Date: Sat, 23 Aug 2003 22:49:04 -0700 (PDT)
From: Mark Arbour <markarbour2000@yahoo.com>
Subject: On The Mark 9

PREFACE: I am writing this story primarily as a self-exploration tool.  I
invite you to come along for the ride, which is sometimes rocky, often
boring, and not always happy. Unfortunately, it's not always very erotic
either.  That being said, and if M/M and M/F sex doesn't upset you, read
on.  Since this is my story, please don't reproduce or publish it anywhere
without asking me first: markarbour2000@yahoo.com.


DEDICATION: This chapter, good, bad, or otherwise, is dedicated to all of
my online friends, and especially the guys in fraternity memoirs 2.
They've helped me come to know myself better than I thought possible, and
have encouraged me to continue my story.  I love you guys.  Join our group
at: fraternitymemoirs2-subscribe@yahoogroups.com

CHAPTER 9

I should have been morose and sad on the flight, and I guess if I could've
looked into the future, I would have been, but the moment I boarded the
plane, it seemed as if my real life ended and I entered a fantasy world.  I
was going on vacation, and even though I knew Van was gone, my mind kept
telling me that he'd be there when I got back, just like he always had been
when I'd traveled in the past.  I guess it was the sense of
adventure...I'm not sure....but my bad mood evaporated the minute I
handed the flight attendant my boarding pass.

I love Chicago.  I even love O'Hare Airport.  Back then, it wasn't as cool
as it is now, with that underground passage and the neon lights that flash
to trippy music.  You can't tell me that wasn't designed by someone
dropping acid.  But it was big, and busy, and I felt like I was in the
middle of things: Where it was happening.  My father's family all came out
to greet us, which was really cool, and that made me feel really welcome
and kind of like a celebrity.

The first person I saw was my grandmother, and I gave her about the biggest
hug that I could.  I was her favorite grandson, and I knew it and so did
everyone else.  She watched out for me, and took me under her wing.  She
was the family matriarch, and no one, no one, fucked with her.  It was kind
of cool because when I would fight with my cousin Paul, who was my age, and
he would piss me off, all I would have to do is drop a couple of lines to
my grandmother and she'd make his life a living hell long after I went
home.  Did I love that kind of power?  Fuckin' eh!

The next in order of greeting, and affection, was Paul's mother, Margaret.
My aunt was really awesome, and we were alike in many ways.  We'd always
had a special bond, and it was so good to see her.  The rest of the family
was pretty much the same, and they were all glad to see us.  As I worked my
way through the crowd, I finally came to Paul.

Paul and I were never close.  We were complete opposites, in appearance,
personality, and style.  We always got into fights, but because of our
ages, we were always put together. The best way to describe Paul would be
to call him "white trash", which was really strange because his parents
were nothing of the sort.  Like I said, we had never gotten along, with one
exception.  Ever since we were boys, whenever we were together we would
explore each other's body.  Keep in mind that I hadn't seen him since I was
11.  He was a little shorter than me, but stocky in a broad, car mechanic
kind of way.  He had curly brown hair, and a goofy smile that some people
thought was cute, but was just plain dumb.  He loved to drive like a
maniac, and ran the shit out of every car he had.  He smoked, and swore,
and was as dumb as a board.

It was funny that our pattern of behavior never really changed.  He was
big, and could kick my ass with no problem, but I was infinitely smarter
than him.  So I'd taunt him, tease him, cut him down, rag on him, until he
was just about to explode, and then smile at him with a shit-eating grin
because he knew that if he touched me (well, violently..smile) he'd be in
so much fucking trouble.  Treating him like shit, and making his life a
living hell, in some weird way made me feel a lot better.  Van was
completely out of my thoughts.

