Heaven Next Door, part 13

Mary was still cleaning when Bill left the kitchen. She always cleaned when she was upset: “approaching godliness on her knees,” as she’d once liked to joke. Bill felt quiet unhappiness settle on him as he realized how long ago that was - how long since he’d heard her make a joke of any kind. He felt he knew her less now than he had when they first met - how was that possible?

As he reached the head of the stairs, Bill paused with his hand on his aching side, and noticed that the door to Jay’s room was ajar. He crossed the hallway to his son’s bedroom, intending to close it, and stood, his hand on the doorknob, hesitating.

Downstairs just now when he’d told Mary that he needed to rest, there was no reason for her to assume that he meant anywhere else than in their bed. The truce between them was fragile as eggshell, and he knew from experience how little it could take to drive her to fury; the savage things she could do. He swallowed, the pain back of his throat suddenly sharp again as when it had happened; far worse than his aching side.

It had only been a little junior high trophy: second place in a fifth grade spelling bee. He hadn’t been exceptional or anything; he reacalled that practically every kid there had gotten a prize of one kind or another. Although it had been maybe four dollars worth of laminated ply and molded gilt plastic junk, he’d loved that trophy. Every time he looked at its gleaming bright, lovingly polished surface he’d seen the pride in his Dad’s scarily pale, sick face as he sat there in the audience applauding. Mom had missed the moment, had been tugging at his Dad’s arm and saying something — no doubt her constant refrain: to be careful, or did he want to end up back in hospital with another heart attack?

That had been the only trophy where his Dad hadn’t been working; had actually been right there, in the audience, to see him receive it. When Bill had dropped out of college and taken off, it was the only thing apart from a change of clothes and his meagre savings that he’d taken with him. He’d told Mary the story in a ratty California motel room on their six-month anniversary, the smell of burned food from their illegal hot-plate hanging in the air. They hadn’t been able to keep their hands off each other back then.

They’d both of them been dog tired from fruit picking all the long day, curled around each other on the bed and nursing the last of the bottle of a red so rough even he’d noticed. Mary had done an uncanny impersonation of her father Marcus the wine-bore: “Rrroll it round the mouth; spit, don’t swallow, my dear,” which of course had resulted in him spitting the mouthful across the sheets, and her; it was that or drown. He’d kissed every droplet of wine off her skin, working down her gymkhana-hardened body, doing everything he’d learned she liked.

Afterward, when Mary had pushed him off and hurried to the bathroom to douche, he’d lain on the rumpled bed smoking and staring out the open window at the black night, listening to the hussh of tires on the freeway. When, returning, she’d asked him what he was thinking, he’d absently told her how he recalled that trophy shining brighter and brighter on its shelf as he’d hunched on the couch, his face numb from the pressure of the phone against it, listening as the cool, routine voice told him about the hours of the hospital chapel, and the disposition of “the remains” until after the inquest; hearing the clink from the kitchen as his mom poured herself another glass of wine.

When he and Mary had moved in here, he’d given it pride of place in the front room, the shabby, peeling gilt as at home amongst her family’s Meissen china and early British silver as a hobo in the Country Club.

The row had been vicious, but not extraordinary. This had been before they separated their finances; another thing for which he was sure Mary had never forgiven him. They couldn’t afford a new car: they’d talked it over together at length, and agreed. Yet barely ten days later Mary had signed the finance papers. “I changed my mind,” she’d said, shrugging. They’d raged through the house, calling each other unspeakable names until he’d slammed out to walk the streets and cool down.

In the silent days after it had been worse, with little Jay, white faced and huge-eyed, tugging at his sleeve, saying Mummy was sorry and please don’t go. Bill was certain he’d never threatened to: it provoked another shouting match, with Mary screaming that he was trying to poison her son against her. Bill still shuddered at the memory of sitting on that unforgiving leather couch, still too angy at three o’clock in the morning to surrender and go meekly upstairs; hearing the click of the latch and turning to see Jay’s stricken face; holding his son and struggling not to break down in front of him as Jay whispered brokenly into his ear, inventing apologies Bill knew Mary would never have said; lying his little heart out as no doubt he was to her, too.

When he found the notice of surrender on the kitchen table — a letter from the finance company agreeing to cancel the loan — he’d felt sick and ashamed, knowing it was his stubbornness in continuing to work construction which prevented his wife having the things she deserved. When he’d found the sorry mess of hacked softwood and splintered, peeling gilt plastic in the trash, he’d cried like he was sixteen years old again.

Now Bill felt unutterably weary. Not just from the constant arguments, but the perpetual anticipation. Like a GI crouched in a foxhole, never daring to focus totally on whatever he was doing for fear of missing the twig-snap or click of metal that would warn him the fight had gone hot again.

Mary could never let things lie: she’d stalk him through the house, demanding answers, explanations; goading him into replying. She had a way of asking questions that wrong-footed him; of interrupting the unfolding of his thoughts half-way with the shrill, triumphant cry of “oh, so you DO admit-”; of recalling things from earlier that he was sure he hadn’t said, or said quite that way.

She’d stand right up close, and wherever he moved to, she’d follow, with that nasty little smile on her face that said she knew he wanted to hit her, and didn’t dare. She’d lean right over him, yelling about Thanksgiving, or tithing the church, or him putting a spoon back in the wrong goddamn’ drawer or whatever it was, and he’d sit there, hammered into silence, cracking his knuckles until it got too much and he’d retreat to his pick-up, driving until the shakes wore off.

He supposed other guys would’ve gone to a bar, but the last thing he wanted after one of their rows was to be around other people. So he’d drive out to, well, anywhere quiet really; park up and smoke until he calmed down. Sometimes he’d sleep out, though that always led to further trouble: she always believed he’d been sleeping around, or pretended to. Mostly he’d drive carefully back, lips and teeth numb, and tiptoe through the darkened, hostile house, to bed and the beginning of another eggshell truce.

But this wasn’t the same. She’d never actually hit him before. The doorknob felt cold in his hand and he felt the slow crawl of fear in his stomach, knowing he was provoking her, but knowing too that it didn’t matter. If she wanted a fight, she’d find an excuse for it somehow. He gripped the door handle more firmly, like a new recruit trying to impress his boss with the firmness of his handshake, and slipped into Jay’s room.

Bill stood, gaping at the tumbled bedclothes: such a familiar sight that for a second he expected to see Jay’s Marilyn Monroe poster and his precious, signed ballet programs still pinned above the head of the bed. His vision blurred, and he had to grope his way across the room to sit on the yielding corner of the mattress, breathing shakily until he could command his fingers well enough to untie his shoes.

He lay down fully clothed and pulled the comforter over himself, aware of the door at his back. He wondered how often Jay had lain here cursing him for removing the lock. He adjusted his head on the pillow, aware of a faint, reassuring scent. He breathed deeply and sighed, feeling a knot unclench itself somewhere deep in his gut.

* * *

I jumped down the stairs outside Lee’s place an’ run back to where we was parked quick as I could. When I got there, Duke was sittin’ in the truck with his bum leg stretched out straight an’ that bad look on his face - real pale, and kinda tight, with them deep grooves down either side of his mouth? That always means it’s hurtin’ real bad. Even though he had the door open I knocked on it and asked where I gotta go next for deliverin’. He jumped like he only just seen me and then he swallowed and said as how we was all done, and next time I left my phone in the truck he was gonna stick it up my ass, and to get in.

