Date: Mon, 21 Feb 2011 07:33:20 -0600
From: michaelpete@hushmail.com
Subject: Malcolm 4

Be advised that in the following one will find graphic sexual depiction
between minors and minors and adults. The story is fiction but based on
real characters, events, places and situations. There is no relationship
between the names used and that of any real person.Send comments to
michaelpete@hushmail.com.

Michael Peterson

MALCOLM

CHAPTER 4 – PHILIP, SPRING 1950

	Saturday, I let mother take me to the YMCA even though there were
still discolorations on my rear end. From the locker room to the pool,
several kids noticed. The counselor heard one in the walkway to the pool
and said, "Keep moving and mind your own business."

	Desperate for companionship and, to be honest, closer looks at his
great cock, I made another try at good-looking Philip there in the pool.

	"Teach me to dive like you do." He'd been diving off the side.

	He looked me over with a curious smile. "Sure kid. Watch."

	He took three steps back then ran and launched himself out into the
water. I knew how to do it but tried to be as awkward as possible.

	When I came up he squatted at the side, his large cock dangling
delectably nearly to the floor tile. "Not like that. Make your body
straight. Come on up and I'll show you." He took my hand, sending a warm
feeling up my arm, and pulled me out of the water. He dove as before.

	I did it better but held my head up which I knew would put chest in
first.

	"That was better but you gotta keep your head down." He helped me
out again and watched me dive in, this time correctly, head down, body
straight.

	He squatted on the side again. I stared at his dong, trying not to
be too obvious as I enjoyed its beauty. "That was good. Let's do it
together."

	We hit the water side by side and turned to grin at each other
under water as we headed back to the top. His blonde hair floated about his
head like yellow flowers in a changing breeze.

	"Race!" I called out as we surfaced.

	We both stretched out and pulled hard for the far side. Naturally,
he beat me but not by so much that he had to wait. After all, we only swam
a few yards.

	Hanging on to the side, he asked soberly, "What happened to your
ass?"

	"My father beat me, the son-of-a-bitch." The "son-of-a-bitch" just
came out. It wasn't planned but I wasn't bothered that I'd said it. It was
how I felt.

	"What'd you do?"

	How did this boy I knew nothing about feel about coloreds? I was
about to find out. `Cause my best friend is a colored.'

	Philip grimaced. "You had to do something else too. What'd you two
do?"

	"Nothing, my father hates all coloreds and told me I couldn't play
with him. It's the second time he beat me for Freddy." I choked up a bit
when I said his name. Philip seemed to notice.

	"That's too bad." He appeared sympathetic.

	"Where do you live?" I asked.

	He mentioned an area along the streetcar line that ended near my
house.

	"We live near where the twenty-five turns around." I said with a
smile.

	He said the name of my area.

	"Unh huh. You been there?"

	"My aunt lives near the train station just up from the lumber
yard." Expectation rose in my chest.

	"Where do you go to school?"

	He mentioned a public school I'd never hear of. "Where do you go?"

	I told him. He seemed a bit deflated. I rushed to reanimate him.

	"How do you go home from here?"

	"Number ten trolley."

	"Wanna ride with us? We can take you right near your house." I
wasn't at all sure that was possible but, what the hey.

	"Sure!"

	We swam together. He introduced me to his friends who didn't seem
to mind my presence. They were closer to my age than his. Philip had been
coming to the Saturday YMCA program since he was seven and knew all the
kids by name.

	This time, in art, we both painted swimming pools with a bunch of
diving boards, which our pool didn't have.

	Mother was quite happy to take my white friend home. She asked him
all kinds of questions about his family. His father was a wallpaper hanger,
his mother worked for the telephone company. He had two older sisters. I
sensed mother's initial enthusiasm slip as the information came
out. Nonetheless, I wanted him for a friend even if he wasn't rich.

	"Can he come to the house for lunch?"

	"Oh, I don't know, dear, his mother wouldn't know where he was."

	"I can call her, Mrs. Lloyd. She's at the phone company."

	I leaned over the seat and whispered in my mother's ear. "He's
white!"

	Mother sighed and agreed.

	At the house, Philip called his mother who was happy he'd be having
a decent lunch. Mother spoke to her briefly and promised to give him money
for the streetcar and have him home before dinner.

	The maid prepared vegetable soup and bacon, lettuce and tomato
sandwiches. He ate it all and asked me if he could have more. I told Janet
to prepare him one. She frowned but complied.

	He didn't let the cold keep him from enjoying the expanse of our
back yard, repeatedly rolling with me down the steep hill behind the
house. I showed him the basement I'd almost finished cleaning. He thought
it would be neat for hide and seek.

	My father came home at three after playing squash at a private
club. He stood in the back door and looked at the two of us sitting in
front of the barn where we were talking about building a tree house in an
oak tree out in the yard. Philip noticed him.

	"That him?" he asked.

	"Unh huh. That's the son-of-a-bitch."

	Philip looked for a moment longer then turned back to me. "He does
look mean. My father beat me a couple of times but never made me look like
you."

	"I could hardly walk for a day. The first time was worse." I told
him how I'd fought him and bashed his ribs with the baseball bat.

	"Neat, but my father would've killed me right there if I did that
to him."

	"He almost killed me. I couldn't breathe."

	We finished up the afternoon playing with toy airplanes in my
room. He told me he made model airplanes that he and some of his local
friends flew in a nearby park.

	He asked me about Freddy.

	"He's been my best friend since I was six. We used to play together
down at the stream in the woods everyday unless it rained real bad. His
mother was our maid but when my father found out I played with Freddy, he
fired her." I told him the story of what led up to the beating, Martha's
protecting me and threat to go to the police and how my father waited until
there were no more marks on me before firing her.

	"I think I'd run away. Don't you got relatives where you can go?"

	I shook my head. I almost admitted to my thoughts of murder. Still,
it felt good to be able to tell someone what had happened. Philip was a
sympathetic listener.

