Kyle From High School

by Jeremy Jenkins

  Surely his manipulative little mind was already whirring away with plans and calculations, figuring out how to turn this situation to his advantage.

  Me? I was flying by the seat of my pants.

  As long as I kept Phil away from my sister, nothing bad would happen. And if this was how I had to do it, so be it.

  I’d never been with a guy before, but I’d been curious.

  I liked the way his body felt under mine. I liked the way he moved; all hard, sinewy muscle writhing around beneath me.

  Sure, my horny teenage ass would have been excited to have anyone in my bed like this, but it was especially excited to have Phil here beneath me.

  Phil, who was always twelve steps ahead. Phil, who I’d admired all throughout childhood. Phil, who always knew what to do in any given situation.

  But here underneath me? I could tell he didn’t know what to do for once.

  I’d caught him off-guard.

  He couldn’t predict; he wasn’t living in the future. That far-off glance he was always known for? That was gone.

  Phil Baron was living in the moment.

  And what turned me on most of all was that he was forced to follow my lead.

  I’d caught him off-guard. I’d penetrated his defenses. I’d done something he didn’t expect, and that tipped the balance in my favor.

  For once, I felt powerful. And that power went straight to my head.

  My cock strained against the front of my jeans.

  I wondered how far Phil would let me take this? Surely he was already whipping up a plan in that head of his so that he’d end up ahead of all this…

  I wound my fingers around the hem of his shirt and tugged it up and over his head.

  When I got it off, I looked into his eyes—so brown they were almost black. But even here in the moonlight, I could see the clarity in them. That endless sadness; that detachment from everything and everyone.

  That look had always been there.

  And being on top of him like this, looking into his eyes and seeing him look at me that way—well, I didn’t like it. I’d been his closest friend his whole life, and we shared everything. Our thoughts, our adventures, countless memories…

  But when he looked at me like that? I was like all of that meant nothing.

  Like I meant nothing. Like I’d never understood him and never would.

  I kissed him harder, letting my lips explore his. I tried to write my name on his mouth; on his soul. I wanted him to see me as… as more.

  No, bro, you’re straight! My inner voice screamed at me.

  I shoved it away with the heat of my overwhelming testosterone.

  This night didn’t have to count; none of it had to count. I could think about all of this and what it meant later, but for now…

  For now, I had Phil underneath me.

  I kissed down his jaw, feeling the prickle of stubble under my lips.

  Phil tilted his head to the left and let out a moan.

  That sound sent a surge of desire straight through my cock, stiffening me like a motherfucker.

  His moan was a chink in his armor; an expression of vulnerability.

  That thing inside of him I often saw in his gaze; that part of him that he showed to no one.

  Well, I wanted to see it. I needed to see it.

  I continued my trail of kisses until I was under his ear.

  He moaned again, and his fingers went to my shoulders.

  I liked that; it made me feel strong. Appreciated. I was proud of my body, and I was more than willing to let him enjoy it, too.

  You’re not gay, what are you doing—

  I sucked on his earlobe.

  He took in a hissing breath and his body bucked against mine.

  Was that… that was involuntary.

  I smirked through the kiss, changing the shape of my mouth around his ear. A rush of power flowed through me at seeing this guy beneath me—Phil Fucking Baron—lose control.

  Control was everything to him.

  And the fact that he was giving it to me… it meant everything to me.

  I moved my hand along his side, feeling the smoothness of his skin in this warm, dark space.

  He tugged at the base of my shirt and pulled it up and over my head.

  The cool air kissed my naked torso, and I could feel his eyes on me.

  Sure enough, I looked down and he was looking my torso up and down, following the contours and the lines of my abs like he was playing connect the dots.

  But I knew he wouldn’t compliment me—he couldn’t compliment me.

  It was understood between the both of us, I think, that any words we’d put in the space between us would cleave the thin tendrils of glue we’d slathered on here in the dark.

  This moment was quiet. It was sacred.

  And I think we both knew that it ‘didn’t count.’

  We were just two guys messing around—that was all.

  But something lurked in the back of my mind that told me this was all wrong; I was doing something I’d regret later. It was screaming for me to stop; a backseat driver telling me to slam on the brakes.

  Though, like always, that rational voice wasn’t in the driver’s seat. No, the guy in the driver’s seat was pure spontaneity, and it was always a hell of a time when he took the wheel.

  It was the only time I felt alive.

  And from the sounds Phil made underneath me—mewling, panting, whimpering—I could tell he was having the time of his life, too.

  I rained kisses down his body, fueled by pure, liquid lust.

  I drew away for breath and sat up.

  Phil threaded his arms behind me and came up with me.

  We were both sitting up on my bed, shirtless.

  Then he bit my neck.

  I cocked my head back with a hiss, but it felt good.

  That type of pain—it felt good.

  Phil kissed the spot where he bit, as if to say sorry, but not really.

  Then that stupid Fall Out Boy song came through my head with that lyric, “And I’m so sorry, but not really,” and had only a moment to ponder what it meant.

  But like all the lyrics from that band, its meaning was hidden under layers and layers of metaphors and sedimentary feelings, impossible for anyone to pick apart with any degree of certainty.

