Date: Thu, 31 Mar 2016 08:32:47 +0200
From: cameron castle <niftychuckles@mail.com>
Subject: boys by the bay/ part 8/ truth

This is a short story of the life of a kid growing up in the late 70`s.
This whole thing is nothing more than one big lie! This is why we call it
fiction. So, none to the names or places should be considered real.

Having said that, if you are prohibited from reading sexual content due to
age, banned by local law, or have issue with reading stories of people
engaging in sex within the following pages, stop reading now and go find
the Disney page. This bit of fiction is not for you! You are warned!

All the copy rights and legal crap that normally apply and sited for
stories posted here also apply to this story. This story cannot be
reproduced without the consent of the author.



Please support Nifty.org with donations and contribute some scribbles...
It's kind of fun.



Chapter 8: Truth:


"Why didn't you call?  We'd come get you...  There's nothing so bad you
should go off and hide." He whispered in my ear as he hugged me tight.
"Please.. Please never, never do this again...  You have no idea what
losing you is like for all of us."

My Dad wore cologne distinct to him.  That "Dad" scent is something
children accept but rarely investigate, other than buying cheap Brute or
Old Spice gift sets he'll stash under the bathroom sink but never wear.
His was of a sweet musky spice and the familiarity made me want to cry.  He
hadn't seen me do that in years so I concentrated on being grown up: Men do
not cry.

On our ride home, as we rounded the bend at Gorst, all I desired was the
bay.  Will and David were on my mind as the only people I really wanted to
see.  My parents weren't in the mix because they'd kill me on sight.  At
least I thought so, until he hugged me so tight, I could barely catch
another breath.  Mama joined in wrapping her arms around both of us.  Her
arm felt limp on my back compared to Dad's but she's a girl.

Will, Greta, Sue and Tom, Greta's husband, were standing outside our front
door watching us in the drive. McCabe stood by his cruiser giving us some
privacy.

I felt the warmth of Dad's hug leave and an icy chill went through my body
as I turned watching McCabe lead my parents to the hood of his cruiser
where he had papers and pen ready for signatures.  I froze as I knew they
were discussing my fate.  It sent my heart racing so fast I could feel
pressure build between my temples as my vision telescoped on McCabe's
moving lips: I tried to read them.

As Dad signed a bunch of papers, Sue wrapped herself around me from behind.
Her hug was more than show, since it wasn't that limp Christmas thing
siblings do.  She pulled me in.  I wanted to grab her hands, rip them from
me and throw a right landing square on her jaw, but my arms were froze at
my sides.  My thoughts were "Why now?"  I had no control.

This numbness was like Novocaine injected directly in my frontal lobe.
It's the same time warp as when Dennis had me at Homestead Cemetery.  It
didn't happen all the time and the trigger eluded me for years.  I don't
remember when they started but know they happened, based upon other's
reactions of situations.

In the fifth grade, my friendship with Collin blossomed, off ice, toward
the end of the school year.  Collin's always been kind of a goon and,
between the two of us, we found love in breaking rules.  Since all of our
friends were straight laced, little Nancy boys, we got off on being
different.  I think most hockey defenseman are like this unless you play at
a Bible Camp or a pansy private school.  The thrill of eluding capture
attracted us to push against authority and be gritty, on and off the ice:
getting away with it was the ultimate high but our morals kept us form true
felony.  Social misdemeanor was enough for us.

One day, during the half hour recess, we decided to jump the fence and head
for a new road being cut through, behind our school.  The draw was much the
same as porn to a teenager: earth movers, dump trucks, graders, and
back-hoes: all little boy porn.  We hid behind some bushes, above the earth
movers whose tops passed fifteen feet below and less than a hundred feet
away from our spot.  As the equipment carved away at the side of our hill,
we became bored.  Somehow, now that we were 10 soon to be 11, the yellow
heavy equipment had lost it's hypnotic appeal, even as it shook our feet
with each pass.

Collin chucked a couple of rocks at a massive yellow, Caterpillar, earth
mover as it slowly passed below.  About every five minutes, another would
come along and we'd fire off three or four rocks a piece.  Collin won the
prize when one of his smashed a side window leaving a spiderweb fracture.
The massive machine ground to a halt.  The operator flew out of the cockpit
and climbed to the roof of the cab.  We huddled behind a huckleberry bush.
I started to crawl back to the trail on my stomach like I'd seen soldiers
do in some old 1950's World War II films on the afternoon movie.  I was
half way there and peaked back to find Collin who I sensed wasn't
following.

He stood up, flipped the guy off, and sprinted passed me laughing his ass
off.  When I stood, the operator showed no emotion as he stared me down
through his droopy, stoner, sunglasses. I backed my way through the brush
knowing he'd ID'd both of us: fucked.

Looking up the trail, Collin was out of sight.  For a big kid, he had
wheels and as hard as I tried, I couldn't catch him: sprinting, hopping
logs and dodging blackberry bushes. I found him crouched down by the chain
link fence at the schoolyard.

We were absolutely busted.  No kids in the yard and we watched Principal
Masterson walk into the woods opposite of where we hid.  No doubt the
machine operator had radioed ahead and the company called the school.
Masterson was looking for us.

When we tried to sneak back to our classroom, Ms. Nelson nabbed both of us
by the back of our shirt collars and dragged us into the shared teacher's
office between two class rooms.  I felt numbness as all the kids eyes went
wide as the sweetest teacher in the world tugged and shoved us through the
office door.

She slammed the door behind us, tugged Collin by his shirt collar, shook
him around as she screamed at him and slammed him against the blackboard
wall with a thud.  It was like listening to an adult in Charlie Brown's
world: distorted, faded, and slow garble.  I only snapped awake as she
bounced him off the back wall for a momentary snapshot.

After school, Collin excitedly re-lived the experience and told me the blow
by blow by acting it out against the exterior wall of the school as we
waited for the busses to take us home.  He explained, she had me by my
shoulders, shaking and yelling at me about daydreaming in class and hanging
around with kids like Collin.  I missed it: I only had bits and pieces but
tried not to let on.

It wasn't over.  The next morning, Masterson gave us five swats a piece.
He laid into Collin more than me as each swat of the drilled out paddle
popped and echoed off his fleshy butt cheeks.  Collin cried like a girl as
he watch me get mine.  After Masterson was finished with me, my ass stung
for hours.  I caught all of it: I remembered every slap.  The numbness
seemed selective.

A few weeks later, I was over at Collin's family farm and we were digging
through a load of river rock his neighbor had dropped on their property for
a new septic field.  We dug larger rocks out to play shot put like we'd
seen the massive Poles, East Germans and Russians throw during the
Olympics.  The game evolved and we tossed them into a flock of free roaming
Chickens his hippie neighbor let run around to control slugs and insects in
the vegetable gardens.  It was cool because they'd scatter with the
incoming mortars until one didn't.  It flopped around, with a limp, broken,
wing, in a dusty patch of freshly graded ground that dried in an early
spring heat wave.  As pain set in, it stopped moving and hunkered down, in
a rut, in the dirt road beside the rock pile.

Collin had me keep an eye on her while he ran back to his house.  He
emerged and we cornered and caught the hen beside the rock pile.  Collin
had her by her feet and held her upside down as we walked a few hundred
yards, through the pasture, and into the woods beyond.  It's weird how an
injured animal plays dead when in the grips of death.

We climbed and wound our way up a hill to a clear spot below a gigantic,
old growth, fir tree where the ground was covered with untold years of
needles that waft a sweet smell of piney decay.

Collin flipped his shirt tail from his backside and pulled out a huge
hunting knife.  He unsheathed the blade that was as shined like chrome, and
this is where I felt blinds drop over my mind.  The back of my throat
filled with an electric charge of drunken, nervousness and time began to
flutter in patches.

He grunted as he stabbed her with the shiny steel of a six inch blade.  I
watched the first plunge but then it was like his hand pounded into her
body in rapid succession and I lost focus of how many times he stabbed her
as her feathers turned pink and then deep red.  Even after she stopped
moving, Collin kept on jabbing the knife into her with his bottom lip
curled under his front teeth as he stabbed away with thrilling intensity.
Everything slowed down and felt so distant, without sound, as the numbness
set in and held me rigid.

"Where's the sheath?!" He yelled, snapping me half awake.

He dropped it after he pulled the knife from his shorts.  Things were
fogged over in my mind and I hadn't noticed anything other than that
shiney, steel, blade turning from red to pink as blood dripped off the tip.

"Jon!  Dad will kill me!  Where's the sheath?" And he gave me a shove that
woke me up a bit.  I didn't remember moving but I had and was now standing
on it.  Collin gave me another push and I stepped off.

"Jon, are you a retard or what?" Collin brushed the needles from the
leather of the sheath as he surveyed for scuffs or damage.  He then smeared
the knife along the ground attempting to clean the blade but needles stuck
to the sticky, blood, soaked, blade coating it like sprinkles on a cookie.

"Get some maple leaves!  Dad will shit bricks if he sees this...  Jon!  Get
some God damn maple leaves!  Move!" He screamed jarring me fully awake with
another push of his free hand.

I found a Big Leaf Maple a few yards away and plucked some fresher leaves
from the forest floor.  I felt like I had head cold, without the sniffles:
plugged up and dizzy.  Pushing my way back through the brush, my head began
to clear as I rationalized what we did.

I found Collin with his left short leg pulled up so his cock and balls were
poking through the leg hole.  I watched as he pissed all over her body.  He
made sure his stream soaked every inch and washed some of the blood from
her feathers.  He shook off and turned to face me, swinging his little pub
around in circles a couple of times with a devilish grin on his face.

"What'd you do that for?"  I asked.

"Keep coyotes away.  I read they won't bother stuff humans touch and steer
clear of human poop and pee...  I want to see how it rots...  Come up here
every day and check it out!" And, he snapped the leg hole of his short's
liner back in place.  His upper thigh stayed exposed, as the stiff nylon
slowly lowered down his leg. My eyes stayed glued to him.  For some reason
I didn't understand at the time, the sight of this slow decent gave me a
stiffy.

"Dumb dumb!  We only have fox and coons!"  I shot back as he noticed my
lingering eye.  I couldn't figure Collin's motives: Who wants to see
decomposition?

He shrugged as he adjusted and rubbed his junk a couple of times over the
top of his gym shorts as he surveyed his work.  He cleaned the knife with
the leaves I handed him, re-sheathed, and stuffed it down the back of his
shorts again for our walk home.

On the walk back, Collin told me my eyes were huge, my mouth hung open as
he pulled the knife out and my expression didn't change while he stabbed
clean through her a dozen times, damn near splitting her in two.  He acted
like I let him down.  Like, I should have been in there twisting her head
off and cheering him on while smearing blood all over my face, or
something.

"Did you hear it squawk when I stabbed it the first time?"  He laughed,
"And then it, like, cried for a second and then plop, slice, splat it was
gone!  Fucking bled out!  Beautiful!"

I didn't answer but blankly stared at him as he acted out the scene over
and over again.  Our crime was a secret I never told anyone, just like when
he cried, after Masterson was finished.  I never told until now: not even
David or Will.

Later that night, he talked me into sleeping naked.  We were in sleeping
bags, on the floor of his basement rumpus room, watching a Saturday Night
Live rerun.  Most of the jokes were over our heads but we could brag about
it to the older kids on the bus.  Nothing sexual happened between us passed
our mutual flipping open our friends bag to ensure total nudity compliance.
Collin had a hard on, just about every time I checked....  I'd only check
if he did first.  I figure he got off on breaking his house rules as much
as all the other s.  Stiffies only happen for a reason and Collin's no
queer so it had to be about the rules.

As Collin slept, I put the earthmover and chicken murder together but
didn't want to believe I wasn't normal.  Maybe other people felt that
electric charge at the back of their throat that fades into numbness just
as thugs had stomach for trouble, punishment and death.  But, as time went
on, I knew I was different.  Collin knew he's a thug.....  He knew it.
And, knew I was fucked up.

As we assemble our reality, we all find quirks of experience that defines
ourselves from others.  Mine, at least early in life, was like temporary
blackout much like downing a fifth of vodka.  When overloaded with
emotional garbage, I'd shut down.  Collin, the thug, woke me to my quirk.



I watched them sign documents, as all of this went through my mind again.
Sue's hug began to fade away as I lost contact and retreated into myself.
As McCabe spoke, my Mom's angry glare broke through.  Sue released and
stepped in front of me.  I felt her pull me by the hand and she led me
through the house and down stairs to Will's bed.

Sue's my closest sibling in age and I never knew she noticed my mini
blackouts until much later in life.  As an adult, she told me when I was
six or seven, I had I stared up at a young store clerk for a couple of
minutes completely motionless, with my mouth hanging open.  She said the
clerk called her over completely freaked by the strange little boy who
stood frozen watching him.  She pulled me away from the counter and I'd
craned my neck back to look at him.  I was a fucking retard growing up.
But then again, I'm sure he was a knock out.  I don't remember any of it or
have explanation, other than that.

This situation was all about fear overload.

Will's nose raked the top of my head and I heard a smooch as he kissed me
as my haze faded and became aware of his embrace form my right.  It was
fucked up and I wanted to tell him what had happened and ask him why but,
the girls were in here and it wasn't their business.

"Jonny, I'm so fucking sorry...  You could have waited for me...  I'd of
killed that son of a bitch... That mother fucking piece of shit!"

"Will," Greta eased in, "He doesn't need that crap now." She was on my left
rubbing my back.  "Stop trying to save the world for a few hours, would
you?"

The two of them held me while Sue went upstairs to find the parents.  Dad
always said, "You have nothing in this world but family."  Tonight this was
true.  I felt guilt as I'd fed McCabe a line of crap about going home.  I
got him to drive around the back roads for a half hour more than the trip
required before he told me it was time.

Mom and Dad came down about fifteen minutes later only to tell me to get to
bed, "We have a long day tomorrow and much to discuss.  We all need a
little rest.  You've had the hardest day of all, Jonny," Dad did all the
talking: I think they could tell my emotions were on tilt.

It was only eight but I was completely spent and I knew Sue convinced them
to leave me alone for the night.  Sometimes she could throw her bitchiness
in reverse.  After Will let go, I spread out and fell asleep.




With a push and a few shakes, Dad woke me from Will's grasp, at five in the
morning.  I thought it was Mom, until I heard his panicked voice, "Wake
up.....  Wake up, Johann, wake up......  Now!"

I think he was late for something.  I knew this meant I'd be on his rounds
as we'd catch an early boat to Seattle.  I dove in the shower and it was
all business: no daydreams or joystick fun.  Dad had laid out what I'd
wear: Church pants, new yellow Oxford and black tie.  I knew I was in no
position to argue and put the scratchy, confining shit on.

We hustled out of the house with bananas and toast while Mom was in the
shower.  At least I didn't have to face both of them over breakfast.

We were five minutes behind Dad's schedule.  He had the Electra's 400 cubic
inch engine screaming as we flew through the windy back roads: stomping the
brake as we pounded into corners and flooring it off the other side that
heaved me from side to side as it growled and plowed it's way down the
road.

Dad hated catching the Edmonds/ Kingston run, which was closest to our
house because we'd sit in traffic with the commuters traveling South on the
Interstate.  So, he always hauled ass, every morning, to the Winslow/
Seattle run which landed below downtown Seattle.  Dad's businesses and
vendors were located in the industrial area south of downtown so this was
the best route.

We drove in silence with news radio blasting as he concentrated on the road
with the Buick flying 20-40 miles per hour over the speed limit.  My
parents were crazy drivers.  It didn't matter if they were late: they loved
speed.  My family is genetically cursed with at least two speeding tickets
on our driving records at all times.

The inquisition I feared began, after we boarded the ferry, once the
commuters abandoned their cars for the galley or general seating area above
us.  On a normal morning we'd head up to the main deck for orange juice
and, if I was lucky, a cinnamon roll.  We stayed put and I felt my stomach
try to push the banana and toast back out, as he questioned my sanity and
explained how the whole neighborhood was out looking for me for days.  I
knew better than open my mouth until his hyper tone changed.  He was busy
beating me with language.

"Dad, he just did it."

"You let him?"

I nodded.

"You've done this before?"  His blue eyes squinted as he asked.

I thought before I spoke and even though I lied in a microsecond with a
firm "No," I took to long to make my decision.  Dad's face dropped and I
watched a little color drain away.  He turned his head and stared over the
long hood of the Buick.

He half whispered, "You know you're in serious trouble...  What will you
have me do?"

My whole body chilled over as I spoke, "Dad, I won't do anything like that
again...  I promise.  It all happened so fast.  I only ran
because... because of what Chris was doing!  I knew-"

"You ran because you knew what you two were doing was wrong...
Unnatural...  Perverse... and you didn't want to face consequences. You
even came home, for Christ's sake!  And then you up and ran from the very
people who could help!  Be honest with yourself and me.  What could-"

"But, McCabe said running away is what kids do, when-"

"Not you...  NOT you!"  His hand slammed the side of the steering wheel,
"We didn't raise you to lie, cheat, steal, and...  and... Do whatever you
did with that boy.  Do you realize what a filthy thing that is!?  Do you
know what happens to people like that...  LIKE YOU?"

"Dad! Please!  I'm no faggot!"

"What did you say?!" His eyes were huge as he stared down at me.

I wasn't his little boy anymore even if I couldn't speak so, I kept my eyes
focused on my knees to avoid his stare.

"Why did you let him?"

I sat silently as I knew he was leading me to a sermon.

"It's a disgrace.  I am so disappointed, disgusted, angry, ashamed, and
outright outraged by what you did, I can't even begin to verbalize- And how
you reacted is the biggest disappointment!  It is as reprehensible as what
Aflotti did to you.  Understand why?"

I nodded, holding back tears.  Dad was thinking out loud.  It made for bad
parenting but was his process for every problem: self talk whether we were
there to witness it or not.  I often imagined his mono-conversations, as
he'd drive the back roads alone.  Right now I just wanted out so I kept my
mouth shut.

"I don't know which is worse," He sat silently for a few minutes staring
over the hood of the Buick and through the hatchback of a Ford Pinto as my
gut tensed up and I held my breath to control my emotion of him knowing the
truth.  "You running away, you two boys, or violence....  Take your
pick.....  It's all bad.  Your mother wants a psychologist.  Will thinks
you're normal," I caught him shrugging with wonder of his screwed up
youngest's latest shame of his family.  He paused for a second.  I could
feel his stare.

"We haven't and won't tell your sisters or anyone else what you two were
doing.  Pastor wants to talk with you ab-"

"I'm not talking to him," I hissed defiantly.

"YOU ARE IN NO POSITION TO DICTATE TERMS!" He screamed and sat breathing
heavily for a few seconds.

I had to explain, "I don't believe that crap anymore and-"

"Shut the hell up.....  YOU keep your mouth shut, you're too young and have
any say in any of this!  You have no idea what's happening!"  He hissed on
the verge of exploding.

I deserved his anger and he held his breath rather than rip into me
anymore.  As he did, I sat thinking about disgrace and disappointment.
Letting Dad, Will, Collin or David down is the harshest bit of cruelty I
could think of since they've always stood by me and helped me through every
step of life.  I knew Mom would go nuts but the thought of my parents
sitting and discussing what I did, with other people, wrenched my gut.  My
families personal life is "personal."  We never reached out for help: We
gave it.  Because of me, the table turned.

After a few minutes of cool down, he shifted his body and turned to me,
"You're my boy.  I want you to have everything in life: Not be laughing
stock.  The path you've chose goes nowhere.  You are so young: too young
for any of that-"

"Dad...  I told you it won't happen again," I whimpered and looked up at
him from my slouch hoping he'd see my emotion and leave me alone.  My
deepest, darkest, secrets were exposed and it was overwhelming.

He sat for a second and then continued, "You know I never told you
everything about Norway.....  Europe.....  When I was a boy..... It's now
important that you know what the world is.....  Will be.  It never
changes.......  I watched German soldiers shoot your grandparents like
sheep led to slaughter."

Will told me this story but Dad had never touched on it with me until now,
"Right back here," he pointed to where his spine connected to the back of
his head.

"They were shot for nothing other than to set an example for the rest of
the village to stay in line....  So everyone would do as they were told and
when they wanted whatever to be done.....  There was no expression on their
faces: not them or the soldiers.  My parents must of thought it fate and to
the Germans it was simply the business of war.  Who knows?  I always
thought they were passive because of us kids: If they cried out to us,
maybe they felt they'd emotionally damage us worse than their simple
execution.  But sometimes I think they welcomed it or even wanted it....
The world was so harsh, back then.  It's confused me why they didn't
fight....  Why didn't the village fight?  I will never know.  Authority:
those who have it will impose their will upon you, if allowed.  Doesn't
matter how bad the policy.....  Maybe my parent's lesson was to
fight.... To not end the way they did.....  But that war was far worse than
just our family's experience.  You know they gassed Jews, Gypsies,
Russians, mental cases, retarded, and anyone who opposed them?  Thousands
upon thousands until the bodies were piled in the millions of people.  And,
they killed homosexuals.  What you two did is exactly that.  If you were an
enemy of Germany, that's how they got rid of you: Pin a defect on the
person.  To them, anyone different was a problem whether it religion, skin,
politics and so on.  What you two did is the excuse people like them would
need....  to kill you.....  Do you understand that kind of hate and where
you'd fit because of what you did?  Hear say was all the proof people like
that need and-"

"I'm no homo, Dad!" I squealed as my sinuses exploded and tears began to
flow uncontrolled.  For the next several minutes, I wasn't gay: I was
nothing.

