Chapter 1

It was the kind of perfect summer day you hope will never end. I floated lazily on a rubber raft in the Gulf of Mexico, oblivious to the noisy splashes and cries of the swimmers and tourists around me. The sky was the most beautiful shade of blue you can imagine, and there wasn't a cloud in sight. A gentle breeze blew in from the East. For all I knew, I was in the middle of the ocean. The smell of salt water was overpowering, and the hot Florida sun was searing, but I didn't care. I had recently turned 13, officially making me a teenager. Life was great.

It was the last Sunday of August, 1968, in St. Petersburg, Florida -- the very last weekend before school started. The public address speakers by the lifeguard stand blasted out The Happenings' "See You in September," a golden oldie from a couple of years before. I hummed along with the music as the waves gently rocked me up and down. The cool seawater sloshed over the raft, soothing my sunburn-ravaged chest and legs.

Just as the last notes of the song faded and the WLCY deejay began his endless chatter, I sensed a sudden premonition. It seemed impossible. Everything was so perfect: the weather was wonderful, and the raft couldn't be more comfortable. But despite the near-summer scene, I knew there was a black cloud on the distant horizon.

I was dreading the first day of school: 9th Grade. Just the thought of it made me wince. For the past few years, I'd been going to an advanced school in town for brainy kids -- "The LaFontaine Preparatory Institute." I'd made it up to 8th grade okay, but over the last six months, my grades had started to slide. I just didn't seem to give a damn anymore.

As if to echo my thoughts, the radio began playing a new song -- "Give a Damn," by Spanky & Our Gang. I giggled. It wasn't often you heard that word on the radio, at least not in 1968.

I sighed. Since I was little, I had always been the brain in school. A week after I started elementary, they'd bumped me up to third grade when I was just six. I spent the next four years being tormented and antagonized by most of the other kids, who were always older than I was. At least when I was at the LaFontaine school, I was surrounded by other brainy nerds, most of whom weren't much of a threat to me. But my parents were so furious at my mediocre grades, they'd given me the death sentence: tomorrow, they were making me go back to public school. Dad said if I pulled my grades back up, and proved I could be a disciplined student, they'd consider letting me go back to LaFontaine -- next year.

I felt overcome by a terrible foreboding. I knew most of the kids in high school would be bigger and at least two years older than me. Without the relative sanctity of the private school, now I was getting thrown to the wolves. I'd already had nightmares about how I was going to deal with regular school kids again, for the first time in a long time. But I figured I'd get through it somehow; either my smartass mouth or my fast-thinking brain would keep me out of trouble. I grinned, remembering some of the mischief my friends and I had gotten into the year before. All innocent fun, but Jesus, we sure drove the teachers nuts.

At least Tampa Central High was bound to be easier than the LaFontaine. No advanced classes, no 20 pages' worth of homework every night. This is gonna be a piece of cake, I thought. I grinned to myself and started to carefully roll over on my back. Easy does it, I thought, taking care to not to lose my balance on the raft. I sighed with relief. The cool water felt good on my back, which I knew without looking was already red and sunburned after a day at the beach. My skin would probably be peeling for a week, but I was too happy to care.

Suddenly, without warning, I felt the raft lurch up in the air and flip over. Still half asleep, I groggily tried to open up my mouth to yell, but all I got for my efforts was a throat full of salt water.

"Gotcha, fuckwad!"

I floundered, choking and spitting, and grabbed the raft only to see my best friend Schuyler -- "Sky" for short -- who was treading water five feet away, hysterical with laughter.

"You dick!" I screamed.

I tore after him in the surf, while he raced away as fast as he could. He was a decent enough swimmer, but he was no match for me; eight years on local swim teams had given me an edge he couldn't possibly beat. I caught up with him in no time, grabbed him by the neck and yanked him under water as hard as I could. After a few seconds, I pulled him back up to the surface and yelled at him as loud as I could.

"You give, asswipe?"

Sky could only glub, but I could tell he was still almost doubled-over in laughter. I grabbed him again, and pulled him down even deeper, this time locking my muscular legs around him. Ten long seconds passed, while I poked him in the ribs a couple of times, determined to go for victory. He fought me valiantly, but finally nodded in defeat, bubbled up to the surface, then spit out a mouthful of saltwater, still laughing.

"Alright, alright, Wil -- I give!" he said, coughing and sputtering.

I playfully spit a stream of water in his face and laughed maniacally. After pausing to catch his breath, Sky suddenly splashed me right back, which unleashed an immediate and intense tidal wave battle between the two of us. After a few minutes, we finally declared it a draw, and we floated in the water and laughed hysterically.

This was the kind of relationship my best friend and I'd had for almost as long as either of us could remember. Sky was kind of like the older brother I never had. We'd been through many adventures together, usually with him daring me to do something stupid, and me following, like an idiot. When we were little kids, he once goaded me into throwing a rock through a school window; little did either of us know our teacher was still in the classroom at the time. One Halloween, we covered car windshields with shaving cream, and even once broke into an abandoned house on Bayshore Boulevard. I had my first cigarette with Sky. Last summer, he dared me to jump off the downtown bridge into Tampa Bay, and damned if I didn't do it -- with my clothes on, yet. Little did I know how many people had gotten hurt trying to do it at low tide, but I was stupid and lucky in those days.

Sky's family lived just a couple of blocks down from us on El Prado Street in Tampa. Even though he was a almost two years older than me, we'd been kind of thrust together when I got advanced into third grade in school. Sky was one of the few kids I knew who never seemed to care about our age difference. He actually treated me like an equal during all the years we were together. Even when we both didn't see each other every day, after I started going to the Institute -- "Brainiac school," he called it -- we still hung out occasionally after school and on weekends.

Despite my brains -- my mother and father constantly reminded me that I was supposed to be a genius and hounded me about my grades -- I always let my friend get me in trouble. I honestly didn't know why, and I didn't care. I guess it was just the way it was meant to be: Wil and Sky, Sky and Wil… we were the dynamic duo, just like Batman & Robin on TV.

We grabbed my raft, which was dangerously close to drifting out to sea, and leisurely dog-paddled back to shore, laughing and cursing each other under our breath.

"THERE you boys are!" yelled an angry female voice from the shore. We looked up to see Sky's older sister, Carol, looking reasonably-cool in dark glasses and a tight-fitting bathing suit that left little to the imagination.

"We were ready to call the lifeguards and have them drag you back in!" she yelled. "C'mon, we've gotta go, now. Mom's really pissed!"

"Shaddup, Carol," Sky snapped as we sloshed to shore. "We're here, so just can it." He shot her The Look of Doom.

Sky didn't get along well with his sister, who was already 18. She glared at both of us. I grinned, and her face softened as she laughed, then shook her head. Somehow, Carol always liked me, and I liked her, too. I dunno what it was -- we had some kind of connection, I guess, like the "good vibrations" in the song. I caught myself glancing down at her breasts, which were looking awesome today. I felt a stirring in my bathing suit, which felt tighter than normal.

"I'm sorry, Carol," I said, sincerely. "It's all my fault. Sky was just trying to bring me back in. Tell your mom it wasn't him this time."

She rolled her eyes. She knew neither of us was ever up to any good, especially when we were together.

"Alright, you two," she said, exasperated, "but you better watch out -- one more screw-up, and your beach days are numbered."

She swatted our behinds, and we scooted across the warm sand and across the broiling-hot parking lot, hopping all the way on our burning toes.

Just as we reached the family car, Sky jabbed me in the ribs. "Pssst! Wil!"

"What?" I hissed back.

He gave me a conspiratorial look. "Didja catch the pubes in her suit?" he whispered. I glanced back to his mom and sister, who were trundling back to the car with an ice chest, a folding chair, and a beach umbrella.

"What're you talking about, doofus?" I whispered back, thoroughly confused.

He grinned and pointed over with his eyes. Quizzically, I followed the view just as Carol walked up to our parking space. Sure enough, I could see there were a couple of errant curly light brown hairs visible in the very crotch of her bathing suit. I literally fell down laughing, and Sky grinned like a hyena. He took one look at me, then burst out laughing at the top of his lungs. He wound up on his hands and knees on the pavement right next to me, chortling until tears of laughter rolled down his face.

"What're they laughing about?" asked his Mom, who was wearing a large sun hat. By then, both of us had dissolved into disheveled heaps on the hot asphalt.

Carol frowned. Somehow, she knew she was the butt of a joke, and she didn't like it one bit. "Mother," she wailed, "they've been acting like complete idiots all afternoon!"

Sky's mother rolled her eyes and said patiently, "Carol, they're just boys being boys." She unlocked the doors, and pointed inside, with a no-nonsense look on her face. "We've got to get back home, now, you two. And don't forget, Schuyler -- it's the first day of school tomorrow!"

That did it. Sky and I both winced. He hated it when his mom or dad called him by his real name.

"That's right, Mom," Carol echoed. "Both our little boys are starting High School tomorrow!" She shot Sky a withering smile. Our laughter stopped immediately as the reality of our fate hit us.

That meant that summer was almost officially over. Dejectedly, we scrambled up, brushed the sand off our butts, and crawled in the back seat. Sky slammed the car door shut, and we rode the 25-mile trip over Gandy Bridge back to Tampa in silence, each of us lost in our own thoughts.

 Chapter 2

"You scared about tomorrow?" Sky asked, bouncing a Superball off the ceiling of his incredibly-messy room.

We both lay on his bed, still wearing our now-bone-dry bathing suits, and nursing our sunburns from the day at the beach. We'd just finished wolfing down some McDonald burgers that we'd picked up on the way home. I had my hands behind my head, still not sure if I should tell my friend about my gnawing fear.

"I dunno… I guess a little," I muttered. "Aaaaa, look -- if nothing else, there should be about 600 other new ninth-graders that'll be as screwed-up as we are."

"Good point," he replied, as he continued to idly bounce the ball against the ceiling. In the distance, I heard Sky's sister yell from a room down the hall, "Mother! Tell him to stop making that noise!"

I punched him lightly in the shoulder. "Sky, you better cut it out. The next thing you know, your Dad'll be in here, and he'll slap the shit out of both of us."

He grinned his patented million-dollar smile. My heart skipped a beat. Sky was amazingly good-looking -- blonde hair, blue eyes, perfect teeth, and he was never without that little gold chain around his neck. Sky was probably the closest thing to a TV star I'd ever met in real life. I wasn't the only one who noticed. His mother always theorized he got away with as much as he did simply because of his drop-dead gorgeous looks, but his sister insisted he was the Devil in disguise. I grinned back at him. I think they were both right.

As for me, I dunno why, but lately, something about the way Sky looked when he smiled at me gave me a weird feeling in my stomach. At times like this, when I was this close to him, my mouth went dry, and it confused the hell out of me. I didn't know exactly how actors or male models got a job or what they did, but I did know in the back of my mind that Sky could easily be one, once he got older.

"Alright, alright," he said, chuckling. "Not because of Carol, but only because you asked me nicely." He reached up and put the ball back on a shelf behind him, then turned back to me. "So, you gonna go out for the swim team at school, Wil?"

"Maybe," I said, nonchalantly. I'd thought about it. I was probably the most un-athletic kid on two feet in the known universe, but the one thing I could do was swim. At the ripe old age of 13, I had racked up an impressive pile of ribbons, and had recently helped my team win trophies for the 200-meter relay. But our opponents at that level had generally been pretty lame.

Sky, on the other hand, was a natural athlete. You name it -- baseball, basketball, track… he was an ace at everything. He probably outweighed me by 20 or 30 pounds and was at least four inches taller than I was, since he was already 15. Like me, Sky had a pretty decent chest, but his arms were almost twice as big as mine, like he had little footballs in his biceps. I thought he was at least as muscular as Robin, the Boy Wonder on TV.

But I was no slouch, either. Because of all my swimming over the years, I didn't have a spec of fat on me. I was more wiry, and even though I wore glasses and was just barely five feet tall, I didn't take shit from anybody. Luckily for me, most of the time Sky had been there to beat the crap out of any assailants bigger than me. Maybe that's why we got along so well together -- "the brains and the brawn," as he put it.

"My brother says high school is a piece of cake," he said, leaning over to turn the radio on. A familiar Beatles tune popped out of the speaker. "You're not gonna wear that Brainiac geek outfit of yours to school tomorrow, right?" he asked idly.

I shook my head. For the last two years, I had to wear matching coats, ties and pants when I attended the LaFontaine Institute. Sky was right. It was a geeky uniform, and I never felt comfortable with it on. "I think I'll just wear the kind of stuff you wear," I said hopefully, knowing full well I'd never look as good in it as he did.

"And don't forget," he said, as he slid back on the bed next to me. "You gotta dress out for Phys Ed. That means the official shorts, showers and everything."

"Like I care," I said, trying to look nonchalant while a cold chill hit me in the pit of my stomach. I already knew what to expect, having been through the painful ordeal of locker rooms every past summer on the swim team. Even though I was a little short for my age, I was blessed -- or cursed, depending on how you looked at it -- with the Larson family trait, which was a large penis.

When I say "large," I mean, abnormally out-of-proportion with the rest of me. Make no mistake: this was a man-sized dick on a boy. I'd always been a little embarrassed getting undressed in public places. It'd been even worse over this past summer. Lately, I'd been subjected to occasional stares and ridicule from some of the other swimmers, but the coach stopped that pretty quick, calling them "a buncha homos" and telling my teammates to shut up. Later, in the privacy of his office, Coach gently advised me that I might want to get a slightly larger pair of Speedos or maybe a jockstrap, since I clearly was having a little trouble keeping everything in my suit. I looked down at the floor during his lecture, but he laughed and said, "listen, son -- don't let the others ride ya. Trust me, you're totally normal. And if you ask me, they're just jealous. The day'll come when you'll be glad you're the way you are. And so will your girlfriends." He gave me a knowing wink and pushed me gently through the door and back to my locker.

In addition to my prodigious member, I was embarrassed by my relative lack of body hair. I'd never seen Sky naked before, but judging by his legs, he was already about ten times hairier than me -- a lot further along the path to manhood. I stole a glance over at him on the bed, and could see a small forest of blond hairs growing on his thighs. He even had a little thatch under his arms. Me, I had a only few brown wisps down below, and that was about it. I felt like a little kid next to a real teenager.

"I said, are you LISTENING to me?" Sky asked, exasperated.

I looked up to see him staring at me like I'd gone to Mars. I hadn't heard a single word he'd said.

"Sorry, man," I said, distractedly. "I'm just thinking about tomorrow."

He nodded at me. "Yeah. You've never had to take a shower at Phys Ed before, right?"

I winced. The closest thing we'd had to Phys Ed at LaFontaine was the Chess Club. "No," I said. "But don't forget, I've been on the Junior Tampa city-wide swim team for six years. I know what guys look like naked."

"Yeah," he said, giving me an amused grin, "but those are just little kids, Wil. You're gonna be with the big guys, now -- real teenagers! I bet you'll pop a woodie! Shit, you got one right now!" He pointed over to my crotch and giggled.

I looked down. My bathing suit looked totally normal to me, but I gulped, realizing I had a noticeably-bigger bulge than Sky.

"It is not!" I protested. "Trust me, you'd know if I had a boner, you dip-shit." I slid off the bed, and started for the door. "Look, Sky, I gotta get home. I need to get ready for school."

"No, wait!" Sky ran to the door, blocking my exit. "You got a little boner, don'tcha!" he taunted, wiggling his eyebrows.

I was getting mad, and my face was getting redder every second. "You pea-brain, I said I didn't!"

"Then what's this?" he said, gently poking me in the groin.

I recoiled. "Watch that, you homo!"

"You're the homo!"

"I'm not the one poking somebody in the dick, dork-face!" I snapped. I nervously adjusted my family jewels.

He giggled again. It was the same infectious laugh that I always loved -- not vicious, not cruel, but nonetheless a mischievous laugh, from somebody who was definitely up to no good.

I finally grinned and shook my head. It was impossible for anyone to stay mad at Sky for very long.

"C'mon, man -- admit it," he taunted. "You've got a boner. My older brother Bill and I get 'em all the time. Show me."

I gulped. I'd heard some whispers at school about "beating off" a couple of months ago. I'd looked up 'masturbation' in the reference books at the library months ago, and had the general idea of what it was all about. I'd even tried it a couple of times in private, but aside from a curiously pleasant feeling, I didn't get much out of it. I didn't see what the point was. But I was still acutely embarrassed about my oversized endowment.

Sky frowned. "Alright, look -- I'll show you mine. I got nothin' to hide." With that, he yanked his bathing suit down to his ankles, exposing a skinny, boyish 5-inch erection, with a decent-sized patch of blonde hairs on top. An almost-invisible trail of curls led up to his belly-button. He looked at me, expectantly.

"Pretty big, eh?" he said, wiggling it comically from side to side. "This is what a real teenage boner looks like, Wil."

Despite our closeness, Sky had never seen me naked before. I guess I was just too modest up 'till now. Shit, I thought as I felt the blood surge to my groin. He's gonna laugh at me for sure, just like the guys on the swim team.

"Chicken!" He grinned and started squawking like a bird and flapping his imaginary wings, while kicking his bathing suit across the room.

"Alright," I said at last. "But if you laugh at me, I swear, Sky, I'll kick your ass."

Sky grinned evilly. "I bet yours isn't nearly as big as mine! Watch this!" He suddenly let go of his erection and made it bounce up and down, using his powerful stomach muscles. He giggled proudly.

I felt my groin harden in seconds, and my heart was pounding in my ears. My mouth felt dry.

"C'mon, Wil," he taunted. "Let's see it! You've seen mine already." He reached down and wiggled it back and forth, leering at me. "I dare ya."

I sighed. Silently, I took two steps forward, pulled down my bathing suit, and reluctantly revealed my prized possession in all its glory. It throbbed in time with my heartbeat, and began to stiffen almost straight up.

"There. Happy now?" I grimaced as I looked down in embarrassment, and braced myself for the jeers of laughter that I knew would inevitably follow.

Much to my surprise, he was silent. I looked up and saw his face. Sky was wide-eyed, his mouth agape. I trembled slightly and felt a wave of shame wash over me.

"Holy shit!" he whispered, sitting down on the bed. "I thought my brother's was big, but yours…" He shook his head in disbelief.

"And I barely have any pubic hair at all," I wailed. "I'm gonna be a goddamned freak at Phys Ed tomorrow."

Sky was still wide-eyed. "Jesus, Wil, I'm sorry, man," he said, quietly. "Honest, I didn't mean to embarrass you." He nodded towards my groin. "How big is it, anyway?"

I rolled my eyes. "Does it really matter?"

"Lemme grab a ruler."

He raced across to his desk and grabbed a foot-long wooden stick and pushed me down on the edge of the bed.

"I dunno," I protested, trying to sit up. "I think it's like seven or eight inches…"

"Hold still!" he hissed. "I wanna see this for myself."

I felt strangely excited. Every time he touched my groin, I felt a little electric shock roll through me. Why was I feeling this way? I felt something like this…when? Shit -- earlier today, when I saw Carol in her bathing suit! What was this all about?

Sky let out a low whistle. "Fuck, man! You're almost nine-and-a-half inches, hard! Mine's like half that! My brother's was just six inches, and he's in college! Mine's five inches on a good day!"

I didn't know what to say. Sky's was the first erect penis I had ever seen, other than my own, or some line drawings I saw in a medical book.

He leaned over to get a closer look. "Man, you got a lot of veins in this thing," he whispered, admiringly. "I can barely get my hand around it." he said, as he wiggled my engorged member back and forth like it was some kind of obscene rubber doll.

"OW! Watch it, man!" I cried.

"Ssssh, keep it down! Lemme lock the door." He raced across the room and clicked the knob.

Good idea, I thought. It'd be just great if his mom and dad walked in on us now.

Breathlessly, he climbed up on the bed beside me. "You shootin' sperm yet?"

"What?" I asked.

"You know… cumming!"

I was puzzled. I had read three entire books on sex in the public library, but never saw that word before. (What can I say? It was only 1968, and the sexual revolution hadn't quite hit yet, at least not in Tampa.)

Suddenly, realization dawned on me. "Oh, you mean an orgasm," I said. "I dunno… maybe I did and just didn't know it."

Sky giggled uncontrollably and fell back on the bed in hysterics. "You've got a nine-inch cock and you haven't shot any sperm yet? Jesus, you don't know anything, Wil! Some genius you are!"

I frowned. Usually, between me and Sky, I was the one to discover this stuff first. Maybe that was my problem: I read too many encyclopedias, and not as many issues of Playboy, like the ones I occasionally stole on the sly from my Dad.

Sky sat on the edge of the bed and spread open his muscular legs. "Lemme show you, Wil," he said, with an air of excitement. "Watch me. Just grab it, and move your hand up and down like this."

I stood and stared as Sky lay back and started pleasuring himself. I tried to imitate his hand moves, but his technique didn't work for me. "Am I supposed to feel something yet?" I asked.

Sky grinned. "Trust me, you will. Here, lemme do it for ya." With that, he sat up, reached over, and grabbed my iron-hard erection. Tingles of pleasure shot through my body.

"Fuck, this thing really is huge!" he said, admiringly. "You're hung like a horse, you know it?"

Where does this guy get these words? "Hung?" I asked, quizzically.

He rolled his eyes. "That means you have a big dick, dummy. And shit, look at your balls," he marveled, cupping them gently in his left hand. "My nuts are like, well… walnuts. But yours are almost the size of eggs! Man, this is too cool," he said, in a low voice, not taking his eyes off me.

I looked down and did a quick size comparison. I was embarrassed to see that mine was more than twice as big as Sky's boyish equipment. I sighed. Maybe I really was a freak.

Sky leaned closer, letting his erection bounce down, then grasped my member firmly, but gently. "Just lay back," he whispered, breathlessly. "My brother Bill and I did this to each other over Spring break."

I did as he asked and lay back, propping myself up with my elbows to watch. After a minute or two, I began to feel something stirring. My pulse quickened, and I started panting.

"You feelin' it yet?" Sky asked. He used his other hand to fondle my balls, and I felt another twinge surge through my groin.

I gulped and nodded. "A little," I said, meekly.

"Lemme try something else." Kneeling on the floor, he took hold of me with both hands, stroking me faster.

Oh, man, I thought, my heart racing. NOW, something was definitely happening. I felt some kind of spark rocket through my body. Was it…

"Shit!" I panted. "Sky, you've gotta stop! I think I'm gonna pee!"

"No, this is it," he whispered, and he started pumping faster. Seconds later, I felt something warm moving up from deep inside me, like the mercury rising in a thermometer. Before I knew what was happening, fireworks went off and I erupted like a volcano, almost blacking out from the sensation. Milliseconds later, I felt something hot, wet and slimy spatter onto my belly. I moaned and fell back on the bed, exhausted, as if I had just swam a 3-minute mile.

Sky leaned over close to me. "How was that?" he asked, beaming.

"Holy… holy shit," I gasped. "I guess… I guess THAT was an orgasm." I tried to gather my wits as I caught my breath. "I gotta tell the Encyclopedia Britannica they left a few things out of the Sex Ed chapter."

We laughed together. Sky leaned over and lay beside me on one elbow, his warm skin almost touching my left side.

"I told ya! Isn't it great?" he grinned. "Now, it's my turn. I gotta shoot… my balls really ache, man. That's what happens when you really gotta do it. Here I go!"

Sky lay back beside me and started pumping his little tool. Looking at it more closely, I could see it was like a miniature replica of mine, only hairier. After just a dozen quick strokes, he reached down with his other hand, grabbed his testicles and started panting.

"Oh, god… I'm cumming!" Sky suddenly tensed his back and thrust his hips as spurt after spurt of white goop shot out of him like a cannon, hitting him in the chin and all over his muscular chest, which rose and fell. We lay there for a few seconds, exhausted.

"Shit!" I whispered, impressed with the intensity and volume of his performance. "Is it always like that for you?" I looked down at my own sticky groin and belly, which had just a few drops of clear liquid on it, and then looked at Sky's body. "Hey," I said. "Yours is all white! Howcum mine is different?"

He laughed and rolled over slightly. "Howcum your cum is different, you mean?" He grinned. "My brother says when most kids start out, they can barely shoot any sperm. I've been doin' this for almost two years. Now, I shoot just about as much as my brother," he explained, proudly.

"You've been doing this for that long?" I asked. My face fell. I didn't think me and Sky had ever had any secrets from each other before. For once, he had left me out of something, and it looked like it was something really cool.

Sky looked embarrassed. "Shit, I'm sorry, Wil. My brother said I shouldn't talk about this stuff to other guys. They'd think I was a homo or somethin'."

"You mean like a homosexual? A guy who has intercourse with men?" I asked. I had read about this stuff in the encyclopedia, but never quite grasped what it was all about. What I needed was a goddamned book with more pictures.

Sky wiped off his chest and stomach with a kleenex. "Shit, Wil," he laughed, "do you always have to sound like a professor? You know what I mean -- a pervert, a queer… a HOMO!"

I thought for a moment. I sure didn't want to be one of those. It sounded pretty bad. But it couldn't mean how I felt when I looked at Sky. This was just being buddies, right?

"Here," he said, tossing me a tissue, "take this and wipe yourself off. And be sure to get rid of the evidence in the trashcan. Carol once discovered my beat-off rag under my bed, and she razzed me for a week about it."

We sat around naked on his bed and talked for another twenty minutes about masturbation -- or "beating off" as he called it, along with half a dozen other names for it. Sky still marveled at my dick. I was glad he at least didn't call me a freak, like some of the guys on the swim team did.

"Is everybody else at school real hairy, Sky?" I asked nervously.

He shrugged his shoulders. "You've seen my brother -- he's only four years older than me, and he already shaves and has chest hair and everything. I guess my family's just hairier than yours, that's all."

I grinned. "That's 'cause you're all a bunch of apes, asshole!" I retorted.

"Look, relax, Wil," he said. "You said it yourself -- everybody in high school is scared to death the first day. They're gonna be so worried about not poppin' a boner in gym class, they'll be too scared to look at anybody else. And besides, look at your dick now."

I looked down.

"It looks a lot smaller now," he said. "It's not that much bigger than mine, now, is it?"

I grabbed the ruler and held it in position. "Almost 5 inches soft," I said.

Sky shook his head in amazement. "Fuck! Mine's only 3, soft." He looked down at mine, then back at my face and grinned. "You're pretty cool for a 13 year-old, Wil."

I sighed. "I hope the other guys in the locker room think so."

My friend laughed. "Just keep your back to the rest of the guys, leave your towel on, and whatever you do: don't get a hard-on! They'll probably just ignore you."

I nodded. Then I looked over at the clock by his bed. "Shit!" I cried. "It's already 7:30! My folks will kill me!"

I jumped off the bed and tugged on my swimsuit and T-shirt. "Look, I gotta go, Sky," I said. "I'll see ya at school tomorrow, OK? We won't know our class schedules 'till tomorrow morning, but look for me in the lunchroom at noon!"

"Alright. Get outta here!"

He threw a pillow at me, but I jumped as it sailed past my head. But before I unlocked the door, he darted over and put his hand on the knob.

"Look, Wil," he said, quietly. "Don't tell anybody about this, OK?"

I was startled. "Shit, no, Sky. Just between us."

"You swear?"

"I swear."

"Best friends?"

I grinned. "To the end."

He nodded and playfully punched my arm. I raced home on my bike and made it back in record time. I walked through the front door, hoping the coast was clear, and closed it quietly. As it was, nobody even noticed I was home. Mom, Dad, and my stupid sister Sharon were all engrossed in watching Ed Sullivan on the black & white TV in the living room.

The coast was clear. I started to tiptoe upstairs, but the wooden stair step creaked and let out several loud cracks, giving me away. I winced and braced myself.

"Wil!" called my Mom. "Did you get any dinner at the Jones' house?"

Won't they ever leave me alone, I thought. "Yes, Mom."

"Did you have a good time at the beach?"

"Yeah." But a much better time in Sky's bedroom, I thought.

"That's nice, honey. Don't forget, you have school tomorrow!"

I stopped, halfway up the stairs, but refused to turn around. "I'd rather go back to LaFontaine," I said, trying to keep the whine out of my voice.

I heard my dad get up off the couch and walk over to the foot of the stairs. "We've already had this conversation, William," he said, wearily. "I'm not going to throw away good money on an expensive private school, only to watch you get four C's, two D's, and an F again."

I nodded meekly, then trudged the rest of the way up the stairs.

"Don't worry, son!" Dad called after me. "You'll get to make a lot of new friends at Tampa Central. You know, your mother and I went there for high school in the 50's, and we had a great time!"

"Yeah, right," I muttered to myself as I made it down the hall and slammed the door to my room. "Only you weren't two years younger than everybody else."

I turned off the light, yanked off my swimsuit, threw it in the hamper, and leapt into bed. I thought about everything Sky and I had talked about and done at his place. It was like a whole new world had opened up. Uh-oh. I felt a stirring between my legs. I leaned back on the pillow and sighed.

What the hell, I thought. Maybe I can try this again. I started massaging my groin, and felt it spring to life, quickly elongating to its full length. Just as I started leisurely stroking it, my door suddenly burst open and my stupid little sister yelled out in a sing-song voice, "you came home laaaaa-aaaaate!"

I quickly yanked the covers up to my chin. "Sharon!" I yelled at the top of my lungs, "get the hell outta my room!"

"Mommmmm!" she wailed in the hallway. "Wil said 'hell' again!"

I'll say a lot worse than that if you don't close the fucking door, you little bitch, I thought.

"Wil, will you two keep it down?" my father yelled from downstairs. "We're trying to watch Ed Sullivan!"

"Close the door, Sharon, or I'll TICKLE you!" I yelled, making a move like I was going to jump out of bed. She squealed, slammed the door, and ran back down the hall. Christ, I thought, falling back to the pillow. That was too close. I made a mental note to lock the door from now on.

I got back to business, pulled down the covers, and began jerking and squeezing in earnest. I began fondling my balls, like I had seen Sky do. After only a minute, I felt the now-familiar wave start to build. I vividly remembered how Sky looked -- muscles straining, a few beads of sweat on his chest, his hand pumping furiously. I visualized his tight stomach, which had a row of deep muscular ridges all the way up to his ribcage.

I felt another surge building from deep inside me. Fuck, I thought, I'm gonna cum again! I arched my back as the waves of pleasure shot through my body. This time, the feeling was only about half as strong as it was an hour ago, and only a few scant drips trickled down my shaft. But it still felt great. I leaned back and tried to catch my breath. God, I could really get to like this "beating off" stuff.

Curiously, I examined my gooey hand. Hmmm, I thought, taking a cautionary sniff. It was an unusual odor, almost a little like bleach. I wondered what it'd look like under a microscope; I'll save that experiment for another day. Yawning, I wiped off my hand on my pillow and fell back, exhausted. Before I knew it, I was fast asleep, my head filled with confusing and conflicting visions of sleek, muscular bodies, women with breasts, and hairy body parts of every size and variety…

 Chapter 3

Tampa Central High was a ratty-looking, faded brown-and-gray stone building, right out of the 1920s School of Bad Architecture. It was enormous. The front three-story facade was built nearly half a century ago, and looked ancient, like an archeological relic from ancient Greece. The back of the school housed a half a dozen newly-added modern wings, constructed a couple of years ago after the local politicians had closed a nearby school, combining the two student bodies. With more than 3200 students, Tampa Central was the largest, best-equipped high school in the state.

Promptly at 8:15AM, our busses rolled up to the sidewalk in front of the school. A large banner hung over the courtyard, proclaiming "Welcome Class of 1969 - The New Tampa Central Cheetahs!" As I stumbled down the bus steps, an obnoxious fat guy yelled through a bull-horn for us to line up in alphabetical order. I couldn't get over the culture shock. Compared to my all-white private school, this place was a madhouse, with literally thousands of teenage boys and girls of every ethnic mix milling about. I glumly stood in the row for the L's, and nervously glanced around, hoping desperately to spot my friend Sky. When I finally got to the front of the line, I gave my name to a bored-looking woman with a clipboard.

"Wil -- with one 'L'," I said. "Last name, 'Larson," with an 'O.'"

She handed me an ominous-looking manila folder that said, "Larson, William G.," and pointed down to a reinforced steel door on the far right side of the main building. "That leads down to hallway 3," she said. "You want room number 311. Your 9th grade homeroom teacher will give you the rest of your schedule for the semester and give you the orientation during the first period."

I meekly walked down the hallway, passing by a couple of jocks with letter jackets on the way. Shit, I thought. Those guys looked like they were six feet tall already! I got to homeroom and scanned around for a familiar face, without success. The teacher made us sit in alphabetical order, so I got wedged in-between a nerdy red-haired kid named "Lannigan, Ronald G." and a black girl named "Lillie, Yolanda R."

Our homeroom teacher, Mrs. Swatts, was a dour, stern-faced older woman, definitely a no-nonsense type. She droned on for over an hour, made us fill out forms, handed out crap for our parents to sign, a map of the school, and our daily class schedules, basically giving us 'the rules of the road.' I had to stifle myself from yawning out loud. Judging by the stupefied looks on everybody's faces, they were just about as bored as I was.

When Mrs. Swatts asked if we had any questions, everybody was quiet except for the nerdy kid right in back of me, who muttered, "yeah -- will you please go to hell?" I laughed so hard, I just about choked. The teacher glared at both of us and said, "what was that?" I immediately stifled my laughter and looked down at my desk, but the nerdy guy behind me quipped, "I said, 'did I just hear the bell?'"

As if to answer his question, the 2nd Period bell sounded at that very instant, and we all bolted for the doorway.

"Hold it!" the teacher shouted.

We stopped dead in our tracks. She pointed a gnarled finger at me and the nerd.

"I'm keeping my eye on you two," she said. "You wouldn't want to get sent to the principal's office the very first day of school, would you?"

We solemnly shook our heads and slinked out into the hallway, then raced off in opposite directions.

The next three periods were a blur, but somehow, I managed to survive until noon. Finally, lunch. My stomach rumbled as I entered the school cafeteria. It was cavernous. There must've been at least a thousand kids crammed into the room. My previous school had only had 300 kids, total. Everybody in the lunchroom seemed to be jabbering at once. The hubbub was so loud, I could barely hear the radio that blared on the PA system; it was The Turtles with their new hit "Elenore."

As I made my way through the food line, I chuckled at the song's corny lyrics, and started idly humming to the tune, which I had heard once or twice before. Eh, it's got a good beat, I could dance to it. Screw that -- I can't dance worth a shit, I laughed to myself. I handed fifty cents to the cashier and took a quick glance towards the lunch tables. Damn, I thought. Not an open seat in sight, except for a couple at the very back of the room.

As I trudged down the cafeteria corridor, I heard a voice behind me. "Hey! Asshole!" I turned and it was Nerdy Red-Head from my homeroom class, holding a tray piled with food. He jogged up to me, laughing.

"Sorry 'bout almost gettin' you in trouble earlier," he said. "Sometimes, my mouth moves before my brain has a chance to catch up, ya know?"

I grinned. "Yeah, I see what you mean. I'm Wil."

He grinned and nodded. "I'm Ron, but call me Ronnie. You find a place to eat, yet?"

I nodded as we walked down the aisle, and I started to point towards the last two open spots near the far wall. Just as I did, Ronnie let out a yelp and fell backwards on the floor with a noisy thud, followed closely behind by his lunch tray, which splattered pudding, potatoes, and some greasy meat-like substance all over him and the general area. I helped him struggle up to his feet, just as a roar of laughter erupted from a table behind us.

"That asshole," he muttered. "He tripped me as we were walking by." Ronnie nodded his head to our left.

I glanced over and saw a wide-shouldered kid, at least 16, sitting with a group of thug-like goons in matching football jerseys, who were guffawing hysterically and pointing at us. "Who's that jerk?" I asked.

Ronnie rubbed his shin and flicked some of the mashed potatoes off his shirt. "That was Scott Michaels," he said, ruefully. "Him and his little friends are part of the New Hitler Youth movement here at Tampa Central."

I laughed. "So, do the Nazis here roll over the rest of us like Poland, send us to the ovens, or what?"

He gave me a sideways glance, like he was surprised I caught the historical reference. "Yeah. Somethin' like that. You wanna sit down?"

"Okay -- but don't you need some food?" I asked.

"Aaaa, the food sucks here, anyway," he said making a face. "My brother says it's swill."

I looked down at my tray. Even without taking a bite, I suspected he was right. "Tell you what, Ronnie," I chuckled. "I'll split some swill with you if you'll at least go back and get us some napkins." He nodded and took off, taking care to avoid sliding into a pile of squashed lima beans that was already becoming a traffic hazard.

While I waited for Ron, I found a half-empty table off in the back corner, and was still looking around frantically for Sky. If he had the second Lunch period, I was screwed. Suddenly, I felt a tap on my shoulder, and a low voice behind me whispered, "is this where the big-dicked boys sit?"

"Sky, you asshole!" I cried.

My best friend scooted around and plopped himself beside me in a chair, immediately grabbing a handful of greasy-looking French fries from my plate. "What're you waiting for?" he asked, as he stuffed his face. "Siddown, you ultra-maroon!"

I grinned and sat next to him, just as Ronnie ran up.

"Oh," he said, dejectedly. "I guess you're out of seats."

Sky looked over and made a face. "Who's the geek?" he said, in-between mouthfuls.

I stood up. "Hold on -- Sky, this is Ronnie; Ronnie, Sky. Ronnie's running from the Neo-Nazis and we're gonna smuggle him through the bunker to the underground." The smaller boy's face brightened, while Sky looked puzzled.

In a near-perfect German accent, Ronnie quipped, "Klink! We're goink to haff to zend you to ze Russian Front!"

"You watch way too much TV," Sky laughed as he pulled over a chair from a nearby table, then turned back to me. "So why's this kid wearin' his lunch?"

Ron's face reddened as he started mopping some gravy off his shirt.

"A buncha assholes tripped him. Same old crap," I explained.

Sky shook his head. "Christ, it's the first day of high school, and already we're running into jerks. Great." He eyed our new friend. "Shit, Wil," he laughed. "Ronnie's even shrimpier than you!"

I grinned. I hadn't noticed, but it was true. Maybe I wouldn't be the shortest kid in 9th grade, after all.

Ron looked up with a toothy grin. "Yeah, but good things come in small packages," he said, with a stupid look on his face.

I winced, and playfully tossed a cube of green Jello at him, which bounced harmlessly off his nose. He immediately broke into a bizarre dead-on Jerry Lewis impression, screaming "Lady! Oh, LADY!" The three of us laughed so hard, we almost cried. Sky nearly fell backwards in his chair.

In-between our conversation, we wolfed down our food, such as it was. Ronnie chatted non-stop about the teachers and curriculum at the school, telling us which kids were OK and who we should watch out for. It turned out he had the inside scoop, since his brother had already gone to Tampa Central the year before, and was now a sophomore.

Ronnie seemed impressed that I was going out for the swim team, and that Sky was a shoo-in for football. We compared our class schedules: I was both pleased and annoyed, because I had only one period with Sky -- English, my best subject and Sky's worst -- but I had four with Ronnie, including Geography, American History, English, and Phys Ed, which was my last class of the day, at 2:45PM.

The warning bell sounded, so we scraped off our plates in the trash and bounded out the back door. Sky yelled goodbye and scooted off down the sidewalk, leaving me and Ron to race back to our lockers to grab our books for the next class. As it turned out, the freshman lockers were also assigned alphabetically, just like our seats in homeroom; Ronnie's was right next to mine, since his last name was Lannigan.

Just as I dropped in my math book, I heard a voice behind me and froze. "Hey, faggot -- you have a nice lunch?"

I turned around to find this Scott Michaels character smiling down at us. Was he talking to me? Before I could answer, Ronnie muttered, "shut up, douche-face."

In an instant, the older boy grabbed him and slammed him face-first against the locker, hard, twisting his arm behind his back.

"I didn't hear what you said, faggot!" he hissed. "What was that again?"

I felt my face redden with anger. "He said DOUCHE-FACE, douche-face," I said, gritting my teeth.

Michaels let Ronnie drop to the floor and turned to me. "I didn't ask for comments from the peanut gallery," he sneered. "What's your fuckin' problem, asshole?"

My heart was pounding a mile a minute, but my gaze never wavered from his. "N-n-no problem, man," I started, trying not to panic. "We're just trying to get to class. Just leave him alone, okay?"

Scott leaned in uncomfortably close to my face and grabbed the front of my shirt. I tried to size up my opponent. He looked to be about five-foot-ten, 150 pounds, and he had shaggy jet-black hair and narrow, beady eyes. I could smell the remnants of a cigarette on his breath, and I could see the stubble of the beginnings of a wispy moustache on his upper lip. His faded football jersey had the number 14 on it, and his jeans were at least a size too large and were ripped and frayed along one side. Judging by the visible muscles and veins in his arms, along with the menacing scowl on his face, he could probably eat me for lunch and then have Ronnie for dessert. I clenched my fists, ready for anything.

The three of us jumped when the final 5th Period bell sounded. The hallway was deserted except for the three of us.

Michaels gave me a dirty look and let go of my shirt. "This isn't over with, fuck-face," he said pointing at me. "You watch your ass." He sauntered away, laughing quietly as he turned the corner and disappeared.

Ronnie was practically in tears. "Shit. I'm r-really sorry to drag you into this, Wil," he stammered. "Scott really hates my brother, and I guess he hates me, too."

I shook my head. "Forget about it, Ronnie. Look, we're already late for American History," I said, consulting my little fold-out map. "Great -- it's just three doors down."

We slinked into the back of the history classroom unnoticed, just as the teacher was clapping his hands to get everyone's attention. We made it through that one unscathed, and an hour later, we were in Mrs. Kester's English class. Ron sat behind me, and Sky took the seat in the row immediately to my left -- perfect for him to cheat off my test papers, just as we'd done successfully all the way through 6th grade, back in elementary school. Sky wiggled his eyebrows at me and grinned. I shook my head and laughed to myself. It was gonna be a long school year.

I stared at the clock for most of the class, and somehow managed to successfully avoid getting called on by the teacher. The clock hands moved in slow motion for the entire hour, but at last, the 7th Period bell sounded. Time for my moment of truth -- Phys Ed.

"You know we've gotta dress out for PE, right?" asked Ronnie, nervously.

"I know," I nodded, holding my gym bag. "I've got my stuff in here."

Silently, we trotted into the Boys' Locker Room, which was already crowded with at least two hundred loud-talking students donning the requisite school-approved T-shirts, gym shorts, and sneakers. I noticed just one or two familiar faces, and immediately had felt a pang because Sky wasn't there with us. Ron and I each grabbed adjoining clothes lockers, and I started unbuttoning my shirt. We kept up our conversation, while simultaneously keeping our eyes averted.

"I'm a little nervous about this," Ron whispered to me,. "I'm, uh, not real big on public nudity."

I grinned. "Yeah, I know what you mean, Ronnie. Just get dressed fast. We'll deal with the showers later."

He nodded his head meekly and finished slipping on his shoes. I quickly tied up my sneakers and we ran outside to line up with the rest of the class.

Chuck, the stocky-looking junior assistant coach, separated our class into three different groups. Every six weeks, we'd rotate between football, gymnastics, and golf. Next semester would be basketball, track, and softball. Luckily for me and Ronnie, we both got tabbed for gymnastics, so we headed back into the locker room and through a large double-door, into the indoor basketball court. A dozen large padded mats had been laid down on the floor, and a fit-looking middle-aged man, dressed in white shorts and a matching T-shirt, gestured for us to join the group.

"Listen up, gentlemen," he announced. "I'm Coach Lucas. We'll be doing basic gymnastics in this class over the next few weeks. I know some of you would rather do 'real' sports like softball or football, but trust me -- gymnastics is just as tough as those are, and it can be just as fun. For some, it's even more of a challenge, because you're essentially competing against yourself -- improving your agility, and giving you basic skills you can use every day of your life, like balance, timing, and coordination. Here's the exercises for today."

The minutes went by as we began to imitate his movements. Sure enough, before long, we were somersaulting like little kids all over the mats, and falling all over the place trying to do cartwheels. Ron did a lot better than I did; he seemed to be a natural, cartwheeling like an expert and bouncing around like a seasoned pro. The last exercise had us trying to do headstands, and I felt like a total retard, unable to hold the position for more than a few seconds.

"Jeez, Ron," I lamented to him in frustration. "I thought you were supposed to be the dork, and I was supposed to be the cool swimming champ!"

He grinned. "I guess these things just come easily to those of us with inherent skill," he said, in a faux British accent.

"Oh, shaddup, professor!" I laughed, punching him affectionately in the shoulder. Now I knew how Sky felt when I tried to act like an intellectual to him.

Finally, the coach blew his whistle. "That's it, boys!" he yelled. Several students groaned. "Hit the showers. Don't forget -- they're mandatory! You'll get a point off your grade if we catch anybody dodging their shower!"

I felt a cold feeling in my gut. This is it, I thought. We made our way off the basketball court and back through a long crowded hallway, pulling off our T-shirts on the way. By the time we got into the locker room, I could see that half the class was already in various states of disrobing. As we crossed the crowded benches, I was relieved to see that several of the other 9th graders hardly had any more body hair than I did. But all of them looked noticeably smaller than I did down there -- a lot smaller.

Ronnie chatted nervously while we opened our clothes lockers and pulled out our towels. We both acted nonchalant and modestly turned away from each other as we undressed and continued our idle conversation. I yanked off my shorts and underwear with one fast move, and quickly wrapped the towel around my waist -- a move I'd perfected for the last couple of years of swim practice. It's now or never, I thought.

We both pushed through the jam-packed locker room and walked down the hallway, over to the shower area. I heard a distant howl from an unfortunate kid who apparently just got blasted with cold water. My heart sank as we entered the tile doorway. Just as I feared, it was a group shower, with about 30 ancient fixtures in the wall. So much for privacy.

As we walked through the steam-filled room, I avoided looking at the half-a-dozen wet, naked boys inside. Much to my embarrassment, I started to get a strange warm feeling in my gut, and a stirring in my groin. Shit, I thought. If I get a boner in here, I'll never hear the end of it! I deliberately bit my lower lip and tried desperately to recall the square root formulas from tonight's math homework.

Ronnie and I took adjoining showers, while he chattered on endlessly about what was going to be on TV that night. We both stood apart, and I kept myself carefully aimed towards an unused shower head on my right. One kid on the far end gave me a curious glance as I lathered up, and I saw him do a double-take when he walked by and glanced below my waist. I quickly turned my back to him and rinsed off the soap as fast as I could, then grabbed my towel and quickly wrapped it back around my waist.

Ronnie and I nervously made our way back through the line of naked teens, down the hall and over to our clothes lockers. Breathing a sigh of relief, I carefully unwrapped my towel and began quickly drying myself off, keeping my waist as close to my locker door as I could, to avoid any unwanted glances. Maybe this won't be so bad after all, I thought, with a sigh of relief.

Suddenly, I heard a loud THWAK! and Ron let out a yelp of pain. I looked up and saw a nude older boy grinning and holding a towel. I felt a twinge when I saw his penis, which looked to be almost as big as mine, only a lot hairier.

Shit. It was Scott Michaels again. "Gotcha, ya little faggot twerp!" he snarled. Ronnie whimpered and spun around against the locker, dropping his towel and holding his backside. His face was beet red, and his eyes were filled with a mixture of anguish and sheer terror.

Michaels roared with laughter. "Hey, guys! Get a load o' this! We got an anteater-dick here!"

A few chuckles erupted from the crowd of boys, who momentarily stopped dressing to enjoy the show. Ronnie's face reddened, and I glanced down. Shit, I thought. He was uncircumcised! It was pretty good-sized, too -- bigger than Sky's, I thought -- and though I hated to admit, it did kind of look like an anteater's nose.

"Don't pay any attention to them, Ron," I whispered, keeping my back to our antagonist, as I retrieved my glasses out of my gym bag.

"I think it's more like an armadillo-dick, Scott!" yelled one of his cronies.

Michaels took a menacing step towards me. "And you, shit-for-brains," he began. "I bet you got an anteater dick, too!"

Before I could respond, he ripped the towel off my waist, and I spun around -- completely nude, dripping wet, and thoroughly embarrassed. My hands weren't nearly big enough to cover my groin.

"What the FUCK?" Scott yelled, as he slapped my hand out of the way.

I felt my face flush as every eye in the locker room turned where I stood. Oh, shit, I thought. Here it comes.

Scott hooted with derision. "What are you, kid -- some kinda FREAK? That's a horse dick!" he yelled.

Nervous laughter and titters echoed through the locker room, and every conversation stopped. Scott took a step closer to eye me carefully, as if he were examining an animal at the zoo. Even Ronnie stared, open-mouthed.

Michaels pointed at my appendage and guffawed like it was the funniest thing he'd ever seen. "Now that I think about it," he said loudly, "you're such an ass, I'd say it's more like a big DONKEY dick, wouldn't you?" He laughed again, and I felt my dick twinge. If anything, I think it was starting to respond to all the attention.

Before I could even think, I tore my towel out of his hand. "It's not too big for your mouth, you moron!" I muttered.

"WHAT WAS THAT?" the bully roared, taking a swing at me. I ducked, and his fist missed my head by a fraction of an inch and slammed into a metal shelf by my head, hard. He let out a cry of pain, and I leapt over a bench and took off running, my towel dropping as I hit the floor. Michaels yelled and tore after me, while the other boys looked on, laughing and yelling.

Everything was a blur as I darted past three rows of benches and back down the hall into the shower area, with Scott hot on my heels. Desperately, I spun on my heel and made a fast 180-degree turn as I hit the far tile wall, just like a flip-turn in the swimming pool, and came back at full speed in the opposite direction. Michaels made a lunge for me, but his hands slipped on my still-wet skin, leaving red marks down my back. Just as I cleared the shower doorway, I heard a yell and a satisfying thud close behind me, as several naked bodies slammed down on the wet tile floor. Good, I thought. I hope he cracked his skull.

I darted back to my locker, slowing down to a trot as I became aware of the dozens of wide-eyed boys taking in the show. I scurried past several on-lookers and hopped over the last two benches on the end. Ron was already half-dressed, and he tossed my underwear to me as I reached our bench. "Thanks, man," I whispered.

"No problem, Wil," he whispered back. "Just hurry!"

"I'm gonna kick your fuckin' ASS, Donkey Boy!" Scott bellowed from across the room, then began angrily shoving his way through the crowd, cursing with frustration and rage. All of them were still staring at me, their mouths open with surprise.

Just as panic seized me, an older voice called out. "You're not going to kick anything, Michaels!"

I looked up. It was Coach Lucas, who had emerged from his office to see what all the commotion was about. He grabbed Scott by the scruff of the neck and dragged him over to where I was standing. My heart was still pounding, but at least by now, I'd managed to get my underwear on to conceal my throbbing organ.

"What's all this about?" the Coach barked. The room immediately fell silent.

"Michaels started it," yelled one kid to my right. "Yeah!" said another loud voice from the back of the room. "Scott snapped a towel at the shrimp, and then tried to punch out the kid with the big dick!" Heads turned to look at the loudmouth from the back, who immediately looked down at the ground, and muttered, "well, it is."

The coach released the older boy from his grasp and folded his arms. "Look, you two. I don't have the time to deal with this bull-crap. Michaels, you aren't gonna start the year off with detention, like you had all last semester?"

"No, SIR," he grimaced.

"You've got an excellent chance to make the varsity squad this year, Scott. Don't blow it by getting into fights. Put that anger into the game, son, and not in the goddamned locker room!"

The coach turned to me. "And you -- you're Larson, right? You just signed up for the swim team?"

I nodded, meekly.

His voice softened as he looked me right in the eye. "That goes ditto for you, son. You're new here, and my advice is to stay out of trouble if you want to make the team."

Lucas was also the Dean of Boys at the school, but according to Ronnie, he had the reputation of being a pretty fair guy.

He looked at the two of us. "Gentlemen, I want the two of you to shake hands and apologize."

Scott stared at me. "But Coach…"

"No buts," said Mr. Lucas. "Just do it."

We shook hands in silence, but Scott shot me a look that could've melted bricks. I felt him squeeze my hand almost hard enough to break it, but my expression never changed as we muttered our apologies.

With that, the coach clapped his hands together. "That's it, folks -- the show's over. You gentlemen get dressed and get outta here. The school busses leave in five minutes, so move it!"

Ron stayed with me while I finished dressing, in silence. As we walked down the hall to our book lockers, I overheard a couple of whispers. "Biggest dick I ever saw… shhhh, here he comes," muttered a tall kid on our left. "Michaels was right -- it's like a horse dick!" whispered another. "DONKEY dick, you mean!" More laughter.

Fuck, I thought. My first day of high school, and I'm already a laughing-stock.

We ignored them and trudged out to the front of the school, just as the last of the busses pulled away. My heart sank.

Ron turned to me and said, "Hey, my mom's pickin' me and my brother up over there. You wanna ride?"

"Naw," I said, still embarrassed. "I think I'll just walk home."

"No, really," he insisted. "Where do you live?"

I gave him quick directions. "Hey, that's only a couple of miles from our house," he said. "I'm sure it wouldn't be too much out of our way."

On the ride home, I sat in the front seat and I kept my comments quiet and polite for Ron's mother. His brother Rick was an identical clone of Ron, complete with the red hair, freckles, and goofy looks, only he was a little bit taller and thinner. Ron chattered the entire way, occasionally whispering to his brother in the back, but Rick didn't reply. He looked up at me curiously in the mirror.

I looked out the window and began wondering if they were both uncircumcised, then shook the disturbing thought out of my head. Why was I suddenly having dick on the brain?

They dropped me off in my driveway, but before they drove away, Ron ran up to me on the porch.

"Thanks for what you did for me back at school, man," he said, breathlessly.

"I'd do that for anybody, bub," I said, truthfully. "I can't stand to see that shit."

"And don't listen to what Scott said about you, either," he grinned. "I bet he's just jealous. My brother says Michaels used to have the biggest dick in the school. I think you just beat him!"

I winced and nodded.

"See ya tomorrow, Wil!" he yelled, trotting back to the car.

I trudged wearily into our living room, threw my books in a heap on the coffee table, and collapsed on the couch. I sighed. I'd been in high school exactly one day, and I'd already made a new friend, but also a mortal enemy as well. It looked like it was going to be a long, fucked year, I thought.

 Chapter 4

It'd been a difficult first week at school, but both Sky and I somehow managed to survive. He agreed to spend the night at my place on Friday, which was something we did once in awhile. After we went through my comic collection, I closed my door, quietly locked it, and whipped out three of my Dad's prime Playboys from behind a drawer in my old desk.

"Take a look at these," I whispered, letting a centerfold fall open.

Sky whistled. "Shit, look at the tits on this one!"

Almost immediately, I saw a lump grow in his shorts. We lay down on my bed and excitedly scanned the photos. For nearly half an hour, we flipped through the slick color pages, each of us critiquing the girls and comparing different shots. I think I preferred blondes; Sky said he was a "breast man," and rubbed his fingertips lightly on the round, tanned mounds of Miss September.

I felt butterflies in my stomach. I didn't tell Sky, but my favorite was one that had a naked guy in the shot with the girl. Much to my disappointment, you couldn't see much except for the guy's smooth chest and arms, but he definitely had muscles to spare. Whenever I saw it, I felt a confusing mix of feelings, but I couldn't ignore the insistent throbbing between my legs.

"You wanna… you know, do it?" I asked, nervously.

"You mean… jack off?" he said, never taking his eyes off the page.

"Yeah."

"Sure," he grinned. "Let's do it together."

We each slid down our pants, tore off our T-shirts, tossed them in a pile on the floor, and lay on our backs in the middle of my bed. I glanced over at Sky, who was already rock-hard and stroking, never taking his eyes off his centerfold. I held up my magazine in my left hand and did the same.

"This isn't gonna take me long," he gasped.

"Me neither," I said, eying his boyish dick. I saw for the first time that Sky had a few stray blond hairs on his balls, which excited me in a strange way. In less than a minute, he was groaning and flailing his hand rapidly.

"Oh, man, I'm gonna cum!" he moaned.

I tossed down my magazine, grabbed myself with both hands, and began stroking in earnest. "I'm close, too!" I gasped.

He erupted in spasms… two, three, four spurts shot up his chest. Sky fell back, exhausted, then eyed me as if seeing me for the first time. "Jesus, Wil. You really do have a big dong!" He giggled and grinned at me.

I stopped in mid-stroke. "Cut that shit out, man!" I snapped.

"No really, I'm not making fun of you. It looks cool!" he said, admiringly.

I felt a glimmer of pride, and held my bulging member off to one side. "So you don't think it's a donkey dick?"

Sky leaned back on the pillow, put his hands behind his head and chuckled affectionately. "Yeah, I heard about that crap at school," he said. "Ignore those jerks. They're just jealous."

"You think so?" I asked, hopefully.

He grinned and nodded. "Shit, who wouldn't be, Wil?" he said, using a tissue to wipe off his muscular chest and stomach. "Even I am."

I was stunned. "Sky, you're the best athlete I know! Why be jealous of me?"

"Not of you, you moron! Your dick!" He sat up, shaking his head incredulously. "Any guy would be happy as hell to have that thing. The chicks'd be lined up around the block if they knew you had one like that." He looked down at my groin, then said, "Shit -- I bet it's so big, you could give yourself an S.B.J.!"

I had already heard a lot of sex stuff at school over the last few days, but not this. "What's an SBJ? Is that related to LBJ?" I said, puzzled, referring to the current president.

Sky giggled and shook his head. "You know what a blow-job is, right? When a girl sucks your dick?"

The mental image gave me an immediate twinge.

"Yeah, sure," I said. "You mean fellatio." That one I'd found in a reference book at the public library.

"Thanks for the scientific terminology, professor," he said, laughing. "Now, what if you could do it to yourself? Like a self-blowjob? 'S.B.J.,' get it?"

I thought for a second and looked down at my swelling member. It did look tantalizingly close to my face.

"Would that be too queer if I did it to myself?" I wondered aloud.

Sky thought for a moment, then shook his head. "Naaaaa. It's still your body. Try it! I bet you can do it." He crawled across the bed on his stomach and leaned over on his elbows, watching me expectantly.

I hesitated, then turned to him.

"C'mon, just try it, Wil!" he taunted. "I dare ya."

I took a deep breath, sat up and leaned forward, then pushed my mouth towards my groin. With a tremendous effort, I forced myself down and my lips just barely grazed the tip.

"Wow!" he marveled. "You've almost got it!"

"Yeah," I winced, "but it hurts my back like hell!"

"Try another position," he advised.

"Like what?"

Sky thought for a minute. "Get on your back, and pull your knees all the way over, like in gymnastics class!"

I thought for a minute and nodded. I turned over and got into position, moving my groin right over my face. I pulled my hips down, and was rewarded with my entire head slipping into my mouth. The feeling was indescribable -- hot, wet, and exciting.

"Fuck!" Sky whispered excitedly. "You can actually do it!"

"Mmmmmph!" was all I could reply. I couldn't get enough of this feeling. I slurped and gobbled up my member, which seemed to expand even longer as my desire increased. I pulled it out and licked it around and around with my tongue, then shoved it back in as far as I could go, my entire mouth wrapping it like a warm blanket. Jesus, I thought, as my sensory network erupted with pleasure. If this is what a blow job's like, I bet it'd be even better to have somebody else do it for me.

Before I knew it, an involuntary guttural moan started in the back of my throat, as I felt the oncoming orgasm rise through my loins. Sky was silent as I plunged deeper and deeper into my own mouth. I was oblivious to him or the room around me; as far as I was concerned, the only thing that existed were the overwhelming ripples of pleasure from between my legs.

"Shit, that is so cool!" Sky said, marveling.

I glanced over and saw his eyes were riveted to my groin. I looked down and saw his erection had popped back to full attention. I felt a huge wave of excitement overtake me as I pulled my groin down closer to my face, and tried to ignore the dull throbbing pain in my lower back. My heart raced even faster when Sky leaned over and gently rubbed my backside. Suddenly, I was hit with a lightning bolt of pleasure, and a warm salty taste blasted through my mouth. I moaned and fell back, coughing and choking.

"GROSS, man!" Sky yelled, standing up. "You fuckin' swallowed it!"

"What?" I gasped dizzily, my face flushed. I continued to erupt two or three more small spurts, which trickled down my abdomen and onto my bedspread. I lay on the bed, exhausted, staring at my friend.

"Well, whaddya expect me to do?" I snapped. "Spit it out?"

"That's too queer," he said, shaking his head.

I stared at him, incredulously. "But it was your idea!"

"Yeah, but I didn't tell ya to swallow your own cum! That's just too weird, man."

I gazed down at my withering erection. Even soft, it was a little bigger than Sky's was erect, I thought with some pride. Some leftover residue trickled out of the corner of my mouth, and I wiped it off with the back of my hand. I could still taste a little salty goo on my tongue.

Sky pulled on his underwear and reached for a pair of shorts. "Look, I gotta get something to eat," he said. "I'm gonna go downstairs and raid the refrigerator. You want anything?"

I glared at him. We had just practically had sex, and now he was acting like nothing had happened at all.

"No," I said tersely. "I'm not hungry. Lemme just clean off."

He zipped up his short pants, tossed me a box of Kleenex, and scurried from my room. I sat on the bed and wiped off the gooey mess from my stomach and face. I felt… I dunno, dirty and ashamed, like a little kid.

What was going on here? Was Sky my friend or not? Did swallowing this stuff really make you a homo? Shit, I still got boners whenever I saw pictures of naked chicks. Didn't that count for something? One thing's for certain, I thought -- I'm not a homo! I couldn't be. I didn't care what Sky said.

* * * * *

Later that night, we watched TV in the living room, sitting on the couch in our shorts. Much to my relief, Sky acted real casual, as if nothing had happened. The local station was showing Bride of Frankenstein, one of those ancient movies from the 1930s. It was one of my all-time favorites; I even had a recent poster of it on my bedroom wall. I thought the movie was cool as hell, but Sky yawned and said it was boring and stupid. Halfway through the show, I noticed he had fallen asleep on the couch, still shirtless. I stared at him, and still couldn't get over how good-looking he was. Better than any kid I ever saw on TV, I thought.

Just as the second feature began, I glanced at the clock. Jesus, 1AM already. I switched off the set. Sky looked so peaceful lying on the couch, I just tossed a spare sheet over him and trudged back upstairs to my room. I tried sleeping, but all I could do was stare at the ceiling. My head was filled with confusing images, and Sky's insults still rang in my ears. Almost against my will, I felt myself harden again as I relived the events of a few hours before. I was too tired to suck myself again, but I knew I had no choice but to take matters into my own hand, or else I'd never get to sleep. In minutes, after staring at Miss September's tits, I was thoroughly spent and fell back to slumberland.

* * * * *

Around 10AM on Saturday morning, I awoke to find Sky already gone. My mom told me he'd left an hour earlier, saying he was starting football practice that afternoon and had to get home. I called his house, but didn't get an answer. I went back to my room and tried to do my homework, but I kept thinking about what Sky had said.

Fuck it, I thought. I flicked on the radio and hummed along to an "oldie but goodie" as the DJ said -- "Teenager in Love," by Dion. I felt a pang as the singer wailed the lyrics. I'd been going to high school only a week, and I already knew how he felt. Was I falling in love?

No, I thought. No. Sky and I were just friends… best friends. Nothing wrong with that. I'd save love for the right girl.

But that didn't make up for the gnawing emptiness I felt.

* * * * *

The following week, swim team trials started up. I got my dad to agree to drop me off at school at 7:00AM, since the bus routes didn't even start up until 8. The pool was huge, roughly three times as big as the ones I'd been used to: standard Olympic long course, 50 meters long by 20 meters wide, with six lanes, all housed indoors in a brand-new building on the far side of the Tampa Central High campus. I wore my swimsuit under my pants, to try to avoid having to undress and encounter the same amused stares and giggles that I had to endure in gym class.

When we walked out of the locker room and into the indoor pool area, I smelled the familiar odor of chlorine in the air, and dipped my toe in the water. Not bad, I thought -- they must have a heater somewhere. I smiled and relaxed. It was good to be back in my element, I thought, as I stood next to the other swimmers. A whistle blew nearby, and I looked up to see the Coach going down my row, checking our names off on the sign-up sheet, and then assigned us to some trial laps. On the word 'go,' I dove off like a shot and tore down the lane as hard as I could, but yawned as I pulled myself out of the water. This early schedule was gonna be murder.

After we watched the other candidates swim their laps over the next hour, the coach finally had us all line up in a row, and called out six names. One at a time, they walked over to him and he quietly spoke to each boy. The rest of us stood nervously, shivering slightly in the cold morning air. As the last of them disappeared back to the locker room, he turned to the rest of us and said, "congratulations, boys. The rest of you are officially on the Tampa Central High swim team!" Our cheers echoed throughout the building.

My elation quickly evaporated when I found out that despite my six previous years of local championship swim meets, the competition at the high school level was fierce. Coach Byers assigned me to the number six lane -- the one usually reserved for the slowest swimmers. He took me aside and assured me it was only temporary.

"Son, I saw your record," he explained, reassuringly. "Give it some time. 9th graders rarely make our team at all, but I'm going to make an exception in your case. We're gonna put you on second-string to start, but you'll be ready to participate in meets in a month or two. I think you've got the makings of a real champ in you, especially in Butterfly. Hang in there, Wil."

I nodded and went back to my laps. At the end of practice, we headed back to the locker room. I kept to myself and quickly toweled off, leaving the shower for the others. One of the guys I had swam with a year or two ago saw me and flashed me a grin of recognition. "Hey, Wil!" he called out.

I barely looked up and saw a face I dimly remembered, searching my brain for his name. "Oh -- hi, uh… Mark," I said. "I guess we're on the team together again." As I pulled my shirt down over my head, Mark walked over, still soaking wet.

"Yeah!" he said, excitedly. "Man, you and me are the only 9th graders to make the team so far! Isn't that's great? If you and me get to do the 200-yard relay again, we got a good chance of makin' it to the Florida state regionals!"

I glanced up at him and nodded as he snapped off his Speedos, wrung out the water over the drain, and started toweling down. Shit, I thought, as I glanced at his groin. He's a lot hairier than I was.

"Coach says we're one of the few high schools in Florida that's got an indoor pool," Mark said, as he dried off his head, "so we can keep practicing all winter long, all the way until the season ends in February. Isn't that cool?"

"Yeah, it's great," I muttered. I tried to avert my eyes from his groin, which was only inches away from my face. I zipped up my pants and started tying up my sneakers.

"Anyway, I'm glad you made the team, B.D.," he said, grinning.

I stopped. "What's 'BD'?" I asked.

"Big Dick! What else?" He cackled with laughter and shot me a huge grin.

I winced. "Shut up, man," I snapped, stuffing my Speedos and towel in my gym bag.

Mark looked surprised. "C'mon, Wil," he said. "Don't be so goddamned sensitive. Practically the whole school knows by now -- it's not a big deal. Well, actually, maybe it IS," he chuckled.

I rolled my eyes, stormed off, and angrily slammed the locker room door behind me.

* * * * *

For the next few weeks, things went about as well as I could've expected. Scott Michaels and I gave each other a wide berth in the hallways, and -- whether by luck or by chance -- Coach Lucas kept us out of each other's groups in 7th period Phys Ed. Sky seemed to be tied up every other day with the football team, so I didn't see much of him at all. I was starting to feel kind of lonely. Ronnie followed me around like a puppy, but he was getting annoying. Besides, Sky had practically been my best friend since third grade. I wasn't going to give up on him yet.

On Saturday, I called him up at home. "Hey, Sky, it's me," I started. "You want to go see a movie or something today?" I asked.

"Oh, hi, Wil." He sounded annoyed, like I had interrupted something. "Listen, uh, I sorta… can't. Not today. I got some other stuff to do. Maybe next week or somethin'."

This didn't sound right. "Sky, what's up?" I asked. "I wanted to talk to you about some stuff -- you know, like what we talked about the last time you spent the night at my place."

"Look, I just… I gotta go -- I'm goin' out on a date in two hours," he said, sounding a little flustered. "See you next week at school." Before I could protest, the line went dead.

Shit. The one guy I could really talk to was too busy to hear my problems. I was feeling horny as hell, too. Only one way to solve that, I thought. I grabbed one of my Dad's old Playboys from my secret stash, and quickly stroked my way to Nirvana.

* * * * *

On Monday, I caught Sky's eye as we walked into our English class. "Pssst! Hey, what's goin' on, man?" I whispered to him as sat down in our respective desks.

He barely made eye contact with me. "Can't talk now. Maybe later."

I spent the next hour trying to concentrate on conjugating verbs, and fought the urge to yell at my friend next to me. What was his problem?

Finally, the bell rang. Ron leaned over at his desk behind me and started up with one of his stupid jokes. I turned to him and snapped, "shut up, Ronnie! I got some stuff I've got talk over with Sky -- private stuff. I'll see you in Phys Ed." He was taken aback, but nodded meekly and walked away.

I walked over to Sky's desk just as he stood up, and I tried to lay on the guilt as hard as I could. "What's with you, asshole?" I asked, angrily. "You can't even talk to me on the phone anymore?"

"I just got a lotta stuff goin' on, that's all," he began, picking up his notebook and books, all while trying to avoid looking at me in the eye.

"Look," I said, leaning in closer and lowering my voice. "I just thought you might wanna… you know, get together this weekend, and do some stuff. You know, with my Dad's magazines."

My grin faded as he looked up at me with a nervous expression. "I'm… I'm not like that, Wil," he stammered. "Besides, I met somebody."

"Who?" I snapped.

"A girl. Melissa. You know, Melissa Rivington -- the brunette who lives four blocks over from us, on Euclid Avenue. Man, she's a knockout."

My mouth went dry, and I swallowed. "Yeah. A knockout. OK, congratulations."

We both looked away, in an uncomfortable silence.

"See ya 'round," he muttered, walking quickly out the door.

I hurried after him and stopped him just as he hit the hallway.

"But what about all that stuff we did!" I hissed.

His face reddened. "I'm not a FAG!" he retorted, looking around anxiously to see if anybody was watching us.

A cold feeling hit me in the stomach. "I didn't say you were, Sky," I said, angrily. "I just thought we were friends!"

He nodded, and his expression softened a little bit. "Well, yeah. But just not… not that way, y' know?" Sky put his hand on my shoulder, and I had to restrain myself from shoving him away. "Look, Wil. You'll find a girl, too. You'll see."

I closed my eyes. I didn't believe what I was hearing.

"Look, man -- I gotta go," he said as he walked away. "Maybe I can get Melissa to find somebody for you."

Yeah, just what I need, I thought as he walked away. I spent the rest of the day in a funk, but I wasn't totally sure why.

 Chapter 5

For the next few weeks at school, Sky managed to avoid me in the halls. We were cordial enough in English, and I even let him copy my homework a couple of times. But I could sense that things weren't going to be like they were before.

I somehow made it through gym class at the end of each day. I still heard some occasional whispers and giggles from a few of the guys in the locker room, but after the Coach's warnings, they more or less left me alone. Late one Friday afternoon, somebody stole my towel off the hook from the shower. That meant I had no choice but to trudge over to Chuck, the assistant Phys. Ed. manager -- a huge, bloated 10th grader who looked even goofier than Ron, if you could believe it -- who rented towels to those who were wet and unfortunate, behind a little window in the office near the shower entrance. As I stood there naked, dripping wet, I thought his eyes were gonna bulge out of his head when he handed me a towel, staring obviously at my crotch.

"Take a picture, it'll last longer," I muttered to him as I tossed a dime on the counter and walked away, wrapping the terrycloth around my waist.

Ronnie was just finishing getting dressed as I got back to my clothes locker. He looked up at me and grinned. "Oh, lost your towel, right? Watch out for Chuck -- I heard he's one o' them thar preverts." Ron laughed loudly at his own hillbilly impression, and slapped his knee for comic effect.

I smiled wanly. "Yeah. But he's not exactly my type."

Ron seemed oblivious to my joke. "Hey, listen, Wil," he said. "My brother and some of his 10th-grade friends are gonna have a little backyard barbecue at my place after school. My mom's got some kinda meeting tonight, so she won't be home until at least 11. You wanna come by?"

I sighed. Ron was such an annoying little twerp, and he looked goofy as hell, but since all Sky wanted to do was play football and spend time with his girlfriend, maybe…

"OK," I said, surprising even myself. "Yeah, what the hell. Your mom gonna pick you guys up from school today?"

Ron's freckled face immediately lit up. "Yeah! We're gonna have burgers and dogs and stuff. In fact," his voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper, "I think Rick's got some beer." He shot me a glance and wiggled his eyebrows comically. We both laughed.

I never really liked the taste of beer, but this was as good an excuse as any for me to get a little wasted. I called my folks to tell them where I'd be, and promised I'd be home by 11. They said it was okay, since it wasn't a school night. I hung up the pay phone and jogged back to my friend, grinning. "You're on, Ronnie. Let's go."

An hour later, we were sitting around Ron's lush backyard, which was enormous compared to mine. His family had a large kidney-shaped pool, surrounded by trees and fancy shrubbery, and there was a built-in brick barbecue on the patio. Three older kids I hadn't met before were tossing a football back and forth, while I sat on a lounge chair next to Ronnie. Rick, Ron's brother, wore a big apron around his waist and had a chef's hat comically perched on his head. He slapped another patty on the grill.

It was a little cold for late October. Ron and I sat in adjoining lounge chairs, and chatted idly as the sun went down. I leaned back and smiled as a hazy cloud of blue smoke drifted towards us from the barbecue. I loved the smell of charcoal and grease. Mmmmmmm.

Rick turned to me. "Y-y-y-y-you want another b-b-b-b-b-b-b…" he stammered.

"BURGER, you mean," I said, annoyed. What was with this guy?

"Y-y-y-yeah, burger." He nodded and flipped it over, turning away from me, slightly embarrassed. Ron gave me a look.

"Listen, Wil," he said in a low voice. "Rick can't help it. He's stuttered real bad ever since my Dad died four years ago. Don't make fun of him, man."

"Shit, I'm sorry, Ron," I said quietly, glancing over at his older brother. "You mean he can't stop doing it?"

Ronnie shook his head. "Not even if he tried as hard as he could. He's been goin' to speech therapy twice a week, but it's still as bad as ever. Just don't razz him about it, OK?"

I nodded. Jeez. Maybe there were kids out there who actually had worse problems than I did.

Just after 6PM, Mrs. Lannigan stuck her head out to the patio. "OK, boys -- I'm late for my meeting! You've got all my phone numbers. I want no rough-housing, no messes, and that kitchen had better be spotless when I come back tonight. Richard!"

Ron's older brother froze in mid-flip and turned, his face reddening. "Y-y-y-yes, M-m-mom?"

"You're in charge for tonight. Now, Ronald -- you do whatever your brother tells you to do! If I find out about any funny business going on, you both will have old Mrs. Evans, the babysitter, to take care of you the next time."

Rick and Ron both gulped. "Forget about it, Mom. We'll be cool, we promise!" implored the younger brother. She nodded and closed the door.

The moment we heard her car's engine start and the garage door open, Ron raced across the backyard and looked over the fence. Seconds later, he yelled, "OK, my little pretties! The coast is clear! The wicked witch has flown the coop!" He cackled wildly, doing a decent impression of Margaret Hamilton from The Wizard of Oz. This guy was quite a character.

Rick laughed, and I grinned at him. I could see he had a good sense of humor, just like his younger brother -- speech impediment or no. He reached down to a small refrigerator next to the grill, and triumphantly brought out an ice-cold six-pack of Budweiser.

"Cool!" said one of the other guys, who ran up. "Toss me one, Rick!" We each grabbed a can and started yanking the pull-tabs. Ronnie popped his beer can open and splattered it down my back, and I let out a yelp. He grinned, and I gingerly opened mine and sipped it slowly. Bitter, but at least it was cold. I made a face.

Ronnie laughed. "Not much of a beer-drinker, eh, Wil?"

I shook my head and winced. "Naaaa, it sucks," said, smacking my lips at the taste. "Besides, Coach says it'll make us fat. I gotta stay real lean for the swim team."

He giggled. "I know one part of you that's real fat," he said, poking me in the stomach.

"Cut that out, asshole!" I hissed, punching him in the shoulder.

He looked hurt. "C'mon, man. I was just kiddin'! Drink your beer. You wanna go swimming?"

I looked at the water, which was already steaming. Even in the cold October weather we were having, their heater kept it fairly warm.

"I, uh, didn't bring my suit," I began. "It's back in my locker at school."

"Fuck that," said one of Rick's friends. "We're skinny-dipping!"

I looked up and was shocked to see him yank his pants off and dive in, naked! In minutes, all of them were all in the pool, splashing and horsing around.

"C'mon in, Wil!" called Ronnie as he did a flip off the diving board. "It feels great!"

Grimacing, I kicked off my sneakers and pulled my shirt over my head, then yanked down my pants. Luckily, the yard was fairly dark and the other boys were already occupied, playing tag on the other side of the pool. But Ron's eyes never left me, as I pulled off my underwear, lay my glasses on a chaise lounge, and dove into the water like a porpoise.

It felt really good. From force of habit, I touched the pool drain on the bottom for luck and rose slowly up, letting the bubbles rise above me to the surface. I glanced at the other naked boys underwater. The dim pool light showed at least one of them had a partial erection, and I felt a little surge of excitement. Down boy, I thought to myself, as I continued floating up to the ladder in the deep end.

Ronnie and I horsed around for the better part of an hour, until I started to cramp up. Between the beer and the burgers, I wasn't surprised. I stayed in the pool as much as I could, hoping nobody would notice my underwater submarine. Much to my relief, Rick's older friends seemed oblivious to me and Ron, as they played an intense game of "Marco Polo." I somehow managed to avoid getting tagged, and I relaxed with Ron in one corner of the deep end, letting the warm water soak into my tired muscles.

Eventually, the other guys got tired and decided to go inside. Rick and I were the last to get out, and Ron tossed me a towel as I pulled myself out of the shallow end, with Rick just ahead of me. I gave him a quick glance; despite the darkness, I could see he was also uncircumcised, just like his little brother.

As I toweled off on the deck, trying to avoid letting the others see me, I turned to Ron. "So, what's the deal with you and your brother's, uh… you know…"

Ron rolled his eyes. "Oh, you mean our dicks?"

I nodded, embarrassed, as I continued to towel off.

"Rick and I were actually born overseas, in Formosa," he explained. "My Dad was in the Air Force, and that's where we were stationed for a few years. I dunno. I guess it's just a local custom or somethin'. Once we got into school, and people started razzin' us about it, Mom said we should ignore 'em. She said, 'that's the way God created you, with a foreskin, and there's nothin' to be ashamed about it.' So I guess that's that."

I grinned at the two of them. "Well, if nothing else, it gives you something to talk about. You know -- a conversation piece."

The two brothers laughed. The other three boys had already gone into the house. "You wanna shoot some pool with us?" Ronnie asked, pulling up his pants.

"Sure," I replied, grinning. "But be warned -- I know a lot more about swimming in one than shooting one."

Ron laughed uproariously at my bad pun, and we trotted back into the house.

The six of us started playing 8-ball in the family den, which had expensive-looking walnut-covered walls and bookcases. A cool stained-glass Tiffany lamp hung over the table, and the table was big and solid, not one of those flimsy Sears & Roebuck specials. We each took turns trying trick shots, and Ron took great delight in creaming my ass. This red-headed twerp might be a goofball, I mused, but he did know his way around a billiards table -- just like a real pool shark.

"You should be glad we aren't playin' strip pool," he chortled. "You'd be totally butt-ass naked, for sure." Both brothers whooped with glee.

They were right -- I was a total klutz at pool. Once, I almost ripped the green cloth with my pool cue, until Rick showed me how to hold the stick properly. These two were like real hustlers; they won every round, much to our ongoing frustration. Well, I thought, maybe there's more to total geeks like these guys than most people knew.

By 9PM, Rick's friends had departed, leaving only me and the two Lannigan brothers. I gave up trying to beat them at their own game, and dropped my pool cue back in the rack. "That's it for me, guys," I said. "Maybe I should be heading home, too."

"No!" said Ron. "Not yet! You haven't seen my model kit collection!"

His older brother gave him a curious nod as he sank the last ball in the corner pocket, then hung up his cue and walked over to us. I noticed that even though Ronnie was a year younger, it looked like he seemed to call all the shots for the two brothers. They led me down to the end of a hallway to the back of their house, and opened a door. Inside was a fairly large bedroom, almost as big as my family's living room, with two bunk beds on one side. To the left were an incredible array of toys and models -- Frankenstein, Dracula, all the big movie monsters, plus dozens of cars, spaceships, and robots -- set up on a dozen shelves, each intricately arranged like a professional display.

