I was your typical drama-geek, though a lot more subdued—hopefully. I prayed I wasn’t as obnoxious as those kids on TV shows about high school students. I wasn’t constantly giving long monologues about the idiocy of mainstream culture or strumming a guitar singing covers of Bruno Mars songs. I just highly valued theater as an art form. Man, that seemed kind of pretentious, but it was true! As lame as it may have sounded, theater honestly was my life. I had been in every production since freshman year—the fall plays, winter dramas, and spring musicals.
Sure, I was a good student, but that wasn’t fun. And it
wasn’t like I was athletic or exceedingly popular. My passion was performing on
stage, no doubt about it, and it was a surprise even to myself. I didn’t talk much,
and I dreaded holding conversation with people. When I was in the fall play
freshman year, it was the first time many of my peers heard my voice. I will
say as I’ve matured, I’ve become more willing to speak up for myself, but four
years ago you couldn’t pay me to answer a question in class, even if I was a
hundred percent sure of the answer.
I worked hard as a member of the Jackson High Thespian Troop. I was incredibly dedicated to all of our productions, and I had even gotten the lead role in two separate shows. I was hoping to get the lead in the fall play this year, which would be Of Mice and Men. It was the story of the big, lovable oaf Lennie and his cynical pal George during the Great Depression.
The Troop had absolutely no clue who our Lennie Small would be. Nobody in our productions stood any taller than six feet, which was nowhere near as imposing as we needed our Lennie to be.
I was short, only about 5’5” and slim. Most of the
drama crew was pretty small in terms of stature and weight. Everyone was really
body conscious in the drama club. Most people didn’t outwardly speak badly of
our larger members, but there was always an underlying negativity.
I was black, mostly. My dad was half-white, but for
all intents and purposes, I was black. I thankfully had some natural
muscularity, so I wasn’t all skin and bones. As I’ve said, I wasn’t much of an
athlete. I couldn’t do anything involving balls, bats, or racquets. Running and
swimming I was okay at, but other than that I was hopeless. My dad had been
crushed by the fact that I couldn’t even get a hit playing T-Ball. I’d close my
eyes every time I swung the bat. I was a regular Hank Aaron (I knew he was
good, but I couldn’t for the life of me tell you when he played or what team he
was on. My dad loved the guy, claiming he was one of the greats). Thankfully,
my younger brothers were already showing signs of being potential MLB all-stars.
I’d just have to accept that I would never meet my father’s expectations.
We were in the second week of September (we
had been in school for a about three weeks) and the weather was still fairly
hot. I loved warm weather and the sun and the beach. I was still rocking my
summer skin tone, so I had a golden-brown complexion. I’d get lighter as we
went into the colder months, but for now I had a beautiful healthy glow. I
hated winter. I was my worst self in layers and layers of clothing.
We’d had auditions last Thursday and after the roles
were cast, the production would move next-level fast. It happened with every production;
there was never as much time to prepare as we thought there’d be. I had
auditioned for George. I went to the school’s bulletin board right outside of
the main office that Monday to see if I had been cast. I was so nervous. The
Troop had become my whole life.
George—Kyle Donnelly
Candy—Harold James
Curley—Jimmy Ignacio
Curley’s Wife—Jane Kingston
Slim—Raul Mota
Crooks—Richard Smith
Carlson—John Waterson
The Boss—Ken Ortega
Whit—Holden Sanders
Lennie and Candy’s Dog—TBD
I couldn’t believe it. I’d been cast as Whit. How in
the hell was I cast as Whit? I mean, come on! He had fewer lines
than Candy’s dog. I almost cried right there, and then I felt really silly
about crying publicly over a high school adaptation of a John Steinbeck novel. I
held back my urge to sob and made my way to the bathroom. I locked myself in a
stall and let a few tears escape my eyes. Sure, it was silly, but it still
meant a lot to me. This would be my last fall play ever. I was eighteen years
old and graduating from high school in less than nine months. I had to make the
most of every day I had left. I balled my hands into fists and closed my eyes. But
wait! The worst part wasn’t even the fact I was cast in a role that could
be performed by a mannequin—no, the worst fucking part would have to be that
the lead went to Kyle Donnelly, who was a terrible actor and a total ass.
His vibes were way harsh. I knew I didn’t like him, and he’d pissed off
numerous members of the Troop, but he was still an integral member (his parents
donated a lot of time and money to the drama club).
I had to calm down. This was no time for a meltdown.
There was still the winter drama and spring musical.
I exited the stall and headed to class feeling
worthless. I almost considered dropping out. I swear, if I didn’t get the lead
in the musical, I’d blow my brains out. I had Spanish IV first period, followed
by AP Calc and AP Bio. English IV was fourth period, with the head faculty director
Mr. Murray.
I didn’t want to see him. He and the student director,
Eva Porter, were the ones responsible for casting me as Whit. I’d spent the
first three periods of my day hearing about how crazy it was Kyle would be the
lead. It’d been brought up numerous times in shady remarks that Kyle and Eva
dating probably played a major part in him getting the role of George. I wanted
to believe Eva had integrity, so I ignored the gossip.
Mr. Murray was one of the oldest teachers in the
school. He was pushing seventy, and nobody understood why he hadn’t retired
yet. Kids said it was because he never got married or had children and that he
wouldn’t know what to do with all that time to himself. Sometimes I thought I
might end up like him, and it freaked me out. He was totally a latent
homosexual. He mentioned women sometimes, but in a half-hearted way that made
it seem like he was covering up something. (“Oh, that Saoirse Ronan is a
beauty. If I were her age, I might be willing to settle down.”)
But at the end of the day, I was gay—and I was
sure people knew it. Most of my closest friends in the Troop knew. I didn’t try
to act all manly and stuff to hide who I was; I wasn’t that type of guy. But
still, even though I was doing my best to be true to myself, I still worried
about what people thought of me. Did I speak too girlishly? Did I move my hands
too much when I talked? Did it ruin my chances of playing some of the great
roles in theater history?
I sat at my desk as class started, totally disinterested
in what Mr. Murray was talking about until he started a class discussion. This
old queen was ruthless during class discussions, going out of his way to pick
on the unprepared and the distracted. He wasn’t about to catch me slipping.
“We’ve just discussed some of the context of the poem,
which now gives us an opportunity to analyze it further,” Mr. Murray said,
looking from face to face of each of my classmates, deciding who he’d engage
with one-on-one. “Why does this poem relate to life even today?” he asked the
class as a whole. A couple of kids shrank back into the seats of their desks,
some stiffened up and stared straight ahead. Mr. Murray was scanning the room,
like some sort of rogue robot from the future trying to determine which
lifeform would be most beneficial to exterminate.
I looked at Mr. Murray, who had his sights set on
Gregory Williams. He was the worst English student ever. Hell, he was probably
the worst student ever. Gregory nervously flipped through his notebook,
which looked packed with information. Who had written that stuff down for him?
It probably wasn’t even notes for this class. He was probably one of those kids
who used one notebook for all seven periods.
But still, I couldn’t stand to see such a big lug in
distress. I had to intercept Mr. Murray’s attack. The poem was fairly simple to understand, and
hopefully my analysis would appease his bloodlust. I raised my hand quickly,
trying to help, but as Mr. Murray and I made eye contact, he smiled and said, “What
do you think, Gregory?”
Gregory sat up, no longer flipping through his
notebook. He looked petrified. This happened every time he got called on. I
felt bad for him, but then I remembered how easy he had things. He had straight
C’s because he was gigantic. He was on the football, wrestling, and water polo
teams. And I meant it when I said that he was huge. At 6’4” and at least 280
pounds, teachers wanted him to be able to play so our school would win.
I didn’t have a problem with Gregory Williams—he was
so my type—but the whole “he’s a jock, pass him” thing sort of pissed me
off. I worked hard to do well in school and manage extra circulars, why shouldn’t
he?
“I—I didn’t get it,” he said finally. He was
embarrassed. “It was stupid.”
“It was not stupid, Mr. Williams.” Mr. Murray
chastised, obviously dismayed at such a lackluster response. “It was artistic exploration
of an important theme in African-American culture, which I would love for you
to tell us about. Try again, perhaps discuss some of the figurative language.”
“I—I couldn’t find any,” Greg said, his face falling.
I glanced at his desk; the printout of the poem was annotated extensively. All
he had to do was look at his notes! Why was he so afraid?
“We can wait,” Mr. Murray continued, pressing him
further and further. “Take your time.”
Time began to move in reverse, I swear. Greg looked at
the poem, scanning each line with his thick pointer finger, reading it soundlessly,
though his mouth was moving. I couldn’t stand this abuse of power. Some of the
other students in the room snickered. I didn’t consider this teaching. This was
capital punishment. “Hey Greg,” I said, not one to normally speak in class
myself. “Do you remember what an extended metaphor is? Mr. Murray went over it
in that PowerPoint last week.”
I couldn’t bring myself to look at Mr. Murray. I could
tell he was upset by the exasperated sound he’d made when I spoke without
permission. I just focused on Greg, in the row to the right of me, two seats
up. I watched his wide back in his plain, black t-shirt. He shifted in his seat,
turning to look at me. His eyes were so desperate, and it made me feel
terrible. This was probably killing him.
He held his notebook in his hands, shaking slightly. “It’s
‘wh—when a comparison between two unlike things continues throughout a series
of lines in a poem.’” He’d read it with minimal trouble, then looked up at me.
“Yeah,” I said. “This poem is basically one of those
completely. What do you think is being compared?” He turned quickly, grabbing
the printout. He turned back, looking at me again. Having his attention like
this was strange. He’d hardly paid me any mind before. Him looking at me like
that, with his scared brown eyes. I wanted to protect him at all costs. I
wanted to make sure this never happened to him again.
