Johnny was gone for the whole weekend.
He'd had dinner with Granmum and me on Thursday, then on Friday evening; his father made his scheduled appearance and carried him off for the weekend. He’d be home late Sunday night and here it was, only Saturday morning. Granmum was doing laundry in this ancient machine that complained loudly whenever you used it. Soon she would run the laundry through this other machine that had these roller things that pressed the water out of the laundry. I could scarcely walk by the thing without being warned not to get my fingers in the rollers. Then, she’d hang the laundry on the lines that ran alongside the garage. I would help. I asked her once why she didn’t get new machines to do the laundry. These things were all galvanized metal and ugly. At least they were electric, but they didn’t seem quite right for folks who went about nicely dressed in a fine Packard. This got me a lecture on saving and economy and false pride and vanity and how it’s a sin to replace something that works just fine. So, well, there you have it.
But for now, I was up in a walnut tree. I was trying to envision a tree house. It would have to be large enough for Johnny and me; but it would also have to have some kind of screening for privacy. It was no great trick to see into the branches of this tree from the street. I very much liked being naked with Johnny, but I didn’t want just anyone seeing Johnny and me naked together. Or, now that I think about—separately naked either. I had checked through my Sek’atary Hawkins books last night because I remembered there was a treehouse in one of them. I couldn’t find it. It probably didn't matter because it wouldn’t have been possible anyway. Everything in those books was just too neat.
A voice from below said “hey”. It was not my Grandmother’s voice and it certainly confirmed my privacy concerns. I looked down and saw a boy of about my age looking up at me. My recent adventures with Johnny had confirmed my interest in boys so I looked on him with an appraising eye: he had gleaming black hair that was short on the sides, but longer on top, and it looked loose and slightly disheveled, so there was no cream or tonic in it and that was a good thing. He was wearing a dark yellow t-shirt and tan shorts. The shorts were outrageous: in the first place, they had come out of the store as shorts; and in the second place, they had creases—real ironed creases. Whoever heard of such a thing? This was definitely not a good thing. Everyone knows that shorts are cut offs and that’s what happens to Levis when they wear out, or you need a new pair of shorts. And everyone also knows that you don’t iron your shorts. I mean, come one! Creases? In shorts?
But, on the other hand, he was barefoot and that was very much a good thing. Then too, he was really cute. A very good thing. Most interesting.
“Hey,” I responded guardedly aloof.
I had not yet determined if he was an interloper or not; I, a resident of Southern California for only three months of the year (though I had been born in Long Beach, which made me a native), was very suspicious of his store boughten shorts with the sharp ironed creases. Clearly, the proper thing for me to do was climb down from the tree and talk to him with the proper distance. But as I was resolving on this course of action, I lost the initiative as he asked, “Can I come up?”
“Sure.” I responded, suspicious but civil.
He came dexterously up the tree, using all the correct branches, moving with ease and grace; he knew how to climb a tree. Clearly a good thing. He perched on a branch slightly above mine, I noted that his arms and legs were nicely tanned. I could see a little way up the leg of his shorts, but not far enough to see anything interesting.
“I’m Gary.”
“I’m Dave.”
Introductions complete, I noted that he had dark blue eyes that glinted with humor, his eyebrows arched elegantly above his eyes, and he had a cute mole on one cheek. His nose was fine and straight. He was moving his leg around in his shorts a little, almost as if he wanted me to see what was up there. Somewhat unnecessarily, I informed him that I lived here.
“In the tree?” He grinned richly showing even white teeth and the silver strip of a retainer. I knew it was a retainer because I’d just gotten rid of mine last year. His smile was so engaging that I could only smile back, could offer no snottism, and nodding toward the house, could only say, “No. There. Where do you live?”
“A block over and across,” he replied, waving and pointing. This style of giving directions made perfect sense to me, but probably wouldn’t have been very helpful if you didn’t have an intimate knowledge of the neighborhood and were up in a tree. “We moved here last month from LA.” he elaborated.
At this point my Grandmother emerged from the back porch with a basket of laundry, “I told my Grandmother that I’d help her hang up the clothes.”
“Is it alright if I help,” Gary offered.
“Sure thing,” and we descended nimbly from the tree.
