Chapter 4: Dirty Soap

The entire weekend was spent worrying about Monday. When the day finally arrived, Waylon's heart hammered against his chest, threatening to escape. He had no idea how to react when he saw Eddie. What would they talk about? Were they dating? Eddie had said that he would text, but Waylon had stared at his phone all weekend long without receiving any word from his crush. Boyfriend? Lover? Friend...with benefits? Waylon was confused.

After the first bell rang, Waylon spotted Eddie at the other end of the hallway, walking with his usual group of theater friends. His lungs seized in his chest. Eddie looked so handsome that morning, wearing his navy vest over his white dress shirt and his black boots under navy slacks. Eddie's black hair had been slicked back with some kind of product.

Blue eyes landed on Waylon for a moment, and Waylon detected the ghost of a smile on Eddie's face. Waylon opened his mouth, still unsure what to say. Hello? Hi? That was some great sex the other day? The dilemma solved itself when Eddie walked straight past, his shoulder pushing the smaller boy aside in the crowded hallway.

Waylon turned around and stared as Eddie walked away without glancing back. He had not imagined it. He had been blown off, intentionally.

The following days were a blur. Waylon had never experienced a relationship and was unfamiliar with the best way to handle the feeling of his heart breaking. Eddie had used him. Maybe he should have felt worse about it? Half of him was relieved that Eddie had not used their union to blackmail or otherwise humiliate him at school. The other half was devastated that their coupling had truly been casual sex, as Eddie claimed. Well, he had been truthful. He just wanted to do it, and Waylon had consented.

Maybe Eddie was mad about the kiss? Or Waylon was a lousy lay? Both scenarios seemed highly likely. Waylon moped around the hallways like a zombie, just getting through the days, avoiding Miles' questions.

Before he even realized it, it was Thursday and the next day was the first home football game of the year. That meant his yearbook duties were about to kick into high gear.

"You just follow the damn script," muttered Miles, packing up his own camera equipment as the pair prepared to lock up the yearbook room for the night. "I was excited to have someone I could trust helping me out on the yearbook this year, but sometimes you seem completely dimwitted lately. Have you been feeling alright?"

"Wha- Yeah. I feel fine," said Waylon, glancing down at the printed sheet Miles had prepared. He knew better than to try to lie to Miles-he could always tell. Waylon could not escape the hard gray stare of his best friend.

"Did something happen at home?" Miles pressed, putting a comforting hand on Waylon's shoulder.

"No. Nothing happened at home," Waylon said, looking into Miles' eyes to prove his sincerity.

"Something definitely happened to you," Miles insisted, shouldering a camera strap. "If things get bad there again, you know you can always come to my house. My parents know the situation."

"Home is fine right now, I promise," said Waylon, folding the page of questions and putting the paper in his pocket. "I should head down to the field house then."

"Coach doesn't want to do the interview until after practice. So make sure you're there when they're finishing up. It's usually around five," Miles said.

Waylon killed some time in library, doing homework. He remembered to text his mother and let her know he was doing a yearbook interview and would not be home until after six. Just before five, Waylon walked down to the football field and watched the last few drills. The field was mowed and freshly lined for the upcoming home game the next day. Waylon waited outside the field house until the players began to exit the locker room, before venturing inside.

Waylon found the coach in his tiny, cluttered office talking with Jeremy Blaire, the quarterback. Coach had a barrel-shaped body and a bald head hid by a MMCHS baseball cap. Jeremy's charcoal hair was slicked back with sweat. He wore a dirty practice uniform, but still managed to look superior to everyone else in the room. "The team isn't perfect," the coach was telling Jeremy, "but I'm trusting you to lead them tomorrow. Make the calls. Run it when you have to. When in doubt, look for Dennis. That guy's always everywhere at once, it's like there's four of him."

"Yes sir, coach," Jeremy said, a smug grin on his face.

Waylon knocked politely and waited by the door.

"Okay okay," grumbled the coach, making a shooing motion. "Get dressed, go home, eat a good breakfast tomorrow and I'll see you on the field at six. Mr. Park. We meet again." Jeremy Blaire stood up, smirking at Waylon before sauntering out. "Well, sit down, get started. Let's get this over with..." the coach continued.

