Date: Fri, 11 Dec 2020 14:43:57 +0000 From: donny mumford Subject: Mike's perspective Chapter 5 By Donny Mumford CHAPTER FIVE (of NINE) No one was in the house when the fire started. Mom was working at her job as a register clerk, Danny, who's in town this week, working on a roofing job, and I was with the guys on the boardwalk. A neighbor texted mom about the fire, and she left work to deal with it. The fire department had already put the fire out by the time she got there, so she contacted the insurance company, and the adjuster promised that insurance would cover the repairs. That's a relief, although it will take six weeks to complete the rebuild. With that in mind, Mom made arrangements to move us in with her sister and brother-in-law, then texted Danny and me. Yeah, mom is no shrinking violet; she gets things done and then lets her kids know what's up. What's up blows, though. It's not Mom's fault, obviously, but six weeks at my aunt and uncles? You've gotta be shitting me! Danny isn't on board with the aunt and uncle move... no way! There are simply too many of our cousins already living there. He'll bunk in with his best buddy, Bruce, who has a nice apartment. I've been assigned to share a bed with one of my cousins and, to say I'm not pleased with this arrangement would be an understatement, but what can I do about it? So, last night, I slept with my thirteen-year-old cousin, Bucky, who wasn't any happier with the arrangement than I was. Then, this morning, someone was grunting in the bathroom, so I didn't wait around to find out what that was all about. I can guess why they were grunting. I washed-up and brushed my teeth at the kitchen sink. Then, I couldn't help but bitch about my situation at work, shouting expletives over the roar of the harvester machine to my sympathetic co-worker Denny, who works on the other side of the loud machine. It helped to bitch about my bad fortune to someone who pretends to care about me. Denny offered to let me stay at his house, but that wouldn't work either. I mean, he has three sisters, one of whom is only three years old, and another is a big mouth I've had a few confrontations with at school. Nice of Denny to offer, though. To further exacerbate the situation, when I got back to my Aunt's house after work, I couldn't shower because Aunt Lucy was bathing my four-year-old cousin, Jeanie, in the tub. There's a half bath on the first floor, though, so, using paper towels, I washed up in there as best I could. As I'm doing that, Artie, my nine-year-old cousin, stood there watching me. I ask him if he couldn't find something better to do, and he gave me the 'finger' and kept watching. So now I'm on the boardwalk with the guys, and when they ask about living with my aunt, being in a shitty mood, I can't help snapping at them to mind their own business. I don't want to stress my mom by bitching about it to her, so I unfairly take my frustration out on the guys. The reality of the situation is, there's no way I can live at my Aunt's for six days, never mind six weeks! Richie can tell I'm in a bad mood about my living situation. He looks concerned as he talks on his cell phone. I hope that doesn't mean he's having problems of his own. Then, when he gets a chance to say something, he goes, "Mike, um, Mike, I just talked with..." but I don't want to hear about his problems right now too, so I interrupt him, "Shut up, Richie! I'm trying to think!" What I'm thinking is, my farm work pays enough that I could afford to stay in that low-cost rat-hole motel out on Route 47. They have vacancies as very few tourists stay there because it's, well, it's a rat hole, plus it's too far from the ocean. If I stay there, it means I'll be working all summer for almost nothing. More than half of my pay will go to the ratty motel each week. Yeah, but that's better than sharing a twin bed with Bucky and his teen-BO. At least I'd be able to use a bathroom. It's just that I depend on the money I make working on the farm for spending money, and without it... well, fuck, what will I do without pocket money? Oh, Christ, he looks like he's going to pee his pants he's so anxious to tell me something, so I finally mumble, "Um, what is it, Richard?" He goes, "I was just talking to my dad, and he said you're welcome to stay with us until your house is repaired." What? I'm stunned! Did I hear him correctly? Holy shit! His father has never met me! That's such an off-the-wall, such an unexpected possibility I don't know how to react. Could I do that? It would be so fucking awkward, but maybe... And, oh, jeez, the two of us in the same bedroom, or holy crap, in the same bed? God, help me. No, I can't do that, or, oh, I don't know. My mind is going a thousand miles a minute as I try making sense of this off-the-wall opportunity. I go, "Move