An Old Friend

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As I walked the last few steps to the store where he worked, I'd begun to wonder what the Hell I was doing here. What I was about to do was crazy, maybe even futile, but this wasn't just some random impulsive act on my part.

In fact, I'd been thinking about it for a while now, even before we'd graduated and went to work full time at businesses only a few doors apart. I'd seen him pass by the window of the store I worked at many times, dressed in slacks, button-up shirt, and tie, probably on his way to the bank or Post Office, and he looked so...so professional, and not like the boy I remembered at all.

He'd been a tough kid, eager for a scrap, and afraid of nothing and no one, not even the teachers at school, and he'd had more than his share of visits to the office. Back then, paddling was allowed, and he was no stranger to an occasional swat to the backside, something I'd never had to endure. For I was shy and non-confrontational, a good student, and an all around nice kid, who never got into trouble. And yet despite our differences, we became friends.

Good friends actually, closer than some brothers, spending so much time together that some folks thought we were brothers. He lived just behind the grade school we both attended, and many days we would go to his house and hang out, usually in his backyard or treehouse, and then he'd walk me the short distance to my house, always stopping in to say hello to my mom and grandma.

For as rough and tumble as he was on the playground and with most other boys, he was kind and gentle to me and my family, and in a way I guess you could say, we loved each other. I know, most people would say boys that age are too young to know what love is, but I believe just the opposite. I think it is easier for young kids to form bonds and know love, simply because they haven't been taught to hate yet.

Kids love their parents, their siblings, and it's considered a natural thing. So, why is it so unthinkable that they might also love their best friend, a friend closer to them than even their own family?

I suddenly realized I was trembling as I walked the final three or four yards to the front door of Anthony's, the store where he worked, but I had come too far to back out now. Maybe he wouldn't even be working, I thought, or maybe he'll be too busy to talk right now.

I pushed open the door and was greeted by a rush of refrigerated air on that hot August day, and as I stepped inside I saw him. He saw me too, and the look of recognition spread across his handsome face, and that smile I remembered so well soon followed.

He practically ran to meet me as I proceeded up the main aisle, and when he reached me, he surprised me by offering his hand to shake. What an adult thing to do, I thought. Where once we would have just bumped heads or hips, we were now grownups shaking hands. Okay, maybe we were still only 18, but we were more men than boys at this stage in our lives.

"Hi," he said happily, "aren't you in the wrong store?" he teased.

"No," I said, still not sure if I could go through with this, but determined to try, "actually I wanted to talk to you."

"Oh," he said looking serious, "is everything okay? Are your mom and grandparents okay?"

"Yes, fine...it's not about my family," I said quickly. Wasn't that just like him to worry about my family? Even though he hadn't seen them since...well...it had been a while.

"Oh, good. I was worried for a moment. So...what's wrong then?"

"Nothing is wrong. Did I say anything was wrong?" I said, realizing the words came out harsher than I'd intended, "I mean, it's nothing bad," I added, trying to get my wits about me.

"Well...start slow, and at the beginning. I've got time, it's dead in here right now, and Marge can handle any customers that come in," he said leading me to the back of the store.

A lady in her 50s, who I assumed was Marge, was folding pants on a table, and though she gave us an inquisitive look, she didn't speak. In fact, she soon left the table of jeans and wandered up front, I supposed to wait for the next customer to happen along.

"I don't want to get you in trouble," I said, worried that I might be interfering with his work.

"Pfftt, don't worry. The boss is gone today and I'm sort of in charge," he said proudly.

I nodded, "I know that story. My boss is gone more than he's there, and I open and close every day."

"Well, it's not quite as bad for me, but I do have to close today."

"What time, um...do you close?" I asked, already knowing the answer, but I guess I was stalling for time.

"5, but I'll be out by 5:15 at the latest, why?" he asked looking expectant.

"I was wondering," I said plunging on ahead, "are you busy this evening? I mean, do you need to be someplace after work?"

"No, nothing and nowhere. I'm off tomorrow, so I was thinking about going out later, but I really don't have any plans, why?"

"Well, I was wondering if we could get together for a little while and talk."

"Here's the talk thing again," he laughed, "I'm assuming whatever this is you want to talk about can't be said here and now."

"Well, I have to get back to work, and so do you..." I reasoned, "so, if you're not busy, I was thinking we could meet after work."

"Sure, now you've got me wondering what this is all about, so, yeah...I can meet you. Where shall we meet?" he said easily.

