As the title suggests, this is a short story based on an actual episode that occurred in my life back in the mid-70s. Please take note of the caveats I have added at the story's conclusion. And, due to the sexual aspects of this tale, I am pressed to offer a word of warning to those who may be offended by a same-sex teenaged encounter.
I'm grateful to Nifty for making available this forum, and would encourage all readers and writers to put a little money in their pot to keep it going.
Finally, comments and conversations are welcome: Bagoas330BC@Comcast.net
- A Defining Memory
Taking a Geology class at 8:00 AM was a bad idea. I may have been touted as being an exceptionally smart kid, but this was definitely not one of my best decisions. I wasn't aware of how drastic the rhythm of one's life changes from high school to college. As a freshman in college, 8:00 AM was a hell of a lot earlier than it seemed to have been when I was a senior in high school. But then again, I'm not so sure that the study of rocks would be any less boring at any other time of day.
When the chimes from the bell tower on the center of the campus finally rang the 10:00 AM hour, I shook my head vigorously to eradicate the cobwebs. Contrary to my seat mate, I had at least stayed awake.
"Carlos," I said. "Wake up!" When he didn't move, I gently shook his shoulder. "Carlos! Class is over."
With a soft groan, Carlos slowly raised his head, blinking. "Ah!" he cried, quickly covering his eyes. "Why did she turn the lights back on?"
"The professor stopped showing slides about thirty minutes ago," I said as I pulled my backpack out from underneath my seat. "You've been sleeping ever since."
"Sorry," Carlos mumbled. "But, what can I say? She was showing slides of rocks!" He suddenly looked down at his desk. "Oh, shit! I drooled!"
I laughed as I dropped my textbook and notebook into my backpack.
Carlos was one of the first friends I had made that first semester at the university. Like many of the students, he had a church background -- his father was the pastor of one of the largest Spanish-language churches in south Texas. And, like many of the students, he was enjoying his first tastes of freedom. Short, stout and cute, he had become a popular presence at parties. But, he was also the first one to grab someone's hands and say a prayer for them.
It was one of those paradoxes I had not yet quite rationalized. When I accepted the scholarship to attend this particular university, I understood that it was still a church-affiliated institution, and I had resigned myself to the possibility of a fairly chaste lifestyle as compared to other schools I could have attended. I was surprised to find the student population much more diverse than I had expected. There was also an off-campus social life that could sometimes be outright raucous.
As Carlos and I stepped out of the Science and Technology building, I tentatively suggested, "You know, Carlos . . . maybe you should slow things down a bit."
"What do you mean?" He squinted hard in the sunlight and tried to use me as a screen. "You think I'm doing too many parties?"
"Maybe."
"It's possible," he grinned. "But I'm having such a good time."
"I suppose you didn't get to do a lot of these things at home, being a preacher's kid and all."
His brow furrowed, as if he was mulling over that thought for the first time. "I didn't do a lot of partying at home; no," he said. "But . . . I've always had a good time, no matter what I was doing."
"I can believe that."
A couple of large trucks rumbled by at that moment, the noise obviously bothering Carlos.
"I've seen quite a few of those trucks coming in this morning," I commented. "I wonder what's going on?"
"There's a big concert tonight," Carlos said, clutching the sides of his head. "Two or three bands."
"Seriously?" I asked, getting excited. "Like, as in rock bands?"
"Don't get too stoked," Carlos said. "They're all Christian bands. But, you should go."
"I don't think so."
"These are great bands," Carlos insisted. "And, it will be big and loud and lots of fun."
"You going to be over your hangover by then?"
"Mm," Carlos murmured. "Good question. I'd better go find some Tylenol."
Laughing again, I said, "I'll see you in the cafeteria at lunchtime."
"I don't want to think about food just yet. But, I'll see you there." He clasped one of my hands and pulled it to his chest -- one of his signature moves. "Check you later." Then he turned and trotted off.
I watched him for a moment, and then started heading in the other direction toward the library. I had a little bit of time to kill before lunch, and decided to see if I could make some headway on an English Lit. paper that was due at the end of the week. As I passed other students along the way, I heard my name shouted in greeting more than once. I nodded and smiled politely. I had no clue as to who they were, and it was a mystery how they had learned my name so quickly.
Taking a short cut to get to the library, I skirted around the back of the auditorium. The trucks I had seen earlier were backed up to the loading docks, and I could see a large array of black cases being trundled into the bays.
Turning the corner, I saw a boy on a skateboard. I didn't recognize him as anyone I'd seen on campus before. But, it was a big campus. He had a skater look about him -- long hair, a loose fitting t-shirt and board shorts. He had discovered a side door of the auditorium that had a landing area and steps. There was a wrought iron railing on each side of the steps, and it was actually low enough for him to attempt to grind it.
I stopped and watched him for a few moments. Even though he was not having any luck with the trick, I could see that he was a graceful kid. He continued to land on his feet, even as his skateboard careened out from underneath him.
He noticed me after his third or fourth attempt. Soft brown eyes looked up at me from under his hair, and he offered a shy, "Hey."
I responded with a nod of my head.
"I was just kind of messing around," he said.
"Yeah, you just need to stomp a little harder on the back of your board when you're trying to do your Ollie."
The kid stared back at me with heightened interest. "You skate?" he asked.
"Yeah." I unshouldered my backpack and placed it on the ground. "Let me see your board."
The boy flipped his board to an upright position and handed it to me. I took the steps up to the landing, and then surveyed the height of the railing. "Yeah," I commented. "It's a little high, but . . . you still should be able to mount it." I backed up a pace and stepped onto his board. Two leg kicks gave me enough speed. With a good stomp on the back of the board, I was able to successfully jump and then grind the rail down.
