Chapter 1: Kickoff Sunday
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He was sweating a little, by the time he arranged and rearranged the couch cushions, giving them another plumping-but he liked the ritual of it-like he was setting the stage for something sacred, or at least wildly caloric.
But mostly, he needed something to do with his hands. 'Idle time is the devil's playground', his grandfather always used to say. And it was something that had rung true for Kevin ever since he was a little kid.
But now, as a man, aged 26, one with a full-time job as a Boston-based electrician for one of the large commercial companies, Kevin had found the perfect occupation for putting his hands to great use.
Kevin picked up the cleaning products and brought them back to the closet and closed the door. As he closed it, he caught a reflection of himself in the mirror. At 5'10'', with a medium-large build, slightly muscular, Kevin had the body of someone who looked like they could work out-but didn't. He was far too busy for that. He'd held onto the muscles he'd built playing high school basketball and was carrying around an extra 15 or so pounds that had transformed his body from 'a boy to a man', though he always seemed to get a little softer during the winter when his work schedule got a little less hectic. He ran a hand down his face; his manicured beard had just been freshly groomed the day prior, and he stared back into chocolate brown eyes. They looked tired with the faintest of dark circles around them, but still held their brightness and charm.
Kevin sighed.
The house felt too quiet. The kind of quiet that made you acutely aware of how loud your own stomach was when you exhaled. He'd forgone breakfast, other than a strong cup of coffee, owing to dedicating the morning and early afternoon to cleaning the house-even though according to anyone else who wasn't Kevin, the place was already pretty spotless. He looked at his wrist and noted the time.
"Right. Cables." He said aloud and moved through the living room towards the new set up he'd recently installed. Although he knew it was installed correctly, he felt calmer re-checking cables and speaker ports and contented himself muttering under his breath as he bent behind the TV stand.
"Optical... to the receiver. Receiver to HDMI... HDMI to TV... TV to Patriots being mildly disappointing all year long..." He grinned, saying aloud his gripes to the Football Gods. The New England Patriots had looked horrible all pre-season and with only a few new off-season acquisitions, the team looked about as good this season as they were last season: which was to say abysmal.
Kevin straightened up and twisted his torso, cracking his back with a satisfying pop, and gave the power strip a triumphant tap with his foot. Perfect installation.
Next, he picked up the freshly disinfected clicker and hit a button. The screen came to life in crisp, ultra-pretentious 4K resolution-he was last watching the sports channel, NBC Sports Boston. Presently, a sports announcer was talking animatedly over a football highlight reel. Kevin's ears registered every hum and excited burr in the man's voice, noting the perfectly balanced sounds coming from the surround sound speakers-also newly installed.
He muted the TV and stepped back, looking around the room. It had taken shape beautifully over the summer: two state-of-the-art recliners (black leather, with hidden cupholders and USB ports), a matching couch, and a loveseat that 'had never even been sat on' according to their previous owner; as well as a barely-used AV and optical set up system.
Kevin, who occasionally took side-jobs during his off-hours, had been recommended to do a new electrical installation for a man who turned out to be an eccentric millionaire. Kevin still remembered pulling up to the 'home' in Wellesley-an expansive estate that was certainly custom built-any one room looked like it could hold Kevin's entire family home, he remembered.
The man had been incredibly nice, but was direct with what he wanted.
"You must accept my apologies when I first caught your name, Kevin." The man had said when he welcomed him into his home.
"Yessah, I get it all the time." was Kevin's standard reply. "Kevin Hardt. The electrician, not the actor." It hadn't been a thing for Kevin until the comedian-actor became a huge sensation. Since then, he'd had to learn to build up his confidences and repertoire of humor, which mostly came naturally to him anyway.
The homeowner had told Kevin he'd wanted a new Cinema Room installed because his neighbor had installed an even better one, and that 'being second fiddle to anyone else just wouldn't do'.
"I quite understand, sah." had been Kevin's reply.
And so, what ensued was a massive payday for Kevin who had expertly uninstalled and set up the most modern set up known to mankind for the gentleman.
At the end of the job, Kevin had asked the homeowner what he'd like to have done with the 'old tech', which to Kevin was still brand new and less than 2 years old.
"Recycle it. Toss it, keep it for yourself, whatever you'd like." he'd said politely. And that's just what Kevin did.
Then, a few days later, he'd received a summons back to the man's home. Not for repercussion, but to also accept the homeowner's offer of a free set of a pair of recliner chairs a love seat and a three-seat couche, which he'd failed to mention to Kevin also needed replacing. Kevin had thanked the man profusely and was only too happy to come with a friend's box truck later that same day to take the nearly-new furniture away.
All Kevin had to do was upgrade his TV, and he'd gotten a great deal off Facebook marketplace from a hipster guy moving abroad who literally gave away the 100-inch television.
