A Lombardi cast of characters.

Anthony (Tony) Lombardi, aged about thirteen at the start of the story.
William (Billy) Thorne, Jr., thirteen.
Robert (Bobby) Thorne, ten.
Kieran Kerrigan, thirteen.
Kevin Kerrigan, thirteen.
Walt Konigsberg, late twenties.

When a man finds that he is primarily attracted to boys, as opposed to women, girls or other men, he is inherently aware of society’s overwhelming disapproval of the feelings he finds only natural and, indeed, necessary. It follows that a large number of such men feel the need to establish for themselves a set of rules to govern their own behavior. One such rule could be Walt’s vaguely formulated plan to not have teenaged boys visit his little house. Another rule might proscribe turning in one’s tracks to see the fanny and legs of a cute boy who just passed. Imagine the difficulty, though, if that same cute boy had smiled and winked as he passed. They say that rules are made to be broken. The problem arises with the frequency with which one allows such violations. Walt had allowed Tony to break his unwritten rule, and that seemed harmless enough. Some men, once such a rule is broken, allow it to be broken frequently afterwards, but warily, pretending that the rule is still in force. By this means, they enter the realm of dangerousness. Still other men, once breaking a rule, cast that rule to the wind, thereby surpassing dangerousness, and entering the realm of foolishness. One may think one only allows his ethos to be violated for the most compelling reasons, but the gods have reasons galore, and they toss them into our lives as easily as dust falls on furniture. Unbeknownst to Walt, he was about to enter the realm of dangerousness.

Living on the highway, Walt often heard traffic noises, accidents, rowdy drunks at night, loud radios passing by, and the voices of children. To most of these annoyances he had become inured, and easily disregarded them, except for the sounds of the voices of boys. Walt thought he heard a commotion after dinner one August evening, about three weeks after Tony’ visit. Not having seen nor heard from Tony in the interim, he did not expect to see Tony involved in this commotion, but since there were boy voices involved, he was curious. At first, when he stepped onto his front porch, Walt only saw the fuchsia and amethyst bands of light in the west that announced the deep blue evening arising in the east, but when he looked towards the east, expecting to see stars, instead he saw, in the illumination of the mercury street lamps, Tony and another boy, a blond, who had his hand on his eye. They were walking toward him, and Tony waved. Walt waved back, and the two boys came over and stepped up onto his porch. Walt could see then, that the other boy was Billy, formerly of the falling off jeans, whose jeans now fit properly. Tony looked back to the east again, before he spoke.

“I think they’re gone,” he breathlessly said to Billy, and then turned to Walt. “Hi Walt, some kids were chasing us,” he explained. “They were gonna beat me up, but Billy got one first.”

“Why would they want to do that?” Walt asked, and then he looked right at Billy, who was still holding a hand to his eye, asking “are you all right?”

Billy revealed the eye to Walt, smiling now, although the eye was reddened, like he had been crying with just the one eye. “I hope I don’t get a black eye, but I messed him up good,” Billy explained, “he just got the first one, I got the last.”

“I’ve got an ice pack you could put on it,” Walt suggested, “you wanna come in? I’ll get it.”

“Nah,” Billy said.

“Yeah! Come on!” Tony urged, and pushed Billy towards the door. They all went in the little house. Walt led them through the living room, retrieving the ice bag from a kitchen cabinet, and filling it with ice. He handed it to Billy.

“Sit down,” Walt said, indicating the kitchen table, and the four maple Windsor chairs. “You guys want a Coke or something?” The boys flopped on the chairs.

“Yeah,” said Tony.

“What else ya got?” Billy asked.

“Coke, Pepsi, or orange Nehi,” Walt listed his stock of boyish beverages.

“No beer?” Billy asked.

“Uh, no,” Walt said, although there were some beers in the refrigerator, “no beer.”

“Gimme a Nehi, then,” Billy said, still holding the ice pack to his eye.

“Yeah, make mine a Nehi, too,” Tony joined in. Walt got the cold bottles out and popped the caps for the boys. Billy began moving the ice pack all around his face, to cool off. Even though Walt had installed central air conditioning, it was always a bit warmer in the kitchen, he liked it that way. The boys, though, had just come from the hot August night air outside, and their skin had the gloss of adolescent summer activity. Billy’s eye didn’t look too bad now to Walt.

