“You know I want to,” Harold said, turning away, “but it feels wrong.”Ricky, reclining nude, leaned forward and gently caught Harold’s earlobe in his teeth and then began to suckle it. Harold closed his eyes and groaned. Ricky’s hand ground into Harold’s half-hard penis through the thick denim of his jeans. He let go of Harold’s earlobe and whispered into his ear, “Harold, oh Harold. We can do whatever we want. We are adults. We can make decisions for ourselves.” His breath was hot in Harold’s ear, tongue moist as it darted in and out, a promise.
“Can’t we just do it with our hands?” Harold pleaded. He was weakening, his protest becoming feeble as his penis grew harder. Ricky undid the button of Harold’s jeans and slipped his hand inside, unzipping with his thumb as he went. The dorm room was dark, a chair pushed up under the door knob. Harold’s roommate was gone for the weekend, but it was stupid to take chances.
“I can’t put a baby in you, Harold. Stop being such a girl. It’s 1977 and we can do what we want.” Ricky stroked Harold’s erection quickly, and then bent to lick off the milky pearl of Cowper’s fluid that formed. Harold shifted his dancer’s hips and let Ricky pull of his jeans and underwear.
“Just don’t hurt me, Ricky,” Harold said, turning over. On all fours, he looked back a Ricky, expectant and afraid, his cow eyes glistening in the dark.
“Just relax. I went to Catholic school. I know what I’m doing.”
As soon as Ricky slipped his penis in, Harold ejaculated forcefully, shuddering and moaning.
“Yeah, you like that, cunt?” Ricky grunted, thrusting. “You like it when I fuck your cunt? Yeah. You like getting your cunt fucked? You fucking whore. Stop fucking crying, you goddamn pansy. Faggot. Faggot whore!” Ricky fell over backwards onto the filthy rug.
While Harold struggled to his feet and pulled on a robe, Ricky pawed through his own jeans that were puddled on the floor. Harold pulled the chair away from the door and stumbled out of the room, the light from the hallway slashing across Ricky . Ricky lit the joint he found, and stared at the ceiling. Harold came back in as he was almost finished. Harold lay down beside him and Ricky passed him the joint.
“How does this work,” Harold asked, “Do I do you next?”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Ricky said, yawning. “I’m not a faggot like you. I don’t take it in the ass.”
“Fair’s fair,” Harold whined.
“Shut up, Harold. I got big dreams and being a faggot like you isn’t one of them.” Harold began to sob. Ricky ignored him. “I’m going to find some dumb bitch to marry and pump her full of kids. I’m gonna be lawyer. Maybe go into politics. This country needs somebody like me to set commie faggots like you straight.”
Harold’s sobs became low laughter, rising steadily in volume. Ricky sat up, and began pulling on his clothes. Harold was howling with laughter by the time he got dressed.
“What’s so goddamn funny?” Ricky asked.
Through the peals of laughter, Harold managed, “You’ll never be anybody. No one’s ever going to take you seriously.”
“Why not, faggot?” Ricky kicked him in the leg.
“Your name,” Harold managed, “Your stupid name.”
“Yeah, yeah. Everybody laughs. But I’m going to change it. And faggots like you won’t ever laugh at me again."
With a final kick, Ricky Cumfart stormed out of Harold’s room.