"I'll wait in front of the store, and when you're done just come on down. I only live across the street, behind the bank, so I was thinking we could go up there and get something to drink, and talk..."

"Okay, sounds like a plan," he said smiling in a way that unnerved me a bit. What did he know, what did he suspect, and worse, how would he react when I shared my feelings with him?

"Okay, well...I need to get back to work, so...I'll see you later, okay?"

"Yeah, later," he said walking me to the door.

Marge was busy with a customer by then, and on the far side of the store, but even from there I saw her give us a curious look. I wondered if my old friend would get interrogated later, but I was sure he could handle whatever she dished out.

I felt some better as I returned to work, but I was still nervous. Though my old friend had been receptive to my advances so far, I had to wonder if his cooperation wasn't more out of curiosity than interest. I sort of drifted through the rest of the day, but my old friend was ever present on my mind as I did so.

I remembered the first day we'd met, back in first grade, and how I'd actually been afraid of him then. He'd gotten into trouble for biting a kid who was bothering him and I was worried I might be his next victim. However, as it turned out, the kid who'd gotten bitten was a pest, and probably deserved it.

And so, my new friend and I hung out every chance we got, on the playground, at lunch, and eventually after school. We were inseparable, and everyone soon accepted that if they saw one of us, the other wasn't far behind.

All through grade school, which for us was first grade through sixth grade, we were close, best buds, brothers with different mothers, and then...we moved to Junior High, seventh grade, and all that changed.

Oh, it didn't happen all at once, it was a gradual thing, the result of many different factors that took their toll on our friendship. First, there was the fact that we were adjusting to Junior High, a new teacher each period, new kids, being on the bottom rung of the social ladder. Add in that we only had two classes together that year, and we couldn't even sit together because of assigned seating.

There was no recess like in grade school, though we did have time during lunch to roam around, but we didn't even have the same lunch period. What happened was slow and inevitable, I suppose, but eventually we were just familiar faces passing in the hall.

Even our visits outside of school soon became few and far between. We made new friends, and we began to explore the world around us, and somewhere in the process, we lost track of each other.

By High School, my old friend was just a face in the crowd, and our once powerful friendship was just a memory. It happened slowly, and just like the frog placed in a pan of water that is slowly heated up, it took us a while to notice we were cooking. By then it was too late, we were nearing the end of our 12 years of schooling, and about to become men and go out in the world and seek our fortunes.

It was ironic that we wound up doing basically the same job, in the same block downtown in the sleepy little town we grew up in. We'd both started part-time our senior year, and upon graduation we'd been promoted to full time, and now here we were, young businessmen.

I hurriedly did my closing chores and was out front shortly after five o'clock. I didn't have to wait long though, for soon my old friend was headed my way. He carried a bank bag, as did I, and after greeting one another, we walked across the street to the bank and dropped the bags in the night deposit.

"I just live around the corner and down the alley a ways," I said, leading my friend that way.

"Over the Dentist's office?" my friend said, "yeah, I heard you were living downtown," he added, not explaining further.

"You remember Jack Walker? He used to live there, and he put a good word in for me with the owner over at the bank, Mr. Tilly."

"Isn't that George Tilly's dad?" my friend asked then.

"Yep, he's actually a pretty nice guy, a lot like his son."

We'd reached the alley then, and I led him to the doorway leading up to my apartment, checking the mailbox, which was located just inside the door, and finding it empty.

"Wow, I've been down this alley a thousand times, but I never knew this stairway was here," my friend said as he followed me up the stairs.

At the top we turned left, and I fished out my key and unlocked the door and pushed it open, "Go ahead," I said, holding the door open for him.

I followed him inside and shut the door behind us as he slowly looked around the room. Then without asking my permission, he checked out the bedroom and kitchen before returning to where I stood.

"Wow, this is big, and pretty nice," he said sincerely.

"I've done a little fixing up. Like for instance, the bathroom was Pepto Bismol pink when I moved in. I painted it green, and put down new floor tile. The rug in here, and the one in the bedroom came from work."

"It's nice, seriously. You did a good job."

"Have a seat," I said pointing to the couch, "and I'll get us something to drink. I have Coke or Mt Dew."

"Coke is fine," he said settling on my old Cadillac-sized couch.

I grabbed two bottles of Coke, those little 8 ounce ones that taste so good, and opened them before returning to the living room. I handed my friend his Coke, then settled down on the couch next to him, close, but not too close, and we both took a swig of the cold refreshing beverage.