I was getting ahead of myself.
“Maybe this crystal stair is being compared to life,”
he started. “The mom is talking to her son, and she’s saying that life hasn’t
been no crystal stair. So life is hard, I think. And Langston Hughes is using a
bunch of stair words to talk about how hard life is, especially for black
people.”
“Yeah, what words make you think that life can be
hard?” I asked, pretty sure I should have shut up two questions ago.
“It says there are splinters and boards that are torn
up and—and uh, no carpets.” I could sense he was feeling more confident now. He
smiled at me gently before turning forward in his seat. He looked at Mr. Murray
before speaking again. “And the mom in the poem knows life is hard, and she’s
letting her son know, so he never gives up. That’s how it can relate to today.
All parents know stuff their kids don’t, and they’re just trying to guide us
through the hard times.”
“Quite the analysis,” Mr. Murray said, turning to the
front of the room and walking towards his desk. “I’d love for you to locate
another piece of figurative language Mr. Ignacio—with no assists please.” He’d
finished with his torment of Greg, and class went on this way for another
twenty minutes before the bell rang. Mr. Murray made sure to have droned on and
on all class period. He told Greg to wait behind. I grabbed my books and went
off to gym class. I was afraid I’d gotten him in trouble. He’d probably be more
upset now. And what was worse was that he’d probably be upset with me for opening
my mouth when I should have just minded my own business.
I rummaged through my bag. I couldn’t believe my luck.
I had forgotten my gym shorts again. What a way to start the week. I was the
last guy in the locker room, and Coach White would be so angry. He told me if I
were too much of a pussy to participate in gym class, the least I could do to
get a decent grade was change. He’d yell at me in front of all the other guys.
It was going to be awful.
One would think the school board would frown upon a
teacher calling a student a pussy, but Coach White had tenure and multiple state
championships in football and basketball. He made our school look good,
so there was no way he was going anywhere for harassing the feminine kid who
opted out of participating in shooting hoops or serving volleyballs.
I couldn’t help that whenever someone tried to pass me
a ball my first instinct was to cover my face. It wasn’t my fault that running
and dribbling at the same time was a skill that had overlooked my entire
bloodline (yeah, even my dad. That’s why he stuck to baseball). I felt awful
that any activity we tried, I failed miserably at it. My track record was not
pretty.
Softball—I sucked.
Badminton—I sucked.
Basketball—I sucked.
Volleyball—I sucked.
Kickball—I sucked.
Floor Hockey—I sucked.
I turned, my back against the cold metal of the lockers,
and sank to the floor. I sat there for a few moments as I considered my
options. I could hear the Jeopardy! music in my head, getting faster and
faster as my time to find a solution dwindled.
I was screwed, that was all I had.
I’d just have to take the zero for today’s class
period. I hadn’t noticed Greg changing until I stood up. I was so gay sometimes
that I felt like they should create a new word for the intense levels of
homosexuality I was experiencing.
He wasn’t some fitness model, but he was incredibly
handsome. I liked bigger guys, and he was a big guy. He had a gut, but
it was hot. I liked looking at it, and I wanted to touch it. I wanted to make
it bigger. Oh God, I was such a freak.
He peeled that black t-shirt he’d been wearing over
his head, standing there in just his baggy blue jeans. His back was to me, and
what a back it was. He looked as wide as at least two-and-a-half of me. His
dark skin looked smooth, and he had some faded circular scars that ran across
his shoulder blades. I noticed he had some stretch marks on his love handles,
but they were just as faded as the scars on his back. He undid his belt buckle
and leaned forward slightly so he could pull those jeans down. The main
attraction had been unveiled. He had a large butt that jutted out far behind
him and massive thighs. His jeans must’ve been huge in order to camouflage those
assets. He wore a pair of spandex underwear that all the athletes loved. The
fabric was only a little darker than his skin, so for a moment it felt as
though he was standing there in front of me completely naked.
He tossed his regular clothes into the locker after
removing his gym clothes. He closed the locker and turned around, our eyes meeting.
My first instinct was to sprint out of the locker room, out of the school. I
could be out of the tri-state area by dinner. I must’ve been examining his body
for a good forty seconds. I could’ve looked at him like this for at least
another decade. Instead of running I looked away quickly, hoping he wouldn’t
say anything.
“You’re not changing?” he asked as he pulled on the
gym shorts. My shorts looked kind of normal, but they were like something out
of the seventies. The uniform had been like that for as long as I could
remember. Maybe they’d ordered way too many skimpy shorts fifty years ago and
we were stuck wearing outdated athletic gear. Greg looked great in the shorts
though, so there were no complaints from me. They came about halfway up his
thickset thighs and hugged his ass perfectly.
“I forgot my shorts,” I said. He opened his locker
again and tossed me a pair of his.
“Wanna borrow a pair?” he asked. As conflicted as I
was on Greg’s academic success, that didn’t negate the fact that he wasn’t a
jerk. He was actually a really decent person. He didn’t mess with people like
some of the other douchebag athletes.
When we were working on our production of Little
Shop of Horrors last spring, they buried a couple of members of our cast in
soil. I was lucky to have avoided that punishment. Oh, and who could forget the
time when during our production of Dracula a few of the meathead jocks
pulled a Carrie and completely ruined the performance by dumping “pigs’
blood” on us during opening night. It was only melted strawberry ice cream with
extra red food coloring in it, but the show still had to be cancelled. Some of
those guys actually got suspended for that one, surprisingly. This was all on
top of the day-to-day book checks (knocking books out of our hands, but lunch
trays were a common variation) and being pushed up against lockers.
“I know they’re gonna be a little big, but you just
sit in the bleachers, right?” I fought the urge to bring his shorts up close to
my face and give them a big sniff. He was still looking at me, and I was not
about to be the weird kid going around sniffing other guys’ sweaty shorts.
“Yeah,” I said. “Thank you.”
“No problem,” He pulled on a tight white t-shirt that
showed off his large, burly arms and broad shoulders. “Thanks for your help in
class,” he said, tying the shoelaces of his Nikes. “We should probably get to
know each other a little better. Since I’m gonna be Larry or whatever in the
play.”
“You’re going to be Lennie?” I asked.
“Yeah, that’s what Mr. Murray said,” he replied,
sighing. He adjusted the waistband of his shorts, pulling them down slightly. “I
need the extra credit he’s offering to pass his class. No football for me this
year.” He left the locker room and went into the gym.
I was too nervous to bury my face in his shorts, not
wanting to be caught, so I just got changed quickly and hurried into the gym. I
sat in the bleachers and watched as the more athletically inclined ran back and
forth playing basketball. Damn Greg was fast for such a big guy. He was
aggressive too. It was kind of scary how intense he was—but then it was hot.
It was like a freaking mythical beast was going up for
a rebound. He bumped kids around. He moved so heavily, like he was really solid
and sturdy. His thighs looked ridiculously beefy, and the shorts rode up as he
ran. They’d ridden up his ass, separating each cheek, highlighting the meatiness
of his backside. I was glad his shorts were like a hundred times too big,
because they were helping me cover up a pretty gigantic erection. The uniforms
were definitely the one thing I liked about gym class.
All of these interactions with Greg today had me
feeling aroused, but on top of that they had me developing a major crush. I
hated it. Nothing good could ever come from liking a straight boy, especially
one that could break my face with the flick of his finger.
I changed quickly, shoving the shorts into my bookbag.
I’d wash them and return them to Greg tomorrow. At lunch, everyone was talking
about Greg being in the play, and it wasn’t all good. Kyle was furious. He said
he didn’t want to be in a production with such a “big, fat idiot.” I thought
Kyle was a bitch, so it shouldn’t have mattered.
We went to the school’s auditorium after classes ended
to run the lines and sure enough Greg showed up, although about ten minutes
late. A little after that Coach White flew into the auditorium in a rage and he
and Mr. Murray got into a huge argument. They walked away from us students and
continued bickering.
Coach White was towering over little Mr. Murray, but
he backed off when Mr. Murray started telling him off. They both moved
animatedly, pointing and gesturing. They were just outside of the far doors, so
we couldn’t actually hear what they were saying. We watched as Mr. Murray
walked the length of the auditorium to where we all sat in a circle on the
stage.
“Gregory,” he said, his voice feigning calmness.
“Coach White and I have worked out a schedule for you, okay?” Greg nodded. “On
Mondays and Wednesdays, you can go to football practice, and when you have
games on Fridays you don’t need to be here. However, during tech week and all
performance days you must be in attendance, understood?”
“Yes Coach,” he said, nervously tugging at the hem of
his t-shirt. Kyle scoffed loudly and rolled his eyes. “I mean, sir—Mr. Murray.”
“We’ll see you tomorrow,” Mr. Murray said, joining us
on the stage. Gregory stood, towering over all of us as we continued to sit,
and gave a slight wave goodbye before making his way down the stairs.
“See you tomorrow!” I called, not entirely sure why I
had opened my mouth. Everyone looked at me like I was deranged, but Greg turned
and smiled at me.
“Yeah,” he called, his voice deep. “Catch you later,
Holden.”
That night, I thought about Greg saying my name over
and over. He said that he’d catch me later. He knew I existed, and maybe
I could exist to him as more than the weird kid who was in his English class.
I was ashamed to admit it, but I smelled his shorts. I
had to force myself to stop smelling them and to put them in the washing
machine. They smelled so good, like sweat and laundry detergent and some sort
of cologne. While they were in the washing machine, I walked to the gas station
and bought a candy bar—a Twix, to be more specific. The king of chocolate candies
if I were to be honest. They were my favorite.