As I clumb in I seen we still got deliveries sittin’ in the glove box, and I made like to say, but Duke he slapped it shut. His face was shinin’ and he was kinda sweatin’ and I felt so bad knowin’ he’d been walkin’ around while I been goofin’ off I just said out loud as how he was a plumb fool!

Well, talkin’ to Duke that way ain’t smart, especially when he’s hurtin’, and I thought I’d be seein’ stars real soon, but he only gimme a look and said to buckle the fuck up.

Duke’s drivin’ weren’t so hot, what with him havin’ to use just the one leg. One guy did pull up level at the lights and start yellin’, but Duke just smiled that way he’s got what twists his busted face and I seen how the guy’s face went kind of like to gray. The lights was just on ready to change, and Duke popped his door and faked as how he was gonna get out, and the guy just gunned his engine and took off, burnin’ rubber.

We got home, and Raylene was just bustin’ to tell us some big news, but Duke just shoved her outta the way and started haulin’ hisself up them stairs. I knowed he was goin’ to his room, so I just ducked Raylene’s arm and made like I needed the bathroom real bad, which weren’t so far from the fuckin’ truth, anyhow.

I was feelin’ real weird: felt like inside of me was a bar-room brawl like you see in the movies? Kinda part of me was real happy about what Lee said: about Bill lookin’ for me, like he really did care an’, you know - kinda likin’ me, sort of; and part of me was kickin’ my own ass for bein’ so mean and contrary and stupid, and all of that mixed up with nice feelin’s about Lee and thinkin’ on Bill’s surprise what I was gonna give him. Only I was feelin’ bad about goofin’ off, too, and stupid for not carryin’ my phone, and worsest was a sticky-cold feelin’ that Duke had hurt hisself real bad with doin’ all that walkin’ what I should-a been doin’ instead of frettin’ on Bill. I really didn’t like as how Duke lied to me and said we was all done with deliverin’ when we weren’t, neither. Ain’t right, lyin’ to your kin.

So I give Duke a bit of time — he don’t like bein’ disturbed when he’s shootin’ up — and then I snuck along the passage and opened his door real quiet. I was just gonna clean his gear an’ put it away, but he turned his head real sharp and said what the fuck did I want? kind of hoarse an’ through his teeth.

He was just lyin’ on his mattress with his leg stuck out funny, and his face was shiny and wet, and suddenly I figured it. Of course he ain’t got no shit on account of parole and the Snoops. We ain’t even keepin’ doobies here: just gettin’ ’em and usin’ ’em right up.

Well no way was I gonna say nothin’ about his leg, so I said the firstest thing what come in my head: just what did he mean, we was finished when we still got eight deliveries? He just snarled as how I was a stupid little bastard and to shut up, but I said as how I figured Mister Deedie weren’t gonna be so happy.

Duke, he just pointed at the open door, and then I did feel real stupid. I come inside and shut it, and Duke said he knowed his business an’ if I was smart I’d keep my yap shut an’ stay out of it, and anyhow at least now I was thinkin’ aright ’stead of still actin’ like a goddamn’ retard. I said I was real sorry, and he said to shut the fuck up.

His phone rang, and I seen how he dug in his pocket real careful so he didn’t haveta move his hurt leg none, and then he answered it. He said yeah, something had come up but he was makin’ arrangements, and then he kinda winced and held the phone away from his ear some. The guy on the other end was yellin’ considerable and I expected Duke to shut him up sharp, but he didn’t.

I felt real sick as Duke started apologizin’: and scairt too. See, the last guy what made Duke eat shit, he was a big, mean guy what worked in the meat-packin’ plant. He was used to folks kinda bowin’ and ass-kissin’ like they do when the cops pull ’em over, hopin’ the cops’ll give ’em a break? Well he leaned on Duke real heavy an’ I thought Duke’d take him, but Duke he just kinda moved me so I was standin’ in back of him an’ said stuff all real perlite as we kind of backed off, and the looks on the faces of that guy and his buddies looked like real trouble to me. I said to Duke, later, as how backin’ off was gonna be trouble for him, but he just said to get my cute li’l mouth back on his dick and to shut the fuck up, so I did.

Anyhow, two days later that big guy he showed up in a alley beat all bloody and busted up which was fair enough, but Duke he didn’t have no alibi, which was kinda stupid.

So I was scairt how maybe Duke would get stupid like that again, and now he done time I figured the Snoops’d look at him real close and fuck up his parole. Besides I reckoned even if Harley weren’t in the Pen, mister Deedie wouldn’t be backed off and drop the charges like that meat packer guy done after Harley went an’ visited with him.

Anyhow, Duke done finished his call and just kinda stabbed his phone off and let it drop to the bedcover beside him. He was lyin’ there just kinda shallow-breathin’, so I snuck in real close and made like I was puttin’ it on his side table, which of course meant I gotta move all the beer cans and dead bottles and stuff. He grabbed my hair and yanked my face down close, and said as how if I didn’t quit fussin’ and fuck off I was really gonna be sorry.

I squealed like a fag, and ducked like I thought he was gonna hit me for real, pullin’ against my hair, only I knowed inside as how reachin’ so far woulda hurt his leg more’n he could stand. I pulled again and he let me go an’ I run outside, my heart all flutterin’ stupid like it gets when he’s like that: part of me wishin’ he’d just yank my pants down and fuck me rough an’ call me his little bitch, and part of me hurtin’; knowin’ he cain’t on account of his leg hurtin’, and known’ his leg was hurtin’ on account of me.

But I got his phone, and I hugged that to me real tight as I swallered down my scared and snuck downstairs. When he found out he’d be pissed and likely whale on me real good, but meantime ain’t no way he was gonna haveta eat shit an’ maybe fuck up his parole.

Them panel trucks are real easy to bust into, but Duke hadn’t locked it anyhow. So I cleared them packets of weed outta the glove box, stuffin’ them into my pants’ pockets and then I run on down the street and got the bus into town.

It was only when I was sittin’ on the bus that I turned my own phone on, and sure enough there was a whole lot of older missed calls from Duke, and now from Raylene too. So I took a deep breath and called her back.

She yelled some about where the fuck was I, and then she said about Bill. Turns out Bill come over while me ’n’ Duke was out, and he wants me to go visit! My heart done somersaults an’ it was like I couldn’t hardly breathe, an’ it took me a while to hear as how it was about learnin’ readin’. Then I didn’t feel so good, an’ I said, but she just said to shut the fuck up and as how the slower I done learnin’, the longer I was gonna be visitin’ with Bill, so me bein’ a retard was maybe finally gonna come good. She’s real smart is Raylene.

Only thing was, she said I gotta go over right now, and Lord was I glad I was on that bus: just thinkin’ on bein’ with Bill had me a-wrigglin’ like a grub on a hook, rubbin’ my itchin’ little uhu against the seat and thinkin’ on him all so warm an’ close, an’ his big arms around me and all. I was scairt I would-a just plumb forgot about Duke, or pretended to, and that wouldn’t of been right.

I said as how I couldn’t on account of havin’ messed up Duke’s business for him. She said as how that was no fuckin’ surprise, but so what? - all kind of impatient like she gets, but I said as how if I didn’t take the missin’ stuff back and kiss ass we was gonna get a visit. One of them visits where a lot of stuff gets broke.

