(10)

The next morning when I wake up it's to the sound of the shower being turned on.  That's him, I think, picturing Brad in the bathroom and remembering what I did to him last night.  Grinning to myself I stretched out under the sheets.  My dick was sticking up nice and tall – good ol' morning wood.  I reached down and touched it a little, gave it a couple of quick squeezes.  Felt it jerk and get even harder.  Remembered some more about me and Brad, picturing the scene in my mind.  Grinned and stretched again, tightening every muscle in my body, then relaxing them.  Damn, I felt good!  When I got out of bed my dick was so stiff it stuck straight up against my belly.  It was so full of blood it felt like the head was about ready to split right open.  I batted it back and forth between my hands.  It was so fucking hard it barely even moved.

I heard Brad moving around in the shower.  Sticking my hips out I waggled my dick in the direction of the bathroom door.  The water turned off, the shower curtain pulled open.  I started walking my way over towards the bathroom door.  Spread my legs open wide and practically waddled over, my dick was feeling that huge.

What can I tell you – I was fucking horny.

Brad was moving around in there, just behind the bathroom door.  I could see the shadows his feet made.  Fucking little piece of shit.  I put one hand on either side of the door and leaned in, squeezing my buttcheeks together hard.  Pushed out, leaned in.  Out – in.  Out – in.  It's kinda like I was doing standing push-ups – or like I was maybe fucking someone.  I heard Brad toweling off.  Heard him rubbing the towel all over himself.  Heard him sniffle.  Heard him cough.  Next he started brushing his teeth.  I wondered if he was gonna take time to shave.

I dropped my hands from the sides of the door.  Stepped in a little closer.  Imagined him squirting a thick white pile of foam into the palm of his hand and rubbing it all over his face – his hairy ape-man's face.  Just like I rubbed my cum all over it last night . . .

Gathering a big wad of spit in my mouth I dropped it into my hand and started plastering my dick with it.  Right away I began making these sounds, grunting and groaning – I couldn't help it.  Besides, it was fucking turning me on to be making those sounds, knowing Brad might be able to hear me.  I kept my legs open wide and bent slightly at the knees – my dick pointing straight at the door.  Suddenly I noticed it'd gotten kind of quiet in there.  I wondered if Brad was standing there just on the other side of the door, listening.  Maybe he was.  I tried to keep my grunting down to a minimum, but it was pretty fucking hard, lemme tell you.  And when I started to cum, there was like, this loud splat sound from when my cum hit the door . . .

It was fucking amazing, that sound.

After I was done I walked around the room a little, shaking my hand out and getting my breath back.  Then I heard the door leading from the bathroom into Brad's room open and shut.  I crossed my bedroom – noticed my cum was still running down the door – picked up an old t-shirt or something off the floor and wiped it off.  A few minutes later I stepped inside the bathroom and flipped on the light.  It was still warm in there, still wet.  I could smell soap in the air, shampoo, deodorant maybe . . . toothpaste.  I stepped into the shower stall.  It had puddles in it from where he'd been standing.  I splashed my feet around in the puddles – the nice, warm puddles . . .  Closed the curtain.  Turned on the water.  Then I reached down and started soaping myself up.  And then I . . . then I started to . . .

Well, what can I tell you?  I was sooo fucking horny!

When I got down to the kitchen, I saw Brad sitting at the table chewing on some eggs and toast.  My mother was at the sink, washing up dishes.  Jimbo was reading the Sunday paper, his plate pushed away from him, the yellow juice from his eggs slowly drying . . .

I fixed myself a bowl of cold cereal and milk and sat down.

No one was talking, everyone's off in their own world, and the sound of wheat flakes crunching in my ears was so frigging loud – then I noticed Brad looking at me, and his mouth moving.  I stopped chewing.

"What," I said.

"I asked you, what're you planning on doing today," he says, talking to me like nothing was wrong, like nothing had happened, nothing had changed.  But when I looked at him a little closer a chill ran down my spine.  Cuz his eyes, they got no expression in them – no expression at all.  They're like a dead man's eyes.

Something about his tone of voice seemed to catch my mother's attention.  She turned to look at him, then tipped her head to one side, studying him closely.  "What's that mark on your neck, Brad?" she asks.

"Uhh . . . what mark?"

"That red mark, there, on your neck."

