Date: Tue, 29 Dec 2015 20:15:48 -0800
From: Douglas DD DD <thehakaanen@hotmail.com>
Subject: Rough Edges  Chapter 39

Welcome and thanks for returning. Just when Phil seems to have things
going his way, he trips over his ego he finds himself screwing his life up yet
again.

Please donate to Nifty to keep it running free. Always be safe. Remember
that this is my story and I have the rights to it.

Email is always appreciated. Douglas, at thehakaanen@hotmail.com



CHAPTER 39
THE BURDEN OF EGO AND SELF

<Larry Sanders>

Phil had just officially asked me to marry him. Relatively speaking, this
ranked right up there with us agreeing to be boyfriends and our first time
making love. I'd agreed to be his boyfriend as soon as I saw it was what we
both wanted. I dragged my feet when it came to making love, even after we
agreed we both desired it.

I had been riding the fence on the marriage issue ever since gay marriage
became legal in the State of Washington. I knew what I wanted to do and
Phil knew what he wanted to do. There was no doubt we both wanted the
same thing and, as it had been with making love, I was the one holding up
progress.

I had recently received an offer to teach math and take over the baseball
program at one of the most prestigious 4-A schools in the state. Phil told
me that if I took the job I could no longer use my small-town phobia to keep
me from agreeing to marry him.

"Are you proposing to me?" I grinned.

Phil squeezed me tightly and lay his head on my shoulder, his eyes looking
up to me, a sly grin on his face. "Yes, I am. Will you marry me, Larry my
one and only love?"

I petted his still thick, dark hair. "I can think of a million reasons to say yes,
and not a single reason to say no. Yes, Phil, my one and only love, I will
marry you."

With that we hugged, we kissed, we cried a little, and we cuddled on the
couch, looking out of the window, across the deck, and to the beautiful
wooded lake that our house sat next to. Neither of us said a word, we
simply held each other and reveled in the moment. We soaked in the
natural beauty that surrounded our house as well as the human beauty
residing within its walls.

It was Phil who finally broke the silence. "I guess this means we will be
moving up north to the big city."

"No, I think this means we will stay here in the wonderful little town of
Mayfield where we will be ourselves and do what we've always done—
show the young men who have looked up to and trusted us that we are
proud of who we are and have no intention of running from it."

Phil landed a big kiss on my lips. "I knew there was a reason why I love you
so much."

"I see how it is, you want to marry me for my mind."

He squeezed my hardening package. "I want to marry you for more than
that." It seemed to be a good time to retire to our bedroom and take care of
the physical form of love.

<Phil Miller>

I was hungry, but I didn't want to leave the side of the naked man beside
me. He might be pushing forty, but his body was still firm and hard—the
body of an athlete. I knew he would agree to marry me at some time, but I
was certain that moving from our home would be the price to pay. Larry
surprised me by saying we would stay right here in Mayfield as a married
couple. It was one of the few times I read Larry wrong.

Our love making had been passionate, sweaty, slobbery, physical, and
wonderful. I fucked him hard, filling him with my love juice not once, but
twice. We might be middle-aged, but we were still very much alive in the
sex department, although two orgasm sessions were becoming rarer.

Back in our middle school days, when we were starting out as boyfriends,
we looked at ourselves as failures if we didn't have at least two orgasms
during a sexual session.

Just before school let out ending our seventh grade year, I turned thirteen.
My birthday was June 5, but we had our big teen party two weekends
before. Perry and Tyson had the same birthdate and had turned thirteen on
May 11. While we all wanted separate teen parties, our parents saw things
differently, deciding to split the costs of one big blowout party.

While we griped and grumbled in private (not to mention in not-so-subtle
ways to our parents, as good teens should do) we made the most of our
party. We had pizza, followed by a skating party at the ice rink. Between
the Wonkeys and the non-Wonkey friends and relatives of Perry, Tyson,
and me, we had thirty kids at the party, including four girls.

One of those girls was Mia Cassidy, who spent a lot of time coming on to
the boys, especially Q and Tyson. Her seventh-grade year was not nearly
the success her sixth-grade year had been as sex and getting wasted
trumped being a good student and a nice girl.

