Life in a Northern Town - 8. Chapter 8

John is dealing in cold facts, and I am dealing with the humanity of the situation. Fact is, people do look down on the kids in the group home. Fact is, they are expected to be fucked up and cause trouble, and Canfield tried to take advantage of that. But that doesn’t justify John being so inflexible. I sigh and roll over, my moral outrage refusing to allow me to sleep. I sit up and look out the window. Outside, the snow is gleaming in the frozen night, and ice sheets like a fogged mirror on the river.

I wander restlessly to the bathroom, more for something to do than anything else. The doors upstairs are all closed, and I slip down to the kitchen to look for a glass of milk or something. I retrieve a glass and locate a drink and seat myself at the breakfast nook where I can look at the snow blowing across the back yard. Squeaky sounds hit my ears and a few moments later the light flicks on in the kitchen.

“I think it’s warm milk that’s supposed to help you sleep,” John says, squinting in the harsh light. He fills himself a glass and leans back on the counter with a sigh.

I roll my eyes at him and look down into my glass.

“You are very stubborn, you know that?” he asks.

“Right back atcha,” I retort.

“True, I have a huge stubborn streak, but I like to think there are good reasons behind it most of the time.”

“You can ‘like to think’ all you want; doesn’t make it true,” I mutter into my glass. I glance at John to see him frowning into his glass.

“What makes you think I’m wrong here?” John asks me. I note he isn’t looking at me, and he seems to be seething.

“You used a blanket rule and punished me, instead of treating me like an individual and examining the situation.” I tremble a bit as I say it, not from fear, but from my own simmering, self-righteous anger.

“The situation rarely makes a difference, but if it seems that important to you…what was the situation?”

My anger evaporates. What is the point now? He’s already punished me. I look down at my nearly empty glass and go mute.

“You’ve been angry all night, left the table and refused to be civil and now that I ask you what the situation is, you won’t say anything? Contrary, thy name is teenager,” John laughs and frustration spikes in me.

“What’s the point? Even if you agree with me now, that doesn’t change anything. I still didn’t get to see my friends.”

“That’s true, for yesterday, but what about tomorrow?”

“What does that mean?”

“It means you and I don’t trust each other yet. Yes, I did apply a blanket rule to you, and it’s a good one. Yes, there are times when I may bend that rule for certain situations, but not normally.” John frowns at me, “Sometimes allowing for certain bends in the rules comes from knowing the person you are dealing with.

“I know that you can be very emotional, irrational and impulsive.” John looks directly at me and I frown in response.

“I also know that most people have the capacity to be those things, and you are pretty reasonable outside of those times. I also know that everything has changed for you so much just in the past few days that the calm you have been asked to keep may be more than you can bear, overall or consistently.”

“Yeah, but John, you didn’t even ask me what happened.”

“Well, let me ask you something. Do you trust me?” He looked at me expectantly.

“A little,” I reply grudgingly.

“Well, I trust you a little, too. Not enough that I’d just accept your word for it that you did absolutely nothing wrong, and not only that but that you came away with a new respect for Bernard. Does that sound realistic to you?”

“But it’s the truth!” I growl.

“That may be, but does it sound like the truth? Does it sound like a truth you can believe from someone you only trust ‘a little’?”

“Yes,” I say stubbornly. John sighs. “Maybe,” I relent.

“Even if you just trusted me a little, you could have given me the benefit of the doubt. Instead you just came down and cut me off from my friends, no warning or anything. I didn’t even know that was a house rule, so it’s kind of bullshit.”

John sits in silence, vacillating between seeming contemplative and seething. It is an impressive range of emotions to express while not speaking a word.

“You’re right. Even though I think you’re overreacting, it’s one night, not the rest of your life, that you didn’t see your friends. I agree I could have handled it differently. In the future, we’ll try to work a little closer on this type of thing, but you have to be aware from this point on that trouble at school doesn’t necessarily end when the last bell rings.”

I contemplate his words and nod my head in agreement. Well, maybe not agreement, but at least I know what the rule is, and that there can be wiggle room. I decide that, since John has listened to me, I'll try to open up a little.

“So...do you still want to know what happened?”

John doesn't reply verbally, just takes the seat across from me and waits. I'm not sure if he cares or if he's indulging me, but I'm going to get it off my chest.

“I don't like people looking at me and what I said a minute ago? About how people treat kids like me in a group home? That started as soon as I got there this morning. My homeroom teacher said Bernie wanted to see me, so here I am going to the office when Canfield stops me and gives me detention for not having a hall pass.”

“Did you know you were supposed to have one?”

“Yeah,” I put a finger up, “but the teacher didn't give me one.”

“Okay, I can see your point.”

“So Canfield gives me all kinds of crap, and I give it right back, right?” I go on to tell him everything – what I said about my dick in Canfield's mouth, both trips to Bernie's office and my walk home.

“You walked home? You were supposed to take the late bus,” John says while covering his eyes.

“I tell you I told a teacher he can kiss my ass and you're worried about how I got home?” I say with my hands spread out.

