Dreamspinner Press Year Nine Greatest Hits

by Michael Murphy

  Boys his age looked in the showers after gym. He knew it and didn’t really mind when they looked at him. He had broad shoulders and a strong chest that had hair on it. He had pubes he trimmed to what he decided was an acceptable length. His cock was uncircumcised, and he knew some of the other guys tried to get a better look at that, since it was fairly unusual around here. He’d been born at home, in a rush, and his mom had never taken him anywhere to get it fixed. Or so he guessed. He’d never bothered to ask.

  Evan’s foreskin was incredibly sensitive, so he was glad no one had cut it off. One of his favorite things was pulling it back, all the way, really slowly, then pushing it back up over the head of his cock again. When his precome started to dribble out, it slicked the way, making that slow, intense glide of skin on skin one of the most pleasurable things Evan had ever felt.

  He was eighteen. He masturbated a lot.

  The sheets under his back had grown warm as he lay there pushing and pulling on his foreskin and thinking about the prank someone—not him—had pulled on Scott today. They had replaced his regular shower gel with something that produced a shit-ton of bubbles, meaning when Scott lathered up his hair, the stuff had practically exploded all over his body. Evan thought baking soda was involved, but he wasn’t entirely sure. All he knew was one minute Scott had been singing to himself, the next minute he’d been yelling as the stuff foamed all over his naked body.

  Another blob of thick precome pulsed out of the end of Evan’s cock.

  Scott wasn’t ashamed of his body. Nor should he be; as far as Evan was concerned, Scott was perfect. His body was slim and lithe, a runner’s body, with dark hairs on his pale skin. Scott didn’t have hair on his chest yet, and he definitely didn’t trim his pubes. He had big balls. Evan almost wished he didn’t know this.

  His current fantasies didn’t have any particular theme. He wasn’t sure what he wanted to do with Scott, how their bodies would react to each other. Evan thought he might want to know how Scott’s dick tasted. He was willing to bet it would be hard and thick on his tongue, maybe a little salty. Evan had tasted his own come before. He’d be okay if Scott leaked in his mouth.

  He thought about standing, having Scott on his knees, looking up with his big blue eyes from under those dark, gorgeous lashes. Evan thought about taking his hard cock and rubbing it over the perfect pink bow of Scott’s lips. He thought about Scott’s tongue darting out to lick those lips, taking Evan’s taste into his mouth. He thought about Scott’s tongue wrapping around the head of his cock.

  Evan came.

  “SO, GUESS what?” Scott asked in a low voice, swinging his tall lab stool onto its back two legs.

  “What?”

  Evan was busy contemplating how his best friend could look good in plastic safety goggles. No one looked good in plastic safety goggles. No one except Scott.

  “My parents are going away for a weekend at the end of the month. Up to my mom’s cousin’s place in Connecticut. Some retreat thing, I dunno. Anyway, they’re taking Lacey with them, and Tom will be back at college. I asked, and they said I could have a party.”

  “Are you serious?”

  The Sparrows weren’t particularly strict with their children, more a consequence of their liberal attitude than lack of time to worry about it, like Evan’s mom. But letting their seventeen-year-old host a party was a push, even for them.

  “Well, Old Man Collins next door will be checking in on us.” Scott rolled his eyes. “But I can buy him with a bottle of whiskey and the promise to walk Betsy for him when it gets cold.”

  “Sounds awesome. Who are you inviting?”

  “Not everyone,” Scott said emphatically. “I don’t want people to trash the place. I was thinking of leaving it late, then inviting people last-minute.”

  “Then people might already have plans,” Evan said.

  “I know. Maybe I’ll tell a few people—you know, the ones who won’t blab—and leave the rest to chance.”

  “That could work.”

  Their teacher, Mr. Schunard, started his rounds to check on how their experiments were going, and Scott fell back to all four chair legs and subtly adjusted the flame on their Bunsen burner. Evan checked the thermometer and made a note on his chart.

  Scott looked behind them and turned back to Evan with a grin.

