Date: Fri, 19 Nov 1999 14:59:52 -0500
From: Charlie <charlieje@mindspring.com>
Subject: Kenny_9 (highschool)

       This is a story about a love between two young boys. The usual
disclaimers apply: If you are under the age of 18, or reading such material
is illegal in your jurisdiction, then please leave this story unread now. There
are within the story explicit descriptions of sex between boys, but that is
not the main theme; so if your thing is reading stories that are purely sex in
nature then this story will probably not be to your liking.
       The story is made up of both fact and fantasy. The people herein are
real, but their names have been changed. The rest of the story, as I said, is a
mixture of fact and fantasy . . .  perhaps how I wish it had happened. As to
what is fact and what isn't, I shall keep that to myself. Suffice to say that
the details of the intimate encounters contained herein are more than likely
not exactly as stated. The encounters did happen, but not necessarily as
described here..


Dear readers,

     The email response I've been receiving has been incredible, and I thank
you all from the bottom of my heart! I have been trying to reply to each
one, but I am getting behind, so I wanted to put a little note in this chapter
to all of you just to let you know that I appreciate your taking the time, and
I will get caught up. As I write this it is 5 AM, Friday, 11/20. I am not
working today so I hope to do a lot of writing and emailing over the
weekend; but in the meantime THANK YOU! If I have helped someone, or just
touched a heart or two, then that's what it's all about, isn't it?

     I had this episode all typed, spell-checked, and ready to send when I
received the following story. I was moved by it, and could relate to the boy
in the story so well I decided to add it here. At that time in my life, my
whole motivation, my very reason for living in many ways, was the same as
the young boy's motivation in the story; so once again this entry will be
very long! The email I have received has led me to believe that I am writing
to a very sensitive group of people, so I suspect that any further
explanation would be superfluous. I did not write this story, but I wish I
had.

                                  The Game
 
     Bob Richards, the former pole-vault champion, shares a moving
story about a skinny young boy who loved football with all his heart.

      Practice after practice, he eagerly gave everything he had. But 
being half the size of the other boys, he got absolutely nowhere. At all 
the games, this hopeful athlete sat on the bench and hardly ever played.  
     This teenager lived alone with his father, and the two of them had a 
very special relationship. Even though the son was always on the 
bench, his father was always in the stands cheering. He never missed a 
game.
     This young man was still the smallest of the class when he entered 
high school.  But his father continued to encourage him but also made
it  very clear that he did not have to play football if he didn't want to.
But  the young man loved football and decided to hang in there. He
was determined to try his best at every practice, and perhaps he'd get to
play when he became a senior. All through high school he never missed
a practice nor a game, but remained a bench warmer all four years. His
faithful father was always in the stands, always with words of
encouragement for him.  
      When the young man went to college, he decided to try out for the 
football team as a "walk-on". Everyone was sure he could never make
the cut, but he did. The coach admitted that he kept him on the roster
because he always puts his heart and soul to every practice, and at the
same time, provided the other members with the spirit and hustle they
badly needed.  
     The news that he had survived the cut thrilled him so much that he 
rushed to the nearest phone and called his father. His father shared his 
excitement and was sent season tickets for all the college games. This 
persistent young athlete never missed practice during his four years at
college, but he never got to play in the game.

     It was the end of his senior football season, and as he trotted onto 
the practice field shortly before the big play off game, the coach met 
him with a telegram. The young man read the telegram and he became
deathly silent. Swallowing hard, he mumbled to the coach, "My father
died this morning. Is it all right if I miss practice today?" The coach
put his arm gently around his shoulder and said, "Take the rest of the
week off, son. And don't even plan to come back to the game on
Saturday.
     Saturday arrived, and the game was not going well. In the third 
quarter, when the team was ten points behind, a silent young man
quietly slipped into the empty locker room and put on his football
gear. As he ran onto the sidelines, the coach and his players were
astounded to see their  faithful teammate back so soon.
     "Coach, please let me play. I've just got to  play today." said the
young man. The coach pretended not to hear him.  There was no way
he wanted his worst player in this close playoff game.  But the young
man persisted, and finally feeling sorry for the kid, the coach gave in.
    "All right," he said. "You can go in". 
    Before long, the coach, the players and everyone in the stands could 
not believe their eyes. This little unknown, who had never played
before  was doing everything right. The opposing team could not stop
him.  He ran, he passed, blocked and tackled like a star. His team began
to triumph.  The score was soon tied. In the closing seconds of the
game, this kid intercepted a pass and ran all the way for the winning
touchdown.  
     The fans broke loose. His teammates hoisted him onto their
shoulders.  Such cheering you never heard!
 
    Finally, after the stands had emptied and the team had showered and  
left the locker room, the coach noticed that the young man was  sitting
quietly in the corner all alone. The coach came to him and said,  "Kid, I
can't believe it. You were fantastic! Tell me what got into you? How 
did you do it?"
      He looked at the coach, with tears in his eyes, and said, "Well, you 
knew my dad died, but did you know that my dad was blind?' The
young man swallowed hard and forced a smile, "Dad came to all my
games, but today was the first time he could see me play, and I wanted
to show him I could do it!"
 

