Date: Fri, 8 Mar 2002 10:55:58 -0800
From: Rick Beck <bjwalkerjr@37.com>
Subject: Billie Joes Journal 12

2-22-2

Thanks for the email. It encourages me. Your thoughts enlighten me. Your
love strengthens me. If you haven't received a reply then I didn't get it.
I answer every email. Please put Billie Joe on the subject line so it isn't
confused with the endless spam.

Another of my stories:
/nifty/gay/highschool/discovering-gregory/

Billie Joe's Journal

Chapter 12
Duke Of Earl

	Traveling with a moving van was a different kind of life. My
adventures had started when I hitched out of Seattle, and now I found
myself in California, where I wanted to be. The word wasn't hard and the
people treated me well. The main thing was I could express myself. It
wasn't enough to have realized I was gay. I needed more. I needed to gain
some acceptance and understanding about what it meant, besides the
obvious. I couldn't do that by hanging around the house in Minnesota. I
took my show on the road and was prepared to pay the consequences when I
returned.

	The morning always started with coffee, and this morning was no
different. The thermos was full and Ingmar was pouring me a cup before I
got clear of the trailer. I felt as if I'd known this man for
years. Spending twenty four hours a day with people can do that, but Ingmar
was like a kind gentle father. I wondered what it would be like having such
an understanding man for a parent. He was far too young to be my father but
I thought I could take any problem to him with confidence he'd hear me out
before shutting me down.

	"They coming?"
	"In awhile I think."
	"It's okay. We'll be done here in a couple of hours. I should have
left them sleep. They worked hard yesterday."
	"I don't think they've done much sleeping. They're at each other
every time I look."
	"Ingmar is creating the monster, yes?"
	"It seems like they like each other."
	"I'm being sorry for you being left out."
	"I'm fine. I'm glad they are happy. It's neat and I don't have to
worry about Raymond any more."
	"You are a good man Billie."
	"Why are you so easy about this? My parents would be crapping
themselves. Calling Shrinks."
	"We are to be living and let living. Are they not to be happy? Sven
is the smartest man I am knowing. He is hurting no one."
	"If most adults caught on to what they're up to it would go hard on
them."
	"Even when Ingmar is being with Thorsen my mind is often on the
prettiest of the girls."  "How did that work?"  "He is saying I'm being the
handsome man. He is telling me the girls are liking me. He's telling me
about his girls. How to speak up to them."

Ingmar was animated as he spoke of his lover, using his arms and seemed to
glow at the memories. It was obvious to me that he was still fond of the
man as well as his memory.

