Chapter Twenty-One
I heard Robby, "Dylan, let's go," so I ran around to the side of the building where the Dickers' pickup truck was parked, deciding not to mention Joel's threats to anyone because, why would I want to get Joel more pissed off at me? Robby and I rode in the backseat. I liked looking at the sunburn on Robby's perfectly shaped nose. I've never seen a more perfect human nose.
My nose was sunburned, too, but neither of our noses was seriously burned. Wearing the company baseball hat protects most of our pale faces from the sun. Even so, we were beginning to acquire a pale tan on our arms and faces that were healthy-looking and attractive, especially on Robby! What a cute-looking guy he is; he and his brother. Yum!
Chubby was talking with Dodger when we pulled up at their big house. Chubby walked there from his window washer job. Later tonight, we'll get a ride home from Robby, but for now, I said, "Chubby! You made it!" He smiled, mumbling, "I got a ride from Brian Monday."
Oh, he didn't walk. Brian must be a window washer boy. Chubby was introduced to Mr. and Mrs. Dickers. Then he and I did our usual hug, and then I did a quick one-arm hug, handshake, and pat on the back with Dodger. Then, jokingly, I asked him, "Hey, how come I never get that fast-as-a-wink kiss like you give Robby?" He kissed me so quickly I wasn't sure it happened, but the smirk on Dodger's face confirmed he'd done it. I said, "That's better, you little homo," and Dodger laughed and gave my ass a squeeze. Jeez!
Mr. Dickers rocks with the grill. Oh my, the food was so good. Sweet barbecue sauce on crispy-skinned chicken off the grill. The taste of chicken cooked on a charcoal grill differs from when cooked in an oven. Mrs. Dickers made French fries that killed and coleslaw that was so creamy and delicious. There was sweet corn on the cob, cucumber slices with Vidalia onions, and tomato. We drank freshly made sweet iced tea with lemon.
Chubby looked over at me, and I knew he was thinking about our dinner at Ken's and the iced tea and lemon we'd drank there after being turned down for beers. We all thanked Mr. and Mrs. Dickers, who went inside, as we put on our bathing suits. There's a small pool bathroom off the attached garage that Chubby and I changed in, and later, in the pool, there was a lot of that childish nut crunching going on. Dodger was unmerciful, and one had to defend oneself. It was fun to act like ten-year-old kids. You get four rambunctious teenage boys in a pool together, and there will be some wrestling going on, which is fine from my point of view.
Oh yeah, the bodies of those three boys, all wet, slippery, tight, smooth, and muscular, had my cock working overtime. And not just mine. No teen can control that thing called a penis when circumstances allow it to operate with a mind of its own. I made it my business to be clumsy enough with my arms, hands, legs, and feet to explore those hot teen bodies as inconspicuously as possible, and I confirmed that there were boners at one time or another in all our swimsuits. As a matter of fact, I don't recall Dodger's boner ever going down. He has a hard four-and-a-half-inch boner, and even though water and boners don't get along normally, Dodger's boner was holding steady the whole time we were in the pool.
At one point, Dodger tried something new. He had his hand inside the front of my trunks with his fist around my boner for just a second or two. He mutters, "Oops, I didn't mean to do that," and then did it again five minutes later. It was really quick both times, but I almost blew my load the second time. I had to float over to the side of the pool and try to keep from hyperventilating. It's frustrating that I don't know how to follow up on Dodger's aggressive, sexy behavior. What if he thinks he's just doing acceptable teenager screwing around, like us kids did on the Middle School bus I took.
It sucks not knowing stuff and not knowing how to find out the answer. I need my mentor, Carl Denton. Yeah, I might be invited to visit Carl in Maine. If Carl ever gets around to inviting me and Willie, we can have one of our mentor sessions about this sort of thing. I'd love to know how to handle this aggressiveness on Dodger's part. Maybe it's not what I think it is, and he's too young for me anyway. Or is he? And why couldn't it be Robby instead of Dodger? Carl will know; he's very experienced.
