Authors: Andy Cox
“But this time, you get down on your hands and knees. I’m going to get behind you, on top of you.”
“That’s not fair.”
“Sure it is! You’re older than me, and taller. Unless you really are a chicken.”
Tom got down on the kitchen floor on his hands and knees. Pete climbed on top of him, sliding his strong forearm under Tom’s jaw, using his other hand to grab Tom’s right wrist, twist it behind his back. “Ready?”
Tom, blinking, nodded.
Peter tightened his forearm across Tom’s throat. Twisted Tom’s wrist higher up his spine.
Tom collapsed to the kitchen floor tiles, in front of the stainless steel dishwasher. Cried out in pain.
Peter pressed his muscled forearm even closer against the older boy’s throat. “Say uncle! Say uncle!”
Tom teared up. “Uncle! Uncle!”
“Who’s stronger? Who? You or me?”
Tom, splayed on his stomach across the tiles, helpless, Peter’s bullying weight on top of him, hurting him, blinked rapidly. “You are! You’re stronger!”
•••
They were over Peter’s house. His mom was out.
Peter led Tom into the dining room where he and his dad had beef stroganoff last week. As Tom watched, Peter moved a dining room chair over to the hutch. Stood on top of the chair’s seat, its plush cushion causing him to wave his arms sideways, like a tightrope walker. Once he was balanced, he reached up over the top of the tall mahogany hutch. Brought down a beautiful-looking bottle with a pale brown liquid sloshing inside. He jumped off the seat.
Walked over to Tom with the bottle, looking up at him, smirking. “Know what this is?”
“Is that beer?”
Peter snorted. “It’s whiskey. You ever drink whiskey before?”
Tom took a step back. “I don’t think so.”
Peter unscrewed the top. “Whiskey makes you grow up faster. Turns you into a man.” His big nose sniffed the opening. “It tastes really bad, but it cleans your brain.”
“Yeah?”
“You ever have really bad thoughts? Whiskey gets rid of them.”
“How does it do that?”
“You said you really like birds, right? Well, if a bird is attacked, by a dog or a person, all it has to do is fly up in the air. A dog can’t fly. Neither can a person. Whiskey is filled with tiny little birds. You can’t see them, but if you drink some whiskey, all those tiny little birds fly up into your head.” Peter tilted the bottle up, took a swig. Made a lip-bulging face. His voice was hoarse. “You try.”
Peter accepted the weight of the glass bottle. Sniffed the rim. “It smells like gasoline.”
“That’s to keep pussies away. Drink it.”
Tom held the bottle out to Peter. “I don’t want to.”
Peter got angry. “Drink it!”
Tom closed one eye, looking down into the glass top of the bottle, down past the interior glass spirals of the neck, at the ocean of swaying pale brown liquid within.
“You can’t see the birds.”
Tom took a swig. Smacked his lips loudly, twisting his face away.
“Drink some more!”
“I don’t like it, Peter!”
Peter rolled his broad shoulders. Reached up and rubbed Tom’s crew cut. “Well, then go home, little baby. Oh, and by the way. We’re no longer friends.”
Tom took a second sip. Felt the warmth in his mouth, then in his stomach. Kept sipping until Peter said it was okay for him to stop.
Peter carried the bottle by its neck into the kitchen, over to the sink. Turned on the spigot, filling the bottle with enough water until it was back up to its original level.
Put it back up on top of the mahogany hutch.
He grinned at Tom. “We’re free! My mom’s not home.”
Tom smiled. “Yeah, I like that. Being free.”
“We can do anything we want.”
“What do you want to do?”
Peter slipped his hand between the buttons of Tom’s shirt, laying his palm on Tom’s bare stomach. “Want to go up to the attic?”
Tom’s eyes tracked down, feeling the warmth of Peter’s palm over his belly button. “Why would we want to do that?”
“I’ll introduce you to the ghost.”
Peter opened a green door on the second floor hallway. Brown steps leading up, not like a staircase, but like a ladder that tilts back.
