Christmas Day was just as wonderful for me as Christmas Eve had been. Davy and I spent a quiet morning together snuggled together in bed with the lights on the tree shining brightly and snow, once again, falling outside the window. I had fixed hot chocolate with my hot pot and we exchanged presents. Davy gave me the Modern Library edition of the works of Henry David Thoreau. I gave him a winter coat and gloves from Penney's. There were tears in his eyes and we snuggled, me kissing his forehead, he squeezing me tightly and burying his head against my chest as we wrapped his coat around us and watched the snow fall.
It was nearly eleven in the morning when we heard a Volkswagen honking in the driveway. We were just emerging from the shower when Nicky and Jamie came tromping into the room, bringing with them the bitterly cold air of a Canterbury winter morning. Davy and I, both naked, whooped as our damp bodies encountered the outside air. Frantically, we donned our gay apparel, as our two tormentors rolled on the floor laughing.
Before leaving for the Mancinellis', however, we made at a stop in the house so I could give Donald and Patience their Christmas presents. I knew that Donald was Jewish by heritage and that he and Patience were atheists, but I wanted to show them my friendship and my appreciation for everything they had done for me.
Surprisingly, both were relatively coherent. Donald was sitting on the couch listening to Shostakovitch and reading The Nation as Patience was making yet another macramé hanger. They both smiled warmly as the four of us came in. I handed Donald his present, an original copy of The Jungle, by Upton Sinclair, which I had found at the used book shop near campus. I could see that he was truly moved. For Patience, I gave a spice rack from a specialty shop I had visited in the mall in Zenith when I had gone into the city a few weeks before with Nicky and Jamie. It had all kinds of spices, many of which I had never heard of. She was delighted.
Then, Donald reached under the couch and stood up, holding a package. I was not expecting anything from them, because of their beliefs, and the surprise must have shown in my face. Patience giggled and Donald shook his head.
"We don't object to the spirit of friendship and sharing," he said as he handed it to me. "Merry Christmas, Pizza Hut."
As I opened it, tears formed in my eyes. Davy hugged me and sniffed. Nicky and Jamie shuffled about, not sure how to act. A few months before, Donald had taken some pictures of the campus and Davy and I had accompanied him. At one point, he took a picture of the two of us, together, Davy in front me with my arm around him, in front of some old Corinthian columns that had once supported the front of the college's first administration building. I had the snapshot on my desk. In my hands, however, was a larger print of the picture, in an expensive silver frame.
"We just wanted our son-in-law to know that he was truly part of the family."
I didn't know what to say, but Donald saved me from further embarrassment by barking, "Get over to the Mancinellis' place before that brood eats everything!"
As we were filing out the front door, Patience looked at me with a grin and said, "Donald hates sentimentality."
Donald rolled his eyes and muttered, "Goyem."
However, just as Davy was stepping out the door, Donald called out, "Oh, David, we're going to Grampa's tomorrow to spend the weekend. We're leaving around seven, so remember, just in case you have anything planned late night!"
I saw the conflict in Davy's eyes. He loved his grandfather, a traditional gentleman who was devoted to Davy. Yet, he looked at me and silently told me he couldn't be apart from me.
"Can Stevie go with us?"
I shook my head at Donald and he replied, uncharacteristically, "I think it might be pushing things."
"Oh, come on, Donald! You LOVE to push things!"
I pushed Davy out the door as he continued to protest.
I was relieved, as I climbed into the back of the Beetle, to see the snow overnight and throughout the morning had softened the outlines of the snow penis to just a tall fat snow obelisk.
Life at the Mancinellis' was a repeat of the night before, except there were toys and wrapping paper everywhere. Santa Claus had been extremely generous this year to the little Mancinellis and it was hard to find a place to sit. There was much eating, much gift-giving, much singing and dancing, and much joy.
At some point late in the afternoon, some friends of the family from their church came by and added to the crowded confusion. I was sitting on the living room floor playing Operation with a couple of micro-Mancinellis when I overheard someone around the table say, "It’s disgusting! Just four blocks away from the high school! How can they let someplace like that stay open?"
"Well," one of Nicky's brother's declared, "It’s all those liberals at the college defending the queers! If they shut the place down, there'd be marches all over town."
"There can't be that many in Canterbury, are there?" asked a woman.
"You'd be surprised!" Nicky's eldest brother replied.