Robby drove us home at dusk because the mosquitoes were coming out to eat us alive. Chubby and I sat on our front steps and smoked a cigarette after getting dropped off. Mosquitoes don't care for cigarette smoke. Chubby thought the Dickers brothers were great guys, and then he got in a melancholy mood just before going up to his place. He'd said, "I really like your friends, Dylan. They're much nicer than the guys I've met through the window washing job. The Dickers are more like our kind of people, you know?" I shrugged, remembering the window washer boys Chubby and I met at the movies that time. They were crude and rude.
Wistfully, Chubby added, "I'll be really happy and relieved when we have enough money to get our license, auto insurance, and some kind of car. Then I can leave the window-washing crowd behind." I didn't know what to say, so I hugged him and mumbled, "You can handle it, Chubby." He gave me a wry smile, patted my head, and hugged me, saying, "I feel so good for you, Dylan. You're safe and happy working for the Dickers."
Safe? Chubby added, "We'll be okay," and that's when he went up to his condo. It was the first time he's come right out and implied he was unhappy about that job, and he included Rickie by not excluding him. He isn't happy with any of them. I don't want to gloat, but I knew there was something wrong with Rickie the first time I met him. Chubby disagreed with me at the time; he thought Ricky was soooo cool. Well, like I said, I'm not gloating, but I was right.
Riding to work on the bus Thursday morning, I contemplated our hot time at the Dickers last night. It was great having Chubby with me, too. I was showing off Chubby to the Dickers brothers and showing off the Dickers brothers to Chubby. It made me feel important somehow. I sure liked them all, and Mr. and Mrs. Dickers were very nice and considerate, too. They know we kids like to be left alone, so they didn't horde in on our fun, and I appreciated that. They fed us fabulously, and then it was, "Have fun, boys. There are sodas in the cooler," and they disappeared.
I enjoyed another nice boner from the bus ride, and then everything went well at work—no run-in with Joel and no queer note in my locker. I saw Joel during the day but looked away every time. Still, it's nerve-racking that he wants to kill me. Then I thought, what a baby I am! Joel's a negative aspect of this job, but why would I think I deserve a stress-free, easy job? And I remember Chubby's negative endorsement of everything about his job situation, and, reading between the lines a little, he has a much tougher time at work than I do, and he's not whining. Life is full of challenges; both Chubby and I have known that for years. We're tough enough, and we've always had each other's back until now. Now we're more or less on our own in the workforce, and, like I said, I've probably got it easier than Chubby.
After dinner, Chubby and I were on the steps smoking and making each other laugh, reminiscing about embarrassing experiences we've had as younger kids taking care of ourselves with our moms working from four o'clock until midnight as waitresses. Later, when we hugged goodnight, I imitated Dodger's and Robby's quick-as-a-wink kiss and kissed on the side of Chubby's head. He had no comment, but maybe he didn't realize I did it. I quickly hugged him again, and then I watched him go up the outside steps to his place. Goddamn, he's got the greatest ass of anybody ever.
Lying in bed, I was sure I could still smell Chubby's scent. It was still in my head as I stroked myself slowly for twenty minutes before a small splash of cum hit my hand just before sleeping.
On Friday night, Chubby and I went to the movies and ran into a couple of kids who were in Chubby's homeroom last year. When we spotted them, Chubby said to me out the side of his mouth, "Ohh, these dudes are funny, but they're always getting into trouble somehow. We had a bitchin time last year in homeroom." Two kids came running up, yelling, "Jeffrey, is that you making the farting sounds?" People turned around to stare at us. Chubby and his pals were high-fiving and laughing about their inside farting joke.
After the hellos and introductions, they wanted us to smoke pot with them. We didn't do that, but we did wander around with them in the parking lot while they smoked a joint, and we smoked a Marlboro Light. Inside the movie theater, Chubby's friends, Marshall and Desmond, sat with us and laughed out loud at everything anybody in the movie said. The movie itself was fairly funny, while Marshall and Desmond were hysterically funny.
Some older patrons were going, "Sshhhhh! Shhhhh!" but the audience was mostly kids our age, and it got riotous. It was a fun night, but we almost got into another fight before it was over. Some kid pushed Chubby leaving the theater, so he and I went at the kid hot and heavy, but Lowe's Movie Theater resident cop broke it up before anyone got seriously hurt—just another night of laughs, fights, and threats among the local teen natives.
