Markwildyr.com, Post #212
Well, is Jude happy or in over his head. He’s clearly the junior member of this duo. So is he satisfied with the relationship? Let’s see.
* * * * *
JUDE
MANCHILD
That phone call had been an
hour ago, and the sympathetic side of me was beginning to fret while the
cautious side relaxed a little. Bart just lived across town, no more than
twenty minutes away. Ten, if he gunned his cycle. After a couple more hours, I tried
calling him, but got no answer. So I started hiking to his house, expecting,
hoping to see him coming toward me down the street. I reached his house. No one
answered the door.
My “wanting” side clearly in
ascendancy now, I headed downtown to see if I could locate his bike. No such
luck. Maybe I should go back home and find him impatiently waiting to give me
hell for not obeying his instructions.
On the way, I ran into a
neighbor kid a year or so younger’n me, and I could tell he was busting to tell
me some news.
“Hi, Fred, what’s up?” I
asked.
“Did you hear about Bart?”
I hoped my startled reaction
didn’t give me away. “No, what about him?”
“Got creamed by a car on
Hobart Street.”
“Is he okay?”
“Hauled him away to the
hospital. Broken leg or something.”
I thanked him and headed
straight for the town’s only hospital. It took forever to find out he’d already
been sent home. So I hiked back to his house and saw Mrs. Jewelson’s car in the
driveway. She answered my knock and told me Bart was in his bedroom.
“You can go in for a few
minutes, Jude but he needs to rest. He got knocked around quite a bit. Lucky
it’s just his leg.”
I walked into his room and came
to a dead stop. Old Bart looked like hell hit with a club. I always though
“white as a sheet” was a cliché, but, man, was he white. And his right leg was
encased in the biggest, heaviest-looking cast I’d ever seen. He sure as hell
didn’t look like the swaggering semi-bully I knew. In fact, he looked
vulnerable.
“Hi, Bart, looks like you’ve
seen better days.”
He tried to muster a smile,
but it didn’t work. “Yeah, thanks to old lady Tillotson. She just turned the
corner and plowed right into me. My bike’s totaled. It’s gone, man.”
“Her insurance company will
buy you a new one,” I said, drawing upon my deep inexperience with such
matters.
Bart brightened. “Hey, yeah.
Maybe I can get a brand new one.”
“Maybe. Uh, I waited like you
asked me to.”
“Yeah, well, I didn’t make
it.”
“Just wanted you to know.”
I only stayed about fifteen
minutes, but it was enough to give me a different viewpoint on life. At least
life with Bart Jewelson in it. As I tripped down the steps, his mom called to
me and asked if I could come check on Bart around noon. I knew she worked at a
lawyer’s office downtown and figured she needed to get back to work.
“Yes, ma’am. About ten be
okay?”
“That’ll be fine, Jude. Maybe
spend a little time with him. He’s going to get bored out of his skull before he’s
getting out and about.”
“Be happy to.”
****
As soon as the Jewelson’s
screen door banged behind me the next morning, I could see Bart was feeling
better. Frustration at being tied down in a recliner in the living room clearly
stamped his features. Geez, and this was only day two.
“Hi, kid,” he drawled, seeking
to set things back the way they were. But that was behind us now, even though
he didn’t know it yet.
“Thought you might need some
relief,” said, walking over to his chair.
“Always, he said. “But I’m a
little inhibited right now.”
“Leave that to me,” I said.
“Your mom’s at work, right?” I hadn’t seen her car in the driveway, but a guy
can’t be too careful.
“Yeah.”
Giving him a grin, I opened
his robe and took a gander. He didn’t have anything on under it, so I had free
access, except for that clunky cast on his right leg. It wasn’t a walking cast,
so he was more or less confined to bed or a chair or hopping around on crutches.
Bart was pretty well built,
not just in the manhood department, so I took my time touching and tasting
things we hadn’t taken the time to explore before. He put up with it for a
while and then started complaining I oughta get down to what counted.
“In a minute. What’s the
hurry?”
He tried for his usual snarl,
but it didn’t work. “What’s the hurry? You got my nuts to aching, that’s the
hurry.”