I made my way back home and grabbed a piece of white
copy paper from the printer in the home office. I sat at the desk in my room,
thinking. I had to be friendly, but not too friendly. I didn’t want him to
think I was weird. I was just polite, raised properly.
I wrote a simple message. It read:
Hey Greg,
Thank you for lending me a pair of your shorts. I
washed them, and as a token of my appreciation, enjoy this candy bar.
I signed it with just my first name, Holden.
Before I went to bed, I made sure to put my gym
uniform, his shorts, the letter, and the candy bar in my bag. I didn’t want to
forget anything tomorrow. I felt off that night, kind of nervous. I was
starting to feel like it was a bad idea to do something so formal for being
lent a pair of shorts for fifty minutes. A normal guy would’ve just tossed them
back to him, nodded their head, and kept it moving. He probably didn’t even
remember lending them to me. It wasn’t a big deal to him, so it shouldn’t be a
big deal to me.
I still brought everything along with me, but I was
conflicted about following through with the plan. I couldn’t do it in the
locker room with all the other guys around. It’d be stupid to return them after
gym class. Before I knew it, we were in English class and I was walking to his
desk. We had about a minute before the bell, and it was now or never. I stood
next to him and he looked at me. “What’s up, Holden?” he greeted me.
“Hi, uh, thanks,” I replied, so inarticulately that
he’d probably think I was abandoned in the woods as a child and learned to speak
from the animals of the forest that raised me. I was Jackson High’s very own Nell.
I placed the stack (shorts on bottom, letter in the middle, Twix on top) on his
desk and returned to my own. He didn’t touch it but looked back at me as I
returned to my seat. His eyebrows were furrowed in confusion, and he smiled
awkwardly, as if to say, What a fucking weirdo.
He turned back to the stack and opened the letter. He
read it, turned back to me, and gave me a thumbs up. I sighed with relief, signaling
a thumbs up in return.
He ate the Twix during class.
The first rehearsal with Greg that afternoon went
okay, but in the long run the scheduling situation proved to be much more
difficult for everyone than anticipated. Greg needed more time with the whole
cast to better practice his lines, so those two to three days we lost every
week were definitely determinantal to our progress.
It had been two weeks of line practice, and it was a
Tuesday.
“Gregory, it’s your line now,” Mr. Murray said, not
looking up from his script. Kyle sighed and mumbled something about Greg being
an idiot. Greg frowned and said he didn’t remember it. Mr. Murray tried to get
us off script as soon as possible, but Greg was new to this world. It was
incredibly hard to remember all our lines, even if we spent hours every night
practicing. I bet he had a lot going on outside of this production that he was
forced into. I wanted to say he should be able to the use his script, but I didn’t
want to appear meddlesome. Kyle groaned impolitely and said he needed a break.
“Okay everyone, take ten.”
I remember on the second day, parents started bringing
food. It was like this every year. Early on in the productions it was small
stuff, like juice boxes and potato chips, but as things got more serious there’d
be pizzas and sandwiches. I thought it was adorable how excited Greg was.
“You guys get food?” he asked me. I told him nobody
ate much, so it usually got tossed out or given away to different sports teams.
After that he took to eating all practice. It seemed to calm him, so I was glad
there was something helping him.
When I was cheated out of a role, I took on extra
responsibilities. Usually that meant that I was in charge of wardrobe. I was to
take measurements and get clothes from thrift stores and costume shops using a
portion of the money allotted to the drama club.
So today I was doing my second job and it was Greg’s
turn and we went into the gigantic prop closet and I started measuring him. He
was wearing his freaking football sweats and they were grabbing onto his thighs
and butt and I was getting a major erection.
“You can do everything,” he said, and it didn’t come
across as sarcastic in a way that some others would say it. “A poet, an actor,
and a tailor.”
I laughed, flattered that he thought I was capable of
tailoring clothing. “I’m no tailor,” I said from behind him. I knelt down to
measure the size of his thighs, my eyes level with his ass. I looked longingly
at his underwear, the sweats sagging down slightly from the weight of his
cellphone and wallet in his pockets. “I only send the measurements to a costume
shop or try to find pieces at the thrift store.” He was wearing these blue
spandex boxer briefs and it was killing me. He was actually an inch taller than
I thought, standing at 6’5”.
I measured around his stomach next, followed by his
waist. I placed a little stool in front of him and stood on it. It made me
nearly as tall as he was. I had to measure his neck, and I swung the tape measurer
over his head. “It’s nice to see you at eye level,” he said, laughing. “Short Stuff.”
I tried my hardest to focus on the task at hand,
bringing the tape measurer taught around his thick neck. He was so handsome.
His skin was darker than mine. If I was the dough of a cookie, he was a
chocolate chip. He had large lips and white teeth that were kind of large. I
noticed he rarely smiled showing them all, but he’d recently been smiling at me
in the hallways or at the end of rehearsals. It gave me butterflies thinking
about how seeing me could elicit a smile from him. He had short hair and deep
waves. I could see him brushing his hair and putting his durag on before bed
every night. His nose was cute, kind of wide, but not so big that it took over
his face.
“I’m Short Stuff?” I asked.
“Yeah,” he said. I removed the tape measurer, stepping
down off of my stool. He crouched down, spreading his legs and bending his knees.
“How’s the weather down here?”
“Very funny, Gregory.”
“Ooo, using the whole name,” he said, standing up
straight. “I’m in trouble. Why not throw in the ‘Deshawn Williams’ for the full
effect?”
“I’ll remember that for the next time.”
“I wouldn’t want that,” he said. “I never wanna make
you mad at me. I like you too much.” He smiled, and then I smiled. It was nice
but filled with so much one-sided lust that it was almost sad. Kyle entered the
prop closest, attitude set to eleven.
“How long does it take to measure one person Holden?”
He took in Greg and stifled a laugh. “Oh, never mind. I imagine it can take
quite a while, actually.” Greg tugged at the hem of his shirt, his face
falling.
“I’ll talk to you later, Short Stuff,” he said.
“Thanks for the measurements.” He went back over to the parent-supplied snack
table. I saw him grab a Ho Ho and open it embarrassedly, shoving it into his
mouth.
He could have picked Kyle up and snapped him in half,
Bane-style. I wouldn’t have said anything, and when authorities asked what
happened, I’d say, with tears in my eyes, “He slipped, Officer. What a freak
accident, truly.”
“This is going to be a disaster,” Kyle said. I had the
tape measurer around his neck now, trying to get through these measurements as
quickly as possible. “I wouldn’t have wanted the lead if I knew I’d be working
with such an absolute idiot.” I considered choking him.
I was moving as fast as I could, but he continued to
bad mouth Greg. It was really upsetting me. I didn’t know if it was because
Greg wasn’t around to defend himself, or because I had such a major crush on
him, but Kyle was pushing me to my limit. He had totally killed any signs of an
erection, which I guess was good because I wouldn’t want people knowing I was
some pervert getting erections while taking measurements.
“Eva is devastated. Her first time as student director
and this is what she has to deal with.”
“Kyle, you aren’t as talented as you think you are, so
you need to shut the fuck up.” He laughed casually and walked towards the door.
I wasn’t even finished taking his measurements. He always had to do the most.
“Who got the lead?” he asked rhetorically. He left the
room, walking towards where Eva and Mr. Murray were helping the stage designers
with a backdrop. I felt my face go hot and sat down. This was not how I
imagined this year to be. I knew it would never be perfect; I didn’t set unrealistic
expectations, not wanting to be let down, but I never thought things could suck
this much. I had my eighteenth birthday a week before the school year started
and I had spent a portion of my summer in theater camp in New York City. This
was supposed to be my year.
“‘Who got the lead?’” I mimicked in my best
Kyle-voice. I pulled the tape measurer as taut as I could, struggling for a
moment before giving up the effort. My mom would say not to let someone like
Kyle get under my skin, and she’d be entirely correct, but I wasn’t as patient
as my mother. I wanted to take action and kick him in the throat.
We started rehearsing lines again after I finished
measuring the last cast member. Obviously, I was sick and tired of Kyle, who
continued to harass Greg. I knew this was going to sound totally lame and
cliché, but the Troop was like a family, so when he bad-mouthed Greg, it was
like he was harassing his own family.
“Uh, George—I did—didn’t me—mean nothing by it,
honest.”
“Oh my God!” Kyle howled. “Learn your fucking lines
and stop stuttering.” I noticed Greg close his eyes—his head bowed, his fists
clenched. Would this be the moment I’d been waiting for my entire life? Would
one blow from the mighty Gregory Deshawn Williams finally be what vanquished
the foul Kyle ‘Bitch Boy’ Donnelly? To add insult to injury, Kyle kept going.
With enough weight I thought I could see the words travel across the circle,
Kyle said, “All you’re good at is eating. Do you even know how to read?
You fat fuck.”
This felt more intense than ever. I could feel Greg’s
energy from across the circle. He stood up, and everyone’s eyes followed him.
He didn’t walk towards Kyle. He left the stage and then exited the auditorium. Kyle
was too bad of an actor to be such a goddam diva.
Mr. Murray was saying something to Kyle that likely
wouldn’t stop his bullying. Everyone else on stage began to murmur amongst
themselves. Wasn’t anyone going to see if Greg was okay? Mr. Murray and Eva
were in charge of this production, so they should have been doing everything to
make sure every actor was being treated fairly. Nobody was moving. Didn’t
anyone care if he was okay? I couldn’t take it. I’d check on him and try to get
him to come back. I jogged out to the parking lot, looking for Greg. He wasn’t
very hard to find.
I saw him over by his truck and went up to him. It was
an old Ford F-150. It was green, and it really suited Greg. “Hey, Greg,” I
started, tapping him on the shoulder.
“Leave me alone,” he barked.