"Dunno," he grunted.  "Razor burn, probably."  I gave a snort, my belly jerking with laughter.  What else could he say?  That he'd challenged me to a wrestling match, and then, when I'd lost, he'd made me suck his dick?  And that I'd decided to give him a little payback for it?  No.  He just went back to eating his eggs.  And my mother went back to washing dishes again, apparently satisfied with his answer.  Even though it was obvious Brad hadn't shaved that day.

The room was buzzing with silence.  Brad was still looking at me like he was expecting an answer to his question.  I crammed a couple more spoonfuls of cereal in my mouth, then shoved back my chair.  Ran up the stairs to my bedroom and grabbed some money off my dresser.  Came back down, crossed through the kitchen, through the utility room and out the backdoor . . .

I'm just getting onto my bike when Brad steps into the garage.  "Where d'you think you're going?" he asks.

I shrug.  "Like it's any of your business?" I say.  "I dunno.  Around."

"Hold up a minute," he says.  "I wanna talk to you."

"There ain't nothing to talk about," I tell him.

"Yeah, there is," he says.  "About last night."

"Last night was what it was.  Deal with it."

I get on my bike and make ready to leave.  Brad steps across the garage and positions himself in front of me, blocking my way.  "You still don't get it, do you, little bro?" he says.

"Uhh . . . I think I got it just fine," I tell him.

He shakes his head.  "No," he says, "you didn't.  You don't.  See, what you ain't getting is that I've been trying to teach you something.  Trying to make you understand something . . ."

"Yeah?  Understand what, Brad?"

 "How . . .  How . . ."  But he seems to be having trouble finding the right words.  I grin at him, then laugh out loud.  He ignores me.  "I've been trying to find a way to make you see," he says, "that there's a way to give your energy, all this goddam anger you got, shape and form –"

"Well, listen to you!" I hoot.  "Sheeit!"

"To give it direction, so that you can use it, control it, master it maybe –"

I hoot again.  "Whad'you think I did," I ask him, "last night?"

"Let it conquer you," he says quietly.  "Let it beat you.  See, you think you beat me, but you'ree the one who –"

"Jesus, Brad – what a fucking liar you are!  Look, I got news for you, bro," I say.  "In case you hadn't noticed, I wasn't the one who got beat last night."

"See, this is exactly what I mean," he says.  "You're just not getting it.  The point wasn't . . .  It wasn't to  . . ."

"The point," I tell him, "is that you're a cocksucker.  I proved that.  Now get the fuck out of my way."

He's shaking his head again.  "You're hopeless," he says finally.

"Yeah, yeah."  I wheel past him out of the garage.  "See ya around – cocksucker!" I yell.

"Hopeless!" he yells back at me.  "Completely, totally –"

Pedaling down the driveway I stick a hand up behind my back and give him the finger.

"Hopeless, hopeless, hopeless!" he shouts behind me.

"Yeah, yeah – whatever," I mutter.  I put my head down and pedal hard, pedal till I can't hear him no more.

That night I get home late – everyone else has already eaten.  I check out the food in the fridge and make myself a quick meal, then duck up to my room.  I hear the tv blaring in the tv room as I go past, but whether Brad's in there or not I don't know.

I find out soon enough.  When I turn on the light in my bedroom and shut the door suddenly his arms are around me, wrapped round my belly, pinning my arms to my side.  He must've been waiting for me behind the door.  The dinnerplate I'm holding falls to the carpet.  Food splatters all over the place.

"I think you and me need to talk, little bro," he says, his mouth close against my ear.

"Leggo of me!" I growl, and start twisting around trying to free my arms, balling my hands up into fists and trying to strike at him somehow, anyhow, while he half-walked, half-dragged me to the bed.  For an instant, as he leaned back, my legs are scrabbling empty air – then he pitches to the side and we fall heavily together onto the mattress.  He throws one leg over mine and hooks his ankles together, his arms still coiled around me, binding me up tight.  Just like he done to me before.

"Easy, bro," he says.  "Easy.  Eeeasy . . ."

"Get offa me, you faggot!" I spit at him.

"Sometimes I think you got a one-track mind, little bro," he says.  "Makes me kinda wonder about you . . ."

"Get offa me!" I holler.  "You . . . you fucking hairy ape!"

I hear him give a snort, whether in surprise or cuz he thought what I said was genuinely funny I don't know.

