Date: Mon, 25 Mar 2002 11:18:08 -0800
From: rickdog38@hotmail.com
Subject: Kim's Story

Writer's note: This is not exactly a true story. But, it is as true as a
story can be from one person's completely biased and totally subjective
point of view. This is the first and last such story I will probably ever
write. As I am not a 'serious' writer, please take my best efforts here
with a grain of salt (even after 8 years of college, I don't think I got
all the punctuation right. Damn!). The reason I was compelled to write this
was so that the rest of the world could get a chance to know and understand
the person I loved.

I also hope that in some little way, like tossing a pebble into the
infinite cosmic pond, the ripples it creates here may somehow help him find
that something special once again within himself. The usual admonishments
apply: don't read this if you are under 18, if it is illegal where you
live, or if you are offended by the truth, etc.

******************************************************************************

It just wasn't supposed to be this way.

Life is supposed to be fair, if you played by the rules, wasn't it? If you
are honest, sincere and faithful in your love for someone, they can't
possibly reject you can they?  At least that was the ridiculous idea that I
had been misled into believing (or chose to believe?)  all my life up to
that point.

Ok, so I knew that boys were very interesting to me since the first time I
got naked with a bunch of other guys in the 7th grade PE showers. Maybe
even before that. Perhaps the artist in my soul couldn't help but admire
the unblemished beauty of some of those boy gods.  It just felt so unfair
to have to look at all these long, lanky, muscled, hairless, hung young
gods-in-the-making every day while comparing them to my own short, not very
muscled, embarrassingy hairy (already at 13), hung like a 5 year old self.

I was especially fond of the kid whose locker was next to mine in PE that
first year. Not a single hair on him, but man what an incredible dick (ok,
so I have always had a small case of dick envy...). Every day he would
strut around the showers waggin' that thick, wobbly, 6" long (soft of
course) circumcised piece of perfection. His name was Doug (Douggie to me
in my fantasies at night). I'm sure he caught me staring enough times (and
a few other guys I bet!); once he even 'accidentally' turned around quickly
while I was sitting close by on the bench tying my shoes, and he whacked me
right in the face with his huge soft dick. I just pretended nothing had
happened, and headed quickly to the boy's room to clean out the mess I had
just left in my boxers.

Douggie was fun to look at, and many other cheap thrills were to be had in
the PE showers. If I were really lucky, I would even catch somebody with
the dreaded 'free-bone' trying to quickly leave class to escape the
inevitable embarrassment. Being somewhat shy (ok, maybe more than
'somewhat'...) and not having many friends, I would usually just sit
somewhere during lunch by myself, and watch the 'scenery' pass by. That
simple daily pleasure kept me relatively happy until my junior year of High
School (notwithstanding the terror of being found out, and an active
fantasy life). Then Kim happened.

In the end I guess it wasn't a really a matter of choice. I didn't exactly
choose to love him. I just had to love him. It was perhaps just a simple
byproduct of my own genetic makeup or something, or maybe just some huge
cosmic joke on me. Kim (Kimball was is his full name) was just so perfect
(at least he was totally perfect in my eyes!). He had long, dirty
blond/brown just-past- shoulder-length hair, almost girlish from a distance
(but that was the 'cool style' back then in 1979). Dark brown eyes well
placed under dark brown eyebrows, and a prominent but good- looking
aquiline nose for a basically small guy. Ya, he was pretty slim, but with a
very tight and strong wiry body. A little tiny round butt suspended below a
26" waist (thank god for 501's-- anyone with good eyes could read his waist
size). The overall effect of his broader shoulders, narrow waist and tiny
butt just served to enhance what was prominently displayed in the front of
his 501's. Yes, the boy was hung, and apparently proud of it (but then,
tight jeans were the popular style...). He was a little bit shorter and
thinner than me (I'm guessing 5'-8"/110 lb.  compared to my 5'-9"/128
lb.). A face that was still boyish (and a few years from any regular need
to shave--hell, I'd been shaving since 8th grade...), but would eventually
become kind of 'ruggedly handsome'. Compared to my incredibly average self
(unruly and loosely curly medium length brown hair that refused to do
anything that resembled a 'hair style'--usually hiding under my baseball
cap which I always wore turned backwards--glasses, braces, and the
occasional teenage zits), it made me weak to think about how awesome he
looked. He had perfected the happy-go-lucky, kinda goofy, kinda rebel, teen
jock boy personality. But underneath it all, I could just tell there was
something more to him. I could sometimes just see it in his eyes.

Ya, his eyes were my downfall. Deep, incredibly dark brown eyes (like my
own), but sometimes with such depth and warmth that they just left me
speechless and unable to control my own bodily functions. At first, I don't
think he always knew when he was doing it, but when he trained his eyes on
me like that it stirred feelings in me I had never even dared to have
before. In fact, I bet if he had known at the time, he probably would have
just kicked my ass without giving it a second thought. I intuitively knew
that, I think, and yet I let my feelings lead me down an ever more
dangerous path. Some lessons you just have to learn the hard way, I
guess. After we got to know each other quite well, however, we could
practically carry on our own separate conversation in a group of people
with just a few quick looks and expressions. This was fortunate because of
my shyness and Kim's inability to express his feelings very well with
words.

No, we didn't hang in the same social circles. The term 'polar opposites'
comes to mind. I was usually alone, or on the rare occasion I was in a
group, it was usually the high achiever/honors student type crowd. I don't
want it to sound self-serving, but I was quite likely the smartest kid in
the school. Actually, I went to great lengths to hide it most of the time.
It was way too embarrassing to me to be singled out for any particular
achievement, and also because such recognition always managed to earn me a
few good beatings by the low IQ set.  I always made sure that there were
others with higher GPA's, but inevitably my love and enthusiasm for a topic
would get me carried away; and then someone would notice my work and make a
big fuss about it. God, how I hated that. The other thing that really
separated me from the honors crowd was that I was also a pretty good
artist. The art teacher frequently gushed about my work, embarrassed the
hell out of me in front of the class, and threatened to put my work in
student exhibitions (an idea I usually squashed as quickly as possible!).
Geez. All I wanted out of life was to just go unnoticed, to be left alone.
Mostly, I succeeded.

Sports were actually the easiest area for me. I loved playing most sports
(at least the ones that required you to think a little bit, and that I
could enjoy without getting killed!), and I was by nature a pretty average
athlete; so, sports were more of a personal challenge to me than academics.
I was a decent shooting guard in basketball, a solid defensive third
baseman (but with, like a .115 career batting average--ouch!), and so I
consistently resided anonymously at the end of the bench in every sport I
ever joined. Sometimes my mediocrity in sports would earn me the scorn of
the more gifted athletic types, but that was fortunately rare.  Well,
except perhaps in tennis. My parents got me interested in it when I was
younger, and I seemed good enough at it.  Also, I could practice it by
myself--a definite plus in my frequently lonely world. By the time I was a
junior in High School, my years of solitary practice with the backboard or
ball machine had turned me into a pretty decent player. Especially on the
serve. After hitting millions of serves alone on the courts knocking down
cans placed in strategic places in the service box, it turned out that
there was one place that I actually kicked-ass in sports! Who woulda
guessed? The quiet geek nobody knew showed up one day at varsity try-outs
blowin' 110 mph smoke past the coach and everyone else (I still have the
radar gun print out to prove it! So, there!). Even I had to let a little
grin slip across my face after that. I had always just assumed that if I
could do it that well, everyone else could do the same, or better.

Looking back, I wonder if anyone else had the rare privilege in High School
that I had: being an outcast in three different social groups at the same
time--the honors group, the artsy group, and the jock group (Ok, enough
self-pity). Kim, however, was one of those people that everyone just
immediately liked. He was welcomed in the jock group, and was also at home
in the 'stoner' group. Hell, although he was a D+ student (but he was by no
means stupid...), even the honors crowd liked him. To this day (we are both
pushin' 40 years old now), I have never met anyone who honestly didn't like
him.

