This is a work of fiction. It includes scenes of sex between teenage boys. No resemblance to persons living or dead is intended. If you are underage, or if possession of this text is illegal in your area, leave now. Some of the activities described in this story may cause injury or transmit diseases, including HIV. Please play safe--I don't want to lose any fans!
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Powell and Me 6
I had to do a little digging to find out what happened, but not much: the school was buzzing. Powell and one of his gang got into a fight, and Powell knocked him against the corner of a wall, or a stairway or something, and he was unconscious. Or maybe Powell killed him. (He probably didn't, because the body on the gurney wasn't covered with a sheet, but I couldn't tell who it was.) (Unless he died on the way to the hospital.) (But nobody would know that, right?) (Nobody knew anything, really!) Powell's gang would know. Two of them, at least. But I couldn't just walk up to Horse or Snake. Dodger, then. Maybe Dodger would be safe to talk to. (Unless that was Dodger on the gurney. Why was my brain doing this shit to me!?)
I gnawed my pencil through the afternoon. Maybe they'd let Danny go! They could have just asked him some questions and brought him back to school! (But he was handcuffed!) (Or at least I thought that's what I saw.) I raced to the bus to get my usual aisle seat and watch who got on. His buddies climbed on, but not Danny. Fortunately, they were being loud.
"I saw it, Man," Snake laughed, talking over his shoulder as he walked past. "You shoulda seen--"
"Yeah, well spill it already! What happened?" Horse asked.
"He nailed the fucker. I swear he didn't get two words out before Powell nailed him. Went down like he was shot, or something!"
"What'd he say?" a third voice asked. Dodger--must have been. It was all I could do not to turn around.
"Nothing. I mean Zelinsky and the security guard were on him in seconds!"
"Not Powell, Man. The wrestler dude. What'd he say?"
The wrestler? Oh, shit!
"Fucked if I know! I was just coming down the stairs, Man. Just in time to see Powell nail the fucker."
"He's going to Juvie," Dodger said, with awe in his voice.
"The fuckin' jock started it, I bet." That sounded like Horse.
"Well, Zelinsky was like, right there. So maybe, maybe not," Snake said.
Zelinsky was the wrestling coach. Maybe he'd know! I could ask him! (God! What if Alan had confronted Danny, or something?) (It had to be! Alan would do that.) (Wouldn't he?) (But he'd know how to defend himself.) (But there was bad blood between them from the library, maybe.) This is my fault! I know it! Zelinsky. I mean, he's a teacher, right? He'd have to help me! Help Alan. Help Powell.
Dinner was pretty quiet: "How was school, Eddie?" "Fine, Mom." "How was work, dear?" "The usual." And then lots of silverware clicking. Meatloaf and green beans. "I got homework. Excuse me," followed by nods and Dad waving his fork.
Math was all about triangles, and I'm pretty good at that stuff, so I did enough to show I knew it, and got on to Social Studies. It was about the Vietnam War, which they kept calling a "conflict," for some reason, like the deaths didn't count, or something. It must have been weird, knowing the government could just grab you and put you in the Army like that. That's what would have happened to Powell, I bet. I was going to college, so ... why was that fair? Was any of it fair? I closed the textbook and stripped for my shower. I stood under the spray, thinking about everything, all scrambled together, and finally told the soap dish, "Life isn't fucking fair!"
I got Powell's t-shirt out of my night table drawer and smelled it and felt myself getting hard. "Jeez," I muttered. "Poor Danny's probably in jail and I'm getting hard!" I felt guilty for a moment, and then decided that jacking off was somehow a way to pay tribute to him, or something.
My hand didn't feel like Danny's of course. It was softer, gentler--just a bit. And I had my special spot, which Danny didn't know about, yet. He hit it by accident a couple of times, but I was a virtuoso. I draped the shirt over my face and tried to remember what his cock felt like in my mouth. They say that taste is mostly smell, so I pulled a deep breath through my nose. I felt my butt cheek with my left hand, but it wasn't anything like Danny's, squishy even when I tightened the muscle. My thigh felt pretty solid, though. I bent my legs so I could use my pelvis to pump my cock up and down in my hand, pushed the shirt into my mouth some, then devoted both hands to my cock and balls--and my special spot. "Danny," I said, crunching the shirt, and then my cock took over for a bit, shooting up and splashing down on me. One drop even hit the shirt near my nose!
