Wild Boys

by Richard Labonté

  Lonnahan’s torso, biceps, deep pecs, all flashed red and white from a cop car idling at the college boys’ porch.

  Oh, Daddy.

  Blinker flung himself around Lonnahan’s shoulders and mashed down on Lonnahan’s cock.

  He knew he was a bitch.

  GOING BACK FOR THIRDS

  Hank Edwards

  The bleacher beneath me is cold, hard and uncomfortable. I usually enjoy sitting on hard objects, but when the temperature is hovering in the forties and the object happens to be made of aluminum, everything changes. I shiver in a fresh gust of wind and wrap my arms more tightly around myself, wondering just why the fuck I had agreed to this in the first place.

  On the field below, the players break their huddle and line up. I take a long, lingering look at the young, firm asscheeks hugged by tight-fitting uniform pants before the ball is snapped and the play commences. The quarterback falls back, searching for a viable target. He finds an open man, cocks his arm and sends the ball spiraling down the field to his teammate. The receiver catches it with ease, tucks it into the crook of his arm and sprints to the end zone as the crowd, myself included, gets to its feet screaming with joy.

  The kid who just scored is my ex’s nephew, Brady. He’s attending college across the country from his family and, at my ex’s request, I came to watch his game today. The first time I met Brady was twelve years ago at a Fourth of July gathering my ex, Robert, dragged me to. Brady was eight then, a stocky, sports-loving kid with a broad smile and more energy than two suns. He was the third of five kids pumped out by Robert’s sister, Madeline, and her husband, Greg. Robert and I had been going out for six months and this was the first time I was meeting his entire family. A little overwhelmed and feeling put out of sorts by all the familiar conversation going on around me, I stepped out into the yard for a moment to myself. I found Brady punting a football, chasing it across the yard only to turn around and punt it again. The kid cajoled me into tossing the ball with him and we spent an hour laughing and playing catch until Robert stepped out on the deck and called us in for dinner. I saw Brady a few times after that, all within the year Robert and I dated. We bonded a little because we both felt like outcasts at those gatherings: him the middle child and me his uncle’s reluctantly acknowledged male date.

  And so here I sit, watching as Brady, now twenty and playing college football, struts off the field. I wait a bit for the stands to clear before I make my way down and into the hall outside the locker room. The place smells of college man sweat, soap, and fresh dirt from the field, a mixture that shoots straight to my crotch and gets me half hard in minutes. I may be forty-four, but the plumbing works just as well as it did twenty years ago.

  I wait for half an hour, talking with the quarterback’s parents, who are smiling so broadly I fear their faces may split in half. The door to the locker room bangs open and a muscular group of players pours out, yelling and whooping and punching each other as they head for the exit. They all smell of soap and cologne and, just lightly, of clean, fresh sweat. My cock swells even more and I turn to watch the group of them run off down the hall, squinting to see if Brady is mixed in with them.

  “Mike?” The voice is deep, tentatively hopeful.

  I turn and feel a flutter in my heart at the sight of him. Brady has grown into a hot young man. Wide hazel eyes; dark red hair; broad smile filled with white, even teeth; square jaw shadowed with stubble. He stands six-three, an inch shorter than me, but his shoulders are broader.

  “Uh, yeah,” I say, caught off guard by my reaction to him. “I’m surprised you recognized me.”

  “Are you kidding? You were my hero!” He moves up to throw his strong arms around me, hugging me tight. I hesitate then hug him back, my hands feeling the muscles in his back even through his jacket. He steps back and his eyes take in my face. “Wow, it’s so great to see you. I knew you lived out here but never thought I’d get to see you.”

  I shrug, embarrassed and turned on and flustered. “Well, your Uncle Robert wanted me to come watch the game so you’d have someone representing your family here. No one back home could get away.”

  “Yeah, I was bummed about that.” He takes a breath and turns to wave as a few more guys file out of the locker room and pat him on the back, then he looks back to me. “What are you planning to do now?”