"Wow!" I said, picking up a miniature Phantom of the Opera ghoul. "Gee, you painted it and everything! This looks really cool, guys -- just like the movie."

Rick and Ron beamed. "That's Rick!" said Ron, proudly. "He's a real artist. Check out the detail!"

I was impressed. Ron chattered on endlessly, while his older brother smiled and let him monopolize the conversation. I sat on the lower bunk and glanced around the room. Man, I thought. Some people really have the life. This place made my room look like a crackerbox. They even had their own color TV set and a fairly big stereo system! Shit, I didn't know any kid that had a TV in their room, especially in 1968.

"S-s-s-so, Ronnie says you're on the s-s-s-wim team," stammered Rick.

"Yeah, he's a real champ!" enthused Ron.

I shook my head, smiling wanly at the compliment. "Hardly. I'm still on second-string. I'm the third-slowest guy on the team, mainly 'cause I'm short. But Coach says if I work out, I can bulk up, get more muscle, and improve on my times."

"I think your body looks cool, Wil," said Ron. I couldn't swear it, but thought I saw a gleam in his eye.

My face reddened. My body wasn't nearly as good as Sky's, I thought. Sky. Shit, I had hadn't even thought about him for days.

Rick sat next to me on the bed. "Yeah. R-r-r-real cool." He smiled at me.

I gulped. Rick had a curious expression on his face, almost like he was… hungry.

"I told him about you, Wil," said Ron, shyly.

Great, I thought. More jokes at my expense. I stood up. "Look, it's getting late, guys," I said. "My folks want me to be home before 11, or I'm busted."

Ronnie leapt up and put his hand on my arm. "No, wait!" he implored. "We've still got more than ninety minutes. You wanna… I dunno, maybe look at some dirty magazines or somethin'?"

My heart fluttered. It'd been almost a month since the last time I'd spent the night with Sky, and I'd been too pissed-off and depressed to masturbate for the last three days.

Ron looked at me, expectantly.

"What kind of magazines?" I asked.

The two red-haired brothers eagerly pulled out a half-dozen dog-eared magazines from a top shelf. My mouth fell open with surprise. Shit, some of these things looked like they were from the 1950s, like nudist colony brochures or something! We sat down and ogled the photos, eagerly flipping through the pages. I could see they'd gotten a lot of use out of these mags; some of the pages were practically stuck together. We laughed over some of the dated hairstyles and pot-bellies, but a few of them looked really hot. In minutes, both brothers had little tent-poles growing from their shorts. I squirmed and had to adjust my pants, myself.

"Look at this one," said Ron. I looked down and stared at a picture of a muscular teen, who looked just a little older than we were. He was blond, like Sky, and was almost as good-looking. I looked below the teen's waist, and was surprised to see that his organ was just about as big as mine -- maybe even bigger. Maybe I wasn't such a freak after all. My groin throbbed.

Ronnie got off the bed, looked at his brother and gave him a knowing glance. "Rick, you wanna do it?"

His brother nodded and turned to me and grinned. I felt that familiar warmth in my gut, but I was scared. My mouth went dry.

"It's just us, Wil," Ronnie said, softly. "C'mon -- let's do it."

Ronnie pulled his shirt over his head, slid off his shorts, and yanked down his underwear. Up popped his bulging member, which was skinny, but had to be at least six inches long. Rick locked the door, then pulled off his shorts and let them drop to his ankles. I saw that even though he was a little taller than his younger brother, they appeared to be almost identically-equipped below the waist, even down to the freckles. Rick's had a good thatch of light reddish hair at the base; Ron's wasn't quite as hairy, but it was so stiff, it almost pointed straight up to the ceiling. Rick grinned at me, pulled his erection part-way down and let it slap back against his belly. Both boys giggled, then turned to me and waited, expectantly.

I sighed. "OK, but this was your idea," I said, defeated. I stood up, pulled off my shirt, unzipped my pants, and let them drop to the floor, revealing my teenage tool in all its glory. It was so hard, the tip glistened, and the shaft bounced with every move I made.

"Wow." Rick let out a low whistle. "Jesus, Ron, you weren't kidding. That's the biggest one I ever saw. It's a monster! Lookit the veins and stuff on it!" He was totally mesmerized.

I looked up at him, shocked. "Hey! What happened to your stutter?"

"It c-c-c-c-c-comes and goes," he laughed. "I guess you just… sur-sur-surprised me. It's not every day you s-s-see a foot-long wanger."

I smiled. "Actually, it's only nine inches."

"Closer to ten," chimed in Ron, who grinned from ear to ear. "Was I kiddin', Rickie? It's bigger than yours and mine combined!" His brother nodded, and licked his lips.

My organ twitched up and down with anticipation. I sat down on the bed and idly started playing with myself.

Ron put his lips close to my ear and said softly, "Wil… lemme show ya some stuff my brother and I do to each other."

With that, they began rubbing and sliding their hands over each other's bodies. Ron dropped to his knees and started groping his brother's groin and stroking his inner thighs. Rick moaned and sat down next to me on the bed, just as Ron completely engulfed his brother's penis in his mouth.

I gasped. Holy shit, I thought. What had I gotten myself into?

"Oh, Ronnie… that's s-so good," he groaned.

Ron reached back and grabbed his brother's lower back, pulling him closer with both hands. In seconds, Rick began thrusting forward, moaning feverishly. I looked down and saw that Ronnie was manipulating himself frantically. Shit, I thought, looking closely. I didn't know you could pull the foreskin up and down like that. Very cool.

Rick's eyes were closed and he moaned with delight. He put his right hand on the back of his brother's head, and gently pulled him forward. With his other hand, he began tweaking his left nipple, then made little grunting noises, like an animal. My own erection throbbed, and I started stroking faster, completely engrossed by the two brothers, who seemed oblivious to me.

Within a minute, the older boy let out a loud yell and redoubled his thrusts. Ron choked and sputtered, and Rick fell back on the bed beside me, panting and totally spent.

"Jesus," I exclaimed. "You swallowed it!"

Ronnie let go and sat up. "So what?" he said, grinning from ear to ear. "It's just between brothers."

Yeah, I thought. Maybe then it's not queer. I was feeling horny as hell, and continued to stroke myself, staring at the younger boy.

Ron put his hand on my fist. "Stop," he said. "Lemme show ya somethin' a lot better."

With that, he dropped to his knees in front of me and took me in his mouth. I almost cried out in surprise. My whole groin felt like it was on fire, and I curled my toes with delight. I was powerless to resist.

"D-d-don't forget to watch your teeth, Ronnie," said Rick, who leaned over to get a better look.

Ron looked like he was in a state of bliss. He took his mouth off me for a moment and gazed at my groin, which was covered with his saliva. "Get over here, Rick. I can't handle this thing by myself!"

Before I knew it, both brothers' tongues explored every inch of me. My erection had never felt bigger. One boy slurped hungrily on my balls, while the other kept a steady pace stroking me with his mouth. I was in such a daze, I didn't know or care which of them was doing what.

The two brothers kept up their assault with renewed fervor. Hands squeezed and stroked my chest, tweaked my nipples, and I sucked in my breath when I felt a straying finger poke me gently in the butt. I felt a bead of sweat trickle down my chest and into my armpit. This was a hundred times better than anything I'd ever experienced before, pleasure almost beyond my wildest imagination.

Seconds later, my pulse began to race. I gasped out, "I'm… I'm getting real close, guys."

Ron -- at least I think it was Ron -- plunged his mouth down even deeper, and I felt a new sensation as I popped past the back of his throat.

"Oh, fuck!" I yelled.

My hips thrust and bucked uncontrollably, and my hands squeezed the bedspread as hard as I could. My eyes rolled back in my head, then I whimpered with ecstasy as my groin convulsed a torrent that vanished down Ron's throat. At last, I lay back on the bed, exhausted and overcome with bliss, trembling with excitement. I felt like Old Faithful had just erupted the biggest geyser in recorded history.

"Shit," said Ron, quietly. "Look at this, Rickie! I came all over myself without even touching it!"

Rick and I started to laugh as I sat up. Sure enough, there was a little puddle of goo on the carpet by Ron's knee. I could smell that unmistakable smell known to all horny teenagers.

"That's… that's a pretty cool trick, Ron," I laughed, catching my breath. "You've gotta teach me that one someday." I sighed and grinned down at him.

He giggled his boyish laugh. I looked down, and immediately felt a jealous surge. Shit, it was true -- he really had more hair than I did. Adolescence really sucks.

"What's wrong?" he asked, giving me a quizzical look.

"I'm still almost as bald as a fucking baby," I muttered, embarrassed.

"N-n-no, you're not," said Rick. "Look!"

He kneeled down to me and pointed out a few new stray hairs at the base of my softening shaft. I leaned over to take a closer look. He was right! They must've grown in over the last few weeks. Finally, I was becoming a man.

"Wow," I exclaimed, relieved. "It's about goddamned time."

Ronnie looked closer. "Hey, you got peach fuzz all over here. Take a look in the light."

He gently grabbed my flaccid appendage and dragged me across the room, over to the desk lamp on the table. Sure enough, I could see a few more sprouts of hair above the base of my member, some almost light enough to be blond. I felt relieved. Maybe I was finally hitting my growth spurt.

"Well, at least that's one problem I don't have to worry about," I sighed with relief.

Rick and Ron grinned. "I dunno, Wil," giggled Ron, as he wiggled my rubbery appendage back and forth. "This thing's a pretty big problem, if you ask me."

"Oh, shut up!" I grinned, mussing up his hair.

After we cleaned up, we lay on the bed and listened to their stereo, which at the moment was playing The Righteous Brothers' "You've Lost That Lovin' Feelin." I quietly sang along with it; it was one of my favorite songs from a couple of years before. My voice was deep enough that I could match Bill Medley's with a little effort.

Ronnie sat next to me and leaned over. "Listen, Wil," he said quietly. "I kinda had to talk Rick into this for weeks before he'd let me do it." Rick glanced nervously at me, then looked down at the floor, and Ron continued, anxiously. "You can't ever tell…"

I held my hand up. "I'm 'way ahead of you. Nobody knows about this but us."

"Nobody," echoed Ron.

Rick nodded, relieved. "Th-th-thanks, Wil. We'd be glad to d-do it anytime with you."

"Just us brothers," giggled Ronnie.

I grinned. Well, even if I didn't have Sky as a friend anymore, maybe the Lannigans would be a reasonable substitute. For awhile, anyway.

* * * * *

As we walked the eight long blocks to my house, the two Lannigan brothers and I discussed the events of the last week, but they didn't seem anxious to talk about what we had just done back in their bedroom. Ron kept us laughing with his lame jokes, and I kept my eye on my watch. Still 10:45 -- more than enough time to make it back home before my folks killed me.

Halfway there, while we were waiting for a streetlight to change, I turned to Rick and said, "hey, by the way -- what's with this Scott Michaels guy, anyway? What's his goddamned problem?"

The two brothers looked like I'd hit them on the back of the head with a shovel. Rick was visibly shaken, and immediately pounced on Ron.

"You told him, d-d-didn't you!" he hissed. "This was all your fucking fault, Ronnie!"

Rick cocked his fist back like he was going to pound the life out of his little brother. Ronnie immediately cowered and covered his face.

"HEY!" I yelled. "Stop it!" I caught Rick's hand and dragged it down to his side.

They both turned to me, but kept their eyes averted.

"We… we gotta get back home, Wil," Ron said meekly, backing up. For once, the light went out of his eyes. Now, he looked absolutely terrified, almost on the verge of tears.

"No, wait!" I said, dumbfounded. "Really, I don't know anything! What's the deal?"

The two brothers started walking away, then broke out into a run, leaving me alone on the street. What had just happened here? I felt like I was in the Twilight Zone, like one of those doomed characters on TV.

I made my way home and back up to my room. It took me over an hour to get to sleep, and when I did, my head was filled with nothing but nightmares. When I fell out of bed Saturday morning, I couldn't remember anything I'd dreamed, except bizarre bits and pieces: smoky, out-of-focus images of Rick, Ron, and Scott Michaels, all of them naked. And Sky was in there too, but he was angry, fully clothed and yelling at me, like he hated me. I shook my head in an effort to make that mental picture go away, and spent the rest of the afternoon in my Dad's easy chair, watching bad sci-fi movies on TV.

Later that day, I stared at the phone, mentally willing it to ring. Sky… Ron… somebody had to call me, eventually. But nobody did. I gave up and buried myself in a book. Since I was a little kid, whenever I felt really down, I could always count on a book to help get my mind off my troubles. I picked up one of my favorites, Arthur Conan Doyle's Adventures of Sherlock Holmes. At least these were short stories; I found the longer ones a little tedious, like Hound of the Baskervilles.

Sunday morning, I reorganized my small collection of Famous Monsters magazines and re-read them for about the 18th time. Monsters were cool, but I felt a pang. I was still lonely. I lay back on my bed and listened to my little transistor radio for the rest of the day. By the time they played "Harper Valley P.T.A." for the third time, I couldn't take it anymore, and I angrily punched the off button.

By 3PM, I'd had enough solitude. I gathered up my courage, walked into the kitchen, took a deep breath, and dialed Sky's number. It rang twice. His mom answered, and though she sounded glad to hear from me, she told me that Sky had gone out with some friends that afternoon from the football team. Great, I thought. Left out again. I thanked her and hung up the phone. One down, and one to go.

There was only one "Lannigan" listed on Westshore Blvd., but it took me ten minutes to get the courage to dial the number. Finally, I did. A young voice answered.

"Hel-hel-hel-hello?"

I didn't have to be a mentalist to figure out which Lannigan that was. "Rick! Hi, it's me, Wil. What're you up to, man?" I tried to act as casual as I could.

A long pause. "N-n-nothin'."

Okay. This wasn't gonna be easy. "So," I continued, "you guys wanna come over and hang out or something?" Another long silence.

"No. I got homework." Hmmm -- no stutter this time.

"Yeah, me, too," I answered glumly. This was getting nowhere. "Uh, is Ronnie around?"

The phone clunked down and I heard a voice yell in the background. A few seconds later, Ron was on the line.

"Uh… hi, Wil."

Jeez -- no jokes, no funny voices, no nothing. It looked like the deep freeze wasn't going to thaw very soon.

"Hey, Ronnie, you feel like coming by my house?" I asked, trying to sound cheerful and enthusiastic. "My folks and my stupid sister are out all day, so we'd have the run of the place to ourselves. How's that sound?"

Ronnie covered the mouthpiece, and I heard some angry, muffled voices snarling in the background.

"Sorry, Wil. I got…"

"Oh, don't tell me, let me guess," I sighed. "Homework, right?"

"Yeah," he said in a small voice.

"Look, Ron," I said, imploringly. "You can trust me. Tell me what the hell's going on!"

"Later," he whispered. "I gotta go."

* * * * *

Monday morning at school, I spotted Ronnie walking down the hall, looking like his old self again. His face brightened when he saw me, and I waved across the courtyard and ran over.

"Hey, Ronnie. Hope you're OK," I started. "Listen, man, I'm sorry for pissing-off you and your brother the other day…"

"No," he whispered. "Not here." He looked around nervously. "In the bathroom. C'mon."

We trotted briskly over to the smallest of the boys' restrooms in the school, the one all the way down at the end of the fourth wing of classrooms. Ron cautiously checked under the stalls. The coast was clear.

Ron took a deep breath. "OK. So you wanna hear the whole story about Rick and Scott Michaels?"

I nodded. "What's the big deal?"

Ron looked down at the ground, embarrassed. "Well… you know, the stuff we did together Friday night?" he said.

"Yeah…?" I said, quizzically.

He took a deep breath. "That's not the first time we've done that before," he said, quietly.

Holy shit, I thought. "Wait a minute -- you mean that Rick and Scott were…"

Ronnie looked up at me nervously and nodded.

"It was in May, almost six months ago," he began. "I didn't know nothin' about sex or anything. I came home from school, late, and I heard some noises from our bedroom, so I walked in and they were… you know…" He looked down at his feet.

I let out a slow whistle. "So your brother did it with Scott?"

Ron got right up to my face and stared, grimly. "You can't tell anybody, Wil!" he whispered. "Not Sky, not the coach, not ANYBODY!"

I thought for a minute. "But why does Scott hate you?"

He sighed. "They'd been doin' it for awhile. I think he trusted Rick to keep his mouth shut, but not me."

"Hey," I chuckled, "if Rick had kept his mouth shut, he wouldn't be in this mess in the first place!"

"Shut up, Wil!" he growled, and grabbed my shirt. "You don't know Rick like I do! I'd do anything for him -- anything!" His eyes darkened.

Shit, I thought. For a goofy kid, Ronnie could sure be sensitive.

"Jesus, calm down, Ron," I said, gently peeling his fingers off my shirt. "OK, I swear, I won't ever tell anybody about this."

"And that means Scott, too," he continued. "If he finds out you know, he's gonna come after me, because I'm the only guy who coulda told you."

"But why is he always calling you 'faggot'?" I asked.

Ronnie winced. "He's… he's scared because I saw what he was doing with my brother."

I grinned at the thought. "Yeah, your brother's really talented," I chuckled.

Ron shook his head. "Scott was on his knees, Wil," he whispered.

I blinked. Jesus. The star football player of the Tampa Central Cheetahs was…

"So he's really the faggot." I said, in disbelief. "I mean, uh, he's… you know, a homo. Like you guys." Like me, I thought.

Ron's face blanched. "No we're not, Wil!" he insisted. "I really like girls, as much as you do! So does Rickie, I swear. But y' know, sometimes… guys gotta help each other out. Like brothers."

I nodded. "OK," I said. "Let's forget it ever happened." We shook on it.

A bell echoed down the hall. The walkways were deserted, and we slunk into our homeroom class and sat down at our desks, under the evil eye of Mrs. Swatts. She gave us an evil glare. "Thirty more seconds, and you two would've gone off to detention!" she snapped.

Ronnie and I kept our heads down and pretended to take a sudden deep interest in our social studies books, preparing for a test in the next period.

* * * * *

Report cards came out a week later in mid- October. I pulled two A's and four B's, but one lone 'C' in Algebra kept me off the Honor Roll. My parents were terribly disappointed. At this rate, they'd never let me go back to LaFontaine.

The weather turned cold and drizzly. October dissolved into November, and November dissolved into December. God finally gave me a break: at last, I was getting a respectable growth of hair on my groin. So did just about all the other kids in gym class, ranging from peach fuzz to downright hirsute. Their initial fascination with "donkey boy" seemed to have evaporated, though I still occasionally caught a few curious stares and glances in my direction in the locker room. Once, I thought I saw one kid start to get visibly excited while he showered next to me, but he quickly turned away before I knew for sure.

Despite being the youngest student at Tampa Central, I was beginning to get used to 9th grade. I managed to make a few more casual friends, thanks to being on the swim team. I spent more and more time each week in practice. Between that and homework, I hardly had time to do anything else. I was able to dramatically improve on my Freestyle times, and I inched my way up on the coach's list to finally qualify for first-string Backstroke and Breaststroke. Coach Byers encouraged me at every practice, giving me pointers. He occasionally showed us Olympic films highlighting some of the swimming techniques in slow-motion, with all kinds of animated arrows and graphics to show us how the champions did it. I watched the films with open-mouthed wonder. God, I thought. What I'd give to be able to swim that fast…

One day in early December, at the end of practice, Coach Byers took me aside. "You're coming along well, Larson, but I think you still need to do some work on your legs and arms. If you were just a little stronger, I think you'd have the body type that could really make it as a swimmer."

"You think so, Coach?" I asked, dripping on the tile floor.

He nodded. "You know, Wil, I almost made the Olympic team back in 1956," he said, wistfully. "Eight years before that, I was the spitting image of you at your age -- same speeds, same height, and just about the same weight. Maybe you could make it in another six or seven years. The 1976 games aren't all that far off, you know."

"Hey, why not try for '72?" I chuckled.

The couch laughed. "Son, you've gotta train for years for this," he explained, kindly. "You have no idea the amount of work and sacrifice it's going to take. Let's just go a step at a time."

I thought for a moment. "Have there ever been any 17 year-olds on an Olympic team?" I asked, wistfully.

He shook his head. "Not very often. Nowadays, it's mostly the 20 to 25 year-olds that dominate the sport. You're what -- 15, now?"

"I'll, uh, be 14 next summer," I confessed.

"You're just 13?" he exclaimed. "Aren't you a little young to be in high school already?"

I shrugged my shoulders. "I guess. I skipped first and second grade, because I was too smart for my own good," I sighed. "I went to LaFontaine for 7th and 8th grade. Now I'm here."

"The LaFontaine Institute?" the coach asked in surprise. "So you're a gifted kid."

I laughed and shook my head. "Apparently, not gifted enough," I said. "I'm back in public school, now. My parents thought it'd do me some good." I sighed, remembering the look on their faces at my last report card. "I'd almost rather be back at the Institute. But at least you've got a great swim team here."

The coach gave me an understanding look. "It's tough when you're young, and the older kids tease you. They think you're an easy target, just because you're smaller than they are."

I had to stop myself from blurting out, "tell that to my dick," but I bit my tongue.

"Wil," he said, stepping back and giving me a grin. "You look to me like a young man who's gotta lot of intestinal fortitude. You know what I mean?"

I grinned. "You mean I've got 'guts,' right?"

Coach Byers nodded, thought for a moment, then started filling out a piece of paper. "I'll tell you what I'm gonna do," he said. "I'm going to set it up with Coach Lucas to have you work out once or twice a week in the other building, where the football players have their weight room set up. Have your parents sign this consent form, and we'll start you pumping some iron. And follow the recommended diet in this booklet," he said, as he handed me the papers.

"I thought that lifting weights would stunt my growth or something," I said, a note of concern in my voice.

"Naw -- that's just an old wives' tale, son," he explained. "We're not gonna dump 300 pound barbells on you. Just some light weights and machines, period. Stay away from the heavy stuff," he cautioned. "You can really get hurt with those, especially without the right training and a good spotter. You'll be ready for that in another year or two."

"And then on to the Olympics!" I grinned.

"We'll see about that," he laughed, swatting my wet fanny as I trotted to the locker room. "Get going! And don't forget to bring the form back in to me tomorrow!"

 Chapter 6

Friday the 13th, as I trudged down the hall to sixth-period English, I had to fend off Rick and Ron -- "the geek brothers" as I'd started to call them. We'd had a few more sessions in their bedroom over the last few weeks, but I began to realize I really didn't like the guys all that much. Heck, they spent more time screwing around with each other than they did with me. I almost felt like I was intruding on their little games. Even worse, I felt like I was still the freak on display, which made me really self-conscious. And even though I felt kind of embarrassed to admit it, Rick and Ron just weren't… well, all that attractive. Hell, they were downright goofy-looking! Every time I did it with them, once it was over with, I felt kind of ashamed.

As I trudged through the halls, I thought of Sky, and the two or three times we had fooled around together. I never felt embarrassed with him. When I was with Sky, it all seemed… I dunno -- exciting, yet at the same time, like it was the most natural thing in the world. I mean, I had known the guy for what, six years? And I liked him as a person long before I ever even thought about him… well, as more than a friend. I began to feel that familiar pain in my chest again, then I shook my head. I'm not a homo, I thought. I'm just going through a phase. That's what all the books said.

Sky was right: maybe I should try to date some girls. Fat chance I had at actually getting laid, but at least maybe I could go out and have some fun. Shit, I was a jock, right? Well, almost a jock. Even if I was the lowest guy in the line-up, and I'd yet to even compete in a single swim meet, I still technically had a monogrammed team letter. Just like Sky.

When I finally got to class, Sky was already laughing with a couple of the football jocks at the front of the room. We sat down almost at the same time, and just as I turned to bring my notebook up from under my desk, someone on my left playfully punched my arm.

"Hey, stud! Look at the new letter-man!"

I looked over to see Sky grinning at me, with the same carefree smile I'd known practically all my life. It'd been awhile since I'd seen him do that. God. Does this guy have perfect teeth, or what? I mentally slapped myself awake and looked down at my new sweater, which I'd gotten the day before.

"Yeah. We all just got them on the swim team. Pretty cool, eh?" I said, trying to be as macho as I could.

"Still, it's not as cool as a varsity football letter," he said, smugly, "…but it's not bad."

I looked closer at the insignia on his jacket. "Shit, Sky!" I whispered. "You made it to varsity!"

He beamed ear-to-ear and nodded proudly. "Yeah. Bobby Carlson broke his leg over the weekend, so they bumped me up to varsity from JV. There's only three 9th graders on the whole team, and I'm one of 'em."

"Congratulations, man!" I said, sincerely. "Man, I hope those guys don't kick your ass too hard."

He grinned. "I'm only the center, so I just have to be hand the ball off and do a little blocking. It's the quarterback that does most of the work. As soon as I get rid of the football, I'm out of danger."

I thought for a second. "Wait a minute -- isn't Scott Michaels the new quarterback?" I asked, making a face.

Sky nodded. "Yeah. I know, he can be an asshole, sometimes, but he's really a great player. With Carlson out, I think Coach is gonna make Scott team captain, too."

I shook my head and grimaced. You'd better watch your balls during the game when Scott reaches behind you, I thought.

"Oh, I forgot," he said, seeing the look on my face. "You got a thing against Michaels, from that bullshit that happened in gym. Look, Wil, just stay out of his way. I'll tell him you're cool."

Yeah, I thought. Cool like Scott's friends Rick and Ronnie.

"Don't go out of your way, man," I said. "I can take care of myself."

He punched me in the shoulder again. "Anything you say, Mr. Jock-man!" he said, laughing.

I grinned back at him. It was almost like being with the old Sky again. God, I'd almost forgotten what it was like.

The class went by quickly, and so did Phys Ed. I felt sure it was going to rain -- typical December weather for Florida -- but all it did instead was look gray and overcast. After we'd run around the track for about the 18th time, Coach Lucas finally blew his whistle. My group half-walked, half-stumbled the last quarter-mile back to the boys' locker room building, puffing and wheezing most of the way. Ronnie caught up with me just as we entered the doorway.

"Hey, Wil," he wheezed. "My mom has to go to some stupid office party tonight. You wanna come by for… you know, a barbecue or pool or somethin'?" He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.

I sighed. "Not tonight, Ronnie," I said. "I finally convinced my folks to let me use the weights in the varsity workout room. I won't get out of here until at least 5:00 or 5:30."

His face fell, like somebody had just cancelled Christmas or something. "Gee, Wil. You haven't come by to see me and Rick in like two weeks," he said, shyly.

I looked in both directions, then brought my voice down to a whisper. "Look, Ron, you know I like you and Rick and all…"

He nodded, but had a disappointed look in his eyes.

"…but I got all these responsibilities and stuff, being on the swim team," I continued. "Coach says I've gotta… you know, bulk up. I really need to get bigger muscles, you know?"

"I think you've already got a lotta muscles, Wil," he said, admiringly.

"But not enough to win, Ronnie," I said, exasperated. "You don't understand -- I'm like the shrimpiest guy on the team! I've gotta get bigger so I can beat these guys. Coach says I can do it -- I've just got to get stronger!"

The red-haired geek nodded. Actually, in this light, Ron almost looked kind of cute in a strange way. What was I saying? I shook my head to try to lose the mental image of him and his brother naked.

"OK," he said, finally accepting defeat. "Just don't turn into one of those giant muscle-bound guys, Wil. You know, like Willie Armitage on the IM Force." Ron looked at me forlornly with his piercing green eyes. Why had I never noticed those before?

"Who?" I asked, as he walked down the hall to the locker room.

"You know, dummy!" he yelled from a distance, exasperated. "Peter Lupus on 'Mission: Impossible,'" he said, as if this was the most obvious thing in the world.

I rolled my eyes and laughed. "Not a chance, Ronnie," I grinned, as I walked over to the weight-room door and pushed it open. "I'll be lucky if I can just add 10 pounds of muscle!" I yelled.

Or turn into a Greek god like Sky. There he was on the bench in front of me, stripped to the waist, with four of the other football jocks. I felt a twinge as I saw his tanned chest sweat and strain under the weight.

"…eight… nine… ten! " counted off one of the players. "Incredible, Jones! That's ten reps of 155! Un-fuckin'-believable!"

Sky let the huge bar fall with a clang on the top of the bench posts. He sat up and panted, while half the gym applauded. Sky stood up and took several victory bows.

I stopped dead in my tracks and stared. Holy shit! Sky had really put on some muscle over the last few months. My friend had always been athletic, but now he looked like he was turning into Superboy or something! His arms bulged with all kinds of little veins and ripples I'd never seen before. His chest looked totally pumped up, and he had a deep vertical ridge that went all the way from the top of his chest down to his muscular stomach. His nipples had a light dusting of hairs, and a little inverted V-shaped tuft of blond curls trailed down tantalizingly from his belly-button into his shorts. When he saw me gawking in front of him, he grinned.

"Shit!" he said, laughing. "They'll let anybody in this place!"

"Who's the shrimp?" said one jock, a Cuban guy who'd been assisting Sky with the weights.

"Lay off, man," Sky said, defensively, as he got up and put his arm around my shoulder. "This 'shrimp' just so happens to be a good friend of mine. Gentlemen, let me introduce to you Tampa Central's premiere Backstroke king, Mr. William Larson. He's on the varsity swim team."

"Call me Wil," I grinned. "With one 'L.'"

I shook hands with three of the players, but the big Hispanic guy just stared at me.

"Hey -- wait a minute!," he said, as a wave of recognition hit his face. "You're that kid… Donkey Boy, right? Man, this guy's got a cock on him… madre de dios!" He held his hands about a foot apart and whooped like a hyena. Several other onlookers turned to see what he was laughing about.

"Can it, Rodriquez!" snapped Sky, angrily. "I bet he fucks your mother with that big dick!"

"I doubt it," said one of the others. "Enrique has a baby dick! No way this guy over here could be the father!" he said, pointing in my direction. We all laughed, except for Rodriquez, who turned bright red.

"Hey, shut up, you guys!" he yelled. "That ain't funny!"

I grinned at him and shook my head. "I swear, Enrique," I said, as evenly as I could, "I've never even met your mother." I held my hand out as a gesture of peace.

The brown-skinned teen made a half-hearted attempt to smile, but the other guys just hooted again and slapped Sky on the back.

"No disrespect, man," I said to him, sincerely. He nodded, finally giving me a firm handshake.

Sky's teammates started walking towards the door. "We'll catch ya later, man. We're gonna hit the showers."

"OK. Later, guys! Thanks for helpin' me," called Sky, as they left the room. "So," he said to me, eying my small frame, "I hear you wanna learn how to build strong bodies 12 ways."

"I'll settle for just one," I replied, grinning. I looked around the room at the rows of gleaming chrome steel bars, racks of huge black weights stacked against the far wall, and a dozen dangerous-looking exercise machines arranged in the center of the room. Full-length mirrors surrounded the room on three sides, making the place look twice as big as it really was.

"Jesus!" I said, amazed. "I had no idea the school had such a huge workout room!"

"The best in the state," said Sky, proudly. "Doug Wheeler's dad is the regional rep for the Universal Fitness Company, and he got 'em to donate most of this gear for free. I bet there's some colleges that don't have this much equipment!"

The workout gear looked cool, but also very intimidating. "How do you work all this stuff, Sky?" I asked, with some trepidation. "It looks real complicated. And dangerous," I added.

"Naw, it's easy," he said, reassuringly. "Just follow the rules, and you can't hurt yourself. Look at these charts up here." He walked me over to one wall, and I saw a bunch of colored diagrams and outlines of the human body. "These'll show you how to warm-up, how to stretch, and how to hold the weights for proper form."

"Will you… would you mind showing me?" I asked.

Sky thought for a moment. "Well, I sorta promised Melissa I'd walk her home from school."

My face must've reacted, because he gave me a curious look.

"Or… oh, fuck it," he said, finally. "I could just see her later on tonight. Lemme get a message to her, and I'll come back and show ya the ropes."

I grinned. "Thanks, Sky. I'd really appreciate it."

"Hey, man, what're best friends for?" he replied, giving me his million-dollar smile.

* * * * *

Sky's workout routine was intense. He started me on biceps, which hurt like hell. The weights I was using were little puny 10-pounders, but he reassured me that everybody always started out small. Next up was shoulders, then triceps, then chest.

"Chest is my favorite," said Sky, moving me into position on the bench. "Officially, this is the 'Pectoral Muscle Group,'" he said, putting his hands on my chest. "We call 'em 'Pecs' for short."

I felt my heart flutter momentarily at the touch of his hands, but tried to concentrate on his instructions.

"You'll need good pecs for swimming, for sure," he continued.

"Wouldn't this be safer on the machines?" I asked, timidly. The weights on the bench were about the size of trashcan lids.

"Machines are for pussies, Wil," he said, confidently. "You ever see any of those really huge guys in the magazines?"

I nodded.

"Trust me," he said, replacing the big plates with smaller ones. "None of those guys got big pullin' cables or pushin' levers," he explained. "Those guys pump iron -- the real deal, none of this candy-ass stuff."

I lay back on the bench and looked up at him. Sky's gold chain still dangled around his neck, nestled in the deep groove between his pecs.

"Don't worry," he reassured me. "I'll start you off real light, then you can work your way up over the next few weeks. I bet by next summer, you'll be able to do 155, like I just did today for the first time!"

I gulped. "But Sky," I protested, "I'm not trying to turn into some kind of monster! I just want to get bigger. Not huge, y' know?"

Sky grinned and got close to my ear. "I say you're already huge," he whispered, tugging playfully at my shorts.

I laughed. From him, it sounded like a compliment, not an insult.

* * * * *

By 5:30, we were both totally exhausted. I hurt in places I didn't even know I had. If actual muscles existed there, I thought, they definitely weren't there yesterday.

"You look like shit, Wil!" Sky laughed.

I winced, rubbing my sore left tricep. "Man, I thought swim practice was rough!" I moaned. "But this is a whole new level of pain."

"Yes, but it's a good kinda pain," he laughed. "Look, man, if you're really hurtin', we can use the whirlpool bath down the hall."

"What's that?"

"It's like a real hot bath," he explained, "only with a buncha bubbles and crap. It's a shitload better than a hot shower. Coach lets us use it when we pull a muscle in our legs or somethin'."

"Oh, you mean like a little swimming pool?" I asked, trying to visualize it.

He nodded. "Not exactly, but sorta. It's only big enough for maybe ten guys. Since it's Friday, and we don't have a game tonight, the place is totally deserted. It'll just be you and me."

Well, maybe a hot bath with my best friend wouldn't be so bad, I thought. I felt that familiar twinge again. Shit, don't get hard, don't get hard! I desperately tried to remember the capitals of Europe, which were going to be on our Geography test this coming Monday.

I nodded and we headed back down the hall, and I pulled off my T-shirt, which was damp with sweat. The locker room was deserted. Sky ran down the hall to use the pay phone to call his girlfriend at home, to apologize again for not seeing her after school. Just as I had yanked off my jockstrap, I heard a voice behind me and almost jumped up in the air with fright.

"Hey! Locker room's closed! No one's allowed in here but the football team!"

I turned to see Chuck, the gym manager. He looked at me oddly, but then I realized why he was staring.

I already had a partial hard-on, just at the thought of being in the whirlpool bath with Sky. I glanced down, and was mortified to see it was already at least seven inches, and throbbing closer to eight with every second.

"Oh, hi, Chuck. You scared the shit outta me," I said, nonchalantly trying to turn away from him. "I… ah… got permission from Coach Byers to use the weight room. Sky Jones just took me through my first workout, and we're gonna use the whirlpool. We'll be out in fifteen minutes, I promise."

Chuck continued to stare intensely below my waist, then waddled a few steps towards me. I felt a shiver. This guy definitely gave me the creeps. Jesus, maybe he really was a pervert, like Ronnie said. I grabbed my towel and clumsily covered myself up.

"Look, Chuck, give me a break, willya?" I snapped. "I'm just gonna jump in the whirlpool and be out before you know it. Is that okay?"

As he got closer, I took a good look at him. Chuck was one of the weirdest-looking kids I'd ever seen at school. He was huge, even for a 16 year-old, and his eyes were real close together. I mentally guessed he was at least 200 pounds -- probably all fat -- and I bet he had at least a hundred thousand pimples on his face. Chuck was definitely not an athlete, but I figured him being the assistant manager was probably as close as he'd ever get to actually being on a team.

"You're… you're real big, y' know?" he said, softly, walking closer to get a better look at me.

I pretended to misunderstand him. "Yeah, and Coach says I'm gonna get even bigger if I can work out more," I replied. "Sky's helping me with the weights."

The other boy shook his head. "No. Your dick. It's really… amazing."

I felt a twinge, and felt my face redden when I glanced down to see my towel was beginning to tent up below my waist. There was no mistaking the outline.

"Yeah, well, I was born this way, and I can't change it," I said, irritated. "It's really not a big deal."

Chuck took another step closer and looked me right in the eye. I could smell a strange odor about him, kind of an odd mixture of salt and rotten eggs. Despite the locker room's cool temperature, he was sweating profusely, and he had a troubled expression on his face, as if he was struggling to decide whether or not to do something horrible.

"It's… it's a big deal to me," he said, quietly. "I'd do anything to have a big one like that. Even to… touch it, or anything…"

I started feeling terrified. Chuck probably outweighed me by almost a hundred pounds. If he really attacked me, all he'd have to do to totally subdue me would be just to sit on my chest and crush me to death.

"Look, Chuck, I really don't w-want any trouble…" I stammered.

He was close enough to touch me now. "I can… make you feel a lot better, Wil," he whispered, his face moist with perspiration. "Just let me try. Please." The obese teenager slowly reached his pudgy hand out to touch my towel, and I took a step back.

"Hey, Wil! Let's go, man, the whirlpool's all hot n' ready to go!"

Both Chuck and I jumped with a start as Sky ran back into the room, already half-naked.

"Hi, Chuck," he said, acknowledging our visitor. "Listen, Coach said I could close up, so you can split now. Thanks for hangin' out, man. The team really appreciates it!"

Chuck nodded meekly, and said, "Okay, Sky. You know to kill the lights and let the door lock behind you when you leave."

"Rightio, Chuck," said Sky, yanking off his shorts and jock and grabbing his towel. "Thanks, man!"

The fat boy waddled out of the locker room, and Sky walked over to me and tossed his jockstrap in the empty clothes locker next to mine.

I let out a sigh of relief. "Jesus Christ, Sky! That guy gives me the creeps!" I shuddered, pulling off my glasses and laying them down in my locker.

Sky turned and gave me an incredulous look. "Ol' Chuckles? That fat fuck? Just ignore him, man," he said. "Chuck just likes lookin' at guys. I see him lookin' at me all the time, when the team's in the showers. He's harmless! He's just a fag."

I nodded. "Yeah -- just a fag. Okay."

We grabbed our towels and walked down the hall past the shower and around the corner to a smaller room. A strange chemical odor filled the air, and I heard a distant bubbling noise, like the beakers in Dr. Frankenstein's laboratory.

"Here it is, the official Tampa Central High whirlpool!" Sky said, reaching in and turning on the light switch, which cast a dim glow around a small pool surrounded by a concrete deck. "Hop on in… the water's fine."

Sky peeled off his towel and stepped down into the bubbling water, which had a layer of white foam floating on the top. I turned to watch him move down the steps. Jesus, even his back has muscles, I thought, as I hung my towel on a nearby hook. A deeply-etched line ran down his spine, leading to his very round, muscular butt -- excuse me, the 'gluteus maximus.' By any name, it still made my heart pound. His posterior was very white, in stark contrast with the deep brown tan of the rest of his body. I averted my eyes and gingerly dipped my toe into the pool, which was boiling.

"Fuck!" I yelled. "This thing is gonna scald my ass!"

Sky laughed, his wonderful laugh again. "Naaaa! It feels great! I already checked the thermostat, and it's only 105 degrees. C'mon, just get in and go with the flow, man!"

Gingerly, I moved down the steps, wincing as the bubbling bath hit my dangling family jewels, and finally sat down in the water, right next to my friend.

"Aaaaaaaaah," he sighed, stretching out his legs under water. "Isn't this the greatest?"

I had never felt anything like it. Hidden water jets in the walls blasted thousands of bubbles all over my body, giving my back a vigorous massage. While the chemical smell was pretty intense -- it was noticeably worse than any of the pools I'd ever swam in -- I had to admit, it felt great. I closed my eyes and drank in the sheer physical pleasure of the experience.

"Sky, this is… this is really great, man," I sighed. "I wish my dad would buy one of these for our house!"

Sky laughed. "Fat chance, Wil. You guys still have a 21" black and white TV!"

"Hey," I protested. "That's 'cause my Dad says color TV isn't perfected yet!"

"No, it's 'cause he's a cheap bastard!" he taunted.

"He is not!"

"Is so!"

I started to open up my mouth up to continue the argument, but Sky picked that exact moment to send a big splash of bubbling water right up my nose.

I choked and wheezed. "You asshole!" I yelled, coughing. "There's dangerous chemicals and shit in here! Now, I'll probably turn into the Incredible Hulk or something!"

Sky laughed uproariously, his voice echoing off the tile walls. "That's the only time I ever got you first in a pool, Wil! C'mon, how many times have you nailed me with a killer splash before?"

I sputtered and spit, but was hell-bent for revenge. "You mean like THIS?" I yelled, leaping off the wall and dragging his head under water. We spent the next few minutes wrestling back and forth, laughing and yelping as each of us pinched, splashed, and grabbed the other in the whirlpool.

We'd done this a thousand times before in swimming pools and at the beach, but somehow, it was different this time. For one, we were both completely naked. For another, we were totally by ourselves. After a few minutes of horseplay, we finally wound up pinned against the wall with our arms wrapped around each other, my face right on top of Sky's muscular chest. We laughed hysterically, but I felt a strong surge in my loins, and my heart pounded.

We were both breathing faster, and our laughter slowly stopped as we caught our breath and looked up at each other. Shit, I thought. If I made any kind of move, I just knew what Sky would say. Suddenly, something grabbed me firmly but gently down below.

"Ah, what do we have down here," Sky said, playfully tugging on my manhood. "Did you smuggle a baseball bat into the pool, young man?"

I grinned and reached down underwater. He was hard, too. "No sir," I said, "but you seem to have an abnormal growth over here that I think needs to be diagnosed." I started stroking him.

"Wha… what are you doing, Wil?" he asked, his voice trembling slightly.

"Look, man," I whispered. "There's nobody else around. Let's… you know, go for it!"

"Here? Is that sanitary?" he asked, quietly.

I sniffed the air. "Shit, Sky. There's so many chemicals in here, it's probably killed all the germs for 100 yards."

He nodded, and we sloshed back over to the underwater concrete steps.

"Okay," he whispered. "You do me, and I'll do you."

My heart raced as I sat up on the pool's top step. "I'm almost there now, Sky," I whispered back. "Just jerk me first so I can get rid of this thing, or else I won't be able to walk out of here."

He started stroking me slowly, using the foamy water as a lubricant. It felt incredible. I reached over and gently caressed his chest with my left hand, and he let out a moan.

"You look really great, Sky," I muttered.

He kept silent and continued moving his right hand back and forth, while his other hand groped his own groin.

"Use both hands," I begged. "You know… like you did before."

"I remember," he said, quietly. Sky reached over and began vigorously stroking me with both hands. It took less than a minute for me to start bucking and thrusting. An involuntary guttural moan started deep in my throat, and before I knew it, a half-dozen spurts shot through the air and landed somewhere in the middle of the bubbly water.

"Jesus, Wil," he whispered. "You just squirted like six feet away!"

"I guess I was… a little worked-up," I gasped.

He nodded, then pulled himself up next to me on the top step, his long legs still in the water. He looked at me hungrily.

"Please. Can you… do it for me?" he pleaded. "I can't even get Melissa to let me go to second base."

I grinned wickedly and gently stroked his rock-hard erection with my right hand. "Lemme try something different," I said. I dropped down between his legs, opened my mouth, and swallowed him up completely in one gulp.

"Oh, GOD!" he moaned.

"Shhhhh!" I mumbled, my mouth half-full. "Somebody'll hear us!"

"Fuck, Wil," he whispered. "That feels incredible!"

I gripped him tightly and began moving back and forth, exploring every inch of his groin with my tongue, slurping hungrily as I went. I used my right hand to tenderly squeeze his balls, while I stroked his chest and tweaked his nipples with my left. Sky moaned with sheer delight.

"Jesus, shit, man!" he cried. "Where did you learn that from? Christ, this is unbelievable!"

I stopped for a minute and pulled my mouth off. "I read a lotta books," I grinned, smacking my lips.

"Please don't stop!" he begged.

"Okay, okay!" I said, and diligently went back to the job at hand. I plunged my face all the way down until my nose poked the blond tufts at the base and I felt a little pressure at the back of my throat. Suppressing the urge to gag, I worked him over as thoroughly as I could, remembering everything Rick and Ronnie had done for me over the past couple of months. I playfully probed my tongue in his belly-button, tracing the light trail of blond hairs all the way down. He moaned again with approval. Less than a minute later, I felt his balls tighten, and I knew he was getting close.

"Wil… I'm… gonna blast off, man!" he whispered.

I patted his chest to assure him it was OK. I squeezed his balls a little tighter, then lightly fingered him a little lower, pushing my finger in to the first knuckle without encountering any resistance. I wiggled around and he began groaning and thrusting uncontrollably.

"Oh, fuck," he moaned, "this is it! Ohhhhhhhhhhh!" He practically lifted his hips out of the water as he lurched forward, humping my mouth like a total madman, completely out of control. I felt several hot spurts hit the back of my throat, and I swallowed it all as he sank back into the hot, bubbling water. Curiously, I couldn't taste anything; with all the weird chemicals I'd already swallowed, I figured, one more weird taste wouldn't kill me.

Sky looked like he was unconscious. I let him slip out of my mouth, then I stepped up and sat down next to him on the steps.

"So, how was that, Sky?" I asked, quietly, wiping off my mouth. I grinned and casually laid my right arm on the step behind him.

He opened his eyes, looked at me, and smiled weakly. "Christ, Wil. That was… well, I just wasn't expecting that." He caught his breath. "You were… you were really great."

"Thanks," I chuckled, leaning back against the tub wall. "I've never actually done it to anybody else before," I said, truthfully. Rick and Ron had always insisted on doing all the work in our occasional get-togethers.

Sky sighed. "Fuck, I'd hate to see how good you could get with more practice!"

I grinned. "Well, I had a couple of good teachers," I said.

"Who?" he asked, warily.

"Oh -- nobody," I said, nonchalantly. "Just a couple of friends. Nobody you'd know."

He was quiet for a moment, then turned to look me in the eye.

"Melissa won't do any of that shit for me," he said, wistfully.

"Well, don't ask me to give her lessons, okay?" I laughed, wiggling my boner, which had sprung back to life and was sticking out of the water like a periscope.

But Sky didn't even smile. He sat silent, and looked away from me. I leaned up, reached over and put my hand on his shoulder, and he turned his face back to mine. We were just inches apart.

"I'm… I'm really glad you liked it, Sky," I whispered. Before I could even think what I was doing, I leaned forward and kissed him. At first, he kissed back, gently pushing into me. I could smell his face, feel his warmth. Oh, god, I thought, I can't believe this is happening. He moaned softly and caressed his hand on the back of my head, and I felt his tongue start to touch my lips. I reached to pull him even closer, but suddenly he wrenched away with a cry, and punched me in the face as hard as he could.

For an instant, I saw stars. Then I fell backwards into the hot bubbling water.

I was momentarily stunned, but the sharp sting of the chemicals in my eyes brought me back to life. I stood up, sputtering and spitting out blood and pieces of teeth.

"WHAT THE FUCK?" I screamed.

"GET AWAY FROM ME, YOU FAGGOT!" he yelled back.

I was in shock. Sky leapt out of the water, almost slipping on the tile floor as he ran to the wall and angrily ripped his towel off from a hook.

I stood there as my eyes filled with tears, half from the pain, half from the shock.

"Sky, I'm… I'm sorry, man," I stammered. "I just thought… I thought this was what you wanted…"

"SHUT UP!" he hissed. "I told you, I don't want any of that faggot crap!" He was literally shaking with rage.

I began to sob, quietly. I hadn't cried in more than five years, since my great-grandmother had died in '63.

"Sky, I swear," I choked. "It's not a big deal! It's just between us -- just us guys. Nobody has to know, I promise!" Like brothers, I thought.

"BUT I'LL KNOW" he bellowed. "You just want me to be a fag, like you! I'm no fuckin' homo, goddammit!"

"I never said you were," I wailed. "Sky, I swear to god, I'm not a homo, either! I still like girls! I'd love to fuck one right now, as a matter of fact. But I just thought…"

He angrily waved both fists at me. "You thought wrong! Just get away from me!" he screamed. "Go with your fuckin' queer friends. Go suck your own dick, for all I care! Just stay the fuck away from me, Wil!"

With that, my best friend in the world turned and stormed out of the room, leaving me alone with the bubbles, the water, and the stinky chemicals. I sat down on the steps and cried.

In the six years I'd known Sky, I'd never seen him so incredibly angry. He was right. I was totally fucked-up. I had seduced my best friend into doing something he never wanted to do, something he hated. I'd crossed some invisible line, gone too far, and destroyed our friendship. Fuck, fuck, FUCK! How could I be so stupid?

I lay my head down on the concrete edge of the pool and quietly wept. The sounds of my sobs echoed on the tile walls, while the bubbles behind me continued to percolate. I felt like my heart had been ripped out of my chest.

Slowly, I pulled myself out of the water, grabbed my towel, shut off the switch and staggered down the hallway. I got to a mirror above one of the sinks in the bathroom, and took a good close look at my face. I winced. Yep, definitely a chipped tooth on the bottom, and my lower lip was cut pretty badly. I could still taste the blood in my mouth. Looked like a big bruise on my chin, too. Shit.

I wiped off my mouth with a paper towel, and grimaced with the pain. I'd have to tell the folks I fell off a diving board or something.

I pulled on my clothes, zipped up my jacket, and headed out into the cold Florida night.

 Chapter 7

When I got home that night, my parents took one look at me and completely freaked out. I told them it was nothing, that I had slipped on a diving board during practice, but I didn't think they bought it. They demanded that I go to the hospital immediately, but I adamantly refused, insisting I was fine. My mother was practically in tears.

Dad took a good look at my jaw, then shook his head. "Well," he said, "I don't think it's broken, but that tooth looks pretty bad. We're going to call the dentist right now and ask him if he'll see you in the morning for an emergency exam." I started to protest, but he cut me short.

"No, William. You only get one set of teeth to last your whole lifetime," he said. Then, lowering his voice, he added, "please -- just do this for your mother."

I turned to her and saw the horrified look on her face, and nodded. Even my stupid sister kept her mouth shut for a change.

"Just let me go up to bed, okay?" I said, starting for the stairs.

"Aren't you even going to tell us what happened?" cried my mother.

"NO!" I yelled. "I told you -- I slipped and fell on the high board!"

"Maybe we should call the coach," said my mother, reaching for the phone.

"DON'T… DO… ANYTHING!" I wailed, and ran upstairs and slammed my door. I fell into bed and sobbed for what felt like an hour.

Not long afterwards, I heard a knock.

"Go away!" I mumbled into my pillow. "I said I'd see the dentist in the morning."

The door opened, and a shaft of light momentarily blinded me. My mom entered, carrying a tray with a bowl of soup and sandwiches. Cream of tomato soup and grilled cheese… she knew those were my favorites.

Mom lay the tray on a side-table and sat down on my bed. "Wil, you really need to eat something," she said soothingly.

"Can't," I said, tersely. "Mouth hurts too much."

She put her hand on my forehead, and I opened my eyes and looked up at her. She smiled back.

"Remember when the boys used to try to beat you up in elementary school?" she said, gently. "Your friend Sky always helped you stay out of trouble."

I felt like someone plunged a knife in my heart.

"Go away, Mom," I choked, rolling over so she couldn't see my tears.

"Sky called a few minutes ago, you know," she continued. "He said somebody told him you were in a fight. He just wanted to see if you were okay."

"Tell him to go FUCK HIMSELF!" I screamed, immediately regretting my outburst.

My mom was aghast. "William Gerald Larson! Don't you ever use language like that in this house!"

I rolled over, immediately apologetic. "Gosh, I'm sorry mom, really! I'm just… I'm in a lotta pain and stuff."

She nodded, regaining her composure. "I have some aspirin and water here, if you need it."

I weakly attempted to smile. "Thanks, Mom," I said. "Yeah, I think I could use some." I sat up and rubbed my eyes.

She handed me the pills and a small cup of water, and I swigged them down in one gulp.

"Call me if you need anything," she said, as she started for the door. "Dr. Morton's agreed to see you at 10AM tomorrow."

I felt around the inside of my mouth with my tongue. Shit, one of my lower front teeth really was loose, I thought. Fuck! It hurt like hell, and I still could taste a little blood.

I didn't argue this time. "Okay, Mom," I said, falling back to my pillow. "Just let me sleep 'till then."

She closed the door and left me surrounded by blackness. I stared at the ceiling and desperately tried to make sense of everything that had happened. Sky was my best friend. Then he seems to hate me and tells me I'm 'weird.' Finally, we patch things up, and we start fooling around. I give him what he practically admitted was the best orgasm of his entire life, and then he tries to knock my fucking teeth down my throat.

And now he calls my house to see how I'm feeling? Incredible, I thought, shaking my head. I sat up, reached over, and started nibbling on the sandwich, taking care to chew only on the right side of my mouth. I sipped the soup -- CHRIST, it was hot! My lip was still bleeding, dammit.

I finished the meal in silence, then turned on the radio, lay back and stared out the window. New moon out, I thought. Hardly any light out tonight. I began to drift away with the music.

The WLCY deejay talked up Marvin Gaye's "I Heard It Through the Grapevine," which he said just hit #1 on the charts. God, that was a great song. It had a weird arrangement -- almost mysterious and angry. I let the music wash over me like a soothing blanket. Before the song ended, I drifted away to unconsciousness.

* * * * *

The following morning, Dr. Morton poked a wicked-looking stainless-steel pick around in my mouth and shook his head. It was unusual for me to see him on a Saturday. In lieu of his standard-issue white lab coat, the dentist was dressed in a goofy-looking golf outfit, with a plaid jacket, short pants, and weird shoes. My dad stood by the exam door, with his arms crossed across his chest, and an expression of concern on his face.

The doctor tch-tch'd me, and turned to my father. "Well, Mr. Larson, it's a good thing you didn't let your son's tooth go another 24 hours," he said. "If infection had set in, we could've lost it for sure." The kindly white-haired man turned back to me. "You know, William, you only get one set…"

"I know, I know," I said, irritated. "One set of teeth to last a lifetime. Yeah, I know all about that." I looked over to my dad. "Can we just get this over with?"

"Not so fast," the dentist explained. "Now, your lip is already healing fine, so you won't need any stitches, and I've packed that bottom left lateral incisor with a temporary crown. You should put an ice pack on that bruise on your jaw." He put down his dental mirror on a tray and looked at me reassuringly. "This is probably a good time for me to tell you, you're a good candidate for orthodonture, William."

I rolled my eyes. "That's WIL," I muttered.

"Sorry -- Wil," he said, apologetically. The doctor turned to my dad. "Wil's got some fairly crowded teeth on the bottom, Mr. Larson, and with this injury, we can probably get your insurance to pay for some of the expense. I'd strongly suggest you consider it."

My dad nodded. "Son, you should listen to what Dr. Morton says."

I blanched. Now, on top of everything else, they want to turn me into a metal-mouth? "Jeeez, Dad," I whined. "I look stupid enough as it is! I don't wanna get braces!"

The doctor smiled and shook his head. "Not braces, Wil. Just a retainer. You'll only have to wear it at night, when you sleep. In 12 to 18 months, you'll have the best-looking mouth in school."

Tell that to Sky, I thought.

"Would the retainer give him any pain, doctor?" asked my father.

"Well, there is some minor discomfort," he nodded. "But no, it's not really painful." The doctor reached over and showed me some pictures from a color brochure. "This is what the retainer would look like, Wil. Your upper teeth are fine. This would just open up your lowers and give them a little more breathing room. I believe they'll grow in a lot straighter, without all that pressure."

At this point, I'd have agreed to anything just to get out of there. They made an appointment for me to come back after New Year's to get the permanent crown and start the measurements for the retainer. He also gave me a prescription for a bunch of pills -- yellow ones for the pain, and white antibiotics to kill any infection. After we picked up the prescription at the drug store, Dad and I rode home in an uncomfortable silence.

"I take it you still don't want to talk about it?" he asked, gently.

I stared out the windshield. "No. It's not a big deal, Dad."

"I understand," he sighed. "Is this… did this have to do with your friend Schuyler?"

"No," I lied. "He wasn't even there. It was somebody else."

Dad chuckled. "You mean, at the diving board?"

I winced. "Just drop it, okay?," I pleaded. "It's all over with now. I'm not really hurt."

Dad brought the car to a stop at the light, then turned to me.

"Wil," he began, "remember, no matter what, I'll always be your father. If you ever have a problem, you can always tell me about it."

I ached to tell him how I really felt. Tears began to well up in my eyes. No, stop it! I mentally commanded my tears to turn to ice.

"Not now," I choked, my voice cracking. I turned and pretended to look out the window to avoid letting him see my face. "Maybe… maybe another time, Dad. Lemme just go home for now."

I spent the rest of the day hold up in my room, listening to the radio and doing my homework. The mid-terms were coming up in just a few days, and everybody at school was already totally paranoid about them. I heard the phone ring down the hall, and my sister bounded down the stairs.

"I'll get it!" she yelled.

Seconds later, she called up to me from the kitchen. "WIIIIIIIIL! It's Sky! He says he wants to talk to you."

Tell him to go fuck himself, I thought. My lower lip still hurt like hell, even though I'd just taken a yellow pill an hour ago.

Sharon cracked my door open and timidly poked her head in my room. "I said it's Sky, Wil! On the phone!"

"Just tell him to go f-…" I caught myself. "Uh… just tell him I'm asleep."

She gave me a quizzical look. "But you're awake!" she said, with the pure logic only a 9 year-old could have.

"Make-BELIEVE I'm asleep," I said, exasperated.

"Okay!" she said, brightly, and ran down the stairs, leaving my door wide open. I tried not to listen, but she was too loud to ignore. From a distance, I dimly heard her say, "he says you have to make-believe he's asleep, Sky!" she said, laughing, then hung up the phone.

I winced and put my head down on my desk. Well, maybe that would get the message across, I thought.

An hour later, I saw Sharon again in the kitchen as I grabbed a swig of Pepsi out of the refrigerator. "Uh, Sharon," I said casually. "When you talked to Sky on the phone, did he… did he say anything?"

"No," she said, thoughtfully.

"Oh," I said, disappointed. I put the bottle back on the shelf and turned to leave.

"No, wait!" she said. "I remember now. He asked me if you were hurt, and I said you were gonna have to get braces or all your teeth would fall out!" She giggled.

I rolled my eyes. "You stupid little…" I said, taking a menacing step towards her.

She backed away and stared up at my face, taken aback at my sudden flash of anger. "I'm sorry, Wil," she said quickly. "I made that part up. I just said you had to get braces, and the doctor gave you some pain pills. That's all I said. Honest!"

I nodded and walked through the dining room. Just as I got to the stairway, she called out to me.

"Oh, and Sky said he was really sorry. He said it was all his fault. Why did he say that, Wil?"

I froze and turned around, slowly walking back to her. "Sharon," I said, leaning over to her. "Please -- make me a promise," I said, gently.

She nodded, her eyes wide. We usually fought so much, it was kind of a shock when we were actually civil to each other for a change.

"Promise me you won't tell mom and dad what Sky said," I begged. "Please?"

She hesitated.

"You GOTTA promise, Sherrie!" I hadn't called her that in years, since the 4 Seasons' hit was on the radio.

She looked up at me and smiled. "I promise, Wil," she said, quietly.

I kissed her on the forehead. "Thanks, Sherrie. And I'm really sorry for yelling at you the other day. I'll try to make it up to you."

I wracked my brain for something I could give her. "I know -- you can bring your stupid friends over to watch 'The Monkees' tomorrow night."

Her eyes widened. We had fought about this for months. "Oh, thanks, Wil!" she squealed. "Isn't Davy Jones cute?"

Yeah, he's cute alright, I thought. "Just don't tell anybody about… you know," I said as seriously as I could.

Sharon nodded and ran back to her doll collection. I sighed. Maybe my stupid little sister was finally wising up as time went on.

* * * * *

Late Sunday afternoon, I tossed the last of my school books in a pile on my desk. If nothing else, I now felt totally prepared for all the mid-term exams this week. In fact, I thought I had a fighting chance of acing at least half of them. That'd be enough to pull my grade average up one whole point. If I could make the Honor Roll, I bet my Dad would shit a brick, I thought, laughing at the mental image.

Just then, the phone rang again. Oh, shit, I thought. Sky again.

"Wil!" my mom called from downstairs. "It's that Lannigan boy."

"RICK OR RON?" I yelled through my door.

"Who knows?" she replied, exasperated. "Just get the phone, will you, please?"

I sighed and stuck my head out my door. "Do I have to?"

My mother was all dressed up. She really looked great, even though the mink coat was starting to look a little ragged. "Yes, Wil! Your father and I have to go out," she said. "Stay here and take care of your little sister until we get back. I've left your dinner on the stove, and it'll be ready in five minutes. We'll be back at ten."

I ran downstairs, slid all the way across the dining room floor in my socks, stumbled over to the kitchen phone, flipped the receiver up in the air with one hand and caught it with the other, and still managed to avoid falling on my ass. I grinned at my mom, who stared at me open-mouthed, then laughed at my gymnastic theatrics, shook her head, and walked out the back door.

"Hello?" I said.

"Wil! It's me, Ron," he said excitedly. "Jesus, we heard about what happened, man! Are you okay?"

Shit. Bad news travels fast, I thought. "How'd you find out about my fight with Sky, Ron?" I whispered.

Ron laughed, his goofy laugh. "I heard it from Mr. Waverly on Channel D."

I rolled my eyes. Ronnie was nuts about that TV show, The Man from U.N.C.L.E., and for the last two weeks, he had settled on a career as an agent for a top secret world-wide spy organization.

"Can it, Ron!" I hissed. "Tell me who told you, asshole! And don't say The National Enquirer!"

Ron immediately backtracked. "Shit -- I'm sorry, Wil," he said. "A friend of Rick's just told us he saw you comin' out of the drugstore with your Dad yesterday. He said you had a black eye and your mouth looked all puffy. I figured you had an accident or somethin'."

Or something, I thought. "It's nothing. Forget about it," I said, wearily.

"Sky did this to you?" he asked, incredulously.

"Shut up, Ron. I don't want to talk about it."

"Wil… I…" Ron sounded like he was on the verge of tears. "Wil, do you want me to come over or something?"

"No, just leave me alone, Ronnie," I sighed. "Maybe we can get together over the Christmas break. At least I won't have to go to swim practice for the next couple of weeks. They're repainting the swimming pool for the winter."

"I should come over now," he said, insistently.

I shook my head. On the other hand, my parents were going to be out for another three hours, and…

"I can be there in five minutes," he whispered.

"You don't have to whisper, Ron."

"You can never tell," he giggled. "There are spies from THRUSH everywhere!" he said, in Maxwell Smart's voice.

I laughed. "You mean KAOS, don't you?"

"Aaaaa, THRUSH, KAOS, SPECTRE…" he said, giggling. "You seen one evil secret spy organization, you seen 'em all!" We both laughed.

"Alright, Ronnie," I said, finally playing along. "But don't get caught or killed on your way over, or the secretary will disavow any knowledge of your actions."

"Your telephone will self-destruct in five seconds! Good luck, Wil!" he said, slamming down the receiver.

* * * * *

Ten minutes later, me, Ronnie and Sharon sat around our kitchen table, eating leftover meatloaf. For a little shrimpy guy, Ron could sure cram a lot down, I thought.

"You guys have a neat house," he said, stuffing his mouth with a second helping of instant mashed potatoes.

"Not as cool as your house, Ron," I pointed out. "You've got a pool, and a huge bedroom, and all that stuff."

He looked up at me, surprised. "No, really, Wil," he said, without a trace of sarcasm. "Your house is really cool. It just feels… I dunno, real friendly. And you guys have a lotta neat books, too."

I nodded and glanced over at the dozens of bookshelves that lined the wall in the adjoining room. "Yeah, Mom and Dad have tons of this stuff," I said, sticking the serving fork into another slice of meatloaf. "My mom was an English major in college, so she still has a bunch of books on literature and stuff. Plus, we inherited some stuff from my great aunt, who was a teacher, so we wound up with three sets of encyclopedias. I read 'em a lot when I was little, and so I sort of memorized them."

"Ah, yes -- another mystery solved, Watson!" he exclaimed, in a fair impression of Basil Rathbone. "So that's why you're such a brain!" Ronnie's eyes sparkled with admiration.

"Wil's a genius!" interrupted Sharon from across the table. "A su-per gen-i-us!" My little sister giggled with glee at her own joke.

I shot her a glance. "Just eat your dinner, Sharon!" I grumbled.

"Well, that's what mommy and daddy say," she muttered, playing with her food.

Ronnie nodded approvingly. "Are you like Albert Einstein?" he asked.

I rolled my eyes and sighed. "No way. I still hate math. I'm definitely no scientist," I said. "I'm better with History and English for some reason. It's weird. Some stuff just comes easily to me in school, like I don't even have to think -- like it's just there in my head already. But I have to admit, I learn a lot of stuff from books."

Ron leaned towards me and whispered quietly. "I know some stuff that you can't learn from books." He shot me a knowing glance and grinned.

Sharon looked up. "What are you boys talking about?" she asked, suspiciously.

"Nothing, Sharon! Eat your damned food," I snapped.

She pouted and started idly poking a meatloaf patty on her plate.

"I'm sorry, Sharon," I said, apologetically. "Look, it's just dumb 'boy stuff,' OK? Ronnie and I'll come down in awhile and wash the dishes. Just finish your food, and then you can watch TV."

She nodded and took a bite. Ron looked expectantly at me and I nodded up towards the stairs. We dumped our plates by the sink, then ran up to my room and closed the door.

"Wow," he said, bouncing up and down on my bed. "This is a really neat room, Wil! Where'd you get all those cool monster movie posters on the wall?" he asked.

"You need the proper atmosphere for horror. And zees is a horrible place, especially for young boys!" I said, in my best Bela Lugosi. "Cheeldren of the night… vot muzik dey make!"

He laughed uproariously and laid back on the bed. "So, Wil, do you wanna… you know… do some stuff?" he said, shyly.

"NO!" I yelled.

Ron recoiled and shrank back from me. He looked like a dog that had just been swatted by a newspaper, hard.

"Shit, Ronnie. I'm sorry," I said, sitting on the bed. Tears came to my eyes, and I looked down, embarrassed. "I'm just kind of freaked out about what happened."

He sat closer and looked me right in the eye. "Tell me the whole story," he said, in a small voice.

I gave him all the gory details, including my workout at the gym, fat Chuckie trying to molest me, and then finally what happened with me and Sky in the whirlpool.

Ron was dumbstruck. "He hit you… for doing THAT to him?"

I nodded, as I felt a tear slide down the right side of my face. "I totally fucked everything up, Ronnie." I was trembling now. "I never should've done it. I was just so horny!" I sobbed, shaking my head. "Sky wanted it, I swear, and then he didn't want it! He acted like I was a fucking leper!"

Ron sat there, silent. "Sky's a total jerk, you know," he said, quietly.

"He is NOT!" I hissed.

He looked at me with an expression that shocked me. Ron's face burned red with anger, with an intensity that I didn't think he could possibly have.

"They all are -- Sky, Scott Michaels… they're all stupid fuckin' jocks, Wil!" He spat out the words. "They're not like us. They're assholes, Wil," he said, angrily.

I shook my head. "You don't know Sky," I said, wiping my tears away.

"No," he insisted. "YOU don't know him. Not anymore. He's one of them." Ronnie pointed over to the wall.

I glanced over at my Invasion of the Body Snatchers poster. I smiled sadly. "You mean he's turned into a pod person?"

Ronnie nodded and slid closer to me, then gently put his arm around my shoulder. I began to cry, and he turned to hug me. I couldn't hold it back any longer. My body heaved with sobs, and he squeezed me tighter. Tears fell from my face and rolled down to his neck and shoulders. I put my arms around him and wept as if my heart was breaking. I cried for me, I cried for Sky, and I cried for anybody who knew what it was like to be in love with somebody who could never love them back. We stayed locked in an embrace for almost a minute, until my sobs finally grew quieter.

"I guess now's not a good time to ask if I could blow you, right?" he whispered.

I laughed, wiping the tears from my face. "I'm out of commission, Ronnie," I said, my voice cracking. "No way that periscope's ever going to come up tonight. I'm too out of it."

Ron grinned. "Lemme take a voyage to see what's on the bottom," he laughed. He got up and turned off the overhead light, leaving only my dim desk lamp on. Then, he slowly walked back over, imitating the 'ping' of an underwater SONAR beacon until he got back to the bed.

I giggled and weakly tried to stop him as he leaned towards me. "No, really, forget it, Ronnie," I protested, as he pulled my shirt off my head. He threw the shirt on the floor, then unzipped me and gently pulled my pants down. Suddenly, I felt something warm nuzzling my groin. I tried vainly to sit up.

"Oh, god, Ronnie…" I moaned. I needed it so bad.

"Shut up," he ordered, and gently but firmly pushed me back down on the bed. I looked up, but all I could see was the silhouette of his red-haired head bobbing up and down in the darkness. I knew he had me just where he wanted me. I felt him take all of me, right down to the hilt; how a kid as small as Ron managed to do this so effortlessly, I'll never know. I closed my eyes and surrendered completely.

I couldn't tell you how much time passed. It might have been three minutes, or even three hours. Time just didn't matter. I dazedly looked down to the side of the bed, and saw that Ronnie was as stiff as an iron rod, stroking himself back and forth in time with the pleasure he gave to me. I gently put my hand on the back of his head and stroked his red curls. Ronnie tenderly reached out and ran his finger tips across my underarms, which were moist with sweat, then massaged my chest, lightly squeezing my nipples. He picked up the pace, then slipped his hands under my buttocks, gripped tightly, and pulled me closer. That did it. I felt my balls tighten and I began bucking my hips, completely out of control.

"GOD, Ronnie!" I yelled. "Oh, shit!"

I exploded, over and over again, and I finally sank back down in a heap on the bed. It was easily the most exhilarating orgasm of my young life, at least up to then.

Ron leaned over, his face shiny with saliva and goo, as he licked his lips and grinned wickedly at me.

"You actually like the taste of that stuff?" I asked, woozily.

"Well," he said, as he smacked his lips and thought for a moment. "But it's not as good as the mashed potatoes."

We both laughed hysterically. Then he leaned over and got very close to me. "I… I really like you, Wil. A lot."

I nodded and put my left arm around his back. He leaned closer, and we tilted our heads together and closed our eyes. Our lips met, and I felt warm all over. A split-second later, the door flew open with a loud crash.

"WIL!" Sharon yelled, as a stream of light suddenly flooded in from the hallway. "It's Sky again, for you on the phone!"

"GODDAMIT, SHARON!" I screamed. "I TOLD YOU TO KNOCK OR ELSE I'D FUCKING KILL YOU!"

Ron literally looked like a deer caught in the headlights.

Sharon stared at the two of us, then slammed the door and ran down the hall. I heard the door to her room slam in the distance.

Fuck, I thought. Had she seen us? Had she seen me?

"Oh god, oh Jesus, oh god, oh GOD, Wil, I swear, I'm so sorry, I'm so fuckin' sorry!" Ron babbled endlessly, as he jumped off the bed and yanked up his pants in the darkness.

Great, I thought. Now, I'd have to kill myself for sure. I looked over at the little bottle of yellow pain pills on my night stand. 'Not to be taken with alcohol,' I read off the label. Hmmm, I figured the 15 that were left, plus a half a bottle of vodka would probably do it.

Ron's babbling snapped me out of my suicide rehearsal and back to reality. I quickly pulled up my underwear and short pants, zipped up my fly, then jumped off the bed and tried to console Ronnie, who was in near-hysterics in my chair, his head in his hands.

"Oh, SHIT, Wil! I've ruined your fuckin' life!" he wailed. "I swear, I'll never do it again! I'm so fucking sorry! What've I done?"

I tried to think as calmly as I could. "Ronnie! Listen to me! Don't panic," I said, putting my hand on his shoulder. "First, just shut up and let me get the phone. The less we make of this, the less it'll affect Sharon. Let me handle it."

He nodded but continued to sob quietly as I ran out the door and took the stairs three at a time.

I took a deep breath and picked up the phone.

"Sky?" I said.

"Fuck! Wil, oh, shit, I'm so glad it's you!" he cried. "Listen, about Friday, I swear to god…"

"Forget it happened," I said, icily. "It's forgotten."

He paused. "I'm sorry for everything, man -- really. Is your mouth okay?"

I felt my lip. At least the swelling had gone down. "Well, I no longer look like Rondo Hatton," I quipped, referring to the real-life horror actor.

"Rondo who?" he asked, perplexed.

"Don't worry about it," I said. "I'm okay. My teeth are fine. In fact, they'll be better than fine. They're going to make me wear a retainer."

"That's great," he replied, sounding relieved.

We were both silent for a moment.

"Is that it?" I asked, exasperated.

"Yes. No, wait -- there's one more thing," he said, hesitatingly.

Here it comes, I thought. "Sky, I told you, it's forgotten," I said. "I swear, it won't happen again. Nobody will ever find out about it."

"Mid-term exams are all next week," he blurted, a touch of desperation in his voice.

What the fuck was he talking about? "Yeah, so?" I snapped.

"Can you… you know, help me out in English?" he begged.

I started, "well, if you want a copy of my notes and stuff, I can tell you what topics are gonna be covered on Tuesday."

"That's not what I meant," Sky said, nervously. "I mean… with the test."

I felt like I was slowly turning to stone. "You mean you want to cheat off me," I said, as coldly and angrily as I could.

"Please, Wil?" he begged, a touch of desperation in his voice. "I just gotta get my grades up, or I might lose my slot on the team. This means everything to me." His voice softened. "Please. I'll do anything you want, Wil," he said. "Anything," he whispered, emphasizing the word.

My heart stopped. Did he mean…? It finally sunk in.

"I get it, Sky," I hissed. "So I'm a fag, and now you're a whore. Is that it?"

"Shut up, you asshole," he spat. "That's not what I said, and you know it."

"But that's what you meant, right?" God, I hated him so much.

"No… wait…" he cried. "I don't know what the fuck I want, Wil! Look, can't we, you know, be friends? Like before?" His tone was pleading, now. I almost heard him choke back some tears.

"Yeah. Friends to the end," I muttered.

"Great!" he said, trying desperately to sound cheerful. "So, I guess I'll see you in class tomorrow."

"Yeah." I hung up the phone and trudged back upstairs.

* * * * *

As it turned out, Ronnie and I had managed to dodge the bullet. Sharon hadn't seen a thing. I guess Ron's spontaneous idea of keeping the lights low in my room was smarter than I thought. I apologized to her again -- three times in one day, that was a record for me -- after she swore that all she'd seen was me crying and Ronnie putting his arm around my shoulder. At least, that's what she thought she saw.

"Ronnie's a really good friend to you," she said, wisely.

I nodded and grinned. "Yeah. I know, Sherrie. Just please do me a favor and knock on my door from now on?"

She smiled and put an imaginary 'X' across her chest. "Cross my heart and hope to die," she said, as sincerely as she could.

I gave her a hug and went back to my room. Ron was immensely relieved to find out that our little liaison was still a secret. This was a job even the 'Impossible Missions Force' couldn't have pulled off, I thought. Now, all I had to do was deal with Sky… or not deal with him, as the case may be.

I walked Ron out to the front porch and said goodnight to him.

"I meant what I said back there, Wil," he said, still sniffling.

I nodded. "I know, Ronnie. Look," I said, "maybe we should, you know, kinda cut back except for real special occasions, y' know?"

"Yeah." He looked down at his feet. "You still wanna hang out?"

I grinned. "Sure! As long as you promise to convince the infamous Ernst Stavro Blofeld to have SPECTRE terminate Scott Michaels, and then implicate Sky Jones!" I said, laughing.

"Consider it done, comrade," he said grimly. "Both of ze traitors vil be shot at dawn, mit out a blindfold or a last cigarette."

"No -- leave Sky alone, Ronnie," I said, seriously.

Ron stared at me. "You still like him, after all this?"

I thought for a moment. "I don't know how I feel about anything," I replied wearily. "Just go home, and avoid all enemy agents."

"Javolt, mein herr!" Ron clicked his heels together and gave me the Nazi salute, then ran off, taking a shortcut over our hedge and down the sidewalk. God, that kid was wacky, I thought, as I shut the door, shaking my head.

 Chapter 8

There was a disturbing feeling of barely-controlled panic around the school on Monday, since this was the last week before Christmas vacation and "exam fever" was in the air. Jesus, I desperately needed two weeks off, I thought. Between swim practice and trying to keep my grades up, I felt like I never had any goof-off time to myself at all anymore.

Tuesday was the start of exams. I aced 2nd period Geography, because 90% of that test was just memorization, filling in a bunch of empty maps of the world. Piece of cake. I didn't have to worry about Algebra until tomorrow, which was a lucky break; that one was probably going to kill me. I missed seeing Sky at lunch, which was just as well. I still hadn't totally forgiven him for what happened last week.

Ronnie seemed quieter than usual as we walked to American History after lunch. "You're covered on the War of 1812, right, Ron?" I asked. He looked totally lost in thought. "Hey, doofus!" I said, waving my fingers in front of his face, "I said, are you cool on the War of 1812?"

He nodded. "Yeah, yeah -- France, Louisiana Purchase… I know the whole deal. I saw the movie," he said. "Bob Hope was in charge."

I shook my head. This kid was a total media addict. I blew through the history exam in about half an hour, including the five essay questions, then I sat there, nervously glancing around the classroom. Every set of eyes but mine was still glued to their test papers. Shit, I thought. I hated being the brain. Why did I always have to be the first idiot to turn in my test to the teacher?

I took another five minutes to re-check my answers, then idly watched the second hand slowly inch its way around the clock. Finally, I'd had enough. I stood to my feet and accidentally knocked my notebook to the floor with a loud crash.

Every eye suddenly snapped over to me, and the teacher, Mr. Harnett, looked up from his desk and said, "Quietly!"

I nodded meekly and walked the paper up to the front of the room. He nodded towards an empty tray on the left of his desk. Just as I turned to leave, five more kids were already out of their chairs and tossing their loose-leaf pages on top of the pile.

I rolled my eyes. "It never fails," I grumbled, as I returned to my seat.

Finally, English rolled around. I had to find a way to let Sky cheat off my paper, while at the same time not making it too obvious to anybody else. I didn't even want to tell Ronnie, because I know he'd crack a joke or otherwise give away our little scheme.

When we got to the classroom, Sky was already at his desk, watching me cautiously.

"Hey," I said, as I took my seat.

"Hey," he said, with a nod. He stared at me, giving me a look.

I sighed and nodded back. Sky looked relieved.

The teacher passed out the exam forms. Ah, nothing like the unforgettable aroma of ditto paper, I thought, sniffing the stapled booklet. At least this one was readable, unlike the world maps from 2nd period. Even though there were nearly 150 questions on the test, most of them had to do with picking out obvious spelling and grammatical errors. Even better, the whole thing was multiple choice. Just circle the right answer, and move on. Piece of cake.

I shook my head and grinned. How could this be any easier? I glanced to my left, and Sky was looking at me anxiously, his pencil already in hand. I whipped through the first page in less than five minutes, then held my breath to see if the coast was clear. Mrs. Kester seemed to be preoccupied, grading papers from the previous class, using a cardboard template to check the multiple-choice answers.

I idly lifted the right side of my paper up and angled it slightly towards Sky, trying to make it look like I was having trouble deciding the right answer for question 26, the last one on the page. Without even looking, I heard Sky go down the list, furiously circling all the correct answers down his page.

One down, five pages to go, I thought. I shot him a glance, and he nodded, expectantly. The rest of the period crept by. I glanced up at the clock, which seemed to move almost glacially. Mrs. Kester even got up at one point and left the room, leaving us on 'the honor system,' but the class remained as quiet as a mouse while she was gone. Sky got all my answers without a problem.

We were in the home stretch. I was just about to lift up the last page when I heard a familiar voice at the back of the room.

"Hold it! Mr. Jones and Mr. Larson! Put down your pencils and come with me."

We froze in our seats and slowly turned around. It was Coach Lucas, who was also the Dean of Boys.

Sky and I looked at each other with a look of total panic in our eyes. We nervously stood up.

