"Are you fucking Paul?"

​

Stoned as I was, the question still caught me by surprise.

​

"No," I lied.

 

Skeeter stared intently at me, or at least as intently as possible under the circumstances.  His puffy eyes drilled fuzzy blue holes into the side of my head.  I continued to stare off into the darkness of the desert night beyond the deck.  Somewhere in the distance a coyote howled.  Or maybe it was a dog.

​

"He said you were."

​

"Were what?"

​

"Fucking him."

​

I shrugged.  "Wishful thinking."

​

"Seems to be a lot of that going 'round."

​

I thought about that, then said the only thing I could think of off the top of my head.  "Huh?"

​

Skeeter took another deep hit and handed the charred remains of the once hefty roach across to me, pinched between long thin fingers.  "Nothing," he squelped breathlessly, a thin tendril of blue smoke escaping his lips before he could clamp down to prevent any further defection from his filled-to-capacity lungs.

 

I was confused.  Even in my pot-addled state, if those words had passed from the lips of anybody besides Skeeter, I would have taken it as a come on.  But this was Skeeter.  Weird, flighty, asexual Skeeter, with his tall, scarecrow body, birdlike mannerisms and wild shock of white-blond hair.  The very fact that he had even broached the subject of sex was strange in and of itself.  Normally he avoided the topic like most people avoided dog shit.  And usually with exactly the same expression on his face, too.  It occurred to me that he probably did it as a defense.  After all, did anybody ever think of people like Skeeter in a sexual way? Doubtful.  At least I never had, and that was saying something.

        

Skeeter and I weren't really friends.  We just knew the same people.  The very fact that we were leaning out over the railing of the deck of this very big, expensive house in the Black Range foothills overlooking Oxide, New Mexico, was a testament to that.  Another party at Doug's place.  Lots of booze, lots of drugs and a killer hot tub downstairs which, at this moment, was as overfilled with laughing naked flesh as my and Skeeter's lungs were with numbing smoke.

        

He exhaled loudly, blowing a wispy blue cone out into the mesquite-scented night air.  I quickly followed suit.

        

"So, is Janie still out of town with her folks?" he asked.  Janie was my roommate.  We'd met through a mutual friend and she had offered me a place to stay while I pursued summer stock theater at the local college.  I'd been living with her here in Oxide for close to three months.  We weren't lovers.  Never were, but people insisted on thinking so.  Skeeter and Janie had been friends since grade school.  She was always defending him to other people.  Most of the girls Skeeter knew reacted the same way.  He seemed to bring out the mothering instinct in them.  That was probably one of the reasons why most of the guys didn't like him.  That and the fact that he was just plain weird.

        

"Yeah," I said.  "I have the whole trailer to myself until Sunday.  It's nice not having to pick up after her all the time.  Her and that damned state cop she's been seeing."

        

"Thurman."

        

I nodded.  "I can't stand that guy."

        

Skeeter began worrying at a knothole in the wooden railing with his well-gnawed fingernails.  "You don't find him attractive?"

        

"Only in a very primitive way."

        

"But you wouldn't kick him out of the sack..."

        

That was two.  Either he was fucking with my head or something was definitely up.  Skeeter Faracy actually coming right out and asking about somebody's sex life?  And not just anybody's sex life, but mine.  Nobody else in this group had ever been so bold.  There were a lot of rumors, but none that had ever been validated through direct confrontation like this.  It was sort of an unspoken rule amongst the Oxide thespians.  They all had way too many skeletons in their closets to go around jangling someone else's.  Even so, I had always told myself that I had nothing to hide.  I wasn't about to volunteer information, but I had taken comfort in thinking that if somebody were to simply ask, I would gladly tell.  I had already lied about Paul, no sense in compounding the offense.  Time to walk the talk.

        

"No I wouldn't," I said. 

        

"Really?"

        

I smiled.  "Yeah, really.  He's got a great body."

        

"Have you ever seen him... naked?"

        

"Yeah, I have."  I stared hard at Skeeter.  "Why are you asking?"

        

"Just curious."  He flicked a chip from the railing out into the night, trying to look nonchalant, but only succeeding in looking like he was trying too hard.

        

"Curious about whether I had seen him naked or curious about what he looks like naked...?"

        

"I don't care what he looks like naked."

        

"Don't you?"

        

"No."

