WAITING FOR A MIRACLE
by Donny Mumford
Chapter 16 'Time Flies'
Getting ready for work Monday morning, my mind is on my life with Mickey. Thinking about him gives me a weird squirrely feeling, one that includes, but is deeper than, sexual arousal. I've never felt this way about anyone before and it's wonderful but I'm not sure if it's 'love'. And, then there's another side to 'us', to Mickey and me, and it's what would happen if he dumped me? Holy shit, that would be catastrophic now that I know how much better 'life' can be with a true best friend and super sex-buddy. I was bumbling along bored with life before Mickey and I hooked up. Back then it was like that old adage, ignorance is bliss. Back then I didn't know, but now I do. I'm no longer ignorant of how sweet life can be.
A tiny glimpse of life without Mickey happened last week when Mickey and I weren't together Wednesday, and then we weren't together again from Friday night until Sunday afternoon. That was a reminder and not a pleasant one, of being more or less on my own again. Comparing that to yesterday afternoon with Mickey highlighting brilliantly how much better it is with him.
Sure, metaphorically, Mickey's and my relationship went from zero to a hundred miles an hour without us knowing how to drive, so to speak. We barely knew each other one day, but a week later, we were best friends and sex-buddies thinking we could be 'in love'. Can I be in love? We joke about the two of us acting like we're fifteen, and that's how I feel right now trying to understand the depth of our relationship. On the other hand, being nineteen isn't exactly 'old' either, so I'm not expecting revelations about 'life' to occur to me simply because I'm nineteen.
Yeah, but what's this all mean? Well, the friends and buddy-sex buddies parts are clear enough; it the 'love' part I'm wondering about. Mickey's 'book-smart,' smarter than me, but does that mean he knows about love? I doubt it although he doesn't hesitate to say he loves me. He thinks he is, so he says it and leaves it at that. Maybe I should too, but it would be better if I knew I'm not fooling myself.
And the other thing is if it's not 'love' I'm feeling, then what is it? Mickey makes me happy, and he's a lot of fun to be with, and I like his body and his 'looks,' and he's the best 'top' in the world, but could all that simply be infatuation, an obsession I have for Mickey. Well, 'infatuation' and 'obsession' mean basically the same thing, but here's another concern: I wonder what effect Asperger Syndrome is having on my logic in this matter? I've no way of knowing, which makes me question everything while never coming to a conclusion about most things.
But, again, what difference does it make if I'm 'in love' or not? I mean, Mickey and I will be on our merry way doing the same stuff one way or the other. Still, it'd be fun to know, ya know?
Once again, I've concluded nothing. And then, as I'm parking at UPS, I see Bobby's getting off his motorcycle two spots over. He gives me the prettiest, friendliest smile, and his always exuberant greeting, saying, "Mattie Burke, my buddy! How are you this morning, hottie?" I'm like, "Bobby, hi! I'm good, bro, how about you?" He has a way about him that makes me feel special. Well, not just me as he's friendly with everyone.
This morning he puts his arm across my shoulders as we walk to the building. He tells me he feels awesome and what a beautiful day today is. After we 'punch-in' at the time clock, he adds, "Guess what? I'm going to try making today's quota without your help, Mattie. You've been a super nice friend helping me do that, but I think I've finally figured things out and can make the quota myself. So, let's see." I go, "I'm rooting for you, Bobby!"
Well, yeah, that'll make my life easier and maybe I'll even take a lunch break today. Wouldn't that be something! We work directly across the 'line' from each other, and what a pleasure it is seeing wickedly attractive and sexy Bobby Smart every time I glance up. Yeah, I enjoy the view. His hair has grown out a lot in the past three weeks and it's beginning to curl again. When the sun shines on his head just right, his hair looks like fine strands of pale-spun-gold. There's a window behind him so for a couple of hours each sunny day I get to see that.
Occasionally, Bobby glances up at me the same time I glance at him, and we both grin at one another, like little kids. It's a sweet diversion from our boring jobs. Today, at eleven-thirty, Bobby holds up his electronic 'counter', showing me his package-handling count, and I give him a thumbs-up. Even though he's ahead of schedule, he works through lunch again. Today I eat lunch but eat it alone.
We're the only full-time package handlers, and since the part-timers do not eat lunch here, I look forward to the day Bobby can eat lunch with me. Until then, the next best option for me is to eat lunch alone. I don't know anyone else working here I'd be comfortable eating lunch with. At two o'clock, Bobby says, "I'm still ahead of schedule, Mattie, will you take a coffee break with me?" This is another first for Bobby and me!
We use the vending machine to get cups of horrible coffee, putting lots of non-dairy Coffee-mate in it to make it drinkable. Oddly, Bobby chooses to excitedly tell me he's now into a serious relationship with his long-time sex-buddy, Alan Cockran. Yeah, Bobby is now 'off' females again, so he and Alan are having sex regularly, and they've promised to be faithful to each other. He goes, "This is my first committed relationship. Alan and I were in 'puppy' love as sophomores, but we weren't faithful lovers; not even close."
I'm waiting for more details, but he's drinking his coffee, apparently finished with his story, so I go, "So, how did it work for you two as sophomores?" He swallows and goes, "Um, we weren't actually faithful after a week or so and we broke up as boyfriends but continued being fuck-buddies on and off. Back then, at our age, there weren't a lot of gay guys who were 'out', but Alan and I are kinda 'hot' so we found sex partners anyhow, and then we'd compare our conquests." I'm like, "Oh, is that right?" I guess he recognized inferred disapproval because he adds, "Hey, I don't kiss and tell anymore, Mattie. We were kids then, ya know?"
The reason I started off saying it was 'odd' he'd tell me about his latest relationship is Bobby was my first fuck-buddy, and he said we were going to be fuck-buddies every day after work. Obviously, that never happened so I find it 'odd' he'd think I'd want to hear about the fuck-buddy he replaced me with after the girlfriend he replaced me with, um, if you know what I'm saying. Hmm, but maybe I should take that as a compliment in that Bobby thinks I'm mature enough, or cool' enough to chalk up our quick roll in the hay as one-and-done deal, and no problem. Ya know, as if it happens all the time.
