Chapter Twenty
I just made the bus this morning, and I'm breathing hard after running for it. Then, the swaying movement of this huge bus is, as usual, giving me a boner. I wonder if that happens to other guys. One time, I asked Chubby about that, and he got all flustered, afraid someone heard me say the word boner, and never confirmed or denied him getting a bus-boner. It's fun feeling my penis slowly turn into a boner as the bus stops and pulls out and goes over bumps and all. Fabulous shocks on most modern buses. It feels like we're floating in a thick liquid of some kind.
The regulars on this bus are used to seeing my pants sticking out in front as I walk up the aisle to get off at my stop. It's Monday of my third week on the job, and I'm okay with most things now, even Toby with his reeking cologne and inappropriate touching. And, I should mention, there is no springing a boner from Toby's touching, quite the opposite. He gives me the creeps touching me. There is nothing sexually attractive about anything to do about Toby.
On the bus today, I contemplated Dylan's comment about his cousin, Henry. Something about Henry upset Chubby, and I'm curious what it could be. Chubby has always bragged about how cool his New York cousin was. Henry's twenty years old now, and it's unlikely he's gay simply because ninety percent of guys aren't; plus, Chubby's never mentioned the slightest hint of Henry being anything but straight. Maybe he'd knocked some girl up.
During most of this morning's bus ride, however, I contemplated my boyfriend, Willie. Our sex together was more like what I fantasized gay sex would be. I'd never fantasized about the kind of sex I'd had with Tom, Carl, or Larry because I hadn't heard about dominant sex. Not knowing it existed hampered fantasizing about it. Now I know, though, and I think it's hot sex, but not as hot as boyfriend sex. Willie and I are romantic. I'm guessing that because I don't know, but it seems romantic, so...
Oh, here's my stop. The people standing in the aisle make way for me and my boner. It's a five-block walk to the Dickers facility. I feel very content about my life, and working with Robby makes everything even better. I saw his pick-up truck parked right in front, so Robby was probably waiting for me in the locker room. Right inside the front door, though, I bump into Toby, and he wraps his arm around my shoulders, asking about my day off. Sunday is our only day off as we work six days a week. I told him it was one of the best Sundays of my life, and Toby lisped, "Did ya get any?" and I was like, "Any what, Toby?" He squeezed my shoulder and made a sarcastic chuckle, then headed for the supervisor's office, probably to call his mother.
In the locker room, I say, "Hi, Robby. Beautiful day!" We do the guy hug and pat on the back; then he gives me my coffee. Dunkin' regular with cream and sugar. Peeling back the little drinking tab on top of the coffee container, I ask, "Is Dodger still stoking his dick five or six times a day?" "Nope, somehow he kept his masturbation under enough control to allow those penis sores to heal. Two days is all it took." I mumbled, "I'm happy for him," and sipped the hot coffee. Opening my locker, a piece of paper fell out. "What the...?
I grab the piece of paper as it is floating by, and on it is written one word in capital letters "QUEER." My face reddened as I swung my head around to catch someone looking my way, but no one was. Crumpling the paper, I roughly stuffed it in my locker. Looking around again, I'm sweating, shaky, sitting on the bench, thinking, "Who would do this?" When we kissed, did someone see me with Willie in front of my house? I took another big sip of coffee, my heart pounding because it was scary that someone was mean enough and didn't like me enough to do this to me. Swallowing more coffee, I was desperately trying to think, to make some sense of it. This isn't a friendly joke; It feels nasty.
The college guys are kidding Robby about him and me being the Bobbsey Twins, not paying any attention to me at my locker. Could it be one of them? None of them seems like a prick. They seem like goofy good guys, except for the twin bullshit. I only found out who the Bobbsey Twins were when Mrs. Dickers explained that they were some old-time nursery rhyme or story. The college guys call us that because Robby and I are the same size and age and have the same blond hair. We both look younger than we are with kind of baby faces. They call me cute, which isn't something I take credit for, obviously.
I'm not an idiot. I know I'm good-looking. I see myself every day in the mirror. Taking it as a positive makes sense, though, just like I'd accept it as a positive if I were born intelligent, which I wasn't. I'm average, brain-wise. Work with whatever you have in this life; That's my philosophy. None of that is a reason to put this note in my locker. Should I ask Robby what he thinks? That would be so fucking awkward, though. I hate this. How could I have made an enemy here in two weeks? I'm nice to everyone except Joel Mc Carty, and it's not that I was mean to him or anything. I just don't talk to him. He seems to stare at me, too, which is very unnerving. Hmmmm?
