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© December, 2000
Chris Carr
His ever present basketball missing, Vincent seemed almost naked without it. His bright white athletic shoes paralleling August's worn Saucony's, they walked. Surprised the boy followed, August ventured this more than he'd thought.
"You gay?" Vincent blurted, spoiling the fantasy.
"Um… why you ask?"
"Just cause."
"But what makes you think I am?"
"Way you dress, your hair always so perfect and the way you walk."
"The way I walk? What's wrong with the way I walk?"
Vincent said nothing, increasing August’s anxiety as they walked. "Just ain't like a playa," he eventually nonplussed, glancing up at him.
"So that make me gay?" August countered.
Retreating to his silence again, Vincent solemnly walked.
"Ain't nothing to me, b," He ceded.
"Well, since you asked…yeah," August surrendered a few minutes later.
Nearing his apartment, he paused.
"You goin' home?" He chanced.
"Naw… just chillin'."
"Wanna come inside?" August said, opening the gate to his building.
"'S'cool."
Tossing a pile of discarded clothes from his Futon into the closet, August cleared a spot for Vincent to sit. Vincent reclined as August grabbed his remote and turned the TV on, sprawling in a customary, "boy-from-the-hood" fashion.
Though he'd made a big pot of spaghetti, he'd hoped to make it last another 2 to 3 days. Laying his backpack down, he shuffled into his little kitchen, searching his refrigerator for additional food. Settling on the leftover casserole from his cousin’s party, he scooped a large helping into a skillet.
Vincent switched through several channels, eventually stopping to watch a program featuring Black comedians. August watched the boy intrigued as he chuckled at the ensuing comedy.
"Your mama know you be missin' school?"
"Moms ain't ‘round," Vincent quipped, changing the channel.
"Who you stay with?"
"My pops."
"Well… he know you be missin' school?"
"No."
Observing Vincent's guarded reaction, August decided to forgo further questions about the boy's delinquency.
"You hungry?"
"Naw cuz," Vincent said, staring at the TV. "Ate over my homey's house."
Staring at the simmering skillet of congealed meat and noodles, August contemplated throwing it out. Instead, he sauced it up, adding some Lawry's, Pace salsa (extra chunky) and other seasonings, determined to not waste.
Dumping the souped up concoction onto a paper plate, he joined Vincent on the futon.
"The fuck is that?" Vincent mocked.
"Chicken casserole," August replied, shoveling a mouthful in his mouth. Vincent observed him a couple of minutes, then returned to the TV.
An episode of The Fresh Prince of Bel Air was on, Will Smith in full effect. Sashaying about, performing a convincing Miss Thang, he introduced himself as Dante, his cousin Hillary's gay cousin. A scarf tied daintily about his head, his speech syrupy, he tried in vain to run interference on the behalf of his cough syrup inebriated cousin. The prospective client watched, slightly amused but, wasn't convinced.
A commercial came on and Vincent hit the mute button, encasing them in an awkward silence.,
"What?" August urged, sensing the boy's eyes on him.
"Nothin'…" The show returned, Vincent turning the sound on in turn. Nibbling self-consciously, August fought the itch to confirm if the boy was still staring. As the show's credits aired, Vincent leaned forward, a curious expression etching his youthful face.
"What happened to make you gay?" He spouted.
Gulping, August gaped, his hand raising reflexively to cover his mouth.
"Make me gay?" He guffawed. "Nothin' didn't make me gay. It's just the way I am."
"But did you always know?"
"Yes… no… not really."
"What started it then?"
"It ain't like it started one day or somethin'. I always knew I liked boys, but I didn't do nothin' till I was 14."
"Somebody did something to you?"
"We did something together, but nobody didn't make me do nothin'."
"But if that hadn't happened, would you still be gay?"
"I guess so…" August hedged. "Seem like you think people gay 'cause somebody made them that way. Ain't nobody jumped on me and made me do nothin' I didn't want to do. I just kept likin' guys and decided to stop fighting it."
Vincent regarded him a few seconds, examining him as if he'd just said something the teacher had announced would be on tomorrow's quiz, then changed the channel. His appetite dwindling, August took his half consumed plate into the kitchen and dropped it in the trash.
The next morning Vincent was no where to be found. Their evening together had been pleasant, Vincent's assumption he was somehow made gay aside. Following their little awkward moment, Vincent stumbled upon a station playing an interview with actress/singer, Jennifer Lopez.
"Bitch is foine," Vincent salivated.
