Screwed

by Van Barrett

  “Paul,” I said, putting an apologetic hand over his heart. “I'm really sorry about the felon remark. You were right, I don't know the story. I was just lashing out to hurt you, and that's fucked up. I'm sorry.”

  “It's okay.” He put his arm around me and squeezed me closer. “Sorry I, um, questioned if you were really gay or not.”

  “Yeah. Dick.” I pinched his ass. “I wish I wasn't. It would've made this stupid report of mine a little easier, anyway.”

  “Can I ask you a question?” Paul said.

  “Of course.”

  “When you told me about that Eric guy … you said he left for Chicago because he had a job … was that story real, or made up?”

  I nodded. “Eric was my boyfriend all throughout college. Yes, he really was offered an architecture job in Chicago, and no, I didn't go with him, because I had the internship lined up at Miami 8.”

  “So you guys broke up?”

  “Yep. Or, he broke up with me. I was willing to try long distance, because I really thought we could make it work. But, he didn't. He just couldn't believe I'd split us up over 'a fucking stupid internship,' as he called it. He told me I'd never get the job, that businesses loved internships because it was free labor for them, and why would they ever pay for something they could get for free, and so on.”

  “Damn,” Paul mumbled.

  “Which is partly why I've stuck around so long. To prove him wrong, I guess. It's funny, I finally get my chance to prove him wrong, and then I blow it.”

  Paul looked guilty. “Sorry.”

  “It's not your fault. It's mine.”

  “Can I ask you another question?”

  “Sure,” I said.

  “Why would you want to work for the news? Like, I know mechanic isn't the greatest job ever, but we're at least in demand. Aren't news stations kinda dying?”

  “Yeah … part of it was, my Grandpa was a news anchor. So, growing up and seeing Grandpa on TV was so cool. And another big part of it is, I've never been able to fix things like you, or build things with my hands, or be good at math or, hell, anything useful.”

  “Aw, c'mon,” Paul gave my shoulders a push. “You're smart as hell. I bet you can do a lot of things.”

  “Yeah … sure …” I chuckled cynically.

  A long silence followed.

  Paul took a deep breath and started to speak. “So. My grand theft auto.”

  “Wait wait wait,” I said, waving my hands. “Really, you don't have to tell me about it if you don't want to, Paul.”

  “I know. But I want to. And I'm telling you—I didn't do it.”

  I rested my head on his shoulder. “Isn't that what everybody says in jail?”

  “Seriously, though. It wasn't me. I didn't steal the car.”

  “Okay, now I'm curious.”

  “Remember my friend Chance?”

  “The best friend you experimented with, right?”

  “Yeah. Um.” Paul suddenly looked mildly embarrassed. “That was the same night, actually.”

  I sat up, my eyes widening. “Oh. Shit. This is starting to sound like a story.”

  “Yeah …” Paul paused to take a deep breath. “So. It was also the day of our high school graduation.”

  “Holy shit, Paul. What a day.”

  “Yup. After our graduation ceremony ended, we spent the night hopping from party to party, getting drunk as hell. You know how it goes—we were so excited to be done with high school, dude. Me, because I somehow managed to actually pass, even though I spent most my time working at the shop.”

  “You sell yourself too short, Paul. You're a smart guy.”

  “Yeah, well, compared to Chance, I'm not. Chance is this brilliant guy—he was actually a good student, even though he was into cars and secretly getting drunk and partying with me on the weekends. Hell, he was so smart, he'd earned a full scholarship to freakin' Harvard, believe it or not.”

  “Wow.”

  “So, this summer was supposed to be like, our last big hurrah, our last summer together. We'd hung out since we were damned kids, you know. And he was really there for me when my Dad died. It was like, I couldn't talk about that with anybody else but him. Not even my family. So … I guess, that whole senior year of ours, that was when things started to get confusing. I knew I didn't want Chance to go to Harvard, even though I was super happy for him. I wished he could stay, or I could go with him or something—of course, that was impossible. But I didn't know why I felt that way for him.”

  “Uh huh.”

