Date: Wed, 4 Nov 2009 19:40:34 -0800 (PST)
From: Tom Borden <tombor99@yahoo.com>
Subject: "The Scrawny Kid"

Tom Borden
tombor99@yahoo.com


The Scrawny Kid


My name is Evan Coleman, I'm twenty-one years old, and I'm about to finish
my senior year here at Colombia University in New York City.  Although I
spent my first three years of school in a residence hall, I now live alone
in an apartment on the upper west side.  I don't consider myself attractive
at all and have made very few friends here.  My best friend, however, is
Paul Weaver, who I met in my American Literature class earlier this year.
He's a freshman and only eighteen.  He's a quiet sort of person, like I am,
and our friendship involves mainly having lunch together several times a
week where we talk mainly about our schoolwork and other inconsequential
things, including his girlfriends.  Not very exciting, but at least I have
a friend to talk with.

I scrupulously keep the fact from him that I am a homosexual.  Actually, I
have never mentioned it to anyone, nor have I given anyone reason to
believe I am attracted to other men.  It would be pointless to do so since
I believed no one could possibly be attracted to a skinny, scrawny person
like me.  Paul is so good looking that I don't doubt he's had plenty of
girlfriends.  He plays a role in my masturbation fantasies almost every
night.

I work part-time at a small lobby snack bar in a high-rise office building
on Sixth Avenue.  It's so small that only one person can work behind the
tiny counter at a time.  I usually work three or four hours a day around
the noon hour, and sell coffee, tea, pre-wrapped sandwiches, and fruit,
like apples and bananas.  When business is slow, I like to look at all the
good looking men who pass through the lobby and add them to my catalog of
masturbation fantasies.

One day I watched an excruciatingly handsome man in a navy-blue business
suit get out of the elevator and walk to my counter.  He bought a sandwich
and an apple, and then gave me a very courteous thank-you and left.  Each
day for the rest of that week, he did the same, always giving me a friendly
"hello" and "thank-you."  I was sure I'd never known him before he started
coming to my counter, but I nevertheless had the oddest feeling I'd seen
him some place in the past.

That weekend at home, I couldn't get him off my mind.  He was so
overwhelmingly good looking that I even fantasized about him as I
masturbated.  I'd never had any kind of sexual experience with another man,
and my masturbation fantasies were all I had . . . all I would ever have.

It came to me suddenly.  This man was my friend Paul Weaver's Dad.  I'd
seen him once or twice drive up to the Humanities building.  He'd get out
and stand there waiting for Paul so he could drive him home.  I was walking
nearby, but he never looked my way.  Paul wasn't as good looking as his
Dad, but they did favor each other physically.

The following week, the same thing occurred.  He came to the counter,
bought his food, and greeted me as usual.  But one day when he came up to
me, he stood there for a few minutes after he paid.

"I see by your tag, your name is Evan.  I've been meaning to compliment you
on what an efficient young man you are.  You handle this counter with a
great deal of skill and courtesy, even when there's a crowd."

"Thank you, Mr. . . uh"

"Weaver's the name.  Ronald Weaver.  I'd like to do something for you to
show my appreciation.  What time does your shift end?"

"I get off at three, Sir."

"I still have a few matters to take care of up in the office.  Would you be
willing to wait around until about five o'clock?  I'd like to take you out
for a drink."

"Oh, thank you, Sir.  That's very nice of you."

"Don't mention it.  I'll see you at five."

I couldn't believe this was happening.  When my shift was over, I walked
over to the building directory on the wall by the elevator.  I saw that
Ronald Weaver was the President of some firm I'd never heard of.  I was
overwhelmed that a man of his stature and smashing good looks would want to
spend even a minute with someone like me.

Mr. Weaver met me at five with a big smile and a handshake.  I thought my
skinny hand would be crushed by that strong hand of his.

We walked down Lexington Avenue for a couple of blocks and stopped.

"Evan," he said, "I'll tell you what.  This is a bad time.  All the bars
are jammed with people after work.  Why don't we go up to my place to have
our drink.  It's not far from here, and there's a beautiful view of the
city from my top floor condo."