Nevertheless, we found a way of covering for Tyson and Mia when they
snuck into the boys' bathroom together. We thought about having them go
to the girls' room, but there were four mothers at the party who might have
to use the can while Tyson and Mia were enjoying themselves.

Of course, being the randy boys we were, some of us just happened to feel
an urgent need to urinate while they were doing their thing. I was one of
them, and got very hard when I saw Tyson's pants and undies on the floor
along with Mia's pulled down to her ankles. I could see his dark legs and
Mia's white legs, their feet facing in the same direction, as Tyson was
obviously porking the thirteen-year-old girl. I almost came in the urinal as I
listened to them grunt and moan, but I left to report their progress before
the obvious conclusion.

Q was in the bathroom when Tyson blew his wad. Q told us he blew his too
after Tyson opened the stall door and he jerked off while watching Tyson
and Mia finish fucking.

"It was so fucking hot I almost fainted," Q grinned. "You can still see my jizz
on the floor if you want."  Puberty was certainly having its effect on the
Wonkeys. We all passed on checking out Q's emission.

Other than Tyson's tryst with Mia, the party was a kids' skating party with
pizza, birthday cake, snacks, and enough soda to drown a school of middle
schoolers.

The overnight was at Tyson's house. We had the upstairs to ourselves and
took advantage of it by playing games, chatting, getting naked, wrestling,
groping, cumming, and having an all-around good time.

"Too bad we couldn't have the girls here," Q said. "I am still mega-horny
after this afternoon."

"You can always fuck me, Q," Perry grinned.

"Now that sounds like a plan." The other six of us watched while Q did
Perry doggy style on the floor next to Tyson's bed. I couldn't help but think
about Larry and me, wishing that we didn't have to wait the two months
until his thirteenth birthday.

I sat next to him and grabbed his rigid pre-teen pole. "That could be us," I
pointed out.

"Not in front of everybody," Larry said, aghast at the thought.

"No, but we could be fucking somewhere, like tomorrow."

"Not until I'm thirteen." It was his usual mantra, but I wasn't convinced he
meant it. His steel-hard cock and flushed face convinced me he was totally
turned on by the scene playing out in front of us.

"You can do this right now," I smirked as I let go of his cock and went down
on him. He offered no protest, and moaned with pleasure as I set to work
on him.

Perry came first, which was no big surprise considering how much he loved
getting his ass fucked. His was a no-touch cum as he squirted his thin boy
cum onto Tyson's carpet. I'm sure it wasn't the first time it had been cum
on. Within ten minutes the rest of us horny teens and preteens had shot our
wads. Q filled Perry's ass, Larry squirted into my mouth, I added more goo
to Tyson's carpet, and Tyson came in Jung's ass as Jung jerked himself
off. Tyson didn't start on Jung until after Q had cum. Daniel and Ben were
jerking each other off when Robbie entered the room.

"Damn, dudes, open a window...it reeks of sex in here. You don't want the
`rents smelling this shit." Tyson opened the window while Daniel and Ben
kept at each other. "Did you orgasm, little bro?" Robbie asked.

"Fuck ya. Got me some pussy and some ass today. Being fucking thirteen
totally rocks."

"I got some weed to rock it even more," Robbie told us. "If nothing else it
will hide the smell of sex. We know dad can handle us getting high better
than he can a bunch of boys fucking each other." He was interrupted by
two boys jerking each other as Daniel and Ben came at the same time,
squirting cum over themselves.

"Whatcha got?" Tyson asked.

"Take a look. It's good shit."

I knew how this was going to turn out. After I explain some things about the
Wonkeys you will see why I was so certain. First, even though we were all
twelve or thirteen, four of us (Jung, Tyson, Q, Perry, and I) had tried
alcohol. Jung was allowed a small glass of wine with Sunday dinner. Perry
had sipped a can or two of beer, but Q, Tyson, and I had been drunk at
least once.  Of those who hadn't used alcohol as we neared eighth grade,
Daniel was the only one who never tried it—even as an adult.

As for pot, Tyson, Q, and I were the only ones to smoke it. Q smoked it
once, I'd been high a couple dozen times or more, and Tyson smoked it
occasionally with some of his other friends, or with his brother and or his
Uncle Marcus.

