Date: Tue, 3 May 2005 00:51:15 -0700 (PDT) From: Robin Eagleson Subject: Oversleeping Part Four It didn't take long before I realized Evan was doing some serious sulking. He spent the majority of the week in his room, making valiant and mostly successful attempts to avoid me altogether. I was doing my best to convince myself that I felt indifferent, but something was nagging at me periodically, even though the few days that had gone by without his presence had helped me stop obsessing over him so much. A part of me felt a little bad for having hurt his feelings. We'd both said some pretty bad things to each other in our lives, but before it never really lasted. It was always just two brothers squabbling. We'd usually have no trouble facing each other the next day, even if it meant an argument over a whole new topic, which it typically did. This was different. This was the first time I'd ever really felt the guilt of truly getting to him. All in all though, my days were remarkably normal. I made an effort to be as extroverted as possible in school to get myself back in the swing of things after a rough end of the last week, and it worked well. Anthony had tried to call my cell phone half a dozen times on Saturday, but only because he was worried I hadn't even made it home on Friday when I left smashed. It gave me a viable excuse for not being around Saturday, though. I took liberties with the truth and explained I had been given a one night ban from going out. It was a relief to return to normal. Sex with a family member can throw you off. It wasn't that simple, though. My thirst for Evan was still there. I wasn't able to stop thinking about him when I jacked off, but at least we weren't physically getting it on anymore. I was certain now that having sex with him had been a huge mistake, but inwardly I couldn't deny how incredible it all had been. If he continued to avoid me, I wouldn't have to worry about another encounter, but being so horny all the time instead can have drawbacks. Friday was an especially good day. There was a big party at Kenny's set for the night (there usually was), and an entire week had gone by since my first experience with Evan. Before long I could completely erase it from my memory, but a week was a good start. To top things off, I was very curious about Jessica now. Back in the pre-Evan era, I'd been fantasizing about her for months. I'd met her first at Kenny's, but this semester we had History together, so I'd gotten to know her a lot better. We'd been hanging out a ton at school over the last week, and coupled with the information that she had been looking for me at the party last Friday, it appeared she was definitely getting more interested. Feeling considerably less burdened this weekend, I took my time getting ready for my evening out, spending extra time in the shower after school, during which time I attempted to jack off over Jessica but couldn't keep Evan's face out of my head. Even that couldn't dampen my spirits too much. I stood in front of the mirror for fifteen minutes and meticulously worked on my hair, waiting for it to settle into place. I wondered if my hair would look as good as Evan's did if I grew it out to the length his was at. Somehow, I doubted it. His hair was a darker, thicker blond than mine, and looked good in abundance. Mine just didn't have that same elegant flair, and it was best kept moderately short. By the time I was finished dressing, though, I had concluded that while I probably wasn't as good looking as Evan, I wasn't trailing him by much. My self-admiration was cut into by the front door opening and Evan's voice in the living room. I hadn't really heard it much since last Saturday, and the few times I had, it had sounded relatively subdued and flat. Now it sounded like its old self: loud, obnoxious, and extremely confident. To my surprise, there were two voices. I honestly would have been less surprised to find that he had been talking to himself. After all, he's the only one who can stand him. After giving him a few minutes to disappear somewhere with his guest, I opened the door and headed for my room, where I would stay for an hour and then head for Kenny's. This plan would have worked, but once again it was foiled by Evan. "What the fuck are you doing in my room?" I asked him, although it was obvious. The guest was Nick, a kid who was probably as close to a friend as Evan had. They were on the same soccer and basketball team, but from what I understood it was definitely an on and off friendship. At least with Nick it didn't permanently stay off. He must have been desperate for friends. Nick was standing next to Evan while Evan was crawling behind the entertainment center I got for Christmas, sorting through chords. "I'm hooking the PS2 up in my room for tonight," he said, looking up and making eye contact with me for the first time in a week. "You won't be here anyway," he shrugged. "And when you get back, you wouldn't even