It wasn't my idea to be teamed with him to play doubles that year on the
varsity tennis team. We were both juniors, and the coach wanted to give all
the seniors first shot at the four singles positions, even though Kim was
clearly the second best singles player on our team during try-outs (there
was one senior who was from a very rich family, had taken lessons since he
could walk, already had a personal coach and a national ranking, a personal
entourage, etc...that prima-donna asshole made us all want to barf! Kim
actually beat him during a practice set one time in singles--in front of
the whole team--and received a wild standing ovation from all of us). Kim
was one of those gifted athletes who never had to try too hard, everything
was just so easy and so natural for him that it made all the rest of us
mortals just cry to watch.  But, seeing as I was the best doubles player on
the team, we made a good combination. I understood the strategy involved, I
could serve the crap out of the ball (Kim even started calling me "Gunner"
at some point along the way. God I loved that! My own cool nickname!), I
was a pretty good net player, had a decent return of serve, and for the
life of me I usually couldn't even beat my long-dead grandma at singles.
Kim, on the other hand, was a fantastic baseliner and effortless shot
maker.  Ya, we made a great combination: the athletically adequate,
straight-A nerd; and the gifted jock with the D+ average. To match that, he
was incredibly good looking to compliment my average, unremarkable
features. But, as I said, that was fine with me; I preferred not getting
noticed for the most part. He got all the attention, and I enjoyed standing
back and watching him eat it up.

I will always remember the first time I ever saw him. It was during 9th
grade, and we were playing the tennis teams from the other Junior Highs in
town. I had the good fortune to play against this skinny little long-haired
kid who showed up at the courts late for the matches, riding on his
10-speed bike with a funky looking custom tennis racket holder (that his
dad had made for him) attached to the front. I actually beat him pretty
easily that day, even though I could tell he was probably a better athlete
than I was, and was obviously having an off day. I remember I felt really
bad beating him, because I thought he was real cool about the whole thing,
and very cute.  Not like the typical tennis brats I was used to, who would
have a tantrum on the court if things didn't go their way. Kim wasn't like
that. He just projected this inner confidence...like 'you may be beating me
right now, but I know I am still better than you can ever hope to be.' I do
know that I never did beat him again in singles, even though I tried like
hell for several more years. But, he did get bigger; and a lot cuter, too.

So, there I was playing beside the teen boy I had drooled over at a
distance for a long time, trying to stay cool and not look like a complete
idiot. On warmer days when he would take off his shirt during practice, it
would make my legs weak just to watch him. He was incredible to look at.
Deeply tanned from a summer of tennis, swimming and the beach, and the
tightest muscled little body (just naturally--he never 'worked out' or
anything...) to beat anything any ancient Greek sculptor could conjure
up. When he would serve, you could see the tiniest little wisps of dark
hair under his arms. Everything else was completely smooth. I loved to
tease him about that-- accusing him of shaving his legs because they looked
so completely bare compared to my own hairy legs. He always took it pretty
well, just grinning and saying nothing.

And, to my utter amazement, we got along really well. There was a lot more
going on inside him than the skater/slacker/ jock/low GPA image he liked to
promote. There was a sensitive, warm caring person underneath all the cool,
easygoing "don't-give-a-shit-about-anything-or-anybody" exterior. He didn't
judge me by the fact that I had a reputation for being the school 'genius,'
being pretty shy, and maybe appearing a little odd to people who didn't
really know me (ok, I admit, I have never figured out the whole 'social
graces' concept...).  I was, after all, not the most diligent student mind
you (I refused to be a slave to any teacher or any class! --besides, there
were more interesting things in life for me--like cute boys?). We both did
as little work as possible outside of class--we just got different results
from our efforts, I guess. I didn't judge him either...mostly because I was
too much in awe of him to care, but I think Kim really respected me for
that.

Our friendship grew, and so did our success on the court. He was just such
a gifted athlete, and my feelings for him gave me more than enough
inspiration on the court. He knew I would play my ass off for him, and he
used that as a platform to raise his own game as well. It didn't hurt that
I also was his enforcer; in doubles the fast pace and close proximity of
play can result in some vulnerable moments for any player caught out of
position, or the victim of a partners poor shot.  Anyone who took a cheap
shot at Kim was soon surprised to see an errant serve or overhead slam
traveling towards his gonads at over 110 mph.  Nobody messed with my boy
and got away with it! He sure loved it when I creamed someone who deserved
it, usually rewarding me with a 'high- five.'

As the season went on we remained unbeaten as a doubles team (earning a
statewide ranking and also helping our team to first place through the
season), and eventually became best friends to my horror and disbelief. Now
I had to deal with hiding my true feelings from my best (ok, only) friend,
and also hiding from our growing celebrity on campus (hey, tennis was a lot
bigger deal in those days...and we were just juniors--it was considered
very politically incorrect at our school to do anything successful in
sports unless you were a worshipped senior...gag!). I was as happy as I had
ever been, and totally miserable at the same time. When I was with Kim I
was on top of the world: happy, successful, suddenly more socially
confident, and so much in love as to be oblivious to most anything else.
But underneath, I was still uncomfortable with a lot of things...always
wanting our relationship to grow, but not wanting to get 'outed' or
anything, and definitely not wanting to loose what I already had in our
friendship.

To many people, we were quite the 'odd couple'. We had become inseparable
(or at least he didn't want to, or was unable to get rid of me...). But, we
really had no reason to be friends, having virtually nothing in common
besides tennis. Kim's disdain for anything academic wasn't a secret to
anyone, but he didn't hold my academic interests against me.  Sometimes he
would make little comments that made me wonder if he actually felt a little
inadequate compared to me, but that simply didn't register in my mind. He
was my idol and my world; and I could never escape the nagging fear that he
was doing me a favor by just tolerating my presence. Of course, our
friendship came as quite a shock to those who knew me very well. I didn't
really notice or understand all the strange looks I was getting at the
time. It is still somewhat like a dream to me.  In hindsight, I think that
just the inner strength my love for Kim gave me had allowed me to grow as a
person over that short time.

Usually after practice he would drop me off at home. We were always
dog-tired, and often we would just sit in his car at the curb and talk
because we were too tired and stiff to move.  Sometimes we chatted on for
hours. I was always keenly interested in his life, his interests, and his
thoughts about anything. He never seemed much interested in talking about
me, and that was fine. I wanted to know everything I could possibly know
about him, and he would usually open up to me and talk freely after a
while. That's when I really got to know who he was, and what was really
going on inside his head. I found out so many interesting things about him,
all of which just made me more attracted to him. It turned out he was an
amateur go-kart racer (at that time--and still today--amateur karting was
one of the primary stepping stones to the pro's; he even raced in karts
against Michael Andretti a few times during that period...), and he was
very good at it. Every other Sunday he and his dad and brother would be at
the track racing. After a while, I was always there too; trying to help out
as best I could and just being his number one fan.  I found out quickly
that it was his real passion in life. He liked tennis well enough, but he
LOVED racing. One day, he finally trusted me enough to tell me his
innermost hope in life: he wanted to be a professional racecar driver. But
he had two strikes against him, and he knew all too well what they
were. First was just that his family wasn't very well off, so they had to
try and overcome that lack of financial resources with dedication, skill,
and hard work. Most of the kids he raced against came from very rich
families (some already with motor-racing pedigrees) who could afford to buy
their way into the winner's circle. The second, as I came to find out, was
that Kim had Epilepsy. He was very uncomfortable telling me that--it was
clearly his most guarded secret, and I was really honored that he actually
told me--but he made it clear that with the medication he had to take it
was very rarely a problem (but sometimes it made him sleepy and made it
hard for him to concentrate in school). But, I could tell he wasn't
convinced that it would always be that way. He was obviously scared it
might someday prevent him from pursuing the most precious thing in his
life. At other times he sounded a little depressed when he felt that,
despite his best efforts, he couldn't beat the rich kids with the latest
and most expensive set-ups; although he knew he was a better driver.

