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Authors: Ryan Field

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But it’s not really Keanu. It’s my
dream man
, a guy with dark black hair whom I’ve never

 

actually seen before, which only makes my dick harder. Then he turns and faces me. I notice his

 

dick first: it’s the longest, thickest dick I’ve ever seen. It’s just hanging between his legs semi

 

erect, swinging back and forth. He stares at me for a second and says, ‘What are you looking at?’

 

It’s hard for me to speak. I know the sentence is grammatically incorrect. But it doesn’t bother

 

me. I say, ‘I just wanted to take a shower. Do you want me to leave you alone?’ And he says,

 

‘No. Come over here and help me wash my balls.’ So I slowly step into the shower room and

 

walk toward him. My heart is racing faster than ever and my dick is sticking out like a flagpole.

 

I’m walking and edging at the same time. I can smell the damp hazelnut aroma between his legs.

 

I’m worried about someone walking in and catching us, but all I want to do is go down on my

 

knees and suck him off.

 

“But as I get closer, the steam gets thicker. By the time I’m under the shower and the

 

water is hitting my body, I can’t find him anywhere. My mouth is literally watering. I can’t think

 

about anything but getting down on my knees and tea-bagging him. Then I turn around and the

 

steam slowly starts to disappear and I see I’m standing in the middle of this large, hollow

 

classroom where everyone is taking their SAT tests. Everyone else is seated at a desk, with their

 

heads down, working hard. I’m just standing there in the back of the room, naked and wet and

 

helpless, while they’re all writing something with number two pencils. This weird disconnected

 

feeling passes through my body and my dick starts to shrink. I get this sick thud in my stomach and I know I’m never going to get into the Ivy League college my parents want me to get into

 

because all I ever think about is sucking the biggest dick I can get my hands on.”

 

Leyland sat back and blinked. “That’s it? That’s the dream? What happened to Keanu

 

Reeves and his big dick?”

 

Ricky pulled the e-cigarette from his mouth and set it on the table. “That’s it. I told you it

 

was weird.” He was enjoying Leyland’s frustrated expression. He knew Leyland had been

 

hoping to hear one of his sex dreams that had a happy ending, where Ricky winds up with his

 

legs in the air and his tongue hanging from the side of mouth. Poor Leyland. Ricky hadn’t seen

 

him this dejected since his mother came home from church early and caught him wearing her

 

white patent leather high heels and Easter bonnet.

 

“You didn’t even get to touch his dick once?”

 

“Nope,” Ricky said. “He just disappeared with the steam.” Ricky wasn’t making any of

 

this up either. He’d actually had this dream the night before and he’d experienced such a deep

 

feeling of panic he had trouble falling asleep again. He just stared up at the dark ceiling in his

 

bedroom and thought about taking the SAT test. He’d already taken the test once and he’d done

 

very well. But not good enough for his mother and father. They wanted him to take it again to

 

see if he could get a higher score. Getting into an Ivy League school wasn’t easy, and they’d

 

been preparing him for this since he was in preschool.

 

Leyland sat back in his seat and yawned. “Pick up your cards and start playing. That

 

dream wasn’t even worth fucking listening to, man.” Then he picked up his cards and spread

 

them into a fan.

 

Ricky smiled. He had another story that would perk Leyland up. “I didn’t tell you what

 

happened the other day, and it wasn’t a dream. It was the real thing.” Leyland picked up a card, added it to his hand, then laid down seven cards in a row to

 

make canasta. He smiled at his victory and looked up at Ricky. “Okay, what happened the other

 

day?”

 

Ricky looked at the score sheet and frowned. It was getting late, Leyland had almost five

 

thousand points, and if he made one more canasta he’d win the game. The story Ricky was

 

talking about really did happen, at least partially. He was hoping it would distract Leyland from

 

the card game so he could win. So he picked up a card and discarded one from his hand, then

 

said, “I was riding my bike along the edge of the park the other day. I noticed this UPS guy in

 

the back of his truck. He was wearing those short brown pants they start wearing this time of

 

year. He had short blond hair and a diamond earring in each ear.”

