Corbusier By Biscuit Chapter 5 Her voice was a loud slur through a din of even louder music. "You'll never guess where I am, Corby," she yelled into the phone. She was right. A gay bar, a lesbian gay bar in the Village. The middle of the dance floor is what it sounded like. I shot straight into the panic zone. She sounded totally loaded and out of control. "I'm going home with the bartender," she laughed, like it was a big joke. "Mom, where's Janice?" "Can't hear a thing, I love you, baby." "Mom, wait ..." Big kissing sound and she hung up. Fuck. Fuck! My heart was racing and I hit the callback button. It rang and it rang, and no one picked it up. The feeling that overcame me, staring at the dead phone in my hand, was anger. At her, at myself, but right then, mostly at my dad. She'd never done anything like this before. I'd felt her edging toward it, toward doing something reckless, ever since he'd left. Now, thanks to me and my big confession, I thought, she'd been pushed the last inches over the edge. Fuck. Guilty as I felt for what I'd laid on her that afternoon, I put most of the blame on him. My dad traveled. A lot. Sometimes he'd been gone for months at a time; once for two years at a site he only came home from for visits. When he was home it was like having a stranger in the house. But a handsome, fascinating stranger whose presence we craved. When my dad was at home it was like the circus coming to town. Parties at our house. Him and my mom dressing up to go out. I'd spend a lot of nights at Megan's house when he was around because I was too old for a baby-sitter but too young to stay home alone. When it was just the two of us, me and my mom, life was pretty quiet by comparison. She had friends, and there were parties and get togethers but much smaller, more casual. Not the hectic excitement like when he was there. Only in the past year had she and Janice started having what they called girls' nights out. Nothing like this. Not that I knew about, anyway. Fuck. One in the morning. There wasn't a damn thing I could do about where she was or what she was doing. Colin was in the bathroom. He'd gone when I picked up the phone. I was sitting in the messed up sheets, feeling stuff trickling from my ass, seeing the piles of clothes on the floor, feeling like my dad's leaving had set me and my mom spinning out of control. There's a big difference between not being home much and never coming back. I heard the toilet flush and water running and I dreaded the sight of Colin Daley. I wanted him gone. I wanted my mom to be home, in her bed; for everything to be like it was before. Megan, still my girlfriend, my dad just away on a trip somewhere. Colin had no idea the kid he'd walked away from a handful of minutes before had warped onto a whole other planet while he was gone. I didn't look at him. I reached down to where his stuff was on the floor by the bed and picked it up, tossing it at the end of the bed, thinking let's get this over with. "What's up," he said. "Throwing me out now?" "Just go, okay." He sat down in front of me and reached around me to grab a pillow, easing himself back with it under his head. Damn. Spread like an offering, his flat hand moving over his own chest, down his stomach. His cock was swollen, not hard. Did he think I couldn't look at him without falling all over him? Fuck you, I thought, trying not to look. "You sure?" he asked me. "Yeah, I'm sure," I said, though of course I wasn't. I wasn't sure of anything except hating how I felt. Then I made the mistake of looking at his face. He wasn't looking at me, grinning, like I expected. It was his profile I was seeing. His gaze was distant, the way he was touching himself absent minded. It struck me that he looked as sad as I felt. But why? He doesn't want to go, I thought. Most of the little bit of time I'd spent with Colin he was either laughing at me or fucking me. But he wasn't doing either of those things then. Seeing his face like that, preoccupied with whatever thoughts were running through that blond head, was like connecting dots, backward in time, to the first moment I'd laid eyes on him. The face I'd seen almost frozen in time before my fist made impact with it. I wanted him as bad then as I had when I'd bent over him in the park, wiping the blood off his face. He pulled in a deep breath like he was gathering himself up inside and looked at me. I looked down into my lap, but it was too late. He'd already seen my face and it must have been written all over me, how bad I didn't want him to go. "You're such a fucking liar," he said. Not mean, not mad; what he sounded was relieved. He reached up and took hold of me by the back of my neck, and I caved like I'd melted. Get rid of him and you can have your dad back. Get rid of him and your mom won't tumble into bed with a lesbian bartender. Part of me believed those things and I still couldn't resist him. The kiss I fell into didn't just make my dick hard as rock. It carried me right back to the moment my heart had popped open like an oyster for him. I was feeling the boy I loved, loving me back. He loved me all right. But he wasn't the seventeen year old boy that I thought he was. Colin Daley was twenty-one years old; years hidden in a fair-skinned baby face. I was the age he'd been when he dropped out of school for good to work for and live with the guy who'd been fucking him since he was twelve. A man named