South Africa
Part 71

Saturday night, Kyle took Steph and Carol to the pizza restaurant. I hadn't seen Carol for a while, so I was totally chuffed to see my fav trio seated at a table, which I served, of course. Kyle loved being waited on by me at the restaurant. He thought he was just so damn cool 'cause he knew the waiter. Actually, truth was there were a lotta patrons who wished they were in Kyle's shoes.

After work, the guys hung around for me to finish up, then we all went into town for a few beers.

The following night, I was working again. Kyle's folks had phoned me at the restaurant, wondering where the fuck he was, so I waited until I got a chance to call his house.

"Kyle? Where the fuck have you been? Your folks have been looking all over for you! They phoned Steph, then they phoned me here at work. Steph also phoned me. My boss is totally pissed at me."

"I was surfing with Wingnut at Long beach. Took ages to hitch a ride home. Where are my folks now?"

"They went out with some friends or something."

Next morning, Kyle got stuck into me in the boxing ring, so I figured his dad must've given him heaps the night before. He was acting like I did when shitforbrains had given me a hard time. However, I waited until we were in the showers before I said anything.

"So, seems like you've got last night outa your system."

"I can't believe my folks carried on like that. I told them that they were still sleeping when I left to go to Long Beach. So my dad says, "Then wake us the fuck up, and tell us!" He was raging mad. Then mom tells him to watch his language."

"They're not used to you just jetting off on your own like that, Kyle. Just play their game, and be cool."

"My dad said 'fuck', and my mom got pissed off with him," he laughed.

"Like your dad never swears?"

"Sometimes, when he's angry, but he always tries to control it, otherwise whatever he says comes out wrong. I do that, too, when guys piss me off. I try to control myself before I'm tempted to beat the crap outa them."

Both of us avoided commenting on what had happened the other night at my house. Was it a totally one-off thing? Probably not. At least, I hoped not. But there was no way I was gonna be the one to initiate a similar circumstance. I was straight. Right? Well, I was until he barged his way into my life. And thank Christ he did.

Later that week at school, everybody was raving about Terence Parkin's performance at the 2000 Olympics. He'd won a silver medal in the 200m breast-stroke. What was even more awesome was that the dude was deaf, and could've been eligible to compete in the Paralympics if he'd chosen to. The guy was a hero to us all, and had set the standards for us younger dudes who looked up to him.

In a way, I was also Kyle's hero, but without his wanting to emulate me. Actually, we were both content to be ourselves, while, at the same time, having the greatest admiration and respect for each other. Not that we were perfect friends. No way. Half our time together was spent beating the shit outa each other. But the other half was fucking priceless. Come to think of it, the whole damn relationship was priceless, warts and all.

One morning in the ring, Kyle and I were sparring when I accidentally hit him flat on the face. Blood sprayed everywhere. At first, I thought I'd broken his nose, but it was just a blood vessel that had burst.

"Fuck, Kyle! You're supposed to block those punches!"

"Hey, don't worry about it... it looks kinda cool... blood all over my face, and bits on my chest... like someone outa Rambo... on the losing side," he grinned. "Anyway, when your fucking punches are coming at me like a steam train... Jeez! I was protecting my gut and ribs 'cause that's where you were hammering."

Anyway, Kyle's bloodied face caused a helluva commotion, and the lighties came from everywhere to see what was going on. Wingnut was sympathetic until he realized that Kyle was OK, then the grommet sided with me, which caused me to crack up big time. The little shit.

"Just wait 'til I get you in the ring, Wingnut," Kyle threatened. "You're dead meat!"

"You and whose fucking army?"

It was no surprise that the word had gotten around the whole damn school in a flash. Mark beats the crap outa Kyle. It was an ideal opportunity for Alan to seize, and to take advantage of in class.

"Hey, Mark! Thanks bud! I've been wanting to do that myself."

"Well, come over here, and I'll show you how it's done... you prick."

"Yeah... you and the swim team. Challenge me on your own, dickhead."

Hmmm, that was an interesting challenge coming from Alan. He was big and slow. Or was he? Later, when I'd spoken to Jumbo, he told me that Alan was a lot stronger and faster than people gave him credit for. That aside, I was fucking furious, and told Kyle that he could second me. I was gonna take out that fat-fuck Alan once and for all.

"Forget him, man. He's a pratt."

"Fuck that. He made me look like a right fucking jerk."

"Forget it, Mark."

"Would you?"

"No."

"Then shut the fuck up. Are you gonna second me or not?"

"Stuff him, man. It's the end of term, anyway. Jeez, Mark, it's no use talking to you when you're pissed. OK, so when are you gonna do it?"

"After school... while it's still fresh in his fat head."

What surprised Kyle and me was that Jumbo seconded for Alan. Maybe Jumbo wanted to keep the fight fair or something. Who knew? But whatever had been going on in the past, Alan must've turned over a new leaf. His gut had shrunk a bit to reveal the hard lines of his sixpack, and his arms had become a lot more defined.

