Bill paused, pondering how to continue, when Dan said quietly, “In those days, the late 1940’s, people didn’t talk about men loving men or boys loving boys. It was, in almost all areas of our state and country, an unspeakable sin, a crime punished by jail for the offenders and sometimes much worse as we see in various societies in our world today. Sodomy laws were prevalent on the books of many states and municipalities. The law makers believed it only applied to homosexuals, not what they, the supposed “normal” people, did in their own bedrooms. Most of those laws forbid anal or oral intercourse even though practiced by men and women in a sexual relationship. Of course, at the same time it was against the law for blacks and whites to marry. That really didn’t start to change until the ‘Lovey” case down south.”
“Homosexuality was not acknowledged or recognized as occurring, although occur it did, and not just in bedrooms around the country. It was well hidden, but could be found in any city, big or small; it was just hidden! I think today gay people would say it was in ‘the closet.’”
Dan sighed sadly, “Oh, there were places it was tolerated – barely, but it just wasn’t something most people talked about. I knew, early on in my life that I just didn’t get turned on by girls; boys yes, girls no! But like most boys, I was careful, very careful to make certain no one outside of my family even had a hint The last thing any boy wanted in those days was to be labeled ‘queer’ and ostracized by the rest of his class.”
“Aunt Agnes and Uncle Henry knew, but they never commented, except one time. I guess I was chattering on about some good looking boy I’d seen, maybe I was nine or ten years old at the time, and Aunt Agnes took me aside and had a real serious heart-to-heart ‘I love you but..’ talk and convinced me, for my own safety and well-being, to watch what I said, what I did, and where!”
“Raised in a house full of boys, some older and some younger, I took my turn bent over the hay bale in the barn or the end of the bed and when it was my turn, I gave as good as I got. I supposed I enjoyed it more than the others, I’m not certain, but it certainly wasn’t ‘love;’ it was just one way to get our rocks off! I saw a lot of good looking guys through my growing up years, but I never fell in love until I saw Bill stretched out on the grass flying his kite!”
With that he leaned over and gave his spouse a soft kiss on the lips and murmured something I couldn’t hear, but Bill smiled back and replied “Me too!”
“I knew,” Bill then began, “when I first went into sixth grade I really liked boys more than girls. Oh, there were times I was confused prior to that, but for a couple of years I’d been more fascinated by peckers than pussies, to put it bluntly! There were soldiers and others working at the Badger Ordinance Works, when they would see me playing in the park, would chat with me and put their arms around me if I let them or invite me sit on their laps. Sometimes I’d let them pick me up and put me on their lap and often I could feel their hard peckers poking me in the butt. If they wanted to go for a walk or started to get too friendly with my crotch, I’d jump down and claim I had to go home for some reason or the other. I wasn’t stupid! More than once, however, I’d just walk into one of the restrooms at the park and stand at the urinal trough and watch men pee. The size and shapes of their cocks fascinated me.”
“I contented myself with fantasy boyfriends and wacked my wiener looking at pictures of men dressed in underwear or swimsuits in catalogs or magazines and quick glimpses of other boys’ equipment as they poked it out to pee in the boys’ restroom at school. There was no one at home for me to experiment with like Dan had, so it was me –solo!”
I happen chanced a glance at my watch while Bill was speaking and he noticed me doing it. It was almost four o’clock in the afternoon and commented, “We’ve kept you all morning and now all afternoon as well. You must be bored stiff listening to us ramble on.”
“Quite the contrary,” I answered, “I’m finding I enjoy the company.”
“So do we,” Dan added, “so, why don’t you join us for dinner – say at six o’clock at the ‘Scupper’? They have a great seafood buffet and Bill and I planned on going there tonight.”
Before I could say ‘no’ they both insisted I join them commenting we could carry on our conversation over dinner. The break gave me time to freshen up, organize my notes, label my tapes, and annotate the cards I used to refer to the tape or notes I used for a particular quote or idea in a passage of the manuscript. Showered, dressed in clean casual pants and a polo shirt, I surveyed the finished product in the mirror before I departed. I hadn’t changed, still about five foot seven inches or so and weighing around a buck twenty-five and in my eyes, not someone who would “knock’em dead at the dance,” I left for the “Scupper.”
I arrived a little before six and noted the parking lot was fairly full (no cop across the street, thank you very much). The young man at the reservation desk inquired if I had a reservation and I responded I was with Mr. Iverson and Mr. Fielding. I was very courteously and graciously led to a back table with a great view of the river and the bluffs beyond. The slightly larger than average table was set for four and the chairs a little more upscale than the others in the supper club. The table and location was clearly one used for people with “VIP” status!
