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Category: Erotica/Gay-Lesbian Erotica/Romance
Description: When young Ricky Daley's parents leave him home alone for the first time, what happens during the course of one week transforms him from a timid boy taking SAT tests to a confident man making adult choices. Although he's always played by the rules, deep down he's always wanted to take a few chances and live on the edge. And though his parents are determined to get him into an Ivy League college, he's more interested going to a local college and meeting the man of his dreams. Ricky seems to have it all: great looks, excellent grades, and athletic ability. Only he spends his free time with his best friend, Leyland, a hapless gay guy in Ricky's senior class who is just as frustrated as Ricky is, playing canasta while daydreaming about the men they'd love to meet. For Leyland, any man from the neighborhood UPS guy to the high school football coach will do. But for Ricky, it's more detailed and emotional. He wants love and romance and someone upon which he can depend. The man of his dreams is dark, with a deep, smooth voice, and he looks like Keanu Reeves. Then Ricky decides it's time to let loose and have some fun. At first, it's just a few harmless incidents, like taking his father's car out without permission and putting on an X-rated male strip show for his Peeping Tom neighbor in the back yard. But Ricky has no idea all this is leading up to a date with a guy who is even better than the man of his dreams, an unusual encounter with a pimp named Carson, and a lucrative one-night business venture that will surpass anything he's ever learned in his high school entrepreneurship class...
eBook Publisher: Ravenous Romance/Ravenous Romance, 2010
eBookwise Release Date: November 2010

5 Reader Ratings:

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Available eBook Formats: OEBFF Format (IMP) [250 KB]
Words: 60708
Reading time: 173-242 min.

Chapter One

On Friday nights, Ricky Daley often played cards with his best friend, Leyland O'Brian, instead of going out on dates with girls. They were both seniors in their last semester of high school: old enough to know better, but still too young to know how to get what they wanted.

So they passed the time playing spades and listening to music instead of cruising around town with the other kids from school. Sometimes they played canasta, but Leyland had a tendency to steal wild cards when Ricky wasn't looking, and it wasn't as easy to cheat with spades.

They'd been best friends since their first year in high school. Ricky was dark-haired, athletic, and muscular, with slightly bowed legs and a firm, round derriere that often provoked second and third glances. His straight brown hair fell across his forehead in loose shocks and the hollow spaces below his cheeks turned into dimples whenever he smiled. He was on the football team, baseball team, and basketball team and still managed to rank among the highest in his class. Leyland, on the other hand, was ten pounds overweight, had bushy brown hair, and legs shaped like the letter X. His derriere was square and flat. When he wore corduroy slacks, his thighs rubbed together and made a swishing sound. He'd never thrown a football, a baseball, or bounced a basketball in his life. And when he took an exam, there were always cheat sheets tucked under his sleeve.

If it hadn't been for the fact they were both gay, they wouldn't have had anything in common. Though they'd never had sex with each other--nor would they ever--this was enough to form a strong bond of friendship. Living in a small suburban subdivision in northern New Jersey, where eighteen-year-old high school guys didn't date other guys, left them with nothing but dreams and fantasies. They never denied being gay. They just didn't talk about it openly with anyone other than themselves. Despite all the changes happening within the lgbt community, lgbt teenagers couldn't walk down the hallways in their schools and hold hands like straight kids did. So while Ricky and Leyland played cards on Friday nights, they often laughed and joked about their frustrations and talked about what they wished their lives could be like.

One particular Friday night in the early spring, Ricky slipped an e-cigarette into his mouth and looked at his cards. He wasn't a smoker and there wasn't any nicotine in the e-cigarette, but it made him feel older to pretend he was smoking. They were playing canasta that night and Ricky was wearing dark sunglasses. He'd put them on so he could watch Leyland closely. Ricky wanted to make sure Leyland wasn't stuffing wild cards--jokers and deuces--into his shirt pocket when Ricky wasn't looking.

Ricky picked up a small pile of cards in the center of the table that had been topped with the black four of spades Leyland had just discarded. Then Ricky pulled three more fours from his hand and set them down, with two fifty-point wild cards and Leyland's black four of spades to make his meld. The cards hadn't been coming to Ricky that night and Leyland already had two canastas and a red three. And Leyland didn't seem to be cheating, so Ricky had to make a move. Leyland was only holding two cards in his hand. If Ricky didn't put something down on the table, Leyland could go out and leave him holding a handful of wild cards.

"That was lame," Leyland said, looking down at the cards Ricky was showing. "Four shitty fours and two jokers? I've seen better melds with the old ladies in my grandmother's card club."

Ricky shrugged. "I didn't have a choice. I have to get rid of some cards if I'm going to beat your ass." He was bluffing now. He wanted Leyland to think he had great cards.

