1980s Prom Tale

All characters are eighteen years old and a week away from high school graduation.

I’m in a tuxedo, eating my steak with a French name that I’m sure I mispronounced while ordering, when a shoeless foot worms its way under my left pant leg. Toes are suddenly gliding up my shin. Geometry wasn’t my strongest subject, but my date is sitting right next to me. Of the seven people I’m at this table with, it is least likely, based on angles and accessibility, that the intruding foot belongs to her. I survey the faces that surround me for a clue, but they all remain inscrutable. My cheeks flush a crimson red as the foot rises as high as the fabric of my rented pants will allow. The toes give one more wiggle and then the foot slides back down my shin before disappearing.

How did I even get to this place and time? I figured prom night would come and go while I stayed at home like the lame loser most people think I am. High school is almost over and I’ve never even been on a date. Prom is a night for couples and that rules me out. I really didn’t want to go alone and hang out by a big bowl of spiked punch while the rest of my friends danced with someone special. My parents thought I should go. Senior Prom is one of life’s big moments, my mom told me. Right. Except I don’t have anyone meaningful to share it with. I never have.

But I do have a group of friends; there are eight of us. It was way back in the third grade when Chris, Keith and I (Timmy) were all grouped together for the science fair. Our project was a disaster, but we became friends and stayed close all these years. Keith has a never-ending schedule of family obligations filling his weekends, so Chris and I had like a million sleepovers without him. Chris and I becoming best friends was a no-brainer. Keith never had any hard feelings and we always included him whenever he was around.

It was freshman year of high school when Keith’s cousin Ricky moved here to West Virginia from Chicago. Ricky had to start high school in a new state knowing only his cousin, which sucked, so we understood when Keith invited Ricky into our group and our trio became a quartet. Ricky was a nice guy, but he and I only ever connected within the group. We never had any one-on-one time and I kind of didn’t know him as an individual. Whenever the four of us were together and Chis and Keith would happen to leave the room at the same time, there would be this heavy awkward silence between us that lasted all the way until our other friends returned. I never understood why but that’s just how it was between us.

By the second half of sophomore year, we were all sixteen and allowed by our parents to date. That didn’t seem to mean much to Ricky and I, but Chris and Keith both found girlfriends immediately. It wasn’t surprising. They’re both good looking guys and they seem to have a natural charm that Ricky and I were  not graced with. Their girlfriends, Tracy and Becky, each have best friends – Paige and Sarah. So, for more than two years now, the eight of us have become a tight crew.

I initially thought I’d resent the unplanned addition of the four girls to our friend group, but the truth is, the four girls are actually pretty awesome. We all just clicked immediately, which is something that to this day hasn’t happened between Ricky and I. I never felt bitter about Chris and Keith having girlfriends because through it all, Chris is first and always my best friend. And despite having had the same girlfriend for more than two years now, he always makes special time for me. I love him for that. I try not to think about how graduation is in a week and going off to different colleges in different states looms ahead of us in just a few months. We’ve been best friends for nine years. It’s easy to say that we always will be, but who knows if it’s true? Who knows where life will take us?

So, two months ago, Chris campaigned hard for me to ask Paige to go to prom. I thought he was joking. It would be ridiculously weird. Paige is my friend. Going to prom with her would feel like dancing with my sister. But Chris wouldn’t let it go.

“Who knows how many more times we’ll all get to hang out? Come on, dude. All eight of us will be there. Dinner before, sleepovers after… Keith is getting Ricky to ask Sarah so it’ll be all eight of us like always. We’ll just be paired up in four couples.”

He played the best-friend-guilt card to perfection. He’s always been there for me, so I of course will do this for him. It made my parents thrilled. Not every kid dates in high school, and while they’d never say it out loud, I think they were starting to get a little worried about me. They have no idea.

So, I rented a tux with a bow tie and cummerbund that perfectly matched Paige’s dress. I spent an hour getting ready, restyling my hair four times. It was either too spiky or not spiky enough before I got it just right. After embarrassing photo sessions with all eight sets of parents, the eight of us all fit perfectly into one stretch limo. We went out to a steakhouse and sat at one large round table, eating fancy food that was nothing like the burgers and fries we usually shared as a group.

And now here we are. As we eat, I consider my date for the night. Paige is a sweet girl. Tracy told me a few months back that she had a sneaking suspicion that Paige had a secret crush on someone. When she teased her about it, Paige would not say who it was or even admit it was true. But is it? Am I ruining her prom night? By agreeing to go with me did she sacrifice following her heart? If anyone else asked her, she didn’t tell me. Just because my heart’s not in it doesn’t mean this night doesn’t mean something to her. For her sake, I really should commit to the role. The boys in this school are idiots for not asking her. She should not have been available to be my friend-date. I know she doesn’t expect that she and I will become a couple after tonight, but still. I can step up and make tonight memorable for her.

