Honest Conversation Is Overrated
Actual Human Interactions Witnessed Or Overheard
In Twentieth And Twenty-First Century America
In Twentieth And Twenty-First Century America
When school let out for the summer, I was left virtually friendless. All my private school friends trotted off to Europe or South America. I wanted nothing to do with Jeremy, which I assumed meant I wouldn't be spending any time with Kevin, either. I was wrong.
At the end of June, Mr. Harris was offered a job in Arizona. Kevin's sister, Erica, had just graduated from high school, and was spending her summer backpacking The Appalachian Trail. Kevin didn't want to spend three weeks in a strange state with only his parents for company, and his sister had no interest in having her twelve year old brother tagging along on her camping trip. Apparently, camping was a more private affair than an orgy. Since he didn't seem to have any alternatives that wouldn't flop him into depression, my parents invited Kevin to stay with us until his parents got back.
After he'd spread his sleeping bag on my bedroom floor, he said, "I heard Bird Dick's parents found out about your Waldo books and told your parents."
I laughed at his new nickname for Jeremy. So obvious. Why hadn't I thought of it? "Yea, but I tore the pictures out of the books before my parents got a chance to look for them."
"Sweet deeeeeeeeeeewd. Where did you put them?"
"I think Bird Dick stole them."
"What a lewwwwwwwwwser." Kevin said. "I can't believe we used to hang out with that baby."
So Jeremy Bird Dick became our punchline punching bag. The stealing, crying, faggy baby who listened to Milli Vanilli, and jerked off to professional wrestling. Kevin and I still watched the Pay-Per-View events, but only because my family had a black box, and we wanted to prove that we knew it was fake. We didn't watch the weekly shows, or really care about wrestling at all. We cared about biking, and girls, and baseball, and Nintendo.
On his fourth day as a member of our family, while my parents were at work, Kevin challenged me to a game of Nintendo Baseball. "I'm gonna kick your ass, faggot."
"You wish, homo." I said. "I rule at this game."
"Bet you ten bucks I win."
I smooshed up my face. "I don't have ten bucks." This was a lie. I was a paperboy who hid half my tips from my parents, in order to buy the soda and candy that they refused to buy for me.
Kevin smooshed his face in a mirror image of mine. "Ok, then. Every time one of us hits a home run, the other person has to do something stupid."
"What," I asked, "like hang out with Bird Dick?"
"No. Like. I don't know. Like stand on your head for a minute."
I hit the first home run in the second inning. "You've got to run outside and shout I love sucking Jeremy Burdick's tiny little cock."
"You're an asshole." Kevin said. But he did as he was dared, and was lucky that nobody appeared to be within auditory range when he shouted it.
In the third inning, Kevin hit his first home run. "Ok, you have to take off your pants, put your hand in one of your Wrinkles dogs, and make it give you a blowjob."
He wanted me to stick my dick in the mouth of a puppet and pretend it was giving me a blowjob? "For how long?"
We went back and forth for most of the game. It seemed we averaged two or three homeruns an inning. He had to pretend he was getting fucked by a lightswitch, I had to put a harmonica in my butt and run around the room, he had to play the rest of the game naked, I had to tie a ribbon around my balls. During the seventh inning, fearing that the next dare might involve touching, I told Kevin I was bored and didn't want to play anymore. Thus securing my role as the Ferdinand Magellan of boys' bodies. I discovered them, but always got hit by the poison arrow of fear before I had the chance to exploit what I found. Fully clothed, the two of us went upstairs and watched Ren and Stimpy until my mother came home.
"Have you two been watching TV all day?" She asked. "It's time to do something productive. Let's go upstairs and clean the gerbil cages. I don't think you've cleaned it in months."
Up the stairs, we trudged behind my mother. I grabbed Rhoda, Ralph, and their assorted babies, and put them in a series of plastic Habitrail tubes. I picked out the wheel, and all the plastic toys, and laid them out on my desk. Then, I put my arms around the terrarium and picked it up. And there, in the spot where the terrarium had been, was fifteen pages of a big nippled goddess squatting over, licking, and otherwise making good use of a huge cock attached to a bronzed man in a visored helmet.
Kevin let out a sharp laugh. "Busted!"