Date: Tue, 29 May 2001 05:59:51 -0400
From: RitchChristopher@cs.com
Subject: Somewhere-along-the-way

All rights reserved. Copyright held by the author. If you are underage or
are offended by gay fiction, containing graphic sex and explicit language,
please exit now.


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	Inside of the past seventy-two hours I had landed at airports in Mindanao,
Honolulu, San Francisco, Chicago, and here I was leaving LaGuardia and
taking a shuttle to the Big Apple.  Seeing the Manhattan skyline for the
first time, even from a bus window, was enough to make a small-town Georgia
boy's jaw drop in awe. I'd seen tall buildings before, but none that would
compare with these. The skyscrapers were quite a diversion from the paddy
fields of Viet Nam which I had wallowed in for the past year.

      As the bus pulled into the terminal, I could see thousands and
thousands of people scattering about in different directions. .Jeez!. Why
were so many of them out on the streets?  Didn't any of them have indoor
jobs to go to?  I exited Port Authority which was just about a block from
the famous 42nd Street.  It looked like a combination of a carnival and a
freak show...only bigger. I saw a couple of restaurants advertising a steak,
baked potato and a salad for a buck-nineteen. There were rows of movie
houses lining each side of the street.  Some of them were showing triple
features of second run movies, while others advertised "all-adult" titles
like "Come Fill My Pussy With Blood" and "Deep, Deeper, and Deepest Throat"
all playing on one bill.  My God, if a theater owner in Georgia put a title
like that on his marquee, he would serve time in the state prison, let alone
show a film like that to the public because he might wind up getting
"life"or the electric chair.

      I couldn't believe all the girls that looked like hookers leaning up
against the buildings with their bleached hair, painted on eyebrows, and
black lipstick, wearing fish-net stockings with  one leg propped up so you
could see they weren't wearing any panties and you could get a glimpse of
their cunts. A couple of them were so fucking ugly, they had to be men in
drag....And the guys that were supposed to be guys were milling around in
their tight levis and white t-shirts with their hair all slicked back and
tied in a pony tail.  They were trying to hit on the same men the hookers
were.

      And then, of course, there were the friggin' hippies. ...God damn!
Every where you looked, there was long frizzy hair on both the men and the
women. They were all wearing love beads; barefooted or wearing sandals and
flowered shirts or muu muu's and all of them offering flowers to the
tourists, saying "love...love...love". That was the extent of their
vocabulary, except to me. None of them even approached me.  I was being
avoided...No flowers or beads were offered to me...no "love" words
either...because I was wearing a uniform of the United States Army. I heard
some cat-calls and a few "smooching" sounds from lips as I passed through
the crowd. A few of them called me names, like "woman killer" or "traitor".
No, sir. Forty-second Street was certainly not the place for a soldier in
the late 60's or early 70's.

	I walked up a few blocks and down a couple of side streets till I saw this
dumpy looking hotel that looked like it was in my price range. I went in and
rented a room. I was only there long enough to drop off my duffel bag and a
small case I was carrying.  I wasn't hungry yet, but I thought I would like
a beer since I was of legal age now. So I walked over to 8th Avenue and
looking north I saw a bar on the corner, a few blocks up, where a bunch of
servicemen were entering.  I knew there was supposed to be safety in
numbers, so I made my way toward the "Double By-Pass Inn". I went in and
pushed my way to the back and found a place to stand as the lower end of the
bar. I could kill the next three or four hours there until supper time.

     The bar was packed with sailors, G.I.'s, marines, and their
one-night-only girlfriends. New York is one place you don't have to hide in,
because nobody knows you anyway. Three hours had passed and I was sure by
now that I knew every lyric to every goddamned song of Burt Bacharach's on
every goddamned recording of Dionne Warwick's on the jukebox.  My head was
pounding with each rhythmic beat, reassuring me that I knew the way to San
Jose and it was time to leave.  I was never much of a drinker but I was
downing my third bottle of Schlitz. I must have been drunker than I thought
because I thought I heard someone calling my name, "Billy". I didn't bother
to turn around because in a city of eight million people, there must be at
least 50.000 Billys, Williams, Wills, or whatevers. But then when I heard
the call the second time, the voice had added a last name to the cry..."Hey,
Billy Sedgwick!" That was narrowing down the field of Billys to a minimum.
Someone must've recognized ME.

	Through the haze of cigarette smoke, I glanced down toward the other end of
the bar and I was positive my imagination was playing tricks on me. I saw a
guy in a soldier's uniform, like mine.  He looked like Ronnie Chastain, the
captain of my high school football team back in Dalton, Georgia. The more I
focused, the clearer his image appeared.  By God, it was
Ronnie...square-shouldered, six feet two inches tall, black crew cut, deep
green eyes, and well-developed muscles stretching from limb to limb,  I
raced back through my memory and couldn't recall him ever speaking to me the
whole four years we were in high school together.  I was the wimp...the one
nobody ever noticed or paid attention to, because to Ronnie's crowd of
friends and jocks, I never existed!  And now, a couple of years later...a
thousand miles from home, the impossible was happening. I knew for sure he
didn't want to talk with me, so I raised my beer bottle and nodded at him in
an unobtrusive manner.

	Little did he know that he had put me to sleep many nights while my fist
tugged at my cock, fantasizing about the things I would like to do to him.
And now he was less than 20 feet away from me, elbowing his way through the
crowd of drunken servicemen to meet me. I suddenly found myself sobering up
in a hurry. I looked at the nearly empty bottle of beer I was holding and
saw it shaking in my quivering hand. I felt a knot in my stomach surrounded
by fluttering butterflies. I hoped to God Ronnie hadn't made a mistake by
thinking I was someone that he knew.

	"Hey, Sedgwick!" he said, "How's it goin'?"

	"Fine." I replied, trying to clear the frog in my throat. "Yourself?"

	"Great, now that I'm back stateside."

	"Me, too. You here on leave or did you get discharged?" I asked.

