punK

“Because the only thing that punk rock should ever really mean, is not sitting around and waiting for the lights to go green.”   Frank Turner

Nail made his way through the late-night traffic. It was after two in the morning on a Saturday. He knew most of the other traffic was going to or coming from a club, a bar, or a music venue. He was coming from the restaurant where he had been working ever since he was seventeen, four long years ago. He had been busboy, then a dishwasher and finally, this past winter, made waiter. With tips, he was making enough money to not go a week without decent food or pay the power company reconnection fees when his power got shut off for non-payment. But he still had to watch his spending, still not able to afford internet or cable, relying on the library for the former and friends for the latter.

Turning down Central Avenue, he shifted through gears of his nineteen-year Civic, a car he bought from a cousin for cheap because the air conditioning had stopped working. It still wasn’t fixed, but the car ran well and required little maintenance otherwise.

He passed through Sol, then turned left at Five-Points, going out to the Morningside neighborhood. Off the main road sat a large housing development that was finally turning around, but by the road the two apartment complexes still languished with little or no upkeep. Nail turned into the second one and eased through the complex to the back side where his one-bedroom ground level apartment was located.

Pulling into a parking space, he glanced over at the old Jeep Cherokee two spaces over. Despite it being parked in darkness, he knew every detail of it. The missing plastic fenders, the bent tailgate, faded paint, and an interior ragged out from abuse. The fact the inline six still ran was testimony to its endurance. Its presence let him know Fletcher was waiting on his return, no doubt looking to crash for the night.

Nail made his way along the broken sidewalk around his building to the backside. As he came to the recessed area for the entrances of his apartment and neighbor, he first saw the familiar black sneakers, then the faded jeans, and as he drew near, the rest of Fletcher sitting on the walk leaned back against his door.

“Hey,” uttered Nail.

“Hey.”

Fletcher got to his feet and moved to one side, letting Nail unlock his door and enter the dark apartment with him right behind. As Nail turned on a light, then emptied his pockets on the kitchen counter, Fletcher came into the room and leaned against the sofa taking up much of the living area.

“You want to tell me?” said Nail, knowing something happened between Fletcher and his father. Ever since his mother left them, his father had become worse. At times belligerent to the point of being abusive.

“Same shit, different day. The fucker is drunk off his ass and…” Fletcher replied, letting the sentence hang in the air.

“Well get the blanket and pillow from my closet. I’ve got to get to bed. I’m scheduled to open in the morning.”

“Again? Damn, this is the third weekend in a row you closed, then opened.”

“I know, but they’re short staffed and relying on some of us to take up the slack, besides, I can use the extra money.”

“There’s that,” Fletcher uttered as he left the room to get the blanket and pillow.

Fletcher was on the sofa, blanket pulled up his neck, staring up at the ceiling. Nail was in the kitchen for a glass of water. He set the glass on the paper towel to dry, then headed for his bedroom. Stopping at the door, he looked back at him, wondering how long he could take it.

“Do you want to talk about it?” asked Nail.

“No.”

“Well, get some sleep. Maybe we can do something tomorrow night. Did you know The Skids are playing at the Milestone?”

“Yes, but I’m broke as shit until payday.”

“I may have a line on tickets. Maybe we can go.”

“That would be great.”

“Get some sleep and I’ll see you tomorrow afternoon. I should be home by six.”

Despite his fatigue, every muscle aching in protests to his long shift on his feet, he lay awake thinking of his own life, and that of his friend. Fletcher never had a chance. His parents considered school stupid, something for rich kids, and that he needed to learn how to use his hands, learn a trade, like his father, a mason. So, Fletcher was stuck home with no family support and a bigger problem with his father a drunk who couldn’t hold a job. Fletcher knew dropping out of high school had been a mistake but after what happened, it was no surprise. Now he struggled to make a life for himself and felt his desperation grow day by day, month after month, to get away from his father. For the last four years, with no diploma, a drop out, painted as unreliable, he suffered through one shitty job with low pay and part time hours after the next. Currently he worked at the car wash on Monroe Road, but with tips, it looked promising he might finally be able to get his own place.

Then Nail thought of his own life. He had finished high school, and planned on college, first the community college then a major university to get a degree. But life doesn’t play out the way one hopes. He didn’t have the financial means for community college and his parents were in such a dire situation financially, a student loan was out of the question. So, he graduated high school and started his own path through one shitty job after the next until he finally got hired at the vegan place on 23rd, working his way up to waiter.

He knew how others saw them. He remembered the name calling as Fletcher, Payne, and he walked down the corridor between classes. “Losers,” “Trash,” and one Nail thought hilarious, “Punks.”  He knew the punk movement of the seventies and early eighties, had read about it, and listened to the music. The push against unfair norms, economies not working for the average person, and a desire for an unjust world to burn. And there was the look of those in the movement, a look they had copied in their own way. Considering how the country was more an oligarchy than a republic and the current pure fascism of some, he felt that way now, so maybe he was a punk, just decades too late to be an actual part of it. Thinking of it, he knew for sure Payne had been one.