We hung out with all of my relatives for quite a while, but as the evening
wore on, Paul asked me if I wanted to bail and go hang out with him and his
friends.  I didn't really want to spend time with him, but I was pretty
bored, and maybe he was more fun than he used to be.  We got in his car and
took off, and he pulled out a joint and asked me if I got high.  For the
first time, we had something in common.  We drove to this guy's house where
a bunch of his friends were hanging out, and he introduced me to them.
Most of them had heard him talk about me, and I don't think I was quite
what they expected.  Some of his friends were dirt bags, but a few of them
were pretty hot.  They all kept talking about this one guy, Matt, who was
apparently one of the "big guys" of their group.  You know, one of those
people that everyone tries to hang around.

After about an hour, a tricked out Camaro pulled up.  It was pretty nice,
and only a few years old.  I'm into cars, and this was a nice one, so it
really caught my attention.  "Matt's here," said my cousin, and went
sauntering out to meet him.  I followed, a little put off at his
subservience, and the way he ran out to meet this guy.  I was determined
that I was not going to let him do that to me.  As we approached the car,
Matt jumped out with one fluid movement, and I felt my heart miss a beat.
I know people talk about how love at first sight is a bunch of crap, but it
hit me with Matt, like a lightening bolt.

He was about 6 feet tall, with sandy brown hair.  He was 5 years older than
me, in his early 20's, so he had fully developed.  All the guys that I had
been attracted to before had been like me: in high school.  Not Matt.  He
was a man, and there was no question about it.  He had broad shoulders, a
stocky, not fat build, and big beefy arms.  His arms were so hot. He was a
baseball player, and the big muscles were smoothed over by his silky skin,
as if it was hiding his inner strength.  His whole persona, everything
about him, proclaimed him as a strong alpha male.  No wonder the other guys
followed his lead.

My cousin introduced us, and he looked into my eyes as he shook my hand and
smiled.  He had light brown eyes that twinkled in a mischievous way, and he
had cute creases that outlined his smile and made him seem boyish.  He had
me at hello.  This is the city of broad shoulders, and this guy sure had
them, but he also had that unmistakable Chicago accent.  Raw, but not as
raw as a New Yorker, and rough, like most Midwestern guys.  The whole
package was amazingly sexy, and not even the straightest guy could escape
this guys' sex appeal.  And I had to face the fact that I was not the
world's straightest guy.

Somehow, I managed to regain my composure, and I once again resolved that I
was not going to fawn all over this guy like my cousin did.  But he knew
exactly how to play me.  First of all, he was super nice to me.  He was
full of questions about California, and seemed really fascinated by the
West Coast culture.  I remember that a group of us drove out to the lake
(Michigan) to see fireworks, and I told them that I thought they were
really "bad", because that was the latest CA expression for cool.  They
looked at me funny, and wanted to know what was wrong with them.  Anyway,
he treated me like a VIP, not some lackey who would just follow him around.
He plied me with attention, my cousin was seething with jealousy, and I was
in heaven.  After a while, he said that he needed to go down to the gas
station and buy some smokes, and asked me to go with him.  I know it sounds
stupid to say I felt honored to be singled out, but in my 17 year old
world, that's how it was.

We went to the gas station and he bought cigarettes, grabbed a six pack of
beer, and we drove around just cruising the town, talking about all kinds
of stuff.  One of our favorite topics of conversation was my cousin and how
incredibly stupid he was.  He told me that he worked at Allstate, had a
good job, and was sort of dating a girl named Sherry.  They were just
starting to go out, and we talked about girls in general and our
experiences with them.  I was barely able to control the green monster when
he talked about this girl, and once again I found myself attracted to a
straight guy with a girlfriend.  He asked me about my plans for the future,
especially college, but that was the last thing on my mind at the time.
There was no where I would have rather been than with him, and I was
disappointed when it was time to go back and hang out with everyone.

When we got back, they gave us shit for being gone so long, but I didn't
care, and he didn't seem to either.  I found that I was constantly at his
side, and that if I wandered off, he'd use subtle methods to bring me back
to his orbit.  He'd direct a comment to me, or ask me a question, or offer
me a beer or something...anything designed to pull me back in.  How
ironic that I had sworn not to follow him around like some lackey, yet that
was absolutely what I was doing.  It was getting late, and we really had to
get going, so Paul and I took off and headed back for home.  When we left,
Matt told me that he'd stop by tomorrow, and I found that from the minute
we left, I was waiting in anticipation for him to show up.

