PLAYBOYS by Lewis Walter Woods Copied from NAMBLA March, 1992 Vol. 13 No. 2 RESOUND THUNDER! Flood the land, blessed clouds! Those prayers ascended as I let in the new paperboys. Apartment rented two weeks before, my telephone call had started delivery. Shirtless and in shorts, dripping from their baptism in the storm's fury, the two boys had bounded up to my door for shelter. Could I do other than offer them a haven? I dashed to a closet and groped for a towel. "Let me sop up some of that water." Let it pour! They stood shivering as I dried their backs and chests, my towel-encased hands migrating over their compliant bodies. I hadn't been that close to such handsome boys in years. As I continued, they questioned me: "Where you from?" Another city in another state. "Why'ja move here?" New job. "What are all these books for?" My job. "Wha'd'ya do?" Teach. "What?" General Science. "Where?" Jefferson Junior HIgh. They looked askance at each other. "What's your name?" Call me Joel. "Really? Can we call you that when we go to Jefferson Junior High next year?" Not in class. "Oh, Okay!" Their names? The shorter boy mocked a wrestler as he threw out his bare chest and flexed his biceps. "I'm Kevin, I'm practi- cally thirteen, and this queer here is Adam, friend of Eve!" As he spoke he slapped his hand against the other boy's firm chest. "Who you callin' queer, you faggot? You ain't but almost twelve, same as me." Adam seized Kevin around his still damp waist, and both boys began to wrestle. Now late summer, both boys were deeply tanned. "Hey, watch it, fellas!" The entangled boys come dangerously close to the end table by the couch. "Careful of that..." CRASH! The lamp topples, the bulb shattering as it hits the floor. "Now look what you done, dummy!" "Me? You started it! You better apologize or Joel here'll kick our little butts out into the rain." Adam flicked his thumb toward Kevin. "I wanna apologize for this immature kid here. He can't help himself." Both sobered when they realized they had broken the lamp base as well. "Guess we ought to clean this up for you," Kevin offered. "We're sorry." They picked up some of the jagged ceramic pieces. I dismissed their concern. The lamp was old, I said, never liked it, et cetera. Hadn't they already repaid me? I suggested finishing my dring chore. Adam lifted his leg, and Kevin grabbed his friend's foot and held it so I could dry its entire slim length. They alternated until both were somewhat dry, though droplets still descended from their shorts. THEY SAID they weren't brothers, but shared the paper route. "After this downpour, it'll be cooler and we'll freeze our butts off. D'ya got a dryer in the building?" I nodded. Kevin, more assertive, removed a coin from their collection money, nudged Adam, and both boys zipped out of their shorts. "Could'ja dry these for us? Here's a quarter, we'll pay." Could they see my legs shake? "Sure. In the laundry down the inside hall. Just let me finish where your, uh, shorts covered." I snatched another, but thinner, towel to complete my ministra- tions, fell to my knees, masqueraded as a dininterested valet, trembled to realize that a mere fraction of an inch separated my fingers - deliberate, caressing, diligent - from those boyhood treasures. Task too soon completed, I shakily rose, turned on trembling legs, and started to leave with their shorts lest I collapse. "Got anything to read while we're waiting?" Kevin giggled, then, with each hand placed firmly against the top of his buttocks, turned to glance at me over his shoulder. He continued in his alto voice, "D'ya ever get Playboys?" The shakiness in my legs spread to my voice, but I hoped they wouldn't notice. "Look in the bedroom, behind the door." I had a collection of magazines left behind in classrooms or confiscated from students. "Different magazines are in the box." Sprint to dryer, hurl in shorts, insert coin, race back. I entered my bedroom and saw the disarray of magazines dumped on the floor. They lay belly-down on my double bed, bodies touching, examining the centerfold of an old issue of Playboy. "This one we saw already." Kevin tossed it down and opened Outdoor Life. "This one's preety good. Lookit them bass, Adam! Hey, Joel, d'ya ever go fishing?" My guests appropriated the can of peanuts from my bedside table and noisily munched. "Here, Joel," Adam interrupted, "would'ja like any of these?" "No, thanks anyway," I croaked. Nice of him to offer. He was the more muscular of the two. A crack of lightening jolted my jangled nerves. I sank into a stuffed chair and conveniently positioned myself to afford me an optimal view of their posteri- ors. "I used to fish. Why?" "Oh, nothing." For ten minutes they ignored me, chomped peanuts, and