Bobby doesn't have an intentional mean 'bone' in his body, so he isn't telling me about his fabulous love life to brag or rub it in my face. He's sharing something important to him with me as his friend. I hope that's a correct conclusion, anyway. 'Conclusions' being few and far between for me, so I'm not sure about that one.
Assuming it is correct though, I act happy for Bobby and whatshisname, um, Alan-something. Bobby asks about my 'love' life and I gush about how awesome Mickey is. He frowns, looking skeptical, and asks, "Um, you don't mean, um, I mean, is that the same guy I met at the mall?" I nod, "Yeah, but he's had a haircut since then, um, and looks different. He looks better now. Um, I'll take a picture to show you."
We talk 'boyfriends' for the rest of our coffee break. It's not that I'm still 'crushing' on Bobby, but it was a bit hurtful initially that he preferred his bitch ex-girlfriend rather than me. Now he's dumped the bitch girlfriend and is back loving his old sex-buddy. Situations such as that happen frequently with guys our age I suppose, and is, therefore, another piece of the social puzzle I'm trying to put in perspective.
And, I'm not proud of myself for feeling the need to make excuses for Mickey's appearance to Bobby. Very few are as attractive as Bobby Smart. And I'd forgotten about that quick encounter Mickey and I had with Bobby at the mall. It happened the first or second week Mickey and I were together and the encounter lasted maybe thirty seconds.
Anyway, after work, Mickey is waiting for me at the curb when I drive up at his house. He gets in the car and says, "Hey, Burke! Guess what? We've got four o'clock appointments at that barbershop in Secane." I'm like, "Oh, yeah?" Jesus, I was just thinking about 'appearances' too. Then, feeling guilty for hedging about Mickey's 'looks' to Bobby, I change the subject and ask, "Um, do you know if we're in love or not?" Mickey goes, "Huh, what? Whaddaya mean?" Still idling at the curb, I say, "I've been thinking about that. Thinking about love and I wanna know what you think about it." He's like, "Um, can we get moving first? It's quarter-of-four."
Driving away, I ask, "How do I get there?" He says, "It's only a couple of miles, but the traffic on Baltimore Pike sucks, so..." I turn at the corner to connect with Baltimore Pike and we're immediately sitting in backed-up traffic, I ask, "So, what do you know about love?" He shrugs, "Um, ah, yeah, what do I know about love? Okay, I love you, and, on and off, you say you love me too although you claim that we may not know what love is. That's about all I know about love. I mean, as it relates to you and me." I mumble, "That's about all I know about it too."
He snickers and says, "So, we're good?" I mutter, "Yep. I was just wondering if I had it right. Um, I think you look good right now, MIckey." He gives me a funny 'look', muttering, "Um, well, thanks, I think. You always look good." I go, "Ha, thanks, um, well, do you have the haircut pictures on your phone?" He goes, "Sure, and, ah, remember you said you'd show the pics to the barber, right?" I go, "I'll show my barber. You show your barber." He says, "I told you I feel weird doing that! You said you'd show both barbers," and we argue good-naturedly about that until we get to the barbershop. I'm just teasing him, ya know? Practicing teasing.
Parking in front of what looks like a private house that's been converted to a barbershop and a real estate office, I look at Mickey, and say, "That was me practicing my teasing technique, my 'ball-busting'. Of course, I'll show your barber the pic of the hairstyle you want, no problem." He mumbles, "I knew you were ball-busting." Getting out of the car, I stare at Mickey and sincerely think he looks good; he has a nice appearance. I'm almost surprised to discover I really mean that too. Oh, that's good...
I guess my musings about 'love' were a waste of time. A couple of minutes ago, Mickey summed-up the bottom line in one sentence. That's cool with me. Okay, so this is a first for me. This will be my first new barber ever. The first time in my life Sal won't be giving me a haircut, but that shouldn't be a big deal, right? Jesus, though, after all these years I do feel strangely guilty for dumping that butcher of a barber, Sal. Haha, well, yeah, crazy or not, I feel like a traitor. I'll never be able to go back to him again because he'll see I went someplace else for a haircut. Yeah, well, he'll survive.
Inside the shop, I see three barbers. Two men who appear to be in their thirties and a shapely nice-looking woman about the same age who has a lot of make-up on her face and very long artificial fingernails. Why some women think that a good fashion statement, I can't imagine! Anyway, the two men have clients in their barber chairs, but the woman doesn't so she says to us, not knowing who is who, "Mickey?" He goes, "Huh, um, yes, that's me," and he walks to her barber chair and she's like, "Is this your first time at the Secane Station Barbershop?" Chit-chatting the client, ya know?
I'm standing here watching Mickey getting in the barber chair motioning at me, a small hand-wave, his phone in the hand. He wants me to show the barber the pic of the haircut he wants. It's not in my nature to embarrass someone although, in this case, it's tempting. Noo! I wouldn't do that. I walk over, saying, "Here, let me do that, Mickey," and take the phone from him, tap it, and a picture of his hairstyle-choice appears. Pointing at it, the hairstylist says, "Okay, yeah, a fade comb-over. Sure, you'll look great with that hairstyle, Mickey." Uh-huh, if it was a picture of a Mohawk, she would have said the same thing.
I'm nodding at Mickey, grinning encouragingly at him. He snorts out a snicker and I step back and then sit in one of the 'waiting' chairs. The lady barber cranks the barber chair back until Mickey's head is over the sink. She's going to shampoo his already shampooed hair.
It's only like three minutes until the better-looking of the two men barbers finishes with his customer. The customer is a twenty-something average looking guy with an unfortunate receding-hairline. As the guy is paying, the barber compliments him about what excellent hair he has. Liar! The customer walks out as the barber is checking a notepad to see what my name is. Then, he looks at me and smiles, saying, "Matt?" Haha, he's cool and kinda cute for a guy as old as he is.
