Waiting for a Miracle

WAITING FOR A MIRACLE

By Donny Mumford

Chapter 14 Sunday Cookout

Lying in bed at ten o'clock Sunday morning, I have two things on my mind. One is figuring out how I can avoid sleeping on my sore pierced ear 'cause last night I woke up every time I rolled over on it. And, the second thing is I need a long hot shower. Yeah, we were a little grungy with our sex last night. So, with my two objectives in mind, I slip out of bed and take a quick peek to see if the bathroom door is open.

Good, the door is open, meaning it's vacant, so I bring clean underwear and scamper down to the bathroom. Safely in the bathroom, I can now take my time doing the necessary stuff one does in the bathroom. Lastly, in the shower, I'm thinking yesterday was the best day of my young life... so far. There's a negative 'side' to that though, and it's that nineteen years slipped by before having a day like yesterday. How could I have let that happen? Why weren't I able to make a true 'best' friend or a fuck-buddy before Mickey?

And, now that I think about it, it wasn't me making a friend of Mickey so much as it was him making me a friend of his. He was the instigator of every good thing that's happened between us. If not for his ballsiness, I still wouldn't have had a day like yesterday. Okay, in my defense, 'Asperger's Syndrome' handicapped me, but, as Dennis Hover told me weeks ago, I've been using that as an excuse for my lack of social skills and, therefore, haven't been trying hard enough. Whatever the case, I have a boyfriend now and I'm consciously working on improving the social aspects of my life.

Conveniently, this birthday cookout for dad presents an excellent opportunity to try being more 'normal' socially. Improving won't be hard when considering my past performance in that area is dismal. Meaning, at past cookouts I'd try being invisible, talk very little, and use a one-word response the rare time anyone spoke to me. Today, I'm going to improve on that somewhat. Baby steps.

The improved social skills I see in Mickey are my inspiration. He's been much more relaxed and 'normal-acting' compared with the way he was on our first date; well, there's no comparison. Our first date he could barely communicate, but each date since then he's gotten better and better until yesterday he was virtually effervescent, um, compared to that first date anyhow.

And, Mickey's improved social abilities aren't only with me, he's a lot better interacting with the guys too. Yesterday with Jello, for example, Mickey actually made a couple of 'hot-shit' replies to Jello's smart-ass remarks. Of course, Mickey isn't dealing with the dreaded Asperger's thing as I am, but he had been suffering from the 'nerd-syndrome' exacerbated by his smallish body and goofy 'looks' and his decision to go with a homeless person's hairdo. That's all changed now, but because of things like that, Mickey couldn't shake the nerdy-geek moniker our cruel peers hung on him until he and I began dating. He's moving past all that negativity now; and, consequently, Mickey is my role-model and inspiration for getting better socially myself.

Well, I'm showered, dressed, and ready for today. As soon as I walk into the kitchen, I have an opportunity to try out my new and improved attitude. Mom says, "Well, you're up at a reasonable time for once on a Sunday, so, would you care for pancakes, Matthew?" Not waiting for my reply, she slides three blueberry pancakes onto a plate with three link-sausages and puts the plate at my place. Instead of taking offense at mom's negative overtones in her greeting, I sit and say, "Thank you," and she says, "There's maple syrup in that small pitcher. Would you care for coffee?" I'm like, "Yes, please," and then I add, "Well, this is nice."

In my bedroom, after breakfast, I call MIckey to tell him my parents will leave for the cookout around noon, but I have no intention of he and I arriving there until everyone has had a few cocktails. They'll be friendlier with some mellowing booze in their systems. I haven't been a regular at these cookouts since halfway into my senior year. Since then, I've only showed-up a half-dozen times, so that will undoubtedly be a topic of conversation, but I'm ready for it.

Sure, I expect to hear some shit about not showing up on Sundays, plus there's my new earring that will receive some snarky comments as well, but I intend to ignore negativity and smile. The reason I never enjoyed these family cookouts is I never fit in. I don't relate to any of my cousins due to age or gender mismatching, and I'm sorry, but the Asperger's thing is real. It's not just an excuse, and it makes everything more difficult. In short, the cookouts were almost always boring and uncomfortable occasions for me. Today though, Mickey will be with me, so I don't expect 'boring' to be a factor and his new and improved personality should take some pressure, some attention off me.

Giving the folks a headstart on the drinking is only one of the reasons I'm not arriving until, say, two o'clock. The other reason is I'm hoping to have sex with Mickey. He and I have briefly discussed the frequency of our sex, and, while it might seem excessive to some, we don't have an inclination to stop. We have, however, been curious about it so we Googled 'sex frequency' to see if we're within some normal range. Oddly, we couldn't find anything conclusive.

Okay, that's a bit of a stretch. There were only a few cases where couples admitted they screwed as often as we do, and they did it only on rare occasions. Mickey and I have multiple sex acts together every day, so, yeah, that's probably above average. I'm not saying this is a problem. It's just something we've wondered about and, we'll see how it goes longterm.

Leaving the house with my parents at noon, I tell them, "Mickey and I will see you guys at the cookout. He needs to do something for his dad first though, so we won't get to Uncle Shaun's until like, um, two-thirty or three." Dad waves his hand, like, 'whatever' and mom says, "Don't be any later than that, Matt." Normally, a nagging remark like mom's would get me to say something smart-ass, or I'd have a 'puss' on my face, but I'm changing my demeanor, being more pleasant. So I smile and say, "No, we won't, mom. I'm hoping to get there earlier if possible," and she smiles at me. Yes, this morning with my folks has been a good start for my improved social interaction. No bitching from anyone, mostly because I took the high road and overlooked legitimate reasons to be negative.

And, Christ, that wasn't hard either. Avoiding negativity required that I either 'bit my tongue' or lied. Hmm, maybe I should try lying more often. Mickey's right, telling the truth at times hurts peoples' feelings when a little lie can avoid that. Anyway, at Mickey's house, I toot the horn and he comes right out. Jesus, he's dressed too nicely to be going to a cookout. He has on pressed khakis, a button-down white dress shirt, and his dress-loafers. I mean, yeah, he looks nice but we're not going to a wedding. Hmm, should I say something to him?

Mickey gets in the car with a smile on his face, "Hi, Burke! I'm nervous, but determined to be Mr. Personality at the cookout." Nodding my head and smiling back at Mickey, I go, "Uh-huh, um, just be yourself, Mickey, but we're not going there now." He's like, "Where are we going now?" I say, "First of all, I gotta say you look beautiful!" He goes, "Wait'll you see this," and he puts cool sunglasses on, asking, "How 'bout now?" I go, "Sexy-cool and beautiful, um, but for now I'm hoping we can go to my house and, well, fuck." He snickers, mumbling, "Good plan, Burke."

