WAITING FOR A MIRACLE
by Donny Mumford
Chapter 6 'Disappointment... And Then...
I'm still in bed at one-twenty Sunday afternoon, which is understandable considering I didn't get home from my 'date' with Mark last night until like five o'clock this morning. It takes me a few seconds before determining... 'Hey, I feel great!' Well, I didn't have much to drink last night and only shared two rather bland joints, so why wouldn't I feel great?
Yes, life has been very, very good to me the past couple of weeks. And, I say that even though my job at UPS hasn't been all that swell. The awesome improvement in my social life, though, has allowed me to move my job concerns to the 'back burner,' so to speak. A case of positivity outdoing negativity.
I'm talking primarily about my sex life, now that I have one, and it got me thinking there has to be a 'miracle' somewhere in all this. Or maybe it was a series of miracles, but come on, my life couldn't possibly turn around as it has unless some form of a miracle was involved. And, yes, I know, I've vacillated about a 'miracle' connection during this lucky streak. Is there one, or not? I still don't know.
Miracle or not, I'm giddy about the way my life has turned around, happily enjoying my new fortuitous situation, and, as I said before, I feel I'm deserving of this good fortune after nineteen years of experiencing not-so-good fortune. And, I had something to do with the turnaround in my sex life by changing how I respond to things. Maybe that's the 'miracle'...
Interrupting my contemplation of miracles, my mom screams down the hall at me that I need to get 'up.' I yell back, "I am up!" Then, I get out of bed, muttering to myself... "Why haven't they left for the Sunday cookout yet?" It's frustrating that my parents still treat me as though I'm in middle school.
Wearing shorts, a t-shirt, socks, and sneakers, I step into the kitchen, and mom says, "Don't expect me to make breakfast for you, not at two o'clock in the afternoon." Did I ask for breakfast? No, I did not, but I ignore mom's unwarranted comment. Who the hell eats breakfast at two o'clock, anyway? I refuse to engage with her in this silly discussion.
Instead, I mumble, "You're right, and I'm not hungry, anyway," and, from habit, I open the refrigerator. As I'm gazing into the refrigerator, mom continues her attempt to incite me by asking, "What time did you get home last night?" Continuing to avoid the shouting match mom's instigating, I shrug and then take out, a carton of orange juice. Not to be deterred, she goes, "I wanna know what time, Matthew?" I mutter, "I don't know, mom, it was late," and pour a glass of OJ. There's a cinnamon bun left in a box from the bakery, so I take that and bite into it as my mom tells me, "Your father wants the grass cut today." Oh, man, I gotta move out of here. After drinking the OJ quickly, I put the glass in the dishwasher and mumble, "I'll get right on that," and then go back to my room.
Okay, what do I want to do today? I know Dean is with his parents in Delaware. They're visiting Dean's grandparents so, hmm, what will I do? I finish eating the super sweet roll and look at my phone. No text from Mark, so should I text him? Yeah, maybe I should because we didn't make plans for a 'date' next weekend. Hell, maybe he'll want to hook up today. Yep, this is another example of the 'new' me, the new and improved Mathew Burke. I mean, lately, I've been texting guys, and now I'm gonna text Mark instead of waiting for him to text me. Before this, the only person I ever texted was Dean.
That word 'date' I just used makes my ass itch. I never had 'dates' with guys before, nevermind with girls, obviously. Fuck, I think I'm horny again. This new 'horniness' sensation, new for me, is disturbing because it's hard to think about anything else. Before texting, I think about both sex acts that Mark and I did last night. No, there were three if I count the short blowjob I gave Mark... my first one ever. And, Omigod, it was so unexpected. Not the blowjob, the fact I liked doing it. There are no more germs involved in doing that then doing a million other things. Haha, yeah, the things I've learned recently, wow!
Sure, I'm aware there are many young gay guys who already knew the things I'm just now learning, knew about them when they were fifteen or younger. What I also know is there aren't as many of those knowledgable guys as I used to think there were. I'm in the fortunate minority of gay guys having sex regularly, and there are more gay guys in the 'closet' and a lesser number who are 'out' but still aren't especially lucky in 'love'. More of those unfortunates than those having sex, like me.
Not that I'm getting cocky or anything like that. Far from it because, as I was telling myself yesterday, most of the turnaround for me has been a result of pure luck. A function of me being in the 'right place' at the 'right time.' After I had that experience with Joe Lions at the mall and blew my chance with him, that made me determined to be much more receptive to suggestive comments at the bowling alley one of the rare times Mark was also there. And things took 'off' from that chance meeting between Mark and me. So, no, I'm not cocky... I'm cautiously optimistic, hoping my luck holds out.
Oh, Christ, who's yelling at me now? It's dad yelling that the grass needs cutting 'NOW'! Stepping out of my bedroom, I yell back, "I'm gonna cut the grass in five minutes! Jeez! And there's no need to yell." He yells, "We never had to remind your brother to do his chores." I yell even louder, "Chores? We are not living on an 'effing farm. Chores are what you do on a farm! Jesus!" As I'm going back into my room, he yells, "Don't be a smart ass, Matt! As long as you're living under my roof, you'll do what you're told." Under my breath, I mutter, 'fuck you' and sit at the desk.