  “I’m going to get Tom to buy us beer before he goes back to school. His classes won’t start for a few more weeks yet.”

  “Where are you going to hide it, though?”

  “Your place? Your mom never goes into the basement, and it’s colder down there too. Do you still have that massive freezer?”

  Evan laughed and shook his head. “You’ve really thought of everything.”

  “Freezer, Ev.”

  “Yeah. It’s there.”

  “Awesome. I’ll come pick the beer up after my folks have gone. You should stay over that night. You can have Tom’s room.”

  “Yeah,” Evan said, thinking. “That might be okay.”

  “I’ll mention it to Katie later.”

  “Are the two of you…?” Evan left the question unasked, not meeting Scott’s eyes as he waited for a reply.

  Scott huffed a laugh. “Not recently.”

  “What is it with you and girls who could kick your ass?”

  “I dunno, man. You’ve got to love the ones who have that spark, you know?”

  “Yeah,” Evan murmured, not knowing at all. “Sure.”

  EVAN STOOD in the middle of his room, debating whether to dress in anything other than his summer staple of board shorts and T-shirt. Most of his clothes were out, rather than in the closet, the thought making him snort with dry humor. At least something is.

  It was a party. He rubbed at his unshaven jaw and decided to make some kind of an effort. His mom had bought him an Abercrombie shirt for his birthday—white, with very thin blue stripes. It fit across his broad chest well, and he hadn’t had a chance to wear it in public yet.

  Fuck it. That’ll do.

  He left on the khaki shorts he’d dressed in that morning. They were clean, and he wasn’t entirely sure of the cleanliness of any of his other clothes. Since Scott had offered him a room for the night, he shoved a spare T-shirt, boxer briefs, and his toothbrush into a backpack and shouldered it.

  “Leaving now, Mom,” he called as he jogged down the stairs.

  “In here.”

  He paused, wincing at the door that led to the garage. He turned slowly and went into the family room, where his mom was stretched out on the couch watching some terrible soap opera.

  “Are you drinking tonight?” she asked as he went around the couch and sat on the arm of the single chair.

  “Yeah. Probably.”

  There was no point in lying to her.

  “Okay. Know your limits, please? If you’re starting to feel sick, go throw up. It’ll make you feel better. Then drink some water. You’re taking your bike?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “And staying at Scott’s?”

  “I think so.”

  “Okay. If you want to come home, call me and I’ll come get you.” She surveyed him through narrowed eyes. “Or ride home. Don’t, for heaven’s sake, Evan, get in a car with someone who’s drunk.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Come here.”

  He leaned down and let her hug him. She wasn’t strict, not really, preferring to know what he was getting up to and lecturing him on being safe rather than being blindly ignorant of her teenage son’s activities. Evan loved her something fierce.

  “You have condoms?” she asked, and Evan felt his face heat.

  “Leaving now, Mom,” he said as he walked to the door, hating that she laughed after him.

  “Have fun! Be good! Be safe! Make good choices!”

  “Yes, Mom!” he called back and let the garage door slam to end their conversation.

  Most kids in his area had bikes. They were close enough to the beach to cycle there, meaning they didn’t
have to rely on parents for rides. It meant the sort of precious teenage freedom that didn’t exist everywhere.

  Scott’s family lived in a nicer part of town. It took around fifteen minutes to cycle over there, depending on how much effort Evan put into pushing himself to build up speed. He’d been riding these streets since he was a little kid and his mom had finally let him make the journey on his own. Back in those days, he had to take the same route every time and call his mom when he arrived. Mrs. Sparrow was good at reminding him to do that. Just in case he got lost or an accident happened.

  Scott’s house was as familiar as his own. As a kid, he’d never really given much thought to how Scott had a nicer house than the one he and his mom lived in. The Sparrows had more kids, so it made sense that they’d need more space to put them all.

  Evan hopped off his bike as he approached the garage and left it leaning against the wall. There was no need to lock it up, not in this neighborhood.

