Date: Sun, 22 Nov 2015 18:07:55 -0800
From: Douglas DD DD <thehakaanen@hotmail.com>
Subject: Rough Edges  Chapter 26

Greetings and welcome back to "Rough Edges". Larry and Phil start to
seriously bond. In the process they discover that they may be
more than just best friends, even if they aren't ready to admit it to
each other.

Please remember to donate to the Nifty Archive to keep the
stories preserved and coming. This story is mine. Please be safe.
And be eighteen before moving on.

CHAPTER 26
THE JOY OF BEING A BOY

<Larry Sanders>

My tests finished and my mind back on the present, I watched the last few
innings of the Mariners and Rangers with Phil. The Mariners won a tight
game 5-4 after which Phil and I headed for bed. It was close to 10:30 and
we had to rise early for work, so sex wasn't on our agenda. A few minutes
of passionate goodnight kissing almost changed that agenda, however.

Wednesday at school I spent more time listening to the ideas of the
committee put together by Kyle Wilson, the principal, and Coach Fitzgerald,
the athletic director, on how I wanted Friday's baseball assembly to come
off. I kept telling them that I was a baseball coach and the committee
members were much more suited to planning the assembly than I was. My
main input was to tell them to review the DVDs of the first two
championship assemblies.

"I thought both went over extremely well, so just use what worked," I told
them.
Mrs. Ward, a PE and history teacher as well as the varsity volleyball coach,
offered her opinion. "But the juniors and seniors will recognize the
similarities," she said.
"Good, it means they managed to stay awake through the assembly the
first time around."

"Larry Sanders, sometimes you are simply impossible."

"It's something I take pride in," I told her with a smile.

"If you didn't have so many positive attributes I'd tell you to plan your own
assembly."

"And you know you take pride in planning these events. So, it looks like a
well-run assembly will be a matter of pride for both of us."

If she were a man, I think she might have flipped me the bird there. Instead
she gave me a light punch on the shoulder and said she'd get to work
making everybody proud.

For the rest of lunch, my thoughts went back to my early history with Phil. I
was trying to figure out why I kept returning to that year. I finally decided it
had to do with all of the talk just before the tournament that the time had
arrived for us to get married. I had always been reluctant because I feared
the reaction of the small community I lived in.

I had to remind myself that I rarely made decisions based on fear, which is
exactly what Phil and his brother Troy tried telling me. Maybe the time to
make a decision had arrived, either for or against. I'd been waffling for a
long time, and I know that was frustrating Phil. He long ago had promised
never to intentionally hurt me. Now I had to wonder if maybe my indecision
was hurting him in some way. Those thoughts brought me back to that
week when he felt obligated to make his promise to never again try to hurt
me.

With Phil's crisis seemingly over, I was hoping our relationship would
resume from where it had left off. The problem was, we'd been friends for
such a short time we weren't really sure where we had been. We'd quickly
started a sexual relationship, but Phil's sneak attack on me at school was
proof that we really didn't know how we fit together.

Phil had promised never to try to hurt me again, but in my moments spent
staring at my bedroom ceiling while contemplating the status of the
universe, I wondered more than once why such a promise was even
necessary. Do friends really have to make a solemn promise not to hurt
each other?

Because I was more experienced at making friends, I probably knew the
answer to that better than Phil did. My best friends from grade school, the
ones who now made up the Wonkeys, never had to make a promise like
that. The idea of intentionally hurting each other never occurred to us. Oh
sure, we loved to throw out the insults, but it was done in fun, not to inflict
any kind of pain. If we happened to go too far, and being competitive kids
we sometimes did, we were quick to apologize to each other. We
sometimes squabbled, but we never fought.

The place we practiced basketball was the gym at my old elementary
school. Coach Zimmer was a fifth grade teacher there; in fact he was my
fifth grade teacher. Jung and Perry were also in my class, but Q and Daniel
had Mrs. Crawford.

Phil walked the four blocks to my house with me. Q accompanied us for the
first two blocks until we reached his house.  We chatted about the practice,
especially about his being a demon on the practice floor.

"Nate Maxie still doesn't like how I practice," Phil complained. "He's always
saying nasty things to me."
Q responded with his usual brutal directness. "Nate Maxie is a grade A
butthead. He's a pretty good player, but he's fucking lazy."
"He's trying to get you mad so you fight him and get kicked off the team," I
warned Phil. "Don't fall for his shit." I was worried about Phil's temper.

