Stumbling

In my room, we sat side by side with our backs against the headboard. He had his laptop on his lap, typing up an outline to our paper. We picked the Watergate Scandal to write our report on. We both found it interesting, as well as having a fair bit of prior knowledge going in. Several hours later, we took a break. Like boys of all ages are want to do, we shifted to life's more sensual pleasures.

"So, how is Mr. Muscles, the football jock, not dating anyone?"

He had his back propped up on the large wooden front of my four poster bed, which looked like a headboard for the foot of the bed. Nothing like passed down furniture. One arm was sprawled over the edge of the board while he used his left hand to twine a toothpick through his teeth. We had eaten some leftover chicken at one point. I rested on a mound of pillows against the headboard.

"Why do you keep calling me Mr. Muscles? I'm too slim. You seem to think I'm a linebacker."

"At least it's not a lineman."

"That much weight wouldn't work well with my height."

"No it wouldn't. The slim and trim thing works for you, but you've got more muscle than me. Thus, you are muscle boy to me. Too short to be muscle man." He laughed.

"Thanks for the confidence booster. Remind me never to ask you for a compliment."

"You still didn't answer my question."

"What question? Why am I single?"

He nodded, his hand motioning for me to continue.

"Well, Stacey Peterson and I broke up early into the summer break, as I'm sure you remember."

"I heard she gave you the clap." He smiled at this. Bastard.

"She most certainly did not! The only thing that bitch gave me was endless torment. She spread so many rumors about me that three-quarters of the ladies won't even talk to me anymore. The other quarter are in the band."

This seemed to intrigue him.

"What kind of rumors?" He leaned forward slightly, as well as pausing in his toothpick escapades.

"Well, for starters, she told them I was standoffish. Apparently, I didn't pay her enough attention."

"She is quite annoying. If you gave me a choice between soaking my balls in ice water for five minutes or being alone in a room with her for an hour, I'd be sitting in front of a heater after six minutes." We both laughed. Honestly, I hadn't had this much fun just talking to someone in a long time.

"I couldn't stand how self-centered she was. Hell, she still is. Everything with her is me, me, me with no room for anyone else. She would unload every little thing she went through that day onto me. At once. It was fucking intolerable. If I even tried to tell her how my day went, something that happened at practice or someone I talked to, she would just cut me off with 'That's nice honey.' And then keep talking about whatever she was on about."

Richey chuckled along, eyes holding mine.

"That's why you've been ostracized from the females?"

"She told them I'm gay too."

He started to choke, on air I presume, coughing several times. When he recovered he looked up at me in shock.

"I'm sorry, do what now?"

"She told everyone who would listen that I'm gay." I stated simply. "Apparently, wanting to take it slow and not fucking her when she practically begged me to on several occasions was a dead giveaway in her book."

"How long did ya'll date?"

"Six months." Worse six months of my life. I'd rather spray water on a hornet's nest than spend another day listening to her rant about her enemy's list. Cheerleaders are cutthroat. They hold grudges like the IRS. I once heard her tell me about some chick who had fucked her over in the fifth grade. The fifth grade! Something about an argument over whose makeup was better, back in that time period when girls had just started being allowed to wear it. Anyway, thanks to this moment of impudence on the other girl's part, Stacey blackballed her from the cheerleading squad three years later.

"Ethan, Ya there hoss?"

"Huh- Oh yeah, I'm fine. Where were we?"

"Something about you're gay because you didn't fuck Stacey Peterson."

"Yeah, enough of that. What about you?"

"You actually want to hear about my love life?"

"Seems only fair."

He stared at me for a moment, seemingly arriving at some conclusion.

"Fuck, you're serious about this. Okay. Just remember, you asked." He sat up straight while crossing his legs Indian style. "So this one time, at band camp-"

I threw a pillow at him.

"Shut up and tell me you asshole." We both laughed. He seemed to know when to break the tension.

"Well, I dated this guy from Woodrow High last year for a while."

I sat stunned for a moment. He kept talking for a sentence or so before looking at me with concern.

"You dated a guy?"

"Yeaaaah... I am gay. Maybe you forgot? I didn't think the head trauma stuff would affect you so early. Is football really that dangerous?"

"Shut up," I said between giggles. My face was no doubt bright red. "I thought those were just rumors."