But Fletcher never seemed to have the rebellion needed to be a punk. There was something about him, a reserve, a shyness around others, which kept him to the side. As he had contemplated before, Nail thought of his friend and how he seemed unhappy in a way he was not. While he dated and picked up girls, Fletcher seemed to get worse with being introverted. He tried to set Fletcher up, but time and time again there was always an excuse not to follow through.

Nail felt lucky he was able to meet women that wanted to go with him. He knew his reputation among friends and how he seemed to always have a different woman, thus the derogatory nickname. One he can still remember obtaining one night at an abandoned parking lot they had been partying in as teenagers. He had Sharon, no it was Cindy, in the back of Payne’s old station wagon. They had moved from groping and just messing around, to him on top fucking her. He had been right at the point of coming when Payne had opened the back and yelled “nail her, nail that ass.”

It embarrassed Cindy so, she had pushed him off as his cock was spurting his load. The mess he made and having her react as she did, embarrassed him, but he never could shake the nickname. Payne, then Fletcher began to call him Nail.

Fletcher still kidded him about it, and how he hooked up all the time. When he asked Fletcher why he didn’t date anyone, or just hook up, there had been the closing in, the eyes cutting away, and some excuse that grew more irrational as they grew older. He had wondered about Fletcher’s sexuality. There was times Fletcher would stare at some guy, eyes following him around a room. And when he met new people, it was the guys he would get tongue tied, uttering his name too low to hear and unable to converse with them without stuttering or saying something silly or out of context. What if Fletcher is gay? It would explain so much. But the thing he didn’t understand was why Fletcher, if he was gay, never acted on it, or come out to him. He had to know it was not something that would affect their friendship.

One day, he had to find a way to talk to him about what was bothering him, and if he was gay, let him open up about that too. He just didn’t know how to do it.

Fletcher stretched, pushing his feet against the arm of the sofa. He looked around the small apartment and knew he was alone. He glanced at his watch and saw it was nearly eleven. It was Saturday and he didn’t have any hours at the carwash, nor did he have anything to do. He lay back and stared up at the ceiling wondering what it would be like to have a normal life. To have a home that appreciated him, supported him, not one he fled far too often, crashing on Nail’s couch. How much longer would Nail let him do it, he didn’t know, but if Nail every got a girlfriend he knew it would have to end.

He lay still, listening to the hum of the refrigerator and the footfalls from the apartment above. He tried not to do, but he was feeling sorry for himself, and it only made it worse. Was he ever happy, and he remembered his childhood and the times he got to stay with Nail or Payne, and how they played cards, or explored the creek that ran behind Nail’s house, or simply watched television until it was nearly night time.

Nail.

He tried not to do it, but he thought of him physically, the masculine body and the gravely voice. If only Nail was like him. It would be so easy. Someone he knew, someone he could trust. Someone that wouldn’t make fun of him or make disparaging remarks. It embarrassed him to think of his friend in such a manner, especially knowing Nail wasn’t interested in guys.

But it wasn’t always Nail he wanted. Up until a little over three years ago, it was Payne. Payne was the one that made him feel breathless, the one he struggled not to stare at when they were hanging out. He remembered how Payne read all the time. Sci Fi and fantasy and history, none more so than books on the founding fathers. His favorite was Thomas Payne, thus the nickname. The man who wrote Age of Reason, something Payne talked about all the time. It seemed crazy to think of it, how Payne held out the most promise of escape, the one surely destined to go to college and become someone, if not famous, at least important. But life is cruel and unfair, and a drunk driver took Payne from them.

He remembered the frantic call from Bobby, then the rush to get to the hospital, only to arrive too late.

He wondered how Bobby was doing. It had to be rough, but he hadn’t been able to go over since the funeral. He couldn’t face them. It was too painful. The theft of one of his best friends, and the one he adored in ways he still could not admit to anyone, not even Nail.

“Fuck,” Fletcher uttered as he rolled off the couch.

In Nail’s bedroom he looked in the corner of the closet for some of the clothes he kept there, then went into the bathroom to shower. In the shower, the water as hot as he could stand it, he soaped up then stood in the spray to rinse off. Turning under the spray, he caught sight of himself through the clear shower curtain. Even though he was distorted and partially obscured by the mirror getting fogged up, he saw someone he didn’t really know. He was twenty, not yet twenty-one. He had been the youngest of the three of them, a birthday not until the third of December, and he had looked even younger, less mature. Even now, he saw a teenager, not a young man. He couldn’t make his age fit the boy in the mirror.

He had to admit he was attractive. The girls called him cute, something he didn’t like, for Payne and Nail had been handsome. He was always the cute boyish one. It insinuated immaturity, making him more insecure about himself.

Dressed in jeans and a black t-shirt, he slipped out of Nail’s apartment, locking the door with is key. Why he never went in on his own was one of his hang ups. It felt like an intrusion, a violation of Nail’s personal space, so he always waited for him to get home. Nail had told him over and over to go on in, until he finally just stopped saying it.

Checking his wallet, he saw there was still a five and three ones in it, enough for lunch at the fast-food joint, or maybe he would drive over to the deli on 12th Street and get a sandwich. He thought there was enough change in his car to give him sufficient money to go there.

