Date: Tue, 26 Mar 2013 20:50:53 -0700
From: Douglas DD DD <thehakaanen@hotmail.com>
Subject: Diamond Dreams  Chapter 6

Welcome back. The Chapter 1 disclaimers apply, as always. Please
be safe. Please, donate to Nifty.

In this chapter, Marty rides around town making amends to his middle
school coaches. Things seem to go well until it comes time to make
amends to his family.

CHAPTER 6
AMENDS

<Monday, June 16>

[MARTY]

One of the things Sparky and everybody tells me I need to do so I will
stay sober is to make amends to all the people I hurt when I was busy
getting drunk all of the time. Trust me, that's a lot of people. Making
amends means I have to apologize, and I have to live a sober life all
the time so I don't go back to hurting people. That's called a living
amend, or something like that. Anyway, I decided to spend time
making some of those amends, and I thought I would tell you about
how it went.

Before I go on, I should tell you I don't call Mr. B. Sparky to his face
very much. I mean it's okay with him if I do since I figured out who
Sparky Anderson was and why Mr. B got the nickname. But calling
him Sparky just doesn't seem right. Calling him Mr. B does, so that's
the way it is. I call other people who talk to me in the meetings by
their first names, but not Mr. B. I don't call him Sparky and I don't call
him George. But I don't call him Mr. Bednarzyck either, because that
would take me all day to say. There was going to be a time that I
would start calling him Sparky, but that is a whole different story.

Anyway, I made amends to Eric already on the day I shared most of
my secrets with him. I didn't tell him about the key and what I wanted
to do with it, and I didn't tell him about me and Jeffrey. I suppose
someday I should, since I keep being told I'm as sick as my secrets.
Those amends were easy, because of what Eric is like. And he
accepted me and my secrets in a way that let me know I can trust him
to keep them. Most guys tell their secrets to some other drunk like
themselves, but Eric is the guy I trusted, because in a way I owe him
my life.

I just got done making amends to Rich a few days ago. That was
hard to do because I loved him back in seventh grade, even if I didn't
know it then. The more I drank the more I built up resentments. I
blamed him for making me gay, and making me do gay things. I
started seeing him as an all around butthead. But I really was gay
and it sure the fuck wasn't his fault, and the only butthead between
the two of us was, well, moi.

But what happened was more than I ever expected to happen,
though it didn't look real good at first. Rich pretty much told me to go
fuck myself, but then the whole thing in Vince's basement happened
and Rich thought maybe I really was serious about not drinking. I'm
talking about me being the first to cross Kevin's imaginary line and go
on the non-drinking side, and then telling everybody that if we were
serious about our team this was the right decision and anything else
was bullshit. Rich wasn't there, but he heard about it.

Now we're working on being friends again. I don't know how far we're
going to go as friends, but we sure got off to a good start after I made
my amends.  I do know he wants me to spend the night on
Wednesday, which is a pretty good sign I think.

I made one amends today, which was with John, my brother. He is
almost sixteen and is usually pretty cool. He can be a pain
sometimes, but he stuck in my corner when things weren't going so
great for me. He made me mad a lot by telling me I was an alcoholic,
but now I know that I am one and he was just telling me the truth. I
know now he was trying to help me stop drinking, but there was no
way I was going to listen to his big mouth.

So, I sat down with him in the living room and told him I was sorry for
being a shithead little brother when I was drinking.

"You can be a shithead little brother when you're not drinking, too," he
told me.

"Yeah, but I'm supposed to be one. I think it's the law or something
for little brothers to act like shitheads. But I mean when I was drinking
and wasted out of my gourd, I treated you bad, especially when you
tried to help me."

"It's cool bro. I hope you don't drink any more. I know if dad tries
something again to get you drinking I'll tell him to go to hell. I don't
mind giving the old man shit and he knows it."

"Thanks, bro. You're a great big brother."

"I've been trying. Glad it got noticed."

That was in the afternoon and in the evening we had a game against
Centralia at home. They were a pretty good team, with a lot of older
kids. Older means my age, which is fourteen, and even some fifteen
year olds. But they don't have a lot of thirteen year olds, or even
some older twelve year olds, like we do. But I don't care what
anybody says, our team has some real talent on it and we play the
game fucking hard and play it right. Coach Miller makes sure of that,
and so did Coach Sanders and Coach Ecklund during the school
season.

Well, anyway, Rodney pitched for us. He's getting pretty used to the
longer pitching distance and he was really good today. We're all
getting used to the bigger field which allowed us to play better. We
really looked like a good team in this game and beat the Centralia
team 4-3. Rodney pitched all seven innings. I got the collar, meaning
I didn't get a hit, but I did hit a long sacrifice fly which knocked in a
run. Since we only won by one, it was a pretty big run. I made a
couple of pretty good plays at third, too. So even though I didn't get a
hit and struck out twice, I felt good about doing things to help us win.
Rich got the big hit for us. He had a double in the fifth inning that
knocked in two runs.

We were all pretty happy with our win. A lot of us went to The Bear's
for pizza. I said I wasn't going to go because I was tired, but the truth
was I didn't have any money. I was saving my allowance for
something I had to do. Mr. B had me do a few odd jobs for cash
during some weekends, which helped a little. And he helped get me a
job at the town park in their youth job program. But that doesn't start
until next week, so I didn't have money for pizza.

