The following story involves sex between two teenage boys who probably weren't old enough to legally engage in such activities. Since it happened in the 70s, I'm really not sure if it was or wasn't, but even so, if it is now illegal due to your age or current place of residence to read such material, then you are to exit immediately. Or at least you might consider it.
I could disclaim for awhile longer, but since it happened back when I was young and stupid, I see little point doing so.
So I'll go just ahead and tell the story then.
Most of the summer of `72 sucked. It was so bad that even today, if all I had to go on was how most of it went, I'd probably want to avoid seventy-two all together. You want to know how bad it was? In early August, this song spoke to me. As far as I was concerned, it summed up my entire miserable life.
I'll say goodbye to love
I mean I was in pain, damn it! Pain!
No one ever cared if I should live or die
Umm, well, maybe not quite that much pain, but I was still feeling very sorry for myself.
Time and time again the chance for love has passed me by
Although I had to admit being clueless didn't help much. That and being a chicken shit.
And all I know of love is how to live without it
Well, maybe my mom loved me, but she left.
I just can't seem to find it
And I looked everywhere for it. Well, possibly there were a few other places I could've looked, but still...
So I've made my mind up
I was just tired of looking. I was so tired!
I must live my life alone
And me just barely fourteen. It wasn't fair!
And though it's not the easy way
I'll just quit.
I guess I've always known
I'd say goodbye to love
I said I cut, all right?
There are no tomorrows for this heart of mine--
But there's more.
Yeah, well, lets stop anyway. Now would be just fine.
Now that Karen Carpenter has moved on to another plane of existence, I hope she's feeling a little better, but honestly, those lyrics really...
Oh, never mind. Because I got over it. I'm feeling better now. I might be cool now or I might not be, but no matter what, I'm in better shape than I was in August of `72 when I was in pain – agony if you want to know the truth about it - and feeling very sorry for myself... and not very cool at all.
The physical part of my pain could be explained easily enough, though. I went over the handlebars of my brother's motor bike. I borrowed Ray's bike so me and Mike could do some dirt biking over where they were excavating for a big shopping center. Mike had made some fairly cool jumps over some ditches and gullies, then it was my turn again, and away I went. Then shortly afterwards, I was trying to pick myself up off the ground. The first thing I noticed was that I didn't have much skin left on my chest. Helmets weren't required by law back then and all I was wearing was a pair of cut-off shorts and shoes. That's it. So it could have been worse, I could have landed on my stupid head, but still, with my chest scraped up like it was... well, it smarted.
Then I glanced back at Ray's bike. So now we're talking about both physical and emotional pain. Fear qualifies as emotional pain, right? Fear having the shit beat out of me soon as my brother found out about it. See? Both physical and emotional. Because the thing was, Ray hadn't given me permission to borrow his bike. And he wouldn't have, either, but he was at work, and so was my old man, so I was thinking nobody would ever know about it. Well, guess again. My ass was in TROUBLE!
But then I noticed my right arm was ... well, numb. It felt like a dead weight, so I looked down and then I went into shock. Or at least that's what they told me later.
Well I guess I would go into shock. About halfway down from my elbow, my arm was bent back double and I could see a bone sticking out and I was like, “This is not good. Not at all.”
But what kept popping into my head while I was on my way to the hospital was that in a way maybe it was good, because I didn't think my brother and my old man were going to be hitting any on me. I mean, seriously, I was badly wounded, so at least I didn't have to worry about them any. Or at least, not right away. I was sure they'd yell at me (which they did) and I'd end up being grounded for God only knows how long, but it could have been worse.
Only my brother never did get the opportunity to do what he wanted to do to me at first because by the time I got out of the hospital he was off to college. Actually, he was almost nice before he left. And as for my old man, he just reacted in the typical career Marine Corps manner: he said I was stupid and totally irresponsible and absolutely hopeless and ... there was a whole bunch of shit, actually, but for the most part it was like he wasn't going to waste any more time than he had to, because he had responsibilities. No one ever cared if I should live or die.
Oh, shut up! You aren't going to fucking die.
But I was in the hospital for close to three weeks.
I must live my life alone.
Partly because, while there was another bed in my room, it wasn't occupied. So at first I really was alone. With my thoughts. Although at least I was getting a pain shot every four hours and that would knock me out for awhile. But whether it was due to general stupidity and cluelessness on my part or not, the emotional pain was worse. Time and time again the chance for love has passed me by.
Although, to be honest, I'm not sure if two times would qualify for “time and time again” – if I'd gone 0 for 30 or something, maybe, but twice? Probably not.
But I didn't care if it was only 0 for 2 or not, it still hurt. Especially since the last breakup had just happened. Or at least it sure looked that way. Mike had just been by to visit and after asking how I was feeling- which wasn't very good, but I tried to be brave – he dropped the bombshell. Told me he needed to start hanging out with some people other than just me all the time. And he was going to. His bedside manner totally sucked. I mean, couldn't he at least waited... well, it didn't matter, now did it? Because truthfully, I'd known that I was losing him for at least a month, maybe even longer. I'm losing you-- Yeah, I know. That is totally lame.
