Happy Fifth Birthday

“Do you like me?” I asked Mikey yesterday, when I was lying on his bed.

It was not the question I expected to hear coming out of my mouth. I regretted it even as the words floated between the steep inclines of his bungalow ceilings. It was a child’s question, a plaintive bleat of need and want that should never have been voiced. Mikey was straddling me when I asked it. Though we both were still in T-shirts and shorts, I could feel the warmth of his groin against mine, and the hardness through the cotton. “Now why the fuck would you be asking that?” he demanded.

Because basically sometimes, no matter how well two people know each other, or how close they might be, the stupid little everyday detritus of everyday life clogs up the works. Mikey has been quitting smoking. The last month and a half has been a living hell for him. He’d been taking some kind of drug—Chantix, I think?—to help him back off what’s been a forty-five year habit. It gave him nightmares and made him so depressed that he first cut down the dosage and eventually stopped taking it altogether. It took two weeks to get out of his system, though, and Wednesday was the first day he told me he felt human again. As for why I asked the question . . . let's tactfully say that it was a long and trying six weeks.

“What do you need?” asked Mikey. His hands rested on the mattress on either side of my shoulders. I looked up into his face. “What do you need today?” he wanted to know.

“I’d like to be held,” I told him. “I’d like someone to be nice to me.”

Very simple things, those. Childish things, even. And truthfully, it’s what I wanted most.

Though the second floor bedroom was warm from the sun shining through the skylight, I didn’t mind in the least when Mikey pressed his body against mine. His arms scooped under my back; his hands curved up to my shoulders and held them from behind as his mouth fitted against mine. His embrace was firm, and strong. My own long arms wrapped around his skinny chest. We made out, grinding and squeezing and thrusting against each other, trying to close every minute gap that separated us. “I’ll be nice to you,” he said at last, when he separated his mouth from mine. He pulled my legs apart and ran his hands over their length, watching as my blond fur sprang from flat to erect as his fingers passed over it. “I’ll be real nice to you.”

He hoisted my hips and began to pull down my underwear. I’d been wearing a plain pair of gray trunks. Once they were off, he held them to his nose and inhaled deeply. “Don’t do that,” I laughed. “They’re not fresh.”

“They don’t gotta be fresh,” said Mikey. “They smell like you.”

“Oh, stop.”

“I’m gonna steal ‘em,” said Mikey. “I’m gonna steal ‘em, kid, and wear them the rest of the day.” Before I could protest his silliness any further, he grabbed my legs and lifted them in the air, exposing my ass. He’d done the same thing the first time we’d been naked together, a long time ago. As he stared at me, he spread my cheeks and buried his face in my hole. I gasped. My breath came in sharp halts and stutters as he licked and bit my hole.

For a long time that’s all he did. One of his hands supported the small of his back while the other held my legs aloft. Months of shoulder stands during yoga helped me maintain the position with no effort. As always, I began to feel guilty after a few minutes of pleasure down there. “Is it okay?” I found myself asking. Yesterday was my day for stupid questions.

“Is what okay?”

“Is it okay if I enjoy this?” I improvised, lamely.

He didn’t answer. Instead, he gently lay me back down. He was out of his clothes by now. His penis, flaming red and choked off by a tight cock ring, pointed in my direction. A bead of precum had stuck to my thigh and left a glistening thread between us. He sucked on his thumb and lowered it. I felt the tip push against my hole, followed by pressure. Mikey watched me steadily while he slowly moved the digit inward. I, in the meantime, panicked. My hands clutched at his, pushing him away, trying to move him out. “Am I hurting you?” he asked. I couldn’t answer. “Am I hurting you?” he persisted. “Or scaring you?”

“Scaring me,” I admitted.

“Even after all this time? How long has it been? Twenty-five years?”

Upset with myself, I growled, “Yes. I’m sorry.” Because even after all that time, I still am somewhat affected by the memory of a single night in which a man used violence to have his way with me. It’s silly, and stupid, and in my conscious mind I know I shouldn’t let one very cruel bastard have such a long reach. But the experience is a part of me, and sometimes I can’t help my reactions.

He nodded, and pulled out his thumb. Without hesitation, he rolled me over onto my front. I felt his breath along the cleft of my butt cheeks, and the flick of his tongue between them. “Have you seen that television commercial? I think it’s AT&T. The happy birthday one?” I gasped a little. “No? The boy on it looks just like you. Just like you, with hair that's only a touch longer. You haven’t seen it?”

“You know I usually—” I drew in my breath sharply as his hands and mouth traveled up my back and left trails of lovely sensations in their wake. “—I usually flip through the ads.”

“I think it’s AT&T,” he repeated. “And it’s got this bearded man on a park bench, only it’s on a rooftop, I think, and he’s looking mighty sad. And he looks just like you. I think that every time I see it, and watch, and peek around, and think, how the hell come nobody else is seeing how much like you he looks? So he’s sitting there, and the guy on the voiceover says something like, ‘Remember when you were five and everything was possible? Well happy fifth birthday.’ And then the man on the bench lights up like a Christmas tree, just like you do when you let loose with one of those smiles. He’s so pretty. That's like you, too.” His mouth was near my ear by then. “Oh, my. You turned out to be such a handsome man.”

“Let me fuck you,” I said. Much as I was enjoying the attention, and the huzz of his voice in my ear, I wanted to get back into control, back to a scenario I knew and in which I felt comfortable. “Please.”

He pulled out a towel and laid it on the bed, and then knelt down on it. Mikey spat in his hand and rubbed it on his hole. I added some more saliva to his and entered him, easily and smoothly, as I always did. “Fuck me,” he moaned, as I reached the bottom. “I want your seed. I want your seed inside me.”

The fuck didn’t last long. I hadn’t unloaded in a couple of days, and Mikey’s hole always feels good. I’m accustomed to it; I know how to use it for my pleasure. I had pulled him down to his side and was thrusting hard inside him when I came a few minutes later, hugging him tight around the waist.

Only when I was spent, and panting, did Mikey plant a kiss on my cheek. “Happy fifth birthday." He brushed some hair from my face. “Try not to be sad.”

“I’ll try,” I promised. But I had my head turned when I said the words, so that he wouldn’t see my own disappointment with myself. I doubt I fooled him for a minute.

Before I left, Mikey made off with my underwear. “Oh, jeez,” I said, laughing. “Are you really going to keep it? You haven’t done something like that in years.”

“I told you I was!” he said, seeming surprised I’d even question him. “Here. How’s it look?” He pulled on the trunks, and I had to admit they looked better on him than on me—probably because his dick was still thick and hard, and hung to one side, filling it out.

“Great!” I said. I pulled out my phone and snapped a photo, then showed it to him.

(An image has been removed to comply with Blogger's

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“Let me give you a pair of mine.”

“You’re so silly,” I laughed, but he went through his underwear drawer and picked out a pair of white trunks still in their wrapper, soft and silky-feeling. “They’re kind of big.”

“Are you calling me fat?” he demanded.

“You’re skinnier than I am. I’m saying you buy underwear that’s too big,” I explained. After that, my mood lifted. We walked around his garden so I could see what he’d done, and played with his cats until it was time for me to leave.

The first thing I did when I got home was to look for that AT&T ad. And damn. I really do look like that sad guy.