 

Leyland looked up from his hand. “I know that UPS guy,” he said. “I’ve seen him in my

 

neighborhood. He’s so fucking hot with that blond hair and those sweet legs I almost tripped

 

over the curb last week.” Leyland lived two cul-de-sacs away from Ricky, well within walking

 

distance.

 

“That’s the guy,” Ricky said. “Well, he was staring right at me. He nodded and smiled

 

and I slowed down. The back of the truck was open and no one was around. He scratched his

 

crotch a couple of times and tilted his head, motioning me to get into the back of the truck with

 

him. I stopped right next to the truck and looked up at him. Then he tilted his head again and

 

winked, welcoming me to join him in the back of the truck.”

 

“What did you do?” Leyland asked. He was sitting on the edge of his seat again. He was

 

staring at his cards and listening to Ricky at the same time.

 

Ricky picked up a card and smiled. “I went into the truck and we did it. I just got down

 

on my knees, pulled down his zipper, and took care of him.” “Yeah, right,” Leyland said. He laughed and shook his head. “I’ll bet you got back on

 

your bike, rode right home, and jacked off in your bedroom.” He picked up one card, adjusted

 

his entire hand, then placed all his cards on the table. “I’m out. And that’s it. I’ve gone over five

 

thousand with just this one canasta so there’s no need to count the points. I won. Kiss my fucking

 

ass.”

 

Ricky slammed his cards on the table and frowned. He was more upset Leyland didn’t

 

believe his story than he was about losing the game. “I
did
get into the truck with him. I sucked

 

him off until his dick was red.” Then he pushed the cards forward, stood up from the table, and

 

went upstairs. It was after eleven o’clock by then and he was tired of losing at cards and tired of

 

talking about men and sex.

 

By the time Leyland went upstairs, Ricky was already standing outside in the driveway.

 

His back was against the fence and his arms were folded across his chest. When he saw Leyland

 

approach he lowered his head and kicked a stone into the grass on the other side of the driveway.

 

“I could have gotten into the truck with him,” Ricky said. “He did wink and he did want me to

 

get in there with him. But it just didn’t feel right. I didn’t feel an emotional connection to him.

 

He’s great-looking and all. But it just felt wrong. And that’s why I’m the only eighteen-year-old

 

virgin in town.” He may as well admit part of the story was a lie. Leyland knew him far too well

 

and he knew Ricky wasn’t aggressive when it came to men and sex.

 

While Ricky sulked, Leyland walked up and patted Ricky’s shoulder. “You’re just too

 

uptight, is all. If I’d had the chance to get in the back of that UPS truck with that hot blond god, I

 

would have jumped inside and pulled him down on the floor. But you have to think about it,

 

analyze it, and examine your feelings about it.” He grabbed Ricky’s arm. “Man, sometimes you

 

just have to say kiss my fucking ass and do whatever you want to do. Life’s too short to worry all the time. We’ve been friends for four years, and in all that time I’ve never seen you just let loose.

 

Start out slowly. Go to school without wearing underwear.”

 


No underwear?

 

Leyland patted his back. “I’m not wearing any right now.”

 

Ricky shrugged his shoulders and smiled. He’d wanted to get into the back of the UPS

 

truck, but he kept picturing the horror on his mother’s face if she caught him with the UPS man.

 

Even if she didn’t catch them in the act, he had a feeling she’d know the minute she saw his face.

 

She’d take one look at him, stare at his puffy red lips, and know he’d been sucking a guy off.

 

“Kiss my fucking ass,” Leyland said, “isn’t just an expression. It’s a way of life that can

 

open huge doors to a new life.” He was speaking with his wise old professor tone now, pointing

 

his finger and moving his hand up and down.