"Bring your test papers with you," he barked. Ronnie shot me a stunned look, as I walked down the row of desks and out into the hallway.

We walked down the last mile to the school administration building in total silence until we reached Lucas' office door. He opened it and pointed towards two empty chairs in front of his desk. I looked around to see if his legendary paddle was visible, infamous for scores of school spankings. There it was, hanging by a hook on the wall, just to the left of a ancient 1940s-style filing cabinet. Great, I thought. The one day I'd probably need my pain pills, and I'd left them at home.

"I'm very disappointed in you two," he said, leaning against his desk and crossing his arms. "Two Tampa Central athletes, caught cheating on a mid-term exam! You know this could cost both of you your positions on your teams?"

I started to protest our innocence, but Sky interrupted me.

"It was all me, Coach," he insisted. "Wil had nothing to do with it. Leave him out of this."

The Coach laughed. It was a kindly laugh, but one that made it clear: he'd already seen it all and heard it all in this office. "Son, don't try to B.S. me," he quipped. "You can't B.S. a B.S.'er, Schuyler."

"No, really," Sky insisted. "Wil didn't know I was copying from him."

Lucas eyed me warily. "Is that your story, too, son?" he asked, gently.

I glanced over at Sky, who gave me a little nod. I knew what Sky wanted me to say. I turned back to Mr. Lucas.

"Yeah, Coach," I said, nervously. "I just… I was almost finished with the exam, and I was just checking my answers."

The Coach unfolded his arms and stared intently at both us. After an uncomfortable pause, he finally said, "okay. Let's just compare your test papers."

He sat down at his desk and scribbled some notes as he went down each page. Sky sat in silence five feet away, but refused to even look at me. My heart was in my throat. Shit, I thought. I'd almost made peace with the guy, and now this. I'd be lucky if Sky ever even spoke to me again for the rest of my life.

At last, the Coach put down his pencil. "Boys, I'm sorry. Both papers are about 90% identical. You," he said, pointing to me, "you had almost a perfect score. Sky, you were on your way to a B, at least. But your teacher said you usually made D's, if that."

"But Coach…" I started.

"No buts, William," he said, raising his hand. "I'm going to have to suspend you both. Even though you technically weren't cheating, Wil, it takes two to tango. You're in this as deep as Sky is."

Suddenly, his office door opened, and a mousy secretary stuck her head in. "Mr. Lucas, I have Schuyler Jones' father on the line."

Lucas frowned, and said, "I'll take that in just a minute." The secretary closed the door, and he turned back to us. This is looking real bad, I thought -- but then I had a brainstorm.

"Coach… what if I could prove we didn't cheat?" I asked.

Sky looked like he was going to fall out of his chair.

The Coach smiled. "Well, now, son -- I'd say that'd be a pretty good trick if you could convince me of that," he replied.

"Let us take a make-up test," I said, picking up some steam as my idea came together. "We'll sit on opposite sides of the room. Give us different tests if you want. I swear, Sky really knows the material! He can pass, I know it."

Mr. Lucas thought for a moment. Finally, he nodded. "Okay," he said. "I think Mrs. Kester would agree to that. Alright -- Thursday, you two come in after school, and take the test right here in my office. If you both pass, then you can both stay on your teams. However, you'll still be on probation, doing clean-up duty for an hour every day after school, for the first ten days of January."

"Oh, man," started Sky, but I kicked him in the foot.

"That'd be fair, Coach," I said, quickly.

Sky nodded. We got up from our chairs.

"Schuyler," said the Coach, "I'll tell your father what happened. Wil, take this disciplinary form home to your parents to sign. I'll expect to see you both back in my office at 3:45 sharp on Thursday."

We both stammered out our thanks, and Lucas took the call, briefly explained the situation to Sky's father, then walked us back down the hall to class.

"I tried to keep you out of this, asshole!" Sky angrily whispered, as we turned the corner.

"Shut up!" I shot back. "This is gonna work. Leave it to me."

We reached the class and entered through the back door. Ron shot me a glance as I got to my seat and sat down. He poked me in the back and silently mouthed, "what happened?" I just shook my head and stared straight ahead at the front of the classroom. Coach Lucas took Mrs. Kester aside at the front doorway, said a few words I couldn't overhear, and she looked at us and nodded. Well, I thought. At least they hadn't had us shot. On second thought, maybe that would've been preferable.

A couple of minutes later, the bell sounded. Sky jumped out of his seat and sprinted towards the door. I caught him before he could get away and said, "hey, asshole! C'mere!" I dragged him over to the side by a bookcase.

"Wil, I gotta go," he began. "Melissa is in my next class, and I gotta…"

"You have to shut UP!" I said, angrily. "Listen to me, Sky. I'm going to make you pass this test, even if it fucking kills me! We're both up shit creek if either of us screws up on this one."

Sky looked exasperated. "I'm gonna fail anyway, Wil! What's the point?"

I felt like slugging him. "Because I'M not going to fail, you douche! You're gonna come over to my place tonight and tomorrow night, and I'm gonna pound your head full of English, whether you like it or not."

Sky sighed and threw up his hands in defeat. "Awright, awright -- anything you say, professor. But I'm tellin' ya, it won't work."

I looked him right in the eye. "Trust me," I said, testily. "I get what I want."

Sky gave me a curious look, then said, "Okay, okay. I'll go home with you today after school. See ya." He took off through the door, not even giving me a second glance.

Why did life have to be this fucked up, I thought, shaking my head.

"I still say he's an asshole," whispered Ron to my left, almost making me jump.

"Where did YOU come from?" I cried.

"Waitin' for you two to finish," he said, quietly.

"Well, we are now," I snapped. "C'mon, let's go to Phys Ed. At least there, we don't have a written exam," I said, breaking into a trot.

"He's an asshole!" Ron muttered, running alongside me in the crowded hallway.

"Is not!"

"Is so!"

Will this pest ever give up, I thought.

"So what happened back there in English?" he asked, panting as he tried to keep up with me in the halls.

I shook my head. "I don't even want to talk about it."

Ronnie kept after me as we ran into the locker room, which was crowded as usual. I dressed in stony silence, and did my best to ignore him -- never an easy job, even under the best of circumstances.

"Will you tell me after it's published in the National Enquirer?" he asked, angrily.

I'd had about enough. "Just shut the fuck up, Ronnie!" I snapped.

"Fine!" he yelled back, and slammed his locker door. I finished tying up my sneakers, and looked up to see that Ron had already run outside. I guess I'd really pissed him off this time, I thought. Well, good. The guy was so fucking goofy, anyway. Such a pest. Even if he did lov…

NO, I thought. I'm not a homo. Neither was Ron. I cleared my head and ran outside to join the others.

* * * * *

When the final bell rang, I was surprised to see Sky waiting for me back in the locker room. He sat silently on the bench as I got dressed. Ron completely ignored both of us as he pulled on his street clothes, grabbed his gym bag, and scurried away. Sky and I trotted through the hall, and barely made it to the bus in time. We made idle conversation on the way to my house, never quite making eye contact.

I didn't like this. For the first time since I had known Sky, I felt totally uncomfortable just sitting next to him on the bus. I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye, and I felt butterflies in my stomach again. If anything, Sky was looking even better as he was getting older, while I felt more like a geek than ever. The light caught his face in just the right way as we turned down my street corner, and I could see the beginnings of a blond moustache on his upper lip.

"Hey," I said, pounding him on the arm. "Are you shaving yet?"

He grinned and idly rubbed his upper lip with his index finger. "Yeah, every couple of days or so," he nodded. "My brother gave me his old safety razor last year, and said I could use it. I almost cut the shit out of myself over the weekend."

I felt a pang. I guess Sky was becoming a man, I thought. Before I knew it, the driver sounded the buzzer and hit the brakes. The pneumatic doors hissed open, and we scampered down the steps and high-tailed it to my house. After raiding the refrigerator for goodies, we camped out on the floor of my bedroom, and I pulled out all my notes on English 101 for the past four months.

Surprisingly, Sky was a pretty fast learner. We covered punctuation, conjugation, and had almost worked our way up to tenses when he glanced at the alarm clock by my bed. "Holy shit," he cried, standing up. "Listen, I gotta go, man. I promised Melissa I would see her today at 6. I told her what happened to you and me today, and she's totally pissed."

She's totally pissed, I thought to myself. "Sky -- this is a serious deal, man," I pleaded. "We got at least another three or four more hours to go!"

He nodded. "I swear, I'll be back later. How late will your folks let you stay up?"

I still had two more exams to study for, I thought. "Not past 11, for sure."

"I'll be back by 9 -- 9:30, tops!" he yelled, running out the door and down the staircase.

"You'd better, asshole!" I yelled, and heard our front door slam in the distance.

Mom made me and Sharon TV dinners. Sharon was in a better-than-normal mood, because Mom had actually let her do all the cooking -- like shoving a tin-foil box into an oven for 20 minutes was an award-winning achievement. I wolfed down the food and did my best to just tune them both out.

After dinner, I took Mom aside and gave her the disciplinary form Dean Lucas had given me. She looked a little upset, but took it better than I expected. I was lucky that Dad wouldn't be home until much later. I promised her I'd ace the make-up exam on Thursday, and that I still stood a good chance of making the Honor Roll for the first time.

I spent the next hour trying to study in my room, but all I could do was think about Sky. We were drifting apart, we were both changing, and I didn't know how to stop it. I sighed, slammed the door shut, then sat back in my chair and idly started playing with myself. God, I thought, it felt great. I hadn't done it in at least two days, and I couldn't concentrate on anything. Only one way to clear my head.

I pulled down my pants and began stroking in earnest. In seconds, it sprang up to its full length, hard as a rock and ready for action. I leaned back in the chair and let my speed increase. It felt good, but… something wasn't right. I slowed down my strokes and looked down. My pride and joy looked bigger than ever; it was so hard, it looked like it was ready to burst. I ached with desire. What could be wrong?

I was still too distracted, I thought -- still thinking about the make-up exam. I looked around for one of my Dad's old Playboys, but then I had a better idea. I'd only tried this once before, but I sure felt horny enough to try it again. I removed my shirt and pants and sat down on the bed. I took a deep breath, leaned all the way back, and let my knees roll back over my head. Almost without any effort, my mouth reached the target, and I slurped it hungrily. Oh, god, YES, I thought. That's what I needed.

I pulled my hips down closer to my face, and felt a moan starting in the back of my throat. The bedsprings squeaked noisily as I pounded my groin deeper and deeper against my face. I tried to ignore the dull pain in my lower back, as I felt the warning bells of an impending orgasm. My groans got louder, my thrusts more insistent, until finally -- yes, yes, I was almost there… here it comes…

"Hey, Wil, I'm back!" yelled Sky, who burst through my door and into my room. I let out a loud yell, fell right off the bed and hit the floor with a loud thud. Sky laughed hysterically, and quickly slammed the door.

"JESUS FUCKING CHRIST!" I screamed. I sputtered, got back to my feet and cried, "Sky, you could at least knock on the door, asshole!"

He was practically crying with laughter. "You shoulda seen the look on your FACE!" he guffawed, sinking to his knees and pounding his fist on the ground.

"Oh, shut UP!" I hissed, grabbing my T-shirt to clean up the gooey mess. It was all over my chest, on the bedspread, and in a long straight puddle on the carpet. Ignoring his hysterical laughter, I grabbed my shorts and pulled them back up to my waist. "Cut it out, Sky," I muttered. "We gotta get back to studying for the test, goddammit!" My face burned with embarrassment.

"You looked like you were studying your DICK to me, Wil!" he laughed, and started pounding the floor again.

I was ready to knock his head off, even if he was almost half a foot than me. "Sky, listen to me!" I snapped, angrily. "We're both in big trouble here, man. We've gotta get you totally up to speed in English, or we'll both get suspended."

He nodded and finally got up off the floor and sat down in my chair, his laughter turning to little gasps and wheezes. "You know," he said, admiringly, "if I could do that to myself, I'd probably never leave the house."

The whole situation was too stupid for us to fight about. I finally gave up trying to keep a straight face, and grinned.

"Yeah," I said. "Maybe having this thing does have its advantages." I chuckled and squeezed my shorts, revealing an large, obscene outline against the fabric.

Sky giggled.

"C'mon, man," I said, letting go of my pants and reaching for a textbook. "We still have a lot of material to cover."

"Okay, okay," he said, putting his hands up in mock surrender. "I'll learn English if you'll learn to start lockin' your door."

I finally started laughing, sat down on the bed, and grabbed the handbook. "Okay, you ready?" I asked, trying to stifle my own giggling. "'Intro to Tenses,'" I read.

"You still look a little 'tense' to me, Wil," he teased.

"I was, but not anymore," I said, and we both dissolved into more laughter. We stopped when my mom knocked loudly on the door.

"Boys!" she yelled.

"Yeah, Mom?" I replied, guiltily.

"I'd like to hear more studying and less goofing off in there, please! And Wil, tell Schuyler he's only got an hour before he has to leave. Both of you have an 11PM curfew on weeknights!"

"Yes, Mrs. Larson," he said, meekly.

* * * * *

Our studying continued without incident. Much to my surprise, Sky came back the following afternoon, just after 5:00, and we finished early, at 10PM. After I closed the last workbook, he lay on his back on my bed, with his arms folded behind his head, and he flashed me one of his million-dollar grins.

"Shit, Wil," he said. "If they'd just explained English in school the way you did, I could've learned this shit a long time ago."

I grinned. "Conjugate the verb 'to shit,'" I commanded.

Sky giggled. "'I shit, you shit, we shit, they all shit.'"

He ran down the entire list -- Present Perfect, Past Perfect, Future Progressive, the works. I laughed and sat down on the bed. "Well, that's a shitty way to pass, but if I were you, I'd take anything at this point," I said, grinning.

"You really think this'll work, Wil?" he said, getting serious for a moment.

I nodded. "I swear, Sky, I think you know the material about as well as I do now."

Sky sat up and looked at me thoughtfully. "You didn't have to do this, you know," he said, quietly. "You still could've gotten out of this."

I shook my head glumly. "No, I couldn't," I said. "This was the best deal we could've gotten from Mr. Lucas. Shit, I was amazed he didn't just suspend us and send us home on the spot!"

Sky's nodded, sat next to me, and looked at me right in the eye. Jesus, I never noticed how intensely blue his eyes were. They practically radiated in this light, I thought. Piercingly blue.

"Listen," he said. "I'm… I'm really sorry for punchin' you the other day."

I closed my eyes at the memory and turned away. "I told you, it's already forgotten."

Sky put his arm around my shoulder. "No, it's not. It was my fault, too. I could've told you to stop, but I didn't." His eyes softened. "Part of me must've really wanted it," he said, softly.

I nodded, and I felt my eyes well up with tears.

"But part of me doesn't want it, Wil!" he continued. "We should… we should be goin' out with girls and stuff."

I winced. "Girls think I'm an idiot," I sighed. "I look like a dork."

"No, you don't!" he said. "Look over here."

He dragged me over to the mirror over my dresser drawers. I stared at the two boys reflected back to me. One had white-blond hair, blond eyebrows, blue eyes, a strong jaw, perfect teeth, and a dazzling face. The other was half a foot shorter, had light brown hair, goofball glasses, and looked like a total geek.

I shook my head. "I look like shit," I moaned.

"Not to me," he said. "You've got a good body, with wide shoulders. You're not fat. Your face isn't that bad. Look again," he said, pulling off my horn-rimmed glasses.

I leaned closer to get the image in focus, and took a good look. Maybe I wasn't so bad, I mused. I dunno if I'd use the word 'cute,' but I definitely wasn't ugly.

"You could start by losin' the glasses," he said. "My brother wears contacts, and I guarantee you, he's a total doofus when he wears glasses."

Hmmm. I hadn't considered that. "Aren't contact lenses expensive?" I asked.

"Hey, my Dad's an eye doctor," he reminded me. "I bet he could get you a deal."

"How much would that be?" I asked.

"I think $100 -- $150 tops," he said.

Well, my folks did say they'd reward me if I could make the honor roll. What the hell. "Alright," I said, punching him in the arm. "You've sold me. I take it you get a commission on this stuff?"

"Fat chance." Sky checked his wristwatch. "Holy shit, it's almost 10:30!" he said, reaching for the door. "I'll ask my dad about it the moment I get home." Sky tore off downstairs, and I went after him like a rocket, bounding down two steps at a time.

I caught up with him before he reached the porch, just as he opened the front door. My parents were sitting in the living room, engrossed in some bad Western on TV. They couldn't see us standing on the other side of the door. I stood close to him and whispered.

"Thanks, Sky," I said quietly. Our eyes were just inches apart.

"It's me who should be thanking you," he whispered. "I was such an asshole."

I felt his warm breath against my face. He smelled of peppermints, and spices, and some other sweet unidentifiable odor. He put his right hand on my shoulder and gave me a light squeeze.

A tear rolled down my right cheek. He leaned forward, and I closed my eyes and braced myself. For a moment, I felt his warm breath on my face.

"I… I gotta go, man," he said.

I looked up just as he pulled himself away and jogged down the front porch steps.

"3:45, tomorrow, in Lucas' office!" he yelled, running down the sidewalk and off in the distance.

I wiped away my tears, went back into the house, and slowly trudged up the stairs.

"I'm glad you and Schuyler were able to settle your differences," called my Dad from the living room.

"Yeah, right," I mumbled, as I turned down the hallway. I never felt more different in my life, I thought. I slammed my door and fell down on my bed and into exhausted sleep.

* * * * *

The make-up exam after school on Thursday afternoon started out pretty brutal. Coach Lucas made us sit on opposite sides of his office, a good 12 feet apart, and kept his eyes on both of us like a hawk. Me and Sky would have to use a radio transmitter or sign language to beat this one, I thought.

Just as on the first exam, I made it through all 150 questions in a little more than twenty minutes. I looked up, and Sky was still chewing on his pencil and staring at the first page. A cold chill shot down my spine. I went back and double-checked all my answers, and tried to mentally concentrate on each one as hard as I could.

C'mon, Sky, I thought, desperately trying to focus whatever mental energy I had. Imagine you're back in my room, going over the topics with me just like we did yesterday. Lucas coughed suddenly, and Sky stifled a nervous chuckle. I looked up and he grinned at me, then went back to the page and began marking down some answers.

After another agonizing half-hour, Sky finally put down his pencil. Lucas took both of our test papers and disappeared into the other room. When the coast was clear, my friend shot me a glance. "Pssst!" he whispered. "If I pass this, I'll owe you, big-time!"

I grinned, wiggled my eyebrows, and pointed down to my groin. He rolled his eyes and pantomimed a blow-job, making a fist in front of his mouth, then poked his tongue inside and made his cheek bulge out. I felt a little tingle of excitement down below, and I giggled nervously.

Five agonizingly long minutes passed. Lucas came back into the room with a file folder, leaned against his desk, and gave us a grim look. Sky and I sat up at attention.

"Boys…" the coach said, finally grinning, "you both passed. In fact, you did better than pass. Wil, you missed just one question out of 150. You get an A+." The coach smiled broadly and gave me a nod.

I let out a sigh of relief.

"Schuyler," Lucas said, turning to my friend, who had a huge, shit-eating grin on his face. "I'm afraid you didn't do quite as well."

Sky's face fell.

"You only made a B+," the coach said, trying not to smile. "But, according to Mrs. Kester, that's the best you've done all year. That raises your quarterly grade average up to a C. You both stay on your teams."

Sky and I leapt out of our chairs and let out a whoop of victory.

"Not so fast!" Lucas yelled. "There's still the little matter of detention. I want you to meet me here in my office, every day at 3:45PM, when the second semester begins on Monday the 6th. There's more than enough work to keep you two busy around the school, cleaning up the grounds and the litter around the building. You'll be on detention detail for two weeks. You miss a single day, and I'll kick your fannies all the way back here to the principal's office."

We nodded meekly, and muttered our "Yes, sirs."

The coach grinned, then his tone grew more serious. "Boys, listen to me," he said. "There's just one day of school left until Christmas vacation, and you two had better not screw up one bit. I've got my eye on both of you!"

Lucas looked like he meant business.

"Now, get out of here! Scram!" he yelled. "I've got better things to do than hang around with you two troublemakers." He grinned and shook his head.

We grabbed our notebooks and ran out of his office to the hallway. It was already 4:30, so the entire school was deserted. A janitor swept up the hallway just ahead of us.

"Jesus, Wil," said Sky, who almost seemed to be in a state of shock. "I was so scared I'd blown the whole test."

That's not all you could blow, I thought. "I knew you could do it, man," I said, grinning. "You're not as much of a dumb jock as you look!" I punched him playfully in the arm.

"No, I mean it, man," he said, stopping while I grabbed a sip from the water fountain. "You totally saved my ass."

"Sky," I said, wiping off my mouth on my sleeve, "you did it yourself. I just gave you the basic information, and you figured the rest of it out on your own. It's not a big deal."

He grabbed a sip from the fountain, and we continued walking out to the sidewalk. "It is to me," he argued. "I owe you big-time for this, and I know just how to pay you back. It's what I think you really need."

My heart fluttered for a moment. What was he saying? I felt a twinge between my legs.

"Melissa's got this friend," he continued. "She's really cute. Her name's Cynthia -- I think she's in your 5th period American History class," he explained.

Shit. I tried to search my memory bank for her face. Was that the Chinese girl who sat to my right? No, it must be the one with the glasses two rows behind me.

I shook my head. "Girls don't dig me," I said. I'm not even sure I dig girls, I thought.

"No, she really does!" he insisted. "She told Melissa she thought you were really cool, that you were the smartest kid in the whole class."

"I'm just a little know-it-all twerp," I muttered, as we strolled past the front of the school.

Sky stopped and wiggled his eyebrows. "She knows you're not that 'little,'" he laughed.

I shook my head in disbelief. "You didn't tell her about my…" I sighed.

He laughed, his wonderful infectious laugh. I sighed. Jesus, it was great to see Sky so happy again.

"Fuck, Wil. I think the whole school knows about you and 'little Wil,'" he said, playfully poking my crotch. "You can't keep something that big a secret for long."

I sighed. "So what do you have in mind?" I asked, nervously.

"The Freshman/Sophomore Christmas dance is next Tuesday, Christmas Eve," he said. "I'll set it all up. Me and my Dad'll pick you up in his car at 7PM, sharp, and we'll have Melissa and Cynthia with us."

I blanched. "I… I can't dance worth a shit, Sky," I stammered.

"Trust me," he laughed. "If I can learn English 101, you can fake it at the dance. C'mon, you already know all the music, Wil! Just move to the beat!" he said, snapping his fingers several times and taking a few steps.

I'd rather beat-off, I thought.

He leaned forward and put his hand on my shoulder, affectionately. "I guarantee you'll really like Cynthia, Wil," he said. "She's really neat. Actually, I think she might be outta your league." He giggled.

I shot him a withering glance.

"I'm kidding! KIDDING!" he said, putting up his hands in mock protest.

It took him another five blocks' worth of arguing and cajoling, but Sky eventually calmed me down and got me to agree to go to the dance. We stopped off at his place to grab a Coke, and I ran the rest of the way home.

Once back in the peace and quiet of my room, I clicked on the radio and fell back on my bed. A jingle pealed out of the speaker, and the fast-talking WLCY deejay said, "and now, with the first of seven in a row, here's the biggest dance hit of the year! Tommy James and The Shondelles with… 'Mony Mony'!"

The opening drum beats pounded out of the speaker. Almost involuntarily, I started tapping my foot. After a few seconds, I started singing along with the melody, and I began to smile. Finally, I jumped off the bed, and did a pantomime of the way I thought Tommy would perform the song, watching every move of my performance in my mirror.

"I said yeah…

YEAH!

Yeah…

YEAH!

yeah-yeah, yeah-yeah, yeah-YEAH…

She makes me feel… (Mony-Mony)

so… (Mony-Mony)

good! (Mony-Mony)…"

After I bumped and grinded around the room for a couple of minutes, the song finally ended and I fell back on the bed and laughed -- really laughed -- for the first time in days. Maybe this wasn't going to be a total disaster, after all.

 Chapter 9

Friday morning was crisp, cold, and just a hair above freezing -- unseasonably cold for central Florida. It was still five days before Christmas, but it already felt like a holiday at school. After checking the posted exam scores on the front doors of the classrooms and re-reading my report card for the eighth time, I felt like I was walking on the clouds: Five A's, an A-minus, and a B. (And that one B was Algebra, which as far as I was concerned, counted as an "A" by default.)

At last, I'd cracked the Honor Roll. Most of the students were buzzing about the mid-term exams, but I felt like I was glowing. I had my friend back, I was on my way to getting the best grades of my life, and things were finally looking up. LaFontaine Institute, here I come, I thought.

For the rest of the day, the teachers spent the time answering questions about the mid-term tests we'd just taken, and handed out essay assignments for the 14-day holiday break that would start over the weekend. When the homework assignments were announced, most of my classmates broke out in groans, but I still couldn't wipe the stupid grin off my face.

At lunch, Sky waved me over to one of the jock tables, and I sat next to him and Melissa. I had to admit, she really was a knock-out, practically with movie-star good looks. She was the co-leader of the junior varsity cheerleading squad, and had what were undoubtedly the biggest tits of any girl in 9th grade. After five minutes of conversation, it was clear to me that Melissa was no airhead; she was smart, witty, and had a great sense of humor. It was awfully hard for me to be jealous of her, I thought. Heck, under the right circumstances, maybe she and I could… No. I sighed and let that daydream float back out of my head, and tried to pay closer attention to what she was saying.

Melissa spent several minutes telling me how much I was going to like Cynthia. I could barely get a word in edgewise, and let her do most of the talking. At one point, I shot Sky a glance; he looked at me from over her shoulder and mouthed, "great tits, eh?", and wiggled his eyebrows. I had to bite my lower lip, which was still a little sore, just to stop myself from laughing out loud.

Midway into our meal, Melissa gave me a poke and stood up. "Hey, Cyn! Cynthia! We're over here!"

A really cute girl about my height walked over. She had a great tan, green eyes, and long, straight brown hair that hung past her shoulders, and no acne, which was a definite plus in high school. I couldn't tell much about her body, because she wore a loose-fitting wool coat. Melissa pulled me out of my chair and said, "Hi, Cyn. This is Wil. Wil, say hello to Cynthia Anderson."

"Hi," I said, nervously.

"Hi," she chirped. "You're in Mr. Harnett's 5th period American History class, right? I've never seen anybody argue with a teacher so much," she said, laughing.

Do I really do that, I thought? "Gee, I don't mean to," I said.

"You corrected him on mistakes three times in one day, last week!" she laughed. "I thought he was going to smack you with an eraser or something."

I winced as I caught Sky stifling a laugh out of the corner of my eye. Okay, so maybe I was a little snot-faced know-it-all. Cynthia leaned closer to me.

"I think you're pretty neat to stand up to him," she said. "In fact," she said, getting even closer, "I think you're real cool." For a winter day, it suddenly felt uncomfortably warm in the cafeteria.

"Th-thanks, Cynthia," I stammered.

"Call me Cyn," she said brightly. "I can't wait to go with you to the dance Tuesday night. Sky's told me all about you."

Did he tell you I could blow myself?, I thought. I smiled as attractive a smile as I could muster and nodded. "Thanks, Cyn. Looking forward to it."

She laughed a wonderful bell-like laugh, and ran off to her next class, waving us goodbye.

Sky grinned at me. "Did I tell you she was cool, or what?" he asked.

I nodded, then sighed. "Definitely out of my league," I replied.

"Shut up, doofus!" he said, playfully punching me in the arm. "You're on the Honor Roll, you've officially made the swim team, and you saved my ass! I say you're the school hero, dip-shit!"

We both laughed. As Sky and I traded fake insults back and forth, I looked up and saw Ronnie Lannigan and his brother Rick walk by our lunch table. Ron gave me a hurt look, and then turned away. I called out his name, but he completely ignored me. That's not like Ron, I thought.

"Forget those geeks," said Sky, shaking his head. "You're with us, now. Those guys are totally un-cool."

I nodded. Maybe he was right. Maybe I should try to make new friends. Maybe Cynthia was the right girl for me. Just as that thought went through my head, the opening notes to The Temptations' "My Girl" came out of the cafeteria speakers. I snapped my fingers in time with the beat, then I stood up and started singing along with the song, in my best impression of David Ruffin.

"I've got sunshine…

on a cloudy day…

when it's cold outside…

I got the month of May…"

Sky whooped with laughter and pounded on the table. Suddenly, Melissa stood up beside me and started doing the backup vocals. I grinned at her and got so carried away, I jumped up on the table and continued singing as loud as I could, using a spoon as an imaginary microphone.

"Well…

I guess you'll say

what can make me feel this way

My girl…

Talkin' 'bout my girl…"

Melissa leapt up on the table with me, and dragged up Sky along with her. They took the part of the backup group.

"I got so… much honey

the bees envy me.

I've got… a sweeter song…

Than the birds in the trees…

"Well… I guess

you'll say

what can make me feel this way?

My girl…

Talkin' 'bout my girl…"

When the song finally ended, about fifty people in the cafeteria hooted and applauded, and the three of us took our bows. Sky and I laughed until we almost cried, jumped down off the table, and slapped each other on the back. Melissa wrapped her arms around me and gave me a huge kiss. I grinned and looked up, and saw Ronnie's face in the back of the crowd staring at me.

"Asshole," he silently mouthed, then turned and walked away.

* * * * *

Since exams were over, Mr. Harnett in American History gave us a study period, along with an assignment for a 1000-word report on the Civil War due on Monday the 6th, when school resumed with the second semester. I tried to talk to Ron, who sat behind me in class, but he wouldn't even give me the time of day. All he would say was, "The secretary has disavowed any knowledge of your actions." Great. I guess now he was back on the IM Force.

"I thought you working for U.N.C.L.E. this week," I said, playfully.

He turned away from me and stared out the window.

"Ronnie, don't be like this, man," I said, quietly. "Look, I'm really sorry if I pissed you off."

He still wouldn't look me in the eye.

"Hey," I said, trying to change the subject. "I'm going out on a date with Cynthia to the Christmas Dance."

Ron turned back and gave me a look of utter surprise. "You? And Cynthia Anderson?" He rolled his eyes and muttered, "you're fuckin' crazy!"

"You don't believe me?" I snapped. "Okay -- watch this." I turned to my right and said, loudly, "Psst! Hey, Cyn! 7:00 Tuesday night, right?"

She looked up from a conversation with the girl next to her, and smiled at me. "Hi, Wil. I'm really looking forward to the dance," she said. Jesus, she really was pretty.

"Cool!" I said. I smiled and nodded, and turned back to Ron, who stared at me with his mouth wide open.

"Close your mouth before you catch a fly, dumbass!" I laughed.

"You really… like her?" he said, incredulous.

"What's not to like?" I shrugged. "She's cute, she's smart -- she even told me I was cool."

Ronnie frowned. "You're not cool," he muttered. Then, dropping his voice, he whispered, "I bet she just wants your big dick."

I leaned forward, glowering. "What if she does, asshole?" I hissed. "I bet there're a lot worse things I could do with my dick."

He shrank away from me and sat back in his seat. "If that's what you want," he said, in a small voice. Jesus, Ronnie could be such a doofus sometimes.

The bell rang and I went off to Phys Ed. I turned to look for Ronnie, but he'd vanished into thin air. Shit, I thought. If he skipped this class, he could really be in for it.

* * * * *

After Phys Ed, I saw Couch Lucas turning off the light in his office. "Hey, Coach," I yelled. He looked up and grinned.

"Well, if it isn't the brain of Tampa Central," he laughed. "I saw where you made the Honor Roll -- congratulations, son."

I smiled. "Sky didn't do too badly, either," I said.

Lucas nodded. "He has you to thank for that, Wil," he said, giving me a knowing look.

I started to protest, but he cut me short. "Son, let's face it. You and I both know, there's two kinds of people in this world -- guys with brains, and guys with muscles. I think you're in the former category, and Schuyler's in the latter."

I frowned. Where's the law that says you can't have a little of both, I thought. "Speaking of that," I said, "is it OK if I work out today? I missed going to the weight room every day this week, because of exams."

The coach furrowed his brow. "Actually," he said, "I was gonna lock up early and send Chuck home. Nobody's scheduled to use the room at all today, because of the Christmas break."

"Please, coach!" I begged. "Coach Byers says I've gotta put on more muscle to improve my Butterfly times!"

"Can't you just pick this up again two weeks from now?" he asked, wearily.

I shook my head. "The pool is closed until mid-January! Please, Coach!" I begged. "I'm preparing for the Olympics! I can't be a 95-pound weakling forever," I cried.

"Awright, awright," he chuckled, nodding his head. "Just be careful. We don't want any accidents in there. You won't have a spotter, so just stick to the machines. You're doing -- what, legs?"

I nodded. "Legs and chest, and maybe triceps."

"Okay. When you finish, be sure to turn all the lights out, and go out this side exit," he said, pointing to the metal fire door on the left. "It'll automatically lock behind you. All the other doors are already locked."

"Thanks, Coach!" I yelled, running back to my locker to grab a towel.

"Don't drop a weight on your head in there!" he called from the hallway.

"I won't!" I yelled back.

* * * * *

After a little less than 45 minutes, my legs ached like hell. This was the second-to-last exercise for my lower-body workout -- glutes. The bigger jocks called it the "butt blaster" machine, because it was supposed to just work out your posterior and lower back muscles. You had to lie down in a weird position, and then kick back and outwards. It looked like a total Rube Goldberg deal to me, but all I know is, it made my ass muscles really hurt like hell. I figured it had to be good for swimming.

Despite the cold outside, it was sweltering inside the workout room -- at least 74, maybe 75 degrees, I thought, as I wiped off my face with my towel. That idiot Chuck must've cranked up the furnace. After my last set of 10 reps on the calves machine, I was really beat. I glanced up at the clock. Shit, I thought. Almost 5:00. I could see the sun getting low in the one lone window of the workout room. The gym seemed lonelier than it normally did, since I was the only person there. Even empty, the place still smelled of perspiration and steel. I wish there was a radio in here to listen to, I thought.

I ran down the little chart that Coach Byers had made for me with my workout routine. I crossed 'legs' off today's list, since I'd finished the last set, and moved over to chest. I could do the machines, but then I remembered how great Sky had looked doing bench press the other day. I felt a twinge at the memory of his tanned pecs and muscular arms. I sighed and put my hand against my own chest, which felt damp and puny through my T-shirt. If I really wanted to get bigger, I was gonna have to take Sky's advice and use the real workout stuff.

According to the chart, I only did 65 pounds the last time I tried a chest workout with Sky. I added two ten-pound plates to the 45-pound barbell, lay back, and tried ten reps. Hmmm, I thought, letting the heavy bar clang to the posts. That wasn't too bad. I'll go up to 85. That was definitely heavier, I thought, straining at the weight. I struggled to push it back up for 8, then counted to 9, then just barely made it to 10. "Whew," I said to nobody in particular. "I really felt that one."

Could I lift 100? I looked at the black metal plates in the rack. They didn't look all that bad. Sky was able to do 150 the other day, but he was a lot bigger than I was. I decided to compromise at 95, which was still more than I had ever lifted before. I added two more five-pounders to the bar, took a few deep breaths, and leaned back.

"It's now or never," I said out loud, to the empty room.

Ooof. Now this was definitely heavy. I could feel my chest expand from the exertion, and my arms trembled. My heart began racing as I remembered how great Sky's body looked, pumped-up and naked. As I squeezed out the reps, I closed my eyes and thought of how we would look, each of us with identically-muscular bodies, taking a shower together. God. I felt a twinge and a throb between my legs.

Just two more reps to go. "Nine!" I said, out loud. I lowered the weight all the way down to my chest, and started to push it up. Christ, it was impossible. I couldn't even move it an inch! I began to panic.

"Heavy, isn't it?" whispered a voice close to my ear.

The barbell wobbled unsteadily in my hands, and I opened my eyes wide. Scott Michaels' face was just inches away from my own, and his hand was on the middle of the barbell. In all the times I'd ever seen him, he'd never looked angrier, or more evil.

"What… what the fuck do you want?" I gasped, as the bar finally dropped with a small thud onto my chest, pinning me to the bench.

"So, Donkey Boy wants to be a real he-man!" he said, laughing sadistically, as he walked around the bench to my feet.

"Just leave me alone, Michaels, willya?" I said, trying desperately to keep the whine out of my voice. I was having trouble breathing.

Scott yanked off his football jersey and threw it to the ground, then ripped off his pants and his jock-strap, allowing his enormous erection to spring free. He pulled my legs apart and sat down on the bench. I struggled to keep the bar balanced on my chest, and prayed for the strength to lift it up a few inches and onto the bottom safety notch.

"Let's see just how big it really is," he said, putting his hands on my shorts.

"GOD! Scott, no, please, just get away from me!" I pleaded. "I swear I won't tell anybody!" My ribcage felt like it was cracking. I could barely even lift my head up.

Suddenly, I felt a draft of cold air on my crotch as my shorts and jockstrap were roughly yanked down my legs and off my feet.

Scott sat back down and let out a low whistle, as he methodically compared our endowments.

"My, my," he said, holding them together, side by side. He leaned down close to my face, which was turning red -- partly with embarrassment, and partially with the exertion of being crushed to death.

"That is a big one," he said, flicking my organ back and forth between his thumb and index finger. "Eight inches, right?"

I was getting dizzy. "It's… closer to ten," I gasped. My arousal twitched, and I felt it quickly swell to full attention. Shit, shit, shit! I thought. Now's not the time!

Scott laughed. Without warning, he suddenly grabbed my entire package and squeezed it, hard. I groaned in agony.

"You really think yours is bigger than mine?" he said, evenly. "I don't think so. Do you?"

I didn't answer. Suddenly, I felt a tremendous pain in my groin, and I screamed and doubled up. He'd punched me with his fist, right in my balls.

"I said, you don't think yours is bigger than mine, do you, DONKEY BOY?" he screamed.

I was in too much agony to speak. The heavy barbell slipped out of my grip, as I lost my balance. The metal plates on the left slid off and crashed to the floor in a thunderous clang, and the bar immediately tipped over to the right, pulling me off the bench and onto the rubber mat on the floor. My glasses flew off and I fell on my stomach, then instinctively reached for my tender groin, which was still throbbing with pain.

Before I knew what was happening, Scott was on top of me. I felt his hot breath on the back of my neck, and a little stubble from his chin scraped my shoulder.

"You want my dick, don't you, Donkey Boy?" he whispered in my ear.

"Scott, PLEASE, don't hurt me!" I begged. "Coach'll hear you! He'll kick us both out of school if he sees us." I prayed he didn't know we were both alone.

As if to answer me, he leaned forward and playfully bit my ear. "I saw Lucas drive away half an hour ago," he said, quietly. "It's just you and me, Donkey Boy. We're gonna have some fun together. Don't you move an inch."

I felt something hot and sweaty slip between my thighs. Jesus, not that… I tried to stand up, but Scott punched me in my back, as hard as he could.

"I TOLD YOU… <wham!> NOT… <wham!> TO… <wham!> MOVE!" he screamed.

My body was wracked with agony, and my penis instantly shriveled up with fear and nausea.

He rolled me over on my back and socked me again in the stomach, hard. I groaned and doubled-up on the floor. He pulled my legs back down, spread them apart, and laughed.

"That dick of yours sure don't look all that big now, Donkey Boy. In fact," he said, sitting forward on my chest, "I'd say mine's a lot bigger now, wouldn't you?"

I opened my eyes and saw a blurry fleshy object inches from my face. I began to sob. "No, please, Scott, don't do this, I won't tell anybody, I swear to fucking God, Scott! I never did anything to you!"

He brushed the head against my lips. "No, but you're gonna do somethin' for me, right now," he murmured. "Aren't you, Donkey Boy?"

I shook my head and kept my mouth closed, but he suddenly punched me again, hard, in the abdomen. I thought I was going to vomit any second. I groaned and started crying harder.

"You know you want to suck it! Don't you, Donkey Boy? Suck it!" he ordered.

I shook my head again, but he grabbed me by the hair and forced my mouth open, then abruptly shoved in his erection all the way to the back of my throat. I choked and gagged, then partially threw up, forcing his arousal out of my throat. Scott cried out with rage, and back-handed me across the face. I stopped crying and wiped the bile off my mouth.

"DON'T EVER DO THAT!" he screamed. "When I tell you to suck it, you suck it! And no teeth! If you bite me, I'll beat you so bad, you'll walk with a limp for the rest of your fuckin' life!"

I nodded meekly, and he leaned forward again. I closed my eyes and felt the large, sweaty object move back into my mouth, a little more gently this time. Reluctantly, I started sucking and moved my tongue back and forth. Scott immediately moaned with pleasure.

"That's more like it, Donkey Boy," he moaned, gently stroking my hair with his right hand. "Suck my big dick. Suck it!"

Despite my terror, I felt the blood surging between my legs. Scott reached behind his back and grabbed me, and laughed.

"Hey, you like this, don't you, Donkey Boy! Let me make you feel better." He began stroking me up and down, and I began to moan and suck him, hungrily. I reached forward and started to fondle his balls. He began slowly thrusting back and forth in my mouth.

"Oh, that's good," he moaned. He stroked me a few more times, then leaned forward. "I really love your cock, Wil," he whispered, using my real name for the first time. "Oh, you're good at this, man," he said, speeding up his thrusts. I tried to mentally stop myself from gagging. His dick might be a little smaller than mine, I thought, but not by much.

Suddenly, he plunged forward, and it slipped all the way back into my throat. I started to gag, but he grabbed my head and held it firmly. "Just a few more seconds, Wil," he begged. "I'm really close, man! Please?"

I opened my eyes and saw that Scott was in a state of total bliss, thrusting like some kind of animal. His muscular chest glistened with sweat; I could see a small sprinkling of dark hairs between his two enormous pecs. I continued to cough, and finally started to black out from lack of air. I tried to pull back, but he held my head firmly with both hands and sped up his thrusts to a blur. Finally, as a last-ditch act of total desperation, I summoned all my courage, took my right fist and smacked him as hard as I could in the face.

Scott tumbled backwards, screaming as his erection ripped from my mouth, and he hit the floor with a loud thud.

"YOU FUCKIN' ASSHOLE!" he yelled at the top of his lungs. "I TOLD YOU NOT TO USE YOUR TEETH! LOOKIT WHAT YOU'VE DONE!"

I sat up, still choking and gagging. The stocky 15 year-old staggered up to his feet and began waving around his huge erection, which had an angry red scrape along the top side. A tear of blood slid down the shaft and onto his bright purple head.

"YOU FUCKING FAGGOT!" he screamed. "I'LL KILL YOU FOR THIS!"

I shook my head and crawled over to the bench. "You're gonna have to kill more than just me, Scott," I said, shaking as I pulled myself up. "If anything happens to me, Rick and Ronnie Lannigan are gonna know you did it."

He stopped and started at me, all the blood drained from his face. "Wha… what did those faggots tell you?"

I took a step forward, my half-hard organ swinging between my legs, and took a deep breath. "I know enough to know you're as much of a fag as they are. Or I am. Or anybody here is."

Scott had an expression of total panic on his face. "You can't tell anybody," he whispered. "I'll… I'll kill you first."

"Scott, listen to me," I said, as bravely as I could, making every effort to keep the quiver out of my voice. "Forget about this. You know I won't tell anybody. What good would it do me? You know about me, and I know about you. We're even."

He mulled that over. "But you know about Rick and Ron," he said, trying to sort it out through his ape-like brain, while he idly stroked himself. His eyes had a wild expression and stared at me, unblinking.

Jesus, I have a big mouth, I thought, still trying to come up with a good explanation. I thought of trying to make a break past him, but he was directly between me and the room's only exit.

"I don't know about anything, Scott," I lied. "I just guessed. I knew you hated Ronnie, and he can never take his eyes off my dick in the locker room, so I just put two and two together. So what?" I said, inching towards the door. "Maybe Ron's a fag, maybe he's not. Who cares?" I said. "We're just guys, helpin' each other get off once in awhile. It's no big deal."

He looked at me blankly, then slowly nodded his head, reflecting on everything I'd said. Before I could even think what I was doing, I made a mad dash for the door. With lightning speed, Scott charged forward and wrapped his large, muscular arm around my throat from behind and started to squeeze.

"You fuckin' faggot," he hissed in my ear. "You're just like those other guys. You just wanna drag me down with ya. I know just how to handle stupid fuckin' pansy boys like you."

With a cry of rage, he pushed me headfirst into a nearby weight stand, and I collided with a rack of 20-pound dumbbells, which rolled away in every direction. I hit the floor with a thud, and tried desperately to crawl away. Scott fell on me and punched me repeatedly in the lower back. He grabbed me again around the throat and started to squeeze. I tried to scream, but not a sound came out of my mouth. I started feeling light-headed as he dragged me back to a padded bench. He slammed me down hard on my stomach, and I felt him probe me from behind. I heard him spit, and he abruptly shoved a finger all the way up inside me.

"Noooooo," I gurgled.

As if to answer me, he savagely kneed me in my balls, which dangled underneath me, to the side of the bench. It hurt beyond anything I'd ever felt in my life. I began to black out from the pain.

"Those big nuts are wasted on you, faggot!" he cried.

Suddenly, he grunted like an animal, and a new kind of pain hit me. A searing pressure ripped through my anal wall, sending a stabbing wave all the way up my spine. I screamed, and Scott punched me again in the back and fell on top of me, then wrapped his hands tightly around my shoulders.

"This is what all you pussy boys really want, isn't it, Wil?" he whispered in my ear. "You want my hot cock up your ass, don't you?"

"NOOOOOOOOOOOO!" I screamed.

"It can't hurt that much, can it, Wil?" he said. "After all, it's a lot smaller than yours, right?"

He bit my earlobe lightly and stuck his tongue inside. I shuddered, and he began to grunt and thrust his hips on top of me. I felt the hot sweat between us start to trickle out on my back. After a minute, the excruciating pain began to subside and turn into a dull throbbing. I felt something warm and moist dripping from my thighs onto the bench. Oh, great, I thought. Now I'm bleeding to death.

Scott's rhythmic thrusts became faster and more insistent. "Oh, Wil," he murmured. "I've wanted to do this all year. Don't tell me you don't like this."

I hated him. Even worse, I started to feel a new sensation, some kind of throbbing pleasure deep inside me. To my disgust, I felt my groin throbbing back to life again. I moaned with the sheer misery and horror of the situation, and tears sprang to my eyes.

Scott laughed and whispered, "I told you you'd like it, Donkey Boy."

Suddenly, there was a noise behind us. Scott cried out, and I heard a loud metallic clang, followed behind by a tremendous crash. I turned my head just as his body tumbled off me and hit the floor with a dull thud. The next thing I knew, someone grabbed my arm and tried to help me up, and I rolled over on the bench and groaned with pain.

"Wil! Wil, it's me, Chuck!"

I opened my eyes, and the fat, bloated assistant gym manager was holding me up under my arms. There was a look of sheer fright in his eyes, and he panted, as if he'd just been running.

"Are you alright?" he asked, catching his breath. "Can you walk?"

I nodded. Using Chuck's shoulder and the bench for support, I pulled myself up to my feet, then looked down. Scott Michaels lay on the floor, unmoving, with a 45-pound weight plate lying next to his head. I let out a gasp when I saw a trickle of blood oozing down his right forehead. Scott's left arm was bent backwards at an odd angle.

"Shit, Chuck! You killed him!" I whispered.

Chuck kneeled beside him, still panting and sweating. "No," he said, shaking his head. "He's still breathing. Scott's just knocked out. I'll call an ambulance."

I felt dizzy. "But what's the coach gonna say?"

"Coach isn't here," he replied, calmly. "I'm in charge now."

He handed me my glasses, which were a little bent. I nodded and put them back on, then half-walked, half-staggered to the workout room door. I looked back. Chuck was pulling the unconscious football star up onto the bench.

"What about Scott?" I asked, wearily.

Chuck quickly walked over to me. I could see a thin film of sweat soaking his enormous T-shirt.

"I told you," he said. "I'll call an ambulance. In 15 or 20 minutes." His huge chest rose and fell as he panted -- whether from the excitement or the exertion, I'm not sure.

I was puzzled. "Why not call right now?" I asked.

Chuck grinned at me. "When I'm finished with him. What he don't know, won't hurt him."

I stared at him for a moment, then realization set in. "No, Chuck -- don't get in trouble, man," I protested.

"Get outta here," he said, quietly. "You got five minutes to take a shower and go home. I'll clean up here. If anybody asks, I'll say you left an hour ago."

I stared at Chuck as he walked back to the gym bench and rolled over the unconscious athlete on his back. Jesus, I thought, eying my attacker's nude groin. After all that, Scott was still as hard as a rock! A low moan escaped from his lips.

Chuck looked back at me. "Go on, Wil."

I nodded, then limped over to the door. "Thanks, Chuck," I said. "For what you did for me."

The fat boy looked down at Scott, then looked back at me. "This isn't the first time this has happened, Wil," he said, sadly.

I shook my head, retrieved my gym clothes and towel, and limped down the hall, turned to the corner and went into the shower. The hot water felt soothing. I let the warm cloud of steam rise up, and I closed my eyes and leaned against the wall for support.

After a minute or two, I looked down and saw a several drops of red running down my right leg. The blood pooled up on the floor, and circled down into the drain. Gingerly, I reached down and checked the damage. FUCK, that hurt! I winced. I'm not gonna be able to poop for a month, I thought. I looked down at my body and shuddered at the scratches and bruises on my chest and stomach. I probably looked even worse on my back.

I thought about what Chuck had said to me. Did he mean Scott had done this before to other guys? Or did he mean that Chuck had knocked some of the players on the head and… I shuddered with the mental image of the fat boy's huge, sweaty body, and immediately tried to push it out of my head.

I shut off the water and grabbed my towel, then limped back to my locker and pulled on my clothes. Shit, I thought. I'm gonna leave blood all over my pants. I couldn't let my parents see me the way I am. What am I gonna do? Where could I go?

Ronnie.

I limped down the hall and grabbed the pay phone. Thank God, I still had one dime on me. I dropped the coin in the slot and quickly dialed his number.

C'mon, Ronnie! Answer… answer! At last, there was a click.

"Hello?"

"Ronnie!" I yelled into the phone. "God, I'm glad you're home! It's me, Wil. I've got an emergency."

Silence. "I don't wanna talk to you, Wil," he said, coldly. "U.N.C.L.E. agents are forbidden to fraternize with enemies from THRUSH."

I rolled my eyes. "Shut up, Ronnie, and listen for once! Scott Michaels just beat the shit out of me at school, and then tried to rape me!"

Ron gasped. "He did WHAT?" he cried. Another voice yelled "hold it down" in the background on the phone.

"Ronnie, don't tell anybody about this!" I pleaded.

"That was just Rickie. I've gotta tell him!" he said, in a hoarse whisper.

"Okay," I said, wearily. "Just your brother, but nobody else. Listen, I'm out of money for the phone." I glanced over at the clock, which had just hit 5:30. "Call my mom and tell her you'd like me to spend the night tonight at your place. If she gives you any shit, tell her I made the Honor Roll."

"Hey, that's great, Wil!" he started.

"Shut UP!" I hissed. "I'm bleeding, and I hurt like hell!"

I thought I heard him choke back a sob.

"Shit, I'm sorry, man!" he said in a small voice. "What're we gonna do?"

I thought for a minute. "We'll figure that out when I get there," I said. "If my mom asks any questions, just stall and tell her I went to the store with Rick or something. I'll call her back in a half hour, when I get to your place."

"Okay, Wil," he said. He paused for a second, then angrily muttered, "I told you Scott Michaels was an asshole."

I nodded, even though I knew Ronnie couldn't see me. Down the hall from the locker room, I heard a voice in the distance moan loudly, then scream. Sounds like somebody just got to the root of Scott's problem.

"I'll see you in ten minutes, Ronnie. Listen, I'm sorry for what I said before."

"I'm sorry, too," he said, meekly. "Wil, I… I gotta tell you something. I… really…" His voice cracked.

Shit, I don't want to hear this now, I thought.

"Ron, I gotta go," I snapped.

"No," he said. "I gotta tell you." He took a deep breath. "I love you, Wil. I'm sorry, but I do."

I closed my eyes and leaned my head against the wall.

"Ronnie. I'm all fucked-up. Don't say anything," I begged. "Just let me come over and crash for awhile… please."

"Okay, okay, I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" he said, blubbering.

"And stop apologizing!" I yelled.

"Okay. Wil?" he asked.

"What now, Ronnie?"

"Hurry up!"

I cursed and hung up the phone. I grabbed my notebook and textbooks and crammed them in my gym bag. I went over to a dispenser over the trash can and grabbed a handful of paper towels, and gingerly shoved them down the back of my pants. It still hurt, but not quite as badly as it did ten minutes ago.

With my heavy gym bag in hand, I trotted back down the hall, then slowed to a fast walk as I went down the corner by the workout room door. The room lights were out now, and I thought for a moment about opening the door. Again, I heard a loud moan from inside, but I could've sworn it was two different voices this time. I backed up from the door, and silently tip-toed past it. I hit the fire door release, stumbled and ran out into the cold night. I started running faster after I heard it slam shut in the distance.

 Chapter 10

I didn't stop running until I made it to the sanctity of Rick and Ron's bedroom. From their phone, I called home and left a message with Sharon, and made my excuses. The two brothers locked their door, pushed me down on the lower bunk bed, and gently pulled off my clothing. After a quick examination, they told me I didn't seem to have broken anything -- except maybe my ass.

I hurt all over. I was pretty well covered with scratches and purple bruises all over my back, chest, and stomach, even a little on my neck. Luckily, my face still looked fine, so chances were good that my mom and dad would never be able to see any damage, if I was lucky.

Ronnie took a good look at my backside and shook his head. "You're definitely still bleedin' a little back there," he said, wincing.

I felt a lot better after a long hot bath. An hour later, we checked again and the bleeding had definitely stopped. I felt exhausted, but it was good to be back with my friends -- even if they were The Geek Brothers.

Ronnie brought in a tray of soup and burgers from the kitchen, and we ate dinner while lying on the floor and watching The Wild Wild West on TV. Jesus, I thought. The star of the show sure had tight pants. I felt a little twinge and adjusted my crotch. Rick looked down and laughed. I looked down and saw my stiffening organ clearly outlined through my underwear.

"You're one hor-hor-horny guy," he said, laughing and pointing. "I guess you like Agent West as much as we do."

I grinned and nodded. Even after all I've been through, I still hadn't gotten any satisfaction myself, tonight. The two brothers turned and sat in front of me and smiled.

"You wanna… you know?" said Ronnie, shyly.

I grinned, but shook my head weakly. "Maybe later, Ron," I said.

"There's no rush," he said, smiling. "I can wait."

Jesus, maybe the little dork really did love me. "Let me sleep, Ronnie," I said, as I wearily got into the lower bunk bed. "I really feel like crap."

He nodded, and both brothers turned off the light and left the room. The fresh, cool sheets felt good on my bruised back. In minutes, I was fast asleep. A few hours later, I was awakened when somebody (or somebodies) climbed up the ladder into the top bunk. Soon afterward, the bed frame began gently shaking back and forth, and two voices moaned little squeaks of pleasure.

I rolled my eyes. "Can you guys, ah, hold it down a little?" I whispered loudly.

Ronnie's bright red face appeared to my right, upside-down, looking down from the top bunk. "Shit! I'm sorry, Wil," he whispered.

"Sorry, Wil!" whispered Rick, out of sight.

I closed my eyes and drifted back to sleep, as the bed quietly rocked back and forth.

* * * * *

Hours later, I awoke to find Ronnie asleep in my bunk, with his arm across my chest and his head tucked under my arm. The clock said it was 4:10 in the morning.

"Pssst!" I whispered. "What're you doing down here! I'm trying to sleep, man."

He opened his eyes and looked sleepily at me, then smiled. "I didn't think you'd mind," he yawned, and snuggled closer to me.

"Cut it out, Ron," I snapped, pushing him away. He looked hurt.

"You hate me, don't you," he said in a small voice, sitting up.

I sighed. "No, I don't hate you, Ronnie. I just got a lot of stuff on my mind, that's all."'

He lay beside me and turned on his side. "You never did give us all the details what happened with you and Scott," he whispered.

I felt a chill at the memory. "I don't wanna talk about it, Ron," I snapped. "Just shut up."

Ronnie put his hand on my shoulder. "I'm sorry, Wil," he said, seriously. "I'll kill him for hurting you." He said it matter-of-fact, as if it'd be the easiest thing in the world for him to do.

I grinned. "I think Scott has his own problems to worry about," I said.

"Scott's father f-f-f-ucks him," said Rick, loudly.

I looked up and was shocked to see the other Lannigan brother staring at us, upside down, from the top bunk.

"What are you talking about?" I asked, momentarily taken aback.

"It's true," he said, climbing down the little ladder and sitting beside the two of us on the lower bunk. "Sc-Sc-Scott told me. I did it with him all last sum-sum-summer. He always wanted to… you know… d-do it that way. He said he didn't mind his Dad doin' it to him. He called it c-c-c-cornholin'."

I nodded. 'Cornholing' was an old Southern tradition I had heard about before, but never actually seen or experienced. Well, until a few hours ago, anyway.

"But you wouldn't let him do it to you," I said.

He shook his head. Ron blurted out, "I think Scott wanted Rickie to corn-hole him."

"Shut up, Ronnie!" hissed Rick. "T-tell us everything that happened, Wil," he said, looking at me intently.

Reluctantly, I gave them the whole story, as best I could. Ronnie nodded when I got to the part about Scott comparing our equipment.

"I told you Wil's was bigger," he said to Rick, who punched him in the arm and told him to shut up.

"So how-how-how did you get away from him, Wil?" Rick asked.

"Chuck saved me," I replied.

"You mean Chuckles, the pervert?" squealed Ronnie. "The fat kid in the locker room who stares at everybody when they're taking a shower?" He fell back on the bed with laughter. "He's gross!"

"Hey," I said with a sigh. "I owe him a favor. He clobbered the shit out of Scott. I never would've gotten away if it wasn't for Chuck."

"Why d-did Scott do this to you?" Rick asked quietly.

Shit. Now it was my turn to apologize. "Guys," I said, looking at both brothers as sincerely as I could, "I'm really sorry. I… I accidentally told him that I knew about…"

Their eyes widened.

"You didn't!" whispered Ronnie.

I nodded. "I told him I knew what he'd been doing with you two."

Rick's face went white. "You m-m-mean with me," he said, angrily.

"Yeah," I said. "I was scared! I just… I dunno, I blurted out the first thing I could think of to make him stop. Jesus, I'm really sorry, Rick," I said, embarrassedly.

"We're dead now, for sure," Ronnie whispered. Rick nodded and glared at me.

"I'm not so sure," I said. "Chuck was in the locker room with Scott for a long time, after he bashed his head in," I mused.

"You think he… did stuff with him?" asked Ronnie, bewildered.

I grinned. "Let's just say that I think Scott is now in a lot worse shape than I am," I said.

"Holy shit," said both brothers. They turned and looked at each other, and the three of us burst out laughing.

As our laughter subsided, I yawned. I glanced at the illuminated clock by their bed: it was nearly 4:30AM.

"Guys, I'm still tired, and I hurt like shit. Can we just sleep and have breakfast in the morning," I yawned.

Ronnie grinned at me and ran his hand across my stomach. "I know somethin' that'll make you sleep better," he said.

I rolled my eyes. "Do you guys ever stop thinking about sex?" I whined.

"Nope," said Rick, who turned and helped Ronnie gently pull down my underwear.

I mumbled some weak protests, and then lay back on the bed and felt something warm, wet, and wonderful nuzzle my belly and then work its way downwards.

These two are absolutely insatiable, I thought, as I laid my arms over my head in surrender, closed my eyes, and felt my groin throb with pleasure.

* * * * *

I awoke at 7:30 to find the room flooded with sunlight. Ronnie was still in bed with me, his hand under the covers cradling my groin, which was still a little sore from the fight I'd had the night before with Scott. Rick was on the floor beside us, covered with a sheet, and snoring softly.

Well, at least he doesn't stutter in his sleep, I thought. I gingerly slid past Ron and stepped over his older brother, then padded across the room on the plush white carpet and entered their bathroom. My mouth fell open. Their bathroom was even bigger than my parents' -- fancy sink and toilet fixtures, too. This stuff really looked cool -- and expensive.

I stood in front of the full-length mirror by the shower, and winced at the reflection. My limp member hung down half a foot in front of me, like it always did, but I could see my right testicle was definitely a little swollen and bruised.

"I guess this what you call 'blue balls for real,'" I whispered to myself.

My chest and stomach were bruised as well, but not as badly as I feared. My upper chest was still a little red and sore from where the barbell hit me. I poked around gingerly and winced as I encountered a few tender spots, but I was certain nothing was broken.

"Shit, Wil!"

I jumped to find Ronnie standing behind me, still naked. "Your back's got a shitload of cuts and bruises on it, man."

I nodded. "Yeah. That was a parting gift from Scott last night."

He walked up beside me, then put his hand on my back, then reached down lower. I flinched, but he rubbed me cautiously and tenderly.

"I meant what I said, Wil," he whispered. "I'll kill him for what he did to you."

"Forget it, Ron," I replied, shaking my head. "Chuck really gave it to him last night. I'm sure Scott won't sit down for a week."

Ronnie shivered at the thought of Chuck and Scott, together in the weight room. He looked up at me with tears in his eyes. "Then I hope Chuck makes Scott wish he was dead," he said, coldly. Sometimes, Ron really scared the hell out of me, and this was definitely one of those times.

"Hey, g-g-guys!"

We both gave a start as his brother Rick stuck his head through the bathroom door.

"Willie Mae's got breakfast all ready," he said. "Get dressed and come d-d-down to the dining room, okay?"

"Who's Willie Mae?" I quipped.

"She's our maid," replied Ronnie. "She cooks and cleans the house and takes care of us when Mom's not here."

Jesus, I thought. This must be like living in a hotel! Rick and Ron left me in the bathroom to take care of business. It hurt a little, but not nearly as badly as I feared. After I finished, I decided to take another shower. I dried myself thoroughly, then checked my still-sore ass in the mirror, just to check its progress. At least it looked normal from the outside. I walked back into the brothers' bedroom, and Ron tossed me a large T-shirt.

"It's one of Rick's," he said. "You can wear his stuff for now. You two are about the same size."

I nodded. "What about my clothes?" I said, holding up my jeans, which I could now see were stained with a small blotch of dried blood in the back.

"I'll throw all your stuff in the washing machine right now," he said. "I'll tell Mom you slipped and got dirt on 'em, and we'll just clean 'em up. Nobody'll ever know."

"Thanks, Ronnie," I said.

He looked up at me and flashed me a huge smile. "It's part of ze secret meession," he quipped, in a perfect German accent. "Ve must get rid of all ze evidenze, and make zure ze guilty parties are caught oont killt."

I grinned and shook my head. "You know you're totally nuts, right?" I said.

Ron just laughed and ran out of the room, taking my dirty clothes with him.

* * * * *

When I entered the Lannigan's palatial dining room, I couldn't believe the spread laid out on the table before us. Every variety of breakfast meat was there -- bacon, ham, link sausage and patties -- along with hash browns, a silver serving tray of scrambled eggs, a huge stack of pancakes, and a neat row of glass pitchers with freshly-squeezed orange juice, grapefruit juice, milk, and ice water. Rick was already digging into the pancakes, and Ron pulled a chair out for me next to him and started scooping out a big helping of scrambled eggs for himself.

"Lots of protein in these, Wil," he said, piling them on the plate. "You muscle-bound jocks need this stuff, right?"

I grinned, grabbed my fork and took a bite. "Aren't you gonna have any?" I asked, my mouth half-full. Man, this stuff tasted good.

"Oh," he said, laughing and patting his stomach, "I already had my share of protein last night."

Both brothers practically fell out of their chairs laughing. I rolled my eyes and laughed along with them, then playfully socked Ronnie in the shoulder.

"Boys," called their mother, who walked into the dining room. "Oh, hello, William! I'm so glad you could spend the night with the boys."

"Hi, Mrs. Lannigan," I said, in-between mouthfuls. "Thanks for letting me sleep over. This food is fantastic!" I said, taking a bite of pancakes.

She smiled. "That's our Willie Mae! Isn't she wonderful? Anyway, boys, I've got to meet your Uncle Bob at the airport. I'll be back later this afternoon. Willie Mae will stay and make you lunch. Don't drive her crazy, will you?" she said, grabbing her purse.

"Yes, mom," chorused the two brothers, as she left the room.

"By the way," she called from the hallway. "Did you hear what happened at your school last night? It was just terrible."

I almost dropped my fork on my plate. Rick and Ron looked up from their meals and their faces paled.

"N-n-n-n-n…" stammered Rick.

"NO, Mom, we didn't!" finished Ronnie.

Rick kicked him under the table.

"A boy was badly hurt and had to be taken to the hospital," she called, walking back into the dining room. "Here it is, on the front page of the metro section of today's paper."

She laid the Saturday morning edition of the Tampa Tribune on the table. In the lower right corner was a blurry picture of Scott Michaels in his football jersey. A small headline read, "Local Athlete Injured in Freak Accident."

I blanched and started to reach for the paper, but Ronnie snatched it out of my hand.

"A near-tragedy was narrowly averted last night," he read aloud, "after a Tampa Central High School football quarterback was injured in the school gymnasium and had to be rushed to the emergency room on Friday night at 7:30PM."

7:30, I gasped! Jesus! I left just before 6. That meant that Chuck and Scott were in the weight room for more than…

"'The student, Scott Henry Michaels,'" continued Ron as he read the news item, "'was the second Tampa Central quarterback to be sidelined this season. Team quarterback Robert Carlson, a junior, had previously broken his leg in a motorcycle accident last month. Michaels, age 16, was rescued after he was reportedly crushed by a barbell in the school gymnasium. Dr. Simon McAdams, a physician at St. Joseph's Hospital, says that Michaels could have bled to death had he not been found in time. Assistant school gym manager, Charles Blossom, is being hailed as a hero after rescuing him.'"

I burst out laughing. "Some hero!" I said.

"Keep reading, R-R-Ronnie," muttered Rick, shooting me a glance.

"'Michaels suffered a mild concussion and a badly broken arm, which reportedly occurred during unauthorized use of school exercise equipment. Tampa Central High Dean of Boys Steven P. Lucas refused to provide any specific details regarding the accident, pending an investigation. Lucas did indicate that the student was expected to be released sometime Sunday morning, and that his injuries weren't life-threatening but would probably prevent him from returning to the team for the rest of the season.'"

The three of us crowded around the paper. I stared at the photo of Michaels. He looked almost handsome, smiling at the camera. That wasn't the smile I saw last night, I thought, shivering at the memory.

"Richard, you knew this Scott Michaels, didn't you?" called his mother as she walked towards the front door.

"N-n-n-not all that well, M-m-mom!" he answered, nervously. He and Ronnie glanced at each other.

She stopped and thought for a moment. "Didn't he used to come by the house over the summer?" she asked, as she opened the front door.

Rick nodded, then turned back to me, his eyes flashing with anger.

"Oh, well," she said. "At least he'll be alright. Now, you boys be good, and don't make a mess in the house! Merry Christmas, Wil!"

She left and closed the door.

"Shit, a broken arm!" I said, quietly.

Ron giggled. "They mean a broken ASS!"

I winced. Mine was still a little sore.

"Shut up, Ronnie," snapped his older brother. "Well, I guess you t-t-told us the truth," he said, staring at me, then the paper.

I rolled my eyes. "Whaddya think, Rick?" I cried. "I beat myself up and then ripped the shit out of my own butthole?"

"I'm s-s-s-orry, Wil," he said, looking down at his plate.

Ron put his hand on my shoulder. "I told him you were tellin' the truth," he said, in a quiet voice. "I think he still likes Scott."

"Shut UP, Ronnie!" snarled Rick, as he stormed out of the room.

Ronnie and I finished our breakfast in silence. I even had a second helping. Ron giggled when I accidentally let out a loud fart as we left the table.

"Please pass on my compliments to the cook for today's cuisine," I said, as Ronnie dissolved into laughter.

* * * * *

By mid-afternoon, my jeans were clean enough that I could wear them again. At least there weren't any more tell-tale signs of bloodstains. My underwear were a lost cause, however, so we opted to just throw them away, and Ronnie loaned me some replacements. Right before 4PM, Mrs. Lannigan dropped me off at my place, and Ron ran up to the door with me.

"Can you come back again tonight, Wil?" he asked, plaintively.

I shook my head. "I want to take it easy for a few days, Ronnie. I still hurt like hell, and I've also got some Christmas shopping to do."

He nodded and walked back to the car and got in. "Call me tomorrow, willya Wil?" he yelled out the window, as they backed out of the driveway.

"I will, Ronnie!" I yelled back, and walked into our living room. I took a good look around. Jesus, why have I never noticed how this place is a dump, I thought. It looked like shit compared to the Lannigan's house, I mused, as I tore up the stairs, two steps at a time.

"Wil!" called my mother from the kitchen. "Sky called this morning. He asked me to tell you that one of the boys from school got hurt last night."

I winced. "I know all about it, Mom!" I yelled down the hallway.

She walked out in the living room and looked up at me suspiciously. "How do you already know?" she asked.

"I read it in the paper this morning," I replied casually. "Can I use the phone in your bedroom up here?"

"Alright," she said. "You know, I'm just going to have to ask your father to get another upstairs phone. You and your sister use the family phone far too much."

My face brightened. "Hey! Could we get our own line?"

She laughed. "Let me talk it over with Santa later on."

"Thanks Mom!" I yelled, running down the hall.

I shut their bedroom door, grabbed the phone by their bed, and quickly dialed Sky's number. He answered, but I cut him off before he could blurt out the news about Scott.

"I was there, Sky," I said, and told him the details of what happened, omitting what I suspected Chuck did afterward, and about Scott's extra-curricular activities.

"Holy shit," he murmured. "I knew Scott had some problem with you, but I didn't understand why," he said.

"Yeah, some macho athlete he turned out to be," I said, grimly.

Sky was silent. "Jesus, Wil. I'm really sorry that happened. Does it still hurt?"

I laughed, then winced as I felt one of the bruises on my chest. "Only when I laugh," I said. "Or sit down. Or do anything."

"Fuck. I guess this means you'll wanna skip the dance on Tuesday," he said, a tone of disappointment creeping into his voice.

I mulled it over. I wasn't feeling all that bad, I thought. In three days I should feel OK. And I'd hate to piss-off Cynthia even before she really got to know me.

"No," I said, surprising myself. "I'll go."

"That's great!" he said, sounding relieved. "We'll pick you up at 7, sharp."

"I'll be ready," I replied. I hung up the receiver. "Shit, I'll be glad if I survive the night," I said out loud, to nobody in particular.

* * * * *

Over the next few days, I took it easy and tried to recover from my injuries suffered in the workout room. Despite Scott's assault, my 'internal plumbing' seemed to have recovered pretty well. Every time I went to the bathroom, I hoped Michaels was having a much worse time with his injuries, inflicted at the hands of Chuck.

I only had about $50 holiday spending money, but I still managed to find some fairly decent gifts. I got Sky a little framed photo of the two of us from last summer, a blowup of a snapshot that his sister Carol had taken of us at the beach. We had our arms around each other and were making a goofy face at the camera. I thought the photo showed him the way he really was. I crossed my fingers that he wouldn't think it was too corny.

I got Rick and Ronnie some cool toys -- an Invaders flying saucer model kit for Rick, and a Lost in Space robot for Ronnie. What Ronnie would probably rather have was a life-size plastic replica of 'little Wil.' I could just imagine him unwrapping that under the Lannigan Christmas tree. At least if he had a spare, maybe I could get a moment's rest from those two.

Finally, the big day arrived: Tuesday, Christmas Eve. All afternoon, my sister and I helped my mom and dad rearrange the living room furniture and put up the tree, which had been a family tradition for several years. Our Christmas tree wasn't gigantic, but the lights would probably look pretty cool at night from outside the front window.

I ran upstairs, took a shower, and put on my best suit -- my only suit, actually. It was getting close to 7. I spent over 20 minutes standing in front of the mirror, fussing with my shirt and trying to get everything just right. It was hopeless. How was it that people like Sky always looked good, no matter what they wore? As if to answer my question, I heard a car horn honk in our driveway.

"That's Schuyler!" yelled my dad from the living room. "Get a move on, Wil!"

"I heard it, already!" I yelled, tearing down the stairs.

My mom met me at the door and checked my tie. I protested, but she tugged the knot a little tighter, practically choking me. I prayed she wouldn't notice the slight scratch on my throat and the small bruise on the left side of my face.

"I'd rather wear a clip-on," I muttered.

"You're too old for that, son," said my dad, who smiled at me and turned to my mother. "Honey, our little boy's growing up. Can you believe it? It's his first date."

My parents both beamed at me and put their arms around each other. I rolled my eyes.

"What is this -- 'Donna Reed'?" I whined.

"Go on," prodded my Dad, opening the door. "Just have a good time. And don't forget to be back by 11PM."

"Jeez, the whole thing is chaperoned, Dad! I'm not in junior high anymore!" I complained.

"Alright -- then midnight at the latest. Schuyler's father is driving all of you home, right?"

I nodded.

"Have a good time, Wil," said my mom, as she kissed my forehead.

"Mom!" I said, praying desperately that none of my friends saw her. "They're waiting for me!"

I ran to the car and almost slipped on the wet grass. I wasn't used to these leather dress shoes, since I wore sneakers about 90% of the time. Sky jumped out of the car and opened the back door for me. Cynthia and Melissa looked up from inside and smiled at me.

"You look great, Wil," said Cyn, shyly.

"You'd look even better if you took off your stupid glasses, dumbass!" whispered Sky, who plucked my glasses off my face and shoved them into my right pocket.

Maybe I'd get through the night better if the world was slightly blurry, I thought. I nodded and got in the car, and Sky slammed the door.

"You know, you've got really nice eyes," whispered Cyn, as I sat next to her.

I gulped. "Thanks, Cynthia."

"Call me Cyn," she corrected.

"Right… Cyn."

She took my left arm out of my lap and put it over her shoulder, then smiled sweetly at me. My heart beat a little faster as Sky's dad revved the engine and started off down the street. I looked up and saw Sky looking back at me, grinning ear to ear.

"Told ya," he mouthed, silently.

I grinned back at him and nodded.

 Chapter 11

The Palma Ceia Golf & Country Club was a huge, sprawling white mansion, reminiscent of one of those quaint old Southern plantations they used to have in the 1800's. But instead of rows of cotton fields out back, they had several hundred acres of the finest golf course in all of Central Florida. Our car pulled up under a large, ornate archway, and an elderly black gentleman in a uniform stood stiffly and opened up the car doors for us.

"Welcome to the dance, ladies and gen'men," he said, in a southern drawl.

Jesus, I thought. The slaves are still here, 100 years later, only now they do this instead of picking cotton. I shook my head, feeling sorry for the guy. Another black man opened the huge mahogany door of the club entrance.

"I thought Lincoln freed these guys awhile back," I whispered to Sky as we walked down the ornate corridor. Cyn giggled, but Sky shot me a look.

"Shut up, man. This is a high-class outfit!" he hissed at me. "My old man pays a fortune for us to belong here!"

The grand ballroom had a huge white and gold banner over its doorway, proclaiming "The 11th Annual Tampa Central High Christmas Dance - 1968." It was jam-packed with nearly a thousand teenagers, and a local rock group tried valiantly to perform cover versions of current hit songs at the small stage in front. What they lacked in talent, they sure made up in volume, I thought.

"You guys want a couple of drinks?" shouted Sky, trying to be heard over the din.

"Yeah," I shouted back. "I'll take a Scotch on the rocks!"

Sky cracked up, but shook his head. "Coke, 7-Up, or water is about it!" he laughed.

"Coke," I replied. "Cyn, you want anything?"

Sky took our drink orders, then returned with four glasses. We toasted each other, then looked around for a place to sit down. Cynthia pointed to the glass doors to our right, on the other side of the room, and we squeezed through the crowded dance floor, out to a huge open terrace that overlooked the 18th hole.

It was a beautiful winter evening -- not too cold, and not raining, like it often did in Florida in December. Just cold enough to be "nippy," as my Mom would say, probably 50 degrees. Several other couples were already sitting on the ledge and gazing at the stars, while a few others hid in the corner, sneaking guilty puffs on cigarettes. Cyn grabbed my hand and walked me over to the side.

"Wow," she said. "This is a really neat place. Have you ever been here before?" she asked.

I shook my head. "No. Sky's dad has a membership here. I think Rick and Ronnie Lannigan's family, do, too."

Her brow furrowed. "Those dweebs?"

"Hey, they're my friends!" I said, angrily.

She looked at me, surprised. "I'm sorry, Wil," she apologized. "I thought they were… you know, just a couple of dorks. You're much cooler than they are," she said, squeezing my hand.

I laughed and nodded. "I'm sorry," I said. "You're right… they are dorks. But they're also my friends."

Cynthia laughed, and her eyes twinkled. God, she really was cute.

"You wanna dance?" she said, looking back towards the noisy hall behind us.

My face blanched. "I'm… I'm not all that great a dancer," I said, nervously. "I'm a pretty good swimmer, but I'm not so hot on the dance floor."

She smiled and leaned closer to me. "Melissa told me you were pretty cool dancing in the cafeteria the other day," she said.

I laughed. "I learned all my best moves from The Temptations," I said, smiling.

"I bet you did," she said, then giggled.

I looked around for Sky and Melissa, who were nowhere to be found. "Where could they be?" I mused.

"Don't worry about them," she asked, putting down her glass. "Let's dance!"

She grabbed me by the hand and pulled me back inside to the dance floor. I meekly tried to protest, but then the band perked up and started playing a half-decent version of The Beach Boys' "Wouldn't It Be Nice." I grinned and started singing along with the music, and Cyn lifted her arms in the air and moving her feet.

"Wouldn't it be nice if we were older

then we wouldn't have to wait so long

and wouldn't it be nice to live together

in the kind of world where we belong…"

Cyn laughed as I started singing Mike Love's "bah ba-ba-bah" harmony backup vocals, which was my favorite part. When the song got to the slow part, she pulled me closer to her and wrapped her arms around me. She looked into my eyes and sang with me:

"You know it seems

the more we talk about it…

it only makes it worse to live without it.

But let's talk about it…

Oh, wouldn't it be nice."

I grinned, and she leaned forward, wrapped her arms around me, and tenderly kissed me. God. It felt wonderful. At last, the song ended, and all of us applauded.

Sky walked over and clapped me on the shoulder. "Hey," he said. "You two look like you're having fun."

"Yeah," I said, grinning.

Sky leaned forward and whispered in my ear. "Good goin', stud," he whispered, then laughed. He and Melissa waved as they walked off to the dining room.

"What'd he say?" asked Cyn.

Try as I might, I couldn't wipe the stupid grin off my face. "Sky kinda had to drag me to this thing, kicking and screaming," I confessed.

Cynthia frowned. "I thought you wanted to be here, Wil," she said, quietly.

"Oh, I did," I said, quickly. "I… I really like you, Cyn."

She brightened. "Let's grab some food, okay, Wil?"

I nodded, and we joined the rest of the teenagers in the banquet room next door.

* * * * *

Three hours later, I was pretty much danced out. Cyn taught me two or three new steps, and I pretty much faked the rest. After glancing at the other couples dancing, I figured I was probably not much better or worse than half the ones I could see. Of course, I couldn't see all that many of them, because I was half-blind without my glasses, but that was beside the point.

The band took a break, so the four of us decided to go back outside and look at the stars from the terrace. Florida was usually pretty cloudy in December, but this was one of those unusually clear nights. Sky and Melissa headed down to the golf course.

"I know a little place by the side-road," he said, putting his arm around Melissa.

"Give us 20 minutes, then call the police!" she quipped, then grabbed Sky by the hand and dragged him down the steps.

Cyn and I laughed, and walked down the ornate stone steps in the other direction.

"I think we could see the stars better from over here," she said, pointing out a small white bench next to a tree in the distance.

"You think we should?" I asked, nervously looking around. "I mean, maybe they'll arrest us for trespassing or something."

"C'mon," she said, grabbing my hand. "Just for a little while."

I stumbled after her, and we followed a little gravel path down a neatly manicured grass hill, which led to a white wrought-iron bench. It was next to a little babbling brook, a water hazard next to the 17th hole in front of us. We sat down on the bench, and I nervously adjusted my tie.

"I had a great time tonight, Wil," she said, quietly.

I looked back at her. She smiled, and I felt a warm throbbing between my legs. Oh, shit, I thought. Not now! There's no way I could walk around if that happened, even in pants this baggy.