He shrugged his shoulders. "People have called me gay, queer-boy, queen, and faggot since they found out what those words meant. When I found out what it meant, I didn't even know I was gay, I just knew those people were assholes." He looked in my eyes, as if to challenge me.

"You'll get no argument from me."

He visibly relaxed.

"I can't believe you didn't know." He shook his head as he muttered this.

I scratched my arm, unsure of what to say.

"It doesn't matter. You're a great dude, I'm cool. None of the rest matters."

His smile could've lit up a city. Part of him looked on the verge of tears while another looked happy beyond belief, the two emotions in a terf war on his face.

"Did your father know?"

"Who says father?"

"I do."

"Yeah, he knew. My mother," Said in a seriously shitty British accent, "Knows as well."

"How'd they take it?"

"How would yours?"

"Why does that matter?"

"It doesn't."

I thought about it for a moment. My mother had always been supportive of me, from peewee to career goals. She didn't talk very much about politics, nor did she force me to go to church with her. Our views on religion were very different. We once had a long talk about why I didn't want to go. I thought it would end with her demanding I still go. She listened to my points, made some counterarguments of her own, but left the decision in my hands once she had seen that I'd actually put some thought into my beliefs.

"If I came home one day and just said, 'Hey mom, I'm gay.' Over dinner, I'm sure she'd choke to death on whatever she had been eating. But, I think she would eventually come around. There'd probably be a long talk about why I felt that way, I'm sure."

He nodded along with what I said.

"The same went for mine. My mom exiled herself to the eastern wing of the house, A.K.A. their bedroom, while my dad seemed to stay at work for longer."

"That sounds horrible."

"Not really," He shook his head once, shrugging one shoulder. "It was better than being kicked out or told I was going to hell. We all sorta became roomates who didn't speak to each other, just lived in the same house. One day my dad came home early and asked how I was doing. I was just watching TV on the couch, so all I said was 'fine'. He walked over and patted me on the shoulder. Said, 'I love you son, no matter what.'" A tear rolled down one cheek, only to be angrily wiped away. "My mother took another month of my dad wearing her down before she would speak to me again. It started out slow. We're on good terms now."

"That's good to hear." I didn't know what else to say. Felt stupid saying that.

A door closed in the front of the house. The distinct sound of keys hitting the counter could be heard.

"Want to meet my mother?"

"On the first date? We're moving a little fast here, ain't we?"

"You'll be fine."

Laughter bubbled from both of us as we stood up of the bed to stretch. It'd been a while since we started.

Mother was reading through our mail when we walked in the kitchen. I leaned on the bar while Richey stood behind me, to the right.

"Mother, this is Richey. He's a friend of mine from school."

"We're working on a project together." He said.

"Nice to meet you dear." She said without looking up from the mail. A couple of pieces of junk mail got torn up to be tossed in the trash can. She called out behind her as she walked to the fridge. "Do you boys want anything to eat? I've got eggs, some sandwich meat, a few-" She looked out from behind the door to Richey's face.

"Oh! You're the Kirk boy. Honey come here." She raced over to hug Richey. "I'm so sorry. I know it's been a while now, but that doesn't make it any better. Here, you sit down." She pushed him into a chair at the kitchen table. "What kind of cake do you like dear? I've been meaning to make one."

"No you haven't-" I said.

"Quiet Ethan, and get out my flour bowl while you're at it."

"Yes ma'am." I crouched below the counter to fetch her massive flour bowl. I'd been through this before, so I gathered the confectionary sugar as well for her icing.

"I don't need a cake Mrs. Doyle."

"Everyone needs cake dear. And it's Ms. Sorvino since Mr. Doyle found his way to the door." My mother never missed an opportunity to shit on my dad. Who could really blame her? She walked over to the cupboard we keep the cake mixes in. "We have yellow, marble, spice, German chocolate, devil's chocolate, and a strawberry bread mix. You have the choice between chocolate and vanilla icing." She leafed through the mix boxes on the shelf as if they were books in a library.

Richey met my eyes, silently pleading for help. He turned to answer my mother, confusion still marred on his face.

"Strawberry with vanilla sounds delicious ma'am."

Her hand grasped the strawberry mix box the second the syllable 'straw' left his mouth.

"Excellent choice. Get the eggs out Ethan."

"I'll get them." Richey jumped out of his chair to help.