At the house, we automatically walk to my bedroom, as Mickey's saying, "I don't want to get my clothes wrinkled so let's get naked." I go, "Good thinking." Undressing, I mumble, "First thing, can I, um, well, you know what I wanna do?" He says, "Can you blow me? Is that what you mean?" Nodding, I go, "Yeah, as a special treat for your faithful pussy boy, let me suck you 'off' first." He neatly folds his khakis and hangs his shirt over the back of the desk chair, mumbling, "Yeah, okay, but we're still gonna fuck after that." I'm like, "Well, of course."

When both of us are naked, Mickey reaches over and gently removes my eyeglass, mumbling, "You always forget to take these off." I shrug, "Thanks, but mostly we need to be careful not to brush either of our pierced ears." Nodding, he spreads his legs and holds his penis out. I go, "Um, you want me to do it here, on my knees? Why can't I sit on the bed, or...?" He goes, "No, I'm the 'guy', so you should do it the right way. A blowjob should be done with the guy on his knees; that's traditional."

Wow, the ballsy way he said that made my dick twitch. Well, Mickey is our ballsy leader after all, so I nod and do what he wants. Kneeling in front of him, I need to bend down a little to get my mouth level with his penis. I take it from his fingers and lick it; a nice long lap. Mickey puts his hand on my head, mumbling, "Yeah, this is better. We'll do it this way from now on."

Whatever. When I lick up and down his cock I'm detecting a very clean, almost soapy scent coming off Mickey. He recently got out of the shower, obviously, so he has a bath gel scent, which is nice although I prefer more of his natural scent. When licking his scrotum I get my tongue under it close to his asshole, wondering whatever happened to my germ phobia? It doesn't apply during sexual acts, apparently. My nose is pressed against his hairless groin as I move my tongue away from his asshole, realizing I'm not nearly ready for 'that'. It's called 'rimming' and perhaps in ten years or so I could do it, but not now.

When just the head of his cock is between my lips, I hold it there, lapping on it with my tongue until Mickey murmurs, "Ummm, Christ, that feels good," and he shuffles his feet and ruffles my hair, adding, "This is so good. You're doing good, Burke, umm, yeah, lick there, but do it slower." Hmm, he's giving me instructions now. That's a new level of confidence.

And, whoa, my cock is harder than Mickey's! Yeah, I'm so into this I can hardly believe it. What I'm doing is, I'm trying to suck his cock the way Mark did mine, but I'm having trouble keeping my top teeth covered; my lip isn't long enough, or something. No matter, Mickey's cock is extremely hard, so I'm obviously doing something right. When I want to get him 'off' and taste his cum, I make a point of keeping my teeth covered and then bob up and down the shaft of his boner with pressure. I think that's called going 'down' on him, and I go 'down' until his cock bumps the back of my throat.

Doing that over and over fast, with a few gag-sounds from me, gets Mickey grunting and pulling my hair until his hips hump forward and cum streams from the swollen head of his cock to cover my tongue. Creamy cum on my tongue front to back, and then another spurt. I gulp and swallow the majority of the first blast, and then take my time swallowing the rest of it, my tongue moving around in my mouth rounding it up. Wow, that was sexy-hot!

Pulling his cock out of my mouth, Mickey goes, "Jesus H Christ, you're getting to be an expert, um..." and I mutter, "Go ahead and say it... cock sucker. Expert cock sucker." He grins and mutters, "I was trying to come up with a less offensive term." Standing up, I go, "How 'bout 'oral sex or blowjob'." He mumbles, "That's what I meant. You've become an expert at oral sex."

I'm comfortable enough with Mickey that, for the hell of it, I reach over and stroke his cock as I'm mumbling, "I'll bet I can get a lot better at sucking this cock of yours." Then I snort out a chuckle and let go of his dick, adding, "I kinda feel it's part mine, sort of. Ya know, 'cause it's in some opening on me quite often." He smiles, saying, "You do take care of my penis when it's inside you, so, sure, you can have part ownership of it."

I'm still on my knees so Mickey chuckles, mumbling, "Um, are you waiting for my permission, or what? You can stand up now, Burke. That was a primo blowjob!" Then, pulling back the covers, he's like, "C'mon, we're gonna get in bed now," and as I'm sliding into bed under MIckey's arm that's holding up the covers, I try getting another compliment, asking, "I'll bet you never thought I'd be this good doing oral sex, huh?" He says, "Move over a little more," and when I do, he slides in bed next to me, saying, "I guess I never thought about how 'good' I'd get 'blown'. More like I mostly doubted anyone would do it, period. Vaguely I thought maybe in college, but, Burke, you do it fabulously, as I've already told you two or three times in the last two minutes."

As usual, after any kind of sex, he gets his arm behind my neck to pull my head over against his shoulder, smirking and asking, "Do you want me to elaborate further about how awesome you suck me off?" I mumble, "No, as you just said, we covered that pretty well already." I'm getting used to snuggling against his smaller body and, basically, more it feels more comfortable snuggling the way Mickey wanted me to from our first date. I should have done that from the start. He's flat on his back with me against his side leaning up a little with my left leg on top of his right leg. Maximum 'naked' bodies touching. And, it's my right ear against him, not the pierced ear.

As he shimmies up a little getting his head higher on the pillow, I mumble, "It's just that everyone appreciates a little praise every now and then. Praise is motivational." He says, "Yeah, okay, I agree. Um, lean over on me more." When I do that, my side on him and he murmurs, "Nice, Burke. This is nice. Don't you love the familiarity of us snuggling like this after sex? It's something I always thought would be the proper thing to do after I fucked someone, and so, why not snuggle after you blow me too? I like to feel as though I'm taking care of you, hugging and loving on you for being an awesome, um, 'bottom' or, um, ya know, after you blow me."

I go, "Oh, so this is my reward, heh-heh, for being an awesome pussy boy, huh?" He mumbles, "I can't envision a better one, seriously." There is something to be said for familiarity because, oddly, this does feel nice whereas when MIckey first started 'showing his pussy-boy love like this, I, as the pussy boy, felt stupid and awkward because he is smaller than me. Now it's the opposite; I'd feel awkward if we didn't cuddle the way he wants us to after sex. I'm starting to get the message that Mickey's ideas are better than mine about, well, almost everything, but definitely about sex.

With me in this position, Mickey's chin moves against my forehead as he's saying, "I don't know how to say this without sounding all doom and gloom, but, come September, we'll be going back to the way we both were before we became each other's boyfriend. The way we were without each other. How I'll be able to handle that after the weeks experiencing sex and other kinds of excitement every day with you I can't imagine. It'll be worse than before because now I know how sweet life can be."