On Friday nights we would hit the usual High School party scene. Actually,
I just tagged along like the faithful puppy wherever he went, and he seemed
ok with that. I was kinda like his conscience, given that I didn't drink,
smoke, or do any drugs (I would always say that I was way too smart to do
that shit, but I thought to myself I was really just too much of a
coward). I always kept an eye on him, and I think he felt safer knowing he
had a safety line in me. In fact, I think it sometimes let him feel safe
enough to indulge a little more than he ought to, knowing I could always
drive him home, etc. I can't even count how many times I sat waiting for
him in the car while he was bonking some drunk chick in the back room of a
house that belonged to someone we didn't even know...we usually just showed
up at a party Kim had heard about through the grapevine. Didn't matter who,
or where. God, how many nights there were when I would take him home
totally drunk, drag him up to his bed, get his pants/shirt/shoes off, and
tuck him into bed in his colorful little bikini style briefs (well, that's
what he wore--I never asked him about it for fear he would kick my ass...).
At least he was a good drunk--he never barfed on me or did anything rude or
disgusting. After a while, I would just sit and look at him in the dim
light while he slept peacefully--sometimes for hours until sunrise when I
would walk the half-mile back to my own house. As I was leaving, I would
usually give him a gentle kiss on his head and tell him softly "I love you
Kimba" (my little pet name for him I only used to myself). I told him how
cool he was, how lucky I was to have him in my life. I was positive he
never knew a bit of it (if he had, I was absolutely sure he would have
killed me!). He was passed out drunk every time. He never asked anything
about how he got home, got undressed, or got to bed, etc. The one odd thing
about Kim was that he was very shy about his body. Maybe he felt guilty
about his own good fortune in the 'genes department', but he didn't like
anyone to see him in any state of partial or total undress. He never once
showered in the gym showers for our entire High School career. The most I
ever saw him do was to strip to his briefs to put his tennis shorts on--and
he did it so fast it was usually a blur. It always struck me as funny how
the same guy who loved to wear tight little tennis shorts that proudly
displayed his big bulge (and sometimes attracted a moderate crowd of female
admirers at the courts) was so shy about changing in front of other people.
Or was it just me?

Ya, I was in love. I remember the first time that it really hit me that I
loved him. Oh, I had lusted for him since the very first time I saw him in
9th grade. But I learned that junior year during Christmas break there was
a big difference between lust and love. One Saturday evening when I was
just hanging out at home alone, keeping to myself as usual (we weren't
going out that night because he had to work), the doorbell rang. When I
opened it, it was Kim. I was quite happy to see him--hoping I didn't gush
too much, but it was such a nice surprise--and he stood there lost in his
thoughts and looking a little embarrassed. Then he looked at me with those
heart-stopping, intense brown eyes of his and said: "Hey man, this is for
you. Merry Christmas," and handed me a small awkwardly wrapped box. I was
stunned speechless. I'm sure I stood there for way too long with my mouth
open, just 'catching flies' as they say. After a while he said: "Uh, well,
gotta run dude. I'm late for work." I stood there on the front porch for a
little while longer, still in shock, until my brain finally caught up with
what was happening. Then, I raced out after him and came up to him as he
was getting into his car. "Thanks Kim. That was sooo nice of you to think
of me like that! I really appreciate it. You are too cool sometimes," I
said, all of a sudden realizing that I was making him uncomfortable with my
over-done gratitude.  "Ya, well, uh...thanks," he said while staring
straight ahead. He started up his car and just drove away without looking
back at me.

I rushed to my room and locked the door. I sat on my bed and just stared at
the box with tears in my eyes. It just overwhelmed me when I thought of
what a significant thing that was for him to do. He just never did that
kind of thing. On a superficial level, Kim was always the happy, friendly,
easygoing guy with everyone and anyone. But it never went deeper than
that. He was always very careful to keep his defenses up. He always seemed
afraid to let anyone get inside his walled off inner feelings. I opened the
box, and looked inside. On top was a small handwritten note: "Thanks for
being such a good bud. Love, K." Now, don't go getting ahead of me here--I
knew that the "love, K" part was either an unconscious mistake on his part
or just a traditional way to sign a card or a note--he didn't mean anything
by it. He didn't LOVE me the way I wanted him to, I was sure. At any rate,
I opened the rest of the package and found a brand new wallet. It was one
of the newest, coolest styles: solid green nylon canvas with Velcro
closures.  Everyone had them at the time, and my very own best bud was
trying to help me be cool and fit in! He was actually thinking about me! It
just struck me all at once how much I loved him. My heart felt like it was
just going to explode. I lay back on my bed and hugged my pillow tightly to
my chest, as if I were hugging Kim, as I drifted into a fantastic (and
probably wet...hah!) dream.

Things went along largely the same between us for a quite a while. We both
seemed ok with the way things were. I certainly wasn't ready to tell Kim
how I really felt, so I was content to just love him secretly and enjoy our
friendship. He never questioned my virtually continuous presence at his
side--he actually seemed to appreciate me once in a while. The real
clincher that made our bond grow much closer came later, during our senior
year. Having gone undefeated during the previous season, we were again
matched together as the number one doubles team in the region.  But, Kim
had started working at In-N-Out Burger so he could pay for his new
mini-truck and his own car insurance. He had to, since his parents were
divorced and didn't have any money. He was tired all the time from working,
was close to flunking out of school and getting kicked off the team, and
just generally falling into the same abyss that I had seen so many others
do during the High School years.

One Friday night we didn't do the party scene. It was now close to the end
of our senior season, and everyone on the team was getting worried that Kim
was in trouble by that point. He was becoming moody, occasionally getting
belligerent to people for no reason, and angrily refused to talk to anyone
about it, especially me. This Friday night we set out as usual in his
truck, but he drove us up the Crest Highway into the mountains and pulled
into an overlook. We just sat together and looked out at the lights across
the valley while he quickly chugged 2 beers from the sixer he had brought
along, and then popped another.

After a while, he noticed me studying him intently while he sipped on his
3rd beer in the last 5 minutes (well, I was worried about him!). He seemed
to pause for a moment, then he looked back at me, and I noticed that his
eyes didn't have the usual warm spark that melted my heart. They looked
cold, and a little empty. "Why are you here?" he asked. "Huh?" I replied,
more than a little confused and shaken by that look in his eyes. "Why are
you here?  Don't you have anything better to do? Like homework or a college
application or something? Why are you always hanging around me?" Now I was
beginning to get weirded out, because up until that point it had always
been unspoken that he tolerated my constant and generally uncool presence
in exchange for my friendship, total devotion, and willingness to do
absolutely anything in the world for him.  Carefully, I replied "Just
hanging out with my best friend, just like I always do." He thought for a
while, and said, "No. I'm not your best friend." At this point, I really
didn't like where this conversation was headed, and I had no idea what this
was all about. I was getting really scared. I can't lose my best friend and
the love of my life in an instant--just like that! That would be too
painful to even consider. I guess fear and hurt lead to anger, and I was
now getting a little pissed.  "The fuck you aren't my best friend...I'll
decide for myself if that's ok with you!" I snapped. He was a little
surprised at the tone of my voice, because I had never gotten angry with
him before.  He kinda jolted back to his normal mode, and I could see the
hurt in his eyes. He said quietly, "I just mean it would be better for you
if I wasn't." I totally lost my patience with the hidden meanings flying
around, because I had no idea what he meant. "Goddamit Kim, what in the
hell are you talking about ?"  I said a little louder than I intended. He
took a deep breath and said, "You're going off to college soon, and you
know I'm not. You're in a different world than me, man; you have a future.
I don't even know what I'm going to do next year.  You don't want to hang
with me. You got better things to do than that. Besides, I know you don't
want to keep hanging with a drug addict."