know how to operate it." Nick gave an audible smirk at Evan's little comment, and I stared at him until he looked away. He was a pretty tall eighth grader; roughly my height, rail-thin, dark hair and dark eyes. He was a good looking kid. I immediately wondered just what I meant by thinking that, and shook it away. "Don't screw up and unplug the wrong things," I muttered. "I hooked most of this up in the first place," Evan reminded me. He was really good with electronic stuff for some reason, I had to admit. "So you guys are friends again?" I asked with an evil smile as I sat comfortably on my bed, trying to shift the momentum in my favor. "Didn't you get in a fight the last time you were here?" I questioned Nick. They had been in the basement playing pool a few months ago and had suddenly gotten into a fight. Dad had taken Nick home several hours earlier than they planned, and he hadn't been back since. "He hit me with a cue stick," Nick defended himself. "What would you have done?" Evan giggled from behind the entertainment center. "You were cheating," he interrupted, popping his head out with a grin. "I didn't hit you that hard." "You hit me in the fucking head!" Nick answered, but laughed. Both boys seemed to think now that their vicious battle was a big joke. I had thought it was hilarious from the first, but now that they had come to terms over it, I wasn't so sure. "We kissed and made up, though," Nick said, smiling at me. His response gave me a momentary jolt before I realized it was just an expression people occasionally used when referring to patched up friendships. Still, it was an odd thing for an eighth-grader to say on his own, and I was now suspicious. For some reason I hadn't liked the image of Nick and Evan going at it. "Okay," Evan announced, jumping up dramatically with the Playstation and a few extra power chords. "We're leaving. Don't miss your curfew tonight," he said snidely as he walked past me with a grin. "Go to hell," I nodded at him in response, watching them walk out of my room together. Suddenly all the composure that I had maintained over the week felt shattered. I knew that no matter what, my mind would be on Evan and Nick the entire night, wondering what they might up to. I collapsed backwards on my bed, trying valiantly not to picture it. Abandoning my plan to kill an hour first, I got out of the house as soon as possible. I was so early to the party, in fact, that when I showed up at Kenny's, he answered the door sleepy-eyed, naked aside from a pair of boxers. Kenny was the only friend I had who could be woken up at half past five in the evening. He missed at least one day of school a week, and he hadn't bothered coming today, so quite obviously he was just now waking up. The two of us had down and played Halo while we waited for people to start showing up. There was never a set time. Kenny was so good at Halo he could beat me effortlessly; considering how much he played, it was pretty much the equivalent of a full-time job for him. Within fifteen minutes, I had been assassinated a dozen times, and I was stoned out of my mind. I could never spend any one-on-one time with Kenny and not be high. He had this way of pressuring you into doing it, and acting really offended if you didn't. I don't know what his connection was, but he always had tons of weed, and he always let his friends smoke as much of it as they wanted. I found myself stealing glances at him as he alternated hits with targeting my character's head from some unseen location. He had this level's layout memorized to a disturbing extent. He still hadn't bothered to get dressed, so I was free to examine much of his body, and for the first time, I realized he wasn't half bad looking. He was much too lazy to ever exercise, but somehow he was naturally pretty strong, and his bare torso was especially humbling. He had chestnut colored hair that he styled carelessly; something like Evan's hair would look if it was darker. We were the same age, but he looked considerably older. His face was rarely shaven, and today it was covered in dark stubble from a week's worth of missing a razor. At 6'4", he was tall as hell, and most people were intimidated by him because of his forceful personality as well as his large build. He was probably the meanest drunk I'd ever been around, but he had never actually gotten into a fight with someone that didn't deserve it. The house filled up pretty quickly around half past six. It was going to be a crazy night. Soon there was a demand for Halo and I surrendered my controller willingly enough. The smell of weed was becoming overpowering; it was really a wonder the cops had never been called out here. By eight I was drunk. Nothing bad, but there had been a beer chugging contest that I'd gotten in on, and after knocking five down in a short time period, I was definitely feeling it a little. My cell phone rang at some point between eight and nine, and it was Jessica, calling to