        

Silence fell between us as Skeeter continued to focus his pent-up energies on the wooden rail.  I watched in fascination, my mind suddenly awhirl with malicious pot-induced possibilities.

        

"Wanna know what his best feature is?"  I asked.

        

Skeeter shrugged nervously.  "His chest?"

        

"No. His cock.  He's got a huge, heavy, brutal-looking uncut cock."

        

"Un... uncut?"

        

"Uncircumcised.  You know, with a foreskin?"

        

"I know what uncircumcised means."

        

I nodded, paused dramatically, then let the words slide from my lips like razor blades.  "So, Skeeter, are you uncircumcised?"

        

He blushed, but continued digging at the weathered wood.  "Why should I tell you?"

        

"Hey, you started it.  I'm just making conversation."

        

He turned toward me with a spastic jerk, looking all the world like a picture I had once seen in a magazine of an emu. "Are you?"

        

I blinked, trying not to laugh.  Now that was bold.  "No."

        

"Neither am I."  He seemed almost relieved.   

        

I leaned toward him.  "Have you ever seen an uncircumcised cock, Skeeter?"

        

He looked at me with that weird, verging-on-hysterical way he had about him and shook his head quickly.

        

"Never?  Not even in magazines?"

        

He shook his head again.  "I've only just read about it."

        

I leaned back.  "Didn't any of your buddies in high school have foreskins?"

        

"How should I know?"

        

"Well, didn't you have PE in your school?"

        

"Yes, but we always used the changing rooms."

        

"You didn't take showers together?"

        

"Well... yes, but I always kept my eyes above the waist."

        

"Right..."

        

"I did!"

        

"Okay."

        

I thought about it for a moment, watching as he turned back to his task of splintering his ravaged fingernails further on the railing.  "What about any of the guys downstairs in the hot tub?  You've been naked in the hot tub before, I know that for a fact."

        

"I keep my eyes to myself."

        

I smiled nastily.  "That's okay, you wouldn't have seen any uncircumcised ones.  I've checked 'em all out."

        

He looked up, raising his eyebrows.

        

"Yeah, even you."

        

"Then why did you ask..."

        

I shrugged.  "Just wanted to see how you'd react."

        

For a moment I thought he was going to be angry, but then he smiled crookedly and shook his head.  "You're evil, you know that?"

        

"So I've been told."

        

He turned to stare out into the star strewn night and for a moment light from the windows behind us transformed Skeeter's Flock of Seagulls hairdo into a halo of diffused light.  It was almost beautiful in a heartbreaking way. 

 

"Brian?"

        

"Yeah."

        

"Do you like me?"

        

I peered at him warily.  "Yeah, I like you.  Why wouldn't I?"

        

"Mind if I come stay with you tonight?"

        

The questioned bounced around in my head for a while as I tried to digest it.  No luck.  Too many variables, not enough brain cells firing.  I looked at him and he looked at me, his wide blue eyes giving off that eerie crazed energy he was always spooking people with.

        

"It's all right if you don't want me to..."

        

"No," I said. "It's fine.  We can watch the tube or listen to music."

        

"Music," he said, nodding.

        

I took a deep breath, then let it out slowly.  Take the plunge, boy!  You'll never know until you do.  "There's not much happening here," I said as offhandedly as possible.  "Want to go now?"

        

He continued nodding. 

        

I shrugged and turned away from the railing.  "Let's go."

 

​

 

This was the first time Skeeter had ever been in my car.  He didn't look very comfortable folded into the seat of the tiny Chevette I had nicknamed Spartacus because it was so rusted out it looked like it could have been used as one of the original horse-drawn chariots.  When I told Skeeter that story, he didn't laugh as I expected.  Just looked at me with his strange blue eyes and nodded as though I had passed on the wisdom of the ages. 

 

Oh, this was going to be an interesting evening, I told myself.  It still wasn't too late to turn back.  I could always make some kind of excuse.  I forgot something, or I needed to talk to somebody who was still at the party.  I turned to look at him and found him still staring at me.

        

"What's wrong?" I asked.

        

"Nothing."

        

I glanced at the illuminated dirt road, then back at Skeeter.

        

"Nothing's wrong," he continued.  "Everything's right."

        

"It is?"

        

He nodded.  "It's a new moon tonight, did you know that?"

        

I shook my head and turned back to the road.  "Is that significant?"

        

"It is now."