"Let me finish.  That kind of hate is alive and well, in this world...  I
know it well.....  I thought we left it behind, in Europe, but it's here.
Look around you, Jonny!  It's the way of the world. Look at America!  Look
at how they treat people who are different or, I'll be very clear, even if
you're white! If you're white and poor it's over for you the minute you're
pushed out the womb!  There's no access to money, if you're poor....  It's
a lie.  We had friends, otherwise we'd be in Bremerton working for scraps.
They act as though this place is a melting pot but those who have an accent
or different color or of a bad lot in life, know the truth.  Where do you
think we'd be, if my skin were a different color and we were of a religion
other than Christian?  I get looks due to my accent and you wouldn't
believe what it was like the first ten years of living here....  Where do
you think a homosexual fits in this place?  Anywhere in the world, for that
matter?  Hiding something like that is impossible.  Like all lies, they
will be revealed for those who wait.  Look at Nixon.  Some things cannot be
covered up.  And with the Germans.....  They are not guilty....  Not in
this regard: Do you realize after the Russians and Americans liberated all
those death camps they set everyone free except the homosexuals?  Everyone
but them!  They remained in prisons.....  Locked up for life.  The world
believed those people deserved life sentences.  The world has no use for
those kind of people.  It was true then and now.  Do you see what I'm
telling you?  Some hate is shared....  Is universal.  And, it doesn't
matter how much I love you or your family loves you.  When things go wrong,
the masses look to that minority to blame.  Understand?"

He sat silently waiting for what he said to sink in but I sat motionless
because, at my age, none of what he said was relevant with the exception of
losing his Mom and Dad.  My mind shut down to his hard facts of life which
were true of the times....  And, in some respects, true of today, in many
places of the world.

"You don't know what it's like to lose everything and I hope you never
will...  The people who love you so much all gone with two bangs and
splatters of flesh and bone...  They fell over... limp heaps with blood
gushing from the back of their heads and out the crater the bullets put in
their throats... It was like their necks were blown apart by a bomb.....
chunks of flesh hanging off strands of skin or tendons.....  Do necks even
have those?  Just blood everywhere is the point.  Their legs and arms
twitched and jerked around for a second or two after the shots....  It was
like they were being shocked or something and then just gone, but I'm sure
they didn't feel much.....  Kicked into an open ditch...  Gasoline dumped
on their bodies... Set on fire...  Gone.  They made us all watch: everyone.
You can't imagine what that was like for a ten year old boy to witness.  It
was all done in the name of hate for the sake of control.  Complete
obedience.....  And you're-"

"Dad!" I squealed sobbing.

"We can't buy your way out of this kind of choice.  Where will you go?
Will you be happy? What will you do for family?  What kind of future is
that?"

I bent over my knees and stared down at the floor mat wiping tears from my
eyes, not knowing if he meant a future family or if he'd disown me and toss
my ass over the side of the ferry at this very moment.

He wouldn't let up so I kept still trying to control my stomach muscles
from spasm as I cried.  I hated him for knowing.  I had my secret.  I had
my world so well compartmented.  I had utopia, for a boy, and I blew it up.
I hated myself.  He continued on with how worried everyone was about me and
then came back to his mental torture rack.

 "We know you touch yourself at night and sometimes in the morning.  Your
mother complains about your laundry.....  All those old pajamas you've
outgrown and things mixed in there....  She said she doesn't want to touch
your pajamas and washes your stuff separate from the rest....  You take
long showers...  All of that is normal.  It's what we all do as we grow
into men," he was very uncomfortable as he spoke, "I did that, when I was a
boy....  Maybe when I was fifteen or so.  But, Jonny, you're so young and
what you did with your friend is not....  It's an abomination against
everything we taught you and-"

I blocked him out as I wiped more tears.  I gave up on controlling sobbing
as he entered the most taboo subject of our house.  I wanted to scream at
him, "Shut the fuck up! Just shut the fuck up!  You don't know!  You don't
know anything about Chris or anything about me!  Shut the fuck up!"  But it
was impossible and would bring his unhinged wrath.  I feared him as I
feared Afloti.  Would my Dad beat me?  He never had but I could feel his
rage beneath all of his speech.  He might, so I just sobbed.

He cut back through, "Do you think about boys or girls, when you touch
yourself?" He asked in a tone demanding an answer.

"Dad... I don't know," I felt myself shaking but felt detached.

"The truth!"

"Both, more girls...  More than anything... Girls," I lied.

He turned to me.  "Both? "

"Sometimes I think about people- Dad!"

"You think about people having sex?"

"Yes," I sobbed.  My chest heaved and I couldn't catch my breath.

He whispered, "You just wanted to see?  The other boy offered?  You
didn't-"

I nodded furiously and gave a grunt, rubbing my right eye, as I tried to
catch my breath.  Even if I could use "tame" words of today like, "Hey Dad
I'm GAY," as kids do now, the way my Dad's mind worked, with everything cut
to the bone and literal, he'd picture me doing the most "disgusting"
things.  I could imagine myself in his imagination.....  It made me feel
completely perverted and subhuman: a greasy, grimy, butt fucker of a cock
sucking, gutter rat.  Not that I even knew what, a guy like that, would
look like but, that's what I thought.  That's how he'd see me and what boy
wants his Dad to think of him like that?  I kept my mouth shut.

"This is the answer?"  He sat for a few seconds, with his unanswered
question, processing everything and then mumbled under his breath. , "Maybe
Will's right."

I couldn't look at him.  I knew he didn't intend for me to hear that last
part.  He spoke of taboo with Will and I was the subject.  My skin
shuttered and burned as I thought of that.....  With Will and it was
everything!

"Johann you can't do that to us.  You can't! "  He raised the center arm
rest and pulled me across the bench seat to him.  "I'm so sorry...  I need
to know my boy will be happy.  I never had a childhood and you kids are-
just- Slow down.  You're not even thirteen yet... I never had such
thoughts, at your age...  Just slow down.  I need to know you will make
right decisions in life."

He pulled my chin up from my chest and gazed into my eyes.

"Please talk to me about anything.  You can talk to me or Will...  I won't
pull the phone away from you boys anymore...  If you want to talk to Will
alone, tell us, or just call him when we're not home......  I don't care
about the damn phone bill anymore.  You can call your brother, whenever you
want, for anything....  We love you too much to see you suffer when you
should be thinking of school, friends and hockey.  You have the rest of
your life for everything else.  Understand?"

He released my chin, pulled me in, patted my back and held me for almost a
whole minute.  I couldn't get over how many times they'd hugged me in the
last half day compared to the last seven years of my life.

"You must push everything in the past.  Do you understand?  I did it when I
was younger than you and you must for all of us to move on!  Accept the
past and move on!  It's the only thing we can do.  Amends to those you've
wronged and move on.  Understand?"

I pulled away and nodded unable to speak.  This lie was deeper than
anything I'd ever dug.  I sobbed openly and loudly for a few minutes as Dad
turned back and continued to stare into the hatchback of the Pinto.

I'd take an Afloti beating, every day of my life, to avoid Dad's
disapproval.  He spoke so harshly and overtly of everything taboo. I guess
that's why I lied: I wanted it to end.  Docking at the ferry boat landing
couldn't come fast enough.



We drove to his accountant's office, at the Rainier Bank Building, up the
hill from the ferry landing, in the heart of down town.  He made me go in
the bathroom, on the public lobby level, to wash my face before we went up
to the 12th floor.  A couple of sharply dressed, younger, business type,
guys stopped and glanced at me with concern.  One even asked if I was okay
or needed help.  I'd never been so embarrassed.

The receptionist, who looked like a Vouge model, led us to a conference
room.  Dad treated me like a little kid as he introduced me to Greg, the
three hundred pound accountant, who waited in there for us.

I couldn't believe I had to wear my church clothes for this schmuck.  I
instantly hated him.....  He had that fat guy smell like he needed a
special flexible, extention tool, for a cordless drill, to wipe his butt
hole because he couldn't reach it with his stubby, sausage, arms.  In a
way, I felt sorry for him.....  But my mind kept wondering how he wiped
himself and when was the last time he'd seen his dick or if it were
completely consumed in all those layers of lard.  Kids are cruel.  I was no
exception and it took my mind off Dad's conversation.

Dad told him I'd been in a bicycle accident.  He kept personal life
completely separate from business and I doubt Greg knew he had children.
After Dad lied, guilt set in not only for what he just did to "protect the
family" but how I felt about Greg.  Somehow, I knew I was wrong.

Zoning out, as they spoke for a few hours, I thought about what Mandy said
about inviting people into my life.  I guessed this also went for family.
Who knew, where I put my penis could come with this much complication?  I
wished there were a manual I could check out from the library: "How to keep
the closet door locked."

Dad grabbed a phone book stack of financial statements with back up
documents and we were off fighting traffic down 3rd Ave headed south.  We
ended up at the Sears building on 1st Ave in the middle of the industrial
area of town: Sodo Center.  It was their flagship store for all of the
Northwest: seven floors of overpriced crap Sears hoped housewives would put
on their store credit card at 25% interest.  He took me up to the fourth
floor where I chose and he bought a weight set and bench to be delivered on
my upcoming birthday.  He paid cash.  Somehow, that experience's excitement
was lost as butterflies in my gut made me feel uneasy for most of the day.

I hated being with him.  For the first time in my life, I didn't want to be
around my Dad.  I'd rather hang around three hundred pound Greg to learn
something knew than be with my Dad.

Between his stops, I recounted my adventure for him, because he asked.  Dad
did tons of head shaking and asked "what were you thinking" questions like
I should know better.  I told him the truth about my deception, stealing,
but left out sexual motives.  Only after I told him about my fear of coming
home, did my stomach settle down.  He put his hand on my shoulder and gave
me a familiar reassuring squeeze.  It felt right.  After I was finished, he
told me he knew I'd "do the right thing" for all those I'd wronged.  He
hadn't lost all trust or hope in me yet.  Maybe it would be okay.

We continued south to the Holiday Inn, across from Sea-Tac airport.  Dad
liked the snooty restaurant at the top of the hotel tower.  I'd been here
for a wedding reception a few years ago and would be as bored now as I was
then.  I was certain.

The Seattle Space Needle has a rotating floor, in the restaurant, below the
observation deck, so by the end of a half hour meal, you could see the
entire city from six hundred feet of elevation, all from the comfort of
your own table.  This Holiday Inn copied the 1960's innovation.  The only
problem is there's not much to see other than split level /rambler
neighborhoods, shity apartment buildings, used car lots, and pawn shops,
from ten stories up.  The view didn't even face the airport so a guy
couldn't watch the planes take off and land.  Boring!  At least at ground
level, we might gawk at a toothless hooker or drug deal gone bad.....
something.

After the hostess placed us at a six top table for just the two of us, Dad
ordered a gin and tonic and me a root beer.  She seemed to know him and
took our order while pulling place settings to give him room to spread out
the folders, files, and note pads we lugged with us.

He began thumbing through a balance sheet and profit loss statement of some
garage he was thinking of partnering with a mechanic from church to buy.
After he was done, he slid it across the table and began walking me through
the numbers. Then he showed me some market research about the State of
Washington and automotive repair trends. The bottom line was to pass: a
profitable business with too much inventory expense as auto makers out
source manufacturing, crap location due to the death of the timber
industry, and to much future expenditures due to changing technology of
automotive industry: to much risk with shrinking profits in the near future
due to technology investment versus revenue based upon current population
trends and competition.  The small time mechanic was at complete
disadvantage to dealers and big assed corporations who could afford the
long term investment.

I was a little disappointed because Will and I would love a piece of
anything to do with cars.  We went through a couple of other statements of
his existing businesses.  Dad's eyes squinted at Greg's work as he
concentrated on every line item.  Everything came down to asset
vs. liability.

I intently watched his face as he turned into a human calculator.  Nothing
could draw his attention away from the few sheets of paper concerning every
business: asset vs. liability.

My mind wandered as I looked around at the obvious tourists, business
people having liquid lunches and a few families with their precious, well
mannered, little brat, kids who were given their first lessons of what the
different forks, spoons and glasses were all about.  "He has them all
fooled.  Fucking morons.  Hope your planes crash into Mt. Rainier.....
Morons," I thought.  I bet the other patrons thought he's Dad of the year:
bringing his kid to work, which was rare back then.  I felt like one of his
lapel pins or something.  Hate began to consume me.

His attention rattled, when this Greek guy slid into the chair at the head
of the table.  They both ignored me, after introduction. I stared at the
guy, with his back slapping jokes, as they gossiped of their
competitors. That guy probably made it on Dad's personal balance sheet as
an asset.  I'd seen him at dinner parties the parents had so he was one who
crossed the line into Dad's personal life.

They drank a few gin and tonics before ordering, while I sat contemplating
my mother's reaction.  It was clear she didn't want to deal with me last
night: at least that's what I thought.  It seemed to me, if I'd stayed on
the road a month or so, they wouldn't want me back at all: Will might but
no one else.  I'd fade into memory as "that little disappointment."  It's a
weird, queer, kind of thought process I'd engaged: everyone was against me
and I hated them.

After lunch, we sped back into the Green River Valley to a warehouse, in
cow shit Kent, for motel supplies and then reentered the interstate and
continued South.

I kept my mouth shut as we flew down the freeway, in the left lane, as Dad
had the Buick up to 20 miles an hour over the speed limit.  I didn't like
being treated like a sideshow in Greg's office and over lunch with that
Greek guy.  I was processing what Dad said on the ferry boat.  After
returning, change is something I expected but dealing with change is harsh
and uncomfortable.  "Mom" is next and it would be far worse than Dad's.  I
wondered if she'd pull out the wooden cooking spoon or ping pong paddle for
a bare butt swat-a-thon.  I hoped I was too old for that.

He kept glancing over at me.  I hadn't noticed it before and was sure he'd
done this all morning.  It was uncomfortable because I knew I represented
more than embarrassment to the whole family.  I wasn't matching up to their
world view.  I'd fucked them over to some undefined value I'd never be able
to repay.

"You know, you better stay close to the house for the next couple of
months: till school starts.... You're too old for a spanking and I know
grounding you is stupid....  You're smart.  You know right from wrong.  You
know you made a huge mistake, I know you understand it better than your
brother and sisters would, at your age."  He sighed and gave me another
awkward glance.

"That Aflotti guy, might try pulling something.  Your mother and I don't
want anyone else involved in this mess.  Your Mom doesn't think it's a good
idea for you to have a birthday party this year.  He's crazy.  I always
said so and he went and proved it.  What if he tries something?"

I almost cried, as I'd verbally invited everyone before the end of school.
I had it all planned out for a Friday in August: a sleep over where we'd
pantie raid Julie's (if I could convince her to have a slumber party on the
same night), root beer floats instead of cake, water skiing or knee
boarding behind David's boat, and all the pizza we could eat via Greta's
secret recipe.  I'd invite the other four off the first line of our hockey
team plus Chris and, if I could stomach it, Billy our smelly assed goalie.

I whispered so I could hold back tears, "No.  I get it...  I'm sorry Dad.
About everything.  This morning.... everything....  I didn't mean to do any
of that to you, Mom, or Will or David.....  I'm sorry."

"Ummm..." He fake cleared his throat, "I talked her into a dinner....  Out
somewhere.... wherever you want.....  Maybe a movie.  You can bring....
Two of your friends they just can't stay over.  Let's think about it for
next weekend once you have things squared away..... Okay?"

"Okay," I answered in monotone, as I thought through what he said.  The
lesson was, if you're going to get in trouble, go big: No cut in allowance,
grounding or added chores: just get your ass kicked and all is well.  I
kind of understood.

"Just stick around the house....  And, don't go anywhere without me or
Will.  David can come over....  I mean, kids can come to our house but you
can't leave unless you're sure someone will walk back with you and you stay
off the roads.  I don't want you guys on the water either.  You can't be
alone until this thing is over.  The beach is okay, when you're with
someone....  Low tide walking around is okay.  It's impossible for anyone
to ambush you on the beach.  Tell you what, when you have your friends
over, we'll hit the four o'clock run out of Winslow....  I'll talk her into
that.  We may as well make it a Seattle trip.....  Pizza at the Sourdough?
Run up the hill for a movie or walk over to the aquarium?  How's that?"

"But if I can't be alone, why can't I have a party, Dad?"

"Because sick people like him would love to mess up your life and it would
be the time to do it.....  In front of all your friends.....  To destroy
our family.  To destroy your life....  Your mother doesn't want it.  That,
right there, should be reason enough for both of us."

That didn't help.  I'd never tell him how hurt I truly was.  Mom's a
complete bitch.  Years later, I realized how cutting that punishment is to
a kid turning thirteen....  Safety or not, something could be arranged.
It's a kid's last "kid" birthday.

Once we passed downtown Tacoma and sped over the Nalley Valley viaduct,
headed for the Narrows Bridge, I figured we were headed home.  I figured he
wanted road time to talk and make up for this morning and a rolling car
made it easy for long periods of conversation without the nuisance of
direct eye contact.  He wanted more information: it was obvious.

Instead, he turned off of 6th Ave and down Jackson Street.  We drove
straight to Bret and Timmy's place.  Dad told me he chatted with Mandy and
then Bret's Dad, while I was with Chris.  Now I knew he talked with McCabe,
at length, prior to the hospital interview.  It explained why they didn't
come to Tacoma to get me: I had to deal with some consequence on my own.
It was Dad's way.  Pulling into my friend's driveway filled me with fear
since I had no idea of what Dad really knew: if Bret had spilled the beans
and he'd caught me in my "big lie" this morning.

Bret's Dad was a chain smoker who tried to carry himself like Tom Seleck.
He didn't have the build or suave so he was more like a white, JJ Walker
with a clumpy mustache.  The adults went out on the sun deck to talk while
me and Timmy escaped to the tent.

"I like Mandy," Timmy chirped as he zipped up the flap.

"Yeah, she's nice.  But, she called the cops."

Timmy's eyes went wide.  "What'd you do?"

"Just ran away....  Was all.  It was enough to call the cops, I guess."  I
couldn`t admit everything, for fear he`d think less of me or even
understand it.  After all, he's nine.

Timmy thought about this as we sat down, crossed our legs Indian style, and
touched our legs together, facing each other, for another round of twenty
questions.

"Did I do something wrong?  When we were in the hospital, did we do
something to get you in trouble?" Timmy asked with concern.

"Don't worry about it.... I did.  Only me.  Not you or anyone else.....
Only me." I assured him by reaching over to jiggle his knees.  He smiled.

"What then?" He asked with a little relief.

I thought about Bret and then told Timmy Chris's Dad was the one who beat
me and that's why Chris was in the hospital.  I explained that's why I ran
away: I was afraid of him and thought my parents would kill me too.  I
further told him I'd over reacted about all of it.  I was stupid.  I didn't
touch on sex stuff: That's my business.

He nodded and told me nobody ever told him the truth because they think
he's to young to "understand."  At his age, nine, is when skeptics are born
as every adult in your life lies to "protect you" and you're figuring out
all their bullshit between the lines they want you to read and believe
without question.  I thought about this before I spoke and gave him a new
nick.

"Tim Tim, Chris's Dad is a complete asshole.  And, I'm gonna tell you
everything, in a few years, only because we're new friends and all.....
It's not only that, the truth is, it's adult stuff.  I'm a kid and
shouldn't of gott'n in the middle of all that shit.  I'll absolutely tell
you the God's honest truth of why and how we got the shit kicked out of us.
It's that all anybody knows outside of my Dad, is nothing.  It's the way it
has to be.  And, you're the only one I think I'll ever tell but I can't
until I fucking understand everything for myself.  I don't and it's best
not to do anything until I do......  It's what Dad says and what I've done
in the past, when I don't know what to do.  And, the shit part is, it's not
over.  I don't want you thinking I'd hide shit from you.  I'm not and
won't......  I don't get any of it.....  Any of it.  I want to talk to
Chris.....  I want him here!  I want it all back!" and tears flowed down my
cheeks so I shut up.

A big boy was crying in his tent.  He sat there not knowing what to do.

As I silently cried, he offered the only big secret he knew for certain to
be true: Bret wasn't his real brother, and the exact description of what
Bret had confessed to me a few days ago.  I acted shocked and questioned
him several times over like it was new information.  I felt honored that
he'd trust me with his family's secret and wanted him to know how I valued
him.  It helped me gain my composure.

After he finished, in a way, I wanted to tell him the rest but knew better.

Timmy continued, "Me and Bret told Dad about you last night.  Bret went
first.  I went second."

"I hate that.  When they divide you up so you don't know who said what.
Always tell the truth when they do that....  It means they know something
for sure."

He nodded and continued, "It was weird...  It was like he already knew what
we were going to say.  Bret thought the same thing.  And then you guys show
up today....  Did Mandy call him too?  Just like the cops?"

I nodded, "I think so, Dad said he talked to both of them.....  I know he
talked to the cops before they talked to me.....  What did you say?"

"What we talked about in the tent.  About, maybe, running away, the park,
that weirdo nurse who chased us at that doctor's office and when we met
Mandy, was all I said.  I didn't tell about those condoms.  He wasn't mad
or anything.  Was that okay?"

"Yeah, man, the condom thing is our secret and everything else is the
truth."

"Ummmm...  Where can I get more of those?"

I squinted at him, "Why?"

