On Archimedes Street (18 page)

As the class disbanded, Honoria sat absorbed in thought. She had never seen reflexes so slow in one so young. She racked her brain for possible explanations, hoping for alternatives to the one that had first crossed her mind. Finally she frowned. It all fit, epidemiologically. Peak age of onset: twenty to thirty years. Geographic distribution in the US: prevalence in the North and Midwest. Racial prevalence: Northern Europeans. Her beautiful boy had multiple sclerosis. A huge sadness came over her.

A
T
FIRST
,
Flip just pedaled around in a daze. And then in mounting rage. He took the decision and turned his bike toward the Jackson Avenue ferry. He and Dutch would have this out. When he got home, he threw down the backpack and started pacing, rehearsing the scene that was about to take place.

“Okay. Maybe I’m gay,” he told himself. “Shit! Who am I fooling, of course I’m gay!” Flip cast his mind back to high school. He’d been elected “Class Adonis” senior year. Everyone else could get some, he thought, but not fucking Adonis? What kind of sense did that make? Over the past few weeks, he had ruminated on the subject, and he’d come to realize that he’d unconsciously chosen to date the very girls who would never have sex before marriage. Now he knew why, and it had all come crashing down on him.

Still, that was no reason to put up with being treated like shit. “Okay—Dutch is a total hunk. And, okay, I want him. But, what an asshole! I’m mooning over a self-absorbed, abusive shithead!” Flip swore under his breath and clenched his fists.

Dutch hadn’t even closed the door when Flip lit into him. “What in the hell was that?”

A very sweaty Dutch took off his bicycle helmet and toed off his shoes. He bent to strip his socks, which he brought to his nose. “Pee-eew!” He grimaced and tossed them. He peeled off his T-shirt and mopped his head, chest, and armpits. “Lucky for you Immaculata is sick. Bible as Literature was canceled.”

“Don’t give me that shit! I
said
, what in the hell was
that
?”

“What was what?” Dutch acted the innocent.

“Don’t get smart with me! You know what!”

Dutch regarded Flip with amusement and closed in on him, maneuvering him until Flip’s back was against the wall. The he leaned into his ear, just as he had in class. He sang in a soft schoolyard taunt:

“Flippie’s got a seeecret. Little Dutchie knooows it. Flippie wants to sniifff it. Flippie wants to liiiick it. Flippie wants to kiiiiss it. Flippie wants to suuuck—”

Flip’s fist caught Dutch’s mouth at the corner. The blow drove his lower lip into his canine, and a little rivulet of blood formed at the corner of Dutch’s mouth. Flip had been in his share of brawls and knew how to handle his fists.

Next door, Rita thought she’d heard a thud. Then she shrugged. “Clumsy, big feet.”

Dutch had never been in a fight in his life. The punch had sent him sprawling to the floor, and he looked up at Flip in stupefaction. “Poopie. Owie.” He cradled his jaw in his hand and gingerly worked it back and forth.

“Get up! I’m gonna pound you into a pulp!”

But Dutch didn’t stand up. Instead, he snarled, “You’ve been beating off into my socks, haven’t you, Flabbott? And imagining sucking on my dick while you sniff my drawers and pull yourself off. Well, haven’t you?
Haven’t
you?”

Flip sank to his knees as if struck himself. Dutch must have found the briefs and T-shirt Flip had taken from the dirty clothes hamper and stowed under the pillow. Humiliation battled the rage that had been in his chest. He couldn’t trust himself to look at Dutch.

Dutch brought a finger to the corner of his mouth, dabbed at the moisture, and poked the finger straight up into the air above his sprawled form. “Oh! Blood! Bloooooooood!” he moaned dramatically. “I’m gonna pass out!”

At this, Flip raised his eyes and caught Dutch’s gaze.

“Oh, bloooood. Blooood! I’m going under! Alone with a gen-you-ein sock-cooker in the room! At his total mercy! Suppose he starts rooting around in my paaannnnts while I’m under? Suppose he roots around in there and fishes something oooouuuut? Oh, blooooood! Blooooood!” Dutch made a show of planting his feet on the floor and sliding them toward his butt, bringing his knees together, as if in preparation for standing. Then he let his knees fall to either side, splaying himself. His head lolled to one side. “Oh, I’m passing oooouuuut!” He cocked one eye open.

Flip could see the outline of Dutch’s dick clearly beneath his loose shorts. He had a big boner. Lust was added to the cocktail of rage and humiliation.