Everyone thought it was a good idea for Paul and me to sleep in the same
room.  I think everyone was hoping that somehow we would become friends,
and that I would be a positive influence on him.  That was pretty unlikely.
Nonetheless, I found myself in his basement in a sleeping bag on a hard
floor.  We engaged in small talk, and talked about all his friends, and all
of the people that I had met that evening.  I got the distinct feeling that
he was as in love with Matt as I was, and I was pretty curious to know if
there was something going on between the two of them.  We talked about
girls, and sex, and the whole subject made me realize how incredibly horny
I was.  We were lying on top of our sleeping bags, and I felt my boxers
start to tent, and knew that it was pretty obvious that I was sporting some
serious wood.  I looked over at Paul, and saw that he was tenting too.  I
smiled at him, and he smiled back, and asked me if I remembered how we used
to mess around when we were kids.  I told him that I did, and then he asked
me if I wanted to do it again.  I responded by pulling down my boxers and
exposing my now hard cock.

Paul pulled his briefs off too, and I saw his dick for the first time since
he'd grown up.  He was a little small in the dick department....probably
only 5" long with a normal width, but a dick was a dick, I was horny, so
what the fuck.  We reached out and grabbed each other's cocks, and it felt
so good to have someone else stroke me.  We proceeded to jack each other
off for a while, and then as we got closer, we jacked ourselves off.  When
I jack off, I invariably use my right hand, and stroke up and down.  Paul
is different.  When he jacks off, he cups both of his hands together over
his cock and jacks in these short, frantic strokes.  He either spits in his
hands or uses lube, so it makes this weird squishy/clicky sound, and he
gets this really goofy look on his face, almost like he's in pain.  I
almost started laughing at him, he looked so funny, but after he got into
it, I got more turned on, and focused on taking care of myself.

If sex with Paul sounds sterile and boring, that's because it was.  He was
sexy in his own way, with a strong body, and an especially well-shaped
torso, but I just wasn't attracted to him.  I didn't like him as a person,
I thought he was a stupid idiot, and at some level, I was really
uncomfortable being intimate with him.  As soon as I came, I was done, and
I wanted to be alone, far away from him.  For his part, he seemed to feel
the same way, so I guess it worked out in the end.

The next day, Matt showed up as promised, and I had to control myself to
not act totally elated.  My aunt and grandmother knew him well and adored
him, a new interesting piece of information, and were thrilled that I was
hanging out with him.  He told me that he wanted to take me downtown and
show me the city, and the only buzz-kill was that he invited Paul along as
well.

We got in the Camaro (We argued about shotgun...I won) and within a few
minutes we were cruising down Lake Shore Drive.  That has to be one of the
most beautiful drives in the world.  It was a sunny, clear day, and we had
the windows down and the radio blasting.  Matt was a big Rush fan, and was
also into Ozzy Osbourne, both groups that I like, so I was really into it.
Paul being there was the fly in my ointment, and I made him pay for his
presence by subjecting him to endless put downs.  I worked my wit on him,
and he was no match for me.  His usual response to me was "fuck you", which
is pretty limited.  Matt seemed to thrive on our conflict.  I noticed that
he'd join me in ragging on Paul, but just when Paul was so pissed he was
about to blow up, Matt would turn up the charm and bring him back down.  It
was amazing to watch him manipulate Paul.  As attracted to him as I was, I
resolved that I would have to be careful with him....he was obviously a
bright guy.

We toured around downtown and I ogled at the tall buildings.  We drove
through Grant Park, and by Buckingham Fountain, which is probably my
favorite Chicago landmark.  I wanted to ride on the "el", which they
thought was pretty funny, and ignored me.  It was much better to have a
car, they pointed out.  Whatever.  After we had tired of sightseeing, we
headed back north and Matt suggested that we go to the park and throw the
baseball around.  For me, that was a cause for panic.  If we were swimming,
I'd be fine...I was still a total fish.  But I hated baseball for a
number of reasons, not the least of which was that I seemed incapable of
catching a ball, and I threw it like a girl.  I was not going to shine at
this activity.  But I was trapped; there wasn't much I could do, so I just
went along with it, swallowing my apprehension.