Saturday, we both worked, and after work, Chubby went to his first Saturday night meeting of the window washer boys, while I was getting ready for my date with Willie. After showering, I used Mom's hairdryer to brush my hair up straight, creating sort of a longish old-time flattop hairdo, as Willie asked me to do, but my hair didn't look like Willie's. That's because my growing-out burr haircut isn't all the same length on top the way Willie's is. It's similar, and that will have to be good enough. I've seen online that some gay guys do bizarre fashion stuff, like Willie wanting me to have the same haircut as him. I'd like to ask my mentor, Carl Denton, about this, too.
I did my best to please Willie, and now I'm outside waiting for him. And, just like last time, he pulled up in that hot convertible, smiled, looking cool, and waved at me. And like last time, even though we were looking at one another, he blew the horn, making me chuckle. What a cute nut he is. Yep, of course, he looked cute and sweet, with his little boy smile, almost shy.
Coming down the steps smiling back at him, I tried to flick my cigarette butt into the gutter, but it flew right over Willie's head with my heart in my throat. Willie goes, "WOW! That was cool." He thought I did it on purpose. I laughed, partly with relief the butt didn't hit him or his car and partly because he thought I'd do something like that on purpose.
Willie said, "Dude, I love that you at least tried to match my haircut." Then, when I got in the car, he said very sincerely, "Thank you for doing that, Dylan." I rubbed across my grown-out burr haircut that didn't look anything like Willie's and swallowed hard. Jeez, he's so easy to please. It gave me that feeling I get with him where I want to hug him and tell him how special he is and that everything will be alright.
Willie leaned over to kiss me, and this time, I found myself saying, "Sorry, Willie, but can we wait till we're out of my neighborhood? I'm in the closet and, you know... please." Willie goes, "Oh, I forgot, Dylan. I'm the one who needs to say I'm sorry!" As he pulled away from the curb I'm unwrapping a piece of Dubble-Bubble because of my cigarette breath. This bubble gum tastes so delicious for about ten seconds, then loses ninety-five percent of its flavor. What's up with that?
I admitted to myself, as I chewed that piece of gum, that the note in my locker with QUEER! written on it had influenced my behavior. Just now, asking Willie not to kiss me in my neighborhood because somebody saw me doing something queer, somewhere, sometime. I think it must have been with Willie, but then maybe someone saw me with the Marine. It's very disturbing to know you have an unknown enemy out there. Then I go back believing it's Joel Mc Carty. In any case, it's not Willie's fault or his problem, but I had let it get in the way of Willie's ideal date, which includes a kiss hello.
Glancing at him, he appears okay, so I bump his shoulder and say, "You always look so cool, but especially tonight, Willie. I want to say thank you. Um, I feel lucky to be your boyfriend." He took a big breath and bit his bottom lip, tried to say something but coughed, made a face, and then, in a strangled voice, said, "You're welcome. It's my pleasure, Dylan." He was beaming.
Willie drove us down Route 30, past the turn-off for his house, and onto the Mass Pike. His car has an "EASY PASS" thing on the windshield, so we hardly slowed down at the tolls. He shouted over the traffic noise to tell me, "We'll eat at a TGI Fridays outside Cambridge. The movie theater is nearby. Is that okay with you?" I nodded and smiled.
It's not easy talking in a convertible, flying down the turnpike at seventy miles an hour. I've lived in Massachusetts all my life, but I've never even been to Cambridge. You can't get around much without a driver's license. There's the " T " in and around Boston, of course. That's the MBTA, which is the train/trolley/subway system in Boston. It's pretty good, but if you live in the suburbs, you can take the train to Boston, but you need a way to get to the train station... Catch 22.
It's early for most diners, but TGI Fridays always has customers at any time of the night or day. The restaurant's full name is Thank Goodness It's Friday. It's a chain and an okay one. We got a booth, and Willie came right in next to me and took my hand. That was too much for me, and I asked him if he wouldn't mind sitting across from me "So I can look at your cute face." He blushed, started to protest, and then reluctantly moved over across from me. Damn, two of us sitting next to each other in a booth was going overboard, even for Willie.