"I bet Nate doesn't come close to playing as much as he did last year, and
he knows it," Q observed. "He's getting all mad at Phil because he knows
Phil's gonna take his starting guard spot."

I couldn't disagree with that. When we got to Q's house, he gave us a quick
wave good-bye and turned into his yard.

My mother had dinner ready when we got to my house. She made beef
stew and it tasted as good as it smelled.

"I'm gonna love practice nights if this is what dinner is always gonna be
like," Phil grinned. It had been decided that Phil would eat with us after
practice and then mom or dad would drive him home.

"Mom, dad, do you think Phil can spend a night this weekend?"

Phil gave me a look that said "where the fuck did that idea come from?" I
hadn't bothered to clear my idea with him, mainly because it had just
popped into my head. But when I thought about it, there was no way we
could totally make up our hard feelings without sleeping together like we
did after the so-called rumble.

"Which night were you thinking of, sweetie?" mom asked.

"I was thinking of Friday," I said. Actually, I was thinking of Friday and
Saturday, but this time I was willing to settle for one night, especially since
this was a surprise I'd dropped on Phil. I was so eager to get permission I
didn't even complain about mom calling me sweetie in front of my friend.

Mom looked at dad, who nodded. I knew she wasn't looking at him for
permission; she was just making sure there wasn't anything planned that
she'd forgotten about.

"As long as Phil's mom is good with it, then so am I."

"Could we maybe eat out and have pizza?" I pleaded.

Dad roared with laughter. "My son the manipulator at work. Yeah, it's fine
with me. You two pick the place and I'll spend the money."

"You're the greatest, dad," I gushed, ignoring his sarcasm. "And you are
too, mom," I added.

"Yeah, thank you both very much," Phil said.

After dinner Phil and I helped clean up. Phil asked about the spending-the-
night surprise. I told him we'd talk about it in my room later.

After the table was cleared, we set up shop at the dining room table and
went to work on our school assignments. When we finished we dashed up
to my room to talk—we knew we only had ten to fifteen minutes before Phil
went home.

"You could have asked me first about spending the night," Phil said as soon
as I closed my bedroom door.

"You're not even going to say thank you? I didn't know your social calendar
was loaded with other plans. The idea popped into my head and so I went
with it."

Phil gave me a long stare, which told me I was in trouble again. Then he
broke out into a grin. "Saying an idea that just popped into my head is what
I usually do," he giggled. "That's when Troy tells me to pause."

I could see that I wasn't in trouble so I asked him if he thought it was a
good idea.

"I think it was a great idea. Great ideas are the best kind of ideas to say
without pausing."

We were sitting side-by-side on my bed. I took a gamble and moved my
hand next to Phil's, barely touching it. He emitted a loud gasp and then
clamped his hand around mine. I could feel my breathing speed up as he
grasped it tighter. I squeezed back and we looked each other in the eyes
for the first time since Phil's blowup. We didn't move, we didn't utter a
sound, we barely breathed. I could see his eyes beginning to moisten.
Even in my preteen immaturity I realized this was a huge moment.

The tableau was broken when Phil buried his head in my chest and shook
with sobs, his tears moistening my shirt. "I'm so sorry, Larry. I'm so sorry,"
he managed to get out, his head still buried in my chest. "Sometimes I don't
know what to do. Please promise you'll never leave me."

I wrapped my arms around him, feeling tears dripping down my cheeks. "I
love you, Phil," I whispered. "I promise I won't ever leave you." It was all I
could manage to say before I shook and my sobs matched those of my
friend.

"You love me?" Phil asked between sobs. "You mean, like boyfriends and
girlfriends?"

I didn't know what I meant when I said that, but I knew it wasn't like
boyfriends and girlfriends. "No, I mean like being best friends or
something." The entire scene was too emotional to deal with what I really
meant.

There we were on the bed, crying over each other, when dad called out for
us to get ready to go. We let go of each other and struggled to regain our
control and regain our image of cool sixth graders. I told Phil he might want
to wash his face. He said it would be a good idea if I did the same. I was
happy I had my own bathroom and we could straighten up without the
chance of being seen.

"Boys, let's get moving," came the voice from downstairs. We quickly
washed our tear-stained faces.

"What about our wet shirts?" Phil asked.

