Date: Sat, 12 Oct 2002 20:33:12 EDT
From: RitchChristopher@cs.com
Subject: and-a-time-for-reapin'-1

All rights reserved. Copyright held by the author. If you are underage or
are offended by gay fiction, containing graphic sex and explicit language,
please exit now.


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                       AND A TIME FOR REAPIN'

                            A story by

                         Ritch Christopher

                                <>


                           Chapter One


	"Get your ass back in here, Webb!!" Grandpa Zack yelled as Webb
went sailing out the back door, making sure that it slammed well enough to
loosen the screen door hinges.

	"Why, you old fart!" Webb yelled back at his dad as he slung one
leg over into his red Corvette.  "You don't need me to stay around you to
condescend to you and placate you. You don't need or value my advice. You
don't value ANYONE's advice that disagrees with you!"

	"That's a lie!" Grandpa Zack screamed as he hobbled his way to the
front door to see if Webb was actually going to leave. "Where the hell you
going, anyway?"

	"I'm going to town to see Helen!" Webb growled. "You remember her,
don't you? You know...Helen...your favorite son's widow! HELEN.... your
daughter-in-law who's also the mother of your only grandson! You DO
remember your grandson, Jerry Boy, don't you?"

	"Of course I do, you blithering idiot! What's wrong with her?"

	"You senile old fool!", Webb slashed back. "She's in the hospital,
dying from cancer!!"

	"Why doesn't anyone tell me what's going on around here?"

	"Why? You couldn't remember anything we told you if we did. That's
what's wrong with your fucking corn crop!"

	"Don't use that word in front of me!"

	"Something wrong with the word, `fucking''?  Probably so. You
didn't do much fucking in your lifetime, according to anyone who knew
anything about you and Mom."

	"That's ridiculous! What business is it of anybody's?"

	"Maybe, right, but the whole county seems to know SOMETHING about
it."

	"What was that remark you made about the crop?"

	"You're going to have a rude awakening come harvest time. Cyrus
Patton, the county food and firearm commissioner, told you two years ago
that you needed to dig and install a new irrigation system, what with last
year's drought and the one this year." Webb blurted out without being
interrupted. "BUT, you stupid old man, as usual, you didn't listen. WHY?
Because you NEVER listen when someone stands up to you with something that
you disagree with or something that don't want to hear. It time to set your
alarm clock and wake up to the smell of your coffee and look around and see
what's going on..."

	"Where is she, anyway?" Zack mumbled.

	"Who?"

	"That girl that lives here."

	"Jesus Christ! You old fart,you never listen...Helen...HELEN, you
old fool!"

	"God'll punish you for calling your own dad a fool!"

	"I love it when you refer to yourself as my dad! You only had one
son, JOHN.  When my brother was alive, I didn't exist. You've hated me
since the day I was born. You've always accused me of killing her. That's
kind of ironic, hating me when in your mind's eye, I never existed."

	"That's ridiculous!" Grandpa scoffed.

	Just then, Henry, Grandpa's houseboy, came out of the house and
stood by him.

	"Time for your massage and bath, Mr. Donahue," Henry said.

	"What?" Grandpa answered, "Hmmn? Oh, yes. I believe that might feel
nice. Thanks, boy!"

	"Yessir, just let me help you into the house."

	Webb figured the argument was enough for now so he revved up his
red Corvette convertible and sped down the dirt road which led to the
highway from the old Donahue homestead.

			* * * * * * * * * * * * * *

	I had heard these verbal battles going on most of my
life. Grandpa's senility had become more severe over the past three
years. Uncle Webb was right. He just didn't know how to speak to Grandpa in
a kindly manner. I hoped against all nature that one of my only two
relatives at home would be a bit more sympathetic to me, especially with
all the stress I was under. Although a good amount of time had passed since
the war department had sent us that telegram, telling us of Dad's being
killed by friendly fire after the final days of the Korean war and before
the beginning of the Viet Nam conflict.

	Uncle Webb always swore that the only reason that my dad had been a
professional soldier was to get away from Grandpa Zack, not wanting to take
over the farm. Uncle Webb had gotten a draft deferral due to a barroom
brawl that got out of hand. He hit his head on a bar stool during the
scuffle and had to have a steel plate put in the back of his
cranium. Grandpa Zack looked on this as an act of cowardice, giving him
more things to throw up to Uncle Webb whenever an argument between them
broke out...which was almost daily, sometimes three or four in one day.

	My dad met my mother on furlough when he was in a bar in San
Francisco. If she had been born fifteen years later, she'd definitely have
been a 100% flower child hippie. In those days, though, she was merely a
beatnik. They slept together on the first night and each night thereafter
for Dad's seven-day leave, getting married by a Justice of the Peace just
before his ship pulled up anchor.

	Needless to say, nine months later, I was born. My dad called
grandpa and told him he was going to be a grandfather and asked if he would
send his new daughter-in-law a few bucks to tide her over for the hospital
and obstetrician. Grandpa wouldn't have it any other way, for within 24
hours after he'd received dad's letter, mother was on a plane to Tennessee.

