Date: Sat, 23 Apr 2022 18:53:24 -0700
From: Boris Chen <borischenaz@gmail.com>
Subject: Playing with Fire Chapter 5.txt

Chapter 5, October, 1998.

I poured my enthusiasm into work and running. I even lost nine pounds with
my extra workout. I'd run from home west to Greenbay Road then back east to
Sheridan Road then north to Gillson Park and change clothes on the beach
and swim parallel to the beach. I'd wade out to neck deep water then swim
laps back and forth along the beach until I got bored.

After I dried off I ran home, south a short distance around Point Obo, then
down Linden Avenue to our house.

I called the Baha'i Temple 'Point Obo' because that's what it was called
during World War Two when new pilots were trained how to land on an
aircraft carrier. They flew from Glenview Naval Air Station to Point Obo
then radioed for permission to approach and enter the landing pattern of
the aircraft carriers on Lake Michigan.

Sometimes they'd have plane crashes on the landing deck and didn't want
planes circling over the lake where they might run out of fuel and
crash. It they stayed over land they could return to Glenview or some of
the other small military airfields in the north suburbs, those were all
gone now but the control tower for Glenview was still there as part of a
shopping mall.

My grandfather was a pilot during WW2 but he flew cargo planes around the
mainland and never saw combat. He told me about Point Obo. The Baha'i
Temple was a huge, brilliant white bullet-shaped dome that was visible for
almost 30 miles so it was the perfect navigational landmark. It also had a
beacon in the peak of the dome. I lived within two blocks of it since my
first day on Earth. The main reason why I called it Point Obo was because
that was faster to say than 'Baha'i House of Worship,' and Point Obo
sounded cooler. It prompted people to ask, "Point what?"

----

While I was doing my regular activities I decided to also get better
prepared for visitors so I got more bathroom stuff including new tooth
brushes and more towels, I also started stocking more and varied food, some
in cans, some frozen. I also experimented with making a better pizza. I
actually liked those Tombstone frozen pizzas, their Supreme was their best,
I liked the crunchy crust and could easily add cheese and pepperoni and
turn it into a nice filling pizza. Two slices and I was stuffed. Two slices
and two beers and I was stuffed and in heaven. Pizza and beer went together
like oral sex. I jokingly referred to pizza as The Food of the Gods.

----

On Sundays I usually made my weekly trip to the grocery store. I walked out
to my car and saw someone standing at the end of the driveway on the
sidewalk staring at me like a zombie. At first I didn't recognize him. Then
I recognized his face (and the shape of his butt) looked like Patrick. I
waved and kept walking to my car, opened the door and stood there staring
at him. I had no idea what to say or why he was standing at the end of my
driveway not talking or moving. It was really weird for a few seconds.

I walked around the other side of the car and opened the door then walked
back around and sat in the driver's seat and shut my door and sat there
waiting for him to make his move. I lived ten miles from his home so there
it was no coincidence that he was here, he wasn't just passing by unless he
recently joined the Baha'i religion.

About thirty seconds later the car bounced and Patrick sat beside me and
shut the door.

Without looking at him I told him it was nice to see him again. I wondered
why I hadn't heard from him. He said he had no minutes on his phone.

"You don't have email?" I asked.

He snapped back, "No, I don't fucking have email! I don't own a computer,
I'm broke. I know you guys up here in rich Wilmette don't know about such
things unless you asked your landscaper!"

"Whoa! I'm not wealthy, friend. My parents may be but I don't own a money
tree, I work hard for everything I have, you saw how much stuff I do at
work! I busted my ass and got good grades and then went to college and
worked hard for four long years, and lots of sleepless nights. I paid my
tuition with loans not free money from the money tree!" I sternly defended
myself.

He sat there in silence with a tight grip on his legs. I could tell he was
pissed off and needed some kind of help but I wasn't skilled in that kind
of nursing intervention. I mentally paused to consider our present
location, inside my car parked in front of the garage, who might possibly
be watching or listening. I realized we could have an audience so I opened
my door and in a serious tone I told him to 'get out of the car and follow
me.'