"This big kid gave me a dollar for it...  How-"

"You got a dollar! Shit kid, you're a genius!  They only cost a quarter!"

"Where do I get'em?!"  He screamed as his eyes went huge with excitement of
becoming a multimillionaire before age twelve.

I laughed, "Timmy, I wish you were my brother."

He smiled, "Really?  Bret says I'm a pain in the ass."

"That's our job!  We're youngest!"

Timmy giggled and I leaned in to gave him a bear hug.

"Get off!  Yuck!"

I ruffled his hair.  "You're cool and Bret knows it."

"Yeah but, where do I get`em?!  Can you buy me, like, ten dollars worth?"

"Shaffer's but this big dude chased me out of there.....  And, you're gonna
have to grow about a foot before you can reach the machine....  It's in the
bathroom.....  You'll see it."

Timmy dropped the subject as he had his info and sat silently.  I could
tell he was scheming: trying to calculate the capital required, revenue
desired and margin required to cover the cost of renting a ladder.  I hoped
he wasn't financing through a sixth grade thug.

A few minutes later Timmy's Dad called us to the house.

Dad hated Scotch: "Ass dribble," he called it, when he thought I was out of
ear shot.  He was sipping bourbon on the rocks from a crystal tumbler: I
knew it by the color and the way he sipped compared to other brown stuff.
He savored bourbon and took other stuff with soda or something.....  I
watched him sip and savor.

I hung around adults or Will, at my parents dinner parties.  It was safer
than being with my sisters.  I always got in trouble, when I hung with
them.  So I picked up on all the little details of adult life, or what
they'd speak of, with me at their heels.

Dad seemed happy now.

"Hey Timmy, how would you like to visit Jon tomorrow?" His Dad asked.

"Heck yeah!"

My Dad gave me a wink as he gave Timmy's shoulder a squeeze and explained,
"We live on the beach so you'll need a bathing suit and all your gear!"

"Wow!"  Timmy giggled and started jumping up and down with excitement.

I was astonished.  Bret obviously didn't tell his Dad the whole story
otherwise, Timmy wouldn't visit.

Timmy chased behind us as Dad punched it out of the drive and up the hill
to Jackson Steet.  He shook his head as he peered in the rear view mirror,
"God, I'm glad you kids are grown up!  That one's hyperactive... Way too
much work!" he smiled as he watched Timmy still sprinting up the hill a few
blocks behind as we came to a stop at the intersection with Jackson Street.

"Dad...  Dad?  Can we see Chris?  Visiting hours are over at seven...  If
we hurry we can make it...  Just for a minute...  Please?"

We sat at the intersection for a couple of seconds, even though no traffic
was coming, but he took a right for the bridge and offered no explanation.
I let it go.  I had my answer of the point of the day: I'm a huge liability
on his balance sheet.

We drove in silence until we passed Port Orchard before Dad opened up
conversation. He told me Mom's going to be pissed.  He wanted us out of the
house this morning before she could nab me, so we could talk before she
went psycho on my ass.  As far as Dad was concerned, Mom had no business in
boy stuff which he knew was the cause of everything.  He told me he'd take
one for our team and calm her down before she took a pound of flesh.

Dad also told me Mom blames herself but wouldn't explain why.  He told me
not to be defensive or argue about anything.  Listen to her and wait for
her to make her point then think before I speak, even if it meant sounding
like a robot.  If I did, she might go light.  I knew Dad's pointers were to
minimize drama in his life or they were playing "Good Cop/ Bad Cop."  At
this point, I couldn't tell.

I thought more about the conversation I overheard in the cabin: Greta's
question to Will about him knowing there was something wrong with me.  I
began to think Mom dropped me on my head as a baby or David and Collin were
right: I'm retarded and just to stupid to know it.  Why would she blame
herself and why did I have to walk on egg shells around her?  As he spoke,
questions filled my head but I held them inside where they belonged.

He went on to tell me how Timmy's Dad had told him Timmy wouldn't shut up
about me: the hospital adventure and how I'd talk with and listen to him.
So, over drinks, our fathers hatched a plan to keep Timmy occupied all day
tomorrow.

Timmy's Dad wanted him out of their hair so they could pack for vacation,
run errands and set the house up for a sitter.  Timmy's going to
Disneyland.  It was a surprise for Timmy just as it was for Bret for his
ninth summer.  In two weeks, the family would head for Cannon Beach,
Oregon, for their family vacation which would include Bret.  But for now,
everything was about Timmy.

My job was to tucker the kid out so he'd fall asleep while they drove all
the way from LAX to Anaheim.  I knew that'd be easy with the beach and
Timmy's hyper nature.  Timmy's Dad said he'd drive around all night, until
Timmy falls asleep, in the back of the rental car, to ensure his boy would
wake to open the hotel curtains and find the park in front of his face.

Timmy's so lucky!  I could only imagine what that would be like.  I was
there, when I'd turned five, and I only remember the Pirates Cave and the
dopey Main Street Parade.  Being there was like living inside a Disney
cartoon.  For an older kid, like Timmy, there'd be a bit of that with the
thrill of rides.  It doesn't seem fair that some kid's families can afford
to go every few years and I'd never go back unless I hired some kids for
cover, after I'm an adult.

When I came through the door with Dad on my heals, I thought Mom's acidic
stare was for me.  She hugged me tight but, over my shoulder, I could feel
heat from her laser beams of hate firing at Dad.  I felt sorry for him.  He
should have thought through his decision this morning.

Dinner was weird.  Sue wanted to talk about us boys going to skate in
Seattle, starting in August, and our first team skate sometime at the end
of September.  Mom joined into that conversation like nothing happened.
Later in life I understood they were trying some afternoon TV psychology on
me: waiting for me to talk about it rather than pry it out.  I was happy to
keep my mouth shut.

That night, I heard them arguing, with Will's voice mixed in, as I lay in
bed thumbing through some of Will's math textbooks he'd brought home from
University.  I zoned out knowing they were yelling about me.  I couldn't
take any more humiliation.  I concentrated on the digits and diagrams that
referenced theorems I'd never heard of and words that were more than eight
letters long.  I needed a dictionary but it was upstairs with all the
yelling.  I kept turning pages.

I always thought I was smarter than my brother, based upon comparing our
marks at each grade.  But after looking at his textbooks, I felt there was
noway I'd have his intellect, ever.  I felt like a little kid again:
craning my neck to look up, in wonder, of everything his big brother can do
and he can't.  It seemed so unfair that he was now arguing my fate with
them.  Being the youngest sucks.



Mom brought a load of laundry down at eleven o'clock and noticed my light
was still on.  She gave me a smile, as she sat on the edge of my bed and I
had to recount my whole experience for her.  Will popped his head in once.
I felt so honored that he'd seek me out for once.

It was cool and nothing like Dad braced me for: Mom listened.  Once in a
while, she'd interrupt to ask a one word question: who, what, where, when,
how or why.  This made it easy and I didn't have to cry or be dramatic.  It
was about midnight, when we finished, and she'd shared a bit about living
in Norway during the war and how she'd wished she could have run away when
she was a girl: to Sweden or the States.  If she had, she never would of
met Dad, I thought, and that was her point: It's better to hang in than
abandon those who love you and sometimes good things come from bad.

I'll never forget how much closer I felt to her.  After she left, I figured
her and Dad would compare notes.  The whole thing may of been a roose.
This is something us sib's knew they did to get to the truth: we're not
stupid.  She was playing good cop, for a change.



In the morning, I tried to give Bret ten dollars, after he dropped Timmy
off, but he wouldn't take it.  It turned out Timmy was nothing like Dad: he
wouldn't take Bret's money either.  Bret didn't hang around or even take a
tour of my house.  He told me he wanted to "get into Tina" as many times as
possible before work.  A penis has a bad influence on manors, friendships
and everything else in life.....

Mom was elated to have Timmy around.  I couldn't figure her out.  All she
did was complain about me at Timmy's age.  Now, she smiled, giggled and
laughed at every little thing he did.  Timmy's cute but not that cute.  It
seemed fake.

He came to us in rubber, flip-flops that smacked his feat at an ear popping
frequency, fitted in pale blue swimmers that barely covered an inch below
his butt cheeks, little orange tank top, and a stuffed backpack in tow.  It
was obvious he dressed himself in his favorite things all from last year.

"I never even knew I had an Aunt Sharon, never even heard of her...."
Timmy explained as he continued to ramble, nonstop, about his Aunt
Sharon's, in California, where he was going to visit because she's having a
baby and his Mom's, somehow, going to help.  She lives in Santa Barbara and
he'd never been there or on a plane.  He'd fly out at ten thirty tonight
because all the earlier flights were full and they'd have to drive an hour
or two to get there after landing sometime after midnight.  We all laughed
on the inside of the elaborate cover story his parents invented.  Timmy was
human Carp who chomped down on the lie: hook, line and sinker.

Before Mom would let us on the beach, we had to slather up with sun tan
lotion.  She wasn't going to have Timmy's trip ruined due to sunburn.
Timmy wanted me to do his back rather than Mom.  I kind of understood: your
own Mom is okay but somebody else's is just some dumb girl: you need a
buddy to do it.  It was awkward for both of us, when we got down to our
waist bands.  Mom made us slide them down a few inches below our hips and
slather so we wouldn't get "pink belt."  Timmy thought it was funny and I
feared a boner since I never knew what would set it off and I felt it
tingle, when the top of his butt crack was revealed.  That kind of thing
never happened in the locker rooms.  And, it was less than an inch of
exposure!

After we were done, I thought about it, and decided to throw a tee shirt
on: the bruises were still there and my scabs hadn't all molted off.  As I
pulled it over my head, I realized Mom knew I'd been naked outside.  My
butt and tummy were tan where they shouldn't be.  She didn't say anything
and I became as sheepish as when they heard me jack it, a year or so back.

"How come it stinks?"

"Low tide always smells.  It's sea life.....  Living and dead..... most of
it just stinks no matter what...  You've been to the fish market at Pikes
Place, right?  It's like working there, I guess, after a while, it grows on
you...  I love this smell," I answered to his crinkled up nose.

It didn't matter.  Timmy couldn't wait to dominate a new piece of Earth. We
walked the beach exploring tidal pools or, I walked and he ran from pool to
pool, zigzagging back to my path with new questions.

He'd never experienced a live Sand Dollar with its hundred little spiny
feet and brittle black, stubbled, surface.  He'd only seen the bone white,
dead, dollars that wash ashore along the east side of the Tacoma Narrows.
I guess he thought they were fossils or something.  Dollars live in huge
clusters along the mud flats.  Some colonies were living, while others were
slowly dieing off only to begin new a year or two later.

He flipped one over in his hand, watching it's hundred, spiny, feet twitch.
He then tossed it in the mud and stomped it, with both feet, so it made
squishy crunch.  His face lit up from wonder to an evil smile.  I had to
keep him from stomping through the entire colony.  Most boys get off on the
bone shattering crunchy sound the dollars make as they're stomped but with
Timmy I think he got off on being God to the little critters as he'd
screamed, "Die you bastard Nazi pigs, DIE!"

As we walked the tidal pools, he found crabs, sea snails, the tiniest of
mollusks, and tiny, sand camouflage, rock, fish or a stranded flounder.
All were common place for me but for him it was all new.  To have the honor
of sharing an experience with a kid is such rich reward and one I wanted to
continue: the way his eyes lit up and went wide with wonder or his laugh
and giggles.

Emotionally Timmy became my brother as I answered every question and
explained how the ecosystem worked.  I understood my brother completely due
to this few hour experience.  I'd been around younger kids before but never
had one as open and clingy as Timmy.  He really wanted me as his best
friend for life.  I wanted that more than he could imagine.  Such a gift he
gave me that day.



David sprinted down the hard pack mud patches, jumping and dodging puddles
and tidal pools, towards us. As he closed the distance, I told Timmy he'd
be my excuse to ditch David, if things got weird.  He shrugged so I imagine
Bret used him like this once in a while.  I didn't really want to talk to
David about my experience because I wanted Chris with me so our stories
matched.

"Will called and said your dumb ass was down here!  You're such an
asshole!" David said with a smile and then broke into giggles at my hair
while purposely ignoring my bashed up face.  Probably something his Mom
told him not to mention.

"That's what they say?  And, shut the fuck up....  You guys couldn`t find
me: dumb shits."

He shrugged and smiled as he couldn't resist, "Will said you looked like
the Broad Street Bullies painted a target on your back...  You're not that
bad.  You're fucking bald and that's worse than the little love kisses on
your ugly, assed, face.  It's an improvement.  But, your hair looks like
something off Leave it to Beaver....  Or worse, one of them old 40`s
movies.  You look like a total, fucking, dork!"

"Fuck off," I answered with a giggle, "I kind of like it," and rubbed the
stubble on the top of my head.

"The cops were at my house, Mom and Dad were screaming at me like I knew
where you were and then your brother made me drive around with him for
hours...  Dad even took a couple of vacation days looking for you!  You're
a complete asshole!  Our vacation is all screwed up because of you!" He
gave me a pansy shove.  I think he thought I was still in pain.  I decided
to let him.  I knew the true meaning of his tone and comments: he'd never
admit worry or missing me because those are the words of pussies.  We
didn't have to communicate that shit.

After introducing him to Timmy, I began a bland version of my story.  With
Timmy here, it was awkward.  I had to speak in code.  I don't think Timmy
caught on, even with David's shocked facial expressions of my crimes.

Nervousness spread across Timmy's face and his body tensed as he looked
David over during my story.  David is a big kid and looked to be able to
pound Timmy and ten of his closest friends into the ground with no effort.
Big kids are scary to nine year olds.  I was a little worried since Timmy's
out of his element and sometimes David could be abrasive to younger or weak
kids.  Timmy had some lip on him that could get David worked up.  Luckily,
Timmy's curiosity of the beach overtook his interest in us and he wandered
off to a tidal pool.

As I talked my way through Bremerton, Timmy pulled the front of his shorts
down and let a stream fly in the air.  He flicked his penis around so his
stream curled and peaked which made sounds of rippling splashes in the
tidal pool.  David heard it behind him and smirked.  Timmy turned to me as
he shook off with a big grin as he flicked his little worm in my direction.
I smiled back as he stretched the elastic band to it's max and let it snap
back against his belly.  Simply show off, little boy stuff, of being
naughty.

As I rambled on about walking to the Pay and Save, he wandered back, we
formed a little circle and Timmy's eyes focused first on me and then on
David.  He looked David up and down a few times over.  His jaw went slack,
as he began breathing from his mouth, as his eyes penetrated David in that
little kid spongy information absorbing trance.  He unconsciously began
imitating David's pose: hands on hips, shifting his weight from one leg to
the other and once in a while, adjusting his little pud just like David,
every few minutes.

We all did that, ever since we turned eleven, when adults weren't around,
adjusting your junk was a way of expressing masculinity.  It's weird how
this is common amongst young teen boys and even weirder how it stops, for
most, before turning 15. Timmy liked David's looks and attitude: hero
worship set in.

When I got to the part about Bret setting me up in his backyard tent, it
reminded me how liberating it was to confide.  I struggled with not telling
David about me (the real me) as I had with Bret but I really wasn't sure
how my "at home friends" would react.  If Timmy weren't there, I may have
and accepted the outcome of confession.  But, how do you tell someone
you're a freak?  Not even that: a cock sucking queer, like the kid who rode
our bus we verbally and physically beat the living crap out of everyday for
the past three years?  David was my best friend and I thought it fair he
should know.  But I couldn't: not now and probably not ever.

As I continued, Timmy became completely self involved and his hands found
the back of his shorts.  They crept under his waist band and began to
caress his butt cheeks beneath the fabric.  I did that as a kid.  There's
freedom on the beach.  Kids become oblivious to everything around and
modesty is forgotten.  Timmy felt it: no Mom to warn off limit places your
hands can't touch, foul language, farts, or any bathroom talk a kid could
imagine.  There are no rules.  Soon, he was playing with a little crack
exposure by pushing against his waistband with the back of his wrists, as
his hand grasped his ass cheeks, expanding the elastic band as far as it
would stretch.

David noticed and gave me a smirk while quickly shifting his eyes down at
Timmy.

"Yup, we all did that...  Remember?"  I defended before David made a snide
comment.  When we were young boys, we played all kinds of expose your junk
games out here as we thought this place was as private as our bathrooms at
home.

My comment went over Timmy's head as he lost track of my story due to his
new found freedom and fascination with David.  Soon he had both hands
shoved down the front of his shorts.  He'd pulled the waistband down to
just above his junk.  David giggled and called him "a little horny
pervert."  Timmy gave him a quick flash of his junk and we all laughed.
Timmy loved pushing the envelope as much as Collin.  I think that's why I
liked him so much.

A few minutes later, I was on the part of Bret's 914 screaming down Yakima
Street, when Timmy's hands shot out of his shorts and he went into full
animation jumping around, waiving hands, and acting out our run from the
crazy nurse as he took over my narrative.  Timmy's version was way better
than mine.

When Timmy described how we were caught by Mandy, I almost cried.  I had no
idea Timmy was more concerned about me seeing Chris than getting caught.  I
fell in love with my new little brother.  Nobody would lay a hand on Timmy
without my wrath: ever.

I took over his narrative and told David I hung out with Chris until the
cops got there.  They brought me home.  My story was simple and convincing
without lies: just lies by omission.

"You know, we went everywhere looking for you?  I went to the castle a
couple of times, when my parents thought I was sleeping.  I even rode my
bike all over the place in the middle of the night: under the bridge, the
park, Billy's barn, the abandoned house, the cemetery, fucking everywhere.
The day I found my shorts and stuff missing, I knew you were long gone.  I
never thought about staying home.  Will even said you didn't take anything
from your house except they couldn't find your savings account book and
some underwear.  I should of stayed home!  I would of busted your ass!"

"It's funny.  The hardest part was getting out of here.  Once I was on the
road, it was easy.  Except for the hospital: that part was so damn hard.
I...  I cried when Chris showed me where they pulled out his spleen...
Will told me what it is and does.  We never covered that in science class.
I doubt Chris knows anything.  They probably won't tell him....  The way
his parents are...  I hate them...  I can't fucking believe that dick did
that to him and-"

"Yeah.  Ummm, me too, a little bit, when Mom told me about it.  I mean,
after the day he went to the hospital and you....  disappeared.....  I
mean, wouldn't you?  It was so fucked up.  Mom said he could catch the flu
and end up in the hospital...  Or worse...  Why'd his Dad fly off the
handle like that?"

"Chris said," I took a deep breath and blurted out as fast as I could,
"That his Dad beat him all the time.  That he was grounded to hide marks on
his arms, back, neck and stuff....  That, his Mom and Dad... didn't want
people to see...  It's why he missed school all the damn time too."

"Shit," David sighed as I watched his face and body closely, "I mean...
Fuck!  How the fuck?  He never said anything!"

"He never said anything to you....  Seriously?"  I asked, as my bullshit
detector began to fire.  "Remember that time he told us he got hit and
slapped around, at that sleep over last year?

"We've kicked every kids ass to keep them off his back and his MOTHER
FUCKING DAD'S KICKING THE SHIT OUT OF HIM THE WHOLE FUCKING TIME?!"

He didn't answer my question and seemed overly worked up. "David's a liar,"
my mind screamed.

"You know, when he said that stuff about his Dad, you know, a year ago?
You know, when we played Frisbee golf that time until 7:00 and we all got
in trouble?  When he said he got spanked with that paddle, after he showed
up home late but had that black eye and said his sister did it....  I mean,
yeah, right, a girl did that to him.....  After he told us all that, I told
Dad but that's where I dropped it because my Dad said unless-"

"You told your Dad?" David asked astonished that I'd break our kid code.

I nodded and David looked around the bay avoiding my eyes.

"I didn't think it was worse than what he said," David flatly stated.  He
never made eye contact.  I had my answer: he knew it was worse than simple
spankings.  He knew and I was too stupid to figure it out which deepened my
guilt.  But why didn't David do something or tell my dumb ass what was up?

"Did Chris tell you about the stuff his old man did?" I asked again.

"I kind of knew but not really.  Same as you," David snapped as he'd
probably felt my passive aggressive, revolving finger of blame, pointing
his direction.

Timmy's eyes were wide as David's mock anger grew across his face: He tried
to make it look the same as when he had Andy in that choke hold years
ago. I knew the difference.  He was pissed because I caught him in a lie.
I stood silent as my emotions were still at my feet and working their way
up my body.  I wanted him to tell me the truth so I kept my mouth shut
knowing he'd continue.  I wanted someone to blame, as a place to vent my
anger while he wanted my forgiveness.....  He knew.

After a minute of silence, David shrugged and slowly, soberly, stated, "God
Damn it...  I'm fucking useless."

That was real and deflated my pent up rage.  David was as hurt as I but his
process was slower.  I let him stew for a few more seconds before I changed
the subject as thoughts of what Mandy said.

"David, you can`t tell him we talked until he brings it up... That might
take a long time....  you can`t be that pissed off....  you can't-"

"Yeah....  I know.... I just can`t fucking believe it....  for fuck sake.
Mom said Aflotti went crazy: the fucking prick.  She kinda knew this was
going to happen....  She told me after it went down....  She started crying
and then completely lost it when nobody could find you.  It's when I cried
to...  It sucks, when Mom cries."