	It was a huge step for her to give up her lifestyle and become a
bucolic Army housewife. She told me years later that she learned to smoke
corn silks to compensate for the marijuana that she had been accustomed to.

	Uncle Webb showed no signs of jealousy or even interest in his new
sister-in-law. He just sorta tolerated her. Mother wanted him to take up
with me as a male role model while dad was overseas. Uncle Webb did the
best he could although he swore NEVER to change my diaper.
        Grandpa had housed or "hired" a ten-year-old boy from the local
orphanage to help out with the minor chores around the house. His name was
Henry and it was he who was in charge of heating my formula, feeding me my
bottles, and, yes, changing my diapers; I was somewhere's around two years
old when mother received the U.S. Army telegram informing her of dad's
death. It was at that point that she gave up any idea of ever returning to
her former life that she had left in California. She felt trapped because
Grandpa wouldn't hear of her leaving and taking away his infant heir. He
was bound and determined that Uncle Webb would never take over the farm.

	Maybe I should stop here and tell about how the Donahue farm came
to be....
                       * * * * * * * *

	Old Grandpa Zack's family had had the farm since way before the
Civil War. Somewhere back in 1842, great-great-grandpa Donahue had paid the
Polk County land developers fifteen cents an acre for all the land he could
walk off from sunrise to sunset in one day. He was a tall, skinny man with
long lanky legs and he didn't realize until nightfall that he had surveyed
and marked off some 50,000 acres, which meant he owed the county seat
around $7,500.  That amount didn't make a dent in the money he had brought
to Tennessee from Ireland. He still had plenty to build a two story
plantation house, plus barns to house his horses, mules, cows, pigs, a few
goats, chickens and ducks, plus sacks and sacks of imported corn seed and
fertilizer from Europe and Australia, and, of course, the mandatory slave
quarters to house fifty of the finest Negroes that ever crossed the
Atlantic Ocean. His slaves were healthy, hefty, and muscular, blacks who
could work long days in the hot sun and not require much sleep.

	Inside of five years, great-great-grandpa Donahue had the biggest
and most prosperous corn farm in the whole south.  He got orders from as
far west as Texas and north, all the way from Maryland. The bushels and
bushels that he shipped went to make corn meal, food for families as well
as livestock.  Kentucky distilleries sent trucks down to pick up what they
needed for their corn liquor, no matter if it was for professional or
illegal reasons. The business flourished and he became richer in spite of
the 1860-1861 secession of states.

	G-g-grandpa Donahue was a shrewd and wise old bird. He knew that
the war wouldn't or couldn't last forever, so he secretly invested half his
fortune in Confederate bonds and the other half in U.S. monies through one
of his customers in Maryland.  Half a fortune was better than none and
either way he was a loser AND a winner. Maybe he lost more than he retained
in the long run because all his prize slaves had run off to God knows where
the night the damnyankees (that's what my family calls them even to this
day)...the damnyankees burned all the cornfields and killed the livestock
to feed the greedy but starving union troops.

	Somehow due to some land grant ruling, G-g-grandpa didn't lose the
deed to his land. Otherwise, we wouldn't still be owning it 150 years
later.

	Most of the things we read in history about carpetbaggers were
true. They did come down south to cheat the "dumb" southerner every way
they could. One of these crooked entrepreneurs, James Craig, approached
G-g-grandpa about revitalizing the corn farm. This would take a might of
work. Thousands of acres of burnt cornstalks, and no free labor to restore
everything as it had been before the war.  But there were so many sons left
orphans on both sides, whose farms had been burned or pillaged as war
spoils, that they would work for practically nothing at all...sometimes
just for a roof, a dry bed, and one square meal per day.

	So G-g-grandpa "hired" some 20 to 25 young men (all white,
incidentally) and the first order was to build a large bunkhouse on the
space where the barn used to be. They were a mixture of Johnny Rebs and
damnyankees and they could stay as long as they didn't try to resume
fighting the war when they weren't attended. It didn't take more than a
couple of plantings and harvests to put the farm back into full supervised.
G-g-grandpa oversaw all the management of the corn crop, while it was James
Craig's duty to travel all over the recovering nation, taking orders and
selling the corn to more and more buyers.

	James was married to a southern belle named Crystal. Apparently she
was a bonus in a big deal (or maybe a swindle) that James had drummed
up. She was charming, direct from Charleston with just enough youth and
beauty that made G-g-grandpa spring a boner every time he got the slightest
whiff of her lilac water. Heck, he was only in his late twenties and still
a virgin. It didn't take much to turn him on, especially with the number of
times James would go off on a trip and leave Crystal behind with
G-g-grandpa. It was months before James became cognizant of the fact that
Crystal was pregnant and that HE was not the father. G-g-grandpa had
learned how to "trim a bush" and thus Great-grandpa Thomas Donahue was born
on December 8, 1869.

