Date: Tue, 2 Nov 2010 21:01:20 -0700 (PDT)
From: don mumford <thinat20@yahoo.com>
Subject: MIKE and RICHIE Chapter 2 by Donny Mumford
MIKE and RICHIE
chapter 2
by Donny Mumford
In that confident, almost arrogant manner of his, Mike continues walking
unhurriedly towards me. He's warned me not to go closer to the painters so I'm
frozen in place. Again Mike tells me, "Don't run; walk towards me, Richard." He
isn't looking at me, but rather at the two tough guys who stare down the
boardwalk trying to make out who he is. In a much sterner voice this time, Mike
says, "Do what the fuck I told you to do, Richie! Come to me." Richie? He
called me 'Richie'. I stare at him a second longer and then drift towards him
slowly, not sure I'm doing the right thing, but somehow trusting Mike. The hefty
painter nudges his partner and says something to him that I can't hear, then he
yells down to Mike, "Well look who da fuck it is! Hey, Sullivan, how they
hangin'?" Mike flashes the painters the bird, and second painter yells, "Tell
me, are your old man and your chicken shit brother still in jail?". I'm ten
feet from Mike when he calls down to the tough guys in a calm clear voice,
saying "No asshole, my bro plea bargained out of that shit. Which reminds me,
Jose, last time I talked to Danny he was wondering if your sister's still
giving out the two dollar blow jobs down Atlantic City under the boardwalk?"
Both the Hispanic guys drop their paint brushes and start running towards us at
an alarmingly fast pace. Mike says to me, "Run your fucking ass off Richie,
follow me!" I didn't hesitate because he's deadly serious. The painters are
thundering up the boardwalk closing in on me fast; they're motivated and pissed
off in a major way. After five steps Mike has doubled the distance between him
and me. I'm running in a panic by now as Mike flies down a ramp five yards up
on the right. Pumping my arms as hard as I can, slapping my sandals against the
boards gasping for oxygen, the painters have already made up half the distance
between us. I can't believe guys that big can run that fast!
At the ramp I almost fall over making the turn. Mike's stomping down on the
lever starting his motorbike as I regain my balance and start down the ramp
with the sound of heavy breathing coming from the painters who are now within
fifteen feet of the ramp. The motorbike starts right up, Mike's looking back
with concern on his face... for me? He yells, "Faster you dumb fuck! They
catch ya, they'll put you in the hospital!" It was downhill on the ramp so I
was able to close the distance to Mike quickly, slowing up just enough at the
end to hop on the narrow seat extending from under Mike, bumping into his back
in the process. His body is taut; he yells, "Hold around my waist, tight!" I
grabbed his waist with both hands as he begins a wicked fast take off; it's so
forceful my hands pull away from his waist and I'm going backward off the the
bike. I can't even scream; it sticks in my throat 'cause I'm a goner! Mike whips
his left arm behind him and around my back pulling me up against him tightly. I
can feel the strength in his arm and see the bulging muscle. He saved me from
falling off backwards but the motion shifted our weight on the bike to the left
and the bike is going down to crash on it's side with us under it. Mike grunts
out a loud, "Fuck!" as he jerks his weight to the right pulling me upright with
the bike, and at the last possible second balances the bike and we roar off.
The painters, huffing and puffing had gotten within ten feet of us and when we
pulled away one of those dangerous looking fuckers hacked up a luggie and hocked
it at us; I felt some of the spit spray on the side of my face as it whizzed
by. They screamed curses and threats at us, but we're gone. Within two minutes
Mike had us on a straight road that looked like it might go on on forever.
