Date: Sat, 14 Nov 1998 08:28:11 -0500
From: Charlie <charlieje@mindspring.com>
Subject: Kenny_7

       This is a story about a love between two young boys.  The usual
disclaimers apply: If you are under the age of 18, or reading such material
is illegal in your jurisdiction, then please leave this story unread now.
There are within the story explicit descriptions of sex between boys, but
that is not the main theme; so if your thing is reading stories that are
purely sex in nature then this story will probably not be to your liking.
       The story is made up of both fact and fantasy. The people herein are
real, but their names have been changed. The rest of the story, as I said,
is a mixture of fact and fantasy . . .  perhaps how I wish it had happened.
As to what is fact and what isn't, I shall keep that to myself. As usual,
comments and suggestions are welcome; flames will be ignored.

			 Kenny_7: Back On the Farm

       "So what in the world happened?" Mrs. Collins asked as she tenderly
cleaned my face and tried to put my face back together. Her gentle touch,
her caring manner, in spite of the horrible things I'd done to her son,
reduced me to tears again. When I finally regained my composure I told them
the whole story, with emphasis on Uncle Brad and his calling to say he
needed me.
       "You mean to say he thinks no one can run those machines like you
can?" Mr. Collins asked.
       "Yeah", I said sheepishly, "For me it's fun, a real blast! I guess I
got good at it when I wasn't looking. When he hires somebody to run the
machinery, they usually break it all up because they're not careful and
don't pay attention to any odd sounds or oil levels, grease, that sorta
thing Unc says I get emotionally involved with the machines and treat them
the way I would want to be treated - I drive them to the limit but I don't
go over it. For me it's just getting out of them what they were designed to
do."
     "That's what he tells me anyway. But sometimes I think it's a lot
simpler than that. Sometimes I think he just can't afford to hire someone.
Or maybe he's just trying to get me away for a while. I always have so much
fun there, and Unc says he can see me change from day to day while I'm
there. So maybe it's just a chance for me to get away for a while, y'know?
Sort of a retreat."

       "You've gotta go," Kenny announced, tears in his eyes. "He's your
buddy, your true dad, Charlie, no matter who your father is. He needs you
and you can help him, so you gotta go."
       "He might not need me so bad after tonight," I said ruefully, "I
don't know how he'll take the news, and you can just bet he's heard by
now."
       "Don't be too sure," Mr. Collins interjected, "From what you tell us
he seems like a pretty special man. You might be surprised how he reacts.
But be that as it may, Kenny's right - you do have to go, and the sooner
the better." And so I did. Of course I had no wheels, so I took the bus.
Kenny was given the task of making my excuses at the hospital, so I had
caught the early one. Now I had three hours to sit there alone with my
thoughts.

       Uncle Brad and I were very close, but I had to face who and what he
was. First of all, he was my father's brother. Secondly, he had grown up in
a small farming community, had never been any more than 300 miles from
home, and was surrounded by an entire village of very conservative Baptists
that simply didn't understand things that were relatively commonplace in
the city. So I was fully expecting that my close ties with my favorite
uncle would soon suffer a serious blow. By noon I had arrived and looked
out the bus window to see Uncle Brad and Aunt Melanie standing waiting for
me. They were smiling, which I took as a good sign.
       
       I went through another round of "What in the world happened?"
questions, which I evaded by saying simply that I'd got into a fight.
Obviously Father hadn't called his brother, but then he'd have had to
explain why my face looked like beefsteak, wouldn't he? It was only that
evening as we did the milking, did I let it all out. That was 'our' time,
Unc and me. That was when we planned the next day, when we shared our
problems (well, mostly I shared mine, and then he supported me).  He was
not a man to show much emotion, but he managed to administer support when
it was needed all the same.

       "So about your face," Unc said as soon as all the milkers were
hanging from cows and the machines were running, "Your father did that,
didn't he?"
       "Yes, sir," I answered.
       "But why? What could possibly make him so mad?"
       "Well, I sorta said some things about Ellen that weren't very nice."
       "Yup, that'll do it," he observed. "But still, how could you say
something that'd make him that mad? Did you call her a whore or something?"
       "Something like that." Now Unc was aghast. Knowing my father's
temper, and knowing I had sampled it so many times, he'd thought I would
have known better. "Why don't you tell me about it?"  he said, "I mean, ALL
of it!"
       
       There was a short delay while we changed the milkers which had
finished on the cows they were on. He had two units, each doing two cows at
a time. He took one unit and I took the other, so in only five minutes or
so we had transferred the machines and again had a few minutes to talk.
This was our routine: Attach the milkers, talk, move the milkers, talk
again. We were quite a team, Unc and me! For most farmers milking time was
a chore, something that they had to do, morning and night, like it or not.
But for me it was a special time, and many's the time I had cried on Unc's
shoulders during milking time. If those cows could talk they'd have an
earful to tell.
       