When we arrived, Mr. Weaver took off his suit coat and draped it over the
back of a chair.  I was overwhelmed at the richness of the décor and
furnishings, as well as the wonderful view.  I was surprised that my friend
Paul lived in such rich surroundings.

"This is where you and your family live, Mr. Weaver?  It's wonderful."

"No, no," Mr. Weaver said.  "This condo is a place strictly for myself.
For my own entertainment, you see."

"Oh." I said.  "So your family lives somewhere else?"

Mr. Weaver gave me a knowing wink.  "Yes, they do.  But they're unaware of
my private condo.  You know a man has to have a little privacy for when
various things come up unexpectedly."

My God, I thought.  Paul doesn't know his father has private play house of
his own.  I felt a great relief that I hadn't mentioned that his son Paul
was a friend of mine.

Mr. Weaver took off his tie and began to unbutton his shirt.  "If you don't
mind, Evan, I'm going to take a quick shower before we have our drink.
I've been out and around so much today, I'm really quite sweaty.  Just make
yourself at home."

I sat by the window and saw a magazine rack by the arm of the sofa.  I
picked up several of them and instantly saw they were pornographic
magazines.  The thought that this man was into sex of any kind sent a wave
of adrenaline through me.  Jeepers, I thought, I hoped he wasn't planning
to treat me to sex with some girls.  I was determined to drink the drink he
offered me and leave immediately.

When I heard him come back in the room, I looked up and saw him walking
toward the sofa completely naked.  I literally felt dizzy at the sight of
his highly tanned muscular body.  He had the body of a swimmer with the
typically smooth and rounded muscles that swimmers have.

As he sat on the sofa, he said, "Well, Evan, you're welcome to take a
shower yourself."

"No thank you, Sir," I said.  "I had a shower around noon before I went to
work."

"As you can see," Mr. Weaver said, spreading his arms wide, "I'm into
nudity.  I never wear clothes when I'm here in my condo.  I love how it
feels to have my skin caressed by the open air.  How about you, Evan?"

"No sir.  I mean. I . . . ."

Mr. Weaver laughed.  "Let me get you a drink.  I've got every kind of
liquor, wine, and beer.  What's your pleasure, young man?"

"I'll take beer, thank you."

He walked to the opposite wall where he opened two cupboard doors revealing
a good-sized wet bar.  He stood there with his back to me as he opened a
bottle of red wine, as well as a can of beer.  I could feel my breath
getting labored at the sight of his luscious firm ass cheeks.  They bobbed
about enticingly as he shifted from one foot to the other.  My eyes shifted
to his legs, covered with a very soft dusting of light brown hair.  My
penis was aching to break out of my briefs.  It was the first time I'd ever
seen a totally naked adult.

He turned back to me and handed me a large pilsner glass of beer and sat
back on the sofa.

"Come on and sit over here on the sofa next to me so we can talk, Evan."

Knowing that the bulge in my pants was obvious, I carried my beer to the
sofa and placed it on the coffee table.

"Yes," he said, "nudity is a big pleasure to me.  It's a matter of truth to
me.  Nothing is hidden.  This is me.  Not the three-piece suit.  This is
what I am.  Have you ever enjoyed the great freedom of having your naked
body open to the air, Evan?"

"I don't think so, sir.  I don't look too good without clothes.  I'm so
thin.  My dad calls me scrawny like a spider."

He laughed.  "I like the way you look, Evan."  He reached over and put his
hand on my cheek.  "You have one of the most handsome faces I've ever seen.
Large brown eyes, shaded with long dark eyelashes that would be the envy of
any man.  A fine nose, straight and narrow, and full sensuous lips.  Your
neck is long and slender."

As he touched my face, I felt a rush of heat spread across it and down over
my chest.  "That's nice of you to say, Mr. Weaver, but you'd think
differently if you could see the rest of my body, especially sitting here
next to . . . your . . . your body."

"I don't believe you, Evan.  None of us are fully satisfied with our
bodies.  We live with what we're given, and we should be proud of it.  I
think what you need, Evan, is to be liberated from the clothes that cover
you up.  Nudity is our natural state."

I was becoming more nervous every minute.  I didn't know what to expect.

