The first time Christian and I “did it,” we had been sitting on his patio talking. Somehow, one thing led to another, and the next thing I remember is that we were up in his bedroom getting naked. We were both completely inexperienced, so we had to feel our way, in more ways than one. We ended up on his bed gently jerking each other off. The feeling was stupendous! Unfortunately, his mother came home, so we couldn’t repeat the experience right away.
The following day, Christian came to my house, as my mother was out. We went directly to the bedroom and spent a couple of glorious hours, coming three times each. Were we becoming addicted?
After that, we saw each other as often as possible, sometimes at my house and sometimes at his. Of course, our meetings weren’t totally about sex. We continued playing the piano a lot and working on the Brahms dances for graduation.
The week before school ended, we had our final typing test. Christian and I had been practicing hard, determined to beat each other. When the results were in, I had 117 words per minute with three errors. Christian had 115 words with 2 errors. We laughed and decided to call it a draw.
Graduation night came near the end of June. We had another year to go in junior high, so it was an unusual honor to be invited to play. There were a couple of ninth grade performers, but Mrs. Perkins had saved us for the end, right before the certificates were presented. We were both nervous, but it was wonderful to be able to rely on each other. As a result, the performance went well, was very loudly received, and we heard many compliments afterwards.
Our parents took us to Friendly’s after graduation to celebrate with ice cream sundaes. Since I was into a sweet and sour stage at the time, I had a cherry sundae on lime sherbet with marshmallow and nuts instead of whipped cream. I ate these as often as I could, but never seemed to put on any weight. Christian settled for hot fudge on vanilla, and I teased him about his mundane choice. Other people were there who had been at graduation, so we received more congratulations and encouragement to keep playing together. We really didn’t need any encouragement; that was certain.
During the summer vacation, we were together as much as possible. Christian came for a sleepover at my house, but my parents put him in a separate bedroom, so nothing really happened, although we did compare jerking off notes in the morning.
Because our birthdays were only six days apart in July , Mrs. Walker offered to take us both to the New Bedford Whaling Museum to celebrate. It was a rather long ride, but certainly worth it. The museum had all sorts of whaling implements as well as scrimshaw, which we had read about but never seen, some baleen from a right whale, and a half-sized model whale ship. Since we both had some birthday money, we hit the gift shop at the end of the trip and bought gifts for our parents and a couple of books for ourselves. This time we got different books and agreed to share them.
We were still trying to work our way through Moby Dick. It was very difficult going. I often had to read at a table with the dictionary beside me in order to figure out what Melville was saying. We tried to keep in about the same place so that we could discuss what we had read, which helped a lot.
For some reason, as time passed, Christian appeared to grow melancholy. This seemed especially true after we had had sex. I asked him about it a few times, but he only smiled and said that nothing was wrong.
Sometimes we would sit and talk about what we were experiencing with sex. One day Christian asked me if I thought what we were doing was wrong.
“Well, I’m pretty sure it’s illegal,” I said, “so we probably have to be very careful, but I don’t see how it could be wrong. After all, we aren’t hurting anybody or creating any problems. We’re just enjoying ourselves. How could that be wrong?”
“But it’s a sin!”
“Maybe the church thinks so, but I don’t.”
“The problem is, I do, and I know my parents would disapprove.”
“Do you want to stop?” I asked, horrified by the thought.
“That’s just it. I don’t know. I never feel guilty while we’re doing it, but afterwards, I feel very guilty and ashamed. So I don’t know what to do. I suppose I could just keep doing what I’m doing, but I believe that God thinks it’s wrong.”
“Do you know why the church believes that?”
“No. Of course, I’ve never asked anybody. How could I ask my parents that question? They’d be shocked. There must be places in the Bible about it, but I don’t know where.”
“Do you want to do it today or not?” I asked.
“I don’t believe I do. I need to really think about this, Peter. Will you be unhappy with me?”
Trying to hide my disappointment, I said, “Of course not.” I knew it was important to accept his wish, so we didn’t do anything.
On other days we did do it, and it continued to be wonderful, but afterward Christian always became moody and morose.
One day, as we were sitting on my porch, I asked, “What do you suppose makes us homosexuals? Do you think it’s something that happened in our childhoods?”
“Maybe,” he replied, “but I can’t think of anything. Surely, none of our parents have treated us like girls. They encouraged us in all the ‘boy’ things, like sports. What could have happened to make us queer? Maybe we were just born that way, like being left handed, or having red hair.”
“OK. So, if we were born that way, do you think it means that God made us that way?”
Christian thought for a moment before answering, “I suppose it does.”
“Do you think God just made a mistake?”
“No. God doesn’t make mistakes.”
“Then if God made us this way, how can what we have been doing be wrong? Surely, if he made us homosexual, he must understand homosexuals and care about us. Would he make us this way and then punish us for doing what he made us to do?”