"You sit down son, you're a guest."

"And a good guest is a helpful guest. Please, I don't want to sit watching ya'll do all the work."

"Mule meets wall." I said from my position behind her.

She turned around looking scandalized.

"What did you say?"

"He's stubborn as a mule while you're a wall that won't budge."

A short chuckle later, she turned to face Richey. "Very well dear, you can help Ethan with the icing when the time comes. You boys go find something to occupy yourselves with while it bakes. I'll call you when the timer's down to ten minutes. That should give you plenty of time."

"That'll work." I said.

"Yes ma'am." He said at nearly the same time.

"Run along."

I plopped down on my bed once more.

"Your mom seemed out of it when she first walked in."

"Yeah, she works a lot, especially this time of year."

"When she saw me though it's like she instantly got a shot of coffee."

"She likes you."

"She doesn't know me."

"She knows enough and she knew your father."

A finger reached over to poke me in the ribs. "You really have to quit being so formal with your words."

I fainted to one side with right hand before ticking the other with my left. He practically squealed.

"How's take this bitch, for informal?"

"STOP!" He said between shrieks of laughter.

"Never!"

He rolled over on his stomach to get away. My fingers simply reached around, prying between him and the mattress to make him squirm. Suddenly, he thought of a new tactic. A pillow was grabbed up and bear hugged, making it where I couldn't get to his stomach. Not to be deterred, I wrapped around his back, my eyes just barely seeing over his shoulders. My legs clenched around him while my arms took the pillow and chucked it across the room. With his protection gone, I slid my fingers over the fine hairs of his belly underneath his shirt while one arm kept his arms pinned.

"You evil bastard! Let me go!" He cried through more fits of hysteria.

"Not until you admit I look better."

"Fine, you're gorgeous! Just let me go, please!"

"Now tell me I'm smarter."

"What? I'm not- AAAHHH!!!" I renewed my efforts with zeal.

"Say it!"

"It would be a lie!"

He tried some sort of drunken scissor kick looking move, which did nothing more than bring us into a sitting position. He tried escaping again, this time by twisting. All this managed to do was give me a position where my legs could hold his while I threaded an arm between his back and both of his arms, rendering them useless as well. I paused to use one finger to lightly scratch the underside of his chin.

"Now. Who is the smarted and the prettiest?"

His eyes found mine as his breath came in pants. For some reason, my temperature went up despite the pause in our impromptu wrestling. Oh shit. I could feel the beginnings of a hard on. My usual tactic would be to think of dead puppies, anything to make this go away. This time, all I could think about was his warm breath washing over my face, smelling faintly of mint. His blue eyes were mostly pupil. I'd never seen a look of hunger so evident in someone's eyes before. Some hitherto unknown part of my brain began screaming, chanting, "Do it, do it. Don't be a coward. DO IT!"

"BOYS! Icing time!"

I broke apart from him like he'd zapped me with a Taser. He sat up on his elbows with his legs stretched out, trying in vain to control his breathing. I looked down to see he was rock solid. It struck me strange that I was of the same affair. Shit, this ain't good.

"That was..." He started only to drift off.

"Different." I finished.

"Bad different or good different?"

"I'm- I'm not sure..."

"BOYS!"

"We'll talk later." He gulped and nodded when I said this. I smoothed a hand over his shoulder. "Rich, I'm not mad okay? Come on." He nodded again as he always did when he was speechless, too nervous to talk. Neither of us said anything as we readjusted our packages. We walked mutely back into the kitchen.

"You crack the eggs while I measure out the sugar."

He followed orders without saying a word, still looking hyped up. His eyes darted here, there, and everywhere as if watching for someone to jump out from the shadows. I bumped his hip with mine causing him to jostle an egg in the air, just barely saving it. He stared at me.

"Lighten up. Try breathing." He huffed at this.

We got all the ingredients in a bowl. I showed him how to stir the icing so most of the sugar turned to icing rather than being left stuck to the sides of the bowl. My mother came over to take the two cake tiers out the oven.

We watched TV while she read a magazine, waiting for the bread to cool so the icing wouldn't just melt off. Richey seemed to switch his gaze between the TV and myself. He looked sheepish, like he was waiting for me to snap.