Before I say anything to Robby, I'll give it more thought. It's best not to jump into anything until you've taken the time to consider all the possibilities. That's what I always say. Then Robby made me jump again by standing behind me and massaging my shoulders. I didn't hear him walking up. We like to massage each other. It loosens the muscles before work and relaxes them after work. We both want to feel the other boy's hands on our bodies, too. "Dude, that feels good, Robby." He mutters, "We've only got about ten minutes."
I'm thinking, fuck the college guys and their ribbing; none of them would put the "queer' note in my locker. Um, I'm almost positive about that. Maybe Joel, but why would he? It doesn't make any sense. Robby asks, "How does this feel, Dylan." I know Goddamned well, it wasn't Robby. I murmur, "Feels fantastic..."
The best part of the massage is when Robby rubs up the back of my head. I lean my head forward. Robby massages my scalp with both hands for a minute, and my scalp's all tingly when he's through. Then we switch places, and I will do the same for him. It's the best part of the job. Man, what could feel better than morning and evening massages? Well, yeah, sex.
Now that I think about it, it'd be fantastic if it was Robby who put the queer note in my locker because maybe he was feeling me out to see if I was gay so he and I could fuck or something. Holy shit, Robby Dickers. Wow!
Then, forgetting about the scary note, I concentrated on the job, and Monday went well. There were moments I contemplated some more about that ultra long-shot that it was Robby who left that note in my locker as his signal to me he was gay, or something like that, but then Whoa! Yeah, my fantasy is getting carried away here. Then I couldn't stop myself wondering if he were gay for me, could I be a boyfriend to two guys at the same time? That sounds like a problem right there. Would I give up Willie? I don't want to give up Willie. Then I ask myself, why are you stressing yourself about an impossible possibility? Fuck!
After work, Robby was massaging my shoulders, telling me about an idea his parents were discussing last night at dinner. They felt that since Robby and I have become friends, how about if I come home with them on Wednesdays for a barbecue dinner and a swim? I looked over my shoulder and enthusiastically said, "I'd love to do that," but then dropped the enthusiasm to add, "Except there's a problem. Chubby and I are like brothers, and I don't want to leave him alone for dinner every Wednesday. So, maybe just occasionally, I could come to your place."
Robby knew how Chubby, me, and our Moms are like family because I told him while walking from school to his house that first time I swam in their pool. Nodding, he said, "Yes, I remember and told Mom and Dad. He's invited, too. And, you know Dodger thinks the sun rises and sets on you, so please say you'll come. My parents think I need to make friends other than my teammates on the baseball team."
I don't know what he's talking about because, as far as I know, he was popular at school. I'm not popular because it's always just Chubby and me. I say, "Your parents sure are nice! Chubby will want to come. Thank your parents for us."
It will be cool. Chubby is getting to know my new friend, so we will all be friends. A barbecue and a swim every Wednesday is so unexpected, but summer is shaping up to be great. Fuck that note! I'm just going to ignore it. After work, at home, Chubby walked in my front door, and I was about to tell him about the barbecue and swim on Wednesday nights, but he beat me to it and told me his news first.
"Tell me what you think, Dylan. Henry and I were out late Saturday night on the subway with no specific place to go. We got off at the Greenwich Village stop and wandered around until we found ourselves in the West Village. Dylan, I've never seen so many queers holding hands and walking with their arms around guy's waists. Trust me, you wouldn't believe it."
I stared at him, trying to make an appropriate expression, except I didn't know what that might be. He says, "Henry bumbled into this building that turned out to be a private gay club that for ten dollars we could join. Can you believe that? I'm eighteen year old and getting into a bar! Well, Henry flips the guy a twenty-dollar bill, and we go in. Oh boy, this place was jumping with a DJ and loud, hot music and dancing and sexy videos playing above our heads. There were two really long bars, and every single person in the place was a guy! Many of them looked and acted straight, but they were dancing, talking, or making out with each other, so I don't think they were straight."
Listening to Chubby describe that gay club, I'm thinking, how cool it would be to see that with Willie, but I say, "You're obviously shitting me, right, Chubby?" He told me that Henry started holding him close to his body, saying they should play along to be on the safe side. Chubby says, "Henry even suggested we dance together so no one would know we were straight. I don't know shit about dancing, but he's got me around my waist swaying and stuff, so what the fuck? I guess we were dancing. He bought us drinks, vodka, and orange juice for me. After two of those, Dylan, my head was spinning, and Henry kept saying we had to dance, so it was weird. I think he kissed me a couple of times."