In Jersey you can get on a stretch of flat road, in this case a hard-packed dirt
road, that goes for miles and miles, seemingly to nowhere with farm land on both
sides all the way there. Mike's traveling at a high speed now and it seemed
we were almost ready to take off for flight. I'm hugging him around his
stomach, my chin on the back of his shoulder. He has to be feeling my heart
pounding against his back. That's as frightened as I've ever been; I'd come
close to a number of disasters in a short period of time and Mike saved me from
each one. "Sullivan", is his last name; maybe he's Irish. And he'd called me
'Richie' instead of Richard: I hugged him tighter. It was so cool flying down
this back road without another living soul in sight. We'd been passing corn
fields for miles; the rows on both sides of the road were a blur as we roared
by. I don't know why Mike is riding us way out in farm country like this, and I
don't care why either because all of a sudden I realize I'm having fun; having a
good time, and that's a first for me in Wildwood. And another thought drifts
into my mind: "It's wonderful to hug Mike like I'm doing right now!" Trying
to remember who the last person I hugged this tightly was, and no one came to
mind. Feeling safe and happy, I rested the side of my forehead against the back
of his neck; he smells good. Then, just because I felt like doing it, I
readjusted my arms around him a little lower on his stomach and hugged even
tighter. My boner came right up and pressed high up on his bum. I had to shut
my eyes tight because a feeling swept over me that was intense and new, and
awesome. All around my crotch and stomach and upper thighs I felt tingling
sensations, the kind I get before climaxing. I'd never gotten this feeling any
other time except when I jerk off. Now I experience it from just sitting behind
Mike and hugging him. I can tell I'm not gonna have an orgasm, but I sure am
enjoying this pre-climax sensation as we fly along this road leaving a dust
storm in our wake.
Mike took us out for the better part of a half hour and then made a big lazy
U-turn and headed back up the same road we came out on. Going back he went
just as fast as the trip out. He never said a word. By the time I started
recognizing landmarks we'd been riding for almost an hour and I can't remember
enjoying any other hour in my life as much as I enjoyed this one. He took me
right to the spot across the street from my house where I first met him. I let
go of him and swung my right leg over to get off the seat and fell right on my
ass. After an hour on the back seat of the motorbike, in that one position, my
legs didn't act the way they should. I laughed and looked up at Mike who had a
scowl on his face. "My legs are numb, all pins and needles," I said with a
smile, stumbling to my feet. Mike waited a few seconds before spitting out,
"Don't ever go near that section of the boardwalk again, Richard. Those guys
hate us, hate us with a fucking passion." I wonder who he means by "us"? With
that he starts to pull away. "Wait Mike, please wait a second. I want to
thank you, man. You really saved my ass. And thanks for the ride. I loved it.
It's the only fun I've had since I moved here". Mike looks at me for a second,
then goes, "You live here, Richard? I thought you only stayed for the summer,
like in past years." That took me by surprise: Mike knew I was here in past
summers? I don't ever remember seeing him. I mumble, "Um, yeah. My Mom kind
of threw me out so I'm here full time now, living with my old man." He's
nodding his head, then asks, "You going to the High School here this year?" I
tell him I am and ask if he wants a Coke. He says, "Yeah, what the fuck, I'm
thirsty. Walk the bike over and don't drop it or I'll drop you." With that
he starts across the street toward my house.
I watch him for a second, then start pushing his motorbike. It's a bitch
trying to walk this thing off one curb and across the street and up the other
curb. It's much heavier and harder to push than it I'd have thought. When I
make it across the street and get the kick stand down, delicately balancing the
bike, I look up on the porch and Mike, who'd never even looked back, is smirking
at my difficulty. Coming up the front steps to join him on the porch, I say,
"Your bike's so cool, Mike!" He makes a face at me, like, "What a geek!" as I'm
going inside for the cokes. Carrying two cans of coke and some potato chips out
onto our little front porch, I'm smiling and offering the soda a chips to Mike.
He ignores me, taking a couple of last drags off his cigarette, then flicks the
butt into the street ten feet away. I watch it fly through the air, and say,
"Neat!" He gives me the same look he'd given me earlier and then takes a can of
coke off the tray and finishes the whole can it in three long pulls, followed by
a loud burp. Guess he's one of those guys who just lets it roll down his throat
without swallowing. I need to do a deliberate swallow for every mouthful. Mike
ignores the potato chips and lights up another cigarette, mumbling, "Thanks,"
then sits on the railing watching me self-consciously drink my soda, swallow
after swallow while wondering whys he staring at me; finally, with a grin, I
ask, "What?" He shakes his head like, 'never mind!' and I say, "No, really...
what is it?" Mike puffs out his cheeks as he exhales smoke, then goes, "If you
want to be in my gang you need to get a buzz cut." Leaving the cigarette
between his lips, he talks around it, saying, "Come over here." I walk the
three steps to stand in front of him; he hops off the railing, and he says,
"Just stand still!" Then, with one hand behind my head, he uses his other hand
to lift the hair off my forehead and push it back away from my face, flat on the
top of my head. "There, you look good that way. Not so faggy." His cigarette
smoke burns my eyes so I squint, looking at Mike through slits in my eyelids.
