As horny as I am, a smirk flickers across my face. Zeke’s cheeks flush red. ‘Wasn’t expecting a hook up tonight, was I?’
The smirk is wiped from my face when he throws both sides of his shirt aside, revealing small brown nipples on olive skin and the first sprouts of dark chest hair. Something hijacks my brain. I throw myself on top of him. My face mashes against his, careful to avoid his bruised eye as our tongues fight. My hands drift to his arms, tightening around his biceps.
‘Flex,’ I command.
‘What?’
‘Flex your arms.’
Zeke looks quizzical, but obeys. His right bicep bulges – it’s not as big as mine, but it’s a turn on. I kiss his bicep, gently at first, then gnawing at it, then licking it.
‘You taste good,’ I say, shifting my nose from bicep to armpit. I take a sniff. His armpit stinks of sweat and hours-old deodorant. My head goes fuzzy. His scent has turned me on even more.
‘Nipples,’ Zeke says.
‘Mine?’
‘No, mine. Suck on them.’
I trace my tongue over his chest to his nipple, wrap my lips around it and suck. I feel it harden in my mouth; at once, Zeke gives a soft moan.
‘That easy?’ I ask.
‘They’re really sensitive,’ he breathes. ‘Keep going.’
There’s something hot about doing something that turns him on. As I play with his nipples, Zeke squirms, and the fuzz in my head starts to build. I can’t hold off much longer and we haven’t even got to any of the good stuff yet.
I run my tongue over the little bumps around Zeke’s right nipple. He twitches again. I come up for air. ‘I wanna fuck you.’
Zeke’s eyes are locked on mine, his mouth hanging open, his black eye making him look tougher than the shy geek I thought I knew. ‘You have no idea how much I want that,’ he says breathlessly. ‘Get inside me.’
It’s fast and furious after that. I tear his undies off, position my pelvis against his and lift his hairy legs into the air.
‘You got a franger?’ I ask.
‘What?’
‘A condom.’
Zeke shakes his head and starts to pull himself off. ‘No. You’ve never been with a guy, right?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Then we’re good. I haven’t either.’ He brushes his nipple. ‘Come on.’
I spit into my hand and lube him up with it.
‘Slowly.’ The word comes out of Zeke’s mouth like a final gasp of oxygen.
I push my dick up against his arse, feel the pressure of skin on skin, the resistance, his hand on my wrist stopping me from going in too far. We freeze for a long minute, two disobedient statues, then Zeke lets go of my wrist, and the resistance inside him becomes permission, and suddenly, all at once, I’m pulled inside him and he cries ‘Woah!’ and the most amazing sensation brings me to life.
It’s the best feeling I’ve ever had.
‘It’s not as bad as I thought,’ Zeke says through clenched teeth. His face is already brick red. ‘Oh God. It feels awesome.’
‘You like it?’
Zeke’s eyes find mine, and there he is, my sexy angel letting me have him. ‘Fuck me, Kade.’
I don’t need to be told twice. Energy builds up in my arms as I pin him down; he wraps his arms around my back and I start to thrust, slow at first then speeding up until sweat is beading on my chest.
‘Ow! Slow down! No, slow it down!’ Zeke cries, his nails digging into my skin.
But it’s too good, and I’m too far gone. Something animal is awake within me. I ignore him and keep thrusting.
Suddenly, his nails aren’t just scratching the skin on my back. They’re digging into my flesh and his arms are rigid, clutching at me in pain. I don’t care. I’m nearly there.
My entire body starts to tremble, then shake with pleasure, and finally, I explode inside him, letting out a loud grunt as I go.
I slow down but keep thrusting. The plane’s landed but still taxiing down the tarmac.
‘Get out – take it out,’ Zeke groans, pushing his hands against my chest.
I slide out of him. For the first time since we started screwing, I notice his face: it’s twisted in pain.
‘You okay?’
‘You were way too rough!’ he cries. ‘I told you to slow down.’
‘I didn’t hear,’ I mumble.
‘You did so. I yelled it.’
‘I couldn’t stop.’
‘You could’ve.’
My head is pounding as blood slowly returns to it. I could sleep for days. I glance down at Zeke. He’s still hard, but his stomach is dry. ‘Did you cum?’