        

Nope.  No turning back now.  I was definitely intrigued.  Something was up and I was way too curious for my own good, sometimes.  It looked like it was going to be the scarecrow and me for the evening.  Just exactly what that meant, I had no idea, but I felt myself getting hard thinking about the endless possibilities.  Maybe Janie was right and I really was a slut.

 

​

 

I watched Skeeter from the kitchen as I screwed the cap off the gallon-sized bottle of wine.  Stevie Nicks was crooning about a certain Welsh witch in the background.  A smell as husky as her voice wafted up to caress my nose and I turned my attention to filling two empty jelly jars half-way with purple liquid.  Gallo Burgundy.  It smelled like a very good month.  When I looked up, Skeeter was nowhere in sight.  I picked up the jars and went in search.

        

Not surprisingly, I found him in the back bedroom that Janie and I used as our studio.  He was squatting – long, thin, denim-clad legs splayed out to the sides – and flipping through one of my many sketch pads.

        

"See anything you like?"

        

He nodded and continued flipping.  I took a sip from my jar.  He stopped and stared intently at one of the filled pages.

        

"Is this Doug?"

        

I looked over his shoulder.  "Yeah."

        

"He's naked."

        

"Really?  I thought you said you had never seen a naked man before."

        

Skeeter looked up, pushing a shank of blond hair out of his watery eyes.  He looked like a dog that had just been kicked.

        

"Look, I'm sorry,” I said truthfully. “I didn't mean to tease you.  I'm just not used to people being so... literal, I guess."

        

"'sokay."

        

I proffered the other jar and he took it gratefully, turning back to stare at the sketch. "Did he model for you, or did you do it from memory?"

        

I laughed.  "Oh, to have such memories!  No, he's modeled for me a few times.  He models for a lot of people."

        

Skeeter looked up at me and nodded, then went back to flipping through the sketch pad.  He lingered on a few more pages and I stood by quietly, waiting for the inevitable question.  When it came, it wasn't quite what I had expected.

        

"Almost everybody is in here, how come you never asked me?"

        

I opened my mouth to reply, then shut it again.  I didn't know what to say.  Instead I simply shrugged and took a drink.

        

"Did you think I would say no?"

        

The temptation to agree was very strong, but for some reason I resisted.

        

"Noooo...   Not exactly.  I just never really thought about it."

        

"Why not?"

        

"I don't know, Skeeter.  I guess I've never really thought about you in that way before..."

        

"In what way?"

        

I sighed and tried to find the right words.  "Most of the models I choose are people I find... sensuous... in some way or another.  They're people who..."

        

"You want to fuck?"

        

"No."  I looked hard at him.  "I can see how you would jump to that conclusion, but no.  They're people who, I guess, invite my curiosity in some way.  People I want to explore.  People I want to get to know better..."

        

Skeeter's eyes dropped.  "Oh."

        

Shit.  I stepped forward.  "Skeeter, I never asked you because... well, because I've never thought of you as... oh shit, I don't know what I'm saying."

        

"You never thought of me as sexy."

        

"No, that's not it."

        

"You think I'm too skinny."

        

"No.  I didn't say that.  I never asked you because I think of you the same way everybody else does, I guess.  Kind of like a little brother or something."

        

"I'm 21 Brian, how old are you?"

        

I sighed.  "21."

        

His wild blue eyes drilled me with questions.  I bit my lip, then did something I had never thought of doing in the entire two and a half months I had known Skeeter.  Stepping forward, I put my hand behind his head and leaned down to give him a quick kiss.  He looked shocked.

        

"Take your clothes off."

        

The startled birdlike expression quickly became a full crimson flush, but he stood, nonetheless, to tower over me and began unbuttoning his loose shirt.  I bent down to retrieve the sketch pad and watched as first his shirt, then his baggy blue jeans fell to the floor.  Self consciously he removed first one sock, then the other until he was standing before me in just his white cotton briefs.  Eyes wide and staring, he swallowed hard, slipped his long thumbs under the waistband, and shucked the last barrier between modesty and curiosity down and away.  He dropped his eyes and I began to assess his body. 

        

Thin, almost to the point of emaciation.  He had tiny pink nipples with only a few stray blond hairs sprouting around them like stalwart vines in a fallow field.  His bony shoulders gave the impression that his arms had been tacked on loosely.  Had I wanted to, I almost surely could have counted every rib.  Sharp bones protruded from his hips, sweeping down in a visible V to the almost hairless pubic area.  His long thin penis was slowly contracting upward, from the cold air, or shame, or both.  His bony, knobby-kneed legs had the same tacked on look that his arms did.