"Cool!" the boy cried.
"You try it," I said as I handed him his board back.
Eagerly, he clambered up the steps. Trying to emulate what he'd seen me do, he actually did manage to land on the railing. But, he wasn't balanced, and he lunged forward as his board clattered down to the sidewalk. I was standing close enough to catch him as he fell. And suddenly, I was staring into those brown eyes.
Forgive me as I pause a moment here to ruminate. When one remembers certain moments of the past, there is a tendency to exaggerate the intensity. Let's face it -- we usually don't realize the significance of something until we analyze it after the fact. As I think about that moment when I suddenly had this boy in my arms, I'm not sure if I felt as strongly about it then as I do now. Yes, we stared at each other for a moment. Yes, there was something that passed between us -- a recognition of something behind our eyes that harbored both desire and fear. I might even go so far as to say I could feel his heart pounding as his chest was pressed against mine for those few seconds -- but that, above everything else, lends credence to my theory that I'm elevating the magnitude of this little moment. Suffice it to say; he fell into my arms, and we lingered for perhaps an extra second or two as something unspoken passed between us.
"Sorry," he said, taking a step back from me.
"No problem," I said. "You almost had it. Want to try again?"
With a shy smile, he asked, "You going to catch me if I fall again?"
"Yeah, I'll be here," I said. I believe I may have grinned. Yes, I'm pretty sure that I grinned.
He tried the trick again, and this time he succeeded, albeit with a little teetering at the top of the rail. He flashed me a triumphant smile as he picked up his board and raced up the steps for another shot at it. But this time, when he hit the rail he once again lost his balance and fell forward. Once again, I was standing close enough to catch him, and once again I wound up with the boy in my arms.
"You did that on purpose this time," I said.
"No, I didn't," he laughed. But, he took an even longer moment before taking a step back from me.
"What's your name?" I asked.
"Zach," he said.
"I'm Brendon," I said.
We grasped hands in an awkward sort of high-five handshake. It's a funny thing, how strange a handshake feels after you've held someone in your arms.
"I haven't seen you around before," I said.
"I'm just visiting today," he said.
"Ah," I said. "That explains it. You thinking about being a student here?"
"Er . . . maybe."
"So, you're still in high school? How old are you?"
"Sixteen," Zach said, scrutinizing me a little closer. "How old are you?"
I laughed. "You're thinking that I don't look old enough to be a college student?"
"Yeah, maybe."
"I'm seventeen," I said. "I graduated from high school early."
"Oh," he responded with a bit of uncertainty. "I guess that's good."
I appreciated his hesitation. Many would not understand the loneliness of being one of the youngest kids on campus.
"Tell you what," I said. "I don't have to be anywhere until after lunch. Can I show you around the campus?"
"Sure," he said, trying not to appear too eager. "Can you give me a second to let my sister know what I'm doing?"
"No problem."
He turned, and I was surprised when I saw him run back up the steps and pull open the large door to the auditorium. Then, I remembered my first experience of visiting the university. The first activity of the day had been an orientation meeting in the auditorium. Zach's family was evidently engaged in the same tedious meeting -- and he had somehow extracted himself to get in a little skating. I liked this kid.
He was reemerging as I picked up my backpack. "All cool?" I asked.
"Yeah," he said. "You think it's okay if I leave my board here?"
"Mm," I responded with a slight shake of my head. "This is a church-affiliated school and all, but . . ."
"I'll stick it inside the door," he said.
"That would be better."
He ran back up the steps and placed his board inside the door. Then he vaulted over the railing and fell in step with me. I noticed that he was one of those kids who seemed to like walking very close, with little to no space in between us. Over the next hour or so, our shoulders were often nudging one another, and I could feel the coolness of his hand grazing mine.
I showed him various things that I thought he would find interesting -- the different buildings that held the university's many schools, the athletic complex and the stadium. He quietly took it all in. And, if I had been a little more observant, I would have noticed the heightened amount of attention we received as we walked. It's only in hindsight that I now remember seeing double takes, raised eyebrows, and extended stares.
When we came to the hall that held most of the music school, Zach quietly asked, "Do you think we could take a look inside?"
"Sure," I said. "I don't know much about this place, yet. If you don't mind, we may have to explore together."
"You're not into music?"
"Of course, I'm into music. It's not something I'm majoring in, though -- so, I don't have any classes that take place in this building." Moving toward the front steps, I said, "Let's check it out."
Close on my heels, I heard Zach in my ear asking, "What kind of music are you into?"
"I've played in bands since I was a freshman in high school," I said as I reached for the heavy wooden front doors of the building.
"Really? What do you play?"
"Piano and keyboards," I said.
We were entering into what was obviously an outer lobby. Double doors in front of us were opened -- we could see the empty seats of a small auditorium. From somewhere above us, we could hear the distant sound of someone practicing trills on a trumpet. And, as I paused momentarily to figure out the layout of the place, I felt Zach once again by my side.
"So, what kind of music do you play?" he asked, nudging in close.
"Most of the guys I've played with like blues rock -- mainly because the chords are simple and they can do a lot of jamming."
"Is that what you like?"
When I turned to him, his face was very close to mine, and I was once more staring at those soft brown eyes. "I like it," I said, feeling compelled to speak softly, close to a whisper. "I mean . . . I like it when I'm playing with them. It's not what I play when I'm by myself."
"What do you play when you're by yourself?"
"For a while, I was playing lots of Billy Joel. But, I recently discovered Ray Charles."
"I love Ray Charles," Zach said, his eyes sparkling.
"Let's find a practice room," I said. "I'll play you a couple of tunes."