	"Discharged!  I'm out...free and clear. Hell, if I was on leave, I wouldn't
be in New York. I'd be in L.A. or San Francisco."

	"How did you wind up in New York?"

	"I took the first plane home I could catch. It just so happened that the
military routing included several out of the way stops, like Chicago and New
York before it headed toward Atlanta...If the army planes were like the
commercial ones, it would have headed non-stop, straight to Atlanta,   Shit,
we used to say if you died and went to hell, you'd have to go through
Atlanta first...How about you? What the fuck are you doin' in New York."

	"I lied. When I got my discharge, I told my platoon leader that my family
had moved to New York. So here I am."

	"Why didn't you go home to Dalton?"

	"This was my one chance to get to see New York for free. I'll probably head
south in a couple of days after I've seen a few shows and scouted around for
a job."

	"You plan on moving to New York, for real?"

	"I'd love to. There's nothing there in Dalton for me to do. I'm allergic to
carpets and carpet mills.  I like hardwood floors!"

	"I was gonna say, if you were looking for a job, I'm sure my dad could find
something for you at one of his mills...but if you're allergic to getting
nap in your nostrils, you'd be shit out of luck...You discharged too?"

	"Yeah...honorably, believe it or not."

	"Where were you stationed?"

	"Mostly in the Philippines. Our unit worked between there and Da Nang."

	"See any action?"

	"More than I care to remember." I said.

	"Didja get any wounds or scars?"

	"Only where I scratched mosquito bites too hard...How about you? Did you
get into Nam."

	"No, I was lucky. I got stationed on the Nam side of Cambodia. We guarded
the border there to keep any supplies from infiltrating through the
Cambodian and Thai borders from China. The only action I saw was when we got
weekend passes and got to see how the Indonesian women differed from the
American women in the bedroom. I made a full investigation of the project
and was commended on my findings."

	"You're kidding me."

	"Shit, yeah, at least about the commendation. I did see a lot of bedroom
action though. Those Indonesian women must've got their training from the
Japanese geishas...because they did everything, in every way possible, to
see that we got our rocks off. I got so fuckin' many blowjobs, I had to keep
checking my dick to see if my piss-slit had changed directions. Did you get
to see any of that kind of action?"

	For the first time I blushed. "No, I just got to know my buddies real well
in the trenches."

	Ronnie hesitated for a moment.

	"You don't mean queer shit, do you?" he asked, suspiciously.

	"Oh no, nothing like that. We used to beat off so much in front of each
other, we could recognize each other's dicks if our faces were hidden.  This
helped to keep down the stress level.  In Nam, you never felt safe, day or
night, or from any direction.  You trusted no one, unless he was American.
We wouldn't dare think of fucking a Vietnamese woman or girl, although we
had plenty of pussy offered to us. You never knew if she had a razor blade
stuck up inside her to split your dick in two...or she might even have a
bomb pushed up in her twat to trigger just at the moment you entered her. So
if you wanted to live and come home to tell about your Vietnamese sexual
escapades, the best and only thing to do was have solo sex."

	"Shit, man, you missed all the fun...Can I get you another beer?"

	"Sure." I was enjoying talking to my high school fantasy for the first
time. If we'd been in Dalton, he'd never given me a second glance. I knew
that from my former experiences with him. I was tired of talking war, I
changed the subject. "Did you and Sandra Wooten break up or are you two
still hot and heavy?"

	"Hell, man, you're way behind the times. Sandra and I got engaged the night
before I shipped out. She's even moved into the big house with my parents.
They're planning the biggest wedding Dalton has ever seen at the Country
Club as soon as I get back and get settled."

	"You going to work for your dad in the mills?"

	"Well, he soon may be going to work for me.  He's had a couple of heart
attacks and he's slowly gonna retire and turn the whole shebang over to me."

	"Damn! Looks like your future's all mapped out for you."

	"So to speak. Sandra wants us to have about four kids. She wants all boys,
but I think I want two and two...How about you? You got a steady girl? It's
funny but I can't seem to remember which girls you dated back at Dalton
High."

	I blushed for the second time. "I never dated the same girl twice. I just
sorta played the field." I lied. I didn't have a single date in all four
years of high school. If he'd've asked me who I had crushes on in high
school, the list would have been as long as my arm. starting with his name
at the top and the rest of the varsity squad. Throughout my high school
days, followed by being drafted into the Army, going over to southeast Asia
for a stint and coming back home...safe, sound. uninjured, I was still a
virgin.  I wouldn't've known what to do with one of Ronnie's gook geishas.
Hell, I wouldn't've known what to do with Ronnie...but I would've liked a
chance to find out.

	In my junior year at Dalton High, I went stag to my first prom. I hid
behind the hedges to see all the guys I liked, walking up the sidewalk
toward the gym with the girlfriends wearing tight sweaters hiding the
falsies in their bras. The girls, all must've had 15 to 20 crinolines under
their poodle skirts. I assumed that all of them were virgins because by the
time they got in the back seat of a car with their boyfriends and took off
all those scratchy slips, there would've been no room left in the back seat
to fuck. I use to pretend that Ronnie and his two best friends, Larry and
Delmar, would be so horny when the evening was over, that they would have to
go out by the creek and beat off with each other before they could go home.
In my fantasy, I was always hiding behind the back of the car and I would
peer in the back window and see them going to town with their fists...and
soon, they would all three climax and I could see what no other person, not
even their girlfriends, had ever seen--the steamy white semen that only they
had seen behind locked bathroom doors. My thoughts returned to the present
as I wondered if Sandra had seen Ronnie's private milk flow yet or if she
was still hiding her pussy under yards and yards of petticoats?  I suddenly
wondered if the army doctors had checked Ronnie for some southeastern jungle
venereal disease that he would go home and give to Sandra...and no doctor in
Dalton would have an anti-biotic to combat this mysterious infection...and
Sandra would die...and Ronnie would be alone, once more, with no one to
comfort him.  GOD DAMN! Had I lost my mind by drinking four beers?  It would
seem so, by the way my mind was going.