"Who's gonna notice after we put our jackets on," I reminded him.

"Good point."

"Boys!" came dad's voice again.

I opened my bedroom door and yelled back that we were coming, which
got Phil to giggling for obvious reasons.

"Thanks for inviting me to spend the night on Friday," Phil said as we left
my room.

"It's what friends do."

Much later Phil, the adult, told me sitting on my bed and crying into my shirt
was the point in his life when he understood completely that Andy was no
longer a key part of his life. That night was the time that, without really
knowing it, he fell in love with me. It was the first time he felt safe crying his
eyes out in front of one of his peers—for whatever reason, he trusted me
completely.

I laughed when he told me that. "What's so funny?" he'd asked.

"Nothing. It's just that it took you long enough. I was in love with you from
the first time you got into my bed with me."

Love between two young boys. It was wonderful. It was lovely. It was
special. It was something we didn't really know we had until we looked
back on it, but neither one of us would have traded those days of bonding
and exploration for anything in the world.

<Phil Miller>

The first thing I had scheduled at work on Wednesday morning was a
meeting with Lewis Carlson, Marty's father and one of my field supervisors.
I praised his progress on the repaving project, which was right on schedule
and right on budget. We discussed the last stages of the project. We both
felt it should be finished by the middle of next week, weather permitting.
There was rain in the forecast for Sunday and maybe into Monday. Rain on
Sunday shouldn't bother us, but rain on Monday could be a factor.

"Marty should be home tonight," Lewis said.

"I understand it won't be for long."

"He'll be home a little over a week, and then it's up to Alaska."

"Oh, I thought his stay was going to be shorter."

"Plans change. Schedules change. Hell, being in this business you know
how that goes."

"Sounds like he'll be home for the draft."

"Yep. He called Monday. Told me he was going to pass unless he was in
one of the top two rounds and got offered a shitload of money." Lewis knew
I didn't mind him cursing in my office. He was a construction guy—it was
how they talked. "He laughed and said it ain't gonna happen."

"So you'll be seeing him play another year of college ball."

"Yep. And then he'll be off to the pros."

"You've got yourself a good son, Lewis."

"Not much of it was my doing. I got George to thank for taking him in while I
was busy drowning myself in booze and working hard to wreck the boy's
life. You and your partner helped him a hell of a lot, too. "

Lewis and I have talked about his drinking days and his sobriety many
times. He knew my story and the similarities and differences between him
and my father. The biggest difference is that Lewis got sober, made
amends to both of his sons and to his wife, to whom he is still loyal. My
father is still out there, sitting on some barstool whining about how life could
have been. I haven't heard from him for a couple of years, although Troy
keeps tabs on him. He and my mom divorced long ago.

Lewis even has his surprise, a one year old boy, Drew. "I pray every day for
my higher power to give me the strength to be sober. I don't ever want that
boy to see his old man drunk. The boy is God's gift to allow me to make a
living amends to my two boys every day."

I'd often talked to Marty about his own alcoholism during his time playing
ball for me and Larry in high school. I'd never seen Marty drunk or high, but
I knew the stories. Larry had seen Marty under the influence when the boy
was an eighth grader and came to school and sometimes to practices
buzzed on booze or high on pot. Now he and his father enjoy sobriety
together, taking life as father and son one day at a time.

"I'd better be getting to my crew. Sam's a good worker, but he don't make
the decisions." I watched Lewis leave the office. He was a good man, as
were both of his sons, John and Marty. I'm sure Drew will become one as
well.

I leaned back in my chair thinking about the past. Only I went further back
than when I coached Marty. I went back once again to when Larry and I
met and became friends. No, make that when we became boyfriends. We
were boyfriends in sixth grade, even if we wouldn't admit it at the time.

After my post-Thanksgiving meltdown, Larry and Troy were the ones who
helped keep me somewhat together. I remember that evening when after
basketball practice and dinner we sat on Larry's bed and cried on each
other. For me it was cathartic. It was like I'd cried away some of the poison
that was festering inside of me and left it on my friend's shirt. That was the
night I fell in love with him.

When he and his dad dropped me off at home I didn't even let the mess
that was our house bother me. The place could have been worse. Troy and
I did our best to keep things clean, and mom was much better at doing
housework as she got help for her drug problem. But it still wasn't the
beautiful clean house that Larry lived in. That was something that bothered
me. But, after the session on his bed a half-hour or so earlier, I realized he
wouldn't give a fuck what my house looked like. It was me who was his
friend, not my house.

