Date: Sat, 8 Jul 2000 13:12:09 -0700 (PDT)
From: "Michael Davidson, II" <ageismfree@yahoo.com>
Subject: "Larry's Love"  Chapter 1

Larry's Love
Chapter 1
By Michael Davidson, II
Address:  ageismfree@yahoo.com

DISCLAIMER: This story is a work of erotic and romantic fiction involving
teenage and adult males.  All the usual rules apply.  If you shouldn't be
reading this, then don't continue on, or at least try not to be caught!

COPYRIGHT NOTICE: This story is copyrighted July 2000 by the author, who
retains all rights.  You may distribute or copy this story however you
like, PROVIDED that this copyright notice remains intact and that you do
NOT change the story in any way.  You may not charge any fee to distribute
or access this story.  I give it freely to all, please continue on that
way!

DEDICATION: This story is dedicated to the first and only real Michael
Davidson.  A British journalist and author in the first half of the
Twentieth Century, he blazed the trail for those who love people from
generations other than their own.  His book, "Some Boys" and his amazing
autobiography called, "The World, the Flesh, and Myself" are a must for
anybody interested in these topics.  I never knew him, worse luck for me.
But all those who have received his legacies of love, truth, and proud
honesty will never forget him.

Constructive criticism, comments, suggestions, and questions are all
GLADLY---no---EAGERLY accepted!  Please email me at ageismfree@yahoo.com
All emails will be answered, except for flames, which will be passed to the
appropriate authorities.  Thus, the Powers That Be might prove useful for
something, after all...

"Larry's Love"
Part 1


I wish somebody could have told me that a dream come true could be so
complex.  I sure didn't know it at the time!  I guess I was just too busy
dreaming those dreams.  How did all this happen, anyhow?  Maybe writing it
down will help me make some sense of it.  I'll give it a try.

So there I was, a freshly minted new Presbyterian minister, just out of
Seminary, with all that prayer, and all those books and sermons and Bible
studies.  No longer merely Mr. Karl Gardner, but (as of 2 whole weeks ago!)
The Reverend Karl Gardner.  Yeah, I know what you're probably thinking.
"Oh shit, a minister..." with that disdainful little sniff I hear so often.
But I really believed that I had a calling to do the work of God.  Not that
I wanted to be some sort of a missionary, out to convert the heathen or
anything like that!  Even when young and naive, I still knew that
everybody's religion or spirituality--- whatever that might be--- was fine.
I wasn't out to chase folks around and bother them.  But I had this image
of a wise and loving God, that wanted me to help take care of His
people---or Her people, whatever---I don't have any hang-ups about that
gender of God thing either.  Helping people was what I wanted to do.  I
could have been a Social Worker, I suppose, and saved myself a heap of
trouble later, but now I'm getting ahead of myself.  I also knew that the
businessman's life wasn't for me...all the competition and money-oriented
nonsense.  So the Church seemed to offer shelter from that as well.  Little
did I know!

I had graduated with Honors from Ivy League schools: Princeton University
and then Harvard Divinity School.  That was one of the good things I could
say about my well-off family.  They were good for providing things like
that, even if they were completely useless at emotional nurturing.  So
several different search committees of churches looking for new pastors
interviewed me.  Some of them inevitably wanted somebody older, with more
experience.  Others wanted a guy complete with a full set of beaming wife,
perfect children, and family pets.  I sure didn't fit into those
categories!  I was green as grass, and wet behind the ears, although I
didn't know it, of course.  And even though I hadn't figured out my
sexuality and relationship needs, I knew I'd never wanted to be married to
a woman.  So I avoided those posts, and they avoided me.

But Walden seemed like a good deal to me.  Up-state New York, near the
Adirondack Mountains and Lake George, lots of country, but near enough to
cities, I thought.  Small town, that kind of old- fashioned place with an
open-air bandstand in the middle of the Town Square, nicely kept large
houses facing the Town Hall, and the Bank.  Two pretty white churches (the
Presby one and the Catholic one, of course) completed the picturesque
Square, along with lots of trees and grass and fresh air.  I wanted to be
part of a community where people had the chance to know each other, where
the pace of life didn't blow you over.  It also had a down-to-earth quality
to it; vastly different from the posh and "exclusive" suburbs of
Philadelphia I had been raised in.

Grace Church in Walden was a good posting.  It wasn't tiny and struggling.
It wasn't full of whining old folks trying to hold on to control.  There
was a medium size congregation, with a healthy mix of families and singles,
young and old, business people and farm folk, active Sunday school and
youth groups, good ideas about how to give back to the community, and a
strong sense of social spirit.  The committee wasn't full of raving
Fundamentalist lunatics.  These folks seemed to be independent and
progressive thinkers.  They said that their philosophy was, "Live and let
live."  They didn't mind that I wasn't married, and liked my great academic
training combined with my informal and laid back style.  They were offering
a nice package: better than average salary, good benefits, a nice large
house right off the Town Square, big enough for me to finally get the dog
and 2 cats that I envisioned as my family.

So they hired me.  I did the paperwork necessary for joining the regional
Presbytery.  And I moved into the town of Walden, New York.  Fourth of July
weekend, 1977.  I was 25 years old, and life was about to begin, for just
about the first time, actually.  You know what I mean, I'm sure.  Life had
been going on around me for some time, of course.  But I had been more like
an observer than a participant in it.  I had no great passions about
anything.  I'd never loved or hated or agonized or felt any deep- flowing
emotions.  Not that I felt like I was missing out on anything, mind you.  I
just thought of myself as cautious and content with my own company.  I had
a good head on my shoulders, and loads of smarts and training.  But my head
wasn't yet hooked up to the rest of my body, and it certainly wasn't in
touch with my heart or my soul.  I didn't have a clue what I didn't have a
clue about!

