MIKE and RICHIE
chapter 2
by Donny Mumford
In that confident, almost arrogant manner of his, Mike continues walking unhurriedly towards me. He's warned me not to go closer to the painters so I'm frozen in place. Again Mike tells me, "Don't run; walk towards me, Richard." He isn't looking at me, but rather at the two tough guys who stare down the boardwalk trying to make out who he is. In a much sterner voice this time, Mike says, "Do what the fuck I told you to do, Richie! Come to me." Richie? He called me 'Richie'. I stare at him a second longer and then drift towards him slowly, not sure I'm doing the right thing, but somehow trusting Mike. The hefty painter nudges his partner and says something to him that I can't hear, then he yells down to Mike, "Well look who da fuck it is! Hey, Sullivan, how they hangin'?" Mike flashes the painters the bird, and second painter yells, "Tell me, are your old man and your chicken shit brother still in jail?". I'm ten feet from Mike when he calls down to the tough guys in a calm clear voice, saying "No asshole, my bro plea bargained out of that shit. Which reminds me, Jose, last time I talked to Danny he was wondering if your sister's still giving out the two dollar blow jobs down Atlantic City under the boardwalk?" Both the Hispanic guys drop their paint brushes and start running towards us at an alarmingly fast pace. Mike says to me, "Run your fucking ass off Richie, follow me!" I didn't hesitate because he's deadly serious. The painters are thundering up the boardwalk closing in on me fast; they're motivated and pissed off in a major way. After five steps Mike has doubled the distance between him and me. I'm running in a panic by now as Mike flies down a ramp five yards up on the right. Pumping my arms as hard as I can, slapping my sandals against the boards gasping for oxygen, the painters have already made up half the distance between us. I can't believe guys that big can run that fast!
At the ramp I almost fall over making the turn. Mike's stomping down on the lever starting his motorbike as I regain my balance and start down the ramp with the sound of heavy breathing coming from the painters who are now within fifteen feet of the ramp. The motorbike starts right up, Mike's looking back with concern on his face... for me? He yells, "Faster you dumb fuck! They catch ya, they'll put you in the hospital!" It was downhill on the ramp so I was able to close the distance to Mike quickly, slowing up just enough at the end to hop on the narrow seat extending from under Mike, bumping into his back in the process. His body is taut; he yells, "Hold around my waist, tight!" I grabbed his waist with both hands as he begins a wicked fast take off; it's so forceful my hands pull away from his waist and I'm going backward off the the bike. I can't even scream; it sticks in my throat 'cause I'm a goner! Mike whips his left arm behind him and around my back pulling me up against him tightly. I can feel the strength in his arm and see the bulging muscle. He saved me from falling off backwards but the motion shifted our weight on the bike to the left and the bike is going down to crash on it's side with us under it. Mike grunts out a loud, "Fuck!" as he jerks his weight to the right pulling me upright with the bike, and at the last possible second balances the bike and we roar off.
The painters, huffing and puffing had gotten within ten feet of us and when we pulled away one of those dangerous looking fuckers hacked up a luggie and hocked it at us; I felt some of the spit spray on the side of my face as it whizzed by. They screamed curses and threats at us, but we're gone. Within two minutes Mike had us on a straight road that looked like it might go on on forever.
In Jersey you can get on a stretch of flat road, in this case a hard-packed dirt road, that goes for miles and miles, seemingly to nowhere with farm land on both sides all the way there. Mike's traveling at a high speed now and it seemed we were almost ready to take off for flight. I'm hugging him around his stomach, my chin on the back of his shoulder. He has to be feeling my heart pounding against his back. That's as frightened as I've ever been; I'd come close to a number of disasters in a short period of time and Mike saved me from each one. "Sullivan", is his last name; maybe he's Irish. And he'd called me 'Richie' instead of Richard: I hugged him tighter. It was so cool flying down this back road without another living soul in sight. We'd been passing corn fields for miles; the rows on both sides of the road were a blur as we roared by. I don't know why Mike is riding us way out in farm country like this, and I don't care why either because all of a sudden I realize I'm having fun; having a good time, and that's a first for me in Wildwood. And another thought drifts into my mind: "It's wonderful to hug Mike like I'm doing right now!" Trying to remember who the last person I hugged this tightly was, and no one came to mind. Feeling safe and happy, I rested the side of my forehead against the back of his neck; he smells good. Then, just because I felt like doing it, I readjusted my arms around him a little lower on his stomach and hugged even tighter. My boner came right up and pressed high up on his bum. I had to shut my eyes tight because a feeling swept over me that was intense and new, and awesome. All around my crotch and stomach and upper thighs I felt tingling sensations, the kind I get before climaxing. I'd never gotten this feeling any other time except when I jerk off. Now I experience it from just sitting behind Mike and hugging him. I can tell I'm not gonna have an orgasm, but I sure am enjoying this pre-climax sensation as we fly along this road leaving a dust storm in our wake.