I entered the house and saw mom on her chair watching some show on
TV. Keegan was sleeping on the couch. He was on his back and I could
see him drooling some. I was certain he was completely stoned and
tripping out. I think mom had pretty much given up on Keegan, even though
Troy kept begging her to get him into some kind of a rehab program.

"He's just a boy," she said, "doing what boys his age do. I'll talk to his father
about it."  Mom was okay, but she was still a long way from being the kind
of mother she needed to be.

"Me and Phil are just boys, too," Troy reminded her. "You don't see us in
our room or on the couch all strung out on pot." His arguments didn't net
any action.

Troy was in the kitchen doing homework when I entered the house. "Hey,
bro, welcome home," he grinned. He put me into a headlock and ruffled my
hair, eliciting loud giggles. "I hope you've finished your homework."

"Yep, me and Larry got ours all done, so you can let me go."

"Why should I let you go? If you're done with your homework that means I
have the rest of the night to torture you."

"No," I squeaked between laughs. "please let me go."

"I will this time," he said, "but only because you're the awesomest little
brother a guy could have."

 He asked me how practice went and what we had for dinner and what
Larry and I did. I told him as much as I could about practice and dinner, but
was somewhat reticent about Larry and me. I shared a little bit more later
that night after we went to bed.

"Have you and Larry mended your fences?" Troy asked me after I crawled
into his bed and cuddled with him. We were both naked, of course.

"If you mean are we friends again, I guess we have."

"You guess?"

"Yeah, I think so." I thought about how I wanted to phrase what I was going
to say next. "Troy, do you think I'm weird?" All that effort put into thinking
and that was the best my young mind could come up with.

"No, I think you're a wonderful and special little brother, just like I told you
earlier."

"But sometimes I think I'm weird. It's like every time I see Larry I get a
funny feeling..." I patted my belly..., "right here in my stomach."

Troy nodded. Since he didn't say anything, I went on. "And when I don't
see him, I want to see him real bad. That was the worst part about me
getting all mad and shit...um...stuff, me being mad at Larry and not talking
to him and wanting to beat him up."

"You can say shit; it doesn't bug me."

"I'm trying to quit cussing so much. But, do you think it's weird to feel that
way about somebody?"

"Well, bro, if you weren't just eleven years old and if you two weren't both
boys, I'd say you were in love."

"Oh," was all I could say. But in my head I had two conflicting thoughts. The
first one was, being in love felt really good and I wanted more of it. The
second was, if I was in love that meant I was in love with my best friend
who was another boy, and that was what being gay was all about.

Ironically, I didn't mull over the metaphysical significance of sucking my
fifteen-year-old brother's cock until he pulled out just before he came,
shooting his wad over my face, chest, and belly, and then allowing him to
masturbate me until my two clear drops shot out and mixed with his richer
teen emission. I rubbed the mess all around me, loving the idea of going to
sleep with my big brother's precious seed drying on my skin.

"You're going to mess up my sheets," Troy said with amusement.

"Throw them in the hamper in the morning. I like you being on me like this."

"You could mess up your own sheets and throw them in the hamper."

I wrapped myself around him, transferring some of the mess on me to his
torso. "But then I couldn't cuddle with you." He gave my lips a soft kiss.

"There is one thing we need to discuss before you drift off, bro," he said in
a very serious tone of voice.

"Oh?" I knew I was in trouble for something. While I was used to being in
trouble, I hated being in trouble with Troy. He could almost always get me
to see where I was wrong, and I did not like admitting to being wrong.

"You had a group of brand new friends back you when you had your
troubles in math, didn't you?"

"Yeah." I had an idea where this was going.

"And how did you treat them?"

I hesitated. If I told the truth here it meant admitting I was in the wrong. If I
followed my natural instincts and lied, I wouldn't be fooling Troy. Troy was
already working on his future courtroom skills, in this case asking a
question he already knew the answer to.

"I treated them like shit, especially Larry who is becoming my very best
friend."

"There are groups of people who insist that when you do something very
wrong that hurts people you should make amends for that."

"What does making amends mean?"

"Apologizing."

"Oh." I cuddled up to Troy. He knew how I hated to humble myself in front
of my peers. "Do I have to?" I asked in a pleading voice.

