Date: Tue, 24 Oct 2000 04:51:12 EDT
From: Ritch Christopher <ballmusic69@hotmail.com>
Subject: GayMale/HighSchool/That-Was-Then-7

Standard disclaimer still applies as indicated in the preceding six
sections. This is a work of fiction, loosely based on facts.


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PART SEVEN: "JEFF"


    The morning after the incident at Dan's, I awoke with a humongous
headache...and ass ache. One sorta offset the other. Dan told me that
he had phoned my mother to say I had "slept-over" and his house and not
to worry. I don't think she KNEW about Dan's sexuality, but she
suspected. Anyone who is in the "public eye" who is on TV or lives in
the world of celebrity is always a natural "suspect". As long as I
hadn't used her car, I don't think she really care where I stayed,
since I was now, a "sinner" and fallen from God's Grace which was only
bestowed on the straight world.

    Dan checked my "wounds", reapplied some magic ointment, gave me a
pat on the tush and said, "Get dressed and I fix you some breakfast."


    I always hated breakfast. Coffee, to me, was always bitter, no
matter how much sugar and milk you disguised it with. Eggs smelled like
farts and when you cracked one open, that little white stuff you saw
next to the yolk, I assumed was rooster cum. There would be plenty of
time for oatmeal if and when I ever was admitted either to an asylum or
prison (just joking). So a little dish of Post Toasties would suffice.
Dan was going down to the TV station to tape some voice-overs and asked
if I would like to come along. It was three hours before I was due at
the Conservatory for my Saturday lesson. I asked him if he would drop
me near. There was an old Confederate cemetery across the street from
the Conservatory, and I liked to walk through there to "think", and
after last night's episode with Darren, I had a LOT to think about.

    It hurt a bit when I walked, but it was bordering on "good pain".
It was May, summer almost here, and the sun was beaming down, as if to
say, "Get ready for me, it's gonna be "hot" for the next three months."
The cemetery had lots of tall oak trees, who knows, probably been there
for over a hundred years, before they turned the once forest, into a
permanent camping ground for the Johnny Rebs.

    My pride was hurt more than the torn membranes of my rectum. I
would never tell anyone about this. I hoped the guys Dan's party hadn't
suspected anything, (or did they all do the same thing, it just
happened to be Darren's turn). I only thought about the good time I was
having before the bathroom incident. I was "accepted" as one of the
"boys", not "boys" in the literal sense, but for the first time in my
eighteen years, I felt like an adult...shit, I forgot about having to
register for the draft. I know, Scarlett, "tomorrow" or the next day.
I wouldn't think about that now. Where was Viet Nam, any
way?...Somewhere, "over there".

    I got to the conservatory around 12:30, hoping I would get a chance
to see "JEFF". It's funny, in all the month's that I had seen him
coming out of the music room after he had finished, we had never really
talked.His piano skills were a little more advanced than mine which
seemed strange to me since he was not a "child prodigy". He must just
practice, a lot...more than I. I didn't have to practice. I just sat
down at the piano, stretched out my fingers on the keyboard and, music
came out. I didn't know much about him except I liked what I saw. As I
said, he was a least three years older than I, six feet-one inch, nice
body build, blonde with hazel eyes, same as I, and yes, I had
noticed...a big bulge hidden behind the fly of those khaki pants, he
always wore. I was told, years later, that all good pianists had long
penises (or is it "peni"). Good pianists all had long fingers and long
fingers, naturally, meant a long dick. His fingers were nice and long.

    About 12:55, I heard him running down to hall toward Miss Greene's
studio. Shit, there would be no time to talk and get acquainted. The
music rooms in this old mansion, now a conservatory, were large with
fireplaces, and resounded with the classics. They were suppose to be
sound proof, but you can always hear through the cracks under the
doors. I sat there for an hour listening to Jeff vibrate the room with
Greig's Piano Concerto. God, he WAS good...then a couple of Chopin
Valses. His hour was up and Miss Greene opened the door and asked me to
come in. Jeff was still at the piano.

    "Hi, Mark. You know Jeff don't you?". I nodded. "I asked him to
stay for part of your lesson. Schirmers has just published a new
rendition of Rachminoff's Second Concerto for one piano and four hands.
I want you and Jeff to sight read it for me."

    "Sure." I walked over to Jeff and said what turned out to be a
double entendre, "Top or bottom?", I asked.

     He looked up in a slight embarrassment and said, "Huh?...oh...I
mean...bottom...I...uh...like to play the bass. Sorta holds everything
up."