I’m pretty sure that Ricky and Sarah are in the same boat; convinced by dating best friends Keith and Becky to come to prom as a couple. We’re all friends and we’ll have a good time, but this is prom. It’s not just another casual hangout. I’m wearing rented shoes, but they’re not from the bowling alley with a big red “10.5” on the heel. This is not just a movie or another lame party either. It’s prom. It should be dope.

I snap out of my daze when Keith says to me, “Timmy, didn’t you tell me you’re going to Champlain in Vermont?”

I nod.

“Did you know that Ricky is too? That’s cool. You already have a college friend and you haven’t even started yet. Maybe you two should room together.”

Ricky and I only work in a group dynamic setting. It’s kind of an unspoken thing that all eight of us are aware of. Without some combination of the other six present, he and I would be strangers.

Ricky answers Keith for me, “I don’t think freshmen get to have a say in the matter. You go where you’re told to go.”

Chris says, “But still. You’ll both be there. I wish one of the seven of you was going to my school.”

“College is a big place,” I say. “Nothing like high school in a small town. Ricky and I might never see each other.”

The shoeless foot returns to molest my leg again.

~~

The actual dance is in the school gym. Cheap decorations and awkward parental chaperones do little to camouflage the fact that this is still the gym. A house of horrors. I have a flashback of team basketball games. Shirts versus skins. Why was I always on skins? Seriously? Every freaking time. I think the gym teacher was targeting me, but why? I was never a musclebound, iron-pumping kind of a guy. I had nothing special to show off. But every day Mr. Stone would look me right in the eye, point and say, “Timmy, skins”. By the odds alone, it should have evened out. It never did. I don’t know why I even bothered putting a shirt on for gym class. Within minutes I was always told to strip it off.

Forcing high school boys to play team sports shirtless is borderline child abuse, but the real abuse came in the humid smelly locker room afterward. Pushing, shoving, name-calling, towel snapping and general humiliation. And the presence of a male gym teacher in the locker room – Mr. Stone – who never intervened, was more creepy than preventative. I will not miss high school.

Paige and I dance to Take My Breath Away, I’ve Had the Time of My Life and I Want To Know What Love Is. At some point we trade partners one dance at a time until the couples end up all back together again. Fancy clothes, too much hairspray and overdoses of perfume and cologne almost (but don’t quite) mask the lingering scent of sweat and feet in the air. If a room ever needed better ventilation, this is it. Eventually, we disperse and the bigger group is no more. Paige excuses herself to the restroom and I drift over to the punchbowl. Standing here, I realize that my fear has come true; it’s just me and the damn punchbowl. I don’t think the punch is spiked, but it still tastes like shit.

Billy, a kid I know from Spanish class, sidles up to me and says, “I thought you two were just friends?”

“Paige?” I look at Billy but I can’t see his eyes. He’s wearing Ray-Ban sunglasses. Inside. At night. I want to tell him that Corey Heart was like forever ago and he looks like an idiot. But, he’s an idiot who also happens to be one of the few decent guys in this school, so instead I say, “We are.”

He shakes his head, “Is that what she thinks? I asked her to prom long before you did and she turned me down. And I wasn’t the first one either. She said ‘yes’ to you.” He gives my arm a play-punch and leaves me standing there.

Shit. I am going to end up hurting her. Why would she turn down real offers and say yes to me? I can’t really be her secret crush, can I?

I realize that it’s been about fifteen minutes and Paige has not returned. I know she drank some punch earlier, maybe it is spiked. But now that I think about it, I haven’t seen any of my friends in a long time. When one finally appears, it’s not my date. It’s Chris.

My best friend’s smile envelopes his face when he sees me, like it has for nine years now. He puts a hand on my shoulder and says, “Take a walk with me.”

“Where’s Tracy?”

“Hanging with Keith and Becky. She knows I’ll be right back.”

He sneaks us out the gym doors and leads us down the hall, dimly lit by scattered emergency lights.

“Where are we going?” I ask.

“To your prom.” He grins at me.

“Umm, where have we been so far?”

“So far we’ve been to everyone else’s prom. Now it’s your turn.” He hooks his arm around my shoulders as we walk down the hall and past the cafeteria.

“Chris, I can’t just abandon Paige.”

He sighs, “I didn’t twist your arm into asking Paige to prom for my benefit. I mean, sure, it’s cool that my best friend is here and all, but I did it for you. You deserve a memorable night as much as anyone.”