	James didn't really care that much about G-g-grandma Crystal,
although he pitched a big fit to make his "buy-off" price a bit higher than
it normally would have been. James gave up the corn business and went west
to Nevada to invest in silver mines.

	Fast-forward to the turn of the 20th century and Great-grandpa Tom
had learned all that he could from his dad, since he would have to take
over the business and the farm when the time came. Tom married the daughter
of the neighbor who owned the farm next door. Her name was Elizabeth. It
wasn't long before around 1908, a huge epidemic of pneumonia found its way
south and claimed both G-g-grandpa AND G-g-grandma Crystal as well as
Elizabeth's parents. Thus she inherited all the land in their will and now
she and Tom had an additional 100,000 acres on which to plant corn.

	They continued to procreate the Donahue family tree with a son,
Zachary, (my grandpa) and a daughter, Lennie Belle, who grew up with
ambitions of being the first female jockey. Falling off a horse on a small
racetrack in Kentucky killed her, which made Grandpa Zack the only heir to
the corn dynasty.

	Things prospered until the late 1920's when the mighty Tennessee
River developed a mind of its own and overflowed three years in a row. It
was only when President Roosevelt put the Tennessee Valley Authority in
place and dams were built from Knoxville all the way down into Georgia and
Alabama that the land was safe, but due to the floods and the Great
Depression it was almost ten years before the corn farm was back on its
feet. What really helped was the government contract to supply the U,
S. military and foreign trade with the allied countries of Europe during
W.W.II.

	During these years. Grandpa Zack lost both of his parents
tragically. Great-grandma Elizabeth was only in her fifties, but she
developed some kind of dementia and Great-grandpa took her on a picnic,
where he shot her as if she were a lame horse, following, he reloaded the
double barrel shot gun and pointed it toward the middle of his chest and
proceeded to blast his heart out of his body. This murder-suicide had a
great effect on Grandpa Zack. It was a combination of hurt, anger, and
embarrassment, but Grandpa became bitter and swore he would never marry. He
didn't date; had absolutely no social life. But the years were mounting on
him, and his loneliness magnified the fact that he had no heir to whom he
could leave the Donahue legacy, so in one of the few movies he had ever
seen, "They Knew What They Wanted", he remembered how Charles Laughton had
written to Carole Lombard and she became his mail-order bride. Grandpa
followed that idea, put an ad in the personals of the Atlanta Constitution
and almost six months passed before he married Grandma Thelma, whom I never
saw.

	Looking at Grandpa today, it's still difficult for me to imagine
him ever having sex with anyone. But he apparently did because she gave him
two sons...my dad, John Donahue, and my Uncle Webster, (Webb) who killed
Grandma Thelma due to a breach presentation during childbirth, Grandpa ever
forgave Uncle Webb for that.

	Now, back to the present....

			* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

	I'd have my sixteenth birthday next month. I'd known for about six
months about mother's cancer. I knew I was going to lose her and the
prospect of my future didn't look too promising after her passing. It
looked as if I was going to become a corn farmer whether I wanted to or
not. I was allowed to go to school from 8:00 AM until noon every day, which
was customary for guys my age that lived on farms. I would be a senior next
year. I really had no close friends at school. The only movies I'd ever
seen were the ones that Henry had taken me to. Henry, ten years older than
I, was about the only close friend I had. He'd had no formal education and
he loved spending time with me. He would ask hundreds of questions whenever
he got the chance, to learn what I had learned that particular day or week
in my current studies.

	The only life Henry had known was the farm. He was deferred from
the draft due to contracting polio, which left him with a slight limp from
a withered right lower leg. I, too, would be deferred due to some military
law about my dad being killed in combat. I was the sole surviving heir or
something like that. I'd never gone out on a date. Heck, girls were miles
away from farm to farm. I hadn't got my driver's license yet, although I
knew how to drive the truck, the tractor, and the harvest machine.

	I loved my mother and was very close to her. After she had
"accepted" her life on the farm, she had found God and spent most of her
day sitting, reading the Bible. Grandpa thought that was great. He loved to
hear her singing hymns and saying the blessing before meals. Uncle Webb
never bowed his head or closed his eyes. I know, because I always peeked.

	She had prepared me for her death, shortly after she found the lump
in her left breast and the doctor had confirmed what she expected. It was
just an unwritten agreement between us that neither she nor I would ever
see the other one crying...and we kept our promise to one another.

	Growing up, I don't remember when Henry stopped giving me my
bath. I know I was past twelve because I remember the first time I got a
hardon when I was in the tub and it almost embarrassed the life out of me.

	"How long has that been happenin'?" Henry asked as he rubbed the
bar of soap into the washrag.

	"I don't know," I said, shyly. "I can't remember. Is there
something wrong with me?"

	"Nothin' more than you're on your way to becoming a man."

	"Whaddya mean, Henry? How do I make it go back to the way it was?"

	"There is a number of ways," Henry replied, "but I'll show you the
best way that I know."

