Kinky: Three Men, One Collision

by Peter Butler

  As she laughed Emily ran her fingers through her short blond hair, flicking at the ends casually. Dillon tried to imagine what it would be like to run his fingers through her hair, down her neck, her back and over her backside and find that secret place he had only ever dreamed of. This image triggered movement in his lower body for the second time in just a few hours. He fought to contain what was happening... without success. It was at that moment that Emily's eyes flashed on him and her smile gained warmth.

  That made it worse.

  They were walking straight towards each other, now only a car's length separated them, and she seemed to quickly check him out from head to toe and she grinned as her eyes settled on his face.

  Dillon's face already had a smile on it, a residual of his momentary wandering mind, but instantly the reality of what was happening inside his pants stepped on him and his smile was quickly replaced with yet another version of a smile; one that was fake looking and forced. As he watched, Emily's smile suddenly mirrored his own awkwardness.

  'Hey Dillon! What's up?' Emily said to him warily, trying to be friendly and at the same time work out why there was this sudden weird awkwardness between them. They had talked on a few occasions and she had the feeling that things were progressing nicely between them, but she wasn't sure because Dillon was so shy.

  The girl walking beside Emily suddenly gave a choked guffaw, closely followed by suppressed chuckles from the other girls. Emily, embarrassed by her friends behavior, rounded on the first girl, 'What's so funny, Ali?' She narrowed her eyes and glared at her. 'What am I missing?'

  Ali didn't answer, she couldn't, by this stage she was bent over double laughing uncontrollably. As were the other three.

  Dillon made use of Emily's distraction and quickly pulled his backpack off his shoulders and was now holding it in front of himself, as low as he could, without looking obvious. He pretended to be looking for something in it.

  'I'm sorry, Dillon,' Emily turned back to him, she was annoyed by her friends behavior. 'I apologize on behalf of my friends, they seem to have developed a warped sense of humor.' She turned back to Ali and glared again then made a face that said knock it off..

  'Don't you look at me like that, Em,' Ali finally responded, all the time suppressing a grin and shaking her head at Emily, 'I'm not the warped one here,' and then burst out laughing again at her play-on-words.

  Dillon stood before the girls red-faced and still not even close to being in control of his body. Luckily the bag now hid the bulge in the front of his pants. Ali continued. 'You asked him what was "up", Em,' she gave her a cheeky grin and with great effort stopped herself from giggling. 'Here's a clue! If your friend, Dillon, isn't hung like a giraffe, then he's got himself a gigant...' Ali couldn't finish - the other two girls had burst out laughing again and she helplessly gave-in and joined them.

  Emily's mouth and eyes flew wide open, her head jerked back to Dillon and zeroed in on his crotch which was now only partially hidden by his backpack. Her eyes widened and she looked up to his fire-engine red face.

  Dillon looked back at her, his backpack jammed against his stomach, a stunned look of horror stamped on his face. 'I... I... gotta go,' he mumbled, shaking his head as he looked at the ground and quickly pushed past her. The girls raucous laughter followed him for a few seconds, but kept hurting long after the sound had faded.

  The look on Emily's face would be etched into his brain for the rest of his life.

  ***

  A few minutes later, well away from where catastrophe had just befallen him, Dillon sat in the shade of a giant maple tree. His backpack still clutched to his lap. The inflamed color had drained from his cheeks, he was back in control of his body and his breathing had returned to normal. He closed his eyes and tried to make the embarrassment go away. That wasn't so easy.

  He really liked Emily and he'd just blown any chance he might have had with her. That really sucked because it left the door completely open for Zac to walk back in and take over. That seemed to be a pattern in Zac's life - what he wanted, he got. Emily was too good for a jerk like that.