Mr. Weaver looked at me strangely.  "Evan, I'm sorry I didn't explain to
you what I require.  This condo is a place of truth.  It is a place where
anyone who is invited here must not hide behind anything.  He must open
himself up, reveal himself totally, both physically and mentally.  You must
reveal your nakedness and open your mind to me.  Please remove your
clothes, Evan, so we can exist in this room as equals."

"As equals?"

"Stand up, Evan.  Remove your clothes.  Clothes that hide who you are will
never be welcome in this apartment."

I stood up and began to remove my long-sleeved shirt.  I closed my eyes and
held my breath.  I didn't want to witness my own nakedness emerging in the
presence of another person.  My heart pounded as I took off my shoes and
pulled off my pants.  I kept my eyes closed.  I couldn't bear to see his
face as he looked at my body.  When I was completely naked, I felt his
hands on my shoulders pushing me down gently in a sitting position on the
sofa.  I could feel my penis hard and throbbing, but I still kept my eyes
closed.

"Open your eyes, Evan.  We are now two men who see each other as we really
are, without clothing to distort the beauty of our bodies."

"Beauty?" I stammered as I opened my eyes.

Mr. Weaver put out his arms and pulled me close to him until our chests
were pressed together.

"We love each other," he whispered, "as two men who have nothing with which
to deceive each other.  We have nothing to hide from each other.  The world
is full of deception, but you and I are no longer part of that deception."

"I had no desire to deceive you, Mr. Weaver," I said.  "It's just that I'm
ashamed of how I look without clothes.  There is no way this body can be
attractive to anyone."

"You and I are no longer CEO of large company, dressed in a fifteen hundred
dollar suit, and snack bar attendant wearing long sleeves.  We have
stripped ourselves of those mirages and are now merely two vulnerable and
passionate men whose secret longings are open for us both to see and
understand."

His beautiful blue eyes bore into mine like laser beams.

"Let others be the judge of the beauty of your nakedness that reflects the
soul within you.  You have a sensuous body, Evan.  I admire slender bodies
that are well-proportioned as yours is.  When I touch you like this, I can
feel your soul.  Your skin is clear and unblemished.  It's smooth and
child-like.  And your manhood is clear for me to see.  The size of your
hard penis and the length of your ball sack would be the envy of many men."

He ran his hands gently over my arms, my stomach, and my thighs.  The feel
of his fingers on me was an experience I'd never had, nor did I ever expect
to have.  The thought of his son Paul popped into my head.  He probably had
no idea what his father did when away from home.  As erotic as I felt with
his hands on me, I sensed a feeling of revulsion that my own father would
secretly do anything like this.  I told myself it was wrong, but I didn't
want this man to stop what he was doing to me.

He took hold of my hard penis and my balls and rolled them around in his
hands gently as though they were fine, rare jewels.  With no embarrassment,
I reached over and did the same with his hard penis and balls.  The idea of
touching those precious organs sent adrenaline surging through my body.

Mr. Weaver then let go of me and backed off.  He leaned back against the
sofa and smiled as he continued to cast his eyes over my body while running
his hand over my thigh.

"I liked you, Evan, as I watched you work at the snack bar, and really
wanted to get to know you better.  And I like you more than ever now that
I've seen the truth of who you really are."

I suddenly became emboldened and ran my own hand over the soft light brown
hair on his leg.

"Mr. Weaver, you tell me your family knows nothing about your private condo
and what you do here."

"That's right."

"Do you have any children?"  I knew the answer, but I needed to have him
tell me.

"Yes.  I have one son.  He's eighteen years old, a freshman at Columbia."

"You don't look old enough to have a son that age."

"He was born when I was 17.  I'm 35 now.  Since we're here in the land of
truth, where we've gotten to know each other this well so far, I might as
well tell you some more truth.  I was a junior in high school and I was
jerking off with one of my good friends one afternoon when his 16 year old
sister walked in on us.  One thing kind of led to another and I ended up
fucking her right there on my friends bed.  The first time I ever did it
with a girl.  Of course, she got pregnant with Paul.  When I graduated a
year later, I married her.  Both her parents and mine insisted we marry."

"Does your son know?"

