Page 42 of Something Like Summer
They left the giant messbehind and went into the den, where Tim chose the bottle that hefelt most certain his parents wouldn’t want him opening. He pouredtwo glasses, handed one to Ben and held up the other.
“Merry fucking Christmas,”he toasted with a broad grin.
“Merry Christmas,” Benresponded, taking a sip gingerly. The taste was bitter, but itwasn’t too bad. “What?” he asked when the grin failed to diminishon Tim’s face. “Am I holding the glass wrong orsomething?”
“No, no. I was justthinking about something you said on your birthday.”
“What’s that?”
“How did you put it?” Timfeigned deep thought. “I think you said that there was quote‘nothing you couldn’t do that a girl couldn’t’ unquote.”
“Yeah, so?” Ben didn’t seewhere this was leading.
“I thought we could putthat theory to the test tonight.”
Ben’s second sip of winealmost went through his nose. He had given some thought to anal sexbefore, but it honestly wasn’t something that he ever fantasizedabout. Even when he had experimented by himself, it really hadn’tdone anything for him. And now Tim was suggesting they try it? Forthe first time Ben wasn’t leading the bull by the horns. Thatwouldn’t do at all.
“All right,” Ben said.“I’ll fuck you. Bend over.”
“What? That’s not what Imeant!”
“Sure it is! Don’t beshy,” Ben taunted. “I promise not to hurt you!”
“We’ll see who getsfucked,” Tim threatened. He set his wine glass down and launchedhimself at Ben, who almost spilled his drink all over thecarpet.
“Wait! Wait!” he giggled,making a show of carefully setting his glass down before sprintingout of the room, Tim in close pursuit.
They chased each otheraround the hall, laughing and hollering,and finally kissing once Tim caught Ben. The joking subsided as itbecame clear that Tim intended to carry through with his idea.Their heat was broken momentarily by a puzzled conversation on whatthey were supposed to use for lubrication. They knew there wassupposed to be something, but their knowledge on the subjectstemmed mostly from gay jokes. Ben shot down Tim’s suggestion ofCrisco, and a raid on Mrs. Wyman’s bathroom failed to manifest anyVaseline. In the end they found some fancy facial crème and decidedto make do with it.
“Do you want to go up toyour room?” Ben asked uncertainly.
“Nope. It’s Christmas.”Tim took him by the hand and led him to the living room, which wasdark except for the Christmas tree lights.
“Here?” Ben was bemused ashe was pulled down onto a bed of wrapping paper.
They began kissing eachother while trying to undress, twisting into odd positions in orderto remove clothes without their lips breaking contact. Ben went towork on pleasing Tim, part of him hoping to satisfy him beforethings escalated to the next level, but he only succeeded inbringing the moment closer. Once worked up there was no stoppingTim, who rolled over on top of Ben while fumbling with the lotionin one hand.
Tim broke away from kissingBen to ask, “You ready?”
“Yeah,” he replied, eventhough he was anything but.
The first attempt resultedin pain like Ben had never known, as if someone was twisting aknife deep within his gut. Tim apologized, but didn’t hesitate totry again. This time he managed to get it all the way in, but Benforbade him to move in the slightest as he tried to grow accustomedto the feeling. He knew Tim was hung, but now it felt three timesas big as it looked.
Eventually Tim started tomove slowly. Just a tiny fraction of an inch at first, and thenmore as the physical sensations overtook him. Ben gritted his teethand wondered how he would survive the experience as Tim’s thrustingintensified. He had no choice. Ben would have to ask him tostop.
He opened his eyes to do soand saw his lover above him, his body bathed in the eerie bluelight of the tree. He face was lost in passion and more handsomethan ever. Ben was so taken by this ethereal vision that he forgothis discomfort and relaxed. The pain disappeared, replaced bysomething akin to pleasure. Ben reached down to touch himself andthe pleasure multiplied. Soon the chorus of Tim’s moans was joinedby his own.
He reached up with his freehand to pull Tim in for a kiss, bringing their bodies closertogether in the process. Their movements became one, increasing inneed and intensity until they exploded together. Tim collapsed ontoBen, his heavy bulk warm and comforting. They lay there severalminutes, catching their breath before they both started laughingwith mad joy at what they had discovered.
* * * * *
Streams of purple, green,and blue rushed from three sides of the canvas, gathering togetherwild and free before attempting to continue their journeyeastwards. The colors were halted by a dull grey barrier thatcouldn’t be broken, even though all three streams had joined forcesagainst it. Was that how Tim felt? Was that why this painting hungon his wall, surrounded by superficial contemporaries of car andsports posters?
“Do you want to see more?”Tim asked from behind.
Ben started, not havingnoticed that the sound of the shower had ceased.
“See morewhat?”