"Thanks, I needed that."

"I buy these by the case," I said then, "I think they taste so much better than the bigger bottles."

"I think so too," he said taking another drink.

I took another drink also, just to stall a bit longer, but I knew I needed to get to the point soon.

"I guess you're wondering why I asked to talk to you," I said, finally reaching the moment I'd both looked forward to, and dreaded.

"A little, but I figured you'd get around to it sooner or later. Like I said, I don't have any plans. In fact, if you'd like, maybe we could go grab a pizza or something."

Now why hadn't I thought of that? Well, because I figured we'd never even get this far, but now that he'd suggested it, it was perfect. We could talk over pizza, and get reacquainted, then it wouldn't seem so weird when I asked the important questions.

"That sounds great," I said enthusiastically, "but I wanna change into jeans and a tee first. I'll be right back," I said jumping up and walking to the bedroom.

The bedroom door was right across from the couch, but since I lived alone, it was hardly ever closed. I considered closing it now, but decided that might seem rude, and besides, I had nothing to hide.

I grabbed a pair of my favorite jeans and a tee shirt, threw them on the bed, then sat down to pull off my dress shoes. Suddenly I was aware of my friend in the doorway.

"I should go home and change too," he said looking about casually.

"We can stop by your house if you want," I offered.

"Nah, it will be okay. I don't suppose you have a shirt you could lend me? This long sleeved dress shirt is hot as heck."

"Sure, help yourself," I said pointing to the closet, "we're about the same size I think."

"Yeah," he said walking over to the open closet door and peeking inside. He poked around for a minute, then pulled out a Navy blue Munsingwear pullover that I rarely wore, "how's this? he said holding it up against his chest.

"It matches your slacks," I noted, "good choice."

I felt a little self-conscious getting undressed in front of him, but he seemed to have no such misgivings, and was unbuttoning his shirt as he walked back over to where I still sat.

I knew I needed to do something or I'd look like an idiot, so I began by taking off my shirt as well. I couldn't help but look his way as he unbuttoned his shirt, and when the last button was undone, and he opened it to reveal his chest, I felt a little tingle all over, especially between my legs.

Unlike me, he had nothing on beneath his dress shirt, while I had on an athletic shirt, which would come to be known as wife-beaters years later when COPS became a popular TV program.

As my friend slipped on the borrowed shirt, I pulled off my A-shirt, tossed it on the bed, then quickly slipped on my tee shirt. I wasn't exactly ashamed of my upper body, but it was nowhere as well developed as his, so I guess I felt a little intimidated.

Now for the pants, I thought, hoping I didn't throw a raging hardon once I got them down, but fortunately my friend had walked over to the window facing the street and was peering out, seemingly oblivious to what I was doing.

"Oh, your store is right across the street," he said, stating the obvious, but I got what he meant. Those windows faced the side of the store where I worked. The store was on the corner and wrapped around the block, but that part visible from my window was actually a storeroom, and not part of the sales floor.

"Yeah, pretty convenient, I can walk to work every day," I said, managing to get my jeans on while he was looking out the window.

All that was left was my shoes, and I found my Keds and laced them on before announcing I was ready to go. He seemed reluctant to leave the window, but finally let the curtain fall back into place and walked over to join me by the bed.

"I wish I had a place like this," he said then.

"Well, there's another apartment across the hall, and it's empty at the moment. It doesn't have the spectacular alley view that mine does," I joked, "but it has windows facing the street, and the top of the bank building."

"Really, I wonder how much they want to rent it?" he said sounding interested.

"Well, I can tell you what I'm paying, and you'll probably say I'm joking, but I only pay 35 bucks a month, plus electricity. The landlord pays the gas and water."

"Really, that's cheap," he said as we headed toward the front door, "I might have to check that out."

"Well, if you do, feel free to use me as a reference," I said as we started down the stairs.

He seemed to forget about the apartment for rent when we reached my car, a nearly new '72 Chevy Monte Carlo, which was my pride and joy.

"Nice car," he said once we were inside.

"Thanks, I totaled that Ford Torino I had, then used the insurance money as a down payment on this one. My boss called the bank and told them to finance it, and that was that."

"Wow, neat," I still drive that old beat up Chevy pickup truck my dad got me."

