JOHN DARLING'S COMA
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Driving to work Tuesday morning from his parent's house in Cheyenne, John is angry with himself for missing his morning telephone call with Gary. Sleeping in his own bed and bedroom with Andy last night was a very pleasant experience, and he was wonderfully familiar with sleeping in the bed he'd slept in for the past fifteen years. It was a surprise to realize how much he's been missing being with Andy.
John Darling loves Andy, and he loves Dickie, and he's pretty sure he loves Gary, too; but he's not 'in love' with anyone. Still, he can't remember ever loving three guys, three friends simultaneously.
Then he thinks about Brain O'Neal, his roommate for two years. His roommate and mentor brought John out as a gay boy, showed him his true sexuality, an extremely significant awakening, and yet John never recalls 'loving' Brian. He remembers thinking of Brian as his sexy dominant top and liking AND admiring Brian for that, primarily. He remembers it as being simply hot sub/dom sex that he couldn't get enough of there at the end. The summer before last, Brain spent a month with John in Cheyenne and thinking back on that, it gives John a boner, so there was 'something' significant between them, but it wasn't love.
Anyway, Tuesday morning, after having coffee with Dickie, John's still hungover. Yeah, but he remembers getting yelled at by Walt yesterday for walking to the back garage, so this morning, he jogs across the blacktop to the utility garage with a headache and all. Then, going in the side door, he forces cheerfulness, saying, "Good morning, Walt!"
Walt uses a Magic Marker to circle something on the computer printout he was reading and says, "Good, you're on time this morning. I watched you jog across the lot. That was much better than the sauntering over here like you owned the place you did yesterday morning when you were late starting your workday."
Rolling his eyes, John bites his tongue to keep from saying... 'two minutes late getting here, but I was ten minutes early at the facility talking to our boss, Dickie.'
Wanting to get on Walt's good side, however, John swallows the urge to argue about the two minutes and says, "You're my boss, so I took what you said yesterday seriously, Walter, and ran to be sure I was on time."
Staring at John, Walt squints slightly, unsure if he's being mocked. John looks back at Walt sincerely, then says, "I'm ready to work hard for you today, Walter."
Walter has noticed it before, of course, but he's momentarily taken aback at how handsome John is, a reaction most people have at some point. Walt shakes his head once, then says, "Well, what are you waiting for? There's the clipboard with today's detailing appointments. Look at it first thing when reporting for work in the morning. Don't wait for me to hold your hand. Go ahead, get the keys off the desk, and bring back the blue Ford Focus from the front parking lot inside."
"Right away, Walt!"
Jogging around the garage to the front, John sighs, accepting that Walter is incapable of being pleasant, so he taps into his submissive nature and accepts lousy treatment from his dominant boss. When John tries sucking up to him, Walt is suspicious because no one else has ever been remotely submissive to him. Everybody is more likely to be dismissive of Walter assuming they have any reaction to him at all.
The truth is, if Walter weren't a close friend of Mr. Marshalls (from many years ago in the military), Gary Thomas would have fired Walt's grumpy ass as soon as Mr. Marshall promoted Gary to assistant manager. Instead, Gary assigned Dickie as Walt's boss, using Dickie as a barrier between Walt and him.
Now, Dickie is using John as the barrier between him and pain-in-the-ass Walter Sylvester.
John doesn't care. He works hard, and by this morning's break, he's detailed the Ford, and his hangover has faded. Without being told, John takes everyone's morning break orders for coffee and whatever. Then, with the pleasant smell of coffee in the air, John waits in the shop across from the garage for the morning break order to be filled, thinking, 'Sure, it sucks sometimes, but I like working. I like having a job. It's my first ever job, and it was cool getting a paycheck last week.'
Then he thinks again about missing his chance to talk with Gary this morning and gets a pang of guilt for sleeping with Andy. It's almost as if he chose to sleep with Andy over having his morning conversation with his boyfriend. So selfish! He mutters out loud, "Priorities, John!"
The cute girl that usually gets the morning break order is out today, so Marge, a middle-aged, chubby woman wearing oversized eyeglasses, is getting the coffees and pastries together. She looks up, smiling as she asks, "What was that, Johnny?"
"What? Huh, I didn't say anything."
Putting the last item in a bag, Marge says, "You are so cute!" Holding out the white bag, she says, "Here you go, honey. I put an extra bear claw in there for you, sweetheart. No charge." Smiling, showing a missing tooth on top, she gets down to business: "That'll be $43.29."
John gives her the fifty-dollar bill Mr. Marshall gave him. "Keep the change, Marge."
"Thank you, sweetheart!"
Nothing special happens at work except Walt mumbles, "Nice job," to John, who says, 'What?" as he steps into the tiny lavatory.
At five after four, Dickie and Andy are having their after-work cigarette leaning against Dickie's shit-box car, as Dickie asks, "Are you telling me the truth about last night, Darling? You and my boyfriend didn't have sex, right? I want to be able to trust you two, and I know the John Darling I grew up with wouldn't lie, but I'm not positive about this new 'gay' John Darling, who I like a lot, but have only known for a couple of weeks."
From a habit John's developed since coming out of his coma, he leans against a dominant male, in this case, Dickie, who, without thinking much about it, puts an arm around John as John says, "Damn, Dickie. Um, I want you to be able to trust me, but I don't want to get Andy in trouble."
"Okay, obviously, that tells me you lied to me this morning about last night. Right?"
John moves tighter against Dickie, "Aw, fuck, um, do you consider a blowjob sex?"
"Well, of course, I do because it is sex!"
Dropping his cigarette butt, turning in Dickie's arm, John puts his forehead on Dickie's shoulder, muttering into the shoulder, "Well, I guess Andy let me lick his feet and then blow him, but it was because I nagged him unmercifully. Don't blame Andy."
Flicking his cigarette butt, John put his other arm around John, mumbling, "This reminds me so much of about a thousand times I needed to hug you growing up because you got in trouble or something. It always made me feel, um, adult or something to take care of you." Hugging John and swaying him a little, Dickie murmurs, "It still makes me feel good that I can take care of you."