	In the back of my mind, seeds of a plan were forming, a plan using
Philip to allow me to get to Freddy. He sounded like he might be willing to
go along.

	"What do you do on Sunday's?" I asked.

	"Not much when it's cold like now. But when it gets warm, sometimes
my father takes us out somewhere."

	"What're you going to do tomorrow?"

	"I dunno. Maybe go to a movie. We got two theaters near us. Wanna
go?" He agreed to come get me. I could get myself home.

	I asked my mother. She spoke to my father then came back with a
conditional reply. He had to know what theater I was going to and the start
and ending times.

	"But I'm gonna eat lunch at his house."

	Mother went back. "You can leave after breakfast but you have to be
back by three."

	I calculated the hours in my head. I'd be leaving at about ten
thirty. That gave me four and a half hours. Plenty of time.

	Philip bought into my plan immediately. I assumed one of my parents
would watch to see if I got on the streetcar. Phillip was coming to pick me
up so I'd know where to get off. We'd go to the theaters and choose the
movie we could get the most information about without actually watching
it. Then we'd come back and go up the stream through the woods to Freddy's
house. Philip didn't seem to have any concerns about going to a colored
neighborhood. It probably helped that I had told him how great they were to
me. And, he was curious, never having met a black person before.

	My father walked down the hill well behind us and watched as we
boarded and left on the streetcar. Mother had given me forty cents to
spend. The theater we chose cost ten cents to enter and showed three
cartoons along with the Hopalong Cassidy film. Philip knew the usher and
had him tell us all about the movie and which cartoons were showing.

	Freddy didn't get home from church until one so had plenty of time
before we had to leave. Philip took me to the brick row house he lived
in. No one was home. Philip, like Stewart, had a key on a string around his
neck. His bedroom was a third the size of mine but well stocked with model
airplanes he had built with his friends. Two had small motors.

	"I had another one but it crashed up in a tree. We never could get
it down."

	"Does you father help you with this?"

	"Not much, but sometimes. He works a lot. He's workin' today."

	By one o'clock, we were approaching Freddy's settlement. I'd shown
Philip where Freddy and I had played all those years. The duffle bag with
the blankets and sleeping bag was in our tree house but I didn't mention
that. At the settlement, the dogs knew me but not Philip. They barked
loudly. One of the girls spotted us and called out, "It's Maacum, Freddy!"

	Freddy came charging around the corner of a house and jumped on me,
taking us both into the dirt. I wrapped him in my arms, tears pouring off
my face.

	Freddy rolled on top of me and wiped his coat sleeve across my
face. "Shit, Maacum, don't let nobody see you doin' that."

	I sat up beside him, still hanging on, looking at his smiling face.

	"Shit, Maacum, say somethin'."

	I couldn't so just hugged him again. The other kids patted me on my
back.

	Martha pushed through them. "Come here, baby." She pulled me up by
one arm and hugged me harder than I'd hugged Freddy. "You okay, sweety?
Lemme see you." She held me at arms length then hugged me again. "He beat
you again?"

	Completely overwhelmed with emotion, I just nodded.

	"Well, you jes come inta the house, and yo' friend too."

	Inside, finally able to speak, I introduced Philip and explained
what he'd done to get me there. Half the community had crowded into the
house. Everybody thanked Philip for his help.

     Gradually, the crowd thinned leaving us with Freddy's family and
Douglas. Martha fed us some of the chicken she'd prepared for midday
meal. She had another job as a maid that was farther away but paid as well
as my family had.

	"I'm not allowed to leave the property except with permission. I
get picked up everyday after school. They even got me in the stupid Cub
Scouts Thursday nights. Saturdays I go to the YMCA downtown then I get
picked up."

	"What about after school?" asked Freddy.

	"I gotta stay in the house unless I'm working in the yard. When the
grass starts growing, I gotta cut it all then rake it all up."

	I desperately wanted to be alone with Freddy but there were far too
many people around the house. "Let's go down the stream," I
suggested. Freddy knew what I wanted. He wanted the same. He whispered in
my ear, "The white boy know what we does?" I shook my head. He spoke
quietly to Douglas who invited Philip to a marbles game. Philip smiled at
me and followed Douglas outside.

	It was near fifty degrees, cold but not terribly. Freddy and I ran
down the path to our spot. He pulled himself up the side of the tree with
the vine we'd suspended and tossed down the dufflebag. Within minutes we
were inside struggling out of our pants.

	"From the front," I requested. I needed to hold my friend as much
as possible.

	I slid down inside the sleeping bag to wet Freddy's cock with my
mouth. It felt so good against my tongue, I almost didn't let go. His entry
was smooth and wonderful. Again, there were tears in my eyes as I held him
tightly to me, kissing his cheek repeatedly. Freddy came quickly again.

	"How come that white boy is helpin' you?" asked Freddy as he rested
with his cock still stuffed inside me.

	I knew what he was concerned about. "I don't know but we ain't done
no sex." The vernacular was forced and couldn't be maintained. "I think
he's just a real nice kid. He saw the red on my ass at the YMCA pool and I
told him what my father did. We swim naked there."

	"Naked? Nah, you lyin'. How come?"

	"I don't know. That's just the way they do it. And there's men in
there too with hair all over them."

	The second fuck was long and sweet. "Cuz a you, Maacum, I might
never wanna fuck no girls. Yo ass is so nice." He giggled then said, "An' I
means that."

	I wasn't sure what he was telling me. Did he like boys as I did?
He'd never wanted to do anything with anyone else. I hugged him and kissed
him beside his mouth. He didn't kiss back. I didn't care. Happiness for me
was having him in my arms, his cock up my ass pumping away, tickling my
sweet spot. And it was so comfortable talking to him.

	Freddy took hold of my stiff penis and worked it slowly. `Go slow,'
I pleaded.

	We came almost together. I pulled him into me with my toes pressed
against his buns.

	As we dressed, Freddy asked, "So when can we see each'n other?"

