Mike and Danny: Stuff Happens
Note that these stories, including this one, are not an endorsement of unsafe sex. They take place many years before the appearance of AIDS and before it was standard practice to use condoms to reduce the risk of infection from sexually transmitted diseases. Remember always: that was then, this is now. Sex is precious, and so are life and health.
Chapter 10
Virgil
It was sometime Sunday morning. Bright light poured through the slats of the window blinds. He lay naked in his bed, under the white sheet and the blanket, his face buried in the soft pillow. The space beside him in the bed was empty, and looking out from under the covers he found Kirk sitting across the room in a chair by Virgil's desk.
He had put on his jeans and was smoking a cigarette, the swirls of smoke drifting up through the shafts of bright sunlight that fell from the window across his bare shoulders and his chest. He held a can of beer in one hand, and his legs, stretched out in front of him, ended in bare feet, one hooked over the other.
"Mornin', pardner," he said, smiling.
Virgil turned onto his back and stretched, yawning. He was used to sleeping till noon on Sunday. This seemed too early to be awake.
"What time is it?" he said.
Kirk held up an alarm clock. "Says here 4:30. But could be cause it's run down. You gotta wind these things up ever once in a while."
"Very funny."
"I got a better question," Kirk said. "How can a man get something to eat around here? I'm so hungry I could chew on shoe leather."
"Bottom drawer there," Virgil said. "Should be something."
Kirk leaned forward and pulled open the drawer. He took out a package of Nabiscos.
"This ain't no real man's breakfast," he said, taking one anyway and popping it whole into his mouth, then washing it down with the beer.
"Slim'd whup us both for tryin' to live on these things," he said and took another one.
Virgil watched him for a while and began to feel hungry himself. They hadn't eaten since polishing off a bowl of Slim's Texas chili back at the ranch. "You gonna eat 'em all yourself or what?" he finally said.
"Ain't enough here for two."
"Bullshit. Gimme some."
Kirk grinned at him, his mouth full, crumbs collecting in his mustache. "Tell you what your problem is, you don't say please."
"They're my goddam cookies."
"And the second thing is, I ain't gettin' up just because of that and walkin' over there."
"Cocksucker," Virgil said, pressing his head back into the pillow and closing his eyes.
Kirk just laughed, like at least Virgil got that part right.
"You got a roommate?" Kirk said. "There's a extra bed in here."
"Had one," Virgil said, without opening his eyes. "Moved out."
"What happened to him?"
"I dunno," Virgil said, knowing it would be no use trying to explain Brian to Kirk.
Kirk was silent for a while. "You two have a fight or something?" he finally asked.
"Sorta."
"The guy must be an asshole," Kirk said. "Who'd wanna pick a fight with you?"
Virgil just let that question hang there, unanswered, in the smoky, sun-drenched silence of the room.
After a while, he heard the chair scrape on the tile floor and Kirk's bare feet padding over to him. When he opened his eyes, Kirk was taking off his jeans and getting back into bed.
"Move your carcass over," he said and pushed in naked beside him, still holding the beer he'd been drinking.
"Did you bring the cookies?" Virgil said.
"No, I had enough."
Virgil groaned and crawled over Kirk to get out of the bed. "Tell you what your problem is. You can be a fuckin' pain in the ass."
Kirk laughed again and smacked Virgil on the butt as he got to his feet. "I been told that before," he said.
Virgil walked to his desk and got the package of cookies. He could feel that the air in the room had warmed during the night. The heating system had kicked in now that spring break was nearly over and the men who lived in the building would be coming back.
"Wait," Kirk said. "Just stand there a minute."
"What?"
"I never seen you naked before."
And Virgil stood as Kirk eyed him from head to toe and back again, a sly, hungry grin on his face. A little embarrassed about being stared at, he held the cookies in front of his crotch.
"Move 'em, move 'em," Kirk said. "I wanna see all of ya."
"You're just gonna make fun of me."
Kirk's grin faded and his eyes met Virgil's. "Now why would there be any call for that?" he said. "Besides, I seen your dick already, and there's nothin' wrong with it."
"I'm not big as you are."
"Who cares?" Kirk said, getting impatient now. "Just show me."
