Markwildyr.com, Post #261
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Hope you had a great St. Patrick’s Day and didn’t get pinched too often for failing to wear green.
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TOMMY
By
Mark Wildyr
“Tommy?”
I bristled at the name, but
that was just my mother’s way. I was Tommy here at home but Tom at school.
Except for Marge Whitsock—and I didn’t mind the familiar from her, just like she
didn’t object to being Margie to me.
“Yes, Mom.”
“Will you run to the store.
I’ve got so much to do today, it would be a big help.”
“Sure.” Any excuse to drive my
’85 Mustang. I’ve had it for a whole semester now, but still got a kick out of
buckling into the seat and feeling the power of the beast. “What’cha need?”
It turned out to be quite a
list, but what the heck. The only thing was, I was a little ambivalent about
entering Hawthorne’s Grocery. Mr. Hawthorne was okay, but his son was something
else. Neil was in my senior class at Putnam High, and I had a funny
relationship with him. Relationship? That was a stretch. I wasn’t even a blip
on Neil’s radar. He was the only other kid who still called me Tommy, and that
was because it kept me an inferior to our town’ football running back hero.
At first, I thought I’d lucked
out, and he wasn’t working this Saturday. But as I left the store, Neil pulled
up in his Camaro and walked over to where I was loading groceries into my
trunk.
“Take the cart back in for
you, Tommy,” he offered.
“Thanks.”
“How you doing? Ready for
graduation?”
Wow. He was staying for
conversation. “As much as I can be.”
He grinned, going from just
good looking to downright handsome. “Yeah, I get you. Be great getting out of
high school, but that means ripping the old gang to shreds. I hear you’re going
to State too. See you there, I guess”
I hesitated. Might as well get
this over and done with. “Uh… you think you could call me Tom when we get
there?”
The grin died. “You don’t get
it, do you?”
“Get what?”
“That’s a term of affection.”
He grabbed my now-empty cart
and headed for the store. I watched him until he disappeared through the
automatic double doors… with my mouth hanging open, I’m sure.
****
Football season ended, spring
arrived, and everyone concentrated on proms and getting ready for tests and
graduation. Finals were a busy time for me, not just preparing for the exams
but also doing some tutoring. I often wondered if I shouldn’t become a teacher
because I liked helping other students prepare for the biggest academic event
of their year.
This semester, I got a
surprise when our science teacher Mrs. Levy asked me to give Neil Hawthorne a
hand. Neil had never needed help before. I’d had a couple of classes with him
this semester and knew him to be a bright guy. Yeah, he had it all. Looks, athletic
prowess, and brains.
Nonetheless, I swallowed my
surprise and agreed to give him a hand. That very afternoon, he approached me
as I left the school building and headed for my Mustang.
“Hey, Tommy, wait up!”
I obediently halted until he
reached my side, and then we walked to the parking lot.
“Mrs. Levy told me you’d
agreed to help. Appreciate it. When can we get together?"
“On one condition,” I said as
a brainstorm struck. “You call me Tom from now on.”
He gave me a look. “Yeah,
sure. Agreed. Okay?”
“Okay. When do you want to
start.”
“My folks are going to my aunt
and uncle’s house for dinner this evening. How about we grab burgers and meet
for a session.”
“Sure.” My turn to flash him a
look. “Didn’t know you had trouble in science. In any class, as a matter of
fact.”
“Not exactly trouble. Just
like to have a firmer footing, I guess you could say.”
We settled on a time, got into
our respective vehicles, and went our separate ways.
****
I showed up at his house right
on the dot. Per agreement, he’d stopped on the way home from work and got our
burgers and fries. As we sat down and popped lids on our drinks—he was diet Coke;
I was regular Dr. Pepper—he leaned back and spread his legs comfortably. We ate
in silence for a minute or two before he hit me with a question.
“How come you don’t like to be
called Tommy?”
“It’s a little boy’s name,” I
came back at him.
“Or a term of… familiarity, I
guess you could say.”
“Maybe. But it seems to me
like it’s saying you’re the grown-up and I’m the little kid.”
He took another bite and
munched with a thoughtful look on his face before taking it a step further.
“It’s kinda like Pepe being
Pepito.”
“Yeah. Like Pepe being little
Pepe,” I countered.
He got that cogitating look
again. “Familiarity.”
I shook my head. “Dissing.”
“So I’m calling you ‘Little
Tom,’ huh?”
“Yeah.”