  Phil kept kissing lower and lower, exploring my collarbone with icy, fiery footprints.

  I cocked my head back and moaned as the electric passion coursed through me.

  This was fun, sure. Just two guys having fun, maybe slightly buzzed, but it also… it was more.

  Something lurked under the surface; an undercurrent ripe with meaning and feelings and everything I didn’t want to deal with.

  I shoved it away.

  It was easy when Phil’s lips trailed down my abs, tracing the lines with his tongue.

  I could tell he was experienced; he must have done this before with girls.

  That was fine; I’d been with girls before, too.

  But then I felt the green claws of jealousy dig into my flesh.

  What if he’d been with a guy before?

  That… for some reason, that didn’t feel okay. That felt… it felt like a violation. Like he’d somehow stepped out of bounds.

  But that didn’t make any sense; I didn’t own him, and he didn’t own me.

  Growing up with him in the house next door, being best friends with him, I’d heard all about his escapades with girls and I’d never once felt jealous.

  But the thought of him doing this with another guy… well, I suddenly felt like Betta fish in Mr. Vale’s classroom. He had two of them on his desk—red and blue, and their vases were usually kept on opposite ends of his desk, sometimes in the window. But whenever some smart-ass pushed them against one another and the glass vases would hit each other with a clink, those fish would fan out their tails and move in rapid, jerking motions. Ready to fight.

  As I moved on top of Phil and thought about him doing this with any other gu
y, I felt like one of those fish.

  Useless. Helpless. Fighting, but trapped behind glass.

  But he moved his kisses lower and my burning jealousy of this imaginary other guy—the Blue Betta—evaporated.

  Phil laid kisses along my hip bone, tracing it.

  “Oh…” I moaned, tipping my head back. “Yeah… that feels so good…”

  Phil wrapped his hands around my hips, then lightly kissed along the front of my lower abs, just an inch or so above the hem of my pants.

  I moaned and buried my fingers in his hair, twirling and enjoying how silky it felt between my fingers. I’d never touched a guy’s hair before, and I guess it was a stupid thought, but I was surprised that it was so soft. I didn’t know what I expected, though—for it to be rough? Hard and sandpapery? Manly?

  No. It wasn’t anything like that.

  Phil’s jet-black hair was feathery and soft; thick, but silky.

  He moved slowly—deliciously slowly—above the hem of my pants, leaving icy footprints in his wake.

  With a slow exhale, he blew on them.

  I cocked my head back and moaned again as shivers wound through me.

  The hot ball of desire in my lower belly quivered.

  My cock strained against the front of my jeans.

  “Take them off,” I begged.

  Phil sat up on his knees and looked directly into my eyes; his shone dark in the moonlight. “No one tells me what to do.”

  Then he reached for the nape of my neck and pulled me, hard.

  He rolled out of the way and I was going down, down…

  I collided with the mattress with an “Umfp!”

  Phil stood on his knees above me, pressing me down by the nape. Pinning me, like this was a wrestling match or something.

  A smile curled on my lips as even more excitement bloomed in my gut.

  Challenge. He wanted a challenge, did he? Well… I’d show him what I could do.

  Just like in wrestling practice a million years ago, I swung my leg out to the side.

  “What the—”

  My leg collided with his hip, then I extended it and wrapped it around his back.

  As soon as I felt that familiar hold, I knew victory was mine.

  My cock pulsed in my pants again, begging to be set free—

  I swung my weight and threw Phil back on the bed.

  I was on top.

  Again.

  A goofy smile spread across my face.

  Phil looked furious, pinned like this.

  I couldn’t resist; I had to taunt. I put my index finger near the corner of his mouth and said, “Aww, somebody doesn’t like losing. You’ve always been a sore loser, Phil—”

  His eyes flashed, then he closed his lips over my finger.

  The warm, wet tightness of his mouth squeezed my finger, and it was almost too much to bear.

  I collapsed over him and let out a moan.

  His lips turned upward, and I knew he was smiling victoriously.

  Then, the realization dawned within me that this was how he was trying to win. He was trying to get me to bow down to him in this fucked up, sexual way.

  This was still a game, and he was trying to win this round—

  My cock pulsed in my pants again.

  I was so horny that it was aching.

  He kept sucking on my finger—no, suckling on my finger like he was milking it.

  I wanted nothing more than to have his lips wrapped around my cock like that. To feel what it was like to be inside his velvety little mouth…

  I’d never wanted anything more in my life.

  And I knew he wouldn’t give it to me.

  Not unless I…

  Unless I paid.

  Well, I guess I’d lost this game or whatever, then. Because with how good it felt for him to suck my finger like this? I would have done anything the guy asked of me, if only for a chance of him sucking my dick.

  That was the moment I knew I was fucked. He had the power; he would always have the power. Because there was no way he could possibly feel this helpless about me as I felt about him.

  Unless…

  “Take off your pants,” I said breathlessly.

  He must have forgotten that he ‘didn’t take orders’ or whatever, because he pulled his finger out of my mouth and scrambled to obey.

  Yes, obey you little slut.

