even though it was cool tonight, we could swim, water wrestle, and even do some nut crunches. Have a blast. Come on!"
He's gotta be kidding about the nut crunchers. He's too old to be doing that. It's something we boys used to do on the school bus when we were thirteen or so, grabbing each other's crotch and trying to squeeze each other's nuts. Hurt like a bitch too! Sometimes you got the guy's dick, and sometimes the dick was hard, and you'd yell, "Homo, Charles is a homo. He's got a boner from nut crunching." The bus driver would eventually pull over to the side of the road and scream louder than we were screaming, "Shut the fuck up, you savages! You're like wild animals! We're not moving till you all shut up and get in your seats." Oh, those fond memories of early adolescence. Of course, maybe Dodger wasn't just kidding and really wanted to water wrestle and do nut crunchers in the pool. Yipes!
Yeah, that would be fun with that little hottie, but Carl and Larry pretty much fucked my horniness out of me this afternoon, and the walk to and from Dodger's was simply too much. I finally convinced Dodger I'd take a rain check, and he said, "Okay, but Robby will probably be here next time, and it'd be more fun if it is just the two of us."
What? I can add that to my list of things I'm wondering about. Is Dodger gay, and does he somehow know I am? Give me a break! Everyone can't be gay, and everyone can't possibly know that I am. After eating the rest of the pizza, I stopped thinking about all that and spent the rest of the evening channel-surfing Comcast cable TV. Not the most fun I ever had, but I landed a movie on cable called "L.I.E." Long Island Expressway, and it was scary and sexy at the same time about a pedophile and mixed-up teens. A couple of wicked cute young teens, too. After the movie, I went to bed.
The next morning, true to his word, Chubby was in my bedroom, waking me up to start our Sunday breakfast routine. He looked cute, and before going to sleep last night, I'd decided that Chubby wasn't doing anything sexy with Ricky. If he were, he'd never have left that thing about Ricky insisting he sleep with him in the note. Chubby would have scratched it out or started a new note. That's where I'm at with that at the moment—my yearning to lie naked in bed with Chubby, smelling and feeling his fantastic body, is still on my mind. Oh, let me add making out with Chubby to my fantasy. For the last month or so, I have loved to stare at him and fantasize. When we were younger, he used to stare at me, and now I stare at him.
Chub and I ran the four-mile run after breakfast, went to a Sunday movie matinee at the Multiplex, and ate dinner together at my place with our Moms. After dessert, Tris' peach cobbler with Bryers French vanilla ice cream, we watched a Sunday night baseball game featuring who else but the Red Sox. I bumped against him, so Chubby asked, "What is it, Dylan?" Instead of saying I love you, Chubby, I asked him if he'd do my foot massage. He sucked on his lips a second contemplating it before saying, "Yeah, well... er, of course."
See that! He's lost some interest in his foot fetish, maybe growing out of it. Too bad because it feels good. I stared at him as he took off my sneakers and socks, then began his foot fetish ritual that started as a foot massage and quickly slipped into foot licking and toe sucking. I rubbed his short hair, which was growing out finally after that, almost head shaving by Tricky Ricky. I don't have Chubby's foot fetish, but now that I'm so profoundly into Chubby, even his foot fetish thing is hot for me simply because it's Chubby who's doing it. The look of concentration on his face is so fantastic, and he always gives whatever he's doing a hundred percent attention.
He groped himself and sighed and moaned a little, but he had his fill of my feet much quicker than before, and, as I said, I could tell he was losing interest in it. Not totally yet, but I notice the lack of enthusiasm.
The following day, after breakfast, I went outside and only waited two minutes for Chubby to come out. He looked bright-eyed and smiley, and we hugged. Then, we started on a Monday morning school day. After we'd walked six blocks, Chubby lit a Marlboro Light for us to share. He took a drag, passed it to me, and said, "Bees make honey, which is the only natural food made without destroying any other life." He looked at me and lifted his eyebrows, like, "I'll bet you didn't know that." Taking a drag and thinking fast, I had a brainstorm, asking, "Well, what about milk?"