Mike took us out for the better part of a half hour and then made a big lazy U-turn and headed back up the same road we came out on. Going back he went just as fast as the trip out. He never said a word. By the time I started recognizing landmarks we'd been riding for almost an hour and I can't remember enjoying any other hour in my life as much as I enjoyed this one. He took me right to the spot across the street from my house where I first met him. I let go of him and swung my right leg over to get off the seat and fell right on my ass. After an hour on the back seat of the motorbike, in that one position, my legs didn't act the way they should. I laughed and looked up at Mike who had a scowl on his face. "My legs are numb, all pins and needles," I said with a smile, stumbling to my feet. Mike waited a few seconds before spitting out, "Don't ever go near that section of the boardwalk again, Richard. Those guys hate us, hate us with a fucking passion." I wonder who he means by "us"? With that he starts to pull away. "Wait Mike, please wait a second. I want to thank you, man. You really saved my ass. And thanks for the ride. I loved it. It's the only fun I've had since I moved here". Mike looks at me for a second, then goes, "You live here, Richard? I thought you only stayed for the summer, like in past years." That took me by surprise: Mike knew I was here in past summers? I don't ever remember seeing him. I mumble, "Um, yeah. My Mom kind of threw me out so I'm here full time now, living with my old man." He's nodding his head, then asks, "You going to the High School here this year?" I tell him I am and ask if he wants a Coke. He says, "Yeah, what the fuck, I'm thirsty. Walk the bike over and don't drop it or I'll drop you." With that he starts across the street toward my house.
I watch him for a second, then start pushing his motorbike. It's a bitch trying to walk this thing off one curb and across the street and up the other curb. It's much heavier and harder to push than it I'd have thought. When I make it across the street and get the kick stand down, delicately balancing the bike, I look up on the porch and Mike, who'd never even looked back, is smirking at my difficulty. Coming up the front steps to join him on the porch, I say, "Your bike's so cool, Mike!" He makes a face at me, like, "What a geek!" as I'm going inside for the cokes. Carrying two cans of coke and some potato chips out onto our little front porch, I'm smiling and offering the soda a chips to Mike. He ignores me, taking a couple of last drags off his cigarette, then flicks the butt into the street ten feet away. I watch it fly through the air, and say, "Neat!" He gives me the same look he'd given me earlier and then takes a can of coke off the tray and finishes the whole can it in three long pulls, followed by a loud burp. Guess he's one of those guys who just lets it roll down his throat without swallowing. I need to do a deliberate swallow for every mouthful. Mike ignores the potato chips and lights up another cigarette, mumbling, "Thanks," then sits on the railing watching me self-consciously drink my soda, swallow after swallow while wondering whys he staring at me; finally, with a grin, I ask, "What?" He shakes his head like, 'never mind!' and I say, "No, really... what is it?" Mike puffs out his cheeks as he exhales smoke, then goes, "If you want to be in my gang you need to get a buzz cut." Leaving the cigarette between his lips, he talks around it, saying, "Come over here." I walk the three steps to stand in front of him; he hops off the railing, and he says, "Just stand still!" Then, with one hand behind my head, he uses his other hand to lift the hair off my forehead and push it back away from my face, flat on the top of my head. "There, you look good that way. Not so faggy." His cigarette smoke burns my eyes so I squint, looking at Mike through slits in my eyelids. For the first time in my life I have this thought about another boy: "Mike is wicked cute!" I've never before thought of the word 'cute' when thinking of a boy. It's shocking and kinda scary.
