The Thunder in His Head Page 12

  “Yeah, Mom. And you’re under a lot of pressure, and I need to know how you’re doing.”

  “Is your hand hurting? Do you need a pill for pain?”

  “No. I guess I don’t need anything.” I walked back into my room and fell across the bed.

  After packing up the first-aid kit, Mom came out of the bathroom with the kit tucked under her arm. “Don’t forget your homework,” she said. “After you finish, come down, and we can watch a movie together.”

  “I think I’ll just go to sleep when I’m done,” I muttered.

  Mom looked at me for a moment, her face puzzled. Then she shook her head dismissively. “Okay. Good night.”

  “Night.”

  Fourteen

  MOM closed the door after her. I waited until I thought she’d made it downstairs. Sighing loudly, I dug out my cell phone and sent a text to Dwight.

  Me: BAAAD day. Tell me something good.

  I thought he didn’t have his phone turned on. It took almost a minute for the response to come back.

  Dwight: Wish I was there 2 make u feel better.

  Me: Wish u were here 2.

  Dwight: Coming over there. Now.

  A tingle of cold fear brought me upright in bed. At the same time, excitement fluttered in my chest so vibrantly I couldn’t breathe.

  Me: What???

  Dwight: Coming over. Can u sneak me n?

  Me: No way.

  Dwight: U need me. Want 2 be there 4 u.

  Me: U just want n my pants.

  Dwight: That 2. LOL.

  Maybe he wasn’t so serious all the time after all. I liked this side of him, flirtatious and teasing, even as it sent terror sinking into my stomach like a lead weight.

  Me: This is crazy.

  Dwight: Sneak out of here, sneak n there.

  Me: Wait. Lets think about this.

  Dwight: On my way. Get ready.

  Oh, jeez. Oh, jeez.

  The texts were followed by a quick phone call, in which Dwight asked for the location of my room, and we settled on the details of our little scheme.

  I brushed my teeth, gave myself a sponge bath, and put on a clean pair of pajamas. On the pretext of getting a glass of water, I went down to the kitchen. All the lights were off downstairs, and Mom was in her room with the door shut. Excellent.

  I rushed through my homework, stopping every ten minutes or so to pray that Mom wouldn’t catch me in what I was about to do. My heart stayed in my throat during the entire thirty minutes that passed before I heard the age-old click of pebbles against my window, something I had seen countless times in movies and television shows. Getting up from my desk, I pulled back the curtain. I could barely make out Dwight’s form in the shadows below. I gave the OK sign, then went back downstairs.

  By the time I reached and unlocked the side door, he was there. He looked as nervous as I felt, but he flashed a big, happy grin at me. We went slowly and silently up the stairs. I led him into my room. After I carefully closed the door, I turned and he slid his arms around my waist, reaching up to kiss me.

  I shuddered when he pulled back. Then I reached over and switched off the light, covering us in darkness. “Jeez. I can’t believe we’re really doing this,” I whispered.

  “Neither can I.” Grinning, Dwight looked me over. “I like you in your jammies.”

  “Shut up and get over here.” I took him by the hand and led him over to the bed. We sat down next to each other. As anxious as the prospect of getting caught made me, I was glad to have him there. He interlocked his fingers with mine, and just his touch was enough to erase the stresses of my hellish day.

  “Where’s your mom?”

  “In her room. Asleep.” I hoped.

  “Great.”

  I reached out with my free hand, tracing my fingers along the side of his face. “You are one good-looking dude, Dwight, you know that? I’m really glad you’re here.”

  “Yeah?” he whispered back. “Show me how glad you are.”

  I slipped my hands under the collar of his denim jacket and peeled it off him, letting my palms slide over the thick muscles in his arms. Oh, how I liked the way those muscles felt. Tossing the jacket aside, I pressed my mouth to his, kissing him passionately. This time I used the maneuver he surprised me with the other day in the living room. My tongue slipped between his lips, between his teeth, brushing the tip of his tongue. His hands came up and grabbed the sides of my head, holding me tightly as he kissed me back.