Davy was sitting on a chair watching the old Alistair Sim version of Scrooge on the TV, (my all-time favorite Christmas Carol movie). He turned to me with outrage on his face. I gave him a look as I had never given him a look before saying ‘Please be quiet!’ He then gave me a look that said, ‘Are you serious????’ I then replied with a vigorous nod and a look that said, ‘Yes! Absolutely.’
Nicky was standing next to the couch giving us both nervous looks. I knew that Mr. Mancinelli knew that Davy and I were close, but that he didn't know how close. I knew he knew about Nicky and Jamie and had accepted it. However, I realized no one else in the family seemed to know.
"What are they talking about?" I asked.
"The Queen of Diamonds," Nicky replied softly. "it's a gay bar at Second and South Canterbury. Behind the SuperQuik."
I had never known that Canterbury had a gay bar. I had no experience with such things and knew virtually nothing about them, although I had heard on the news once about the police busting one back home and a riot breaking out once at one in New York City.
That conversation reminded me that even though I lived in a pretty open and tolerant community, with friends who loved and respected me for me, there were still people out there who didn't share that same tolerance. All the fear and shame I had known back home, all the trepidation I had felt that night when I first stepped off the Greyhound across from the Hiway 12 Motel came back to me. I suppose it must have shown in my face because the sweet little four-year-old girl in front of me asked, "What's the matter, Stevie? Are you going to cry?"
"No, sweetheart," I replied giving her a quick hug. Davy gave me a sad and knowing smile, showing me once again that he was the most perceptive and empathic boy I had ever known.
We made an early night of it, ostensibly because of Davy's early road trip, but actually because we were both full and exhausted. Nicky gave us a ride home and, after checking in with Donald and Patience and assuring them that Davy would be up, if not awake, by seven, we deposited our booty on the floor under my Christmas tree, took a quick hot shower and climbed into bed to cuddle and love until we fell asleep.
Davy is not his friendliest early in the morning and Donald's banging on the door at seven and waking us both from a deep sleep did little to change this. As I struggled to help the little guy get dressed in something reasonably respectable, he kept growling and snapping. At one point, I slapped his butt hard and pushed him toward his father, who handed him his new coat and grinned. Finally, Davy stood at the door to leave. He turned to me with his groggy scowl and then realized he was leaving me and wouldn't be back until Sunday evening. Three days and two nights. Suddenly, his face changed and he ran to me, clinging to me.
After enjoying a nice morning in bed reading, sleeping, masturbating, reading, and sleeping, I finally dragged myself to the shower and then dressed. I spent the afternoon with Nicky and Jamie, drinking beer and watching football. After a big dinner of his mother's leftovers, I took off, over Nicky's vociferous objections. I don't think Nicky noticed that Jamie's objections were not quite as vociferous, suggesting he might have wanted a little time alone with his man!
I chose not to go directly home and, instead, walked up the deserted Main Street. It was strange not to see a single person out. The snow had ended and the sun had finally come out late in the afternoon before setting and as I walked west toward campus, a perfectly clear sky was dotted with the most intensely sharp and bright stars. A cold winter night sky always seems so much more brilliant than a summer night sky and I was dazzled. I was also freezing as it seemed far colder without the clouds.
I was in a strange and melancholy mood. I was alone. For the first time since just before the Fourth of July, I was spending the night alone. Alex next door had gone home to Detroit to see his family. The apartment below was empty, the Goldsteins were gone, Davy with them. Nicky and Jamie were busy. I didn't have anything to do. I figured I would go home and read, listen to some jazz, maybe watch Saturday Night Live, and maybe jack off two or three times.
Idleness is the Devil's workshop, or some such thing. A thought occurred to me, but I immediately dismissed it. I continued west, passing the street leading up to the house. A gust of wind blew crystals off the trees in front of the library and across my face. My jeans sure seemed tight and were rubbing against my cock, causing it to swell a little. Maybe, I thought, I should go home and jack off. Then, I could think about what to do for Saturday night.
An idle adolescent with nothing to do usually ends up with a hard-on and that is just what happened. Suddenly, I found myself with a full-blown, Katie-bar-the-door, Grandma-get-the-kids-in-the-basement, screaming boner. Even in the bitter cold, it hit me that I was HORNY.
Maple. One block from Canterbury Avenue. I wasn't much of a beer drinker. Sure, I had indulged a little over the last few days, but I seldom drank and Nicky was always teasing me about being such a teetotaler. But tonight, I decided I wanted to see what it was like to get really drunk. I had never been drunk. I wanted to experience that.