I nodded, and once we were on our way, our talked turned to work, the weather, our families, but nothing very personal. I could tell he was curious about my motives, but he was being especially patient with me and letting me do things at my own pace. I appreciated that, but I was still at a loss for exactly what to say. I only hoped that after we'd spent some more time together, the words would magically find themselves spewing from my mouth.

Ken's Pizza wasn't especially busy that early, and we managed to get a booth in the back and away from the jukebox and the bulk of the tables. I knew later the younger crowd would show up, high school kids, hungry for pizza and a place to hang out, but right now it was fairly quiet.

We ordered a large half pepperoni for him, and half hamburger, black olive and onion for me, but we would wind up swapping pieces later. We also ordered a pitcher of Pepsi, and we filled our glasses and sipped our drinks while we waited for our pizza.

"So, you didn't go on to college," he said then, seeming interested in my answer.

"I really wanted to, but you know? I really couldn't afford it, and my folks sure couldn't. I suppose I could have worked my way through school, but then they offered me the assistant manager job at the store, and the money was good, so I took it."

"Yeah, same here," he said, "funny we wound up doing the same thing so close together," he chuckled.

"Yeah, I guess we're more alike than we thought," I offered, hoping he'd understand what I was really saying.

"Yeah, we always were," he said taking a sip of his Pepsi before continuing, "what happened to us?" he sighed then, and I felt like I'd been gut-punched.

It was his fault as much as mine, yet somehow I felt more responsible for our drifting apart, and especially for not doing anything about it before now.

"I don't know," I said, "it was a lot of things. We were just kids, and suddenly we were thrown into 7th grade, not to mention the biting bush." The biting bush was actually an evergreen with scratchy leaves and branches that stood just outside the east entrance of the school. This was the door most 7th graders used, and it was here that the 8th and 9th graders would lay in wait for unsuspecting 7th graders and throw them into the biting bush.

He chuckled as he recalled the biting bush, then sobered up, "I still don't understand. That summer, before we went into 7th grade, we had the most fun ever. We did everything together, went swimming, played baseball, rode our bikes from one end of town to the other, even out to the creek. We even went skinny-dipping, remember that?"

I smiled, but I think I blushed a little too. I nodded, "I remember, I was afraid at first, then you grabbed my shorts and pulled them down, and I finally gave up."

"You were always a little shy," he chuckled, then he became serious again, "I always thought I'd done something wrong," he confessed, "and a million times I thought about coming to you and apologizing, but I didn't know what to apologize for."

"No, no...you didn't do anything wrong. Heck, I thought the same thing a time or two myself, but it wasn't anything like that. It was...it was...stupid really. I should have done something," I said shaking my head in despair.

"So should I, so don't go blaming yourself," he said reaching across the table to touch my hand gently, and that's when I almost lost it.

His touch was so gentle, and he conveyed so much emotion in the look he gave me, and that touch. I wanted to bawl like a baby and beg him to be my friend again, but I didn't want to scare him off now that I had a chance to maybe make that happen.

Our pizza arrived then, breaking the spell, and for a while we didn't speak at all as we ate. Then he reached over and took a piece of my pizza and offered me a piece of his.

I smiled and eagerly made the trade, and for a while we ate in silence once again. The place had begun to fill up by then, and there were noisy high school kids filling all the booths, and one or two of the tables. I felt a little sad, knowing that not so long ago I was one of those kids, laughing and having fun, enjoying life without a care in the world. Now, even though I was barely an adult, at age 18, I had a job, responsibilities, bills to pay, and worst of all, all those friends I had once depended on were gone.

"Let's get out of here," I said once we'd finished our pizza, "it's too noisy in here."

We split the tab, but I left a fiver for a tip, then we headed to my car. Once inside I started the engine and turned to my old friend and grinned, "Want to get drunk with me?"

"Sure, why not," he laughed, "that's the one thing we've never done together," he said, reminding me just how long it had been since we were together.

"We can fix that tonight, only thing is," I said getting serious, "if you drink, you gotta spend the night. I won't let any of my friends drive once they've been drinking, at least not if I can help it."

"I don't have any plans, so...why not? I just need to call home so my folks don't worry."

"Great, we'll stop and get some snacks to go with our booze."

"Uh, by the way, how are you gonna get alcohol?"

"Already got it. Fortunately, I have a friend who's older and gets me whatever I want, for a small fee," I said grinning. I have Rum, Gin, Vodka, Whiskey, and beer."