Bouncing over to my Grandmother, I took the basket of clothes. “Granmum this is Gary. He lives over there.” Gary extended his hand and gave my Grandmother a sort of half bow as he kinda shook her hand with her palm down. I admired the effect, it looked somehow courtly and I resolved to adopt it.
“Gary van der Leyden,” he introduced himself to my Granmum and provided her the specific location of his home. Granmum put her hand on my head and wondered. “Did Davey tell you that his last name is Frasier, that he’s my grandson, and that I’m Mrs Bachmann? I thought not,” she concluded. Meanwhile, I’m thinking: thank you Jesus! His name is Dutch!
“No ma’am,” Gary replied.
I again thanked Jesus: Gary was Dutch and he’d called Granmum “Ma’am”, without having to be told or anything. Half the battle was won. With a start I realized that I liked Gary. Gary then put the icing on the cake. “I’m going to help with the clothes.” Granmum looked at us fondly and said, “Then you won’t need me. I’ll be in the house”. She turned and left us to it.
As I showed Gary how Grandfather’s shirts were to be hung on the line, I noticed with approval, that his t-shirt had become disheveled as he had gone up and down the tree. It had come partially out of his waistband and he’d not worried to replace it. A good thing. It would have been okay with me if he’d just taken it off.
There had been nothing in the basket but my grandfather’s white shirts; it didn't take us long to hang them so we returned to the porch with the empty basket. The washing machine was silent as we set the basket down. Gary was fascinated by the roller thing. “What’s that,” he pointed. Granmum was in the kitchen, but she knew what the object of his curiosity was.
“It’s called a ‘mangle’ and don’t you touch it or you’ll know the reason why. You boys come in for lunch. Show Gary where to wash up, Davey.” We trooped through the kitchen and down the hall to the bathroom.
“I gotta take a leak,” Gary commented maturely as he unzipped and stepped to the toilet without even a twinge of modesty.
“Me too,” I observed as I unbuttoned my cut offs. We stood side by side and, companionably, peed. Naturally, I couldn’t help but notice that he had a nice dick but nothing could happen at this place and time. We washed our hands together in the sink. Re-buttoned and zipped we sped back to the kitchen. I noticed that Gary’s t-shirt was now out of his waistband completely at the back, but he had stuffed the front of it down when he zipped his fly. He was even cuter than before; he was a contrast in rumples and creases.
Granmum had fixed us roast beef sandwiches on rye bread, with just a little mustard, but ample mayonnaise and some lettuce. There were the ever present Fritos, as well as pickles, olives and the homemade lemonade that Granmum makes so great. I rather liked Fritos, but wasn’t too wild about rye bread. But it was almost Dutch so it had the approval of my Grandparents. Gary appeared to be enjoying it immensely, but then, he might just be eating it so enthusiastically to please Granmum. Somehow, one can always find something to fuss about if one is concerned about a new situation.
“Would you like to come over to my house for a while after lunch?” This was great. Gary already had a solution for the constant problem of what to do next. I looked the question at Granmum, who replied that it would be all right so long as I caused no problems for his parents. Gary assured her that this would not happen. How, I wondered, can he be so sure of that. Anyway, we finished our lunch and went out the kitchen door on our way—a block over and across—to Gary’s house.
As we started up the street, we mostly walked on the grass verge, or on somebody’s lawn. My feet were pretty tough from going barefoot so much, I assumed that Gary’s were too, but the concrete could still get really hot if you stayed on it too long. I asked Gary what his folks did. He explained that they were both in the Navy. His mother was a nurse, and his father was the captain of a ship. They had lived in a lot of places around the world. His mother would soon be retiring and had already lined-up a new and important nursing job. That’s why they had bought the house in Anaheim. This was going to be their home from now on. He went on to explain that his Dad’s ship was across the Pacific near Japan, and that his Mom was at work, but they had a maid who would be at home. As we crossed the street to the house he pointed out, I noticed that, while it was not so old as my Grandparents’, neither was it new; it had some stately trees that would be super for climbing and it had a two car garage that was separate from the house. Unlike my Grandparents’ garage, in Gary’s you put the cars side by side rather than end to end. It also had a wide asphalt driveway leading to the garage. Gary led the way to a chain link gate between the garage and the house. I noticed that a tall hedge covered the chain link fencing that prevented easy access to the back yard. Gary opened the gate and we went under a trellis that had a flowering vine on it covering a flagstone walkway between the garage and the house.
