The Tennis Player

Chapter 2

It took longer than I thought it would. He met my eyes, then looked down, then up again. I was sure he’d speak at that point, but he didn’t. Instead, he gestured with his arm at the empty chair at the table, clearly inviting me to sit down.

“Thanks!” I set my tray on the table and sat. Some boys eat from plates still on their trays, some put their stuff on the table and set the tray on the floor on its edge against the table leg so it isn’t in the way and doesn’t take up much space. His plate and bowl were on the table, so I did the same thing with my lunch and set the tray aside.

After sitting, I looked at him. He met my eyes. I’d asked him a question and didn’t feel the need to repeat it.

He eventually looked away. But then he spoke, not looking at me. “Actually, I’d like to work with you.”

Wow! That was a surprise. But now what? I had no idea. I wondered if he’d remain talking. I decided to just talk to him like it was something we did all the time. Hopefully, I’d find out why he was being so out of character by responding to me.

“Okay. Good! I’d like that. Our assignment—well, you know, you heard—is a paper on Dwight D. Eisenhower. There’s a couple of ways to approach this. One would be for each of us to do our own research and write a paper, then read each other’s and work together to combine them. I don’t think much of that way of doing it. What I’d rather do is each make an outline of how the paper would look, you know, divided up into parts. Then we could each take the ones we wanted, work on those alone, then integrate them, working together for the final part. Then we—”

I stopped suddenly. Abruptly. Then I blushed. Damn! But I was seriously embarrassed. I’d been looking at him while speaking, but now I lowered my eyes. “I’m sorry,” I mumbled. “I don’t know what came over me. I never talk like a spewing volcano and absolutely never take over leadership of anything. I’m a follower, not a leader, and I certainly didn’t mean to sound like one. I apologize! I need to start over. You have as much say in this as I do. Ignore what I just said. My bad!”

I slowly brought my eyes back up to look at him. He almost had a grin on his face. He looked like he was fighting it.

“Okay,” I said, less buoyant than before. “How would you like this partnership to work?”

This time Clark answered. He even looked at me as he did. “We need to discuss it. Not here and now. It’s too noisy, and we don’t have enough time.”

“After school?” I was happy he was talking. Surprised, hoped it would last, but overall happy. “Where? In the library? My house? Yours? Maybe Burger Mania?” Burger Mania was a hamburger place near the school that was a hangout for mostly high-school kids and a few brave middle-school ones.

He actually gave me a smile this time. He looked like a different kid when he did that. I couldn’t ever remember seeing him smile before. And certainly never chat with anyone.

“How about my house?”

“Really?” That made no sense at all. He wanted me to come to his house? He was an oddball eccentric with no friends, and he was asking me to come to his house? Unheard of! I was momentarily at a loss for words, an unusual situation for me. Not often was I gobsmacked.

“Yeah. I always have a ride home. You can come with me, and you’ll be taken home after we’re done. If you’re free this afternoon.”

He was talking to me like he was a normal kid. I wasn’t ready for this. Made no sense. Years and years of separateness. What was going on here? Yet, at the same time, I was still me, and my sense of humor was always at the ready. So, I probably shouldn’t have done it. Should have kept my big yap shut. But I think I was a little in shock and fell back on my default position: making a joke of things. I could, at least, forgive myself for what I said by using that excuse, because I went ahead and said what I was thinking.

“Uh, Clark? Are you your evil twin who somehow disposed of his non-verbal brother and are trying to lure me into your clutches for vile purposes? You’re not, are you?”

He gave me his patented, very sober, expressionless look long enough that I was getting jittery and feeling unbalanced, and then he completely relaxed his face. And he looked very different that way. More human. Less robotic or android-like, if you will. A different kid. But what he said simply did more of what he’d done already: it confused the hell out of me.

“You’re funny. You know that? I’ve always liked watching you, Ronnie.”

