I WAKE up early Sunday morning for work. I took off Saturday because of the party, but it’s good to be back in the real world, surrounded by guys who have no idea I’m making the circuit on social media. Yeah, I checked my accounts that morning, and it’s not pretty. There’s this whole thread with the headline, “What’s in Wooten’s mouth?” There are all these filters people have put on top of the photo—a banana, a pickle, a dog’s butt…. The dog’s expression is one of surprise and dismay. Pretty creative. If it wasn’t me they were mocking, I might even find it mildly humorous.
The comments range from wisecracks to propositions and then, farther down, a forum of debate between gay rights advocates and bigots. I sign out so I won’t be tempted to dig further, excusing myself entirely from the conversation.
I decide then I’m not going to let Dave run me out of my own school or dwell on the fact that everyone now knows I have a taste for cock. It’s time for me to man up, and by that I mean, own my shit and be real about who I am. Screw the haters. I never had much use for them anyway.
At work I enjoy the solidness of the tools in my hand, the vibrations of the mowers and edgers, the sun on my skin, and the utter exhaustion of eight hours of manual labor. At the end of the day, I text my boss and tell him I’m ready to take on more hours. I need something to occupy my time and keep me out of my own head.
After work I consider going straight to Chris’s house and hiding out for a few more hours until his parents get back but figure I can’t delay the inevitable much longer. I climb the stairs to our kitchen. My sister’s nowhere in sight, so I tiptoe past her room so that she won’t know I’m home. But when I open my door, she’s sitting there on my bed, legs crossed, waiting for me.
I eye her warily and try to determine the nature of this intrusion. She crosses her arms and raises her eyebrows. She looks like a younger, sassier version of our mom.
“So, are you gay or what?” She purses her lips and looks at me expectantly.
I lean against the doorway and try to predict which way this thing will go. “Yeah, I am.”
She huffs, audibly. “You could have told me, you know?”
“I didn’t tell anyone.”
“Not even Chris?”
“Nope.” Especially not Chris.
She sighs, uncrosses her arms, and pats my bed for me to join her.
“You inviting me in to my own room?”
She tilts her head and scowls. “Come sit, baby brother.”
Tabs is about two minutes older than me, and she loves reminding me of it whenever she has the opportunity. She probably elbowed me out of the way to be first. I slouch over and sit with my back against the headboard, swat at her with one of the pillows, then hug it to my chest. I need something to hold on to.
“Here’s the thing,” she begins. “I always thought you were being weird on purpose—”
“Why would anyone be weird on purpose?” I interrupt.
“I don’t know. You’re so good at everything, Theo. I figured being weird was one more thing you were good at.” She shakes her head. “But I realize you probably had a lot on your mind, and because you don’t tell anyone anything….” Here she pauses to give me an accusing look, then rolls her eyes to further her point. “Anyway, I’m sorry I was rude to you on your birthday. Whoever did that… they suck, and if there’s anything I can do—”
“It’s fine, Tabs. I’m handling it. Just… don’t tell Dad, okay?”
She looks stricken. Her mouth falls open a little. “I wouldn’t, Theo. Trust me. And I’m sorry about that night at dinner. If I had known….” She looks thoughtful for a moment. “I didn’t mean to be so insensitive.”
“It’s okay. I shouldn’t have walked out like that. I should have just….” I drift off, not knowing what I should have done… cared less? Kept it all bottled up inside? That’s the story of my life. “Anyway, I’m sorry too. I don’t like it when you’re mad at me.”
“Then you shouldn’t do things to make me so mad.” She punches my shoulder playfully. Her phone dings, and she checks it.
“Can you believe this shit?” she demands, shaking her phone in the air like the device is the problem. I figure it can only mean she’s found the controversy brewing online—What’s in Wooten’s mouth and why does it matter?
I watch as she furiously types into her phone.
“You’re not commenting, are you?” I bury my head in the pillow, dreading her answer.
“Of course I am. I’m not going to let them get away with this. Carson Fuller is dead to me.”
Carson is one of the guys calling me a faggot with AIDS and blaming gays for the economy. I’m surprised he even knows enough about the economy to make the leap. I really bring out the crazy in people, apparently.
“You can’t take them all on,” I tell her, though I’m flattered she would try.
“Yes, I can. They can’t treat my brother like this.” Her face is pinched and furious, and I realize that same fierce protection she exhibits for our father, she also has for me.
“I appreciate it, Tabs. I’m going to stay off the interwebs for a while, so don’t feel like you have to keep me updated.”
“Don’t worry, Theo. I got this.”
I stand to go take a shower, then shove her on impulse.
“What was that for?” she asks.
