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The weight of his large hand, not to mention the warmth of it, went straight from my shoulder to my cock, and I had a hell of time not getting a raging boner from it. That was all I needed! Our next-door neighbors' marine son finding out I was queer. I could think of worse ways for my life to come to an end, but not many.
"It's okay. You didn't know," I said, looking up into his crystal blue eyes, which were as warm as his hand. "But trust me. It's really okay for you to spend the weekend. Besides, I could really use the company. I'm usually all alone."
"I don't know how to thank you."
Of course, the first thought that went through my head was, "Fuck me!" However, I luckily didn't say that.
"Don't think anything of it. Like I said, I could really use the company." I was now repeating myself because I really didn't want to say any of the things that were swirling around in my head, like "Fuck me!" or "Can I suck your cock?" or "How about I lick every inch of your entire body?" or at least a dozen equally obscene suggestions I had for how he could thank me. Fuck! If I could just get to see him naked, that would give me masturbation fantasies for at least a month--better than any of the damned porn sites could supply.
Finally I came up with something that wasn't obscene or illegal in several states. "Hey! Would you like a beer?"
"Yeah, that would be great," he said, finally, almost reluctantly, removing his hand from my bare shoulder. However, I could still feel the warmth of it there even after he'd taken it away.
It was then that I remembered I was standing there in nothing but a pair of jeans. I thought about running upstairs and putting on a shirtor something, but Rick had already seen my scrawny body. I mean, I didn't have muscles the way he did. I had always been slender even though, as my Mom always claimed, I could eat like a horse. I just had a very high metabolism evidently; I guess to go along with my high sex drive. I mean, I was used to jacking off three to four times a day to get some relief from my cock, which seemed like the Energizer Bunny--always stiff as a board and ready to go. Like it was now. Just that touch of Rick's hand on my bare shoulder had been enough to set me off--that, and the fact that I hadn't jacked off earlier.
"Where do you want me to put this?" Rick asked, motioning to his duffel bag.
"Why don't you just leave it there and we'll figure out where to put it later," I said, thinking about where I was going to have Rick sleep.
Our house wasn't big. It only had two bedrooms upstairs. There was the couch downstairs, but it wasn't a sleeper sofa, and I seriously doubted that it would fit Rick's height or his large, muscular body. I also didn't think it would be right to put him in my mom's room. That would be an invasion of her privacy. That basically left only one place--my room. Now Mom had decided when we moved there that I needed more room and more privacy than she did and so she'd given me the master bedroom, which had its own bathroom. The room was also a lot bigger than the bedroom she'd taken. So big, in fact, that she'd bought me a king-size bed for it, saying I was growing and would need more room than the old full-size bed I'd had in our last apartment. So there was plenty of room for Rick to sleep with me. However, the thought of that brought me some real worries. How in the fuck was I going to sleep in the same bed with someone who looked like Rick without having a serious case of blue balls?
Rick followed me into the kitchen while all these thoughts were going through my head. I had him sit at the kitchen table, and grabbed two longnecks out of the refrigerator. This was another indication of how much my mom trusted me. She knew I never drank too much and so she didn't mind sharing beer with me. Besides, I didn't have a car, so I wouldn't be driving under the influence anyway. I never abused the privilege of having a beer every once in a while. After all, I didn't like the idea of getting drunk. I was afraid of the effects because I didn't know what I was liable to say or do and I had a fairly big secret that I had to keep.
"So does your mom let you drink beer or is this because she's out of town?" Rick grinned at me.
Oh, fuck! He had dimples when he grinned. The cutest fucking dimples I'd ever seen. Just what my already randy cock did not need to see.
"Uhh ... no. She lets me. I don't ever drink more than one or two. I don't like getting drunk."
Rick laughed. "Shit! I sure did when I was your age. Me and my buddies would get fucked-up every chance we got. But then again, we were jocks and most of the year we were in training so the opportunities were few and far between. Did you play any sports?"