For the first time in my life I have this thought about another boy: "Mike is
wicked cute!" I've never before thought of the word 'cute' when thinking of a
boy. It's shocking and kinda scary.
He held onto my head for another 10 seconds or so, then let his hands drag
across my face before taking his hands away. I smell the nicotine on his
fingers just like that time on the boardwalk. I felt almost like I was
hypnotized, just standing there in front of Mike looking at him through my
slitted eyelids, until he asks, "Well, you wanna be a member of my gang or
not?" I mumble, "Yeah, sure I do. Thanks Mike." He goes, "Well get the buzz cut
then!" turns around and walks off the porch and, without looking back, starts
his bike and does a wheelie off the sidewalk, leaving tire marks. I've got
another boner. Now I definitely have someone to think about when I jerk off.
No sense ignoring the fact that he makes my dick hard. For the next couple of
days I think about him as I'm jerking off and cum is firing out my cock. Mike
puts a lot of HOT in my life.
Naturally, this seemingly gay attraction I have for Mike is something that
needs explaining so I go back to spending time on the Internet looking for a
similar situation to mine. I'm convinced I'm gay only for Mike; where everyone
else is concerned, I'm my normal heterosexual regular guy self just like I
always thought I was. I couldn't find collaboration for that theory,
unfortunately. The bisexual category didn't seem to fit my situation either.
Nothing fits. I continue to be very confused about everything. I mean, Mike is
the one who's always doing stuff to me, touching me and all that, but yet he's
the one calling me gay and pretending he isn't! Oh, the hell with it; I can't
find a solution for me on the WWW so I give up my search and try not to worry
about it. Mike affects me in a sexual way and that's that; explanations of why
won't change that fact anyway. I never do get around to getting my hair cut in a
buzz; I don't know why, I guess I just didn't feel like it. In a few days I
just forget about it. Then, one morning after I'd finished my chores I hear a
motor bike approaching, or is it my imagination? Looking out the living room
window confirms that, sure enough, it's Mike parking his bike in his familiar
spot across the street. He'd come to see me, what other reason would he have
for being here? With a big smile on my face, I run out the door to say 'hi'.
When I wave and yell "Hi!" from across the street he says nothing, he just
shakes his head back and forth like he's disappointed about something, but not
surprised about it. I ask, "What?" and Mike yells for me to get over there, so
I jog over, and say, "Hi, again. What's sup?" He frowns at me like I'm a nerd,
so I babble a little telling him I'm wicked happy he stopped around and blah,
blah, blah. Him still staring at me with a blank expression on his face, but
saying nothing. Then he wrinkles his forehead and opens his eyes wide, turning
the palms of his hands up like he's prompting me to say something, and then I
know what it is. I say, "Sorry, Mike, but my old man don't want me to get a
buzz cut. He says buzz cuts are for white supremacist groups which he's opposed
to." It's a total lie, my old man couldn't care less how I get my hair cut.
I'm not sure why I don't just get the haircut and maybe become friends with
Mike. Maybe it's because somewhere in my mind I feel I'm too much of a pussy
around Mike and I need to defy him in one way at least. Anyway, Mike listens to
my bullshit story sitting there on his bike as I'm standing there feeling
awkward and looking guilty because I don't like lying. Finally he shrugs, and
says, "Don't matter anyway because the guys say you're definitely queer." I
open my mouth, then shut it, exasperated! Finally I managed to sputter,
"What?" And then after a few seconds, "Why would they say that? They don't even
know me." Mike makes a exaggerated thoughtful expression, as if he can't
imagine why they'd think I'm queer, but it is what it is, ya know? Then he says,
"Okay, maybe they're wrong. I'll give ya a test that'll prove it one way or
another. Bring the bike across the street." "Test?", I'm thinking while
struggling with that damn bike again. Motor bikes are heavy and unwieldy when
they're not running. I ask him what kind of 'test' he has in mind and instead
of answering he asks for a Coke. I bring two cokes out, hand Mike one and then
sit up on the porch railing at the end of the porch, like he did for our first
coke together.