in with you? Your old man, um, he said that would be okay?" Richie is excited, "Yes, and you can sleep in my bed if you want." The guys make 'Ooooh,' sounds as I stare daggers at Richie. Why did he have to say that? The dumb fuck! He realizes the innuendo inherent in that comment and quickly adds, "I mean, I'll sleep in my sleeping bag on the floor or sofa, and you can use the bed." I knew what he meant, but the guys naturally took it the wrong way just to break our balls. I mumble, "How about if you keep your mouth shut and let me think about it." Again, I snap at the other guys as they giggle and have fun with the 'sleep in my bed' comment. I'm like, "For fuck sake, can't you dick-heads shut the fuck up for ten seconds? Do you always need to be fucking around? At least Richie's trying to help." Oh, Christ, why am I yelling at the guys? They're just themselves. They don't mean any harm, and now everyone is looking somber because I yelled at them. I mumble, "Well, damn, um, I'm sorry, but I'm feeling a lot of pressure here trying to figure out what to do." There's some mumbling about how we could pitch a tent on the beach and other dumb ideas like that, but they mean well. At least they're not talking about Richie's 'sleep in my bed' suggestion now. But, Omigod, staying with Richie is so farfetched. It's too delicious an idea for me even to hope it might work. Walking away from the guys, going over to the railing at the ocean side of the boardwalk, I can't help thinking what it would be like to share a bed with Richie, his slim body rolling into mine as he sleeps. Shaking my head, I push at my crotch as my dick gets stiff. Stop it! Should I follow-up on that possibility, though? I can't sound eager. Oh, man, could that ever work out okay? Looking over my shoulder, I see Richie and Tony talking quietly, lighting cigarettes. Yeah, Richie's buying his own cigarettes now. His dad must be so happy we guys got his son into the habit of smoking... not! Well, I've got other things to worry about right now. And, oh fuck, Mac and Joey have cornered two cute tourist girls, and I hear the girls giggling. That makes me feel jealous for a second. Why couldn't I be doing something normal like that instead of fantasizing about sleeping with Richie? My life blows! Oh, fuck, I can't think here, so I walk further down the boardwalk, my hand dragging along the beach-side railing as I gaze out at the ocean, letting myself get hopeful that this idea of Richie's might be the answer to my problem. I'd only need to stay at Richie's to sleep. I'd be up at four-thirty in the morning, then off to work. And, if his old man is working during the day, I could even shower after work when no one was home. Wait, I think his old man works nights. Whatever... Hmm, it would be a near panic situation for me, though. I mean, I'd have virtually no control of anything, and, obviously, I'd have to meet his old man. Oh fuck, that would be tough. I mean, basically, I hardly know Richie, never mind his old man. Well, I know Richie better now because of our 'private' time together recently. Yeah, that's true, but it's only been a couple of weeks riding him home. What the fuck are my options, though? That rat-trap motel requires me to spend half the money I earn. Glancing back at the guys, I eliminate the possibility of staying at their house. Christ, most of their parents think I'm a bad influence. That's mostly because of Danny's reputation. No, I definitely wouldn't think of staying with their families, but Richie's old man doesn't know about Danny, so... Hmm, the thing is, I lack confidence in situations where I've got no control, and I'd have less than no control there. Yeah, bunking in with Richie and his dad is a lack-of-control-situation if I ever heard of one. Oh, God, why did it have to be our house that caught fire? Now I hear, "Jesus Christ, Sullivan, how many times do I need to tell you to keep your motorbike off the boardwalk?" Huh? Looking up, I see another one of the boardwalk cops. We both look back simultaneously, looking at where I left my bike at the top of the ramp. This dude's name is Terry Price, and he can be a real prick. I don't need this trouble, so, after giving Terry a hard 'look,' I walk back to where I left my bike and take it down the ramp. Richie follows me, asking, "Do you want a cherry Italian Ice, Mike?" How can he be so consistently, um, so fucking nice? Who could be 'nice' all the time like this kid? I force a smile and pat his shoulder, saying, "Not cherry; I'll have a lemon Ice, though... and thanks." As we enjoy the sweet frozen sugar water, I ask Richie what his dad said exactly. He tells me his dad said as long as I stay out of his, his dad's way, no problem. That's a believable remark from his old man. Nothing sugar-coated about that. Taking