"I told you already – we got something to talk about," he says again.

"And I told you last night," I say, "we're done talking!"

"Huh-uh," he says, and the way he's got me wrapped up he knows I'm gonna have to listen to him whether I want to or not.  "I'm afraid I don't see it that way.  The way I see it, we still got us a bet to settle."

"Liar!" I yell at him.  "We settled that bet.  It got settled last night."

"Seems to me," he says, "that the most you can claim is a tie.  And that's not counting the fact that you fought dirty.  I don't even know that you can rightly say you won."  I jerk against him at that but he clamps his arms down tight.  "Yeah, little bro's a real badass," he growls.  "Or thinks he is anyway –"

"Get the fuck off me!" I holler.  I can't stand it, I cannot fucking stand it, being all tied up this way again.  Can't fucking stand his mouth up against my ear, his body pressing in on me . . .  So what's Brad do?  Puts his mouth even closer.  "Say please," he whispers.

I grind my teeth together, try to duck my head down away from his mouth, the feel of his breath.  "Please," I say finally, just to get him off me.  The fucking faggot.

He holds a fist up to where I can see it.  "Easy," he says, "or I'll use this."  He presses the fist against the side of my head while pushing his other hand against my back to hold me in place.  Unwraps his legs from around me and slowly stands up, still pushing down on me with his hands.  When he lets go, he moves quick a few steps back, fists held up.

I sit on the edge of my bed and glare at him.  "Why don't you get the fuck out of here?" I say.

He shakes his head.  "I ain't done talking, little bro.  See, the way I figure it, we got us one more match coming.  One more match to settle our bet.  And this time, little bro – this time, it's serious.  This time, it's winner takes all."

I roll my eyes.  The room's spinning on me a little – but just a little.  Mostly what I feel is tired.  "Fuck you," I mutter.

He squints his eyes at me and I see the corners of his mouth twitching like he almost wants to smile.  "Maybe . . ." he says.  "Maybe . . ."

When the meaning of what he's said sinks in, I cannot fucking believe it.  I cannot fucking believe it.  "Get out of here," I tell him.  "You dirty goddam little motherfucking faggot pervert."

He laughs.  Laughs soft and low.  His eyes are shining, dancing.  "You think so, little bro?" he says.  "Is that what you really think?"

"Yeah," I tell him.  "That's what I really think."

He grins.  "Well, there's one way to find out, little bro.  One way to find out."

The room starts spinning more now, it's dipping and swaying in front of my eyes.  "Get outta here," I say.  "Get outta here or I swear I'll –"

He laughs again.  "You could just say no," he says.

I stand up.  My hands are clenched, balled up into fists.  I'm shaking all over.  Brad's grin turns into something like a sneer.  He's looking me up and down like I'm something he just squashed under his foot.  "Fuck," he says.  "I don't even know why I bother.  You really are useless.  Totally fucking useless."

I move towards him and he backs up a step.  I move again and he backs up another step.  But he still don't stop shaking his head, and he don't stop looking at me like I'm something that fills him with disgust.  He reaches back behind him and finds the bathroom door.  I see his hand close on the knob and turn it.  He steps inside the bathroom.  Shuts the door in my face.

I stand there staring, staring at the spot where he'd just been and thinking about everything he'd just said, and the room starts spinning faster, faster . . . till everything's just a soft, blurred whirl.  Brad's hard, low laugh seeps out from behind the door.  "Shot your load a little too early this time, didn't ya, little bro?" he says, and his voice is like a shot of acid through my brain.

I go back to my bed and lie down.  I feel sick.  Jesus, I feel sick.

"Bwaaak! bwuk bwuk bwuk," he says through the door.  "Bwaaak! bwuk bwuk bwuk bwuk . . ."

I quit my job at the car wash the next day.  Told Jimbo I'd got a new job roofing houses.  Then I actually called a guy I'd met at the car wash once who'd offered me a job like that while we was talking.  Fortunately he says he can still use me.

