Everything About You

I was doubtful he needed more beer but then, since neither of us drove, we didn’t have a limit tonight. “Beer or air first?”

“I need to piss.”

I rolled my eyes. “You can piss outside in the bushes while you’re sucking in fresh air.”

“Good idea. You’re so smart, Roooow-nan.”

“Damn skippy.” I tugged his arm and he followed me. “I found a good bush along the side of the neighbor’s house. We can both use that.”

“Good idea. You’re so smart, Roooow-nan.”

Why was he dragging out my full name? And repeating himself? “Maybe you don’t need another beer. We should find Jack and call it a night.”

“No.”

“T, there are parties all weekend, every weekend. It’s not like this is the last college party you’ll ever attend. And we both drank enough to make it worth the money we spent.”

“Don’t bother Jack. He’s prolly getting laid.”

That was a given since I witnessed the hike up the stairs, but I doubted Jack needed more than ten minutes. If that.

We somehow worked our way through the thick of drunk college students and outside without crushed toes or bruises. I still had a hold of Tate’s forearm so I didn’t lose him along the way, and I used it to guide him across the front yard littered with beer bottles, red Solo cups and who knew what else—I certainly didn’t want to look too closely—to the narrow gap separating the two houses. It was a perfect spot to relieve our bladders since it was dark and there were plenty of bushes.

“Roe!” he yelled, even though he was walking right beside me in the tight space.

“Shh!” I hushed him. “We don’t want the neighbor to see us watering their bushes.” More like killing their bushes with our beer-infused urine.

“Neighbors prolly inside at the party.”

They probably were. Otherwise, the cops would’ve broken up the party hours ago, but I didn’t know that for sure.

I stopped at the halfway point between the front and the back yards and used Tate’s arm like a rudder to maneuver him around to face the bushes. I pointed. “Point and shoot, dude. Just don’t piss all over your shoes.”

Tate glanced down. “They’re sneakers.”

“Don’t piss all over your sneakers,” I corrected, already working on opening my zipper and digging for my cock. After I pulled it out and aimed, but before I told my bladder to let loose, I glanced over at Tate. He was staring at me in the dark, but not making a move to piss.

“T, do I need to help you or something?” I wasn’t opposed to it, but Tate might be.

He shook his head and even in the dark, I could see a thick lock of dark hair fall across his forehead. I fought the temptation to push it off his face and instead concentrated on relieving my bladder.

I snuck a few glances over at Tate to make sure he was doing what he needed to do. He had snapped into action and was finally draining his snake. For a brief moment, I was jealous of his hand.

I shook my dick off and tucked it away, super careful not to get it caught in the zipper. Do it once and you’ll never do it again. Guaranteed.

When my equipment was safely stowed away, I turned back to see Tate rocking back and forth on his feet, still pissing but with his head tilted back.

He was going to lose his damn balance as pickled as he was.

He released a long, low groan, most likely in relief, and then did a few wild shakes of his cock. It made me take a step back in case of splatter.

“You got it?” I asked as he only released his baby python instead of putting it away.

He glanced down like he forgot what he was doing, nodded and finally managed to zip up without injury.

I took a step closer. “You sure you don’t want to go? If we can’t find Jack, we can call a taxi or something.”

I didn’t have money for a taxi, but I was sure Tate did. Over the past few weeks I’d learned that, unlike me, who relied on financial aid, scholarships and student loans along with my shitty paying job, Tate’s parents were flush enough to put him through school one hundred percent. They simply wrote a check for his tuition. Not even a post-dated one.

They also paid the rent on his apartment every month and gave him an allowance for food or whatever else he needed.

They were hardly strapped for cash. His father was some sort of banker who made the big bucks and when Tate had showed me a picture of their home, I first thought it was a small resort.

It wasn’t.

The thing about Tate was, if he hadn’t mentioned it in a roundabout way, I never would’ve guessed he came from an affluent family. He wasn’t cocky. He didn’t flaunt his status. He didn’t even wield it as a weapon as some other rich students tended to do. He didn’t wear expensive clothes, watches or anything that would make him stand out. He rode a bike and didn’t have a car.