John thinks, 'Holy shit! He's right. As a kid, I'd make up stuff so Dickie could comfort me or, as he said, take care of me. Jeez, I'm doing the same shit with Andy. Why didn't I realize that until now?'
Dickie asks, "You remember, right, Darling?"
"Yeah, I do remember. God, I looked up to you as my idol, Dickie. I still do, but please don't blame Andy about last night."
Sounding wistful, melancholy, Dickie murmurs, "It's a miracle that you and I avoided, without knowing we were avoiding anything, avoided having sex together. We were super close, best friends who were together daily for as long as possible. Wow, I'm only realizing now how that we loved each other. Still, being best friends for life is a fantastic alternative to being lovers."
"Are you and Andy lovers, Dickie"
Rubbing the back of John's head and ruffling his hair, John mutters, "That's a good question. I don't know, although we make love if that's what you want to call the fucking we do. But, um, no, we're not in love, or at least I'm not. Ha, I think you're the only person I've ever loved outside my family."
All of a sudden, it occurs to Dickie that he and John are in an embrace outside the garage, so he gently pushes John over to stand next to him, leaning against his shit box Monte Carlo again, mumbling, "And no, I won't blame Andy. Not this time, but I trust you not to lie to me again, Johnny. Hey, we're the closest friends we have ever had, so don't lie to me, and I won't lie to you. Okay?"
As John says, "Okay, I promise not to lie," he realizes that's the end of any sex between him and Andy. Well, at least as long as Andy and Dickie are boyfriends. Gary has never had a talk like the one Dickie just had with him, but any sex John has while Gary's in Montana will need to be with someone other than Andy; but who?
"What are you and Andy doing tonight, Dickie? Could I, um, join you guys..."
Dickie's cell phone rings as he says, "Sorry, Johnny, but we've got tickets for the country music show at the convention center tonight," then, into his phone, he says, "Hi, Dad. What's up...? Then, glancing at John, Dickie says, "Yeah, he's right here. Um, you mean right now?" Then, "Okay, sure... I'll bring him over."
To John, he says, "Come to the office with me, Johnny. Dad wants you to add Wednesdays to your work schedule. C'mon," and they start walking as Dickie adds, "The detailing business is getting off to a much more robust start than anticipated."
John grins and mutters, "Robust," and they both snicker; then Dickie asks, "Are you okay with adding Wednesdays to your schedule?"
John nods, "Yeah, I guess. I like working with you. Well, not with you, but you're close by. I love you, bro!"
"Aw, that's sweet, Darling, and it blows my mind how you don't even need to work! I mean. Jeez, I don't know if I'd...," and they walk inside the office where Dickie's dad, Mr. Marshall, says, "Thanks for hanging around, Johnny. Ah, your supervisor has a form for you to sign. He's in that small side office there," pointing at a door that previously John thought led to a closet.
John nods, mutters, Thanks," and opens the door.
"Close the door and sit down," says Walter. John sits on the chair before Walter, their knees almost touching. Walter has a file folder on his lap and adds, "Listen closely. Mr. Marshall asked me if I'd recommend hiring you for a third day every week, and I said I'd interview you about it and give him my answer afterward."
What bullshit! The Wednesday work was already offered to John by Dickie and accepted, so John frowns but listens as Walt goes on, "First, let me say that if you hadn't been on time and worked so well today, I would have told Richard, um, Mr. Marshall, we needed to hire someone else for the detailing position. Someone who appreciated the opportunity. Anyway, do you want to work on Wednesdays?"
"Yes, very much."
Walter writes something in a folder, then asks, "Do I have your word you'll be on time?"
"Yes, sir." Walter writes something, then looks up, asking, "As the detailing business takes off, are you willing to work full time? I don't want to retrain someone if you're only temporary."
"No, um, I mean, I won't be temporary, and, yes, Walter, I'm looking forward to working full-time. I'd work full-time right now if I could. I like working."
Walter writes some notes, then looks up, "I'm not promising you anything, you understand. You still need to prove it to me, but for now, I'll okay the extra day at minimum pay. You haven't earned a raise yet."
John nods, mumbling, "Thank you, Walter," and watches Walter write something on the folder's cover. Walter looks up, "That's all... you're excused. I'll see you bright and early tomorrow morning."
Getting up, John says, "Thank you, Walter. I won't let you down."
"If you do, you'll be gone; it's as simple as that. I'm going out on a limb for you as it is."
More bullshit!
John knows that isn't true, but he nods as if it is, backs up two steps, and says, "Thank you so much."
When he opens the door, the door bumps into Dickie, who is coming in to see what the hold-up is. He mutters, "Oops," and then asks, "What took you so long, buddy? All you needed to do was sign the form now that you're eligible for benefits. Health insurance and whatever."
John grins, "I know, but..." and Walter mutters, "Why'd you run off? You need to sign here," as if it's John's fault he hasn't signed yet. Holding out the folder, Walter mutters, "Sign next to the 'X,' handing John a Bic pen. He signs, and Walter, acting like he accomplished something difficult, takes a deep breath, sighs, and then says, "That's all for now. I'll take it from here..."
Dickie laughs, then mutters, "Goodnight, Walter," and to John, "Welcome aboard for another day each week, Darling. C'mon, let's celebrate with a beer at the Campus Bar. It's only a block down the street."
John nods, "I know where the Campus bar is! I've lived here all my life, jeez! But, thanks, Dickie, I'd like to have a beer with you," and they saunter down the sidewalk as John's saying, "What took me so long in there with Walter is that he was, um, interviewing me for the job, or something. Anyway, I'm guessing that's what he thought he was doing. He acted like he might not hire me for the extra day."
Dickie laughed out loud and then said, "Ah, fuck. I shouldn't laugh, Johnny. It's just that Walter likes to pretend he's a big shot. Dad already had you on the payroll for a third day. You just needed to sign for benefits, which you want, right? That's what Walter was supposed to be doing."
"Benefits weren't mentioned, but yeah, I guess I want them... why not? It is sad, though, that Walt, in his old age, needs to pretend he's an executive. What happened to him?"
