Look Closer: No Safe Words Here 1-4 out of 5. Boxed Set (17 page)

I kissed Jakes hair and inhaled his scent. 

This was heaven.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Michael

My stupid head was swirling with thoughts...I couldn’t even decide which of my eleven t-shirts to wear.  I kept on going back to a crisp blue Burberry button-down dress shirt my mother had bought me for Christmas a couple of years ago.  I’d worn it once, while it still fit properly.  The occasion had been my grandmother’s seventieth birthday, and I’d never received so many complements on my appearance before.  That had been nice. 

That was until three different female cousins of mine hit on me.  Gina Lee had at least been my age.  Carol Anne was thirty-two.  And to top it all off, a woman old enough to be my ancestor—forty-seven years old…I still shiver at the thought—had not only patted my behind like I was a Chippendales Dancer, but stuck her tongue in my ear.

So I’d retired the blue Burberry shirt.

But I’d already tried all eleven of my t-shirts on, and I looked like a lanky kid in every single one of them.  If I wanted Marcus to take me seriously when I asked him to lose Mayor Pervert and build a relationship with me, I had to look the part of a serious suitor.  That didn’t mean holey jeans, a worn t-shirt (no matter what awesome band’s logo was smeared across the chest) or my well worn Fubu cross-trainers.

So I finally took the cousin-magnet blue shirt out of the back of my closet—luckily I’d kept the boring black slacks that went with it on the same hanger—and picked up the pair of serious black leather loafers.

The problem was that these clothes were bought two years ago.  And though I looked like the same skin and bones kid, I must have grown.  The pants went on alright, but they were practically painted on.  I was afraid they’d tear open in the back if I sat down too quickly.  The shoes were so tight I was in agony the entire five minutes I wore them.  Instead I changed to a pair of Nike’s Mom had insister I needed at the beginning of the school year, and I’d managed to wear not even once.  But they were black, so they were the least obnoxious or physically painful choice of the bunch.

But it was the infamous blue shirt that had me hyperventilating, staring at myself in the mirror.

What had looked like boring business attire then, now looked like I was ready for my close up on Queer as Folk.  The damned thing had shrunk somehow, every inch of me was crammed tightly into the damned thing, and the buttons were straining.

I looked ridiculous.

But for the first time in my life, I actually looked at my body.  I was still thin and tall, and to terminally gawky.  But I had to admit that I’d gained some muscle in the last year…maybe that had been why Marcus had ogled me big time yesterday?  After all, he’d never had that reaction to me before, so it had to have been something.

Though, I might have been giving off some powerful pheromones.  Marcus had definitely bulked up and leaned down.  He was…sublimely good looking now, and it had taken everything in me not to tear off his clothes when we were in his living room.

Especially since he was only wearing swim trunks.

Mmmmmm…those swim trunks…talk about clothing being painted on.

So even with my buttons and seams dangerous close to the tearing/popping point, I checked my hair, chewed up an Altoid, sprayed a little Cool Water on, and then walked the one hundred and thirty-five paces between my house and his.  I nervously cleared my, wiped my sweaty palms on my pants, and rang the front door bell.

But when the front door opened, it was Natalie—and she looked like a horror.

Hair in curlers, green goop a hideous mask on her face, and I swear to god she had toilet paper stuck to her bare legs.  Shaving her legs must have been a painful, bloody experience.  I cringed just looking at them.

I tried to smile, and was just about to piece together a complement of some kind, when she hurumphed and told me, “You’re too late, peeping tom-boy.  He left for his date with destiny.”

“Who’s destiny?” I asked, confused and hating that I could barely breathe in the get-up I was wearing. 

“Oh…Marcus didn’t tell you?”

“Tell me what?”

She genuinely looked pained to say it.  “That computer hacker I told you about yesterday…well, He found your little tape of my brother and the Mayor, and decided he really liked what he saw.  So he blackmailed Marcus into popping his cherry for him…tonight, in Phoenix.”