	"Maybe just Sundays. I can leave a note for you behind the barn
where we played."

	"When?"

	`Check Wednesday. But the son-of-a-bitch has the maid watching me
and my mother does too."

	Douglas was worried my father might be watching to see me get off
the streetcar. He knew a way past the turnaround to the other side of the
area where I could get on the streetcar and ride in like I was coming from
his neighborhood. It took over half an hour through the woods, out the back
behind the Catholic Church and a block away from Philip's aunt's house,
across the train tracks and up to the main road. Douglas and Freddy left us
a block before the train tracks because the people who lived in the houses
ahead would beat them up if they saw them. The streetcar didn't come for
nearly twenty minutes. I waited hidden in a gas station behind a car parked
there. I thanked Philip again and again and gave him the rest of my
money. We had each other's telephone numbers and planned to call the next
evening.

	Mother tried to hide behind the Episcopal Church on the hill but I
had already seen her as the streetcar approached the turn around. After
making sure she saw me get off, I took the back way home so I wouldn't run
into her on the way.

	When I reached my room, my father looked in and said, "I need you
to get a broom and trash can and clean up the sidewalk in front and get all
the trash and leaves out of the hedge."

	I obeyed. There was no maid so mother had to make the dinner. It
was hamburgers, carrot sticks and potato chips. I wanted to watch some
television.

	"One movie is enough for today. Do some homework," ordered my
father.

	"I did it last night."

	"Then do some more."

	Fuming, I stomped up to my room and read another chapter of `Call
of the Wild'.

	Philip called me Monday night. He said he could come out Wednesday
afternoon if I wanted. I asked mother who asked my father who told my
mother to tell me no because I had work to do. Philip said he'd love to
help. I went back to my mother and told her so she could tell my father who
had her tell me it was my work, not Philip's. He could come Saturday after
YMCA if all my chores were done.

	"The son-of-a-bitch says not until Saturday."

	We talked for a while about the tree house we wanted to build in
the oak tree. My mother brought me orders from my father to get off the
telephone and do my homework. Philip said he would call Wednesday.

	When he did, mother told him I'd speak to him Saturday.

	Thursday, my father left a message with the maid that I was to
clean out under the porch. Our main porch ran along one side of the house
and most of the front. It hadn't been cleaned up probably for twenty or
thirty years. There was garbage from the former owners. By dinner time, I'd
hardly cleaned out under the front porch stairs. There were even the rusted
remains of a tricycle buried in there.

	"You can have it if you want," my father, laughing, told me when he
saw it. When I didn't react, he shrugged his shoulders. "Well, you've got
your work cut out for you. Get back to it tomorrow."

	Cub Scouts was boring, as usual. One of the teen assistants tried
to interest me in "trail lore", as he called it. What he was talking about
was tracking animals in the wild.

	"I'm not allowed in the woods," was my response to his entreaty
before walking away to the basement bathroom. I went into a toilet stall,
closed and latched the door. I didn't have to poop. I just wanted away from
what I found completely uninteresting. Knots and mottoes did nothing for
me.

	I sat sideways across the toilet with feet up on the toilet paper
roll and my head in my hands against the far wall. It wasn't particularly
comfortable but was something I'd never tried.

	Boys came and went, mostly peeing. One of the two who went into the
stall next to mine farted and stunk the place up. I left after him to
escape the smell. Everyone was assembled to learn a new song. I went back
to the bathroom. The teen assistant followed me.

	"What's wrong, Malcolm? Not feeling well?" He looked genuinely
concerned.

	The answer I wanted to give was, "No, I just need to jerk off
again," but I lost the nerve and said, "I got diarrhea."

	That removed him as a bother. Minutes after returning to my toilet
stall refuge, the Den Mother took his place.

	"Malcolm, dear?"

	I shook my head. My mother always called me "dear". I hated the
word. "Yes?"

	"Are you okay?"

	"I got diarrhea."

	"Oh." Silence, then, "Do you need any help, dear?"

	Half a dozen nasty retorts flew through my mind. "No, thank you."

	Again, silence. She didn't leave. "I'm Okay."

	She left. It was wonderfully quiet. I wished I had a watch so I
could time my return to the end of activities. Perhaps half an hour later,
my mother came in to let me know, "Malcolm, it's time to go. Are you okay?"

	I walked out and past her, up the stairs, through the meeting hall
and out to the car. Two other boys who were going with us were seated in
the back. One, a chunky ten year old with a crew cut leaned up to my seat
and said with a grin, "You were jerking off the whole time, weren't you?"

	I laughed since that was what I'd wanted to tell the teenager.

	The boy poked his buddy in the shoulder. "Told you."

	Mother took them to their homes on the far side of the woods from
our house.

	Saturday, Philip grabbed my arm as we went upstairs to the gym. "I
called you Wednesday and your mother wouldn't let me talk to you. Were you
punished again?"

	"Nah, that's just the way they are. I hope you can come
today. Mother said she's gonna ask my father and tell me when she comes to
get me."

	Philip stuck mostly with me the entire morning. It made me feel
pretty good that an eleven year old would so enjoy my company. It also made
me wonder why classmates like Martin O'Malley and Tommy Atkins didn't. The
only thing I came up with was the likelihood that sports weren't that
important to Philip though he did like and was good at swimming.

	Mother told me I had a choice. Philip could come then or I could go
to a movie with him the next day. I had to get some more work done cleaning
out under the porch.

	"But I can help him and he'll get more done," said Philip.

	"I'm sorry, Philip. Malcolm's father knows you two together will
play more than work. Make your choice, Malcolm."

	Through gritted teeth, I said, "Tomorrow with Philip."

	"Mrs. Lloyd. Please let me come to the house and talk to Malcolm's
father. I'm a real good worker. You can ask my father. If he says no, I'll
come home on the streetcar."

	"I know he's going to say no," insisted my mother.

	"C'mon, mother, let him ask."

	She agreed but Philip should ask on the porch, not inside.