Inside the Campus Bar, there is loud music and loud talking. They sit at the bar, and Dickie yells at a female bartender, "Two Buds, Linda!" She nods and smiles at Dickie, winks at John, then pours two draft beers. Coming down the bar carrying the two mugs, Linda puts the mugs on the bar in from of the guys, saying, "Who is this gorgeous young fella? Do I need to card him, Dickie? Haha."
Dickie does introductions as Linda puts a small bowl of honey roaster peanuts on the bar between Dickie's and John's mugs of beer; then she says, "Good to meet you, Johnny Darling, and what a spectacular and appropriate name you've got there."
John, still doing his lisping on and off, sometimes not even aware he's doing it, lisps, "Nice to meet you, Linda," and moves his head in one of Andy's gay affectatious ways.
Picking up on that, Linda says to Dickie, "Seriously? He's your new..."
Dickie grins, "No! We're not boyfriends. Johnny's been my best buddy since we were eight or nine. I do have a new boyfriend, though."
She wipes the bar, "Oh yeah? You dumped Gary, huh?"
"No, not exactly. Johnny is Gary's boyfriend now. Right, Johnny?"
"Yep," and Dickie tells Linda a little about John's coma, etc. Then, two college guys hanging on college girls at the other end of the bar call Linda, and she hurries there to refill their drinks.
Dickie explains to John that he and Gary drank in here a lot over the last six months... it's so convenient after work. When Dickie and John hung out together all those years, neither of them was working, and they didn't know Gary, plus they were too young to get served anyway. Today, they have three beers before Dickie says, "I've got to get going, Johnny."
They leave two bucks for a tip, then walk back to the Garage to get their car/pickup. "I'll see you tomorrow, Johnny. I'm glad you'll be working an extra day."
They do a guy hug at the garage, John saying, "I can't tell you how happy I am being back in Cheyenne and seeing you and... and, well, thanks for everything, Dickie. I love you."
Giving John a curious 'look,' Dickie says, "No offense intended, and I know we're gay and all that, but we're not girls, so you don't need to tell me you love me every time we're, um..."
John's eyes start stinging, and he looks away, mumbling, "Oh, I'm sorry. I, um, it's okay... Ah."
Dickie shakes his head, "Jesus, I'm sorry, Johnny. I keep forgetting the ordeal you've been through, and you're still recovering, and... Um, I love you, too, buddy. Goddammit, I need to try thinking once in a while. I'm just a dumb jock who's now a mechanic. Sorry, buddy..."
Dickie, being so apologetic and compassionate, gets John's eyes stinging all over again, then tears roll down his cheeks. He's turned away, his back to Dickie as he wipes his eyes, muttering, "Fucking allergies, it's... um..."
Patting John's back, Dickie says, "You're doing awesome, Darling! I fucked up saying that shit, but you're doing awesome! I'll see you tomorrow, okay?"
Dickie rubs John's shoulder, and John nods, his back still to Dickie as he murmurs, "No, it was my fault. I'm good now, though, Dickie, thanks. I'll see you tomorrow. Everything is excellent. Thanks..."
Getting in his car, Dickie rolls the window down, calling over to John, "We can try to buy a ticket for you at the concert, Johnny. We won't be sitting together, but we can come and go together. Do you want me to do that?"
Shaking his head, "Oh, no thanks. Another time, though."
Dickie reluctantly mumbles. "Are you sure you're alright, Johnny?"
"Uh-huh, see you tomorrow," and John turns around, giving Dickie a fake smile as his fingers tremble, pulling another Marlboro cigarette from the box. With the cigarette between his lips, he waves as Dickie backs up his shit box Monte Carlo and waves back before driving away. Lighting the cigarette, then taking a drag, John mutters, "Well, that was humiliating... you dumb dipshit. Pull yourself together, please!"
He's hard on himself as he looks around and sees Walt's old Volkswagen still parked near the front door of the garage. "Oh, fuck that," he mutters and gets in his truck to leave before Walter comes out and John needs to make small talk with him. Flustered at how he acted just now with Dickie, he realizes, for the first time ever, he's smoking inside his pickup. He shrugs, mumbling, "So what? Who's going to complain? I'll smoke in my fucking pickup if I feel like it."
Then, for the rest of the ride to the apartment, John mocked himself for getting emotional about Dickie's valid criticism. He again promises to find a therapist but then doesn't do anything about it when he gets to the apartment.
He does his exercises precisely as Gary demonstrated each one, then rests for a while before doing a half-hour weightlifting session. Exhausted, he showers, and then, as has been the case for a week now, he needs to take his second shit of the day. One shit used to be all he needed, but with all the food he's eating now...
Out loud, he says, "And that's so gross to think about!" Then he steps on the scale: 150 pounds! "Whaaat?"
And that's before his two thousand calories dinner. Putting the weights away, John thinks, 'I've got to tell Gary about working Wednesdays now and about my weight gain! He'll be proud of me... I'm proud of myself.'
He decides to text, not call. He texts, 'Hi, Gary, I miss you! Sorry for oversleeping this morning. I was so angry with myself for missing my morning call with you. Something good, though, is that I've gained three or four pounds. And the other news is that Mr. Marshall hired me for Wednesdays, too. Love you! Signed, pretty boy.'
John's finger was jittery when he typed, 'Love you. signed, Pretty Boy.' The 'love' part was brazened as hell, especially after Dickie had just chastised John for always saying he loves everybody. The thing is, though, he does love these guys! Maybe he included the 'L' word in his text to Gary because Dickie criticized him for over-using the word. Nah, he has no hard feelings for Dickie; none at all!
Five seconds later, his phone rings and the caller's ID reads, 'Gary Thomas.' Omigod, John almost drops the phone but manages to hit the green phone icon, "Hello, Gary?"
"Heh-heh, yeah, pretty boy, it's me. Your text was sweet! Congratulations on scoring Wednesdays too. I knew you'd be a good worker! And yeah, I also missed this morning's phone call. And you've already gained three or four extra pounds, huh? Are you doing your exercises and lifting?"
"Yes! I'm doing the lifting and exercises, except I decided to do weightlifting every other day. Is that okay?"
"Um, I don't mean to be critical, but if you carefully read my instructions, right in there, I say do the lifting every other day. Hey, I miss your lisp."