"Sorry....  I didn't mean for all of that.....  The sheriff said Aflotti's
going away for twenty years or more...  I heard Mom and Dad talking this
morning, before I went up for breakfast.  What he did to me is attempted
murder.  There's a thing...  It's happening Friday...  an arraignment...
Dad's going...  They don't want me to know about it.  Maybe, if it works
out, everything will be better....  For everybody."

"They should put him feet first through a meat grinder...  Blow torch his
eyeballs out.  Hang him with fish hooks through his nut sack!  RED HOT
POKER UP HIS ASS! "

"Yeah...  I know," I thought about it for a second and I could hear Mandy
at the back of my mind and continued, "Chris is the only one who matters...
Do you think he wants his Dad or his family even more fucked up?
Seriously?  When he gets back don't do all of the shit you're doing now.
It's still his Dad.  The sheriff said the best thing is to get his Dad out
of their house so Chris doesn't get beat.  I mean, he might feel... Like...
he put his Dad in jail...  I kind of feel that way."

David and Timmy had questioning looks on their faces as I'd let it slip
out.

"I feel like... guilty for not noticing before and I got beat up too...
With him...  I couldn't do anything.  Either way...  I guess is what I
mean...  Imagine how Chis feels?"

"Yeah but you were the only with him!  It's not your fault. We can't let
some asshole do that and get away with it! He can't get away with it... If
and when he gets out of jail, this will be the first thing he fucking
sees," David took a swing at me: his fist swished an inch away from my
nose, "That mother fucker is going to pay.  Nobody touches one of us...
Nobody."

"It's not about any of that.  It's-"

"I know....  Don't you think I fucking know?  You at least told your
Dad.....  I didn't do shit."

Guilt is a bitch and we both felt it for the same and different reasons.
He'd carry his grudge for the rest of his life, as would I, but we'd take
different directions of resolution.  I worried how he'd react, if he knew
the truth: me and Aflotti would have big trouble.

My attention went back to Timmy and David got the message: there's a better
time and place to discuss revenge and it's not in front of a nine year old.

We took Timmy way out on the flats: far enough away that our house looked
little a shack on the shoreline.  This was our pit: a three foot drop off
ditch formed by draining tidal pools.  The tidal stream cut its way through
the mud and clay as water rushes its way out as water recedes.  Now it's
reduced to a trickle that piddled it's way into the bay which produce
enough moisture for a thin layer of super slippery mud around the perimeter
and into the bottom of our pit.  On a super low tide, we might get an hour
of the pits exposure.  Today, we'd get a half hour of fun.

David took the first "seal slide:" taking a twenty yard run, diving onto
the slippery mud with a smack of his belly and sliding along to disappear
over the edge of the drop off.  We got the idea from Pete Rose's base
stealing, head first slides.  He's about the only baseball player we
liked. He played the game like a grind line center: no fear, all aggression
and a green light from the bench of inflicting as much damage as possible
to all those homos on the other team.

Timmy's jaw dropped and he laughed, as David vanished over the edge.
Giggling, he took off at full sprint and did his first seal slide.  He was
a natural as he must have pile drived David at the bottom of the drop as I
could hear them erupt with laughter. Due to my bruised body, I wasn't going
to risk anymore agony and walked over to the edge where I was pelted by mud
balls from both sides.  I dropped to my knees to return fire with handfuls
of mud and seaweed, I blindly launched into the pit.

Timmy's willingness for rough play was something I didn't expect.  Most
rich kids were hopeless, pansies like Jan.  Every chance we could, we'd
dump mud or something down Timmy's shorts and he'd pull the stuff out and
toss it back at us with laughter.  Once in a while, when he managed to
catch one of us, he'd do the same to us and we'd squeal for Timmy's
benefit.  Tim's cool.

We had no defined sides in our war, because of our odd number, but it was
clear that both David and I let Timmy get away with murder: he's younger so
when he caught us, he owned us.

Timmy tried throwing mud balls at us but he was too young to generate much
velocity or accuracy with his shots.  So we allowed him to catch us in a
run down where he'd smear us with the slimy stuff: back of the head, tummy,
and pelt our legs.  He tackled David by simply clamping on David's short,
like he had a Pit Bull's death grip, bite.  In a few steps, he pulled them
halfway down his butt so David hit the dirt to avoid full exposure.

I caught a rock crab mixed with a heap of mud right on my ball sack.  They
laughed their asses off as I screamed like a little girl, pulling the front
of my shorts down to wipe away the slop and dislodge the spiny feet of the
crab from my sack.  A little green rock crab, the size of a nickel, feels
like a loaded pin cushion tumbling across your nuts.....  This dirty trick
was nothing new.  We'd drop them in a kid's shorts and hold his hands above
his head while he'd squirm and cry as the alien would claw away at his
junk.  It always amazed me how a kid could summon super hero strength as
they'd squirm and tug their way free in a matter of seconds, drop their
shorts (no matter who was around: adult or girl), and slap at their junk to
get that alien off.  Boys are ruthless and I'd endured it at least a half
dozen times in my life: good, clean, fun.

Soon, all three of us were caked in mud from our battle.  Timmy's shorts
pulled away from his butt a few times and we made fun of his steely white
moon's contrast against the black mud.  He giggled and mooned both of us.

David tossed a huge mud clod down the back of his shorts and, as he dug it
out, I sprinted by and dumped a wad of seaweed down his front.  Eventually,
Timmy got sick of us shoving stuff down there.  His solution was to drizzle
mud down the front and back of his shorts on his own terms, rub it around,
and then he simply ditch his shorts by throwing them as far as he could up
the flats.  He was now a "mud man."  He was covered in slimy mud with only
streaks of tan and the white where his shorts once covered.  His little
penis and scrotum were coated but the mud was so fine I could make out
every wrinkle and crease of his bag and little cock.

My mind went into "locker room mode": all my thoughts were of road kill,
fingers smashed in car doors, and all things that float in the blue water
of a Port-a-Potty.

I had problems with locker rooms beginning shortly before I turned ten.  I
started to really notice boys.  Not all of them, but a few.  Being curious
is normal, but there were always kids like Brad and Ilya who drove me wild
with dirty minded sex thoughts.  I ignored everyone else but always tried
for an eye full of the select few.

I knew it was wrong so I came up with my road kill distraction a year ago.
Later, I found and hoped it was a way to keep from boning up in all kinds
of situations.  As I aged, I found it easier to park in a locker next to an
ugly, foul mouthed, asshole like Billy.  If I despised someone, it didn't
matter what he looked like, I ignored him and everyone around him so boning
up was impossible as my hate raged against that sack of shit at the next
locker.

The tide was coming in and I whispered to David, "He needs to be baked,
before it's to late."

We giggled as we made Timmy lay on his back, on a hard pack mud patch,
above the rising tide.  David and I drizzled mud over his body and rubbed
it in so there was a nice layer, about a quarter of an inch thick, over
every inch of him.  We both took care over his face: avoiding his eyes and
lips.  We caked it into his hair and spiked it out from his head.

His little penis went rigid as he lay there from the heat of the sun and
the two pairs of hands attending to his body.  David drizzled mud all over
his unit so there was a mound of mud on his crotch.  We knew he was like
titanium hard under there because we always were.  Boys don't touch another
boy's parts so, we'd settle on heaps of mud, over fun zones, to conceal
everything.  It was a mutual and unspoken agreement that went back to when
we were seven years old or so.

We sat Indian style, at his shoulders, and every half minute we demanded he
not move a muscle and Timmy complied, muffling giggles and smiles.  Cure
time is fun time for us "mudders."  David had a hard time keeping a
straight face while I kept my eyes on Timmy's and giggled with him.  Being
a kid is the best.  Reliving and sharing some of my play through him was a
close second.

Ten minutes later, we let him hop to his feet.  The cured mud made him look
like an unfinished piece of pottery: crusty gray, brittle and cracking.
His hair stood straight up like a punk rocker's fan.  He felt the prickly
tickle of crackling crust of mud breaking free, in chunks and shingles, all
over his body.

"Oh, shit!  Oh, Man, Oh.....  OH MAN!!!!  IT'S ITCHY!  IT'S ITCHY!  GET IT
OFF..... AHHH.....  GET IT OFFFFFF!"  Timmy squealed as he jumped around
bending, flexing and shaking every muscle in his body trying to shed the
crust.

David began to shuck fragments from his neck and I dropped to my knees to
work my way up his legs.  The crusty scales flew off him as he giggled with
the feel of excavation, as his friends hands worked his body.  David's
hands met mine just as I was spanking the mud from the sides of his spongy
butt cheeks.  When we we're done, his body was covered in a grey dusting of
beach.  His little penis was pointing straight up at his chin with mud
still crusted to his balls and shaft.  There are some places "boy code"
won't allow you to touch.  David told him to jump in the bay which he
happily did with a skip and jump to a belly flop in a couple of feet of
water.

"That use to be so awesome....  The best.  Wish we could still do that kid
stuff," David admitted, as we watched Timmy roll around in the water.

"Yeah.  I know.  I hate getting older," I sighed as I took in what we both
felt: our bond fading.

We watched Timmy wash the filth from his hair and he stood up revealing his
shiny, wet, tan hi-lighted by the white of where his shorts once were.  As
much as I tried not to recognize it he's beautiful.  The perfect male form
in perfect proportion for his body and height.

"God damn it, I'm such a fag," I thought.

There was something simpler in Timmy's body lines: in his effortless
movement compared to guys my age and older.  I guess it made him cute in
the same way a puppy is cute only there was something more to him.  I
couldn't look away and feared David would notice.  Squishing mud between my
toes and staring down at my feet became my strategy of fighting my bad
thoughts.  Even after trying to toss globs of mud with my toes, the
thoughts wouldn't leave.

Adults still seamed like Martians in the way they looked, thought, and
behaved.  He's still perfect in every way.  I'd rather hang with him than a
twenty something.  I guess everything about Timmy was better.  Maybe it's
because he thought I was God due to the few years I had on him.  I loved
that look of respect and wonder he gave me.  Something the youngest never
gets from his sibs.

I began to think of Billy, as my defense of a hard on.  Billy never really
washed his pubes or junk....  Well, he never really washed anything, as far
as I could tell: all he did was stand under the shower after gym or a hard
hockey practice- no soap or shampoo ever touched him.  So he had this
massive curl at the center of his pube patch that must of been formed by
months of crusted sweat, crystallized piss, and dehydrated cum that formed
that flaky curl.  It was like his sister took her curling iron to him.
And, he was rank, I mean, he smelled like wet dog, shit streaked boxers and
a homeless guys arm pit.  Just two years ago, he was a cute boy: even for a
fat fuck.  He once had that "Timmy Suave."  I couldn't believe how everyone
changed.

I then thought about myself.  I couldn't hit a baseball, like I used to, or
pick up physical instinct of another sport, like I once had a few years
back.  Hockey and soccer were the only sports I played efficiently.....  It
seemed muscle memory was chiseled out and there was little room for
adaption, as the morph into a teen continued at an accelerated pace.

I think I'm ugly no matter what my Mom and Will say.  I think most people
feel that way about themselves, at one point or another.  Most of the time,
I thought people stared at me because I might have a zit or maybe I look a
little like Alfred E Newman.  Why the fuck do people do that?  Leave me the
fuck alone!  There's nothing to look at here.

It was simple: Timmy's body was so perfect compared to our morphing teen
bodies where faces grew longer or flat out ugly compared to a year ago;
puss filled pimples appeared on faces, backs and chests; weird shit was
happening below everyones belt; and not to mention, all the funky odors we
all aquire.  Timmy's able to just jump in and not worry about how well he
plays and could care less about his looks or oder: there's no hang ups to
being a boy.

I wished I were Timmy's age to shed all of the crap.  I definitely wanted
to shed the last four months of my life.  My stinking thinking sucked all
the blood out of my dick, like our Maytag in the spin cycle.  I hated
waiting for all this shit to end.  I either wanted to be Timmy's age again
or an adult with all the privileges of life.  If I looked half as good as
Will, I'd have no worries, I figured.

David smiled at me, gave me a shove, breaking me from my thoughts and we
dove in with Timmy.  But even as we splashed, my thoughts wandered to when
we were kids.

Our "mud men," play began when we were six or seven all the way up to the
summer we turned eleven.  The only variation was our "mud pack" process.
We'd start with a mud fight and progress to a chase game where we'd stuff
seaweed, clear jelly fish and mud down the others shorts as part of the
"struggle."  Then we'd sit a few feet apart taking turns tossing mud mounds
down the other's shorts: we'd stretch the front out like a basketball hoop
and take free throws...  It's the closest we'd ever come to actually
playing that stupid game.  The most effective method was to bank a mud ball
off the others tummy with a splat.  After a dozen, or so, shots, we'd press
and slosh the mud around in our shorts and then pull them off as the mud
formed a crusty Speedo on our bodies.  One of us would lay flat on his back
to allow the other to pelt, drizzle and rub the other down with slimy mud.

We accepted stiffies as part of our game.  We loved the tingly feelings
they made.  We even verbally compared and contrasted what they felt like,
as most kids will, but our little boy games never went to sexual touch.
It's amazing we never played sexually way out on the flats, where nobody
could see.  I still can't figure out exactly why I was never attracted to
David or my other friends.

Although, I once slathered David with the slick stuff even coating his
little, rock hard, penis with my hand instead of covering it with drizzle,
as we always had.  He jumped like I'd shocked him with 480 volts but
settled in after my wandering fingers made a couple of passes.  That is as
close as we ever came to fooling around with each other passed show me
games.  At the time, I was curious of what somebody else's felt like.  I
still really couldn't tell with all that mud and never touched him like
that again for reasons I can't explain.  It didn't feel right with David is
all I can say.

We continued to splash around for at least a half hour, following the tide
as it rose.  The beach cast it's spell as our play became intense.

I tossed Timmy around like a sack of potatoes and let him climb on my
shoulders for a ride into the deep where he'd fall backwards pulling me
down.  His junk pressed against the back of my neck but neither of us went
hard as we both were deep into the play.  It was just short of wrestling,
due our difference in size.  I didn't want to hurt him by accident and was
as gentle as possible short of being called a pussy. I loved every second
of it as it was like being a little kid again.  I only wished I was his age
and naked to experience true freedom again.  If David weren't around, I'd
probably drop my drawers to get that feeling again.

I felt amazing.  The pain of my back and bruises became nonexistent.  The
cure was home and friends.  It was relief of guilt and depressing thoughts,
even if it were temporary.

I paid so much attention to Timmy I lost track of David.  Turning to shore,
I found him spinning Timmy's muddy swimmers, on his index finger, by the
waistband, with a huge smile on his face.

"Hey, Mighty Mite, you're all naked and look who's coming!"

A few hundred yards away, Julie was walking up the beach.  Timmy stopped
splashing and his hands dropped over his stuff as he shuffled over to a
deeper spot and knelt down in the water.

David owned him: I could see a streak of fear wash Timmy's face as David
chuckled.  When Timmy's pleading eyes locked to David, David grinned and
tossed his shorts out in the channel.  I loved David as a brother from
another mother but today I knew he was my unconditional friend.  He always
treated inferiors with contempt, teased or insulted them until today.  If
it were Timmy or me he cared about, it made no difference, he showed
compassion for someone beyond us, for once, instead of being a complete
dick.  It's a centerman's mentality: fuck everyone else it's my shot and
I'm the one who will win the game.  Complete assholes.

David came to my side and whispered he had to call it quits for his chores
and lawn mowing route he'd picked up for extra money, as Julie closed in on
us.  We spoke about kicking the ball around tomorrow as he backed away from
me and then he jogged off waiving to Julie without our usual group chit
chat.

Julie didn't have much to say as she hugged my wet body to her warm skin
and little yellow bikini.  I boned up due to body contact....  I'd bone up
for any skin to skin contact, at this age.  She pushed into me and her
hands wandered to the small of my back as she pressed, hard, against me.
My eyes closed because it felt so good to have her as my only friend who
wasn't afraid to show it so, I wrapped my arms around her shoulders and
squeezed in return.

She smelled like strawberry shampoo and Coppertone and, here I was reeking
of kelp and muddy slime.  I knew she could feel my penis rub against her
but all she did was hold me tighter.  After we broke apart, her eyes
glanced down at my shorts, she looked back into my eyes, and smiled.  I
blushed and felt like sprinting off.

"I'm sorry....  Really, really sorry," I was talking about my stiffy but I
don't think she understood as she laid into me.

"You could of called.  Why didn't you call me?  I only wanted to know you
were okay.  I thought we were- Jon, that was really stupid."

"I know.  I know.  I do stuff without thinking.  I didn't mean to.  I mean,
you and David are my best friends.  You guys have every right to be mad at
me.  I get it.....  I'm sorry."

She looked disappointed for some reason, "Jon?  God, Jon," She sighed and
shook her head, as we began walking.

I had to practically catch, wrestle, and yank Timmy over to introduce him,
after Julie prompted my manors by shrugging and pointing at the little boy
hopping from puddle to puddle ahead of us.  I guessed he was sheepish
around girls who hug and kiss.

Timmy was polite but looked to me with the classic "what do I do"
expression of a kid confronted with a beautiful girl.  He just stared up at
her, with his mouth hanging half open.

I felt his fear as my slow brain translated the hug: it was of boyfriend/
girlfriend stuff.  That scared the shit out of me.  What the hell was she
trying to do?  What did she expect?  What the hell was I going to do?

He had a reaction I wished I could of taken: ran ahead and kept a safe
distance from her.  Once in a while, he'd come back interrupting with a
question and/or a critter.

Once, he hauled ass back to us, and hopped around with spasms of
excitement, asking if we could build some spears to hunt flounder like he'd
seen on Johnny Quest.  As he described the episode, both his hands went
down the front of his shorts and we watched him fondle his little balls
through the material.  He was oblivious with his new freedom and Julie
blushed as he pawed away.  After he got his answer of "Are you crazy?
Those damn things are impossible to spear but a hook, line and some cheese
is all you need," he ran off, disappointed, with one hand still jammed down
the front of his shorts.

Julie held my hand the rest of the way as I told her most everything.  When
we came to our bulkhead, she pulled me back from climbing the stairs as
Timmy raced ahead, and kissed me square on the mouth.  Her lips seemed
softer than Chris's but she was more passive with suction.  It was kind of
like when we were little kids- just sliding our lips around- only now we
opened mouths like adults.  Her little boobs squashed between us and she
shoved her hips into me and ground my new hardon against her.  I could feel
her exhale through her nose and then it was over.  She rested her head on
my shoulder and hugged me a bit tighter.  She smelled so sweet now.  How's
that possible: sweet?

"Don't ever runaway without me," She demanded as she pulled away, turned
and ran down the beach to her house.  I stood there for a few seconds
completely stunned as her little butt disappeared around the corner to her
house's bulkhead steps.  Girls.....  Somehow, I'd lost my boner.  That kiss
was so unexpected.  I blushed knowing somebody had to of seen us beyond
Timmy.  Even if it were just the neighbors, how fucking pants down in front
of the class was that?  People will talk!

My head spun with the idea that a girl, like her, would want me for that.
I mean, she was four months older than me but, at that time, I had no idea
girls were miles ahead of boys not only in physical development but
emotionally as well.  She was in her second wind of a girl's "boy crazy"
phase.  She had no idea I was twice the crazy for cute guys, than she.

When I looked up the path, Timmy was midway up the stairs, giddily gawking
down at me, puckering his lips like a gold fish, with added sound effects
of lip popping and smooches.  I flipped him off and he started laughing.
So I charged up the stairs at him and chased him all the way back to the
house where Mom was busy with Will in the side garden picking cucumbers and
tomatoes for our dinner salad.

Timmy gave them a glance that nonverbally stated he'd tell by twitching his
eyebrows at me: the little prick.  Us youngest know how to exploit secrets.

"Hey Timmy, wash the salt off or prepare to itch your balls off," I almost
begged to change subjects.

"Jonny!  You're not in the locker room!" My mother snapped without even
looking up as she plucked those crappy tiny tomato's from the vine.

Will turned and looked at us with a puzzled expression as Mom was emersed
into "operation ignore the children."  How he could read my voice always
freaked me out.  He knew I was trying to hide something.

I grabbed Timmy's shoulder and led him to the shower to avoid any
embarrassing question from Will where Timmy would surely answer with the
truth.  Little kids are the worst about that kind of stuff.

"Cool!  It's outside!"

I adjusted the knobs and Timmy jumped under the stream in front of me which
seemed right.  I did that to Will all the time because it pissed him off.
At almost nine years old, riding the edge of annoying is great fun.  Timmy
went into full little kid mode and I loved it since it meant he's
comfortable around us: leaving manors and trying to be "grown up" behind.

"If you want to jump off the bridge, when the tides up, just rinse off or
you can take a real shower inside.....  Mom gets mad if we drop our shorts
and soap up out here since those people built next door a few years
ago.....  I used to streek all the time....  But not now, I'm too old for
that."

Timmy laughed, "Noway!  Nobody does that.  It's just a stupid song they
play on the radio."

"Yeah, we did, cuz nobody cared, when it was just a couple of houses and a
few cabins.  The girls never did, I mean my sisters, or when Julie was
around, us boys never did it then.....  She's seen me naked a couple of
times, when we were real little....  like when I was six I think was the
last time I streeked with her around.....  We didn't have to walk all the
way out there until we were about your age because by then, there were too
many people around.  It was like last year when we kinda stopped.
Neighbors suck," I explained.