I hated to see him like this. He never did anything to
anybody. He was one of the gentlest, nicest guys I’d ever met. “Greg, it’ll be
okay,” I said, grabbing at his arm, trying to get him to open up to me.
“I said go the fuck away,” he roared, his voice deep
and surprisingly angry, vibrating in my chest. He brought the weight of his large
arm down into my face. It wasn’t even his elbow, but his upper arm. It was
solid, very solid, and I’d hoped to feel it, but not in this way. I fell back
onto the gravel. I noticed red droplets on my shirt before I felt the fountain
that was my nose overflowing.
I was bleeding, but thankfully it didn’t hurt that
badly. I thought he liked me. I thought we were friends. He turned around and I
noticed he was crying. He was crying. “I—I’m so sorry,” he said
as he wiped his eyes on his forearm. “I didn’t mean to. I’m sorry. Holden are
you okay? I’m sorry.” I stood up, holding my nose, trying to stop the bleeding.
“It—it’s fine.” He walked towards me and I
instinctually took a step back. I didn’t want to hurt his feelings. I knew he
didn’t mean to hit me, but I couldn’t help myself. I didn’t know what else to do,
so I smiled, trying to let him know I was okay.
“Oh God,” he said, reaching for me again. I suddenly
realized that had been a terrible idea. The blood spilled over my top lip,
covering my teeth. It probably made me look like I was in a worse condition than
I actually was.
“I think I’ll just go back inside.” I ran back towards
the building, blood dripping onto my shirt. He started kicking his truck
angrily.
I’d gone straight to the bathroom to clean myself up,
and when I arrived back in the auditorium everyone was still waiting for Greg
to return. He didn’t come back inside, so after thirty minutes Mr. Murray
dismissed us for the day.
I still couldn’t believe he’d hit me in the face with
his freaking Hulk-strength and I was alive to remember it. If he could do this
to me without even trying, I could only imagine the damage he could do on
purpose.
I didn’t know if we were avoiding one another or not,
but I didn’t talk to Greg again the next day until lunch. The incident hadn’t
left me with any swelling or bruising, so that was something to be positive
about. I sat at a small table near the trashcans. I was sitting alone because I
needed some solitude. Kyle was talking about how stupid Greg was and it pissed
me off. I just couldn’t take it anymore, and my retaliations never seemed to faze
him. Nobody else ever tried to call him out either, which only added to my
aggravation.
I swirled a spoon around in my cup of yogurt and
granola disinterestedly. I hadn’t started on my turkey sandwich or potato chips
yet, and I wasn’t feeling very hungry. “I’m sorry again,” Greg said, looking
down at me. I hadn’t noticed him come up, which really showed how out of it I
was. He was damn near impossible to miss. He looked at me so seriously. It was
making me uncomfortable. “I didn’t try to—to hit you in the face like that. I
don’t like hitting people. I don’t want you to think I’m that kind of person.”
“I’m fine,” I said. “Apology accepted. And I
definitely don’t think poorly of you.” He smiled uneasily.
“Can I sit with you?” he asked. I looked at him. He
was so freaking handsome. His eyebrows were thick and had a natural arch to
them that made him appear somewhat angry. He had that look from shaving, like
someone who had to shave on the regular. Not like me, I only had to shave once
every two weeks. I’d heard he was a year older than everyone, but I didn’t know
for sure. I went to a different middle school, so I didn’t know much about Greg
before high school.
“Yes, of course,” I replied. He smiled again, this
time more comfortably, and sat down. He had one of those lunch bags that could
be carried around every day. His was bigger than they usually were, and it was
green. Maybe green was his favorite color. He had a bunch of food in there—three
sandwiches, a couple bags of chips, a water, a juice, cookies, two bananas, and
an apple. “You feeling better than you did yesterday?” I asked.
“I feel lame as fuck,” he said. “You probably think
there’s something wrong with me.”
“A big guy like you crying is definitely out of the
ordinary.”
“You probably think I’m a pussy,” he said, shifting
his gaze from me. He looked down at his massive spread, grabbing one of his sandwiches.
“Absolutely not,” I said. “I cry much more often than
I’d like to admit.”
“Really?” he asked, looking up at me sheepishly.
“Yes, really.” I started stirring my yogurt again,
nervous at the thought of talking about these things with him. I wanted him to
like me, not pity me. Hell, he might even think I deserved the things that made
me sob. “I’ll share three things.”
“Okay,” he said, smiling timidly.
“One, The Princess and the Frog.”
“The Disney movie?”
“We got a black princess, and she was so hard working.”
I could feel myself tearing up, only at the thought of the film. “She achieved
her dreams. I want that.”
“Aww,” he said, laughing. “We’ve got to watch that
together sometime. Just so I can see the waterworks.”
“Never.”
He laughed again, harder this time. He took another
large bite of his sandwich, speaking with his mouth slightly full, he said,
“What else?”
“Two, just three weeks ago when the cast list was
posted for the play. I had to lock myself in a bathroom stall so I could cry. I
was so disappointed.”
“You didn’t get the part you wanted?” he asked,
frowning.
“I auditioned for George,” I said, finally eating a
spoonful of my yogurt. “But you know how that turned out.”
“Sorry Holden.”
“It’s fine, honestly. I’ve accepted it.” We sat in
silence for a little while after that. He powered through his lunch and I
watched him, impressed. Sexuality was such a fucked-up thing. What had occurred
in my life that made me this way? He was eating his potato chips and it felt
like things were moving in slow motion. He chewed, putting more chips in his
mouth at one time than anyone I knew would. The oil from the chips left a
glossy sheen on his full lips and I wanted to kiss them, to taste their
saltiness.
“You never told me the third thing,” he said finally.
I jumped slightly, like a total spaz. I had to stop staring at him.
“Oh, well, uh—last year, in October, we were getting
things ready for the fall play. I—I was one of the last people still here, and
when I finally left it was just me and one other girl. We waited for her mom to
pick her up and after she’d gone, I went to the parking lot. My mom had let me
drive her car to school that day, so I was feeling pretty good.” He was looking
at me so intensely. I was regretting choosing something so serious for this,
but I wanted him to know I wasn’t messing around about crying being okay. “I
guess football practice got out later than usual, but a couple of those guys
were in the parking lot.” His jaw tensed, and he stopped eating his lunch. All
he had left were the bananas. “Long story short,” I said, trying to get through
this as quickly as possible. “They pushed me around a bit, calling me names and
stuff. I cried on the entire drive home.”
“Who was it?” he asked angrily. My intention wasn’t to
get him riled up. I didn’t think he’d even care this much to be honest. It was
a couple of guys who graduated and one or two of the guys still on the team,
but I wasn’t going to get Greg involved in something that didn’t matter
anymore. Did I still think about them calling me a faggot over and over? Yes,
absolutely, but I had been a convenient target. Normally they left me alone
because I faded into the background, but that day I’d been the only drama-geek
in the line of fire.
“Yeah, no,” I said. “This isn’t what this conversation
is about. We were just being open about our feelings. I’m not looking for
retribution.” He angrily peeled open one of his bananas. He didn’t get this
upset over Kyle taunting him, so this reaction was entirely unexpected. “So,
what about you? Was it what Kyle said that had you feeling so upset yesterday?”
He looked at me and I realized I had been much more
direct than I’d intended to be. He finished his first banana, sitting up
straight. His belly looked satiated, but I bet he could’ve eaten way more. “I
don’t like when people call me stupid,” he said. “I know I’m not smart, but I
hate when people call me stupid.”
“You’re definitely not stupid,” I said.
“Sometimes I think I am,” he said. “I don’t try to
stutter either, but when I’m nervous it just happens. I didn’t even want to do
this, but I need the extra credit. I study so hard, but I still barely pass.”
He studied? I felt guilt in the pit of my stomach. I had made unfair
assumptions about him. I just thought teachers passed him. I had no idea he
actually took his education seriously. “You’re really smart Holden. I wish I
was smart like you.”
“You just need help,” I said. “Sometimes I get overwhelmed
by my classes too.” He ate his second banana in three bites. I was so hard that
it was distracting. I was confused. We’d covered so much ground in one lunch
period. I’d experienced such an array of emotions that I was sure we’d be
bonded together forever.
“I’m—I’m a year older than everyone,” he whispered,
looking down. “It’s because I’m dumb. Who has to repeat the sixth grade?”
“No,” I said gently, wanting to come across as
sincere. “I don’t think you should feel that way at all. You just have to keep
doing your best and trying to improve. School can be really hard and you’re
still hanging in there! Besides, I’m glad that means we get to be in the same grade—.”
I had started rambling. I was officially embarrassed. I’m glad that means we
get to be in the same grade? I’d actually said that to him.
“I’m glad we’re in the same grade too,” he said,
looking at me kindly. He wasn’t smiling at me with his mouth, but with his
eyes. Tyra Banks would be proud. Things were silent for a minute or two after
that before he spoke again. “Man, I hate Kyle,” he said.
“Ugh, me too,” I said, sounding too much like Cher
Horowitz in Clueless for my liking, but it had already been said. “He is
a total bitch.” Greg looked over at me and laughed.
“Yeah, he’s a total bitch.” I could feel my face get
hot. I’d been more honest with him than with a lot of my friends in the Troop. He
wasn’t making fun of me, thankfully, but I tended to say a lot of stuff I didn’t
mean to actually say. That was why I preferred not talking. That was why I
preferred acting, because I had pre-written lines. I got to play a role, and I
didn’t have to be myself, because when I was myself, I felt like a freak.
Lunch was almost over, and I’d forgotten to give him
something from my bag. I leaned over, grabbing my bookbag and setting it on the
seat next to me. I opened the front pocket and pulled out a king-sized package
of Twix bars. “I meant to give these to you,” I said, sliding the candy towards
him. “Chocolate always makes me feel better.” He laughed, and it was low and
deep. I felt like I’d made some sort of faux pas. “I guess it was kind of silly.”