  Zac's family lived in one of the largest houses in town, on the top of Trumpet Hill, on its own gigantic block. Dillon passed it every time he delivered Mrs Kemsley's groceries. He couldn't see much of the house as the property had a high concrete fence and lots of trees, surrounding it. He had stopped at the large wrought-iron gates and tried to make out what lay behind them, but the driveway curved around a large clump of plants that were strategically placed to stop people being able to see any further. Some of his mates had actually been inside Zac's house, they had told him that he didn't live in the main house with his parents and housekeepers, but in another smaller house beside the swimming pool. They were in awe of the pool and had described it as being at least sixty feet long with a diving board at the deep end and fancy lounges with umbrellas scattered around the paved surrounds The guys had raved about how good Zac had it and from the descriptions, Dillon had no reason to doubt it. Zac even had an arcade size Formula 1 racing game console for two drivers. The asshole.

  In comparison, Dillon's family were not wealthy. He lived with his parents, Binnie and Jerry Squire and his little sister, Amy, in the tight-knit community of Smithton. His suburb was right beside, but a million miles away from where Zac lived. Trumpet Hill was enviously sneered at and referred to by Smithton's best as Knob Hill, ever conscious that their wealthy neighbors could look down on them from their lofty position.

  And that they certainly did.

  Having calmed down, Dillon collected his bike and was on his way to his afternoon job when he saw Zac, Wood and Jordy riding their bikes in the same direction he intended to go. They were quite a distance in front of him and, strangely, heading in the opposite direction to Trumpet Hill. Dillon settled in behind them, comfortable that he wouldn't be noticed as they had no reason to look behind. Even if they did they would be unlikely to know it was him as he wore nondescript clothes. In contrast, he knew it was Zac up ahead because of the flashy bright red bomber jacket that he always wore, he could even make out the large, stylized blue "Z" on it.

  The road ahead split in a fork; the road to the left led to town where Dillon was heading, to the right led to the forest and on to the next town, Colleta, about twenty miles away. Zac's group headed right. Part of Dillon was happy to not have them in front of him anymore, but another part of him was even more intrigued about what they could be doing in the forest. It was inconceivable that they would be going to Colleta. When Dillon reached the fork he found himself pedaling towards the forest, his curiosity got the better of him. There was less traffic on this stretch of road so Dillon slowed and increased the distance between them. It was pointless to risk discovery and there were no side roads that they could take.

  Dillon watched as the three boys rode their bikes into a quiet picnic area beside a nice bubbling stream where there was space for a few cars beside the road. When he eventually reached the picnic area he moved to the edge of road and inched his way forward beside the heavily vegetated verge in case they were sitting at one of the wooden picnic tables. He stopped just before the cleared area opened up before him and wheeled his bike the last few feet to peek around the foliage. They were nowhere to be seen. He jumped back on his bike and rode around the perimeter, looking for tracks to tell him where they had gone. The stream ran parallel to the road, so they could only go in two directions as the water was too deep and difficult to cross. It didn't take long to find the fresh tracks their bikes had made in the grass. They seemed to head straight into a bushy area that didn't seem to Dillon like it was a recognized walking track. This intrigued him.

  He decided to follow further even though he was already late for work. Something was going on. His mind ran through possible scenarios; maybe they were doing drugs - shooting up or smoking pot. Maybe they were closet gays and were going to have a threesome. He smiled at that idea; he needed something to use against Zac if he was going to have any ch
ance to redeem himself with Emily, assuming he could ever face her again.

  He had only gone a short distance before he saw three bikes leaning against a tree, completely hidden unless someone ventured into this virgin bush. Dillon backtracked and then wheeled his own bike further into the thick bush, off to the right. He left it and his backpack in the long grass, happy that unless someone stepped on them they would remain hidden. He looked around and memorized the biggest trees so he would be able to find it again, he was lucky because one of them had a thick branch that had been torn, probably in a storm, but had not been completely severed. It hung like a giant broken arm with its thinnest branches touching the ground. Long dead, it had no leaves which made it stand out further against its parent tree which was covered in lush green leaves.