"Sometimes, I go naked in the house- sometimes- when Bret's the only one
home.  It feels good.  But mostly I like underwear.....  Even in the
winter.  Don't know why but I do.....  When Rolland's over we hang out like
that- in our underwear- until we have to go somewhere or something- like at
night and in the morning, after a sleep over."

I nodded and pushed him half out of the stream and we began shoving each
other around more than rinsing off. After about five minutes of giggling,
yelling, screaming, pushing and shoving Mom popped her head around the
corner and scolded us to stop wasting hot water.  We stepped into the
utility room where I dropped my shorts and placed them on the drying rack.
Timmy's eyes locked on my junk.

"Shut the door Timmy before Mom sees me and yells nonstop."

He did with a huge grin on his face and leaned back against the door knob
giggling at my nudity.  He made me feel uncomfortable in my own house: this
from the kid who, without a second thought, dropped drawers in his tent, on
the beach, admitted running around naked just a minute ago and streeked
across his lawn with a condom in tow, a few days back.

"Put your trunks with mine.  My parents will shit bricks, if you drip on
the hardwood or sit on the sofa in those wet things.  Seriously, you have
no idea how they'll freak."

He whispered, "But my clothes are in my backpack upstairs.  Your mom might
be up there or come down here and see me.  Go get it?"

I found it odd how free he was at his place and on the beach but now he's
all modest.  The comfort of home and out of sight, I guessed.  Here I was
treating him like he's one of the guys on the hockey team, with locker room
nakedness, and now I felt a little stupid by making this mistake.  I should
of let the guest dictate the terms of the dressing room.

"It's just us down here.  Don't worry about it.  We have clothes for
guests.  We always have company whose kids don't have gear because they
forgot or their parents were to stupid to bring the stuff.....  It's some
of my old stuff.  It'll fit.  I have some cool stuff!  Let's dress you up!"
I grabbed my dick and wiggled it at him, "What's the matter?  Did a crab
lop your itty bitty teenie weenie off?  It was that small, huh?"

He giggled, "This better not be a trick.  No girls clothes from your dopey
sister or something.  That better not be what you're thinking!"

I let my dick go, "Nah, that's not what I mean by dress up.  I'd never do
something like that to my Little Dude: never, ever.  I'm thinking we'll
probably get dirty, if we go into the woods or something, later on.  This
way you don't have to worry about getting yelled at or anything: just pull
my old stuff off after and slap on your travel clothes before your parents
show up.  Nobody will care, if my old clothes get ruined.  It's better this
way.  You know how parents are and everything.  You won't get in trouble."

He nodded but probably wondered why I wouldn't get his pack.  He really
didn't want to drop'em.

"Timmy man, what's the big deal?  If a guy had a telescope, he'd of seen
everything of your's a minute ago!  I've seen your's tons!  What's the
problem.....  You know my Mom's seen all my friends naked, at one time or
another.  She saw me a week or two back.  Bet she even saw you earlier.
Drop'em and go on up, if you want, she won't care.  Nobody cares.....
You're in my house not outside, in front of her, for Christ's sake."

He thought it through for a second and giggled, "Nah, not in front of
them....  You guys really did all that mud man and naked stuff all the time
and your mom really didn't care?"

"Hell yeah, every damn day of every damn summer we did it.  Too old for it
now, you know," and I pointed at my little pube patch as Timmy lowered his
shorts and placed them next to mine.

"Shave'em off like Bret!" He giggled.

"I'd end up slicing my dick and balls off with Dad's razor or something," I
shook my head, laughing and then cupped my nuts, "No way I like these guys
to much.....  And what would the guys say?  They'd think I'm a little kid
or something."

He gave me a puzzled look and then giggled.

I grabbed a towel for Timmy.  I let him dry and then rubbed myself down
with it after he was done.  His little penis chubbed up so that it was as
big as it would get prior to an erection as it poked out from his scrotum
with a couple of degrees of elevation.  I felt mine do the same thing as it
swaying back and forth with my motion while I dried my my back with the
towel swung over my shoulder.  Timmy's eyes stayed glued to it until I'd
completely wiped my entire body.  I knew it was the same curiosity as in
the tent but the way he stared was like a zombie drooling for brains.  I
began to wonder if he's like me.  I had the beginning of those thoughts at
his age.

We walked down the hall and squatted, side by side, as I dug through all
the soon to be hand me down clothes in the lowest drawer of the linen
closet.  I found him a pair of gym shorts and my old Hawaii 77` shirt from
our only, family, Christmas/winter, vacation trip, when I was ten.  Dad
said we were all old enough to remember it and Will would be at university
soon so it was our last chance for a Kodak moment in tropical paradise.
Timmy didn't object to my choice.  I think he was caught up in being naked
in somebody else's house.  I bet I could of put him in a pink blouse
without him objecting.

I led him into the bathroom where I grabbed suntan lotion and squirted
stripes on his shoulders, down both his arms, another down the valley of
his chest to just above the tip of his now fully erect cock which I tried
to ignore but it'd been weeks since I masturbated and even though it was a
little boy dick, it was so perfectly proportioned to his body.  His little
purplish pink helmet bobbed up and down and my mouth began to dry as I felt
my heart race and cock inflate as he began rubbing the Coppertone into his
arms as I rubbed it into his shoulders and back.

I smiled down at him in the bathroom mirror as I squirted a glob on my palm
and began rubbing lotion into the small of his back and then knelt to rub
the back of his legs.

I wanted to touch him all over, hold him, caress his calve muscles, stroke
up his inner thigh and then land my mouth on his savory sex.  As my hands
stroked back up his legs, I rubbed his inner thigh all the way up to his
legs split to his butt.  He spread his legs, a little bit, and I could see
his little boy pouch.  I stroked up high letting my hands lightly skim over
those perfect orbs to his hips.  Then rubbed around the small of his back,
again, to feel the transition of torso to his little boy bottom and let my
hands wander a bit to low on his cheeks.

"Stick'em up," I barely got out and he raised his hands in the air so I
could continue up his sides and even into his arm pits which had him
giggling.  His body was so smooth and soft almost like Chris but even
softer since his muscle tone was still of a young boy.  God help me because
I loved the feel of him.

I grabbed his shoulders and spun him around.  His eyes shot down and locked
on my throbbing penis.

"Wow," He giggled.

"Yeah, your's got really big too," I whispered as my mind was at war as
cute little Timmy's eyes scanned my stuff with his excited look of
wonder....  He wanted to feel it- just to see- I knew that look.  He's like
me.  My body shuttered with tension as my scrotum began to tighten and
lift.  I could feel lubricant ooze up my urethra.  "What's happening?  He's
my brother.  What am I doing?" I thought.

He peered up at me, "Why you whispering?" he asked with a gulp.

"Oh...  Umm...  This is weird," I stammered trying to calm down.  I wanted
to do him: it wasn't about me getting off.  I wanted his hips pounding away
as his tummy slammed my nose as I'd suck him off.  I wanted to hear him
moan, pant and squeal with my suction.  I wanted to taste him.

He took the bottle off the counter and shot a few lines of lotion down the
front of his thighs.  As I contemplated the risk of getting caught on my
knees by Will or Mom, Timmy peered up at me then to my cock again as he
crouched to rub lotion into his legs.

I watched his face turn to pure wonder as he stared at it bobbing a foot
away from me: could he smell my sex?  Sometimes the stench was
overpowering, when I'd drop drawers, after being around Jon or after we'd
messed around.  I knew there was a sex smell and both me and Jon had it.

I felt his breath swoosh across my cock shaft and testicles.  His attention
to me swung my thoughts to selfishness of wanting to grab the back of his
head and ram my cock down his throat.  My thoughts were of dowsing his ass
with Coppertone and fucking him like I'd done Jan.

"How come you're not putting on lotion?"

I croaked, "Oh, ummm.  I really don't need it.  I only put it on cuz Mom
wanted you to this morning....  being polite."

"Your voice is funny....  You okay?"

I grabbed him, spinning him and put him in a full nelson which allowed my
junk to grind into his back.  Timmy giggled from what, I'm sure, he thought
was naked wrestling.  He felt so warm and slick against my penis as I
pumped my hips a couple of times and then my brain flashed to my Wolf
dream.

I could see Schmidt's head lower to my tiny penis and his lips circling my
shaft to pucker and suck.  No wolf this time: just Schmidt slurping away.
I remembered being in complete awe as I peered around the side of his head
to see what he was doing to produce the vibrating, slimy spasms through my
penis and into my tummy.  I remembered my head slamming against the paper
covered cushion, with a crunch, as the spasm entered my toes and worked
it's way up my feet.....  Then nothing.

I released Timmy with a shove and nervous laugh.

Timmy turned to me giggling as he wrapped his arm around to rub his back
where my junk made contact.  I turned and walked into my bedroom and
hurriedly grabbed a pair of shorts and tee shirt from my dresser but fell
backwards to my bed where I dropped my clothes to the floor.  My mind shot
through more memories: everything spun with confusion.  How could any of
that be true?  Was it real?

If I stayed in that bathroom a second longer, I would of raped him with all
the fury of what I did to Jan: I was sure of it.  I never wanted to lose a
friend or hurt anyone again.  I felt lost in my own head. Everything was
confusing so I relied on Dad's advise: when in doubt, do nothing until I'd
fully thought things through or found sound advice.  But who could I talk
with about this?

Timmy followed me, stopping short, at the doorway scanning my room with
total concentration of the loot of my domain.  He held my old clothes in
one hand.  I thought he'd get dressed but he just stood there naked with
his penis still at full mast. Timmy's mind was like a crow: shiny things
distracted him even from our nudity.  His eyes locked upon the rocket I'd
built for a sixth grade, science, project, that hung above my bed.

He glanced down at his cock then back to the rocket a couple of times with
a smirk and sing song drama, he asked, "How come our rockets get all big
stand up like that?  Like on the beach and right now?  I know it's because
being naked is naughty but why can't I make it stay down when I want?  I
can make it go up just about anytime I want....  Just by thinking about
making it big and it just pops up there..... But why won't it stay down
when I want?"  He stared at his little units eye staring back at him as he
waited for an answer.

"God, Timmy, do you ever stop asking questions?" My voice was cracking with
confusion.

Schmidt was like Denis.  I knew it wasn't a dream: most of it seemed to
real.  I couldn't wrap my mind around it until now.  Schmidt did something
to me, when I was a really little kid: barely out of diapers, I thought, or
at least I still had accidents at night....  My stomach churned as bad as
when I thought Chris was dead but I couldn't figure out why.

"You said that's what youngest do!  You said it's our job!  So, why does it
do that?"  Timmy demanded, although he knew the answer: He's to smart not
to to know.

"Mine just goes up anytime it wants.  I think, sometimes, it goes up
because of what you said: naughty naked games.  It doesn't mean anything.
Don't worry about it."  As I said this, my mouth began to water as if I was
going to puke.

"Oh.........  Rawwwwwrrr!"  He grabbed his stiffy and started shifting
gears with it as he ran a few circles around my room pretending to be in
the Indy 500 or something: complete with squealing tires and grinding gear
sound effects.

I sat on my bed and stuck my hand down to feel my now soft cock that had
secreted a little slimy drop of precum.  I thought, if I tried to rub
myself to erection, nothing would happen.  My stomach was turning as I
thought of what I almost did.

Timmy came to a stop to look at my poster of Bobby Orr, after a fight, with
blood dribbling out his nose and down his sweater.  He looked over at the
opposite wall viewing posters of the Swedish National Team and a couple of
the Broad Street Bullies: Schultz beating the crap out of some Maple Leaf
goon and a group photo of toothless smiles of the ultimate goon squad (the
original felons on skates).

I loved the Bullies because they forced the Soviets off the ice a few years
back and the Swedes were the best chance of beating the Soviets in the
upcoming winter Olympics.  I couldn't wait to watch the little Northern
European country kick a super power's ass..... Even if it was Sweden.

"You really like hockey, huh?"

"Yeah man, there's no game like it.  So fast.  You have to learn to react
with the right decision, in a split second, and be disciplined enough to
follow coach's system, when you do.  It's like everything fades away: you,
ice, teammates and coach is all that matters.  You have to trust everyone
and know they have your back.  It's all about being there for everyone
else.  It means everything...."

He shrugged.  "Hey, that's a Plymouth Super Bee!  Wow! 426 and everything!
You even painted it Plumb Crazy!"  He gasped hopping about a bit as he
surveyed a few model's, on my bookshelf, I'd methodically assembled and
detailed when I was ten and eleven.

"You know cars!  Fucking cool....  Most of my friends could care less."

He nodded and began running around the room again roaring and grinding
gears with his stiff cock.  He came to a stop in front of me: pulling his
penis up and then fluttered it, side to side, like he'd shifted into
neutral and was ensuring he's out of gear.

"Bob, booobedie, bob, bob!" he made the exhaust sound effects of a big
block, funny car and shuffled forward, between my legs.  "EeeeK!" he
squealed as he came to a stop.

I wanted, so badly, to give his stiffy a couple of slaps like my brother
did when I'd bone up during some of our early morning, pre-shower,
wrestling matches.  It was all in fun, with Will....  But, Timmy's not my
real brother.  What would happen?  Would I get in trouble?

I quickly reached down and wiggled my index finger in his belly button
while holding him behind his back with my free hand, "Honk, honk, honk," I
laughed as Timmy squirmed around laughing while struggling for freedom. His
body slammed against me and my penis sprang back to life with our contact.
Schmidt and Denis faded to the back burner of my mind as his taunt for play
gripped me.

He spun around and pressed his backside between my legs and then put his
full body weight against me so, I scooted back a bit so only my lower legs
dangled over the side.  He hopped up on the bed, pressed against me with
all his weight to push me over.  The crown of my cock was pressed against
the small of his back and I wrapped my arms around him in a bear hug to
gain control and bring him up from resting against me like that.

He simply wanted a wrestling match with his new friend.  It's what boys do.
At least I did, without any sexual thoughts, with Will and David......  It
was this year when things got weird.

Timmy laughed.  "Your's is up again!  I felt it!"

"They have minds of their own!"

Timmy laughed as I released him and he flipped back around as he jumped up
off me landing on the floor in a crazy karate pose.  He peered down at my
throbbing cock with a smirk.

"Grab your bellybutton with tips of your fingers, like, with your
fingernails and pinch as hard as you can...  Ever done that?" I asked Timmy
as his eyes worked their way up my body and finally met mine.

"Why?  What will it do?"

"Just do it, I dare you."

He stared at me knowing something was up as he grasped his button between
his thumb and index finger with his fingernails ready to dig in.

"Don't even think about it, just do it with all your might.  Just do it!  I
triple, ass kicking, dog, dare you!"

He did and doubled over grasping his nuts.  "Oh my God..... Owwww......
What the....."

I couldn't stop laughing as he bent forward and his hand grasped his aching
balls.

"Collin, you haven't met him yet, showed me that a few years ago.....  So,
now you know!  You should of seen your face!"

"Why, I oughta!" Timmy screamed, in his best Jackie Gleason, as he tackled
me around my chest, with a leap that pushed me back against the mattress.

He quickly straddled my stomach and grasped my arms back against the bed.
I let him.  He deserved his few seconds of revenge since he'd just
experienced his first bellybutton, ball buster.  And, when you're a kid, it
hurts ten time worse than as an adult.

He slapped at my face with baby taps, with his giggling never stopping,
since he knew I was letting him win and he probably realized I was truly
his friend.  But, enough is enough.  Grabbing him by the waist I bucked my
hips while shoving him aside and pounded his skull with noogies as we laid
on our sides.  He hopped to his knees and threw his body over my torso with
a Big Time Wrestling, body slam.  He was laughing his ass off and I enjoyed
this as a memory of my brother's pre-shower play on those early summer
mornings, when he still lived here and it seemed like it was just us and
David who ruled the world.  Will was always gentle with me and I loved this
role reversal.  Timmy's the coolest little dude.

In this split second, as I tuned into my nostalgic thoughts, Timmy shifted
and began slamming his Mr. Minnow at my face as he tried to grapple over me
to the top of the bed.  I doubt he realized what he did.  His little balls
slapped my nose as his rigid penis grazed my forehead.  He shifted so he
sat behind me and scissor locked my head between his folded legs.  I could
barely hear anything as his thighs pressed my ears to my skull but I could
still hear him giggling like a madman as I looked up into his happy eyes.

I decided he'd win no matter what and simply acted like I was going for a
hold by reaching back and pawing at his rib cage.  I allowed him to grab my
wrists and then acted as though he was the Hulk with super human strength.
I could easily pull my head away but looking up at his delight of control
was way to fun.

He quickly released my hands to bend forward and grab both my nipples, "One
wrong move and these get torn off, tossed in a ZippLock and taken home for
my cat's midnight snack!"

He began snapping his teeth and leaned forward, slowly lowering himself to
chew my nipples off.  With this move, his junk was jammed against the top
of my head.  My short army dog cut bristled against his pouch and base of
his shaft.  He felt those fine, soft, hairs and I'll never forget how
abruptly his giggling ended with a gasp.

His body shifted forward to press his shaft on the top of my head.  Once he
had full contact with the tip of his sensitive cock head, he stayed
motionless for a few seconds and then gyrated clockwise and then shifted
gears to a fever pitch in the opposite direction.  He leaned forward until
his tummy pressed against my face and I inhaled deeply against his suntan
lotion, soaked, skin.

I felt numbness set in and fought as my brain screamed "Jan!  Not again!"
Giving him a shove and pulling my head from beneath him, I hopped to my
feet.

Timmy was left in a heap, holding his little rock hard penis in his left
hand as his chest heaved and he panted like he'd run a mile or something.
It was clear he hadn't climaxed but was close and I knew I was numb longer
than just the few seconds I thought.

He attempted to use the top of my head like I used that blue comforter
years ago....  My heart was close to nuclear detonation as I could feel it
pound up my throat and hear each mammoth beat echo in my head.  It felt
like when I did it with Jon the first time: in excitement overload.  But
this was Timmy!  I grabbed my shorts and pulled them on with shaking hands.

When I turned back, he hadn't moved and was still staring at it.  His
little boy balls were completely drawn up to his body.  He's so close.  I
wanted to tell him to rub, stroke, or let me help, let me suck it, but I
stood staring at him with guilt building in my head as my heart continued
to race.  When we made eye contact, he had this look of puzzlement and
excitement.  His eyes went South again.

"We need to get dressed. Mom might come looking for us, remember," I
explained as I picked my old shorts off the floor and tried to act as if
nothing happened.

He stayed put and stared down at his throbbing, penis.

I knelt on the floor, "Tim Tim, come on boy-o," I urged, as I opened the
waistband for him to step through.  He sat there and I watched his thumb
and index finger make that classic doughnut, under the crown of his cock,
squeezing his remaining foreskin.  I was not part of his world, as he found
his grip.

"Hey, Tim!  We've gotta go! No shit.  Stop fucking around."

Our eyes met again.  In speechless Timmy's eyes was an answer to an
equation: everything he'd seen me and his brother do in the tent, Julie's
kiss with her gyrating hips, and condoms all made complete sense to him- it
feels good, gets better, and there's a step beyond he wanted to try and
that grip would make it happen.

He admitted he rubbed it in the tub and it felt good.  He had no idea, like
most boys, until the trigger is pulled by accident: when Mama's not around
to stop the experiment or in this case, me.

Girls, boys, or whatever, it was an open field for that thing between his
legs.  And, he had no idea he'd be stuck with his parents, in a hotel room,
for the next week with no opportunity to check out his discovery.  I bet
he'll hate Disney Land waiting out his delay of satisfaction.

I wondered if he'd let his best buddy, Roland, in on his discovery or would
he be like me and never talk about it until somebody else presses the
issue, like David had months ago?  Is Timmy like me or does he like girls?
I hoped he wasn't like me.  I wouldn't wish this on anyone.

"Come on Tim Tim, Mom will freak," I waived my old shorts at his face and
again stretched the elastic waistband, holding them open for him to step
into the leg holes.

He slid off the bed and his little stiffy was now a few inches from my
face.  This close up was my heart stopper.  I could fit his entire shaft in
my mouth and probably his nuts and the thought of his hips pounding, gasps
and moans of his first suck slid me into mental lockup.  I then imagined
how it would grow in a few years.  He's another lucky boy with perfect
beauty who'd grow into a handsome teen capable of capturing any girl or boy
he desired.  I didn't want to get in trouble.

I inhaled deeply as I pulled my old shorts over his butt and adjusted the
waist band around his hips.  He didn't have that musky boy smell yet....  A
few more years, I guess.  My shorts were a size to big for him but the draw
string would fix that as I pulled it tight and tied a shoestring knot.

He didn't object to me dressing him.  It was weird, because at his age, I'd
be completely pissed.  "I can do it myself," was my quote from age five
through thirty-seven.

I fiddled with the waistband to ensure I'd tightened the string just enough
to ride his waist but loose enough for him to drop the front for a pee, if
he didn't want to go through a leg hole: Important boy stuff.

As I grabbed my old tee shirt, he reached down and jostled the waistband
into it's proper place.  I locked up for a split second, watching him do
that as my mind spun back to Schmidt's exam room.

Schmidt stripped, diddled, sucked, I don't think he fucked but probably
twittled my butt hole and dressed me that day.  I remember feeling
something slippery between my butt cheeks, after I woke in that cold exam
room, and it chilled me now, after my experience with Jan and Dennis.  That
fucking asswipe, what did he do?

