The first boy Omar ever slept with was named Antoine Williams but everyone called him Willy. He was a few years older, working as a corner boy since before Omar came to Edmondson. His best friend lived in the apartment above Omar's and occasionally Omar would run into him coming into the building.
He had big eyes and soft lips and a fine, fine ass. Every time Omar saw him walk past in a bright colored tracksuit and brand new Adidas it made his heart stop. It took a while before Omar found an excuse to talk to him – somehow being close to Willy made his words disappear – but then he asked him about Spuky, the kid everyone in school thought was totally psycho, and somehow it went all right from there.
For the rest of the day – grocery shopping, yelling at his brother, hanging out outside – the conversation kept replaying itself in Omar's head. Or rather, Willy's body language. The way he'd looked at Omar when Omar had smiled at him, the way he'd leaned in when Omar told a joke.
Omar invited himself over to the next party he knew Willy would be at. It was the birthday of some girl from the neighborhood who didn't even go to Omar's school but he got his friends together and they went anyway.
It didn't take long to find Willy, and then the conversation flowed much easier with beer available. Omar kept sitting closer and closer, putting his hands on Willy every chance he got. Half an hour later they were in the bathroom, fumbling with each other's clothes. Willy's tongue was hot and wet and Omar tried to hold it together long enough to at least get completely naked but he didn't last.
Afterwards Omar sat with his friends in the living room, passing around a joint, exhilarated, tired, and a little freaked out. Willy went outside with his friends and some girls, probably to get more booze. Omar stretched out on the floor, feeling the cold hard surface under his back, despite the carpet, and let the high settle over him.