  I blink and stuff my hands in my pockets to try and disguise my erection. “Um, well, you know. Probably head back to my apartment and get some things done around the house. I’m sure you’ve got parties to go to; I don’t want to keep you, just wanted to let you know someone from your past saw your amazing play.”

  He grins at me. “Well, there is a party later, but how about we go to dinner and catch up? It’s been a long time.”

  I catch myself nodding without realizing it. “Okay, sure. Dinner would be great.”

  I drive us to a steak house and am amazed at how open and comfortable Brady feels around me. I only saw him three times the entire year I dated his uncle. Robert and I broke up with the mutual decision we made better friends than lovers and have kept in touch ever since. I had heard about Brady’s exploits as the kid grew up, saw the occasional school photo framed on Robert’s desk but never saw him in person again until today.

  “When did you move out here to California?” Brady asks as he slathers butter across a thick slice of warm bread.

  “About five years ago. I got a promotion and was able to transfer to the Los Angeles office. I miss Boston the city, but not the weather.”

  Brady grins. “I hear that.” He tears the buttered bread apart, thoughtful. “So, do you talk to Uncle Robert a lot?”

  I shrug. “Sure. We’re still good friends. We decided we were better friends than…” I let my voice trail off, not sure how much Brady knows about his uncle’s personal life.

  He looks up with a smirk. “It’s okay, Mike. I’ve known Uncle Robert is gay for a long time.” He sits back as the waitress places a thick, steaming steak before him. When she leaves he looks me in the eye and says, “I really liked you. I was bummed when you stopped coming to the family gatherings.”

  I don’t know what to say and struggle for words. “Well, sometimes things just don’t work out between people.”

  “Yeah, sometimes.” He carves into his steak and pops a piece into his mouth, closing his eyes and moaning. “God, this is so good. I never eat like this.”

  “Welcome to college, here’s your boxed macaroni and cheese and pizza coupons,” I say and he laughs.

  “Yeah, really. That should be part of the orientation.” He focuses on cutting his meat, quiet, then asks, “So, are you dating anyone now?”

  My stomach clenches at the hint of interest in his voice and manner. What the hell is going on? Brady is twenty-four years younger than I am; I dated his uncle, surely that makes what I cannot help watching in the back of my mind like some kind of endlessly looping porn film somehow wrong.

  “Um, no. No one special.” I tuck into my own steak and we fall silent as we both eat.

  Later, I drop Brady off at his dorm and hand him a card with my various phone numbers listed. “Here. If you need something, give me a call okay? I know it’s tough to be so far away from your family.”

  He leans down into the car and smiles at me as he slides the card into the back pocket of his jeans. I envy that card for a brief moment, tucked so close to the firm swell of his ass, then turn my attention back to his bright, hazel eyes.

  “Thanks for dinner, Mike. It made the game a lot more special knowing someone I knew was watching. I’ll talk to you soon.”

  “Take it easy, Brady.”

  I watch him take the steps to his dorm three at a time and consider those long, strong legs wrapped around my waist as I drive myself into his tight, willing ass faster and faster.

  Shaking myself from the fantasy, I shift into DRIVE and head for my apartment. The moment I let myself in the door I begin to strip and move right to the bedroom. My cock is at full mast, p
recum dribbling down the pulsing shaft. I lie back on the comforter, wrap my hand around my aching dick and begin to stroke furiously. Images of Brady’s young, strong body flip through my mind as I reach down with my left hand and stretch my balls out between my legs. I can see Brady’s tight, pale asscheeks spread wide as I bury my face between them, my mouth and tongue working over his throbbing anus. Flash to his hard, strong cock, standing tall and proud over his dark red bush. Runners of my spit glide along the length to pool on his balls and in his pubes as I suck him hard and fast. My cock, in turn, is stuffed in Brady’s mouth, his full lips clamped tight around it as I thrust into his throat, fucking his face.

  I grunt as my balls fire off their pent-up load and cum splatters over my flat, hairy belly and up to my broad chest. I squeeze the slick, fat head of my cock, milking the last few drops of my spunk from the slit.

