smog. To call that a view of the river was just not right because you couldn’t see any of the water at all.
So, the next four years Balthazar and I both went to Lincoln High. As soon as he could, he upped and left, and we lost touch. Well, I lost touch with him, I guess. I don’t suppose he gave a thought to keeping in touch with me.
A bright patch in those days was the Sundays in summer when the Asshat took all of us up to the public beaches in the Hamptons.
Balthazar just had to walk on the beach and there would be half a dozen kids around him in minutes. Most of them were girls. They touched his arm or his chest. When he talked to them they tilted their heads. Touched the sides of their necks or played with their hair.
Seeing the easy way he made friends, with girls especially, always it lit a glow inside of me. A glow that carried some of the mysterious tingle. Every time I felt it from then on, it was always around him. Until he left. Since then whenever I felt it a thought of him would be in the back of my mind.
One morning Mom and the Asshat had both left early, so I had to get myself up. Never one of my special skills. Between trying to figure out coffee and something for breakfast, still bleary and in my jammies, I barged into the bathroom. Steam billowed out as soon as I opened the door and I knew this wasn’t right.
Still, nothing was right that morning, so I fumbled through the mist for the mug with my toothbrush. The shower cabinet door was open. Balthazar was crouched. Naked and glistening, his huge cock was in his hand.
His hair was wet, stuck to his face. His eyebrows creased in a steeple. He started to say my name, but his voice was hoarse.
I dropped the toothbrush and ran. My whole body tingled so much I thought I was going to implode. As I shut the door to my room and leaned with my back against it, straight away half of me twisted in agony, wishing I hadn’t blundered in on him.
The other half of me wanted to turn and bust back in there.
“All those dumb girls.” We sat on the floor by his bed one slow summer Saturday and played Riddick on his X-Box. “All they want is to tell their friends they’ve been with me. Show off a mark and say, ‘Baz gave me that’.” he winced as he did a cruel impression of our stereotypical ‘popular girl.’ “They don’t care about me, they don’t know anything about me. I’m just a goddamned trophy.”
His face twisted as he wrenched the controller. Flames burst to fill the screen.
The Asshat shouted from the hallway, “Balt! Deirdre’s here.” Deirdre Macon was the oldest cheerleader, and she was the sexiest. This was the girl that all of the jocks and the whole football team howled at and slavered over.
“I never invited her,” he scowled. “If they throw themselves at me, what am I supposed to do, but really,” he looked at me, “Do these girls have no pride at all?”
Balthazar pushed me and told me to get into his closet and hide. I said I could just slip back to my room, but in an urgent whisper he said, “No, she’ll see you,” as he shoved me into the closet.
The closet had two sides. One side had a mirror over the door, and the other door was slatted. He pushed me into the side with the slats, and I thought he must have made a mistake, because if you looked hard enough you could see inside the closet.
Deirdre wasn’t looking at the slats, so it didn’t matter.
She leaned against him, “It’s so great to see you, Baz,” and he winced at her breathy Valley-girl meets gangsta bitch voice. Well, I assumed that was what made him wince as she wrapped herself around him. Whatever it was, his wince didn’t slow the flapping of her eyelashes.
Balthazar held her face, pulled her roughly to him by the waist. “Oh, yes, Baz,” her voice was extra-dreamy. “Do it, Baz. Do what you want with me.”
She nuzzled him and put her lips on his neck as his hands slid all over her body. She had on a
So, the next four years Balthazar and I both went to Lincoln High. As soon as he could, he upped and left, and we lost touch. Well, I lost touch with him, I guess. I don’t suppose he gave a thought to keeping in touch with me.
A bright patch in those days was the Sundays in summer when the Asshat took all of us up to the public beaches in the Hamptons.
Balthazar just had to walk on the beach and there would be half a dozen kids around him in minutes. Most of them were girls. They touched his arm or his chest. When he talked to them they tilted their heads. Touched the sides of their necks or played with their hair.
Seeing the easy way he made friends, with girls especially, always it lit a glow inside of me. A glow that carried some of the mysterious tingle. Every time I felt it from then on, it was always around him. Until he left. Since then whenever I felt it a thought of him would be in the back of my mind.
One morning Mom and the Asshat had both left early, so I had to get myself up. Never one of my special skills. Between trying to figure out coffee and something for breakfast, still bleary and in my jammies, I barged into the bathroom. Steam billowed out as soon as I opened the door and I knew this wasn’t right.
Still, nothing was right that morning, so I fumbled through the mist for the mug with my toothbrush. The shower cabinet door was open. Balthazar was crouched. Naked and glistening, his huge cock was in his hand.
His hair was wet, stuck to his face. His eyebrows creased in a steeple. He started to say my name, but his voice was hoarse.
I dropped the toothbrush and ran. My whole body tingled so much I thought I was going to implode. As I shut the door to my room and leaned with my back against it, straight away half of me twisted in agony, wishing I hadn’t blundered in on him.
The other half of me wanted to turn and bust back in there.
“All those dumb girls.” We sat on the floor by his bed one slow summer Saturday and played Riddick on his X-Box. “All they want is to tell their friends they’ve been with me. Show off a mark and say, ‘Baz gave me that’.” he winced as he did a cruel impression of our stereotypical ‘popular girl.’ “They don’t care about me, they don’t know anything about me. I’m just a goddamned trophy.”
His face twisted as he wrenched the controller. Flames burst to fill the screen.
The Asshat shouted from the hallway, “Balt! Deirdre’s here.” Deirdre Macon was the oldest cheerleader, and she was the sexiest. This was the girl that all of the jocks and the whole football team howled at and slavered over.
“I never invited her,” he scowled. “If they throw themselves at me, what am I supposed to do, but really,” he looked at me, “Do these girls have no pride at all?”
Balthazar pushed me and told me to get into his closet and hide. I said I could just slip back to my room, but in an urgent whisper he said, “No, she’ll see you,” as he shoved me into the closet.
The closet had two sides. One side had a mirror over the door, and the other door was slatted. He pushed me into the side with the slats, and I thought he must have made a mistake, because if you looked hard enough you could see inside the closet.
Deirdre wasn’t looking at the slats, so it didn’t matter.
She leaned against him, “It’s so great to see you, Baz,” and he winced at her breathy Valley-girl meets gangsta bitch voice. Well, I assumed that was what made him wince as she wrapped herself around him. Whatever it was, his wince didn’t slow the flapping of her eyelashes.
Balthazar held her face, pulled her roughly to him by the waist. “Oh, yes, Baz,” her voice was extra-dreamy. “Do it, Baz. Do what you want with me.”
She nuzzled him and put her lips on his neck as his hands slid all over her body. She had on a
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