The Moon in Your Eyes
by Free Thinker
Disclaimer: The following may contain scenes of sexual activity between males. If you find this offensive, please read something else. If it is illegal for you to read this in your community, please do not do so. The author does not advocate the violation of any laws, though he does caution the reader to remember this. As America joyously trashes the Bill of Rights in its headlong pursuit of the illusion of security over the certainty of freedom, there was an old Roman motto that we should consider: "But who will watch the watchers?"
Please send comments, criticism, support, suggestions, love, or your mother's recipe for chocolate chip cookies to my new address: email@example.com I am grateful for your email and will try to answer everyone!! Let's become friends! (Was that too smarmy?)
OK. Its been forever, or at least September since my last posting in this story. I've been working on The Poet's Tale and The Outsider's Tale in my Canterbury series and dealt with other things in my life. Now, I am resuming. I am so sorry for those who have been waiting patiently for the resumption of this story. I promise I am going to continue and make it very exciting and eventful.
Since its been so long, here's a quick synopsis:
Scott Forrester is a quiet and intellectual eighth grader who, after a year of abuse at a public middle school, enters a prestigious private school, hoping to find like-minded friends. Instead, he finds snobbery and bullying as bad as what he had left. The equally quiet and lonely Jeff Robinson, who lives up the street and attends the same school, becomes not only Scott's best friend, but his boyfriend, as well. The two are targeted by Mike and Bobby Baldwin, the privileged grandchildren of a member of the school's Board of Trustees. The Baldwins and their friends make life miserable for them until the charismatic, (and hyper-sexual), Chad Fielding, along with Scott and Jeff, Eric Penfield, and Randy and Kelly, form "The Freaks," a group dedicated to support and protection of the school's outcasts. Scott is uneasy with Chad's leadership, and Jeff's admiration. How will it all evolve?
The Moon in Your Eyes
The fears and uncertainties in my heart following the rally for The Freaks in Chad's backyard and my conversation with Jeff during our fooling around later were happily dismissed from my mind Thursday morning when twice, as we were walking across campus to class before the start of school, we heard the rhythmic chanting of "Freaks, Freaks, Freaks" and saw dozens of kids suddenly run to the source of the clamor. Even as Jeff and I stood at my locker and the Pustulent Sophomore and one of his devolved buddies shoved me in with my books, Jeff immediately started shouting, "Freaks," and within seconds three more kids, including a senior, we standing guard with us. Pustulence walked on, muttering something about "Freaks" under his breath and the rest of us shook hands and grinned.
During First Hour Civics, Mr. Gordon acted as if nothing had happened and made no overt mention of what he had observed at Chad's home the previous afternoon. However, it may have been an interesting coincidence that we were scheduled to begin study of the great documents of American government, beginning with the Declaration of Independence. Mr. Gordon made a point of emphasizing how the framers of the declaration had listed the abuses they had sought redress for and how those efforts had been rebuffed by King George and his ministers.
"They felt," he said softly, his eyes meeting first Jeff's, then mine, "that they had to take matters into their own hands as it was clear no one else was going to; and, united, they triumphed over tyranny."
He remained silent as his eyes roamed over the room. Kelly and Randy both turned and grinned at Jeff and me. I grinned back and nodded.
There was a snort from the back of the room.
"Mr. Baldwin," Mr. Gordon said, looking disdainfully at the back fo the room. "Do you have something pertinent to say regarding the colonists' struggle for justice?"
Baldwin the Younger grinned insolently and replied, "It helps when you know who you up against."
Mr. Gordon was silent for a moment and then, after some thought, said, "Oh, I think the colonists knew who they were up against; and, those who follow in their footsteps have learned to do the same. Those who follow in the footsteps of those early revolutionaries have learned that unity and perseverance in the face of danger and defeat will insure the ultimate victory."
Baldwin snorted again and then muttered, "Whatever."
The Freaks had no need to exercise their power during Second Hour Gym, though Chad decided to spend the period proselytizing for the Movement. As we ran around the track, every once in awhile, I would see Chad corner some boy, usually a boy who seemed skinny or dorky or faggy and they would talk intensely until the boy would nod vigorously and smile.
As Jeff and I sat down for lunch, Chad was still working the crowds.
"He's really amazing," said Jeff as Kelly and Randy joined us. "He's going to turn this whole school around."
"Yeah," said Kelly. "Chad is gonna save all of us from the bastards."