make sure I was at Kenny's. "Who was that?" Anthony asked me nosily, a knowing grin on his face. Kenny had disappeared an hour ago into his room, saying he would be right back. We all figured he had probably gone back to dip into his private stash of less casual drugs and lost track of time. The party raged on without him just fine. There were going on fifty people hanging around in one place or the other now, and more were still pulling up outside. By ten there were over a hundred people milling about, and I had somehow found an unoccupied sofa in an isolated corner of his den, where I was sitting with Jessica and trying not to let her out drink me. She was growing progressively gigglier as her beer total increased; I was up to about eight, but I hadn't had anything hard. By eleven I was making out with Jessica for the first time. It was only the third girl I'd ever kissed, and the first one I'd kissed since Evan. It was strange to kiss someone that knew what they were doing. She didn't slobber all over my face, or try to force her tongue all the way down my throat, or occasionally bite me out of untamed aggression. She also smelled considerably different than Evan. My senses were inundated by her fruity smelling hair and various cosmetic appliances. With some alarm, I realized I wasn't enjoying kissing her quite as much as I enjoyed kissing Evan, and I hoped it didn't show. I actually jumped when she touched my raging hard cock through my jeans; no girl had ever done that before, and I hadn't expected it. She pulled her lips off me. "You don't think I'm a slut do you?" she asked, appearing somewhat concerned, but mostly just drunk. "No," I said, blushing a little at my stupid reaction. She would definitely think I was a dork for jumping like that. "I think you're really cool," I recovered. Satisfied, she groped it at again in her very feminine sort of way. Figuring I was entitled to help myself a little too, I reached out awkwardly and fondled her right breast, which became a first when I wasn't admonished for it. We were just starting to get back into it again when a nearby laughter startled us. I looked up and saw we had attracted a small crowd of male onlookers, all of whom were friends of mine, and from the looks of it, all trashed as well. "Why don't you guys at least go upstairs?" my friend Alan asked me. This was probably the height of irony, since it was only a few weeks ago he had been discovered getting a blow job in the bathroom with the door open, but I didn't say anything. "Why don't you guys fuck off?" Jessica, never one to hold back, yelled to the trio of guys. They dispersed willingly enough, but with an abundance of chuckling. "God, your friends are stupid," she complained, separating from me just a little and straightening her hair. There was a period of ensuing silence that followed, during which I was supposed to take charge and ask her if she did want to go to a bedroom, or something bold like that, but I said nothing, both nervous she would say no and afraid I wouldn't even like it if she said yes. So I said nothing. When she reached out and touched my leg a moment later, I knew I could get laid tonight if I wanted to. Two weeks ago I probably have shot in my pants at the thought alone, but things were different now. "I have to go," I told her, taking her hand to minimize the harshness of my comment. "No!" she protested softly, gripping my hand harder. "Why? I thought your curfew was one." "It was," I said, forcing myself to make eye contact with her. "I got in trouble last week though. It's, um, midnight now," I lied. She wasn't one of the people I'd had to explain about my whereabouts on last Saturday to, so I'd never told her the curfew was back to normal. "Don't go," she whispered, stroking my cheek with the back of her pointer finger. She sighed. "Will you call me tomorrow?" she asked, seeming to accept that I was going to leave anyway. "Okay," I said, admittedly flattered. I must have been a good kisser. She finally let go of my hand slowly, and I disappeared into a thick crowd gathered in the middle of the room, fought my way through a cloud of smoke, and slipped out the door, nearly tripping on someone who had passed out on the porch. I was in much better shape for this drive home. I like to believe even if I had gotten pulled over I could have easily passed for being sober. My entrance into the house was much less dramatic than the last time had been, too. Even if my curfew had been midnight, I still would have gotten home early. The beers were wearing off; I had done most of the drinking hours ago. I was hungry as hell, though, so I immediately started rooting through the cabinets to find something to snack on. I settled on about a half dozen packs of cheese crackers, grabbed a few cans of Coke, and headed to my room. The lights were all out throughout the house, but as I passed Evan's door I could see the light was still on in there, and when I stopped beside