Date: Mon, 8 May 2000 00:14:27 -0400 (EDT)
From: David Lemmaire <lemmaire@email.com>
Subject: "Growth Spurts" (b/b, t/t, mast, oral, anal)

GROWTH SPURTS (b/b, t/t, mast, oral, anal)
by Lemmaire

June 15, 1980 (age 8)
Today was my birthday in skool.  We had cupcakes.  It was Robby's birthday
to.  Everybody sang, happy birthday Reed & Robby, happy birthday to you.
Like we acshully know each other.  I don't like Robby.  His hairs to long.

June 15, 1981 (age 9)
I kept looking in the mirror today to see if I look any older.  I don't
think so.  Mom pinched my cheecks and said I'm becoming a man.  Whatever.
As long as I don't have to give up Scooby Doo on Saturdays, let her have
her fantacies.
Robby's mom baked the cupcakes this year, so I didn't have to bring any.
My mom and his mom decided to switch off years.  How lazy is THAT?
His hair is STILL too long.

June 15, 1982 (age 10)
I think Robby's long hair is cute.
It was my year to bring the cupcakes.

June 15, 1983 (age 11)
Happy Birthday, Reed & Robby, Happy Birthday to YOU!
I am so glad Robby is my friend.  He listens to me talk all night when he
sleeps over. He won't even fall asleep in the middle of my stories like
everybody else does.
When he sleeps, his hand moves up and he rubs his own chest and face and
neck and stuff.  Just really slow.  Not gross or anything.
I watched him in the dark.  I was in my bed, he was on my floor in a
sleeping bag.
His hair's short now, like mine.  I liked it better longer.
No cupcakes this year.  I'm so sure.  In middle school???? ACK!

June 15, 1984 (age 12)
If my mom finds this, I will be DEAD.
I jacked off with Robby again tonight.  Only THIS TIME WE TOUCHED EACH
OTHER! RIGHT ON OUR DICKS!
I knew he was coming over for our birthday.  I think it's our tradition
now -- spend all day together with our families then have a sleepover.
I think I'm wrong for thinking he's cute.  I shouldn't think that.
But he is, so I can't help it.
AHHHHH!  I touched his dick!
It gets really hard, really fast.  It's kinda scary, in a good way.

June 15, 1985 (age 13)
How young is too young to be gay?
Guys at school call me fag sometimes and it really, really hurts.
I don't want to be a fag.  I try not to be.
But when I'm with Robby, I don't care what I am.
I just want to be with him.
I sucked his cock this year.  We had some wine and pretended we were
drunk.  I don't think we were, but we needed an excuse.
It felt good.  He came in my mouth, then I jacked off.  Just drops.
Nothing major.
He took Jenny Harris to the last dance of the school year, and I was just
sitting there watching him dance with her, the way he held her and closed
his eyes, and the way they looked so sweet, and I was sitting on the
bleachers watching, and I started thinking of how soft his skin is all the
times I've touched him and how it's not fair I can't dance with him like
that, and all of a sudden I started crying.  I had to go hide in the
bathroom so nobody could see me.
I feel like such a loser tonight.
I will not be gay. I will not be gay. I will not be gay.
I'm going to sit here and write it over and over again until it sticks.

June 15, 1986 (age 14)
Robby's parents took us out for pizza tonight. I stayed over at his house.
It's night.  I'm writing this while he's sleeping.
We kissed tonight for the first time.
It was really strange, but sooooo nice.
It was sort of an accident.  I don't think we meant to.
I was just looking at him and suddenly it got really, really quiet, and
then before I knew what happened, we were kissing.
Sweet, soft kissing.  Hardly any tongues at first.
Then lots of tongues.
I never thought a tongue could make my spine ache, but wow, it did.
It was really, really nice.
I can't sleep.
How come guys can 69 with each other, and cum, and go right to sleep?  But
when a guy kisses you, it keeps you up all night wondering what just
happened?
I don't get it.
But it sure was nice.
Happy Birthday, Robby.
I'm sorry I'm falling in love with you.  Please don't hate me for it.

June 15, 1987 (age 15)
Gay, gay, gay, gay.  Who cares?  It's just a word.
Well, you're never going to guess who found this diary.  Mom.  What an
asshole.  She was snooping through my stuff and she found it.  I got a
nice big lecture on "not rushing to grow up too fast," complete with
plenty of tears and that whole Mom-thing about "you can tell me anything,"
and "I'm always here for you, Reed."
Yeah, well, read THIS, Mom.  Snoop through my shit again and read THIS
year's entry. This year me and Robby FUCKED.
Fucked, fucked, FUCKED.  And guess what?
I LIKE IT when he fucks me.
I beg him to do it HARDER.

