The Long Run, page 18
“I dunno. You’re growing something.”
He smiled down and I realized I was about three more seconds of nipple talk away from half-mast. He laughed. “Is that a birthmark down there? I couldn’t tell for sure under the covers.”
The question held me in place for a moment. Because I realized then that no man alive had ever seen my birthmark. My mother had, of course, and Lucy caught a peek or two over the years but not Del. That’s for damn certain. And my father never bathed me. And even with a lifetime of locker rooms, the mark’s unique placement is sort of hidden. I looked down at myself and held up my penis. Under the tip of my dick, right where the head meets the shaft, there’s this almost triangle-shaped dot. Like the Great Pyramid. It’s actually kind of cool looking. I might even say I’m a little proud of it if I ever told a soul it existed.
“Yup. Had it as long as I can remember. My lil’ Bermuda Triangle.”
“It’s cool, man. Like an arrow.”
“Yeah. Lucy once told me I came with a built-in compass.” I wagged it at him. “You’ve now entered into rare company, Miceli. You’re the first dude to see it. Ever.”
“Bullshit. No one?”
“Nope. Not a one.”
“Wow. Exclusive.”
I felt my eyes wandering and switched topics from my dick to his. “So. Why aren’t you circumcised?”
Sandro’s answer shot out immediately. “Why the fuck are you?”
It was like I’d triggered some automated response installed in the guy many years and gym locker rooms ago. Shit. I shook my head. “I don’t mean... No, it’s cool. I like it.”
“Oh.”
“When I got your boxers off, I just... I didn’t expect it.”
Sandro nodded and looked down at his situation for a moment. “Oh. Well...yeah. Here’s my dick. Tada.” He did this little jazz hand thing that made me smile.
“It’s cool. Uncut. You don’t see that every day.”
Sandro shrugged, ready to move off it. “I don’t know, man, it’s just how we are. My family. My brothers and me.”
“Oh. Is that an Italian thing?”
“I think it might just be a Miceli thing. You’d have to ask my nonno.”
“For sure. Yeah, I plan to.”
He laughed at that but I could see Sandro’s hands twitching on his side. He wanted to cover up. Or at the very least get the spotlight off his hog.
Dro made a little motion with his finger. “Give us a twirl. Lemme see your butt.”
“My butt?”
“C’mon. I wanna look at you too.”
I sighed and turned around. I felt a bit silly at first because I guess I’d never showcased my ass before. The concept of mooning someone never strongly appealed to me. I thought about shaking it a little, getting a jiggle going, but settled on just a little sway. Back and forth. Nice and easy.
“How’m I looking?” I let the question hang for a little, keeping my sway going, but Sandro wasn’t saying anything back. I couldn’t see his face and, for a second, I got worried. Did I have a bad ass? “Dro?”
Then he laughed. “I mean...” He really, really laughed. “I mean, come ON.”
“Yeah? Good?”
“Amazing, dude. Just how I pictured.”
The laughter was contagious and pretty soon I was right there with him. “Shut the fuck up. You picture my ass a lot?”
“Blame those Adidas sweatpants. They frame it well. It’s very...perky.”
“Perky.”
“Pronounced.”
“Pronounced?”
Sandro groaned. “You got a big, round ass, Bash, what do you want me to say? I wanna play bongos on those cheeks till the sun comes up. Sue me.”
If I was a blushing guy, I think that would’ve got me there. I turned back around and waved off the sentiment. “Blame your squat routine. How ’bout you?”
“What about me?”
“Come on. Don’t think I haven’t noticed you in basketball shorts, Dro. You fill out.”
“No, no. You have a big ass. I have a fat ass. There’s a difference.”
I made the same little finger twirl back at him. “I’ll be the judge. Bongos.”
Sandro stared up at my ceiling for a second then let out a long sigh. He turned around, resting his fists on my desk. There wasn’t much hair on his back save for a patch above his ass. But his cheeks were basically hairless. I was honestly surprised. Because how could someone so big and hairy have such a cute butt? No other way to put it. Sandro Miceli had a cute little butt.
