Oscar - 2. Part 2

Lying on Adam’s bed, his gloopy, salty fingers sliding out of my mouth as hundreds of millions of his finest swimmers plummeted to the depths of my stomach, wasn’t the last time I’d feel the sharp prickle of fear over my body after taking a load.

But, it’s up there with the scariest.

Straightening himself upright his face became partially hidden in darkness. His body tensed. The room went silent. Something primal inside of me jolted awake.

Uh oh.

‘What the fuck are you doing, you filthy faggot?’ he said.

Now don’t get me wrong, I’d heard those words before. Especially the last one.

Those delightful six letters had always managed to find their way to my ears at break or lunch, or from cars of lads to and from school.

And online.

I’d quickly learned that the chat windows were also a place for boys to hang their dirty laundry. Stop the stains of insecurity from stinking out their minds by directing their fear and anger at me.

Especially after they’d had their fun. When reality would come crashing back and their sordid fantasies were inescapable black facts on white screens.

As I’ve said before, logic’s your friend in these situations, gift-wrapped in straight boy slang and guarantees. But without the QWERTY line of defence it was infinitely more confronting. Particularly when the guy in question was my size and a half, height and width, with fists like bricks and pinning me down with his entire body.

Think. Carefully.

And what’s that they say about fight and flight? When you can’t do one you do the other, right?

In an instant, my upper lip raised in a snarl. Adrenaline pumped through my veins and my fists clenched. My eyes darted to his flesh. He was close enough that I could sink my teeth into somewhere very sensitive and very delicate and he would not want to clamp my jaw any tighter.

But a lot can happen in half a second of reaction time. He could move. He could punch me before I even tried.

If I can do maximum damage before the carnage to my face begins, I’ll wake happy. If I wake.

To my relief it was all for nothing. Adam, it seemed, liked to play games. And I should have seen it coming really. He was the captain of the rugby team.

‘Get the fuck off me,’ I said.

‘Whoa, Oscar, buddy, I’m kidding.’

‘Don’t call me buddy.’

‘Look, honestly, I’m joking.’

And he was. Or at least, when he gently pushed me back onto the mattress, shuffled towards my feet, put two hands either side of my waist and licked every one of my load-coated abs clean with his wide, flat tongue, it was a pretty convincing performance.

‘Trust me now?’ he said looking up with a glazed grin before wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

In the panic, I’d momentarily forgotten where and who I was with. But from that angle, in the lamplight, past my chest rising and falling slower and slower as my heart calmed and my extra testosterone fizzled into embarrassment, I remembered.

Adam was very handsome. His eyes were stunning. They really had been twinkling under the light in his hallway. And while in the gentle glow of his bedroom the blue was almost gone, the gleam was not.

I can’t stay angry at that face, no matter how stupid it is.

And he’d missed a spot.

‘You’ve still got some on you,’ I said, sitting up, leaning in, putting a hand around his neck and pulling him down so I could kiss his lower lip clean.

Then I punched him in the stomach.

Tensing his powerful abs, he effortlessly stopped my fist in its tracks. Grinned.

‘I deserved that,’ he said.

Pushing me back down and himself backwards to standing he pulled his tracksuit trousers back up, whipping the waistband against himself. His deflating cock still making an impressive mound.

For a minute, we said nothing. Him standing. Me sitting. Him still grinning like an idiot. Me savouring his flavour all through my mouth; on my tongue, between my teeth, around my gums. Both shirtless. Both pleased with ourselves.

I broke the silence by picking up his box of goodies.

Click-click went the plastic blue fasteners on each side of the lid. From the smell, I could tell it was good weed. Sickly sweet it crumbled nicely between my fingers. I rolled a joint, sat up against his headboard and lit it.

‘Almost as good as mine,’ he said, sliding in next to me through the fresh haze.

Our bare shoulders and feet touched. Our faces forward, staring at the black screen of a TV on top of a clothes chest. Various items strewn sloppily over open drawers.

‘In your wet dreams,’ I said, passing the joint before draining the dregs of my beer I’d put on the bedside table.

It was warm but still tasty. Everything at Adam’s was.

‘For a moment, I thought you were going to beat the shit out of me,’ I said.

‘Yeah, I’m sorry. It was stupid.’

‘It’s alright. It was kind of funny.’

‘Yeah?’

‘Kind of. In hindsight.’

‘Yeah, sorry again.’

‘All good, man.’

He passed the joint back and I took two full drags. We kept eye contact the whole time.

