Chapter 8: Alex

Runnin' hurts. Then again, so does walkin', standin', sittin' an' lyin' down. Peter fucked my ass up.

An' I'm glad.

It's totally fucked up. It's sick and bizarre but it's the hottest fuckin' thing ever. Every time I think about how much pain I'm in, I get a boner. Every time I move, I remember how much pain I'm in. It doesn't help to remember that he's a guy or that he's my god damn blood-related cousin for Christ sake; that just makes it sicker and me harder.

I am one sick fuck.

Ordinarily, I'd tell this kind of weird shit to Peter but he's so weirded out by this, he's barely spoken to me since it happened last night. Which is how totally fucked this is. Peter won't talk to me anymore.

Anyway, I manage to get through most of the day without too many odd looks - which is good, 'cause I don't think I could explain this to anyone. Everything is fine 'til practice.

I'm barred from playing but I still have to strap on my gear and run around at practice. An' before this, I swear, I never realized how often we slap ass on the field. One more guy pops me with a 'good play' an' I'm droppin' him. Or I'm gonna blow my wad. I can't tell anymore.

I can't figure a lot of things. While I'm one the field, I can keep my mind on the game. But as soon as I hit the sideline, I'm lost. Is this still a guilt thing or I'm I just one of those demented assholes who can only get off if someone gets hurt? Is it anyone or did I hurt Lisa because I'm really inta guys? Am I a fuckin' fag or is it worse - am I inta gettin' fucked by Peter? I don't like any of these ideas.

When Coach Dutton blows the whistle, I stall by asking the defensive coach to help me with my stance. I don't know what my backside looks like today but I got a feelin' that I don't want the locker room findin' out before I do.

Coach Hodges only has a couple of pointers so, it doesn't take as long as I like. I do see Faroud practicing his kicking which gives me what is probably a bad idea but what the fuck.

I join him, "Hold?"

He looks at me and raises an eyebrow. We've got ball stands so he doesn't actually need a ball holder. But we're all but alone on the field, so it doesn't take a genius to figure out that I wanna talk not hold the fuckin' football. He shrugs and I hold the ball in position. He's an ok kicker but we're only on the 30 so I think he's working on form more than distance.

"Can I ask you something?" I say after the ball goes soaring.

"Sure." He grabs another from a bag beside him.

"You a fag, right?"

For a second I think he's gonna kick me in the head. The ball goes way left and he glares at me. "Why would you even ask that?"

"I'm uh shithead. Sorry. I meant ... I mean, are you, you know, gay. I-" I take a deep breath, "I gotta question so I kinda need to know."

He sets another ball and sends it easily through the goal posts. He grabs another ball and sets it up. "Yeah," he kicks another perfect field goal, "Yeah, I am."

I pause as he sets another kick then just blurt out, "How'd'ya know? I mean, how'd you figure it out?"

"I don't know." He kicks again, "I just am."

"So what you just woke up one morning an' decided to kiss guys?"

He stops in mid-kick and thinks about it. "Yeah, that's about it." This isn't helping an' I'm not actually sure what to say next. He grabs the last ball from the bag and kicks it, "What," he sneers at me, "you wake up 'a fag' this morning?"

I kinda laugh, "Nah, I think I went to sleep 'a fag'. I woke up confused."

He looks at me, panting a bit, "Are you serious?"

"Yeah."

He looks at me for another minute then grabs the bag, "I gotta get these."

I nod, stand and wince. He looks at me an' I'm bettin' he thinks my ass is sore for totally the wrong reason. We wander around findin' practice balls.

Suddenly, he stops me, "Did you kiss him?"

"What?" I didn't expect the question, "Who?"

"The guy. Last night. You said you went to bed gay. Did you kiss him?"

"Oh." My head spins for a minute absorbing that thought and tryin' to figure if the stuff in the bathtub counts.

"You ain't gay if you can't tongue kiss a guy." Faroud says tossin' me one more ball for the bag.

We did not tongue kiss, I think with relief. "No. No, I didn't. We ... he, I mean, it was all..." It was all him beatin' my ass, I think, but I am not gonna say that, "uh..."

"You don't have to tell me," He leers at me, "much as I would love to hear it." We're next to the goal post an' before I know he's gonna do it, he braces his hand and pins me with a full on open mouth kiss.

It wouldn't be so fuckin' embarrassin' if I hadn't pulled the same fuckin' stunt on I don't know how many girls.

It's not like kissing a girl. It's harder. Firmer. More like we're fighting with lips and tongue. I grab his head, tangle my fingers in his hair and hold him still. After a couple minutes, I can feel him pulling back and I hold him harder. If-n I'm a fag, I sure as hell don't want some pussy-ass dick. He pries my fingers away.

"Ow!" He's pantin', ready for more, "Not cool with pain." He leans in again, catchin' my lips but holdin' both of my hands so that I can't do anything but stand there.

It's not bad, kissing a guy. Not until, I open my eyes an' find myself surprised that it's not Peter I'm kissin'. I yank my head away from him then wish I hadn't because now he's gonna ask why I did that.

"What? What's wrong?" He whispers.

"Shit, dude," I pant, "uh, nothin'."

He grins and pulls away completely. He grabs another ball. "You have no idea how long I've wanted to do that. Was it good for you too?"

We gather the last few balls while I try to catch my breath. That was way hotter than I expected but not better than doin' it with Lisa. Or as good as thinkin' about it with Peter. That scares me 'cause as bad as my family would take me bein' a fag, me bein' a cousin-fuckin' fag will likely get me dropped in the Potomac one stormy night.

Faroud stops in the equipment room, "So, you a fag?"

"I..." I can still taste his lips. I can think of worse things than tryin' that again but... "I don't know."