He held onto my head for another 10 seconds or so, then let his hands drag across my face before taking his hands away. I smell the nicotine on his fingers just like that time on the boardwalk. I felt almost like I was hypnotized, just standing there in front of Mike looking at him through my slitted eyelids, until he asks, "Well, you wanna be a member of my gang or not?" I mumble, "Yeah, sure I do. Thanks Mike." He goes, "Well get the buzz cut then!" turns around and walks off the porch and, without looking back, starts his bike and does a wheelie off the sidewalk, leaving tire marks. I've got another boner. Now I definitely have someone to think about when I jerk off. No sense ignoring the fact that he makes my dick hard. For the next couple of days I think about him as I'm jerking off and cum is firing out my cock. Mike puts a lot of HOT in my life.
Naturally, this seemingly gay attraction I have for Mike is something that needs explaining so I go back to spending time on the Internet looking for a similar situation to mine. I'm convinced I'm gay only for Mike; where everyone else is concerned, I'm my normal heterosexual regular guy self just like I always thought I was. I couldn't find collaboration for that theory, unfortunately. The bisexual category didn't seem to fit my situation either. Nothing fits. I continue to be very confused about everything. I mean, Mike is the one who's always doing stuff to me, touching me and all that, but yet he's the one calling me gay and pretending he isn't! Oh, the hell with it; I can't find a solution for me on the WWW so I give up my search and try not to worry about it. Mike affects me in a sexual way and that's that; explanations of why won't change that fact anyway. I never do get around to getting my hair cut in a buzz; I don't know why, I guess I just didn't feel like it. In a few days I just forget about it. Then, one morning after I'd finished my chores I hear a motor bike approaching, or is it my imagination? Looking out the living room window confirms that, sure enough, it's Mike parking his bike in his familiar spot across the street. He'd come to see me, what other reason would he have for being here? With a big smile on my face, I run out the door to say 'hi'. When I wave and yell "Hi!" from across the street he says nothing, he just shakes his head back and forth like he's disappointed about something, but not surprised about it. I ask, "What?" and Mike yells for me to get over there, so
I jog over, and say, "Hi, again. What's sup?" He frowns at me like I'm a nerd, so I babble a little telling him I'm wicked happy he stopped around and blah, blah, blah. Him still staring at me with a blank expression on his face, but saying nothing. Then he wrinkles his forehead and opens his eyes wide, turning the palms of his hands up like he's prompting me to say something, and then I know what it is. I say, "Sorry, Mike, but my old man don't want me to get a buzz cut. He says buzz cuts are for white supremacist groups which he's opposed to." It's a total lie, my old man couldn't care less how I get my hair cut. I'm not sure why I don't just get the haircut and maybe become friends with Mike. Maybe it's because somewhere in my mind I feel I'm too much of a pussy around Mike and I need to defy him in one way at least. Anyway, Mike listens to my bullshit story sitting there on his bike as I'm standing there feeling awkward and looking guilty because I don't like lying. Finally he shrugs, and says, "Don't matter anyway because the guys say you're definitely queer." I open my mouth, then shut it, exasperated! Finally I managed to sputter, "What?" And then after a few seconds, "Why would they say that? They don't even know me." Mike makes a exaggerated thoughtful expression, as if he can't imagine why they'd think I'm queer, but it is what it is, ya know? Then he says, "Okay, maybe they're wrong. I'll give ya a test that'll prove it one way or another. Bring the bike across the street." "Test?", I'm thinking while struggling with that damn bike again. Motor bikes are heavy and unwieldy when they're not running. I ask him what kind of 'test' he has in mind and instead of answering he asks for a Coke. I bring two cokes out, hand Mike one and then sit up on the porch railing at the end of the porch, like he did for our first coke together.