"Great, I haven't got drunk that many times, but I like beer. What kind do you have?"

At my apartment, my friend made the call to his folks while I grabbed us both a beer. I'd bought chips and pretzels at the C-store to snack on, and I threw them down on the couch between us.

"Shall we watch TV, or put some records on?"

"Not much on TV, I vote for the records, what you got?"

I led him to the bedroom where he looked through my record collection and chose two that he liked, and I added two of my choice. I placed them on the record changer and switched it on, and the first one dropped down, the tone arm moved into place, the needle dropped, and the music began. I had speakers in both the bedroom and living room, but I adjusted the volume so we could still carry on a conversation, then we returned to the living room and our beers.

After his first beer, my friend asked to use the bathroom and I pointed, even though it was obvious where it was. In fact, it was just to the left of the front door and not more than a few feet from the end of the couch.

I was surprised when he didn't close the door, and since the toilet was right inside the door, I could hear his piss splashing in the bowl quite loudly. I heard the toilet flush, then running water as he washed his hands, then he was back. He grabbed his beer from the cheap plastic coffee table before him, took a swig, then belched loudly.

We both laughed, and of course I had to belch too, and for a few minutes we had a belching contest. I couldn't help but think back to when we were young boys, doing the exact same thing, only using soda pop to generate the belches.

He must've been thinking back too, for next he said, "Remember that time we laughed so hard RC Cola came out of our noses? Oh man, it burned like heck. I thought I was gonna die."

"I remember," I laughed, "we were at Donnie's house, right? and he was making funny faces."

"Yeah, good old Donnie," he said, looking away and staring into the distance.

"He's working for the city now," I said, feeling the need to say something, anything.

"Yeah, he was in the store a while back to get some boots. He looks old, really old, like...working is making him old before his time."

"I guess that's what it's like," I reasoned, "we're not kids anymore, we have responsibilities and stuff."

"Yeah, it's bullshit though," he said sounding angry, "why can't we have responsibilities and have fun too?"

"Who says we can't?"

"Do you?" he countered, turning to look into my eyes.

"Well, not as much as I did when I was a kid, but you know...?"

"Why not, what's different?"

"Well, uh...for one thing, most of my friends are either off to college or working most of the time...so, okay...I get what you're saying."

"Yeah, you and me got it lucky in a way. We're both off by 5 o'clock every day, and have Sundays off."

"Yeah, you're right," I said nodding, "and here we are: having fun. How bout another beer?"

"I was thinking, maybe something stronger, I really want to get blasted tonight," he laughed.

I fixed us a Rum and Coke next, but I didn't mix the drinks too strong since neither of us were seasoned drinkers, although I did have more experience than he did.

"This is good, what is it?" he asked after taking a sip of his drink.

"Bacardi and Coke, smooth ain't it?" I laughed.

"Yeah, lot better than Buttwiper beer," he laughed, making fun of the word Budweiser.

"I'll be honest, I'm not a beer kind of guy. I prefer Rum or Gin."

"Yeah, beer takes too long to give you a buzz," he said taking another sip of his drink.

"So, I was wondering...are you dating anyone these days?" I asked, feeling him out.

"Nah, I dated my second cousin Mary for a while, but it got too weird having the same family and all," he laughed.

"Yeah, that would seem weird," I agreed."

"What about you, I thought you and Linda were dating?" he said, throwing it back at me.

"Nah, we dated a few times, but she moved to Tulsa to go to school there. Some kind of business school or something."

"Yeah, too bad," he said, then fell silent for a while.

I was at a loss for words now, but fortunately my friend had one more question on his mind.

"That stuff we did...back when we were kids, do you think that had anything to do with us drifting apart?"

I knew exactly what he was talking about, but the question had come so unexpectedly that I had to catch my breath before replying. We'd been typical boys back then, exploring life, and eventually our bodies, and we'd never been shy about sharing our discoveries. He'd taught me about jerking off, something he'd learned from an older cousin, and eventually we'd started jerking off together. Jerking off together led to jerking each other off, and so on and so on, and by the time we'd turned 12, that summer just before Junior High, we tried just about everything two boys could do together. The only thing we hadn't done was anal penetration, though we did rub off on each other's butt a few times.

I must've been blushing, because my friend gave me a little smile as I met his eyes to give him my reply.