Now I need to take some deep breaths because yelling upsets me. It's so friggin' unnecessary. Yeah, but I never used to stick up for myself like this. I need to, though, because, Goddammit, I'm a working man now paying room and board for Christ's sake!
So, yeah, I was gonna text, Mark. Okay, no problem, I quickly text, 'Last night was an awesome date, Mark! Encore next Saturday?' I hit 'send' and then immediately think... 'Encore? Who the hell says that word? It's so 'effing creepy!' Goddammit, I need to reread my texts before sending them! And then I find myself daydreaming about Mark and me getting our haircuts together at Sport Clips in the Ace Hardware plaza. Haha, I can see us sitting in barber chairs next to one another as I tell the lady barber, pointing at Mark, 'I'd like a haircut like his'. Haha, that's so queer!
Yeah, but cool too. Hmm, I wonder if my light brown hair will look as good as his red hair when I have a hairstyle like his? It probably will 'cause what difference does the color of your hair make? My haircut might look better than his because I have a better hairline. His is almost a widow's peak kind of thing. And why the fuck am I wasting time thinking about something as dumb as this?
Hmm, I've never been at that barbershop, not that that has anything to do with anything. No, I wrong, it will be monumental! Going to Sport Clips will break my life-long habit of religiously going to that 'dick-head' Sal and his old-time barbershop. I've gone to that same shop since I was a little kid, and Sal always cuts my hair as he did when I was seven. He calls it a 'boy's haircut' as if I'm still seven. From down the hall, my dad yells, "NOW MATHEW!" Omigod, what in the fuck is his problem?
I stomp out of my bedroom and go right past dad and outside to the garage muttering all the way. In the garage, I'm like, okay, where's the damn gas can? Taking a second to calm down again, I then fill the power mower with the gas/oil mixture. Then, it takes me but one pull on the lawnmower's rope and "Putt, putt, putt," it starts right up. Oh, I forgot to attach the grass-clippings bag. After I do that, I push the mower out onto the driveway. It's a power mower, but it doesn't have the self-propelled feature, meaning I need to push it.
The front yard isn't very big, so it takes only ten minutes to cut the grass there, but we have one of the larger back yards in the entire neighborhood, and the yard slopes up at the end where it borders so-called wetlands. The wetlands produce many mosquitoes, and those fuckers torture us all summer.
Anyway, it takes a half-hour to cut the grass in the back yard, and I'm sweating bullets by the end of it. After pushing the mower into the garage, while taking off the grass clippings bag, I notice my sneakers. Goddammit! Because dad was screaming at me, I forgot to change into my old sneakers. Fuck, I got grass-stains on my good 'every-day' sneakers!
Well, this blows, but be cool. I'll buy new sneakers. I'm rich now, relatively speaking.
I'm emptying the grass clippings into a green trash bag even though I know the town forbids residents from including grass clippings with the regular trash. I do it anyway. What else am I supposed to do with it? Inside, I gulp down a bottle of spring water... allegedly spring water. As I thought earlier, Mom and dad are normally already at one of my uncles' Sunday cookouts, so what's up with that? I suppose they delayed leaving this Sunday so they could harass me about the grass.
Swallowing my anger, I go inside, where dad says, "Nice job, Matt, thank you." I say, "You're welcome," then because he was nice about it, I add, "Say 'Hi' to everyone for me at the cookout." See how civil I am when they're civil to me? Dad says, "Stop in at Uncle Nick's later. Everyone would be glad to see you. Your cousin Lewis was asking for you." Huh? That's hard to believe.
I take a shower, and afterward, I notice, oh goodie, the house is silent. No one is yelling at me. This is how it will be when I have my own place; my apartment will be quiet and relaxing. For the hell of it, I walk naked to my bedroom, the towel over my shoulder. I check my phone but there is no text from Mark, so I sit bare-ass on the desk chair and go online with my laptop.
With the help of my boss, Gene Tully, I arranged for my paycheck to be direct-deposited into my checking account. Only two paychecks so far, but I like looking at my balance. Heh, heh, I'm smiling to myself 'cause it's good having money! Yeah, there's plenty in the account for a deposit on an apartment. I can't look for one though because something even more important is happening after work next week. Bobby's coming home with me all week. Yes, but, after we fuck, why couldn't he keep me company during my apartment search? Back in the kitchen, I grab the 'apartments for rent' section of the Sunday newspaper and take it to my room.
These are exciting times for me. Then, another quick glance at my cell phone is disappointing. Mark hasn't texted me back. Maybe he's still sleeping. I get dressed and then drive to the Roosevelt Mall to buy new sneakers. While driving, I feel bad that I wasn't, I don't know, nicer to my parents, but they're the adults, and I'm the 'kid,' and yet it seems they 'bait' me into arguments. I get furious and then, like now, feel bad about it later. Shaking my head to clear it, I think more positively. That's not easy to do because now I'm nervous about buying new sneakers. Fucking sales clerks are all over you when all I want is to be left alone, picking out whatever I wanna buy. They're intimidating.