He is, in many ways, a contradiction. He can be shyly naive and innocent, but he also tries to be the suave, in-charge top guy, too. I agree with most of his unusual ideas about how our boyfriend relationship should go because it's harmless, and I like him so much. When he was settled in across from me, I tried to explain, "Willie, I'm so new at coming out as gay, I don't always know what's right or what's expected of me. Don't be mad at me."
Willie isn't sneaky with a nefarious agenda of some kind. This is how he is. He makes a little speech, some of which I've heard before. "Dylan, I never in a million years thought I'd ever have a date with a boy as hot and sexy and cute as you and as nice, too. I know you wouldn't intentionally hurt my feelings, but sometimes, as you said, you don't know any better." Nodding for him to go on, I stared back blankly at his seriously sincere, cute face, waiting for him to tell me what he was referring to specifically.
When nothing was forthcoming, I told him again that I was lucky to be his boyfriend. He was beaming, saying he was the lucky one, and added, "Let's look at the menus."
I'm not lying. I am lucky Willie wants me as his boyfriend. He goes to an exclusive Prep school, has wickedly rich parents who bought him a hot sports car and Willie knows his way around Boston, Cambridge, and L.A. Christ; he's the trophy date, not me! I'm the country bumpkin without a driver's license. Chubby and I are the only seventeen-year-olds without driver's licenses in the country! I wanted to hug Willie and tell him how wonderful he is.
We looked at the menu, and a college-age waiter arrived right on time to take our order. Willie ordered Fried Mozzarella for our shared appetizer and said I was his date and should order first. The waiter rolled his eyes but kept a straight face as I took a deep breath and ordered Jack Daniels Glazed Ribs for my main course, a baked stuffed potato, and a salad with Italian dressing. Willie said, "I'll have the same as my date's having, thank you. And please bring us extra napkins, and we'll both have Cokes." I cringed, but the waiter said, "Your Cokes will be right out." I'm convinced Willie is oblivious to how awkward that was for me.
It will be quite a challenge changing Willie, so I have a feeling I'm the one who'll wind up changing and accepting Willie as he is. He smiled at me so hard when the waiter left, it was obvious he was proud to have me as his date. That's nice, although I may have blushed a world's record blush along the way. After some small talk about whether I thought the waiter was cute, and did the waiter come on to me at all? I muttered, "No, to both questions, Willie."
Then he had a funny long rap about waiters, although obviously, he had memorized it for tonight. Then he listed several things women put in a newspaper personal ad when seeking male companionship and what those words actually represent. Decoding the buzz words, he called it. For example, if a woman says she's forty-ish, it means she's forty-nine. If a woman describes herself as athletic, she's really confessing that she has no tits.
He got me laughing pretty good, and the more I laughed the more confidently he came out with additional examples. If she puts average-looking in her personal ad, it means ugly. If she lists herself as beautiful, it means she's a pathological liar. Emotionally secure equals heavily medicated. Feminist means she's fat. A fun person means she's probably been called annoying frequently by other male companions. If she says she's new age, she has body hair in the wrong places. Outgoing probably indicates she drinks too much and is loud and embarrassing. Large-framed would be used to describe a hugely fat woman. And others like those that he'd memorized.
He was so cute calling out these funny lines. Our appetizer and Cokes came while I was red-faced from laughing. It was humorous stuff, but Willie's facial expressions and laughter struck me as very funny, too. The harder I laughed; the harder Willie laughed at his memorized jokes. He didn't realize the waiter was standing behind him at first. And, by the way, the waiter did have a cute smile on his not-so-cute face. When the waiter laughed along with Willie and me, Willie looked up, saw him, and said, "Oh, our fried cheese and sodas."
The appetizers were nothing special, and while eating our ribs, Willie told me several things that reminded me of Chubby's factoids, and I asked, "Willie, um, how do you remember all these funny lines and factoids? Did you memorize all these things to make dinner conversation tonight?" He did a fake cough into his fist and asked, "How did you know? Ah, yeah, I memorized everything. I was afraid nothing would occur to me that was interesting, and you'd be bored on our date."
That was so unusual and, um, sweetly innocent, I was speechless again. What to say about memorizing dinner conversation. It would never occur to me that someone would do that, but it's very special. How much time and energy must it have taken? I said, "Damn Willie, that is so, um, so special of you to go to the trouble, and it's been great dinner conversation, too. Funny AND interesting! Thank you, but I've always liked your extemporaneous conversation very much, too. I think you're a special and interesting person." He swallowed hard and squeaked out, "You're special too."