I had chosen a new brown Ford station wagon, as a sensible car for a newly
appointed pastor.  Pretty exciting stuff, huh?  But I did put a great sound
system in it.  The U Haul trailer I pulled behind the car was loaded to the
ceiling with all my stuff.  Mostly books, as I recall.  Books and records.
Resembling life, describing it.  The sound system was blasting Joni
Mitchell as I pulled into the drive of my sturdy looking new home.  I
turned it down immediately when I noticed that there was a gang of church
folks assembled there to help me unload and settle into the house.  Three
of the ladies were the "Parsonage Committee" and were fully prepared to
show the bachelor clergyman around "their" house, from top to bottom,
including all the appliances, the circuitbreakers, the water tank and the
furnace in the basement.  The place was fully furnished, and I mean with
everything.  I didn't even have to buy a toaster!  Everybody was cheerful
and hearty and chirpy, including me.  Well, I wasn't chirpy, but you get
the picture.

Yup, once I got rid of a few of the lace doilies draped all over the
over-stuffed furniture, it would be a good place to live.  It sprawled
across a doublewide lot, lots of trees and decorative flowerbeds, with rose
and lilac bushes, and an area that was tilled in preparation in case I
wanted to have a garden.  Although it looked from the bags of produce on
the porch as though I was going to be given more veggies and flowers than I
could ever grow on my own!

Now, of course, this next is surely what you have wanted me to lead up to.

In the small group of families that helped me unload, there were a few kids
and a couple of teenagers.  They'd been unable to evade the parental
command to; "Come on and meet the new pastor..." I'm sure.  Each one was
presented to me; I shook hands with all of them, from the 8 or 9 year old
girl in pigtails to the Russ brothers, Gary and Larry.  Gary looked to be
17 or so, and had been brought along for his brawn.  Those arms could have
pulled the U-Haul into the living room, I'm sure, but he confined himself
to lugging the heaviest boxes to wherever I pointed.  He was large, square,
bulky, thick of neck, red of face, and plain as a pile of boulders.
Distant and polite, much like his father.  Bud Russ looked like a serious
and humorless man, perhaps even morose, but helped willingly enough after
introducing himself, his wife Lilly (one of the Parsonage Committee, of
course) and the two boys.

Oh, the other boy?  Larry.  The cataclysm that was about to happen to my
life was named Larry Russ.

I couldn't tell how old Larry was from looking at him.  He could have been
13, maybe as old as 15.  So that was the first thing I ever said to him.
"How old are you, son?"  Yup, I called him son.  Talk about your
stereotypical preacher-speak!  "14, sir."  Oh, Jeez.  We were all falling
right into our little roles.  "Call me Karl!  I'm too young to be a `sir'!"
Which got me a faint grin and a musical but muted, "Ok."

All the while I was being led around the parsonage by the Three Ladies, I
found myself distracted.  I was being shown the three bedrooms and the
large bathroom upstairs, and I was looking out the window to watch the top
of Larry's head moving around the yard.  White blond hair, parted in the
middle, a bit darker blonde down closer to the roots.  You know, that
feathery light, straight kind of hair?  It swayed and moved with him, and
he habitually was brushing it back from his forehead with both hands,
although it didn't bother him.  He didn't seem to notice when he did it.

I noticed it.  I noticed him when he moved by the downstairs study windows,
that hair floating around his head like a halo.  I saw him looking at some
bushes out back, when I glanced out the downstairs bathroom window.  I
watched him simply standing with his hands on his hips (maybe looking back
at me??  Nah!) as I stared at him from the TV room's big bay windows, while
I appeared to be trying out the window seat.

And I also took note of his skin: milky white, with no sign of freckles.
Dark bags under his eyes, like he wasn't sleeping enough, but no blotchy
teenage zits, and not even much of a tan.  One of those cute button noses,
and dark blue---almost violet colored---eyes.  Watchful, intelligent
looking eyes.  And he had dimpled on both cheeks when he'd smiled that
first time.  I die for dimples.

Of course I was distracted and paying scant attention to the Grand Tour.  I
can't believe now that I didn't know it more clearly for what it was at the
time.  I was that disconnected from my feelings.  Duh.

Meanwhile, back at the church ladies...my eyes continued to drift outside,
along with my focus.  Was he saying something?  Mr. Russ seemed annoyed,
and barked, "What?"  Larry mumbled something and picked up a big plastic
sack full of pillows, I think it was, and came into the house.

"Where do these go, umm...Karl?"  His voice had that delightful adolescent
quality of just broken hoarseness.  You just knew it would crack if he
tried to speak up, and would be really unpredictable if he tried to sing.

"Call him Pastor Gardner, Larry." Lilly's voice was reproving.

"But, Ma, he said..."  My voice then drowned him out.

"Hey, it's ok, Mrs. Russ, I told him to call me Karl outside, remember?"  I
spoke up in my best `Stained Glass Voice'.

"Oh yes, of course, Pastor."  But her tone remained faintly disapproving.
I winced to myself, "Oy vey".  But on the outside, my best new parson grin
remained pasted on.

I was better able to retain the smile as my attention returned to Larry.  I
saw that his lower legs had a sprinkling of wispy cornsilk hairs.  The
thighs where his jean cut-offs ended were hairless, as were his arms.  I
could see little blue veins here and there.  For some reason I thought to
myself, "He doesn't have a watch."  Amazing how artful we can be at hiding
our true thoughts from ourselves.

Finally, I remembered to speak.  "Larry, those can go up in one of the
bedrooms, if you want."

He smiled again, less shyly this time, and nodded, ducking past us in the
living room and tripping lightly up the stairs.  He had a perfect bottom.
I hadn't yet learned the term `bubble butt', I'm sure.  His white jockeys
flashed once; those cut-offs were that short.

"Now Pastor, these curtains have all just been washed and re-hung.  Are
they all right, do you think?  We weren't sure what you'd like, so we'd be
happy to make you up some new ones if you'd prefer."  That was
Mrs. `Call-me-Dottie' Smith.  I turned to her with a puzzled, "Huh?"