Yes, I will confess. My motives at that point were becoming muddled. I did have a serious obsession with Ray Charles at the time, and sincerely relished the opportunity to share that enthusiasm with someone who would appreciate it. But, something else was happening. His physical closeness, the yearning in his eyes -- it was becoming a matter of urgency that I get this boy someplace private.
Now, please understand this. It was not normal for me to act this way, or even contemplate this sort of activity -- a random hook-up that harbored the possibility of something . . . illicit, perhaps. In fact, I'd never done this sort of thing at all. My sexual experiences involved dates with girls and a little groping in the car prior to the witching hours set by parents. My experience with boys was almost the same, except that the groping took place in the context of a sleepover. With both genders, the activity had always stopped before I could really say that I'd had legitimate sex with that individual.
Following the sound of the trumpeter who was now practicing scales instead of trills, we eventually found the practice rooms. They were upstairs, in a long hallway that was behind the upper balcony of the auditorium. I felt like I was in the rafters of the building. And, at that hour of the day, it appeared that the trumpeter was the only musician motivated to improve his skills. Much to our delight, we found that all of the other practice rooms were empty. Much to my personal disappointment, I discovered that all of the doors to the practice rooms had little windows. Oh, well . . . so much for getting naked.
The room at the end of the hall seemed to be the largest, and I was pleased to see a small grand piano. I went directly to it as Zach gently closed the door behind us. Sitting down on the bench, I pressed a few chords to get the feel of the keyboard. Then, I started playing "Georgia On My Mind."
"I don't sing that well," I warned Zach as I started to sing the verse. There was a reason that someone else sang lead in the band that I played in. I could stay on pitch, and provide some good back-up vocals, but that was about the extent of it. Zach seemed to be okay with it, though. He leaned on the piano, a strange smile on his face -- even grinning once or twice.
When I finished "Georgia On My Mind," I segued into "Hit the Road, Jack." When I got to the verse, I laughed and sang directly to Zach.
Now baby, oh baby, don't you treat me this way You know I'll be back on my feet some day --
Then, I got the shock of my life. Shy little Zach pounced on the second part of the verse and sang back to me.
Don't care if you do! `Cause it's understood You ain't got no money, you're just no good
And, he was great! He even had the growl that the woman in the recording had. Unable to keep playing, I cried out, "Holy shit!"
I saw him wince at my choice of language. Then, before I could shout any more obscenities, he asked, "Do you know `Baby, What'd I Say?'"
Knowing that that particular song was constructed around a fairly straight-forward blues progression, I plunked out a few chords to see if I could work it out. Once I started to get the feel of it, I heard Zach murmur, "Yeah, that's it." I sped up the tempo a little bit to get the rhythm going. And then, he started to sing. And, it was all I could do to keep playing. He was incredible. His voice was like Stevie Wonder crossed with Freddie Mercury -- smooth as silk, but capable of the most acrobatic soul and R & B riffs. What was even more amazing was the transformation that came over him as he sang -- like a wildflower that had burst into bloom.
He reached the point in the song where Ray Charles banters back and forth with his band. Looking at me, he sang, "Hey!" And, of course, I sang back at him, "Hey!" He sang, "Oh!" and I sang, "Oh!" Then, we were off and running again, with me attempting to keep up with him.
I jumped up from the piano bench when it was over, screaming, "Oh, my fucking God!" He winced again, and this time I noticed. "Sorry," I said. "I'm just blown away. No wonder you were interested in seeing the music building." I approached him. "Seriously, though -- are you sure you want to go to school here? All I've heard them do here is opera and church music. They would ruin you."
I saw him actually smile at that last remark. "You don't like gospel music? Ray Charles is nothing but soul and gospel."
"I've never heard any singing like that in the churches I've been in."
Looking away again, he said, "So you . . . go to church?"
"A couple of times. My family wasn't ever into it, but I had a few friends who took me every once in a while. So, seriously . . ." Approaching him, I placed my hands on his upper arms. "You're amazing." He turned, and . . . there we were again, staring into each other's eyes. This time, I didn't back away. "I'll tell you this, too," I said. "There's something going on inside of me, right now -- and, it isn't just about your singing. It started when you fell into my arms off of your skateboard."
He knew what I was talking about. I could see it in his eyes. And, he didn't turn away. "Are you . . . um . . .?"
"Am I gay?"
Grinning shyly, he said, "So that's the new word for it? Gay?"
"Yeah. Funny name, really."
"Mm."
"So . . . are you?"
"I don't know," he said, his face coloring slightly. "I've never done it."
"You mean, have sex?"
"I've never done it with a guy or a girl."
"Well . . ." I'm sure that my face joined his in turning pink at that moment. "That makes two of us. I mean . . . I've done adolescent stuff, but nothing beyond --"
"--I haven't even done that. But, I've imagined what it would be like, and I've fantasized a lot. In God's eyes, that's the same thing as actually having sex."
"Well, if that's the case, then you and I are already having sex."
A smile flitted across his face before his eyes fluttered downward. "Is there . . . someplace we can go?" he asked, glancing furtively at the window in the door.
"My dorm is a zoo," I said. "But . . ." I pondered a moment. "I have an idea. Wait here for a few minutes."
•••••••••••••
It took a couple of phone calls and a dash back over to the Science and Technology building to find my friend Katie. But, around 20 minutes later I was walking back into the practice room with a key in my hands. "We have a room," I whispered with a wiggle of my eyebrows.
Zach was sitting at the piano, staring at the keys.
"I'm sorry it took so long," I said, suddenly worried that he'd lost his nerve after having spent 20 minutes alone in a room with nothing else to think about. I closed the door to the practice room and walked over to him. "You okay?" I asked as I slid in beside him on the piano bench.