	Henry took the warm soapy rag and grabbed hold of my pecker and for
the next couple of minutes, he scrubbed it up and down, squeezing it,
rubbing my balls, and even beneath them. I felt like he was trying to wash
me like I had black sticky tar all over myself down there. And then, my
whole body felt strange. Something I had never felt before was happening to
me. First, I thought I was going to pee and shit at the same time, like I
had no control of my lower body. But this was something different. My upper
arms, my shoulders, and my neck were caught up in this sensation and I
cried out, as I must've peed a gallon into Henry's hand holding me with the
washcloth.

	It took me a while to get my breath back. Then I was really, really
embarrassed.

	"Henry! I am so sorry!!" I said to him,

	"For what, Jerry boy?"

	"For peeing in your hand."

	"You didn't pee in my hand. Look for yourself."

	That was the first time I'd ever seen semen. It frightened me like
I had some disease or abnormal condition.

	"That?  That came out of me?"

	"Sure did." Henry said, smiling from ear to ear.

	"What is it?" I asked with fear.

	"It's sperm. Fresh young sperm from a twelve year old man-to-be."
	"How does that make me a man-to-be?"

	"It means you can make your own fertilizer now."

	"Fertilizer? You mean manure like we spread around the corn
plants."

	"Well, yes and no," he said. There was a look on his face I'd never
seen before. He had something he could teach me for a change. He spent
about fifteen minutes explaining how sperm and manure did the same thing to
different things.  Imagine! I was only twelve and I could make a baby if
only I could find an egg to fertilize. My first thought was about the
chicken coop. I wondered if I could put my hand under the hen and the very
moment she plopped the egg into my hand, while it was still nice and warm,
I could spread my sperm on it and I could make a...what?...a rooster?...a
baby?"

	I didn't tell Henry about my plan for the chicken coop. There was
to be a few more baths under Henry's supervision, but he soon thought I was
old enough to bathe myself. However, two or three baths before the last
one, I asked Henry to take off his clothes and get into the tub with
me. Both of us laughed and giggled as I washed Henry's privates the way he
washed mine. It was fun seeing him spurt semen the way that I had. Then he
would do me and I'd do him again. Heck! We'd keep on doing it until the
water was cold and we couldn't churn up any more white butter, as we used
to call it.

	Boy! I not only learned about sex, I learned how to keep a
secret. What happened between Henry and me was only known about between
Henry and me. This kind of thing you would never tell to your mother who
kept a Bible in her lap most of the day. Gosh, if Grandpa found out, he'd
probably run Henry off the farm and with Uncle Webb's temper, only God
knows what he would do if he found out what Henry and I were doing in the
bathtub. Whew! I didn't even want to think about that disaster.

	Henry and I kept up our fun and games but only in the barn or way
out in the cornfield where no one, and I mean NO ONE, could see us.  By the
time I was fourteen, Henry and I had gone on to other things. I remember
the first time he let me put my pecker in his mouth and I was more than
willing to do the same for him. This was the greatest thing that had ever
happened to me and I never, never, never wanted it to end. Our little
"meetings" continued until one day when my heart almost broke.

	Grandpa Zack was somewhere in his late 60's or early 70's and he
suffered from arthritis in both hips. Every day around 3:00 PM, Henry would
give Grandpa a massage, followed by an Epsom salts soak in the tub. I had
never seen the movie, "Ben Hur" and I'd heard it was going to open with a
huge widescreen downtown. I wanted to know if Henry would take me to see
it. I ran up the stairs to Grandpa Zack's room. It was around 3:20 PM and
the door was slightly ajar. Before I entered, unannounced, through the
cracked door, I could see Grandpa lying on his bed naked and Henry was
massaging the top of Grandpa's legs with Johnson's Baby Oil, from his toes
to the top of his thighs.  Grandpa was heaving big sighs of relief. I
watched for a few minutes as Henry's hands were managing to touch Grandpa's
pecker with each returning stroke. My eyes almost popped out of their
sockets as I saw Grandpa's pecker swelling every time Henry returned to
that area. Grandpa had a full-blown hardon by now.

	"Henry?" Grandpa asked.

	"Sir?"

	"You gonna take care of that, too?"

	"Yessir, whenever you're ready."

	"I'm MORE than ready, you jughead."

	"Hand or mouth?" Henry asked.

	"MOUTH!  MOUTH! YOU IDIOT!!" Grandpa bellowed.

	"Yessir," Henry replied as he lowered himself over Grandpa's lower
body, engulfing Grandpa's pecker.

	Grandpa moaned and put one arm over his forehead and eyes.

	"Oh, yes! Yes!" Grandpa whispered.

	I was stunned by what I was seeing. This was NOT happening...not in
a thousand years. Oh, my gosh, no, NO! Not Henry...NOT with GRANDPA ZACK!!!

	But it didn't stop there. Grandpa was using his other hand to unzip
Henry's pants. He put his hands into the fly and pulled out Henry's pecker
and began stroking it.