That job only lasts a week.  Not that there ain't enough work to do, but . . .  Well, I got in a little trouble.  Problem was, one of the men on the roofing crew decided that since I was bottom man on the totem pole he had the right to ride me.  To point out every little mistake I made.  Then he made out like I had an attitude cuz I wasn't grateful to him for it.  He called me a punk.  Called me a jerk.  Called me an asshole.  One day we start circling each other in somebody's backyard, fists up, waiting to see who'd throw the first punch.  The boss catches us going at it – and orders me off the property.  Says he can't afford to have customers seeing that kind of behavior from his workcrew.  Tells me I don't need to bother coming back tomorrow.

I was out of work a week, ten days maybe.  I didn't tell nobody though, just kept pedaling off on my bike every morning like usual.  Spent the day hiding out at the Circle.  Finally I landed another job – this time at a factory.  And that job was ok, I guess – I mean the people there was ok . . .  But it blew my mind to see how some of them been working there like, ten, twenty years or more – and still say they like it!  I mean, the work's fucking boring.  And the foreman's a bitch.  Ain't no way I'm gonna turn into one of those people . . .

So I quit.

I ask Jimbo if I can go back to work at the car wash again.  He says, "What happened to your roofing job?"  I shrug.  He says, "Uh-huh.  And what am I supposed to do about the guy I hired to replace you?"  I shrug again.  He says, "Aaron, you need to start learning to act more responsible."  He says, "You better shape up, young man, cuz this is your last chance."  He says, "Yadda yadda yadda."  Long story short, I get my job back.

So then there I am again, sitting in my lawnchair baking in the sun with nothing to do but watch Brad and Jimbo go at it all day, trying to rip off the customers.  Jimbo acting greasy as ever.  Brad walking around looking all smug and self-satisfied in his freaking fucking ape-man's business suit.  We'd been avoiding each other – or at least, not getting in each other's way – all this time at home.  Now everything goes back to the same ol' same ol', more or less.  Him strutting around acting like he's the hottest thing since King Kong, me thinking all the time what an asshole he is.   Looks to me like Jimbo's got him bought and sold by now – and I'm supposed to be the one with the problem?  I mean, it makes my skin crawl to see him acting like such a happy dickhead, that thick neck of his and everything below it all wrapped up tight in a business suit.  Christ, don't he have any pride?  Well . . . apparently not.

Fuck him.  He was like some fucking animal really.  I could see it in his eyes, the way he'd look at me, grin at me sometimes.  I mean, what the fuck?  He's the one letting himself get turned onto being a crook.  And then this one time, when he notices me eyeing him, I see him start laughing.  Then he starts making those chicken noises again.  "Bwaak! bwuk bwuk bwuk . . ."  When I get up out of my chair to confront him about it, he turns his back on me.  Ignores me – or pretends to anyway.

Yep, I think.  Here we go again.  Same ol' same ol' . . .

I was itching for a fight.  Frankly, I'd been wanting to get into it with somebody for weeks, ever since that guy on the roofing crew had started riding me.  It was on my mind more and more all the time.  I needed to blow off some steam.  And there was Brad, just waiting to be had . . .  So I started considering it – wrestling him again I mean.  Far as that "winner takes all" bullshit he'd laid on me, that wasn't bothering me too much at this point.  I'd whipped his ass once, I could do it again, then do whatever else I wanted to with him after.  He'd be in no shape to care.  Or I could do nothing at all, just whip his ass to a pulp for the pure satisfaction of it – then turn my back on him and walk away . . .

And finally I decided that's how I'd play it.  I'd whip his dirty faggoty ass, then just . . . walk away.  Leave him begging for more, so to speak.

So one night I catch him in the hallway outside our bedrooms, and I say, "Alright Brad, I'm ready.  How 'bout it?"

He goes, "How 'bout what, little bro?"

"Jackass.  You and me.  How 'bout we do a little one-on-one next Saturday night?"

He gives me a look, and then I see him – un-fucking-believable! – I see him almost smiling.  "C'mere," he says, jerking his head towards his bedroom and stepping inside.

I follow him in.  "Well?" I say.

He flips the light on, shuts the door.  "So you finally grew yourself a pair, huh?"

"Uh-huh – whatever," I say.  "So?  You up for it or not?"

"Oh, I'm up for it alright."  He's stroking his chin and grinning broadly at me now.  "There's one little problem though, little bro.  I ain't gonna be here Saturday night."

I go, "Bwaaak! bwuk bwuk bwuk bwuk!"

He starts laughing.  "Naw," he says, "you don't get it.  I'm leaving.  Leaving Friday night.  After dinner."

