A Summer in Iowa

Part 12 — Fireworks

Friday, June 30, 1972

“So in summary, the rabbit provides a unique opportunity to study atherosclerosis and to evaluate dietary and pharmaceutical interventions that might have application in treating the disease in humans.”

We all clapped politely as Stephanie finished the last presentation of the afternoon. I’d already presented my research proposal and undergone a thorough grilling by the research track faculty and by my fellow students.

Kyle raised his hand and when called upon, he stood and asked, “Atherosclerosis in humans takes place over decades, but in your animal model, it only takes weeks. Humans have had millennia to develop mechanisms for responding to plaque buildup. Rabbits have not had the need to develop such mechanisms. Beyond the simple histologic examination of plaques in rabbits, how do you intend to evaluate the body’s response to those plaques?”

“The possible role of the immune response in plaque formation is a very new area of study and well beyond the scope of this project,” Stephanie responded. “Not enough is known about immune function as it relates to vascular plaques in rabbits, nor is there sufficient time within the scope of my project to study it.” After several more questions were addressed, Stephanie’s research proposal was approved and the research forum was adjourned.

On most Saturday mornings, there would be a symposium in which a panel of experts would discuss a controversial area of science. However, there was none this weekend because of the impending Fourth of July holiday. Iowa City would host its main celebration of the Fourth on Tuesday, the actual day of the holiday, with a smaller celebration tomorrow, July 1, in City Park.

The university had reserved space for the SSTP in City Park, where activities related to the Fourth of July weekend were planned. Located about a mile north of the Rienow II dorm and nestled in a bend of the Iowa River, City Park was a sprawling complex of greenery and sports fields. There were several baseball diamonds, a half-dozen tennis courts, large open fields suitable for football and soccer, and a couple of lakes where you could feed the ducks and geese. There were areas with greenery and hiking trails, and there was an open amphitheater for performances. There was also a large swimming pool that was a must on a hot July day.

Of course we couldn’t take over the entire park, nor did we need that much space for our modest group. Our reserved section of the park had a shelter, some picnic tables and access to all of the athletic facilities. There were grills available and we’d have a barbecue with hamburgers, hot dogs and whatever else they had planned for us. There’d be softball, touch football and soccer for the more athletically inclined among us. There’d likely be stupid games like three-legged races and tournaments of various kinds. More importantly, the large city pool was available for our use, assuming it didn’t rain.

As Paul put it, it would be just like summer camp, but minus all the screaming little kids and minus the fun. But it was a chance to get together with all the other SSTPers outside of school and to have a day for just doing nothing. Paul planned to bring his Frisbee. I had a feeling that might actually turn out to be the favorite sport of the afternoon.

Naturally, no Fourth of July celebration would be complete without fireworks, and a fireworks extravaganza was planned, but all of that was for tomorrow. It was Friday evening and for once, we didn’t hafta get up early in the morning to go to a symposium. Of course we still had dinner at the Quad, but I was thinking of maybe going out someplace nice with Paul instead, and maybe seeing a movie, just the two of us. My thoughts were interrupted when Kyle spoke up as we headed back to the dorm from Schaeffer Hall. “You guys aren’t the only ones, you know,” he began. I had no idea what he was getting at.

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“You’re not the only gay guys,” he explained. Gay? Gay meant happy. Wasn’t everyone supposed to be happy?

“Not that it would be all that obvious other than to another gay guy like me,” he went on, “but you might want to tone it down a bit. You need to be more careful around others. Don’t spend so much time looking at each other. Don’t smile quite so much. If you keep it up, soon there will be rumors. The last thing you want is for guys to speculate that you and Paul are an item.”

That got my attention and I stopped dead in my tracks. My face was on fire. Suddenly, all of the oxygen had been sucked out of the atmosphere.

“You thought I didn’t know? It’s pretty obvious to another homo,” he went on.

“I’m not a homo,” I exclaimed, perhaps too forcefully.

Patting me on the shoulder, he said, “You keep telling yourself that, Jeff.” As we resumed walking, he said, “I’m not gonna out you or anything.” Out me? Out’s an adjective, not a verb. How could he ‘out’ me? “Fuck, I came out to you, so we’d both have a lot to lose.” I didn’t know what he was talking about, but I wasn’t about to act like a rube and ask him.