“I don’t think you’ll get a black eye,” Walt said, looking at Billy’s face.

“Yeah, the ice pack helped,” Billy replied, “thanks.” Walt looked quickly at Tony, but saw that Tony, too, was looking at Billy. Walt felt a little guilty at letting Billy be the center of attention, since he had been intimate, in a way, with Tony. Billy did have the sore eye, though, so it was only natural that they both pay respect to that badge of honor. Billy passed the ice pack under his chin and down his neck. He had a powder blue tank top on that almost matched his pretty eyes. He raised his arm in the air and slid the ice pack under his hairless armpit, which gave him more of a shock than he expected. “Shit! That’s cold! Hoo-eee!” he laughed. Tony and Walt laughed, too, but Walt secretly shared some of the chill, seeing that smooth underarm. Walt couldn’t quite figure out why he felt that way, something about little boy skin on adolescent sexuality, the magic of puberty. He almost wished it wasn’t so, but these boys, and most boys, thrilled him in an intoxicating way.

“So, how come these other kids were after you?” Walt asked, turning to Tony.

“They think I stole their guitar,” Tony answered.

“You didn’t though, right?” Walt injected.

“No.”

“Kevin never shoulda asked them over,” Billy said.

“Yeah, well,” Tony said, looking at the floor, then he turned to Walt, explaining, “see, Kevin asked them over to their pool one time, a couple of weeks ago, and, like, they wouldn’t leave.”

“Couldn’t take a hint,” Billy said.

“Yeah, and Bobby and Billy left,” said Tony.

“He couldn’t hide a guitar on him, the little squirt,” Billy interrupted again, “so I know he didn’t steal it.”

“Yeah, and then Kieran went to bed,” Tony continued the story, “so, like, it was getting near midnight, so I had to leave, so they were still there when I left, you know, just the two of them and Kevin. So they think I stole it when I left.”

“Yeah,” Billy laughed, “they even woke Kieran up, looking for it. They looked all over the house! First they thought Kieran hid it in the house. They tore that fucking place up, man!” Billy kept laughing, adding, “stupid niggers!” He noticed the surprised look on Walt’s face, though, and apologized, “Sorry, blacks.” Still he giggled.

“I thought they were your friends,” Tony sort of asked, looking at Billy.

“Only at school, that’s different,” Billy said.

“How’s it different?” Tony asked.

“Politics,” Billy replied.

“Oh, like your gonna run for student council? Ha Ha,” Tony said, and he really broke out in laughter. Billy just leaned back and smiled broadly, proud of having made Tony laugh so hard, and said nothing. Walt noticed faint black and blue marks on Billy’s arms. He reached out and touched one.

“Did you just get these?” Walt asked.

“Nah, those are old,” Billy replied, “from another fight.” He held his arm out toward Walt, rather than pulling away, not afraid at all to have Walt touch him. He just smiled still, looking Walt right in the eyes. He leaned back in the chair again, locking his fingers behind his head, still smiling at Walt. Tony looked at Billy, recognizing the same pose he had given Walt for that last picture. He turned and looked at Walt, who was looking at Billy, and then he looked at Billy, smiling back at Walt still.

“Hey, I gotta go,” Tony said, “but why don’t you show Billy the slides?”

“Yeah!” Billy said.

“I thought you could stay ‘til twelve,” Walt objected.

“Nah, my parents didn’t go out tonight,” Tony insisted, “so I gotta be home by ten.”

“The captain went to Bellwood tonight,” Billy said, stretching his arms up in the air, “the bars down there don’t close ‘til two.”

“Where’s Bobby, he’s your little brother, right?” Walt asked.

“He’s home, watching TV,” Billy said, “I wouldn’t let him come tonight.”

“We knew those guys were looking for us,” Tony explained, standing up, “I better go now, but you show Billy those slides on the big screen. Show him all twenty of ‘em.” Tony had turned his face towards Walt, so that only Walt could see his left eye, and with his left eye, he winked at Walt. Walt stood up, to see Tony out, but Billy stayed in the kitchen.

“Hey, can I grab another Nehi?” Billy called out from the kitchen.

“Sure,” Walt yelled back, and just then Tony grabbed his arm.

“Don’t show Billy my pictures, okay?” Tony pleaded.