‘No.’
‘I’ll make you.’
‘Give me a sec. Too sore. Need a breather.’
‘Orright. Move over, then.’
Zeke shifts to one side of the single bed and I flop down beside him with the force and weight of a felled tree. I’m done.
A sudden cold comes over me, and it has nothing to do with being naked without a sheet covering us. The pleasure of orgasm has drained out of me now. My head is pounding and my thoughts are racing. I finally did it. Even though I told myself I wouldn’t be gay – I decided I wouldn’t – here I am, in bed with another guy, our legs entwined.
The thoughts start to cascade. A voice in my head screams WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU JUST DO, HAMMER?
Another, quieter voice curls around my skull like stale smoke. Look at yourself. This is who you really are inside. The Hammer everyone knows is an act. A lie. You’re a fraud.
Zeke suddenly twitches and lets out a soft groan; I turn just in time to see the fountain of white squirt over his stomach. I want to pretend I was going to finish him off, but the truth is now that I’ve come, I want to get the hell away from him. I think he knows it, too. He bites his lip until the spurting stops, closes his eyes until his breath has slowed down again. Eventually he shifts, propping himself up on his elbow, and looks me over.
‘Let me guess what you’re thinking,’ he says, tracing a finger along my chest and circling my nipples. ‘Something like, you hate yourself and you’re not really gay. Am I close?’
I grab his finger and push it away. ‘You don’t know me, mate.’
Zeke clutches his hands to his forehead. ‘And we’re back to “mate”. I should’ve –’
A banging at the door interrupts him. I sit bolt upright in shock.
‘Oi, Kade!’ Doug calls. ‘You’re in there, aren’t ya?’
Crap.
‘Don’t answer,’ Zeke says.
Doug knocks again. ‘I can see the light on underneath the door, dickhead. Let me in.’
‘Piss off, Doug!’ I call.
Zeke smacks his forehead. ‘Seriously?’ he whispers. ‘You could’ve just stayed silent.’
I throw the doona over Zeke, covering his face and hair. ‘Don’t bloody move,’ I hiss. ‘And don’t make a sound.’
I pull my jocks on and kick Zeke’s clothes into the dark space under the bed. I open the door a crack. ‘Whaddaya want?’
Doug waves his hand in front of his face. ‘Phwoar, how much have you had to drink?’ he mutters. ‘And what are you even doing up here?’ He tries to push the door wide open.
I hold the door firm. ‘Got a girl up here.’
Doug’s pupils widen. ‘You what?’
‘I’m hooking up,’ I say. ‘Rack off.’
Doug snorts. ‘Seriously? With who?’
‘Some waitress.’ I go to shut the door. ‘Later.’
‘Wait!’ Doug pushes on the door. ‘My phone’s dead. I came to get my charger.’
The moonlight streaming through the thin white curtain gives me just enough light to find my way. I grab the charger and pass it through the crack in the door. ‘There ya go. Now piss off.’
Doug’s face has changed into a brooding look. ‘Richelle was like, throwing herself at you tonight, man. I thought you guys were getting back together. And then you find some waitress and hook up with her ins
tead …’
Doug scratches the patch of eczema on his hand, glaring at me. I suddenly realise he’s jealous. Because he’s the older brother, and nobody wanted him. They all wanted me.
‘It’s just how it went,’ I say.
‘Richelle’s waiting for you to come back to the wedding.’
‘Oh jeez, really? Tell her I won’t make it back.’
Doug scowls at me. His acne is red and raised. ‘I’m not doing your dirty work for you. You’re a real heartless prick, you know that?’
He pulls the door shut.
Zeke throws the doona off his face; his black hair is plastered to his face with sweat. I stare at him and feel a cold, empty wind blowing through my chest. The animal attraction is gone. I’ve cum now. And I’ve come to my senses.
‘You can go now,’ I tell him.
Zeke’s mouth droops. ‘Unreal. I mean, figured you’d flip out sooner or later, but not while I was still in your bed.’
‘We’re done, aren’t we?’
Zeke shakes his head. He slides out of bed, wipes his stomach dry and chucks his clothes back on.
