Standard disclaimer still applies as indicated in the preceding six sections. This is a work of fiction, loosely based on facts.
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PART SEVEN: "JEFF"
The morning after the incident at Dan's, I awoke with a humongous headache...and ass ache. One sorta offset the other. Dan told me that he had phoned my mother to say I had "slept-over" and his house and not to worry. I don't think she KNEW about Dan's sexuality, but she suspected. Anyone who is in the "public eye" who is on TV or lives in the world of celebrity is always a natural "suspect". As long as I hadn't used her car, I don't think she really care where I stayed, since I was now, a "sinner" and fallen from God's Grace which was only bestowed on the straight world.
Dan checked my "wounds", reapplied some magic ointment, gave me a pat on the tush and said, "Get dressed and I fix you some breakfast."
I always hated breakfast. Coffee, to me, was always bitter, no matter how much sugar and milk you disguised it with. Eggs smelled like farts and when you cracked one open, that little white stuff you saw next to the yolk, I assumed was rooster cum. There would be plenty of time for oatmeal if and when I ever was admitted either to an asylum or prison (just joking). So a little dish of Post Toasties would suffice. Dan was going down to the TV station to tape some voice-overs and asked if I would like to come along. It was three hours before I was due at the Conservatory for my Saturday lesson. I asked him if he would drop me near. There was an old Confederate cemetery across the street from the Conservatory, and I liked to walk through there to "think", and after last night's episode with Darren, I had a LOT to think about.
It hurt a bit when I walked, but it was bordering on "good pain". It was May, summer almost here, and the sun was beaming down, as if to say, "Get ready for me, it's gonna be "hot" for the next three months." The cemetery had lots of tall oak trees, who knows, probably been there for over a hundred years, before they turned the once forest, into a permanent camping ground for the Johnny Rebs.
My pride was hurt more than the torn membranes of my rectum. I would never tell anyone about this. I hoped the guys Dan's party hadn't suspected anything, (or did they all do the same thing, it just happened to be Darren's turn). I only thought about the good time I was having before the bathroom incident. I was "accepted" as one of the "boys", not "boys" in the literal sense, but for the first time in my eighteen years, I felt like an adult...shit, I forgot about having to register for the draft. I know, Scarlett, "tomorrow" or the next day. I wouldn't think about that now. Where was Viet Nam, any way?...Somewhere, "over there".
I got to the conservatory around 12:30, hoping I would get a chance to see "JEFF". It's funny, in all the month's that I had seen him coming out of the music room after he had finished, we had never really talked.His piano skills were a little more advanced than mine which seemed strange to me since he was not a "child prodigy". He must just practice, a lot...more than I. I didn't have to practice. I just sat down at the piano, stretched out my fingers on the keyboard and, music came out. I didn't know much about him except I liked what I saw. As I said, he was a least three years older than I, six feet-one inch, nice body build, blonde with hazel eyes, same as I, and yes, I had noticed...a big bulge hidden behind the fly of those khaki pants, he always wore. I was told, years later, that all good pianists had long penises (or is it "peni"). Good pianists all had long fingers and long fingers, naturally, meant a long dick. His fingers were nice and long.
About 12:55, I heard him running down to hall toward Miss Greene's studio. Shit, there would be no time to talk and get acquainted. The music rooms in this old mansion, now a conservatory, were large with fireplaces, and resounded with the classics. They were suppose to be sound proof, but you can always hear through the cracks under the doors. I sat there for an hour listening to Jeff vibrate the room with Greig's Piano Concerto. God, he WAS good...then a couple of Chopin Valses. His hour was up and Miss Greene opened the door and asked me to come in. Jeff was still at the piano.
"Hi, Mark. You know Jeff don't you?". I nodded. "I asked him to stay for part of your lesson. Schirmers has just published a new rendition of Rachminoff's Second Concerto for one piano and four hands. I want you and Jeff to sight read it for me."
"Sure." I walked over to Jeff and said what turned out to be a double entendre, "Top or bottom?", I asked.
He looked up in a slight embarrassment and said, "Huh?...oh...I mean...bottom...I...uh...like to play the bass. Sorta holds everything up."
It dawned on me what I had said and I chuckled to myself. What connotation did "top" or "bottom", did he make. How did he know about such things. My curiosity was growing by the minute.
"You want to 'pedal', or should I?", he asked.
"No, no, you pedal...hold everything up." We laughed.
I sat on the bench to his right. He outstretched his right leg to reach the damper, which meant his right knee was pressed next to mine. Wow, what a lesson this was going to be. He opened the familiar black-bordered yellow manuscript.
"Ready?"
"Ready."
Our four hands struck the first chord of those famous "bongs" which opened the first movement. We were in awe of how we both seemed to express these passages, together, in a harmonious duet, becoming one...a marriage of minds, talent, and interpretation. By page sixteen we had just reached the first "love theme", and we both swelled in body and notes to paint a musical mural, that Rachmaninoff had set for a few decades before. This was "movie" music. His right hand kept touching mine, as we played...on purpose, sometimes, I thought, or was it just "wishful thinking" on my part?