"Oh, sure.  He's accepted it."

"But he doesn't know about your desire to be naked, does he?"

He laughed.  "Of course, he does.  I taught him from the beginning about
the glories of the naked body.  He and I often sit around naked in the
family room watching football games.  It just feels so natural."

"I'm still curious why no one in your family knows about your condo here."

"Well, Evan, you know how it is.  There are things I like to do with people
I meet that neither my son nor my wife would approve of."

I was confused.  "Well, Mr. Weaver, it's just sitting around naked like
this.  Your son knows about sitting around naked.  Why wouldn't he
approve?"

Mr. Walker smiled and scooted closer to me.  He leaned over and kissed me
lightly on the lips.

"He might not approve of my kissing another man like this," Mr. Walker
said.  "And he might not approve of this."

He ran his tongue down over my stomach and sucked my hard penis into his
mouth as he cupped my balls in his hand.  I was so shocked, I almost lost
my breath.  Never in my life had anyone touched my penis, much less put it
in his mouth.  I closed my eyes again and, at that moment, my mind seemed
to float out around me, beyond my reach.  I smiled as something drove me to
give myself completely to this man.  He could love me or hate me.  He could
caress me or beat me.  He could even kill me.  I was totally his.

I felt his lips and tongue riding up and down on my penis.  I put my hands
on his cheeks and then on his strong shoulders.  With his own hands he
pushed me over on my back.  After a few minutes, he pulled off and ran his
tongue over my legs.  As he did so, he held each of my slender legs in his
hands as though he was gnawing on a leg of lamb.  I could hear him moaning
quietly as he licked.  Soon, he raised my legs and pressed my thighs
against my chest.  I felt his warm breath on my exposed crotch as he sucked
on my balls and then pressed his tongue into my asshole.

Mr. Weaver soon stood up and, without a word, picked me up in his arms as
though I was made of feathers and carried me into his bedroom, where he
laid me on my back on the bed.

He spread my legs and lay between them.  I could feel his tongue on my
balls, then running up the underside of my gorged penis, and licking off
the clear semen that dribbled out of it.  I raised my head so I could see
the full length of his magnificent body.  The crack between his luscious
round ass cheeks was clearly visible.  I wanted so much to bury my face in
that crack.

The thought that my friend Paul, his son, was probably, at that moment,
back in his room studying while his dad was licking my balls and sucking my
penis practically overwhelmed me.

"Have you ever tasted a man's cum, Evan?"

"Yes," I replied eagerly.  "I taste my own cum every night."

"Would you like to taste mine?"

"Yes.  Oh yes."

He rolled over onto his back and began stroking his hard penis.  "It's all
yours, Evan.  It's eight and a half inches.  Can you take the whole thing?"

"I'll try."

I lay on my stomach between his legs and looked at his huge ball sack and
throbbing penis.  But before I did anything, I couldn't resist licking the
soft hair on his upper inner thighs.  The feel of his balls in my mouth,
slithering around inside his sack, was so erotic, I could hardly stop.  The
thrill of having this gorgeous man's hard penis---any man's hard penis---in
my mouth for the first time was far, far beyond the masturbation fantasies
I'd had of sucking a cock.

"Make me cum, Evan.  Use lots of tongue action."

I took hold of Mr. Weaver's hard penis with my hand and looked at it.  I
touched the tip of my tongue to the bulging veins that encircled it.  I put
my lips around the huge head of his penis.  It felt like a piece of hard,
wet rubber on my tongue.  I brought that raging hot rod in over my tongue
and as deep into my throat as I could.  I sucked on it just like they did
in those hot videos on the internet.  As I ran my lips over practically the
full length of it, the strange thought came to my mind as to whether or not
my own dad's cock looked and felt this delicious.  I hated thoughts like
that and quickly put my mind on Mr. Weaver's penis.  I wondered what it
would be like to have another man's cum in my mouth.  And it would be
Paul's father's cum in my mouth.  Oh, God, how can I face Paul back in
school?

I felt the unmistakable hardening and stiffening of his penis in my mouth,
just as my own penis felt when I was about to cum while masturbating.  Here
it comes, I thought.  I fell into an erotic whirl as the warmth of his cum
shot over and over into my mouth.  It was thick and sweet, and I let it
dribble down my throat slowly.