After saying that stuff, and with Willie discontinuing the memorized aspect of our dinner conversation, neither of us could think of anything to say. Next time, I'll memorize what to say when the inevitable awkward period occurs. Trying to be funny, I said, "Oops, Willie, let's go back to the memorized conversation," and we both laughed. It was easier going from then on. Frankly, Willie was generally interesting because of his unique history, background, and his 'take' on gay dating. All that is worth a whole night of conversation.
After dinner, we found where we'd parked the car, and Willie drove us into Cambridge, Massachusetts. We're looking for The Brattle Theatre. Willie wanted us to see an old gay-oriented movie, "Shelter." He'd been here a few dozen times, but driving around Cambridge is never easy. Luckily, he found a parking spot two blocks from the theatre, so we got out, and he locked the car, saying, "You're my good luck charm, Dylan. That is the best parking spot I've ever found in this town." Then, stopping, he motioned for me to come near him, and he got me around my waist with his right arm. That was how we slowly walked to the theater. There were other gay couples mixed in with obviously straight ones; none of them paid any attention to us.
I didn't see anyone I knew, which is no surprise, although Willie knew a few guys. He said, "Hi" to them, and they bumped fists or slapped hands walking by us, mumbling, "Willie, my man." There was a long line outside the movie theatre that Willie ignored as he led me along the line toward the front. We stopped fairly close to the front of the line, and Willie said, "Good! There they are. Hi Martin! Hi Jeremy!'
Two slightly older-looking guys turned and gave Willie big smiles. Both guys are shorter than Willie and me at about five-foot-seven and stocky. They were average in the looks department, nothing special. Both wore earrings, and both had a tattoo on their neck. I thought, "Ugh!" to that. They weren't touching each other, but something about them made me feel certain they were gay. I would have thought that no matter where I happened to see them.
The one with the dyed blond hair said, "My favorite stromo, Willie Worthington. Hi sweetheart, and I see you've got yourself that butch, retro haircut, and your boyfriend has one too." The two guys giggled in a nice way, but girlish. The real blond told Willie, "Come on honey, you and your boyfriend get in line with us." The people behind him mumbled and grumbled, but no one had the balls to challenge us for butting in front of the line.
Willie introduced me as "My boyfriend, Dylan Newman," and then introduced his friends to me as Martin Remington, the real blondie, and Jeremy Goldman, the dyed blondie. Willie said, "They're not boyfriends, just gay friends who hang out together, doing random sex now and then." Then they took turns hugging me and kissing my cheek, me saying, "Nice to meet you," to each one.
I learned how Willie knew these guys while the line moved at a snail's pace. Martin worked for a lawn service that did work on the Worthington property. One day last summer, Willie took some bottled water out for the workers and gave a bottle to Martin, who has extraordinary gaydar, and outed Willie on the spot. Willie chimed in with, "Oh, Dylan, you should have seen Martin. He wasn't wearing a shirt, just short/shorts with his hairy legs bulging with muscles, and he was all sweaty and hunky looking; plus, I was horny because I hadn't seen my roommate, Larry, for three weeks!"
I smiled but couldn't think of anything to say to that except yuck to the hairy legs and the neck tattoos, but I couldn't say that, so I asked Martin, "What does stromo mean? You called Willie that." He giggles, moves his head in a girlie manner, and says, "Willie is our stromo friend." Jeremy says, "He seems straight, but we know he's gay. Martin and I are fags; anyone can see that, but most people wouldn't know Willie was; or you either, Cutie." Nodding, I mumble, "Oh, I see," I guess I do, anyway.
Willie tells me how one thing led to another last summer, and Willie and Martin ended up in one of the five garage bays, Willie doing oral sex on Martin and Martin returning the favor. During the following weeks, Martin was banging Willie regularly. Martin, smiling brightly, added, "Willie will be my favorite twink forever, but I'm trying to seduce this old guy I'm with, Mr. Jeremy Goldman, who's even older than I am." Jeremy says, "Yeah, two months older." Willie mutters, "They're twenty-two, Dylan."