But you want to know why I borrowed Ray's motor bike in the first place? Just so there would be something that Mike would be interested in doing with me, that's all. And when I rode it to his house, he said, “Damn! You're crazy! But it's your funeral. So yeah, that sounds cool, let's book.” I couldn't give up. I kept hoping he'd see how good a friend I really was in spite of my faults. I wasn't cool, but he didn't have to tell me that, I already knew it. He didn't know I was gay until I confessed, but he did say he'd suspected that I was all along.
I confessed a couple of months before. Like I had some kind of fucking disease. But at least one hopeful sign was that even then – in the hospital, I mean – right after Mike said he wouldn't be seeing me much any more, I was like, “Confess hell!” Then just a few minutes after my next pain shot started taking effect, I had one of my best jerk off sessions ever. And that was another good sign. If I could whack off, then there was still some hope.
Well, since I'm trying to banish some of this negativity, I would like to mention one more thing about “Goodbye To Love.” The lyrics suck, but it ends well. For one thing, at the 2:20 mark the vocal ends. So no more woe is me, but even better is the fuzz guitar at the end. It's not half bad. Not the greatest ever, but a long ways from being the worse.
But having said that, let's get back to whacking off, because that day it was pretty spectacular. Ever have the urge to do it while you're in an examination room? All that sterile equipment around and you're sitting on the examination table in your undershorts knowing pretty soon you're going to have those pulled down too... Hmm. Maybe I ought to just go ahead and take `em off right now. Sure. Just save some time that way. Ever have thoughts like that?
I have. Lots of times. So there I was all by myself in my room and I already was naked. Because my old man said he'd bring me some pajamas when he had the time, but it might be awhile. Well, I didn't wear pjs during the summer anyway, I just slept in my undies, so I didn't care if he brought them or not, `cause I wasn't going to wear the damn things. But see, when I was in the emergency room, they cut my clothes off. My cut-offs and my undies. Which didn't make much sense, not to me it didn't, but policy is policy, so once in my room all I had on was a hospital gown and a bathrobe in case I decided to take a walk down the hall or something. But anyway, I was already pretty close to naked and then the first time the orderly gave me a sponge bath – and that was almost interesting - he left my gown draped over the head of the bed, so after he left, I was like, “Well, this is cool.” And when I wasn't distracted by my arm, it really was. And I had no choice, either. So that was even cooler.
Having to do it with my left hand helped as well. Because I'd always done it with my right, but it was my right arm that was broke. I had to learn to do a lot of things left-handed, but the first few times jerking off, well, it was slower. And it was also different. So that was good, too.
Oh, and the pain shots helped as well. I'd never messed around with drugs before, but when your body starts feeling different, it's erotic. So okay, doing it in a hospital room seemed daring and different, being naked all the time was different – and remember, I had no choice - doing it left-handed was different – didn't have any choice there either - and the feeling I got when the pain started ebbing away and I felt like I was floating... well, it was a perfect time to whack off.
And thinking about Mike made it even better. If you'd ever seen him, you probably would have been tempted to beg, too. I wasn't going to do it any more, but he was beautiful. Very blond with big blue eyes. First time I saw him and found out he only lived a few houses down, I was like, oh my God! I had to be friends with him, I just had to.
We moved to Tampa around Christmas `71. My old man being in the military meant we were never in any one place for too long, but he'd been transferred into recruiting, so there seemed to be some hope that we might actually put down roots for awhile. And one good thing about the seventies was the way most kids dressed back then. Cut-off jeans were cool. More often than not, they were worn skin tight, with rips and holes in strategic places, and he was wearing a pair the first time I saw him. So I was in love again, just like that. Which seemed to be a good thing, because I'd only been over my cousin for a couple of months. I thought, “This time, I'm not going to fuck it up. This time, it's going to work out the way I want it to. ... I hope.” I'm just trying to explain the way things were, okay?
So okay, then. One not-so-good thing about the early seventies was that while gay love could be spoken of in terms other than “the love that dare not speak its name”, there still wasn't too much of a real positive nature being written about it. Or, at least, not that I ever came across. Most of the novels I saw dealing with “forbidden love” ended up with the boys driving their car off a cliff or something. Or one would kill himself and the other would go insane. And to make matters worse, the author never could say exactly what happened between the boys in the first place. “Something happened. It happened and there was no turning back.” That left a lot to my imagination.
I'll tell you exactly what happened between me and my cousin summer of `71 though: I fell in love with him and I finally told him so. Only that came after it was too late. At the start of the summer we were almost inseparable and it felt like heaven, but I never said I was in love because I was hoping he'd say he was in love with me first. I mean, he was a year older, so I figured he'd go first, then I'd say, “I love you too” and then maybe we'd run off together – or something – and okay, eventually we'd probably end up doing something society would frown on, but we wouldn't care what society thought and we'd live happily ever after. And at least that's better than driving off a cliff.