I've still got Mickey's phone, and, after getting in the barber chair, I show him what I want, or more accurately, what Mickey decided I want. From then on, everything goes as I hoped it would. The shampoo and haircut, I mean. Our haircuts take almost twenty minutes and cost $38 each, plus a five-dollar tip. Mickey told me ahead of time the tip is similar to a tip you'd give a waitress, meaning fifteen-to-twenty percent. So, our haircuts cost basically three times as much as we paid for haircuts at Sal's Barbershop, but then these haircuts are five times better.
I'm very happy with my haircut, and I can tell Mickey is happy with his, but, trying to be cool, we act blase while paying. Ya know like we've been there and done this before. We resist yelling, 'Omigod, this is haircut is so much better than our last haircuts!' Instead, we said, "Thank you," and leave the shop. In the car, we're high-fiving, saying, "That's right, motherfuckers, we're cool!" We're laughing and complimenting ourselves about how cool we look. Our haircuts, in actuality, are way too stylish for us nerds, but we're evolving into non-nerd-status, so we expect to 'grow into our haircuts in time.
So, yeah, we're babbling about our haircuts as I drive to my house. This was another in a growing list of fun experiences I'm having with Mickey. Everything is more fun with a friend. Shared times doing new things are bonding experiences too; not that we hadn't bonded pretty friggin' tightly already. Inside my house, without either of us mentioning it, we automatically walk to my bedroom and start taking our clothes off while we continue complimenting one another on how cool we look with our new hairdos.
When we're both naked, Mickey lifts the corner of the mattress, saying, "That got me craked up, Burke. I'm not sure why, but with your short and super-stylish haircut, I'm 'hotter' than ever to fuck you." Our clothes are in a pile on the floor as I'm groping my junk, mumbling, "Yeah, well, my barber was wicked professional, and so is this haircut. An awesome change for me."
With Mickey's hands on my head, I do a slow blowjob. First, sucking and licking his cock, then I lick all over his scrotum, moving his balls around in their sack. My tongue is dripping with warm saliva, and soon Mickey's entire groin area is dripping with it as well. Penises have many nerve endings, and the sensations coming off Mickey's dick have him moaning, pulling my hair, and shuffling his feet. And, as a bonus, I get a decent boner myself.
When I feel a drool of pre-cum on my tongue, I take his hard boner from my mouth and hold up my hand. Mickey puts a condom packet in it, I rip it open and roll the slippery-condom on Mickey's cock. His wicked hard cock is sticking straight out, all six-plus inches of it. Yep, that's a perfect boner for sex!
Standing, I ask, "How do you want your pussy boy?" Mickey says, "My ankle's feeling okay, so lie on your back with your ass at the end of the mattress, and I'll stand here." I do that, automatically pulling my legs out of the way, and he smacks my ass, mumbling, "Pull your legs back more." I pull my legs back so far now, my back is rounded. Mickey smacks my ass again, muttering, "Good," and his cock pushes past my sphincter as he goes, "Ooh... God, that feels good," and then he steadily pushes it all the way up my ass, all the way until Mickey is tight against my buttocks. He leans against me, humping lightly as he again murmurs, "This feels so good..."
He closes his eyes, and I stare at his face wondering how I could have ever thought he was goofy-looking. I should never have made excuses to Bobby about Mickey's 'looks.' No, Mickey's not cute, but few guys are. Mickey looks youthful mostly, and there's nothing about his face that's terrible. His nose, mouth, and chin are 'okay' facial features that somehow don't compliment each other enough to qualify as being 'good-looking,' but he has clear skin and distinctive eyes and an open-innocent expression. A friendly, contented expression that wasn't there prior to us becoming boyfriends. Yes, that's the big change; his 'new' expression replacing the goofy questioning-expression that he often had before we met. I've been as 'good' for Mickey as he's been for me.
Opening his eyes Mickey smiles, murmuring, "Sometimes I think I'm dreaming a perfect fantasy when I'm doing this with you, Mattie," and he pulls back his perfect boner, and then pushes it back in fast. Our first fuck of the day is usually fast and hard 'cause we 'need' to get 'off'. It's basically a replacement for our previous method of getting 'off', meaning jerking-off. Compared to jerking myself off, this is approximately one hundred and sixteen times better.
Mickey's doing fast, hard thrusting of his six-plus inches of hard cock driving it up and back in my tight rectum. It initially hurt, but the pain is fading quickly. The sounds, "Slap, slap, slap," of Mickey pounding against my ass is a good sound, plus the thrusting gets me rocking to and fro on my curved back with scintillating sensations of sexual pleasure swarming in my brain. My rectum is a treasure trove of nerve endings sparking and sizzling with that unique sexual pleasure that's otherworldly and gets me moaning quietly, "Ooh, ooh, mmm, ooh, Mickey, yeah, fuck my ass..."
I can't imagine he's realizing the amount of extreme pleasure I am because I've got mindblowing pleasure coming from my ass, as well as from my throbbing hard penis. Shortly, I'm sensing a quickly building climax reaching near the tipping point of something similar to a volcanic eruption. It's extremely exciting anticipating the thrill of my impending sexual climax, and I'm like, 'Oh no, too soon,' and then BANG! And it's 'Oh yes'!
The thrill of sexual climax is the ultimate thrill, and it is every single time it happens. I think I know what to expect, thinking I remember how awesome my last one was, but every time it's better than my memory is capable of recalling. It feels better than a memory, it's, um, well, sexual 'climax' is indescribable.
While I gasp at the mindblowing pleasure from my climax, Mickey has me rolled back so much I'm almost on my shoulders, leaning against me as he moans, "Ahhh, Omigod." He obviously just blew his climaxed even as I was appreciating my own. Mickey steps back, and I let go of my legs as that pleasure-giving cock pulls from my ass... "Ahhhh."