    RIGHT NOW:
 
    somebody is very proud of you.
    somebody is thinking of you.
    somebody is caring about you.
    somebody misses you.
    somebody wants to talk to you.
    somebody wants to be with you.
    somebody hopes you are not in trouble.
    somebody is thankful for the support you have provided.  
    somebody wants to hold your hand.
    somebody hopes everything turns out all right.
    somebody wants you to be happy.
    somebody wants you to find him/her.
    somebody wants to give you a gift.
    somebody wants to hug you.
    somebody thinks you ARE a gift.
    somebody admires your strength.
    somebody is thinking of you and smiling.
    somebody wants to protect you.
    somebody can't wait to see you.
    somebody loves you for who you are.
    somebody treasures your spirit.
    somebody is glad that you are their friend.
    somebody wants to get to know you better.
    somebody wants to be near you.
    somebody wants you to know they are there for you.
    somebody would do anything for you.
    somebody wants to share their dreams with you.
    somebody is alive because of you
    somebody needs your support.
    somebody will cry when they read this.
    somebody needs you to have faith in them.
    somebody trusts you.
    somebody hears a song that reminds them of you.
 
   SOMEBODY NEEDS YOU TO SEND THIS TO THEM
 

     There is no question that Charlie in the story (yah, ok, it's me
<BLUSH>) had a lot going for him. As I said before, I'm not trying to
boast, just telling it like it was. I guess it's part of the healing process.
If we have anything to boast about it's not our talents, but how we use
them. And in that department I needed a lot of pushing, a lot of
prodding.  Anyway, Charlie had a lot of God-given talents, could do a
lot of things that many would work their whole lives to do if necessary.
But he kept screwing up; throwing accomplishments in the trash, giving
up! He thought he was stupid, ugly, incompetent. Why?

     A few years ago a psychologist told me that a person with a low
self-esteem does not want to hear that he is good, talented, smart,
handsome, any of those things! To be told he is a piece of garbage is to
have his own conclusions reinforced, and is therefore somewhere in the
subconscious preferable to him. I presume that most of the readers of
this series are Gay or Bi, or at least sympathetic to such. I also assume
that there are few gay men around who have not at some time suffered
from a low self-esteem. My point is, if you are dealing with such a
problem or know of someone who is, it is simply not enough to TELL
them they are ok and that their low opinion of themselves is inaccurate.
That only reaffirms how they feel. Hell, they can't even assess
themselves accurately! No, we have to do something to cause these
people to succeed! We have to PROVE to them that they can do it,
whatever IT is! And the only real way to do that is to actually have the
person DO it! Risky at best, because a failure is devastating. I thank the
people in my life from the bottom of my heart who have done that with
me, who have had the courage, and the confidence in me, to take a chance!

                Kenny_9:    A New Job

     It was beginning to seem as though I was living from one crisis to
another. I'm not sure if I could have survived any more without some
four-alarm fire to keep my adrenaline pumping. Life is fun for me, a
total BLAST, and always has been. Trouble is, I was well up in years
before I realized just how much I had been enjoying it! Sound
confused? Well, I've spent most of my life being confused. About who
I was; what I was; where I was going; and probably most important,
WHY I was!

     It was only a week after we'd got home from the fishing camp that
Robbie came home from work one night all excited and looking for me.
He had landed a job for the summer that was close enough that he
could stay home, and we were all, including me, thrilled to have him.
     "Charlie," he said breathlessly, I need a favor."
     "Anything," I answered without hesitation.
     "Great! I'm getting married the first of August, and I need help with
the music for the wedding."
     "You're getting married? When did this all happen?"
     "Last night," he said happily, "We just decided last night that we're
gonna do it before school starts again."
      Naturally this brought mixed reactions from the Collins household.
It was so sudden! You're so young! Are you sure? Why so soon? And
so on and so on. But the thing that impressed me was with all these
questions, all these objections, Robbie never once got angry, never
once defensive, never was offended by the third degrees he was
receiving. His family were all concerned about him, and he knew that
and accepted it for what it was. I sat and observed all this, then
developed a deep envy for Kenny and the wonderful family of which he
was a part, and then a gratefulness that reduced me to tears when I
realized that I was now a member of this same family. But I was to
learn that I was much more a part than I'd realized.

     Eventually all the questions were answered to the satisfaction of the
family, and Robbie's wedding was scheduled for Saturday, July 31,
only four weeks away! But so what? You say. Well, so this!