"In this country he'd be doing three to five for molesting you," I said,
remembering the evening news.  "I am being aware. I'm not
understanding. Had I not been meeting Thorsen, I may never having
experiences with girls. I am being too shy, Billie. Thorsen is being the
one to show me I am the good man. He did me much good."
	"Doesn't matter much. According to the law, he was too old to be
with you," I said.
	"We are all being different. He is being old enough and I am being
old enough."
	"You aren't with women now. Maybe because Thorsen spoiled you."
	"You are speaking nonsense. I am being too big and too awkward is
why. I am never knowing what to be saying. No, Ingmar is why Ingmar is not
good with the women. I am understanding this long before Thorsen is coming
along. Thorsen is about teaching me to be happy. Like Raymond is teaching
Sven."
	"I'm not sure who is teaching who," I said. "Sven's going back
every time I look."
	"I am understanding. If not for Thorsen I'm never knowing the
intimacy. I am never being as close to the woman as I am being close to
him. We are knowing each other better than I am knowing any woman. It's
being that way with some of us."
	"You've never been close to a woman, Ingmar? You never had sex," I
stupidly blurted out.
	"Yes, Billie. Two I am loving just fine. We are not, how do you
say, the marriage that is made in the heaven. We are not getting along too
good. They want Ingmar to be off the road all the time."
	"You didn't consider it for love?"
	"Oh, yes, for too long I am thinking I can do it for them. This is
all I am knowing. I can not stop the driving. They can not stop the
nagging. We are better off not together."  "Still, Ingmar, if people knew
you knew what was going on between Raymond and Sven, well, I don't think
Sven could stay with you. He's under age. You need for them to be careful
once I'm gone. They're lost in each other. Someone might catch on."
	"It's being the human nature to explore the feelings. It is not
being my business the boys are liking each other. They are doing what they
are doing and hurting no one. If we are encouraging more loving we are
having less hating."
	"Isn't that the truth. I'll worry about you," I said.
	"I am worrying about you."
	"I wish the people at my house felt that way."
	"Are you giving them the chance or just leaving them in the stew?"
	"Are you kidding! My old man thinks queers should be strung up. He
hates them. He hates me. Said one tried to grab him in a bathroom when he
was a boy. They are all perverts and deviates to him."
	"Maybe hating is not being so easy if he is seeing his son."
	"No way, Ingmar. He'd kick my ass. I'd be on the street a minute
after he found out."
	"You will never go home?"
	"I guess to finish school one day."
	"Until then?"
	"I want to know people where I can go. People who can accept me for
who I am. At least it's my choice to be out here now. Later it might be my
parents."
	"You are always welcome to be staying with Ingmar. I am not being
gay and I'm not caring you are. Ingmar is making the home for you, when you
are wanting the home. You are being safe here with me."
	"I'm glad, but you know I'm going to leave soon."
	"I am knowing. I'm seeing the far away look in the eye."
	"I want to find the gay community in San Francisco. If I find
people there I can go back there if need be."
	"You are the brave boy, Billie."

	I hugged Ingmar. My face fit right into his chest. One big hand
rested on the back of my head. I felt like he was a real friend. He was
someone I trusted.

	"I know you mean well. I can't give you a reason you'll
understand. I can't go home yet. I've got to find what I'm looking for
first."
	"You must be making your decisions if you are being the man."

	Sven came to the doorway in his bare feet and without a shirt. His
chest and face were dripping with sweat. He smiled the most delightful
smile as he looked up at the already potent sun. The light made his face
glow.

	"We ready to go to work, Uncle?"
	"You can be taking your time, Sven. We are finishing early. Maybe
two hours left. We'll be saving some coffee. I have the Dunkin Donuts you
are liking."  "Good! Good! I'll get some later. I think I need a little
more rest. Long day yesterday. Have Billie Joe get us up by eleven," Sven
said, holding his hands on his waist as he stretched backward.
	"Fine," Ingmar said.

	Sven turned away from the door. There was sweat on his back as
well. I'd seen what was developing in the leg of his pants as he talked to
us, and I thought rest was not what he had been thinking about. I was
tempted to climb back into the trailer but I didn't.

	"Holding out on me. Give me coffee and no donuts?"
	"Didn't want them all gone before the men got up. I know you are
having the sweet tooth."
	"Oh! They're men. What am I, chopped liver?"
	"You are being my very wise and mixed up boy. You're my Billie."
	"I don't feel so wise. It hurts so much some times. A gay guy I
knew committed suicide, Ingmar. Since I was six years old I knew him. We
built a tree house, rode bikes. He was my best friend and he was gay and I
never knew it."
	"This is being the real reason Billie Joe is here, is it not?"
	"Yeah, that's what started it. I haven't told anyone. He left a
note saying he didn't want to live in a world that hated him. He was
fucking sixteen years old, Ingmar. Why would he write that? Why didn't he
tell someone? Why didn't he tell me? I hate him."
	"Are you telling him your secret?"

	I looked at him. The tears had already started to flow. I didn't
intend to tell him about Ralph. I didn't talk about him. He had become a
non-person. I hadn't even told Carl, but for some reason I told Ingmar.

