He doesn't know I've been watching him back.

I feel badly about it most days; I watch him get shoved out of the way, I watch his books get smacked out of his hand, and I watch his underwear get pulled so far out of his pants it's a wonder the fabric doesn't rip. Part of me wants to interfere and consequences be damned, but the other part of me gets irritated. Why does he have to be such a pushover? It's not as though he's the only guy to ever be bullied.

The guys pick on him because they can tell they're not safe around him. They call him 'faggy' and 'queer' because of the feel of his dark eyes on their bodies. They don't realize that it's the truth. They certainly don't understand that his slender waist, narrow shoulders, long silky hair and wide hips belong to a predator of men. All they know is that they're uncomfortable under his penetrating gaze. Some of them probably feel the seduction of it like I do, though they may not realize it yet.

His name is Crispin, poor thing. Because he's a pussy he'll never be able to go by anything but his full name, likely with some variation of 'cocksucker' attached, just for the consonance. I think his name is cute, but it won't really work for him until college at least. It's fine, though, only half a year more of torture for him until he can play the phoenix. I was going to just leave him alone, honestly. I don't plan on coming out until after high school, when my parents have already paid for at least one year of college. It wouldn't be fair to the poor guy if I fucked him and then refused to acknowledge him at school. According to all the gay indie films I watch online, that can lead to suicide. Sure, movies aren't always a good reference for reality, but I don't want to risk it.

Those good intentions fly out the window, though, when I'm presented with an opportunity like this. Crispin Vieira is masturbating in the shower. He must have gotten detention somehow, and chose the early morning run over study hall. This was surprising considering that he abstains from sports and usually walks with the lazy girls during P.E. All I needed was to grab my extra deodorant from my locker.

Whatever. Crispin's here. I'm here. There's no one else around at this hour, he's in the shower and can't hear me, and he's jacking off furiously. He didn't bother to pull the curtain, so I watch as his head falls back under the shower spray, body shaking with the momentum of his hand on his prick. For a moment I can't move. His long hair is pulled over his shoulder, giving me an unadulterated view. The water pours over his body in rivulets, tracing the contours of his shoulders, the muscles of his back, down to his buttocks. It's the first time I've ever seen him completely naked since he's so careful during P.E. I'm surprised - I thought he would be softer, but his ass is so toned it's like it was poured into a mold. It clenches repeatedly as Crispin fucks his hand in such a beautiful rhythm that I briefly wish I could freeze time.

I undress as quietly as possible. Crispin won't resist me unless he thinks I'm just messing with him. Until now he's likely been wondering if all those times I caught him staring at my dick in the locker room, if he had just imagined my cock swelling (he hadn't). Call me a narcissist, but I know I'm a fantasy to him. He and the rest of the world think I'm straight, and Crispin probably thinks that those looks I give him are just a manifestation of his sexual frustration.

Probably I should have warned him before stepping into the shower. Crispin jumps when I pull the curtain shut. He covers his crotch with both hands and turns only his head to look at me. He's too shocked, too scared to move when I press myself to his back and wrap my arms around him. I don't want him to wilt or think that this is just some sort of gay chicken, so I press my lips under his right ear.

'Go ahead and finish,' I whisper, and skim my fingertips up to his nipples. 'I want to see you come.'

'Oh god,' Crispin inhales in disbelief, but his right hand goes back to work.

I suck gently on his smooth neck, flicking the hard nubs on his chest. Through the water running into my eyes I watch the purplish helmet of his cock disappear and reappear in his fist. He won't last much longer. What will Crispin's cum be like? Thin watery fluid that sprays fiercely from the tip? Pearly ropes that leave streaks on his abdomen? Or even the thicker stuff that oozes from the slit, over the hand to drop in globules? I realize that I'm humping his ass, running my dick between his buttocks to the small of his back.

I pinch his nipples. 'Are you close?' Crispin just nods in response, his hand flying furiously over his wet cock. 'Let me see you shoot.'

'Okay,' he gasps in a strangled voice. His head falls back on my shoulder and he reaches behind with his free hand and pulls my ass against him. That is fucking hot.

When he does come it's completely silent. Crispin doesn't gasp, doesn't groan; I'm not even sure that he breathes. He curls into a question mark, grabs my thigh so hard it hurts, and his abs clench into perfect ridges. And I, unable to resist, touch him, press my first two fingers against the slit just in time to feel the warm cum spurting against my fingertips. It's thicker than mine usually is; it clings for a moment before sliding down his cock to be washed away. It's one of the most erotic things I've ever seen, to watch Crispin ejaculate into my hand.

'Oh my fucking god,' Crispin finally exhales. 'Oh my god.'

'Put your hands on the wall,' I tell him, desperate to come.

He does. 'Don't fuck me yet,' he says softly, like he's afraid I'd just walk away. 'I'm not ready.'

'I won't.'