  “So all night long, we're getting drunker and drunker, and we're not even paying attention to anyone else at the party. We're just sitting and talking with each other all night, which was pretty common when we hung out. But I made the mistake of telling Chance that we had a '69 Mustang fastback come in to Scud's that week. See, that was his favorite car—year, model, everything, even the paint color. So of course he became obsessed with wanting to see it.”

  “Uh oh. Think I see where this is going.”

  “Yeah. Well. We took a cab to Scud's, because there was no way in hell either of us were going to be able to drive. I knew it was a dumb idea, but I liked him so damned much, I let him talk me into it anyway … argh.”

  I frowned and gently stroked Paul's chest hair. “It's okay. You were young. Kids make mistakes all the time.”

  “Yeah, I guess so. Anyway. Once we got to the shop, Chance saw the 'Stang and his eyes just lit up. He was practically drooling over how perfect it was. And, before long, he started begging me for the keys.”

  “Nooo,” I wailed, even though it was obvious how this story of Paul's would turn out.

  “'Just to sit in it,' he begged over and over. Still, I told him no, that Carl would kill me if he found out. But Chance swore up and down no one would find out because he wouldn't start it, and he only wanted to sit in the driver seat and hold the wheel. Eventually, he broke me down. I gave him the damn keys and we climbed in.”

  “And lemme guess, he started it right away?”

  Paul shook his head. “No, he was true to his word. We sat in it. Yeah, okay, he put the keys in the ignition and turned—but only enough to switch the radio on. And we listened to the radio for a bit. And we talked about how exciting all these life changes were going to be—well, he was excited, because his life was moving forward. Mine was pretty much, well … Scud's until the end of time, and my best friend was moving away, so yeah, I wasn't all that excited.”

  “Uh huh.”

  “And I don't know what came over me. Because Chance was ready to take the car keys out and we were going to start walking home. But he looked at me and thanked me for making his night 'just about perfect.' And I guess it was that 'just about' part that made me think things could get more perfect. So I leaned over the console and fucking …” Paul slammed his fist into the sand with shame. “I did it.”

  “What?”

  “I kissed him, dude. I don't know where it came from. I just felt possessed, like I had to, and of course the alcohol didn't help. In fact, I blamed that kiss on the alcohol for years … but now I'm obviously rethinking that …”

  “Then what happened?!”

  “Chance didn't stop me, but he didn't kiss me back, either. He sort of just sat there and … took it. He was probably too damned frightened to know what to do. And uh. When I leaned back, I noticed his eyes were huge—just absolutely huge and wild and scared. And then, without saying a word, Chance turned the key, fired the engine up, threw it in reverse and stomped on the gas.”

  “Holy shit.”

  “Yeah. That's exactly what I said when I screamed. A second later, Chance smashed the back of the car right into the electricity pole in our parking lot.”

  “Holy shit.”

  “Fucked the guy's transmission up and destroyed his rear-end. Can you believe it? He leaves his car at Scud's for some brake work, and ends up with his Mustang wrapped around a pole.”

  “So what happened with Chance?”

&
nbsp; “Well … he killed the engine, and we climbed out and just sort of silently stared at how fucked up the car was. It looked really, really bad. Once Chance could talk, he started freaking out about how this was going to cost him his scholarship. He didn't even mention the kiss. Maybe the car wreck was so traumatic, he fucking straight up forgot it happened. Maybe that's why he wrecked it in the first place? I don't know. But I sure hadn't forgotten. I felt horrible. Chance was so excited to start his college career, and then I surprise him with a kiss and ruin his life?” Paul shook his head. “I couldn't let it happen. Especially because my life wasn't going anywhere. My Dad was gone, Carl had taken his shop, my best friend was leaving me and I just felt stuck.”

  “Paul,” I pouted, putting my palm to his cheek.

  “So I told Chance I'd take the blame for it. So while he ran home, I stayed behind at the scene until I sobered up. Then I called the cops, and the rest is—well, public record, I guess. Did a year in county jail. Wasn't too bad, honestly. I got to read a lot of books, and I got jacked as fuck.” Paul flexed his bicep, which I happily wrapped my fingers around and squeezed. “At least I didn't have to do time in actual prison. County jail wasn't that bad at all.”

