Date: Wed, 22 Aug 2001 10:06:07 EDT
From: VicHowel@aol.com
Subject: Growing Up Sexual - XLVII

Growing Up Sexual

What's it been? Almost two years now? Wow! I never thought that I'd be
writing chapter 47 of GUS when I started this.

I want to thank the thousands of you for following my south GA boys through
the ups and downs of their lives. But it is time for this story to draw to
a close - after all, like in any romance novel, the protag has fallen into
the arms of his beau. It shouldn't take more than 3 or 4 chapters to pull
the remaining story lines together so that we can have a satisfying ending
to all of this.

It's just as well, I guess ... I've accepted editorship of a new gay erotic
publisher and suspect that I'll soon be busy as hell (wearing leather
trousers and vest, rubbing the leather strands of a cat-of-nine-tails
across my palm, smiling hugely as I advance on some poor writer's hapless
first-born story).

I'm posting The Avengers in the scifi/fan section of Nifty - it's the
sequel to Confessions Of A Vampire and is in that directory. The first 11
chapters are up. There are also teens in this one. Actually, it's a pretty
good romp - and you'll get a decent feel of Berlin as well. Karl even meets
Death in one chapter.

Oh, yeah ... you know the score about age, local bigotry, and stuff. If you
ain't old enough, do live in a fascist country, and/or are a homophobe - go
away.

Chapter 47

The doctor pushed through the door and stopped, surveying the waiting
room. There was only a kid there. A big fucking kid. He remembered him then
- Johnny Taylor. He was the center on the high school football team.

"Johnny?"

The boy looked up at the sound of his name. "Is he going to be okay?"

The doctor smiled. "Yeah. Thanks to you. You got him to me in time."

"Jeez," Johnny groaned as he began to relax, "but that was sure scary-"

"How'd you find him?"

"I was on my way home from practise," Johnny said, winging his way through
the story. "I saw him crumpled up on the ground near the road. I didn't
know it was a person right off - not until I'd stopped and could see him. I
put him in the bed of the truck and brought him right here."

Johnny had done that; he wasn't lying. He was just leaving out that he'd
had to dress Clem and carry him out of the tenant shack before he could put
him into the truck. And he was leaving out what had got the boy out of
breath like that, his dick slamming into his butt. As tight as Lardass had
been, Johnny was figuring that he really was a virgin when he bent over out
at the tenant shack, in spite of what Ronnie Varnadore was telling anybody
who would listen. If anything, Johnny Taylor accepted that he was
responsible for the boy having his attack.

Johnny stood up and the doctor shook his hand. "You did the right thing,
son. Thank you."

He reminded himself that responsibility carried with it duty, though. He
owed Clem Stokes big time for what he'd done to him. His dick reminded him
that he hoped Lardass would give him a little 'tang now and then.

And he had a little talk he was going to have to have with Ronnie Varnadore
too. Saying that kind of shit about a boy just wasn't right, even if some
preacher said it was - especially as it hadn't been true. But Johnny wasn't
ready to think about how things were going to play out with Ronnie - at
least, not yet, he wasn't.

Johnny turned towards the door.

"You know, son," the doctor interrupted his thoughts. "You ought to hang
around a while longer. The Stokes are going to want to thank you themselves
for helping their son." He grinned. "I'll bet Clem will want to thank you
too."

"Could I see him?" Johnny asked. "I mean now - like before his folks get
here."

"I don't see why not," the doctor told him. "Come on, I'll take you back."


"I'm sorry, Lardass," Johnny told him as soon as the doctor left the
room. "I'll get that asshole Ronnie for setting you up like that." He took
a deep breath. "And nobody's gonna know about what happened."

Clem wanted to be mad at the big football center. Johnny had raped him,
shoving his big dick into his butt like that. Only, he had wanted it. His
gaze settled on the front of the football's jeans. Yeah, he'd wanted it all
right. Just like he wanted it now. "It hurt ... God! It ever more hurt!" he
mumbled.

Johnny realized where Clem's gaze rested and smiled. His dick lengthened a
little and he flexed it. Clem's eyes stayed right with the movement. "Next
time, I'll know to take it real easy."

"Yeah," Clem groaned softly. "And everybody's gonna know I'm queer."