"Oh, ladies, he has his mind in Heavenly places already, doesn't he?"  They
tittered politely.  None of them had any notion how literally true her
words had been, of course!  She continued, "The curtains, Pastor?"

"Oh, right.  Yes, well, I'm sure they will be fine..." I replied, still
really not paying any attention.  How on Earth could I not have known that
I was smitten?  Amazing powers of denial.

I listened for Larry's step coming back down the stairs.  He appeared legs
first poised on scruffy Keds sneakers and white socks.  As he descended the
stairway from Heaven, his knees were the next things to appear.  Not
scuffed.  But perfect, like a young racehorse.  Then the thighs, creamy and
hairless, and then the crotch.

I have always been a crotch watcher.  Always.  Looking for telltale bulges
and bumps, the occasional miraculous unzipped flies.  Those were the days
of tight pants.  Blue jeans that molded themselves to the body beneath
them.  I lived for those.  And Larry's were cut off just about as high as
you could possibly cut them off.  Plus they were too tight.  Perhaps last
year's, and he'd grown.  There was a little but definite bulge filling out
the left side.

The rest of him soon appeared in turn as he completed his descent.  He saw
me looking intently in his direction, but reflexively looked back upstairs
behind himself, wondering what I was peering so intently at, not thinking I
could have been watching him.  Then he looked back at me, cocking his head
a little to the side and raising one eyebrow.  I just smiled into those
violet eyes.  Which seemed to start smoldering, somehow.  He flushed a
little, but smiled again himself.  Oh, those dimples!  I don't have any
memory of what I was thinking at that exact moment.  Certainly it was not
about having just fallen head over heels in love.

Somehow or other, the group of us moved back outside.  The men were
finished, and just waiting for their wives to finish giving me all my
instructions.  We joined them on the---my---new porch.  Fresh white paint
gleaming in contrast to the slate gray of the rest of the house.

"Ok, Pastor, that'll about do her up for now, right?"  One of the men whose
name I forgot.

"Yes, it looks fine.  Thanks a lot for coming and helping me unload.  I
really appreciate it."  I was speaking to the entire group, of course.  But
my words were directed pretty much just to Larry.  The youth ducked his
head and scuffed his foot a little, but he was grinning again.

"No problem, Pastor."  The same gruff but friendly voice.  I'll hate having
to ask his name again, I thought.

Mr. Russ spoke, his voice cavernous and deep, "I had my boys mow your lawn
and do the trimming.  They tilled the garden plot for you, too.  You know
how to run a lawn mower?  You got one in the barn.""  He gestured towards
what I had labeled a large garage, at the head of the drive and close by
the side of the house.

"I'm...umm.... sure that I can learn how, Mr. Russ.  Thanks a lot boys, for
doing that for me."  Craig ummphed noncommittally, but it was only Larry I
was looking at.  I got that smile I was beginning to live for as he said,
"Welcome..."

Mr. What's-his-name said, "Ok, then, everybody, let's leave Pastor to his
unpacking and sorting, right?"  Everybody made confirming noises as they
moved down the drive.  Some of them got into cars and drove off, but others
were walking, their homes near by.  I hoped that Larry was walking.  He
was.  Last in the group, stopping to look behind him at me at least twice.
I counted two distinct backward glances; I remember it like it was
yesterday.  I waved.  He raised his hand back at me.  When he did that, his
tee shirt lifted itself on his torso, exposing a bit of his stomach and his
navel.  I was rooted to that spot until the Russ family disappeared into
their house, just down the street from me.  Lights began to come on in the
dusk before I roused myself to move.

I dropped the U-Haul off at the garage next to the red brick High School,
less than a mile away from my new home.  I stopped off at Flanigan's
General Store on the way back, and picked up a few sacks of perishables and
staples.  Yes, I was indeed Pastor Gardner, please call me Karl.  I'd be
saying that a lot in the next few weeks.  I didn't catch any of their
names, as my mind was obviously still in Heavenly Places (like Larry Russ's
eyes) so immediately my reputation for an air of distracted absent-
mindedness began.  But I wasn't absent-minded.  I was simply gob-smacked by
Larry Russ.  The perfect archetypal youth.  The vision of him had hit me
right between the eyes.  I was not going to recover.

That evening, I unpacked boxes, put books on shelves, and uncrated the
stereo I'd just bought on a newly acquired credit card.  Playing Crosby,
Stills, Nash, and Young.  "Our house is a very very very nice house..." I
was singing along as I puttered through the evening, shifting things from
boxes and crates and suitcases to their new shelves or drawers or bureaus.
I cooked something for supper.  When I plugged in the TV, I noticed that
there was already an ariel wire (no, not cable, just the huge aluminum
ariel on the roof!).  With that attached, I cranked up the TV, and found
that there were 4 channels to choose from.  Which wasn't bad then.  More
than two decades ago.  Jeez.

I was nervous.  I was always nervous anyhow, kind of non-specifically and
generally.  But of course, I was wondering what kind of impression I'd made
on these people, thinking also about what my impressions of them were.
Mostly I wondered what impression I'd made on Larry.  Had he liked me?  God
damn it, (note to myself: stop swearing so much, now that you're a member
of the clergy and out of school...) why had I called him son?  Made me
sound like such an old fart.  Did he notice me watching him?  I think he
noticed me.  Would that be a good thing or a bad thing?  Good if he thinks
I like him.  Bad if it makes him self-conscious.  Or if I get caught by
others noticing my interest.

And why had I been following his every move since the moment I lay eyes on
him?  He's sooo cute!  Compact frame, delightfully beginning to stretch and
lengthen.  That translucent skin!  Great hair.  Killer dimples when he
smiles.  Wonder if he's got dimples on his ass?  Oh God, censor, censor.
Danger, Will Robinson, danger!