He finishes his Coke just as fast as he did the other day, puts the empty can on
the rocking chair, and walks over to stand in front of me. I look at him
questioningly, and he says, "Just sit up straight right there!" He takes my
Coke and finishes it in one long swallow. It's fun being so close to him, his
blue eyes staring into mine; I'm thinking, "This is so cool... hangin' with
mike.". Putting a hand on each of my knees he slowly moves my legs apart until,
bam! with a sudden fast final thrust, both my legs are spread wide against the
railing and I'm falling backward off the porch. My arms flail out and grab the
only thing I can reach, Mike. I get him around the neck with both my arms,
hanging on for dear life. He moves his hands up the inside of my thighs,
stopping at the bottom of my shorts. I'm thinking, "Oh no, not again!" and, out
loud I plead, "Please don't grab my dick again, Mike. That's no test; anyone
would get a boner if his pecker's massaged." Mike maintains a neutral
expression as he gently squeezes, then rubs his fingers on the inside of my
thighs. I readjusted to a tighter grip around his neck and our noses bump
together. Mike's breath is in my face and today it smells like cigarettes,
Coke, and Juicy Fruit gum. His face is a little flush; we say nothing,
breathing erratically. It's surreal, but pleasant and I have a strong urge to
kiss him although, of course, I don't. This close up, a thought comes to mind,
"This is a very good looking boy!" To break the silence, I go, "Come on, Mike!
Let me get down, please. I'll split my head open on the cement walk if I fall
backward off this railing." Mike says nothing so, for the hell of it, I adjust
my grip around his neck again just because I want to rub my nose against his
again, then I do it again. Still nothing from Mike, just the constant rubbing
of the inside of my thighs and of course it's having an affect on my dick.
I'm wearing an old pair of shorts that I often wear while doing my
chores; the leg openings are baggy and just as I
expected, Mike slides a hand up each leg opening and rubs my cock and balls
with the tips of his fingers through the outside of my boxer shorts. "Oh
God, Mike... Don't do this again, please!" I gasped, as my boner
comes right up. Mike's forehead's touching mine so I move my
face against his just because it feels so good to do that; when I do it I
can't suppress a moan. Rubbing against the perspiration on his face is
sexy and he's begun slowly stroking my boner and lightly
squeezing my balls and it all feels awesome. I'm getting near an orgasm
already. "Ohh fuck, Mike, please; this isn't fair!" He continues
with the lazy stroking, then picks up the pace getting into a nice
easy rhythm; nothing's ever felt this good before. Of course, he's sorta done
this once before to me outside the convenience store the day I ran
into him and the redhead; that time I was scared, this time I'm
concentrating on how fantastic it feels.
Shortly my hip are lightly humping against his hands, an involuntary
action as my balls tightened up; he's got me so hot now I don't even
want to hold back; I want my orgasm. His relentless stroking, our
faces rubbing together, my arms hugging around his neck, the wonderful odor
coming off him; it all adds up to be the most intimately pleasurable
thing I've ever been involved in. Stroking my cock and massaging
my balls, sometimes lightly, a hard squeeze every once in a while has me
gasping and blowing out air, spraying his cheek with a fine
saliva mist. Everything feels so good,
indescribably good, I can't help but let out a long moan of pleasure, then two
quick grunts as the climax came up on me fast. Tightening my
hold around his neck, my hips humped hard against his hands and the
cum streamed from my pee hole splashing inside my boxers, and then again, and
yet again. Our faces squished together; mine scrunched-up with the
sensations of climax as I do a long, "Ahhhhhh, oohhh." Another
muffled moan and finally a few lesser spurts of spunk and a feeling of
dizziness from an overload of sensations all at once. It had only taken a
little over two minutes to get me to cum; cum like I've never
cum before! Frankly, I wish it could have lasted longer, which isn't
what I should be thinking.
Mike pulls his hands out of my shorts and put them around my back to haul me
onto the porch floor and up against him. It felt like he was giving me a big
hug, and then he let go. "You flunked the test badly, Richard." I quietly tell
him it isn't a fair test and that he'd cum in his pants if I did the same thing
to him. He just said, "No fucking way! You're the fag, not me," then he
headed for his bike. "That wasn't fair, Mike!" I yelled after him, beginning to
recover some of my senses. My pants are wet with cum, and cooling off fast; now
I feel stupid and pathetic. Mike didn't even look back. I'm pissed off, on my
way inside to change my underwear and shorts he yells back at me, "Yeah, okay!