Inside the mall, I use an ATM to get cash, and then I use some of it at the McDonalds in the mall's food court for a late lunch. I eat it quickly because I feel uncomfortable sitting at any restaurant table alone, McDonald's or otherwise. As I'm finishing, I notice two guys from my graduating class goofing around at the other end of the food court, kinda being childish. They're okay guys, but I want to avoid them anyway because, well, that's what I do. I'm in the habit of avoidance. Fuck 'em anyway; I'm into other things, like sex.
Fortified with two McDonald's Quarter Pounders and fries for lunch, I walk down to Foot Locker to check out the new sneakers. Omigod, I immediately fall in love with a pair of Nike's retro sneakers from the 1990s. Specifically, Nike's Air Barrage Mid sneakers. The one I like has colors that 'pop.' It sort of an Army green with black and orange trim. The "Mid' refers to the middle-foot strap. Size 8.5 fits me perfectly!
It's busy in this shop, so salesclerks are too busy to harass me. Good!
Okay, at $150, these sneakers are easily the most expensive sneakers I've ever bought, but so what? After waiting in the checkout line for ten minutes, the guy at the register, a guy in his early twenties and not on an encouraging career path, rings me up and, without a word of thanks for my business, he says, "Next." Still, all in all, rude register guy or not, this was a successful endeavor.
I had an urge to wear these sneakers home, except that's something a ten-year-old does. Back at the house, I immediately put my new sneaks on and walk around loving how these Air Jordan sneakers feel and 'look' on my feet. Awesome buy! What a cool feeling it is to be able to buy something extravagant just because I felt like it. Yeah, I'm gonna make damn sure my crappy UPS job works out. I want that money to continue being deposited in my bank account.
With nothing better to do, I watch the end of the Phillies game on TV and then lie on the family room sofa and daydream about Bobby and Mark. Wouldn't it be something if one of them was jealous of the other because of me? Nah, that doesn't seem their MO. I say that because Bobby clarified that we're 'fuck-buddies' only, not boyfriends, and Mark only admits we may be fuck-buddies in time, although we haven't done enough yet to qualify. That's okay though 'cause I'm aware our sexy activity wasn't nearly as meaningful to them as it is to me. No problem though, I'm new at this.
After rejecting the idea of joining everyone at the cookout, I fire-up the gas grill on our deck and make myself two cheeseburgers using frozen hamburgers that mom buys a dozen at a time 'cause they're less expensive that way. And, yes, this makes four cheeseburgers I've had today, but the lettuce and tomato slice in the McDonalds Big Macs represent my vegetable food group for today. Mom buys cheap 80/20 hamburgers, but then I'm only paying fifty bucks a week for room and board, so I'm not expecting gourmet food, and don't know what it is anyway.
Monday morning, while driving to work, I'm psyched about seeing pretty-boy Bobby. Friday seems longer than just three days ago, so I'm determined to look Bobby right in the eyes, right into his Heterochromia eyes, to verify he's as pretty as I remember. And, I don't need to wait long as Bobby and I walk into the UPS building at the same time. He gives me a big smile and a big 'hello' as we bump fists. No hugging 'cause we're in a group of coworkers.
With that big smile I mentioned, Bobby says, "Good morning, Mattie Burke! Did you have a good weekend?" Nodding, I say, "Well, yes, I did, Bobby. How was your weekend?" He says, "I had a spectacular Friday night which made everything I did on the weekend pale by comparison, but I guess I had an okay weekend too, with a few unexpected setbacks thrown in." Hmm, he covered a lot of ground there. The first part made me feel good while the ending part sounded ominous. I guess he'll tell me about that when he's ready, but, yes, he's just as pretty as I remembered, and Omigod, his head of tight curls is so friggin' unusual! Those wiggly tight blond curls on his head bouncing with every step he takes... cool!
At our work station, the conveyer belt starts moving, and then there's very little opportunity to talk. We're sorting packages as fast as we can with an expletive blurted out now and then when we fumble one of the packages. Helping matters, Bobby looks over at me occasionally to grin or smile. I grin back, and it's 'hot' having our sexy secret. And, when I think of what we're going to do at my house after work... oh, boy!
Then, Bobby puts the breaks on my expectations when we take a ten-minute break at nine-thirty. We both get a cup of bad coffee from the vending machine, and then he goes, "Um, Matt, something weird did happen to me over the weekend. I ran into this babe I was going with last spring, and, I don't know, I guess we kind of reconciled. She broke off with me last May because she caught me putting the 'make' on her younger brother. That was awkward, ya know?"
I nod, although, no, I don't know. Bobby sips his hot coffee and shrugs, saying, "What was I supposed to do? I mean, Omigod, that kid is a hottie! Fuck, he's cuter than Babs. That's her name, Barbara." Hmm, I don't think this has anything to do with Bobby and me. Well, so far, it doesn't, but I don't like the direction it's going. The 'Babs' part doesn't sound encouraging.
