The Birches

Chapter 1-2

Leo had just started to jerk-off when his father knocked on the bathroom door and called out to him. “Hey, Kiddo, when you’re done with the shower, you wanna share a pizza?”

“Shit.” He looked down at his c**k and the warm water cascading off his tired body. “Umm yeah, that’s fine, Dad,” he said a little too loud, water getting in his mouth.

“How about some wings, too?” his father called out.

Leo’s erection had completely disappeared. He sighed, laid his head against the wet tile and said, “Yeah, Dad, whatever.” The tension he had so hoped to release seemed to fall back behind some inner reserve.

By the time he finished washing and got out of the bathroom, his father had gone to get the pizza. Leo threw on some shorts and a T-shirt and padded around barefoot to the couch, where he collapsed without putting the television on. The house was quiet, the fans were going, and it felt pleasantly cool. It had been a long day, his frustrations had boiled over and now, somewhat relaxed, he realized he owed Ollie a phone call and an apology.

Leo was so tired that the thought of having to get up to get the phone felt exhausting; luckily his father rarely returned the cordless to its receiver, which was resting on the cushion beside him. Leo dialed Ollie’s number, laid his head back against the couch and closed his eyes. He knew Ollie would be pissed. This was one of many apologetic phone calls Leo had made to his friend since starting at the academy.

Ollie answered. “Yeah?”

Leo could already hear the anger in his friend’s voice.

“It’s Leo. Man, I’m sorry about earlier. I was a total f*****g d**k to you.” Leo paused, waiting for Ollie to say something. When Ollie didn’t respond, Leo added, “I’m just batshit over these classes. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

Still nothing from Ollie.

Leo opened his eyes and stared at the shadows on the ceiling. He wasn’t sure how much more he could say. “Oliver, come on man, you can’t stay mad at me. I can’t get through this without someone to freak out on.” He tried laughing, but realized it wasn’t funny.

“You really need to chill the f**k out,” Ollie finally said. Leo could still here the edge in his friend’s voice.

“I know, I’m sorry, I’m really sorry.” Leo felt his hand reach down and caress his c**k and was surprised to find he was getting hard; he needed to c*m.

“You always are, Leo,” Ollie replied crisply. “Why can’t it ever be enough with you? I know Hueller said you’re a star, so why can’t that be enough. You’re meringues were perfect—”

“I don’t want to talk about it, Ollie,” Leo cut in. Just the mention of his cooking abilities threatened to bring his earlier frustrations back to life and deflate his c**k. Twice in one day, he lost his hard-on. He really was losing it. He wondered if he’d ever get off.

“It’s not about the meringues, it’s something inside,” Leo said as he sat up and was about to say more, but heard his father at the door making a racquet. “I gotta go. You wanna grab breakfast tomorrow before class?” When Ollie didn’t reply, Leo quickly added, “On me.”

“Meet me tomorrow at The Birches,” Ollie said, the cruel edge in his voice finally toned down.

“That place out on Old Century? Looks like an old house? That place any good?”

“Just be there, Leo. s**t, every meal has to be an event with you.” Ollie hung up and Leo was left staring at his father, who was staring back him.

“You really need to lighten up, Leo,” he said before putting the pizza box down on the kitchen counter and then turning to grab a couple of plates from the dish rack behind him.

“Yeah, I got it, Dad. I got it.” Leo opened the box and was about to take a slice then thought better of it and went to the cabinet, where he got some herbed olive oil and red pepper. “You want some parmesan?” he asked, opening the refrigerator and grabbing a hunk of the strong smelling cheese.

“No, I don’t put all that crap on it, just grab me a beer while you’re in there,” his father answered.

Leo watched his father sit, then take a huge bite of the greasy pizza, some sauce spilling on his shirt.

Leo grabbed the beers and the cheese and joined his father at the kitchen table. They ate in relative silence.

“Pizza good?” his father asked over a second slice. Leo knew his father had been watching him eat and nodded under his father’s knowing gaze.

“It’s okay to admit you like greasy pizza, Leo, you’re not that far above it. You can add your flavored oil and fancy cheese, but underneath it all you like the taste, you always have, even when you were a kid, you liked this pizza.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Leo mumbled as he grabbed another slice. He reached for the oil but stopped and took a big unadulterated bite, much to his father’s approval. The pleasure he got from the pizza was the closest he had come to release all day. He closed his eyes and let the simple, yet aromatic smell of the pizza fill his nose; the taste of the oily cheese, the tart sauce that there never seemed enough of. He exhaled after he swallowed and felt a big smile begin to form.

“There ya go.” his father said through a laugh. “That’s the look I remember. Your mom loved to feed you, hell, she loved to feed everyone. She rarely left the kitchen; you’d have thought I chained her in there. But, you know me,” he continued, “I was okay with meat and potatoes, but your mom and then you both had this gourmet thing. I was just along for the ride. You remember that shrimp and pork soup she made that one time?” he asked as he swiped absently at the sauce on his shirt.

“She made it once and then couldn’t find the recipe,” Leo added to the story. He liked talking about his mom, especially when it came to her cooking. “It was so good, I remember the way it tasted, I think she made that for some party she was throwing.”

“Probably,” his father said wistfully. “Your mom was something special, wasn’t she?”

Leo nodded. “That she was.”

They both fell silent, memories threatening to overwhelm them. His father finally stood and began cleaning up. “Go to bed, kid, you got another long day tomorrow.”

“Let me do it, Dad, go sit down.” Leo finished his last bite, stood up and began putting stuff away, but his father stopped him.

“Hey, I said I got it. You’re beat, go to bed.”

“Alright, big guy, you win. Tomorrow night I’ll cook.” Leo patted his dad on the shoulder then headed to his room, his belly full and his heart aching.

He turned the light on by his bed, stripped down and stood in front of the full-length mirror leaning against the wall. He c****d his head to the side so his mess of blondish brown curls toppled over his ear. His hair had always been wild, no matter how short he cut it; it was always unruly so somewhere along the line he let it grow. It was definitely too long now and he would cut it before he would ever put it in a ponytail. His habits in the kitchen being what they are, people were often surprised by Leo’s laid back physical appearance; his messy hair, his often times scruffy face—he hated shaving—and while he dressed impeccably, his clothes were usually comfortable and hid his lean, muscular body as if he was ashamed of his frame. Now, staring at himself, he realized he was a good-looking guy. He had gained a few pounds since starting the academy, but the extra weight only made him look more filled out. He had his father’s deep, brown eyes and his mother’s generous mouth and sturdy European bone structure. He patted his still flat, although full, belly and flexed a little before feeling the same insecurities he felt in the kitchen begin to creep in.

Perfect, you are perfect baby, you’re special. He heard his mother’s voice in his head and as hard as he tried, he wanted to believe that he was special, that he could be perfect, but something wouldn’t let him believe it. There was something wrong with him, something inside that seemed to want to sabotage his dreams. He tried not to look in the mirror anymore, but couldn’t help getting a glimpse of the disappointment on his face before he shut the light off and lay quietly in his dark room.