I sat watching the boys after Doug left. The party hadn’t changed, except the girls were gone. The boys drank beer and talked. There was a little laughter and smiles. While I mulled over Doug’s words of wisdom, the door to the basement opened, and the dining room emptied down the stairs.
The light in the dining room went off as an arm reached back to click it off. It left me looking at a dimly lit empty room. There was some light coming from down the hallway. I watched nothing for a few minutes, wondering if Doug was coming back. When he didn’t, I got up to move out through the kitchen and into the fresh evening air.
Only when I reached the basement door, I turned the handle and moved onto the basement stairs. I went down four steps, where the ceiling no longer interrupted the view of the pool table and gave me a view of most of the basement. I sat down, trying not to attract any attention. I’d never been a watcher before, but there’d never been anything for me to watch.
There was only one light on in the basement. It was the kind of light you’d find over a pool table in a pool hall. It put a lot of light on the table and enough light escaped to give me a fair view of most of the basement. It wasn’t bright enough to see detail. The pool table was the stage.
Chairs were pulled back out of the way of the players, and three boys sat back in the shadows under the stairs. Two chairs were close to the bottom of the stairs. At first no one sat there, but they were still establishing who would play and in what order they’d be playing.
The three boys standing near Greg each knocked the cue ball to the other end of the table and as it rolled back toward the end where the shooter stood. The two who got the ball closest to the cushion on its return played first. The winner of that game took on the next closest.
Greg and another boy his size, Ronnie, squared off to play the first game. Greg’s ball having come closest to the cushion meant he broke, as the other boy watched the action. On the break the two ball and the eleven ball dropped into the pockets. The other balls scattered. Ronnie stood back, leaning on his cue stick, watching Greg closely.
Greg looked at the table for a few seconds and said, “I’ll take low balls.”
Greg didn’t miss a shot until he was shooting the eight ball to win the game. It caught the very last little bit of cushion, rolling back to the center of the table. Greg stood up and backed away to lean on his cue stick. Ronnie sank three high balls before he missed, leaving Greg an easy shot on the eight ball.
The game had begun. The king was good. Ronnie would loose and he didn’t like it.
Ronnie took off his shirt and tossed it onto one of the empty chairs. He had a surprisingly well developed chest. He had dark hair and nice features. His eyes seemed dark even in the bright light of the pool table. He continued standing after racking the balls for Greg to break. The second boy playing Greg, Chet, moved up to chalk his stick.
Greg took his time breaking. The three boys rotating in and out of Greg’s game stood back at separate corners of the table, while Greg worked. The boys seated under the stairs were silent, watching the same way I watched, perhaps for different reasons than me.
I did wonder about each of the boys at the game. What brought them to this kind of a competition. It wasn’t all the boys who were upstairs. Some left rather than come into the basement. What kept the rest of them participating in Greg’s game? Looking at the players told me nothing.
Ronnie was a stud and every bit as commanding as Greg, if not as good. Chet appeared innocent, taking his defeat well. Tony was handsome, clean cut, and pretty sure of himself. He didn’t react at all to losing.
Ronnie was the only competition, so why did the other two play? What was with the boys who sat under the stairs? What was their part in the game. I didn’t see all of their faces, but none was as polished as the four who played pool.
Chet went down after only one shot and Tony took a turn. When Chet’s shirt came off, he had a chest more like mine. He had very white skin and wasn’t well defined. He was almost Greg’s height, but the rest of him was at best average. Chet sat down, and Tony sat down a few minutes later. The real game was between Greg and Ronnie. Their games took longer.
Just before Greg broke, he reached for the bottom of his tee-shirt and he pulled it off over his head. He tossed it off to one side. It wasn’t any warmer in the basement than it was the day I was down there furnishing my own heat.
Greg was confident and paid only attention to the balls. The only time he acknowledged anyone else around the table was after one of them lost a game. Greg nodded. The loser nodded and took his leave, until next game.
Greg lost a game and took off his left shoe and then he took off the right, not liking the feel of walking in one shoe. Twice he’d thrown in a piece of clothing that he wasn’t required to give up. No one else gave up anything without losing first.
Chet and Tony were barefooted and down to their jeans as the next sacrifice they’d be obligated to forfeit. Ronnie had one sock and his jeans. As bodies went, he may have topped Greg in overall studliness. He had none of Greg’s charm or mystique. Ronnie looked good. Greg was good.
As Greg took on Ronnie one more time, sweat rolled down his sides. There was no strain or stress to pool and yet Greg was sweating. Was it the kind of thing a predator did as he closed in for the kill? Was he thinking about besting Ronnie?
Greg lost one of his socks. Ronnie had the table and Chet lost his jeans when he sank the eight ball by mistake. The boys in chairs under the stairs whistled and made catcalls as Chet’s white briefs came into view. He danced in a little circle trying to get the last leg of his jeans loose from his foot.