a deep breath, I tell him I'll try it for one night, but if I feel awkward at all, I'll leave. Omigod, Richie looks thrilled. Unbelievable! It's me who should be thrilled, but I think I'm incapable of being 'thrilled.' Nodding my head like, yeah, we'll give it a try. Then, to reestablish a little control, I grab a fistful of his hair, saying, "And you'll need to keep your hands to yourself when I'm sleeping." He looks serious, saying, "I will, Mike, I promise." Fuck, that was so unnecessary of me, but old habits die hard. I've been a 'prick' for so long it's going to take a concerted effort to change. And, to be honest, I did that for the other guy's benefit. They saw me being rough with Richie, and hopefully, that will off-set Richie's remark about me sleeping in his fucking bed. Letting go of his hair, I give him a little shove, and he drops his Italian Ice. Fuck! I hate myself. Tony offers to share his Italian ice with Richie... so that helps. Oh, Gawd, I'm sure it's a mystery to Richie why I'm so mean to him when we're around the other guys, and then I'm nice to him when it's just us two. Yeah, well, it's a mystery to me too. It's mostly that I need to keep the illusion alive than it's me who's in charge even though I won't be when I'm at his house. Still trying to wrap my head around this totally unexpected development, I watch Richie talking normally with Mac and Tony. Hmm, that's good. No matter how unfair I am to that kid, he bounces right back as if it doesn't bother him. How the hell is that possible? Well, I'll take this opportunity to text my mom about me staying with the new kid, who I've never even mentioned to her. This will be interesting. When I text, she calls me immediately to asks logical questions about who is this Richie person? After a couple of minutes of me explaining who he is, she's okay with it but wants to know the phone number and address where I'll be... and blah, blah, blah. Christ, I'm not ten-years-old planning a Goddamn sleep-over. I resist yelling that at her. Instead, holding the phone to my chest, I ask Richie for the address and then tell mom, plus give her Richie's cell phone number. Yeah, well, Moms are moms, no matter how old their kids are. I get that. Now I'm letting myself get excited about spending nights with Richie. I can't help it that I like being with him. Looking at him now, I feel funny in my stomach... a funny feeling in my balls, actually. I want to thank him, but instead, I ride off without giving him a ride home. During the ride, I think about the way Richie and I hug one another after wrestling, then fantasize about doing it in his bed wearing only boxer shorts. Omigod, seriously? No, there isn't any way we can be in the same bed together. Definitely not! I simply can't trust myself in that circumstance, and that right there, that fact is very troubling. He is in my head, something fierce. It's worse than any previous, um, attraction or, um, 'crush' I've ever had on a guy. I'm beginning to think I'm never going to outgrow this... outgrow this defect I have of 'crushing' on guys. And that's a fucking problem of major significance. It's my major problem, not Richie's. Because of the long rides home the past couple of weeks, he and I have become pretty close, so that's a plus. Hmm, I wonder what he and the boys are doing when I'm at work all day? Richie has fit in with the gang amazingly well. Plus, no one is taking advantage of his agreeable personality. Well, except for Tiny Dick. I wonder about his interaction with Richie even when I'm there, never mind when I'm not. Hell, now that I think about it, since I began my summer job, Richie is spending much more time with the guys than I am. Yeah, I need to keep my eye on Tucker, Tiny Dick, because he's been showing more than passing interest in Richie, acting bossy, acting dominant with Richie, and he, Richie, falls right in line with whatever Tucker tells him to do. Other than Tucker, and then Mac not warming up to Richie, all the other guys have sort of adopted him as their little brother, and they treat him great. Then, because I rode away without thanking Richie, I get my one-millionth guilty conscience. But, hell, I didn't know the right way to show my appreciation. I basically ran away from the situation; that's what it boils down to. At home, I hunt for my sleeping bag in the basement, where the fire never reached. I figure I'll take it with me to Richie's, so there's no discussion about sleeping in his bed. Dammit, though, my sleeping bag smells like smoke; it stinks too much to sleep in. I manage to salvage some clothes that aren't too smoke damaged and then take them to the laundromat to wash. Oh, man, have I mentioned my life blows? Smoking cigarettes while waiting for the clothes to get washed and dried, I text Danny