‘I wasn’t expecting that,’ I said.

‘What? You and me?’

‘No. I knew that would happen.’

‘Fuck off.’

‘Come on, of course I did.’

‘How?’

‘It’s not like I predicted the exact outcome, but do you really think you’re the only guy to add me on MSN since everyone found out–’

‘You suck dick in bowling alley toilets?’

Taking a long drag, I held it in for three counts and blew, slowly, in his face. He didn’t move. Didn’t flinch. Just stared, smirking through the sticky fog a foot from my lips, until I passed him the joint again.

‘He sucked my dick, alright?’ I said. ‘But yeah, since everyone found out. I didn’t expect you to be so cool with it.’

‘Cool with what?’

‘Being like me.’

‘Like you?’

‘Being a filthy faggot.’

‘Oh. Right.’

‘Yeah. Most guys aren’t as ok with it. They’re nervous. It’s hot. Sometimes.’

I laughed and turned, but he wasn’t smiling. He looked sad. Taking two more drags, he dropped the joint in his finished bottle of beer. The sizzle of the extinguishing cherry in the remaining dregs echoed up the neck and lingered in the air alongside its final wisps of heavy grey.

‘I’m not gay,’ he said.

‘Sure you’re not,’ I said gesturing to my stomach, crusting slightly under an invisible layer of dried saliva and cum.

‘I’m not,’ he said turning to face me.

He rested his head in his hand, propped up by his elbow. His bicep like a boulder of muscle.

‘I’m bi,’ he said.

‘Really?’

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

‘You’re not the first guy to tell me that either.’

Although, in his defence, he was the first I believed.

I’m not entirely sure why. Call it intuition, or a gut reaction. Pun intended. Or maybe it was just the look in his eyes. Lost. Unsure.

A minority in a minority.

Shifting my position, I matched his. On my side, facing him. Our noses almost touching. He said nothing.

‘You alright?’ I said.

‘No one’s ever going to believe me.’

‘I believe you.’

‘No you don’t.’

‘Adam, mate, I do. I’m sorry I didn’t take you seriously but come on, can you blame me?’

‘I suppose not.’

‘Why so sad?’

‘I’m not sad. It’s just fucked up. If two girls get it on they’re not automatically branded dykes for the rest of their lives. But if a guy so much as touches another lad then he’s just gay. That’s it. Nothing else.’

‘It’s not so bad, you know? Who the fuck wants to be a sheep anyway?’

‘You wouldn’t understand.’

Get a grip you fucking pussy, is what I’d wanted to say. Even though I didn’t blame any of them for staying in the closet, it didn’t mean I had any patience when they came bitching about their lives to me.

I didn’t get the luxury of coming out. It was forced on me.

Instead I said, ‘Society’s fucked up, man.’

‘True.’

‘So when did you know?’

‘That I liked guys too?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Remember Mr. Price?’ he said.

Time suddenly stood still. For the briefest fraction of a moment but I felt it through my whole body.

Mr. Price?

‘How could I forget?’ I said.

How could anyone forget Mr. Price is Right? Hands down the sexiest sports teacher our school had ever had. Potentially the most handsome man I’d ever seen.

Six-foot-three, early thirties, hairy legs always, always on show under tiny rugby shorts come rain, hail, snow or shine. Shaved head, brown eyes, strong jaw, big arms.

Perfection.

Then one day, he’d gone crazy. Literally started screaming at a year seven boy in front of the whole school for next to no reason. No one had known why or what had made him snap so suddenly.

Or so I’d thought.

‘Right?’ he said.

‘No!’

He nodded, sucking in air between his teeth. Envy punching me in the stomach. Hard.

‘You lucky fucker. When?’ I said.

‘Year eleven.’

‘What, you were fifteen?’

‘Sixteen.’

‘You looked about twenty-one,’ I said. ‘Still do.’

He winked. Nudged me with his shoulder.

‘At first he was just a good teacher. I was already his height and still growing so he must have known I was a natural for the game. He’d give me extra pointers after school and drive me home. To be honest I thought he fancied my mum.’

But?

‘But then one afternoon after practice, I got a phone call. My grandad had tripped and was in hospital. He was fine, just a few scratches and bruises, but when I got back to the changing rooms there was no one there except him.’

I pictured it. Row after row of metal benches in a misty, muddy room. White tiled walls glistening with condensation from the showers. Mr Price’s office in the far-right corner.