Rich came to my rescue though, saying he was buying for both of us.
I think the way he looked at it was that I would buy for him some day.
He was right, of course, because that's what friends are for. We all
ended up having a great time celebrating a good win. Being with my
teammates after a game and having fun eating pizza was something I
hadn't done for a long time. I was too busy getting drunk and
wallowing in my shit.

I set Tuesday aside to make amends to some of my coaches. I called
to make appointments to see them. I wasn't about to go crashing in
on them. Coach Kennedy, the football coach, was the first coach I
saw. He said he would be at the middle school in the morning so I
rode my bike there to meet him.

"So what's this urgent thing you wanted to see me about?" Coach
Kennedy asked after we sat down in the coaches' office in the gym.

"It's about football."

"Okay. Football is long over and you're entering high school this fall,
so I will have nothing to do with you and football this coming season."

"I know, but I want to talk about last season." I was starting to feel
very nervous. My mouth was all dry, and I couldn't keep my left leg
from bouncing. Part of me wanted to run away from the situation, to
not deal with all the shit that was swirling in my brain as I sat in the
chair in front of the big desk in the center of the office. I never had to
deal with this when I was drinking and drugging—then I could just
make myself numb and not feel anything that was real. And this
moment was real, maybe more so than apologizing to Rich.

I could see Coach Kennedy get this stern look, his eyes staring a hole
right through me. "Last year is over. I told you then why you didn't
play more than you did. If you think that now that eighth grade is over
and you are out of middle school I should apologize to you, then you
are more full of yourself than I ever imagined."

I was ready to bolt. I could feel sweat forming under my arms and on
my forehead, and my heart rate picked up and I was ready to run like
crazy. But I knew if I ran out I might as well forget the rest of my
amends, and at least one of those was sure to be tougher than this
one. Well, Mr. B. never said this would be easy. In fact he said if it
was going to be easy, it probably wasn't worth doing.

A massive silence filled the room as Coach Kennedy said, "I don't
see any more reason for us to continue this discussion, Marty. I've
seen you grow up a lot this year, but that doesn't mean the past is
changed. Your attitude last fall held you back, and that's simply the
way it was."

There has been something building inside me ever since I got serious
about being sober. I don't  know where it came from and I didn't
always feel it, but sometimes I think really hard about doing the right
thing and it's like if I dig deep enough inside of myself I could feel it. "I
didn't come here to ask you to apologize, coach."

"Then why did you ask for this meeting?"

"Because I wanted to apologize to you."  I tried to make my voice
sound like I was really confident about what I was doing. I tried hard
to show I was not intimidated by the coach, even though I was scared
shitless, but I could tell my voice was quaking.

The room got real quiet again. Coach Kennedy looked at me like I'd
lost my mind or something, so I kept talking to try to show him I
meant what I was saying.

"I made things hard on you. And you're right, it was all about my
attitude. I loafed in practice, I back talked you, lots of times I didn't
bother to do what you told me to. I was a complete asshole."

Coach Kennedy kept staring at me. I think he was wondering why I
was doing this. It's hard to say I'm doing it because I have to do it,
even though I don't really have to do it, if that makes any sense. What
I mean is, to be a sober person, I gotta do the tough work—and this
was tough work.

"I came to a lot of practices hung over. I even came to a couple of
them high on weed. Being drunk and stoned was more important to
me than playing football. I thought I was a big star and was pissed
when you didn't play me. But you were right. I wasn't any star, I was
just a big pain in your ass."

"Marty, I don't know what to say."

"You don't have to say anything, coach. I am truly sorry for what kind
of player and person I was. I am trying hard to make myself better
and part of that is not drinking and smoking pot each day. Then I can
make myself a better player, too. Anyway, that's all I have to say."

"It takes a big man to do what you just did, Marty, and I appreciate it, I
really do. I think your apology is sincere and from the heart and is
accepted in the spirit in which it was given." Coach then changed the
subject a little. "Are you going to be working out during the summer?"

"I have a schedule for the weight room, and I've started running. I got
a youth corps job with the rec department and that will be like doing
hard workouts too. I don't know if I'll make varsity as a freshman, but
if I don't it won't be because I didn't work my ass off."

Coach Kennedy stood up, indicating the meeting was over. He
surprised me by walking up to me and shaking my hand. "You were
right, you know. You were a gigantic pain in the butt, and I spent a lot
of time wondering what could be done to turn you around. Looks like
you managed to do it yourself."

"I've had lots of help, sir, including from you. You didn't let me get
away with shi...er...stuff. You made me earn anything I got and it's
something I'll remember when things get bad. So, thanks."

Without waiting for him to say anything, I turned and left the office I
knew there was nothing else important to be said. It was now time to
think about my next two meetings.  But that would be tomorrow, on
Wednesday.

I spent that night at Rich's house, our first sleepover in more than a
year. Needless to say I had been excited since Rich asked me after
Monday's game if I wanted to spend the next night with him. First, he
asked if I wanted to spend the day, but I told him I had something to
do first. I didn't tell him that I would be meeting with Coach Kennedy
to make my amends. I trusted Rich, not enough to tell him everything,
at least not yet. That would change pretty quickly.

Anyway, I finished with Coach Kennedy and got on my bike and rode
to Rich's house. I was feeling pretty good about how the meeting
went. I don't think he has many students see him to apologize for
being assholes. I mean, when you think about it, if all us teens
apologized for acting like assholes there would be a long line of us
waiting to make amends. Just about everybody but Eric, Noah, and
Rich would end up in it for doing or saying something stupid, and I bet
they each have done something stupid I don't know about.