"No, at least not as far as I was concerned. I never thought any of that stuff was bad or weird. I liked it just fine, but I'll admit, I wondered the same thing, if that was why you didn't come around anymore. After all, we were older then, and growing up, and we were supposed to be interested in girls."

"I liked what we did too, and I didn't think it was weird or anything. I just figured it was fun, and sort of like practice for when we did find a girl. Thing is though, girls aren't nearly as easy to persuade to do sex stuff as boys are," he added with a chuckle.

"I guess not," I said, certainly no authority on girls, all things considered.

"So, we're agreed, it wasn't anything either of us did, right?"

"Yep, as far as I'm concerned," I agreed.

"And it wasn't cause we felt weird or bad about the fooling around," he added, "so...what the heck happened?"

I sighed, "I don't know," I admitted, "but we can't change what happened then. All we can do is go from here and try again. I mean, if you're willing," I said feeling very anxious.

"Is that why you came down to talk to me today? Is that what this is all about?" he didn't sound upset or judgemental in any way, he just seemed to need clarification of my motives.

"Yes, but there's more," I confessed, "and once you hear it all, you may not want to fix things."

"Oh, what could be that bad?"

"How about another drink first?" I said, stalling for more time.

"Yeah, okay...but something different this time."

"Okay, I'll surprise you."

This time I fixed us screwdrivers, Vodka and OJ, and even added a wedge of orange in an attempt to impress him with my bar-tending skills.

"Oh, that looks good," he said taking the drink from me, "and it's even got real orange in it," he added with a chuckle.

"Yeah, taste it and see if it's too strong," I suggested.

"Nah, just right," he said after taking a sip, "perfect."

"Good," I said, stalling some more, "pretzel?" I offered, holding out the bag.

"Nah, I'm good. So...what is this awful thing that you need to tell me?" he said moving a bit closer on the couch.

"I might need to finish this drink before I'm brave enough to tell you," I said, hoping the alcohol would give me the courage to express my feelings.

"I'm in no hurry. We got allllll night," he said, drawing out the word all, his voice a little slurred now. The alcohol was taking effect, and I hoped it would mellow his mood, just as it gave me confidence.

Suddenly, he got up and went to the bathroom again, and as before, he didn't close the door. I tried not to listen, but it was as if my ears were hyper-sensitive, and even the running of the water in the sink seemed as loud as Niagara Falls.

He returned quickly, practically falling down on the couch, even closer than he'd been before, grabbed his drink and took a big swallow.

"Thisss is gooood," he said, sounding even drunker now.

"Better slow down," I warned, "or you might pass out."

"Nah, I'm good," he assured me, "sides...I didn't hear your big secret yet."

"Yeah, well...about that. Maybe we should save that for another time," I said, having second and third thoughts about exposing myself to someone I'd only just reconnected with.

"Nah, come on. You got me all curious, now you gotta tell me."

"Okay, but you have to promise. No matter what happens, you won't try to leave and drive home drunk."

"Why would I do that?" he said sounding confused, "I'm spending the night, remember?" he said frowning.

"Yeah, well...just promise me, okay?"

"I swear, cross my heart and hope to die," he said, drunkenly making the mark across his chest.

"Okay, well...here's the thing," I said, then taking a deep breath I began, "ever since I was a little kid I've known I was different. It's not like I thought about it all the time or anything, but I knew I wasn't exactly like other boys. I guess one reason I didn't dwell on it was because I had you in my life, and you were as normal as a boy could be. You showed me things, and got me to do things I never would have if it hadn't been for you. And when the sex stuff started, well...I might have been a little shy at first, but you know how quickly I got into that stuff."

"Yeah, we both did," he said studying me closely.

"Yeah, but I think I might have enjoyed it a little more than you did. Do you remember when we were in 9th grade and we used to write those sexy stories and let each other read them?" I laughed, suddenly remembering how exciting it had been.

"Yeah, your stories were always good," he said smiling.

"And that thing you used to do with my hand, you know, the sewing the fingers together thing?" I said, going way back in my head to happier times.

"Yeah," he chuckled, "some guys thought that was weird, but you never did."

"I loved it, and I liked doing it back to you."

Sewing my fingers together with a pretend needle, he would then pull on the pretend thread, and I was supposed to close my fingers as if the thread was pulling them together. But what this little joke was really about was the touching.

Touching each finger, a slight pinch as he inserted the pretend needle, his hand holding mine the whole time, causing tingles all over my body. And then when it was all over, it was my turn to do it to him, and that was almost as good, as we touched skin to skin. It was almost like holding hands, which by the way, we had done a few times when we were just young boys.