Patrick slammed the door and stomped across the driveway and followed me
inside, after I unlocked the door I detected an odor of pot smoke on his
clothes. He was wearing an insulated black hoodie, jeans, and some kind of
boots.

I closed the door and tossed my keys on the table and took off my jacket
and asked him what happened. He stood there glaring in my eyes and didn't
answer but he looked mad about something.

I reached for his hand and he batted my hand away, so I quickly stepped
forward and shoved him backwards. I hit his shoulders with my palms and
shoved him into the wall beside the door and stepped in close and told him
'don't ever do that again.' He had a look of anger on his face. His chin
started to quiver and tears appeared in his eyes and he looked away and
stood there. I backed up and walked over to the sink and drank some cold
water out of the tap (the Chicago metro area was known for having great tap
water).

He stood there looking out the window at the driveway for a while. I asked
him if he had his cell phone with him, so he walked over next to me and
pulled it out of his pocket and dropped it beside my arm. He had a cheap
Nokia candy bar phone that said TRACFONE on the display.

I sat there thinking then remembered seeing cards for minutes on a rack at
a drug store near the L station so I handed him his phone back, put on my
jacket and ordered him to follow me.

We left and walked down the driveway like we were walking to the L station,
but we walked past it, across 4th Street and into the Rexall Drug store and
I found the gift cards and picked one that said TWO MONTHS-TRACFONE. It
cost about forty bucks, so I bought it, a bottle of Peppermint Schnapps,
and a 12 pack of Miller in cans. When I started to walk towards the door I
stopped at a rack of munchies and picked the biggest bag of Doritos on the
shelf and walked to the check out and glanced at Patrick. I smiled and paid
then we walked out onto the sidewalk.

The area around the Linden Avenue L station was residential but at that
intersection was a cluster of small retail businesses, some of them had
been there a long time since the L station has been there since 1912. And
it looked like it too.

We didn't talk on the walk back home. Back inside he opened the Doritos bag
and sat on the sofa and ate them like he was hungry, but the good sign was
he faced sideways with his legs crossed.

"You hungry?"

He didn't look at me but he nodded yes. "Want a pizza?"

He sat there for a few seconds then nodded yes again without talking or
making eye contact. I walked over to the table and got the card out of the
bag and told him to get out his cell. He reached in his pocket and held it
up to show me. I walked over and handed him the card, he turned the card
around and showed me he needed a coin to scratch off the cover over the PIN
number so I pulled a nickel out of my pocket. It took him less than 60
seconds to apply the card to his phone, then he called my cell number. My
cell vibrated on the table and started to rotate. I picked it up and saw
his number and pressed the green button, "Hello?"

He cupped his hand over his mouth and whispered into his cell. "Are you
alone?" he whispered.

"Yes I am, why?" I asked playing along, but I wasn't good at role playing.

"I've got something for you," he whispered.

"Oh yeah, what's that?"

"Something you want."

"Like what?"

"It's like a riddle. What's as thick as a bratwurst but you lick it like a
popsicle?" he asked softly.

"Uh ... knock, knock." I replied.

"Who's there?" he asked at a whisper.

"Pizza."

"Pizza who?" he asked.

"Pizza gonna get done my way if you don't get your ass over here and show
me what you want on it!" Then I pushed the red button.

I set it on the table and finished making the pizza, and all the extra
toppings while the oven was heating up to 420 degrees. He came over and
helped me slice olives and some J-peppers too.

I stayed in the kitchen, he stayed on the sofa but he was doing something
with his phone. I think he figured out you could send short text messages
to other people on tracfone. I think it worked on Sprint too but didn't
know anyone else on Sprint except my parents.

The pizza went in the oven at 2:15pm, I was hungry. I put the beers and
Schnapps in the freezer and took off my shoes and socks and walked over to
the sofa and got on my knees by Patrick and removed his shoes and socks,
but his feet stunk.

I asked him to show me his wallet, at first he didn't want to so I sounded
serious and ordered him to do it (Give me your f-ing wallet!).

He leaned over and reached into his back pocket then handed it to me. I
opened it and saw a five dollar bill and two ten-punch cards from Subway. I
took his wallet into my bedroom and closed the door. I went to my dresser
and pulled out five twenty-dollar bills and carefully put them inside and
closed my drawer. Back in the living room I set his wallet on the table by
his cell phone and the Doritos.