"Mm," he nodded. "It's just a little unbelievable to me that . . . I'm actually considering . . . doing something like this."
"If you don't want to do it, we're still cool. We can just sit and talk, maybe sing some more songs."
"I want to do it. I'll hate myself if I don't do it. But . . . I guess I'm just scared."
"Are you scared of me?"
"No." He shook his head emphatically. "Not at all. You've been really sweet to me, and . . . you're giving me the chance to do something I've . . . fantasized about for . . . forever, it seems. It's just that . . . in the eyes of Giod, what we're about to do is--"
"Oh. Yeah, I've heard the language around the university a couple of times. An abomination," I said with a smirk. "Guys who have sex with other guys are an abomination! I think people who say that are stupid and ignorant. But, I love that word. Abomination!"
"They're quoting the Bible, though. Do you think the Bible is stupid?"
"No, actually. But, people can take a random verse or passage out of the Bible and make it say whatever they want it to say." I stepped over to him and leaned on the piano. "They talk about guys who love guys being an abomination. But, they conveniently forget about the story of David and Jonathan, who were way more than friends. They conveniently forget about Jesus, who had a disciple--a disciple who is never named, but is simply referred to as `the disciple whom Jesus loved.' They conveniently forget that Jesus had absolutely nothing to say about homosexuality."
"So, do you think you're homosexual? I mean . . . I know you said you haven't really done much. But--"
"I think about guys a lot. Maybe I should use your word--I fantasize about guys a lot. But, there are some girls--certain types of girls, I suppose--who sometimes turn me on."
"Have you ever been in love?"
"No." I shook my head, for the first time a little uncomfortable.
"Really?" His soft eyes scrutinized me. "You're 17, and you've never been in love?"
"It's a mystery to me," I said. "Maybe I'm still figuring out exactly what love is."
"So, you really don't know if you're--"
"--gay or straight or someplace in between? I'm not sure that I care that much. Right now, at this very moment, I'm with someone who is lighting fires and tripping circuits all over the place in my mind and body. That's all I know."
He smiled. Finally! He smiled. Turning away, he gazed at the door for a moment. Then, after a long exhale of breath, he stood. "Let's do it," he said quietly.
"You sure?" I asked, straightening.
"In my imagination, I've already undressed you three or four times," he replied. "If I'm going to be on my knees begging for forgiveness at the end of this day anyway . . . it might as well be for the real thing."
•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••
Within walking distance of the campus, Katie's apartment was actually a small cottage located behind a small mansion the locals referred to as the Mahoney House. "Supposedly, this place dates back to the eighteen fifties," I muttered as I turned the key in the front door. "It was a small plantation--the only thing left of it is the main house and . . ." I pushed the door open and gestured for Zach to enter. ". . . this place. The shack where the house slaves lived."
When I'm nervous, I tend to jabber.
"Katie shares the place with a roommate. I've been here once before when they invited some of us over for a big pot of Mulligan stew."
The floor creaked underneath us as we stepped into the tiny front room. And I wish I could speak more of what the place looked like. I do remember it being a bit tidier than a typical guy's pad--there were no clothes strewn around on the floor, there was no kitchen sink overflowing with dirty dishes. It still held the evidence of student inhabitants, though. There was a table near the kitchen, slightly larger than a card table, cluttered with textbooks, manila folders and scattered papers. Heavily marked calendars and class schedules were magnetically nailed to the refrigerator. These things I vaguely remember.
My true focus was on a couch situated in the front room. Its black leather was worn to a grayish white around the edges. A burnt orange blanket was hanging over one arm--the girls probably intended it to be draped decoratively over the back of the couch, but from my earlier visit I recalled finding better purposes for it due to an air-conditioning unit located in a window only an arm's length away. Fortunately, on this mild day in late September, the air-conditioner was silent. It was a small couch, but . . . it seemed perfect for two smallish sized teenaged boys.
I turned to Zach, who was staring back at me, terrified.
"Don't worry," I spoke quietly. "This is new to me, too. In fact, I'm perfectly cool with you calling the shots. Just tell me what you want to do."
"I don't know what to do."
I stepped closer to him. "You said you've fantasized about . . . stuff. Maybe we can start there. What are your fantasies? Tell me about them."
"They're mainly . . . just . . . like exploring."
"You mean, like, exploring each others' bodies?"
Zach's face turned the cutest shade of crimson. "Yeah," he whispered.
"I'm actually relieved," I said. "I don't think I'm ready for hardcore stuff."
"Definitely not," Zach said, shaking his head vigorously.
I reached out for the side of his face. "Let's just explore," I said as I brushed his cheek with the back of my finger and then traced his jaw line. There was the slightest evidence of facial hair. "Are you shaving yet?"
"I get this whispy kind of stuff under my chin and . . . where you're touching me."
"That's sort of the same with me. I'm blond. I'm not sure I'll ever grow an actual beard."
"I'd like to dye my hair blond."
"Why?"
"It's just this . . . mousy sort of brown."
"You're able to grow it long, though. It's nice and straight." I reached out to stroke the side of his head. "And it's soft. I can't grow mine that long. It would look like some kind of out of control haystack."
"I'd love to have hair like yours." He tentatively reached out, first running his fingers through my hair and then brushing the side of my face. His touch was both feathery soft and charged with electricity. "You're totally smooth," he said, incredulously. "I've got more stuff going on than you do. Do you have--?" His eyes traveled downward.
"Pubic hair?" I laughed. "Yes. A little. Do you?"
"Yeah. It's gross."
I laughed again. "Do you have any hair on your chest?"
"No. Thank God!"
"Let me see."
The smiles left our faces. Zach hesitated. Then he reached for the edges of his t-shirt.