They climbed the rungs, Tom behind Peter.
Once they stood up in the attic, its timbered expanse, small windows and dust, Peter slapped Tom on his chest. “We’re free, right?”
“Yeah! Damn right!”
“So what’s the first thing free men do?”
Tom tried to think.
Peter walked up to Tom’s chest, making the older boy step backwards. “We take off our pants!”
“What?”
“Fucking A! We’re free!”
Peter, holding Tom’s eyes, kicked off his sneakers. Reaching down, yanked off his white socks. Undid his belt. Unzipped his zipper. Pulled down his blue jeans, bending forward. Lifted them off his feet.
His legs were more muscular than Tom’s, and hairier.
“Now you.”
Tom opened his mouth.
“No. Now you. Do it. Because I told you to do it.”
Tom sat on the brown attic floor, staring up at Peter’s white briefs as he took off his sneakers and black socks, smoothed his pants down his legs, exposing his red and black checked boxer shorts.
He stood up, looking at Peter.
Peter laughed, pointing at Tom’s legs. “Your thighs are blushing!”
Tom looked down at his red-splotched thighs. “No they’re not!”
“See how cold it feels up here?”
“I don’t know.”
“See the ghost in that corner?” Peter pointed toward the distant corner of the attic, God light slanting through the small windows, dust motes floating.
“I don’t see anything.”
“Are you just retarded?”
“I told you not to say that!”
“You honestly don’t see the ghost right there in that corner?”
“Well, yeah, maybe I see something.”
“And you feel how cold it is?”
“I guess. Yeah.”
“The ghost hangs upside down from the attic rafters by his toenails. His arms stretch all the way down through the floorboards, into the bedrooms below. His hands have two thumbs each, and they can pass through your pajamas onto your body.”
Tom kept staring where Peter had pointed. “I don’t know.”
“What’s it like to be a retard?”
“Shut up!”
Peter reared his head back. “Oh, you want to wrestle?”
“I didn’t say that.”
Peter put his hands on his hips, above his bare legs. Raised his jaw confidently. “Assume the position.”
“What? Now?”
“Assume it.”
Tom obediently got down on all fours. The younger boy climbed on top of him, wrapping his bare legs around Tom’s waist. “Giddy-up, little horsey!”
Tom struggled, but by giving Peter the superior position, even his tallness and being a year older didn’t help. Peter easily wrapped his bare legs around Tom’s throat, choking him, then forced him over onto his back. After that, both boys knew how the wrestle would end. Peter easily pinned Tom down on the attic floor, sat on his chest. “Say it.”
Tom, wrists held down, Peter’s bare thighs alongside either side of his face, dominating him, looked up at the younger boy’s smug face, far above. “Uncle.”
Peter slid his hard weight off Tom. Reached down, slapped him across his nose. Tom’s face scrunched, but this time he didn’t object.
Tom and Peter walked home from school, passing back and forth a cigarette Peter had hidden in his front pants pocket.
Tom looked down at his expensive sneakers. “My dad told me I have to try to fit in.”
“My mom told me that, too.”
Peggy caught up to them at the street corner, clump of azalea bushes to one side. Blue eyes, freckles. Looked at Tom. “Hey!”
Peter made a face. “What do you want?”
She ignored him, walking in front of Tom. “You’re in my Chemistry class.”
Tom brightened. “Yeah, I saw you there. You’re really smart.”
She tossed her long blonde hair. “I know the symbols for all the different elements. I think I’m probably the only one in class who does.”
Peter slapped Tom’s nose. “Let’s walk down this street. I want to tell you something personal.”
“No. I want to walk this way, with Peggy.”
“Tm is Thulium.” She winked at Tom. Put her hands behind her head, pearl buttons on the front of her white blouse rising, sliding her eyes to the left.
“Do I have to beat you up in front of her?”
