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The following work is complete fiction. Any similarity with existing people or places is purely coincidental. It may also contain scenes of sexual activity between males; if it is illegal for you to read this or if you feel you may be offended by reading it, please do not do so. Because the story takes place in 1971, some characters may engage in behavior which is considered unsafe today. If you are not abstinent, please respect yourself and your partner by being safe. Do not remove this label under penalty of law.
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This story is dedicated to a very special group of people, my online family, (you know who you are), and to one very special and brave man who needs our thoughts and prayers.
"Honey, would you pass the chicken again, please?"
Mother passed the platter with the fried chicken and Daddy withdrew another thigh and drumstick from the pile. My little brother was busy building a tower on his plate with his mashed potatoes as I finished off the last of my peas.
"So, Chrisser," Daddy asked in his usual upbeat, positive voice, "did you go see Father Partridge's nephew today?"
"Um, well, I, uh..."
Daddy put down his fork and gave me The Look.
"I thought you were going to go over to his house and introduce yourself."
"Well, I saw him at Leonardo's and then I ran into him in the park."
"Ah," Daddy responded with approval. "So, what's the situation?"
"Um, well, I, uh..."
Uh, oh. The Look again.
"Christopher, I am not getting the response I was expecting."
"Well, Daddy, its too weird to just go up to a guy and say, 'Hi! Wanna be my friend?'"
My father rolled his eyes.
"You're not doing that. You're offering to be his friend. There's nothing weird about that. Good gracious, the poor guy just moved from New York City to a town with fifteen thousand people in the middle of the farm belt. Put yourself in his position. He has to feel lost."
"And, Father Partridge is counting on you," Mother added with reproach in her voice. "He's the Rector! He's counting on you. How would it look if you let him down?"
Daddy and I both gave each other the look we normally did when Mother made one of her snobby comments and I knew that it was safe to disregard this particular comment.
"So, when you met him in the park, how did it go?"
I was NOT going to tell my father that Alex Partridge had saved my butt after I discovered two bullies whacking off in the bathroom with a Playboy. Especially not at dinner in front of my mother and my little brother!
"Well, uh, I, um, told him I was Chris Conrad and he, um like, said, well, yeah I know, and then he, like, um, walked off."
Which was not entirely untrue.
Daddy, the Prosecutor, looked at me. I hated it when he looked at me like the Prosecutor.
"Well, perhaps you and I should walk over to his house and meet the family. Helen, don't you think it would nice for us to welcome them to Clarkesville?"
Now, it was Mother's turn to look uncomfortable and uncertain.
"Well, um, I'm certain that, um, Father Partridge would appreciate that, but, would it be proper for the District Attorney to be seen meeting... um, Donald Partridge? You, know, Ted, we have to remember you're up for re-election next year."
"If Donald Partridge is going to practice law in Clarkesville, I am sure I will have plenty of opportunities to meet him. Its just a social call. It might be interesting to see what I'm up against. It could be fun."
Mother was clearly considering how she would reconcile her social obligations. She couldn't let down the Rector. Yet, how could she explain to her bridge club and the other social groups paying a social call on one of the most notorious radical lawyers in America?
Daddy solved the dilemma by simply declaring, "Helen, lets take that cheesecake you baked for dessert over there after dinner. It will be the perfect way to welcome them to Clarkesville."
"Yes, well, of course." Mother had that special smile she reserved only for those people and situations in which she had to be polite even though she was not pleased.
So, about twenty minutes later, the four of us marched north on Union Avenue, with Brian vociferously protesting, Mother carrying her cheesecake, and Daddy with his irritatingly "pleased as punch" smile.
The Partridges' house was a giant monstrosity on the next corner north from ours. It was huge and white with a long porch that wrapped around it and a tall turret on the southeast corner, facing the park. I wondered how big Alex's family must be because Old Lady Sinclair had dozens of grand kids who had stayed there frequently. We all wondered who had bought the place after she passed away, expecting that a large family would move in.
We marched up the walk to the porch and I could hear a piano playing on the inside. It definitely wasn't a record or the radio. I recognized it as Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata, a beautiful piece and one of my favorites. I heard a few mistakes, but it was a good rendition. The front door was open; Daddy looked through the screen door and waited for a moment, with Mother standing impatiently at his side and Brian looking around for something, anything to keep his attention.
Suddenly, the playing stopped after a rather noticeable mistake. Daddy immediately raised his hand and knocked on the door. We heard some shuffling noises inside and then Alex appeared at the door. He looked at my father first, then at Mother, then at Brian, who was climbing onto the porch swing, and then at me standing far behind them on the steps. The faint, mysterious Mona Lisa smile came over his face again.