Virgil held the cookies away from him and as Kirk's eyes settled between his legs for a moment he felt his cock begin to lift.
"How'd you get that scar on your leg?" Kirk asked.
"Fell off my bike."
"No, you're supposed to say it was a fight. Three guys jumped you, one had a knife, and you beat the shit outta all of 'em."
"I'll try to remember that."
"You been eatin' your Wheaties?" Kirk said. "Let's see your muscle."
Virgil raised both arms and flexed his biceps.
"Hell, you're damn near perfect," Kirk said. "Now turn around. Let's have a look at the other side of you."
Virgil turned, half glad to face the other way, where his growing dick wouldn't have an audience.
"Even better," Kirk said. "That's an honest-to-god fine ass."
Virgil felt himself begin to glow and his dick harden some more as Kirk admired him. Like a rare word of praise from the head coach or a pat on the backside from a teammate when he'd made a good play, he warmed with feelings of being appreciated—often hard won—by someone whose opinion of him mattered.
Only there was one difference. For all the times he'd been naked in the locker room or the showers, no one had ever said or done anything that made him feel quite like this—good to look at. Hell, even sexy.
"Seen enough?" he finally said and turned around again pretending as he bit into two cookies that he couldn't care less what Kirk thought of him. Crumbs fell from the corner of his mouth to the floor, and he could tell without looking that he had a full-fledged boner.
"Tell you something else," Kirk said, "and I gotta hand it to you." He was smiling, and the look of his eyes was softening. "You got the best set of balls I ever seen on a man."
"What?"
"And I seen all kinds. Big as golf balls, small as marbles, hangin' high, hangin' low, red, white, purple, knobby, round, square, all kinds," he shook his head, almost in wonder. "But the ones you go there. Well, they get the fuckin' first prize."
Virgil finally looked down at himself and what he could see of his testicles, hugging up tight now under his erection. But he couldn't see what Kirk was talking about.
"You never saw anybody with square balls," Virgil said. "Come on."
"Shows how much you been around," Kirk laughed and finished the beer he'd been drinking. "Get yourself over here," he said and lifted the sheet to let Virgil under it. Between his legs, in the dark thatch of his curlies, Virgil could see Kirk's cock, hard now, too.
Kirk's hands were cool on his back as he slipped his arms around Virgil and pressed against him in the small bed, lifting one leg over his thigh.
"Cripe," Virgil said. "Your feet are like ice."
"Stop your bellyachin'," Kirk said and moved the pillow to make room for both of them. His face was now against Virgil's, and he hugged the two of them closer together, his mouth tasting of warm beer and cigarette smoke as his lips found Virgil's.
"You wanna know something funny?" Kirk said as he pulled away for a moment. "I'm actually getting to like you a little."
They'd arrived the night before, well after midnight. The campus was deserted, the residence halls still closed and dark. They had parked the pickup in an empty lot and walked to Virgil's dormitory.
"Where is everybody?" Kirk wanted to know.
And Virgil had explained about spring break and how students wouldn't be coming back until the next day.
"You mean we got this whole place to ourselves?" Kirk asked, looking up at the three-story building Virgil had walked them to.
"Not if we can't get in."
They'd gone around back to where the RA lived in an apartment. Kirk hung back in the shadows as Virgil climbed through the shrubbery and tapped on a window until a light came on inside.
An upperclassman named Rankin, in a crew cut and pajama bottoms, came and stood looking out at him. And Virgil had pleaded with the guy for a while until he agreed to come round to the side entrance and let him in.
"I'm not supposed to do this, Virgil," Rankin had said, holding the door for him. "Keep your lights off and don't do anything to get my ass in trouble."
"I won't, Rankin," Virgil had said. "And I won't tell anybody there's a girl in there with you tonight."
Standing at the window, he'd seen into Rankin's bedroom and got a glimpse of a shock of dark auburn hair on the pillow before Rankin had come out, closing the door behind him.
Rankin had just stiffened and given a nervous laugh. "You know dorm rules," he said. "No women." He turned to go back to the apartment and then said over his shoulder, "And that goes for you, too, Virgil."
"No need to worry about that," Virgil said.
As Rankin had left him, he started up the stairs and then waited for a while until Kirk's silhouette appeared in the glass of the side entrance. Then he went back down and quietly opened the door for him.