We are now standing in front of the closed choir room door. Chris is not only in the choir, but he is a trusted section leader. The teacher gave him a copy of the key as he sometimes runs after school practices. He takes the key out of his pocket and turns to me before inserting it into the lock.

Paige disappeared a while ago. What has Chris cooked up here? Is she on the other side of this door expecting some romantic alone time, just the two of us? I say, “Umm, Chris…”

“Timmy, you’ve been my best friend for as long as I can remember.” He looks me hard in the eyes, “I know you like no one else. I mean…I really know.”

I swallow. What does he think he knows? He sees that I’m starting to tremble and sweat.

His smile fades and he turns serious. “If I ever did or said anything that made you think you couldn’t tell me…” he trails off.

Suddenly I’m no longer afraid that Paige is on the other side of the door. Now I put my hand on his shoulder, but I have no words. I could have told Chris. I should have told Chris. I just didn’t want to weird him out. But neither of us have actually said the words yet and I am still only 90% certain that he means what I think he means. So, I remain quiet and nervous as he says, “Your prom is right this way.”

He sticks the key in the door and it swings open. With his hand on the small of my back, he guides me inside first and he closes the door behind us. The room appears to be empty, but then a shadow moves in the dark corner. A figure emerges from behind the risers and my heartrate kicks up as I recognize the walk, the posture, the wavy windblown hair… He’s finally out of the shadows and Ricky’s smiling face is revealed.

My cheeks are burning red. I turn to Chris with misty eyes but it’s him who says, “Dude, you’re gonna make me cry.”

I hug the shit out of him, “Not telling you was never… Look, you were always gonna be the first one...”

He gives me a strong squeeze then breaks us apart, “There’s plenty of time for us to talk later. Right now I figure you two have about a half an hour for your own private prom.”

“What about Paige and Sarah?” I ask.

“They’re fine. They’re together in the theatre. The last thing they’re worried about right now is the two of you.”

“They…?” I feel like I’m playing catch-up here, but puzzle pieces are beginning to fall into place. Paige has had a crush on someone for a while now, but we never knew who the object of her desires was. She didn’t turn down Billy and countless other guys because she wanted to experience prom with her friend Timmy. I, Timmy, was her cover story. Her beard. Just like she was for me – except I wasn’t in on this little secret plan. Chris, Keith, Tracy and Becky orchestrated all of this. I stammer, “So Paige and Sarah…”

“Yes, you clueless idiot.” Chris shakes his head. “Why do you think you two guys are wearing matching ties?”

“Because we matched our dates,” I say in realization.

Chris nods, “Your dates who both happen to be wearing teal dresses. Matching teal dresses. Coincidence? I think not.”

He slips a cassette into the boombox that’s sitting on the piano. He presses play and True Colors fills the room. My arms tingle with goosebumps. Chris gives me a one-handed shove and I stumble closer to Ricky.

Chris says, “I think I know what I know, but I’m gonna need some confirmation here. Kiss him and prove to me that this is real. That it wasn’t all for nothing.”

Who am I to deny my best friend his wish? I give Ricky a PG-13 kiss and Chris hoots. “Oh my god! You guys are too cute! I think I might barf!”

All three of us laugh.

Chris grabs the door handle, “You two are not locked in, but the rest of the world is locked out. Thirty minutes. You have until the end of the tape. When the songs run out, your time is up. Meet the rest of us back at our table in the gym.” He slips out and we can see the thumb-lock turn as he locks the door from the outside.

True Colors ends and Never Surrender begins. I look at my friend. My friend who I hardly know outside of the group. Or, the guy I used to hardly know. I reach out my hand and he takes it. The sensation is electric.

Ricky…

~~

Three months earlier.

I was struggling in my Calculus class. Actually, we all were. The teacher, Mr. Byers (who happened to look like Santa Claus) was awful. It was his last year before retirement, but he should have already been gone. Everyone was failing his class, so he was forced to grade on a curve. Even still, I was only getting a “C”. And so was Ricky. He and I were the only two of our octet who were in that class. Neither of us could risk a failing grade so close to graduation.

So, Ricky invited me to come over to his house to study and work on our homework problems together. Despite being sort-of-friends for more than three years, I’d never been to his house. He’d only been to mine when our other friends were there too. I was a little nervous. For my part, the weird friendship vibe thing between us had nothing to do with me liking him any less than the others. It had everything to do with how seeing him and being near him made me feel. I would get unexplainable odd flutters. Ricky was freaking cute, that was an undeniable fact, but why did his cuteness make my stomach do somersaults? From the age I first started “noticing” people, those people were always boys. It was in my DNA. It was who I was, like it or not. And while I could find something cute in almost any and every boy, none of them ever made me feel the tingles that Ricky made me feel. I didn’t know why he made me tingle. He wasn’t the cutest at any one thing but when all of his cute parts were put together into one beautiful boy, it was magic.