	It sounded suspiciously like they considered Philip Negro too.

	Philip put his case to my father. "Summer time I always work at the
supermarket cleaning up in the back and carrying groceries. Maybe I can
even teach him how to do it faster."

	I was surprised when my father said, "Okay, but if I hear any
fooling around, he goes home and you work tomorrow too. Got it?"

	It suddenly occurred to me that we were going to get very dirty and
he had no clean clothes to change into. I tried to think of something I had
that would fit him. My Christmas sweater was all I could find. Janet fixed
us meatloaf sandwiches and vegetable soup. Philip didn't ask for
seconds. He wanted to prove himself to my father. I knew that would be a
fruitless endeavor.

	The far end under the porch was filled with old latticework and cut
lumber that must have been there for some project though I had no idea what
it might have been. We stacked it outside on the walk behind the
house. Under that were old bottles of different colors and jars partially
buried in the dirt along with pieces of rusted metal and a rat skeleton.

	By five o'clock, the entire front side of the porch was cleared and
raked. I called my father to check our work. He squatted for a while
looking over our work, then walked out. "Okay," was all he said.

	"Can we go take a bath?" I asked as he walked up the back porch
stairs.

	"I said okay. And don't make a mess."

	"Son-of-a-bitch," I muttered.

	We rushed upstairs to my room and stripped. I got an immediate
hardon. It must have been where we were as opposed to the YMCA pool. He
grinned.

	In the tub, soaking in delightfully warm water, I asked, "Do you
jerk off in your bathtub?"

	"Oh, no. I never do that."

	It was my turn to grin. "Everybody jerks off."

	"Not me."

	"Why not?"

	"It's a sin."

	I shook my head. "You Catholic too?"

	"Uh huh. And you're one too so you know."

	"Everybody in my class is Catholic and they all jerk off."

	"It's still a sin."

	My dick went soft. Dreams of his fat cock up my ass disappeared
like a train in the distance.

	I asked, "I thought you went to a public school."

	"Yeh, but I'm an altar boy and serve mass at least four times a
week, and go to confession Thursdays."

	"You never, ever jerked off?"

	"Never, ever."

	I washed myself. He washed himself.

	What, I wondered would he think if he knew what Freddy and I did in
our sleeping bag?

	I had considered being an altar boy a number of times. The swishing
robes were neat. If Stewart and I had been permitted to continue playing
together, I might have tried it. But, if I had, maybe I wouldn't be allowed
to have sex either. Wasn't worth it.

	Sunday, we followed the same routine as the previous week. Philip
brought some of his own marbles along, and left with more than he carried
in.

	In our sleeping bag, I told Freddy about my conversation with
Philip in the bathtub.

	"He's lying like shit. Ain't no boy in the world who gots hands
don't beat his meat. An', if he don't got no hands, he prolly do it with
his feets."

	There were some differences between blacks and whites that even a
nine year old could pick up. White people, even kids, would beat around the
bush trying to say something, partly to avoid offending, partly to protect
themselves against backlash should what they said anger someone. Negroes
just came out and stated things as they were. In the end, it seemed less
offensive and caused less confusion in relationships. Freddy never lied to
me or held back a personal observation about anything concerning
us. Whenever I tried, I felt ridiculous doing so and almost always ended up
telling the truth. I'm sure that has been a major reason we have stayed
such close friends. One night in bed, I tried to remember if the two of us
had ever been really angry at one or the other, and couldn't. When a
difference of opinion got heated, we'd just flip a coin and the loser had
to shut up.

	I laughed at Freddy's remark and wiggled my ass to remind him where
his cock was. We both got off twice.

	A couple of times over the next few weeks, I tried to goad Philip
into jerking off with me, but he insisted he'd never do that. "What if
something happened to me before I got to confession. I'd go straight to
hell and burn for eternity."

	I wasn't sure hell, or heaven or Jesus for that matter, even
existed. Nobody could be that mean.

	March fourteenth, Freddy turned ten years old. The following
Sunday, we celebrated the event as the year before with a birthday party
there in his house then some hot and heavy in the sleeping bag while Philip
increased his marble collection.

	Easter Week arrived. Public school kids only got off Thursday and
Friday. We Catholics were free the entire week. I was packed off to my
grandparents while my parents went to Europe.

	Before I knew I wasn't going to be there, I invited Martin O'Malley
to come to my house one day during the holidays but he said he already had
plans. A similar attempt with Victor Cibelli failed as well though his
reason sounded even more of a phony excuse.

	"I'm not allowed to go off the estate," he told me. There was no
way there were two fathers like mine.

	So why did Philip like me and most of the kids in my class didn't?

	The holiday week did, however, work out quite well. My grandparents
allowed me go to Freddy's every day and spend the night twice. Aunt Martha
had to take his little sister into her bed to make space for me in
Freddy's. We fucked quietly off and on all night. By the end of the week, I
yearned for a way in which I could live with Freddy. The physical
deprivations of poverty were nothing compared to the richness of the
emotional comfort, the love I felt in that humble little home.

	The return of my parents was like being snatched from a warm
bathtub and dunked in a barrel of ice water. And the crap started
immediately. The lawn needed mowing. My father bought a power mower in
deference to my nine years, or so he said. Easter Monday afternoon, I
started on the area in front of the house, which featured parallel short
steep hills gradually diminishing out to the driveway entrance. I tried
pushing it along horizontally but the heavy mower always slid to the
bottom. Efforts to push it up and down from the bottom never made it to the
top. Prickly sticker bushes prevented me from running it down from above.

	"I can't do the tops," I declared that evening before dinner as my
father was reading the evening newspaper in the living room. "It's too
heavy."

	"Well, it's your job so you better find a way."

	"I tried everything. I can't."

	He ignored me.

	"Can Philip come over tomorrow and help me?"

	"I don't care how you do it. Just get it done."

	I ran upstairs and found his telephone number. We hadn't seen each
other since the YMCA the week before Easter. He sounded happy to hear from
me.