Raylene said considerable more about me bein’ a worthless shit-fer-brains retard what always screwed everythin’ up, which ain’t nothin’ new but only what she’d said before a whole lotta times, but I dunno - this time somethin’ cut deep an’ it was like I couldn’t sit aright for thinkin’ on how I’d screwed up with Duke an’ Bill both, an’ I just curled right down in that seat, shakin’ and my gut hurtin’ real bad. I kinda said somethin’ about how I was gonna go fix things up and then I’d be right back. She started to say as how I was gonna just fuck everything up more bad an’ worser, so I just kinda turned the phone over an’ pressed it into to my lap ’til it stopped squawkin’ and then I hung up. Raylene was gonna be plenty pissed by the time I got back, but at least I wouldn’t-a cut her off and been disrespectful. That ain’t real smart, and Raylene she remembers stuff for a real long time, like a elephant. She knocked me flat for sayin’ that one time, so now I just think it.

Well, I been to mister Deedie’s afore with Duke when we’re pickin’ up the weed for deliverin’, so I knowed the address. I rode the bus in to where they all stop, and then I asked around. Turns out it takes two buses to get to that ’hood, and then there was kind of a long walk, so it was kinda late an’ gettin’ dark by the time I got there.

The houses either side of mister Deedie’s are all boarded up, kind of like nobody lives there no more, only they do. It’s real cool: kind of like a secret base in the movies.

The front door of the middle house was open like always, and like always there was a couple of guys kinda hangin’ out by the steps. I didn’t know neither of ’em, which was bad.

“What-chew want, kid?” one of ’em says, so I say as how there was a problem earlier, maybe he heard, but I’m here to put it right only talkin’s better inside? So he grunts and jerks his thumb over his shoulder.

Well, I don’t get three paces inside the door afore this big bald black guy says to stop, and what the hell am I doin’?, and I say it again. Then he just grunts and beckons me into this side room.

Oh, man it were so nice! Of course it weren’t more’n a coupla heartbeats afore I figured he was just searchin’ me, but I sure liked the feel of his big hands goin’ all over and him breathin’ against my neck. He felt my chest and my pits and my ass and round by my dickie, only for him I could tell it were’t for fun but just like a job? Like searchin’ a closet or somethin’. He found both of the phones, and he felt the crinkly packets in my pants, and I said the stuff was mister Deedie’s and he kinda just grunted and carried on searchin’ — right down to my sneakers.

A couple more guys come in behind me, and the big guy said as how I weren’t wired, and when I turned around I seen how one of ’em was a guy what I knew, and he said yeah this de blond kid come in wit that white trash cripple. This weren’t no time for pissin’ people off, so I din’t say nothin’ about how talkin’ about Duke’s leg that way ain’t so smart. I just asked real nice if I could talk to mister Deedie. He said no, he ain’t here, and what did I want? So I took a deep breath and asked if I could please talk to Sarge.

See, when Duke and I come by to pick up the stuff, there’s two guys we always talk to. I guess they’re there to keep an eye on each other, but they don’t, much. Duke does the dealin’ with this guy Moco — mean lookin’ fuck with dreads — an’ I usually talk with Silver Ray Jackson, only ’most everybody else calls him “Sarge” on account of how his initials spell it he says. I don’t though: I call him “mister Ray.” I dunno why callin’ him “mister” that way gives me tingles but it does, and I kind of think he likes it, too.

Anyhow, I’m pretty sure he likes me. I wisht it was Moco what likes me that way: he’s so built he’s like, as wide as he’s tall, but he don’t. I smiled at Moco one time — you know, a boner bingo smile — an’ he just said to Duke to keep that fuckin’ battyboy away from him or there goan’ be blood. Duke didn’t say nuthin’, and I looked away real quick, kickin’ myself for doin’ a Mom: she cain’t help smilin’ at hot guys neither, and I didn’t want Moco endin’ up with a tyre-iron between his eyes on account of it would mess with Duke’s business. After that I only talked to mister Ray.

Mister Ray don’t ring my bell quite so loud, but he’s still nice - one of them real tall guys what moves kinda loose? He has his hair plaited down into them corn-rows and a tooth with a di’mond set right in: real pretty. If I get so as I make money from my tips, I’m gonna have all my teeth done that way; after I saved for Bill’s outin’, anyhow.

It got to be kind of a joke: I’d wait until Duke and Moco were talkin’ prices and cut, and then I’d just kinda stroke my finger along them tattooed sergeant stripes on mister Ray’s chocolate brown arm, and he’d smile real lazy, and kinda make them muscles jump so I’d lose my place and have to start over. So I figured if anyone was gonna be willin’ to do me a favor it’d be him.

Well, he wern’t there neither but when I wouldn’t talk to nobody else, a skinny, nasty guy wearin’ a ear-piece put in a call; told the other guys to blow, and then said I gotta wait. The skinny guy he sat and watched me, drummin’ his fingers on his leg, his greeney-yellow eyes nasty as two pools of cold piss, and I began figurin’ as how maybe I’d messed up a whole lot worser’n I thought.

* * *

Bill slept for a few hours, then, after a careful shower, he dressed and went next door to extend the reading invitation to Shayne. The boy’s plain and very pregnant sister answered the door and told him her brother wasn’t home: some holiday job helping out his older brother Duke. No telling when they’d be back, she said; it depended on the work. She didn’t invite him in, for which Bill was grateful. He’d no wish to trigger another explosion from Mary.

Mae, it seemed, worked nights and was still asleep, so Bill explained Mary’s idea, and that he had a little time free at the moment. He decided not to mention his injury, telling himself it would only worry his little buddy, but afterwards as he walked down the driveway with the girl’s — Raylene, he recalled suddenly — enthusiastic thanks and promises to pass on his message making a warm spot inside him, he found himself shaking, his hands balled into fists at his side. With the sick anger welling up inside him he’d no wish to go back into Mary’s bleak, scrubbed, chemical-smelling kitchen, so he’d climbed in his pick-up and headed back to the burger place for a late brunch.

Still a little out of it, he’d nearly parked in the employees section of the lot again, but fortunately realized in time and just parked close by. Boys were still skateboarding on the sloping concrete. There seemed to be more of them than before, which made sense: he’d obviously encountered just the hard core of keen early risers before. He stopped, trying not to stare and marvelling at their energy. Were any of them the same boys that had been there this morning? He wasn’t sure. As he got out of the pick-up a half-familiar voice said:

“Back again, huh? How’s your side?”

Bill turned and saw the teenager who’d fetched him coffee this morning crouched on the blacktop tying his sneaker. A scuffed green skateboard with a yellow diamond flash down the center leaned against a nearby trashcan.

“Oh, okay.” Bill waggled his hand. “So-so. Uh, Dwight, isn’t it?”

“Uhuh.” Dwight switched feet and began re-tying his other sneaker, a cloth hi-top style in red and black plaid. The boy’s jeans were ripped at knee and thigh, through, Bill hoped, fashion rather than accident. He was wearing a sleeveless tee, and Bill could’t help admiring the smooth, lean lines of the boy’s arms and shoulders as his immature muscles slid beneath his creamy skin. His glossy chestnut hair had a slight curl and was cut in a rough poodle perm, a little long so that tendrils brushed against the soft skin of his neck as he moved. Bill caught the glint of silver in one ear.

