finally got around to drawing dally again 🥹 #myboy !! yes I know I look like that lizzo juice meme with this as my pfp too but whatever 🙏 have him a little redesign/tweak to make him a little closer to to his book desc!! book accurate dally my GOAT!! I know his peircings are impractical but it’s swag so whatever
also gave him a minor cleft palate 🥹I feel like it suits him heh
“Dallas,” Mr. Curtis calls to him. “Come here a second, please.”
Dallas approaches warily. He has had too many bad experiences with adults, particularly men, to be comfortable being singled out in any way. He sees a somewhat sad look cross Mr. Curtis’ face, and it puts him more on edge even though he schools his expression quickly.
“It’s up to you, son…” he starts. “But I have a tradition with each of my boys when they turn fourteen. Sometimes we’ll go fishing, or to the bowling alley, but it’s birthday boy’s choice.”
Dallas looks at him blankly. “Okay…?”
“Just to spend some time together, but also fourteen is when y’all are going through a lot of changes, and sometimes there are questions.”
Dallas is even more confused now. “Why are you telling me this?”
Mr. Curtis looks surprised now, too. “Because you turn fourteen next week, bud.”
Dallas is staring now. He’s actually speechless.
“If you ain’t comfortable, it’s not like it’s mandatory or nothing,” Mr. Curtis reassures him. “But if you want, I’d like to take you to do something. Just you and me.”
Dallas is not getting any less riled up. He has also not had the best experiences with spending alone time with adult men. “You do this with all the boys?” he asks skeptically.
Mr. Curtis nods. “Yessir.” He grins. “I took Two-Bit to the bowling alley last year. Was a little too cold to go fishing. Steve wants to go fishing, if it's warm enough, on his. Pretty sure Soda’s planning the same already. And Darry wanted to just toss the football around in the lot and then have a beer when the other boys had gone to bed.”
“A beer?!?” Dallas is suprirsed that they let Darry drink at fourteen. Dallas knows a lot of kids who do, of course, and he’s had beer before himself. But the Curtis folks are usually more straight-laced than that. The thought also occurs to him that adults finding excuses to get teenagers drunk or high is not a particularly great situation, either. In Dally’s experience.
“Only one,” Mr. Curtis smiles at him kindly. “And only that day. Otherwise the rules are the same. But I figure most of y’all will have an opportunity to try beer by fourteen, and so me and the wife decided to allow it with us supervising as part of the fourteenth birthday tradition. It’s also when we usually make sure y’all know everything you need to know about the birds and the bees. Or the bees and the bees. I know it ain’t common around here, but we just want all our boys to be happy, and safe, savvy?”
Dallas nods uncomfortably.
“Anyway,” Mr. Curtis says, seeming to sense that Dallas isn’t going to say anything else. “Let me know what you’d like to go do, if you’d like to. Like I said, it’s your decision. But it’s something I enjoy doing with you boys, and it gives us some one-on-one time to talk about things you might need to know as you’re becoming young men.”
Dallas nods. He has no idea what to say still.
Dallas half-questions if he imagined the whole conversation, but then Mr. Curtis follows up a few days later to ask if he’s made a decision. He casually asked the other boys about it after the first conversation, wanting to make sure it wasn’t a trick or nothing. They all told him they had a great time, and that it was good to get to go over everything. None of ‘em would ever admit to not knowing something about dating or sex, but Dallas got the impression that they found the talking part helpful, anyhow.
So even though he is wary as hell, Dallas agrees. He doesn’t want to be out in the middle of nowhere or something, but he figures he can walk to and from a bowling alley and that’s as good a place as any.
He has a decent time bowling. By the time Mr. C gets to the talking part, though, Dallas decides a beer would help. He can’t get that at the bowling alley, so they agree to head back to the Curtis house and hang out there. Mr. Curtis says that the other boys are used to this tradition now enough that they’ll be respectful of privacy. (Dallas ain’t so sure that anybody in his gang knows the world privacy at all, but he supposes he’ll see.)
“Dallas,” Mr. Curtis says, sitting at the kitchen table and handing Dallas a beer. “Has anybody had any kind of talk with you? About the birds and the bees, or…?”
Dallas looks away uncomfortably, taking a long swig of the beer. “I don’t need a talk. I ain’t a virgin or nothing.”
“Okay,” Mr. Curtis says. “So it sounds like you know the mechanics of it, but if you got any questions there, we can cover it. Did anybody talk to you about keeping yourself safe? About making sure you were being safe as a partner?”
Christ, Dallas can’t believe he is having this conversation. “I use condoms, most of the time,” he mutters.
“Good,” Mr. Curtis tells him. “You want to make sure you’re using ‘em every time though, son.” Dallas stares down at the table. “First off, because boys can get venereal disease just like gals can. And that goes for all types of sex. If one person’s body part is going into another person’s body part, y’all should be using condoms. Don’t matter if we’re talking about mouths or lady parts or backsides. You got me?”
Glory’s sake. Dallas thinks he’s probably as red as a tomato, and he’s maybe more embarrassed that he’s blushing than about the fact that they’re talking about this at all. He nods in acknowledgement, partly to make this go faster.
“But also, condoms are the best protection you got against pregnancy, as a young man. Hopefully any young lady you’d be with could be trusted. But lot of gals ain’t on nothing like birth control, and gal’s periods can be irregular enough that just guessing at timing ain’t no kind of guarantee,” Mr. Curtis continues. “And sometimes people will tell you they been tested and are clean, or that they can’t get pregnant. The only guarantee you got is if you wear a condom. Don’t trust somebody else, at your age, with whether or not you’re gonna be supporting a kid for the rest of your life. Even if you think they’re telling the truth. Even if you love ‘em.”