it, there was much giggling inside. Another wave of bitterness swept through me, and it took a concentrated effort to keep walking. I turned my cell phone off and plugged it in the bathroom outlet to charge the battery, and then kicked off my shoes and jeans as I walked into my room. My head still reeling from the contact with Jessica, I settled into my bed and turned on the TV, tearing open the first pack of crackers and devouring them. Sonny leapt up onto my bed and made himself comfortable at my feet. He was really nothing more than a glorified cat. I was half watching Sports Center, half trying to gather my thoughts. In no time at all, I had finished off the crackers and was left only with a pile of empty wrappers, a bunch of crumbs, and Sonny at my feet. What's more is I could still hear Evan and Nick giggling through the wall. Overwhelmed by curiosity, I threw the sheets off me, sending Sonny bounding onto the floor in alarm, marched out into the hallway, and stopped just short of wrenching Evan's door open. I got control of myself just in time to open it normally. They weren't naked. With that realization, I calmed down a lot. "Will you guys shut the hell up?" I asked, needing some kind of an excuse to come tearing into the room. That wasn't that much of a stretch; they were being pretty loud. Evan, propped up with several pillows on his bed, grinned at me with a PS2 controller in his hands. "Aye aye, sir," he said giving me a sarcastic salute. "We'll try and keep the noise to a minimum." Nick was seated on the floor right in front of the bed, the other controller in his hands. I glanced at the screen and saw they were into a tightly contested NBA Live game. Evan was playing as his beloved Hawks, and somehow keeping pace just fine with Nick's Spurs. "You lucky son of a bitch!" Evan squealed as Nick knocked down a last second three to end the third quarter. "Me?" Nick answered loudly. "Lucky is scoring 50 points with Josh Childress the last game." Evan only giggled. So this is what the laughter was coming from. "We've been playing all night," Nick explained to me. "I think this is our tenth game in a row using full length quarters." "You guys are losers," I responded shortly. "And you seriously need to shut up. You're being loud and Mom and Dad are going to get pissed." "Fine," Evan said, flinging the hair out of his eyes, repositioning his legs, and then turning his head away from the game to look at me. "You don't look very drunk. Did you bring us back any beer?" he asked me. I flipped him off and closed the door, feeling much better knowing that they weren't doing anything unusual. By the time I got up the next afternoon, Evan and Nick were both gone. I didn't have to wait long to find out why. "You're going to have to pick up Evan from his soccer tournament tonight, Austin," Mom said to me as soon as she caught me in the living room. "Why can't you?" I snapped. "Because your father and I are celebrating our eighteenth anniversary tonight," she responded smugly, knowing if I argued now I would just seem outrageously selfish. I had wondered why Evan had a soccer tournament and they weren't there in the first place. "If you've got a milestone more important than ours you need to be celebrating instead of picking Evan up," the voice of my father carried to us from the kitchen, "we'll be glad to go get him instead." They always teamed up on me like that. "Time and place?" I asked, defeated. "They're playing at Centennial High. The last game should be over around six," she answered. "After you drop him off at the house you can go out. And you don't have to come back until two. Does that sound like a good enough reward, Darren?" she raised her voice slightly to ask my father for his opinion. Dad poked his head around the corner, drying his hands with a dish towel. "Better make it 1:30," he amended for her. "When I was sixteen I had to be home by ten," he reminded me for at least the hundredth time. "This money," Mom said handing me a twenty and looking at me seriously, "is for Evan in case he wants to order a pizza tonight. I want you to give it to him when you pick him up." "Whatever," I smirked, accepting the bill. "This is going straight to drugs." They both gave me a stern look. "Gambling," I corrected, getting a similar response. "College fund?" I tried lastly, but still to no avail. "Where are you guys going, anyway?" "Out," Mom said mysteriously, which was kind of creepy. "Don't worry, though. We'll be back before you." "Don't be so sure," my dad called out, having disappeared back into the kitchen now. "The time of return is always unknown when you embark on a romantic journey with the likes of me." I quietly backed out of the room so as not to hear any more comments like that. "Austin!" my mom called to me before I could disappear out of sight. I turned back to look at her. "You'd better not forget him again." "Mom," I groaned. "I didn't forget him. You put the note in the bathroom and