	"You are proving what Ingmar is saying. You must leave people alone
to do the living of their own lives. Forcing the boys all to be the same is
wrong. Punishing them for not being the same is no good. Keeping the secret
is no good too. Children should not be made to feel the thing they are not
feeling. They need to be having the time to grow up."
	"Do you know what they do to you if they find out. It's worse than
death Ingmar. You're marked. You never know when it will come or from
where. You just know that sooner or later it will come. They want us dead."

	"You think so?"
	"In America, absolutely. Ralph couldn't live with it."

	I was holding onto Ingmar, hugging him. Being thankful for someone
that understood. Saying the words to him helped me. His attempt at
understanding, and his acceptance helped.

	We went up front and ate donuts. Ingmar was right, I would have
finished them off if he hadn't stopped me. Sven came up to where we were
about a half an hour later. We gave him the donuts and he took them back
with a cup of coffee for Raymond.

	It didn't take two hours to finish up. The entire time we worked
Raymond and Sven kept staring at each other. Every time they went back in
the house for more boxes, Sven had his arm around Raymond. Ingmar shook his
head a couple of times when he caught them kissing. He didn't seem angry,
just confused. We all sat up front as we drove up route 101. Raymond sat on
Sven's lap, and I sat half in and half out of the bunk.

Laughing and joking was fun. Watching Raymond and Sven touch each other was
better. You could see what was happening between them. Ingmar drove, and
laughed and joked and disregarding the closeness of the two boys in the
other seat. I was about a million miles from home or from anything I'd ever
known as I sat there watching Route 101 rush past.

	I didn't want to leave, but it was time. I still had a
mission. Sitting around truck stops wasn't quite enough to take away my
need to find a support group of some kind. There was acceptance in the
truck stops where no one asked too many questions or cared too much. Even a
few of the truckers had eyeballed me in ways that went beyond curiosity. I
could come back to this world if there was no alternative. I'd come back to
Ingmar but I could see others might help me as well. It made the world
slightly less frightening having this knowledge.

	I slept in the front seat that night. I said nothing to Sven or
Raymond to break the spell they'd woven on one another. I woke Ingmar at
first light.

	"What is it, Billie. You cold?"
	"I wanted to say good-bye, and thank you."
	"You are leaving already? Let me pay you."
	"You've fed me. Protected me. Given me a place to heal. You don't
owe me anything."
	"A man works for Ingmar, a man gets paid by God. This is no
argument."

	I stuffed the fifty dollars down into my other sock. I was carrying
more money in my sock safe than I'd had at any one time in my entire
life. I didn't expect to make my fortune hitch hiking around the West. I
thought it odd that my money was growing instead of shrinking. Socks were a
good investment it seems. I told no one about my bank and never kept more
than a few dollars in my pockets.

	The first ride took me ten miles. I stopped and had that morning
coffee. I wasn't hungry. My stomach growled furiously now, but it wasn't
about to tolerate food. Some of the terror that chased me into California
came back on me while I was alone. I wanted to run back to Ingmar almost
immediately. I left the small diner and threw out my thumb. There were
tears in my eyes. They were for Ralph. I'd never cried for him since he
died. What a dork, I thought to myself as I wiped the tears away.

The second ride was a fiftyish women with salt and pepper hair. She took me
two miles and I stood as the sun peaked up over a high row of hills to the
East. It was warm and refreshing on my face. I felt great breathing the
fresh California air.

The car stopped while still on the road. Other cars went out around it
blowing their horns in rebuke. The boy was young but not as young as
me. His hair was platinum blond. I tried to see if it was his or came from
some bottle at his house. His skin was so fair I could believe it belonged
to him.

	"I'm Earl," he said.
	"Billie Joe."
	"Where are you going?"
	"San Francisco. Where are you going?"
	"Salinas."

	I laughed to myself as I watched the green and brown grass on the
hills that were steep on my right. These were the first real trees I'd seen
in California since leaving the northern part of the state. I preferred
trees to the endless grassy plains. My mind was elsewhere when he spoke.

