Fiction/Drama/Relationships/LBGTQ
Assumptions — The Beginning — Chapter Five
Connor Smith — June — Summer before senior year
I didn’t know why the hell I had to come on this fishing trip. Dad and Mr. Shuster pretended to try and reel one in all day, and then when night came, it was a beer-drinking fest. Like my dad needed any more incentive to get wasted. He did that routine daily.
Three more days and I'll be back home doing what I want with my summer before senior year. Not that I would be doing anything interesting, but I wouldn’t be here listening to ‘The Good Ole Days,’ or ‘why can’t you be more like Jackson, playing football.’ Anything Dad could find to put me down, he would.
By the way, Jackson is Mr. Shuster’s son. He’s one of the elites, the privileged of our school. He’s the star running back for the football team and has every girl dropping to their knees to please him.
Dad and Mr. Shuster had been buddies since high school. Me and Jackson, not so much. We were in two different cliques. Mine was well, me, Brady, Tabby, and Ayma. The geeks, the nerds—so far from being an elite we were like fuckin aliens.
Aside from that, I’d never had too much trouble with their group. There were a few insinuations where two of the football team’s bad boys, Stark and Levi, would claim me to be gay, bisexual, whatever the given word was at the moment, but there was no real trouble where any bodily damage was done.
“Are they ever going to pass out?” Jackson sat down on the log opposite me.
I had a small bonfire going, just enough to keep away the critters that go bump in the night. Here in Florida, gators love coming out at night. So, it was to our benefit to see them coming with some fire glowing, especially down here by the river.
I glanced back at my dad and Mr. Shuster. They had their old eighties music playing—Journey or some band of that nature. It looked as though they both went through the eighteen-pack of beer they had been chilling since last night. I was sure my dad drank double what Mr. Shuster did, that was how he rolled.
“I’ll give my dad about another thirty minutes before he’s crawling back to the tent.”
Jackson tossed me one of the beers. “More tolerance than mine.” He looked over my shoulder and back to the tents. “Mine is about…done.”
My eyes traveled back to where Jackson was still watching our fathers. His dad’s beer can slipped from his hand and leaked from the open tab as it rolled down the slope. We both turned our gaze back to the water.
For about an hour, Jackson and I talked about girls, classes, teachers, other students, parties Jackson had gone to so far during the summer, and our parents, including my mom, who’d been absent in my life since she walked out when I was five years old. Both our dads had long ago crashed for the night. Jackson and I somehow managed to suck down six, or maybe eight, cans of beer within that time.
I felt fuckin good.
Carefree.
Alive.
No wonder my old man got fucked up all the time. It was an easy way to get through our pitiful lives.
“So, no football this summer?”
Jackson chugged down the rest of his beer. “We start camp in another week.”
I tried to follow suit, guzzling as much as possible without instantly throwing it back up into my mouth. I was reaching my alcohol limit. “Sounds fun.”
Jackson snorted, popping open another can. “Yeah, sure, you can take my place.”
“What? The Jackson Shuster, king of the school, ladies’ man, Mr. Running back to the NF, the man with a million titles doesn’t like football." It fuckin blew my mind away.
Jackson crumbled his can and tossed it to our growing pile named Mount Beerimanjaro. “Love football, hate all the drama that goes along with it.” He held up another can, looking at it like he was debating whether to open it or not. He tried popping the tab, but as drunk as we were, his fingers weren’t working so well. He held the can and stared at it, maybe willing it to open itself. “And half those titles aren’t me.”
“Which ones are?”
Jackson puffed his cheeks and blew out a large sigh. “Fuck, probably none of them.”
“Yeah, right, man. You got the whole school wrapped around your finger.”
Jackson jumped up from the log he was sitting on, stumbled, and recovered his balance like he was running a football game—not as graceful, but still managing to stay on his feet. He leaped on top of the fallen tree beside us and spread his arms. “I’m on top of the world.”
So he was pretending to be Leonardo DiCaprio in his Titanic days.
“Titanic? Really? I never pictured you watching that movie. You seem more like the gangsta sort of film-watching.”
Jackson stepped off the log. “My mom mandated I watch the movie with her.” He glanced back at where our dads had been drinking. “Of course, Dad had to be out of the house at the time. There’s no way he would let her watch a movie like that with me around.” He thumped his chest with his fist. “Gotta watch a man movie. Them sissy romance shit films don’t make you a real man.” Jackson sounded like his father talking.
I knew the type. My father preached to me every freakin day about acting like a ‘real man.’