"You want a beer?"

"Yep."

"Remember the rules?"

He looked at me then over at the TV then looked back at me and said,
"Okay." That meant he was spending the night.

I got him a beer and a glass and told him we don't drink directly from cans
here, we drink from a glass. He asked why and I told him aluminum was bad
for humans, he said the can was lined, I said yes, the inside was but not
the outside. I got us plastic glasses and we both poured a beer.

I sat on my end of the sofa facing him and he finally looked me in the
eyes, he seemed sad about something. I thought I saw a faint remnant of a
black eye on his right eye and asked him if was in a fight and he said yes,
two weeks ago. Then he mumbled that he hated his life and his family.

We drank out first beers quickly then I got us our second round. Those went
quickly too, so we started our thirds which was when the timer dinged for
the pizza.

Same routine as last time we sat at the table and each ate three huge
slices piled high with extra toppings. We both took our shirts off, which
was when I saw two bruises on him, his shoulder and his back. I decided to
not ask, but let him tell me when he was ready.

After the pizza I called him into the bathroom, which had the brightest
light in my entire apartment. Since he had his shirt off I closely examined
his upper body, he had a red line across his back like he got whipped by
something too.

I turned him around and un-did his jeans and looked at his legs and lowered
his undies and looked for bruises on his butt cheeks and saw some redness
but that could have been from sitting on the wooden kitchen chairs.

He peed while I was almost beside him in the bathroom and even turned
partially to face me. I told him to wash his hands when he was done. We
walked to my bedroom, I handed him my extra pair of NTE Athletics shorts
and got one for myself. We both stripped naked in front of each other
beside my bed and changed into shorts, I gathered his clothes and hung them
on hooks on my bedroom wall.

We went back to the kitchen table, I turned off the lights but it was still
daylight outside. There was a window beside the sofa but not the other two
walls. That window faced the street and had evergreen bushes growing so
they blocked the light and the window faced north so not a lot of light
came in regardless. I always kept those blinds shut so the two elderly
ladies across the street couldn't see me walking around with a boner at
night.

We sat at the table and talked about stuff. He took my clicky pen and
practiced tossing it and catching it one-handed. Then he spent time trying
to make it balance upright, my eyes were usually on his chest.

We talked about stuff in general, the weather, jobs, movies in the theater,
stuff like that. I asked if he had any good sex since the last time he
visited and he chuckled and planted his elbow on the table then held up his
right hand. He pointed at his hand and said it was his only sex
partner. "Me too." I admitted.

I reminded him he was always welcome here except work days. He said,
"That's why I'm here."

I got an idea and got out a large wash basin (I brought home from work) and
filled it with warm water and went to the bathroom, got a bar of soap and a
hand towel.

I sat on the floor by the sink and carefully washed both of his feet, which
made him lean forward and closely watch me with a smile. He remarked
"Nobody in my entire life ever washed my feet before."

When I was done I put the stuff away and sat on the floor looking up at him
with his feet on my lap and asked him a few things.

"Patrick, what are we?"

"I don't understand," he replied looking confused.

"Are we boyfriends, friends with benefits, an occasional fuck buddy, jerk
off pals, what are we?"

He sat there looking in my eyes, I doubted he had ever been asked that
before. I could sort of see the gears running in his brain as he calculated
the best answer. He took in a deep breath and started talking but I could
tell the beer had already started working on his mind. I almost told him to
be 100% honest but I thought that might make him mad, like accusing him of
being a liar.

"I dunno. I'm not in love with you but I really like you. You're the nicest
friend I have, I owe you a lot. I'm not sure how to answer I guess."

"Is it significant that we shared your dick twice?"

"Uhhh, yes I'd say that's important to me, that's why I'm here."

"You still unbroken?" I asked hoping he'd answer and not feel insulted or
humiliated.

"Oh that. Yes," He paused briefly and sort of looked upward then finished
answering once the words came to him. "My flower is still intact." Then
Patrick laughed loudly and pointed to his right hand again. I asked him not
to shout, my parents could be directly above us. I pointed at the ceiling
and told him it was their living room. He looked up like suddenly the
ceiling was just above his head and said, "Sorry."