Sean Fahey. His "uncle" Sean; the man he lied to about where he was going and what he was doing every time he came to see me. Sean Fahey owned a pub off Broadway under the IRT tracks; a pub where Colin's dad had been drinking for as many years as his son could remember. Colin grew up without a mom, living with his dad and his dad's sister, not far from that pub. The sister pretty much supported Colin's dad and both of them thought he was real lucky that a man like Sean Fahey had taken a personal interest in him. Like the son he couldn't have himself. An heir to the pub. What Colin was thinking as he'd stared out through the glass wall, I couldn't have imagined in a million years. But I'd gotten the sadness right. His tongue slid over mine and around it, sending heat from my balls to my throat. I could have kissed him forever if I wasn't dying to suck his dick. I'd gotten my hand around it. Full out hard by then and pressing up hot and eager into my grip. I started sucking his tongue and he pushed me back with his hand on the side of my face and his thumb curving under my jaw. He was grinning then. "Do that to my dick, cocksucker," he said. I didn't like being called that, but I liked the way he said it, with his little grin and his eyes all sparkly, half shut. This time wasn't like the other time I sucked him. He wasn't rushing me or trying to get to fucking me. He let me do what I wanted, which was memorize him with my mouth, with my eyes. I kept letting it out, wet on his stomach, to look at it, running my tongue down him into his balls. I hadn't gotten much chance to take my time and really look at him up close before. His cock was like the rest of him, long and taut and pale skinned. The pink of it was like seashells, not the darker rose of my own dick. I think my playing around was making him crazy but he didn't stop me. His hand was on my head at the end, urging me, but not forcing me up and down his cock. The rise and fall of his belly, the surge of his hips and the sound of his hard breathing were making me so hot my own dick was dripping. He shot his load in my mouth, a warm thick cheekful of it I could hardly distinguish from the taste of my own spit. "Spit it out," he said to me, with his hand right under my chin. I filled his palm with it. I'd been crouching over him, folded on my knees. He reached up my stomach and wrapped his wet fist around my cock. He started pumping it, twisting his hand so the head of it rubbed into his slicked up palm. I closed my eyes, whipping my head back and let go, fucking his hand, shooting my own spunk into the hot mix in his fist. And still Colin Daley didn't leave. At two in the morning we were in my kitchen. Naked. He sat his bare ass down and watched me paw through the fridge. Leftover dinner, the roast chicken my mom and I had only pecked at. A jar of pickles, some cheese. I pulled out a beer. I laid it all out in front of him. He look tired, beautiful, and oddly enough, perfectly at home in his sprawl in my chair. He pat his leg. "Right here, princess." And I sat down, side saddle in his lap with my arm around his shoulders. I guess it's the way it happens with sex, where you can know so much, feel so close, even though you know fuck all about each other. I didn't find out a damn thing about Colin Daley that night. Not his age, not how he lived. But I knew he was crazy about me. I was getting the picture that whatever it was that made him run off those other times, had nothing to do with how much he wanted to be with me. We demolished the food and drank the beer and crawled back into my bed. We slept for a few hours. I woke up to feeling him on my back, the wet slide of his dick between the cheeks of my ass. I was still tender from before but I didn't even think about trying to stop him. As far as I was concerned, my body belonged to him, inside and out. Maybe it takes being fourteen to let yourself be carried on a tide of passion like I did. I was too young to know how dumb it was to think things like I love him, I'll love him forever, I belong to him. He did leave after that. I watched him get dressed, this time sensing how much he didn't want to go, even though he wasn't saying it. It was still dark outside. He was washed and dressed and I was deep in the warmth of the covers. "You know you could call me next time," I said. "Instead of scaring the crap out of me." "Next time?" He dropped down on his knees by the bed. "I guess you think I'm as hot for your ass as you are." I didn't even flinch at being reminded of my strip show. Not with him feeling for my ass through the blankets. I was too busy trying to hold him down while I licked the taste of toothpaste out of his mouth. He let me do it for a little while and then he put a firm hand on my chest and shoved as he pulled back. "We can't all be heathens, laying around in bed on a Sunday morning," he said. "Straight to hell, that's where you're going, princess." He stroked down my belly and gave a squeeze to my hard dick. Then he was up and out of there without another word. I knew he'd come back. I didn't know when. But I knew he would. I turned over into the pillow that still smelled like him, not ready to give it up yet for the day to come. The thought of my mom was there at the edges of my brain but I squeezed my eyes shut and crowded it out with the scent and memory of Colin.
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