My dad actually came to Monday's game. He does that sometimes,
like when he doesn't have a darts or pool tournament or something
that has to do with drinking. I mean he's not a total shithead or
anything, but it's close. We just don't get along. Part of it is his
drinking so much, but I guess I know how that goes. The word I
learned is denial. He's in denial about him being an alcoholic just like
he's in denial about me being one. Only I learned I am an alcoholic,
so at least for today, I am not in denial.

I rode home with him after the game and on the way asked if I could
spend the next night at Rich's house.

"You're fourteen, son, aren't you getting old for spending the night?"
he asked. I had a feeling this was going to be a battle. I should have
waited and asked mom, who had gone to the Mayfield Café with a
couple of other moms.

"Tanner and John do it all the time, and they're older. You never say
anything to them."

"Maybe it's because they act like men."

Fuck my old man can push my buttons. I was on the verge of losing it
and our chat had hardly even started. "What's that supposed to
mean?"

"Think about it, son."

As far as I was concerned there was nothing to think about. I knew
what he was saying; he was saying I was a piece of shit faggot. He
was right about the faggot part, but I sure wasn't going to tell him that.

"I thought you and Rich had a lover's quarrel and broke up." See what
I mean about pushing buttons?

"We're still friends."

"Whatever. I just have to wonder about the kinds of people you hang
out with. At least your brother hangs out with kids who have their shit
together."

As far as my dad is concerned, having your shit together means
chasing pussy and drinking beer, even if you're only fourteen. Well,
John and Tanner do both of those, but dad would be surprised to
know how often those two jerk off together. I used to do it with them
and even sucked their dicks a few times when I was, like, twelve.

"Yeah, you can spend the night. You don't even need to ask no more.
Just tell us where you are."

"Thanks, dad." Of course he would later forget all about telling me I
didn't need to ask any more.

By that time we were home, so I didn't have to talk to him any more.
He dropped me off and after I unloaded my equipment he left for
whatever bar or tavern he was going to. He never once talked about
the game or how good I was doing in baseball, or about my team, or
anything else about me. How would you feel if you led your team in
hitting, and you raised your grades so you got four As and a B plus,
and a B, and all your dad could think about is that you weren't manly
enough?

Those were the thoughts on my mind when I rode into Rich's
driveway. I parked my bike, pulled my backpack off my shoulders and
rang his doorbell. His brother Mikey answered.

He surprised me by giving me a big hug. He was eleven and heading
into sixth grade in the fall, and was really a pretty cute little dude. I'm
not really into boys younger than me, but him and Jeffrey are for sure
the exceptions. His friend Drew was there and I thought about what
happened between all of us a few days ago when me and Rich got
caught making out. That was enough to give me a boner on the spot.

I came into the house and saw Rich, who was wearing just a pair of
shorts, and looked totally sexy. We all ended up getting a ride from
Rich's mom to the community pool in Kentburg. Mayfield kept talking
about putting in a pool, but everybody kept saying there wasn't
enough money and shit like that. Mayfield helped pay for the
Kentburg pool instead, so we got free use like we would if we lived
there. We all hated going to Kentburg because everybody there was
weird, except for maybe my two friends Royce and Lance. I was
hoping they'd be at the pool, but they weren't. But the weather was
warm and the water was cold and it was a swimming pool, so we
went even if we hated the place.

The four of us spent the afternoon swimming and having fun. We
were all hungry by the time we got back home. "It's more fun at
Chandler's pool," Mikey said. "We get to skinny dip there."

"Marty and I have skinny dipped at Noah's pool," Rich said. There
weren't very many private pools in Mayfield. Chandler's house had
one, and Noah's, and Mr. B did. I've gone swimming there twice. Mr.
B's is pretty small, and you can't skinny dip there. I know if you could,
Jeffrey would be the first one naked. He sure doesn't like wearing
clothes much.

After we ate we all sat around on the back deck for awhile sipping
soda and talking. Rich's parents were watching TV.

"You guys want to mess around tonight?" Mikey asked.

"You're sure turning into a horn dog," I told him.

"Just like you guys are," Mikey said proudly. "I'm so happy you and
Rich are friends again." He then gave me another hug. I wondered if
he had a crush on me.

"Mikey, we can all mess around together some other time. I think
Marty and I kinda need to...well...you know. It's been awhile."

"Yeah, like since we caught you both on the kitchen floor," Mikey
said. Damn, that was embarrassing, and it still is.

"I mean we want to do some stuff in private, if you know what I
mean."

"I know. And it's cool this time if you promise I can mess around with
you guys soon. I want to watch you shoot cum and suck you and
everything."

"I promise."

"Good, cuz you always keep your promises." He turned to Drew, who
hadn't said a thing since dinner. "Come on Drew, let's go suck cock."
That just sounded wrong coming from the squeaky voice of a little
eleven year old, but what could I say? I thought the same things
when I was eleven.

Drew smiled and told us to have fun, and the two of them headed into
the house. It had gotten dark and was cooling off. At the same time
me and Rich were getting hotter. We went inside, too. We stopped to
say goodnight to Rich's parents.

"It's so nice to see you back again, Marty," Rich's mom said. "We all
missed you very much, but Rich did especially. Next time you guys
get in a fight, maybe you might want to ask for some help so the bad
feelings won't last a year."