“Patience” I said and returned
to sucking on his nipples. But then I had mercy on him and went to work in a
serious way. Before long, he delivered. And delivered. Afterward, I leaned over
his chair and looked him in the eye. “Bart, how do you think of me?
“Wha’dya mean?”
“Just what I said. How do you
think of me?”
“You’re my old lady.”
I shook my head slowly. “No,
I’m not. I’m your lover.”
That thought shook him. “It
ain’t that way. I just take my relief. Love ain’t got nothing to do with it.”
I knew I had him shook up
because he was tearing up the rules of conversational English more than usual.
I squatted on my heels beside him and stroked his forearm. “Think about that a
little harder,” I said. “And when you figure it out, give me a call.”
“Like hell. You show up here
tomorrow. Eleven o’clock. And right now, go fix me a ham sandwich.”
I stood. “I’m really fond of
you, Bart. Might even say I love you if you wouldn’t have a conniption fit.
Give me a call.”
I did the hardest thing I’d
ever done. Walked out on the only guy who gave me a little action. But it was
deeper than that. He was the guy I’d come to love. But the relationship was
lopsided and needed fixing.
****
He didn’t call until the next
afternoon.
“Where the hell are you?” he
asked.
“Home.”
“Well, get your ass over here.”
“Can’t right now.”
“Why not?”
“Just can’t.” And I hung up.
He didn’t call the next day,
but when my cell burbled the following day, it announced his call. “Hello.”
“Man, you know what’s good for
you, you’ll be here in five minutes.”
“Why?”
“I wanna shag your ass.”
“You couldn’t even if I came
over.”
“I’ll figure out a way.”
“Not one that’s comfortable
for me you won’t.”
“Hey, man, I need company. Come
on over, we can just jaw, if you want.”
“I dunno.”
“Jude, I been good to you,
time to pay back the favor.”
Now we’re getting somewhere.
“You’ve been good to me? How?”
Bart dropped his voice to a
near-whisper. “I give you want you want, man. You know that.”
“You mean you take what you
want, don’t you?”
“Come on, you like it.”
“Yeah, I guess I do. But what
I don’t like is that I do all the giving, and you do all he taking.”
“What’re you saying? I get you
off, don’t I?”
“Bart, when’s the last time
you jacked off?”
“I dunno. A while, now.”
“Kid stuff, right?”
Bart paused like he knew trap
bait when he heard it. “Yeah.”
“So how come I get the kid
stuff while you get the grown-up stuff?”
“Because I ain’t queer, kid.”
“Didn’t know I was until you
raped me in that garage out in the middle of nowhere last year.”
His voice went high. “Raped
you?” He settled down. “You ate it up, man, and you know it.”
“Not at first. But you went on
and took what you wanted.”
The line went dead for a
moment. “What… what you want?”
“I want you to do for me what
I do for you.”
The snarl came back in his
voice. “Nobody’s gonna fuck my ass.”
“That’s not what I want.”
“You mean… blow you?”
“That would be great, guy,” I
said. “Tit for tat, and you get the added bonus of laying it to me.”
Silence again. Then. “Don’t
our friendship mean anything?”
“Means a lot. And I give mine
right back. But when you want friendship with privileges, as they say, I oughta
get some privileges back.”
“You’re being a
son-of-a-bitch, Manchild.”
“But a friendly one. So what
do you want me to do?”
His sigh held frustration, but
there was no anger in it. And when he spoke, I heard resignation.
“Come on over.”
I scooted my tail right down
the street and arrived at his house in record time. After a little more
resistance, Bart accepted that I was serious, and that afternoon turned into
something memorable. Something indelibly etched into my brain. For the first
time, it seemed more like a love session than a fuck session.
Guess Jude
turned the tables and became an equal partner. Wouldn’t it be great if all of
us could work out a relationship that easily? Let me know what you think.
Please friend
this site. Apparently, that matters in the internet world.
Website and blog: markwildyr.com
Email:
markwildyr@aol.com
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Now my
mantra: Keep on reading. Keep on writing.
You have something to say, so say it!
See you later.
Mark
New posts the first and third Thursday of the month at
6:00 a.m., US Mountain time.
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