After, I just lay there for a while, breathing through the shirt, tapping my shaft now and again. At last, I took the shirt off of my face and used it to wipe myself, then rolled it up and put it back in the drawer. I guess I fell asleep before too much of the worry came back.
I went through the paper three times in the morning before I found anything: a mention in the "Police Blotter" column back by the want ads. "Police were called to Fillmore High School at 12:45 yesterday in response to an altercation. One student was transported to the hospital. A second was taken into custody pending an investigation." My God! That was it? That was all the information they had? What kind of reporting is that?!
After I calmed down a little, I realized that Danny and Alan were both minors, so their names would have been withheld. And in the big world, two kids having a fight was pretty small news. In my world, though, it was closer to if the sun had exploded.
There was no more news on the bus to school. Powell's gang was unusually quiet, which really scared me. Somehow or another, I had to talk to Zelinsky, so I took a deep breath and stepped into the faculty office before Gym class. "Mister Zelinsky?"
"Yeah?"
"Could I talk to you for a minute?"
Zelinsky spun his chair around and examined me. "Okay!" he challenged.
"It's about, um, wrestling."
"You done any other sports?"
"No. I mean, I wanted to ask you about Alan. Nordman."
"Concussion. Not sports-related. That's all I can tell you."
"Okay. Um ... thanks."
Zelinsky grunted, already back to his desk.
That wasn't much help. I looked up information on "concussions," of course, but I quickly realized I would scare myself to death if I dug too deep. I was already thinking what if he never came to? And I still didn't know anything about Powell. I asked at the school office, just so I could say I'd tried, but they couldn't give me any information, no surprise. The only card I had left to play was to ask Dodger. I managed to get next to him in the cafeteria line. "Hey, Dodger? How's Powell?"
"Huh?" Dodger stared at me, maybe trying to remember if he knew me. "What business is it of yours?"
"Well, I just wanted to know, you know? I saw the cops--"
"Yeah. The wrestler dude's probably gonna press charges. 'Til then, he's gotta stay in jail and shit." He took a lunch plate from the woman behind the counter and we slid down the line. "He's suspended, I guess. Bet his old man's pissed." He shrugged. "'Course, his old man's always pissed, y'know?"
"Yeah." I hadn't known that, of course, but I wasn't surprised. Thanks." I took my plate, turkey something.
"You got a thing for him, huh?"
"Huh?"
"You're queer, right?"
"Ah, well--"
"'Sall right. My big brother's queer. To each his own, huh?" Dodger filled a cup with soda.
"Yeah, but--"
"I figured you had something going. Powell's got this way of ... I dunno. I'm not gonna ask him, that's for fuckin' sure." Dodger shrugged and turned to the checkout clerk. People can surprise you.
After school, I tried to catch more of the gang's chatter, but it was hopeless. I watched them get off the bus, deep in conversation. I couldn't make anything out, of course, but it looked like they were saying "Powell" a lot. What if Dodger let something slip? He said he wouldn't, but ... I mean, he's a stoner!
"Eddie?" Mom was waiting for me on the sofa when I got home.
"Hi, Mom."
"May I talk to you, dear?" She pointed to the other end of the sofa.
"Um, sure." Sofa conversations are usually pretty intense. I sat. My stomach was suddenly so tight it hurt.
"Your father told me about ... what you told him. About ... you know."
I nodded.
"Are you all right?"
I nodded again. The thought of telling her what was going on made me panicky. But maybe she wouldn't notice.
"You know we still love you."
Another nod.
"We ... I don't really understand it. I mean, I know ... but I don't understand." She raised her hand. "You don't have to tell me anything. Mothers worry. We can't help it. And we love our children. I love you, Eddie. I really do, no matter--I just want you to know that."