"Wonkeys don't smoke pot together," Tyson informed his brother after
Robbie offered us the marijuana.

"The Wonkeys are pussies," Robbie replied.

"Up yours bro. I don't need to give you my ass."

"And I don't need to give you my big cock," Robbie smirked.

"Go back to your room and get stoned and leave us alone."

"You're all fucking faggot pussies," Robbie called out as he stomped out of
Tyson's room.

"I'd better get something to clean my rug," Tyson said. "You guys are such
pigs."

Not much later we engaged in a new round of sex. There was no fucking
this time, but we did have new partners and we all had some solid
orgasms. I'll just say this—Tyson sucks some mean cock.

<Larry Sanders>

 As much as I liked group sex with the Wonkeys, it seemed to be more
serious than when we were ten and eleven. As we started hitting puberty
things seemed to develop from messing around to serious sex. Not that I
was complaining, but in a lot of ways I wanted to save the really serious
stuff for Phil. I was happy we had totally agreed to lose our virginity to each
other. Phil told me it wasn't that easy for him to be good.

"I'd love to have Troy do me," he confessed the week after the big thirteen
party. "But he knows he's gotta wait until we do it."

"He can wait just fine," I said somewhat pompously. I could be a real stuck
up prude at times, especially when it came to sex between Phil and me.

"And it was really hard for me to not do Devon that night when he was with
us at your house."

"Yeah, but you managed." I loosened up and gave Phil a kiss, which got us
off the subject of Wonkey sex and onto the subject of each other.

"It's hard for me to manage not to do you," Phil said hoarsely. "I want to try
it bad."

"So do I." Which was true—I just didn't want to do it then.

"Tonight?"

"No."

"Will you suck my cock?" Phil didn't miss a beat, which I was grateful for.
As much as he wanted to go up my ass, he was willing to wait until I was
ready for it, which I was grateful for.

I was just as grateful as an adult that Phil waited for me to be ready before
he took the plunge and asked me to marry him. Unlike when we were
pubescent boys, he didn't keep asking until the day came; he just knew
when it was time. I think he knew when it was time back then as well, he
simply lacked the patience of an adult.

"When do we want the big day to happen?" I asked Phil the morning after
his proposal.

"I'd like to see it happen before school starts."

"That only gives us a couple of months to plan."

"Plenty of time," he grinned.

"And to honeymoon," I added.

"That's what we have your personal leave days saved for. You can double
your honeymooning pleasure by missing a week of school."

"I love how you think."

Teachers in the Mayfield School District received two personal leave days
a year that could be taken for any reason. We could let them accumulate
up to six and if they weren't used no new days were added to our total. I
would have the maximum personal days accumulated once the new school
year started. Phil still had two of his six weeks of vacation left for this year.

We agreed on a potential Saturday date in mid-August. The next question
was where the wedding would take place. We debated having it
somewhere out of town, but ended up deciding that if we were going to
take the plunge it would be right here in Mayfield.

The next step was procuring a venue. That took us a couple of days, but
turned out not to be a difficult process. Reverend Forester, the pastor of
one of the Protestant churches in town, was pleased that we intended to
marry. The Reverend was a big supporter of Mayfield sports. Both of his
daughters had graduated from Mayfield High and had lettered in volleyball,
basketball, and softball. He had been one of many Mayfield fans to watch
our state championship game in Pasco, turning the church over to his
assistant on Sunday.

"I think God will forgive me for loving the Mayfield Mustangs on
championship Sundays." He had seen us win all three of our State
Championships, as had a large percentage of his congregation. His
assistant had an easy time of it as he preached to the half-empty church
while Reverend Forester rooted us on.

"Are you willing to perform the ceremony?" Phil asked him.

"As a man of God I feel I am obligated to," the Reverend said.

"I didn't ask if you were obligated, I asked if you were willing." Phil still had
a way of getting right to the point. "I mean you do have quite a few
conservative members of your congregation who haven't approved of the
lifestyle Larry and I have."

"I will have to deal with them individually, which I am sure will happen."

"What if we have a solution?" Larry asked.