"WHAT?!?" Now, Kim knew I was always totally against drugs even if it made
me 'uncool'. I never got on his case for an occasional joint (hell, he even
tricked me once into tasting some pot- laced chocolate chip cookies he
made--he thought that was just the funniest goddam thing he ever saw...),
but this was something new. However, it was starting to make sense in the
back of my mind with all that was going on in his life lately. "What the
hell are you talking about, Kim? I don't get it!" I was starting to get
really upset and I didn't want him to see me crying. He went on, "You know
how hard it is for me to work late, practice, get up on time in the
morning, and all that stuff. One of the guys at work showed me how he does
it." He then dug into his pocket and pulled out a plastic baggie filled
with little pills. "Speed, man. All the guys at work do it. I've been doin'
it a while now, and I can't seem to get by without it, and I haven't really
wanted to lately." Now I could see then pain in his eyes through the dim
light in the cab of his truck. He didn't like what was happening to him,
and all this was his way of asking me for help. I just put my head in my
hands and tried as hard as I could not to cry. I cared about him so much,
it really hurt me to hear all this; it felt like someone was stabbing me
right in the heart. "Fuuuuuuuuuck!"  I exhaled loudly no one in particular.
Then that sense of hurt just coalesced in my heart into a sense of
determination. Not really angry, but it was something like the serious,
totally focused, 'kick-butt' mood I can get into on the tennis court when
an opponent does something to piss me off, or it was time to win the
match. Time to take charge and open a can of 'whoop-ass.' My boy needed me
right now big-time.

"Ok, Kim. Look at me. This is the deal. As far as this drug stuff goes,
you're done. Right now." I said as I snatched the bag out of his hand. He
looked at me kinda surprised, but didn't seem to be in the mood to take me
on right at that moment. I took it and the remaining beer and stepped out
of the truck. I threw it as far down the hill as I possibly could. The
brief explosion of effort it took for me to throw it all away helped
release some of my pent up emotional energy, and I felt a little calmer.
When I sat back in the truck and closed the door I continued, staring
intently right into his eyes. "Kim, whether you like it or not right now,
you're stuck with me. I'm gonna do anything it takes to make sure you get
off this and stay off. You can't stop me, so don't even try," I said a
little too forcefully as I noticed him stiffen up a little bit. "Do you
have any idea how much you mean to me? You think I would be better off
without you in my life? I would be totally lost without you in my life,
man! Ya, I'm kinda smart, but so what? Everyone has their god-given
talents, and so do you. You have an incredible gift, don't you see that? So
what if it doesn't show up too well in school or on a report card? You ARE
gonna be a professional driver some day, and you know it! You have the
ability, and you have the determination. I just know in my heart that I'll
be watching you one day on TV driving in the Indy 500. I really believe
that, man." I was on a roll now, and he seemed to be willing to listen for
a moment so I continued on without hesitating.  "You're an amazing person,
Kim. I have never met anyone who doesn't like you. Everyone loves Kim. Do
you have any idea what it is like being someone like me?  Someone who
nobody usually notices or cares about? Someone who feels totally alone most
of the time, except when I am with you? You just have no idea man." I was
starting to get a little teary again after the adrenaline rush started to
subside, and I think he noticed. "Look at me, Kim. You took my sorry ass
and tried to give me a little bit of your coolness. You turned me into a
real person, at least. I may never be cool like you, or as gifted an
athlete. But don't you see how much you've given me the last year and a
half? How much I've changed just being around you?"

After that, I suddenly just ran out of words; so, I slumped back in my seat
and put my hands on top of my head, and closed my eyes--something I always
did when I was frustrated or lost, just not knowing what else to do at the
moment. I was really worried that I let a little too much information slip
in that last outburst. Kim sat there an awful long time just staring out
the window, while I did the same--afraid to look over at him. I was jolted
back to the present by the sound of him starting the engine and pulling
away, to go home I assumed. He didn't say a word all the way home. He just
stared straight ahead while driving, with a thoughtful and concerned look
on his face. I started to feel a little relieved, because I could begin to
sense he wasn't really pissed at me, and wasn't ready to toss me out just
yet. When we pulled up at my house, he shut off the engine at the curb.
Now, this was usually our place to talk; but I could sense he really wasn't
in the mood to say anything more tonight. By now my heart was aching again
after all that had just gone down between us. I just couldn't make myself
walk away silently, even though I knew that's what he was hoping I would
do. I'm not sure what possessed me, but I put my hand firmly on his
shoulder and gave it a good squeeze. "Kim, you know everything I said was
the truth. Think about it, man. Believe it." He just continued to stare
ahead, and pulled away from my hand on his shoulder. He said quietly,
"Ya. Bye," and drove away.

Wow, was all I could think to myself. Nobody ever touched Kim! He didn't
really allow it. I had put my hand on his warm shoulder, and he let it stay
there for a couple seconds before pulling away (and he didn't even take a
swing at me!). It felt so wonderful for the short time I could feel the
electricity of the contact all the way in the center of my chest. It really
felt like I was able to transmit my love directly to him with a simple
touch like that. That thought just blew my mind.

I was consumed with the events of that night all weekend, but I just had an
inner feeling that everything was going to be ok; at least for the short
term. That Monday when we showed up for practice, Kim was all business. No
jokes, no conversation, just determined hustle and hard work. I just stayed
quiet and matched him the whole time with my own hard work and
determination while keeping a close eye on his every move. After practice,
we silently got into his truck, ready to drive home. But, he just sat there
staring out the window for a long time, and making me more than a little
nervous. Then I saw that goofy grin I had grown to love so much start to
spread slowly across his face. He turned to me and said, "I went in to the
counselors office today and picked up an application for the JC (our local
community college). I'm gonna take auto mechanics there next year. Maybe I
can learn something to help me with my racing, ya know?  Even if I don't
make it driving, I can still learn how to wrench." I sighed a huge relief.
"Oh Kim dude, that's sooo cool! That's great. I'm really proud of you,
bud." He said, "Ya. I guess. You were right, you know. I hafta stay clean.
I know I can't be a good tennis player or a good kart racer if I get fucked
up with that stuff." I knew that was as close to a thank you or any kind of
acknowlegement of my contribution to his life that was ever gonna come out
of his mouth. I just had to break out with a huge smile. "Great," I said.
Then, he handed me his keys. "Huh?" I gave him a questioning look. "You
drive home, I'm tired," he said. Now wait a minute here, I thought to
myself. "Uh, Kim dude? Uh...you never let anyone drive your truck. And, you
know I've never driven a clutch before. I don't get it." He replied calmly,
"Well, I'm not gonna drive all the way to Vegas by myself. So, you better
learn pretty quick. Besides," he said looking straight into my eyes and
smiling, "You got a pretty good teacher sittin' here, ya know?"  Now I was
getting the picture! He was offering to teach me how to drive a clutch! In
his own precious, almost brand-new truck no less!  Wow, another 'coolness'
lesson coming up! I remembered that we were planning on going to a big Kart
race in Las Vegas pretty soon, and now he wanted me to share the driving.
God, this is so cool. Don't ya just gotta love him at a time like this?

"Hey," he said, "make sure you take the long way home, too." So, we spent
the next hour or more driving around town and on the local freeways. It
took me a little time to get it down smooth, but Kim really was a great
teacher. He was more patient with me than I had ever seen him, and he
barely flinched the few times I ground the gearbox or stalled out his
precious truck. By the time we made it home, I felt like I had it down
pretty well, and I was so happy right then I was really flying high (high
on love, I guess). I pulled to the curb in front of my house and shut off
the engine. I turned to see him lounging back in the passenger seat, with a
weary smile, looking proud of himself and satisfied with my efforts. It had
been such a great day; I just couldn't hold it in anymore. "Thanks,
bud. You truly are my best friend, ya know? You are the greatest, man. I
really don't know what I would do without you..." I looked intently into
his eyes, trying to say without words how much I loved him, hoping he
wouldn't notice the tears starting to form there. I gave him another
squeeze on his shoulder, handed him his keys, hopped out of the truck and
left.  As I got to the front door, I turned and saw him looking at me
thoughtfully.  When he saw me, he looked away quickly, started his truck,
and sped off as usual.

Wow. He didn't pull away when I touched him that time. He just kinda
pretended it wasn't happening. "Progress," I said smiling to myself as I
went in the door.

For the rest of the school year I stayed as close to Kim as I could. I kept
on his case about staying clean and graduating as much as possible without
pissing him off; I even made him study with me so I was sure he would pass
all his classes. Tennis season was now over. We had won our league, and Kim
and I stayed undefeated in doubles during the regular season. As we
advanced through the CIF playoffs, our team eventually got to the fourth
round. The problem was, we were playing Corona Del Mar next. They were a
very wealthy town next to Newport Beach, California; and they had an
unbelievable team. Their best player was the son of a famous retired tennis
star, and he was ranked as best in the entire country for our age. He
already had a scholarship signed to play for USC. And, the rest of the team
was pretty damn good also. Needless to say, we got killed. But, no one
seemed too upset by it. They were really good, and we knew we had played
our best. Life goes on.