    It dawned on me what I had said and I chuckled to myself. What
connotation did "top" or "bottom", did he make. How did he know about
such things. My curiosity was growing by the minute.

    "You want to 'pedal', or should I?", he asked.

    "No, no, you pedal...hold everything up." We laughed.

    I sat on the bench to his right. He outstretched his right leg to
reach the damper, which meant his right knee was pressed next to mine.
Wow, what a lesson this was going to be. He opened the familiar
black-bordered yellow manuscript.

    "Ready?"

    "Ready."

    Our four hands struck the first chord of those famous "bongs" which
opened the first movement. We were in awe of how we both seemed to
express these passages, together, in a harmonious duet, becoming
one...a marriage of minds, talent, and interpretation. By page sixteen
we had just reached the first "love theme", and we both swelled in body
and notes to paint a musical mural, that Rachmaninoff had set for a few
decades before. This was "movie" music. His right hand kept touching
mine, as we played...on purpose, sometimes, I thought, or was it just
"wishful thinking" on my part?

    We finished the first movement...stopped...took a deep breath...let
out a slow sigh. We had just made love. That's the only way I could
describe it. Miss Greene was smiling. She was pleased.

    "I should have brought you together before this. You were made for
each other," she joked. It sounded like one person with four hands."

    Again, I didn't know in which way Jeff was taking these remarks or
this experience, but I felt as if we were Siamese twins joined at the
hips. I couldn't wait to get to the slow moving second movement. I
would try some things, to see if I got any response from him. I was
going to press my left thigh close to his while he pedalled...let the
outside of my left hand, gently touch his "right" and have a round of
musical "foreplay". I was feeling "something", similar to the way I
always felt when Lance and I had a session...but this was a "different"
kind of "something". As I made my "nuanced" advances...he responded. He
was beginning to make love, back to me.

    "Shall we do more?"

    Delicately, we began the barcarolle of the Second Movement. We were
breathing at the same tempo. It was slow and tender. I could feel the
tiny blonde hairs on my left thigh trying to reach through my pant leg
to embrace his. It was a swooning sensation. And soon, as quietly as
the Second Movement, reminiscent of the "Moonlight Sonata"...quietly
the Second Movement, ended. We paused and without Miss Greene's "go
ahead, we plunged excitedly into the Third. We attacked, together, with
gusto. Being familiar with the piece, we knew what was coming, just
around the corner...one of the most beautiful and most romantic
melodies ever written...the main theme. There had a been a pop version,
recorded under the title, "Full Moon and Empty Arms". The way this
particular version was arranged, the pianist on the left would
introduce the refrain, then the pianist on the right would offer his
reply by repeating the melody.

    When we got to that passage, Jeff took charge and commanded the
keys, painting a musical mural that the composer had designed just a
few decades ago. He swayed a bit from side to side, sending me a
message that I was feeling deep inside. Now it was my turn. I shifted
slightly to my left. easing his buttocks over, and I began the answer
to his "love call". I exhaled deeply through my nostrils and began a
forward and back rock. He had to know what I had felt and I had to
express my innermost thoughts to him through my fingers. I had noticed
how manly and yet, beautiful his long fingers were as he played. We
were filling the room with an air of exuberance, that was smothering in
the old rustic room. The pretty part was over and now it was a frantic
race to the end, as the music built to a frenzied climax. our fingers
all but ran over each other as we hit those last four chords with a
bang. We had had musical sex. We had had foreplay, love-making and a
climax, without ever touching each other. I had never experienced a
moment like that, and to this day, I never have. since.

    When we finished, we sat there, speechless, and I wanted to say,
"Was if as good for you as it was for me?...Wanna cigarette?". Surely,
Jeff must have felt some of this.

    Finally, Miss Greene, spoke, "Hmm...not bad. For a first try. We
must do this again, sometime, if you like..".

    If I liked? How could I tell her I had just made love to the man I
wanted to say "I do" to, and spend the rest of my life with him!!!

     "Well, time's up. That will be all for today...see you both, next
Saturday".

    We still hadn't said a word. We rose and bade our goodbyes to Miss
Greene and went out the door, shutting it behind us. He looked at me.

    "You're good, I mean, really good. I heard your "Rhapsody" and
loved what you did with it, but now I know why they call you the child
prodigy."

    I blushed, "No, man, you're better."

    "How old are you?"

    "Eighteen."

    "College?"

    "High school, for three more weeks."