“I ain’t going out of my way not to use one or nothing,” Dallas mumbles, staring a hole in the table. “Sometimes you just ain’t got none, that’s all.”
“Don’t put yourself in that situation,” Mr. Curtis tells him gently. “We always keep a box around here, for any of you boys to take one. No questions asked. We want you to be safe.” He points. “They’re right there in that drawer.”
Dallas is amused by the condoms in the kitchen, and it must show on his face because Mr. C grins at him.
“We figure y’all are more likely to use ‘em if you can sneak ‘em when we ain’t looking. That’s why they’re in the damn kitchen,” he tells him conspiratorially. “Keep at least two in your wallet, all the time. And if you need more than two in one day, then good for you – “ Dallas barks out a surprised laugh. “And make sure you got more than enough. Keep some in your room, a few extra in your jacket pocket, or as many as you can fit in your wallet. Hell, keep ‘em in your damn sock. Just make sure you ain’t in a position where you’re gonna be without when you need it. We both know that, hormones being what they are, sometimes things happen kinda unexpectedly.”
And now Dallas is bright red again.
“Be prepared. And if you’re going somewhere with a gal, or a guy you might like, then you check that you got condoms before you head out the door. It’s easy to tell yourself you ain’t gonna need ‘em, and then find yourself running for home plate later on that night when one thing leads to another.”
“Okay, okay,” Dallas mumbles. “I got it.”
"You know what we call folks who rely on the pullout method, right?" Mr. Curtis asks seriously. Dallas looks at him blankly. "Parents."
Dallas snorts at that. He thinks, for a moment, that they’re done…apparently not, because Mr. Curtis continues. “Being a man ain’t just about being older,” Mr. Curtis tells him. “It’s got a lot to do with respect. Not just for the other person, but for yourself, too. And if you mess up, if you get somebody into trouble, then you’re responsible for helping with whatever happens next.” Mr. Curtis pauses, so Dallas nods. “I know sometimes it’s hard to resist, but you also don’t take advantage of nobody. No means no. ‘I dunno’ means no. Any hesitation, at all, is a no. Savvy?”
“I ain’t a rapist,” Dallas says sharply, glaring all of a sudden.
“I believe you, son,” Mr. Curtis says softly. “And I gave all of the boys that same speech. Not just you.” Dallas looks at him skeptically, eyes still hard. “And it’s not just looking out for anybody you’re with. Nobody gets to take advantage of you, either. If you say no, then that means no and they should listen without you having to repeat yourself.”
Dallas looks down at the table again, twisting his hands together. “What if they don’t?” he asks quietly.
He can’t bring himself to look at Mr. Curtis, but he hears him sigh. “Then you come to me. Or somebody you trust.” Mr. Curtis’ voice is soft and careful right now in a way that sets Dally’s nerves on edge. “Have you had any trouble like that, Dallas?”
Dallas stares down at his hands, feeling kind of numb. He doesn’t answer.
“Oh, son. I’m sorry,” Mr. Curtis says softly. Dallas clenches his jaw because he’s afraid he might say something he’ll regret. Or scream. Or even worse, fucking bawl. “Do you want to tell me what happened?” Dallas shakes his head, still not looking up. “Okay. Will you tell me this – is there anybody here in Tulsa who has…who makes you uncomfortable, or who’s done something they shouldn’t?” Dallas hesitates, but he shakes his head. “Okay, honey,” he says, and Dallas grits his teeth, blinking away the heat in his eyes. “If anything like that happens to you again…ever, with anybody…you can come to me. I’ll help you. Mrs. Curtis would, too, if you would rather talk to her.”
Dallas doesn’t want to talk to anyone, ever. He doesn’t want to think about this, and he sure as hell doesn’t want to talk about it. He stays quiet, and clenches his fists tight, trying to calm down.
“You can ask me any questions you got now, but you can come to me anytime. For any of it. And all of this talk is just between you and me. Anything we talked about,” he pauses, and says carefully “or didn’t talk about. Same goes if you come to me with any questions later on.”
Dallas nods. He forces himself to mutter a “thanks.” Mr. Curtis makes some casual conversation with him then. Some things about cars, and school, and plans for the holidays coming up. Dallas is only half-listening, and not entirely sure whether or not he agreed to come to the Curtis house for Thanksgiving. It’s hard to focus over the way his heart is pounding.
Eventually, they call it a night. Mr. Curtis makes up the couch for him, and Dallas lays there and stares at the ceiling for a long time. He tries to get out of his head, but he can’t shake the memories tonight. He gets back up to smoke a weed, and his hands shake as he lights it. After, when he’s sure that everyone in the house is asleep, he lays down and turns on his side to face the back of the couch. And then he cries silently until he falls asleep.
He’s on edge, even more than usual, for over a week after that. Especially with Mr. Curtis. By the time a few weeks have passed, though, he is pretty confident at least that Mr. C hasn’t spilled anything about their talk. He’s been watching for anybody to say something, or to look at him different.
It’s a long time before he even considers asking any questions. But, once he calms down, he feels something about having a person he can go to, if he needs to. He’s never had that before.
He also makes a rule to never go out without a couple of condoms in his wallet, and a couple of more in his jacket. And just like he (and he assumes the other boys) had been told, the box is never empty at the Curtis house.
One of the first things he does, after they lose the Curtis parents, is sneak another box into that drawer. And if he cries a little when he does, it ain’t nobody’s damn business.