Blinking his eyes fast, Mickey asks, "How long was that, Burke?" Pulling on my pecker and wiping cum off my shoulder, I mumble, "Um, two minutes?" and I say that like a question because I'm not sure. It's hard to keep track of anything when experiencing the spectacular sensations of being fucked, especially as well as Mickey does it.
Mickey mumbles, "Only two minutes, huh? Well, even so, that felt mighty good, didn't it?" He's pulling off the condom as I sit up, saying, "Better than 'mighty good,' Mick. I gotta tell you, though, you are missing something great by never doing the pussy boy part. I'm serious." Getting off the bed, I take the condom from him, mumbling, "Let me get rid of this for you. Your ankle is still hurting you." He sits at the end of the bed, "Thanks, yeah, it still hurts, but I didn't notice that when we were fucking. So, I'm missing out by not 'bottoming, huh?"
When I get back from flushing the condom, Mickey's lying on the bed nodding his head for me to join him. I climb on the bed and snuggle with him. We fit together perfectly now. I no longer feel awkward about being taller and, well, bigger than him. He murmurs, "You're nice telling me I'm the best 'top' ever. Do you really mean it? I mean, am I better than those other two guys?" The side of my face rests on Mickey's shoulder as I go, "Well, why would I lie about it? Yes, you're much better. I like your, um, 'topping' technique much better, and I like YOU ten times better."
He goes, "Hmm, thanks. Um, how am I missing out not being a 'bottom'?" I tell him how indescribably 'hot' and sexy it feels having your boyfriend's boner inside you and, not only that, but your own cock is a throbbing boner too, so it's twice the thrill." He nods and murmurs, "I believe you and I've always dreamed of being fucked up the ass. That was my number one fantasy! Getting fucked is what I dreamed about. Not blowing someone or being blown, and not even me 'topping' some super cute guy like yourself. It was being fucked up my ass, and I can't do it. Not yet, anyway." I go, "Gee, Mick, we'll definitely try again 'cause I wanna see what the other half feels like as much as you do."
Later, we have a snack and a soda in the kitchen as we speculate how much shit we're gonna hear from the guys about our too-cool-for-nerds haircuts. Mickey eats the last potato chip, and mumbles, "Well, fuck it, let's find out where the guys are and get their insults over with. We'll roll our eyes at them, Burke, and give them the 'finger'." Shrugging, I'm like, "Sure, but, aren't we gonna..." and he chuckles, "Yeah, obviously, we'll fuck again. I meant after we do it again."
Throwing the empty potato chip bag in the trash, I'm like, "Why wait? Let's try it with you being the pussy boy this time." He makes a 'face', saying, "I really want that to work, but we'll try it tomorrow, Burke. Let's not chance screwing up our good time today. I promise to try it tomorrow. Hell, I want it as much as you do." Nodding and shrugging at the same time, I mutter, "Yeah, okay."
He smiles, "We'll have a better chance for success tomorrow," and then he pulls down my pants and fucks me standing in the kitchen. My hands are on the tabletop holding on for dear life because it's another hard fast fuck, this time without a condom. Like last time we did it here, my climax shoots across the table, both of us gasping and snorting out chuckles.
Pulling his cock from my ass, Mickey says, "That wasn't a slow, delicious screwing, was it?" I'm like, "Holy shit, no, not quite. That took me by surprise, I thought we were gonna get back in bed and take our time." I'm pulling paper towels off a roll, passing one to Mickey, and then using one to wipe my ass. He says, "You get me hot, Burke. I didn't know I was going to do that. Damn, I like our kitchen fucks, though; don't you?" Nodding, I mumble, "I like it anyplace, especially without the condom. Eww, it's so cool feeling your cum in my ass. That's sexy hot!"
After cleaning my cum off the kitchen table, we clean ourselves in the bathroom and spend some time getting our hair just right. My haircut is called 'something-something-crew cut.' I forget what the full name is, but it has faded sides and back with the hair on top lying flat about an inch-and-a-half long combed forward with no bangs. I really like it although I'd never have called this hairstyle a crew cut. I don't know what I would have called it.
We drive to the park where there are a dozen guys and girls, but not anyone we care very much about, so we say 'hi' to a few of them, hearing mostly compliments about our new hairdos. Okay, we weren't expecting that, but these are the guys we normally hang out with; or used to.
After ten minutes, I drive us to the bowling ally, and we see Brenda Cummins with a couple of her girlfriends, but none of the guys. Brenda squeals when she sees us, saying, "You two look so friggin' cool with those haircuts. Where did you get them?" I tell her and ask, "Have you seen any of the guys around?" Brenda says, "Yeah, a bunch of guys were here a half-hour ago, but they all went over to the pool party at Rick Walsh's house." I'm like, "Why didn't you go?" She says, "Because it's guys only, didn't you hear about it? Ricky's parents are away, ya know."
Mickey says, "Oh, yeah, that's right. I forgot to tell you, Burke. Blake texted me a couple of days ago that there's a Monday late-afternoon pool thingie at Walsh's house. It doesn't start until he gets home from work. Do you wanna go?" I shrug, mumbling, "Not really," and Brenda wraps her arms around my arm, saying, "You stay with Debby and me, Mattie." Mickey mutters, "Oh, Gawd, you're not too obvious, are you, Cummins?" She sticks her tongue out at Mickey as I say, "I'd love to Brenda, but I gotta get home for dinner."
We leave as I'm asking Mickey, "So, Blake Snyder told you about the pool party, huh?" He goes, "Yeah, but I forgot about it because I didn't wanna go." I'm wondering why Dean didn't text me about it, not that I would have gone anyway. I guess he realizes, finally, I'm not hanging out with him as I used to. Gee, I hope his feelings aren't hurt. Hmm, I'm pretty sure they aren't because, as I said before, he's never even alluded to the fact I stopped texting him. Maybe he's glad I stopped, or more likely; it's okay with him one way or the other.