	"So where are you staying?" Ronnie asked me.

	"Huh?..Oh..I got a room at this cheap hotel on West 49th Street...the
Cortland, or something like that....How about you?"

	"I haven't even thought about a place to stay yet. I got my gear stored in
one of those twenty-five cent lockers at Port Authority."

	"Well if you need a place for the night, I've already paid for my room and
it has two double beds...one of which I won't be using.  You're welcome to
stay for free if you want to. It costs no more for two than it does for
one." I couldn't believe what I'd  just offered.

	"I might just take you up on that, being that's it's free and all. I tell
you what. I'll stay if you let me buy you dinner. How about it?"

	I didn't want to wake up, but I knew goddamned well I was dreaming. I was
soon going to wake up with not only the worst headache, but the biggest
disappointment in my life.

	"Would you wait a minute, while I go pee?" I asked. This would give me a
chance to go throw some cold water in my face, and if I returned and he
actually WAS there, it would be the greatest surprise I'd ever known.

	I felt woozie as I staggered to the men's room. There were uniformed guys
at each urinal. I must've been swacked because I didn't even bother to peek
at what they were holding in their hands.  When it came my turn, I barely
got my pants unzipped before I began peeing about five gallons of yellow
beer into the blue water, turning it into a shade of lime green.  Although
it seemed I had pissed for an hour, only a few minutes had passed.  I
managed my way back to the lavatory and washed my face with cold water.  I
dampened my hair and combed it to look my best, just in case Ronnie Chastain
was really standing at the bar waiting for me.

	I walked out of the men's room and lo! and behold!,...there he stood in all
his khakied spit and polished glory. I hadn't seen his sergeant stripes
while I was talking to him. I hope he hadn't noticed my shirt sleeves with
NO stripes. Shit! I was so excited, I almost saluted. I had one flimsy, silk
ribbon over my left shirt pocket, telling the world I had been to Viet Nam
and lived to show it off.

      My mom had written me. Out of my senior class, 37 classmates had lost
their lives on the Nam shores. No one who had been there ever knew why we
went...and those that were yet to go didn't know why they were going. I used
to stop and reflect on life as the bullets were whizzing over my head. Was
it so cowardly to love life enough to slip off to Canada and hide?  I
wondered if my 37 peers would have changed their minds to stay alive by
dodging the draft instead of not learning how to dodge bullets?  I thought
of all I had been through.  All I had to show for it was one lousy
tri-colored ribbon? Hell,  I'd gotten more ribbons in high school R.O.T.C.
by being the neatest cadet than I had by going overseas and risking my life
while I was taking the lives of others. I wasn't sure how many Vietnamese I
had killed...a few though.  It was dark and we were firing rifles and
throwing grenades, not knowing how many we had killed or maimed. We didn't
know if they were men. women, children, or animals. Death cries all sound
the same.  Their cries were matched only by the cries as my squad-mates  as
they fell into the mud mixing it with their own blood. Hell, I was no hero.
I just didn't know which way to run. The enemy was behind me as well as
being in front of me. I just kept hoping if I ducked low enough, the enemy
bullets aimed at my back would pass over my head and hit the enemy shooting
at me from the front.

	"Where do you want to eat?" Ronnie asked, calling my thoughts back to the
present.

	"Anywhere where the food tastes American." I said.

	"Steak? Hot dogs? Hamburgers and french fries?...What's your pleasure...I'm
buying...and the sky's the limit on the cost."

	"In that case, how about one of those fancy places we used to read
about...like Sardi's, Luchow's, Gallagher's or Dempsey's?  Is '21' a
restaurant or a bar? What about that place Frank Sinatra hangs out in? I
think it's called Jilly's or Jelly's, Jolly's...something like that."

	"Let's take a cab and go pick up my stuff and see what the cab driver
recommends for two soon-to-be ex-G.I.'s."

	We edged our way out of the crowded bar and hailed the first cab coming
toward us. The driver waited while Ronnie went into the terminal to get his
gear and he drove us to a place called "Joe Allen's" where all the Broadway
and movie stars hung out. I almost got a crick in my neck trying to see if
there were any celebrities I recognized off the silver screen. In the far
corner, I thought I saw Paul Anka and Frankie Avalon sitting with two
unidentifiable blonde girls. In another corner sat the cast of "Oh,
Calcutta" who were there in between matinee and evening shows, but I didn't
know any of the stars except the guy who'd played "Maude's" husband.  When
the waiter asked me if I would like a cocktail, I ordered a large black
coffee. I had already missed enough in one afternoon, I wanted to be awake
and sober for the night, yet to come. My blood was still racing through my
veins from thinking about spending a night alone in a hotel with my boyhood
dreamboat.  Shit! Maybe I should get HIM drunk. Used to, when I had had only
one beer, I could fall in love with the next guy I saw.  I remember I got so
drunk at a party one night, I started kissing my own reflection in a
doorknob. I was a cheap drunk. I wondered what kind of romantic effect
alcohol played on former high school football captains?

	Our dinner was served, only to be interrupted by a string of performing
comedians and singers...some famous, some not so famous, some who one day
would be famous. Ronnie and I laughed and applauded which helped further
sober me up. The only bad thing was when one of the jokesters would venture
off on a tirade of anti-war jokes. they were drowned out with mixed cheers
and jeers...mostly hisses and boos from the servicemen sitting at the
tables. I was still astonished by how much fun Ronnie was having with me as
his date. It's amazing what a little war and a uniform could do to change a
person's attitude, even if I had been unnoticed by the in-crowd all my life.
  When it came time to pay the check, Ronnie whipped out his billfold and
reached for a BankAmeriCard. The waiter told him to put it away. Some
asshole was doing his share for the war campaign and all vets were eating
and drinking "on the house"...even more proof of the power of a uniform or
the sign of hippie hypocrisy.