John blushes because he thinks Gary's making fun of him. "I mostly just do that around Andy. It got habit-forming there for a while, though. It was meant to be fun."
Gary laughs and, sounding friendly, says, "Well, I think it is fun, and I'd like to hear you do it."
Grinning this time, John does a heavy lisp, "Have you lost any weight yet? No offense intended." He overdid it so much Gary was laughing, then saying, "My swishy boyfriend! That was awesome. Actually, I like swishy gay guys because they're not trying to hide anything. You know, they're queer. they're here, deal with it."
"I never thought of it that way, but this is fun talking to you. More fun because it was unexpected."
Gary says, "Yeah, it is. Um, but my main reason for calling is, well, I'm very sorry, but I need to take back what I said about you visiting me this weekend. Maybe next weekend, but this weekend I need to study my ass off. I got a low grade on a, um, well, it was the first big exam, actually. I'm so angry about that, but I need to try harder. I still want to get your morning calls, though. Hearing your voice psyches me up first thing in the morning."
"What? An exam about auto mechanics? Anyway, I'm sorry it didn't turn out, and I'm very disappointed I can't be with you this weekend. Are you sure I can't come?"
Gary said, "Yes, I'm sure," not sounding as nice, so John quickly added, "Oh, I understand, but I can fly out to be with you next weekend, right? Then you'll only have a week left, but I want to be with you that weekend, anyway."
Gary mumbles, "Well, that last weekend, plus the Monday and Tuesday after that. Ah, are you seeing much of your nurse and my old boyfriend, Dickie?"
John, surprised Gary's still staying on the phone, says, "Except for work, I don't see Dickie much, but last night I had dinner with Andy, um, my nurse."
"Uh-huh, and how did that go? Did you have a good time?"
As he always does, John nods while talking on the phone, even though no one can see the nod. He says, "Oh, yeah, and we slept together last night for old times' sake. I, ah, um, I guess I did oral sex on him, too, but he refused to, you know, um, fuck me. I'm sorry for being disloyal, but I at least want to be honest with you."
"No, don't be honest with me about that kind of shit. It does me no good to hear that. Please keep that kind of thing to yourself. Jeez, but I just can't understand why you can't go a couple of weeks without sex. Most people do not continuously have... well, never mind my lecture. I miss you, but I need to study now. Goodnight..."
"I'm sorry, Gary!"
"Fuck, no need to be sorry, Johnny; I know you have needs. Control them as best you can, but don't overly stress yourself, okay? I'll be home in less than two weeks. Goodnight, for now... I'll talk to you tomorrow morning."
Goodnight. I love you, Gary!"
Gary makes an exasperating sound, then says, "Saying that was cute on the text, buddy, but we're not in love! Don't be one of those people who love this, love that, love me, love you, and love that other person. It cheapens the word for when maybe we will be in love with one another someday. Okay?"
John makes a face, his eyes stinging for being criticized for using the 'L' word... criticized AGAIN!. The same fucking thing Dickie criticized him for. "I'm sorry, Gary. I won't say..."
Sounding irritated now, Gary sternly says, "Jesus Christ! It's okay, Johnny. It's no big deal. I shouldn't have said anything because I should have known you'd make a big deal about it and.... Oh, forget it, please.
I gotta go now, Darling. Goodnight..."
Gary clicked off, so John did too, saying out loud, "Why am I such a fuck up? Dickie was right, and so was Gary! Goddamn it!"
He's furious with himself for turning an extra nice call from Gary into one that annoyed Gary and will make him think twice before calling again. He stomps around the apartment, knowing he's acting like a five-year-old. Finally, taking a deep breath, he flops on the small sofa and thinks about jerking off but doesn't.
He finally goes out for dinner at nine o'clock, piling on the calories at a Kentucky Fried Chicken restaurant. Yum!
Back at Gary's apartment, John feels sorry for himself because he's alone again. Naked, choosing clothes for tomorrow, he finds the cock ring he and Gary bought in Colorado. It's lying in a bureau drawer along with Gary's and John's underwear. Taking his time, he puts the cock ring on and strokes his cock getting the ring tight around the base of his cock and balls; doing it the way Gary does it. Next, he lubed his ass, and in goes the dildo; then he walks around the bedroom looking at the picture of Gary and him on his phone. Frowning, he mutters, "Is he two inches shorter than me? I thought he was taller than me. What?"
His dick gets hard as stone from the tight cock ring and vibrating dildo combo; he puts the phone down, mumbling, "Gary doesn't look like he's twenty-five, but he is. Well, I won't look much different three years from now, either."
He sits on the desk chair; the dildo squished between the chair seat and his buttocks; the vibration against the seat makes a noticeably louder buzzing sound. John shudders, absorbing the sensations with precum dripping out the quivering piss slit of his boner. Oh man, but he can't resist stroking his boner. He does tight, quick strokes... stroke, stroke, stroke until, squealing almost as loud as when Gary fucks him, struggling to stay on the chair, his legs out straight, cum pumping up and out in four spurts past the cock ring, leaving John groaning and fumbling to take the ring off. Gasping when he gets it off, he throws it against the wall, then stands, his legs shaky; he yanks out the still-vibrating dildo and throws it against the wall, too.
Sitting back in the desk chair, his rectum seemingly still vibrating, John says out loud, "No more of that shit! I'm pathetic..."
He listens to the slow hum of the vibrating dildo vibrating against the baseboard. Shaking his head slowly, he chuckles and mumbles, "You're such a loser, Darling." With a sigh, he slowly gets up and retrieves the dildo and cock ring, telling the two in adamant objects, "I'm not using you shit birds anymore. How do you like that?"
After meticulously cleaning both of the sex toys, he puts them on the top shelf of the bedroom closet and gets ready for bed by doing his nightly bathroom routine. Finished his bathroom routine, he burps a greasy Kentucky fried-something burp and gets into bed before ten o'clock.
His alarm wakes him at six o'clock; John grabs his phone, sits up in bed, and calls Gary, who says, "High, Darling," and they talk about pretty much what they talked about last night, and then John makes Gary laugh by doing some exaggerated lisping. After a few minutes, though, Gary says, "Have a wonderful day, Johnny. Thanks for calling. As I told you last night, your voice gets me in a good mood to start my day."
