But I didn’t have time to worry about that. Mr. Anderson managed to get a leg between his body and Dad, and with a tremendous grunt flipped Dad over him! Dad landed flat on his back with a huge THUD!, but before I could do more than utter a horrified gasp, he’d rolled onto his stomach and gotten back into a fighting crouch, while Mr. Anderson did the same. The two men began to circle, their eyes wary, their hands up and ready.
“My father’s going to pound yours into the mat, Taylor,” I heard Anderson say next to me.
I flushed. The last thing I needed was for Anderson to see the effect our fathers’ fight was having on me. I started to turn away, but he grabbed my arm and pulled me to face him. I involuntarily looked down…but before my eyes could get to the stain spreading on my singlet, they were caught and held by the stain on the front of Anderson’s singlet, and the fact that he was rock hard.
“Yeah,” he said, following my look, “me, too.”
Out of the corner of my eye I saw our fathers throw themselves at each other again, but my attention was on Anderson. “Well, you’re fucking dreaming,” I said, “because my father’s going to turn yours into cole slaw.”
“Wanna bet?” Anderson shot back.
“Absolutely!”
An evil glint came into Anderson’s eye. “Fine,” he said. “Whoever’s father loses has to take care of the other one.” And he let his gaze drift downward, where both of us still had raging wood.
I stared at him. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”
He shrugged dismissively. “You’re eighteen. I’m eighteen. And I want to see you on your fucking knees.”
A shout of pain made us both look sharply at the mat. Dad had Mr. Anderson in a headlock and was cranking it for all he was worth.
“Fine,” I said. “Shake on it.”
I extended my hand. Anderson, with a now slightly nervous glance at the mat, took it and squeezed it a lot harder than was necessary. I squeezed back; no way was I going to give him an inch.
And then Anderson pulled me close to him so that his mouth was right next to my ear, and whispered, in a low growl, “And believe me, asshole—I’m going to make you choke once my father kicks your father’s fat ass.”
JiminQueens2 (51)
30.4.2014 18:00But I didn’t have time to worry about that. Mr. Anderson managed to get a leg between his body and Dad, and with a tremendous grunt flipped Dad over him! Dad landed flat on his back with a huge THUD!, but before I could do more than utter a horrified gasp, he’d rolled onto his stomach and gotten back into a fighting crouch, while Mr. Anderson did the same. The two men began to circle, their eyes wary, their hands up and ready.
“My father’s going to pound yours into the mat, Taylor,” I heard Anderson say next to me.
I flushed. The last thing I needed was for Anderson to see the effect our fathers’ fight was having on me. I started to turn away, but he grabbed my arm and pulled me to face him. I involuntarily looked down…but before my eyes could get to the stain spreading on my singlet, they were caught and held by the stain on the front of Anderson’s singlet, and the fact that he was rock hard.
“Yeah,” he said, following my look, “me, too.”
Out of the corner of my eye I saw our fathers throw themselves at each other again, but my attention was on Anderson. “Well, you’re fucking dreaming,” I said, “because my father’s going to turn yours into cole slaw.”
“Wanna bet?” Anderson shot back.
“Absolutely!”
An evil glint came into Anderson’s eye. “Fine,” he said. “Whoever’s father loses has to take care of the other one.” And he let his gaze drift downward, where both of us still had raging wood.
I stared at him. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”
He shrugged dismissively. “You’re eighteen. I’m eighteen. And I want to see you on your fucking knees.”
A shout of pain made us both look sharply at the mat. Dad had Mr. Anderson in a headlock and was cranking it for all he was worth.
“Fine,” I said. “Shake on it.”
I extended my hand. Anderson, with a now slightly nervous glance at the mat, took it and squeezed it a lot harder than was necessary. I squeezed back; no way was I going to give him an inch.
And then Anderson pulled me close to him so that his mouth was right next to my ear, and whispered, in a low growl, “And believe me, asshole—I’m going to make you choke once my father kicks your father’s fat ass.”