“It’s a good butt, dude.”
He was shifting his weight around. Really leaning on the desk. His foot was gonna start hurting him soon, I could tell. But it was more than that. He was starting to get uncomfortable with my little experiment. With my time-out. My eyes on him. Me.
“...It’s sexy.”
“What?” Dro turned back around. I could tell he was genuinely surprised to hear that. The guy’s “don’t fuck with me” face is one of his easiest to read.
“Your ass is sexy. So’s your chest. Your feet.”
“Sexy?”
“Sexy.”
As if on instinct, his hand found its way back to his stomach. Covering. I got serious. “Your stomach. Your fingers. You’re sexy.”
Sandro snorted. “C’mon.”
“That so unbelievable?”
“I mean...there’s no accounting for taste.”
“No one ever call you sexy before?”
He made a face. “Bash. Who in my life would ever say that to me?”
Fair. Dro wasn’t like me. He didn’t have people he could experiment with. He didn’t have hookups or play school girlfriends. He didn’t have vacation flings or summer crushes. However new all this felt to me, Sandro must’ve been feeling it ten times harder. We were both in uncharted territory, in different and similar ways, and I decided right then that if I was gonna be this guy’s first, I was gonna earn it.
I stood up a little straighter. “When I saw you in those little Italy shorts...the ones you wore to Beer Olympics?” My fingers grazed the hairs on my stomach. “I wanted to touch them. I wanted to feel what they felt like. Those legs. On mine.”
Sandro’s face got more serious. I nodded. Then I nodded at his dick. “And if I saw that earlier... I mean, if I caught that in the locker room, man, I don’t know what I would’ve done. That might’ve been it for me. I don’t think I could’ve handled it.”
Sandro laughed. “Like...in a good way?”
“In the best way. It’s fucking...that’s sexy, Dro. You’re so sexy to me, Sandro.” I smiled. Because it was true. But it’s like I was realizing it just as I was saying it. “And I think the way you clear your throat is hot. All deep and shit. And your sweat smells like...you smell so good, dude. Like the beach. And that time you broke that big stick over your knee? I fucking... I thought about that. A lot.” I laughed with him. “I know! I don’t know! I just thought it was hot and I think you’re hot and your hands... I just want them.”
“My hands?”
“I just want you.”
Sandro wiped some sweat from his forehead and smiled. “I want you too, Bash.”
I smiled back. But my eyes stayed on his dick. He was holding it and, even soft, that basketball-grip hand couldn’t hold it all. I felt my knees get a little shaky. The whistles were blowing, halftime was over, and I wanted to touch him.
Sandro chuckled. “Oh, what’s up, birthmark?”
There was no use hiding it. I was almost painfully hard watching him. And I felt the heat again. But this time was different. Quieter. There wasn’t an argument worth having anymore. Sandro looked me up and down, his grip starting to move. “How do you like it?”
“How?”
“Yeah. What do you want, B?”
I was working on myself then too. Showing Sandro what I’d like. What I was ready for him to do to me. My free hand moved to my chest. “This.” I felt my nipple. Something I’d been working on lately. Something I wanted Sandro to know about me. My body. “When you touch me...touch me here, okay?”
“Either?”
“Both. One at a time.”
“Okay.”
His hand never stopped moving. He never took his eyes off me. “You are...” But he smiled. “You’re so beautiful, Bash. I’ve been dying to say that, man. For months. You are so beautiful. How’d you fucking do that?”
I felt this warmth rush down my chest. Like a swallow of hot mint tea. I let it spread through me, watching Sandro watch me. Seeing how he took me in. And the way he looked at me. The way he fucking looked at me, man. However that boy must see me, to put that kind of smile on a person’s face, that’s how I knew. I knew I’d be okay. Whatever was about to happen, I knew Sandro would keep me safe. Because I knew what I wanted. And I knew what he wanted too. He couldn’t cover up if he tried. He couldn’t cover anything anymore. Neither could I.
I was ready.
I walked across the carpet to Sandro and I kissed him. I felt his hands on my ass and that poke in my hip. He pulled me close to him and squeezed. That basketball grip.