He finishes his Coke just as fast as he did the other day, puts the empty can on the rocking chair, and walks over to stand in front of me. I look at him questioningly, and he says, "Just sit up straight right there!" He takes my Coke and finishes it in one long swallow. It's fun being so close to him, his blue eyes staring into mine; I'm thinking, "This is so cool... hangin' with mike.". Putting a hand on each of my knees he slowly moves my legs apart until, bam! with a sudden fast final thrust, both my legs are spread wide against the railing and I'm falling backward off the porch. My arms flail out and grab the only thing I can reach, Mike. I get him around the neck with both my arms, hanging on for dear life. He moves his hands up the inside of my thighs, stopping at the bottom of my shorts. I'm thinking, "Oh no, not again!" and, out loud I plead, "Please don't grab my dick again, Mike. That's no test; anyone would get a boner if his pecker's massaged." Mike maintains a neutral expression as he gently squeezes, then rubs his fingers on the inside of my thighs. I readjusted to a tighter grip around his neck and our noses bump together. Mike's breath is in my face and today it smells like cigarettes, Coke, and Juicy Fruit gum. His face is a little flush; we say nothing, breathing erratically. It's surreal, but pleasant and I have a strong urge to kiss him although, of course, I don't. This close up, a thought comes to mind, "This is a very good looking boy!" To break the silence, I go, "Come on, Mike! Let me get down, please. I'll split my head open on the cement walk if I fall backward off this railing." Mike says nothing so, for the hell of it, I adjust my grip around his neck again just because I want to rub my nose against his again, then I do it again. Still nothing from Mike, just the constant rubbing of the inside of my thighs and of course it's having an affect on my dick.
I'm wearing an old pair of shorts that I often wear while doing my chores; the leg openings are baggy and just as I expected, Mike slides a hand up each leg opening and rubs my cock and balls
with the tips of his fingers through the outside of my boxer shorts. "Oh God, Mike... Don't do this again, please!" I gasped, as my boner comes right up. Mike's forehead's touching mine so I move my
face against his just because it feels so good to do that; when I do it I can't suppress a moan. Rubbing against the perspiration on his face is sexy and he's begun slowly stroking my boner and lightly
squeezing my balls and it all feels awesome. I'm getting near an orgasm already. "Ohh fuck, Mike, please; this isn't fair!" He continues with the lazy stroking, then picks up the pace getting into a nice
easy rhythm; nothing's ever felt this good before. Of course, he's sorta done this once before to me outside the convenience store the day I ran into him and the redhead; that time I was scared, this time I'm concentrating on how fantastic it feels.
Shortly my hip are lightly humping against his hands, an involuntary action as my balls tightened up; he's got me so hot now I don't even want to hold back; I want my orgasm. His relentless stroking, our faces rubbing together, my arms hugging around his neck, the wonderful odor coming off him; it all adds up to be the most intimately pleasurable thing I've ever been involved in. Stroking my cock and massaging my balls, sometimes lightly, a hard squeeze every once in a while has me gasping and blowing out air, spraying his cheek with a fine saliva mist. Everything feels so good, indescribably good, I can't help but let out a long moan of pleasure, then two quick grunts as the climax came up on me fast. Tightening my hold around his neck, my hips humped hard against his hands and the cum streamed from my pee hole splashing inside my boxers, and then again, and yet again. Our faces squished together; mine scrunched-up with the sensations of climax as I do a long, "Ahhhhhh, oohhh." Another muffled moan and finally a few lesser spurts of spunk and a feeling of dizziness from an overload of sensations all at once. It had only taken a little over two minutes to get me to cum; cum like I've never cum before! Frankly, I wish it could have lasted longer, which isn't what I should be thinking.
