The Boneyard

By Jim Tee

Chapter 1

The Boneyard 1

Copyright © 2003, by Jim Tee. All rights, except those expressly transferred by the author, are strictly reserved to the author alone. No part of this work may be reproduced, except for single copies of the work and excerpts used by a reviewer, by any means whatsoever, unless written permission is provided by Jim Tee.

This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual people, living or otherwise, is strictly coincidental and unintended. The story contains material directed to an adult audience and involves gay relationships, including sex, between adults and minors and adults and adults. It is not intended to promote or otherwise condone such relationships even though they are observed in reality.

If this type of literature offends you, or if you live in a state which places age limits on your right to access this type of material, please read no further.

You may contact the author at All e-mails, except spam, will be gratefully acknowledged.

I'm just an average Joe kind of guy. I'm 24, have been working on the audit staff of one of the large CPA firms since I graduated from college four years ago. I live in one of the suburbs of Chicago, take a commuter train to and from work each day, and am interested in sports, though I recognize my limitations and am therefore mostly a spectator.

The exception is golf. I have played golf for the last ten years and can't seem to get enough of it. I am involved enough in the sport to have volunteered to coach disadvantaged youth at our local golf center every Saturday morning. I enjoy that almost as much as playing the game. I am a better than average golfer, as I most often will score in the low 80's.

No one would say I am handsome. I'm not. You would be able to pick me out of the line up of the Chippendales in an instant. I'm not buff. I don't obsess over my physique or general appearance. I'm 5' 10", brown hair, hazel eyes, a little overweight and clean shaven due to a light beard. If there is anything noteworthy about me, it's that I make friends easily. Some would say I have a quick wit, enjoy a good laugh and anger slowly.

I graduated from college a year early because of attending summer school, not because I was some kind of super brain. I will admit my grades were pretty good, but learning has always been easy for me and I'm a good test taker. I passed the CPA exam three months after graduation from summer school.

I got married at the tender age of eighteen. My parents were opposed, but as with most issues, remained supportive. My wife was one year older than me and taught third grade at one of the local elementary schools. She is a kind and considerate woman, somewhat naive, but was easy to live with.

We had no children. Both of us must have been asleep during sex education classes. It seems we didn't know what it takes to create another life. Besides, our marriage was not based on sexual attraction. While we occasionally attempted procreation, the union had never been particularly spectacular. The fact is, I was certain that I got more satisfaction from masturbation.

Even before we were married, we were aware that sex was not as satisfying to us as it seemed to be for our friends who privately related their experiences to us. We had `done the deed' four or five times before we were married and had frank discussions about the lack of excitement we had individually experienced. I'm not saying that these experiences were void of any pleasure at all. It's simply that the reality of sexual encounters didn't measure up to the expectations we had been led to believe were associated with intercourse. This remained true even after we had read as many of the `how to' books as we could get our hands on. We even tried some of the more `kinky' sex acts. But nothing seemed to satisfy either of us. It was as if we were strangers in bed.

There were many other activities in which my wife and I enjoyed participating. We played a lot of bridge with our friends. We loved to travel, especially when we spent a week in December of each year at our favorite ski resort in Colorado. We shared the fun of creative cooking. We went to Cubs and Bears games as frequently as we could find time. We enjoyed the same types of music. We thoroughly enjoyed reading; she enjoyed non-fiction while I read mostly fiction.

As I read this I am struck by how `average' we really were, that is, except for the one failure in our relationship. Both of us knew there had to be something more to sex than we were privy to.

In the fourth year of our marriage, at the age of 22, I began a relationship with another person wholly without forethought. "Without forethought." Does that mean it was accidental? No, it wasn't. But it wasn't planned either. However, my failure to remain dedicated to my marriage haunted me and created a chasm in my marriage that I couldn't reconcile. It took me another year to realize that my lack of fidelity had to be resolved. I was the one who first broached the subject of divorce.

So after five years of marriage, we agreed to a divorce, citing irreconcilable differences, even though there were no irreconcilable differences. It was an uncontested and amicable divorce, we split everything 50/50 and went on our own. For the most part we had enjoyed one another's company and vowed to remain friends, but we agreed there was something seriously wrong and believed the only way to resolve the problem was to work it out for ourselves.

A year has passed since our divorce. While my friends and neighbors may think I lead a happy and contented life with more than ample professional growth in the accounting firm, there is more to the story...beginning about a year before the divorce.

The phone was ringing just as I was coming out of my nightly shower.

My wife answered, "Hello. This is Janet."

I had the habit of leaving the bathroom door open when I showered. It seemed to me the mirrors fogged up less with the door open to our bedroom. I could hear her answer the phone which rested on the night stand along side our king size bed.