       "Dad was saying some pretty nasty things about my friend Kenny, and
what we were doing. I said it was certainly no worse than what he'd done
with Ellen, and one thing led to another until he completely lost it."
       "So what are you and Kenny doing, robbing banks, kidnaping young
girls and raping them? What?" It had been an attempt at humor, but one that
completely escaped me. I started to cry, and I mean really CRY!
       "I'd rather die than tell you this, Unc," I blubbered. At that point
I was hoping, wishing, that he'd take me in his arms, but he didn't. It
just wasn't his way. DAMN that stupid male ego anyway! "Kenny and I..." I
went on when I could, "We... we're lovers. We're queer, Unc! We've been
together since last Christmas and we're really in love. I don't know how it
happened, but it's happened."
       There was a deathly silence in the barn, The cattle seemed to sense
this was not the time for their usual din and went silent.  Only the
throbbing of the milking machines broke the silence, now sucking on empty
teats because the cows were done. But the machines were forgotten.
       "Is that all?" Unc said, "He beat you up for that?"
       "Unc, I don't think you heard me right. I said..."
       "I heard what you said! I've known, or at least suspected, since you
first started coming to the farm. But what's that got to do with your
getting the snot beat out of you?"
       "But Unc, I've heard you say, in plain language, that you'd rather
die than touch another man's prick! I've heard you say it!"
       "Yup, and I'll say it again. I'd rather die than eat liver too, but
that doesn't mean that I go around beating the shit out of everyone who
eats liver! I don't understand it, don't know what causes it, if anything
does, but I know it exists and I know you. You're a fine bright boy, and a
little thing like this shouldn't screw up your whole life.  It's certainly
not going to change how I feel about you. Just because your preferences in
bed are different from mine doesn't change who you are.  You're the finest
machine operator I've ever seen. You're a super student, smart, witty, a
hell of a pianist and from what I hear organist too. Shit, Charlie, you've
got more to offer the world that any ten old farmers like me. So your
preferences in the hay are different than most. So what?"
       "One more thing," Unc said after we'd changed the milkers again,
"Make no mistake, your father loves you very much. He just can't show it
like other men can. And he's very proud of you!"
       "That just doesn't cut it, Unc," I protested, He has never, NEVER
given me any reason to think he cares anything about me.  And as for being
proud, what on earth have I ever done to make him proud? I'm just a little
wimp who can't fight, don't play sports, and now I'm attracted to other
boys! He's a big tough cop, and I play the piano and sing! When Mom was
alive I was a Momma's boy and made no effort to hide it. We have nothing in
common. What have I ever done to make him proud of me?"
       "What haven't you done?" Unc returned, "You're a talented kid,
Charlie, but what's more important, you use the talent you've got. And make
no mistake, I've sat up here and watched all the goings on in your house,
and believe me, you're one tough kid! In spite of all that's happened that
no one should have to deal with, you're doing just fine!  Now, are we gonna
do some haying or what!"
       At that moment I wanted to throw my arms around him and hug the
breath out of him; but Unc was not an emotional person, at least not
openly. But I knew how to thank him, and I did.
       There's an old saying I'm sure most people have heard: "Make hay
while the sun shines." I am convinced that expression was born in eastern
Canada. Summers there can be absolutely glorious, or, they can be wet and
soggy. And when that kind of summer is upon you, it's nigh impossible to
cut quality hay because it always gets rained on, and half the food value
goes right back into the ground. That was the kind of summer Uncle Brad was
having. At 5 AM Tuesday morning we were in the barn again milking; by 6 I
was on the John Deere mowing every blade of grass I could find. By noon the
first of the hay I'd cut was dry and Unc was raking it. "You'd better
stop," he advised, "It's gonna rain tomorrow and we'll never get it all
baled."
       "Watch me!" I said, and kept on mowing. By the time we quit at 11
that night we had cut, raked, and baled over 20 acres of hay, and most of
it was in the barn. We were a team, Unc and me. Man and boy, with one
common objective in mind, and not an erotic thought between us. It was
always refreshing to love someone so much without all the hormonal baggage
getting in the way. That's the way Dad and I should be, I thought ruefully.
       Wednesday it rained so we couldn't work in the fields, so I spent
the day in the main barn floor working on the tractor: changing the oil,
greasing it, tightening up what had come loose, checking it over. Poor Unc
was the subject of no small amount of my wrath, because he'd not been
taking care of the machinery like he should.
       "That's why I don't break machinery," I scolded, "'Cause I keep it
in tip top shape. When it's running right, you can press it as hard as you
like and it won't break." Of course Unc already knew this, because he
himself had taught me. But when you're up against it, trying to get the
work done, it's easy enough to forget.
       As I crawled around the tractor, I got to thinking that Unc really
needed me, and I needed him! It even occurred to me that if I stayed on the
farm, a lot of the complications in my life would go away. Of course Kenny
would be history too, but in my mental state just then, so peaceful on the
farm, being able to state my mind to an adult when I wanted, even give him
hell when it was warranted, looked very attractive to me. I found myself
wondering if it might not be worth it.  But the pull of Kenny and my love
for him was too strong.  Unc saw it in my eyes, the way I spoke of Kenny,
the way I was all business, seemingly allowing nothing to stand in the way
of getting that hay cut so I could get home.
       The rest of the week was fine and sunny, and so was most of the next
week. There were lots of things around the farm that needed doing, so we
worked like Trojans every day getting things done up.