        

He looked up to find me staring.  At his feet.

        

"Is something wrong?"

        

I looked up.  "You have beautiful feet."

        

He looked puzzled. 

        

"Just like your hands."

        

"My hands are beautiful?"

        

"Absolutely," I said, then picking up a pencil from the drafting table nearest me, I began to sketch.

 

After awhile, Skeeter began to relax visibly.  A little longer and his body began to fall into familiar stances.  I sketched furiously, filling page after page with the wonders I was discovering as I explored this unusual territory.  I was like a satellite passing over an alien landscape for the first time and everywhere my probing eyes fell, new wonders began to unfold.

        

"Is this okay?" he asked finally, finding his voice and breaking my concentration.  He had apparently decided that striking a pose would work better for me.  How could I tell him that so taken was I with the way light fell on the tightly stretched skin of his ribs, so delighted was I with the shadows formed by the hatchet-sharp hipbones, so entranced was I by the almost juvenile arrangement of curls around the base of his thin, white cock, that he could have been standing on his head for all I cared.  I wasn't so much interested in what he was doing, as I was in what was happening on the pale, blue-veined canvas of his incredible body as he was doing it.

        

"It's fine," was all I could say.

        

"What do you want me to do?"

        

"What do you want to do," I asked absently.

        

Concentrating as I was on the angles of his right hip I noticed immediately when his cock jumped and began to expand slightly.  I glanced up to find a mortified expression on his face.

        

"It happens to everyone," I said.  "Don't worry about it.  If it gets hard, it's not going to offend me."

        

I looked down to find his cock shriveling once again.  He quickly turned away, dropping his head and clenching up again.

        

"It's okay, Skeeter, don't worry about it.

        

He nodded, and turned back toward me, but kept his hands crossed before his crotch.  I came to a quick decision.  Putting the sketch pad aside, I began to undress.  Skeeter watched wide-eyed, but didn't ask any questions.  When I was completely naked, I picked the pad up again and went back to my sketch.

        

"Better?"

        

"I... I guess..."

        

"Well, are you or aren't you?"

        

"Yes.  Do you do that... for all your models?"

        

"Only the nervous ones.  I find it puts them at ease if we're both in the same position."

        

A long pause followed.  I could feel him staring at me, but saw that he was relaxing once again and went about my business. "Thanks," he said quietly, resuming the pose he had abandoned earlier. Already lost in my art, I acknowledged the gesture with a nod.

        

My eyes fell once again on the sparse pubic patch and the long white course of his semi-erect cock.  Why had I never noticed before what beauty could be found in a body which defied perfection?  Not for the first time this evening, I felt the rush of desire and a tingling in my groin.  This time was a little different, however.  This time I was naked and I was sure that Skeeter had noticed the lengthening and expanding of my own tool.

        

"You have a beautiful body."

        

I looked up.  "No I don't," I said.

        

"You do."

        

"How would you know?  I'm the first naked man you've ever allowed yourself to look at."

        

"Doesn't make it any less beautiful."

        

"Okay, fair enough.  Thanks."  I turned back to the task at hand, but Skeeter wouldn't let it rest.

        

"Why did you kiss me earlier?"

        

I shrugged.  "Felt like it."

        

"Do you always do what you feel like doing?"

        

"Yes," I said, aware of his rapidly expanding cock.  I could feel mine responding in kind.  "Whenever possible."

        

It should have surprised me when Skeeter suddenly dropped to his knees at my feet and squatted back on his heels to suck my cock into his mouth, but it didn't really.

        

"Careful," I said.  "Watch your teeth."

        

He nodded, but continued to suck eagerly, each long-fingered hand clutching one of my ass cheeks in a painful grip. 

 

"Slowly, slowly..."

        

Suddenly, he pulled away with a vacuum popping sound and dragged me down to the floor, his mouth searching for mine in a frenzy of limbs and hair.  The kiss was easily as painful as the attempted blowjob had been, all teeth and probing tongue.  Down below, Skeeter was grinding his long, hard cock into my thigh, humping me like a dog, while his tongue tested my gag reflex. Then he cried out into my mouth and went stiff.  I felt a warm stickiness spread across my thigh and he went limp on top of me.