So I didn’t understand it for a long time. And then one day my genius brain figured it out: I’m gay and I like Ricky. I felt guilty. Like I was bad, or at least wrong. Maybe if I lived in New York or San Francisco or something, then who knows? But here in Nowhere Town West Virginia? Gay people aren’t real here. I must not be real. But the electricity in the air when he entered a room sure felt real. And right.

I walked to his house with him after school and neither of us said a word the whole way. Once there, he offered me a soda, but I declined. We headed up to his bedroom and he closed and locked his door. His modest room was clean enough, but it smelled like boy. Not in a bad way; I loved it. It was a potpourri of a leather baseball mitt, books, cheap cologne and sneakers. It was wonderfully intoxicating.

His desk was small. He offered it to me and he sat on his bed after spilling out the contents of his backpack. We set about the business of figuring out how to do our homework problems. Despite the incompetence of the teacher, Ricky and I are both reasonably intelligent students and eventually, it started to make sense. He tried to get comfortable doing his work on the bed. I watched in mesmerized silence as he languidly rolled into numerous positions, none of which completely satisfied him. He’d lie on his back with socked feet against the wall above his headboard. He’d roll on his side and prop his head up with his wrist. He’d flop on his stomach and lean on his elbows with the smooth skin of his side above his hip bone exposed as his shirt rode up higher each time he twisted positions. I offered to sit on the floor so he could have his desk back. He scoffed and assured me that he was raised to have manners. His guest would have the chair.

We were down to our last problem when Ricky ran out of room in his notebook. He had a blank one on the shelf above his desk. The whole time we worked, my back had been to the desk with my own notebook in my lap so we could talk and work through this shit together. Ricky rose from the bed and stood right in front of me. He had to stretch and reach in order to snag the notebook. When he did so, I couldn’t help but notice that the bottom button of his shirt had come undone, probably during all of his fidgeting on the bed. I was getting teased by the beautiful sight of stretched out taught skin, smooth, vulnerable and only inches from my face. I never knew a lower abdomen could be so…tempting, arousing…sexy. I desperately wanted to touch it. I wanted to make it quiver. I wanted to give it goosebumps. I wanted to lick it. Suddenly my crotch was threatening the seams of my jeans.

And then he lost his balance. I had to catch him to stop him from falling on me. My hands flew up to his waist and I steadied him as I grabbed the bare skin beneath his billowing shirt. I had just been fantasizing about stroking the teasing strip of sensitive skin above his waistband, but now I was gripping his soft warmth in wonderment as I realized my wish had come true.

He giggled, “Sorry, Timmy. I’m not usually so clumsy. Or so ticklish.” He giggled again and I realized that despite the fact that he wasn’t falling anymore, I hadn’t let go of him. And I was kind of squeezing. Oops. I reluctantly let my hands drop limply, but my dick was the farthest thing from limp.

He tossed the notebook on his bed but remained just inches in front of me. He dropped to his knees and we were eye-level with each other. He moved in close so our noses were three inches apart. Our eyes were locked. He said, “Your eyes. They’re two different colors. I noticed years ago, the first time we met, but this is my first look up close. They’re fascinating.”

I gulped stupidly and wordlessly. I have a blue eye and a green eye. It’s by far the most interesting thing about me. Otherwise, I find the man in the mirror to be boring. Whenever someone notices, it becomes a whole conversation. Soon, everyone around is staring at my eyes. It usually ends up with me turning crimson red in embarrassment from the intense scrutiny and unwanted attention. But right at that particular moment, most of the blood in my body was concentrated on my raging hardon. Blushing was not an option.

Ricky took my chin between his thumb and index finger and tilted my head, “They’re amazing.” I fought to not look away.

I swallowed, “I’ve never seen eyes like yours before either. They’re grey. Most people have brown or blue or hazel eyes. Yours are totally awesome. I’d trade with you any day.”

He laughed and let go of my chin, but remained kneeling in front of me. He picked my right foot up off the floor and set it in his lap as he sat back on his heels. “I forgot to mention that this is a no-shoes house. My mistake.” He tugged at my shoelace and untied my white Nike high-top sneaker. He did so slowly, like this was a moment to cherish. He wrapped one hand around my calf and the other around the heel of my shoe. He pulled in opposing directions and my foot slid out free. I can obviously take my own shoes off, but somehow, in that moment, I was frozen still.