Maybe it wasn't completely fair. We'll take a ride and talk some more about
it." I should make myself forget him 'cause he's humiliates me, but I'm hooked
on him and I don't know anybody else in town. I'm pouting a little, then I wave
my hand at him, like "Yeah, sure!" but mumble, "Okay, I guess." He shouts back,
"What was that?" and I yell, too loud, "Okay, but I gotta change my shorts
first!" I hear him chuckle as I go inside feeling foolish and wondering why I'm
letting him get away with these things. In my bedroom I'm thinking, "Hey, stop
pouting, you got another chance to make a friend, and he did save your ass
today. Plus, it'll be interesting watching Mike rationalize jerking me off as a
fair test that I'm the fag." With clean boxer underpants and shorts on, I cross
the street and get on the back of Mike's bike. He seems slightly contrite so
that's good; neither of us says anything though and that's awkward. Feeling
like the victim here, I let myself enjoy a little more pouting before hugging
him around the waist. Mike freezes for a second, then mumbles, "Oh, fuck it!"
and stomps down on the starter, the bike roars to life and off we go. After the
wheelie take-off Mike slowed down, he stayed within a reasonable facsimile of
the speed limit and we arrive at the town's Middle School playground in about
ten minutes. After parking, still not talking, I follow him over to the swings
where Mike sits on one and kicks off a little to swing gently back and forth. I
did the same on the swing next to Mike's, thinking, "A school playground might
be the last place I'd expect Mike to take us." It's a hot day in June and we're
the only people here, just silently drifting back and forth with me sneaking
peeks at Mike admiring how sharp he looks, how cool. Even the buzz cut looks
perfect on him; maybe any hair style would. I stare at his hands holding onto
the two chains of his swing seat, and think, "Can I believe it? He just wacked
me off and squeezed my nuts with those hands. Some of my spunk must still be on
one of them."
Mike breaks the silence, interrupting my admiration of him, by saying, "Okay,
I've thought about it and you're right, that's a dumb test for proving a guy's
gay. I can see now that it don't prove nothing and it's stupid." I don't know if
he's putting me on or not so I maintain my pout. He doesn't seem stupid himself
so I can't believe he ever thought doing that to me would prove anything,
although I'm glad he did it now because we seem to be getting closer to
something; but what that something is, I haven't a clue. Mike has more to say,
"I'll make a deal with you, Richard; I'll never mention you spunked your pants
again, and you never mention anything about that dumb test to anybody,
including to me. Let's just forget it ever happened! Plus, to show you my hearts
in the right place, I'll let you hang out with me sometimes, but you can't be a
member of the gang because of the buzz cut rule. Fair enough?" To be honest,
I'm thrilled! So this is the 'something' we were getting closer to. Yes, I'm
thrilled, but I stay calm, replying, "Sure, Mike." He held his fist over and I
bump it with mine, and ask, "Um, Mike... ah, well, do you think you and me can
be friends too, or something?" He looks at me and I see a kindness in his eyes,
a look I haven't noticed before. Then, he reverts to his usual macho self, and
says, "I don't know about friends; why don't ya just try hanging out and we'll
see how it goes." I nod my head in agreement, feeling good about that at least.
Also, it seems we've made a pact of some kind that's more than what he said it
was, which feels strange; probably it feel strange because it's been a very
strange hour or so, but at the same time it's been good too. We walk across the
street so Mike can buy cigarettes, he tells me he's gotta meet his brother soon
and then rides me back to my place. Getting off his bike, I thank him like he's
done me some big favor and he accepts the thanks almost reluctantly giving me
the sense that somehow I'd done something wrong, but he's willing to forgive
me for it. Damn, how's he do that? I didn't do anything! He's off in a billow
of smoke with tires screeching. Oh well, at least now I get to hangout with him,
and that's something I feel good about. Walking inside the house I glance at the
porch railing where I'd cum in my pants and a big smile brakes out on my face...
oh man! Before going to sleep that night the urge to masturbate is overwhelming
and while doing it I recreate Mike jerking me off in my head which produces a
very satisfying explosion of cum into the sock I use for this purpose. Whoa!
I get into the routine of doing that 40 minute walk to the boardwalk each day
after my chores. I first go to the spot where I saw Mike and his 'gang'
originally as it's usually where I can find them. If they're not there I'll walk
up to the left slowly looking for them and almost every day they'll be on the
boards somewhere. The two original boys, Tony (the redhead) and the chubby one
(Mac) are almost always there and then there are another five or six guys who
show up a couple of times a week, but not on any kind of a regular schedule.
