Awesummer Pt. 02

When I woke up to the smell of dinner cooking, I rolled over onto my stomach, pulled a pillow over my head, and lay there thinking about how I'd just screwed up my relationship with my best friend forever. About how all this had started because I just had to laugh at Devin in his wet white underwear...just had to tell him to give me another dare...to ask him, later if I could touch it...

Why the hell had I even done that? What was my problem? I wasn't gay.

I'd better fucking not be, anyway.

But the more I thought about it, y'know, the more I thought about Ben Fishbein, and my kinda unhealthy obsession with him. Ben was a suave, popular guy in our class. I knew him from outside school, too, since he volunteered alongside Devin and me at B'nai B'rith Teen Connection. We'd also been in the same Boy Scout troop, before I got sick of Mr. Chapman and his death marches disguised as camping trips.

Ben was tall, and deep-voiced, with the natural, boyish good looks that so often bless a genuine mentsh. Broad-chested and thick-thighed, he was the kind of guy who barely needed to work out to look athletic. And he was always smiling, his dark blond hair falling behind his glasses and into his eyes in the most winsome way. On top of it all, he was stupid smart, yet never made a big deal out of it. Instead, he earned his praise by organizing everything that possibly could be organized on the Princeton-Eastwood campus, whether it was charity drives or class projects or just autumn leaves.

Ben was going to Berkeley this year, and somehow, that was the one thing that really made me regret half-assing high school enough to not get into Cal. And it wasn't even like we were friends, exactly! Much as I wished I had the guts to try to hang out with Ben outside school, I'd always felt there was no way he'd be interested. Famously nice as Ben was, that was one thing I could see him chortling at with distaste. Because I was a loser, y'know? I really sort of was.

A status not improved by me creepily sidling around next to Ben like we were friends, and not mere ex-troopmates, or whatever.

I just really liked being around him, O.K.?

And god, I was being brutally honest with myself, I could even admit that I'd thought about him in an impure way. I was even (my stomach gave a perilous lurch) pretty sure I'd touched myself to the thought of him...

Only while high, I amended, like this made it better.

If it was any comfort, though, Ben was Ben. I refused to believe I was the only straight guy who'd ever taken an inexplicable interest in Ben Fishbein. He had this incredible magnetism. This whole sexy, self-confident, special...something.

But then there was Devin. He wasn't just not Ben Fishbein, God's gift to boys next door--he'd also been my best friend for years. And I didn't know what the hell to make of the fact that I'd definitely enjoyed whatever had passed between us on the couch. Up until he came and started losing his mind, anyway.

Speaking of, I didn't get why he'd gone ahead and kinda encouraged me to do that stuff, if he was only going to freak out after and then not finish me off in return. A meaner person than me would've called it manipulative as hell. Then again, it wasn't like I was so great at thinking straight when I was horny, either. Hell, if I'd come first maybe I would've done the same thing....

I passed a very unpleasant night like that, chasing my tail, wondering what was going through Devin's head right now. Wondering what would happen tomorrow. If I should call him tonight and act like nothing was wrong. If I should call and apologize. If I should, shouldn't, should...

I fell asleep like that. Only to wake up a few hours later with no thoughts on my mind at all--nothing except a strong desire to attend to the boner I was sporting. And maybe a shadow of desire for stupid, sexy Ben Fishbein.

I whacked myself off at top speed and came hard, really hard. But at least I fell back asleep so fast afterwards, I didn't even have time to feel guilty.

The next morning, I sat on the couch stirring the remains of cornflakes and rotting my brains out with crappy daytime TV. Two hours had passed since my parents had left for my dad's orthodontist practice, where they both worked. While Devin and I pretty much hung out every day, he did usually call me to say he was about to ride down. And he almost always called at around....well, shit, he would've called about half an hour ago.

I peeled myself off the couch, went for a swim, then sat inside with a headache until I got desperate enough to walk all the way over to the nearest park. It didn't help. I just sat under a tree, sweating my ass off as I bitterly watched a kids' birthday party and wondered what the hell everyone was so happy about. Because it damn sure wasn't the 98-degree heat out here, beating down on halfdead crabgrass.

If I was gonna be depressed, might as well be depressed in air-conditioning. So I trudged home. Checked the answering machine (blank). Unhungry, I drank some chocolate milk and then sat on the couch watching PBS, which was where Berta found me when she got home. And where my mom found me when my parents got home, too.