I’d played rugby before, back when sport had been a compulsory subject. I knew how the room would have looked. How it would have smelt. How it would have felt: the heat from twenty or so sweaty boys still radiating like fog.

‘He was at his computer with his back to me. He didn’t hear me come in so I started to get undressed. Then I heard a woman moaning.’

‘Porn.’

‘Got it in one. He was jerking off.’

‘What I would give,’ I said, meaning every, single, word.

‘Mate, it gets better.’

‘I’m all ears.’

His eyes lit up. He probably hadn’t told this story to anyone before and he was loving it. And so was I. With empty balls, my cock still twitched eagerly under my Calvin Kleins.

‘Back then I already knew there was something different about me. I was into girls, but sometimes in the showers I’d see one or two of the lads and I’d start getting. You know.’

‘Yeah. I do.’

‘So, I crept forward like a ninja. I only had shorts on so it was easy. I got to the door frame and watched. I could see it all. The bird on the screen getting fucked from behind. Mr. Price with his rugby shorts by his ankles, his t-shirt lifted up to his nipples, his cock in his hand. It was beautiful.’

‘How big was he?’

‘I don’t know in inches but he was big. Bigger than me and mine was almost full size back then I assure you.’

‘I wouldn’t doubt it in a million years.’

Adam smiled and winked.

‘You like this story?’ he said.

I did. Big time.

‘It’s alright,’ I said.

‘There’s more.’

‘I won’t stop you.’

‘I watched. For ages. It probably wasn’t even a minute but it felt like hours. I was transfixed. I’d never dared to even look at gay porn and there I was, metres away from Mr. fucking Price about to blow a nut all over himself. And then, just when I thought he was about to shoot, he stopped, paused the video and, without turning, said, “I know you’re there”.’

‘No fucking way.’

‘Yes fucking way.’

‘What did you do?’

‘I froze, like a statue. I considered grabbing my stuff and running, but I couldn’t move. Thank fuck I didn’t because by the time my feet started working he reached over to the spare chair with his free hand and pulled it next to him.’

I knew exactly which chair Adam was talking about. I’d sat on it.

I’d only been inside his office once: he’d caught me ditching PE. I did it all the time, but I’d been lazy. Or maybe I’d let him see me. Maybe I’d wanted his gaze to fall on me for once.

He’d been sat in this expensive, black orthopaedic chair and I remember sitting less than half a metre from him. Opposite his phenomenal body in his futuristic thrown. His cool and calm demeanour. Collected. In charge.

I’d been inches from him and mesmerised. Sat in awe on the uncomfortable, green fabric, rickety spare and wishing and yearning I was on his.

On him.

‘He wanted you to join,’ I said.

‘Yup. He pulled it over and patted the top. Didn’t say a word.’

‘Tell me you joined him.’

‘Without a doubt! I didn’t hesitate. I walked over and sat down. He didn’t even look at me, he just pressed play.’

‘Fuck.’

‘Yeah it was hot. So hot. I kept looking at him from the corner of my eyes but he never took his off the screen. He just pumped and pumped as this chick with giant tits got smashed by some guy with tatts.’

‘Shame.’

‘That’s what I thought. Until he was about to blow.’

‘What happened?’

‘His breath started getting heavier and his legs started tensing. At this point it could have been EastEnders on the screen, I wasn’t watching. I was watching him. Watching his muscles flex and his arm work like a piston.’

‘Fuck.’

‘Then he started making these deep, throaty grunts and I knew what was coming.’

I closed my eyes and I could see him. Hear him. His shaved head rolling back on his huge shoulders. His chest filling with air. Every muscle in his legs and arms swelling.

‘Before he blew, he reached across with his free hand and clamped it on my leg. Then he turned, stared straight into my eyes, dug his fingers and thumb into my quads as hard as he could and unloaded himself all over his stomach.’

My cock ached to be free. Free from my jeans and in my hand. Pre-cum soaking through my underwear to my leg.

‘How big was his load?’ I said.

‘Huge. It shot out of him and kept on pouring. It went all the way up to his stomach and on his shirt but he didn’t care. He just squeezed my leg harder and harder, staring at me.’

For a minute neither of us said anything. We were lost in images.

I was savouring every second of his story. Knowing exactly how it would have played out. Adam no doubt relishing a memory relived. A secret shared from a past still hidden.

It was his turn to break the silence.

‘Oscar, I’m hard as a rock.’

‘Me too.’

‘What shall we do?’

‘I have a few ideas,’ I said.