 

Ricky listened closely. He stared down at his shoes and pressed his lips together. Leyland

 

was right. He was too uptight. But he’d been doing what his parents wanted him to do all his life

 

and he wasn’t sure he even knew how to say, kiss my fucking ass.

 

Leyland put his arm around Ricky’s shoulder. “Your parents are going away?”

 

“Tomorrow.”

 

“You’ll have the house to yourself,” Leyland said. Then he smiled, patted Ricky on the

 

shoulder, and started down the driveway with his hands buried in his pockets.

 

When Ricky realized what Leyland was saying, Ricky stood up straight and smiled. This

 

was the first time his parents had ever left him alone in the house. He was free to do whatever he

 

wanted to do and there was no one to stop him.

 

Leyland turned back and sent Ricky a wise glance. He smiled and said, “It’s all about

 

these four words:
kiss my fucking ass
. And I’m not talking about just saying it. I’m talking about knowing how to do it.” Then he turned to leave. He walked into the dark street waving his arm

 

above his head, whistling a familiar tune.

 

As Ricky watched Leyland disappear, he smiled and whispered the words, “Kiss my

 

fucking ass.”

 

Chapter Two

 

“Did you schedule your next SAT test?” Ricky’s mother asked. She wore her usual

 

traveling clothes: her cream suit, with fawn leather pumps and a simple strand of pearls. She was

 

standing at the center island in the kitchen, running her palm across her new verde butterfly

 

granite counter top. She’d been doing this routine since the counters had been installed six

 

months earlier. She’d run her palm across the top to see if it was smooth. If she felt a sticky spot

 

or a smudge she’d missed, she’d whip out her granite polish, a dry paper towel, and buff it until

 

it was smooth again. Then she’d lean to the side to be sure she hadn’t left streaks.

 

Ricky sat down at the kitchen table and reached for a glass of orange juice. He nodded

 

and downed the entire glass in a few gulps. “I just don’t see why I have to take the SAT’s again.

 

I got over twelve hundred the first time. Why do I need a higher score?”

 

His mother crossed to the granite counter next to the sink and ran her fingertips back and

 

forth. She smiled, while staring down at the shining granite, and said, “Because the higher the

 

score the better chance you have to get into the right school, sweetie.”

 

He knew they were talking about one Ivy League school in particular. They just never

 

mentioned the name of the school out loud because they thought it might jinx his chances of

 

getting in. So they just referred to it as
the right school.
“There are a lot of great schools I can get

 

into with my grades and the scores I have right now. Why does it have to be one school in

 

particular?” And why were they always pushing him and prodding him? But he didn’t ask this

 

aloud. Before his mother could answer, his father walked into the kitchen and placed an empty

 

cup of coffee on the counter. He was wearing his brown tweed sport jacket, his casual brown

 

loafers, and his perfectly creased high-waisted dad jeans. While Ricky’s mother ran to pick up

 

the empty coffee cup and put it into the dishwasher, his father frowned and sent him a stare.

 

“Would you please come with me, Ricky?” his father said.

 

Ricky shrugged and stood up. He grabbed a piece of toast and followed his father into a

 

living room filled with beige furniture and cream-colored walls. The floors were light oak and

 

the area rugs were ivory bordered sisal. The drapes were white Italian silk and they puddled on

 

the floor. Each table had exactly three decorative items placed in strategic locations that never

 

changed. On the bright white mantel over the white marble fireplace there were gilded

 

candlestick holders at each end. In the middle of the mantel, perched on a round gilded base, sat

 

large crystal putto: a hand-blown angel the size of a football. This was Ricky’s mother’s favorite

 

piece of art in the house. She’d purchased it on a trip to Italy and spent far more on this crystal

 

angel than most people spend on furnishing their entire homes. She cleaned it with a light

 

feathery cloth every morning. No one, not even the cleaning woman, ever dared to touch it.

 

Ricky’s father opened an antique French armoire and placed his hands on his hips. He
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