Bill and Dan both stood, greeting me with a hearty handshake and welcome. I was barely seated when our table waiter, Cameron (from the night before when I dined there) greeted me with “Good evening, Mr. Bentley; welcome back,” and stood ready to take my drink order.
“If you’re having the seafood buffet, I’d recommend a white wine; if you’re having beef or pork I’d recommend a red of some sort,” Dan commented.
The seafood buffet sounded great to me and I said so. Quickly, Dan said, “Cam, be a good lad and bring us a bottle of my favorite white, could you please?”
Cameron smiled, nodded his head knowingly, and left to fill the order.
“We’re waiting for another person to join us,” Bill explained. “He’s a cousin and moved in with us this afternoon right after you left. It’s a temporary arrangement until he can get things straightened out. Right now he’s in the men’s room but should be joining us shortly.”
Moments later, a young man, perhaps my age or slightly older, approached the table, occasionally stopping along the way to greet a person and chat a second before moving on toward us. He carried himself in a well-poised, confident, and inviting manner! Evidently, he was well known and liked by those he greeted! The man was two or three inches taller than me, weighed a little more I thought, and a well-defined body; slim hips, narrow waist, lithe appearing, but not the muscular athletic type. He gave me every impression of someone who was physically fit and stayed that way. His chest was not overly developed, but his shirt fit him snuggly, as did his slacks, making me curious what he concealed in the front and the back. As he came closer, he used his long, thin fingers to reach up and brush aside an errant couple of strands of hair from his brow, smiled broadly, and stepped up to the table. He looked more delicately average, almost artsy, yet well-developed physically, but not rugged!
The three of us stood in greeting and the young man reached out a hand, introducing himself, “Lee Fielding,” and clasped mine. He held it while I introduced myself and instead of letting it go, commented, “You’re the one who saved our cousin from a rather nasty experience last evening, aren’t you?”
“Yes,” I said with some embarrassment and offered my name. “Chad Bentley.”
“Nice to meet you,” he returned, still holding my hand.
Finally releasing it, the four of us sat. It was difficult to concentrate on what Bill and Dan trying to explain how wonderful the buffet since I found my eyes and my attention often being drawn across the table to look at Lee Fielding. As discreet I attempted to be, it was to no avail, because each time I looked, I’d see him looking at me, and he’d smile- just a small, knowing smile! He had the bluest eyes I’d ever seen, except on Dan Fielding. Perhaps that’s why he seemed vaguely familiar!
Bill and Dan stood and Dan broke our eye contact by asking, “Are you two going to join us for the buffet?”
The buffet was one of the best I’d seen! Entre choices ranged from deep friend perch, clam strips, calamari, crab cakes, baked salmon, and mussels with much more in between. Lee, standing behind me, leaned forward, and whispered in my ear, bringing a shiver to me, “The ‘Scupper’ only has the buffet during the summer. They couldn’t afford it during the college school year; the college kids would empty it many times over.”
I nodded, but wanted to lean back into him, but refrained. His voice, soft, alluring was almost like the “siren’s song” in mythology, beckoning me, tempting me! It brought a tickling in my ear, a shiver down my spine, and stiffening in my loins, but I resisted!
When I took a second plate for steamed mussels and piled it high, Lee leaned forward again, pressing just a little closer, and said, “I love those damned things, but I’m terribly allergic to them.” Once he stopped speaking, it left me wanting more, and not particularly mussels!
Lee and I said little during our meal, allowing Bill and Dan the opportunity to greet well-wishers and other acquaintances to express their congratulations. Soon it was time to leave and I realized I hadn’t taken down one note or even started up my tape recorder. In fact, I’d left my brief case in the truck; so much for carrying on our discussion over dinner!
When Cameron brought the check and I asked for mine, I was politely informed the treat was on Bill and Dan. Bill shooed off my protest informing me I was their guest.
“Besides, he added, “you’ve got to come back out the house tonight to finish the interview we had going this afternoon. We won’t be available in the morning, but in the afternoon and evening. Sunday will be out altogether, so you best take advantage of the opportunity.”