“All I’m saying is that when you’re in public, you and Paul need to be more careful,” he continued. “Act like a couple of good friends — best friends — not lovers. What you guys do in your dorm room behind closed doors is your business and yours alone. There’s nothing wrong with it — love is never wrong. In fact, I’m insanely jealous of you guys,” he added with a grin.

Finally getting my breath back, I replied, “Thanks Kyle. I appreciate your coming to me. I’ll talk to Paul about what you said, and we’ll be sure to tone it down. I’m not sure I agree with you though. How can you say it isn’t wrong when it’s illegal. It’s immoral. It’s abnormal.”

“It’s none of those things, Jeff,” Kyle countered. “Attitudes are changing. Look at the Stonewall riots in New York. More and more doctors and scientists are saying it’s nothing more than a natural, normal variant. Homosexuality has been around since the dawn of mankind. There’s a reason for it — an evolutionary advantage to society. Otherwise it would have disappeared long ago. Follow the science — not what people say.”

“Is there an evolutionary advantage to murder?” I asked “To war? How do those things persist? How do they benefit society…”

“Those things actually do have an evolutionary advantage, Jeff. It’s advantageous to be the aggressor, so long as you have the means to win. Those who don’t fight back don’t survive and their genes disappear from the gene pool. It’s the dark underbelly of natural selection. But that’s completely different from homosexuality, which harms no one. Most homosexuals don’t reproduce, so if it were harmful in some way, it shouldn’t have continued throughout recorded history.”

What Kyle was saying made a lot of sense, but there was no denying what would happen to us if anyone found out. “I hope you’re right, Kyle, but there’s no getting around what would happen if Paul and I were discovered. My mom would send me to a shrink… maybe even have me committed. No college would accept me. Hell, not even the Army would take me.”

“It probably wouldn’t be that bad,” Kyle countered. “Not in 1972. Times are changing and with your grades and your background, colleges would be foolish not to take you. Still, it’s safer to stay in the closet.” What did he mean by staying in the closet? Why would I do that? Weren’t closets for clothes? I was so naïve.

By then, we were approaching Rienow II and our conversation had to come to an end. “I’ll see you at dinner,” Kyle said.

“I was thinking of going out with Paul, but that’s probably not a good idea, so yeah, I’ll see you at dinner,” I replied as we entered the building.

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“He said what?” Paul asked.

“He said he could tell we’re queer,” I replied. “He said it’s not obvious to others, but he’s queer too and he could tell.”

“Kyle’s a homo?” Paul exclaimed. “I would’ve never guessed.”

“Me neither, which is part of the point. He says that there are a lot more of us than we think.” I then went on to give Paul a rundown of the rest of what Paul told me, and then added, “Before he caught up to me, I thought we might skip dinner at the Quad and go out to someplace nice — just the two of us — and then maybe go out to a movie.”

“It’s a wonderful idea and I love that you thought of it, but that’d be the worst thing we could do,” Paul responded. Then nodding at the door to our room, he said, “Outside that door, we hafta behave like friends…”

“Best friends,” I chimed in.

“Best friends,” he echoed. “Anything more than that hasta stay on this side of the door.”

“Let’s go upstairs and see if our friends are ready to head down to dinner,” I suggested.

“First I hafta do something,” Paul said as he pulled me into him and kissed me passionately.

Pulling out of the kiss, I said, “If we do much more of that, we’ll never make it to dinner.”

“I guess I’ll hafta take a raincheck, then,” Paul replied and then gave me a peck on the lips.

“Definitely,” I agreed and I gave him a peck of my own before opening the door.

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We spent Friday night with our friends, well into the wee hours of the morning. Although the original six of us remained the core of our group, other kids had become frequent visitors to Greg and Gary’s room. Steve was almost always with us, and Raj was a frequent participant too. Last night, Frank joined in, as did Brandon, a freckle-faced redhead from Nashville.

