Date: Sat, 20 Jun 2009 09:50:27 -0700 (PDT)
From: Tim Stillman <novemberhourglass@yahoo.com>
Subject: g/m high school "A Kiss"

				  A Kiss
				    By
			       Tim Stillman

Jimmy came over to me, quietly. The night was early Spring and we were
young. He held his hand to my chin and gently turned my face to him. I was
ashamed of my black eye and tried to turn away, but Jimmy stopped me. "The
price of admission to boyhood," he said and smiled. It was at that exact
moment I fell in love with him, I think.

I was so skinny and so shy and so me and I knew he would not have noticed
me on the playground at all had the three boys not ganged up on
me. Three. It would have taken one to half-kill me. I had always been an
over jealous boy and it had caused me trouble, for it seemed I was jealous
of the whole world and had every right to be.

We were in my woods. Not that the woods were mine, but this was where I hid
when things got wrong and things always got wrong. I found love in anger
because I knew Jimmy had followed me here after school. He was not one for
hiding. He was strong and brave and captain of the football team.

The hot sun was golden diamonds through the tree leaves and branches of
which there were many.  I was wearing a red short-sleeved shirt and jeans
and Keds. My school clothes.  My book bag was by my side. I had sat against
a tree, with my knees up and I had been of course weeping.

He smiled at me again. I don't know if you remember the first time someone
smiled at you. Or if you remember the first time someone was kind at you or
noticed your presence in any particular way. This was my first time. He had
such fine features. Hair of gold. Dimples. Grey eyes. An athletic body but
not going overboard with it.

Then I did something I never would do, never thought about doing, I hugged
him and he felt steady and warm and he held me in return and if you think
that wrong, chances are the reason I was sporting a black eye was a reason
you would have agreed with, and if so, to hell with you; go away; you've no
right here.

Jimmy patted me on the back, awkwardly, and I realized at that moment, it
was his first time too. Not just because he was boy strong or boy handsome
or boy likeable, but because he was himself, like a gift I had somehow
unawares given him. I held him more tightly and felt his heart beat and I
believe he felt mine.

I had been to be a boy, a man, alone. Had this not happened. Jimmy was to
be a shell of himself, had this never happened. I don't believe either of
us thought in terms of gay or straight; it was just he drew back his head
an inch or two and asked if he might kiss me.

I nodded silently and minutely, for I was a silent and minute boy, and his
lips touched mine, just a trace of a kiss. He brushed my long black hair
out of my eyes and I smiled at him and was pretty happy I had gotten that
black eye, so if that may be the reason you agree with concerning my
getting it, come back, please; all is forgiven.

He was wearing a blue short-sleeved shirt and dark gray jeans to my blue
and Keds too. White to my green. He put an arm round my shoulder and his
cheek next to mine. I closed my eyes and considered the prospect of
happiness and whether or not I should risk it.

He smelled of English Leather cologne, all the rage back then. He smelled
so happy and felt so unencumbered with cares, though I was later to find
out he had his own particular kinds of pain. He touched the collar of my
shirt. My mom always starched and iron pressed all my clothes till they
looked like clothes on the Ken doll.

I don't know why I didn't rabbit. I knew we were going to make love. I
wasn't frightened, for I looked in his eyes and met his own fear for this
also was his first time. Invariably, in stories, as opposed to real life,
it's the weaker of the two who turns out to be the strongest. I wish I
could say differently here. I can't.

Make it story. Make it reality. It's only in your head anyways. Read and
forgotten and on to the next. But for us, Jimmy and I (me? Always trouble
with that), this stood for eternity and a place and time we would never
leave. And our hands were on each other and we were slowly naked. The late
afternoon sun was dusking now and shading our bodies.

He closed his eyes, as if that would find him clothed again for me, as I
bent down as we knelt side by side and I so tenderly sucked one nipple,
then the other, tickled one nipple, then the other. And he sighed and he
gave in and he held my small, of course, penis and I held his large, of
course, penis and we rubbed each other as he opened his eyes and kissed
each other. And we were so happy. Sometimes, you can't help it.

Then we looked down at ourselves and we came and I licked his Jimmy cum off
his left leg and he touched my come off his right hand and gingerly tasted
it. And our bodies were sexual at that moment. We were to never be the
same. I like to think this story could have been in a textbook for a grade
school class on a shiny warm day with the sun friendly in the windows. And
the children in a room the smell of chalk and pencil shavings and kindly
clothes and just beginning to be alive. In a place where they listened to
me reading this exact story.

And I could close the yellow sunny covered book and look at them. I would
smile and tell them it was true, it was not true, it is life though, and
the urgent human condition of not being alone. I would tell them some day
someone will open your heart and want to love you.  Like Jimmy and I may
have done for each other. Or maybe it was just a myth to make the moon less
bothersome.

I would kneel down and look in their so incredibly young and gentle
faces. I would say, don't pass up the opportunity because someone said you
weren't---because all of you are and never let anybody make an invisible of
you. For you will have your Jim. And you will make love to him or to
her. And it is the primary reason you are here.

A hand might be raised toward the back of the room. I might nod at the
child. He or she might say, wasn't it rather gross?  And they would
laugh. And I would too. I would remember Jimmy, real or not, or real and
mythologized, and I would consider a Spring night where two boys got so
slowly dressed and went each to his home. And I would see him again at
school. We might eat together at lunch. Or stop a moment at our lockers
side by side. We might even visit. And I might see his cares and wish to
help. But couldn't.

And we would never touch or smile dreamily at each other ever again,
because we unlocked love in each of us, and that love sent us in different
directions, for, as I would tell the children on a golden Spring warm
classroom day, love has its own way and sometimes the greatest thing in the
world....And the bell rang and the children stayed in their desk chairs,
hypnotized, waiting....so I would say to them, before telling them school
is over for today...love is beautiful when it comes your way. And I smiled
at them.

When the class was empty, save for me, I would sit at my desk and I would
wait to go home. Alone. With Jimmy. With someone else. Was I ever a
teacher? Did I ever have a black eye? Was there really a woods? I leave it
to you to decide. It's the great thing about stories.  You read them in
your own totally individual way. Reality is just so---there. Stories are
where you wish them. So, if anyone reading this has had a black eye lately
or is so alone, consider this my way of putting a friendly arm around you,
turning your shy face to mine and saying hello and oh yes, you are loved.

You are not a nothing, as I may be. Would I have spent all this time and
thought otherwise writing this?