Stepping Up to the Plate

Chapter 2-1

Chapter 2

After spending his birthday, that night, and most of the next morning with his friends, Stacy snuck into the house a little before noon the following day. His head throbbed from too much booze and smoke, and his groin beat with the memory of the good time he’d had. Though he hadn’t planned to skip two days of detention, all he wanted to do was crawl up in his bed and sleep away the night before.

Sometime later, he woke up disoriented in his own darkened room. The faint odor of onions hung in the air, a smell that told him his mother had made pot roast for dinner, but when he sat up, his stomach churned and he knew he wasn’t quite ready to eat yet. What had they done? The haze in his mind shifted and Ange’s sly smile shone through, both hands encircling Stacy’s d**k as he worked it hard in Lamar’s bedroom. Colin somewhere grunting like a pig sniveling through slop, Lamar telling him to shut up, he was killing the mood, goddamn he was tight. Stacy sunk into the overstuffed chair by the dresser, pants open, knees apart. Ange above him, leaning close, closer, squeezing him until he had to close his eyes against the reefer and incense thickening the room. “Happy birthday, Stace,” his friend breathed, his hands never breaking their steady rhythm. His words licked Stacy’s cheek like tendrils of smoke and when they kissed, his lips seared Stacy’s like hot brands. In his ear Ange purred, “Couldn’t get much happier than this.”

Stacy agreed. The fact was that he remembered Ange’s mouth and not Lamar’s drunken slobber, and it didn’t get much better than that. If he wasn’t the youngest—and if he wasn’t a little afraid of what the others would say—Stacy thought maybe he might have asked Ange to be exclusive. No more pawing Lamar’s crotch as they cruised the streets, no more listening to Colin’s porcine slurps as he went down on Ange in the back seat. At those times he hated Colin, and he’d laugh when Lamar teased their friend.

In short, his birthday had been amazing…what he could recall. The rest must’ve been all right, if he still felt it. Carefully he got out of bed and stripped. As his clothing fell to the floor his mind cleared, the stench of pot and booze gone with his shirt and pants. He rummaged through his closet and dressed in cleaner clothes, wondering what would be said on Monday about him skipping school. Another two days in detention loomed like a promise, but it had been worth it. Someday, when baseball was over and he said the hell with classes and s**t? Every night would be like the one before, every night would be amazing. He’d make sure of it.