"No, you don't have to. But, you know what the right thing to do is."

"My friends will think I'm some kind of wuss."

"Or they will think you are a person who cares about his friends and treats
them with compassion and love."

I cuddled against him even tighter. Like I said, I hated being in trouble with
Troy.

++++++++++++

I was eager for Friday to arrive. As much as I was conflicted about my
overall feelings, I was not conflicted about my feelings for Larry. I wanted to
be with him, to sleep with him, to touch him, to cum with him.

I wanted the same feelings I got from Troy and more. When we grew into
adulthood, Troy and I didn't deny our sexual past with each other. It was
good for both of us and we don't feel ashamed of what we did. Troy likes to
joke that his role in life was to be my training ground for Larry, but we both
know he meant much more than that.

After Thursday's basketball practice, Larry, Q, and I had dinner at Daniel's
house. I found out this was not unusual, that the Wonkeys bounced around
from house to house after practice for dinner, a homework session, games,
or now, as we were getting older, a little bit of fun in a bedroom. These
changes were arranged more by the parents than by us. We didn't mind, it
was fun bouncing from house to house. The only negative is that while
Perry often ate at one of our houses after practice, we rarely ate at his.

Daniel's family was much like him—very bright and quiet. He had two
sisters, but one of them was away to college. The other sister, Teresa, was
a really good looking strawberry blond and a straight A student. His mother
was probably the best cook of all the moms, which is saying a lot since all
of them but Perry's mom were pretty good in the kitchen.

After we finished dinner and homework Larry, Q, and I left and walked in
the direction of Larry's house. I think Daniel's mother liked having us
around just to add some life to a house that looked like a model for some
interior decorating magazine. But, I also think she could only take us in
short bursts before she got tired of the boyish energy flowing through the
house.

Finally, it was Friday. As promised, dinner was pizza, with the added bonus
of us going to a movie afterwards with Larry's dad. Since the action movie
was PG-13 we needed to be with an adult to get in, but once we were in
Larry's dad let us sit on our own. The theater was crowded, but that didn't
stop Larry and me from surreptitiously holding hands. I loved the gesture so
much I buried my doubts about myself and just sat watching the movie and
feeling good.

 Larry and I were buzzing with excitement when we finally got back to his
house. We bid his parents a quick good-night and dashed up the stairs to
his bedroom.

"That movie was so awesome," Larry bubbled as we parked ourselves on
his bed. "I liked it when they blew up the helicopter and it went spinning all
over the place and crashed in the field."

"That was really cool. So was the car chase going the wrong way on that
one-way street," I added.

We babbled a bit more until I asked Larry the question that was on my
mind. "Why did you move your hand over mine?" I asked.

"I was going to ask you the same thing. Suddenly there was your hand on
mine just like the other day, so I just held it."

"I thought you started it."

"Nope, you started it."

"Uh, uh. Because if I started it I would have done this instead." I pushed
him down in the bed and started kissing him on the lips. I wanted Larry and
I wanted him in the worst way. I buried my doubts even deeper and
dropped myself on top of him, kissing him and grinding my crotch into his.

"I would've missed the helicopter crash if you did that in the movie," he
giggled when I finally broke the kiss.

"This isn't working too good," I said. I rose to my knees and pulled up on his
t-shirt, trying to yank it off. He gave me some help and his torso was quickly
bare. I pulled off my t-shirt and tossed it on the floor.

My next move was to unbutton his jeans and pull down his zipper. I was
pleased to see the bulge in his briefs. I wrapped my fingers around the
cloth covered three-and-a-half-inch piece of wood and moved them across
the cotton of his undies, lightly stroking his hardness. He giggled and then
let out a light moan.

I looked at my friend's face, his slightly mussed brown hair, and his smooth,
athletic torso as I manipulated his cock. I couldn't take my eyes off of him.
"You're beautiful," I whispered. I had no idea where that came from and I
didn't care. It sounded right. I lay on him and kissed him again, this time
with our bare chests touching. I found myself grinding my crotch into him
just like before and quickly stopped. I didn't want to cum in my pants, I
wanted to cum on my best friend just like my brother came over me a
couple of nights before.

"Keep going," Larry groaned, "feels so good."

I started tugging off his jeans and, with his help, I had them and his briefs
off and tossed them onto the floor. Except for his socks, he was now
naked.