Slurping some of my too hot awful vending machine coffee, I nod my head as if I'm comprehending everything, and he goes, "She's a demanding bitch though, Babs is. She insists I show her a lot of attention! Christ, I wouldn't have reconciled except she's a great piece of ass. Whoa, great lay, dude! You'd probably even want a piece of that tail."
When he stops talking, I wait to see if there's more coming. I'm never sure when someone is done with what they wanna say. Then, I go, "Um, that Babs person sounds like a, um, a handful. Ah, but you and I are still going to my house after work, right?" He goes, "What the hell have I just been telling you?" I mumble, "Oh, you're not coming to my house after work?"
He rolls his different colored eyes at me, and goes, "As I just explained, no, not today. I was just telling you, Babs demands a lot of my attention." I shrug to hide my disappointment, and he goes, "Hey, all is not lost. Maybe Wednesday or Thursday, I can get over to your place." He's not coming over tomorrow either?
I shrug, but I can't hide my disappointment, and he sees it on my face, so he rubs my shoulder and says, "Listen, Mattie, I took your cherry and, buddy, I appreciated that. Dude, I feel responsible to further, um, educating you in the sex area, and I will probably be able to do that this week, um, sometime. It's just that this babe fucks really good! Let me get my fill of Babs tonight and tomorrow, and by then, maybe you and I can resume your sex lessons. Um, by the way, what do you think about me bringing another fuck-buddy with me say, ah, Thursday after work?" We're down to Thursday already? He goes, "Double the fun, ya know, the three of us taking turns, right?"
I'm making a face, muttering, "Huh? Wha... bring another fuck buddy with you?" Bobby goes, "Oh, don't worry, he's a really good guy with a big," and Bobby looks around this little room before lowering his voice, adding, "Big dick, and he'll like your ass! Reggie Knight is his name. He's your age, and while he's not 'hot' looking like us, and he has this huge nose, the size of his, ya know, his pecker is something special."
Oh man, what a ginormous let down this is. Hopefully, the full extent of my disappointment isn't still showing on my face, or I'll be humiliated. I sputter, "Um, maybe, or what I meant is, NO! I don't want you to bring anyone with you." He gives me a nasty 'look' so I add, "Um, I mean, not next time, but maybe sometime later, or... um, oh fuck it, I don't know what I mean. Anyway, we should get back to work now." He says, "So, you want me to bring Reggie with me another time is what you're saying. Okay, I'll bring him Friday. Hell, I didn't promise Reggie a certain day or anything."
Bobby squeezes the back of my neck, cheerfully saying, "You'll freak out at how 'hot' a three-way is, Matt." Then, walking back to our work station, he's telling me about Babs, who he seems thrilled about. I'm not listening. Instead, I'm thinking, 'When something seems too good to be true, it usually is!' That's what I think my expectations for Bobby and me amounts to... too good to be true.
It's impossible not to be pissed off at Bobby, and then, just before the end of the day, I realize it's mostly jealousy I'm feeling. That's another new emotion for me, jealousy. Yeah, I'm jealous more than pissed off. But, then, isn't it good that I finally have a reason to be jealous? Yeah, that's kinda neat. Holy shit... that's new.
And just the other day I experienced 'horniness' for the first time and now jealousy. That's right, I'm so jealous I'd like to kick Babs in the, er, ass, and then pull her hair out, or pull something out. Hmm, it's odd that I'm directing most of my anger at her and not at Bobby. These new emotions of horniness and jealousy make me crazy.
As soon as I get home, I jerk off like a madman thinking about Bobby and me doing 'it' last Friday afternoon. Lying here on my bed, cum on my fingers, plus a blob of it splattered on my shoulder; I fantasize Babs having a serious car accident and Bobby begging me to let him come to my house Tuesday after work. Then reality drifts over me, and I say out loud, "You are a horse's ass, Matt. That 'Babs fantasy' was pathetic!
My second jerk off is so vigorous my hair flops down, covering my eyes. I need a haircut. Well, I have the time to get one today, but I'll hold off on that until Mark and I can go together. Not this Saturday, though, because I promised Tommy Singleterry, I'd be his caregiver again. Thinking about Tommy, well, that gives me a new perspective on things. So, Bobby won't be coming home with me every day after work this week... boo-hoo for me. Compare that disappointment of mine to Tommy's expectations for later in the week, or for next year, or the year after that. He has nothing remotely similar to my minor Bobby-setback and, while I'm being realistic, what did I have going for me a mere two weeks ago? Hell, my expectations have never been this good. Sure, Bobby running into that Babs bitch last weekend was unfortunate, but, as I said, a minor setback, that's all it is.
After cleaning myself and the bedspread, I text Dean. We go to the bowling alley only to find no one there we care about, so we drive into Philly. Dean says he knows someone in South Philly who has 'pot' for sale. Dean's much more into marijuana than I am, but I usually do what Dean wants, so here we are, lost in Philadelphia during rush-hour traffic. Balls!