     "Charlie," Robbie said somewhat nervously, "I'm in a bit of a fix,
and I think you might be able to help. We want to get married in St.
Luke's, which is Tanya's church. But their organist has left and they
have no replacement. Do you suppose you could play for the
ceremony? We're really anxious to have the wedding before we have to
go back to school."
"Me?" I evaded, "Why me? What makes you think I could even do it?"
     "Kenny says you're good on the organ."
     "He's never heard me play the organ. I haven't played an organ
since I was 12 years old! I don't even go to church any more!"
     "Well we heard you play the piano last Christmas, and you certainly
made that old piano sit up and take notice. Would you at least try?"
     "I... well... to be honest, I sorta decided that music was something
that Mom and I shared, so when she died, I kinda let the music die." It
was true, I had never touched a keyboard of any kind after my mom's
death. It would be, I thought, some sort of a violation of a trust we'd
had. "I'm sorry, Robbie," I said quite sincerely, "I'd help if I could."
     "That's ok, lil bro, I understand. But you will be there, right?"
     "Oh yeah!" I assured him, "I wouldn't miss it!

     "Lil Bro?" I thought to myself. Holy crap! Robbie called me his little
brother! Now that was COOL! All my life I'd wanted a brother! Not a
sexual partner, not someone to defend me on the playground, or
someone to help with homework, although all those things were
important; but to have a big brother! WOW!!!!!

     When we went to bed, Kenny was really pissed at me. I mean, he
hardly spoke a word, and when I hugged him it was like embracing a
frozen cast iron statue with barnacles all over it! "I get the distinct
feeling," I said, trying to be funny, "That I've done something that falls
short of meeting with your approval."
     No answer.
     "I love you, dude!"
     No answer.
     "Hey, the coolest thing happened today! Made me feel really
special. Wanna hear about it?"
     No answer.
     "I knew you'd want to hear about it. I know you're overcome with
desire to hear about it, so here goes."
     No answer. He was lying on his back, eyes staring sightlessly at the
ceiling.
     "Ya see," I continued desperately, "I was talking with Robbie
tonight. You know Robbie, your brother? Well it seems he's not
YOUR brother after all. He's OUR brother! He called me LilBro,
dude! You have any idea how much that meant to me?"

     No answer! Now I noticed that those deep brown eyes had tears in
them.
     "Ok, Kenny," I said as my own eyes started to dampen up, "I told
your dad I would never hurt you and I meant it. But if I've hurt you
and don't know how, I don't know how I can do anything about it. So
please tell me, ok?"
     "You didn't hurt me."
     "I didn't? Well I certainly pissed you off."
     "Uh-huh."
     "Oh, sorry, But how? What should be my penance?" That comment
had obviously gone over the line. Kenny came alive with a fury I've
never seen before. He sat up rigid in the bed, his beautiful brown eyes
practically glowing like lasers with pure rage.
     "You know," he said vehemently, "You're something else, Charlie!
Do you ever think about anyone but yourself? Do you ever give, or do
you just take until everybody is tired of giving to you?"

     "Kenny," I said in a state of shock, "I have no idea what you're
talking about. If I've hurt you..."
     "You've done nothing but hurt me since the day we met! It's poor
me! My mother is dying! Poor me, my dad hates me! Poor me, I can't
take the college courses I want! Poor me, they won't let me play the
church organ any more because I didn't do it their way! I'm sick of it,
Charlie! Don't you ever think about anyone else? Sometimes I think
you're just like your dad!"
     "Ouch!" I answered meekly, "That one hurt! If that's what you
think, then I have obviously been wrong! And I'll do whatever it takes
to make it right. But please don't tell me I'm like my dad, that's the
worst thing anyone could ever say to me!"
     "Then don't act like him!"
     "Dammit, Kenny! What did I do?"

     "You came in here all happy," Kenny spit out the words, "So proud,
so happy that Robbie called you his brother. He loves you Charlie!
Godammit, Robbie loves you as much, maybe more, than he does me!
And what have you done for him?"
     "So that's it! You're jealous of your brother? Well, I don't..."
     "That's it! You DON'T! You don't do shit except sit around and
wait for people to love you! Didn't it ever occur to you that love goes
two ways? Didn't it ever cross your mind that if you love someone you
have to do for them? Sense when they need you? Try to help them
out?"

     I was still totally confused. I tried to hug him, to tell him that things
were all right, but he wouldn't let me touch him. I was beginning to
panic, to think that the one thing I simply could not lose, I was losing.
Then Kenny started talking again.

     "Robbie asked you to play for his wedding. Didn't you think it's
kinda strange that he'd get married on such short notice? Tanya's not
pregnant, there's no emergency. In fact they'd rather put it off till they
graduate. But no, I had to tell them all about you and what you were
going through. I had to join the 'Poor Charlie' club and tell them all
about it. Then Tanya got this bright idea that maybe if we could
somehow get you to do something you love, and you did well at it, that
you might get back some of your self confidence. So they decided to
get married right away so they'd have an excuse to get you on the
organ. And what did you do? What you do best, Charlie! You just said
screw off, I'm too busy feeling sorry for myself to help you out! I
should've known that's what you'd do."