We were at Clark’s house. Okay, ‘house’ understates it by about a hundred miles. I’m not good at describing architecture—or palatial estates, which I think would sum up this place. I found it covered many acres, many, many acres, a huge estate; that became very apparent as he showed me around. My first impression proved to be true. Huge house, incredible grounds with gardens and outbuildings. I found that there was a gigantic swimming pool with a separate changing house with showers and bathroom facilities and lockers, a bar poolside for adult entertainment, loungers and tables and chairs for non-swimming guests on a poolside, roofed terrace.

That was just one part. They had their own tennis court and even a few horses and a stable for them. Another part of their property was wooded, and they had riding trails through it. There was a creek running through the woods which emptied into a private lake that was stocked with fish.

I found all this out in bits and pieces over time. I guess I should lead up to my going there the first time—from that first meeting in the cafeteria to getting to Clark’s house.

We were still in the cafeteria. I paused, uncertain why he’d say he liked watching me. He was smiling and I was flabbergasted. I just looked at him and shook my head.

He said, “Okay, look. I understand your confusion. I can explain somewhat, but that’s not till later. Now we have an assignment to figure out. I know you get all A’s. So do I. Maybe that’s why Mr. Skinner put us together, but maybe not, too. Anyway, that’s also for later. Right now, just accept I’m going to be working with you on this. Can you come to my house today? If not, we can arrange another time, or, if you’d rather, we can work in the school library.”

“But—“

He didn’t let me finish. “I know. Questions. And as I said, I’ll answer them. Probably. At some point. You’d better eat. Lunch is about over.”

I ate what I could and arranged with him where to meet after school. He did have a ride: a limo, actually. It picked him up and drove us to his house. There, that catches us back up.

He toured me through the house and grounds, and that took the rest of the afternoon.

“Can you come over tomorrow, and we can actually get something done?” he asked.

“Sure. Although I don’t know whether to bring my swimming suit or my tennis racket or my riding breeches.”

“They’re called jodhpurs, not breeches.” Then he laughed. It didn’t give me goosebumps or even shock me now. I was getting used to him being a normal kid. Didn’t understand it; he was night-and-day different from who he’d been the last eight years, but I was rolling with the punches.

“Do you play tennis?” he asked.

“Yeah. I do everything. If it includes a ball, I do it. I’m actually fairly decent at tennis. You play?”

He nodded, and we moved on. I was surprised. I never expected him to be athletic at all. He didn’t even take gym with us. Went to the library instead. That was another thing no one understood about him. Everyone had to take gym. He didn’t. How did he get out of it? It was a rule; gym was mandatory.

We walked toward the stables; we hadn’t been inside them yet. On the way, he said, “Okay, we’ll put tennis on the list of something we can do. But tomorrow, we need to talk about this paper we’re doing. Okay?”

I agreed. It was time for me to go, so the chauffeur drove me home. It was the same guy who had driven the limo before. I was hoping everyone in my neighborhood would see me get out of the limo. I asked the driver why the limo and if this was a full-time job for him. He was probably in his 30s. He grinned at me.

“I like my job. I drive and take care of the pool and horses and even sweep the tennis courts. What I don’t do is answer questions. Mrs. Tellison doesn’t like anyone knowing anything about her business; Mrs. Tellison doesn’t like anyone knowing anything about the family. I’m friendly, but also both closemouthed and currently employed.”

Huh.

I watched Clark the next day at school. He was the same as he’d always been. I thought of going up and talking to him, then decided that would be a very bad idea. I didn’t get the Jekyll-and-Hyde aspects he’d shown me, but I didn’t think I needed to worry. Norman Bates he wasn’t. But he also seemed to want to maintain the personality he’d always had at school for the students and teachers there, and it would be mean of me to do anything that might change that. I had to guess at that, but it would be better to be safe and not cause him to reject me as he had everyone else, including me, forever. Besides, maybe now I’d be able to make a friend who had a pool and horses. I’d never had one of those before. Or one who was driven rode home every day in a limo.

I went home with him after school that day. I got a kick out of riding in the limo, both to his house and mine after we were done in the afternoon.

We spent the time that afternoon in his room—or suite of rooms, actually.