	"Wanna come over here tomorrow? I gotta mow the lawn and I can't
push the mower up to the top of the hill. And it's worse in back."

	"Sure. I'll come straight from school."

	Even though it was a bit cool Tuesday afternoon, he took off his
shirt to push the mower up then let it drift back. I really enjoyed
watching his arm, shoulder and chest muscles flex. He did the lower hill
that abutted the driveway then went around back.

	That turned into fun. It was the same hill we'd rolled down during
the winter. We pushed the mower around to the top and chased it down,
laughing as we fell and rolled. Once, the mower crashed into a tree and
shut off. We were worried it had been damaged and we were in big trouble,
but, it cranked back up and off we went. At five fifteen, the hills were
done. I put the mower in front of the barn for my father to put it away and
headed for a hot bath.

	"I'll bet Jesus jerked off when he was a kid," I said lying at the
opposite end of the tub from Philip.

	"Don't say things like that, Malcolm. It's blasphemous."

	"I still bet he did. Every kid in the world who has hands jerks
off. And Jesus did too. But he didn't have a bathtub." I laughed. Philip
smiled. "What do you think he washed in back then," I asked.

	"I don't know. I suppose they had something, maybe like a big old
wash tub like you see in the movies."

	"Bet he'd have a hard time jerking off in one of those." I crunched
up my knees and ran my hand between them and acted like I was trying to
jerk off but couldn't.

	Philip laughed.

	"I got an idea. I'll do it for you. You can't touch yourself so
I'll do it and you won't be committing a sin."

	"That's stupid, Malcolm. Then you'll be committing a sin."

	"But I do it all the time and I don't think it's a sin. Let me try
it and you'll see how great it is." I was moving toward him as I spoke. He
made a weak attempt to push away my hand but then rested his arms on the
edge of the tub and watched me.

	His cock was hard almost immediately. I sat on my knees, straddling
his left leg and masturbated him from the side with my thumb on the
underside of his peter and fingers on the other. It was well over three
inches long, easily the size of Mark's from camp whose balls were
growing. Philip's were like peas tightly held in their sack against his
perineum. After a few moments, his eyes left my hand and looked straight
ahead. I felt his leg tense under me and saw his stomach muscles flex. The
only sound in the room was the soft splashes each time my hand went down to
his barely submerged pelvis. His lips pressed together. His cock
stiffened. His mouth popped open. I felt the pulsing and wrapped my fingers
around.

	"Neat, huh?"

	Philip was breathing like he'd just mowed the front hills again.

	"You never did that before?" I asked.

	He shook his head. "We better wash," was all he said.

	Philip came to the house Wednesday and Friday to help me with the
lawn. He was gone before my father arrived. I didn't mention his presence
or help, or anything for that matter. There was still plenty to do on
Saturday.

	Philip didn't let me jerk him off any more that week. Friday, in
the tub, I asked him if he confessed what we did Tuesday.

	"Why, I didn't do anything. You're the one who needs to go to
confession."

	"I do once a month. The nuns make us. I just tell him I hate my
mother and father `cause Sister says that's against a commandment."

	"What's the priest say?"

	"Three Hail Mary's and an Act of Contrition."

	"Do you do them?"

	"I gotta do the Act of Contrition `cause you do it right there but
that's all. I don't believe in that crap."

	"You better watch out. Anything happens and you die, you'll go
straight to hell."

	I grinned. "I already live there."

	I wanted to arrange for Philip to spend the night with me Saturday
but he had to serve Mass Sunday morning. I got to the theater at ten
forty. The movie had just begun so we went in and saw The Wizard of
Oz. Philip had seen it before but was willing to see it again.

	We didn't get to Freddy's until a quarter to two.

	Philip went to play marbles with another eleven year old named
Struzzi for some strange reason I never understood. It had something to do
with German food. Freddy and I took off leaving Philip with Struzzi,
Douglas and a couple of other teens. It was mid April, not yet warm enough
to have naked sex there by the stream. We did strip in the open then
climbed inside the grungy sleeping bag. It stunk worse than the stream but
the sense of feel quickly took precedence for both of us.

	After getting off, we got out and sat still nude on the rocks back
from the stream, the sleeping bag around us. I told Freddy about jerking
off Philip in the tub and his not confessing it.

	"Maybe he's telling the truth and he never did it before."

	"If'n he is, he's the onliest one. You tryin' ta git him to fuck
you, Maacum?"

	"Nah, well, I don't know. You're not gonna be mad, are you?"

	"I ain't gonna be mad about you an' no white boy. You know I'm
always gonna be better'n any a them.' He grabbed his cock and
grinned. `Want some mo'?"

	I looked up and down the stream. "Let's do it on the other side
under the tree. We can use the blankets. They don't stink." There was also
more cover from bushes and small trees.

	We grabbed the sleeping bag between us. Freddy went out onto our
rock bridge first, skipping from rock to rock. We held the sleeping bag up
in the air. As Freddy reached the other side, I slipped and fell into the
icy water, dragging the sleeping bag in with me. Freddy roared with
laughter and let the sleeping bag go. It floated with the current gaining
weight rapidly as it soaked in the water. I had to struggle hard to get it
to the side. Freddy grabbed hold and helped get us both out.

	"Now we do gotta wash it," he commented with a grin.

	Freddy climbed the vine and tossed down the duffle bag with the
blankets. We spread them on the side of the hill behind the tree house tree
and lay between them, beside each other.

	"Hold me tight, Freddy, I'm freezing."

	He squeezed me to him. It always felt so good to feel his bare
flesh against mine. He pulled the top blanket more snugly around us. When
he fucked me, it was from behind to maintain maximum body contact. Freddy
masturbated me when he was close to orgasm. It felt so warm in there with
him, like when we slept together in his house during Easter Week. I didn't
want to leave him. I turned over to hold him face to face and embraced
him. "I love you, Freddy." I'd never said that before.