     "You don't understand, Kenny," I said defensively, "That organ, my
music, that was between my mom and me. That's all I have left of her.
Out of respect for her..."
     "Out of respect for her," Kenny raged, "You don't have a choice!
Do you think for one minute that she gave you that gift for you to bury
it and forget it? That's her immortality, Charlie! She couldn't be here to
watch you grow up and become the awesome person that you are! So
she did the next best thing. She gave you the gift of music! Do you
have any idea how much I envy you? I can't play shit, can't sing, can't
tell the difference between a major chord and a frog croak! You've got
it all! And you're throwing it all away just because life hasn't treated
you the way you'd like. Did it ever occur to you that someone, maybe
even me, is watching how you handle adversity? Did it ever occur to
you that someone might be influenced by how you deal with all this?
God, Charlie! You're so fucking talented it makes me sick! And you
just give up every time things don't go your way!
     "In case you haven't already figured it out, I love Robbie a lot, and
I'll do anything I can to see that he doesn't ever get hurt. And now he's
gambled his whole future, marriage, family, everything! For you,
Charlie! If it weren't for you, they wouldn't be getting married till after
they had a start in life, maybe not at all! And you just say thanks but no
thanks, and walk away! Then you come in here bragging that he called
you his little brother. Well in my books you have to EARN the right to
call yourself Robbie's brother, and you haven't even come close!"

     Somewhere along the line I had started crying, and now Kenny was
crying too; so hard in fact that he couldn't keep up his dialogue. Good
thing in a way, or I suspect he'd have gone on all night. This time when
I embraced him he responded and returned the hug. "I'm sorry,
Charlie," he sobbed, "I love you, but... but sometimes you get so
drowned in self pity you don't see all the love and caring around you!"
     "I know, Kenny, you're right. I'm sorry, and I'm gonna get better at
being a human being, ok?" He didn't answer. I hugged him for a few
moments, then got softly out of bed and padded down the hall in my
(well, Kenny's) briefs. I knocked on Robbie's door.

     "Charlie?" a sleepy Robbie said as he opened the door in his boxers.
"What's the matter? Shit man, it's 1 AM! Anything wrong?"
     "I'm not sure," I said, "Can we talk for a sec?"
     "Sure, c'mon in!" I followed Robbie to his bed and sat on the edge
while he crawled back in.
     "I was just wondering," I stammered, "Is it too late to change my
mind? About playing the organ at your wedding I mean?"
     I felt a finger cup my chin and pull it, turning my head toward
Robbie. "Charlie," he said, "Have you been crying?"
     "Sort of," I replied, fighting hard to keep from starting again.
     "Well, about that organ. It's no big deal. If you're uncomfortable
with..."
     "What I'm uncomfortable with," I interrupted, "Is the idea of my big
brother getting married in less than perfect conditions. Of course I'll
play the organ! And everyone there will know that YOUR BROTHER
is at the console! But you gotta do me two favors."
     "Ok, so far so good. First one is?"
     "You choose the music, then leave the rest to me. I'm gonna need
lots of practice so the sooner I have the music the better."
     "Ok, done. Second?"
     "This one's a little tougher. Robbie, can I sleep in here tonight? I'm
not real popular in the other room right now."
     "I got a feeling you're doing just fine in the other room. But what
the hell, Kenny and I have slept together many times, so I guess maybe
it's your turn. Crawl in here dude!"

     I hadn't been thinking about sex, hadn't expected it. Good thing,
because I didn't get it. But I curled up in a little ball, Robbie wrapped
his big strong arms around me, and within seconds we were both sound
asleep. As I was dropping off I heard him say 'way off in the distance
somewhere, "I love you, LilBro!" Robbie had that same delicate,
sensitive touch that Kenny had used so many times to send me to
paradise. I was so warm, so comfortable, so content. And then I was in
dreamland.

     The next day was a nightmare! Kenny and I kissed and made up as
soon as we'd got up. I told him what I'd done and where I'd gone, but
he silenced me and told me the same thing Robbie'd told me: that he'd
cuddled up with Robbie many times, so he understood. Theirs was truly
a wonderful brotherly bond, and I felt deeply honored to be a part of it.
     At the hospital it was a totally different story. I think every old man
with incontinence problems had an appointment that day. I cannot even
begin to tell how many diapers I changed. Yeah, a lot of older men and
women wear diapers, I'm sorry to say. At least nowadays there are
adult disposables. Back then they were cloth, and stinky if they're not
washed properly and changed often. I found myself on more than one
occasion thinking that's the way I'll end up some day, but then I
dismissed those thoughts as more of the "poor me" attitude I was
getting so good at.

     By the time I got home it was after 6, and Robbie had made an
appointment with the chairman of the music committee at St. Luke's
Church. So we bolted down our suppers far too quickly and the three
of us were off to the church, where we were introduced to a Mr.
George Devlin, chairman of the church's music committee..

     George shook hands with us warmly, then looked me up and down
really good. "So you're our young organist!" he exclaimed, "Would
you like to check out the organ? I've learned that new organists can
talk better once they know what they're dealing with."
     "That's true," I agreed, "Or so I've been told. Actually I've only
ever played one pipe organ, so please don't expect too much till I get
used to it."
     "You'll do fine," he assured me. "I don't know anything about
them, but anyone who has played it has told me it's a fine instrument."