I was quickly unfrozen when Ricky began stroking my freshly freed foot up and down my sole. He mentioned that he was ticklish just a minute ago. Me too. I got real nervous, real fast. But he didn’t tickle me. He gently rubbed, caressed and massaged my foot. Like a complete idiot, I sat there saying nothing, save for a few embarrassing moans of pleasure. When he switched and pulled off my left high-top, a big humiliating hole in my sock at the ball of my foot was revealed. Ricky grinned and slipped his finger inside, swirling around my arch on the bare skin. That did tickle and I tried to wrench my foot away, but he grabbed me by the calf and held on tight.

“Sorry,” he said. “That was way too tempting. I couldn’t resist.” He smiled again.

And I couldn’t resist his smile. It made me feel like a blob of jelly, lolling in his desk chair. When he finished my left foot’s massage, he set my foot down and knelt upright again. Once more we were eye to eye. He raised a hand and glided his knuckles gently down the side of my face. I began to tremble and he took my hands in his. My hands were clammy. His were warm and dry. He said, “Take a breath.”

I inhaled and it felt good. I hadn’t realized that I’d stopped breathing. Fortunately, Ricky did. He squeezed my hands, “Timmy, this is a safe space. You can do anything you want here. You can do everything you want here. You can also put your shoes back on and walk out of my room and out of my house. The choice is yours, though I really hope you don’t choose the latter.”

I took in another deep breath and my shaking subsided. I smiled at the cute boy kneeling in front of me between my knees as I continued to hog his desk chair. I straightened my back, grabbed a fistful of his shirt and pulled him even closer still. I was more than a little surprised by my own boldness. I guess I’d chosen. He matched my smile and my heart skipped several beats. Our noses were three inches apart. Then two inches. One inch. None. And then he kissed me.

Wow, did he taste good. He wasn’t minty fresh or anything; he was just Ricky. He tasted exactly like I imagined he might, and surprisingly different at the same time. At first, it was just lips. Small pecks that slowly evolved into lingering grazes and nibbles. Then little licks. He licked my lips then I licked his. He kissed my nose, then I kissed his nose and his chin. He kissed my chin and cheek and I kissed his cheek and his forehead. He kissed my forehead and my ear and I kissed his ear and his neck. And then our lips reconnected. This time harder. Deeper. His tongue parted my lips and stroked my teeth. He put his hands in my hair and held my head as he dove in deeper still. His tongue found mine and despite it being February, I felt like it was the Fourth of July.

I slid my hands under his shirt and found his sides again. This time, he wasn’t falling and he didn’t giggle from my grasp. His skin was so smooth and warm. I never knew skin could feel so good. My hands explored higher and he shivered. He was still kissing me so relentlessly that I could hardly tell what I was doing. I managed to snake my hands around to his back and my fingertips glided up and down his spine. He immediately sprang goosebumps everywhere and we both smiled. I brought my hands back around front and started undoing his shirt buttons. I figured he liked that by the way his grip in my hair tightened and his tongue made its way half way down my throat. I nudged his shirt off his shoulders and felt it slip down his back when he released his grip on my head for just a second.

With our faces stuck together I used my hands like a blind man to explore my now shirtless friend. I touched his neck, I traced the contours of his shoulders, I trailed his sternum, I grazed his armpits, I kneaded his pecs. The kissing only intensified. My hands traveled lower and he trembled when I reached his stomach. Smooth and lean, I stroked my fingers back and forth and a fresh round of goosebumps popped all over his skin. I played with the waistband of his underwear that was clinging to his frame just above his jeans. It was all such a surprise. I wasn’t sure how far we were going to let this go. I didn’t want to do something wrong, so I waited for a signal. When he leaned into me and I felt his raging erection through his designer Girbaud jeans, I figured that a literal, real-life signal was as good as any. I nodded and so did he.

He pulled my red Coca Cola sweatshirt off of my body by the sleeves and we each took a moment to look each other over – two shirtless guys, sharing a first time together. My eyes took in what my hands had already seen. He was spectacular. Every inch of his skin was smooth and inviting. I was fascinated by his topography. The contours of his shoulders, his biceps, his collar bones, his pecs, his rib cage, his abdomen, even is jutting hipbones were a spectacle. This was nothing like gym class. I’d be on team skins with Ricky anytime. Over our three plus years of friendship, I’d seen Ricky shirtless a few times, at the pool or the beach, but this was different. Better. Up close and in private. I wanted to explore and discover every square inch of him with first my eyes, then my hands and finally my tongue. And by the look in his hungry grey eyes as they danced all around my body, he liked what he was seeing too.