"Huh?  What're you talking about?  Summer ain't over –"

"Huh?" he says, mimicking me.  "No, summer ain't over yet.  But I gotta go to wrestling camp for a coupla weeks.  To prepare for next season."

"Oh," I say, then shrug.  "Well, I guess that's that.  Have a nice trip."  I turn to go.  He says, "Whoa – whoa, little bro.  I ain't through talking to you yet."  And he puts his hand against my chest to keep me from leaving.

"Jesus," I say.  "You ain't gonna try and kiss me goodbye now or something, are you?"

He tips his head back and laughs again – laughs like I just said something funny.  "You got some mouth on you," he says.  "No, little bro, I ain't gonna try and kiss you.  Fact is, you and I both know I can whip your ass anytime –"

"Uh-huh," I say.  "Says you."

"I did it once, didn't I?  And the second time – well, we both know you fought dirty.  But I mean, if it's a fight you want – oh, you best believe me little man, I could give you a fight."

Little man.  I roll my eyes.  "Yadda yadda," I say.  I feel my lip curling up.  This time it's me looking at him like he's some bug I just squashed under my shoe.

A sudden flash of anger crosses his face.  Very satisfying.  I turn to go, but before I know what's happening he's got me pressed up against the door, one thick hairy forearm jammed up under my chin.  Holding the arm in place with his other hand, next thing I know the dirty motherfucker's also got his knee jammed up between my legs.  I can feel his kneecap flattening my balls.  I start gagging.  My tongue's sticking out from the pressure he's putting on my throat.  I pull at his forearm and try to twist my head to one side, but nothing moves.

"You like that?" he snarls.  "Huh?  You like how that feels?"

I make a choking sound.  He grins.  "No?  You don't like that?  Huh?  Huh?  It bother you not to be able to fucking breathe?"  He keeps me that way a little longer, then loosens his arm up just enough to let me get some air back into my lungs before jamming it back up under my chin again.  Sticking his face up close to mine he growls, "I'm sick and tired of your mouth.  Sick and tired of the way you act.  Sick and tired of your attitude.  So here's where it changes, little bro.  Right here and right now.  Lemme tell you how it's gonna be from now on.  Lemme tell you what you're gonna start doing for me, starting right now."  I try to jerk free of him, but he jams his forearm deep into my throat, pushing hard.  My eyes are watering.  My nose is beginning to run.  "What's the matter, little bro?" he says.  "That bother you?  That hurt, having someone's fucking arm shoved into your fucking throat?"  Black spots are swimming in front of my eyes.  I feel like I might piss myself.  He eases off me a little.  "So – you gonna listen to me now?  Huh?  Huh?"  I nod.  "Ok," he says.  "So make sure you listen good.  First off, come this fall, you're gonna start behaving yourself in school.  Your grades are gonna improve, and you ain't gonna get in no more fights.  If you do, I'm gonna come back home and you're gonna have to fight me.  Get it?"

"Fuck you," I say, choking out the words.  "I ain't . . . going back to school!"

He jams his forearm up under my chin again, clamping my mouth shut.  He's got a look on his face like he's so mad he almost wants to cry.  I'd laugh, if I could.

"Alright then," he says.  "You don't wanna play it that way, then here's what else you're gonna do for me.  Come this fall, you're moving in with me.  That's right, you heard me – you're moving in with me.  What, you think I can't make you?  You think you can leave school, just up and walk out on it, without having to answer to no one?  Your mom and my old man ain't gonna give you any help.  Don't believe me?  Ask 'em – they're through with you.  You think you can get a job?  A place to live on your own?  Takes money, little bro.  You got any of that?  Hell, you're just a kid.  You're just a stupid-ass little kid who ain't got no diploma, no skills, and no fucking brains either, far as I can tell.  You leave school and you got no choice, little bro.  It's me or nothing!"

He breaks off then and lets me go.  Starts pacing round the room, pointing his finger at me and barking out shit like he thinks he's some kind of goddam drill sergeant.  "And don't be thinking you can get around your mother on this," he tells me, "or my old man.  I already talked this over with them.  Yeah, that's right – I told 'em all about how you was planning on dropping out of school.  And guess what, little bro – they officially no longer give a fuck.  After all the shit you already pulled?  Huh-uh.  They're done.  You leave school and far as they're concerned you ain't nobody's problem but your own.  They want you out, understand?  So when I tell you you got two choices, either to stay in school and start getting your act together, or to come up to college and move in with me, you better believe that I know what I'm talking about."

