I stare down the sight and aim for a green soda can about ten yards away. I take a deep breath, still cocooned in Berlin’s arm.
“Ready?” he whispers.
“Yeah.” I’m a little breathless.
“Pull.”
I squeeze the trigger and the gun kicks back into me, forcing me into Berlin’s chest. He doesn’t budge. It’s like his feet are rooted in the ground. A thrill races through me, and I’m not sure if it’s the gun or being so close to Berlin. I miss the mark completely, but I don’t really care.
“Well?” he asks when I finally step away from him.
I rub my shoulder and squint at him. “I think I’m going to need you to show me again.”
His face turns bright red all the way to the tips of his ears. It’s kind of adorable.
“Hiro,” he says like some old schoolmarm.
“What? Haven’t you ever flirted with a guy before?”
He shakes his head, smiling in spite of himself. “Actually, no.”
His innocence is endearing. “It gets easier.”
I take a few more shots on my own, no thanks to him. Berlin seems afraid to come near me, like I might use my wiles to try to seduce him. He’s so different from Seth, who I always had to push off me, carve out my own territory in order to have any existence of my own. With Seth I always knew what he wanted—everything, immediately. I can’t say for sure with Berlin. Is he looking for a friend, one who happens to be gay, like a queer Yoda? Or is he looking for a hookup? His words say one thing, but his eyes say another.
And me, what do I want?
After I finally hit a couple of cans, Berlin takes a few shots. His aim is deadly. I imagine him with a dead buck draped across his shoulders. In my vision he’s shirtless, of course. Blue jeans, boots, longish hair, broad chest, and ripped abs. The picture is both grotesque and arousing at once.
“Your turn.” He offers me the gun, startling me from my daydream. I take a few more shots. The sun shifts in the sky and it gets hotter. I’m wearing black, as usual, and jeans. Shorts aren’t my thing. I consider taking off my shirt, but I don’t want to make him uncomfortable.
“You want to go swimming?” he asks, perhaps noticing my discomfort. His arms are shiny with sweat too. “There’s a creek about a half mile from here.” He jerks his thumb in that direction.
“Yeah.” I rest the gun so the barrel points to the ground as he instructed. “I don’t have a suit, though.”
“I don’t either.” Berlin gets real quiet then, like a scared rabbit, and looks kind of terrified as he takes the gun from me while keeping his distance. We walk back to his truck in silence. Is he worried I’m going to try something? Does he want me to? I have no clue. Talk about mixed messages.
We drive for a little ways, and then he turns down a narrow dirt path framed on either side with wispy trees swaying in the breeze like hula dancers. The creek is wide and meandering. Berlin checks the current with a stick. “It’s deep enough to swim.”
There are smooth, flat rocks on the banks for sunbathing. I squat at the edge a few yards away from him and test the temperature with my hand, using some of the water to wet my hair and the back of my neck. Berlin watches my every move like he’s afraid I might turn rabid and bite him.
It seems obvious I’m going to take off my clothes, but I’m not trying to make a production out of it.
“I’m going in,” I say. “Do you want to watch me or turn around?”
“Uh.” His face darkens and he starts waving his hands like he’s swimming. He turns abruptly like he’s been sent to the corner. I don’t think I’d do the same if our roles were reversed.
I take off my shoes and clothes and toss them in a pile, along with my wallet, keys, and phone. I wade into the creek and dive under. The water makes me shiver, but it’s cool and refreshing. Cleansing. Everything about this day has a bright, shiny newness to it. I’ve hardly even thought about getting high, or Seth. A bubble of hope rises in me. Maybe I can beat this whole addiction thing.
I glance over to where Berlin sits on a rock ledge, dangling his feet in the water, still wearing his boxers and ball cap. Maybe the water’s too cold for him. “Berlin?” I call. “You coming in?”
“Yeah, in a minute.”
I dive down to the bottom and surface again, let the current carry me for a while, then wade over to where he still sits. He hasn’t moved in ten minutes, and he looks like he’s all twisted up inside, gripping his belly like he has a stomachache.