Quit dressing like a fuckin faggot.
Quit acting like a ‘friend’ to all the girls.
Quit playing all those video games.
Grow some balls, boy, and don’t act like one of the freakin queers.
Words lectured to me whenever I wasn’t doing or acting exactly how he wanted me to behave. Thoughts of my dad being an ass to me were taken away as I watched Jackson pull his t-shirt over his head, kick off his shoes and begin slipping out of his basketball shorts.
The boy was ripped.
He made top models look like the Pillsbury Dough Boy.
Unlike my blond hair and blue eyes, and only mildly physically fit. Jackson was almost too perfect. His skin was a light mocha. His curly, black hair hung past his neckline. He was about six feet, maybe around one hundred and eighty pounds of pure
Hotness.
Wait, what?
What the hell was I thinking?
But I couldn’t take my eyes off him.
“Whatcha doin'?” I watched as Jackson stripped down to his boxers, moving toward the water.
“I’m going to take a swim.” Jackson waded in until the water splashed over his feet.
I reached into my back pocket and took out my cell phone, shining the light on the water. “You do know we have gators in there, right?"
Jackson puffed out his chest. “I ain’t afraid of no itty-bitty gator.” He swung his arms wide open. “Come and get me.”
I moved the light, skimming it across the water. Two glowing eyes shined back at us, watching Jackson intently from about twenty feet away.
“Shit. Fuck. Shit.” Jackson dropped the I’m a badass attitude and ran back to the shore, hiding behind me.
“Huh. Not scared?” I couldn’t stop chuckling as I kept the light shining on the gator as it swam further away from the noise Jackson created by acting like a pussy.
Jackson was still clutching my shirt, looking over my shoulder into the water. “Fuck, that thing was about ten feet long.”
“Not from what I’d seen. It looked more like a baby, not even a foot long.”
“Yeah, well, you weren’t as close as I was. And you’re drunk.”
“So are you.” I turned around to face him. "And I was only a few steps behind you.” It was then that I noticed how close we were, like inches apart.
Jackson gazed down at me as his tongue slowly swiped across his lips, making them shine in the moonlight. I noticed the pace of his breathing picking up. So did mine, as well as my heart rate.
For what felt like hours, but probably only a few mere seconds, we stood staring at one another.
Questioning.
Debating.
Imagining.
And then, his lips slowly descended to mine. At first, hesitant. Maybe he was wondering if I would pull away.
But I didn’t.
How could I?
I was captured by the tenderness of the kiss and the excitement coursing through me.
As if my response back gave permission, Jackson deepened the kiss, his tongue invading my mouth as he pulled me even closer. We sank to the sand, arms wrestling, trying to remove what little clothing was left between us, never breaking from our kiss or hands exploring one another’s bodies.
I woke with a pounding headache. I was tired, achy, and had sand in every crevice and crease of my body. The sun rising over the water indicated it was still early morning.
Last night was an experience. One I never expected.
I heard rustling back by the tents and saw Mr. Shuster picking up the tossed cans from the night before. He looked ragged, like he had way too much to drink from his and my dad’s night of reminiscing.
I didn’t notice Jackson anywhere, maybe he’d gone back to the tent to change. I stood, brushed as much sand off as I could, shook out my clothes, and slipped them back on before making my presence known.
“You, boys, crazy? Swimmin' at night with gators around.” Mr. Shuster tied the seal on the garbage bag and tossed it to the side.
“We, uh, we didn’t think about any of that.” I had no idea what story Jackson had told him.
“Yeah. Yeah. Jack told me all about the dare game y’all played after drinking all those beers.” He motioned to the empty cans that were still waiting to be picked up by our spot.
I got a wave of chills racing through me just remembering the events of last night.
“No more drinking. You don’t need to be like us when you get older.”
“Yes, sir.” I scanned the area. I hadn’t caught a glimpse of Jackson since I woke up. “Is Jackson in the tent?”
Mr. Shuster shook his head. “He left early this morning. Seemed he was in a rush, needed to get back for practice.”
My elatedness took a nosedive. “He coming back?”
“Nah. It’s just gonna be me, you, and your dad for the next couple of days. Jack said he’d see you in school.”
“Oh. Okay. Cool.”
No. It’s. Fucking. Not.
He left so he wouldn’t have to see me this morning.
So he wouldn’t have to think of what we did.
And there wasn’t anyone I could talk to about this.
Who would believe I slept with the star running back from Bayshore?