        

I gasped, trying to catch my breath, reaching up to brush bristly blond hair out of my face.  Almost as suddenly as he had come, Skeeter jumped up and dashed from the room, his cock already softening.  I sat up, resisting the urge to laugh.  Skeeter reentered the room with a wet washrag and began scrubbing at my leg.

        

"It's okay, I can do that."

        

He pushed my hand away.  "I'll do it."

        

"Skeeter."

        

"I'm sorry..."

        

"Sorry for what?"

        

He shook his head miserably and continued to scrub my thigh raw.

        

"Skeeter, stop.  Leave some skin."

        

He stopped, but didn't look up.  I put my hand on his shoulder and he jerked away.

        

"Did you enjoy it?"  I asked.

        

He shrugged.

        

"Well, you know, the polite thing to do is to get your partner off after you've come."

        

He looked up, then back down at my still hard cock.  Tentatively a long-fingered hand reached out to touch it.

        

"Can I...?"

        

"Anything you want."

        

I expected him to suck it, or at least stroke it.  What I did not expect was for him to push me back down onto the floor and squat over me, trying to stuff the dry thing up his ass. 

​

"Hold it a minute," I said, taking control of the situation before it could unravel like the first session had.  "Go get the bottle of baby oil out of the bathroom." 

        

He stood and disappeared, returning to hand the bottle to me and squat down over me again.  Squirting out a bit into my hand, I lubricated my cock, then reached under and began to rub at his asshole.  He closed his eyes and threw back his head.  Surprisingly, when I pushed against the hole it opened easily, letting my lubricated finger slide inside.

        

"You've done this before," I said.

        

He nodded.  "With candles and cucumbers."

        

This time I did laugh.  "Cucumbers?"

        

He looked down at me.  "I heard that's what women use."

        

I laughed again and pulled my finger out.  Hell, if he could take a cucumber, there wouldn't be any trouble taking me.  Aiming my less-than-cucumber-thick dick at his grasping asshole, I pushed down on his hips and up into his warm rectum.

        

Without so much as a pause, Skeeter squatted down and enveloped my entire cock, a look of utter ecstasy written upon his upturned face.  Then he began to ride me.  Now this was more like it, I thought.  No pain involved here.

        

I looked down to find his cock lengthening once again.  Wrapping a hand around it I began to stroke it into it's fully erect state.  Skeeter bucked in response, but never lost his rhythm.  This was the first time I had ever seen Skeeter's cock up close, especially in its present state.  It was actually quite a nice piece.  A bit on the thin side, but longer than most with a beautiful tapering head.  I wrapped both fists around it, one on top of the other only to find a good two inches including the head sticking out.  What was that, eight, nine inches?

        

"Eight... and... three... quarters," Skeeter gasped.

        

I smiled up at him.  "Beautiful."

        

"As.. beautiful... as my... hands?"

        

"Absolutely."

        

He smiled and I pulled at his eight-and-three-quarter-inch staff, feeling my own sap rising as I got closer and closer to orgasm.  Suddenly Skeeter threw back his head and let out a shouted groan as his cock spasmed, spewing cum out onto my chest and belly.  The contractions in his rectum were too much for me.  Riding on his wave of passion, I cut loose with my own milky stream, shooting it deep into his bowels as he continued to rock back and forth until we were both spent.

        

"Now that," I said gasping, "Was more like it."

        

He looked down at me smiling.  "Okay?"

        

"Better than okay.  Fantastic."

        

He nodded and, scooping up the discarded washrag, began gently cleaning my chest and belly.

 

​

 

I was staring at Skeeter again, but differently this time.  We sat across from each other, sipping at mugs of hot morning tea.  His eyes didn't seem quite so wild as they had before, but the energy was still there, reaching out for me.  His hair was even more disheveled than usual.  I found it sexy somehow.  My eyes lingered on his long fingers as they caressed the warm mug.  Janie wouldn't be back for another day and a half.  Plenty of time to discover what else that electric thin body was holding in reserve.

        

"Can I ask you a question?" he asked quietly.

        

I nodded.

        

"Have you ever fucked Paul?"

        

I smiled.  "Does it matter?"

        

He smiled back.  "No... I guess not."

        

It didn't.  Not for the weekend anyway.  And that was just the way I wanted it.

​

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© David Salcido, 1983. Registered with the Library of Congress and the Writers Guild of America. All rights reserved.

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