CHAPTER TWO: Curiosity killed the cat San Dimas, California. 1984
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CURIOSITY KILLED THE cat, and it almost got BILLY HARGROVE killed, too. Against his better judgement he decided, on a hot summer Tuesday, to invite over a bloke he met at the beach a few days before. Neil and Susan took Max out for lunch someplace nice, and as usual they didn't even bother asking him if he wanted to tag along, so he had the place to himself anyways, or so he thought.
It's not like he was gay. Of course he wasn't, ask any girl in San Dimas and immediate area and they'll tell you stories about Billy Hargrove's magic dick. It's just that somewhere, deeply buried in the back of his head, there was this itch begging to be scratched. This little voice uttering What if on loop, like little needles in his brain that constantly bugged him, day and night. The first time he thought about it, he was thirteen. He couldn't even remember what exactly it was about, all he knew now, four years later, was that it never went away. The desire to see naked men. The desire to suck a cock, to taste another man's lips. It was like a curse he couldn't seem to shake off, no matter how many girls he fucked.
So on that eventful Tuesday, at approximately 2:35pm, the doorbell rang right when Billy was in the process of parfuming his private parts — just in case. Had it been seconds earlier (or seconds later), he wouldn't even have heard, but his date managed to time the doorbell right in between songs, so Billy opened the door to a tall, handsome, dark-haired man flashing a smile worthy of being a toothpaste commercial which he returned with an equally bright smile.
„Well, come on in," he opened the door for the other man to enter, which he did. „My room's the second door on the left, make yourself at home." The guy started to walk towards Billy's room while he meanwhile went to the kitchen to get some drinks, his gaze focused on the other's tight jeans, licking his lips like a lion watching prey.
Fast forward to about thirty minutes later and Billy got sick of his date talking, so he did the most efficient thing to shut someone up: he kissed him. For the first time, Billy Hargrove kissed a man. For the first time, he gave into the desire that nagged at him for years, and man, he instantly hated how good it felt. There was no way he was gay. This was just an experiment, and it meant nothing. But he couldn't stop, it was as if his lips had been glued to the other's, and his tongue just slipped in, exploring the bloke's (he couldn't even remember his name) mouth, taking in everything it could, and then his fingers didn't listen to what he told them anymore and he found himself unbuttoning the other's shirt, pressing himself closer, every inch of his body begging to be touched more.
In the blink of an eye, Billy found himself naked, and moaning as he received the best blowjob he ever gotten in his entire life, sending shivers down his body, and no matter how hard he tried to bite his lower lip down, his mouth just opened again for him to whine in pleasure like a stupid little woman. If it wouldn't have felt so good then, he probably would've stopped because there was no way in hell Billy Hargrove acted like that. Like a pansy, like a fucking bottom.