He's so small that I can rest my balls on his ass. I keep one hand on his chest as I bend over him and jack off. It only takes a few strokes before I'm coming, too, all over his tight back, shooting so far some of it gets in his hair.

'Oh, fuck,' is all I can say. 'Fuck.'

Crispin turns around, his dark eyes wide and wary. 'Why - '

'If you want to talk about this, email me or meet me in the library during lunch or something,' I interrupt, breathing heavily. 'But know that I'm probably going to start sexually harassing you in public.'

Crispin's black eyebrows furrow, then he laughs, showing dazzling straight teeth. 'Get it line, jerk.' He steps under the spray and shoves past me.

I think I'm in love.

He doesn't email me before 4th period but I go to the library anyway, slipping away from my usual crowd before it can even form. I'm neither the ringleader nor the clown, so no one will come looking for me. I'm sitting in the farthest corner next to the math reference books, pretending to read a history of the early great mathematicians.

'Aaron,' I hear a whisper. 'Aaron?'

'Here,' I respond in library voice. Crispin rounds the corner with a stack of books in his arms. 'Project?'

'This is our cover,' he informs me, and drops them on the table between us. I push them to the side and indicate the seat across from me. Crispin sits down, clearly nervous, but with a bravado that tell me he may have me figured out. His hair is pulled into its customary high ponytail, exposing the shaved sides. He's back in his weird pants, the kind whose crotch is so low that Crispin looks like he's wearing a diaper. Jay's girlfriend once said he dresses like every member in a Korean boy band. It didn't sound like a compliment. At least he's not wearing fucking capri pants today.

'So.' I say.

'So you really are queer,' he says seriously.

'Uh, yep.' I never had that fake holy shit, am I staring at a dude's ass in the hall confusion I read about in stories. I knew I liked boys. I just hung out with the wrong crowd.

'And you've been into me this whole damn time.' His dark eyes are boring into me.

I look down at some artists' rendering of Pythagoras. 'Uh-huh.'

'Jesus, Aaron,' he huffs, leaning back in his chair. 'Why didn't you put me out of my misery before?'

'I wasn't ever going to - '

'Oh, awesome,' he inserts sarcastically.

' - but I couldn't really resist when I saw you this morning,' I finish.

Crispin raises an eyebrow. 'It's cute that such a tough guy can blush,' he says.

'Gee, thanks, mister.'

He cocks his head, black ponytail spilling over his shoulder. 'Do your parents know?'

I shake my head and finger the edge of my notebook. 'Mom hates fags. Dad's not too keen on them either. If I want to go to college I need to keep my mouth shut for now.'

Crispin rolls his eyes. 'Poor little rich white boy.'

'I can't help any of that,' I respond uncomfortably. 'Or that I need their financial help if I want to get a degree. Sue me.'

'I guess you have a point. I got lucky. My parents knew I was gay before I did,' he grins.

'And they're cool with it?'

Crispin shrugs. 'They made the choice to be, I guess. Plus, I totally get scholarship because I'll be a first-generation college student, because my parents are foreign, and because I look fresh off of a llama farm.'

'I thought your folks were Brazilian.' They run a small restaurant called El Gaucho on the north side of town.

'They are. But somehow I still get classified as Hispanic, because people are stupid and can't tell the difference between Spanish and Portuguese.'

'Unless they listen to a lot of Sergio Mendes.'

'Right. But either way, scholarship.' He grins at me. 'I knew I liked you. For more than your body, at least.'

I bow, rolling my hand dramatically. I make sure that I keep my muscles defined, but it's rare to hear a genuine comment from anyone to whom I'm sexually attracted. I like that it falls so easily from Crispin's lips.

Suddenly Crispin leans forward. 'If you liked me so much all this time, why did you let me get bullied? Aren't you supposed to be some superpower among Jay and all them?'

Ah, dammit. I shake my head. 'No. I'm maybe somewhere in the middle of the pack. And besides, what the worst that has ever happened to you here? Come on.'

'Just because I haven't been stuffed in a fucking dumpster yet doesn't mean life is all peachy,' he bites back. 'I had to start stuffing my money into the waistband of my damn boxers.'

That isn't my fault. 'Why are you such a pussy?'

'And why are you a fucking bystander?'Crispin is whisper-shouting by now. 'You and your fucking upper-crust white sense of entitlement. High school is a goddamn caste system, you know? And those of you with any sense of humanity at the top are too fucking concerned with maintaining the status quo to intervene on behalf of us poor untouchables. Because, dear god, what would happen if someone associated you with us?'

Somehow this has turned into a fight. 'What do you want me to do?' I say defensively. 'I was bullied in middle school, but I didn't take it lying down.'

'So being a pacifist, not returning violence with violence,' Crispin hisses, 'is being a pussy? I don't deserve to be defended, is that it?'

'That's not what I'm saying!' I protest, feeling desperation.

