September 2, 2008

Let the Games Begin by Syd McGinley

(Let the Games Begin is set during the early events of Lost and Found 3: Teacher’s Pet)

I’ve saved shaving until the evening. I’m rebuking myself as I scrape my two-day stubble -- why the hell do I care if my face is smooth for this boy? And perhaps he likes stubble. Oh fuck, what does that matter? I glare in the mirror, and refuse to take stock of my appearance. It’s been nearly ten years since I went on anything like a date, and I already know those years show.

Fuck. It’s not a date. Just going to the damn movies. We’re just test-driving this thing. Just seeing if he even wants to be around me, let alone serve me.

It’s cold, but he’s waiting, as instructed, outside his apartment building when my Fat Boy rumbles up. I’ve let him keep my spare helmet at his place -- it’s not as if I’m going to give anyone else a ride. He scrambles on, and gives my waist a naughty squeeze. 

“What did I say about PDA, boy?”

“No one can see,” he mutters rebelliously, and squirms closer to my ass. 

I add that to my mental list of things the boy’s sassed me about, and get going. I’ve told the boy to choose the film -- partly because I really don’t care what we see, and partly because I want to see what he picks. We’re both broke and are going dutch, but he buys a big popcorn and grins at me.

“We can share!”

I don’t growl, and I do take a few handfuls during the previews. We bump hands as the feature begins, and I decide I’ve had enough popcorn. It was greasy anyway.

The movie is okay, I guess. Lots of fighting and half-naked men with swords. The boy is enjoying it -- he’s caught up, and gasps at all the right moments. 

I drift. I’ve never much cared for films, and Rob would always joke that we’d never seen a whole movie together. Of course, we had no money for even cable. Rob used to watch old Westerns on whatever free channels the rabbit ears found. He had a big crush on Clint Eastwood. I’d get bored halfway through and go study if Rob liked the movie; however, if I thought he was just watching whatever was on, I’d usually find something else for him to turn his attention to -- and so we never finished a movie together. 

I’m jolted back from remembering Rob giving me a blowjob during a break in Once Upon a Time in the West (I let him watch all of it -- he was enthralled -- but there was a long commercial break and I needed a reprieve from the Marvell or Wyatt or Marlowe or whatever damn paper I was writing), by a hand on my thigh. There’s a moment of bleak disconnect as I wait for “not Rob” to pass, then I take the boy’s hand, give it a squeeze, and set it back on his own lap. The back of my knuckles brushes his erection, and I look at the screen to see why he’s hard.

Dear God! I pay more attention -- some guy wearing just a leather Speedo declares he’ll fight in the shade. I feel old for a moment that this is a mainstream movie.

The kid is undeterred and is trying to sneak his hand back and to press his thigh against mine.

“Stop it,” I hiss. “No means no, boy.”

He sighs, moves back into the middle of his seat, and we watch the rest of the film without incident. He’s a bit shaken by the ending -- I guess he had no idea how Thermopylae played out.

He’s back to his usual self as we grab coffees-to-go, and loiter in a parking lot sipping them by the Harley. He’s only twenty, and is a big kid about reciting his favorite movie scenes, and demanding to know who I liked best.

“I liked Stelios! He was hot.”

I shrug. “He was okay. I could tell you liked him.”

He snorts. “Okay? He was smoking!”

I watch him nearly spill his coffee as he strikes a sword-wielding pose, and hollers “Tonight we dine in hell!” 

Shit. He’s lovely. I can feel a familiar defense kicking in. If I don’t do something fast, I’ll talk myself out of this boy. I take a look around. The parking lot is deserted.

“With your shield or on it, John,” I mutter to myself. I grab his coffee, toss it aside with mine, and kiss his mouth hard.

His hands are inside my biker jacket trying to get under my shirt. I move them aside, and push him against the wall. He’s pinned by the wrists as I take as many kisses as I want from him. He’s trying to grind against my thigh, but he’s not getting that yet. Our cheeks scrape as I move down to kiss his neck.

“Oh, you shaved,” he mumbles sounding disappointed.

I want to leave a mark on him, and I pull his collar aside and nip at his shoulder. He yelps, but wriggles closer.

“Good boy. Now: if you ride home behind me without trying to rub that against me --” I point at his crotch “-- and with not a sound from you, then I’ll invite you to the cabin for the weekend.”

“Really? Oh! Sir! I’ll be as quiet and still as the boy with the fox in his belly!”

I roll my eyes, but I’m pleased he knows the story.

“We start this minute, boy.”

You can find more about John at www.inlocodomini.com  and  www.sydmcginley.com

The first two parts of Syd's Lost and Found Chaser will be on sale for 10% until September 7.

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Today's clue: Laney's clue is hidden in livejournal land, with Blue Collars galore.