"Do you have somebody else in mind?"

"A longtime friend who is the Pastor of a church in Tacoma of your
denomination. You probably even know him."

"Do you mean Reverend Turner?"

"One and the same," I said. "He has been a friend of ours since grade
school." That wasn't entirely true, but close enough—Phil hadn't met him
until middle school. "He said he is more than willing to perform the
ceremony here."

Reverend Forester broke out into a broad smile. "I would have figured him
for your choice even if you hadn't been lifelong friends." Daniel not only had
performed some of the early gay marriages in Tacoma, he was married to
his longtime Partner, Devon.

Yeah, I know, Devon—go figure. Daniel and Ben started going their own
ways during high school. They remained friends, but Ben discovered he
desired the straight life. He is now married with a son and a daughter.
When Daniel was a junior, he started dating Ben's younger brother, Devon,
who was then a freshman. It was not like the two were strangers, either in
and out of bed.

"I know Reverend Turner well. A good man, a good spouse, and a good
father," Reverend Forester said. Daniel and Devon had two children, both
boys, from a surrogate mother. Devon was a pediatrician, which allowed
them to afford to pay a surrogate and to raise the boys.

"I get the best of both worlds. I can see the feathers of some of the
congregation get ruffled while at the same time I won't have to totally ruffle
them. I can tell you this, I know that the trustees will back me almost
totally."

"Almost?" Phil asked.

"Every board of trustees needs at least one curmudgeon," the reverend
laughed.

Now all we had to do was mail out invitations, hire a caterer and take care
of all of the other sundry things needed to plan a wedding. We got a break
there, however.

Of course current and past players quickly learned of our decision via the
baseball telegraph. It's not like we were keeping the affair secret, but the
telegraph was close to instantaneous. One of those to hear the news was
Carla McCall, Nick and Noah's mother. She didn't hesitate to call us.

"One thing that should not be left to two men, as wonderful as they are and
as much as I love them, is the planning of a wedding. You have done well
to get the church and the minister. I suggest you leave the rest to me and a
few other mothers who are more than willing to step up to help."

Phil and I did not have that kind of assistance for our big decision when we
were thirteen. Yet as far as we were concerned at that age, that decision
was as important as our decision to get married was to us now. But, before
we could make love for the first time, Phil had to go through another of his
dark periods. It didn't last long, but it did affect us for a while.

<Phil Miller>

All adolescents go through their moody phases, and I was no exception.
For some those moods are worse than for others. I was one of those teens
who could go right over the edge if I wasn't careful. Thankfully, I had Troy
and Larry to help steady my ship, not that they didn't have their moody
periods too—they just weren't as severe as mine could be. If not for those
two I know my adolescence would have been much worse. The Wonkeys,
along with a couple of adults, like Larry's dad, helped me out as well.

For some reason, when I hit thirteen, I made up my mind the world owed
me a living. After the fun "thirteen" skating party and the ensuing overnight I
decided I was the coolest dude around and anybody who didn't agree had
a few screws loose in his head. In other words, I was convinced that my
shit didn't stink.

My actual birthday fell on a Saturday and my summer baseball team had a
game that day. I was the starting catcher, which I felt was my right, and
batted fifth. I came to bat in the first inning with two on and two out. I
worked a three-one count and nailed a fastball down the middle, sending it
over the left-fielder's head for a two-run double. I felt like a million dollars—I
mean here I was on my thirteenth birthday getting a big hit.

I singled on my next at-bat, bringing a runner in from second and giving us
a 4-2 lead. In the bottom of the inning I threw a runner out at second trying
to steal. When my third at bat game up I hit my first ever over the fence
home run, a two run shot which gave us a 6-3 lead and gave me five runs
batted in for the game.

The exclamation mark for me came in the top of the seventh and last
inning, with us holding a 6-5 lead. The opposing batter (who was a very
cute dude by the way) singled to left with the tying run on second base and
two out. Q came up with the ball and fired it in to Larry, who was playing
shortstop that game and was the relay man. Larry fired a bullet home which
I caught on the fly and put the tag on the incoming runner. There was no
question he was out and when the umpire pumped his fist and yelled,
"OUT!" I jumped up in ecstasy. We had just won a big game on my birthday
and I had been a major part of it.