The SuperQuik was the only place open in Canterbury that night where one could get beer. In fact, it was the only place in Canterbury where anyone who was only eighteen could get beer. Being a couple of blocks from campus, the only thing that probably kept the place open was illegal beer sales to freshmen and sophomores at Canterbury College.
I jogged across the deserted street and then, something caught my ear. It was the thumping bass sound of a loud sound system. It was coming from the building behind the SuperQuik. It was coming from . . . The Queen of Diamonds!
The gay bar.
The gay bar!
I was hard and I was half a block from a gay bar.
I had never been in a bar, any kind of bar, let alone a gay bar. Suddenly, I was overwhelmed with an incredible sense of danger, excitement, and anticipation. Should I? I knew I shouldn't. It wasn't the kind of place I wanted to go. I was not the kind of person who would hang out in a gar bar. Besides, why would I go? To pick up a guy? Or to have a guy pick me up? I couldn't do that. I was in love with Davy. What would I do? Dance with a guy? Me? I couldn't dance with a girl. How could I dance with a guy?
I had drunk two beers at Nicky's. I wanted a beer and I knew that I should just go into the SuperQuik, get a six-pack and leave. But, what could one beer do? Maybe I could go in just to see what it was like? It would be educational. I could write about it in my journal and then laugh about my naiveté in twenty years. This would be one of those nights you remember. ‘Gee. I remember back in `75 when I went to my first gay bar; man was I scared.’
I walked past the SuperQuik.
The Queen of Diamonds was a cinder-block building with no windows. There was no curb around the parking area that surrounded the building and there were maybe five or six cars, mostly older, though there was one Mercedes. I was shocked to see a Mercedes in Canterbury, but there it was. There was a dark alley separating the place from the SuperQuik and the stench of the dumpster hit my nose as I passed. I would forever associate the stench of dumpsters with holes-in-the-wall such as The Queen of Diamonds.
The front of the bar faced south. As I turned the corner, I saw a neon sign for Budweiser and one for Pabst on either side of the door. A couple of men in their late-twenties or early thirties—one guy with longish black hair and a mustache, the other, a dark blond also with a mustach—were approaching the door opposite me. They both flagrantly looked me over, their eyes lingering on my crotch; it was quite a disconcerting feeling and one I had never experienced before; then the blond opened the door.
The thumping suddenly turned into ‘That's the way, uh huh, uh, huh, I like it, uh huh, uh, huh,’ the song Davy and Jon and Anthony had been dancing to the other day. I took a deep breath and stopped. The blond was already inside and the brunette looked at me with a curious expression. I turned away and started back to the SuperQuik.
I had no more than turned the corner than a bitter gust of cold winter wind hit me in the face. Quickly, I turned my back to it and was facing the front of the bar again. I was being silly. Slowly, I took a deep breath and walked to the front door.
KC had been replaced by Grand Funk as I entered. I could handle ‘The Locomotion.’ What I wasn't prepared for was the sight of six guys standing beside a pool table swinging their hips now, jumping back, and doing it nice and easy and not losing control.
I must have stood there in shock for too long, for one of the guys yelled, "Hey, close the door! It’s freezing!"
I certainly knew how to make a great first impression. I felt my face burning furiously, though it could have been from the frigid outside air, and I quickly stepped in. I stood nervously near the door surveying the scene.
Except for the men dancing with each other, it wasn't too different from what I guessed most small, dirty, neighborhood bars would be like. It was dark; all the walls and the floor were painted black. It was smoky. There was a pool table to the side with a single light bulb hanging from the ceiling guarded by a cone-shaped shade. An L-shaped bar took up most of the back, with a dozen stools around it. Half of them were occupied by guys ranging in age from twenties to sixties from what I could tell. There were neon signs promoting various beers on the walls as well as posters of James Dean and Jan-Michael Vincent. The famous Playgirl centerfold of Burt Reynolds was framed and hanging on the wall at the end of the L. A few empty booths guarded the wall to the right. Next to a deserted foosball table was a jukebox.
I slowly approached an empty area of the bar. Several of the guys had draped their winter coats over their stools and were sitting on them. It seemed like a sensible idea to me, so I followed suit. I saw a couple of guys watching me as I sat down. The bartender, a guy in his forties, also with a mustache—practically every guy in the place had a mustache; was that a requirement for being gay?—strolled over and set a round Budweiser coaster in front of me.