He took my hand and led me over to his bed. Still standing, we each stepped out of our jeans. There we were. Two eighteen year old virgins wearing only socks and boxers. Boxers with matching wet spots at the vertex of our matching erections. This time I put my hands in his hair and I invaded his mouth as his hands explored my body. I could kiss this boy forever. He guided us down onto his bed, me on my back and him on top. His mouth left mine and I tingled everywhere as he ravaged my neck. Then he kissed lower. And lower. And lower. When his tongue invaded my belly button, I let out a little yelp of joy. He followed my treasure trail until the trail ended. I didn’t know how or when it had happened, but I realized that I wasn’t wearing my boxers anymore.

A strong hand gripped my steel rod and I gasped from a sensation I’d never before felt in my life. The touch of another. He started gently with light strokes and finger tracing. My hormone crazed body was primed and ready. Then he began gripping, squeezing, rubbing and twisting. My eyes rolled back in my head and more precum flowed from my dick like a leaky faucet. He used both thumbs in opposing circular motions below my mushroom cap and I was about to explode. Literally.

He whispered, “Not yet.”

My heart dropped when he released me, but it gave me the opportunity to come back from the edge. After a minute or two, something else was happening. Something warm, wet and wild. I was in his mouth. His unpracticed, awkward mouth. It wasn’t long before his technique began to improve. Ricky was a fast learner. Not that it would have mattered anyway. The most gorgeous eighteen-year-old boy on the face of the earth was paying the most special kind of attention to me. He could have been awful and it would still have culminated in the best orgasm of my lifetime. But, he was the furthest thing from awful. Taking all of me in would take practice and time, but on that day, he lapped me up like a melting ice cream cone in the summer heat. Was anything in the world ever meant to feel this good? How was this possible? This was beyond ecstasy. The right words didn’t exist.

When I first felt an attraction for Ricky, I didn’t understand what I was feeling or why. I thought it was wrong somehow. Something to shake off, ignore and get over. Those inappropriate feelings were why I never let us connect individually. But then, over time, I slowly came to realize that there was nothing wrong with me or my feelings. I am who I am and I like who I like. But what were the chances that he’d like me back? I would more likely be struck by lightning.

Lightning struck.

What had been happening here in this room for the last thirty minutes… How could this possibly be anything close to wrong? It felt so right. He worked my length up and down, side to side, hands and mouth. He had me right where he wanted me and he knew it. He knew I was close again. This time he only stopped long enough to shoot me a devilish grin before swirling the top of my mushroom cap with his tongue and pushing me over the edge. I couldn’t hold back any longer. My fingers entangled in his hair as I exploded in his mouth. He swallowed every drop while my back arched and my toes curled.

Then I flipped him on his back and I greedily returned the favor.

I’d never touched anyone else’s penis before. Hell, I’d hardly ever seen one that wasn’t my own. Ricky’s was a sight to behold. Fully erect and throbbing, his cock pointed toward his navel, ending just a couple inches shy of his cute innie belly button. It was smooth and beautifully imperfect as it had a slight curve and a bulbous head. I loved that it looked different than mine. It was somehow so very him. A perfect match to the rest of his gorgeous body. And it was raging hard. Any lingering doubt that Ricky wanted me as much as I wanted him was proven false by looking at the monstrous development in front of me. Just knowing that he was so turned on because of me made me feel important. I hadn’t really even started yet but seeing me, touching me, anticipating what I was going to do to him… Oh, he was ready.

I stroked his testicles and his penis jumped before slapping back down on his stomach. I kept that going while I rubbed his steel rod with my other hand. He actually bit down on his hand to stop himself from screaming. I am no musician, but I played him like an instrument. I know that I hit some wrong notes at some wrong times, but I would get better. We would get better. And when I took as much of him in my virgin mouth as I could that first day and sucked like my life depended on it, Ricky didn’t seem to mind that I was a rookie. Not while his whole body racked in violent orgasm with me not stopping until he had to pull me off of him.

We both laid there, flopped on his bed, all energy sapped from our flaccid, spent cocks and bodies. We were still wearing nothing but white sweat socks. Eventually I had enough strength to sit up and pull his feet into my lap. I needed him to be completely naked. I pulled off his socks and his bare feet were as cute as the rest of him. Not too hairy, not too boney. Well-manicured toenails and soft pinkish toe tips. I gently stroked his soles while for the first time in three-and-a-half years, I really talked to Ricky. Just us. Real stuff. Not the bullshit we already knew about each other, like sports, music, movies… We really talked. And while it eventually became obvious that the gentle foot rub I was giving him was having a re-energizing effect on more than just his feet, we also both sensed that there would be time for more of the physical stuff another day. Right then, we just couldn’t stop talking. We ordered a pizza, got dressed and I stayed until I had to go home and go to sleep. Even asleep, I felt like I was still with him. I dreamed about Ricky all night.