Mr. Weaver lay with his eyes closed and gasping for air.  I kept his penis
in my mouth until it went limp.  When I pulled off, he lifted his legs up
so his thighs were against his chest.

"Fuck me, Evan.  Have you ever fucked another man's ass?"

"No," I said, with my head swimming with excitement.

"You've got to get your head down there and flood my asshole with your
saliva."

"My saliva?"

"Yes.  Get it good and wet so your cock will slip right in.  Go ahead.
It'll be good.  Since we know so much about each other already, it's just
another part of me to get well acquainted with."

He reached down and spread his beautiful ass cheeks apart, revealing the
kind of pink puckered asshole I'd dreamed about in my fantasies.  I plunged
my face into his crack and slathered his asshole with as much saliva as I
could.  I mounted him with no difficulty and let my exploding cock slip
right into his rectum.  Oh, my God.  What a feeling of warmth and belonging
I had.  I had the strange desire for my whole body to push its way into his
intestines.

Again, I humped him just as I'd seen those beautiful hunks do it on the
internet.  I looked down at his face.  As he'd said, we're now in the realm
of truth.  His face no longer reflected the expression of arrogance and
importance that he'd had when we'd first met at the snack bar.  His face
was now almost child-like, his expression full of passion and longing.  His
lips quivered and he let out the sweetest moans of pleasure.  This was the
real Mr. Weaver, naked and stripped of all pretenses.  At that moment, I
was convinced I loved this man.

I could still taste the remnants of his cum in my mouth, and the room was
filled with the erotic odor of sex.  I felt the rim of his asshole snapping
and clenching against my penis.  The familiar tingle in my abdomen was now
signaling that my orgasm was about to take over.  I let it go as I imagined
the thick fluid from my body pouring into the body of this beautiful man.
He reached up and put his hands on my cheeks as my face contorted with the
delicious agony of my orgasm.

It seemed that all the strength in my body had evaporated, and I collapsed
onto Mr. Weaver.  He held my head and kissed me almost violently.  The
taste of his tongue and the inside of his cheeks made my penis, still
inside of him, jump.

We lay there for a long time, kissing and caressing each other's bodies.  I
glanced at the clock on his bed table.  Ten o'clock.  I knew I had to leave
since I had some homework yet to do before class the next day.

He also looked at the clock.  "Yes," he said, "I have an early morning
coming up."

He rolled me off of him and sat up.  "I want to see you again," he said.
"Next Thursday night, I'll be having a couple of friends here for a
get-together.  I'd like to have you join us.  I think you'll like them, and
I know they'll like you."

Videos of gang-bangs I'd seen on the internet were exciting, but the
thought of it now somehow frightened me.  Mr. Weaver didn't laugh at my
body, but I was afraid others would.  I'd be nothing but a freak, being
used for their enjoyment.

"I'm not sure if I'll be free next Thursday," I said.  "I'll let you know."


When I left his condo, I can't describe the feelings I had.  I sat in the
taxi on the way home, thinking about the most glorious sexual experience I
ever had.  At the moment I walked into my apartment, I knew there was no
chance that I could concentrate on my homework.  I went directly to bed
without taking a shower, and lay there with my eyes wide open, staring into
the darkness.

Inevitably, my thoughts shifted to Paul, my only real friend.  What a
terrible thing, I thought, that he doesn't know what his father is doing.
A horrendous rush of guilt swept over me.  How could I face Paul after what
I did with his Dad?  Tears filled my eyes.  My euphoria began to lessen,
and I felt dirty . . . really dirty.  I was sure Paul would see in my face
and eyes what I had done.  How could I hide it?