"What'll you have, man?" he asked with a knowing smile, though what he knew I could only begin to guess. Maybe that I was underage? If that was it, I could see it wasn’t a problem for him. As authoritatively as I could, I replied, "Bud."
He opened a bottle, wrapped a small paper napkin around it, set it on the coaster, and asked, "Gonna run a tab?"
I wasn't sure how to reply to that, so I thought the safe answer might be "no." He nodded and said, "Fifty cents."
I reached into my wallet, where I kept my Christmas bonus as well as a little extra, and pulled out a dollar. Grandly, I handed it to him and said, "Keep the change." The bartender gave me that same knowing smile and replied, "Thank you!"
With my beer before me, I rested my elbow on the bar and turned to look around the bar with as much casual nonchalance as I could muster. The two guys who entered ahead of me were standing against the wall watching the pool game and glancing at me every few seconds. The older guy at the opposite side of the bar kept looking at me and smiling. I nodded and turned away.
The music stopped and the bar became silent, except for the muffled conversations of the various patrons. I don't know what I was expecting, but this wasn't it. Something disappointed me about the situation. I expected . . . more.
When my bottle was empty, I ordered a second and then stood up and took it with me to the juke box. I put a couple of quarters in. The selection wasn't all that great, but I had three choices, so I tried to find something I could stand but which the others would not be offended by. ‘Peaceful, Easy Feelin'’ by The Eagles was the first thing that popped up, so I put that on. Then Rod Stewart's ‘Maggie Mae.’ And then, the song that Davy hated and I loved to torment him by singing: ‘Amy,’ by Pure Prairie League.
No one seemed to notice The Eagles as I returned to my place at the bar. A couple of guys were tapping their foot to Rod Stewart. But I was working on my third Bud but the time ‘Amy’ came on.
I was feeling pretty good as the bartender took the money for my third Bud and the first guitar strains of ‘Amy’ strummed across the bar. The guys nearest me visibly groaned, but I no longer cared what anyone thought.
I was mouthing the words, "Amy, What you wanna do?" and feeling no pain. The song reminded me of home. No, wait. Canterbury was home. But, Canterbury sure was different from what I was used to. Sure, Canterbury was cool. But there were sure some things I missed about home. Nobody here liked the Eagles or Pure Prairie League. But, I could be queer in Canterbury and not get the shit kicked out of me. Yet . . .
I suddenly felt terribly alone. I was not home. I was hundreds of miles from home in a strange town. Yes, there were people here who loved me. But, I missed going to the Tastee Freeze with my buds. I missed Piggly Wiggly. I wanted to smell the lemony fragrance of a magnolia blossom in the spring. I wanted to hear someone besides me say "y'all." Maybe home wasn't so bad after all. I wanted to play catch with Daddy on the south lawn. I wanted to smell Mommy's peanut butter cookies again.
I had to piss. I stood up and looked about the bar. Someone was at the juke box pushing buttons and suddenly the place was inundated with Barbra Streisand singing ‘People.’ The restrooms were next to the juke box, and as I passed by, the guy eyed me and grinned.
I stumbled in and stood at the urinal. I was half hard and it felt so good to let go. I closed my eyes and enjoyed the sensation of my urine flowing until I heard the door open. It was the guy from the juke box. He was about thirty, blond hair, and, surprisingly, no mustache. Despite there being five urinals, he took the one right next to me and ripped open his button-fly jeans. He was wearing no underwear, which surprised me for some reason and his rather large cock flopped out. It was about six inches and had a thick patch of dark blond hair around the base. He seemed half hard as well and just let his cock hang there.
I became instantly hard. I didn't know what to do. I assumed he expected me to reach over and touch him. I wanted to and was about to work up the courage to do so when the door opened and the dark haired guy who’d entered the bar before I did entered the restroom. Instantly, I panicked. I suddenly felt like I was thirteen again and way, way out of my comfort zone. I had no business being there. I tried to stuff my erection back into my jeans. I heard both of the guys chuckle at my discomfort. I was so embarrassed. I knew I had fucked up. I rushed out the door.
I caught my reflection in the mirror behind the bar. My red hair, now much longer than it had been the previous summer, hung over my ears and seemed messed more than usual. My face was beet red and my expression was of someone who had just been caught diddling the babysitter—or his little brother. I decided it was time to go. I picked up my coat, quickly wrapped myself up, and with as much dignity as I could muster, walked out the door.
