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Authors: Ryan Field

Ricky's Business

BOOK: Ricky's Business
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Ricky’s Business


A Ravenous Romance™ Original Publication

by Ryan Field A Ravenous Romance™ Original Publication

Copyright © 2010 by Ryan Field

Ravenous Romance™ 100 Cummings Center Suite 123A
Beverly, MA 01915

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in whole or in part without written permission from the publisher, except by reviewers who may quote brief excerpts in connection with a review.

ISBN-13: 978-1-60777-371-9


This book is a work of fiction, and any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental.


Chapter One


On Friday nights, Ricky Daley often played cards with his best friend, Leyland O’Brian,


instead of going out on dates with girls. They were both seniors in their last semester of high


school: old enough to know better, but still too young to know how to get what they wanted.


So they passed the time playing spades and listening to music instead of cruising around


town with the other kids from school. Sometimes they played canasta, but Leyland had a


tendency to steal wild cards when Ricky wasn’t looking, and it wasn’t as easy to cheat with




They’d been best friends since their first year in high school. Ricky was dark-haired,


athletic, and muscular, with slightly bowed legs and a firm, round derriere that often provoked


second and third glances. His straight brown hair fell across his forehead in loose shocks and the


hollow spaces below his cheeks turned into dimples whenever he smiled. He was on the football


team, baseball team, and basketball team and still managed to rank among the highest in his class.


Leyland, on the other hand, was ten pounds overweight, had bushy brown hair, and legs shaped


like the letter X. His derriere was square and flat. When he wore corduroy slacks, his thighs


rubbed together and made a swishing sound. He’d never thrown a football, a baseball, or


bounced a basketball in his life. And when he took an exam, there were always cheat sheets


tucked under his sleeve.


If it hadn’t been for the fact they were both gay, they wouldn’t have had anything in


common. Though they’d never had sex with each other—nor would they ever—this was enough


to form a strong bond of friendship. Living in a small suburban subdivision in northern New Jersey, where eighteen-year-old high school guys didn’t date other guys, left them with nothing


but dreams and fantasies. They never denied being gay. They just didn’t talk about it openly with


anyone other than themselves. Despite all the changes happening within the lgbt community, lgbt


teenagers couldn’t walk down the hallways in their schools and hold hands like straight kids did.


So while Ricky and Leyland played cards on Friday nights, they often laughed and joked about


their frustrations and talked about what they wished their lives could be like.


One particular Friday night in the early spring, Ricky slipped an e-cigarette into his


mouth and looked at his cards. He wasn’t a smoker and there wasn’t any nicotine in the e


cigarette, but it made him feel older to pretend he was smoking. They were playing canasta that


night and Ricky was wearing dark sunglasses. He’d put them on so he could watch Leyland


closely. Ricky wanted to make sure Leyland wasn’t stuffing wild cards—jokers and deuces—


into his shirt pocket when Ricky wasn’t looking.


Ricky picked up a small pile of cards in the center of the table that had been topped with


the black four of spades Leyland had just discarded. Then Ricky pulled three more fours from his


hand and set them down, with two fifty-point wild cards and Leyland’s black four of spades to


make his meld. The cards hadn’t been coming to Ricky that night and Leyland already had two


canastas and a red three. And Leyland didn’t seem to be cheating, so Ricky had to make a move.


Leyland was only holding two cards in his hand. If Ricky didn’t put something down on the table,


Leyland could go out and leave him holding a handful of wild cards.


“That was lame,” Leyland said, looking down at the cards Ricky was showing. “Four


shitty fours and two jokers? I’ve seen better melds with the old ladies in my grandmother’s card


club.” Ricky shrugged. “I didn’t have a choice. I have to get rid of some cards if I’m going to


beat your ass.” He was bluffing now. He wanted Leyland to think he had great cards.


“Dream on, baby,” Leyland said, clucking his tongue.


Ricky discarded a red queen and quirked his eyebrows. He knew it was a tricky card to


set down, but he didn’t have anything else to offer.


Leyland lurched forward and seized the red queen, added it to the two other queens he


was holding in his hand, and slapped all three down on the table at the same time. “I’m out.”


Ricky looked down at Leyland’s cards and frowned. He looked at his own cards and


shook his head. He was holding a handful of wild cards plus three aces, and he only had six cards


down on the table that added up to one hundred and twenty points. There had to be at least two


hundred points in his hand that would now be deducted from his score. And the measly points on


the table would barely even cover it.


After they counted their points and Ricky dealt out a new hand, Leyland fanned his cards


and smiled. “Thanks for giving me such a great hand again this time. It’s giving me an erection.”


“You’re full of shit,” Ricky said. He knew when Leyland was bluffing because his right


eyebrow twitched. When Ricky cursed out loud it sounded awkward and forced. No matter how


hard he tried to sound cool and casual, foul words always seemed to get stuck in his throat and


flatten as they passed his lips. “I’m gonna kick your butt with this hand, buddy. You should see


my cards.”


“Yeah, dream on, asshole,” Leyland said. He picked up the first card and discarded a


black six of clubs. When Leyland cursed, it sounded natural and easy.


“Speaking of dreams,” Ricky said, “I had an interesting one last night.” Leyland sat forward and rested his elbows on the table. His lips parted and he started to


breathe heavier. “Tell me about it.”