How could I refuse? I followed their car, being driven by Lee, out to their house. This time we sat in the living room; Bill and Dan together on a couch, Lee sitting in a big wing-back chair off to the side, but yet facing me, and I sat directly across from Bill and Dan on another couch. A small coffee table separated us and gave me a perfect place to set my tape recorder and brief case on as I took notes and asked questions.
Lee fixed them each a brandy and they sipped those while I got everything ready. Just as I was going to ask my first question, Bill asked, “Do you mind if Lee sits in? We think we would like him to hear our story.”
Of course I didn’t mind; I just hoped I could concentrate on the task at hand and not what I wanted in my hand or somewhere else.
Bill scratched his chin a moment and asked aloud, “Where was I?”
Before I could refer to my notes, he announced, “Now I remember!” and began.
**
The walk home gave me time to think about my encounter with Dan Fielding and how I was feeling about what happened and how I felt about him. My heart was doing flip-flops and my stomach was getting jittery every time I thought about him; his clear blue eyes, his smile, his voice, and the exciting things he did to me. My little dickie was just as hard as a roofing nail and my bum-hole still twitched from his finger being buried knuckle deep up there. I almost had to stop and give my little boy cock a good jacking to take away the itch I had. Of course, I couldn’t shoot any jizz like the big boys but it wouldn’t be long since I was just beginning to drip a little drop or two when I did spasm out. I knew this for certain, I didn’t get near the look at what he had in his bibbies as I wanted and I pretty much decided I wanted another chance at that! It definitely was larger in size, more fleshy looking, and had the cock head covered with skin, unlike mine. I wondered what it would feel like or better yet, taste like!
The more I thought and the closer I got to home, the more confused I got. I didn’t know what “love” was other than what Momma, Grandma, and Grandpa saying they loved me, but I figured meeting Dan was the start of it, I hoped. I worried he might just be “funning” with me, teasing me, and once I got hooked, he’d play with me some more, and then tell everyone else and they’d make fun of me. No way did I want to be labeled “queer-boy” and made the laughing stock of the new school I was going to go to! I was going to have to learn a lot more about that Fielding Boy before I decided I really like him or not.
It was late afternoon when I arrived home. Grandpa was the Post Master (appointed by FDR) and wouldn’t be home until five-thirty or so, even though the post office closed at five. He and Grandma had a small flock of chickens (as did several families who lived outside the downtown area) and my duties once I arrived, was to feed, water, and gather the eggs, twice a day. After a little more than two weeks doing my chores, I came to really hate chickens; no, more like ‘loathe.’ Chickens area dirty creature and they stink! Grandpa thought having chores to do for a boy was important; I really, really differed with him when it came to chickens!
I slipped on a pair of milk house boots to wear in the chicken yard and coop so I wouldn’t get anything on my bare feet. After filling the food containers and the water containers, I gathered the eggs (Grandpa’s hens were great layers and we never suffered from the lack of eggs), took them to the house, where I rinsed my boots at the outside faucet and left them on the porch, and went inside. I put the eggs on the counter, stood a moment listening to Momma and Grandma visit while they canned peas from the garden, and after grabbing a couple of cookies from the cookie jar, I went to the living room, turned on the radio and tuned it to the station where my favorite program “Bobby Benson and the B _ (bar) B Riders” would come on.
As I settled into a chair to listen to the radio show, I could hear Momma and Grandma talking about some job that was going to open at the bank and how Momma was going to apply for it. I paid little attention after their discussion once my radio show came on.
At the dinner table that evening, while we were finishing our meal and before the table was cleared, I announced, “I think I made a new friend today, Momma!”
“Oh, and who is that?”
“Danny Fielding.”
It was suddenly very quiet! Grandpa raised his eyebrows, Grandma coughed softly into her napkin, and Momma just looked at me- sort of funny like!
I suddenly got very nervous, fearful I’d said or done something wrong, so, in an effort to explain who he was and give Momma more information, I stumbled on.
“He said he lives with his aunt and uncle ‘cause he doesn’t have a daddy, just like me.”
I knew the minute I said it, I shouldn’t have! Momma’s eyes began tearing up remembering how Daddy never came home. She missed him more than me. I quickly apologized, “I’m sorry Momma; I wasn’t thinking was I?”
“That’s okay, son,” she replied. “What else do you know about this Fielding boy?”
I swallowed real hard before continuing.
“Well, he said he didn’t know who his daddy was because him momma never married and his momma died and that’s why he lives with his aunt and uncle. I know he has some cousins, because they were with him at the school grounds when I was flying my kite.”