       
       "WOW!" Kenny exclaimed as I stepped off the bus, "Do you ever look
great!" It was two weeks later, the haying was done, and I had retained my
reputation as the baling king of York County. I was tanned and toned,
refreshed, and smiling. My bruises had faded and my cuts healed, as had my
soul. The farm always had that effect on me, and this time was no
exception. Little did I know at that time that I would never again operate
a baler, or any other farm machine for that matter.
       It had never occurred to me until that very moment.  When I was
little I always had eczema really bad. I mean, my arms would break out so
badly that they would bleed, and there was simply no escape from the
itching. I had always been told it was caused by a severe allergy to dust,
and even took shots twice a week for over two years until I quit, saying
they were doing no good. But in June when school was out, I would hightail
it to the farm for the summer, and within days my eczema was completely
cleared up! One would think it would have gotten much worse, because I have
yet to see a dust-free farm. Funny, isn't it? I mean, how we think about
things like that long after it doesn't matter any more. But that's the
effect that farm had on me.
       
       "How'd it go?" Kenny asked as soon as we'd gathered my luggage.
       "Not bad," I responded, "We got the hay all in, in between rainy
days.
       "That's wonderful!" Kenny retorted sarcastically, "But you know what
I'm talking about."
       "Yeah, I do," I said as I put my hand on his shoulder, "Kenny, you
would not believe it! He went on and on about how talented I am, how much I
had to give to the world, how I shouldn't let a little thing like my sexual
preference rule my life. An hour after I'd told him it was like the whole
thing never happened."
       "So you feel better, huh?"
       "A LOT better! Kinda horny too."
       "I already knew that, you sex maniac. How's about we go to the
fishing cabin for a few days?"
       "Not a good idea," I observed, "If I got you up there the way I feel
right now I think I'd fuck you to death."
       "You wish," he retorted, "Remember, I haven't had any for two weeks
either."
       
       There would be no sex that night, at least not the way we'd planned.
Mr. Collins told us in the car going home that he'd managed to get my
father to come over for a talk after supper. He said that he had no problem
with my staying as long as I wanted, but he wanted to hear Dad's side of
the whole thing, just for the record. Well, as much as the idea frightened
me, I had to admit it was fair enough.
       "And you," he said, talking directly to me in a tone I'd not heard
before, "You have to promise to behave!"
       "I always behave," I said, trying to make light of the situation.
       "I mean it, Charlie! You have GOT to keep your cool.  The whole
thing will be for nothing if you fly off the handle and we end up having a
brawl."
       "Yes, sir," I agreed, knowing that he was trying to do something for
me that I couldn't do for myself.
       
       When Father arrived, he had Ellen in tow. I bristled when I saw her.
One of the other benefits of sitting on a farm tractor is that you're alone
with your thoughts, for hours at a time. It was there that I'd concluded
that Ellen was a killer, that she'd killed my mom as surely as if she'd
taken a gun and shot her. So I certainly had no use for her, no desire to
be on the same planet with her! On the other hand I was a little grateful
she was there because I knew that my temper, and probably my blood
pressure, had just gone up a few notches so I was more ready to face what I
expected would be a bloody battle.
       