So, once a week for the last three months, Ricky and I have gotten together at his house for thirty minutes of exploring Calculus and sixty minutes of exploring each other. We had a little foreplay routine. Every time I would pretend to forget that his house was a no-shoes house because he liked reminding me and taking my shoes off for me. And for him, I wore the sock with the hole in it every time. I would get a punishing little tickle that would evolve into a sensual massage that would evolve into… Well… Naked time. Not that there were any complaints about our magical first time, but we did both become more skilled quickly. Going deeper, avoiding teeth, lasting longer… Like everything else in life, practice makes perfect. And being with Ricky is pretty fucking perfect. The hole in my sock got bigger with each passing week and what began as a crush on a cute guy quickly turned into real feelings.

It was March when we realized that among our respective college lists, we had both applied to Champlain. It was a no-brainer that we would both accept their offer. And yes, we did work out that we will be roommates. But for now, that’s our little secret.

~~

Prom night:

Presently, I take Ricky’s hand and pull him into a slow dance. I kiss him again, this time without an audience. I tell the prom date of my dreams, “You took a big risk at dinner with your little game of footsie under the table. What if you miscalculated and found someone else’s leg?”

He leans his forehead against mine, “If you weren’t sitting across from me looking so damn cute, maybe I could have resisted temptation.”

I scoff, “You’re the cute one. You’ve got a Kirk-Cameron-Mike-Seaver thing going on tonight.”

He gives me a playful punch in the arm.

“What?” I grin. “It’s a compliment.”

“Uh huh.” We resume our slow sway as Never Surrender turns into Against All Odds.

 

I squeeze his hand, “Actually, I’m thinking Johnny Depp with better eyes.”

He squeezes back, “You’ve got kind of a River Phoenix thing going yourself tonight, but with better hair.”

Compliments make me blush. Especially from Ricky. “Were you in on this whole thing?” I ask.

“No. Ten minutes ago, Keith dragged me here to the choir room and turned me over to Chris who shoved me in here and told me to hide in the corner before locking me inside. I was starting to think I’d been kidnapped. Trapped in here until Monday morning. Only able to survive by drinking my own urine.”

I laugh. “Just ten minutes and you’re already looking for bottles to pee in?”

He laughs too, “I’m kidding, but I had no idea what was going on. I had no clue they’d figured us out.”

I pull him in close. Hip bones touching and bellies pressed together, “Hey, I need to tell you something.”

I can sense he knows I’m being serious now. He doesn’t try to fill the space I leave with a joke. He just waits me out.

“I never really thanked you for taking that chance in your bedroom three months ago.” I kiss him. “Taking that courageous first step,” I kiss him again, “…was brave,” another kiss, “…and heroic,” another kiss, “…and the best thing that will ever happen to me in my entire life.” This time our kiss doesn’t stop until the song changes to Can’t Fight This Feeling.

“It wasn’t that big of a chance,” he says when we finally come up for air. “I’d never had a hot guy in my bedroom before. You gave me a million little clues, so I made a move. When I stretched across you for a notebook that I didn’t really need, you didn’t back out of my way. When I pretended to lose my balance—”

“That was pretend?” I cut him off.

He chortles, “You know it was. And you didn’t let me fall. You saved my life.”

I snort. If saving his life means I get to put my hands on his bare skin under his shirt, then I’ll be the brave hero every time. “What other clues did I give you?”

“You let me take your shoes off for you. When I began massaging your foot, you didn’t pull out of my grasp.”

“Your grasp is strong. I was your captive victim.”

Now he snorts, “If that’s the role you want to play later tonight, I’m totally in with you being my captive victim, but on that afternoon? No way. I gave you every opportunity to withdraw or to just say no. But when I studied your beautiful eyes, you held your ground. You studied mine right back. Our faces were mere inches apart. You held my gaze and licked your lips. I moved an inch closer and so did you. I might have made the first move, but you made it safe for me to do so.”

“You were still brave.”

“We were both brave.”

Another kiss. “You know you aren’t just—” I trail off.

“I know. Me too. You aren’t just the boy I got curious with or experimented with for the first time.”

I look into those grey eyes, “Same.”

Billy Joel’s This Is the Time comes on and I get a little choked up because the singer is right. Time is going to change and I don’t want to lose him or this feeling.

Sensing my shift, Ricky says, “Three months from now, in Vermont, every night will be prom night. Our own private celebration.”