about my change of venue, sleeping at Richie's. He texts back that mom already texted him about it. He reminds me that next week I need to do a job with him in Atlantic City. That makes me nervous, but I don't let on. With bravado, I tell Danny, "I'm on it, Danny. No problem, bro." No problem except for my dick shriveling up when I think about it. Folding my clothes and dividing them between a satchel and my backpack, I'm ready for tonight at Richie's... sort of ready. Yeah, but what a totally unforeseen development this is, and I'm feeling less sure about doing this by the second. A shiver goes through me, thinking about Richie and me sleeping in the same room. Sleeping in the same bed is way too wild a thought to even speculate about. Omigod, I've got a 'thing' for that kid! Jesus, he's so... Well, never mind that, I can't allow myself to think about him in that way. Riding to Richie's, I have seriously mixed emotions swirling around in my head about even trying this for one night. On the one hand, I'm thinking there's no way I can make this work, while, on the other hand, I'm filled with anticipation of this extra time with him. I can't help myself; he's magical to me. Special in ways I can't explain even to myself. Well, yeah, I could explain it, I suppose. It's just that I don't want to because I don't want to be 'gay' for that kid. If only I could read his mind! How does he feel about me? Hmm, Jesus, I hate that I had to use the word 'gay' involving me! Omigod, I'm here, so what do I do now? I sit on my idling motorbike right outside his house. Huh, it's the end house of eight attached homes... row-homes. How come that fact never registered with me before? And why does it matter? My mind is fucked-up! I feel like a dork because what am I supposed to do now? Hmm, I'm not knocking on his door because his old man might answer. Taking out my cell phone, I start punching in Richie's number when he comes out smiling. Without saying 'Hi,' I blurt out, "As it happens, my sleeping bag is smoke damaged beyond repair, so I'll sleep on the bare floor, or..." I'm such an idiot. Why would I need to sleep on the 'bare' floor? Who the fuck even says 'bare' floor? Christ! The kid looks confused for a second, then says, "Um, what? No, I have a sleeping bag in our storage unit. You can use that." Good, he's uncomfortable too. We both shrug as though the sleeping bag situation is now resolved, I guess. Actually, I don't know why I shrugged. Taking a deep breath, still balancing the idling motorbike with a foot on the sidewalk on either side of it, I don't know what to do next. We look at one another, and then Richie nods at the satchel and says, "Um, let me get that satchel for you." I quickly say, in a voice that isn't mine... in the voice of a whining ten-year-old, "Are you sure this is alright with your old man?" Fuck! I do not whine! Clearing my throat, I go on whining some more, "I don't even know you very well, and I've never so much as laid eyes on your old man. Are you sure he is totally okay with this?" Holy shit, it's like Richie, and I have exchanged 'places,' and now I'm the new kid with no self-confidence. No, we haven't changed 'places' because, even though he has the upper hand, Richie doesn't shit on me as I did to him. He appears to have compassion for my uncomfortable position and says very sincerely, "Yeah, Mike, it really is fine with my old man. Jeez, I just reconfirmed it with him a little while ago. He's at work now." I feel pathetic for responding like I just did, while, at the same time, I'm so grateful Richie is so, um, so wonderful about everything. That's true, but I don't know how to react in my vulnerable position, so I resort to my old ways and give him a 'dirty' look. He says, "I'm glad you're going to be staying here, Mike... really glad!" I'm staring at him while thinking, no one is this nice; he must be dumping on me somehow. I mean, he has the upper hand, and everyone I know would take advantage of that. I know I would. Richie, though, just smiles and holds out his hand to take the satchel. In a fog, I push his hand away and say, "I'll give this shit a try for one night, but I've gotta tell you... it don't feel right to me already." Richie makes a 'face' as I add, "I'm feeling seriously weird about this, and if I feel any weirder, I'm outta here!" He nods his head, and I turn off the bike's engine. After locking the bike, I ask, "Where's your bedroom." I insist on carrying both the satchel and my backpack as Richie points straight ahead, saying, "It's through the living room, c'mon, and I'll walk back there with you." We go inside, and he says, "On your right is our lavish kitchen. That big white thing in there we like to call a refrigerator." Is he trying to be funny? I snarl at him, "Are you mocking me, you dip-shit?" He