	It was still early in the evening and Ronnie asked me if I would like to
see a Broadway show. I was almost sober, but not quite enough to waste
nineteen bucks on two orchestra seats.  We walked down 42nd streets and
looked at all the triple features and adult movie houses...some were even
showing all-male "gay" films. I knew damned well not to suggest one of those
to my big stud escort. Instead we crossed over Broadway and 7th Avenue and
walked slowly up toward West 49th to the hotel. We crossed 47th and heard
the blast of Maynard Ferguson's fifteen piece band coming from The
Metropole.  The music was infectious and difficult to resist, so we made our
way through the crowd and found two spots at the bar which put us about
eight feet from the band which was playing behind the bar on a large
platform. Ronnie ordered a beer and I opted for a club soda with a lime
twist. I had reached my limit hours ago and wasn't ready to start the world
spinning again.  Ronnie had checked his large duffel bag at the door.  I
didn't know most of the tunes Maynard was playing, but occasionally he would
throw in a familiar tune, such as "Bridge Over Troubled Waters" or Blood,
Sweat, and Tear's "Spinning Wheel".  I had to catch myself from staring
dreamily at Ronnie, but I was still in awe of being with him.

	I was positive nothing out of the ordinary would happen once we got into
the hotel room. I might be able to catch a glimpse of his naked body if he
chose to take a shower...or just watching him strip down to his G.I. boxers
would give me a thrill that would last forever.

	By eleven o'clock, Ronnie had downed three bottles of Champale and I had
sipped two tumblers of club soda with a lime twist. We were both ready to
call it a night and walk two more blocks to 49th Street and then a half
block more to reach the hotel. The Cortland was old, dirty, and cheap.
Hell, if I had known 24 hours before that I'd be sharing a room with Ronnie,
I might have stretched my budget and shot for a suite at the Waldorf or
something.  I had plopped down $8.50 for a night at the Cortland and a room
at the Waldorf might have cost me at least fifty bucks. But hell, it would
have been worth it, because the Waldorf was more like the surrounding Ronnie
was accustomed to.  I had seen his big plantation mansion he lived in with
his parents in Dalton.  Even though I had never been invited inside, it
must've been posh from the appearance of 12 huge columns on the front
veranda.

	I was suddenly embarrassed as we neared the Cortland. Inviting Ronnie
inside made me think that he knew I was lower classed than he.  The old
hotel was a reflection of my social status and I was cringing more with each
step I took going east on West 49th.

	We went up the three concrete steps and entered the old hotel lobby with
the tiny white octagonal tiles on the floor showing the passage of thousands
of lonely footprints, and crossed to the elevator.  By the way it creaked, I
only  hoped it would ascend to the third floor one more time before the
cable broke. The faded gray carpet in the halls was frayed on both edges.
The air in the hallway smelled of cigarette smoke that must have been
hovering there for the past fifty years.  I put the key in the lock to room
309 and the heat from the stuffy room gushed out like a fiery poltergeist. I
wasn't in the habit of praying for trivial things, but between my "god
damns" I interspersed "God please, let the air-conditioning unit work in the
window". I clicked on the "cool" button and after a couple of
"chunka-chunks", the motor began whirring and a bit of cool air started
coming out of the vent.  I don't know why the room embarrassed me so much in
Ronnie's eyes. The room didn't belong to me, but I was afraid he would think
that the dirty draconian decor was a reflection of my personal lifestyle.

	"I'm sorry about the room," I finally managed, "but I was just looking for
a cheap place to spend the night. I hadn't rented the place with the
intention of having a guest."

	"Who cares," Ronnie said, smiling. "It sure beats a foxhole in southeast
Asia, doesn't it?"

	Damn. Besides being such a hunky dreamboat, did he have to be nice, too?

	"It looks like we DO have a TV.  Oh, shit, do you have any quarters? I
didn't see this fucking meter on the back of it?"

	"I have plenty of change. Now will you just relax.  I'm O.K. The place
doesn't upset me half as it seems to be driving you crazy.  Look, if you
like, and if it'll make you feel better, we'll take our things back
downstairs... check out and go to another hotel....Whaddya say?"

	"I wouldn't mind except I hate to waste good money on a room for nothing!".
  Why the fuck did I say that?

	"OK, then. we'll stay. Go in the bathroom and see if there's hot water.  In
the meantime, I chunk some quarters into the TV and see if there's something
on this late at night. There must be some all night channels in New York.
Who knows? We might luck up and tune into one of those girly nude shows."

	I went into the bathroom and found a toilet, a lavatory, (with a broken
mirror), and a metal shower stall...no tub. I turned on the shower faucet
and let it run for five minutes as the water temperature changed from room
temperature to lukewarm.  There must've been a quarter slot somewhere on the
pipes that I had missed, to heat up the goddamned water. But I was wrong. It
was either a lukewarm shower or a spit bath,

	"I'm afraid the water's not very hot." I said, returning to the one room.

	"Want to take a shower together just in case there's not enough warm water
left for two showers."

	Of all the goddamned things he could've asked me...why that??? I would've
given up all my worldly goods to fit in the tiny shower stall with my hero,
but I knew what my reaction would be and I wouldn't risk that for the life
of me.  Hell, if I got in the shower and poked him with a hard-on, it might
mean my life! He'd beat me to death if he thought I had queer thoughts about
him.

	"No, you go ahead, I'll just take my chances with the water temperature."

	"O.K., but don't say I didn't offer," he said.

	My dream night was turning into a dream nightmare. It looked like it was
going to be one of the worst experiences I'd ever tried to live through..
Where was the goddamned napalm when you needed it?  The dangerous situation
I had put myself in would surely merit me another ribbon for my chest.

	There was one large easy chair with a faded slipcover splashed with huge
white magnolias. It didn't come close to matching the tan bedspread which
sported large water lilies. I must've rented the garden suite because there
were purple dahlias on the frazzled drapes. Fuck, I didn't believe it, there
were even flocked flowers on the faded wallpaper. Between the dirt and the
filthy air, I was surprised all these botanical wonders hadn't wilted in the
heat!