"No. I was in the Paideia Program."
"Oh! One of the 'brains.' Well, that doesn't mean you can't play sports. I was in Paideia too."
"You were? Nobody's ever mentioned that," I exclaimed in surprise. Fuck! It wasn't fair that somebody could be so athletic, so good-looking, and so smart, too.
"Yeah. I figure not. For some reason, the only way people wanted to see me was as Super-jock. And most of the time that meant they tended to treat me like I was stupid as well. Like my folks and my brothers do." I could hear a lot of pain in his voice as he said this.
"Why does your family treat you that way?" I asked, before stopping to think this was actually none of my business.
"Because of this." Rick grabbed the material of his uniform between the thumb and index finger of his right hand.
"What? Because you're a marine?"
"Yeah. They all think I was stupid to join the Corps and turn down all those scholarships." I could hear disgust and anger in his voice.
"But the Marines are the elite force of all the armed forces. They're the ones who get called on first any time our freedom is threatened. That's why they're called 'The Few, The Proud.'"
I admit that I had a thing for the Marine Corps. And not just about the hunky, supermasculine image that members of the Corps had. Even though I knew that, as a gay male, I was little more than a third- or fourth-class citizen. My freedoms and my rights were severely curtailed because of my sexual orientation, but I was still very patriotic. I believed in this country and I believed that, eventually, all the wrongs perpetrated against gay people would be somehow set right. Or, at least, an effort would be made to set them right. Just the way the Civil Rights movement had done for blacks. Of course, the hunky, supermasculine image thing didn't hurt any either, if I were completely honest. After all, one of the hunkiest and most supermasculine examples was sitting right in front of me, causing a wet spot in my jeans from the precum leaking out of my hard-on.
At my words, however, Rick gave me a penetrating stare, almost as if he were trying to figure out if I was serious. Evidently, he must have decided I was because he gave me a shy smile and blushed. God! He was even more fucking beautiful when he did that.
"Thanks, Robby. Maybe you could give that speech to my mom and dad sometime. They and my brothers all think I'm throwing my life away in the Corps."
"So why did you join?"
"Because, believe it or not, I really wanted to serve my country. I felt it was my duty to do it. Nobody in my family, except my dad's father, had ever been in the armed services. Grandpa served with the Marines in the Second World War. Plus, to be honest, I didn't want to go to college. At least not then. I had no fucking idea what I wanted to do with my life, and I figured that I would just be wasting my time going to college, trying to figure it out. I figured that after I got out of the Corps, I'd have a better idea about my life."
"But that makes perfect sense. So why didn't your family support what you were doing?" I couldn't understand how Rick's family could find fault with his reasoning.
"My brothers all were perfect little clones of each other. Each one dutifully went off to college and became so-called successes because that's what my father demanded of them. They claim that they're happy with their lives, but I wouldn't give you two cents for them. Do you know about my brothers?"
"Yes. Your mom's told me about them."
"No, she hasn't. Not the truth. She's told you what she wants to believe about them, not the truth. Both she and my dad are in denial about them."
"Really? So what is the truth?"
"Okay, let's start with my oldest brother, David. He's on either his fifth or sixth marriage, I can't keep track. The last three wives have all been 'trophies.' Women who were fifteen to twenty years younger than he was and were eye candy for his arm. They married him for his money, but even they couldn't stand him for more than a couple of years each," Rick said.
"Fuck!" I muttered softly.
"Then there is my next oldest brother, Joseph. The Great Healer! I'm sure my mom has told you what a great doctor he is."
"Well ... yeah."
"Did she tell you where Joseph lives or what kind of doctor he is?"
"Uhh ... she said he lived in California. She just said he was a doctor."
"Yeah, well he's in California, all right. Beverly Hills to be exact, and he's a plastic surgeon. My brother is the leading expert in breast implants in the country. My brother makes all his money on boob jobs. That's what kind of 'doctor' he is. And he's on either wife number four or five; I don't know which at this point."