Jeez! I ask, "What should we do?" He says, "I don't know. I was just thinking ahead when I'm at Drexel, which is at least a forty-five-minute drive from Clifton Heights. It's not around the corner, and it's an even longer drive during rush hour. Plus, I don't know, but I'll probably need to study weekends or, well, I just don't know. You being an hour-and-a-half round trip away means we'll hardly ever see one another."

I'm not a long-range thinker, so I haven't given that a thought until now. It's scary thinking we'll be long-range boyfriends less than two months from now. Without a clue what to do about it, I'm like, "Don't ruin this time by worrying about two months from now." That's good advice but now he's got me thinking about it... and I'm worrying. Shit, how can I go back to having no sex and no 'true' best friend?

Mickey says, "I don't want to ruin anything, but we need to start planning something. You've mentioned getting an apartment, so that gives us some possibilities. Ya know, where you rent the apartment could help alleviate a lot of the problem." Oh yeah! I mutter, "This is another example of you being our leader, Mickey. Yeah, I'll look for an apartment near Drexel University." He says, "Nooo! I don't mean that! You'll want to get to and from work in less than forty-five minutes each way."

Inching my body so that it's partially on top of Mickey, looking down into his eyes, I go, "I'll drive forty-five minutes each way if I can be with you every day." He nods, "That's my pussy boy! I know you would, but we need to come up with a better solution than that. You're right though, we don't need to do it right now. I just want us to start thinking about it." I mumble, "Sure, Mickey," and his arm behind my neck pulls my head down next to his again, and later we have a hot make-out.

Making out with Mickey is such a 'turn-on' for me. I almost crawl on top of him, our mouths sucking and kissing, our bodies squirming together. We're into this really good make-out until Mickey moves his head to the side, gasps in oxygen, and says, "Burke, but don't lie on top of me." I slide back to the way I was, and he murmurs, "Good, thanks. You get too rambunctious, relax a little bit. I think you cut my lip again." I mutter, "Sorry," and snuggle in a little tighter, putting my arm over him to hug his side.

So, minus the cut lip, this is nice. Mickey dabs at his bloody lip with a tissue as we have a quiet period. He's smelling more like himself by now as the soapy scent has mostly drifted off. The side of his chest and shoulder that I'm lying on feels hard. Yes, he's small but muscular. He's almost skinny, but strong too, and that was obvious when he was doing the ballet moves at dance class. Jeez, the ballet girls must be strong too. I wouldn't want to make the mistake of getting into a fight with any of those girls, haha.

I'm trying to push the thought about Mickey and I not seeing one another every day out of my mind. I wish he'd never brought it up, but I'll bet Mickey will think of something, and the apartment is definitely going to be a big factor. He's lightly rubbing up and down my back, and it's so soothing. It's wonderful being in bed naked with Mickey like this, and now I can't imagine why I fought the idea that I was in love with him. I think I love the shit out of him, meaning 'I'm in love with him'.

That's what I think about... am I 'in love' with Mickey? And it's odd but I can't articulate, even to myself, what there is about him that makes me madly attracted to him; I mean specifically. Well, obviously there's our fantastic sex together, that goes without saying, but it's more than that. We could have this kind of great sex being steady fuck-buddies, and best friends too without being in love. So, what brings 'love' into the equation? After maybe ten minutes of silent cuddling, I murmur, "I love you, Mickey."

He murmurs, "Well, hell, I know that Burke, and I love you too." I'm like, "How'd that happen? Why'd I fall in love with you?" He goes, "Lovers and madmen have seething brains. Such shaping fantasies apprehend more than reason ever comprehends. The lunatic, the lover, and the poet, and then the quote goes 'something, something, something' after that." Lifting my head to look at him, I'm like, "What in the fuck are you talking about?"

Mickey chuckles, and says, "One sees more devils than the vast hell can hold. The madman, the lover, all fanatics." I go, "I'm not a fanatic. You're the one who said we were in love before I even realized it, and all that gobbly-gook you just said doesn't clarify anything." He pinches my nose, and goes, "Ah, my cute boyfriend is not a fan of Shakespeare." I'm like, "Oh, that's what that was? I never could understand what he's talking about?" Mickey says, "It means madmen and lovers rarely use logic in their thinking, but, to answer your question, I don't know exactly why we're in love. Or, as you said a week ago, maybe we're not in love and we simply don't know any better. All I know is, it feels like what I've always thought love would feel like."

Resting my head back on Mickey, I mumble, "I'm sorry I asked," and he snorts out a laugh, then says, "Get a condom, Burke. Let's make love." I understand that, but I snuggle in tighter, muttering, "No, later, let's stay like this for a while longer." He pinches my bare ass, saying, "Get a condom!" I'm like, "OW! Jeez, okay," and when I move I feel his cock bump my leg, and it's wicked hard; his cock, not my leg. So that's why he wants a condom right NOW! Haha, well, I'm glad he got a boner from cuddling with me.

I need to lift Mickey and the mattress corner to get to where the condoms reside. These are the condoms Mickey bought. He gave them to me to hide under my mattress. We hide them at my house because this is where we do most of our screwing. My mom rarely is in my room and if she is by chance, I can't imagine a reason she would ever lift the mattress and, anyway, I'm an adult so why shouldn't I have condoms? No reason, but I'd rather not need to explain that to mom.

Back on the bed, I see Mickey has pushed the cover down. Ah, yes, there's his skinny, strong, naked body that I adore. His really nice cock is still a boner but when I was getting the condoms, it lost some hardness and isn't stick straight up. I take his six-plus inch heavy, hard, penis in my fingers and before rolling-on the condom, suck on the head of his cock to bring it back up to a harder condition. Mickey chuckles, saying, "Jesus Christ, you have gotta be the most accommodating pussy-boyfriend ever! Thanks, Burke."

Gee, I guess I am sort of treating Mickey like he's 'THE GUY', haha, but so what? He says he's 'the guy' and he is the guy as far as I'm concerned. I mumble, "I don't want to take any chances on losing you, Mickey, so I'm gonna make sure I treat you right." He rubs my head, saying, "And, you're doing a helluva job of it too." He seems so much more confident and mature lately. He sits up, his condom-covered cock sticking up too, as Mickey's saying, "Okay, I wanna try fucking you on your stomach again. It didn't work out on the picnic table at the lake but there are no splinters in your bed, so..."

