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By Thermidor
Ray Kowalski shimmied up the tree in the Vecchio's side yard.
Luckily he was skinny enough to crawl from the small branch
to the roof overhang below Ray's window. Hopefully he wouldn't
grow much faster than the branch. Since he had started hanging
out with Vecchio a few months ago, he'd gotten pretty good at
this climbing thing. He crept slowly, careful not to make any
sounds that would wake Mrs. Vecchio in her bedroom below. Ray's
window was closed and the curtains were drawn, but there was
a light on. Ray tapped on the window softly. Nothing happened
so he tapped again.
The curtains parted just enough for Ray to see a big nose
and one green eye. Then the window came up quickly, nearly knocking
him off balance.
"Kowalski! What the hell are you doing here?" Vecchio
asked, but he didn't sound mad.
Vecchio actually looked pleased, like he was happy that someone
would climb a tree for him or something. It was weird, but it
made Ray happy.
Ray grinned back at him. "Got bored and got beer. C'mon
down."
After Vecchio had pulled on some jeans and a sweatshirt and
followed Ray down, Ray yanked away an old blanket on the ground,
revealing a six pack of Old Milwaukee.
"That's some crappy ass beer, Stanley," said Vecchio.
"You got something better? Besides, it was free; I got
it for fixing Joey Jastrowicz's bike."
"I ain't complaining."
"Oh, is 'crappy ass' Eye-talian for 'thank-you'?"
"Something like that," said Vecchio, "Now let's
get out of here before Ma hears."
There was a vacant lot on the Vecchios' street where sometimes
guys got together to have a beer or some smokes, but this was
a Thursday. They had it all to themselves. They crawled under
some shrubs to a little clearing. It was a great place, not
visible from the street, and it felt like they were in the middle
of nowhere instead of a vacant lot in a neighborhood.
Ray spread the blanket out on the slightly damp ground and
handed Vecchio a bottle. Vecchio grinned at him and they sprawled
out on the blanket, sipping their semi-cold beers. They didn't
talk much, which was odd for them. Usually they were trying
to one-up the other about something or razzing each other about
something else. Ray had noticed that he and Vecchio hardly ever
shut up around each other, like if there were silence something
might happen. Not a bad something, just a weird something. And
he was definitely feeling weird.
So he was actually relieved when Vecchio said something, even
if it were stupid. Vecchio said, "How's dancing lessons,
Stanley?"
Ray knew that the "Stanley" was Vecchio's way of
trying to get his goat. So he stayed calm and said, "Jealous,
much, Vecchio?"
"Jealous? Of dance lessons?"
"Yeah, since the only girl you probably get to dance
with is Frannie, and I get two hours a week with real girls
like St-"
Vecchio interrupted, "Like you're in it for the girls,
you pansy."
Ray rolled onto his side to face Vecchio. "Who are you
calling a pansy, you scrawny mama's boy?"
Vecchio leaned up on one arm and looked at Ray. "You,
Mr. Dance Class pretty-boy. Girls or no girls, only a fag would
go to dance competitions."
"I could kick your skinny ass," said Ray. He felt
his face grow hot. Thinking about Vecchio's ass made him feel
weird.
"Yeah, try it," said Vecchio, leaning forward. Ray
thought it sounded like an invitation, but maybe he was just
thinking with his dick, which was starting to get hard.
Ray leaned closer and put his hand on Vecchio's chest, pushing
him back down on the blanket. He was looking down at Vecchio
who looked scared for a moment before he got his usual smug
expression back.
Vecchio whispered, "What are you gonna do now, pretty-boy?"
Ray thought it sounded like a compliment.
He leaned down and touched his lips to Vecchio's, bracing
himself for the reaction.
The reaction was fast. Vecchio opened his mouth and licked Ray's
lips as his hands grasped Ray's jacket, pulling him down. Ray
tried to regain his balance and settled with one hand braced
on the ground and the other burrowing under Vecchio's sweatshirt.
It occurred to Ray that this was the weird thing that was waiting
to happen when they shut up and that Vecchio was a really, really
good kisser. He was more enthusiastic than Stella Parsons or
Kimberly MacKay. They barely opened their mouths.
Ray also noticed how much he liked feeling around under Vecchio's
sweatshirt. He was slim, but had muscles and, unlike Ray, a
pretty fuzzy chest. It felt cool, and he ran his fingers over
it. He found a nipple and Vecchio bucked under him, breaking
the kiss. He buried his face in the collar of the sweatshirt
and Vecchio started kissing and nipping at his ear. Ray breathed
in; Vecchio smelled really good, a little tiny bit sweaty over
his aftershave. Ray rubbed his thumb over Vecchio's nipple and
Vecchio nipped his ear hard in return.
Ray moved back up to kiss Vecchio some more, and Vecchio took
advantage of his shifting to roll them over. Ray was distantly
aware of the soft thunk of bottle falling over and the accompanying
smell of beer. Then Vecchio was stretched out on top of him
and Ray reached down to put his hands on Vecchio's ass. It felt
better than he had imagined, and he only barely admitted that
he had imagined. He squeezed a little and Vecchio moaned
in his mouth as their crotches rubbed together.
Vecchio had his hands on Ray's shoulders and Ray kept grabbing
Vecchio's ass, both of them trying to get the most friction,
to feel each other between layers of denim. They stopped kissing
to breathe, and Ray felt the air cool on his hot slick mouth.
Vecchio was groaning and Ray was bucking beneath him. He sucked
in one last gasp of air and came, shaking in Vecchio's arms.
Vecchio leaned down and kissed him again, deeply. He thrust
against Ray again, tensed, and then collapsed on Ray's chest.
They lay like that for a few minutes, panting. Finally, Vecchio
rolled off and flopped beside him on the blanket.
"We spilled the beer," Vecchio said.
"Yeah," Ray said.
"Next time, we should be more careful." Vecchio smiled.
"Yeah," said Ray.
The end
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