Aware that he was staring, Bill tugged his gaze down to where the boy’s slim fingers were neatly looping and tugging the black laces. “It was really kind of you, this morning,” he said. “I appreciate your help.”

Dwight looked up, and Bill felt the shock of those wide, green eyes again; felt a dizzy chill sweep up his spine as the boy smiled a perfect toothpaste-commercial smile. Bill remembered the sweet scent of mint on the boy’s breath this morning as he’d leaned into the car.

“No problem,” Dwight said. “That shake helped me out too — otherwise I’d have had to go home for something to eat ages ago.”

Bill swallowed, uneasy at the effect Dwight’s beauty was having on him. His balance felt half gone: no wonder they talked about falling for someone. A nagging inner voice told him he shouldn’t be standing here, lusting after this boy. He was still bewildered at the way things had gone with Shayne: as though his willpower had just switched off for a time. Even just thinking about his little buddy gave him a tingle and a rush; he was afraid it was going to be difficult to be around Shayne while he was teaching him without succumbing again.

Shayne was friendly and open, a little chatterbox eager to share his life and his interests, but happy kids were like that; Bill was under no illusion that it made him special in any way. The kid was obviously used to the company of older people and doubtless had dozens of friends; after all, who could resist that cheeky, innocent charm? He doubted Shayne had given him a single thought since the excitement of his new phone. Bill smiled, imagining his little buddy engrossed in all the minor excitements with which small boys beguiled the long, hot hours of summer vacation.

It was a great relief that Shayne was working with his brother, too. Obviously the family had gotten wise to those activities and decided he needed closer supervision. It had been pure cowardice that had kept him quiet, but now Bill was glad he’d held his tongue.

But it did make it all the more important that the reading sessions be a model of propriety. Besides, he shouldn’t retreat and allow fear to control him. He faced down his damn’ vertigo every working day, and he’d face this down too.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

Bill blinked, and then smiled at Dwight. Looking at the boy, he could feel that same dangerous affection now. Dwight was safer than Shayne though: older, so he knew his own mind better and would be able to take care of himself. Bill grimaced, listening to that internal voice. “Safer?” He sounded like the worst of those shrill “Protect the Children” ninnies who dealt with their fear of men by painting them as ravening sub-moral beasts. Whatever else he did, Bill had no fear he’d ever force a boy to do something he didn’t want to do. Still, wasn’t the best way to strengthen anything to exercise against resistance? It would be good to spend time with this boy precisely because he was attracted to him.

Bill took a deep breath. “Look, if you’re hungry can I buy you a burger?” That was all he was buying, after all. “I really am grateful — and I hate eating alone.”

Dwight hesitated. “Well, uh, thanks for the offer, but people would get the wrong idea, you know?”

“Oh.” Bill felt a rush of mingled disappointment and relief. Relief that Dwight was sensible and careful. As attractive as he was, he must have had guys try to pick him up before. Relief too, that the boy hadn’t responded with some come-on. He was safe: a normal boy who did normal things and dreamed of girls at night. Probably in the daytime too.

A pity he couldn’t practice self-restraint with Dwight, but there it was. Bill kept his smile friendly. “Gotcha. But I really did just want to say thank you,” he said.

Dwight gave him a long, considering look. “Well-” he said, fidgeted and flashed a glance towards where the other skateboarders leaped and swooped. “Look, can I invite a buddy of mine along? Two guys eating together, that’s, well-” it was Dwight’s turn to flush: “-kinda fruity. But three, that’s just guys hanging out, or I guess maybe a family or something?”

One thing about fast food: whatever its faults, it filled up your stomach without emptying your wallet. “Sure,” Bill said, pleased. “I’d like that.”

“Neat!” Dwight smiled, his eyes sparkling. “I didn’t want to have to ride right out to-, uh, well: waste a lot of time going all the way home and back, I mean. It’s too good a day for sitting on the bus.” He turned and yelled across the lot: “Vinnie! Hey, Vinnie!” A boy in a black hoodie turned and looked, and Dwight waved. Bill tugged his gaze away from the little tuft of Dwight’s brown underarm hair gleaming ruddy-gold in the sunlight. “You want a free burger, Vin? C’mon, man! You know you do!”

Vinnie turned out to be shy; one of those private, painfully skinny teenagers that are perpetually hungry. The bangs of his brown, mousy hair barely came down to his eyebrows, but he brushed at it constantly as though pushing it out of his eyes. Bill was disturbed to find that he found Vinnie almost as attractive as Dwight. His fine, short hair was neatly cut, emphasizing the elegant shape of his head; Bill could imagine the weight resting in his hand, the feel of the boy’s rough hair warm against his palm, breathing softly through those narrow, half-parted lips and watching him with those cool, wise, blue-gray eyes. Not a boy who smiled much; and when he did you’d be more likely to feel it than see it: a small shift of the corner of his mouth as you stroked the back of your fingers down the sweet curve of his lean, pointed jaw and then he’d break contact, inviting and retreating at the same time. Had boys always been this beautiful and he’d somehow failed to see it?

Vinnie folded himself up in the corner of the seat, elbows in and narrow shoulders tense, and Bill felt a warming of affection as he realized the gawky caution came not from fear of clumsily oversetting a soda cup, but of touching the boy next to him.

Dwight chattered happily, the lovelier the more Bill looked. Oh, his creamy skin and chestnut ringlets were there to be seen at the first glance, and the grace and economy of his gestures soon after, but it was his eager openness that charmed Bill the most, reminding him disturbingly of Shayne. Oh sure, telling Bill about skating had started out as showing off in front of his friend, but as he explained the techniques of grinds and jumps and how the boys strung them together it quickly became obvious that Dwight was passionate about his sport, and generous in sharing the pleasure it gave him. As his slender fingers built courses out of spare fries, burger boxes and fruit pie cartons, his smile flashing as he explained about angles and how to read the ground, Bill found himself more and more aware of Vinnie, listening to his friend and watching him from behind defences of napkin and soda cup with his heart in his eyes.

Silence fell at their table after Dwight excused himself to use the restroom. Bill caught himself watching the boy’s neat little butt as he walked away and dragged his gaze back to find Vinnie watching him with a look that mingled hurt with sympathy.

Vinnie licked a blob of mayonnaise off his upper lip, and swallowed. “Uh, um, thanks for the burger, mister,” he said, as if he hadn’t thanked Bill twice already. His voice managed to be soft and hoarse with nerves at the same time. He flushed.

“No problem,” Bill said. “I should really thank you: it’s been fascinating hearing all about skateboarding and your buddy would never have relaxed the way he did without you here to keep it all decent.”

“My buddy, Yeah.” With the bottom edge of his soda cup, Vinnie carefully divided a french-fry in two. He cut at it again, his mouth pulled into a tight, unhappy little smile as made little slow, chopping motions along just one half, bursting the white cooked potato out through the exterior. “I hate these things,” he said, his voice still soft, but if anything hoarser than before. “They’re so fake, you know? It’s potato all blitzed up into a paste with cornstarch and other stuff, and then squeezed out like Play-doh and frozen. They look great: just like the real thing, but they’re not. Inside, they’re just mush.” He drew in a ragged breath, and then suddenly looked up. “Oh! I’m sorry! I, I didn’t mean-, I mean, after you bought everything-”

“Shoot, and there I was thinkin’ it was Cordon Bleu. Should have known it wasn’t.” Bill winked at Vinnie. “Portion sizes too big.”