After the game Q, Jung, Perry, Larry, and I went out for burgers and fries
(on our parents, of course) and I soaked in being the hero of the game. I'd
hit my first home run, knocked in five of our six runs, and made the last out
at home. I soaked in all of the adulation.

Larry and I overnighted at Q's and of course there was sex. It was in the
form of mutual masturbation with a bit of oral sex thrown in. There was no
kissing, however.

"I know you guys are boyfriends and all," Q told us, "and I have no problem
with you two kissing each other, but kissing guys isn't my thing anymore,
unless I'm fucking a guy and then it's like I can't help it."

I had no problem not kissing Larry in front of Q, even though he'd said it
was okay. It was Q's bedroom after all. If we had been at Larry's I think he
and I would have traded spit, Q or no Q.

When I got home on Sunday, Troy and mom praised my game. Keegan
simply glared—he hadn't been there and didn't like all the praise going my
way. He told me later, in private, that I wasn't the big shit I thought I was. I
told him to go fuck himself, although what I really wanted to do was bloody
his face.

I slept with Troy that night, but we didn't have sex, which lately hadn't been
unusual. We were naked though, and he did pet my torso, front and back. I
loved being touched by him. He said he was proud of how well I was doing
in school, sports, and life in general. He kiddingly told me not to let it go to
my head. He was too late for that—I'd spent the time since the end of the
game thinking about how awesome I was. In other words, I was getting a
very large head. My ego was about to be deflated in a big way though, and
I wasn't ready to acknowledge that I wasn't the big shit I thought I was, as
Keegan put it.

It all happened very quickly. In third period we got our final essays back.
Mine was a B-, which all but wrecked the tenuous A I had going in English.
I was furious and expressed my opinion later at lunch.

"That is so bogus," I groused. "Why does Simmons suddenly have it in for
me?" Mrs. Simmons was my English teacher. "I had an A all but clinched."

"And you might have gotten it if you'd turned in A work," Larry said in his no
bullshit, matter-of-fact way.

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?"

"It means I watched you work on that essay, and you sure didn't put the
effort into it that you usually do. And don't say I didn't say that to you,
because I did."

He was right, of course; he usually is about things like that. But I'd be
damned if I was going to acknowledge the fact. My head had started
swelling before Saturday's baseball game and I was not about to admit to
being in the wrong about something. I'd somehow come up with the
mistaken notion that all I had to do was mail in my essay to get an A. All
things considered I was lucky to get the B-.

The shit really hit the fan that evening. We had another baseball game.
This game was against one the weakest teams in our league. As a result,
Coach Wallace put together a whacko lineup. A lot of starters weren't
starting and, except for the pitcher, the starters who were starting weren't
playing their regular positions.

I was one of the regular starters in the lineup, but I was playing third
instead of catching. I did infield practice during our turnouts and had played
a few innings at third, but everybody, especially me, knew that catcher was
my spot. Carson Kellogg was starting at catcher. I knew he was a below
average catcher and it pissed me off that he was starting there ahead of
me—after all I was the one who placed the winning tag on Saturday.

We were the visiting team and quickly placed six runs on the scoreboard. I
had a two-run single, which made me feel better about the situation. But, as
you have no doubt ascertained, I was not in a team first frame-of-mind.

My team was in the first base dugout. When we went out on the field, I
jogged out to my position at about half-speed. I was lucky the hammer
didn't fall then, but Coach was going over something with Larry's mother,
who was our scorekeeper, and wasn't paying attention to what was
happening on the field.

Somebody else was paying attention, though. "You know Coach Wallace
will be all over your ass if you don't sprint on and off the field," Q told me as
Larry, who was playing first, rolled an infield ball to me.

"Fuck you, I hustled," I snarled.

"Sure, sure, whatever," Q said as I threw the ball back to first.

The second batter for the Jays walked and made it to second on a passed
ball by Carson. That made my mood darker because I knew I would have
not let an easy pitch like that go by me. The runner took off for third on the
next pitch and made it when Carson threw the ball over my head. Okay, not
way over my head—with a decent effort I probably would have caught the
ball even though I wouldn't have been able to get the tag down. Just like
with my English paper, I mailed in my effort.