grins, then looks serious, saying, "Um, no, I'm kidding around. Joking. Trying to get you to laugh." Jesus H Christ, I need to lighten up, so I nod and do half a grin, mumbling, "Oh, yeah... okay, sorry." He shrugs, mumbling, "That's, um, fine." I should say something else, so I mutter, "Um, yeah, well, this is just way too strange, that's all. Let's see your bedroom." Huh, Richie looks surprised just now, as if he never heard me say 'sorry' before. I've said it to him before, um, once or twice. We walk inside his bedroom, which is small, like mine. I tell him it's just like my bedroom, except it's not on fire. Richie chuckles and, after I dump my bags in a corner, we go into the kitchen where Richie makes us a couple of fried egg sandwiches. Good sandwiches, and later we ride to the boardwalk. None of the guys are out around tonight and, then, for once in my life, I'm glad when a couple of girls call out to me. This will show Richie I've had relationships with girls. And, one of the girl's names I actually remember from last summer. It's Darlene, and I go over to talk with her. She takes my hand to hold, which normally would annoy the shit out of me, but I pretend to be glad to see the girls. This is good for my fake image. If Richie weren't here, I'd definitely be less outgoing with Darlene. Hell, I'd probably pretend I don't remember her and tell her to take a hike. Tonight, though, I'm acting pretty cool with her, smiling and asking, "Where ya been, girl?" Okay, I'm perhaps a tad uncomfortable, but not enough that Richie will notice. After the normal small talk about whatever, the other girl, Carol-something, takes Richie's arm and the four of us walk down the boards together. The girls are from New York, here on vacation. Same as last year when Joey and I hooked up with them after smoking pot; both of us as high as a kite can fly. Anyway, Richie was telling the truth about him being a dork around girls. Jesus, he gets tongue-tied trying to say anything. In other words, he's acting dorky, which, by contrast, makes me look cooler. At least I hope it does. Hmm, I'd forgotten that Darlene is a bossy chick, but I put up with it tonight to impress Richie. I couldn't give a flying fuck what Darlene and Carol-whatshername think. Darlene insists we go on some amusement rides, so naturally, I want to go on the Double-Shot. The waiting line for my favorite ride is too long, though, so we pass that up. Ha, Richie looks relieved because he's afraid of that ride... the pussy. We go on two other rides, which Richie and I pay for. It's okay for a little while, although it gets tedious because Darlene and Carol have an annoying habit of giggling about every-fucking-thing anyone says. Jesus! I finally can't keep this charade up any longer, so I tell the girls we'll see them tomorrow night, explaining that I get up early for work, and we need to say 'good night' for now. We'll meet then at the same spot tomorrow night. That's a lie, of course. As we walk away, Richie appears as relieved as I am to leave the girls behind. After we walk a block, I'm like, "Let's run, Richie. We don't want to take a chance those bitches will catch up with us." We laugh as we run down the boardwalk like two nine-year-old kids. After running two blocks, I grab his arm slowing us down to a fast walk, and tell another lie. This lie is about how I almost got in Darlene's pants last summer under the boardwalk, and blah, blah, blah. Then, when we're on my motorbike heading to Richie's house, I get a strange nervous feeling in the pit of my stomach. I don't want him to notice that, so I try acting cool and Richie, all of a sudden, seems uptight too. I don't know how to interpret him being uptight, but this is the oddest feeling I've ever had. It's like I'm afraid I'll do something that leads into an area of intimacy with Richie that I never thought I'd ever need to concern myself with. If 'something' untoward happens, my best hope is that somehow, it'll appear to be more him initiating the 'something' than me. This is all about the secret we both know about but never speak of, and I don't intend to speak of it even if 'it' happens. At his house, I lock the bike, and we go inside the dark house. Richie turns on a couple of lights, and we both look around as though we've never seen this place before. Finally, I ask him if it is okay if I take a shower. While asking him that, I don't recognize the timid voice that spoke those words. Richie appears surprised I'd even ask him that, and, after giving me a 'look' to see if I'm serious, goes, "Of course, it's alright." Omigod, who am I turning into? Why did I ask that pathetic timid question? What's happened to my phony tough guy persona? But, wait, it's possible Richie doesn't know me well enough to realize I'm not myself