Vinnie ducked his head, a microscopic twitch at one corner of his mouth signaling the briefest of smiles.

“So,” Bill said, “you known Dwight long?”

“Nuh-uh. Just a few months.” Vinnie twirled his striped straw in his soda. “Seems longer though. He just showed up here one day and blew everyone away — he’s really good: not just balance and technique, but artistic, you know? He really feels it all.”

And so do you, Bill thought, but aloud he only said: “He certainly seemed to know a lot, and good at explaining it, too.”

“Yeah, Dwight really likes talking about all that.” Vinnie hunched his head down between his thin shoulders as he took a sip of soda, and it seemed to Bill that he tensed up again. “You should see him in here in the evenings, talking to all the girls. He’s really great.”

Ah. “You too?” Bill said, and then wished he hadn’t as Vinnie blushed crimson to the tips of his ears.

“N-uh. I’m no good at talking to girls.” He looked up at Bill, fright naked in his eyes. “I, I mean I want to, of course: I’m just no good at it, okay?”

“Sure, I used to be just the same,” Bill said, remembering the terror girls held for him at thirteen; some of them could just cut you right down and leave you bleeding for days. The worst were the pretty ones that wore low-cut tops and then blamed you for looking. It was like trying to talk to someone with a big, ugly birthmark on their face: you knew it was rude to look, but the more you tried not to look, the more you found you were looking, and all that trying not to look meant you could hardly pay attention to what she was saying; — or what you were saying for that matter, so you sounded dumb. It was worse than no fun, but better than being tagged as a queer. He’d spent a miserable time in high school, and it looked like Vinnie was suffering the same way.

“Look, just try to forget the mean ones,” Bill said. “They think it’s just a game and don’t realize they’re using live ammo, see? There’s nice girls out there, but you won’t find ’em by sitting on your ass. You just have to take a deep breath and do it. It’s a damn’ lonely, scary thing, but the longer you wait the harder it gets.”

Vinnie nodded miserably. “Yeah.”

“Hey there guys,” Dwight said, flashing his toothpaste-ad smile as he slid back into his seat opposite Bill. “Talking about me?” he glanced aside at his buddy. “Oh. Vinnie’s mystery girl, huh? C’mon, Vin,” he said, leaning close. “I wouldn’t screw you, or make you look stupid, you know that.” He put his hand out, as though to squeeze Vinnie’s forearm and paused. Vinnie looked like a rabbit caught in the headlights. “C’mon man,” Dwight said softly. “You’ve been weirded out since I set you up with Bernie. It’s not that is it? She and I’ll sort it out, once she gets over her mad and starts talking to me again.” Gently Dwight lowered his hand.

Vinnie flinched, and Dwight jerked back and took his hand off his friends arm like it was red hot. “Sorry,” he said, turning to Bill. “That was just so gay.” He laughed, slightly off-key. “I guess it looked pretty bad: us carrying on in front of you like a nasty couple of fruits, I mean.”

Vinnie slid out of his seat and stood up. “I’ve gotta go,” he said. “Thanks for the burger and everything, sir.”

“That’s okay.” Bill stood up, so far as that was possible with the fixed seating, and offered his hand. “Pleasure talking with you.”

“Uh, yeah.” Vinnie’s hand felt cold and fragile, his grip fleeting. He couldn’t have left the restaurant faster if he’d done it at a dead run.

“Damn’!” Bill winced as he sat down again, and then bit his lip, embarrassed at cursing in front of Dwight, but when he flashed a glance at the boy it was evident Dwight hadn’t noticed: he was staring after Vinnie, his expression tense and unhappy.

“Hey,” Bill said. He would have stood up, said goodbye and left, but his side was still paining him after twisting to shake hands with Vinnie. “You okay there?”

“Uhuh.” Dwight glanced at him and then began collecting the empty food boxes and stacking the trays, presumably so that he could escape being one half of a possible pair of fruits as quickly as possible.

He saw Dwight’s creamy throat move as he swallowed, and then the boy spoke, pitching his voice low beneath the cheesy muzak. “Mister? Have you ever had someone — a buddy I mean — just stop liking you?”

“You mean, for no reason?” Bill said.

Dwight flashed him another glance, and for a moment Bill thought he was going to say something, but the boy just grabbed the stack of trays and stood up.

“Forget it,” he said. “Thanks for the burgers, mister.” And he gave Bill a smile as bright and empty as the boxes piled on his tray.

* * *

Felt to me like I waited fuckin’ days with Nasty starin’ at me, but I guess it weren’t more’n a half hour.

Then Nasty he got another call on his ear-piece; stood up and said to come along. We walked a different way through that house: up stairs and through like a hole bashed in the wall, around a couple corners and past all closed doors where the air smelled funny and there weren’t nobody about, and then down some stairs to a real solid-lookin’ iron and cement door. It was heavy too: Nasty unlocked and unbarred it and then had to haul on it real hard an’ when it kinda groaned open I seen it was as thick as my two hands.

Outside was just scrubby shit grass like our yard and stumps of trees an’ bushes all cut down real low to around my ankles. Nasty led me over to the fence an’ moved a piece aside; jerked his head and said to scat.

After Nasty left, I was kinda pissed, thinkin’ it was a durn long time to be sittin’ just to get the runaround, but I had to stop an’ think, on account of walkin’ through all the boarded-up part of the house had turned me all around in my head. I was just standin’ there fixin’ on which way I had to go to get around front again when this old beat-up VW van come around the corner and parked. It looked like shit: the outside was all patches of different colors. Cream and green and rusty bits, and the rest was that kind of gray filler what I seen guys at the trailer park spendin’ ages rubbin’ smooth with their shirts off.

Then the door opened and I seen it was mister Ray drivin’. I smiled at him but he didn’t smile back, just looked left an’ right along the empty street as he got out.

He looked real nice, wearin’ a loose singlet and baseball shorts and his skin shone kind of dark and glossy, like he’d been workin’ out. He beckoned me over, an’ when I’d gotten close, I figured I’d been right - I guess he hadn’t showered. He didn’t stink or nothin’; just that kind of spicy warmed-up guy smell what makes your nose and your uhu tingle an’ your heart go bump-bump-bump.

“Inside, quick,” he said. Then he slid open the side door and I seen how the inside’d been fixed up real cool - nice wood and pale leather and kind of homey like a trailer.

“You sit there,” he said, nodding to the big leather bench seat the color of vanilla ice-cream, “-and stay outta sight.”

I said yes sir! and I clumb in that van all excited - it were just like a little trailer miniaturized right down to my size: all little cupboards and a sink! The wood was all smooth and shiny, and it were fitted just right, and the cupboards had these real shiny pretty twist-locks, and it was only when I looked real close I seen as how they was all kinda different, just a little bit.