The questions Miles had prepared were all rather obvious and unexciting. The coach answered them and waited patiently for Waylon to scribble down his replies. It took longer than necessary because the coach had to stop and answer a few questions from players coming to the door. Which uniform were they wearing? Where should players sit during the pep-rally? The coach seemed impatient with the battery of mundane questions. Finally, Waylon reviewed the questions and his notes and nodded to the coach.

"Thank you so much for your time, coach," he said, standing up. The coach followed him out of the office, turning off the light and shutting the door.

"Playing nice with you kid reporters is part of my job," grumbled the coach. He gathered up some items and started to walk out. "See you at the game?"

"I'll be there, yeah, taking pictures," said Waylon, motioning toward the camera around his shoulder.

"Good. Make sure you get my good side," said Coach, turning his bulbous body and giving a large, toothy grin. Waylon chuckled politely and followed the coach out of the field house. Waylon checked his phone for any calls or texts from his mother as the coach waddled off toward the teacher's parking lot.

"Check it out. Waylon's interested in the football team now," came the snide voice of Jeremy Blaire.

"Maybe he's going to try out," said Chris Walker, his voice easily discernable for how low and gravely it was for a high schooler.

"Please. He's more likely to try out for cheerleader," laughed Jeremy. The pair idled near the field house door. "Isn't that right, Park?"

"I'm with the yearbook. I was just doing an interview," muttered Waylon. He started to walk away, only to feel a firm hand on his shoulder.

"Hey, hey, no need to run off in a hurry. You look so guilty, Park. Admit it, this little interview was a cover to get into the boy's locker room while the team was showering." Chris laughed loudest at Jeremy's joke.

"Practice is over," came a familiar voice from behind the field house. Eddie walked into view followed by a trail of smoke. "Don't you guys have anything better to do than hang around the locker room after hours?"

Chris growled and narrowed his eyes, but Eddie ignored the mammoth linebacker. He took one last drag of his cigarette before flicking it away with two fingers.

"Ha, ha, Gluskin, you know we're here waiting for you," said Jeremy, shifting his glare from Waylon to Eddie. "We're still on to go pick up that keg? We'll take any green you can get your hands on, too. We're stocking up for a party after the game tomorrow."

"Oh yeah," said Eddie, bringing a hand up to his chin as though deep in thought. "Something came up. I can't help you guys. Sorry." Eddie moved casually to put himself between the two jocks and Waylon.

"Oh real cute, Gluskin," sneered Jeremy. "We had an arrangement."

"I don't do business with people I find repulsive," answered Eddie. He reached one hand behind him and put a protective hand on Waylon's shoulder.

"That's rich coming from a piece of human trash like you," said Jeremy, taking an aggressive step forward. Eddie towered over Jeremy as he returned his glare, but Chris was not far behind, cracking his knuckles menacingly. "Get back to cleaning the field. I think a few of the freshmen were puking out there today. And if you refuse to sell to me again, the faculty might be receiving an anonymous tip about you, Gluskin. See how Father Martin likes that bit of news about his favorite delinquent."

"Isn't there some cheerleader you should be date raping or something?" Eddie said, pushing Waylon roughly back toward the field house door.

"You don't want me as an enemy, Gluskin. My dad owns this school. Maybe I should do some digging, huh? Find out why you really vanished for so long? There's several interesting theories..." Jeremy might have thought he was getting to Gluskin, but Eddie merely shrugged.

"Whatever turns you on, Blaire," replied Eddie with a grin, walking into the field house while keeping Waylon in front of him.

"I wonder if Trager is still willing to sell to students..." Jeremy said as he and Chris headed away from the field house and toward the student parking lot.

Waylon's thoughts raced. Eddie had intentionally ignored him all week. Waylon had felt sure that meant that their encounter had been a one-time ordeal. He considered bringing up the issue, but he was afraid that Eddie might not like it and would go back to not talking to him. Instead, Waylon walked obediently into the building.

Once back inside the field house, Eddie closed the door and locked it with a key. "Wait, how did you get a..." Waylon asked, staring.