“But without the fancy rented clothes.”

“I much prefer Nike high-tops and gaping holes in old sweat socks.”

I laugh. My mood has been successfully rescued.

“Although, that bow tie is a perfect match to your left eye.”

I laugh again. “Do you realize that this is the first time outside of your bedroom that we’ve been able to be ourselves with each other?” I reach inside of his tux jacket and grope around his sensitive tummy. “I can do this to you.”

He giggles and grabs my hands. “You know I’m ticklish.”

“And I can do this,” I kiss him again, this time with parted lips and we end up in a tongue-wrestling battle. As per usual, it ends in a draw.

Two more songs go by as we dance and kiss alone in the choir room. How many more songs can there be? Our time must be running out. Every Breath You Take follows Hungry Eyes and we can feel the air change in the room again.

Ricky sighs, “But we can only do these things because we’re alone. Behind a closed and locked door.”

This time it’s me perking him up, “First of all, college in Vermont will be a completely different world from high school in West Virginia. Second of all, don’t forget… Just a little while ago we kissed in front of Chris. That’s kind of epically huge.”

“But he’s Chris. Your best friend. He loves you like a brother. They don’t come any better than Chris and Keith.”

I pull his hips against mine again, “So you’re gonna tell me that a week ago you could have imagined that moment?”

He smiles, “Okay. It was kind of epic.”

“College will be full of people just like Chris, Keith, us and the girls. A lot of things will come to an end over the next few months, but not us. We’re just beginning.”

“Lame,” he grins at me. “Will you be majoring in writing greeting cards? Or sappy song lyrics?”

I poke him in the tummy again and his grin turns into a belly laugh.

He pulls me into another kiss that lasts until the final song ends.

~~

On our way back to the gym, we pass by the theater. The door opens as we approach and Paige and Sarah step into the hall. When they see Ricky and me, all four of us smile. I take Paige’s hand and Sarah takes Ricky’s as we re-enter the gym as two couples, which we are. People just don’t know how we actually couple up.

We find Chris and Becky and Keith and Tracy standing in a corner. We join them. Eight friends with only a few more months together before life scatters us all around the country.

I walk right up to Chris and hug him hard. I hug my best friend almost every day of my life, but he knows this one is different. He asks me, “How is your prom night going?”

I smile, “My best friend made sure it was the best prom night in the history of prom nights.”

His smile back is sincere. I’m gonna miss him so much when we leave for college, but somehow I just know we’ll be best friends forever. Like Ricky said, they don’t come any better than Chris.

His smile fades and he grabs my arm, “That mixtape I made for you two? No judgement! If you ever make fun of me for the songs I chose, I will punch you so hard.”

I laugh, “Chris, they were perfect.”

He lets go of my arm, “Bon Jovi and Metallica wouldn’t have exactly set the mood.”

I’m still laughing, “If I’m gonna make fun of you for anything it’ll be for your epic fail at Moonwalking during Billie Jean.”

His cheeks turn pink.

I bump his shoulder with mine, “Seriously. You are the most awesome best friend in the history of best friends.”

We’re standing in a circle of eight, contemplating our afterparty plans when Billy walks by. Billy puts a hand on my shoulder, nods his head in Paige’s direction and says, “Timmy, you really are one lucky bastard,” and he walks away.

And that’s when it hits me. I really am lucky. I whisper in Paige’s ear and her eyes almost pop out of her head. I whisper again and she smiles and nods. She whispers to Sarah next to her, who, after recovering from the initial shock of the message, passes it along to Ricky. All four of us nod back and forth while Chris, Keith, Becky and Tracy watch us in confusion.

Prom is winding down, but the DJ is still playing and most of the crowd remains. I take Paige’s hand and lead her to the center of the dancefloor. Ricky follows suit with Sarah. As Don’t You (Forget About Me) starts, we switch partners. We don’t trade girls, though. Paige takes Sarah’s hands and I take Ricky’s. Two couples dance in the middle of the dancefloor. Two real couples. There are gasps and ooh’s and ah’s as the other kids realize what’s happening. Our four friends are front and center, grinning and cheering us on.

Halfway through the song, I kiss my man. I kiss the shit out of him, just as if we were alone in his bedroom. I could only imagine that Paige and Sarah are doing the same, but I am too entangled with the guy I love to stop and check. The cheering spreads to more than just our friends.

When the song ends, so does our little John Hughes moment. I survey the room. Some kids are laughing. Some look disgusted. Some aren’t paying us any attention at all. But about half of the room seems to approve. They seem happy for us. And they should be. Love is love and I’m in deep.