    "Then what?"

    "I've been offered scholarships at three colleges...University of
Miami...Richmond...and Vanderbilt."

    "Music, of course."

    "Nope, medicine."

    "Bullshit...with your talent?"

    "Music doesn't challenge me, it comes too easily for me."

    Then, abruptly he changed the subject..."Hey, what are you doing
tonight?"

    After last night's ordeal with Darren, I wanted to go home , crawl
into bed and sleep until time for school, Monday morning...but with the
inkling of an invitation, I began to feel the adrenaline in my system
refurbishing my Kryptonite.

    "I'll probably go home and watch a movie or go somewhere to see
one...I love movies...they're a part of my life...I practically live in
the theater. I go every time they change." This was true, after my
grandmother had been laid off at the hosiery mill, she had gotten a job
as assistant manager at the Rivoli, a local neighborhood movie house. I
always, got in free, and saw EVERYTHING.

    "Who are your favorite movie stars?"

    "Well, my absolute, all-time favorite was James Dean, but I like
Rock Hudson, Tab Hunter, Jeffrey Hunter, Sal Mineo, Richard Long,(who
always gave me a hard-on), and Troy Donahue". I thought for a second,
had he noticed I had only mentioned male stars?

    "Would you like to go catch a flick with me, tonight?"

    Was he asking me out on a date?...Again...wishful thinking.

    "Maybe"...

    "Good! I'll come by and pick you up around eight and we'll catch a
nine o'clock show...You pick it out...you know what you've seen.

    Disaster time! I had just made a good impression on this blonde
god, only to have it soon eradicated when he saw my status quo. I mean,
last night I had risen to the heights of the upper "400" by rubbing
elbows with the elite at Dan's party. I couldn't let Jeff know of my
social depravity...I hemmed and hawed...

    "I got it, why don't you come home with me, clean up, we'll have
dinner and look at the paper and see what opened this weekend."

     I was saved...."Great, I could do that!"

     "Settled...let's go get my car...Where's yours?"

     "Oh, I'm not driving. I got a ride down to the Conservatory."

    We went to the parking lot a found his brand new, light-blue
Austin-Healy, his dad had bought him. His dad was a well known
physician, who had once been a trumpet player...again, the connection
between medicine and music.

    Considering what I had gone through in the past 24 hours, his
driving was too fast for my equilibrium. He sped up the ridge where
upper echelon inhabited and pulled into the driveway that led up to
"Tara". His mother, a dead ringer for Barbara Hale (who played Della
Street on "Perry Mason") was busy in the kitchen preparing whatever
rich folks ate. He glided over to her, and kissed her on the cheek
(when was the last time I had kissed my mother?). He introduced us to
each other and told her...didn't bother to ask...just told her that I
was staying for dinner.

    We went out door where Jeff's father was reclining on a deck
lounge, next to the pool. He was only in trunks, Speedos, at that. Jeff
snuck up on him and whacked him playfully across the buttocks. "Hi.
Dad, I want you to meet Mark, my new protege'." He rolled over and put
out his hand for me to shake, frankly, I was looking for a ring to
kiss.

    "Glad to meet you, Mark", in a voice that defied Ralph Bellamy's.
He was handsome...a movie star...brown hair, with a slight tint of gray
in his temples, long lashes that were there to highlight the greenest
greens I had ever peered into.

  "Mark's staying for dinner and then we're gonna got out
scootapooping.", he laughed, "to the movies."

    "Great. Mark, you and I can get to know each other at dinner."

    "We have a lot in common, Dad, Mark has a lesson with La Greene,
just after mine...Come on Mark, I'll show you to the bathroom, where
you can clean up."

    We left the "moat", once again, entering the house and like Olivia
de Havilland in "The Heiress", but without a lamp, I ascended the
curving staircase.

    "This is my bedroom...in there...the bathroom...let me go get you
some fresh towels. The bathroom looked bigger than my bedroom. There
was a mosaic floor, even a stained glass window, a flurry of colors
encasing a white dove.

    I had stripped down to my Jockeys by the time Jeff returned with
two huge purple bathtowels, with pile about an inch thick, and a
matching washcloth.

    "Anything you want...soap...shampoo...conditioner...razor...shaving
cream," he repeated, "Anything you want?"