"Give me your hand," I said, suddenly feeling very impulsive. Maybe it was the alcohol kicking in at last, or maybe I was just finding the balls to do what I knew I needed to do at long last.

To his credit, he didn't hesitate as he sat down his drink and presented his hand to me. It was cold from the drink, but it soon warmed up as I held it in my hand and began the childish game of sewing his fingers together.

His eyes met mine as I continued, and there was something there, a glimmer of understanding and acceptance that gave me more confidence than any amount of alcohol ever could. When I'd finally finished my pretend stitching, he went along with the joke, closing his fingers as I pulled the invisible thread, and we both laughed.

"Do you know why I used to do that?" he said, sounding embarrassed and blushing a little.

"I think I do, it was about touching and being touched, wasn't it?"

"You always knew, didn't you?"

I nodded, "I might not have understood completely, but I knew it was more about the touching than the joke. I always got goosebumps when we did that."

"Me too, and...sometimes I got hard," he confessed.

"Me too," I laughed, "hell, I'm hard now," I said throwing all caution to the wind.

"Yeah, me too," he laughed.

"So, anyway...I guess you probably know where this is heading. I'm about to tell you something that so far I've only told one person."

"Who was that?" he asked, sounding interested.

"Linda. And I really think it's one reason she decided to move away," I said sadly.

He nodded, "I thought there was more to that then you said."

"So, do I need to say it?"

"I think you do," he said smiling, "but not for me, for yourself. This is what you've been building toward all night, now let it go, take the plunge and get it all out."

I nodded, tears streaming down my cheeks. I felt so free, and I hadn't even said the words yet. I felt as if a burden had been lifted from me, and to have my old friend here and sharing this moment, and yes, accepting me, was worth more than anything in the world to me.

"I'm gay!" I said then, then louder I repeated myself, "I'm GAY! I like boys, I'm a homo, a fairy, a fag. I'm GAY!"

"Not so loud," he chuckled, "not everyone is cool with that stuff."

"But you are, right?" I said, suddenly worried that I'd been tricked into my confession.

"I think I always knew," he admitted, "but I didn't have a name for it, or understand it till I got older. In fact, I was afraid that was why you'd broken off our friendship. I just figured you'd found other boys like you and you didn't need me anymore," he added looking sad.

"No, it wasn't like that. I did find other boys who liked to do that stuff, but we were never friends like you and I were," I said wiping the tears from my cheeks.

"Things could have been so different," he said sighing, "if we hadn't quit hanging out, who knows what might have happened. Maybe you and I would have figured some things out together."

"What do you mean?" I asked with excitement. Did I dare think he might like boys too?

He shrugged, "I don't know. We were pretty close, think what might have happened when we reached puberty."

I groaned, had I missed out on the biggest chance of my lifetime because we'd grown apart? Now I was really upset, and I guess it showed on my face.

"Is it too late?" he said, and my head jerked up to meet his eyes.

"Wha...what do you mean?" I said, holding my breath for fear if I so much as breathed this dream would be over.

"I mean, you're free, I'm free. We sort of reconnected tonight, right? Why can't we pick up where we left off, and just see what happens?"

"You...you mean it? I mean, yeah...that's kind of what I was hoping for. You're talking about being friends again, right?"

"Yeah, friends, just like before," he said giving me a devilish grin.

"Like before?" I muttered, then it dawned on me what he was really saying, "OH! You mean...?"

He nodded, "I've learned a lot since we last got naked together, how about you?"

"Yeah, a lot," I said grinning, my heart nearly leaping out of my chest.

"Good, how about we go to bed and show each other what we've learned...?"

The Beginning, of something wonderful.

This short story came to me one night while laying in bed. Though loosely based on my own life and experiences, it is mostly fiction. Omission of the first names of the two main characters was intentional, though of course I am one of them. In my mind, this story is one of those what-if situations we all deal with. Why is it as we grow older we tend to grow apart from those friends who were so close to us in our childhood, and what would happen if we tried to reclaim those friendships? This story is an attempt to do just that, and though I'm not sure things would have worked out quite as well as in the story, I still wish I had tried.

Kewl Dad

3-09-22

Pray for the people of Ukraine and an end to this senseless WAR.

Send all comments to: kewl_dad1@hotmail.com I welcome all feedback and promise a timely reply.