The cold air was a shock and seemed to bring me somewhat back to my senses. I felt so stupid and all I wanted to do at that moment was go home, crawl into bed and read myself to sleep.
I walked toward the corner and pulled my hood over my face for the expected blast of frigid wind as I turned the corner of the building. But, what hit me was not the wind, but something far more shocking. A car, a beat-up Galaxy 500, was slowly driving by, slowing down as the driver looked intently at the building. In front of me, by the alley, was the reason he was slowing down.
There stood Brad McKenzie in his same black leather jacket and dirty jeans, facing the car and rubbing his crotch suggestively.
I froze. I couldn't believe it. Brad McKenzie was standing outside a gay bar trying to get picked up! I didn't know what to think. I was about to turn and go around the other way to avoid him when his eyes caught me. He, too, froze. Our faces were locked on each other’s.
Neither of us said anything. Brad's look was curious and wary; I have no idea what my face betrayed. After several seconds, however, he spoke.
We were silent. Neither moved.
"I, uh, I ain't never seen you here before."
"I, uh, I've never been here before."
"Listen," he said. "I, uh, I'm sorry about the other day."
"Hey, no sweat. It’s cool."
"Yeah, well, uh. So, you uh, you wanna party?"
Brad rubbed his crotch as he said this. I was speechless. I wanted to go home. I wanted to curl up in bed and read. I wanted to cuddle with my sweet Davy and love him all night. I wanted to gaze out the window at the moonlight on the snow. I wanted peer into my boyfriend's eyes and tell him I loved him.
I wanted to "party" with Brad McKenzie.
"Um, OK. Sure."
Brad made a slight effort at smiling.
"You gotta place?"
"Your folks there?"
"I live . . . I live alone."
"Cool. Whadaya wanna do?"
I wasn't quite sure what he meant and I guess the confusion showed on my face.
"You can suck my dick for ten bucks. If you wanna go all the way, it’s twenty-five."
I wanted to go home and curl up in bed and read.
"Um, well, I guess we, uh, we can . . . "
"You ain't never done this, have ya?"
I stepped closer to Brad as I heard someone behind me get in a car.
"What do you mean? I've, um, I've had sex before."
Brad chuckled. Suddenly, I could see he felt he was in charge of things.
"You ain't never picked up a hustler before."
I felt that I had to take charge of the situation. I wasn't going to let some fifteen year-old punk decide what was going to happen. With a gruff tone, I declared, "Twenty-five. I want it all."
"Alright! Dude, we're gonna party hardy tonight!"
I was dying on the inside. Yet, I was more excited than I had ever been. And scared. And horny.
As we came up to Main Street, a thought occurred to me.
"You, ah, you want some beer?"
"Sure! If you're buyin’."
I nodded and smiled and soon emerged from the SuperQuik with a six of Bud.
We said very little as we walked toward the house. Every once in awhile, I would look at Brad. His dark blond, brownish-red hair was flowing in the breeze as it fell over his ears, across his face, and down his collar. The bruise beside his eye was almost gone, but the scar above his lip was still there, though not as noticeable.
Once, he caught me looking at him and grinned.
"Whatcha looking' at?"
"You're hot, man." I couldn't believe I said it.
Have you ever done something you knew was wrong, that you didn't want to do, that you knew you weren't supposed to do, but that you would die if you didn't do? This was one of those times and the fact that I had had those beers over at Nicky's followed by three beers at the bar plus the horny state I had started in guaranteed that no mater how much guilt I felt, I was going through with this. I had to know what it was like. I had to experience it.
I loved Davy. I loved Davy more than anything. But, Davy was . . . well, Davy was thirteen. Sure, Brad was fifteen. But, it would be like a completely different thing. I needed to know what mature, man-to-man sex was like and doing it with Brad, even if he was only fifteen, was closer to that than anything I would get with Davy for a long time. Was I superficial? Yes. But, I had to know.
"You ain't never been to that bar before, have ya?" Brad asked as we trudged through the snow packed sidewalk along Third Street.
"How do you know?" I asked, curious to know what I had done wrong.
"A hot guy like you? Leaving alone?"
"You think I'm hot?"
"I ain't gay. But, you got the look. Shit, you should have gone home with Old Man Conlin. That Mercedes is a fine car. He'd have fucked ya good."