  Afterward, I stand beneath the hot spray of the shower and try to stop thinking about Robert’s nephew, focusing instead on the pile of paperwork I brought home with me on Friday. The trick works; my erection fades and I turn off the water, determined to get my mind off Brady.

  A few weeks later I find myself staring at the calendar in disbelief. Good god, how did it get to be the Tuesday before Thanksgiving already? I’ve been consumed by work and have not had a chance to attend any more of Brady’s games. I have called his dorm room a few times, left a couple of messages on his voice mail and received messages back from him, but we have not yet been able to connect. As I contemplate the image of another lonely Thanksgiving dinner spent eating alone in a restaurant and maybe going to see a movie by myself, I keep thinking of Brady. The kid has to be lonely this time of year. He’s away from his family, his old friends. True, he has new friends, but most college kids go home for Thanksgiving to be with their families. Unless their family lives thousands of miles away.

  I shake my head as I open my address book, pick up the phone and dial his number. This is ridiculous. He’s going to have plans already and I’m going to appear to be a pathetic and lonely old man, which, apparently, I have become.

  “Yo, Brady here, bust me a rhyme.”

  Thinking it is the voice mail again, I pause and wait for the beep.

  “Hello?” It’s his voice, questioning but friendly.

  “Oh, Brady?” I stammer. “It’s Mike. Mike Nelson.”

  “Hey, big Mike! How’s it going?”

  The kid sounds excited to hear from me and the tone of his voice lends me courage. “I’m well, thanks. Look, I know it’s short notice, but I just realized this Thursday is Thanksgiving and I wanted to check and see if you had made any dinner plans. Thought I might whip us up something if you didn’t have anything else going on.”

  “Oh, wow, that would be great,” Brady replies. “That’s so cool of you to invite me over. All I had to look forward to was cafeteria food, and ‘look forward to’ is really a euphemism for ‘Oh dear god, please let me die now,’ you know?”

  We both laugh then he tells me he’ll grab a cab or a bus over and not to worry about picking him up. I give him my address and tell him I’ll supply all the food then hang up, simultaneously cursing myself and looking forward to Thanksgiving.

  Thanksgiving morning I start to make dinner. I don’t normally cook a lot; being single makes it tough, but I’m no slouch in the kitchen. I lather a ten-pound turkey with butter and seasonings, all the while trying not to imagine Brady himself stretched out on rubber sheets and covered with butter. I busy myself even more, keeping my mind distracted as I whip potatoes, slide the yams in the oven and cut up bacon for the green beans.

  Right at three p.m. the bell announces Brady’s arrival and I buzz him into the building, popping the hall door open and returning to the kitchen.

  “Gobble, gobble,” Brady calls and I turn to take him in. He’s the picture of young health, wearing his letter jacket over khakis that fit him like old denim, and a green button-down shirt left open to reveal tufts of dark red hair on his chest, the material’s color bringing out the green in his eyes.

  I swoon at the sight of him then smile as innocently as possible. “Hey there, Happy Thanksgiving. Come on in and make yourself at home.”

  Brady drops his jacket on a chair and comes into the kitchen to stand behind me, a hand pressed against my back as he looks down to where I’m cutting celery for appetizers. He places a bottle of wine on the counter and I narrow my eyes at him.

  “How did you buy that? You’re only twenty.”

  He shrugs and grins, snatching a piece of celery to munch as he looks around at the dishes I’ve dirtied so far. “I’ve got my resources. Jesus, did you use every dish in the place?”

  “Not yet,” I reply. “But it’s on my to-do list.”

  Brady starts rolling up his sleeves and moves toward the sink. “Looks like I’ll earn this dinner.”

  “Hey, Brady, you don’t have to do that. I’ll clean up later.”

  Brady shakes his head. “After dinner is for visiting and getting to know the host. I don’t want a pile of dishes waiting once the tryptophan kicks in.”

  We work well together; Brady cleans each dish and utensil and places it in the dish rack to dry as I bustle around him chopping and basting and stirring. I try not to stare too often, but his ass is a thing of beauty snuggled beneath the light khaki material and I cannot help myself. Once or twice he catches me looking and I blush.