The two friends of Willie's were funny, so there was no need to memorize conversation with these two around. Getting a word in would be a challenge. Their conversation was mostly borderline outrageous, but they're both nice guys, and I enjoyed their company. Inside the theatre, there wasn't any talking once the movie started. Martin and Jeremy sat there like two regular moviegoers, but not Willie and me. He had his arm around my neck, and my head pulled over to touch his; my forehead against the side of Willie's head, and he'd occasionally turn his head to kiss the side of my face. I wasn't annoyed by this embarrassing position because, first of all, he smelled good, and he was the first gay boy in my life that I truly liked, so it was nice to touch him and nice to feel desired. The first time, I felt desired.
Every so often, Willie would whisper in my ear, so low I could hardly hear him, "I think I love you, Dylan," and he'd kiss the side of my face. Second, I wasn't annoyed by this smothering attention from Willie because it gave me the hardest boners ever. As the credits were running at the end of the movie, Willie twisted our faces together, and he did his world-famous make-out, stopping just seconds before I blew a load in my pants. I was panting when Willie said, "I guess we should get out of here now, Dylan." Well, yeah, the lights were up and we were the last two in here, so, yeah...
He said he thinks he loves me, but I'm sure I don't love him. Love is a confusing emotion, so I don't know much about it. I made the misstate of thinking I loved Carl but quickly realized I didn't, and he barely even likes me. So, no, I don't love Willie, but I'm getting the biggest crush on him the world has ever known. The more time I spend with him, all his corniness aside, the hotter I think he is sexually. It surprises me each time I upwardly reevaluate my opinion of Willie.
Martin and Jeremy were waiting for us outside, and the four of us went to a Starbucks one block over. After getting our drinks, we took them outside and sat on a bench in a common area. Not sure what kind of drink I should try, Willie bought me a sweet iced coffee that tasted like a milkshake. It's the first drink from Starbucks I've ever had, and it was good. Jeremy talked about his last date, who he called his one-hit wonder, meaning the guy never called Jeremy after the one time. Martin complained about his latest boyfriend, who broke up with him a month ago. "He was a total size queen, and I guess, in the end, I simply didn't have enough size for him; my dickie wasn't long enough." They laughed at stuff I didn't understand, but that's okay. I was enjoying myself, and they all treated me as if I belonged with them.
We all liked the movie that was about a surfer dude who falls for his best friend's brother. There were a couple of subplots, one involving a young kid who looked up with hero worship to the gay guy. One of the things I really liked about the movie is that the gay guys were like Willie and me. Straight acting, or stromos." They also called Willie and me twinks, but all in good fun. I take it as a compliment.
This area in Cambridge is what the guys called a gayborhood because it's gay-friendly. Jeremy wanted Willie and me to join them at this gay club they were members of that featured great homo hits. I found out that homo hits mean gay club music. I need to take notes on all the gay slang so I can remember it. Willie knew it all, he's hung with these two, as well as with other gay kids closer to his age, who lived around here. It was nice to know Willie had gay friends. I'd thought he was an isolated, lonely boy, but I'm glad to be wrong about that. He is popular, which doesn't surprise me. He's extremely likable, although kooky, too.
All of this makes me wonder why Willie allows Larry to control him as he does. I know why Carl controls me. He was my mentor! Anyway, Willie politely declined the invitation to go dancing with Martin and Jeremy, telling them he had other responsibilities to fulfill for his date. Wink, wink.
I learned some things listening to those three describing gay guys they'd known. A versatile bottom was a guy who tops, too. Willie claimed that is what he is, which works out for us! We're very compatible, and I feel really good about that. The other thing is, after all we've done tonight, it's only nine-thirty!
Willie finished his drink and announced he had to get his date home to bed. Martin and Jeremy laughed and clapped, saying, "Yeah, baby! You do him good, stud! Love you, Willie." They hugged Willie and me, saying I was lucky to have Willie as a boyfriend. Martin added, "You didn't do too bad for yourself, Willie." They joked about Willie letting them know if he breaks up with me. They'll want my phone number and so forth. It was all in good fun, and I could tell it built up Willie's self-image and made him feel great. I'm happy about that. With his arm around my waist, we walked back to the car, Willie assuring me that the night had just begun.
To be continued...