"Wait," I said. "Let me do it."
He raised his arms as I lifted his shirt up. My hands brushed his bare sides as I pulled it over his head. Yes, I did that on purpose. I confess. It accomplished just what I hoped it would as I felt the slightest of tremors underneath my fingers. Stepping back, I gazed at the slender body that was now exposed. Like the personality traits I had begun to see in Zach, his torso seemed to convey that same sense of softness. Noticing that he was standing with his arms straight down by his sides with his shoulders bent slightly inward, I said, "You have nothing to be ashamed of, Zach." I gently grabbed his upper arms. "Stand tall. Be proud. I think you're beautiful."
"I'm not beautiful," he responded, his face once again blooming into that adorable shade of pinkish red.
My hands traveled down his arms--and I lingered over the downy hair on his forearms. Among other things that differentiated guys from girls, this was an attribute I found inexplicably enticing. Then I moved to his hips. "You have the slightest hint of a treasure trail," I said as I ran a finger through the barely visible fur below his navel. I saw his stomach involuntarily tighten. Brushing my hands across it, I traveled upward to his chest. "I don't care what you think," I said as I caressed his caramel colored nipples with my thumb. "I think you're beautiful."
"No, I'm not."
I was ready to argue with him, but his hands were suddenly grasping the buttons on my shirt. I was wearing one of those short-sleeved cotton shirts that us kids generally wore untucked with a pair of shorts during the summer months. Zach quickly unbuttoned it, but then hesitated. Slipping his hands onto my bare shoulders, he slowing opened my shirt and let it fall to the floor. Then he stared--and I felt the oddest mix of excitement and vulnerability. No one had ever looked at me quite like Zach did at that moment. I wasn't necessarily lacking in confidence--my body was nice enough for a typical seventeen-year old--but Zach's gaze came through an emotional lens I had never before experienced. Lust, wonder, fear . . . other things I couldn't begin to identify.
"You're . . . just so . . . perfect," he murmured. Tentatively reaching out, he placed one of his open palms on my chest. "You're like . . . hard and soft at the same time."
"And I'm going to say it again--I think you are beautiful."
In response, Zach shook his head dismissively.
Slipping my hands between his arms, I caressed his back and then gently grasped his bare hips. "You are beautiful," I insisted, "and I'll tell you why. You have this nicely toned male body. But with your hair falling down past your shoulders, along with your soft features, you've also got this feminine vibe going on."
"Feminine?"
"That's not a bad thing. There's a word for it--I just can't think of it at the moment. It just means you have this mix of male and female attributes that make you really attractive, to both guys and girls--especially to a guy like me who falls somewhere in the middle of the orientation meter."
"I'm still not--"
"Androgynous! That's the word I was trying to think of. You're androgynous."
"Androgynous," he repeated softly. "You think that's a good thing?"
Laughing, I pulled him to me. As his chest met mine, he gasped at our first actual skin to skin contact. I ran my hands over his back, and then reached down again for those wonderful hips. Feeling no resistance from him, I decided it was time to make the next move. I let my hands travel lower. Squeezing his butt cheeks I pulled him into me so that we had no choice but to feel our growing boyhoods.
"Now there's one thing I know for certain," I whispered in Zach's ear. "There's no question about the masculine nature of that thing that's inside your shorts."
I was rewarded with the sound of Zach's breathy giggle. Stepping back, I grasped his hand and led him to the small couch. He sat--then I lifted his legs, and gave his chest a gentle push. Now it was my turn to gaze on the sight of a beautiful boy stretched out before me. He smiled at me--and even though his brown eyes still showed uncertainty, I knew he wanted this to happen. I caressed his bare shoulders and then traced circles on his chest, smaller and smaller until my fingers were simply massaging his nipples. His chest rose underneath me as he released the cutest little moan. I traveled down to his stomach. He had one of those navels that was neither in or out, and I couldn't help but have to explore it for a moment.
I finally reached the hem of his shorts. I looked up--his eyes were closed. He was waiting. I undid the button and pulled down the zipper. He was wearing white briefs--thinking back, this was the latter part of that era. Boxers were still the uncool choice of our fathers and grandfathers. At that moment in time, the coolest aspect of a white pair of briefs was the outline of a hard dick that could clearly be seen. With excitement, I reached in and got my first feel through the cotton material. Then I slipped my hand under the waistband.
"Wait," he suddenly whispered. Rising up, he gently placed his hands on my shoulder. As he twisted himself around, he guided me down to the couch. It was his turn to explore. Stretching my arms behind my head, I laid back, opened up for him. For a long moment, he simply stared down at me. "I don't know where to start," he murmured. I reached out and took one of his hand, then pulled it to my chest. He took it from there. I closed my eyes as I felt his soft hands caressing the length of my body.
In some ways, we weren't doing anything different from those groping sessions I experienced as a kid. But there was something new in this. I was aware of a new sensation -- a feeling I couldn't recall having when I was younger. This wasn't just an exciting opportunity for us to touch some bare flesh. There was an emotional element to this. This boy was exploring my body as if it was something . . . sacred.
I felt the button on my shorts being unbuttoned. I lifted my hips so that he could pull them off. Then in an act of uncharacteristic boldness, I grabbed his hand and placed it on the front of my underwear so that he could feel my state of arousal. He let it rest there for a moment. Then I felt a form of stimulation I hadn't experienced before. I opened my eyes to see that he was traveling the length of my penis with just one finger. Up and down, up and down -- he would linger at the tip and place just the slightest amount of pressure before tracing the same pattern down again.
"Where did you learn to do that?" I asked between little catches of my breath. "That's incredible."