I could go into more detail about my love affair with my cousin, but there really ain't much point in it, because other than seeing him naked a few times, nothing ever happened. Then about a month before we moved across the country to Tampa, he fell in love with some girl who'd been following him around – the slut just threw herself at him – and that took care of that. Except for my getting desperate and finally telling him that I loved him and then him telling me that he didn't love me, he liked me, but that was as far as it went. Needless to say, that wasn't the response I was hoping for. I was hoping he'd break down and start crying. But he didn't, he just shrugged it off like it didn't mean anything at all.
Well, like I said, I was clueless. And I still was in Tampa but that sure didn't mean that I didn't get my rocks off. Back in the 70s, not only were tight cut-offs cool, so were short basketball shorts. Not to mention short tennis shorts, even if they just barely covered your butt cheeks. But the times when Mike wore sort of loose short shorts – oh my! He'd be sitting on the ground and I'd be facing him, real nonchalant like, and before long I'd have a sighting. One of his balls might be hanging out. A couple of times, even his dick! It was only about average for a thirteen-year-old, but he was beautiful and it belonged to him, so seeing it was awesome. Even though I'd seen him naked plenty of times. He had a little light brown bush that had just started.
See, another good thing about the 70s was that some YMCAs still weren't family deals and often most of the boys swimming in the pool would be naked. At first I couldn't believe it: Mike asked me if I wanted to go, I said, “Sure, soon as I get my trunks,” then he said, “Oh don't worry about that, most everybody just goes bare,” and I was like... well, actually I was almost speechless.
I really liked going to the Y with him. One time he jumped on my back. It's a wonder I hadn't drowned.
So I can almost guess what you're thinking right now. You're thinking, “Wait a minute here, are you telling me you told him you were gay and he kept running around with you and went bare into the pool at the Y and jumped on your back and in spite of that, you didn't you do anything?” I mean, you're confused, right? You're wondering why I told him I was gay in the first place. And you're also probably wondering if anything really interesting is ever going to happen. I mean, at least there's going to be some mutual jerking off or something, right?
Well, I told him I was gay because I was taking a chance again. At least, in a way I was. But you have to understand that the day before he'd said something about how sometimes I acted like I was queer. It was because my feelings got hurt too easy. So I was afraid I was on the verge of losing him, but we'd been getting along great up until then, so I guessed I'd come right out and tell him I was, that's all. Because after all, if I was in love with him, then I must be queer, right? If I wasn't, then I wouldn't be all the time trying to sneak peeks up his tennis shorts and I wouldn't be jerking off thinking about it. But I have to admit something very uncool: I really thought it was like some sort of a disease, or at least that it was something I was going to have to keep secret from my family. And from most everybody else, but I hoped Mike would understand.
Actually, I was sort of hoping that if I were brave enough to admit that I was, he might in turn either admit that he was just a little himself, or if not that, then at least that he didn't care if I was or not.
And I don't guess it was a total failure, even if I didn't get any of the answers I was hoping for. He looked at me and said, “I sort of thought you were.”
So I went, “So... I mean... well, now that you know that... well, I'd still like to be friends with you if that's okay,” and then I looked at him entreatingly.
He shrugged and said, “Well, as long as you know I'm not. I like girls, just like you're supposed to. But if you can keep your hands to yourself, I guess it's okay.”
“Well, fuck you. Who are you to tell me who I should like and what I should be like? If you like girls so much, then why are you still hanging out with me? You don't know, do you? Well fuck it. I am OUT of here!”
That's what I should have said. But I didn't, I just hung my head and said okay. A part of me wanted to tell him off right then, but I was still in love. He could be nice. Honest. And he was beautiful.
And he also kept running around with me. We still went swimming at the Y. I spent nights over at his house, and sometimes he stayed over at mine some, although at my place we always slept out in a tent in the backyard. I'm not exactly sure why - guess you would have to ask him that – but now that I'm older and wiser - or at least not completely clueless - I do have some suspicions.
But this has only just now occurred to me. Remember how I was going on about how writers treated gay love back in the 70s? Well, guess what? Something happened. Between me and Mike. Something happened and then, not even two days later, over the handle bars I went. That is really weird!
Well, at least I didn't go over a cliff. But a shrink would still have a field day with it, I bet. Because it wasn't an accident. I'm sure that's what Mr or Ms Shrink would say, but I still say it was. I mean, who in the hell wants to off themselves like that?
But anyway, you're wondering exactly what happened, right? Maybe just a little?
Well okay, I'll tell you, then. Exactly what happened.
The accident occurred Wednesday afternoon. Monday night we were camping out in my tent in the backyard. I would have preferred camping out in my bed, but Mike's hair was a little too long for my old man's taste, so we just figured things would work out better if we stayed out of his sight as much as possible. When we slept in the tent we were fully clothed. We took our shoes off, but that was it. So really, about all I got out of it was often rolling up close to him. Pretending to be asleep, of course. Which wasn't awful, but it could have been better. It could have been a lot better.