"And then there's my last brother, William. I'm sure that Mom has told you that he's a hospital administrator in Florida. That's what she usually tells people."
"Well ... yeah."
"Billy-boy is the 'administrator' of the hospital custodial staff in a small, private psychiatric hospital and has maybe three people under him. He can barely hold on to that job because Billy-boy is a major boozehound. He's a drunk who's been married three times and divorced each time for physically abusing his wives. But I'm the loser of the family because I'm a marine."
"But that's totally fucked-up."
"Yeah. I know. Why do you think I haven't been home since I left for boot camp?"
"So why did you come home now?"
"I just got back from Iraq, and I'm being transferred to Quantico for training. My flight was booked through Chicago from San Diego so I figured I would lay over for the weekend and finally see Mom and Dad. To be honest, I was really dreading this. In some ways, them not being here is a relief for me."
"So I guess you'll want to hang out with some of your jock buddies this weekend."
"Why the fuck would I want to do that? I didn't have all that much in common with them when I was in school. Now that I've been away in the Corps for four years, I've got nothing in common with them at all. Most of them either went to college and are now married with kids, or they didn't go to college and are married with kids. And, trust me, the last thing a wife wants is her husband hanging out with some old high school buddy who lives what she sees as an exotic and exciting life. Might give him ideas of what he's missing."
"So what do you want to do?"
"Well, what do you usually do?"
"Read and watch DVDs."
"What? No buddies? No girlfriends? How old are you?"
"I just turned eighteen two months ago. No, I've got no buddies and no girlfriends. I don't have a car so I don't go any place," I said, and I could hear the defensiveness in my voice.
"Hey! I'm sorry. That was stupid of me. I wasn't judging you. I just didn't want to cramp your style by being here," Rick said apologetically.
"Trust me, I've got no style to cramp. So what do you want to do?"
"I just spent a year eating sand and dust, roasting in the heat during the day and freezing from the cold at night, getting shot at, almost blown up a couple of times, and being scared almost every minute of the day that I was going to go home either on a stretcher or in a body bag. Spending the weekend doing fuck-nothing except vegging on the couch watching movies sounds like the best thing I've ever heard." He gave me another grin showing his dimples.
"I thought you'd want to go out and get drunk or get laid."
"I don't need to go out to get drunk. I'm old enough to buy booze and drink here. And the last fucking thing I want is to be in a fucking bar. Totally boring and, since all I've got with me are my uniforms, totally stupid. You end up either with some drunken asshole trying to pick a fight with you because he wants to prove he's a man by beating up a marine, or people ask you really stupid questions like, 'How many guys did you kill?'"
"Oh..." was all I could say. I'd never realized that. God knows the thought of how many men he had killed over there had been in my mind.
"And as for getting laid, well ... to be honest with you, it's all well and good, getting your nut, don't get me wrong, but since I came back, I'm not interested in one-night stands anymore. I want somebody who knows me and cares about me. Somebody I don't have to play stupid games with the next morning, like telling them I'll call when I know damned well I won't. Can you understand that?"
"Well ... yes and no. I mean I get the part about wanting someone to care about you. But I don't know anything about the rest of it," I said quietly, blushing with embarrassment.
"Are you saying you're a virgin?" he asked quietly.
I looked at him, I expected to see disgust or pity in his face, but the look he gave me was neither of those. It almost seemed like he was glad about it, the way he was smiling gently at me, but that didn't make any sense to me at all.
"Yeah," I said, and even I could hear the shame in my voice.
"Hey! There's nothing to be ashamed of. If you ask me, you've avoided a lot of heartache. You might think that getting laid is greatest thing in the world, but a lot of times, it's just fucking awkward. And it can be really frustrating trying to find the right person. You strike out more than you score--trust me on that one."
"I'll bet you don't. Not with the way you look and the body you've got," I said, and immediately thought to myself, Oh, fuck! That didn't just come out of my mouth. Now he's gonna know for sure that I'm queer.