"Hi! You must be Alex, Father Partridge's nephew!" Daddy said with his typical politician's heartiness. "We're the Conrads. We just wanted to drop by and welcome you all to Clarkesville."
"Hi," Alex replied, opening the door and stepping aside. "Come in."
Daddy stood aside for Mother and the cheesecake, and then followed, but not without looking at Brian, who was hanging upside down over the edge of the porch swing.
"Brian," he said with a hint of exasperation. "Will you come on!"
I waited for my little brother to comply and then followed him in. Alex was still standing by the door and when our eyes met, I felt my face burning.
"Hi, again," I said lamely.
Alex smiled, that black hair falling across his forehead and over those pale blue-gray eyes.
Suddenly, my chest constricted as I realized I was getting hard. Oh, my God, not now! I quickly turned my head and jammed my hands into the pockets of the nice, clean Bermuda shorts Mother had demanded I change into before we left the house. I heard Alex chuckle as he walked past us through the foyer and into the living room.
"Mom, Dad!" he called. "We have company."
The living room was decorated with old-fashioned furniture from maybe the forties, a green sofa under the front window, two green chairs set on either side of the fireplace, which was flanked by two bookshelves full of every kind of book imaginable. The piano on which Alex had been playing was an old upright against the wall opposite the window and was flanked by yet more overflowing bookshelves, with boxes full of more books stacked to the side. However, what really caught my attention was a large framed painting above the piano of a bearded man. I knew immediately who the man was, as did Daddy, who was looking at it curiously.
I could hear footsteps approaching from both the hallway and down the stairs behind us. A woman with hair as dark and skin as fair as Alex's emerged from the kitchen, came through the door, and smiled warmly. She was wearing a very loose, flowery dress, similar to what you saw hippies wear on TV. And, she was wearing sandals! You never saw adults in Clarkesville wearing sandals, not even the professors at Clarkesville College!
"Hello!" she said graciously. "I'm Emily Partridge."
She extended her hand, which Daddy took, as he returned the smile.
"Ted Conrad, and my wife Helen, and these honyocks are Chris and Brian, our two boys."
"Delighted, simply delighted." Her smile seemed a little dreamy and her accent sounded like the Kennedys. "Have a seat. Oh! How kind of you!" she declared as she noticed the cheesecake in Mother's hand. Mother was smiling primly. I could have shot her. It was the smile she gave anyone she had to be polite to, but clearly felt was beneath her.
"Well!" boomed a loud, deep voice from behind us, startling me so much that I jerked my hands out of my pockets. I turned to find a tall man with crazy dark hair and a crazy beard, both with streaks of gray, and amused brown eyes. He was wearing jeans and a denim shirt with the sleeves rolled up. And, sandals again! I jammed my hands back in my pockets as I stared in wonder at the first famous person I had ever met, the first person I had ever seen in person who had been on Walter Cronkite!
"If it isn't the welcoming committee!" he declared with a friendly grin as he reached toward Daddy's hand. I could see Daddy was amused as he replied, "Ted Conrad, my wife, Helen, and the boys, Chris and Brian."
"Emily, this is an honor! Meet my new nemesis!" He then turned to his wife and with an ominous whisper, said, "The D.A.!"
Emily gave an appropriately shocked look and then grinned. Mother continued to smile primly as Dad chuckled.
"Welcome to Clarkesville," he said warmly. Then in the same spirit as Donald, he said, with significance, "Robert warned us yesterday that you were here." He then grinned.
"Well, we were hoping to sneak in and then surprise everyone when we staged the coup, but, oh well."
The adults all laughed politely, even Mother, who I knew hadn't understood the joke. I was looking at Alex out of the corner of my eye, afraid to look directly at him because I could tell he was watching me.
Brian piped up, pointing to the portrait on the wall. To Alex, he asked, "Is that your grandfather?"
Alex looked at the picture and then at his father and with a quiet smile, said, "In a way."
His father chuckled, before adding, "It's Karl Marx."
Mother's eyes grew wide before she caught herself. I could see Daddy smiling. I was amazed.
Brian continued. "Oh. Like in Groucho?"
Now everyone was chuckling, though Mother was only out of politeness.
"I'm sure your father would prefer to tell you who he is when you get home," Donald replied.
Brian's eyes got big.
"Did you put him in jail, Daddy?"
Everyone laughed again, as Daddy chuckled, "No, son. And, Chris, take your hands out of your pockets. You're a gentleman, you know."
