Date: Mon, 8 Nov 2010 11:25:04 -0800 (PST)
From: don mumford <thinat20@yahoo.com>
Subject: MIKE and RICHIE Chapter 3 by Donny Mumford
MIKE and RICHIE
chapter 3
by Donny Mumford
While Mike's thinking about my offer, I wander over to the other side of the
boardwalk and gaze out across the beach at the endless ocean; what a spectacular
sight. It's a hot day with a bright sun shining off the water, seagulls
drifting in the air squawking their unique squawk. I take it all in keeping my
fingers crossed that Mike accepts my offer. Tony joins me and, lighting a
cigarette, he lisps, "If Mike don't want to sleep in your bed, Richie, can I?"
He exhales a lot of smoke, a grin on his face. I can't make up my mind if Tony's
scary looking, or just funny looking. He has his dark red hair in a short buzz
cut, tattoos here and there, numerous earrings, and that lower lip piercing with
the stud that looks like it hurts him. It hurts me to look at it, I know that
much. His nose is too little for the size of his face, his eyes never stop
moving around and his ears stick straight out from the sides of his head.
Smiling back at Tony, I say, "Yeah, okay Tony, you can sleep in my bed, but
you'll need to wear a diaper," and I grab at his head for a neck hug. I like
Tony. He's quite a distance from brilliant, but he has a sweet heart; like I
said, he's basically a choir boy in an outlaw costume. As tony and I wrestle
and joke about him peeing the bed, Mike walks over to bum a cigarette. We stop
so Tony can pull out his pack and give a smoke to Mike who lights it, then snaps
out, "Can't you dickheads shut the fuck up for ten seconds. Ya always gotta be
screwing around?" Tony and me look away, and then smirked at one another behind
Mike's back as I light my own cigarette. Peer pressure got me smoking regularly
now; I want to fit in, although at times I still feel a little nauseous when
inhaling. Mac looks over and sees all of us smoking so he immediately comes
over with his hand out; I give him one of my Marlboro Lights. He's kind of in
'charge' of the gang when Mike's not around. As far as appearance goes, Mac
isn't any cooler looking than Tony and that's no big thing, but there's a small
problem involving Mac and me. For some reason there's friction between us and
I'm not sure why, but it's definitely there and while it's not a serious
problem, I do wonder why he's never warmed up to me. Well, that's not completely
true; I thought he liked me at first, but I think he got jealous because when
Mike started giving me those motorbike rides three or four times a week. I don't
think Mac's ever been on Mike's motorbike.
By the way, Tony's just joking around when he says he wants to sleep in my bed;
he's referring to my offer to Mike to stay with my dad and me until his mother's
place is rebuilt. If he doesn't want to, his only other option is to stay at his
overcrowded aunt's house. On the other hand, he hasn't known me very long and
he's never met my dad, so I can understand how it might be awkward for him to
stay with us. Anyway, that's what he's trying to make his mind up about. His
rudeness just now isn't an indication of him leaning one way or the other; Mike
can be 'grumpy' in the best of times and this house situation isn't the best of
times. All the guys, and me in particular, look up to him as our leader. As far
as I know, we're all straight sixteen year old boys without a hell of a lot of
direction in our lives; just goofing-off, hangin' on the boardwalk here in
Wildwood, New Jersey. Mostly we do minor harassing of innocents passing by for
childish laughs. We're at that in-between age; not kids, but not ready for
responsible behavior quite yet either. The harassment most definitely
encompasses harassing each other too, and ya want to be included, so it feels
good when someone rags on you. Our activities involve nothing criminal, unless
being silly is a crime. Oh yeah, I mentioned we're all straight boys, but I
need to qualify that. Maybe there should be an asterisk next to my
'straightness'; I'm straight in every way I can think of except one, and that's
where Mike Sullivan is concerned. I have strong gay urges for him. It's the
damnest thing too because he'll bully the hell out of me one minute and then the
next minute, when it's just him and me, he's wicked nice. I sorta idolize him,
although I haven't mentioned this to Mike. It's weird too 'cause he's kinda
jerked me off two times and yet I don't believe it's a sexual thing with him. I
think Mike feels a little something for me though; sexual or otherwise... I'm
pretty sure of that. When we wrestle I sometimes feel his boner pressing against
me. Maybe he'd get a boner wrestling with anyone, I don't know.