Eric was standing next to us with his tray, but said nothing as he sat. His eyes met mine and silently told me that he was not pleased with this turn of events.
After lunch, Jeff and I went walking over to the chapel again.
"Scott, you're awful quiet," Jeff commented as we came to the main doors. "What's wrong?"
I wasn't sure what to say to him. How could I tell him that I was jealous of Chad, jealous of the way he had taken over The Freaks, jealous of the way Jeff seemed to look at him. I simply shook my head and replied, "Nothin'."
Jeff put his hand in mine as we sat down. I looked fearfully around to make sure no one could see us holding hands on the steps of the church and when I was satisfied that we were safe, I squeezed his hand back.
"Come on, talk to me," he said. "Something's bothering you."
"I just feel funny about everything."
"What do you mean?"
I swallowed again.
"Well, its Chad."
I could feel, just barely, Jeff become tense.
"What about Chad?"
"Well, I don't know. Its like he just took over The Freaks and its like he runs it. Its like its his personal thing."
"Well, every group has to have a leader and Chad's just, well, Chad's got this special quality."
"Yeah, Chad's special. If Chad's so damn special how come they always joke about his hard-ons in Gym?"
"Well, they joke about it, but there's the way he acts when they do. Its like he laughs with them so it isn't really like their picking on him. He just doesn't care what they think."
"Well, if he doesn't care what they think, how come he's all of a sudden acting like the Messiah?"
Jeff pulled his hand back.
"I don't think he's acting like that at all!"
"And, how come Chad's your big hero, all of a sudden? Last week, he was bugging you and couldn't keep his hands off you and driving you crazy. Now, he's your big hero!"
"He's not my big hero and you're jealous."
"I'm not jealous!"
"Yes, you are."
This last was not spoken by Jeff but by an adult voice. We both turned and saw Father Parker standing in the doorway. I didn't know what to say. Did he guess that I was jealous of Chad because Jeff was my boyfriend or for some other reason?
He came out and sat down on the other side of me from Jeff.
"Scott, you are Jeff's... special friend and you have been something like his guardian angel since you two became... close. You protected him from Baldwin and his gang and you feel responsible for him. Now. Someone else is coming along and acting like a guardian angel. He's not there for Jeff the way you are, but you feel as if he's taking some of your responsibility. But, Chad can't do that. The friendship between you and Jeff is something very special and very beautiful. Jeff probably admires Chad's charisma and his ability to organize. But, there are very special things about you that make you special to him and make you far more important."
Father looked at Jeff and smiled. Jeff returned his smile. I looked down at the step in shame that I had been so... so silly and insecure.
"Now," Father declared standing up. "The bell for fourth hour is about to ring. Get you butts to class before you're late and I have to write you a pass!"
I was too embarrassed to reply, but we both jumped up and did as we were told.
During Fourth Hour History, Mr. Ostrander found it necessary to discuss the campus protests going on around the country for the last few years.
"A lot of your parents don't think much of all the protestors and probably think that they are just a bunch of Communists or whatever. But, these kids see something they don't like and see no one paying attention to them and their concerns. So they do the only thing they can to get people to pay attention to what they feel is important. They exercise their First Amendment right to Free Speech and they protest! Sometimes, when young people see adults ignoring their concerns, they have to take matters in their own hands. It takes courage."
There were skeptical snickers from a few desks, but Mr. Ostrander's eyes met mine and he winked. It was clear to me that there were some teachers, at least, on our side.
After my usual sixth hour hard-on, I was waiting at my locker for Jeff when the Pustulence returned. He grabbed me by the throat and growled, "This Freak shit ain't gonna work, faggot. You watch, because someday when you don't have anyone around you, you're gonna get your ass kicked bad."
He shoved me into the locker and then disappeared before I or anyone else could call for help.
As I crawled out, I looked to my left and saw Jeff standing at the end of the hall with Kelly and Randy. They were giggling and acting, well... faggy. They looked cute and yet, I felt uncomfortable, on top of the humiliation and anger. The three saw me standing at my locker and came running up to me.
"Scott! Guess what!" Jeff cried as he jumped in front of me. Then, he saw how disheveled I looked and his face.
"Scotty! What happened?"
"Don't call me `Scotty,'" I barked.
Jeff looked as if he had been slapped and Kelly and Randy stepped back fearfully. I saw tears form in Jeff's eyes. Suddenly, I felt like shit.