Fletcher drove past the fast-food joint, seeing a line of cars wrapping around the building for the drive through and a parking lot that looked full. He headed across town to the deli. Each stop at a traffic light found him digging around the interior for loose change. He found another dollar in the console and a few coins. In the bottom of the cup holder a couple more coins. By the time he arrived at the small deli, it was getting past the time of the largest rush of patrons. The deli was situated at the end of an old shopping center, the flat metal canopy sagging in a couple of places and several of the other lease spaces empty, the windows papered over and for lease signs prominent on each door. Despite its tired worn appearance, it had a reputation as being one of the best, and a nearly full parking lot in front made testament to this reputation.

Inside the long narrow space, tables down one wall, drink merchandisers on the right with the counter for ordering just behind them, Fletcher got in line debating turkey or ham, then whether, or not he should get water to drink or if he could splurge for a drink. Ultimately deciding against it, never sure what the tax would add to his order.

He was almost to the back before finding a table free, one someone had just vacated and needing cleaning off. He sat down, pushed back to give the woman busing the tables room to clean off his table. While he waited, he watched the other people in the space, seeing most looked professional in khakis or dress slacks, or they were in construction or some other profession of a similar nature with their work pants and boots and t-shirts advertising one company or another. He saw their looks back, the judgmental appraisal of his looks. His jet-black hair cut close to the scalp on the sides but long on top, and the tattoos along his right arm, a sleeve in progress, one telling the story of Alice in Wonderland, albeit in his own style, one more gothic in nature.

He wondered how they would judge him if they knew. Knew he wanted to be with another guy. That he wanted to suck their dick and take it up the ass. Would they see him the same way then? Would he look scary then?

A couple of young guys came in, yellow boots, tight jeans and t-shirts advertising a lawn service. The second guy had the sleeves ripped off his t-shirt, revealing muscular arms with a razor wire band tattooed around one. Some of the young women stared at them with lust, and there was a middle-aged guy that appeared to be doing the same. He wanted to scream. Yell at those staring. Why them and not me? He wanted to know why he was someone to avoid but they were not. But he knew they were better than him in the way people measured others. Their worth, money wise, the person inside be damned. Payne was right, we’re just fucking commodities to the economy.

A waitress brought Fletcher’s sandwich to his table, and he turned his attention from the other patrons to it. He ate slowly, enjoying every bite, for most lunches were not this good. Payday wasn’t for two days, and until then he would be back to noodles and whatever else he could scrounge up at home.

“Fletcher?  Hey, Fletcher,” someone called out.

The voice was familiar, but different somehow and Fletcher looked up to see a tall, thin guy standing before him. Short blonde hair and a boyish face, dimples, blue eyes and all. He stared up not sure he knew this person before him. It looked like Bobby, Payne’s brother, but the height was wrong, and the look was different, not as rough around the edges. Black jeans with a chain wallet, black jacket over a black mesh shirt revealing the lean body within.

“Bobby?”

“Yeah,” Bobby replied, laughing. “It’s me, Fletcher. Damn, what has it been?”

“About three years.”

“Of course.”

“How…how have you been?”

“I’m good. It was tough at first, you know, but…”

“Yeah, I know.”

“What have you been up to?”

“Nothing. Just trying to live. You finished high school?” Fletcher asked, trying to remember how old Bobby would be now.

“Yep, last spring. I’m at the community college taking some courses and working part time at the Humane Society.”

“Really? The Humane Society?”

“I help with the feeding and cleaning out the stalls and walk the dogs.”

“You like it?

“Yes, I do. The dogs are far more grateful for what we do for them than some people would be.”

Fletcher smiled, seeing a bit of Payne in his brother.

“You dating anyone?” Bobby asked.

“Huh? I…no…not really.”

Bobby smiled as if he knew, then he looked back at two guys in line about to come up to the counter to order.

“Hey, my friends are waiting, but let’s get together and do something. You still hanging out with Nail?”

“Yes.”

“Hey, it was good to see you. But the guys are waiting, so I’ve got to go.”

“See ya,” Fletcher replied, still shocked at the person before him was Bobby.

He watched him and his friends order, then after a wait, take white bags for each of them and head out. Bobby looked back and waved just before going through the door, and Fletcher waved back, feeling foolish for he was thinking it, considering Bobby in the same way he had always considered Payne.

Nail came out of the bathroom towel drying his hair. He looked into the living area at Fletcher sitting in the side chair staring out the window. It was worse of late, and he knew what was going on. He had denied it to himself for a few days, but it was so obvious now, there was no denying it. Ever since Fletcher ran into Bobby, there had been an anxiousness, an unease, and on more than one occasion, he thought Fletcher was going to say what was going on with him.

At lunch the day before, Bobby and a couple of his friends came into the restaurant. He overheard their conversation about hooking up with guys and joking about it. So, Payne’s brother was gay. It didn’t really surprise him, not when he thought back on it. Payne had often gone at lengths to argue for their rights and fair treatment, and Nail wondered if Payne had known his brother was gay. There had been no doubt about Payne’s sexuality. Payne had been straight, one to chase after the girls nearly as much as he did. Only difference, Payne didn’t follow through sometimes, let his inner demons pull him away. If only they had known how bad it had been.