	Ronnie sat his duffel bag near the chair and started undressing. I had to
get busy doing something because his striptease was the center attraction in
the room. So I started twisting the channel knob on the black and white TV,
stopping on channel 9.

	"Look, they're showing "Muscle Beach Party" on the late movie."

	"Let it play." Ronnie yelled as he was pulling his skivvy shirt over his
head. "I like to look at Annette Funicello's knockers in that bathing suit.
She must've been about a 39-D."

	"Pardon?"

	"You know, her tits!", he said, "She always showed a lot of bustline even
when she was a Mousketeer."

	"Oh, yeah...I remember." I lied. I'd never noticed her breasts. I was
always too busy looking at Spin and Marty's crotches in their tight cowboy
jeans.

	Ronnie was naked now, except for his tan boxers. I hoped he would drop them
now, but, on the other hand, for my own sake and safety, I hoped even more
strongly that he would wait and take them off after he went into the
bathroom and closed the door.

	I locked my gaze on the 17" screen as I heard him sliding down his shorts.
raising each leg to step out of them. Out of the corner of my eye, I could
see the most perfectly shaped buttocks I'd ever seen on either male or
female. The only female asses I could compare his to were my mother's and
some I had seen in a Playboy magazine that made the rounds at boot camp. He
wasn't hairy, but there was just a light shadow of tiny dark fur on his ass
cheeks stretching down the back of his legs. I tried my damnedest to focus
on Buddy Hackett and Don Rickles in the movie. Don was in charge of training
these muscle men on the beach in their bikinis. One of them was Peter Lupus
from "Mission Impossible".

	Ronnie only took three steps and he was already in the bathroom, making
"brrr" noises under the cold water. I didn't get to see him from the front.
I pretended to be enthralled in the girls making google eyes at the muscled
body builders in the movie.

	Then I heard Ronnie start to sing, "Old Man River" in the shower. He was
out of pitch and way off key. Thank God, he wasn't talented, too. That would
have been the last straw. I had discovered one flaw. At least God hadn't
seen fit to make him as completely perfect as I thought he was.

	Damn, I hadn't noticed him taking clean underwear or pajamas with him into
the bathroom, so unless he wrapped a towel around his waist, he would soon
be emerging from behind the yellowed enameled door in his altogether.  I
would have to look then...unless I went over to my G.I. sewing kit and got
the scissors and poked my eyes out first. It might have been safer than to
see Ronnie's reaction to my looking at him with years pent-up lust inside
me. I didn't have to make that choice because the next thing I heard was
Ronnie's voice calling me from the shower.

	"HEY BILLY!"

	"YEAH?"

	"GUESS WHAT?"

	I don't know! Was the sky falling? Had the Japanese attacked Pearl Harbor
again? Had they found Marilyn Monroe alive at the South Pole living with
JFK? How the hell was I supposed to "Guess what"? I was too fucking nervous
to "Guess what"!

	"WHAT, RONNIE?"

	"THERE'S NO FUCKING TOWELS IN HERE!!"

	"OH GOD! I'M SORRY!!"

	"DON'T APOLOGIZE!  JUST LOOK IN THE CLOSET AND SEE IF YOU CAN FIND ONE.
O.K.?"

	If I could've had my way, I'd've gone in the bathroom and licked him dry
with my tongue, the way my old hound dog licked himself every time he fell
in the creek back home.

	"HEY RONNIE! I FOUND 'EM"

	"WELL, STOP ADMIRING 'EM AND BRING ME ONE!"

	I wanted to cover my eyes with one hand before entering the bathroom and I
stopped to ask myself,"What the fuck's wrong with me?" I'd just spent two
years in the army. I'd showered with 21 guys every day and never once did I
have the problem I was facing now. My erection was already protruding
thorough my khaki pants and I hadn't even seen him naked yet.

	I cracked the door just wide enough to stretch my hand in with a towel.

	"HEY, I'M NOT RUBBERMAN, YOU KNOW. I CAN'T REACH THAT FAR...WHAT'S THE
MATTER WITH YOU?  YOU'RE ACTING LIKE YOU'VE NEVER SEEN A NAKED MAN BEFORE?
WHY ARE YOU ACTING SO STRANGE? DIDN'T YOU SHOWER AT ALL THE WHOLE TIME YOU
WERE IN THE ARMY?"

	"I'm sorry, I just didn't want you to get a chill from the cool air from
the air-conditioner in the bedroom."

	"You mean, it's working now?  That's music to my ears. I'll be able to
sleep now."

	I pretended I saw some dirt on the toilet tank so I focused my eyes on a
spot and I rubbed my shirt sleever on it as soon as I entered the bathroom
and handed him a towel.  I managed to divert my gaze away from him in all
his glory.

	"Here,"

	"Thanks."

	"Hey, you want me to leave the water running for you?"

	"No, that's O.K. I'll shower later. I want to watch the end of this movie
first...It's just getting to the good part."

	"The only good part in that movie is when all four girls try to sit on one
blanket at the same time in their teeny weeny itsy bikinis. There's no way
they could've faked the size of all those jugs."

	"I heard the men use to stuff a pair of rolled up socks in their bathing
suits."

	"Who looks at guy's crotches anyway? Where the fuck did you hear that? Did
you have some queer in your unit?"

	"No, I heard some girls talking about it one time."

	"Well, did you listen to them and look to see if the guys had socks stuffed
in their bathing suits?"

	"Shit, no! I was telling you what I heard some GIRLS say, I never looked at
them myself. What? Do you think there's something queer about me?"

	"No, but I kinda wondered why you hadn't looked at me one time since I took
my clothes off."

	"It's like I told you...I don't make a habit of looking at
crotches...nobody's...even yours!"