Dutch closed his eyes again. “Suppose he takes advantage while I’m all helpless! Suppose he starts to craawwlll over here while I’m passed out? He might start sucking on my big toooeeee.” Then crisply, “No—make that my middle toe, for symbolic reasons.” Dutch resumed the singsong voice, “He might trail his toooonnngue up my arched instep, then up my shapely calf, then up the inside of my manly, muscled thiiigggh. He might take off my shorts! Then before he peels my underwear off, he might stick his nose behind my baaaalllls, all nice and sweaty from my bicycle seat, and so rich in apocrine glands and tantalizingly redolent. Ooooh, blooooooood!” Dutch made as if to get up again and collapsed. He cocked one eye open again and peered briefly at Flip.

Another emotion added to the cocktail: the urge to laugh, but clearly lust was gaining the upper hand.

“Then he might lick my baaalllls, put one in his mouth! He might finally just gobble down my fat, juicy dick and start suuucking on it, to get my delicious man-juice. Oooooh! Blooooooooood!”

Already on his knees, Flip got on all fours. He stared at the big lump beneath the shorts and started crawling toward Dutch, who lay motionless and seemingly comatose. Then Flip brought his mouth to Dutch’s big toe and sucked on it tentatively. He couldn’t believe he was going to do this, and he couldn’t believe how badly he wanted to do it. The blood throbbed in his temples as he mouthed the toe. When he moved to suck the middle toe, Dutch suppressed a snort. He brought his eyelids to half-mast and raised his head a few inches off the floor. “Oh, bloooooood!” Down went the head. Down went the lids.

Flip followed the rest of the script Dutch had outlined: he licked the instep, the calf, then traveled his tongue on the furred inner thigh, breathing Dutch in all the while. Dutch lay perfectly still, with his eyes closed and his boner straining the fabric of his shorts. Flip reached for the waistband and with trembling hands drew down the zipper. Dutch temporarily suspended his swoon as Flip tugged the shorts down around the hips. He scooched his ass up off the floor to facilitate their removal before collapsing again.

Flip departed from the script somewhat, drawing his lips over the cotton-trapped boner before sinking his nose into the apocrine-rich region behind the balls. The scent was aphrodisiacal, and his dick turned to steel. He fished out a ball from beneath the briefs, licked and then mouthed it. He glanced up to Dutch’s face, which remained inert. Did he see a small smile there?

But when he drew out the huge dick, Dutch sprang instantly to his feet and used one big paw to grab Flip by the hair. With his free hand, he softly slapped his dick all around Flip’s nose and mouth. Flip undid his own waistband and pulled his shorts and briefs down to his knees. He grabbed his dick and started working it as Dutch cock-whipped his face.

“Open! That’s right, c’mon, c’mon, that’s right.” He stuck his dick in Flip’s mouth and started gyrating his hips. “Now you got it, now you got it. That’s right, that’s right.” Then he said, “Eat it! Eat it! You love it, don’t you? You like that big cock in your mouth, don’t you?
Don’t you
?”

Flip closed his eyes and moved his chin and his cock-stuffed mouth up and down. Dutch pulled his cock out with a big
plop
and stepped out of his briefs, his eyes riveted on the kneeling Flip. Flip returned the gaze with awe and hunger. Dutch’s dick thrust up and out from its nest of black hair, and clear slick glinted on his belly, where the straining cockhead brushed against it. The big balls were drawn up tautly in their sac. Dutch then bent his knees to get a better shot at Flip’s mouth and grabbed Flip by the ears. “Suck my cock!” he hissed, and jabbed about five inches into Flip’s mouth. Flip spluttered, gagged, and choked. The choking brought tears to his eyes. “C’mon, you can do better than that! Eat it!”

“Shit! Slow down! It’s not like I’ve ever done this before!”

“I’m getting your cherry?” Dutch’s eyes reflected a feral shine.

“Well, yeah.” His mouth and chin were smeared in spit, and his face was tear-streaked from the gagging.

“You’re gonna eat my dick all night, and you’re gonna fuckin’ love it! Am I right?”

“Dutch….”

“Aw, don’t worry. We get each other’s cherry. This is how it’s supposed to be!” he sang in triumph. “Now, c’mon, c’mon.” Dutch rubbed his balls over Flip’s nose. “That gets you in the mood, doesn’t it? You like those big balls, like to smell them, don’t you?” He moved more gently this time, easing the cockhead between the lips. “That’s right, that’s right, now you got it, now you got it. Yeah, c’mon, eat it nice and slow. Show me how much you love my cock. Show me how much you like it in your mouth. Yeeeaahh, c’mon, suck it, suck it good.”