I had never allowed my thoughts to go very far down that path.  Well, let
me be totally frank.  I had always tried to stop my thoughts from going too
far down that path.  I was sometimes successful, but never in my fantasy
life.  All my fantasies had been of young guys like Larry.  Ever since I
was younger than he was.  My adoration never wavered, my attraction was
clear as a beacon.  All of my solitary sex life was centered on captured
mental snapshots of boys from the past and the present and movies and the
television.  Starting with Timmy on the original black-and-white Lassie
series, down to David Cassidy on the Partridge Family and 2 out of the 4
Monkees.  But, totally honestly, I had never drawn the obvious conclusions
from all those thoughts and fantasies.  The strength of the emotions always
took me by surprise.  They inevitably baffled me, and left me feeling
vaguely hopeless and frustrated.  I could imagine no way forward with any
of them.  It wasn't that I imagined guilty pleasures and then tried to
change my feelings, it was simply that I had never imagined the next steps
beyond falling head over heels from afar.  I was such a basket case, I
swear.  Dumber than a rock, and censoring those next steps before I could
even articulate them to myself.

Later on, I made up the bed in the master bedroom.  Massive old hand-carved
masterpiece, huge wooden frame, suitable for draping mosquito netting from,
had that ever been necessary in this temperate climate.  I had never slept
in such a large bed before.  I flopped into it, to try it out.  I felt lost
in its immensity, but I luxuriated in it.  After I shut the lights off, I
stripped and pulled the three sets of curtains closed, and reminded myself
that I must always think to do that now that I was living in a small town.
People love to look into other people's windows.  As I stood framed in the
moonlight from the windows nearest the bed, I saw that I had a clear view
of the Russ house.  Lights were on here and there on both floors.  Of
course, I wondered which ones were Larry's windows.  Mused about whether he
had his own room, or if he shared with his grizzly bear of a brother.
Wondered what he was doing right then.  Wondered if I could buy a pair of
binoculars so I could see better tomorrow night...

And slipped between the crisp clean sheets that felt so delicious against
my naked skin.  Naturally, I had remembered to unpack the old pillowcase I
used as a cum rag after my nightly sessions.  That night there was a bigger
mess to sop up than usual.  And my thoughts had been entirely of kissing
Larry Russ, while we held each other in some perfect field of country
clover.  That's all, I swear.  Just the holding and the gentle kisses were
enough to bring me off.



The next morning, I awoke early to some sort of squawking birds.  Sun was
streaming in through the curtained windows.  I stumbled to the bathroom,
where I had tossed bags of toiletries the night before.  I had to sort
stuff and clean my various bits at the same time, before coffee, even.
Ugh.

Then I realized that I hadn't got a clue what I was going to do today.
Well, other than keep working on the Inaugural Sermon for Sunday morning.
But that was 4 days off.  Plenty of time.  And then there was more
unpacking and sorting, and probably a big shopping trip over to
St. Johnsbury.  That was where the nearest large grocery stores and such
were, and it was almost 15 miles away.  I wasn't sure exactly how do get
there, which struck me as silly.  I hadn't even opened a bank account yet.
Another thing on the list.

I dressed in a pair of old shorts and a tee shirt and went downstairs
barefoot.  Had to find the coffee maker and the sugar, and was thankful
that I had remembered to buy milk.  I opened the kitchen door and went out
on the porch.  Huh, I said to myself.  The paper's here.  They started the
paper for me?  Nice of them.  Wonder what the paper's called?  I stepped
over to pick it up, where it had been neatly placed on one of the porch
chairs, and looked down the driveway past my car.

A vision hovered.  Larry Russ, with a big bag of newspapers draped over the
back of his old bike.  He was just standing beside the bike, most of the
way down the driveway to the street, looking at me.  He must have just put
the paper on my porch and heard me open the door as he departed.

"Good Morning!"  I enthused.  I even waved, although he wasn't that far
off.

"Hi," Larry grinned, with those dimples showing.  Too small, too tight
green tee shirt.  Too cute for words.  And baggy blue gym shorts.  Where
were those tight jean cut-offs from yesterday?!

"So you're the local paper boy, huh?"  I asked.  Well, come on, it WAS the
next obvious comment.  Along with, "What time do you have to get up to do
this every day?"  At least I didn't call him `son' again.

My vision of perfection turned his laden bicycle the rest of the way around
and came back up the driveway.

"I usually get up around 5:30.  I don't mind.  Ya kind of get used to it
after a while.  You're the first house on my route."  He didn't act so shy
as yesterday!  Maybe because there were no other people around?

"Well, I'm glad to have the paper, Larry.  Especially with somebody I
already know delivering it every morning.  (Mutual smiles all around...)
But, who set this delivery up?  How do I pay you for it?"

"Umm...my father told me to start delivery today.  He told me I should,
ummm...like, give it to you, for a donation or something..."

I was startled.  "You mean, he wants you to give it to me for free?  I
don't like that idea very much.  I like to pay my way.  So how do we do
this?  I don't want to get you in trouble with your Dad either!"

Larry looked serious as he said, "Well, it's usually $8.00 every two weeks.
I collect on Fridays.  Maybe we could just keep it a secret?  My father
tends to get mad about sh--I mean, stuff like this..."

"A secret it is, then.  I think it's cool to have secrets with friends."
Boy, did I ever like the idea of secrets between Larry and me, for sure!
"And watch your damn mouth around adults, huh?"  Larry looked worried until
I continued, "You watch my mouth and remind me if I swear, and I'll do the
same for you, too!"  That got the biggest smile yet.  I felt the blood
rushing through my veins and my heart pounding in my chest like a
jackhammer.

"Ok!  You got a deal, Karl!"  He was enjoying this, I could tell.  And, I
thought, he was probably relieved that he didn't have to `donate' my paper,
too.  He would be surprised at the amount of the tip I was already planning
to give him each time, too!

The subject at hand was about to run down.  What to talk about next, I
wondered frantically.  I had to keep Larry coming around.  I wanted to
establish a routine that included regular interaction between the two of
us.  I wanted to get to know him.  I wanted us to become friends.  Beyond
that, I wasn't allowing myself to be conscious of what else I might want us
to become.  Thinking furiously, I said, "What are you doing later on?"