I made my eyes big like I couldn't believe it, but I didn't comment. It's pretty evident that Henry has successfully bucked the odds and is gay, but Chubby refuses to see it. Instead, he was laughing, saying how he and Henry had those queers fooled. I think I know who the fool was. Then Chubby told me how surprised Henry was to run into not one but two guys he knew from college. They were just night crawling, they said, and happened to stumble into the same place Henry did. "Funny thing, Dylan. The one who had earrings in both ears asked me if I wanted a drink, and that was before he saw Henry. He was queer, I think."
Henry told me that that guy knew I was with him and was just being funny. He asked, "What do you think?" I said it sure was a big coincidence that the three of them accidentally found the same gay club. Chubby shrugged and said he heard one gay guy say to another that he had to leave The Living Room Club because it was being overrun with breeders, so he came here. Isn't that a riot, Dylan? Breeders means straight people."
I said, "Weird is the word for that experience, for sure!" Chubby mumbled, "You're probably naive about this sort of thing, Dylan, but it's hard to overlook Henry's behavior. I didn't have a clue Henry was gay before that night, but I've got to believe he is now. What do you think?" I was relieved Chubby hadn't been duped by that bull shit story of Henry's. I said, "Yeah, me too. I agree with you, Chubby, but so what if he's gay?
I said, "Hey, I'm going to change the subject for some good news." I told him about the invitation to Wednesday night pool parties and barbecue. Instead of getting excited, Chubby bit his lower lip and made a face like he had something else on his mind. Something he was reluctant to bring up. He starts with, "Dylan, that Wednesday night pool and barbecue is awesome. I met those Dickers brothers at the movie, didn't I? Rob was in my homeroom the year before last, but we didn't talk or anything." I said, "Yeah, you met them six weeks ago at the movies, but you seem concerned about something. What is it, Chub?"
Chubby says, "Look concerned? Whaddaya mean?" I said, "Come on, Chubby, sup?" He told me he hated disappointing me and that it isn't his idea, but.., um..." I'm like, "But what? What are you talking about?" He mutters, "Oh hell, I might as well come out with it," and he tells me that Ricky has designated Saturday nights from now on as a mandatory team meeting and motivational night. Every Saturday night, the window washer boys would meet at Ricky's house for pizza, subs, or Chinese take-out until the end of summer. After eating, they'd have their weekly meeting and then do team-building activities, whatever that was. Rickie said it was a team spirit, bonding, camaraderie, and all that.
Rationalizing, Chubby told me that we'll still have our Sundays, and we're together every other night, so I shouldn't get down, and he can't do anything about this deal anyway. It's only for eight or nine Saturday nights this summer. I was calm and said, "For God's sake, Chubby, what do you think I am, a baby or something? I understand about us growing up and all that blah, blah, blah."
It's Chubby's night to make out dinner, so he nods and mumbles, "Yeah, we're mature dicks, ain't we?" And reads the instructions on a frozen casserole of noodles, chicken, and broccoli in a cream sauce. I slice some Italian bread, relieved because I'd been wondering if I'd need to blow off Willie's contention that Saturday night was date night, and now I don't need to. I don't know what I would have done, but I probably wouldn't have been Willie's Saturday night date because I could have somehow explained that to Chubby. He sounded negative about gays, calling them queers and disapproving of his cousin being gay.
After eating that surprisingly good casserole, I'm considering going on a date next Saturday night when Willie returns. I get the urge to jerk off, but Chubby and I were on the recliner in the finished basement watching the Red Sox on TV, so my jerk-off would have to wait. I settled for the feel of Chubby's tight body pressed against my side. He appeared relieved there wasn't a drama from me about him not being with me on Saturday nights. He was being extra friendly to me, and I took advantage by suggesting an earlier wrestling match to determine who would go upstairs for sodas. The wrestling turned into more of an affectionate hugging contest than a wrestling match. Having a best friend from birth, like Chubby, is like being with your identical twin.
The feel of Chubby's body gets me hot. He's very well built and so familiar I could pick him out blindfolded just from his scent. Recently, I've needed to bite my lip to keep from moaning with arousal. It's not fair the way I yearn for him, and he has no idea. On the plus side, Chubby enjoyed our mutual bodily contact tonight as much as I did. It was subtle things until he sprung a boner. The first obvious boner I've felt from him in months. What does it mean? I don't know, except the straightest guy in the world will spring a boner if his penis is stimulated enough. Chub and me wrestling causes some stimulation, so...