But, one thing that day really killed me personally. Kim had asked the
coach to play singles that day. He didn't tell me ahead of time, because
I'm sure he knew I would have spent every waking moment trying to talk him
and the coach out of it. Not only had he really hurt my feelings, but he
also ended our chance at an individual doubles title for state CIF. After
we got back from the match (they were the home team) he drove me home and
we sat in silence again in his truck parked at the curb in front of my
house. I hadn't spoken to him at all since I found out we weren't going to
play together that day before the matches, and I wanted him to know how
hurt I was.

He abruptly broke the silence. "I wanted to get some more experience
playing singles, ya know?"  he said. "I'm gonna start working out with a
new coach now, and he wants me to play a lot of tournaments this summer,
you know, by myself in singles." The look in his eyes told me that he knew
I was really hurt, but I wasn't in the mood to let it show. He continued,
"You know, man, you're gonna be gone soon to college. What else am I gonna
do?" he said looking at me intently.  Damn, those eyes. He sure knows how
to get to me like that. With just one quick glance, he could apologize for
hurting my feelings, but defend his decision as being basically reasonable
in his mind. I said, "Ya, I'm sure you're gonna do great. I hope you plan
on me being there to watch your matches. You know I wouldn't miss it." But,
I am sure he could hear the disappointment in my voice. As he was leaving
he said, "Anyway, don't forget; we have to start packing up for the big
race Friday night, and we have to get up at 3am to leave on Saturday.  I'll
pick ya up after your last class." "K," I said, sounding tired and
depressed.

Ya, the big race. We were finally going to Las Vegas for the regional Kart
racing championship.  Kim was ranked third best on the west coast, and I
knew from past conversations that he was really excited about his first big
national race. People would be there; important racing people, the kind who
sign up new drivers for professional racing teams. I really was glad he
wanted me to come with him. He and I would drive his truck, and his dad and
brother would follow in theirs.  The cool thing was that we got to stay in
Vegas. His dad got us two rooms in a cheap hotel on the strip. Kim and I
would share one of them. I thought about how cool it would be, sleeping in
the same room with him for the first time--I was getting way too excited
about that for my own good! I knew I wasn't going to be able to stay mad at
Kim very long for ending our competitive doubles career as he did, that
little shit!

We carried on like normal during the five-hour drive to Vegas. We could
sometimes just talk about nothing for hours and enjoy the hell out if it.
We listened to some music that we both liked (we did have a lot in common
in our taste in music, it turned out...). He loved telling me stupid jokes
that would make me laugh (a pretty rare occurrence most any other time). I
can see now, looking back, that these were the times when he really was
showing me just how much he cared about me, in his own way. I just wish I
had seen it as clearly at the time.

We got to the track and worked our asses off in practice, and in perfecting
the race day set-up for his and his brother's karts. After sundown, his dad
handed us some money, and told us to go have dinner and relax a little --
just no drinking and get to bed early. That wasn't really a problem for
Kim, as he never abused his body the night before a big race (any other
time was an open question...). His 14 year old brother took off on his own
with a huge-titted blond girl who looked at least 18 (his brother was quite
the ladies man-- he was about 4" taller than both of us, and looked to be
at least similarly endowed as Kim, and then some...).

We just grabbed a nice quiet steak dinner, and went to bed. I could tell
Kim was totally amped up about the race, and I knew he sometimes had
trouble sleeping the night before. He went to take a shower while I watched
the local TV news. He came out a few minutes later wearing just his swim
trunks and hopped into the other twin bed. I guess he wasn't going to show
off his bikini undies for me this time when he was sober. Bummer! We turned
off the light and tried to sleep.  Well, I sure couldn't sleep with the
thought of him laying in the bed next to me, almost naked!  After an hour
of staring at the ceiling (and thinking how nice it would feel to be laying
in bed next to him feeling his smooth warm skin against mine...), I heard
him sit up.  "Fuck," he said. "I can't fucking go to sleep. I never can
before a big race." "You wanna talk ?" I asked, thinking that may help get
it out of his mind. "Nah." After several more minutes of him thrashing
around in his bed and occasionally swearing, I was getting uptight. I
really wished he would let me do something for him. Doesn't he realize that
I live for chances like this to show him how much I care about him? I had
decided long ago that since I can't actually bring myself to say it, I have
to let my actions speak for themselves. "What always helps me go to sleep
is a good back massage," I said a little too hopefully perhaps, not looking
over to where he was laying in his bed. Silence. I turned over to look at
him and he gave me this 'if you even pretend to be serious about that last
comment I'm gonna kick your ass' look, not saying anything. "Ah, um...,
well...  then, good night bud. Hope you get some sleep," I replied and
rolled over. I actually did go to sleep, afraid of what would happen next
if I didn't.

I awoke sometime in the middle of the night with a raging piss hard-on. As
I was coming back from the head having relieved the pressure, I could see
him sleeping there from the light in the bathroom. I left the light on, but
closed the door almost all the way so I had just enough light to sit and
look at him by. It was these times when I felt most in love with him, just
soaking him in with my eyes. Tonight, however, I was just too horny to take
it anymore.  That piss-hard had returned with a vengeance, and my hormones
told me I had to take advantage of this opportunity.  Since he was laying
on his back with his arms over his head (he looked so cute like that, and I
just loved those tiny little tufts of dark hair under his arms!), I slowly
slid my hand underneath his sheets until it rested lightly on his hip. I
carefully explored the swim trunks until I found the center of my universe.
I could feel his balls, his dick hair mounded up under the suit, and
finally the base of one very hard dick which seemed to be pointing slightly
up and away from me towards his other hip. As I traced upwards with my
fingers along his shaft, I finally discovered the blazing hot head of his
dick poking out the top of his shorts. With my fingers fully extended, I
could feel the tip of his dick, and also feel the beginning of the base
somewhere below my wrist (I later re-created that measurement with a tape
measure at home and came up with the fact that he had to be somewhere
between 7.5 and eight inches! Shit, that was about 2-2.5 inches longer than
me!). Unfortunately, the feeling of my fingers on his sensitive dick head
caused him to stir, and he soon rolled over, grinding his dick into the
mattress until he was comfortable again. After waiting a very long time to
be sure he was asleep, I kissed him lightly on the head, said "Good night,
Kimba", and went back to bed after another trip to the head to relieve a
different kind of pressure.

Race day was a blast. After two exciting and agonizing hours of racing, Kim
had come in second place. Everyone said they thought he was the best driver
on the track that day, but some bad luck had cost him first place. Some
idiot being lapped by the field had decided to give a demonstration on how
to drive with your head up your ass; and had caused a big wipe out.  Kim
reacted quickly enough to avoid contact, but it slowed him down quite a
bit, and gave the leader about a half- track-length lead. From then on, Kim
was just flying--he set a track record lap time for his class during that
last part of the race--but he just couldn't make up all the ground he
lost. But, it was a moral victory, in that the winner could definitely see
him closing in behind and coming hard the last few laps. I was so proud of
him, I just couldn't stand it. By the last two laps, I had slipped away
from our pit so nobody would see me crying. At that point I knew he
couldn't win, and I just hurt soo much inside knowing how he must have
felt. Once again the best driver on the track didn't win the race.