	"I love you too, Maacum."

	I pushed my upper leg between his and pulled us even tighter
together.

	A boy's voice called my name.

	"Shit!" I grumbled. Our clothes were on the other side of the
stream.

	Freddy understood. "You wait heah. I'll git the clothes."

	Philip called out again. He was close but I still couldn't see him.

	Freddy jumped up and stepped agilely and rapidly rock to rock,
snatched up our clothes and shoes and was back as fast as he went. I
already had the blankets behind the tree. We dressed.

	Philip, Scruzzi and Douglas appeared on the path nearly across from
us. Douglas tried to block Scruzzi's view until he saw we were clothed. I
wondered if Philip had seen Freddy crossing the stream.

	Philip called out, "It's after two thirty. You gotta get home."

	I told him I'd meet him at the bridge a couple hundred yards down
the stream. I no longer expected my parents to be watching the streetcar
turn around but was still being cautious. Philip, Douglas and Scruzzi ran
across the bridge and joined us in the walk back to the train station. From
there I could walk up another street, coming up behind the streetcar
turnaround.

	As we walked, Douglas whispered in Freddy's ear. Freddy pointed to
his eye then at Philip. Douglas thought Philip had seen Freddy naked. I
started working up an excuse using the stream.

	Freddy, Douglas and Scruzzi left us at the train station since the
rest of the walk was through a white area. Philip and I sat on the steps of
a closed barbershop waiting for the streetcar.

	"What were you two doing back there?" he inquired.

	"Fixing our bridge across the stream."

	Philip was silent then told me about winning most of Scruzzi's
marbles then giving them back. "He's a neat kid. I like him."

	Philip was the only white boy I knew who didn't hate blacks. He was
also the only white boy I knew who knew any. "How come you don't hate
coloreds like everybody else?"

	He shrugged. "I don't know. Why don't you?"

	"I've known Freddy since I was six, almost three years."

	"I was kind of afraid of them before you told me about Aunt Martha
and Freddy. I was scared that first time we went there. But now I know
they're just like us, except I'm better at marbles." He volunteered to come
over the next day to help again with the grass and cleanup.

	The streetcar came and I ran up and around it like I'd just gotten
off. As usual, there was no one watching. Still, another beating like the
last just wasn't worth the risk.

  	Neither of my parents was home. The house was locked so there was
no way to get inside. I'd eaten at Freddy's so I wasn't hungry. I walked
around the back of the house. There was the lawn mower with a can of
gas. The message was clear. Get back to the lawn until my parents came
home.

	I thought about just sitting on the front steps and saying I hadn't
seen the mower but it was getting cool and work would keep me warm. So I
cut grass.

	Monday afternoon. Philip was at the house before me, cutting grass
near the bottom of our property. He'd had no school that day. I raked and
hauled cut grass for a while then we switched places. We were finished by
five fifteen and headed for the warm tub. I sat staring at the smooth lines
of his neck and shoulders. I imagined what it would be like to lick the
soft flesh under his chin.

	Philip broke into my reverie. "What were you and Freddy really
doing down there yesterday?"

	"I told you, fixing the bridge."

	"Naked?"

	"Yeh, in case we fell in like I did."

	"Then why did you have that big blanket?" The question was asked
shyly.

	I decided that some of the truth wouldn't hurt, might even help. I
slid my left leg over his right and nudged his hardening cock with my
toes. "Why do you think?"

	"You had to get naked to jerk off?"

	I was stiff as a rake handle. "We did other stuff too."

	"Like what?"

	"You better not tell anybody."

	"I'm not gonna tell anybody. Who'm I gonna tell?"

	"Okay. You're sure?" I was being coy like a cat, playing with his
obvious curiosity.

	"C'mon, Malcolm."

	"If I tell, we gotta do it to."

	"No, we don't. Just tell me."

	"You gotta promise to try it."

	"Why, that's stupid. Just tell me."

	"It's neat. Promise."

	"Okay, I promise to try it." He was grinning. "Now tell me."

	"He put his thing," I ran my toes over his cock, "up inside my
behind."

	"You're crazy. He didn't do that."

	"Yes he did and now you gotta try it."

	"Not me. That's gotta be a sin."

	"Who says? Anyhow, you promised." His cock was hard as mine. I knew
he wanted to try it.

	I rolled over and got up on my hands and knees and pointed at my
ass. "In there. It really feels neat. C'mon, you promised." I tugged at his
leg.

	"It's dirty in there."

	"Not it's not. C'mon. A promise is a promise."

	He sat on his knees, his hand around his stiff penis, his eyes on
my ass hole. I held my hand behind me and waved him forward. He raised
up. I moved back until I felt his cock touch my buns. I was a bit concerned
just being wet wouldn't be enough lubrication for him to get inside. I
dripped saliva into my hand and wiped it on his cock.

	"What are you doing?"

	"Making it go in better. C'mon. Put it in me."

	Philip arched his hips forward, hands on the sides of the tub. The
tip of his cock entered my crack. I was getting impatient. "Fuck me,
Philip! You promised!"

	I grabbed his dick and put the head against my hole. "Go in!"

	He pushed. His cock went right to my prostate. I grabbed his ass
and pulled forward. I wobbled my ass side to side. His cock went from side
to side inside me. It was incredibly good.

	"Now go in and out."

	His hands still gripping the sides of the tub, he pulled back half
his cock length and pushed back in, then did it again, and again. He was
fucking. I continued to move slightly side to side. His cock was all over
inside me, rubbing across my sweet spot from every direction.

	He let go of the tub and took hold of me. He was now thrusting,
going for maximum depth, each thrust a little harder than the last. I was
going to cum without touching my dick. Just a few more times. He rammed in
hard. I felt his thighs tremble, his cock pulse. I reached for my cock. Two
quick pulls and I throbbed with him.

	He held my buns tight against him, then fell back, his cock pulling
out as suddenly as it had gone in. I turned and looked at him. He smiled
back.

