September 5, 1994
The only other boy I recognized was Eric.
It was the first day of seventh grade, and I was starting at a new school. Until this summer, I had lived my whole life in San Diego. Then, seeking a bigger, less-expensive house in a exurb with good schools, my parents (dragging me along) moved to Rancho, California, a town of 33,000 people, 4,600 horses, 14,925 dogs, and 18,320 cats. Rancho Middle School had just been built — in fact, they were still finishing it when the school year started, and the electricity was currently off. “Just until 11:30,” the vice principal told us, going from room to room.
“Come sit at our table.” Eric said, waving at me as I stood at the door to room 308, Mrs. Stinson’s classroom. I was used to desks and chairs arranged in a grid, but this was the 90s now, and creative learning environments were all the rage. There were seven big round tables where four students each could sit. Eric was sitting at one of them with two other boys — a tall, thick boy with red hair and freckles, and a smaller, bespectacled boy with blond hair.
Eric lived on our cul-de-sac, which is how they arrange tract homes in Rancho, apparently. One of the first things Eric said to me was that cul-de-sac means “ass of bag” in French. We hit it off pretty quickly. He and I were both only children, with birthdays exactly a week apart, and he had no on-deck circle for the words that came out of his mouth. My parents and I moved in about a month before school started, and Eric’s parents sent him over with a pie. He liked comics and sci-fi, like I did. Best of all, my parents liked his parents, and vice versa.
I knew we were going to be in the same class, but I didn’t realize, I guess, that we were going to be put in groups right away. “This is Robert,” Eric said. “He just moved here last month.”
“Hi,” I said. “You can call me Bobby.”
“Bobby, this is Andy,” Eric said, and the red-haired boy waved and said hi. “And this is Cory,” he added as the boy in glasses waved back. “We were in the same sixth grade class last year.”
“Did you go to Mason for sixth grade, or …?” Cory asked.
“Oh, uh, no, we moved from San Diego, I went to a school there.” Understanding nods all around the table. People moved a lot here — to here, away from here.
Mrs. Stinson started class, and we went around the whole room introducing ourselves, playing an ice-breaker game. We had to say our name and a thing we would bring to a party, but the thing had to share the same first letter of our name:
- Andy brought an airplane, which didn’t make a lot of sense, but it got some laughs.
- Cory brought a cake. (Cory had it easy.)
- Eric brought an easel. He happened to be looking at an easel in the classroom as he said it.
- And I (Bobby) brought bagels.
Mrs. Stinson was a little frustrated that we didn’t bring an object that, well, perhaps more connected with our personality, but oh well, she had high expectations of a bunch of 12-year-olds.
“I’m 13 on Saturday though,” Andy said later, as we were walking to the library.
“Oh,” I said. “I’ve always been the youngest kid in my class.”
“Me too!” Eric added.
The first week passed. English, math, break, P.E. (thankfully in the mornings, because the afternoons were hot), lunch, science, and social studies last. This was the first time I had to “dress out” for P.E., with a blue t-shirt and shorts that you had to buy from the school. I thought I might feel weird changing clothes with the other kids, but it was surprisingly chill. Except when it wasn’t, and some kid laughs at you for taking off your clothes wrong: it’s shirt off, shirt on, pants off, shorts on; definitely not shirt off, shorts off, shirt on, shorts on. That’s middle-school social suicide.
Thursday we were neck deep in our first science unit on plants and photosynthesis. “I like your binder,” Andy said, as we worked on a problem set. It featured a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles design. “Who’s your favorite turtle?”
“I like Raphael best, he’s funny. Donatello is probably my second favorite, because he’s smart.” I wanted to demonstrate that I wasn’t a TMNT dilettante — I knew my Turts.
“Cool,” Andy said. “I have The Blimp.”
“Way cool,” I said.
“I can show it to you — my parents are letting me have friends over this weekend for my birthday. It’s a sleepover. Ask your parents if you can come,” Andy said.
I thought about it. I wanted friends, and these guys seemed like my kind of nerds. “I will, thanks. I’d like to see The Blimp. Does it fly?”
“If I put helium in it, but I don’t have any helium,” Andy said, slightly disappointed. “But it’s still cool. Do you like wrestling?” Andy asked suddenly.
“Oh, uh, I don’t really watch it. I mean, I know who, like, Hulk Hogan is, but —”
“No no, what I mean is do you like to wrestle?” Andy asked. Eric and Cory looked up from their work, seemingly interested in my answer.