As we went into the backyard I halted, enchanted. A light brown colored concrete patio surrounded a shimmering swimming pool. There was a tall wooden fence all around the back yard with some semi-tropical trees and shrubs everywhere. Gary noticed that I’d halted. He also stopped and asked, “Do you like to swim?”
“Yeah.” I was like whispering because it was so neat. “A lot.”
“Good. We’ll swim later.” Still admiring the pool. I put myself back in motion and followed Gary to the patio doors. These were multi paned glass covered by white lace curtains that attached from top to bottom of each door. “It’s me,” Gary announced loudly to the house as we went through the doors. It was cool and dim inside. I wasn’t really sure what kind of a room we were in; it was sorta like a den, but then kinda like a living room. The floor was tiled, the furniture wicker with big cushions, and there were several throw rugs on the tile floor. In one corner there was what I recognized as a bar, with many bottles and a small sink. There was, of course, no “Demon Rum” in my Grandparent’s house. That devil and his workshop again.
“Has you eaten anythin’,” the house demanded in a deep and mellow voice.
“Yes. I ate at my friend Dave’s. He came home with me.” Gary just earned points for not referring to me by my Granmum’s “Davey”.
“Ah,” the house observed. “Ah’ll be right there.”
Moments later, a formidable and abundant lady trundled into the room. Her dress was summery and colorful; she wore an apron and she was very dark.
“What’d y'all eat?” She inquired with clear and complete authority, more than a hint of the music of the South in her tones.
Gary recited the menu.
“So you’re full then?”
“Yes ‘um,” Gary averred as he indicated me. “Jean, this is David Frasier, he lives a block or so away with Grandparents. Dave, this is Jean. She’s in charge.” I extended my hand and mimicked Gary’s little bow.
“Hi Miss Jean, it’s a pleasure to meet ‘cha.” She smiled and gently squeezed my hand.
“Hi.” Pleasantries attended to, responsibility returned.
“Did y'all have enough to eat too? Can y’all swim? Gary’ll wanna go swimmin’. How long ago’d y’all eat?” Not having been given time to answer the questions as they were asked, I essayed to answer them all at once.
“Yes, Miss Jean. Yes, and I’ve had lessons and everything. It was an hour or so ago.” I knew full well that the necessary elapsed time between eating and swimming was between thirty minutes and an hour, depending on the adult involved. I rounded the time up in our favor. Of course, I wouldn’t be able to swim anyway. I couldn’t swim in cut offs and I didn’t have a suit on under them. In the usual way, I didn’t have anything on under them.
“Well. Okay, but if y'all get hungry, call me, don’cha all be messin’ up my kitchen.” She smiled serenely and went off on her appointed rounds.
Gary showed me around the house and we went to his room. There were models of ships on his desk and dresser. Several airplanes were suspended from the ceiling. I recognized a Spitfire and a Jap Zero. His bed was made and the closet doors were closed. There were a number of books, and comic books around, but they were properly shelved, or in orderly stacks on shelves, not scattered around like in Johnny’s room. There were several posters on the walls. One showed the back of a sailor with a huge bag on his shoulder and urged the viewer to “Join the Navy.” Another was of Brandon de Wilde. I recognized him. I like his name and he is cute.
“Have you read Tom Sawyer?” I asked. Looking at Brandon de Wilde made me think of skinny dipping.
“Yes. And Huckleberry Finn too. I really liked them both. Let’s go out to the pool.”
“Okay,” I chickened out though, and didn’t mention skinny dipping—what a wuss I am sometimes.
Gary showed me around the pool. The building at the end, that I’d noticed earlier, turned out to be a dressing room. The entrance was screened with strips of bamboo that were tied together and then stretched between tall posts. Behind the dressing room there were some pipes, faucets and a showerhead. I’d never seen an outdoor shower before. Gary told me this was to rinse off under after swimming, that way you got the chlorine off and you wouldn’t be sticky all day. I knelt by the pool and stuck my hand in. It felt deliciously cool, but not cold. It was another very hot day.
“Let’s go swimming,” Gary suggested.
I wanted to swim a lot, “but I don’t have a suit.” This was pretty whiney. “And if I swim in cut offs it takes them forever to dry. And I’ve got my pocket knife and some money an’ stuff in my pockets.”