We got to the park, and he got a ball, bat, and three gloves out of the
trunk.  He tossed me an old one...it was well-worn and smelled vaguely of
sweat and leather.  "Here Mark, you can use my old glove", Matt said.
Suddenly, that vague smell was more like perfume.  "That's OK," I said,
"I'll just watch you guys."  That was my primary defensive strategy.  If I
didn't play, I wouldn't be exposed as a baseball pussy.  But they both
egged me on, Matt because he wanted to include me, and Paul because he knew
how uncoordinated I was and he wanted to embarrass me.  I glared at Paul
and agreed, vowing to myself that I would dream up new and even more
devious ways to torture him.

Matt tossed me the ball, and I barely caught what should have been an easy
toss.  When I tossed it back, I realized that my throw had gotten a little
better, but not much.  I was totally embarrassed.  Paul started laughing at
me, and Matt jumped all over him, telling him what a stupid shit he was.
Then, instead of giving me shit about it, he started showing me how to
throw the ball, how to move my body, how to judge its arc to know where to
catch it....This guy was just a God.  Then it came time to bat, and he
told Paul to pitch and he stood behind me and held my hands on the bat
where they should be, and simulated a swing to show my how to do it.  I
felt his chest and stomach pressing against my back, and his strong hands
gripping mine and the bat at the same time.  He had been sweating, and the
faint odor of his body wafted up to my nose, while he murmured instructions
into my right ear.  His mouth was just close enough that I could feel his
breath as he spoke, but not close enough to actually touch me.  I felt my
dick responding, and I willed it to go down, but it was not going to
happen.  I was tenting big time.  I knew Paul could see, but I kept hoping
that Matt couldn't.  Paul gave me a shit-eating grin and threw the ball at
me.  I pushed back into Matt and knocked him down, falling on top of him.
His arms wrapped around me as we fell, and I used my arm to break the fall
so I didn't crush him.  When I went to get up, I pressed my ass against his
groin, and it felt like he might be sporting some wood himself.  I couldn't
really tell, and he was so pissed off he more or less pushed me off of him
so he could go slap Paul around and yell at him.  That pretty much ended
baseball practice, and we decided to call it a day and head home.

We were in Chicago for a week, and Matt came over to see us every day.
Sometimes he'd be busy and he'd just drop in for a bit, but usually he
stayed for awhile and we'd go out and do something.  Every time I saw him,
I fell for him a little bit more.  A few days later he came over in the
evening, and we all decided to go swimming.  My aunt and uncle have a
pretty nice pool, and both the pool and the night were warm, so it seemed
like the ideal thing to do.  Nights there were so different than in
California, There was the stickiness of the humidity which I did NOT like,
but there was tranquility, a country flavor, that we didn't have.  There
were new things, like fireflies, to appreciate.  And there was Matt.

Swimming was the first time I saw him without his shirt on.  He had an
amazing body.  It wasn't cut and sculpted like today's gym rats; it was
smooth and muscled like the body of a true athlete.  His was the body of a
baseball player.  He had no hair on his torso (no treasure trail...the
only flaw) except under his arms, and for some reason, that made his
armpits incredibly sexy.  His sandy brown hair was just the perfect
contrast to his skin, and the hair showed through just a little when his
arms were lowered.  This guy was just so masculine he reeked of
testosterone.  As soon as we hit the water, we were in my milieu.  I could
out swim any of them hands down.  Paul had forgotten my skill at water
fighting, and I damn near drowned him.  Matt seemed to notice, and didn't
challenge me in that battle.  So we were swimming around, playing,
fighting...doing the stuff that guys do in the pool, when all of a sudden
I felt strong arms grab me from behind and pull me in.  Matt.  He had snuck
up on me from behind and had me in a tight hold.  I wanted to just submit
and let him hold me like that; I loved the feel of his skin against mine,
and the control he exerted over me.  But I was terrified that he would
think that I was gay, and then I'd lose a friend who had become very
important to me in a very short period of time.