‘Even after everything, I still felt sorry for you,’ he says, buttoning his shirt up. ‘But it’s hard to care about you when you don’t care about anyone but yourself.’
I open the door for him. ‘I don’t care if you care about me or not,’ I say. ‘Seeya.’
Zeke slips his feet into his shoes and makes for the door. When he turns to look at me, he has tears in his eyes. They start to flow over his swollen face.
‘It’s not seeya, Hammer,’ he says softly. ‘This time, it’s goodbye.’
Letterbomb #5
last night I manned up and decided to go through with this and I’ve felt a wave of relief since then because I don’t have to worry about not being man enough now I’ve found a way out it means I’ll never have to feel pain again and that is like ointment on a burn I’ve had my whole life a burn that made me hate myself like when I look in the mirror I hate what I see what an ugly fucker and I hate when people say I’m handsome with that sneer like it’s so fake I know I’m ugly and nobody will ever give a shit about me never love me why rub it in
anyway I won’t be gay anymore and I won’t be ugly anymore because I won’t exist
I never had anything to offer anyway I mean at least Zeke has a good brain I know he’ll make something of himself maybe a doctor or engineer and his brain will chug away at this gay thing like it’s a maths equation to be solved until he has his eureka moment
and someone like Hammer is obviously always going to be a footy star and I was never going to be adored and popular like him and never as masculine and macho as he is I mean I secretly wish I looked like him and I wish I could be him but I never will
I used to daydream about driving on the highway speeding up and letting the wind blast my hair and face so for one sweet moment I’d know how it felt to fly then I’d swerve and smash into the biggest tree I could find and it would be over but I don’t want to stuff this up so I’ve done it clean: got the rope from Bunnings and the house to myself and wrote two letters for other people and I’ve put on my suit so I look nice when they find me
Charlie couldn’t help being outed like that but I’d rather be a dead straight than a living homo so tomorrow after the wedding they’ll hear the news but I’ll just be a normal teenage boy who killed himself and a sad statistic for the farm town of Northampton
and at least nobody will ever know that Matt Jones was a faggot.
22: Vaffanculo!
Zeke
After he punched me in the face last night, Dad got blind drunk and forgot he was the designated driver. Mum had to book a room in the hotel. She and Dad slept on the suite’s queen bed while I collapsed on a roll-out cot. I couldn’t sleep for ages: every time I rolled onto my bruised eye socket it hurt like hell.
When I finally got to sleep, I dreamed I ate a poisoned wedding cake and it killed me.
In the morning, Mum kicks the roll-out bed to wake me.
‘Get in the shower,’ she says, tartly. ‘We’re going to have breakfast together. And we’re going to talk.’ Her pincer hands grab my chin and tilt my head towards her so she can examine my eye. ‘If anyone asks, you walked into a door. Silly boy. You’ve always been so clumsy.’
The shower water turns pink as I rinse my face. Dad really cracked me one. I have a proper black eye this morning: it’s a ring of swollen purply-red around my right eye. I think once I would have been horrified to have such a blemish. But the more I look at it in the mirror, the more I like the way I look with it. I look disobedient. Dangerous.
The buffet restaurant of the Mercurial Winds is pretty busy when we get down there about nine. That’s a relief, because at least Mum and Dad can’t go completely spare at me. One dramatic scene of family disharmony could be a once-off, but two would mark them as officially dysfunctional. Dysfunction is a given with our family – but never in public.
I line up for the buffet behind my parents. Just as I grab a warm china plate, four people file out of the restaurant. I only recognise the last one, with a chunky Rip Curl backpack over his shoulder, flexed biceps exposed by his West Coast Eagles guernsey. Even though we’re inside, he taps his wraparound sunnies down from his forehead to cover his eyes.
As a sad reflex, I say, ‘Hey, Hammer.’
I want something from him. Acknowledgement. A wink. Maybe a smile. Something to make up for last night.
Hammer gives me a blokey nod, and in the voice of a footballer fresh off a winning game, he booms, without breaking stride, ‘Have a good one, mate. Catchya round at school, ay?’
The footy star marches off to follow his family out of the hotel and into the car park. He doesn’t look back. I notice because I’m watching him the whole way.