Ricky smiled and discarded a black three. He knew now much Leyland loved listening to


his sex dreams. Sometimes he became so excited his right leg started to vibrate. “I don’t know if


I should. My mom and dad might come in.” They were playing in Ricky’s basement. His mother


and father had gone out to a movie and left them in the house alone. They sometimes asked him


why he didn’t date girls, but never thought to ask if he was gay.


“They won’t be back soon.” Leyland leaned forward and bit his bottom lip. “Tell me


about the dream. Tell me everything.” He picked up a card and discarded another black three.


Ricky held up his cards and pretended to look at them through the dark glasses. But he


was really looking at Leyland’s face. Leyland was still leaning forward on the edge of his seat,


waiting for Ricky to tell him about his dream. So Leyland lowered his voice to almost a whisper


and said, “It all starts after football practice. The other guys go into the locker room to change


and shower, and I stay outside and run laps for about a half hour. I’m wearing all my gear and


it’s hot outside. By the time I stop running, I’m dripping with sweat and my entire body is on


fire.” He stopped talking long enough to pick up a new card and discard another.


But Leyland wasn’t playing anymore. He put down his cards and laced his fingers


together on top of the table. “Go on, tell me more.” His tongue was practically hanging from his


mouth. “What happens next? I want details.”


Ricky smiled. Leyland’s eyes were glazed and his leg was starting to vibrate. “I cool


down for a minute and adjust my dick. It’s all sweaty and hot and stuck in my jock strap. My


balls are all squashed up and I rub them a few times to give them some air.” Leyland pressed his palm to his throat and licked his lips. Though they’d never had sex,


Ricky often thought Leyland was attracted to him. In fact, he’d seen Leyland checking his crotch


out many times when he thought Ricky wasn’t looking.


“After that,” Ricky said, “I jog into the locker room. All I can think about is ripping off


my gear, getting totally naked, and taking a shower. There’s no one left in the locker room. All


the other guys have gone home and it’s almost dead quiet. But when I take off my gear, I hear


one of the showers turn on. I’m standing there in nothing but a sweaty jock strap, listening to the


water run. There’s no other sound in the locker room.”


“It’s the coach, isn’t it?” Leyland asked. “This is another coach dream.” He rubbed his


palms together. “Oh, I love your coach dreams.”


The football coach at their school was in his late twenties, had a lean muscular body, and


thought nothing of walking around naked in the locker room in front of the other guys. Though


Ricky had only seen six inches of the coach’s flaccid dick flopping around, he’d imagined it


expanding into a nine-inch erection many times. But this dream wasn’t about his coach. “It’s not


the coach dream,” Ricky said. “This one is even better.”


Leyland took a quick breath and adjusted his legs beneath the table. “Go on. Tell me




Ricky smiled and put down his cards. “Okay. I’m standing there in my sweaty jock


listening to the shower. I’m not sure what to do, so I decide to act naturally and play it cool. I


pull off my jock strap and toss it into my gym bag with the rest of my dirty gear. Then I throw a


towel around my shoulders and slowly cross the locker room in my bare feet. I see a pile of some


guy’s soiled, sweaty football gear on a bench near the shower room. There’s a pair of dirty sweat socks and a worn jock strap at the top of the pile. I pick up the jock strap and hold it in my hand


for a minute or two, then put it back and keep walking.”


“Did you sniff the jock?” Leyland asked. His lips were parted and his eyes were bulging.


“No,” Ricky said. “That’s disgusting.”


“I would have,” Leyland said. “I don’t think it’s disgusting.”


“That’s because
a perverted creep,” Ricky said.


Leyland shrugged. “No, it’s because I like dick. And there’s nothing sweeter than the


smell of a sweaty football player’s used jock strap. Ask anyone.”


Ricky squinted and shook his head. “It’s disgusting and skanky. Sweaty balls stink.”


“To each his own,” Leyland said. “Finish the story.”


“Okay. When I reach the showers, I stop for a minute and wait. My heart is pounding in


my ears and my legs feel shaky. I’m not sure whether I should just walk into the showers or go


back to my locker and get dressed. Then I take a deep breath and three steps forward. When I’m


standing in the shower room doorway, I see the back of this magnificent guy standing beneath


the middle shower head. The water is running down his body and he’s washing between his legs.


There’s steam everywhere, but I can see the outline of his perfect body. His back muscles are


jumping with each move and his long legs have just the right amount of hair. His shoulders are


wide and they taper down to a thin waist and a nice tight round ass. Even his feet are perfect; not


too big, but wide with straight, perfect toes and a nice arch.


“I remain standing there, staring at him. I can smell the spicy soap he’s using. My dick is


growing and I can’t control it. I know I should be worried he’ll turn around and find me


watching him, but I can’t seem to move my legs. It’s like I’m frozen in a time warp.” Leyland reached for his beer and gulped the rest of it down. Then he wiped his lips and


said, “Don’t stop. Keep going. Does he have a nice dick?”


“The weird part is I’ve never seen this guy before. He looks like Keanu Reeves, but not


the young version. This is the grow-n-man version: Keanu in his forties. I like that he’s older.
BOOK: Ricky's Business
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