	None of this made sense! NOW I had a really BIG secret to keep.  I
was angry, shocked, hurt, and felt a thousand other emotions all at the
same time. The only thing that I was certain of was that I didn't want to
stay and watch either of them reach a climax. I knew I would puke in the
hallway and never be able to explain why.

	I told my mother that I was coming down with a virus and didn't
want to eat supper that night. I didn't want to look at Grandpa or
Henry. Being totally honest with myself, I didn't care if I ever saw either
of them again. I went up the stairs to my room and I got another
surprise. Uncle Webb was coming down the hall. I didn't speak to him.

	"Hey, hey, buster!" he called to me as I passed.

	I ignored him.

	"Jerry!...Jerry Boy!...What's the matter?"

	I would die before I would tell him. I stopped and looked at him
defiantly, taking out my anger on him and not where it belonged.

	"What do you want?" I said, sharply.

	Uncle Webb could see I was in a bad mood and really didn't know
what to say next. He was my uncle...my supposed role model, but we weren't
close at all. I could never have a heart-to-heart talk with him because I
really didn't know him. The only part of his personality I'd seen was his
daily fights with Grandpa Zack.

	"Well, uh, I was just wonderin', I mean what I'm tryin' to say
is...uh. Well, I was in town today and I seen that this big motion picture
called "Ben Hur" was opening'' tomorrow on this big wide screen, I just
wondered if you'd like me to take you to see it?"

	DAMN! This was a first! He'd never asked me to go ANYWHERE with him
except to town to pick up seeds and fertilizer, or stuff like that. A
MOVIE? "BEN HUR?" I didn't know what to say or how to answer.

	"What's the catch?" I finally managed to ask. "You can't find a
date?"

	"Sure, I can find lots of dates, but from what I hear, "Ben Hur" is
a man's picture,to be seen by and shared by men."

	Calling me a man was the most flattering thing he'd ever said to
me. Uncle Webb was referring to me as his equal. I didn't care if I knew
him all that well or not, I'd've been a fool to say "no".

	"It's around four hours long so you'd better get the OK from your
Mother Helen. But if she gives you any flack, tell her there's a big scene
where Jesus gets crucified. She'd probably like you seein' that....Whaddya
say?"

	"Well, sure, I guess." I replied, almost reluctantly. Then I
remembered I had wanted Henry to take me to see it and my own anger raged
again,"SURE! SURE! I'll go! It'll be like one of those "men's night outs"
I've heard about."

	"Put it there, pardner!" Webb said, putting out his hand for me to
shake.

	"Sure, pardner!" I said, grabbing his hand.

	We both smiled at each other for the first time I could ever
remember. It was brief, but it was a moment of bonding. I didn't need Henry
anymore. Uncle Webb had made me his equal...man to man.


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	The next night came. All day long I had anticipated the movie date
with Uncle Webb.  I hadn't seen him leave earlier that morning and I had no
idea where he had been all day, so by five o'clock that afternoon, I began
to worry if he still remembered about "Ben Hur" or me.  There was only one
showing per night at the Rivoli and that started at seven. My worry changed
to a huge disappointment by five minutes to six when he still hadn't come
home. I watched for him from the front porch, going back in the house every
ten minutes to check on Grandma Claudia's old pendulum clock to see how
late it was getting. Then the clock chimed six times and I all but gave up
hope for my first "night on the town" adventure.  On the sixth "bong" I
peered down the long driveway road as far as I could see toward the
highway. I saw a cloud of red dust whirring like a small tornado
approaching the house. The rising dirt was not caused by nature. Rather it
was Uncle Webb's Corvette hurrying as fast as it could toward the
house. His tires screeched about ten feet before he stopped and looked up
at me on the steps and yelled, "Hey, Jerry boy, you ready?"

	My heart was filled with hope once more as I replied rather loudly,
"YEAH! SURE!!"

	"Then, come on and git in!" Uncle Webb hollered back at me as he
reached across the front seat to open the passenger's door for me.

	I didn't bother to go back in the house to say "goodbye" to Mother
or Grandpa. I leapt down the five steps and in one hop and a jump I was
seated next to Uncle Webb, slammed the door, and the two of us sped off
with the same speed he had driven down the old dirt road. I didn't look at
the speedometer on purpose. If I had seen how fast he was driving, I'm sure
I would've peed my pants. I kept telling myself that this was how fast
Uncle Webb always drove and, to my knowledge, he'd never had a wreck...at
least, not until now. There was always a first time, I said to myself.

	The good Lord must've been riding with us because we made it to
town in plenty of time before the movie started. There was a line of people
stretching down the block from the theatre and all the way around the next
corner on Vine Street.

	"Good Lord!" I said, "We'll never get in!" I said, looking at all
the people standing in front of us.

	"Wanna bet?" Uncle Web exclaimed. "Follow me, boy."

