It was autumn then, too. I’d been at a high school football game. It was chilly that night and, last second before leaving for the game, I’d grabbed my dad’s jacket from the hook by the door. After shoving my hands into the pockets while standing on the windy sidelines, I’d found a flask of whiskey. My father must have last worn the jacket when he was sitting out in the deer blind with his pals. Bonus.
But, of course, I’d had to sneak around to find a place to take a taste.
Leaving the crowd and the game, I ducked inside the door to the school’s gym. Under the cover of the bleachers, I drew out my dad’s flask, and unscrewed the top. Just as I raised it to my lips, I froze at the sound of whispered voices. Whoever was speaking had entered the gym at the other end of the bleachers.
Their shadowy figures weren’t easily visible. But I guessed it was a couple looking for a little privacy for a make-out session. And since a couple sneaking off together wasn’t a threat to me, I stood my ground.
I took a swallow of my father’s hooch. My first sip wasn’t life-changing—it burned going down and made my eyes water—it’s what happened next that changed everything.
After screwing the lid on the flask and pocketing it, I ducked out of the gym and into the hallway. Feeling nosy, I walked toward the gym’s other entrance, noiseless in my Nikes. When I reached the door, I eased into a position that allowed me to spy on the couple I’d heard whispering to each other. They were silent now, and I wanted to know why.
When I saw who it was, I swear my heart almost stopped. A varsity soccer player—Jared Harvey—stood beneath the bleachers, bracing his hands on a tread overhead. Roderick Waites knelt in front of him, unzipping Jared’s jeans.
You can bet I didn’t even blink for the next five minutes. I was riveted by the tension in Jared’s body. The muscles in his arms bulged as he held on to the tread, his chest rapidly rising and falling as he watched Roderick tug down his underwear and free his cock.
“Suck it, man,” Jared bit out.
Roderick didn’t hesitate. He grabbed the base of Jared’s dick in one hand and eagerly took the tip into his mouth. Jared made a strangled sound and tipped his head back in pleasure.
I could barely breathe as Roderick hollowed out his cheeks and sucked. And I became lightheaded when he began to bob up and down.
“Ungh!” Jared grunted. “Goddamn. Faster.”
Instead, Roderick slowed his pace, looking up at Jared with luminous eyes. And, damn, the sounds he made—the smack and slurp made my teenage brain melt.
Jared’s hold on the tread got shaky and, at last, Roderick picked up the pace. Jared gasped, one of his big hands falling to land in Roderick’s hair. Roderick glanced up at him again, and the eye contact seemed to burn Jared. He yanked his hand back and looked away.
I saw Roderick reach up and tug Jared’s balls with his free hand. No, I felt it. I was suddenly, painfully aware of my own arousal, of being so hard that my jeans were uncomfortable.
Jared cursed and shuddered, every muscle locking. His face slackened with release, and Roderick’s throat worked as he swallowed. It was the most erotic thing I’d ever seen in my seventeen years. My heart was thumping and blood pounded in my ears.
And other places.
Self-preservation finally kicking in, I backed away from the doorway and ducked into the men’s room across the hall.
In the mirror, my face had been flushed, my eyes hooded and dark. I’d looked like a man who’d seen his dirtiest fantasies brought to life. Because I had.
For days afterward I don’t think I had a single rational thought. Both Roderick and Jared were seniors—a grade above me—and it was a good thing we didn’t share any classes. I probably would have burst into flames, if I had to speak to either of them. I spent a lot of time thinking about what I saw, and wondering if they were gay.
The weird thing was that I had all those thoughts about them without considering why I was so obsessed. That would take a few more years.
But the story doesn’t end there. Two weeks later there was another home football game. As I sat in the bleachers with my brother and our friends, I saw Jared get up and head toward the school. Roderick’s dark head passed by the side of the bleachers a minute later.
I’m sure you know what I did next.
“Taking a leak. Back in a few,” I muttered to my friends. Then I snuck into the school building and tiptoed down the dark hallway again. I have never felt so much shame as I crept toward the gym. What the hell did it mean that I wanted to watch this?
But curiosity was burning me up inside. Would it be Jared on his knees this time? Or would they do something totally different?
I’m sure I shivered with anticipation as I slowly peered around the gym’s door. The picture was the same. Roderick sucking off Jared. Jared gasping and writhing and desperate. I watched every second that I dared.
And that wasn’t the last time either. It took a couple more secret trips to the gym before I learned my lesson. I’d known I needed to stop watching, but I just couldn’t stay away. Also, it was the final home game of the season, and what was one more sin among so many?
That last time was different. From his usual spot on the floor, Roderick used one of his hands to unzip his own fly, and he stroked himself while he sucked off his friend. I was dying slowly in my hideout, my eyes glued to his hand on his cock. Jared was almost ready to blow, and so was I—hands free.
But that didn’t happen. Because Roderick’s gaze shifted in the dark.
He lifted those blue eyes and looked right at me. And his expression told me that he’d known I was there. He’d known it all along.
You would’ve thought I’d turn around to run, but I froze, my shame complete. And then? He stared at me while he came all over his hand.
God. Even now—years later—the memory gets me hard. The sheer nerve of those boys getting off on school property. They were living, and I was watching.
But man did I like watching.
A sharp whistle from the farmhouse breaks my reverie. It’s my mother calling me in to dinner. I hang up the rake on the side of the barn, adjust my jeans, and head toward the house.
Eight years later I’m still thinking about Roderick Waites. And I’m still keeping secrets, still doing exactly what everyone expects of me.
Nothing has changed, really. Nothing at all.
Kieran
As I kick off my boots in the mudroom, I take a deep breath and try to rearrange my thoughts. I’ve lived here my whole life, but lately the place really brings me down. “Hey, Ma,” I say, after entering the kitchen. “How are you doing?”
“Okay,” she says from the stove. Then she drops her voice. “But your father is a bear today. And there’s something we need to talk about at dinner.”
“Okay. Sure,” I agree. Although my father is a bear almost all the time, and we both know it. “Are we making some sandwiches?”
“No, I cooked!” she says. “Chicken casserole.”
“Great,” I say, mostly meaning it.
My mom’s cooking is bland, and that dish is particularly tasteless. She’d never been a great cook, but when her doctor suggested she cut down on the sodium, the menu took a turn for the worse. Chicken casserole with no salt? Trust me, you don’t want any. Even Rexie prefers his kibble to mom’s casserole.