I had wrestled a little with my cousin, who was two years younger than me, but not really. He said I wasn’t any fun to wrestle with because I always wanted to be on the bottom. He wasn’t … wrong … exactly, but I was never sure why. “I mean, I guess? I don’t really know a lot of the rules.”
“We’ll show you,” Andy said. “It’s fun, I promise.”
I dutifully asked my parents if I could go to the sleepover, and they were thrilled that I had made friends this early in the school year. Andy’s mom was a nurse, who worked at the local hospital. Her shift started at noon and went to 10 p.m., so when my mom dropped me off at Andy’s house at 1, it was just the four of us boys who had the house to ourselves. There was a $20 bill stuck to the fridge with a Domino’s Pizza magnet. There were pictures of Andy with his older brother on the walls. Andy said he was starting college at UC Riverside this year. His brother would babysit him when he was younger, but this year for his birthday, Andy’s mom thought he was old enough to not need a babysitter anymore.
That morning, my mom took me to Target to buy a present for Andy. I picked out a Michaelangelo action figure that was dressed up like a surfer. What I didn’t know was that Andy liked G.I. Joe way more than the Ninja Turtles. Cory and Eric got him a plane and a tank, respectively, and Andy’s mom got him a huge airbase set that we spent the afternoon setting up. Thankfully nobody cared particularly about Michaelangelo — he remained in his package for the duration of the sleepover.
G.I. Joe was the focus of the afternoon. The airbase playset was set up in earnest in the middle of the living room, furniture pushed aside in front of the TV. I had to get up to speed quickly on who was a good guy, who was a bad guy, missions, skills, and — well, I was dunked in the deep end of G.I. Joe canon. I mostly watched the others play, since they knew so much more about it than I did.
By 7 p.m., the mission was complete (go Joe!), the sun was setting, and we packed up the playset. We called Domino’s, had it delivered, and ate. After that, Andy surprised us: He had an R-rated movie: The Terminator. I had never seen an R-rated movie, and I was slightly apprehensive, but went along with it. My bedtime was usually at 8:30, and so I assumed we were going to bed after the movie. Andy had other ideas.
I came out of the bathroom, teeth brushed, already changed into my pajamas, which were actually just my P.E. clothes: a t-shirt and shorts. Andy was on top of Eric, holding him in a schoolboy pin. “Why are you in your P.E. clothes?” Andy asked, looking over at me. Eric had a big grin on his face.
“Oh, I wear them as pajamas sometimes.” This was a lie. I had only owned them for a week, and they were brand new. What I didn’t want to do was wear my old Garfield pajamas to a sleepover.
“You’re ready for bed?” Andy chuckled, incredulous.
“Oh, well, no, I mean … I was just, I thought,” I stammered, not really having a good answer. Yes, I thought we were going to bed. Bedtime was at 8:30.
“Oh, so you want to sleep?” Andy asked, getting up off Eric and walking toward me.
“No, I mean — ulp” I yelped as Andy put me in a headlock. His left arm was around my neck and his right arm held it tight in a vise.
“Sleeper!” Andy yelled, and I stumbled forward, away from the headlock, which didn’t help. I tried reaching behind me, but Andy pitched me forward, landing on my back. He held me there in a loose headlock, more holding me down with the weight of his body.
“You win,” I gurgled, and my eyes went wide when I felt it.
Andy had a boner. Like, a huge boner. I would be trying to hide it if I was him, but he wasn’t trying. He was … he was … he actually was rubbing it against me. I could feel it! I tried to buck Andy off me, but it just pressed my butt harder into his dick. I struggled, looking over at Eric and Cory, who were wide-eyed. “Andy,” I protested, but it was suddenly over.
Andy leapt off me, planting a foot on either side of my hips. I rolled over to look up at him, and saw a wet spot forming just under the waistband of his shorts. “WHOO!” Andy shouted, pumping his fist in the air. “Pinned, sucker,” He walked over to Eric and Cory, hands up, expecting high-fives. Eric and Cory stood up suddenly, and Eric turned away as I looked at him, hiding the tent in his pants.
What the crap just happened? I thought to myself.
Andy made a hhhhhhh noise with his mouth, imitating crowd noise. He turned and went to the bathroom.
“What, uh — did he just cum?” Eric asked, his voice a whisper.
“I mean, he was, like humping me,” I whispered back. “Is this, like, something you do together? Or …?” Maybe I was the weird one.
“I mean, he humps me sometimes,” Eric said, “he was kind of humping me when you came out of the bathroom, but he never, like, came on me.”
“But you have a boner,” Cory said to Eric.