Rick, however, didn't seem to notice. He just laughed.
"Nobody scores all the time. Not even me. Like I told you, you strike out more. And a body and a face don't change that. To be honest with you, if I find out somebody just wants me because of my body or because they think I look good, that turns me off for sure."
Oops! I thought to myself. That's exactly why my fucking cock is bone hard. But then I thought about it, and I realized that maybe that wasn't the whole truth. Oh, the minute I'd seen him standing at the door, I just about lost my breath over how beautiful he was, but now that I'd had a chance to actually talk to him and get to know him a little, it wasn't just Rick's body or his good looks that was keeping my cock hard. It was Rick himself. If I were trying to describe Rick as a person, the two words I would use would be honesty and integrity. Okay, I didn't know him all that well, but that's the feeling I got from him and everything he'd said. To be absolutely honest, given half a chance, I knew I could fall deeply in love with him--all the more reason to keep my hands to myself this weekend.
I guess I have to admit to something here. I'm a fucking romantic. As much as I hate that about myself, I know that what I really want isn't to get laid, though when I'm horny that's about all I can think about. The truth is, what I really want is a guy to love who would love me. I want all that crap you read about in romance novels--love at first sight, falling totally in love with a guy who is your soul mate, being totally faithful to him because there isn't another male on the face of the planet who could make you be unfaithful. I know how fucking stupid that is, but I just can't seem to help myself. The last fucking thing I needed in my life, though, was to fall for some straight guy--and a straight marine, no less.
"There is one problem with you getting drunk here. Other than two more bottles of beer, there's not any booze in the house, and there's no liquor store anywhere near here. At least not in walking distance."
"Robby, that's what they make cabs for."
"Yeah, but cabs are expensive."
"Shit! I've got plenty of money. I just spent a year in Iraq. How much money do you think I spent over there, huh? I've got almost a year's salary built up. It's not going to hurt me at all to pay cab fare. Besides, you know what I want more than anything else?"
"I want to go to the Daily. You know the bar and grill over on Lincoln at West Wilson?"
"Yeah. I know it. Mom's taken me there a few times."
"Well, the whole time I was in Iraq, I kept dreaming about one of their Daily burgers with bacon and blue cheese and cheese fries on the side."
"So, let me get a shower and change out of these fatigues and we can head there. You're hungry, right?"
I was an eighteen-year-old male. That translates to a walking, talking, hormone-driven eating machine.
"Well ... yeah," I said, uncomfortably.
Since I didn't have a job or anything, I didn't have a lot of money, certainly not for eating out. Not with my appetite.
"This is on me, Robby. It's the least I can do for you being so nice as to put me up for the weekend. Trust me, this weekend you pay for nothing. It's all on me. Okay?"
"Okay." It felt kind of weird. Like I was his date or something. Not bad weird. Actually kind of good weird, but weird nonetheless.
"So where do you want me to shower? Come to think of it, where do you want me to sleep?"
"You can shower in my bathroom. As to where you're going to sleep, well ... There's the couch down here, but I don't know if it would be very comfortable or long enough for you or ... uhh ... well ... you could just share my bed. It's a king-size one."
There. I'd said it. I just didn't know how he was going to take that, however.
"If you're sure you don't mind, I'd rather sleep in your bed," he said, quietly, looking at me with a stare that seemed to go right down to my soul.
"No, I don't mind," I replied quietly.
"Good, then. Let me grab my duffel and grab a shower and then we'll head out."
He went out to the foyer and got his bag, and then he followed me up the stairs. He threw his bag down on the bed while looking around my room. He started to unbutton his shirt, and I saw the smooth skin covering his massive pecs. I knew I shouldn't be standing there watching him strip, but I couldn't move. He didn't seem to mind. In fact, he smiled at me.
"You know, Robby? I think this is going to turn out to be a really good weekend."