After more thought, Christian said, “No, I don’t think he would, so I don’t suppose it is wrong, even if our parents think it is.”
After that conversation, we went upstairs to my bedroom. On previous days we had taken to kissing before we jerked each other off and it had really gotten us horny. This time, Christian told me to lie flat on my back. H started kissing me, beginning gently on my cheeks and then my forehead. When he got to my ear and ran his tongue in it, a little shudder ran through me. He moved to my lips, pressing them gently but firmly. I felt his tongue begin to explore my lips. I didn’t know why, but I opened my mouth to him and I felt his tongue exploring inside my mouth. “Oh, my God,” I thought, “I’m already in heaven.” When he withdrew his tongue, I put mine into his mouth, and he groaned happily. Then he began moving down my body, kissing and licking as he went. He nibbled my nipples and tongued my belly button. This was new for both of us. As he got closer to my crotch, I thought I might come right in his face, so I gently pushed him away a little and asked him to wait for a minute. He did, but soon he bent down to me again, and before I could think, he had my cock in his mouth and was gently moving up and down it.
“Christian, I’m going to come!”
He looked up at me and smiled for a second and then went back to work. I did come, over and over, right in his mouth. I don’t think I had ever done so much at one time in my life.
Christian swallowed several times, leaned back, and smiled. “Did you like that?”
“Oh yes! Was that what they call a blow job?”
“I think so.”
“What does it taste like?”
“Not bad at all. Mostly just a little salty. I wonder if everyone’s is different.”
“Do you want me to do you?” I asked, a little hesitantly.
“Oh, yes!” he said. “I don’t think I can wait much longer.”
So I did, and I found that I enjoyed giving him pleasure as much as I enjoyed receiving it. After he came and I had swallowed, I looked at him and said, “Christian, I think I really love you. I don’t think it’s just about sex anymore.”
“I love you too,” he responded, “and you’re right, it’s not just because of the sex. It’s like we are kindred spirits.” He chuckled a little and said, “You know, if you had told me a year ago that I would be in love and having sex with a white boy, I would have punched you in the mouth. It just never occurred to me, but now it feels so natural.”
We lay side by side, just enjoying the closeness of our bodies. Then Christian sighed. “Are you feeling guilty again?” I asked. He nodded, and his eyes teared up. “How can I help you?”
“I don’t think you can, except to love me whether we have sex or not.”
“You know I will, Christian,” I said quietly. After a little silence, I asked, “What do you think will happen to us?”
“I don’t know. I know that we have to be very careful. As I said before, I’m sure my parents would disapprove. They might even throw me out of the house. What about your parents?”
“They’ve never really talked about homosexuality. I have no Idea what they think, but I certainly don’t want to risk their disapproval or being thrown out.””
“Do you thing we’ll always feel like this?”
“I don’t know. I’ve never been in love before. But right now I want it to be forever and ever.”
“Me too,” I agreed.
Toward the end of July, Mrs. Walker wanted to return to her family’s old neighborhood in Westbridge to visit some friends, and she took Christian along.
The next day, when I saw Christian, he wanted to talk about his day in the city. “Do you know that some Negroes in the city are starting to call themselves ‘Blacks’ because they think it’s more dignified than ‘Negro’? Do I look black to you?”
“No, I’d say you were more like coffee with cream.”
He laughed. Then he told me he had seen some of his friends, and he was worried about them. They had nothing to do, so they hung around getting into petty trouble. “I wish I could help them, but I don’t know how,” he said. “It’s as though they don’t think they have any future and they don’t think much of the present. They want to quit school as soon as they can but they don’t have any plans after that. I don’t know whether they’re drinking or doing anything with drugs, but I’m worried.”
A week later, I was lying in bed about 8:00 AM. I was enjoying the feeling of not having to get up and do something but being able to take my time and do what I wanted to. I had just had a lovely morning jerk off, dreaming of course of Christian. I knew I would practice piano, and I probably would see if Christian and I could get together, but I felt in no hurry.
The phone rang. I wondered if Mom would get it, but then remembered that she was out, so I pulled on some shorts and went into my parents’ room, where the upstairs phone was. When I answered the phone, I heard sobbing on the other end.
“Christian, is that you?” I asked.
“Y-y-y-es. Peter, I need you badly. Can you come over?”
“Sure. I’ll put some clothes on and be right there.”
I dressed quickly, grabbed a doughnut as I raced through the kitchen, slung on my backpack, and jumped on my bike. I may have set a world record for the distance from my house to Christian’s, but I wasn’t thinking about that. Something was terribly wrong and I had no idea what.
When I ran in the back door, Christian met me with a newspaper in his hand. He showed me an article on the front page and told me to read it. The article was about three Negro boys in Westbridge who had tried to rob a corner store. They had gone in wearing masks and with knives in their hands. The masks were useless, of course, because the store owner had known immediately who they were. As one of the boys moved around the end of the counter brandishing his knife, the owner pulled out a pistol and shot him. Then, just as the other two boys turned to flee, he shot them too. Since they were juveniles, no names were given, but one of the boys was dead and the other two were in the hospital.