I didn't even go in there that day. Why didn't you slip it under my door or something?" What I wanted to say was that if she had done that Evan and I would probably have never had sex in the first place. "Because you'd just trample all over the note on your way to the bathroom in the morning," she said. "I've seen you when it's early. You could walk through a wall and not even notice. The mirror, on the other hand, usually gets your attention." "Twenty minutes every morning staring at your reflection," Dad chimed in, still out of sight. I really had heard enough by this point, so I quickly threw on some clothes and left the house without even showering. They could really be unbearable as a duo. As soon as I got in my jeep, I realized that I didn't really have anywhere to go, and I'd left my cell phone charging in the bathroom. The latter made it kind of difficult to set up impromptu plans with anyone, and seeing as how I didn't want to be around my parents any longer for the day, I started up the engine and drove off anyway. I drove around aimlessly for what turned out to be over half an hour, and then got tired of wasting gas and just pulled into the Centennial High parking lot. It wasn't even five yet, so I had over an hour to kill, and I was going to have to kill it here. I wished more than anything I'd brought my cell phone along. I absent-mindedly studied myself in the rearview mirror and disapproved of the sight. My hair really looked bad once I'd slept on it for a night, and I'd gotten a rare zit on my forehead three days ago that wasn't going anywhere. I also felt disgustingly dirty all over having spent an entire night trapped in weed and cigarette smoke without showering today. My skin felt sticky and could not have possibly smelled that great. Oh, the wondrous joys of hitting puberty. I wasn't far from the soccer field, and I could see distant figures running up and down on it under the sun, which had peaked out nicely after what had been a cloudy beginning to the day. I had woken up several times in the morning, but kept going back to sleep because it looked so bleak outside. As the minutes crept by, I began to wish I'd just sucked it up and made a quick dash inside to get my cell phone. If I had, I could have called someone and been doing something right now, even if not for long. I was in such an excruciating state of boredom that I actually found myself considering smoking a bowl while I waited. I checked under my seat and reached around for the incriminating baggie, which I finally succeeded in grabbing. There was very little left from last time. I could probably only get one bowl out of it, but that would do the trick just fine. I didn't know a damn thing about soccer. From my distance, all I could see was a bunch of kids running around, half in yellow shirts, half in green shirts. I had never played soccer in my life. My athletic career had been remarkably short, actually, consisting of only a few years of Little League Baseball when I was still in elementary school. Evan was more of an all-around kid, having played soccer, basketball, and baseball almost his entire life. He'd made a strong push for football, but Mom would never let him play. She thought he was too skinny, and I tend to agree. I turned my radio up and took my first hit, carelessly tossing the empty baggie out the window. I was planning on doing the same with the bowl after I was done. While I never felt bad for drinking, there was something about smoking weed that always made me feel guilty somewhere within me. I used to be such a good kid, all of one year ago. I thought about Jessica and took another hit. I had been going after her for months. She really was cool, and I'd been trying to make a good impression on her from day one, but it had been a long development. It seemed like we were the most casual of friends until the past week or so. I remembered how she wanted me to call her and wondered what I was supposed to say when I did. If I did. It was weird smoking alone. It didn't even occur to me that this was the first time I was doing it until I was halfway through the bowl. Every other time had been with someone else, including the time I had done it with Evan a week ago. This was kind of a pathetic first. Predictably, my thoughts got a little fuzzier as I finished off the bowl. I zoned out on the moving figures on the field until they all merged into one indistinguishable blur. There was a little weed left, but I dumped it out the window. I glanced back at the clock and saw there was still over half an hour to kill, so I sighed and got out of the car, figuring I might as well take in the game from the bleachers. There was plenty of space, and if I picked the right spot I wouldn't be bothered, and no one would even have to put up the smell of weed, which my shirt now reeked of. I tossed the bowl in the grass on the way, careful to make sure no one was looking. I got a spot on the left set of bleachers all