tonight. Christ, I don't know how he could miss it, but maybe. When I'm showered and dried off, I carry my dirty clothes into the bedroom wearing boxer shorts. Richie's unrolling the sleeping bag he just got from the storage unit and said, "Oh, if you'll give me those clothes, Mike, I'll add them to the wash load. I do the wash twice a week as part of my chores; the ones Dad pays me fifty bucks a week to do. Frowning like, 'what the fuck?', I hand him the clothes and then get clothes out of my satchel that I'll wear for work tomorrow morning. I'm trying not to look at Richie because he's so, ah, so special. This simply isn't fair. I manage to mumble, "Thanks." I'm going to resist touching him! I know I can, and I will! Wait for a second, though. Hmm, I'm assuming he's interested in doing something about our 'secret' when perhaps he either doesn't know the 'secret' or if he does, he has no intention of doing anything about it. He may have no interest in the secret I'm thinking of, or he has stronger willpower than me. Yeah, perhaps, I'm the only one concerned with the secret! Holy shit, wouldn't that be humiliating! Have I fooled myself into assuming he is in on 'it' too? No, I'm not wrong... he may have strong willpower, but he wants me as much as I want him. It's a small bedroom, and neither of us is talking, so the bedroom seems even smaller than it is and, therefore, it's very uncomfortable for me standing here in my boxer shorts with Richie looking at me a mere arm's length away. I don't know what to say, so I'm frowning at him. He finally gulps, puts the clothes in a hamper, and mutters, "I'll be right back," and then hurries into the bathroom. Damn, I'm literally shaking now because I wanted to grab hold of him and squeeze him against me. Motherfucker, when did I turn into a pathetic dork? I was born sick, but as long as Richie doesn't know what's going on in my head, I can fake my way through this awkwardness. All I need to do is get on top of this situation. That's always what I try doing anyway, get on top of it... and I need to do that right now. On the boardwalk, we agreed to take turns sleeping in the bed. We flipped a coin, and I won, so I get to sleep in the bed first. So, what the fuck am I waiting for? I get under the covers thinking, 'this is the pillow he sleeps on.' Oh, God, my dick has a mind of its own and turns into a steel pole. I can hear the shower running, so, okay, Richie's taking a shower. I'll close my eyes and fake sleeping. Then, too quickly, there he is, standing next to the bed. Without looking at him, I say, "Don't even think about getting in bed with me! And, just as a 'heads-up,' dude, my mom will call me very early to make sure I'm up. Um, for work." He mutters, "Sure, okay," and I can't resist glancing over at him. He looks so, um, so clean and, um, so good. He asks, "Should I turn the light off?" I snap at him, "What? Jesus, are you going to ask me if you can pee next? You don't need my okay to turn the light off, or for any other fucking thing you wanna do. This is your house." He goes, "Oh, so you're saying it is okay to turn off the light now?" He's trying to be funny again. I go, "Yeah, let's take a chance and turn out the light." He turns off the light, and I hear him rustling around for five seconds, getting comfortable in the sleeping bag, and then it's so quiet in here there's a funny hollow thumping sound in my ears. I think it's my heart beating too hard. I hope Richie can't hear that. And, no, it's not totally silent... the fan is making a quiet, um, fan sound. It's blowing right on me, and thank God for that as there is no air conditioning, but if the fan is blowing on me, that means Richie isn't getting any of it because he's on the floor. Oh man, this isn't right! And what must he be thinking? Yeah, it seems I'm always wondering that, but, seriously, what is going through his mind right now as he lies in his sleeping bag on the 'effing floor while I'm in his bed? Christ, I'm almost a stranger. Well, he couldn't be more accommodating, so I think he's happy I'm here. Hopefully, I'm 'reading' him correctly. Taking a deep breath, I say in as friendly a voice as I'm capable of, "Goodnight, Richie." He says goodnight, and then a minute later, he gets up and goes into the bathroom again. Hmm, he just came out of there five minutes ago. He doesn't stay in there long, and now he's back with neither of us saying anything. Well, as awkward as this is, I've been up since four-thirty this morning, so I should fall asleep quickly. The next thing I know, my phone is ringing under my pillow. I grab it and mumble, "I'm up, mom. Thanks." Yeah, four-thirty in the morning is when I need to get up for work. I look down and see Richie looking up at me. Omigod, he's a good-looking motherfucker! He's 'pretty' actually, but