The size of the rooms in Rienow II was generous, but there were ten of us boys crammed into every available place one could sit or recline. It was noticeably crowded. We spent the night passing around Greg’s stash of porn comics, telling incredibly lame and ribald jokes and philosophizing about such diverse topics as the nuclear arms race and commercial development of the moon, which we all thought was inevitable.

The topic of the attempted assassination of George Wallace came up and that led to a prolonged discussion. Although he wasn’t someone any of us admired, no one wanted to see him having to spend the rest of his life in a wheelchair. Larry said something to the effect that it was a good thing the guy who shot Wallace was white. That led to a discussion of the similarities and differences between the attempted assassination of George Wallace and and the assassination of Martin Luther King. The latter resulted in riots in black neighborhoods in most cities, but that was four years ago, when the nation was a powder keg.

I expressed the opinion that had Wallace’s would-be assassin been black, rather than riots, there’d have been cross-burnings, vandalism and lynchings all across The South, all perpetrated by whites against blacks. However in 1968, it was blacks who torched their own neighborhoods. Was there a difference between the white and the black psyche or did it have to do with a feeling of power versus powerlessness? A feeling of entitlement versus subjugation?

We went on to talk about affirmative action and the fact that none of us in our group was black. We were all essentially white, although Raj was South Asian and Kyle and Gary were Jewish. Looking at the SSTPers overall, I could think of only two black kids. It turned out I was the only one who went to a high school with more than a few black students. Although all of us were in favor of affirmative action, not one of us was willing to volunteer to give up our slot in the SSTP so that a black kid with slightly lower qualifications could attend.

In time, the discussion turned to the upcoming Democratic convention and the near certainty that McGovern would be the nominee. Opinions were mixed among us as to whether or not he was the best candidate to take on Richard Nixon. It was telling that out of ten of us, only four, myself included, would vote for McGovern over Nixon. For Brandon, it was personal, as his older brother was killed in Vietnam. He stated he’d vote for a chimpanzee over Nixon.

We finally decided to pack it in at around 2:30, just after the third time the floor supervisor came by to tell us to quiet down. In parting, we agreed not to even think of getting up before noon. It was the only Saturday without a morning symposium, and in the absence of a curfew, we’d taken advantage of it. It didn’t matter if we missed breakfast, as there’d be plenty of food once we got to the park.

Ordinarily, Paul and I would’ve been all over each other from the moment we got back to our room. This time, I couldn’t even remember my head hitting the pillow.

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Saturday, July 1, 1972

Paul and I didn’t quite sleep until noon. We woke up a bit before 11:00 and made out until noon. Of course the making out led to more. I didn’t want to think about being discovered, but at the moment, my love for Paul was the only thing that mattered.

By the time we showered and staggered up the stairs to the fourth floor, it was close to 1:00 and we were starving. Everyone from last night was already there in Greg and Gary’s room, except for Raj. Frank went to check on him and he returned with Raj a moment later. Brandon pointed out that none of us had anything remotely resembling a tan. He said he was particularly concerned because he burns easily. Kyle reminded us that after dark, the mosquitoes would be out in force.

Since none of us had thought to bring suntan lotion or insect repellent, the first order of business was gonna be to buy some of each. We decided to check out Pearson’s Drugstore on Linn Street downtown. It was a little out of the way but we’d all heard about their old-fashioned soda fountain and the sandwiches and sweets they served. We planned to eat when we got to the park too, but we were beyond hungry.

When we got to Pearson’s, it was like something out of an old Leave It to Beaver episode. We all got root beer floats, and they were so good. We enjoyed ourselves so much, we almost forgot to get the items we came for. We picked up a few bottles of Coppertone and some cans of Off before heading back across the river and into the park.

Although there had been some morning drizzle, the overcast skies had given way to blue skies, but with the oppressive heat and humidity that was typical of Iowa summers. By the time we got to the section of the park that was reserved for the SSTP, the temperature was over ninety degrees, with ninety percent humidity. I didn’t sweat easily, but I was already sweating like crazy.