He'd left his room key in his duffel bag at the ranch and he'd had to jimmy the lock to get in. His hands were shaking as Kirk stood beside him, giggling, holding the last cans of beer and a half empty bottle of Seagram's.
There was the gummy taste of sex in the back of Virgil's mouth and a restless edge of nerves traveling around in his belly that had never left him on the road since they had shot out of town and into the prairie night. The beers had settled him some, and the whiskey had softened the edge, but his head had taken to swimming around in a kind of warm fog that just gave him an aching hard-on.
Now, steps away from the darkened room and the bed in it, which they'd been driving toward for the last almost four hours, he felt parts of himself in a cold sweat and could hardly contain the trembling that darted along his arms and down his legs. When the door finally swung open, he'd taken a deep unsteady breath and they had stepped inside.
In the moments after the door had been shut again, only the faint light coming in from a street lamp outside, they had torn at each other's clothes, a shirt button bouncing onto the floor, mouths falling on bare skin and making big sucking noises before pausing to pull off more of their clothes until, naked and hard in each other's arms, Virgil had just held onto Kirk in a fierce embrace that seemed to go on and on, and finally Kirk had said, "Where's the bed? I wanna get you in it."
He'd stepped to the edge of the mattress, throwing back the covers, which lay in rumpled disorder just as he'd left them a week before, and jumped in. The feel of Kirk's weight settling onto the bed beside him sent a charge surging through him.
This space, which had never been anybody's but his, was now filled to capacity with a second living, breathing man, a man he hadn't even known the last time he'd slept here. It was a small bed, and there was hardly room for both of them, but it didn't matter. Together they took the place of one man—one big man—and that was all they needed.
For a while, it wasn't clear who was going to do what to who.
"Guy with the biggest dick goes first," Kirk finally said after some fumbling. "That's me."
"That another one of your rules?"
"No, everybody knows that."
Virgil knew this was bullshit, but he flipped over on his stomach, his dick hard and feeling charged with electricity as he made room for it under him. He wanted Kirk to get over and done with so he could thrust into him and let the pressure that had built up in his groin just explode and wash away the tension that had his teeth on edge.
"Naw, not like that," he heard Kirk say.
"What?"
"On your back."
"What?"
"Just do it," Kirk said.
When he turned over again, he thought Kirk was going to suck his cock, and he lay flat, waiting.
"Feet up, feet up," Kirk said, patting him on the side of one thigh.
"What?"
"Stop asking what," Kirk said. "Ain't you ever done this before?"
And there had followed this discovery that Danny hadn't told him everything about how two men might do this together. In fact the first surprise was lying with knees to his chest, bare ass pointed to the ceiling, and the sensation of Kirk's warm tongue filling his butt crack.
"Holy shit," he'd said over and over as wave upon wave of release washed through him. He felt himself opening and opening until he couldn't imagine waiting any longer for the touch of Kirk's cock ready to enter him.
And when it did, he sighed, closing his eyes tight and then forcing them open again to watch Kirk above him, just visible against the faint light on the rough ceiling. The shadowy outline of his head and shoulders moving with each push into him, deeper each time than before.
Then Kirk had done this unexpected thing, leaning down closer until their mouths met in a breathless kiss, Kirk's tongue now pushing against his and holding him in this embrace not with his arms but with his soft tongue and hard dick.
The intensity that flowed through him now kept building—even after the kiss and Kirk had stepped up the pace of his strokes—and when the knob of Kirk's cock passed over a spot inside him he'd never known was there, he felt his own cum spilling out of him onto his belly.
He cried out softly, not knowing what he was saying, or whether he was just making animal sounds, talking animal talk.
When he came around—and it was like he'd simply blanked out from too much to drink—Kirk had finished and was saying, "You still awake?"
"Uh-huh," Virgil said, unable to say anything more.
"I think you beat me to it, pardner," Kirk said.
"Huh?"
"You shot your wad."
"I think I did, too," Virgil said.
"You should know."