I started to struggle and pivot against him, and the more I fought, the
more I rubbed against him, the harder my dick got.  With this kind of
intense contact, there was no hope of controlling it, like I could do that
anyway.  I was fighting and wrestling, slithering against his body, and it
was an incredibly erotic experience.  At one point he reached a leg around
my waist to try to pin me down and I felt his calf brush against the tent
in my swim trunks.  He had to notice that I was hard.  But it wasn't more
than a few seconds later that I pushed back against him and felt something
poking me in the ass....guess he was enjoying this too.  He tried to keep
me pinned, and truthfully, I let him pin me way longer than he otherwise
could have.  My skin was pretty slippery, and he just couldn't hold on to
me.  We continued to rough house in the pool for a while longer, and then
just swam around calmly before we got out.  I did it just to give my dick
time to go down, and I assume that he did the same thing.

In the evenings, Paul and I would usually fool around.  Some nights we'd
jack off together, other nights we'd jack each other off, and a few times
we even gave each other head.  He didn't even suck dick well.  But the
whole time I was with Paul, I fantasized that I was with Matt.  I was fast
becoming obsessed with him.

The trip to Chicago seemed to go by in record time, and I was really sad to
leave.  I had really enjoyed spending time with my grandmother, and we had
bonded more than ever.  And I was devastated at the thought of leaving Matt
behind, and worried that with me out of the picture that some other guy
would fill the void as his "buddy", and really worried that the lucky guy
would be Paul.  When I said goodbye to him, he held out his hand, and I
hugged him instead.  He was really surprised, and hugged me back, although
he seemed pretty uncomfortable.  I guess he's not the touchy-feely
type. Everyone except Paul begged me to come back and visit again after
Christmas so I could experience Chicago in the winter.

I got back home, and began one of the worst years of my life.  With Van
gone, I felt like a ship without an anchor.  The emotion I remember the
most is loneliness.  It wasn't long before I was pretty depressed, although
I didn't recognize it at the time, and I hid it pretty well from my
parents.  I dropped off the swim team and blew off most of my friends.  I
was a loner.  I went to school, to work, came home, and spent time in my
room.  For the first semester, I convinced my parents that I was studying.
But when my grades came out, and I was looking at a 2.0 for the semester,
they didn't buy that anymore.  They began to put pressure on me to do
better in school, and would nag me when I was home.  My response was to be
gone more than ever, and I spent a lot of time just driving around,
exploring the valley.  I was really morose, and while I never became
suicidal, I was seriously questioning life, its purpose, and how I fit into
the world.  If you've ever experienced depression, you'll understand what
I've just written.  You feel purposeless, the overwhelming emotion is
despair, and any effort, even brushing your teeth, requires Herculean
effort.

During this hellish time, though, there were three experiences worth
recounting.  The first was that I did take my relatives up on their offer
and took a trip to Chicago after Christmas.  My parents weren't all that
happy about me going, but they had gotten pretty worried about me, and I
think they were hoping it would help me.  Besides, I paid for it myself (my
grandmother gave me money when I got there, but I didn't tell my
parents....let them feel guilty for making me foot the bill!).  There is
really only one way to describe Chicago in the winter: Fucking Cold!  I
didn't care though, I was there to see my family, and even more, I was
there to see Matt.

All the way from O'Hare to my aunt's house I was really nervous.  Would
Matt still like me?  Would he even be there?  Did he have a new friend who
would take up all his time, or would his girlfriend Sherry monopolize him?
In my state of mind, it was all I could do to avoid an anxiety attack.
When we got to their house, Matt wasn't there, and I could feel the tears
starting to form in my eyes.  I had to go to the bathroom to get a grip.  I
really was an emotional mess.  Within about 10 minutes, though, Matt showed
up in the same trick Camaro, and this time he gave me a big hug to welcome
me.  My pain, my depression, my sadness evaporated as if by magic.