"Dream on, baby," Leyland said, clucking his tongue.

Ricky discarded a red queen and quirked his eyebrows. He knew it was a tricky card to set down, but he didn't have anything else to offer.

Leyland lurched forward and seized the red queen, added it to the two other queens he was holding in his hand, and slapped all three down on the table at the same time. "I'm out."

Ricky looked down at Leyland's cards and frowned. He looked at his own cards and shook his head. He was holding a handful of wild cards plus three aces, and he only had six cards down on the table that added up to one hundred and twenty points. There had to be at least two hundred points in his hand that would now be deducted from his score. And the measly points on the table would barely even cover it.

After they counted their points and Ricky dealt out a new hand, Leyland fanned his cards and smiled. "Thanks for giving me such a great hand again this time. It's giving me an erection."

"You're full of shit," Ricky said. He knew when Leyland was bluffing because his right eyebrow twitched. When Ricky cursed out loud it sounded awkward and forced. No matter how hard he tried to sound cool and casual, foul words always seemed to get stuck in his throat and flatten as they passed his lips. "I'm gonna kick your butt with this hand, buddy. You should see my cards."

"Yeah, dream on, asshole," Leyland said. He picked up the first card and discarded a black six of clubs. When Leyland cursed, it sounded natural and easy.

"Speaking of dreams," Ricky said, "I had an interesting one last night."

Leyland sat forward and rested his elbows on the table. His lips parted and he started to breathe heavier. "Tell me about it."

Ricky smiled and discarded a black three. He knew now much Leyland loved listening to his sex dreams. Sometimes he became so excited his right leg started to vibrate. "I don't know if I should. My mom and dad might come in." They were playing in Ricky's basement. His mother and father had gone out to a movie and left them in the house alone. They sometimes asked him why he didn't date girls, but never thought to ask if he was gay.

"They won't be back soon." Leyland leaned forward and bit his bottom lip. "Tell me about the dream. Tell me everything." He picked up a card and discarded another black three.

Ricky held up his cards and pretended to look at them through the dark glasses. But he was really looking at Leyland's face. Leyland was still leaning forward on the edge of his seat, waiting for Ricky to tell him about his dream. So Leyland lowered his voice to almost a whisper and said, "It all starts after football practice. The other guys go into the locker room to change and shower, and I stay outside and run laps for about a half hour. I'm wearing all my gear and it's hot outside. By the time I stop running, I'm dripping with sweat and my entire body is on fire." He stopped talking long enough to pick up a new card and discard another.

But Leyland wasn't playing anymore. He put down his cards and laced his fingers together on top of the table. "Go on, tell me more." His tongue was practically hanging from his mouth. "What happens next? I want details."

Ricky smiled. Leyland's eyes were glazed and his leg was starting to vibrate. "I cool down for a minute and adjust my dick. It's all sweaty and hot and stuck in my jock strap. My balls are all squashed up and I rub them a few times to give them some air."

Leyland pressed his palm to his throat and licked his lips. Though they'd never had sex, Ricky often thought Leyland was attracted to him. In fact, he'd seen Leyland checking his crotch out many times when he thought Ricky wasn't looking.

"After that," Ricky said, "I jog into the locker room. All I can think about is ripping off my gear, getting totally naked, and taking a shower. There's no one left in the locker room. All the other guys have gone home and it's almost dead quiet. But when I take off my gear, I hear one of the showers turn on. I'm standing there in nothing but a sweaty jock strap, listening to the water run. There's no other sound in the locker room."

"It's the coach, isn't it?" Leyland asked. "This is another coach dream." He rubbed his palms together. "Oh, I love your coach dreams."

The football coach at their school was in his late twenties, had a lean muscular body, and thought nothing of walking around naked in the locker room in front of the other guys. Though Ricky had only seen six inches of the coach's flaccid dick flopping around, he'd imagined it expanding into a nine-inch erection many times. But this dream wasn't about his coach. "It's not the coach dream," Ricky said. "This one is even better."

Leyland took a quick breath and adjusted his legs beneath the table. "Go on. Tell me more."

Ricky smiled and put down his cards. "Okay. I'm standing there in my sweaty jock listening to the shower. I'm not sure what to do, so I decide to act naturally and play it cool. I pull off my jock strap and toss it into my gym bag with the rest of my dirty gear. Then I throw a towel around my shoulders and slowly cross the locker room in my bare feet. I see a pile of some guy's soiled, sweaty football gear on a bench near the shower room. There's a pair of dirty sweat socks and a worn jock strap at the top of the pile. I pick up the jock strap and hold it in my hand for a minute or two, then put it back and keep walking."

"Did you sniff the jock?" Leyland asked. His lips were parted and his eyes were bulging.

"No," Ricky said. "That's disgusting."