'Okay, ultimatum,' Crispin says. He puts his palms flat on the table and gives me a penetrating look.

When did it come to ultimatums? I wonder. I feel like I was left behind somewhere in the conversation-turned-argument.

Crispin holds up a hand. 'I'll let you fuck me - '


'If and when I feel that you have proven yourself to be different from the jackasses with whom you love to surround yourself.' Crispin sat back and flicked his ponytail over his shoulder. On the one hand I was a little turned on. What guy wouldn't be after being offered a fuck? On the other hand, though, it wasn't fair.

'That's not fair,' I finally reply. Crispin looks taken aback. 'You can't call my friends jackasses and expect me to be your fucking knight in shining armor.' I hold up a hand to stop his protests. 'How about this: You grow some balls, the metaphorical kind, not the ones you were playing with this morning. I'll keep my pack of jackasses off your back whenever I can. And in two weeks you can come over to my place where there's plenty of privacy, and we can see where shit goes.'

Crispin folds his arms. 'Never thought I'd hear the word 'metaphorical' come out of your mouth.'

I narrow my eyes. 'Don't judge me. Wearing a letterman's jacket doesn't make me stupid, you know.'

'I'm sorry,' Crispin say with a much more friendly tone. He holds out his hand. 'Two weeks, that Friday night. It's a deal.'

I shake his hand. 'Deal.' I'm still going to grab his ass when nobody's looking.

My mom says that two weeks is only a long time when your a kid or when you're pregnant. I must be a child, then, because it seems like the days just drag on and on. Every morning I walk into the gym locker room hoping that Crispin will be there, and every morning he isn't. I feel nervous every time I get close to him, just in case one of my buddies messes with him and I'll be forced to step in, and then suddenly they'll realize that I've had HOMO tattooed across my forehead the whole time. Doesn't matter that I'd chose a pint-sized queen over their hairy asses; they'll still feel threatened.

One time I almost blow it. I have detention again, this time for getting to school late too many times in a row. My punishment is to clean the desks in the school's East Wing. It's actually not so bad because all the artsy-fartsy classrooms are down here, like drawing and photography. That's at least half the work gone right there. Nobody writes on the art tables.

I feel everything the opposite of unlucky when Crispin walks in, thinking I'll finally get to do more than look at him. Then I notice he's followed by Jay and LeAndre, still in their pads and practice uniforms.

'What?' I straighten up, watching Crispin from my peripheral vision.

'Coach wants to see you,' LeAndre says. Crispin unplugs the projector and wheels it toward the door.

'Yeah,' Jay chimes in, 'he wants you to get your ass to school on time and quit hanging out with cocksuckers,' here he shoves Crispin hard into the teacher's desk, 'like him instead of practicing.'

'Fuck you, asshole,' Crispin wheezes from his position on the floor. He shoots me a look that says, This is what I was talking about.

I sigh. I hate sticking my neck out. 'He walked in when you did,' I tell Jay, crossing to give Crispin a hand. 'Leave him alone.'

Jay steps in on me. He's a big guy, not as big as LeAndre or me, but he carries himself like he's fucking Goliath. 'What's wrong, Aaron?' he taunts as I haul Crispin up. 'Feeling protective of your boyfriend?'

Did he notice something? Had I been found out? My head goes hot, then my body goes cold. 'I - '

Crispin cuts in. 'Was there any goddam reason for you to shove me like that? ' he yells, bristling. 'I don't give a flying fuck about sucking your shriveled dick. Maybe what's-his-jock here is trying to make up for having fuckwads as friends.'

Jay turns on him but I grab his arm. 'Tell Coach I'll stop by.'

He shakes me off.

'Your life won't end if you quit throwing your weight around,' I say, trying to be soothing.

'Man, fuck you!' Jay retorts, and storms out of the room. I'm not too worried; he'll forget about it in a couple of days.

LeAndre shakes his head. 'Sorry, man,' he says to Crispin, who's so shocked that he just goes, 'Yuh.'

I start laughing.

'What?' Crispin snaps, still ruffled from his first confrontation with the big dogs.

'Yuh,' I mimic him. 'Yuh.'

He gives me a begrudging smile and rolled his eyes. 'So you're a good influence on your pack. Why don't you be all fucking cocky about it.'

'I'll show you cocky.' I grab my crotch with one hand and the collar of his shirt with the other. His dark eyes open wide; his lips are parted and he watches my mouth. I really want to kiss him, but I let him go with a little push.

'You are officially bad at jokes,' Crispin informs me, still smiling. 'Friday at seven. Email me to tell me how to get to your house, okay?'

'I'm watching your ass,' I say in response as he wheels the projector out of the room. Crispin acknowledges that by doing a ridiculous booty bounce while whistling 'Single Ladies,' and I start laughing again. Three days is a long time until Friday.


Wander Wonder

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