"It's just something I've thought about doing. It's cool that I get to try it out. But . . . it would be better if . . ." He reached for the waistband of my underwear and pulled it gently down, exposing my hard dick. "I'm not surprised," he said. "This is just as perfect as the rest of you."
"And just how many other dicks have you ever seen?" I asked with a chuckle.
"Yeah, you've got a point there," he smiled.
He pulled my underwear off. And once again, he stopped to gaze down at my now completely naked body. It seems absurdly vain of me now, but I remember actually posing for him. I stretched my arms out, I spread my legs slightly. His hands once again traveled across my body, this time including my legs and my hips. And he helped me discover what I suppose you could call an erogenous zones. My hips. Go figure. His hands caressing my hips somehow got me going. And when he would start from my chest, then slowly travel down my sides to my hips, it drove me crazy.
"Okay, stop." I sat up, breathless.
"Have I done anything wrong?"
"The opposite case. You're doing everything right. It's your turn." I turned to give him space to lie back on the couch, but I saw a glimmer of reluctance on his face. "What's wrong?"
"It's just . . ." He hesitated.
"Zach, you've just made me feel really good. Special, even. You deserve to be on the receiving end for a little bit."
"It's just that . . . I'm kind of small."
"You mean your dick?"
"Yeah."
"Why don't you let me be the judge of that?" I guided him down on the couch. I saw that his nervousness had softened the member I'd seen earlier through the fabric of his underwear. "Close your eyes," I whispered close to his ear. Then with my face close to his chest, I drew in a deep breath. "Umm . . . you smell like soap and hair shampoo. You evidently took a shower this morning."
"Boy, am I ever glad I did. Who knew what I was going to wind up doing today."
"Yeah," I laughed. "Who knew?"
I placed my lips on the center of his smooth chest. Then, moving to one of those soft caramel colored nipples, I ran my wet tongue around it. This produced a demonstrative reaction -- Zach's chest suddenly raised up, and he stared at me with wide eyes. "Shh," I whispered as I moved close. "Close your eyes." I planted a soft kiss on his forehead, then another one on his cheek. Then I hesitated, knowing that I was on the verge of going someplace I had not yet gone. I had kissed a couple of girls -- casual kisses that really did nothing for me. I had never kissed a boy. And I'd never kissed anyone in this kind of situation. I'm sure this little pause only lasted a couple of seconds at the most -- but it seems like a myriad of thoughts and fears resounded in my brain. But I'd already passed the point where any kind of restraint seemed possible. I placed my lips on Zach's. At first, there was no response. Then I felt a hand on the back of my neck, and suddenly we were diving down each other's throats with our tongues. Any element of shyness and awkwardness that originally tempered us disappeared. We couldn't seem to get deep enough into each other. We were making involuntary noises -- whimpers and moans. It was incredible. And it may seem far fetched to consider this, but I really do believe I would have been satisfied to keep doing that and nothing else for the rest of the day. It was that good. But Zach finally came up for air.
"Please," he cried. Reaching down, he quickly stripped off his underwear. "I'm ready."
I smiled as I gazed down at his exposed boyhood. It had definitely come back to life. "Zach, you're not small," I said. "The only reason you think you're small is because you're not a big kid. In proportion to your small body, your dick is actually perfect."
"Okay, that's fine," he responded breathlessly. "Now, just do something with it."
I laughed. Then I decided to try his trick. I took one finger and started on his chest, circling his nipples. Once again I got a demonstrative response -- his chest raised and he took in quick breaths. It seems that I had found one of his erogenous areas. From there I lightly traveled down his stomach, lingering for a moment on his cute little navel. Moving lower, I avoided his dick. Spreading his legs slightly, I traced the inside of his thigh -- which produced another visceral reaction, at first a twitching of his legs and then a moaning tremor that shook his whole body. When I reached his feet, I opted to give them a little massage -- if he was extremely ticklish, one finger would have driven him nuts. Moving back up, I caressed his sides and hips. I loved watching the way his body responded under my touch -- as he stretched I could see the beginning of muscles forming underneath his smooth skin.
I finally decided it was time to pay attention to his throbbing erection. His pubic hair was soft, almost downy. As I caressed his balls, I noticed they had not yet sprouted any hair -- they were smooth like mine. I then used one finger to travel up the shaft of his penis. When I reached the tip, I used the same technique he had used on me -- I applied just a little pressure on the underside. His reaction was rewarding -- a raising of his chest and a soft moan. I did this a couple of time, gliding up and down his shaft and lingering on the tip. Then I decided to take him further -- further than I had ever gone before. Bending over him, I replaced my finger with my tongue. Starting with his balls, I swirled around and then traveled up the length of his penis. When I reached the tip, I applied both pressure with just a little movement of my tongue. "Oh God," I heard Zach utter with a mixture of a whisper and a groan. His head was thrown back, his arms were pressed into the sofa, his chest was raised. It was thrilling to discover I could take someone to this place.
Throwing any inhibitions I may have had to the wayside, I wrapped my lips around Zach's dick and took him into my mouth. I heard another, "Oh, God." This was the first time I had tried this, so I had no skillset or technique to speak of. I had heard talk of people being able to take a dick deep down their throats -- I was nowhere near being able to attempt that. I simply knew that I needed to apply a lot of saliva, and that a simple up and down movement with my lips would produce the desired sensations. And it appeared I was doing something right, as Zach literally writhed underneath me on the couch. And I discovered something else about myself at that moment. I liked this. I liked the unique taste and feel of a cock in my mouth. I liked the experimental aspect of trying different ways to please a guy -- I would later learn throughout my life that every guy is a little different. More than anything else, I loved the paradox of sucking a boy's dick. On one hand I was in a servant's posture, on my knees pleasuring him. On the other hand I was in a position of control and power as I took this boy to the brink of his orgasm. I liked this. I liked this a lot.
