Wearing My Smile | ✔

Friday, October 28th, 2005

In the late evening, two days after your birthday, you came back home with your body soaking wet from head to toe. Your blond hair was almost dark brown, plastered onto your scalp. Behind you was the storm that had been going on all day, with its lightning and violent wind.

I ushered you quickly inside, not saying anything as I gave you a thick towel and used the other one in my hand to dry your head. I wasn't looking straight to your eyes. In fact, I looked everywhere except your eyes, but I could feel your hard stare. You looked at me as if pleading for me to look at you back, but I wouldn't, or couldn't—I don't think there's a difference.

I walked inside the shower cubicle with you. I stripped you down until you were bare and naked in front of me like I wished you would your soul, but you still weren't saying anything so I kept my mouth shut. Perhaps you were waiting for me to say something, but I didn't know what you'd want me to say. Anything I could say was bound to make me regret it later. Instead of talking, I turned on the warm spray and waited until you stopped shivering, then started soaping you up.

You seemed clean, so I would think you hadn't been sleeping on the street the past eleven days. Maybe you had somewhere to crash, which I told myself good. I told myself that over and over, but the relief never came.

When I was about to soap your lower body, I realized you were hard, so I stopped my movement for a bit and stared. It must have been a while since you last paid it any attention, or maybe it was just the sight of me, dripping wet with my full clothes on under the shower that did it for you.

After we passed the embarrassment of fumbling stupidly around each other's erections for the first time many months ago, gone was the shy boy I'd known for seven years. You'd been vocal about how much you'd found me attractive; with my jet black hair and the palest blue shade of my eyes; with my wide shoulders and strong arms despite my shorter height and slightly smaller built. We were both slowly filling up our frame over the years and you were getting more confident in speaking up what you were thinking of me or what you wanted us to try.

A few days before you were gone, our time together had seemed almost frantic. The way you'd kissed me was rough and almost painful, but I'd never minded it much. I'd liked it, in fact, just not the way you'd looked at me then, as though you wanted something from me so desperately and yet you couldn't ask for it. I hadn't known what it was back then, but I knew now. You needed me to keep you grounded but you had no idea how.

I thought maybe I heard you whisper, "Roo." It was so soft it could be my imagination, but it got me back on moving the soap all over until it was done and I grabbed you so you would stand just under the spray. I still wouldn't look at you even as you called me again, louder this time, as if to make me sure that it was not just in my head. Instead, I watched the water beads rolled down your collarbone, your chest, your stomach, then finally your thigh. I had exactly one second before I made up my mind, knelt, and took you into my mouth.

The way you hissed and stepped back to the tiled bathroom wall just encouraged me further. I'd never done it, but it wasn't like I didn't know the technicalities. I'd watched a lot of porn so I'd know what I should be doing when I brought it up to you later on—or at least that was what I had been thinking before you were gone.

I wasn't very good at it, I might have gagged when you thrust too hard and coughed. My way of doing it might be a little bit too clinical, but the way you groaned and moaned my name told me it was good enough for the first time. Or maybe it was just that I had an element of surprise. It didn't really matter to me then. When you grabbed my hair tighter, your breath hitching, I knew what you meant, so I pulled back and stroke you until you came almost violently all over my chin and neck.