“That’s me showing affection,” I tell her.
She smiles and holds up both arms, asking for a hug. “Come on, it’s not going to kill you.”
“It might.”
She turns her wrists, insisting, so I reach down and hug her.
“See, that doesn’t hurt, does it?”
“A little.”
I grab some clothes and head out to the hall bathroom to take a shower, thinking how lucky I am to have Chris and my sister on my side. And my mom. Apparently Uncle Theo as well. Then I think about Dave being kicked out by his parents and find myself feeling sorry for him again, wishing he hadn’t gotten drunk and been so spiteful as to spread that picture of me around, because I could have been a friend to him too. Fucking asshole.
Afterward I’m alone in my bedroom when I hear something buzzing outside my window. I glance over to see a big, black bug. A bat? Shit, am I seeing things now? I go over and pull up the blinds. It’s a drone. I throw up the window to find Chris is in his driveway, holding a remote control. “Come over,” he calls. “My parents’ flight got delayed, and I’m bored.”
I tell Tabitha I’m going next door. She’s moved to the living room but remains glued to her phone. Even though it’d probably be better for all of us if she didn’t suffer the trolls, it’s the thought that counts.
Next door, Chris seems to know I’ll be hungry, because he’s pulled out the leftovers from my sister’s birthday party, and we pick through the platters and tubs of salads until we’re both full. Then we head upstairs and play video games. Chris is telling me about this story he saw online about a cockroach that crawled up a woman’s nose while she was sleeping and how she could feel it scooting around inside her head, so she went to the doctor and some surgeons had to operate on her to get it out.
“She said when it moved around it made her eyes burn,” Chris says, squinting. There’s a hint of a smile on his face, like he’s waiting for my reaction—he knows how I feel about roaches. Creepy, crawly little fuckers. Just when you think you’ve killed them, they’re all, psyche, then they reanimate and scurry away.
“That’s such bullshit,” I tell him. Chris has been known to exaggerate or even make shit up in order to freak me out. He’s good at it too.
“I’m not lying, T. There’s a YouTube video of the surgery and everything.”
“Did you watch it?”
“Hell no. I don’t like roaches either.”
“Pull it up.” I pause the game and set down the controller.
“You don’t believe me?” he says like I’ve insulted him, still with that mischievous grin on his face.
“Pull it up and we’ll watch it together.” He pulls out his phone and finds the video, shows me the story to prove he’s not lying. We dare each other to watch it, going back and forth like morons until I finally just hit the Play button. It’s only about two minutes long, but the shit is straight-up nasty and totally makes me want to barf, yet neither of us can look away. There are tubes all in the woman’s nose and mouth and some god-awful long instrument like a tiny snake the surgeons are manipulating. And here’s the grossest part: the cockroach is still alive when they pull it out. You can see its legs twitching and everything. Chris keeps saying holy shit over and over again.
“That’s fucking gross,” I tell him, pushing his phone away. “I’m never falling asleep again.” Cockroaches are everywhere in Florida, even with pest service. They love that swampy heat, just like the snowbirds.
“I’d kill that motherfucker twice,” Chris says, slapping his hands together and grinning.
Chris goes on about what it would be like to have a cockroach squirming around in your head, trying to gross me out even more, making his fingers like insect legs and crawling up my arm to freak me out until we’re both cracking up. We go back to playing our video game, and it’s so normal and right between us that I’m overcome by Chris’s devotion to me, even in my lowest of lows. He’s an even better friend when I’m down, and how many people are there out there like that? Heart of gold, man. He’s not going to abandon me, no matter what it seems. Seriously, I don’t think his loyalty could be tested any more than it has been.
It hits me in a moment of clarity that I don’t want to lie to him anymore. And I’m no longer afraid he’s going to ditch me if I tell him about my infatuation with him. Sure, it might be awkward for a while, but maybe if Chris tells me he’s not interested, I’ll be able to douse the flame and move on.
I pause the game for the second time and toss the controller on the carpet, turn to him with my legs crossed in front of me like we’re in kindergarten during share time.
“We need to talk,” I say and coach myself to be honest. Just lay it on the table. Now’s the time, no more stalling. Real men share their feelings, right? At least, this one does.
“I’m sorry I made you watch that video,” Chris says, perhaps thinking that’s what this is about.
“It’s not that.” I study my hands for a minute, willing them to stop shaking. “I lied to you about a few things.”
“Oh yeah?” I glance up to see his eyes shift away. He looks guilty, like this one time he cheated in Risk by gaming the dice and I caught him. That look.