"Not from me, baby. It'll just be you and me. And I'll be making you feel
real good all the time."

"Not if it hurts like this afternoon, you won't."

"You lost your cherry already - and I'll be real gentle next time. You'll
be walking on clouds, Lardass."

"You ain't gonna call me that no more, no matter what happens between us,"
he growled.

Johnny pursed his lips in thought. "Tell you what, I'll stop calling you
Lardass if you'll get rid of that fat."

"Yeah? And how do I do that, smartass? I can't do no exercise with this
asthma."

"We'll find a way. I'll talk to that doctor about an exercise program. When
we've got one going, you'll get my dick as a reward."

"Your-?"

"Sshh ... I see you looking at it." Johnny stepped up to the bed, right
over where Clem's hand lay. "Want to touch it and get a real good feel of
what your reward's going to be?"

"I-"

"Go ahead. This is between you and me - about what feels good to both of
us."

Clem looked up into the football player's eyes. They held him, silently
commanding him. His hand slowly lifted and touched the front of Johnny's
jeans. He felt it grow down the boy's leg, felt it become hard. Johnny was
smiling down at him. Clem smiled back.

"Your folks'll be here any minute," Johnny told him as he stepped back from
the bed. "I'm gonna find that doctor and get him to tell me what you can
and can't do for exercise."

"I-" Clem stared at the bulge in Johnny's jeans.

"Lardass, I only like to put my dick into the best looking thing around,"
the footballer growled. "You want what I've got, you're going to have to do
something about that body of yours. I'll let you have it while you're
getting into shape - as a reward. But you're going to have to earn it each
time."

Clem gulped but nodded as his mother pushed through the door and rushed to
him. "Are you okay, baby?" she demanded as she took his hand.

* * *

Joe Phillips felt strange as he faced the unpainted, clapboard addition
behind the CME church. He thought he could see every detail, the full moon
was so bright.

He felt like he was in the deepest heart of Africa - had felt like it the
past 5 minutes as his father was driving him to the Black church. He just
prayed that he wasn't going to be the only white boy there. He'd never be
able to live that down. Being labelled a nigger-lover was just as bad as
being called a queer as far as he could see.

None of the girls from school had agreed to come to these tutorial
classes. Dr. Phillips had tried to win over his board of deacons and the
men's Sunday School class the past month. But not a single daddy had been
willing to let his daughter go into the colored section of town. There was
even talk that the Phillipses weren't going to be at First Baptist much
longer.

The Bishop boys, the Bennetts, and the Lees had all said they'd come - as
had Vic. He'd figured that his father and theirs had worked it out between
them. But Joe didn't see a single car that he recognized as he got out of
the car and waited for his father to come around it to him.

The door of the ramshackle church addition burst open and someone was
running across the grass towards them. "You made it!" Charlie wheezed as he
ran up to Joe and his father. Behind him, the door opened again and two
Black men left the building and started towards them.

"You're going to have to start taking PE, Charlie," Joe told him as the boy
continued to suck air into his lungs loudly.

One of the men coming towards them laughed at Joe's words. "I keep telling
him the same thing, young man."

Charlie managed to catch his breath. "Joe, this is my daddy," he said as
the first man reached them and extended his hand to Dr. Phillips. "And this
is our pastor, Reverend Sojourner." He turned slightly. "And this is
Dr. Phillips of First Baptist and his son, Joe," he said to the older man
as he approached them.

Joe was surprised as he studied the two Black men standing with him,
Charlie, and his dad. Although Charlie was a Negro, he hardly ever thought
about that - just accepting the boy as another kid he knew at school. The
only other Negroes he'd ever seen were men and women in work clothes or
kids in worn jeans and scuffed cheap tennis shoes. The Black men he'd
always seen around Soul pushed brooms or worked in the fields.

But these men didn't look like workmen. They wore suits and looked every
bit as distinguished as his father, Mr. Bennett down at the bank, or
Richard's and Billy's daddy at the drug store.

The men didn't sound like the Negroes he'd ever seen, either. Both men used
words that his dad would use. They sounded as educated as any of his
teachers at school. He could tell that they were Black from the way they
spoke their words but, in his mind, that wasn't any different than having a
Southern accent. These men were just as knowledgeable as white men he'd
seen.