I put the paper down and looked at Christian, who was sitting at the table, tears streaming down his face. “Do you think you know them?”
“I’m sure I know them. I made some calls after I read the article and found out who they were. They were three of the boys I saw just last week, and the dead one, Rodney, was my best friend there. Why in hell would they do that, Peter?”
“I don’t know. Maybe we’ll never know. Christian, I’m so sorry. Obviously you were right to be worried about them. Do you know how the other two boys are?”
“The friend I talked to said he had heard their injuries were not life threatening, but one of them may be crippled for life. Will you stay with me until my mom comes home? I feel so awfully alone.”
“Of course I’ll stay, and you’re not alone. It’s a terribly sad thing to happen, but you couldn’t prevent it. There’s no way you could have helped them. I know you’re mourning for them, but, at the same time, they made a dreadful mistake, one they’ll all pay for, one way or another. Is there any way you could help the ones who are injured?”
“I’ve no idea. I’ll have to talk with my parents about it.”
Neither of us felt like doing anything. We certainly didn’t want to play the piano, or have sex, or read Melville. So we simply sat there while I held Christian’s hand as slowly, the tears slowed and he wiped his face. Finally, he got up and washed his face at the sink. Then he came back and sat, putting his hand in mine again.
We stayed like that until Mrs. Walker came home. As soon as she came in, she could see that something was wrong. “What’s happened, Christian?”
Christian began sobbing again and flew into her arms. Finally, he broke away and showed her the article telling her who the three boys were. Mrs. Walker knew all of the families, and was nearly as devastated as Christian.
Again she held him, tears now flowing down all our faces. “Christian, I’m so sorry. I wish there was something we could do, but it’s too late for anything except trying to help the families cope.”
I stayed with Christian for the rest of the day. Remembering that I hadn’t left a note for Mom, I called and told her where I was, but didn’t tell her what had happened. Christian’s mother called his father and he came home, as upset as the rest of his family was.
At noon we went through the motions of having lunch, but nobody was hungry. Christian and I went to our favorite spot, the patio, and sat, occasionally talking quietly. About 5:00 o’clock I thought I should go home and leave them together, so I went into the house to say goodbye to his parents. They both thanked me for coming and told me they would keep me informed. I gave Christian a final hug and left.
I slowly pedaled home, feeling I had been absolutely useless. When I got home, I told my mother what had happened and she called Mrs. Walker. They talked for quite awhile. When she got off the phone she said that Mrs. Walker told her I had been a great comfort to Christian. I didn’t know what I did except sit with him, but I suppose that’s what he needed.
Christian called me the next afternoon to tell me when the funeral was. The Walkers were about to visit Rodney’s family to try giving them some support.
The funeral was two days later. When Christian got home he called and asked me to come over. Of course I went, and we sat on the patio again, talking quietly. I told him that my mom was going to be out the next day and I wanted him to come to my house. He looked at me a little strangely but said he would.
About 9:00 in the morning, Christian entered the kitchen. He was very subdued. I told him I wanted him to come upstairs. He said, ”I’m sorry, Peter, I just don’t feel like having sex today.”
“Neither do I. I just want you to come upstairs.”
When we got up to my room, I told him to lie on my bed.
“Peter, I really don’t want to do anything.” He sounded a little upset that I hadn’t gotten the message.
I said again, “Neither do I, Christian. Just lie down and relax. Nothing is going to happen.”
So he did, lying face down on the pillow. I lay down beside him and put my arm around his shoulder. For a long time, we were silent. Then I heard him begin to cry, quietly. Reaching over I gently kissed him on the cheek. “You’re not alone, Christian. Don’t ever think you are alone. I’ll always be here for you.”
“Damn, Peter. I feel stupid crying again, but sometimes I just can’t stop. I sometimes wonder if it’ll ever get better.”
“In time, I think it will. You’ve lost a good friend, and you feel like you failed him, but eventually you’ll see that you really didn’t. There was nothing you could have done for him. I know it hurts now, but I think the hurt will fade over time. I don’t mean that his memory will fade. That, I think, will never happen, but life does go on, Christian, whether we think it should or not.”
We lay there a long time. Finally, he rolled on his side and said, “Thank you, Peter. Thank you for being here and for understanding. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
Three weeks passed before we shared our love and played the piano together again. Both the love and the playing seemed to have a healing effect on Christian. Soon he was a little more of his old self, although there was even more sadness about him than I had seen before.
“My mother thinks I’m depressed and I should get help with it,” he said one day, “but I don’t want to. I think I’ll get better on my own, maybe after school starts again.”
And so the summer passed, mailings came from school, and it was time to start ninth grade, our last year in junior high before going into the city for high school.