THEN, THREE WEEKS FLY BY...
It's the first week of August already and, no, Mickey still can't bottom, too painful. We have very little optimism that will ever 'work,' but, damn, everything else is golden. My best summer ever! Too bad it's vanishing before my eyes.
I've just finished cutting the lawn Saturday morning, and, after washing up, I'm on my way to get Mickey. We're going to look at apartments for rent. We've looked at apartments the past two Saturdays, looking at ones that are halfway between Clifton and Drexel University, in Philly. There are some, but the ones available are all too expensive, or just not right for us somehow.
The situation has changed now, though, so we're able to look at apartments close to the University. Moving into an apartment in Philly became a feasible possibility because of a fortuitous development. Yeah, there is a chance I could be transferred to the UPS facility in Philly.
Okay, what happened is, a month ago, Bobby Smart told me his best friend and sex-buddy, Alan, got a job as a package handler in Philly. He interviewed at the Drexel Hill warehouse, but there weren't any openings. Bobby knows that his friend, Alan, and I, would benefit from switching our job locations. Yeah, we've talked a lot about our boyfriends, so he's aware Mickey is going to Drexel University. If I switched jobs with Alan, it would benefit Alan and me and, therefore, Bobby and Mickey too.
My boss, Tully, didn't share my enthusiasm for the transfer idea when I filed papers requesting a transfer. Alan's boss was all for it because he'd get an experienced package handler, meaning me, in exchange for an inexperienced one, meaning Alan. Tully, understandably isn't excited about an inexperienced guy when he already trained me. Still, it remains to be seen how well Alan progresses with his package handling duties in the next few weeks.
Presently he's in his second week at UPS and struggling to meet production quotas, as everyone does at first. So the deal is, he needs to get better fast if we expect to have any chance of switching locations. Bobby insists his boyfriend is 'a clever motherfucker,' as he put it, and will learn the shortcuts quicker than Bobby, or I did.
With that in mind, it appears Mickey and I can take the chance of sharing an apartment near the college, which isn't far from the Philadelphia UPS building. That is what is called a win/win situation. Mr. Miller, Mickey's dad, wanted Mickey to experience college fully, including the dormitory experience on campus, but he is now okay with Mickey sharing an apartment with me. That change of heart came about because Mickey came 'out' to his father, and, therefore, his dad knows I'm gay as well.
Yes, Mr. Miller is an extremely 'liberal thinking' individual, and, therefore, fully on board with alternate live style choices. So, he's supportive of us 'gay lovers'. Him knowing I'm gay means that now there are three people with that information: me, Mickey, and his dad. I haven't come 'out' to anyone except Mickey. I didn't come 'out' to Mr. Miller either, but he's not an idiot, so he figured it out for himself.
After saying I haven't come out to anybody except Mickey, the word has spread that Miller is gay, so the assumption among the guys is that I am too because I'm his best friend. That's fractured logic, but in this case, they're right. Still, they don't actually know it for a fact because I haven't made it official. I swore I'd never come 'out' to my parents, but with Mickey coming 'out', it sort of forces my hand into strongly considering doing the same. Even before Mickey 'outed' himself, guys were calling us the 'fag brothers' because of the 'fade' haircuts we got three weeks ago, and because we're always together. It's just something to break balls.
The truth is they don't care if we're gay or not. And, that's NOT because they're liberal thinkers. They don't especially care because Mickey and I have never been important enough 'neighborhood-wise' for anyone to give a shit. Mickey and I talked about that subject one night and came to the realization that we're fooling ourselves if we think the guys we grew up with care about us and, to be honest, we don't care all that much about them either. Not when you get right down to it.
I mean, some of the guys would feel bad for a day or two if we got run over by a bus and died, but we're peripheral, and we always have been. It's not as though they dislike us or we dislike them; it's more like if we're there it's okay, and it's okay if we're not... like that. So that's kinda too bad, kinda sad too. I mean, sad if we let ourselves overthink it, but it's 'freeing' too. We can move out of the neighborhood and into a Philly apartment without missing much on the 'home front.'
Anyway, early in August, we're looking for a place to live together in Philly. Mickey gets in the car with a list from the Internet of apartments close to Drexel University. We bump fists and say 'hi', and then I go, "I was looking online too, and noticed the University of Pennsylvania is only a half-mile from Drexel? So, both universities have some students looking at the same apartments." He mumbles, "Yeah, I know, but there's still a number of available ones, rent is about $2000 a month."
After I gulp, I say, "I can handle my share of that, but they're not furnished, Mick. That will cost extra, right? Renting furniture." He smirks, and says, "Dad has in a storage unit two rooms of furniture from our old house. Stuff that wouldn't fit in the smaller house we live in now." I'm like, "Hot shit! That's huge!" He snickers, "Yep. I was saving that tidbit of good news to surprise you with." I go, "That's awesome!"
We spent four hours looking at six apartments. More time was spent looking for parking than we spent in the apartments. The last apartment we look at is the closest to the campus and the furthest from UPS, but only a mile or so. It's 800 square feet and has four windows; two in the living room, one in the bedroom and one in the kitchen. The real estate lady told us only the 'end' apartments have four windows; most have two. Plus, this apartment is on the second floor, and all the apartments on the second floor have been renovated. The bathroom and kitchen look almost new. The tub and the stove and everything is modern-looking and hardly used. And, the rent is under the average for this area. It's $1800 a month.
The rental lady said she expects it to be rented today as another potential renter, two college girls, were looking at the apartment before us, and said they would be back with one of their parents later this afternoon. Mickey and I huddle, and he whispers, "I really like this apartment, Burke. Whaddaya think? Should we give her a check right now?" I whisper, "But what if I can't transfer to the Philly UPS?" He's biting his fingernails again, as he does when stressed. Pushing his hand away from his mouth, I'm like, "Stop doing that. Look, if I can't transfer by September 1st, which I most likely can't, so what? I'll have a shitty drive to and from work for maybe a month. It'll probably be for no more than a month, so yeah, let's take this fucking apartment."