I thought that probably would be enough information for everyone at the table. No way was I going to tell them he’d played with my cock, stuck his finger up my asshole, and invited me to take a look at his wiener; or that I was hoping what else he’d stick up my poop-chute was attached to his crotch and had hair around it! Nope – they didn’t need to know that!
“Isn’t he older than you?” she asked.
“A little; he said he’s fifteen and we’ll be going to the same school in the fall and I think it’d be great to have a friend who could help me learn my way around.” I wanted to add, “around his cock” but I refrained. No sense giving Grandma or Grandpa a heart attack!
“He didn’t tell me who his aunt and uncle are or where they lived,” I added.
“Doesn’t he live with Henry and Agnes Randal?” Grandma asked Grandpa.
He hesitated and, evidently thinking he wouldn’t violate any laws or discourage me any, answered, “Yeah, he does, along with the rest of the brood. Grace Fielding was his mother and who knows, really, who the father was. Rumor was, at the time, she was pretty active.”
“Now George,” Grandma cautioned clicking her tongue several times. “It’s not nice to speak ill of the dead, besides, it was nice Agnes took the boy in to raise with hers.”
“Well, there’s plenty of company out there. Henry just couldn’t seem to leave Agnes alone and his boys aren’t much different.”
I wanted to ask what he meant, but I thought keeping quiet would do me more good. No sense changing the topic of conversation when it sounded as if things were just going to get better and better.
“The Fielding’s are from across the river and are scattered all over the place,” Grandpa said, continuing the conversation. “But the Randal’s are among the older families in our area, but not known to be the most ambitious.”
Henry Randal, as the oldest boy, inherited the farm from his father, married Agnes Fielding when she was just fifteen or so, and proceeded to raise a large family. Grandpa tried to remember what order the “brood” as he referred to them were in age and with help from Grandma and Momma, finally put it together. Robert was the oldest and married, Carl next and married, David next (married), Phyllis was married and living in La Crosse, Gary (not married and living at home), Bethany (married and living in Prairie du Chien), followed by Samuel and Ross who still lived at home. The last two, Grandpa thought, were about my age or so. He really wasn’t certain.
The Randal’s lived on two hundred and forty acres of hill and bottom ground south of town about five miles. The bottom ground, although the soil was rich and could produce a good crop, sometimes flooded so there were years it produced nothing.
“It’s a damn good thing they live in a big house,” Grandpa snorted, “Robert’s about the only male that doesn’t live there with his family. The rest of the older boys just seemed to head for home, except the girls, and make babies except for Gary. I don’t know how they can make it financially or stand each other living in a human rabbit warren! If it wasn’t for the pensions Carl and David draw, I suppose they’d starve to death.”
“George!” Grandma scolded.
“He’s old enough to know about where babies come from!” Grandpa snorted back.
“I don’t mean that,” Grandma snapped. “You know very well those boys earned every cent they get from the government after what happened to them. Henry Randal has never asked for a dime from anybody and you know that as well!”
It sounded as if Grandma was on my side – I hoped anyway! I had to know why two of the older Randal boys drew a pension, so I asked.
The four older boys were drafted when the war broke out and during it. Robert and Carl ended up serving in Europe, David in the South Pacific, and Gary somewhere in Europe. Carl and David were both wounded seriously enough to draw a pension and disability. Carl lost his left arm just below the elbow and David his right leg below the knee. They each had a couple of small children, boys, Grandpa thought and Gary, it seems, came back fairly intact and but Grandpa raised his eyebrows when he said it. They all helped out on the farm and did a lot of hunting and fishing.
I wondered how Carl and David could do anything around a farm or hunt or fish when they were missing and arm or a leg. I especially wondered why Grandpa raised his eyebrows when mentioning Gary. Agnes and Henry Randal had a house full of people and Grandpa, for some reason, didn’t have a very high opinion of their work habits or the way they behaved. Evidently, the Randal’s stuck together and wouldn’t back down from a fight, if it was necessary. I gathered from listening to him, he thought they didn’t take things as seriously as he thought they should.
“Those boys and Henry too, will drop everything and go hunting or fishing and let the work set until they get back. They always seemed to have enough money to go to the fair or buy shotgun shells or rifle ammunition,” he said, ending the conversation.
I thought they sounded like a fun bunch to be around, especially after what Danny did to me!***
Thank you for reading “Fielding Boy” – Chapter Five-“The human heart, at whatever age, opens only to the heart that opens in return.”
(Maria Edgeworth)
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