  “Scott?” he called as he went around the back of the house. Someone had set up all the lounge chairs around the pool, but no one else seemed to be there yet.

  He found Scott in the kitchen, surrounded by a huge crate of oranges, a knife, several bottles of vodka, and a family-sized bottle of Sprite.

  “We’re making orange crushes,” Scott said.

  “Seriously? Do you know how to make orange crushes?”

  “Nope. But they put the ingredients on the menu at Waterman’s. How hard can it be?”

  Scott was wearing his “trust me” face. Evan knew the expression well. It had gotten him into plenty of trouble over the years. Scott was wearing a pair of shorts almost identical to the ones Evan had pulled on, and a denim shirt rolled up at the elbows and unbuttoned most of the way down his chest. His feet were bare, and as Evan watched, he lifted one and used the heel to scratch at an itch on his calf.

  “You look nice, by the way,” Scott added.

  “Thanks,” Evan said, rolling his eyes. “Okay. So we have to squeeze all of those to start with, right? Does your mom have a juicer?”

  Scott gave him a blank look. “A what?”

  “A fucking orange juicer, Scott. Seriously.”

  “Maybe? I don’t know!”

  It took nearly half an hour to find the food processor with a juicer attachment, set it up, and try to figure out how to work it without removing one of their fingers.

  “What?” Scott said, pushing at Evan’s shoulder.

  “Read the fucking instructions!” Evan practically yelled at him. His patience, usually an infinite thing, seemed to have taken a leave of absence. “They put instructions in the box for a reason, Cap.”

  “Where’s your sense of adventure?” Scott teased, his eyes sparkling, the dimples in his cheeks flashing. “I thought you were an artist. Artists don’t need instructions.”

  “We do to operate machinery,” Evan said.

  “Aw, come on.” Scott hip-checked him, then pulled him back into a hug. “We can do this.”

  Evan sighed. “Look. That little thing there needs to line up with the slot there. Then it has to click into place before the Go button will work.”

  “Are you sure? Insert slot A into tab B?”

  “You have a dirty fucking mind.”

  Scott laughed again, then screwed up his face in concentration as he affixed the juicer attachment, which was really too fiddly for a basic kitchen appliance.

  “There?”

  “Move your fingers.”

  Evan pressed the button, and the machine whirred to life. Scott whooped and started to dance around the kitchen.

  “Don’t celebrate too soon,” Evan said, unable to stop the grin spreading over his face. “Now we actually need to juice the fucking things.”

  “Let me put some music on.” Scott went into the family room to put a CD into the sound system that hooked up to most rooms in the house. A few minutes later, the familiar opening track of By The Way filled the kitchen.

  Evan had introduced Scott to the Chilis when they were younger, and Scott’s dad had scored them tickets when they played Atlanta a few years back. To Evan, it had always felt like the band was their band, the one that cemented their friendship as they progressed into adulthood.

  “Good choice,” Evan said as Scott sauntered back in.

  “Thanks.”

  “You wanna cut or juice?”

  Scott looked between the big pile of oranges and the juicer, frowning a little.

  “Juice.”

  “Sure?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Okay.”

  After a few songs, they found their rhythm. Evan could halve the oranges fairly quickly, and Scott had to transfer the juice to the enormous punch bowls at regular intervals, so it wasn’t surprising Evan finished first.

  “You tricked me into this,” Scott grouched as he licked sticky orange juice from his wrist.

  “I gave you a choice!”

  “Yeah, yeah. How much vodka do you think we should put in?”

  “On the understanding that everyone is going to try and spike it? Not much?”

  “And keep the rest of the vodka for ourselves,” Scott said, throwing a juiced orange half to Evan. “You’re a genius.”

  “I try,” Evan said, turning the orange inside out to scrape the stringy flesh from the skin with his teeth.

  People started to show up around eight. For a few hours, it was just Evan and Scott, kicking back next to the pool with beers neither of them were used to drinking. Scott had set up the stereo system with half a dozen CDs, and they played on rotation, meaning all they had to move for was to get more chips.