"Im sorry," I muttered. I grabbed Jeff's hand, right in front of Kelly and Randy and anyone else in the hall who might have been watching, squeezed it and smiled at him. It did the trick; his eyes immediately brightened.
"You OK?" Jeff asked as he came up to me and almost lay against me. Kelly and Randy giggled.
"I just had a run-in and didn't have a chance to call for The Freaks. But I'm OK."
Jeff frowned and squeezed my hand.
"So, what's up?" I asked, trying to break the cloudy mood.
Jeff grinned and Randy burst forth with, "Chad's having a party Saturday night!"
"Yeah!" added Kelly. "A Freak Party! But, only special Freaks are invited."
"Yeah," said Jeff. "And, we're all invited! Isn't that cool?"
"A party at Chad's?" I replied skeptically.
"Yeah!" said Randy. "A sleepover!"
I raised my eyebrows at Jeff and said, "Well, I know what kind of party that's going to be."
"Yeah!" answered Kelly. "It'll be cool!"
He turned and grinned lasciviously at Randy, who giggled again. Jeff blushed and looked down as he said, "I think it might be kinda fun." Then he added, as he looked at my still cocked eyebrow, "Besides, Eric's going."
That surprised me. I had come to suspect that Eric was just as gay as Jeff or I, or even Kelly or Randy. But, he hadn't struck me as a sex maniac the way Chad had. He seemed quiet and peaceful. Well, if Eric was going to be there, maybe it wouldn't get too crazy. Maybe it might even be just a normal party. Besides, Jeff and I didn't have to sleepover. We could party until late and then go home and make love with each other at his place!
"Well," I started, but before I could get any further, the three boys in front of me started jumping up and down like a trio of excited girls.
"Jeff," I admonished. "Do you have to..."
However, I stopped as I saw the warning signs in Jeff's eyes of an impending storm.
"Never mind," I said. "It'll be fun."
"Yes," Jeff replied pointedly. "It might be real fun."
Chastened, I smiled meekly and the four of us headed for the east door.
The unmistakable sound of Freak-chanting met us as we emerged into the warm September sun. To our left, a large group of kids, mostly seventh and eighth graders it appeared, led, not surprisingly, by Chad, had a guy I recognized as one of my sophomore tormentors pinned against the outside of the church, near the door to the south transept. They were chanting "Freaks" rather ominously and with a growing anger. The bully, for the first time that I had ever seen, had a truly frightened look on his face. However, what surprised me the most was to see the red Cadillac convertible, overflowing with the cream of the St. Stephen's aristocracy, drive by, slow-down as the passengers looked on, and then drive quickly onward, doing nothing to help their comrade.
Chad was saying something to the scared bully, but we were too far away to hear specifically what. However, we could hear growls of assent and support from the growing mob.
"You know," said Jeff with a soft voice, "I think they might hurt him."
"Yeah!" declared Randy and he and Kelly ran over to join the crowd.
I looked at Jeff with a worried expression and saw growing concern in his face, as well.
Suddenly, just as the crowd started yelling things like, "Yeah, kick his ass, show him what its like, give him a taste of his own medicine," Father Parker emerged from the south transept door. At the sight of Father in his black, clerical garb, the crowd immediately became silent.
Jeff remained where we were as we watched Father Parker look over the crowd and then turn his eyes to, first the bully, then to Chad.
"Mr. Martin," Father said evenly to the frightened sophomore, "would you like to come to my office for a moment?"
Martin nodded his head, indicating that he would like very much to go to Father's office, and from our distant vantage, it was perfectly obvious he did so with great relish and relief. However, we began to hear a few murmurs of disappointment from the outer fringes of the group.
"Perhaps," Father continued, "perhaps, Mr. Fielding, you would like to join us."
Chad's back was to us, so Jeff and I were unable to hear his response. However, just as he shrugged his shoulders, Martin quickly bolted for the safety of the doorway. Father Parker motioned for Chad to follow and when both had entered the church, he turned to the now clearly disappointed crowd and declared, "I think it is now time for all of you to go about your business and have a quiet and peaceful afternoon."
As Jeff and I rode home on the bus, I looked out the window at the passing houses. Jeff was silent and it was not until we had climbed off the bus and crossed Twenty-fourth Street that he spoke.
"I don't feel sorry for him," he declared. I found it interesting that that should be his first comment.
"Well, Martin's been a real jerk since I first saw him spitting on that seventh grader the first day of school," I replied. "And he probably deserves to get his butt kicked, but I think those kids were about to get carried away. I think he could have gotten really hurt."
