Rebel_Ballsy Boys 1

by K. M. Neuhold

  “Oh, we’re so doing this. Go in there, I want to suck your dick.” He shoves me toward one stall, and I go without protest.

  I unzip my pants and free my already hard and aching cock. My pulse races at how fucking dirty this is. And maybe because I never thought I’d meet a guy as spontaneous and fun as Rebel.

  I grab the base of my cock and angle it toward the crudely made hole, a duct tape padding all around the edges. There’s a strange sort of thrill in not being able to see what’s happening on the other side of the wall, as I wait for Rebel’s mouth.

  He doesn’t play coy or tease. A scorching pair of lips wrap around the head of my cock and slide toward the base, engulfing me in wet suction. I ball my fist and pound lightly against the flimsy plastic wall, trying to keep myself from blowing it too quickly.

  Rebel’s tongue strokes firmly around my head, not missing a beat on the descent and retreat. My breath comes out in a fast huff, and my fingers flex, wanting to be buried in the thick tangle of Rebel’s hair.

  “Holy fuck,” I gasp as he presses his tongue flat to the spongy V of nerves and pulses it.

  My body trembles as my nerve endings all come alive. My hips press hard against the wall, wanting to be deeper inside the heat of Rebel’s throat. His tongue continues to flutter against almost the entire underside of my shaft.

  “Yes, fuck, Rebel,” I shout as my balls draw tight, and my ass clenches.

  The assault from Rebel’s lips and tongue continue as I empty myself in his throat. When he finally releases me, a shudder races through my body, and I sag against the stall for balance.

  “That was fucking hot,” Rebel says from the other side of the wall.

  “Eh, it was okay,” I feign a bored voice.

  “Hey!” he protests, and we both chuckle.

  I tuck my spent dick away and zip my pants. When I step out of the stall, Rebel is there waiting to kiss me. I moan as he shoves his tongue into my mouth, my flavor lingering inside his mouth.

  “You’re fun,” I say when our lips part.

  Rebel smiles, and his fingers tease along the millimeter of exposed skin between my shirt and jeans.

  “We’d better get going. I promised my mom we’d be on time for dinner, and we’ve still got two hours ahead of us.”

  I nod, shaking off the haze of orgasm and follow Rebel back out to the car.

  The last stretch of the trip flies by as I take in the breathtaking mountains in the distance, and we cruise down the open roads. I crack my window and breathe in the crisp, clean air that’s sorely lacking in LA.

  But as each mile falls behind us and we near his parents’ house, I find my stomach twisting itself in tighter knots.

  It’s not that I think his parents will have an issue with me. I’m a grown ass man. I don’t need the approval of other adults that I don’t even know.

  Except...maybe it would be kind of nice if his parents approved of me? And therein lies the cause of the cold sweat trickling down my back. I don’t know what I want them to approve me for, but I do want it.

  The closest I ever came to parental approval was this older lady who took me in for a year when I was twelve.

  Her name was Elise, and when I was first placed with her I thought it was some kind of joke. What did a sixty-five-year old widow with too much perfume want with a twelve-year-old boy who’d already been rejected by two prospective adoptive parents and kicked out of two other foster homes for fighting?

  I still remember the first day I arrived at Elise’s house. I stepped into her living room and decided that there was no way I’d last a week with her. She had too many glass figurines and knick-knacks, there was a basket of knitting beside a worn in recliner, and the whole house smelled like cooked cabbage. This wasn’t a person equipped to deal with a kid with my level of issues, or so I thought.

  It took exactly two days for Elise to put me in my place.

  On the second night, she caught me trying to sneak out after she went to bed. She sat me down, looked me in the eyes, and told me something I’ll never forget. I know life dealt you a shit hand, but that doesn’t mean you get to treat other people like they’re beneath you. As long as you’re under my roof, you’re going to respect me and respect my rules. If you can manage that, you’ll have a much brighter future ahead of you.

  No one had ever been so blunt with me, but the words weren’t what startled me. It was the way she looked at me, like she actually cared what happened to me.