I remembered now where I had seen the older gentleman who had smiled so kindly at me. He had come into Mancinelli's, sometimes with Donald. He was a bigwig at the college.
"You wouldn't be going home with me."
There was a trace of bitterness in his voice.
"But, that's OK. I'll show you a good time. I'll give you the best fuck in Canterbury!"
I was shivering and couldn't stop my jaw from trembling as we turned up the driveway. I didn't know if it was the cold, my nerves, my hormones, or what. I hoped Brad didn't notice. It was weird. I was in a heavy winter coat and shivering like a kid. Brad was wearing just the leather jacket and seemed just fine. Maybe he was used to this.
The house was dark, as was the garage. Brad followed me up the steps. Pity. I wanted to look at that fine butt of his.
When I opened the door and let him in, he walked past the bathroom into the dark room. I closed the door, passed him, and flicked on my desk lamp. It was cold, so I turned up the space heater to the right of my desk and then, for some reason, plugged in my Christmas lights. Brad grinned.
I set the beer down on my desk and pulled off my coat and hung it on the knob of the closet to dry.
"It's a little cold in here. I'll wait till it warms up," Brad said as he pulled the wooden chair from the side over to the desk. I opened my mini-fridge and saw I didn't have room for the beer. I handed Brad one and put another on the desk for me and then put the others out on the stoop to keep cold. When I came back, Brad had the mini-fridge open and was eyeing the sandwich stuff hungrily.
"Dude, you, uh, you mind if I make a sandwich?"
"Oh, sure! Go ahead!" Images of Brad crawling around the dumpster outside Mancinelli's entered my mind. Oh, my God, I thought. I'm taking advantage of a poor innocent kid whose been forced to enter a life of prostitution because of his poverty! As he quickly plopped half of my lunch meat on a couple of pieces of white bread, added several slices of cheese and what was left of my Miracle Whip, I dropped onto the one empty chair across from Brad and watched sadly.
He closed the fridge and began to wolf down the sandwich. He nodded at me a couple times, washing down bites with Bud. He had opened the bottle with his jacket. I didn't have a church key and Brad grinned, taking my bottle and opening mine as well. I quickly chugged half the bottle, hoping that my guilt would be washed away by the alcohol.
Brad looked at me as he gulped down some beer. He smiled as he put the bottle down on my desk. He looked at the things I had arranged on it. Next to my lamp was my prayer book and Bible. Beside that was a picture of me when I was seven with my parents on Padre Island in Texas. And to the left of that was the silver framed picture Donald had given me of me and Davy. Brad picked it up.
"So, you and Freakle boyfriends?"
"So, why ya doin' this?"
I shrugged. He grinned.
"Ya need more than his little dick?"
I looked at him in outrage.
"I love Davy! He's the sweetest, the most wonderful, sensitive, loving, incredible . . . "
I stopped because the incongruous nature of my defending the boy I loved to the hustler I was about to have sex with was more than I could handle at that moment. Brad understood.
"Sorry, man. It’s cool. Freakle's a good guy. I give him shit, but it’s good for him. I know he's a good guy."
I looked at the floor.
Brad stood up and went to the door to retrieve another couple of beers. I wasn't certain I needed more, but I knew I wanted more.
He took his jacket off and slung it over the back of his chair. He was wearing a black Jethro Tull t-shirt which clung to his torso. His pecs were hot, though his abs were just hinting at pudgy. His arms seemed almost hairless. Strange. He shook his hair as he sat down. He opened both bottles and grinned at me. His face, his expression, his eyes, his grin were all so seductive.
"It’s warmin' up in here now," he said softly. "Why don't ya turn off the light?"
I reached over and turned the switch. The only light in the room was from the space-heater on the floor to my right and the multi-colored lights on my skinny Christmas tree.
"You got any tunes?" he asked.
I turned around and flicked on the clock radio on the nightstand beside the couch. I had been too lazy to make the bed that morning and the sheets and blankets were in complete disarray. I started to apologize, but realized Brad probably wouldn't be offended.
I had the jazz station from the college on.
"Oh, man. Not that shit!"
I reached over and turned the station to an album rock station in Zenith. Ozzy suddenly flooded the room.
"Ah right!" Brad gave me two thumbs up.
I settled back in my chair and watched Brad as he rocked down in his chair, closing his eyes and moving with the beat.