       "The reason I asked you over tonight," Mr. Collins said when we were
all seated, "Is that Charlie here is pretty miserable and I suspect you are
too, Don, after your little spat a few weeks ago.  I'm hoping we can find a
way to reconcile you and your son."
       "Son?" Dad said with no expression on his face, "What son?"
       "Oh," I flared, "Does that mean you've disowned me?  That's great!
Now I can be with people who think I'm more than a piece of dirt!"
       "Charlie," Mr. Collins warned, "Give it a chance, ok?"
       "Yes, sir," I said, truly sheepish that I'd drawn the first blood,
so to speak.
       "That's what I'm dealing with!" Dad accused, "I get no respect from
that kid. I've fed him and clothed him all these years, supported his artsy
sissy ways, and he hardly ever speaks to me."
       "He's afraid of you, Don!" I wanted to protest and yell there's no
way I'm afraid of him, but I didn't. It would have been a lie anyway and I
knew it. I was terrified of him!
       "I have never done anything to him that he didn't deserve. He's a
hard kid to understand, Bob! Wait'll you've lived with him a while."
        Mr. Collins somehow sensed that I was about to go off again, so he
slipped his hand onto my knee and squeezed. I looked at Kenny and took his
hand when he offered it. I noticed Ellen watching, then nudging my dad. I
gripped Kenny's had tighter.
       "We've seen an awful lot of Charlie in the past few months," Mr.
Collins went on, "and what I have seen is a very frightened, confused young
man. He has been cooperative, respectful, helpful, truthful..."
       "Regular little angel," my dad said sarcastically, "But you wait.
He'll turn on you just like he turned on me."
       "I didn't turn on you," I said, using every ounce of will power I
had to keep from going off again, "I don't even know you! I can't please
you 'cause I don't know how."
       "Well, you could start by forgetting all that queer stuff and
staying away from... from..."
       "From me?" Kenny offered, "Go ahead and say it, you think I'm a bad
influence."
       Mr. Collins scolded Kenny, telling him that this was complicated
enough without him getting into the act.
       "But I AM the act, Dad!" he argued, "I'm the reason for the whole
thing! And you all might as well know, the only person that's gonna keep me
away from Charlie is Charlie himself. I love him and I don't care who knows
it!" Our hands gripped each other tighter.
       "That's what we're dealing with," my dad said triumphantly, "Two
little faggots that have no idea what they're saying or doing, and refusing
to listen to anyone, or even trying to get over their sick perversion."
       "I prefer to call them two gay young men," Bob countered, "And I
don't believe there will be any getting over it, that's just the way they
are."
       "That doesn't surprise me," Dad said more to Ellen than anyone else.
"Look at him! He's probably one too! Maybe the whole damned family is queer
and they're the ones who turned Charlie." I was expecting Bob to react to
this comment, but he remained calm, which frustrated my dad no end. He was
obviously looking for a fight and he'd found none, only reason and logic.
       "Who here is or is not gay is not the point, Don," he said calmly,
"The point is that you and your son have a huge gulf between you and it
didn't start the night he made his big announcement. The question is, when
did it start, and why? And what can we do about it now?"
       "Can I say something?" I asked in my Sunday best little boy voice,
"Without interruption that is? Please?"
       "Now we're gonna hear it!" Dad said, "all the terrible things I've
done to him and what a son-of-a-bitch I am"
       "That's the reason I asked you to come here, Don," Mr. Collins said
with a sigh, "I think you two need a mediator so we can talk more calmly
and rationally. Go ahead, Charlie, we'll listen."
       
       "When I was a little boy, I mean six or seven years old, I was so
happy! We were a family then, just Mom and you, Joanie and me." I glanced
quickly at Ellen. She was glaring at me sharply, or so I thought.  "I
thought you were the most wonderful dad in the world! I was Charlie, the
cop's son! I got teased at school. They would say something like 'don't
mess with Charlie, his old man's a cop.' I would always correct them and
tell them the correct term for my father was 'POLICEMAN,' not 'COP!' Their
teasing didn't even bother me cause I was proud of you! So proud nothing
they could say could shake me! Mom was tutoring me and teaching me music, I
KNEW I was loved, and I loved my life and my family. Oh sure, I got
spankings, and hard ones! But I probably deserved them.
       "One day when I was nine you took me to the police station. You had
a prisoner you had to transport to the prison and you were gonna take me. I
was so thrilled that you thought I was old enough! We were in the station,
you in your uniform along with all the other men there, and they started
making a big thing out of me being there.  'So this is your son?' one of
them said. 'Yep,' you answered, 'That's my boy!'  Dad, I was so proud
inside, hearing you say 'that's my boy!' I WAS your boy! Your son! You have
no idea how close my chest came to bursting that day!
       "Then the man asked, 'How old is he?' Why the hell he didn't ask me
I'll never know. My life might have been totally different if he had just
acknowledged that I was a real person and could speak for myself, but he
didn't, he asked you. Do you remember what you said?"
        Dad didn't answer, just looked at me blankly.
       "I didn't think so," I went on, "There's no reason why you should.
But I remember! I remember like it was yesterday!"
       I started to cry. I hated myself for crying at this point in my
story, but the tears simply would not be denied.
       "You said, 'I don't know!' Then you turned to me and said 'How old
are you, anyway?'"
       "Well shit!" my father exclaimed, "I'm sorry, but I don't get the
point. So I forgot your age! Does that make me a terrible father?"
       "You didn't forget, Dad," I sobbed, "You didn't know! It wasn't that
important to you! Since Mom got sick I have never got so much as a card
from you! I know we aren't rich, I don't expect a million dollar present,
but if you can't remember your own son's birthday, what am I supposed to
think?"
       "You're supposed to think the truth: that I'm a man who can't
remember things like birthdays."
       "Only birthdays of people you care about," I corrected, "I bet you
know when Ellen's birthday is!" Kenny squeezed my hand as if to say "Good
one, Charlie!" then he released it and left the room.  My comment started
the shouting again and it took Bob some time to get us all calmed down. By
that time Kenny was back. I assumed he'd gone to the bathroom.
       