As soon as it was over, I found myself running down the track full speed to
find him. He was standing next to his kart talking to some of the other
drivers in his usual friendly manner. No one would have guessed how hurt he
felt inside, but I knew. I snuck up behind him where he couldn't see me
coming, and gave him the biggest hug I could muster, lifting him off his
feet--trying to squeeze my love right into him. "Kim! You were so awesome
dude! Did you know you set a track record on lap 85?" I said squeezing him
to me so hard he couldn't talk. He discreetly, but quickly, pulled himself
away from me and shot me a very quick 'what the fuck are you doin' touching
me--especially in front of all these people?' kinda look as he took his
racing helmet off, then he said with a big smile, "Ya, man. I felt like I
was really haulin' ass there at the end. I just let it all hang out. Balls
to the wall, right?" he said as he laughed to himself at his little joke.
By then everyone was crowding around to give him his due praise, and I
slipped back to the edge of the crowd and sat on the side railing of the
track, just watching everyone adoring my guy. It felt great to see him get
his respect from the other racers and mechanics. He looked happy enough,
but I knew he was really disappointed on the inside. Our eyes quickly made
contact through the crowd one time, and he gave me a wistfully happy look
that seemed to say to me 'thanks for being there and understanding how I'm
feeling right now,' as a mini-apology for his previous scornful look. He
finally had the fastest kart on the track that day (due to some very good
work between him and his dad in analyzing the track conditions and making
the right adjustments), but it still wasn't good enough to win.

We hung out after the race, shot the shit with the other regular karting
teams we knew, and Kim drank more than a few beers. I figured he was trying
to hide his disappointment behind a six-pack tonight, so I would be driving
home. I made sure to grab a six-pack of Coke to keep me awake for the
drive. His dad and bro had long since left, but they were nice enough to
load Kim's truck up for us. So, all we had to do was dump him in the front
seat, and pull out for the long ride home. I figured that he would probably
sleep the whole way; knowing how tired, emotionally drained, and flat-out
drunk he was.

As I cruised along the highway, I just reveled to myself at how proud I was
of him today. He really showed everyone how much talent he had, and how
much class he had. He never complained once about his bad luck, and he damn
sure showed everyone that there was no quit in him today. God, I loved him
so much I just couldn't stand it. As I drove, I glanced over at him slumped
in the corner of the passenger seat, and I smiled. He was just so damn cute
when he was asleep; it never failed to get to me. I felt things stir in my
pants as I recalled what happened last night. I reached out with my right
hand, and just rested it on his leg as I drove. Just that simple contact
was enough for me at the time. After a couple hours I was getting pretty
bored and a little tired myself, and I didn't want to turn on the radio and
wake him up. So, I just started talking to him real softly like I did
sometimes when he was asleep. It felt so good to actually hear myself say
the words "I love you Kimba" with him right there. I told him how proud of
him I was, what a great job he did, how impressed all the other drivers,
mechanics and I'm sure a few pro scouts were. After chatting on like this
to him for a while, of course thinking he couldn't hear me, he groaned,
moved around a bit and said groggily, "Keep it down loverboy, I'm trying to
sleep here" and appeared to doze off again.

SHIT! Whoa, man--hold on there! --Don't wreck the truck, you idiot! I
thought to myself as I swerved over the two lanes in my panic. He couldn't
have heard all that, could he? Even so, he probably wouldn't remember it in
the morning, right? Whew, that was certainly enough of an adrenaline rush
to keep me wide-awake for the rest of the drive home!  Thankfully, I didn't
need to stop to change my underwear, which I had just narrowly missed
pissing in when he said that.  At that point, all I could do was to try not
to think about it, try not to expect the worst as I finished the drive
home. I eventually got us into to his driveway, and hauled him into the
house and into his room. He seemed coherent enough to get himself into bed,
so I grabbed my backpack and slowly walked home, deep in thought. It was
2am on a foggy June night. I liked the peacefulness of the world on a warm
foggy night. Everything was so quiet.  Reality easily gave way to wishful
thinking during these magical hours. I liked that. Those were the times
when Kim and I really could be together forever in my mind, and I savored
the thought. Now that school was getting out, there were all sorts of
questions in my mind about the future.  Questions about us that I really
didn't want to know the answer to at that moment.

The phone woke me up at around 10am the next morning. I heard a pretty well
rested sounding Kim say, "Hey, get your ass up, I'm taking you out for
Juevos Rancheros in ten minutes." "K," was the only sound I could get to
croak out, being just barely awake after way too little sleep. In the
shower I thought about the last two days as I soaked in the hot water.
After a while, I decided things must be ok if he wants to go out for our
mutual favorite breakfast.

We had a really good time, just talking and hashing over the weekend
events.  He was in an incredibly good mood. It was just two good buds
relaxing together. He never said anything to make me think that he
remembered something I was wishing he didn't, and boy was I sure hoping I
was right! I enjoyed seeing him so happy, and feeling pretty good about
himself and his life.  Sitting there listening to him chatter on and
watching him closely, I could suddenly see to myself just how much he had
grown as a person in the last two years. It just really got to me, and I
started to get tears in my eyes again, and had to grab a napkin to wipe my
face and blow my nose.  He looked over at me while shoving a big bite of
food in his mouth and half laughing at himself as he was doing it, with
sauce running down his chin. He saw my face, and his expression changed
instantly. "What?" he said. "Nothing," I replied. "I was just thinking to
myself how proud of you I am, you know?" "Like, you have to know that I'm
you're biggest fan. You were so awesome yesterday. I can't help but think
back a few months ago, you know?"  We never talked about that fateful
conversation on the Crest Highway. He got kinda uptight whenever I
mentioned it, so I had since made it a point to leave it alone. He looked
into my eyes for a while, and I noticed that the warm, intense, friendly
vibe I always got wasn't there. It wasn't angry, and it wasn't the horrible
empty look he gave that one time. Just kinda like sadness, or pity. "You
ready?" he said. "I gotta split 'cuz I have a lesson with my new coach
pretty soon."

He dropped me off at home, and we didn't say much in the truck on the way
back. I just sat there, lost in my own thoughts while he drove. Suddenly, I
realized we were home. I hopped out, and he sped off not looking back. I
sat on the porch, and stared out into space some more. Something wasn't
right, but I just couldn't figure out what it was. Kim was acting
differently today.  Although it was a very subtle difference, I could
definitely sense something. But I just couldn't get a good grasp on what it
was, and all of a sudden I didn't feel that sense of connection with him
that I lived for, that I needed: it had kinda become like my security
blanket. It always made me feel safe, no matter what else was happening
around me.

I went in to my bedroom, and shut the door. I sat for a while, just feeling
a little lost in the world.  Without thinking about it, I picked up the
guitar I kept in the corner of my room, and started to play my favorite
song (which was the only one I really knew how to play, anyway). I sang to
myself softly:

"Desperado, why don't you come to your senses?
You been out ridin' fences for so long now
Oh, you're a hard one
But I know that you got your reasons
These things that are pleasin' you
Can hurt you somehow

Don't you draw the queen of diamonds, boy
She'll beat you if she's able
You know the queen of hearts is always your best bet

Now it seems to me, some fine things
Have been laid upon your table
But you only want the ones that you can't get

Desperado, oh, you ain't gettin' no younger
Your pain and your hunger, they're drivin' you home
And freedom? ooh freedom? Well, that's just some people talkin'
Your prison is walking through this world all alone

Don't your feet get cold in the winter time?
The sky won't snow and the sun won't shine
It's hard to tell the night time from the day
You're loosin' all your highs and lows
Ain't it funny how the feeling goes away?

Desperado, why don't you come to your senses?
Come down from your fences, open the gate
It may be rainin', but there's a rainbow above you
You better let somebody love you, before it's too late"

By the time I had finished, I was thinking to myself how much I loved the
words to that song (quite possibly the best song lyrics ever written to
this day, in my own humble opinion...). Then, it dawned on me why it was my
favorite song. I realized that it really said a lot to me about the person
I loved more than anything in the world, as I sat there with tears in my
eyes.

We didn't talk much the next few days, but that was typical. Whenever we
spent a lot of time together lately, he would take a few days off from me
until I got so desperate for his attention he would let me back in his life
for a while. I finally called him on Friday morning, school was finally
over and graduation was next week. "Hey Kim, what's the plan for tonight?"
We always did something on Friday night, because he usually didn't work
that night.  "Look man," he said, "I'm not going out tonight. I'm just
gonna go and work on some Kart stuff at my dad's." Now, that was
unusual--but no big deal by itself. "Then stop by and pick me up. We can
grab a couple of burritos and some beers while we work," I suggested. "No,
man; don't bother," he replied.  "You can find something fun to do
tonight. I'll catch ya later. Bye," and he hung up before I could make my
case any further.