“I don't approve of those things and that makes me feel vindicated about restricting you tonight,” he replies and holds up a hand to stay my outburst. “I do agree that you had some provocation but...Adam, you're such an angry young man. Has anyone ever told you that?”

“Not like that. They usually say I have a punk attitude or something. Is that what you mean?”

“No. Your attitude is defiant and defensive, but your anger is something else entirely. Have you always been so angry?”

I try to take this seriously and I think back as much as I can to try and recall when someone first called me a punk.

“I dunno,” I shrug. “A few years ago, maybe. Things got weird at home after my dad passed.”

“That's a pretty major event. Were you angry at him?”

“No,” I say quietly, studying the milk bubbles at the bottom of my glass. “My dad was a great guy. We did stuff and...I was mad he was gone, yeah, but not mad at him.”

“Sometimes when we lose someone we get angry at the world or other people. Things don't seem fair. Did you ever find yourself angry with Randy after your dad passed?”

“No,” I shake my head. “Randy was totally there for me - even when I wanted his pesky ass to go away, he wouldn't. His dad treats me like an extra son. I can't even be jealous...” I sniff.

“Why is that?”

The room is still and I look up at John, holding his gaze a moment before I say, “Because Randy told me he'd share his dad with me so I wouldn't feel so bad.”

“Wow. That's impressive,” John replies and leans back in his chair. “You know, Adam, the danger in being angry a lot is that you get used to it. It becomes familiar even when it's not appropriate.”

“You're talking about what I said today.”

“That and other things. You have been angry for a long time, longer than I've known you certainly. But you need to find another emotion to take the place of some of that anger or it will eat you up inside.”

“Well...I am kind of tired of being in trouble all the time,” I admit.

“Controlling your anger will help. But, Adam, you will get in trouble sometimes because you're not perfect. No one is. Now, I suggest you get some rest. Saturdays are strenuous around here, so you’ll need your rest.” John arched his eyebrows at me before placing his glass in the sink. “There will be shoveling tomorrow.”

I head downstairs, teeth chattering, and find everyone in the warmth of the kitchen with breakfast going.

“It's so cold!” I state, obviously. Well, someone had to do it.

“Colder than a mother-in-law's kiss,” John replies.

“I'm telling her you said that,” Ken says, pointing a spatula at John.

“Why is it freezing in here?” I ask.

“Furnace went out,” Scott says from his perch near the stove. He's wrapped in a blanket with a beanie on his head.

“I hope they get here before I freeze,” Joe complains.

“Builds character,” John mutters.

“Okay, hot food coming through,” Ken says as he walks to the table and starts scooping eggs onto plates. John hands me a mug of hot chocolate to match the ones already in hand by Joe and Scott. I sip and claim a chair so I can warm up with some food. The repair guy shows up before we're done and it takes him only a few minutes to tell John what's wrong and that he has the part. The downside is it will take a lot of time to replace.

“Okay, that means we need to stay moving, so lets get the housecleaning materials out!” John says. Joe and Scott groan, but I don't care. Joe gets the vacuum and starts in downstairs while Scott goes to clean the bathrooms, starting downstairs. I am with Ken cleaning up from breakfast, and I can tell he wants to say something. I grow annoyed.

“What?”

“Did you have a nice chat last night?”

“Yep.”

“Anything interesting?”

“Just me, so I guess that depends on if you find me interesting.”

“I think you're fascinating,” Ken says as he stops washing and looks at me. “I think all you kids are, overcoming so many things. It's inspirational.”

“Um. Yeah. Of course it is. I'm going to...clean my...room. Yeah, still have clothes to put away.” I back away and Ken flips soap suds at me. I smile and head for the stairs. I can hear John in the basement speaking to the repair man and the vacuum running upstairs. I take the steps two at a time and push the half-open bathroom door so I can go before Scott gets up here to clean. I stop dead, my entrance masked by the vacuum running in a bedroom.

The bathroom door opens to the right so the first thing you see is the tub situated on the left. To the right, behind the door, is where the sink is and the far wall is dominated by storage and the toilet. As the door glides open I see the soles of large feet, then sweats, and then the whole tableau is revealed. I'm too stunned to react for moments that seem to stretch. Sounds are hitting my eardrums, wet and sucking, and yet they seem out of synch with the signals my eyes are sending.

Joe is on his knees and Scott is leaning back against the sink, legs wide as Joe bobs his head on Scott's dick. Joe's head moves to the side as he rocks side to side on his knees as he adjusts. As he does Scott's dick becomes suddenly visible, following a wet 'pop' as it exits Joe's mouth. It bobs for a moment, glistening with saliva and I stare.

“Tell me when you get close,” Joe says and then dives back down on Scott's pecker. Scott's eyes drift open and he sees me – his eyes go wide and he starts to move but there is nowhere to go as Joe has him pinned to the sink. Then, maybe 'cause I am still standing there, Scott smiles slyly and opens his mouth in an 'O' as Joe continues to slurp. It's the sly look that breaks my trance and I leave the room, quickly, and go to my own room and close the door.

I lean against the door, my heart galloping, and my cock is as hard as granite. I shift it uncomfortably but maintain my place in front of the door. Mere minutes later I hear a change in pitch from the vacuum as it begins to move again. How could they not know the vacuum was sitting still the whole damn time, down there? There is a small tap on my door and the handle twists, but I hold fast.