We spent a lot of time hanging out.  He drove me around town, showed me
what it was like with snow everywhere.  I really got into the snow, since
we had to go to the Sierras to really get that experience in CA, and I was
more of a beach bum.  We had a blast.  Matt treated me the same way he had
before.  It was like I had never left.  On the friendship level, I was
completely satisfied with our relationship.  But I wanted more.  I was in
love with this guy, and I was picking up some distinctly sexual overtones
from our interaction.  Nothing you could point at and say "look, he wants
to fuck me", just subtle gestures and double entendres.  But there was a
huge homophobic wall there, and whenever Matt or Paul talked about gay men,
it was in the most derogatory manner.  To them, gay men were disgusting
fags.

One night we were bullshitting and they started to rag on The City.  Now,
for true Northern Californians, San Francisco is a gem.  It is one of the
most beautiful (if not THE most beautiful) cities in the world and its
cosmopolitan nature allows it to excel in many arenas.  No self-respecting
CA boy is going to let a bunch of Midwestern Yokels get away with that.  So
I was soon involved in a heated discussion on the City and its merits, and
eventually it eroded into a commentary on all "the fags" that lived there,
and how they'd like to come out and go up there and kick their asses.  I
just started laughing like crazy.  They were so used to the femme
stereotype they didn't even realize that many gay men in the City embraced
body building (well, some did) and would make short work out of these guys.
This was the only discussion I had with Matt that made me question my
feelings for him and it was really upsetting to me.

I don't know if he sensed that, or what, but the next day he came over and
apologized.  He told me that he couldn't understand how guys could be
attracted to other guys, but basically we should live and let live, and it
wasn't any of his business what they did.  The fact that he had some
tolerance was uplifting. His negative comments about being with other guys
were not.  So I went back to CA just as in love and just as confused as
ever.

The second semester was a little better.  I think my trip to Chicago helped
revive me, and I started to reconnect with my friends on a limited basis.
I even managed to get to the point of having a casual friendship with Mari.
Most of the time we'd say hi and exchange small talk, and sometimes I'd
give her a ride to or from school.  They say time heals all wounds.

In the spring, I got an unexpected call from Matt.  He was in the Valley
for a conference, and wanted to know if I wanted to get together.  Is the
Pope catholic?  First of all, my mother insisted that he stay with us.  She
was sensitive to what my father's family thought of her, and wasn't about
to be accused of being rude and inhospitable.  Matt resisted, but it was no
use, and I was really glad, because it gave us more time together.  He
liked our house, and we spent a lot of time out on the back patio enjoying
the view of the valley.

On the weekend, I took him up to the City to show him what a cool place it
was.  We had a blast.  We did all the touristy things: Cable Cars,
Alcatraz, Ghirardelli Square, Fisherman's Wharf, etc.  By the end of the
day, he seemed to be as enamored of the City as I was.  The next day, he
wanted to go back, and this time we took BART up so he could see our
(relatively) new system at work.  When we got to the City, we went to
Chinatown, then to Telegraph Hill, and then he shocked me.  "So Mark,
where's the gay part of town?"  I was pretty stunned, and I countered with
humor, which I often do when I'm nervous.  "Why, you looking for a blow
job?"  Of course, I was hoping he was, in which case I'd be happy to help.
"No asshole, I was just curious."  I immediately felt guilty.  Here's this
guy trying to be tolerant and experience the whole city, and I'm making
inappropriate jokes.  I started to apologize, but he stopped me, and I
suggested that I just show him where it was.

We took the trolley cars down to the Castro District and walked a path
somewhat similar to the one I had taken when I had gone up there a few
years earlier.  I experienced the same rush of feelings I had when I went
the first time: comfort until I got to the hard core sections, then extreme
discomfort in those areas.  Matt seemed to react the same way, and I
expected him to make crude jokes, but he just took it all in.  It was like
it was a research project for him.  I was doing really well until we were
walking down the street in the center of the district and I saw a familiar
face: Darryl.