I'd noticed his boner when I slipped halfway off the recliner, Chubby changed positions to grab me and keep me from cracking my head on the floor. In his new position, it was quite obvious he had a wood-hard hard boner. I loved the feel of that stubby, hard cock of his and fantasized about it inside me. A quiet moan slipped from my throat, and Chubby asked with sincere concern if I was okay. I love that kid so much, and I know he feels love for me! There are different forms of love, though, and I wish he had the same type of love for me that I feel for him.
Tuesday morning, sitting in front of my locker with my two washed Dickers Landscaping T-shirts on the bench next to me, I hesitated to open my locker, afraid of what I'd find this time. Robby is two lockers away, and as I take a sip of coffee, I'm trying to pay attention to Robby's question, "You guys like chicken, right, Dylan? Dad does a super barbecue sauce for chicken on the grill." I nod, "Yeah, chicken on the grill kills. Chubby and I love barbecue chicken."
Robby went on with the rest of tomorrow's dinner menu as I slowly opened the door to my locker, and, oh shit! The note I'd crumbled up and shoved in a corner was roughly smoothed out and taped onto the back panel of the locker. The same crinkled note, QUEER, but the mystery person had added a big exclamation mark in broad magic marker after the word queer. My hand was shaky as I ripped the paper off and scrunched it into a tight ball again. This time, I held it in my clenched fist and, in the middle of Robby's sentence, walked right by him and into the bathroom, flushing the note. My whole body was shaky; it had really unnerved me.
Coming back to my locker, I stared hard at the college guys, and all three smiled. One waved and said, "Sup Bobbsey?" And another said, "Looking good, babe!" They didn't put that note in my locker, so I gave them a wide smile and went over to massage Robbie's shoulders. That got me back in a good mood, except I'm curious why Robby didn't mention my odd behavior a minute ago.
That night, we had a haircut night. Not me, though. I begged off, telling Chubby I needed to wait for Carl. I said, "I was brown-nosing him saying he's the best barber and he might invite me to water ski in Maine, plus he said he'd give me all his notes about last year's newspaper, and... Chubby held his hand up, "Enough, Dylan. It's alright. Ricky did that butcher job on my hair, so I can't get mad at you. Plus, we're growing up, bro, right?" I muttered, "Duh, we just had this conversation."
Home haircutting isn't especially rare in a lower-middle-class town like Framingham, but Robby's family is upper-middle class, so it's unusual for them. Maybe they do it to spend time with me. That comment right there is an example of my optimism; the glass is half-full, not half-empty. Anyway, I'm the barber for Robby and Dodger, and I neatened up Chubby's hair, which had grown almost an inch. It was fun, and I loved that Robby and Dodger returned for seconds. My hair has grown out since Carl gave me the burr haircut, and I could comb my hair like Willie now. He asked me to, and now I can do it on Saturday night's date.
After the haircuts, Chubby said to Dodger, "I heard you're a fucking genius at that computer game, little dude. We'll fucking see about that." Dodger's like, "What a hard ass this guy is," but I could tell those two hit it off right away. I heard laughter coming from my bedroom all the way down in the basement. Dodger's laugh is contagious, making Robbie and me laugh, too, not even knowing what was so funny. Robby and I were goofing around improving our massage technique.
Obviously, Chubby's bizarre take on the world around us is what got Dodger laughing his little perfect set of nuts off while I was treating Robby in a very familiar way by now, squeezing his neck or running my hand from the front of his forehead, up and over the top of his head, and then squeezing his shoulders during this fake massage. This was the second time I'd cut his hair, which can be a very intimate process if one wants it to be, which I did, and it helped us be very comfortable with each other. Robby is sexy, and it requires self-control and willpower not to hug him around his neck and kiss him all over his cutely handsome face. I settled for, and am grateful for, the massage touching. He seemed to like it, too.
My infatuation with boys is growing every day. I find being around these new friends wonderful. Later, the four of us piled into Rob's pickup and went to get soft serve ice cream at the D Q. None of the assholes I had a fight with were here, which was probably lucky for them because Robby and Dodger aren't a couple of cupcakes. They are fit and would be a big asset in a fight. Fortunately, that won't be necessary tonight.
Chubby has the type of personality that most guys immediately take a liking to, and the Dickers brothers are no exception. They easily bonded with him, especially Dodger. So, the four of us had a good time with just the right amount of ball-busting to go along with the bonding. A good night all the way around. The Dickers brothers dropped Chubby and me off at my house, then took off for home after the ice cream. Chubby and I hugged, and then he went up to his condo and bed. I wandered around Mom's and my condo, drinking a Coke and contemplating how fortunate I've been lately. And then that Goddamn queer note popped into my head to ruin my good feelings.