We walked on and I could tell Jeff was thinking.
"Maybe," he finally replied as we crossed Twenty-third, "maybe that wouldn't be bad. Maybe it would be a warning to the others that they can't mess with us anymore."
I wasn't sure how to respond. Part of me agreed with Jeff, (though I wasn't sure he completely agreed with what he was saying), and wanted to see the bastards all get what was coming to them. If anyone should want to see them get their just desserts, it was me. Yet, something about the way that mob was going after Martin made me feel funny, particularly when I saw Chad up front, egging them on.
When we reached the corner in front of my house, Jeff seemed a little uncertain as he asked, "You coming over?"
I paused a moment, and then replied, "Naw. I think I'm going to take a shower and get my homework over with."
Jeff nodded and pursed his lips in a slight pout. He looked down at the street and said softly, "I'll suck your dick."
As inviting and appealing as that sounded, I just wasn't in the mood. I smiled sheepishly at Jeff, who turned quietly away and trudged up the street.
"Maybe after dinner," I called to him, hoping I hadn't hurt his feelings. Without looking back at me, he simply shrugged.
I felt like crap as I went inside and The Brat, naturally, took notice.
"You have a fight with your boyfriend?"
Could she never give it a rest? What was her problem. I hated her. I didn't know why she had to be so irritating all the time, relentlessly, nonstop. I wanted to just slap her. No, I wanted to keep slapping her, more and more until she begged me to stop.
Suddenly, a cold feeling came over me as I realized I had been standing in front of the television looking at my sister as those thoughts went through my head. I must have had quite a look on my face, for The Brat was suddenly quiet and pensive. I passed through the kitchen without a word to Mother, who said nothing to me, as well, and climbed the stairs to my bedroom in the attic.
Dropping my book bag on my bed, I ripped my clothes off and plopped down naked in my chair, my elbows resting on the table, my chin resting on my fists.
I had just had a glimpse of what those kids were feeling as they cornered Martin by the church at St. Stephen's; and, it scared me.
After our usual dinner of overcooked grease and familial discord, I returned to my room and sat, once again, at my desk. I had just finished writing an entry in my journal and was opening David Copperfield when I looked out the window and saw Jeff, in a pair of tight bell-bottom jeans and one of his colorful hippie T-shirts walking very slowly and uncertainly across the front yard. I heard the doorbell ring, but something kept me at my desk. In moments, I heard the Brat yell from the kitchen, "Scotty, your boyfriend's here." I put my head in my hands and a moment later, I heard Jeff's footsteps on the stairs leading up to my attic.
A moment later, I looked up. Jeff was standing in the doorway, looking forlorn and lost. Any reservations or uncertainty I may have had at that point vanished in a flicker. I stood and held my arms out. He seemed to run to me and we clung to each other.
After a few moments, I pulled away and guided him to my bed. We lay down with arms protectively around him and his head on my left shoulder in what I had come to think of "the cuddle."
"Scott, what's the matter? Don't you love me anymore?"
I looked at Jeff in astonishment for a moment and then answered him by giving him the fiercest kiss I could. When we finally broke apart, he had a dazed look on his face.
"Well, OK. So you love me. OK."
I gave him a warm smile and another peck on the cheek.
"So," he continued in a dreamy voice, "You wanna spend the night tomorrow? Then we can have all day Saturday and go to Chad's party together."
"I don't know if I want to go to Chad's party. Chad scares me."
Jeff was silent for a moment, then replied, "I know. Maybe you're right, but there are going to be a lot of people there and they'll all be gay! Won't it be cool to be at a party of nothing but gay guys?"
I sighed again.
"I don't know if I want a bunch of people to know I'm gay. And, people talk. Even if the people at the party are cool, what if word gets around that Chad had a gay party and people find out you and I were there? Jeff, I got beat-up every day in the seventh grade. I know St. Stephen's is different than Franklin Park, but even with the Freaks to help us, it could get really dangerous. I mean, sometimes, people kill gay people."
Jeff snuggled up closer. "We can't always be afraid. Sometimes we just have to be who we are and be happy. And fight back if we have to."
"I know," I replied, but I wasn't at all certain I meant it.
Jeff and I made it to First Hour Friday morning without incident. Indeed, the school seemed mysteriously, almost eerily, quiet. We saw Mike Baldwin walking across campus, but he and the Neanderthals stayed away from us and didn't even look in our direction. As Jeff and I took our seats in Civics, after cheerful greetings from Kelly and Randy, I tapped Jeff on the shoulder.