	Good God! If I "slipped-up" once more, he was bound to suspect something
about me!...And there really wasn't anything to suspect.  I'd never done
anything with anyone...only when I jerked off...thinking about HIM!!! Why
had I stopped drinking at the restaurant? I should've had about three more
beers and I could've already passed out cold on the bed and been sound
asleep.

	I went back to the bedroom and tried to concentrate on the TV. I hadn't
realized he had followed close behind me.

	"Do me a favor, willya?" I jumped, from his voice coming over my left
shoulder.

	"Sure, whaddya need?" I asked nervously.

	"I gotta big bottle of witchhazel over there in my grip. I want you to
splash some on my back and spread it with your hand, if you will?"

	"What does that do?"

	"It cools your skin off. Especially when it's so fucking hot. If you like,
I'll put some on you after you shower."

	"Uh, O.K., I'll  just put some on you...but I don't think I'll need any."

	"Suit yourself, but you don't know what you're missing." he said. "It sure
does feel nice and cool."

	Luckily for both of us, when I turned around to face him, he had taken the
time to wrap a towel around his waist before coming out of the bathroom. For
the moment, this eased my nervous anxiety a bit. He handed me the bottle of
the clear liquid. The odor smelled so clean. I poured about a capful in the
palm of my hand and began spreading between his shoulder blades. His skin
was as smooth as a fresh pair of kid gloves, only the tiny closely pressed
hairs next to  his skin made it feel more like velvet.

	"God that feels good, Billy.  Sorta makes me feel homesick because it
reminds me of the way Sandy used to spread sun-tan oil on me up at
Chickamauga Lake in Chattanooga.  Your hands feel almost as soft as
hers...Hell, didn't you get any calluses handling that M-1 in the Nam?"

	"Yeah, but we used to wrap our hands when we didn't have gloves just to
keep the fucking mosquitos off while we were aiming.  One little bite and
you'd sometimes pull your rifle to the right. Sounds dumb, but it worked.
Once I looked down at the back of my hand I counted over sixty mosquitoes
lit at one time,,,and you hoped and prayed you'd gotten the right
inoculation for malaria or whatever." I said, trying to make excuses for my
smooth palms.

      I was determined he was NOT gonna see a "sissy" side of me.  Chances
were, after tonight, I'd never see him again anyway.  But I didn't want him
going back home and sayin' bad things about me.  Some of them were bound to
get back to my mother.

	I continued to massage the witchhazel into  his shoulders and triceps. He
raised his arms and I followed the sides of his rib cage down to the towel
at his waist. I almost panicked when I accidentally touched the patch of
hair in his armpit.

	"Who taught you to use this stuff?" I asked.

	"We have this colored lady who does our cooking at the big house, and as
you know, black people's skin can't take the sun like we can. They have all
kinds of remedies to stay cool. She used to wash all the way up her arms
with witchhazel three or four times a day to cool herself off in the
summertime. Wait and we can get closer to the TV and you can watch your
movie while you're rubbing this stuff on me."

	Boy, was I glad to hear that idea, because my touching his bare back was
creating a problem for me in the front of my boxers. If I ever had any doubt
about my sexuality, I was convinced now.  Here was a strong masculine guy
nearly butt naked, letting another guy rub his hands all over him, and the
stud wasn't the least bit excited or interested, other than just what I was
doing for him.  At the same time, I considered myself a normal young man,
and doing what I doing to him was ripping me apart inside. So much for
normalcy.  I guess that proves that some guys are born to be "straight" and
others like myself, aren't.

	I didn't want to risk putting the liquid on his chest or any area below the
towel, so I handed the bottle back to him.

	"There.  Your back is covered, I guess you can do the rest of it by
yourself."

	"Sure...thanks".

	"I know how this movie ends, so I think I'll go take a shower now. If
you're asleep when I get back, I'll see you in the morning and we'll go out
for breakfast somewhere."

	"Great! I'll just flip the channels and see what else I can find for a
quarter."

	I was so glad to go into the bathroom for my own sanctity and sanity. I
didn't realize how hard my dick was until I had trouble lowering my pants as
I undressed. It was insane to let my imagination tease me with "what-ifs?".
I had to look on him as just another army buddy with our cots next to each
other in the barracks. I'd never had a problem with that...but then again,
my bunk mate wasn't Ronnie Chastain. I wondered if I had the strength to
jerk-off two times in a row. That should be enough to squash my sexual
desires for one night anyway, or at least until both of us had gone to
sleep.

	So I had my plan now. I turned on the shower full-forced and lathered up my
hand and started to work on orgasm No.1...to be followed immediately by
orgasm No. 2.  I just wasn't aware just how excited Ronnie had gotten me,
because I'd no sooner got a good grip on my erection, than I came in about
15 seconds.  Hell, that was record time for me!  I continued my course of
action and proceeded with my second maneuver, which only took about another
two minutes.  The worst part about it was in spite of all my manual
manipulation, when I had achieved my second climax, I was still as hard as I
was when I came into the bathroom....So much for Plan "A"....but what was
Plan "B"?...I didn't have a Plan "B". I remembered what they taught us about
this problem in boot camp.  The best way to get rid of an erection is to
stand under a cold shower and let the water pound your genitals back to
normal size.  I don't know how long I stayed under the cold spray, but the
inside of my fingers were all shriveled up. I hoped my penis had decided to
shrivel up. too.

	I turned off the shower and dried off with the towel I had remembered to
bring with me. I no longer heard the TV set. Instead, I heard a radio
playing the quietest, most romantic jazz I'd ever heard.  Even the station
break was soft and melodic..."Double-U..H..N...the wonderful sound of music
in New York". I'd never heard radio call letters sung in such a way you
could make-out with 'em, but with WHN's, you could.

	I opened the bedroom door and the bedroom was dark except for the light
spilling across the floor from the medicine cabinet's one fluorescent bulb.
I saw the outline of Ronnie's side covered by the sheet and bedspread of the
bed on the right side, next to the window. He didn't move, so I guess I had
outlasted him in the shower and he'd gone to sleep instead of waiting for me
to get back. Hell, had I showered for a solid hour? My watch told me so.

