Chapter 6
“Mikey’s locked me out.”
Mr. Pierce’s gruff voice rose sharply like a
verbal slap. “Mikey! Open that damn door!”
No answer. If I knew my friend, he was
probably desperate to come now, yanking on his dick as hard as he
could before his dad made it up the few steps to pound on his
bedroom door. The thought made me laugh even harder.
A note of warning crept into Mr. Pierce’s
voice. “Mikey! I said—”
Behind me, the door flew open. I tumbled back
out of Mr. Pierce’s line of sight and fell against Mikey’s legs. I
was still snickering as I looked up into my friend’s face, and the
glare he gave me got me laughing all over again. “Dickhead,” he
muttered, kicking me in the side. “You can go home, you know.”
“You’d miss me,” I joked, and rolled away
before he could kick me again.
Ignoring us, Mr. Pierce told his son, “Don’t
you pull this shit tonight. The guys are coming over for poker so I
want you boys to stay up here out of sight. Got that, Mikey?”
Despite his size, Mikey still cowed to his
father. With a whine in his voice, he started, “Da-ad, you
said we could have pizza—”
“I’ll order you a pie.” Mr. Pierce always
called it that, a pie, which sounded foreign to my ears and
always made me think of dessert. “But you stay up in your room and
you stay quiet, you hear? Or he can go home right now.”
By he, Mr. Pierce meant me. I sobered
quickly, pulling my face into a solemn expression because the last
thing I wanted was to leave. Apparently Mikey didn’t want to make
good on his earlier threat, either. Scuffing his socks on a nail
protruding from the door’s threshold, he muttered, “I hear
you.”
“Excuse me?” Mr. Pierce snapped.
Mikey raised his voice. “I hear you,
sir.”
Sir.I’d have to tack that onto my
next daydream about Mr. Pierce. I could see myself standing tall
before him, every part of me snapping to attention beneath that
dark glower of his. My dick ached in the confines of my jeans and
in that instant I envied Mikey, whose zipped fly lay flush against
his crotch now that he’d gotten off. I suspected I’d be holing up
in the bathroom before the night was through, pulling on my own
dick over the toilet just to find release.
* * * *
Mr. Pierce’s poker buddies started showing up
around six. My stomach was growling—I hadn’t eaten much for
lunch—but I knew better than to ask when we’d order the pizza. For
a little while Mikey and I duked it out on the Playstation, playing
one of his wrestling games and basically kicking the shit out of
each other. Mikey knew all the moves, which buttons to press in
what sequence to execute any number of grandiose acrobatics but me,
I just pushed them all at once and hoped for the best. It pissed
him off whenever I won. “Dumb luck,” he’d say, punching me in the
arm. By the time he grew bored with the game, my shoulder was numb
from his knuckles.
When I heard the first car slow to a stop in
front of the house, I abandoned the game and pretended to stretch
as I wandered over to the window. Outside I saw a battered Toyota,
the engine idling so loudly I knew there was no muffler on the
thing. After a moment or two, the engine cut off and three
rough-looking guys climbed out from the car. Mr. Pierce’s friends.
They were tough men, same as he, and so different from the type of
guy my own father palled around with that I loved them instantly.
Ignoring the sidewalk, the three cut across the front yard, heading
for the garage and the same door I had entered earlier. I couldn’t
hear their laughter from this distance, but through the floor I
heard the door scrape open and Mr. Pierce’s voice boom out. “You
assholes stay off my grass!” he cried in greeting.
So that’swhere Mikey and I got it
from.
“Some of your dad’s friends are here,” I
said, in case Mikey hadn’t possibly heard them arrive.
His answer was a noncommittal grunt—he was
too absorbed in the video game to talk at the moment. Flopping on
the bed, I grabbed the nearest magazine and started to flip through
it. Then I noticed it was Hustlerand I tossed it aside.
“I’m hungry,” I complained, picking at the threads on the edge of
Mikey’s blanket. “When is he going to order the pizza?”
Without breaking from the game, Mikey swung a
fist behind him, hoping to connect with my leg. I kicked it away.