“No, I won’t,” Walt reassured him, “I promise.” They stepped onto the porch.

“Don’t kiss me,” Tony whispered. Walt just quickly, softly caressed Tony’s cheek, just for a second, and the boy smiled, “See ya.”

“See ya, Tony, before September, okay?” Walt pleaded.

“Yeah, ‘course, next week!” With that promise, Tony waved and ran away toward Revere Street. Walt went back into the living room, and there was Billy, with a beer in his hand.

“You lied!” he laughed, and belched at the same time. Walt was disappointed, but, at the same time, he had to laugh, too. He certainly wasn’t about to throw this kid out, he liked him too much, but he also frightened Walt a little.

“This is good shit!” Billy laughed.

“It’s just plain old Pabst Blue Ribbon,” Walt smiled back at the boy.

“It’s better than Bud!” Billy opined.

“You really want to see the slides?”

“Yeah, where’s the movie screen.”

“It’s just slides,” Walt said, “no movies.”

“I know,” Billy said, “I’m not as dumb as I look.” Walt just nodded and smiled at Billy, and went about setting the screen up. When he stepped behind the kitchen door to retrieve the screen, he brought with him the cube containing the slides. He slid them out and quickly removed the pictures of Tony, and Tony had been right, there were about twenty slides left. Walt hid the Tony slides in a kitchen drawer, and brought the remaining slides and screen in the living room. Billy was sitting on the couch, next to the projector.

“This projector have remote control?” Billy asked.

“Yes, on a wire,” Walt replied.

“I wanna run it.”

“Okay,” Walt agreed, putting the slides in the machine, and handing the remote to Billy. “Press here to see the next picture,” Walt showed Billy, and he turned the projector’s lamp on, and turned off most of the room lights. He went to the far end of the couch, and turned off the remaining lamp, sitting down next to Billy. “Just be careful, okay?”

“I told ya, I’m not that dumb,” Billy laughed.

“I know you’re not dumb, Billy,” Walt said, smiling, “just a little wild.” Billy seemed to enjoy that description of himself, and he leaned back on the couch with a satisfied look, and advanced to the first picture, which was of him.

“Ready?”

“I’ve seen them all, so you go at your own speed,” Walt replied. Billy advanced through ten or so pictures, and then stopped, looking at Walt.

“I don’t want to look at any more,” Billy said with an air of boredom.

“You didn’t even see the best one,” Walt grinned.

“You mean the one with my dick hanging out,” Billy snickered, “I don’t think I’ll like that as much as you.” Nevertheless Billy click, click, clicked through the rest of the pictures, leaving each on the screen for scant seconds, passing the shot of himself with his jeans dropped down, and leaving the bright glare of pure white light on the screen. “Aaah, turn it off!” Billy said, covering his eyes with his arm, so that his elbow formed a bridge over his nose. Once again, his smooth underarm was inches from Walt’s face, and Walt stared at that part of Billy’s anatomy for a second or two, before turning the small lamp on, and walking around the coffee table to turn the projector off. Billy uncovered his eyes, drinking more of his beer. “Why don’t you have a beer, too, and we’ll both get drunk!”

“Why do you want to get drunk, Billy?”

“Hey, I can handle one beer,” Billy insisted, “it’s you that needs to loosen up.”

“Why? What am I doing wrong?” Walt wanted to know. He was beginning to feel that he was getting in over his head. He certainly didn’t want to add alcohol to his confusion.

“This house all one story, right?” Billy asked, standing up. “The bathroom must be down here.” He started to walk in the right direction. “C’mon, show me, Walt.” Walt went down the hall, turned the light on in the bathroom for him, and backed out. Billy closed the door, and Walt could hear him peeing, so he walked down the hall towards the living room, so it wouldn’t look like he was listening, and Billy flushed and came out of the bathroom. Billy started down the hall towards Walt, but turned into Walt’s bedroom. Walt could see that he found the light switch in there. “Is this your bedroom? C’mon, Walt. Come in here.” Walt went in, where Billy was starting to undress. Billy smiled at him, and said, “You wanted me to get naked, right?”

“Is that what you want, Billy?”

“It don’t matter what I want,” Billy responded.

“It does to me, Billy. What do you want?”

“I want to fuck Jodie Foster, but she ain’t here. You’ll have to fuck me.”