The real surprise came later, when he brought the guys their check. He still saw Bobby’s expression, the casual look of someone who was comfortable in their own skin.

“Hey, Nail, do you think I’ll be able to talk Fletcher in going out with me? He keeps looking at me as Payne’s little brother.”

Nail had stammered and made himself busy giving the other two their checks before trying to answer. How could Bobby know such a thing when he wasn’t sure? Did Fletcher say something to Bobby, make some confession that confirmed his sexuality? He asked Bobby if he had asked Fletcher, getting a negative response. Bobby said he just knew, then asked if he should just be the one to ask. Nail remembered how he had laughed, Bobby acting so naïve but confident at the same time, much like his older brother had been. This conflicted nature that demonstrated the human condition and all of its conflicted aspects.

He heard his response play over and over in his head, the one he uttered as he took their money.

“If you want to know, you’ll have to ask him. Fletcher will never make the first move.”

Looking across the room, considering Fletcher’s actions and responses in the past, he knew Bobby was right. He could see it now. What he worried about was how to let Fletcher know, for he thought it would give him some relief. But wasn’t it something Fletcher should do when he was ready? He worried Fletcher was too shy, too introverted to make that first step. He crossed the small hall between the bath and his bedroom to get some clothes, then he would make them something to eat by warming up the food he had brought from the restaurant.

Coming out of the bedroom pulling on a t-shirt, Nail decided to wait a bit longer. He would let Bobby approach him, ask him out on a date, then everything should fall into place. Or so, he hoped.

Fletcher slapped his thigh with the towel he had used on his last vehicle of the day. Crossing the lot headed to the building to clock out, he turned to see the large SUV pull away, the black body shiny in the bright daylight. It was four o’clock on a Saturday, and he was off from the carwash until Monday.

Clocked out, he checked his timecard again, seeing the total hours for the two previous weeks and what to expect in his bank account on Monday. It was enough to repay Nail and stash a couple of hundred into the savings account he opened, the goal being to save enough to move out on his own.

He was pulling out of the parking lot when an old Volkswagen Golf flashed its lights then slowed to turn in next to him. He saw the driver was blonde headed, then he saw it was Bobby and he eased back from the street into the parking lot. The Golf eased off the road and next to him.

“Hey Fletcher, you finished for the day?” asked Bobby.

“Yeah, I was just headed home.”

“What are you doing later?”

“Huh…I…nothing. Maybe watch television.”

“I want to go to this Vietnamese restaurant over in Sol. Will you go with me? My treat and I could pick you up at, say six thirty?”

“You want to go to dinner with me?”

Bobby laughed then leaned out the window, looking up at Fletcher.

“Yeah, I do. Will you go out with me?”

The way Bobby said it brought Fletcher up short. Surely, he didn’t mean it that way. He wasn’t thinking of it as a date, was he? He looked around like he did every time he was afraid someone was nearby that could overhear.

“Fletcher, man, it’s okay. Do you want to go to dinner with me? If not, just say so and I’ll leave you alone.”

“That’s not it.”

“What is it, then?”

“Do you think,” Fletcher began, leaning out and lowering his voice, “do you think I’m gay?”

“Fletcher, I’m not sure for you’ve not said one way or the other. But I am, gay that is, and I hope you are too. I hope you are, and you want to go with me to dinner.”

“I…”

“Fletcher, it’s okay. Just be honest with me.”

Fletcher looked at Payne’s little brother, but that description was fading. He saw a young guy that was interested in him and wanted to go out to dinner. He felt his heart racing and his mouth was suddenly so dry his tongue felt stuck in place. But he knew what he had been feeling ever since first running into Bobby. Yes, he wanted to go out with him. So, what if Bobby was Payne’s little brother. He was only a few years younger and eighteen at that. It was now or never, for he knew if he turned down Bobby, he would keep turning down others.

“Bobby…I would like to go to dinner with you.”

Nail comes in from work at the restaurant and finds Fletcher at his door. He’s not surprised but he is surprised to see Fletcher dressed nicer than he had ever seen him. Jeans that were not threadbare and a shirt that looked pressed.

“Hey, man, what’s up?”

“Hey…I was wondering…” Fletcher fell silent, and Nail went to his door and unlocked it, trying to keep things normal between them. “Can we talk a minute?” Fletcher finally asked as he got to his feet.

“Yeah, of course,” Nail replied, going in letting Fletcher follow.

Keys tossed on the kitchen counter, then cellphone, and wallet. Nail sensed Fletcher standing behind him and he turned to face him.

“Okay,” said Nail facing him. He saw the nervousness, like Fletcher was about to jump out of his skin.

“Come on, Fletcher, relax. There’s nothing you could say that would be that bad. Just spill it.”

“I’m going out tonight and…eventually it’ll get around. I know it will, and…I can tell you anything?”

“Fletcher? Come on, man.”

“Okay, okay, its like this. I’m going to dinner with Bobby…Payne’ brother,” Fletcher blurted out, then struggled to hold eye contact with Nail.

Nail smiled, shaking his head. He stared at Fletcher until he had his undivided attention.

“Fletcher, it’s good. That is great. Bobby is grown and if he is anything like Payne, then I’m sure he made the first move. In fact, I know he did. Right?”