I opened up my pants but Larry stopped me.  This time he kneeled across
me, his thin little boner sticking up, curving towards his belly, quivering with
sexual excitement. He unzipped me and, as I lifted my ass off of the bed,
he pulled my pants and my white briefs off. They quickly joined the rest of
the clothes on the floor.

Before I could do anything I felt the warm wetness of his mouth as he
wrapped his lips around my over three inches of hard boy meat. It had
grown almost a quarter of an inch since school started. Although it still
wasn't as long as Larry's, it was thicker. Plus, I could make boy seed and
he couldn't.  I was proud of my junk and deservedly so.

I moaned from the pleasure of Larry's blow job. I knew I was about to have
my orgasm. I didn't want to have it so soon, but I didn't have the experience
to stop what was happening, so I just let it happen. My body trembled, I felt
my cock quiver, I uttered an unrecognizable sound, and I shot my watery
little boy juice into my best friend's mouth. My back had been against the
wall and I found myself sliding down the wall as I fought to regain my
breath.

"Shit, I didn't want to come," I finally croaked.

"You mean you didn't like it?" Larry asked.

"Fuck, it was awesome, but I cummed too soon."

"So? It's not like you can't do it again tonight."

How right he was about that. Part of my quick cum was that I hadn't done
anything the last two nights in anticipation of my overnight fun with Larry.

"Come here," I whispered.

He sidled closer to me, his erection now inches from my face, his scent
wafting into my nostrils, turning me back on again. Ah, to be eleven again
and have that quick recovery.

Larry started rubbing his cock back and forth across my lips, up and down
my cheeks, then across my lips. It was a move we remembered and it put
me into orbit when he started producing precum which would leave a trail
on my face. I never put his cock into my mouth as he quickly had his first
dry orgasm of the evening, produced by humping my face. Oh my Gawd,
my little boy self thought, this was one of the sexiest things ever.

After Larry's orgasm we lay side-by-side on the bed. "Wow, that was
different," Larry observed as he got his breath back.

"It was, like, kinda sexy."

"Fuck yeah, it was."

While I was horny again, Larry was recovering, but the lack of synchronicity
didn't bother us. We simply faced each other and went to work kissing. And
kissing. And kissing. They were deep, wet, hard, kisses, our lips locked, our
tongues battling, as we learned what it meant to have pubescent hormones
take control of our minds and bodies.

Our kissing turned to wrestling, our naked bodies rolling around the bed,
messing up the blankets and sheets and bedspread. I was on top, Larry
was on top, and then we were side by side. At one point I was on top of his
prone body, my cock rubbing along the smooth crack of his perfect bubble
butt. I wondered what it would be like to stick my cock between his ass
cheeks, or to stick it inside his ass and fuck like Perry, Jung, and Ben had
already done. That thought came and went as I let Larry get on top of me in
the same way. I wondered if he was thinking what I was thinking.

We continued our sex-wrestling and soon everything was on the floor
including us. I heard Larry's dad yell for us not to knock the house down
after our naked, sweaty bodies hit the floor. I don't think it occurred to us
that he might come up to check on us—we just kept doing what we were
doing. We were now too lost in our lust and desire. We wrestled and
groped and kissed and dripped sweat over each other.

At one point Larry was on his back and I was on top of him when I stuck my
cock between his legs and fucked as we kissed. I couldn't imagine another
minute in my life when my lips weren't locked with his.

After another move we were side-by-side, our rock hard boners touching,
both of us knowing we couldn't last any longer. We started grinding our
boners together. I rubbed his ass as we humped, my finger working its way
into the crevice between his muscular ass cheeks. I found his grommet and
tickled it and then pushed my finger into Larry's warm, dark, mysterious
interior.

I humped, I kissed, I drove my finger into the bowels of my best friend.
Purely by accident I found the magic button that Jung and Perry had told us
about. As soon as I touched it I knew what it was and I rubbed it, causing
an incomprehensible mewling sound to emanate from Larry's mouth into
mine and then he rammed his cock hard into me and shook and quivered
and trembled and came with a force that amazed me and set me off with an
almost simultaneous orgasm. While my second one of the night was more
intense than the first, it was dry, but I didn't care. If this was what being gay
was about, then I wanted to be gay—I was floating somewhere in the upper
reaches of the galaxy.