I sensed the residual smell of sex on my body, and it almost turned my
stomach.  I leapt out of bed and into the shower.  I stood there and washed
myself over and over for almost half an hour.  When I finally stepped out,
I looked at my naked body in the full-length mirror on the back of the
door.  I always hated my scrawny body.  Now it appeared uglier than ever in
the mirror.  I ran back to bed and brought the covers over my head.  Why, I
asked myself, did something that started out so incredibly beautiful have
to become so repugnant, so grotesque.  As I lay there, I could feel his
hands on me.  I saw his smile in front of my face, no longer handsome, but
now maniacal and depraved.  And all his talk about truth and liberation.
My mind was going crazy.  I saw Paul sitting in front of me, quiet and shy
and unaware.  I buried my face in the pillow and cried for him.

I thought of my own father, who I loved so much.  Chills ran through me
with the idea that he would ever deceive me and his family in this way

I slept fitfully, but awoke just before dawn.  A story came to mind . . . a
story I'd read on one of those gay-erotic sites.  It was about two
middle-aged men from different parts of the country who attended a business
conference in New York City.  At the hotel bar one evening, they met and,
as they became better acquainted, they not only learned they were both
married with children, but were secretly homosexual.  As they conversed, it
became clear they both shared the same sort of overwhelming pain and
frustration and longings emanating from the secrets they guarded so
closely.

Although they were not particularly attracted to each other physically, a
closeness developed between them, and the inevitable happened.  They went
to bed together where they could join their bodies and wrap their arms
around each other, releasing the pent-up torment they had suffered for so
long.  For the first time in years, they were each finally able to reveal
openly the anguish caused by their wretched secret, knowing that someone
understood him with tenderness and sensitivity.

No sex occurred between these two lonely men, but a lasting wave of
discernment, awareness, and even love passed between them.  They were both
strengthened, simply by knowing that someone understood.

I remember crying when I first read that story.  They'd hurt no one
. . . not their families, not their children.  They simply needed to know
someone who understood.


I went back to work that day and dreaded the inevitable.  Mr. Weaver
appeared in his executive suit, as expected, with a broad smile.

"Hello, Evan.  Remember next Thursday night.  We're expecting to have you
with us.  I see you're wearing that long-sleeved shirt again."

"I'm sorry, Mr. Weaver, I won't be able to make it.  I'm sure you'll have a
good time without me."

"That's too bad.  There'll be other chances to get together."

"I don't know.  I'll be pretty busy from now to the end of school."

After several days without seeing Paul, we ran into each other on the steps
of the Humanities building.

"I know this isn't one of your workdays," he said.  "How about lunch?"

We went to a small café off campus.  I sat across from him and suddenly
felt terrible as I looked into his face.

"Paul, do you think you'll ever move into a dorm?  You'd have a lot more
freedom than you probably have living at home."

"I don't know.  Maybe.  My dad says I can do it any time I want."

"Are you pretty close to your dad," I asked.

"Not really.  He's always working and spends a lot of evenings at the
office.  I don't see him much."

"He doesn't do anything with you?  Like taking you baseball games and other
stuff?"

"No.  We sit and watch games on TV sometimes.  But he's not very talkative.
I'm a lot closer to my Mom.  He knows I have girlfriends sometimes and all
he says about that is that he hopes I use condoms.  He even gives me a
package of them once in awhile to make sure.  It doesn't do me much good,
though.  I've never once been able to get into a girl's pants."

"I'm sure it'll happen sometime, Paul.  Just be patient."

Paul smiled.  "I did have a couple of them give me a blow-job, though.  My
dong is pretty long, and they love that.  I take after my dad in that
respect."

"So I take it you've seen your dad's . . . dong."

"Sure.  He's always running around the house naked."

"Has he seen you naked, too?" I asked gingerly.

"Yup.  Since he's always naked, it doesn't bother me to have him see me
naked, too.  He's told me not to worry about it since, when I was a baby,
he used to wipe my little asshole."

"So I guess he doesn't mind seeing you with a hard-on, either."

"Shit, he has one hanging on him most of the time, anyway.  Especially when
we're watching a football game.  Every time we see a guy getting tackled or
carried off injured, he springs a boner.  He doesn't think it's any big
deal.  He doesn't even know I'm there."

I shook my head.  "I've never seen my dad naked, much less his penis."

"You haven't missed anything, Evan."

I was sure, although Paul saw his dad naked and with a hard-on, that his
dad never let on to Paul what his real interests were.  Once again, as I
looked into Paul's sad face, I had that terrible feeling of guilt and
deception sweep over me.  For so long, I'd yearned to share my bed with
some good looking man.  But why did my first experience have to be with
Paul's dad?