“No,” he said, smiling at me kindly. “I fucking punch
you in the nose and you bring me chocolate. You’re not like a
regular guy. I’m glad I’ve got a friend like you, Holden.” He opened the
package and handed me one. We sat together, me eating one of the Twix bars, he
the other three, until the bell rang.
After that, he started eating lunch with me every day.
I was ecstatic about this development in our relationship. It was nice spending
more intimate time with him, and less time at the Troop’s lunch table with Kyle
the Unbearable.
I was enjoying gym class even more too, and Coach
White’s attitude didn’t detract from it one bit. Greg seemed to be filling out his
shorts even more, and I knew it had to be from the snack table at rehearsals
and the fact he practiced two times less a week.
We had been playing floor hockey recently. Watching
our classmates jump out of Greg’s way or bounce off of his solid body was the
highlight of my day. He didn’t try to knock people over, but I mean, if they
were running full speed into a brick wall, they couldn’t expect to stay
standing.
“It’s getting hard to manage everything,” he confided
in me one day during our lunch sessions. “It takes me so long to practice the
lines at home, I don’t finish my homework until almost one in the morning.”
“You do have a lot going on,” I said, wanting to help
him in any way that I could. “Do you want to run lines together? And we could
study too if you want?”
“Do you have the time to help me?” he asked, smiling
shyly. “I don’t want you to get stressed out because you have to help my dumb
ass.”
“I’ll help you,” I said. “But under one condition.”
“Yeah?”
“You aren’t allowed to talk bad about yourself. You
aren’t dumb Greg, so I don’t want to hear you say that you are. Didn’t you tell
me you hated when people call you stupid, so why is it you can do it to
yourself?”
“I—I don’t know. I guess I just feel like maybe I am.
I’m sorry.”
“So, we’ve got a deal?” I asked.
“Yes,” he said. “Coach Sanders.” We both laughed at
that and continued eating our lunches.
The next day I waited for him to get out of practice.
He said we could study at his place and that he’d give me a ride home after.
The thought of being in his bedroom was enough to have my stomach in knots the
entire day. He came and found me in the auditorium after he was finished, and
we walked out to his truck.
“How were rehearsals today?” he asked.
“They were fine. Kyle was just as obnoxious as usual.”
“I’m glad I didn’t have to deal with that today.” Walking
next to him sure was something. I knew I wasn’t the tallest guy, but he made me
feel microscopic. He was wearing a pair of sweatpants and a hoodie. He had a
duffel bag and his regular bookbag. “Thanks again for coming to help me out.”
“I’m happy to,” I said. “It’s good practice for me
too.”
“But don’t you only have like fifteen lines?” he asked.
I knew he was genuinely asking and not trying to be mean.
“Throwing shade,” I said jokingly. “You’ve been around
Kyle too much.”
“I—I’m sorry,” he said, stopping in his tracks. “I
just meant—it must not be—I wasn’t trying to be a dick.”
“I was just messing around,” I said, in disbelief of
how cute he was. “I got my lines down in the first week. And it’s even sadder
than just having fifteen lines. I have twelve.”
“I wish we could trade.”
“Don’t say that. You’re going to kill it.” We started
walking towards his truck again. It was almost six o’clock. I told my parents I
probably wouldn’t be back until around ten. “With my help you might even be
nominated for a Tony.”
“What’s a Tony?”
We had a lot to go over during the car ride to
his house.
The conversation in Greg’s truck didn’t make me feel
awkward or nervous and it never felt like he was judging me or what I had to
say. I was so at ease around Greg. When we pulled up outside of his place, I
was kind of sad. I could’ve ridden around in his truck talking to him all
night.
Greg’s house wasn’t the largest; it was built in the
bungalow style. The whole thing was one floor. His room was towards the rear of
the house, through the living room and kitchen. Ms. Williams was busy in the
kitchen when we arrived, unpacking loads of grocery bags. She was about 5’1”
and large. She had the Mary J. Blige cut circa 2009 and wore navy blue scrubs.
“Greg,” she said, looking at me excitedly. “Is this
your friend Holden?”
“It’s nice to meet you Ms. Williams,” I said. “My name
is Holden Sanders. Thanks for having me.”
“Greg, he’s so polite! And handsome too!” I laughed. I
was really flattered. I thanked her for the compliment. “He mentioned you’d be
coming over tonight. Are you staying for dinner?” she asked.
“Only if you wanna stay,” Greg added. He was so
fucking cute. If I got to be around him, of course I’d stay for dinner. “It’s nacho
night.”
“Sounds great,” I said, smiling. Ms. Williams then
complimented my smile. She was gassing me up. I needed a hype-woman like her in
my life.
We went to Greg’s room after that and he asked if I’d
be okay while he went to take a quick shower. “Yeah, I’ll be fine,” I said.
He pulled off his sweatshirt and tossed it in a pile
near the opening of his closet. I held my breath in anticipation of how much he’d
take off in front of me. I should have looked the other way, but I didn’t want
to waste this opportunity. He kicked off his sneakers and pulled off his socks,
adding them to the pile before slipping on a pair of Nike slides.
He grabbed some items from his dresser and walked over
towards his door. He turned back towards me and I took him in again. He filled
the doorframe with how broad he was. Greg was at home and still seemed too big
to be entirely comfortable. I wondered what showering was like for him. I hoped
they had a detachable shower head so he wouldn’t have to struggle rinsing himself
off. What I wouldn’t give to be in that shower with him.
“I’ll be back,” he said, walking away.
No longer entranced by Greg’s gorgeousness, I was able
to take in his bedroom. There wasn’t much in terms of interior design, but he
had his huge bed, a desk setup, a TV with a gaming system, and lots of
different sneakers in their original boxes. He was such a guy.
A few minutes went by before there was a knock at Greg’s
door.
“Um, come in!” I called. Ms. Williams entered.
“Do you need anything?” she asked. “Dinner won’t be
ready until around seven-thirty.”
“I’m all good,” I replied. “Thank you for being so
nice.”
“Oh, of course baby!” she said cheerily. “I am just so
excited to meet one of Greg’s friends from school. I was worried he didn’t have
any. He never brings anyone by to hang out.”
“I’m sure he has lots of friends on the team,” I
offered.
“Maybe,” she said. “But he’s always been such a sensitive
boy. I don’t think those boys really understand that.” She came further into
the room. She seemed like she really had something to share with me, like this
was confession in church, and I was the priest. “He was born premature, and I
was terrified I was going to lose him. His dad was never the best and even when
Greg was in the NICU fighting for his life, he rarely visited.”
“That’s awful,” I said, knowing my emotions were
showing on my face. I could feel a huge frown fixed on my mouth.
“He never understood Greg. He was a terrible man.” She
came closer, sitting on the bed next to me. I’d barely said two words to the
parents of my other friends in the Troop and I’d known most of them for over
three years. Now here I was with Greg’s mom having a whole therapy session.
“Greg must not like him very much.”
“He was very hard on him.” She paused, like there was
more to be said, but not like it could be shared in this moment. “I don’t think
he could like his dad after how he was treated by him.”
We sat together in the silence before she chuckled under
her breath. She looked over at me, smiling wide. She and Greg had the same megawatt
smile.
“When Greg was a little boy, he loved Clifford the
Big Red Dog. The boy was obsessed! He had all the books and the pajamas and
the bedspreads. I think because he loved it so much, it’s the reason he grew as
big as he is now. He was copying that damn dog!” She laughed loudly, playfully
patting me on the shoulder. I laughed too, thinking about Greg not being absolutely
gigantic.
“I don’t think Greg would ever tell me any of this,” I
said, still laughing.
“Oh, he’s going to be a little Mr. Grumpypants when he
finds out I’ve been in here talking to you.” She sighed. “I’m just so happy he’s
becoming close to someone. His dad really instilled some negative things in him
about his self-image. We got divorced when Greg was starting middle school.”
“He hasn’t really told me about it,” I said. “Maybe
one day he will.”
“I think he might,” she said. “You’re all he ever
talks about. ‘Holden is so smart mom. Holden said I need to watch Dreamgirls.
Do you think Holden would want to come play video games? Holden this and Holden
that.’ It warms my heart, honestly.”
“I didn’t know he thought of me as such a good friend.”
I smiled at her. “I’m glad though. Greg’s really cool.”
That’s when Greg came back to his room, stopping in
the doorway when he saw his mom on the bed next to me. He groaned loudly. I
could tell he was embarrassed. “Mom, please leave him alone. He’s gonna think
there’s something wrong with me.”
“If your friends can’t talk to your mom, they shouldn’t
be your friends.” She stood up from the bed and walked towards the door. “I’m
going to go finish slaving over your dinner. Bye Holden-sweetheart.”
After she left it was just Greg and I in his bedroom.
He didn’t say much for a while and I think he was actually really embarrassed by
his mom having been talking to me. He was wearing another pair of sweats now;
they were black Adidas sweats with the white stripes up the side. They weren’t as
baggy either, so I was able to see a better outline of his legs and butt. He
also wore a simple gray t-shirt.
“Your mom is so nice,” I said, trying to alleviate
some of the awkward tension.
“She told you the Clifford story, didn’t she?” he asked,
certain his mom had gone into detail about his love of the big red dog.
“I’m not going to lie to you,” I said, feigning
seriousness. “I know about the Clifford story. I would like to confess my
obsession with Cyberchase.”
He laughed. I laughed. We laughed together and things
began to feel less uncomfortable.