  He broke away suddenly, standing up. “Lie down and turn over on your stomach,” he whispered.

  I lay down as directed, anxiety fluttering in my belly. Dwight kicked off his sneakers and quickly got out of his sweater and jeans, stripping down to just his T-shirt, boxers, and socks. His thick legs looked as if they’d been carved out of some rich, smooth stone.

  He sat on the edge of the bed. His hands settled at the back of my neck, fingers digging gently into the flesh there. “You’re shaking,” he whispered above me.

  “So are you.”

  There was a nervous little sigh from him. “Just relax.”

  His fingers began kneading the muscles in my neck. The motion sent an incredibly wonderful warmth humming deep into my bones. From my neck, he slowly worked his way out along my shoulders and down my back, pressing through the flannel of my pajama top.

  I was no authority on massages, having never had one before, so I couldn’t say how expert Dwight’s technique was. I just knew that, inside of five minutes, he had me so mellowed out I could have melted into my bed like butter on a hot biscuit.

  “Man,” I moaned blissfully. “That feels so good.”

  His hands kept working their way down. When those thick fingers began squeezing at my backside, my whole body involuntarily tensed.

  “Relax, relax,” Dwight whispered. “I’m not gonna hurt you.”

  He slid his hands down to my thighs, squeezing the muscles there, kneading them with his fingers. Then he brought his hands again to the top of my pajama pants, where he let his fingers linger. After maybe a minute of this, I felt the waistband lifted up.

  In a swift, panicked motion, I reached back and grabbed his hand, stopping him before he could pull down my pants. Damn. I was so scared for him to see me naked. How could I let him take my clothes off? He was such a handsome dude, just the right height, and his body was so beautifully ripped he could have posed for the cover of any fitness magazine in the country. He had muscles on top of muscles, and I was just some freaking tall, goofy-looking giant with flabby arms and legs. How could I let him see any part of me naked? Why would a guy like him want to touch somebody who looked like me, who had a body like mine?

  “It’s okay,” Dwight whispered. He took my wrist with his free hand, tugging gently. “Just trust me. Let go.”

  I resisted a few seconds longer. Then I buried my face in the pillow and gradually released the hand that gripped my pajama pants. Using both hands, Dwight slowly peeled my pants down to the back of my thighs.

  A long moment of silence followed. I waited nervously, eyes clenched shut. Then there was a long, low whistle from Dwight. “Wow,” he said, his voice hushed. “You really have a great body.” He pushed up my pajama top, the flannel bunching just below my neck. Then he traced a finger lightly, teasingly down one side of my back and up the other, his touch on my bare skin making me shiver.

  He pulled at my pajama bottoms again. Instinctively, I lifted my butt upward so he could slide the pants down in front, and I was genuinely surprised to find that I was hard. God.. When had that happened?

  Dwight peeled the pants off me, and I pressed the front of my body to the bed once again. After that was done, Dwight didn’t move for what seemed a very long time. I started wondering if something was wrong, and then I realized he was staring at me. “Man. You look so good this way.”

  I felt myself blushing, which mixed uncomfortably with the anxiety rising up from my chest. Even with our voices low, I wondered if Mom could hear us talking
, if she could hear the squeaking of the mattress every time we moved on the bed. I’d never noticed before just how loudly my damn mattress squeaked. With slow, deliberate movements, I rolled over and sat on the edge of the bed next to Dwight. “Don’t say anything and don’t move,” I whispered. “Just let me look at you, okay?”

  He nodded. For a while, we were still, looking each other over in the darkness, basking in the quiet of the room. Of course, we eventually began touching again. Closing my eyes, I traced my fingers over his forehead, along his nose, across his lips and down his chin, like a blind man trying to take a picture by touch. It wasn’t the first time I’d ever touched another guy—I had horsed around, trading play-punches and high-fiving friends at school, the kind of stuff dudes always do with each other. It wasn’t even the first time I’d touched this particular guy. But there was something in that moment, with my hand on Dwight’s face, that was so liberating, so exquisite, it made me want to cry. For years I pined after guys who probably would have tried to punch out my eyes if they had known how I actually desired them. For years I wondered if another guy would ever want me. And now there was this guy, Dwight Varley, who was excited to be with me. So far, my big, ungainly body hadn’t scared him off. With him, I didn’t have to turn away and fight my urges, or worry about the way I looked. I could just let my soul feel.