I’d worn a pair of skimpy running shorts and Paul was dressed in cutoffs that were cut nearly all the way up to his crotch — it made for a nice view, but I had to be careful. If I stared too much at him, the effect on me would be noticeable. I normally wore socks, but the black socks that were in style were too damn hot for this weather, so we both wore sneakers without socks. I only hoped I didn’t get a blister. Paul was wearing a tank top, which he immediately stripped off. I stripped off the yellow T-shirt I was wearing.

We needed to apply suntan lotion, but I didn’t want the others to get the wrong impression if Paul and I did each other’s backs. Therefore, I offered to help everyone else with applying the lotion to their backs and in the process, we both were taken care of by others.

The first order of business was eating, and the smell of meat on the grill was driving me insane. There were two active grills being manned by kids I didn’t know. I grabbed a cheeseburger, to which I added lettuce, tomatoes and ketchup, and an ear of corn on the cob, to which I added butter. I poured potato chips from an open bag onto my plate. Paul got two hot dogs with mustard and relish — yuck! He also got corn on the cob and chips. I grabbed a can of Seven-Up from a cooler and Paul grabbed an orange Fanta.

Sitting at a picnic table with our friends, I bit into my burger. It was so good. When I bit into the corn, however, it was better than anything I’d ever eaten before. No corn on the cob had ever tasted like this. “Where did they get this corn?” I asked. “It’s incredible.”

“I guess there isn’t much farmland in Indianapolis, is there?” Greg asked.

“Actually, we have more farmland within the city limits than any other city in America,” I countered, “but it’s quickly disappearing as developers get their hands on it. There used to be a farm not far from our house that sold fresh-picked ears of corn by the bushel, but that was a long time ago. I do remember Mom bragging she could have corn on the table in less than two hours after it was picked. Then the farm was sold and they built a strip mall on the land.

“That’s progress,” Gary said with sarcasm in his voice.

“You probably didn’t have all your adult teeth back then and couldn’t really enjoy the corn when you were younger,” Greg suggested. “This tastes like the corn we get from the roadside stands near where I live. I only eat fresh corn. The corn they serve at school tastes like sawdust by comparison.”

We made quick work of the food on our plates, like the hungry teenage boys we were, and then we went back for seconds. By then, we were too stuffed to do anything athletic, besides which, it was too damn hot. We all wanted to go swimming, but we had to wait an hour after eating for that. Paul got out his frisbee and we spent the hour just shooting the shit and tossing the frisbee around before heading to the pool.

Swimming was just what we needed to cool off. We changed into our swimsuits and then roughhoused a bit in the water, earning whistle blows from the lifeguards. After a while, some kids came by from the SSTP and said they were trying to get a game of soccer going. They wondered if we’d join them. The other boys all seemed to be enthusiastic about it, and I wasn’t about to be left behind, so we all changed back into our shorts and sneakers and headed back to the picnic area.

When it came to sports, I was in no way athletic, nor did I have the remotest sense of eye-hand coordination. The only thing I could say about soccer was that it was the one sport at which I sucked the least.

In gym, the kind of soccer we played amounted to an every-kid-for-himself kind of chaos. The gym teacher liked the way I could hustle and I was good at kicking the ball out from under our opponents. I didn’t know anything about controlling the ball, however, and so I never scored a goal of my own. Terms like striker, defender, forward, wing and midfielder meant nothing to me, so when Steve started talking about positions and what formation our team should use, I was completely lost.

“That’s okay, Jeff,” Steve said. “You Yanks know absolutely nothing about how to play what the rest of the world calls football.” He spent the next several minutes explaining the various positions and the role they played in offense and defense. He demonstrated ball handling skills and how to keep control of the ball and to keep others away from it. He showed us how to fake out an opponent, something that was familiar to any football or basketball player but had been lost on me.

I wasn’t sure why Steve put me in the midfield, but when the game began, the difference in having a team directed by someone who actually knew what he was doing was immediately apparent. No, I didn’t score a goal, nor was that my role. I was a much better defensive than offensive player, but not a very good blocker. In the midfield I was able to do what I did best, which was to steal the ball out from under my opponents.

Steve showed me how to sweep rather than kick the ball from between my opponents’ feet. That made it possible to keep control of the ball. I wasn’t great at passing, however, but Steve said I just needed more practice.