“What’s up with you?” I ask.
He swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. “I don’t know. I just feel frozen.”
He looks like he’s in pain. I suspect his body and mind are sending him conflicting messages. It probably doesn’t help having a friend like Trent calling people faggots and pussies all the time. I want to make him feel better, but I don’t want to scare him.
“Is it okay if I come closer?”
He nods, tracking me with his eyes. His attention is focused and deliberate, a hunter. I stop when I’m an arm’s length away.
“Have you ever kissed a guy before?” I ask, trying to sound casual.
His face gets red again. I don’t want to embarrass him, but I think it’s too late. His hands are shaking as his eyes dart around, looking everywhere but at me.
“No.” He says it so quietly, like he’s ashamed. I rest one hand on his knee, and he stares at it.
“Do you want to kiss me?” I ask gently.
He scratches the back of his neck, and I admire the weight of his arms, remembering how they felt wrapped around me. His chest heaves and he nods, still avoiding me.
“You can look at me.”
His eyes lift slowly, taking me in, hungrily. The water’s about waist-high, and I wait patiently until he’s had his fill. I understand desire. I know what it looks, smells, and tastes like. I want to make it easier for him, so I reach for his hands and place them on my hips. His skin is warm. His hands are surprisingly gentle. I take off his ball cap and toss it on one of the rocks, rough up what little hair is left on his head. The water from my arms drips down his shoulders and traces small rivulets on his bronzed skin. A wrinkle appears in the middle of his forehead, and I smooth it down with my thumb.
“Relax.”
His shoulders heave and his hands shift on my waist, gripping me tighter. My cock bobs up in the water, never one to be left out of fun times. I drape my arms around his neck and tilt my head a little. I’ve never been the initiator before, and I worry I’m doing it wrong. He looks at me as if to make sure this is okay, and I lean into him, going up on my toes.
His lips press against mine timidly, a question. I answer by gripping the back of his trembling neck. He comes in again, fiercer this time and with more confidence. His tongue slides along my lower lip, tasting me. My mouth opens wider and his tongue curls, twining with mine. We take turns taking the lead, exploring with our tongues and lips. The kiss blooms with fervor and Berlin groans from somewhere deep down. I feel it in my balls, a twitchy ache, as he draws me in closer so I’m straddled between his thick thighs.
His knees lock around my hips. Chest to chest. Skin on skin. His one hand grips the base of my back and the other tugs at my hair, drawing my mouth open so he can kiss me deeper. He smells like soil and cut grass, and his body feels solid as a boulder. My nerves are raw where our skin makes contact. A surge of desire rolls through me, blood rushes to my cock, and I’m painfully hard.
I lean back to check in on him. I’ve never been with anyone but Seth before, so in a way this is like my first kiss all over again, exciting and nerve-racking at the same time, not knowing what the other person is thinking or what they want. “How was that?” I ask him.
“It was nice.” Berlin’s smile is slow to form, like he’s waking from a pleasant dream. This gives me confidence. We kiss again, and it’s no less thrilling than before. He draws one hand down the center of my back, coming to rest gently on my tailbone. With the other h
and he tugs my hair so my head falls at an angle. Berlin’s lips drift away from mine, and he kisses my neck and then my shoulder, making my toes curl in the sandy creek bottom and my fingers cinch into the meat of his back. I love how strong and muscular he is—powerful, yet gentle at the same time.
My cock slaps against his thigh, and I tug at it a few times to relieve some of the pressure. Berlin draws back and watches me, pupils dilated, mouth hanging open, a greedy look in his eyes. He wants me to do that for him, I think, so I let go of my own cock and reach inside his boxers. Rock solid. He flinches a little, maybe because my hand is still cold from the water, but he doesn’t pull away. I stroke him a few times, massaging the ridge of his head with my thumb. A shudder rolls through him and he straightens his back, letting out a low growl. The muscles in his chest tighten and the rusty hairs catch the sunlight. He’s magnificent. I kneel down in the water and mold my lips around his smooth cock, running my tongue along the underside of it and sweeping around his head.