Mike pulls his hands out of my shorts and put them around my back to haul me onto the porch floor and up against him. It felt like he was giving me a big hug, and then he let go. "You flunked the test badly, Richard." I quietly tell him it isn't a fair test and that he'd cum in his pants if I did the same thing to him. He just said, "No fucking way! You're the fag, not me," then he headed for his bike. "That wasn't fair, Mike!" I yelled after him, beginning to recover some of my senses. My pants are wet with cum, and cooling off fast; now I feel stupid and pathetic. Mike didn't even look back. I'm pissed off, on my way inside to change my underwear and shorts he yells back at me, "Yeah, okay! Maybe it wasn't completely fair. We'll take a ride and talk some more about it." I should make myself forget him 'cause he's humiliates me, but I'm hooked on him and I don't know anybody else in town. I'm pouting a little, then I wave my hand at him, like "Yeah, sure!" but mumble, "Okay, I guess." He shouts back, "What was that?" and I yell, too loud, "Okay, but I gotta change my shorts first!" I hear him chuckle as I go inside feeling foolish and wondering why I'm letting him get away with these things. In my bedroom I'm thinking, "Hey, stop pouting, you got another chance to make a friend, and he did save your ass today. Plus, it'll be interesting watching Mike rationalize jerking me off as a fair test that I'm the fag." With clean boxer underpants and shorts on, I cross the street and get on the back of Mike's bike. He seems slightly contrite so that's good; neither of us says anything though and that's awkward. Feeling like the victim here, I let myself enjoy a little more pouting before hugging him around the waist. Mike freezes for a second, then mumbles, "Oh, fuck it!" and stomps down on the starter, the bike roars to life and off we go. After the wheelie take-off Mike slowed down, he stayed within a reasonable facsimile of the speed limit and we arrive at the town's Middle School playground in about ten minutes. After parking, still not talking, I follow him over to the swings where Mike sits on one and kicks off a little to swing gently back and forth. I did the same on the swing next to Mike's, thinking, "A school playground might be the last place I'd expect Mike to take us." It's a hot day in June and we're the only people here, just silently drifting back and forth with me sneaking peeks at Mike admiring how sharp he looks, how cool. Even the buzz cut looks perfect on him; maybe any hair style would. I stare at his hands holding onto the two chains of his swing seat, and think, "Can I believe it? He just wacked me off and squeezed my nuts with those hands. Some of my spunk must still be on one of them."
Mike breaks the silence, interrupting my admiration of him, by saying, "Okay, I've thought about it and you're right, that's a dumb test for proving a guy's gay. I can see now that it don't prove nothing and it's stupid." I don't know if he's putting me on or not so I maintain my pout. He doesn't seem stupid himself so I can't believe he ever thought doing that to me would prove anything, although I'm glad he did it now because we seem to be getting closer to something; but what that something is, I haven't a clue. Mike has more to say, "I'll make a deal with you, Richard; I'll never mention you spunked your pants again, and you never mention anything about that dumb test to anybody, including to me. Let's just forget it ever happened! Plus, to show you my hearts in the right place, I'll let you hang out with me sometimes, but you can't be a member of the gang because of the buzz cut rule. Fair enough?" To be honest, I'm thrilled! So this is the 'something' we were getting closer to. Yes, I'm thrilled, but I stay calm, replying, "Sure, Mike." He held his fist over and I bump it with mine, and ask, "Um, Mike... ah, well, do you think you and me can be friends too, or something?" He looks at me and I see a kindness in his eyes, a look I haven't noticed before. Then, he reverts to his usual macho self, and says, "I don't know about friends; why don't ya just try hanging out and we'll see how it goes." I nod my head in agreement, feeling good about that at least. Also, it seems we've made a pact of some kind that's more than what he said it was, which feels strange; probably it feel strange because it's been a very strange hour or so, but at the same time it's been good too. We walk across the street so Mike can buy cigarettes, he tells me he's gotta meet his brother soon and then rides me back to my place. Getting off his bike, I thank him like he's done me some big favor and he accepts the thanks almost reluctantly giving me the sense that somehow I'd done something wrong, but he's willing to forgive me for it. Damn, how's he do that? I didn't do anything! He's off in a billow of smoke with tires screeching. Oh well, at least now I get to hangout with him, and that's something I feel good about. Walking inside the house I glance at the porch railing where I'd cum in my pants and a big smile brakes out on my face... oh man! Before going to sleep that night the urge to masturbate is overwhelming and while doing it I recreate Mike jerking me off in my head which produces a very satisfying explosion of cum into the sock I use for this purpose. Whoa!