John almost says, 'I love you, Gary,' but doesn't. He grins as he ends the call, thinking, 'Good, I didn't do or say anything stupid, plus I avoided the 'L' word.'
Wednesday at work is a duplicate of Tuesday, minus the hangover. Afterward, Dickie and John smoke a cigarette while walking to the campus Bar where they have a couple of beers. John forces himself not to ask what Dickie and Andy are doing tonight, and Dickie doesn't offer that info on his own. Later, driving to the apartment, John mumbles to himself, "It's none of my business what they're doing, I guess. We're friends, though, so why don't they invite me to join them?"
Parking the pickup truck at the apartment, John answers his own question, "They don't invite me because they're boyfriends getting to know one another better, and I have a history with both of them, which would complicate their getting to know each other effort."
After that long sentence said out loud to himself, while walking into the apartment building, he snickers and again tells himself, "You need to stop talking to yourself," and he hears, "Did you ask me something?"
John says what he always says, "What?" as he turns around and sees the fourteen or fifteen-year-old boy with the glasses and tight buzz cut that has now grown out to a shaggy inch-and-a-half-long hair all over his head. The kid accused him of being a pervert the day John was carrying a basket of laundry around looking for the laundromat."
He's bouncing a basketball in the foyer where all the small mailbox cubicles are. His eyes open wide as he points at John, "Oh, it's you... the possible pervert."
John asks, "Why would you think I'm a pervert? That's so fucked up of you and so not true of me!"
The boy, who has a large nose, is wearing cool sunglasses this time and an old-looking pair of sneakers. A cowboy hat hangs on his back from a thin leather chin cord. Bouncing his basketball, looking at John, he says, "You tried to pick me up that time you were carrying all that dirty laundry. I told my old man about it, and he was rip-shit-mad. If you try it again, he'll call the cops on you."
The big nose on this kid messes up what would otherwise have been a very attractive teenager. Still, the kid is pretty because there is nothing as perfect as youthfulness; being young in the world allows for natural beauty. Um, that applies to appearance only, however. Brain-wise, there are few things stupider than teenagers who think they know it all.
John's thinking that as he unlocks Gary's mailbox cubical, then mumbles to the teenager, "Well, don't worry too much about it because I'm not trying to pick you up, and, by the way, a cowboy hat doesn't go with sneakers and a basketball."
The boy, chewing a big wad of pink bubble gum and still bouncing the ball, leans over to read the name on the mailbox and says, "Yeah, it does." Then he says, "Oh, so you're Gary Thomas, huh? The well-known pervert."
Looking through six pieces of Gary's mail, John chuckles, then mutters, "No, I'm not Gary Thomas, who is NOT a pervert." Looking right at the kid, he says, "I'm John Darling Junior, Gary's guest, and who are you?"
"I'm Paul Sullivan. Do you want to shoot some hoops with me?"
John says, "Sure, Paul, but not right now. It's almost six o'clock, and it's starting to get dark. Where do you shoot hoops around here, anyway?"
Flicking his thumb over his shoulder, Paul says, "At the private high school, two blocks over that way."
Smiling at the kid, John says, "Well, maybe Saturday we'll play a game of horse or something, but I'm pretty good at basketball, so you won't have much of a chance to win. I was the starting guard on my high school's varsity basketball team all four years."
The kid frowns, and John grins as he shoots the kid with his index finger and thumb, saying, "See you Saturday," and walks to the elevator as Paul calls after him, "Saturday at the high school! Don't forget!" Then, "You look like a movie star..."
"What?" Then, grinning, he gets on the old elevator, hits the button for the third floor, and, after a two-second pause, the elevator car jerks and groans, then begins going up as John mutters, "Well, that was only a little lie. I never was a starter, but I was on the team all four years."
Then, getting serious, he makes a face because he feels sorry for that kid. Paul is probably in eighth or ninth grade, and he seems lonely. John has known that feeling since coming out of his coma. It was getting better for a while, but now loneliness is back in play. Shooting hoops with the nerd teenager would be fun.
Forgetting about that, John goes through the mail, throwing out four pieces of junk mail, and then, sitting at Gary's desk, he writes checks to pay for the electric bill and Gary's cell phone bill. Feeling good about doing that, he remembers a partial roll of 'forever' stamps somewhere in his luggage, finally finding the roll in his toiletry kit. After putting stamps on the envelopes, he washes up in the bathroom and thinks about jerking off but doesn't do it. Instead of wearing his cowboy hat, he goes out for dinner, bringing the bills to the mailbox across the street from the apartment building.
After dropping the two envelopes in the mailbox, he returns to the Kentucky Fried Chicken restaurant for another high-calorie dinner. Then he rides, in the dark, past the dormitory where Mac Jones cut his hair. A guy wearing a black, cool-looking, cowboy hat is sitting on the steps outside the dormitory smoking. It didn't look like Mac Jones, though. It looked like maybe the grungy kid, George-somebody with the dirty hair.
Mac is John's first choice of a top, but driving around the block, he's horny as a European rabbit, which he read is maybe the horniest animal on Earth next to John. Hell, George might work out. Mac said George is gay, which is; actually, all the qualifications George needs as far as John is concerned. He doesn't care that he's not good-looking or sexy and has dirty hair as long as he's gay.
Biting his bottom lip, John knows his jerking off isn't enough. Yes, obviously, it's better than having no sexual relief at all, but can't compare to getting fucked. Brian, John's roommate, fucked John ten to fifteen times a week, and Andy was fucking John two or three times a day, and the repetition became habit-forming. John became used to having sex that often, so going from that to zero... well, yeah, that's a problem.
Driving back passed the dorm, John mutters to himself, "Gary said I shouldn't get too stressed, so if I had to have sex, go for it, but don't tell him about it. Goddammit, up till now, I've been a fucking martyr about not having sex. Jerking off can only take you so far.
No, my lack of sex can't be attributed to my willpower, although I did turn down Mac Jones the other day, which made sense then, but now... hmmm? And Andy won't fuck me because of Dickie, who won't consider doing it with me, either.