Omigod, Mickey's eyes light up as he cautiously asks, "Are you sure?" and I say to the lady, "We'll take it." My heart is pounding fast as Mickey and I both write checks. The lady wants first and last month's rent plus $1400 security deposit, which is excessive although she doesn't think so. We write checks for one month's rent each, plus we split the cost of the security deposit. In other words, each check is for $2500. The lease begins September 1st, and our next rent of $1800 is due October 1st. I'll have two months, eight paychecks, before then.
I'm trying to be cool, but I feel shaky after we give her the checks and fill out the paperwork. Done with everything, we're walking the two blocks to where I parked the car as I'm thinking: I've gotten eight paychecks of $467.00 so far. That's the after-tax amount of my $560 weekly pay. That's a total of $3,736, of which I haven't spent much. I've only been paying $200 a month for room and board, and the sneakers, but not much else. Still, the balance in my checking account after the rent check is only $320, and that is kinda frightening. Adding to my financial concerns is the LASIK surgery I'm undergoing next Saturday. That will cost $3000, but I'm financing it, $100 per month, for thirty-six months. My mom says I'm reckless with my money, and I said, in a nice way, "The keywords you used there, Mom, were 'my money.' Money that I worked for." And I left it at that.
Mickey isn't as affected by the $2500 as me because to him; his college loan is like 'found' money, free money. He won't worry about that until a few years from now. For me, it's 'real' money, but I won't need to worry about being in debt a few years from now. I know I haven't overextended myself, but this is new to me.
The math is, I'll have $1500 in my checking account by September 1st, and that's after paying room and board the rest of this month. Plus another $1700 by October 1st for a total of $3200. Of that, my portion of the apartment's October rent, $900, will be due. Yes, the rent is over fifty percent of my monthly take-home pay, but that leaves me almost $1000 a month to cover expenses of which I have few. Food, of course, but what other expenses? Well, there are expenses like car insurance, gas, food, a $100 a month for the LASIX surgery, and, hmm, what else? Jesus! No, I'm good.
Heh, heh, all that stuff is what I'm babbling to Mickey about while I drive us to Darby. We're going to Darby because Mickey texted Dennis Hoover, and he's at his apartment. We want to buy booze and grass from him to celebrate renting our apartment.
Leaving Philly, Mickey says, "Stop the money worries, Burke. You'll be fine, um, we went over the figures a dozen times. You make enough to afford $900 a month with no problem." I'm like, "Yeah, I know. Sorry for ranting like that. I'm good. The money works," and Mickey says, "Sharing the apartment with you saves money for me. The apartment is cheaper than living in a dorm with a meal ticket, so, ya know what I'm gonna do? I'll buy most of our food for our apartment." I don't want him buying 'most' of the food, but I won't argue that point now. Instead, I'm shaking off what is a mental condition, sometimes called 'buyer's remorse.' It'll pass.
After getting what we need from Dennis, we order a pizza for dinner and then celebrate at Mickey's house by irresponsibly getting drunk on beer and getting higher than a kite can fly smoking grass. Mickey's dad is spending the weekend with his lady-friend in Cape May, so we're having our first 'sleep-over.' Mickey paid Dennis a 100% mark-up for two six-packs of beer, but only paid the going-rate for pot. I didn't go into the apartment. It would be awkward seeing Dennis again.
And, Mickey 'treated' tonight because I think he feels compassion for my initial 'buyer's remorse,' and he wanted to get my mind off that. Yep, drinking a six-pack each of beer, plus three shared primo joints, will get my mind off money; the booze and grass... plus the sex. And, it works too because, oh boy, tonight Mickey duplicated our first 'date' by fucking me five times before we 'crashed.'
The sleeping portion of our first 'sleep-over' took place mostly with us almost on top of each other sleeping on the living room sofa where we unexpectedly fell asleep. Yeah, that's where we 'crashed.' I wake up at four o'clock in the morning and drag MIckey off the sofa. He's like, "What? Ah, huh?" We stagger up to his bedroom and get in bed, which is so much nicer!
The next time I wake up, it's one-thirty Sunday afternoon, and I'm hungover, but not horribly hungover. The six-pack of beer I drank is the culprit, not the shared three joints. Mickey's still sleeping, and I don't wake him. Let him sleep because I'm concerned about my sore ass after getting fucked five times. We told one another last night that we were gonna continue fucking this morning too. Hmm, I'm hoping that maybe his dick is sore.
Lying here, I think about how different, how much better it would be if Mickey could tolerate a dick up his rear end, but he can't. Three weeks ago, we tried Mickey being the pussy boy four or five times, and none of them were successful. I spent ten-minutes during one of our attempts fingering his asshole to get it loose, and then in went my boner, but only until I got it in about two inches. He screamed, and I started to pull it out, but he had already pulled away before I had a chance to pull it out.
There's something inside his rectum, something that's not right. It's not his asshole per se; it's further in that the problems start. We don't know what the problem is, but we've given up. Mickey's gonna be the 'top' all the time, or at least for the foreseeable future. We don't even talk about him being the 'bottom' anymore. It's a dead issue.
And, I'm okay with that. I'm not thrilled about it, but I'm okay with it. Fortunately, Mickey fucks great and we sort of share oral sex, taking turns, although he not only doesn't get aroused doing oral sex on me, but he actually doesn't like doing it at all, so taking turns is more like I do it ten times to his one time. When I'm doing it, I'm pleasuring both of us, though. So, while it's not perfect that he doesn't especially enjoy sucking my dick or being the 'bottom,' it's not a huge problem. Compared to what Mickey's and my lives were like before we became boyfriends, this is a utopia for us.