       "I hope I'm not out of line, sir," Kenny said to my dad," But I got
something to say. We're trying to find out what's in Charlie's head and
yours to see if we can't get you two together, right?"
       "Couldn't have said it better myself," Bob said proudly.
       "Well, here's another example of how Charlie feels.  Sorry Charlie
if this is embarrassing, but I think it's important, and I have always
thought that ever since I found out. Ever since Charlie's been coming over
here he and I have been sharing my room, and my bed."
       "I'll just bet you have!" Dad said as he glared at Kenny, then shot
an accusing glance at Bob.
       "We've been sharing something else of mine too," Kenny went on
undaunted.
       "If you're gonna give us a blow by blow of what you kids do in that
room," Dad said in a raised voice, "I for one don't want to hear it!"
       "You won't have to," Kenny shot back, "What we do in private is our
business! And it's far too sacred to bring into this conversation."
       
       I don't think I'd ever seen my dad so taken aback by that simple
remark. Could it be that he saw something in what Kenny had said that made
sense to him? That helped him understand how we felt?  I wondered, but I
wasn't very hopeful. But Kenny went on.
       "What I'm talking about is underwear. Charlie wears my underwear
most of the time."
       "I thought we weren't gonna get the sordid details!"  Dad said
smugly.
       "This has nothing to do with sex or our love! It's a matter of
choice. Let me ask you this: Which would YOU wear if you had a choice,
this?" He threw a pair of snow-white, almost new briefs on the floor, "or
THIS?" and he threw down another pair: grayed, holy, stiff from too much
washing and not enough rinsing.
       "So what's your point? If Charlie was wearing underwear like that,
it's his own fault! He needs his ass kicked for getting so grungy. All he
had to do was ask and he'd get new underwear, or anything else he needed."
       "The point is, sir," Kenny went on, being very careful to show the
utmost respect as his accusation hit home, "that Charlie was afraid to ask
you for money for underwear! Or school supplies! Or shoes! I told him he
shouldn't be so foolish, that surely you wouldn't mind him asking for
things like that! He said it just wasn't worth it, that he'd had the
lecture about 'why can't you take care of things? You think money grows on
trees' too many times, and he'd rather go without."
       "That's really too bad," Dad countered, "We all have a right to new
underwear, don't we?" He was starting to be condescending, almost making
fun of Kenny. I knew that was a big mistake. Kenny was full of
self-confidence; Kenny knew who he was and there was no question in his
mind that he was somebody, and wouldn't take any crap from anyone,
including his lover's father.
       "Yes, sir," he answered in that same steady, calm voice that I envied
so much. Envied because he could keep so calm, or at least appear so, when
I knew better: I could feel his whole body trembling.
       "We do all have a right to clean underwear. And we all have a right
to ask for the basics from our parents. We all have a right NOT to have to
reveal that our private parts are SORE from rubbing against this garbage!"
Kenny kicked the old grungy briefs for effect.
       
       We went back and forth, round and round after that.  We really
didn't accomplish anything in terms of a reconciliation, but we did
establish more or less officially that I could stay with the Collins'
indefinitely. I tried to bring up the issue of financial support, citing
that there was a cost associated with taking on another teenager, but Dad
wouldn't hear of it and Bob said it's not an issue. So at least I had a
more-or-less permanent home.
       
       "You were somethin' tonight!" I exclaimed when we were in bed.
       "You mean you're not mad at me?" Kenny said apprehensively, "I kinda
told the world about your sore dick. And you've been awful quiet ever since
they left."
       "Not mad," I answered as I embraced him, "Just thinking."
       "About what?"
       "About how bad I want you!"
       There was no more talk, We were locked together in a tight embrace,
Kissing deeply and passionately. "I think you need a shave down and
massage," Kenny announced.
       "Not tonight," I answered, "I'm too wiped. Besides, I already got
what I need."
       
       "Oh, by the way," I said after I'd wiped Kenny's semen off my chin
for the third time, "Unc wants to meet you. He says anybody that can turn
my head, male or female, has got to be pretty special and he invited you
and me up some weekend. He asked me if we'd ever done it in a barn full of
hay."
       "Always a first time for everything," Kenny grinned at me.
       In the morning we busied ourselves getting things ready for work,
which was starting Monday moring at 6:30 AM.
       
       "Morning, Charlie!" the head nurse exclaimed when I walked into the
ER, "Have a nice vacation?"
       "Well," I answered, "It wasn't much of a vacation, But it was nice."
       "Kenny told us you were working on a farm, but it looks more to me
like you were working on your tan at the beach."
       "I wish!" I answered, "No, I spent the time on an old tractor with
my shirt off."
       "I thought you only took your clothes off for Kenny!" She said with
a wink. I took a quick look around to see if anyone else had heard - they
hadn't. I ignored the comment and walked on to the change room to get into
my orderly white's.
       