"Wait!" Zach suddenly cried breathlessly. "I'm . . . close. I want to . . . I want us to . . . do it together."
"You mean cum? You want us to cum together?"
"Yes. Can we . . . do it like this?"
Zach wrapped his hand around my penis and pulled me toward him so that our dicks were pressed together. Then he began to stroke. It was my turn to utter an, "Oh, God." It wasn't just the feel of his cock joined with mine. He was staring at me as he stroked us both closer and closer to a mutual orgasm. We were sharing the intimacy and vulnerability of a boy's most human moment. I reached out and wrapped my hand around his. We stroked together. We stroked faster. Faster. Zach's face went into a grimace. I felt the tension building in my dick. He released a high pitched groan and I felt the splat of his first jet of cum hit my stomach. Then I experienced something I've had a hard time replicating ever since. I was at the peak. I was there. But there was a longer moment of tension before I finally released. It was a long enough moment of agony that I involuntarily cried out when the sweet relief of release finally came. Then it was sweet bliss, hearing Zach's moans and feeling the pulsing of his dick as I released what felt like a lifetime's worth of cum. I didn't want it to end.
I finally collapsed on top of Zach, feeling the wetness between us. And then we were kissing again. He wrapped his arms so tightly around me that I had trouble breathing. Chest to chest, dick to dick, faces locked in the sweetest post-orgasm reverie I could ever have imagined. It was with great reluctance that I drew back. I nestled my head on Zach's shoulder, and for a few moments I just listened to the rhythm of our breathing.
"How long can we stay like this?" Zach murmured in my ear.
"You read my thoughts," I said. "I don't want this to end."
"Me, neither." He tightened his arms around me as another long moment passed. Then he whispered, "Didn't you say you had a class this afternoon?"
"I already missed it. And I don't care." I felt the breath of his quiet laugh in my ear. "But you're missing stuff, aren't you?"
"I imagine my sister is wondering about me. She's more of a mother than a sister. She and her husband have pretty much raised me."
"We'd better clean up, then. We wreak of the smell of sex."
•••
Suffice it to say that more stuff happened as we showered together.
I left a note on the table for Katie, telling her I owed her a really nice dinner. Then we walked back across the campus toward the main auditorium. We were quiet. I was fighting a mixture of feelings -- and actually surprised at myself for them. I knew it was stupid to think about anything beyond what had happened in the course of that day. Zach was still in high school, and if he was sixteen he probably had two more years before he had any plans of starting his college education. But I was harboring an almost desperate desire to somehow keep him in my life. I felt something for him, far and above anything I'd felt before. Surely it couldn't be love. You can't fall in love with someone in the course of a few hours. But I didn't know what else it could be.
"So . . ." I ventured as we approached the side door of the auditorium. "Do you think there's any way we might be able to see each other again."
"Are you planning to go to the concert tonight?"
"I hadn't planned on it. Is that something that's included in your activities on campus today?"
"Yeah . . . I'll be there," he responded with a strange smile. Then he glanced around furtively before approaching me. Wrapping his arms around me, he gave me a quick, but deep kiss. "Thank-you for today," he said. "Considering how I feel about . . . you, and what we did today . . . it seems really inadequate to just say thank-you. But . . ."
"Me, too. I mean . . . I feel the same way."
We stared into each others' eyes for a long moment. It seemed hard to believe this was the same kid who was so shy that morning. He kissed me once more before saying, "I'd better get in there."
"Yeah," I said as I reluctantly released my hold on him. He turned and climbed the couple of steps to the side door. "So . . . I'll pick up a ticket to the concert tonight. Where should I meet you?"
"Just come," he said, once again with that crazy, strange smile on his face. "You won't be able to miss me." And then he slipped in through the door and was gone.
It was at that point when I began to suspect something. Although there is a reason I graduated from high school early -- I'm a smart kid -- I can also be incredibly clueless sometimes. It dawned on me that the auditorium wasn't being used that day for anything related to a student orientation. It was way too early in the school year for that. There was a big concert that night; trucks had been hauling in equipment all day. Zach . . . holy shit! Zach was involved in that concert. And given what I'd heard when he sang those Ray Charles tunes, he had to be one of the singers.
I walked over to the Student Center to obtain a ticket.
•••
That evening, I heard my name being called as I approached the front doors of the auditorium. My heart jumped into my throat, but it was Carlos, appearing slightly out of breath. I reached out my hand, knowing that he'd grab it and press it to his chest.
"Hey, man," he said. "I haven't seen you all day. Where you been?"
"Er . . . I got tied up with something." Looking to change the subject, I added, "You're looking all winded. Did you have to run here from someplace?"
"No, man. I got caught up in the most intense game of Super Frisbee. It was awesome. But, hey -- I didn't think you were coming tonight."
"Yeah, I . . . changed my mind."
"Awesome. Why don't you sit with us?"
"Who is `us'?"
Carlos proceeded to go through a litany of names that sounded like half of the university was planning to sit in his section.
"Uh . . . I tell you what," I finally interrupted him. "I have a spot where I kind of like to sit. But I appreciate the offer."
"Cool. We'll be somewhere down front if you change your mind."
"Gotcha."
Another clasped hand pulled to his chest, and he was gone. Once again, I turned toward the front doors of the auditorium, but then I heard my name called yet again. A female voice. It was Katie. As she approached me, I knew I wouldn't be able to hide the blush in my cheeks. "Hey," she said with a knowing grin on her face. And yep; I blushed. Big time blush. I could feel it.
"Thanks, Katie," I said as I gave her a quick hug. "I owe you. A lot."
