Never wrote anything for anyone before. . .but this is so not for me.
For a friend
Dave sat out on the bleachers, the noontime summer sun beating mercilessly down on him. The high school’s playing field and the track that circled it were empty, deserted, quiet. His elbows bent behind him, propping him up. The sweat of his run dripped out of his short brown hair, slid down his back, pooled on the hot silver metal behind him. His track shorts were soaked through, his running shoes and socks pulled off, and he dozed in the heat, let it bake through him.
He liked coming here during the day, when everyone else was at work or hiding in the air conditioning, too afraid of sunstroke to run with him. He could think better when he was alone, his mind clearer. No conversations to keep up with, no pressure to make someone smile. To consider what they said before answering. Just the oppressive heat and the sun soft asphalt, the sound of his shoes as he ran, the sharp, salty taste of his sweat as it poured from his skin. The beat of his heart filling his brain.
He stared out at the field, his mind on the upcoming football season when movement in the thick brush and trees that kept trying to encroach on the cleared space of the small field and track, caught his eye. A deer? A fox? Dave didn’t move a muscle, didn’t turn his head, just kept watching through the wavy heat shimmer, his eye lids low against the glare.
A flash of red hair, sun burnt skin and David knew immediately who it was. That wild kid that lived so far out of town, up in the hills that no one knew his name, no one had ever even spoken to him. He haunted the lake, skirted the town and never let anyone near him. Dave had heard his father and the mechanics gossip about the kid and his shithouse crazy dad, how the kid had never been to school a day in his life. How the father lived without working, and made the best moonshine this side of the Appalachians. If you were brave enough to go out and find him to buy it.
Dave let a slow grin creep up on his face. He knew the kid watched them all constantly. Watched the drinking, the drug use, the fucking, the fighting. Everyone knew it. It amused him somehow that everything they did was being recorded in those wide hazel eyes, even when they thought they were alone. That someone was always there. Always saw.
David moved his arms slowly forward, resting his back against the hot metal behind him. Slid his palms down his sweat soaked chest and under the waistband of his shorts. He pushed them down just a bit, just enough to pull his cock out, hold it in his hands. He touched himself roughly, biting back a gasp at the sudden rush. His eyes still focused on that spot in the trees, his mind filled with pictures and memories. Jimmy’s sharp cheekbones and strong fingers, Kane’s soft kisses and wet mouth, smashing into Brendan’s back, leaves and pine needles sticking to their skin. Dave’s mouth parted as he panted, short ragged breaths and his nails scraped on his sensitive skin. He pulled back his foreskin with two fingers, gathered more sweat and looked up at the sky, eyes wide open, let the sun blind him as he jerked his cock, his fist tight, legs tense, teeth bared. His come spattering across the aluminum benches in front of him, between his spread legs, and the blood roared in his ears.
Dave pulled his waist band back up, let it snap against his skin and looked back into the Kudzu and trees. Saw nothing, and then, there. Yes. A bend of a bush, the leaves moving though there was no breeze and Dave was alone again in the heat. Smile still on his face. He gathered up his shoes and socks and headed home to shower.