the way at the back. I had almost the entire row to my left. Not too many people had come to watch a bunch of eighth graders kick a spotted ball around the field and chase after it in a disorganized manner. It was a sparse crowd that appeared to consist mostly of parents. The wind felt exceptionally good on my face; it was a pretty cool evening for being so near summer. I scanned the field, looking for Evan, but not even sure which color his team would be. I eventually spotted him by his hair. It was flowing elegantly in the wind, blowing straight back and looking very soft. The rest of him was a walking Adidas advertisement. The shoes, socks, shorts, and shin guards were all sporting the little Adidas logo. He looked very fluid running aimlessly up and down the field, his hair whipping in the wind. I hadn't noticed him coming anywhere near where the action was, but he looked good. It wasn't long before trying to keep track of the ball bored the hell out of me. I began to focus directly on Evan, watching his boundless energy. He had been playing all afternoon off and on, and he didn't seem to be tired. Only his forehead, glistening with sweat, gave hints that he must not be completely fresh. His hair clung to his forehead, and he was forced to brush it out of his eyes repeatedly. He looked very graceful for the most part, and the soccer uniform was sexy. There wasn't much to say for the flow of the game; it was sloppy and inconsistent, but as I sat there watching Evan play, I found that I was enjoying myself. It was such a nice night, and the weed had me feeling pretty relaxed. I was perfectly content to sit here for hours, and I wished I'd come sooner, because the game was rapidly nearing an end. My eyes remained glued on Evan. His every move was captivating. He played the same way he lived his entire life: with unrivalled aggression. The same way he kissed. It was like the rest of the players were going at a different speed. He was even jawing with the other players on occasion, doubtlessly taunting them and trying to get into a fight. At one point right as the game was nearing an end, he glanced up towards the stands briefly and happened to catch my eye. I wasn't hard to find, sitting alone in my corner of the bleachers. I could see him do a double take, but he turned back to the game quickly, not taking time to smile or wave. I let him come to me after the game had ended, instead of rising like everyone else did, going to find their kid so they could stuff them in their beige mini-vans as soon as possible. He didn't take long, ambling up to my row slowly and plunking down beside me. A strong smell of sweat, not altogether unpleasant, radiated off his body and permeated the air. "Couldn't you have at least scored since I came to watch?" I asked, grinning in a relatively friendly fashion. He smiled lightly. "I'm not supposed to score," he said softly. "I'm not a forward." "That's a basketball position," I frowned, seriously confused. "Never mind," he replied, shaking his head with his smile still lingering on his lips. "How come you're sitting up here watching? Mom said I'd probably have to wait a few minutes after I was done before you got here. I'm supposed to call her cell phone if you don't come.' "I guess you don't have to worry about that," I grunted, a little pissed no one in the family trusted me to do anything. "Are you ready?" I asked, not enjoying my spot on the bleachers so much now that I wasn't alone. "Just give me a second to say bye to all my teammates," he answered. After looking around and sitting perfectly still for ten seconds, he turned back to me. "Okay, done." It was all I could do not to shove him off the bleachers for being such a smart ass. He reverted back to a silent mode when we got into the jeep, taking the liberty to roll his window all the way down and then leaning over to me to roll mine down all the way as well. We drove in silence for a few minutes, and I started to wonder if he was still mad at me for telling him I had never been especially fond of him a week ago. "I'm thirsty," he said suddenly, scratching his knee just where his soccer shorts cut off to reveal the skin. "Can you stop somewhere?" "Plenty of thirst quenching items at the house," I said, sounding so much like Dad I laughed. "I want ice cream, though," he whined. "Wouldn't that mean you were hungry rather than thirsty?" I asked sharply. He thought it over. "Ice cream would only make you thirstier, idiot." "Can't you just stop at Dairy Queen?" he finally said. "I'm sure you're pretty hungry yourself," he added with the smallest of grins on his face. I guess he had smelled the weed, either on me or in the car, or both. He had me there. I was kind of hungry, and ice cream seemed like an acceptable treat. We each got a large blizzard. I paid for mine, but made him use part of his twenty from Mom to pay for his. Our tastes in ice cream differed significantly. Evan, who could be caught eating