"Nothing much.  It's school holidays now, and this is really my only job.
Other than chores around the house.  Why?"  He was cocking his head towards
me with curiosity.  Another mannerism to love about Larry!

Why, indeed...still thinking...ah-HA!  "I have to go to St. Johnsbury and
do some errands, go to a big grocery store, stuff like that.  And I don't
know where anything is, really.  If you come along and be my tour guide and
assistant, I'd be glad for the company!"  Oh God, would I...

"Sure, Karl, that would be ok.  No problem.  When do you want to go?"

"What time do you finish with the paper route?"

"Ummm, around 8:00 usually."

God, I WAS up early!  "Ok, why don't we go around 9:00?  I'll pay you for
your time, of course!"

"Oh no you won't!"  He looked happy, but determined.  "I'm not gonna charge
you for this.  It'll be fun, maybe.  And this time, it's my own choice,
isn't it?"

"Great, then!"  I was way beyond pleased to hear that he thought hanging
around me might be fun.  And he had declared a mind of his own, as well as
his propensity to push back when told what to do.  Like when his father had
told him to donate the paper to me.  I wondered if Larry's father knew what
a stubborn and free-willed son he had?

"Ok, Karl!  See you at 9:00.  I'll leave a note for my Mom, so she'll know
where I've gone when she wakes up."  And he turned the bike around again,
swinging his bare leg over the bar and mounting it as he did.  Another
flash of white briefs under today's dark blue gym shorts.  His perfect butt
settled itself on the bike seat, and he pushed off, hair lightly swirling
around his head as he turned and flashed me that infectious grin, and said,
"Bye!"

"See you soon, Larry!"  I was floating on air as I went back into the house
for a cup of coffee.

I sat down at the kitchen table with the paper and my coffee, but noticed
that I had a hard-on making a tent in my khaki shorts.  Jeez, I wonder if
that thing was pointing itself at Larry out on the porch.  With that
thought, all attempts to concentrate on reading the paper were done for.
Instead, I opted for moving around a little, adjusting myself as I got up.
I busied myself with making a list of the needed supplies and minor
household objects that hadn't been included by the Church Ladies.  And
watched the minutes crawl by on the clock until the appointed hour.

I was upstairs changing into some slightly less casual clothes for the trip
into town, when I heard a knock on the screen door, and a cheery, "Hey,
Karl?" from downstairs.  It was 8:53AM.  Maybe he was anxious to get going
too, I wondered?  Nah!  Be careful with thinking like that.  Surely, he
just wants a break from his normal boring routine.  Why would Larry the
Beautiful be particularly eager to hang out with the new minister in town,
after all?  Better to stick with reality, you idiot.  As long as you're
with him, that is.  The fantasies must be gathered, for sure, but they must
also be kept safely and sensibly for later!

"Coming!"  I yelled, fully aware of the ironic double meaning.  "Come on
in, I'll be right down!"

I tried to act casual as I went down the stairs and entered the kitchen.
Larry was just standing inside the screen door, looking around.  He'd
changed his shirt, but had the same baggy blue gym shorts on.  They had an
elastic top, I presumed, as all gym shorts were the same back then.  The
initials `WHS' and a school logo were emblazoned in white on one of the
shorts legs.

"That stands for Walden High, of course!" said Larry, noting where my eyes
were located.  I jerked my attention back up to his face.  God, this kid
was pretty observant.  Be careful!

"Uh-huh..." I remarked lamely...

"So we going to St J first, or what?"

"St. J?  Oh, yeah, right, St. Johnsbury...Yeah, let's.  Are you ready to
go?"  I was obviously becoming witless.  Probably all the blood from my
brain draining down to my dick.

"Yup, I think so!  Do I look ready?"  As he said this, he raised his arms
to shoulder level and did a 360, ending up facing me with his face cocked
to the side and eyebrow raised, just like yesterday.  His tee shirt did
that same elevation trick, showing me his lower abdomen and his outie belly
button as he turned.  Plus the top of his Hanes briefs.  I could read
enough of the label on the top to ascertain that.

"Oh, yes...you look ready..." But am I ready for YOU, I wondered
feverishly.

"Good, then let's get this show on the road, Rev"

"Rev?"

"Yeah!  Is it ok if I give you a nickname?  Or do ya wanna be just plain
old Karl?"  There was a wicked gleam in his eye.

I rose to the occasion.  (Not THAT way, you there in the back...I heard
that...)

"Old, am I?  Plain OLD Karl, hmm?  I'm not that much older than you, ya
know!"

"Yeah, right.  You must be at least...(looking me up and down)...25 years
old.  Right?"

"Pretty good guesser, kiddo."  I was trying to remain good-natured, but I
didn't really want to dwell on the age difference between us.  That wasn't
where my fantasies were taking me, that's for sure.

"I really didn't guess.  I snooped through my Mom's paperwork on your
application for the Church job last night.  But you do look pretty young to
be 10 years and 7 months older than I do.  So can I call ya Rev or what?"

He had even checked out my birthdate.  What was that supposed to imply?

Trying to keep my end of the conversation going, I floundered into, "So,
that means that you'll be turning 15 in...ummm..."

Larry finished the thought for me, "...in January.  The 26th, to be exact.
Just so you remember for the presents.""  He was very pleased with his
cheeky self, that's for sure!

"Right, January 26th for the presents.  Got it.  Oh, sure, go ahead and
call me Rev, then, since we're getting to know each other so well."  I
grinned as I spoke.

"Good one, Rev. And I'll remember to get you something special on your
birthday, too.  That'd be next month, on August 12th, right?  That gives me
6 weeks to figure out what you'd like most for your present..."

My God!  Then out loud I weakly exclaimed, "Good grief, you super-sleuth,
have you found out all my secrets, then?"