“Are you?” he asked, putting
his greasy napkin on the plate and downing the last of his fries.
“Am I what?”
“Little Tom?”
“Hell, Neil, you got eyes. I’m
about as tall as you are.”
“Not talking about how tall
you are.”
“Then what—” I interrupted
myself with a choking sound. “You mean….”
“Exactly.”
My face heated up, and my
cheeks stung. “You suggesting we measure?”
“Why not, Tom. Or maybe Tommy’s
more appropriate.”
I didn’t know what to say,
much less what to do. I wasn’t into sports, so I didn’t spend time in the
locker room like lots of jocks, but word around school was Neil had about the
biggest one on campus. I couldn’t help it; my eyes went south.
Neil was sprawled in his seat,
one foot beneath the chair, the other stretched out in front of him. A
noticeable lump emphasized the fullness of his groin. I’m sure my face got
redder as I realized I was curious about… it.
He moved, taking me by
surprise. His hands dealt with his belt buckle in one second flat. Then he hesitated
with his fingers on the top button of his fly. “Well? You chicken?”
“I… I….”
He redid his belt. “Figured. So
I guess you’ll stay Tommy.”
“Wait!” I cried. The
desperation in my voice surprised me. “Hell, if it’ll put that crap to rest,
why not.” I tackled my own belt.”
“Let’s go to my room, you
know, in case my folks come home unexpectedly.”
“What?” Now there was panic in
my tone. I hadn’t realized my voice was so expressive.
“Just a precaution. They never
come back before nine or ten. They play bridge with my aunt and uncle.”
He rose and strode to his
room, me following like a puppy dog. As soon as the door closed behind us, his
belt was undone and his fly popped. Then he hesitated, waiting for me, I guess.
So I tackled my trousers,
feeling foolish when they fell around my ankles. His did too.
“Now the underwear,” he said,
rolling down his jockeys.
I flid down my boxers, and
they joined my trousers on the floor. I stood with my mouth open as he stepped
out of his clothes. Gossip was accurate. Neil was well-endowed.
“Tom,” he said, “Congratulations.
You’re carrying more’n I thought.”
“Uh… thanks.” Not knowing what
else to do, I grabbed for my britches.
“Wait. I want a better look.
It seems to be growing.”
If possible, my cheeks turned
rosier… all four of them. It was true, my thing started rising like it was hunting
for something. I got even more flustered when his did too. And it was swelling
up a whole lot faster than mine. It finally dawned on me we were standing
bare-assed staring at one another’s bone.
“Impressive,” he noted. “Wanna
touch.”
“I-I guess.” Had my gulp been
as loud to him as it sounded to me?
My knees almost gave way when
his fist closed around me. He twisted sideways, presenting himself, and I
grabbed on like clutching for a lifeline. Wow! Hard and warm and throbbing.
He turned me loose to shrug
out of his tank top before pulling me down on the bed with him. Wow! What a
build. Wow? Was I reduced to a blubbering idiot only capable of wows? No. He
was magnificent. Didn’t know they made chests for eighteen-year-old boys that
rippled like that. The pecs were hard slabs; aureoles big and brown and…
strangely unsettling. Made me want to touch one. So I did.
“Ahhh,” he purred, putting a
hand behind my head and pulling me to him. My lips sorta fastened on like I was
three months old and started sucking.
“Ahhh,” he said again, adding,
“Tom.”
I switched to the other one
without being asked.
“Ohhh, that gets to me,” he
mumbled. He sounded discombobulated, as well, and that gave me some confidence.
I put a hand to his abs and had the thought everything this guy possessed was
hard as a rock.
Neil lay back on his pillows and
let me root around for a moment before grabbing my head in his hands, centered
it where he wanted and pulled me to him. Can’t say I was exactly surprised—given
what had gone on before—but I was kinda shocked at what I experienced. Wasn’t
disgust or revulsion It was more like a thrill that it was me giving this
great-looking guy what he wanted. So I set to work making it as good for him as
I could.
He panted hard and moaned and
twitched now and then until he finally let out a gasp and called out.
Oh! Tommy… Tommy!
How about that? I’d gone from
Tommy to Tom and back to Tommy in the span of a single evening. But you know
what? I didn’t mind his “Tommy” this time. Not at all.
Tuned out to be
quite a tutoring session, didn’t it? But seemed to me like the wrong guy did
the tutoring. Depends upon the subject matter, I guess. Wonder if they’ll end
up as roommates at State?
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