focused their attention on the magazine, their comments made to each other. I was pleased; it gave me time to get my voice back in shape. What better way to spend one's time on a rainy afternoon? "How'd you get so tanned all over?" Adam twisted around again. "We've got a great place for skinny-dipping, and we've been there lots this summer. It's real private. We stay naked all day when we go there, and we have lots of fun. You ought to go there with us sometime for some real fun. The old diving board broke when Kevin here jumped on it, and he got splinters up his butt!" "I did not!" Kevin reached out and swatted Adam. "I just got scraped, you fag!" "Ouch! Stop hitting my butt, you fairy!" Their bodies became a tangle of twisting arms and legs as they grappled again. This time they were safe on the bed and I refused to interfere. ADAM PINNED Kevin. "Next time you call me a fag, I'll fag you!" Kevin laughed, squirmed, pushed violently to upset his assail- ant, and jumped off the bed. Wiry little kid, darker tan than Adam. "I'd better get our shorts," he chirped, and unexpectedly darted out and headed for the hallway door. I leapt from my chair, zoomed out to grab his sandy hair just as he grabbed the doorknob. "I'll get them! You stay here." When I returned, they were nestled together on the couch, reviewing other magazines. They ignored the shorts I tossed to the other end of their perch and slurped Pepsis from the cans they had pilfered from my refrigerator. The rain had ceased. Half an hour later they finally were ready to leave. "Gotta get humpin' to finish collecting tonight." Kevin had opened his moist receipt book to check my account before he wriggled into his dry shorts. "One week, that's two dollars and ten cents, plus tip." The three dollars I gave them they came to expect every week. School began two days later, and thereafter they were fully dressed each time they came to collect. They always walked in as I opened the door, had questions, comments, helped themselves to the contents of my refrigerator and cupboards. Eventually, they sought my help with their school science projects or asked me to explain homework assignments. Neither came alone. Some comment would always precipitate their wrestling, most often triggered by one's slur about the other's sexual identity. I removed my aquarium to a less vulnerable location and anything fragile to closets of shelves. Although tempted, I never touched the boys in a way they might interpret as erotic or even affection- ate, fearful to lose them. That autumn they finagled a fishing expedition on a beautiful, cool, sunny Saturday. Other than snaring me more completely, they cought nothing, but they certainly alarmed the fish when they (precdictably) scuffled in the boat and fell into the water. This meant we had to hurry back to my place to both wash and dry their clothes and sneakers. Again they remained nude until they were ready to leave, curled together on the couch watching television until nine. They joined a youth bowling league. Every Saturday afternoon thereafter they prevailed upon me to become their chauffeur so I might drive them to a bowling hall across town. I met Adam's parents and Kevin's mother, people of moderate means. Several times they invited me to dinner. All were pleased I took such an interest in the boys. I think they were weary of their sons' shenanigans and glad to get them out of their hair for a while. I discovered that each frequently spent nights at the other's house. The parents confirmed that the boys often were sent to bed early as a consequence of some misdeed, usually for some uproar they produced, and they admitted their vexation at Adam and Kevin's compulsion to wrestle. I began to seek excuses to end this frustrating relationship, fearful that one day I would slip and lose everything. After all, I did have my "position of trust" as a teacher to think about. The event that precipitated this resolve occured on a Sunday afternoon in mid-November. They appeared at my door peni- tent, scared, and covered with mud. Same thing. Insult had prompted retaliation. A bulldozed construction site offered substance for their missles. The battle had escalated until they were thrashing in the cold ooze. "We'd really catch hell if we went home like this," Adam intoned, his black hair infused with gobs of slime. "Could'ja help us?" pleaded Kevin as he shivered piteously, blue eyes blinking nervously through streaks of brown silt. How could I refuse? Newspapers spread to protect the floor, I made them strip just inside the door. They fled to the bathroom. I laboriously scraped the much from their clothes while I heard them frolic in the shower. "How's it going, mud-puppies?" checking in on