"No worries -- although I'll have to admit I was a little surprised. You didn't seem to be the type to be into hook-ups."
"Trust me, I'm not. This was totally out of the blue, and it may be something I'll never do again."
"Was it that bad?"
"Oh, no. On the contrary, it was . . . umm . . . well, it's kind of a long story."
"Well," she laughed, "if you need to talk about it, you know where I live and go to school."
"Yeah, I know. After tonight, I might need to talk to someone."
I gave her another hug, this one with a little more emphasis.
•••
If I offer too many details about this particular concert, it would most certainly give away Zach's identity for anyone who was around during this pioneering era of contemporary Christian music. Even after the passage of so many years, I still feel pressed to alter names and obscure some of the details in order to protect his privacy. But I will say this. It was not at all what I expected. I found a spot up in the balcony of the auditorium where I could look down onto the stage with an unobstructed view. And I could understand the necessity for the trucks earlier in the day. The stage was filled with equipment and instruments comparable to big rock bands. And as the show kicked off, it had elements of a full-fledged rock concert. I noted that the musicians were actually good -- the lead guitarist in particular was captivating. The headline singer had a great sense of connection with the university crowd -- lots of humor, good soulful songs. There were a few moments of preaching, but for the most part it was a great evening of surprisingly good music.
And there was Zach. He initially looked small and shy as he stepped out onto the platform as one of the back-up singers for the headline guy. My chest heated up as I remembered my first encounter with him, the shy kid on a skateboard. But as soon as the band kicked in, he was alive and exhilarated. About midway through the concert, he and his family had opportunity to present some of their own songs -- and that was when the young crowd got their first opportunity to hear what Zach could do. Their response was electric.
The show ended with something I'd seen a couple of times in my exposure to Christian evangelical gatherings. They called it an altar call -- even without anything resembling an altar being present in the building. In this case, students simply moved to the front of the auditorium and gathered on the floor adjacent to the stage. I'm sure that some were just interested in getting close enough to see the band and the singers almost within arm's reach. But many were sincerely moved by the music and the messages of the evening.
I held back. And as the show wound to a close, I even debated as to whether I should attempt to approach Zach at all. I slowly made my way out of the balcony. In the lobby area of the auditorium, I saw him. A small kiosk had been set up for the performers to sell albums and cassettes. Zach was there with other band members. He was attentive to the mobs of students who were pressed in on all sides of him, but I also saw him occasionally glancing around as if he were looking for one particular face in the crowd.
I still held back. I felt enthralled for him, and yet somehow brokenhearted. I stayed back in the shadows of the lobby and watched him.
It took a long time for the crowd to dissipate. As I saw them begin the process of packing up their merchandise and taking down the kiosk, I finally ventured over toward them. When Zach saw me, his face registered relief and . . . joy, maybe? He said something to a young woman -- his sister, I presumed. Then he stepped away and made his way toward me. I was uncertain as to how I should greet him, but he stretched his arms out . . . and it felt wonderful to have him in my arms again for just a short moment.
"I think we can talk in there," he said, pointing to the doors leading into the auditorium. "It should be pretty empty by now."
I followed him, and we found a couple of seats in a back corner. For a moment we were silent, watching the roadies packing up the amplifiers and speakers and rolling them off of the stage.
"I took a pretty big risk today," I heard Zach say beside me.
"I know. I figured it out after we parted this afternoon, and I feel incredibly stupid for not seeing it sooner. I'm really sorry if --"
"No, I'm sorry. I should have told you. But if I had told you, we probably wouldn't have done what we did today. And I'm not sorry for that. I want you to know that." He surreptitiously took my hand. "I've had . . . feelings and desires for so long, but I've suppressed them because of . . ."
"Because of what some of your Christian leaders say about homosexuality."
"Because of what some of my Christian leaders say about homosexuality. Yes. But, what I experienced today was . . ." His voice began to tremor. "It was . . . so beautiful. And it felt so right."
"Yeah," I nodded as I tightened my grip on his hand. "I . . . feel the same. I no longer have any doubt over what my orientation is. I suppose I should thank you for that. But there's something you need to know, too. This ended up being more than just a random hook-up today. As crazy as it sounds, I . . . actually care about you."
"I know. I felt it. And I'll use even stronger words. I felt love today. There was love between us. There . . . is . . . love between us."
"But, we're not going to be able to go any further with it, are we . . ."
Zach leaned back and released a heavy sigh. "I don't know." He began to cry. "I know who I am, now. But I also know that at this point in time, I'm part of something bigger than just me and my love life."
"Yes," I nodded. "As hard as it is for me to say this, you can't walk away from what I saw tonight. I may not believe in everything behind it, but I saw and heard a different approach to . . . faith, I guess. I appreciated it. You're doing something good."
Tears were rolling down Zach's face by this time. And I didn't give a damn if anyone saw us. I reached over and pulled him into my arms. He buried his head in my neck and sobbed.
•••
As I expected, I never saw him again. Well . . . I saw him a lot on the cover of Christian music magazines and in record stores over the span of twenty or twenty-five years -- sometimes with his family, and sometimes as a solo artist. But we never sought each other out. I heard that he eventually got married and had a family.
It would be easy for me to say he eventually caved in to the religious forces that anchored him and his family. But . . . I think Zach was one of those rare individuals who actually was more committed to living out his faith in God than he was to serving his own needs. In return, I pray that his God has rewarded him with happiness and fulfillment.
I've had many friends and lovers since that encounter with Zach so many years ago. There have been one-night stands, some short-term relationships, and at this point in time a long-term companion that I hope to keep even after we're both too old to get it up anymore. But I'm also keenly aware of something that happened between Zach and I that has never come close to being replicated. And I'm grateful for it.