“Hiro.” Berlin moans and grabs my hair again, tugging at it like a rein, urging me to take in more of him. I swallow him up until the tip of his cock touches the back of my throat. I want his first time with a guy to be memorable. I grip the base with my hand and slide my mouth up and down, applying just the right amount of pressure. He moans and squirms on the rocks as I work him over. His cock throbs in my mouth, approaching climax, as he fists my hair, squeezing tighter, turning me on. I take him in deep one last time and slide him out, using my hand to take him to the final throes. He comes like a garden hose. I catch some of it as it dribbles down my fist and mixes with the water on the rocks. His cock, like the rest of him, is a marvel, and the thought of him inside me makes me shudder all the way to my toes.
He drapes his arms over my shoulders and pants on my neck. I let go of him and start to back away, but he grabs my shoulders and pulls me into a bear hug, not like he’s trying to dominate me, just showing his affection. He reaches for my still-throbbing cock. Something inside me switches, and my body goes rigid. I pull away.
“That one was for you,” I tell him, dipping down into the water. I dive under before he can protest, swim a few yards away, and with my back turned, get myself off. Seth was the only one who’d done that for me. I don’t know if it’s some kind of twisted loyalty or if my subconscious is trying to protect me, but I can’t have Berlin go there just yet.
“Did I do something wrong?” Berlin asks when I return.
I make my face blank. I like him even more after what we just shared, but I don’t want to spoil his moment with my own drama. This is about him. I meant it when I said it. “You were perfect.” I lay my hand on the center of his chest as if staking my claim.
Berlin’s face breaks into a wide grin. He’s positively glowing.
“I have some news for you, Berlin.” I give him a long face.
“What is it?” He looks worried.
I deliver it like I’m a doctor giving him his prognosis. “I think you might be gay.”
He chuckles, then grabs my shoulder. “Come here.” He pulls me into another hug, kisses my neck and whispers, “Thank you.”
I sigh, melting into him. Something in my chest breaks open just a little bit, letting light into the darkened corners where I like to hide. I draw my hand down the center of his smooth, strong back. “Anytime.”
Berlin
AT DINNER that night, I can hardly keep the smile off my face. I’m afraid to say more than two words to my dad because I know it must be written all over my face. I just had sex for the first time. With a guy. And it was awesome.
“Ants in your pants?” Dad asks me toward the end of the meal.
“Got homework to do,” I say, a white lie. We hardly ever get assigned homework during football season.
“Homework, huh?” He looks at me skeptically.
“Yes, sir. May I be excused?”
He nods and I escape to my bedroom, warm memories of Hiro and the creek swimming in my head. I want to be near him, taste and touch him, but the closest I can get right now is texting. There’s probably some stupid rule about how long you’re supposed to wait before texting a guy, and I’m sure it’s more than two hours, but I can’t help myself. I want him to know I’m thinking about him.
I pull out my phone, then get stuck on what to say. I spend about five minutes going over it in my head. It’s lame, but it’s the best I can come up with.
I had fun today.
I stare at the phone, waiting for him to respond, hoping he will. I don’t have to wait too long.
Me too.
My chest expands. Feeling braver, I let my fingers do the talking.
I want to do that again.
I press Send, then wish I hadn’t. He might think that means I want him to blow me again. I try to explain.
Hang out. Not the other stuff.
Well, that’s not exactly true.
But the other stuff is nice.
Shit. What if he thinks I’m using him for sex?
Only if you want to. We can just hang out. And I can do stuff for you too.
I reread what I’ve texted. I sound like an idiot. I sit there staring at my phone, stressing for the longest ten seconds of my life, until he finally texts me back.
Are you finished?
If there were an emoji of a hangman, I’d use it.
I hope so.
I’d like to hang out with you again. And I like doing stuff. The stuff we do is hot.
You’re hot.