I wanted to die, but fortunately no one was looking at me.
"Son," Donald boomed, "why don't you take Chris and Brian on a tour of the house while we chat down here."
Alex stood and jerked his head a bit to sweep his fair out of his face.
"Come on," he said with that same smile as he passed me.
I followed as Brian reluctantly followed me. However just as we all reached the foyer, Brian stopped and asked, "Daddy, can I sit on the porch swing?"
I could hear Daddy's exasperated sigh.
"Yes, son. You may sit on the porch swing if you promise not to tear it down."
I could hear the adults with their typical adult chuckles as Brian burst out the screen door. Alex turned and with a broader smile, said softly, "Well, it looks like its just you and me."
My face was burning fiercely and I could barely whisper, "Yeah, I guess so." I tried to chuckle.
Alex turned and walked to the other side of the stairs toward the door opposite the living room.
"This is my Dad's office"
It was the room with the turret and there was a big desk in the round section covered with books and papers. All around, walls were covered either with books or framed pictures.
I walked in, feeling a sense of... I didn't know. This was the office of one of the most notorious radicals in the country! This was the guy that had gotten the Syracuse Six off! He had defended some Black Panthers. This was weird to me.
Alex was watching me with his Mona smile again and then walked over to some pictures hanging between two shelves crammed with all kinds of law books, just like the ones in Daddy's study at home. He started pointing to them and watching my reaction.
"This is Dad with Abbe Hoffman in Chicago. And, this is Dad with William Kunstler. And, this is Dad with Leonard Bernstein..."
"Ah," I interrupted. "Daddy and I used to watch Leonard Bernstein on Sunday afternoons all the time."
"Because gentlemen listen to classical music?"
I was shocked. The sarcasm in Alex's voice surprised me, then made me angry.
"Hey, don't make fun of my Dad! At least, he isn't..."
But, before I could run down the litany of what I thought of Alex's father, he held up his hands apologetically, and said, "Hey, I'm sorry. I didn't really mean anything. You know, I'm like from New York and everyone dumps on their parents. I didn't really mean anything by it."
He looked so sincere and... those pale eyes looked so dreamy, and that hair was so silky and beautiful...
I awoke from my dream.
"Oh, its OK. I understand. Sorry, too.
Alex smiled and looked in my eyes for a moment before softly asking, "You want to see my room?"
The way he said it seemed so beautiful, so special, like a leading man declaring his love to the leading lady.
Alex whipped the hair out of his eyes again and walked past me toward the door. As he reached it, he stopped and as I came up behind him, he put his right hand on my shoulder and leaned over to my ear. His hand was warm on my shoulder and his breath tickled my ear. I almost felt myself trembling.
He whispered, "Take your hands out of your pockets."
He then looked at me with the sexiest grin and then turned and walked into the foyer.
I gasped as I thought I was going to shoot in my pants right there. It took me a moment before I could remove my hands before triggering something embarrassing, and then followed Alex up the stairs.
As I listened to the adults conversing in the living room, my eyes were glued to Alex's butt as it wiggled back and forth with each step up. His slim, smooth legs were so beautiful. I wanted to run my hands all over them. And, then, I realized what I was thinking. With firm deliberation, I averted my gaze.
I was surprised when we reached the second floor to see Alex continuing on up to the third.
"What are you all going to do with such a big house if its just you and you Mom and Dad?" I asked as Alex reached the third landing.
"Probably rent the extra bedrooms to college students. Dad likes to have college kids around."
As I reached the top of the stairs, Alex walked over to the equivalent room upstairs to his father's study downstairs. As he opened the door, he smiled.
"I have the best room in the house. I'm away from everyone and nobody ever comes up here."
The way he said it made my penis twitch again.
I took a breath and walked in.
He was right. It was the coolest room in the house. He had the same round turret in the corner as his Dad's study. He had a wicker chair in the turret with a huge back, pointed outward toward the park. His bed was against the opposite wall. It was big, as well; almost as big as my parents' bed. Next to it was a low shelf with a hifi. I never knew a kid with a hifi! And, he had lots of records underneath it. On the wall above it was a movie poster for Citizen Kane, the one with Orson Welles behind the podium when he's running for office. Over his bed was a giant poster announcing an anti-war rally in front of the library at Columbia University.And, next to the closet on the left of the door, was a poster for an exhibition of Andy Warhol at some gallery in New York City. Alex's desk was in front of the windows between the closet and the turret. He had a few spiral notebooks on it and a large spiral sketch book.
I stepped forward to the middle of the room and looked around in awe.