	Since the room was dark, I turned off the bathroom light and "felt" my way
over to the bed by the wall and crawled into it. I hadn't taken off the
towel I had tied around my waist. What the hell, I'd just sleep in it and
not mess up another clean pair of shorts until I got dressed in the morning.
I fluffed my pillow quietly and lowered my head, pulling the sheet and
spread up to my neck. I wasn't sleepy.  I lay there thanking God I hadn't
created an incident I'd be sorry for. I sighed three deep breaths before I
heard a stir in the next bed.

	"Billy?"

	"Yeah?...I thought you were asleep."

	"Not yet, that music is so beautiful, I find myself waking up just to see
what song they're gonna play next."

	"I know. I was just thinking the same thing."

	A long moment passed, then I heard Ronnie turn over on his side, facing me
in the darkness.

	"Why have we never talked before?"

	"I don't know, Ronnie, I guess we ran around in different circles at high
school."

	"Did you think I was a snob?"

	"Want the truth?"

	"Yeah."

	"Yes, you were a snob."

	"Did you hate me?" he asked.

	I hesitated. "No, I never hated you. I guess I was more...well,..jealous of
you."

	"Mind telling me why?"

	"You were popular, good-looking, had plenty of money,..could get a date
with girl you wanted...You had your own car...You were a big jock...Is that
enough reasons?"

	"And you weren't or didn't have any of those things?"

	"Nope...Please don't get mad, but I don't think you ever spoke to me the
entire four years we went to school together."

	"Damn! Was I THAT bad?"

	"Not bad...conceited, maybe,...but I never thought of you in a bad way. I
always wanted to be like you...I use to fantasize at night and pretend we
were best friends."

	"Man, you know how to make a guy feel guilty,"

	"Sorry, I didn't mean to."

	"When you pretended we were friends...what kind of things did we
do?...Where did we go in your fantasies?"

	"Oh, all kinds of things and all kinds of places...Can I tell you a
secret?"

	"Sure." he said, sounding honestly concerned,

	"Today and tonight were like making my fantasies come true. I actually had
you all to myself and we went out together, just like two friends. I want to
thank you for that."

	"Shit! You make me sound so important in your life."

	"You always were...only you didn't know it."

	"Why didn't you say something to me?"

	"I tried, but I was too afraid...like I've been afraid, all day today."

	"Afraid of what, for God's sake?"

	"Afraid I'd say the wrong thing or make a wrong move that you might
misinterpret."

	"Jesus Christ! How could you do that? I'm not a monster, you know."

	"To me, when I was growing up, you were more like a god."

	"Holy fuck!"

	"To be honest, I almost worshipped you. I used to stalk you on dates to see
what you were doing and to whom.  When I got old enough to drive my mother's
car, I used to follow you and see where you parked and see if you were
fucking some girl or just kissing."

	"Hey, hey, this is getting unbelievable!  What did you do? Have some kind
of crush on me or something?"

	"Since the lights are out and you can't see my face, I'll try to talk
freely and say what I've been holding inside me all these years."

	"Go ahead, I'm listening...and I'm NOT laughing in case that's what you're
worried about."

	"Yeah. but first I want you to know I'm not a queer. I've never touched a
guy or no guy's ever touched me in my life...but I guess I had queer
feelings about you in high school because at night when I went to bed, I
didn't think about girls when I jacked-off, I thought about you."

	"Are you serious?"

	"Dead-level, serious."

	"What kinds of things did you fantasize about the two of us doin'?"

	"No set things. It was something different every night."

	"Like...?...Tell me one." he said, as he swallowed.

	He wanted to know, and my courage was up now. I might as well go ahead and
tell him the whole kit and caboodle.

	"Ronnie, sometimes I pretended I placed my hand in your lap and I felt your
dick through your jeans."

	"And that was all?"

	"Yes."

	"And thinking about that would make you cum?"

	"Yeah,"

	"What else?"

	"Sometimes I would pretend you were in the bed with me, naked, and you'd
roll over and our bodies would touch. Sometimes, I would kiss you. I'd grab
hold of your dick and jack you off...a couple of times you even did the same
thing to me."

	The silence was deafening. I waited to hear his next response, if there was
to be one.

	"Were there more things?"

	"Yes, I use to go down on you a lot, give you a blowjob. One time you gave
me one. I even dreamed up a way we could blow each other at the same time."

	There was another long silence.

	"Did you ever pretend we fucked?"

	"No, I didn't know if your dick would fit up my ass or mine up yours. I
always stopped when I started thinking about that and I went back to some
other thoughts."

	"Jesus! I don't know what to say."

	"Nothing. As a matter-of-fact, when the sun comes up in the morning, you
don't even have to look at me. I'll just keep the covers over my head until
you leave...You don't know how embarrassed I feel just saying the things
I've just told you."

	Then came the longest pause of all before he spoke again.

	"Can I ask you something?"

	"Sure, you know ALL of my secrets now...and you go home and tell all your
friends how I tried to put the make on you in New York."

	"I wouldn't do that, Billy.  I swear."

	"O.K....What did you want to ask me?"

	"I just wanted to know if you ever tried any of those things on any guy,"

	"Nope! Like I told you...I'm totally virgin as the day I was born."

	I was glad he chose to pause now.

	"Can I ask you something else?"

	"Go for it."

	"How about after graduation?  Did you still continue to have fantasies
about me?"

	"You still want to hear the truth?"

	"That's why I asked."

	"Yeah, I used to think about you in the  muddy jungle trenches in Nam when
I beat off. I could always get a fast hard-on whenever I thought about you."

	"How about today...seeing me in person...for real?  Did you get a hard-on
being around me today and tonight."

	"A couple of times I thought you were going to ask me if I'd got a leg
injury in the war, I've walked with a limp all day,  I beat off twice in the
shower just now, hoping I could get the goddamned thing to go down before
you saw it."