I cleared my throat and looked up. "I think that's the North Star," I pointed. "The bright one to the right is Venus."

"That's the goddess of love, right?" she whispered, leaning closer to me.

"Uh, yeah… well, it's actually the planet," I stammered. "I think the ones over there are part of the Big Dipper."

"Umm-hmmmm," she said. She leaned forward, closed her eyes, and kissed me, gently.

I was a little bit in shock, but she pulled me closer to her. I put my hand on the back of her head and kissed her deeply. At last, we parted, and I caught my breath.

"So that's the Big Dipper," she said, looking at me.

I nodded.

"I hear you've got a big one, too," she murmured, putting her hand to my chest.

Oh, fuck. "Uh, Cyn, I've… we've… isn't it getting close to 11?" I said, looking desperately around for Sky.

"We don't have to be home until midnight," she said, sliding her hand down from my chest towards my pants.

My heart froze as she squeezed my inside thigh, and I immediately felt my groin throb in response. "Cyn, no, please…"

"God," she sighed. "It really is huge, isn't it?"

I nodded nervously, ready to bolt back inside at any moment.

"I've never seen one like yours before," she said, reaching for my zipper.

"Please, Cynthia, I like you and everything, but…"

She put her hand on my mouth, then giggled. "I thought it was the girl who was supposed to resist the guy," she said, smiling.

Oh, god. Sky, this is your fucking fault, I thought.

Before I could stop her, she'd zipped down my pants and reached inside my underwear. "God," she purred, "you're so big! Please, I've got to see, it Wil!"

I took a quick look in both directions. I thought I'd heard a footstep on the gravel path to our left, but the coast seemed to be clear. I nodded and pulled my pants and underwear down slightly, and my erection sprang up, as hard as I've ever seen it.

"Oh, my God, Wil!" she whispered, awe-struck. "It's beautiful. It's even more amazing than they said it was."

I could just imagine the headlines in the school newspaper. Does everybody know about my dick, I thought? I gulped, and she gently examined me, first with a finger, then her whole hand.

"And your balls are huge, too," she said, admiringly, as she reached out to grasp one.

"OOOOOF!" I yelled, still wincing from Friday night's bruises.

She quickly pulled her hand back. "Oh, Wil, I'm so sorry!"

"I'm just… a little sensitive down there," I said, sucking in my breath. "Had a little accident at gym class."

"I'll be gentle, I promise." She began to rub me gently. "I know what to do."

I'm sure you do, I thought. Suddenly, she leaned over and began licking me all over, then slipped her mouth gently over the head. I moaned so loudly, I heard a squirrel to our left stop and run off in panic.

"Shhhh," she said, looking up. "This won't take long."

I nodded, and she went back to work. Oh, god. I caressed her hair, as her head bobbed up and down in my lap. My loins burned, and I felt my heart pounding until I thought it would burst right through my chest. She'd definitely done this before, I thought. She was good, but not as good as Ronnie.

Ronnie. Oh, Christ. I tried to keep his image out of my head. I could feel the pressure building, and I began to moan softly.

"Cyn!" I whispered. "I'm going to…"

She took her mouth off and began stroking me frantically. I groaned loudly and spurted five, six, seven times, all over the 17th hole green. Thankfully, none of it got on Cynthia or my suit.

I fell back on the bench, totally spent. She turned to me, and I grabbed her and kissed her, brusquely. I felt her tongue slip through my mouth, and I moaned.

"Oh, god, Cyn. That was great," I whispered.

She smiled. "I've had some experience, you know," she said, quietly. "I did it with Sky's brother Bill last year before he went to college."

My face blanched. "But he's 18!" I said, shocked.

She nodded. "I know. Don't tell Sky. He just thinks we hung out together a couple of times."

I sighed, and she kissed me on the neck.

"You're much bigger than Bill," she marvelled. "You've got the biggest one I've ever seen. You're wonderful, Wil. I want to… I really want to do it with you." She continued to gently caress my deflating member, which was beginning to stir to life again.

Christ, I thought. Does it ever stop?

"B-b-but Cyn," I stammered, immediately thinking of Rick, "we can't do it here… now."

"I know," she cooed. "My parents have to drive out to Sarasota to see my relatives at 6PM tomorrow, and they won't be back until at least midnight. I'll make an excuse to stay home. You could come over, and we can… you know."

I began to panic. "Look, Cyn, I can't. I'm… busy."

"With what?" she asked, plaintively. "School's out until the 6th. You said the swimming pool's closed for the next few weeks for maintenance. You don't have anything else going on."

I thought quickly. "I've got a 1000-word History report to do," I remembered.

"You can start your homework on Thursday," she replied. Cyn looked really beautiful in the moonlight, which made her brown eyes sparkle. "You're all I want in my Christmas stocking, Wil."

I sighed. "Okay," I said. "I'll try to see you tomorrow night."

"Please come by, Wil," she said, gently caressing my groin. "I… I really want this. It's the best Christmas present you could give me."

I nodded. Just at that moment, we heard some footsteps down the gravel path. Quickly, I pushed my equipment back in my underwear, tucked in my shirt and zipped up my pants. Cynthia and I jumped off the bench and stood there, acting as innocent as possible.

"THERE you are!" yelled Sky, as he and Melissa ran up to us. "The band just started playin' a Beatles medley, and I figured you guys would wanna hear it. They sound really great!"

I nodded and walked back with them up the steps.

"I need to powder my nose, Wil," said Cyn. "Melissa and I will be right back. Wait for us on the dance floor," she called, running across the terrace.

Sky elbowed me and giggled.

"FUCK, man!" I winced, holding my side.

"Oh, shit, Wil," he whispered, apologetically. "I'm really sorry, man! That's where Scott slugged, you, right?"

I nodded as we walked back onto the dance floor, which was now only about half as crowded as it was two hours earlier. We sat down on one of the plush white chairs that lined the sides of the enormous room.

"So, didja get to make out with Cyn?" he asked, grinning.

I nodded and felt a twinge in my groin. "That was the best blow-job I've had all day," I laughed, quietly.

Sky was stunned. "You're… you're kiddin', right?"

"What," I said. "You think I'm gonna lie? Sky -- she blew me, right on the 17th hole!"

Sky looked like he was going to fall out of his chair. "Jesus, Wil, you don't waste any time!" he whispered. "Most 13 year-olds wait until at least the second date before movin' to oral sex!"

I grinned. "Well, I guess I'm skipping ahead to the advanced levels in this particular course," I replied. We both laughed.

"So what'd she say?" he asked.

I sighed. "Cynthia said I had the biggest dick in the school. And you know what, Sky?" I said, turning to my best friend. "I got the strong impression she's probably seen most of them." I sighed.

Sky rolled his eyes heavenward. "Shit! I swear, I had no idea she was a slut."

I laughed. "Cynthia's really nice for a slut. She wants me to come by tomorrow night and, you know…"

Sky's mouth fell open. "Wait a minute!" he whispered. "You're sayin' she asked you to fuck her?"

I nodded. He punched me in the arm.

"Shit," he laughed. "People think I'M the biggest stud in 9th grade. You're the only guy I know who's actually gonna DO it!"

We both laughed again. Sky thought for a minute and then said, "Wil, you know, Cyn used to have a thing for my brother. You don't think that she and Bill…"

I hesitated. "Gee, uh, I can't imagine that, Sky," I said, as seriously as I could.

"You ASSHOLE!" he hissed. "She's fucked him, too, hasn't she? Don't try to lie to me, Wil -- I know you too well."

I gave up and meekly nodded my head.

Sky let out a low whistle. "Shit. I never would've done this if I'd known."

"Don't worry, Sky," I said. "I think once Cyn gets what she wants out of me, she'll leave me alone."

Sky gave me a curious look, then put his hand on my shoulder. "Wil," he whispered, "I wanted you to… you know… find out what a good time you could have with girls. I know you, man. You're not a homo."

I nodded. "I like Cynthia -- a lot." I looked up at his face. "But I really like you, too, Sky."

Sky turned away from me and pretended to watch the band on stage. "I don't wanna talk about that," he whispered angrily.

"But it's true," I said. "Who says I can't love both of you?"

He looked up at me, with panic in his eyes. Fuck, fuck, FUCK! I screamed in my brain. Why did I have to say that?

I started to stammer out an apology, but Sky stood up suddenly and said, "Melissa! We were just talkin' about you two!"

I looked up and saw Melissa and Cyn walking towards us out of the crowd. Both of them were giggling. Cyn turned to Melissa and whispered something in her left ear, and Melissa screamed with laughter, covering her mouth. Several onlookers turned in our direction, and my face turned beet red.

"Hey, Melissa, d'ya wanna dance?" yelled Sky over the music. "C'mon, let's go!" He turned to me and said, quietly, "c'mon, Wil. You can't sit there all night."

I nodded, and Cyn took me by the hand and dragged me back to the dance floor.

The band hit the opening chords of "Ticket to Ride," a moldy oldie from three years ago, and my face brightened.

Cyn leaned over and whispered in my ear, "I think I love you, Wil."

I grinned and nodded, then I leaned over and kissed her on the cheek. We started to dance to the music, but after a few moments I winced. The song sucked -- it was missing something. They were totally blowing the harmonies, I thought.

I looked up at the long-haired lead guitarist, who was just ten feet away from us at the front of the stage area. He looked like he was only a little older than we were, maybe 16, 17 at the most. None of the other guys in the group seemed to be singing with him at all. Before I could stop myself, I began belting out Paul McCartney's vocal harmonies as loudly as I could.

"I think I'm gonna be sad,

I think it's today, yeah,

The girl that's driving me mad

is going away, yeah.

Aaaaaaa…

She's got a ticket to ride,

she's got a ticket to ri - hi - hide,

she's got a ticket to ride,

but she don't care."

The guitarist looked down and grinned at me, nodded his approval, then continued singing. I laughed and smiled back at him, singing louder. He thought for a moment, then gestured down to the stage steps, then pointed to me and waved me on up.

Cynthia turned to me and grinned. "Wil! He means you! Go up there and sing!"

Me? I pantomimed to the singer, pointing to my chest. He grinned and nodded, then waved me up to the stage again.

Cyn pushed me up the steps and I stumbled up alongside the guitarist and stood next to his mike. The moment I gazed out at the crowd, I felt a flurry of butterflies in my stomach and my knees began to shake. Jesus -- there were a lot more kids here tonight than I thought.

The singer gave me a look, as if he was daring me to actually do it. I immediately leaned over and launched into my best Paul McCartney harmony impression on the chorus.

"I don't know why she's ridin' so high,

She ought to think twice,

She ought to do right by me…

Before she gets to sayin' goodbye,

She ought to think twice,

She ought to do right by me."

I winced a little at his guitar solo, but I reminded myself -- you're not exactly going to find George Harrison playing in Tampa the day before Christmas.

Jesus, I thought, getting a better look at my band-mate. I couldn't see him that well from the floor, but up close I could see this guy really was good-looking enough to be a rock star. He was tall and had long dirty-blond hair, which hung down to his shoulders. From the look of his arms, I'd say he pumped iron, too.

I grinned when I looked down and saw Cyn looking up from me from the audience, smiling. By the middle of the song, the guitarist and I were singing as if we'd rehearsed it together for a week. I belted out the words with all my heart, trying desperately to remember how Paul looked on The Ed Sullivan Show a year or two earlier. I glanced over at the guitarist, who grinned at me as we reached the final verse.

"She said that living with me,

is bringing her down -- yeah…

That she would never be free

when I was around.

Aaaaaaaaa…

She's got a ticket to ride,

she's got a ticket to ri - hi - hide,

she's got a ticket to ride,

but she don't care.

My baby don't care

my baby don't care

my baby don't care."

He hit the final chord, and the band took a bow. I retreated off to the side, then laughed out loud as I caught a glimpse of Sky and Melissa. They were staring at me, open-mouthed, then broke out into cheers and whistles.

The guitarist to my right grabbed my right hand and pulled me back up to the front of the stage, then whispered, "take a bow, asshole!" I grinned and bowed low, like the Fab Four used to do on Sullivan.

Man, I could really get into this rock and roll thing, I thought, as I trotted down the steps back to Cynthia, who grabbed me and hugged me.

"Wil, that was great!" she gushed. "I didn't know you could sing like that!"

I laughed. "I guess I inherited that from my grandmother," I said. "She's been in the church choir for like 50 years, and we used to sing together when I was little."

Sky and Melissa pushed their way through the crowd, still applauding and whistling.

"Cut it out, you jerks!" I said, smiling sheepishly and rolling my eyes.

"You were great!" Sky said. "We should put you on the next plane to London!"

"Yeah, right," I muttered. "Make it Hollywood, and you got a deal."

"No, really, Wil! You were fantastic up there," said Melissa, who kissed me. Cyn gave her a look, and my face turned red again.

"Well, I wouldn't call it fantastic," said a voice from behind me, "but it wasn't bad for an amateur." I turned, and it was the handsome guitarist.

"Jesus, I-I'm sorry, man," I said, apologetically. "I swear, I usually don't jump up and interrupt concerts like that."

He jumped off the stage and playfully grabbed my shoulder as he almost fell, then pulled himself up and flipped his long blond hair over his shoulder. "Hi," he said, shaking my hand. "Jesus is another guy. I'm Pete."

"Pete Best?" I said, laughing, referring to the original Beatles' drummer.

"No -- Pete Woods," he said, laughing. "I go to Madeira Beach High, across the Bay. You know, for a little twerp, you were pretty cool."

I grinned at the compliment, such as it was. "Your Lennon's not bad, either," I said.

"You've got a great voice," he said.

My face reddened at the compliment.

"And you've got the right moves and everything," he continued. "You ever think about bein' in a band, man?"

"No, no… I'm a swimmer!" I protested. "I'm on the varsity team at Tampa Central High."

"Groovy. You a junior or senior?" he said, cocking his head to get a better look at me.

I shook my head. "Freshman."

He laughed with surprise. "You're just a 9th grader? Funny," he said, "Judging by your voice, I thought you were a lot older." He looked me up and down. "Maybe it's just your vibe," he said, softly. "Groovy."

I felt a chill as he walked around me in a complete circle. Was he checking out my… I glanced down at my groin. No -- no tell-tale stains or obvious bulges, thank God.

Pete nodded as if in approval. "You know, you might actually look pretty cool if you'd let your hair grow out."

"I can't," I said. "I'm a swimmer. It'd slow me down in the water."

"I know," he grinned. "You told me already. You know, you'd be great in our band. You play any instrument?"

"Just skin flute!" stage-whispered Sky.

Pete and I laughed.

"Aside from that," said Pete.

"Well," I said, "I know a couple of chords on the piano…" I started.

"Cool!" he said. "We could really use a keyboard player! I've got an old Hammond B-3 organ in the church storeroom."

His church? I raised an eyebrow.

Pete chuckled when he saw my expression. "I'm the black sheep of the family," he admitted. "I'm not exactly what you'd call 'religious.' Just… spiritual."

I nodded, a little relieved. My family definitely wasn't what you would call Bible-belters.

"Look," he said, scribbling on a piece of paper. "Here's my number. Call me sometime if you ever wanna get in the rock and roll business. You really do great harmonies… it's Wil, right?"

"Right. Wil with one 'L,'" I said. "Thanks, Pete."

"Anytime. Well, we gotta pack up. We got another show to do tomorrow night in Bradenton. S'long, folks!"

He jumped back up on stage and started taking down the mike stand, never taking his eyes off me. Man, this guy was even better-looking than Sky, I thought.

"Call me," the singer mouthed, then nodded.

I nodded back, then looked down at the piece of paper in my hand. On it, he'd written:

"I saw you out back tonight.

You're fucking cool, man!

Call me anytime.

--Pete

(813) 837-4331."

My heart skipped a beat. Did he mean…? I looked up and he was still looking at me from the stage with a sly smile. I knew that expression -- I'd seen it the other night, on Ronnie's face. I felt that same warm fluttery feeling again, deep in the pit of my stomach.

"C'mon, Wil," said Sky, putting his arm around my shoulder and walking me away. "My Dad's waitin' for us out front."

We walked down the country club's palatial corridor and back outside to the cold night air.

 Chapter 12

I rode home in silence, while Sky and Melissa regaled his dad with the story of how I'd suddenly turned into a rock star at the dance.

"Dad," enthused Sky, "it's like Wil is Clark Kent, and he just turned into Superman!"

"Maybe it's the glasses," laughed Cyn. She and Melissa giggled.

Shit, I thought. I'd had my glasses off all night, and I barely noticed it. I pulled them out of my coat pocket and put them back on.

"Say, Dad," said Sky. "Do you think you could get Wil a deal on contact lenses?" he said, giving me a wink.

Dr. Jones glanced at me in the mirror. "Well, normally that's against the rules. Technically, contacts should work fine with Wil's prescription, and we've had patients as young as ten wear them."

Cyn gently slipped my glasses off my face and put them back in my pocket, then gave me a little peck on the cheek.

Dr. Jones laughed. "But to tell you the truth, we just got some new samples in for testing, a new easier-to-wear type. They're supposed to revolutionize the eye-care business. Tell you what, Wil," he said, glancing at me again as we sped down MacDill Boulevard. "If your parents will give their permission, we'll put you on the list to get a free pair for testing. You get to wear them at no charge for six months, as long as you agree to getting an exam every six to eight weeks or so. Sound like a deal?"

I nodded. Geeez, I thought. Maybe I could finally stop looking like a four-eyed geek for a change.

"Will they work in the pool, Dr. Jones?" I asked.

He laughed. "No. I'm afraid no lens can do that. But you can't swim and wear glasses, either, right?"

"Yeah, you're right. I could live with that, I guess," I said, thinking it over.

For the rest of the ride home, I thought about how great it was to sing up on stage. Man, I thought. What if I could become part of something like The Beatles? Man -- the money, the crowds, the girls… The girls?

Ronnie.

I felt a pang. I thought about him and his brother Rick. I glanced to my right and saw Sky looking at me from the front seat, and he grinned and pantomimed a blow job again, poking the inside corner of his cheek with his tongue, then giggled. God, I thought, sighing to myself. Maybe it really was Sky that I loved the most.

We pulled up in Cynthia's driveway, and I walked her to the door. "I guess this is the obligatory kiss goodnight," I said, smiling.

She smiled and put her arms around me, then slipped a hand down my pants and gently squeezed me. "That's unless you have time for more," she giggled.

"Cyn!" I hissed. "Dr. Jones is gonna see us!"

"He can't see anything. Oh, god, I want you so badly, Wil," she murmured. "Please say you'll come by tomorrow night!"

I nodded, then she kissed me quickly, pulled her hand back up and smiled at me. "Thanks for everything, Wil," she whispered. "I mean it. Merry Christmas."

I nodded. "Merry Christmas, Cyn!" I called, and ran back to the car.

Sky had already gotten in the back with Melissa, so I hopped in the front seat and closed the door. Dr. Jones turned to me as he drove down the street.

"I think you'd be a good candidate for these new contacts, William," he said. "Your prescription has no astigmatism, so they should work perfectly. Give me a call at the office, after we're back from vacation, and we'll talk about it further."

I nodded, then glanced back at Sky and Melissa, who seemed to be deep in conversation. Sky whispered something to Melissa, then her eyes widened as she looked at me.

Gee, I mused silently, I wonder what they're talking about.

After we dropped off Melissa at her place, Dr. Jones made the turn down El Prado and pulled into my driveway.

"I gotta talk to Wil for a sec', Dad," said Sky as he got out of the back seat.

"Just make it quick, Schuyler," Dr. Jones sighed, irritatably.

We walked up the sidewalk to the front porch, and stopped at the door.

"What were you and Melissa talking about back there?" I said, curiously.

"Oh, nothin'," he laughed. "She just said she was glad to find out you weren't a fag."

I felt like punching him. "What the fuck did you tell her?" I hissed.

"Simmer down, man!" he said, with a hurt expression on his face. "I'd never tell her anything! You know that!"

I could see he was telling the truth. We both knew each other too well to ever get away with lying to each other. I nodded and felt my anger fade.

"She told me she'd heard that you were spending a lotta time with Rick and Ronnie Lannigan, so she figured you were… you know…" Sky pantomimed a limp wrist, and I slugged him in the shoulder, hard.

"Hey!" he said, rubbing his arm and giving me a pained expression. "Cut that out!"

"Rick and Ron aren't homos!" I said, icily.

"Wil, it's me," he said, evenly. "I know you didn't learn how to suck guys off just by doin' it to yourself."

My face reddened. "Ronnie's a real cool guy, Sky," I said, defensively. "You just don't know him like I do."

"Yeah, like I'd wanna hang out with either of those two bozos," he snapped.

I shot him an angry glare. "Shut up, Sky!"

He grinned. "Good luck with Cyn tomorrow night, stud!" he said.

"Don't remind me!" I moaned, as I opened the front door.

"I've got some rubbers if you need 'em! I'll wrap 'em up and give 'em to you as a Christmas present!" he whispered loudly, and ran back to the car.

I rolled my eyes, slammed the door behind me and walked inside. My parents were in the living room, sitting up and watching a rerun of the 'Johnny Carson' show on TV. They looked over at me and smiled. I glanced over at the tree, and noticed there were already about a dozen colorfully-wrapped packages under the tree.

"Did you kids have a nice time?" my mom asked.

Oh, nicer than you'd ever wanna know, I thought.

"Yeah, it was great, Mom," I said wearily, ripping off the hated tie, which had been strangling me all night.

"That's nice, Wil," said my Dad.

I took a step or two forward, then paused.

My Dad turned to me, expectantly. "Something wrong, son?" he asked.

I hesitated, then took my glasses out of my pocket and held them out in my hand. "Uh, Dad -- do you think I could… well -- get rid of these glasses and get… y' know… contacts?" I held my breath.

Dad sighed. "Son, we're already going to have to spend a lot of money on your teeth. Your sister's teeth are already costing me a fortune. We can't do that and throw away money on luxuries like contact lenses, too. Besides, you're much too young. Those are for adults."

"No," I pleaded. "Dr. Jones said I could have 'em free, for six months!"

"Really?" he mused.

"They're experimental. Some new kinda deal. He says I'm a perfect candidate for them."

My mom thought for a moment. "Well, if Ray says they're alright, dear," she said, "I don't see the problem."

Dad nodded. "We'll talk about it next week, Wil."

My face broke out in a huge grin. I knew what that meant -- that was usually his way of saying yes. "Thanks, Dad!" I said, patting his shoulder. My mother smiled and nodded.

I bounded up the stairs, tore off my suit, and fell into bed. God, I still ached all over. I poked a few of my bruises, but they seemed to feel a little bit better. I got up and took a good look at myself in the mirror. Hmmm, not bad. They were definitely fading. I couldn't see my back too well, but they looked OK. I reached down and checked the family jewels. OW! Those definitely still hurt like hell. I wasn't surprised, given the workout I've had over the last few days.

Shit. I was gonna see Cyn tomorrow night. I fell back into bed. What was that going to be like?, I thought. I couldn't go through with this. Sure, I liked her, and she was really cute, and I know she liked me… Suddenly, I felt a familiar twinge from my groin. DOWN boy! There's no way I can still be horny!

I looked down. Apparently, 'Little Wil' had other ideas, as it inched up my belly and crossed my belly button, then rose up off my stomach. In ten seconds, I was stiff as a rock and throbbing steadily in time with my heartbeat. I sighed, lay back on my bed, and started up the same old rhythm. Oh, god, that was great, I thought. In less than a minute, I started curling my toes with my impending orgasm.

Suddenly, there was a knock at my door. I quickly yanked my bedspread up to my chin, and yelled, "WHO IS IT?"

Sharon cracked the door open an inch. "It's the phone, Wil!" For you!"

I grinned. Well, at least she was knocking, now. "Who's calling me at 11:45?" I asked.

"It's Ronnie! He says it's important!"

Shit. "Close the door, Sharon, and give me a second."

She closed the door, and I jumped up and pulled on some shorts and a T-shirt. I shoved my erection to the side so it wouldn't be too visible, and prayed it wouldn't slip out of my pant-leg as I ran downstairs to the kitchen.

"Wil, please tell your friends not to call past ten o'clock!" yelled my dad as I sailed around the banister.

"I will, Dad!" I yelled, as I ran to the kitchen. Breathlessly, I picked up the phone. "What the hell do you want, Ronnie?" I whispered angrily.

"I'm sorry to call so late, Wil. But… I got some really bad news!" he said, choking back his tears.

Fuck! What could it be? It couldn't be Scott Michaels. He was definitely out of commission.

"Jesus, I'm sorry, Ronnie," I said, apologetically. "What is it?"

"It's my Uncle Bob," he said. "He says we're… we've gotta move next week! To… to Texas!"

My heart stopped. "Oh, Ronnie," I whispered. "Shit." For once, I was absolutely dumb-struck.

"I can't leave, Wil! I… I love you," he cried, finally letting it all out.

Tears welled up in my eyes. "I know, babe," I said. Shit, I thought. 'Babe'? Oh, fuck it. "Ronnie, it's gonna be okay."

"No, it's not!" he wailed. "You're my best friend! I can't leave you."

I nodded. I guess I was his best friend, just like Sky was my best friend. Well, maybe not exactly like Ronnie was with me.

"Look, Ronnie, can we talk about this tomorrow?" I said, exhausted.

He sniffed. "Okay," he said, in a small voice. "Can you… can you spend the night tomorrow night? You know, for Christmas?"

"Sure… Oh, wait, Ronnie -- shit, I can't," I said, closing my eyes and silently cursing. "I've… got somebody else I've gotta see. I already promised."

Ronnie was silent. "It's Sky, right?" he whispered.

"No. I don't wanna talk about it."

"It's that girl, isn't it?" he hissed. "The one from History? That slut, Cynthia Anderson."

I gritted my teeth. "Shut up about Cynthia, Ronnie."

"I knew she was a slut," he said, angrily. "Rickie knew, too, but we didn't wanna tell you."

"Then why are you telling me now?" I snapped.

"I told ya, Wil," he sniffed. "I know you really wanna be with us."

"I'm not a homo," I snarled. "I like you and all, Ronnie, but…"

He was silent. "'Bye, Wil," he said, finally, and hung up the phone.

I stood there and stared at the receiver, then hung up. Fuck, I thought. I walked back to the foot of the stairs, and Mom and Dad looked at me while Carson's audience laughed in the background on TV.

"I'm sorry about that," I said, sheepishly. "Ronnie's family is going to move to Texas in a few days, and he's freaking out."

"Oh, that's a shame," said my Mom. "He seems to like you an awful lot."

But it's mainly my dick he likes, Mom, I thought. I trudged up the stairs. "Goodnight, Mom -- 'night, Dad." They muttered their goodnights.

I closed my door, this time remembering to lock it, then I pulled off my shorts and shirt, and fell back into bed. Where was I? Oh, yeah.

In less than thirty seconds, I was hard again and began to pant heavily. Oh, Jesus, I thought, as I stroked myself with both hands. Cyn, please suck me! I replayed the sight of her face in my lap at the golf course, and felt my balls tighten. I was getting close. God, she was beautiful in the moonlight.

Suddenly, her image faded from my fantasy and was replaced by Ronnie. "I love you, Wil," he was saying, and he kissed me deeply, overcome with passion. His brother Rick was in my fantasy, too, and we were all naked, wrestling and rolling around on the floor of their room. I closed my eyes and felt a surge. My heart raced and I felt a thin sheet of sweat on my chest.

As I entered the home stretch, Ronnie's face melted away, only to be replaced by another. I couldn't recognize it at first, but then I knew: it was Pete, the handsome guitarist from the concert a few hours earlier. I began to moan softly as I imagined what he looked like naked. I thrusted uncontrollably at the vision of the two of us up on stage, only this time, the country club audience was gone and we were tearing each other's clothes off. His long blond hair fell over my face as we hungrily kissed, then he wrapped his muscular arms around me. We fell to the stage floor and put our faces in each other's groins, and began sucking as hard as we could.

Suddenly, I went off like a rocket. I had my biggest climax of the evening, moaning aloud as several streams of white goo shot over my face and spattered on the headboard of my bed, then on my cheek and neck. Three, four smaller jets followed, then I lay there completely exhausted.

Once I regained my composure and caught my breath, I was puzzled. Why had a vision of this total stranger suddenly popped into my head? After a minute, I reached for a tissue and wiped myself and the bed off. I sat up, found my suit pants, and pulled out the piece of paper with his name on it, and read it again:

"I saw you out back tonight.

You're fucking cool, man!

Call me anytime."

I closed my eyes and thought of his face again, then folded up the piece of paper and stashed it behind my desk drawers with my secret stash of Playboys. I closed the drawer, then fell back into bed, exhausted. I was dead asleep in five minutes.

 Chapter 13

Wednesday morning I awoke with a smile on my face. It was Christmas. Bobby Helms was singing 'Jingle Bell Rock' on my clock radio, part of WLCY's annual 'all rock & roll holiday hits marathon' for 1968. The clock face said it was already 9:10AM.

After the events of the last few days, I was amazed that I felt as good as I did. I slipped on a T-shirt and a pair of shorts and trudged down the stairs to the living room. The place looked like a bomb had hit it. Sharon had already opened a half-dozen boxes, and wrapping paper and ribbons littered the living room floor. I could see she'd already arranged Barbie and Ken in some kind of miniature cardboard beach house set, complete with a pink convertible parked in its miniature driveway, and seemed to be preparing some kind of elaborate dinner party.

"Merry Christmas, Sherrie," I said, smiling.

She turned and grinned back at me. "You got some neat stuff, too, Wil," she said. "Here, open this one first," she said, shyly. "It's from me."

I nodded and tore open the wrapping paper. "Wow," I said. "This is really cool. The Voyage to the Bottom of the Sea model kit! Thanks, Sherrie!" She laughed, and went back to her dolls.

This sub would look really good all painted up, I thought, examining the official Aurora box.

Shit. Ronnie and Rick.

"Merry Christmas, kids!" My mom and dad were coming down the stairs. I saw a weird little creature hanging on for dear life on Mom's arm.

"IS THAT FOR ME?" squealed Sharon at the top of her lungs.

"Shhhh!" said my mom, as she reached the bottom of the stairs. "Be very quiet, Sharon. Santa brought you a little kitty. We kept it upstairs last night so it wouldn't be alone. Don't make any loud noises or you'll scare it to death."

I stood next to my father as my little sister scampered over and scooped up the little fur-ball into her arms. Dad grinned at me and whispered, "the damned thing kept us up for the past three hours." I laughed.

Sharon looked ecstatic. "I'm going to name you Samantha," she said. "Like the witch on Bewitched."

I walked over and scritched the kitten on its head. It looked up at me like it was terrified, then its eyes softened and it began to purr.

"She likes you, Wil!" said my sister. The tiny animal nosed out and crawled across Sharon's arm and jumped over to my shoulder.

"Help!" I cried, partly for comedic effect. "What is this thing? A Siamese? Mom, am I allergic to Siamese cats?"

Mom laughed. "You're not allergic to anything, Wil. Look, it really does like you!"

The cat began nuzzling my neck and licking my face. Great. It looked like I'd made a new friend.

"Listen, folks," I said, wincing as I carefully extracted the little feline's razor-like claws from my shirt. "I kind of gotta run. Ronnie's moving to Texas in a few days, and I'd like to go over there for a couple of hours, if it's okay with you." I handed the cat back to Sharon.

My mother looked hurt. "Honey," she said, "we wanted you to open up your presents. Can't this wait?"

"Oh, alright," I said, reluctantly. There only seemed to be three or four presents with my name on it, but one of them was rather large.

"Open this one first, Wil!" cried Sharon, who pushed the biggest package out on the carpet, while almost dropping her cat, which seemed to be permanently fastened to her shoulder.

"Careful, Sharon!" called my mother.

My dad walked up to me and put his hand on my shoulder. "We both thought you deserved something special for finally making the Honor Roll, son," he said, smiling broadly.

"I hope it's a one-way ticket back to LaFontaine," I muttered to myself. I still missed being with my friends back at the gifted kids school across town. 'Brainiac school,' as Sky called it.

I tore open the package and was stunned. It was an all-in-one super-deluxe Lafayette stereo system, complete with an 8-track player, turntable, tuner, speakers… the works!

"WOW!" I exclaimed, completely bowled over. "Gosh! Mom… Dad… This is just too cool!"

The knobs gleamed, and it looked like there were hundreds of buttons, knobs, and jacks on the thing. It looked even better than the one back in Rick & Ronnie's room.

Shit -- there wasn't much time left. I had to get going.

"We knew you'd like it, son," said my father. "You've been listening to that little cheap radio of yours for years, and we thought it needed replacing. Your friend Sky told us you were really a music fan, and this was something you'd really appreciate."

"It's great, Dad," I said. "But l really gotta go see Ronnie. He's only going to be here a few more days, and then he and his brother are gone forever." I started for the door.

"Alright," called my mom, " but don't forget -- Christmas dinner is at 3PM at your grandmother's house! You must be back here not a minute later than 2:30, sharp!"

I rolled my eyes. "Jeez, do I have to go?" I whined.

"Yes, you have to go, William!" muttered my father, as he walked back towards the tree. "Come on, son. It's only once a year."

My mother smiled at me. "Wil, the whole family will be there. You'll get to see your cousins and your aunt and uncle."

Another stupid dinner with those idiots, I thought. "What time will we be home by?" I asked.

"Oh, the usual -- 7:30, 8:00," she said. "What's your hurry?" my mom asked, suspiciously.

"Oh, nothing," I said, grabbing two packages and opening the door. "I'll be back by 2:00, I promise!"

* * * * *

Jesus, I thought, as my bike bounced over the curb to Rick and Ronnie's house. There sure were a lot of expensive cars here in the driveway. I counted two Mercedes, a Cadillac, plus a big Rolls-Royce with a fancy canvas cover on it over on the left. I let my bike rest on the side of a tree, then ran up to the doorbell and rang it. The maid let me in, and I noticed the living room was filled with more than a dozen relatives. Most of the men were wearing cowboy hats. I could smell the faint aroma of a wonderful dinner in the air, but Rick and Ronnie were nowhere to be found.

"Pssst!"

I turned to my right and saw Rick through the doorway to the den.

"We're in here!" he said, waving me over.

I ran over and he closed the swinging door. Ron was sitting on the corner of their pool table, idly rolling a billiard ball and letting it bounce back off a side rail.

"Ronnie! I got here as quickly as I could, man," I said, apologetically. "Merry Christmas, guys." I laid the two small packages on the pool table.

Ron hopped off the table and hugged me, then began sobbing. "Mom says we're almost outta money," he cried. "We've gotta go live on Uncle Bob's ranch, just outside of Dallas."

Rick nodded. "He's a mil-mil-millionaire," he said. "Oil money."

"Black gold," I chuckled. "Texas tea!"

"Shut up, Wil!" wailed Ronnie. "This isn't funny."

Shit. I thought for sure he'd appreciate that one. "Is this for real, Ronnie?" I asked.

He nodded, sniffling. "We leave in four days, a week before school starts back up."

Rick sat in a chair next to us. "I hate T-T-Texas," he said angrily, turning away.

"Look guys," I said, trying to be as optimistic as I could. "Here's some stuff I got you for Christmas."

Rick and Ron trotted over and tore open the wrapping paper. "Wow!" said Rick, examining the flying saucer artwork on the model kit box. "This is one I honestly d-d-don't have yet! Thanks, Wil."

"Warning, warning!" said Ronnie, in a dead-on impersonation of the Lost in Space robot. He held it up to my shoulder. "Warning, Wil Larson! That does not compute."

I rolled my eyes and laughed. "Shaddup, you bubble-headed booby," I said, playfully poking him in the chest.

Ron looked at the robot, then back up at me. "I love you, Wil," he said in his own voice. He leaned forward and I let him kiss me, then I kissed him back.

Fuck. They may get me crying, if this keeps up much longer.

"Hey, kids!" drawled a voice from the other room.

Ronnie jumped away from me and stared as a man wearing a gray cowboy hat burst through the door.

"Oh -- howdy there, son!" he said, walking in and looking up at me. He stuck out his hand and we shook. "Ah'm Uncle Bob," he said with a drawl, squeezing my hand hard enough to make me wince. "Bob Lannigan. I'm the boys' uncle."

"This is Wil," said Ronnie. "He's a friend of mine from school."

"Oh, yeah," said Uncle Bob. "The boys talk about 'cha all the time! You look like a fine, upstandin' young man. Maybe y'all can come out to th' ranch and visit sometime." He looked down at the two brothers. "You boys best get washed up and ready for supper, ya hear?"

They nodded meekly, and the Texan walked off. "Nice meetin' ya, Wil'!" he called, pushing through the door to the group just outside.

"He's a jerk," muttered Ronnie. "I hate him."

"C'mon, Ronnie," I said. "You've got to have a place to live. If the guy's a millionaire, I can't see how it's going to be all that bad."

"We don't have any friends there," he said, his eyes filling with tears. "And you're not there."

I felt a pang. Jesus, maybe I really did love the little guy after all. I hugged him. "You'll make new friends in Dallas," I said, trying to convince myself.

"Not like you," he said.

Rick put his hand on my shoulder. Shit, even he was crying! "We-we-we really liked you, Wil," he stammered.

I grinned. "You mean me, or 'little Wil?'" I laughed.

Rick grinned and nodded. "Both of you," he said.

"What's your last day here?" I asked.

Ronnie started blubbering again, but Rick told him to shut up. "We're pa-pa-packing right now," said the older brother. "We're leaving Sunday morning."

I nodded. "Well, that means we have about four days," I grinned. "Maybe we can make the most of it."

Ronnie stopped crying and looked up at me slyly. "Thanks, Wil," he sniffled. He reached forward and gently squeezed my crotch, then grinned. "Can you stay here with us today?" he asked.

I laughed, then thought of Cynthia. Shit. I had to go back home, have dinner at my Grandparents' place, then… well, give Cyn her 'present.' I winced.

"Ronnie, I'm sorry," I explained. "I gotta see my relatives for Christmas dinner."

"What about later?" he asked.

I sighed. Ron had apparently forgotten our phone conversation from last night.

"Cynthia…" I said, feeling embarrassed. "Cyn… she… she got me to agree to come over after that."

"Shit," he said, pulling his hand away and pouting. "I knew it. That bitch."

Rick grinned. "Does she know about your d-d-d-…."

I cut him off. "Yeah, she knows. She blew me last night at the country club."

"No shit! Wow, that's cool," said Rick, his stutter suddenly gone again. "Are you really gonna fuck her tonight?"

Ronnie scowled at me. "I bet she's got teeth down there," he warned.

"C'mon, Ronnie," I said. "Every guy needs to get laid sometime!"

Rick turned to his little brother. "Shut up, R-R-Ronnie!" He put his arm my shoulder and whispered, "come with me."

We walked quickly down the hall to their bedroom, past two ladies coming out of the guest bathroom. Rick closed their door, then reached behind one of the larger robot toys on his shelf and pulled out a package of a dozen Trojan "X-Tra Comfort" prophylactics. A warning label on the package proclaimed "for the prevention of disease."

"You'll wanna use these," he whispered. "For protection."

I nodded, then had a panicked thought. "What if they don't fit?" I asked

"Let's try one on and see," he grinned. Rick led me into the bathroom, then shut the door and locked it.

I yanked down my pants and underwear, and quickly massaged my endowment until it was sufficiently stiff. "How do you get one of these things on?" I whispered.

"I d-d-dunno," he said, gazing down at my groin. "I've n-n-never really used one before."

I laughed. "Well, let's read the directions."

The box didn't give us a clue. I guess adults just knew about this stuff automatically. Rick tore open one of the little round coin-shaped foil packages and pulled it out, then let it unroll to its full length. He held the rubber next to my erection, which dwarfed the prophylactic.

"Is this the biggest size they make?" I asked.

"M-m-maybe it'll stretch," he said.

"It had better," I said.

We spent a minute or two trying to slide it on, but it was almost impossible. Shit, I thought, feeling the rubber with my fingertips. It was greasy, coated with some kind of weird powder. Definitely not like any balloon I'd ever seen.

"Let me try another one," I said.

Rick handed me a second foil package. I opened it up and carefully examined the rolled-up latex, then had an idea. I put it on my engorged head and then slowly rolled it down until it stopped, a little more than halfway. Well, at least it went on that time.

"Is that as far as it g-g-goes?" said Rick, watching me intently.

"Yeah," I nodded. "It's a little tight."

He giggled. "Maybe you n-need an extra large."

"I think it's 'one size fits all'," I sighed. "It better be enough for me to have sex with Cynthia and not get her pregnant."

Over the past six months, I'd read enough sex manuals at the public library to almost be an expert on the subject -- or at least, as much as you could from reading books.

Rick looked up at me, then stood up and smiled. "Ronnie really likes you," he whispered. "I never t-t-told you," he said, trying desperately not to stammer, "but I r-r-really like you, too, Wil."

He reached down and stroked me, gently, and I saw his shorts tent out.

"Jesus, Rick!" I moaned. "Let's do that tomorrow, okay?"

He laughed and let me go. "Okay," he said, "but I want first d-d-dibs at you."

I laughed, then felt a pang. Shit, I was really gonna miss both of The Geek Brothers, I thought.

Suddenly, somebody pounded on the bathroom door. "What're you guys doin' in there?" yelled Ronnie.

Quickly, I stuffed the pack of condoms in my back pocket, shoved my erection back in my underwear, and pulled up my pants. Rick opened the door, and Ronnie eyed us both suspiciously.

I held my hands up in the air. "I swear, we didn't do anything, Ronnie," I started. "He was just giving me some rubbers."

"Can you come back tonight after you see Cynthia?" he asked, in a small voice. "Even for a few minutes?"

I laughed. "If I'm still alive. I'll try to, Ronnie."

He nodded, and another tear slid down his face.

"If it makes you feel any better, Ronnie," I said, smiling, "you're definitely much better at taking care of me than Cyn is, for sure."

He looked up and grinned. Rick giggled.

"You, too, Rick," I said, playfully poking his bulging crotch. Both brothers laughed.

"We got a present for you, Wil," said Ronnie shyly.

"You mean in addition to the rubbers?" I asked.

Each of them handed me a small package. Ron's was the hardback edition of Arthur C. Clarke's novelization of 2001, which had just come out, and Rick had a paperback book on the making of the film. I hadn't had the time to see the movie, which had been sold out for weeks at just one theater downtown, but I remembered I'd told them about it.

"Wow, guys," I said. "This is really neat! I can't wait to read them."

"We knew you l-liked to read b-b-books," said Rick.

I nodded, already scanning the flyleaf of the first volume.

"But I'll always appreciate how you taught me the stuff you couldn't learn from books," I said, smiling.

Ron leaned over and kissed me again, and Rick put his arm around my shoulder.

I glanced down at my watch. "Shit," I said. "I'm sorry, guys -- I've got to get back home for Christmas dinner."

"Okay, we'll let ya go," said Ron. "But tomorrow night, you're all ours." He grinned.

"And we wa-wa-want all the details on Cynthia!" said Rick, wiggling his eyebrows.

To avoid having to go through the crowd at the front of the house, the three of us slipped out a side door to the backyard and ran over to the outside gate.

"Be careful with the slut!" yelled Ronnie, as I jumped on my bike and began pedaling away. I looked back just as Rick punched his brother and yelled at him to shut up.

* * * * *

I arrived back at home to find Sharon totally preoccupied with her new cat. They were playing hide and seek on the couch, but I think the cat was winning. The rest of my presents were pretty much what I expected. They got me the telescope I asked for, which was pretty neat, but I was a little disappointed that it didn't look quite as big as it did in the Edmund Scientific catalog. The other three packages were all clothes, which I had to admit, I needed pretty badly.

Sky's family had gone on vacation earlier that morning with some kind of boat trip to the Bahamas. I cursed myself that I hadn't even called them before they left, but I knew I'd see Sky when they came back, the day after New Year's. Sky and his folks had gotten me a cool tripod for my new telescope. I'd hoped my little gift to him of a framed photograph wouldn't look too tacky by comparison.

I gave my dad a new fancy silver Gillette Razor kit, and got my mom a new wallet. I guess my family was into 'useful' gifts most of the time. My dad thanked me, then asked me to come with him upstairs.

"Sure, Dad," I said, following him into his bathroom.

"I want you to have my old one," he said, handing me the chrome-handled safety razor.

I rolled my eyes. "Gee, Dad, I'm only 13. I'm not exactly shaving yet," I mumbled.

He grinned. "You look at yourself in the mirror lately, son?"

Yeah, I thought -- just checking to see how I looked after I got raped the other night. I shook my head.

"Take a good look in the light," he said.

I leaned forward. Well, I'll be damned, I thought. There was a visible line of peach-fuzz on my upper lip. Not quite as much as Sky's, but at least I was on the way there.

"Wow, Dad!" I said. "Maybe I do need to shave -- once in awhile, anyway." He nodded and we both laughed.

He gave me a few pointers, along with a can of shaving cream. "This is a rite of passage, son," he explained. "You know, this is a big deal, when a father gets to show his son how to shave his face."

I nodded, then thought about the other rite of passage that awaited me tonight. I glanced over at my father, who was beaming with pride. I smiled back, and thought, thank God you can't read my mind, Dad.

* * * * *

Christmas Dinner with the wacky relatives was as stupid as ever. I didn't get to see my out-of-town cousins very often. My cousin David was almost exactly my age, but we didn't have a lot in common, plus he was only in 7th grade. His 11 year-old brother Bruce was a lot more precocious. When I was washing my hands in my grandmother's bathroom, my younger cousin walked in and smiled at me.

"Looks like you have something in your pants," he said.

I looked down and rolled my eyes, then rearranged my organ to make it a little less visible.

Bruce giggled. "My brother says the guys in your family have real big dicks."

I blanched. "He said that?" I guessed that he'd snuck a glance at me when we visited them for vacation over the summer.

My cousin nodded. "You wanna see mine?" He began unzipping his pants.

"Maybe later, Bruce," I said, hanging up the towel. "Let's eat first."

I managed to successfully avoid both cousins for the rest of the afternoon. Well, I guess I now know which side of the family I got my horniness from, I mused.

* * * * *

Finally, around 8:30PM, we got back home. "I'm feeling real tired, Mom," I said, faking a yawn as I walked upstairs. "I want to listen to my new stereo."

"I'm tired, too," said Sharon, yawning for real. My sister had been up since 7AM playing with her dolls, so I wasn't surprised. Her cat was still in her arms, but the tiny feline looked like she was still feisty and ready to play.

We said our goodnights, and I headed upstairs. I closed and locked my door, then took off my suit and hung it up in my closet. I found a Sgt. Pepper 8-track tape and jammed it in the front of my new stereo. Hmmm -- it sounded pretty good. I turned down the volume just enough to make it sound legit, and hit the 'auto-repeat' button. That ought to do it.

I quickly slipped on my jeans, a turtleneck sweater and some sneakers, then noiselessly slid open my bedroom window and looked outside. The coast was clear. I tentatively stuck my foot out on the metal drainpipe outside. I didn't do this very often, but this emergency exit came in handy once in awhile. The drainpipe creaked a little bit, but it still seemed to hold my weight okay. I stepped out and grabbed on to the TV antenna pole attached to the side of the house.

Just as I gathered my courage to slide down, I caught myself. Shit -- the rubbers! I crawled back inside and grabbed the package of Trojans that Rick had given me earlier, and took one out. I looked at it and thought for a minute.

"Better play it safe," I muttered to myself, and grabbed three more. I shoved the little round foil packages into my back pocket, then hid the box and crawled back out the window. I silently slid it shut, then slid down the aluminum pole, grabbed my bike and tore off into the night.

It was beginning to drizzle. I silently cursed, desperately wishing that I'd brought my raincoat. I quickly pedaled down the rain-slicked side streets, cutting through a nearby park as a shortcut, and made it over to Cyn's house in under ten minutes. All of the lights on her house were out, except for one in the very back. That had to be her room, I thought. I stashed my bike in the trees, then tip-toed over to the side of her house. Should I try to climb the wooden fence? Just as I started to reach for the latch, a loud barking started up on the other side of the gate. I jumped back. From the sound of it, it sounded like a German Shepherd, and a big one, too.

The front porch light suddenly turned on, and the screen door opened. "Wil!" said a voice. "Is that you?"

"No! It's Santa Claus!" I whispered loudly. "I've brought you a present!"

Cyn stepped out wearing just a thin nightgown and grinned. "I was afraid you wouldn't come," she said. "I think we've got at least two hours before my folks get back. Come on upstairs."

I ran up the porch to her front door. She grabbed me by the hand and took me inside, then hungrily pulled me to her and kissed me, deeply. I inhaled her scent. She was wonderful -- a great clean smell, mixed in with some kind of sharp, seductive fragrance. After a moment, I pulled back and smiled at her.

"I've thought of you all day, Wil," she said, smiling back.

"Me, too," I nodded, almost truthfully.

She took me by the hand and pulled me up the stairs, laughing. We went into her room, which was the last door on the right. A Monkees poster with a large photo of Davy Jones was on the wall next to her bed, which had four brass posts and a frilly white bedspread. She turned the light on and started unbuttoning my pants.

"Can't we, uh, keep the lights off," I stammered. Christ, I thought. I didn't want to have to explain the bruises to her.

She frowned. "You don't have to be shy with me, Wil," she said. "I want to see all of you tonight."

"Please Cynthia," I said, reaching for her breast. God, she was soft -- bigger than I expected, too. "I'm… a little shy. Can we just have the night-light on?"

"If that's what you want," she whispered, reaching for the light. She let her nightgown slip to the floor, then pulled off my sweater and kissed my chest. I stiffened almost immediately when she began swirling her tongue around my left nipple.

"Oh, god, Cyn," I moaned, pulling her to the bed. I kicked off my shoes, then pulled off my pants and underwear with one yank. We kissed passionately for several minutes, and I kissed her breasts.

"Please, Wil," she moaned. "Please fuck me."

I blanched at the sound of the word. It sounded so… so forbidden.

"W-w-wait a minute," I stammered. "I've brought… uh, 'protection'."

She giggled. "Let me help you," she whispered. She took the foil package out of my hands, tore it open with her teeth, then slipped it over my stiff erection. I think she'd had some practice with this before.

"There," she said. "Are you ready?"

I winced. Damn, these things are tight, I thought, as I made a little adjustment. If they're this tight now, I hope they make bigger ones by the time I turn 18.

She pulled me on top of her and reached down below, and I felt myself entering something warm and tantalizingly tight.

"God, Wil," she said. "Y-y-you're even bigger than I remembered," she said, gritting her teeth.

I began to push a little harder. Suddenly, I felt some resistance, and she pulled back from me. "Wait a minute," she panted. "Go a little slower."

I just wanted to get this thing over with. I began to fondle her breasts, which were amazingly soft and warm. She pulled me back to her mouth, and kissed me passionately. Her face was much softer than a guy's, I thought, then I felt a pang at remembering how Ronnie had kissed me earlier that afternoon.

Ronnie. Was I finally beginning to fall in love with him? Now, when he was about to be wrenched away from me, forever?

My arousal began to wilt. I concentrated on getting it back, just as Cyn's kisses became more fevered, more passionate.

"I'm ready now, Wil," she moaned. "Please. Give it all to me. I need you so badly." She put her hands on my buttocks and pulled me closer to her.

I instantly surged back to life, and felt a warm throbbing between my legs. I felt like I was on fire. I leaned forward and shoved half of me inside her.

"OH, GOD! " she screamed. "You're too big, you're too big! Please, take it out!"

This isn't fun at all, I thought. My erection began to deflate again as I pulled out and sat up. "Oh, god, Cyn, I'm really sorry!" I said, panting.

She sobbed quietly. "Oh, I wanted you so much, Wil!" she cried. "Please, can you try again?"

I looked down. The Trojan was loosening up on my deflating member, but I was surprised to see that it actually fit a little better when I was soft.

"Shit, Cyn, I'm sorry," I said, kneeling forward on the bed and letting her see my groin. "I think you kinda scared 'Little Wil.'"

She nodded and sobbed quietly. I leaned forward and lay next to her, then kissed her neck and her cheek. "Do you… do you wanna do anything else?" I said, stroking her hair.

Cyn nodded, then leaned forward to kiss me, hungrily, her tongue slipping past my lips. She sucked on my lower lip and tenderly bit it. Ah, I thought, looking down. "I think 'Little Wil' has returned," I whispered, and she giggled.

"Wil, you know I've been with… a few guys in school already," she said.

So have I, I thought.

"I don't care, Cyn," I said, kissing her again. "I think you're kinda neat."

She hesitated. "I've… I've only really been with two boys before," she confessed. "I mean… going all the way."

I nodded. "Maybe we should, uh, take this a little slower," I began.

She smiled shyly at me. "Do you think you could do for me what I did for you… last night at the dance?" she whispered.

I looked down and saw an indistinct area between her legs, with just a few silky curls visible. I gulped. I wasn't ready for this, I thought.

"God, Cyn, I'm… I'm sorry," I said. "I've never done that before."

"I haven't been able to get any of my other boyfriends to do that, either," she said, softly.

I shuddered. How many guys have been down there already?

"Look, uh, Cyn," I said, sitting up. "Can we, you know… still see each other? You tell me when you're ready, and maybe we can try it again someday."

She nodded. "You're different from the others, Wil," she sighed. "You're real smart, and real sensitive. Sky thinks you're… you know… a homo-sexual."

She pronounced it just like that, with a hyphen. I felt my face redden with anger, but I knew she wouldn't be able to see it in the darkness. That son of a bitch, I thought. How could he tell her that?

Cyn leaned forward and stroked my chest, then put her head on my shoulder. "I know different, Wil," she murmured, kissing my cheek. "You're more of a man than anyone I've ever met."

I nodded. Yeah, by a good three or four inches at least, I thought. Not bad for a 13 year-old.

Suddenly, we heard a door slam from downstairs and a voice called out. "Cynthia! Your mother and I are home!"

"Oh, shit!" she whispered, jumping up from the bed.

"Is that your parents?" I said, my heart stopping momentarily.

"I'M UP HERE, DADDY!" she yelled, then turned back to me. "Wil, you'll have to go out this way," she whispered, then ran to the window and quickly opened it.

This is becoming a habit, I thought, as I quickly pulled my sweater back over my head and yanked my pants up. She pushed me towards the windowsill, and I looked out as I slipped my shoes on my feet. This was an older house, so at least I had a little more room to stand on. The ledge had a row of bricks, which led all the way to the front porch. I glanced down, and a huge dog looked up at me and barked loudly.

"Shut up, Boomer!" she yelled, then turned to me. "He won't hurt you. Just hang on to the wall, and then jump over to the porch roof. I do it all the time."

I nodded and made my way outside. "I'm really sorry for all this, Wil," she whispered. "Thanks for coming by." She pulled me close to her and kissed me for a moment. As much as I liked Ronnie and Sky, I thought, I had to admit, girls weren't half-bad sometimes.

"Cynthia!" yelled a voice, knocking on her door.

"Run, Wil!" she said, shoving me outside. The window slammed shut behind me, and the curtain quickly closed.

The light inside her room went on, illuminating the side of her house and the yard below. Shit -- I was a lot higher up than I had expected. I looked over at the narrow ledge of bricks, and swallowed, hard. I heard several voices arguing behind the glass, but I tried to ignore them as I inched my way on down the path. The dog below growled and barked noisily.

"Shut up, Boomer!" I whispered loudly. The dog immediately stopped barking and looked up at me, curiously. Hmmm -- smart dog. I continued tip-toeing down the narrow ledge, trying to avoid looking down, and holding onto the side of the house as tightly as I could.

The dim voices inside the house continued yelling in the background, and I heard a door slam. My foot slipped on a wet spot on the bricks, but I caught myself just in time. At last, I made it over to the porch roof, which looked very sturdy. I got on my stomach and slowly slid myself up over the edge. Suddenly, a clay shingle broke off in my hand, and I almost fell. I silently cursed as it went over the side and smashed on the concrete driveway below.

Shit. I let myself drop to the wet grass, and made a last-ditch run for my bike, which was off to the left. The dog began barking again wildly behind the fence, and the porch light went back on. I jumped on my bike, shoved off, and pedaled as fast as I could down the street in the darkness.

Minutes later, I pulled up at a phone booth near a 7-11. Still panting for breath, I jumped inside, closed the door, and dialed Ronnie's number. He picked up on the first ring.

"Hello?" he answered.

"Ronnie! It's me."

"Wil!" he said excitedly. "Did you… did you and Cynthia do it?"

"Almost," I said, chuckling. "As it turned out, I was… ah… a little more than she could handle."

Ronnie went into hysterics. "What kinda slut is SHE?" he yelled, laughing uncontrollably. I heard another voice in the background, and Ronnie yelled, "Wil almost killed her with his big dick!" Somebody else yelled back "I knew it!"

I rolled my eyes. "I hope that's your brother," I muttered.

"No, it's my MOTHER, you asshole," he giggled. I heard Rick laugh beside him.

I grinned. "Listen, Ronnie. My parents don't know I'm out. I really can't come by tonight. I swear, I'll be over first thing in the morning."

Ron giggled again. "We've want you to meet somebody. Trust me, you'll like 'em."

I furrowed my brow. "I already met Uncle Bob," I said.

Ron giggled again. "You're getting warm."

I didn't see any kids there… unless…

Suddenly, a new voice came on the line. "My daddy says ever-thang's bigger in Texas," he drawled, "but Rick and Ronnie here tell me that ain't always true."

"Who are you?" I asked.

"I'm Robbie Junior, but folks call me 'RJ'. You met m' dad earlier."

Hmmm, probably a chip off the old block. "Look, whoever you are, I've got to go," I said, impatiently.

"That's fine," he drawled. "I heard all about y'all, Wil. You jes' come by tomorrow, ya hear? Look forward to meetin' ya." He handed the phone back to Ronnie.

"Come over tomorrow, Wil," he said. "We've only got three more days."

"I'll be there, Ron. I swear. Goodnight, babe."

"Goodnight, Wil," he said. Then in a low voice, he whispered, "I love you, Wil."

"I… love you, too, Ronnie," I said. I hung the phone up, feeling uneasy. Who was this Texas kid?

* * * * *

I made it back to my house in minutes, locked up my bike on the side porch, then shimmied back up the TV antenna mast to my room. My new stereo was softly playing 'With a Little Help from My Friends.' The alarm clock read 10:15. Better make this look good, I thought. I ripped off my clothes, then threw on a T-shirt and shorts, unlocked my door, and casually walked down the hall, pretending to yawn.

"Wil!" called my mother from down the hall. "Is that you?"

"Yeah, Mom," I said, as sleepily as I could. "I gotta pee."

She stuck her head out her bedroom door. "We tried to wake you half an hour ago, but you wouldn't answer," she said, suspiciously.

I feigned a look of utter innocence. Moi? "I was there the whole time, Mom," I said, yawning again. "I'm still really tired from the dance last night. It really took a lot out of me." And then some, I thought.

She laughed. "I guess it did. Well, your little friend Ronnie called an hour ago. I told him you'd call him back."

That idiot, I said to myself, silently cursing him. "I'll call him in the morning. It's too late now, Mom. G'night!"

"Goodnight, honey. Merry Christmas," she said, leaning forward and kissing me on the cheek.

"Oh, Mom!" I whined, rubbing my face. She laughed and shook her head, then closed their bedroom door.

Shit! That was close. I took care of 'walking the dog', then returned to my room, tore off my clothes, and fell in bed, exhausted with the night's activities. I hoped that Cynthia wouldn't be too pissed-off at me. She could really spread some bad rumors about me at school, I thought.

And I wondered who this "RJ" kid was, over at Rick and Ronnie's house. I yawned, for real this time, then lay back as the radio kicked in with "Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds." In a few moments, I began to float down a river with tangerine trees and marmalade skies, and drifted off to sleep.

 Chapter 14

I awoke the next morning to the tail end of The Chipmunks chirping out "Alvin's Harmonica" on my clock radio. I pulled the pillow over my head to block out the sound.

"I thought Christmas was already over," I muttered to no one in particular. I turned and glanced at the clock face. Shit. It was already 9:45AM. I silently cursed myself for not waking up earlier. I leapt out of bed, yanked on some shorts, and padded down the hallway to the bathroom.

I locked the door, pulled off my shorts and took a long, hot shower. The water felt wonderful, but I still winced a bit when it splashed on my backside. I sure hope this thing will hurry up and heal, I thought. I got out of the shower, dried myself off, and took a good look at myself in the bathroom mirror. The scratches and bruises on my chest were fading, but they were still fairly visible. I made a mental note to make sure I wore a shirt for the next few days, so my folks wouldn't ask any questions.

"Wil!" my sister Sharon yelled, knocking on the bathroom door. "I have to go!"

Shit, I thought. I knew I'd never be able to leave the bathroom without a shirt. "Sharon, can you do me a favor?" I yelled.

"What is it?"

"Can you get me a T-shirt and a pair of underwear from my room?"

She hesitated. "Your underwear is gross!" she said.

I rolled my eyes. I couldn't possibly have been this stupid at 9 years old.

"Please, Sharon," I whined. "Just any shirt will do. They're in the top left drawer of my dresser."

"Alright." After a minute, she knocked quietly on the door. I unlocked it and cracked it open an inch, grabbed the clothing, muttered my thanks, and immediately slammed and locked it again.

I tugged the shirt over my head, pulled up my underwear, and stared at myself in the mirror over the sink. "Shit," I said out loud, looking at the obvious outline of my penis through the white cloth. "I should remember not to walk around in my underwear anymore, either."

"What did you say, Wil?" yelled my sister from behind the door.

"Nothing, Sharon!" I yelled back. "Thanks for the clothes!"

I pulled up my shorts and took a last glimpse at myself. Yeah. That'd pass. I prayed for the bruises to heal faster.

Suddenly, my father knocked on the door. "Wil!" he called. "Your sister needs to use the bathroom. Can you please hurry up?"

"I'm done, Dad," I said, flushing the toilet to give me an excuse. I opened the door and my father stared at me suspiciously.

"Lemme in," said Sharon, who ran inside and slammed the door shut.

"Are you alright, Wil?" my father asked. "You don't look too good."

"I'm just tired from all the stuff over the holiday, Dad," I said, feigning a yawn.

My mother walked by on her way downstairs and grinned. "Oh, Ed," she said to my father, trying to stifle a laugh. "You know teenagers at his age spend an inordinate amount of time in the bathroom."

I rolled my eyes. "Oh, Mom!" I muttered, my face reddening.

My dad glanced at her, surprised.

"Well, it's true!" she said, laughing, as she continued down the stairs.

"I'm going over to Ronnie's house, Dad," I said. "I'll be back later on, okay?"

He nodded. "Don't forget, son, you've got to mow the lawn soon. I know it's winter, but we can't let it go forever."

"I'll do it, Dad."

I thought for a minute. Ronnie. What did he say on the phone last night? Damn.

"Uh, Dad?" I said, as he began to walk down the stairs.

"Now, what?" he asked, from the landing.

"Is it OK if I spend the night tonight at Ronnie's?"

He shook his head. "Son, you were just there a few nights ago, weren't you?"

I tried to think back. It seemed like a long time ago, but he might be right.

"Dad, Ronnie's family is moving to Texas this Sunday," I reminded him. "This is the last week I'm ever gonna see him and his brother. Do you mind?"

He sighed. "Alright. But don't forget the lawn!" he yelled, as he reached the bottom step.

* * * * *

Fifteen minutes later, I shivered in the cold outside the Lannigan residence and pushed the bell. The door opened, and I gazed at a tall, rugged-looking boy, about 16. He had reddish-brown hair, was wearing a cowboy shirt and boots, and was almost a foot taller than me or Ronnie.

"Hey," he drawled. "I bet you're Wil, right?"

I grinned and nodded.

"Ah'm Bobby Junior," he said, sticking out his hand. We shook hands, and he squeezed it, hard. "But call me RJ."

I winced. Christ, I thought. Are all of these people idiots?

"Is that Wil?" a voice yelled from the hallway. I looked up as Ronnie ran up to the door. "Hey," he said, his face breaking out into a big smile. "This is RJ," he said.

"Yeah," I grinned. "We just met."

"Y'all want somethin' to eat?" he said, as we walked through the living room and out to the patio. "Supper's almost on the table."

I could see Uncle Bob, Mrs. Lannigan, and a few other assorted relatives out in back. The delicious smell of barbecued steaks and burgers drifted through the air.

"Sure," I nodded. "I'm definitely in the mood for meat."

Ronnie started giggling uncontrollably at my accidental double entendre, and RJ shot me a glance.

"That's what-all I hear," he said, smiling broadly.

Whoa, I thought, my heart doing a little flip-flop. We sat down at a large picnic table in the yard, and began wolfing down our meal.

* * * * *

Man, that was great, I thought. Between Christmas Dinner and lunch today, I felt like I'd put on ten pounds.

Ronnie ran up and sat down next to me on the bench. "Isn't RJ, cool, Wil?" he asked, breathlessly.

"Well, I dunno," I said. "I mean, I just met the guy, Ronnie."

Ron looked in both directions. The adults had finally left the picnic table, so the coast was clear. "He's already… done stuff with us," he said, smiling slyly. "He's really neat."

I turned and looked to the left of the pool. Rick and RJ were throwing a football back and forth in the backyard, and Rick had just playfully tackled the other teen and pulled him to the ground. They rolled over and over in the grass in a tangle of bodies.

I felt a pang of jealousy. Well, I thought, at least Rick and Ronnie would have some friends in Texas.

I nodded. "Yeah. He looks cool, Ronnie."

Ron got up and called to his brother. "Hey, you guys! Let's go in our room and… uh… watch some TV, okay?"

The two dropped the ball and looked up and laughed. We went inside the house, trooped down the hall to the boys' enormous bedroom, and shut the door. Rick reached over and locked it, then stared at RJ.

I grinned at him. "Well, I've met RJ," I said, laughing, "but I haven't seen too much of 'Bobby Junior' yet."

The tall teen laughed. "I hear y'all got a Texas-sized cock, Wil," he said.

I gulped. Rick and Ronnie were already pulling their shirts off.

"Well, I dunno about that, RJ," I said nervously, looking at the floor.

Ronnie pulled down his shorts and kicked them off. From the looks of it, he was just about ready for action. I looked over at Rick, who already was sitting on the bed and fondling himself.

I laughed. "Oh, what the hell," I said. I pulled off my shirt and pants, and stood there in my underwear.

RJ looked over at me. "Lord! Y'all look pretty banged up thar," he said, eyeing the bruises on my stomach and back. "Ya been ridin' any bulls out here?"

"Not exactly," I said, my face reddening.

"A bronco tried to ride Wil," giggled Ronnie, "but I think Wil won the grand prize at the rodeo."

"I shor bet he did," said RJ, eying me below the waist. "That's a mighty nice package you got there, Wil -- real nice. Y'all mind?"

I grinned, and he gently tugged down my underwear, and my member dangled down and swung back and forth between my legs.

RJ whistled. "Well, sir," he said, visibly impressed. "Now, if y'all ain't a Texas-size boy, then I don't know what is."

He pulled his jeans off, and I glanced down. Holy shit, I thought. That's the biggest bulge I've ever seen since… well, since me!

RJ pulled off his underwear and turned towards me. "Well, won'tcha look at that," he grinned. "I'd say you 'n me's just about brothers… wouldn't ya?"

I looked down at his crotch, and my eyes opened wide. Shit, I thought. This guy might even be bigger than I was.

Rick and Ronnie laughed and collapsed on the bed behind me. "I think he might've beaten you, Wil!" squealed Ronnie.

My heart pounded, and my organ throbbed up to its full size. "You mind if we compare side-by-side?" I asked.

RJ grinned and nodded. "Sure, pardner. But I warn ya -- where I come from, a Texas dick beats a Florida dick any ol' day."

We'll see about that, I thought. I stepped forward and gently grabbed him with my hand, then held both of our endowments together. Shit, I thought. I think he's got me on length. But I got him beat on circumference, for sure. I knew it was 6-1/2" around, because I'd measured it before with Ron a few weeks ago.

Ron checked us out with a ruler, then jumped up beside me and giggled. "RJ's a hair over ten inches, Wil! I'm sorry, but he beats you."

RJ reached over and gently stroked me. I moaned and looked up, and he grinned at me. "But ya win on thickness though, Wil, and that's pretty dang important. I think your head's quite a big bigger, too." He reached down and felt my balls, then nodded. "Yep, ya got a set on you like my cousin's. I seen bulls that are smaller, boy," he laughed.

I laughed and thanked him for the compliment.

"That explains yer voice," he said.

I stared at him, curiously. "What do you mean, RJ?" I asked.

He grinned. "Ya got the deepest voice I ever did hear on a kid. Ya sound like a man already to me." The older teen turned to Rick. "How old did y'all say he was?"

"I'll be 14 in six months," I said.

RJ whistled. "I'm 16," he said, "and I know for a fact I wasn't this king-sized until jes' a year or two ago. I bet you still got some growin' to do," he said, grinning. "Ya jes' might wind up beatin' me in the end, Wil."

I grinned and nodded. "Maybe it'll be a foot long by the time I'm 21," I laughed.

"'Course, there is such a thing as TOO big," he chuckled. "Even in Texas."

I groaned and rolled my eyes. "Speaking of too big," I said, sitting down naked in a chair by their bunk beds, "wait 'till I tell you what happened with Cynthia last night."

I gave them the short version of the story, and Rick nodded and idly fondled himself as I gave him the details on Cyn's body.

Ronnie laughed. "I bet she was sure pissed-off," he said, giggling. "You'd think she'd be comfortable with a really big one by now."

I glared at him. "Hey, Ronnie," I said, icily. "If you want, I'll try fucking you up the ass, and then you can tell me if you're comfortable with it."

He shook his head and immediately apologized.

"Yep, women kin be difficult like that," explained RJ, who apparently had had some experience with the fairer sex. "You say this little filly was just 13, like you?"

"Actually, I think she's around 15," I said. "She's in 9th grade, like me and Ronnie."

"Y'all need to find yourself a real woman, Wil," he said. "Little girls are designed jes' to be with little boys." He looked me right in the eye. "As far as I'm concerned, you're a big man."

I shook my head. "I'm just barely five feet-two," I said, slightly embarrassed.

"I'm not just talkin' about height," he said, seriously. "I'm talkin' about what's deep inside ya, and not just what's in your pants. That's what really makes a man a man." He stood up and put his hand on my groin, which throbbed.

I let out a quiet moan, and he looked me in the eye.

"And I say you're a man," he said, quietly.

RJ pulled me towards him and kissed me, hard. My pulsed raced. We fell to the floor and went between each other's legs. I grabbed his arousal and pulled it close to my face. God, I thought. It's really beautiful. It had a pleasant kind of musky smell, and RJ was circumcised, unlike his cousins. I felt something warm slurp hungrily at my groin, and I leaned forward and gobbled up all I could take.

The pleasure was indescribable. It was as if I was touching a mirror image of myself. We spent several minutes exploring every inch of each other's bodies. I followed RJ move for move; when he moved to my balls, I did the same thing. He was quite a bit hairier than I was, but I was beyond caring. We began sucking each other, and after only a minute or so, I felt my pulse quicken and my climax building. At last, I began to moan and I tensed my buttocks. Suddenly, he pulled his mouth off me.

"NO!" I yelled.

Rick and Ronnie looked up. I hadn't even noticed that they were eagerly fondling the other, watching me and RJ with great amusement.

"Why did you stop, asshole!" I hissed. "I was really close!"

RJ leaned back and smiled. "I knew y'all was about to cum," he laughed. "Ya gotta learn that gettin' there is most of the fun, Wil. It's not just about shootin' your jism," he explained. "Sometimes, y'all gotta drag it out some. I promise ya, the longer y'all take, the better 'tis in the end."

I frowned. I'd never taken more than five minutes to shoot. I thought the whole point was to have an orgasm!

"Let's you and me try somethin' new," he said. "Y'all just do what I do."

We sat cross-legged on the floor and reached for each other's weapon. "Hold on, pardner. Hand me that massage oil from over there, Ronnie-boy," he said to Ron.

Ron handed him a small bottle of oil. RJ squirted a little in his hand, then rubbed it around his fingers.

"Put a little of this on 'Little Wil' down there," he grinned, squirting a glob in my hand.

I looked at the oil. The liquid was clear and didn't have much scent. It felt almost like grease, but not quite. I wrapped my fist around my shaft and began stroking.

"Oh, GOD!" I said, moaning.

RJ grinned. "I told ya! Y'all got a lotta things ya could be learnin'."

I nodded. Jacking-off had never felt this good before.

"Y'all watch me," he instructed, kneeling down on the floor next to me. "Give your hand a little twist as y'all go up and down, like this." He demonstrated his technique. "It feels a lot better that way, 'specially on the head."

"Shit," I said. "That's great!"

"Take it real slow, now," he ordered. "Don't be in such a dang hurry. And hold on to your balls, so they don't ride up."

I matched him stroke for stroke. He reached up and tweaked his right nipple with his left hand.

"Jes' give it a little squeeze, then pull on it a bit," he said, panting.

I did as he suggested and felt a twinge surge through my body. This went on for several minutes as we sped up and slowed down. He showed me several different parts of my body, which he called 'Erogenous zones.' Most of them were like little electric switches that seemed to turn on tingles of pleasure inside me.

RJ wasn't dazzlingly good-looking, but he was still great to watch. I could see he had moved closer to manhood than either of the Lannigan boys, but the family resemblance was still visible. He had a great tan, along with some decent arm and chest muscles from his years of working on his dad's ranch. RJ didn't have the definition of Sky's tight, lean body, and he was considerably taller than either of us -- probably close to six feet, I thought. His legs were particularly attractive, with sinews and muscles that I could see all the way down to his knees. He had just the right amount of body hair -- a smooth chest, with a few reddish-brown curls coming out of his nipples, and a thin line of hairs leading down from his belly-button to a thick growth below.

Every time he saw I was close to an orgasm, he ordered me to stop. I sat there and glared at him, my erection throbbing helplessly. After a minute, he gave me a little more oil and let me start up again, slowly.

He made me repeat the process two or three more times. After more than 20 minutes, I knew I had reached the point of no return.

"I'm… gonna cum, RJ!" I said, moaning.

"Slow 'way down!" he yelled.

I did, but it was torturous. About thirty seconds, I finally felt the fireworks begin to explode, but I resisted the urge to pound my fist as fast I could. I kept my strokes slow and steady, and twisted my grip like he showed me earlier. Finally, I erupted with the biggest ejaculation of my life, blasting Ronnie square in the face, a good six feet away.

"HEY!" he yelled. "This shit's in my EYE!"

Ronnie hopped around yelling, and I shot another half-dozen thick streams all over the rug, the wall, and their clothes dresser. The orgasm was so intense, it was almost painful. I nearly blacked out and fell backwards to the floor.

RJ caught me in his arms and gently lay me down on the carpet. My eyelids fluttered and I dizzily looked up at him.

"Oh, fuck, man," I moaned. "Jesus. That one felt like… like it lasted three times as long as any orgasm I've ever had."

He grinned and nodded. "Now y'all are gettin' it, Wil!" he said. "A friend of mine back home tells me he kin go two, even three minutes just shootin' and shootin'. He calls it a 'Texas-size orgasm.'"

I looked up at him and laughed, weakly. "RJ, I can barely walk as it is. I don't think I could take much more."

He nodded and grinned. "I hear ya, pardner. Y'all got me so turned on, I gotta take care o' business, mahself!" RJ kneeled down beside me and began stroking frantically.

Shit, I thought, closely eying the Lannigan's cousin's prodigious member. If that's what I look like to Sky, no wonder I scared the shit out of him.

In less than ten seconds, the Texas boy started moaning. "Oh, lordy! Here comes a geyser!" Suddenly, he exploded, and a white blur shot across the room, missing Rick by inches.

"SHIT!" he yelled, frantically diving out of the way.

"Not quite!" I said, laughing hysterically. RJ let loose with more than a half dozen volleys of almost equal strength, then fell back beside me, exhausted.

"Holy fuck!" I whispered. I'd never seen anybody or anything cum so hard, or so much. RJ leaned forward, then grinned as he saw my face.

"Now, that's how we do thangs down in Texas!" he drawled, panting for breath.

* * * * *

Over the next couple of days, RJ showed me a few more tricks with his Texas-sized tool. I felt a kinship with the older teen that I didn't have with the two younger Lannigan brothers. At least he knew what it was like to be, well… a freak.

"Is yours the biggest you've ever seen, RJ?" I asked, as we leaned against the wall in Rick and Ronnie's bedroom, following a fairly intense session. We'd had dinner an hour before, and I was so tired, I was almost drifting off to sleep.

He shook his head. "Naw," he said. "There's two or three bigger ones I've seen on some o' the older farmhands back on the ranch." He caught my surprised expression and laughed. "Naw, I ain't sleepin' around with everythang on two feet, y' understand? But my daddy's got about 900 employees out there, and, well… guys get lonely herdin' cattle and takin' care of drillin' oil in the middle of nowhere."

"What about at school?" I asked. I was curious to see how many other kids shared our… situation.

RJ thought for a moment. "Jes' one guy I knew in junior high back near Dallas," he replied. "His pole might've been an inch or two bigger, but his was the kind that never quite gets a hunnert percent hard -- kinda spongy, ya know? You and me, we could hammer nails with these," he said, proudly, giving his endowment a squeeze.

"You into girls or guys, RJ?" I asked, hesitatingly.

"Let's just say ah'm flexible," he said, grinning. "I think too dang many people try to put labels on this kinda stuff. The way ah see it, 'heterosexual' and 'homosexual' don't really cover all the shades of gray. It ain't jes' black and white, and it don't have to be an 'either/or' kinda thing, Wil."

I nodded.

"And besides that," he said, letting his large appendage droop over the side of his leg, "I think we got a gift from God with these things. Me an' m' dad ain't what you'd call religious, but I think it's our responsibility to share this gift with as many people as we can."

I felt a pang, remembering Cynthia from the other night.

"I didn't have much luck sharing mine with a girl from school the other day," I lamented.

"Don't worry, Wil," he said, reassuringly. "You're still young. You got quite a few years left to spread your wild oats, and find people out there who kin handle what you got -- men and women. Believe me, it's quite a blessin'."

"It's been a curse to me a couple of times, RJ," I said, shaking my head. "You ever get called 'donkey dick' in school?"

He laughed. "I heard every dang one of 'em, Wil," he said, putting his hand on my shoulder. "They called me 'bull dick,' 'horse cock,' 'elephant peter,' 'queer bait,' and a lotta other ones I can't even remember. But some of the ones that yell the loudest are the ones that really wish they had what I have -- what you and me both got."

"Maybe," I said, looking down. "But this thing's still a lotta trouble for me sometimes."

"How so?" he asked.

I explained my difficulty with getting my endowment in my swim trunks, and how some kids made fun of me in the locker room. He commiserated when I told him sometimes, it was even annoying to use urinals in public places, because I was so long, I sometimes had to take a step back, just to avoid having it dangle into the drain. And when I got hard, which seemed to be happening more frequently these days, it was almost impossible to hide it in my pants.

"Y'all know what I do, Wil?" he asked.

I shook my head.

"I wear one of these here jock-straps all the time," he said, grinning. "It's a lot more comfortable, and in case you run into any acc-cy-dents, it'll keep thangs down low and outta sight."

I grinned. "Thanks for the advice," I said. "Maybe I'll try that."

He leaned closer to me. "Y'all listen to RJ," he said. "Guys like you and me… we're lucky. Real lucky. And there's a lot more boys out there with pencil dicks than there are with real cocks like us."

I nodded, feeling a surge of pride. For perhaps the first time, I started to feel glad I was the way I was. I grinned at RJ.

"Maybe we should start a club," I said, laughing.

He chuckled. "Come on out to Texas sometime, Wil, and maybe we'll talk about that."

I nodded.

* * * * *

In-between my chores, working on my History paper, and spending as much time as I could at Rick and Ronnie's house, the week after Christmas went by very quickly. Ronnie and I fooled around almost a dozen times -- sometimes with his brother and RJ, sometimes just by ourselves.

On Saturday, the Lannigan's house was bedlam during the day. Two giant moving vans blocked the front driveway, and workers swarmed over every room. Rick and Ronnie were apoplectic, trying to make sure all their toys and plastic model kits were carefully packed in such a way that they wouldn't break en route. Since all their furniture was now on the road to Dallas, all we had in his room were four sleeping bags and the TV set. The boys had insisted on that.

Because of the number of relatives around, we were hardly able to get any privacy to ourselves. Finally, at about 11PM, Rick and RJ started going at it in the bedroom. RJ was giving lessons in "real ass-fuckin'," as he put it. He was on his back, with his knees pinned up, and Rick was slamming him for all he was worth.