Suddenly, his eyes brightened.
"Hey, man, you wanna get high?"
I was already pretty messed up and after five beers in the evening, I had very little resistance left. I smiled and nodded and Brad grinned at me.
"I knew you weren't a Boy Scout."
Actually, I had been a Boy Scout, Eagle, in fact, the proof of which hung on the wall behind me. But, I let it go. I stood up uncertainly and went to the bathroom, where I let go with an enormous pee. I then picked up the glass on the sink and drank some water and then took it in to Brad.
"So you won't have a hangover tomorrow," I said as he looked at me questioningly. It was something Nicky had told me about and I was sure with all I had drunk that I would have a dreadful hangover in the morning. Brad shook his head and drank.
I sat down and Brad pulled a joint out of the pocket of his leather jacket. He also pulled out one of those new plastic disposable lighters from Bic and handed it to me.
"This is really good shit. My old lady gets nuttin' but the best."
I was afraid to ask if he was referring to his mother or his girlfriend, but I held the joint in my fingers. I looked at it uncertainly. I hated drugs. I didn't really like alcohol, but I decided if I was going to Hell that night, I might as well go all the way.
I had never smoked a joint before, nor had I ever smoked a cigarette. Warily, though trying to look as if I knew what I was doing, I held it to my lips. But, I couldn't figure out how to use the lighter. Brad chuckled and lit it.
"Take it slow," he warned, obviously knowing I was a novice.
I did. Soon my lungs were filled with the acrid smoke. I held my breath as long as I could and then...
Brad grinned as he took the joint from me and took a hit. Now I knew why Davy kept pestering me and why we had gone through such a difficult period in July. I felt so peaceful and relaxed.
My God. If I had been horny earlier, I couldn't even begin to describe what I felt at that moment. Brad chuckled again and handed me the joint. I inhaled again. Brad leaned down and removed his boots. As he leaned back in the chair, he slung his reddish brown hair out of his face and gave me a smoldering look. He knew what effect he was having on me.
"It’s hot in here," he repeated softly. He leaned forward, took the joint and inhaled again. As he held his breath, he placed the joint on the edge of my desk and slowly pulled his tee-shirt off. His smooth stomach had a faint line of hair leading from the navel downward. His chest was bare, crowned with two quarter-size copper nipples. There were small, sparse tufts of dark hair under his arms and as he pulled the shirt over his head and dropped it on the floor next to his boots, he shook his hair again and gave me another knowing grin as he sat back. He scooted his hips forward on the chair and spread his legs, revealing a huge rise in his crotch. It was thick and pointed to the left. He picked up the joint, which was pretty short by now, and handed it to me.
My eyes devoured Brad as I reached forward. I could see my hand moving out to the joint, but it was as if I were an observer rather than a participant in the activity. I brought it to my lips and inhaled.
The end burned my fingers and I dropped it on the floor. Brad giggled.
"Step on it," he said and I did, not even thinking how disgusting it was to have the remains of a joint stamped out on my floor.
"This shit always makes me so fuckin' horny," Brad whispered. I could say nothing. I only nodded. He reached down and started rubbing his crotch. I was painfully hard and followed suit, rubbing my own erection through the fabric of my jeans.
Brad ripped open his button-fly. Like the guy at the bar, he was wearing no underwear. His cock pushed out from his crotch and stood up angrily from a nest of dark, reddish-brown hair. It was circumcised and the head was wide and thick.
I felt as if I were in a dream. I watched in fascination as his right hand slowly moved upward and wrapped around his rigid cock. Slowly, teasingly, he began to pump it, the flaps of his jeans falling open under his hand.
"God, that feels so fuckin' good," he moaned. His eyes were locked on mine as he pumped. "Why don't you pull yours out and jack it, man. Make it feel good. Come on, dude. Beat on it."
I had never seen anything so hot. I had never felt so aroused. Nothing with Davy had ever approached this for sheer nasty, hot, sexuality. Davy was essentially innocent. Our sex was innocent, too, even if it was intense. This wasn’t innocent. Not even a little.
My relationship with Davy was based on love, mutual love, on being together, on complementing each other, and it was spiced and enlightened by sex. This, now, was simply sex, purely sex, but, oh my God, this was man sex, mature sex, and I was entirely overwhelmed by it, and I wanted it to never end.