Kevin, who still lived with his parents in his childhood family home; but who were rarely there and were usually off travelling the world on their planned retirement, felt that the house had essentially been passed down to him. Which was made evident when he'd proposed installing the electronics and furniture in the family home, after he initially considered selling it all for extra cash.
"Oh, that's a solid idea, kid." His father had told him when he'd FaceTimed him while they were on a retreat in Belize. "Place is willed to you anyways, whenever your mother and I pop our clogs."
Kevin had laughed at his father's always-cavalier manner of speech.
"Yes dear, now you be sure to drop off our old furniture to good will." His mother had doted. "That furniture has been good to us, and it will still be good to a family in need."
And Kevin had.
And for a solid month, alone in his family home, he'd solely enjoyed epic comfort, sight and sound. The only thing that was missing was companionship. Kevin had been resistant to dating, partly due to his work schedule, but also because he never felt he could express himself fully to those around him, in particular his work colleagues. Sure, times had changed, but Kevin always felt he was holding a part of himself back.
He'd had it a little easier when he was younger, though.
It wasn't until late middle school, that he discovered he was gay. Prior to that, he'd just had a sense of knowing he was different than those around him. Growing up hadn't always been easy and his friend circle in middle school and high school weren't what you'd always call the most accepting. The only exception being his long-time friends, Cori and Neil.
Still, Kevin had managed to find the perfect balance of friends between sports and high school theater, which is where he'd gotten the bug about electrical work, helping out one day backstage.
One of the main fuses had blown and the drama teacher, Mr. Hitchenson had called for the school janitor. Kevin had observed the man from afar and had asked if he could watch the man as he tinkered and repaired the problem.
"Yeah, sure, kid. My father's an electrician, taught me some stuff. Great career, good money in it. Better than a janitor's salary."
Kevin had watched and from that moment onward, knew that was the career for him.
Presently, Kevin approached one of the recliners and gave it a gentle squeeze. It felt expensive (which it was) under his touch and it still smelled of fresh leather. He smiled.
He could still hear one of his long-term, childhood friends-Cori's voice from last week when she stopped by and he showed it off for the first time:
"When you said 'recycled,' I thought you meant eco-friendly. Not 'inherited a luxury cinema from a rich guy with a fragile ego that spite-bought a better system because his neighbor has better stuff.'"
"I know right, I priced all of this stuff out retail, and it's over $45,000." He surveyed her average height and build. Today, her hair was in a high ponytail that complimented her delicate Asian-American heritage.
"Wicked, kid." Cori replied, cuffing him on the arm. "It'll feel like were at Foxborough every Sunday when we come over."
He grinned at the memory, then smoothed his shirt down, only to feel it cling slightly around his midsection. The shirt was vintage-and had a stylized, cracked Patriots logo across the chest. It used to fit more loosely. Now it tugged just a bit across his torso.
He considered changing before his friends arrived, before the game started, not wanting to have his friends think he'd been bumming around all day in the same clothes he slept in.
Instead, he grabbed a hoodie off one end of a couch-thinner than a proper fall one, slightly lived-in, with an embroidered Pats logo embroidered on the chest and zipped it halfway. It sat awkwardly at his hips but masked the outline of his belly well enough.
He opened his phone and sent a message to the group chat:
Kevin: Place is ready. Beers are cold. Sam Adams. Enough picture and sound to rival any movie theater. Pizza needs to be here in time for kickoff or someone's getting benched.
Cori: Ugh. I'm bringing roughage. You degenerates are 3 wings away from full-blown colon collapses.
Rory: I'll bring the New England IPA's-NEIPAs. Barley and hops have fiber in it, right?
Kevin: Seconded Rory. Also-Cori-ranch dip has roughage. It's made with ranch. Ranch!
Cori: You guys are dorks. Rory-where are my glasses?
Rory: Did you check your head?
Cori: Smart ass.
Kevin laughed and next typed out,
Kevin: Aren't you guys with each other right now?
Cori and Rory, his childhood friend and her long-term boyfriend-now fiancée, respectively, had moved in with one another a few years ago. A moment later, he'd received confirmation as Rory, a black English school teacher at one of the local high schools, had sent to the group chat a selfie of the two of them together smiling. Her holding the tray of vegetables with a bowl of ranch in their center and him, holding a pair of glasses that look like he'd plucked them right off the top of her head.
He typed back.
Kevin: See you soon, nerds. Go PATS!
Cori: GO PATS!
Rory: I miss Brady, but....GO P-A-T-S-!
No word from Neil yet.
Kevin stared at the screen a beat longer than he meant to. Then shoved it into the back of his jeans and dabbed at his forehead with the back of his sleeve.
He wasn't sure why he was sweating so much. It wasn't that hot out. Maybe it was the hoodie. Maybe it was the feeling. The awareness. The way his stomach felt heavier lately, like it wanted to be noticed.
Maybe it was just the start of the season. The beginning of all that food, laughter, football, and something else-something not quite nameable-settling in like the first crisp leaf of autumn brushing against your windshield.