Forget about him, I tell myself, in a voice I don’t recognise. Move on.
Move on to what? a much more familiar voice replies.
When we finish at the buffet and sit down at our table, Dad’s barely with us. His shades are hiding his eyes. He’s sipping orange juice like it’s potent anti-hangover medicine. Mum, on the other hand, vigorously scrapes a butter knife against a crisp slice of toast.
‘About last night,’ she says, ‘Zeke, your father is sorry he got physical with you. It was a stressful, high-emotion situation.’
‘Okay.’
‘You did something shocking last night.’
‘Okay.’
‘You must see how it made us all feel. Especially on your brother’s wedding night. It was completely inappropriate on your part.’
‘You could’ve just given Charlie some cake.’
Mum clicks her tongue. ‘This has nothing to do with cake.’
‘I know.’ My arms tingle. There’s some fight in them already. ‘Tell me what it’s really about, then.’
Mum slices through her cooked tomato. Hawkish eyes pierce mine. ‘We sent you to Father Mulroney for guidance. We thought you understood why what you did was wrong.’
‘Guess it didn’t take.’
‘You can’t do this, Zeke. You can’t do this to your father and me. But especially, you can’t do this to yourself. It’s a sad life Charlie Roth has chosen for himself. Those people end up depressed, on drugs, mentally unbalanced … you’re better than that. We want you to be better than that, love.’
‘You’re not a finocchio,’ Dad mumbles, scratching his chest. ‘You were dating that Sefton girl. You’ve just gotten confused, buddy.’
‘What if you’re both wrong?’ I say abruptly.
‘Zeke, keep your voice down,’ Mum hisses.
‘What if you’re wrong?’ I go on, a touch quieter, to shut her up. ‘What if I’m not better than that? What if I’m not confused? What if I was born this way and it’s in my genes and I’m stuck this way forever?’
Dad nudges his shades up onto his creased forehead. His dark eyes scan me back and forth, then settle on my face. ‘If that were truly the case,’ he says. ‘I�
�d feel like a failure as a father.’
‘Quiet,’ Mum says. ‘Robbie’s coming.’ She waves, her gold bangles jangling together. ‘Robbie, love! Over here!’
Robbie stomps over with his wide, clod-footed gait. He doesn’t look like a guy who just got married. He’s in a plush white bathrobe; his hair is tousled and sticking up like he just rolled out of bed; his eyes have dark bags under them; and he’s gnawing on his bottom lip like he’s about to burst into tears.
‘Robbie!’ Mum throws her arms around him and kisses him on the cheek. ‘What are you doing down here, love? Go back up to Natalie. You can get room service for breakfast.’
‘Mum … Dad … bro …’ Robbie mutters, unable to spit his sentence out. He doesn’t flinch when he sees my black eye, which tells me already knows what Dad did. He’s probably okay with it.
Mum’s fingers twist in the plush material of the robe. ‘What’s wrong, love? Is Nattie okay?’
Dad glares at me pre-emptively.
‘She’s fine,’ Robbie says, swallowing. ‘No, it’s nothing – I just had some bad news. Think I’m in shock.’
‘What’s happened?’ Dad asks sharply, standing up.
‘You know Shane from soccer? Shane Jones?’
‘Yep,’ Dad says grimly.
‘His brother, Matt, died last night.’
Mum’s face relaxes. It’s obvious she was expecting worse news that would affect her life in some way. ‘Oh, that’s awful love.’ She rubs Robbie’s shoulder.
‘Matt Jones … do I know him?’ Dad asks.
‘You’d know his face,’ Robbie says. ‘He’s got weird teeth. We used to call him Bucky.’
All the air has left the room. My fingernails are digging into my palms.
‘Oh, Bucky Beaver!’ Dad cries. ‘Yeah, of course! Oh, shit. I’m sorry, Rob. What happened?’
‘That’s the thing,’ Robbie says. He holds his arms close to his chest. ‘He killed himself.’
‘No,’ I breathe.
Robbie glances at me. ‘Yeah. Hung himself in his dad’s shed. They just found him this morning.’
‘Hanged himself,’ Mum corrects. ‘That’s never the way out. Silly boy.’
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