I lie on my stomach and push my ass up as Mickey walks on his knees getting behind me, between my legs. He smacks my ass, saying, "Push it up further," and then he slaps my ass again, hard this time, "SMACK!" I yelp and sort of go up on my knees slightly, pushing up my ass. Mickey doesn't say anything, but a second later I feel the head of his cock at my asshole. He pokes the head against my asshole a few times getting it to quiver before forcing the head in past my sphincter. Yep, that hurt but I don't mention it; instead, I moan because, yeah, it hurt, but it felt good too. Enjoying pain/pleasure is, for me, unique to fucking.

Mickey grips my hips and pushes his boner all the way up my ass in one long thrust. I go, "Umpt," and he humps against my butt cheeks. That hurt too, but immediately after, it felt good, so I go, "Ahhh, MIckey... Ummm." He murmurs, "I know you love taking a cock up your ass, Burke. I love accomodating you with that."

Another hump against my buttocks and then he slides his hard cock tightly back, almost all the way out of my rectum, and then pushes it right back in again, and he does it once more, loosening up my rectum. Now his thrusting becomes constant and, right off, I see stars as pleasure is soaring higher and higher with each fast hard thrust. A minute later I'm moaning his name, "Mickey..." And then it's mostly just the sounds of males fucking for the next four minutes straight, "Slap, slap, slap." Mickey's hard cock, along with slapping sounds adding to the pleasure flowing from my ass spreading, seemingly, all over me. I can't begin to describe how good it feels. All I do is absorb and relish the sexual pleasure my boyfriend, my lover is providing.

And, oh boy, is Mickey confidently fucking me. He was good at it right from our first time, so he must be a natural 'top', but each time we do 'it' he gets better! With confidence oozing out of his every pore, he yanks on my hips to get my ass up higher, then a smack on my ass, 'Smack!" as he fucks me hard and fast, on and on it goes.

I'm not naive enough to believe his main concern is providing pleasure for me. No, his main concern is enjoying the sexual pleasure he's feeling; he's normal like that. The best I can hope for is he likes 'it' with ME as his pussy boy so much that he won't think about doing it with someone else. Yeah, I'm still hung up on being dumped by both Mark and Bobby.

As for me, I can't even imagine anyone fucking me better than Mickey. I have every intention of following his 'rule'. I don't even want to screw around on him; I'm sticking with Mickey as long as he wants me. And, uh-oh, my climax is emerging and this time I can hardly wait for it to be, um, climactic! Usually, I want it to hold off, but sucking Mickey's cock got me super sexually aroused, and now this perfect fucking... my need for the relief of climax is strong. And, oh, Christ, it's right there at the tipping point as I groan, "Ooh, aah, umm, MIck..." and BOOM! my climax blows and I'm delirious with the 'feel' of it, the incredible sensations are mindblowing.

My face pushes into the pillow as I shake and shiver with the beautiful vibrations singing through me. Oh, that was fantastic, and now Mickey's against my ass tightly, having his climax, I assume. He groans as I did and then sucks in a deep inhale and now, contradicting myself, I'm thinking it was over too quickly.

Pulling his cock out, Mickey goes, "Jesus, that felt good!" Without thinking it through, I'm stretching my legs back and lying right on my wet streak of cum, mumbling, "Damn." I snicker before adding, "I like the way you fuck. You take care of your pussy boy, bro, just so you know." I feel like clapping and yelling 'bravo' but I'm following Mickey's lead at being more blase about our sex.

After thinking about that, though, I ask, "You don't think our fucking is getting to be, um, routine or dull, do you?" He lies next to me, saying, "Noo! It's special every time, Burke. It's better every time we do it!" Yeah, that was a paranoid thought. I should be feeding off Mickey's increased confidence and be confident we're a great match, and that Mickey likes everything as much as I do.

Without hesitating, when Mickey gets his arm behind my neck I turn over and cuddle up against him exactly as we were earlier; the way he wants me to do it. This is good. Mickey gives me a squeeze, murmuring, "You're perfect, Burke. You're such a perfect boyfriend you almost make me feel perfect." Nice compliment, but sticking to the blase theme I mutter, "Uh-huh," and snuggle tighter against him.

A minute goes by before Mickey says, "Burke, um, is that your cum I'm feeling? Um, cum that's now on my ribs? I'm not complaining, just wondering." I go, "Yeah, it's my cum from my stomach. I laid in it by accident." He snickers and says, "Let's wash up a little." It was dumb of me not suggesting we clean up the cum I laid in, but I thought I'd do the cuddle and... well, that was the wrong choice this time.

After flushing the condom, we're washing up in the bathroom with MIckey asking, "What do you think about us drinking some booze before we join your extended family. It would fortify me with the false confidence I need to face the cookout with all the strangers that'll be there." I shrug, "Sure, but you've moved past being intimidated by strangers, MIckey. You're a different person from two or three weeks ago. I hope to follow your example. That being said, I need some false courage too, so the booze is a damn good idea." Mickey snorts out a laugh, mumbling, "Good talk, Burke, but you're giving me too much credit.

He nods at his now flaccid penis, saying, 'If you want to suck me off again, you should probably give my pecker a good washing. Clean off the stuff from inside the condom." Wow, that's awfully ballsy of him, but he's our leader so I wet a washcloth. He's grinning, shaking his head slowly as he goes, "Let me have that washcloth. You fell for this 'wash my dick' bullshit twice now. I wouldn't expect you to wash my dick? What's wrong with you, bro?" Muttering, "I knew you were kidding from last time." No, I didn't.

In the bedroom, we put on our underpants, and, as I'm pulling on my shorts, Mickey asks, "Can I borrow some gym shorts or something, Burke. I don't want to put the khakis on and then take them off fifteen minutes later. Unless maybe you don't want to fuck again."

I go, "Ya know what, well, first of all, I do want to fuck again. We only did it once, but what I was gonna say is, you should borrow a pair of my shorts for the cookout, um, and a shirt too. You'll get your good clothes fucked up. They'll smell like, um, a cookout, ya know? Get mustard on the shirt, or..." He goes, "I got too dressed-up, didn't I?" I shrug, "You looked awesome, but for this cookout, shorts and a casual shirt would be better." He passes me my glasses, mumbling, "I'm not used to being invited out."

We look in my closet for a shirt he can wear and find one on a hanger. It's a short sleeve polo-type shirt with a tiny alligator where a pocket would normally be. He puts the shirt on the bed, muttering, "I like this shirt, thanks for letting me wear it, Burke." I shrug, "No problem. Let's look in my bureau drawers for a pair of shorts you can wear." I hold up a pair of blue khaki shorts with pleats in front. He shrugs, saying, "Sure, they'll do fine," but when he tries then on the waist is too big. I don't have a size smaller so I give him a belt, and that works. Wearing only underpants and shorts we go into the kitchen to have a little booze.