	"Pretty young to be hitching."
	"I guess."
	"How old are you?"
	"Eighteen."
	"I'm not a social worker. Fourteen. Fifteen. I'm also not a fool."
	"I'm sixteen."
	"You look younger."
	"My curse. I act older."
	"Touché! You sure you're sixteen."
	"Almost. Two months I'll be sixteen."
	"What's in San Francisco? Family?"
	"I don't know."
	"Let me get this straight. You're fifteen. Going to San Francisco,
but you don't know anyone there?"
	"I didn't say that."
	"No, you don't say much. Do you know anyone there?"
	"No. I'll meet someone."
	Earl kept looking at me. He wasn't much of a driver as the front
right tire kept going off the road. Luckily for us he was only going
forty. That wasn't so lucky for the folks that kept coming up behind him
and blowing their horn.
	"How old are you?"
	"Eighteen."
	"You look younger," I said, and he did.
	"My curse."

	I studied him out of the corner of my eye. He had intense blue
eyes. His skin was alabaster, not pale with the pink hue of Raymond's. His
arms lacked even a trace of hair. His hands were thin and small. He was not
much larger than me. He might have been five six and a hundred and ten
pounds at best. His face didn't have a blemish or mark.

I'd never seen a guy with skin so pure. I could see him looking at me out
of the corner of his eye. I could see where he looked most often and that's
when the front tire would slip off onto the shoulder of the road.

	"If you want to stop and check me out I think that might be safer,"
I said in Raymond's voice. "There's nothing in there but the usual."
	"You little shit. You sound like you been around."
	"Enough."
	"You're cute, but I won't lose any sleep over you."
	"Good! Maybe we can drive on the highway awhile."
	"You want to get out? I can always stop and let you out."
	"I'd prefer to go to San Francisco."
	"You gay, Billie Joe?"
	"Didn't say."
	"Not in so many words. You've been around someone gay. You've got
quite a mouth on you."
	"Yeah! Me."
	"For someone your age, San Francisco isn't such a good idea."
	"You have a better place?"
	"My house."
	"Do gay guys ever grow up to think of something else?"
	"You are thinking about sex. I wasn't. I said come to my
house. You'll be safe there. You won't be safe in San Francisco. Some big
ugly guy named Bruno, wearing a leather suit and combat boots will snatch
your ass off the street corner in about twenty minutes. You'll be strapped
up in his all purpose sex harness and fucked for a few weeks until he gets
bored with of you. Then, if you're lucky, he'll just toss you back out on
the street. You won't look as nice then. And that's when things will start
going down hill."
	"Sounds like you know all about it."
	"I lived there when I was younger than you. I knew Bruno. Tell you
what. I'm going into The City Friday. I always go on Friday. You stay with
me until then. I'll take you in and introduce you to some nice people. They
have a house. At least you'll have a safe place to start from."
	"That would be cool," I said with my voice softening to the
proposal. "I could do that."
	"You a thief?"
	"No."
	"Hustler?"
	"Not even?"
	"You hungry?"
	"I'm getting there. What's a hustler?"
	"Never mind. You aren't one. I always eat at John's Diner. It's
great food. Loads of it for your money."
	"Where you coming from?" I asked.
	"Santa Barbara."
	"What's in Santa Barbara?"
	"My mother."
	"Where's your dad?"
	"Salinas."
	"You don't live with him."
	"No. I've lived by myself since I was fifteen. They divorced long
before that. My parents. I lived with my Grandma. She died two years ago
next August. She left me the house and enough to live on. That's where
we're going."