"We don't plan on any more fights, mom. We learned our lesson, right
Marty?"

"Yeah, we did." I said. And then, under my breath, I added, "At least
for today."

We went to Rich's bedroom, and we both knew it wasn't to go play
games. We were both horny, and more important, we were horny for
each other.

I'd like to say we made sweet love, stretching it out to make up for our
missed year, but we didn't do it that way. I was fourteen and Rich was
almost fourteen and our hormones were out of control. All I remember
is I was tearing my clothes off and he was tearing his clothes off and
then I was tearing what was left of his clothes off and I know he
pulled my boxers off in one strong yank. It was almost like what
happened on the kitchen floor a couple of days ago.

I was hard and he was hard. My hands went to his hardness and his
went to mine, and our lips locked, and then I was sucking his nipples,
and he was feeling my balls, and we were on the bed, me on top of
him, and he was desperately crying for me to fuck him. I remembered
where he kept the lube; I knew he had to use it when he fucked
Mikey.

After that I remember being inside of his ass, being where it felt like I
belonged, and fucking his ass hard and deep and hoping he wouldn't
cry out too loud and have one of his parents hear him (I didn't care if
Mikey or Drew heard...hell, who knew what they were doing). Rich
was on his back, and when I came it felt like I'd shoved my dick all
the way up to his throat and was firing wad after wad after wad of
cum right up into his mouth. Just after I quit shooting he started
covering himself with his jism. It was still kind of clear, but thicker than
it was before our great breakup. I dropped right on top of him, and
onto his sticky tummy. We kissed again—it was like we kept trying to
make up for everything we missed.

Finally we each went to the bathroom to clean up and brush and all
the crap you do before you hit the sack. And when we finished we
cuddled up in Rich's bed and we talked.

I told him about me meeting with Coach Kennedy and how he started
out being kind of a butthead, but ended up being pretty cool about
what I had to say. I told Rich that tomorrow I was going out to Coach
Sander's house to talk to him and then riding back to the other side of
town to meet with Coach Ecklund.

"I didn't know how today would go," I told Rich. "But I think tomorrow
shouldn't be as hard. Both coaches are pretty fair dudes. Well, so is
Coach Kennedy, but those two don't scare me like he does." Rich
agreed with me, which made me feel a bit more confident.

"But the hardest is going to be my parents. My mom shouldn't be so
bad, but I don't know about my dad. He's gonna think I'm like some
kind of weakling or something. And with them I gotta do more than
just say I'm sorry. I'm gonna have to pay back the money I stole, and
I know my dad is gonna be mega-pissed when he finds out I was
stealing money from his money drawer. But I figured out about how
much I took and I plan to pay it all back. I got like a down payment
saved up to give him."

"I can't believe you stole from your dad," Rich said. "I mean how did
you figure you'd get away with it?"

"I figured I would because he sticks the money in a drawer when he's
drunk. The way I saw it, he didn't really know how much he had in
there. And I was right, because he never noticed anything missing."

"So if he doesn't know it was missing, why are you going to tell him
you took it?"

"Because Mr. B. says it's what I have to do to lead a sober life and be
an honest person. I am supposed to go to any lengths to be sober.
Paying back things you stole is part of making amends. Rich, let me
tell you that I don't ever want to go back to where I was. Not ever."

"I don't want you to either. I love you like you are now. I guess I get
the whole honesty thing, but damn your dad is gonna be mad."

"Yeah, I know. But I have to tell him."

"Just know that I am here for you, and know that I love you," Wow,
that really threw me. Just like that, Rich loves me.

I still had a hard time with the idea that people loved me. But it
seemed to be true. I mean I know my mom and my brother love me I
guess my dad does, probably because he has to. But Mr. B loves me,
and Donald says he does, and I know Jeffrey does, and Eric does.
But Rich saying he loves me is really important, because I want us to
be boyfriends, and I mean boyfriends like in gay boyfriends.

It was time to tell him the words that were always so hard for me to
say. But tonight they weren't hard, because I felt them like I'd never
felt them before.

"I love you, Rich."  And when I said it I meant it. I knew I loved him
like I loved nobody else. I mean I loved Jeffrey, but he was like a little
brother. Rich was, well, he was totally special. On the days I was
hard on myself and mentally beat up myself,  and I had lots of those
days, I'd get mad at how stupid I had been to pass up over a year of
having him in my life.

And with those words we both hugged, and cried, and this time, made
love. We didn't talk about becoming boyfriends, but the sweet way we
had sex told us that we were. The talk would come soon. When we
finally fell asleep, I held on to Rich like I never wanted to let him go. I
don't know if he liked how tightly I held him, but I know he didn't push
me away. Ever since I got sober, life just gets better and better a little
step at a time.

The next day, Wednesday, Rich, Mikey, Drew, and me, ate cereal in
the kitchen. The parents were gone and we didn't bother putting any
clothes on. It wasn't like we hadn't all seen each other naked before.

"Did you and Richie make up and do kissy kissy last night?" Mikey
asked.

"None of your business squirt," Rich said.

"I know you did. And I know you did more than that. I mean why else
would you sleep naked together. Just because I'm eleven doesn't
make me dumb."

"And since you and Drew slept naked together, I guess that means
you did kissy kissy and more, too," I said. I mean the only people who
didn't know about the sex in our two bedrooms were the parents, and
who could figure out what they knew or didn't know.

