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"Dude, Roxy is so hot." John takes a swig of his water and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. You watch as it trickles down his chin like he's drooling. He might as well be, you figure. He's been ogling Roxy all day and has not been subtle about it. "Dave says I should ask her out.”
Typical.
"Dave says a lot of things," you mutter, idly scrolling through your newsfeed. "Didn't he also tell you that your apple juice was actually just piss?"
"No, that was me."
"Right." You sigh, glancing up from your phone. John's looking at you expectantly and you're not exactly sure why, or what he's expecting. Encouragement, maybe? Your eyes cut across the lawn, where Roxy and Rose are sunbathing by the pool, clad only in their bikinis. "If you think you stand a chance, go for it."
He scoffs. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"Exactly what it sounds like, Egbert. Roxy is so far out of your league, she's playing pro and you're still playing T-Ball."
"Stop trying to use sports metaphors, it makes you look stupid," John says. You don't argue because he's not wrong. "Anyway, you're probably right. I need to get to second base with someone else at least once before I try to get in her pants."
Wait. So, does that mean John's a virgin too?
You give him a lingering glance from behind the safety of your shades. He's propped against the same tree that you are, hiding from the scorching summer sun. Even with his hair a sweaty mess, it's sticking up in fifty different directions with fifty different cowlicks, wild and unruly like it always is. Cargo shorts. Baggy graphic tee. White crew socks pulled all the way up to his shin. Knobby knees littered with bug-bites. Thick-rimmed glasses and buck teeth.
Yeah. Obviously he's a virgin.
You don't ask him about it though. Instead, you say, "If I can't use sports metaphors, neither can you."
John flips you the bird. There's a band-aid wrapped around his middle finger that you find oddly endearing. You don’t ask him about that either.
"Uh, just out of curiosity. How far have you gotten?"
You nearly choke and quickly snatch up your water bottle for some damage control. While you chug uncontrollably, you think about how to answer that. One option is to tell the truth, which means admitting you haven’t done shit with anyone. Another option is to lie, which...
Okay, it wouldn't be all that believable.
It's not a statement on you as a person, or how you look—you think you’re pretty attractive? You just aren't really interested in hooking up with people.
Girls.
You realize that you've been guzzling your water for way too long. Shit. Pulling off, you sigh. Might as well go with what's behind Door Number One—AKA, the embarrassing truth.
"Not far," you answer, while simultaneously not answering anything. "Kiss on the cheek."
John groans. "Same, and it barely even counts because it was Jane."
"I don't think kissing your sister counts at all, bro." You pause to consider it.
Nah. There's no point in mentioning that your own cheek kiss in question was from Dave.
Not that it matters, John bulldozes on. "I can't have my first kiss be with the girl of my dreams. She'll think I'm super lame if I'm all—" Here, he starts to sloppily smack his lips, making obscene noises while he wiggles his tongue. When he's done, he turns to look at you innocently. "You know?"
Thank god you're sun-burnt because your face is on fire.
"Yeah," you say, "I guess."
John nudges you with an elbow and you think you might combust. "What about you?" he asks.
"What about me?"
"Do you have your eye on anyone? I'm pretty sure Jane has a crush on you." He makes a face. "Not that I want you hitting on my sister. What about Jade?"
"Hitting on your cousin is somehow better?"
Jade is cute and you like her well enough, but no. She'll always have a special place in your heart for drawing you a ponysona, but she's still not your type. You're beginning to think you don't have a type at all? No one really makes your heart race—except for John when he leans into you.
It's way too hot for that, but you allow it.
"Yeah, I guess not," he says. "I just don't want you to embarrass yourself when you finally do kiss someone."
"I'm sure I'll be adequate," you lie.
Fuck. John is really close. He’s always been a bit oblivious when it comes to personal bubbles, but this is ridiculous. You can smell the faint traces of his shampoo mingling with all that sweat and summer heat. It makes your head spin, and your face flush, and your heart beat just a little faster. This is normal, right? To shiver when someone touches you?
"You sure you don't have your eyes on anyone?"
Your eyes land on him and you huff out a nervous laugh. "Nah."
"Maybe we should practice."
There's an audible record scratch that resounds through your head, bouncing around your skull, scrambling your brain like one of Dave's shitty DJ attempts. You tense up almost immediately, swallowing hard. John just asked to practice—and though he didn't specify what he wants to practice, you're pretty fucking sure he means kissing.
"Uh."
He sits up, sensing your apprehension. "Like, you know, just as friends...to make sure we know how to do it when we kiss someone for real! It's not gay."
It's sounds gay, and you're not gay. You're not. Just because you pay a little more attention to the guy's dick in the porno you watch? That doesn't mean shit. That's normal. You've got a decent dick, but sometimes it's nice to see what else is out there. It's called penis envy, look it up.
"I don’t know. It sounds kind of gay."
John laughs, and it makes your heart flutter—which seems gayer than kissing him. Shit.
