By Chris Carr
Copyright © 05/02/2016
Ok, Trey’s probably a better b-ball player than me but no way I’m going to let him know that. I mean, my reputation’s on the line, ya feel me? Trey’s talkin’ trash though. Nigga this and nigga that, pounding his fist in his hand and swearing a beat down. That’s all good, but I still got some moves left, nahmean?
First time I played him, we were at the park. I’m lookin’ at this skinny, quiet kid and thinkin’ ‘this’ll be easy’.
"Play you again!" I said and we went another round. Trey’s nothin’ like he looks, though. The boy’s got skills. He ducked under me, leaped over me and just played me like a fool. We got this kinda, thing, going where I know he’s going to usually win but I always try to beat him. Sometimes I actually win and Trey has to listen to me poppin’ suspendas and all but, then he turns around and beats me again and shuts me up.
I’m more the cerebral type, feel me? I got all the hookups online and know all the hotspots. Trey just looks over my shoulder, amazed at what I find or do. "Wait, what’s that!" He’ll holla, tryin’ to check out a site I’ve seen a thousand times. Kinda funny, the way I have to slow down when he’s around.
"So we gon’ do this?" I asked. Trey’s bouncing his ball and doesn’t say anything. He always does that. I keep waiting, then he gives me this silly smirk and I know… it’s on.
"Ok, this is how it goes. We each get three shots." He bounces the ball to me and I bounce it back to him. "No leanin’ in towards the basket, no, standing on your toes or any other kind of cheatin’. Cool?" He looks up at the basket, then bounces, once, twice.
"Cool," he finally says, bouncing it back to me. "But… who decides?"
"The winner," I say, tossing a shot at the basket.
"That don’t count," I say when it misses.
Trey’s about to kick my ass, I think.
Heart’s beatin’ all fast and my palms are gettin’ sweaty, but I ain’t lettin’ him see.
"Ok, let’s shoot for firsties," I say, lining up beneath the basket.
Trey’s lookin’ at me… I can feel him, standin’ over there, staring…
And it makes me nervous but I concentrate and shoot.
He throws me that li’l devious smirk as he runs after the ball but I ain’t stressin’, even though I really wanted to be first. He steps to the line and shoots. Swoosh, nothin’ but net. He quickly follows that with another shot.
I look away, tryin’ to play it cool as he takes his third shot. Course, he makes that one too and it’s not lookin’ good.
He’s wearing that silly smirk again.
"Com’on Trey, get it over with."
He bounces the ball a couple of times then looks around the yard.
He doesn’t have a clue.
I should’ve won first but I didn’t.
Just when I start to get impatient, he wanders over to mom’s vegetable garden.
I feel something stupid coming.
"Eat this," he says, pulling a green tomato from a vine. See, stoo-pid! He’s won the first round and could tell me to walk around the yard butt naked but he tells me to eat a raw tomato. He won, fair and square though, so I pop the green ball in my mouth. Trey laughs at me when my eyes bug and my face turns green but I swallow, getting it over with. I gotta win the next round.
A few minutes later, we’re at the vegetable garden again and I’m starting to think I’ll be sick for dinner. Trey looks over the different plants, finally deciding on the yellow squash.
"Aw com’on Trey, you know I hate squash," I protest but he ain’t lettin’ up so I take it and take a bite. Yuck! Squash is even nastier, raw!
As I choke down the last few bites, Trey smirks, then heads back to the basket. This is not going the way I’d planned. Trey aims, shoots, and, of course he makes it. Thinking I’ve made a grave mistake, I watch as he aims for his next shot.
Maybe his confidence was rattled by that miss or maybe the gods gave me a break but, to my surprise, Trey missed again. Watching the ball sail past the backboard, well under the basket, I could hardly believe my luck. It was my turn to gloat. My turn to watch him squirm.
Trey stared at the ball, amazed he’d missed that second shot. Long after it’d stopped against the wall, he was still staring at it.
"Hey," I said, tapping him on the shoulder. He looked up, still distracted. "My turn."
"Man, no freaky stuff," He quickly qualified.
"Too late. You should’ve said that before the game. My turn," I repeated.
He hunched his shoulders, feigning indifference as he toed his foot at a rock. "Hmmm, lemme see," I taunted, walking around him. "How ‘bout…how ‘bout, we go in the garage and…"
"And what?" Trey said, defensive.
"You’ll see," I said, heading for the garage. He reluctantly followed, hands in his pockets, head down. I loved it!
In the dim light of our family garage, we squared off, Trey’s hands still shoved in his pocket, his eyes refusing to look at mine. He’s taller than me, his body trim and lean, so I have to look slightly up. He knew me, knew me well. I suppose we’d been practicing for this all along. The suggestive talk and the silly dares. But, it took me so long to decide, Trey finally glanced up to see what I was doing. Ok, here goes…
"Take it out," I said, my voice so shaky it cracked on the last word...
We took our places under the
basket again and, to my surprise, Trey missed. He glanced at me as the ball
bounced idly across the grass, then ran to get it. Could happen to anyone, his
face said as he aimed again. Pacing himself, he eyed the basket, then, woosh,
the ball took off, falling just short of the basket. Immediately, he looked at
me, shocked. I smiled, heading for the garage.
He was still standing under the basket when I reached the side entrance. He looked up at the basket, then at me, finally trudging across the yard.
In the shadows he faced me, awaiting his fate but I wasn’t as hesitant this time.
"Take your pants down and show me your ass," I decreed. "And…" I added, "you have to pull our ass open so I can see your asshole." Trey’s eyes bugged and his face screwed into a grimace. You have GOT to be kidding, it said.
"You nasty," He assailed. "Ugggh, that’s nasty! Why I gotta do that, Marcel?"
"We made a bet, Trey. We said, ‘whoever wins, the other one have to do whatever he say’. Com’on nigga, you was all for it when you was making me eat dirt."
He stared at me for a long time, debating whether he still wanted to play, I guess. But, it seemed like I saw a bulge in his pants. I can’t be sure, but, it seemed like it. Trey hissed, then sucked air through his teeth, sort of like he might be mad, but finally, he unbuttoned his jeans and shoved his thumbs inside the top of his boxers. Turning slowly around, he lowered them, revealing his smooth, chocolate brown ass. I’m sure he wanted to yank them right up, but I’d added the ‘crack-the-ass’ clause and he was stuck.
Blowing an angry hiss again, he reached behind himself and grabbed double handfuls of ass...
This was really getting weird. What’d started out as a simple challenge between friends had turned into this private battle. Who’d win next and what devious thing could they dream up for the other to do?
Trey hummed his tune again as I took my turn and on the second shot, I missed. When I missed the third shot, Trey hustled to get the ball, running back to take his shot. Bam! It went right in and suddenly, I became worried. Trey had it in for me and there was no telling what he’d make me do. Making his next shot, he glared at me with great satisfaction, not even worrying to retrieve the ball.
"Myyy turn," He gloated, thrusting his chest out. "Com’on, sucka!"
But he didn’t head for the vegetable garden. Nor did he hunt down fresh doggy turds. Instead, he headed for the garage. Feeling both excited and anxious, I reluctantly followed. Before I could get inside, he’d already opened his pants and was pushing them and his boxers down.
Suck his dick? Oh, this would be easy! Heck, I might even… He was turning around. His pants well below his pert ass, he reached back and grabbed double handfuls of ass cheeks again.
"Lick my asshole," He snapped.
Lick his ass-hole?!
This game ain't hardly over...
Who wins next and what devious thing will they dream up for the other to do?