Dean's apologetic about getting us lost so I can't get too mad at him. Plus, I don't know, but he seems more, um, that is, he seems sexier than I used to think he was. No, Dean isn't good looking or cute, and he is slightly overweight, but I've seen his dick a few times, and it's bigger than mine, so that would be interesting. Christ, thinking these thoughts, I find myself squirming on the seat as I'm driving. The thought of Dean and me fucking is nuts, but I'm not stupid, I recognize that it's my horniness causing me to have these crazy thoughts. Yeah, this is new for me... I was never horny before, but now that I know there's something to be horny about, I'm horny. Many guys my age are horny.
Finally, after I've been driving 'lost' for fifteen minutes, Dean goes, "There! Turn onto 69th street. That'll lead us to the downtown area." Snapping out of my sex daydreaming, I go, "Yeah, we can take Garrett Road into Drexel Hill. Good!" That's what I do, and Dean's like, "Let's check out the bowling alley again," but I don't do that. I drive him home because I don't want to be late for dinner. Specifically, I don't want to get yelled at for being late for dinner.
Tuesday morning, Bobby's at the work station early. Shockingly, his Shirley-Temple-blond-curls are gone, and in their place, half-inch bristles like Dean's hair. I don't like Dean's haircut, and I hate Bobby's. I need to say something supportive about it, though. I mean, the change is so dramatic everyone who sees him will say something about it. He looks up and gives me his awesomely sexy and beautiful smile, asking, "What do you think about my new 'look,' Mattie?" I'm trying to come up with the right words as he adds, "Please say you like it," and his hand rubs over his head. I gulp and mutter, "Uh-huh," and he grins, asking, "Uh-huh, what?" I nod my head, mumbling, "I like your new haircut."
Shaking his head, Bobby says, "Nah, you don't like it, and I don't either. Babs is a hairdresser, so I believed her when she promised me I'd look good with this 'do'. She didn't like my curls. Said I looked too much like a girl." Huh, yeah, in a way that cunt Babs was right because Bobby does look more like a 'guy' now. No, I'm not saying he looked like a girl before, or, um, maybe he did. Um, actually, I don't know what the hell I mean. Well, his different colored eyes are even more prevalent now than they were before his haircut. Is that a good thing, though?
Bobby says, "You're staring at me, Mattie." I go, "Oh, um, sorry," and then I'm saved by the bell. The bell that indicates the conveyor belt has started to move." I mumble, "You look great, Bobby. Seriously," and then grab the first package I see. Working feverishly, I try thinking of something encouraging to tell Bobby, and I finally blurt out, "The haircut makes you look tough and, um, cool." He goes, "Thanks. Maybe it's not so terrible and, um, Bab's says it's a crewcut, not a burr haircut." I nod, "Oh, yeah, well, she's the professional, right?" He nods his head, "You're nice to say all that, Mattie. Um, Babs isn't a true professional though; not yet. She's only in her second week of hairdressing school, um, or, whatever it's called."
Oh, brother! I'm not saying anymore about his hair, but after an hour, I ask, "So, um, you're still planning on coming over tomorrow after work, right?" He makes a 'face' and mumbles, "Oh, sorry, but no. I'll try to come over Thursday though, um, maybe Babs will let me. Oh, I don't mean she'll 'let me'. I mean, maybe, ah, ya know. I hope to be with you Thursday... maybe."
That bitch Babs has Bobby wrapped around her little finger already. Tomorrow Bobby will probably come to work wearing a dog collar. I'm so fucking jealous I could throw-up! And Mark never returned my text from last Sunday! Things sure turn around quickly in life. Good thing I never got cocky about my good fortune 'cause it's evaporating right before my eyes.
By the end of the day, I'm more or less used to seeing Bobby with that hideous crewcut, or whatever the fuck Bab's called, but I'm so horny for him I could scream. As we're 'clocking out', I do what he usually does to me and squeeze the back of his neck and then sort of gently pull him against me, quickly saying, "I miss you." Letting go of him in the noisy timeclock room, he asks, "What'd you say, Mattie?" I mumble, "Oh, nothing," and he says, "See ya tomorrow morning, dude."
As I'm driving home, I get a painful sensation that spreads all over me, and it's awful. It's my horniness and my jealousy. I need Bobby to fuck me so bad it's like a bad case of, um, shingles. Actually, I don't know what that is. Oh man, this is worse than when I wasn't having any sex. Then I think, 'Mark is my best bet. Yes, I'm going to send him another text.' That's how desperate I feel right now. I'm gonna send a follow-up text to my last text. I'm desperately in need of sex, so I've no choice but to text Mark and pray he won't feel I'm nagging him, or leeching onto him. I've never wanted anyone to think I'm doing that, but in my present state of mind, I don't care.
Mark is second on my most favorite sex buddies of all-time list. Second? Hell, he's awesome, and I'm going to text as soon as I get home. Yes, that was my plan, but when I get home, I slip back into my old routine of jerking off as soon as I'm in my bedroom. "Oh, oh, oh, ummmm!" Wow, that felt good. It always does, but jerking off can't compare to getting fucked. Whew, though, it did feel good...