  It wasn’t smooth sailing from there by any means, but I did try, and Elise and I fell into a comfortable routine together. She was more of a mother to me than my own had ever been, and to this day I know she’s the reason I didn’t end up in jail or worse. I had been headed down a bad road, and she set me straight.

  When I was thirteen, Elise passed away from a heart attack while I was at school, and I was shuttled off to a new foster family. This one had too many foster kids and not enough shits to give. I was there until the wife caught her husband trying to sneak into my bed one night, and then I was sent away again. Such is the life of a foster kid.

  “You’re awfully quiet over there,” Rebel says, startling me out of my reminiscences.

  I clear my throat and try to be stealthy as I wipe a stray bit of moisture from my cheek. It was totally from the wind in my eye.

  “I’m fine.” My voice cracks a little at the end, and I hold my breath to see if Rebel’s going to call me on it and press the issue. The crazy thing is, if he pushed it, I think I’d tell him everything. I’d tell him about Elise and all the shitty foster homes where there were wandering hands and harsh words at worst, and indifference at best. I’d tell him about the fights I got in because of all the rage I had inside me and because asshole little kids like to pick on the outsider. I might even tell him how tired I am of holding the world at a distance.

  But, he doesn’t push it. He just gives me a reassuring pat on the knee and lets me lapse back into silence.

  When we pull into the driveway of a large, white two-story house with a well-kept lawn, I’ve got myself half-convinced again that it doesn’t matter what his parents think of me.

  We climb out of the car, and I take a second to appreciate the captivating lines of Rebel’s body as he stretches his arms over his head, exposing a little bit of fuzz on his belly that makes my mouth water.

  Head in the game, I remind myself.

  Rebel shoots me a wink when he catches me staring, and I shake my head at him with a smile.

  “Ready?” he checks.

  “As I’ll ever be.”

  “Dude, it’s dinner with some aged hippies, not a firing squad. You’ll survive, I promise.”

  The front door of the house flies open before we even reach it, and a middle aged woman with long, dirty blonde hair comes running out and tackles Rebel in a hug.

  “Oof!” He catches her with a smile and hugs her back. “You know, Mom, you could greet me like a normal person with a polite hug once I’ve entered the house.”

  “Normal people are so boring,” she retorts. “And I miss my son too much to wait a whole thirty seconds for him to enter the house.”

  “I missed you too, Mom.” He gives her a kiss on the top of her head, and a weird hollow feeling blossoms in my chest, making it almost difficult to breathe.

  A man—I’m assuming Rebel’s dad—appears at the door as well.

  “You couldn’t keep your wife under control?” Rebel calls to him.

  “She’s been pacing in front of the door all day. There was no reining her in.”

  “Oh my gosh, how rude of me, you brought a young man with you, and here I am acting like a basket case.” She turns to face me with a smile. “I’m Susan, and you must be Troy.”

  “Actually, it’s Mike. Who’s Troy?” I ask, looking over her shoulder at Rebel, my expression as serious and confused as I can manage.

  Susan’s face pales, and I immediately feel bad for the joke.

  “He’s being a dick, Mom.” Rebel a
ssures her, and I offer a sheepish smile in apology.

  “I thought a joke might break the ice.”

  “You’re going to fit in here just fine,” she declares.

  Susan ushers us toward the house, and Rebel’s father, Joe, greets me with a firm handshake. I can see what Rebel meant when he said they were aged hippies. They look more or less like your average middle age couple, but there’s something about them that hints at a wild and carefree youth. His mom especially still looks like she has a flower child trying to break through.

  Inside the house I’m introduced to Rebel’s sister, Marley, and her husband, Doug. Susan tells us all to sit down because dinner is ready and waiting.

  “So how did you and Hendrix meet?” Marley asks as she settles into the seat beside me at the table.

  “Uh…” I look at Rebel for a little help, but he just chuckles and shoves a roll into his mouth.

  “Don’t be embarrassed; it can’t be that bad. I know you don’t work with Hendrix, so where did you meet?”

  I cock my head and catch Rebel’s eye with my silent question.

