"Don't feel weird about it." I give him a fucked-up grin. "It looks like I'm pretty good at blow jobs."
I run a finger through his dark pubes, then stroke my hand up his hip.
"This was gay as fuck. I hope you’re happy. Go wash all this jizz off you."
He looks at me like I've grown a second head before he gets up off my bed and disappears into the bathroom. I lie back and squeeze my hand around my aching boner. I'm there in under a minute. Smirking to myself as I clean up with my shirt and then drape my arm over my eyes.
This is fucked up—I’ll admit it.
Is it wrong how much I love it?
Seventeen
Josh
We have a pattern. He skips homeroom. (I heard him tell Cara at lunch that he’s gotten permission to go over football footage with Coach Nix). Lunch, I sit at the usual table with Brennan, Marcel, and the rest, but I don’t get within three or four seats of Ezra. I make sure that I can hear him, but not too well. That I can see him, but only in my periphery.
Cara fawns all over him, and even though I’m pretty sure she’s trying to make James jealous, I don’t like the sight of it—so I try not to look their way. Mostly what comes through to me at lunch is his laugh. I don’t hear it often, but sometimes he lets one out, and it’s a really good sound. He looks happy at the lunchroom table. Like a hot, straight football player with a girlfriend.
I see him again in physics. That’s the best and worst part of my day. He’s close enough that I can’t help but look at him. When I glance down, I see his bare knee inches from mine. His quads have gotten thick and strong and tanned from being outside at practice. The more he lifts, the thicker his forearms are getting—and more veiny. They’re always on the table, moving, flexing. His hands. I can feel the pattern of his breathing. Every time he shifts on his bar-stool seat, I get a little jolt. Sometime in the last week, we’ve reached an unspoken consensus: Try not to look at one another. My whole body sweats and prickles, but we rarely make eye contact.
Then it’s only glimpses of him outside on the practice fields. I get home before he does, since soccer ends before football. I shower first and head into my room to do homework and some bench press. He comes home and showers. Finally, my mom calls us to dinner, and it’s just the same as always, somehow.
I treat him like he’s annoying. He acts like he finds me quaint and amusing. There’s a lot of smirking. He eats everything my mother gives him, while I try to pick at my food. I don’t want him touching my stomach and not feeling six-pack abs like his.
After dinner, study more and I watch something in my bedroom. Usually ESPN. When my eyelids start feeling heavy, I make myself brush my teeth. Then I strip down to my boxer briefs and climb into my bed and wonder.
Will this be a night that Ezra wakes up screaming? I make myself hope it’s not. But almost every night, I wake to the sounds of him caught in a nightmare. I run to his room like Super Miller. Usually, he’s on his side, curled up and shaking, murmuring. I hold his shoulders, gently shaking him awake.
His bedside lamp is always on, so I can see his eyes wet when he opens them. I can see the fear on his face. Fear, or sometimes anger. I don’t know what’s in his head, what’s in the dreams, but I know he seems wrecked before he blanks his anguish off his face and dives for my dick.
These past few nights, he’s seemed more startled when he wakes up, breathing harder like he’s scared…and he’s been rougher. Likes to shove me, wrestle me onto my back, straddle my hips and squeeze me too hard. He’s started sleeping in a pair of loose, faded jeans, so I can’t fully see his erection. Maybe he believes I think there’s not one. But there is. I have eyes, and he’s got a bulge the whole time he messes with me.
He’s really good at it—so good that I’m damn near helpless when he starts up on me. He gets me off in minutes. And that’s the nights he doesn’t tease my asshole. Usually, he does. He licks back there or prods or tickles that spot between my balls and my hole. It makes me come harder and faster. When I come, he’s got a hand around my balls, a hand around my shaft, and usually his mouth is sucking on my head.