in a totally 'guy' way, not feminine at all. And I want to scream for having that fucked-up 'pretty-thought' just now! Jesus, this kid is driving me insane. I need to get a grip! I mutter, "Go back to sleep," and get out of bed and quickly pull jeans and a t-shirt on. After five minutes in the bathroom, peeing, washing, and brushing my teeth, I'm outside. Omigod, I actually made it through the night. Huh, and it was so much better than sleeping with my teen cousin's BO! Okay, staying at Richie's might work. I push the bike up the block before starting the engine because I do not want to wake up Richie's old man, who I still haven't met. Hell, I'm not even sure he's in the house. Hmm, I don't suppose it's possible to sleep there for six weeks without meeting him, but maybe. After a stop at an all-night gas station/convenience store for a take-out cup of bad coffee, I'm again the first person on the job except for Bob Winslow, my favorite foreman. He nods at me, saying, "Mikey, good morning, dude. You're always here first. Um, how about gassing up the harvester while I grab a cup of coffee. Oh, and try getting your partner, Denny, to pick-up his game. He's leaving corn cobs on the stalks again." Getting off my bike, I toss the empty take-out cup in the trash barrel and say, "Yeah, but he's normally a hard worker. It's just that Denny's girlfriend dumped him last weekend, and he's despondent about it." Bob grins, muttering, "Despondent, huh? Well, I know all about feeling despondent over a broad... heh-heh." I go, "Uh-huh, I'll talk with him; he's a good worker." Denny needs the job even more than I do, so I'm sticking up for him. And, here he comes in that shit-box old Chevy of his. Denny smiles and waves as he's getting out. Other farm hands begin showing up now too. Denny comes over to poke my side, asking, "Whassup, Mike?" Taking the gas nozzle out of the harvester, I'm like, "Hey, Denny, not much, dude. Um, Bob mentioned we've got to be more consistent about getting all the corn from the stalks." He mutters, "You mean I need to be better at it. I know he's pissed at me." I shrug, mumbling, "He's not pissed, Denny. He just mentioned it. And, hey, you've never had any trouble getting girlfriends. Forget Jeannie and give the other bitches a chance at you." He goes, "She has the biggest 'clit' I've ever seen." I'm like, "Well, yeah, there's that, but still, ya know..." It's a hot sunny day today, as it is most days in July in South Jersey, so most farmworkers wear straw hats. Denny and I don't. I wear an old John-Deere-green baseball cap with 'John Deere' on the front, and Denny wears a Phillies ball cap. I don't know who owned my John Deere hat originally. No one claimed it the first day of work, so I picked it up in the barn, and it's mine now. It's a boring hot job, but the morning passes as all mornings do, and before I know it, it's time to stop for lunch. Yeah, we eat lunch at ten-thirty. Sleeping at Richie's means I can't bring my lunch, so I buy a ham and cheese sub from the truck that visits all the farms selling coffee, sodas, pastries, lunch, and whatever. Denny and I eat together in the shade of the silo while reminiscing about the dumb shit we did senior-year, plus lying about fucking girls. Well, I'm lying while Denny is probably just exaggerating. He's a nice-looking guy with a stock of yellow hair that his brother cuts for him in a long-style that screams 'home-haircut.' He doesn't care, and neither do the girls apparently because since fifth grade Denny's been crazy for the girls, and they feel the same way about him. Girls are what Denny mostly talks about. He doesn't know shit about sports or cars or anything except girls, but he knows a lot about them. My friend Tony told me Denny has a ten-inch cock, and he'd show it off during showers after gym class. I've never seen it and don't want to, and I can't imagine fifth-grade girls wanted to see it either, although I'm not sure about that. As I said, the work is hot, hard, and boring, but my brother Danny told me that the crappiest job in the world is worth doing well. After work, I ride back to Richie's house and use the spare key he gave me to let myself in. I don't know what his old man's schedule is, but I'm guessing he could still be sleeping since he's a Blackjack dealer at a hotel-casino in Atlantic City. To be safe, I'm as quiet as a mouse as I'm taking a shower. It's a quick shower, but I manage to do it without seeing Mister-whatshisname. Dammit, what's Richie's last name? I've forgotten it again. No, I remember... it's Mealey. I need to remember it for when I run into his old man. Riding away from the house, I'm again optimistically thinking this just might work out okay. Then, at the boardwalk, I see Richie laughing it up with a couple of the guys. Jeez, as