I remember feeling small, confused, lost yet tingly but too young to
comprehend anything was out of the ordinary as I jostled the waistband of
my tennis shorts, all those years ago, just as Timmy did now.

What is ordinary, if you have no life experience?  That's the problem of
youth.  How could I communicate or understand what Schmidt did?  Or, even
know if it was a normal thing for a doctor to do?  It had to be normal or
he wouldn't of done it.....  It had to be normal because Mom left me there.
Maybe he told me what would happen?  I couldn't remember any real
conversation or explanation of anything.  I mean, I can't remember every
episode of Felix the Cat but I remember watching it as a little kid and
everyone told me it was every day or I'd throw a raging fit....  As I
dressed Timmy, it was just like that: my memory was picking up fragments of
a TV show.  It didn't seem real but was so complete it had to be real.

So, how could Timmy know how inappropriate our little naked game was simply
due to our ages and our relationship?  Even back then I knew it was weird
to be naked with Timmy.  If he spoke to his parents about it, I knew I'd
lose him as a friend.  But, I also know Timmy: if it's fun and a secret, he
won't tell.  I didn't intend for him to thrust away on the top of my
head....  Who would?  So, I figured this wasn't the same as Dennis or
Schmidt.  I didn't force him and I wasn't going to fuck him up.  Timmy's
going to be my best friend: my brother.  I knew everyone in my life would
step away once they knew the truth about what Chris and I did.  And, if
they ever found out I did it with Schmidt, they'd point to that as the
first step in my perversion.  I didn't stop Schmidt or tell so maybe I
liked it.  I never told anyone about it so I must have wanted it or even
initiated it.  It was all my fault because I figured, just like Dennis,
Schmidt knew, even as young as I was when he did it, that I'm a sick fuck.
So they'd hate me but Tim was different.  Maybe it was just his age but he
seemed indifferent to such things.  Most kids I knew freaked, if a black
guy showed his face in our neighborhood.  But not Timmy he even didn't care
about that part of Mandy and either did I.  So, I figured he wouldn't care
about my secret, when he could understand.

"Stick'em up," and Timmy's arms went in the air as I threaded them through
the arm holes and lowered my old shirt over his head.

"It fits....  You look all foxy and shit.....  No crap.  You wear this
stuff well! If Julie could see you now, she'd be all slurppy and kissy!
She'd slobber all over your face and even on your mouth!" and I made
smoochy sounds.

Timmy giggled, "Sick! NO WAY!" His tone told me he was embarrassed at my
complement and wanted to switch gears.

I picked up my shirt and slipped it over my head and Timmy took the
opportunity to get a closer look at what was inside my closet.  He pulled
my favorite hockey stick out and examined the tape on the blade.  People
who watch a game on TV don't understand all the prep of the gear.  The
tight wrap is so damn important to puck control.  Almost every player tapes
his own stick and I was learning my method.  That stick was perfect and
Timmy's eyes scanned the blade and beat up shaft.  I knew he didn't care
one bit as I tried to explain spin of the puck and so forth.

I could hear them upstairs in the kitchen.  Then, Will bounding down the
stairs, probably curious of where we were and why.

"Lunch, Buddy!  Lets go!"  and we were off.

The cool thing about nine year old kids is their ability to change
subjects, games or modes, due to short attention span.  If he had hormones
raging through his body, God only knows what would of happened.  But then
again, if that were true, he'd be my age and I'd be on my knees satisfying
his every pleasure in mutual transactions.

After lunch, we spent the rest of the day walking around the Island with
Will and then dropped the fourteen foot sail boat in the bay.  Will let him
handle the rudder as we manned the sails and were nothing more than
ballast, for Captain Timmy, as the boat healed with the wind.  We taught
him to scream "Tack!" and "Come About!" before he turned the boat so the
boom of the main sail wouldn't smack us.  He loved being in charge.

Will liked him as much as I.  Timmy was all about the excitement of
anything new which is the best part of being a boy: change is accepted and
appreciated by most kids.

After we pulled the boat ashore, at five that evening, I was completely
spent.  Timmy and Will were still bouncing around.  I figured I wasn't 100%
yet even though I felt fine.

Timmy's parents were with mine, on the sun deck debating Ayn Rand.  I
didn't know much about her just that she'd appeared on the Donahue Show and
my parents instantly hated her and her "objectivist" theories.

Dad considered her a little, rich bitch, Russian who was booted from
university due to the revolution and her poor academic performance.  She
didn't have grades or aptitude to hold her place under the new system which
eliminated wealth and class as determining factors of enrollment.  She
freely admitted she had poor marks yet considered herself the "smartest
child in her class."  Since her parents couldn't bribe others to recognize
her "superiority," it left her a pissed off, greedy, little bitch, wanting
for attention for the rest of her life.  This is the reaction of any
psychopath.

My Dad hated those who never earned anything in their lives yet preach they
did: being born into or marriage to money is not earning it!  Self
entitlement is a psychological malfunction of the worst kind and people of
the conservative movement were using her dribble to justify their greed and
gene pool entitlement of wealth on the backs of everyone else.

"How can anyone expect new ideas, if only the rich have access to
education, careers or capital?  All that accomplishes is stagnation.  If
you have wealth, what's the motivation of improvement of anything?  I'd
rather sit on my butt than work or produce new products.  The stupidest
thing ever was Kennedy lowering taxes on the rich!  My success is due to
everyone who built this country over generations.....  Not just me.
Christ, the agricultural industry of Eastern Washington wouldn't exist
without irrigation projects of the 1930`a or Boeing without the governments
investment in hydroelectric and transportation systems!  Don't get me
started of the importance of the military bases and military contracts to
this region.  I owe everything to this country and if taxed, I will need to
work harder to maintain my standard of living!  To think higher taxes
encourages me not to work or produce is the ridiculous!  I understand my
responsibilities to this country!"  And on and on he'd rant.

It was a hot button issue with Dad as Carter, Ford and Nixon were such
failures due to the economic and social effect of Vietnam catching up with
the nation and the expansion of foreign manufacturing creating more
competition for US workers.

The Presidential Elections would loom large in our future.  Dole, Bush, and
Reagan were names they bounced around conversation as though they were
baseball cards up for trade.  Dad believed, no matter what, we were all
screwed by the selection of such moronic candidates in all aspects of
governance.

"But what's the alternative?"  asked Timmy's parents, "More of Carter's
lust?  More playboy interviews and blaming the US people for failure?"

This silenced Dad.

Timmy rolled his eyes and crossed them at me, in frustration, which made me
laugh out loud.  We were bored by this conversation as we'd finished our
dinners and waited for our parents to excuse us for some TV but they seemed
to ignore our fidgeting as Will, the trader, entered the conversation with
his hate of both political parties and demand of a Jeffersonian political
revolution.

Timmy's Dad reached his boiling point as his wife ganged up against him,
after listening to Will ramble, so he excused himself returning, a few
minutes later, with a huge box wrapped in Philly Flyer's logo, wrapping
paper.  Where he found that, I'll never know.  I was stunned that they
cared about my birthday.  We'd only met them days ago.

I carefully untaped each end of the box and then the seam to save that
paper for the back of my bedroom door.  It was so sweet.  Inside was a
Coleman, six person, tent.  This was the coolest gift and it changed the
conversation which probably saved the grownups friendship.

"Now, here's the thing: Sometimes a man needs a place to go that's special
and private....  Where a man can just think.  I think Jon's going to need
that for a few summers.  So, parents, promise me it's off limits to you.
It's for Jon and only Jon unless he invites you in."

My parents didn't say a word but I knew as long as Aflotti was free, they
wouldn't allow me to set it up this summer.

"Thanks, so much.....  Timmy, Bret, David, Jon Collin, and Chris can come
in anytime they want!  This is so cool.....  Thank you so much!  This will
be so sweet for camping and stuff......  I think down on the bulkhead would
be best."

"Don't suffocate my lawn.  Anywhere but the lawn," Dad warned as memories
of him holding a flashlight between his teeth as he mowed the lawn at nine
thirty at night filled my head.  I smiled but his expression told me I may
never be able to set this up.  The reason was obvious.

In a matter of minutes they had to leave.  Dad gave them a ride so they
kept their BMW in our driveway.  Dad told them it was better than paying
for parking and he'd be in Seattle the afternoon of their return flight.  I
knew this wasn't true.  He was up to something.  I figured he was working a
deal with Abe and Abe had control.  Dad was working the body, with little
favors, to gain the upper hand, until he had his opening for a knockout
punch of negotiation.

I let Timmy keep my clothes because he looked cool in them and I wanted him
to have something that was once my favorite thing: that shirt.  As we
helped transfer luggage into the Electra's apartment sized trunk, Timmy
gave us a puppy dog, sad, face and turned to his parents:

"I don't want to see some dumb Aunt I'd never, ever, even met.  Why do I
have to go, anyway?  What's the big deal?  Why can't I stay with Jon and
Will?"

That went over like a fart in church.  I couldn't wait for my little
brother's return.




On Friday I lived up to McCabe's demand.  Engaging the owners wasn't as
hard as I imagined since they had heard local gossip, in advance.  I also
had a few days to rehearse and work on controlling my emotions.  Pulling
fifty dollars from savings to replace the food I'd stole, fiberglass boat
cleaner for the kayak, and new clothes for David was painful as I counted
how many weeds I'd pulled weeds, mowed lawns and cleaned houses to earn it.

Days back, Will helped me raise the kayak from East Bremerton.  I froze my
balls off diving down to place inner tubes fore and aft, and then inflating
them with a portable air resevuoir and hoses Will borrowed from one of his
old, stoner, friends who worked at a gas station.  All of this was Will's
idea because he didn't want to risk damage and scuffs by dragging it to
shore via a winch.

"Nothings worth doing, if you don't do it right."  He'd picked that up from
Dad.

After spending a few hours cleaning it up and delivering it, I made a deal
with the owner: I'd mow their lawn into November so they could cancel lawn
service for the rest of the year.  I offered to keep cutting for all of
next season but, they declined telling me all I did was borrow a boat and
they understood.

The people at the A frame were difficult.  They didn't have a lawn or much
of a yard other than Sallal, Huckleberry and Salmon berry bushes scattered
around.  So I offered to paint their sun deck or anything to keep me from
the court system.  The old man was so pissed, I could see him shake and all
the veins poke out of his neck and forehead.  I imagined him lunging and
choking me out for a second time. His wife had him leave the cabin.

She went into detail of how violated they felt, which is something I hadn't
considered.  I hadn't considered anyone else, when I ran.  Mandy's
dismissive attitude toward me began to make so much sense.  I felt small.

She made her demands, in written form, on triplicate carbon paper.  She
even filled in slots for my parents to sign in addition to myself.  I was a
little offended since everyone else took me at my word but, after thinking
about it, I broke into their place: what did I expect?

In a nutshell, I had to wash their cars within a day of their arrival,
sweep the leaves and fir needles off their sun deck every couple of weeks,
and provide daily security check.  Easy stuff.

When I passed the contract to Dad, he skimmed it and said the it was so I
understood what was expected: like I'd forget.  But he knew I understood
that my word meant nothing now.  I'd shattered who I once was, due who I
became: A hard thing to swallow.

I left David's family for last.  My second Mom hugged me tighter than my
real one.  She cried, after she had me take my shirt off to see all the
bruises which were now in the process of vanishing as were the scabs.  As I
went through my story, I felt so comfortable with her that I almost told
her the whole truth including my true nature.  I didn't and this is
something I regret.  I needed her guidance but failed to act.  She may have
only attempted to "pray the gay away" but at least I'd know she loved me
like her own.  Even if I told her about Schmidt and Dennis, I she wouldn't
turn me away.  I know this because I did tell her, thirty years later.  I
never knew where I stood with my real Mom.

The problem was, I saved them for last because I thought it would be easier
but it was the opposite.  My thought process or workings of the world were
messed up.  Everything was hard.

After I finished, my parents invited all the families over for dinner.  It
was awkward for everyone and my parents forbid me to simply disappear with
David to the basement TV room.  David hung with me, on the sun deck, trying
to be nice to everyone I'd screwed over.  We all got through it and they
became better friends and neighbors, as a result.

The "summer people" were seen as invaders or above us since they could
afford summer homes.  Even if some were nothing more than plywood shacks
assembled with the skill of a fourth grader, it was more than us locals
could afford.  We found they were just like us: striving for the best for
their families.  At least that's what I thought.

McCabe stopped by after he received all the phone calls and shook my hand.
It was stupid: like I'd been named defenseman of the year or something when
all I really did was beat the wrap.  "Bob will be proud" I thought.




My actual birthday was a bust.  The month was absorbed by nervousness,
Timmy, making amends, working my ass off to keep my word, avoiding touching
myself and worrying about Aflotti showing up to whack me so, on my day,
things felt odd.

It was Will, Sue, and the parents at our family birthday dinner.  Greta and
Tom couldn't come because Tyler was puking all over the place.  At least
that's what Mom told me.  I wasn't sure because I didn't get to talk to
her.  I was so let down, I moped around the house.  I lay on my bed,
staring at the ceiling for an hour completely depressed.  I couldn't stand
Greta most of the time but the combination of her with Tom I'd grown to
love.  Together, they were funny and playful.  Greta alone could be a
complete bitch.  Without them, our gathering felt incomplete.

Everyone was treating me weird: either being extra nice or like I'm a
freak, not only on my day but the whole month.

As I stared at the ceiling, I heard Mom close her bedroom door and then the
clicks of her rotary phone dialing numbers, from above.  Then mumbling and
then her voice elevated and I could hear her clearly.

"You have to come!  He's almost in tears....  dragging himself around the
house.....  He's still a boy and how would you feel, at his age, if he just
decided not to come to your party for no good reason.  Try on some new
shoes, why don't you?"

A long pause and then, "I don't care what Tom said!  He's a boy!"  Another
pause, "Greta, he's old enough to remember you were not here.  He'll know
what you think and you haven't thought any of this through.  Please
reconsider- your brothers and sister are the only family you'll have once
we're gone.  It's not like he meant anything-"

Pause.

"At least that's what your Father and Will believe and I do to.  He's too
young to make those kinds of choices!  Tom's wrong!"

Pause

"Don't punish him : that's not your place!  Greta!  Greta!  He's a
baby.....  Are you crazy?  Your son has nothing to do with this!  Jon would
never-"

A long pause.

"You're being ridiculous....  If you're so concerned, we'll make sure the
two are never alone.....  No...  That's not what I'm saying at all.  He's
your brother and he isn't one of those and that's that."

Pause.

"Greta, please.....  Don't you hang up!  Don't you-"

I could barely hear Mom hang up the receiver and then the creek of her box
spring as she lay down on her bed.  She didn't come out of her room for at
least fifteen minutes and I imagined us both staring at our ceilings
wondering what we did wrong.  I knew what I'd done, in more ways than
anyone could imagine.  I didn't intend to hurt any of them.  I wondered
what Mom was thinking: was she blaming me, herself, everyone, or worse?

Mom baked a salmon, on an alder plank, over an open fire.  Something a
local Tribal member had shown her, when I was a little kid.  I remembered
that family and how we missed them when they moved off the island to
California for "better opportunities."  It's still one of my favorite meals
with all that smokey flavor.  But, all I could do was stare at the excess
portions intended for Tom and Greta.

All my gifts were predictable: hockey books, some car magazine
subscriptions, and a little beach pale full of fruit rolls, Gatoraide gum,
and thirty dollars marked "For the Puyallup Fair."

I knew this would be the last year they'd pay for the Fair because after we
turned fourteen, we had to chip in for all our clothes and our fun money
was up to us to earn.  Compensation for chores doubled but the needs of a
teen are many.  Dad made sure our allowance was low so we'd find a job
which meant picking berries on a farm or doing yard work for neighbors.
Once we could drive, we all found real part time work.  This was my final
year of true freedom: my next birthday would be a bitch.

Will got me the best of my family gifts: an autographed Boston Bruin's
sweater.  Even if I was a Philly fan, this was way cool because he'd picked
off player after player by going to games, hanging out at their practice
rink and using his affiliation with his team and other local players to
gather them.  He did all the work. It wasn't some piece of memorabilia
bought at some collector shop without emotion.  Some of the players even
wrote "Happy Birthday" or "Head on a swivel, stick on the ice" and junk
like that.  There had to of been twenty autographs on there.  It was so
fucking cool!

Dad said he'd buy a frame with glass on both sides so, after mounted,we
could flip it over and see signatures front and back.  I think Dad was
impressed with Will's selfless commitment to make my 13th birthday special.
I was unable to grasp it, at that age, and just thought it was the coolest
thing ever and it's mine.  I figured it out years later: Will was a great
brother.

Even with the cool gift, I stopped going to Will's bed.  It wasn't because
I felt all grown up because of all the shit everyone was telling me.  I
noticed him shadowing me every day, when I kicked the ball around with
neighborhood kids or bumming around with David.  It was like I was a five
year old, or something, it was like he was worried I was doing sex stuff
with all the guys.  He never said so but I knew that's what he thought and,
why souldn't he?  I figured he'd watched us play Mud Men, with Timmy, but
knew that was just play because David was there and that's why he left us
alone.  I wondered what he would of done, if it were Patrick or Thomas?  If
the kid were closer in age, would Will let us shower and change together?
Then I thought it was all just me but I couldn't be sure.  I know I took it
the wrong way, even back.  I hated this new dynamic.  I hated myself and
him.

He probably was protecting me, if Aflotti tried something, but I wasn't
capable of that thought.  I was more concerned about my families reaction
of what little they knew and their discovery of the truth.  Greta and Tom
thought I was a fag, I mean, what were they saying behind my back and were
they telling other people?  I thought I could keep everything hidden and
everything would go back to normal as quickly as the beating had faded and
wounds had disappeared.

Most of the kids I played with that summer never brought it up again, after
a few days of interaction.  But that's kids: as long as you're good with a
soccer ball or whatever, they don't care.  I had no idea what all the
adults thought, outside of my family, and that bothered me: Did they all
think I'm a freak or what?  I figured they must of figured it out.  I had
to hide.




I took David and Julie for my Seattle birthday dinner which was delayed by
my Mother until mid August, just before Will left for the East Coast.  I
overheard Will arguing with her about not giving me a birthday party and he
told her what a "Bitch of a Mother" I'd remember her to be.  He's the only
reason I got anything that year outside of the family.  I figure Dad was
only hopeful in the car weeks ago.  It was only to Bremerton, not Seattle
as promised, for shit Schakey's Pizza and a movie.  After pizza, my parents
dropped us at the theater and went off to do whatever adults do for a
couple of hours.

David got up to take a piss halfway through the movie and Julie took his
seat right next to me.  I started sweating.  When he returned, David took a
seat behind us.  It felt so weird: like they plotted the whole thing.  I
sat paralyzed as my mind switched from the crap movie to her body rubbing
against me, when we were on the beach, a few weeks back.  Numb.

She was sandwiched between me and David since no boy over the age of eight
will tolerate folded, confined legs due to the "hump" of the interior floor
of the Buick, where floor contoured around the drive shaft that ran down
the center of the car.  It's the worst on those long hockey trips and us
boys would fight, push, shove, and bitch slap to keep from the middle seat.
Julie's solution was to drop her feet into my floor space.  I pushed my
legs against the car door and she gave me a goofy look and then slid over
next to me so we were an inch apart.  When Dad turned left, she pushed
against me.  And when he turned right, I grabbed the armrest of the door to
keep from touching her.  If she were a boy, I'd pop her one square in the
stomach for such a trick.  Girls.  It was so embarrassing to hear David
giggle with every turn of the car.  Girls.

Julie held my hand, about half way home.  I tried to pull away but she
grabbed my forearm with her other hand so I just stared out the window as
David kept laughing and giggling.  It was kind of gross.  She'd break her
grip and wipe her sweaty palm on my jeans and then re-clasp.  I can't lie,
even with all of that slimy, sweat, she gave me a boner.  She did all that
with my parents in the front seat and David on her left: She has balls for
a girl: I'll give her that.  She even pressed her leg against mine.  The
physical contact had my heart rocking, stomach heaving and sweat pumping.
Maybe that wasn't her sweat she was wiping on my thigh.

I thought, if we actually went home together, to make out or something, I
wondered if she'd be offended, if my first stop was to the kitchen sink to
wash my hands.  Or, if she'd get pissed if I reached down and adjust my
junk as we'd walk through her front door.  I doubt she realized how turned
on by even the hint of sexual adventure I was....  Gay or not, any whiff of
sexual contact, at that age, is mind blowing.

My parents didn't seem to notice us piled in the back of the Electra doing
our kid stuff.  They had NPR cranked and were listening to more crap about
the upcoming elections.  They were so fucking boring.

She even kissed me on the cheek, when we dropped her off just as I was
taking a sigh of relief to be rid of her.  Giggling David punched me on the
arm, after I got back in the car.

"Finally having a real girl friend rather than the imaginary one living in
your bed covers and old pajama bottoms?"  Dad cut into me.

David knew of my jerk off technique after we'd shared our secrets during
Easter break.  He told me he just used his hand and shot into the toilet,
shower, or wash cloth he'd rinse out and toss in the laundry.  He didn't
think his Mom knew he did it.  Kids are stupid.

Dad turned to me and said, with total seriousness, "Women appreciate
manors.  Where are yours?  Get out, chase her down and walk her to her
door.  You're not a boy anymore."

I stared at him blankly, with a red face.  David knowing of my jerk off
method sat silently, with his face as red as mine.  We were both mortified
by Dad's comment.  It meant no limits to an adult cut.  David didn't want
to be next.