  Dillon made his way back to the other bikes and followed the simple track that three sets of shoes had recently made through the grass. He inched forward as quietly as he could, ever vigilant where he placed his feet and how he bent back overhanging branches for fear of snapping them. He knew his stealth would never match that of an Indian scout, but he didn't need their tracking skills judging by the footprints he was easily following.

  Suddenly, ahead of him, he heard a noise, a disturbance. It was coming straight towards him. Luckily a fat thick bush stood right beside him so he dropped to his knees and quickly crawled around behind it until he was hidden. He hoped.

  He lay flat on his stomach on the grass and leaf-litter, and waited. It only took a second or two before a crunching pair of shoes passed in front of him, so close he could have reached out and touched them. They were finished with whatever they were doing and were heading back to their bikes; that ruled out doing drugs and a gang-bang as they hadn't had enough time. He prayed that the three boys would all be following the same makeshift path; there was no official track and if they fanned out as they walked he could be in trouble.

  A second set of feet stomped into the small section of ground he could see underneath the bush, this time wearing boots. Dillon breathed a sigh as those boots kept on walking. They were in line.

  Seconds passed, then suddenly there was a loud crash in front of him and someone yelled, 'Aw fuck!' The bush that protected him suddenly shook violently and someone hit the ground only inches in front of him.

  Dillon tensed and pressed lower to the ground. He could see Jordy's head but it was side-on to him, and facing away, thank God.

  There was laughter further up the track and someone called back, 'We've already got dinner covered, Jordy. You don't need to go diving on the wildlife.'

  Luckily, Jordy looked up at his tormentor and gave him a tight smile, his hand and finger forming the shape of the bird. If he had glanced even a small way in Dillon's direction he would have seen two large frightened eyes peering back at him through the mass of leaves.

  'You'll put a hole in your pantyhose if you're not more careful.'

  Dillon recognized Zac's familiar voice adding his pathetic concept of humor to Jordy's dilemma. Emily surely couldn't be interested in a lame-ass jerk like that?

  'Go screw yourself, Zac,' Jordy called after him, but not loud enough for Zac to actually hear. 'I thought I heard something and I tripped over when I looked around.' He announced in a much louder voice.

  Dillon went stiff. If Jordy had heard his sigh it was all over.

  'Shit, Jordy. Forget about the boogeyman or whatever made you wet your pants and get your ass up here,' Zac yelled back to him. 'We're running outta time.'

  Dillon watched as Jordy stood up and brushed some dirt off his trousers, then thankfully he moved on. After a safe amount of time Dillon eased himself up and looked in the direction they had headed just managing catch sight of Jordy before he disappeared behind a distant tree. He had a pack on his back. None of them had a backpack on when they had been riding to the forest.

  Dillon waited for what he deemed to be a sufficient amount of time, then he cautiously followed the track the three had taken. Their bikes were gone. He was free to search the area.

  He scanned in front of him as he walked back and almost missed it because he was concentrating on keeping to the flattened grass, his eyes searching the ground on both sides at the same time, but something, a movement maybe, must have caught his eye because he looked up into the tree branches just in time to see it. Another second and he would have walked straight under it. Well hidden and camouflaged by the tree's foliage, a large Hessian-bag, maybe a potato sack, was swinging, suspended high amongst the branches of the tree. The rope that secured it looped over a high branch and fed back behind the trunk. Dillon worked his way through the scrub to the back of the tree. The rope was tied off on a low branch with another large length of it coiled on the ground below it. He untied it and lowered the sack to the ground.

  It rattled noisily as he unwound the rope and he carefully opened it. He folded back the bag revealing six cans of spray-paint and an open box of rubber gloves. A few rags lay scrunched-up at the very bottom.

  Why did they need the spray-cans? Why were they hiding them? - They had to be up to something.

  Dillon knew Zac was an art-major at school, but that didn't explain the need to hide the paint.