He was walking towards me, about 100 yards away, yet I could recognize him
even from that distance.  My pace slowed, and Matt looked at me
questioningly, but I couldn't just play this off.  Darryl was dressed
entirely in leather, black leather, and would have looked really hot except
for two things.  First, he looked emaciated, like he had hardly eaten at
all for the past year.  Secondly, he was wearing thick, and I mean theatre
stage thick, make-up, with fake eyelashes and everything.  As we got closer
he looked up and we made eye contact and I froze in my tracks.  All these
years of acting, of hiding my emotions, of hiding my true
feelings....none of that prepared me for this.  I just couldn't act.  I
just stopped and stared at him.

We had always been able to communicate with our eyes.  I could read his
like a book.  At first, he seemed happy to see me, and I know I echoed that
thought.  Our eyes lit up, and I was about to run up to him.  But he was
with his friends, and I was with Matt, and the awkwardness of our
situations, and the way he was dressed seemed to override that.  His
expression changed from friendly, to embarrassed, to awkward, to almost
scared.  He began walking fast, and turned down an alley.  I started
walking towards him, and by the time I got to the alley, he was gone.
"What's wrong?" Matt asked me.  "I knew that guy.  He used to go to my high
school," I said.  "Wow, he was a screaming fag.  Was he like that in high
school?" he asked.  I was too stunned to argue.  "No.  Let's not talk about
it, OK?" I said, and we moved on.

Seeing Darryl again would plague me for years, until I ran into him one
last time.  I chided myself for not being more forceful in catching him,
for not being more receptive when our eyes met, for not reaching out to him
and accepting him make-up, leather, and all.  I told myself that I didn't
pursue him because Matt was with me, and got mad at Matt for it, only to
realize that it was my own fault, and blame myself even more.  It would
have been so good to hug him, to reconnect with him as a friend, but I let
my own prejudices and stereotypes get in the way.  To this day, I have a
hard time forgiving myself for it.

Matt seemed to notice my somber mood, and we cut the rest of our city
excursion short.  By the time we got home, I had repaired my mask and
presented my normal, well-adjusted façade to Matt and the world.  The
next day we went driving in the hills and I showed him some of the nicer
neighborhoods.  In one of them, there was a little valley next to a
semi-private road.  We noticed a truck parked at the top on the road.  It
looked like a gardener's truck, with lots of trees and branches on it.  At
the bottom of the valley was a big rock, and there were two guys down
there.  I think they were trying to climb up the rock, but the movements
they were making to climb it made it look like they were fucking the rock.
We appropriately christened them "The Rock Fuckers".  We watched them for
awhile, laughed our asses off, and then took off.

Matt's last day rolled around, and we had some time to kill, so I suggested
that we go back and check out the rock.  "I don't know Matt; it may be a
pretty hot rock.  Looked like those guys were really enjoying it," I joked.
We laughed about them, and drove up to the same spot they had parked their
truck.  I went running down into the valley to check out the rock, while
Matt hung back.  I got down there and inspected the rock for holes, when
Matt started yelling for me to run and get back up there.  I thought, "Oh
shit, The Rock Fuckers are back and they'll be pissed at me for messing
with their rock", so I ran up the hill as fast as I could, laughing pretty
hard as I went.  When I got to the top, Matt said "look at that", and
pointed to the valley, and it was full of pot plants.  I can't believe I
didn't notice it before.  We hopped in the car and got out of there pretty
fast, but I always thought it was pretty amazing that The Rock Fuckers were
growing pot in one of the most exclusive neighborhoods in the valley, and
no one seemed to notice.

When Matt left, I was sadder than ever to see him go.  I was really
attached to him, and the combination of love, lust, and frustration was
almost overwhelming.  But I promised to try to come out in the summer, and
I was feeling more secure about our friendship since we had experienced so
much together.