I couldn't think what they destroyed. He made a face, mumbling, "A cow has to eat grass to make milk, right? Grass is a living thing." I say, "Okay, but it's impossible to lick your elbow." He shrugs, "Who the fuck would want to?" I shake my head and grin because beating Chubby in Trivia is tough. He took the last drag and flicked the butt across the street. How does he get it to fly so far?
To tease Chubby and get a big reaction, I squeezed the back of his neck and said, "Kiss me, Chubby." His face gets red as he says real pissed-off like, "I fucking warned you against saying stuff like that out in the open!" swinging his head around to see if someone overheard what I said. Seeing me smirk, he knew I was breaking his balls a little, so he calmed down and said, "Dylan, you can be such a dick sometimes," and he reached over and squeezed my hand as he sometimes does. We talked about last night's Red Sox game the rest of the way to school. There was no mention of our special hug or that kiss I gave him on the side of his head before he left to go to his house last night.
My school day started with me daydreaming about Chubby in homeroom, and then later, in Spanish class, I thought about Carl Denton and his graduation party that afternoon. First, should I go, and if I go, what might happen there, sex-wise? Many people will be at the cook-out, adults lounging around inside the house, too. It will probably be impossible for Carl, Larry, and me to sneak off to fuck. I didn't know what to expect there, but I can't stop thinking about last Saturday afternoon with Carl and his cousin. The memory made my asshole twitch, and then my dick twitched.
Chubby was off doing his window washing, so I walked home alone after school, still trying to decide about Carl's party. It was a lovely day for a cookout, so I'll go, and if it becomes awkward or something, I'll leave. That was settled. Now what? Oh yeah, Carl had said I should wear a tie and look presentable. Who wears a tie to a cookout?
At home, I said "Hi" to my Mom and Tris and told them about the graduation party. They made a little fuss about a Junior like me getting invited to a Senior's graduation party. La dee da!
I took a quick shower, fixed my hair the way Carl combed it after cutting it that time, and brushed my teeth because you never know when a make-out might happen. Lastly, I contemplated a fresh Band-Aid over the hickey Carl gave me, but he said not to cover it, so I won't. It was so sexy when Carl was sucking this hickey on my neck, but it is not too cool now, still...
Mom had ironed me a pair of lightweight khaki slacks while I showered. So, I wore khaki pants with a long-sleeve button-down blue and white striped shirt and a tie with big flowers. Sandals, without socks, of course. Mom said I looked nice, and then she handed me a Hallmark congratulations card to give to Carl with twenty-five dollars in it.
I'd never thought of a gift, but as soon as Mom heard where I was going, she dug up the card from someplace and wrote a check as a graduation present. This party better be good for twenty-five freaking dollars. Mom insisted on driving me so I wouldn't get sweaty from that half-hour walk to Carl's. That was cool, but I insisted she let me out a block down and a block over so no kid would see me getting out of Mommy's car. As soon as I walked around the block, I heard the music. It was a five-piece rock band from the High School. I knew one of the kids in the band, Harvey Barnhart, who played lead guitar, and he always called me 'old man.' He isn't from England, so maybe he called me that because my last name is Newman. Perhaps I'll ask him sometime.
Last Saturday, Carl instructed me to go directly to the backyard, so that's where I went. It was wicked crowded back there, but except for the lead guitar player and Carl's fat sister, I didn't see anyone I knew. Then Susan Kyle, from the school newspaper, came over and said, "Hi, boss. Nice to see you here." She called me boss because Carl got me next year's senior editor job, which is the job he'd had for the last two years. Susan will be a senior reporter. We talked about the newspaper briefly, and then someone called her away, and Carl materialized from the crowd and waved me over. He appeared to be holding court with three adults, none of whom I knew.
Carl and I did a quick version of the buddy, one-arm hug, and back pat when I arrived. He held onto my neck to whisper, "We good?" and I whispered back, "Yeah. I'm sorry for being an ass." The band was loud so that no one could hear our quick words to each other. The man and the woman next to Carl turned out to be Larry's parents, Carl's aunt and uncle, and they were even worse looking than Larry, and they didn't even have hot bodies to compensate for their bad looks. Then, I recognized the other lady in the group. She is Mrs. Ramsey, the newspaper's faculty adviser. Carl introduced me to his aunt and uncle, then said to Mrs. Ramsey, "You know Dylan," he then introduced somebody else to somebody else as Mrs. Ramsey and I talked for a bit about the newspaper, just like Susan and I had. Yawn.