The last time I looked at dad's booze supply was with Bobby three or four weeks ago and since then dad's restocked. No vodka though, so I ask, "Is bourbon okay, Mickey? Dad doesn't have vodka." He shrugs, "It's all horrible tasting to me. Yeah, let's do a couple of shots of bourbon." I'm like, "Do we have to do shots? Can't we mix it with soda? Bourbon and Coke is a popular drink." He shakes his head, "No, that just drags out the taste of the bourbon. Damn, if we had some pot we could smoke that, ya know? That's so much better."

Getting two juice glasses from the cabinet over the coffee maker, I mumble, "We need to go looking for somebody who will sell us some joints. Next week maybe. For now," and I pour bourbon into the juice glasses, adding, "We'll do what you want and have shots." He lifts one of the juice glasses and drinks the shot without waiting for me. Gasping, he snorts our a laugh, then says, "That sincerely blows!" I go, "You didn't wait for me. Now it's harder for me doing this shot alone."

Mickey pours himself another shot, muttering, "Ya big baby," and then he grins at me, "Just kidding, Burke. Here's to the best pussy boy ever," and we tap glasses and drink the bourbon shots. Ghastly! Mickey goes, "Omigod, Mattie, is there something we can eat to kill this taste?" I grab a bag of chocolate chip cookies from the pantry and we eat a few cookies. With cookie crumbs on his chin, Mickey saying, "I'm a big baby doing shots too."

We eat more cookies and I have a second shot as Mickey has his third. Grabbing another cookie, he goes, "Jesus, this whiskey is exactly the artificial courage I needed to meet your relatives at the cookout. Thanks, man!" I use Bobby's trick of adding water to the bottle so it appears to be as full as it was when we started. Mickey gives my shoulders a hug, mumbling, "Clever of you, sneaky too."

Sitting at the kitchen table, we eat the remaining cookies while talking about fucking again. Mickey wants to do it with us both standing up. He goes, "I've noticed different sensations on my boner depending on the position you're in. We'll try it standing," and I go, "And they how 'bout if I hang by my heels from the molding around my bedroom door?"

We start spitting out cookies laughing at the ridiculous position we dream up for fucking. Mickey recites the old limerick, 'There once was a man from Nantucket' and we both bust a gut laughing. That's the thing with Mickey and me, we have fun along with our sex, we laugh a lot, we like each other's company and, of course, we have lots of sex too.

We're still in a silly giggly mood back in the bedroom where Mickey pulls my pants down, spanks me until I'm like, "What the fuck? That really stings," and we both break out snickering again. I get on my knees, complaining, "You spanked me too hard." Mickey chuckles, mumbling, "I like spanking you." I make a 'face' and rub my butt cheeks as Mickey smirks and points at his dick.

Nodding my head, I suck on his penis until it's hard as wood, but I don't stop there. I keep going until there's a big clear bubble of precum just beginning to drool out the piss slit. Mickey's been moaning and pulling my hair but now he hands me a new condom, moving his feet, mumbling, "You'll make me cum in your mouth."

I roll it onto his boner, he helps me stand, and then we fuck hard, both of us standing. Mickey's arms are around my waist the whole time, "Slap, slap, slap," and when I cum my boner is so hard it feels like the skin is going to split, my boner sticking straight out without even a quiver when my cum is blowing out like a fire hose. The rest of my body quivers though, quivers and shakes as the pleasures of that fantastic climax are almost too intense to bear.

After Mickey blows his 'load' in the condom, he pulls his cock out and says, gasping a little, "Hold it there a second, Burke." Frowning, I'm like, "Whaddaya mean," and he says, "I'm gonna fuck you some more, but I need my second wind first." He says, "Pull on my dick for me, keep it hard." Turning around, I hold his dick down near his groin where the condom doesn't reach, and do short, tight pulling on the skin, up and down, like a mini-jerk-off.

He only lets me to that for a few seconds before pushing my hand away, saying, "Christ, Burke, I was fucking kidding. Are you planning on doing everything I tell you? I was kidding about you washing my dick too." I shrug and act a little bit angry, saying, "Um, I thought you were serious, and no, I'm not walking off a cliff 'cause you tell me to if that's what you mean." He pulls the condom off his cock, wraps it in tissue, then tosses it in the wastebasket. Putting his dick back in his pants, and nodding at the trashcan, he says, "That's as good as flushing it."

I've still got a pissed-off expression, shrugging as if I don't care, then mumble, "I thought you were going to..." and, Mickey, looking serious, puts his hands on my shoulders, murmuring, "I was just kidding with you, Mattie. Please, don't be mad," and he hugs me. After a second, I put my arms around him and we do a tight hug. For some reason my eyes get teary. Maybe I would walk off a cliff if he told me to. Gawd!

We kiss and Mickey grabs some tissues, wipes lube off my ass, pulls my pants up, and murmurs, "I know, you don't get my kidding around all the time. I'll be more obvious about that. I'm sorry." I nod, "No, that's okay," and he says, "Let's go to that cookout, okay?" I mutter, "Yep, and I'm glad you're coming with me."

Ya see, I've never had feelings like the ones I have for Mickey so I overdo it. Nothing has even come close to how devoted I am to him. If I'm going overboard, I don't really care because it's the most powerful emotions I've ever felt, and it gives me such joy being with him. I also feel good because I know how good I am for him too. He's almost a completely different individual from three weeks ago, in a good way.

Still, I need to temper my reaction to him or I'll come off like some girl with a crush. It's hard not to babble to him how much I admire him and it's hard walking next to him without him holding my hand as he does when we're at the Lake. There, of course, nobody sees us holding hands. As we're going outside I'm sneaking glances at him. He doesn't look the least bit goofy to me; he doesn't! His haircut and his new confident 'look' and his cool round sunglasses... Mickey's a hottie now.

At the car, I let my hand slide down his arm as he goes around to get in the passenger side. In the car, I'm grinning too hard at him, saying, "That was fun, huh?" He nods, "Everything is fun with you, Burke. We're a team, bro, a cool motherfucking team." Oh man, I feel good.

Driving away from my house, Mickey asks, "How many people will be at the cookout?" I go, "I don't know. Sometimes my cousins bring friends. Today, it's at my Uncle Dennis's house. Um, but he goes by his middle name, Shaun. My Uncle Shaun and Aunt Teresa. Then, my dad and mom will be there, of course. My dad's oldest brother, Uncle Ronny, and my Aunt Rose Marie are always at the cookouts. My grandparents too, I assume. Um, Uncle Ronny is the brother who started the Three Brothers Roofing Company where the brothers all work."

