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Well that caught me off guard. I'm just strolling down the hall, on my way to the parking lot to go off campus for lunch, and then I'm in a janitor's closet with a tongue in my mouth. Hell, more than that; I'm being mouth-fucked. It's a little odd, especially since the deft little muscle's owner happens to be a guy, though it just kind of solidifies my suspicions that Colt's as gay as the day is long. Not that I care, I've always been one of the 'love is love, just don't dry hump your life partner in front of me' supporters.
I'm not complaining either, and I think that shocks me more than anything. I just don't think about things like this. Making out, heavy petting and what have you. I've always been somewhat, asexual. Well, that's not exactly true because it's not that I don't look or fantasize about it, I've just always had other stuff which stole my focus; school, basketball, my mom, work, family. When it came to dating and whatever it never really ranked all that high.
Actually, I'm kind of impressed. Colt's a good four inches shorter than my 6'1" solid build and maybe weighs at least a third less than I do, but somehow he yanks me into the closet with virtually no trouble. He nimbly navigates our height difference, something that not one of the handful of girls I've dated could manage without injuring themselves or me, and has his tongue past my lips before I could even say, 'Isn't it a bit ironic to have a gay make-out session in a closet?' Then as quickly as it started, it's over and Colt's thin frame is darting out the door like Freddy Krueger wants to make a new hat out of his ass. I simply watch as he weaves and dodges through the throngs of fellow students, not quite as gracefully as I'm sure he would hope.
I'm also a little surprised. Like I said I just don't think about these things, so I'm always surprised when someone supposedly likes me. But even I know shoving your tongue down someone else's throat is a pretty good indicator of amorous feelings. I mean Colt and I are friendly, we have several mutual acquaintances. A few times even, I've saved him from the troglodyte jocks that liked to coerce blowjobs out of anything with a mouth, but other than that and the occasional 'Hey/What's up?' conversations at parties we've never truly interacted. This little tryst is pretty bold, especially for quiet cool Colt.
Colt's eyes are jetting furtively over to me an hour later in Spanish, (or should I say Espanol?), weighing my response, readying for the beating he's sure he'll receive later. He's been avoiding me at every turn. At Chucki's Flame-Broiled Burgers, where pretty much all the upperclassmen go for lunch, he dashed into the condiment stand while trying to make hasty retreat from the pickup counter when our orders were called simultaneously; in the parking lot after, where everyone hangs out before fifth period starts, he took a header off his board when he caught sight of me exiting the building; and finally in the hallway leading to our class he went so far as to dart in the complete opposite direction, like deer do when they hear a twig snap in the woods . I don't know what freaking route he took to get to class but he was nearly five minutes late and Senora Griffith was none too happy.
For once, I'm grateful to be assigned toward the front of the class. While it leaves little opportunity to sleep in class, it means he has to pass by me to leave. I can see the panic rise in his eyes and chest as the minutes tick by, casting his gaze between me and the clock. I simply grin, well smirk actually. I'm being kind of cruel, but hey it's just a little payback.
I grab him when he tries to sneak behind a gaggle of students, probably coming across as more aggressive than I actually feel about the situation. I clasp a slender hand around his bony wrist and he just follows my steps, like a child headed toward time out, to an alcove secreted away from the main hall. When I let go of his wrist, I can see the wheels turning behind his eyes, debating whether to stay put and take it like a man or make a break for it. But he knows he'll be caught in two seconds flat. While he's smaller and quick, I'm taller and faster with longer appendages and awesome reflexes. Besides, his skateboarding, when compared to basketball, doesn't really do much for tactical evasion; it's more just balancing your ass on a moving board and hope you don't spilt your butt-cheeks open on the pavement. Believe me I know, I've tried.
I look at stormy blue eyes, hidden behind shaggy chocolate brown hair, "So…the closet, what was that all about?"
He tenses, stuttering out, "Ar-are y-you gonna, uh, kick m-my ass?"
I smile, an incredulous sigh puffing out of my mouth, "No Colt, I'm not going to kick your ass. Just wondering why that's all."
His shoulders relax followed in short supply by the rest of him, "Well, we're moving. My mom got a promotion in her company, but we have to move. Next Friday's my last day here and I've always wanted to and figured it's now or never. So I just waited for you, grabbed you and kissed you."
The little rant is kind of adorable, but I'm still surprised by how disappointed I am at the news that he's leaving, "Where are you moving?"
His brows furrow, a mix of confusion and curiosity, "Riverdale."
"That's not too bad. That's like an hour, right?"
Colt's thoroughly confused now, dark blues storming over, "Yeah…"
I shrug, expecting him to pick up the signal, "Cool." I move to step away, but when he doesn't stop me to ask for my digits I'm a little disappointed in my little skater friend. I turn back nonchalantly, "Here," I say reaching into my bag, "Let me give you my number."
Realization burns behind those stormy blues. He's waves a hand in front of me, "Oh! I've, uh, I've already got it."
I feel my brows screw together. I know I've never given it to him. Like I said Colt and I are friendly, but not 'let's exchange phone numbers so we can do guy shit sometime' kind of friendly. "That's a little creepy, dude," I say with a smile, re-shouldering my bag. He flushes so red I think his face is going to explode as I walk away.