Drew blushed a pretty deep red. I knew that he messed around with
Mikey, Chandler, and Korey, but he was real shy about it. If one of
them was for sure not gay, I would say it was Drew. But I didn't think
Mikey was either, because I knew he had himself a little girlfriend. All
of his sex came from his guy friends and from Rich, though. Which
was fine with me, girls are nothing but trouble. And I'm saying that as
a guy who spent as much time as he could chasing after them once I
hit the sixth grade. Now that I know what I am, I don't have to waste
my time doing dumb thinks like chasing girls.

The other good thing about Mikey liking to mess around was that I
could do it with him, too. I thought Mikey was sexy and so were
Chandler and Korey. Drew was really a cute little dude, but even
standing in front of me naked, all skinny and hairless and shit, I just
didn't think of him as sexy.

"Do you want to mess around today?" Mikey asked, his little hairless
cock started to stir and got about half hard.

"Sorry, dude, I can't. I got things I gotta do today."

"Well, shit."

"Mikey, watch your language," Rich said.

"What? I can suck Drew's dick in my bed at night, but I can't say the
word shit?" Drew turned an even deeper red.

"You might slip in front of mom or dad."

"Like they don't say shit and fuck sometimes."

"I'm just saying."

I decided to intervene in the brotherly power struggle. "I better go
shower since I got an appointment with the coaches." That wasn't
totally true. All that we set up was that I'd stop by their houses in the
morning, but to get from here to Coach Sanders's house was a long
bike ride, and to get from there to Coach Ecklund's house was an
even longer ride.

"Can I at least shower with you?" Mikey asked. His cock was at its full
three-and-a-half hard inches now.  I gave Rich a quick glance and
saw what I was sure was a "yes" nod, so I told Mikey I was cool with
it.

At least I wasn't going to be horny when I went to the coaches'
houses, which would be a good thing at Coach Ecklund's house since
I thought Chandler was a hot little dude. I could see that Mikey didn't
intend our shower to just be washing each other. He started playing
with my cock in the kitchen and I was rock hard by the time we got to
the bathroom.

What we did was just some quick getting off. He soaped my cock,
telling me he liked how big it was, and how it was way bigger and had
way more hair than Rich's. What he said was true, but I didn't want to
diss my friend in front of his little brother, so I just didn't say anything.

Mikey stood behind me while he jerked me off as he rubbed his cock
against the back of my leg. He'd have to stand on tiptoe to rub it
against my ass. It didn't take me long to shoot. I shot rows of cum
against the front wall of the shower.

"Ohhhh, that was so awesome to see," Mikey said as he kept
humping me from behind. I pushed his hand away from my sensitive
cock, turned around and got on my knees, and put his little willy into
my mouth. It only took him like 30 seconds to have a dry cum. He
held my head for at least another 30 seconds as he tried to come
down from his orgasm.

"That was totally the bomb," he said. "Thanks, Marty. I'm so glad you
and Richie ain't fighting. You're really cool."

We finished our shower and dried each other off. As we left the
bathroom, Drew was waiting, still naked. He started his shower as I
started to dress in Rich's room. Mikey had gone back to his own
room. I thought it was interesting that Drew and Rich didn't shower
together.

My visit with Coach Sanders went pretty good, I thought. I apologized
for what I said to him when he tried to help me with my drinking
problem. I had pretty much cussed him out and told him he was an
asshole. He said I was a kid going through a rough time and he didn't
take it personal. But he did praise me for being a man and making
amends.

I apologized to Coach Miller, too. I mean I've been sober this whole
summer playing for him, but there were things from the summer
before I needed to apologize for, like me mooning him at Noah's
swimming pool.

"It was almost an honor to be mooned by you," Coach Miller said.

"It was? You mean you liked my ass?" I asked. I knew Coach
Sanders and Coach Miller were boyfriends and had been since they
were like twelve or something, which meant they were gay.

"No, I mean that you trusted me enough that you felt you could moon
me."

"Oh," was all I said. I'm sure that he really did like my ass.

Then I rode all the way back to town, through town, and a mile or so
to the other side of town to Coach Ecklund's house. It was hot, and I
was stripped down to just my shorts. Even though I'd had two glasses
of Coach Miller's famous fresh squeezed lemonade, I'd already
emptied my water bottle by the time I got to Coach's house.

Coach Ecklund answered the door. He was wearing a pair of board
shorts and some flip-flops. I hadn't bothered putting my shirt on; it's
not like he hasn't seen me shirtless a zillion times—hell, he's seen
me naked in the school showers. His body was really in kickass
shape. "Hi, Marty, come on in." I'd been here before for team parties,
so the place was familiar.

We went out to the back deck and he brought me a glass full of ice
and a can of soda. I asked for some ice water, too, which he went
back to get. Coach Ecklund returned with the water and Chandler
came out at the same time.

"Hey, Marty."

"Hey, Chandler." We exchanged fist bumps. Chandler was wearing
just a Speedo and looked very sexy to me. I could see the outline of
his cock and balls and it got my cock to moving around some. I was
glad Mikey had got me off in the shower or I would've popped wood
right then.

"Is it okay if Marty stays to swim after you guys are done?" I wasn't
sure if he was asking his dad for permission or was asking me in a
roundabout way if I wanted to stay to swim.

"It's fine with me," Coach Ecklund said.

"Cool."

"I don't have a swimming suit," I said.