“I didn’t say I wanted to do that,” Walt insisted.

“C’mon, no big deal. My father fucks me all the time.” Billy stared at the floor for a minute, then continued getting undressed. He held out his bruised arms, “See, he beats me up, and then he fucks me. Ever since my Mom died. Since I was nine.”

“I’m sorry, Billy,” Walt said, and he really was, no longer quite so afraid of Billy, but afraid for him. He felt that having sex with the boy would be adding to the abuse. “I don’t think I can do it.” Billy was completely naked now, and he sat on the edge of the bed. His penis was erect, and he looked down at it.

“When he comes in me, I can feel it, and I know it feels good for him, and maybe I’m fucked up, but that makes me feel good, too. I wanna feel that without getting beat up first.” Billy looked at Walt so sweetly, that Walt couldn’t say no. “I know you like me, Walt,” Billy said, “you got me turned on.” Walt sat next to Billy and put his arm over the boy’s shoulder, but Billy jerked away, hopping up into the bed and laying on his tummy, saying, “you got Vaseline or something? C’mon.”

So Walt got some K-Y jelly, got naked, and crawled in next to Billy, self conscious of his slim twenty seven year old frame. He knew, though, that a thirteen year old didn’t see a difference between a twenty seven year old man, or a fifty seven year old man, so he lubricated himself, and Billy. Billy didn’t look. Walt got on top of the boy and entered him slowly. Billy moaned.

“That didn’t hurt at all,” Billy whispered, “c’mon man, fuck me.” Walt’s disquiet probably made him last longer, which Billy apparently liked. The boy panted, moaned, and every now and again whispered, “yeah, mmm...” Walt could feel, after a while, Billy’s anal muscles begin to contract, rhythmically, and he knew the boy was coming. That made Walt come, too, shortly after Billy.

“Oh, Billy,” he whispered in the boy’s ear.

“Don’t pull out, leave it in me,” Billy mumbled with his eyes closed still. It wasn’t long, however, before Walt shriveled and plopped out. “Wake me up at one-thirty,” Billy whispered, laying quite still. Walt eventually got out of the bed, and went in the bathroom. He came back with a moist washcloth and dry towel, and he cleaned up Billy’s bottom. Billy kept his eyes closed and said nothing, but he smiled the smile of angels. After, Walt lay next to Billy, and caressed the smooth tender skin with his large, warm hands. Billy went “mmm...” like a purring kitten, and soon Walt realized the boy was snoring ever so lightly. He raised the temperature at the thermostat, so he wouldn’t have to cover the beautiful naked boy, and he could caress and cuddle his sleepy angel. Walt was careful not to fall asleep himself, and they lay together for nearly two hours. When Walt awakened Billy at one-thirty in the a.m., Billy quickly got dressed, and Walt just put on his bathrobe. Billy and Walt didn’t say much then, but Billy kept looking at Walt and smiling. “Don’t worry, Walt, I’m cool,” Billy finally said, patting Walt on the back. Billy stepped out onto the porch, and they both said, “see ya,” at the same time, before Billy ran off, vanishing into the darkness of Washington Street.

The hot, humid weeks of August often make the hours and days seem to progress more slowly, and Walt knew that waiting for a boy to visit only made things worse. Sometimes, the boy never returns. Walt hoped this wasn’t true of Tony, he could barely wait to see the boy again. Many questions had entered his mind since that night Tony brought Billy over, like did they plan to visit him after the fight, or was it a coincidence that they happened to be walking by that night? What most concerned Walt, though, was the one question that ate at his mind every morning, during the bus ride into Manhattan, ate at him all day at work, whether he was occupied with a new piece of graphic art, or just absent mindedly reworking an old job; a question which also ate at him on the bus ride home, and all through dinner and after, every night. That question was whether Tony imagined or intended that something erotic would happen between Walt and Billy. Did Tony plan it, or expect it; would he be pleased or shocked? Should Walt tell him, or deny it, even if asked?