    How could I want for anything. I stood there, drinking it all in,
thinking how unfair the cards were that fate always dealt. Jeff had it
all...a new convertible sports car, a house that would easily be in
"Better Homes and Gardens", (probably the cover), parents that had
stepped out of an Emily Bronte novel. good looks, talent...and yet a
penchant for the underprivileged (me), with my father straight our of
"Inner Sanctum", a religious lush for a mother, an "A" frame old,
wooden house that belonged on "Tobacco Road" and a six year old Ford
Fairlane==straight shift, to boot.

    "Mind if I sit and talk while you shower?"

    "I..uh..no...go head, sit down," I said as I entered the shower
still wearing my briefs. I WILL NOT FUCK THIS UP! I will not let him
see my already half-erect penis. I cracked the shower door only wide
enough to toss out my skivvies. I turned the shower on full blast.
Hell, he wanted to stay in here and talk. Why the fuck isn't he saying
anything?

    Finally. "So which college are you leaning towards?"

    "Probably, Miami. I would like to go somewhere, where there is no
winter."

    "I can't believe your serious about medicine. I mean, with your
talent. How long you been playing?"

    "I took my first lesson when I was three."

    Again, he said.."Medicine, huh?"

    "Yeah, unless I decide to go to Hollywood or New York, and become
and actor."

    "Like James Dean."

    "Well, maybe like James Dean."

    "He was killed in a car wreck, wasn't he?"

    "Yeah, he was driving his new sports car, kinda like yours, and
this school teacher coming the opposite direction, crossed over the
line and hit him head on."

    A pause.

    "He was a homosexual, wasn't he?"

    I had never heard this. Trying to defend my Rebel in the red nylon
jacket I said, "I don't think so. Those scandal magazines make up all
kinds of stories about movie stars."

    "Do you have a girlfriend in high school?"

    Where was THIS leading? I wanted to yell "I did until a week ago,
and her name was Lance.", instead I offered, "Yeah,
kinda...Brenda...we've been going to steady about three years"

    "Serious about her?"

    "We go out, park, and smooch, but that's all...we've really never
"made out...uh...You got a girl?"

    "No, I spend most of my free evenings with Greig and Tchaikovsky. O
never found a girl who cared about music the way I do."

    Another long pause, in search of a topic for conversation.

    "Do you think James Dean was a bisexual?"

    What was he getting at???

    "I don't think so. I've never known a bisexual. I don't think I've
ever seen one."

    And then the "other shoe dropped" when he asked...

    "Mark, you ever had a boyfriend?"

    Now that was a $25.00 question in search of a $26.00 answer. In
surprise, my mouth dropped open, filling it with the shower spray. I
coughed, choked, sputtered, and coughed some more. He opened the
door...

    "You, O.K.?"

    "Yeah, I got strangled trying to get a drink of water," I lied.
closing the door, hoping he couldn't or wouldn't see how his
inquisition was arousing me.

    "Maybe, I should re-phrase...You ever "made out with a guy?"

    Another self-induced coughing spree occurred.

    Dilemma: Here I am, naked in one of the high towers of Camelot,
standing three feet from Sir Lancelot...WITH A HARD-ON...knowing that
my immediate destiny depended on my answer to his question. If I say
yes, and he's straight, I lose my Prince Charming. If I say yes and
he's gay, then, well, who knows what?. If I say no and he's gay, again
I lose. If I say no, and he's straign, well, then, I guess I've made a
good buddy and will have someone to occasionally go to a movie with.

    I decided to brave the risk and test the water...

    "Oh, sure," I stammered, "when I was fifteen, my best friend and I
use to fool around...a...couple of times....I, mean, hell, all guys do
that when they are kids. I, mean, didn't you??"

    A pause pursued, long enough to recite the Preamble to the
Constitution.

    "Well, yes and know...I thought about it....I thought about it a
lot."

    "And never did anything about it?"

    "Nothing more than jerking off....Mark...?....When was the last
time you made it with a guy?"

    I swear if he kept the topic of this conversation going, I was
going to shoot the embossed swan on the glass door with a big creamy
bullet. THINK, MARK, THINK...CHOOSE YOUR WORDS WELL!!

    I took another deep breath and decided it was now or never. If I
failed, I could always find Snow White and sit with her by the well,
waiting for another prince.

    "I won't lie...I sorta...fooled around...last night...". Thinking
of Darren, I'd sorta been around a fool.

    Jeff didn' reply...he cleared his throat and I heard him moving, I
assumed to exit the bathroom. Instead he opened the shower door with a
whisk.

    "Wanna fool around with me?, he asked nervously.

