Mom's Framingham boyfriend, the obnoxious Jake Rollins, has my head crushed against his shoulder on the steps to my condo. Even with my face against his shoulder, I could smell alcohol on his breath. "You are one good-looking kid, alright. Anyone ever tell you that, Dylan?" I talked into his shoulder, "Oh, thank you, Jake. I believe you mentioned that very thing to me before."
Jake let loose of the hug but got an arm around my neck in a semi-headlock, put his face down to almost touch mine, and said, "You can't help yourself, can you? You've always got to be a smartass, a wiseass punk. I'm trying to be nice to you, kid, and what do I get from you, huh?"
He tightened his hold on my neck until it hurt; I murmured, "I'm sorry, Jake; I swear to God I wasn't trying to be a smartass. I was answering your question." Jake licked my forehead, then, with his free hand, pinched my nostrils together so hard tears ran out of my eyes. Keeping the pressure on my nose, he muttered, "So, you weren't being a smartass. Well, that's good because I wouldn't want to have to smack you around a little bit and then tell your Mommy about you being queer."
Mucus was filling up my nose, and the tears wouldn't stop. I wasn't crying, it hurt, but I wasn't crying. It's just that tears run out of my eyes whenever they feel like it. I have no control over that. I talked in that nasal way you talk when your nose is stopped up or when it's being brutally pinched, "Please, Jake, please! That hurts, and I didn't mean to disrespect you."
He liked that and let go of my nose; mucus ran down my lip, then around my lip to both sides of my mouth. My face was wet with mucus and tears. Jake got a tight hold on the back of my neck and shook me a little, "You're kind of a pussy, ain't ya? Listen, the reason I'm here, um, I'll cut to the chase, er..." He badly slurred his words as he took a wrinkled handkerchief from his back pocket and wiped my face. It scratched because of the dried matter on it. I stood perfectly still and used my willpower to keep from gagging. He mumbles, "Reason I'm here, I need that fucking suitcase I lent your mom 'cause I got to go to Vermont this afternoon for business. It's a fucking overnight trip."
I mutter, "Oh, uh-huh," and he mumbles some more, "I worked all night last night, and I got to go to fucking Vermont today. That's what the boss lady says, the cunt. So, I had a few quick pops of VO and ginger over the all-night "Tidermans Club," and when I figured you people were up, I came for my suitcase because the cunt says I got a business trip to Vermont."
Still holding onto me, he swayed a little, putting the handkerchief back in his pocket, but kept a tight grip on the back of my neck. We were maybe two yards from the bottom of the steps leading up to the condo. One would have to think Jake had more than a "few pops" at that club, as he appears very drunk. I said, "I'll go get it right now, Mr., ah, Jake. Still holding my neck, he started walking toward my front steps as if he were coming inside with me to get the suitcase, but he stumbled and dragged me a few paces away from the steps, near the side of the building.
"Oh, I must have stepped on something," Jake muttered, and then straightened up, looked around like he was lost, looked at me with a stern expression on his face, and said, "You know what I want to do, well, one of the things I want to do every fucking time I see you?" I was afraid to find out, but I said, "No, what?" and he got hold of my face with both hands, twisted my face toward his, and kissed my mouth with a big, wet kiss. His tongue worked its way inside my mouth as I squirmed, trying to get free. Pushing against his chest, the kiss didn't last long, but it was intense. When I got my head away, and our mouths separated, and I thought it was all over, he darted his head back for another kiss but missed my mouth and kissed my nose instead, leaving it wet with a boozy spit. GROSS!
Jake stepped back, looking dazed as if he couldn't believe what happened. His pants poked out in front. It was probably only a semi-boner because he was too drunk for a total boner. I stared at him, but he had no fight left. I said, "I'll get that suitcase for you." He waved his hand like I should run along as he fished a crumpled pack of cigarettes from his pocket. My heart was pounding because I'd feared him, but now I could see how pathetic he was.