"You're getting pretty big, you might fit in one of mine if you tie the
draw string tight," Coach Ecklund said.

"I could swim in my boxers."

"Dad," Chandler said, "can't we just skinny dip?"

"Why don't you go jump in the pool while Marty and I talk, then we'll
see what happens." Coach Ecklund seemed to be skirting Chandler's
question, which was something he never did in school. There he dealt
with everything and everybody knew where he stood.

Chandler walked out to the pool with a little bit of a sulk. I couldn't
help but admire his sexy ass. He might only be eleven, but he had a
really nice body, and I knew he was a total horn dog around guys—
I've experienced that.

Coach Ecklund asked me what I wanted to talk about and I told him. I
apologized for any kind of hard time I'd given him and said I was
really working hard not to drink any more.

"From what you said, you never drank during the last baseball
season."

"I haven't had any alcohol since New Year's."

"Then I don't see what you need to apologize about."

"Back when I was in seventh grade, well, I practiced and played with
hangovers a couple of times. I got high once before practice. But after
we started playing games I was pretty good. Then you guys gave me
the Coach's Award. In a lot of ways I didn't really deserve it."

"Well, I'll tell you this much. First, I don't think you owe an apology,
but since you gave a sincere one for what you saw as your
shortcomings, your apology is accepted. Second, you deserved the
award. We don't take our responsibilities lightly when we give out that
Coach's Award."

All I could do was nod. I don't know what I expected him to say.
Maybe I thought he'd say he'd just have to take the award back or
something. But I was happy with what he said, especially since I
didn't really want to give it back.

"I have one more thing to say to you, Marty." He paused to look at
me. I guess he wanted to be sure I was ready to listen, which I was,
although I was distracted for a moment when I saw Chandler waving
his Speedo in the air over his head.

"There is one skill in you I saw becoming stronger and stronger since
the time you say you stopped drinking alcohol. That would be your
leadership skills. You have the potential to be a first class athlete in
high school, not only because of your athletic skills, but because of
those leadership skills. I hope you learn to understand just how
special you are and how much you can accomplish."

He was beginning to sound like Mr. B. I wondered what he would say
if he knew about what had happened down in Vince's basement, as if
that had anything to do with leadership skills.

"Thanks Coach. I better be going." I got up to leave. I was feeling
really embarrassed about all of the praise I was getting.

"You're not going swimming?" Chandler yelled as I walked out of the
back door. He was in the pool. I could see his Speedos on the pool
deck, so I knew he was naked. I wanted to jump in with him really
bad.

"Not this time. I got other things to do. Invite me over sometime."

"Since you and Rich are friends again, I'll have all you guys over if my
dad is cool with it."

"I don't see a problem, if you mean Marty, Rich, and Mikey, as
opposed to a mob."

"And Korey. Korey's gotta come, too."

Coach Ecklund smiled and I knew Chandler won his point. I wish life
was that easy with my own dad.

The next day was Friday. We had an away game at Lacy. Eric
pitched. He only struck out three batters, but he was his usual smart
pitcher self, changing speeds and keeping the ball away from the
middle of the plate where it was easiest to hit. Going into the bottom
of the seventh we were ahead 6-4. Rich took Eric's place on the
mound and closed the game. He didn't let anybody get on base, so
that ended up the final score.

We also got the good news that Austin would be able to play in the
Oregon tournament as our pickup player, which made us all happy,
especially guys going into eighth grade who knew Austin best. All I
knew about Austin was that he was sexy cute and liked sexing. I liked
guys who like doing sex, even if I never did sex with them, especially
if they were cute.

Dad didn't come to the game. He said it was a long drive and he had
a big darts tournament in Kentburg. I had these thoughts of him and
some kid's dad having sex with the dad's son after the tournament. I
don't know why, but that's the way everybody thinks of Kentburg, that
it's full on incest and pervs.

But mom and John came to watch. I was happiest to see John there
since he didn't come to my games much. His friend Tanner came with
him.

I kinda wanted to go to Rich's and spend the night, but I felt like I had
to finish my amends schedule before the weekend was done. That
meant talking to my mom tonight, so I could talk to dad on Saturday
when he got over his hangover.

I apologized to mom for a lot of stuff, but mostly for drinking a lot and
making her worry and for being a smart-mouth asshole so much. She
was cool about everything, like she usually is. She might not win any
cook of the year awards, but she was an okay mom.  If she had a
problem it was that she was intimidated by dad.

It was bad enough her having to put up with so much shit from her
alcoholic husband, let alone having an alcoholic son. I mean my mom
liked to drink, but I never saw her drunk on her ass like my old man.
She was one of those people who could have a couple drinks, get a
good feeling, and then not have to drink any more. That sure the fuck
wasn't me.

"I'm just happy you don't drink no more," mom said when I finished. "I
hope to never have to put your drunk ass to bed again. I been doing it
since you were ten. I love you, son. Keep doing what you're doing."

I apologized again, told her part of my amends was to lead as good a
life as I could, and that she helped teach me a lot of the things I
needed to know to do that. What I said was almost true, too.

Saturday was going to be the rough day. I was going to make my
amends to dad. I had thought about just putting it off since I'd had a
busy week talking to people, but Mr. B says I was really spending the
week setting things up for the toughest talk. He said if I put it off once
that I would probably just keep putting off over and over. I didn't
agree with him right away, but really, he was right. It was like doing
my personal inventory. One of my flaws is putting off things that were
unpleasant.