If I was being honest, all of the boys in the game were sexy. We were all shirtless and sweaty, with a bit of body odor. Those of us who’d gone swimming hadn’t even thought to bring deodorant. For some reason, I found the scent to be arousing. There were a few girls in the game too, but they didn’t affect me the way the boys did. Regardless, the intensity of the competition helped to keep my excitement in check. I was focused on getting control of the soccer ball — not feeling up my opponent’s balls.

However, that was far from the case when it came to Paul, who was playing offense on the other team. The sheen of his skin, the rivulets of sweat running down his torso, the short shorts he was wearing that barely covered his junk, his broad shoulders and narrow waist and the way he smelled all conspired to distract me. Not even once did I manage to steal the ball from Paul.

In the end it was a close game. Without experienced defenders, the score was high. My team lost, but only by one point, fourteen to fifteen. It didn’t matter, ’cause for the first time I felt I’d contributed as much as anyone else had to the game. It was actually Steve on our team who called it. Otherwise we might have played into the night or at least until the fireworks started.

We were all famished by then and the meat was back on the grill. Much to my surprise, they were grilling ribeye steaks. Dr. Ellis was there, along with his wife and daughter. I guess all of the faculty and their families were invited for dinner and fireworks. However, I was embarrassed by the way I looked and smelled, so I met his family and tried to be polite, but then excused myself to eat with my friends.

When I got to the grills, I was asked how I wanted my steak. In the past, I would’ve asked for it medium to medium-rare. However, remembering how Mr. Franklin had had his rib roast when he had Mom and me over for dinner, I decided to be more daring and ordered my steak done rare. To my surprise, so did Paul. Besides the steaks, we were served foil-wrapped baked potatoes, with sour cream and chives for Paul and with butter for me. There was also grilled asparagus and as far as I could remember, I’d never tried asparagus before. It turned out to be my new favorite vegetable.

Everything was delicious, made even better by the companionship of my friends and by having the boy I loved by my side. It was late and already getting dark by the time we had the food put away. We all pitched in with the cleanup. Not that we wouldn’t have done so anyway, but the picnic area had to be left in the same state as we found it.

Somehow in the course of the afternoon, I’d lost track of where I left my shirt. At first I thought I might have left it in the swimming pool changing rooms, but I was pretty sure I didn’t have it with me when we went swimming. Maybe someone took it by mistake, or maybe a dog thought it made a great little blanket. It was an old shirt and not worth going out of the way to try and find it. We were all still shirtless anyway.

As we started to notice the presence of mosquitoes in pursuit of their own dinner, the cans of Off were passed around. The fireworks began once it was mostly dark, at around 9:20. It was a much more elaborate show than I’d been expecting. During the fireworks, Paul took my hand under the table. At first I tried to pull away, but he wouldn’t let me. Then I realized that everyone else was watching the fireworks. They weren’t looking at us, so there was hardly any risk at all.

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The walk back from the park was a long one. It was still close to eighty degrees out so no one had bothered to put their shirt back on. The night air kissed our bare skin and felt velvety smooth as we walked along the Iowa River Trail. Only an occasional car passed us on Riverside Drive and it almost felt as if we had the world to ourselves.

As we approached the residence halls, Greg said, “Guys, as much as I’ve enjoyed your company this afternoon, I’m ready to pack it in. If you want to get together tonight, you’re gonna hafta do it in someone else’s room.

“Yeah, I’m ready for some shuteye too,” Larry agreed. “After staying up most of the night last night and spending today swimming and playing soccer, I’m pooped.”

“Shall we get together tomorrow for Sunday Brunch?” I asked.

“If you can call the slop they serve brunch, then count me in,” Kyle replied and we all laughed.

“How about we all meet on the ground floor at noon?” Frank suggested.

“I don’t think my stomach can hold out that long,” Paul countered. “How about 11:00?”

“Is 11:00 okay with everyone?” Greg asked as heads nodded. “Okay then, we’ll meet downstairs at 11:00 and head to the Quad for brunch.”

As everyone else slipped on their shirts before entering the residence hall, Paul noticed for the first time that I wasn’t even carrying my shirt, so he asked, “What happened to your shirt?”