I got up on my knees and sort of leaned against his lower legs and slid my
palms up and down his thighs.

I took a chance and plainly asked him, "Patrick, can I blow you please?"

His answer surprised me, "Maybe later, I jerked off on the train, I had the
car to myself."

I got up and grabbed the bottle of Schnapps from the freezer and opened it
and walked back to the table, took a swig and handed it to him.

He turned the bottle and stared at the label and asked, "What's this?"

I slowly pronounced it, "Shhhnapssss. It's a flavored liqueur. You could
use it to start a campfire. Beware not to drink too much even though it
tasted harmless like Brach's Peppermint candies."

He opened the bottle and took a tiny sip, I told him again to be careful it
bites back and often without warning.

He smiled and smacked his lips and said he liked it, then he took a big
swallow and lowered the bottle and shook his head and briefly looked
crossed eyed at me. I laughed, he handed it back.

"You want another brewski?"

"No, I want more of that shit!" He pointed at the bottle.

Handing it back to him I warned him to go slowly. He spun off the cap and
took another large sip. Then he shook his head and looked cross-eyed again
and smiled and said "Holy shit that goes down smooth."

I told him there was another liqueur I liked but I haven't seen it for a
couple years, its red and there's some kind of crystal growing inside of it
and it tastes like super hot sugary cinnamon. I thought the brand name was
Aftershock.

I walked over by the sofa and got the Doritos bag and handed it to him
hoping to get him away from the Schnapps. He munched and his fingers were
stained dark orange and he seemed in his own little world of pleasure. I
got us two beers and put the Schnapps in the refrigerator. While I twisted
off the caps I looked out on the front yard and saw the sun was nearly set.

I walked around and closed curtains and blinds and locked the two doors. I
set beers on the table in front of the sofa, then walked over to the table
and gently took his hand and walked him to his spot on the sofa. Once we
got our legs positioned I moved his left foot to rest gently against my
crotch, then I gently rubbed myself with his foot, he smiled.

With very slurred speech he asked me what it was like when I went to
college and met my first boyfriend.

"I went through a bigger coming out in college but didn't have enough time
to dwell on it because I had tons of studying to do, it just sort of
happened over time. I found someone I felt safe with me then let it happen
one night. It just took shape slowly and I became what I am today without
thinking about it much. Movies and TV shows try to make it look like coming
out only happens once in your life and it should be a big deal like getting
married, but it wasn't like that for me, it was gradual and over time. The
worst part was my parents when I was a kid, but the rest of them were
easier because I wasn't dependent on those people." I told him looking back
on that day almost thirteen years ago was the surprise that their innocent
little (pre-adolescent) boy actually had sexual thoughts and desires.

Then I added that telling people you're gay sometimes gave them power over
you so my best advice was to not discuss it with people unless it's
extremely necessary, most people will figure it out without you telling
them. Most people don't want to know anyway.

He sat there like a kid listening to grandpa tell a story. I wondered if he
actually heard me talk because his eyes were already looking weird.

Then he asked me something else strange, "Brad, can I do something?" He
said with slurred speech. "Sure, don't hit me."

He laughed and smiled and stood up and slid down his shorts and walked
beside me and leaned forward and offered me his limp dick, I took it in my
hand and rubbed the head and cupped his balls but he never got hard, then
he lowered himself and sat on my lap and put his hands behind my neck and
pulled his mouth into mine and we French kissed for a couple minutes. His
mouth tasted like peppermint Doritos (not a good combination).

While he sloppily kissed me his hands went to my chest, located my tits and
rubbed them firmly with his thumbs, then went down to my shorts and reached
in and pulled out my boner.

He got off my lap and grabbed my thighs and turned me to face forward and
spread my thighs and pulled out my boner again and took me in his hand and
started pumping my rod with a very firm grip.

Let me say my dick was very sensitive to being stroked. Very very
sensitive. If done correctly it was possible to make me orgasm in less than
two minutes.