Where we worked wasn’t in his bedroom. It was more like what you‘d call an office with a desk, computer, bookcases and tables and chairs. It had a tiled floor so his computer chair could roll easily from the computer to the printer and then anywhere else in the room without his needing to stand up. We sat at one of the worktables and talked.

“You really want me to take charge here?” he asked. “I don’t mind. But it’ll be strange for me. You’re used to speaking to kids your age. I’m not.”

“Why not?” I was still dying to know why he’d done a one-eighty-degree turnabout.

“We’ll get to that. Not now. I need to know you better. But the paper—you don’t really want me making all the decisions, do you? You need to have a voice in this, too.”

“Okay. Let’s not have a leader then. Two guys discussing how to do things and agreeing on a plan. That sounds better to me. I’m not a leader and don’t want to be, but just as much, I don’t want someone bossing me around, either.”

He grinned at me. I wished he’d stop that. Gave me all sorts of feelings I didn’t want to harbor. “I kinda knew that. Okay, I like what you said. Let’s discuss this.”

And so, we did. We decided to break Eisenhower’s life into sections: childhood, schooling, Army career—including an overview of his command in Europe in WW II—his presidency, and his legacy.

To my surprise, he didn’t want to break these up and do half of them himself and let me do the other half.

“It would be a lot more fun—and more sociable—if we did each section together. Talked about what to include in each section, then kind of wrote each section together. What do you think?”

I should have never said what I did then, but I was so comfortable now being with him, talking to him, that it just slipped out. “I think it’s amazing that you want to work with me in a way that we can be sociable. I like this you I’m seeing now. Really. This is great. Much better than I was afraid it would be.”

And saying that, and watching his face, I shuddered, then spoke quickly before he could say anything. “Damn! I’m sorry! I didn’t mean that the way it sounded, maybe it sounded. I’m so used to making things a joke, and that’s how that was supposed to come across. I’m glad you want to be more social! I want that, too. We haven’t spent that much time together yet, but we will, doing this assignment, and I’m already liking you very much, Clark.”

I stopped, feeling embarrassed, and looked away. He was giving me his blank stare, and I didn’t want to see it. But I felt the need to keep explaining. “Please, just forget what I said. It sounded like a veiled criticism, but it wasn’t supposed to. You said you’d explain yourself to me sometime, and that’s fine. Of course, I’m curious, but that’s all your business, and you can tell me or not. I like how you’re being with me. I like you. Can you forget what I just said?”

I kept my eyes on his. I saw his blank stare soften, and a slow smile come back. “I like you too, Ronnie. As I sort of said before. You know, we’ve made great progress today, and there’s still time before you’ll need to go. We need a change of scenery. Work off the tension I see you’re feeling. How about going outside and getting in some exercise? Uh, tennis, anyone?”

I could say we played tennis, and then I went home. That would be true. But it would be skipping way too much.

“Sure,” I said, “but I don’t have my stuff.”

“I have plenty. We’re the same size, more or less. You’re just a little bigger, I might be a little stronger, certainly better looking, and a lot smarter, but that doesn’t have much to do with gear. You can wear my stuff. I have tons of it. It’ll fit fine.”

“What the hell?! You’re stronger than I am! And as for looks and smarts . . .”

He laughed, the first time I’d ever heard that. “What?” he asked, his voice full of mirth. “You have a monopoly on funny? You think you’re the only one with a sense of humor? Only you can be sarcastic? But we’re wasting tennis time.”

So saying, he took me into his bedroom and started opening drawers in his dresser. He pulled out two pairs of white tennis shorts and a couple of tees: one red, one blue. He tossed one of the shorts and the blue shirt to me, then a pair of socks before going to his closet and coming out with two pairs of tennis shoes.

Then he shocked me. He started undressing and didn’t stop till he was nude.

I’d never seen a naked boy before. Not a real live one my age standing ten feet from me. He didn’t seem to think anything was strange about undressing in front of me. He definitely was into puberty—about as far as I was from how he looked. He had a light, in-progress nest of brown pubes, and his dick was that of a just-pubescent child. I was about the same distance along in my development; we looked pretty similar.