I shivered. I hadn't even thought about two guys doing that since Scott had tried to rape me more than a week ago. I looked back at the two sweating teenagers, who were oblivious to me or Ronnie. Judging by the looks on their faces, I guessed maybe it could be a lot more pleasurable than what I went through, under the right circumstances.

I didn't feel like sitting around and just being a spectator, so Ronnie and I tiptoed out to the pool. He turned all the lights off, so that none of the rest of the family would be able to see what we were doing. Even though it was only about 50 degrees outside, the pool water was warm and inviting, and the entire deck was shrouded in fog from the steam that billowed up from the surface. We sat on the bottom step in the shallow end, just talking quietly for nearly an hour, then Ron began kissing me. Even though we'd already done it once with Rick and RJ several hours earlier, I could tell both of us were still hungry for more.

I used the opportunity to get him off in the pool, using my mouth underwater. Ronnie never took long. In less than two minutes, I felt him spasm and I sensed the familiar taste going down my throat. As I bubbled back up to the surface, he pulled me close and kissed me.

"That was… that was great, Wil," he sighed, his eyelids fluttering. "The best ever. How can you hold your breath that long?"

"Well…" I panted, "we competition swimmers are known for our amazing lung capacity." I grinned. "Among other things."

He kissed me. "I love you, Wil," he said softly, his eyes filling with tears.

"I… I love you, too, Ronnie." I put my arms around him. We were surrounded by blackness.

"Boys!" called a distant voice.

"Uncle Bob!" whispered Ronnie. "We're in here!" he yelled, as we untangled ourselves in the water.

"Y'all best be gettin' to bed, now," said his uncle. "Don't forget, the plane's takin' off at 8AM."

After his uncle left, Ronnie turned to me. "I can't… I can't live without you, Wil," he said, starting to choke.

"C'mon, Ronnie," I said, soothingly. "You're gonna meet all kinds of cool new kids in Dallas. Your Uncle's got lots of dough. And don't forget, you've got RJ."

He frowned. "I think he's more interested in Rickie than me," he muttered. "Besides, RJ told us he's already got a girlfriend."

"Really?" I said, wonderingly.

"But he's got a couple of boyfriends, too," Ronnie whispered, giggling. "Guys on the ranch."

I bet he does, I chuckled to myself.

"I'll never forget you, Wil," he said, holding me closer. "Never."

I felt a pang. I had to make this as easy as possible for both of us. "Me neither, Ronnie. I'll… I'll write you when I can," I said, knowing I'd probably be lucky to do it even once.

"Can you visit over the summer?" he asked, in a small voice.

I sighed. "I've got practice with the Greater Tampa swim team from May to August."

"But you GOTTA!" he wailed.

A light flicked on back inside the house.

"Sssshhhhhh!" I said. "Hold it down."

He sniffled and nodded, then looked up at me. Even in the darkness, I couldn't miss the look of love in his eyes. God, how I wished I could see that when I looked at Sky.

"Alright, Ronnie," I said, surrendering. "I'll try to get away for a couple of weeks sometime over the summer, and I'll see if my folks will let me come out to Dallas."

"Swear?

"I swear."

He put his arms around me again and kissed me, passionately. I hadn't felt this much from a kiss since that last time with Cynthia. Shit, I thought, remembering my ostensible 'girlfriend.' What was she going to say at school next week? I prayed that maybe she'd just move on to her next conquest and leave me alone.

Ron and I pulled ourselves out of the water and onto the concrete deck. Still shivering from the cold, we slipped our swimsuits back on, grabbed our towels, then trotted over to the side door and headed back down the hall. As we got to the very end, I heard some muffled groans from behind Ronnie's door.

Ronnie peeked inside and rolled his eyes. "They're at it again," he whispered.

"Ronnie," I whispered back, closing the door. "Maybe this should be it. I won't be able to… really say goodbye to you at the airport. I don't think your mom or your Uncle would understand. You know?"

He nodded. "Yeah," he said, quietly. "Thanks for being my friend, Wil."

"Me, too," I said. Shit. Now I was crying. We wrapped our arms around each other one last time.

* * * * *

In the morning, I awoke as my radio went off, with Glen Campbell's "Wichita Lineman" coming out of the speaker. I heard a plane in the distance, probably a jet from MacDill Air Force Base two miles away. Shit, I thought. Ronnie's gone. He was gone forever.

Hmmph. Good riddance, I tried to convince myself, as I rolled over. Ronnie was such a goddamned pest, with those stupid impressions and lame jokes. Such a moody little guy, too. Always having temper-tantrums, getting all weird and jealous on me.

I closed my eyes at the memory. Jealous, because he loved me so much. I felt a lump in my throat and desperately tried to push his face out of my mind. I suddenly became aware again of the radio. The orchestra's melody suddenly swelled up, and my eyes brimmed with tears.

 Chapter 15

Nothing eventful happened during the week after New Year's. I was determined to hand in my best term paper ever for American History, so I redoubled my efforts to do a totally thorough job. My little office space was stacked with eight books -- two encyclopedia volumes, four assorted books on the Civil War, and two on Abraham Lincoln. I'd written more than twice as many words as the assignment called for, but I thought I still kept it pretty interesting. I found the story of the aftermath of the war and the assassination of Lincoln to be even more fascinating.

As of Tuesday, I was now wearing the retainer that Dr. Morton had given me at the office. Despite his promises, I thought it was as uncomfortable as hell. I stared at myself in the mirror and winced again at the evil metallic ring circling the outside of my face.

"Shit," I said out loud. "I bet I could receive Radio Free Europe on this stupid thing."

My new stereo sounded great. I was listening to an 8-track tape of The Beatles' White Album, and I quietly hummed 'Bungalow Bill' to myself. Very catchy, I thought, but not quite good enough to be a hit. Yeesh -- that must be Yoko singing in the background. I shuddered.

"Wil!" my Dad yelled from the living room. "We're trying to watch the Orange Bowl down here! Can you keep it down, please?"

"OKAY!" I yelled back, turning it down a notch. The music didn't sound nearly as good at this volume, I thought.

I was starting to get used to wearing the retainer for 8 hours a day. It gave my jaw a dull ache, but was just barely tolerable, I decided. Thank god I didn't have to wear the thing to school. And it'd definitely be out for oral sex, I giggled, then stopped.

Shit. Ronnie.

I took off my glasses and rubbed my eyes, then sighed. I'd had very little sex since the Lannigan brothers had moved away a week ago. I felt a pang. If only I could see Sky. Even if I could talk him into it, he and his family were out of town until late tomorrow on some kind of boating trip to the Bahamas. I was pretty much alone until then.

I barely knew anybody else in school. I wouldn't consider any of the guys on the swim team close friends. Not that many of them wanted to associate with 13 year-olds, I thought, grumbling. There's got to be somebody I could hang out with.

Wait a minute. I leaned forward and reached behind the desk shelves for my secret stash of Playboys, and pulled out a wrinkled piece of paper. Good -- it was still there.

I re-read the note the cool rock singer had given me at the Christmas dance. "Call me," it said.

"Pete," I said out loud. "Pete Woods. What the hell."

I walked through my doorway over to the new hallway phone, and dialed the number.

A sleepy voice answered. "Hel… Hello?"

"Hi," I said, nervously. "Is this Pete?"

"You got him," he yawned. "The executive offices of Midnight Tunes Entertainment."

Some offices, I thought. "Hi, Pete. It's me, Wil."

There was a pause. "Who?" he asked.

"Wil Larson," I replied. More silence. Jesus, he wasn't making this easy, I thought. "The guy from the Tampa Central High Christmas dance last week," I continued. "You, uh… told me I should call you sometime. So I guess I'm… calling."

He was silent for a few seconds. "Oh, yeah, yeah," he said, a tone of recognition entering his voice. "Wil. I remember now. You're the guy -- the guy with the vibe!"

I grinned. "I guess so," I laughed. "Anyway, you wanna… I dunno… hang out or something?"

"What time is it?" he asked, groggily.

"10:30."

"In the morning?" he groaned.

Jesus, what a grouch. "Yeah, in the morning," I said, irritated.

"Call me back in a couple of hours, man," he mumbled. "I'm really out of it at the moment."

"Okay, Pete," I said, hanging up the phone. What a flake, I thought, as I went back to my room. I sat down and returned to trying to analyze the conspiracy behind Lincoln's death.

* * * * *

Several hours later, I had had about enough of the retainer, and took it off and tossed it by my bed, rubbing my sore jaw. I looked up at the clock. Shit, I thought. 1:30PM! I forgot to call Pete again. Just as I started to make a dash for the phone, I heard a loud beep and an engine roar from our driveway. I ran downstairs and looked out the front window. There was a big Honda motorcycle in the driveway, ridden by what looked like a tough-looking guy with a black leather jacket. He took off his helmet, and a forest of long blond hair cascaded out over his shoulders. It was Pete.

"Hey!" I yelled, as I opened the door. "How'd you find me?" I asked.

Pete grinned. "I just looked up your vibe in the directory, man," he laughed.

What?, I thought. "You could've just called, you know," I replied.

"This seemed easier," he said, hopping up the porch steps. "There were only two Larson residences near Tampa Central listed in the phone book, and I just took a chance that this one was it."

Pretty lucky guess, I thought.

"And it wasn't a guess," he said, making me jump. "I just kinda drove down the street and just knew. I can't always count on it, but sometimes, I get a feeling about these things. Ya know?"

He looked me right in the eye. Holy shit, I thought, my heart pounding. This guy really was better-looking than Sky. Even better than I remembered how he looked at the dance.

"Hey -- I didn't know you wore glasses," he said.

I remembered that he'd only seen me at the dance, where Sky had made me take them off.

I nodded. "Yeah, I know," said. "They suck. But I'm getting contact lenses in a week or so."

He nodded. "Very cool," he said. "Your eyes are much too beautiful to cover up, man."

This was making me very uncomfortable. "L-l-let's go inside, OK?" I stammered.

"Actually, I was thinkin' maybe you'd wanna, y' know… come over to my place," he said. "I could show you my organ."

I caught my breath.

"It's a Hammond B-3," he continued. "Classic rock sound. You've heard it a million times on every hit on the radio, but probably never saw one before."

"Gee, I'd like to, uh, Pete, but my parents…" I started.

"They're not here, right?" he asked.

I nodded. "Yeah. They took my sister out to lunch."

"Look," he said. "It's not even two o'clock. I live over in Madeira Beach, a couple of miles down the road from St. Petersburg. We can go over there and jam awhile, and I'll have you back by six -- seven at the latest. Scout's honor."

Well, they'd probably be gone at least that long, I thought. "Okay," I said finally, "but let me at least leave them a note."

"Groovy," he said.

I found a note pad just inside the door, scribbled down my explanation, grabbed my jacket, and jumped into a pair of sneakers. I closed the door and stuck the note in the jam. We walked down to the Honda in the driveway.

"You ever been on a bike before?" he asked.

"Just my Rollfast over there," I said, indicating my two-wheeler chained to the side of the house.

"This one's a little bit faster," he laughed, as he casually tossed me a spare helmet. "Honda CB450. 0 to 60 in four seconds. Totally cool."

I stared at the cycle, which looked enormous. "Is it… is it safe?" I asked, hesitatingly.

"Sure," he said. "Unless you fall off while it's movin'."

I blanched.

"C'mon, man," he laughed. "Hop on. We don't have all day."

I nodded and put the helmet on. "Where do I put my feet?" I asked, looking around at the contraption.

"On this rail down here, just above the exhaust," he replied, revving up the engine. "Just hold onto me, and stay close."

I hopped on behind him and held on. The back of his jacket felt warm on my chest.

"Here we go!" he yelled, and we were off.

The ride was exhilarating. We crossed the Courtney Campbell Causeway in record time, zipping in and out of the lanes like lightning.

"Isn't this illegal?" I yelled, trying to be heard over the roar of the wind in my face.

"No!" he yelled back. "It's called 'lane-sharing.' Guys on bikes don't have to follow the rules," he said, laughing.

Between the excitement of the trip and the closeness of our bodies, I started feeling a strange tingling between my legs, pressed up tight against Pete. I prayed it was just the vibration and heat of the engine. Immediately, I felt a familiar throb. Shit, I thought. I hope he doesn't notice.

Fifteen minutes later, we arrived at his place. It was a modest duplex, probably from the 1930s, with an ivy-covered gate at the front. A large motel was next door, and a big stone wall separated the two properties. At least his house is right on the beach, I thought.

"It ain't much, but it's home," he said, slipping off his helmet as we walked down the path. "The gear's in here," he said, indicating the garage.

I followed close behind him and adjusted my jeans, hoping my partial hard-on wasn't too noticeable. Behind the hinged garage door was a drum set, a couple of guitars, and a microphone stand. A banner on the wall had a psychedelic logo for "The Midnite Toonz." A beat-up wooden organ cabinet was nearby, with a sign on the back warning 'Property of the Bay Vista Baptist Church'.

"That was my Dad's," he said, pointing at the sign. "He used to be the minister over there."

"Used to be?" I asked.

"Yeah," he nodded. "He died a few months ago."

"Sorry," I said, embarrassed.

"Don't be," he said. "I don't believe in death. He's just gone on to another dimension, y' know?"

"You mean heaven," I replied.

He shook his head. "I don't believe in heaven or hell, either, man. I think we just… keep goin'. Either in this place, or somewhere else. Maybe eventually, we become part of something bigger."

This was getting too strange, I thought.

Pete took off his leather jacket. He was wearing a gray tank-top. I tried not to stare at his body, but I could see he was almost as muscular as Sky.

"Hey," he said, changing the subject, "speaking of something bigger, I see you enjoyed the ride over." He looked down and grinned at me.

I winced and readjusted my pants again. "Sorry. It's nothing personal," I muttered.

"Don't be," he said, grinning. "I consider that a compliment." He fired up the organ and hit a few keys. It whined for a few seconds, then a beautiful chord came out of its speakers.

"Hey," I said. "That sounds great!"

Pete smiled. "Come over here and let me show you some stuff," he said. "There's a lot I can teach you."

* * * * *

For the next couple of hours, I played Pete the basic chords I knew from my grandmother. I didn't know how the keystops and tabs worked on the top part of the organ, but Pete knew enough to make some adjustments. By the end of the afternoon, we were picking through some tunes pretty well, with him on guitar and me on keyboards. He had a special speaker called a "Leslie" that swirled the organ sound all around the garage.

"Real psychedelic, man," he said. "Groovy."

I nodded.

"The organ's one of the great instruments in rock music goin'. You know The Doors?" he asked.

"Sure," I nodded. "'Light My Fire,' 'People Are Strange,' 'Love Me Two Times,'" I said, rattling off their last few hits.

Pete picked up an acoustic guitar and started idly strumming. "Hello… I love you, won't you tell me your name," he sang.

"Yeah, that's a good one, too," I grinned.

He nodded and put down the guitar, then sat next to me at the organ. "You ever listen to the words in that song?" he asked, quietly.

I felt a little uncomfortable. "Yeah, I guess," I replied, looking down at the keys. "Well, maybe not real closely."

Pete thought for a moment. "Jim Morrison's a genius, you know," he said, seriously.

"My parents say the same thing about me," I said, laughing.

He grinned. "Yeah. I picked up that you were book-smart," he said. "But Morrison's smart on a cosmic level, y' dig?"

I was confused. "But it's just a song," I began.

"Listen to what it says. Have you ever heard of love at first sight?" he asked. Pete gazed at me, his long blond hair flowing over his bare shoulders.

I felt beads of sweat all over me. Despite the winter temperature, the garage felt a little warm.

"I nev… never really thought about it much," I stammered. Shit. Now I was starting to sound like Rick Lannigan.

"Do you believe in it?" he asked. "Love at first sight?"

I thought for a moment. I knew how I felt with Sky, but that was something that started slowly and then just snowballed over the years. On the other hand, Ronnie and I had hit it off pretty quickly, but I think he loved me more than… well, more than I liked him.

"Maybe," I said, finally. "Sorta. Shit… I dunno."

Pete gave me a long look. "I do, Wil. And it's never happened to me before, until very recently." He was sitting uncomfortably close to me.

My throat felt dry. I started to speak, then choked.

"Lemme get you somethin' to drink," he said, jumping off the bench.

We downed a couple of Cokes in his tiny kitchen. While sitting at the little dinette, I tried steering the subject over to music. I didn't like the personal direction our earlier conversation had been headed towards.

"So how does your band practice here?" I asked. "Doesn't it piss-off your neighbors?"

Pete laughed. "Naaa," he replied. "I own both sides of the duplex. The other side is empty right now. I might rent it out over the summer if I need the dough. Otherwise, I kinda like my privacy."

I nodded and took a sip of my Coke.

"So," he said, leaning closer. "You were sayin' before that you liked the 'White Album.'"

I nodded. "Yeah, I love it," I sighed. "It's an amazing record. It's got so many musical styles, so many different kinds of things going on… it's incredible."

"The Beatles are fallin' apart, man," he said, casually.

"No!" I said, surprising myself with my anger. "That's impossible."

"I give 'em a year, maybe 18 months at best," he said, confidently. "Can't you hear it in the music, man? They're all over the place. They're no longer a group. They're just four guys, each playin' their own shit! They're not really together any more."

I shook my head. "I think they'll be together forever," I said, with absolute certainty.

Pete smiled sadly. "Nothin' lasts forever, Wil," he said. "Except maybe our spirits."

Here we go again, I thought. I'd had about enough of this. "There's no scientific basis for that crap, Pete," I said, rolling my eyes.

He laughed. "That's the boy genius talkin'," he replied. "That's not what your heart tells you." He pulled his chair closer to mine until we were less than a foot apart. "I know more about your heart than you do, Wil," he said, quietly.

I took another swig from my can and looked down at the table.

"You know about vibrations?" he asked.

I nodded. "You mean good vibrations, like…" I sang a few lines from the Beach Boys song.

"Yeah," he said, seriously. "Sometimes I feel 'em… sometimes I can actually see them, like an aura. I've seen yours, Wil."

I grinned. "I remember your note."

"Oh, that," he laughed. "Well, I wanted to make sure I got your attention. You and your girlfriend were really goin' at it on the golf course that night."

I winced. "She's not really my girlfriend. I'm… we're… we're not exactly together."

"Yeah," he said, nodding. "I figured that. You're more into that other guy. What's his name?"

Sky, I thought, my heart pounding. This was getting too scary.

"Listen, uh, Pete… I gotta go," I said, standing up. "It's been fun, and maybe we can, I dunno… play together again sometime."

Pete looked up at me. "Some things are meant to be, Wil," he said, softly.

I felt a shiver. "Yeah," I said, glancing at the clock, "and I was meant to be home in about 20 minutes."

"Let's go, then." He grabbed his keys and his helmet and we walked out to his motorcycle.

"Wait," he said, suddenly. "Lemme give you something." He took off back into the house, while I sat on the back of the 'cycle, struggling to get the spare helmet on my head. He came back after a minute, holding a canvas bag, which he opened up for me.

"I want you to listen to these," he said. "You got a stereo?"

I nodded. "Just got a new system for Christmas from my folks."

"Groovy," he said. "Check these out." Inside were copies of The Doors' Hard Rock Hotel and Strange Days albums, along with The Beach Boys' Friends and Pet Sounds. "You own any of these already?" he asked, as he put on his leather jacket.

I shook my head.

"They're gonna blow your mind, man," he said, excitedly. "The next time I see you, I want you to tell me what you think about 'em. But don't just listen to 'em -- I want you to feel 'em."

I nodded, and he fired up the engine and we sped off. Pete didn't say much on the way home. Once, we hit a bump and I squeezed him tighter, fearful of falling off. He turned to me and grinned, then patted my hand. About 15 minutes later, we finally pulled up in my driveway, and I could see the living room lights were already on and my parent's car was in the carport. I hopped off the back, took off my helmet and tied it to the seat-post.

"Thanks for a cool afternoon, Pete," I said, starting for the porch, with the bag of records under my arm. "And the music."

"Wait up, Wil," he called. He caught up with me and stood on the front step. "Listen, I… I don't want to rush you into anything."

"With the band, you mean," I replied, trying not to look at him directly.

"Yeah. Or with you and me," he said, quietly. "I know you got some things to work out, and I get the feelin' you just lost somebody."

Ronnie. I did miss him, but he wasn't that important to me, was he? I didn't answer, but instead walked up the steps, then stood at the door and turned back to him.

"I'll call you when I get a chance, Pete," I said.

"One last thing," he called, walking up beside me. "Listen, Wil, I… I know we just met and everything, but… I feel like I've known you all my life."

That makes one of us, I grumbled to myself.

"Can I give you some advice? Please?" he asked.

I nodded.

He hesitated. "You're… you're making a mistake with the person you think you're in love with now," he said, looking at me deeply.

Jesus, I thought. His eyes were an incredible shade of light blue. Enough to take my breath away.

"You mean Cynthia," I said, looking away.

"No," he said. "There's somebody else. One you've known for a long time."

I closed my eyes. Stop it, I thought.

"It can only end in tragedy," he said, sadly. "Major bad vibes. I'm sorry, Wil, but I'm never wrong about these things."

"I gotta go, Pete. G'night." I opened the door and stepped in.

"G'night, Wil. Don't forget what I said, man. And listen to the music!" he yelled, as he got back on his bike, gunned the engine, and rode off into the darkness.

"Who was that, dear?" called my mom, as I closed the door.

"Nobody, Mom!" I yelled, running up the stairs.

"William!" called my dad from the living room. "We don't want you hanging out with any motorcycle gang members!"

"Daaaaaad!" I whined from the landing. "He's a musician! He wants me to join his rock group over in St. Pete!"

"We'll talk about that later. Don't you have some homework to do?" he said.

I nodded and returned to my room. I hit the button on my stereo, lay down on my bed and let the White Album play on my tape deck. "It still sounds great to me," I said out loud. "The Beatles are much too successful to ever break up."

Try as I might, I couldn't get Pete's face out of my head. He was great-looking, sure, but… I dunno. Something about him scared me. Pete was spooky. It was as if he knew too much about me already. I shivered. Despite his good looks, there had to be something wrong with him.

* * * * *

After dinner, I returned to the world of 1865, and lay on the living room couch, mulling over another book on Lincoln's assassination. I began to wish that I'd written my Civil War paper about John Wilkes Booth, instead. Around 9PM, the upstairs phone rang. "Wil," called my mother. "It's Ronnie Lannigan, long distance from Dallas! On your line!"

"Thanks, Mom!" I said, bounding up the stairs, and picked up the receiver. "Hello, Ron?"

"Howdy there, pardner," said an unfamiliar voice.

"Ron?" I whispered. "Is that you?"

Then I heard a familiar giggle. "I think I'm turning into a Texan, Wil!" he laughed.

"Hey, good for you!" I said, smiling.

"Things are great here, Wil," he said, excitedly. "We got horses and oil wells and fruit trees and all kinds of stuff. Uncle Bob's ranch house is practically as big as our old high school. It's like a MOVIE!"

"Sounds great, Ronnie," I said, trying to sound cheerful. Jesus, I thought. I'm really beginning to really miss the little guy. "I've thought about you a lot since you've been gone."

"Anyway, Wil," he continued breathlessly, "I just wanted you to know we're real happy here. You got our address, right?"

"Yeah," I said. "'Lannigan Ranch, 1400 Southwest Trail, Route 40, Plano, Texas, 75023.' Got it."

"Don't forget to write me, Wil," he said.

"I won't."

"And by the way," he whispered. "You should see some of the friends RJ's got! Sheee-it!" He laughed uncontrollably.

Suddenly, I felt like Ronnie was having too much fun. "Look, Ron, I kinda have to go, now."

"Me, too! So long, Wil!" he chirped, and hung up the phone.

I went in my room and lay on my bed. Shit. Ronnie was the biggest pest I'd ever known, but somehow… Dammit. Now there's something in my eye. He loved me -- at least he used to. But now I didn't have anybody.

I grabbed my other pillow and pulled it over my face, just to block out the world for a little while.

 Chapter 16

I had been so bored over New Year's, I was almost glad to get back to school on the 6th. Much to my relief, my History paper got an A, but I was a little disappointed I couldn't pull an A+, given that I had written nearly 2000 words on the subject -- double the assignment -- and even had a couple of extra Xeroxed pages of pictures to go with it. When I bugged Mr. Harnett about it after class, he rolled his eyes and said, "there is such a thing as overkill, Mr. Larson. Just be happy with your A."

After school at 3:45, I caught up with Sky at Mr. Lucas' office. The coach marched us down the hall and opened up the janitor's door.

"Take this, and start policing the side field," he said to Sky, rolling out a wheeled trash can and a wooden stick with a nail in it. "Pick up every scrap of trash you see, and don't come back until at least 4:45."

Lucas pulled out a bucket and a mop, and set them down in front of me. I stared at them.

"You have seen a mop before, haven't you, Mr. Larson?" he said, sarcastically.

"Sure, Coach," I said, "but I just figured Sky and I could like work together…"

"Gentlemen! This is not a social committee!" he snapped. "For the next two weeks, you're here for some serious punishment. I don't have to remind you -- you flake out on this, and you're suspended for real."

Sky and I meekly nodded.

Lucas pointed at me, then at the bucket. "Wil, take this mop and swab out the six boys' bathrooms on this wing -- upstairs and down. You'll need to empty out the bucket in the drain as you go. Here's a can of cleanser to go with it. I want those floors spic-and-span!"

Sky and I stared at each other.

"Move it!" he yelled.

We both took off in opposite directions.

* * * * *

The work was hard, but not impossible. Every day, we had a new kind of chore to tackle. Normally, I hated manual labor, but at least I got to see Sky for a little while.

On Tuesday, we were both on our hands and knees, scrubbing down the front part of the cafeteria.

"Hey, doofus -- heads up!" Sky yelled, and plopped the brush in the bucket from 20 feet away, sending a splash of water and suds all over my shirt.

"HEY!" I cried. "Watch that, you asshole!"

He laughed. I had to laugh, too. At least it was a fairly warm day, especially for January.

"You haven't told me about Cynthia," he said, swabbing the floor.

"Oh, yeah," I said. "It wasn't all that great."

"You're kidding!" he said, looking up. "That's not what I heard!"

I put down my brush. "What?"

Sky continued scrubbing. "Cyn told Melissa you were fantastic. I figured, well, that you two had gotten along real well."

Yeah, I thought. Real well, like a square peg in a round hole.

"I think maybe… maybe Cyn's not exactly my type, Sky," I said.

"But you did have a good time, right?" he asked, expectantly.

"Sure. I guess." I tried not to look at him, hoping he wouldn't ask for details.

"If Cynthia's not quite your speed," he continued, "Melissa's got another friend I could fix you up with, y' know. That is, if you're interested."

I closed my eyes. I knew what I was really interested in; it was just hard to admit it to myself. I kept scrubbing, then poured some more clean water down to one side.

"Look, Wil," he said. "Lemme know if you wanna… I dunno, double-date or something."

I looked up. "You mean -- go out with you and Melissa? Together?"

"Sure," he nodded. "You and me and Melissa and Ginny."

"Who's Ginny?" I asked.

"Virginia Randall," he explained. "She's real cute, a real brain, too. She's on the school newspaper staff."

"Cool," I said, casually. "Yeah, maybe we could do that sometime."

"A LITTLE LESS TALKING AND A LITTLE MORE CLEANING!" boomed a voice from the back of the cafeteria.

Sky and I looked up to see Coach Lucas at the doorway.

"Gentlemen!" he barked. "You're here for detention, not for conversation. Let's get a move on!"

We both nodded glumly and went back to the task at hand.

* * * * *

By Wednesday, things had fallen more-or-less into a routine. After school, I convinced Sky to let us stay late and train in the workout room for an hour after our trash pick-up detail. The only way I could bribe him was to agree to do some of his homework for him, but at least it'd give me some time to talk to him and hang out together. We both avoided mentioning the incident in the whirlpool.

The workouts were exhausting, but I began to get into it, enjoying the escape from the academic monotony of my day. Sometimes, when I glanced at Sky lifting weights, his muscles glistening in the pale light of the gym, I found myself having to catch my breath. It was torture seeing him like this and not being able to touch him, but I knew that being without Sky would be even worse. It was better to be able to see him this way than to not ever see him at all.

Promptly at 6:00PM, Coach Lucas stuck his head into the workout room just as the varsity track team ran behind him, back into the locker room.

"Alright, gentlemen!" he yelled, clapping his hands for our attention. "Gym's closin' up. Re-rack your weights, and hit the showers. We'll open back up at 7AM tomorrow."

Everybody groaned and reluctantly put their weights back on the stands. I did six more reps on the leg-extension machine, then struggled to my feet and followed Sky out the door. My thighs and calves hurt like hell, but I knew the workouts would ultimately improve my swimming performance.

"Wil! I need to talk to you for a second, son."

I looked up, and it was Coach Lucas in the side corridor, near the gym office.

"What's up, Coach?" I asked, still a little out of breath from my work-out.

He looked around to make sure no one else was listening. "Wil, you and I never talked about what happened here a couple of weeks ago."

I froze. He couldn't possibly know what'd happened with me and Scott.

"N-n-no, we didn't, Coach," I mumbled, looking away, and trying desperately to sound as innocent as I could.

"Was Scott Michaels with you when you were here working out?"

"No," I said, almost truthfully. "The gym was empty the whole time."

"And you left at what time?"

"Oh, I think it was maybe 5:00," I said, casually.

"And you didn't see anyone else here?" he asked.

I thought for a minute, trying to make my story sound logical. "Now that I think about it, I might have seen Chuck just as I was leaving," I said. "In fact, I just remembered, I said goodnight to him as I left," I added, trying to weave that little fact in.

Coach nodded. "Okay. It's not a big deal."

"Uh, Coach," I asked, as he started to leave. "Scott's gonna be okay, right?"

He nodded. "Yeah. He'll be back at school tomorrow," Lucas explained. "He won't be able to play on the team this season because of his arm, but he'll be okay. It's no secret that the school board is all over us because of this injury." The coach looked at me carefully. "Wil, do me a favor. I want you to forget that I ever told you that you could work out without supervision."

So that's what this is all about, I thought. "No problem, Coach," I nodded.

"From now on, that rule is etched in stone," he said, seriously. "You work out with somebody from your team, or one of our staff."

"Or Sky," I said, quietly.

"Yeah. Thanks, Wil," he said, giving me a reassuring pat on the shoulder. He turned and went back into the gym office.

Just as I was walking back down the hall to the locker room, I stopped and saw Sky by our locker. He was naked, walking towards the other corridor to the shower, towel draped casually over his shoulder.

"Hey!" he yelled. "Move your ass, muscle-man!"

I grinned. "On my way!"

I couldn't take my eyes off him as he strutted confidently down the hall and through the shower doorway. He looked more like a Greek god than ever, I thought.

Suddenly, I realized there was someone next to me breathing heavily. Chuck.

I gave him a nod. "Hey, Chuck," I said, quietly.

"Hey," he said, still mesmerized by the sight of Sky walking away.

I walked over to my locker and quickly disrobed. I wrapped my towel around my waist and looked up, but Chuck was gone. Just as well, I thought, nervously.

* * * * *

Thursday, I had just dumped my tray in the cafeteria exit line when Sky and Melissa came over. I felt a jealous wave pass through me, then I let it go and put on the best smiling face I could.

"Hi, you guys!" I said, looking up. "Wish me luck at the meet on Saturday."

"I heard," gushed Melissa. "You're doing -- what? -- butterfly, right?"

I shook my head. "Breaststroke," I said. "Coach said I needed some more work on Butterfly before he wanted to put me in the race. But at least I'm there in Breast."

Sky leaned over and whispered to me, "I never woulda figured you for a breast man, Wil!"

I rolled my eyes, then we both laughed together.

"What was that?" said Melissa, suspiciously.

"I'm just givin' him some pointers on the race, Mel'," Sky said with a grin.

We walked out of the cafeteria together and next to the school music complex next door. Several students were playing a radio just outside the building -- it was The Beatles' "Hello, Goodbye," one of my favorites from the year before.

Sky had his arm around Melissa. He looked up at me.

"Hey, man," he said. "We've gotta go. See you after school, in detention!"

"Goodbye, Wil!" called Melissa.

"You say goodbye… and I say hello!" I sang. I immediately launched into the song, and Sky and Melissa stopped and laughed. The other students looked up at me and grinned, and we all started singing together. I went into my best Paul McCartney impression.

"I say high

you say low

I say why

and you say I don't know…

ohhhh…

Oh, no…

You say goodbye

and I say hello…

Hello, hello!

I don't know why you say goodbye

I say hello."

"There he goes again!" laughed Sky, punching me affectionately on the shoulder.

I grinned back, then sang the final chorus.

"Hey, la…

hey, hello! (Hey, la!)

Hey, la…

hey, hello!"

A couple of the other kids in the hall joined in with me. The song finally ended, and we all laughed.

Melissa put her arm around me. "You really should sing more, Wil," she said.

"You're not bad," agreed Sky. "Not as good as Paul, but probably the closest we're gonna get here in school."

I laughed. Melissa turned to me. "Have you ever thought about trying out for chorus, Wil?"

I shook my head. "No, no -- I'm just an amateur," I protested. "Besides, I'm already too tied up with swimming."

"That's only until March, right?" she asked.

I nodded. "Yeah. But my class schedule is already crowded as it is."

"Well, think about it, anyway," she said. "I'm positive that Mr. Guccino, the chorus director, would really appreciate your voice."

The bell rang, and we went on to our next classes. I continued humming the Beatles song in my head for the next hour.

* * * * *

By 6th period English, I was still mulling over what Melissa had said. Maybe she was right. Maybe I could get into singing at school. I glanced at the clock. I was bored silly in English; I felt like I knew most of the material already. Maybe I could find a way out of the class.

At the bell, I stopped by Mrs. Kester's desk.

"Yes, Wil?" she asked, looking up.

I explained my dilemma. "Is there some way I can get out of English -- maybe exempt it or something? I'm trying to get into chorus, and this is the only period that's available."

She thought for a moment, then nodded. "You're one of my best students, William," she said, reluctantly. "I'd hate to see you drop my class, but yes -- if you can pass the equivalency test for the year, you can exempt English." She handed me a form for my folks to sign. "Bring this back in," she said, "and we'll get it scheduled."

Great, I thought. At least this way, I could avoid having to let Sky cheat off my paper again. And I could still help him study, if he got desperate.

* * * * *

That afternoon, after another round of picking up trash from the track area, Sky and I headed home in his father's car. "Your lenses came in, Wil," said Dr. Jones, holding up a small box. "Let's stop by the clinic, and I'll give you a quick fitting. It'll only take a few minutes."

We drove by his office, and in a matter of minutes, I was gazing at my face in the mirror. For the first time in about six years, I could actually see without glasses on my face. The effect was startling.

"Wow," I said, turning my head back and forth in the mirror. "They actually work!"

"See, I told ya," said Sky, who grinned and put his hand on my shoulder.

I looked at our two faces in the mirror. Well, not quite beauty and the beast, I thought, but certainly beauty and the so-so face.

"If you can't get dates now, then I'd say you'll have to shoot yourself," he giggled.

I winced. "I guess now you're gonna force me to meet this 'Ginny' person, right?" I asked.

"Virginia's great," he replied. "You'll really like her. She's real smart, I swear."

"Yeah," I said, "but how does she look?"

"Like I was sayin'," he continued, "she's real smart."

Oh great, I thought. I get to go out with a dog.

Sky saw my expression and laughed.

* * * * *

On Friday afternoon, I was feeling a little better about our after-school punishment. Maybe I was finally getting used to doing a little manual labor. I didn't mind hard work, like studying or swimming laps, but this hands-and-knees stuff was something I'd never had to do before. I had to admit, though, I felt a strange feeling of accomplishment to look back at the floor of one of the rooms we finished, knowing that we'd actually done something. Never mind that it'd be dirty again in about three days.

Coach had separated us again and I was hard at work by myself, scrubbing the tile floor of the upstairs boys' bathroom in the B-Wing building. Man, this place was a pigsty. I wondered if half the guys who used it ever actually got their piss in the bowl, rather than on the floor. This was gross, I thought, as I emptied the bucket in the sink.

Feeling the urge, I got up, put down my brush, and walked over to one of the nearby urinals. I unzipped my fly and let a long stream cascade out onto the porcelain. I was exhausted. This shit was really hard work. I now had a lot more respect for the poor janitors that had to take care of this dump, that's for sure. I rested my head momentarily down on the chrome pipe. I couldn't wait to get home today, I thought. At least I had the weekend to look forward to.

Suddenly, I was conscious of another stream splashing down the urinal to my left. I looked up, and there was Scott Michaels. His left arm was in a sling, and he had a small bandage on the upper right side of his forehead. My heart stopped.

"Scott! I… I…" I stammered and tripped backwards on my empty bucket, then fell down on the floor.

"Sorry," he said. "I didn't mean to scare you. Just a call of nature," he said, casually, as he zipped himself up. "Lemme give you a hand," he said, holding out his good right arm.

I let him pull me back up, but stared at him with a combination of fear and hatred. Several uncomfortable moments passed.

"I haven't seen you around school much," I said, turning away and reaching for my brush and bucket.

"Yeah," he nodded. "I was hurt pretty bad. Listen, I… I wanted to talk to you, Wil."

I felt the blood rush to my face. "I don't wanna talk to you, Scott," I said, angrily, as I refilled the bucket with water. "Just get the fuck away from me."

"Wait. Please -- lemme just say something." He leaned on the wall next to me. "I know you won't believe me, but… I'm really sorry for what happened. I was really fucked-up."

Better to be fucked-up than fucked, I thought to myself.

Scott looked down at the floor. I could see he was trying to gather up his courage. "I was out for a couple of hours," he began. "After I came to at the hospital, the doctors told me they figured out that I'd been… having anal sex for awhile," he said, quietly. "I tried to deny it, but I eventually had to tell 'em who'd been doing it to me."

I looked up at him, my expression softening.

"This was all my stepdad's fault," he continued, with a choke. "He'd been doin' it to me for six years, since I was a little kid. I couldn't stop him."

I felt stunned. I nodded and put my brush down.

"He's in jail now," Scott said, tears beginning to roll down his face. "My mom's gonna divorce him. It's not gonna make the papers. He pled guilty, and they're keepin' it all quiet. Nobody else knows about it."

"Jesus," I said, quietly. "I'm really sorry, Scott."

"Yeah," he said, fighting back the tears. "So am I."

We both stood silently, trying not to look at each other. Finally, I got back down and started scrubbing the floor again.

Scott took a step towards me. I flinched, and he stopped. "They've got me seein' a shrink now. I'm… I'm workin' some stuff out, y' know?"

I nodded, but continued scrubbing.

"I swear, Wil," he said. "Never again. I hope you can forgive me."

I closed my eyes. "I didn't tell anybody, did I?" I said. "Your secret's safe with me."

"I know," he said, softly. "You could've, but you didn't. I swear, I'll… I'll make it up to you someday."

"Yeah." I stood up, picked up the bucket, and emptied it out in the sink. "Look, uh, Scott… I got work to do."

He nodded. "'Kay. See ya around, Wil. And thanks."

I didn't answer, but continued filling up the bucket. He left the bathroom, and the automatic hinges slowly shut the door. I glanced up in the mirror at my face, and was surprised to see a couple of tears near my right eye.

Fucking jerk, I thought, as I wiped my face, then got back down on my hands and knees, and continued scrubbing.

Seconds later, the door burst open.

"Wil!" yelled Sky. "There you are! Are you okay, man?" he asked, with a trace of concern in his voice.

"Yeah," I said, giving the floor one last touch-up. "I'm just about done here."

"I saw that asshole Scott Michaels going down the hallway, but he made it downstairs before I could stop him."

I nodded my head. "Yeah, he was here," I said. "Leave him alone. He's… he's got his own problems."

Sky put his hand on my shoulder. "Listen, man," he said, quietly. "Me and a couple of the guys from the team… we could take care of him, if you want." He looked at me with an expression of utter seriousness.

"No, Sky," I said. "Let him go."

"I mean it." He stared at me, unblinking.

"Thanks, Sky," I said, finally. "But let's just forget about it."

He nodded and took his hand from my shoulder. "Okay, Wil," he said. "Whatever you say. Look, let's get outta here. It's almost 5:00, and my Dad's comin' by to pick us up. He's gonna let me drive home, now that I've got my learner's permit. Isn't that cool?"

"Yeah," I said. "Real cool."

* * * * *

Sky actually turned out to be a pretty good driver. His dad winced as his son made a few sharper-than-normal turns, but other than that, the trip back to my place was pretty smooth. By the time we pulled up in the driveway, I actually started feeling a little jealous. I wouldn't be able to get even a learner's permit for at least six more months. Shit, I thought. It seemed like a lifetime away.

I cursed God for making me born two years after everybody else. Sky ran up beside me as I walked up the porch steps.

"So, you wanna do somethin' on Saturday?" he asked.

I shook my head. "This is the height of the swimming season, Sky," I said. "I've been on second-string for four months now, and I've got my first real meet tomorrow afternoon. I've got practice first thing in the morning. Coach's got me in the 200-yard medley relay, and I've gotta concentrate on that. After the race is over, I'll probably keel over dead from all the stress."

Sky nodded, but I could clearly see he was disappointed. "Melissa and I still want you to meet Ginny," he said.

I rolled my eyes. "I don't have time to date anybody right now, Sky!" I whined.

"Call me on Sunday, then," he said, bounding down the steps.

"You gonna come see me swim tomorrow?" I yelled.

Sky flashed me a grin. "I wouldn't miss it, man!" he yelled back. He got in the driver's seat and slowly backed out of the driveway.

* * * * *

By the time the weekend rolled around, dating was the last thing on my mind. Saturday morning, the couch had us do laps for a couple of hours, then gave us last-minute instructions for the relays we were going to be doing that afternoon. It was the first big meet in which I'd been asked to participate, after languishing on second-string since the start of the season.

I was assigned Breaststroke for the 200-meter relay, which meant I was 2nd in the team line-up. Backstroke was first, followed by Breast, then Butterfly, then Freestyle. The coach knew we had to pick up speed in the first two, since our team still wasn't too strong in Butterfly. Luckily for us, neither was our opponent. On the second trial run, I hit my best time ever. Coach Byers shook my hand as I pulled myself out of the water.

"Excellent, Larson!" he said. "36.2 seconds! That's the third-fastest time for 50-meter Breast stroke in the history of the school. You're really comin' along, young man."

I nodded. "How soon before the meet starts, coach?" I asked.

"Not until 2PM," he replied. "We've got lunch in ten minutes, and then I want you men to take a break. No sense getting you all worked up. Just take it easy. I'll be back at my office in the other building until 1PM if you need me."

He blew his whistle. "That's it for practice, guys," he yelled. "Be back here at 1:30, sharp. We stand a good chance of beating Plant High on this one, and I don't wanna see us lose the match on any technicalities."

We all nodded, then went back to the locker room. Three or four other guys were at their lockers, talking in the background. I sat down at my bench, pulled out the English exam book, and started perusing it. My folks had agreed to let me take the equivalency test next week, and if I could pass it, I'd get out of taking English -- possibly for 10th grade as well as 9th, if I was lucky.

Billy Peterson, the team captain, came by and slapped me on the back.

"Larson!" he said, laughing. "You've always got your nose stuck in a book!"

I grinned. "Yeah. I guess it seems that way."

"Hey," he said. "You okay on breaststroke?"

"Ready as ever," I said, nodding.

"I'm up first, on backstroke," said the team captain, "so don't forget to wait until I touch the wall. If you dive in early…"

"I know, I know," I said, waving my hands up in the air. "I'll foul the whole event. That won't happen, I promise."

Billy grinned. "I know you won't let us down."

The older teen began peeling off his Speedos, and I tried to look away. As he toweled down, continuing to talk about the upcoming race, I glanced over. I was shocked to see he was shaved totally smooth, all over his crotch! I immediately felt my heart pound, and blood surged to my groin.

Billy suddenly stopped talking when he saw my face, staring right into his lap.

"Oh, I guess you noticed -- I shaved for the meet today," he laughed.

"Jesus, Billy!" I said, adjusting my suit. "What'd you do that for?"

"It was a big thing with the Olympic guys last year," he said. "You know, every tenth of a second counts in these meets. If shaving off our body hair makes us even that much faster, and we win the race, then it's worth it."

"I still say it can't make any difference, Bill," called out Aaron, one of the other swimmers nearby. "It's not scientific at all."

Billy laughed. "Hey, if I feel faster, than I'm gonna be faster, right?"

I nodded. That was hard to argue with, I thought.

"And besides," he said, displaying his equipment proudly. "It does look kinda cool, huh?"

"Yeah," I said, trying not to look. "I guess so."

"And it makes it look bigger, too," he said, giving me a wink. "Not that all of us need that."

I winced. "Somehow, I don't think shaving would help me all that much," I replied.

"You never know, Wil," he said, grinning. "Maybe you should try it."

A couple of the other guys came in. "Hey, look at this -- Billy's now Mister Smooth!"

He put up with the razzing for a few seconds, then held up his hands. "Hey, guys -- I'm tryin' out for a scholarship to Florida State, so don't give me any shit."

The rest of my teammates nodded. Billy was the best swimmer on the team, no question. If any of us had even a micron of a chance to get a college swimming scholarship, Billy was the one.

"You think it really makes a difference?" asked Carl, one of the other seniors. "You know -- shaving?"

"Who cares?" said Billy, flexing his muscles and letting his bare jewels flop down on the bench next to me. "If it makes me feel faster, then it's worth it."

Carl nodded. "I'm game. Anybody else wanna join me?"

My face blanched. You mean, they were gonna… shave? Right here?

"Count me in!" said Mark, to my right.

"Me, too," said Joe, who was our top freestyle champ.

"I still say it's stupid," muttered Aaron. Joe punched him in the arm. "Okay, okay, I'll do it," Aaron said, grumbling.

The six swimmers looked over at me.

"Gee, guys, I dunno," I said, looking down.

"All for one and one for all!" Billy yelled, and grabbed me under my arms.

"Wait a minute!" I yelled, dropping my book. Joe held me up by my legs, and I was powerless to stop them.

Laughing, they pulled me down the hall and into the shower. Before I knew it, we were all standing in a row, pulling off our Speedos and lathering up our groins. I reluctantly pulled down my suit and hung it on the shower tap behind me.

"Holy shit, man," whistled Barry, a good-looking Freshman on my left. He, Mark and I were the only 9th graders on the team.

"Told ya so," said Mark, snickering.

Even Billy looked impressed. "Did anybody ever tell you that you have…"

"Yeah, yeah, I know. A donkey dick," I muttered.

"…actually," Billy continued, grinning, "I was gonna say, 'an engaging smile,' but now that you mention it…"

They laughed. This time, I laughed with them, relieved. For once, I could see I wasn't the butt of any jokes.

"C'mon, Wil. For the team," Billy said, holding out a razor and a can of shaving cream. He looked at me expectantly. All five of them grinned at me.

I took the razor and looked down. Mediocre as my pubes were, it'd taken me almost a year to get that little growth of hair. I hated to lose it, but… I started scraping the top of my groin, and the other guys cheered. I even went to the sides, getting the light hairs on my thighs.

"Legs, too," ordered Billy.

I sighed, letting the warm shower water run over my body, and ran the blade up and down my legs, getting the scant peach fuzz there. To my right, Joe was just finishing shaving his underarms. I checked mine, but they were already smooth. Kyle took the longest, since he had patches of hair scattered around his chest. In less than a minute, it was all gone, followed closely by the tufts of hair on his stomach and groin.

When we were all finally finished, I looked up. Jesus. We looked like a team of mutated pre-adolescents. Two of the swimmers were already stiff at attention, looking at me and grinning. Mark was starting to stroke himself, and Billy gave me a big smile.

"Now that you're officially in the meet, it's time to initiate you," he said.

"Good idea, Billy," said Aaron, who was the current Butterfly record-holder. He had a wicked smile on his face.

Uh-oh, I thought. I hated the sound of that.

"First guy to cum has to buy dinner after the meet," said Billy, stroking himself to full arousal.

My endowment quickly stiffened to its full length, and I turned to join the group. We formed a circle at one end of the shower. Mark squirted some liquid soap out of a dispenser and handed some to me.

"Don't be in a hurry," he advised. "Last one to shoot, wins."

I grinned and soaped myself up. The others were already lost in thought, fondling themselves and slowly moving their fists up and down their shafts.

"Ohhhhhh," Mark moaned. His left shoulder was practically touching mine, and he was staring down at my crotch. I followed his gaze, and felt my heart race. If anything, my penis looked even bigger than ever, now that my groin was completely denuded of hair. I reached down, grabbed my balls with my other hand, and started stroking harder.

In less than a minute, Joe started groaning. "Shit, guys!" he panted, as several white spurts shot across the shower and into the drain. "I guess that means I lose." Mark was right behind him, followed a minute later by Kyle and Barry.

Now it was up to me, Billy, and Aaron. The three of us stared at each other. I hesitated trying to do anything special, like rubbing my hands over my chest; I figured that would be too much of a tip-off to the other guys. I kept my eyes averted and forced myself to slow down, just as RJ had shown me back at Rick and Ronnie's place a few weeks ago.

"Ohhhh," moaned Aaron, to my right.

I glanced over at him. He had a good-size erection, no question -- probably at least 8 inches, I thought. I grinned at him, then reached down and began jacking myself with both hands. His eyes widened, and he immediately groaned and erupted several huge spurts, far more than I'd ever seen before.

"Man, you just about exploded, Aaron!" called Mark, laughing.

I looked up at Billy. His back was to the shower, and drips of water trickled down his smooth, muscular chest. He looked me in the face. I could see he was holding back as best he could, but he was breathing heavily. His muscular arm rocked back and forth, and I stared at the veins in his bicep, and the deep ab ridges in his muscular stomach. Shit, I thought. He was even bigger than Sky.

I couldn't stop myself. I began speeding up my thrusts, tightening my grip and plunging my arousal through my fists, faster and faster. Again, I felt the tell-tale warning signs. I reached up and tweaked my nipple and moaned. It was now or never. Just as I felt myself unload, Billy cried out, and we both came almost simultaneously. Mark had to jump out of the way, to avoid getting hit by my ejaculation. An instant after the surge of pleasure left my body, I leaned back against the wall and let the shower wash over me, rinsing off the soap and goo from my hands. I panted and felt a little embarrassed.

The other swimmers applauded. "That was great, man," said Joe, clapping me on the back. "Fuckin' cool, Wil," said Aaron. "For a 2nd-string freshman, that is," he grinned.

I laughed and nodded.

"I'd call that a tie, wouldn't you Billy?" said Kyle.

"A photo-finish," said Billy, still panting. He stuck out his hand out to me, and we shook. "Congratulations, Wil. You're cool in my book."

* * * * *

As it turned out, we did even better in the meet than we did in the shower room. Billy set a new state record for individual 100-meter Backstroke, and I picked up nearly half a second in Breaststroke for the relay. Joe cinched it with Freestyle, and we all clapped him soundly on the back when he pulled himself out of the water. The small crowd roared their approval.

We all hugged each other and waved at the audience. From a distance, I saw Sky waving back. I felt a huge wave of happiness, knowing that my best friend had witnessed our victory.

"See, what'd I tell ya," said Billy to the rest of us. "I think the shaving down is what put us over the top."

"Either that, or jacking-off," I whispered.

Billy turned to me and gave me a peculiar expression. "That's just for special occasions," he said. "We're not a buncha homos, Wil."

I shook my head and looked away, embarrassed.

"Hey, Wil!" called Sky from the side. I grabbed my towel and ran over to the audience seats.

"You were fuckin' great, man!" he said, shaking my hand and slapping my shoulder.

"Thanks," I said, beaming. "Coach says they're gonna keep me in Breaststroke for the rest of the season."

"Cool. Listen, I gotta go. Melissa's waitin' for me."

I nodded. "See you tomorrow, maybe?" I asked.

"I can't. Dad's takin' us out tomorrow to buy us a new boat," he said, excitedly. It's gonna be really cool, and he's gonna teach me how to run it and everything."

"Sounds neat."

"Take it easy, Wil!" Sky yelled, as he waved and ran off.

I trotted across the wet concrete and back into the locker room, and got dressed. The guys took me out for a victory celebration at Shakey's Pizza, where the other teammates happily stuck Joe with the check.

"The homo's gotta pay!" they chortled.

Homo, I thought?

"Yeah, Joe! You lost the shower game," reminded Kyle.

Mark turned to me and grinned. "I heard Joe always loses," he said, whispering. "I think he likes the game more than the swim meets."

I nodded and tried to laugh, but I felt too miserable inside. I'd liked the game, too. It was the most sex I'd had all month. Maybe I was doomed to just be by myself, I thought.

 Chapter 17

By the end of January, I had managed to pass the English equivalency test and get totally exempted for 9th and 10th grade English. Mrs. Kester was reluctant to see me go, but I told her I'd probably see her again in a couple of years, for English Literature and maybe for Composition.

Chorus was a bigger challenge than I thought. My original plan was to be a rock singer, but the choir director, Mr. Guccino, had other ideas. "First, we need to work on the fundamentals, Wil," he explained.

It was kind of scary being in the choir, because we often had to sing alone, in front of the entire class. Eventually, I got over my stage fright and was able to keep up with the rest of them.

We didn't do quite as well in Swimming. While our team did OK for the next two meets, our competition was fierce for the rest of the season. I pulled a groin muscle during practice in early February, and that pretty much killed me for the next three weeks. "It's no wonder," cracked Aaron. "Wil's dick is so big, his muscles weren't strong enough to hold it up!" Always a wise-ass.

Coach Byers was a little kinder. "Stuff happens, son," he said, after the doctor looked me over. "You gotta take it easy, so you don't re-injure the muscle," he said, gently. "You're still making progress. I think next season will be your year, Wil. You hang in there."

I nodded, then limped for the door. I didn't know exactly where the groin muscle was or what it did, but it felt like no matter what I moved, it hurt like hell, right in my balls.

One weekend, while I was recovering, the phone rang.

"Hey, Wil. It's me, Pete."

Jesus, I thought, slapping my forehead. I hadn't thought about Pete in weeks. "Hi, Pete," I said. "Listen, I'm really sorry for not getting back to you."

"That's okay, man," he said. "Didja listen to listen to the records I gave you?"

"Yeah. They were great, man." I really had enjoyed them, though I hated it when my sister snuck in here and played her Monkees albums, when I wasn't around.

"Which one did you like the most?" he asked.

I thought for a minute. "It's a tie between 'Pet Sounds' and 'Friends'," I said. "Both of them were really cool."

He laughed. "Groovy. You always were a sucker for those Beach Boy harmonies, right?"

"Yeah, I guess so," I said, sheepishly. "Listen, Pete, I don't mean to throw you off the phone, but I kinda gotta get back to my homework."

"I heard you were singing more," he continued.

How could he know that? "Uh, yeah. As a matter of fact, a friend of mine at school convinced me to join the choir."

"Very cool," he said. "I had a hunch you'd do that. You might just be a rock singer yet, man."

My lower abdomen suddenly throbbed and I let out a moan.

"Am I, uh… interrupting something?" he asked, concerned.

"No, Pete," I said, gritting my teeth. "I just… pulled a groin muscle a few days ago. It really hurts, man."

"Then I won't keep you long. Listen, uh, Wil," he said, quietly. "March is gonna be a tough month for you. I want you to be real careful."

What was he talking about? "For what?"

"Remember what I said before. Please, Wil," he said. "I know you won't believe me, but please listen: stay away from the person you think you love the most."

I'd had about enough of this. "I gotta go, Pete. Thanks again for the records."

"Okay," he said. "Call me when you can."

I hung up the phone. This was really too weird.

* * * * *

At lunch the following week, I sat at a table with Mark and Barry from the swim team. They spent most of the time talking to each other, and barely included me in the conversation.

I missed Ronnie. I wouldn't even mind hearing one of the little twerp's stupid one-liners again. I glanced around, hoping I could spot another friendly face from one of my other classes, but everybody around me looked unfamiliar.

Down the aisle, I heard some raised voices.

"I don't care, I'm just sick of this shit!"

"Well, if that's how you feel, fine!"

"Yeah. FINE!"

I looked over and was surprised to see it was Sky and Melissa. Melissa stormed off and out of the cafeteria, through the side entrance. Sky looked completely miserable.

"Hey!" I yelled, waving him over.

He nodded and walked over to my table and sat down, slumping his shoulders. "Hey, Wil," he said, obviously down.

"Hey," I said, quietly. I dug into my roast beef. It was dry and had too much fat on it. I cut the fat off and tore it away from the pitiful slab of meat that was left. "The food here really sucks," I said, trying to make idle conversation.

"Yeah," he glumly replied.

In-between mouthfuls, I looked up. Sky looked thoroughly miserable. "You okay, man?" I asked.

He nodded. "Melissa is really pissing me off," he said, exasperated. "I don't know what she wants outta me."

I continued to eat, but looked on him with rapt attention. At times like this, the least I could do was commiserate with my friend's problems.

"She's just so… fucked up!" he said, making an exasperated gesture.

"Sky," I said, sincerely. "Listen… Melissa's really cute. You're lucky to have her." And she's real lucky to have you, I thought to myself.

He nodded. "Yeah, I know. But she's just so goddamned… frustrating!"

I started on my peas. They were cold, as usual, with the consistency of rubber.

"Don't worry about it, Sky," I said, inbetween bites. "You guys'll work things out. It's kind of a give and take thing, y'know?" Shit. I was starting to sound like Ann Landers in the paper.

"You wanna… maybe get together this weekend or something?" he asked.

I thought for a minute. "Oh, you mean with Ginny?" I said, mentioning that girl he'd talked about a few days before.

"If you want," he said. "Or maybe just you and me. We could… I dunno, see a movie or something."

I'd been down this road before. It was too much to hope for.

"Sorry, Sky," I said. "I gotta go to practice. I'm almost well enough to get back on the swim team full-time. And I got a shitload of homework and stuff."

He looked disappointed. "Okay," he said, standing up. "But call me if you change your mind."

"Okay, Sky." I was determined not to let Sky get to me. I went back to my food. At least the desert tasted reasonable.

"And… thanks for lettin' me talk to you," he said, quietly.

I looked up and grinned. "Hey," I said. "That's what I'm here for."

He smiled sadly and nodded.

* * * * *

The weather was pretty bad throughout most of February. Even though it was outside of the usual hurricane season, school was cancelled for two days while a huge tropical storm rolled through Tampa with a vengeance. Aside from a little dampness in a couple of the classrooms, though, the school came out pretty much unscathed. Or at least it was no tackier than it was before the storm, anyway.

I was healing pretty well from my groin pull, to the point where I could do some light exercises at the gym. Tricep seemed to hurt me the most -- how that was connected to the groin, I'll never know -- but I worked around it as best I could. One day while we were working out, I shot a look at myself in the mirror, when Sky wasn't looking. I was taken aback. There was no question, I was beginning to turn into a mini-hunk myself -- almost a smaller version of Sky! I began to feel my groin throb in response, but I almost didn't care. I held my bicep up and flexed, and was shocked to see a little ridge push up.

"Hey, Wil!" said Sky, sidling up to me. "Lookin' good, huh, man?"

My face reddened. "I was just… seeing if I'd gotten any bigger," I said quietly, placing my dumbbell back in the rack.

"Hey, don't feel ashamed, Wil," he said, reassuringly. "That's why we're here, right?"

I nodded.

"Let's check the measurements and see where we're at." Sky pulled me over to a rusted file cabinet on one side of the room, and pulled out a blue tape measure and a piece of paper. "Here," he said, handing me the tape. "Put the tape around my arm, and let's see where we're at."

My hands trembled slightly as I rolled the tape over Sky's arm. He skin was light brown and flawless as always. I could smell a faint, sweet aroma of sweat, and his arms were rippled with small veins and muscular indentations. There were little blond hairs that trailed across the back of his arm, then got thicker as they reached the forearm. He pulled his right fist up in the classic body builder pose and squeezed, and a huge ripple surged up from his upper arm, edged with a spiders' web of veins.

"Hurry up, man!" he panted. "I can't hold this forever."

I tore my gaze from his reflection back to the tape. "16-1/2 inches," I read. I prayed he wouldn't notice my nervousness.

"Damn!" he said, relaxing his arm. "I was sure I could hit 17 inches by now. Try my chest."

That turned out to be about 44 inches -- not bad, but Sky was still unimpressed. His waist was still 26 inches, which was really great. His abs looked as spectacular as ever. And his weight was at 160, which was the biggest he'd ever been.

"Now you," he said, turning me around to face the mirror.

"I d-dunno, Sky," I mumbled.

"This is the only way we can see if you're makin' any progress, dick-head!" he laughed.

I nodded. He checked off the chart we'd started in January. Much to my surprise, I had gained nearly an inch in arms, and two inches in chest. I was also up more than fifteen pounds, to 120. I was still a lot smaller than Sky, but there was no question -- I was catching up.

"Too cool, Wil!" he said, admiringly. "You're really responding to the training."

I nodded. "Sky, could you… maybe check my height for me?"

Sky knew I was always sensitive about being the shortest guy on the swim team. He let the tape hit the floor and held it up.

"Stand against the wall," he ordered. He pinned the tape at my feet and pulled it all the way up. "Five feet…four inches!" he said.

"Wow!" I said, astonished. "I've grown two inches since September!" I was absolutely astonished. Maybe that's why my jeans hadn't been fitting me that well lately.

"I believe that's what we scientists refer to as your 'growth spurt,'" Sky said, flashing me a grin. "I hope you haven't gained any inches anywhere else," he added quietly, giving me a playful poke.

I rolled my eyes. "I can barely get the thing in my pants as it is, asshole!" I shot back.

He laughed, and we went back to our workout.

* * * * *

Wednesday after chorus practice ended, Melissa came up to me. I was surprised to see her, because usually whenever I talked to her, Sky was around. This time, she was with a cute little brunette.

"Hi, Wil," she said. "You sounded great today in class."

"Thanks," I nodded, grabbing my notebook from the shelf at the front of the room.

"I have somebody I want you to meet," she said. "This is Virginia Randall."

I turned, and saw a petite girl just under five feet, with straight blonde hair down to her shoulders. She wore cool wire-rim glasses, and behind them were bright gray eyes.

"Hi," she said, shyly. "I'm Ginny."

"Hi," I said, taking her hand. "I'm Wil."

"Melissa's told me all about you," she said, flashing me a beautiful smile.

I hope not everything, I thought.

"Sky and I are gonna go out this Friday to a movie," said Melissa. "You two wanna come along?"

My stomach began to churn. To hang out with Sky was one thing, but it was getting to the point where I didn't like being there when he and Melissa had their hands all over each other -- which was most of the time.

"That's unless you're busy," she continued, seeing the look on my face.

"No, no," I said, flustered. "Uh… yeah, I guess I could go. But I gotta be home by ten. I've got a meet on Saturday."

"I heard you swam," said Ginny, smiling. "You look really great in that shirt."

I looked down. It looked like the same old shirt I always had. But now that I thought about it, I guess it did feel a little tighter than it used to.

"Thanks," I said. "Where do you guys wanna go?"

"Let's go see that cool new movie -- 2001, at the Palace Cinerama Theater downtown," replied Melissa.

I had heard of it, and even started reading the book, but the movie had been sold out for weeks.

"Can you guys get tickets?" I asked.

Melissa nodded. "Sky's dad said he'd pick them up on the way home from his office," she said.

"That'd be great," I said.

"So it's a date, then!" Melissa chirped.

Ginny looked at me expectantly.

I hesitated, then glanced at the two girls. I sighed. "Yeah," I said, finally. "It'll be cool, right?"

Ginny smiled sweetly at me. God, she really was cute.

* * * * *

Friday night, the movie was spectacular. I'd never seen anything like it. While we walked through the exit and back to the car, I talked about it excitedly with Ginny.

"Those special effects were INCREDIBLE!" I enthused. "I thought Star Trek on TV was cool, but this was like… it was like it was real!"

Ginny put her hand into mine as we walked. "I dunno, Wil," she said. "I thought the ending was a little confusing."

I rolled my eyes. "Oh, there was nothing there." I launched into a pseudo-intellectual explanation of what I thought 2001 was all about. It was obvious to me that the aliens had found a way to communicate with the astronaut, then transformed him into some new form of life and sent him back to earth in a little bubble, maybe as a kind of emissary. I figured it was all some kind of allegory, one you could interpret in several different ways.

Ginny looked at me with rapt attention. "I'm impressed," she giggled. "You got all that out of the movie?"

I nodded. "Oh, yeah. I've read Arthur C. Clarke before."

"Who?" she asked.

"The writer," I said. I was surprised that she hadn't read the credits. Doesn't everybody?

Behind us, Sky and Melissa's voices were getting louder.

"Just shut up," she yelled. "I don't want to talk about it any more."

"But Melissa…" Sky whined.

"Shut up!"

Ginny and I turned. Melissa barged right through us and continued down the sidewalk to the car, where Sky's father was waiting. I glanced over at Sky. He looked at me, irritated, and rolled his eyes.

"Women!" he muttered to me as he pushed passed us.

"Yeah," I said.

Ginny squeezed my hand tighter. "I guess Sky and Melissa are having some problems."

I nodded. "They're both great people, you know," I said.

"Sky's lucky to have you for a friend, Wil," she said, quietly.

I grinned. "You're not so bad, either," I laughed.

She laughed with me. Her voice sounded like bells.

"Let's go, kids," called out Dr. Jones from the car. "We don't have all night."

I held the door for Ginny, then I crawled in after her. Sky got in the front passenger side next to his dad and angrily slammed the door. I glanced over to Melissa, who looked real pissed-off about something. Sky's dad started the engine and we sped down the street, picking up speed as we hit the downtown bridge.

"So how was the movie?" said Dr. Jones.

"Man, it was great!" I said, snapping on my seatbelt. "Easily the best science-fiction film ever made. I thought Forbidden Planet was good, but this was just… amazing."

He laughed. "So it gets the William G. Larson seal of approval?"

"If it doesn't win the Academy Award," I said seriously, "the director should sue Hollywood."

"How did you like it, son?" asked Sky's father.

Sky didn't answer. I looked up at him, and he was sulking in his seat.

"Sky?" his father repeated.

"Huh? Oh, sorry Dad," he said. "Yeah, what Wil said. It was cool."

"It had better be," replied his father, as he turned down Bayshore Boulevard. "That cost us three dollars a ticket! Movie prices are getting completely out of control."

We dropped off Melissa at her house, but she ran up the steps and slammed the door. Sky didn't even get out of the car. When we got to Ginny's house, I walked her over to the front porch.

"I really liked the movie, Wil," she said. "We should do this again sometime."

I nodded. "Yeah. Thanks for coming, Ginny."

We stood there nervously. She leaned over and whispered, "thanks, Wil," and gave me a little peck on the cheek. I grinned at her.

"G'night, Ginny!" I called, running back to the car.

"'Night, Wil! See you in school on Monday!"

Sky sulked all the way home. As I got out of the car, I turned to him. "Hey -- call me over the weekend."

He nodded distractedly. I closed the car door and ran up the steps to the porch, then on up to my room. I put on the White Album again on my stereo, and lay down on my bed. As I stared at the ceiling, I ran all the images of the movie through my head again. I felt like a whole world had opened up to me, like I had actually been in outer space. Unbelievable.

Then I thought of Sky, and felt a pang. I really should've paid more attention to my friend. He was obviously having some problems with Melissa. I wanted to help him, but I knew I couldn't open myself up, just to get hurt again. Besides, it would just jeopardize our friendship.

I yawned, closed my eyes, and quietly sang along with "While My Guitar Gently Weeps," and dissolved into sleep.

* * * * *

Saturday morning, the coach agreed with me that my groin pull had healed enough that I could participate in the last three meets. By early March, season ended, and we finished the year 10 and 6 -- not great, but not all that much worse than last year. Coach Byers encouraged us to continue to train at least twice a week. Some of us were going to keep swimming during the summer on the Greater Tampa city-wide team, and I had already made the tryouts.

Since both football and swimming season were over with, Sky and I made it a regular thing to workout in the weight room at least three times a week, which was pretty cool. I began to get used to the strain of the various exercises, and got to the point where I actually looked forward to the pure physical challenge. I found it a relief from the mental stress of studying and homework, which I was doing constantly. The weather was hot enough that we had to work out shirtless, since there wasn't any air conditioning in the weight room.

"You need to do this more, Wil," said Sky, as he grabbed a 25-pound dumbbell from the rack. "You're really lookin' a lot better, you know it?"

I looked up at the mirror. Sky and I stood together about three feet apart. Compared to him, I thought I still looked puny -- but I had to admit, I was getting a line down my chest, and my arms and pecs were definitely a lot bigger than they used to be. Sky's abs were looking really great. His stomach glistened with a thin sheen of sweat.

"How many sit-ups are you doing every day, now, Sky?" I asked.

He grinned and ran his fingers down his stomach. "I'm up to 400 a day, but I'm probably gonna increase that to 500."

"Wow," I said, quietly. "You really look great."

I felt a tingle in my groin. Every single part of Sky's body was attractive to me, but I had to admit, his stomach was probably his best feature -- next to his face. He was… there was no adequate word to describe him, but beautiful came closest. I sighed.

"Aaaaa, it's not that much work," he said, starting his bicep concentration curls. "I can knock out 400 sit-ups in under ten minutes. The key is to do it every day, and that takes a lotta discipline."

We finished our routine and headed for the locker room. It was Friday, and Chuck, the gym manager, was shutting everything down for the weekend.

"Gym's closin' in ten minutes!" he yelled.

I shot him a glance, and he ducked away. Chuck and I still avoided each other since the incident with Scott Michaels back in December. Most of the school thought he was a hero for 'saving' Scott after his 'accident', but Chuck and I knew the truth.

"The weather's gonna be great this weekend," said Sky. "You wanna go out with me on the boat?"

I pulled up my long pants and started putting on my socks. "Saturday or Sunday?" I asked.

"Either way. I kinda had another fight with Melissa, so I'm a free man," he said, pulling off his shorts.

"Gee, Sky. I'm sorry to hear that," I said, sincerely.

"It's no big deal. Melissa's just kind of… I dunno… religious, I guess." He sighed. "She says she has to be 'a good Catholic girl,' and all that crap."

I nodded. "Well, there's always Cynthia," I said, grinning.

Sky chuckled. "Naaa. She and Scott are now an item."

I was surprised. "Scott Michaels?"

I hadn't seen much of Scott since I'd bumped into him after school in the bathroom. He'd been in study hall instead of Phys Ed for the last couple of months. And I'd managed to avoid talking to Cynthia since our brief encounter around Christmas. I guess maybe she could accommodate Scott a little easier than she could me.

He nodded. "Yeah. They seem to be inseparable now."

"So, you wanna go out on the boat on Sunday?" he asked, buttoning up his shirt.

I thought for a moment. "You sure you know how to run that thing?" I asked, raising an eyebrow.

Sky grinned. "Oh, yeah. I've already got my license and everything. Just call me Captain Jones!"

I laughed and saluted. "Aye-aye, sir!"

* * * * *

Sunday, we arrived at the Marina just before noon. Large clouds rolled by at a fast clip, reducing the sun's rays almost to a semaphore code. As we reached the bottom of the dock, Sky proudly showed me his father's new boat -- a 45-foot Sea Ray Sundancer cabin cruiser christened The Sans Souci, which he explained to me was French for "without care."

It was a beautiful ship, white with black and gray trim, and it had a good-sized cabin in the center that could sleep up to four people. Sky and his folks had taken one like it all the way down to the Bahamas over the Christmas holidays, and they enjoyed it so much, they bought one.

"My dad told me not to crank it up past 30 knots," he explained, "but on a ship this size, that's really movin'. Hang on!"

We spent the next two hours tooling around Tampa Bay, going underneath Gandy Bridge, and all the way out to the Sunshine Skyway, which was a long string of bridges that stretched for nearly five miles, linking the resort cities of St. Petersburg and Sarasota.

"Wow," I said, as the boat passed under the concrete pylons. "It's looks really cool from down here."

"Yeah, isn't it? Look over there!" Sky pointed to the right, just as a couple of dolphins leaped out of the water. We both laughed. Life on the ocean looked wonderful, like something out of an idyllic Jacques Cousteau documentary.

Around 2:30, we finished our lunch of ham and cheese sandwiches that his mom had made for us. I sat on the ledge, leaned way over and dipped my hand in the bay. The water felt cool, and my fingers left little ripples in the ocean as we slowly moved eastward. I could barely see any land at all from here. For all I knew, we were a million miles from anywhere.

"Hey," called Sky down from the bridge, "I'm burnin' up. You need some sunscreen?"

"Yeah!" I yelled over the motor. "Throw me down some."

Sky cut the engine and darted down the steps to the aft section, where I leaned back on the ledge.

"Here," he said. "Lemme put it on for you."

I turned around and he kneaded my flesh, working the green goo into my back. It stung a little when he got to my shoulders, which were already red and slightly blistered, but it felt pretty good. I turned around and held my hand out for the bottle. Sky ignored me, squirted some on his hands, and began rubbing my chest. I looked up at him, but he wouldn't look me in the eye. Instead, he methodically worked the salve into my skin. My face turned red, and I mentally commanded my erection to stay calm.

"Now, you do me," he said, quietly.

I took the brown bottle from him and put some on my face and neck. Sky turned and lay face down on a towel on the deck. I kneeled over and squeezed some of the liquid into my hands and massaged it into his muscular back. I worked him over for several minutes, tracing the powerful line down his spine, which led into two round muscular globes below, covered only by his thin shorts. My hands shook slightly as they strayed below, rubbing the backs of his legs and his inner thighs, which were covered by a forest of light downy blond hairs. He stirred.

"That's great, Wil," he murmured. "You could be a real masseuse."

"You mean a 'masseur,'" I corrected him. "One's a girl, the other's a guy."

"Whatever," he said with a smile. "It still feels great."

My heart pounded as he rolled over on his back and grabbed a pair of sunglasses. "Man, it's really hot, isn't it?" he sighed. "Gotta be almost a hundred out here."

I nodded, then squirted some more sunscreen into my hands and reached for his muscular chest. The moment I felt his skin, I felt my groin twinge and rapidly expand to its full length. I prayed Sky wouldn't notice; out of habit, I had deliberately worn some denim shorts to help give me a little camouflage, just in case. I felt glad that my endowment was sticking over to the side, instead of straight down. That would've been a giveaway for sure.

Silently, I worked the green goo into his skin. Little almost-invisible strands of gold-colored hairs dotted across the top of his chest, and a small thatch of blond curls stuck out of each of his nipples. I lightly traced my fingertips across them, and Sky stirred and moaned quietly beneath me. I reached for his sides, and he yawned and lay his arms over his head. His underarms each had a thick patch of blondish-brown hairs. My hands trembled again as I worked the lotion into his upper arms, taking care not to tickle him. My pulse was racing. I had to restrain myself not to just lurch forward and kiss him.

I continued to rub down his chest, to his stomach, and into the inverted-V of hairs that trailed down into his shorts. I could just barely see the top of a larger growth of blond hairs in the waistband of his shorts. I stopped there, afraid to go any further, and put the bottle down. My groin throbbed with desire, and my heart pounded so loudly in my chest, I was certain he could hear it.

"Sky?" I said, softly.

He didn't answer. I stared at him for a moment, then shook my head and took a deep breath. I squirted one more blast of sunscreen into my hands, and worked it carefully into Sky's upper thighs. This time, I definitely heard a small groan. I decided to ignore him. If he really wanted me to do more, I thought, he was going to have to make the first move. I continued stroking the lotion into his legs, all the way down to his ankles, rubbing it in until his body glistened with the golden rays of the sun.

I snapped the top of the bottle shut, spread out my towel next to him and lay down on my stomach, praying desperately for my erection to subside. We dozed for more than an hour, as the boat gently bobbed up and down in the surf.

Sometime after three o'clock, Sky punched me lightly in the arm. "Hey," he said, quietly. "Let's get some more to eat."

* * * * *

A couple of hours later, we started making our way back. "Man," I said, munching on the last of our sandwiches and chips. "Check out that sunset."

It was awe-inspiring. The sun was a giant blood-red orb that hung low in the horizon. Bright orange and red rays stretched out as far as we could see, and pools of white-hot gold reflected back from the water and onto the boat. Sky cut the motor and let us drift for awhile. I glanced over at him. We were both shirtless, which would help in getting our summer tans back. The light caught Sky in just the right way, and I felt my mouth go dry when his face turned to mine.

"Something wrong?" he asked.

"No," I said, averting my eyes. "I'm just kinda tired. We should get back."

"We've got at least half an hour," he said. "I gotta go below and take a leak. You need to go?"

I nodded and followed him down the steps. The lower portion of the boat was fairly spartan, with dark wood paneling and a few portholes. There was a small fold-out bed on the right wall of the interior, along with a tiny bathroom next to the stairs.

Modestly, I turned my head as Sky pulled down his swim trunks and began urinating.

"Hey," he said, "don't be shy. Besides, we can't waste water on the boat. C'mon and join me."

I looked up. He beckoned me over, and I walked up beside him and pulled down my trunks. We stood there silently, watching the yellow fluid trickle down and fill the bowl.

"Hey," he laughed. "What happened to your pubes?"

"It's a swim team thing," I explained, embarrassedly. "We shaved 'em off. Our team captain said it'd help improve our times. The season's over, so now I'm letting them grow back in."

"How'd you get away with that in gym class?" he asked. "As if you don't get enough attention already."

I chuckled. "I guess I cheated a little," I said, grinning. "I've been working out in the weight room almost every day after Phys Ed, so I just avoided taking a shower with the other guys. Even when I was with you, I just got dressed and split."

Sky nodded. "Yeah, I was wonderin' about that." He looked down at me again. "Maybe you oughta keep it shaved. It looks pretty cool. If it doesn't make you swim faster, at least it makes you look sexy."

The room was completely silent, except for the sound of me trickling into the bowl. I shook off the last few drops. Sky was still looking at me. My endowment hung low in the bowl, almost down far enough to touch the metal surface.

"We should be gettin' back," he said, quietly.

"Yeah," I said. I froze for a moment, waiting for Sky. Would he touch me? I was determined not to say or do anything this time. Neither of us looked at each other. I held my breath.

Sky zipped up his shorts and turned to walk up the stairs. "I'll fire up the engine and get us back," he called. "When you're done, come up and keep an eye out for me up front."

He left me alone in the room. I flushed the marine toilet and watched the blue liquid swirl down the stainless steel bowl, and the lid snapped shut. I shoved my organ back in my trunks and stood there, shaking. I was furious with Sky. He knew exactly how I felt. What the fuck was he waiting for? Was he just trying to torture me?

I went back up top and sat on the front of the ship. I didn't speak to him until we saw the marina again.

As we tied up the ship at the dock, he turned to me. "You wanna come over tonight?" he asked.

I shook my head. "Can't. Gotta a lot of homework again. Plus I have to practice some exercises for choir."

We rode home in silence in his dad's car. Halfway home, Sky began making idle conversation, but I gave him monosyllabic answers.

"Wil, are you mad at me or something?" he asked.

I longed to tell him how I really felt. Lying was easier. "No. I'm just tired, Sky," I said. "It was a great afternoon. Just drop me off at my place, and I'll see you in school tomorrow."

* * * * *

Late Monday afternoon, I had just walked in the door from school, when my mother called from the kitchen. "Wil!" she yelled. "You've got a phone call! Please tell them to call you on your own line from now on, honey."

I nodded. "Sorry, Mom," I said, taking the phone from her. "Hello?"

"'It's the time, of the season… for loving'!" sang a familiar voice on the phone.

"Pete!" I exclaimed. "Is that you?"

"Yeah," he laughed. "It's me. Have you heard the new Zombies album? Fuckin' amazing, man."

"No, I haven't," I replied, a little annoyed. "Listen, Pete, I'm kinda busy, so…"

"Wil -- I gotta see you, if you don't mind," he said, suddenly serious. "It'll only take a minute."

I thought for a moment. Pete was a really weird guy, but he was cool in his own way. At least maybe he could tell me what was happening in music, since he kept up on this stuff a lot better than I did.

"I can't come over today, Pete," I said. "I got homework and stuff."

"No, no," he said. "I'll come to see you, man. You gonna be there for the next couple of hours?"

"Yeah."

"Cool. Then I'm on my way." The line clicked.

* * * * *

Promptly at 5:30PM, the doorbell rang. "I'll get it, Mom!" I yelled, racing down the stairs, three steps at a time.

I opened the door, and just as I'd guessed, it was Pete. "Hi, man," he said.

"So what's up, Pete?" I said, casually.

Pete really was a cool guy, and was exceedingly great-looking, but something about him still made me nervous.