"You're fucking cra –"

"No!" he shouts, and sticks his finger back up in my face again.  "You are!  All I'm trying to do is to . . . is to . . ."  He lets his hand drop.  "Christ," he says, "I don't even know why I bother.  But understand this – what I'm telling you is how it's gonna be, pure and simple.  You got two choices.  Two – that's it.  The only answer you gotta come up with is, which one's it gonna be?"

"You're a crazy man," I tell him.  "You're fucking nuts.  I'm supposed to live with you at a frat house?"

He shakes his head.  "Huh-uh," he says.  "Not there.  I'll get an apartment off campus.  My old man said he'd pay for that.  He's willing to do that much more for you at least –"

"And what the fuck am I supposed to do there?" I ask him.

"Dunno, man – that's up to you.  Study for your GED.  Get a job.  Get your shit together.  Stop acting like such an asshole all the time –"

"And start taking all my orders from you, I suppose?"

"No.  Just live with me.  Just live with me, little bro.  You do that and I promise you, the two of us'll work this thing out together.  We'll work this thing out together."

I reach down with my hand and find the doorknob – open it.  Once out of his bedroom, I start walking down the hallway fast.  He doesn't try to stop me.  But then, just as I get my hand on the doorknob to my own room, he leans out his doorway and calls me again.

"Hey – little bro!"

"What," I say.

"I almost forgot to mention.  When I get back from wrestling camp I'll have another week or so left before I gotta head back to school.  You know what that means?  We still got us one more Saturday night coming."  He busts out laughing at the look on my face.  "Oh, little bro, little bro . . .  You are so –"

"Fucking crazy," I mutter.  "You're fucking crazy."

"Yeah, yeah," he says.  "So – you up for it, little bro?  You up for it?"

"You're fucking crazy," I yell at him.

"Uh-huh.  Just remember, little bro – this time, it's winner takes all!"  I slam the door shut behind me, but he shouts it again anyway.  "It's winner takes all this time, little bro!  Winner takes all!"  And then I hear him laughing.  He laughs and laughs and laughs . . .

That night, lying in bed, I can't stop thinking about it.  He's got me.  Got me all tied up in knots again, and I know it, and he knows it, and I know he knows it.  And it's killing me.  It's like it ain't never gonna end, this thing between us, and there ain't a damn thing I can do about it.

I keep tossing and turning.  I can't sleep, can't sleep, and as the night wears on all these weird pictures start flashing through my mind.  Like, I see him walking towards me, naked, his thick heavy thigh muscles tensing and loosening with every step, his dick getting longer and harder and fatter . . .  Then I see him making me suck that dick – and me making him suck mine.  Next I see him humping blondie, his hairy ass rising and falling, his buttcheeks spreading open every time he lifts up, squeezing together hard when he bears down . . .  But, did that really happen?  Did that ever really happen?  I only had his word for it – but it must have.  It must have.  He wouldn't have lied about a thing like that.  Would he?

Winner takes all.  Riiight.  If I won I could stuff it down his throat again, stuff it down his throat till he gagged.  Till he suffocated.  Or I could beat him to a pulp, then stuff it up his ass.  Yeah – even that.  Stuff it up his hairy fucking ass . . .  Cuz he deserved that.  He fucking deserved to get fucked . . .

Or I could just walk away from it.  Walk away from him and my mom and Jimbo – walk away from them all.  They couldn't stop me.  No matter what they tried, they couldn't stop me . . .

But Brad had said they wouldn't try.  They wouldn't even try to stop me.

But . . . what if he won?  If he won I'd have to . . .  I'd have to . . .  Fuck.  Who knows what I'd have to do.  Or let him do . . .

I rolled over and gave my pillow a punch.  Then I gave it another one.  Punched it like it was his goddam motherfucking face.  Fuck him!  He had me all tied up, neat as could be.  Just like always.  Fuck him.  Fuck him, fuck him, fuck him!  Nobody cared anymore.  Nobody gave a shit about me, 'cept for . . .  No!  Fuck him!  Fuck him!  Fuck him . . .  Fuck him . . .  Fuck him . . .