“I don’t know,” I answered. “I thought maybe I left it in the swimming pool changing rooms, but I didn’t have it on when we went swimming. I took it off at the same time you took yours off.”

“You gonna go back there tomorrow to try to find it?” he asked.

Shrugging my shoulders, I replied. “It was old and well-worn. I probably would’ve donated it to Goodwill as soon as I got back to Indianapolis anyway.” For whatever reason, Paul left his shirt off as we entered the building. It felt kind of wicked, walking shirtless into the dorm lobby and taking the elevator up to the third floor.

No sooner was our door closed and locked behind us, than Paul and I were all over each other. As we kissed each other passionately, our sweaty bodies slid against each other. We barely made it to my bed as we fell onto it. I feared we’d fall off the other side as we fought for dominance, trading positions as we writhed against one another. At some point we lost our shorts and underwear, although I couldn’t say exactly when or how.

I wasn’t sure when it started, but Paul was on top and he was humping me, and I was humping him back. It might have been nice to have prolonged it, but slowing down was the last thing on either of our minds. I felt myself edging closer and closer to an inevitable climax, but before I got there, Paul exploded all over my chest and abdomen. That sent me over the edge and my cum mixed with his.

‘Wow!” Paul exclaimed. “I didn’t know two guys could fuck like that.”

“I think fucking involves anal intercourse,” I countered. “They call it butt fucking.”

“There’s actually a word for what we did,” Paul clarified. “Frot-something, I think.”

“Frot-something’s a strange name for a sex act,” I chided, causing Paul to cuff me on the side of my head.

Over the course of the last week, we’d progressed from watching each other jack off in our own beds, to jacking off together in the same bed, to jacking each other off while we made out. All of it was new to us and we were learning as we went.

Tonight’s episode was by far the most intense so far and it was something that we’d definitely be doing again. However, we were far from done. Neither of us seemed to want to move as we lay there with Paul on top of me, with our sticky cum between us.

Paul started kissing me again and I reciprocated as we started making out again. Our boners never really went down after we came, and now they were insanely hard again. Our movements became more frenetic as Paul kissed my nose, my face, my ears and he even stuck his tongue in my ear.

When he started kissing my neck, I whispered loudly, “Don’t give me a hickey!” I’d seen enough of those around the school and sure as hell didn’t want any of our friends to see one on my neck and maybe realize it came from Paul.

“The guys would just assume you have a secret girlfriend,” Paul countered, “but I’ll be careful.”

As Paul continued kissing me and licking me all over, I did the same with him. He inhaled deeply under my armpits and licked me there, and I did likewise. I never realized how sexy armpits could be, nor how body odor that normally would repulse me could be so erotic.

Paul licked the cum off my torso and sucked my nipples. I did the same with him, tasting his cum mixed with mine for the first time and realizing that it didn’t taste bad at all.

Then Paul did something that would forever change the depth of our relationship. Flipping himself around, he lay back down with his head in my crotch and his balls under my chin. Suddenly, it dawned on me that this was what was meant by a 69. Because Paul was shorter than me by a good six inches, the alignment wasn’t perfect, but I shifted a bit so that I was face-to crotch with his junk.

As Paul played with my equipment down below, I inhaled deeply and couldn’t believe how erotic his scent was. Burying my nose in his balls, I sniffed and sniffed again as if I were a kid sniffing glue. I licked his balls and lapped up the jizz that had accumulated there. I felt Paul licking me, and then my dick was enveloped in the most wonderful sensation. Oh. My. God!

Without getting into details, Paul and I got each other off twice more, and I came to love the taste of his sperm. Sucking each other off was by far the most incredible thing we’d done so far, and I hoped it would become a part of our regular love-making activities. I wasn’t sure I wanted to go farther, though. The idea of sticking my dick up his ass or having him stick his up mine didn’t appeal to me at all.

Paul was shocked I didn’t know that what we did was called a blow job. Of course I’d heard and seen the term, but what did blowing have to do with sucking? I thought it should be called heavenly suction. Paul liked that term too. It became our secret code word, for use just between the two of us.