Okay, that relaxed me slightly. Hmm, Mark works the night shift at Amazon, but that shift won't start for another couple of hours. So, what should I say in my text? Damn, my last text alluded to a date Saturday night. So, staring at my cell phone, I'm hoping for inspiration. I need a cool way to hint at a 'date' Saturday in some other way than my first text. Not getting any ideas, I finally type, 'Just got off work and realized you're about to start your work shift. Sorry..." Reading that, I mutter out loud, "That's insanely lame." Yes, I've gotta do better than that, but when I go to delete it, I hit 'send' by mistake. Balls! Gawd, I hate texting!
Lying back on the bed, I'm thinking about jerking off again when my cell phone 'beeps.' Omigod, it's gotta be Mark texting me back! Looking at the text, my eyes bulge as I read, 'Glad you texted, Mattie. I've been meaning to tell you I can't see you this weekend. We'll get our haircuts together the following Saturday, though, right? See you then.'
Omigod, this blows! Again, I feel like I'm gonna throw up. And he didn't feel it was necessary to explain why we can't have a 'date' Saturday? But wait, that's probably normal. Yeah, but I don't know anything about 'normal'? I guess I'm learning, though. Okay, this is another minor setback, that's all. It's not the end of Mark and me. We're getting haircuts together the Saturday after this coming one, and then a date that night... maybe. And, Bobby said he might be able to come home with me Thursday afternoon. So, I have 'that' to look forward to. It's more than I ever had to look forward to a few weeks ago. Count your blessings, dude! Keep everything in perspective. Jesus, it's exhausting pretending all these disappointments are okay.
Obviously, I need to jerk off again right now, which I do vigorously, and then I text Dean, and he and I hang out. And, as usual, it's kinda boring. Dean gets wicked grumpy because no one we run into has any grass for sale. He goes, "Why the hell don't you ever score some weed, Mattie?" I go, "Why don't you? You're the pothead." I drop him off at five-thirty, and then, after dinner, I stay in feeling horny and jealous of that cunt Babs. And I feel sorry for myself too, although I know I shouldn't.
Wednesday at work, I don't know why exactly, but something clicks for me, and I have my best day of package handling ever. All of a sudden, it seems easy, routine. Yeah, I'm handling the packages without needing to think about each one. It's become second nature or some such thing. And, my boss Tully gives me a big pat on the back as I'm clocking out, "I knew you had it in you, Matt! Now, get your boy, Bobby, on the ball, or he's gonna need to look for another job." What?
This was the first time my supervisor complimented me on my productions, but what am I thinking about? I'm thinking, 'Oh, no! Bobby can't lose his job!' To help ensure that doesn't happen, Thursday, I work with Bobby for a half-hour, and then I'm still able to handle enough packages on my own to make my quota. What a day it was, though. I'm dragging as we're clocking out.
Bobby punches in his timecard, saying, "Thanks for helping me today, Mattie," and he hugged me right there at the time clock. As the sides of our faces touch, my dick quivers. That was the good part, and then the bad. He tells me, "Your help today makes it harder for me to tell you I can't come to your house tonight, and it hurts that I also need to tell you that I'm sorry I can't come over tomorrow night, either. Babs is going out with her girlfriends Friday night, but I gotta have a date with my buddy, Alan Cockran, or he said he'd dump me."
Barely able to fucking breathe, I somehow manage to grunt out, "Bring him with you to my house." Bobby shakes his head and looks guilty, saying, "I suggested that to him, but he wouldn't go for it. I'm sorry, Matt, but Alan and I have been doing 'it' for years together, and I don't want to lose him. Next week though, Babs promised to give me a night off, and it'll be you and me. I'm gonna make it up to you, you'll see."
Mumbling, "Yeah, sure. Have fun," I storm off like some broken-hearted cunt. Jesus, my eyes are smarting and getting wet. I wipe my eyes when I'm in my car, hardly believing this is happening! Then I think... maybe this is normal. Yeah, except Bobby seemed sincerely sorry about not coming over, which sort of indicates it isn't 'normal' in his mind. Or, maybe he feels pity for me. Pity, huh? That's new.
At home, my two jerk offs are lackluster, done mostly from habit. I don't call Dean preferring to hang out in my room by myself until dinner. That fuck-head Dean wouldn't think to text me and ask if anything is wrong. Then, Friday at work, Bobby is acting contrite and really nice to me, so I forgive him and help him make his quota so he won't get fired.
Driving home after work Friday, I ask myself... why the hell didn't you look at apartments this week? Bobby didn't come over all week, but jealousy and horniness clouded my brain, that's why. With little enthusiasm, I text Dean, and we go, where else, to the bowling alley. Jello is there with Brenda Cummins, plus that obnoxious bully, Terrence Baker, Mark's cousin. Also, Charlie Snyder, and, of course, where Charlie is, so is his shadow, Artie Guy.
