Pentangeli.
speeches don't do anyone good.
Chapter 2
Bob’s POV
“So….” Ray began.
That’s how they always begin. “So,” they would say. “That was fun. Next time let’s do it behind the bleachers.” Or, “So, you’re really good, but she does it better.” Or, “So, I know this might sound weird…but, don’t talk to me in public, ‘mkay?” They always used the same word to start different sentences. But the message was always the same: you’re good, but you don’t belong with me. I wiped my bottom lip with the back of my hand, and glared at the red fro that was bent over, zipping up his pants. I was the boy that all the boys went to when their girlfriend wasn’t cutting it, or when they wanted a taste of the alienation that I feel everyday. There hadn’t been anyone who understood…until Ray.
Without really telling, I told him everything: about how used I felt after every blow in the back of the movie theater or grope under the bleachers. And the worst part, I had cried onto Ray’s shoulder, I that they never said anything to me when I passed them in the halls. Ray had held me and let me cry into his shoulder and all over his shirt. It was then that I knew I was in love with him. I didn’t care that I thought he was straight, or that I probably only felt this way because he was my first normal friend in years.
I had hoped that we could be friends, and I could love him, quietly, secretly. But then I had gone and ruined it all by showing him all the dark, clever tricks I could play with my tongue, all the ways I could tease him, and drive him so close to the edge, his fingers twined in my short hair. And when he did come, it was a more perfect climax than I could ever imagine.
Now, the euphoria of the moment had faded, and I was left standing there, glaring at Ray’s perfect face, knowing that he would go the way of so many before him.
“What’s with the death glare?” he asked, bringing me back to the present.
“Oh,” I mumbled. “I’m just trying to decide which version of the ‘keep it a secret’ speech you’re gonna give me.” I blushed and looked down at my shoes.
“What? You think I’m gonna brush you off like all those other guys did?” he asked, peering up at me from under his lashes. “You’re not getting rid of me that easy, babe.” Ray crossed the space between us in two steps and stood hip to hip with me. “Stop worrying so much. That was too good to give you up anytime soon.” He slid his hands into my back pockets. “…I was just gonna ask how long you’ve known you were gay.”
“Oh.” I blushed, sighed, and leaned back against the wall, thrusting my hips toward him. Pictures ran through my head: shadowy faces kissing trails down my stomach, masses of curly, dark hair coming at my face. Boys whose names I never remembered in the morning. “Twelve, I guess.” Wow. I sounded like a whore. But you are, I told the voice in my head. What did you expect? “How old were you?” I asked him, hoping it was somewhere around the same age.
“Fifteen.” O.O Maybe I really am a whore. But Ray kept talking.
“I mean, that’s when I decided to come to terms with it. But I kinda knew before that.”
“Oh.” That’s all I could say. With another sigh, I pushed my back off the wall and into his arms. He kissed my jawline slowly.
“I should go.” He whispered in my ear. I made puppy dog eyes at him, but nodded. “Don’t worry,” he smiled. “I’ll be back.” With one last kiss, he turned around and made his exit. But not before he faced me again at the door. His face broke into an embarrassed smile as he mouthed “Bye.” Then Ray was gone.
Bob’s POV
“So….” Ray began.
That’s how they always begin. “So,” they would say. “That was fun. Next time let’s do it behind the bleachers.” Or, “So, you’re really good, but she does it better.” Or, “So, I know this might sound weird…but, don’t talk to me in public, ‘mkay?” They always used the same word to start different sentences. But the message was always the same: you’re good, but you don’t belong with me. I wiped my bottom lip with the back of my hand, and glared at the red fro that was bent over, zipping up his pants. I was the boy that all the boys went to when their girlfriend wasn’t cutting it, or when they wanted a taste of the alienation that I feel everyday. There hadn’t been anyone who understood…until Ray.
Without really telling, I told him everything: about how used I felt after every blow in the back of the movie theater or grope under the bleachers. And the worst part, I had cried onto Ray’s shoulder, I that they never said anything to me when I passed them in the halls. Ray had held me and let me cry into his shoulder and all over his shirt. It was then that I knew I was in love with him. I didn’t care that I thought he was straight, or that I probably only felt this way because he was my first normal friend in years.
I had hoped that we could be friends, and I could love him, quietly, secretly. But then I had gone and ruined it all by showing him all the dark, clever tricks I could play with my tongue, all the ways I could tease him, and drive him so close to the edge, his fingers twined in my short hair. And when he did come, it was a more perfect climax than I could ever imagine.
Now, the euphoria of the moment had faded, and I was left standing there, glaring at Ray’s perfect face, knowing that he would go the way of so many before him.
“What’s with the death glare?” he asked, bringing me back to the present.
“Oh,” I mumbled. “I’m just trying to decide which version of the ‘keep it a secret’ speech you’re gonna give me.” I blushed and looked down at my shoes.
“What? You think I’m gonna brush you off like all those other guys did?” he asked, peering up at me from under his lashes. “You’re not getting rid of me that easy, babe.” Ray crossed the space between us in two steps and stood hip to hip with me. “Stop worrying so much. That was too good to give you up anytime soon.” He slid his hands into my back pockets. “…I was just gonna ask how long you’ve known you were gay.”
“Oh.” I blushed, sighed, and leaned back against the wall, thrusting my hips toward him. Pictures ran through my head: shadowy faces kissing trails down my stomach, masses of curly, dark hair coming at my face. Boys whose names I never remembered in the morning. “Twelve, I guess.” Wow. I sounded like a whore. But you are, I told the voice in my head. What did you expect? “How old were you?” I asked him, hoping it was somewhere around the same age.
“Fifteen.” O.O Maybe I really am a whore. But Ray kept talking.
“I mean, that’s when I decided to come to terms with it. But I kinda knew before that.”
“Oh.” That’s all I could say. With another sigh, I pushed my back off the wall and into his arms. He kissed my jawline slowly.
“I should go.” He whispered in my ear. I made puppy dog eyes at him, but nodded. “Don’t worry,” he smiled. “I’ll be back.” With one last kiss, he turned around and made his exit. But not before he faced me again at the door. His face broke into an embarrassed smile as he mouthed “Bye.” Then Ray was gone.