To take his mind off his worries, Walt decided to treat himself to lunch downtown on Saturday, at his favorite luncheonette, where they served fantastic gourmet dinners at noontime, for the price of a New York sandwich. While there, he ran into the old church organist, whom he knew slightly, and they talked about Widor, Vierne, and Tournemire, organ music composers they both had a fondness for. Their musical conversation extended past the cash register and out onto the sidewalk, where the old organist paused in mid-sentence as a teen aged boy rode by on a skateboard, disappearing around the corner. Rather than thinking this odd, Walt took advantage of the opportunity to look at the pretty boy, hair lifting in the wind as he turned the corner. The old organist resumed his words in mid-sentence as if nothing had happened. Walt always felt there was an unspoken undercurrent to their relationship, and he suspected that the old organist liked boys the way he did. Organists and choir directors often do, but they are exceedingly reticent about it, understandably. Once again, that subject did not come up, and both parted afterwards with a friendly handshake. Walt stopped in Woolworth’s to buy a small comb, the kind teenagers often carry in their back pockets. He needed it to help clean hair out of his hairbrush, which is what he preferred using. Back at home, driving his truck into the garage, Walt recognized the need to mow the lawn had become obvious to any passers-by. He got the power mower out of the garage, and filled it with gas from a red can he also kept in the garage. After returning the red can to it’s spot out of the hot sun, Walt placed his foot on the mower and pulled the cord. Nothing happened. Sometimes it starts right up, sometimes it takes forever. Walt pulled again. Nothing. Once more he tried. Nothing. Exasperated, Walt stood straight up, arching his now aching back. That was when he saw Billy and his little brother, Bobby.

“Hi, Walt, can’t get it started?” Billy shouted, walking across the lawn with a smile on his face. Bobby walked along beside him.

“It seems to be temperamental sometimes,” Walt admitted.

“Let me try, I’m good with motors,” Billy claimed.

“He is,” Bobby concurred.

“Okay,” Walt conceded, stepping away from the mower to watch. Billy bent over the motor, running his hand around it, touching it, inspecting it; and he came to the carburetor, felt that, and then stood up. He grabbed the mower’s handle, tilting the entire mower to the side, so that the carburetor side was down and the mower was at about a forty five degree angle, and he held it there with one hand, while the other hand he held up in a fist, popping out one finger at a time, thumb first, the index finger next, and so on, while his little brother counted.

“One… two… three… four… five!” Bobby announced, and Billy let the mower back down to the ground, put his foot on the housing, and pulled the cord. Naturally, it roared to a start and kept running smoothly. Walt had to smile.

“Can I mow it for you?” Billy shouted over the mower’s roar.

“You don’t have to,” Walt shouted.

“Come on, please? You can pay me… I need the money.”

“Oh, alright,” Walt nodded.

“Give the squirt a Nehi!” Billy suggested, tilting his head towards Bobby. Walt looked at Bobby.

“You got orange?” the smaller boy asked. Walt nodded yes. “Alright!” the little guy shouted. They walked to the porch as Billy pushed the mower, and it’s noise, down the lawn toward the highway.

“You want to come in?” Walt asked.

“I’ll wait here,” Bobby said, and he sat on the top step of the porch. Walt went in, and brought out the Nehi for Bobby, and a Pepsi for himself. He sat on the edge of the porch, since Walt’s porch had no railing. Bobby was only about a foot away from him, on the top step, for his legs were too short for him to stand on the ground and sit back onto the porch floor. The little fellow’s bare knees stuck out in acute angle to each other, his shorts affording Walt a view of the subtle, but wonderful curve of his thigh, and on the far leg, Walt could see the gentle ess curve of the back of the boys thigh, from the back of his knee sweeping up toward his red cloth covered crotch. When Walt was a boy, no boy would be caught dead in red shorts. Although Bobby was too young, too little, for Walt to feel the magical arousal of adolescent eroticism, still he could see the beauty of a small boy; and he wondered why most people that oohed and aahed over babies and little girls, kept quiet about boys. Couldn’t they see how pretty they are?

“I cut my knee with an Exacto knife… by mistake,” Bobby explained, and Walt realized he had been staring. Fortunately, Bobby took it the wrong way.

“That would be a mistake,” Walt agreed, asking “how’d it happen?”

“I was chopping up a model car, so I could build it over again different,” the little guy explained, “but the knife slipped.”

“Ouch!” Walt commiserated. Bobby grinned.

“It didn’t hurt much,” the tyke confessed, “I just spit on it, and rubbed the blood off.”

“Spitting is good,” Walt agreed, “cleans the wound.”

“Dog spit is best,” Bobby said, “but we ain’t got a dog.”