Mom was sleeping inside, so I was quiet. The suitcase was in the living room. I grabbed it, thinking, "Guess I don't have to worry about Jake Rollins anymore. That grope and kiss he laid on me has turned the tables, and now I have more on him than he's got on me. Fuck you, Jake! Down the steps, I lugged that suitcase; the wheels didn't do much good on the steps. Dropping it in front of Jake, he says, "How about putting that in the car for me, Dylan." He'd lost all his bluster by now. I rolled it down to his Saab, which Jake had parked with the front right wheel on the sidewalk. When I stuffed the suitcase in the back seat, Jake was right behind me.
He grabbed my shoulder, and I shrugged his hands off me and said, "That's enough shit, Mr. Rollins!" He backed up and held his hands away to show he meant no harm. He goes, "Okay, you win this time, stud. Now, I can't tell on your mommy you're queer because you could tell on me, right?" I started to turn, and he went, "Wait a minute, Dylan. I apologize. Look, here, get yourself something, and don't be too hard on old Jake," and he fumbled out a twenty-dollar bill and tucked it in the front of my Tee shirt.
I stared at him and maybe felt slightly sorry for him, but I didn't say anything. I stood there as he bumbled into his car, backed up, missing a telephone pole by an inch, and then took off with a tiny tire squeal. He never looked back. Scratch the Jake-worry off my list. Jake Rollins is no longer a problem, thanks to him. These bullies are sad cases. This incident gave me some resolve in dealing with Joel, who might be a problem for me tomorrow at work. The new thing is, though, I won't back down anymore. If I take a beating, so be it.
I walked down to get our breakfast at Dunkin' while rubbing the back of my wrist against my mouth and nose to scrub away Jake's saliva. The Dunkin' bill for four breakfast sandwiches, four home fries, and four regular coffees was more than the twenty dollars Jake had given me, but it covered much of it. I'd added the home fries to our breakfast menu in honor of Jake's donation.
Back at the condo, everyone was moving around by now. Orange juice was out, 92.5 was on the FM dial, and I was the hero for buying breakfast. I told Mom about Mr. Rollins picking up his suitcase earlier. "He didn't want to wake you, Mom. Some unexpected business trip." She was disappointed; she had wanted to call him later this morning, and maybe the two of them could go into Boston for a late lunch. I looked interested, with a friendly expression as I thought, "That would be some lunch date. Jake would probably be barfing up his clam chowder."
I kept silent, though. A guy who gets drunk in the morning, like Jake did, is a problem drinker. Mom will notice that trait sooner or later, and he'll be history. After breakfast, I called Willie and was shocked. His voice was so hoarse I could hardly understand him. He told me he had been feeling sick yesterday when we talked, but he didn't want to say anything about it, hoping it would pass. Then, this morning, he woke up with a killer sore throat and a fever. He'd already been to an emergency doctor who took a throat culture, which indicated Willie had strep throat. Our Tuesday date is off, but, according to Willie, we're going out Saturday even if he's still sick because he'll be in Maine the following weekend.
He couldn't talk much because it hurt his throat and his head to speak. Willie sounded so weak; not like he usually is. He asked me not to call until Friday, when he hoped he'd feel better. I said, "I'm so sorry you're sick, Willie. I love you so much. I just wanted you to know that I love you and can't wait till Friday when I can talk to you again." He was quiet, coughed, and whispered, "That's the best medicine I could have, Dylan. Thank you for saying that. You know how much I love you. Bye."
After he hung up, I lay back on the bed and let it sink in that I was in love. It hurt some because I wanted to be with him. Wait, he said he'd be in Maine; not we'll be in Maine. Hmm? That is awesome; I just hope he didn't misspeak.
Jumping off the bed, I went to my computer and, without mentioning Maine, typed him a long email. It was a mushy love letter telling him how important he is in my life, how much I love him, how grateful I am that he picked me to be his boyfriend, how I look up to him, and how I want to follow his lead because I admire him so much. After I hit "send," I had second thoughts that I overdid it, but I had all these emotions going around in my head, and it just seemed Willie was the best thing I had going for me. I felt like a teenage girl with a wicked crush on the captain of the football team. I love him, but he is so much more sophisticated than me, has done so many more things, and is comfortable in either the gay or the straight world. I guess he's also kind of like my idol.