       "What the heck did she mean by that?" I demanded of Kenny as we
changed.
       "I dunno," he said blankly, "But I guess they know."
       "How? You say anything?"
       "Nope. But I guess I was kinda out of sorts last week with you gone.
She must've put two and two together. I guess we gotta face it that people
will eventually figure it out."
       I wasn't real sure I was ready for that kind of publicity, but over
the rest of the summer I discovered that our 'secret' was no secret at all
around the hospital. And I have to admit that in a way, it was a bit of a
turn-on, knowing that we didn't have to use all our efforts hiding and
sneaking around, knowing that they knew what we were up to.  But as I got
more involved in the hospital community, I found a lot of tolerance there.
From hearing their talk and gossip about others, I knew that they talked
about us behind our backs, but in our presence they were always respectful
and pleasant. I had even expected that we'd be kept away from male
patients, because in the course of our duties there were things we had to
do that could be considered 'intimate,' like helping men and boys use the
bathroom, dressing or undressing them, etc.  But there was an unspoken code
of professionalism, even at our lowly level, which everyone seemed to
share.
       When school started again in September, Kenny got a pleasant
surprise. A group of students and teachers had organized a swim team, and
he was one of the first to be approached to sign up. I could see the light
in his deep brown eyes become even brighter, if that's possible.
       "What do you think?" he asked as we did our homework, "Should I
join?"
       "That's a no-brainer," I replied, "You've been wanting to be on a
swim team as long as I've known you. Of course you should join!"
       "But there's hours and hours of practice. I'll have to quit my job
at the hospital."
       "What's the big deal with that? It's all about doing what you want,
if you possibly can. And I don't mind sharing my pay for spending money, if
that's what you're worrying about."
       "But that's your college money," he protested.
       "It'll work out," I assured him, "I can work all through college." I
didn't tell Kenny this, but I'd been starting to really wonder if I could
go to college anyway. There was the financial problem, but also I had
serious doubts that I could stick to the books for four or five more years
after high school.
       Kenny did join the swim team. He had to get up at 5 AM every day and
swim for two hours, then off to school, then back in the pool for another
two hours before he got home. I volunteered to drive him because I'd
planned to attend his practices and meets anyway, even thought I might join
the team myself, if only in my fantasies. So in good weather we both took
off on my little motorbike; when the weather wasn't so nice we took the
Collins car.
       I wasn't prepared for all the sights and temptations that began to
experience as I accompanied my star swimmer to the pool twice each day. I
had always admired Kenny's hard athletic body; but I soon discovered that
his was not the only swimmer's body, nor was it the only one I found
attractive.

     It was mid October and well into the new school year.  Kenny and I had
most of our classes together, the only exceptions being English
Composition, French, and Gym. Timmy and Ron were both in my English
Comp. Class, but there were no real friends in the other two. I was having
a rather easy time of it, because being a repeater I'd already had most of
the work. There were exceptions though, with different teachers who of
course had different expectations.
     I had all but forgotten the altercation with my father (I called him
my father now, not my dad). I had been home a few times to pick up this or
that belonging, but there was no discussion, no talk of my coming home.
Father and Ellen were not unfriendly, but there was an undeniable stiffness
in our conversations, consisting mainly of things like how's school,
everything ok, etc. It was probably all in my mind, but I thought I sensed
a "don't care" attitude; but then how could anyone blame them after the
tongue lashing I'd given them?

     One Saturday afternoon, Kenny had a special swim practice for an
upcoming meet, so I stayed home to do some homework, specifically a
composition. Timmy came over to get some help. As bright as he was, he
could not be considered a creative writer. Mom and Dad Collins had gone out
to do some early Christmas shopping, which left Timmy and me alone in the
house. We were in Kenny's (OUR) room sitting at my desk, each writing our
own work, with each of us consulting with the other when the need arose.

     "What's it like?" Timmy asked suddenly.
     "What's what like?" I inquired.
     "You know," he answered nervously, "Being with Kenny."
     "Kenny's a great guy!" I stated emphatically, "I always love being
with him no matter what we're doing."
     "I didn't mean that. I meant... well, you know, the things you do.
What's it like, Charlie?" It was obvious to me from his size, still showing
no signs of puberty, that he'd had no sexual experience whatsoever. He had
finally been diagnosed as having a growth hormone problem that would
eventually resolve itself, but that resolution had shown no signs of
appearing yet.
     "It's hard to explain, Timmy," I told him, "But it's the most
wonderful thing I've ever experienced. It's like... well, the only word I
can think of is the word 'intimate.' When Kenny and I are together, I mean
THAT kinda together, it's as if we aren't two people, but we're all
one. It's really awesome!"
     "Can you show me?" he said shakily, "I mean, can we try it?"
     I was truly shocked! I had never dreamed that Timmy had any interest
in same-gender sex; I actually hadn't thought of him as having any interest
in sex of any kind, but I suppose we all do.  Even if he did look more like
11 or 12, Timmy was 14 and very bright, so there wasn't much that escaped
him. I looked at him standing there, a pleading look on his face. I had to
admit that he was a truly beautiful creature. As if to reinforce my
thoughts, he looked up at me and removed his glasses. The transformation
was incredible! I'd been wrong, he wasn't beautiful, he was absolutely
gorgeous!
     "Timmy," I stammered, "I can't! I wish I could, but I just can't!"
     One of the things that really irritated Timmy was that most people
talked down to him, probably because of his size. I'm ashamed to say that I
was no exception.
     "Kenny and I," I exclaimed, "We're lovers. That means we've made a
commitment to each other, and part of that commitment is to be faithful,
and not have sex with anyone else. Believe me I think sex with you would be
great! But I can't."
     "I understand all that," he said, somewhat frustrated, "I just thought
we could, you know, try it. I just want to know what it's like. We wouldn't
have to tell Kenny if you think it'd bother him."
     "I don't THINK it'd bother him," I answered, "I KNOW it would! In fact
that's a rule that Kenny's dad made when I came here to live. And we both
agreed to it. I'm sorry Timmy, I just can't. I'll answer any questions you
have, but we just can't do it."
     As I've said, Timmy was far from stupid, and he did understand. He
understood so well that he completely turned off the mood and I never heard
about it again. It made me admire him even more. This was a guy who would
make someone a wonderful lover some day, and in spite of myself I felt
pangs of regret that I would not be that lover.