After a while there had been more sex, and maybe even some more. Remembering it the next morning, Virgil recalled falling asleep finally, pressed against Kirk's back, the covers pulled up to their ears, his arm reaching over Kirk, his hand tucked between Kirk's legs and cupped around his privates. Lying in bed with a naked man, he thought, drained and so tired he could not keep his eyes open, skin against skin, sticky with cum—this had to be the best of everything possible.
Except for one thing. The other guy wasn't Brian.
Too hungry for sex on an empty stomach, they finished off the cookies as the room grew brighter with morning sunlight, and they decided to go out for a real breakfast somewhere. There was a diner Virgil liked not far from campus, with steaming platters of steak, eggs and home fries or—and the thought of it made his mouth water—biscuits and gravy.
Encrusted with each other's cum and rank with their sweat, they walked barefoot down the hall to the showers, Virgil in his jockeys and, wrapped around Kirk, the only towel Virgil had been able to find in his closet.
The water was no more than warm, but Virgil had stayed for a while in his shower, scrubbing himself with a chip of soap someone had left in the soap dish, then holding his head under the spray, letting it drum into his scalp, like it might wash away the dull ache inside from last night's beer and whiskey.
His cock, now soaped, washed, and rinsed almost to a shine, hung heavy between his legs. Where have you been, he thought, looking down at it, and what have you been up to? He shook his head and laughed to himself, wondering at all he had done in just one week.
Kirk was in the next stall, singing over the noise of the showers, doing another Elvis impression, his voice ricocheting off the tile walls of the room.
Oh let me be—your teddy bear
Virgil had to tell him to pipe down, or Rankin would show up, investigating. He wouldn't be busy screwing his girlfriend anymore, having snuck her out of the building well before dawn. Virgil would be in hot water—hotter than the shower—for letting a stranger in when neither one of them was supposed to be there.
When Virgil stepped out of his stall, Kirk was leaning against one of the sinks, waiting, his hair wet and ruffled up on his head, the towel wrapped low around his hips.
"Gimme the towel," Virgil said, water dripping from him onto the floor.
Kirk pulled the towel from around him without a comment and tossed it to Virgil. He watched, naked, arms folded across his chest as Virgil dried himself off as well as he could.
Kirk's body, he saw under the bright fluorescent lights, showed the years that were between the two of them. Next to his own—or Brian's—it seemed already worn, his belly softer, the pale skin overgrown with dark hair, his shoulders bonier, his legs less muscular. His face was weathered, with a hairline scar over one eye, from a fight or some accident.
He was stronger maybe—tougher, for sure—which Virgil knew already, just from working with him at the ranch. But he hadn't guessed that being tough would look like this on him naked. Finally, his dick and balls hung loosely from him—like a man's, yes, but like they had been used too hard and too much.
He couldn't with honesty say to Kirk that any part of him deserved a first prize. Second, maybe—second to Brian surely, whose body was almost golden, broad shouldered and deep chested, hairless but for a little trail of it running from his flat belly into his shorts—and the round, firm butt that Virgil was afraid to give a pat during a game for fear that he would betray all his true feelings for his very best friend.
As for butts, Virgil's was feeling the effects of the night before. So were his nipples. Kirk had bitten down on them, and he winced now as he rubbed the damp towel across his chest.
"Sore?" Kirk said.
"Yeah, in a couple places."
"You'll get used to it," Kirk said. "You still got some catching up."
Virgil looked at him and wondered if that was what he truly wanted. Experience seemed to take a toll. Innocence, he knew, was its own burden, but maybe it was OK to put off knowing some things.
They went back to his room, Virgil with the towel around him and Kirk bare-ass naked, his long, slack dick swinging as they went. Inside, with the door closed, they got to fooling around again, Kirk pulling off Virgil's towel and hugging him as they stood together, cock pressed to growing cock. Then he pushed Virgil back onto the bed.
Virgil lifted his knees up.
"Naw, not like that," Kirk said. "I just wanna suck your dick."
And he did—long and hard—until Virgil came.
They sat in a booth at the diner. It was past noon and the place was filling up with mostly church-going families and old gray-haired couples in their Sunday clothes. Virgil had tossed his underwear onto the floor of his closet and was not only aware that he and Kirk were still dressed for Saturday night in their jeans and cowboy hats—he could feel his naked butt inside the denim, and it kept reminding him of what he'd been up to.