	He led the way all the way down, past all the patrons, to the front
of the line that was buying tickets. The two of us cut through the line and
entered the theater. Everyone was looking at us with amazement and anger.
There was a lady, somewhere in her late 20's taking up tickets. She was
dressed rather plainly, but you could see with different clothes and a
little more make-up, she would be somewhat attractive. Uncle Webb made his
way through the people and walked up to her.

	"Hey, Marge," Uncle Webb said to her, in a smooth voice like the
two of them had been friends for a long time.

	It only took her a second to recognize who had spoken to her and
her eyes went from questioning to a long dreamy look.

	"Hiya, Webb," she responded, almost drooling. "You here to see the
picture?" she asked.

	"That depends...in case you're all sold out." Webb said, only loud
enough for her to hear. "I got my nephew with me."

	She took Webb's hint and spoke in a voice so that the first part of
the line could hear loud and clear, "Yes sir, I know the manager is
expecting you," she lied, "so why don't the two of you go right on in?"

	"Thanks, Marge," Uncle Webb said, following her remarks, "I'll try
to talk him into giving you that raise that you deserve."

	Webb and I went into the theater without standing in line and
without even buying tickets. I was in awe the way Uncle Webb handled the
situation. He grasped the back of my neck and led me toward the concession
stand where we saw a cute little blonde girl, not much older that me.

	"Hi, Gloria," Webb said, using his manly charm once more.

	The girl looked up from scooping a large round cup of popcorn. Then
she recognized who had spoken to her.

	"Oh, hi, Webb," almost with the same moony inflection that Marge
had used. "What can I get for you?" she asked.

	"My nephew here would like a large popcorn with plenty of butter, a
large Coke, and a big box of Milk Duds," he replied to her before turning
to me and saying, "That should last you about four hours."

	"Gosh, thanks," I said, in amazement.

	"Can I get anything for you, Webb?"

	"Sure, Gloria," he said to her and then leaned over the counter to
finish his sentence, "but not here, and not now," as he winked and smiled a
very sexy grin.

	"You can come back for seconds, if you like," she said to me. "And
that goes for you, too, Webb."

	"I'll take you up on that."

	"Anytime, Webb...anytime."

	"You know both those girls?" I asked.

	"Kinda," Webb replied, "but not exactly in the biblical sense."

	"I don't know what that means. I've never seen you go to
church...or even close your eyes when Mother says the blessing."

	"Skip it! You'll meet a lot of girls like those two, the older you
get."

	The theater was filling up rapidly as we found two seats on the
aisle about midways down.

	"Want some popcorn?" I offered.

	"Nah, makes me fart."

	That remark made me stop and think, I'd never connected farting
with eating popcorn, but then, I hadn't been to the movies too many
times. Webb took off his cowboy hat and placed it in his lap. It was funny;
I so seldom ever saw Webb's hair. It was a bit shiny from the Wildroot
Cream Oil he used...and there was a nice wave in the front, the way he
combed it back. I wasn't aware I had a handful of popcorn in my hand, just
suspended about six inches from my mouth as I locked my gaze on Webb's
face. Webb was handsome. I'd really never thought about it before, but then
I really hadn't spent that much time alone with him, I let my eyes lower
and noticed the way his chest filled out his blue gingham shirt. I took the
whole "Webb tour" and let my eyes drop down to his tight-fitting jeans and
saw the way he also filled out the crotch. I don't know how long I stared
because I really wasn't aware I was doing it but I suddenly felt that the
fork in my jeans began to stir. Webb became conscious of my long fixed
look.

	"Something wrong with the popcorn?" he asked, bringing me back to
reality.

	"Oh, no! It's delicious." I said, trying to hide my embarrassment.

	"Well, eat it real slow. This is a long movie," he said.

	"I'll pace it," I replied, hoping against all hope that he hadn't
seen me staring at his bulge.

	"You, uh, got lots of girls, don't you, Uncle Webb?"

	"I've got my share."

	"Grandpa's always wonderin' why you don't get married."

	"Your grandpa's always wonderin' about lots of things."

	"Never met the right girl, huh?"

	"Nope! As far as I can tell she ain't been born yet."

	"And when she's born, you'll be too old for her then," I joked.

	"That's all right, if she's the one, then YOU can have her." he
replied, half-joking. "You got a girlfriend now?"

	"Nah, it's still too soon. Heck, I'm only fifteen."

	"That's old enough. Hell, I had my first girl when I was thirteen,"
he all but bragged.

	"Thirteen?" I gasped. "You didn't...well, you know, you didn't go
all the way when you were thirteen, did you?"

	"Lots of times."

	"Gosh!" That's all I could say as I sat there astonished and
feeling my inadequacy as a budding teenager.

	The lights in the movie house began to dim and the loudest music
I'd ever heard starting blaring out from the screen, on both sides of the
theater and I could swear there was sound coming from behind me. I felt a
chill of excitement.

	Webb leaned over to me and whispered loud enough for me to hear
over the music, "That's stereophonic sound."