     It was only a week after the incident with Timmy when Kenny had his
first meet. Anyone who has been involved with a swimmer can relate to the
boredom friends, parents, supporters of swimmers experience. At swim
practice you sit and watch the team swim back and forth, forth and back in
the pool. At meets it gets even worse. You sit and wait for the one or two
swimmers you're interested in to get on the blocks. Then the gun fires and
you are treated to two or three minutes of shouting and cheering, egging
your reason on to victory. And then perhaps a half hour of sheer boredom as
you watch all the other events until your person is another event. Of
course all during that time Kenny was cheering all the events, because of
course they were his teammates; he knew them and wished them well. So
eventually I got super-bored, and started wandering around the building.
     We were in a town about 100 miles from home, in a fairly new building
with an Olympic sized pool. I wandered around for a few minutes, admiring
the facilities, wondering if I'd ever be able to swim well enough to join
the team. I wandered into the locker rooms, and just looked around at the
facilities. When I heard the shower running I went to the door and looked
in. There stood the most gorgeous creature I'd ever seen! He was lathering
up, which only served to enhance his already gorgeous body.
     He looked to be 16 or 17, black, and extremely muscular. As he moved
around soaping himself, his muscles rippled in every part of his body. I
felt a stirring in my loins that heretofore only Kenny had invoked. I
decided that his was no place for me; but my feet were seemingly nailed to
the floor. I couldn't move, so mesmerized was I by the sight that presented
itself to me.
     "Be out in a sec," he called to me. I wondered if he'd thought I was
someone I knew. Sure enough, he rinsed off quickly and walked toward me.
     "You're here for the meet, right?" he said cheerily when he was
standing about a foot from me, he deep blue eyes locked on mine. I had the
strongest urge to run my hands over the shoulders of this perfect creation
I couldn't speak. When I finally got my composure I explained that I'd got
bored watching the meet and was just wandering around.
     "I can help you with the boredom," he offered, "My name is Andy,
what's yours?"
     "Ch-Charlie," I answered.
     "You wanna go somewhere?" Andy asked as he pulled on his pants."
     "Like where?" I said blankly. I had no idea what he had in mind.
     "I know a place downstairs that's really cool," he offered. I could
see no harm in that, so I agreed.

     We were in the bowels of the building, in a small meeting room.  There
were no lights on, but I could hear sounds that indicated that we weren't
alone. "Don't worry about them," Andy assured me, "They're doing the same
thing. They won't bother us."
     There was no more talking. Before I knew it I felt hands on my belt
buckle, then my pants were around my ankles and my briefs were descending
quickly to join them. I knew better, wanted to resist, but I didn't.
Instead I placed my hands on those wide, muscular, ebony shoulders and
reveled in their hardness, their width. I slipped my hands down inside the
neck of his shirt as I felt the warmth of Andy's lips encircle my growing
hardness.

     I won't go into a lot of detail, because I'm sure you get the idea. We
sucked each other twice, each time rewarding the other's efforts with an
earth shattering orgasm. It was wonderful! So wonderful, in fact, that the
guilt I felt afterwards was more intense than I'd thought possible.  Andy
simply couldn't get enough! But I knew I was in trouble. I tried to decide
that I just wouldn't tell Kenny, but I knew that simply wasn't going to
work.

     "You did what?" Kenny exclaimed in the car going home.  He'd had a
good meet; he didn't win any heats, but he'd improved his personal time,
which was what most swimmers really care about. But I had just confessed to
him and asked him to forgive me.
     "I kinda got carried away with a guy I met in the locker room," I said
sheepishly.
     "What exactly did you do?" Kenny asked.
     "Is it important?" I asked defensively.
     "It is to me, Kenny said. I'd never seen Kenny quite so threatening.
     "OK," I answered, "I guess you have a right to know.  We gave each
other a blow job. Well, two each actually."

