I stood on the street corner in the morning darkness, waiting for the school bus. Why the bus had to come before 6:30 in the morning I would never understand. It was cold on the corner, but there was little breeze so the windchill wasn’t bad on this first day after the Christmas vacation and the third day of 1950.
Although it was dark, I became aware of a figure approaching and standing near me. I could barely make out that the figure was a boy and only because he was wearing long pants, not a skirt. His face was wrapped in a scarf. He wore a ski jacket and rubber boots. And he wrapped his arms around himself as though this would keep him warm.
As the headlights of the bus rounded the corner, he and I, along with several other kids waiting, moved to the door of the bus. I was behind him as we boarded. When he got to the top step, he stopped so abruptly that I bumped into his back.
“What’s the matter?” I asked.
“My glasses have fogged up and I can’t see a thing.”
Pushing past him I grasped his hand and led him to a seat near the front then sat next to him. Soon, with the heat in the bus, his glasses unfogged and he looked at me. Since he still had his scarf around the rest of his face, all I could see was his eyes, which were a lovely shade of turquoise.
“You’re new here, aren’t you?” I asked. He nodded. Removing my glove and holding out my hand, I said, “I’m Brian Hastings.”
He took it in his mittened one and said, “Parker Tompkins. Is it always this cold? I thought I was gonna die out there.”
“Well, I guess you have to expect it here on the Outer Cape in the middle of winter. Sometimes it’s a lot worse when the windchill gets below zero.” Then I had to explain to him what the windchill was.
“Where are you from?” I asked. “You certainly don’t talk like a New Englander.”
“Houston, Texas. I moved up here during the vacation to live with my grandparents. They’re the Johnstons, my mother’s parents.”
“I know them,” I said. “That makes us neighbors. Did your mom come too?”
“No,” he said very quietly, “she’s dead.”
“Oh gosh, I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay. I guess I have to get used to it. Maybe someday I’ll be able to tell you what happened.”
We arrived in front of the school and went in. I walked with Parker to the office, where he removed his mittens, his scarf and his hat, and I finally got a look at his face. My first impression was that he seemed very sad. My second was that the rest of his face was as beautiful as his eyes. He had long wavy, jet-black hair which he wore longer than was fashionable back then. The color of his hair and eyebrows and long lashes set off his blue-green eyes. Yes, he was beautiful, and I resolved to get to know him much better!
The secretary already knew he was coming and gave him his schedule, his locker number and combination, and his homeroom number.
“I can show you where your locker and homeroom are,” I volunteered.
“Thanks,” he said, smiling, and we walked down the hall and up to the second floor, where I showed him his locker and the door to his homeroom.
“If you need help finding your classes, don’t be afraid to ask. All of us were new in this building once.” I suggested that we meet in the lunchroom at noon and he agreed. Then, leaving him, I went to my own locker and homeroom.
Since it was the first day after vacation, most of the teachers spent time telling us what we would be doing in the coming weeks. My favorite subjects were history and English. I thought math was confusing, and I wasn’t very good at or interested in science. Spanish required that I study hard. Art and music I enjoyed, but PE left me cold.
In English, one of the stories we had read before vacation was Hawthorne’s “The Scarlet Letter”. Of course I understood that the letter was an “A” stitched to Hester Prynne’s dress, but I didn’t know what the letter stood for. The teacher seemed to assume that we all knew. So one day, at the end of the class, I asked one of the other students in the class about the letter.
He snickered and said, “It stands for adultery.” I had heard the word a couple of times in church when there were discussions of the Ten Commandments, but I had no idea what it meant. I assumed it had something to do with being an adult, and I couldn’t understand why it was forbidden. Too shy to ask further, I had waited until I got home and looked it up in the dictionary. Oh, my, I thought, as everything became clear to me. I’m glad I didn’t ask the teacher.
At noon, Parker and I met in the lunchroom and sat at a table where there were a number of other ninth grade boys. Parker had bought the school lunch while I had brought a bag lunch. Parker stared at his tray and asked, “What is it?”
We all laughed and one of the boys, Patrick, said, “We always wonder. Let us know if you figure it out.”
Parker took a couple of bites and made a face. Then he ate some of the wilted salad and the cookie, which he said wasn’t too bad.