Before Mike makes up his mind about moving in with me, a boardwalk policeman on
his trail bike pulls up to our little group, looking unhappy about something and
I'm pretty sure I know what it is. He tells Mike, "For the last time, kid, keep
this damn motorbike off the boardwalk." Mike gives the cop a hard silent
frowning look for maybe thirty seconds; then, having demonstrated to us guys
that he doesn't jump at the orders of boardwalk cops, he slowly walks his bike
off the boards and parks it illegally in from of a Italian ice vendor. Us guys
all follow him off the boardwalk like we're on leashes. "Mike, you want a cherry
ice?" I ask him. He gives me a frowning look, and replies, "No, I don't want a
cherry ice!" He pauses then, and goes, "You can get me a lemon ice though. Give
ya something to do while I make up my mind about where to stay for the next six
freakin' weeks." This broke up the tension of being ordered off the boards
with the bike and, since Mike's getting one, we all get frozen Italian Ices.
Mike and me get lemon while Tony and Mac get cherry. I prefer cherry too, but
Mike might think I'm siding against him if I get a different flavor than his.
Lemon ice is okay. We all drift over to sit on, or lean against, a wooden
bench. Mike asks me, "You definitely got your old man's okay that I stay with
you, right?" I reassure him it's fine with my dad. Hell, I just got off the
phone with him ten minutes ago, and I emphasized that to Mike, it's "no
problem!". Then, with his Italian ice cup in mid-air, he hesitates, staring at
me intently with a suspicious expression on his face. I look back at him
innocently, chewing my bottom lip and trying to look as sincere as I feel. He's
probably trying to figure out if I'd just dissed him when I said, "no
problem!" Then, begrudgingly, his expression relaxes, he nods his head like he's
confirming something to himself, and I let my hopes rise. "Okay, thanks for the
offer. I'll give it a try for a night or two, but if I feel in any way
uncomfortable or awkward, I'm outta there!" Not the most gracious accepted
invitation of all times, but I'm thrilled just the same. He sucks down some
Italian ice, and adds, "I'll pass up the opportunity of sleeping in your fucking
bed though, ya homo, and I'll bring my own sleeping bag."
He's rude, but I'm not gonna say anything to screw this up, I just smile and
nod my head in agreement. Mike spits out a lemon seed, and says, "Oh yeah,
another thing," and as he's saying it he reaches over and grabs a fistful of my
hair, adding, "Be sure to keep your hands to yourself when I'm sleeping. I
already told ya Tony's positive you're queer, so I gotta be careful with you." I
know he's doing this posturing for the benefit of the other guys, showing them
he's no fag. Tears fill my eyes, Mike roughly pushes me away but doesn't let go
of my hair so some hairs are painfully pulled out of my scalp, and I
think, "Maybe I should get a buzz cut while I still have hair left on my
head!" The push made me drop my Italian ice and then clumsily step on it
splashing the juicy stuff on my foot. Now I have that yucky sticky feeling on
my foot and my sandal. I'm embarrassed and my face flushes red, as Mike's
saying, "You understand me, Richie?" I've got that stinging feeling in my
eyes, but I refused to let a tear come out. I manage to mutter, "Yeah, Mike, I
understand." Tony lisps, "Yo Mike, I said dat shit before we knew Richie; he's
cool, man. I was wrong 'bout dat shit, man." Then to me, in a concerned way,
Tony says, "Here Richie, you wanna finish my cherry ice? I had plenty already,
man, ya know? Here, you take mine 'cause ya dropped yours." I don't want Tony's
ice, but I don't want to hurt his feelings by rejecting his kindness either, so
I take it with thanks and finish it off. It's a mystery to me why Mike is so
mean to me at times; like I said, when it's just Mike and me together he's a
different person. Oh, he's still in charge for sure, but he's nice to me. He
acts as if he likes me. I know I like him so much I forgive his harsh
treatment. Anyway, hell, I'm quickly feeling better by the second as the
realization sinks in that Mike and me will be sharing that tiny bedroom of mine.
The more I let myself realize this fabulous and totally unexpected turn of
events, the more my dick fills with erectile blood and now I got myself a real
nice stiffy. Putting both hands in my pockets I work at little two-handed pocket
ball, my boner acting the part of goalie. Before I met Mike I never use to
get these frequent boners like I get now. Boners feel so good!