"Yeah," August seconded.
When Vincent paused, casting him a confused glance, August smiled at him slyly.
"You like that?" Vincent quizzed.
"She cute," August countered.
"But… you gay."
"And?"
Vincent regarded him, baffled. August reveled in the moment, waiting a few minutes before he finally volunteered, "Don't mean I wanna fuck her, but she look good, nigga."
Vincent stayed late that evening, eventually leaving August alone to wrestle with his obsession. What was it about him, he lamented, that kept attracting these gorgeous, yet, unavailable ornamentation's? Why couldn't just one of them be the man of his dreams? When his bus arrived, he boarded, his heart in disrepair.
II.
He was at the dreaded mall again. Bath and Bodyworks having lured him into a senseless spending spree, he was now on his way to Macy's, sales paper in hand. At least he'd smell like a million, his bag stocked with sweet shower gels, spritzers, and scented lotions. The Wild Berry package was just too delightful to pass. He'd face the music with his fussy cousin later.
Stopping at a display of designer jeans and pants, August fawned over the smart arrangement, adorning the petite mannequin. Oh honey, he would just be hateful in a pair of those cargo pants, the cuffs rolled up about his sexy calves.
Glancing at the exorbitant price tag, he bit his lower lip, suddenly aware that his meager income would be greatly strained by this purchase. He just had to have those pants, though. Against his better judgement, he selected a pair and sauntered to the dressing rooms.
One look at himself in the store mirror was all it took. There was no denying the way they accented his irresistibly round ass cheeks. He'd have to beat the boys off with a stick in these things, he thought, peering at his sensuous form in the mirror.
He'd need a new shirt to go along with them, but that was only minor details. Rushing back to the dressing room, he opened the door and almost screamed. Seated inside the little cubicle was Juice.
Leering at August's seductive selection, the 20 year old lewdly licked his lips.
"Lookin' good, nigga," he grinned.
"How'd you get in here?" August insisted.
"Don't worry 'bout that, just get yo' ass in here," Juice sneered, groping himself.
Anxiety and desire seizing him, August shut the door. Juice motioned with his finger for him to come closer and he reluctantly complied. Standing nervously before the aroused boy, he watched as Juice worked his magic, his hands palming his sensitive body.
Worried they'd be discovered, he was a little surprised when his dick started to respond. Juice tweaked his raw nipples, raking them erect. A tiny whimper escaping his mouth, he closed his eyes as the boy's hands traveled toward his hardening dick.
"You gon' buy these?" Juice whispered, stroking his hardness through the new pants.
"I want to," August said, his voice trembling, "but they cost too much."
"What you need?" Juice said, passing his hand beneath the boy's balls. Gently stroking the tender area just between his dangling balls and sweaty asshole, the boy soon had August quivering weakly.
"I don't know," he panted, turning about, presenting the price tag to the boy. "What they say?"
Juice examined the tag, his hands groping the boy's twin globes now.
"Way these things make yo' little ass look, it ain't no big thing," Juice sniffed. "Get 'em off and let's go," he said, unbuttoning the trousers.
August shimmied out of the pants, his dick a wicked pole in his boxers as Juice watched. Twice the boy stroked his protruding length, causing him to gasp softly. If he don't stop playing with my shit, I'm gonna blow all over him, August thought.
Foot steps sounding outside the booth alerting them someone was coming, the boys suspended their daring venture. August quickly dressed, his dick dripping in his boxers as Juice taunted him, inadvertently running his hands over his ass.
No sooner they'd entered his little apartment, Juice was all over him. His hands slipping under the boy's shirt, August sighed when his fingers fondled his hardening nipples. Damn, did Juice ever know how to make him hot!
Yanking his shirt up to expose his mocha brown torso, Juice lighted upon his nipples, lapping lewdly at them. August moaned, his body twitching as the boy guided him over to the cluttered futon.
"Gon' give me some of them cakes?" Juice simmered, grabbing the boy's saucy ass.
"This my ass?" Juice persisted. Speechless, August lay on the futon, staring at the boy.
Pulling him atop him, Juice reached down and unfastened the boy's pants. Sliding them down below his pert ass, he opened his own pants, thrusting his spear up at the youth. Straddling him, August was just about to slide down on his pulsing column when his doorbell rang.
A look of panic striking his face, he stood, pulling his pants back up. Juice scowled as he left him, excited and exposed. Angrily zipping his pants up, he watched as August opened the door.
"Vincent!" August yelped.
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