“That’s too bad,” Walt said, smiling, “and just when you need one.”

“Ha!” Bobby laughed, “you’re funny, Walt!” The boy obviously knew his leg was being pulled, figuratively, and enjoyed the humor. Walt felt like he had gotten an injection of happiness. Each was suddenly comfortable with the other, and took long drinks from their perspiring pop bottles, watching Billy mow the lawn. Walt didn’t know how much he should pay Billy, he had always done the mowing himself. Billy was doing a very good job of it, though, carefully overlapping each pass of the mower with the previous one, getting in close to the neighbor’s hedge, and picking up the ubiquitous McDonald’s wrappers that are inevitable on a highway, rather than just shredding them with the mower. Walt figured ten bucks, but he also knew he was a soft touch when it came to boys. Maybe he would ask Billy first, to see if his ideas were in line with the boy’s. “I mow the lawn at home sometimes,” Bobby suddenly said, bringing Walt out of a reverie, “and if I mess up, Billy fixes it, so my father doesn’t get mad at me.”

“Does your father get mad a lot?” Walt asked the little fellow, remembering what Billy had told him about getting beaten.

“He never been mad at me,” Bobby said, “Billy makes sure I do everything right, so he just gets mad at Billy.”

“Why, what does Billy do wrong?” Walt asked.

“I don’t know, stays out too late, I think,” Bobby guessed.

“But doesn’t your father stay out late, too?”

“Yeah, but he knows,” Bobby explained, “he knows everything.” By now, Billy had disappeared down the side yard, past the garage, and was evidently mowing the back yard, by the sound of it.

“Do you think your father hits Billy?” Walt asked Bobby, and Bobby just nodded his head yes, seriously. The little guy thought for a minute before speaking.

“When he comes home real drunk, he spanks Billy,” he whispered, “but if he’s real, real, really drunk, he falls asleep on the couch, and everything’s okay when he wakes up. If it’s a Saturday, he makes pancakes for breakfast.”

“I wish your father didn’t get drunk so much,” Walt said, “I bet Billy doesn’t do half the things he’s punished for.”

“Yes he does,” Bobby said, “but he never gets caught. My father just knows.”

“Why do you say that? What does Billy do?” asked Walt.

“You know… steals stuff, spray paints bad words,” Bobby just shrugged his shoulders. Walt wanted to dismiss this as boyish pranks, but in his heart he knew that the boy who slept on his bed last Tuesday evening was troubled and, for Walt, dangerous. Still, he didn’t want to believe these pranks serious.

“What does he steal, candy from Gorman’s?” Walt asked.

“Mmm,” Bobby agreed, nodding his head, “and a necklace and some jewelry from his girlfriend, at least she’s supposed to be his girlfriend, when she wasn’t looking, and a guitar from a black guy, and tapes from a car parked at Jack’s bar that wasn’t locked,” Bobby’s voice trailed off, and he shrugged his shoulders again, adding, “you know, stuff like that.”

“Why does he do that?”

“You know, money,” Bobby grinned conspiratorially, “and smoke.”

“He shouldn’t smoke,” Walt said. Bobby smiled like Walt told a joke or something. “That kind of smoke either,” Walt added.

“You are funny, Walt,” Bobby laughed. Walt reached out and tousled Bobby’s hair, and the boy reacted immediately, pulling away. “Cut it out!” he angrily shouted, and Walt regretted what he had done, instantly realizing that a man’s desire to fondle a little boy is rarely what the boy wants.

“I’m sorry, Bobby,” Walt said right away, and then, remembering the comb he had just bought at Woolworth’s, he took it from his shirt pocket and handed it to the boy. It was wrapped in paper still. “Here… here’s a comb… I just bought it… you keep it.” Bobby took the paper wrapped comb, unwrapped it, and handed the paper back to Walt. He looked at the short black comb with gold leaf like lettering that said “ACE,” and he looked back at Walt, and finally he smiled again. He brusquely pulled the comb through his honey blond hair.

“Thanks, Walt,” he said.

The sound of the lawn mower had stopped, and Walt became curious about what Billy was up to in the back yard. “Let’s see what happened to your brother,” he said to Bobby. They both jumped up and walked down the side of the house to the back yard, where the lawnmower stood idle without Billy. Just then, Billy stepped out from behind the garage, zipping his fly. “You coulda gone in the house,” Walt said.