  Huh? That was weird… where did that thought come from?

  Anyway, I forgot about it as soon as it appeared, because Phil was fumbling with his button.

  I watched with bated breath as he unhooked the bronze from the fabric and tugged the flaps apart.

  His bulge pulsed underneath, still trapped in the thin fabric of his boxers.

  I didn’t think; I followed pure instinct.

  I planted my lips right beneath his belly button, right on his happy trail.

  The hair there tickled my chin and I felt it wind through my stubble, but it didn’t feel wrong. It felt like this was the way things were always supposed to be. I couldn’t shake this intense feeling of rightness that coursed through me; that I’d been looking for something my whole life and only grazing the surface with girls. Their bodies were great and everything, don’t get me wrong. But sex didn’t ever feel as right as it did right now, doing this.

  Doing this with him.

  As an experiment.

  Only an experiment.

  I kissed down his happy trail.

  He didn’t make a sound—his skin tensed under my lips through, and that’s what gave him away.

  Excitement swirled in my belly at this additional display of vulnerability.

  The dead giveaway that he wasn’t in control.

  Jesus Christ, Phil Baron wasn’t in control for once.

  I was. And that made me feel like the most powerful man in the world.

  He let out a hissing breath and cocked his head back.

  I watched his feathery black hair slide over his forehead. His adam’s apple bulged in his neck.

  I wanted nothing more than to kiss that, too, but it would have to wait.

  No; I was going to draw this out.

  Keep him in my bed.

  Show him that I was the one in control; and keep him away from my sister.

  But this wasn’t about Julie anymore. Maybe it never was.

  Maybe every time I saw them together, I felt that distinct wrong-ness pulse through me not because of some over-protective-brother instinct, but jealousy.

  Sheer jealousy.

  Because those dark eyes?

  They belonged on me.

  I kissed down his happy trail and slipped my tongue under his waistband.

  The dry fabric scraped against my tongue, but I didn’t care. The force of desire was so strong that I could burrow my tongue in there no problem.

  Phil arched his back and moaned.

  My eye latched onto movement to my right—Phil’s hand.

  Phil’s finger dug into the sheet, looking for something to hold onto.

  It felt good to do this. It felt good to torture him in this way.

  In a way, it felt like I was getting him back for something. Though I wasn’t entirely sure what that was.

  “Oh…” he moaned, arching his back again.

  I slipped my hand underneath, pulling his hips to my face.

  Then I bit the waistband of his boxers and tugged them down.

  His cock bounced out and smacked against the side of my face.

  Phil chuckled.

  I chuckled too, despite myself.

  But I gathered bunches of the fabric in my hands and yanked his pants down anyway.

  I’d like to tell you I got them off in one clean stroke, but that was not the case. I only shuffled them down to his knees—but that was all I needed.

  I took a moment to admire him, laying across my bed like this, nearly naked in the silvery moonlight. He had the shadow of abs—he was a slim guy with the faint lines of side abs under a pair of impressive, pillow-y pecs.
Phil’s thighs shone pale and creamy in the moonlight, peppered with dark hair on the outsides but fresh and supple and hairless on the insides.

  Then, there was his cock, fully erect and laying across his lower belly in a thick slant. Veins spiraled up the shaft, which bulged out to a perfect purple head at the tip.

  It was the most fascinating thing I’d ever seen. I couldn’t think of the word for it right then—it was… it was…

  It fit in flawlessly with my definition of perfection, though I couldn’t find the right words to describe how.

  I stood there on my knees for a few seconds, taking it in.

  Phil smirked and slipped his hands behind his head, as if lying in a hammock on a sunny day. “Well? You going to just sit there and admire it all day?”

  My eyes narrowed. “Maybe I will.”

  “Maybe you won’t,” he corrected.

  Then he leaned up, grabbed me by the nape of the neck again, and kissed me, hard.

  This kiss was insistent. It wanted something from me; something I wasn’t ready to give.

  It had nothing to do with anything physical.

  Submit, that kiss said.

  It was at that moment that I knew Phil Baron was a slut.

  Society defines a slut as usually a woman that sleeps with a lot of guys, but that doesn’t quite hit the nail on the head.

  The word “slut” has nothing to do with sex.

  A slut means someone will do anything for power.

  And as Phil’s lips melted against mine, I wondered if I was a slut, too.

  Wasn’t I just doing all this for power? Power over him?

  Yes. Power over him.

  But only him.

  Because Phil? He was my best friend. My neighbor. My confidant.

  But now that we were adults, he was my enemy, too.

  Though he didn’t fit the definition of enemy, not wholly, I couldn’t shake the certainty that he mostly fit it. I didn’t want him to be my enemy. I wanted to go back to those lazy summer days we shared when we were kids. I wanted him to stop being such a broody, manipulative asshole that he’d turned into. I wanted to feel that connection with him again; that innocence we shared when we were just kids exploring the world around us.

  But he’d changed.

  I wanted to kiss that part of away; cut off that part of him that had enveloped him and turned him into someone I barely recognized.

  I wanted to reach through the layers of this person I didn’t recognize and find my best friend there, still underneath. Waiting for me to save him from himself.