	We ate at John's. I had ham and eggs and biscuits with red eye
gravy. I drank coffee and enjoyed the flavor as Earl and I made small
talk. He'd known he was gay at thirteen. He'd moved into San Francisco
shortly after that. He'd managed successfully for almost a year. He lived
with a couple guys that taught him the ropes. One night he was beaten and
raped by two guys in a van. He came back to Salinas after finding out the
police weren't too concerned about a faggot getting what he was asking for.
His parents had divorced while he was gone. He moved into the house with
his grandmother for almost two years once it was clear neither of his
parents were prepared for his return home. Now he lived off of a small
trust fund she set up for him just before her death. He was an artist and a
musician and quit school at sixteen. I became aware of how sensitive he was
as he talked about his grandmother. He talked about his time on the street
and he'd learned a lot from his experiences in "The City", and that was of
the most interest to me.

	As soon as we got to the house he took me to the room where he
worked. There was a piano on one wall with a guitar propped up against
it. Paintings covered each wall and only a large window and the door broke
up the display. The pictures ranged from crude finger paintings to lavish
scenes with rich flowing colors. Earl took me through the room from his
first painting at age six, to the one he was working on in the middle of
the floor propped on an easel overlooking the wide picture window. It was
covered with a fine piece of cheesecloth.

	"I could use a shower. If it isn't too much trouble," I said after
the tour seemed to end and he grew silent.
	"No, I don't mind. Make yourself at home. Bathrooms the third door
down from this one. I'll show you where you can sleep. I just ask you don't
mess with anything. Most of the stuff is my grandma's. She may be dead but
I still respect her things. A lot of things from the old country."
	"What country?"
	"Germany," he said with pride.
	"You're German?"
	"German/Irish. My mother was Irish. That's where I get the
skin. Irish have the most delicate skin."

	He showed me to the shower and I left my bag at the door. I decided
to wear the sweat pants Raymond couldn't keep up. I missed Raymond. The
water felt good against my skin. I'd started to smell from the work and the
play over the past few days. When I stepped from the shower Earl stood in
the now open door. He looked me up and down. Mostly down. He handed me a
towel and a smile.

	"Here. This one is clean. I took the others. They were soiled. I
have a washer and dryer if you want to wash your clothes. I have some old
things that will fit you if you like. While you wash yours."
	"Yes," I said, dripping on the tile floor.
	"I'll get you some shorts and a T."

	I dried myself and didn't bother to shut the door. He seemed
harmless and was no physical threat to me. There was no reason for me to
fear him. Actually it was a little thrilling knowing someone was going to
see my body. I felt no particular modesty around Earl.

	The shorts were nylon and had that nylon support inside that kept
you from falling out the bottom but you kinda flowed free inside them. They
actually felt good against my private parts. The T-shirt was marked with a
San Francisco 49'er emblem. It looked almost new. The red color was a bit
much, but the shorts and shirt matched nicely.

	"Fits you perfect," he said when I came out of the bathroom.

	He once more checked me out. I felt almost naked with the way I
swung inside the shorts. The air hugged my equipment as easily as the
nylon. It seemed to be to Earl's liking. He made a point of letting me pass
in front of him so that he could examine the way my backside filled his
shorts.
	"You're built for those shorts. They never fit me like that."
	"Thanks. I think."
	"I can appreciate nice things without wanting your body, Billie
Joe."

We went to the living room where I sat pulling out all my dirty clothes. He
ran and got a clothesbasket so they wouldn't sit on his clean rug. He took
them to the basement. I curled up in a big old chair and brought out my
notebook and started to add to a letter to Carl.

Earl came back to sit on the big wide arm of the chair beside me. He now
wore a pair of shorts. His leg pressed against my arm and shoulder. The
lower portion of his leg was covered in fine silken platinum hairs. His
thigh had no hair I could see. He leaned toward me to check out my
notebook.

	"You a writer?'
	"No. Just a letter."
	"Boy friend?"

I looked up at Earl curiously. I didn't want to lie any more, not to him. I
didn't need to lie now. I had to learn to speak the truth and not just
instinctively protect myself.

