Stick Read Online Free

couldn’t remember ever seeing a blind kid. But Mr. Lloyd told us boys in gym class that masturbating does that kind of stuff to you. So, I thought, maybe it makes your ear fall off.
    â€œIt really doesn’t stunt your growth and make you go blind?” I asked.
    â€œMaybe that’s why I’m                shorter than you.” Bosten pulled our car right alongside the Buckleys’ station wagon. I looked outside, guiltily, like Paul’s parents might be watching or maybe listening to us, but they weren’t there.
    â€œBesides,” Bosten said, grabbing his crotch and adjusting himself, “I may be short and blind,               but I’m happy.”
    â€œYou are dumb.” I laughed. I wasn’t embarrassed or anything talking to Bosten about jerking off. I loved my brother too much to be embarrassed about anything around him.
    I opened the door and got out.
    And Bosten said, “Stick!           Sticker!          Help me! I’m blind! I can’t see!”
    I laughed again. Bosten got out and came around to my side of the car. He put his arm around my shoulder and whispered right into that one sound spot on my head, with his lips so close I could feel the heat from his breath.
    â€œYou know what I’m going to do later on, when we go home?         When I get                  home tonight,     I’m going to jerk myself off right into the goddamned dryer.”
    â€œYou are totally sick, Bosten.”
    *   *   *
    It rained that night.
    We walked toward the gym—it gave off heat and noise and light—through puddles in the parking lot.
    I pulled my hat down low. Bosten wore a cap that said DWHS .
    At the game, we sat next to Paul’s parents, Joy and Ian Buckley. They were close friends with our parents, so Bosten and I both knew we had to be careful about what we said around them.
    I sat between Bosten and Mrs. Buckley. She was on my right, so I couldn’t really hear her. Occasionally, she would put her hand on my knee to get my attention, and she’d ask questions or say nice things, so I had to make up replies, just to be polite.
    How are your mom and dad, Stark?
    She called me Stark.
    We are so looking forward to having your family over for dinner on Sunday.
    When she put her hand on my knee, it felt soft and warm. I thought about that woman in the bathtub. Mrs. Buckley made me get an erection right there, sitting in the bleachers at my brother’s high school.
    *   *   *
    I loved basketball, but I’d never have the guts to play it.
    How could I ever get out there on the floor with all those boys and their perfect and flawless bodies running around with me—being watched by so many eyes?
    Wilson High was playing a team from Bremerton. Paul was out there most of the game, too. Well, at least what we saw of the game, that is.
    Bosten and I got thrown out of the gym during the second half.
    Mrs. Nolan, the dean of students, told us we were lucky we didn’t get arrested, but it didn’t matter. I knew Mr. and Mrs. Buckley would tell our parents all about what we did if they heard about it from the other kids at the game that night.
    We’d waited until after halftime to go pee. During the break, the toilets get so crowded it’s almost impossible to pee. Bosten stood in line to get a Coke and I went into the boys’ restroom.
    There was one other kid, standing in front of the urinal. He was an eighth grader I knew, named Ricky Dostal. Ricky was in the same gym class as me, and he had this tough little man-body he got from playing Pop Warner football and spending an hour every day in his garage lifting weights while his dad sat there and smoked