	"Neat, huh?"

	"You and Freddy did that?"

	"We do it all the time."

	"Since you were six?"

	I nodded with a smile.

	We washed each other's backs. I washed his cock, carefully. It was
very sensitive at the tip.

	"Yours is going to be really big when you get big."

	"You think so?"

	My father drove in the driveway as Philip was leaving. He made no
acknowledgement he'd seen him. I went up to my room. I heard my father go
out the back door onto the porch. There was a huge pile of cut grass in the
middle of the gravel drive down to the barn. The mower was parked by the
back porch. I heard the door close and my father come back inside.

	At the dinner table he said, "Good evening, son," and later, "Eat
your asparagus". I didn't like asparagus.

	He didn't mention the cut and raked two and a half acres of lawn so
I said, "Lawn's done."

	"Good."

	Philip arrived Tuesday, minutes after I was dropped off. No work
had been assigned so we could do whatever we liked as long as it was on the
property. Philip suggested we play in my bedroom. It quickly became obvious
what kind of play he had in mind.

	He sat beside me on the bed where I was changing from my school
uniform. "Does you maid ever come up here?"

	"Not while I'm here, why?" I hoped I already knew the answer. I
pushed off my school pants and waited in my underwear.

	He seemed to be debating with himself about what to say next.

	I couldn't wait for him. "You wanna do something like we did
yesterday?" I put my hand on his fly and felt the hard on underneath.

	He said nothing. I massaged him through his pants. He slid against
me, putting one arm behind me. He whispered, "Let's get naked."

	I was nearly there. He hurriedly untied his shoelaces then, as he
pushed off his shoes one with the other, he began unbuttoning his shirt. I
undid his belt and opened the button of his pants. He stood to let me take
them off while he removed his shirt, then his undershirt. I pulled his
pants and underpants down together and held them to the floor while he
stepped out, turning his pants inside out in the process. The moment I
stood back up, he embraced me and flung us both onto the bed. We landed
side by side.

	He surprised me by kissing me repeatedly on the both cheeks,
gradually rolling on top of me. I was ready and willing, anxious even to go
along with anything he wanted. I hugged him back and made my mouth
available. He kissed it briefly, looked into my eyes then increased the
surprise with, "I love you, Malcolm". He opened his mouth, dropped his lips
on mine then sucked in my lower lip. I pulled him tighter to me and sucked
on whatever was available. Frantic and erratic are the only words that can
describe our kissing. Neither of us had done it before and were just
allowing our bodies to seek what our minds craved.

	Our tongues became involved with each other's lips then each
other. Our mouths opened wider, faces pressed tighter together. Tongues
crossed the divide, intertwining, reaching. My head was spinning. I
struggled to breathe through my nose. Finally, I had to pull away for a
second to catch my breath. After filling my lungs, I pulled his head to
mine and continued. He loved me.

	I felt Philip's hand slip between us and take hold of my stiff
penis. He ran his fingers up and down it, then over my balls and between my
legs and back, again and again.

	He lifted his face off mine, stared into my eyes again, kissed me
twice and turned himself around so his head was in my crotch. He looked at
my cock for a second or two then put his mouth full over it, right down to
my balls. I gasped as a completely new feeling shot clear through me, one
that caused every muscle in my body to flex.

	Without moving his head, Philip sucked and twirled my cock around
with his tongue. I filled my mouth with his thick penis. It went clear to
the back. I cupped my hands around his ass cheeks and squeezed. They felt
like water balloons filled with Jello. His cock grew, hardened. I pumped
into his mouth but too late. His entire body jumped when he came. He
stopped sucking as he throbbed inside my mouth. I continued to pump. His
mouth relaxed then opened.

	"Philip, don't stop, I'm almost there." I pushed his head toward my
cock.

	He closed his mouth. With rapid pumping, I reached my orgasm.

	Philip sat up and said, "Let's go outside and, uh, look at where
we're gonna build our treehouse."

	I was ready for another go. Freddy always did it twice. "Let's do
it again."

	"Not now, I'm tired. Let's go outside." He was already reaching for
his underpants.

	We finished up the afternoon calculating the lumber we'd need for
the steps up the tree and the platform and roof. Philip figured the wood we
found under the front of the porch, now stacked up in the rear near the
stairs, would sufficient.

	He wasn't sure if he'd be able to make it the next day.

	Wednesday, though, my mother stopped to pick him up near the bottom
of the hill as we returned from leaving off her car pool charges.

	As I was changing clothes, he asked, "Does your mother come up here
in the afternoon?"

	"Unh uh, just at night to see if I'm doing my homework."

	"Let's get naked!"

	We were slightly more effective kissers. I wanted to be sure of
getting off, and I wanted his big dick up my ass, so I was very gentle with
his cock when it was in my mouth. He was better with mine, sucking hard,
his entire mouth seeming to wrap tightly around my little shaft and
circumcised glans.

	"Fuck me, Philip."

	I rolled over and poked my rear up at him. He straddled me on his
hands and knees. I guided his dripping wet cockhead to my pucker. "Now," I
said. He pushed in. I wiggled back to get more of him in me. I moved my ass
around to feel his cock rub everywhere inside.

	"Go in and out."

	He pushed up on his arms, pulled out to the tip and shoved it back
inside, right up to and over my prostate, sending a tingling sensation up
into my gut.

	"All the way in, hard," I ordered.

	He complied. I had to put my hands against the headboard to keep
from being pushed forward with each thrust. He dropped his face to mine and
kissed my temple. I turned to him and opened my mouth. It didn't work. We
couldn't hold our kisses due to the force of his thrusts. We just slobbered
over each other. I didn't care. I felt my passion rising. I dropped my head
to the bedspread and I came. My rectal muscle clamped down on Philip. Two
more entries and I felt him throb too. He collapsed on top of me as Freddy
generally did, breathing heavily.

	Then, unlike Freddy, he quickly pulled out and started talking
about the tree house again as he quickly dressed.