Everyday for the next week I tended the snack bar, and everyday, I served
Mr. Weaver with his sandwich and drink.  His smile, which at first gave me
such erotic feelings, was now disgusting and offensive.

On a day during the following week, after class, Paul and I walked out on
the steps in front of the Humanities building.

Paul pointed to the street.  "There's my dad waiting to drive me home."

Mr. Weaver had left the car and was standing on the sidewalk.  As we walked
down the steps, I could see his dad looking at me with a frown on his face.
I stood back as Paul walked to meet him.

"Come on down here, Evan," Paul shouted.  "I want you to meet my dad."

I walked slowly to the curb, trying to avoid Mr. Weaver's eyes.

"Dad, I want you to meet Evan Coleman.  He's my best friend here at
school."

I extended my hand, but Mr. Weaver didn't respond.  He stared into my eyes
as though transfixed.

They soon got in the car and drove away.  I had a strange, but pleasant
feeling over having met Mr. Weaver again in this way.  He deserved the
shock.

The next day, I positioned myself again behind the snack bar counter and
fully expected to see Mr. Weaver appear for his lunch.  I didn't have to
wait long.  He walked up and stood before me with an ashen look on his
handsome face.

Without ordering anything, he said, "I didn't know you were a student at
Columbia.  And I didn't know you and Paul were friends."

"Oh, yes," I said with a tinge of cheer in my voice.  "I met him about a
year ago, and we've been best buddies ever since."

Mr. Weaver glanced from side to side as though making sure no one was
listening.  "I assume, Evan, that you didn't mention your acquaintance with
me.  Am I correct?"

I dropped the cheer from my voice.  "Mr. Weaver, you can assume anything
you like."

Mr. Weaver leaned closer to me.  "That was not my question.  Did you or did
you not . . . ."

I backed away slightly.  "My conversations with my friends are private and
are never repeated to anyone.  You know about privacy, don't you,
Mr. Weaver?  There are things in life that must be kept secret."

A look of anxiety spread across his face.  "That's different.  This
involves my son.  I'm thinking about him."

"So you are, Mr. Weaver.  I'm surprised, though, you hadn't thought about
him before this."

Anger flashed in his eyes.  "Listen, don't play games with me.  Just tell
me.  Did you say anything?"

"Mr. Weaver, I've already told you my personal conversations with my
friends are private.  Now if you want to order something, please do.  There
are other customers behind you who need to be served."

The anger in his face morphed into a look of terror.  He walked away
looking like a broken man.

That night, I once again lay in bed wide awake.  I began to have doubts.
Perhaps I should have assured him that I did not, in fact, mention his
deception to Paul.  Did I have a right to throw the man's hospitality in
his face?  What business did I have hurting another man who had done
nothing to hurt me?  I'm not God.  He'll eventually receive his just
rewards on his own.

The next day, when I saw Mr. Weaver slumping toward the elevator, I called
to him and motioned for him to come over to the snack bar.  I had a line
waiting for service, and he stood off to the side.

I turned to him and said, "No, Mr. Weaver, I said nothing to your son."

He turned and walked slowly to a chair in the waiting area.  When he sat
down, he leaned over and buried his face in his hands.  For Paul's sake, I
thought, I hoped things would be different now.

I turned to the next customer in line, who was a good looking, but skinny
young guy, like myself, with big brown puppy-dog eyes.  He, too, was
wearing a long-sleeved shirt like mine.

"Hey," he said quietly and looking shy.  "Aren't you a student at
Columbia?"

"Yes I am," I replied.

"I'm a student there, too.  I've seen you around.  My name's Karl.  I
haven't made many friends since I enrolled.  Maybe we could get together
sometime.  You know.  Hang out."

"Sure, why not," I said.  "My name's Evan.  What are you going to have to
eat?  The sandwiches are all fresh.  Would you like coffee or Decaf?"


I welcome comments from readers, whether positive or negative.  And I will
gratefully respond to all.

Tom Borden
tombor99@yahoo.com