A little later Mike announces he has some stuff he needs to do for his brother
so he's taking off, and I kinda assumed he'd ask me if I wanted a ride like he
often does, but he didn't... he just rode off. Mac smirks when he sees I've
been left out of a ride home, so I purposely kept a smile on my face pretending
I didn't want a ride home anyway, and ask, "Either of you pussies been on the
Double Shot this year?" The Double Shot is an amusement ride on the boardwalk.
It cost $5 per ride and even though the ride is over in less then a minute,
it's still worth the five bucks. The Double Shot's a five sided tower with seven
seats on each side. You're buckled in your seat tightly by one of the
operators, then you sit there waiting with a pounding heart for the jolt of a
lifetime. What happens is: the guy pushing the buttons gets you thinking the
ride won't start for a minute or two...you relax and mug with your buddies and
when you least expect it, he fires-up that death defying ride and the
five-sided seat sections shoots straight up the tower 100 feet in one
second. It's the equivalent of going up in an office building elevator ten
floors in one second. Shoes and stomachs get left behind on the ground. The
evil machine hovers three-quarters of the way up the tower luring you into a
safe feeling high above the boardwalk and then, without warning shoots the rest
of the way up... titters on the top for what must be an awesome view, then
free-falls half way to do it again, thus the name "double shot". As you gaze out
over the skyline of Wildwood your hearts pounding waiting for the final decent,
a free-fall the entire length of the tower with riders screaming and throwing
up... it's a total bitch. I've watched it many times fixated on the screams of
terror from those on the ride, but so far I haven't worked up the courage to go
on it. I'd probably leave more than my stomach and shoes on the ground; most
likely whatever's left of my dignity would be forever left behind as well with
me screaming like a little girl... heh, heh! No thanks to that.
Mac says, "Fuck the Double Shot. Let's continue our miniature golf tournament."
He expects us to follow him like we do with Mike, and we usually do. Today
there's only Tony and me hanging out with Mac, so the three of us walk down the
boards to our favorite miniature golf course. We're in a tournament of ten
rounds... add up the score from all the rounds and the guy with the lowest
accumulated score gets twenty-five bucks from each of the other players. The
winner also gets the bragging rights for a year.... that's almost worth more
than the money. In addition to the three of us, there are three other buzz cut
'gang' members participating in the tournament. It's been fun, but since Mike
isn't one of the other guys, Mac's been running the tournament and he can act
like a bit of an asshole at times. I've completed five rounds thus far and am in
no danger of winning, but I just like doing stuff with the guys; it gives me a
feeling of belonging. The guys are all very serious about their miniature
golf, and about winning. No fucking around, and count every stroke! Good
sportsmanship hasn't made it's way to this part of Jersey yet so every mistake
made by your competitors is guffawed at and mocked by the other players. Bad
luck gets big laughs. Nobody says "nice putt' when you made one; "lucky
fucker!" is a much more likely comment when you do something good.
We play eighteen holes, bitchin' and moaning with every stroke, and then the
guys want to go again but I'm getting anxious to get home and get things ready
for Mike so I head home. It's a forty minute walk from the boardwalk to my
dad's little row home. In other parts of town our place would be called a condo;
here it's called a row home. It's one of ten one-floor attached row-homes on
West street. Unless you're on one end of the row or the other, the walls on
either side of your place are mutual walls for you and your neighbors. We have
an end unit so we have windows front, side, and back except for my bedroom
which is the one with the mutual wall with our neighbor; my bedroom only has a
window on the back wall. The bathroom is next to my bedroom and on the other
side of that is my dad's bedroom. There's an exhaust window fan in both
bedrooms, but no air-conditioning although we do have a window air-conditioner
in the family room. The family room/living room is on the other side of the
hall next to the small eat-in kitchen. A double bay window in the family
room and a smaller window in the little kitchen area and that's about the whole
layout. Outside is the small porch along the front where Mike gave me me the
so-called 'test' to determine if I'm gay. Our house is not big at all, but it's
more space than Mike has at his Aunt's house with eight people living there; I
hope this is more space, anyway. The door's not locked when I get home so I
know my old man hasn't left for work yet. When I get up on the porch the front
door opens; my dad's going out as I'm coming in. "Hi, Dad. Going out?" I say,
just to say something. In his usual grumpy manner, he goes, "What's it look
like, Richie?" I stammer, "Oh, ah, sure...you're going out. Oh, by the way, it
looks like that boy I told ya about will be staying with us. Mike Sullivan's his
name. He's very grateful to you and I am too. Thanks a lot, you made me out to
be a hero to him. Saved his life...kinda ..heh heh." He's not paying attention
to me though, "Where the hell are my car keys? What were you saying? Who's a
hero?" Going through his pockets again, he get's flustered, "For Christ sakes,
where are those goddamned keys?" I told him again about Mike staying with us
as dad finds the keys, and is vaguely sifting through what I'd said just now,
he asks, "Who's staying with us?" I tell him for the third time and he goes,
"Sure, it's good helping out a friend; friends are good to have. Just keep him
outta my way, sport." The keys were in his pocket like they always are. He
won't be back until midnight so I'll have plenty of time to get Mike settled in.