them. They had filled the tub and were almost submerged. The overflow coated the floor. I grabbed a sponge. "Enough! Shut it off!! You'll flood me out!" "Sorry. We didn't notice that." They rose from the water. "Yeah," Kevin added, "we're sorry. We really appreciate all you do for us, Joel. But now we're really clean." I tossed them towels and continued to mop the puddles. Eventually dry, they left for my bedroom, sprawled on their backs on my bed, and examined my bird identification book. Adam streched his arms above his head, stiffened his legs, and arched his back. The action thrust his hips a few inches off the bed. "What can we do to pay you back?" "Don't say that, homo," Kevin muttered. "If he wants any- thing, he'll let us know, won't ya Joel?" Sure I would. His dpithet, though, had started the assault; the result, after a few minutes of struggle, revealed a curious sight. Adam flopped on his belly to hide and yelled, "See, told'ja you were queer! Lookit your boner!" "That don't mean nothing, right, Joel? I betcha you do too, Adam." Kevin flipped Adam over. "See!" "So what! I bet ya got picked up by that guy who hangs around school. I saw ya talkin' to him." "I did not! Afternnons he only sells flowers on that corner." "Bet he's a molester!" I intervened, hoped to impress them with my wisdom, complimented them for their skill in detection and avoidance of strangers, pontificated that it was very normal for boys to get erections. They lay on their backs, continued to discuss the phenomena, and dared each other to, shall we say, reciprocal oral stimulation. Both laughed. Both refused. This torment had to end. The following week I agonized, for though I loved them and their antics, the temptation was tearing me apart. The note I tacked to my door on Friday promised payment for the papers the next day; I left to prevent having to face them. After their bowling, I would tell them that increased obligations demanded my time - that I was embarking on the writing of a science textbook - and ask them not to visit any more. It snowed the day there were to compete in the junior bowling tournament. Their team won. Meanwhile, the storm continued to howl. Foolishly, they had worn jackets too light for such conditions, so when we went out into the dark I insisted they return inside and remain while the car's engine warmed up. Though not so warmly dressed myself, I stayed out to sweep mounds of the white stuff off my car as the wind swirled frigid flakes around me. Then I drove five miles with my attention riveted on slippery city streets, clogged by vehicles abandoned in drifts. We had to stop a couple times to help push stuck cars out of the way so we might get through. When we arrived at my apartment I was soaked, shivering, and chilled. The boys, metamorphosed now to angels, turned up the thermostat, stripped me, and got me into a steaming bathtub. They called their homes to explain my dire condition and said they would stay the night with me. I warmed rapidly, dried, and found they had put TV dinners in the oven. After we ate, they stripped and took a shower together, and when they came out said the apartment was too warm to get dressed again. As I finished the hot spice tea they prepared for me, I thanked them. "Same as you done for us lots of times when we needed help. Ain't that right, Kevin?" "Sure! Time for bed now, Joel." "Isn't it a little early?" I protested. It's only eight o'clock." Kevin said they didn't want me to have a relapse of shivers. I told them how to open the fold-out bed, where to find sheets and blankets, and that they could curl up together and watch television for as long as they wished. They led me to my bedroom, pulled off my robe, eased me under the covers, turned the radio to soft music, and extin- guished the light. I closed my eyes, heard the door close, doubted I could sleep at that early hour, but I could dream about them sleeping together in the other room. How could I reject them now, after they had been so caring? But somehow I had to. UNEXPECTEDLY, the bed squeaked, and the two angels crept under the blanket and snuggled their nude bodies in on either side of me. I remained rigid, not daring to speak, and felt their warm flesh and newly exploring hands. "We got tired of waiting," Adam finally said. He sounded exasperated. "From the first day when you dried us, we knew you liked boys, and we kept telling you and telling you what we were and what we wanted! We decided tonight you weren't going to do anything until we did. Anyway, we want to celebrate that our team won today." "It's not that you're retarded, Joel, but you're awful slow on some things," Kevin's lilting voice lectured me. "I asked ya that first time here if you like playboys!"