“That’s okay,” Gary was undeterred by my whining. “We’ll go skinny dipping, Just like they do in Tom Sawyer. My Dad says that guys go skinny dipping at the YMCA; my Dad says that guys should always go skinny dipping unless girls are in the pool too.”
Gary was making a strong argument for what was one of my favorite fantasies. I didn’t really need to be convinced to want to go skinny dipping. I just needed to know that, somehow, it was safe to go skinny dipping.
“But what about Miss Jean? She’s a girl! She’ll see us naked.”
“She doesn’t count. She’s known us for years. Besides, she’s seen me and my Dad skinny dipping lotsa times. She’s not a girl like you’re thinking.” Now there’s a mysterious notion for you. How can a girl be a girl; but at the same time, not be a girl, just by thinking about it? Still, the pool was beautiful and I wanted to go skinny dipping. If it didn’t matter to Gary, then it shouldn’t matter to me.
“Okay,” I gleefully surrendered.
We went into the dressing room and Gary pulled his t-shirt off and tossed it on the bench. He smiled at me. He had a few enchanting moles on his chest. A few hairs under his arms, but none on his chest. His tan was not so deep as mine, but he was lighter complected than I; he was really beautiful. He was undoing his shorts and shucked right out of them while I continued to scope him out. His tan was almost completely even. There were no visible tan lines and his sex was tanned just a little browner than his chest. I wanted to taste him. Like I tasted Johnny. I twitched a little. No! Not now! I thought at myself.
“How do ya getta tan like that?” I asked to divert my sex thoughts. My cut offs were unbuttoned but I hadn't dropped them yet. He looked at me like he was enjoying the view.
“I told ya, I spend a lotta time around the pool and there’s hardly ever any girls here.” I dropped my cut offs to the floor and kicked them onto the bench. Gary was in a sort of pose by the door, nothing dramatic or anything, but his right hand was on the door frame, above his shoulder, and he was standing sideways in the door. I could see his chest and flank; but his sex was almost—almost but not quite—hidden by the sweep of his left leg. His butt was all curvy and glorious. I was really willing myself not to get a woodie as I admired my friend’s nudity. Still smiling hugely he urged us on. “Come on! Let’s go!”
I followed him out the door and we dove into the pool. I loved the flow of the water over my naked body. I opened my eyes to try and see Gary swimming under water in front of me; but he was pretty much just a tanned blur of limbs and body. The water stung my eyes a little and I couldn’t really see him clearly. He swam about two-thirds of the way down the pool then popped up with his head and shoulders out of the water. I came up standing beside him, took a couple breaths, and then folded my knees, exhaled bubbles slowly as I sank alongside him. I wondered if I’d get a better view of him if I were closer. I did, it was still unclear, but I noticed that the water was lifting his sex. It was as if he had a little woodie and his balls, rather than hanging properly down were trying to follow his woodie to the surface. I did notice that he had more pubic hair than I. There was a little on either side of his dick. But it didn’t go much above his dick. Very nice, I thought as I surfaced.
“What’cha doin’”. Gary wondered.
“Checkin’ out yer tan,” dissembling with a smile.
“Yeah. Sure. You can come over whenever you want and we can work on yours.” There was that beautiful smile again. I splashed him; he splashed back and a joyous water fight ensued. We swam, splashed, dove and cannon balled into the pool. Sometimes we even used the diving board.
“Come to the diving board and I’ll show you how to jump off a sinking ship.” I could think of a number of things I’d rather have him show me, but oh well.
“Okay.” We went down to the diving board and he told me to get on first. Completely unnecessarily, he put his hand on the back of my leg, just below my butt, to help me as I got onto the board. He told me to walk to the end of the board and followed closely behind. At the end of the board, he stood right behind me and said. “The first thing you gotta remember is to keep your eyes open and look at the horizon for the whole jump. That way you’ll remain vertical. You know, like right side up.” He pointed around me with his left arm brushing my shoulder. “The top of that window, there. Pretend that’s the horizon.” His dick whispered silkily against my butt as he pointed. Whoever thought that an abandon ship drill could be fun.
“I know what ‘vertical’ means,” I inserted into his lecture.
