Spitball - Part 2

All characters are consenting adults (18+)

I cleared the search bar for the hundredth time and typed again; Does ‘suck my dick actually mean ‘suck my dick’ when a straight guy says it to another guy?’. The results were disappointing, but that was to be expected given the fact that I’d been searching like my grandpa. I closed the laptop and sat back in bed.

It wasn’t just what Tucker had said. I’d heard hundreds of guys using the same phrase over the years. It was the way that he said it. He didn’t just throw it out there, he practically asked me to do it, but now that I’d spent the entire weekend pouring over the whole thing in my brain, it had become less and less likely that he actually meant it.

I rubbed my face and sighed. Why were straight guys so complicated? More importantly, why hadn’t Tucker just beat my ass when he had the chance? There was nobody around to stop him. I certainly didn’t have the power to stop him, but instead, he laughed and asked me to suck his dick! The memory took me all the way back to the reason I’d spent the last two hours Googling the whole thing. Was it a joke or had Tucker really meant what he had said?

Monday brought rain, clouds and a fresh sense of dread as I prepared myself to face all of the students who had inevitably been briefed on my humiliating admission the previous week. I wondered how Tucker would spin the story. Would he tell them that I grovelled at his feet for a chance to suck his dick? Would he tell them I serenaded him on his way to practice? My stomach churned at both thoughts, but I hurried through the gates and braced myself.

The first group of students who I expected to be approached by walked toward me. They were a mix of cheerleaders and other young women who Tucker usually surrounded himself with. Even as a gay guy, I knew that they were all extremely hot.

Ashley Morrison flicked a strand of her golden hair over her tanned shoulder as she sauntered by, but other than that, the group completely ignored me. I let out the breath I’d been holding, and continued toward my first class, where I was certain that word had already gotten around. Much to my surprise, not a single person mentioned it.

By lunch time, nobody had said a thing about the incident. It sounded extremely unlikely that Tucker had kept such a story to himself, but even when Luke, his best friend, strolled toward me in the hallway, his muscular arm around a pretty brunette, and his dark eyes catching sight of me, all he did was grin.

“Hey Spitball” he said, and I stepped out of his way to avoid being shoved, and sighed with relief when he disappeared.

“Hey Spitball” came another voice. A deeper voice. A hotter voice. I spun around to find the owner, but I already knew who it was. The voice was like warm caramel, and I’d heard it many, many times before.

“Tucker” I swallowed, barely able to look at the stunning young man as he stood there wearing his signature hoodie, with one hand against the lockers, and the other buried inside his pocket. He was smirking at me. Or maybe smiling, it was hard to tell the difference.

He didn’t answer. Tucker stared at me with those hypnotising green eyes. He was so casual. So carefree. So hot.

“Uh, you’re in my way” he said, and nodded toward his locker that I was standing against.

“Oh, yeah” I gulped, feeling like an idiot as I scurried to the side and watched him pull it open and rummage through it. I couldn’t take my eyes off him.

“Pretty bad weather, huh?” I grimaced, because I knew how dumb that sounded. He glanced at me, then looked back out the window behind him, and gave a short laugh.

“Yeah, I guess”.

I guess? I felt my stomach swirl again. Why did my brain turn to mush every time the guy was within one hundred feet of me? I closed my eyes for a second to regroup, and when I opened them, Tucker was standing directly in front of me.

“My folks are going away this weekend” he said, slamming the locker closed. “I’ll text you my address”.

With those words, Tucker spun on his heel and headed for his next class, and my head exploded. Had I misheard? Had I imagined that entire moment? Had Tucker freaking Benson just invited me over to his house? I felt dizzy. I felt excited. I felt like I was going to barf.

“Spit– I mean, you!” Coach Vance growled from across the empty hallway, “get to class!”

“Y… Yes sir” I mumbled, and shuffled away, until I turned the corner and pumped the air with my fist. Tucker had just invited me over.

With every day that went by, so too, did my dwindling belief that Tucker was serious about the whole thing. He made no effort to speak to me, or even look at me. In fact, it was the first week in months where he hadn’t shoved me into a locker and called me Spitball!

I began to miss his treatment of me, but I continued to live in hope, that at some point throughout the week, I’d receive a text. When Friday arrived, and I had yet to receive a thing, I resigned myself to the fact that it had all been a joke.

I was as miserable as the weather had been since Monday, as I slung my backpack over my shoulder and headed toward the school gates. It was set to be another weekend of thinking about Tucker, and probably jacking off to his Instagram profile, until a powerful hand almost crushed my shoulder.

“Here” Tucker said, and shoved something into my hand. “I don’t have your number”.

I opened my mouth to answer him, but he was already gone. I watched him cover his head with his training bag as the rain poured down, and run toward his car. A moment later, the tyres screeched, and Tucker was gone.

With my heart racing and my hands shaking, I opened up the scrunched up ball of paper, and my eyes widened. In some very questionable handwriting for an eighteen year old guy, the words were plain to read;

142 Willow Lane. 7am. (or whatever the night time one is).

I read it. Then I read it again. And I continued to read it until the rain began to smudge the ink. Tucker really had invited me over, and despite the fact that I felt so nervous that I might have thrown up, I hurried home as fast as I could and got ready.

“What are you so excited about?” My dad asked as I darted around the kitchen to find socks.

“Oh uh… I’m going over to a friend’s house tonight” I replied, picking up a pair of my brother’s ones. I heard Mom drop a dish in the sink as they both gawped at me.

“That’s great!” Dad beamed, “really great. Do you want me to give you a ride over? I can pick you guys up a movie or some snacks or –”

“We’re not six, Dad” I grimaced, “but thanks”.

Once I was finally dressed and ready to go, I stared at myself in the mirror. Sure, I was short, thin, and a little awkward, but I wasn’t bad looking. I scrunched up my messy brown hair and cocked a brow. Combed was better.

“Well don’t you look very handsome” Mom smiled, and my cheeks burned. “Is this new friend a young lady by any chance?” She asked.

“No, Mom” I growled, and dodged her attempt at pinning down my cowlick.

“Use protection!” Dad called after me, and I cringed as I grabbed my jacket and ran from the house. It was six thirty, and from what I had read, Willow Lane was a twenty minute walk. The entire journey was spent trying not to hyperventilate, and when I eventually arrived, the effort was failing.

“Breathe!” I hissed to myself, as I walked by the row of very nice houses. They were all at least double the size of mine, with pretty fancy cars in most of the driveways. When my eyes landed on Tucker’s car, I almost passed out.

“You’ve got this” I told myself, desperately trying to prepare myself for what still could have been a set up. “Play it cool. Don’t say anything dumb. You’ve got this”.

Shaking, I walked up the paved drive and stood outside his door. This was it. Either I’d be humiliated by whoever was standing on the other side, and never, ever live it down, or I was about to have the best experience of my life. As I reached forward to press the bell, the door swung open and Tucker stood before me looking even hotter than I’d ever seen him before.

He wore only a pair of loose shorts. The top half of his body, muscle and all, was completely exposed. His legs, thick, solid and hairy, looked amazing, and even his bare feet were making my mouth water. He had an ice-cream in his hand, and was slowly running his tongue around the top as he eyed me.

“You just gonna stand there?” He asked, and stepped back to allow me inside. I took one more breath of air, and walked into the house where everything was about to change.