  “She knows you don’t work at Ballsy Boys, because she’s an avid viewer,” Rebel explains. “Not my videos though, of course.”

  “Of course,” I agree sarcastically. “Well, we met when this guy Reb—Hendrix was dating hired me to do his dirty work of dumping him. I recognized him as soon as he opened the door, and I was a bit star struck, to be honest, and the rest is history.”

  “That’s like a romantic comedy; I love it,” Marley declares.

  “No, it’s not romantic though,” I argue quickly. “Hendrix and I are just friends.”

  21

  Rebel

  I catch the quick look that passes between my parents. They’ve got this whole wordless communication down to an art.

  Just friends.

  I know what they’re thinking: there’s no way these two are just friends. And they’re right, because we’re not. And a few weeks ago, I would’ve been bothered by Troy saying something like this, probably, but ever since he told me he’d been in foster care, something clicked. He’s not afraid of commitments because he wants to play the field or because he’s not ready to settle down or some shit.

  He’s scared.

  He’s deathly afraid of being rejected, again. And it makes sense for him to keep people at bay, because if you don’t let anyone in, they won’t be able to hurt you. I get it. Doesn’t mean I have to like it.

  “Friends with a lot of special benefits,” I say, winking at Troy to make sure he knows I’m joking.

  “Oh, god,” Doug says. “Here we go again with the sex references. Is it too much to ask to have one meal without talking about sex?”

  Marley sends him a blinding smile. “When we’re back home, we can talk about root canals and wisdom teeth extractions, but I kinda like the sex talk, babe.”

  I grin. Doug is a good guy, but he’s a little on the dry and dusty side. I’m still not sure what my formerly wild sister sees in him, but they’re obviously happy together. Still, I can’t help jerking his chain a little.

  “What do you mean, sex? I wasn’t talking about sex. I was talking about him hooking me up with some seriously good weed.”

  “And don’t forget the bananas,” Troy plays along. “I’ve introduced him to the best bananas ever.”

  “We found a new supplier here,” Mom says, and I’m pretty damn sure she’s not talking about bananas. “All organic homegrown from a family operation and it’s the best.”

  Troy’s eyebrows shoot up. Yes, Troy, my mom’s talking about weed. Welcome to the crazy reality that is my parents’ house.

  “It’s true,” my dad adds. “They don’t add any additives, and it makes it so pure. Best damn weed I’ve ever had.”

  Doug looks like he’s about to slam his head on the table, but Marley pats his shoulder. “It’s legal here, honey.”

  “Like that’s ever stopped them,” he mumbles.

  “It did wonders for my pain throughout my cancer treatment,” my mom says, her tone a little sharper now. She likes Doug well enough, but she does not tolerate criticism on the choices she and dad make. Rightly so.

  “So, Troy, what do you do?” Marley asks, as always excelling in dissolving tension.

  “I’m working on my degree in video game design.”

  He says it as if he’s expecting criticism on that choice, but that’s not gonna happen. Not in this house.

  “You mean to develop games like Call of Duty?” my dad wants to know.

  Troy’s eyes widen slightly at the interest, but I’m not surprised. My dad is the biggest reader I’ve ever met, and he reads books on every subject known to man. I’m sure that while he’s never played a video game in his life, he can tell you the names of at least ten popular games. Hell, he probably knows more about it than I do.

  “For example,” Troy says. “Personally, I’m not the biggest fan of first person shooter games, but both the complexity and the design of that game are undeniable.”

  “What kind of games would you like to develop?” Dad asks.

  Troy drags a hand through his hair. “Erm, I’m working on a mobile game right now with a friend. It’s a good way to start for us, because we don’t have much experience yet. Mobile games are way easier to develop than complex games for consoles or MMORPG games. That takes years of experience and way more skills than I possess right now.”

  “You have to start somewhere,” Dad says. “I bet you the folks who developed World of Warcraft or Elder Scrolls started small as well. They didn’t create games like that overnight.”

  Troy’s eyes lighten up. “Do you play, Joe?”