Unconsciously, he reached for his phone once more, forgetting why he just reached for it. But it was the time he noticed.
"Still 45 minutes to go." He said aloud, stuffing the phone back into his jeans.
Kevin exhaled and placed his hands on his hips, fidgeting with the hem of his hoodie. Then, an idea bloomed.
"Garage." He said aloud and made his way down the hallway and through the door that led into the garage. Inside, it was organized chaos, but it was also where Kevin kept his personal tools.
He grabbed a roll of cable and felt his stomach press into the workbench. He looked down at the slightly domed surface and ran a hand along it. Kevin had always been a little weight-conscious, ever since he was in middle-school. Oblivious about things like hormones and growth spurts, he'd been your typical happy-go-lucky kid, hanging out with his friends. He'd earned the nickname, 'chowdahead' early in life, owing to his grandmother's family-famous recipe for New England Chowder Soup. All his life, he'd associated that meal with his grandmother, a rotund but always-doting woman, who would make it any time he'd asked for it.
And as a youngster with both of his parents working all the time, she'd come over as often as she could.
By the time Kevin was in the seventh grade, he was not quite as wide as he was tall, but he was far from skinny. He hadn't known about things like calories and exercise quite yet, but did begin to notice the girls shooting up in height, breasts filling out; and the men doing the same, while adding muscle.
Kevin, with his then-softer body, had politely observed this and other things, but found familiarity in the soft curves of his body. The heft and breadth of his stomach and softer chest.
And at that time, when he'd 'discovered himself', he'd linked the pleasurable experience of self-satisfaction while skimming the softer planes of his torso, belly and chest. Even now, during the quiet moments when he felt the urge of release, he'd touch his body the exact same way. Fingertips circling his navel, sliding to the sides of his hips around to the smooth, soft curve of his hips and ass; before traveling northward once again to feel his flank and the soft, semi-muscular curve of his chest.
Kevin exhaled and refocused on continued re-rolling the cable as a flash of a memory-a recent sex dream-floated at the edge of his consciousness. It had been the same for weeks now, a man in shadow, tall as himself, kind and understanding who offered and received pleasure.
A frisson of warmth passed through Kevin once more and his hands continued their business around the workbench until there were no more tasks to be completed.
Kevin stood back, feeling dampness under his arms and that familiar prickle of sweat at his forehead.
He checked the time on his phone. Twenty minutes until his friends began to arrive. He ran his hand through his hair and flicked to the message app.
Still no messages from Neil, his absolute best and ride-or-die friend from elementary school.
Kevin: Door's open of you're early. GO PATS!
Kevin returned to the main part of his house and passed through the quaint kitchen as his stomach let out a low grumble. He considered grabbing a little something to take with him upstairs while he showered, but then thought the notion of eating something while showering was just too far, and in the same vicinity of eating while on the toilet-a no go.
His stomach looped and growled afresh. "Quiet you." He said aloud, patting it softly. "You'll get your turn today during the game." That seemed to offer his stomach a modicum of respite.
Kevin lumbered up the stairs, unzipping the hoodie and tossed his clothes in his hamper. Naked, he stepped into the bathroom, taking care to leave the door open, so as to hear for arriving guests. He turned the handle of the shower and out came a burst of water, always instant-hot.
As he began lathering himself, his hand found the familiar folds of his chest and stomach and he rubbed them down with the luffa, leaving a soapy trail down his slightly softer body.
He began to hum a noiseless tune, and when his hand passed across his stomach, it emitted a low grumble.
"Bring on the garlic knots."
He smiled. The anticipation of another football season was on the horizon. His friends, who he'd be viewing every game until the end of the season would he over soon, where they'd share copious amounts of chatter about life, sports-all while dining on lazy-Sunday football food.
Kevin could hardly wait.
Half-way into his shower, he heard the distinct triple knock, followed by a loud kick of a foot.
Cori.
"Hey kid-we're here! Whereareyashowerin'?"
Cori's voice travelled its way into Kevin's ears like a foghorn. He smiled, always appreciating her ability to turn single words into one smushed sentence.
"Yessah! Be down in a gif! Rory there?" He bellowed back, rinsing off the final few suds and turning off the water.
"Present! Go PATS!" yelled Rory.
"GO PATS!" Kevin heard himself reply.
"Got the NEIPA's! You want one, kid?"
"You're the best. In a minute." Kevin replied. He patted his feet on the floormat, drying them and padded to his room and dressed quickly in a pair of jeans with just the hint of room, a fresh Patriots t-shirt and the same well-worn zip-up he'd had on before. It slid around him like a hug, and he zipped it up once more and slid on his lucky pair of Patriot's socks, a Christmas present from his grandmother, who didn't quite understand football, but didn't question the fanaticism it seemed to bring out in the good people of Boston.
Wiggling his toes, Kevin stepped out of his room and headed back downstairs.
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