I stood there for what seemed like forever, trying to comprehend what Marcus’ little sister was telling me.  And then, all at once, it just hit me in the forehead so hard I staggered back a few steps.

To her credit, Natalie reached out her hand to me, trying to grab me before I fell backwards down the porch steps.  But she hadn’t been fast enough, and I went right over those steep little stairs like I was barreling over Niagara Falls.

Technically, I didn’t fall down the stairs: my feet hit each and every step, they just didn’t land on the sidewalk when I did.  My shoes made a scraping sound, and I yelped.  But then when the rest of me met up with the concrete walkway leading from the porch to the sidewalk, I made a distinct grunt and a long suffering groan.  And then everything went still and dark for a while…don’t know how long, but when I opened my eyes again Natalie was knelt over me, and she had my head in her lap.

Even with the nasty green goop on her face, and the gnarly pink rollers in her hair, she was still so freaking pretty.

“Are you alright?” she said, her voice rough and throaty, as if she’d been screaming or crying.  “I think you hit your head.”

The moment she said the word “head” I reached up and placed my hand on my offending appendage and felt around.  Nothing hurt, and nothing was raised up; but I agree with her that I must have hit my head on the way down. 

I couldn’t remember why I’d fallen.

But then the world and my mind caught up with me, and the insides of my brainpan just roared with rage, and hurt, and fear.

Marcus had gone off to sleep with someone else, and not me—yet another virgin!

I swear! If I’d known that being a virgin would’ve been such a crowded club, I wouldn’t have bothered.  I’d saved myself for that special someone…for this?

I sat up too fast, and my head finally started to hurt.  I lurched up off the concrete and staggered yet again, but only until the world stopped tilting and shaking under my feet.

Natalie was still knelt on the walkway, peering up at me with sad eyes.  No, not sad.  Her eyes swam with pity.  I looked away from her and clenched my eyes shut.  She was right, I was fucking pathetic!

“I can drive you to the hospital…” she whispered roughly, and then cleared her throat.  “You really did hit your head.  You need a doctor, and some x-rays…I’m not sure.  But you shouldn’t just go home and go to bed—”

“I won’t be sleeping anytime soon,” I snapped at her.  I breathed in deeply and my head hurt even more.  “I’m sorry.  I just don’t think I’ll be able to sleep tonight.  I’ll be fine.”

“Michael,” she said, all too seriously, and hearing someone use my full name made me look at her again.  I expected her to be mad, or at least annoyed, but she just looked worried.  “You’re wobbling around on your feet just standing there.”

Oh, that was why the world was starting to tilt and turn on me again.  Maybe I was concussed?

“I’ll get my mom to take me to the hospital.  She’s still awake.” And she’s a nurse.  She’ll probably keep me awake all night with a marathon of I love Lucy, or Mash.  I cringed at the thought of her going all maternal on me, bringing me chicken soup, and admonishing me for taking the stairs backwards.

Didn’t I used to roll head over heels down the steps at home when I was like five?  Mom was going to freak out about this.

“Are you sure?”  She pulled herself up from the walkway and brushed off her bare knees.

I nodded my head and cringed from redoubling of pain it caused.  “I’m sure.  You have plans tonight anyways.”

Natalie suddenly looked stricken, her skin turning snow white around the garish green of her face mask.  “I don’t have any plans!”  she insisted, shaking her head over and over.  “I’m plan free.”

Huh, isn’t that interesting…

“I just mean you look like you’re getting ready for a hot date.”  Why did she look so freaked?

She just stood there, looking tiny, her eyes bugged out with some sort of panic.  Then just as abruptly she shook her head and snapped out of it. 

“Yeah, I’ve got a date.”

“Shaving can be a bitch.” I said, looking down to her toilet paper dotted legs. 

The flesh around her facial-mask turned crimson now.  “I’m nervous.”

“You’ll look great,” I said.  “You always do.”