“I think I’ll bring my lunch from now on, but that means I’ll have to get up even earlier.”
“Naw,” said Patrick, “just make it the night before and put it in the ice box.”
On the bus home in the afternoon, Parker and I again sat together.
“If you’re gonna wear boots to school, you might want to bring a pair of shoes to wear in school so you don’t have to clomp around all day. Oh yes, and I meant to ask, did you have PE today?”
“No, I have it tomorrow.”
“Me too. Maybe we’ll be in the same class.” I told him what he would need ̶ a white T-shirt, white socks, blue shorts, sneakers, and, of course, a jockstrap. I was glad to hear that he wasn’t above giggling at the last item.
I asked him how his classes went. He said that math, science and Spanish went well but he was struggling a little with English and history, neither of which really interested him.
“That’s just the opposite of me,” I said. “Maybe we could help each other with homework.” He liked that idea a lot.
When we got off the bus at our stop, I invited Parker to come to my house for a minute and meet my mother.
“Do you have any brothers or sisters?” he asked as we walked.
“I have two older brothers and an older sister. My sister is in college at U Mass in Amherst, and my brothers are both working, one in Falmouth and one in New Bedford, so it’s just me and my parents most of the time. What about you?”
“None living,” was his brief reply.
Oh dear, I thought, there’s more to this mystery than I thought, but clearly he didn’t want to pursue it at the time.
Entering my house by the kitchen door, I called, “Mom, I’m home and I’ve brought a friend.”
Mom emerged from the kitchen, and I did the introductions. She shook Parker’s hand and said, “Brian has friends, but there’s always room for another. Where do you live?”
“I’m living with my grandparents, the Johnstons.”
Mom’s face clouded for a moment before she smiled and told him that she knew them well and he would always be welcome at our house. She offered him some cookies and milk before he left, but he said that he should get going so his grandparents wouldn’t worry about him.
“Why don’t you tell them that tomorrow you’re going to come here after school so we can work on our homework?” I asked. “We could alternate houses if you like.”
“That sounds good,” he said as he departed.
After he was gone, I asked Mom if she knew anything about Parker’s family. She suggested I sit at the table and gave me some milk and cookies before she joined me. “Parker had two older brothers, twins,” she said. “They had been accepted at the University of Virginia on basketball scholarships. Their father, who was an accomplished pilot, was going to fly the twins and their mother to Virginia. Parker stayed next door with some neighbors because he hated flying and he didn’t want to miss the beginning of school. Somewhere, I believe it was in Tennessee, the plane crashed into a mountain and killed everyone on board. Parker suddenly became an orphan. The only living relatives he has are his grandparents, George and Thelma Johnston, so he had no choice but to fly up here and move in with them.”
By the time she finished, there were tears in my eyes. “That’s terrible,” I said. “No wonder he doesn’t want to talk about it. I’ll try to be a good friend to him.”
“I think you will be,” Mom replied, “but don’t do it because you’re sad for him. I doubt that he wants pity. Do it because you like him and just want him as a friend.”
I agreed.
My father was a lawyer in our little town on Cape Cod. He was also a news junkie and he loved politics, although he never ran for anything except a seat on the town council, which he won. Because of his interests, he read not only the Cape Cod paper but also The Boston Globe and a Washington one. I had gotten hooked by his interests, so I often read the papers too, at least the front sections.
After I finished my homework that day, I picked up the Washington paper. Browsing through it, I came across a short article about a hearing in Washington where the Under Secretary of State, John Peurifoy, testified to a Senate committee hearing that the State Department had quietly winnowed out 91 homosexuals in the department on the grounds that they were undesirables and possible security risks. Reading the story, I felt a cold chill pass through me, frightened by what was usually described then as a perversion. I knew what I was, and I had tried various ways to change ̶ reading the Bible, praying, flirting with girls ̶ but none of them worked .
The Kinsey Report had come out three years earlier and I knew that our library had a copy, which the librarian kept in her office. I never had the courage to ask for it and I’m sure she wouldn’t have given it to me unless she had consulted my parents. All I had heard about the report was that it told about the frequency of homosexuals and homosexual acts in men. Like most boys of my time, I was living in ignorance.
That night in bed, I vowed that I would not jerk off, but ultimately of course I did. What really frightened me was that I fantasized about Parker.