Our place is clean because I clean it, but I decide to change the sheets on my
twin bed just in case Mike decides he'll use it after all. I'd only slept on
these sheets one night, but why take a chance? I put some clean towels and a
washcloth on my dresser for when he needs them and then a bottle of water and an
ashtray on the bedside table. There's very little room to spare in here with my
small chest of drawers, twin bed, and a corner desk for my computer. That's it.
An oval throw rug next to the bed is the only space available for a sleeping
bag. If a guy isn't careful, he could step on the sleeping bag guy when
getting out of bed. Then I start worrying: fuck, Mike might not have any more
room here then he has at his Aunts! This has gotta be the smallest bedroom in
America. I never realized how small it actually is until now. What to do? I
could sleep on the couch in the living room, but that defeats my main goal,
which is what exactly? Jeez, it's embarrassing to admit to myself, but I want
Mike to do one of his 'tests' on me and it's more likely he'll do one if we're
together in here... hmmmm.
Then I sit on the edge of my bed with my head in my hands wondering what's
happened to me.
Jesus Christ, all this angst over Mike is so stupid; why am I so fixated on him
anyway? He's treated me worse than anybody I've ever known! ... even worse than
my mother's boyfriend; so why is it, when I think about Mike, I start getting
a boner? This is the biggest mystery of my whole life and I don't have a clue
as to the answer. I mean, obviously it's a crush, a gay crush, except I didn't
know I was gay. I don't have anyone to ask about this or even talk to in a
general way about any of it. The hell with it! I hop off the bed and give up
agonizing over all this: screw it! I'm feeling a little hungry so I go into the
kitchen and make a fried egg sandwich and eat it looking out the window, trying
to think of nothing; keep my mind blank. That's impossible though so I turn
on the TV for some background noise and make another sandwich. Just as I'm
taking my first bite I hear the motorbike and my heart goes pitter-patter. A
quick look out the window confirms it's Mike. Feeling oddly nervous, I put down
the sandwich and take a deep breath before going out to meet him. The first
thing he says is, "As it turns out, my sleeping bag is smoke damaged so I
guess I'll sleep on the bare floor." I say, "I have a sleeping bag in our
storage unit, you can use that." Mike shrugs, like, "whatever" and I nod my
head indicating 'good'. We're both a little uncomfortable. Biting my bottom lip
I notice he's holding a satchel, so I say, "Here, let me help you with that
satchel, Mike." He also has a backpack on and, while maintaining his hold on
the satchel, he says, in a voice close to a whine, "Are you sure this is alright
with your old man? I feel weird staying here. I don't even know you very well
and I never laid eyes on your old man. Are you sure he said this is okay?"
Mike seems different, like he's unsure of himself, like he doesn't know what
to do or say; like me. For the first time since I met him he isn't the brash,
over-confident tough guy. He's acting more like the way he looks: like a tall
baby-faced, sixteen year old who's struggling with all the complexities of
adolescence, just like me. Mike is over six feet tall, about two inches taller
than me, and we're both slim. We look younger then sixteen although we like to
think of ourselves as grown up enough to be cool, especially Mike, so this
hesitant, uncertain version of him is unexpected and a bit disconcerting. I feel
bad for him too and want to do something to put him at ease, but I don't know
what that 'something' is, so I just say, "Yeah, it really is fine with the old
man, I just reconfirmed it a little while ago. He's at work now.