"Nothing really," he said. "I was gonna be in your neighborhood, so I just thought I'd, y'know… drop by." He gave me a look that told me it was a lot more serious than that.

"Hello," said a small voice off to my left. It was Sharon on the couch, cuddling her ever-present cat, Samantha.

"Hi!" said Pete. "You must be Wil's sister… Sharon, is it?"

I gulped. I couldn't remember ever telling Pete my sister's name before.

"And who's this?" he grinned, reaching out to pet the kitty. The cat hissed and folded its ears back, and let out a loud, menacing growl.

"Shit!" he said, jerking his hand back. "Uh, sorry, Sharon. I guess your kitty doesn't like me very much."

"Samantha is like that," Sharon said. "Some people she loves, and some she just hates. She loves Wil." She giggled.

Pete laughed. "I can see why," he said. "Wil, your room's upstairs, right?"

"Yeah," I said indicating the doorway to the right. "Right up here."

We trudged up the steps and I closed my door, then put on Pet Sounds in the background on the turntable.

"You're still listening to that," he said, approvingly. "Very cool."

"Yeah," I said, grinning. "I've adopted one of the tracks as my personal theme song."

"Don't tell me. 'I Just Wasn't Made for These Times,' right?" he asked.

I nodded. "Yeah," I said. "I think I know just how Brian Wilson feels."

Pete laughed again. He had a sunny, bright way of laughing, one that made you feel like he was genuinely happy. "That's because both of you are twisted geniuses," he said, grinning, as he casually tossed his long blond hair back over his shoulders.

"Spare me," I said, wincing. "But I like that line about 'they say I got brains, but they ain't doin' me no good.' That one's been true my whole life." I sighed.

"Wil," he said, his eyes sparkling. "You're as smart as God wanted you to be. Don't let it get to you, man."

Great, I thought. More religious crap.

"Hey -- I like your new look," he said, smiling.

What was he talking about?

"Oh," I said. "Yeah, I got rid of the glasses. Contact lenses. They're a lot of trouble, but I guess they look better."

"Definitely," he said. "Eyes are the windows to the soul, y' know."

I was beginning to feel flustered. "So, Pete," I said, hoping to change the subject. "What's up? You got some new music for me?"

"Well, first," he replied, "I wanted to see if maybe you'd have time to jam with us this week at the beach house. You know -- play keyboards with the band."

"Sorry, Pete," I said. "I'm tied up with a bunch of things. I'm doing some stuff with my friend Sky, plus I got homework and the swim team. The usual."

He nodded. "Yeah, I know. Well, maybe another time." He hesitated, like he was afraid to tell me more. An uncomfortable silence passed.

"Is that it?" I asked, exasperated.

He looked at me deeply. "No," he said. "There's something else. I had a dream last night. You were in it."

I laughed. "'I had too much to dream last night… too much to dream…'" I sang.

We both chuckled, remembering The Electric Prunes' one and only hit from the year before.

"Yeah," he said. "Something like that. But seriously, Wil… you remember what I told you a few weeks ago?"

I remembered. He'd told me I should stay away from somebody -- from 'the one I loved the most.'

"Yeah," I said, defensively. "What about it?"

"Something's gonna happen soon," he said, hesitatingly. "Maybe this week, maybe in a month or two, I don't know. But pretty soon."

"And you got this from your dream," I said, shaking my head. "That's the hokiest thing I've heard today."

Pete looked at me sadly. "Something bad's gonna happen. There's danger over water, Wil. Please -- stay away from whoever this person is. If you don't, I know you'll both be hurt. But I think you're safe after the start of summer."

"That would be June 21st -- summer solstice," I said. "That's a week before my birthday."

He nodded. "Your life will be back to normal by then. But there's terrible danger ahead. I can feel it."

"Bullshit," I said, rolling my eyes. "Pete, you're a cool guy, and I really appreciate the records you gave me, but come on. This is just too weird, you know?"

He nodded. "I know this is heavy, man," he said, "and I don't expect you to understand. Shit -- even I don't understand it completely."

He paused for a moment, then leaned towards me. "I never told you how my father died," he said.

I shook my head.

"It was early last year," he began. "I told you he was the minister of the Bay Vista Baptist Church. Last summer, I had a dream of him falling through space, screaming. I saw my mom's face smiling at him."

"So?" I asked.

"Wil," he said, "my mom's been dead for five years. She died of cancer in '63. I hadn't thought about her in a long time. I told my dad about the dream, and he laughed it off. A week later, he fell down some stairs at the construction site for the new church building, and was paralyzed."

I looked up at him and stared. Tears were in his eyes.

"I saw him at the hospital," he said, quietly, "and there were tubes and wires all over him. He could barely breathe. When he regained consciousness, he spoke to me. He said, 'your mother's here with me, Pete. We're going to God's kingdom now.'" And that was it."

I suddenly felt a cold draft in the room. Pete was fighting back tears. 'Sloop John B' was quietly playing out of my speakers, but I could barely hear it.

"I knew he was gonna die, Wil, and I couldn't stop it," he said, starting to weep.

Without even knowing what I was doing, I leaned forward and hugged him. Pete put his long arms around me, then bent down and put his head on my shoulders, and began sobbing.

"It's okay, man," I whispered, as I put my arms around him. Suddenly, I felt an electric attraction. Pete was so warm and alive. My heart began to pound. His sobs eventually faded away, and he turned and looked at me, our faces only inches apart. I felt overwhelmed with his beauty. I'd never seen anybody, man or woman, who looked as good as he did at that moment.

"Thanks, Wil," he said, wiping his eyes. "I'm… I'm sorry to burden you like this. It's been kinda tough since he died. I've got… I've got enough money to live on, and I'm all done with high school in a few months. It's just been, you know, really hard."

I nodded, waiting for my heart to stop pounding. My mouth was dry.

Pete stood up. "I just want you to know, I'm totally serious, Wil. This is no bullshit."

"Al… alright, Pete," I said, trying to regain my composure. "I'll remember what you said -- 'There's danger over water.'"

"I'm sorry I can't tell you what it means," he said, sadly. "I don't totally understand it myself, but I know it's bad. Very bad vibes. Be careful, man."

I said I would, and I walked him back downstairs to his bike.

"Oh, I almost forgot," he said, reaching for an elastic rope on the back of the motorcycle. He brought up a paper bag with some more records. "A couple of new albums I thought you'd like," he said, handing them to me.

Hmmm, I thought. "Fifth Dimension -- Age of Aquarius, The Zombies -- Odyssey & Oracle, and The Doors -- Waiting for the Sun," I said, scanning the covers. "Cool. Thanks a lot, Pete! You want these back when I'm done?"

"Naw," he grinned. "Consider them a gift. And don't forget, the new Beatles album is coming out in a few months. I know you'll want that one."

"You mean Yellow Submarine?" I asked. "I got that two weeks ago."

"No," he said. "I heard it's gonna be called 'Abbey Road.' The word on the street is that it's gonna be great."

I nodded, and he got back on the Honda. "Take care of yourself, Wil," he said, squeezing my shoulder. "Don't forget what I said."

He revved the engine, backed down the driveway, and roared off into the street. I stood on the porch and watched until his bike turned at the light. I went back inside, and Sharon was playing with Samantha the cat, watching her tear up a piece of newspaper with her little fangs.

"Who was that?" said my sister, not even looking up at me.

"Just a friend of mine," I said. That cat really was cute. It ferociously attacked the newspaper and tore it to pieces.

"Samantha hates him," she said. "I think he's bad."

I felt a shiver down my spine. Maybe Pete did give off some bad vibrations. But somehow I knew he was real sensitive, and that he cared about me for some strange reason.

"No," I said, quietly. "He's cool. Maybe Samantha just doesn't understand him."

Sharon nodded, and her cat continued to pounce. I idly scratched the top of the kitty's head. She immediately looked up at me and purred, and her eyes narrowed to slits.

 Chapter 18

Sky and I were together in the shower at school, alone. Dense clouds of steam filled the tiled room, but I could still see him standing next to me. As the water cascaded over both of us, I looked down his muscular back, down the deep ridge leading to his powerful buttocks. His butt was so white in contrast to his tanned body, it almost looked like he was wearing white shorts.

The water spray felt warm and comforting, and the soap was in my hand. Without warning, Sky turned around. He had a raging erection. He playfully pulled it down, and let it slap back up to his firm belly. I stared up at him, shocked. He had a huge, shit-eating grin on his face. Let's do it, he seemed to say. Nobody will see us.

I shook my head. It's too dangerous. Against my will, I felt my groin surge, and my penis began pulsing upward, in time with my heartbeat. I stared at his body. Rivulets of water trickled down his muscular chest, onto his chiseled stomach and then to his groin below. I ached with desire. In seconds, my arousal was as rigid as steel.

Sky reached out and pulled me close, then kissed me, as the shower water cascaded over our heads. Suddenly, a disembodied voice echoed through the shower.

"…And if you're the 13th caller, you can win one hundred and thirty-eight dollars, cash, in our WLCY 138 contest! All you need is the phrase that pays! Call now!"

I sat up in bed. It was morning, sometime in mid-March, and my radio was blaring.

"FUCK!" I said out loud.

Wait a minute -- I knew the phrase. It was "WLCY -- great music for Great Tampa Bay." I pulled on my shorts and raced out to the hallway and frantically dialed the number.

"C'mon, pick up!" I muttered to the phone. "Pick it up!" $138 was a lot of money in 1969.

About 20 rings later, a deep voice answered the line. "Sorry, but you're caller nine!" He immediately hung up.

"DAMN! There's no goddamned way these contests are legit," I said out loud. "They've gotta be rigged."

I slammed down the phone, staggered in to my bedroom and fell back into bed, trying to remember the dream I'd just had about Sky. The new hit "Dizzy" was playing out of the speaker.

"And that was Tommy Roe, with 'Dizzy,' on radio 138. This is Pepper Lipsync, at five minutes past the big boss hour, and we've got lucky caller number thirteen on the line!"

What a lame name, I thought. These radio guys are so hokey. They're just a fast-talking, deep voice and no brain. Hmmm. RJ had told me a couple of months ago I had a deep voice. Maybe I could be on the radio someday.

"The phrase that pays!" I said out loud, mimicking the voice on the radio. Not bad, I thought.

"That's it! You've WON!" yelled the announcer. The caller, a teenaged girl, squealed at the top of her lungs.

I pulled the pillow over my face. "Just shut up and play some music, asshole," I muttered.

"Now, here's an oldie but goodie from the past!" the DJ yelled, as "Come Go with Me" began pealing out of the speaker. "A doo-wop classic, from nineteen hundred and fifty seven… here's The Dell Vikings!"

I sang a few lines with the radio. Man, that was a great song. My parents used to listen to that one all the time. They ought to have radio stations that played nothing but great old rock songs from the past, I thought. Some of this new shit just sucks.

With great reluctance, I forced myself to roll over, stagger out of bed, and get ready for school.

* * * * *

Today was D-Day, March 12th. I was in the lunchroom at school, and stared down at the envelope in my hand, too terrified to open it. The 3rd quarter report card inside would determine my fate for the next year. My parents had promised me that if I could just keep my grades up, it would guarantee I could go back to the LaFontaine Institute for 10th grade. My heart pounded.

I glanced around the cafeteria. All the teenage faces I saw looked so… so normal, so happy. The atmosphere at the private school seemed a lot more sedate, even dull by comparison. But I felt so out-of-place here sometimes. Maybe being with other brainy kids was the fate God had meant for me.

Shit. Half the time, I wasn't sure if there was even a God at all. It'd been in all the papers lately -- "Is God Dead?" and all that crap, on magazine covers. Maybe they were right. The rest of the time, I convinced myself that God did exist, but all he did was torment us for his own amusement. The stupid asshole.

I shook my head. Either way, I thought, we were totally fucked, on a cosmic level. I looked at the envelope again, closed my eyes, held my breath, ripped open the flap, and yanked out the piece of paper. I opened my eyes, and my heart stopped. I had pulled it off: straight A's! For the first time in my life, I felt faint.

"Hey, stranger!" said a feminine voice to my right. I looked up, and it was Ginny, from the school newspaper. She and I had gone out a couple of times over the last few weeks, always with Sky and Melissa in tow. But with those two temporarily split up, I hadn't even thought to call her.

"Uh… hi, Ginny," I said, trying to casually cover up my report card with my right hand. "How are things at the 'Tampa Central Observer'?"

"All the news that fits," she sighed, sitting down next to me. "You gonna eat that roll?"

I pushed it towards her. "Go ahead."

"Thanks," she said, eating it hungrily. "I'm on a diet. I'm trying to only eat two meals a day."

"You?" I said. "You look fine to me." More than fine, actually. Though a lot of people looked at Ginny like she was just a bookworm, I could see she had more than just a warm personality. Although we had yet to see each other naked -- and probably never would, I thought -- she actually had a pretty good body and a pleasant face.

"I don't get enough exercise," she said. "Jocks like you and Sky don't have that problem. How's he been, by the way? I haven't seen either of you for a couple of weeks."

I felt embarrassed. I silently cursed myself for not calling her.

"I… I guess he's okay, Ginny," I said. "I've been… kinda busy myself."

I tried desperately to think of an excuse. "Uh, there's this guy I know who's putting together a rock band over in St. Petersburg. He's asked me to play keyboards for him, and I've… been sorta occupied with that." That was at least sort of true, in a way.

"Really?" she said, surprised. "I knew you were in the chorus, but I didn't know you wanted to be a rock star." She looked at me carefully. "I think there's a lot going on with you under the surface, Wil. You keep a lot inside, don't you?"

My face flushed and I looked away. Had she guessed that I was completely infatuated with Sky? Before I could answer, I heard a booming voice from in front of us.

"HEY! Guess who almost made the Honor Roll!"

I looked up and it was Sky and Melissa. Both had their arms around each other, and Sky looked as happy as I'd ever seen him. He hopped over the back of the chair in front of me and plopped down on the seat, waving a printed form in his hand.

"Take a look at this, man -- two A's, four B's, and a C!" Sky exclaimed. "I've never made an 'A' before in my life, and I actually got two in the same quarter. My dad is gonna have a heart attack!"

We both laughed. "Hey, congratulations!" I said. "Maybe now your dad will get you that GTO for your birthday."

"It's a cinch!" Sky said, happily. He grinned and put his hand on my forearm and gently squeezed it. "And it's all because of you, Wil," he said. "You've been helpin' me on and off with my homework and stuff, and makin' me prepare for tests. That's what really put me over the edge."

His hand felt warm to my touch. I felt my pulse increase. I pulled my arm away and glanced towards Ginny, who was eyeing me suspiciously.

"So how'd you do, Wil?" he asked, excitedly. "Compared to us mere mortals, that is." Sky and Melissa both laughed.

"I did… okay, I guess," I muttered, looking down and just praying that he and his girlfriend would leave me in peace.

"Lemme see!" he said.

Before I could stop him, he snatched the paper out from under my closed hand. I braced myself.

"HOLY SHIT!" he exclaimed. At least 20 nearby students in the lunchroom stopped eating and looked over to see what was happening. "You got straight 'A's'! Un-fuckin'-believable, man!"

I grinned. "Yeah," I said, quietly. "I guess I did."

"That's wonderful, Wil!" gushed Ginny, who hugged me and kissed my cheek. "I think out of the 3200 students here, less than 1% ever get straight 'A's'. Looks like you'll be back on the front page of my paper again this week."

"This is a cause for celebration," said Sky. "Let's go out this Friday night -- the four of us. You up for it, Wil?"

I glanced over at Ginny. She smiled at me and nodded, expectantly.

"What the hell," I said, grinning. "Where do you guys wanna go?"

Ginny suggested Goodbye Columbus, which was playing at one of the local theaters. I knew it was rated 'R,' but Sky's father would be driving, and he didn't mind the subject matter. He'd get the tickets for us. I'd already read the book, and thought it was pretty wild stuff. My folks were pretty liberal about these things; I think they'd probably let me see anything up to but not including hardcore porno, as if any theater in Tampa would ever show something like that.

"This is so great, Wil!" said Sky, grinning from ear to ear. "It looks to me like each of us has rubbed off a little on the other."

That's a weird way to put it, I thought. "What do you mean?" I asked.

He laughed. "Ya know how I always said you and me were like the brains and the brawn?"

I nodded.

"Well, it seems like you're getting some more brawn…" he started.

"…and Sky's finally getting some more brains," finished Melissa. She laughed and kissed him on the lips. Sky wrapped his arms around her and kissed her again, deeply.

My face reddened, but I quickly caught myself and forced a smile on my face. Ginny glanced over at me, and I thought I saw concern in her eyes. Then it passed, and she smiled, reached over, and gently squeezed my hand.

* * * * *

Later on at home, my folks went into orbit when they saw my grades. "This is wonderful, Wil," gushed my mother. "I only made straight-A's once in my entire academic career, and never when I was as young as you are."

"We're really proud of you, son," said my father, beaming.

I nodded. "Does this… does this mean now I can go back to LaFontaine?" I asked.

"Well…" said my Dad. "let's not be too hasty."

My face fell. But they had promised…

"Oh, you mean for next year!" he exclaimed, laughing. "I thought you were asking if we could transfer you over next week!"

I laughed with relief. "No, no," I said, shaking my head. "I can stay at Tampa Central for the rest of the school year. We've only got three more months of school left anyway."

My mother frowned. "I thought you were happy in public school, Wil," she said. "You seemed to be making all kinds of new friends, and you did so well on the swim team."

I thought for a moment. She was right. I had been pretty miserable for the last seven months, but that was only because I felt like I wasn't where I really belonged. Maybe I was looking at things the wrong way. Maybe going to regular high school really wasn't so bad, after all.

"Tell you what, Wil," said my father, looking at my report card again. "If by July you still want to go back to LaFontaine for 10th grade, we'll do it. We'll leave it up to you. And that's a promise."

"Thanks, Dad," I said.

Just then, the upstairs phone rang.

"WIL!" yelled a voice from upstairs.

I looked over at the staircase, and there was my kid sister Sharon, holding a Barbie doll in one arm, and Samantha the cat in the other. The cat looked bedraggled, like it'd rather be anywhere else.

"It's Sky!" she yelled. "For you!"

I dashed up the stairs and grabbed the hallway phone.

"Hey, Sky!" I said, excitedly. "Have I got some news for you!"

"Me, too," he said, dully. I knew immediately something was wrong. He sounded like somebody had totally let the wind out of his sails.

"What's up?" I said, concerned. "Your folks must be really excited about your grades."

"Oh, yeah -- they are. Things are just great," he said, sarcastically.

I was puzzled. "Then what's the problem?" I asked.

Sky sighed. "It's Melissa," he mumbled. "She's pissed-off at me again. I don't think we'll be able to go out Friday night. Sorry, Wil."

Shit. That meant I'd have to call up Ginny and cancel. Technically, I could still take her by myself, but I felt a lot more comfortable going along with Sky. Greater strength in numbers, I thought.

"That's okay, Sky," I said. "Maybe we can, I dunno… hang out or something."

"Yeah," he said. "See ya tomorrow in school."

We both hung up the phone.

"How's Schuyler?" called up my mom.

"Huh?" I said. "He's fine, Mom. He almost made the honor roll this quarter."

"Really?" she said, surprised. "That's wonderful! I bet Sky and his parents are thrilled."

"Yeah," I said, walking into my room and closing the door. Real thrilled.

* * * * *

Friday at noon, I was having lunch with Sky at the cafeteria. Baked lasagna and green beans -- not one of my favorites -- but at least the brownie dessert was edible. I was trying to keep up Sky's spirits. He was normally such a happy-go-lucky person. I was really troubled to see him so down.

"Hey, Larson!" I heard from behind me. I turned, and it was Mark, one of my casual friends from the swim team. I hadn't seen him that often since the season ended a few weeks ago.

"You doin' anything tomorrow afternoon?" he asked. "Barry's got his family's speedboat for the whole day, and we're gonna go skiing around St. Pete Beach."

"Sounds cool," I said. I glanced over at Sky. He seemed totally preoccupied, almost like he wasn't there. "Sky, you interested in going skiing with us?" I asked.

He looked up. "Huh? Oh, yeah… maybe."

Mark nodded. He had met Sky through me a couple of times before.

"You guys are welcome to come along," he said, grinning. "Be at my place by 10AM. And bring some food and stuff!" he called running down the aisle.

"Who gives a shit?" muttered Sky, as he ate another bite of lasagna.

"C'mon, man," I said. "It'll be fun. Maybe it'll get your mind off…"

He shot me a glance.

I didn't finish the sentence. This wasn't like Sky. He'd been a lot moodier lately than I'd seen him in the past.

"Alright, I'll go," he said, finally. "But see if you can bring some beer. I think I need to get really wasted."

I nodded. If anything would put Sky in a better mood, I was all for it.

* * * * *

Saturday was a perfect early Spring day. "Summer-like weather" was how the Channel 13 TV meteorologist called it. The sun was blazing and Tampa Bay was choppy, but manageable. Mark's speedboat wasn't huge, but it was surprisingly powerful: it had an enormous 180-horsepower Johnson motor mounted on the back, and the boat was still big enough that the five of us could actually hang out without stumbling over each other.

Mark and Barry manned the rudder, since they had a lot more boating experience than any of us, except for Sky, who had piloted several boats that his family had owned over the years. In addition to the four of us, Scotty, a husky junior Sky knew from the football team, was along for the ride as well.

We had a blast and a half all morning. We each took turns racing and skiing all over the bay, from Gulfport to St. Pete, and even as far north as Treasure Island. I'd almost taken a spill when they took one turn a little too sharply around Bay Vista Park, but I caught myself just in time and narrowly avoided skiing into the remnants of an old dock. Scotty had never skied before, and he was the brunt of a lot of jokes and laughter, since he never seemed to be able to stay up for more than about ten seconds at a time. "I guess I'm better at hangin' out than I am skiing," he laughed.

During lunch, Sky started digging through one of the coolers. "Hey," he said, "I thought there was gonna be beer."

I grinned and winked. "Yeah, yeah, that was the deal," I said. "Over here." I opened up the second cooler, pulled out an inner layer of white Styrofoam hidden under the ice, and revealed a six-pack of Michelob. "Voila!"

"Cool, Larson!" said Mark, who reached past me to grab a can. "Definitely a man of taste and distinction."

I hoped my parents wouldn't notice I had snagged a 6-pack out of the case from the utility room in our house.

"Thanks, Wil," said Sky, sipping slowly.

"Just one per person, guys," I cautioned. "I don't want anybody to get completely tanked out here. We could really get in trouble, y'know?"

The five of us chowed down on our sandwiches and finished off all the Michelob. I had tuna fish -- one of the few kinds of fish I could stand -- and pretended to drink my beer, but wound up surreptitiously dumping most of it over the side. I still couldn't stand the taste of the stuff, but I didn't want to be left out of the group.

"Who's up next?" yelled Barry, revving the motor.

Sky poked me in the ribs. "How 'bout you and me," he grinned. "Let's show these losers how it's done."

I laughed. Sky and I had water-skied for years during summer vacation, and we'd always tried to top the other in daredevil tactics. I could probably beat him in terms of overall skill, but Sky was always a little more adventurous than me, and he often pulled off his stunts better than either of us expected. But sometimes he scared me with the chances he took.

We jumped overboard, while Barry set up the tow lines and Mark gunned the engine. I swam out behind the boat and slipped on my skies, and Sky did the same. My nose wrinkled up with the exhaust fumes of the motor.

"You ready?" yelled Barry.

We got into position and gave the nod, and the boat took off with a jerk. In seconds, we were zipping along at about 20 knots.

The Bay was a lot rougher than it had been earlier that morning. My skies bounced hard over the surf, and the spray peppered my body like little BB's. There was a loud whoop from my right, and I glanced over at Sky, who held on to the tow rope with one hand and gave me the finger with the other. I grinned and shook my head. Sky looked fantastic. His blond hair whipped back in the wind, and I could see every muscle straining in his tanned arms and chest as we flew across the water.

After about five minutes, the boat made a long, meandering turn as we edged out into Tierra Verde Harbor.

"What's the matter?" yelled Sky to the guys in the boat. "Are you a buncha wussies? Come on, put this fuckin' thing in gear!"

"I gotta slow down," yelled back Mark. "Too many other boats around."

"WUSSY!" yelled Sky.

Suddenly, we lurched and headed back out to open sea. The boat picked up speed. This was more like it, I thought.

"Hey!" I yelled at Sky. "Try this, big-shot!" I lifted one foot out to the side and effortlessly skied on one foot. It's a lot harder than it looks, let me tell you. Sky grinned and lifted his ski up, then dropped it down slightly and let the tip drag into the water, sending a geyser of water behind us. I laughed. He always liked to one-up me.

The boat sped faster. The wind ripped past my ears, roaring so loud, I could barely hear a thing. We must be going at least 25, maybe 30 knots by now, I thought. The water surface below me was a blur. I looked up and saw a warning buoy up ahead.

"Hey!" I yelled up at Mark. "We're going past the boundary marker!" They didn't seem to hear me. Seconds later, I heard a metallic thud to my right and a loud splash. I turned and saw a smaller overturned buoy, then watched as it righted itself back up again.

Sky was gone. His tow line handle dragged in the water next to me, flopping lifelessly back and forth in the waves.

"SHIT!" I screamed. "STOP THE BOAT!"

Mark heard me that time and cut the power immediately. I sank under the waves and quickly slipped out of my skies, then swam back to the buoy at top speed. Fuck, I thought, holding on to a rusted metal bar on the side. He's gotta be here somewhere. I paddled off to the left where I thought I saw some movement, and found one of his skies floating on the surface. But I couldn't see Sky anywhere.

I began to panic. If my friend was unconscious and underwater, he could drown in only a couple of minutes. I held my breath and went under and opened my eyes. The salt water stung like hell. After thirty seconds, I realized it was too deep and murky for me to see anything. I popped back up to the surface and spun around. Mark was slowly maneuvering the speedboat forward.

"You find him yet?" he yelled, concerned. The others were frantically looking in every direction.

"No!" I yelled. "Be careful with the boat! He could be floating around somewhere!"

Mark nodded and I turned back around in the water. I tried desperately to think this out logically. We'd been coming from the south, so Sky must've clipped the buoy from this direction. I swam off as fast as I could to the right, cursing my bad eyesight; I'd left my contacts at home, knowing I'd never me able to wear them in the water.

Time was running out. Even though I still hadn't made my mind up about God, I started to pray.

"Listen, whoever you are," I said out loud, my eyes filling with tears. "Please don't let my friend die. I swear, I'll make it up to you someday. Please, God. And I'm sorry about calling you a stupid asshole in school the other day."

As if to answer my prayers, about fifty feet away, I finally found him. He was face down in the water, and there was a reddish slick on the surface. I tore over as fast as I could.

"Sky!" I choked. "Oh, FUCK!" I immediately flipped him over on his back and hoped that he was still breathing. "Over here!" I screamed. "He's bleeding! Hurry up!"

I started pulling on Sky's chin with my right arm, keeping his face above water, and using my left to paddle. Mark carefully pulled the boat up beside us, and the other two helped me drag Sky's lifeless body up onto the deck.

"Shit!" cried Barry. "We gotta call the Coast Guard!"

"There's no room for a radio in here, schmuck!" yelled Mark, angrily. "Let's just get back to the dock, fast! They've got an emergency medical guy there."

Sky looked so helpless lying on the floor of the boat, unmoving. His eyes were closed, and there was a large purple bruise on his forehead. I dropped to my knees and felt for a pulse. There was none.

"Oh, FUCK!" I cried. "We gotta give him CPR!"

I knew Sky's lungs were probably blocked. I turned him over onto his chest and started pushing on his back as hard as I could. Nothing happened. I pulled his waist up and squeezed low, under his stomach. I felt a spasm, and he vomited up what looked like at least a gallon of seawater.

"Holy shit," said Scotty, dazedly. "I think I'm gonna puke."

"Give me a hand!" I yelled.

We turned Sky over again on his back, and I grabbed his head. I sucked in as much breath as I could, held his nose, and put my mouth on his, then breathed out slowly, just as they'd taught us in the Red Cross class last year. But I couldn't find a pulse. Sky still wouldn't breathe. I counted to ten, put my hand on his chest and gave him a dozen pushes. I waited ten seconds again, pushed the air into his lungs again, and repeated the chest compressions.

Mark, Barry, and Scotty stared at me, their faces ashen. I began to panic. I forced myself to stay calm, trying desperately to remember all the lessons in that two-day class. I cursed myself for not paying closer attention during the lectures. I leaned over and continued to breathe air into his lungs.

"Does he know what he's doin'?" asked Scotty, standing behind me.

"Shut up, dickless," snapped Mark. "Leave Wil alone."

At last, after almost a minute, Sky choked and vomited again, spilling a mixture of bile and sea water onto the boat floor.

"Shit," he moaned, coughing and spitting. "What happened?"

I almost burst into tears. "Thank God!" I cried, exhaustedly. "We thought you were dead!"

"Fuck, man," said Mark, almost in shock. "You scared the livin' shit out of us, Sky. Oh, god -- look at your leg!"

I looked down. There was a huge gash on his left knee, and blood was pouring out all over the boat.

"It hurts like living shit!" Sky wailed.

"Now I know I'm gonna puke," moaned Scotty, who was definitely looking pretty green.

"Get us back to the dock, Mark," I said, still shaking. "Right, now! And take it easy. Let's not have a fucking wreck on the way, OK?"

Mark nodded and throttled the boat up to speed. Barry held a couple of paper towels on Sky's leg, and I sat on the deck, with Sky's head in my lap. In ten minutes, we were back at the Gulfport dock. The emergency medical guy looked up at us and winced when we carried the wounded Sky over to his booth.

"I guess I could take care of that leg if you're really desperate," he said, "but you'd be a lot better off taking him to the Pinellas Park Hospital. It's less than two miles away."

We drove him the ten blocks from the Marina over to the hospital, using Scotty's dilapidated Volkswagen van. Once we made it to the emergency room, I immediately called Sky's parents on a pay phone and gave them the whole story, leaving out the part about the beer.

"You did the right thing, Wil," said Dr. Jones on the phone. "I can't thank you enough for looking after my son."

Shit, I thought. It was my fault he was here at all. I was the one who'd dragged him out today in the first place.

"I'm really sorry this happened, Dr. Jones," I said, sincerely. "It was my fault. Sky only came with us today because of me."

"No, no," he said. "These things happen. Give us half an hour, and we'll meet you there at the hospital."

By 4:00PM, Sky was all stitched up, and he had a large, cartoon-sized bandage on his left leg. Dr. Jones and I helped Sky into the car, on crutches. My friend was a little groggy from the anesthetic, but still pissed-off.

"My leg still hurts like shit," he moaned.

"Calm down, son," said his father. "We'll get you home and put you on that pain medication the doctor gave you."

I opened the back door to get in.

"Thank you again, Wil," said his mother. "The other boys told us how you saved Sky's life. This could've been a lot worse if you hadn't been there. These water accidents are always terrible."

Water accidents. Jesus! I had completely forgotten Pete's warning from a week earlier: "There's danger over water." This must've been what he meant. But he was wrong -- I had managed to save Sky, after all! There was no big tragedy. Yeah, there was a little bump on his head, and he'd have a scar on his leg, but other than that, he was going to be fine.

I felt someone kiss my cheek. I looked up, and it was Carol, Sky's older sister.

"Thanks, Wil," she said, softly. "I never told you how much of a good influence you've been to Sky over the years. We love you."

My face flushed slightly, and I grinned. "Thanks, Carol," I said. "It's the least I could do."

We got into Dr. Jones' Cadillac and rode back to Sky's house. Sky's father gave us both a stern lecture on the way about water safety, and how we both should've known better than to be going so fast. Sky shot me a glance and rolled his eyes, then laughed softly. I shook my head and grinned back at him.

I did it, I thought. I saved him. Now, I could finally relax. I couldn't wait to throw this back into Pete's face. That mystical stuff was such crap, I thought.

* * * * *

Sunday morning, I felt great. As I awoke, the sun was pouring through my windows, just as the clock radio clicked on with Blood, Sweat & Tears' new song 'You've Made Me So Very Happy.' I really did feel happy, I thought. I had saved my best friend's life. I felt like, for once, I finally made a real positive difference for somebody, somewhere. All was right with the world.

"Wil!" called my mother outside my door.

"Yes, Mom?" I answered, pulling up the sheets, lest she caught a glimpse of my nakedness.

She opened up the door and stuck her head in. "Oh, good -- you're awake," she said. "Listen, honey, you really should go over and visit Sky and see how he's doing. I'm worried about his leg."

I nodded.

"That was wonderful, what you did for him yesterday," she said, smiling. "Now, aren't you glad we made you take those Red Cross classes last summer?"

I rolled my eyes. "That was MY idea, Mom!" I whined.

She laughed. "I remember it differently," she said, shaking her head. "Anyway, you should get dressed and go over to Sky's house, just to see how he is."

"Okay," I said. I waited for her to close the door, then jumped out of bed, grabbed a pair of shorts and put them on. I padded down the hall to the bathroom and looked both ways. "Hmmmm," I said to myself. "Coast looks clear."

I walked inside, turned on the light and locked the door. I glanced at myself in the bathroom mirror. Not bad, I thought. The muscles were coming in pretty well. Still not as good as Sky's, but I was getting there. I yanked off my shorts. Whoa, I thought, bouncing my morning erection up and down. I guess I was a lot hornier than I expected.

I fired up the shower and got it to just the right temperature, then slid open the glass doors and hopped in. The water felt great. I still had the remnants of a slight sunburn from yesterday, but I was used to that. I turned my back to the water and began soaping down my body. Mmmmm. It felt great. I looked down and was somewhat surprised to see my arousal was still at full attention. Well, there's only one way to take care of that, I thought, smiling to myself.

I grabbed the soap and lathered up my hands, then began stroking myself, leaning my shoulder against the tile wall for support. The hot water splashed down my back. I looked down and saw trickles of water flowing down my chest and into my groin. I thought of how great Sky had looked yesterday skiing next to me -- his handsome face laughing, his big arms, his muscular stomach.

I felt my pulse race. My strokes quickened, and I began to gently squeeze my balls. Now, I could see Sky's face next to mine. I was kissing him again, only it wasn't CPR this time -- it was long and passionate, and he put his hand on the back of my head. I let go of my balls and reached up and massaged my chest, lightly pinching one of my nipples. It sent a little electric shock of pleasure through my nervous system.

I grabbed a little more soap, then used both hands at once on my engorged member. It seemed so massive, I thought it would burst at any moment. My thrusts grew faster, more intense. At last, I felt my balls tighten up with the impending orgasm, and I instinctively clenched my buttocks and let out a small moan. Seconds later, I exploded all over the shower wall -- once, twice, three times, then several smaller dribbles. I almost cried out with the intensity. I felt light-headed, and dizzily reached up and grabbed the shower head for support.

Suddenly, there was a loud knock on the bathroom door.

"Son, are you in there?" yelled my father. "Other people have to use this thing, too, y' know."

"Almost done, Dad!" I yelled back. Hastily, I turned the shower head over to the tile wall, in a desperate attempt to wash the 'evidence' down the drain. I prayed that nobody had heard me. I turned off the water, grabbed a towel, and dried myself off. I glanced at my face in the mirror and winced. I definitely looked guilty of something, I thought. I wrapped the towel around my waist and unlocked the door.

"It's about time," snarled my father. "Between you and your mother, it's impossible for anyone to use the goddamned bathroom in this house."

"Sorry, Dad," I mumbled, walking quickly past him to my room.

* * * * *

Half an hour later, I jogged the two blocks down the street to Sky's house and rang the bell. Dr. Jones opened the door, and he smiled broadly the moment he saw me.

"Come on in, Wil," he said. "Glad you could stop by. Sky's in the kitchen, just resting up."

I heard voices from the other room, and I walked from the living room through the swinging doors that led into their kitchen. Sky had his left leg perched up on a small stool, and Melissa was sitting in his lap, giggling, with her arms wrapped around his neck. They turned and looked up at me.

"Hey, hero!" said Sky.

"Wil!" cried Melissa, jumping up and running over to me. "Oh, thank you so much for what you did yesterday," she said, giving me a big hug and a kiss.

I looked over at Sky, who grinned at me. "Women!" he silently mouthed, rolling his eyes.

"When I heard about what happened," said Melissa breathlessly, "I got over here as quickly as I could," she said, wiping away some tears. "Sky could've… he could've died if it wasn't for you, Wil."

He almost died because of me, I thought. It was totally my fault that he was there in the first place.

"It wasn't a big deal," I said, really meaning it. "I'm just glad he wasn't seriously hurt."

"My leg doesn't hurt at all at the moment," Sky said, laughing. "In fact, I'm floatin' on these pills. Whoo-ee!"

"Give me some of those," I said, laughing. "I need something to ease my pain." I really did, I thought.

"No, no," said Dr. Jones, who'd just entered the kitchen behind me. "Those percodans are strictly prescription. There'll be no funny business with drugs in this house."

"Sorry, sir," I said, meekly. "I was just joking around."

"Drugs are no joking matter, Wil," he said to me, sternly. He turned back to Sky. "Son, are you feeling any better now? How's that bump on your head?"

Melissa was back on Sky's lap, and he was grinning ear to ear. The drugs were definitely doing their job, I thought.

"Feelin' great, Dad!" he said, giving Melissa a big, sloppy kiss.

My heart sank. "I, uh… I've gotta get going," I said, moving towards the door.

"Hey, Wil!" said Sky.

I turned back at him, and his face softened. "Thanks again, man," he said. "I really mean it."

We nodded at each other. "Glad to see you're almost back to normal," I said. "See you tomorrow in school."

"You're staying home Monday, son," said his father. "I don't want you limping around on that leg with all those stitches. If you're feeling up to it on Tuesday, maybe you can go back then."

"Okay. Well, so long, guys," I said, and left.

The two blocks back to my house felt like two miles. I felt completely miserable. How could I let this happen? I'd almost managed to push Sky out of my life for the last three months, but now I couldn't stop thinking of him again. I cursed myself for being so weak. I should give Ginny a call, and maybe see if she'd like to go to a movie or something.

By the time I trudged back to my yard, I was surprised to see a big black Honda motorcycle sitting in my driveway. It had to be Pete's. I wondered why he'd come over without calling first. I walked up the porch and into the living room. There he was, looking better than ever. For some reason, Pete seemed a little more dressed-up than normal, with a button-down shirt and nice-looking slacks.

"Wil," said my mom. "We've been talking to your friend Pete Woods for the last fifteen minutes. He's had a lot to tell us."

I'm sure he has, I thought. "Hi, Pete," I said.

"Hi, Wil," he replied. "I thought I'd swing by just to see if you'd like to, y' know, maybe hang out and jam over at the beach house."

I paused. I'd already finished my homework for the weekend, and Sky seemed preoccupied. "Yeah, sure," I said, at last. "My busy social schedule is open for the day."

"Excellent," he said, hopping off the couch. "Nice to meet you, Mr. and Mrs. Larson." He turned to me. "Let's hit the road, sport," he said, clapping me on my shoulder.

In minutes, we were hurtling over one of the half-dozen concrete bridges that criss-crossed Tampa Bay. "Why'd you come over today?" I yelled, over the deafening wind in our faces.

"The karma felt right," he yelled back. "Hold on tight."

We roared up the metal grating on the breakaway part of the bridge, down highway 19, and crossed over to St. Petersburg Beach. By 2:00, we were walking into his garage, which was empty except for the same instruments that had been there the last time.

"I thought you said we were gonna jam today," I said, looking around for his other bandmates, as Pete closed the garage door.

"Huh?" he said, looking up.

"You know," I said, irritated. "With the band."

He looked preoccupied. "Oh, yeah," he said. "Listen, Wil, I… I just had to talk to you again."

I was starting to get angry. "That again," I said, rolling my eyes. "Listen, Pete. Yesterday, I was out with my friend Sky. He almost died while we were out on a boat."

Pete nodded. "Yeah," he said, quietly. "I had a feeling something like this was comin'."

"But I saved him, Pete!" I cried. "You were wrong! Sky didn't die! I brought him back! All he got was a cut on his leg."

"It happened on the water, didn't it?" he asked.

"Yeah, so?" I snapped.

"That's just the beginning," he said, sadly. "Wil, do you know anything about karma?"

I knew a little bit about Indian religions, from reading articles about The Beatles, but that was about it. "You mean like fate, right?" I asked, sitting down at the organ.

"Yeah, but that's just part of it," he said, sitting next to me on the bench. "Even learned scholars argue about it. Some of them say there are things that were just meant to be, like they're etched in stone. Others say we control what happens."

Pete turned and looked at me, his face only a foot away from mine. Once again, I had to catch my breath at his good looks. His light blue eyes were so bright, they almost radiated. Although his thick long hair was dirty blond, his eyebrows were dark. His face reminded me a little of Brian Jones from the Rolling Stones, who had died a few months earlier. Suddenly, I felt keenly aware of my heart surging blood through my loins.

"What do you think, Wil?" he asked.

I gulped. "I… I took an introduction to Philosophy last year in school," I stammered. "I know they talked about determinism versus free will."

"Right," he said. His face was now just inches from mine. "Go on."

My mouth was dry. "I'm… kind of in between," I said, finally. "I think maybe some things are predestined, and maybe others we have some control over."

Pete nodded. "Ah, so you're with the 'compatiblism' school," he said. "That's Hume's theory." He looked at me and grinned. "You say you're how old?"

I felt a flash of anger. "Jesus, I'm almost 14!" I snapped. "But what does that have to do with anything?"

Pete was immediately apologetic. "I'm sorry, Wil," he said, sincerely. "I'm just amazed that anybody your age…"

I shot him a glance.

"…I mean, that anybody like you would know this stuff," he finished. "I agree with you. I think some things we can't ever change, like our skin color, or the weather. But other things, like how we see the world, how we treat people, what we are on the inside -- those are the kinds of things we've got some control over. Those we can change."

"But I changed what happened with Sky," I insisted, jumping off the bench. Pete was making me so angry, I started to shake. "He would've died if I hadn't been there. But I was!"

Pete's face softened. "You might not be there the next time, Wil," he said, quietly.

Tears sprang to my eyes. "No," I said. "That's not gonna happen."

"I hope you're right, Wil," he said, standing up. "I really hope I'm wrong."

I nodded and turned away. I couldn't let him see me cry. I felt like a total wimp. Pete walked up behind me and put his hand on my shoulder.

"But I know I'm not wrong about you," he said. "You're groovy." He took a step forward and wrapped his arms around me. I felt his warm chest behind me, and I put my hands on his forearms. He leaned down and kissed me on my neck. I felt warmth instantly spread to my entire body.

I caught my breath, then turned around. He smiled at me. "I love you, Wil," he said, simply.

I leaned forward and we kissed. His hand slipped down to my groin, and I began to stiffen under my pants.

"We don't have to, if you don't want to," he whispered.

Even though my heart was pounding like a jack-hammer, I nodded.

"Let's go inside, then." He put his arm around my shoulders and led me through his tiny kitchen and into his bedroom. Posters of The Beatles and The Doors were up on the wall. A cool breeze fluttered the venetian blinds on the left window. In seconds, we shed our clothes and were kissing passionately on his bed.

"Oh, man," he panted. "I've wanted this since the first night I saw you."

"At the dance?" I said, breathlessly.

"Yeah," he replied. "It was like I was hit with a thunderbolt."

We kissed again, and he lay me down softly on my back. "I'd like to take all night, but we don't have the time," he said. He lay down on top of my chest and wrapped his arms around me, then began slowly thrusting across my abdomen. Our erections met and throbbed together. His body was warm, almost hot to the touch. His kisses became more passionate, more insistent.

"Oh, god, Wil," he moaned. "I love you so much."

The sweat flowed freely between our chests, and his hips began to pound rhythmically. He groaned and kissed my neck, my eyes, my mouth. Almost by instinct, I wrapped my arms and legs around him and squeezed him gently, letting our flesh slide against each other. We wrapped our tongues together and both moaned. In less than a minute, he suddenly cried out, and I felt a warm fluid splash over my chest and stomach. He collapsed on me, exhausted, then rolled over onto the mattress.

I was shaking. My erection was still throbbing with desire. He looked over at me and smiled, then ran his hand across my groin and gently grabbed it.

"I know," I said, trying to read his thoughts. "I'm big. Everybody tells me," I muttered.

"I don't care," he whispered. "I would've loved you even if you hadn't had a dick at all. I know what you are inside, Wil. That's what I'm really in love with."

Pete pulled his head down below my waist and leaned forward, then inhaled my arousal deep into his mouth. The pleasure sent me reeling, and I let my head fall back on the pillow and moaned. His hands roamed all over my body, which was coated with sweat. He stopped for a moment, then came back up and lightly tweaked my nipples with his lips, then kissed me again. I felt the slight stubble on his face, and smelled a distant fragrance, like some kind of aftershave, mixed with the pleasantly musky smell of his sweat.

He broke off our embrace and grinned, then gently kissed my nose. "I'm sorry we have to do this so fast," he said, softly. "Next time will be better, I promise."

Before I could answer, Pete pulled his head back down and buried his mouth deep into my groin again, this time taking all of me. Holy shit, I thought. He's as good as Ronnie was, or better. He grabbed my buttocks with his hands and lightly dug in his fingernails. That was enough to send me over the edge. Moments later, I began thrusting uncontrollably.

"Oh, GOD!" I moaned. Over and over again, I was hit with wave after wave of pleasure, like a massive explosion from my groin. I finally collapsed, almost unconscious on the bed.

Pete fell beside me and stroked my chest. I felt like I was sweating from every pore. After I caught my breath, he lifted his arm up, and I rolled over and put my arm and face on his smooth chest. He squeezed me tightly and kissed my forehead.

"That was great, Pete," I said, sighing. "If I didn't know better, I'd say you've done this before."

We both laughed. "Well," he said, "I don't consider myself 'homosexual,' if that's what you mean. I just think I'm flexible."

Funny, I thought. That's almost what RJ said to me just a few months ago.

"When you get down to it, I think we're just animals," he explained. "Animals with a little more reason and emotion, but still animals. And animals just get off, with whoever or whatever they can. I don't buy this 'hetero' or 'homo' shit. I think we're just 'sexual,' period."

I nodded. "I think I know what I am, Pete," I said, quietly.

"Don't try to put a name to it, Wil," he said. "Always leave your options open."

Pete sat up and put his hands behind his head on the pillow. "So," he said. Tell me about this boyfriend of yours."

"He's not really… my boyfriend," I said. "Just a friend. My best friend."

I told him how Sky and I had met, how we'd gotten to be close friends over the past six years, and how things had kind of changed over the few months, when we both started going to high school. I didn't hold anything back; I included an abbreviated version of what happened between me and Sky in the gym.

"I knew somebody like that," Pete said, wistfully.

"You did?" I said, surprised. Pete always seemed to me like he had all the answers, like he had some kind of Cliffs Notes guide to the secrets of the universe.

"I used to go to Clearwater High," he explained, "just a few blocks from my Dad's church. I was on the wrestling team. My best friend there was Jeff -- Jeff Armstrong. He still goes there, as a matter of fact."

I nodded. I thought I'd seen his picture in the Tampa Tribune recently.

"Jeff and I had… well, kind of a thing goin' on," he said. "One thing led to the other, and, well…" Pete stopped and looked away, embarrassed.

"You got caught?" I said incredulously. "Shit, Pete. You're not much of a soothsayer if you couldn't see that coming!" We both laughed.

He grinned. "That's not exactly how it works," he said. "Sometimes it's like I can see the future -- but it doesn't work with myself. I can see it once in awhile with other people, but it's totally unpredictable. I couldn't even tell you if it was gonna rain tomorrow."

"What happened with you and this guy Jeff?" I asked.

Pete sighed. "We got a little carried away after a wrestling meet," he said. "Jeff told me he was real horny after winning a match, and so he… well, begged me to do for him what I just did for you a few minutes ago. We thought the place was deserted, but the coach walked in and found us…"

"…in flagrante delicto," I finished.

"Hey, your Latin's not bad," he laughed.

I grinned. I'd taken Latin at LaFontaine the year before.

"It's a long story," he continued, "but I basically convinced the coach it was all my fault. He knew he couldn't exactly kick the star wrestler off the team, so I just agreed to quit, and Jeff stayed on."

"But you didn't have to quit going to Clearwater, did you?" I asked.

Suddenly, Pete's face darkened. "There's good karma and bad karma in the world, Wil," he said, quietly.

Shit, I thought. "You mean… this guy Jeff told people what happened?"

He nodded. "Word got out, but I dunno how," he said, looking away. "Jeff wouldn't talk to me any more, like I was suddenly uncool. My dad found out and went totally berserk. He said I 'scandalized the church,' and basically threw me out of the house."

Pete caught his breath. I could see this was hard for him.

"I'd inherited a little money from my mom and my grandmother," he said, "so I had enough dough to buy some food and pay the property tax on this place, which was my grandparents' house. I decided to switch schools, and I'm gonna graduate from Madeira Beach High this June."

"But you did see your father again," I said.

Pete's eyes began tearing up. "Only a week before he died."

"Shit," I said. "You two hadn't spoken in how long?"

He choked back a sob. "Almost six months," he said. "But I still… tried to save him. After I saw him getting hurt in my dream. But he wouldn't believe me."

I leaned forward and kissed him. I couldn't explain it, but I had to believe everything he said. It all made perfect sense, at least when Pete said it.

"Thanks," he said, wiping his eyes. "Shit, look what time it is! We gotta get you back home, man."

We rolled off the bed, cleaned ourselves off, and got dressed. "So, you do this very often?" I asked, pulling up my jeans. "You know, pick up strange 13 year-old kids and tell them you're gonna make them rock and roll stars?" I grinned at him.

Pete laughed and shook his head. "I've only done it with three other guys in my life, and maybe a half-dozen chicks. And that was just sex." He put his arms around me. "You're different, Wil. I know this sounds corny, but I think you and me -- that was makin' love, man."

"You're right," I said, laughing. "That does sound real corny."

Pete didn't laugh. "I really mean it, Wil," he said, quietly. "With all my heart."

I nodded. "Thanks, Pete."

He kissed me again. "Let's hit the road," he said.

* * * * *

It was dark by the time we pulled into my driveway. We hopped off his bike, but Pete walked me around to the side of the house, next to the hedge.

"What's up, Pete?" I started to ask, then he suddenly leaned down and kissed me again.

"I didn't want to freak out your parents when I said goodbye to you," he said, smiling. "I don't think they'd exactly dig it."

I nodded and grinned. "Good thinking," I said. "Pete, I… I got just a few more weeks of school, then I've got the summer off. Maybe we can, you know, hang out more often."

"It's gonna happen," he said, confidently. "I'd like you to stay with me at the beach over the summer, maybe for a few weeks."

"No way," I said. "I've got swim practice with the city team, I've got a bunch of other stuff going on… I might even go to summer school at LaFontaine, so I can graduate early."

Pete smiled, that same sad smile of his. "I'll wait for you, man. When you're ready. And the karma's right."

"Wil!" called a voice from the porch behind me. "Is that you out there?"

"I gotta go!" I whispered.

Pete nodded and jumped back on his bike and kicked the starter. "Be strong, Wil," he yelled, as the motor roared. "You got some rough times ahead. But you're gonna make it."

Before I could ask him what he meant by that, he screeched down the driveway and shot off into the blackness.

My mother was waiting for me on the porch. "Your friend Pete is a wonderful young man," she enthused. "Your father and I were fascinated by him."

We walked into the living room, and Sharon was playing with the cat again on the couch. The cat was playfully trying to nip at my sister's fingers, which she was wiggling from beneath a cushion.

"I had no idea Pete was 18," continued my mother. "He looked so young, I thought he was Schuyler's age. He said he's going to college in the fall and major in Philosophy. Even your father was very impressed with him."

"What about you, Sharon?" I said, giving my sister's cat a little tickle under her neck. The cat immediately purred and closed its eyes.

"Who?" said Sharon, still trying to get the cat's attention.

"Pete," I said, exasperated. "The guy who came over here."

"Oh, him," she said. "He's okay. But Samantha still doesn't like him."

I rolled my eyes. The cat continued to purr, and began happily licking my hand.

 Chapter 19

When I got back to school on Monday, I was surprised to see that there was quite a buzz going on about me. Apparently, word had gotten out about the ski accident over the weekend. I still thought it was much ado about nothing. In fact, I was beginning to wish everybody would just shut up about it.

I sat by myself in the cafeteria, trying to scrape off the sauce off from the greasy meat loaf they served for lunch today. Jesus, I thought. It looked like total shit.

Suddenly, I heard a voice off to my right.

"Wil! I've been looking for you everywhere."

I looked up and saw Ginny running down one of the aisles. She ran up and sat down in the empty seat next to me.

"You've got to let me interview you for the school paper!" she said, breathlessly. "My editor wants to put your picture on the front page of Friday's issue. You're the man of the hour!"

I rolled my eyes. "C'mon, Ginny," I mumbled, as I took a bite of the meat loaf, which actually wasn't half-bad. "That's a bunch of crap. All the guys on the boat helped; I was just there."

"That's not what I heard," she said. "I just called Sky at home on the phone, and he said you saved his life."

I sighed. I really didn't want to make a big deal out of this. I was just thankful that nothing serious happened.

"I gave him CPR," I said, "but he would've been fine. I think he was already coming to."

"That's bullshit, Larson, and you know it!" said a voice behind me.

I turned and saw the smiling faces of Mark and Barry, from the swim team. They walked over and pounded me on the back. "You're the big hero, man!" laughed Mark.

"Yeah," said Barry. "Sky would've been history if it wasn't for you, man."

Ginny was furiously scribbling in her notepad. I looked up and shook my head at my two friends, who were grinning at me.

"C'mon, Wil," whispered Mark conspiratorially. "You should milk this for all it's worth. If nothin' else, you can probably use this to get into her pants." He grinned and wiggled his eyebrows.

"What was that?" said Ginny, looking up from her notepad.

"I said, we were gonna go back and get another carton of milk," laughed Mark.

Barry put his hand on my shoulder and turned to Ginny. "Wil really did save Sky last Saturday. We were so plastered…" He caught a glimpse of my frantic eyes, and quickly caught himself. "…I mean -- we were so busy with the boat, we didn't even notice that Sky had hit the buoy. If it hadn't been for Wil, we wouldn't have even found Sky's body, let alone revived him. Yep, he's a hero alright."

"Wil," said Ginny as she got up, "I'm got to run over to the journalism office and make an appointment with the staff photographer. Can you and Sky come by as soon as you can and let us take some shots?"

"He should be back to class by tomorrow," I said. "I'll call him at home and check it out."

"Here's my number at the Observer office," she said, handing me a piece of paper. "Call me this afternoon after school, and we'll set it up. And Wil," she continued, smiling at me. "Don't kid yourself -- you are a hero, even if you don't want to admit it."

I grinned. "Alright, alright, I give up," I said, defeated. "Just promise me it won't go on the front page."

"Are you kidding?" she said. "It's been so dull around this place lately, we've got two giant holes to fill in for this week's issue. This'll be the biggest story we've had all month!"

I sighed. I guess I was doomed to be a hero, no matter what.

* * * * *

Sky was back to school the next day. He was now using a cane instead of the crutches, but he was definitely getting as much sympathy as he could out of it. Melissa walked beside him, carrying his books. I felt a little pang of jealousy, then pushed it out of my head.

"Hey, hero," said Sky, as I walked up to him in the hallway. "You all set for the photos during lunch?"

I grimaced. "They're really making much too much out of this," I said, shaking my head.

"No, they're not, man," he said, seriously. "You saved my life. I really owe you, now."

"And don't forget your grades, too," chimed in Melissa. She smiled at me, then put her arm around Sky's neck. I know she didn't mean the gesture to hurt me, but it felt like an arrow through my heart.

"Yeah," said Sky. "That, too. Thanks, Wil -- for everything."

"Right," I said, trying to sound detached. "I'll meet you at 12:30 over at the newspaper office."

* * * * *

By the end of the day, I'd had about enough of people whistling at me in the hallway and calling me 'the hero.' I was just glad that Ginny hadn't asked me and Sky to re-enact the 'kiss of life' I had to give him on the boat. I made it to Phys Ed, and had just started tying up my Keds when I felt a tap on my shoulder. I turned around, and it was Tim McMannis, one of the older guys from my Chorus class.

"Hey, Wil," he said, in a soft voice. Tim was what some guys would call 'wimpy,' while girls might call him 'sensitive.' I knew instinctively what he really was, and it kind of scared me. Tim was very thin, and he had an unusual face, with high cheek bones and delicate features, and his voice was high and a little effeminate. He was one of the lead tenors in Chorus, and was known for having a great sense of humor and being an all-around fun guy.

"Hi, Tim," I said, casually. "How's it goin'?"

"That was… great what you did for Sky," he said, dreamily. "I heard all about it. He's so lucky to have somebody like you."

"Yeah, well," I said, closing my clothes locker door and snapping the lock shut, "we've known each other forever, and we're kinda like brothers."

"Yeah," he said. He had that look on his face -- the kind of look I used to see on my friend Ronnie's, when he was particularly lustful. "I think maybe you two are closer than that." He giggled and smiled at me, knowingly.

Shit, I thought. Was it that obvious to other people?

I let the remark pass by. "I gotta go, Tim," I said, looking away. "Coach has got us running quarter-mile sprints today."

He nodded. "Yeah. Listen, Wil -- if you'd ever like to get together or something," he said, hopefully, "could you… ah…"

"I'm kinda busy, Tim," I interrupted, pushing past him to the doorway. "But, yeah, maybe we could do that sometime." I ran out and joined the other guys on the track.

* * * * *

Coach Jackson was particularly grueling today. I knew that the other PE coaches would've been a lot more lenient, but Jackson pushed us almost beyond human endurance, making us run the course all period long, and bullied the stragglers at the end of each race. Maybe it was because he was the head of the track & field department. When there were only five minutes left in the class, he finally blew his whistle.

"Okay, men! Listen up," he yelled. "One more lap around the track, and then ya can hit the showers."

"Oh, shit, not again," I muttered, perhaps a little bit too loudly.

"WHAT WAS THAT, LARSON?" he bellowed.

My face blanched. "Uh… nothing, Coach," I said, quietly, looking down at the asphalt.

Suddenly, Jackson was in my face. "I'm not deaf, Mr. Larson!" he said. "For that little remark, you get ten more laps, startin' right now! And if you say one more word, you'll be runnin' 'till five o'clock! And that goes for the rest of you chicken-fats! Now move it!"

I sighed, shook my head, and glumly started trotting around the course. After ten minutes, I was completely alone on the track. Finally, I finished the last lap and staggered up to the corner of the chain-link fence, leaning against it for relief. My shirt was soaked with sweat, and my lungs felt like they were going to burst. I caught my breath, then exhaustedly trotted back down the hill over to the boys' locker room, pulling my sweat-soaked T-shirt off over my head on the way. Only a few students were still there, and I heard the final bell ring in the distance.

"Hey, hero!" one guy called. "I heard you're gonna be in the school paper on Friday, Wil!" said another.

"Yeah, yeah," I said, non-plussed. "Read all about it."

I slipped off my gym shorts and jockstrap and grabbed my towel. Well, at least I wouldn't have any problem getting a shower stall today, I thought. I walked down the hall and through the tile doorway into the shower room, which was totally empty. I chose one of the newer faucets in the very back row, and cranked up the tap as hot as I could stand it. I lathered up and stood there for several minutes, just letting the warm water cascade over my tired muscles, as I leaned on the wall for support. It felt terrific, I thought. Maybe I really should run more. Even though I couldn't stand running, I had to admit: it felt really great once you stopped -- kind of like the old joke about hitting yourself on the head with a hammer.

Suddenly, I was dimly aware of someone else entering in the shower room and turning on a nearby faucet. I kept my back to the rest of the room, as I usually did, and pretended to ignore them, continuing to rinse off. Whoever it was, they were only about six or seven feet away from me. I shut off my tap, reached for my towel, and glanced over. There was Tim. Even without my contacts, I could see his body was pale white, skinny as a rail, and he had very little body hair. Tim was dripping wet, sporting a large erection, and was looking directly at me.

"Oh, uh…" I stammered. "Hi, Tim."

"Hi, Wil," he murmured. He reached down towards his groin and began fondling himself. "I'm really glad we could be here like this. Alone."

"Tim," I said, nervously, looking towards the door, "please, don't do this. We're gonna get caught."

"Oh, Wil," he moaned, as he began to slide his hand up and down his shaft, "I love how big you are. I've thought of this for a long time. Please… I wish you'd just let me touch you."

I stared at him. His erection was bright red, in comparison to his pallid chest and stomach. He began stroking faster, his soapy fist moving in a blur. I grabbed my towel and hurried out.

"Sorry, Tim," I called as I quickly walked by him. "I… I gotta go."

Tim began groaning louder, and I knew he was within moments of an impending orgasm. I left the shower room and hurried down the hall. Just as I reached the corner that led back to the lockers, six naked football players passed me by. Oh, shit, I thought. There's no way to warn Tim. I closed my eyes and said a quick prayer, then continued to walk over to my clothes locker. Just as I spun my combination lock open, I heard a commotion in the background.

"Holy shit!" yelled the voice. "This queer just jacked-off in the shower!" Suddenly, there was a jumble of talking and yelling, along with a lot of laughter and hoots of derision. My heart froze.

I looked up. Chuck, the assistant manager, ran out in the locker room to see what all the fuss was about. Just as our eyes met, we heard a blood-curdling scream like a girl's, off to the left. We turned just as the football players burst down the hallway, each wearing towels, and dragging with them a nude, wriggling, and soaking-wet body, who was crying and screaming at the top of his lungs.

It was Tim, who was out of his mind with shame and terror. I could see a trickle of blood coming from his nose, and his right eye was already bruised and shut.

"I'm so sorry," he moaned, "please, don't do this to me!"

"You fuckin' faggot!" yelled Ben Kingston, the biggest of the football goons. "We don't need queers like you, beatin' your meat in the shower! You belong in the trash!"

Tim's eyes looked around frantically, like a captured wild animal. He stared straight towards me. "NO!" he screamed. "Help me, please!"

With that, three of the guys hoisted Tim up on their shoulders and dragged him from the room, kicking and screaming. Chuck made a move as if to stop them, but Ben put his hand on the fat boy's chest.

"Stay where you are, Chuckles," the linebacker growled. "And if you call the Coach on us, I'll tell him about some of your little shenanigans. You know what I'm talkin' about."

I stayed close to my locker and tried to stay as invisible as I could.

"And you, Larson!" he called.

"I'm not really here," I said, looking down at the floor.

Ben smiled. "You get the idea. Thanks, Wil!" he yelled, and took off with the others.

Chuck and I looked at each other for a moment, then he slowly waddled back to his cramped little office. In the distance, I heard Tim's muffled cries. He sounded desperate, pleading for his life. Then I heard a loud metallic crash. It sounded like they'd thrown him into the Dempster Dumpster and locked him inside.

I felt a lump in my throat, but I knew there was nothing I could do. A minute later, the football players burst back through the door, laughing and congratulating each other, then walked down the hall and returned to the shower. I finished getting dressed and putting in my contacts, grabbed my gym bag and notebook, and walked towards the exit door. Chuck was looking outside his little cubicle, patches of sweat visible through his T-shirt, with a frightened look on his face.

"Chuck, I…" I started to say.

"Don't worry, Wil," he said, quietly. "I'll take Tim his clothes in a few minutes and let him out. Just go home and forget about it."

We gave each other a grim nod, and I turned to leave. Just as I got to the door, Ben walked up and put his hand on the knob to stop me. He was dripping wet, with a towel around his waist.

"Hey, Wil," he said.

"Ben."

"Listen, man," he said, looking me right in the eye. "You know how it is. We can't have fuckin' fags like that here in the school. Those guys are perverted, man. We were just takin' out the trash."

I stared at him, my heart racing. I prayed that I had the guts to just punch the shit out of him, but my hands stayed right where they were.

"Tim deserves what he gets, man," the hulking athlete continued. "Don't talk about this to nobody."

I nodded. "Right," I said. "Look, I, uh… I gotta get home."

"Sure, Mr. Hero!" Ben grinned and opened the door. "Oh, and thanks for savin' our center the other day, Wil. We can't afford to lose Sky -- we need him for next season!" He clapped me on the back and gave me a thumbs up.

I nodded and walked outside. Over on the far left, I could hear the metallic echoes of someone desperately crying and banging from the inside of the dumpster. Fighting back my tears, I kept on walking and didn't stop until I made it all the way home to the safety of my room.

* * * * *

Tim didn't return to school the next day, or the day after that. On Friday, I stayed after my 6th period Chorus class and caught the eye of Mr. Guccino, the choir director. "Can I see you for a minute?" I asked him.

"Sure, Wil," he said, opening his door. "Come into my office."

We sat down in the crowded room, which had shelves bulging with sheets of music paper, file drawers, and a dozen award certificates, trophies, and plaques on the wall.

"What can I do for you, Wil?" he asked.

I gathered up my courage. "I, uh… I hadn't seen Tim McMannis in awhile, and I was wondering what happened to him."

The teacher's face darkened. "Tim had… an unfortunate incident the other day, Wil," he explained. "His parents asked that we release him from Tampa Central, and he's transferring over to Robinson High across town."

"Is he… is Tim okay?" I asked.

He nodded. "You wouldn't happen to know what happened, do you Wil?" he asked, suspiciously.

"No, no, I don't," I said, probably much too quickly. "I mean, Tim's sort of a friend of mind. I'd never do anything to hurt him."

Mr. Guccino eyed me. "Wil, I think it's important for you students to understand something. We've all got to live on the same planet. You jocks have to learn to be more tolerant of people who are… who're different from young men like you."

Actually, not that different from me at all, I thought.

I nodded. "I know, Mr. Guccino," I said, standing up. "Look, if you should talk to Tim, tell him… tell him we'll miss him." I was anxious to get out of the room all of a sudden. I feared if the teacher really took a good look at my face, he'd know the whole story.

"Okay, Wil," he said. "Listen, you can talk to me anytime if you ever have a problem."

I thanked him and ran down the hall to Phys Ed. For the rest of the day, I felt totally depressed and helpless. If this is what happens to guys like Tim, I thought, then there's no way that me and Sky could ever… I stopped myself, afraid to finish the thought.

* * * * *

The following weekend, Sky's folks invited me out for brunch at the Davis Island Marina on Sunday morning. Sky was walking on his own steam now, but he still had a small brown Ace bandage on his leg where the buoy had ripped open the skin. We had a great table overlooking the harbor, and I gazed outside through the window at the myriad of sailboats and pleasure craft below, which dotted the Bay all the way out to the horizon.

During our meal, Sky's parents were amused that I'd insisted on ordering a cheeseburger for lunch.

"Wil," said Dr. Jones, "you really should try this broiled trout. It's delicious!" Mrs. Jones nodded in agreement.

"I never could stand seafood, Dr. Jones," I said, putting another pickle on my burger. "Maybe fish-sticks or fried shrimp, but that's about it."

Mrs. Jones laughed. "Wil, you live in one of the best cities in Florida for seafood! You're missing out on some really great eating."

"Mom, Wil's just stubborn about some things," explained Sky. "He knows what he wants, and he just sticks with it." He shot me a glance and grinned.

Sky knew me too well, but I wasn't sure exactly what point he was trying to make. We finished our meal, and walked over to Sky's father's Cadillac.

"Son," said Dr. Jones, "your mother and I are going over to the club for her tennis lessons at 2PM. You and Wil can have the boat until 5:00, but make sure you're back by then. I don't want you boys out after sunset. And stay out of that water with that leg, Sky. And use the ship-to-shore radio immediately if there's any problem."

"I will, Dad," he said. Thanks!"

* * * * *

Once again, we were out in Tampa Bay. It was windy, and the ship was a magnificent sight as it swept under the Davis Island Bridge. We were moving in a generally southwest direction. I could see the water ahead was dotted with other cabin cruisers, sailboats, and speedboats, along with one or two courageous skiers.

"Where do you wanna go today, Wil?" asked Sky, as he turned the wheel and peered through the helm window.

"Second star to the right, and straight on 'til morning," I said, grinning.

Sky gave me a quizzical look.

"To Never-Neverland, asshole!" I laughed.

Finally, I saw a spark of recognition in his eyes and he smiled. "I get it," he said, "Is that who you think you are -- Peter Pan?"

I sighed, and looked at Sky. He had taken off his shirt, and wore just a skimpy pair of denim shorts, as I did. The sun caught him from behind, and it made his shaggy blond hair almost look like it was on fire.

I walked towards him and leaned on the rail. "No, Sky," I said, quietly. "I think you're Peter Pan. I'm just one of the Lost Boys."

He rolled his eyes and laughed. "You read too much of that fantasy shit," he said, locking off the wheel and jumping down to the deck.

"Hey," I said, following him. "Don't knock fantasy unless you've tried it."

Suddenly, a wave came up and the boat tipped sharply to port. I tripped and started to fall, and Sky caught me in his arms. He pulled me back to my feet, and I noticed his hands were shaking.

"Thanks, man," I said. "Jesus, I could've fallen right on my stupid face."

"Yeah," he muttered. "I gotta go downstairs and check the harbor chart." He seemed distracted by something, but I let it pass. Probably still thinking about Melissa again.

An hour later, we'd made it out of Old Tampa Bay, but Sky was puzzled.

"I don't get it," he said, angrily. "I know how to read this fuckin' map, but it says we should be at Ross Island by now. We passed Gandy Bridge fifteen minutes ago."

"Let me see the map," I said. "Maybe I can figure it out."

"Who the fuck is the captain here?" he snapped. "You don't know anything about this shit!"

I was a little stunned. "Sky, I'm not saying I know any more than you," I gently replied. "I'm just trying to help."

"You can help by shuttin' the fuck up!" he said. "I'll find this goddamned place, even if I have to call the Coast Guard."

He climbed the ladder up to the helm and angrily spun the steering wheel back around and gunned the engine. The winds had died by now, and the currents were still.

I got up and eased my way down the starboard side of the ship, leaning on the railing as I walked down the narrow ledge all the way out to the bow. I held on and looked out. The land looked a long way away, at least five miles, I thought. Maybe his compass was screwed-up or something.

A couple of minutes later, the boat took a sudden lurch, then veered sharply to the left. I nearly slipped, but grabbed hold of the railing to steady myself. "Hey!" I yelled. "What're you doing?"

Suddenly, we stopped dead in the water, the engine died, and I fell to the deck.

"SON OF A BITCH!" Sky screamed from the back of the ship. "Now we're fuckin' grounded!"

I picked myself up and trotted back over the ledge to the tower. Sky's face was filled with rage. He pounded the steering wheel over and over.

"FUCK!" he yelled again. "The goddamned map said the sand bar was at least 200 yards over there!"

We seemed to be locked tight. "You want me to get out and push?" I asked, trying to make a joke.

"The boat weighs sixteen tons, you fuckin' idiot!" he yelled.

This just wasn't like him, I thought. I slowly climbed up the steps to the helm. "Sky," I said, as calmly as I could, holding my palms up in mock-surrender. "Don't go nuts. It's not a big deal, it's just low tide. We'll just wait for high tide to come in, and we'll float free."

He jumped down away from me onto the rear deck. Sky was practically shaking with anger. "This is all my fault!" he wailed. "I never should've come out here today. I don't even know why I'm here!"

Suddenly, he burst into tears. "Get away from me, Wil," he said, running down the steps to the lower cabin.

I was flabbergasted. What the hell was going on here? I heard him sobbing down below. This couldn't be about me, I thought. He's just freaked-out that his father would take away his boat privileges or something. Cautiously, I went down the wooden steps to the cabin below. Sky was lying on his stomach over on the fold-out cot, crying his eyes out. Jesus, I thought. Maybe it's the pain-killers he's been taking for his leg or something.

I walked over and sat on the edge of the bed and put my hand on his shoulder. "Hey," I said, soothingly. "Don't worry. Your father won't get mad. I swear, it's not a big deal."

After a few moments, he stopped crying and turned to me. "No. I don't care about the boat. I'm just… still really sorry for what I did to you. I was such an asshole."

I thought for a moment. "Today?"

He shook his head. "You know what I mean," he said, quietly.

Oh, shit. "Sky, I told you, that's all forgotten," I said. "I already apologized, you apologized -- that was almost four months ago! It's over with."

"Wil," he said, slowly sitting up and wiping his face. "I've… I've thought about you a lot ever since it happened. I dunno, it's like… whenever I'm down, if I just think of you for a moment, I feel better."

I smiled. "Yeah," I said, quietly. "I guess that's what friends are for."

Sky reached out his hand and touched my shoulder. "You've done so much for me. It took me this long to realize how much you lo…" He choked on the word. "…you… lov…" He was shaking, and tears began streaming down his face again.

"Shut up," I said, as I leaned forward and kissed him. This time, he didn't push me away. We held the kiss for a good thirty seconds. I felt his breath on my face, smelled his body, the scent of the ocean in his hair. He put his hand on my chest and gently squeezed me, and I moaned.

"Fuck, Wil," he said at last, as our lips finally parted.

I laughed. "Well, we could do that if you really wanted to," I said, "but a blow job would probably be a lot easier."

Sky grinned, then wiped some of the tears off his face. "How long would you guess we're gonna be stuck here?" he asked.

I shrugged my shoulders and grinned. "I hope at least 20 minutes."

"Make it half an hour," he said.

We tugged off our shorts and let our erections spring free. "God, Wil," he said, breathlessly, kissing my chest, then my stomach. "I've thought about you every night for the last three weeks, man."

I caressed the back of his head. "Sky, you could've told me sooner," I said.

He hesitated, then stepped off the bed onto the floor, and reached for my groin. My arousal throbbed in his hands, as if it was a fresh catch he'd just snatched out of the ocean.

I moaned. "You don't have to do this, Sky," I whispered, leaning forward. "I'll do it for you, like… like before."

He shook his head. "I know this is the point of no return," he said, trembling as he inched me closer to his lips. "But I don't care anymore. All I want is for you to be happy."

I felt a sudden warmth envelop me, and I fell back to the bed with a groan. "Oh, GOD," I croaked.

For his first time, Sky was an expert. I only had to tell him once to watch the teeth. He was no Ronnie, but he did the best he could.

I was filled with such passion, I couldn't hold back more than a minute. Sweat trickled down from my arms and chest, I panted, and my heart pounded like thunder.

"Sky!" I whispered, almost delirious. "This is it."

He took his mouth off me and gently stroked me with both hands. I exploded all over the walls, the porthole, and a glob even hit the low ceiling, right next to the interior light. After a moment to catch my breath, I pulled him to me and kissed him again, roughly, our tongues intermingling.

"How was I?" he whispered.

I nodded. "Very good," I wheezed. "Unbelievable, as a matter of fact."

"I'll have to kinda… work my way into swallowing," he said, embarrassedly.

I grinned and caught my breath. "Yeah. It's kind of an acquired taste."

We both laughed.

"So was I okay?" he asked.

"Better than okay," I said, sighing.

"But not as good as Ronnie, right?"

I blanched. "How did you…" I started.

Sky rolled his eyes and laughed. "Come on, man," he said. "It's ME. I know the two Lannigan fags were doin' stuff for you."

I stiffened. "Don't call 'em that, asshole," I said, icily.

Sky nodded, immediately apologetic. "I guess I'm a cocksucker now, too, right?" He smiled weakly. "Does that make me a fag?"

I thought about what RJ had told me before New Year's. "Maybe labels are wrong, Sky," I said. "Maybe stuff like 'heterosexual' and 'homosexual' doesn't really cover all the shades of gray."

"So, you're saying maybe I'm only four-percent fag," he grinned. "Like four-percent skim milk."

I pulled him close and kissed him again. "You know what I think, Sky?" I said. "I think under the right circumstances, anybody can have sex with anybody."

Sky thought for a minute. "How 'bout with Chuck?" We both laughed.

"Actually," I said, "the idea's not that impossible. You know about Scott Michaels?"

"You mean about the time he tried to, uh… do it to you in the gym?"

I nodded. "I never told you the rest of the story."

I gave him the gory details, up to and including how Scott's stepfather had been boning him for years.

Sky sat on the edge of the cot. "Holy shit," he whispered. "Nobody else knows about this. Now I understand why you didn't want me and the guys to beat him up."

I nodded. "I think Scott's another guy who's not a hundred percent one way or the other. Even if he's sixty-forty, who cares? That's his business."

Sky looked at me. "What about you, Wil? You're not… a hundred percent one way or the other."

I smiled and pulled him closer and kissed him again. "I know a hundred percent of me has loved you all my life. Let me show you."

I pushed him back on the bed and kissed his neck, while my hands moved downwards to his groin. I deliberately avoided touching his arousal; instead, I gently massaged his thighs and then moved to his balls, lightly squeezing them and rolling them around in my fingers. I let my tongue move further down, licking in the deep ridge between his pectoral muscles, then traced the outline of his chest. I suckled his left nipple and pulled it up with my mouth, then gently bit it with my front teeth and tickled the hairs. He moaned with delight.

I let my tongue continue across to his underarm, and carefully licked the entire area, tasting his sweet sweat through the thatch of blond hair. I held his strong arm in my hand and kissed it, then ran my lips along the bulging veins and muscles. I returned to his face and inhaled his tongue, and he moaned again. I moved my mouth back to his chest and slowly licked downwards as I slid off the bed and onto the hardwood floor. Finally on my knees, I leaned up and let my tongue circle his belly-button, lightly flicking through the thickening blond thatch of hairs on his ridged stomach. I reached up with my left hand and grabbed his iron-hard erection, which felt hot to the touch. It throbbed in my hand.

"Oh, god, Wil," he begged, "please… I can't take this!"

I continued drawing it out as long as I could, letting my tongue lap softly on top of the underside of his arousal, then circled the head and lightly tickled the top side. I lapped in the ridge just under his head, exploring every line and indentation I could find. I continued for almost a minute, then went even lower, kissing his sac and inhaling his jewels into my mouth, one at a time. I went under his balls to a soft, light blond thatch of hairs circling a light red area below. Here goes nothing, I thought. I plunged forward and darted my tongue inside as deeply as I could. It was clean, and tasted a little salty and sweet, just like the rest of him.

He began to thrust and moan uncontrollably.

"Wil…" his voice was a hoarse whisper now, "please… I-I'm… beggin' you…"

When I knew he couldn't stand it any longer, I worked my hands back up his chest and massaged his pecs, lightly tweaking his nipples and gently stroking his body. I took his erection deep in my mouth in two gulps, letting it tickle the back of my throat. He cried out as I gently sucked and pulled on it. In less than 30 seconds, it was over.

Sky lay on his back, his muscular chest heaving and sweating. I fell beside him on the cot, and he turned his head and gently kissed me.

"Ga-ROSS!" he sputtered, laughing.

"What?" I said.

"That's the first time I've tasted my… my… you know." He made a wry face.

I looked at him. There was a little white glob on the right corner of his mouth, and he was turning bright red! I laughed and wiped my face and his. "Yeah. I guess things get messy sometimes."

He grinned at me. "I don't mind," he said. "As long as it's you."

"Okay," I laughed. "Next time, you swallow."

"You're assuming I can get that thing in again!" he chortled. "I could barely fit a third of it into my mouth as it was."

I was just about to tell him he could call Ronnie in Texas and ask him for tips on his technique when a loud air horn sounded.

"AHOY!" yelled a voice from a loudspeaker outside. "Ahoy, ship in distress! This is the U.S. Coast Guard!"

"OH, SHIT!" we both yelled, as we frantically yanked on our shorts and ran back up the steps.

* * * * *

It turned out we were about a mile and a half off course. Apparently, Sky had misread the compass just enough that we'd missed a crucial turn in a waterway. The Coast Guard guys were nice enough to call Sky's folks and tell them we were going to be about an hour late, but not to worry.

It was 5:30 by the time we were back on the way back to the Marina. Sky and I stood side by side up on the top deck. He had one hand on the steering wheel and the other draped around my shoulders.

"I can't get over how good this feels," he sighed.

I nodded.

Sky looked at me. "I guess this means we're gay," he said. "I swear, Wil, I've never been turned on by a guy in my life. I mean, I might've occasionally looked at some of the guys in the shower after practice, just to check 'em out or somethin', but I mean, it doesn't affect me at all."

I reached over and put my hand on top of his on the steering wheel. He grinned at me.

"But with you," he sighed. "I dunno. It's like… It doesn't matter to me that you're a guy anymore. I guess I…" He made an exasperated gesture. "Shit."

"You don't have to say it," I said.

Sky turned to me. He was shaking slightly. "I love you, Wil," he said, softly.

"Me, too," I said. I kissed him, and he kissed me back.