Then mister Ray growled how if I was to get my li’l ass on the seat like he tole me, maybe we could start? and I looked round to see him leanin’ with his dark arm on the back of the drivin’ seat and kinda frownin’. He held out his hand and said as how I gotta hand over my phones. I say as how only one of ’em’s mine, but he just grunted all impatient like and snapped his fingers, so I done like he said, an’ I didn’t like it at all when he took out the batteries and then dropped everything in this little bag. “Now,” he said, “We’ll go park up and then you can tell me what’s so all-fired important about that fuck-up today and why we shouldn’t just fire you ass.”

I thought I fucked up real bad, but he mellowed some after he started up and we moved off. He called to me in back and said to close the little drapes over the windows and then he asked if I liked RVs. So I said kind of, and told him about the trailer park some, and as he was drivin’ he told me about how he was fixin’ this up hisself. I said as how it were fine for me, but kinda dumb him buyin’ a trailer home what he couldn’t stand up in, and he said no, the roof done some kind of fancy foldin’ out so it was taller, only not when we was movin’.

We went a ways, turnin’ this way and that so much I was wonderin’ if Mister Ray knowed this city at all: out to where all them old empty factories is, and it got to be pretty much full dark. Part of me was gettin’ scairt, thinkin’ on how I’d fucked up, and if you did wanna bash someone over the head and just leave ’em, this’d be a neat place for it.

We turned off the road through these scabby, rusty old gates what was half hangin’ off of their hinges into this lot what had a buncha real tall weeds and bushes an’ grass and stuff growin’ through the cracks in the concrete, and the tyres crunched over all busted bricks and shit as we headed for this rusty old place like a sheet-metal barn. It had them slidin’ doors on them little wheels and there was a big gap between ’em.

After we drove in through the doors I couldn’t see much in the headlights as mister Ray turned that little VW van around: just red-rusted junk sprayed all over with taggin’ and windows what was either dirty gray or busted. Then he parked and turned off the engine and everything was real quiet. I couldn’t help thinkin’ on how if I was to yell, whether anyone’d hear it at all. I figured not.

Then mister Ray pressed a switch, and a light come on in the van’s ceiling just above me, kinda dim and yellow. He squeezed between the front seats and come through and sat on that big bench seat right next to me like some big dark cloud.

He said “So?” real deep an’ growly and his face was all dark an’ shadows and it didn’t look so friendly no more. I swallered down this big cold lump in my throat, and said as how I was real sorry about me goofin’ off, only I said it like I was just some kid messin’ around: I didn’t want to say nothin’ about Bill and drag him into my shit. I dug in my pockets and pulled out them weed packets and said as how I were real sorry sir, an’ I didn’t want him thinkin’ I was boostin’ the stuff or nothin’.

He looked at me kinda lazy and said I got a good attitude and they come down real hard on skimmin’, but the stuff weren’t the point. They’d had complaints, and that made ’em look bad. No, he reckoned the best thing all round would be if’n he just let Duke go.

Took me a heartbeat to figure he meant he was cannin’ Duke’s ass, and then I just got real panicky and said please no: it were me messed up an’ please don’t fire him! I said as how I’d do anything what I could to put it right.

He’s a real nice guy, is mister Ray. He looked at me real slow and kinda sleepy lookin’, and he reached over, and he squeezed my shoulder — but just bein’ nice, not to hurt or nothin’ — and he said how I sure did like my big bro’, and that we was real tight which was cool; but he didn’t need cuttin’ in on no junior-high bubblegum deal.

I didn’t get what he was talkin’ about, but I faked like I did and kinda laughed some. I tried to work it like I seen Mom do with guys: look up at him like he was real smart and I wanted him to talk to me more. Only he is real smart, and I did like him talkin’ to me so that was all for real. I dunno if Mom gets all tingles when guys talk growly but I sure do.

Anyhow I shifted close, and he smiled as I done that; real friendly, and his arm went around my back. I got tingles all around. Not just from where he was touchin’, but from the way he smiled at me, and I got that crazy mixed-up wanting him to like me feelin’ what I get around guys.

So I shifted more closer, an’ I leaned against him, just kinda lookin’ up at him; and feelin’ him so warm an’ firm an’ big-like, and smellin’ that nice guy-spicyness got me all — you know. Kind of like he was Duke maybe. It didn’t feel like some burger-bar bj, but more like I really liked him, you know?

His arm was real big around me, across my back, and his side was warm across my front, and the light in the van was just shinin’ down on him, making him all kind of dark and shiny-places what I wanted to just cuddle into. A real big strong guy.

Like I said, from before I thought he’d kinda liked me, so now I leaned close an’ I slid my hand up his shorts. I gotta say: right then I weren’t thinkin’ on how I could fix things for Duke, but only on the hard, warm feelin’ of his leg, and how it was all muscly and nice.

He hit me real good: upside my head, an’ I would-a fell off of the seat, but he grabbed my arm, sayin’ what the hell with this faggot shit?

He hit me again, right over the head, sayin’ did I think he was a fag? an’ I said nossir, ain’t that way at all, he was a nice guy. I thought he’d have knowed it was me what was the fag, but he didn’t.

I looked up an’ I wished I hadn’t. I could see on his face as how he didn’t like me no more — his face got this freaky expression like he ain’t seen me afore — an’ that together with still feelin’ that nice warm hard arm touchin’ across my back, and that singin’ in my ears from where he hit me like he did know I was a fag, well it got kind of all mixed up.

Ain’t nothin’ scarier’n when a guy don’t like you. I felt kind of like I was fallin’ down a big hole inside of myself, bashin’ and bouncin’ off of things, faster and faster with Mom screamin’ somewhere, or maybe it was me, inside of my head. I felt cold-sweaty an’ freaked, and kind of numb like I been in cold water too long, with that cold awful knowin’ of how he don’t like me comin’ up to hit me like the ground, an’ he gotta like me: he just gotta.

I yanked on his shorts real hard, pullin’ ’em down in front. Ain’t sure if he was half-hard, or maybe just a real big guy that way: I didn’t stop to look real good, though I wanted to, this bein’ the first black dick I seen up close, and anyhow I like dicks. It’s nice when a guy’s all hard an’ pumped, but I like feelin’ it get hard in my mouth too, an’ I know about using my mouth an’ even my teeth, some, though it’s mostly toungie what’ best for gettin’ a guy hard real quick. I done him real focused, like a quickie when you just know someone’ll be right along and you ain’t got no time, only it was like I was tryin’ to say, too, with all the lickin’ an’ that, how he please gotta like me.

Well, I don’t know if mister Ray liked me, but his dick sure did: afore I could of counted to twenty it were harder’n a judge’s heart. I got took by surprise on account of most guys what are big to start with don’t grow so much, but he sure did; I had that big head a-pushin’ at the back of my mouth afore I’d hardly took a good couple of breaths.

My neck kinda hurt where he’d hit me, and the top of my head kinda stung, but I figured although he knowed about hittin’ fags he didn’t know it real good, so I didn’t wait for him to make me do nothin’. Besides, I was still scairt and a Shaynie Special had worked good on every guy what I’d tried it on. So I slid my lips as far down that nice slippery hard dick as I could, just lovin’ the way that skin always feels so glassy smooth an’ thin with hard guy-ness right underneath, pushed down and started swallowin’.