"Yes."

	I reached into my bag and brought out the picture of Carl.

"Lord Jesus have mercy on my unworthy heart. This is your boy friend," he
said after examining the picture.
	"Yes."
	"Where did you meet him?"
	"On a bus to Seattle."
	"Which bus. I want details. Does he have any brothers? Heavens
above. Does he have a dog even."
	"You got a grip on it there, Earl?"
	"Don't mind me. I've dreamed of lesser men than this. I'd give my
right testicle to get those little green pants off him."
	"I've had similar thoughts. Isn't he the most beautiful thing?"
	"Rugged. Handsome. Big! Beautiful, I'm not sure about that."
	"You know what I mean."
	"Yes I do. You are a lucky guy to have found such a handsome
man. Next you're going to tell me he's sixteen too, right?"
	"Seventeen."
	"You're kidding me. This is not just a kid? He's my age."
	"He's all man."

	Earl watched me put down the words. He stretched his arm over the
back of the chair. He let it rest next to the back of my head. His leg
moved gently up and down my arm as I wrote. It was nothing annoying but he
was letting me know that he was attracted to me. Later he got up and
brought me back a soda without speaking. He disappeared after I finished
the second page. I told Carl about what was going on, leaving out the
details that might upset him. I copied the address off his letter and got
it ready to go in the mail.

	I sat watching out some big double windows onto a field with brown
grass blowing gently in a firm breeze. The day was bright, and the sky a
soft blue. I tried to picture the Pacific Ocean out beyond my vision. I
looked at maps in Ingmar's truck and Route 101 was the last highway before
you reached the Pacific Coast Highway as you went West. I was sure we were
close to it.

My mind wandered on the sounds of violins and a piano I could hear coming
from deep inside the house. It was pleasant music, so pleasant I hadn't
noticed it starting, though I'd never been fond of such relaxing tones. I
decided to go in search of Earl now absent for most of an hour. Loneliness
came to me at the oddest times. I was still a victim of my own
insecurity. It was less frightening being in a strange house with an even
stranger boy than it was being alone with myself.

	I checked the door that went to the basement but the light was
out. The kitchen stood empty and in the shadows. I went to the door of his
workroom and there he stood at his easel. His naked ass curved down in a
perfect arch. It was the right size for someone of his stature. The skin
was as pure as the skin on his flawless face. His legs were devoid of hair
except for the silk threads I could hardly see from behind. His arm moved
boldly from pallet to canvas and back. He seemed to be lost inside his
picture as he dashed, dotted, and brushed his way across it. The music was
much louder and his body swayed to the symphony that played. His hand
seemed to flow with the sound.

	The lower front part of his body was covered with an apron. It was
tied at the middle of his back just above the crack of his ass. His ass
seemed symmetric and perfectly round. His legs were not in the least bit
muscular. His back was narrow from waist to shoulders, and they failed to
impose any bulk on his frail body.

I suddenly felt the sheer nylon tightening on me and my first reaction was
to place my hand over the tenting to hide my interest. I knew touching it
was only an invitation for a more potent response to the stimulating
atmosphere. I was caught between hiding it and leaving it be when he turned
as though expecting to find someone there

	"I thought I felt something. You have a powerful presence, you
know. I see my nudity doesn't bother you."
	"I wouldn't say it doesn't bother me. Just not in a bad way."  "I
don't wear clothing in the house. Only with a guest do I pretend to be at
all modest. I need the freedom to create. Clothes merely restricts the
senses, the images that come to me."

	His voice had taken on a sophistication that matched the music and
the scene. The harsh brittle bite of the juvenile in control had
disappeared.

	"Why the apron then?" I asked in opposition to it.
	"Some paint is hard to discourage. After dipping my wick in my
paints a few times, I learned prudence in some areas is best."
	"Does it get that big?" I asked shamelessly wanting more.
	"Heaven's no! I'm a lightweight, Billie Joe. It sometimes points at
the wrong time. If you are into size I am not your man."