"Did you see how Baldwin and his goons just ignored us this morning?"
Jeff grinned. "Yeah. I told you. This is gonna work. Bullies always back down when you fight back."
I shook my head in amazement.
Mr. Gordon's lecture that morning centered on the idea of protest.
"Tomorrow afternoon," he declared in his stentorian voice, "there will be a mass rally at the University to protest the war in Vietnam. Hundreds of students and opponents of the war are expected to participate in a sit-in in front of the football stadium. I suspect there will be quite a few counter-protestors as well. Do any of you in this class see any parallels between the activities of the protestors we see on college campuses around the country and the efforts of the Founding Fathers in the 1760's and `70's to end the oppression of Parliament and King George?"
We all looked around the room in silence, praying that someone would volunteer to answer Mr. Gordon so as to avoid his choosing one of us. Of course, I was opposed to the protestors. I hated to rock the boat and my grandparents, far more influential in molding my thinking than my mother or my evil stepfather, were dyed-in-the-wool Republicans who hated protestors. So, it was with some shock and surprise that I saw Jeff, my sweet quiet loving Jeff, raise his hand.
"I think there are a lot of things the protestors have in common. The English made decisions and laws and taxes on the colonists without their permission and their, um, their... being able to have a say-so. Well, the protestors have tried to convince President Johnson and President Nixon to end the war and President Johnson wouldn't listen and now President Nixon won't listen. So, they are doing what the Founding Father's did, they are protesting and trying to end the rule of politicians who won't listen to them."
Mr. Gordon nodded thoughtfully.
"However, Mr. Robinson, the American colonists were not permitted to elect representatives to sit in Parliament in London, were they. Yet, we have had two Presidential elections since the war began and four congressional elections. In fact, after the New Hampshire Primary in 1968, didn't President Johnson end his campaign for re-election? Does that not indicate that the democracy is actually working in America?"
Jeff thought for a moment and then, his face took on a look of resolve.
"Well, there's still a war going on and the people are still electing politicians who won't stop it. Maybe America is a democracy, but the majority isn't always right and the leaders aren't always right."
Mr. Gordon nodded thoughtfully again and started to say something, but Jeff was inspired. I had never seen my shy boyfriend speak so openly and confidently.
"It's like here at St. Stephen's. A lot of the students here are snobs and bullies and make life hard for those of us aren't like them. And, the leaders of the school, the Headmaster and the deans and a lot of the teachers, won't do anything about it because they either like it the way it is or they're afraid of the Board of Trustees, who, I guess, think its OK for their kids to be snobs and bullies. Well, a lot of us are sick and tired of the snobs and bullies and we're fighting back!"
Suddenly, the class erupted. The aristocrats and bullies all laughed and jeered, while the rest of the class applauded and cheered. Bobby Baldwin shouted, "Faggots!" while Kelly and Randy stood and started chanting, "Freaks! Freaks! Freaks!"
"Silence! Silence!" Mr. Gordon shouted, a look of utter amazement and astonishment on his normally Sphinx-like face. "Sit down! All of you! This instant!"
The class immediately did as it was told and the brief euphoria of rebellion ended as quickly as it began.
"I will NOT allow anarchy in this classroom!" he declared. He stood for a moment, his angry eyes sweeping the room, moving from face to face, looking for even a hint of disrespect or misbehavior. Then, his eyes met Jeff's.
"Mr. Robinson, you and your compatriots may wish to remember the lessons of another revolution that occurred just a few short years after our own revolution. In the French revolution, the tyranny of the French aristocracy was overthrown by the mobs, only to be replaced by an even uglier and more brutal tyranny. Your "Freaks" may do well to remember the words of the great writer Franz Kafka, `In every revolution, the oppressed become the oppressors.'"
Jeff was breathing hard and his face was flushed. I couldn't see his expression from my angle, but I knew he was a torrent of emotions.
By lunch time, the story of the outburst in Civics had spread throughout the school and complete strangers were coming up to our table to congratulate Jeff. Chad looked at him proudly and declared, "Maybe I've found my successor if something should happen to me! Vice-President Jeff!"
Kelly and Randy cheered and whistled. Eric smiled indulgently, but said nothing. His eyes met mine. I chuckled, but remained silent.