    Jeff had removed all his clothes and was standing there, stark
naked with full erection. What I had imagined, lived up to my
expectations...his fingers must've been longer than I had noticed.
There was no tan line. He had a light bronze glow that covered his
entire body. By now, I had lost my inhibitions and turned to show him
what I had been trying to conceal...a full 7 and 1/2 inches to match
his.

    In excitement, I blurted out, "Try and stop me!!", as I pulled him
in the shower, pressing our chests, stomachs, thighs, and cocks as
close as they would mesh. My mouth searched for his, as our arms went
around each other's torsos. He opened his lips just enough to let out a
sigh of relief, but that was room enough, for my tongue to slip inside
and explore caved that housed 32 perfect teeth. His tongue became as
hoard as his cock, and it met mine in a joust of yore. I had swallowed
so much water, my saliva glands were over-producing and we were having
a war to see who could trade the most spit.

    I pulled out of the kiss, long enough to ask, "Is this what you
wanted?"

    "I knew I wanted to hold you as soon as we started playing the
Concerto, this afternoon...Do you know I got an erection as soon as we
starred the opening chords...and by the time we got to the theme in the
Third Movement, I was afraid I was going to ejaculate in my pants!"

    I broke into a loud laugh...cupped his face in my hands and said,
"You too??", then he joined me in my hysterical mirth. I pulled his
cheeks into my face and planted another kiss on him...a real
deep=throat attempt. My right hand wandered down in search of his
manhood. He followed my lead and reached for me. We started an adagio
tempo of rhythmic mutual masturbation.

   In a quick jerk, he pulled away and said, "Wait, wait, I've got an
idea," he exclaimed. Jeff jumped out the shower, wrapping a towel
around his waist, opening the bathroom door, and ran down the hallway.

   NOW WHAT?...MORE SURPRISES???...Had he gone to get condoms for us to
jerk off? He came back, right hand, hiding something behind his back.

     "Close your eyes and no peaking. I heard a click...another...and
then one last click, a muted hissing, and then I heard the glorious
chords of Rachmaninoff's Second Piano Concerto, coming from the
built-in wall cassette player... with speaker blaring from all four
corners of the room.

    "It's Leonard Bernstein...do you like it?"

    "Yeah, but I like you a lot better", pulling him back in the shower
with me, yearning for another taste of his warm sweet mouth.

    It was like a water ballet. We both knew the opus, well...the highs
and lows...crescendos...dimuendos...vivaces and largos. We knew this
had to last around thirty-five minutes depending of the speed of the
conductor's baton.

    I licked down his neck and breastbone until I reached his right
nipple, pinching his left with my hand. I sucked as a newborn puppy
might until he learned that that's where mommy hid her milk. Once
discovered the pup would suck the tit with a vengeance. That's what I
did.

    Jeff arced his head back and let out an, "Oh God".

    He wanted this...and I wanted him...a thought occurred...was I to
believe that this was his first time?...Jeff?...this Adonis...a
VIRGIN??...I could do NO wrong, now...only RIGHT. If this was his
first, it was my job to make it a memorable one, as I could recall
every second of every minute of that Sunday afternoon's at Lance's. He
adjusted the water temperature to lukewarm, as I descended my oral
explorations, down to his navel, his blonde landing strip that glided
into his golden bush. As I nuzzled my nose into his pubes, my lips were
touching where his shaft attached. I kissed and blew out a steady cool
stream of breath all the way down to the tip of his glans. His cock was
bobbing with a steady throb as I was circling to approach my landing.

    As I knelt before the bronzed icon, I almost laughed out
again...subconsciously in his mind AND body, his bouncing cock was
keeping time to the music. We were almost up to "page sixteen", the
first love theme and I was going to make love, for the entire passage
to his eager outreaching member...and LOVE, I did make! I worked on his
dick from all sides and every angle...licking, kissing, slurping...deep
down my throat...engulfing his balls and tickling with my tongue...then
a slide down his "taint" (a Southern expression describing those few
inches between the ball sac and the asshole...tain't balls and it
tain't ass...it just the taint. Then I licked between his ass and found
his glory hole probing with my tongue. He shuddered with a chill and
moaned in ecstasy. When he talked about my musical ability he said that
I was good...really good. I wanted to show him that I had other
talents...I couldn't wait to hear his critique on those. I went back to
his swollen staff and continued my exhibition, speeding up and slowing
down as the music changed. Every time I felt his testicles begin to
contract, I would ease off. I didn't want him to come until
Rachmaninoff had outlined for the climax to be reached.