"It's only gay if you like it," he says like that's obvious.
Maybe it is? Maybe this is just what straight dudes do? John probably knows considering he's a straight dude, which means that you should know too because you're also a straight dude. Maybe it's gay if you say no? He's right, it's not like you're going to like it. It's not like your palms are sweating just thinking about it. That's just because it's a hundred fucking degrees outside.
"Alright," you say, amazed that your voice manages to stay your usual brand of monotone. "Fine."
If you thought John was going to try to woo you, you were wrong. Subtle isn’t exactly a thing that he is, which is why he goes straight in for the kill.
Literally. You think he might be trying to kill you.
His lips are soft, plumper than yours, and they work against you while you just sit there and take it, frozen like a petrified, stone statue. That doesn’t dissuade John in the slightest. He shifts closer and angles your head toward him with a hand on your cheek and kisses you harder. Something warm and wet slides against the seam of your lips and you realize, belatedly, that it’s John’s tongue.
And then, you crumble.
The noise you make falls somewhere between a whine and a moan, and the second your mouth parts, John licks his way inside. It’s clumsy, and sloppy, and the best thing you’ve ever experienced in your life.
Shit.
You’re not sure what to do, John’s taken control of the kiss and so far, you’ve done nothing but try to wrangle your beating heart into submission. Tentatively, you try to mirror what he’s doing, but get as far as shoving your tongue in his mouth before that quickly goes south. The second you breach the stronghold of John’s lips, he sucks on your tongue and—oh, no.
Oh, no.
You like it.
You really like it.
You like it so much, there’s a familiar tingle between your legs and you’re halfway to a chub before you can push him away.
John looks startled, blinking as he’s pushed back, a thin string of saliva hanging from the bottom of his kiss-swollen lip. He wipes it with the back of his hand and, instinctively, you mirror the action. You’re drooling just as bad.
“Was it that bad?” he asks, cringing.
“No,” you say, a bit too quickly. “But, considering neither of us have actually done this before, I’m probably not the best person to consult. You should practice on someone that’s kissed before.”
The thought of John kissing someone else wilts your boner nigh fucking instantaneously. That can’t mean anything good for you. That can only mean something bad. Like…
Fuck.
You do have a type, you realize with horror. It’s nerds with dark messy hair, big glasses, and buck teeth. By all accounts, that should include Jade, but it doesn’t.
It might, however, include Jade’s older brother, Jake. Damn. A lot of missing pieces are falling into place.
You like guys.
But, more specifically, you like John.
“Dirk?”
The world shifts back into focus and John’s looking at you, a crease of worry in those caterpillar brows. He reaches out and you flinch.
“Sorry,” you say, “I think maybe I should go.”
“What? No!” His hand catches your arm before you can get away, leaving you half-crouched. It’s his touch that keeps you anchored in place, not his strength. “It’s okay.”
Your heart does that funny thing again. The thing that kinda makes you feel like you’re dying, but isn’t altogether bad.
It’s…okay.
“Oh,” you say, lowering your ass back to the ground. His hand stays on your forearm. “Is it?”
John smiles, bright and cheery. “Yeah! I don’t care if you suck, that’s the point of practicing.”
And, just like that, the pleasant feeling sours, quickly curdling like milk in the hot sun. You wish you weren’t the milk in this metaphor.
“Yeah, sure. But, uh, maybe it’s not a good idea to—mmmmpfgh!”
John kisses you again, and when he pulls back, blinking, there’s a furious blush spread on his cheeks. Time feels like it’s in suspension, frozen in a state of silence. You stare at each other, unmoving—until his eyes drop to your mouth again and he licks his lips.
Fuck it.
You meet him in the middle, slamming together so hard, your teeth clack against his. It’d probably hurt if you weren’t so caught up in trying to suck his face off. How did Callie’s friend-fiction describe it? Tongues battling for dominance? Maybe. Two slugs in a wrestling match is more accurate, you think, but infinitely less sexy.
John bites your bottom lip. You moan. You bite his bottom lip. He moans. John puts his hand in your hair. You whimper. You put your hand on his thigh…
He moves it to his dick.
Okay. He’s hard. What the fuck?
Instead of pulling away, you squeeze him through his swim trunks. You figure it’s fine, considering he’s the one that put your hand there in the first place. Maybe he’s trying to show some solidarity, because you’re just as turned on as he is. Maybe he’s just trying to show you it’s okay? That this is a normal response to this specific kind of stimulus? He’s probably got his eyes squeezed shut, picturing Roxy’s delicate and feminine hand rubbing all over his junk.
Meanwhile, you have no excuses.
You’re painfully hard because John Egbert is kissing you like you’ve never been kissed before—because you haven’t.
This is still your first kiss.
And it might be your last, because you feel like you’re about to have a heart-attack when John’s hand drops to your lap to grope around, just as clumsy as his kiss. It doesn’t matter that it lacks finesse, it’s the best damn thing you’ve ever felt in your life. You whine and buck up into his palm, only distantly aware that the large oak that y'all are sitting under isn’t going to cast a shadow dark enough to hide what you’re doing.