	"Don't you wanna take a bath first?"

	He stopped, looked at his cock for a few seconds. "Yeh, I guess so,
a quick one."

	And that's what it was. He couldn't have been in the water for more
than five minutes, hadn't said a word. I was still scrubbing when he was
drying off.

	As we dressed, I asked, "What's wrong, Philip?"

	He chuckled, "Nothing."

	"Are you mad we did sex?"

	"No, it was great, just like yesterday. Let's go outside."

	I knew there was something bothering him. Both days, when he
reached his climax, the frantic passion went out of him like air from a
punctured tire.

	Under the porch, I tried again to get him to come straight with
me. He laughed that phony laugh of his again and insisted everything was
fine. I didn't know how to handle this. Freddy and I were always completely
honest with each other. Any problem between us was dealt with immediately
and quickly. Nothing was left unsaid, nothing withheld.

	I sensed a serious problem building between Philip and me. Maybe
sex with him had been a bad idea.

	Thursdays, Philip never came. It was his day to go to confession.

	Friday, he didn't show up either. It would have been helpful, as I
was required to sweep up the walks and driveway.

	Saturday, the first time since I started going to the Y in January,
Philip didn't come. Even my mother seemed surprised at that.

	"Maybe he's sick," she suggested.

	The moment I got home, I called his house. There was no
answer. Later, in the middle of scrubbing the porch floor, I tried again
with the same result. At around five, he answered.

	"What happened? You didn't come to YMCA. You okay?"

	I was afraid of his answer.

	"Nah, I got up late. I'll be there next week."

	"We going tomorrow?"

	"I can't. I gotta go somewhere with my father. We'll do it next
week. I gotta hang up. See you."

	And that was that. Did he tell the priest in confession? If he did,
what did the priest tell him? What was I going to do about Sunday? That was
simple, just go like always.

	That night in bed, I worried that everything Philip said about sex
and sin was true. What if God was putting a black mark on my soul every
time I had sex or jerked off? I shifted between concern about hell and a
conviction that none of the stuff the nuns taught about God and sin was
more than a way to keep kids in line.

	Sunday morning, I went straight to Philip's house. His big sister
answered the door. Philip was in the park with a couple of friends and his
airplanes. I needed directions. It was eight blocks away. I got lost a
couple of times but asking directions finally got me there.

	I spotted him immediately. He was with two kids about my age. All
three were squatting around a model airplane.

	Philip tried to act happy to see me but the truth was in his
eyes. I saw fear rather than anger.

	"My father couldn't go, so, I just came over here. Watch this."

	I'm sure I didn't look very happy.

	He twirled the model's propeller. It let out a muffled squeal. One
of the other kids grabbed up a metal handle attached to the two thin wires
that connected to the plane. Philip released it and the tiny craft shot
skyward. The boy guided it in circles, diving and climbing. The other boy
wrestled the control from his buddy and ran in circles himself.

	I just watched Philip, standing with his hands stuffed into his
pockets, his attention only partially on his model. I walked up to him.

	"Philip, we don't have to do sex any more. Let's just be friends."

	He bobbed back and forth on his feet then said without looking at
me, "I can't."

	"Why?"

	"I just can't. I'm sorry. I just can't."

	"Did the priest tell you that?"

	"No." He hesitated. "If I go with you..." He paused again. "I just
can't. I'm not going any more to the YMCA either. And you shouldn't. And
you shouldn't see Freddy either. You need to go to confession and tell it
all, and stop doing all that. It's a really bad sin."

	He ran after his friend with the handle. The plane had run out of
fuel and was gliding to the grass. I stood there and watched him, unsure if
I should follow him or what. He said he couldn't play with me any more. If
we didn't do any sex, why not?

	I walked toward him slowly. He was refueling the model with a small
can he'd pulled from his pocket. Once again, he cranked it up and one of
the boys took it off. I stepped in front of Philip.

	"If we don't do any sex, how come we can't be friends?"

	"Because you're an occasion of sin for me." I knew what that meant
from catechism class. Being around me would make him likely to sin.

	"Not if I don't wanna do it."

	"Malcolm, I just can't." There were tears in his eyes. "Just go
away, please." He walked quickly toward the others.

	"You can call me. We can't do anything on the telephone," I shouted
after him.

	He didn't turn. I sat in the grass, ready to cry myself. Stupid
priest, I thought.

	After two more flights, Philip led his friends out of the park well
away from me. I found my way to the streetcar line and went to Freddy's. I
had to wait almost an hour and a half for the bunch of them to get back
from church. Everybody asked about Philip. I told them that he couldn't
come any more but I wasn't sure why.

	Freddy produced the sleeping bag, thoroughly washed and dry. His
mother had done it. He told her that we had used it to keep warm which was
the truth.

	As we walked to our spot, I told Freddy what had happened,
including the wild sex I'd had with Philip and how he seemed to turn off
suddenly the moment he had his feeling. And, I explained `occasion of sin'
to him.

	"That's jes stupid. First, ain' nothin' wrong wi' sex. Second, them
priests don' do it so how they gon' know anythin' `bout it. Jes stupid. You
shouldn't be doin' no sex wi' white boys. They don' know nothin' `bout it
like us coloreds."

	"I'm a white boy."

	"I don' know `bout that, Maacum. We ain't sho you ain't got some
nigger mixed in you somewheah."

	"What about those boys at camp? They were white."

	"Mebbe so, mebbe not."

	Inside the sleeping bag, I asked Freddy if he'd suck on my
penis. "Unh uh, Maacum. You like ta do that `cause that's the way you
is. I'll jerk you off but that's all."

	Mopping up the porch that afternoon, I considered the possibility
that I actually did have some Negro blood in me and that's why I liked sex
and Freddy so much. But what really occupied my mind the rest of the day
was Freddy's remark that I liked getting fucked and sucking because that
was the way I was. I wondered if I'd ever change like Freddy said I might
do when I got older.