Ronnie lost to Tony and his last sock came off. Greg smiled as he moved back to center stage. He cleared the table without missing a shot, once Tony broke and failed to sink a ball. Tony sat next to Chet in his underwear. Tony wore boxers and they were less revealing.
The hoots and catcalls were less vigorous for Tony, which struck me as odd. He was by far the best looking guy there, after Greg. I guess I saw that when the other boys didn’t. Of course the tight briefs on Chet offered a view of his well rounded butt, which could account for the enthusiasm. It’s not something I’d given a lot of thought to.
Tony wasn’t merely handsome. His body was as close to perfect as you could get. His stomach was flat and his chest was right for his size. His arms weren’t big but they fit him well. As a package, Tony had it all, but the reaction to him from the boys under the stairs was modest.
When Ronnie lost his jeans, he kept standing close to the table. He was the only real competition for Greg, but Greg only gave him one shot before his jeans fell by the wayside. Ronnie got no catcalls or whistles.
I could see why no one dared anger Ronnie. He had thick muscular legs that matched up with his well defined chest and bulging arms. He wore briefs. They were every bit as white as Chet’s, but they were filled in a way Chet couldn’t fill his. Ronnie was a stud and he wanted to beat Greg bad.
The strangest part was that Ronnie was sweating too. Strange what stands out as you weight the thrill of victory and the agony of defeat. Ronnie was sweating and all was not flaccid in his white briefs. If it was flaccid, I didn’t want to meet it in a dark alley. No doubt Ronnie was competition for Greg in another department.
Greg was smiling as Ronnie only stood far enough back not to get in Chet’s way as Chet did his best to waste no one’s time. Chet lost his underwear without getting a shot. He shrugged and put his thumbs in his waistband.
Yanking off his underwear to the sound of more whistles of approval. Chet took a big bow. When he stood up, Greg used the butt of his pool stick to raise up the ball sac. Chet didn’t move until Greg moved the stick back to a neutral position.
Ronnie hadn’t moved but he watched the latest sacrifice to the strip pool gods. The question in my mind, was Greg going to use his pool stick on Ronnie’s package, when he lost? I suspected not. I could not see Ronnie putting up with it without losing his temper. So what would happen?
Chet stayed center stage for far longer than his humiliation demanded. He faded back to sit on his pile of clothes. It was obvious he’d lost before and took it like a man. My mind was still on Ronnie and how he’d react.
“I’m done,” Tony said, dressing and coming up the steps and leaving before his underwear hit the floor. Ronnie and Greg faced off.
“You in?” Greg asked, knowing Ronnie was down to the only thing between him and full disclosure.
“I’m still here aren’t I?” Ronnie snapped. “You haven’t won yet.”
Chet sat naked just below me. He made no attempt to dress and leave. I found that curious. What came after you’d lost everything? Nothing sexual was going to happen here tonight. Sexual in the context of Greg and me being sexual.
There was no intensity beyond that of the boys who came to see Greg get naked. They were willing to risk their own embarrassment to secure Greg’s, but if Greg always won, didn’t there come a time when adult males walked away from childish notions? How much was it worth to turn the tables on someone who enjoyed tormenting them?
For Ronnie the answer was a lot. His maturity didn’t overcome his adolescent need to show Greg who was the best man. I honestly don’t think Greg would take defeat all that seriously. He toyed with the boys who came to play with him. He was always in control, except when lady luck dealt him a bad hand. Greg pulled off each piece of clothing as willingly as the rest did. That’s what got their goat. Even in defeat Greg wouldn’t be beaten.
There had been higher stakes for Greg and now he was as cool as a cucumber with only clothing to lose. I couldn’t help wondering how he became so cool and played so well. He wasn’t perfect. He could be beaten, but these stakes didn’t bother him.
Remembering the conversation with Doug, I fitted some of the pieces together in my own mind. Ronnie was determined to win, but didn’t. For him these stakes were about his masculinity. Being embarrassed cost him in that arena. Why keep coming back if he didn’t like it? There was no doubt the animosity was fierce in Ronnie’s voice, but he was losing.
Greg could muff a couple of shots and be the one left standing there naked, but he wouldn’t. The dye was cast and Ronnie was going down, and Ronnie knew it. Why not pull on his jeans and take a hike home?
I never got close enough to boys to know their inner workings. There was a certain hazard with getting to know guys too well. I’d made up my mind not to take that risk in high school. It was necessary for survival and why would I put myself on the line by letting other boys know that I liked other boys. It wasn’t a popular thing between boys my age.
I didn’t need to take that risk. Yes, being a happy camper and accepted for who I am would be a warm fuzzy feeling, but in a year I’d be gone from here. Why hang it all out before I knew the outcome. There was too much else on my mind, except Greg had to come along one year early.