I get into the routine of doing that 40 minute walk to the boardwalk each day after my chores. I first go to the spot where I saw Mike and his 'gang' originally as it's usually where I can find them. If they're not there I'll walk up to the left slowly looking for them and almost every day they'll be on the boards somewhere. The two original boys, Tony (the redhead) and the chubby one (Mac) are almost always there and then there are another five or six guys who show up a couple of times a week, but not on any kind of a regular schedule. They all have buzz cuts haircuts, just like Mike said, but so do a lot of other kids walking the boardwalk; it's not like it's unique or anything. We do mostly regular teen hangin' out stuff: talking among ourselves, smoking cigarettes, buying food and drinks, lots of subtle harassment among ourselves and of passers-by; especially girl passers-by, they receive an unfair amount of mostly crude attention. The old and infirm aren't spared either and that makes me feel uncomfortable at times, but mostly it's harmless comments the passer-by don't even hear. There's a lot of laughs; everything makes us laugh, often hysterically over stuff that's actually not all that funny; it's just that it's fun to laugh with your friends. Mike's in charge, of course, although he's not one of the big laugher; he's more a smirker. He decides when we roam up and down the boards and when we stay put for a bit... he decides when we'd do anything really but it's not like he gives orders; he just starts off and we all follow.
Redheaded Tony turns out to be a sweet guy, although not a particularly bright one. There's something about Mac that's not quite friendly, but he's okay. A lot of the boys look like outlaws, but are basically innocent misfits, closer to choir boys in disguise than outlaws. They laugh at everything I say and seem to like me. Like I said, all the guys are subservient to Mike, which is fine with me 'cause I am too. Maybe everyone has a crush on him too; I know I do. Actually, I don't think any of these boys are gay; they seem genuinely hot for the babes although the babes they attract just barely qualified as 'babes'. Anyway, next to Mike, I like Tony best. As for Mike, he can be moody and sometimes mean spirited and he's usually hard on me and quick to make me the butt of a joke just to embarrass me; it's done to entertain the guys and to make sure the new kid, me, understands his place as the new kid in town. Often, when not embarrassing me, Mike ignores me and I think I'd rather he pay attention to me even if it's to embarrass me than ignore me. It's not my personality to be confrontational so I rarely disagreed or argue with anyone, I smile a lot, go along with the jokes, and add some of my own self deprecating humor as well. This proves to be a winning formula for the guys in the gang and I get along.
Okay, it doesn't sound too thrilling, I admit that, but it seems wonderful to me when compared to having no friends at all.
And then there's that extra special 'something' that is very exciting for me; three or four times a week Mike will say, "Yo, I'm taking the fuck off. I got stuff to do," and he'll ask me, "Need a ride, dickhead? I'm going that way." I always say yes, of course, and we'll walk silently to wherever he's parked his bike, sometimes illegally on the boardwalk, and off we go. He'll drives us to all kinds of places... from little known small beaches to the various school playground in town, or spots on the bay; anyplace that's secluded. When we get there Mike likes to have conversations. He says I'm the only one with any brains, besides himself, in the gang. He's interested in what I think about a variety of things from religion to politics, movies, music, life after death, UFOs... lots of topics. We talk and smoke for a couple hours at a time. He doesn't talk about himself or his family life very much, although I know he has a job working on a tomato farm from early morning to early afternoon, but not every day. Just when he's needed. His mother works at the farm full time and she calls him when he's needed. That's the extent of what I know about him. We go for soft drinks and soft ice cream sometimes too and he's rarely mean or rude to me when it's just the two of us. He's quickly become the person I like the most in the world. I guess that isn't really saying much if I think about it 'cause there aren't a lot of 'stars' in my world at the moment, but I'm real glad for Mike. Sometimes I think my feelings for Mike go deeper than just being the person I like most in the world, but so far I can't quite make myself articulate what might be a more accurate description of how I feel about him. I can't allow myself to think I might be in love with him,
It's ironic that I now want Mike to give me another 'test' since I begged him to stop the last one. There's no way I can ever bring up that 'test' topic though because of our deal to never mention it again. Anyway, my favorite times of all are the times we wrestle together. Mike's a junior varsity wrestler in school and he's pretty good too. He tells me I'm too wimpy and I need to know how to protect myself. We'll do a lot of wrestling with Mike showing me the different holds and then the two of us practicing them. Wrestling is like the sexiest thing ever if you're doing it with someone you like best of everyone else in the world, and needless to say I love every minute of it. I'm always asking to learn more wrestling holds 'cause the bodily contact is fabulous. I'm not an idiot; I assume he likes the contact too, although he probably can't admit that even to himself. Sometimes we'll maintain wrestling 'holds' for a few minutes; both of us with wicked hard-ons, breathing fast in short bursts, our hearts pounding thump, thump, thump! Oh man, I love being with Mike so much I can't believe I ever thought I "hated living in Wildwood". It's my favorite place in the world now.