Henry's and Jimmy's chevy pulled in beside Dr. Phillips' car. "Hey, guys!"
Charlie called as Billy Lee opened the passenger door and jumped off of one
of the Bishop twins' lap. The twins followed and both pulled their seats
forward. Vic and Lindy clamored off the laps of two more boys in the
backseat and pulled themselves out on either side of the car. They were
followed by Richard and Broughton.

"Is there going to be enough room in there for you to get a ride back,
Joe?" his father asked quietly from beside him.

Joe nodded to his father and looked back to the boys coming towards
him. "It'll be fun, Dad," he answered and started after Charlie to greet
his friends.

"I'll see that your son gets home in one piece," Rev. Sojourner said
quietly as the three men watched the boys greeting each other for a
moment. "Are you sure you won't stay?"

"I wish." Dr. Phillips shook his head. "But I've got to meet with my board
on our plans to raise money to build a new Sunday School wing."


Joe sat with the Black boy he'd been paired with and wracked his brain to
find another way to explain the geometric theorem that'd had the guy bogged
down for the past hour. It'd taken him the better part of an hour but he'd
accepted that it wasn't like Roosevelt Cletus wasn't smart; he just didn't
have the basics with which to understand what geometry was all about.

Roosevelt just kept asking questions. It was like he was starving and Joe
was spoon feeding him knowledge. He couldn't help but wonder what the guy's
school was doing. It sure wasn't teaching Roosevelt much about academics;
that was for sure. But it was teaching him football apparently. Roosevelt
Cletus had a full scholarship to Gramlin over in Louisiana next year.

Joe still couldn't believe it. This guy was 3 years older than he was and
had a full scholarship to a university. But Joe knew more than he did about
every school subject that they touched on.

And Roosevelt had Joe's dick wanting to have a look too. He was tall and
sleek. Roosevelt Cletus had a body that made any of those Olympic swimmers
look out of shape. And, from what Joe could see, the guy didn't have even
one zit to mar that dark chocolate skin.

He pulled himself away from where those thoughts threatened to carry
him. Just as he had a number of times already tonight - every time he'd let
his mind wander, in fact. He wasn't about to go down that road ever again.

Besides, if he'd have been dead meat if he'd been found out with Vic or the
Weeks boys, he'd really be dead if he did something with Roosevelt. Some of
those farm boys at school would have him swinging on a rope in a heartbeat
- him and Roosevelt both.

He looked up, his gaze bewilderedly moving around the room, and a frown
began to cover his face. They were alone. "Where's everybody?" he asked
Roosevelt.

The Black boy looked away, hiding his face. "I was learning so much, Joe -
Mr. Phillips," he mumbled. "I just nodded for both of us when the rest were
leaving."

"Everybody's gone?"

Roosevelt nodded.

"How am I supposed to get home then?"

"I can drive you - if you don't mind being in the car with a nigger-"

"Nigger isn't a good word," Joe said, without taking the time to think it
through. "Negro - even colored - but not that word."

"It's just a word-"

"No." He looked around the room, part of him wondering why he was allowing
himself to get worked up. He hadn't used the word. No white had.

"No, Roosevelt, it's not just a word. It's a - an abbreviation for hatred
and bigotry and stupidity. Either colored people are stupid or they
aren't. If they are, then I guess it'd be okay to call them 'nigger'. But
they aren't!"

He pushed out of his chair and began to pace. "I met your preacher - and
Charlie's daddy. Those two men have ever bit as much intelligence as my dad
does, as any white person does." He turned to face Roosevelt, his eyes
flashing with an internal fire. "And I know that you're just as bright as
they are. I've spent the past 2 or 3 hours with you. Intense hours,
Roosevelt. You definitely are not stupid.

"And that's what that word is all about. Stupidity. That of the black
person and that of the person calling him that." He moved closer and faced
the other boy. "You're not some nigger to me, Roosevelt. You're a very
smart boy, fast becoming a man."

Roosevelt broke their eye contact and looked down at his hands. "Maybe so,
Mr. Joe Phillips. But we're both gonna feel like little boys with
well-tanned butts if I don't get you home soon."