And, yeah, I turned down Mac Jones the other night... stupid. On the other hand, Mac has never fucked a guy, so I probably didn't turn down much. It would most likely be an awkward fumbling first attempt, not knowing what he was doing. At least George is gay and, theoretically, has some experience. And, oh yeah, I forgot about the time I got fucked by the BO king, Clarence Smith. Well, I didn't mind the BO so much, but he won't reply to my texts, so why would I care if George has smelly hair? It couldn't be as noticeable as Clarence's BO!
Parking in the lot across from the dorm, but in the back, John gets out and lights a cigarette. It's fifty degrees on a clear night, so pretty nice for early October in Cheyenne, Wyoming. Smoking, John tries acting casual, walking by the dorm on the other side of the street. He's too casual, though, as George doesn't even notice him. Okay, at least he confirmed that it is dirty-hair-George under that cool cowboy hat, and who knows, he may have showered. He has to shower sometime, right?
There's music coming from the dorm next to Mac's, plus students outside yelling and laughing in front of two other dorms, but no one says anything to John, who fits right in appearance-wise. He can pass easily from a distance as a run-of-the-mill, Joe-average college student. Up close, John's ridiculous good looks set him apart, but he isn't up close with anyone walking back on the sidewalk right in front of George. As John gets close, he can tell from the smell that George is smoking weed.
As John approaches, George looks up, his eyes drooping-looking. John says, "Hey, you're George, right? I like your cowboy hat. Um, do you know if Mac Jones is in the dorm?"
John thinks that George looks too old to be in college. Under the hat, George has an unkempt woman's longish hairdo. His face has a swarthy complexion, and, this close, surprisingly, John can see that George is alright-looking. He's not good-looking... he's alright-looking, but kind of scruffy, wearing baggy jeans and a hoodie sweatshirt that both would benefit from running through a washing machine cycle or two, and George's untied sneakers look old and beat up.
Blowing out a stream of marijuana smoke, George's voice sounds funny, saying, "Gee, Mac Jones, huh? No, I don't know where he is. I could go inside and check if you'd like." Then he holds up the joint, "Care for a toke?"
Nodding, John mutters, "Thanks," and takes a drag off the joint as George points at John, his voice sounding more normal now, "Oh, you were here with Mac the other day, right? He did your haircut."
John takes his hat off, saying, "Ta-da!"
George mutters, "Hey, it looks cool, bro. My little brother wears his hair like that."
Well, apparently, you can't tell all books by their cover, as scruffy George seems like a regular, nice guy. Sometimes you can tell a book by its cover, but only sometimes. George's book cover looks like a bum, smoking pot and all scruffy-looking, but he's a sweet, generous guy who offered to share his pot and to run inside to see if Mac is there.
John mumbles, passing the joint back to George, "No, that's okay. I'd rather talk with you, anyway. Um, ah... this is awkward, but, um, are you gay?" John's face gets dark red because he's never been nearly this forward in any situation, never mind a 'pick-up situation.'
George, on the other hand, is as blase as it's possible to be. Pushing his hat back on his head, then taking a pull off the joint, he holds the smoke in, then lets it out, saying, "Uh-huh, I've been gay for forever. Mac told you I'm gay, huh?"
Sitting next to George on the step, John takes the joint, nodding his head, then inhales some smoke, holds it in, then, letting it out, he says in that funny marijuana-smoke voice, "Yeah, he did."
Geoge shrugs, then smiles. Wow, he's full of surprises; George has a cute smile! That was unexpected! John passes George the joint, and George says, "Let's finish this joint, then I can take you someplace and fuck your brains out."
John wonders how George knows that's what he wants, then mutters, "Okay, great..." and watches George take a big hit off the roach that's too small now for John to get a last hit off it. George stands and flicks the roach into the street, exhaling, then mutters, "C'mon, um, what'd you say your name was?"
John gets up, telling George his name, and George nods his head, "Oh, yeah, that's right," and shakes John's hand, then tells John to go to the right, which he does as George pulls a condom from his pocket, murmuring, "I'm higher than shit, Darling. Is that really your last name?"
John feels a little lightheaded, too. That grass was some strong shit.
He says, "Uh-huh, yeah, it is."
George takes John's arm and pulls him between two dorms to a utility shed. John follows George into the shed, where the only light is from the one window where the area spotlights lighting the campus shine in. Still, it's fairly dark in there and almost empty except for a ride-on lawn mower.
George drops his pants to his knees, mumbling, "Give me a quick suck, Darling. What dorm are you in?"
Before John can respond, George quickly adds, "Un, you're eighteen, right? Or nineteen. I'm hoping you're some fucking legal age..."
Dropping to his knees, John mutters, "Whaat? I'm almost twenty-two! I'm not going to this college, though. I'm a senior at Duke in Durham, but taking this semester off."
Sounding skeptical, George says, "No shit? That's cool, I guess..."
John picks up George's average-looking penis. Actually, it looks like John's penis, about five inches long with a decent heft, nothing special. A nice dick. Plus, another welcome surprise... John notices right away that George smells neutral down here. So, that's good, right? Well, what did he think George would smell like?
Sliding George's dick into his mouth, John stifles a moan because it's great having a penis in his mouth again. Sucking George's cock doesn't make John think of sucking Gary's because Gary's cock has twice the heft, although Gary's penis is an inch shorter than George's. Shortly, John is making noisy, slushy-wet, slurping sounds sucking George's dick, thinking it tastes delicious. Not only George's penis but also John's get very hard, very quickly.
George is squirming, biting his bottom lip, sensing the beginnings of a major orgasm quickly approaching. At the same time, he sees John enjoying himself immensely, so he grunts and says, "If you want, you can finish me off now with your mouth, and I'll fuck you up your ass an hour or so from now. We can smoke another joint and maybe make out a little, roll around on the floor here, or, hey, do you have a place we can go? That would be best, for sure!"
John can't stop sucking and going down on George's boner. He humps his head forward, taking George's now hard-as-steel cock into his throat, then bobs off it and does it again, then again, then again, with George holding onto Jonh's head, partially up on his toes, grunting and groaning. John goes back to sucking and licking the swollen, hard head of George's sloppy saliva boner. Fifteen seconds later, George, the condom still in his right hand, both his hands tightly gripping John's head. George mutters, "Omigod," groans, moans, then humps his hips and blows a load of cum down John's throat. John gags, coughs with some cum going into his sinus cavity. Snorting some of it out his nostrils, John then goes down on George's cock two more times; John makes a yelping gasp around George's cock, his body jerking as he fires off a load of cum in his pants.
