Golden Boy Read Online Free Page A

and wait, watching him.
    Hunter nods. ‘Of course you don’t. Nobody wants to see that, do they?’
    I wait. He pinches the skin of my waist hard between his forefinger and thumb. ‘Do they, Max?’
    I shake my head again and mouth, ‘ No .’
    We have reached a sort of impasse. We understand I’m not to move, and I’m not to call out. Or in any case, I don’t move. I don’t call out. We stare at each other, straight in the eye, as Hunter moves forward, on top of me. He bends my legs into V-shapes and presses the knees down so I’m flat on the bed, my legs far apart. It feels so strange to be so exposed. It’s the first time, I realise, in my entire life, I have lain in this way, utterly spread beneath someone.
    He moves his hips forward quickly, and stuffs something hard and long further into me. His penis – I think, as if it could have been something else and the thought has just come to me. I feel a horrible stretching in my crotch and sick rises in my stomach and throat.
    I let out a staggered cry, the breath escaping over my teeth. ‘Uh-oh-oh.’
    ‘Tight,’ Hunter mutters coldly, like a scientist. Then, almost apologetically: ‘Bit dry. Don’t suppose you get wet, do you?’ He’s trying to keep his cool. But his lips are trembling.
    I speak without thinking. ‘I don’t know.’
    ‘It’ll get better.’
    He shoves again, deeper, and I gasp in pain. The pain is . . . unbearable. Explicit. Nauseating. Constant. Rising and falling slightly with each thrust.
    I’m not made for this. I’m not built wide enough. He’s too big. He’s too big. The stretching snaps, stops, and turns to splitting. I can feel skin tearing down there. He leans over me, his breath hot, smelling of breath mints and beer. I feel sicker.
    Hunter closes his eyes, turns his face into my neck and moans. ‘Oh,’ he mutters, moving in and out of me. ‘Oh my god.’
    I can’t close my eyes. I just don’t do anything. I lie there, a blank. I lie there as he kisses my neck, sucking at my skin. I lie there like a blow-up doll, my mouth open, moving up and down on the bedsheets while Hunter presses my legs down and moves back and forth into me. He raises his head and looks down to where he is entering me. I can’t see it. I’m lying back. I don’t want to see it, but I look where he’s looking instinctually. My dick is flopping lifelessly as he pounds at me. I think about how it must feel to be a big, strong guy with a big dick and the ability to walk into any room and know you could overpower and take anyone you wanted. I wonder if I’d want that, given the choice. It seems a weird thing to be. It seems alien.
    Hunter’s watching our parts come together. He lets out another, ‘Oh my god’, rising in tone as he thrusts faster. He takes my arm and pushes it above my head, then holds it there. He seems to smell my shoulder. He puts both hands in my hair again, stroking it, tousling it, and moans, rocking back and forth. My hair’s really soft. He used to stroke it like that, when we were little. I didn’t think anything of it. Everyone strokes my hair.
    I look at him, look at the ceiling, look across the room to my posters – the England Football Team, Dakota Fanning, Saoirse Ronan, the Hemingway Area 1st Football Team’s Junior League victory with me in the centre front row next to Marc and Carl. I look at my DVDs. I look at the dismantled LP player me and Carl found in a car boot sale that we’ve been trying to get to work for over a month. I look at the TV and the tangle of wires that lead to the Xbox live, Wii and old Sega, which is funny to play when you’re drunk late at night. Halo 4 is on the floor, out of its case, next to a pile of dirty boxers and T-shirts.
    ‘Oh, Max,’ Hunter groans and ruts at me, his eyes closed. I feel my skin ripping more and squeak, gasp, let out an ‘aah’, pull the pillow over my head, trying to be quiet. His arms enclose my body. I roll to my right a little. He sits up, stops for