Tampa, Florida
Part 17

By the time I woke next morning, Mark’s bed had been neatly made, and I figured he was out there somewhere around the hood doing his running thing. That guy wasn’t just into fitness, he was fucking fanatical. Well, maybe not as fanatical as guys like Schwarzenegger, but pretty damn keen. Made me look totally damn lazy, which I wasn’t. But, hey, there was no way I was gonna do 300 pushups and 300 situps every day. Jeez.

As I showered, I thought about why Mark chose to be as fit as he was. It wasn’t ‘cause he wanted to parade himself around like I did – Hey, check out Mr Coolio Daniel - although he didn’t mind the admiration he attracted. I figured all that effort and hard work had to be for himself; for his own satisfaction. He was a perfectionist: his handwriting was perfect, he dressed neatly, he made his bed in the morning, there was a place for everything and everything in its place in the closet, his fingernails and toenails were trimmed and clean, he shaved parts of himself that most guys wouldn’t, and from what Steve had told me, Mark was a perfectionist when it came to building yachts as well.

After towelling my bod, I checked my pits. Three little blondies on one side, two on the other. Not exactly a follicle crisis. No nipple hairs. Not even a thin trail of blondies from my belly button to my blonde pubes, which were only a small patch anyway. Legs? A smattering of almost invisible blondies on my lower legs, and practically nothing on my face cheeks. So, apart from the sandy mop on top, a pair of eyebrows, and a bunch of pubes, that was about it. It was pretty obvious that I was last in the queue when they were handing out blondies.

Mark arrived at the bathroom door just as I was about to vacate. He was all sweaty and out of breath, but beaming big time. So what had happened between us the night before wasn’t bothering him. Actually, it wasn’t bothering me either. It was as though it had been the most natural thing in the world. Coolio.

Once I was dressed for school, I fed Kyle, then checked the kitchen to see if my mom was awake. Yep, she and Andy were preparing breakfast. We all said our hi’s, then I asked where Greg was. He was apparently in his room, so I went to investigate.

“Hi, bro.” He was sitting on the side of his bed, dressed in boxers. “Whatcha doin’?”

“Waiting for the fucking bathroom.”

“Mark’s in there.”

“I know. And you before him.”

“You mad?”

“Not really. It’s just kinda inconvenient.”

“Having Mark staying with us?”

“Hey, I dig Mark. You know that. It’s just that having a guest in the house upsets the routine.”

“That’s what I thought when you and Andy arrived here,” I said as I sat beside him, and put my arm around him. “But there’s no way I’d want that to change.”

“Yeah, I know. Maybe I’m just grumpy this morning or something. I miss you not coming in here and giving me my daily BJ.”

“You want a quickie now?”

“Nah. Not enough time.”

“Tonight, then. I promise. Hey, you wanna know a secret? Mark and I did a 69 last night.”

“Yeah, right.”

“Serious. And he was cool about it.”

“He blew you?”

“Nope… jacked me. But I blew him. It was totally awesome.”

“Fucking hell! You’re pulling my chain, right? Mark? I never would have thought Mark would do something like that. Maybe with Cody, but not with anyone else.”

“You’re forgetting what you were like when you first met me, bro,” I laughed. “You freaked big time. Remember? You were a scaredy cat. And now you’re pissed ‘cause you’re not getting your daily BJ. Ha! Anyway, it’s my charisma. I’ve got a way with hunks. Right?”

“Fuck off.”

“Admit it, bro. I’m just too good. You can’t resist me.” Then I pinned him down on the bed and sat on his gut. “Admit it! You can’t resist me!”

“You’re as ugly as shit.”

“Yeah, right.”

It was almost 3:30pm, and the swim team had been training for about 20 minutes already. No sign of Mark. So I was beginning to think he wasn’t gonna show. Bummer. But then, just as I’d exited the pool after competing in a 200 freestyle, I saw the awesome hunk talking to the coach. Woohoo!

“Hey, Mark!” I yelled as I ran toward him, then realized I was kinda overdoing it. But I was just so fucking pleased to see him, and wanted to let everyone know that he was MY friend with the cool Safrican accent. “Glad you could make it, bud,” I grinned as I shook his hand. “You gonna swim with us?”

“Nah. Don’t have my Speedos with me.”

“You can borrow a pair,” the coach offered. “We’ve got a few spares. And it would be good for the team if you’re as good a swimmer as Daniel says you are.”

“Haven’t trained for ages… not properly. But... yeah... OK.”

Coach organized a bunch of our best swimmers over the 400m free, which included me and Paul. By then, Mark had emerged from the locker room wearing a pair of the school’s stars-and-stripes Speedos. Wow! He looked just too fucking awesome! He was the epitome of tall, dark and handsome, and he was filling those Speedos just fine. All eyes were on the hunky dude from South Africa. He knew it, too, but was trying desperately to act like Mr Casual. Heh.