When Mickey finally wakes up, he grins at me and says, "Get the lubricant, Burke. It's on the coffee table downstairs." I'm like, "Good morning, Mickey. Oh, by the way, my ass is sore." He says, "Oh, yeah? I hope it isn't too sore, and good morning to you too, Burke. And I gotta say, you look awesome in the morning. Now, get the 'effing KY Jelly, it's on the coffee table downstairs." I make a face and mumble, "Okay," and get out of bed. Mickey says, "Bring up that carton of OJ that's in the refrigerator too."
It's partially my fault that Mickey's gotten so bossy. It's surprising considering he was barely able to communicate during our first date. I had to be our leader most of that first night together. Quite quickly, however, Mickey got his bearings and became our leader, by default, mostly.
The thing is, I never complain to him about giving me orders and, therefore, human nature being as it is, Mickey keeps getting bossier. I don't think he even realizes it because it's happened by increments, little by little getting bossier and bossier, and now he's comfortable telling me what to do. Yeah, he's my bossy leader, the alpha dog in our relationship. We've been almost inseparable for over ten weeks, and during the last three or four weeks, Mickey's adopted sort of a 'big brother' persona with me; a bossy 'big brother' persona telling me what to do and, basically, deciding what we do.
I probably should say something about that, but I've been hoping he'd lighten up, or at least level off with bossing me around. I'd be okay if his bossing me around stayed at this level, but, as I just said, he keeps getting bossier. The other thing is, I don't want to do anything that might throw a monkey wrench into what I consider an otherwise fabulous boyfriend relationship. Plus, Mickey has changed so much he's now almost 'normal' as far as a nineteen-year-old guy's behavior goes. Almost one of the boys in that regard. I'm afraid that when he's in college, he'll have no trouble finding another boyfriend if I complain too much. One of the biggest reasons I was so eager to get the apartment is so I'd feel more secure he won't dump me. It won't be easy for him to do that now that we're sharing an apartment.
And, no, I'm not stupid enough to worry about being dumped now. Mickey claims he loves me, but what if I start giving him some shit about him being too bossy? Ya know, now that he's worked through a lot of his hangups, he'll soon have 14,000 students at Drexel from which to find a boyfriend, one who doesn't give him any shit. That's why I won't give him any. And, yes, I'm still spooked from being dumped by both Mark and Bobby.
Grabbing the Ky Jelly off the coffee table, I smile because it felt so good getting fucked last night in five different positions. Truly, I don't believe anyone could fuck me as good as Mickey does it. So, what the hell, why let a sore ass get in the way of another excellent fuck?
From the kitchen, I get the carton of OJ and the lube upstairs. Mickey's in the bathroom brushing his teeth. He calls to me, "C'mon in here and brush your teeth, Burke." Yeah, well, I brought a toiletry kit and a change of clothes from home, so I'm prepared. This sleep-over was planned, not a spur of the moment thing.
I mumbling, "Be right there, Mick." I put the OJ and lube on the bedside table and join Mickey in the bathroom. After a monstrous piss, I wash up and then brush my teeth. Mickey watches me do that, grinning and then saying, "I'm going to kiss you right now," and he does, adding, "Last night we didn't make-out enough," and another fifteen-second kiss follows. Damn, I've got it bad for Mickey.
He squeezes me around the waist, murmuring, "I love you so much it hurts my heart, Mattie," and he squeezes me again, and then we're into a solid make out. A one-minute make out with sloppy kissing, our arms around each other. Parting, we're catching our breath for a few seconds, grinning at one another. Then, taking my hand, Mickey says, "C'mon, let's get back in bed. Um, how sore is your ass? I mean, we can screw, right? It's not too sore for that, I hope."
Shaking my head, I'm like, "Nah, I'm good," and Mickey says, "I'll be gentle. We had enough rough sex last night. This will be a slow loving sex act, okay?" He looks me in the eyes, asking again, "Okay, Burke?" I nod, "Yep, whatever you say, MIckey." Patting my ass, he mutters, "That's my boy." It gives me a hard-on the way he smoothly takes over. Yeah, I kinda like it, I guess.
Sitting up in bed, we pass the carton of OJ back and forth, eventually drinking the entire quart. Mickey says, "Put that empty carton on the bedside table and pass the lubricant." I do that, and he says, "Before I brushed my teeth, I washed my dick with soap and water, so it's clean for you."
Oh, yeah, last night, drunk and high, I sucked his cock an hour after he fucked me, and I tasted shit. My shit, but still, it was rather unpleasant during the first minute I had his cock in my mouth. So, this morning he remembered and washed his pecker, and I say, "How considerate," and he says, "We were high last night. I'd never ask you to suck my dick after fucking you, not if I'm sober. One of us needs to remember that next time."
After pulling the covers off us both, I kneel between Mickey's legs, lean over and pick up his penis with my lips. That's a little trick I picked up to amuse myself, not using my fingers. This leaves my hands free to lightly run up and down his legs and then rub lightly around his groin area and under his scrotum. That gives him shivers, and I like to watch him shudder.
Then I concentrate sucking on the head of his dick, moving my tongue over, and that quickly turns his penis into a hard boner. Then, as if that isn't enough, I hold his wooden cock and lick up and down it and all around, then press it against his belly and go to town licking his scrotum and moving his nuts around until Mickey's grunting and squirming on the bed while rubbing his fingers through my hair.
When clear pre-cum drools from Mickey's wickedly hard cock, I go back to sucking it. I'll suck him to climax unless he stops me. Sucking Mickey's cock and balls is a major turn on for me, and I need to hide my disappointment when he surprises me, saying it's his turn to suck mine. A rare occasion.
He does an okay job sucking my cock, but I know he feels it's an obligation rather than a sexy thing to do. I still haven't come close to climaxing the times I've attempted to 'top' him, and, obviously, that's because he starts screaming in pain. Also, I've never come close to climaxing from Mickey blowing me. Yes, it's frustrating for me, but compared to what I had before hooking up with Mickey, my sex life glows brightly compared to that.