"Are you aware that you got a shit-eating grin on your face?" Kirk said from behind his menu.
Virgil said nothing and felt his face grow warm.
"Don't know about you," Kirk went on. "But I've worked up one fucker of an appetite."
A man at the next table gave them both a sharp look and then surveyed the faces of his wife and four children, all staring intently into their plates.
"For crissake," Virgil muttered. "Keep your voice down."
Kirk ignored him, but kept his mouth shut until the waitress arrived and took their order.
"There's a guy over there keeps looking at you," Kirk finally said.
Virgil turned and at a booth across the room he saw Brian, sitting with some other guys from the baseball team.
"Shit," Virgil said and pulled down on his hat brim.
"You know him?"
"It's my roommate."
"The one moved out?"
Virgil nodded.
"Well, get ready to say hello," Kirk said. "He's comin' over."
Virgil waited, his heart sinking, until under the brim of his hat at the edge of the table, he could see what there was to see of Brian from the waist down. He had on a crisply pressed pair of chinos and a navy blue sport coat. The tip of his maroon tie just touched his belt buckle.
"Virg, where the hell have you been?" he said. "Coach had an after-church meeting this morning. You weren't there."
Virgil looked up at him, and his heart wanted to stop. Brian had a stern frown, and there was color in his face from being in the sun.
"How was Florida?" he said.
"Coach even asked me about you," Brian said, ignoring the question. "I had to tell him something."
Virgil glanced at Kirk, who just sat there taking it all in. "You could have said you didn't know," he said, turning back to Brian. "Because you don't."
Brian was looking at the two of them. "What is this?" he said. "You some kind of cowboy now?"
"I think you've said enough," Kirk suddenly said. "Go back over there with your buddies and mind your own business."
Brian glared at him. "I'm not talking to you."
Across the room, the other guys from the team were watching with growing interest. The man with the wife and children looked like he was about to jump out of his chair and shepherd them all to an exit.
"You care to take this outside?" Kirk said, bristling.
"No," Virgil said, raising one hand toward Kirk. "Brian, just go away."
Brian took a step back and then another. "You wait till coach hears about this," he said to Virgil. And then he turned and was gone.
"The guy's a goddam prick," Kirk said.
With that, a fork fell against a plate at the next table, and the man with the family turned to them. "You better watch your mouth, cowboy," he said, his voice shaking. "There's decent people here."
"Aw, you can—," Kirk started to say, making a face, but Virgil cut him off.
"Shut up, will you? Here comes the food."
They ate then in silence, and Virgil kept his eyes on his plate, wolfing down the biscuits and gravy he'd ordered, wanting to get this all over with, so they could go back to the pickup and get out of town, headed for the ranch.
His stomach hurt as Kirk waited in line to pay the bill. Brian and the others had left, but he could see them in the parking lot, sitting in a red GTO, Brian up front with the driver.
When he and Kirk stepped outside, they had to walk by the car to get to the pickup. Virgil held his breath until they got all the way past it. Then as they got to the truck, he heard footsteps on the asphalt behind them and Brian calling out, "Virg, wait a minute."
He stopped and turned, not sure what to expect, but hoping it was just Brian, not all of the others, too.
"Look, I don't want a fight," Brian was saying, coming toward him. "I just want to know what's going on."
There was a moment when everything came to a complete stop, and then there was a sharp, lurching movement beside him, and he could hear Kirk saying, "How about you go fuck yourself!"
And what he heard next—heard more than saw—was the sickening thud of a punch being thrown and Brian falling backward, hands to his face and blood pouring from his fingers and onto his white shirt.
Catching himself short of falling, Brian stood for a moment, yowling, "You broke my nose!"
Kirk was braced to hit him again, and across the parking lot, Virgil could see the doors of the GTO flying open.
He grabbed Kirk's arm and yelled, "Let's get the hell outta here."
They jumped in the cab of the truck, got it started, and in seconds were headed for the exit, the other guys running alongside, shouting and pounding on the doors and the fenders. Kirk rolled down his window as they hit the street, waving his middle finger at them.
Next thing, Kirk was racing down the street and running red lights and stop signs all the way to the highway.
And all the while, Virgil kept yelling at him, "What the fuck did you do that for?"
Continued . . .