  I love how he skipped the whole formal Mr. part and went right for informal. My dad loves it, as he’s the most relaxed, casual guy you’ll ever meet.

  “God, no, son. I don’t even own a computer. Susan has a laptop to do everything that needs to be done online, like paying bills and what not.”

  “And watching porn,” Mom deadpans, causing Troy to almost choke on his food. “My god, that new boy you found is cute.”

  “Which one, Pixie or Heart?” I ask with my mouth full, meanwhile keeping an eye on Troy as he bravely tries to recover from coughing up a bit of food, his eyes watering.

  “Pixie. Heart’s not cute. He’s fucking sexy, but not cute.”

  I quickly swallow. “True. They’re both great additions, and I love working with them, too.”

  “Susan, we were talking about games. Don’t get distracted by sexy boys all the time,” Dad admonishes her.

  Her face lights up, and her eyes sparkle. “But they’re so much fun to talk about!”

  Dad lets out a passive-aggressive sigh, before refocusing his attention on Troy. “But is that your goal, to work toward designing a big game?”

  There’s something in Troy’s eyes, as if he can’t believe my dad is interested in him. I could’ve told him he would be, because my dad is interested in everyone. He’s a people person, always enthusiastic to get to know people better. I guess I get that from him, because I’m pretty much the same.

  “I don’t know, really. For now, I’m excited about working on this game with Mason, because we work well together, and we complement each other.”

  “How’s your work been?” Mom asks me, as if I have a regular nine-to-five job.

  “That video with Campy, Heart, and Tank was a-ma-zing,” Marley gushes. “Holy fuck, it was so fucking hot!”

  Really?” Doug says, more resigned than mad. “More talk about porn?”

  “I seem to remember you reaped the benefits of that particular scene,” Marley states. “We had a hot—”

  Doug yanks her toward him and kisses her, probably the most effective way to shut her up.

  “I have to agree with Marley. That video was smoking hot,” Mom says.

  I’d love to say that this is abnormal, the way they gush about porn, gay porn specifically, but it’s not. This is how my family rolls. I’m pret
ty sure Troy can take it, though, once he stops being weirded out.

  “Reb—Hendrix came up with the idea for that shoot,” Troy says, and the pride in his voice is unmistakable. It does strange things to me inside, to hear him express admiration for what I do. Not only does he not have a problem with me shooting porn and working in this industry, he’s actually proud of what I do. It’s such a foreign concept to me after having so many boyfriends and potential boyfriends who broke up with me over my job, that I get all warm and fuzzy inside.

  “Bear had the basic idea of the exchange between Campy and Heart,” I say, not wanting to claim false glory.

  Troy fires me a look that shoots straight to my balls. It makes me want to drag him into a room, drop my pants, and bend over. I love it when he gets all bossy on me.

  “Shut up,” he says. “That idea was yours, and you know it.”

  “Hendrix working in porn is not an issue for you?” Mom asks.

  I hold my breath as I wait for him to answer this.

  “Not at all,” he says. “He’s really, really good at it, and I love watching him. Hey, I’m as big a fan of gay porn as anyone, so nope, all fine with me.”

  I exhale. As Marley and Troy get into a heated discussion over the best gay porn video ever made, my mom’s eyes meet mine. She smiles at me. He didn’t see through her trick question. If he and I had been just friends, as he claimed, the fact that I’m in porn wouldn’t even have been an issue. He didn’t answer that question as just a friend. He answered it as a boyfriend, and my mom and I both know it.

  22

  Troy

  After dinner, we head back to our hotel room on the other side of town. My thoughts are spinning over the entire evening. I don’t know what I expected after Rebel told me how cool his parents were, but I didn’t expect them to be like that. What must it have been like to grow up in a household so obviously full of love and support?

  I glance over at Rebel. The street lights play across his features as he drives, giving him an oddly ethereal look. I’m not sure I deserve to know someone as amazing as Rebel, but I’m going to appreciate it as long as I have the privilege. I just hope that eventually, when he’s gone from my life, he’ll still think of me from time to time. The thought of Rebel forgetting me entirely makes my stomach clench.