I hadn't been with a girl since the prior summer, and as the school year
came to an end, I was starting to get a handle on my depression.  As my
depression ebbed, my horniness returned, and I was getting desperate for
sexual attention.  Since it seemed that male attention was not going to
happen, I decided to try for some pussy.  Senior Prom was coming up, so I
asked this girl named Claudia to go with me.  Claudia was pretty hot, but
didn't have the best reputation.  That was fine with me.  The good thing
about Claudia, though, was that she was from a good family, and knew how to
act in public.  So even though she was pretty much a slut, my parents would
never suspect a thing.

I took Claudia out to dinner in The City with two other couples and we had
a great time.  We went to the prom, and that was even fun.  I especially
enjoyed slow dancing with Claudia in front of Mari, who had brought some
total goon to the prom.  Yeah we were on friendly terms, and the past was
past, but you can't blame a guy for enjoying a chance to rub it in a
little.  After the prom died down, we took a drive up in the hills and
parked.  We had been talking most of the night, and I wasn't in the mood
for conversation and neither was she.

I had borrowed my Mom's Cadillac because it had a big front bench seat, so
I moved over next to Claudia and ran my fingers through her hair.  She had
really pretty black hair.  Her family was French, and she had those looks
that Frenchwomen have that can drive you wild: Dark hair, fair skin, cute
perky nose, and really big tits.  We started making out, and I ran my hand
up her shirt and cupped her breast through her bra.  She moaned and pushed
against me....she wanted me almost as much as I wanted her.  I hiked her
dress up and started stroking her pussy through her panties.  She reached
down and grabbed my dick through my tux pants.  That got her a moan from
me!  I dropped my pants, pulled off her panties, slipped on my condom, and
moved over her.  I felt my dick penetrate her cunt, felt her envelop me.
God I needed this.  I made a mental note to pace myself.  All of a sudden,
a flashlight shined in the car and a voice said, "Get out of the car young
man".  I turned around and there was a cop staring into the car with a
flashlight aimed at my bare ass.  Talk about bad timing.  Fuck.

Claudia started to freak out.  "Get off of me Mark," she said as I pulled
out and she began pushing her dress down and frantically looking for her
panties.  I pulled up my pants as best I could and stepped out of the car.
"You too, miss," the cop said to Claudia.  He was looking at me with a
shit-eating grin, and I was so pissed I was glaring back at him.  "You been
drinking son?" he said.  "Should I search your car?"  Now, I knew that he
couldn't just go rummaging around the car, but I took his meaning.  I had
been drinking, although I was pretty much OK by then, and I had been
smoking too, and had a pretty big bag in the car.  I decided to change my
attitude.  "I'm sorry officer.  No, I haven't been drinking, but we did
have our Senior Prom tonight, and we were just, er, enjoying the view," I
stammered.  He looked at me dubiously.  "Can I see your ID's?" he asked.

He looked at my license briefly.  Then he looked at Claudia's.  "Miss
Hargrove, are you related to Captain Neal Hargrove?" the cop asked.
Captain Hargrove?  Uh oh.  Claudia smiled at him; she had an amazingly
bright smile.  "Why yes officer, he's my father.  Only now he's a
rear-admiral, and is stationed over at the base."  I looked at her in
amazement.  I never knew what her father did, and now I find out he's a
fucking admiral in the navy.  "I served with your father in the navy ma'am.
He's a fine, honest man," said the cop, with reverence.  Then he looked at
me, and looked at her.  "Miss Hargrove, was this young man forcing you to
do anything against your will?" he asked as he gave me a dirty look.
Claudia looked at me with an evil smile, as if to say "your ass is totally
in my hands", and I winked back at her.  "No officer, he's been quite the
gentleman," she told him.  "Well, it's dangerous for you kids to be up here
late at night, so you'll need to move on."  "Yes sir," we chimed, and got
back in the car.

As soon as we got back in the car, I looked at her and said "Jesus Claudia,
you never told me your dad was an admiral!"  "You never asked.  I think I
should be getting home now," she said, with a flip air.  I just kind of
looked at her in amazement, and started driving.  One thrust and a kiss
goodnight was my score for the night, and for all of senior year.