"Wow, this is something else," I muttered as I just slowly turned around and took it all in.Alex was leaning back against the door frame with his arms crossed and a satisfied smile on his face.
"Well, I guess I was right."
"What?" I replied as I turned and faced him.
"You're not some Neanderthal jock."
I giggled and grinned back.
"Yeah, well, I guess not."
"Good," he said softly. "So you like classical?"
Once again, his voice was getting that quiet, sexy quality.
"Yes. Especially Beethoven and Mozart."
"Figures," Alex said dismissively.
I supposed he must have seen the way I was taken aback, because he quickly added, "Oh, I didn't mean anything by that. Beethoven's the master and Mozart's a genius. But, you live here in the middle of nowhere so you probably haven't heard a lot of other composers. Its not your fault."
I wasn't certain how to react. It would easy to take this as the snobbish bragging of an obnoxious smart-ass, but his voice was still that soft, sexy, silky....
"So, um, who do you like?"
"Mahler, Shostakovich, Dvorak, some of the less bourgeois contemporary composers like..."
"Are you like a genius, or something?"
"Yeah, I am."
He said it with such a straightforward tone that I knew he could just as easily have announced he had black hair. It was just a fact of life.
Speaking of hair, he was holding his head downward slightly, which let black stands fall over his eyes as he looked through them at me.
After a moment of silence, during which our eyes seemed locked, I quickly turned away and walked toward the wicker chair, jamming my hands back into my pockets.
"Take you hands out of your pockets," he nearly whispered to me.
I turned around and faced him and then, I saw just as plain as day, and wondering why I hadn't noticed it before, Alex had a very obvious long bulge to the left in his tight cut-offs. I couldn't breath as my eyes moved up his slim torso, passed his crossed arms and to his face, still smiling knowingly through those long strands over his eyes.
"Maybe, um, maybe you should put yours in"
Slowly, he shook his head, the strands of hair falling back and forth across his eyes and the bridge of his nose.
"I don't to. I want you to take yours out."
I was trembling.
"Why," I was barely able to utter.
"Because it'll feel good."
I couldn't move. Alex watched me for a moment and when I didn't move, smiled a bit more.
"So," he said softly, "how do you like Fire from Heaven?"
I knew what he was getting at. I had to get out of that room. I had to get down to the living room and the safety of my parents. But, if I just ran out of the room like a girl, he'd laugh at me and I'd never be able to look him in the eye again. But, I was gazing into those beautiful pale eyes. They held me and wouldn't let me go.
"Um, its a good book."
"Is that all?"
I waited a second and added, "Well, she's a good writer."
Alex continued to watch me as my eyes moved nervously between his eyes and his shorts. The bulge in his shorts seemed a little longer. My mouth fell open. I couldn't possibly remove my hands from my pockets now, not because I didn't want Alex to see me hard, but because my hands were trembling so.
"So, what do you think of Alexander?"
"Um, he, he seemed to be very certain about what he wanted and what he thought. I mean, he was leading that battle at twelve and then..."
Alex now stood up from the door frame, his arms still crossed as he watched me.
"So, what about Alexander and Hephaistion?"
It was coming. I knew what was coming. I couldn't stop it, and, to be honest, I don't think I wanted to anymore.
"I, uh, I think its wonderful that, um, that they were friends."
Alex's arms fell easily to his side and he took a step forward.
I took a breath.
"Well, because... they both had the same principles and they both had integrity and... because they were best friends they couldn't ever do anything that would dishonor them in front of their friend... and because they knew each other so well."
"They loved each other," Alex seemed to moan as he stepped closer.
"Yeah, I guess they did."
"You know they did."
He was almost directly in front of me. I couldn't take my eyes from his.
"Did you read the part where Hephaistion was holding Alexander when they were talking about how much trouble his mother was causing in the palace?"
"Yes," I breathed.
"Alexander the Great was gay and Hephaistion was his lover."
He was now right in front of me. I could smell his minty breath. His jean-clad erection was just inches from mine, his sweet lips hovering in front of mine.
"You know who else was gay?"
"No," my breath trembled.
"Aristotle was. And Plato. Michelangelo was. And, Leonardo da Vinci."
I didn't know this, but that was the least of my thoughts at that moment.
Alex tilted his head slightly to the left, causing his hair to fall away from his eyes as he whispered, "You know who else is gay?"
"Your friend that owns the bookstore. And, that guy in there is his lover. Did you know that?"
"Yes, you did. You just didn't want to admit it."