  Dillon retrieved one of the cans and flipped the lid off. It had been used as the nozzle had a pink residue around it. He shook it and the mixing balls inside the tin rattled with a louder clang-clunk than he had been expecting, it sounded almost empty.

  He held it out in front of himself and gently pressed the trigger button. He expected a mist but instead a jet of paint instantly shot out and made a big pink spot on the tree three feet away.

  'Shit!' he hissed, as he grabbed one of the rags and tried to wipe it off but the more he rubbed at it the bigger the pink area became. He cleared away some of the leaf-litter around his feet until he hit dirt, then he scooped up a handful and threw it against the painted section. This seemed to help cover the paint a little as the dirt was roughly the same color as the tree-trunk. He went back to the sack and pulled out one of the rubber gloves and put it on, then dug out another handful of dirt and used his hand to rub it into the paint.

  But, no matter how much he rubbed, the pink was still visible.

  'Shit... Shit... Shit..!'

  He gathered everything except the used rubber glove back into the sack and re-tied it at the neck, then he went behind the tree and began to haul the bag into its rightful place high amongst the boughs of the tree. He tied the rope the way it had been before he had disturbed it then checked it from the front. Everything looked the way it had.

  Except for the pink mark still showing on the trunk.

  It was so obvious - They would realize someone had been here. In a way that was a better result for him than his other ideas. If he had just thrown the bag of cans away it would have achieved nothing as they obviously had some others which they had taken away with them in their backpacks.

  Yes. This is the best way. Now they'll be looking over their shoulders. Probably thinking the police are onto them.

  He went back to his bike, which he found quickly thanks to the large broken branch and wheeled it slowly towards the picnic area, but he stopped before he entered the clearing. He had heard a noise. It sounded like muffled voices. He froze and listened hard, thinking Zac and his gang were coming back.

  Then he heard a clinking sound followed by a female coughing.

  Dillon lay his bike on the ground and eased his way forward. Peering through the scrub he could make out a huge Winnebago taking up most of the available parking space. He eased his head around further and peered through the bushes, he saw a man and a woman sitting at one of the tables. They were both incredibly fat and had to sit on opposite sides of the table because they each took up an entire bench-seat. The woman was pouring from a thermos, as she did a large fold of dangling fat was swaying back and forth, pendulum like, under her upper arm. The man wore a baseball cap on his head which made him look like a cartoon character composed of a series of increasingl
y large round ball-like sections placed on top of each other, with a tiny head at the top.

  The woman handed him the mug she had just filled.

  'Thank you, sweetie,' he said, and smiled. Then his smile turned to a frown. 'We left the donuts back in the bay-go.'

  'Oh, shoot and darn!' the woman replied, 'My bad, I'll get 'em.'

  She swung her massive body around on the bench-seat and for a moment faced Dillon. Then she ungracefully swung one of her legs over the seat, as she did her dress rode up and Dillon grimaced as he was presented with an angle of her that he did not want to see. Her legs now straddled the seat and the folds of leg-fat had parted, as they did they were replaced by a huge oozing mass of belly fat that slowly dropped down between them and kept shaking like a mound of jelly freshly released from its mold. If she was wearing underpants he would never know, the fat completely covered the area, but Dillon did not want to know, he had already turned away as she began to lift her other leg and swing it over the bench-seat.

  Another unwanted memory had just been permanently etched into his brain. If things kept on like this he would be begging for someone to invent a delete button for his brain, maybe a small dose of what Mrs Kemsley suffered from would do. Then he withdrew that thought - he desperately wanted to retain this mornings image of Sherri's naked body bouncing up and down. And Emily Kane's smile.

  His reminiscences were suddenly interrupted by a growl near his feet. Startled, he looked down at the noise and found himself, face-to-face with a tiny dog snarling back up at him. It looked to be part terrier, part Chihuahua and was no bigger than a child's stuffed toy. Small fangs flared at him threateningly. To emphasize its boldness it gave a shrill bark.