What I had protected in myself for so many years was now knowledge that two other boys had. This didn’t leave me feeling all that good. There was a certain one off with Greg. He had as much to lose letting me as I had by going ahead and doing what he wanted.
I thought Doug was safe, but I didn’t know Doug either. He was full of information about his brother. Now he was full of information about me and his brother. Would he casually tell someone else he’d seen Greg go that far before and I was the one he went that far with?
I chose to trust Doug, because there was no alternative. I’d make an effort to be nice to Doug and see what came of it. I didn’t feel he was any danger to me, and I should sense that. I was cautious, but not quite cautious enough.
There was no way anyone was going to do something sexual in front of so many witnesses. I had found out what happens when you lost everything to Greg, but I wanted to be there. What was Chet’s story? Why was he staying?
Greg had Ronnie on the ropes from the time he broke the fresh rack. Ronnie had begun to sweat more profusely. Even his underwear was getting damp. I wasn’t too concerned with Chet or Tony, but having Ronnie get naked interested me.
Acknowledging defeat in such a way had to piss him off. His body was worth taking some time to study, and that was with his underwear still in place. He would be pretty impressive naked. I’d only just begun to notice such things.
Greg missed a shot and Ronnie went back to work, needing to sink everything now or accept defeat. Greg wasn’t going to miss another shot. He hadn’t missed many. He’d thrown in more pieces of clothing than he’d lost. He was cocky.
The door behind me opened and Doug stepped inside on the top step. He waved for me to come upstairs. No! Not at the moment of truth. I’d been sitting there over an hour waiting for something interesting to be revealed.
I stood up and gave one last glance at Ronnie’s white briefs. Game was called on account of Doug wanted me. He knew what I was watching. He probably knew why.
“Come on. We can watch some tube. They’ll just keep at it until everyone is naked. Not much to see, but you can stay if you want.”
Doug’s view of not what to see and mine probably weren’t in close agreement. If I sat there to see Ronnie take it all off, I might put off Doug. His was a friendship I wanted to cultivate if I could. Television was cool.
I looked back to get one last glimpse of the pool table, but the wall was blocking my view. I followed Doug back into the house and down the hallway.
Herbie, Alfie, Doug, and I ended up in the TV room. There was a couch and a couple of easy chairs. We sat on the couch in front of the television and drank beer. Doug, Herbie, and I drank root beer, and Alfie had liberated some cold beer before the cooler went downstairs.
I spent a lot of time in front of the television and the company wasn’t nearly as diverse as these guys. I didn’t know much about these guys but it all evened out in the end. They didn’t know much about me.
Friday Night Wrestling didn’t require you be good friends. As poor as the acting was, the wrestlers did their best to be horrid, while dressed in their underwear. My companions knew the players, the plot, and who was going to do what to whom, if he caught him in a dark alley. Wasn’t the ring big enough?
For bad guys, The Tormenter and Kid Doom had hair that was perfectly styled and their robes were precious, a combination of skulls, pirates faces, rhinestones, and fur.
I remembered seeing some film on Gorgeous George from years before. Gorgeous had beautifully styled shoulder length Marilyn Monroe type hair. To separate him from the ordinary sissies, as he made his entrance in his mink robe, pure white. Women kept the train from dragging the beer soaked floor. More women sprayed him with something that came out of expensive looking perfume bottles. If it was perfume, he’d have passed out before he made it to the ring.
Gorgeous was the Liberace of wrestling, proving it was just showbiz. Gorgeous was as likely to kick you in the gonads as the next guy. Poking his fingers in opponents eyes was standard procedure.
Gorgeous perfected the move of strangling his opposition right in front of the referee, throwing his arms up in the air to prove his innocence, each time the referee got around to see what was going on out of sight that had his opponent going limp. The referee never did catch on and the strangled opponent would suddenly come to life and begin to punish Gorgeous for his tactics.
This wasn’t nearly as exciting as that. Anyone who did Gorgeous wrong was showered with beer cups and peanut bags. Even the crowds were in showbiz.
Intellectually it made no sense at all, but when did you see a movie that made much sense between explosions and dying. Maybe the more unbelievable it became, the better the audience liked it. They were part of the show. It was a bit like carnival people watching a circus. It was fun.
Herbie furnished a soundtrack to go with the entertainment. When the television issued grunts, groans, and loud noises anytime someone hit the mat, Herbie had something funny to say. If he wasn’t taking it all seriously, he fooled me. His comments were better than the wrestling, but I didn’t get wrestling.
Now I knew what military brats and townies did for weekend fun. Two of each sat on the couch staring into a television screen that may as well have been off. At least then we’d have talked to each other and not listened to Herbie’s conversations with the boob tube. Maybe I hadn’t missed all that much by avoiding parties.
A smile can carry you a mile, and you could make a friend on the way.