Then, right out of nowhere, it did get better. All because of one hellacious thunder storm. We knew there was a strong possibility of storms that night, but neither of us had any idea it was going to be as bad as it was, because this one wasn't too far removed from being a hurricane. With the rain just pouring down and the wind gusting like it was, it was close enough. I like being in a tent and hearing the rain pattering against the canvas, it's a nice snug comfy feeling, but when your tent gets blown OVER, that's a different matter. So at first I wasn't entertaining any thoughts of how this could lead to an interesting situation, I was in full-fledged panic mode, just like Mike. The rain was pouring down, the wind was howling and the lightning was popping like crazy. So we both ran for the house as fast as we could, but by the time we reached the basement, we were soaked. We couldn't have been any wetter if we'd stood under a shower going full blast. Except this was a cold one. Even in Tampa, being caught in a thunder storm around midnight night doesn't make you feel all warm and fuzzy, so we hurriedly stripped our clothes off. I never got tired of seeing him naked, but I'd seen him quite a few times, so at that point I hardly even glanced at him. We were mostly in the dark anyway. The power was out. Bad storm. With the lightning strobing outside I did catch an occasional glimpse, but like I said, I'd seen him naked lots of times.
That still doesn't mean I ever got tired seeing him, though. He was beautiful! But still, no devious thoughts on my part. Not until he asked me, “Hey, got anything to dry off with down here?”
“Umm, I don't think so,” I stammered. This was a natural reaction, but at that very moment I started getting stiff, because what flashed through my mind was, “Oh shit! We are in a fix! Yes! Yes! Oh YES!!”
“Well, um, can you maybe go upstairs and get something like a couple of towels?”
“Nope, he always locks the door at night.” Lie lie. But I thought it was for a good cause. I wasn't perfect, okay? Besides, I could have broken my neck going up those stairs in the dark, you ever think about that? Really, it could've happened!
“Shit!” I added for effect, “I guess we might could rub each other dry. ... Turn around and I'll get your back.” I tried not to sound too hopeful.
“Well hurry up,” he chattered and with that, he turned his back. (YES!) I didn't really have to rub his bottom dry I don't suppose, but it was very soft and pliable and I didn't get carried away with it. I mean, after all, it was still me, the chicken shit. And besides, I didn't want to scare him off. So I was fairly professional about it. Meanwhile he was hurriedly rubbing himself dry in front. (Rats.)
But it was almost certainly for the best anyway, because if I had rubbed him dry in front... well...
Believe me, it was for the best. Even if at that point I was only about half-stiff. If I hadn't been so scared, though, I would have been hard as a brick. I was scared because I was thinking ahead to the part about where we were going to sleep. Although if things worked out right, sleeping was one thing I wasn't likely to be doing much of.
“Turn around and I'll get you,” he said. So far so good. He seemed to be taking the situation in stride. He rubbed my back... well, pretty good. At least he didn't act like he was afraid to touch me. He didn't rub my butt, though. He slapped it lightly, but that's it. “You can get your own butt,” he whispered.
Should I feel guilty about this?
I'm not sure. Should I? I mean what if we had gone upstairs? Banging around and waking my old man up... that would not have been good. But couldn't I have sneaked up by myself? Couldn't I have tip-toed into the bathroom and grabbed some towels? Then couldn't I have tip-toed into my room and pulled out some dry clothes for the two of us?
Well, yeah, I could've. Maybe. Because, see, if in spite of trying my damnedest to be quiet, my old man had woke up, well, he would have been bitching like crazy. So he probably would have told me to get my ass in bed right then... and the thing is, it wasn't a good idea to talk back to him. So Mike would have been stuck down in the basement for the rest of the night and I don't think he would have cared for that too much. Soo... I feel okay about it.
Then Mike asked me, “Is that army cot still down here?”
I felt WONDERFUL about it. Yep, that cot was still there. Just one. You know how big an army cot is? It's big enough for one person. Two people? Even if they're smallish young teens, we're talking very close quarters. So that was the part I was nervous about. Afraid that he'd try sleeping on the floor or something. Or expect me to sleep on the floor, but apparently that wasn't the case. And boy oh boy, was I ever glad we were in the dark right then, because soon as it dawned on me that we really were going to be sharing that cot, both of us, naked, my dick went straight up.
“Yeah, follow me,” I said, hurriedly. He could only see my back and I wanted it to stay that way. I jumped on the cot and quickly moved as far to the side as I could, so far over, my arms were practically hanging off the side. If I'd stayed in that position for the rest of the night, I wouldn't have been very comfortable. “I'm over as far as I can get,” I assured him. Damn. Why didn't I just volunteer to sleep on the floor?
“It's okay,” I heard him say as he was crawling in beside me - YES! - “and I don't guess you have to be hanging off the side like you are, you can move over a little.” He pulled the blanket up and then pushed it over my way.
So, cautiously, I rolled over on my back a bit and we were like hip to hip. His hip was soft and warm and I flinched a little when I felt the contact. And he moved very slightly away as well. I could still feel his heat, though. I sighed sadly and turned over on my side. “I'm beat,” I mumbled, sleepily, and pretty soon I was breathing slow and regular, just like I was truly asleep.