     Fine instrument was the understatement of the century! I found
myself sitting at the console of a four manual Aolean, about twice the
size of the one I'd played four years ago. Casavante, Mr. Whittaker had
told me, had a reputation for making smaller organs with a very pure,
very sweet tone. Aolean, on the other hand, were known for building
very grand, very powerful organs which were in very large cathedrals
around the world. The other thing I'd been told by my mentor was that
Casavante organs were built in Canada, Aolean in the USA.

     "My Lord!" Kenny exclaimed as he sat on the bench beside me,
"You mean to tell me you can actually play this thing?"
     "We'll soon see," I said somewhat shakily.
     "But how do you know what buttons to push?"
     "Yeah," Robbie joined in, "It all looks like a monster to me. How in
the world do you ever get the right sound out of it?"
     I explained about the four manuals and when one would play one
over the other, about the stops, how there were flutes, reeds, strings,
etc, and how the numbers on the stops represented the length of the
pipes they controlled in feet; I showed them how the thumb pistons
worked and what they did, how the pedal clavier was just like a
keyboard only you played it with your feet. I showed them the couplers
and what they did. I demonstrated how one could "stop down" the
whole organ so that it could go from very loud, very powerful, to
almost inaudible in a matter of seconds. "Really," I said with a grin,
"It's nothing but thousands of whistles, finely tuned and controlled so
that you only blow the ones that will work together. Conceited I know,
but I was getting totally off on describing all the various parts of this
monster. I had remembered a lot more than I thought. At the same time
I realized that it was no different from the last one I'd played, only with
a lot more options.
     "Whistles?" George echoed. "I've heard a pipe organ called a lot of
things, but never a bunch of whistles!" We laughed and agreed that I'd
probably made the over-simplification of all time. "Well," Kenny said
impatiently, "Let's get this bad boy cranked up! I wanna hear what it
can do."
     "While you familiarize yourself with it,"George said kindly, "I'll
take Robbie here to the music library and start picking out the music
for the wedding." As if on cue, Tanya appeard, and after introductions
all around, the three disappeard, leaving me with this giant monster that
threatened to eat me alive.

     Kenny retrieved a hymn book from a pew, and I leafed through it. I
found one that I knew and was pretty sure I could play, pulled down a
few stops and struck a chord. It sounded heavenly, at least to my ears. I
added some strings and tried the chorus. "That's REAL nice!" Kenny
exclaimed. He was completely mesmerized by the difference pulling a
few plungers could make. I found I could reach the pedals much more
easily than I could the last time I'd been at a console, so I finally
pushed a thumb piston, a bunch of stops popped in and out, and I was
playing.

     We often see movies of people flying solo for the first time, or
water skiing, sky diving, whatever. These movies demonstrate the
exhilaration, the total freedom and pure rush of adrenalin the person is
experiencing. I have never seen such a movie about an organist; but
that's what I felt. It was so magnificent! So powerful! I was so small
and insignificant! And yet I was in control, and the organ did my every
bidding! I simply do not know how else to describe the feeling! Kenny,
on the other hand, was never at a loss for words. "Awesome!" he
exclaimed, "Use that Crescendo thing! Make her talk to us!"
     I flipped to another hymn. Starting on the Swell I played the first
verse softly, sweetly, using mostly flutes and high strings. On the
second verse I added some reeds and a low pitch strings. Third verse,
the trumpets. Fourth verse, I moved my foot to the Crescendo and
started to rotate it. Kenny, and to be truthful, me too, watched in awe
as the stops opened one by one and that mighty organ came to life. By
the final chord, which I held forever, the entire sanctuary was
shuddering as that magnificent instrument thundered in response to my
command. "Flying free!" I thought. There was no audience, save my
beloved Kenny and a few I only knew about later, but it will still remain
as one of the high points of my entire life. This just seemed so right! As
if I'd been born for this very moment! Just like the moment Kenny and
I had realized that we were more, far more, than friends! In fact, the
feeling was exactly the same!

     "Wow!" Kenny exclaimed when I could finally lift my fingers off the
keys.
     "Go, Charlie!" Robbie and Tanya chorused.
     "You like power!" George exclaimed, "And exercising those stops!"
     "Sorry sir," I apologized, "I guess I got carried away again. Organs
have that effect on me."
     "Don't apologize," George grinned, "Just do it again! And again!
And again!"
     "But... I don't want to offend anyone, or hurt the organ."
     "You can't hurt the organ," George assured me, "What hurts the
organ is being under-used. Like these folks who say they can play the
organ, they pull down their favorite set of stops, then play it like it was
a piano. They don't change the stops, never add any expression. That's
not an organist! An organist makes an organ strut its stuff."
     "Yeah," Kenny agreed, "Like you just did!"
     "As for offending," Tanya put in, "Go ahead and offend if you like
at my wedding. I felt like your emotions were going right down your
arms into your fingers! Has anyone ever told you that you're gifted?"
     "Yeah," I answered, "Someone did. But she died."