	He turned and lifted his apron to reveal the perfectly cut penis
hanging from platinum cock hair. He was a natural platinum blond. His sack
was as hairless and white as the rest of him. He dropped the apron and
turned his back as he dabbed more paint and stood back to examine it.

	"Nudity makes you nervous, does it?"
	"Not nervous."
	"You horny?"
	"You mean right now?" I stalled at first. "Yes!"
	"And you think you need to hide it? An erection is not a commitment
or an invitation."
	"Yeah, well, it might have a little to do with you being naked."
	"I've not decided about you yet, Billie Joe. You are nice but oh so
young. I would like you to sleep in my bed tonight. There is a guestroom
however. I don't like being alone if I don't have to be, especially in the
dark."
	"You speak right up."
	"It's better that way lest you end up with your hand as your
lover."
	"You shouldn't have any trouble attracting people. You're
beautiful."
	"Billie Joe are you a romantic? Flattery seems awkward on your lips
but the words are sincere."
	"It wasn't flattery. I'm saying what I see. If you put it out in
front of someone they most likely are going to notice."
	"German/Irish genes. I make a nice picture. Cultivating love takes
a talent I've yet to acquire. Most lovers tire of me quickly. I'm
demanding. I need my painting and my music and a space where I can be
alone. It bores most people I've known intimately. They want the attention
my art demands. My introspective side frightens them."  "That's thinking of
yourself?"
	"Very good, Billie Joe. There's a brain in there. Introspection is
looking within. Our culture doesn't encourage such extravagance."
	"I don't understand completely."
	"It's like being gay and for some it's a curse for others it's
wonderful. I'm trying to find out what it is to me. Beside the obvious
grunting and sweating with other men. I am supposing it is whatever I make
of it. I'm not certain that what other people feel about it is what I feel
or want to feel. It's up to me to figure it out for myself. History has
been particularly cruel to men who love other men. Killing them is
perfectly acceptable, hating is fine, and mauling and brawling is
wonderful, but loving, why the aversion to love?"
	"We are what we are. What's the difference? They hate us and we got
to make the best of it is all."
	"Ah, you disappoint me now. No matter if you kill us all today, the
next generation, there we are again. How is it people continue to choose to
be outcast? Biology can't be denied. Why are we so persistent if we are so
evil and bad? Is God that impotent? We just pop up in spite of his hatred
for us?"
	"Why do they say it's so bad, being homosexual? I sure wouldn't
pick it out for myself. That's the part confuses me most."
	"Because they aren't. They fear what they aren't. The law favors
what they are because they write the laws."
	"They who?"
	"The people that run the big show and their followers. They exploit
those that can be exploited. They promote what promotes them. Once it was
women, Blacks, and Indians for sure, now it's our turn. They hate us
because we're all there is now. It's easy to hate the invisible, the
cocksuckers of the world."
	"They hated me before I ever done that," I said.  "Morality is
important. We must maintain the morality or our society will decay. They'll
kill us in the name of their God. They've got to nip it in the bud so we
don't contaminate their kids, only their kids grow up in straight homes,
how could we possibly defeat that? We turn them gay by just mentioning it
to them? That's pretty damn potent. They grow up with all straight people
in a straight world and we turn them gay by word of mouth? Makes no sense
to me."
	"I never thought of it like that. It is what it is."
	"Until we think about it like that, we're going to be at their
mercy, and that's an attribute God hasn't blessed them with concerning the
likes of us."  "That's all a bit much to think about. I'm just a kid."
"Yes, a kid wondering about the meaning of life."
	"I'm not wondering about anything. I'm not that smart. I just want
to have a life."
	"The bulge in your hand says you're wondering what it would be
like. That doesn't mean we explore it. You're okay. I think I'd like
exploring with you."
	"I don't know right now. I mean you're cool. I wouldn't mind, but I
don't know if I wouldn't mind because I'm horny or because I like you. I
don't know you. That's what confuses me too. Why do we just get down to it
before we know someone? Like straight people? They date and get to know
each other before fucking each other."
	"Plenty of men and women do just as we do. Slam bam, and on to the
next. Two men feeling that way are going to get right to it. Women want
more and that is a different dynamic. Some men want more but most men will
get right to it if they know they can. That's my experience anyway."
	"I know but I don't know I like it. I want to get to know someone
before having sex. I want more than just sex," I reasoned. "I want
friends."
	"So you and your boyfriend took the time to get to know each other
first?"
	"Well, no. I mean it just happened."
	"You got the chance to have sex and so you did?"
	"I don't know we had the chance but we did anyway. We couldn't keep
our hands off each other. We were both horny is all," I tried to explain.
	"What did I just say about that. Saying you want to get to know
some one sounds remarkable Billie Joe. Doing it takes a little more
effort."
	"You make it sound bad that we liked each other right away."
	"Everyone needs affection and love. We're denied it at the time
it's the most powerful force in our bodies, not to mention at a time we are
developing the ability to develop relationships with people outside of our
families."
	"Like at puberty when it's always on your mind?"
	"After puberty and until we get out of the house. Most gay guys
don't dare do anything until they're eighteen. That's five or six years
they only get to think about what they want to do."
	"That's a lot of thinking," I said.  "Is it no wonder we go for it
when we get a chance? Straight kids get to date and party while gay kids
get to watch and be left out."
	"If I go to San Francisco, will sex be all I find there?"
	"No. I'll introduce you to John and Dennis. They're fifties,
lovers, decent people in a good relationship. They'll help you if I ask."
	"They can be if you allow it."
	"But not these guys you're talking about?"
	"No, they're harmless. They like keeping guys our age off the
street."