spoonfuls of peanut butter straight out of the jar, went with peanut butter cups in vanilla ice cream, whereas I satisfied my craving for chocolate with chocolate chip cookie dough. We were each starving for separate reasons, and both cups had been emptied of their contents and thrown out the window by the time we pulled back up to the house. I went inside, intending only to take a piss, get my cell phone, and then leave, but wound up lounging on the couch watching TV in the living room with Evan. He was utterly absorbed in the Braves game, sitting in the recliner with his knees drawn back to his chest, his soccer shorts sliding way down to reveal the majority of his thighs. He finally took note that I was in the room with him. "You don't have to keep my company," he said softly, distractedly. "I know you don't want to be here." "Thanks," I responded dryly. "Trust me. I'll be gone soon." "You could stay, though," he almost mumbled, his eyes wandering back to the TV, his voice trailing off. "Damn it!" he suddenly screamed at full volume. "Everyone on the team strikes out at least every other time they bat this season!" he said, quite inaccurately. The inning ended and a commercial came on. He bounded up and raced to the phone. "I'm not wasting a chance to order pizza," he said excitedly, dialling Pizza Hut's number from memory. I pretended to be watching the TV while he talked on the phone. His conversation lasted five minutes. The next inning had easily already gotten started by the time he was done haggling over specials and coupons. He was the only kid in the world who actually cared how much the pizza he ordered on the phone cost. I guess he had become an expert on pizza prices since he called in so much. When he finally hung up, and he bounced back to the living room and threw himself on the couch next to me rather than returning to his spot in the chair. "I got two mediums for 11 dollars," he bragged happily to me. "They tried to keep me from knowing about it, but I got it out of them." I gave him a disapproving look. "Must you go out of your way to make everyone's life suck?" I asked. "Just yours," he responded with an impish smile. "Oh yeah, sit down!" he jumped to his feet and screamed when an unfortunate St. Louis hitter was caught looking at strike three. Almost in the same motion he threw himself back down on the couch, only landing on me this time. "Watch we're you're sitting, freak," I complained, but didn't push him off. The back of his head was right under my nose in his current position, and in an odd way the damp, sweaty texture of it was kind of arousing. I inhaled the lingering fragrance of his shampoo mixed with the sweat, trying not to be obvious about it. "If you can't get the pitcher out," he shouted excitedly at the TV, "you shouldn't be on the team!" We watched as the Cardinal pitcher grounded out to end the inning. Evan jumped off me immediately. "I'm getting some water. Do you want some?" I shook my head, trying to hide my disappointment that he had gotten off my lap. I had really enjoyed the intimacy of it; I could feel the warmth coming off his body, and the firm roundness of his ass through the silky soccer shorts resting against my cock was amazing. He returned with a bottled water and sat down next to me again. Nothing was stopping me from leaving. I had every right to. I'd done my bit of obligation for the night, and even gotten him ice cream. I could call Jessica and meet her somewhere, or go over to Kenny's again. There were a dozen other things I could be doing, but for some reason I was sitting here on the couch at seven in the evening with my little brother, frozen to the spot. I was trying not to look at him as he sat there right beside me, but catching him out of the corner of my eye was impossible. All the evil temptations I'd been experiencing in the past week were reaching a boiling point, and despite all my best intentions, it was questionable I could resist them. It was undeniably cozy being alone with Evan in the living room. The sky was turning a pleasant shade of gray as dusk began to set in. The only lights on in the room were the floor lamp beside the couch and the glow of the TV. When I finally gave in and looked over at Evan, he had his eyes thoroughly trained on the TV still, the water bottle rested unopened on his lap. He turned towards me just as I was turning away from him, but I think he caught me anyway. A second later I felt his hand shyly rest on my leg, and my half-hard cock stirred into a fully alert state at the arbitrary contact. Without a word, I leaned in and kissed him. Our mouths remained closed, but our lips were firmly pressed together for several seconds, and the ensuring separation felt akin to peeling two sticky objects apart from one another. I had tried with all my power to refrain from this action all week, and it had ended here. The feeling was both one of relief and disappointment. Currently the only thing I could really