Although humiliating, Dutch’s rough sex talk was inflaming Flip. So was the crotch-scented fug that clung to his nose and upper lip. He stroked himself and tried to go farther down on Dutch. He was going to shoot any minute. The closer he got, the looser his mouth became. Flip forgot his gag reflex in his excitement. He wanted Dutch so bad.

“Yeah!
Shit
, yeah! Get it! Like that!” Dutch thrust into his mouth. “Like that!” Flip felt his nose sink all the way down on the pubes. It was in his throat. He swallowed around it in surprise and felt his throat muscles massage the glans. There was no urge to choke, just the blood pounding in his ears. He’d never been so turned-on in his life.

“Yeah! Like that! Like
that
! Do it!” Dutch stopped thrusting when the dick was all the way in and just moved it slowly in and out in short, half-inch strokes. “
Take
it! “Shi-i-i-it yeeaaah! Fuck!
Fuck
! Gonna shoot! I’m shooting!”

Flip pushed at Dutch’s hips and drew off hurriedly. “Not in my mouth!”

Dutch growled his frustration, fisted his dick, and worked it fast. Flip glued his gaze to the swollen dickhead, shiny with his own saliva, and pumped himself furiously in turn. Then he heard Dutch grunt as it began to shoot out. That did it. Flip shot all over Dutch’s calf and foot as he felt Dutch pulse onto his face and lips. A blob of the final spurt caught him in the eye.

It burns like acid, twenty times worse than soap!

“Shit! You blinded me!” Flip sprang up and stumbled to the bathroom to rinse out his stinging eye. He was hobbled by the shorts and briefs around his knees, and his still-erect penis bounced and bobbed all over the place.

Dutch was most amused by the hobbled, bobbing ballet. “Haw! Haw! Haw!” he said, using his discarded briefs to wipe Flip’s cum off his foot and calf.

Chapter 26

H
AD
THERE
been a witness—and there had been none—and had that witness had a passing familiarity with the art depicting the Spanish mystics, the comparison might have suggested itself. Like St. John of the Cross before him, this figure trembled in transfiguration. Like St. Teresa of Avila before him, he shimmered before a life-altering, ecstatic vision. However, the vision was not St. Teresa’s lance-wielding, heart-piercing angel. The vision was, instead, a utility pole. Or rather, a notice affixed to that pole.

It was a mammalian member of the At Family that first drew his attention. In bold, block letters, it jumped out at him.

“Dat say ‘cat’! I be dam!”

He instantly recognized that hated childhood word, now suitably domesticated. He approached in curiosity. And then the strangest thing. Like patterns in a twisted kaleidoscope, like blurred letters flipped into focus by an optometrist, the notice swam and moved before his eyes, suddenly resolving itself into order. He devoured the words, not just one by one, but in whole phrases that congealed into instant meaning.

A blip: “An—swer. What swer? Swer… Swer… Anser! What dat do-nothin’ dubble-you doin’ dere? People who make up spellin’ jes’ stupid.”

With that minor obstacle removed, he scanned the notice from top to bottom. He kept staring at it in astonished surmise, much as the graybeards first gazing upon the Rosetta Stone must have done after Napoleon’s troops dragged it in. His eyes skimmed other notices. “For sale: Pickup truck.” It was not elation he felt, but a kind of breathless panic. He tore the notice from the pole. “Wanted: Part-time fry-cook,” the words in another notice swirled into recognition. “What the hell I care what you want,” Elwood told the fry-cook notice, and took off in a sprint fueled by adrenaline.

“O
NE
,
TWO
,
three! Count, Honoria, count!” Rita and Honoria were tackling Schubert’s Rondo for Piano Duet in A Major, and things, as usual, were not going well.

Honoria had been distracted lately, it was true. Two nights ago, she’d confided to Rita her fears that Flip had multiple sclerosis, but Rita had pooh-poohed them. “That boy is healthy as an ox. I heard them the other night. Think he punched Dutch out. Did you notice that bruise on his jaw? I think that they have, as they say, ‘issues.’ They did stunts that night too, and if anyone with multiple sclerosis can ride a bicycle practically standing on his head, well….”

Honoria’s fears had eased some, but she was sufficiently on edge to resent the aspersions that Rita cast on her ability to count.

“Me? What about
you
? Look! There!” Honoria tapped the sheet music. “That thing? It’s called a signature!”

Rita in her turn glared at Honoria. Then both women stopped, startled by a boisterous clamoring and barking on the street.