Trailer Trash(38)

Nate’s dad hadn’t come about what happened in the field. That was a relief. And Cody’s mom had stood up for him. That had been nice too. But he couldn’t help but think that if he hadn’t already ruined everything with Nate, the visit from the police would have put an end to their friendship anyway.



Nate’s entire week was miserable. His dad was starting to harass him about college. Nate had applications for several universities in the Chicago area stuffed into a folder in his desk drawer. Most of them needed to be sent in by the first of February, but he hadn't filled out a single one. He had a hard time picturing himself at any of them, and he couldn’t seem to focus enough to crank out the required paperwork and entrance essays.

He had a hard time focusing on anything but his disturbing sexual problems, really.

Cody continued to avoid him, and Nate did the same, taking refuge with the Grove residents. Homecoming was less than a month away. Back in Texas, his homecoming had been in early October, but at Walter Warren High School, it was held in late November, the weekend before Thanksgiving. The hallways and classrooms were abuzz over who was going with who, and who would be crowned king and queen. Flowers and balloons appeared daily as boys made their moves, inviting whichever girls they fancied. Nate sat still and silent in social studies while his so-called friends joked and laughed about what they’d wear and whether or not they’d be able to sneak in alcohol. He couldn’t bring himself to look over at Cody, but he didn’t miss the glares Logan threw his way every time they passed in the hallway.

“You know a kid named Cody?” his dad asked him on Tuesday night. “Is that who you were hanging around with at the end of the summer?”

Nate’s heart seemed to miss a beat. He tried to swallow, but his mouth was too dry. “Yeah. Why?”

“I don’t want you seeing that boy anymore.”

The phrase “seeing that boy” felt loaded with innuendo. Nate scrambled, wondering if his dad somehow knew what had happened. “Why?”

“You don’t need to be friends with kids like him, that’s all.”

Kids like him. That phrase felt loaded as well.

“Don’t worry,” Nate said, feeling as if his heart might break. “Cody and I haven’t really been friends since school started, anyway.”

It was true enough that their friendship was over, but no matter how hard he tried, Nate couldn’t stop thinking about the things Cody had said, or about how good it had felt to let Cody touch him. It wasn’t supposed to be like that. He was supposed to think about girls when he masturbated, not boys. One evening, he locked himself in his bedroom and pulled out the Playboy magazine he’d stolen from a friend’s house back in Texas. He refused to let himself think about Cody as he did it. He focused on those beautiful women as he stroked, forcing himself to imagine it was one of them touching him.

It worked, more or less.

He felt better after his orgasm, although his hands shook as he slid the magazine back between the mattress and the box spring. He knew, in some deep corner of his mind, that he didn’t enjoy looking at it as much as some of his friends back home had.

Maybe it was too clean. Maybe the women were just too polished, or too refined. Maybe if he had one of those other magazines—the ones his friend Mike had told him about during a sleepover, his voice a hushed whisper as he described how those women looked between their legs—maybe then Nate would find them more exciting. He’d never seen that part of a girl before, not counting the cartoonish black-and-white drawing in his health textbook back in ninth grade. The most he’d seen was the triangle of hair up front. Maybe if he could see those secret folds of flesh, he’d react the way he was supposed to. Maybe seeing those ladies with their legs spread would make him as anxious and aroused as his friends.

He had to find out. He had to find a way to get one of those magazines. Or . . .

There was another possibility. One he was almost afraid to think about, but which couldn’t be denied.

Maybe he needed to see the real thing. He was almost eighteen now, after all. At least half of his friends back home had lost their virginity already, and he was pretty sure everybody from the Grove was more experienced than him. Losing his virginity here in Wyoming seemed a lot easier than it had in Texas.

He tried to picture it. Maybe in the backseat of his Mustang with Jennifer Parker or Christine Lucero. He tried to imagine kissing one of them, unbuttoning her jeans, sliding his hand inside to explore that warm place between her thighs. It was an exciting thought. He was relieved at the gentle twinge in his groin. See? he told himself triumphantly. Women turn me on too!