We finished the first movement...stopped...took a deep breath...let out a slow sigh. We had just made love. That's the only way I could describe it. Miss Greene was smiling. She was pleased.
"I should have brought you together before this. You were made for each other," she joked. It sounded like one person with four hands."
Again, I didn't know in which way Jeff was taking these remarks or this experience, but I felt as if we were Siamese twins joined at the hips. I couldn't wait to get to the slow moving second movement. I would try some things, to see if I got any response from him. I was going to press my left thigh close to his while he pedalled...let the outside of my left hand, gently touch his "right" and have a round of musical "foreplay". I was feeling "something", similar to the way I always felt when Lance and I had a session...but this was a "different" kind of "something". As I made my "nuanced" advances...he responded. He was beginning to make love, back to me.
"Shall we do more?"
Delicately, we began the barcarolle of the Second Movement. We were breathing at the same tempo. It was slow and tender. I could feel the tiny blonde hairs on my left thigh trying to reach through my pant leg to embrace his. It was a swooning sensation. And soon, as quietly as the Second Movement, reminiscent of the "Moonlight Sonata"...quietly the Second Movement, ended. We paused and without Miss Greene's "go ahead, we plunged excitedly into the Third. We attacked, together, with gusto. Being familiar with the piece, we knew what was coming, just around the corner...one of the most beautiful and most romantic melodies ever written...the main theme. There had a been a pop version, recorded under the title, "Full Moon and Empty Arms". The way this particular version was arranged, the pianist on the left would introduce the refrain, then the pianist on the right would offer his reply by repeating the melody.
When we got to that passage, Jeff took charge and commanded the keys, painting a musical mural that the composer had designed just a few decades ago. He swayed a bit from side to side, sending me a message that I was feeling deep inside. Now it was my turn. I shifted slightly to my left. easing his buttocks over, and I began the answer to his "love call". I exhaled deeply through my nostrils and began a forward and back rock. He had to know what I had felt and I had to express my innermost thoughts to him through my fingers. I had noticed how manly and yet, beautiful his long fingers were as he played. We were filling the room with an air of exuberance, that was smothering in the old rustic room. The pretty part was over and now it was a frantic race to the end, as the music built to a frenzied climax. our fingers all but ran over each other as we hit those last four chords with a bang. We had had musical sex. We had had foreplay, love-making and a climax, without ever touching each other. I had never experienced a moment like that, and to this day, I never have. since.
When we finished, we sat there, speechless, and I wanted to say, "Was if as good for you as it was for me?...Wanna cigarette?". Surely, Jeff must have felt some of this.
Finally, Miss Greene, spoke, "Hmm...not bad. For a first try. We must do this again, sometime, if you like..".
If I liked? How could I tell her I had just made love to the man I wanted to say "I do" to, and spend the rest of my life with him!!!
"Well, time's up. That will be all for today...see you both, next Saturday".
We still hadn't said a word. We rose and bade our goodbyes to Miss Greene and went out the door, shutting it behind us. He looked at me.
"You're good, I mean, really good. I heard your "Rhapsody" and loved what you did with it, but now I know why they call you the child prodigy."
I blushed, "No, man, you're better."
"How old are you?"
"Eighteen."
"College?"
"High school, for three more weeks."
"Then what?"
"I've been offered scholarships at three colleges...University of Miami...Richmond...and Vanderbilt."
"Music, of course."
"Nope, medicine."
"Bullshit...with your talent?"
"Music doesn't challenge me, it comes too easily for me."
Then, abruptly he changed the subject..."Hey, what are you doing tonight?"
After last night's ordeal with Darren, I wanted to go home , crawl into bed and sleep until time for school, Monday morning...but with the inkling of an invitation, I began to feel the adrenaline in my system refurbishing my Kryptonite.
"I'll probably go home and watch a movie or go somewhere to see one...I love movies...they're a part of my life...I practically live in the theater. I go every time they change." This was true, after my grandmother had been laid off at the hosiery mill, she had gotten a job as assistant manager at the Rivoli, a local neighborhood movie house. I always, got in free, and saw EVERYTHING.
"Who are your favorite movie stars?"
"Well, my absolute, all-time favorite was James Dean, but I like Rock Hudson, Tab Hunter, Jeffrey Hunter, Sal Mineo, Richard Long,(who always gave me a hard-on), and Troy Donahue". I thought for a second, had he noticed I had only mentioned male stars?
"Would you like to go catch a flick with me, tonight?"
Was he asking me out on a date?...Again...wishful thinking.
"Maybe"...
"Good! I'll come by and pick you up around eight and we'll catch a nine o'clock show...You pick it out...you know what you've seen.
Disaster time! I had just made a good impression on this blonde god, only to have it soon eradicated when he saw my status quo. I mean, last night I had risen to the heights of the upper "400" by rubbing elbows with the elite at Dan's party. I couldn't let Jeff know of my social depravity...I hemmed and hawed...
"I got it, why don't you come home with me, clean up, we'll have dinner and look at the paper and see what opened this weekend."
I was saved...."Great, I could do that!"
"Settled...let's go get my car...Where's yours?"