But I know deep down that Chris is true blue and whatever I tell him, our friendship can handle it, and if I don’t tell him now, I might never do it. Even while I don’t expect him to act on it except to be mildly horrified, I know I can’t continue on like this, constantly thinking about what I should say to him and worrying he’s going to find out I like him because I’m smiling too eagerly or staring at him for too long or whatever crazy nonsense my head has convinced me not to do.
I clear my throat and submerge my fingertips into his plush carpet to have something real to hold on to. “That night in Sebastian. It meant something to me.” I exhale and study him. He still looks caught, but he’s nodding slowly, eyes locked on mine.
“It meant something to me too,” he says softly.
Umm, okay, but what?
“It didn’t seem that way.” I wish I didn’t sound so whiny about it.
He stretches his arms in front of him, then tucks his hair behind his ears and stares at the carpet. “I panicked, Theo. I didn’t know if it was something you wanted, or if you just did it because I told you to.” He looks up and searches my face. “I still don’t know.”
“I wanted it,” I say before I can back out or blow it off. I try to keep my voice even and not falter because I don’t want to sound weak and needy. “I have for a while. I didn’t want to tell you because I wasn’t sure if you were into guys or me and even if you were, I didn’t want it to ruin our friendship.”
He takes a breath that seems to last forever. I watch his chest expand and then deflate. Chris isn’t one to rush his words. “How long have you felt this way?” he asks.
“I don’t know. A year? Maybe longer. I started noticing… things… last fall.”
“Things?” His eyebrows lift, the hint of a grin on his lips.
“You’re going to make me say it?” Chris nods, his smile growing wider. He’s going to make me say it. “Boners, Chris. Huge friggin’ hard-ons. Don’t act like you haven’t noticed.”
Chris laughs for, like, a while, to the point where we’re no longer laughing together, if we ever were. “I thought you might have a medical condition,” he rasps between guffaws.
“Har dee har har.”
When he finally stops, he reaches out and squeezes my shoulder. “I’ve felt this way longer.”
Poof. Mind blown.
“Why the hell didn’t you say anything?” I say in a rush of passion. I’m not going to lie, I’m a little pissed. I’ve been wrestling with this for a while. Completely paranoid. Completely out of my mind.
“It freaked me out, Theo. I mean, it still does.”
“For how long?”
“I don’t know, eighth grade?”
I do a little mental math. “Eighth grade? That was, like, years ago.” I can’t even believe this. We’d only been friends for a year or so, and he already had feelings? How did I not pick up on this? Oh, that’s right, all the making out with chicks. “What about all those girls… freaking Kelli Keyhoe?”
He shrugs. His nonchalance is making me crazy. “I didn’t think you’d be into it,” he says, “and I didn’t want to screw up our friendship either. Kelli was easy compared to you.”
I have no idea what he’s talking about. Easy? Like, she’s a slut and I’m not? “What does that even mean?”
He shakes his head and smiles at me with brotherly affection, like he does whenever I say something completely dweeby or weird.
“You’re a little clueless sometimes, T.”
“I’m clueless?” I point to myself, completely baffled and indignant. He’s the clueless one as far as I’m concerned.
“Yeah, I’ve been making moves on you for years.”
“You have?” I ask incredulously. There’s absolutely no proof of that. I mean, I would know. “When?”
“My whole eighth-grade year. All we ever did was wrestle here on my bedroom floor.”
I glance down at the carpet. Chris did go through a phase where he wanted to show me all these wrestling moves. I had an awful lot of rug burns that year. I thought he’d go out for the high school team, but he never did.
“I thought you were just trying to prove how much stronger than me you were.”
Chris gives me a hard look. “By pinning you against the ground over and over?”
It did take an awful long time for him to count to three. How could I not have noticed that? But straight guys do that sort of thing all the time. There’s no way I could have known there was anything behind it.
“Shit.” I look at him. “So, are you gay?”
He shrugs and goes wide-eyed. “I don’t know. All I know is I think about you all the time. Dirty thoughts, T. Really filthy. Like, pornographic. That night in Sebastian….” He sucks in a deep breath and lets it out slowly. “All I’ve wanted since then is to get you alone in my tent. I have these schemes to kidnap you and….” He shakes his head, a small smile curving his pink lips. His face looks a little flushed. “You don’t want to know.”
I probably do, in fact. I can’t believe he’s had feelings for me all this time and hasn’t said anything. He tells me everything. “You should have said something,” I reiterate.
“I tried. I mean, I thought you’d pick up on it. Then after that night in Sebastian, you said it was a mistake. I saw you giving your number to Ryanne on the beach and thought there might be something there. Then you started hooking up with Dave.” He shakes his head and facepalms. “What a mess.”