Needless to say, though, I wasn't sleepy at all. My mind was racing and I was trying to figure things out. Exactly what did he mean when he said I could move over a little? Was he implying that, due to circumstances beyond our control, he didn't care if I kept my hands to myself or not? Don't you just love it when you're forced into something by circumstances you have no control over? Well, I sure do, and maybe, I thought to myself, he was having almost the same feelings. But like the chicken shit that I was, I stayed over on my side for at least thirty minutes, just waiting. Waiting for him to go to sleep. Waiting for his breathing to become slow and regular. And then waiting some more, because I didn't want to wake him up. Waiting until I could get my courage up. Just waiting. Until my damn right arm was about to go to sleep under me. Isn't this fun?
Okay, so let's just fast forward things a bit to where I finally sleepily turned over on my side facing him, still breathing slow and regular. My left arm carelessly flopped over and... I discovered he was on his side facing away from me. Feeling his soft ass was almost like heaven. I could have settled for just that and nothing else. Honest.
But then he sleepily moved away from me a little. I cringed. But still, I was asleep, so my left hand flopped carelessly over until it was palm up right beside him, but still not touching... and then it happened. Something happened and there was no going back.
Or to put it another way, all at once, my left hand was stuck underneath him. I could have yanked it away, but he'd turned over - still breathing slow and regular - and would you believe it, my hand was in exactly the right place. I'd never had the opportunity to really feel his dick before, there had been times at the Y when I'd fleetingly brushed up against it, but now I was palming the muther. My hand was stuck underneath him. So this wasn't “almost heaven”, it was. It felt pretty small. But soft and warm and a bit wiggly and I could feel his balls and his soft downy pubes and he was sweating a little and it was just wonderful and I was about to shoot off right then and there... and then... he rolled back over on his side. Well shit.
But we were both still breathing slow and regular like. And then he rolled back on top of my hand again. Oh boy. Glad I didn't move it. Well, of course I didn't. Because I was sound asleep. Only, guess what, this time his dick wasn't one bit soft and wiggly, it was hard as a... well, let me think here... it was as hard as a long skinny nail. Or spike. Or maybe a small pipe. Exactly how long it was, I'm not sure, but I'd say under five inches. It didn't seem like its circumference had increased much, but it was... well, it was wonderful. I could tell his toes were twitching. And it was sort of twitching as well. And I was leaking.
Only before I left a wet spot in the middle of our blanket, he rolled back off of me again. I was still breathing slow and regular and thinking about how great it was going to be when I got a chance to jerk off. I'd be spraying from the first pull almost. Maybe ten minutes passed. He shifted over on his side, facing me. I was wondering if he was still hard. Probably he thought he was in the middle of a wet dream or something. I sleepily shifted until I was on my side facing him. I'm restless when I sleep. My right knee sort of went over towards him, until it was making contact with his upper thigh. It was great. Feeling his skinny spike was better, but even so, it was awesome and I would have settled for that. I mean, I was just blissed out.
Then he moved towards me and almost before I knew what was happening, my right thigh was sandwiched between both of his thighs and I could feel his breath – which seemed to be a bit ragged – and then he grabbed my butt and pulled me towards him some more... and then things started moving really fast. In fact, to my way of thinking, they moved just a little too fast. Because I wanted to savor each and every facet, I wanted to let it all soak in, I mean, I could have stayed like that for the rest of the night, just feeling him pressed up against me. I thought I'd found the one thing I was looking for all along, I thought he loved me as much as I loved him. At last!
I would have settled for that. But what happened was all at once he grabbed my hand and shoved it down into his crotch. In fact, it seemed he was intent on wrapping my fingers around his dick... a bit clumsily, but apparently that's what he had in mind. And I was still pretending to be asleep, I kid you not. I was going to “wake up” though, just as soon as I could think of what to say. Hopefully something witty, but all at once, I felt his spike jerking. In fact, it was pretty violent and it startled the living shit out of me! At first, I wasn't even sure what was happening. Once I had a handful, then I knew, but it was all over by then. Wham, bam, thank you ma'am.
Only he never got to the thank you part. No, he rolled back on his side facing away from me and it didn't take long to figure out that from that point on, he wanted me to stay as far away from him as was humanly possible.
So all I could think was that I'd ruined it. I don't guess I did, though, because what I was looking for wasn't possible in the first place.
Or at least it wasn't possible with him. I can accept that now. But I still hadn't quite accepted it when I jerked off that afternoon. There was still a part of me wanting to believe in a miracle. And sometimes isn't that what fantasies are all about?
Well, whatever works. And for the duration of my jerk off session that afternoon, it worked beautifully. Then when it was over, I just went back to sleep. Trying to be hopeful even if deep down, I almost had to know better. I went to sleep with the words of “Goodbye To Love” echoing inside my head.
But really, close to the end, even Karen seemed to offering a small glimmer of hope.
What lies in the future is a mystery to us all
No one can predict the wheel of fortune as it falls
There may come a time when I will see that I've been wrong--
I went to sleep thinking, “Maybe. One of these days, just maybe.”
It was better than nothing.
So I went to sleep with “Goodbye To Love” and woke up to - brace yourself for this – Tangerine Dream's “Fly and Collision Of Comas Sola”. It's from their “Zeit” album.
Well, don't worry about it. I hadn't ever heard of it, either. But then, I didn't know much beyond what was on the Top 40 charts at the time and I definitely had never heard anything like that. Not ever. I am not making this up, when I was first returning to consciousness, I was thinking “Twilight Zone”, so I wasn't sure if I wanted to open my eyes or not. Where was I? And what... in the hell...