Taking the softening penis from his mouth, holding it between his fingers and thumb, John shuddered, then scrunched up his face as sensations sparkled and shined brightly. Letting out a moan of deep arousal, "Ooh, umm, aah..." Then, another shudder, John mumbles, "I just shot off in my pants. Um, and yeah, I've got a place for you to fuck me."
Geoge is like, "Wow, you climaxed from sucking my dick? I never heard of something like that before."
"Really? Well, my boyfriend has been away for over a week now, and I needed this bodily contact with another guy. I guess I needed it wicked badly. Heh-heh, yeah, 'wicked' this and 'wicked' that is what they say in Boston, which is where I was in a coma. But, oh man, sucking your dick was awesome, George."
George, gently pulling his dick from John's fingers, says, "Jerking off, obviously, wasn't cutting it for you, huh, Darling?"
"No, not really. Um, but yeah, we can get a room, and I have a car, so do you wanna, ah, do what you said?"
George pulls his pants up, puts the condom back in his pocket, and mumbles, "Yeah, sure, but are you talking about a motel room? Don't you have an apartment, or do you live at home?"
John shudders again and smiles, saying, "Damn, I just had awesome shivers. I really liked sucking on your dick! Haha, man, I am one horny dude. Ah, yeah, I live in my boyfriend's apartment, but I don't feel right bringing a guy there, ya know? It's not my place, but I'm kinda rich, so I don't mind renting us a room at that motel on the outskirts of downtown Cheyenne."
George shrugs, "That's cool," and then, "Do you got a cigarette?"
As they walk out of the shed, still straightening up their clothes, John takes out his box of Marlboros, and they both light up.
George blows a smoke ring, then bats at it with his hand, saying, "Darling, you are, and it's not even close, the best-looking guy I've ever had any kind of sex with, and you're not only beautiful, you seem like a pretty good guy, too. Humble and all that kind of shit. You seem like a regular gay guy, but, dude, let me tell you... if I looked like you, I'd be one stuck-up motherfucker!" and they both laughed.
Stepping onto the sidewalk that runs along the dormitory row, John mumbles, "Thanks for the compliment, but I had nothing to do with my looks."
George exhales another smoke ring and mutters, "Well, no shit! Duh, of course, you had nothing to do with it," then, "Lead the way, Darling. This will be my first time fucking someone in a motel. I'm glad Mac brought you around, which reminds me... do you mind if I tell him about this?"
John mutters, "No, I don't care. I hardly know him," and he points, adding, "That's my pickup truck." He unlocks the truck with his fob, and as they get into the car, John says, "I'm curious. Um, why do you assume you'll be fucking me instead of the other way around."
George laughs, "Yeah, right.. haha. You topping me, that's a good one."
"No, seriously. How'd you know?"
George asks, "You don't mind that we're smoking in your pickup truck?"
"Nah, I don't care. How'd you know I prefer being the bottom boy? I'm curious."
George rolls the window down, blows smoke out the window, and shrugs, "Gee, now that you ask, um, I don't know exactly. Maybe it's that I'd never be a 'bottom' for sex, so I assumed you had to be. That's a lame explanation, but it's all I got."
John pulls out into the flow of traffic, mumbling, "As far back as I can remember, I've liked being, um, dominated. That's the best word I can think of for it. Even as a preteen, my best buddy always bossed me around. We never once mentioned it; it was just the way it was. We naturally, organically, fell into those roles... him dominant and me submissive to him. Not sexually, though. We never had sex and didn't know each other was gay."
George mutters, "Jesus! Really?"
Nodding, John says, "It seems strange, hard to believe now, but that's how it was. Him our leader. and me, the follower, but no sex at all. No, we did do a circle jerk or two, but no touching. I like being a follower. It was relaxing and fun doing what my best friend told me to do. I've discovered lately that the sub/dom stuff only works when I really like the person telling me what to do."
He turns onto Fifth Street and adds, "My best friend and I never did anything blatantly gay, but we'd find ways subconsciously to have bodily contact. We did lots of wrestling, swimming, or just messing around. I didn't realize it was sexual behavior we were doing until thinking back on it just recently."
Flicking his cigarette butt out the window, George mutters, "That might be the weirdest series of things anyone has ever told me about themselves. Kinda creepy too."
John glances at George, "Feel free to say exactly how you feel, George."
They both laugh again, and then George goes, "Yeah, that was rude of me, but I said it, so fuck it..."
At the motel, John's nervous about registering because he's never done it before and because it's to have sex, which he isn't sure, but might be against some law or something. George stayed in the truck.
Coming out with the key for room 202, John gets in the truck and acts as casually as possible--which isn't all that casual. George asks, "What's wrong?"
"Ha! Nothing except I get stupidly nervous doing things I've never done before. We're good, though... room 202."
He drives around to the motel units in the back and parks outside room 202, saying, "It's only one floor of motel units, and it looks like there are only twenty rooms total, so why is there a two-hundred series of room numbers, I wonder?"
Getting out of the truck, George mutters, "You're a strange dude. Why do you care about that?"
Unlocking the door to room 202, John mutters, "I don't. Just making conversation about an observation."
Closing the door behind him, George flicked on the overhead light and said, "Let's get the first awkward kiss out of the way, Darling," and he put a hand behind John's head, pulling it down three inches to his five-foot-nine-inch height and kisses John's lips, then his tongue licks across John's tongue, and another kiss follows. Very business-like.
Taking his hand away, George mumbles, "Okay, that was cool. Let's smoke a joint."
John points at a sign; "NON-SMOKING ROOM!" "Shrugging, he mumbles, "All the rooms are non-smoking, and I paid with a credit card, so, um, well, let's smoke the joint outside. I don't want a smoking charge added to the room rate."