I felt like crying because I needed to wait until Saturday before seeing him again, and feeling him inside me. It's already been a week since I saw him during that great weekend in Sea Isle City, and I'm wiping that one ten-minute period from my brain. Willie apologized..
Chubby came down from his place, calling for me. He was in running shorts, and he wanted to run. I thought that would be a good way to get my mind off Willie, so I put on some shorts and sneakers, and we ran without talking , giving me a chance to get a grip on my emotions about Willie. Chubby was contemplating something, too. Then, I tried to bring up the discussion from last night, Chubby, with a grin, goes, "Oh God! Dylan, you're like a fucking nag. We covered every possible angle of that topic last night."
Okay, be like that. I just nodded, but last night, he said we could talk about it today, which is all I wanted. I knew he wouldn't want to, though. Sometime in the future, I'll find out the whole story, but for now, Chubby is in a good mood, so I'll enjoy it. Just before the cut-off for the rest area, I saw a stocky kid jogging oddly in the opposite direction. He was running as if his ass hurt, and I thought, the Marine! The kid was late teens and okay looking, although not really what you would call cute.
Something about the way he moved made me think he was gay. I'd already thought of the Marine, and now I'm thinking of gay teen, which might add up to the Marine having himself another boy. I ask Chubby, "Do you need to pee or anything? We can hit the rest area."
Chubby's winded and just mumbled, "Yeah, okay." We make the turn-off and, halfway up the path, here comes the Marine. I tell Chubby, "Go ahead, I want to ask this guy something." Chubby nods and keeps going. The Marine, Tom, sees me and slows down. He stops before me to say, "So, here is my ex, best, most favorite gay boy, Dylan. Is your computer broken?"
He means, why haven't I texted him? I say, "No, it's not broken. I've been on vacation in New Jersey for the last two weeks, but that's not why I didn't email or text you. Was that a friend of yours I saw down the trail? Stocky, ponytailed kid." The Marine says, "Yeah, he's your replacement. See why I valued you so much?" I said, "I was new to sex when you first met me, and now, I'm not. You took advantage of me then, but no more. I've grown up sexually. No hard feelings; I learned things from you, but now I know you're too dominant for my liking. Good luck to you."
I jogged to the rest area without looking back. He never said another word, but his tense expression didn't look promising. He looked barely under control, as in pissed-off! I was disrespecting him in his eyes, but how about people disrespecting me? Doesn't that count, too? Huh? I know I'm getting cocky, but it's the mood I'm in. I got my boyfriend, who I don't mind taking a back seat to, but I'm done being a second-class citizen in life. To answer my own question: Yes, it's possible to disrespect me too.
Perhaps I'm full of fake macho self-indulgence or something. There are things going on that have me all shaken up. For example, I'm so disappointed Chubby and I are headed in the wrong direction with intimacy. Then there is the Jake situation. It worked out for me this time, but he's unpredictable. And just now, blowing off the Marine felt good, but can I back it up if he gets rough? Nope! Same with Joel.
There is just a bunch of odd stuff going on in my life now. It's making me act uncharacteristically like a tough guy, which I am most certainly not! Oh fuck! It's probably mostly the thing with Chubby that has me acting like a tiger. It had all been just a tease in Wildwood. Our intimacy and my hopes started building up. Now, it's all lost, and that hurts. But, like I said, I got my boyfriend Willie, who I love and can depend on. I'll lean on Willie for support.
I was sitting on the bench thinking these mixed-up thoughts when Chubby came out of the lavatory wanting to know what I'd said to that hard-looking guy. I gave him a short lie about me doing our run alone after he, Chubby, had gotten his window washing job, and this guy was always there when I ran, and I hadn't seen him for a while and I just wanted to say, "Hi." Chubby stared at me with a smirk, then blurted out a laugh and said, "You're lying again, bro. Jeez, you're funny."
That was it. We jogged on, and he didn't press for the truth, as usual. That afternoon, we watched a baseball game in the recliner together, but Chubby wasn't pressed up against my side, and he did not hump my leg or want to massage my feet. I assume he's getting that stuff satisfied elsewhere. This turn of events sucks!