And then the weird electronic sounds started evolving into... well, it still wasn't anything resembling Top 40, but it did sort of sound like music. Eerie music. Almost hypnotic. ... Unearthly! Oh good. I'm dead. This might take some getting used to.
The music just kept getting weirder. But it was almost soothing. Yep. I'm dead all right. So I cautiously cracked my eyes open to see what things were like. Well, I was still in the same bed. Same room. Only now it seemed to be getting dark outside. Oh, and my arm was still hurting. But where was that music coming from?
From the bed next to me, now occupied by a boy about my age. He looked like an angel hooked up to an IV tube. That was my first impression. Straight, dark brown hair. Almost as short as mine. His eyes were shut. He looked almost blissful. He had the most beautiful eye lashes. And... and then his eyes opened and he looked over at me. But I was still a little disoriented, so I didn't have time to blush and look guilty or anything like that. “Hey! You're awake!” he said cheerfully.
“Umm ... yeah. I think so.”
“Music bother you?”
“It's different,” I managed.
“Definitely! ... But then I am, too. ... Or at least, that's what everybody tells me.” Then he grinned. He had the most infectious grin I'd ever seen in my life. Or at least that I could think of right then.
Me, I sort of grinned wanly. “Well, I'm probably not normal, either.”
He laughed. And I thought that was pretty infectious as well. “I'm Eddie. And you're...”
“Patrick. ... Oh fuck! ... Sorry. ... I just moved the wrong way. ... But my name's Patrick.”
“Want me to call the nurse?” and he pushed the call button. Then he added, “Yeah, I heard about it. Evel Knievel you're not.”
“You heard about that? Shit. ... What are you in for?”
“Oh, they got me for breaking and entering. ... That's a joke. ... I had my appendix out. Only it looks like I might be in here awhile. It got infected.”
“Does it hurt much?” Of course I was trying hard not to look happy about his prognosis, even if right then I didn't know how long I'd be in, either.
“Nah,” he answered, “at least not now. Pain shot wears off, I guess it will though. ... It's about time you showed up! What kept you?” (The nurse had just come in.)
And that's when I got the most wonderful news, I found out I was likely to be in there for at least two weeks, and probably even longer!
But she did fuss at me for not having my gown on. Well, she popped me in my ass, so that's how she knew. I'd completely forgotten about that!
So right after she left, I was blushing and fumbling around trying to figure out how I was going to get it back on without exposing myself. At first I'm really shy if I'm around somebody I think I might like a lot... but then he already knew I was naked because of the nurse opening her big mouth, so I was also trying to explain. “They cut all my clothes off in the emergency room and...well, my old man hasn't brought me anything to wear yet and-”
“It ain't no big deal. When I'm at home, most the time I don't wear anything in bed either. I mean, what difference does it make? Right now I got one of their gowns on, but soon as I can get rid of it ... I am. Don't cover much anyway, you know what I mean?”
“Yeah, I know.” One good thing about those pain shots – aside from the obvious – was that it took some effort to get hard. I could do it – I've mentioned that already - but it didn't happen instantly. And I really didn't want to pitch a tent soon as he mentioned the possibility of being naked in bed, no way!
That first night, though, mostly we just talked, and I thought that was cool as hell. Most of the talk was about music. At least I was familiar with – and liked – The Beatles. I also liked Pink Floyd a lot, which worked out well, because that was one of his favorite groups. And I mentioned The Moody Blues – another good one – and Uriah Heep. “Easy Living” was on the radio a lot that summer, and it always brings back memories.
But, God, some of the groups he introduced me to – like Can, Roxy Music, NEU!, The Pretty Things, Amon Duul II, Kevin Ayers, Roy Buchanan – I mean, he was really into it, and I loved every moment of it.
I would have loved it no matter what, because if nothing else I could see my cool quotient going way up. But then something else happened, and that clinched it.
It happened the next morning. Thing was, though, that morning started out on a down note because... well, it started out not so good at around 3 that morning when I buzzed for another pain shot and found out they were going to be cutting back on it. Said they had to because I didn't want to get hooked on the stuff. Well, right about then I didn't care if I got hooked or not, because I have a fairly low pain threshold, and that pill they gave me didn't seem to help much. But, still, I was trying not to be a baby about it. If it hadn't been for Eddie, though, I'm sure I would have been, and by around 6:30 I'd just about reached the point where I didn't care if he was in the next bed or not. Already, I was hissing at times. And grimacing a lot. I was hurting so bad I was right on the verge of forgetting all about keeping a stiff upper lip, Eddie or no Eddie It was so bad, I almost found myself resenting him. Because he was still getting shots. He was still hooked up to that IV tube. They weren't talking about him getting out of bed right then, but they were saying I needed to. Just a little at a time, but still...
But about then he grinned sort of wanly and asked how I was feeling. Then he answered his question. “Not so good, huh?”
“No, not really,” I answered, bravely.
“Well, me neither.” Guilt! Guilt!!
So I was trying to think of something to say.