  “God damn, Paul. I'm so sorry. I guess Carl was pissed?”

  “Do you even have to ask? It's amazing he even hired me back once I got out. He didn't want to, but with that record of mine, no one else was going to give me a shot. I even told Carl what really happened that night—minus the kiss—but it didn't help any. It just made Carl suspicious of why I'd help a friend out like that. And since I just got out of jail, he started making all these dumb prison-sex jokes. But I guess he was right to be suspicious about me …”

  “No. He's got no right to joke about that at all. Fuck him.” I shook my head angrily. “Did Chance ever say anything about what happened?”

  “Nope. He messaged me before I went in to serve my time—just a text that said, 'thank you Paul.' But once I got out, he wouldn't reply to any messages I sent him. He went totally silent on me, even though I could see him posting things to other people. It hurt at first. But now? Whatever. He doesn't want anything to do with me. And I guess I can't blame him. I shouldn't have tried that stupid kiss. I dunno what I was thinking.”

  “It's not your fault, Paul.” I kissed his cheek softly.

  “You wanna know what the worst part was?” Paul asked rhetorically. “Everything turned out so disastrously thanks to that kiss … but, honestly when my lips were on his? For the first time, I felt something in a kiss that I didn't feel with girls. It felt so perfect, so right. Obviously it wasn't those things at all, because he didn't want it, and things immediately went south. But that's when things started to get real fucked up for me in my head. After I got out of jail, I tried to date a few girls, but I just couldn't even kiss them without focusing on how there was no spark between us.”

  “Dude, Paul. You were traumatized. It's amazing you came out of that without being fucked up.”

  He grinned. “You don't think I'm fucked up?”

  “Nope. Believe me, I've made similar mistakes from guys who I could've sworn were flirting with me, only to have them act all shocked and innocent and virginal when I finally made a move on them. Thankfully, it never blew up in my face like that, but that's always a concern, you know?”

  “Really?” Paul asked.

  “Oh, yeah. Honestly? To me, Chance sounds kind of like a psycho dick.”

  Paul laughed. “Yeah? Think so?”

  “Yeah, dude. He didn't have to wreck the damn car to get back at you. Jesus. A simple 'thanks, bro, but I'm not feelin' ya quite like that' would've done the trick.”

  “I don't know,” Paul shrugged. “Who knows if the crash was intentional or not. I guess I'll never know, since he's still dead-set on ghosting me, years later.”

  “You're way too nice, Paul. I can't believe you went to jail for that guy! I never would've done a day for that ass-hat.”

  Paul's big chest heaved with laughter—it was good to see him smile and laugh after telling me such a sad story. He punched my shoulder playfully. “I guess that means you won't have my back if we ever get into some illegal shit, huh?”

  I climbed on top of him. “I said I wouldn't do time for that ass-hat. I'd totally do some time for you.”

  Paul smiled cutely—he liked hearing that.

  “Thanks,” he said softly. “I know you're just playing. But still. It means a lot.”

  “Aw, Paul,” I said with a frown. I leaned in and gave him a long, soulful kiss. We kissed each other deeper, and like clockwork, both our cocks began to lengthen and firm. We thrust our hips together, my cock pumping and sliding against Paul's as we grew harder.

  But the sound of jingling metal nearby made us cease with fear. Our heads whipped to the side, where a young couple took their dog on a night stroll along the beach. The dog shook his head, and his collar tags tinkled.

  They looked right at us. In the dark of the night, we must've looked like a confusing mass of human flesh. Paul and I clutched at each other, tried to jam our bodies closer, to hide from them and take refuge in each other.

  “Oh, erm, hi!” the husband said, and he jerked his head so he stared straight forward.

  He must've figured it out.

  We watched until they were gone. And then we cracked up, holding each other, burying our shameful expressions in the crook of each other's shoulder.