Mike says nothing, just stands there, so I add, "I'm glad you're going to be
staying here, Mike, real glad." He did one of his stares then, evaluating if I'm
being a smart ass or not. I keep a smiling expression on my face and hold my
hand out to take his satchel. After a short time he brushes by my outstretched
hand, saying, "I'll give it a try for one night, but I gotta tell ya it don't
feel right to me already and, like I told ya, if I feel fucking weird, I'm outta
here!" He's reverted back to the Mike I know and I already kinda miss the other
one, the almost shy one. He asks, "Where's your bedroom?" Now I'm nervous about
the size of my bedroom again, "It's through the living room, come on." Inside I
try to lighten things up with a pretend tour of our tiny condo, "On your right,
Mike, is our lavish kitchen. That big white thing we like to call a
refrigerator, it's next to that thing we hardly ever use called an oven and to
it's right...." Mike stops abruptly, slowly turning his head so he can look me
in the eyes. He gives me a stern look that makes me stop in mid-sentence, then
he spits out, "Are you mocking me, you dipshit?" I shake my head, and say, "No
Mike. I'm kidding around, goofing off, trying to get a laugh out of you, that's
all." To my pleasant surprise he quietly replies, "Oh, yeah... okay, sorry
Richie, this is just strange and feels uncomfortable, that's all. Let's see
your bedroom." Not used to hearing the word 'sorry' from Mike, I'm speechless
and merely move my arm like, 'this way' and we walk across the hall to my room.
Just inside the door, he says, "Hey, it's just like my room. Okay if I just
drop this stuff behind the door?" That was all he said about the room. He hasn't
eaten yet tonight so we make some more egg sandwiches after which we ride the
motorbike to the convenience store to buy eggs in case the old man wants one
tomorrow. If he does it will be the first time he's wanted one since I moved
in, but why take a chance. A bit later Mike rode us to the boardwalk and we
walked the boards enjoying the pleasant breeze off the ocean. I'm feeling good,
feeling kinda cool walking next to Mike. I finally have a friend, and what a hot
friend he is. Of course I've got more than one friend if you count the guys in
the gang; Tony for sure. We don't see any of the gang tonight though, but
Mike sees other guys he knows and they say, simultaneously, "Whassup?" and keep
walking. A little later two girls call out, "Hey, Mike! Mike, over here!" He
spots them and swaggers over with me in tow. Introductions all around and it
appears, from the one girl's reaction, that there's some kind of relationship
between Darlene and Mike. She takes hold of Mike's hand and they act shy with
each other. I stand there awkwardly shifting my weight from one foot to the
other.
Finally, the other girl, Carol, asks me, "How long you down for, Richie?" "Huh,
what?" is my response because I'm concentrating on Mike and Darlene. Darlene's
tall, but not big. Carol's big, but not tall... and I don't want anything to do
with her. She, however, is showing a lot of interest in me, and will not stop
talking at me. While saying something that I'm still not paying attention to,
she puts her arm through mine and walks me over toward the beach side of the
boardwalk, saying, "I'll show you exactly what I mean." I ask, "About what?"
Carol giggles, and says, "I swear, you're not even listening to me!" She said
it like she thought it was funny that I'm ignoring her. I nod my head and look
over at Mike and Darlene. Mike has his arm around Darlene's shoulders and
Darlene had her arm around his waist and their heads are together as they
talk. I ask Carol if she and Darlene live in Wildwood, she giggles again, and
says, "Of course not", implying, "Who would live here?" They're from New
York; down on two weeks vacation. Mike and Darlene wander over to a Salt Water
Taffy shop as Carol explains how last year Darlene and Mike had something going
on between them and how it looks like they're picking up where they left
off. I'm quickly bored beyond endurance with Carol and insist she and me find
out what's up in the candy shop. The two sweethearts are just coming out as we
approach the shop. Mike's laughing and Darlene's face is red; she slaps Mike's
arm playfully, and says, "You are so bad, Mike Sullivan!" Then, looking at
Carol, she says, "Wait till I tell you the joke Mike just told me. The mouth on
him!!" She looks up at me, and goes, "Cutie, I forget your name." I tell her
again and she says we're all going to ride the Double Shot tonight, like she'll
decide what we'll do. Darlene's real bossy where Carol's one of those girls that
laughs a real high pitched giggle at almost anything anyone says. Her hyena
laugh causes others on the boardwalk to gawk at us with puzzled expressions of
discontent on their faces. Standing right next to her the laugh is nearly
unbearable and now my first night with Mike is turning into a nightmare! Plus,
there's no fucking way I'm riding the Double Shot for the first time in my life
with this bitch.