He stepped back and told me to turn around. He knelt down in front of me and lectured. “The second thing is that you’ve got to keep your feet crossed while you jump.” He grabbed my right foot at the knee and ankle, “Let me show ya.” I relaxed my leg, but had to put my hand on his head to keep my balance as he moved my leg so that my right foot was on top of my left. I wasn’t resisting at all and kept my balance easily. He took a long time getting my foot in just the right position. I liked the feel of his hair, so I kept my hand in place as he sat back a little and grinned up at me with his twinkly sapphire eyes. “Ya hafta keep your legs crossed so that you won’t hurt your balls when ya go into the water.” I kinda half hoped that my balls might need some adjustment too, but they didn’t. “So remember: keep your eyes on the horizon; step off the deck, don’t jump, cross your legs, and you should go straight into the water. Even from the deck of an aircraft carrier. Now turn around, I’m gonna go down to the side of the pool. I’ll tell ya when to jump. Okay?”
“Kay.”
I turned around and found the horizon. He walked smoothly off the board and down the side of the pool to where he’d have a good view. I had a very good view of him and admired his swaying sex against his super tan for a long few seconds. Actually, I admired him until everything was still, then I looked back to the horizon.
“Ya ready?”
“Yup.”
“Jump!”
I took a breath, kept my eyes open on the pretend horizon, stepped off the board and crossed my feet. He was right. I went straight into the pool and touched bottom. I surfaced and clambered out. There was Gary with two towels. He was grinning so hugely you’d have thought I’d just escaped a real sinking ship.
“Let’s lay in the sun for a while.”
“Super.”
We folded these two aluminum recliners down so they were level and spread our towels on them. They were about six inches apart. We lay basking in the sun in friendly silence. I closed my eyes and enjoyed the feeling of the water droplets on my naked body. In some places, you could feel them trickle across your skin; in others, you could feel them drying. The enjoyment was hugely magnified by being naked, outside, in the warmth of the sun.
My dick began to stir and grow and there was no talking to it this time. I shifted carefully on my lounger and rolled over onto my stomach. I heard Gary’s lounger shifting around a little too. But I had my eyes closed and was enjoying the feel of the sun on my naked bottom, as well as the occasional whisper of breeze over all of me.
“You can’t get sunburned here,” Gary said and I felt his hand, cooled by lotion, begin to smooth the lotion onto my butt. He was in no hurry. He rubbed the lotion thoroughly over my butt. He massaged it in, and then started applying more lotion to my shoulders.
“Roll over, you need some in front, too,“ he whispered.
“I can’t. I’ve got a hard on,” I whispered.
“So do I,” came the reply.
My eyes flew open and I looked at him. He was grinning with this really dreamy expression. He continued to trail his fingers up and down my shoulders, butt, and legs. He was sitting on his lounger. His legs were spread and he did have a boner. It looked like it was reaching for the sun.
“Come on! The dressing room.”
“Yeah.” We were still whispering.
We flew off the loungers; we were rampant; we were hot; we were in a hurry! We didn’t even get the door closed. We were in a hurry with more important matters to hand. We were entangled on the floor almost instantly. We were gripped by passion; our explosions were almost instantaneous. God it was wonderful! Three days ago all my sex had been solo. And now all this.
“We should rinse off,” Gary suggested. I agreed and we walked around to the open shower. He fiddled with the faucets and made me wait for a minute. It seems that the water in the pipes close to the shower would be deceptively warm, and then there would be a cold spurt, and then finally it would warm up. I really wasn’t too interested in plumbing just then. Our loving had just been too hot for words.
“I like being naked with you.”
He grinned and nodded as we got under the water together. It was lukewarm and refreshing. We held each other tightly as the water ran over us. As we grew hard again, I remembered that I used to think, back when I knew practically nothing about sex, that you could only come once a day. I’ve no idea where that notion came from. But my first adventure with Johnny had proven it to be wrong. An ‘old wive’s tale’? No, couldn’t be that, probably an old preacher's tale. Who knew?
Anyway, we proved that old preacher wrong on our second round.
“Can I come see ya tomorrow?” Gary wondered. I felt of his firmness.
“I gotta go to church in the morning. But I’ll be home around one, wanna come over then?”
“Great.”
We went back into the room and toweled each other dry. We kissed and dressed. I found Miss Jean in the house and said goodbye.
As I walked home, I was all worried. Had I cheated on Johnny. Was I in love. If so, with who. We hadn’t said anything about it. What the fuck.