Monday morning, and I'm back at work. I missed seeing Chubby this morning because he's turning over a new leaf, starting today. Yeah, he's sucking up to that turd Rickie by being the first one on the job. Good for him.
My usual bus had the usual suspects on it; we nodded to one another, I hit fists with my hospital worker friend, and then I sat in my usual seat in the back. Nice boner from the bus ride, and then it was the same familiar short walk to the Dickers' building. Everything looked the same, but I still felt jumpy and apprehensive. Maybe it was concern about how I'd be handling the inevitable Joel confrontation, or maybe it was just a case of nerves on my first day back to work, almost like the way I felt on my very first day of work weeks ago.
I spotted the Dickers' pick-up truck and hustled through the door, suddenly anxious to see Robby. First thing in the door, though, I got a big hug and an ass grope from Toby, who lisped he had missed me. "You naughty boy! Never take another vacation; I couldn't bear it. Oh, I love that earring on you, Dylan. It's outstanding!" He's a good guy and an easy-going crew chief, so I hugged back a little. "Hi" to the other guys and then "Hi" to the college guys in the locker room who yelled at me, actually yelled at me, "From now on, you're not allowed near a fucking barber shop without a note from home!"
They ragged on my hair. Joel walked right by me without giving me a glance, my heart pounding as I watched him disappear around a corner. A big bear hug from behind followed that, and I knew it was Robby because he smelled like Robby. I could be blindfolded and still pick certain boys out of a crowd by their smell. "Dylan!" he yelled as I wrestled around to return his hug, face to face. It made me feel so good that Robby was excited to see me. "I've got your coffee at my locker."
As we headed to his locker as he said, over his shoulder, "That haircut is way too short, Dylan. Do you like it?" I told him it was an unexpected and unwanted happening, and then we dropped that topic to tell each other how great it was to see one another again; acting a little nervous, and it made us do a lot of quick touching and hesitant interrupting of each other in midsentences. Realizing just how much I missed him took me by surprise. He acted shy when asking, "Do you think we should do the massage, Dylan?" I said, "Sure, if you want to." I started to sit down while he was sitting down, and then we both jumped up and bumped into one another. We both said, "You can go first," simultaneously.
It was awkward and silly, but at the same time, a little bit sweet too. I felt that nice closeness to Robby again, as if we actually had a special thing going on between us. We did the always special massages, but I think I sensed an even deeper connection than that. Absence makes the heart grow fonder; that kind of thing, maybe. The depth of that feeling was another thing that surprised me, although it was also very pleasant.
Robbie looked extra cute this morning. His beautiful complexion with the rosy blotches in his cheeks and the bright blue eyes that were so bright they seemed to be spot-lighted from behind. I'd forgotten how hot he is. He's got the same light blond hair I have, at the moment, a lot more of it than me. He caught me gazing at him and smiled that cute, shy smile with dimples coming out. He has those bow-shaped lips and those white teeth, and he looked so clean, so new, I wanted to kiss his mouth or lick him or something.
We're both five feet ten inches and slim, about one hundred thirty-five pounds, which is mostly why the college guys call us the Bobbsey twins, although we don't look alike. Chubby and I look more alike than Robby and me. Yeah, the same general body shape, but take the T-shirts off, and Robby has all the muscle definition I don't have, except for my good biceps.
Neither one of us has ever had or even seen a professional massage; we fake it and grope different parts of each other's bodies as we go along. I needed to lean over him from behind to reach his belly button, and the sides of our faces would rub together occasionally. His body was hot. As I've said before, he and his brother have natural athletic bodies, very toned and fun to grab and rub, pretending to massage. Moving up to his shoulders again, Robby's head was back against my belly; his eyes closed. Wow, he really enjoys massages.
I put my face close to his like we do when we want to talk low for privacy, and say, "It's so great to be back doing this. I missed you." I was so close that I could feel the heat from that pale skin turning red. He blushed easily. I couldn't help myself, so I touched the side of my face to his. Immediately, his hand pressed against the other side of my head, keeping our faces together. So low I could hardly hear it, he said, "I missed you too, Dylan." For the first time, I noticed his pants poking up in his lap. I thought, "Oh my God, what should I do now?"
To be continued...