	The music played for three or four minutes in the dark and then the
curtains opened and opened and opened until the MGM lion was stretching all
the way across the front of the movie screen. I'd never seen anything like
it. So this was that Cinemascope 70 that was advertised. My mouth dropped
in awe at the size of it.

	For the next four hours, including one intermission, I don't
remember breathing. Gosh! I almost hid behind the seat in front of me
during the chariot race and the scene with the four white horses pulling
Charlton Heston. The movie was over and I hadn't even bothered to open my
Milk Duds. I guess I had forgotten about them in the splendor of the
saga. My popcorn box was empty, as was my Coke cup, so I must've consumed
them because I didn't see that I had spilled either of them on me or the
floor.

	The exit music continued long after we had made our way back to the
lobby and back to the car. I still hadn't said a word as I got into the
Corvette.

	"Well, did you like it?" Webb finally asked.

	"Oh, gosh, Uncle Webb! It was so...so...it was almost like going to
a really big church service," I managed to say.

	"Shit, boy. That's not exactly what I expected to hear, but coming
from you and the way that your Mother's brought you up. I suppose that's a
compliment."

	"I mean it was great! The greatest thing I've ever seen! How did
you like it, Uncle Webb?"

	"It was all right, I guess."

	I was disappointed that he hadn't experienced the same thrill as I
had. I hoped I hadn't made too big of a fool of myself the way I was
ranting and raving about the picture.

	"Wanna go for a beer?" he suddenly asked.

	"Oh, gosh, no! Mother would have a fit and besides, I'm too young
to drink."

	"Yeah, I guess you're right. I don't want her preachin' me no
sermon."

	There was a long pause, as I couldn't think of anything appropriate
to say.

	"Uncle Webb?"

	"Yeah?" he sorta sneered as he started the car to head home.

	"How...how old were you when you had your first beer?"

	"'round twelve, I guess."

	"Good golly! You were drinking beer at twelve and doing things with
girls at thirteen? I guess I've missed out on a lot."

	"Maybe...and maybe not. Beer don't taste all that good when you
have your first one...and well, as for pussy? Well, that's something
else. Now that's something you like the first time you taste it!"

	I couldn't believe what he has just said. Tasting "pussy"? I
realized I'd never used that word before even in my thoughts. I sat there
silently, looking out at the grove of pecan trees we were passing on the
right.

	"Don't have anything to say, Jerry Boy?"

	"I...uh... was just thinkin`."

	"Thinkin' about what I said, about tastin' pussy?"

	"Kinda."

	"You can do all kinds of things with pussy besides just fuckin'
it," he added.

	My imagination went wild as I began to think what kinds of things
he was referring to, I'd thought about those things but not for long. The
only naked woman I'd ever seen was my mother when she was taking a bath,
but I hadn't seen her since I was about eight or nine years old. Then I
began to think about the men or boys I had seen. I'd seen Grandpa, and
Henry, of course, when we had fooled around. . Then there were the guys at
school in the gym shower...and then...I'd only remembered how small their
penises were, compared to mine. I had looked curiously at them, but really
hadn't been impressed. As for Uncle Webb, I had never seen him naked in all
these years, but I suddenly wondered why I had looked at the lap of his
jeans before the movie started. I'll bet his was bigger than mine.

	"You wanna drive?" Uncle Webb asked, unexpectedly.

	"You mean your Corvette?"

	"It's the only car I own. You DO drive the tractor, don't you?"

	"Sure."

	"'S not much different, only faster, and more powerful. Wanna drive
or not?"

	"I'd kinda like to try, if you're willin'," I replied.

	He pulled the car over on the shoulder of the road and got out and
before I had time to refuse, I was sitting behind the steering wheel. My
body shivered in fear. I was so afraid I hit the accelerator too fast or
strip a gear or something.

	"Just go slow," he said, "I'll help you with the shifting...just
push in the clutch all the way every time I tell you to.

	About a mile later, I was driving on my own and was doing
fifty-five miles per hour. This was the most "grown up" I'd ever
felt...thanks to Uncle Webb.

	The ride was too short for, before long, I had turned down the old
dirt road leading to the house. It seemed like the end of the most perfect
night of my life. The only real man in my life had been Grandpa, since I'd
never known my dad...but now Uncle Webb...well, something strange had
happened to me. I didn't know how much I really cared for him...or even IF
I cared for him. My picture of Uncle Webb was someone who was always
arguing with Grandpa and someone Mother would like to save for the Lord
"before it's too late" she would say.

	"You done good, boy!" he said to me as we got out of the car.

	The two of us walked toward the wooden steps of the house. Once
again, he had cupped the back of my neck with his hand.  It felt different
now. His touch meant more to me. I'd like to think he cared about me,
because in a few short hours I had learned to care about him, Later, I
realized I had made him my idol...but I surely wouldn't let Mother know how
I felt about him or she'd be telling me I was going to hell, just like he
was.  ,
	It was after midnight and all the lights in the house were off.

	"Ready for bed?" he asked quietly.