“Nah, I’m all full of dust and grass and shit, I don’t wanna fuck up your house,” Billy said.

“I gotta pee, too,” Bobby said.

“Go in the house, jerk,” Billy told him.

“I wanna pee behind the garage,” Bobby complained, turning and appealing to Walt, “can I, Walt?”

“Sure, go ahead,” Walt said.

“Don’t peek,” Bobby asked.

“Shut up jerk! Just go!” Billy told him.

“We won’t peek,” Walt promised. The little guy walked off behind the garage, and Walt looked at Billy. “How much do I owe you?”

“How much do you think I’m worth?” Billy grinned, seeming to mean more than just lawnmowing. Walt smiled, too.

“I can’t afford that much, Billy,” Walt jested. “How about ten bucks?” He pulled a ten from his wallet, and Billy snatched it, his smiling eyes looking right into Walt’s.

“That’s cool,” he said.

“You sure that’s enough? I don’t want to rip you off.”

“Nah, that’s cool, really,” Billy repeated.

“Why don’t you come over some night?” Walt asked, and looking to make sure Bobby hadn’t returned yet, whispered, “I want to suck your cock.”

“Maybe,” Billy replied, and checking behind for Bobby, too, whispered, “maybe if you do the other, I might let you have a taste.”

“Mmm,” hummed Walt, “sounds delicious!” Billy laughed.

“You’re messed up, Walt!” he said. Bobby appeared from behind the garage, zipping up just like his brother had done.

“What sounds delicious?” the little guy asked.

“Hot dogs!” Billy laughed, “Walt thinks hot dogs are delicious!”

“Yuck!” Bobby grimaced, “we’re not having hot dogs tonight!”

“It’s Saturday, jerk, what’d ya think we’re having?” Billy asked.

“Why can’t we have pizza?”

“Costs money, that’s why.”

“Won’t your father be home?” Walt asked them both.

“The captain takes the party boat out three miles every Saturday. They don’t get back ‘til after midnight,” Billy said.

“Who’s the captain?” Walt asked.

“Our father!” both boys said at once.

“Oh,” Walt said taking his wallet out again, “well let me buy you a pizza for tonight.”

“C’mon, Walt, you don’t gotta do that,” Billy said.

“I don’t got to, I want to,” Walt said, and handed Billy another seven dollars.

“How come you’re buying us pizza?” Bobby asked, “you coming over, too?”

“He wants your hot dog, squirt,” Billy joked, “you gotta come back later and bring Walt your hot dog.”

“Really?” Bobby spun round and looked at Walt, who smiled while shaking his head no.

“Not this year, Bobby, maybe in a couple years,” Walt went along with Billy’s joke, and Billy roared with laughter. “there’s still one hot dog from the other night I didn’t finish yet,” Walt continued, and Billy laughed even harder.

“I don’t get it. What’s so funny?” Bobby asked.

“Hey, Walt, you like brown hot dogs?” Billy giggled.

“Chocolate dipped, or naturally brown?” Walt asked in return, and Billy laughed more.

“Yuck, you sure must like hot dogs,” Bobby said, and both Billy and Walt laughed. Bobby laughed, too.

Walt offered a soft drink to the boys and Billy wanted one, but said he’d wait outside. While Walt went in to get it, he could hear the boys talking on the porch.

“How much’t ya get?” the little guy asked, with the inevitable reply from Billy.

“None of your beeswax.”

When Walt came out and handed him the bottle, Billy guzzled the Nehi in short order, and belched loudly. Bobby laughed and Walt smiled, too.

“We better go, the captain stops in, between cruises, and we’re supposed to be there, so…” He handed the bottle back to Walt, and the two boys set off down the highway toward Washington Street, with a shouted “see ya!” from both, and “thanks!”

“Thank you Billy, see you guys!” Walt inspected the nearly empty bottle he held, looking at the dusty fingerprints, and at the droplet of Billy’s spittle on the mouth of the bottle. A quarter of an ounce of orange soda still swirled in the bottom of the bottle. Walt touched the mouth to his, feeling the wet spit on his lips, and he could imagine kissing Billy. He tilted the bottle back and drank in the taste of warm, flat orange soda. It was very sweet.