  “Sorry, it’s just that you look so much like your mother,” I explain, which he does.

  “Yeah, I get that a lot.”

  Dinner is finally ready and, as Brady is retuning the last mixing bowl to its rightful place, I set the turkey on the table and light the candles. He stands beside me, his hand on my back again, and looks at the table setting with shining eyes.

  “Mike, this is so great of you,” he says quietly. “I’ve been feeling really lonely out here this year. For some reason, this year is worse than my freshman year.”

  “Well, don’t worry about that today. You’re with a friend.”

  He turns to look at me, his face serious, and he says, “Thanks, that means a lot.”

  I tear my eyes from his and wave him to a chair at the end of the table. “Please, sit. I’ll pour us some wine if you’ll carve the turkey.”

  The meal is delicious, more so than I had hoped, and between the two of us we devour the turkey and most of the trimmings. Conversation runs from my job to his classes to the goings on of his family back home, but never once does he mention a girlfriend or, for that matter, boyfriend.

  We leave the dishes to soak in the sink and move into the living room. I light the gas fireplace and several more candles scattered around the room. Brady chooses classical CDs from my collection and loads them into my player and we both sit on the soft leather couch.

  “So, anyone special in your life?” I ask, ignoring the warning bells going off in the back of my mind.

  Brady grins and stares into his wineglass. “No, not yet.”

  “Haven’t found the right girl?”

  He shrugs, keeping his eyes from me. “Something like that.” He’s quiet a little longer then says, “It’s hard to find the qualities I like in the people around me.”

  I raise my eyebrows at this. “Oh? Qualities like what?”

  “Oh, you know. Stuff like life experience, maturity, personality.” He glances at me then darts his eyes away. “Things that most college kids won’t have for years.”

  My cock begins to harden at the ideas running rampant in my mind and I chug the last of my wine, getting up to pour myself another glass as I say, “Sounds like you’re attracted to older women.”

  “You could say that.” He downs his own wine and holds out his glass for a refill. I turn away to set the wine on the table and when I turn back he has moved closer to my spot on the couch. Not much closer, but enough that I can tell he has done it.

  I sit in my same spot, aware of the waves of heat coming off his strong body. “Brady, let me ask you a personal qu
estion.”

  He puts his head back against the cushion and smiles at me. “Sure, ask away.”

  “Are you gay?”

  He is quiet, his eyes staring right into mine, then he nods and looks away. “Yeah. But don’t tell my folks or Uncle Robert. They don’t know yet.”

  “You know, it’s not such a bad thing.”

  “Oh, I know, it’s just…they’d have trouble with it at first, and I want to get some more experience before I tell them.”

  “More experience?”

  He nods, spinning his wineglass slowly in his hand, eyes watching the swirling liquid. “I’ve fooled around with a few guys, but I’ve never gone all the way.” He looks back at me. “I’ve been waiting to do that with someone I trust. Someone I care about.”

  My cock is a raging spike of flesh in my pants, precum leaking into my boxer briefs and threatening to soak through my wool pants. I keep my eyes on Brady’s face as I ask, “What are you trying to say, Brady?”

  Instead of answering me, he slides quickly across the slick leather cushion and presses his mouth over mine. The stubble on his jaw scratches across my smooth skin and sends shivers down my spine. His tongue pokes roughly at my lips, begging for access, which I grant him, opening my mouth and taking it in. He groans and leans into me, his big hand falling into my lap where he encounters my rigid cock and gasps.

  “Oh, fuck,” he moans against my mouth, “you’re so fucking big and hard. Oh, fuck.”

  I put my hands on his shoulders and push him back a little, looking him in the eye. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

  “Oh, yeah,” he says in a breathy voice, his pupils dilated and his lips slightly swollen from the force of our kiss. “I’ve been attracted to you since I was eight.”

  I shake my head. “I feel like the priest in ‘The Thorn Birds,’” I mutter.

  Brady frowns. “Who?”

  “Never mind.” I lean forward, slowly, and cup his face in my palms. “You are a very attractive and outgoing kid. You could have anyone you wanted. Why me?”