So, for good or for bad, I was going to talk with dad. But, it was going
to wait until the afternoon, just in case he had a hangover. Maybe it
would be worn off by then. Turns out that when the whole affair was
over, I really wished I'd just put it off forever. Sometimes doing the
right thing is just fucking hard and seems like it was doing the wrong
thing. I was munching a sandwich for lunch when he came into the
kitchen just after one.

"Whatcha eating?" he asked. Well, hello to you too, I thought.

"PB and J."

He didn't say anything as he opened the fridge and pulled out some
sandwich fixings and poured himself a glass of milk. My heart was
racing at least a thousand miles an hour as I waited for the right
moment to say something.

He sat at the table across from me. I could tell he had a hangover. I
decided to start the chat with something friendly. "How did the dart
tournament go?"

"Sucked, but the beer was cold."

"We won our game yesterday."

"Good. Did you get any hits?"

"I singled. I scored a run, too."

"Wussy singles hitter."

I didn't answer that and took a bite of my sandwich and a swallow of
milk. I could feel the sweat from my underarms dripping down my
ribs. It was now or never, I decided.

"I need to talk to you about something."

"Maybe later. I really am not feeling that great."

It sounded like his hangover was worse than I thought. I knew what
he was probably feeling like. I was a fourteen year old expert on
hangovers.

"Please. It'll just take a couple of minutes." At least I hoped that was
all it would take.

"What is it?"

"I just wanted to apologize for all the stuff you had to put up with
because of my drinking."

"Is this one of those bullshit steps you need to do?"

I gulped and said, "Sorta. But I really am sorry. I know you went
through a lot of shit at work and here at home because of all of my
drinking. And the whole thing with me going to rehab was hard. And
me being a butthead and cussing you out and all. I'm sorry for that. I
want to do what I can to make it right."

"You could be like your brother and just drink like a man. That would
make things right. You wouldn't have to fucking apologize for being
drunk on your ass all the time. Hell, you can't even not drink right.
Instead you gotta get on your knees and be some faggot crying, `I'm
sorry, daddy. I'm sorry daddy.' Makes me wish I had two sons instead
of a son and an I don't know what."

"I'm an alcoholic. I can't drink like John does. And I gotta do the
things I gotta do to not drink again."

"What you're saying is, you can't drink like John does, but you drink
like I do? Is that what you're saying? Maybe that I'm an alcoholic or
that I drink too much?"

Once again I didn't answer him. He was twisting everything I said,
just like he always did. I could feel myself getting pissed off. I gulped
again and took a deep breath. "Part of me apologizing is making
paybacks."

"Paybacks? What the fuck kind of paybacks?"

I reached into my pants pocket and pulled out two twenty dollar bills.
"I stole money from you to buy booze and weed. I'm gonna start
paying it back."

This time dad was the source of the silence. I watched his Adam's
apple bounce up and down. "You stole from me?" he said quietly.
Then his voice went up and he said, "You fucking stole money from
me? Now you want to crawl to me and pay it back? How much did
you take?  Where did you take it from?

"I figure around two hundred. That's what I plan to pay back. I took it
out of your top drawer. You never paid attention to what you stuffed in
there and I always left more than I took."

"Fuck, why not just keep your mouth shut and not say anything. Like
I'd ever know. Now you just give me more to be pissed off at you
about. This is supposed to make things better? Fuck, you are getting
a shitload of bad advice."

I looked down at the table and said nothing.

"I took you and your brother fishing and hunting. You couldn't catch a
cold and didn't want to shoot at some cute animal. I brought beer on
the trips so you two could learn to do shit like real men. Your brother
learned. You fucking got sick the first time I let you drink on a fishing
trip."

I remembered getting sick. I was almost ten and John was twelve. He
and dad got pretty drunk. I got a buzz then puked my guts out. I wish
I'd taken the hint my body gave me and given up drinking right then. I
mean John got drunk and shit with his friends and with dad, even with
me sometimes before I got so bad. But now he can choose to drink a
lot or drink a little bit or not drink at all. I didn't have that choice.

Yeah, my dad took me hunting and fishing. I didn't like hunting. He
thought not liking hunting was a crime or something. I look back at it
and it was almost like dad wanted John and me to be his drinking
buddies instead of his sons.

Dad picked up the two twenties on the table and threw them on the
floor. "I don't want your fucking money. You're fourteen years old and
act like you just turned ten. Maybe you might want to grow up. Hell,
just get into a goddamn fight or something, just to show you got some
balls." He might have been right about acting like I was ten. The
years I was drinking were like years where I didn't do much growing
up.

I didn't reach for the money. "I'm gonna pay it all back. I don't care if
you want it or not."

"Fuck. You're a thief, a wimp, a fucking drunk; you act like a faggot
half the time, you still got a teddy bear somewhere. Is there anything
you can do right?"

"I am doing things right. I am doing things exactly right. I always try to
do things right. I can give you a fucking list of things I do right. Can't
you just tell me once that you love me? Can't you maybe say, wow
you had a good ballgame today, Marty? Oh, yeah, you gotta come to
my games to say that."

Dad stood up and glared down at me. "You are such a loser. A loser
and a fairy. What a combination! No wonder I gotta drink."