Earl placed the brush and the pallet on his easel as I leaned on the door
jam admiring the split in his ass without any good ideas coming to me. He
turned and came to where I was standing, leaning forward he placed his lips
on mine. He kept easing up to me and put his arms around me as we
kissed. He pressed the front of his apron into the front of my shorts. Our
bulges rubbed together as I hugged him close and returned his kiss. He
broke the kiss and placed his hands on my hips, backing up one step,
looking into my eyes.

	"You see, Billie Joe. You have no choice. I may not have been sure
before but I am now. You're gay as a goose and always will be."
	"I know that."
	"Ah, yes you do, but I didn't. I don't want to be corrupting
someone as young as I was once."
	"Why after a few hours can I let you do that? It confuses me,
Earl. It shouldn't be that easy to want someone."
	"Lonely? Alone? Empty inside? You need to fill your soul up. It
starts with a kiss, lovely boy. We need each other, not you and me
necessarily but gay men. Even invisible men must bare their souls from time
to time."
	"You say the dumbest things."
	"Thanks for the reassurance, Billie Joe."

	Earl dropped his apron at his feet. His erection was already known
to me. I looked deep into his eyes for a connection. There were powerful
black rings around each iris. He was hugging me before I realized he was
moving. His hands went under the rear of my nylon shorts and he fingered my
crack for me as the kiss lingered.
	I held his naked skin in my arms and kissed him back. It was like
kissing a dream of some kind. My fingers danced inside his crack as he
ground his hips against me, slipping my shorts down so our mutual
excitement could rub. It furnished the most incredibly delicious heat
between us.
	His lips were thin, but very capable. I didn't feel anything but
lust. He wasn't at all like Carl not even similar to Raymond. I wasn't
really attracted to him but I wanted him anyway. I wanted to know him. I
wanted to lose myself inside him. I wanted to be part of his reality if
only for the time it took to satisfy our needs.
	I wanted to fill him with my love, and yet I knew I had no love to
give Earl and so lust would have to do.

bjwalker@37.com