I already said, he's fit in with the gang really well. I get a funny feeling in my balls as I sit here on my bike, watching him for a few seconds. Then, I get off my bike and lock it, and as I'm walking up the ramp, Richie turns and sees me. Wow, the smile he gives me feels so good. Did I just tell myself a smile feels good? Well, it does; he smiles at me as though he's wicked happy to see me, and that feels good. Tony sees me now too, and yells, "Your nose is sunburned, Mike." I roll my eyes, muttering, "No shit?" Richie asks, "How'd it go today at work?" Small talk ensues, but I feel a, um, I don't know... a closeness with Richie. I guess it's closeness. I know whatever it is, I've never felt it before. The way I feel about Richie is different than how I love my brother. Yeah, Danny and I are wicked tight, but Richie is, um, well, I can't explain it. I'm all of a sudden feeling very protective of him, and possessive too. I guess that's what it is. Maybe because I'm grateful for a place to sleep, someplace other than my aunt's place, but it's more than that too. Anyway, there's some joking from the guys, Mac particularly, about me sleeping with Richie. It's ball-busting, nothing more than good-natured ball-busting. Both Richie and I are okay with it, and then it's a normal couple of hours on the boards. Actually, it's better than normal because I'm not tense; I'm feeling pretty good. Later, Richie texts his dad to see if he'll be eating dinner with us tonight and finds out his old man is already in Atlantic City with a couple of his friends having dinner there. His father pretty much leaves Richie on his own, apparently. I suggest we get Chinese take-out for dinner, and Richie goes, "Great idea." Yeah, well, I've never had an idea that Richie didn't think was great. The ride to Chan's Chinese Restaurant and then home is enjoyable because Richie hugs me tightly around my waist. Later on, before bed, for no good reason, I tell Richie he needs to keep his hands away from my balls when we're riding on the motorbike, plus he doesn't need to hug so long after we're done wrestling. He looks mystified by that, and why wouldn't he... both comments were stupid. Then, grinning at him, I ask him if he's sure he's not queer. He goes, "Don't start up with that shit again, Mike. I'm no queerer than you are." Good answer! What was he actually inferring, though? Well, whatever, none of my bullshit bothers Richie. By now, he knows it's just me being me. Fortunately for me, he can't read my mind, but I get the feeling he knows more than he lets on. I think he knows the effect he has on me... or maybe he doesn't. This is a form of torture, being with him at night like this, but it's pleasant torture too. The more I want to do 'something' with him, though, the meaner I am to him. But, as I said, there doesn't appear to be anything untoward or unfair that I do or say that will piss him off. Not enough that he yells back at me; he just takes it with a grin and a shrug, and occasionally a cryptic comment like his last one. I guess I'm admitting to myself I'd like to get 'gay' with him. That makes me laugh to myself, you know, laugh, so I don't cry. What would Danny say? In my mind, yeah, I see what's happening here. I'm attracted to this new kid, the way most guys find themselves attracted to some cute sexy girl. It's not always obvious why that happens, why a person gets the 'hots' for one specific person and not others... it just happens. It has never been a 'girl' for me, though, and I may as well just admit that I'm not ever outgrowing this 'gay' affectation of mine. My exterior 'face' remains the same while my interior one is jumbled as I continue acknowledging my gay tendencies and, therefore, begin dealing more and more with the reality of my for-real 'crush' on Richie. Two-faced, that's what I've been, and I'll need to continue being that way going forward as well. Hmm, I'm not pleased with that at all, but I'm feeling 'something' else too, which may be 'relief.' Relief that I'm finally honest with myself. However, being honest with myself and being that way with the world and with Richie... well, that isn't likely going to go as smoothly as being honest only with me. Oh, boy, this is not the direction I pictured my life taking me, but it's what I'm left dealing with, so... so, what? So, I need to control myself and let Richie sort out his feelings, and maybe, just maybe, I can make it appear I'm actually doing him a favor by becoming intimate with him. Save 'face' in some manner or another. And, can I believe it's come to this? Not really, but then... is it really so bad? To be continued... donnymumford@outlook.com Please consider a tax-deductible donation to help nonprofit Nifty cover the expenses of maintaining this awesome free story site. Thank you!