Like I said, mister Ray’s a real nice guy. He put his hands on my head and helped, pushin’ up off the couch an’ shovin’ his hard dick into my mouth, and the sound he made, I would of thought he was hurtin’ bad, ’cept I heard a lot of guys make it afore. I kind of let myself listen more. When I’d first yanked at his shorts he’d said “Hey!” kind of like he didn’t want to an’ I couldn’t hardly breathe for all the scary hurtin’ in my heart, but now he did want to it was okay. I wanted to do extra to say thank you, but what with him havin’ extra in the dick department I reckon it come out about the same. I can do all of Duke’s dick, right down until I’m kissin’ his guy-hairyness, but I always gotta do that real slow first swallowin’ afore he could really hold me down an’ deep fuck my mouth. It was good though: he used to groan an’ blow the hugest warm wad all over my face when we done that an’ I miss it now he’s only doin’ screw ’n’ go with my heiney.

Anyhow, mister Ray said so I was a li’l ho’, and if I hadn’t of had his hard dick stuffin’ my throat I would of said no, on account of whores gets paid. I didn’t want him thinkin’ he gotta pay me cash money or nothin’, just let Duke keep his job — in fact I was hopin’ he wouldn’t figure out he could of fucked me before for zippity-squat; just that nice feelin’ what I got when I was strokin’ his tats an’ he was jokin’ around. I felt kinda mean jackin’ the price on him this way, but I didn’t know nothin’ about no bubblegum thing an’ this was all I got.

He yanked his shorts down more, and I was smellin’ him all spicy and lookin’ down that big dark dick and seein’ his hairyness, all tight curls like little dots, gettin’ bigger an’ smaller as he’s a-humpin’ his ass up off the seat as I’m lickin’ and swallowin’ him and enjoyin’ that nice hot hard mouthful. He don’t taste no different to a white guy or nothin’ and he likes humpin’ my mouth just the same, and it’s kind of nice he’s gettin’ so excited — just like Duke when he was first learnin’ me suckin’ afore he went upstate.

He yanks on my hair and rolls over on me, an’ starts shovin’ his dick into my mouth and fucking it properly, just like Duke, only he’s sayin’ oh yeah, an’ about cute, pretty li’l blond boys what are likin’ black cock an’ about it makin’ ’em horny.

Yeah! It’s just so nice when a guy finally figures out he wants it. There we was, me kind of on the floor except my head on the seat, and him astride of me, and he said I was a sweet boy, a real sweet boy, as he worked his dick in and out of my mouth. I couldn’t think what else to do except be nice: I licked and tickled with my tongue all around where Duke likes, and mister Ray, he said yeah fuck little whore and hit me topside of my head and fucked more deeper into my mouth real slow so I knowed he didn’t mean it bad or nothin’.

I seen him lookin’ down at me as he went in and out of my mouth real slow an’ sexy an’ strong. He looked real fierce at first, and then just like he was pretendin’ fierce, and then he kind of sobbed an’ he yanked it out, and while I was still kinda goofy, just lookin’ at that big, shiny-hard blackness, he yanked me up off of that seat and slapped me coupla two times, sayin’ as how he weren’t no battyboy — did I think he was some faggot shit?

I said nossir, nossir, an’ how a whole lot of straight guys really liked it an’ I was real good with suckin’ and please to don’t fire Duke’s ass. He grabbed my hair and said wassat about straight guys, an’ I said straight guys was guys what liked gettin’ their dicks wet, and he said amen to that but he didn’t cotton to no faggy dick suckin’, and he just ripped down my pants in back.

He rolled me over in his big arms so I was naked against his warm, hard niceness. I dunno quite how I felt — sure I wanted to suck that big throbbing hard dick until he went uhhhhh-uhh-uhh, and I felt those hot, quick, sweet tastin’ creamy spurts against the back of my throat, or pulsin’ warm over my lips an’ cheeks, but when he said as how he was gonna cornhole my li’l white butt I was real happy he weren’t gonna ask; it was gonna be all safe an’ nice like with Duke, where I don’t get to choose an’ mess up. Havin’ a strong guy do the choosin’ is the best.

I heard him huck, and then he was rubbin’ his big fingers on my uhu, but he was shakin’ as he rubbed ’em on my ass and pushed ’em inside. Why he tole me I was gonna be okay I ain’t figured. Oh, I could just kinda feel him all over my back as we turned around in that little space; him like a big thundercloud: all big and, oh, I dunno, just like he was gonna fuckin’ ’lectrocute me, and me just hitchin’ my li’l ass backward and kinda up so he could just shove that big dick right in. I kinda gasped when I felt the tip of his dick touch my uhu, and he said to shut the fuck up, just like Duke done. I was tinglin’ and flyin’ high, only then he slid that big strong arm around my chest, an’ all of Raylene’s sayin’s come back on me.

Shoot, it weren’t like it was — uh, you know: anything what I didn’t already know, but at least until then I was okay. Only when I done that rememberin’, oh man — I got all that hurtin’ back, in my throat, in my heart, in my gut and everywere, all burnin’ hot and cold too. Suddenly this weren’t nothin’ like with Bill an’ I missed him cruel. Only it was, too: I got a big, beautiful guy around me, and startin’ to shove his big hard dick in me, and bendin’ his neck so he’s nuzzin’ my ear, and gruntin’ as how I got such a tight li’l pussy just like he’s forgot I ain’t a girl, and, and — look: I got to say to myself he don’t care, like Raylene says: don’t none of ’em care — and then right on that, thinkin’ on how Lee said maybe Bill does, you know: kinda maybe, I needed it to be true so bad I made this noise.

Mister Ray said “what, honey?” and moved like he was maybe gonna stop, so I pushed back, and he said “oh,” and growled as how I sure was a horny li’l fucker.

Oh, oh, maan, it was so big! Kinda stretchin’ me, right up inside as he just kinda, you know, done it. I could feel my uhu wide, wide stretched around mister Ray’s big hard dick, and maaan, I sure felt it as he went deep, gruntin’ in my ear in that way what made all of me kind of push back against him again; me squeezin’ with my ass and kind of gaspin’: scairt on account of I cain’t help wantin’ him to like me and really likin’ it as he just fucked me deeper and held me close.

Wished I could of seen all of him, all dark, hard and shiny, powerin’ deep in me as he grabbed ahold of my shoulders, holdin’ me kind of bent over as he rammed home in my butt, balls deep, bam-bam-bam and I could hear the seat springs squeakin’ and feel him bouncin’ against the back of my legs again and again and again, the nice hard head of his guy-meat just stretchin’ me inside and shovin’ so deep I reckoned I was gonna get dick in my throat from the other direction. I was groanin’ at the bottom of my breath, just feelin’ all of him fillin’ me real deep and thinkin’ on how it felt real nice: hard and full, in my ass, ’cept I don’t know how rightly to say it. It weren’t so good as with Bill, ’cept this guy was tryin’ just as hard as he could, and I weren’t bein’ fair, comparin’ him and Bill: he’s just a guy.

I felt kinda mean, like I was lyin’ to him, and was feelin’ so sorry, only I ain’t sorry, too, what with his nice hard, wide dick forcin’ it’s way up my li’l narrow tight heiney, and kinda scratchin’ the itch what’s all deep in my uhu. I can feel his legs all warm against me, his dick pushin’ me away from him so I have to fight my way back down, wishin’ I could spread my legs wide an’ cussin’ my pants what are still around my ankles as I’m tryin’ to tilt my butt; feelin’ that hard, shiny dark dick-head shovin’ way up into my guts as I’m wrigglin’ back down into his warm, scratchy hairy place with him strokin’ my side and arm-holdin’ me close so I want to kiss an’ lick his salty arm muscles while his heart’s beatin’ boom-boom in my ear.