"Oh, John, it's no bother. He's just now finishing his shower. Hold on just a minute. I'll fetch `em for you."

Wrapping my terrycloth robe around my wet body, I hurried in to the bedroom, "Hey, John. What's up?"

"Nate, I hate to keep asking you for favors, but tomorrow night Louise and I have a dinner engagement at Phil Jackson's house. I know it's a Friday and you have your golf sessions on Saturday morning, but could you come and babysit these rascals? We should be back around midnight."

John Phillips was my boss and mentor at the firm. He was one of the audit partners and I liked him a lot. I think it was the result of his efforts on my behalf which put me on the promotional fast track at the firm. I admired him for his competence and his calm under fire. Janet and I socialized with him and Louise on a regular basis. They also enjoyed bridge and we were frequent guests in their home.

He lived about 2 miles from me in a much higher priced neighborhood than mine. He and Louise had three kids; Jim, age 12, Sarah, age 10, and Boxer, age 8. I had been the preferred babysitter for the last couple of years. I'm not sure I was John's preferred sitter, but his kids liked me for some reason and always twisted John's arm to call on me first.

"Hang on a minute, John. Let me check with Janet to make sure she hasn't scheduled me for something important, like a bridge game."

"Jan, have you got us scheduled for tomorrow night?."

"No, you're free. I tried to get Tom and Jerry to come over for bridge, but both of them have big dates"

"OK, John. Jan says I'm free. What time should I show up?"

"We'll be leaving around 6:30. Come on by a little earlier so we can tip one before we leave. Boxer's not feeling too well. I think he may be catching a cold. And, thanks, Nate. I appreciate your help. Bye, now." "

"That'll work. I'll see you tomorrow night at 6:00 with a thirst on. Bye."

The following day (Friday) I left the client's office just before lunch after scheduling an inventory count for a couple of junior staff assisting me in the audit. There is nothing more boring than inventory counts and I was especially happy to be able to pass it on to the `youngsters' in the firm.

Since the client's office was about half-way into Chicago from my home, I had driven the Beemer rather than take the train. In the back of my mind I had planned on leaving the job site early in order to grab a hotdog for lunch on the way to the golf center, hit a couple of buckets of balls and then stop at home for a quick something for dinner before ending up at John's place by 6 p.m.

Considering that it was one of those beautiful early fall days, there were surprisingly few people at the golf center. I chatted with the owner, Max, for a few minutes and proceeded on to the practice tee with a couple of large buckets of balls.

Max and I had been friends since childhood and we were very familiar with one another's foibles. We had played the typical teen age games together about a decade ago. We had remained the best of friends even after our `games' had ceased. Both of us had played high school golf. Max was number one seed on the golf team. I was number four. He was one of the regulars in our Sunday foursome at Greenside Country Club.

Max was the only boy I had `played with' in our youth. However, Max was openly involved in gay relationships from the time we were kids, although he had always said that while we were `doing it together' he was not involved with anyone else. It was difficult for me to admit to myself that sex with Max had been decidedly better than sex with my wife. I frequently fantasized about him during my private jack off sessions.

Today was going to be a day of practicing the mid-irons. I had been screwing up approach shots much too often recently and I hoped a little extra practice on this part of the game would improve my play on the course.

I started with the 4-iron. In my concentration of the elements of my swing I failed to notice that I had an audience until I turned around to exchange the 4-iron for a 5-iron. There, standing just behind me and a little to the right, was Billy Sanchez.

"Oh. Hi there young man. How long have I ignored the presence of such a studly looking youngster in my midst?"

Billy was one of the kids I had been working with on Saturday mornings. He looked like he was about 13, dark black hair, a bronze complexion, piercing black eyes and the body of a youthful athlete-to-be.

"About a year by now," he answered.

"How come you're not in school? Isn't it a little early to be out and around?" I asked.

"Naw, we got out early...some kinda teacher's meetin' this afternoon. I hope I'm not botherin' ya. I just figured I might learn somethin' from watching ya practice."

"No. You're no bother. Fact is sometimes it gets lonely out here hitting golf balls. I'm glad you stopped by. What did you mean when you said I had ignored you for about a year? Seems to me that I've made a special effort to work with you every Saturday morning."

"I did'n mean nuthin'. Ya mind if I jus' sit here and watch? I promise not to bother you."

"Like I said, Billy, you're no bother.

You want to hit a couple. You're tall enough to use my clubs. I need to take a break anyway," I lied.

"That'd be great!" he responded. "What do you think I should practice?"

"Here, take this 5-iron. You should be able to hit it about 150 yards. Aim at that little phony green they put out there. It's 150 yards away."