Larry and I looked at each other and smiled, a smile that said we both
acknowledged that what we'd done was good. They were the smiles of two
horny pubescent boys getting off. There was no talk, nothing about
boyfriends or love or gayness or any other uncomfortable subject. They
were smiles about being boys and making each other feel good.

We cleaned ourselves off in Larry's bathroom. We decided not to shower
lest Larry's parents wonder why we were jumping into the shower this late.
A damp washrag and dry towel sufficed in getting the sweat off of us.

Larry and I rebuilt the bed, although the sheets weren't tucked tight and the
blankets were loose. We really didn't care, because we were together.

++++++++++++

I left work an hour earlier than usual on Thursday, but then I also started an
hour early. I had a summer team baseball practice to run at the Mayfield
High baseball field. This would be our second practice and our first game
would be on Saturday, just two days away.

Since all of the boys on the team had played either freshman, JV, or varsity
ball during the spring, we didn't need a lot of practices. The turnouts were
mostly a matter of the boys and me familiarizing ourselves with each other.

There was an issue I would have to deal with in some fashion and that was
what to do with Raul Garcia. He was a no-show for the first practice, telling
the players he was going to be too busy during the summer to play. Larry
and I knew the real reason he wasn't there—it was all about his suspension
during the state tournament. Raul wasn't fooling anybody, including his
father, who'd had long conversations with both Larry and me.

I told him if Raul didn't show for the Thursday practice he wouldn't be
playing, at least not on our elite travel team. There were a couple of lower
level recreation teams he could play for, but he would not be playing with
and competing against the best players.

I wanted Raul to be at the field today. He was a good ballplayer. He was
also a good kid who had made a terrible mistake.

When I got to the Mayfield ballpark a few of the players had already
arrived. They helped me get the equipment out of the storage area and by
the time we had things set up the rest of the team had arrived, including
Raul. He asked if he could talk to me while the team warmed up.

We sat in the dugout, watching his fourteen teammates play catch. His
tenseness was evident—his hands shook a little as we spoke.

"I am very sorry for what happened at the tournament, coach. I am even
more sorry for how I acted after and saying things about you and Coach
Sanders and not coming to practice. I was very wrong."

I had a feeling Raul had had a Come to Jesus meeting with his father, who
was a good, caring man who accepted little bullshit. It just took time for him
to get through his son's hard head. As a one-time hard-headed youth, I
could identify with that.

"Have you spoken with Coach Sanders?"

"Yes, sir, I did after school today. My father told me I would not be on the
team if I didn't come today. I want to play very badly. I hope you won't think
I am a bad person because of what I did."

"I never thought you were a bad person, Raul. We both know you made a
mistake. People make mistakes growing up, and even as adults. The good
people learn from them. I think you've learned from your mistake. If you
have, then it is time for us to leave it in the past and move on."

"Thank you, coach. That is what my father and Coach Sanders both told
me, too."

"Thank you for having the courage to apologize to Coach Sanders and me.
But now one more act of courage will be required of you."

"I think I know what it is." He took a deep breath and looked away from me
for a few seconds.

"And?"

He turned his head and looked at me. I could see the anguish on his
handsome young face. "And, I need to apologize to my teammates," he
said quietly but steadily.

"After warmups and before practice sounds like a good time. You
understand you will need to earn their trust back."

"Yes," Raul nodded emphatically. "Yes, I understand. I've heard from some
of them, and they kind of said the same thing."

We stood up and I gave Raul a pat on his butt. "Now, go over with Toby
and Nick and get warmed up." Because I had a fifteen player roster, three
boys would have to warmup together.

I left the dugout and stood on the field watching my new charges. And as I
listened to the pop of baseballs landing in mitts, I couldn't help but admire
their teenage bodies and think about how much they all loved the game.

Some of them, like Toby, Justin, Raul, Stan, and Ethan, had extensive
varsity experience. Some, like Nick or Dennis, had a little bit of experience.
Then there were those, like Jeffrey or Rick, who had virtually none. My job
was to help them step up their game a notch, so that next spring they
would be prepared for another great season of Mayfield Mustang baseball.

Then a sudden thought struck me. This would be my first season in my now
eight seasons as the Mayfield summer team coach in which I would not be
coaching a Corcoran boy.  I now had a new group, a new team, with a new
future. I was thrilled to be a part of it.


Coming Next: Marty