He was breathin’ loud, and he gasped out as how I’m a hot, tight li’l slut, and when he said that I was kinda happy only not: if Bill said that I’d be over the Moon! But he ain’t Bill, and it ain’t his fault he ain’t, and when he wraps his arms around me I want to cry, only I’m shiverin’ and he’s gettin’ faster and harder, rammin’ into my uhu, shovin’ my face down into that slipp’ry leather as he’s crowdin’ in atop of me, his big, solid weight warm-pressin’ across my back, his dick feelin’ like an iron bar as he’s drivin’ deep: I whimpered and squeezed tight, feelin’ this nice, hot hardness slidin’ in and out and he gasps oh-fuck, yeah, bitch! as he pulls and shoves, and goes kind of jumpy before I feel him ram down real huggin’ warm and tight, jammin’ his big fat joint deep as he can and grindin’ the rough, hairy root of his dick against my tail-bone, and then I feel that nice hard guy-dick kinda swell, stretchin’ my uhu wider, and all that hard, hot meat starts jerkin’ way deep inside of me and he gasps - uhhhh, uh-uh-yeah!

There’s a cold breeze across my back and he’s rearin’ up above me as I feel his hot, sticky squirts unload in my ass, and I cain’t help but hutch my ass back against him best I could, breathin’ in the smell of seat leather against my face and feeling that throbbing bone all along inside of my butt as I done him nice, just squeezin’ and movin’ my uhu up and down on his dick makin’ him kinda groan and hopin’ he’d rub hisself against my back again.

After he done cummin’ he just slumped down atop of me, all hot an’ sweaty and heavy, with his dick still hard as a ten-stretch and right up inside of me, and my uhu and all of my insides just stuffed so full they kind of ached. Duke, he’d-a pulled out and been gone by now, so I didn’t know ’zackly what I gotta do, so I didn’t do nothin’ ’cept lie there tellin’ myself real strict as how this nice touchin’ don’t mean nothin’ and to quit thinkin’ about Bill and recallin’ how I could feel his nice hairy chest against my back when we was like this in the pod.

We was like that a time, and then mister Ray he pushes hisself up and says how I’m a hot li’l fuck, but if I tell just one other guy about this, then I gonna be dog-meat. Said too, all over again about how he ain’t a fag and it’s only on account of me bein’ pretty as a girl he fucked my ass, so I better not get no smart ideas, on account of I ain’t, and I ain’t his bitch neither. I said yessir, and how I weren’t gonna tell nobody, honest, and gettin’ real scairt thinkin’ on how where we was parked in just a great place for hidin’ somebody what’s dead.

Guess I musta tensed up some; he slapped my ass and said how I sure was hungry for cock, and I said okay but he gotta wash it first, and he laughed! Said I was a cute li’l slut and kinda ruffled my hair as he started slidin’ his dick outta my ass. It was still mostly hard an’ it felt real nice.

When he popped out I squeezed my uhu tight shut and tried not to think about the gripin’ pains in my gut. Sometimes after Duke’s gone I need the bathroom real sudden bad and sometimes not. I was hopin’ today was gonna be “not” and I wasn’t gonna haveta say, on account of it was real shy-makin’, but I guess I used all my luck for today already. I rolled off that seat, desperate and clenchin’ real hard as I pulled the door lever, and he said “What the fuck?” just as I slid the door open.

My pants were still around my ankles so I couldn’t move fast an’ I was scairt he was gonna grab me and that woulda been a real nasty mess, but he didn’t. Seemed like he sat up real quick and I heard him movin’, but all my thinkin’ was on holdin’ my uhu shut an’ I just made it to outside afore I had to crouch down and my insides tried to empty theirselves right out.

It was noisy and kind of messy and I was real panicky, thinkin’ on how I was maybe sprayin’ that nasty slop on my pants, and it was only when I heard him laugh I thought on how I was doin’ number two right out in the open in front of him just like a little kid. My face got so hot I figure if he’d of turned out the light I’d of glowed in the dark.

When I’d finished I didn’t want to look at him, but he said “Here,” an’ he tossed out a box of tissues, so even though I still thought he was mean for laughin’ I said thanks. Used quite a few wipin’ my butt over and over while I looked at him outta the corner of my eye.

It was weird. He weren’t lookin’ at me but all around that big, dark space like he was watchin’ out and waiting for somethin’. He didn’t even pull his gym shorts up, so of course I ended up lookin’ at his nice dick, all big an’ fat an’ shiny as it hung down over his balls. I’d been right: even soft like that it was real big an’ I weren’t surprised my uhu was kinda numb an’ sore.

He did look at me real sharp when I pulled my pants up, and it was only him movin’ slightly what clued me in he’d been sittin’ deliberate with one hand outta sight. When I clumb back in the van, he said to shut the door, and while I was doin’ that I heard somethin’ go click-clack, and when I looked he was just straightenin’ up like he’d hid somethin’ under the seat.

Said he reckoned he weren’t the first guy what I’d played around with, but I kept my yap shut. Weren’t no way I was gonna say nothin’ about Bill, and right back at the start when he was learnin’ me suckin’, Duke said as how I gotta say nothin’ to nobody or he’d cut me good. I’d been real hurt an’ said how I weren’t no squealer gonna rat him out, but I reckon Duke’d seen as how I was near on to cryin’ on account of he bopped me one and said not to be a dumbass.

Mister Ray he kinda smiled at me only I know them smiles — they don’t mean nothin’. Said as how even though he weren’t no battyboy queer he could see as how I was real pretty, an he sighed and said how it were a real shame an’ he really wished I was a girl, but he knowed a lot of guys would like ta meet with me. I was real glad I had my pants on but even so I just moved some and put my hand over my dickie kinda casual. Red, he told me a story one Halloween as how they got these places where they take bad boys an’ turn ’em into girls, you know: with cuttin’ and all, but it ain’t a story, it’s really true: I seen it on TV. So I weren’t hardly listenin’ to mister Ray as he said a whole lot about me bein’ nice to guys and makin’ a whole lotta money. Even though girls get to wear nice sparkly party dresses I didn’t care if I was gonna make a hundred dollars a week: I didn’t wanna do it if I got to cut off my dickie an’ be a girl.

So I said he gotta talk to Duke about all that. Even though Duke’s had the fag beat outta him I know he don’t like girls or nothin’, and even though he don’t touch my dickie I reckon he kind of likes knowin’ it’s there, so I figured he’d nix any cuttin’.

Mister Ray said real sharp about how neither of us weren’t gonna do no talkin’ and Duke keepin’ his job was con-dishnal on that, which turns out is a fancy lawyer way of sayin’ how if I open my yap Duke’s out on his ass.

On the bus when I come over I’d been recallin’ how Duke’s leg was hurtin’ and thinkin’ how I could maybe score some shit for a Shaynie special, but right then I was happy to grab the deal Mister Ray was offerin’: Duke keepin’ his job, and me keepin’ my dickie.