He kind of scrunched his back over and concentrated on stroking me, but
paused to lick the drops of pre-come a few times.

"Stop for a second."

I wiped a gob of slick precome off my dick and smeared it across one of his
nipples then I leaned towards him and took his tit in my mouth and sucked
my salty precome off his tit. He never let go of my boner. I pulled off
after about thirty seconds so he resumed stroking me.

I leaned my head back and moaned and warned him I was close. He commented
that I moved fast.

I wiggled my hips toward him and hoped he didn't let me shoot on the sofa
cushions.

The pressure and pleasure started to build and I warned him I was about to
come. He kept stroking with a tight grip.

I felt it start and moaned louder and luckily he slowed when he saw it
start. The first shot landed on my stomach, the next one hit my chest, the
third one hit my neck, then a rope shot across my stomach and chest, then
it was mostly over. After the squirting part I dripped for about fifteen
seconds.

I opened my eyes and smiled at him, he carefully let go and got up to turn
on a table lamp. I pointed to the kitchen table, he came back with the roll
of paper towels.

Like he was the mommy he gently cleaned every grayish drop off my front
side and one glop that landed on the sofa cushion. It took four paper
towels and the entire thing was cleaned up, then he took my dick in his
mouth and cleaned off the last drop or two inside his mouth. I thought that
was probably his first time for that too.

After it was done he leaned over and kissed my belly button and rubbed my
thighs.

"Are we just friends or something more than that?" I asked.

"Oh way more than just pals." He said with his crossed eye look that made
me smile. He had one eye that sort of looked at his nose and the other
looked at me.

I reached up and massaged his tits with my thumbs and told him I was happy
he was here and would like to see more of him, he was always welcome to
stay overnight, except for..."

And as soon as I said that he interrupted and loudly said, "Not on work
nights unless my dick was on fire or Jesus returned to Earth."

I laughed and leaned in and kissed him but he was too drunk to respond.

"You gonna stay the night?" I asked again.

"That's a stupid question." He said, sort of imitating me.

At first his comment pissed me off but then I realized how he meant it and
I chuckled back.

I got up and helped him to stand and holding his hand we walked to my
bedroom. I turned down the bedding and got in the middle and gestured for
him to come to me (even though the room was very dark).

He climbed on the bed and lay directly on top of me. I put my arms around
him and we kissed more passionately than we ever did before, his entire
body was on top of mine, even our feet.

Eventually he ran out of gas and rolled on his side next to me and was
asleep in seconds. His face was nearly in my arm pit. I pulled the sheet
over us.

I said a short prayer for bringing him back. Somehow I didn't think God
answered gay prayers. But I was willing to try anyway.

I wiggled my face into his hair and sniffed him and kissed Patrick on the
top of his head. Not too long after that I was asleep too.

----

During the night he rolled around a few times and ended up with his face in
my arm pit and his hand on my chest. It woke me a few times, one time he
thrashed around and talked in his sleep like he was trying to escape
something but it ended quickly.

At 8am I got up and woke him too. He looked foggy in the eyes but he got
out of bed with me and we showered together in my little old fashioned
steel shower stall, then we got dressed and I cooked him breakfast:
breakfast burritos with hot sauce and hash browns.

I washed dishes, and he dried and stacked. The nice part was this time I
didn't have to ask, he just stayed near me and helped all he could. He
still recoiled whenever hot water was in use, which looked funny the way he
did it. It reminded me of Margaret Hamilton glancing up for any more
falling houses.

After breakfast I pulled off his shirt and tossed it on the table. He said,
"Sorry I forgot."

I asked if he wanted to go for a run or play frisbee golf and he said no,
we just ate, he'd puke. So we sat on the sofa and talked.

"You gotta go home today?"

"No. I got fired I got no job. Dad is super pissed but at least I had a
job, he doesn't even look for one."

"What did he do?"

"He was a CTA driver."

"Oh, that pays good."

"Yep, 'til you punch your boss." He had a serious look on his face so I
stopped asking more questions. Then he added with their union to get fired
from the CTA you really gotta fuck up.