“So fucking beautiful.”
“Sandro.”
“So...so fucking...” His hands rubbed my bare ass and I could feel a chuckle. “How the hell is your ass hairier than mine?”
I cracked up laughing and buried my face in his chest. His hands kept squeezing me, feeling every part I wanted felt, and I shook when his whisper scratched against my ear. “You wanna?”
I nodded. It was an easy question to answer. “I wanna. I really wanna.”
Sandro started kissing on my neck. I held on to his ass and kissed along his shoulders. He moved to my lips and his hands found their way back to my ass. Pretty soon, we were making out in the middle of my bedroom, squeezing the hell out of each other’s asses. It was hot. Then it was funny. Not ha ha funny, more huh funny. And there was something about the slowing in our panting that told me we both thought the exact same thing at the exact same time.
Sandro’s lips left mine. His hands stayed put. “To clarify...”
I didn’t let go of his ass either. “I want to have sex with you, Sandro.”
“Dope. Okay, dope.”
“Is that... That’s what you wanted to clarify?”
“Yeah. I mean, no, but yeah. Ultimately, yes.”
“...What?” I pulled back, hands still firmly planted. His hands wouldn’t budge either.
“I, uh... I don’t know how to ask this.”
And with that boy’s fingernails in my butt-meat, it dawned on me. “Ah.”
“Yeah. Ah.”
Neither of us blinked. We hardly even moved. Naked on my carpet, asses stuck midclutch, a stalemate. No more waltzing. No more STEP 1, 2. We’d been waiting to dance for fucking months now. It was time. It was happening. But the question still remained.
Who would lead?
“...I think there’s a quarter on my dresser.”
Look.
I didn’t plan on getting fucked in the ass this Halloween. I just didn’t. But tails is tails. Them’s the rules, quarters don’t lie. And between you, me, and the watercooler, it’s actually really amazing once you get past the whole “getting fucked in the ass” factor. I mean, yeah, it hurt like a motherfucker at first. But only at first. Then it turned into something. The hurt didn’t go away, it just changed. Became part of it. Became fantastic.
Jokes aside, I loved it. The whole night. I really loved it. I loved the talk, I loved the costume thing, I loved the crappy Jack & Coke. How he touched me. Sandro held me like I could break. No one has ever treated me like that. He was so careful with every move, even the rough ones, and I needed that. I needed the care and he made sure I was okay. I’ve never been so scared and so safe.
He wanted to shower after, so I was alone for a minute. I just sat there in this bed I’ve had since I was a little boy, and I was so happy. I was so happy with me. That just doesn’t happen. Ever. I was proud of myself. Impressed that I let myself do that. That I found something I wanted and let myself go for it. I was eating a Mounds bar, looking at all the smeared curlicue marker on my chest, when I started smiling. I couldn’t stop. I must’ve looked unhinged. I felt high. I looked at the picture of my mom and me sitting on the nightstand. I’m small but my hair is huge and we’re sitting in the back of Birdie. In our field. My head in her lap. The sun on my face. I can still feel her running her hands through my curls. I was so little then. And look at me now. This laugh burst out of me and I rubbed my face. Jesus. What a night.
Sandro came in dancing, wearing just his boxers. “Sick shower, brah. All kinds of nozzles and shit. I’m impressed.”
“Yeah, we ball out.”
He smiled and sat on the side of the bed. He looked at me. Really took me in. He still had that care in his voice. “You good?”
“Oh, I’m chillin’.”
“It was okay? I don’t have anything to compare it to. So.”
“I mean, I don’t either.”
“You and Lucy never...”
“Yeah, but that was different. In...at least three ways.”
He nodded and took a bite of my Mounds. He nearly spat it out. “Coconut sucks ass.”
“I knew this wouldn’t work out.”
We laughed and he lay back on me, resting his head on my chest like a pillow. I rubbed my hand through his hair. Felt his ears, his jaw, his scalp. All of him.
“...It was really great, Sandro.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“We’re not gonna freak or anything?”