"I work here," Eddie said, his tone matter-of-fact. "I assist the maintenance guys with the field. It's minimum wage, but they're flexible with my school schedule. Father Martin doesn't like giving handouts, so he makes sure I have to sweat for my cash. It's not all bad. I get to ride a lawn mower."

"Who does the lines?" asked Waylon as Eddie walked deeper into the locker room, toward the shower stalls, which were still damp and musty from the football players. Waylon followed cautiously.

"I do," said Eddie, giving a lopsided grin. "Did you see them today? That design in the end zone took an hour."

"It's really good, actually. I noticed the field when I walked up. Very impressive." Waylon felt overwhelmed at having another reason to be enamored of Eddie Gluskin.

Eddie wore a white shirt soaked with sweat and covered with grass stains. He pulled it over his head and set it aside on a bench. Then he started to unbuckle his filthy work jeans.

"Uh, Eddie, what are you..." Waylon started.

"Oh stop it, you prude. I shower here. Water was shut off at my place a couple months back. Get undressed," Eddie ordered.

Waylon checked his phone. It was almost six. He told his mother he would be late. Maybe he had time... "But we're not on the team. What if someone comes back? What if Jeremy..."

"The other janitor with the key is gone for the night. It's just me. I doubt anyone will come looking. I shower here all the time," Eddie said casually. He seemed completely unconcerned with being naked in the field house.

"Um, Eddie," Waylon stammered, "...about last week…"

"What about it?"

"You ... you never texted," Waylon said, his voice trailing off as he lost his confidence.

"I was busy. Now would you hurry up?" Eddie grumbled as he stood in front of Waylon and quickly loosened the smaller boy's tie and started to unbutton his uniform shirt. Waylon cringed and wrapped his scrawny arms around his middle. Eddie smirked and stood comfortably, as though unaware of his own nudity and his growing arousal. "Turn on the water."

Eddie walked toward a closet and rifled around through some of the football team's supplies. Waylon almost fell while stepping out of his shoes, pants, and underwear. He quickly threw them out of the way and turned on the water in the stall furthest from the door. A high-pitched yelp escaped as ice cold water assaulted his naked body.

Eddie walked back over, holding a tub of something that looks like petroleum jelly. He chuckled darkly at Waylon's distress. Waylon momentarily worried about what his mother might think if he came home with damp hair. Oh well. It was too late. Waylon's red locks were dripping into his brown eyes. He kept his eyes glued to the dingy tile shower wall. The entire room reeked of sweat and cheap soap with undertones of bleach cleaner.

Waylon squeezed his eyes shut when he felt a warm body press against his back and a strong arm slipped around his waist. For a brief moment, Waylon sighed and leaned back against Eddie's chest, luxuriating in the way the now warm water flowed over their bodies. But the persistent nudge of Eddie's erection brought a surge of panic.

"Eddie," Waylon said, glad his crush could not see the blush on his face. "When you never talked to me after ... you know. I thought you did not want to talk to me again..."

"Did I say that?" Eddie asked, reaching for an old sliver of soap left in the soap holder on the tile wall. Waylon shuddered involuntarily at the thought of how many filthy jocks had probably slid that soap over their groins. He breathed a sigh of relief as the soap slipped out of Eddie's hand and circled the drain at their feet.

"Oops," Eddie said close to Waylon's ear. "You want to get that?"

"I'd rather not. It's probably extremely unhygienic..."

Eddie's mocking laughter echoed around the tile shower, momentarily drowning out the persistent beat of the water. "Let me rephrase. Pick that up. Now."

Waylon bent over obediently and felt a thick digit shoved between his cheeks. Eddie's finger was coated with something that allowed it to slip into Waylon's opening with minimum resistance. The smaller boy gasped—the dirty soap forgotten.

"Eddie, please, I'm still sore," Waylon said, whimpering as he felt Eddie positioning the head of his cock against Waylon's opening.

"Really? You mean, you don't want this?" Eddie asked, his voice dipping lower before he bent over Waylon's back, molding his chest against him as a hand slid around to his growing length. His hand squeezed firmly, eliciting a high pitched moan. Eddie chuckled as he jerked a couple of times, his fist working Waylon hard and fast. Waylon melted into a mass of indecipherable moans. When the movement stopped, Waylon gave a long whine and Eddie gave a derisive snort at his reaction.