Now my curiosity was steadily growing into sheer panic. I could just sense
something wasn't right in my universe, and the more I thought about it, the
more terrified I became. I went into my room, lay down on the bed, and
promptly fell asleep while worrying about what was happening to me.

I awoke around 8pm, hungry as hell. I thought that maybe I would just get a
burrito by myself anyway, since it was my favorite dinner, and I was
totally starving after missing lunch while I slept. After stopping by our
favorite Mexican take-out place, I realized that I was already halfway to
Kim's dad's house. Why not just cruise on by and satisfy my curiosity?  So,
I did. Needless to say, I wasn't too surprised to find he wasn't there, or
expected any time soon. Now I really felt like Shit! I felt bad for not
believing him, but I felt even worse for finding out I had good reason not
to. I felt terribly hurt and alone all of a sudden, just because he wanted
to do something without me for one night. I felt so pathetic for feeling
like that. I just slowly drove home, crawled into bed, and cried myself to
sleep.

By the next morning, all my hurt feelings had fermented into a combination
of anger, fear, and hopelessness. As soon as I woke up, I hopped right out
of bed, threw on my clothes, and drove straight to Kim's house. Damn! His
truck wasn't there. Across town, I finally found his truck parked in front
of his dad's house. He was the only one there; working alone in the garage
on his kart, with the garage door open to the street. He saw me coming, and
I didn't like the look on his face. Right away, I could see the emotional
walls he put up around himself were in place and ready for battle. There
was no warmth in there for me. Just hard resolve, and a little annoyance. I
walked up close to where he was working, but he wouldn't look at me or
acknowledge my presence yet. "Hey, Kim," I said softly. When he finally
looked back up at me, I was surprised to see a look of such tremendous pain
and hurt in his eyes, he looked like was close to tears himself.  I had
never seen anything like that from him before, and I was shocked and pretty
confused at this point. Not knowing quite how to respond to that, my anger
re-surfaced and I said, "You have a good time last night?" He didn't look
back at me or say anything in response. I had already guessed that he knew
I had figured out he was lying to me yesterday. Still nothing. "Look, Kim,"
I said, "You don't have to lie to me. Just tell me the truth if you don't
want to hang with me. But it really hurts, ya know?" I said trying really
hard not to let the tears begin. "Just remember man, you can't possibly
know what it's like always being the one to get left out.  Always being the
one who doesn't get invited. Being the one who's not cool, and totally
knowing it. You just have no idea what it's like to be me!" At this point I
was really losing it as I yelled at him with tears streaming down my face.
He looked down to the bench where he was working, and patiently waited a
few minutes for me to settle down (and to gather himself also, I think),
and then looked back at me again. This time, the look of such deep sadness
and pity in his eyes was simply too much for me. It cut like a knife right
through my heart. It was over now. I knew instantly that it was me he was
sad for. It was me that he pitied. He knew what he was going to do next
would crush the life right out of me; and now, so did I.

"Look man, I don't think we can hang out together any more. Like I told you
before, I just can't be your best friend." Ok, here it comes...just let me
die quickly, God. Please don't make me suffer. "KIM! NO! Don't do this to
me!" I half-yelled, half-moaned. I just flew towards him trying hug him
into my arms again one more time. I desperately wanted to just hang on to
him and never let go. But, he grabbed me before I could reach him and held
me away from him at arm's length. I couldn't make myself look at him, and
just hung my head down crying. Damn, why was he always stronger than me? At
that point, I just collapsed on a stool and put my head down on the
worktable and covered it with my hands, sobbing uncontrollably.  Here I
was, watching my worst fear in the whole world coming to pass right in
front of me, and I felt completely helpless to stop it. Both my mind and
body were totally paralyzed with grief at this point. I couldn't even bear
to look at him again. That look in his eyes was still burning in my mind,
and I never wanted to see it ever again. EVER.

At some point, he had gotten up and walked silently into the house. After a
while I looked up and noticed he was not in the garage. I wiped my face off
as best I could, and as I walked into the house to look for him, I thought
to myself "Well, this is it. You have nothing to lose now. Why not just
tell him how you feel? Just say all the things you've been afraid to say
for so long?" As I worked up my courage to attempt that, I rounded the
corner and saw him sitting in front of the TV eating a sandwich. As I
opened my mouth to let it all out in the open for once and for all, he
looked at me again. The look in his eyes froze me in my tracks. I couldn't
speak now, even if I wanted to. The look in his eyes was forceful,
commanding me to just stop right where I was and say nothing; and it told
me everything I needed to know.

It was perfectly clear now. Yes, he knew exactly how I felt. No, he wasn't
even remotely comfortable with it. Yes, he cared about me; but no, we
couldn't possibly be friends any more.  He definitely did not want to talk
about it, so don't even go there. Yes, it hurt him to do this, but clearly
not as much as it did me. He didn't hate me for who I was, but he just
couldn't have me in his life any more. He didn't understand how I could
love him the way I did; it didn't make any sense to him and there was no
place in his world to fit that idea. He wasn't offended by it; he just
plain couldn't understand it, and that kinda scared him. He honestly felt I
would be better off not loving him, and he felt he had to give me a reason
not to.

I just stood there speechless for a few moments, my mouth making a few
strange sounds as I was trying to get my body and my emotions to respond to
my own commands--but no answer.  Finally, in a sudden rush of confusing
feelings, I found myself turning and running out the door in the general
direction of my car (not seemingly under my conscious direction), sobbing
uncontrollably again. It was almost like I was watching myself from someone
else's eyes. It felt so strange.

The next time I woke up, I felt like I was in a dream. I wasn't totally
sure it was a dream, but everything just seemed so surreal to me at the
moment. I was in a white room. In a white bed. A window to the outside
showed a smoggy but sunny sky. As I became more alert I noticed all kinds
of medical devices lined up around the walls of the room. My arm hurt, and
I looked down to see a tube sticking out of it, all taped down to my skin.
Hmmm. I must not be dreaming. An 'IV' I think they call it. "I guess I'm in
a hospital; ya, that must be it," I thought to myself in a somewhat
detached, emotionless way. Then the door carefully swung open, and a woman
who was obviously a nurse looked in. "How do you feel?" she asked. Hmmm.
How did I feel? I searched around in my head for some kind of feelings, but
found nothing.  Just emptiness really.  "What happened? How did I get
here?" I croaked out. "We were hoping you could tell us," she said. "You
seem to have a nasty scrape on your head, a moderately severe concussion,
and your blood test was consistent with some kind of severe stress
recently," she said softly. With that, I suddenly realized that my head
really did hurt. I just hadn't quite noticed it before. "Ya, I guess my
head does hurt a little. But I have no idea what happened or how I got
here," I said numbly.  "All I know," she said, "Was that the ER nurses said
some young guy about your age driving a red mini-pickup brought you in, but
refused to stay. They tried to stop him from leaving, but he just ran out
as fast as he could. He was crying like a baby, they said."

Then, it hit me like a ton of bricks. Uuuagh! I remembered in one painful
instant everything that had happened this morning. I tried to talk, but I
was so overwhelmed that I just lost it completely.  She gave me a concerned
look, and I noticed she had a syringe and was injecting something into the
tube that led into my arm. "Now, you should try and get some more rest,"
she said. "Your parents have been notified, but they won't be here for a
few hours yet. This will help you sleep for a while." My eyes were rapidly
closing even as she spoke. I soon felt a growing sensation, something like
floating gently down a quiet river. Peaceful. Lazy. Tired.