"I would have," Leyland said. "I don't think it's disgusting."

"That's because you're a perverted creep," Ricky said.

Leyland shrugged. "No, it's because I like dick. And there's nothing sweeter than the smell of a sweaty football player's used jock strap. Ask anyone."

Ricky squinted and shook his head. "It's disgusting and skanky. Sweaty balls stink."

"To each his own," Leyland said. "Finish the story."

"Okay. When I reach the showers, I stop for a minute and wait. My heart is pounding in my ears and my legs feel shaky. I'm not sure whether I should just walk into the showers or go back to my locker and get dressed. Then I take a deep breath and three steps forward. When I'm standing in the shower room doorway, I see the back of this magnificent guy standing beneath the middle shower head. The water is running down his body and he's washing between his legs. There's steam everywhere, but I can see the outline of his perfect body. His back muscles are jumping with each move and his long legs have just the right amount of hair. His shoulders are wide and they taper down to a thin waist and a nice tight round ass. Even his feet are perfect; not too big, but wide with straight, perfect toes and a nice arch.

"I remain standing there, staring at him. I can smell the spicy soap he's using. My dick is growing and I can't control it. I know I should be worried he'll turn around and find me watching him, but I can't seem to move my legs. It's like I'm frozen in a time warp."

Leyland reached for his beer and gulped the rest of it down. Then he wiped his lips and said, "Don't stop. Keep going. Does he have a nice dick?"

"The weird part is I've never seen this guy before. He looks like Keanu Reeves, but not the young version. This is the grow-n-man version: Keanu in his forties. I like that he's older. But it's not really Keanu. It's my dream man, a guy with dark black hair whom I've never actually seen before, which only makes my dick harder. Then he turns and faces me. I notice his dick first: it's the longest, thickest dick I've ever seen. It's just hanging between his legs semi-erect, swinging back and forth. He stares at me for a second and says, 'What are you looking at?' It's hard for me to speak. I know the sentence is grammatically incorrect. But it doesn't bother me. I say, 'I just wanted to take a shower. Do you want me to leave you alone?' And he says, 'No. Come over here and help me wash my balls.' So I slowly step into the shower room and walk toward him. My heart is racing faster than ever and my dick is sticking out like a flagpole. I'm walking and edging at the same time. I can smell the damp hazelnut aroma between his legs. I'm worried about someone walking in and catching us, but all I want to do is go down on my knees and suck him off.

"But as I get closer, the steam gets thicker. By the time I'm under the shower and the water is hitting my body, I can't find him anywhere. My mouth is literally watering. I can't think about anything but getting down on my knees and tea-bagging him. Then I turn around and the steam slowly starts to disappear and I see I'm standing in the middle of this large, hollow classroom where everyone is taking their SAT tests. Everyone else is seated at a desk, with their heads down, working hard. I'm just standing there in the back of the room, naked and wet and helpless, while they're all writing something with number two pencils. This weird disconnected feeling passes through my body and my dick starts to shrink. I get this sick thud in my stomach and I know I'm never going to get into the Ivy League college my parents want me to get into because all I ever think about is sucking the biggest dick I can get my hands on."

Leyland sat back and blinked. "That's it? That's the dream? What happened to Keanu Reeves and his big dick?"

Ricky pulled the e-cigarette from his mouth and set it on the table. "That's it. I told you it was weird." He was enjoying Leyland's frustrated expression. He knew Leyland had been hoping to hear one of his sex dreams that had a happy ending, where Ricky winds up with his legs in the air and his tongue hanging from the side of mouth. Poor Leyland. Ricky hadn't seen him this dejected since his mother came home from church early and caught him wearing her white patent leather high heels and Easter bonnet.

"You didn't even get to touch his dick once?"

"Nope," Ricky said. "He just disappeared with the steam." Ricky wasn't making any of this up either. He'd actually had this dream the night before and he'd experienced such a deep feeling of panic he had trouble falling asleep again. He just stared up at the dark ceiling in his bedroom and thought about taking the SAT test. He'd already taken the test once and he'd done very well. But not good enough for his mother and father. They wanted him to take it again to see if he could get a higher score. Getting into an Ivy League school wasn't easy, and they'd been preparing him for this since he was in preschool.

Leyland sat back in his seat and yawned. "Pick up your cards and start playing. That dream wasn't even worth fucking listening to, man." Then he picked up his cards and spread them into a fan.

Ricky smiled. He had another story that would perk Leyland up. "I didn't tell you what happened the other day, and it wasn't a dream. It was the real thing."

Leyland picked up a card, added it to his hand, then laid down seven cards in a row to make canasta. He smiled at his victory and looked up at Ricky. "Okay, what happened the other day?"