He walked back to his dresser, showing no signs of modesty whatsoever and found a jockstrap in the top drawer. “Do you want to borrow a jock, too, or not?” He was looking at me, twirling the jock he’d extracted for himself on his finger, and I was hoping I wasn’t blushing.

“Uh, sure, why not?” I said. I really didn’t want one, but I thought if I said no, he might think I was weird not to wear one. Or that maybe I was ashamed to put one on in front of him or too shy; perhaps I was way behind in puberty. If I said no, which was very tempting, I’d not have to remove my undies, but it felt very much like I was being challenged to do so. Maybe it wasn’t either of those. Maybe I was way overthinking what was going on here. Somehow, he seemed entirely unemotional about this, yet what I was feeling was that this was somehow sexual. If he felt that way, too, wouldn’t he be showing it?

Because that was a problem for me, and it was becoming urgent. I was seeing a sexual component here, my body was agreeing with me on that, and it was reacting in a way I didn’t want it to. I was getting hard.

Was it because I was looking at him, all of him, or because I’d be as naked as he was in a moment? For me, being naked with him meant boner time.

I was getting stiff all the time now, but I’d been able to hide them. I got them when looking at cute boys and girls: in Sex Ed we’d heard that was normal. They didn’t tell us that we shouldn’t be bothered or embarrassed when we got one when undressing in front of a semi-cute boy who was naked and watching as I stripped off. A semi-cute boy with a hard-to-read expression on his face but with very alive and eager eyes.

I was very lucky in one regard. If I was shy, I’d probably have keeled over in a dead faint. I wasn’t. My confidence might be being tested, but I was up to the challenge. “Uh, Houston, we have a problem,” I said in what I hoped was the tone of voice Jim Lovell had had on Apollo 13.” Then, more tentatively, I said, “Uh, Clark, I haven’t ever stripped before with someone watching. Well, not since I was eight. Now I’m going to do so, and my body isn’t behaving.”

Then I took off my clothes. It took a great deal of courage, but I did it. I was wearing boxer shorts, and well before they came down, Clark knew what was going on. I pulled them off, and my main member sprang up, and I didn’t turn away from him. If he was going to look, well, let him. We were both boys, and I was sure he got boners, too.

And about three seconds later, I knew for sure. He was still naked, still held his jock in his hand, and I watched him grow hard.

He wasn’t shy, either. “Nice one,” he said, and then gave me a great smile. It reached his eyes, and they told me they liked what they were seeing. What could I do? I said, “You, too,” and then we both laughed. That broke the tension, and he tossed me the jock he was holding and got another one for himself.

Tumescence abating, we dressed and both made our way to the court. He’d given me a choice of rackets. All of them seemed better than the ones I’d used before. They were strung tighter and had better balance. He grabbed a couple of cans of balls, too. Unopened.

I figured I’d go easy on him. I was an inch—okay maybe a half inch—taller and certainly stronger, and I didn’t want to hurt his feelings by trouncing him on his own court. That feeling changed rather quickly when we were warming up before beginning a game. I couldn’t believe how graceful he looked, moving for position to line up his shot and then hitting the ball. His returns to me were all closer to the top of the net than mine to him, and he somehow managed to get a lot more topspin on the ball than I did.

I was surprised that he was left-handed. Also, that he hit both his forehand and backhand shots with both hands on the racket. I only knew he was left-handed after he hit a few balls to me. I’d never faced a left-handed tennis player before, and the spin was much different. I suddenly had the feeling that I’d have to play my best to stay with him. I didn’t care much for that thought. I’d always been better than boys my age with games and sports. How could this kid who never joined in with us in any athletic thing we were doing look like maybe he was as skilled as I was?

“Want to play a game?” he asked, coming to the net. He wasn’t breathing hard at all. I’d been running some and my breathing showed it.

“Sure,” I said.

“You can serve,” he said and tossed me the ball.

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