Back when I was a kid, we didn't have much. We lived in a basement apartment where we could hear the crashing of the garbage can lids when other tenants threw out their trash, and the fumes from the passing buses that roared up the steep street outside made the air inside smell bad half the time.
Other kids looked down on us. I could tell. I was scrappy and didn't take shit, so no one messed with me. Still, I always felt, I don't know, less than. Some girls always seemed to like the "bad boy" image, though, and I never had trouble getting my hand up their blouses or their schoolgirl skirts.
I remember hanging out at the corner outside the drug store and watching them come home. I'd see some whispering among them, and they'd glance my way, then away again. I liked it.
On the other hand, when I moved out and got a small place a block from where I grew up, I began noticing some guys looking my way. I was no fool. I knew there were guys out there who sucked dick. I just let it ride. I didn't mind the attention, though. These were guys, or ones like them, who had avoided me earlier on, either out of snootiness or fear. And now I seemed to have something they wanted.
I had a job delivering groceries for Mike Rozman. He had about a half dozen panel trucks and had a contract with the two big supermarkets in the area. I liked the work. I was strong and lean and could handle heavy lifting. Even married women would give me the once over when I passed carrying a box of groceries on my shoulder, a cigarette in my lips, and my shirt stained with sweat. I just laughed.
Eventually, I did fuck a few of these ladies. I'd drop the groceries on the kitchen counter, turn towards them, and I'd see what they had in mind. I had the impression that they were in need of a good fucking too, the way they responded, grabbing my ass and moaning as I got my rocks off. I'd do them right up against the counter or on the table.
But, as I said, I began to see more guys, more fags, who were drawn to me. Once, in the park after I got off work, I was kicked back on a bench having a cold sixteen-ouncer. It was hot, so I stripped off my tee shirt and draped it on the back of the bench. The air felt good on my skin. Anyway, along comes this guy. I saw him coming up the path beyond the playground, and he seemed to be watching me. He got to where I was and stopped. I gave him a sort of "what the fuck"
look. He was about my age, give or take a year or two. He was pale and dressed real neat - button-down shirt, and all. Very ivy league, as they say. He looked nervous.
"Have you got the time, sir?" he finally says. Jeez. He sounded nervous, too. Well, I didn't have the time. 'Sir'. Where'd that come from?
"You see a watch?" I say, giving him a look that must have said "fool".
"Oh. No. I just thought maybe..., you know, might have some idea..."
Fucking hell. The guy was practically stammering.
"Yeah. I got an idea. It's time for you to fuck off, mister clean." I said, flicking the nub of my cigarette away.
"I'm sorry to bother you." he says, and starts off.
"Hey. Come here." I say, and he immediately turns back.
"I'd say it's about four-thirty. Give or take. Hey. Have a seat, why don't you. Sorry I got rough there. You know, you'd think a guy decked out like you would have a watch. Here, have a slug." I said, offering him the pint can. He took a little sip from it. Very proper!
"C'mon. get a good slug on it. I was going to get another at the store over there anyway. He put the can to his lips and took a good swig.
"Atta boy. Relax. Where you from?"
I could see he was sort of looking at me, you know, my body, and all. One of those, I thought.
I live up on the crescent."
"I see. In a house and all?"
"Yes. It was my Grandpa's house. Now we live there, my family." he said, leaning back. He looked at my tee shirt where I'd draped it over the bench. Yeah, it had a few hole in it, but I didn't care. He seemed interested in it, though.
"And who might that be?"
"Well, there are my parents, and my two sisters, Fran and Leticia."
"Nice house?" I inquired, knowing full well the houses on the crescent were pretty fine. Lots of room, carved ceilings. that sort of thing. I'd delivered to a few of them.
"Yes. It's very comfortable." he said. I knocked back the rest of the beer.
"Oh. Let me get another beer for you. Is that all right?" he said with all kinds of enthusiasm.
"All right? Fuck yeah, it's all right!" I said, and off he went, practically at a trot.
Back at the bench, my new friend sets the paper bag between us and there are two frosty pints in it. He pulls out one, pops the top, and hands it to me. Some service!
"So what's your name?" I say, feeling fine now with the second pint underway.
"I'm Samuel." he says.
"Me, I'm Jack. So, do folks call you Sam?"
No. Just Samuel. My mother insists that I discourage people from calling me Sam. Samuel was her Father's name. And her great grandfather's.
"Samuel it is, then."
We sat there for awhile in the sun. It was warm and a bit of sweat was running down my side from my underarm.
"Look at me, will ya. Dripping like a pig."
"Oh. Please don't be embarrassed." he says.
"I'm not." I tell him. "Just happened to notice it. It's a warm day, after all."
I take my shirt and wipe down my sides and under my arms. Then I leave the shirt on the bench seat between us.
He starts getting nervous again, and he takes a long pull on the beer. There are small beads of sweat on his upper lip. I notice this, and I notice his lips. They're quite red and sensitive looking. They look very soft.
"So, Samuel." I say, and I look into his eyes. They are deep green and, at the moment, fidgety. "Would you like to be my friend?"
"Oh. Well, yes. Yes I would." he says.
"You seem like a nice guy." I say, turning towards him. His eyes drop, but as they raise again, he takes in my smooth chest, my belly, my biceps.
"What do you say you meet me here tomorrow? Got any other plans?"
"No! That would be nice! I do want to be your friend, Jack. You probably haven't noticed me, but I've seen you driving the grocery truck in the neighborhood."
"So. Spying on me, eh?" I say. I was just breaking his balls a bit.
"Oh, no!" he goes, taking me seriously and all. "I...I... well, just noticed..."
"Relax, Samuel. I'm kidding you."
"Anyway, I do see you from time to time, driving. You drive fast!"
"I got places to go. I'm working." I say, knowing darn well this guy hasn't worked a day in his life.
I finished up the beer, crumpled up the can, and threw it towards the open trash can twenty feet away. It hit the rim and fell to the side.
"That was close, Jack!" Samuel says. "Good throw!"
"Yeah, yeah." I say. It's true I've got a good arm.
I reached out a hand to Samuel and he took it. His soft fingers closed on it.
"Tomorrow, then." I tell him. "Four O'clock. Okay?"
"Tomorrow. Yes. I'll be here. Thank you, Jack."
"What are you thanking me for?"
"Oh, I don't know. It's nice to have a new friend, and all." he says, and I can see that he's really happy about it. Well, well.
"And how about bringing some beers."
"Okay Jack."