     Kenny was very quiet the rest of the way home. I knew he'd be angry,
but I guess I didn't know how angry. I tried to say things like how well
he'd done today in the meet, to which he replied sharply, "I don't know how
you could know, you were busy elsewhere, weren't you?" Eventually I gave up
and just drove home.
     "Your bed is over there," Kenny directed as I tried to crawl in with
him, "And tomorrow, I think you'd better plan on moving into the spare
room"

     "But," I protested, trying to lighten the mood, "I've already driven
Robbie out of his bed once. I don't know if it's fair to do it again."
     "Robbie's away at school and won't be home till Christmas," he
answered, "By then we should have this worked out."
     "Does that mean you're kicking me out?" I asked, starting to get
somewhat annoyed.
     "It means," Kenny said emphatically, "I thought we had an agreement,
and now I find out that we didn't have anything!"
     "But Kenny," I pleaded, "I only..."
     "You only got it on with some guy you didn't even know. Have you
forgotten already the talk Dad gave us? Didn't you hear about all the
diseases you could get? Isn't it important to you that we can be so free
with each other 'cause we trust each other? Where's that trust now,
Charlie? I really don't now where I fit, Charlie."
     "Kenny," I defended, "I don't think you're being fair. Are you saying
you don't want us to be together any more? And because I screwed up one
time?"
     "I don't know, Charlie. I just don't know. We were so special, so...
well we had it all! Now I just don't know. I love you so much! I would
never think of doing such a thing! And now I just don't know what you're
thinking. I guess I'm wondering why you're here."
     "Maybe you'd like it better if I moved back home." I said. Hearing
myself say those words hit me like a thunderbolt. It seemed so final! I had
grown to love the whole Collins family and never once thought of the
possibility that they would ever be anything but my family. It wasn't what
I wanted, but I wasn't thinking straight, and lately I'd had a history of
screwing up everything I did.
     "If that's what you want," Kenny answered, "I'm not gonna tell you to
leave 'cause it's not my place. You'll have to take that up with Dad and
Mom."
     "Kenny," I said, trying to show my hurt in my voice, "There's...
there's one more thing."
     "What's that?" he asked. His tone seemed to have softened. I was
hopeful, but at the same time the "poor me" syndrome was working overtime.
     "The bracelets," I said tentatively, "You put mine on me and I put
yours on you. We made a vow, that no one would take mine off but you, and
no one would take yours off but me. Do you want to take mine off?"
     "I made another vow," Kenny answered, "That I'd never be the first to
do that. But if you want to, here's my wrist."
     I looked at the hand Kenny had extended to me. I took it in mine and
caressed the back of it. It was so smooth, so soft to the touch. I looked
at the bracelet, turned it over so the intertwined hearts were showing, and
I remembered how happy we'd been, how we'd worn those bracelets so proudly
for almost a year. "I can't, Kenny," I whispered softly, "I still love you
and I can't take it off. If I took it off that would mean I don't want to
be your lover any more and that's just not the case. I don't ever want to
give you up."
     "Charlie," Kenny said as tears began to flow in both our eyes, "I love
you so much! Why don't you just use the other bed till I figure this whole
thing out? Right now I'm so mad, so hurt, so disappointed, I don't know
what I want. We were so free with each other, so completely open and
carefree 'cause we knew we were both clean and pure, and now I just don't
know. There's the love and trust side of this, but there's also the
practical side. What if you picked up some disease?  Surely you don't think
you were the first for Andy! For all we know he's done that with hundreds
of different guys, and God knows what he's picked up and passed on to
you. I've got a long life ahead of me, and I want to live it with you! But
I don't want to be constantly worrying about what you've caught and are
passing it on to me."
     That, I realized, was the basic difference between Kenny and me. He
was looking forward to a long life, while I was living just for today. I
had never even considered the possibility of being middle aged, or older.
Before I'd met Kenny I'd even thought about suicide, because in my mind I
had no future, had no one but my mom who cared for me, would care one way
or the other whether I lived or died. "For what it's worth," I said as I
continued to stroke his beautiful hand lightly, "I've learned my lesson.
I'm so sorry I did it, and I'll never do such a thing again.  Please
forgive me?"
     "I can forgive you," he answered, "But I'm not sure I can forget. I'm
not sure we can ever be the same as we were. We're just gonna have to wait
and see. If I can't get over it, then I guess we're gonna have to break
up. I'm sorry, Charlie, but that's what our love means to me. It's all or
nothing."
     I kissed his hand, told him I loved him, and went to bed. It was the
first time in a long time that I'd slept alone, and the feeling wasn't very
nice! I doubt that I slept at all that night, and I knew Kenny hadn't
either. I was so angry at myself for being so stupid. How could I have done
such a thing? But there it was, and there was no un-doing it.

       
       If you like this story or have any comments or criticisms, please
e-mail them to charlieje@mindspring.com. When I started this project I never
dreamed it would get so long; but the more I type, the more I remember, the
more I feel needs to be said. And to all who are patient enough to read it,
a very hearty THANK YOU! It's very therapeutic to write down your feelings
and experiences, especially when there are kind readers.  Thanks again!