MIckey goes, "How about your cousins?" I nod, "They're not too cool; not to me anyway. There are two girls, sixteen-year-old Frances and nineteen-year-old Teresa. She's going to nursing school, on summer vacation now though. Then I have four boy cousins, Ronny is in the Navy, Louis is nineteen and I mentioned him to you before. I used to have a major crush on him. There's cousin Vinnie who is a royal prick. He's a high school senior, and the youngest is Brian. He's sixteen and he's the only nice one out of all my cousins, including the girls. Mickey goes, "Christ, no wonder you stopped going to the family gatherings." I nod my head, and he goes, "So, what'd you get your dad for his birthday?" Huh?

Gee, I never thought to buy him anything. Growing up as kids we get so used to our parents buying us stuff, it's hard to transition to buying something for them. I go, "Jeez, I didn't get him anything. What should I get him, Mickey?" He shrugs, "I don't know. Does he play golf or like to read? Some hobby maybe, like collecting stamps or something?" I mumble, "None of those things."

Oh yeah, I know something though. I go, "Dad likes to do handyman stuff around the house and he's got this old Sears drill with the old-time bits. I'll buy him a new drill set." Mickey shrugs, mumbling, "Really? Wouldn't that be like buying your mom a new vacuum cleaner?" I go, "No, that's dad's hobby, or the closest thing to a hobby; handyman shit."

We stop in at the Ace Hardware Plaza and I spend $79.99 on a cordless drill and bit set with a keyless chuck, then buy a bow at the CVS drugstore to put on the drill set case instead of wrapping it, and a 'Happy Birthday Dad' card. Walking out of CVS, Mickey goes, "$5.99 for a birthday card? That's sick." I mumble, "This is the first birthday card I've ever bought. I had no idea they were so expensive! It makes the cordless drill seem cheap by comparison, ya know?" Mickey goes, "I'll say. And it was on sale too, normally $99.99."

Driving to Uncle Shaun's I have the best feeling. Buying something for dad, oh man! He'll be surprised. Then, oddly, when we're at my uncle's and aunt's house walking down the driveway to the backyard, I feel conspicuous and dorky carrying this drill set case. What if no one else brought dad a birthday present? What if that's isn't done and everyone thinks I'm a goof, a jerkoff?

Going through the gate to the backyard, Mickey gets behind me, and the first person who sees me is my cousin, Frances, with her big ugly ponytail that hangs halfway down her back. She stops and goes, "Mattie? What are you doing here? What's that you're carrying?" Everyone else is either around the grill or in the lower yard with their backs to us watching four people playing badminton. That's a stupid girls' game if you ask me.

I go, "Hello, Frances. I'm here to say happy birthday to my dad and this is a birthday gift." She sneers, "That doesn't look like a gag gift. It's supposed to be a funny gag gift." She has a pronounced underbite that makes it look like her chin is oversized and sticking out too far. No, Frances is not what you'd call a pretty girl, nor is she very nice. I'm sort of hoping that MIckey might help me out here, but he's staying behind me, not saying a word. Walking past my cousin, I mutter, "I didn't know about the gag gift rule." She walks with me, asking, "Who's the little nerd behind you?" I stop and say through my teeth, "Go fuck yourself, Frances, okay?" and start walking again.

She, of course, says, "You go fuck YOURSELF, ya dork!" Delightful. She was on her way to someplace when she ran into us, so she continues going there. Probably in the house to take a piss.

Hopefully, Aunt Teresa didn't hear me tell her daughter to go fuck herself, but she heard something because she turns around and goes, "Matthew! Welcome!" and mom, who is standing next to her, turns and says, "Oh, you finally made it." I say, "Hello, Aunt Teresa. Hi mom, um, Aunt Teresa this is my friend Michael Miller. Mickey, my Aunt." They say hello to each other as I mutter, "Mickey already met my mom." Then, I hold up the drill case, and say, "I guess I made a mistake getting dad a serious birthday present. Frances told me just now, um, a minute ago, it's supposed to be a gag gift."

My aunt and mom, go, "What? Gag gift?" and mom goes, "She was teasing you, Matt. What's that you have there?" I tell her and she's like, "Oh, my goodness, Matthew, that's wonderful of you! Your dad will love it. He's over at the grille helping your Uncle Shaun." Then she says, "Teresa, look at my boy's earring. He looks cool, doncha think?" I didn't know mom thought I looked cool.

They've been drinking so they don't notice the booze on Mickey's and my breath. Mom says, "Well, take your dad his present, Matt." I nod, and Mickey steps on my heel walking so closely behind me. I look back at him as we pass the outdoor table with an umbrella over it and, right after that, my cousin, Vinny, stops me by grabbing my arm, saying, "Hey, dink, what have you got there, and who's this midget dude with you?" Vinnie will be a senior in high school. I ask, "Seriously, Vin, do you always gotta be a prick?"

He makes a 'face', saying, "Jesus, Matt, I'm just fucking around with you. How ya been?" I tell him I've been working and blah, blah, blah. He goes, "Well, stop around more often. Hey, your erring is sick. Good for you," and he adds, "Ya want a beer? I'm gonna get one for me and my girlfriend." I say, "Thanks. Um, I'll get one after I give my dad his, um, something." Vinnie pats my shoulder and goes on his way. Yeah, that was as nice as he gets. I say to Mickey, "Feel free to say anything you want to these people." He mumbles, "I'm freezing-up, Burke. These relatives of yours are aggressive."

I'm like, "Yeah, well..." and we approach a group around the grill including dad, Uncle Shaun, his son Brian, who's standing with another kid about Brian's age. I don't know him. It's Uncle Shaun who is looking in our direction and he's a hugger so I get a big hug, my feet off the ground, as he goes, "Mattie, what's up kid?" He puts me down and I go, "Hi, Uncle Shaun. Um, this is my friend Michael Miller who you already met when you were at my house." He holds out his fist, saying, "Yeah, sure, how ya doing, Michael?" Mickey tentatively bumps Uncle Shaun's fist, and goes, "Yeah, good, um, thanks."

Brian touches my arm, saying, "I like your earring, Mattie." I smile at him and say, "Thanks, Brian. I like yours too." He touches his ear and grins muttering, "Thanks." He got his ear pierced as a sophomore, and his earring is a small hoop. Brian nods his head at the kid standing next to him, saying, "This is my best friend, Bengy Dickerson." I nod at him and say, "Nice to meet you, Bengy," and then hold up the case with the drill, saying, "Happy Birthday, Dad."

He finishes flipping a burger and says, "Oh, Matt, sorry I didn't say 'hi'. I'm afraid I'm burning these burgers. Omigod, you got me a birthday gift? You didn't need to do that." I shrug and he goes, "Is that a cordless drill?" I look at the case and see the 'brand' name and 'Cordless Drill' stamped on the case it's in. Chuckling, I go, "How'd you know?" and hand it to him.