I cannot believe we were both struggling with the same exact thing, in silence, for so long. In fact, I’m a little bitter. The whole Dave fiasco could have been avoided if we’d just manned up.
“So, what do we do now?” I ask him.
“I don’t know. I still don’t want to screw this up.” He lifts his eyes to stare at me, and my gaze drifts to his mouth, thinking about how long I’ve wanted to kiss those lips, how many girls have straddled his lap, draped over him like a flesh Snuggie, how badly I’ve wanted that permission to touch him myself.
“Maybe the reality won’t match up to the fantasy,” I tell him. “Then we could just, you know, move on.”
“You think we should test it?” Chris asks in a deep, gruff voice.
I scoot toward him so I’m kneeling in front of him with my knees spread wide. I reach down and cup his face in my hands while leaning in. Our mouths knock together somewhat awkwardly. His top teeth scrape against my bottom lip. I don’t think he was expecting my advance. Instead of pulling away, Chris grips the back of my head so it’s solidly in his grasp. Our mouths meet again, softly this time. I part my lips a little and his tongue slides across my own, like licking an ice cream cone, then curls inside my mouth. Chris’s tongue is inside my mouth. My brain shoots off a string of fireworks, and I force myself to relax and let him show me what to do. My hands migrate to the back of his neck, where my fingers get tangled in the soft curls of his hair. I forget for a minute that it’s Chris and think Wow, he’s a good kisser, then wonder if I’m moving my tongue at the right speed or opening my mouth wide enough, if I’m being too slobbery or eager.
Just shut up and enjoy it.
“Come here.” Chris shifts so he’s on his knees with our chests pressed together. His body radiates heat and his chest so fits nicely against my own. My mouth opens wider as our tongues find their groove, making sweet, sucking noises as we kiss. It could be only seconds or several minutes—I lose track of time and my thoughts drift away. There’s only room for the soft press of Chris’s lips against mine, the slow give and take of our tongues as they become better acquainted, and the flame of desire he ignites in my belly.
The rest of me gets all gooey and bendy except for my lone soldier, at full attention and nudging Chris’s thigh somewhat obscenely.
Chris pushes me back roughly, and I think it might be to make me stop, but then my back is flat on the carpet and he’s on top of me, grinding against me. His hands grip my wrists so they’re pinned above my head, his mouth mashed with mine while he makes his little humming noises. He positions himself so his hips are between my thighs, and I spread my legs wider to make room for him.
“Unghh.” I mutter something unintelligible and arch my back as my cock strains painfully against him like an arrow seeking release. Chris’s mouth latches on to my neck while he props himself on either side of me on his elbows like he’s doing push-ups, still thrusting against me.
“Take it off,” he orders and backs off for a moment. I can only assume he means my clothes. I rip off my shirt like Superman, and Chris does the same. His physique is decidedly more in the vein of an actual superhero. I almost come right then at the sight of him, his broad tanned chest and pink, rubbery nipples, his smell flooding my senses like a tantalizing mist. “Everything,” he commands, “take everything off.”
I have no reservations with Chris. Unlike Dave, I trust Chris implicitly. Anything he wants, I’ll give it to him. It’s just that simple.
“You feel so good,” Chris growls as he climbs, naked, on top of me again, riding his dick alongside my own. The heat rises like a fever and radiates out of my every pore as I reach down and grab both our cocks in my hand, jacking us off at the same time in a fervor. Chris’s mouth covers mine and then trails off across my cheek like he’s forgotten we’re kissing. He buries his face in my neck, sucking hard, teeth scraping my skin as he rides me like a dog. I love how wild and unrestrained he is, how perfectly Chris. He doesn’t care about how he looks or the sounds he’s making, which makes me not care either so I’m really able to let loose. Our bodies grind against each other, rough and dirty, trying to get each other off as fast as we can. There’s a sticky wetness on my stomach, and I think I must have come, but no, not quite. Still hard and aching and tender to the touch. Chris climbs off to access the damages, then bows down to finish me off. He’s barely latched on before I explode inside his mouth.
Sad to say, neither of us lasted very long.
“Whoa,” he says and spurts a mouthful of jizz onto my stomach. Like I said before, I’m not very tidy.
He wipes his arm across his mouth and stretches out across my chest, panting in my ear like an animal, hot and breathy. I love the weight of him, love that he’s crushing me into the carpet, his limbs spread over me in conquest. P.S. I surrender.
“Shit,” he says after a minute. The haze of carnal lust clears, and he glances around like he can’t believe what just happened. He sits up on his knees, his muscular thighs still straddling my hips, fine blond hair against tanned skin. I rub my hands along his muscular quads, and he stares at me with a wide-eyed look on his face. “What are we going to do now?”