We were all lined up on the blocks, ready for the race, waiting for the coach to give us the signal. I was in the lane next to Mark’s. “Three… two… one… Go!” Six Speedo-clad bods hit the water in a perfect line. At the 50-meter mark, I was level with Mark as we tumbled and turned. At the hundred, still level. We were maybe half a body-length ahead of Paul, the next closest guy. 150, still level. 200, almost still level. 250, he was half a length in front. 300, back to level but only ‘cause I was giving it all I had. My arms were already feeling like lead weights. Could I last the distance? Mark didn’t seem to be spending much energy at all. He was cruising effortlessly. Damn! At the 350, maybe he was just a head in front. Then, during the final fifty meters, he sailed away almost as though I’d stopped swimming. He touched the wall about two lengths ahead of me.

“How the fuck did you do that?” I demanded. “I thought you said you hadn’t been training?”

“Guess it’s my lucky day,” he beamed, revealing those wicked rows of brilliant white teeth. They were just as perfect as everything else about him.

Anyway, it was cool ‘cause I beat Paul, the third placegetter, by almost a length.

The rest of the team and I resumed our training while Mark watched, and occasionally chatted to the coach about this or that technique. Those two seemed to be getting along just fine. Instant buddies. At one stage I was wondering whether or not I should tell Mark about the time I shaved the coach’s bod in the locker room. Wow, what a fucking blast that was! But I decided against it. You could only push Mark’s one percent ‘gay’ side so far without getting your head beaten in. And I didn’t wanna experience those Mark moods that Cody had so often told me about. Besides, I was on a mission that afternoon. I had to get Mark and Paul together to chat about stuff, and hopefully mend the rift between me and my best bud.

But how was I gonna organize it? If the three of us were together, maybe Paul wouldn’t wanna talk about personal stuff or Mark wouldn’t wanna talk about personal stuff… not with me and my big fucking elephant ears there. So I had to figure out a way to get them alone together. Hmmm. One thing I had to do was get my bro Greg outa the way. But that turned out to be cool ‘cause he was gonna ride home with Lindy.

“Can you do me a fav, Mark?” I asked as we arrived at the bicycle rack. Paul was just a few feet away, and within hearing distance. “I’ve gotta call into a friend’s house on the way home, so I’ll walk. You can ride my bike home. Paul can show you the way in case you’ve forgotten. Right, Paul?”

“Huh? Oh, yeah, no prob, Daniel.”

I watched them pedal off together, side by side, and hoped that maybe they’d chat on the way home about how I still felt about Cody, and how it really shouldn’t affect the way I felt about Paul.

Of course, I lied about having to call into a friend’s house, but I did anyway… just for a few minutes to talk to Jo and Freddie. They wanted to know all about my new bud with the foreign accent, and went on and on and fucking on about how hunky he was. Heh.

“He’s totally straight, guys. You’ve got fuck-all chance of getting into his pants.”

“You got time for us to get into yours?”

“Sorry, guys. Maybe later. I’ve got way serious stuff on my mind.”

During the walk home, I tried to imagine what Mark and Paul might have talked about; if anything at all. I hated leaving things to the fickleness of fate, and not being able to control the situation I was in. I saw an empty Coke can and kicked it. It bounced a few yards, making a series of hollow metallic noises on the pavement, then came to a halt. I kicked it again. ‘How come I can kick a Coke can and no one takes any notice?’ I asked myself as I continued walking. ‘If I were an adult kicking this can, they’d think I was a fucking lunatic.’

Then it occurred to me that maybe teens were, in fact, lunatics, and that’s why a teen kicking a Coke can didn’t raise a fucking eyebrow. Was I a lunatic? Was my relationship with Paul just a passing phase? Was I making a big deal out of nothing? Would I turn 20 one day and be embarrassed about who and what I was as a teen? So many questions, and nobody to ask. Sure, I could ask my mom, but she wasn’t a teen. And if I asked a teen I’d be asking someone just as dumb as I was. So who the fuck could I ask? Mark? Maybe. He was pretty mature for his age, but he was kinda serious. He had his own ideas about behaviour. “Actually, you’re a pretty cool dude – just twisted”, he'd said the night before. Maybe he was just being facetious, but you were never really sure with Mark. He was a frustrating mystery in lots of ways.

The next time I kicked the Coke can, I sent it flying. It must’ve bounced for at least 30 yards. I was beginning to become totally pissed about all the questions invading my mind, and the lack of answers. Being a teen was cool in many ways, but so totally fucked in others. You weren’t in control. All the rules were made by adults; the same adults who couldn’t answer a teen’s questions properly. The same adults you didn’t have the nerve to talk to about certain things ‘cause you knew they just wouldn’t fucking understand. Adults and teens were from different planets. Did my mom open the fridge and drink straight from the milk carton? Nope. Why not? ‘Cause she was an adult. That was a no-no in adultland.

When I arrived home, my mom was in the kitchen. “Hi, mom.” I dropped my school bag on the floor, and went straight to the fridge as usual, but this time I grabbed a glass from the cupboard and poured myself a glass of milk. Yep, just as I thought.

“Daniel?” Mom had gone into a kinda state of suspended animation after raising her eyebrows.

“Anything wrong, mom?”

“You’re drinking milk from a glass.”

See what I mean? My mom had been at me forever not to drink straight from the milk carton, but as soon as I used a glass, she thought there was something bugging me. Go figure.

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