For the life of me, I cannot come up with a single reason why anybody at work would treat me that way. I haven't done anything to anyone to make them do that, and how the fuck does someone know I'm gay? My cell phone goes off, and it's Willie. It's late here but three hours earlier on the West Coast. I'm glad to hear his voice and his excited way of talking. It gave me the start of a stiffy. "Dylan, hi, dude! I miss you, man. How's it going there?" I told him it would be much better if he returned from L.A., and he asked, "Would you go out with me Saturday night." Just like that, we had a date. Jeez, now he's got me calling it a date.
The thought crossed my mind that I would have said "yes" to that question even if Chubby hadn't already inadvertently opened the way for me to say yes. I'd have figured out what to tell Chubby later. That won't be necessary now, so I said, "Saturday, you say? Let me check my calendar, Willie. This Saturday, do you mean?" Willie quietly says, "Yes, this coming Saturday. I hope you aren't busy. I know it's short notice."
Once again, he leaves me speechless. He was taking me seriously about checking my calendar. I don't have a calendar, obviously, but I can see Willie in L.A. with a worried look on his face, his fingers crossed, as he waits for my answer. Oh man, I feel popular for the first time in my life. I said, "I'm teasing, Willie. Of course, I'll go out with you; I can hardly wait. Where shall we go?"
He sighed a long sigh of relief and went, "Oh, don't scare me like that, Dylan. I have it all planned out. I'll take you to an early dinner at T.G.I.F.'s, catch an early movie, and then go back to my house to do what we did at Mother's birthday party. What do you think?" I told him he didn't need to spend money; we could hang out, get a pizza, and then go to his house to do what we did at his mother's birthday party. Willie stayed sincere, saying, "No, you're my boyfriend, Dylan, and I'm treating you right. Just be ready at five-thirty Saturday afternoon."
By the time we hung up, I'd changed the time to six o'clock to give me time to shower after work. Willie said, "You work? You mean in a job type thing?" He couldn't imagine a seventeen-year-old needing a job. Before that, though, we talked about not hearing from our tops and the trip to Maine. With Willie as my boyfriend, I didn't even want to go to Maine, but I didn't tell Willie that because he thinks it's sacrilegious or something to say anything against Carl or Larry. Willie sounded happy and anxious to see me again, so I left it at that.
The next day at work, there was nothing new in my locker. I put my boardie swimsuit and towel in the locker, changed into work clothes, and thought about Willie and then about tonight after work and the pool and barbecue party. I'm a lucky kid; I really am. The work day was same-o, same-o Wednesday. Nothing unexpected. Afterward, Robby and I finished massages and dressed in street clothes, waiting for his parents to close the shop. I told Robby I'd be outside smoking and to give a yell when it was time to go. Lighting up, I was taking a drag and then exhaling just as Joel walked out the door and right into my exhaled smoke. He waved his arms around and gave me a dead-eyed stare before saying to me, "If I get it in my head, you did that on purpose, I'll seriously injure you," and he kept giving me that dead, scary stare.
Swallowing hard, I mutter, "Na, no, I didn't blow that smoke your way on purpose." He stared for two more long seconds and then growled, "I despise pretty, wimpy boys like you. You make me sick."
He casually walked to an old Volkswagen Beetle, got in, and drove jerkily away. What a piece of shit that car is, I thought, as my heart thudded dully in my chest. I took three deep breaths. Joel scares the shit out of me. What did I do to him, though? Jeez, the muscles in his neck had bulged when he said I made him sick, and a vein ticked at his temple. Okay, he was pissed-off big time. But at what? Not an accidental exhale of cigarette smoke. That wasn't it, and he has got to be the one who put that queer note in my locker. It has to be him.
Intending to flick my cigarette butt into the street, instead, it popped up and dropped down on the back of my hand. Ow, dammit! I picked it up and tried to flick it again, like Chubby does. This time, it flicked up and hit my chin. Fuck! I stepped on the butt. Joel had shaken me up quite a bit. He could physically kill me within ten seconds if he chose to. Why does he hate me? Then I hear, "Dylan, let's go!" I ran around to the side of the building where their pick-up was parked, deciding not to mention the Joel incident to anyone.
Tonight will be a fun night. I can't imagine anything screwing up the barbecue and swim party...
To be continued...