We got started running lines after that. We stood in
the middle of his bedroom, both holding copies of the script. I didn’t need
a copy. I’d committed the entire thing to memory, but it was important I was
able to help Greg if he made a mistake. He played his one role, and I played
all the other characters. He thought it was funny that I had different voices
for everyone. His favorite would have to be when I did Curley’s Wife. He
relaxed a lot when I did that one. He also thought it was amazing I had
memorized everyone’s lines along with mine. I had a crazy good memory when it
came to scripts, but a month after the show I wouldn’t even remember half of
these lines. Hell, maybe it should have been a two man show.
He was fantastic when he was at ease. He had great
comedic timing and he knew exactly when to play up the serious scenes. We’d
gotten through a majority of the script when his mom called us for dinner.
We ate and talked. After dinner we worked on homework
and did a bit of studying. He took me home before it got too late. That had been
one of the best nights I’d had in a long time.
We kept up our mini rehearsals every other day for
about a month and everyone was amazed at how well he was doing when we got together
after school. I was proud of him, and it made me feel good to know I was the
reason he was improving. It felt good to know that he was my friend, even if I
was still incredibly attracted to him.
The play was a week away, meaning we’d entered tech
week, so Greg was officially done with football until after Thanksgiving. At
that point they’d be in the playoffs.
I’d bought everyone costumes and I liked to think that
I did a fantastic job. Everyone tried on their stuff last month when I first
bought the clothes. Nobody had gotten any bigger or taller, so I was sure
everything would fit.
Well, almost nobody had gotten bigger.
“Holden,” I heard Greg call. I walked over to the door
his head was peering out of. It was the small bathroom behind the stage. He
stepped back to allow me to enter and closed the door. “My costume, uh, it—it doesn’t
fit anymore,” he said. He was right. It didn’t fit. The hooks of the overalls
wouldn’t even meet the front part. His belly was too big. His thighs filled out
the overalls completely. They were the biggest thighs I had ever seen and all I
could think about was my head in between them with his dick in my mouth. “I
ripped out the back too.” He turned around and I saw a very large rip down his
meaty backside.
“Well, I could—.” I was thinking. I had no idea what I
could do, not in this very moment at least. “Just wear your regular clothes and
tell him you can’t find your costume. Take it off and give it here,” I said. He
pulled off the denim fabric and I almost passed out from how quickly my penis
stiffened.
Those big beefy legs—oh God. I couldn’t help but
imagine them bucking behind me. He unbuttoned his plaid shirt as well. He was
standing in front of me wearing nothing but his underwear. He pulled on his
jeans and put on his sweatshirt.
“Thanks for not laughing,” he said as he walked by me
to leave the bathroom. I was so enamored that I hadn’t covered my crotch. I
prayed he didn’t feel my erection as he walked by me. If he did, he didn’t say
anything.
I measured him again later and when I went to hunt
down some more overalls, I went up a size larger than I thought we’d need. They
were huge, but hell, I thought the last pair of overalls were enormous. I saw
him the next day and told him that I had bought him a new outfit and he thanked
me again.
It made sense why he needed a new costume. I was
pretty sure Greg was a nervous eater. But then again, I noticed he also ate a
lot when we rehearsed at his house, and he didn’t seem nervous at all then. Maybe
he just ate a lot, and he didn’t need a reason besides liking food. I liked
that he liked food. It just made him all the more attractive to me.
The football team did not like Greg missing two weeks
of games. They’d gone into overdrive in regard to fucking with us drama-geeks. I
noticed they didn’t really mess with me though. I think it was because I was
always around Greg now. I heard a rumor that they planned on convincing
everyone not to come and see the play. I hoped that wasn’t true.
So things kept moving forward. Sets were built, costumes
were finalized, mics were assigned, and blocking was underway. The play was in three
days and we stayed and ran through the entire thing twice every day.
I could tell the fact that things became more fast-paced
had started to get to Greg. I knew he liked to eat, and it was really cute how
much he enjoyed all the cast food, but every spare moment he was munching on
something. He’d even ended up on stage with food in his mouth a few times. The
new overalls were holding up okay though. I wanted to ask him how much he
weighed. I really wanted to know.
“Hey, how much do you have to weigh for wrestling?” I
asked one day at lunch. I figured he was going to wrestle once the play was
over. I saw it once and it looked hard, but he looked amazing in the singlet.
It was like the gym uniform, only better.
“I don’t think I’m gonna wrestle this year,” he said,
sounding really self-conscious. “I barely qualified for the highest weight
class last year—and that’s 285 pounds.” He placed his large hand on his even
larger belly as he munched on some potato chips. “I’ve gained a lot of weight
recently.” Oh, and I’d noticed. “I’m probably up 60 pounds from last winter.”
When he said that, I—of course—got an erection. I was
a freaking sex fiend or something. I needed to calm down.
“Cool,” I said. Cool? What was so cool about
it? I didn’t want to say anything stupid and I ended up saying the absolute dumbest
thing in the world. He just laughed and kept eating.
“I’m way more invested in football,” he said, still
eating. “I’ve got college scouts coming to see me play in the playoffs. I just
wish I’d been practicing more with the team.”
“I’m sorry Greg,” I said. Mr. Murray and his determination
to get us a Lennie could have fucked with Greg’s collegiate dreams. Football
was his future, not acting. It was way more important than Of Mice and Men.
“I’m not,” he said seriously. We were alone at our
table. I’d grown accustomed to us living within our own bubble. Just me and
him. “Don’t get me wrong, I don’t think I’ll be doing another play, but I’m
getting B’s in all my classes and I’m getting to spend time with you. You’ve
helped me do stuff I never thought possible. It makes me think that maybe college
won’t be so bad. I figured the only way I’d make it through was because I was gonna
be playing ball, but maybe—maybe I’m smart enough too.”
“It sucks to think we just got to know each other this
year,” I said. “You’re one incredible person Gregory Deshawn Williams.”
“I thought it’d be scary having you say my full name,
but I like it when you say it.” He looked down at the food he had left,
selecting his next delectable morsel. “It’s cute.”
I just laughed. I didn’t know what else to do. His mom
had said he was sensitive, not gay. Greg was probably just a guy that didn’t embrace
toxic masculinity. Him saying that I was cute didn’t mean what I wanted it to
mean. I didn’t want to harm this friendship. I’d rather have Greg as a friend
than not at all.
Opening night caused the most anxiety ever, for
anyone. I put on my jeans, flannel shirt, cowboy hat, and cowboy boots
backstage before putting on a light layer of stage makeup. I did Greg’s face
too, but his was even lighter. He was sweating so much I didn’t want his face
to look runny.
“Calm down,” I said. “Your energy can through off the
entire show.” His eyes widened and I knew I’d chosen the wrong way to phrase
that. Theater people were a little blunter than I think he could handle. “Greg,
you’re going to do great. Just imagine it’s me and you up there.” He stopped
fidgeting after that, taking a deep breath.
“I’m so nervous I haven’t eaten since lunchtime,” he
said. That was all I needed to hear. If Greg had skipped dinner, he must have
been terrified of going up there.
“We’ll eat a whole bunch after the show,” I promised.
“My mom’s here,” he said. “She said that she was glad
I was doing something more intellectually stimulating.” He sighed. “She
probably thinks I’m stupid too.”
“She doesn’t,” I said, quickly defending Ms. Williams,
my number one fan. “You’re not stupid. You’ve never been stupid. And you know
your mom would kill you if she heard you talking like this.” I knew he needed
more support. This was his very first show ever! I wrapped my arms around him,
hugging him tightly. I could feel his warm hand on my back as he hugged me in
return. We stopped embracing one another and he smiled at me. He could do this.
I knew he could. The opening music started, and Kyle took his place next to
Greg, rudely bumping me out of the way in the process. “Break a leg,” I
whispered as he walked on stage.
The show moved along, and I went out four times to
deliver lines. I was only in two scenes with Greg, but I made sure to give him
a discrete thumbs up. He nodded slightly and smiled. He did really well. I was definitely
a Greg stan, but he killed it out there on stage! He remembered all of his
lines, he made all of his position marks, and got a ton of laughs. I was so
happy. Kyle flubbed twice, and I reveled in his mediocrity.
Afterwards, Greg and I found Ms. Williams. She told me
I did a fantastic job and that I was very handsome on stage. I noticed she
nudged Greg in the side slightly when she said that I was handsome. “You are
going to be the next Michael B. Jordan,” she said. “When you’re famous don’t forget
about me!”
She turned to Greg, tears in her eyes, and hugged him.
She was so proud of him and it showed. It was making me feel all warm and fuzzy
inside. He’d worked so hard and it was paying off. “You liked the show?” he
asked.
“I loved the show,” she said. “I loved seeing you up
there.”
My mom and dad and brothers were here too. They made
their way over to where I stood with Greg and his mother. My family met Ms. Williams
and they chatted for what felt like hours. While our parents talked, the twins
joked around with Greg about how big he was. My brothers, Charlie and Sammie, were
ten.
“You could be in WWE,” Charlie said.
“It’d be so cool,” Sammie added. “You could probably
lift both of us at the same time!”
“Yeah!” Charlie added enthusiastically. “Holden never
plays WWE with us.”
“Well, if I was on a team with Greg I’d play,” I said.
“You guys kick my butt when it’s two-on-one.” That started an argument between
them. They both wanted to partner up with Greg and they were debating who’d be
stuck with me. Greg just laughed and laughed. I was worried he’d be annoyed by
my kid brothers, but he was handling them really well.
Standing in a cluster, Greg towered over all of us. My
mom was 5’2” and my dad was the same height as me. The twins were still
growing, but I doubted they’d grow much taller than me or my dad. And Ms.
Williams was tiny as well. He was truly a giant amongst men.