	"Is it hard now?" he asked tentatively.

	"Like a steel pipe." I answered.

	"Would you let me feel it?"

	"Hell no. The last thing I want is for you to patronize me. What I said to
you, I told you in the dark where I could finally get everything out in the
open.,,and maybe get you out of my system once and for all..forever."

	"Is that what you would like...to get me out of your system?"

	"That's what I need. Maybe I could stop torturing myself in my dream
world...and now I have a great fear you're going to tell someone what I told
you in private and my mom and what few friends I have in Dalton will finally
know that I'm on the road to becoming a card-carrying homosexual. You see,
I've been on a Ronnie Chastain crusade most of my adult life."

	Once again the conversation stopped for a long pause. I expected to hear
him break out in laughter.  If he did, I'd try my best to kill him.

	"What if I WANTED to touch you...to see if I had homosexual tendencies or
not?  How about it?  Would you let me try?" He was  trying to disguise an
excited tone in his voice.

	"There's no way in hell you'd ever question your masculinity."

	"Billy, from what I've heard, homosexuality has nothing to do with
masculinity or femininity. I'd just like to find out for myself...Maybe I
have I have something to worry about. Suppose you told  my family and
friends that I tried to put a move on you."

	"They'd NEVER believe it about you....About me, I'm sure they've always
suspected. That is, if they ever knew who I was in the first place."

	I didn't even hear him removing his covers, nor did I hear him tip-toeing
over to my bed.  He slid his body under my covers lithely as a snake. He
reached down to remove my towel. He had dropped his towel on the floor on
his way over to join me. It was all one slow movement as his arm continued
over to the back of my waist and he pulled my body toward his. I could
almost feel electric sparks sting our chests as they touched. His hand
dipped farther down as he cupped my buttocks and and pulled my crotch into
his. He was spouting an erection as large as mine. Our organs jousted,
trying to find a place to fit in snuggly where our lower torsos were
meeting.  Ronnie wasn't through. Once again, he pulled my chest as tightly
as it would fit next to his while he used his hand to roam over the rest of
my body.

	"My God, you're built like a Rodin statue...hard as a rock," he firmly
whispered.  "Your chest and back muscles are bigger than mine. Were you this
fit in high school?"

	"No, I was one of the 97 pound weaklings they used to kick sand in his face
in the Charles Atlas ads. I started body-building in boot camp and slowly
muscles began to pop up everywhere." I said, boasting for the first time.

	He didn't let me finish my sentence because he forcefully covered my lips
with his own. If I had made these moves, I would've been frightened to
death. But instead, it was he, who had initiated the action, filling my mind
with wonder, puzzlement,...and passionate delight.

	We held the kiss for thirty seconds before his tongue pried my lips apart
and he began an oral exploration, which I'd never dreamed of in my wildest
fantasies. My tongue touched his and they began to make love to each other.
I don't know how long we held our breaths, but when we finally pulled apart,
he whispered, "Is this what you wanted?"

	"More than life itself,"

	"I must've wanted it to," he replied. "Wanna keep going?"

	"As far as you want to take me." I answered.

	"Then brace yourself because if you've made a study of my life, you know I
never stop halfway with anything...It's either all the way with me or
nothin'."

	"Then take me to the moon and back. I waited almost seven years for this
and I don't care how long it takes to return to reality." That's when I felt
his hand gripping my penis.

	I reciprocated the motion by gripping his. I held my breath, afraid to
break the mood of the moment.  I still didn't believe this was
happening...and, my God, how bad I was gonna feel when I woke up to find I'd
only been dreaming?

	The warmth of his mouth on my stiffened phallus woke me up. I wasn't
dreaming. I was having the best night of my life and it was NO fantasy.
Whatever was happening was for real. I wanted to see if that end-to-end
position would work where I imagined we could suck each other at the same
time.   I knew for sure I wasn't the first to dream up this movement, Other
people probably did this all the time...and they even knew what name to call
it.

	He kept hitting me with surprises. The next thing I remembered him saying
was, "Do you want to cum this way...in my mouth?"

	"Only if you do the same for me." I whispered, in between my moans.

	It was only seconds later that we both reached a climax at the same time.
We both swallowed as much as our ducts would emit. For the rest of my life,
I would have Ronnie Chastain's seed flowing through my veins. I didn't care
now if he became angry and beat the shit out of me. I had had him and he
even though he could deny it, he could never erase it from my memory.

	We caught our breaths and we lay side by side on my pillow looking toward
the ceiling in the blackness.

	"Wanna go for another round?" he asked.

	"Yes, if all we have is tonight." I replied.

	"How long are you planning to stay in New York?" he asked.

	"Forever. I'm moving here."

	"Then I suggest we go looking for a better hotel tomorrow, because I don't
know when I'm returning to Dalton."

	"You want to stay...with me?"

	"Until you get your fill of me."

	"You'd better not phrase it that way, or you'll be moving to New York,
too."

	"Hell, eight million people live here already. What's two more?"

	"God damn it! If you're being condescending to me, I swear I'll plant a
bomb under your bed."

	"Good, then we can sleep together in your bed."

	"I shudder to think how you'll feel when the sun comes up and you can see
what we've just done."

	"I can turn the lights on now, if you think I'll feel differently."

	"No, I don't want to run the risk of ruining what I'm feeling right
now...Since you played "20 Questions", can I ask you just one?"

	"Sure." he said, reaching for a cigarette.

	"Ronnie, be honest with me.  Am I the first guy you've ever done anything
like this with."

	"You want the truth?" he asked.

	"From the hip." I replied.

	"Nope!" .


<><><><><><><><><><><>


If you liked this story, I would like to invite you to log onto the Author's
Page at Nifty, scroll down to the "C's", look for "Ritch Christopher", and
link yourself to one of my other works.  I would like to add that I  write
exclusively for Nifty.org. If you see any of my collection on any other
site, it has been posted there illegally, subject to copyright
infringement,and legal action will be taken...r.c.