Fletcher looked down but not before Nail saw the smile.

“Yes,” Fletcher whispered.

“Bobby reminds me of Payne. He has the same confidence and even more extroverted,” said Nail, then he fell silent for a few seconds. “And he doesn’t seem to have those inner demons,” he whispered, looking up at Fletcher.

“I don’t think so either.”

“Is this you coming out to me?” Nail joked with a grin.

Fletcher laughed, the first time in a long time. “I guess.”

“When are you meeting him?”

“Well, he was to come to my house but…”

“Can he pick you up here?”

“Yes.”

“Of course. Call him. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to get a shower. I feel like shit.”

Bobby pulled into the parking lot at the old warehouse that now housed artist studios and a gallery. The security grilles were down and most of the lights were off. They had dinner, then hung out a bar for a drink, Bobby paying for everything that gave Fletcher mixed feelings. He liked not worrying about money and being treated to dinner and drinks, but he fretted about it, thinking he should be contributing too. The etiquette for two guys was a mystery to him, worrying about every aspect of their date in the moments they were not deep in conversation.

As now, in the parking lot, a place they could be alone. Fletcher’s home was out of the question and Bobby didn’t think his parents would be obliging about them hanging out there. So, like two teens, they were parking at the warehouse. They got out and moved to the front of the car, leaning on the hood. Fletcher looked up at the dark sky at the few stars bright enough to shine through the urban light pollution, and just over the warehouse, a half moon. He wondered if it was cycling to a new moon or a full moon.

“I’m glad you agreed to go out with me,” Bobby whispered.

“Me too.”

“Have you gone out with anyone before?”

“No. You?”

“Yes.”

A silence settled over them. From the distant freeway the white noise of traffic could be heard and somewhere around the old warehouse a compressor or an air conditioner on its last leg was rattling in a new cycle. Bobby slid closer to Fletcher and leaned toward him.

“Can I kiss you?”

Fletcher looked around and grinned foolishly. “Yeah.”

They kissed, then kissed again and grinned at each other. Then they kissed again, Fletcher letting go of his hesitancy. He didn’t flinch when Bobby slipped a hand under this shirt rubbing his stomach. The warm contact sent shivers up his spine, and he pushed his lips against Bobby’s with an increase in his feelings of arousal. The hand moved up and over his chest. It rubbed over his nipples, and he became aware of them, their sensitivity increasing his desire for Bobby.

The hand slipped out from under his shirt, then he felt the tug upward on it. He leaned back and raised his arms, letting Bobby slip it over his head and off. The warm air caressed his skin, then the hand was rubbing over his chest again as lips touched his neck. He moaned, no longer worried how another guy would view him. No worry about being too skinny or not masculine enough. When the hand pushed him to lay back, he eased down on the warm hood of the car. Bobby moved against him, kissing his neck, then down over his chest. A tongue on his nipple, dragging over it until he felt his cock flex in its confines. Then a light bite down on it that made him shudder and cry out. His cock flexed hard.

Bobby took one hand and held it down over his head. With his feet on the ground and laying back on the hood, he was curved back, chest pushed up. The other hand rubbed over his chest, then moved slowly down.

“Please don’t stop me,” Bobby whispered.

Fletcher felt the hot exhale with the soft whisper, then the slick tongue following its curvature. Another hot exhale. “Let me?”

The hand slid downward, straight down the middle of his chest, over his stomach until fingers were slipping under the gap between his loose jeans and stomach.

“Don’t stop,” Fletcher uttered, then moaned as the fingers were slipping underneath his boxers and raking through his pubic hair. Then the first touch. Another’s fingers against his cock, and it flexed with his arousal. The fingers rubbed along its length and toyed with the head, making him cry out.

“Will you take them off?” Bobby whispered.

Fletcher suddenly thought of where they were parked. In the shadows between the only two working security lights in the parking lot of an old warehouse. If anyone were at a window or at the lot’s edge, they could see them. The fingers circled around his cock and squeezed, and he flexed in the grasp.

“Yes,” Fletcher moaned.

Bobby sat up and removed his own shirt, tossing it on top of the car. He jumped to his feet and moved between Fletcher’s legs. He ran a hand up each thigh as Fletcher leaned up and watched.

Fletcher saw his bulging crotch. He felt it too, his hard cock aching for release. And he watched those hands move closer and closer, their aim to give it that release. Leaning up on elbows, he watched Bobby work slowly and with determination to undo his jeans, drag the zipper down, and spread them open. Bobby leaned into the gap and buried his face in his crotch. A hot exhale and the feel of lips on his cock made him moan. The lips moving along this cock as his jeans are tugged down made him moan again. As the jeans slipped easily down his legs the lips closed over the head of his cock and he cried out.

Fletcher raised his hips, letting Bobby slip his boxers down. He watched him ease down between his legs, then a hand guided him to raise one foot then the other. He was stripped naked, his clothes tossed on top of the car. His cock bobbed up and down over his stomach, then drooled, letting the slick pool on his stomach.