"He still looks like a slobolofsky compared to you, Mark."

"Think so?"

"Yeah. Hey, have you checked out the coach? He's really pissed at you 'cause he had to stay back after school to make sure nobody got hurt."

"There's only one dude who's gonna get hurt, Kyle. And it won't be me."

Naturally, I was super confident, and danced into the center of the ring after the first bell. Whammo! I was flat on my back on the canvas.

"What happened?" Kyle asked as he dabbed my face with a wet towel.

"I thought he'd back off from the start, and wait for a lucky punch."

My mouth was cut, and the coach wanted to know if I was ready to quit.

"No way, coach! No way!"

During the remainder of the first round, Alan and I went at it again, giving each other body blows that were obviously hurting the both of us. Then Alan managed to give me a winder, once again on the mouth. The coach stopped the fight for a one minute break.

"Stop the fucking bleeding, Kyle, otherwise the coach is gonna put a stop to this fight."

"Maybe he should."

"Hey, do the job or fuck off, and let me do it myself."

Meantime, I was watching Jumbo plugging some blood from Alan's nose. Obviously, I wasn't the only one who'd copped a belting.

"The cut's not so bad, Mark. I've stopped the bleeding. But you've got a lotta blood on the inside of your mouth. That first hit from Alan must've dislodged your mouth guard... looks like you've bitten the inside of your lip."

"I'll live."

Second round. But this time, Alan and I were a lot more cautious... dancing around, sizing each other up, ducking, weaving, jabbing, each waiting for a chance to flatten our opponent. Toward the end of the round, though, I somehow managed to walk straight into a left hook that sent me staggering into the ropes just before the bell rang.

"Alan's opened up your lip. Your mouth's fulla blood. And it's swelling. Mark? Can I stop the fight?"

"I'm fine, Kyle. Stop stressing."

"I'm gonna throw in the towel."

"Hey, fuckwit! If you do that, I'll never, ever, speak to you again. You'll be history."

Well, that shut Kyle up, and he proceeded to patch me up as best he could. I knew he was worried about me, but, hell, I had a job to finish. And nothing was gonna stop me. Nothing.

Back in center ring, I managed to wind myself up and connect Alan in the soft spot. He went down like a sack of potatoes. Woohoo! It was as though his legs had turned to jelly, and he crumbled to his knees and face. What a fucking wicked sight! And it all seemed to happen in delicious, slow motion. Yes!

Once the coach had realized that the crumpled heap on the canvas wasn't gonna get up in a hurry, he called an end to the fight, so I returned to my corner and washed my face. I told Kyle that I'd shower at home, then I went to check Alan to make sure he was OK. Surprisingly, he was quite civil, and even gallant in defeat.

"OK," he admitted, "so you don't need the whole swim team."

Back in my corner, Kyle beamed, "I knew you could do it!"

"Piss off," I laughed. "If it'd been up to you, you would've ended the fight."

"Yeah, but you would've been less bruised."

"Y'know, Alan's good... almost back to what he used to be like... a demon in the ring... and he's not carrying so much blubber any more, either."

"Hey, want me to come with you to your place and wash your back?"

"Yeah. And stop looking as though you've just won the fucking lottery."

After we'd arrived at my house, I made us some coffee, and took it to my room where I stripped while Kyle sat on my bed ogling me. Hey, he was an ogler. What could I do? Besides, it was cool to have that crazy, spiky-haired son-of-a-gun sitting there and admiring me.

"Hey, you gonna sit there bug-eyed? Or are you gonna get ready to wash my back? You owe me for almost wussing out on me during that fight."

Jeez, what was it with Kyle? I didn't have a boner, but he had a skin-splitter. He looked a bit embarrassed, so I guessed he was trying to wish it away. Yeah, right. No chance.

I was first to step into the shower, where I adjusted the water temperature. Then Kyle joined me, and began to soap my back with a sponge. After a while, he moved around in front of me, and soaped my chest and ribs. Ouch! They were still tender from the fight, but I allowed Kyle to continue. Why? 'Cause he was Kyle, the only dude in the world who could get that damn close to me.

Gradually, he worked the sponge toward my crotch, but became a little hesitant when his hand arrived at my pubes. I offered no resistance, so he put the sponge down, and soaped my crotch with his bare hand, which was giving my now-hardening dick long, slow strokes. Would he go down on me? Nope. And there was no way I could ask. What was I supposed to say? You wanna blow me? I wanted to... big time. But those words had never been in my vocabulary. Maybe they'd form in my head for a moment, but there was no way they were gonna come outa my mouth.

Then, when it was my turn to wash Kyle, I did his shoulders, back, and whatever. But when I got down to his crotch, I kept using the sponge.

"Chicken shit."

"What?"

"Nothin'."

Copyright 2000 All rights reserved. mrbstories


 

 Mark Part 72