After that, Carl's younger sister attacked me and mussed my hair, the fat bitch! Then Mrs. Denton came over, and Carl introduced me to her. She told me she hoped Mr. Denton hadn't scared me too much on the phone Saturday night, "He gets so grumpy at times, but his bark is much worse than his bite, and you should feel free to call Carl any time blah, blah, blah." By now, I'd been at the party for forty-five minutes and was ready to admit defeat. This party sucked! It was worse than simply boring; it was painful because it's a real mental strain for me to make small talk with people I don't care anything about.
So, admitting defeat, I put the envelope with the gift check in a pile of gifts on a card table and tried to make my way to the back gate. Escaping without attracting attention was my goal. On my way, I finally saw Larry, and he still wasn't cute, but he was talking to someone who was: a young-looking slim boy about my height. I hesitated to gawk at him and then continued on my escape route. I was almost at the gate when Dean Byers materialized out of nowhere to pat me on the back and say, "Yo, Newman, wassup?" I mutter, "Dude," and we do a quick one-arm hug.
Dean sits across from me in the band. Not the kind of band that's playing here at the party, but the school band that plays halftime at football games and so forth. He's a senior, but the Band has a mixture of grades from each class, which is how we wound up together. I play Trumpet, and the same goes for Dean. Band is something good to put on your application to college, or I could happily do without it. He led me to a grill where we had a hamburger and a can of iced tea with lemon. Both were good, and I realized I was hungry. For twenty-five dollars, I might as well eat my fill. Dean drifted away as I returned to the grill for a hot dog and a root beer. Damn, the food from a grill is delicious. I wish we had an outdoor grill at home.
I'm on the last bite of the hot dog, and I hear, "Hi, you're Dylan, right." I look around, and it's the cute kid Larry was talking to earlier. "Yeah, that's me. Sup?" He chuckles and says, "Clever conversation starter." I mutter, "Huh?" He says, "I'm Willie Worthington, Larry's roommate at Summersville Prep. You're Carl's boy, right?" If this kid wasn't so interesting to look at, I might have slugged him. I want to be Carl's boy, but I don't want anyone calling me that. This guy is so interesting-looking, though, I muttered, "Yeah, I'm Carl's boyfriend."
Omigod, I almost got a stiffy saying that out loud to him, so I repeated it. "Yeah, we're boyfriends. How about you; are you gay, Willie?" He says, "You can't tell? Oh, thank you for that. Larry says I'm so faggy I should wear high heels." What? Willie didn't seem gay. I only asked because he asked me. I say, "He's wrong. You don't seem any gayer than the straightest guy in town." As it turns out, Willie was Larry's roommate AND his boyfriend. He said he was Larry's bottom, which, according to my mentor Carl, means he lets Larry fuck him, but he never fucks Larry, which makes me Carl's bottom. Ain't that a great title? Fat Carl's bottom.
Anyway, this Willie-bottom-boy has an innocent, pretty face; not a perfect face like Chubby's, but nice-looking and attractive. The first thing I noticed was his bright brown eyes that always stared right into my eyes, but not aggressively. An innocent tentativeness in his stare almost made me want to reassure him that everything was fine. He has nice-looking, light brown, longish hair, but not as long as Larry's. It was like a seventy's hairstyle, over the ears and collar. Stupid-looking. I suppose you must have longish hair if you go to a private prep school. Willie's hair was wavy, not straight like Larry's; it was fuller and looked okay now that I had given it a second look. I wanted to run my fingers through it. Haha!
He has a longish nose, but it went okay with his slightly longish face and slightly longish head. It's not odd looking at all; it's just longish. It was all nice, went together well, and was interesting. He has a very light complexion, a smiley mouth, and a longish chin that also goes with everything else. He has some freckles and is slim with long arms and legs. I like how he looks.
A horse walks into a bar and orders a beer. The bartender pours the beer, sets it before the horse, and asks, "Why the long face today?"
Willie smiled nicely at me and asked, "Dylan, would you like me to blow you?"
To be continued...