Dad opens the case and Uncle Shaun goes, "Shit, that's a good one, Nicky!" That's my dad's name, and for the first time in about the last ten years, dad gives me a hug and a kiss on my cheek, saying, "Thank you, Mattie. It's awesome, son! I love it?" Now Brian, and his friend, Bengy, are gawking at the drill that dad took out of the case. Dad looks happy and I think he's proud his son gave him a nice birthday present in front of his brother, Shaun. Mickey and I exchange 'looks' like 'good move'. If Mickey hadn't mentioned a birthday present, ya know...

I've never known dad to fake an emotion so I know he loves his drill. Brian wants to know what I've been doing so I tell him about buying my car, then where Mickey and I got our ears pierced, and my job and blah, blah, blah. He grins and says, "And I see you're a victim of Sal's barbershop again, Mattie. How many times have I told you to avoid that shop?" I go, "Every time I see you, and it's good advice too. I should take it." He goes, "I cut my friends' hair. Let me do your next haircut." I shrug, "Okay, Brian, maybe I will." See? He's a nice kid.

He smiles and says, "That'd be wicked cool, but you're so good looking Mattie, you can even get away with Sal's haircut." I go, "Oh man, don't break my balls." He goes, "I wasn't trying to," and his friend murmurs, "Brians right, you're cool looking, bro." As he leans against Brian affectionately and then they grin at each other looking into each other's eyes a second longer than is normally considered appropriate for two guys. Hmm?

None of my cousins, including the two girls, is especially attractive. Brian isn't either but at least he looks young. His friend, Bengy, is normal looking with some scraggly whiskers here and there on his upper lip and chin. I'm thinking those two may be best friends, but with benefits, as someone once said.

And, my best friends with 'benefits', Mickey, hasn't said two words; he's back to being a wallflower like I usually am. Today I psyched myself up to be more outgoing and it's working okay. I told Frances to go fuck herself and gave dad his birthday gift even with other people around, so those are my two major accomplishments so far. Anyway, as an exit 'line' I tell dad and the guys, "Well, I'm gonna grab a beer. I'm glad you like that drill, Dad." He's now looking at the manual that came with the set. He holds up the drill, saying, "Thank you, Matt!"

Near the umbrella table, where people sit to eat, there's another table with a big container of ice, beers and sodas in it, plus a couple of bottles of liquor and lots of plastic cups. Mickey and I go over to that table. Lewis is there making a mixed drink, a vodka and tonic. He's squeezing a piece of lime into the drink as we walk up. I say, 'Hello, Lewis. That drink looks refreshing although I know it doesn't taste as good as it looks." He rolls his eyes and without saying 'hi', asks, "Who's this geek with you?" pointing at Mickey.

I tell him who Mickey is and then Lewis totally ignores Mickey and says to me, "So, your cripple left town I hear." Lewis intimidates me, he just does. He means Tommy moved, of course. I mumble, "Don't call him that." He lights a cigarette and blows smoke in Mickey's and my face, then says, "I don't know his name, numb-nuts, or I would have used it."

I get two beers from the icy water and hand one to Mickey. Lewis drinks some of his drink and says, "Nice of you to get your dad a birthday present. What did you get him?" I tell him and he says, "Jesus. A drill set? Are you retarded?" I shrug, mumbling, "He likes it, and he's always doing things, handyman things, so..."

Mickey is chugging down the beer looking away as Lewis mutters, "Dumb, but whatever," and wanders off. Mickey looks at me, asking, "You had a mad crush on that asshole?" I go, "I know, it's hard to believe. He is kinda good looking though, doncha think?" He says, "He's overweight, but not bad looking I guess."

Mickey takes a plastic cup from the stack of them and pours some Canadia Club in it, then flashes it down. Shaking his head, he asks, "How long do we have to stay here?" I ignore that and say, "Let get a burger," and we bring our beers and walk back to the grill where uncle Ronny has now taken over. My dad is showing mom and two of my aunts the drill set. I don't know where Brian and his friend got to.

I smile and say, "Hi, Uncle Ronny. Any burgers ready yet?" He goes, "Oh, look who showed up. Who you got with ya?" When I introduce Mickey, Uncle Ronny nods at him, saying, "This one," nodding at me, "Is too good to come to our Sunday family cookouts. Too busy I guess, huh, Matt?" I'm like, "No, it's just that, um, I don't know. I guess I didn't think anyone would miss me."

He has nothing to say to that. I don't think he heard me because halfway through me saying it, he yelled over to his daughter, "That better be your last rum and Coke." She yells back, "It's just Coke, Jesus, Dad!" She's with a girl I didn't see until now. I know the girl but can't remember how I know her, or her name.

Uncle Ronny looks back at Mickey and me and says, "There are burgers, hot dogs, and sausages on that warming tray near the porch. Condiments and whatnot, rolls, whatever." I mutter, "Thanks" and mute Mickey follows me over to the porch. We make cheeseburgers ignoring hot dogs because they're burnt... the sausages are all gone. Mickey eats his cheeseburger without talking. He eats it in about six bites, then grins and says, "I'm starving." I shrug, "Get another one," and he does. There are paper plates and plastic forks on the table. Plus, empty plastic containers that once had chicken salad, potato salad, and egg salad in them, plus some lettuce left from a green salad.

That was the afternoon food. Around seven o'clock they usually bring out potato salad, a green bean casserole, and side dishes like that, plus they grill steaks for supper, sometime they'll have lobsters on the grill. As I finish my cheeseburger I'm looking around noticing everyone with a beer or cocktail in their hands.

Huh, yeah, everyone is talking to someone, but is anyone having fun? Well, I suppose being with the people you're fond of is a form of 'fun' for them. The thing is, I don't especially care for a lot of these people, or I should say I can't relate well to them. No, I guess it's more like I don't care one way or another about them. They're all too assertive, too confident and crude. I have never liked Uncle Ronny, the oldest of the brothers. Big shot Uncle Ronny, and that reminds me: speaking of big shots, where's grandfather and grandmother? Well, grandma is nice.

Lewis comes over to get a cheeseburger and as he's doing that, I ask, "Where are our grandparents?" He says, "If you ever showed up on a Sunday you'd know they stopped coming in the afternoon. Too tiring to do this all day for them, so they come for a couple of hours in the evening for supper." I go, "Oh, yeah, I remember that now. Um, how's college?" He goes, "Please, concentrate on your warehouse career, college talk is out of your range," and he takes his cheeseburger to eat it among people who work on roofs."

Fuck, he and my brother, Roger, are the only cousins who went to college. I mean, no one else in the whole fucking family from my grandparents on down has a college degree; they're all roofers, so I don't know why my asshole cousin, Lewis, dumps on me about not going to college.