  Paul was still laughing when he asked, “Notice how the husband was trying so hard to see who was boning on the beach—until he finally figured out it was two men?”

  “God, yes,” I said, slapping my forehead. “With the way he whipped his head around once he saw us, I think it's safe to say, he was definitely hoping to see some titties. Not two guys.”

  We laughed.

  “Well, it looks like I'm about to put your jail vow to the test,” Paul joked, “because if we keep trying to bone out here on the beach, we're both going to get locked up for public indecency.”

  “You're right,” I admitted with a sigh.

  Paul rolled out from under me, stood and started to step into his jumpsuit.

  “But wait,” I said. “One last thing before we go.”

  With one leg in his jumpsuit, Paul froze.

  “I've got sand all over my ass and cock. I gotta rinse off,” I said.

  Without another word, I took off in a mad dash for the ocean.

  “Hey!” Paul shouted. “Wait!”

  I looked over my shoulder, and there he was, butt-naked, his manly, half-mast cock swinging from one powerful thigh to the other as he charged after me.

  I dove into the water, went under and swam, hoping Paul would chase me.

  This is fun. A lot of fun.

  Almost enough fun to take my mind off the horrible mess I'd created … almost.

  Chapter 18

  Spending the Night

  Paul

  Liam's salt-water kisses still lingered on my lips while I drove over the causeway. Without a beach towel, I'd stepped into my jumpsuit sopping wet. The RX-7's driver seat was wet now, too. I couldn't wait to get home, dry off, and put on some real clothes.

  Liam's headlights shone bright in my rear-view mirror. I'd invited him back to my place so we could chat about saving our jobs, or something. I figured that was impossible—I thought we were both screwed. Really, I just wanted to hang out with Liam some more.

  But who knows?

  ***

  I led Liam up the stairs to my apartment building.

  “Can't wait to see what your place looks like,” Liam said with a chuckle.

  “Oh yeah? What do you think it's gonna be like?”

  “I'm picturing disemboweled car parts everywhere … various bottles and cans of automotive fluids and sprays everywhere … posters of hot rods and big breasted babes in bikinis plastered to the wall … beer bottles littering the counter-top …”

  “Gee,” I laughed. “Tell me what you really think of me.”
/>
  Liam slapped my back. “I'm just kidding, Paul. I have no idea what your place is going to look like. But either way, you saw my apartment … which is an absolute landfill. So, trust me, no matter how bad your place is, mine can't be much better.”

  I chuckled. I stopped in front of my door and reached for my keys. “Got that right. You need to clean your place, man. Especially if you're going to try to convince people you're a doctor.”

  Liam sighed. “Thankfully, I think I'm done doing that.”

  I opened the door and let Liam walk in first. I flicked the lights on behind him.

  Liam took a stunned step in, walked all around my place, and came back to me muttering. “Oh, damn it, Paul!”

  “What?”

  “Now I look like an even bigger ass. Your place isn't just nice, it's freakin' spotless! What the hell!”

  I laughed. “And that upsets you?”

  “Yeah! Where's all the car parts?”

  “I keep my work at the garage, obviously. Why would I bring all that oily shit into my apartment?”

  Liam frowned. “I mean, of course you wouldn't. That makes perfect sense.”

  I scratched my head. “Why do I feel like you were hoping to see a mess?”

  “Okay, I'll admit it. It's a little sexy, picturing you as this ultra-greased up and muscular mechanic, who lives in oily squalor because he's just truly that obsessed with tinkering on cars. But, honestly, I think that'd get old really fast if I actually had to put up with it. It's just a weird fantasy.”

  “I'll say.” I let out a yawn. “Mm, man. I'm getting tired. Better hop in the shower before it's too late.”

  Liam neared and put his hands all over me. “Shower sounds nice.”

  I smirked. “You want to join me?”

  “I was hoping you'd ask.”

  I led Liam to the bathroom and we stripped out of our clothes in a hurry.

  A second later and we were holding each other and kissing under that hot stream of water. Liam reached for a bar of soap. Without a word, he ran the soap all over my muscles, worked up a lather, and massaged every inch of my skin.