June 15, 1988 (age 16)
Yikes, that was a bitter entry, huh?
I go back and read the past year before I write the new one.  Looks like
somebody had a fresh pair of rage shoes on last June.
Robby is just Robby.  I don't get him sometimes.
When we're alone together, it's this incredible, private world where we
can do anything, say anything, BE anything.  The Robby in that world holds
me in my bed and kisses me and tells me he loves me.  He moves his mouth
down my chest, licks my stomach, buries his face in my pubes, takes my
whole cock deep in his mouth, his throat, his tongue, until I'm burning so
hot I can't stand it anymore.
He licks me everywhere.  He puts his fingers in me.
He whispers how beautiful I am.  How happy I make him.  How he never wants
us to ever stop doing this.
And I roll over on my side, and with his arms hugging me around my chest,
he slips into me slowly and carefully until I push back and let him know
it's okay.
Then side by side, we rock like that.  Sometimes I cry because it feels so
good, but I try not to let him know I'm crying.
He gets scared when I cry.
"Reed, shhhh," he whispers.  "I'm never going to leave you."
But in front of our other friends, it's like I don't even exist.
It's okay in my room, but out in the real world, he's nervous, just having
me around.

June 15, 1989 (age 17)
I came out to my parents this year and told them about me and Robby.
For our birthday, we drove up north to my grandparents' cabin.  It was
empty.  Mom said we could use it.  "Be careful," she said.  "Be
responsible."
I think that was the rubber lecture, but I'm not sure.
"Can't you just admit to people you love me?" I asked Robby while we were
sitting in front of the fire.
He gave me that sad-and-wistful-Robby look.  Oh, I know that look.  It's
the one he uses when he's about to tell me about "image" and "what society
thinks" and "why can't we just have all of this and keep it private?"
"Because it kills me to keep it private!" I yelled at him, and suddenly I
was crying, and suddenly he was holding me, kissing me, trying to comfort
me.
I pushed him away and wiped away my angry tears.
"Do you know what it's like to love someone and not be able to shout it
out loud?" I screamed at him.
He just sat there for a minute, not looking at me.
"Yes, I do," he said softly, looking at his feet.
When he looked up, there were tears in his eyes, too.
"I love you, too, Reed," he said sadly.  "I just can't share it with the
world, okay?  I'm sorry you hate me for that...but I can't.  I'm too
afraid."
"Don't be afraid," I told him. "There are so many things to be scared
about, Robby.  This doesn't have to be one of them."
He shook his head and we cried some more.
We went into my grandparents' bedroom and laid down on the bed and made
love all night long.
Soft, sad, beautiful love.
The kind of love two people make when they know the world outside will be
back at their door when the sun comes up in the morning.

June 15, 1990 (age 18)
I got luggage.
Gee, I was kinda hoping for a new car.
But nope.  Mom, always the practical one, got me luggage for college
instead.
I guess it's all for the best.  I could fill a small Samsonite with my
Auden poems alone.
Robby doesn't live here anymore.
He moved three states away to finish high school and start college at
Indiana State in the fall.
Those last days before he moved were very, very hard on me.
What am I saying, "on me?"
On US.
I'm always thinking about myself -- my tears -- my reactions -- my pain.
I should grow up and realize that leaving me caused Robby a lot of pain,
too.
"See that star?" he said, pointing up to the sky on our last night
together.
"Yeah," I said quietly, looking up.
"That one is you, Reed," he said softly, his voice choking back tears.
My sweet Robby.  Always trying to be so strong for me.
I looked up and took in the vast, impossible expanse of that huge, night
sky.
I spread my arms to encompass it all.
"They're all you, Robby," I told him.  "Every single star I ever see.
They will always, every one of them, be you."
He took me in his arms and he held me.
We stood like that...playmates, lovers, wizened old warriors.  I laid my
head on his shoulder and he kissed the back of my head.
"Goodbye, Reed," he whispered softly.
"Goodbye, Robby," I answered.  "Happy birthday."
He let me go.
I turned around.
With one eye on the stars, we walked away in opposite directions to begin
our lives.
_________________________________________________

END