Alex's face came closer, inch by inch. My eyes were locked on his, but out of the corner, I could see his left hand move toward my right hand. I didn't remember removing my hands from my pockets, but I must have because I felt Alex's long fingers wrap around my wrist.
"You know who else is gay," he whispered, his lips just a couple of inches from mine.
I said nothing, but felt his hand pull mine toward him. Slowly my hand was drawn forward until I felt the inside of my fingers touch the denim of his shorts. He pressed my open hand against his erection.
I couldn't think. I couldn't breath. My hand was flat against Alex's hard penis.
"I am," he whispered as his mouth moved forward and then, surprisingly, moved to my left. His right cheek brushed against my face as he moved toward my ear. His breath was so warm. It tickled, but it also made me feel so.. alive. I had never felt this way before. Never, whenever I had lay in bed dreaming of the boys at school and bringing myself to the top, had I felt so... electric, so beyond.
As his lips touched my left ear and he breathed softly over my ear lobe, I felt Alex's right hand contact my shorts. His hand slowly pressed and covered my own erection.
"You're gay, too," he whispered.
I moaned and found myself gently squeezing Alex's... Alex's... cock... through his jeans. I had never actually said the word before. But, I told myself in utter amazement at the entire situation, I am feeling Alex's cock.
Alex leaned against me and began to squeeze and unsqueeze my cock as his torso pressed against me. I moaned again, his sweet-smelling hair in my face. I turned my face into his hair, finding his ear within and moaned again as he squeezed me in a new way that just felt so good, so wonderful. My cock felt so hard and rigid. Alex's felt so long and spear-like within his jeans. I squeezed and Alex's voice cracked as he moaned. It was the first sign that he wasn't completely in control.
Alex raised his left arm and wrapped it around me, pulling me into him. We were both moaning now as I wrapped my left arm around him. His squeezing became more a rubbing and I realized he was trying to get me to do it. I couldn't do it in my pants. I had to stop him, but I couldn't. It felt too good. I was pressing my hips forward, forcing my cock harder against his rubbing hand.
I breathed in the scent of his hair and I moaned in his ear. He answered with his own moans in my ear. And, then, I knew there was no stopping. I cried into his ear and felt myself suddenly explode. I thrust against his hand, I writhed against him, I moaned and cried, and squeezed and rubbed him as much as he could. I could hear his own moans and cries over mine, could feel is own thrusts and quakes.
And, then, it was over.
We simply stood there, leaning on each other, holding each other, panting, supporting, holding. After a moment, Alex slowly pulled his head back and then looked into my eyes with the most beautiful smile I had ever seen. I couldn't believe what had just happened. It was the most wonderful experience of my life.
I couldn't believe what just happened.
Oh, my God. What had I just done? I had just done it with another boy!
I looked at Alex in horror, shocked and disgusted and overwhelmed with shame.
What had I just done?
"Hey! What's the matter?" Alex asked softly, concern and surprise in his voice. "Didn't you like it?"
I was panting.
"Where... where's your bathroom?"
Alex stepped aside and replied, "Its at the end of the hall, on the right."
I nearly ran out of the room. When I reached the bathroom, I locked the door and stood over the sink, feeling waves of nausea flow over me. I took deep breathes and struggled to control myself. Slowly I stood up and opened my shorts, taking toilet paper in my hand to wipe myself and the inside of my underwear. I flushed the toilet, put my myself back together again, and then washed and washed and washed my hands.
"Chris, are you OK?"
I said nothing. I couldn't look at Alex. I couldn't look at anyone.
"Chris, come on man. Open the door."
I was afraid someone might hear him, so I slowly walked over to the door and took the old-fashioned glass door-knob in my hand and turned it. Almost immediately, Alex pushed the door open.
The look on his face was one of complete sympathy and concern.
"Don't freak on me, man. You'll be OK. It's alright. It's your first time. It's..."
"Shut up," I whispered. I pushed past him.
"Wait," he said with urgency. "I'll go with you."
"Get away from me."
"Do you want them to think something?"
He had a point.At the top of the steps, I stopped and took a breath.Alex came up behind me and put his hand on my shoulder. Reflexively, I shook it away.
"Don't touch me."
The pain in Alex's face was unbearable for me, but, I just couldn't stand this situation. I wanted nothing more than to go home and be alone. And, take a shower.
Downstairs, I heard my father call out, "Chris, we're leaving now. You can stay if you like."
"I'm coming," I called out as I started down the stairs quickly.
I left Alex standing alone at the top of the stairs.
And, so ends Chapter Three. I hope you are enjoying the story. Please send your comments to FreeThinkerCG at yahoo.com. I would really like to hear from you.