He turned and looked through the window. "So we're a couple of fags, I guess," he said, quietly.

"Look," I said. "I read an article in Playboy a few months ago. It said that sex doesn't necessarily have to be an 'either/or' proposition. Maybe it's okay to have sex with anybody you want."

"I thought all you read was Scientific American," he said, laughing.

"Hey," I said. "Who says you can't love me and Melissa both? Maybe you get something different from each of us."

His expression changed. "Me and Melissa have been havin' a lotta fights lately," he explained. "I used to think I loved her, but I dunno. It's… it's been different lately."

I stared out into the surf and watched the waves crash by a nearby bridge. "I think you should keep seeing her," I said, quietly.

"For what?" he asked. "So we can fight some more? So she can refuse to do anything for me because 'it's against the Bible.'" He made a face as he sarcastically imitated her voice.

A plan was beginning to form in my head. "Listen, Sky," I said, quietly. "We gotta be careful at school, you know? If you suddenly stop seeing Melissa and just start hanging out with me, it could be… well, it could look bad. That's the kind of shit that gets people beat up."

"Yeah," he said. "I heard about that guy in the shower at school the other day. 'Tim the Fag,' right?"

I shuddered at the memory, and again cursed myself for not being able to stop it. "Something like that," I muttered.

"So you're sayin' you'll keep goin' out with Ginny, and I'll go out with Melissa, and…"

"…and we can still see each other on weekends," I finished for him.

He grinned and nuzzled my ear. "I think that'll work," he whispered.

It had better, I thought, as he kissed my neck, passionately.

"Shit, Sky, WATCH OUT!" I yelled.

We were headed right towards a giant concrete pylon supporting the middle section of the Gandy Bridge.

"FUCK! Hard a-port!" he yelled, and spun the wheel to one side while throttling back on one of the engine controls.

We missed it by inches. As we slowly went under the bridge, I could see all kinds of weird barnacles and bits of sea life crawling over the concrete post's smooth gray surface. Somebody had scrawled "Jimmy Loves Mary-Anne" in black paint on the post's left side. Just as we had almost cleared the bridge, I felt a small thud from the back of the boat.

"You hold it steady, Wil," he called out, jumping off the helm to run to the back. "I gotta go check and see if we cracked the aft hull."

"Aye-aye, sir," I saluted.

We were real lucky. The tail end of the ship had barely grazed the post, but it didn't seem to do much damage. Sky said he'd tell his father it must've happened when we ran aground.

As we pulled into the Marina, I mulled over our adventures of the past week. That was two incidents 'over water.' Pete had never said there'd be more than one. I shook my head and decided he didn't know what he was talking about. Nobody could know the future, I thought. That's totally illogical.

Sky expertly pulled the boat up to the dock, then looked down and put his hand on my shoulder and gave me a gentle squeeze. I looked back up and put my hand on his hand and grinned. I was happier than I'd been in my entire life.

 Chapter 20

"Four ninety-seven, four ninety-eight, four ninety-nine, five hundred! Holy shit, Sky -- you did it!"

I clapped my friend on the back. It was a late afternoon, in early May. We were in the school workout room, and Sky and I had just finished an incredible regime of sit-up exercises. He fell back on the bench, exhausted. I gazed over at him. Sky was shirtless, and his chest and stomach were etched with veins and muscles, like some kind of impossibly-idealized sculpture from ancient Greece.

"Lemme help you up, man," I said, putting my hand under his neck and pulling him up. Sky groaned and held his stomach.

"Christ, my gut hurts," he moaned. "Let's check it out."

We walked over to the wall-sized mirror, and he turned to let the light from the one lone window in the room illuminate his body. Sky looked incredible. A thin sheen of sweat made every muscle in his body glisten and shine.

"Holy shit," I murmured. I immediately felt my groin begin to throb and stiffen. I prayed that my jockstrap would keep it tamed, and I surreptitiously reached down and adjusted my gym shorts.

"Wow!" Sky exclaimed, looking at his reflection. "Hey guys -- check this out!"

Some of the other football players came over. "Hey," said Duane, one of the fullbacks. "Man, lookit those abs -- you got an 8-pack!"

I looked down. They were right. Sky's abdominal muscles had always been impressive, but now, I could see an additional row starting just above his waist. He ran his fingers through the ridges, and I felt my heart pound as I stared at the beads of sweat on his tanned skin.

Sky leaned over to me and whispered, "down boy!" He smiled.

I grinned back at him. After our encounter on the boat last week, there were no more secrets between us. He knew I was completely infatuated with him. I was glad I didn't have to hide how I felt anymore, and even gladder that he'd admitted he had the same affection for me.

"Not bad, Jones," said a voice behind us.

We turned around and I was momentarily taken aback. It was Scott Michaels and one of his cronies from the football team. Our eyes met, and I felt a flash of anger. I hadn't forgotten what he'd tried to do to me right before Christmas, in this very room.

"Hey, Wil," he said, nodding. "You're lookin' good, too, man. If you get any more pumped-up, we're gonna have to put you on the football team." He smiled at me, only this time, I could see he really meant it.

I nodded back. "Hey, Scott," I said. "How's the arm?"

He pulled it up and made a muscle, then winced. "It's not a hundred percent healed, but it's gettin' there," he replied. "I'm still goin' through therapy. The doc says I should be able to get back to football in August."

Sky eyed him suspiciously. "Take it easy, Scott," he said icily, glancing at my reaction.

"Yeah," the teenage quarterback replied. "See you guys around."

After Scott left, Sky turned back to me. "That fuckin' asshole," he muttered. "I could kill him."

Yeah, you and Ronnie Lannigan, I thought. Jesus -- Ronnie. I hadn't heard from the Lannigan brothers in months, even though I'd sent them two letters already. I made an effort to keep my correspondence kind of vague and 'sanitized,' just in case somebody from his family read them, but I still wondered what the little guy was up to, back on his uncle's ranch in Dallas.

"Let it go, Sky," I said, quietly. "We done here?"

He nodded. "Hey," he said, grinning. "Don't forget, it's my 16th birthday tomorrow. I hope you got me somethin' good."

I laughed. "No promises. You still think your dad is gonna get you the GTO?"

"He'd damn well better," he replied. "I've only been droppin' hints since like January! I made sure I left a brochure on his car seat last week. I figure he couldn't ignore that."

Man, I thought. That'd be the coolest car in the world, even if it did cost a mint. Sky's family had money, since his father was a prominent eye doctor, but I didn't have the slightest bit of jealousy towards them. As for his parents, I think they were just so grateful he was alive, after his close call in the skiing accident last month, they'd give their son just about anything he wanted.

"Let's hit the showers," I said.

"Sure you don't wanna have a whirlpool bath instead?" Sky replied, wiggling his eyebrows.

My heart pounded. I'd love to do it with him now, but it was just too risky at school.

"No, man," I whispered, glancing around to see if the other jocks were watching. "Keep it in your pants until later."

"I see you're havin' problems with that already," he giggled, pointing down.

I looked and was mortified to see a little pink tip peeking out of the bottom edge of my gym shorts. Damned jockstrap, I thought, as I reached down to adjust myself.

"If ya ask me, I think 'little Wil' is growin', along with the rest of you," he whispered.

I rolled my eyes and punched him in the shoulder as we walked back down the sweaty corridor to the locker room.

* * * * *

Sky's prediction about his birthday gift proved accurate. When we got home to Sky's place on Friday after school, there in the driveway was a brand spanking-new 1969 burgundy Pontiac GTO convertible, complete with a white top, 400-cc engine, Hurst dual-gate shifter, and Turbo hydra-matic transmission. A large white bow was wrapped around the front hood. Sky's parents and sister stood to the side and beamed.

"HOLY SHIT!" he screamed, when we saw it in the driveway.

"Now, Schuyler!" chided his mom. "Your father and I have told you not to use language like that."

"Sorry, mom," he said. "HOLY CRAP!"

She shook her head and laughed. We ran up to the car and Sky yanked open the driver's side door and hopped in.

"This thing is incredible!" he gushed. "It'll probably do 150, easy! There's 365 horses under the hood. This thing's gonna scream!"

"So will your folks, if you get any speeding tickets," I retorted, from the passenger's side.

"Now, now, Sky," said Dr. Jones, walking up to the side. "Remember, we've got to go down and get your driver's license before you can legally drive this thing. Your appointment's in half an hour, so let's leave now and get this over with."

Sky grinned and nodded, then turned to me.

"Happy birthday, man," I said. I reached in the glove compartment and took out a little package.

He ripped it open and immediately grinned ear to ear.

"Too cool!" he said. "A custom shift lever! Shit, Wil -- you mean you knew about this all along? You DOG!"

I laughed. His sister Carol had let me in on it about a week ago, and I was able to get one of these for $20 from one of the local Western Auto stores.

"The creestal ball knows all, tells all!" I said, in a creepy voice. "Eeet knew zis car was een your future!"

We laughed. Sky reached down and squeezed my hand on the console, then leaned forward as if to kiss me. He stopped when he saw the terrified expression on my face.

"You boys ready to go?" said Dr. Jones, from outside of the car.

Sky turned around and nodded. "Y-yeah, Dad. You drive, and Wil can sit in the back."

Shit, I thought. Sky's gotta be more careful about that stuff.

* * * * *

"Here it is, Wil!" Sky said, holding the little pink square of cardboard in his hand. "Check it out! I'm totally legal!"

At last, he had every 16 year-old male's dream: a valid driver's license and a totally bitchin' car. If that isn't a recipe for fun, I thought, then nothing is.

"Now, Schuyler," cautioned Dr. Jones, "listen to me. Don't forget -- you've got a lot of responsibilities now. Driving isn't a right, it's a privilege."

Sky nodded. "I know, Dad," he said. "I'll be careful." He glanced over to me and I saw a twinkle in his eye.

Uh-oh, I thought. I know what that look means.

* * * * *

That night, the party at Sky's house was pretty wild. The music was cranked to the max; The Beatles' "Get Back" pounded out of the living room speakers at top volume. A bunch of our friends from school were there, stuffed into the living room and den, and even spilling out to the backyard. Sky's mother and sister had their hands full, trying to stop people from spilling cokes all over their furniture. Melissa came by, too, but I could see things were still a little cool between her and Sky. They walked outside to the patio.

I stood there watching them, drinking a Dr. Pepper, when I felt a tap on my shoulder.

"Hey, you!" yelled Ginny, trying to be heard over the music.

I grinned. "Hi, Ginny! Hey, great party, huh?"

She nodded. "You gonna go to the prom next month?"

"WHAT?" I shouted. I couldn't hear a thing with the music blasting so loud.

"LET'S GO OUTSIDE!" she yelled, and dragged me by the arm out to the patio.

Sky and Melissa were sitting on the low brick wall that circled their backyard flower bed. We walked over to join them.

"Happy birthday, Sky," said Ginny. "Hey, you look great tonight, Melissa!"

I had to admit, she did. Melissa had on a low-cut blue dress that showed off every curve she had. Definitely hot -- but she paled next to how I felt about Sky.

"Listen you guys," said Sky, quietly. "Since the four of us are here together, I got somethin' to say. It's about me and Wil."

I looked at him and felt a wave of panic surge through my body. No, I thought. Not here, not now!

"You know, he and I've been friends for like forever," he began. "Anyway, somethin' happened recently, and… Melissa, I got somethin' to tell you."

"How about the four of us go together to the prom next month?" I said, interrupting. The three of them looked up at me.

"That was the surprise, right, Sky?" I continued, glaring at him. "Now that he's got a car, he thought maybe we could all go in the GTO. It'll be cool."

"That's a great idea, Wil," said Ginny. "They're having the prom this year over at the Clearwater Marriott, right on the beach. My aunt's apartment is only a block away, and I was going to stay there over the weekend anyway."

Sky shot me a look. Melissa leaned over and kissed him.

"That's wonderful, Sky," she said, giving him a hug. "Listen, I know we've kinda had some problems lately, but maybe we can still have a good time at the dance."

"So it's a date then!" I said, a little too enthusiastically. "Just the four of us."

Ginny leaned over and gave me a little peck. "I thought you'd never ask," she whispered, then giggled.

* * * * *

After the party, Sky and I helped his mom and sister clean up the living room and empty out the trashcans. After they left the room, he turned to me and glared, but didn't say a word.

My heart sank. "Sky," I said, quietly, "don't screw this up."

"I don't care who knows," he snapped. "Fuck 'em. I'm 16 now, and I can do what I want."

I sighed. "It's not that simple, Sky," I said. "We still have three years of school to go through. These are people we gotta see in class every single day. Trust me -- the world isn't ready for two guys to go to the prom yet."

I sat down on the couch and told him what had happened to Pete when he was at Clearwater High, but left his name out.

Sky slowly nodded, obviously affected by the story. "Shit," he said, sitting down next to me. "I guess maybe I was tryin' to rush into this too fast."

"Listen," I said. "Maybe someday kids can kiss in public and have sex with anybody they want, and nobody will care. But not now."

He looked up and grinned at me. "But it's my birthday," he said, quietly. "I want you to come with me."

Sky put his arm around my shoulder and led me out the front door. "Hey, Mom!" he yelled. " I'm takin' Wil for a spin. I'll be back before midnight, okay?"

* * * * *

Sky maneuvered the GTO like an expert, and the engine rumbled down the streets and over the Davis Island bridge, until we had crossed through the city and made it out to the Marina. He parked the car a block away from the main entrance, then turned to me.

"I want one more birthday gift from you, Wil," he said, quietly, touching my shoulder.

I nodded. "In the boat, right?"

"Yeah."

We walked down to the Marina entrance, which was dark except for two or three security lights. Sky flashed his authorization card to the night watchman, who nodded and unlocked the chain-link fence that led to the dock where his dad's boat was moored. We walked over the pier, hopped down to the deck, then Sky unlocked the door and we cautiously stepped down the stairs to the dark cabin below. He clicked on the electric light, which cast a dim yellow light over the room, then he quietly closed the door and locked it.

We stared at each other for a moment. I don't think Sky ever looked more handsome than he did at that exact moment: his eyes sparkled in the amber light, his mouth was slightly open, and he smiled at me. He began unbuttoning his shirt. I did the same. He took a step forward and held his arms out to me. I reached out and we embraced, then I kissed him, first on the neck, then hard, on the mouth. We sank down together on the floor, and began frantically ripping off our pants.

In seconds, we were completely naked. Sky covered my body with kisses, and I began to moan with desire.

"Oh, fuck, man," I panted. "I've never been so horny in my entire life."

Sky nodded. "I wanna… try somethin' different," he said.

I knew what he meant. I stood up and walked over to the bed, then sat down. I was shaking, partly with fear, and partly with excitement.

Sky sat beside me, and held out a little jar of vaseline. "I've got this," he said. "It's supposed to make it go easier."

I nodded and lay on my back, opening my legs slightly and pulling them back as he stood in front of me on the floor. He stood up and massaged me down low, between my legs, and I moaned. He kept it up for a minute or two, and was eventually able to work in a couple of fingers. Unlike my previous experience with Scott, this time it felt warm, and while there was a little pain, it was tinged with excitement and… something else.

"You ready?" he whispered.

"Yeah," I whispered back. "Just… go real slow. Okay?" I reached down and pulled my heavy balls up and out of the way.

He nodded and leaned in to enter me. I felt a warm object push against me. After a moment's hesitation, suddenly, he was partially inside.

The pain was excruciating. I sucked in my breath and groaned. "God, it hurts, man," I gasped, gritting my teeth. "Give me a second."

For a fleeting moment, I remembered what happened with Cynthia when we were together a few months earlier. Now I kinda knew how she felt, I thought. I was actually grateful that Sky's dick was a little smaller than average.

Sky leaned down and kissed me. I felt my groin throb in response. I was as hard as steel.

After a moment, our lips separated. "Okay," I sighed. "Go a little deeper."

He gave a little shove, and suddenly, he was completely inside me. I groaned again, and felt his hairs tickle the insides of my smooth thighs.

"Are you okay?" he whispered.

"Oh, god," I moaned. "It actually feels… almost good. Just keep going slow."

Sky panted. "This…" he wheezed, "…this won't take long, Wil."

My endowment was completely engorged, and I pushed it straight up, towards his chest. Sky's eyes were filled with lust as he began his thrusts. He leaned over and felt my erection as it rubbed the sweat-soaked indentation between his muscular pecs, and he looked down and grinned at me.

"Let me do somethin' for you, too, Wil," he whispered. He leaned over and took me in his mouth. I was long enough that he could just barely get my head past his lips.

I moaned with pleasure. The feeling was unbelievable. Sky's thrusts gradually became faster, more rhythmic. With every movement, his tongue lapped gently over my glans. I could feel his balls slap against my backside. He reached forward and put one hand on my chest which was moist with sweat, and began stroking my arousal with the other. He kept up the pace for a minute, until we were both panting and moaning.

"Oh god, Sky!" I cried. I felt the beginnings of a climax like I'd never felt before. Seconds later, I exploded in his mouth, and my pleasure felt like it was ricocheting back and forth between my penis and somewhere deep within me. Suddenly, he doubled his thrusts, groaned loudly, and I felt a warm, wet sensation inside me. My erection slipped from his mouth as he collapsed on my stomach, utterly spent.

We lay together for a few seconds, too tired to speak. I kissed him, then smacked my lips.

"Hey!" I said, panting. "You swallowed this time!"

He opened his eyes, then grinned and nodded. "Yeah," he said, trying to catch his breath. "God, Wil. That was fuckin' incredible."

"Happy birthday, Sky," I whispered. We kissed again and lay together for twenty minutes, not saying a word.

* * * * *

"Are you sure you're okay?" Sky asked, as his GTO roared down Henderson Blvd., then made a sharp left, towards the way back to my house.

I sighed, then nodded. "Yeah. It was… different than I expected."

He looked at me quizzically. "Different? How?"

"I'll tell you what, babe," I said, grinning. "I'll fuck you next time in the boat, and then you'll know what I mean."

He laughed so hard, he almost drove off the road. "You'd kill me with that thing!" he cried.

"You never know until you try it," I said, grinning. "What's good for the goose is good for the gander."

We stopped at a red light on Kennedy Boulevard and Sky turned and kissed me.

"Don't do that, asshole!" I hissed. "Somebody could see us!"

"I told you, I don't care," he said, simply. "I love you, Wil."

"I love you too, man," I said, wearily, "but please, can we be careful about this shit?"

"Okay," he laughed. "I'll make a deal with you: I'll try to keep my hands off you except in our bedrooms or on the boat."

"Or when it's totally safe," I said. "Just be cool about it, alright?"

He nodded. The light changed, and we made the turn down El Prado and drove the four blocks to my house. Sky pulled up in our driveway and I hopped out. I glanced down at the car, which gleamed brightly in the light of the moon, and I sucked in my breath. Jesus Christ, this thing really looked cool.

"You're real lucky, man," I said, as I walked around to the driver's side.

"You're tellin' me," he said, grinning. "I got my license, and a GTO, and lost my virginity… all in the same day."

I was momentarily stunned. "You mean you've… never…"

Sky shook his head. "You're it for me, Wil," he said. "I got one hand job from that bitch Cathy last year, but nothin' from Melissa." He reached out and pulled me closer to the car window.

"Not here!" I hissed, looking over my shoulder to see if my parents were watching through the window.

"Next time, then," he said, grinning and licking his lips. "And maybe it'll be your turn to… you know."

I ran up the steps. "Then you'd better start practicing!" I yelled back.

He gunned the engine and thundered back down the driveway and out to the street.

* * * * *

Over the next few weeks, our game plan worked perfectly. We double-dated with Melissa and Ginny several times a week. Then, after we dropped them off, we'd find a place to go and get off with each other. We usually wound up going to Sky's bedroom, since his parents gave him a lot more privacy than mine did. We tried it a couple of times in my house, and even once in the shower when nobody was home, but it always felt safest to me at the boat. One night, we both got so horny, we pulled off Bayshore Boulevard in a secluded lot surrounded by a hedge, and did it in the back seat of his GTO at about 1AM. That was exciting, but very risky.

Melissa seemed relieved that Sky had suddenly stopped pressuring her to have sex. I told him to tell her that he'd decided they should both save themselves for marriage, and he later told me she'd bought the explanation, hook, line and sinker.

By the end of May, I thought Ginny might be getting a little suspicious. "You two seem to be in an awfully big hurry to get out of here," she said, as we were walking from the theater, after seeing the new sci-fi film Journey to the Far Side of the Sun.

Sky shot me a glance.

"Uh, we just have to get back to studying for final exams," I said, looking straight ahead.

"Yeah," repeated Sky. "We gotta study."

We dropped the girls off, and I walked Ginny up to her door. Sky stared at us through the car window.

"I had a great time tonight, Wil," she said, quietly.

"Me, too, Ginny." I said, putting my arms around her. I glanced over her shoulder back at the car, and decided I'd have a little fun with Sky.

"I'm really looking forward to the prom next week," she whispered.

"Uh-hmmm," I said. I pulled her to me and kissed her, passionately. At first, she pulled back slightly, then she wrapped her arms around me and leaned into me. Holy shit, I thought. I think that was a little tongue!

We broke off our embrace. Ginny looked a little dazed.

"So, ah -- g'night, Ginny!" I said, skipping down the steps.

"Good… goodnight, Wil!" she said, standing by the door.

I jumped in the car and slammed the door. "Okay, let's go, Sky," I said.

Sky was fuming. "What the fuck was that all about?" he muttered.

I grinned. "Oh, nothing," I said with a shrug. "Just saying goodnight to Ginny."

"You gonna slip her the big ten-inch?" he snapped.

"C'mon, Sky," I said. "Now you know how I felt sometimes with you and Melissa."

He started to reply, then looked at me for a moment and sighed. "Shit," he said, shaking his head. "Jesus. I never understood until now."

"Shut up," I grinned, and leaned forward and kissed him.

Sky stiffened and looked over my shoulder. I pulled away and turned around. It was Ginny, still staring at us through the screen door of her house.

"Oh, shit!" he said, gunning the engine and tearing off down the street, burning rubber. "I think she saw us!"

Fuck, I thought. No -- it was too dark. There's no way she could've seen anything.

"Take it easy, Sky," I said. "Let's just go to the boat and relax, okay?"

After a few seconds, he finally slowed down and stopped at the next block.

"I'm sorry, Wil," he said, looking down. "I… I just overreacted."

"Just stay calm, man," I said, quietly. "Don't forget -- we still gotta get through the prom."

* * * * *

The last ten days of school flew by in a blur. Sky and I studied together every night for the final exams. It was all we could do to keep our hands off each other, but somehow, we managed. I told him if we avoided doing anything that week, we could have an all-nighter at the boat, after the prom. He agreed that that was a good plan, but warned me that we'd probably go so nuts, we'd tip the ship over.

The last day of school was Friday, June 6th. I let out a whoop when they handed out the report cards: I had pulled a hat trick, and managed to hit straight-A's again, for the second quarter in a row. I even managed to pull an extra credit in Chorus, after participating in a couple of charity concerts and recitals that Mr. Guccino had asked us to volunteer for.

Sky saw me in the hallway after 6th period and ran up to me, excitedly. "Look at this, man!" he yelled, waving his report card. "Call me Mr. Honor Roll!"

"Holy shit, Sky!" I cried. "That's absolutely unbelievable!"

He reached out and hugged me. I immediately pulled away from him, and his face fell.

"I was just happy about my grades, man," he muttered, looking away.

I looked up at him and nodded. "I'm sorry, babe," I whispered. "Later, okay?"

Just then, I heard a couple of voices calling our names. We turned and Melissa and Ginny ran up beside us.

"Goddamn it," Melissa fumed. "A 'C' in Geometry. That bastard Mr. Reber hates me. That's the only reason why he did it."

Ginny put her hand on my shoulder. "How'd you do, Wil?"

"Oh," I said, casually, "the same-o, same-o."

Ginny laughed. "Not again!"

I nodded. "And get this," I said, laughing. "Dip-shit over there made the Honor Roll!"

"Wow!" said Ginny. "I guess all that studying you two have been doing together lately really did some good." She smiled, but it was a strange kind of smile.

Sky and I glanced at each other. I turned to Ginny and nodded.

"Yeah. Anyway," I said, trying to change the subject, "so we're gonna pick you two up tomorrow night at 7:00, right?"

The girls nodded, then the bell rang. Melissa kissed Sky on the cheek, then grabbed Ginny and took off down the hall. "'Bye you guys!" she called.

We stared at them as they ran off.

"Whaddya think that was all about?" asked Sky, quietly.

Fuck, I thought. Ginny was no dummy, and she was a journalism student besides. If she knew how to get to the bottom of a story, then she definitely might be able to figure out what was going on with me and Sky. And if she saw us in the car last week…

I decided not to think about it. "Don't worry about it, man," I said. "We just have one more class, and then it's time for…"

"SUMMER!" yelled Sky, as he threw his notebook up in the air. All the looseleaf papers scattered and blew down the corridor, then floated lazily over the grassy hill and down to the stone steps in front of the school.

 Chapter 21

The Clearwater Marriott was a lavish ten-story hotel, with a sparkling white and gray marble facade, and an ornate entrance way out front. The sun had set almost an hour ago, and it was very warm, though a cool breeze blew in from the Gulf. Cars lined up around the block, as teenage couples wearing ill-fitting rented tuxedoes and fancy dresses stepped out onto the curb.

"Where the fuck am I gonna park?" wailed Sky, frustrated with the never-ending traffic jam ahead of us.

"I know the area," said Ginny, who sat next to me in the back seat of Sky's GTO. "Pull over there," she said, pointing to an empty parking lot a block down the street. "That's for the City Pier, but you can still use it at night."

"Good idea!" I said.

Sky slammed the car in reverse and peeled out, and in two minutes we were walking up the sidewalk to the hotel.

"Man, this is a great building," I said, tugging at my shirt collar, which was strangling me. "How could they possibly construct a hotel this tall on the beach, without it sinking into the sand?"

"Simple," said Ginny, as she slipped her hand around my waist. "They use pile-drivers to put dozens of long concrete slabs into the ground, then they reinforce them to make the foundation. The building actually sits on top of those concrete posts, not the sand."

I glanced over at her and smiled. "How the heck do you know so much about this stuff?" I laughed.

"Well, Mr. Genius," she said, smiling. "You're not the only one who reads books and does research. And besides -- my father's an architect. He told me about this place when they were building it last year."

I laughed and glanced over at Sky. He and Melissa weren't talking much. I crossed my fingers that the night would go okay.

* * * * *

The band inside the banquet room was fairly polished. Somebody told me they were some hot local group from Miami, which I didn't doubt. They were a lot better than Pete's little combo, that's for sure.

Shit -- Pete. I hadn't thought about him in weeks. I should've called him. What was that he said the last time I saw him? He said he'd wait for me -- 'when I was ready, and the karma's right.' What the fuck did that mean?

"Here's your drink!" said Ginny, handing me a glass. She leaned over and whispered, "I think somebody's already spiked the punch."

"As long as it's not LSD," I muttered, as I took a sip, then made a face. Blah. Whatever it was, I thought, it still tasted like shit.

* * * * *

I still hated dancing. While Ginny and I struggled with our little modified twist, I glanced over at the other couples. Most of them looked relaxed and totally comfortable, like they were having a great time. I felt like a complete and total idiot.

"You don't look like you're having a good time," said Ginny, leaning into me.

I smiled wanly. "I'm the most uncoordinated guy in the room," I said.

Ginny looked up and kissed me. "Not to me," she said, grinning.

"Thanks," I said. I decided to pick up the pace a bit and imitate a move I saw one of the teens do a few feet away from us. I lifted up my arms and spun around, but almost immediately collided into someone. I looked up and saw the angry face of Ben Kingston, the linebacker on the Tampa Central football team.

I immediately stopped and backed up. "B-Ben!" I said. I hadn't forgotten what he'd done to Tim back in the locker room a few weeks earlier.

"Watch it, Larson, you fuckin' dick!" he snarled.

"Sorry, man," I said, meekly. "I'm a total klutz at this."

"That's okay." He laughed and leaned down towards me, glancing over at Ginny. "Hey, Wil," he whispered. "You gonna slip her that giant salami of yours? She looks like she really needs it."

I winced, but didn't answer.

Ben stood back up and laughed wickedly, then went back to dancing with his girlfriend.

"What did he say to you?" said Ginny, giving Ben a look and pulling me back by the shoulders.

"He, ah, said they were serving food in the other room," I said, taking her hand. "Let's go get something to eat."

* * * * *

By 11:15, we were all pretty beat. Ginny and I stood near the entrance, anxiously looking for Sky and Melissa.

"Where the hell are those two?" I fumed. "I'd like to get home at some point." Inside, I was actually thinking about what Sky and I would be doing later on tonight, on the boat.

Ginny looked back into the ballroom, which had to have at least a thousand raucous kids on the dance floor. The band was performing a pretty fair cover version of Sly & The Family Stone's "Dance to the Music," and the floor pounded with the beat.

Suddenly, we heard a noise from the hallway behind us. There was a lot of yelling, like somebody was having a knock-down, screaming argument. Oh, shit, I thought. It sounded like Sky and Melissa.

Ginny and I looked each other, and we both winced.

"It's them, isn't it?" she said.

I nodded. We trotted down the hall and turned the corner. Sky and Melissa were nose-to-nose, yelling at each other at the top of their lungs.

"Just go to hell, Sky!" she shouted.

"You stupid BITCH!" he yelled. "I knew I never should've taken you here in the first place!"

"I've had enough of this," she snapped. She looked over and saw me and Ginny, staring at her. "Ginny, I'm leaving. Can your aunt give me a ride back home?"

Ginny turned to me, with a look of concern on her face.

I nodded to her. "Go ahead," I said, quietly. "I'll be okay. I'll get out of here somehow. I'll call you tomorrow," I said.

"You're a doll," she said, giving me a little peck on the cheek.

Melissa stormed out the side entrance and walked over to the sidewalk. Ginny looked at me, shrugged her shoulders and made a helpless expression, then ran out right behind her.

Sky stood there, fuming.

"Hey, nice night for a fight, huh?" I said, sarcastically.

"Go fuck yourself," he said.

I leaned forward. "You know," I said quietly, "it's long enough that I think I might just be able to do that." I grinned and wiggled my eyebrows.

"Go to hell, Wil!" he snapped, and walked out the door.

What the fuck is this, I thought. Oh, screw it. Sky had been pretty moody lately -- probably just the pressure of final exams. I decided to go back inside, sit down, and listen to the band, which had just started playing a really good cover version of The Beach Boys' new hit, "I Can Hear Music," which was one of my total faves. I winced on a couple of the band's bad harmonies, but this time I decided to avoid jumping up on stage and trying to sing along.

As the song ended, I thought about what I'd been through over the past year. I felt like Sky and I had come full circle with each other. We'd been friends almost forever, then we just about fell apart at Christmas. Now, summer was just about here, and we were closer than ever -- more than I ever thought possible. I decided then and there, I'd have to stay going to Tampa Central. I knew that was the best way I could continue seeing Sky. We'd find a way to avoid letting anybody know what was going on. And after we graduated in a couple of years… well, that was too far away to think about just yet.

I glanced at my watch. Shit -- it was already 11:30. I walked out the side door and looked around. Sky was nowhere in sight. I walked down the street and found his GTO was still in the parking lot next door, but it was locked and empty. Where could he be? I looked over at the City Pier and saw a forlorn figure standing on the dock in the shadows, looking out towards the Gulf.

I jogged across the stretch of sand that separated the parking lot and the pier, and climbed up the ladder. The figure turned and looked at me. It was Sky. Tears were running down his face.

"What the fuck do you want?" he snarled, turning away from me.

"Hey," I said softly. "What's the problem, man?"

He started sobbing. "I don't fuckin' know," he said, through his tears.

We walked a few feet down the dock until we found an open space, then sat down on the side and let our legs dangle over the edge. I put my arm around his shoulders.

"Melissa just drives me fuckin' nuts," he said, wiping his eyes. "I swear, part of me really loves her, but then she gets so totally stupid about everything, I'd just like to…" He made a helpless gesture. "Sometimes I'd like to just fuckin' strangle her!"

"C'mon, Sky," I said, soothingly. "Don't let her get to you. Listen -- you and I are still gonna go back to the boat tonight, right?"

He nodded, then turned his head and kissed me.

I grinned. "Hey, maybe I could get Ginny to find you somebody else."

"Yeah," he said, attempting to smile. "I think I'm too fucked-up over Melissa. Maybe I should start seein' somebody new."

"Let's go," I said, standing up. "She's gone back with Ginny to her aunt's place. She'll get her a ride home."

Sky stood up and looked over at me. I could see a glint of the moon reflecting in his blue eyes. He'd let his hair grow a little longer, now that football season was over. I hadn't noticed before that his sideburns were starting to grow in.

"Hey," I said, tickling the side of his face. "You're turning into the wolfman!"

Sky laughed. "Oh, yeah," he said. "I'm gettin' in some sideburns. Pretty cool, huh?"

I sighed. "I probably won't be able to grow any sideburns for another two years at least," I said. "I'll be 14 next month. Shit, I'm lucky if I shave even once a week."

"Shut up, Wil," he said. He took me in his arms and kissed me, hard. We stood there for thirty seconds, and he gently reached down to my groin. In moments, I was rigid. I felt his tongue move past my teeth, and I moaned. I closed my eyes and put my hand on the back of his head.

Suddenly, we heard laughter behind us. We froze and broke off our kiss, then turned.

It was Melissa. She was standing on the dock ladder, one foot on the wooden deck, the other on the top rung.

"I… can't believe it!" she laughed. She pulled herself up and walked towards us.

"What are you doin' here?" Sky snapped.

"I came back to get my purse from your car," she said, still laughing. "But instead, I found you two… Oh, this is too much!" She laughed again, still louder this time, but I saw an enraged look in her eyes.

Sky took a step forward. "Shut up, Melissa!" he cried.

She was almost hysterical. "I always knew Wil was… different. Even you said he was a fag!"

My face reddened.

"But you!" she said, shaking her head, then laughing again. "Oh, my God. Wait 'till the others hear this!"

Still laughing, she started back down the ladder.

"YOU'RE NOT GONNA TELL ANYBODY ABOUT THIS, YOU BITCH!" he roared, and leapt towards her.

She screamed, her hands clawing at the air, and she fell backwards into the blackness. Sky lay on the dock, gasping for breath, and I ran over to him and helped him up. We stared over the edge.

Melissa lay on her back on the sand, motionless, fifteen feet below the pier.

"Oh Christ, oh fuck, oh shit!" he cried, as he climbed down the ladder. I followed him down and jumped over the last five rungs.

We knelt beside her. Melissa lay in the sand, her black dress flowing out on the beach. The moon caught the little pearl necklace around her neck, and it sparkled and shined in the light. She looked beautiful.

I felt for a pulse. "She's… she's still alive," I said. "But I think she's hurt."

Sky turned to me. "I swear, I didn't even touch her, Wil," he whispered.

"Sky," I said. "We gotta call an ambulance."

He shook his head. "Help me lift her up."

We dragged her over to the car. Sky held her while I unlocked the doors. He slipped her into the passenger seat and fastened the seatbelt, then slammed the door.

"We really should get some help," I started.

"No," he said. "I'm gonna take her to St. Joseph's. It's only a few miles on the other side of the Courtney Campbell Causeway, across the bay. That's the closest hospital I know of. I can be there in less than ten minutes."

"I'm coming with you," I said, pushing past him to the back seat.

He put his hand against me. "No, Wil," he said, firmly. "This is my problem, not yours."

"It's our problem!" I yelled. "I can help, really!"

Sky shook his head. "Stay here, Wil," he said, quietly. "Go find Ginny. You can get another ride home. Gimme at least an hour, then call the hospital. I'll check her in under her name. Don't tell my folks yet -- I'll call 'em after I hear from you. I'll take care of everything."

I nodded. "Be careful, Sky," I said, as he got in the car and slammed the door.

He leaned out the window and looked up at me. "This isn't your fault, Wil."

Tears came to my eyes. I never would've convinced him to go to the prom if I'd known this would happen.

I looked at him. "I love you, Sky."

He nodded, then tried to laugh. "If we make it through this, there's still the boat."

"Hurry up, asshole!" I said.

He nodded and cranked up the engine, then screeched down the street, towards the Causeway entrance.

I trudged back to the pier and sat down. What was I going to do now? I glanced at my watch. It was just 11:45. I looked up at the moon, then realized there was a pay phone beside me.

"Who do I know around here that I could call at midnight?" I asked out loud.

Pete.

He was only ten minutes away, in Madeira Beach. I jumped up, slipped in a dime and dialed his number. He answered on the second ring.

"Thanks for calling the offices of Midnight Tunes Entertainment!"

"Pete!" I cried. "It's me, Wil."

"Shit," he said. "Something's very uncool."

"You gotta pick me up, man," I said. "Sky… we -- there's been an accident. Meet me in front of the Clearwater Marriott, and I'll explain."

"I'm on my way."

* * * * *

Fifteen minutes later, I was holding on for dear life behind Pete on his Honda as we roared down Gandy Bridge. He'd convinced me I should just go home and call the hospital from there. He agreed with Sky's insistence that I should stay out of this, at least until we found out if Melissa was okay.

"I'm starved, man!" he yelled, over the rushing wind. "Can we grab somethin' quick on the way to your place?"

We stopped by Steak & Shake on Dale Mabry Boulevard, which had a drive-through lane. Even though it was right across the street from our hated rivals at Plant High, I thought the burgers there were the best in Tampa. Pete and I each had a double cheeseburger and a chocolate shake.

"These are cosmically good, man," he said, grinning at me. "Totally cool."

I nodded. "Nothing like 'em," I said, taking another huge bite. I always loved Steak & Shake. Like Krispy Kreme doughnuts, this was one of those great Southern fast-food traditions you couldn't find in any other part of the country.

We finished our meal. I checked my watch. It was only 12:30. I still had fifteen minutes to get home and call Sky.

We hopped back on Pete's motorcycle and zoomed down the highway, then rode the two miles down Kennedy Blvd. and took a right, over to my house on El Prado. As we turned the corner, my heart stopped.

There were two police cars in our driveway, one with its rooftop lights still on.

Pete pulled up in the yard, and I hopped off, tossing him the helmet. "Wait!" he called. "Lemme come with you!"

I ran up the steps and into the living room, leaving the front door wide open. My mother was on the couch, with tears running down her face, and a cop was sitting next to her with his hand on her shoulder. The police car lights ricocheted through the front entrance, illuminating all of us in garish shades of blue and red.

My mom looked up at me and screamed. "Oh my God!" She ran up to me and hugged me, sobbing.

I was stunned. What was this all about?

My father got out of his chair and walked over to me. His face looked ashen and drawn. "Son -- we… we thought you were dead," he choked.

"But I'm here!" I said, annoyed. "What the hell's going on?"

"Do you know Schuyler Jones?" asked one of the officers.

I nodded.

My dad stood next to me and put his hand on my shoulder. "Son, I have some bad news. They found Sky's car, on the Causeway. There's been an accident. Two bodies… burned beyond recognition. We thought for certain that you…"

I collapsed to the floor, as my whole world fell apart. I began to scream. And I couldn't stop.

I kept screaming, even when my parents tried to console me.

I kept screaming, even when the police tried to gently talk to me, pleading with me to stay calm.

I kept screaming, even when Pete held me, tried to reason with me.

I kept screaming, even when the ambulance came, and they tied me down to the stretcher, and drove off into the night.

Only when they shot me with 250 milligrams of Nembutol did my screams finally cease. I was out for almost exactly two days.

* * * * *

I slipped in and out of consciousness. I heard voices. Someone was saying I had some kind of breakdown. I could dimly see my parents, with Pete standing next to them. Then blackness.

* * * * *

It was the dream again. I was back at school. I think it was early summer. Sky and I had just finished another hard workout in the gym. We were naked in the shower together, and we were alone. I glanced up at him. His muscles rippled as the water cascaded in slow-motion over his tanned body. Sky turned to me, and I could see he had a huge erection.

He grinned, and reached out and pulled me over to him. I tried to protest, but he told me nobody would ever find out. He kissed me, passionately, and reached for my groin. I moaned with desire.

Suddenly, Sky opened his mouth to scream, but I heard no sound. He fell back away from me and hit the shower wall. As I watched in horror, his body burst into flames. I looked up at the faucet, but the water had stopped. Sky fell to the floor, screaming in silent agony as the flames consumed him. I desperately reached out to him, and the room went black.

* * * * *

I opened my eyes. The room was dark, and I couldn't see very well. I tried to sit up, but I couldn't move. My arms felt leaden.

"What… where am I?" I asked, groggily.

"I'm here, Wil." It was Pete. He reached out and put his hand on my shoulder.

"I… I can't move," I said. My throat was sore for some reason.

Pete leaned down to me and whispered. "They've got you in restraints. You're in the hospital, Wil. You've been here for 48 hours."

Suddenly, I remembered.

"Oh, god," I croaked. "It wasn't a nightmare." I began sobbing, quietly.

"No," he said. "I'm sorry, Wil. Sky's gone."

I nodded. I understood. I didn't remember anything after we got home, but I accepted what had happened.

"The nurses will kill me for this," Pete said, "but I'm gonna let your arms loose. Promise me you'll stay in bed, Wil."

"Yeah. I'm okay now."

He unbuckled the restraints and I sat up. "Tell me what happened," I said, quietly.

Pete had an expression of utter sorrow on his face. "It's all here in the paper."

He handed me yesterday's issue of the Tampa Tribune. The front page of the metro section had a medium-sized headline: "Two Local Students Killed in Fiery Crash -- Police Suspect Alcohol a Factor." I looked at the photo beside the headline, and could see the remnants of a GTO, burned to a cinder, behind what used to be a giant Texaco tanker truck. The blackened bridge looked pretty damaged as well. A second picture showed the rear bumper of the car mostly intact, with a 'Tampa Central Cheetahs' bumper sticker still barely visible on the back. I couldn't read the rest of it, because I didn't have my glasses or contacts, and my eyes were brimming with tears.

"Sky's dead, isn't he." I said it as a fact, not a question.

"Yes." Pete paused. "I'm going to call your parents. Stay here, and don't move. Wil, listen to me: you're alive. You've gotta stay strong, man. We'll get through this together, I promise."

I nodded. I was too exhausted to cry, or talk, or do anything. I leaned back and closed my eyes.

* * * * *

"You gave us quite a scare when they brought you in."

I looked up, and it was a nurse, a slightly-plump black woman in a light green uniform.

"I thought nurses only wore white," I said, sleepily.

She smiled. "We have every color of the rainbow here. I'm Nurse Janette."

I nodded. "Is it time for me to leave yet?"

She looked over at the clock. "Your parents will be here in a few hours, Wil," she said. "Listen, there's some people here to see you."

"I don't want to see anybody," I said, dully.

The nurse leaned over to me. "It's Sky's parents," she said, quietly. "I really think you should talk to them."

I sighed, then nodded my head. She opened the door.

When they walked in, I stared at their faces. Dr. Jones and his wife looked like they had aged ten years since I'd last seen them, only a few days ago.

Sky's mother hugged me. "I'm so sorry all this happened, Wil," she said, quietly. "This is not your fault. It was just an accident. We just thank God that you're alive."

Dr. Jones put his hand on my shoulder. "I can't tell you how glad we are that you weren't in the car with them. If you had, it would've been as if we'd lost two sons."

"I'm… I'm so sorry about this," I choked, starting to cry.

"No, Wil," Dr. Jones said. "There's nothing for you to be sorry about. Can you tell us one thing?"

I nodded.

"Was Sky… were Sky and Melissa drinking at the dance?"

"No," I whispered. "Only the punch. They were totally sober, I swear."

Dr. Jones nodded. "I'm glad to hear that," he said. "The autopsy isn't going well, because of the…" He almost choked, then caught himself and took a deep breath. "Because of the amount of gasoline at the scene. They hit a fuel truck on the Causeway." His lower lip trembled.

I stared at him. I'd never seen Sky's father like this before. He'd always been so… so calm, so completely under control.

Mrs. Jones kissed my forehead. "You get some sleep, Wil," she said. "God bless you." They turned to leave.

"Dr. Jones?" I called. He turned back to me. "Can I… can I see Sky?"

He slowly shook his head. "I don't want you to see the body, Wil," he said, closing his eyes and bowing his head. "I want you to remember him the way he was."

Mrs. Jones began sobbing quietly, and he led her away from the room.

* * * * *

They released me from the hospital the next morning. My father drove the car home, and my mother sat next to me in the back, fighting back tears, with her arm around my shoulder. Sharon sat in the front seat and watched me. I could see her eyes were red and swollen.

We pulled up into the driveway, and the four of us got out of the car.

"Are you strong enough to walk upstairs, son?" asked my dad, quietly.

I nodded.

* * * * *

Later that afternoon, my father knocked on my door. He opened it and said, "I'm sorry to bother you, Wil. Two detectives from the police department want to talk to you."

I nodded, and two men in suits walked in. "Do you mind if we talk to your son alone, Mr. Larson?" asked one of them.

"We just want to talk to William about Schuyler Jones," the other said. "It's routine. Just some background information."

My father glanced over at me.

"It's okay, Dad. I'll talk to them," I said, quietly. My father nodded and closed the door.

"William…" the taller man began.

"It's Wil," I said, dully. "One L."

"Sorry," he said, "Wil. You were the last person to see Schuyler Jones on the night of June 7th, isn't that right?"

No, I thought. The gasoline truck driver Sky ran into was the last to see him alive, just about two seconds before all of them were incinerated in the explosion.

"Yeah," I said.

"Wil, we have a difficult situation with this case," said the other man. "Did you also see Melissa Rivington that night?"

"We went to the dance together in Sky's car," I said.

He nodded. "Look, Wil," the shorter detective said, sitting on the edge of my bed. "I shouldn't be doing this, but I'm gonna give it to you straight. You know Sky and Melissa died in the car crash that night."

I nodded.

"The speedometer was frozen at 116 miles an hour, so that much we know," he said, consulting his notes. "Initially, we thought they both died instantly, along with the truck driver they rear-ended. Unfortunately, a routine autopsy determined that Melissa Rivington was already dead before the crash. Broken neck."

My heart stopped. I looked up at him. "That's impossible," I whispered.

"That's what we said," he replied. "Think, Wil. Did you see Sky and Melissa together again before you left?"

Before I could speak, I suddenly saw Sky's face in the dean's office. "It was all me," he was saying. "Wil had nothing to do with this." I knew what Sky would want me to say now.

"No," I said, quietly. "The last time I saw Sky was in the hotel lobby, with Ginny. Then I left with a friend of mine."

The two detectives nodded. "Yeah. Virginia Randall. That checks out with the other witnesses."

They got up to leave, then paused at my door. "Listen, Wil," the tall one said. "No one else knows about this. The department has decided it would do no good for their families to know the details. Two teenagers are dead, and nothing can bring them back."

I nodded. "Nothing can bring them back," I repeated.

"I'm glad you agree, Wil," he said. "Please keep all of this information to yourself. And please call our office if you remember anything else about that night."

That terrible night.

He closed the door. I lay there and stared at the ceiling for the rest of the day.

* * * * *

Pete came by on Wednesday to go with me to the funeral. Sky's parents called and insisted that we ride with them in the limousine, along with his brother Bill, who had come down from college, and his sister Carol.

We rode together in silence. I felt completely numb. I don't really remember what happened at the cemetery. I can see glimpses of a minister mumbling some words, crying faces, and a casket being lowered into the ground. I think Coach Lucas was there, along with most of the football team members. Chuck, too. I dimly recall Ginny standing next to me, sobbing and holding my hand. I didn't feel anything. No tears. Nothing.

* * * * *

I didn't feel like going to Melissa's funeral the following day. We sent flowers and a note instead. I stayed in my room and put the White Album 8-track tape on auto-repeat for hours.

I lay in bed and stared at the ceiling. Suddenly, I was conscious of a warm shape near my arm. I glanced over and it was Samantha, my sister's pet Siamese. The cat softly mewed, then licked my forearm and curled up beside me. It purred happily, then put its paw out on my arm and nuzzled its head next to me. I closed my eyes and slept.

* * * * *

Three days went by. I cancelled my plans to join the Greater Tampa swim team over the summer. I didn't feel like doing anything. I stayed in bed mostly and just listened to music.

My parents insisted that I come with them to see a psychiatrist, but I adamantly refused. They tried to tell me I was in shock, but I shook my head. I'm just tired, I said.

"I'm so tired… I haven't slept a wink." The Beatles song from the White Album kept playing through my head, over and over again.

I kept running over the facts. No matter how I examined the equation, it always came out the same way: Sky was dead because of me.

I had helped Sky get better grades. His parents rewarded him by buying him a car. If he'd never gotten the car, he wouldn't be dead. All my fault.

Sky had fallen in love with me. He kissed me on the pier. Because of that, Melissa saw us, and she fell off the ladder and died. Sky tried to take her to the hospital, and died on the way. Still my fault.

I hadn't insisted on riding with him in the car. If I had just been there, he would've lived, I know it. My fault again.

When I felt better, I decided I would go to the library and do some research on suicide. I'd find a way to take care of it, as quickly and painlessly as I could. Maybe I'd feel up to doing it by my birthday in a few weeks.

* * * * *

On Saturday, there was a knock at my door. I looked up from my bed. My mother leaned her head in.

"Wil," she said. "There's someone here to see you."

"Tell them to go away," I said. "I know what it's like to be dead."

Suddenly, a voice from the outside began singing from the same Beatles song. "I know what it is to be sad. And it's makin' me feel like… I've never been born." Maybe it was John Lennon.

She opened the door and Pete walked in, grinning.

"Hey," he said.

"Hey."

"Can I come in?" he asked.

I stared at the wall. "I won't stop you," I said.

Pete turned to my mother. "Thanks, Mrs. Larson." She nodded and closed the door. Pete walked over and sat down on my bed. He reached out and ran his fingers through my hair. He sighed.

I looked up at him. Tears began running down his face. He was shaking.

Suddenly, I started to cry. I began sobbing, first quietly, and then as loudly as I could. I sat up and wrapped my arms around him. My body was wracked with sobs. We held each other for a long time.

* * * * *

I don't know how he did it, but Pete managed to convince my folks to let me stay with him at his beach house for a week or so.

We mostly sat around listening to music. Sometimes, we walked up and down the beach. I didn't feel like swimming, though. I just sat on the sand and looked out at the Gulf of Mexico for hours. It was beautiful. I always loved how the sunlit waves reflected that strange greenish-blue color. I loved the sound of the surf as it foamed up on the sand and hissed away. I even liked the slightly fishy smell of high tide during the day, and the pungent aroma of the green kelp that washed up on the shore late at night.

I began to wonder how it would feel if I waded out into the water and started to swim, and just kept on swimming until I couldn't swim any more. I bet I could get out there at least fifteen miles, maybe even twenty miles, easy. They'd never be able to find me after I stopped, I thought.

One day, I was sitting on a beanbag chair in Pete's bedroom, and we were listening to some Beatles 45s. I started singing along with "The Ballad of John and Yoko," which had just come out a few weeks earlier. Pete looked up and grinned at me.

"Good song, huh?" he said.

"Yeah, I guess," I said. I joined in with the chorus.

"Christ, you know it ain't easy

You know how hard it can be.

The way things are goin'

they're gonna crucify me."

Pete chuckled. "Lennon's right," he said, shaking his head. "They're gonna crucify that guy someday, man."

I stopped singing. "Shut up, Pete," I snapped. "That's not what he means in the song at all." Suddenly, I was filled with anger, and I began to sob, quietly. I wasn't even sure why.

He walked over and sat next to me, on the floor. "Wil," he said, quietly. "Listen to me. I need you to come back to earth."

I stared at him, then I shook my head. "I can't, Pete," I said, suddenly feeling very calm. "I'm going to die soon."

He laughed. "No, you're not, you douche."

He sounded so sure of himself. I hated him immediately. "Shut up," I snapped.

"Wil," he said, leaning over to me and grabbing my shoulders. "You're gonna live a long, long time. Trust me. I know."

I stared at him. "You knew that Sky was going to die, didn't you?"

He suddenly looked like he had a lifetime of pain etched on his face. "I knew it the day I met you," he said, simply.

I closed my eyes. "But you didn't tell me," I croaked.

"I tried," he said. "You saw what happened. Sky was meant to die. He was always gonna die. It was his time, man."

"No," I whispered.

"It was over water, Wil," he said, sadly. "I didn't see the bridge in my dream, but I saw his face and the fire, floating over water. That's what I couldn't understand. It was karma."

"FUCK KARMA!" I said, jumping to my feet and shaking with rage. "Fuck YOU, fuck KARMA, fuck GOD, fuck the COSMOS, fuck EVERYBODY!"

Pete looked up at me and grinned. "I agree with you," he said. "Fuck 'em all."

"Damned fucking right!" I yelled.

Pete started laughing.

"What are you laughing at, asshole?" I snarled.

"I'm laughing at an ASSHOLE!" he yelled. He laughed harder.

I fought the urge to smile. "Shut up," I said.

"Oh, pardon ME," he said, laughing. "You're trying to suffer, and I'm interrupting you!"

I glared at him. "You know I'm responsible for his death," I said, angrily. "If it wasn't for me, Sky would still be alive. Melissa, too. Even the truck driver. All because of me."

Pete laughed again. "You are such a selfish asshole, man," he said, shaking his head.

Without thinking, I reached forward and tried to punch him in the face. Like lightning, he grabbed my hand and yanked it back down to the bed, twisting it, then lay on top of me, roughly.

"GODDAMMIT! Listen to me, Wil!" he said, loudly. "I've already heard all your fucking arguments! Trust me, you won't win an argument about logic with me, man! I'm gonna be a fucking philosophy major! There's no way you're the one to blame for what happened. True, you're one of the proximate causes, but you're not the only one. You're not even the main reason, not by a long shot!"

Tears ran down my face, not just from the physical pain of my hand, but the reality that I knew Pete was wrong. He had to be.

He leaned down and kissed the tears from my face, then brushed the hair out of my eyes. He sighed and looked at me, sadly. Suddenly, he jumped up and paced back and forth by the bed.

"Alright," he said. "You wanna get into this now? Fine. Let's go down this logically. You say it's your fault that Sky got the car in the first place, right? Because you helped him get better grades?"

I nodded.

"BULLSHIT!" he yelled, making me jump. "Sky got better grades because he worked for it. If it wasn't you, it could've been anybody else helping him. Or even Sky by himself."

I nodded, meekly. I guess that was possible.

"And do you know why Sky got the car?" he asked. "Because he was a fuckin' spoiled rich kid, whose parents gave him everything he ever wanted."

"Don't say that about Sky," I said, quietly.

"I'm sorry, Wil," he said, sitting on the bed. "But it's true. I know everybody liked Sky, but you have to see -- it's partly his parents' fault for buying a stupid fucking immature 16 year-old kid a hot car like that! And it's Sky's fault for wanting it in the first place!"

I closed my eyes.

"LISTEN to me, Wil!" he yelled again.

I opened my eyes and stared at him. "But Melissa would've never seen us at the dock if it wasn't for me," I muttered.

"BULLSHIT AGAIN!" he yelled. "Sky wouldn't have been there at all if he hadn't fought with her in the first place! And Melissa's partly to blame, because SHE was stupid enough to threaten you two on the dock!"

"I should've ridden with him in the car," I said. "He might not have had the wreck if I'd gone."

"YOU ARE SO TOTALLY FULL OF SHIT!" he yelled, so loudly it made me wince. "That stalled truck would've still been on the same bridge, and he still would've had a wreck, only this time you would've died, too. All for nothing."

I looked up at him. "But what if…"

"Goddammit, you are IMPOSSIBLE, Wil!" he said, angrily pacing back and forth. "Okay -- 'what if.' Let's say by some miracle you did go with them and made it to the hospital alive, or you stayed at the pier and called an ambulance. You've still got a dead girl in the car. The cops show up, they arrest Sky, convict him of murder, and he goes to the electric chair. Meanwhile, you go to prison for five-to-ten as an accessory, and you get butt-fucked by every guy in jail, ten times a day. Sky's still dead, Melissa's still dead, and your life is ruined. Add it up, Wil. It could've been a lot worse."

I shook my head. "You try to make it sound logical, but it's not," I said. "Life isn't that logical."

He leaned forward and kissed me again, and ran his fingers through my hair. He kissed both my eyes, which were brimming with tears again.

"No," he said, softly, holding my face in his hands. "Life isn't always logical, Wil. Neither is love. But I want you to know something: Sky died mainly because of Sky. Not you, not me, not because of the cosmos. Just because of himself." He let me go and leaned back.

I opened my eyes and stared at him. Pete reached out and put his right hand on my shoulder and gave me a squeeze.

He took a deep breath. "The main reason Sky died was because he was an asshole, and because he was driving at 116 miles an hour on a two-lane bridge at midnight."

I shut my eyes, imagining how the wreck looked, how it would sound. I could see the glass break, the metal crunch, the bodies going through the windshield, and the back of the Texaco truck exploding in a bright ball of orange fire, all in slow motion. I could smell the gasoline fumes, the stench of burning rubber, and the faint scent of the ocean below.

"He wasn't an asshole," I said, quietly, my eyes still closed. Sky was wonderful, I thought. Then again, he could be totally incorrigible sometimes.

"Listen to me, Wil," he said. "If Sky hadn't crashed that car then, it would've been the next day, or the day after that, or a week later, or a month later. Any way you look at it, it was gonna happen."

I let out a long breath. Finally, I nodded and lay back on the bed. I felt exhausted.

"And you know what?" he said, laying beside me and gently kissing me. "I'm grateful to God or fate or Buddha or whatever the fuck you want to call it that your karma was so good, you weren't there. That's why you lived, Wil -- it wasn't your time, man."

He rolled over on his back. I turned and put my arm across his smooth chest, then buried my head in the crook of his arm.

We lay there together for a long time. My tears eventually stopped, and I relaxed. After awhile, Pete sat up and slowly took off my clothes, then pulled off his own shorts.

"I seem to recall when we were last here, I had to hurry," he said, smiling. "Now, we're gonna take our time."

It was nearly an hour before he would allow me to climax. For the last five minutes, all I could do was whimper. When Pete finally let me finish, I cried out so loudly, I was certain the neighbors at the motel next door would call the police. But they didn't.

Pete sat up, dazed. "My GOD," he said, laughing and wiping off his mouth. "Wil, I think that was, what… about a gallon's worth?"

"I'm sorry, man," I said, catching my breath and grinning. "It's been awhile."

He pulled me close to him and we slept for hours, while a cool ocean breeze fluttered the blinds on the window.

 Chapter 22

Over the next few days, Pete gradually coaxed me back to the land of the living. It wasn't easy for either of us. The sex was great: Pete was an extremely patient lover, and taught me ways of giving and receiving pleasure I'd never known before, not even with Rick and Ronnie. But I still found myself occasionally hating myself for what happened to Sky.

One afternoon in mid-June, we had just finished taking a shower together after a long session. Pete was lying next to me, reading Principles of Modern Philosophy, preparing for his freshman year at St. Petersburg Junior College, which started in two months. I looked out the window at the Gulf, hypnotized by the surf, and watched the breakers crash onto the shore. I could hear the echoes of the ever-present seagulls wailing mournfully in the distance. Despite the heat of the day, I felt a cold chill in the bottom of my stomach.

"You're thinking about him again, aren't you, Wil?" Pete said, softly. He put down his book and lay his hand across my bare chest.

I nodded, but continued staring out the window.

"Wil," he said, pulling me over to his side. "Listen to me. I don't want to tell you to stop thinking about Sky. But I do want you to stop torturing yourself over what happened."

I stiffened. I still hadn't gotten to the point where I even wanted to hear Sky's name out loud. I stared at him angrily.

"You're such an ultra-maroon," he said, laughing.

I shook my head, then started to smile. "Stop laughing at me," I muttered, forcing myself not to laugh with him.

He stopped, then put his arms around me. "Wil, listen to me," he said. "Love, laughter and music are the only things that can get you through the pain in this world. And I love you more than anybody else. More than my parents, more than God, even more than myself. More than anything."

I nodded. "I believe you."

He kissed me.

* * * * *

A few more days passed. On Thursday, I felt like swimming, for the first time in weeks. I paddled up and down the shore, while Pete lay on the sand on a towel, watching me. I heard a telephone ring in the distance, and saw Pete jump up and run back into the house. Seconds later, he came back out waving his arms on the back porch.

"WIL!" he called. "Phone!"

Who could that be, I thought, as I got out of the water and ran up the shore to the porch steps and through the doorway.

"If it's God calling," I said, dripping wet on the kitchen floor, my teeth chattering, "tell him to go pick on somebody his own size."

Pete shook his head and grinned, then covered the telephone mouthpiece. "C'mon, Wil," he whispered. "It's your folks. They're just worried about you, man."

I took the phone from him. "Hello?" I said.

"Wil, it's me," said my Mom. "We hadn't heard from you in a few days, and I wanted to make sure you were okay."

"I'm okay, Mom," I said. "I'm feeling better. Really."

Pete came in and put a towel over my shoulders, then leaned on the kitchen table, folded his arms, and grinned at me.

I smiled back. Pete looked up at me and nodded.

"Oh, that's good," she said, relieved. "Your father and I have been so worried about you. Sharon, too."

"I'll be home soon, Mom," I said, looking over at Pete. He reached over and tousled my hair. I grinned.

"That's wonderful!" she said. "Listen, your little friend Ronnie called this morning from Dallas. He was very upset that you weren't here. I told him about the…" I heard her voice catch, then she continued. "…about what happened. He's very concerned about you, Wil. You really should call him."

"I will, Mom. Thanks."

"We love you, Wil," she said.

"Me, too," I said. She made kissy noises in the phone, and I rolled my eyes and hung up.

"I told your Mom I thought you were comin' back down to planet Earth," Pete said.

I nodded. "Yeah," I said. "I know now I can't bring Sky back. And it wouldn't do any good to kill myself."

Pete took me in his arms and hugged me. "Don't even talk like that," he whispered. "We're not gonna have all that much time together as it is."

"What do you mean by that?" I said, suspiciously.

Pete looked at me, with an odd, faraway look in his eyes. "You should go see Ronnie," he said. "In Texas. He wants you there. Go ahead, call him, Wil."

I nodded, and went back into the bedroom to look for my little notebook of phone numbers.

* * * * *

Ronnie was ecstatic to hear from me. He wanted to know everything I'd done over the last few months. He got very quiet when I told him about Sky, and what had happened.

"Jesus H. Christ," he whispered on the phone. "My Uncle Bob didn't get a copy of the newspaper until yesterday. I thought… Rickie and I thought it was just an accident."

I closed my eyes. "It was. But it had nothing to do with drinking."

"You gotta come out here, Wil," he said, insistently. "Uncle Bob'll send you a plane ticket. Please visit us, Wil! You promised!"

I looked over at Pete, and he nodded.

I sighed. "Okay, Ronnie. Maybe in a week."

"Make it Saturday," said Pete, in my ear.

"Saturday," I said to Ronnie.

* * * * *

Saturday at 11AM, I took off in an Eastern Airlines fan-jet, a direct flight from Tampa International Airport to Dallas. I'd only been on a plane twice before, when I was just a little kid, and I was fascinated by how the ground looked from the air. I could still see the ocean surf from the distance, and could barely make out the white foam of the waves on the shores of Tampa Bay. I tried to figure out which of the tiny structures below was Pete's little house in Madeira Beach. It looked like the world's most elaborate miniature-scale model, like something out of a movie. I stared through the window until the wings were enveloped by wisps of clouds, and finally everything disappeared in a sea of white.

Two hours later, we landed in Dallas. Rick and Ronnie met me at the gate, and RJ was there, too. He took care of the luggage. I could hardly recognize either of my two friends. Gone were "The Geek Brothers," and instead were two tanned, taller young men, with blue jeans and flannel shirts, looking like junior cowboys from a rodeo. Rick had packed on a little muscle since I'd last seen him, and Ronnie was now about as tall as I was.

"Hey, what happened to you?" I said, laughing and playfully punching Ron in the shoulder.

"I was gonna say the same thing to y'all, Wil!" he said, squeezing my arm. "Jesus! You got muscles and stuff!"

I looked down. It looked like the same old body I always had to me. Well, maybe the workouts back at school had done some good, after all.

We left the main terminal and walked through the automatic doors, down the sidewalk and over to an enormous white limousine parked at the curb. There were six doors on one side, and the front radiator grill had a pair of bull horns, where a hood ornament should be.

I rolled my eyes. "Don't tell me this is your car!" I said, laughing. "That's the stupidest Texas cliché I've ever seen in my life!"

Rick and Ronnie laughed. "No, stupid. THAT'S our car." They pointed over behind the limo to a recent-vintage truck, a black Chevy wide pickup with double-wheels on the rear. I saw a small logo on the side door. "Lannigan Ranch, Plano, Texas," I read out loud.

RJ opened the passenger door for me as he tossed my suitcase and bag on the flatbed. "We-all ain't quite like the kinda Texans ya'll see on TV, Wil," he said, grinning. "Don't git me wrong -- my daddy's got money, but he only spends it whar it counts. We ain't exactly the 'Beverly Hillbillies' out here."

I nodded. "Sorry, RJ," I said, embarrassedly.

"No offense taken," he replied, clapping me on the shoulder.

* * * * *

The Lannigan Ranch was every bit as lavish and enormous as Ronnie had said it was. It looked like something out of that movie Giant, the one with James Dean from the 1950s. I couldn't believe they had managed to build such a big mansion in what looked like the middle of nowhere.

"Holy shit!" I said, craning my neck as we pulled through the main gate.

"Over there's the road that leads to the horse corrals," Ronnie said, pointing to the left. "And a way's over to the right are all the buildings for the farm equipment. Back to the side are the barns, and we've got 23 of them," he gushed.

"Where are the oil wells?" I asked, looking around.

"You lame-brain!" laughed Ronnie. "The main oil fields are more'n a hundred miles from here," he said, as if this was the most obvious thing in the world. "Uncle Bob makes all his money here from horses and grapefruit and stuff."

"Ten thousands acres," drawled RJ, "one of the biggest lil' ol' ranches in East Texas. That's in addition to the other four places mah dad's got in the state." He pulled the truck up through a curved driveway and parked. "And right up here's the main residence. We call it the 'big house.' That's where the family lives, and ya'll be stayin' with us."

As we hopped out of the truck, I turned and gawked. There were about a dozen Mercedes, two gray Rolls-Royces, and some kind of hot red Italian sports car, each parked in neatly-lined spaces to the left.

Man, I thought, as we walked through the ornate oak-inlaid double front doors. This makes the country club back in Tampa look like a slum.

* * * * *

I had a terrific time on the ranch. Rick and Ron spent several days with me, trying to teach me how to ride a horse in the paddock, which was a large area outside the barn, ringed with a wooden fence. They laughed their asses off at me the first day. After just six months out here, the Lannigan brothers were now practically almost experts. They looked like they'd stepped right out of a Western TV show. As for me, I had trouble even getting on the damned horse in the first place. The thing looked enormous.

By about the third time the animal had thrown me off its back, RJ walked up to me in the riding ring and pulled me up out of the sawdust. "You got this all wrong, Wil," he said, grinning. "Ya gotta git yourself a horse attitude."

"Sounds more like horse shit," I muttered, rubbing my sore butt.

RJ clapped me on the shoulder. "I'm talkin' 'bout confidence, man! Ya just gotta fix it in your mind that you're a lot smarter than the horse. You treat him right, and he'll treat you right." RJ tapped the side of his head with his index finger. "Ya got brains, Wil," he said. "But ya gotta show the horse who's boss."

Show the horse who's boss -- hmmm. I walked up to the horse, then reached out and petted its nose. It whinnied and drew back from me. I stepped forward, tried to shake the fear out of my head, and took firm hold of the bridle.

"It's okay, boy," I said, soothingly. "I just wanna ride you for a little while."

The horse stared at me, then leaned over. I patted the side of its long neck, and it nodded.

It couldn't be this easy, I thought.

"Come on, Wil," yelled Ronnie. "We don't have all dang day, ya nin-cow-poop!"

Shit, I thought. He even sounds like a Texan now. I put my left foot in the stirrup, grabbed the saddle horn with my left hand, then pulled myself up. The horse moved unsteadily, then turned and looked at me.

I grinned. "What're you lookin' at?" I said. "Let's go!"

I made a little click-click noise with my mouth, and we started trotting around the ring.

"THAT'S it, Wil!" yelled RJ. "I think y'all are gittin' the hang of it now!"

I looked up and grinned as I bounced up and down in the saddle. This was almost fun, I thought. Even if it did smell like shit. How do they stand the smell out here?

* * * * *

Over the next couple of days, Ronnie dropped several very unsubtle hints that he'd like to do it with me. I told him I was still really down about the accident, and that sex was just about the last thing I was thinking about lately.

"Look, Ronnie," I said, putting my arm around his shoulder. "You can't be that horny. You've still got your brother, right?"

He frowned. "Rickie's got girlfriends," he said sarcastically, shaking his head. "He says he doesn't wanna do any 'kid stuff' anymore. And RJ's always busy workin' on the ranch."

"I'm really sorry, man," I said, quietly. "I'm still kinda out of it. Look, give me a few days, and maybe we can do it before I leave."

He nodded, reluctantly. "I can wait," he said, quietly.

* * * * *

Saturday, June 28th was my birthday. That night, Rick and Ronnie's Uncle Bob was nice enough to throw me what he called a "Texas-sized" party. A dozen or so teenage kids from his employees came along, and we lived it up. We had a giant outdoor dinner, complete with barbecued steaks, ribs, and beans, followed by a cake roughly the size of Omaha. Following the meal, Uncle Bob had some of his men set off some fireworks over the house. My mouth dropped open.

"This is nothin'," said Mr. Lannigan, from behind me. He laughed when he saw my reaction. "Wait'll ya'll see what we do 'round here for the 4th of July!"

After the fireworks show, which lasted about ten minutes, Rick and Ronnie led me over to the nearest barn.

"We got a present for ya, Wil," Ronnie said, slyly.

"Just what do you have in mind?" I said. Ronnie always made me nervous when he got that sound in his voice.

Rick and Ron both giggled, then led me into the barn. There was Mr. Lannigan and RJ, standing next to the horse I'd been riding for the last few days.

"The boys here tol' me how well you'd been pickin' up on horse-ridin'," said the elder Lannigan, grinning from ear to ear.

"No, no, sir," I protested. "I'm a swimmer, I'm not a horse rider."

"Well," he said, laughing. "Ya are now. This here's your horse, Wil. I'm givin' it to ya."

I stared. The horse whinnied, then took a step forward. I reached out and took the reins, and the horse nodded his head up and down.

"Jesus," I said. "This is right out of an episode of Fury," I laughed, referring to the old cornball 1960s kid's cowboy show.

The three of them grinned at me. "We wanted you to have somethin' cool," said Rick. "Whenever you come visit, this is your horse." I noticed he'd hardly stuttered at all since I'd seen him here in Dallas.

"We'll take care of him for you, Wil," said Ronnie, smiling at me.

I nodded, then reached out to pat the horse on his long neck. The animal turned his head, then nuzzled my face.

"He LIKES you, Wil!" squealed Ronnie.

"Shor does," laughed RJ. "Ah'd say this horse is a mite good judge o' people."

"Guys," I said, shaking my head. "I can't accept this."

"Now, Wil," said Mr. Lannigan, putting his hand on my shoulder. "Y'all know, ya never turn down Texas hospitality! Wouldn't be polite."

I grinned. "Okay. Thanks, sir."

"Call me Uncle Bob," he insisted.

"Right… Uncle Bob," I said.

He laughed and shook my hand. "Happy birthday, thar, Wil," he said, walking out the barn. "You get yerself a good night's sleep. You boys oughta git some more ridin' in for tomorrow."

RJ walked around then put his hand up on the other side of the horse's head. "This is one fine animal," he said. "One of the best dang Arabian one-year old's on the whole ranch, and he's got a pedigree a mile long. But he's still missin' somethin', Wil."

I looked up at him. "What?"

"You gotta name him!" giggled Ronnie, who walked up beside me.

Hmmm. I hadn't thought of that. Well, 'Trigger' was already taken. 'Silver' had been used before. And 'Fury' was right out.

Rick looked under the horse's midsection and giggled. "If ya asked me," he said, "I'd say you could call him 'Little Wil.' Both of y'all are about the same dang size, ya know?"

Rick, Ron, and RJ all burst out laughing, and I smiled broadly.

"No, no," I said. "I think that'd be much too confusing."

The three of them grinned at me. "Then what, Wil?" asked Ronnie.

The horse let out a snort, then nuzzled my face again.

I thought for a minute, then looked up at him and smiled. "I think I'll name him 'Sky'," I said, softly. "Because he's wild, he's unpredictable, and because I think he loves me."

Ronnie put his hand on my shoulder. "Are you… you sure, Wil?" he asked, quietly.

I nodded. "Yeah."

RJ petted the horse's head. "Then 'Sky' it is," he said. "C'mon, boys. Y'all put Sky here back in his pen. I got one last birthday surprise for Wil."

As Rick and Ronnie led my horse away, RJ put his arm around my shoulder and walked me to the back of the barn. "I got me a coupla friends o' mine ah want y'all to meet."

We went over to the back wall, where a large ladder went up at least 20 feet high to another level upstairs. Two handsome teens stepped out from a stall on the right.

"Wil," said RJ, "say hello to Jack and Jim. They're the Taylor boys. Their daddy works for us as the foreman out here on the ranch."

I looked up and saw two identically-dressed teenagers, both about 16. Each of them had pretty good builds, were a couple of inches taller than me, and wore tight blue jeans and a red plaid shirt. They had straight shoulder-length jet black hair, which they parted in the middle, and piercing black eyes. They were dazzling.

"Hi," I said. "I guess you guys are twins."

"Ya figured that out, all on your own, didja?" said the one on the left, grinning.

I laughed. "Sorry. I guess you get that a lot."

They nodded. "Sometimes, even we can't tell the other apart," the one on the right drawled. "That's why we wear these li'l necklaces. Jack's is gold; mine's silver."

I looked closely. Just above their chests, I saw a thin little chain against their tanned skin. I gulped. I could see a deep muscular ridge leading from their necks down to their chests. Judging by the veins in their arms, and their wide shoulders, these two were pretty buff.

"I thought you'd like 'em, Wil," said a voice to my left. I flinched. It was Ronnie, grinning from ear to ear.

I laughed and nodded. "Yeah," I said. "They seem pretty cool."

"So Wil," Ronnie said, trying not to laugh. "If Jim helped you off the horse, would you help Jack off the horse?"

I thought for a minute. "Well, yeah," I said, slowly. "I guess I would."

All four of them laughed, but I stood there with a quizzical look.

"GET IT?" Ronnie shouted, laughing so hard he almost fell down into the hay.

A sheepish grin spread across my face. "Jesus, Ronnie," I said, shaking my head. "That is so fucking lame."

"You should go up there," Ron whispered to me, pointing over to the ladder. I turned back, and saw that the Taylor twins had shed their shirts.

"It's mighty hot in here, wouldn't ya say, Wil?" said the one on the left, who I think was Jim. I stared at his body. He was tight as a drum, and had a tan as good or better than anybody I'd ever seen back in Florida. His chest was smooth and very muscular, and he had just a sprinkling of little dark curls trailing down from his belly-button.

"I think it'll be a mite cooler up top in the hayloft, don'tcha think?" said the other boy. He began climbing up the ladder in front of me. As he gripped the rungs, I could see his arms were big and round. He had the same little football-biceps that Sky had.

Sky. My heart sank. I hadn't allowed myself to think of him in days, since I'd arrived at the ranch.

"C'mon, Wil," whispered a voice in my other ear. It was Jack -- at least I think that was him. He put his arm around my shoulder. "Y'all and me and Jimmy need to git better acquainted."

I nodded and followed him up the ladder. The hayloft was an enormous area, at least 40 feet square, and bales of hay were stacked all the way up to the peaked roof. There was enough of a crawl space to one side that you could walk through without any problem. A large brown blanket decorated with Indian symbols lay on the straw floor just in front of the ladder. A dim amber light behind us cast long shadows across the room.

Both brothers looked over and grinned at me. There was a thin sheen of sweat on their bare chests.

"I guess it is kinda hot in here," I said, nervously. I took off my shirt and lay it on a nearby wooden railing.

"You look mighty fine thar, Wil," said the brother on the left. "Mighty fine," repeated the one on the right.

"So, uh," I said, sitting down on the blanket. "What do you guys do for fun around here?'

The boys both laughed, then kicked off their cowboy boots and began sliding down their jeans. Holy shit, I thought. They weren't wearing any underwear.

"I think y'all need to git a lot more comfortable," said Jack. Jim nodded, and they walked over to me and looked down.

I was still kind of nervous. I'd only met these guys five minutes ago, and now they wanted to… uh, I guess, do it.

Suddenly, Jim kneeled down and untied my sneakers. I started to protest, but Jack leaned over and began unbuttoning my pants and zipping down my fly.

"Y'all jes' lay back and relax, Wil," whispered Jack. "Cousin RJ says y'all need some real Texas hospitality for your birthday. And that's jes' what you're gonna git."

In seconds, they'd pulled off my pants and socks and tossed them over to the side. I sat there, embarrassed, with a large bulge growing in my underwear. Jack and Jim grinned.

"Y'all want us to help ya with the rest?" Jim asked.

I shook my head and slowly pulled down my underwear, then tossed it in the pile of clothes with my jeans and sat back down on the blanket, my legs slightly open.

"Whooo-eee!" said Jack, eying my groin. "My, my. RJ wasn't pullin' our lariots about ya, Wil, that's for sure."

Both brothers dived towards me in the hay, and wound up one on either side of me. My heart pounded as they both reached between my legs. I was as hard as a rock, and my organ throbbed with every beat of my heart.

I gulped. "Are you sure nobody's gonna come up here?" I whispered, glancing around.

"Nobody but us," said Jim, quietly. "You're all ours for awhile. You just relax thar, Wil'."

Jim leaned forward and grabbed my face with both hands, then kissed me roughly. He began slurping hungrily all over my face, then slid down to my neck. I glanced over and saw his twin move down to my groin, with an ear-to-ear grin on his face. He opened his mouth and sank out of sight, and a second later, I was rewarded with an incredible warm and wet sensation.

I moaned. Jim kissed me again. "You're the only boy we've seen that's near this big, 'ceptin' for RJ."

Jack momentarily let go of me and looked up, wiping some saliva off his face. "We're real good friends of RJ's," he said, grinning. "Real good."

I bet you are, I thought. Just like brothers.

He went back to slurping down below, while his twin began licking and tonguing my chest.

"Oh, god," I said out loud. "Jesus, that's good." I lay back on the blanket and propped myself up on my elbows as I watched the two boys kneeling down in front of me.

Jim sucked hard on my left nipple, while Jack took one of my balls in his mouth and swirled it around. My toes curled, and I squeezed the blanket as hard as I could. Sweat began dripping down from my underarms. I moaned again. Jesus, I thought. These guys make Rick and Ronnie look like nuns.

After a minute, Jim took his mouth away from my chest, then joined his brother down by my waist. He put his hand on Jack's shoulder. Jack sat up and let me momentarily slip out of his mouth. They kissed each other, passionately, then broke apart and simultaneously slid down on my member. Each of them took a different side, and slurped hungrily up and down my full length.

"Oh, CHRIST!" I moaned.

Jim began gently fondling my balls, then squeezed them a little harder. "Lordy," he said, almost reverentially. "Ya got a set on you that'd even make a bull jealous. They's real big."

"Thanks," I said, almost choking with pleasure.

Suddenly, the two brothers renewed their assault. "Oh, GOD!" I said, almost screaming. "Guys… I'm… I'm gettin' close."

Jim began licking the area immediately below my sac, while Jack plunged his mouth deeper and deeper, rapidly moving up and down on my erection.

I cried out and began bucking up and down like a bronco, plunging and thrusting my arousal as deep into his mouth as I could. I felt more fireworks explode in my groin than I'd seen all night over the ranch.

At last it was over, and the two brothers fell back beside me. The three of us lay back on the blanket, sweating and panting for breath.

Jim lay his hand across my chest, then turned to me and smiled. "Ya got a great body, thar, Wil," he said, quietly. "You're a swimmer, right?"

I nodded. "Yeah," I said, catching my breath. "Breaststroke, for my team at Tampa Central."

He laughed. "Now I never woulda figured ya for a breast man." Jack grinned and massaged my right pec, then gently tweaked my nipple.

"I'm going to try to move over to Butterfly, soon," I said, still a little nervous.

Jack moved his hand down to my stomach. "Ya got some great ab muscles on ya, too," he said, gently rubbing me. "Howdja get that kinda definition?"