He watched Bobby rise, lean over his stretched-out body, take his cock in hand, hold it up, and lick the head. He shuddered, moaned whorishly while watching the tongue try to bore into the slit. Bobby released it and moved to his stomach licking up the pool of slick on it. He felt the slick tongue drag across his flesh. Then Bobby had his cock again, and this time he watched lips press down on the head, and kept going down, letting it slip into the mouth. Inside the mouth was hot, slick and he flexed with the feel of it. He pushed upward and Bobby took it, nose buried in his pubic hair. Then he watched as Bobby sucked his cock. Up and down, over and over, Bobby moved on it. At times slow, agonizingly slow, but then other times with a fast, desperate pace. Far too soon, he was pushed to the point of release. He bucked upward while slapping his hands down on the hood of the car. He cried out, then grunted with each ejaculation as Bobby swallowed around the spurting head.

Fletcher watched Bobby come to his feet, shirt unbuttoned, jeans pushed down, cock hard as rock angled outward. His eyes looked at the lean body with the beginning definition of its masculine form. Bobby grasped his own cock and slowly stroked it.

“Will you do me?”

Fletcher watched the hand move from flared head down to the base. Slowly, gently, and the erotic nature of it made his cock flex and stay hard. He slid off the hood and down on his knees. He looked up at Bobby whose face was in deep shadow. He knew the eyes looked back. He sensed their stare.

“Yes.”

Fletcher took Bobby and stroked down to the base. He felt the veined rock-hard shaft slip through his fingers and when he squeezed, it flexed within his grasp. He leaned to it and dragged his tongue over the head. He tasted Bobby, the odd sweetness of him, and he licked again and again, until Bobby pulled back.

“Stop…stop…too much,” Bobby uttered with a jovial tone. Then he held Fletcher by the head, rubbed the temples with his thumbs, then he pushed forward dragging his cock across the wet lips, over the upper lip, then back across his chin.

Fletcher lost sight of his surroundings. Nothing was in focus, except Bobby’s cock. He pulled back and looked at it in the dim light. The head wet and shiny, the shaft half in shadow, and he moved to it, putting lips around the head, and kept pushing forward until it filled his mouth.

He worked his mouth on Bobby, back and forth, feeling the hard shaft move smoothly through his lips. He was sucking a man. He was sucking his first cock and he closed his eyes and pushed forward until nearly gagging and his nose was buried in pubic hair. The hands moved over his head, fingers combing through his hair. He took his own cock and stroked it back to full erection, the shaft rock hard in his grip. Soon it was apparent Bobby was just aroused as he had been, too turned on to hold out for long. The cock flexed in his mouth, then it swelled thicker. Bobby pushed forward, the head sliding over his tongue, then it gushed cum, thick wads shooting to the back of his throat and quickly filling his mouth. He swallowed, over and over, taking each wad. When Bobby was spent, the hands tightening on his head pushed him back.

“Stop, stop, I can’t take anymore.”

Fletcher took Bobby in hand and slowly stroked him, keeping him hard.

“Will you fuck me?” asked Fletcher.

Fletcher wanted to feel the penetration by a man. He wanted to know what it was like to have a cock piston inside his hole. Looking up at Bobby, he knew he wanted that man to be him. He wanted it to be Bobby who took his virginity.

“Will you?” Fletcher asked again.

“Yes. I want you more than you could know,” Bobby replied, helping Fletcher to his feet.

Fletcher eased back on the hood of the car, positioning himself as Bobby guided him. He raised his legs letting Bobby take each by the ankle. He was spread open. He felt it, the way his ass was made available to him. The feel of warm air moving over him, then the touch. Cock rubbing along the ass, then sliding back and forth along side his own. He took both, holding them together as Bobby pumped his hips. The friction between them was too much and he threw his head back and cried out.

He held Bobby in hand and guided him to his tight opening, while fingering it with his other hand. One finger, then two, then three, Fletcher stretched himself open, knowing the thick cock in his other hand would still hurt. But he wanted it. He wanted to feel it stretch him open and sink into his depths. Desperate with his need, he guided it to his opening.

“Fuck me. Fuck me,” Fletcher whispered.

Bobby pushed, gently, slowly, and Fletcher felt the head penetrate him. He shuddered with its breach of his tightness. Then he held fast to the front of the car as Bobby kept pushing, slowly, sinking into his depths. He felt every inch drag through his tightness. It seemed to take forever, an impossibly long time but finally he felt hips press against his ass. There was the fullness of the penetration, and the gently push against his ass, over and over, as Bobby tried to go deeper.

Fletcher felt alive. His heart raced and he heaved for breath. His skin felt feverish and sweat trickled down his face. He lay back, clinging to the front of the car as Bobby fucked him. A slow gently pace that increased. Grew faster, harder, a physicality that only two men could want. The car rocked beneath him, and he rocked with every thrust inward. He took his own cock and stroked it. His hand was soon slick, and he shuddered with his own manipulation of the sensitive head, and he shivered even more when Bobby sank inward all the way and hammered hips against his ass. The sound of flesh smacking flesh echoed around them.