You only wish that was enough to stop you, or him.
John paws at your dick, and you paw right back, rubbing the heel of your palm against the rigid, pretty impressive, length trapped beneath electric blue nylon.
“Fuck,” he groans against your mouth. “Dirk—“
That does it. Game over. He says your name—not Roxy, not Rose, not anybody else.
Your name.
Dirk.
Your body immediately tenses, and your hand falters, and John’s hand doesn’t, and you come hard, directly in your swim trunks. It’s a burst of blinding white, and your entire body jerks with the sudden release. You whine against John’s mouth, whimpering through the aftershocks.
Before the life-altering mortification of what just happened sinks in, you feel John twitch against the pressure of your hand. He jerks just as violently as you did, teeth clamping into your bottom lip as he comes a single, stationary touch.
Fuck.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
John pulls back like he’s in a daze, his glasses knocked askew, his eyes heavy-lidded to compliment the dopey smile on his face. It’s absurdly adorable, you think. But he’s only smiling because he doesn’t know the truth.
“I liked that,” you say.
John just kind of looks at you like you’re stupid. Shit.
“So did I,” he says, slowly. “Uhm. I thought it was pretty obvious, you know…considering…” He gestures at his lap. The damp spot seeping through the fabric does a great job of outlining the head of his softening dick. “I did just bust one in my pants.”
You squirm, suddenly reminded that, yeah, you did too. “Okay, but…”
Fuck, you know what this means. Is there any doubt in your mind? Is there any chance that this was a fluke and you’re actually attracted to women? You close your eyes and think of boobs and butts. Tanned butts. Hairy—
Yeah, okay. Never mind.
You open your eyes, sighing heavily. “I liked it in a gay way,” you clarify.
“Oh,” he says and that’s it.
“I think I’m gay.” You pause. That doesn’t feel like the truth. “No, I am gay. Like really gay, bro. I like dudes.”
I like you.
John stares owlishly for about point-five seconds before he bursts out laughing. It doesn’t feel like he’s laughing at you, but you flush anyway and fight the urge to run. Actually, you’re pretty sure if it wasn’t for the sticky mess drying against your dick, welding it to the mesh inside of your swim trunks, you’d be halfway to fucking China.
“Dude,” John wheezes, wiping a stray tear with his knuckle, “I know. No offense, but it’s pretty obvious.”
Offense taken in full.
“What?”
“Yeah! I mean, you’ve never been interested in girls before? And I always catch you staring at Jake’s ass. Uhm, sorry—is that weird? I don’t think it’s weird. It’s cool if you’re gay. I don’t think I am though.”
Oh. The conversation was going…pretty good, right up until that bomb. Somehow, you’re even more ashamed than before.
John lets out a wistful sigh. “I’m probably just bi or something.”
…Asshole.
“Right.”
Your stomach is in knots, and you try to look anywhere but John. The fact that you just made-out and got off with a dude is settling deep within your gut, making your head spin. Maybe you’ve always known, but never wanted to admit it. You were already off, too different. Fitting in is already hard enough, it’s not like you needed another reason to stand out. You didn’t need to be “the gay kid” and “the weird kid.”
But John says it’s cool and, even though he’s far from the authority on that, it still makes you feel a little better.
“We can practice some more,” John says, pulling you from your melancholy reverie. He shrugs, casual.
“Practice,” you repeat. “Sure.”
“Uhm.” For the first time, John looks properly nervous. “Or we can like—kiss for real? I mean, if you want to.”
You do want to, even though you kind of wish you didn’t. Because wanting to kiss John for real is just going to suck for you in the end. It wasn’t even five minutes ago that he was lamenting about how much he wanted to get into Roxy’s pants. Then he immediately got into yours—well, he got over them. Whatever. The point is, you’ve known John for a long time. He’s wishy-washy and indecisive. Fluid like the wind.
You’re not stupid enough to think you can keep him tethered.
“Yeah,” you say anyway, “I think I’d be down for that. After I shower and change clothes though.”
John looks down at his lap, squirming and wincing. “Ugh, yeah. This is pretty gross. But I don’t wanna walk all the way back to the cabin.”
“Well, maybe we can—“ You’re about to suggest showering together, because why not go all out on your first sexual endeavor, when you see John’s head turn toward the pool. A mischievous smile breaks on his face.
Oh no.
“Dude. No,” you say, but it’s too late. He’s already getting up.
“It’s fine! The chlorine will kill like all of the germs or whatever!”
That’s probably true. Still, you scramble up after him, grunting at the uncomfortable pull in your shorts. “I gotta be honest, don’t really like that you implied your jizz is germ-infested, bro.”
John laughs, grabbing ahold of your wrist. “Come on, let’s just go.”
He tugs and you follow, and maybe it’s a little gay, but you think maybe you’d follow him anywhere.