	"Not quite." I was too thrilled and excited to think about going to
sleep.  "I think I'll sit on the porch in the swing for a while and look at
the moon."

	"The skeeters'll eat you up, boy," he said.

	"That's all right. I'm just not sleepy."

	"OK, if you're man enough to brave the little varmints, I'll sit
with you...if you don't mind."

	I was elated and amused that he had referred to me as "man", as he
had always called me "boy".

	"No, Uncle Webb, I would like that."

	"Oh, one thing..."

	"What?"

	"Could you drop that "uncle" shit?" he asked. "It suddenly makes me
feel old."

	"I'll try, but a habit is hard to break."

	"Well, do your best and just call me Webb. I mean, I don't call you
"Nephew Jerry!"

	"It's a deal if you'll not call me 'Jerry Boy'..."just 'Jerry'."

	"All right, pardner, put it there," he said, offering me his
handshake.

	I took his hand and felt a tingle as our flesh touched. The moon
was gleaming into his blue eyes like it did in the river when you went
night-fishing. I knew he wasn't feeling the same emotion as I was, but he
didn't let go of my hand. His eyes were locked on mine. Lord knows how long
we stood there looking at one another. It seemed like a moment in eternity
for me. I had always been a bit afraid of Webb and I don't know where I
mustered the courage, but I leaned forward and touched my lips to his,
lightly. He didn't move back at first, but then he suddenly "caught"
himself and jerked his lips and hand back all in one movement.

	"What the hell was that?" he said, coarsely, but not loud enough to
wake anyone in the house.

	"I'm sorry, Uncle Webb. I don't know why I did that."

	"You're not queer, are you?"

	"NO!...no! Of course not."

	"Have you ever kissed a man before...or a boy?"

	"Gosh, no!" I said, on the verge of tears. Then I retorted, "Have
you?"

	"Fuck, no!...And I never wanted to either. So why did you?"

	"I said I don't know. It's just that...that...this was the most
wonderful night of my life and I guess I just got carried away in wanting
to thank you."

	"Well, a 'thanks' and a handshake is enough."

	"You won't tell anyone, will you?"

	"Sure! Let's wake everyone up, right now, and I'll tell 'em all."

	I was scared beyond belief. I broke into tears. I was so
ashamed...first about what I had done and secondly, for crying like a baby
when he had just referred to me as being a man. Webb stood there looking at
me and realized perhaps he had reacted too harshly and reached forward with
his right hand and put it behind the back of my neck and pulled my face
into his chest.

	"I'm sorry, Jerry. I acted like an asshole. There, guy, go ahead
and cry it all out. I guess you do have it kinda rough with Dad and your
mother treating you the way they do. You'll never grow up around them."

	With his left hand, he put it around my back and pulled me tighter
into the safest hug I'd ever felt. I never wanted this moment to end. I
never wanted to lose the feeling I had. I stopped making sob noises but my
tears were still streaming, making a big wet spot on his blue-checkered
shirt.  A few minutes later, I guess I had cried my last tear, but I didn't
want to unlock his embrace. Webb released the back of my neck and brought
his hand under my chin and lifted my face to once again look into his pools
of blue. I could feel the warm air coming from his nostrils as they warmed
my face. Then, slowly, he lowered his face so that his lips touched mine as
I had touched his. I prayed that my breath didn't reek of popcorn fumes as
he pressed his mouth harder against mine. I almost melted like freshly
churned butter and something else was happening. I was getting an
erection. Good Lord, if he knew that, EVERYTHING wonderful that had just
happened would be lost and gone forever.

	Finally, he gently pulled away from the kiss and whispered to me,
"Is that what you wanted?"

	"Yes," I sighed.

	"I guess I did too, otherwise I wouldn't've done it."

	"Thank you, Webb. Thank you for the movie...letting me drive...and
for what happened just now." I said, quietly.

	"You know it won't ever happen again," he said.

	"I know...but I'm glad it did, just this one time."

	"That's right...just this one time...and never again."

	"Never." I repeated.

	"Now, go to bed," he said.

	"All right," I replied as I headed to open the squeaky screen door.

	I turned to see if he was following me, but he was standing there
with the moon shining bright and full behind his head, watching me go.

	"Webb?"

	"Yeah."

	"If I promise to behave and not get carried away with myself, would
you take me somewheres again?"

	"Sure. We can do lots of things together. Things that men do."

	I smiled and went inside and tiptoed up the stairs to my bedroom. I
quietly undressed and slipped naked under the cool white sheet. It was then
that I noticed my erection had never gone down since the last kiss. I
lowered my hand and grabbed my stiff penis and began to massage it the way
Henry had taught me...only there were no thoughts in my head about Henry.
My hand began to pump as I relived the evening and let my thoughts about
Webb guide me into the most climatic orgasm I'd ever experienced.  Even if
nothing ever happened with Webb again, I knew I would treasure tonight the
rest of my life. The one thought that kept occurring over and over in my
mind...why did he kiss me back?"


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(to be continued in chapter two)