Artie is our age and, um, kind of an odd-looking guy. Yeah, but he's nice. He taps my arm, saying, "Hey, Matt, wassup?" I mumble, "Oh, hi, Artie. Not much," and Brenda slides in between Artie and me. She puts her arms around my waist, saying, "Oh, Mattie, you look hot today, boy! I like your long hair and those cool eyeglasses of yours." I go, "Huh? Oh, get serious, Brenda." Maybe I should be like Bobby and fuck any girl that will have me. Yeah, I'll be bisexual like him. Brenda is always teasing me, so she'll probably fuck with me.
Nah, I better wait until I fuck a guy, so I sort of get an idea of what to do. Brenda says, "If you let your hair grow all summer, I'll braid it for you, Mattie." I mutter, "Um, I'm not going to do that," and Jello walks up and goes, "Hey, Burke! Whassup? I owe you five bucks, don't I?" Brenda says, "Hey, you. I'm putting the make on Mattie!" Jello smiles cutely, pats Brenda's ass, and says, "Get lost, Cummings!" She sticks her tongue out at Jello but walks over to that prick Terrence Baker and puts her arm around his waist now. Huh, I wonder how Brenda avoids being labeled the town slut, but Grace Falco can't avoid it? Maybe I can answer my own question. Brenda is a tease only, while Grace follows through with her teasing.
Anyway, Jello looks so cool, his pale-tannish complexion and the way his skin is so smooth with that sexy beauty mark on his cheek. Oh man, I'd like to lick his cheek and kiss his pink mouth. He says, "Burke, what's with you staring at me?" I'm like, "Ah, what? Um, nooo! I wasn't staring at you, Jello." He grins, "Yeah, you were, but that's okay," and he yanks my glasses off, then rubs the lens on his shorts, saying, "You probably couldn't see me too well with your glasses smeared like they are."
My ass quivers at the thought of Jello fucking me. He's super 'straight' though, so that'll never happen. I watch him smearing the smudges on my glasses as I say, "I didn't notice my glasses were smudged." He smirks, then hands my glasses back to me, saying, "Yeah, they were, but I don't mind helping you out. Um, but let me ask you something. What the fuck do you personally have against barbershops?" Ha, that's what Mickey said Dennis Hover asked him. Shrugging as I'm putting my glasses on, I mumble, "I have nothing against barbershops, I'm gonna get a haircut soon. Do you mind me asking which barbershop you go to?"
Jello musses my hair and then holds onto my hair in front pulling my head forward until it's almost touching his forehead. Holding my head there, he says, "I go to the barbershop in the ACE Hardware plaza, why? Hey, didn't I already tell you that once?" He lets go of my hair, and I shrug, starting to say, "No, or maybe...," but he's already turned away talking with Charlie. That right there, pulling my hair, was borderline bullying by Jello, which it's so unlike him.
Most of us guys go too long between haircuts, but who cares, ya know? I like that Jello combs his hair sort of retro with a part and a pompadour. He always looks so clean too, his rosy red lips, his super-white teeth, and his pink tongue and mouth. Sure, I know, I fixate on Jello too much, but if I could be like anybody, I'd be like him. He looks fabulous, plus he just floats through everything, and nothing bothers him. Yeah, some guys think he's a smart- ass, but I like him.
He turns around real fast to look at me, and say, "Ah-ha, you were staring at me again, Burke," and then he laughs and pats my cheek, saying, "Hey, I'm sorry I pulled your hair. I need to pay you back the money you lent me, but not now. I'm a little short. Do ya mind?" Shaking my head, I mutter, "Nah, that's okay." He goes, "You're a good guy, Burke. We gotta hang out together sometime. Have you ever gone horseback riding?" I shake my head, and he says, "Me neither. That's what we should do," and before I can say anything, that asshole bully, Terrence, calls over, "Yo, Jello, come here a second."
I watch as Jello sort of float toward asshole Terrence. Dean comes up behind me and asks, "What are you looking at?" I'm like, "Huh? Oh, nothing. Where'd you go, Dean?" He mumbles, "I was taking a piss, and I ran into this old dude, Kyle Raft. He sold me an eighth of an ounce of cannabis." I go, "How much did it cost?" Dean mumbles, "I got ripped off. That old fuck charged me twenty bucks. Usually, it's fifteen dollars for an eighth-of-an-ounce, but we finally got some pot, dude!"
As I said before, Dean is much more into smoking pot than me, but I'll smoke it. What the fuck else is there to do? I ask, "How many joints can you make from an eighth of an ounce?" He's like, "What the fuck? Don't you know anything, Matt? And, by the way, how about coming up with some coin if you wanna smoke any of this primo shit." I give him a ten-dollar bill, and ask again, "How many joints is that gonna make?" Dean's like, "Well, obviously, that depends on how big a joint you want. Normally though, this three-and-a-half grams can stretch out to four joints."
We hang around for another hour as Dean tries to hook-up with some papers to roll the joints in. While he's doing that, I hang around Jello 'cause, as I said, I like him. Plus, he's so outgoing I don't need to think up things to say to anyone. I prefer Jello's hairstyle to Mark's although the idea of getting a haircut alongside Mark is tempting. I don't know what the fuck I'm gonna do.