I recognize this face from the morning after in Sebastian. He’s freaked out. I thought it was because he regretted it, but I realize now he’s truly scared shitless. Thinking you might be gay is one thing. Acting on it is another. I’m so used to Chris taking the lead, so effortlessly, that I didn’t realize he might need me to take the lead on this one.
“I need a shower,” I tell him, pointing politely to the pile of jizz pooling on my stomach, some of which is his and some of which is my own, “and you might want to rinse your mouth out.”
“Screw you, man,” he says and punches my shoulder.
I laugh and grip my arm like it hurt, but it’s only for his benefit.
“I think I gave you a hickey,” he says and turns my chin to inspect it closer.
“Yeah, for a minute there I thought you were a vampire.”
“I can’t believe I did that.” He touches my neck as though needing proof. “It’s, like, bruised and shit.”
“It’s cool. I like it a little rough.”
“You do?” Chris says, stupefied, because somewhere in the last five minutes, he misplaced his sense of humor.
“Maybe. I don’t know. I was just kidding.” I snap my hips to remind him of the plan, and he climbs off me in a daze.
Chris is kind of zoned out while I shower, sitting on the toilet seat, watching me wash up. He wiped himself down with a wet washrag, but I got most of the spillage. After the Dr. Giggles incident, his parents replaced the curtain with a glass door. I’m tempted to invite him in, but I don’t think he’s ready for cutesy couple shit like washing each other’s backs. He looks pretty stone-cold terrified right now, coming to grips with the fact that he also has a taste for cock. Even in South Flaaarida where straight guys wear pink, there’s some real homophobic haters out there. For proof, just check out What’s in Wooten’s mouth?
I turn off the water. Chris’s eyes track me as I dry off and wrap the towel around my waist. Chris is still naked as he grabs hold of the towel and gently tugs. My dick is definitely ready for round two and makes it known rather obnoxiously, but I sense from the way Chris kisses me softly on the lips, he’s looking for something gentler and sweeter.
“Come on.” He leads me back to his bedroom, nods at my junk, and says, “Put that away so I can focus.” He tosses my boxer briefs at me and puts on his own. He sits on the edge of his bed looking sort of dejected, like he just got told he didn’t make the team.
“What’s up?” I ask him while I redress.
“I thought I might be bi, but this is, like, straight-up gay.” He looks like he might be on the verge of a panic attack himself.
“How’s the reality match up to the fantasy?”
“It’s hot,” he says, and I smile, but he doesn’t look too pleased about it.
Chris leans forward, cradling his head in his hands, doing his wrinkled forehead stress face. “I have to tell my parents. My dad….”
He’s definitely panicking now. I kneel down at his feet and resist the urge to touch him. Even though we just did things we’ve never done before, I don’t want to assume he wants my affection or force myself on him. “We don’t have to do anything you’re not ready for. Or tell anyone. We don’t even have to do this again if it’s too much.”
“I want to, I’m just….” He glances up at me, brown eyes wide. “I’m freaking out, T.”
I reach for one of his hands and squeeze his fingers to bring him back to the here and now. “I get it, Chris. It’s a big deal. It’s okay to freak out.”
“I need some time,” he says, and I sense that he needs a little space to process as well. I back away, find my phone and keys, while Chris watches me with a stoned expression on his face.
“Can you take me to the DMV tomorrow after school?” I ask him. My mom could do it for me, but I want Chris there, partly because that’s how it was always supposed to be, and also because I want to show him we can be friends, just friends, if that’s what he wants.
“Yeah, of course.” He stands to walk me out. He’s still shirtless, wearing only his briefs, his junk bulging against the thin material. I bite my lip. This isn’t going to be easy, but at least I no longer have to lie to him or hide it.
“See you tomorrow,” he says absently, then grabs for my shirt with one hand and pulls me in close for another kiss. My mouth melts against his like warm chocolate. When we finally break apart, Chris seems reluctant to let me go.
“Take care, Boss,” I tell him.
“Don’t let your mom see that hickey.”
“Heard.”
I gallop down the stairs and out of his house. It’s late now and the streetlights are on, bathing the streets in an oily yellow glow. I grab an old skateboard from my garage and take a tour of the neighborhood, thinking about Chris and all the thoughts that must be swirling around in his head right now. I’m not going to pressure him or make any demands. I’ve made my feelings known, and that’s all I can do. I think of Gloria tucking the napkin into my uncle’s shirt and laying out his food for him in preparation for the feast.
I’ve set the table for Chris and served up the meal. It’s up to him to take the first bite.