Fletcher understood his need for this connection with another. He felt the wholeness of it, how it made him feel more alive than ever before. It aroused him, his cock rock hard and thick in his hand, as Bobby moved inside him. He gasped for breath, cried out, and felt cum rain down on his face and chest. He shuddered with every ejaculation from his cock. Bobby held his legs tight and fucked with a brutal pace. Then shoved into his depths and shuddering with his own release.

Nail came out of bedroom rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He had gone back out to meet up with some friends at the tavern in Five Points and had not gotten back home until nearly two. He looked in the living room before going into the bathroom and saw Fletcher asleep on it. There was a smile on his face, and he had pushed the blanket down revealing a bare upper body. There were red marks, especially around the right nipple and on the stomach. Round bruising of a mouth that was too rough. One that sucked at the skin. He smiled, suppressing the desire to laugh. He knew Bobby had taken Fletcher. Payne’s little brother had taken Fletcher’s virginity. He entered the bathroom, closed the door, and let the laugh he was holding in escape.

When he had gotten in, Fletcher had still been out, so it was very late when he had done so. Nail wondered where Bobby and Fletcher had done it, neither’s house available to them. He imagined some stall at a club or bar, then in the car parked in a dark alley, or maybe Bobby got a cheap hotel room, one with mirrors on the ceiling and sheets that would glow filthily in a black light. It made him giggle at the silliness of his scenarios.

He shaved and brushed his teeth, then took a long hot shower. With towel wrapped around his waist, he came out to find Fletcher sitting up.

“Hey, you’re up,” said Nail.

“Yes, what time is it?”

“Almost noon. I’m going to that place on Haywood that serves brunch. Go grab a shower and put on clean clothes. My treat.”

“Huh?”

“You heard me. I made a killing last night in tips, so my treat. Go get cleaned up.”

The restaurant was busy, but not crowded. The waitress led them to the outdoor seating area, placing them at a two-top along the rail of the raised platform. It overlooked a side garden, a small oasis within the concrete walks and buildings. Drinks were brought and orders placed when Nail faced Fletcher and asked about his date with Bobby.

Fletcher flushed red, then smiled.

“That good, huh,” Nail replied to the look and watched Fletcher nod his head.

“You guys fuck?”

“What?  Nail!”

“Well, I’d like to know. What’s the big deal. I tell you everything.”

“Sometimes too much,” Fletcher replied shaking his head.

“But you did, didn’t you?”

“Yes. Yes, we did it.”

“Where? That has me more curious than whether or not my best friend got deflowered.”

“Nail!”

“Well?”

“We went to this parking lot at these artist studios, the ones over in…”

“I know where you’re talking about. That old warehouse building on Bohlin Avenue.”

“Yes, that’s the place.”

“And you did it in the parking lot?” Nail asked, looking as if he would burst out laughing.

“Yeah…I guess someone could have seen us if they had been around.”

“Well, it would have been dark in the car.”

Fletcher looked across at Nail, guilt on his face.

“No, you got out of the car? Nasty fucks,” Nail laughed.

“Not so loud.”

“Okay, okay. But what is important; are you two going out again?”

“Yes. Next Friday night. He has to work all week and I’ve got four late afternoon shifts.”

“Next Friday?”

“Yeah, why?”

“I’m going to Asheville with Emily on Friday, coming back on Saturday. You want to use the apartment?”

“Yes! I mean, if it is okay?”

Nail laughed, then leaned in close.

“Anything I can do to make you happy. You’ve been in a funk for too long.”

Nail’s apartment held their presence within it. Music played softly from an old laptop with the small speakers sitting on the end tables by the old sofa. The smell of food hung in the air, along with the scented candle that sat on the small dining table, the wick still warm. From the living area to the bedroom, clothes lay scattered. A shirt over the back of the sofa, another on the seat of the armchair. On the floor lay socks, one belt, and two pair of jeans. In the bedroom, a pair of boxers lay on the floor by the bed, the other pair hanging from one foot that hung over the side of the bed. The room was dark, the only light what reflected off the white walls from the living room into the bedroom. It made the corners dark in shadow. On the bed, the naked body on bottom seemed to glow with its fair white skin. The other, darker in tone, was like a shadow hovering impossibly in space above. It moved with a rhythm as old as humans. Undulating with flexing muscles, revealing through the smooth skin their form. Then there was the sound. Exhales and gasps for breath. Moans, grunts, and soft pleadings. The whisperings of the most lascivious nature.

“Bobby…fuck me…fuck me harder,” Fletcher uttered, then moaned as Bobby thrust into his depths again.

“OH god…Fletch…I want…” Bobby uttered, moaning with his overwhelming desire, “…I want…take me,” he uttered in a whisper as he fought for control of his own body. He pushed into Fletcher’s depths and kept pushing against the upturned ass. He wanted his penetration to be deeper, to bore into the center of Fletcher’s soul.

“Don’t stop,” Fletcher exclaimed breathlessly. He pushed upward trying to increase Bobby’s penetration. He felt the fullness by the cock inside his hole, and he wanted to increase the pleasure of it. He wanted to be overwhelmed by it.

Bobby stood on knees and held Fletcher’s legs tight to his chest and he fucked with all his strength. The bed rocked, then banged into the wall as the sound of flesh smacking against flesh echoed in the rhythm of their fuck. Fletcher dug his fingers into the straining thighs and begged him to keep going, to fuck harder.