“I can’t help it! He’s, like rubbing it —” Eric started, but the lock turned and front door opened suddenly.
“I’m ho-ome,” Andy’s mom said sing-songingly as she brought a brown bag of groceries through the door. “Oh, hi boys, where’s Andy? WHOO! It smells like boy in here, have you be WWF-ing or something? Jeez-a-loo!”
“Andy’s in the bathroom, Mrs. Hutto,” Eric said.
“Thank you Eric, how are you boys?” she asked.
“Good,” all three of us said simultaneously.
“That’s good, did you order pizza? Did Joe beat Cobra?”
“Yes, Mrs. Hutto,” Eric and Cory said. We didn’t dare mention Terminator in case it was Andy’s secret. And we certainly didn’t mention what just happened. Andy emerged from the bathroom with pajama bottoms on, continuing the hhhhhhh sound to cheer himself on until he saw his mom.
“Mom! You’re home early,” he said.
“My shift ended early,” she said. “Plus I got you a treat for your birthday,” she added, indicating the ice cream cake on the counter. We sang the happy birthday song and all had a slice. Everyone seemed ready to just be normal again.
“You boys can stay up late if you want, but I’m going to bed, just keep the noise down to a dull roar. And clean up the pizza if you’re done eating,” Mrs. Hutto said, picking up her handbag and heading toward her bedroom.
“OK Mom,” Andy said.
We tidied up and set up our sleeping bags in front of the TV. We watched a tape of Mystery Science Theater 3000 and giggled until we fell asleep. I can’t say I slept well, considering my mind was turning over what happened when Andy and I wrestled. Was it even wrestling? He just pinned me to the floor and got his rocks off. Eric seemed to like it. I wasn’t even hard, since my little dick was being pushed into the carpet.
I woke up early. I would always be the first to wake up at sleepovers. I just laid there, silently. Cory and Andy woke up next, and I could barely hear them whispering, because Eric was between me and Cory. I didn’t move a muscle and kept my eyes shut.
“Did you cum on Bobby on purpose?” Cory asked.
“Yeah, I pinned him,” Andy replied, as if it was his right, and the most normal thing in the world.
“You never came on me when you pinned me,” Cory said.
“Did you want me to?” Andy asked, somewhat surprised.
“No,” Cory quickly replied, defensively, but slightly unsure. “But why did you do it? It’s kinda gay.”
“My brother and I would do it all the time,” Andy said. “It’s normal. Boners happen whether you want them to or not, so get rid of them. It’s not gay, it’s just wrestling,” Andy said, matching Cory’s slight defensiveness.
Cory was silent for a second. “Does it feel like jacking off?” Cory asked.
“Better,” Andy said, and waited a beat. “You wanna try it?” he asked. I heard him unzip his sleeping bag, but I didn’t dare open my eyes. I was trying to keep my breath steady, like I was still asleep.
What was undeniable, though, was that I was getting hard. It was a combination of morning wood, and hearing Cory slide out of his sleeping bag and on top of Andy. They started to giggle softly. I didn’t hear much, and I risked peeking an eye open. All I could see was Cory grinding his hips over the horizon of Eric. Cory shivered, and seemed to press hard into Andy.
“Get off, I don’t want your cum to soak through,” Andy said. Cory rolled off.
“Crap, it’s on my pajamas,” Cory said.
“Your mom will think you just had a wet dream, leave it alone, it’s normal,” Andy said.
“What are you guys doing?” Eric whispered sleepily.
“Nothing. Wrestling,” Andy said. “Is Bobby awake?”
“Mmmf,” I said, pretending to just wake up.
Cody got up to go to the bathroom. I heard movement from down the hall — saved by the bell. Mrs. Hutto swooped quietly into the kitchen and started getting breakfast together.
Cody came out of the bathroom dressed in the pants he came in with. “Leaving so soon?” Mrs. Hutto quipped.
“He peed the bed,” Andy said.
“I did not!” Cody shot back.
“Trouble in paradise,” Mrs. Hutto said with a curious look. Something had happened, but she didn’t know what.
We had breakfast, and my mom came to pick Eric and me up after we played some more G.I. Joe. But I was confused, and I think Eric was too. I gave him a look in the back seat of the car, and just kind of gave me an I don’t know look. We never did see The Blimp.
That night, I went to sleep in my own bed, but I couldn’t stop thinking about Andy on top of me. I drifted off to sleep, and what I dreamt of wasn’t that, but me on top of Eric. I came in my sleep.
I woke up restless. I’m going to have to talk to Eric about this, I thought.