She looked up at me and smiled.  She had the cutest dimples.

Then her eyes gave me a once over, and then realization dawned on her face.  “You’re all dressed up for Marcus, aren’t you?”

It was my turn to blush.  I took a step back, as if that would hide my shame.

“He’ll probably back in an hour or two.  You know, after he…”

I closed my eyes and gave a small, painful nod.  “Yeah, I know.”  Fucking hell on earth I knew what he was doing.  And with a total stranger…at least he’d known Tom fucking Sherwood for most of his life—which is icky to the tenth power—so I could shrug off his lack of moral fortitude there. 

But now he was off somewhere deflowering some gay guy that wasn’t me…it was humiliating, and it hurt like hell.

I felt my eyes start to burn, and Natalie started to blur in my vision.  I was about to cry, and I didn’t want anyone to see me do it.  So I turned around and started walking back to my house, where I’d show my mom my booboo and she’d take me to the hospital—to the emergency room where she worked, so all her friends could coo over her so grown up son.  And giggle that he’d fallen on his head.

One of the nurses would, no doubt give me a lollipop.

I swiped at the tears that were already streaking down my face like a demolition derby. 

“I hope your date goes well,” I said over my shoulder as I climbed the stairs to my front porch.  I would go to my room first and change my clothes, because I didn’t want enyone seeing me dressed like a skinny gigolo.  And then I’d get this crying shit over with, and then blow my nose because I snotted up like crazy when I cried. 

Finally I’d go tell mom what had happened—the fall on my head, not the pathetic, embarrassing Marcus is a slut and I’m a pathetic virgin story. 

Maybe they’d be able to remove the huge lump that was trying to choke me.  At the very least, they might have a nifty psycotropic prescription that would ease my mental anguish.

To Be Continued…

An Excerpt of No Safe Words Here 5: The Finale

Chapter

Marcus

The blackmailing little shit was standing me up…and I was actually upset about it.  Maybe there was something wrong with me.

I’d made the usually thirty-minute drive to phoenix in just over twenty.  I stopped at an all night convenience store and bought a three pack of Trojans and a Monster Rojo Tea.  Then I found the Red Roof Inn my blackmailer had picked out for our little rendezvous, and rented a room on the bottom floor—as requested.

And then I waited.  And waited…and waited some more.  I mean, I’d showered, shaved, picked out a nice shirt with slacks that made my ass look really good.  I’d driven all this way and spent eighty-five bucks on the room, and my blackmailed couldn’t be bothered to show up.

Natalie had given me the little shit’s number, and I’d rung it twice already, and sent a terse text: Where the fuck R U?

And I still hadn’t heard a peep out of the little shit weasel.

I wanted to get this over with.  I wanted to go home and watch the latest episode of Falling Skies.  I wanted to figure out what I was going to do about Mikey…I mean, Mike.  But instead I was sitting on a lumpy bed in a shitty little motel room, waiting for, no doubt, a walking Clearasil ad to show up.

I was young and healthy.  I was hoping I wouldn’t have too difficult a time getting it up for him…I mean, his name was Neville for crying out loud.  He probably had “dork” tattooed on his forehead.

I was going to have to fuck a dorky, amoral virgin.  How did my life get so fucking pathetic?

I was about to get my ass up and drive back home when someone knocked on the door.

Finally…

I stood and took a deep breath, raising my stiff arms over my head and stretching.  I even tossed my head side to side, giving my neck a good cracking.  I could do this.  I’d just close my eyes and think of someone else…

I suddenly wished I knew what Mikey looked like with his shirt off.  It would be so much easier to imagine having sex with him if I could visualize his naked body along with his sweet, sexy face.

Argh!  This was getting me nowhere.  I strode over to the motel room door and grabbed the knob and twisted the shit out of it.  No matter what the little perve looked like, I was just going to fuck the little bastard up the ass, and then run like a fucking cheetah for the door.