The next morning, as Parker and I rode the bus together, he asked me what we did for fun in the town, especially in the winter. I told him about skating and hockey on a nearby pond, sledding down a hill, snowball fights, and just playing in the snow. On the weekends our school gym was open and some of the kids played basketball, but that didn’t interest me.
“Don’t you get cold playing outside?” he asked.
“Eventually, but if we keep moving, that helps. Besides, we can always go home or to a friend’s home for hot cocoa and cookies.”
Parker and I did have gym class together. In the locker room we changed into our gym clothes. Parker was next to me, and I couldn’t help sneaking occasional looks at him as he changed. What I briefly observed confirmed that he was indeed beautiful. His upper body was developing very nicely. He had begun a little curly bush around his privates, and his cut cock was certain to be five or even six inches long when it was hard. Even his butt was beautiful, round and smooth with an inviting crack.
Looking at him, I felt my own cock begin to swell, so I turned away from him and finished dressing.
The class that day was about volleyball skills. That was fine with me. I liked volleyball. I just didn’t like ball games where we had to catch and throw balls, and especially when we threw them at each other. As we drilled and played, I saw that Parker was a natural athlete. He was strong and graceful, and I envied him. I always thought of myself as a bit of a klutz.
I knew that I was inclined to be a little flamboyant with my gestures and voice. Fearing that might give me away, I tried very hard to suppress it. Usually, I guess, I was successful, since nobody had ever called me a queer or a homo. I wanted desperately to keep it that way.
After school that day, Parker and I went to my house. After a snack, we settled to doing our homework. Math that year was algebra, which often confused me. I couldn’t grasp the idea that a letter, like y, could stand for any number. I kept thinking that if it was eight in one problem then it had to also be eight in the next problem. Parker was very helpful to me, and in a few days, I began to really understand. He had a way of explaining things that was much clearer than the way the teacher talked.
That year we had Ancient History. I thought it was really interesting even though what I truly wanted to learn was English and American history. But in time I learned to love the gods, and especially the art work picturing naked men and boys. On my own I read the Odyssey, soaking up the adventures.
On Friday after school we went to the Johnstons’ house. As we walked, he said that both grandparents were very nice to him, but he didn’t yet feel that the house was his home.
His grandparents greeted us warmly. I wondered why his grandmother was in a wheelchair, but of course I didn’t ask. Again, after a snack, we settled to work. When we finished, I said goodbye to Parker and his grandparents. They assured me I would always be welcome at their house.
That weekend I suggested we go skating. Parker said he didn’t have any skates, but I was pretty sure we had some that had belonged to my older brothers. My mother never seemed to throw anything out. Of course, that meant that I wore a lot of hand-me-downs, but I didn’t really mind because my brothers had good taste. Sure enough, we found a perfect pair of hockey skates for him. Slinging our skates over our shoulders, we walked to the pond and I asked him if he'd ever skated before. He said, “No. We almost never get ice in southeastern Texas and I’ve only seen a little dusting of snow.”
At the pond we sat on a bench and put on our skates. I never played hockey, but I certainly wouldn’t have been caught dead in figure skates, so I wore hand-me-down hockey skates. When Parker stood up, he immediately fell over.
“This is harder than it looks,” he laughed.
Soon, with some tips from me, he was skating gingerly around the pond. After a half-hour or so he became more confident and began to skate a little faster. When we decided we had had enough and headed toward the edge of the pond, he skated right into it because he hadn’t yet figured out how to stop. Laughing, he landed head-first in the snow. On hands and knees, he made his way to the bench, pulled himself up, and sat as we both removed our skates and put our boots on.
“How do you stop on ice?” he asked.
“That’ll be tomorrow’s lesson,” I told him.
Back at my house, Mom made us the promised hot cocoa with marshmallows. As we warmed up, drank the cocoa, and ate cookies, I asked Parker why his grandmother was in a wheelchair.
“I’m not sure just what the problem is. She can stand and walk a little but she’s pretty weak.”
That night in bed, I cursed myself for again thinking of Parker as I jerked off. I fantasized about sucking his wonderfully long, hard cock. I came and spurted harder than ever. Cleaning myself off, I lay worrying until I finally slept.