Ricky looked at the score sheet and frowned. It was getting late, Leyland had almost five thousand points, and if he made one more canasta he'd win the game. The story Ricky was talking about really did happen, at least partially. He was hoping it would distract Leyland from the card game so he could win. So he picked up a card and discarded one from his hand, then said, "I was riding my bike along the edge of the park the other day. I noticed this UPS guy in the back of his truck. He was wearing those short brown pants they start wearing this time of year. He had short blond hair and a diamond earring in each ear."

Leyland looked up from his hand. "I know that UPS guy," he said. "I've seen him in my neighborhood. He's so fucking hot with that blond hair and those sweet legs I almost tripped over the curb last week." Leyland lived two cul-de-sacs away from Ricky, well within walking distance.

"That's the guy," Ricky said. "Well, he was staring right at me. He nodded and smiled and I slowed down. The back of the truck was open and no one was around. He scratched his crotch a couple of times and tilted his head, motioning me to get into the back of the truck with him. I stopped right next to the truck and looked up at him. Then he tilted his head again and winked, welcoming me to join him in the back of the truck."

"What did you do?" Leyland asked. He was sitting on the edge of his seat again. He was staring at his cards and listening to Ricky at the same time.

Ricky picked up a card and smiled. "I went into the truck and we did it. I just got down on my knees, pulled down his zipper, and took care of him."

"Yeah, right," Leyland said. He laughed and shook his head. "I'll bet you got back on your bike, rode right home, and jacked off in your bedroom." He picked up one card, adjusted his entire hand, then placed all his cards on the table. "I'm out. And that's it. I've gone over five thousand with just this one canasta so there's no need to count the points. I won. Kiss my fucking ass."

Ricky slammed his cards on the table and frowned. He was more upset Leyland didn't believe his story than he was about losing the game. "I did get into the truck with him. I sucked him off until his dick was red." Then he pushed the cards forward, stood up from the table, and went upstairs. It was after eleven o'clock by then and he was tired of losing at cards and tired of talking about men and sex.

By the time Leyland went upstairs, Ricky was already standing outside in the driveway. His back was against the fence and his arms were folded across his chest. When he saw Leyland approach he lowered his head and kicked a stone into the grass on the other side of the driveway. "I could have gotten into the truck with him," Ricky said. "He did wink and he did want me to get in there with him. But it just didn't feel right. I didn't feel an emotional connection to him. He's great-looking and all. But it just felt wrong. And that's why I'm the only eighteen-year-old virgin in town." He may as well admit part of the story was a lie. Leyland knew him far too well and he knew Ricky wasn't aggressive when it came to men and sex.

While Ricky sulked, Leyland walked up and patted Ricky's shoulder. "You're just too uptight, is all. If I'd had the chance to get in the back of that UPS truck with that hot blond god, I would have jumped inside and pulled him down on the floor. But you have to think about it, analyze it, and examine your feelings about it." He grabbed Ricky's arm. "Man, sometimes you just have to say kiss my fucking ass and do whatever you want to do. Life's too short to worry all the time. We've been friends for four years, and in all that time I've never seen you just let loose. Start out slowly. Go to school without wearing underwear."

"No underwear?"

Leyland patted his back. "I'm not wearing any right now."

Ricky shrugged his shoulders and smiled. He'd wanted to get into the back of the UPS truck, but he kept picturing the horror on his mother's face if she caught him with the UPS man. Even if she didn't catch them in the act, he had a feeling she'd know the minute she saw his face. She'd take one look at him, stare at his puffy red lips, and know he'd been sucking a guy off.

"Kiss my fucking ass," Leyland said, "isn't just an expression. It's a way of life that can open huge doors to a new life." He was speaking with his wise old professor tone now, pointing his finger and moving his hand up and down.

Ricky listened closely. He stared down at his shoes and pressed his lips together. Leyland was right. He was too uptight. But he'd been doing what his parents wanted him to do all his life and he wasn't sure he even knew how to say, kiss my fucking ass.

Leyland put his arm around Ricky's shoulder. "Your parents are going away?"

"Tomorrow."

"You'll have the house to yourself," Leyland said. Then he smiled, patted Ricky on the shoulder, and started down the driveway with his hands buried in his pockets.

When Ricky realized what Leyland was saying, Ricky stood up straight and smiled. This was the first time his parents had ever left him alone in the house. He was free to do whatever he wanted to do and there was no one to stop him.

Leyland turned back and sent Ricky a wise glance. He smiled and said, "It's all about these four words: kiss my fucking ass. And I'm not talking about just saying it. I'm talking about knowing how to do it." Then he turned to leave. He walked into the dark street waving his arm above his head, whistling a familiar tune.

As Ricky watched Leyland disappear, he smiled and whispered the words, "Kiss my fucking ass."