On any given day Mike and me might have a fabulous conversation and then an intimate wrestling match leaving us red faced and panting with boners poking out the front of our shorts, and the very next day with the 'gang' Mike will be right back to treating me like shit. I've known him for about six weeks now and already three times he's sent me home for annoying him on the boardwalk. Hard to believe, but true that he'll get pissed at me and say "You don't have to go home, but you can't stay here!" I hate that, but I turn and leave without arguing because what choice do I have? I go home because I have no where else to go. After he'd sent me home for the third time I analyzed what I'd done to get him to dismiss me like that. What was being talked about, what I'd say, and so forth and as it turns out that each time he sent me home I'd done or said something that Mike interpreted as me agreeing with someone else. Some little thing like who was a better ball player or what car was the hottest and I'd agreed with someone else's opinion over Mike's. The next day all's forgiven, but it's humiliating to say the least and I've decided to always be on Mike's side of the argument from now on; hell, the things the guys argue about are mostly dumb anyway.
This brings us to today: I'm on the boardwalk with some of the boys, but there's no Mike. We're pitching quarters, gambling, when Tony comes running up to tell us there's been a fire at Mike's house and while nobody's hurt, they can't live in their house now. I say, "So, it's uninhabitable, huh?" Tony goes, "I don't know about that, Richie, all I know is his brother told me they can't live there until it's fixed up." Some of us boys exchange glances, then Tony tells us that Mike, his mother, and brother now need to move in with his mother's sister; his aunt Jean. I feel bad for Mike knowing this disruption will be major to him. Later that day he comes roaring up on the boardwalk with his bike, he's pissed off and starts bitching and moaning about needing to share a pull out sofa bed with one of his fat cousins. There's going to be eight people sharing one bathroom and there aren't even enough chairs for everyone to sit together at dinner. Mike calls it a fucking nightmare of living conditions, and it'll probably be a lot longer then a month before their house is repaired. All the guys are sympathizing with Mike and I'm doing the same thing too, but I'm also forming a plan in my head. I'm wondering if my old man might go along with an idea I have. It's my father's off day so I ask to borrow Mac's cell phone, then call my house. Our conversation last a mere thirty seconds 'cause he doesn't have any objection to my idea as long as it won't inconvenience him. It'll be my responsibility to insure nothing gets fucked up. I guaranteed him things would run smoothly, thanked him profusely and really meant it, then hung up feeling a high level of excitement.
Back over to the guys I couldn't conceal my excitement and as soon as there's a break in the conversation, I blurt out, "Mike, you can bunk down with me if you want. It's only my old man and me and I never see him much at all. He's always out. I just called him and he said it's okay, it's fine with him." I ramble on as Mike's looking at me with an expression of hope on his face. Then I make the big mistake, by adding, "You can sleep in my bed if ya want!" The guys are gasping at that comment and I realize my error immediately but can't take the words back, so I continue to finish my sentence, running out of wind with each word, "and I can use my sleeping bag." There definitely was initial interest, I could see it in Mike's eyes, but the "you can sleep in my bed" comment turned the interest off and now he's pissed at me. I shouldn't have brought this up in front of everyone and I shouldn't have added that stupid comment about sleeping in my bed. Oh fuck, I'm so dumb!!
The guys are giggling as Mike gives me a hard look, but says nothing. My hopes had been soaring for about two seconds. The possibilities of wrestling in bed with Mike had my dick moving in my shorts. Now, I don't know how it's going to go. I want to clarify, so I reiterate the separate sleeping arrangements and then ask, "Well, Mike, what do you think?....." Mike thrust up his hand, and says, "Keep your mouth shut! I'm trying to think!" I didn't like hearing that, but even so I look away to avoid eye contact and don't say anything else. He expects that of me when other guys are around and I don't want him to send me home. Not today of all days. Not until he makes up his mind about my suggestion.
to be continued....
Donny Mumford thinat20@yahoo.com