We had a few awkward moments then with a tone of excitement he said, "That
reminds me, Mom talked to the lawyer again and found out more about my
stove explosion and found out they've had almost a hundred of 'em. The gas
tube cracks at a joint and shoots a flame right at the gas tank and boils
the propane until it explodes, that's probably what happened to mine."

"Did she say what their past settlements were?"

"Yes, he told her they pay the medical bills and $300 grand if nobody died,
up to two million if someone died or was permanently disabled."

"Wow, I hope it works out okay."

I reached across the table to squeeze his hand but he didn't seem to
understand and ignored my gesture.

Again, we slipped into silence. But now I just stared at his beautiful tits
and his chest move with each breath while he stared out the window like his
brain was checked-out. Then his phone rang, he pulled it out and checked
the display and pushed the button and held it to his ear.

"Yes, yes. No, I got fucking fired, I don't got no job. It's none of your
business, but I'm not in Skokie anyway. No, I said I'm not in Skokie, I'm
far away. Its none uh yer business. Yeah bye."

He dropped it on the table and shook his head in disgust. I guessed it was
someone in his family.

I told him about something a patient told me once that was kind of
funny. This woman was a patient at the hospital I was recovering from day
surgery. She said she was a 911 operator in Lincolnwood. She said they had
a large console full of buttons to page different ambulance, EMS stations,
tow trucks, or the coroner. They had one extra button that wasn't connected
to anything. Someone took a sheet of paper and typed the word: SLAP on it,
then he cut the paper so it fit perfectly inside the clear plastic cover
over that dummy button. Then it became a tradition when someone called 911
with a stupid fucking question that had nothing to do with 911 services,
the operator sat there and pushed the SLAP button over and over. The story
went that you imagined something like a large cartoon hand reached out of
their phone and slapped them across the face for being stupid enough to
call 911 for something like asking what time the local Kroger store
closed. We both laughed. I watched his chest muscles bounce when he laughed
hard.

"What you wanna do, it's early but it's cool outside."

"Hmmm, let's stay here and chill out."

"Back on the sofa?"

Yes. Oh wait, how's yer supply of pizza and beer?" He asked with a big
smile. His smile was so wide it made deep dimples on both of his cheeks,
they looked totally adorable.

I checked the freezer and the refrigerator and said we really should make a
run down to the Jewel store on Greenbay Road. He agreed, so we got dressed
and left with the list and spent about $115 on stuff for guys to eat. We
got five frozen pizzas, we purchased all the Tombstone Supreme Pizzas they
had, and a bag of sliced pepperoni, two cans of diced jalapeno peppers, an
onion, two cases of beer in cans, and two blocks of mozzarella cheese. We
also got a box grater for making our own cheese for the pizza. We also
grabbed a tall jar of stuffed green olives.

I took a small risk and told him he should apply for a job here. He
reminded me he lived in Skokie, I replied by asking him, "Oh do you? That
phone call you got sounded like that might be ending sooner than you
think."

He looked like my comment pissed him off and he got quiet.

We got back in the car and told him he needed to trust me, if I said
something that hurt he needed to trust that I didn't mean for it to hurt
but maybe point out something he hadn't realized yet. But he remained
silent all the way home. Driving down Greenbay Road I set my hand on his
knee but he ignored it. Patrick's silent stewing routine was starting to
get old.

He opened one of the beer cases and slid one entire case in the
refrigerator. I suggested we walk down the street and get sandwiches for
the rest of the day. He asked what they had so I showed him their carry-out
menu, the place was near the train station.

After the store he carried the kitchen trash out to the trash cans beside
the garage without being asked.

A little while later we walked down to the sandwich shop and bought four
six-inch subs, all of them were the same, Italian on white with oil vinegar
salt pepper and oregano but no mayo or mustard.

Back at home he said he liked my neighborhood it had almost everything you
needed except a grocery store and a gas station.

I asked what stores he had near his home. "We got a Title Loan place, a
bail bondsman, a nail salon, a dental clinic, and a gas station that had a
small store with huge prices and a stupid selection."