    The First Movement ended and now it was time for the eight or nine
minute slow, Second. This was the best time to teach him the art of
cocksucking. I slid up and kissed him as the piano started the monotony
of the steading pacing of the broken chords began. I gave his shoulders
a slight push downward, indicating the direction I wanted his head (and
mouth) to go. He took the hint. He knew what I wanted him to do...and
he wanted to do it. It was his turn to show me how well he played this
new music. He followed my lead and had a great memory as he explored,
licked, kissed, and blew a cool breath in the exact places, in the
exact order, as I had done to him. Either he learned fast or I was a
good teacher.

    He hesitated as he took his first real cock in his mouth. Once
begun, all inhibitions ceased, and he went after my dick like a camel
at an oasis on the eighth day. He was good...I mean, really good. If
all he had ever done was fantasize, then he had a wonderful
imagination. I held off...I wouldn't cum until I was cued, toward the
end of the Third Movement.

    He had played my body, as if it were a nine foot Steinway at
Carnegie Hall. As the Second Movement ended it was time for "ensemble"
play...the "attack" of the Third...this meant we would have to assume a
"69" position. I turned around and on the wave of the downbeat, we
"attacked" each other. Cocks in mouth. We began a fast tempo of
sucking, keeping up with the rhythm. He was plunging me in a
deep-throat mode now, without gagging.  Then the swell of the "Full
Moon" theme appeared and we made love...rolling and writhing...humming
and moaning...sucking and licking. We were free now. We were "made
known" to each other and could touch, hold, grab, lick, any place we
wanted on each other's bodies without waiting for permission.

    We listened to the music..we knew Rachmaninoff's climactic moment
was only minutes away, as was "ours". When the orchestra and Bernstein
hit the peak to begin the last sixty-four bars of the Finale, so did
we. We had both "held off" for thirty four minutes...our balls were
aching...and we exploded our love nectar, at the same time, I mean, on
the EXACT chord. I shot the biggest load of my life into his mouth,
coating his tongue and oozing down his throat. He only let out a soft
gag...took a breath and began to feast. I took all of his offering and
felt my eyes tearing. I turned my body around to face him and saw that
his eyes were filled with tears, also. We looked at each other, smiled,
and leaned forward for a gentle lips' kiss.

    "Was it all right?", I asked.

    "More than I could ever dream".

   We stood, soaped each other and showered as if we had been doing
this for years. We got out of the shower and towelled each other, and
arm-in-arm we walked into the bedroom. I began to put on my
"two-day-old" clothes and he stopped me..."No, No...here...".

    He handed me a clean pair of his white Arrow briefs...went to his
closet and got a pair of his khaki pants, a dark green, short-sleeve,
silk pullover shirt..matching green socks and a pair of his black penny
loafers. (Could you believe we wore the same shoe size?)

   After we had both, dressed. He gave me a quick peck...the same kind
he had given his mom. As we walked down the hall to descend the
staircase, I was humming, "our theme". I smiled as I wondered what Miss
Greene would say about this latest rendition of the masterpiece.
Classical Music Love-Making! Had we invented something new? Years later
I would hear how world=wide sales of Ravel's "Bolero" soared as
everyone tried to re-create the Bo Derek's Musical Love-Making in the
movie, "10".

    I won't try to describe a simple "home-cooked" meal that Jeff's mom
had prepared. Let's just say, it belonged on the cover of "Gourmet"
magazine.

    Dinner and conversation were both, pleasant. I took and instant
liking to his parents and I sensed a warm acceptance of their son's
newest "friend". The thing I hoped and prayed was that they wouldn't
become suspicious of Jeff and me by the sheepish grins we were trying
to conceal...you know what I mean... like the way a new bride tries to
look innocent to the groom's parents at breakfast, the next morning,
after the wedding night.

    "So, you guys, going to a movie?", Jeff's dad inquired.

    MOVIE?? WHAT MOVIE?? I had forgotten about everything after what I
had just experienced during the last hour.

    "No, Dad. Our plans are changed. I showed Mark, my record and tape
collection and I think we're just going up to my room and play a few
sides. I have this new cassette of Rachmaninoff's Second Piano Concerto
with Leonard Bernstein that I want Mark to hear....And oh yeah, Mark,
when we get though with that, I have this rousing new recording of the
'1812 Overture!".

   "Oh God, I whispered under my breath.....


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(to be continued...in Part-8, you'll meet Rich)