He sends me a picture of himself lying back in his bed with his head on his pillow, headphones covering his ears, making a peace sign over his chest. I take one of my own, but I don’t look nearly as hot as him, so I try again and this one’s a little better. I send it, then stare at his picture, getting caught up in his dark, brooding eyes and full lips. I imagine lying in his bed next to him, reaching up under his shirt to feel the grooves in his chest. Kissing and undressing him, doing for him what he did for me earlier today. The fantasy plays out until I’m in such a state that I need to jump in the shower to relieve myself.
I wake up Monday morning thinking about when I can see him again, planning my next move. In the parking lot before school, I’m in such a good mood that Trent asks me if I got laid that weekend.
“No, man.” I punch his shoulder, embarrassed and also a little scared by his instinct. I tell him it must be the good feeling I’m having about Friday, our first game of the season against the Bruins. Our team is coming together. “It’s going to be a win,” I say confidently. “I can feel it.”
“Just keep eating your Wheaties, big man. This crop of receivers is skittish. I don’t know if I can trust them.”
I agree with him outwardly, but in my mind I have doubts. I’ve been playing with Trent for years. When he’s feeling confident, he throws beautiful passes that drop right into the receivers’ hands like special deliveries. But when the pressure is on, he sometimes cracks and throws bad balls. Then Coach gets all over him, which only makes it worse. I’m the Band-Aid. My running game makes it so that he doesn’t have to throw interceptions, gives him a little breathing room so he can recover from a bad play. And for receiving his short passes, I’m his best wingman.
I hear the drone of Hiro’s motorcycle, and a thrill races through me. He swerves into the parking lot, and I risk a glance over at him, my throat tight and my pulse racing, as if the sight of him might quench my thirst. Meanwhile Trent eyes him up like a mountain lion would its prey.
“Wonder what Faggy did this weekend,” Trent says. I freeze because if he knew, it’d be the end of me. I wish Trent wasn’t so obsessed with Hiro. Ever since Hiro stood up to him in the locker room, he’s like a conquest to Trent, which is stupid as hell, but that’s how his mind works.
“Who cares, man?” The less attention Trent gives Hiro, the better for everyone.
He snorts. “Can you imagine it, though? Doing that nasty shit? Sucking some other guy’s dick? Putting your junk in another guy�
��s asshole? That’s just, like, disgusting.”
“I don’t really think about it,” I lie. I think about it all the time. I thought about it all last night. Before it was a fantasy man I imagined myself with. Now it’s Hiro in high-definition, playing on a loop: Hiro’s fleshy lips around my cock, the grip of my fist in his silky hair as he bobbed up and down on it, his smooth skin in my rough hands. My cock swells in my pants, so I think about football plays in order to keep my flag at half-mast.
I bite my tongue as Hiro draws nearer, wondering if he’ll glance my way or pass by like we’re strangers. I don’t know which is worse.
“Hey, faggot,” Trent calls, “suck any dick this weekend?”
I almost choke on my own spit. Hiro’s eyes lift just enough to meet Trent’s. “No, man, your mom got there first.”
It’s so middle school, but the mom comebacks get Trent every time. “Fuck you, man,” Trent yells, flustered.
“Not my type.” Hiro keeps walking, not looking at me once, which stings, but I have to admit, he’s got bigger balls than me. This gets me thinking about his actual balls and the weight of his cock against my leg. I wish we were at the creek right now. I want another chance with him and soon.
“I fucking hate that kid,” Trent says. The vein in his neck is throbbing. “It’s not just because he’s gay. I hate his whole fucking attitude.”
I watch Hiro walk away, my gut sinking. “I think he’s kind of funny.”
Trent turns his blazing eyes on me. “You messing with me right now, Webber?”
I shrug. “You’ve been calling him a faggot since the first day of school. You tried to kick his ass. What do you expect?”
“Guys like him shouldn’t even exist. They’re like genetic mutations.”
“Like the Teenaged Mutant Ninja Turtles?” I joke, hoping it’ll distract him from wanting to pursue Hiro.
“No, like a lame horse that needs to be put down.” The look in Trent’s eyes is vicious and mean, like he truly believes gays should be rounded up and executed. An icy fear creeps up my spine. What if yesterday was a mistake? Maybe I shouldn’t be taking such risks.
The Bravest Thing Page 6