I asked him if Skokie was still the 2nd biggest population of Jewish people
and he said that sort of ended when the last immigrants from Europe died
off and new people moved in. He said it's got a lot of Mexicans and Puerto
Ricans now, which meant all the old delis and sandwich shops closed and now
we got lots of Mexican restaurants and small Taco shops and title loan
shops. He said Skokie was slowly turning into a slum after the older Jews
started to die off. He said he saw in the news that there were supposedly
only three people that lived through World War Two in Poland and the death
camps, but they were born during the war. Patrick said the Poles were one
tough group of people, never go to war with Poland, was what he learned in
world history, then added they also got the best food in the world in
Poland.

"I thought you were Irish?" I asked.

"True, but the Poles still got the best food." He was quiet for a moment
but I could see he had something else to say, then he added, "There's a lot
of nice gay porn that comes from Poland too." He said his teacher called it
the Soviet Onion.

I gestured for him to join me at the sofa, he walked over and I slowly
removed all his clothes, then I took mine off and we snuggled on the sofa,
I put his foot on my crotch and he did the same. It sort of was a gesture
like a puppy showing surrender by rolling on his back with his tail
wagging.

He asked where the clean sheets were and I said in the cabinet beside the
stacked washer/dryer. He got up and went that way. I watched his ass jiggle
as he walked across the room.

He came back and gestured for me to get up. He opened a twin size flat
sheet and covered the entire sofa back and tucked it in all the way around
then he told me to sit down. Then he tossed another sheet and tucked it
around the three cushions we sat on.

----

We talked about everything (except his family and the cause of his bruises)
for three hours, he did most of the talking. It seemed like he needed that
kind of therapy and I could actually see his attitude improve as he got
shit off his chest.

We paused briefly and peed together then stopped by the sink and drank from
the faucet then back to the sofa still naked. This time I asked him to lie
on top of me so we could kiss for a while, he silently agreed and got on
top.

It was interesting to see him lead the kissing. Like so many people Patrick
could not hide his true feelings when he kissed. His kissing was very
gentle and passionate. I could tell he was signaling me more than just
friendship that time.

One time I asked him if he had something he wanted to tell me but that made
him freeze up and pretend he didn't hear me. But it was written on his face
and expressed in his kiss. In cards that's called a Bad Poker Face.

When it got close to dinner time I reached up to hold the sides of his head
and moved it down to kiss the tip of his nose then I slid my hands across
his back and down his arms. I grabbed his hands and asked him an important
question. Our noses were less than six inches apart and he had a genuine
and very relaxed smile on his face. Basically, his face was saying 'I love
you' but it couldn't come out of his mouth. I was ready to tell him but
needed him to start it.

"Patrick my friend, would you" I paused for a few moments to leave him
hanging, I wanted to tease him like I was going to ask him to marry me,
then I finished and asked him, "Would you please fuck me."

He stared into my eyes for several seconds, a very deep stare, eye to eye,
then he sort of rolled a little and reached down to feel his limp dick then
pulled his hand back up and stroked the side of my face. He slid his
fingertip around my lips and slipped it inside my mouth and touched my
teeth, then pulled it out and stuffed it inside his mouth.

"You sure?" he asked.

"Uh huh."

"What about poop?"

"I won't be prepped ahead of time we we'll need to go to the shower
afterward, you'll pull out and get up and head that way, I'll be right
behind you."

He started to stand up and barely mumbled "Okay."

Standing by the sofa he reached down and pulled me to my feet. I went to
the bathroom and got the lube and made sure I was clean on the outside.

He went into the bedroom and turned down the bed, he pulled everything back
so the bed was a bare bottom sheet only, everything else was gone. By the
time I pissed and made it to the bed I was 100% hard, same with him. He
went to pee and came back. I was on my back in the middle of the bed, he
had the flip cap bottle of lube in his hand, his dick was pointed at me
like a one-man firing squad.

I took the bottle and squeezed some out and lifted one knee to my chest and
heavily lubed my crack, then I reached over and slid my hand up and down
his shaft. By now his boner pointed straight out and upward like a flagpole
on the front of our house over Labor Day weekend.

He climbed in the bed and mumbled that he's never done it before, I had to
show him what to do.