  He didn’t attack me the way he did Saturday in the living room. This time he was gentle. He put his arms around me and just held me to his chest, his cheek nestled against mine. He whispered things in my ear that made my heart melt, about how sorry he was that I’d had such a terrible day and how he wished he could make everything perfect for me. I loved his tenderness and the concern he showed.

  I returned that tenderness and concern, aware that he had been having hard times of his own. He hadn’t yet told me what his problems were, but I wanted to shield him from them. I wanted him, at least for this moment, to be as free as I felt.

  There came a point where I froze in his embrace. I was feeling so many things at once, I couldn’t sort them out. My body trembled again. I pulled my hands away from him, pressing them over my eyes.

  Dwight pulled back. I could feel him looking at me. “What’s wrong?”

  “I can’t do this. I’m sorry.” I kept my eyes covered. “This is too weird. My mom is downstairs.” I groaned, certain that he would leave now, and I didn’t want him to go. I didn’t want him to be angry with me, or think that I was just wussing out. “I’m sorry, Dwight.”

  “It’s okay,” he whispered, his lips against my ear. He kissed the side of my face, the tenderness of the gesture drawing a long, relieved sigh from me. “We’re not doing anything you don’t want to do.”

  He wrapped his arm around me again, snuggling his head on my chest, his body firm and warm and reassuring against mine. We lay there in the dark, just holding each other. And that, for now, was all I needed.

  SOMETIME later, I noticed that Dwight had gone as soft as I had. I raised my head, looking down at his closely trimmed scalp as his head rested on my chest.

  He reached up and rubbed a hand over my shoulder. “You feeling better now?” he asked quietly.

  “Yeah,” I replied, giving him a squeeze in return. “I’m really glad you came over.”

  “So am I.” He sat up abruptly. “But I think I’d better go now. My dad doesn’t know I’m gone. If he looks in my room and I’m not there, he’ll get worried. And I’ll be in all kinds of trouble.”

  “Okay.” I still wasn’t ready for him to leave. I’d already taken a big, fat risk sneaking him in, however, and I wasn’t about to push my luck. He got off the bed, reaching for his pants. “Dwight, hold it.”

  He froze, looking at me.

  I slid off the bed and grabbed my cell phone. “Take off your shirt.”

  A glimmer of panic swam across his eyes. He shook his head. “Uh-uh, man. No nudie pics, okay? With my luck, they’ll find their way to my dad, for sure.”

  “Hey, I’m not stupid,” I whispered back. I turned on the lamp beside my bed, filling the room with enough light for a clear photograph. “You think I’d take a chance on my parents finding naked guy pictures on my phone and taking my cell away? I just want a picture of you with your shirt off. I promise I won’t shoot you below the waist even in your boxers.”

  The look Dwight gave me then was open and completely trusting. He pulled off the T-shirt without another moment’s hesitation. Standing there in just his boxers, he folded his arms across his chest, posing for me. It was a vision from gay heaven. “This better not wind up on YouTube,” he said jokingly. “Or Dirty Pictures dot com.”

  “Don’t worry. I want to keep you all to myself,” I replied. I took the picture, adding it to collection I’d started of him on my cell phone.

  He didn’t ask to see the photo, another testament to his trust. With the picture taken, I turned off the light once again, feeling more comfortable in the dark. I watched as he pulled on his pants, followed by his T-shirt and sweater. He had such sexy hands, strong, yet somehow tender, too. The fingers were thick and long, the nails trimmed so neatly they looked like Chiclets, those little flat, white squares of gum. The way the muscles in his legs flexed and relaxed made me want to caress him again. But I didn’t. I groped around until I found my pajama pants, and I slid into them.