"Go read something," she said, killing the TV. She'd recognized the glazed eyes of a kid who's been watching the tube for hours.

So I went to my room and worked on White Noise until dinner. When I did come to the table, I just mopily picked at the enchiladas.

"Are you feeling all right?" my mom said, taking stock of my poor appetite.

"Yeah, it's hot out, that's all."

Later, I took a cold shower, got into bed, and jacked it to Neneh Cherry--my one celebrity obsession, she of the buffalo stance and the come hither eyebrows. And it seemed stupid to count "masturbating to a woman" as a victory for the day, but boy, I guess my standards had fallen.

The next day I slept in, stirring when my parents left for work and then purposefully falling back to sleep. Part of me hoped I would wake up to the phone ringing. It didn't. I stayed in bed until I started to sweat, and then dragged myself to the freezer to jam a Fudgesicle into my mouth.

I played Legend of Zelda, and moped. Ate two popsicles--blue flavor, whatever the hell that was. Watched TV. Finally got hungry enough to fress on cold leftover enchiladas right from the dish, like some kind of fridge goblin. Brooded. Watched more TV.

When Berta showed up, she finally asked, "No Devin?"

"No, he, uh...hasn't been feeling well."

"¿Y tú, te sientes mal también? No comes nada."

"It's just calor," I said, in egregious Spanglish. "Anyway, I had those enchiladas."

She just told me to eat some carrots, before I burned my eyes out from TV.

The next day I woke up early, sheets kicked into a coil, already sweating. This was the kind of heat not even an air conditioner could fully cure. As soon as my parents left for work--my dad's office was open on Saturdays--I made myself get up. Groaned aloud at the sight of the thermometer on the back patio. It was already ninety degrees out, at only half past nine.

I slurped down some raisin bran and then lay in front of the TV, right on the floor. The weather lady was smiling way too hard for someone reporting the 103 degrees we could all look forward to this afternoon.

When the phone rang, I hardly stirred. It was bound to be for one of my parents; people always forgot they worked Saturdays. On ring four, I finally crawled over to pick up.

"Feldman/Stern residence," I said dully.

"Hey, dude, it's me," Devin said, all casual.

"Oh, uh--hi, what's up?" I said, trying to match his tone. I glanced at the clock. It was his usual time to call. Like nothing had ever happened.

"Can I come over?" he said, which did sound a little odd. Normally he wasn't asking, he was just telling. But I told him sure, of course, man...come over. "Cool, see you in a few."

"See you," I said, though the line was already dead. I hung up feeling perplexed, and almost crazy. Like, did we or did we not jerk each other off, and then stop talking for two days? Unless...

My imagination instantly went into hellish overdrive. God, maybe Devin had only sounded happy and relaxed in the way a suicidal person starts sounding happy and relaxed, because they know it's gonna be over soon. Like, maybe he was about to kill our friendship for good, or some fucking shit. Or maybe it was me he was gonna kill. You know, figuratively.

Man...was I crazy to be worried my best friend might beat me up? I felt like I was being crazy. Then again, if you'd told me a week ago that we were gonna beat each other off and then stop talking, I would've punched you for so lamely trying to fuck with me.

Whatever was going on, I felt there was no way it could be good. My stomach turned from gold back to lead, and I grimly slouched down the hall to throw some clothes on and groom myself like a half-decent adult. I hadn't shaved in two days.

By the time I was trying to pick a fleck of raisin off my teeth, the doorbell rang.

"Hang on!"

As I loped to the door, Devin started pounding the bell like it owed him money, as was his way.

"Hey," he said, bursting past me into the entryway, and kicking off his shoes.

"Hey..."

"Paper said it's gonna be 103," he was saying. "Blows, right? But I brought my trunks this time. We can go swimming."

"Cool, yeah," I said, swallowing hard. "I mean, yeah, that'd be cool."

Devin was just staring at me, all guileless. Was he trying to get my guard down?

Looking awkwardly away, I added only that I was gonna go change.

"See you in a few," he said, sounding almost suspiciously chill at this point.

By the time I joined Devin outside, my feet hopping like fish over the sizzling patio, he was already gliding around on his back in the pool.