Peggy snorted at Peter. “I don’t think you’d stand much of a chance.” She bugged her eyes at Peter. “Tom’s taller and older.”
“Yeah? Let’s see.”
Peter reached up, slid his forearm around Tom’s throat, yanked him down to the sidewalk.
Peggy stepped back with a squeal, small hand over her lips.
Tom struggled under Peter’s weight to get a handhold on Peter’s armpit, to flip him off, but as he tried to balance himself under Peter, the younger boy slipped his thigh between Tom’s.
Both boys struggled, faces grimacing, to gain the upper hand over the other.
Before, Tom would have easily won. But now, after so many times of assuming the position, giving into Peter, he felt his torso getting twisted over under Peter’s superior weight.
With a bang, Tom’s back landed on the sidewalk.
Peter climbed on top of Tom’s body, triumphant. Locked his muscular legs around Tom’s neck. Started squeezing. “Say uncle!” He easily held down Tom’s flailing hands, squeezing his thighs even tighter around Tom’s neck.
Tom reached out his hand, not to grab Peter above him, but to try to reach his finger out to the dirt just beyond the sidewalk. The finger managed to draw three sides of a square in the dirt before Peter’s thighs yanked him back to the center of the concrete.
Tom, defeated, croaked out his surrender.
Peter, lying across the sidewalk, thighs still wrapped around Tom’s neck, looked up at Peggy. “Still think Tom’s stronger?”
Big blue eyes. She shook her head, smoothing her hands down her hips.
“Watch this.” Holding down Tom’s wrists, Peter sat on top of Tom’s face. Farted.
Peggy’s blonde eyebrows jumped.
Peter farted down onto Tom’s struggling face again, looking up with a smirk at Peggy.
She tossed her hair, bright red color atop both her cheeks. Distractedly lifted her hands up to behind her head again, but this time pointing at Peter. Giggled.
Peter let Tom go. Got to his full height, slightly shorter than Peggy. Crooked his finger at her. “C’mere.”
She followed obediently, into the green clump of azalea bushes at the street corner. Peter motioned to Tom to join them. “I want you to watch.”
The three of them hiding within the azalea bushes, hearing cars pass by, Peter lay on his back. Pulled down his red pants. Pulled down his white underpants, letting out the rigid length.
Peggy got down on her hands and knees, lowered her mouth to Peter’s cock. Bumped it between her lips, into her warm mouth.
She started sucking.
Peter lay his head on the dirt, like a king, flop of brown hair across his forehead, both hands on the back of Peggy’s bobbing head, knuckled fingers prominent, staring up at Tom from around his big nose. “Is this your first date with your girlfriend?”
•••
Friday morning at breakfast, Tom asked his dad if he could sleep over Peter’s house.
His dad chewed on the remainder of his power bar, washed it down with the rest of his orange juice. “Do you like Peter?”
Tom blushed. “What do you mean?”
His dad pulled out, from between the buttons of his white dress shirt, the wideness of his red tie. “What do you think of his mom?”
Tom, confused, tilted more of his cold glass of skim milk into his mouth, buying time.
“She’s pretty cool, huh?”
“I guess so.”
“You’ve probably noticed I’ve been spending a lot of time with her.”
Tom said nothing.
His dad, at their stainless steel dishwasher, put his empty orange juice glass upside down in the top rack. “Do you miss not having a mom to come home to?”
Tom jerked up his head. “Is mom coming back?”
“Well, not your original mom. But what if you got a new mom?”
“Like who?”
“Like, for example, Lisa. Would you like that?”
Tom lowered his head. “I don’t know. Maybe I wouldn’t.”
“Well, it’s something to think about.” His dad pulled out the vibration in his front pants pocket. Looked at the lit screen. “Tom, I just want the best for you. You’re my son. I love you.” He looked around at their new kitchen. “Maybe having a two-parent home again will help you. I have to take this. That’s fine if you sleep over Peter’s. But no horror movies. And don’t go on any Internet sites on his computer that aren’t kid-friendly.”