  Once we were finished dressing, we eased our way down the stairs. In the hall, I paused. Mom’s door was still closed, and there was no sound from there. Dwight and I made our way into the kitchen, and I opened the side door for him.

  He stepped outside. Barefoot, I stepped out after him, toes curling against the cold concrete of the walkway. I looked out over the empty driveway.

  “Where’s your car?” I whispered with alarm.

  “Parked around the corner,” he answered. “I didn’t want your mom to hear the engine.”

  “Thanks for coming.”

  “You bet.” He gave me a little kiss on the lips. Then he grinned at me. “I’m gonna be thinking about you all night.”

  “Good. Because I’ll be thinking about you too.”

  I watched as Dwight ran down the driveway and hooked a left, disappearing into the night.

  Returning to my room, I climbed into bed again and pulled the covers over my head. And yes, I jacked off thinking about Dwight. It was awkward, using my left hand, but the memory of his hard, almost-naked body forced me to improvise.

  Afterward, I lay still, my eyes closed. Maybe I was exceptionally tired. Or maybe it was the warm, deep quiet of the house. Whatever the cause, I slept like a pampered baby that night.

  Fifteen

  VEGETABLE stew sucks.

  Or, at least the version Pemberton’s cafeteria served did. I tried doctoring it up with ketchup, which, for me, would make sawdust palatable. Even with ketchup, I couldn’t eat that mush of potatoes, green beans, corn, carrots, and God knows what else. The cafeteria manager was on some kind of health kick this year. Thursday’s menu was vegetarian. The other option today, veggie loaf and rice, was even less appealing than the stew. I shoved my bowl aside and started on the Jell-O fruit cup served for dessert.

  Chain and Raj were sharing the table with me. When I got to school, Chain looked as if he were afraid to speak to me. I lied and told him that I wasn’t angry anymore over what he did to Jill, which made things interesting for me because the whole while he was around, I had to fight the urge to cuss or shake him. He usually ate lunch with some of his other friends. With Jill still hospitalized, he had been sticking close to me all morning, something he did when he got really down on himself. I think being around me made him feel safer because I sort of draw attention away from him, the way Jupiter tends to draw roaming space debris away from the smaller inner planets.

  The three of us were mostly quiet as we ate. My thoughts kept drifting back to Dwight and the still unbelievable miracle of having had him in bed with me last night. Raj occasionally interrupted my sweet reverie (which was probably the only thing that
kept me from popping a boner up to that point). He was in a funk because yesterday’s basketball practice hadn’t gone well. Most of the guys were out of shape from summer vacation, and according to Raj, Ty was every bit as bad as I had thought he would be. All that disgusted Coach so that he threw up his hands and made everybody run the bleachers for an hour. Gosh, I was so sorry to have missed out on that.

  “Check that out,” said Raj, pointing across the cafeteria with his chin, where Ty sat at a table with a bunch of rowdy guys. Ty was just as loud and obnoxious as the rest of them, but he looked painfully out of place because he always had lunch with Carla, and she was nowhere in sight. Raj snorted. “Like he’s fooling somebody clowning around over there. We all know he’s still crying because his girl won’t talk to him.”

  “I’m kinda glad they’re mad at each other,” said Chain, poking a half-eaten slice of veggie loaf around his plate with his fork. “It was getting so that every time you turned around in here, you’d see him and that pillow-chesty Carla slurping each other’s faces. Who do they think wants to see that?”

  “Give the dude a break,” I said. Ty hadn’t so much as looked my way all day. I couldn’t be sure whether that was because he still blamed me for his troubles with Carla, or because he was trying to forestall any fresh rumors about gay trysts. I had just started thinking of him as a friend, and I missed him. “He really likes the girl, okay?”

  “He ought to be glad to be rid of her,” Chain replied.

  “Yeah,” added Raj. “She’s stupid. I mean, she’d have to be a flat-out crazy fool to think anybody would have sex with your goofy, skyscraper butt, Kyle.”