"Oh, I don't know about that, Rev...I bet you got a few surprises left for
me..." He was smiling still, but those violet eyes were smoldering again.
So what did THAT mean?  I didn't have a clue that I was being seduced.
Like I said, dumber than a rock back then.  Of course, I don't think that
Larry was consciously doing it, either.  Nevertheless, it was sure
happening...

"I should HOPE so!"  I proclaimed with patently false pomposity, and we
both giggled at each other.  "So, shall we set off on this expedition
to...what was it?... St J?"

"Yeah, let's go!"  Larry said, leading the way out the door.

"Wait, I forgot my house keys.  I don't want to lock myself out the first
day!"

Larry looked around at me from where he was opening the passenger side of
the car.  "Why bother to lock it?  Nobody else does, and besides, there are
like 28 people that have keys to that house, ya know!"

I just shut the porch door at that news, but as I went around to my side of
the car, I asked, "Surely, you're joking!"

"Well, maybe a little.  But really, there's the parsonage ladies, and the
Trustees, cuz they have to fix stuff sometimes, and, well, all sorts of
people."

I was alarmed at the idea of half this town being able to breeze into my
home without any warning.  Out loud, I wondered, "Maybe I should have the
locks changed..."

"Jeez, Rev, don't do that!  They'll all think you don't trust `em or
something.  Or that you maybe got something to hide!"

"Really?!  You think so?  All I was thinking about was my privacy.  Kind of
like you should be able to lock your bedroom door whenever you want to, you
know?"  We were in the car and backing out of the drive by then.

"Listen, Rev, seriously, everybody knows a lot of stuff in small towns like
this.  That's one of the reasons I want to get out of this place as quick
as I can.  And THAT's a secret, ok?"  He had turned sober as he looked at
me, hoping that I'd take him at his word.

"Larry, anything you tell me is a secret doesn't pass my lips to anybody
else.  Ever.  No kidding, never."  I looked over at him, and he nodded,
re-assured by my words.  "But, do you really feel like there's no privacy
here in Walden?  You really that sure you want to leave when you grow up?"

"No, there really isn't any privacy.  There are lots of secrets here, but
not much privacy.  All I got that's just mine alone is the thoughts inside
my own head..." He was looking straight out the windshield at the road
ahead.  "Turn right at the stop sign, head out past the place you dropped
the U-Haul yesterday..."

"Ok, turning right.  I don't get it.  No privacy, but lots of secrets?
What do you mean?"

Larry half-turned in the seat, leaning his back against the door.  As he
did so, he pulled the leg nearest me up onto the seat, propping himself
against road movements.  His shorts gapped open more than slightly,
tightening against his crotch.  His balls bulged on either side of the seam
running up the middle of the zipperless shorts, and one side showed the
bright white of the briefs underneath.  I tried not to lower my eyes below
his face, but it was an effort.

Larry heaved a big sigh, then spoke, "Look, you said about me having a lock
on my bedroom door before?  For privacy?"  I nodded affirmatively.  "Well,
I don't have one.  I mean, there was one, but it's been broke for a long
time.  See?  No privacy."  He blinked.

"Why don't you fix it?"  I asked, trying to be sensible.

"Look, you don't understand!  You don't get it, ok?  Let's just ride and
listen to some music.  What tapes have you got?"" and he started rummaging
around on the seat, avoiding my startled look.

"What's the matter?  What did I say?  I'm sorry!"  I truly didn't know what
had just happened.  The conversation had been going well, I thought.  He'd
begun to open up and tell me about his thoughts.  I really wanted to get to
know him better and NOT just for the fact that he was gorgeous.  I was
really beginning to like Larry.

"Umm, look, Rev...I'm sorry too.  But one thing you'll learn about me is
that I have a temper.  I just get impatient when somebody doesn't get it.
Hardly anybody understands me.  I'm pissed off a lot.  Ok?"  He glanced
over at me, checking to see if I was angry with him.

"I want to understand you, Larry.  But you gotta give me half a chance
here, ok?  I'm new around here, and we're just starting to get to know each
other today.  So when it seems like I don't understand something, then just
tell me that, and I'll ask questions or something.  Deal?"

"Deal.  Sorry.  I'm just so used to being invisible.  You know what I
mean?"

"Not really.  But I want to.  Don't get pissed off!"  I grinned as I said
it, trying to lighten the mood and keep him talking.

It worked.  He beamed at me and leaned back against the car door again,
spreading those beautiful thighs in my direction again.  Now I had to
really concentrate on keeping my eyes on the road.

"Right.  I'm not pissed now, cuz you're really listening to me.  Nobody
listens to what I think or say.  It's like I'm not really there or
something.  Invisible, get it?"

"Get it.  But really, nobody?  Not your family?  Teacher maybe?  Friends?"

"My parents have problems.  My brother is a bully when he bothers to take
any notice of me at all.  Teachers want to teach, they don't want to listen
to a kid like me.  Friends?  Umm, I don't think I really have any.  I keep
to myself.  I read a lot."

Where should I go first with all THAT, I wondered?  Maybe with the least
serious thread.  Right.  "You like to read?  What do you read?"

"I like all kinds of stuff.  My room is piled with books.  Science Fiction
is the best.  Sword and sorcery, if it's not too lame and juvenile.  Novels
about historical stuff.  Why?  You wanna get me to start reading the Bible
and religious sh---junk?  My folks already tried that.  They gave up."

"Cuz I'm trying to get to know you, remember?  I don't read the Bible all
that much myself."  He raised his eyebrows at that!  "Who's your favorite
Sci Fi writer?"

"Harlan Ellison.  Asimov.  Marion Zimmer Bradley.  "The Dragons of Pern",
by some woman---what's her name---" thinking to himself, brow furrowed.

"Anne McAffrey."  I supplied the name casually.

"You read the Pern books?!"  Larry was amazed.

"Yeah.  I have them all.  Hard cover editions from the Science Fiction Book
Club.  I get something every month.  Why are you all surprised?"