"Oh, hey," he said, rolling over to grab a pool noodle to screw around with. I just slid into the water without comment. I mean, I didn't really know what to say. But then Devin started this ordinary conversation with me, and I guess I had to figure he for-real wasn't fucking with me; he was only trying to get us back to normal. And it was working. Pretty soon, it was like the past three days had never existed. A blissful return to your regularly scheduled programming of Awesummer...

When a lull eventually settled in, I sighed and remarked that we really had to go up to Devin's house one of these days, to catch some TV. "I miss the movie channels. I really miss MTV."

"You miss Cinemax."

"Well, yeah..."

"They played some good shit the other night," Devin informed me. "Ever heard of Beyond the Valley of the Dolls?"

"Uh, isn't that supposed to be, like, horrible?"

"Who cares? All you need to know is it's rated X...jerkoff central, dude. I came like three times."

"Huh," I said, completely awkward.

"You wanna hear about it?" he said, but I just laughed like a moron, and he fell silent.

At once, I wanted to say, wait, never mind, I do wanna hear. Come over and tell me about it, man. But I was just too damn anxious to do any such thing. Instead we descended into a pained silence.

Devin was the one to break it. Breaching the water and planting his elbows on the concrete, all phocine, he said abruptly, "I'm gonna go get my pipe. You in?"

Well, sure. Sobriety had almost never felt as miserable as it did right now. Which was probably why I wound up smoking more than I knew I should.

Within ten minutes, we were parked in adjacent corners of the pool, very stoned, soaking up the shade of the overgrown fig tree. I stared up at the undersides of its broad lobed leaves, strained through with sunlight. Their bold overlapping shapes belonged to a Matisse cut-out.

Around my body, the dapple of the water stirred. The pool filter hummed; I felt it settling on my spine. Far away, I could hear a raven's scuttling throat call, but the other birds were too listless to sing, and even the squirrel that normally bounced through this tree, on its course of fig destruction, was today splayed out on the shaded side of the bamboo planters.

My eyes drifted over toward Devin. I was startled to see him gazing back at me. He wasn't even trying to hide it--and didn't look away when our eyes met. At once, my face got hot, and I sank down into the water for cover. But under the surface, I only found myself staring at the wavery image of Devin's lower half...and finding myself disappointed at just how much his ordinary black trunks hid.

When I resurfaced, I was probably only blushing more than ever.

"Hey, I'm kinda getting pooled out," I said, dizzy with anxiety. I couldn't get over the idea that Devin somehow knew where I'd been looking just now, which was freaking me the absolute hell out. "I'm starting to get, uh. Pruney."

But Devin just grinned his sly grin of fuckery. "Oh, you want out, dude? Well, first you gotta pass the bouncer."

And in a flash, he'd stroked over to me, holding out his arms in a kind of basketball stance. Laughing, I torpedoed myself at him, and then we were wrestling underwater. I was so stoned, and so intent on getting the upper hand, I actually didn't notice at first that Devin's boner was poking my leg. No, more than poking...

He pretty much had to be pressing it against me deliberately.

We burst to the surface, gasping for air.

"Call that a tie?" was all I could say.

"Yep," Devin allowed, pushing his hair out of his eyes. Then he looked right at me again with his warm stoned eyes, faintly pink. "Listen, man," he said. "Sorry for ditching you for two days."

"Oh. Right, O.K."

"I'm an idiot," he said lightly.

"Nah." I punched him in the arm. "It's nothing."

"Well, good. 'Cause I love you, man."

"I love you too," I said, genuinely touched.

"Cool," he said, and then heaved himself out of the pool and onto the patio. I stayed in, watching as he rubbed himself down. Slinging the towel over his shoulder, he strolled inside, leaving the sliding glass door open behind him. At this, I followed, giving myself the most cursory of towel-downs.

Stepping into the air-conditioned house, I told Devin, "You're letting the cold out, y'know."

Standing aimlessly before the sofa, he said nothing. Just slicked his hair back again, and watched me pull the door shut, sealing us in. And at once I had this feeling--I felt this vibration.

The pot was what let me do it. Let me walk across the room, all casual. Let me face him, meet his eye. It was probably what made me glance down for a split second, too, glance below his waist. Even though I knew he'd see me do it.

He said more nothing. Just shrugged the towel off his shoulder...and then reached out to put his hand on my groin. So I reached out and did the same.

We both pretty instantly got hard.

With my heart in my ears, I undid the drawstrings of his swim trunks, and he did mine, moving like my mirror, my twin. And in unison, we both stepped out of our trunks into total nudity. We were not looking at each other, by now. Instead we had our ears aligned, pressed together between our heads, as we groped and felt up and gripped each other's dicks.