“Hey, Patrick? Could I ask you a favor?”
“Well, I still can't get out of bed and I heard them saying you need to some. So if you could... well, see, the thing is... I gotta pee. ... bad. But I don't think I can manage it by myself yet and I don't really want no damn orderly helping me... so umm, could you help? ... If you think you're up to it, I'd really appreciate it.”
“Well... I'll try,” I said, very carefully. Of course. I didn't want to sound too interested, but even so, I'd do my best. I slowly sat up in bed – with my back to him - and continued, “Let me get this robe on first, though. And uh... well, I'll see if I can help you...” I definitely wanted to keep that on the table - “but I guess you'll have to tell me what to do, okay?” If you haven't already surmised as much, I wasn't one for going out on a limb.
But I hadn't popped one. Not yet. Guess those pain pills made it a little difficult to get hard, too. They had to, because otherwise... well, there was just no way.
Small giggle, with a slight touch of embarrassment. “Just get it pointed into the bottle, then I can do the rest. ... I wouldn't ask you to do this, but some of those orderlies... well, you know. I ain't too sure about some of them and they're like way too... some of them are pretty strange, you know?”
“Yeah, I know.” Meanwhile, I was trying to tie my robe. Something else I was obviously going to have to relearn, but it looked like it would stay in place. And pretty soon, just as soon as possible in fact, I was cautiously taking my first steps since the accident. Not exactly healed, but the pain in my arm had faded into the background. I must help him, I must!
I reached his bedside – not a long trip at all, but it seemed that way – pulled his sheets back - “Umm, where's the pee bottle?”
He pointed it out. Then, my hands shaking just a little - “I've never been an orderly before,” I explained in case he was wondering – I cautiously pulled up the bottom of his gown and there it was. Damn. “Wonder how much longer that pain pill is going to hold it back?” I wondered to myself.
“Well, at least they didn't shave your pubes off,” he said, ruefully. I glanced down at myself. Huh. My robe wasn't tied after all. But at least it wasn't acting up, and maybe it wouldn't until I got the chance to help it out a little. Seriously, it's not all that easy to tie a robe with one hand.
“Yeah, well... so okay. I guess... so okay,” and I took a deep breath – or maybe it was a shallow one, but anyway, I took one, and I carefully placed the bottle between his legs and then I took his penis in hand and carefully guided the end of it into the opening. Of the bottle.
“Just hold it in place, okay?”
Oh sure. No problem. I nodded my head yes and tried to look professional. Interesting fact here: When you're holding someone else's penis while they're in the process of peeing, you can feel it vibrating slightly. Which was... well, interesting. But I was still trying to process everything. Big surprise number one obviously was that I was actually holding his penis. Holding it! And surprise number two was that he was above average in the size department. Not a whole lot, but still nothing to be ashamed of. When I think about it, I guess maybe people might have been surprised when they first saw mine back then, but even so, mine was only average.
I was right at five feet even and weighed around 105 pounds. I looked fairly androgynous, so with my clothes on I guess others could easily think I wasn't close to starting, because I'd seen some boys a good half a foot taller who hadn't. Well, Eddie was also in that androgynous category, and he was about an inch shorter in height. Like me, he had a slender build, almost frail looking. So discovering that his penis was as big as it was... well, it came as a shock. It would have shocked almost anyone.
But at any rate, just as he was almost finished, he giggled and said, “Uh oh.” He had the most infectious giggle I've ever heard in my life!
“Yeah, well, hurry up before it gets stuck in there,” I said, shakily. I didn't really mean it, but I still felt like I needed to keep up appearances.
“I'm TRYING... okay okay, I'm done. Pull it out.”
But it was growing rapidly, and when I did pull it out... it turned out to be a little over five inches. And pretty big around, too. So attached to a 4'-11'' kid who weighs in at close to a hundred... well, it's big. It is really...
“I started popping one when I saw you were,” he explained. I knew I was feeling a glow down there, but honestly, I didn't even know it had happened.
But before I could melt into the floor, and also before it could register in my brain exactly what he'd just implied about himself, he asked, “So you wanna jerk off? I'm dying for one. So I'll do you if you do me, that all right?” Yeah, well obviously you wouldn't want an orderly helping you out with that.
At times, though, I could be practical. Common sense wasn't one of my stronger points, but even so, I think the point I brought up was a good one. “Well, uh... well, I guess... but... well, what if somebody walks in on us?”
“We got a little while at least,” he replied. “Getting somebody in here now... you'd probably have to be dying first and if you were, you'd still probably end up dead before somebody finally shows up, so... you wanna?” Then he started stroking my left hand and he was looking right into my eyes! ... “It's cool,” he added, “Honest.”
He was looking right into my eyes! So naturally, I was looking into his as well. Big, dark brown, soulfully expressive... almost begging... Oh my God. He's hypnotizing me!
So I said okay. Actually, I think I said something like, “Well, okay. But... um...”
“Move back just a little so my arm won't be so cramped, okay?”
So I did. A bit uncertainly, I suppose, but I did and he reached down and...