I handed the club to him. He moved a ball around in the grass to set it up for a shot at the green. His address position was perfect. He swung the club as hard as he could, topping the ball in the process.

The ball skimmed through the grass and stopped rolling about 50 yards short of the green.

"Hey, guy. You don't have to swing as hard as you can. Concentrate on slowing down the backswing and pull your body through the shot as you begin the downswing. You can work on swing speed after you get better rhythm in your body, arms and wrists. Try another one. This time try to slow down your swing."

He set up another ball and took another swing, topping the ball again.

"Shit," he mumbled.

"I know what you mean. The swing was slower, but now you swayed your entire body back rather than simply shifting your weight over to your right side. Try another one. Take the same swing but concentrate on not swaying your body backwards.

"Here. Let me get on my knees behind you. I'll hold your right side during the swing. If you feel any pressure, it's a sign you're allowing your body to sway."

He set up another ball as I placed myself on my knees behind him.

He made a little wag of his butt and swung the club. He began to sway a little but stopped when he felt the pressure of my hand on the side of his butt. It was a good swing. He caught the ball almost perfectly. It flew about 130 yards on the fly.

"OK. Good shot. It didn't make the green but you did slow down your backswing and you did stop the sway. Did you feel my hand on your butt during the swing?" I asked.

"Oh yeah," he answered. "It felt real good...the swing, I mean."

"Let's do it again. I'll stay where I am. Concentrate on the rhythm of the swing."

Billy hit four or five more shots while I was kneeling on the ground behind him. In the process, the swaying tendency stopped and each shot was better than the previous one.

As I was kneeling there looking at this well-formed rear end with my hand lightly resting on his right cheek, I realized that I was becoming aroused and promptly stood up and re-positioned myself in front of this strikingly cute teenager.

Was that a small bulge in the front of his pants? Did he react to my touch as I had begun to react?

"Billy, that was excellent. You're really a fast learner. I bet you do pretty good in school, too. Now, go ahead and practice some more shots on your own. I'll just stand here and watch."

In the next ten minutes, Billy continued to practice the 5-iron. I added words of encourgement after each swing. It gave me time to look over the young stud working out in front of me. He really was a cute kid. I had always been partial to dark haired people. There was something about the clear definition of features created by black hair. I couldn't help but think about looking at his body unclothed. That feeling of arousal was quickly returning.

I had to call this session to a close. I was certain that if I stood there fantasizing about this youngster, it would become very obvious to both of us that my concentration was not being directed towards Billy's golf swing.

"Billy, I've gotta get on the road. You go ahead and hit the rest of the balls. Max has a couple of clubs you can borrow. You really have made a lot of improvement in just a short session. I'm proud of you. I think, with a little practice, you're gonna make a helluva golfer in no time flat."

"Gee, thanks Nate. I couldn't do it without your help. Can you spend a little more time with me on Saturdays?"

"I'd be happy to do that, Billy, and I will. But remember, there are some other kids that need some help with the game, too. Even though, I'll try to spend more time with you.

"Come on. Let's get you a couple of clubs from Max."

Max was quick to loan a bag of clubs.

As Billy was returning to the practice tee, Max commented, "Nice kid. Nice bod. Good swing. He seems to have a little more interest in you than golf. Whatta ya' think?"

I felt myself blush slightly as I responded, "You're a dirty `ol man. I gotta admit, though, there were a few moments out there that made me feel like I was 13 again. I haven't had those feelings in a long time, Max. Do you think there's something wrong with me?"

"If there is, Nate, then there's a lot of us with something wrong. I don't think you're any different than a lot of guys...except you're honest enough to admit it."

"Well, I may be honest enough to admit it but, I know it's not right for someone to have those kinds of feelings for someone ten years younger than them. Society is not ready to accept the idea of man on man, let alone man on boy!"

"Screw society," Max said. "You and me ain't society, Nate. We're just two guys stumbling through this world trying to make the best of it. I don't see anything wrong with that as long as we ain't hurtin' other people in the process."

"Yeah, Max. That's the crux of it. The problem is, how do we know if we're hurting other people?"

"We probably don't know. But, let's just say you and Billy were to get it on together. If both of you are pleasured by it and the two of you enjoy one another's company, who's gettin' hurt by it? Society? Look, it just ain't nobody's business but the players. If it's good for them, that oughta be enough."

"You've got a point, Max. I'm just not sure I agree with it. Let's take your example of me and Billy. The two of us may not be hurt by the relationship, but what about my wife? Don't you think she might be just a little upset, to say the least? I know our sex life isn't what it should be, but, geez Max, we're married! What affect would it have on her and on our marriage?"

"Hey, that's a separate problem that you and her gotta resolve. It's got nothin' to do with you and Billy!"