Chuckjd's Words

a convenient dumping ground for my writing

1984/07/03

3 July, 1984 – 3:18 pm – Makeshift football field

The game was difficult, but the victory was sweet. The usual neighborhood boys gathered in the usual neighborhood spot to play the usual neighborhood football. The field was located next to the old Gossard corset factory, the same place they had been holding tournaments since they were kids. The teams were Pontllanfraith against Woodfieldside, the matches always as close as possible. The day’s match had been the same, with Nicky on Woodfieldside, Sean and James on Pontllanfraith, and Richey taking his place on the sidelines, preferring to watch more lately than actually participate. He scribbled in his notebook while the other boys screamed and ran at each other, all trying to be intimidating in their skinny adolescent bodies. They were almost men, so they didn’t use the traditional trophy that had gone along with these games for so many years anymore, the one that Nicky’s father had found in a rubbish tip. They were young enough, though, that they still fought over teams, dividing lines of the town, and who got the new kid or the runt.

The game had lasted over three hours in the hot summer sun, and everyone was sweaty and exhausted by the time the victor was decided. Nicky’s team won by three goals, and they celebrated by jumping all over each other like they had just won the World Cup.

“Better luck next time, eh boys?” Nicky bragged at James and Sean while they gathered their things at the sidelines where Richey was sitting.

“Piss off, Nick,” James replied, though he had a good-natured smile on his face. “You know it was all Sean’s fault for our team’s defeat.”

My fault?” Sean squeaked. “What the hell did I do wrong, Mr. ‘I can’t dribble and breathe at the same time’?”

James grabbed Sean in a headlock and roughed up his hair, laughing. Sean struggled, trying to grab at James, but failed.

“Not to break up this little impromptu wrestling match, but me and Richey are heading back to my house for a while. You guys wanna come along?” Nicky asked.

James and Sean stopped and looked up, slowly letting go of each other. James shook his head, “Nah, can’t. We gotta be back to clean up before dinner because our aunt and uncle are coming for a visit. Sorry.”

James and Sean headed back towards their house, while Nicky and Richey went back the direction of the Jones residence. When they got there, they thudded up to Nicky’s room. Nicky flopped down on his bed while Richey sat at his desk, spreading his notes and books out on its empty surface. Nicky sighed with contentment, happy to rest, even for just a moment. His knees thanked him for taking the pressure off them and his back screamed to stay on the bed forever.

After sitting for a few minutes, Nicky stood up, rummaging in his closet for a different shirt. His current one had more sweat marks than dry fabric. He found one, and quickly pulled off his wet shirt. “It feels so good to get that ripe piece of shit off,” Nicky said, standing half-naked for a moment, letting his eyes close and head fall back, basking in the cool air of his room on his skin.

Richey’s eyes grew wide at all the skin exposed. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t seen Nicky almost naked before, but it seemed to excite him more and more lately. He could feel the blood rushing from the blush in his face to other places in his body. Richey took a book off the desk and opened it in his lap. He looked away, hoping Nicky didn’t notice.

“I don’t know how you could sit in the sun all afternoon in that black jacket,” Nicky said, finally putting his shirt on. He plopped back down on his bed and looked over at Richey.

Richey was busy thinking about unattractive things: kittens, trees, the sky, Margaret Thatcher, football, Nicky running up and down the football field, his smile after getting a goal… Dammit, he thought. This was not working.

“What’s the matter with you? Earth to Android!” Nicky waved his hand in Richey’s direction. Richey looked back at him distractedly.

“I just, uh, have to go to the bathroom,” Richey stammered. “I must’ve been in the sun too long, I feel a little out of it.” He got up and went to the bathroom down the hall, careful to conceal any tent that might be pitched in his trousers.

“I like how all you did was sit on the sidelines in black and you’re the one with heatstroke!” Nicky called after him. Richey could still hear him, even though he was muffled by the door. He sat on the lid of the toilet, his head in his hands.

What the fuck am I supposed to do?! his mind screamed, unable to make his erection go away.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,” Richey whispered repeatedly under his breath. He didn’t want to, but he probably had to.

He closed his eyes and reached for his button fly, fumbling with the zipper. If he had a large enough blood supply, he would have had the reddest face the world’s ever seen. Here goes, he thought before pulling himself out of his pants.

After almost a good ten minutes, he strolled back into Nicky’s room, slipping back into the desk chair lazily.

Nicky was on his stomach on his bed, flipping though one of the random music magazines scattered on his floor. “Took you long enough. You look like you feel better, though. Splash water on your face or something?”

“Yeah, something like that,” said Richey, trying his best not to blush. Bloody hell.

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