"Thanks, Mom. I ... I know. Thank you." I was starting to tear up.
"If you need ... If there's anything I can do ... you can always come to me, dear."
"Thanks--"
"Do you? Need anything? Is there ..."
"Thanks, Mom. Really. I'm okay, now that you ... now that I know you know. How you feel, and stuff."
"You don't ... have you ..." She forced the last words out. "Do you have AIDS?"
"No! Of course not!"
She let out a deep sigh. "I had to ask, dear. I'm sorry. It's ..."
"Mom, it's all right. I understand. I haven't done anything like that. I'm fine."
We were quiet for a time, and then she leaned over and patted my arm. "I have to get supper going," she smiled.
"Homework!" I gasped. As I scrambled upstairs, I suddenly realized I was going to have to get an appointment at the free clinic, or something. I mean, you can't get AIDS from ... what we did. I don't think. Back to Google, which took forever to load, of course. It looked like nothing we did was risky, unless Danny was positive. And even then, the information page said "Low risk." Still, I had to talk to him, somehow. I dreamt, for some reason, about swimming with Counselor Gary in summer camp.
You can imagine how I felt when Powell got on the bus the next morning. He had a black eye. Alan? His father, maybe? I decided to wait in my seat until he and his guys got off, and it was a good thing. He dropped another note in my lap, with one word on it: "Pizza."
I know Dodger saw me get off the bus at the Wilson Street stop after school, even though he and Snake and Horse were huddled around Danny, almost like they were protecting him. I got across the street and-- I hoped--out of sight before anyone else noticed me, then ran to World's Worst Pizza, got a drink, and waited.
And waited. I figured Danny would have to get away from his friends before he could get to WWP, so I kept telling myself that it wasn't really taking as long as I thought it was. The counter guy was giving me that look that they have when they want you to spend more money, when Danny showed up. Out of guilt, I ordered two slices of cheese pizza and a drink for Danny. I watched him fill his cup at the dispenser and suddenly realized I really had to pee. "I gotta piss," I said, like I was asking permission.
"Go for it," Powell said. When I got back, he scowled. "Took forever! You been saving up, or something?"
"Drinking and waiting for you, is all."
Powell flashed an instant of Danny's smile, then turned sober again. "Let's get out of here. We gotta talk."
"You want your pizza?"
"Fuck, no!" But he grabbed it anyway and took a bite, so I grabbed mine and took a bite--like a reflex, right? But it was still ... We both tossed them in the trash, and Powell led me down the block and around the corner. "What happened?" I said, when we were both in the shadows.
"Your buddy Alan happened."
"What'd he do?"
"He said he wanted to talk about you."
"And you hit him!?"
"I put my fucking hand up! I didn't want anyone to hear--we was right out there in the middle of the hall, practically!"
"So you didn't hit him?" I asked, skeptically.
"He sort of leaned into me--it was a reflex, man! I didn't even know I did anything and then the gym teacher grabbed me and the security guard was all on Alan like he was dying, or something. Cracked his head on the fire alarm thing, I think."
"And that's all?"
Powell nodded. "Cops said he wasn't pressing charges. Told 'em it was an accident. Look. I know he's your friend, and he seems like ... It was like I was on autopilot, or something."
I sent a quick thankyou prayer to Alan. "So ... the black eye?"
"My old man, soon's we got out of the Police Station. Didn't even ask what fucking happened!"
"Shit! Bummer."
"I'm used to it. But I didn't do anything, you know? I mean, if I'd really hit the guy, he'd of been out for a week! This is all fucked up, Eddie!" And right then there was this really quick fraction-of-a-second glimpse of what a ten-year-old Danny might have looked like.
"It's okay. It'll all work out." I didn't know that, of course. But I knew he needed to hear that.
"So ... you want to take a walk, or something?"
"Sure," I smiled, and before I knew it, we were slipping between the bushes. As we headed through the weeds, he put his arm around my shoulders, like guys do, sometimes.
"You okay?" he asked.
"I told my dad I was gay."