To this day, I can remember the dream I had then quite clearly. I still
have it sometimes. "Oh shit!" I heard a voice say. I felt someone rolling
my body over by my shoulder. I blinked open my eyes, looking upwards into
the glare of the sun. "Hey, what happened to you?  Are you ok, man?  Can
you hear me?" Yes, I did hear. But, I was strangely unable to make a sound,
or move anything. All I could do was look up into the most incredible pair
of dark brown eyes hovering over me. I could see a gentle warmth and great
concern in them. I could sense that it was for me.  It felt nice. "Dammit,
I said can-you-hear-me! I can see you looking at me, why don't you say
something? Move something?" Sorry, I just can't, I though to myself. I
don't know why. "Fuck, what have I done to you, man? We need to get you to
the Hospital." He picked me up and quickly carried me to the front seat of
a small truck, shut the door, and got in. I noticed that I wasn't really
seeing anything now, just hearing the sounds of engine starting, sensing
the movement of the truck through something that seemed like a dark foggy
night. "FUCK, FUCK, FUCK!" I heard him banging his hand on the steering
wheel. "God dammit man, why'd you have to go and do this?" I could
definitely hear that this person was crying while he said that. But, I
thought to myself, I hadn't done anything wrong. You just rolled me over.
There you were. It was so nice just to look into those eyes, I thought. "Do
you know what you're doing to me, man?" he continued, sobbing. "You just
gotta understand I can't love you. I just can't. It's not possible for me
to love you the way you love me, can't you see that?  You deserve better
than me, anyhow.  Don't you ever forget that, you hear?"  I was trying hard
to understand all of what he was saying, but it didn't really make any
sense to me at the time. Just words. I felt like I knew what they all meant
separately, but together they were just a jumble of nonsense. I was
beginning to feel a real sense of frustration, not being able to make sense
of what was going on around me. Then things slowly seemed to begin drifting
away. I heard "OH NO! Oh shit, man! hold on bud!"  Then I heard the engine
scream louder, and felt the truck suddenly pick up speed.  The sounds
gradually became more and more distant, eventually fading into silence.

After two days in the hospital, I finally was going to go home. Just me and
my little bottle of pills. 'Anti-anxiety medication' they called it. Just
for a little while, until things got back to normal they said. I silently
laughed to myself when they said that. Back to normal? Right. You bet. I
wasn't really looking forward to going home, to say the least.  Everyone so
far had been eerily avoiding certain topics of conversation. Just "get some
rest, get yourself well, and you will be home soon." It sounded a just a
little too well rehearsed to me. I had this growing feeling of dread about
when the real interrogation would start, when I would be under intense
scrutiny-- being asked to explain to everyone what has happened and why my
heart was broken, and who I was in love with. Ya, that would be way too
much fun for me to handle right now. I just knew that my parents, who had
happily ignored me most of my life, would suddenly have too great an
interest in me. Would it be in the car on the way home? Before I could even
get to my room and hide from the world for a little while longer behind my
locked door?  Aaaaahhhhh! Stop the world dammit! I want to get off right
now!

Gratefully, I somehow made it home in silence. Curiously, no interrogation
yet. I headed straight to my room and shut the door, saying I was going to
take a short nap. As I was sitting down on my bed, I noticed something on
my desk. It was my car keys. "Now how did they get there?" I wondered to
myself as I picked them up. I instinctively checked in my pocket where they
usually resided, and felt nothing. Then, I remembered seeing my car parked
in back of the house when we came home just now. Hadn't I left it at Kim's
dad's house? I don't remember driving anywhere else after I got there that
morning. Hmmm. Then, what looked like a photo caught my eye. It had been
laying on the desk under the keys. As I picked it up, I froze and closed my
eyes quickly. I suddenly couldn't breathe at all. Very gradually I found
the courage to open my eyes again, still holding my breath. As I regained
some focus the picture slowly came back into view. Las Vegas Speedway. Two
teenage guys hugging and grinning huge shit-eating grins standing in the
middle of the racetrack. One was wearing racing gear, the other shorts,
t-shirt, and the ever-present trademark baseball cap turned backwards. I
turned it over, and there was some small, faint writing scribbled on the
back.

Take care, man.
Bye.

Love, K

"Bye Kimba. God I love you. I'm gonna miss you so much..." I said partly to
myself, and partly out loud as tears streamed down my face. I felt such a
profound sense of sadness, it's just too hard to describe.

I lay back on my bed, feeling suddenly exhausted, and soon I was asleep
again. As the dream began, it seemed vaguely familiar. "Oh shit!" I heard a
voice say. I felt someone rolling my body over by my shoulder. I blinked
open my eyes, looking upwards into the glare of the sun. "Hey, what
happened to you? Are you ok, man? Can you hear me?" Yes, I did hear.  But,
I was strangely unable to make a sound, or move anything. All I could do
was look up into the most incredible pair of dark brown eyes hovering over
me. I could see a gentle warmth and great concern in them.  I could sense
that it was for me. It felt nice.

The end.


Postscript:

This hasn't been very easy for me to write, but I am glad I finally did it.
My life, of course did not end there, although there have been altogether
too many times that I wished it had. Life just seems to have an annoying
way of continuing to happen, whether you like it or not.

I never saw or spoke to Kim again for almost 20 years. During a
particularly bad spell of mid-life crisis recently, I got the stupid idea
in my head that I should talk to him again. Just to see how he was doing
and all (Well, it was the day after I had just watched on TV as Dale
Earnhart was killed in a crash at Daytona...). One day soon after, I just
called him out of the blue (I had found his number searching on the 'net),
my hands sweating and my heart pounding in my chest and threatening to jump
right on out. After two rings he answered. I just about lost it completely
right there. His voice sounded so absolutely exactly the same as I
remembered him when we were only 17, it stunned me. I was having major
flashbacks to countless idle telephone conversations we had over the
years. As we talked, it hurt me a little that he didn't seem to remember me
right away as I played the guess-who-this-is-out-of-your-deep-dark-past
game, but he was polite and friendly in a professional sort of way as soon
as he realized whom he was talking to (and got over the initial shock of
it...). Boy, and was I really shocked when he agreed to let me stop in and
say hi in a few days, as I was going to be in his area for work (about 2
hours from where I live now).  So, we met and talked for a while. He hadn't
changed one bit physically, just looking appropriately older in his face,
and pretty short hair nowadays (and not even one gray hair, the little
shit! I bet he dyes it...). He was clearly nervous at first, not nearly as
relaxed as he sounded on the phone. I don't know if he thought I was mad at
him and there to finish the score with him, or just hoping to avoid all the
uncomfortable feelings that surrounded our brief life together. I didn't
push him on it, and tried to reassure him that I wouldn't bring it up
without actually just coming out and saying so. Soon we were chatting like
old friends as he proudly showed me around his race shop and driving
school, and told me stories of some of his past racing adventures (most of
which I already knew because I had followed his career from a distance all
along). I even caught a few fleeting glimpses of that goofy smile, and
those intense brown eyes. He had never married, and had only had one
semi-serious relationship that lasted less than 2 years, he eventually told
me. I wondered to myself as I was driving home, could he ever let anyone
love him? Maybe it wasn't me? Maybe it was him? I found out for myself once
upon a time how scary a feeling it was to be in love. For someone used to
being in absolute control of everything (especially his innermost
feelings), the idea of being in love probably scared him to death. After
seeing him again, I was absolutely sure that Kim had never once been in
love his whole life (with something besides racing, anyway). Somehow, I
just knew; but I wasn't surprised. Just sad for him, really.

It was nice to see him again, but I soon realized that I should never have
done it. Just like giving a sober alcoholic his first drink again, I knew I
had to force myself to stay away from him. I knew that I still loved him.
Over the years, I had been able to convince myself that it was more like a
cherished memory I could call upon when I needed a little extra strength to
get through the day.  What I was feeling now was a whole lot different than
that suddenly. NO. Not again. Not again. I could not live through that one
more time.

I haven't spoken to him since. I am pretty sure I never will again, and
that thought still breaks my heart a little. I told him I would always be
there if he needed me for anything, but I'm absolutely sure he will never
seek me out on his own. I guess this is the way things are just supposed to
be, and I am finally getting used to it after 20 years. But, I have never
loved anyone else, and sometimes I truly doubt I ever will.

"Your prison is walking through this world all alone.

Desperado, why don't you come to your senses?
Come down from your fences, and open the gate.
It may be rainin', but there's a rainbow above you.
You better let somebody love you, before it's too late."


Still great words after all these years; thanks so much Don and Glen. And,
thanks to you for reading this. Comments or questions may be sent to
Rickdog36@gay.com