     "I have to admit," George said about a week later when I came to
the church to practice, "I've done a little checking on you."
     "Checking?" I said nervously, "What kind of checking?"
     "Nothing ominous," he assured me, "But I wanted to know more
about you. I've been thinking that we need an organist, and you..."
     "Oh, no!" I broke in, "No way! There's no way in the world that I
could..."
     "And why not?" a voice from behind me demanded. I looked around
and found myself staring into the smiling face of John Whittaker, my
organ teacher!

     I ran to him like the little boy I'd been when he was giving me
lessons, threw my arms around him and cried like a baby. To me, Mr.
Whittaker was part of the package: My mom, music, organs. I had
thought I'd lost it all, and it was so good to see what I considered to be
my mentor. I felt his arms wrap around my shoulders and squeeze.
"Same Charlie I remember," he chuckled, "Affectionate as a baby
kitten, and so loves to get hugs!"
     After I'd got over the shock of seeing him, I inundated him with
questions: Where had he gone? Was he back in town? Could I be his
student again? How was he doing? He explained that after the day I
played the organ and upset a whole church, he'd had serious doubts
about how he had taught me so he decided to keep his distance. He had
never left town, but became organist for a church that wasn't very far
from the one we were now in. He had heard me practicing and was
now assuring me that I could do just fine, with possibly a little tutoring
that he'd be pleased to give.
     "But I can't!" I exclaimed, "I'm not even 16 years old!"
     "You will be next week," he grinned.
     "You know what I mean. I can't just pick up anything and play it
like you can. I don't know about all the music that's available, I have
no idea how to lead a choir, I don't even know if I can play the way
they want me to. You know what happened last time. I don't want to
embarrass you again."
     "When you're done listing all the reasons why you can't do it," Mr
Whittaker said with a smile, "let me know and I'll tell you why you
can." When I didn't say any more he began answering my objections.

     "They have a good and knowledgeable music committee here, and
I'm sure they'll help you picking out music selections. They might even
prefer it that way." George nodded his affirmation.
     "As for your age, I consider that to be an asset. You are not only
young, but very sensitive and emotional. It reflects in your playing, and
that is a good thing. Your sight reading skills will improve greatly,
Charlie, and fast! Your mother, probably without even knowing it, gave
you the greatest gift any musician could hope for. She taught you from
the very beginning to "connect" your eyes, brain, and fingers together.
Most young kids, when they are first learning to play, will look at the
music, analyze it to determine 'that's a G sharp, this is a B flat,' etc.
It's like speaking French but thinking English. You have to translate
everything in your mind before you speak and that makes your speech
jerky, very hard to listen to. It's the same with music. When you
THINK music, and train your fingers to do instantly what your eyes
see, you have the potential to be a good musician. Some people never
learn that, Charlie; but your mom started you that way! Why in the
world do you think I picked you of all the little boys and girls around?
You were my only student, you know."
     "As for how we want you to play," George offered, "We want you
to play exactly like we've already heard. I've watched you play, and
your lips are moving the whole time! You're reading the words, and
even singing sometimes, aren't you?" I nodded.
     "But what's that have to do with..."
     "Don't you see, Charlie?" John Whittaker went on, "You are
reacting not only to the music, but the words too! Then you interpret
the whole package and put the result into the way you play. You get so
into it that you're in your own little world, but still aware of your
surroundings. And as for embarrassing me, I was so proud of you four
years ago I could bust! Why do you think I resigned when they decided
to stifle any further development? If you had been older I'd have
suggested you go to another church as well, but at 12 years old it
wasn't my place to suggest that."
     "There.... there's one more thing," I told him, "But I don't know if I
can tell you. At least not here."
     "You can use one of the Sunday School rooms," George offered, "If
you want to tell John in private." I thanked him, and he showed us into
a small classroom and closed the door.

     "Now," Mr. Whittaker said after giving me another warm hug,
"What is it that's so terrible that you can't play an organ?"
     "Mr. Whittaker, I'm... I'm a.... Mr. Whittaker, I have a boy friend.
I'm a homosexual!"
     "You mean that young man that's always with you?" I nodded.
"Well lucky you, Charlie! He's adorable!"
     "But..." I protested, "Playing in the church, and then going and
doing... uh..."
     "Doing what's natural for you!" he suggested. "I know how you
feel, Charlie. You're not going to try to tell me you've never suspected
that I'm gay."
     "You mean..."
     "Yes, I'm gay. I don't spread it around, I'm very discrete about my
sexual activities, which are almost non-existent, but that's not by
choice. I honestly don't think God will mind, Charlie. If you were
roaming all around the country availing yourself of every man and boy
you could get, it might be different. But if you LOVE someone and
express that love in the only way you can, I find it hard to believe that
God will condemn you for it."
     "But," I quizzed, I was really confused now. "But you never... uh...
you know..."
     "I never made a pass at you? Never took advantage of you? Charlie,
you were a child! I'd be lying if I said I didn't always find you
attractive, adorable even! But you were a little boy, I suspect that you
had no concept of sex. To become sexually active is to give up a part of
that childhood innocence, and I would never do that to someone! It
might be different now, except that you're committed and I respect
that."