They start smoking outside, but it's getting too chilly, so they smoke the joint in the truck with the heater on. When George flicks the roach out the window, he gets into a hot make-out with John, who is very willing even though the bucket seats aren't conducive to maximizing the sexual possibilities of a serious make-out. After three minutes, George's mouth makes a wet smacking sound pulling off John's lips. He says, "It's thrilling making out with someone as good-looking as you, and you're a great make-out guy, too."
He bends down to get his cowboy hat that was knocked off his head two minutes ago, adding, "I'm so fucking high I thought we were on an uncomfortable couch. Haha, what a shock realizing we're in a truck. Let's go to our room, um, John, right? Do I have your name right?"
John mutters, "Yeah, Josh, it's John."
That makes them laugh until they're holding their junk. Finally, John snickers Peter out, "I've cum in my pants, and now I'm going to piss my pants! Stop it, Alex..." and that gets them laughing their nuts off again until they both stop abruptly, realizing nobody said anything funny.
George mumbles, "Let's go inside, Darling."
"Yeah, okay."
Getting out of the pickup, George mumbles, "You need to suck another boner on me."
"Good! Um, should we get undressed, George?"
George shrugs, "Suit yourself. Well, I mean, you'll need to drop your pants if you want me to fuck you, right? What's up with you asking all these questions?"
Inside room 202 again, John mumbles, "I'm just trying to accommodate what you want. You're the boss..." and he takes his boots and then his jeans. As John's pulling down his girlie panties, George snorts, then mutters, "Girl's panties full of cum and shaved pubes! Fuck, you're probably the gayest dude I've ever fucked. Most of the guys I've had sex with are like me. We do gay shit, yeah, but mostly we're like everybody else, guy-wise, that is."
John mutters, "Congratulations!"
"Hey, I'm just saying. No offense intended."
As George is unzipping his jeans, John drops to his knees and says, "The fact you said, 'No offense intended,' doesn't change the fact that it was offensive."
Snickering, George goes, "Maybe we ought not to talk anymore. We might talk ourselves right out of this sex, and you'll have rented this cheap motel room for nothing."
"It wasn't all that cheap unless you consider a hundred and twenty dollars cheap."
George mutters, "Yeah, that's fairly cheap nowadays," and he wiggles his flaccid dick, adding, "Here ya go Darling. Clamp your lips on this."
John thinks to himself, 'Can I believe I'm this close to telling George to go fuck himself? Why aren't I getting turned on by his arrogant over-confident superiority attitude? Huh, why?'
Then he realizes it'd be embarrassing as well as idiotic to get huffy over a comment he can hardly remember, so John takes George's penis in his fingers and sucks on the head as George rubs John's hair, mumbling, "I'm messing up your hairdo. What in the fuck is this glop you put in it? Yuck!"
John stops listening to George and concentrates on enjoying George's penis. It's a nice one. It gets hard quickly, George grunting and shuffling his feet a little. George goes, "Umm, you give good head, Darling. I almost want to let you suck me off again. Goddamn, this feels good," and John goes down on George's boner, then pulls his mouth off it and says, "What position do you want me in?"
Gasping, George mutters, "How about finishing me off with your talented mouth again? Then I'll sleep with you and fuck you in the morning. Get your hundred and twenty dollars' worth, ya know?"
"No, fuck me now. I can't sleep here tonight."
George yells, "Balls!" Then, as he opens the condom packet and rolls it on his boner, he mutters, "Okay, get on your hands and knees." John does that, and George immediately rams his condom-covered boner two inches inside John's rectum, John going, "Ahhh! Ooh," and George pushes his boner the rest of the way up inside John's rectum, letting out a breathy exhale, then, "Mumm, yeah, good ass," and he smacks it, "SMACK!" John yelps, then groans because his anus is still burning a little from the abrupt entry.
Gripping John's hips, George steadily thrusts his boner back and forth, grunting with each thrust, and John gets into a quiet mantra of, "Ah, ah, ah," with each thrust, and it's feeling as wonderful being fucked as John expected. He and George both climaxed during the oral sex a half hour ago, so it took eleven minutes of exquisite fucking before John's back arches; he holds his breath, his eyelids fluttering as he moans, "Ooh God, I'm gonna... " Then he does a girlie squeal, climaxing a short streak of cum that felt like a quart of cum coming out, leaving John shuddering with pleasure and glad he put up with George's insulting comments.
"Slap, slap, slap," George's groin smacks into John's buttocks for another minute while John is jostled around, pulling on his softening cock, squeezing out another small bubble of cum. "Oohhh feels good," he moans as George gasps, "Ahh," and climaxes, humping against John's buttocks hard, then again, making a gasping sound before pulling his cock out, muttering, "Really good, Darling. Good ass on you. Whoa, boy, I'll do you again for you whenever you want."
John's still breathing deeply, savoring the unique pleasure of climaxing with a sex partner. So much better than jerking off climaxes.
George is already in the bathroom, flushing the condom and washing up as John staggers up, then joins George in the bathroom. Patting George's shoulder, John says, "That was good, George," and he uses toilet paper to wipe at the lube from the condom that's melted in his body heat inside and around the outside of his asshole.
George zips up his fly, his penis safely inside, and says, "Thanks. Yeah, that was good. As I said, I'm up for it anytime you want. Are you sure you don't want to sleep here? I could do you tomorrow morning."
"I'd like that, except I need to do something at six o'clock in the morning. Um, it's with my boyfriend, and I'd feel wicked guilty if I'd just gotten out of bed with you, but thanks for offering."
Just like that, it's over in fifteen minutes. They walk out of the room and smoke cigarettes in the pickup as John drives George back to his dorm. No kiss goodbye, no let's do it tomorrow, no nothing, except George getting out and closing the passenger door, says, "Whatever, dude," and John mumbled, "Yeah, whenever. See ya..." and he drives away.
Parking in the apartment's parking lot, John mutters out loud, "What was that? Is it that there was no chemistry between us? That's never happened to me before." He gets out of the truck, thinking, 'It felt pretty good, though, so why am I not excited?'
To be continued... donnymumford@outlook.com
Please, guys, consider making a tax-deductible donation to nonprofit Nifty to help them cover the expenses of maintaining and growing this excellent free story site. Easy instructions for donating are at Nifty.org. Thank you very much!