feel was overwhelming desire. He kissed me almost sweetly by his own standards initially, but when my hand found its way to the bulge in his shorts, he got excited and mashed his lips against mine just as he had made a habit of doing before. Tonight, though, I was not going to let his hormones go unmatched. I pushed him on his back and climbed on top of him, pressing my cock against him and kissing him with all the passion he typically kissed me with. I did all the things he did to me, including knocking my teeth into his, sucking on his tongue, and biting his lips and throat. He took being underneath pretty well, wrapping his around my back and settling with merely returning my kisses instead of forcing them on me. We made out as hard as any of our previous times, and probably longer, too. Every time his tongue was in my mouth I could taste his peanut butter cup ice cream, which was a nice bonus. He thrashed underneath me as we grappled at each other, my hungry mouth seeking out new locations. I kissed all around his chest and abdomen, his soccer shirt having been tossed to the floor long before, and then promptly decided I needed to blow him badly. My nose hit his crotch and was assaulted with the pungent smells of a growing body in a very active region, and my head swam momentarily. I tugged his tantalizing soccer shorts down past his slender hips and tore his boxers off less than a second later. He could only gasp sharply as I stuffed his boyish meat in my mouth all at once, as eager to taste it as I had ever been. He had tasted especially sweet all over tonight; I couldn't believe how much his natural odors turned me on. He clenched his teeth at the vigorous movements of my mouth, tensing up almost to the point of rigor mortis, trying to take the blow job like a man. Before long, though, he was whining in near hysterical tones while he grabbed handfuls of my hair and dug his fingernails into my back. It was obvious Evan thought pretty highly of being blown. His cries grew increasingly frantic towards the end when I pulled my lips up to the tip and moved the corners around in a tight circular motion around the head of his cock. Simultaneously, I felt his stomach muscles tighten, his grip on my hair relax, and his cock twitch, so I quickly swallowed the entire length of it once again and jammed my nose up against his fuzzy pubes, tasting his cum as he unloaded. I had never swallowed an entire load directly out of his cock before, but I found it surprisingly easy to do. He shot three sizeable bursts and then fired a few more of mostly blanks. I reluctantly pulled my lips off his cock, listening as he moaned when the last of it slipped out. I hovered over him, studying his face, which was still caught in an expression of almost agony. He opened his eyes to see me looming near, and initiated the kiss I had been seconds away from giving him. His tongue immediately sought entrance to my mouth, where he explored all around for remnants of his own cum, scraping against all my teeth and the roof of my mouth. If I had known he wanted to taste it I wouldn't have swallowed it all. He sucked at my tongue ravenously, almost as if blowing it as a way to return the favor for blowing him. When I pulled my face back, he looked right up into my eyes. "Let me suck you now," he said. "I owe you big time." He hadn't blown me since the very first night we fooled around. I stared intently into his enchanting green eyes and shared his breathing. Somehow, I forced myself off him. "I have to go," I said, still intoxicated from the pleasures of his body but already feeling guilty for giving in. "Maybe later," I added, quickly darting into the bathroom and closing the door. I immediately jumped in the shower, still having not had one all day, and promptly jacked off twice, the second time just as vigorously as the first. Each time my body felt as though it was going to explode along with my cock when the orgasm hit. I had that much of a need for Evan. Throwing on a pair of clothes and quickly drying my hair, I grabbed my cell phone and keys and headed for the front door. Evan was watching me from the couch, having pulled his boxers and shorts back up but still shirtless. "What's wrong?" he asked, a look of concern on his face. "Why are you leaving?" "Did you think I was going to hang out here all night?" I snapped, reaching the door and extending my hand to the door knob. "I guess not," he said quietly, his expression recovering quickly from the initial disappointment he was showing. "See you then," he added pleasantly enough. My hand froze on the knob just as I was turning it. I realized I had wanted him to fight my departure. I had wanted a dramatic exit. And I had no idea why. "Yeah, see you," I responded softly, my tone coming out in an almost friendly way. I closed the door behind me before I had second thoughts about staying. The night had gotten out of hand. Nothing a little bit of drinking wouldn't fix, though.