     So once again I'd learned something important from Mr. Whittaker:
that to be gay doesn't necessarily mean you have to be some sex-crazed
maniac who will get into the pants of anything male. Maybe, I thought
to myself, if I live long enough, I might get to like myself again!

     "So if that's all your objections, let's get out there and practice. I
promise if you'll accept the organist's job, I'll be here every Sunday till
you're comfortable with it. And," he said with a grin, "you won't even
have to share your salary."
     "Salary?" I questioned, "You mean they'll pay me?"
     "Of course! You didn't know? It pays twenty dollars a week."
     I gasped. I was only making eighteen at the hospital, and that was
for a full forty hour week!

     Saturday morning, the morning that Robbie was to become a
husband. It was also the morning I was to become... what? It didn't
matter really, I'd been severely chastised for concentrating on myself:
on my needs, my worries, my tragedies. But I had been making an
honest effort not to do that, especially now! Robbie was getting
married! I doubted that I could ever do that, after what had happened
to my mom. I was so afraid I was like my dad, that I would abandon
my wife at the first sign of trouble and find someone else to fulfill my
"needs." But then that wasn't a problem either, was it? Why in the
world would I even think of marrying? I had my Kenny, and I needed
nothing else. So my task at that moment was to do whatever I could to
help make Robbie's wedding the most memorable possible.

     I had spent every evening for the past month practicing, and had
developed a fair confidence that I'd be all right. But I still found that
giant console intimidating. And of course this would be the first time
I'd be playing alone. Kenny had always been on the bench with me
during my practices, but this was the real thing! He was part of the
family, and of course part of the wedding party! So there I was, in my
tuxedo, feeling a little silly. On the other hand, I thought, if I looked
half as delicious as Kenny did, then I must've been an awesome sight.

     The introductory music, background music if you like, went fine. All
I did was play softly for the twenty minutes or so while people were
walking in. The organ was posistioned so I could see the entrance, and
I waited for the appearance of the bride. Robbie and the Best Man
appeared and took their places, then the bride appeard and the Minister
gave me a nod. I hit the thumb piston number 3 and started the
Wedding March. As the bride walked down the aisle I got inspired, and
we all know what that means. By the time she arrived at the front of the
church, everyone in town knew there was a wedding at St. Luke's.

     The ceremony itself was pretty traditional. After the processional
there was the short talk by the minister, followed by a solo which I
expected would be the toughest part. "Always remember," I
remembered Mr Whittaker saying, "It's a solo, not a duel between the
singer and the organist. They lead, you follow. But be ready, be
sensitive, so that you can correct if the person goes off key or off
timing. For a little speeding up or slowing down, follow them. Any
more, and you must get them back on track." The words echoed over
and over in my head as the lady got up to sing. It was a long piece, with
lots of pauses and two key changes. Oh well, I thought, just do it like
we practised. The lady was a friend of the Collins, and had been very
patient with me, practising over and over until I was confident I'd got it
right. Then came the signing of the register, where I played alone,
softly, trying to set the mood. A few more spoken words, the "I Do's,"
and the pronouncement. It was time for the recessional. I started
playing again, and again my emotions took over as I opened up the
stops, one or two at a time. Seemingly before it had begun, it was over!

     "You were really great, LilBro!" Robbie said as I hugged him and
kissed the bride, "What do you think of our lil brother, Tanya?" she
agreed that I should be in the reception line, not walking past it, so I
joined Kenny. His hand found mine and he gave it a discrete squeeze,
then slipped his hand down to my butt and pinched it. "You look good
enough to eat," he whispered, "And you play the organ pretty good
too!" That was it! All the nerves let loose at one time and I got into a
fit of giggles. The more I giggled the more Kenny pinched my butt until
he had to stop for fear I would totally lose control. After all, I was
being introduced to everyone including family as part of the family, and
I didn't want to come across as a complete idiot!

     It was almost 11 PM by the time we got home. Kenny and I
announced that we were tired and were going up to bed. Dad Collins
(Yeah, I had started calling him Dad again) gave us a knowing look,
thanked us for helping make the day so successful. Mom Collins gave
us each a very emotional hug, cried once more, and we bounded
upstairs.

     "I'm so incredibly proud of you!" Kenny whispered as we
embraced.
     "It's no big deal," I answered and kissed him deeply, 'I wasn't that
great."
     "You were awesome!" he countered, "But that's not why I'm so
proud. I always knew you could do it, but you didn't! But you did it
anyway, even though you thought you couldn't! And that's why I'm so
proud. And man, does that tux ever turn me on!"
     "Yeah," I grinned, "You look pretty awesome yourself. But I'm so
tired, I don't know if..."
     "Me too," Kenny said as he positioned us both in front of the
mirror. We had no intentions to have sex, we were just too bushed! But
as we stood there looking at the two young men in tuxedos smiling
back at us from the mirror, as Kenny began slowly removing my jacket,
shirt, and more, and I did the same to him, the fires re-kindled, and our
bodies found some more energy somewhere.