I don't know why I didn't. Maybe it's because of our history. You can't very well hit someone whose dad you watched die. Sheesh. Not a good line of thought. That can't be it though. No. The reality is, I'm not freaking because I felt it too. I'd seen the shine in his eyes, how he wanted me just as much as part of me wanted him. Thinking back over my four girlfriends, I can't say any of them ever looked at me like that, like they wanted to find a way to watch me forever while doing so many other things at the same time. He salivated like he wanted to spend eternity tasting every inch of my skin. Again, part of me wanted that too.

But, how large a part?

I stood to go put the icing on. Richey followed like a puppy, even though I didn't expect him too. I iced up the first tier, as that took more of an idea how much icing to use, otherwise there wouldn't be enough left for the second layer. He took the plastic icing spatula to begin frosting up the rest after I put the top tier on.

"I'm going to bed boys."

"You don't want any cake?" I asked, briefly looking up from Richey's hand moving the spatula, following each movement as if a string were attached to my head.

"I have to be in early, same as every day this time of year. Besides, it's not good for my figure to eat that stuff this late."

"Wouldn't want that, now would we?" I mocked.

"Quiet you," She admonished. "I brought you in this world. Mess with me, and I'll take you out of it."

"Goodnight Ms. Sorvino. Thanks for making the cake."

"You're welcome honey. Ya'll have a nice night."

"Goodnight." We both called, then looking at each other in surprise.

"Cute." She said, walking off lightly laughing.

"What does that mean?" I asked.

"Not a clue." He looked to be barely holding back a grin.

"What?" I asked.

He raised a finger to wipe some icing off my cheek, a large dollop now on his finger. Instantly, yet slowly, he licked it off in the most obscene manner. My dick instantly started to plump up. At least one of us knew what they wanted for sure.

"Sweet." He said.

I cleared my throat.

"Right. I'll get a knife." I turned away to get a large, wide bread knife out the drawer beneath the microwave. When I stood over the cake to make the first incision, Richey stood behind me. An arm reached between my side and my extended arm to point two inches to the right of where I held the knife over the glistening white cake.

"Cut mine here." Was he purring? His voice sounded almost like a cat.

I nodded mutely as I made two slices, plopping them both down on two small saucers. My ass bumped into his crotch when I stepped back to get some forks. A decidedly hard object hit me just above the crack of my ass. Nothing was said, I just slid past him to get the forks, the feel of it sliding over my lower back causing me to become rock hard in seconds.

We walked back over to our former positions on the white, fake leather sofa. He may have sat in the same seat as before, but he was definitely closer. I watched him take his first bite, a little bit of white icing staining his plump lower lip while they slipped slowly over the end of the fork. I could feel my dick actively pumping pre-cum into my boxer briefs, straining tenaciously against its confines. This was a bit of a shock. I was never much of a leaker with my exes.

"This is delicious." He moaned

I'd have to take his word for it. Not sure if I've ever eaten as fast as I did then. The cake barely had time to hit my tongue, much less register on a taste bud.

I sat watching him eat, while at the same time trying not to. My saucer trembled in my hand. He followed me over to the sink when he finished. I reached behind me to grab his saucer, setting it down on top of mine with a clink. I turned around to ask some meaningless question. Anything to break the silence. The chance however, was abruptly ripped away as his lips crushed against my own. We shared a brief kiss. Barely enough to taste the vanilla on his lips. I stared up into his eyes, unsure of what to say next. His hand reached behind my head as his lips descended once more.

The shock now gone, I actively pursued this newfound treasure. Kissing him was unlike any kiss I'd ever had with a girl. He was much more forceful while being soft at the same time. At times, he dominated. Others, I'd take over. The fingers of my left hand lightly scratched through the hair on the side of his head while the other pulled his hips closer to mine. Our hard-ons met with a shock.

"Oh fuck, that's great..." He moaned when we broke apart, his voice much lower than before.

"Don't stop then." I said.

Being a good boy who listens, he eagerly did as he was told. A wet, firm pressure pushed over the seam of my lips. The second time he did that, I got the hint and opened up. At first, our tongues lightly slid across one another in a calm hello. That all got shot to hell, for pretty soon we were really getting in to it. We wrapped around each other like spider monkeys while we did that opened mouth fish imitation kiss which makes you cringe thinking about it later. I didn't give a flying fuck in candyland though. He didn't seem to either. This went on for ten minutes or ten hours, who knows.