Powell stopped. "Oh, fuck!" he said, at last. "So everybody knows, now!"
"What do you mean? My dad ... well, he didn't want to know, but he suspected, you know? My mom wanted to know if I got AIDS!"
Powell stared at me, eyes wide as they could go. "AIDS?" he whispered.
"Yeah. But I don't. And you don't, right? Any diseases?"
"I'm not gay!"
"You can get shit from girls, too, you know!"
Powell's face was stop-sign red. He tensed up, staring at me with his fists clenched.
I watched, frozen, while he slowly relaxed so I could talk again. "There's a free clinic, if ... if you want to check. They don't talk to your parents, or anything. I looked it up. I mean, if you think we--"
"We?"
"Well, I thought I'd go, just to find out what it's like and stuff. You can if you want to, or you don't have to. I mean you didn't do anything that ... if you didn't already have it ... or something ..." I should join one of those Catholic places where you're not allowed to talk, or something, I swear!
"Horse's been there, I think," Powell said. Then he just sat down where the ground started to slope toward the trees and the ditch. I sat down next to him.
"The sun feels good," he said, after what seemed like forever.
"Yeah."
"If you were a girl, we could just lie here, you know?"
I lay back. "Nobody's around."
Powell took a quick look, then lay beside me. "Guess not."
"It does feel good--the sun."
Powell put his hand on my chest. "So do you."
I answered by pressing his hand against me.
"It just doesn't make sense, is all."
"What doesn't? Us?"
"That we're both ... you know. Guys." He pulled his hand away.
"Does it have to make sense?"
"Guess not." Danny chuckled. "Not much does, does it?"
"It feels like it makes sense, though. I mean it feels ... right, right? Like it's supposed to?"
"Yeah." Danny rolled on his side to look at me. "You look pretty, in the sunshine."
I rolled over to face him. "I think you're about the most handsome guy I ever saw."
"Even hotter than Nordman, black eye and all?"
"Even hotter than Alan."
A frown started forming. "You guys never--"
"Nope. I would have, maybe, before we ... before us. But now ..."
We sort of inspected each other. Danny flexed his muscles for me, and I just touched him everywhere, and kissed him and just breathed him in. And he gave me a sort of a massage, all over, even my feet. And the weird thing about that was that it didn't tickle--it just felt wonderful. His fingers were ... strong, and solid, and once in a while it was like they were connected to me, part of me.
I started to undo his pants, and he stopped me. "I haven't got a rubber," he whispered.
"Too late," I answered. I wanted him in me so bad--well, I could taste it, after all. We tumbled around a little, and I felt his mouth on my cock. I pulled my head back. "You don't have to--"
"Shut up and suck," he answered and put my cock back in his mouth.
I wanted to fuck his face so hard, but I didn't want him to choke, or anything, so half of me was busy trying to hold back and half of me was working him like crazy to get him to shoot. And then, he did. It was like his whole body came, digging his fingers into me and holding my head against his abdomen, and his legs were wrapped around me. And my cock was somehow deep into him, and his thighs were crushing me and for a second I pictured us just melting together into one ... thing.
Then he started choking, so I untangled myself and we came apart and he hacked and coughed and I was really scared for a minute, but he put his hand up and gasped, "I'm okay. Gimme a sec!" So I did, while his face turned six shades of red and blue and purple. "How the hell do you do that?" he gasped, at last. "Practice," I laughed, and I explained about how your gag reflex works and that you can learn to control it with practice.
Danny grinned. "I'm going to need a lot of practice, then."
"Glad to help!"
"You better get going. Aren't you supposed--"
"Shit!" I said, jumping up and trying to put all my clothes on at the same time, while Danny just got dressed like there was nothing to it.
"What do we do about Alan?" he asked, as we emerged from the fence.
"I'll talk to him, I guess. Tell him you're ... you're on my side."
"I am, you know. I mean I don't know what the fuck to do, but ... I care about you, Eddie."
I smiled. Chaos and disaster might be boiling all around us, but suddenly all I could be was happy.
Maybe happier than I'd ever been before in my life.
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