"Thanks," I said, looking down. "I started working on my abs for the last few months while I helped a friend of mine at school with his."

I sighed. I could see Sky again in the gym, running his hands up and down his muscled stomach, looking at the mirror and grinning at me.

"Wow," Jack said. "I bet that boy's got some kinda muscles on him."

Not any more, I thought.

Jack saw the look on my face. "I'm sorry, thar, Wil," he said, quietly. "I guess that was somebody who…"

"Yeah," I said, quickly. "He died. Almost a month ago."

Jack kissed me on the face. "Cousin Ronnie told us. Listen, Wil," he said quietly, putting his hand on my shoulder. "You just sit a'spell with us and relax. We just want ya to enjoy yourself."

He reached down and gently took hold of my deflated member, which hung down over my right leg. "Man," he marveled. "Now, if that don't beat all. This thang is pretty dang huge, even soft!"

I grinned. "Yeah," I replied. "I guess it is."

"You got all kinda veins and stuff in it, and it's mighty thick, too. And you're jes' Ronnie's age?" he asked.

I shook my head. "Actually, I'm almost a year younger. Today's my 14th birthday."

Jack let out a low whistle. "Shee-it!" he exclaimed. "I never woulda guessed it. Ya ready for one more go 'round, Wil?" he asked.

"I dunno, guys," I said. "I'm really kinda tired."

They stood up beside each other and grinned at me, their boyish penises dangling between their muscular legs.

"On the other hand," I said, my heart starting to pound, "maybe I do have another half hour."

Both of the Taylors laughed. They really were terrific-looking -- wide-shouldered, with narrow waists, and just a little body hair. Their chests were smooth, tight and well-defined, with deep ridges running down the center, all the way from their necks to their bellies. Their waists were impossibly small, and their powerful arms bulged with veins and muscles, like young Olympic gymnasts. However, both of them had what I'd call somewhat diminutive teenage equipment, judging by what I'd seen back in the showers at school. Jack already seemed to have a partial hard-on.

"Hey," I laughed. "I think Jack's a little bigger than you are, Jim."

"He is not!" Jim said, angrily.

"Am too!" snapped Jack. He turned to me. "We've been arguin' 'bout this since we were pups, Wil. See, I'm a little older than mah brother…"

"…yeah, by ten minutes," said Jim, rolling his eyes.

Jack laughed. "Well, anyway," he continued, "we've measured our dicks before, and I'm definitely 1/4" bigger than he is."

"Shut up, Jack-ass!" said Jim, who turned away from us and pouted.

Jack grinned at me. "He's a mite sensitive about it," he whispered to me.

"Hey, guys," I said. "Take my word for it -- it doesn't matter how big it is. It matters what you do with it. And can we get going here? I'd sort of like to get to sleep eventually." I'd been up since 6AM, helping Ronnie with his chores, and I really was tired.

Both twins laughed. I was definitely beginning to get aroused again, just by looking at them. I took a deep breath.

"You know," I said quietly. "There's one thing I've always wanted to do."

I got down on my knees on the blanket in front of them and reached up. Their arousals were very boyish, but perky -- just a little bit smaller than Sky's, and definitely an inch or so less than Ronnie's. But their shape was smooth, perfect, and flawless, like a textbook illustration of the male member.

"Them's pretty dicks, ain't they?" said Jack, grinning.

I nodded. "And just the right size," I said. I leaned forward and took them both into my mouth at the same time.

The twins moaned, and I felt them quickly throb to full attention. Jim put his hand on the back of my head and stroked my hair. I reached forward with both hands and lightly gripped their sacs and gave a gentle squeeze. They groaned again, louder, and began slowly thrusting into my mouth. I could smell a subtle lustful odor, a mixture of sweat and some kind of sweet spice. My heart began to race, and I felt my groin surge.

"Hold off thar, Wil," said RJ, who was climbing up off the ladder behind me. "Y'all ever hear of a 'Lucky Pierre'?"

Jim grinned and nodded, disengaged himself from my mouth, then walked away and started rummaging around for something in the back of the hayloft, up on a wooden shelf.

What? I had read a few more reference books on human sexuality in the library over the last few months, but didn't recall that one.

"No," I said. "Who's this Pierre guy, and why is he so lucky?"

Jim walked over and showed me what he'd taken down from the rafters. It was a little tin of vaseline.

I felt a little confused. Did both of them want to, uh… do it to me at the same time? It didn't seem possible, and even if it was, I wasn't sure I'd ever be ready for that. Just handling Sky a few weeks ago was painful enough.

Before I could start thinking about my friend, RJ grinned and guided me over to a side area in the hayloft. As we walked, my half-hard endowment swung back and forth pendulously between my legs. We stopped in a little alcove, which was dimly lit from above by a bare light bulb, which hung down from a chain on the ceiling. In front of us was a leather saddle, mounted on a couple of two-by-fours like a sawhorse. RJ began taking off his clothes and hung them over the railing. Jim leaned over on his stomach on the saddle, then spread his legs wide open and began applying vaseline to the right area.

"I kin handle ya, Wil," he said, looking back at me. "I been with RJ before with no problem. You jes' gimme all you got."

Jack put his hand on my shoulder. "Then, when ya'll are ready," he said in my ear, "I'll get right behind ya."

I looked down at his arousal. Even erect, it didn't look very big. I felt certain I could take it.

RJ leaned forward and dabbed some of the clear goo on my erection.

"Jesus!" I cried. "This stuff's cold!"

RJ laughed. "It'll git warmed up real fast," he said. "Now, y'all go nice and slow on mah boy Jimmy, thar."

I nodded, then leaned forward and aimed at Jim's target, which was completely hairless except for a few dark wisps on his thighs below. I looked so huge. There was no way it could fit in there. I looked up at RJ and he grinned at me and nodded, then began stroking himself with his bare hand.

Okay, I thought. Here goes. I looked down at Jim's back. His thighs and butt were extraordinarily tight and well-muscled -- probably from all the hard work out here on the ranch, I thought. I stared at the deep ridge down his back, which went from the base of his neck all the way down to the groove between his hairless, firm buttocks. I stroked his back with my hand, then placed the tip of my head against Jim's opening. It felt slick and gooey, but very warm. I slowly began pushing it inside.

Jim gave a brief "ohhhhh," then motioned for me to continue. "Keep goin'," he moaned, gritting his teeth.

I shoved it in another couple of inches.

"Oh, MAN," he said. "Ya'll are definitely a bit bigger than RJ."

"Told ya!" said a voice to my right. I looked over and it was Ronnie. He was naked and leaning back on the edge of a nearby railing, fondling himself and grinning at me. I smiled back at him.

"Go on, Wil!" he called. "Don't stop for me. I'm just enjoyin' the show!"

I gave one last shove, and it went in all the way up to the hilt.

"GOD!" Jim moaned. "Oh, Wil. Please… jes' start fuckin' me."

Well, he's got better endurance than Cynthia ever did, that's for sure, I thought. I began slowly thrusting in and out. It felt absolutely wonderful, yet very different from anything I'd ever experienced before. After a minute, I was surprised by how easy it was for me to do this. I guessed that, on some level, instinct took over to the point where it felt totally natural. I began idly thinking about how man had been doing something like this for probably a couple of hundred thousand years, and how it was probably programmed into our DNA. Aliens probably taught us how to do it, I thought, just like the apes in 2001.

Suddenly, the animal part of my brain took over, and I began to grunt. "Oh, shit," I said, panting. "This is so fucking good."

I became aware of Jack standing beside me. "Hol' up, Wil," he said, putting his hand on my shoulder. "Now, we git to the good part. This won't take but a second."

I felt his fingers push into my backside. The liquid was cold, but his fingers were warm. He gently shoved in a finger, then wiggled around. I felt a quivering deep below my stomach, and I involuntarily moaned.

"You're almost ready," Jack whispered. "We gonna take this nice 'n slow."

I felt a second finger slip inside me. It hurt for a moment, then I nodded. My own erection throbbed inside Jim, and felt bigger than ever. I looked over at RJ, who was standing right next to me and fondling his own enormous endowment, which was every bit as big as mine. Sweat glistened on the front of his chest.

"Okay," Jack whispered to me from behind. "Here goes. Hang on, Wil."

He put his bare chest up against my back, and I felt a sharp stabbing pain down below. I gasped, and suddenly he was inside me. It was an intense pressure, mixed with a strange, yet curiously-pleasant feeling.

"I won't move a bit, Wil," he said, panting. "Y'all do all the work."

I began to thrust again, slowly. As I pushed in, my groin twinged with Jim's warmth and tightness. As I pulled out, Jack's erection went deeper inside me from behind. I moaned at the double onslaught on my body, with two completely different kinds of bliss sending shockwaves of pleasure through me.

"Oh, FUCK!" I moaned.

"Now, ya'll know why they call the boy in the middle 'Lucky Pierre,'" Jack whispered in my left ear. He playfully bit my earlobe, then began passionately kissing and licking my neck.

I leaned on top of Jim and began pumping my loins deeper. RJ leaned forward and gently tweaked both of my nipples, then kissed me and shoved his tongue deep into my mouth. I moaned as his tongue met mine, then he sucked the tip back into his own mouth. I looked down and saw that my nipples were now erect, and I saw a lone bead of sweat trickle down my chest.

I began to go mad with delight. Every move I made was like a little electric charge, wired directly to my groin. I leaned back and sped up my attack. My lower half seemed to have a mind of its own, bucking and thrusting like some kind of insane wild bull. From behind me, Jack got into the rhythm and began gently pumping with me and moaning.

RJ stood up and leaned over, then pointed his massive endowment towards my face. I reached out with my left hand and guided it into my mouth. I began to swoon. I looked down and could see my own enormous erection slide in and out from Jim below. Just above it, I saw RJ's almost-identical arousal, as it plunged deep into my mouth again. It was almost like looking at a mirror.

At last, the explosion detonated. I babbled nonsense words, completely unintelligible because of RJ's erection in my mouth. I plunged and I plunged into Jim as if I'd die there, and felt a series of eruptions in my groin. Jack momentarily sped up his thrusts, then cried out and fell back on the hay behind me. RJ slipped out of my mouth as I collapsed on top of Jim, our sweaty bodies rising and falling as we lay together on the saddle, catching our breath. I felt something warm and wet oozing down my thighs.

"WOW!" said Ronnie, almost reverentially.

The four of us turned and looked at him, still leaning against the wooden rail. He was covered almost from head to toe with his own white goo.

"That's the biggest one I've ever had," he said, panting and giggling.

"Hey!" yelled Jim from underneath me. "Ya'll ain't let me come yet!"

I grinned. I had enough strength for one more. I stood up, gently pulled out, and let Jim get off the saddle and lie down on the blanket in back of us. I got down on my knees, reached out and grabbed him. He was rock-hard and throbbing. I looked down and noticed his balls were virtually hairless, like mine. My mouth watered at the sight of his boyish package. I leaned down and gobbled him up, all in one motion. His entire body went rigid.

"Oh, man!" he cried.

I sucked and plunged up and down his shaft as if my very life depended on it. Jim began to moan softly, then I reached down and wiggled one of my fingers deep inside him, using the same lubricant I'd left there only moments ago. That did it. Within just a few seconds, he curled his toes and groaned, his hips pumped, and I felt my mouth fill with a thick, salty taste. I let it shoot right down my throat, and swallowed the rest.

Seconds later, RJ cried out. We looked up just in time to see several white eruptions shoot out from his huge endowment like streams of rope, spurting all over the straw floor.

"Lord," he said, gasping and holding onto the saddle for support, "you boys are one mighty powerful turn-on."

I collapsed next to Jim on the blanket. Jack sat down, then slid next to me and lay back. The Taylor brothers put their arms around me.

"Happy birthday, Wil," said Jack. Jim leaned over and kissed me, then reached down and gently fondled my limp organ.

Ronnie and RJ walked over with a towel, having just finished wiping themselves off.

"That was cool, Wil," Ron said. "You and me gotta try that sometime."

"You're assuming I'm ever gonna be able to walk again after this," I said, laughing.

I felt more exhausted and completely spent than I ever had in my life. After a minute or two, the two brothers helped me back up to my feet, and Ronnie wiped me off and handed me my clothes.

"Thanks, Ronnie," I said, leaning over and kissing him gently. "That was definitely a great birthday."

He looked up at me with an expression of pure love on his face, and nodded.

"If ya'll ever wanna get together again, Wil," said Jack, pulling up his jeans, "jes' let us know. Anytime, any place."

RJ nodded. "This is the most fun we've had in a coon's age."

"In a what?" I asked, bewildered. Jesus, these guys talked funny.

The four of them laughed. "Jes' an old Texas expression," Ronnie giggled.

I rolled my eyes and laughed.

 Chapter 23

Rick and Ronnie spent the entire next day showing me all the ins and outs of horse care -- how to groom the horse, how to put the saddle on, how to take it off. There was even a whole procedure on how to take care of the horse shit in the stall.

"This is the part of horses I don't much like," said Ronnie, glumly scooping his shovel into a large pile of green lumps. "It's really…"

"SHITTY!" I said, laughing, as I tossed another load of manure onto the cart. One chunk fell off and grazed Ron on the shoulder. He started laughing, then the two of us nearly fell down, half hysterical. Ronnie picked up a small green lump and playfully tossed it at Rick, who ducked just in time and grinned.

The three of us laughed for five minutes. Jesus, I thought. It'd been a long time since I'd heard them laugh. And it'd been a long time since I'd laughed with them, too.

* * * * *

Over the next week, I rode my new horse every day. I learned how to effortlessly bounce up and down in the saddle in sync with the horse's gait, and by the third day, me, Rick and Ronnie were galloping our steeds up and down the low hills surrounding the property. I only fell off once the entire time, but that was my own stupid fault. I balked at learning how to jump the horse, but I promised the Lannigan brothers that the next time I visited, we'd work on that.

RJ had to go into the city on Thursday to pick up some supplies, and Ronnie and I rode with him in the truck. When we rode down Main, I noticed a nearby building when we stopped for a light at Houston Street. It looked strangely familiar.

"Hey!" I said, pointing out the window. "That's the Texas Book Depository! This is Dealey Plaza, where Kennedy was shot six years ago."

RJ sighed. "Yep," he said, quietly. "We Texans don't exactly like this place as a tourist stop. It's kinda embarrassin'."

I insisted that he stop and let us get out and walk around just for five minutes. You could definitely feel a weird vibe in the air. I looked at all the surrounding buildings and pointed out to Ronnie that if ever there was a place tailor-made for murder, this was it. With the two tall buildings behind us, and the grassy knoll ahead, it seemed pretty obvious to me that there must've been more than one finger on the trigger for the assassination. I'd already read the single-volume Warren Commission Report at the public library, plus a couple of other books on Kennedy's assassination that my dad had at home.

"C'mon, let's go, Wil," whined Ronnie, pulling on my hand. "This place is creepy."

RJ nodded. "We really oughta git back to the ranch, boys."

I took one last look up at a 6th floor corner window of the building and shuddered. I'd already been through too much death this year anyway. We got back in the truck and continued on our errands.

* * * * *

Uncle Bob pulled out all the stops for their 4th of July celebration at the ranch on Friday. RJ told me his father had spent over two thousand dollars for the fireworks alone, and I guessed half the population of Dallas must've been out there on the ranch that night. The smell of fried chicken, barbecue ribs, and steaks filled the air. Above in the night sky, enormous explosions of red, white and blue shot through the blackness.

Ron and I sat on the fence, staring up at the dazzling display of pyrotechnics above us and flinching at the explosions. He leaned on me and put his right arm around my shoulder.

"I don't want you to go back to Florida, Wil," he whispered. "Please stay here with us."

I shook my head. "I'm sorry, Ronnie," I said. "We talked about this before. I gotta go home tomorrow. My parents haven't seen me in weeks."

"You can still call 'em on the phone," he whined.

I smiled. I looked up, and could see tears welling up in Ronnie's eyes. "I'll visit you whenever I can, Ron."

He sniffled. "Okay," he muttered. "I guess."

After the fireworks show, we headed back into the house and climbed up the long, winding staircase. Uncle Bob turned off the enormous chandelier in the foyer.

"You boys best run up to bed, now!" he called. "Wil, y'all got an early mornin' flight back to Tampa. We'll git you on the road by 7:30."

"Thanks, Uncle Bob," I called as we reached the top of the stairs. "Goodnight!"

"G'night, Wil!" he yelled.

In the hall, Ronnie stopped me as I started to turn the doorknob to my room. "Wait," he whispered. "I want you with me tonight. In my room."

I hesitated. "Ron, listen," I said. "There's this guy back home who's been helping me with stuff. Helping me… you know, get over… what happened."

Ron nodded. "I know -- Pete. You said you'd been stayin' with him."

"Yeah," I said. "I'm kinda… in love with him."

"Just stay with me for a little while," he whispered, putting his hand on my shoulder. "Just for tonight. I love you, Wil."

I sighed. I guess I loved Ronnie, too, but the way I felt with Pete was… different, somehow. Like it was something written in the cosmos. But maybe with Ronnie, even sex was okay. Just between us brothers.

We made love for half the night. Despite the huge mansion's high-tech, climate-controlled air conditioning system, the sweat from our bodies mingled together, and his sheets were slightly damp in less than an hour.

Ronnie had gotten a little bigger since I'd last seen him. I could see he'd sprouted a little more hair down below, and he was losing his baby fat. I could also see the beginnings of a man's muscles on his skinny frame.

"I love your muscles, Wil," he sighed, after his third orgasm. "You've got veins and bulges and everything."

I sat up and grinned. "You should've seen Sky," I said. "He was really great."

"Tell me about him, Wil," he said, quietly.

I began to explain how I'd grown to love Sky over the past few years, and how finally, he started to love me back, just after the ski accident. I tried to describe what it was about Sky that I loved so much -- his eyes, his body, his voice. All that, plus the special indefinable spark that made him what he was. Some of it was impossible to put in words, like how comfortable I was just hanging out with him, or how we could finish each other sentences without even thinking. Sometimes I felt like Sky and I were two sides of the same coin. And yet, Sky could also be stubborn and unpredictable sometimes. Maybe that was the wild streak in him, just like my new horse.

"What was your favorite part of him?" Ronnie asked.

I thought for a minute, then smiled. "Well, aside from his eyes," I said, wistfully, "I guess it was his stomach. Man, he had a sexy stomach."

Ronnie giggled, then put his hand on my abdomen. "Yours is pretty cool, too, Wil," he said.

"You think so?" I said, disbelieving.

He nodded. "Y' know what I think your best feature is?" he asked.

I sighed. "Lemme guess," I said sarcastically, rolling my eyes.

"No, not that," he said, playfully tugging at my manhood, which drooped over one side of my leg. "I think it's your heart." He smiled.

"Thanks, Ron," I said, softly.

"Either that, or your huge balls," he said, giggling again and gently cupping my groin.

We both laughed.

"So what kinda stuff did you guys do?" he asked.

I gave Ronnie all the details about what Sky and I had done on the boat over the spring, how I'd lost my virginity to him -- well, my willing virginity, anyway -- and how we'd tried to throw off everybody at school by dating girls. I also told Ron about the couple of times we'd done it at our houses, even once in the back seat of his GTO. Every time with Sky was exciting, electric, and spontaneous. I still couldn't believe he was gone.

Ron reached over and held me tight. "He was so lucky to have you, Wil," he said, in a small voice. "It wasn't your fault that he… that he died."

I closed my eyes and nodded.

Ronnie sighed. "What about Pete?"

"I dunno, Ronnie," I said, leaning back against the pillow. "Pete's really great, but he's… he's kind of intense. Maybe it's because he's four years older than me. But I couldn't have made it without him. He's been great." I stopped and smiled. "I think I really love him, Ronnie. I'm not even sure why, but I do. And I know he loves me. He says it's cosmic, or some kind of shit."

We both laughed.

"It's different than it was with Sky," I said, sighing. "I knew Sky for six years. I've barely known Pete six months, but he says he's known me forever. I don't know what he means half the time." I shook my head.

Ronnie smiled sadly, and his eyes twinkled. He reached out and put his hand on my thigh and gently squeezed me.

I yawned. "Listen, Ron," I said. "We gotta get up in like four hours. Let me at least have a little sleep, okay?"

"Okay," he said.

I got up and grabbed my shorts, then pulled them up to my waist. "I'll see you in the morning, Ronnie."

"Thanks, Wil," he whispered. "For comin' out here to visit."

I walked over to him and kissed him. "Thanks for the horse," I whispered. "Thanks for giving me Sky. G'night, Ronnie."

I padded out of the luxurious bedroom and into the hallway, then returned to my room next door. I lay down on my bed, exhausted, and closed my eyes.

A few hours later, I felt my heart panting. Involuntarily, I felt my ass muscles clench tight, and I curled my toes. Suddenly, I exploded with a powerful orgasm, thrusting my hips and moaning softly. I opened my eyes, only to see Ronnie, grinning and wiping off his mouth, sitting up in front of me on the bed.

"Just one last time," he said, giggling. "One for the road."

"Ronnie, you idiot!" I whispered. "It's almost seven o'clock!"

He smiled and smacked his lips. "I thought this would be better than an alarm clock."

I laughed and shook my head. I was really gonna miss the little goofy guy. Shit, I thought. Ronnie wasn't all that little anymore. He was at least as tall as me now. I wondered what he would look like as he got older.

* * * * *

"Eastern Airlines Flight 34, non-stop to Tampa, now boarding at gate 12," echoed the public-address speakers.

I stood in line with the other passengers, clenching my little ticket folder in my hand. I glanced over at Rick, Ronnie and RJ. They waved goodbye as I started to walk down the hallway, which led outside to the rolling stairs attached to the plane on the tarmac. I turned back one last time and saw Ron. He looked tall and strong, not like the little geeky kid he was back in Florida. I thought I saw his eyes glisten, but he suddenly smiled.

"I love you," he mouthed, silently.

I nodded and smiled back at him, then turned to walk outside with the other passengers to the awaiting plane.

* * * * *

Back home, my folks met me at the airport. "We missed you so much, Wil," gushed my mother, who hugged me and gave me a kiss on my forehead.

"Jesus, Mom," I muttered. "Can't this wait until later?"

My father laughed. "C'mon, son, let's grab your bags and get home."

As we walked to the car, I thought about what I'd been through over the summer. I'd made the right decision not to swim with Greater Tampa this year. One swim season a year, on the high school team, was enough for me. I needed a break. It was good to stay with Pete for awhile, and then get out to Texas. I felt like I had cleared my head of a lot of cobwebs. Buried all the… the dead bodies.

I felt cold again, thinking about Sky and Melissa. I even began to feel sorry for her. It wasn't Melissa's fault, either, I thought. She'd been pretty nice to me most of the time. She was just overreacting on the dock. I bet, in time, we still could've been friends.

I sighed. But that's not gonna happen now. Not ever.

I rode back to my house in silence, staring out the window.

* * * * *

The next day, I was sitting in my room, listening to The Doors' Soft Parade, one of the albums Pete had given me during my last visit. I'd talked to him on the phone every other day from the ranch, and he always sounded up and glad to hear from me. No matter what, Pete always had an optimistic point of view.

"The natural state of things is evolution," he said. "They're always evolving, changing, and getting better. Animals turn into new species, rivers get wider, mountains get bigger… the universe expands. And so will you, Wil." He insisted that if we lived our lives right, we'd get smarter and better as we got older. Pete said that was the best way we could get better karma for the next life.

I thought it all sounded like bullshit, but I had to admit, maybe there was some justification for what he said. I knew I was smarter than I'd been last year. God knows, I was bigger. My folks agreed to let me work out over the summer at one of the local family gyms near the shopping center over on Dale Mabry Blvd. Even without Sky, I could keep trying to build myself up. Who knows, I thought. Maybe I really could make the 1972 Olympic swim team after all.

* * * * *

I spent the next couple of days sitting around and reading. The long hot summer dragged on; my family and I watched the Apollo 11 moon landing, but it didn't seem to have much impact on me. I stayed in touch with Sky's family, and had dinner with them a few times. Dr. Jones was kind enough to keep up my contact prescription for me. They offered me some of Sky's stuff, but I told them to give it all to charity. The only thing of his I did keep was the photo of him and me from the beach last summer. It was too much to leave it open on my shelf, but I kept it up high, face down, just in case I ever wanted to look at it.

There was only one more month before school started again in September. I was going to go out and stay with Pete again over the weekend, but my folks nixed any idea of spending much more time away from home. "We want you here as much as possible, son," said my dad, kindly. "We gave you more than a month to yourself, but now we want some time with you, too."

I nodded. I couldn't push them out of my life. They were important, too, and if it made them feel better if I stayed home and hung out with them, I guess that was my responsibility to do it.

That afternoon, the doorbell rang. "Wil!" called my mother up the stairs. "Someone's here to see you!"

I leaned out into the hallway and looked down over the balcony at the front doorway. It was Ginny. I hadn't talked to her since… since that terrible night, back in June. It'd only been about six weeks, but it felt like it'd been more like six months, or even six years.

"I'm comin' down, Mom!" I yelled, trotting down the stairs and up to the front doorway.

"Hi, Wil," she said, looking at me with concern on her face. "I haven't seen you… since the funeral."

I nodded. "Yeah," I said. "I'm getting over it. You want a Coke?"

It was hot as hell in late July, and even though we had air conditioning, I think the best it could do was make it about 20 degrees cooler than outside. It was at least 100 out there, so I figured it was still nearly 80 inside.

"It's through here," I said, leading Ginny into our kitchen. I grabbed a couple of ice-cold cans from the refrigerator and set them on the table.

"Jeez, Wil," she said, staring at my chest. I had forgotten to put a shirt on, and there was a trickle of sweat going down my left pec. "You look really great."

I looked up, and she grinned.

"Yeah," I laughed. "I guess the workouts at school, plus being on the ranch with the Lannigans over the summer did me some good."

We sat down at the kitchen table and she reached out and took my hand. "I can see why Sky felt about you the way he did," she said, quietly.

I stared at her, totally shocked.

"Wha… what do you mean?" I stammered.

"Wil," she said. "I'm your friend. I knew what was going on with you and Sky. You never had to tell me. I could see it on your faces."

So she had seen us after all in the car that night, the week before the prom.

"You're a pretty good investigative reporter," I said, looking down at the table.

"Nobody's ever gonna find out," she said. "Not from me, anyway."

I looked up, and she smiled.

"I like you, Wil Larson," she said. "You're a really neat person. I've never met anybody at school who was as smart, as funny, or as cool as you are."

Our eyes met, and we both grinned.

"Even if you aren't interested in me that way," she said, "you're still a good friend. You can always count on me for anything."

"Thanks, Ginny," I said. "I'd really like that." I took a sip of my Coke. "You figure there are any other kids like… like me and Sky at school?

She sighed. "You and Sky and Tim McMannis and, who knows how many others."

"That are gay, you mean," I said, quietly.

"Yeah. Teachers, too."

Shit, I thought. I hadn't even considered that.

"You heard what happened a couple of weeks ago?" she asked. "In New York?"

"No," I shook my head. "What?"

"There's a whole revolution going on, Wil," she said, quietly.

I nodded and started singing the Beatles song. "'They say you wanna revolution… well, you know… We don't want to change the world.'"

"No," she said. "This is serious, Wil. Gay people had a riot with the police last week in New York, at some place called Stonewall, in Greenwich Village. It was in all the papers. Don't you read?"

Jesus, I thought. I had been so tied up being with Rick and Ronnie on the ranch, I guess I had just stopped reading for awhile.

Ginny talked to me for half an hour, telling me how women's groups, black revolutionaries, and gay activists were having demonstrations, protesting for their rights, and trying to… well, change the world.

"I want you to know -- you can count on me," she said.

"Power to the people," I said, remembering a slogan I'd seen on a picket sign on the TV news.

"Right on," she said, holding up her first and grinning. Like me, Ginny knew about the political riots in Chicago the year before, in 1968.

"I don't think we're gonna be able to have any student demonstrations at Tampa Central," I said, shaking my head.

"No," she replied. "But someday, maybe we can. Maybe the school will even recognize gay kids' rights, too."

But they'll never let us go to the prom together, I thought. I closed my eyes, remembering my conversation with Sky. God, it seemed like it happened years ago. Now I was having trouble even remembering what he looked like. It hurt too much, just to see his face again in my mind.

"Thanks, Ginny," I said, finally. "Thanks for coming by."

She stood up and hugged me. "You wanna go see a movie sometime?" she said.

I gave her a quizzical look.

"Strictly platonic, I swear," she said. "Think of us as brothers."

Like brothers, I thought.

I grinned up at her. "Thanks, Ginny," I said. "Yeah, I'd like that. A lot."

* * * * *

Friday, the hallway phone rang in the early afternoon. I ran outside my door and grabbed it by the second ring.

"Wil's Bar and Grill!" I answered. "Where the elite meet to eat!"

"Man, that is too lame," said a recognizable voice.

I laughed. "Hey, Pete," I said. "You coming over to pick me up?"

"Yeah," he said, quietly. "I'll be there in 20 minutes."

Something sounded wrong. "Pete," I said, concerned, "are you okay?"

He paused. "We gotta talk, Wil," he said. "I'm on my way."

* * * * *

At 1:30, I heard a familiar motorcycle engine in the driveway. I ran downstairs, taking three steps at a time, and yanked the front door open. I darted outside and my jaw dropped.

It was Pete, but most of his long blond hair was cut off.

"Jesus!" I said, astonished. "Pete, what the hell happened?"

He hung his helmet on the side of the seat and trotted up the steps to the porch.

"Hey, Wil," he said, quietly. "I guess you don't like the new look, huh?"

Shit. From this close, I could see it was more like a buzz-cut, sorta like the way the guys wear their hair in…

"Oh, FUCK!" I wailed. "Don't tell me that you've been…"

"…drafted," he said, finishing my sentence. "Yeah. Got the letter two weeks ago."

We sat down together on the porch steps. I shook my head.

"Pete," I said, angrily. "Why the fuck didn't you tell me when I was in Dallas?"

He smiled wanly. "There was nothin' you could do, man," he replied. "I'd always thought I'd wind up in a war someday, and I guess this is it."

"Don't give me that crap!" I snapped, standing up. "This is such bullshit!"

He stood up beside me and put his hand on my shoulder. "C'mon, man," he said, soothingly. "Don't freak out on me. They're gonna put me in a special program. I'm gonna learn radar and electronics and stuff. It sounds pretty cool."

I rolled my eyes. "You're gonna get your ass shot off," I said.

"No way," he said. "I'm not goin' to Vietnam. I'm gonna be on a base in the Philippines, or way out at sea on an aircraft carrier. I'm not gonna be in a war zone or have to shoot anybody, I swear."

"Why didn't you get a student deferment, you asshole?" I asked.

He smiled. "Wil, it's…"

"Don't give me that karma shit!" I yelled, waving my hands in the air.

Pete nodded. "It's all part of the plan, man. I know better than to fight it."

"Wait a minute," I said, thinking fast. "They won't make you go in if they find out about… well, you and me."

He laughed. "I didn't tell 'em anything. I told you before, I'm not gay. I'm just sexual."

"Did you check the 'sexual' box on the induction form?" I snapped, angrily.

"Wil, don't be like this," he said, reaching out to put his arm around me. "I told you -- I always knew I'd be in some kinda war someday. I'm just glad this Vietnam thing isn't as bad now as it was a year ago."

I glared at him. "I could stop you, you know."

He looked at me, curious, but didn't say a word.

I took a step closer. "I could call the cops," I said, quietly. "I could tell 'em what you and me've been doing. Let's face it -- I'm jail-bait. You know it, and I know it."

Pete laughed. "You're the oldest 14 year-old I've ever known." He reached out and hugged me. "And I know you'd never do anything to hurt me."

I pulled away from him. "What if I had to hurt you to save your life?" I said, coldly.

He shook his head and sighed. "I had a feeling this would happen," he said, quietly. "C'mon, Wil. Let's talk about this back at my place."

I nodded, defeated, and walked down with him to the Honda.

* * * * *

Over the next three days, I argued, cajoled, pleaded… I did everything I could to change Pete's mind, but he was adamant.

"Wil," he said. "I got a special deal from the Air Force. It's only gonna be for 18 months, man. I'm gonna give you the key to this place, and you can use the bike when I'm gone, as soon as we get you a learner's permit. That'll let you ride a motorcycle on your own."

I knew I was powerless to change his mind. I sat on the edge of his bed, and tears began to run down my face.

"I lost Sky," I choked, "and now I'm gonna lose you, too."

"We don't know that, Wil," he said, putting his arm around me.

"I could still call the cops on you," I said, wiping my eyes. "I could tell my folks the whole story."

Pete laughed. "So, you'd rather see me in jail for five years, than go to Vietnam and die? Wil, I tell you -- it's not gonna happen. I think I'd know if I was gonna die."

"You're a liar," I said. angrily. "You said you never know your own future."

Pete looked away from me. "Don't try to stop this, Wil," he said. "I told you -- it's fate. Look, I'll be back here by the end of next year, then I do another 24 months or so in the Reserve, and I get a full college scholarship for free. The war's gettin' scaled back, anyway. We're gonna be completely out of there in just a coupla more years, by '72, '73 at the worst."

I nodded. President Nixon had just given a speech about that just a few days ago.

Pete grinned at me. "You know what your problem is, man?" he asked.

I shook my head.

He slid off the bed and reached for a drawer beside it, then pulled out a little plastic bag.

"You're too uptight, Wil," he said. "I think you need one of these. You gotta learn to relax."

He handed me a little hand-made cigarette. Holy shit, I thought.

"Marijuana?" I said, quietly. I'd only seen it in pictures, and at anti-drug propaganda films at school.

He grinned. "Great shit, too." He took it from my hand, and lit it with a lighter, then took a puff.

"Here," he said, inhaling. "You try it. Hold it deep in your lungs for a few seconds, and don't breathe out for awhile."

I took it from his hand and did as he instructed. Almost immediately, I was overcome with a fit of coughing.

Pete grinned. "It's an acquired taste," he said, laughing.

I shook my head. "I thought you weren't into drugs and booze and stuff," I said, wheezing. I remembered one time when we'd been out a few weeks ago, he'd made a disparaging remark about beer.

"That's not quite what I said," he replied. "You ever read Lost Horizon? The James Hilton novel?"

I nodded. We'd read it the year before, in 8th grade back at LaFontaine.

"My philosophy is kinda like the High Lama's: 'moderation in all things.' I think a little of anything won't kill you. It's those idiots who overdo it that fuck it up for everybody. And that goes for drugs, alcohol, food… you name it."

I shook my head. "So you're saying a little heroin won't hurt," I said, sarcastically. "Or maybe I can drop some acid the next time I'm in a swim meet."

"Wil, you are so fuckin' impossible, man," he said, laughing. "Use your head, you douche! No, I don't think that shit's okay. And I wouldn't drink a six-pack of beer and dance on the roof, either. But one joint a day isn't gonna kill ya."

I nodded, and we finished the pot together. I figured out how to smoke it without coughing too much, but I didn't feel anything strange.

"How d'ya feel?" he said, taking off his shirt.

"Jeez, I feel normal to me," I said, trying to standing up. Whoa!

Pete laughed. "What were you sayin'?" he asked.

"Holy shit," I said, steadying myself. "I'm pretty fucking dizzy."

"'I'm so dizzy, my head is spinnin'… like a whirlpool, it never ends…'" he sang.

I laughed. I tried to pull my shirt off, but it got stuck on my head.

"Lemme help you with that," he said. In seconds, we were both naked.

I stared at his body. Even with short hair, Pete was beautiful. He wasn't quite as muscular as Sky, but he was still very fit. His chest was completely smooth, and he had strong pecs and powerful arms, with veins in his forearms and biceps. Only a handful of hairs were on his tight, flat stomach, leading to a dark brown triangle below. His arousal was only of average size, but somehow on him, it looked extremely attractive.

I felt myself throbbing. "Did I ever tell you, you look beautiful?" I whispered.

Pete laughed. "I was just gonna tell you the same thing," he said, quietly.

I reached out and gently grabbed his groin, and he moaned.

"Wil, I… I gotta confess somethin'," he said, embarrassedly.

"What?" I asked, looking up at his face.

"I lied to you about somethin' awhile back," he said, looking down.

"About what?" I asked, feeling hurt.

He grinned from ear to ear. "I think your big dick is really cool, man."

I laughed and let my endowment throb up and down. "Thanks."

"But that's not why I love you," he said. "Don't ever forget that."

I nodded. "Shut up and lie back," I ordered.

He did as I asked, and I leaned down and took him in my mouth.

* * * * *

"FUCK," he said, gasping for breath. "Wil… that was… just great, man."

I grinned and jumped over on the bed right next to him. "Thanks," I said. "I think I learned a few things from some friends out in Dallas."

"You get an 'A' in that course," he whispered, kissing me deeply.

I kissed him back, then rolled on top of him. "Say, uh, Pete," I said, quietly. "There is one thing we sorta haven't done yet."

He grinned. "I know," he said, nodding. "Give me a minute to get ready."

He hopped out to the bathroom and closed the door, and I heard the water running. A few minutes later, he came back in and fell on the bed beside me.

"Clean as a whistle," he said. "Go for it, man."

"You got any…?"

"Yeah," he said. "In the drawer."

I opened it and found a small plastic bottle. "'Exotic massage oil,'" I read off the label.

"It's a lot better than vaseline," he said. "Not as greasy, and no smell."

I applied some of it to myself and Pete. He moaned when I stuck in a finger.

"I'll go slow, I promise," I whispered.

He nodded and pulled his knees up to his chest. I leaned forward and gently pushed in. Pete sucked in his breath when my head popped through, then I stopped.

"It's okay," he whispered, his eyes closed tight. "Keep goin'."

I continued pushing in slowly until I got about halfway.

"Oh, god, Pete," I moaned. "This feels really great." I began thrusting in and out, taking care not to go too deep.

He nodded. "Give me a second," he said, taking a deep breath. After I paused for a few moments, he nodded. "Okay."

I leaned forward a little more, and slowly pushed in some more. I felt a little resistance, and Pete groaned. At last, I was in all the way to the hilt. My belly was up against his balls, which were loose and dangled down low. Pete's erection had temporarily wilted, so I reached down and fondled it.

He looked up at me and smiled. "I love you, Wil," he whispered.

I nodded and began pumping my hips. We spent more than fifteen minutes doing it in several different positions. I tried it from the side and from behind, but we finally wound up face to face again.

I smiled. "I think I like this one best of all," I whispered, breathlessly.

"Me, too," he said, pulling me down to his chest. He kissed me deeply, and I slipped my tongue into his mouth.

I moaned. "Oh, god, Pete!" I cried, thrusting faster and faster.

The sweat from the summer heat dripped from every pore on our bodies. I held his head in my hands and covered his face and neck with kisses. My hips began pumping as if they had a life of their own. I sped up to a fever pitch, and then felt an erupting volcano explode out from my groin.

I cried out and fell down motionless on top of him. We heaved and panted, our chests rising and falling together.

"Fuck," he said, quietly.

"Yeah," I whispered. "I think that would be the dictionary definition of the term."

We laughed together.

"No," he said. "I mean I just came all over myself."

I pulled myself up and looked down. Sure enough, there was a wet puddle on his stomach, and his erection still throbbed.

"Wow," he said. "I've never done that before."

I grinned. "I guess I just have the magic touch."

"Yeah," he said, grinning. "That's what happens when you stimulate the prostate gland, inside."

Hmmm, I thought. Maybe that's where that feeling comes from, down there.

Pete leaned up and kissed me. "And I'm glad I lost my virginity to you, Wil,"

I was shocked. "But you…"

He shook his head. "No," he said. "Me and Jeff did everything but this. You're my first."

"Shit, Pete," I said, slowly pulling out of him. "I hope you're gonna be okay."

He leaned up and kissed me. "It's my turn later on."

I nodded and grinned.

* * * * *

The three days we spent together were the best ever. On Saturday night, we made love on the beach at 2AM, just the two of us on a towel, while a warm ocean breeze blew in from the Gulf.

"Shhh!" he said, flopping down beside me. "Next time, don't make so much noise, man! They'll hear you over at the motel next door."

I grinned. "Let 'em call the cops," I whispered. "Then I can stop you from going to Vietnam."

Pete sighed. "I told you, Wil…" he began.

"I know, I know," I said, shaking my head. "You're going to the Air Force base in the Philippines. You told me."

Pete laughed, then reached down and gently grabbed my arousal, which was beginning to throb back to life again.

"What you've got down here is really great, man," he said, admiringly. "Not because it's big. But because it's attached to you."

I grinned. "Thanks, babe." I leaned over and kissed him.

He leaned over and put his hand behind my head. "You know what your best feature is, Wil?" he whispered.

"Well, Ronnie says it's either my heart or my balls," I whispered back, smiling.

We laughed together.

"No," he said, quietly, brushing the hair out of my eyes. "It's not what's between your legs. It's your brain. That's where all the pleasure really is."

I rolled my eyes. "So, you're saying you just love me for my mind."

"Yeah, you could say that," he said, laughing softly. "The big dick and balls are just optional accessories. I like the whole package, Wil."

"Me, too," I said, kissing him.

We lay on the beach in each other's arms for half an hour, watching the stars and listening to the waves crash in the distance, then went back into the house.

* * * * *

In the morning, the summer sun was streaming through the windows, and the blinds left huge slashes of orange and red along the bedroom wall. I awoke to find Pete sitting up in bed and staring at me, with a big smile on his face.

"What are you looking at?" I yawned.

"Somebody I'd been waiting for all of my life," he replied.

I grinned. "You think there's only one perfect person for everybody on Earth?" I asked, rolling on my side.

"Maybe," he said. "The trick is, what if that person isn't who you think it is? What if you're totally straight, and your soul mate turns out to be another guy?"

I thought of Sky. I wondered if he'd been my soul mate, or if I was his. What about Ronnie? What if you could have more than one, or even if it worked that way?

Pete leaned forward and kissed me. "I think some people live their whole lives, and never find the one person they were really meant to be with. I'm a lot luckier than they were. I'm grateful that at least we had the summer together, Wil."

I stared at him as realization set in. "No," I whispered. "I thought we had until September."

He shook his head. "We're shipping out in 48 hours, Wil," he said. "I report to MacDill Air Force Base on Tuesday, then I'm off to Lackland in San Antonio."

I turned away from him, as tears filled my eyes. "You lied to me," I choked.

He put his hand on my shoulder and kissed my neck. "No, Wil," he said quietly. "I never said when I was goin'. I hoped you wouldn't ask until we had this last weekend together."

I sighed. "You're determined to go through this, you asshole," I said, angrily.

"Yeah. I swear, just for 18 months. You'll wait for me, won't you, Wil?"

I turned back to him. He looked at me, expectantly, then kissed me.

"I haven't said yes, yet," I said, fighting back my tears.

He laughed. "I don't need a crystal ball to read your mind, Wil," he said.

 Chapter 24

Pete and I had one more day at the beach together. We were both so exhausted from all the sex, we mainly sat around the beach house, just listening to music.

I'd switched his stereo over to the local Top 40 AM station, radio 138. The fast-talking announcer came on after a Schlitz beer commercial.

"This is Jim Stanley with the Stanley Steamer, and right now, as the parade of hits continues on WLCY, here they are with the number one hit in the U.S. of A., The Archies, with… 'Sugar, Sugar'!"

I grinned. How a cartoon group could have a hit at all was completely amazing to me.

"Turn that shit off," Pete moaned, putting a pillow over his head.

"Hey," I said. "I think it's kinda catchy."

"It SUCKS!" he yelled from under the pillow. "It's fuckin' pop trash!"

I leapt on the bed and rolled over next to him. "C'mon, Pete," I said, putting my hand on his chest. "It's just a song."

"Don't you get it, man?" he said, throwing the pillow across the room. "Rock and roll is falling apart. This bubblegum shit is totally worthless. There's no art there, man."

I rolled my eyes. "C'mon, Pete," I said. "I thought you believed in 'moderation in all things.' Isn't it okay to have a frivolous, silly pop song once in awhile?"

He looked at me quizzically, then began to smile and shook his head. "Touché, you asshole," he said, laughing. "But I still wanna know how a fuckin' comic book group has a number one hit, while Cream breaks up."

I nodded. "Who was that guy you liked so much in that group?" I barely knew of Cream, because all I listened to was Top 40 radio.

"Clapton. Eric Clapton," he said. "The guy's a phenomenal guitarist. You just wait, you'll hear his name again."

"C'mon, Pete. That music's too serious," I said, shaking my head. "You can't snap your fingers or dance to that stuff." I knew 'White Room' and 'Sunshine of Your Love,' because they were hits on the radio, but that was about it.

Pete winced. "You asshole," he said. "There's more to life than just music you can dance to. Music should be a thing of beauty, not some three-minute piece of shit on the radio. Look at what groups like the Moody Blues and The Who are doin' -- puttin' classical music and rock together on an album! Now that's art, man."

The song ended and the DJ intro'd the next one. "It's 88 degrees here in Great Tampa Bay, at fifteen past the big boss hour. Now, a golden oldie from the past, from the year nineteen hundred and sixty six… here's The Mindbenders with… 'Groovy Kind of Love.'"

"Oh, no," Pete moaned. "That song is so fuckin' corny!"

"Shut up, man!" I said. Corny or not, I always loved that song. I started singing along with the music and lay down with him on the bed, then leaned over and kissed him.

"Anytime you want to

you can turn me on to

Anything you want to,

anytime at all…

When I taste your lips,

Ooh I start to shiver

Can't control the quivering inside.

Wouldn't you agree,

baby you and me

Got a groovy kind of love."

Pete grinned and shook his head. "Corny!" he yelled.

The song went into its instrumental break. I rolled over onto his chest and looked him right in the eye from two inches away.

"No, it's not corny," I said, quietly. "Not if you believe every word of it, with all your heart."

I continued singing with the radio and wrapped my arms around him.

"When I'm in your arms,

Nothing seems to matter

My whole world could shatter

I don't care.

Wouldn't you agree,

baby you and me

Got a groovy kind of love…

We got a groovy kind of love."

Pete smiled and nodded and kissed me. "Okay," he said, at last. "Maybe when you sing it, it's not so corny."

I smiled back at him. "That's how I feel about you, man," I said. "I swear."

"Groovy," he said.

I lay my head on his bare chest, and he put his arms around me. We slept for another hour.

* * * * *

At the end of the day, we sat on the beach and watched the sunset. I could hear the laughter of children at the motel next door, over the giant stone wall that separated the properties. I looked over and saw from a distance a kid about 12 or 13 up on the high board.

Gee, I thought. That could've been me just a year or two ago. He saw me watching him and grinned. I waved, and he waved back, then bounced and dove into the water below with a terrific splash.

I felt strange. I knew inside I was only supposed to be 14, but somehow, I felt a lot older now.

"What're you thinkin' about, babe?" asked Pete, lying next to me on the towel.

I sighed. "I was just thinking of how I'm getting older," I replied. "I think hanging around with you and all the 16 year-olds at school is making me age more rapidly. Some kinda time/space continuum thing, like that astronaut at the end of 2001."

Pete smiled and kissed me on the nose.

"So, are you my star child?" he whispered, grinning. He kissed me again, passionately this time, on the lips.

"Hey, man!" I whispered, looking around. "Somebody's gonna see us!"

"Fuck 'em," he said. "I'm goin' off to war, so what do I care?"

I rolled my eyes. "You'd care if they threw you in jail first," I muttered.

"Shut up, Wil," he said, then kissed me again.

I grinned and broke off the kiss. "So, how about I fuck you again, only this time, we'll let the kid on the diving board watch from next door?"

He laughed. "Moderation in all things, Wil," he said, wagging his finger. "That means sex, too. Just because you can jack-off doesn't mean you should do it ten times a day."

Hmmm, I thought. I'd been doing it two or three times a day since I got back from Texas. But I hadn't had to masturbate even once since being here with Pete.

Pete stood up and walked closer to the shore, then looked out at the ocean. "Man. That's cool, isn't it, Wil?"

I stood up beside him and put my hand on his shoulder. "Yeah."

We stood there silently and watched the brilliant red-orange rays flood the horizon. It seemed even more spectacular than usual. High tide was coming in, and the salty ocean brine filled my nostrils. The waves were lapping closer and closer to our feet, and I heard the seagulls' plaintive cries in the distance.

"Wil -- tell me somethin', man," he said, thoughtfully. "If you'd known for sure that Sky was gonna die, would you've still done everything you did?"

"But I still couldn't save him?" I asked.

Pete nodded.

I thought long and hard, then sighed. "Yeah," I replied, staring out at the sunset. "Even if I knew there was absolutely nothing I could do, I guess I'd still have done it all over again."

We were silent for a few moments.

"Only this time," I added, "I would've made damned sure me and Sky were having a shitload more sex, six months sooner."

We laughed together.

Pete turned and kissed me. "Now you're starting to understand karma."

He put his arm around me as we watched the last rays of the sun disappear, replaced by the dark blue of night.

"Time to go, man," he said, quietly. "Grab your stuff."

* * * * *

By the time we pulled up in my driveway, it was already pitch-dark. Pete shut off the motorcycle engine, and once again, he dragged me off to the side.

"One last kiss for the road, babe," he said, taking me in his arms.

I began to cry. "This is so fucked, man," I sobbed.

"Shut up," he said, and tenderly kissed me.

"WIL!" yelled my father. "Is that you, son?"

Pete and I jumped apart. "Yeah, Dad," I said, wiping my eyes as I walked around the motorcycle. I knew my father couldn't see anything, because we'd been behind part of a hedge, in total darkness.

"I was just saying goodbye to Pete," I continued, as I trotted up the porch steps. "He's going into the Air Force tomorrow."

My dad looked surprised, then nodded. Pete kick-started his motorcycle.

"You sure you can't stay for dinner, Pete?" yelled my father.

Pete shook his head. "Sorry!" he yelled. "Goodbye, Mr. Larson! Take it easy, Wil!"

He gunned the engine, pulled out of the driveway, and raced off into the night.

* * * * *

At about 10:45 that night, the hallway phone rang. I darted outside my room and answered it.

"Hello?" I said. It had to be Ronnie, I thought. Only he would be dumb enough to call this late at night.

"Hey, Starchild," said Pete. "Listen, man, I forgot to tell ya. The key to my place's behind the rock in the garden. Second one from the left. Don't forget, I'm leavin' you the Honda while I'm gone. I don't want it just to sit in the garage and get rusty. It's yours for the duration, once you get your license."

"I should have that in a week or so," I said. Dad had promised to help me get my learner's permit just before school started in two weeks.

"Good," he said. "Listen, Wil, I… I don't have much time. In case anything happens, I want you to know…"

"Wait a minute," I interrupted. "You promised nothing was going to happen!"

Pete sighed. "Nothin's ever for sure," he said. "Just like my dream about my Dad, and my dream about Sky. With Dad, he was dead ten days later. But I knew about Sky six months before it happened."

I rolled my eyes. "Heeby jeeby chili-beanie!" I said, in a goofy voice. "The speerits are about to speak!"

"Are they friendly spirits?" said Pete, in Rocky the Flying Squirrel's falsetto.

"Friendly?" I said, laughing. "Just listen!"

We both chuckled. Pete and I had both loved the old Bullwinkle cartoon show.

"WIL!" called my dad from their bedroom. "It's much too late to be on the phone. Call whoever it is back in the morning!"

"Pete," I whispered. "I gotta go. Love ya, man."

Pete paused. "I just wanted to say you're one in a million, Wil."

"One in two billion," I corrected him.

He laughed. "Whatever. Don't forget all the stuff we talked about. And thanks for everything, big guy."

I shook my head. "Send me your military mailing address when you know what it is," I said. "I'll write you at least once a week, and tell you what kind of tenth-grade bullshit I've gotta deal with this year."

"WIL!" yelled my father through their bedroom door. "Good night!"

"I love you, Pete!" I whispered into the phone. "Gotta go."

"Goodbye, Wil," he said. "I love you too."

I hung up the phone. I heard a strange murring sound, and I looked down to see Samantha the cat rubbing against my legs. I picked her up and she purred happily and licked my face.

* * * * *

The school year started off with a bang. I hardly had time to miss Pete, because Coach Byers had us begin swim practice ten days early, in late August. I was a little rusty from having taken the entire summer off, but within a week, I was very close to matching my best times in Freestyle and Breaststroke again. Coach agreed to let me be backup for Aaron, in case he wasn't available to do Butterfly for a meet.

Partly because of what we went through together on the ski boat back in March, Mark and Barry were both pretty nice to me, and we actually started hanging out occasionally. They avoided bringing up Sky's name, except to tell me they were glad I seemed to be doing okay. Even though neither Mark or Barry could ever be substitutes for my friendships with Sky or Ronnie, I at least felt like I was becoming more accepted on the team and was making some inroads with the older kids.

In early October, I got home from swim practice and my mom called to me from the kitchen.

"Wil, honey!" she said. "You just missed Pete! He was calling from some Air Force base out in San Antonio. He said he's leaving for the Philippines in an hour, and just wanted to say hello."

Shit, I thought, as my heart sank. "Did he leave a number?" I yelled, running into the dining room.

She shook her head. "No. But he said he'd try to call back later, on your line."

About an hour later, my phone rang, and I ran out in the hall and picked it up in mid-ring.

"Pete?" I said.

"Hey, Wil, it's me, Mark. Listen, man, me and Barry and some of the guys from the team wanted to call and see if you could come over for a barbecue at my place tomorrow afternoon. Should be really cool."

"Listen, Mark," I said, quickly, "I gotta keep this line open. A friend of mine's supposed to call me long-distance any moment. I'll call you back, okay?"

"Well, gee, Wil," he said, glumly, "you don't have to get all huffy about it."

"Gotta go, Mark! 'Bye!" I slammed down the phone.

FUCK, I thought. You just know that was probably the one moment Pete picked to call. I went back in my room and flipped on side 2 of The Beach Boys' Friends album, which I really enjoyed. I oughta should make a tape of this, I thought, so I wouldn't have to get out of my bed and turn the record over.

As I lay there and listened to 'Busy Doin' Nothin',' I thought how strangely appropriate that song was for me at that moment. I felt like I was just treading water, just waiting for the next stage of my life to begin. Even though I didn't have Pete in town any more, and Sky was gone, I'd decided to stay at Tampa Central. I was beginning to think maybe that was my karma. Jesus. That fucking Pete and his mystical bullshit…

Suddenly the hallway phone rang. I leapt out of my bed and caught it on the second ring.

"PETE!" I yelled.

"Hey, hold it down, man," he laughed. "It's me!" There was a buzz of voices and the sound of jet engines in the background.

"It's about fucking time, man!" I said, holding my voice down so my mom wouldn't overhear me. "Six weeks, and all I got was two lousy postcards, four phone calls, and one letter." I was fuming mad.

"Shit, Wil," he said, apologetically. "I swear to god, man, I'm really sorry. I've thought about you every single night I've been here. You and 'little Wil,' that is."

We both laughed. God, it was great just to hear his voice again.

"Listen, man," he continued, "we're finally done with basic training and they're shippin' us out to Nevada, then 24 hours later, we go out to the U.S. base at Manila. I still won't know my APO address for another week, but I'll get it to you as soon as I can."

I closed my eyes. "I really miss you, man," I said, sighing.

"Me, too, Wil," he said. "If we're lucky, I'll get some time off in December and can come back to Tampa for three or four days over Christmas. If all goes well, we can hang out at the beach house then."

Fuck. December sounded so far away.

"Listen, Wil -- there's somethin' else I wanted to say."

Suddenly, I heard some voices arguing in the background, and Pete yelling "Okay, okay!"

"Damn," he said. "I guess it can wait. Listen, Wil, a buncha other guys are waitin' to use the phone, so I gotta go. Don't forget all the stuff we talked about. Keep an open mind, man."

"I will, Pete," I said. "Thanks. Don't forget to write me."

"I won't," he said. "I love ya, man."

"I love you too, Pete," I croaked. I hung up the phone, wiped the tears from my eyes and went back to my bedroom, just in time to hear The Beach Boys singing 'Transcendental Meditation.' That stuff was such bullshit, I thought.

* * * * *

I saw the Taylor twins in my mind. The summer heat was intense. We were back in the hayloft, and we were rolling around and around in a tangle of sweaty bodies. Our mouths were everywhere, and my stiff manhood flopped around and wound up on top of one of the brothers' firm, white asses. I grinned, leaned down, and kissed the back of his neck. Then I started thrusting back and forth in-between his round, muscular globes, letting my endowment slide up towards the deep groove in his back.

"I said, MR. LARSON! Do you have the answer to this equation?"

I looked up from my seat. Every eye in the class turned to me. It was the fourth week of school at Tampa Central, in mid-October. Even though I'd managed to evade having to take English for 10th grade, I was still forced to take Trigonometry.

I looked up at the formula written on the blackboard. It looked like indecipherable Egyptian hieroglyphics to me.

The teacher, Mr. Hueburger, was fuming. "Perhaps you can come up here and we'll go over it for the class, Mr. Larson."

I blanched. There's no way I wanted to move, with this ten-inch lump throbbing between my legs. I looked down and could clearly see the outline in my jeans.

Just as I started to protest, the 4th period bell sounded.

"Saved by the bell," I muttered, letting out a sigh.

"Don't forget your homework assignment," yelled the teacher over the din. "Pages 66 to 68, all the exercises from number one through number 45. And be sure to show your calculations!"

I stayed in my chair and waited desperately for my erection to subside. I idly picked my books up from under my seat and pretended to go over some papers in my notebook. The class was almost empty now.

Suddenly, I heard a voice from my right. "Hey, Wil."

I looked up, and it was Ginny, grinning at me.

"Hi, Ginny," I said. I breathed a little easier, once I realized I could finally get out of my seat with my dignity intact.

"So, you wanna come over and maybe see a movie this weekend?" she asked. "Butch Cassidy is playing over at the Britton Theater, and it's supposed to be really good."

I smiled as I leaned over and grabbed the rest of my books. "Yeah," I said. "That'd be great, Ginny."

She leaned over and gave me a peck on my cheek.

I looked around. "Strictly platonic, right?" I whispered.

She grinned and nodded. "I swear!" she said, raising both palms in the air.

"Attention, please!" suddenly barked the school PA system. "Will Mr. William Larson please report to the principal's office! Mr. William Larson, to the principal's office, please."

Uh-oh, I thought, my face turning red. This couldn't be good.

"What's all that about?" said Ginny.

I shrugged my shoulders. "Maybe Mr. Hueburger is gonna have me flogged for daydreaming," I said, irritated. "Look, Ginny, I'll call you tonight, okay?"

She nodded. "Thanks, Wil," she said. "The movie's gonna be cool."

I rushed down the crowded hall to the principal's office. Three glum-looking students were standing in front of the large counter in front of the administration office.

I walked up to the front of the line. "I'm Wil Larson," I said to the harried clerk. "What's up?"

She looked down at a pile of papers on her desk. "Oh, yes," she said, handing me a small pink form. "You had a message from your father. He said it was an emergency, and that you should call his office immediately. Here's the number. The pay phones are over there."

She pointed to a group of three well-worn black pay phones on the wall. I walked over, dropped in a dime, and dialed the number.

Shit, I said to myself. What if Mom's been in a fender-bender? What if Sharon's fallen off the slide at school? What if the house has burned down? I let my mind race, until I heard the phone click.

"Good morning, Southern Atlantic Engineering!" chirped the company receptionist.

"Yes, Mr. Ed Larson, please," I said quickly. "Tell him it's his son, returning his call from school."

"One moment please."

After a moment's pause, the phone clicked again.

"Wil!" said my father.

"Hi, Dad," I replied. "What's up?"

"Son, I've… have you seen the paper this morning?"

I'd missed reading it, since I'd been late for swim practice and had to dash over on the motorcycle. As it was, the coach yelled at me for nearly two solid minutes, and made me swim extra laps.

"No, Dad," I said. "I hadn't."

He paused, the took a deep breath. "Son, it's about your friend Pete. I didn't immediately see it because it's buried deep in Section B. Listen, I think you should…"

I didn't hear the rest. I slammed the phone down to the floor with a crash and tore out of the office, as the other students and office workers gaped at me.

I raced up the staircase to the school library on the second floor. I burst through the doors and ran up to the front desk.

"HEY!" I shouted. "Where's this morning's Tampa Tribune?" I said, loudly.

The elderly librarian glared at me. "Shhhhhhhhh! Please, lower your voice."

"Just today's paper!" I snarled.

She shook her head and pointed across the room to a group of newspapers, which were displayed like flags, sticking out from the wall on wooden sticks.

"Thanks!" I whispered. I ran across the room, found the Tribune, and flipped to the center section. A small headline on the bottom said, "Seven Dead, 10 Injured in Helicopter Mishap in Philippines."

My heart froze. I read the first half of the story on the front page. Nothing there. I frantically turned the pages until I reached the very back, where it continued.

Finally, I got to the third paragraph.

"Also killed was Technical Specialist Peter Joseph Woods, 18, of Madeira Beach, Florida. The radar operator was being transported to the U.S. training base near Manila for a three-week assignment. No known relatives are…"

I couldn't read the rest, because suddenly my eyes didn't seem to be able to focus anymore. I stumbled out of the library and back down the stairs, then walked out the main entrance to the sidewalk.

I was halfway home when a car drove up beside me and honked.

"Son," yelled my dad. "Get in. I'll take you home."

I turned and nodded. We rode home in silence. Before I walked upstairs, I turned to my father.

"I'll be okay, Dad," I said, quietly. "Lemme just have a couple days off from school. I'll go back Monday. I can handle it."

My Dad reached out and put his hand on my shoulder. My family was never what you'd call "touchy-feely." It was more understood between us; we didn't hug that much.

He nodded, and I went back up to my room. I put on Cream's Goodbye album and sat on my bed.

* * * * *

Somehow, I made it intact through the weekend. Part of me still felt numb, but I was able to get through swim practice alright. Ginny was able to get me a list of all the homework assignments that I'd missed, and I'd managed to finish them all.

Monday, we sat together at lunch in the cafeteria in silence.

"I'm sorry I never got to meet Pete," she said, quietly, as we ate our meatloaf.

"Yeah," I said. "He was really cool."

A moment passed. I could hear Nilsson's song "Everybody's Talkin'" playing on the cafeteria radio speakers.

I started singing along quietly, and stared out into space.

Ginny reached out and squeezed my hand. "Wil," she said. "You're gonna get through this."

I looked over at her and nodded. Tears were in her eyes.

"Yeah," I said. "I got through Sky and Melissa. I can survive this."

She nodded, and we went back to our meatloaf.

* * * * *

Two weeks passed. I was progressing at the gym, and had managed to convince Mark and Barry to exercise with me as well. I was working out harder than ever, and was determined to build myself up for the team. Friday after school, I raced home on my motorcycle, anxious to get my homework done so I'd have the weekend free for another one of Mark's boat trips.

"Wil, honey!" my mother called, as I slammed the front door. "There's some mail for you on the coffee table."

I threw my books on the couch and looked over. There was an official-looking business envelope, with the return address "Law Offices of Stanhope, Thornton and Wilder," from Clearwater. I tore it open.

"Dear Mr. Larson:

Our client, Mr. Peter J. Woods of Madeira Beach, recently made you the sole beneficiary of his estate. In light of his untimely demise earlier this month, we request that you call our firm immediately to schedule an appointment for the disclosure of his last will and testament."

The rest of the page was a blur. "Mom!" I called. "Read this." I wiped a tear from my eye.

She walked into the living room and took the paper from my hand. "Oh my gosh," she said. "Pete must have loved you an awful lot, Wil."

I sighed. You don't know how much, Mom.

* * * * *

As it was, the estate was a lot more than I expected. Pete had inherited about $60,000 from his mother and father already, and it was kept in a savings account over at Southeast Federal. He also owned the beach house free and clear, since that was left to him by his grandmother. The other money could be used to pay the $2000 yearly property tax and all the upkeep on the house for a long time. The attorney explained that he could set it up so that this could come from the interest on Pete's account, and we'd never have to touch the principal.

"The money and property are in a trust fund in your name, Wil," he explained. "You can keep the motorcycle and Pete's personal possessions now. You'll have full access to the rest of it when you turn 21."

I rolled my eyes. "Pete was 18," I said, irritated. "He could spend his own money anytime he wanted, but I have to wait until I'm 21."

"Son," said my father, sitting next to me in the office. "Pete may've known what he was doing. Just be glad you're getting the money eventually."

I shook my head. "You don't understand," I said. "I don't give a shit about the money."

My father's eyes flared at my profanity, but he let me continue.

"I'm a lot older than I look," I said quietly.

* * * * *

The autumn months passed by quickly. To help get my mind off everything, I plunged myself into my studies, the swim team, and the chorus. I wasn't able to get straight-A's again -- Trig and Humanities dragged me down to a 3.7 average, because I generally got only a B or B-plus in those two subjects -- but I still stayed on the Honor Roll all year. I even made National Honor Society.

Ginny was great. We spent a lot of weekends together, just hanging out, or going to movies. We did finally see Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid, which we both enjoyed -- especially the music.

"That Burt Bacharach is great," she enthused, as we walked down the sidewalk.

I nodded. The music in the movie was real catchy. I wondered if Pete would've thought it was corny.

"Yeah," I said. "I'm gonna buy the soundtrack album."

We walked over to my motorcycle. Ginny looked up at me and said, "Do you think Butch and Sundance knew they were doomed?"

I shook my head. "It's just a movie," I said. "The real-life guys may not have died like that at all." I'd read an article about the film in Time magazine a few weeks earlier.

"Maybe when you die, you come back later as somebody else," she said, wistfully.

I rolled my eyes. "Now you're talking like Pete!" I muttered.

She laughed. "It's nice to think about," she said, reaching for her helmet. "If you ever die, who would you like to come back as?"

I thought for a moment. Maybe Sky and I could come back as warriors in ancient Greece. Or maybe you could only live again in the future. Maybe Pete was waiting for me somewhere, in another time and place. Maybe even on another planet.

"Whoever I come back as," I said, hopping on the bike, "I hope maybe next time, God doesn't put me through so much fucking hell."

Ginny got behind me and held onto my waist. "I think God was pretty smart to make you in the first place, Wil," she said, quietly. "You and me both."

I kick-started the engine, and we roared out of the parking lot and down the highway.

* * * * *

A week later, just before Thanksgiving, I came home early from school. I'd skipped my usual workout in the gym. The school was buzzing with the news that Coach Lucas had just suspended quarterback Scott Michaels, who had beaten the crap out of Ben Kingston. Ginny told me she heard that Kingston had been tormenting some little wimpy kid, Stevie St. James, in the shower during Phys Ed. She said she'd tried to write up the true story for the school paper, but their faculty adviser told her they weren't in the gossip business, and threw it out.

I knew Stevie. He was in my Humanities class. Even though I'd only heard his voice a few times, there was no question about him. He was more effemininate than any girl in the class, let alone Tim McMannis, the gay kid from chorus last year.

I sat in the living room and thought for a moment. That was pretty cool, what Scott did. Maybe it happened because of what he and I had been through almost a year ago. Or maybe Scott just didn't like seeing a big guy push a little guy around. Either way, I'm glad Ben finally got his ass kicked. That's what I call karma.

Suddenly, the doorbell rang. I got up off the couch and opened the door. It was the postman.

"Special Delivery," he said, handing me an envelope and a pen. "Looks like this one's a little late. Sorry about that, but we're at the mercy of these foreign countries on these things. Sign here."

I stared at the onion-skin airmail envelope. It was postmarked from Manila, Philippines, more than two months ago, and had a bunch of military rubber-stamped messages all over it. My hands shook as I handed the pen back to the postman. He snapped part of the form off the front, and waved goodbye.

The return address said "Tech. Spec. Peter Woods, #MG-102479-2205R, APO San Francisco, California 94107."

My heart was pounding in my ears. I sat down on the couch and opened it up. The letter was a single page, neatly hand-written in black ballpoint pen. A U.S. Air Force insignia was at the top.

"Dear Wil--

"Well, here I am in Manila. I'm sorry I couldn't write before now, but basic training out in Oklahoma was a bitch and a half. That was three weeks of living hell, but I feel a lot better now. I'm probably in the best shape of my life. I wish you could see me (if you know what I mean).

"The food here really sucks. I'm taking advanced RADAR classes every day on the base here, and I'm scheduled to go on an aircraft carrier in ten days, just outside of Mui Ca Mau in the South China Sea. We're way out of the action in Vietnam, so don't worry."

Fuck, I thought. Pete didn't even die in war. It was just a stupid fucking helicopter accident. Not a single shot was fired.

"I wanted to tell you something that I didn't have the courage to say to you before. Wil, I know I told you I couldn't see my own future. But I could see yours.

"I saw you many years from now. You were alive and happy, and successful, and you looked pretty good. But every time I saw you in my dream, I wasn't there with you.

"I have a feeling I know what this means. I hope it's all bullshit, but just in case it isn't, I wanted to send you this letter.

"I forgot to add one more thing to what I said to you at the beach house. When you die someday, the main thing you're going to think about is how many people you've loved, and who loved you. And I'm just glad I lived long enough to be able to be with you, even if it was just for the summer.

"Next time around on the cosmic wheel, I promise, we'll have an entire lifetime together. I know for a fact it's going to happen. Remember what you said about that corny song -- "if you believe it with all your heart?" I think if you and me believe in this with all our hearts, it'll happen.

"I gotta run. They're yelling for me to hurry up. They're transporting us out to a special training base at Clark Field, just a few miles east of Manila. Once I get settled, I promise I'll write again.

"Hang in there, Wil, and try not to bang up the Honda too much. I hope it's still in one piece by the time I come back.

Love ya,

--Pete."

I looked down at the letter and tears filled my eyes. So he'd known already, but never told me.

"You fuckwad," I muttered. I closed my eyes and leaned back against the coach.

After a moment or two, I felt a familiar warmth on my left side. It was Samantha, my sister's cat. She looked up at me, almost looking concerned, then curled up beside me, put her head down on my thigh, and closed her eyes and purred.

 Epilogue

As I write these words, it's the end of the year 2000. It's been three decades since I lost my boyhood innocence in the late 1960s.

I made it through my sophomore year at Tampa Central. The swim team had a pretty good season, and we made it all the way to the finals at the state championship, but wound up losing out to Dade High School, in Miami. I became pretty good friends with Mark and Barry from the swim team, but we never had any more shower sessions, like we'd had the year before. I got the feeling they thought that stuff was "too homo," judging by some of their passing remarks. On the plus side, by the end of the season, the three of us wound up having the best overall bodies on the team, thanks to our regular workouts at the school gym.

After tenth grade, I decided to try for my GED over the summer. It took me two attempts, but I eventually passed and was able to exempt 11th and 12th grade. I went to Hillsborough Community College in 1970, when I turned 15. Ginny stuck by me the whole time, and we remained friends and continued to hang out occasionally. A year later, I decided to transfer to the University of Texas at Austin, which is where Rick and Ronnie were going. Once a month, I'd stay with them over at Uncle Bob's place in Canyon Lake, just a few miles southwest of Austin, and I spent a couple of summers out on the ranch as well. As time went on, the Lannigans and I kind of drifted apart, but we still kept in touch with each other when we could.

Ginny went to journalism school in Austin, as well. We continued leaning on each other for a couple of years. Ginny was there for me when I got dumped by a guy I met at school. And I was there for her when she had to get an abortion during her sophomore year. Next to Sky, Pete, and Ronnie, I think she's the best friend I ever had.

The beach property that Pete left me in his will turned out to be a bit of a goldmine. I held onto it for about six years, using it during the summer so I could see my folks on holidays and on school breaks. When I turned 21 in the summer of 1976, I could legally sell it. I had an attorney approach Holiday Inn, and we eventually hammered out a deal where they agreed to put up $800,000 for the property -- almost double what it was actually worth. I did it in such a way that gave all the money to charity -- half for a scholarship in Pete's name, to the Julliard School of Music in New York, and half for a football scholarship in Sky's name, to Florida State University. Their lawyers were surprised by our offer, but they finally agreed to do it, if only because of the good publicity and the tax breaks.

Much to everybody's surprise, Ronnie turned into a big, strapping athlete. Even though I dropped out of swimming after I left high school in 1970, Ron dove into it with a vengeance. He managed to qualify for the 1976 Summer Olympic games in Montreal, and wound up winning the bronze for Butterfly, which is more than I ever could've done. Me, Rick, RJ and Uncle Bob were all there when Ronnie stood on the platform and held his arms high, and it was one of the proudest moments of my life.

After Ron had a brief stint as a swim coach for the University of Austin for two years, Rick and RJ dragged him back into the family business. Partly because of my prodding, he got them into data and satellite broadcasting in the late 1970s. Since the early 1990s, Ron's been CEO of Lannigan Communications, which actually now makes a lot more money than their Uncle's original oil and natural gas business ever did.

Around the time Ronnie got involved with swimming, I decided to transfer out to UCLA in California. I majored in Philosophy, minored in business, and got my Master's degree. Naturally, I wound up staying in LA and doing something that didn't require either skill -- I became an movie editor, cutting some minor independent and art films. After a few years, I got lucky and wound up editing three of the biggest blockbusters of the 1980s and early 1990s, and made enough money that I could afford to buy a million-dollar beach house in Malibu -- modest by Hollywood standards, but more than enough for me.

I have a good life today. I still see Rick and Ronnie on occasion. Rick is married, has about a half dozen crazy little red-haired kids, and runs Lannigan Industries out in Dallas with his cousin RJ. RJ got married, too; he told me at Christmas a few years ago, "you and me got a God-given responsibility to keep these big limbs of ours growin' in the family tree." He encouraged me to do the same, but I'm still thinking about it.

Unlike his brother Rick, Ron never married. He and I remained friends, but we each wound up living with other people. In the early 1980s, I met an entertainment lawyer from Canada, and one thing lead to another. Even though he's nine years my senior, we've been very happy together for almost 20 years now. He makes enough money that I can pick and choose my film projects without having to worry about keeping food on the table. I love him with all my heart.

Ronnie comes out and stays with us whenever he's in LA, which is usually at least once every couple of months. He's almost unrecognizable from the curly-headed, red-haired geek I used to know. Now, he's a whirling corporate dynamo, barking orders into cell phones and driving his assistants crazy. Sometimes he brings along one of his Calvin Klein underwear models to the house, showing off his latest "himbo," but most of the time, he visits alone.

Late at night, on those occasions when me and my partner and Ron sit by the fireplace at the house, I still see that familiar look in Ronnie's eyes. I know that inside, he's still the same lovable little klutz I've always known -- even if he is worth a few billion dollars. Ron keeps offering to buy us a bigger house or give me a job working for his company, but that's not for me. I kind of like the way things are.

Ronnie did do one thing for which I'll always be grateful. After he hit it big around 1994, he expanded the scholarship funds I'd started to $2,000,000 each. One night as we were sipping wine at the beach house with my partner, watching the sun set over the Pacific, Ron told me that if he could find a way to start a third scholarship just for gay kids at Tampa Central, he'd do it. I laughed, and told him I hoped he'd let me in on the selection process on that one.

Ginny lives up in Oregon now. After I left for UCLA in 1973, she transferred to Columbia University and got her Masters in Journalism. She later went to work as a newspaper reporter in New York. Ginny spent most of the late 1980s and early 1990s as the editor of one of those tacky "Entertainment Week" magazines, then got tired of the whole rat-race and moved to Portland, where she had some relatives. She got married and divorced twice, and has two boys of her own. Ginny named one of them after me, and one of them after Sky. For the last few years, the three of them have stayed with us over the summer in Malibu, living out in the guest house.

Scott Michaels played football for Florida State for a year or two, but then kind of dropped out of sight. Some friend of Rick Lannigan's told me he'd heard Scott was doing minor-league football somewhere in the Midwest, but I never found out where. I was told that Cynthia married Scott sometime in the early 1970s, but they divorced a few years later.

Chuck lost a little weight and started wrestling in his junior year at Tampa Central. Ginny told me he eventually managed to parlay that into a career, and is still with the World Wrestling Federation, working under another name. I don't know what happened to Tim McMannis or Ben Kingston, or most of the other people I knew at school.

As for me, I still don't know what lies ahead in the future. I just try to take things a day at a time. Maybe Pete will be right -- maybe I'm going to be cursed with a long life. I think of that line from Wizard of Oz, the one where the witch says, "the last to go will see the first three die before her!" Maybe that's how it'll be for me. Or maybe it'll be slow and gradual, and I'll get more mellow and comfortable in my old age. Either way, I'm glad I'm not alone.

I had a dream the other night. It was the first time I could remember what either Sky or Pete looked like without having to see a photograph, after all these years. The three of us were all teenagers again, together in a hot shower at school, and the steam was as dense as fog. Each of us was naked, soaking wet, and rubbing soap on our bodies. And we were smiling at each other. •

Afterword

Many readers have asked me how much of this story is true. Let's just say that more than half of it was based on things that really happened to me, perhaps cranked up and exaggerated just a bit. The rest were dramatizations of what could have happened, if things had gone just a little differently. The main characters were combinations of real people I actually knew, and most of the places described -- save for the fictional Tampa Central High School and the Clearwater Beach Marriott Hotel -- really existed in that era. Some of the individuals' names were real, but they've been attached to characters that had nothing to do with them. Nobody died in my real-life experience, nor were there any other violent incidents similar to those depicted in the story. And Wil got a lot more sex than I ever did, dammit.

I want to dedicate the story to my real-life partner for the last 19 years, Roddy. I never could've made it without you, babe. Maybe someday, in another life, we can come back as Wil and Sky, for real.

Thanks particularly to Keith Morrisette, Rick Beck, Chris W., Greywolf, Ole, AC, Gep2, and CouCou for giving me some important feedback that helped me open my eyes and solve some minor story issues.

I also want to acknowledge the creators behind the Showtime TV series Queer As Folk, which is one of the most remarkable shows I've seen in a very long time. It made me think a lot about my own life over the last few years, and gave me some of the impetus to knock out this story. Sincere thanks to Ron Cowen, Daniel Lipman, Tony Jonas, and Russell Davies, for doing an amazing job, week after week. I'm convinced that shows like this are changing the lives of gay kids everywhere, giving them positive role models we never had back in the day, and also making gays more accepted in society all over the world.

Finally, I want to also mention a few real people who were important to me during my life, who aren't around to read this story today: Richard "Great Rich" Small, Rick Chace, Andy Cleland, and Fred Chriss. I miss each of you and think of you often. (No, none of their names or characters are in this story. Not this time, anyway.)

--John Francis

11 November 2003

Los Angeles, CA

thepecman@yahoo.com

The author gratefully acknowledges the following publishers and songwriters of the song lyrics excerpted in this novel:

"Groovy Kind of Love"

music & lyrics by Toni Wine and Carole Bayer Sager

©1966 Screen Gems-EMI Music, Inc. (BMI)

All rights reserved.

"Mony Mony"

music & lyrics by Tommy James, Bobby Bloom, Ritchie Cordell, and Bo Gentry

©1967 by EMI Longitude Music. (BMI)

All rights reserved.

"My Girl"

music & lyrics by William "Smokey" Robinson & Ronald White

©1965 by Jobete Music Co., Inc. (BMI)

All rights reserved.

"Wouldn't It Be Nice"

music and lyrics by Brian Wilson, Mike Love, and Tony Asher

©1965 Irving Music, Inc. (BMI)

All rights reserved.

"Ticket to Ride"

music and lyrics by John Lennon & Paul McCartney

©1965 by Sony/ATV Music, Inc.

Published by Northern Songs, Ltd. (BMI)

All rights reserved.

"Hello, I Love You"

music and lyrics by Bobby Krieger, Ray Manzarek, Jim Morrison, and John Densmore

©1968 by The Doors Music Co., Inc. (ASCAP)

All rights reserved.

"Hello Goodbye"

music & lyrics by John Lennon & Paul McCartney

©1966 by Sony/ATV Music, Inc.

Published by Northern Songs, Ltd. (BMI)

All rights reserved.

"The Ballad of John & Yoko"

music and lyrics by John Lennon and Paul McCartney

©1966 by Sony/ATV Music, Inc.

Published by Northern Songs, Ltd. (BMI)

All rights reserved.

"He Said, She Said"

music and lyrics by John Lennon and Paul McCartney

©1966 by Sony/ATV Music, Inc.

Published by Northern Songs, Ltd. (BMI)

All rights reserved.

"Revolution"

music & lyrics by John Lennon & Paul McCartney

©1968 by Sony/ATV Music, Inc.

Published by Northern Songs, Ltd. (BMI)

All rights reserved.

"Dizzy"

music & lyrics by Tommy Roe and Freddy Weller

©1969 Young World Music, Inc. (BMI)

All rights reserved.

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