"Do it now," he demanded.

I was genuinely scared: not of my Dad but, for the first time in my life,
Julie.

"Dad! I-"

"Don't you Dad me.  Now GO!"

Mom was silent and didn't open her mouth to save me.  Thinking back, it was
the best thing ever to cover my tracks.  Like Bob said, "Use them before
they use you."  If that's what they wanted to think: Fine with me I was
hiding in the wide open.  Maybe it would all workout.

I got out and ran down the drive where I met her half way to her door.  Her
parents were loaded so they had twice the property but, her house was
nothing like Brad's.  Her driveway was at least a hundred yards or more
that wound down to the beach and her place was about the same size as ours
but she had JenAire appliances instead of Hotpoint.  Yes, even at now
thirteen I noticed these things.

"Dad told me to walk you."

"He's making you?  You didn't want to, did you?"

"Umm.....  Never had to walk you before.  We always dropped you off and
waited for you to get around the bend but he said I should because you're a
girl and all.  I think it's kinda stupid.  Are you going to fall in an open
pit of fire or get lost or something? You can't be that stupid.  I never
had to walk you before.  What's the big deal?  Did you hit your head or
something?"

She blushed.  It wasn't like a "getting mad blush," it was like "an about
to cry blush."  I just said the stupidest thing on the planet to razz her
up, like when we were kids, and it backfired.

 "I mean, I would of but I don't know what to do anymore......  I mean,
you're my.....  I mean-"

She stammered, "I like you.  My Mom likes you so there's that.  And I
thought-"

"Yeah?"  I asked totally astonished all the touching, hand holding and
stuff was for real.  I'm a little thick.  I tried to reason her advances
were some elaborate plot of a joke.  I didn't want them to be like that.  I
wanted everything to be normal.  I hoped she'd get bored, like when she'd
try to play world war two games with the guys: she'd just give up and go
home once we left her out of the game.  This time, ignoring and being
dismissive of her only encouraged her.  Fucking girls.

"Yeah." She answered while gazing off at the bay.

"Why is everything changing?  I mean, you and David are my best
friends.....  I like you no matter what.  Everybody does: even Will and my
sisters.  I like stuff like it was before all this dumb stuff started
happening.  You know what I mean.  I know you do."

She gave me a glance and we started slowly walking.  She grabbed my hand,
after a few steps but this time it felt right.  I think she understood.

I tried to explain, "You know?  It's like.....Like.....  I love you like
always.  Like when we were little all the way till now and always: is what
I'm saying.  You're the best.  So we don't need to do much else about it.
So, nothing needs to change very much.  It's scary.  It's really fucking
scary and I don't know what to do and I don't want to do anything," I said
in my most sincere voice because this is and was the truth of our
relationship, as far as I was concerned.

"Jon, it's because, it's what we do: what we're supposed to do.  Mom even
said I should have a boyfriend and take all those posters of Lief Garret,
Eric Estrada, and Andy Gibb off my walls.  She said they're old men and it
was creepy for someone my age to have them on my walls.  She said just not
Collin, Todd, David or anyone like them.  She even said Billy would be
fine," She laughed as my stomach turned with the thought of her with Billy,
"She said I should find a boy who treats me like a person not an object or
stupid because I'm a girl.  Somebody who wants me as a friend first.
You've always been like that..  Always nice.  But, you're not that way with
every girl.  I've seen you be mean and you're not to me.  We know each
other, and you've always been my boyfriend, even if you didn't know it...
I've always thought of you that way, since the day we met.  Always have.
You know we're supposed to be together.  You know it's true.  I want it to
be forever and more but Mom said this is only the first step and forever is
a long time."

We continued walking in silence and I thought about it/her.  We met at
David's fifth birthday party.  She was the only girl there.  David's Mom
had a treasure hunt and had us running from place to place, giving out new
clues, and each clue led us closer to finding the treasure.  It kept us
busy for at least an hour.  I was active in the search but when we came to
the big black "X" marker on the beach, all the boys started ripping into
the sand with bare hands to uncover the tin foil wrapped treasure chest
she'd made. The top being half an oat meal cylinder for the top of the
chest with the body being an old shoe box.  She'd put so much effort in
wrapping it with tin foil and securing it with two leather belts to look
like something from Treasure Island, it rivaled any piece of folk art.

I thought it was so cool but those little bastards could careless.  After
they pulled it from the shallow hole, they tore and ripped it apart, in a
few seconds, not even bothering to unclasp the belts.  Tin foil shrapnel
and cardboard scraps flew all over the beach.  The chest was filled with
Hot Wheels, candy bars, and cap guns.  And, sharing isn't something boys do
when uncovering buried treasure so those who dug the hole nabbed all they
could hold.  My Mom would paddle me for taking part in that kind of selfish
anarchy.  Boys.

I stood at the fringe of the mob.  When I looked up from the jabbing,
swatting, tugging and fighting hands trying to hord as much as possible, my
eyes locked on Julie who was directly on the other side of the fist fight,
staring back at me.  I glanced at David's Mom who was watching us size each
other up.  She handed us each a Snickers bar she'd wrestled away from
someone in the hord.  I don't think Julie broke eye contact from me, even
when given the candy bar.  We didn't say thank you.  We just stared at each
other.

We ate lunch together and she followed me around for the rest of the day.
I had no idea she lived four doors down until she came knocking on our
door, just about everyday, for playtime.  It wasn't until we turned seven
that I was able to shake her for other interests.  But, we'd always find
each other due to boredom or for me, lack of David.

This became one of those embarrassing dinner time conversation pieces
parents pull out of their asses after you turn twenty.  But, I don't mind
this one.  I really do love Julie and don't care who knows it.  It's just
that she doesn't have a dick and the rest of the hardware I crave.  She'd
be the perfect guy, otherwise.

Before we reached her door, I asked, "Yeah?  So, it's that easy?  I mean,
you can just say it and it's done because you're the girl?  Does this mean
we're going steady like on Happy Days or something?"

"Okay."

"Oh," And before I could fully understand what I just did, she kissed me on
the cheek and ran into her house.  She knew she was dealing with a moron.

And, that's how I got my first and last girlfriend.




Dad came home early, on a business day, a Monday, and dragged me into his
office.  In his typical fashion, he cut to the point.

"Afloti made an agreement with the district attorney's office.  Now listen
to me.  Listen carefully.  He's agreed to avoid trial."  He paused to gauge
my reaction.  "He claimed he wanted to spare you kids from testifying
because the case is iron tight and he's facing 20 years, if it goes to
trial."

I nodded as I'd watched enough Quincy and Perry Mason to pick up on
testifying, courtroom rough house, and protecting kids from it.

"So, he'll go to jail for eight years without parole.....  No trial: none
of that.  In other words, he won't get out until both of you will be
adults.  See?"

I nodded because eight years was more than half of my entire life.  It
seemed like forever and fair punishment.

"So, it's over, understand?"

I nodded and flatly replied, "Good.  Does that mean Chris will come home?"

My Dad gave me a funny look like I was the stupidest human on the planet,
"You better do some soul searching.  Haven't you noticed the real estate
sign on their fence?  They're not living there and haven't since it
happened.  Coming ba-"

"Chris said his parents are getting divorced and he'd move but he's gonna
come home for a while....  He said they went to live with his Uncle Mario
once his Dad's in jail they'd-"

"Stop.  Stop!  Listen.  You need to listen......  I'm sorry Jonny,
sometimes I forget you're a boy.....  You're still a boy whether you like
it or not......  And people's hopes and dreams are usually not what life
offers...  Only kids believe that crap.  Everything that family knew is
gone.  Without their Father, there's no money....  Their Mother doesn't
work and probably has little, if any, marketable skills...  From my
conversations with her, she has little education.  They're destitute within
a few years, without him.  If the family stays in that house, with a huge
mortgage, I'd give them till February before they're on welfare.... I want
you to know we could sue him, his family, for everything they have for what
he did to you....  Everything.  But, we won't do that: We can't.  We will
not bankrupt a family due to actions we are partially responsible.....
Understand?  We'd only hurt that little girl and your friend.  That's not
who we are.  Understand?  They won't come back......  They simply can't."

I nodded.  I couldn't imagine life without Dad, the bread winner, who I
knew was responsible for all our lives.  In a way, it didn't matter that he
beat Chris.....  It didn't matter.  I couldn't figure out which was worse
for my friend but knew I'd fucked one option up.  It wasn't right in any
way I looked at it....

"Now, do you have anything to say?  Nothing to add?  Anything to tell me?"

I croaked, "I'm sorry.  I'm sorry for everything....  I didn't want things
to get so messed up....  I didn't mean for any of this....  I-"

"That's not what I mean.  You need to think about it.  What will we do for
Chris's family?  Think about it.  And, what I said in the car: slow down
and be a boy.  Keep your thing in your pants for a few more years."  He
poked me in the center of my chest, "I'm dead serious: YOU are thirteen
years old, that does not make you a man no matter how much we all tease,
you slow down and think before you act.  When you can do that, we'll talk
about what being a man really means."

I nodded and blushed as Dad grabbed my shoulder and spun me to the door
with a push.

"Stay in your room until dinner.  Your Mom may not be in a good mood......
Fly low."

As I lay on my bed, all I wanted was Chris or Jon.  I wanted to be touched
now more than anything.  It was wrong to have those thoughts but, it's the
truth.  I skipped dinner telling Will I wanted to be alone.  He didn't
argue so, I stayed there, as I realized what Dad meant.

Deep down, he knew I was queer and blamed me for everything that happened
that day. I think he wanted my confession.  Since he didn't get it, he
didn't want to see me for the rest of the day.  At least that's what I
thought.

"What we'd do for Chris's family?" killed me.  How could I, or we, ever fix
it?  Even if Chris's Dad abused his family, I pushed him over over the edge
no matter what that social lady told Chris.  It made the Denis situation
seem like a tick on the ass of an elephant.

It seemed my penis is pure evil.  Everything it wants gets me in trouble
and all the safe stuff just isn't appealing.  Maybe it's just me: evil.



That night, I woke at midnight gasping for breath.  Everything was clouded
and hazed over as I slowly began to make sense of where I was: in my own
bed, under a sheet due to the hot August night, sweat beading up on my face
and chest as my favorite PJ's were bound up my legs with the back seam
wedged up my ass crack.  And then, I felt the chilling wetness on the front
of my PJ's.  I stuck my hand inside the waste band which returned to my
nose with the bleachy smell of cum.

My first nocturnal emission.  I couldn't avoid sex.  Once, when I pee'd
earlier this week, there was some cloudiness in the yellow and I knew it
was traces of cum.  If I didn't rub it out, my body rebelled and made it
happen without satisfaction.  There was no sense in waiting for Chris or
Jon.  I had to have some kind of sex or I'd go nuts: this last couple of
weeks was proof and now this.  I'd do it like I use to.

I pulled Will's old PJ's off and wiped myself with them.  My cock rose
again and I grasped it within Will's PJ's soft fabric fold and started
sawing away, at hyper speed.  My thoughts were of Jan as my balls smacked
his ass the second time I fucked him with all that brutality.  Then my mind
slipped into my favorite fantasy of Patrick sucking Tom off: I could see
Tom's little butt dimples flex as he rammed Patrick's little "O" shaped
lips and Tom pulling away with a glistening, throbbing little pud as his
chest heaved from his dry cum recovery.  And then, my imagination threw
Timmy to the tiled, bathroom, floor holding him down by the back of his
neck as I mounted him from behind and slapped away: ramming his ass to
shreds as I had with Jan.  Then I remembered the look of wonder on his face
after he raked his cock through my hair during our naked wrestling match.

My hands stopped.

I sat up, panting with frustration, and thought of Chris.  I loved him and
he loved me: At least I think I he did.  And, summer was almost over and he
still hadn't come home.  I needed to see him so badly it was killing me.
Why was I thinking of these other guys?  Why was I dreaming of hurting
Timmy?

Starting again, I closed my eyes to see Chris between my legs sucking me
with the gusto of when we were in the barn.

I stopped.  This time I gave up.

My mind floated back to Dr. Schmidt's exam room, when I was three or four.
I thought of the initial feel of heat of his mouth and his whiskers against
his belly.  How he pulled away and smiled down at me asking "Doesn't that
feel wonderful?"  I can't remember anything after his head returned to my
belly and craning my neck around his to see his cheek and lips churn as he
suckled my tiny tube.  The only other memory I had was my head snapping
back against the exam table's cushion with a crunch of liner paper and then
looking at the ceiling like I was staring at the stars.  I didn't want to
stare at the ceiling but I remember feeling him suck my life out through my
penis....  It wasn't supposed to do that....  It was there for pee but the
feeling was so different than peeing.  He had to be sucking my insides out
my penis.....  There was no other explanation.  I remember being scared.
It felt so tingley and then nothing.  He must of killed me when the tingles
pulsed out of my tummy and into my toes.....  I was a little kid.  It had
to be scary and maybe that's why I blacked it all out....  Or was it simply
an orgasm and I was to stupid to do anything else about it?  Or, was I
detached from everything at that point, just as I was with that crazy
numbness?  I had no idea.

I remember waking and he was stuffing me back in my clothes.  Mom had began
to let me dress myself, at this stage, and he totally pissed me off because
of how he lined up undies and shorts.  It felt like he was strangling my
body with clothing.  I twisted, pushed and punched at him as he had my left
wrist trying to force my arm through the shirt hole.  Squealing, in that
little boy pouting way, only brought a hand over my mouth and his other
behind my head, "Now, now, be a good boy.  We don't do that kind of thing
indoors, now do we?  Your noise level is to high.  I'll have to get the big
needle and poke you through your eye with the kid quiet serum, if you don't
be quiet."  His stare was that of a range roving predator.  He'd eat me
alive: I wouldn't make it passed five and a half, as he'd hunt me down.
He'd finish the job: I was sure.

"Now, Johann, you will let me finish dressing you," His thumb and index
fingers pinched the sides of my neck like he was trying to decapitate a
house fly with a splat of goo, "Or the needle comes out," his hand left my
mouth and gripped my junk with a squeeze just short of inflicting pain,
"We'll end up cutting it off and feeding it to the dogs.....  Understand?
All that happened here was noting more than a doctor's visit and it was fun
because of this little doodad here!  Don't be difficult and ruin this for
you.  I'm your doctor and if you keep it up, it comes off.  Understand?"
He stared into my eyes with lethal intensity.

Most adults smiled at me, ruffled my hair, kissed my cheek, asked my how
old I am but he wanted to stab a needle in my eye!  I wanted to cry but
Will told me only girls do that.....  I had to stop doing that stuff or
Will wouldn't love me anymore, I was certain.  As much as I tried to
suppress it, I felt a tear stream down my left cheek and my chest felt
heavy.  I couldn't cry!  He'd tell Mama.  I didn't want "kid quiet" stabbed
in my eye.  I wanted everyone to like me.  He wasn't liking me anymore!

His voice went back to a sing song octave, "All We're doing is putting your
clothes back on so you can watch some TV.....  You like Felix the Cat?  I
think he's on, any minute now!  Be a good boy."

Maybe it's because I was a kid but my memory faded after he put me in the
TV bullpen.

I kept replaying this memory as I still had doubt.  Maybe I'm truly a
pervert and made it all up like my Thomas and Patrick fantasy.  But with
every replay, I became sure it happened.  But who could I tell?  Who could
verify this?  This isn't something you just toss out over idle dinner
conversation with my family, hoping for an answer.  I was 99% sure but it's
the 1% that's unsettling.

I thought further of the rest of that day.  I was so young I only had
little kid scraps of memories so I wasn't sure if some of those memories
were on the same day.  I knew for a fact I was in that play room, with the
half wall, for a long time: Mr. Rodgers, Jack Lalane doing his jumping jack
routine, and Sesame Street were over before Mom came to pick me up.  I
remember kids filtering through and the nurse taking me to potty.
Afterward, she gave me a lemon, Charms, lolly pop she pulled out of the
biggest box of candy known to man she hid behind her desk.  That sweet
puckering taste is one of my favorite candies, to this day.  I remember
that and was positive it was the same day.  But where we went after was
less clear.  We didn't go to the park after....  Maybe we met Dad
somewhere.  I fell asleep, trying to piece it together.



The next night, I had to taste it.  I wanted to suck cock so bad but there
was nobody safe to do it with.  I needed Jon but it was obvious he and his
brother decided to spend the whole summer in California.  Getting out of
bed, I reached down and touched my toes as I contemplated the possibility
of being flexible enough to do it to myself. I mean, dogs and cats do it
all the time so why not me?  My back hadn't hurt since a day or two after
McCabe dropped me off so I thought I'd give it a try since it would solve a
ton of problems.

I went through all my hockey stretches and then focused on my back, neck,
and well, everything.

My first attempt wasn't even close.  So I sat on the corner of my bed, with
my butt barely catching traction, and grabbed the bottom of the box spring
to bend over with maximum strength and flexibility.  I got so close that
when I stuck my tongue out, the tip grazed over my piss slit.  But, it
wasn't the same as when somebody else did it.  I couldn't taste anything
and somehow there wasn't as much feeling through my penis as when Chris
flicked his tongue on me.  I made several more attempts with only a few
touches with my tongue.  My heart was racing as I did a backward
summersault where I ended upside down with my knees at my ears and I made a
Timmy doughnut grip around the base of my penis and jerked away.  I felt my
but hole open up as I relaxed in the sensation of my strokes and listening
to the pulse of my body coarse through my legs as they squeezed my head.

I thought I wanted to taste my cum but as I stroked and came closer and
closer to climax, I felt disgusted with the thought of slurping down my own
spunk.  Before I could really process this my ass clinched in a massive
tweak of orgasm.  I opened my mouth wide but the first stream splashed my
chin and lips.  I quickly adjusted my cock as three dribbles went bullseye
on my tongue and down my throat.

My taste wasn't like Chris or Jon.  It wasn't as sweet.  It turned my
stomach as it felt thicker and cooler than Chris firing off directly in my
mouth.  When I kissed Chris I could taste me but it was faint compared to
this.

My back was stiff as I uncoiled to make my way to the bathroom, hobbled
over like a ninety year old man, where I grabbed a wad of toilet paper and
wiped my chin.  After washing my face I stared at my naked body in the
mirror.  Then moved in to look closely at my face.  It was hard for me to
imagine Chris or Julie being in love with any part of me.  I felt ugly and
now sick with guilt of what I just did.  Maybe I was sick just like Denis
and Schmidt or worse.

I had to have sex and it had to be with another boy.  What if I never grew
out of it like Dad and Will seem to think?  I thought there might be a
chance I'd stop, after Dad yelled at me on the ferry boat, but even after
Julie kissed me and held my hand, I knew I liked guys even if I boned up
due to her touch.  I had just jerked it into my mouth......  Normal boys
don't do that: they dream of pussy juice, titts, and who know's what else.
I wasn't capable of such thoughts.




A few days later, I felt way better as I jacked at least once a day, and
life was adjusting around me as it once did.  Mom took a few days off to be
with us as Will started packing up.  She was making strawberry, cherry, and
blackberry jams.  Mostly so Will could take some back to the U than for the
rest of us.  I knew this but thought that was cool because when I go,
she'll do it for me.  She even promised to send him an apple pie once they
ripened at the end of the month.  She's a bit nuts.

I watched her cook all morning while trying to engage her in conversation
but really it was just me babbling.  It was like when we'd take those walks
in the park.

What I found so amazing about her cooking methods is she didn't use
measuring cups as she cooked.  She simply tossed sugar, fruit, and the rest
of the crap in this huge pot.  It seemed the only instrument she needed was
the thermometer that clung to a skewer she hung across the pot.  Then after
filling the jars and they'd cooled, she'd melt wax to seal the top.

Later, she made me an early lunch.  I think she wanted me to shut up and
what better than food to quiet a newly teen boy?  It was my favorite: left
over, roast beef, made into a sandwich with a thick slice of one of Dad's
garden tomatoes, and with her homemade horse rattish sauce I loved more
than anything.  I was chowing through it as she took a break to go through
the weeks mail.

She opened a letter that bared the County seal.  I watched her expression
drop and then shift to anger: her face turned red and her eyes opened wide
in disbelief, like the time David clogged up our toilet but continued to
flush against his shit and toilet paper wad clog until it overflowed.  He
was to embarrassed to ask for a plunger or, maybe his Mom took care of
those issues, and didn't know what to do other than flush it five times in
a row.  Mom had that look right now.

She peered over the top of the page at me and I knew to clear a path.  I
tried to head for the bathroom, to wait her out, but I heard her feet stomp
behind me and she practically tackled me midway down the hall.  She dropped
the now crushed letter, grabbed my shirt collar and pounded me against the
wall so hard that the back of my head slammed with an audible pop of my
skull.

"What did you mean by all of this?" She shook me by my shoulders, "What in
God's name were you thinking?  Do you know what you've put us through
already?  And, it will not end- it will not die!"  She slammed me again.
"Do you ever think about anyone else but yourself?"

I gasped.  Mom had spanked me, when I was little, but I saw Afloti rage in
her eyes.  I was scared for my life.  There's no way I could fight back:
it's Mom!  Chris flashed in my mind as I imagined what he thought as his
Dad beat the living shit out of him.  How did he gather the courage to
fight back?  I prepared myself.

"Answer me!"