They all have buzz cuts haircuts, just like Mike said, but so do a lot of other
kids walking the boardwalk; it's not like it's unique or anything. We do mostly
regular
teen hangin' out stuff: talking among ourselves, smoking cigarettes, buying
food and drinks, lots of subtle harassment among ourselves and of passers-by;
especially girl passers-by, they receive an unfair amount of mostly crude
attention. The old and infirm aren't spared either and that makes me feel
uncomfortable at times, but mostly it's harmless comments the passer-by don't
even hear. There's a lot of laughs; everything makes us laugh,
often hysterically over stuff that's actually not all that funny; it's just that
it's fun to laugh with your friends. Mike's in charge, of course, although
he's not one of the big laugher; he's more a smirker. He decides when we roam
up and down the boards and when we stay put for a bit... he decides when we'd do
anything really but it's not like he gives orders; he just starts off and we all
follow.
Redheaded Tony turns out to be a sweet guy, although not a particularly bright
one. There's something about Mac that's not quite friendly, but he's okay. A
lot of the boys look like outlaws, but are basically innocent misfits, closer to
choir boys in disguise than outlaws. They laugh at everything I say and seem to
like me. Like I said, all the guys are subservient to Mike, which is fine
with me 'cause I am too. Maybe everyone has a crush on him too; I know I do.
Actually, I don't think any of these boys are gay; they seem genuinely hot for
the babes although the babes they attract just barely qualified as 'babes'.
Anyway, next to Mike, I like Tony best. As for Mike, he can be moody and
sometimes mean spirited and he's usually hard on me and quick to make me the
butt of a joke just to embarrass me; it's done to entertain the guys and to make
sure the new kid, me, understands his place as the new kid in town. Often, when
not embarrassing me, Mike ignores me and I think I'd rather he pay attention to
me even if it's to embarrass me than ignore me. It's not my personality to be
confrontational so I rarely disagreed or argue with anyone, I smile a lot, go
along with the jokes, and add some of my own self deprecating humor as well.
This proves to be a winning formula for the guys in the gang and I get along.
Okay, it doesn't sound too thrilling, I admit that, but it seems wonderful to
me when compared to having no friends at all.
And then there's that extra special 'something' that is very exciting for me;
three or four times a week Mike will say, "Yo, I'm taking the fuck off. I got
stuff to do," and he'll ask me, "Need a ride, dickhead? I'm going that way." I
always say yes, of course, and we'll walk silently to wherever he's parked his
bike, sometimes illegally on the boardwalk, and off we go. He'll drives us to
all kinds of places... from little known small beaches to the various school
playground in town, or spots on the bay; anyplace that's secluded. When we get
there Mike likes to have conversations. He says I'm the only one with any
brains, besides himself, in the gang. He's interested in what I think about a
variety of things from religion to politics, movies, music, life after death,
UFOs... lots of topics. We talk and smoke for a couple hours at a time. He
doesn't talk about himself or his family life very much, although I know he has
a job working on a tomato farm from early morning to early afternoon, but not
every day. Just when he's needed. His mother works at the farm full time and
she calls him when he's needed. That's the extent of what I know about him. We
go for soft drinks and soft ice cream sometimes too and he's rarely mean or
rude to me when it's just the two of us. He's quickly become the person I like
the most in the world. I guess that isn't really saying much if I think about it
'cause there aren't a lot of 'stars' in my world at the moment, but I'm real
glad for Mike. Sometimes I think my feelings for Mike go deeper than just being
the person I like most in the world, but so far I can't quite make myself
articulate what might be a more accurate description of how I feel about him. I
can't allow myself to think I might be in love with him,
It's ironic that I now want Mike to give me another 'test' since I begged him to
stop the last one. There's no way I can ever bring up that 'test' topic though
because of our deal to never mention it again. Anyway, my favorite times of all
are the times we wrestle together. Mike's a junior varsity wrestler in school
and he's pretty good too. He tells me I'm too wimpy and I need to know how to
protect myself. We'll do a lot of wrestling with Mike showing me the different
holds and then the two of us practicing them. Wrestling is like the sexiest
thing ever if you're doing it with someone you like best of everyone else in
the world, and needless to say I love every minute of it. I'm always asking to
learn more wrestling holds 'cause the bodily contact is fabulous. I'm not an
idiot; I assume he likes the contact too, although he probably can't admit
that even to himself. Sometimes we'll maintain wrestling 'holds' for a few
minutes; both of us with wicked hard-ons, breathing fast in short bursts, our
hearts pounding thump, thump, thump! Oh man, I love being with Mike so much I
can't believe I ever thought I "hated living in Wildwood". It's my favorite
place in the world now.