The runner ended up scoring on the overthrow. We got the next two batters
out and the score was 6-1 after one inning.  My jog back to the dugout was
slow, almost a walking pace. The outfielders beat me back.

Coach Wallace was waiting for me when I reached the dugout. "Since
when did you get the million dollar salary?" he asked calmly.

"Say what?"

"When you make a few million dollars a year you can jog in from your
position. Until that happens you will sprint on and off the field—at least the
next time you play out there, whenever that may be. You can take a seat
the rest of the game to think about it."

My first reaction was to tell him to fuck himself and leave the dugout.
Fortunately, I wasn't that far lost in my ego. Instead I sat on the bench and
fumed for the rest of the game, making sure Coach could see my
displeasure. None of my teammates said anything, but I knew they
disapproved of my jog. Q giving me his best "I told you so" look pissed me
off even more.

"What were you thinking in the first inning?" Larry asked after the game,
which we won 21-3 in five innings after the mercy rule was invoked.

"I was thinking we were kicking ass, so who cared how fast I went off the
field," was my haughty answer.

"I think everybody on the team but you cared. What's up with you lately?
It's like you don't care about anything...your final English essay, your team,
your friends..."

"I know my hustle won us the game on Saturday. I think that says
something about caring about my team. What I don't care about is you not
having my back."

"I'll have your back when you're one-hundred percent right, but I sure won't
when you're all full of yourself."

"And you can stick that attitude up your ass." I sure told him, I thought, as I
walked away from my boyfriend. I didn't feel as good as I thought I would,
however. In fact, I felt like a first-class piece of shit.

Troy didn't help matters when he got all over me for my attitude after we
got home. I told him what I thought of his opinion, too.

"You're not my dad, so you've got nothing to say," I barked.

"Somebody has to say something to you, and you usually listen."

"Well, I'm not listening any more. I got you, Larry, Coach Wallace, my
teachers, hell, the whole world on my ass, and I'm tired of it."

"Have you ever considered the fact that everybody is on your ass because
you just might be wrong and we love you and want to see you succeed?
That there comes a time when we need to call you on your bullshit."

"Go call Keegan on his bullshit. He's the one who needs it, not me."

Of course I slept in my own bed that night. I did my best to ignore Larry and
the Wonkeys the next day at school. I did nothing to improve my position
on the team in practice that evening.

"You know what you need?" Keegan asked just before bedtime as I sulked
in the living room.

"What?"

"You need to get stoned. It'll make you feel better."

"Tomorrow."

We had no practice the next day. After school, I didn't continue on the bus
to Larry's house, which had not been a fun place the day before. I got off at
my stop, along with Keegan, Carlos, and Skyler.

We went to Skyler's house. As usual Carlos and Skyler gave me crap
about beating up the Wonkeys someday to make up for the rumble the year
before. But they were full of shit and we all knew it.

Skyler had plenty of weed and we all got high. We also got horny and I
sucked off Keegan while Carlos fucked Skyler. Once again I had just
enough sanity left not to get involved in anal sex, although I did get rimmed
for the first time. Keegan took care of me before he shot his load. Keegan
might not be gay, but he did it all when it came to gay sex, and even in my
drugged-up state I knew I loved what my brother was doing to me. I came
all over Skyler's couch as Keegan got me off with both his tongue and his
hand wrapped around my cock. I ended up swallowing his load after I'd had
my orgasm.

Keegan and I left before Skyler's mom was due home. I wondered if Skyler
would get my cum cleaned off of the couch and then decided I didn't give a
rat's ass.

 I could see Troy's disappointment when Keegan and I came home stoned.
The two of us hit some more weed in Keegan's bedroom. The only reason I
didn't sleep with Keegan was because he kept saying he was going to fuck
me. I came real close to saying yes. Instead I slept alone once again.

I was in that paranoid state that marijuana can bring on. As I lay alone in
bed, observing colored lights flipping around the room, I suddenly felt very
alone. I had a brief moment of clarity when I realized I had dug myself into
a hole and had no idea how to get out of it.

Next: Learn From It.