Mike walks with, and mostly just listens to bossy Darlene, while Carol and I
trail right behind. In between hyena laughs, I noticed something about Darlene;
she does have something big about her after all, besides her mouth... she has a
fat ass. Too fat for the rest of her body and the more I stare at it, the
funnier it looks. It's like a fat lady's ass attached somehow to a tall, thin
girl's body and I burst out laughing at one point with Carol joining in on the
laugh although she had no idea what I'm laughing about. She says, "Isn't this
fun, Robby?" So now, for the rest of the night, I'm Robby, I guess. At the
Double Shot the line is very long and the waiting time's over an hour. Thank
god Mike said he wouldn't wait that long. We skipped that ride and went on two
other less thrilling ones which still had my heart pumping fast! Big Carol
bitched about the seats being too small when all along she was using up her
space, plus half of mine. Finally, Mike told the girls we'd meet them here
tomorrow night but that right now he needs to get to bed because he's getting up
early tomorrow for work. Mike says to me as we walk away, waving goodbye, "Come
on Richie, let's jog so they can't catch us if they want to walk back with us.
Come to think of it, let's run our asses off. Fuck the jogging!" And run we
did, dodging hordes of people on the boardwalk, but also running into some of
the less dexterous folks. Amazingly Mike starts laughing after a minute of
running, yelling to me, "I haven't run for my life like this since
those Hispanic bastards tried to grab your ass, Richie."
When it's obvious the girls couldn't catch-up with us we slowed to a walk and
Mike explained how last year he'd tried to get into Darlene's pants under the
boardwalk, but no luck, and since he doesn't expect any luck this year either he
has no intention of meeting the girls tomorrow night. That made me happy and I
feel special that Mike, who wanted nothing more to do with those girls, doesn't
mind being with me... this is a good thing. Riding behind Mike on his bike,
heading back to the house, I get a strange nervous feeling in my stomach and it
gets stronger when we're there, and I'm unlocking the front door. Inside it's
just Mike and me standing there in the dark. My breath's coming out in little
spurts as I fumble to turn on a couple of lights, then ask Mike if he wants
something to drink or eat. He's in a quiet mood too and mumbles he just wants to
take a shower, if that's alright. "Of course it's alright," I say, too
quickly. Mike gives me a furrowed eyebrow expression for a second, then digs
out his small toilet kit from his backpack and grabs a clean pair of boxer
shorts from his satchel; I hand him a clean towel and washcloth. Without
looking at me he goes into the bathroom and closes the door. I hear the tiny
"click" as he pushes in the button on the doorknob to lock the door. Maybe he
is worried I'll attack his body.
While he's showering I get the sleeping bag from the storage unit in the
basement, then sit on the edge of my bed listening to the shower running.
The bathroom is on the other side of my bedroom wall and I
picture Mike standing naked under the spray washing his buzz cut blond head and
his cute baby face and just like that I spring a boner. Forcing myself to stop
fantasizing about Mike in the shower I wandered out of the bedroom and around
the living room, not thinking of anything, just killing time. In ten minutes
Mike comes out shiny clean, carrying his dirty clothes. I say, "If you'll give
me those I'll put them in the hamper. I do the wash twice a week and I can just
add your few things in with mine; if you want me to. I'm glad to do it." He
looks puzzled, like, "You do the wash?" but hands me his dirty clothes along
with the damp towel and wet washcloth. He's wearing only boxer shorts and the
tan line is visible below his boxers so obviously his Bermuda shorts are longer
than the boxers. Mike's body is hairless and evenly tanned everywhere I can see.
He must work without a shirt at the tomato farm. He looks real good.
to be continued ....
Donny Mumford thinat20@yahoo.com