“Adam?” Scott says.

“Go away,” I reply.

“Adam, it's okay,” Scott says.

“Go. Away.”

I don't hear him retreat, but I do hear the water run in the bathroom indicating he's gone back to cleaning. Why am I panicking? I thought Scott was straight? Why is Joe sucking off a straight boy if he's so after Randy? Is Randy just another notch on his bedpost? Unbidden I see Scott's glistening, bobbing erection in my mind's eye and my own erection is straining against my clothes. I'm embarrassed but can't shake the image of Scott, legs spread and cock bobbing – wet...I go to the bed and pull my pants and boxers down together and furiously stroke myself to conclusion.

How can I be repelled and so turned on at once? I wipe off with a tissue, having come in the wastebasket, and put myself back together. I sit down and feel guilt, suspicion and turned on all at once. It's very confusing and the anger I'd normally respond with is absent. How do I handle this? I have nothing to rage at, nothing to hold by the neck and scream about except my vague notion that Joe is just wanting to sleep with Randy and toss him aside. Now that stirs my anger. I am interrupted by a rap at the door and Ken pokes his head in.

“Are you cleaning?”

“Hiding. From Scott and Joe,” I say truthfully.

“Hm,” he purses his lips. “I want all those clothes folded and put away in thirty minutes, otherwise I'll have him go home.”

'Him' turned out to be Randy, lurking behind Ken in the hallway. I hear Joe say hello to Randy and Rand is polite back to him. I pull Randy into the room, Ken having gone back down the stairs.

“Hey, easy,” Randy smiles. He thinks I'm pulling him in for a desperate hug, and I let that happen. “It was just one night. Are you okay?”

“Ugh,” I grunt and let him go. “I'm thrilled you're here, actually. This is a great surprise.”

“Yeah, well, when I called, John said I could come over if I put some of my shoveling skills to use. Looks like someone outed me as a do-gooder.”

“Guilty,” I say with a grin. “And I'm right, 'cause here you are.”

“Yeah, well, let's get these clothes folded and then we can shovel.”

“You didn't,” I say to him. He smiles. “You did. Peckerhead.”

“You need the exercise, can't get fat now that you have a boyfriend to keep.”

“Speaking of which, where is he?”

“I don't know,” he frowned. “I called to see if he wanted to come down but he was a little...dismissive. Maybe something's going on and he couldn't talk.”

“How did you get here, then?”

“I walked.”

“You walked? All that way?”

“No, I skipped and danced some too! Yeah, I walked the whole way! It's not that far to go for my best friend.”

“Randy,” I whine, “why do you always do that?”

“Remind you that we're best friends?”

“No. Prove it.”

“Okay, lets get your clothes put away before we make out or something,” Randy says with a smile. I momentarily consider telling him to beware of Joe – but what for? I mean, if Randy wanted to let Joe blow him, who was I to say no? Given that, why did the thought enrage me and fill me with a desire to protect Randy?

Randy stayed and helped me with my chores and then stayed for dinner from a grateful Ken and John. I saw Joe looking at Randy and each time he did all I could see was Joe on the bathroom floor with Scott's legs spread. I don't know what's wrong with me, Randy isn't my property – maybe I just didn't like the idea of him with Joe, in particular? His girlfriends never bothered me.

Mr. Proctor picked him up about seven and I hugged him fiercely, and longer than necessary to get a hug across. Mr. Proctor hugged me too and assured me he had things in motion and we might have a meeting soon.

I showered and sat in my room with a magazine. I was uncomfortable with Scott and Joe – and it really didn't matter if it was my hangup, I wasn't doing any harm by avoiding them. It didn't take long after lights out before the image of Scott popped into my head. I needed to turn that, somehow, because it made me feel slimy to jerk off thinking of Scott, with Joe slobbering between his legs. I shouldn't have been surprised when my door opened quietly and I cursed myself for not having locked it.

I was, however, surprised to see Scott.

“Adam, we should probably talk. Things are kind of weird, right now.”

“No shit?” I say.

“Hey, come on, it was just a blow job.”

“You're supposed to be straight and his friend!” I say, not sure if that really meant much.

“So? A mouth is a mouth. Wait, you don't think Joe didn't want to, do you?”

“I...”

“Adam, he's been asking me for weeks. I thought about it and figured, why the hell not?”

“But you're not in love with him or even attracted!”

“It was a BJ, not a wedding ring!”

“But...”

“Look, he's gay, he likes giving blow jobs. If you want, I'll let you blow me too.”

“What? No fucking way!”

“I'm just saying, my cock won't mind. A mouth is a mouth.”

“And what about when Joe asks to fuck? Is an ass an ass?” I hiss.

“I dunno. You think he wants me to pop his cherry?” Scott asks dubiously.

“Go away, Scott.”

I hear him moving, crossing the floor, and he stops with the moonlight coming through the window covering his midsection. He pulls the front of his sweats down to reveal his flaccid penis.

“Get the fuck out!” I snarl.

“Okay, your loss.”