We did it one step at a time. First how to raise my legs, second was how to
position himself with his knees near my butt cheeks, and how that would
position him in relation to me. Next he had to locate my hole by feeling
with the head of his boner, so I held it and moved it up and down in his
crack and showed him about ten times what it felt like. At first he
couldn't do it so I grabbed my legs and pulled them up which raised my arse
so it was lifted higher, and spread my cheeks apart. Now he could see what
he was doing so he rose up on his knees and reached down and slid it up and
down across my bunghole until he felt it then started to press inward.

Patrick said he never used his dick like a feeler before. I told him not to
feel bad, I used my dick as a brain every time he took his shirt off. I
don't think he understood my sarcasm.

Slowly he pushed in, I had him push in small steps, he'd feel it when his
head was inside, then he could pull out and push back in much easier. He
did exactly what I told him and in fifteen minutes he was all the way
inside me, I told him it was up to him now. Then I added, "Don't worry if
I'm having a good time, just do what feels best to you, okay?" He nodded
with a smile and a serious look as he started to slowly slide in and out.

He whispered to me asking if this was what pussy felt like and I told him
it was close but ass was usually tighter, it didn't stretch as well as
pussy. I said I thought pussy might feel a little warmer too.

I held my legs up towards my chest while he put his hands on my shoulders
and lay on top of me in push-up position and rocked up and down to slide
himself in and out. A few times he went too far and popped out but was able
to get right back in without using his hand. I watched his luscious tits
and upper body muscles as he worked at it. Once he started to feel in
control he started bouncing his hips into my ass harder, the sound of his
body slapping against mine filled the room. I briefly hoped my parents had
the TV on upstairs.

The feeling was powerful. It didn't last very long, he said I felt tight
and he liked that. I rubbed his chest and stretched his nipples while he
humped me but stopped every minute so he didn't come right away. I asked
him not to pull out, but come inside me, I told him I wanted his seed, this
was like a gift he was giving me. He was too much into the pleasure to pay
attention to me.

He was panting and getting sweaty but I loved every second of watching his
muscular show and his work all directed inside me. At one point he started
to bite his lower lip and closed his eyes and whispered he was coming
soon. Then he started moaning and hit me harder which pushed me across the
mattress, then he shoved in really hard and stopped. I felt his dick
twitching and his body twitched with every squirt.

Finally he collapsed on top of me and buried his face in my chest and
panted and mumbled "Holy fuck that was intense!"

He moved his face by mine and with his mouth wide open we kissed and
wrestled tongues for several minutes, he was still gasping for air.

Finally he became limp and melted on top of me. I held him tightly and
rocked him a little side to side. I moved his head and whispered in his
ear, "Thank you, it was wonderful. You did a great job."

After about ten minutes he got up off the bed and we both went to the
shower. After the shower we go into our shorts and decided to eat one sub
each, with brewskies. When he went to the refrigerator I watched the shape
of his back when he pulled the heavy door open and got out our stuff while
I sat at the table with lustful thoughts and watched the beauty of his body
moving around the kitchen. I watched his muscles flex and grow as he
worked, then he spun around and started setting food on the table.

I wanted him to grow hard and stand beside me with his rod near my face
while I ate so I could wipe my lips off with the head of his dick instead
of a paper towel.

We ate one Italian sub each and beers at the table. After our food was out
he went over by the TV and turned on the stereo and found the music
channels and tuned it to the classical station in Chicago WFMT. We listened
to that while we feasted on crusty Italian bread, salt, and cold cuts,
chased by cold beer. The bread was wonderful and everything tasted
great. He said that was the first time he had a sub without mayo or
mustard, he liked it this way better: no sauces just oil and vinegar, salt
and pepper.

I wanted him badly, but I was grateful he fucked me, I loved being a
bottom. I loved seeing his muscular body work as it built up to the climax,
his entire brain was focused on his own pleasure but he was still kind
towards me while doing it. Too bad this delicious submarine sandwich won't
satisfy my other hunger.

Yep, we have a long way to go.


Contact the author: borischenaz gmail

Reminder to readers: all my books on Nifty are rough drafts.

See my other books on Nifty: Crossing Panama, Response Team, Playing with
Fire. There are four more to re-edit and return to Nifty.