Trying to keep my eyes locked on his cock, I mechanically pulled my sweatshirt up and off, throwing it carelessly on the floor by the bed, and then opened my jeans and shoved down my underwear. My throbbing erection pushed out, and I grabbed it and started pumping.
I wanted to do it slowly, but I had almost no control. It felt so good. So, incredibly good. I was about to lose my mind.
We sat there, two high and horny teenagers, jacking our cocks, working our hips, moaning our lust. It was incredible.
"Oh, yeah! Jack it!" Brad growled.
"Oh, yeah," I breathed.
Suddenly, Brad stood up, his boner standing up proudly at a forty-five degree angle before me. He pushed his jeans down and stepped out of them, standing gloriously naked before me, his hair falling over his face and ears, his cock throbbing just inches from my face. He spread his feet, thrust his hips outward, and grasped his cock again.
"Oh, yeah," he cried as he jacked his boner in my face, working his hips and panting. I stood and followed suit, spreading my legs, thrusting my hips forward and beating on my boner with everything I had.
"Oh, my God!" I cried.
We were both panting and groaning as we stroked ourselves into a frenzy. Then, as Brad's groans became more intense, he suddenly let go of his cock. I, too, could sense that my orgasm was approaching. I don't know how I was able to stop, but I did.
Brad and I stood naked in front of each other, our angry cocks bobbing just inches from each other. I could see his stomach and chest heaving with each breath. I looked up at his face. The reddish-brown hair falling across his face, the sprinkling of freckles across his nose and cheekbones, his panting mouth, those smoldering eyes locked on mine were the sexiest thing had ever seen.
"Feel me," he breathed.
I reached forward and wrapped my right hand around his erection. We both moaned as my left hand grabbed his balls and I began feeling him in a frenzy. His cock was so rigid, his balls so fat and tight in his scrotum, his hair so silky. His dick was slick with the precum that was pouring from the tip and dripping between our legs.
As I looked back up at his face, I breathed, "You are so fucking hot."
"So are you, man."
There was a quick look of shock on Brad's face after he uttered those words and then, he moaned, "Oh, yeah," before he grabbed my dick and balls with both hands.
For several seconds, we wildly jacked and stroked and felt each other. It was amazing, our groans and grunts almost sounding like animals. I looked up at his face as his eyes looked down at our jacking fists. He was pretty. This rough, angry, bad boy actually looked pretty. I wanted kiss him, to take his face in my hands.
Brad looked up at me, saw my eyes, saw my expression. Before I could lean over and place my lips hungrily against his, I saw a look of fear pass over his face. He let go of my cock and balls and placed his hands on my shoulders.
"Suck me," he commanded.
I fell to my knees and, without a second thought, I took his cock in my mouth.
The taste was sharper, far more funky than Davy's sweet penis. It was sweaty. It was male. It was hot. My left hand jacked his boner as I sucked and my right hand grabbed my own cock and pumped wildly away.
"Ah, fuck! Suck me!" he cried and, grabbing my head began to fuck my mouth hard.
"AH! AH! AH! YEAH!"
He thrust his cock into my throat. I gagged as he came in my mouth. The cum seemed endless as he pumped his cock and seed into me. I lost it and shot my own load on the floor as Brad finished cumming. The taste of his cum was so intense. I nearly passed out as the spasms exploded through my body.
Brad collapsed on the chair, gasping for breath, his body heaving. His cocked remained rigidly erect. I sat back on my feet, my knees wide open before me, my penis still pointed upward.
"My God!" I breathed. "I, I never thought it could be like that."
Brad's panting mouth grinned at me.
"Ya liked that?"
"Oh, yeah. Oh, wow."
Our breathing was slowly returning to normal, but as we both continued to gaze at each other, our cocks remained rigid and I realized I was still wildly horny. But, there was more. I wanted more of Brad. I wanted more hot wild, nasty, dirty sex. But, I wanted more. I wanted HIM. I wanted to hold him, feel him, feel him breath, feel him hold me. I wanted to smell him, taste him, hold him. I wanted HIM.
"You, ah, you don't mind if I crash here tonight, do ya?" he asked with a sexy smirk.
"Fuck, no!" I breathed. "I want you."
"I want you, too," he replied.
And, without another thought about Davy, the boy I loved, the sweet boy who had given me his love as unconditionally as anyone could, the boy to whom I had pledged my life, I stood and held my arm out. Brad stood and we wrapped our arms wound each other. Our faces came together, our lips touched, and we kissed. Hard.