"Well, you being a preacher and all.  I thought you guys all read, like,
Bible junk.  Saints and sermons and like that."

"Well, all I can tell you is that I'm reading Marion Zimmer Bradley's, "The
Mists of Avalon" right now.  Got about 75 pages to go."

"Really?  I read that last month from the Library.  I thought it was cool!
Druids and magic and the knights."  He seemed to get shy for a moment, then
raised his eyes back to me as I drove down the long road to St. J.  "Can I
ask you something about that book?"

"Sure.  Why not?"  I was puzzled.

"Umm, well, you know the part where Arthur and Lancelot are such good
friends and all?"

"Yeah.  What about it?"

"Well, wasn't the writer trying to say that they were, like, boyfriends or
something?"

Uh-oh.  I had really forgotten that part, although it had intrigued me at
the time.  Good old mental denial systems working well, once again!

"Yes, I think that's what she was getting at.  What do you think about that
idea?"  I was nervous, but I couldn't help myself asking.

"Well, umm, like, I never met any gay people before.  That I knew was gay,
I mean.  Have you?"

Oh God.  Shaky ground.  But I suddenly realized that I wanted always to be
as honest as I could with Larry.  I wasn't sure why, but the feeling in me
was very strong about that.  "Yeah, I do know some gay people.  A few of my
friends are gay."

"Oh."  He was thinking hard about something now, for sure.

I tried to go back to less personal ground.  "So, what do you think about
Lance and Arthur being that way, if they were?"

"Well, umm, I don't know..." He was looking out the window again.

"Larry, when I told you about my friends being gay, I decided to be totally
honest with you, and treat you like I would an adult.  I won't bullshit
you.  You say you don't like it when you feel that other people don't seem
to notice when you're around?  Well, maybe part of the reason you feel
invisible is that you keep your thoughts and feelings too much to yourself.
You gotta make yourself more visible sometimes in order to be noticed and
taken seriously."  Yeah, like I was one to talk!

"Uh-huh.  I think I see what you mean.  But it's hard sometimes, you know?
Maybe people won't like what they see, if I show them more about myself."

I had never had this kind of conversation before.  In fact, I usually ran
screaming from conversations like this.  I had always tried to be invisible
myself, and here I was with a 14-year-old, trying to be open and honest.  I
still didn't know that I was falling in love.

"Larry, can I tell you something?"  I heard the words coming out of my
mouth.  I still didn't believe it.

"Yeah, sure, Rev.  What?"  In truth, I think he was kind of relieved that I
hadn't pressed him on the other question.

"You've started to show me some things about yourself.  You aren't
invisible to me.  I have noticed you, right from the beginning yesterday.
I don't see anything that I don't like."

Larry turned beet red, but the grin pasted across his whole face was
dazzling.  "Really?"  There was a little adolescent squeak as he said that.

I took my eyes from the road for a moment.  "Really."  And looked him in
the eyes.  NOT something I was used to doing at all, let me tell you!

"I noticed you watching me yesterday.  You kept talking to me.  I liked it
a lot.  Did you notice that I was the only person there that you told to
call you Karl like that?"

"I did?"  Now I was blushing furiously and definitely staring at the road
ahead.

"Yup, you did.  When you were looking me, I could tell.  Even when you were
inside looking at me from a window or something.  It was kind of like being
scanned by sensors on Star Trek or something.  Nobody's ever looked at me
that way before.  Made me kind of tingly..." He was speaking tentatively,
but he definitely was testing the waters with me.

"It did?"  I was having trouble breathing normally, let alone speaking
coherently.  My hands were shaking as they held on for dear life onto the
steering wheel.

"Karl, what does this all mean?  I don't talk to people like this.  I mean,
I never have before..."

"I haven't either, Larry.  It's strange for me too.  I'm a little like you,
I guess.  I'm more used to being invisible.  Maybe it means we're going to
be good friends.  I'd like that a lot."  I glanced at him out of the corner
of my eyes, trying to gauge his response, too.

"We're already good friends, Rev. We like each other right now, right?  I
mean, at least...umm...Right?"  He was groping for the right words.  But he
was sure there was more to this than we'd said so far.

"Right.  We are.  Was I really staring at you yesterday?  Could other
people tell, do you think?"

Now he was looking at me with a funny expression on his face.  "Uh, no, I
don't think so.  My Mom said that you seemed to be good with young people,
something like that.  But that's it, I think.  Why?  Don't you want them to
know you like me?"

"No, no!  Nothing like that.  I was just a little worried that they might
think, I dunno, something about, like, maybe...I might like you too much,
or something..."

"Too much?  Whaddaya me...OH!  Oh my God..." We were now both studying the
road ahead very assiduously.

There was a vast silence for a few moments.  The stereo played in the
background.  Cat Stevens, I think.

We still had another couple of miles to go before we started hitting the
town borders.  We were still on the country road gently wending its way
through the hills from Walden.  There wasn't much to look at outside the
car, other than the farms and occasional dirt roads leading off to either
side of the main road.  It seemed to get quieter and quieter.  Inside my
head, I felt numb.  My mind wasn't racing.  I didn't know what to do or
say.  It felt a little like a circiutbreaker had switched off in my mind.
Some sort of emotional overload, perhaps.  I simply didn't know what to
say, because I had no idea what I was really feeling.  I was almost outside
myself, watching as if it was a movie scene.

Larry finally spoke up.  "Can.."  He had to clear his throat and swallow
before he could start over.  "Can we stop the car for a minute?"  He was
still looking straight ahead, and not at me.

I saw a side road coming up, with a picnic area under some trees.  The site
was empty.  I slowed the car down and pulled it into one of the two parking
spaces and put it into Park.  But I left the motor running.  I thought
maybe he might want to get out and leave me or something.  Maybe he felt
the need to have an escape route.  I still couldn't speak.  I noticed that
both my hands still gripped the steering wheel like grim death.

"Umm..." Larry wanted to say something, but it was obviously difficult for
him.  But he did turn slightly so he could look at me without craning his
neck.  "How did you know?"  he asked me softly.