"Mama, I didn't mean-"

"SHUT UP!  YOU listen to me!" She hissed between sharp breaths.  "We came
from nothing.  Nothing!  To this country to build all of this for you!  YOU
CHILDREN!  You're tearing us down...  You think this is going to stay quiet
much longer?  You think everything's going to be like it was?"

"Mama, I'm-"

"SHUT UP! God Damn YOU!"  She screamed about an inch from my face.

This anger I'd never seen so I decided not to speak, even if asked.  I
wouldn't make that mistake again.

"It will never be the same.  You are finished.  How will I face anyone when
my son's out there trying to get in the pants of every boy in the eighth
grade?  OHHHHHH!  NO!  That would be bad enough but you went and found a
little boy and his father's sitting in jail because of YOU!"

Slam went my head against the wall with a crack and thud.  She glared into
my eyes and I started to silently cry.

"That's right.  YOU!  His whole family's destroyed!"  Her voice began to
crack and tremble with each word, "And now, we're going to be crucified one
by one: First you, then me, your Dad's businesses, then him, your brother,
and both of your sisters, because no one will trust or take us seriously
again.  You are a liar and a...  Fairy!  Everyone will make jokes: even at
Church!  Oh yes, they'll act like they're praying for you, for us, but
that's only show.  Behind our backs everyone WE KNOW will say `at least
we're not like the Petersen's and that fairy son of theirs'.  The rest will
hear rumors...  They'll point at us and jokes will fly!  YOU MADE THIS
FAMILY INTO A CIRCUS ACT!"

She slammed me again.

"I'm your mother and I know.  You don't care about Julie.  You don't.
That's the truth of it.  THAT'S THE TRUTH!  How in God's green Earth did I
raise such a degenerate?"

I stared at her with blankness instead of retreating into my usual numb
defensive state: Every word penetrated. She hatefully glared at me as she
pushed me back against the wall a final time, releasing me to turn and
storm into her bedroom, slamming the door behind her causing the wall to
rattle and me to slump against the wall.

I picked up the letter.  It was a court date: Juvenile court.  She stayed
in her room until morning.  She didn't look me in the eye for a week after.
It wasn't from guilt of her action.  My Mom hated the sight of me.  I knew
the difference.

After dropping the letter where I found it, I walked back down the hall,
down stairs where Sue stood at the bottom, staring at me with her mouth
dropped.

"Jonny, what the hell was that?" she asked with condescending concern.

"Leave me alone."

She followed me down the hall as I made my way to my room.  "Jon, she'll
get over it...  It can't be that bad."

"Sue, leave me the fuck alone.  You've never given a shit about me and made
me feel like crap my whole damn life.  Leave me the fuck alone," And I
slammed my bedroom door in her face.

She must of heard the whole conversation and I knew that bitch would put it
together and hold it over my head.  I was so fucked.

I stared up at the popcorn ceiling not really thinking of anything: my mind
short circuited with knowledge of what both parents thought of me.  I hated
myself more than ever as I thought of every misstep I'd made in life.  Even
if I added them all together, none equaled this.





Hours later, I herd the Buick's tires yelp as Dad skidded to a stop in the
drive.  Sue, the bitch, called him.  I knew her game, even without hearing
the conversation.  I braced myself for an Afloti style beating and trip to
the hospital.  His feet stomped the floor above me as he made his way to
their bedroom so I hopped up on my bed to try to listen to them through the
heating register connected to a duct that attached to their bedroom above.
It was all whispers until the yelling and elevated voices began.

"I don't care!" Dad screamed at her.

"I can't leave!"

"That job is nothing!....  We need you here!"

"I'm tired of it!  Now my life...  After twenty two years of confinement!
My life in trade of what?"

"Selfish!"

"You leave every day!  This is solitary confinement!"

"He's in school for seven hours!  What are you talking about?"

"This place!  This damn place!  You move us here!  To the middle of
nowhere!  I can't stand it!  The closet town: Poulsbo!  God, made that
place my own little piece of hell on Earth.  No society other than fat
house wives obsessed with their kids and the damn Sons of Norway Hall...
I'm nothing but live stock, here.  Next Bremerton-"

"What is this babble? You agreed!  This is bigger than the current
situation!  You wanted children as much as I!  You wanted this place!  For
OUR future!  All of US!  Do you know what this place is worth!?" Dad's tone
was now indignant, "Where we lived before has lost value: so much we'd
never recover!  Boeing may never come back!  Logging is OVER!  Waterfront
never loses value!  God will not make more and this place represents the
future of this family.  Now, you want to trade a dead end job for the
future of your youngest child?  He made-"

"Money is what we talk about and is all you think-"

"NO!  you need to...  Why do you change subjects?  It's not about God damn
money....  We need to be with our son!  Don't you understand?  It's all
intertwined!  Everything to this point!"

"What part of we is you?"

There was a long pause and imagine them in one of their classic stare
downs.

"I make a hundred times what you bring in not to mention everything else...
Money is not part of this and we both know that.  It may be a year or two.
I'm sorry Anna, he can't be left to Sue.  We can't do that to either of
them: they'll be at eachother's throats after a few hours.  He needs
you....  Us.  This thing is not over.  He's still a boy.  None of us knew
he was doing....  those....  things..... but we may have, if we were around
more.  You know I'm right."

My Mom began sobbing and guilt filled my gut.

"Oh sure, now you cry," my Dad said with contempt.

"I wanted a life... I want a life.  I thought I'd finally got one."

"You had that option nine years ago: remember: all or nothing.  WE said
we'd work it out...  You don't think these events are related?  You-"

"Now you're being cruel-"

"ME!  You left him there!  With that animal!  So you could screw that-"

"We're not rehashing this!"

"Are you telling me these things are not linked?"

"Damn you!  I told you he...  acted out.  YOU KNEW HE DID!  YOU KNEW VERY
WELL!  YOU READ THE LETTER THE STATE SENT!  YOU DIDN'T WANT HIM
INTERVIEWED!  And, now look!"

"Don't lecture me!  YOU!" Dad paused, "You're right...  It doesn't change
that you are his Mama...  You will be here for him...  And, WE move on!"

They were silent for a minute.

"Oh, God.....  You realize!?  Have you even thought about this?  It's
public record now...We have to appear in court.  How many attorneys live
around here?  What will everyone say?  You think anyone around here will
write letters for him, like they did for Will's college admissions, after
all of this?"

"Bullshit!  Don't be stupid.  It's sealed.  He's not an adult."

"That means nothing.....  Rumors will spread.  Who's going to write a
simple letter of recommendation for a kid like that?  Academic? Athletic?"

"It's more important we work with what's in front of us than worry about
the future or past.  We will shape our future now."

Their argument raged on as my Mom continued to plea for her "life" which
meant abandoning me as a lost cause.  I crept out through the sliding glass
door and down to the beach where I sat listening to the tiny waves trickle
against the rocks and an occasional Orca take a breath somewhere in the
middle of the Sound.  "I'm broken.  They think they broke me.  They don't
love me and never will," I thought.

I tried to process that my Mom was fucking around like something off that
TV show Dallas without the twangy accent and all that oil money.  They know
about Schmidt: I'm pretty good with math.  It was so huge.  That whole
conversation was all my fault.

After hours of sitting, I wandered back up to bed.  Sue came to get me for
dinner but my answer was flipping her off.  Nobody bothered me that evening
until late that night.




"I thought I'd save you the trip, Little Dude," Will crawled in bed with me
after midnight so I figured he'd been out somewhere and had no knowledge of
today's events.  He smell like beer.

"It bothers me we haven't talked about it.  Mom and Pastor told me not to.
And, all the crap I learned kinda agree with that.  I'm leaving in a day or
two so it's now, over the phone, or never.  Mom didn't want me to even
mention it.  She has her head plopped deep in the sand: she wants it to go
away, to live her June Cleaver life, in her Leave it to Beaver world.  Why
didn't you wait for us that day?  Why did you run off?  I would of killed
him-"

"That's what I was afraid of," I hadn't considered how Will would of react
and now I felt better about running away.  A fight wouldn't have gone
Will's way: Aflotti would of killed him.

"Great Escape, right?"

"Damn straight," I answered, annoyed by his happy go lucky tone over
something so serious in my life.

"How long were you in the cabin?"

"Too long."

Will hesitated at my answer for a few seconds, "I broke in there too...
Looking for you.  But, you must of left, by then, huh?"

"Really?  How'd you figure that out?"

"Same as you: stupid window lock," his voice cracked with unease and I knew
I had a leg up.

"You know what we we did in Afloti's barn?" I asked.

"Not really- Dad kind of told me you guys were naked and checking each
other out, or something?"

"Chris was sucking my dick," I answered flatly.

"Oh...  Oh, shit.  Ummm."

"What?  It's the truth."

Will hugged me tight.  "I don't care.  I know who you are."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah....  What you guys were doing is kinda fucked up though."

"Sure....  yeah....  right," I answered with sarcasm.

"Jon, that's really-".

I snapped, "You came to my bed, so get the fuck out, if you don't-"

"What did I do?"

I kept quiet as my heart raced in both rage and fear.  I wanted to tell
him.  I needed to tell him.  I wanted to find out about that day with
Schmidt.  But, everything in my life was the opposite of what I thought.  I
blamed him but, he's my older brother: the one who looked after me, beat up
the big kids who picked on me, taught me how to defend myself, showed me
what fun is and how to skate....  Why did he do this to me?

"Look, they caught me screwing Kimberly Tollfson, behind the Church, after
services, four years ago.  I doubt you guys ever heard about it.  God, I
had blue balls for two days, after.  Ached like a son of a bitch.  They
caught us a few seconds after I stuck it in....  I was pumping away....  I
can't imagine how we looked: Her dress pulled up above her waist, panties
dangling from her ankle, my pants around my knees as I had her pinned
against the back wall of the church, you know, behind the smoke wood bush?
I was pounding on her and she started moaning and that's what sank us.  We
had no idea services were over.  Some kids saw us go in there and got her
parents.  We'd done it there before and thought we were safe.  I'm mean,
she was my main squeeze.  It's weird how blinders drop when you're inside a
girl.... But worse than getting caught was the heap of shit I had to eat
from Mom.....  It lasted for months.  Dad thought it was funny......  He
even gave me a beer, when we had our man to man about it that night.....  I
mean, I'm guessing, you were just experimenting....  messing around with
Chris....  All kids fool around with their equipment...  Some do it alone,
some with a friend, and some even in groups....  Mostly boys do the group
thing.  Girls even mess with each other, if given opportunity and the right
friend.  There's this guy, Kindsey, he's a researcher who wrote all about
this stuff.  When you get to college, you can take some classes about
sex....  No shit, they have classes about sex!  What you did is not that
unusual...  Seriously, it's nothing."

"He has no idea." I thought.  I kept quiet knowing he was just trying to
engage in some psycho babble bullshit.  I knew he wanted to be a shrink as
much as Dad wanted him to attain an MBA.

"Jon, please talk to me."

"Why?"

"That's a start."

"Fuck you."

Will climbed out of my bed.  "Jon, I didn't do a damn thing to you."

"Yeah. Exactly.  Fucking liar."

"I`ve never lied to you," He sat on the edge of my bed and he continued to
talk from the dark, "What bug crawled up your ass?  Sue called me at Gabe's
and left a message for me to come home.  I called for Dad but he left his
office by that time.....  that was hours ago.  If I missed something- the
truth is I didn't want to be in the middle of all of that- You wouldn't
want me here either.  Don`t take it out on me.  You know how Mom is....
`What will the neighbors think,' is about as far as her her mind expands.
That's the truth.  I knew it was about you but you hadn't talked about it
so I figured you would now......  Now that some shit has hit the fan.....
At least I assume that's what happened today."

"Don't try to change the subject: I'm not nine, like Timmy.  You lie.  You
do.  You`re the worst kind of liar.  Lies by omission: Pastor even said
it's the worst kind because you know something fucks a guy over but you
hold on to it....  Don't reveal it..... It hurts a person all the same or
worse!"  This was something I picked up from him when the parents made me
do that stupid one on one with Pastor Robinson as he tried to guilt me into
spilling my guts.  I didn't tell him shit.

"Jon, what are you talking about?"

"Schmidt....  I herd them arguing.  I herd you and Greta talking in the
cabin.  And, I remember it....  That's what that fucking wolf dream is all
about.  It's what its always been about.  You knew and didn't say a thing
and now I'm a fucking joke.  Mom hates me....  Thinks everyone is laughing
behind our backs......  I've always been that to you.....  I was too stupid
to figure it out.  You could of told me.....  You didn't....  I'm a joke."

"You're not a joke!  Look....  Ummm.....  Jonny, you were a little kid.....
How the fuck could you- Jon, don`t blame them...  Don`t blame me.  I
overheard them when I was your age.  Maybe a little older when I....  Look:
Schmidt never did that stuff to me or the girls- I think.  I don`t know.
He did it to you.  Mom was hysterical.  It's like, when you were really
little.....  You'd run around touching yourself, strip down naked in front
of company and she'd catch you doing that shit all the time, and then all
the other weird shit like nightmares.  When you were really little I
remember you trying to see all your friends: get them to pull their shorts
down and stuff.  At first I thought it was funny because I was to young to
know something was fucked up....  So did Greta....  I had to keep the girls
from encouraging you.  You probably don't remember much of that because it
always ended with Mom spanking the crap out of you.  But then, I heard Mom
and Dad talking about it. Why do you think I never turned you away?  I
can`t help it, you`re my little dude: my brother.  You came to me for help,
when the parents ignored you....  You came to me, when everything got
fucked up....  I'd never turn you away.  You never talked about it....  I
figured it was okay.  I figured-"

"I remember a lot of it....  Getting kids to show me and shit.  I remember
spankings and stuff.  It doesn't change anything.  He did stuff to me.....
Why didn't you guys tell me?  Explain it?  I was scared every fucking night
and all the fucking time....  Couldn't sleep.  Thought I was
normal.... Like everyone else, I mean....  I know what it is- Why the fuck
didn't you say something?  I feel so stupid.  I'm a secret.  They don't
want me around because of the secret."

"You don't know that!  Look, how was I supposed to know when to tell you?
Give you the birds and bees at five years old?  Explain all that to a
little kid?  I mean, even Timmy's to young to understand all that....  He
thinks that stuff is funny because he's to young to understand it both
mentally and physically.  See the difference between now and then?  Put
yourself in their shoes- my shoes.  They assumed you were so young you
wouldn't remember any of it or be affected.  We all thought you were to
young to remember and just outgrow the curiosity of-"

I thought about it for a second as he kept rambling a lame excuse and broke
back in:

"You don't get it.....  It's why I`m a fag.  Isn't it?  It's why all this
shit happened with Chris.  It's why Mom's never given a shit about me....
It's why everything is so fucked up."

"Jonny, for fuck sake, you`re no fag and don't worry about what other
people think about something that happened when you were a little kid.  It
will fade away.  Believe me.  And, Mom treats me the same way.  She favors
the evilness of the clan of sisters.  You know that.  You were just fooling
around.....  I know you- just shut the fuck up about it and move on like
Da-"

"You don`t know anything."

He was silent for a second.  "Look, I use`d to look at guys in the locker
room, when I was your age....  I, umm, I jerked Paul off a few times when
we were, like, eleven and twelve.  He did it to me too......  Mostly at
sleep overs.  We both figured out how to do it about the same
time.... Well, that's a lie: he showed me.....  He did it to me after he
demonstrated on himself.  Remember how excited I'd get to go over there?
It was because of that stuff.  We didn't do it all the time: Just every
chance we got.  And, look, in a few years, I`ll be married.  See?  It
didn`t mean anything.  A lot of guys do stuff like that.  What Schmidt did
isn't relevant to who you are.  You have to believe me.  Just think about
this- Dad`s a freak.  He claims he never even beat off.  So why isn't he a
monk living on a mountain top somewhere?  He was really fucked up, when he
was a-"

"Yeah, right....  You're making that shit up.  You think I'm a dumb shit!
I'm-"

"Okay....  Then....  Just seriously, I don`t mean you`re a little kid or
anything like that.  And I'm not a liar.  You can ask Paul.  His face will
give him away.  I'm trying to help y-"

"She`s right...  He`s right.  You`re wrong," I stated with force.

"About what?  The kid was on you, right?"

"That's what I'm talking about....  You all think it's all I did....  All
I've ever done....  And, it's not only that....  Mom's right.  He's younger
than me," I said with exasperation.  "I taught him that stuff.  He likes
it.....  I mean, the only girl I like is Julie and that's because we grew
up together so we're friends...  that's all....  All that kissing, holding
hands, and stuff was her.....  All of it was her doing stuff to me, when we
were little kids and, and, even now....  I can't even put my arm around
her.....  I can't explain why but.... but...  not always but sometimes, I
see a guy and feel funny...  I get all nervous and try to mask it by acting
all tough around him.  Sometimes I do stupid stuff, without thinking, and
look like an ass, when all I really want to do is make friends with him at
any cost....  When Jon sat next to me on the bus the first day of school, I
almost puked.  That feeling was with me all the way to school and most of
the first day.  All I did was think about him through every class.  During
gym orientation I made sure my locker was way on the other side of the
locker room from him.....  I had to.  When I hung to close to him, I'd get
a boner so I had to avoid him during gym.....  When he sat with me on the
way home, all we did was talk and I was all hyper nervous and thank God I
didn't do something stupid like act all tough or brag or try to be funny.
I wanted him so bad.  The next day, at gym class, it took everything I had
not to pop one in front of the whole class, when I saw him naked in the
showers...  We've done stuff.  We do it all the time."

"Oh,"

Will laid beside me put his arm around me and that was my queue to keep
spilling which I found completely condescending and dishonest.

"You won't tell Dad?" I asked for fun, betting he would.  I wanted to hurt
Dad as much as I could: fuck both of my parents straight up the ass.

"Not a chance.  Look, if you want to get it off your chest, I'm here.
Okay?"

"You don't think I'm a freak?"

"You said `stuff' What do you guys do?" Will asked avoiding my question.

"What Chris was doing.  I do it to him more than he does it to me.  That's
about all I've done with anyone.  I've done it with two other guys besides
them.....  I like doing it to guys more than them doing it to me.  It's
like how they kinda...  they move and moan....  they like it....  They like
me because I do it.  I like that they like me for doing it.  And.....
Their bodies.  Their dicks and stuff.  How they move and stuff."

"Oh."

"Yeah.  It's not every guy.  I mean he has to...  I don't know.  He has to
be a knock out....  Like-"

"Okay.  I believe you do stuff.  But, are you sure?"

He paused for a few seconds waiting for an answer I wasn't going to give
him.  I knew, if I denied him, he'd tell me what he really thinks.

Will continued, "I hate to tell you this, because you won't buy it, but,
you're only thirteen.....  Whatever anyone tells you, sex is not black and
white.  Me and Paul did jack each other.  It only happened a dozen
times....  That's a lie.  It happened most of seventh grade and that
summer.That's the truth.  When me and Paul messed around, it was something
new, something we weren't supposed to do.  See?  Forbidden fruit.  I
thought it was the greatest thing ever.  Then Jennifer Scanberg let me
finger fuck her during some movie during the summer before the ninth
grade.....  I can't even remember what we went to see but, everything
changed after that day.  Me and Paul never did it again....  He found a
girl too.  You know, Paul's still a good friend.  We write letters and
shit.  What we did is not a big deal.  We don't even talk about it."

"Will, it's not like that: it's what I think about.  Not girls.  Never
girls.  A guys chest....  That V shape of a muscled up stomach and where it
points down to.... Every dick is different.  Haven't you ever noticed?  I
mean in the locker room?  No two are alike.  I mean, I've only really seen
three up close and felt em' with my hands and in my mouth.  I like sucking
on Chris more than Jon.  I like the taste when-"

"Okay, okay....  I'm not talking down to you so you don't have to prove
anything, for Christ's sake.  Just, give it some time.  Please."

"You didn't answer my question.....  Am I this way cuz of Schmidt?  Is he
why I'm a freak?"

"Look, I don't know.  Seriously: you're not a freak....  You're not.  I
don't know if what you're talking about is just a- sorry- a phase.  I had
one with Paul, for the third time I've had to bring it up, when I was your
age."

"Fuck you.  A phase.  Fuck you.  You don't know anything.  You're just
trying to be all grown up," I started to cry as I thought of him laughing
at me inside his head like with his stupid condom joke, a month back.  Like
I was some toy and now he was watching me explode so he could play with my
broken pieces: to be the hero like he'd done when I was little.

"Fuck you!" I whimpered.  I sniffled for a few minutes.  He held me and I
tried to pull away with a shove once in a while.  I really wanted to punch
him square on the nose.  I knew, if I did that, he'd kick my ass but I
really wanted to break some knuckles on him.

"Are you done?"

"Fuck off, liar," I hissed.

"When you get off your rag, let me know," He got up and stormed away
slamming my door behind him, probably waking everyone up.  As I lay there,
I found it easier without him: I had no time for his belittling bullshit.

He came back a few minutes later.  "Jonny, whatever I did to let you down,
I'm sorry.  I didn't know how to help you and back then: I was a kid
myself.  Think about that.  I wish I had some answers for you.  I really do
and I'll never talk to Dad about this conversation: it's between you
guys....  I promise.  You're my brother... No matter what you are or may
become, you are my brother.  Okay?"

I kept quiet.

"I was afraid of that," he whispered.  He stood at my door for a few
minutes before he slunk away without my answer.  I really hated him, in
that moment.