I gently push on his head, taking pity on him, mumbling, "That's good, that's fabulous, Mick." He looks up, mumbling, "That wasn't so bad. Not great, but not horrible either." As I'm giving him a 'look,' he crawls up next to me and, sore ass or not, I now want 'it' bad. Mickey murmurs, "Pass me the jelly," and after I do that, I flop over on my stomach and, right away, feel his slippery finger in my ass pushing jelly up there. Around my asshole is sore, but inside it feels okay. Well, it feels okay as far as Mickey's finger can reach.
He says, "Go up on your side, and I'll fuck you real gently." As soon as I'm on my side, Mickey's arm is over me, holding me there, his cock slides past my sphincter as I grit my teeth. Inside me now, it then slides, slides, slides further and further up my ass until the full six-plus inches of swollen cock, feeling longer than that, is inside my rectum. When it's in all the way, Mickey leaves it there and kisses the back of my neck, murmuring, "This is nice, huh, Burke? Our first morning-sex." I'm not about to ruin this by whining about my asshole hurting, so I say, "Yeah, MIckey, it feels good."
He asks, "Now that I'm all the way, and your sore ass is okay, do you think you could roll onto your stomach? I like fucking you that way best." Nodding my head, I roll forward, and he comes along with me, his cock sliding out, but not entirely. On my stomach, I push my ass up. He snickers, mumbling, "My boner almost came out, heh, heh. Okay, I'm gonna do you slowly," and he pulls back his cock almost all the way, then slides it back in. It still hurts, but I don't mention that, and by the fourth thrust, the pleasure overcomes the hurt, and it begins feeling good.
The thrusts are steady, but not hard or fast, and I'm really getting into this now, moaning quietly, "Umm, umm, umm, nice, MIckey." He grunts, "Good, we'll pick it up a little," and within a minute, it's fast "slap, slap," sounds of guys fucking as pleasure soars from my rectum. I'm the one squirming on the bed now, moaning, "Harder, MIckey, aah, aah, yeah, aah." Omigod, I'm so glad we're doing this as my climax grows and grows until, "Aaaaah, oooh!" and cum forces out underneath me in a stream that doesn't have anywhere to go, so it pools under my belly button.
Mickey's making his noisy deep breathing sounds as he humps against my ass and climaxes his creamy jism into my bowels. Then it's quiet, contented sighs from us both for a minute until Mickey pulls his cock out, and my ass starts hurting like a motherfucker immediately, worse than before. He flops on the bed next to me, saying, Oh, Christ, morning sex rocks! Burke, our first morning-sex!" Well, technically, it's in the afternoon, but I know what he means.
I'm like, "Yeah, we'll have many chances for morning sex living together." He's getting his arm under my neck, pulling me against him. I get in position for our snuggling as Mickey says, "Oh man, I'm so excited, hell I'm thrilled about us living together. We'll be like man and wife." I mumble, "Yeah, we will. You'll be my husband." He kisses the side of my forehead and says, "Will you marry me someday, do you think?" Jeez, I think I'd marry him right now if he asked me. I go, "Sure, but you should probably graduate college first, and I need a better job."
After a pause, he says, "Marriage, seriously? I was joking, Burke. We're nineteen. That was a joke." I go, "I knew that. I was joking too." He kisses me again and mumbles, "No, you weren't. Who knows, maybe I will marry you someday. You'll need to learn to cook first." I ask, "Are you joking again?" He mutters, "Yes, obviously, and actually I can cook. I'm a good cook. But, holy shit, babe, us living together!" Babe?
I go, "Um, I can cook frozen stuff, and there are all kinds of frozen meals available." He says, "We'll figure everything out together. Now, let's be quiet for a while. I've got a slight headache, a bit of a hangover, I guess. Sorry." I mumble, "Okay, no problem." Mickey had a couple of shots of liquor with the beers last night, shots that I was wise enough to say 'no thank you' to, and passed them up.
He falls asleep, and I stare at his face while thinking how odd one's perspective is. I mean, Mickey looks good to me now. I used to think he was a geeky-looking guy. Sure, he has the cool stylish haircut now, and he no longer has that goofy expression on his face, but other than that, his appearance is the same as it's always been, except he's better looking than he used to be. Haha, I know, that's absurd, but it's also true to my eyes. And, he could pass for sixteen; that's how youthful he appears to be. Nice skin, and his barely noticeable beard, if it even can be called a beard. He has less beard than me! And, he definitely has sexy lips, that's indisputable.
I'm still amazed and think about it too often, but it's kinda odd how comfortable I am snuggled against his smallish body when it used to be wicked awkward. Perspective again, I guess. It's also a bit odd that I have total faith in Mickey to do the right things and make the right decisions, sometimes pushing me to do things I'd rather not, but they turn out good. I guess I realize he's smart, and he'll be able to handle whatever problems come up in connection with our apartment. He'll know when to move the furniture in and how to do it. I guess rent a U-haul truck of some kind. Get his father to rent it because I don't think they rent to nineteen-year-old guys. I don't even know what else we need to be thinking about in that regard.
Damn, my ass is so fucking sore, but the climax I had is worth a sore ass. Then, I dozed off because now it Mickey who's out of bed, saying, "Get up, Burke. I'm hungry, let's get something to eat. It's three o'clock, and we haven't eaten anything today." I yawn, muttering, "My ass is sore." He mumbles, "Still sore? I'm really sorry to hear that. C'mon, get up." I get up, and we use the bathroom, then I drive us to Demarco's Deli, and we get cheesesteaks and Cokes, eating without talking.
My parents are at Sunday's cookout, so no one is home, so when we finish our cheesesteaks, I ask, "Do you wanna hang out at my place, MIck?" He says, "Nope, we're going swimming at the reservoir." I go, "Oh, okay. We still need to stop at my house so I can get a swimsuit." He nods, "My house is closer, so go there first, and I'll put my swimsuit on, then we'll stop at your house. It's a fine day for a swim." And, so, that's what we do...
To be continued... Chapter 17 'I'm worried' donnymumford@outlook.com
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