"You're going to take it, and you're going to like it, darling." Eddie pulled away for a moment and returned, aiming himself directly at Waylon's hole and wasting no time pushing forward. Vaseline was now smeared on his shaft, but the fit was still tight, and he cursed freely as he worked himself in as deep as possible. Waylon braced his hands against the wet tile wall, trying his best to relax and allow Eddie entrance.

"Slow down, please," whimpered Waylon, trying to pull away from Eddie's hips but only causing the grip on his hips to tighten until Waylon feared finger-shaped bruises.

His head came dangerously close to the tile as Eddie began to thrust slow and deep, the speed increasing slightly on each new movement. Both of the boys grunted and gasped from the sensation. Waylon had been experiencing soreness since their previous encounter the previous Friday, but it did nothing to quell his desire. The in and out slide soon had his legs struggling to stay upright. Waylon keened loudly, bracing himself against Eddie's thrusts.

"You really do sound like a girl," panted Eddie, readjusting his hands on Waylon's slippery hips before impaling him again. Waylon moaned loudly as though proving Eddie's point.

Eddie leaned forward, water soaked hair falling fully into his blue eyes. "Someone's going to hear you if you keep that up." Waylon whimpered pathetically, and Eddie chuckled. "Is that what you like? Do you want someone to hear you?" Waylon groaned instead of protesting. "Darling...that's perverted," teased Eddie.

The wet, slapping sound drowned out even the hum of the water as Eddie mercilessly drove himself into Waylon. The smaller boy was not sure he could hold out much longer. His arms shook from the effort of keeping his head away from the tile wall. His legs trembled from standing upright while enduring the enthusiastic onslaught. When a hand found it way around Waylon's waist and encircled his cock, he was ashamed at how loud he screamed and how suddenly he came undone over his fist and the shower wall.

"You are too easy," grunted Eddie, a few uneven thrusts before he growled with satisfaction. Waylon guessed that he had finished, though there was too much distraction for him to feel. Eddie withdrew, and the water quickly washed away the traces of what had occurred. Waylon swayed on his feet as he stood up. Eddie's strong hand on his side kept him from face-planting on to the filthy tile floor.

Eddie stepped in front of the shower spray, blocking any water from hitting Waylon, and proceeded to rinse off his hair and body. Waylon watched him through lowered lashes, eyes half closed with desire. Eddie's body was toned and glistened in the shower. Black hair flattened to his head and flowed into his blue eyes. Waylon couldn't control the way he stared and licked his lips. He knew anything further would only hurt, yet some sadistic part of him wanted it. Badly.

"You look at me really strange sometimes," said Eddie. Waylon glanced away, embarrassed, and let him finish his shower without an audience. Eddie shut off the water and walked back to the closet. He threw a thin, scratchy towel at Waylon before toweling himself off with another.

The two boys dressed in silence. Waylon's face remained a bright shade of pink, even after he was dressed and waiting awkwardly by the door. Eddie pushed the door open, holding it for Waylon, and grinning devilishly.

"What are you doing this weekend?" asked Eddie as he used his key to lock the door behind them. Waylon worried for a moment that someone would suspect what had happened when they found the dirty towels and the petroleum jelly out of place. Common sense told him those things were probably lost among the encompassing mess of the boys' locker room, but he couldn't stop worrying.

"I'm going to the football game tomorrow night," Waylon said, feeling his chest tighten.

"Huh," said Eddie. Waylon had not noticed him take out and light a cigarette. Eddie smoked casually as they walked off school property in the direction of their houses. Waylon considered finding Miles at volleyball practice and begging a ride home, but he could always walk the two miles. Any excuse to spend more time with his crush. Eddie lived considerably closer though in the other direction, across the train tracks.

"I guess I will see you there," Eddie said before they parted ways. Waylon watched Eddie walk off in the direction of his filthy apartment, cigarette smoke trailing in his wake. Waylon could not shake the feeling that Eddie had just confirmed a date for the following day, and the feeling made him insanely happy.