     After we had each anointed the other's throat with our own special
nectar, we lay on top of the bed clothes, naked, worshiping each
other's body with our hands. In my mind I pictured Robbie and Tanya,
very likely at this very moment doing much the same as we were, and I
wondered. Why was what they were doing so right, so acceptable,
desirable even? Yet Kenny and I were committing some terrible sin?
Didn't we love each other just as intensely? Were we hurting anybody?
I didn't understand it, didn't like it even a little bit! But at that moment,
curled up so close to Kenny and gently running my fingers all over his
gorgeous body, it didn't matter. In fact nothing did except the here and
now! It was the most wonderful feeling, to be totally at peace!

     Just about the time I thought my father and I had absolutely nothing
in common, that he had nothing to offer me, he surprised me again. It
was Saturday, the third week of August, and I was still not sure if I'd
been approved by all the powers that be to take up duties as the new
organist at St. Luke's. But I was hoping, trying not to get my hopes
too high. Meanwhile I was working hard at the hospital, while Kenny
was swimming four or five hours every day. His body was so incredibly
hard and sculpted now I could hardly take my eyes off him, dressed or
undressed.
     I had some maintenance to do on my bike, so I had dropped off at
home to pick up some money for parts. As Kenny and I got off the
bike, Dad appeared out of the garage where he'd been working on the
car. "So what is it this week?" he asked, "Lovers, best friends, just
hanging around, or what?" His tone was neutral, neither threatening
nor friendly. I suspected he really didn't want an answer, but I gave him
one anyway.
     "We're lovers, Dad," I said defiantly.
     "Really! Well thanks for telling me, or I might not have known."
     "What do you mean by that?" I demanded, always ready for a
confrontation, always it seemed looking for a fight.
     "I always thought young people in love were happy," he said as he
walked back toward the garage, "You two always look as if you'd lost
your last friend."

     Kenny looked at me, and I at him. "Y'know," he said pensively,
"The man's right! We never have fun any more. All we ever do is work,
swim, sit around and watch TV (oh yes, I forgot, TV had come to
town), and worry about this and that. It's time we had some FUN!"
     "Exactly what did you have in mind?" I asked nervously. I knew by
his expression that he'd already figured out a solution to our newest
problem.
     "Today," he said, "We're goin' to the beach! We're gonna swim
and play in the water; we're gonna dance at the pavilion, and we're
gonna eat all the disgusting junk food we can find. You got a problem
with that?"
     I started to object, citing the cost, the time we couldn't afford, but
Kenny would not take no for an answer. "Don't be such an old
pisspot!" he scolded. So the maintenance was forgotten, we gathered
together a few things and we took off for the afternoon.

     I had completely forgotten how much I loved to dance. The beach
was crowded with high school kids, all trying to cram as much fun into
the last two weeks before school started. There were lots of girls we
knew from school, and of course many that we didn't. But they all
were dying to dance. So dance we did! Some kids knew that Kenny and
I were an item, but most neither knew nor cared. To dance in a place
like that didn't carry with it any expectations, we were just kids being
kids and enjoying ourselves. We got so into it that Kenny and I danced
together, to the evident delight of everyone, male and female. We
avoided the slow dances though, because those always got us misty-
eyed, lost in each other's gazes, and we weren't sure if we were quite
ready for that just yet. And we were certain the rest of the world
wasn't ready.

     It was after 11 before we started home. It was a warm summer
evening, and the bike purred along smoothly under us as we drove the
thirty miles to Kenny's. Of course by the time we got there and got into
bed we'd rested some from all that dancing and swimming, and we
were ready to play! So we played until about 2:30. I had to be at the
church at 9; this was my day to be the guest organist for the day, sort
of a 'try before you buy' for both me and the church. But tonight it
didn't matter; tonight we were teenagers doing what teens do best:
having fun.

     "What do you think about Timmy?" Kenny asked dreamily as we
cuddled together, almost asleep.
     "Not sure what you mean," I mumbled, "I think he's a nice enough
guy, and really smart."
     "He told me he asked you to fool around with him."
     "He TOLD you?"
     "Yeah. He asked me too. Why didn't you do it?"
     "I didn't think it was right to do it behind your back." I knew as I
said the words how ironic they sounded, considering what I'd done
such a short time later. "Did you?" I asked.
     "No. But I think we should. It could be a lot of fun."
     "You're not serious!" I exclaimed.
     "Never more serious in my life. He's kinda cute, and so curious he's
ready to explode. We could help him out and have a lot of fun doing
it."
     "WE?" I was wide awake again now, and so was Kenny, his brown
eyes shining like diamonds.
     "Of course! That way neither of us is cheating on the other. And
you can't tell me you never thought about it. You've often told me he's
cute!"
     Kenny was right, I couldn't tell him I'd never thought about Timmy.
I admitted as much, we both grinned widely and began to make our
plans. "This is gonna be so cool!" Kenny grinned, and then we went
back to sleep, while visions of Timmy danced in our heads.

                        *          *          *          *

       If you like this story or have any comments or criticisms, please
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