“We don’t gotta.”
“Or think about what it all means?”
“Not tonight.”
“Super.”
He ran his thumb up my arm. Took my wrist, like he did that night in the truck. He rubbed my prayer bracelet and I felt like sharing more. Like there wasn’t anything worth keeping anymore. I wanted him to know everything about me.
“My mom gave it to me freshman year. When things were getting bad. I put a new bead on it once a year. On her birthday.”
“I like that.”
“I don’t know if it’s an actual tradition, but it feels right. Keeps me close to her. I don’t really pray or anything but... I don’t know. It’s comforting.”
He fiddled with his chain. Held the little golden cross between his big fingers. “I pray. Sometimes. Not always to God or nothing but, yeah. It’s nice to think that someone’s thinking ’bout me.”
“Exactly.”
Sandro killed the bottle of Jack & Coke. I could feel a burp rise through his chest and get swallowed. It was unreal, being that close to someone. I rubbed my face in his hair and smelled my own shampoo. “You know, one of these days, that quarter’s gonna flip heads.”
“It is a statistical probability, yes.”
“Odds are in my favor. You ready for that?”
Sandro shrugged. “Maybe. Still trying to decide if I wanna fuck you again.”
“Asshole.”
“Hey, you are what you eat.”
“Jesus CHRIST.”
Sandro cracked up. I pushed his goofy ass away from me but he pulled me back onto him. He kissed me soft.
“You’re so good, Bash. You’re so... God. Thank you.”
“Thank you?”
“Thanks for finding me.”
Sandro rubbed his face into my chest. I scratched my nails along his hair. “Thanks for finding me.”
He kissed my nipple and giggled at all the Sharpie smudges on my chest. “You wanna shower? You’ve got marker hair all over you.”
“Honestly? I don’t know if I trust my legs right now.”
Sandro busted out cackling. I got in there too with my machine-gun laughs. I guess we were both still a little buzzed. From the Jack. From the sex. Still riding the buzz from that night in the ditch two months ago.
In some ways, we finished what we started that night. That night asked: Should we? Can we?
This one answered: Why would we ever stop?
sandro
NOVEMBER 24
AIN’T NO LIE, BABY, BI BI BI
At first, it was like sucking off a statue. No change on his face, none of the moans or groans I expected from a lifetime of porn. I believed I was the world’s worst fellator. I’ve seen the guy sneeze with more excitement than when I got him to bust that first time. But I got him there, darn it, and that’s a win in my book. Things have steadily improved since then, but I still wonder what the snag was. Maybe he was nervous. Maybe he felt like he’d be betraying some part of himself by enjoying a blowjob from a guy. Or maybe he just needed to trust me. I guess I earned his trust ’cause now Bash won’t shut the fuck up during our festivities. The body is a mystery.
It’s too cold for the ditch now but so far we’ve hit Birdie’s driver seat, passenger seat, back seat, his living room couch, his shower, his bedroom floor, his bedroom wall, and this one time we started in the kitchen but ended in his room. A grand total of thirteen. Oh, duh, and his bed. Fourteen. Not that I’m counting. Okay, I’m counting. Sex is a good time. Not what I thought it’d be. Better. And it’s not like it’s all we can think about now, but there’s a definite vibe looming over our hangouts lately. Like we’ll be watching a movie on the couch and he’ll look at me, midscene, and his big Bash eyebrows will be all:
“Okay, Scream 2’s great and junk but how ’bout you take me upstairs and throw it down real quick?”
But after our post-Thanksgiving sleepover turned into an all-night event (three times before sunup, thank you very much), a very tired Bash declared that lubrication needed to be invited to the party. Ever the gentleman, I offered to be our designated Lube Coordinator™ and pay to support our active lifestyle. It was literally the least I could do as, so far, I’ve been kind of a pain wimp when it comes time to flip-flop. The one time we tried it the other way, I nearly broke his shower door and my foot all over again. I’m just not there yet but Bash has been patient with me. Plus, not for nothing, the guy just enjoys getting fucked. Who’d a thunk?