  Andy arrived first, fresh from his shift at a pizza place on the boardwalk.

  “Hey,” he called, walking around the side of the house like most friends knew to. “I brought leftovers.”

  He had a stack of pizza boxes in his arms, at least eight of them, and Scott grinned.

  “Awesome. Thanks, man. What do I owe you?” He took half the boxes and nodded for Andy to head into the kitchen.

  “Don’t worry about it. I mentioned to Mrs. Spinelli that we were having a party, and she wouldn’t let me leave until I took some snacks.”

  “She gave you eight large pizzas as snacks?” Evan asked.

  “You don’t know Mrs. Spinelli,” Andy said darkly. “It’s a miracle I haven’t gained twenty pounds since I started working there. She tries to feed me constantly.”

  Scott dumped his stack on the counter and pulled the top one down. Sausage and mushroom.

  “Here,” Scott said, offering Evan the box.

  “Thanks.” Evan took a slice and folded it in half to take a big bite.

  They left the pizza boxes in the kitchen, and Evan found a spot in the huge family room, content to sit and watch TV for a while.

  “You wanna come socialize?” Scott said.

  “Not really.”

  “You’re so weird sometimes,” Scott said with a laugh, but it was affectionate, and Evan was weird, so he didn’t take offense.

  “Sorry.”

  “Don’t be. I’m going to go… do host stuff.”

  “Good plan.”

  “I’ll find you later.”

  LATER EVAN was outside, feeling the effects of the beer and the orange crush. He thought he didn’t like drinking all that much and wondered what that would mean when he started college. His head felt a little fuzzy, but the cool air was helping. For some reason, Scott hadn’t packed away the loungers next to the pool, and Evan decided they were a great place to hide from the hoards inside.

  “People are looking for you,” Scott said, stepping between the loungers. “I thought you were out here hooking up with someone.”

  Evan snorted. “No. I’m not doing that.”

  He stretched on the lounger, cracking his knees and toes. His MP3 player still played music from the headphones—the John Mayer song Evan didn’t publicly admit to liking.

  “Mind if I sit down?” Scott asked.

  “I
t’s your house, dude.”

  “You might want to be on your own,” he said as he straddled the lounger to Evan’s left. “I can respect that.”

  “Are you drunk?” Evan asked in a rush.

  “Don’t think so. Maybe a bit buzzed. Why?”

  “Dunno. Just asking.”

  “Are you sure you’re okay? You’re being weird, Ev. Even for you.”

  He huffed a laugh. “Yeah, ’m fine.”

  “Cassie Williams was looking for you.”

  “Shit. Who invited her?”

  “I don’t know,” Scott said as he swung his legs up and reclined back. “I don’t mind Cassie.”

  “I thought your type was more… blonde.”

  Scott snorted. “I don’t have a type. And you’re a fine one to talk. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were….”

  “What?”

  “Nothing.”

  Evan dropped it. He didn’t really want that sentence finished anyway.

  “All the orange crushes have gone,” Scott continued. “I think we got the recipe pretty damn close.”

  “That, or there’s enough alcohol in them that no one cares.”

  “True,” Scott said easily. “Damn, it’s clear tonight.”

  Evan hummed and tilted his head back to look at the night sky. It was dark enough now that the universe seemed infinite, the stars bright points of possibility against an inky dark sky. The moon had waned into almost nothing. It was darker, much darker, than that night they’d played football at the beach.

  “I love it when it’s like this,” Evan said softly.

  “Really? I can’t wait to get away.”

  “I know.”

  “It’s nothing personal.”

  “I know that too. You want to explore.”

  “Yeah,” Scott said with a long, heavy sigh. “Just look at it, Evan.” He extended an arm up to the sky and waved demonstratively.

  “You want to go into space?” Evan teased.

  “Maybe.” Scott’s voice was familiarly defiant. “I could.”

  “I think you need to be at least passing science to have any chance of being an astronaut.”

  “Fuck you,” he said easily, with a soft laugh. “I need to find a career option that means I can travel.”