Bobby slowed to a stop, heaving for breath. Sweat trickled down his face and chest and his eyes were glazed over, focused only one thing. Fletcher laid out before him. The head that was turned upward fully revealing the long neck. The flat chest and stomach, the skin glistening in the dim light, and he knew it would be hot to the touch. Then there was the hard cock that rubbed over the stomach leaving a trail of slick.

“Roll over,” Bobby gasped, and he helped Fletcher ease over on his stomach. He looked at the long back and the round ass that arced upward. He watched hands reach back and spread the cheeks. A stroke of his slick cock, he moved down over him and put it to the slick hole that was leaking cum from his first load. He rubbed the head of his cock over it making Fletcher moan and push upward. He rubbed the loosened opening, then penetrated it once again and bore into the depths of Fletcher’s body.

Fletcher pushed upward taking every inch as he buried his face into the bed and cried out. He moaned as cock tugged outward and he grunted with every push inward. Bobby angled his position and hit something inside him that made him see stars and he cried out when it was so hard, his own cock flexed beneath him. Then Bobby zeroed in on the spot and hammered it. It left him breathless, moaning and grunting, and undulating beneath Bobby to increase the feelings that it aroused inside him. He wanted every push inward to feel this way.

Then Fletcher came. His cock exploded with his release, and he shuddered with every spurt, wad after wad, soaking the bed beneath him.

Bobby felt it, the spasm of every ejaculation around his thrusting cock, and he jammed into Fletcher’s depths and hammered his hips against the round ass until he too came. He shuddered and cried out with the first ejaculation, then he jerked and shook with each subsequent ejaculation until finally spent.

“Fuck…Fletch…that was…” Bobby uttered, falling on the bed beside him.

How long they laid in bed afterward their sex they didn’t know. It was late, the sounds of the city outside settled to only the occasional car passing by. Fletcher didn’t know why he thought of it, why now of all times. But he did.

“I miss him, you know,” Fletcher whispered.

“I know.”

“I still can’t believe he’s gone.”

Fletcher rolled to his side facing away from Bobby. The bed rocked and an arm wrapped around his chest as Bobby spooned against his back.

“Sometimes I want to call out to him, just to ask a question or to get his opinion, then remember he is gone. He was the best brother a guy could have, but I know for you…I know you loved him.”

“What?”

“He told me once that he knew how you felt about him. He worried about you so much. He could never be the person you wanted him to be, and he feared you would let life pass you by because of your shyness and fear of coming out. He was such a punk, a real rebel at times, but he could have such empathy for others.”

Fletcher lay still, almost afraid to breathe, as he heard about Payne knowing he was infatuated with him. The arm tightened around him as Bobby snuggled up closer. He felt the warmth shared between them. He felt the soft exhales against his neck. He felt secure for the first time in a very long time.

“But Fletcher, I can be the person you need…if you let me.”

Two Years Later

The leaves on campus were turning. Reds, oranges, and yellows mixed with the browns, giving a visual confirmation of fall, even if the temperatures were still in the low eighties. Students came from class heading to dorms or apartments, while some were headed to a late afternoon class or lab. One student, among many, wove his bicycle through the crowd. He wasn’t in a hurry, but he loved to ride fast enough to feel the wind in his face. He stood on the pedals and coasted around a turn then pedaled hard up the incline. Soon he was at the edge of campus, where he crossed the main road and coasted down the incline into the old neighborhood. There were streets with houses and two blocks over, apartment complexes that dated back to the seventies and eighties. It was the cheapest housing, a place for students on a tight budget.

He swung around the corner to get on Elm Street, then turned again into the parking lot of the Tiger Run Apartments, with their pale beige walls and garish blue trim. Pulling up the third building, he stepped over and off the bike, walking it up to the sidewalk.

Backpack still on his back and carrying his bike, he made his way up the old steps. The concrete treads were stained and cracked, and the steel runners and railing had been painted so many times it was uneven and rough. As he approached the balcony he heard rap from William’s apartment, then country music from Wyatt’s, and heading to his apartment, he heard some old punk music that made him slow down. He’d not heard the song in a long time, not since Payne had died. He listened to the familiar lyrics and the rough way they played and smiled.

He swung the door open and entered apartment 34.

“Hey, you in here?”

“Yes,” Fletcher called out, stepping out of the small walk-in closet they had to share. “How was class?”

“Good. Got an 87 on that calculus test and this on my English paper,” Bobby replied, holding up several sheets of paper folded vertically. On the outside was a 92.

“Damn, that is awesome.”

“Yes, it is. I feel like celebrating. You want to go for pizza at the place on Garden Street?”

“Can we afford it?”

“Yep. Mom sent me a few dollars for spending money.”

“You want to see if Kevin and Garcia want to go?”

“Sure, the more the merrier.”

“I heard from Nail today.”

“What did he have to say?”

“He asked Emily to marry him, and she said yes.”

“Wow. That is big.”

“He’s going to take that job in Denver and wants her to go with him.”

Bobby grinned as he moved to Fletcher, hugging him playfully, rocking him back and forth.

“When are you going to marry me?”