... And it quickly occurred to me that this wasn't going to last too long. At least not on my end, it wasn't, because when he first wrapped his fingers around my straining erection... well, it felt like an electric shock. In a really nice sort of way, it did - even if “nice” doesn't come close to describing how it felt – I mean, it felt so utterly fantastic, so...
Shit. Right then it was the most wonderful feeling I'd ever experienced in my entire life. But it sure wasn't going to last long, so without even thinking about it, I was pulling on his. It was a bit warm... well, okay, it felt kind of hot and... duh again... hard. Very hard. And it twitched slightly. But I think mine did, too.
So it wasn't long until our breath was getting ragged. The entire hospital staff could have walked in on us right about then and we would not have stopped. We were getting there, oh boy, oh boy, oh BOY, this is... oh, I can't believe it, I just can't-
“Make sure you catch it in your hand!” Eddie blurted, and that did it. It was the most intense orgasm ever. It was... it was... fuck. I can't describe it. I just can't. And then it felt like his squirmed a little, then it jerked slightly... and then I had a handful.
I really hadn't thought ahead to that part. I mean, I would have gladly spilled my seed all over the floor, but... well, you know how it is, once the deed is done, what you have is a mess. So taking into consideration my mind-set right then, I'm sure at that point, I would have been a little chagrined. Oh my God. What have we DONE? Something like that. Then I guess I would have quickly scurried to the bathroom to get some tissue paper. What have we DONE?? Well, okay, I might have wobbled in, but-
A bit breathlessly, Eddie giggled, “So I guess we better hide the evidence, huh?” and with that, he released my exclamation point – and it was still in an exclamatory state for the most part – and he... he... well, he hid my evidence. By licking his hand and swallowing it. Then he said, “I feel much better now.” Just as calm as he could be. Very matter-of-factly, he said that. Then he giggled. Such an infectious laugh he had!
So every boy wants to know what his cum tastes like, right? Is that what you've heard? Well, it ain't so. Not everybody does and at that point in my life, I'd never even thought of doing such a thing. I just thought the aftermath was a little on the yucky side – I know, I know, up until now you were thinking that I had a positive outlook on it – but, if he could do it, well, so could I!
And so I did and it wasn't anywhere close to being the awfullest, most disgusting thing I could have ever imagined, in fact... “Huh. It tasted... well, I'm not sure. It didn't hardly taste like anything!”
Or at least, not like anything I could compare it to right at that moment. I sort of smiled and shrugged. It probably was was a tentative, shy half-smile.
“It might need some more seasoning, what do you think?” So apparently, he was from another planet after all.
Finally I managed, “So do they even have salt and pepper at this place?” Probably a bit lame, but-
But he laughed, so I guess it was okay. “I don't think so. ... But I guess you should get back in bed now. They'll probably be checking on us before long. ... You know, seeing if we're still alive and all.”
So I just float-ed back to my bed. I mean, “WOW! I can not believe this!” I almost forgot all about my arm hurting.
Once the morning rounds were dispensed with (and I got another pain shot, which did help) and once we'd mostly finished our breakfast, we talked.
But still, volumes were said while we were still working on our breakfast. Believe me, it took some willpower. Getting down breakfast, I mean. Not that it was all bland, but...
“It definitely needs more seasoning,” Eddie snickered. Then we both cracked up. That was really cool. We had our own private joke now.
Then a little later, right out of nowhere, he asked, “So you care if I'm gay? ... I'll just say it, all right? I'm a gay boy. Very different, I am. ... So, does that bother you?”
I just popped another one! “No, it doesn't bother me,” I replied very light-headedly – deep breath - “I guess... shit. Guess, hell. ... But I just haven't ever... I mean, you're so cool about it, but... yeah, I am too. ... Gay.”
“Fuck, that's great! ... Because I've sucked a few dicks and even got mine sucked a few times, but I've never met anyone who could just say they were, you know? So that is fucking fantastic!”
Did he just say... ?!!?? Holy shit. And he is beautiful! But still, I guessed I'd better tell him the truth. Or at least most of it. “Well, I know what I like... or who... but... I haven't really done anything. Not up till now, I haven't.” Then I added, “But I'd sure like to try.”
I sat on this story for quite awhile before finally deciding that maybe – just maybe – I had a not-too-awful “getting there” story and, for a change, I should just leave it at that.
If by chance you've happened across any of my other stories, I'm sure by now you might have noticed certain themes that keep popping up. Cluelessness comes to mind, along with some initial indecisiveness – or chicken-shittedness...
But at any rate, in my NEXT story – a multi-parter – there shouldn't be nearly as much indecisiveness and, not only that, the narrator isn't clueless. Inexperienced, yes, but not clueless because he's recently discovered Nifty. OMG. “That's what I want to do!”
And so he will. Or at least he will soon as he finds someone to do it with. So okay, obviously he wasn't inspired by one of my stories – except for possibly one that I can think of...
But hopefully, sometime next month (or possibly the month after that), Nathaniel Halverson should be off on his voyage of discovery in “Are You Scared Yet?” (If nothing else, I'm sure of the title.)
I hope you enjoyed this story at least some and as always, thanks for reading.
All comments are gratefully received, and I'll answer soon as I can.