We're at the food court, and Jello's talking with Charlie when he turns around and bumps into me. I mutter, "Sorry," and Jello, with a big friendly smile, goes, "Jesus, Burke! Whaddaya doing standing so close behind me, dude? You're allowed to stand next to me," and he pulls my arm until I'm next to him and then adds, "You're one of my admirers, so I gotta take care of you." I mutter, "No, I was..." but he turns back to Charlie, asking, "So, what do you really think, Charlie?" I don't know what it was they were talking about.
Whatever, see, Jello's a nice guy. Later, Charlie taps my arm and asks, "You going with anyone, Matt?" I don't have that much interaction with Charlie, which is obvious since he asked me that question. Shaking my head, mumbling, "No, not, um, now," and he goes, "Well, good. I'm glad 'cause I've got just the girl for you. Her name is Silvia Cartright. Do you know her?" I shake my head again, and he says, "Yeah, well, she graduated with our class, so I'm surprised you don't know her. Silvia is my girlfriend's best friend, and, dude, she's shy as a motherfucker, just like you. You guys would be a cute couple, plus, my girlfriend is always nagging my ass to fix Silvia up with a date. Whaddaya doing tomorrow night? We could double date."
Jello is flirting with the girl at the pizza counter, so he's no help. I gulp and manage to say, "Tomorrow night? Do you mean Saturday night?" He goes, "Duh," and I'm like, "Oh, I can't." Jello turns around and says, "Charlie, this babe knows your brother." I take this opportunity to ask Artie, who's standing with Charlie, "Yo, Artie, why don't you double date with Charlie and that shy girl." I desperately want to get someone besides me for the blind date. Artie quietly says, "He probably wants someone, um, kinda cute like you." I mutter, "No, um, you're, um..." Dean calls over, "Matt, get your ass over here," and he holds up a rolled joint. Guess he found someone with papers.
Thank God! As I'm walking over to Dean, I breathe a sigh of relief. This gets me out of the awkward 'blind date' situation. I was coming up blank about what to tell Charlie I was doing tomorrow night. I couldn't say I was gonna hang out with Dean. That's a lame excuse! Fuck, life can be challenging.
Dean and I get wicked high sharing four regular-sized joints. It was just the two of us, and during most of the two hours at the park, we were too high to notice we were getting eaten alive by mosquitoes. During our second joint, Dean told me his embarrassing experience getting caught jerking off by his mom. He was in middle school. And then, while smoking the third joint, I heard vivid details of the different ways Dean jerks off, and Dean was still talking about jerking off during our fourth joint. We got wicked high, as I said. It got so I wondered if he's gonna ask me if I wanna jerk off with him. I mean, he asked me how often I jerk off, and I just shrugged, and then he went on to tell me every detail of getting blown by the town slut, Grace Falco, which seems cruel to me. Calling her the town slut is the cruel part.
In hindsight, I'm surprised I didn't bite on the jerk-off conversation because I've been horny as a toad all week. I think the pot must have deadened my horniness, though. Anyway, both of us high as a kite got to giggling like fools as we were running our asses off all the way down to the rusted backstop, then we ran full speed back along Darby creek. Christ, it's surprising one of us did fall into the creek the way we were running like maniacs.
After that crazy giggling-run, we lay next to each other on top of the one picnic table still standing, our chests heaving and hearts pumping. Then my head cleared a little, and I fantasized what it would be like if Jello, or Bobby, or Mark was lying with me on this picnic table instead of Dean. Well, nothing would happen if it was Jello, but the other two would probably screw me on top of the table. Wow, what a 'hot' thought!
One of the benefits of getting high on grass, instead of say, getting high on booze, is the pot wears off a lot quicker than alcohol. Dean smokes a lot more marijuana than me, so he was off his 'high' in less than an hour while I was still feeling the effects for a half-hour longer. He sat up, smoking Marlboros and nagging me, "Let's get outta here, Mattie. The fucking mosquitoes are murder!" I kept lying there while he smoked one cigarette after another and nagged. I wasn't going to drive 'high' though, so when I felt in control enough to drive, we left.
After dropping Dean off, I drive by Louis's house for old time's sake. Of course, I didn't see him, and discovered I didn't care. I've moved on from my 'cousin-fantasy' to real-life experiences even though none of those new experiences happened this week, and none are gonna happen this weekend either.
In the bathroom, at my house, I take a piss, wash my hands and face, and then brush my teeth while thinking tonight was a waste. Sure, it was kinda fun when we were high, but afterward, I felt dumb. And I'm still hornier than ever.
In bed, I tell myself again that this week is only a temporary setback, but I really, really want Bobby to fuck me again. I thought we'd do 'it' every night this past week, and instead, it was none of the nights. Then Mark punked out on me tomorrow night. It's Bobby I think about as I'm jerking off before falling asleep. Ooh! Yeah, that felt good!
To be continued... Chapter 7... "I Didn't See That Coming" donnymumford@outlook.com
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