As the sixth hour bell rang, my relief at the arrival finally of another weekend of freedom was overwhelming, so much so, that I forgot my usual sixth hour hard-on and rushed out the door without a concern. Jeff met me at my locker, his book bag over his shoulder and huge grin on his face. He had already brushed his hair down over his forehead and ears, loosened his tie, and pulled his shirt-tails out of his slacks. He looked HOT.
"Well, it Friday night!"
I grinned and restrained myself from grabbing him and planting a big wet kiss on his mouth.
"Tonight's going to be great!" I declared. "Hey, you want to play Monopoly or Risk?"
"Yeah, maybe. Or, maybe, I've got an even better idea!"
I was about to ask what that idea might be, as I slammed my locker shut, but before I could say anything, we heard the chanting of "Freaks, Freaks, Freaks, coming from outside the Norfolk Avenue door of the middle school. We looked at each other with alarm and then took off up the hallway. Several other kids were running as well and when we all poured out the door, we found another mob gathered between the middle school and the church. It was clear there was fighting occurring in a small group and around that fight were maybe a hundred kids, many of whom were chanting. However, there was a significant difference this time. There were others in the crowd who were yelling insults and taunts at the Freaks. It was clear the fight in the middle of the crowd was getting vicious and I saw several middle school kids beating and punching and even kicking two upper school guys whom we all knew to be fairly regular abusers of those younger than them.
Jeff and I stood by the door and watched as a second fight erupted on the periphery. In this one, the bullies clearly had the upper hand. Jeff looked at me with fear and uncertainty. Then, just as he turned back and started to run forward toward the second fight, several teachers, among them Coach and Mr. Ostrander, pushed past me and ran toward the fight. Father Parker burst from the door to the church and showed remarkable skill at grabbing kids and pulling them out of the melee.
I ran to the second fight and pulled Jeff back.
"Let go of me!" he shrieked.
Mr. Hazleton, an upper school Math teacher suddenly grabbed me and Jeff and threw us backwards as he tried to make his way to the center of the second fight. Kids started running every which way as more teachers poured out of the school to quell the riot.
When no one was looking, I grabbed Jeff and dragged him away.
"Come on! We HAVE to get out of here!" I screamed at him. He seemed dazed and then as he saw more and more teachers converging on the battlefield and grabbing students, he realized the danger we faced from the faculty was far greater at that moment than from the aristocracy. We both took off toward Thirtieth Street at a dead run.
The bus was pulling away as we reached Franklin Avenue, but the driver stopped when he heard our shouts. Dodging traffic and ignoring the angered honking, we made it into the bus and tried to ignore the looks of irritation and disgust from the other passengers.
"Man, what happened back there?" Jeff asked incredulously.
We were both breathless from both the run and the excitement of the riot.
"I don't know, but this is getting out of hand," I declared. "This is not what The Freaks are supposed to be about. We're supposed to be about helping each other out, not causing riots. Jesus!"
"How do you know we started it?" he asked defensively.
"It doesn't matter who started it. The school's going to blame us. This is bad. This is real bad."
Jeff thought for a moment and then said, with far more certainty than I felt, "It's going to work out. They can't always win."
I looked at him incredulously.
"What are you saying?! Are you crazy? You saw what happened when we went to Fenster's office! The aristocracy will always win! I thought the Freaks would be a great way for all of the rest of us to find some friends and get a little help when things get rough. But, this!"
"Aren't you over-reacting just a little?"
I looked at him incredulously, again.
"Jeff! What is up with you? I don't get it. One moment you're scared to death of your shadow, the next your charging into the middle of the riot to kick ass. One minute you're so pessimistic that you want to kill yourself, the next, you think everything is just hunky-dory. What is up with you?"
Jeff's face became one mass of pout.
"You don't want to be my friend anymore?"
I sat back in exasperation and looked at the ceiling of the bus. People around us were starting to look at us again. I sighed.
"Nothing would make me not want to be your friend. We're friends, Jeff. We're best friends, Jeff. You know how I feel about you." I wanted to say more, but we were definitely the center of attention now and I didn't think it was appropriate to declare my undying love to my boyfriend on the number 17 Metrobus in rush hour traffic. Perhaps in the future it would be possible, but in September, 1971, it was not possible for two gay boys to publicly declare their love. I was already afraid we had gone too far. Fortunately, the bus was approaching Berkshire and I reached up to pull the chord, saving us from any further embarrassment.
Stat tuned for more soon! And please write to me at my new address firstname.lastname@example.org ! Thank you so much.