Everyone talked a little while longer, but the auditorium
began to clear out aside from Mr. Murray and the rest of the cast and crew. We
cleaned off all the makeup and changed clothes. We gathered in a circle for
post-show notes. It was just observations that Mr. Murray and Eva noted during
the performance that could be improved upon in the next show. Greg was the only
one who didn’t have something to improve on. It killed Kyle, who’d been reprimanded
over his missed lines and incorrect positioning on the stage.
Unfortunately, the cast party was going to be at Kyle’s
house. I wanted to go because opening night deserved to be celebrated, but I
was likely just going to head home. I was sure the Troop would be upset if I didn’t
go, but Kyle’s attitude was going to be a lot to deal with. I was the only
one who ever called him out and that meant I was the one he was going to take his
aggression out on.
“Are we going to the cast party?” Greg asked once we
made our way to the parking lot. He’d told my parents he’d give me a ride home.
I wondered if he actually wanted to go or if he was suggesting we go because he
thought it was what I wanted.
“Yeah, sure,” I said. “Only if you don’t mind going.
We don’t have to stay long.” It was about nine forty-five and really nice for
November. I sat in the passenger’s seat and we drove to Kyle’s house. It was an
older house and really big. It looked kind of haunted.
We saw Jane, who played Curley’s Wife, and we all went
inside together. There were thirty people involved with the production and they
were all here. Greg and I talked about the performance, sitting at a table
alone just like at lunchtime. A bunch of the Troop were drinking and smoking
and making out. Drama-geeks were just as debaucherous as all other high school
cliques.
He said that he was so nervous at first, he thought he
was going to throw up. “You can just feel the audience when you’re up there,”
he said. “It’s almost like we’re animals in a zoo.” I laughed.
He was munching on those little sandwiches they have at parties. He must’ve eaten half of one of those huge trays by himself. “Hey, quit eating all the goddam food,” Kyle said, walking over to where we sat away from everyone. He’d been so loud that nearly all the partygoers looked over at us now. My face was so hot it felt like someone had a spotlight on me. “I mean, I doubt you had to gain any weight for this role, idiot.” Greg stopped eating.
“And you, I bet you loved when I messed up, didn’t
you?” Oh my God. I was so mad. He wanted to start some shit? It was one thing
to fuck with me, but to constantly belittle Greg? I had been waiting to go off
completely on Kyle for weeks.
“I
did,” I said honestly. “I told you that you couldn’t act.”
“You’re
fucking Whit, Holden. You aren’t Broadway material.”
“Neither
are you!” I could feel my voice becoming shrill, but I had adrenaline pumping
through my system and I wasn’t going to stop. “You spent months talking mad
shit about Greg and he stole the whole fucking show. You should be thanking him
for making you look halfway decent.”
He
glared at me for a moment before slapping a cup full of soda into my lap. What
a bitch move.
“How’s
that feel? Figured you could use a drink from how thirsty you are for Lennie.”
I was mortified. He didn’t have to say that. I couldn’t even bring myself to
look in Greg’s direction.
“You’re
a real bitch, you know that right?” I asked rhetorically, standing. He shoved
me hard and I stumbled back into my chair, banging my head against the wall of
his basement.
Greg
stood up and grabbed Kyle by the collar of his shirt. I could see he wanted to knock
Kyle’s teeth to the back of his throat, but he was able to restrain himself. He
shook Kyle violently. “Say you’re sorry,” Greg boomed.
“No
way,” Kyle said, being very bold for someone who could potentially meet Jesus
in the next thirty seconds.
“I
wasn’t asking you,” Greg barked, pushing Kyle so hard he fell on his ass. “You
either apologize to Holden or I’ll bash your fucking face in.” I was living! I
wanted nothing more than for Kyle to reap what he had sewn for weeks. I looked
over at Greg and I could tell he was having a hard time; he didn’t want to do
this, be the type of guy to hurt someone else. That really put a damper on how Kyle
was getting his just desserts. Greg was breathing really heavily, and I knew
that if he started in on Kyle nobody would be able to stop him.
“Fuck
him,” I said, standing again. “I don’t need his apology. Let’s just get out of
here.”
Greg
looked over at me, still breathing heavily. He didn’t say anything, but I could
tell he was starting to soften again. After a few more seconds, he just walked away.
He left the house and I followed. Even his exit was totally badass.
I caught up to Greg as he left the house. He wasn’t nearly
as angry as he’d been a few seconds ago, but I could still feel rage radiating
off of him. I appreciated him standing up for me even though he preferred avoiding
confrontations.
I wished my jeans weren’t so tight. They weren’t
skinny jeans per se, but they weren’t as loose as some guys liked. The wet spot
on my crotch had soaked through into my underwear. I hated how it felt, all
damp and sticky. I wanted to go home so I could change, but I didn’t want that
to mean we’d be done seeing one another for the evening. We walked to his truck
and got in. He was still really upset so he hadn’t said anything.
“I’ll take you home,” he said finally, sitting back in
his seat, a scowl on his face and his hands in fists. It made me feel like he
was upset with me. Maybe he didn’t like that I’d put him in that situation. I shouldn’t
have antagonized Kyle. I should have followed Greg’s example and ignored trivial
bullshit.
“I’m really sorry about what happened in there,” I
said, hating the idea that my pettiness could have completely ruined the vibe
we’d built up. “I shouldn’t have said those things to Kyle. I shouldn’t have
gotten you involved in that drama. I’m not usually a messy person.”
“You’re always standing up for me and treating me like
I have something to offer besides playing football.” His voice was deep and
clear. He looked over at me, his eyes watery. “I’m not as strong as I look.
Kyle talking to me like that just makes me think of my dad. I’m just—I’m so
angry Holden and I don’t like it. I don’t want to be like that.”
“You could’ve hurt him, but you didn’t. I’d be lying
if I said that in that moment I didn’t want you to let him have it, but you
have real strength Greg. You are constantly surprising me with how kind you
are. I admire you a lot.”
“Thank you,” he said, wiping his eyes on the sleeve of
his sweatshirt.
“If you take me home, would you want to hang out for a
bit?” I asked. “I—I’m not ready for the night to end yet.”
“I’m not either,” he said, laughing, looking over at
me in my soaked jeans. “You could take off your pants if they’re bothering you.
I wouldn’t mind. I can crank the heat.” He wasn’t coming on to me, I had to
remind myself. That didn’t stop me from thinking about sex and getting a boner.
I was so embarrassed. I needed to learn to control my sexual urges. I wasn’t twelve
anymore and these constant erections were so juvenile.
“My underwear is wet too,” I said. He rummaged through
the back seat before handing me a pair of his gigantic sweatpants. “Well, if I
get out to change will you watch to make sure nobody is coming?” Being naked in
front of him was bad enough, but I still had a semi-hard penis in my pants. I’d
just have to move quickly and keep in mind he wasn’t interested in looking in
my direction.
“Yeah, of course.” He coughed slightly. “I’ll be
lookout.” We both got out of his truck and I walked to the driver’s side, which
was facing the street. I held his sweatpants in my hands as I looked up at him.
We just stood there looking at one another until he finally said, “Oh, sorry, I’ll
turn the other way.” He shifted his body, so he wasn’t looking in my direction.
I removed my sneakers so I could take off the jeans.
Then I peeled off the moist Calvin Klein briefs. I could feel the cool November
breeze on my ass and balls. My heart was beating out of my chest. I wanted him
to look at me and like what he saw. I wanted him to rip my shirt off so that I
was completely nude in front of him. He could push me up against his truck and
do whatever he wanted to me. Fuck. I had fallen for him hard. I pushed
my fantasies to the back of my mind, finally pulling on the sweats and slipping
my shoes back on. I could fit in one of the pant legs comfortably if I wanted
to. I had to hold the waistband in a ball so they wouldn’t fall down.
“All good,” I said.
Once we were back inside of his truck, he started the
engine and drove to my house. It was about a twenty-minute drive. It was nearly
eleven at this point, and my parents would likely have an issue with Greg and I
hanging out in the house so late when everyone else was sleeping.
“Where are we going?” he asked, whispering, following
me into the backyard.
“My secret fort,” I replied.
We walked quietly for a few moments before coming to
stand before a quaint wooden structure in our backyard. It had been here for nearly
ten years now. My dad had built it for me, and now the twins played in it from
time to time. It was a fairly simple design. It had one large entrance and two small
windows. It sat on top of a large wooden base.
“I don’t think I’m gonna fit in there,” he said, laughing.
“You can fit,” I said, not entirely sure if that was
true. I entered first, filling the space away from the door. There was plenty of
room left, I thought. I watched him through the window. He crouched down, his
body filling the entire doorway. Shit, maybe he wouldn’t fit.
He turned slightly, sucking in his stomach. He sat next
to me, both of his legs hanging out of the door. “I guess we can count this as
me fitting.”
“Is this how Emily Elizabeth feels dealing with
Clifford?” I asked.
“Shut up,” he said, laughing. I laughed too and it
just felt so right. Everything about being with him felt so effortless. I was
falling in love with him. I was suddenly very sad. I couldn’t sit here and
fantasize about Greg. He wasn’t interested in me and I was deluding myself
hoping for anything more than being friends. I had to stop hoping for a
relationship more romantic and physical in nature. I had to be appreciative
that I’d gotten to know such a kind and gentle person.
He lifted his arm and placed it around me. “Sorry, it’s
a bit of a tight fit in here.”
“Oh, it’s fine.” He just needed to get more
comfortable. He wasn’t making a move on me. I looked up to see if I could tell
what he was thinking. I could barely see his face in the darkness, but it didn’t
seem like he was feeling what I was. We sat in the dark like that for a while,
just existing with one another.
“Holden?” he called, his arm still around me.