Devin was the one who started to jack me off first. I sighed with pleasure, allowing myself to rest my chin on his shoulder--only to jump when I felt his other hand alight on my back. But then I relaxed, as he very slowly rubbed up and down my spine, even as he very quickly rubbed up and down my hard cock. Ah. Oh. I was so aroused it hurt, getting to that space where I was kinda having to fight the urge to try and wrestle him to the ground, because fuck, I wanted to be on top of someone, I wanted to go animal, I wanted to go freak--

And yet I was also supremely peaceful, somehow. Impossibly safe and warm, with my body pressed against his familiar shape.

My hand had drifted off Devin amid my distraction, but now I felt for him again. Secured his dick in my palm, clutched that thick, radiant, nuclear-hot rod. Started to stroke it.

"Hmmm," was all he said, resting his chin on my shoulder. My other hand drifted up along his back, glancing over it, but ultimately it settled in his damp brown hair, so thick and warm against his head. I couldn't stop touching it--petting it, digging into it, loving on it--and I wanted to say it was just from being high, but I knew that wasn't all. Devin wasn't mad, though. He actually started jerking me harder, and then suddenly he was leaking precum, the feel of which got me harder in turn, and then we were both panting over each other, our bodies locked together.

I shoved my face into his neck, now, loving the warmth--the cologne of chlorine--his faint natural smell of skin and sweat and hormones--

He just ground his skull against mine, so hard it was like he wanted to meld.

Too soon, I felt myself gearing up to come. I almost pulled away, in the hopes of calming down enough to make this last longer. But Devin was so in tune with me right now, and he knew I was close, and right away he started jerking me like crazy.

My whole brain blotted out. Even the stem, apparently, because I couldn't breathe anymore. I was just gasping every ten seconds or so, when I remembered to, grunting as I leaned into Devin with one hand in his hair, and one snaking around his neck.

And yet somehow, when I was seconds from launch, I regained my sanity enough to pull away from him, and turn toward the TV instead. It had occurred to me that maybe Devin didn't realize just how close I was. Because I'd seriously been about to come right between us--right on his belly. And that seemed like a terrible violation. Like, it was gross even to me, the person not getting jizz on him. Not to mention, it seemed like a guaranteed ticket to Dev freaking right the hell back out.

But then he grabbed at me with a sort of ferocious affection, and yanked me back into our embrace. Shocked, I succumbed. I clasped at the small of his back as he grasped my cock and blasted it straight to liftoff.

I half-gasped, "Ohh," knees buckling, and came like I never had before. With my sticky cockhead pressed to Devin's treasure trail, I came, and came. I let my face fall to his shoulder, mouth parting in a half-formed kiss. I wasn't sure if it was for him or me that I backtracked it into a light little bite, instead.

"Oh god," I mumbled, as the orgasm died. "Oh, shit." And then I was sinking to one knee, feeling too weak to stand. Devin sank with me. "Wow. Mm."

But I only let myself recover for half a second before I grabbed for his cock again. Even after coming, I was still horny; I had yet to feel like I was freaking out. But I was certainly scared that might be on its way, and I figured I better act fast. Because I never wanted Devin to feel the sickening disappointment that I had, the other day.

We clumsily tipped over from our bended knees onto the hardwood floor and Devin settled into a supine position. I lay next to him with my head propped on my hand, jerking him in my more sensual style, occasionally rolling his balls in my hand. He had his eyes closed, but I could still watch the sensations play out on his face--the brow furrowed in bliss, the slight biting of his lower lip, the flush in his cheeks.

I admired for some blissful stretch of time. But then I couldn't hold back anymore. I let go of his sack and lay my cheek on his chest as I jerked him at high speed.

Against my skin, his heart was pounding loud. Even its slight benign murmur was in my ear, which was a sound I hadn't heard for years. Not since it was first diagnosed when we were thirteen, and he let me listen. Now here we were again, under wildly different circumstances...totally nude, on my living room floor, his dick in my hand. God, and the sight of my cum spackled in his belly hair made me swallow hard with fresh arousal--which only grew when Devin cupped the free side of my face, stroking my cheekbone with his thumb. As I squeezed my eyes shut, he moaned under his breath, and lifted his ass slightly off the ground...