Mickey finishes his second cheeseburger, and says, "Gee, it's easy to see why you don't come to these cookouts. Doesn't anybody like you?" I mutter, "My parents do, a little anyway. And my cousin, Brian. We like each other, and Uncle Shaun, he likes me. Other than them, no, I don't think anybody else likes me. They're not obligated to."

I'm determined to stay long enough to say hello to my grandparents and have a steak, and some of Aunt Rose Marie's potato salad too. And, I may get drunk in the process. Mickey and I both have shots of Canadian Club, then some good-looking hot dogs show up and we both have one. Then Mickey and I play Brian and his friend, Bengy, in the girlie game, badminton. After that, Mickey and I sneak cans of beers to underage Brian and Bengy; underage more than Mickey and me. The boys get a little woozy and lean on each other, giggling. It's fairly obvious Brian is the other member of my extended family who is a victim of the gay disease known as homosexuality. He doesn't appear to be upset about it; neither does Bengy.

My grandparents show up around six-thirty and everybody makes a fuss over them, perhaps because grandfather brought two half-gallon bottles of booze with him that he donates to the festivities. Although Mickey and I are in the vicinity when they make their 'grand' entrance neither of my grandparents seems to notice me or perhaps they don't recognize me. Later, when supper foods come out and the steaks are being grilled, Mickey and I are getting plates when my grandmother goes, "Mattie, dear, I didn't know you were here." I go, "Hi, Grandmom," and get a sweet grandmother-hug and kiss, so that was nice.

Grandfather turns, mumbling, "Who's here, Dorothy?" She says, "Your grandson, Matthew. He standing right next to you. Goodness, Nickolas!" He scratches his bald head, muttering, "Matthew, get your grandfather a gin and tonic." He speaks of himself in the third-person often. He adds, "No lime! I don't want lime in it. Use the Beefeater Gin I bought with me, not your Uncle Ronny's rotgut gin." I go, "Sure, Grandfather." Mickey and I put our plates down and go over to the table with all the booze. I'm like, "He hasn't seen me for like six weeks, but instead of saying 'hello' he sends me on an errand." Mickey mumbles, "At least he didn't insult you, or me, as most of your relatives did." I go, "No, they didn't insult you! Well, two or three of them did, I guess, but not all of them, and why aren't you talking to anyone?"

As I splash some gin in a plastic cup, add ice, then fill the cup with tonic, Mickey says, "I'm sorry for not adding anything to the discourse, but I can't think what I could say to these people. And, please, don't invite me here again." I mumble, "You don't need to worry about that 'cause I'm not coming back until it's my mom's birthday in September, although the Fourth of July cookout is always at my house, so..."

When I take the gin and tonic to my grandfather he's telling my dad about the imperfections in the model drill I bought for dad's birthday. He reaches out for the gin and tonic so I hand it to him, without hearing a 'thank you'. I nod at MIckey that we need to walk away. My dad looks embarrassed that I heard what grandfather said about the drill. And, honest to God, my grandfather doesn't know shit about power tools. He's never picked up a power tool in his life. He feels he's too big a 'deal' for that. He sells insurance; and everyone loves when an insurance salesman comes knocking at their door, NOT!

Later, we're at a table eating dinner with my mom, Aunt Rose Marie, Lewis, and Uncle Ronny. Not an ideal group, but Mickey and I sat down when only mom and Aunt Rose Marie were at the table. The others joined us, to my chagrin. My aunt is telling a story about women friends she plays cards with. She says, "The ladies' were saying their husbands seemed incapable of showing their feelings, sarcastically adding, "Unlike my husband," and she smiles at Uncle Ronny, who shoves a large piece of rare steak in his mouth, and goes, 'What's that?" Aunt Rose Marie says, "Nothing, dear," and looks back at my mom, "Anyway, two of their husbands agreed to go through therapy and after like twenty sessions it turns out the results were, they didn't have any feelings."

Well, I snort out a laugh, spitting out a bit of potato salad and, seeing no one else laughing, quickly say, 'Excuse me. It caught in my windpipe." Mickey's trying not to laugh as he pats my back, and my mom asks, "Are you okay?" I nod, "Uh-huh, sorry."

Holy shit, I thought that was funny; the husbands simply didn't have any feelings to show their wives. Haha.

Aunt Rose Marie goes on, "Well the girls felt better because it wasn't them, and now they know and... blah, blah, blah." Mickey and I leave at eight-thirty only saying 'goodbye' to my mom and dad, then thanking Uncle Shaun, who gives me another big hug telling me not to be a stranger. Dad calls out to me as I'm leaving, "I love that 'effing drill set, Matthew," and my aunts laugh hysterically at that for some reason. I could tell dad is serious about loving his present so why my aunt was laughing is a mystery. Probably she's smashed to the gills. But then, you never know what older people will think is funny.

Getting in the car, Mickey goes, "Omigod, I'm exhausted. I don't blame you for skipping that!" Feeling oddly defensive about my extended family, I go, "They weren't so bad, and the food and booze were very good, and you, you were no help to me at all!" I'm driving away, managing not to do a wheelie in my haste to get away.

MIckey tones it down, saying, "I am sorry, Burke, but what'd you expect me to say? No one spoke to me." Well, that's true. I won't be going back in the foreseeable future. Still, I say, "Most everyone was pretty nice, but you're right too, they didn't speak to you much and that wasn't right of them." He mutters, "I like the gay boys, your cousin, and his best friend, whatshisname."

Parked at the curb outside Mickey's house, I say, "Are you going to kiss me goodnight?" He says, "I think I'll follow your inclinations and not do that outside my house. Nosey neighbors, you see." I go, "Good thinking, but I'm imagining in my head we're kissing." He grins, saying, "Aw, nice kiss, Burke!" I ask him, "Hey, how'd you sleep last night? My 'effing pierced ear woke me up every time I rolled over on it." He goes, "Yeah, same for me. I don't know what to do about it either."

Yeah, well. I shrug and he says, "Seriously though, I've been thinking of officially telling my dad I'm gay. Would you ever change your mind and tell your parents?" I go, "Nope," and he mumbles, "Pussy," and then unhooks his seat belt, leans over, and quickly gives me a kiss on the lips. I go, "Thanks, ballsy. See you tomorrow afternoon."

He waves and I watch him going inside before driving away. I called him 'ballsy' but he wasn't ballsy at the cookout. I don't blame him. It was still awesome having him with me 'cause I had an ally and that helped me to be a tiny bit ballsy myself this afternoon. Well, that's over with, onto better times tomorrow.

To be continued... Chapter 15 'Missing Mickey'

donnymumford@outlook.com

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