I had tried through all of his bullshit not to lose it, but it wasn't working
	. That was when I totally lost it. I stood up, and looked down at
him. I might just be fourteen, but I was a couple of inches taller than
he was, though he was bigger and probably stronger. "Fuck you. All I
want was a dad who loves me. But you got better things to do.
Getting me drunk on fishing trips isn't being a dad. Feeding me beer
all the time before I'm even a teenager isn't being a dad. Drinking
beer won't make me a man. A dad is supposed to fucking teach me
how to be a man. And you never bothered to do that."

I caught a glimpse of John standing at the door to the kitchen. "And I
suppose your faggot lawyer friend teaches you everything you need
to know? When's the last goddamned time he's fed you and bought
you clothes? That's what I do, because I'm your father."

"Yeah, you're my father all right, but you're not my fucking dad!"

We stood there looking at each other, both breathing hard. For a
moment I thought he was going to slug me. "Get out of my sight."

"I'm gonna spend the night at Rich's. Then you will be rid of me."

"Yeah, spend the night with your pretty boy fag friend."

"He's not a faggot!" I screamed at him. "He's my friend. A guy can
have a friend so shut up about Rich."

Dad turned around and saw John. "What the fuck are you looking at?"

"Nothing. Just checking out all of the noise."

"At least you got a girlfriend." Dad looked back at me. "Unlike my
other so-called son."

I was determined not to cry in front of him and John. But it wasn't
easy. I couldn't remember ever feeling so bad and so worthless. Dad
stomped out of the kitchen.

John walked up to me and put his hands on my shoulders. I was even
taller than he was, and he was sixteen. "Sorry you had to put up with
that, bro."

"It's okay." It wasn't okay, and we both knew it, but what else could I
say?

He surprised me by hugging me for the second time. "I love you, bro.
I wish I had your cajones." He let go and walked away, as if he was
embarrassed by his show of emotion. What he just said meant the
world to me, but I still wanted to sit down and cry.

I stepped over the money on the floor, went up to my room and called
Rich about spending the night. He was happy I wanted to come over
and cleared it with his `rents.

And that is how I ended up naked on Rich's bed, with a soft dick,
clinging to my friend's own naked body, saying nothing. I had told him
everything that had happened with my dad in the kitchen. I told Rich
how I wanted him to fuck me, and fuck me over and over. I told him
how I wanted him to make me his bitch, to own me, to make me feel
like the worthless person I was.

What I didn't tell him was how I wished I'd picked the money off of the
kitchen floor. I didn't tell him how I wanted to go to Randy's house
instead of to his house. I didn't tell him how I wanted to take that
money and buy some weed and some vodka and take it into the park,
sit on a bench, and get wasted, hoping Mr. B would jog by so I could
tell him how being sober sucks, how much it all hurts, and how
drinking until my mind and body were totally numb would end all of
the hurt. I didn't tell Rich how much I wanted to do all of that.

I had no idea if Rich even knew how I used to go to Randy's house all
the time, buying booze and weed with the money I stole from my
father. Sometimes I'd go there for what I thought were kick ass
parties where I'd get wasted out of my mind. Sometimes I'd end up in
bed with his pervert dad, but that was part of the price of getting what
I wanted.

"What you want isn't sex," Rich said, bringing me back from my
thoughts. "It isn't something that's fun, or even something a friend
does to a friend."

I rolled over on my belly and buried my face into his pillow. I knew he
was right, but I didn't want to listen to him. I wanted to listen to the
committee of voices in my head that told me what a piece of shit I
was and how nobody liked me and how my father hated me and how
being drunk would solve all of my problems.

I had kept the tears at bay all afternoon and evening, but I couldn't do
it any longer. I felt the pillow get wet as I tried not to sob or let my
body shiver. Rich was beside me, his arm around my shoulder, but
didn't say anything. I couldn't hide my feelings any longer. I turned
and buried my face into the skin of his warm soft chest and finally let
go and sobbed.

"I just want him to love me," I cried. "That's all I want, is for my dad to
love me."

Rich held me and I kept crying. We were naked and touching and
hugging, but we weren't turned on for sex. It was like we needed to
be naked so nothing that we felt would be held in.

"I just want to be loved." I was sitting on what Mr. B called my pity pot.

"I love you," Rich whispered.

Yeah, Rich loved me, and my brother loved me, my mom loved me,
Mr. B loved me, Jeffrey loved me, Eric loved me. So, why didn't I feel
loved? Why did I want to be drunk? Why did I feel like a total pile of
shit?

As Rich rubbed his hand along my back, a thought from one of my
readings drifted into my head. It was simple, and, I was told by Mr. B,
it was true. It said it was better to love than to be loved. That no
matter what my dad thought of me, I could love him, and doing that
was part of being sober. I loved all the people who loved me, but I
couldn't love my dad. I wasn't strong enough for that. I didn't have the
cajones to love someone who thought I was a worthless nobody.

But I knew that for me to ever be able to love my father, I would have
to stay sober. And to keep Rich next to me and loving me, I would
have to stay sober. And to be Jeffrey's big brother, I would have to
stay sober. Maybe I wasn't strong enough yet to do all of the things
that were hard to do. But I was certain that I was strong enough to
stay sober for today, and I was strong enough to call Mr. B. in the
morning and talk about things I knew he would understand.

So, I ended up in Rich's bed, leaving my tears on his pillow and on
his chest. I ended up not having sex that night, even though I ended
up sleeping naked with my best friend. He cuddled me, and kept me
warm, and, most importantly, he loved me.

Next: A Time for Love