On any given day Mike and me might have a fabulous conversation and then an
intimate wrestling match leaving us red faced and panting with boners poking out
the front of our shorts, and the very next day with the 'gang' Mike will be
right back to treating me like shit. I've known him for about six weeks now and
already three times he's sent me home for annoying him on the boardwalk. Hard
to believe, but true that he'll get pissed at me and say "You don't have to
go home, but you can't stay here!" I hate that, but I turn and leave without
arguing because what choice do I have? I go home because I have no where else
to go. After he'd sent me home for the third time I analyzed what I'd done to
get him to dismiss me like that. What was being talked about, what I'd say, and
so forth and as it turns out that each time he sent me home I'd done or said
something that Mike interpreted as me agreeing with someone else. Some little
thing like who was a better ball player or what car was the hottest and I'd
agreed with someone else's opinion over Mike's. The next day all's forgiven,
but it's humiliating to say the least and I've decided to always be on Mike's
side of the argument from now on; hell, the things the guys argue about are
mostly dumb anyway.
This brings us to today: I'm on the boardwalk with some of the boys, but there's
no Mike. We're pitching quarters, gambling, when Tony comes running up to tell
us there's been a fire at Mike's house and while nobody's hurt, they can't live
in their house now. I say, "So, it's uninhabitable, huh?" Tony goes, "I don't
know about that, Richie, all I know is his brother told me they can't live
there until it's fixed up." Some of us boys exchange glances, then Tony tells us
that Mike, his mother, and brother now need to move in with his mother's
sister; his aunt Jean. I feel bad for Mike knowing this disruption will be
major to him. Later that day he comes roaring up on the boardwalk with his bike,
he's pissed off and starts bitching and moaning about needing to share a pull
out sofa bed with one of his fat cousins. There's going to be eight people
sharing one bathroom and there aren't even enough chairs for everyone to sit
together at dinner. Mike calls it a fucking nightmare of living conditions, and
it'll probably be a lot longer then a month before their house is repaired. All
the guys are sympathizing with Mike and I'm doing the same thing too, but I'm
also forming a plan in my head. I'm wondering if my old man might go along with
an idea I have. It's my father's off day so I ask to borrow Mac's cell phone,
then call my house. Our conversation last a mere thirty seconds 'cause he
doesn't have any objection to my idea as long as it won't inconvenience him.
It'll be my responsibility to insure nothing gets fucked up. I guaranteed him
things would run smoothly, thanked him profusely and really meant it, then hung
up feeling a high level of excitement.
Back over to the guys I couldn't conceal my excitement and as soon as there's a
break in the conversation, I blurt out, "Mike, you can bunk down with me if
you want. It's only my old man and me and I never see him much at all. He's
always out. I just called him and he said it's okay, it's fine with him." I
ramble on as Mike's looking at me with an expression of hope on his face. Then I
make the big mistake, by adding, "You can sleep in my bed if ya want!" The
guys are gasping at that comment and I realize my error immediately but can't
take the words back, so I continue to finish my sentence, running out of wind
with each word, "and I can use my sleeping bag." There definitely was initial
interest, I could see it in Mike's eyes, but the "you can sleep in my bed"
comment turned the interest off and now he's pissed at me. I shouldn't have
brought this up in front of everyone and I shouldn't have added that stupid
comment about sleeping in my bed. Oh fuck, I'm so dumb!!
The guys are giggling as Mike gives me a hard look, but says nothing. My hopes
had been soaring for about two seconds. The possibilities of wrestling in bed
with Mike had my dick moving in my shorts. Now, I don't know how it's going to
go. I want to clarify, so I reiterate the separate sleeping arrangements and
then ask, "Well, Mike, what do you think?....." Mike thrust up his hand, and
says, "Keep your mouth shut! I'm trying to think!" I didn't like hearing that,
but even so I look away to avoid eye contact and don't say anything else. He
expects that of me when other guys are around and I don't want him to send me
home. Not today of all days. Not until he makes up his mind about my
suggestion.
to be continued....
Donny Mumford thinat20@yahoo.com