“Yeah?” I answered.
“Are you gay?” I couldn’t look at him again, and even if
I could, it wouldn’t have made it any easier to understand what he was thinking.
I could feel my chest tighten, my heart beating a mile a minute. I wanted to
hop out of the playhouse and run as far away from here as possible, but I couldn’t
just leave him out here. I also wouldn’t be able to get out of here with him blocking
the door. Maybe I could squeeze through one of the tiny windows. “I mean, I don’t
care if you are. Because I—I—I like you Holden. I really like you.”
“I am gay,” I said shakily. “I really like you too.”
He looked down at me. I looked up at him. It was so strange how much better I
could see him now.
He pulled me closer. I could feel his body heat. I
could smell him. He smelled like aftershave and stage makeup and faintly of
party sandwiches. His massive arm pulled me closer still. His large hand held
the back of my head.
He kissed me and I kissed him back. This was nothing
like kissing boys at parties this past summer at theater camp. “I gotta be
honest,” he said, pulling away. “I was checking you out earlier tonight. You got
a phat ass, Holden.”
He’d been looking at me? And he liked what he saw? I couldn’t
believe it. I kissed his face softly, enjoying how smooth his skin was.
“Well, I’ve got to be honest with you,” I whispered. “I’ve
been checking you out all year.” He smiled, his teeth bright in the night. He pulled
me even closer. I could smell him even better; feel his warmth on my body. I
placed my hand on his stomach, enjoying the heft of it. Greg was a fucking ten.
The patio light came on and we both jumped. “Holden?”
my father called. He could probably see Greg’s legs sticking out of the
playhouse.
“Yeah dad! It’s me!” I responded. “And Greg!”
“Well say goodnight and come inside. It’s getting late.”
He wasn’t coming outside. He probably assumed something way raunchier was going
on inside of the secret fort. “You get home safe Greg!”
“Yes sir, I will,” Greg replied. We heard the sliding
sound of the patio doors. Greg shimmied his way out of the playhouse,
thankfully not getting stuck. I followed and then walked him to his truck.
“Text me when you get home,” I said.
“I will.” He smiled at me. “Thanks for everything tonight.
It was definitely memorable.”
He wasn’t wrong about that, and I was happy. I was so incredibly
happy.
After all of that we still had seven shows to do. Kyle
skipped like an entire section in the second show and Greg totally saved him by
inventing new lines to get us back on track. When Kyle came off stage his face
was so red! He couldn’t tell Greg he was stupid then.
I hadn’t looked directly at Greg since that night in
my secret fort. I was too nervous. It had been two days and I assumed we were
still, like, together, but we didn’t say anything about it. It was kind of
weird. I wanted to say something, but I couldn’t. I had no lines to recite.
The morning of our third show, Kyle quit the play. I
thought it was hilarious, but Mr. Murray didn’t. He was freaking out about how
we still had six shows to put on. Greg told him I knew all the lines. I didn’t
even want to be George anymore, not like this anyway. I had wanted to
earn it.
“You can do it? You know the lines?” Mr. Murray asked
frantically. I told him I that I did, and he told me “Whit has nearly no lines,
somebody else won’t have a problem with the role.” After that I was George.
My family came back to see the show, and Ms. Williams
had been to see every single one. I got to act with Greg, which went absolutely
amazing since we had been practicing together. He seemed to be doing even
better with me as George instead of Kyle.
The final show actually sold out all three hundred
seats. It was a Sunday matinee, and the entire football team was there—even
Coach White! I couldn’t believe they all cheered for us, louder than any
applause I’d ever experienced. They hooted and hollered for ten minutes, chanting
Greg’s name. I think it meant a lot to him. This was some serious High
School Musical-Troy Bolton-“Breaking Free” shit.
We walked out after changing and went over to Greg’s
truck. We had started talking more and more. “Do you want to come over, maybe?”
I asked. “My mom and dad are out of town visiting my grandma with the twins.”
“Yeah, I’m down.” He hadn’t gotten to see the inside
of my house last time, so I gave him a quick tour. It was pretty big, like Kyle’s
haunted mansion, but a lot more inviting. It had two floors, a basement, and an
attic. My room was in the attic, which I had entirely to myself.
We entered my bedroom and I flicked on the overhead
light. He looked around and noticed my bookshelf. It had mostly plays and
classic literature on it. I took my bookshelf very seriously, but I swear I wasn’t
pretentious about it. “Jesus, look at all these books,” he said.
“I try to read a new play every week,” I said. I sat
on my bed and he sat next to me. I leaned on his shoulder and he moved his arm
around my waist and pulled me a bit closer. I loved when he did that. “I have
some I think you’d really like if you want to borrow one.”
“Yeah, I’d like that.”
“Can I kiss you?” I asked. He nodded and I got on my
knees in my bed so that we were at a more even height. We kissed for the first
time since the night in the playhouse. It was amazing. His lips were so soft
and smooth. He pulled at my shirt and I helped him get it off. He touched my
chest, and I could feel every hair on my body stand on end. It was euphoric,
yet strange, to have somebody else touch my body. I had never been touched like
this before.
I pulled off his sweatshirt and my already erect penis
stiffened even more. I was so glad we had the house to ourselves. He was so
big. His gut was round and meaty. He had hair leading down from around his
belly button to his pubic area. I finally got to feel it.
He undid his pants button at the same time I undid
mine. I was so excited; I thought that my heart was going to beat out of my
chest. My pants came off and I was in my black briefs. He was standing, and I
was on my knees in the bed facing him. I kissed his chest. It tasted good, like
clean and sweat at the same time.
“Do you have any lube?” he asked.
“It’s in the top drawer of my dresser,” I said, pointing
across the room. He sauntered over to it, his back looking ridiculously sexy. I
wanted to touch every part of him. I wanted to leave no area unmarked by my hands
(and mouth). His jeans sagged down in the back and the slope of his lower back
to the top of his ass was so extreme. I wanted to see him completely naked.
He walked back over to me, lube in hand. He stood
before me again and pulled off the rest of his clothes. I reached out, touching
his stomach before my hand traveled down to his dick. It was thick and long. He
had to be at least nine inches. “I’m a little nervous.”
“Me too,” he said. “We can stop if you want.”
“No, I don’t want to stop. I want to do this with you.”
He smiled, his large hand pushing me onto my back. He put on a condom from his
wallet. He grabbed my underwear and pulled it down. My penis bobbed freely from
its confine. He covered his dick with lube before gently massaging my hole with
lubed up fingers.
He got on his knees as he continued massaging my hole.
He brought his face close to my penis, licking the shaft. He grabbed it with
his free hand and stroked it a few times before popping the head into his
mouth. He sucked on it greedily, like it was some sort of tasty treat. I was so
excited I thought I would cum any second.
“Greg,” I managed to get out. “You’ve got to stop or I’ll
cum too soon.” He ignored me, continuing to take my entire dick in his mouth. I
thought for sure it was all over, but he stopped just in time. There were no
words to describe the way I was currently feeling. This was unscripted. I just
had to enjoy the moment.
He stood, removing his fingers from inside me, and
positioned me so that I was close enough to the edge that he could still have
access to my ass. I was on my back; my legs were in the air and kind of on his
chest. He bent his knees, trying to guide his penis inside of me, but he was
too tall. I grabbed a pillow and placed it under my lower back, which helped
considerably. “You better let me know if it hurts.” Even now he was concerned
with hurting another person. I loved this guy.
He slowly entered me with the tip of his dick. He kept
it there for a few moments, allowing me to get used to it before pushing more
and more of himself inside of me. “It—it feels good,” I moaned. I was feeling
bashful, so I covered my face with my arm.
He thrust his hips and I could feel his belly on my
penis, shifting back and forth as he moved. “Move your arm,” he said assertively.
“I wanna see that cute face.”
I did as he said, looking up at him. He licked his
lips and it just turned me on even more.
“Fuck—,” he groaned, moving more slowly, switching up
the rhythm. His belly had been rubbing me off, and I came after a few more minutes.
Cum spurted on my stomach and partially on his gut. He wasn’t done yet, and he
kept pushing into me at a steady pace. I was still rock hard and enjoyed the
ride until he finished about a minute later.
“We’ve got to do that again,” I said, panting. I
stood, my legs wobbly, and grabbed a towel from my closet so that I could clean
us up.
“We most definitely do.”
We even took a shower together after that. It was a
good thing we had a detachable shower head because it did make it easier for
him to rinse himself off. We were both hard the entire time, and I knew we’d be
very busy the rest of the night.
In the end, Greg and the rest of the football team
made it to state, even taking the title. My entire family and Ms. Williams wore
jerseys with his number on it. The scouts had come out to see him play and he
killed it. He’d gotten multiple offers, but he was going to commit to the
school closest to mine. Our campuses would only be a thirty-minute drive from
one another. Greg wasn’t able to go back to wrestling. The coach, he told me,
was extremely shocked by how much weight he had put on. He was well over 360
pounds, which was more than seventy pounds in a year. He spent the winter
eating and conditioning and growing stronger. He may have had a belly, but that
didn’t mean he didn’t have a ton of muscle.
I ended up getting a substantial role in the winter
drama and the lead in the musical, so there was no more crying in the bathroom
stalls for me. But honestly, even if I had been cast in a Whit-like role, I
wouldn't have cared because Greg and I were together.
Kyle didn’t audition for the winter drama or the
musical. It was awesome; both shows went so much more smoothly without him.
I’d been reading the play As You Like It and
Shakespeare was really on to something when he said all the world’s a stage. I didn’t
have to wait for lines, and I didn’t need to shrink into the background. If my
life was a production, I had to make sure it was Tony-worthy. And I knew Greg
would be one hell of a co-star.
The End!