Now I turned to look at him.  I was totally confused.  "How did I know
what?"

"How did you know that I was, ummm...well, like that?"

"Like what?  I don't know what you mean."  Tears started brimming over in
Larry's beautiful eyes.

His voice became a little ragged as he spoke through his tears.  "You DO
know.  You said you wouldn't bullshit me.  How did you know that I'm...that
I'm gay?  Are you going to tell my parents?  Please don't tell them.
They'll kill me, I know they'll want to kill me..." And he started sobbing
hard.

My hands were still glued to the steering wheel.  "Larry, you're telling me
that you're gay?  Is that it?"

"Of COURSE!  But you must have known. To have looked at me that way, to
talk to me about some gay people you know like you did.  How could you
tell?  I try to be so careful..."

"Larry, really...I didn't know.  Honestly!  I was afraid that you were
thinking that I'M gay.  I wasn't thinking about whether you were or not!"

Larry's sobs stopped suddenly.  He caught his breath and looked at me in
amazement.  "But I thought, I mean, you said, I mean..." His voice trailed
off as he tried to think it through.  "Karl, you thought I was thinking
that YOU were gay?"

I shook my head up and down.  I couldn't speak.

His next question was logical, looking back on it like I am now.  "Well,
are you?"

I blinked, not registering the question in my mind.  Still on overload, I'm
sure.  "Am I what?"

"Gay.  Karl, are you gay?"  At that moment, I marveled that this gorgeous
young man could think so clearly when my mind had turned to goo.  Then I
realized what I had just thought.  `This gorgeous young man...' Surely a
heterosexual man wouldn't have thought that phrase.  It hit me like a bolt
of lightening.  I could literally feel the shock of the realization as it
hit me.

Out loud I said, "Well, I've never been with either a guy or a girl..."

Larry looked impatient.  "Me, neither.  But I do know what I am, anyhow!
You MUST know!  Doesn't everybody know?  Do ya think about guys or do ya
think about girls?  Karl, you have to tell me!"

"Um.  Well.  I honestly have never thought about this.  I really haven't.
That may sound dumb to you, because I think you have thought about it quite
a lot.  But this is a new thing for me to think about..."

"Huh?"  Larry was the clueless one now.  He just looked at me; head cocked
to the side like he always did when he was thinking hard.

"Um.  Larry, ask me that question again, please.  I think I need you to do
that."

Now Larry was completely befuddled.  "Ask you again if you're gay?  Ok, I
guess.  This feels really weird, Karl...Do you think about guys or do you
think about girls?"

I focused on the question like a drowning man did his life buoy.  "I don't
really think about, umm, sex, really.  I never noticed that before."

Larry's eyes narrowed.  "You don't think about sex?  What DO you think
about, for God's sake?!  I mean, when ya, well...when ya, you know..." and
he made that universal wanking movement with one hand for a few small
strokes.  "Um, you DO do that, right?  I mean, well, everybody does that.
At least I think they do."

I nodded slowly again.  "Oh yes, I do that."  My thoughts had become
clearer to me.  I decided on the spot that I had to tell him.  It never
occurred to me to deny it or evade, even if I could have.  I looked him
right in the eyes, and said, "Larry, last night, I thought about holding
you.  Holding you and kissing you.  I think that must mean that I'm gay."

Larry didn't flinch.  But he did make a pronouncement.  "Jesus Christ..."

I nodded again, this time more firmly.  "Yeah.  How could I not have known
that about myself?"

"You really didn't know?  That you're gay?"  I shook my head side to side.

His voice squeaked again.  "And you didn't know about me, neither?"

"Nope, I really didn't."

"Shit, Karl, you really are out of it, you know?  Sorry about my language."

I barked something resembling a short laugh.  "With what we're talking
about here, I hardly think our language matters very much...  Jesus, I
really am out of it.  I can't believe this."

Larry giggled a little.  "Watch your mouth, Rev.  Somebody might hear ya!"
I smiled thinly, suddenly very afraid about somebody hearing us.

Larry asked another question.  "So, did you really think about, umm, like,
kissing me and stuff?  That's sooo weird!  Maybe that's why I got all hard
whenever you looked at me yesterday..." Then he blushed.

I couldn't believe we were having anything even vaguely resembling this
conversation.  But I was obviously going with the flow.  "Yeah, I did think
about that.  I got hard too."  I glanced down at my lap, and continued, "I
am right now.  Talking about it.  Hard, I mean."

Larry's eyes got wide.  "Whoa!  Really?"  Then he did something else that
I'll never ever forget as long as I live.  He simply reached out and
touched my crotch.  He felt gently but thoroughly all over my penis, and if
it hadn't been fully aroused at first, it surely was during the
examination.  He kept his hand in my lap, and said, "Cool..."

I never wanted him to move that hand ever again.  But my erection was bent
at an awkward angle.  So I carefully put my hand down there, right over
his, and used both of them together to adjust it more comfortably.  Then I
just squeezed his hand, leaving them in place, right where they were.
Larry just kept looking at me, and looking at his own hand in mine, in my
lap.  He made a wiggling movement with his hips that told me that he had
just performed the same adjustment exercise.

So I said, "You, too, huh?"

He nodded his beautiful blond head, and said, "Uh huh.  Umm, Karl, what are
we supposed to do now?"

"I don't have any idea, Larry.  Honest to God, I've never thought about any
of this.  Maybe we should just go to the store for right now.  Maybe doing
something sort of normal will help us think more about it as we go."

"Umm, ok, Karl...but I'm gonna keep my hand, umm, sort of where it is, ok?
I like it..."

"I like it, too."  He squeezed it every so often, like he was checking to
see that it was still there.

And with that, we headed back down the road to town, grocery shopping.  The
first morning of the rest of my life was only about half over.


End of Part 1
"Larry's Love"
by Michael Davidson, II
ageismfree@yahoo.com