"Oh, I'm not driving. I got a ride down to the Conservatory."
We went to the parking lot a found his brand new, light-blue Austin-Healy, his dad had bought him. His dad was a well known physician, who had once been a trumpet player...again, the connection between medicine and music.
Considering what I had gone through in the past 24 hours, his driving was too fast for my equilibrium. He sped up the ridge where upper echelon inhabited and pulled into the driveway that led up to "Tara". His mother, a dead ringer for Barbara Hale (who played Della Street on "Perry Mason") was busy in the kitchen preparing whatever rich folks ate. He glided over to her, and kissed her on the cheek (when was the last time I had kissed my mother?). He introduced us to each other and told her...didn't bother to ask...just told her that I was staying for dinner.
We went out door where Jeff's father was reclining on a deck lounge, next to the pool. He was only in trunks, Speedos, at that. Jeff snuck up on him and whacked him playfully across the buttocks. "Hi. Dad, I want you to meet Mark, my new protege'." He rolled over and put out his hand for me to shake, frankly, I was looking for a ring to kiss.
"Glad to meet you, Mark", in a voice that defied Ralph Bellamy's. He was handsome...a movie star...brown hair, with a slight tint of gray in his temples, long lashes that were there to highlight the greenest greens I had ever peered into.
"Mark's staying for dinner and then we're gonna got out scootapooping.", he laughed, "to the movies."
"Great. Mark, you and I can get to know each other at dinner."
"We have a lot in common, Dad, Mark has a lesson with La Greene, just after mine...Come on Mark, I'll show you to the bathroom, where you can clean up."
We left the "moat", once again, entering the house and like Olivia de Havilland in "The Heiress", but without a lamp, I ascended the curving staircase.
"This is my bedroom...in there...the bathroom...let me go get you some fresh towels. The bathroom looked bigger than my bedroom. There was a mosaic floor, even a stained glass window, a flurry of colors encasing a white dove.
I had stripped down to my Jockeys by the time Jeff returned with two huge purple bathtowels, with pile about an inch thick, and a matching washcloth.
"Anything you want...soap...shampoo...conditioner...razor...shaving cream," he repeated, "Anything you want?"
How could I want for anything. I stood there, drinking it all in, thinking how unfair the cards were that fate always dealt. Jeff had it all...a new convertible sports car, a house that would easily be in "Better Homes and Gardens", (probably the cover), parents that had stepped out of an Emily Bronte novel. good looks, talent...and yet a penchant for the underprivileged (me), with my father straight our of "Inner Sanctum", a religious lush for a mother, an "A" frame old, wooden house that belonged on "Tobacco Road" and a six year old Ford Fairlane==straight shift, to boot.
"Mind if I sit and talk while you shower?"
"I..uh..no...go head, sit down," I said as I entered the shower still wearing my briefs. I WILL NOT FUCK THIS UP! I will not let him see my already half-erect penis. I cracked the shower door only wide enough to toss out my skivvies. I turned the shower on full blast. Hell, he wanted to stay in here and talk. Why the fuck isn't he saying anything?
Finally. "So which college are you leaning towards?"
"Probably, Miami. I would like to go somewhere, where there is no winter."
"I can't believe your serious about medicine. I mean, with your talent. How long you been playing?"
"I took my first lesson when I was three."
Again, he said.."Medicine, huh?"
"Yeah, unless I decide to go to Hollywood or New York, and become and actor."
"Like James Dean."
"Well, maybe like James Dean."
"He was killed in a car wreck, wasn't he?"
"Yeah, he was driving his new sports car, kinda like yours, and this school teacher coming the opposite direction, crossed over the line and hit him head on."
A pause.
"He was a homosexual, wasn't he?"
I had never heard this. Trying to defend my Rebel in the red nylon jacket I said, "I don't think so. Those scandal magazines make up all kinds of stories about movie stars."
"Do you have a girlfriend in high school?"
Where was THIS leading? I wanted to yell "I did until a week ago, and her name was Lance.", instead I offered, "Yeah, kinda...Brenda...we've been going to steady about three years"
"Serious about her?"
"We go out, park, and smooch, but that's all...we've really never "made out...uh...You got a girl?"
"No, I spend most of my free evenings with Greig and Tchaikovsky. O never found a girl who cared about music the way I do."
Another long pause, in search of a topic for conversation.
"Do you think James Dean was a bisexual?"
What was he getting at???
"I don't think so. I've never known a bisexual. I don't think I've ever seen one."
And then the "other shoe dropped" when he asked...
"Mark, you ever had a boyfriend?"
Now that was a $25.00 question in search of a $26.00 answer. In surprise, my mouth dropped open, filling it with the shower spray. I coughed, choked, sputtered, and coughed some more. He opened the door...
"You, O.K.?"
"Yeah, I got strangled trying to get a drink of water," I lied. closing the door, hoping he couldn't or wouldn't see how his inquisition was arousing me.
"Maybe, I should re-phrase...You ever "made out with a guy?"
Another self-induced coughing spree occurred.
Dilemma: Here I am, naked in one of the high towers of Camelot, standing three feet from Sir Lancelot...WITH A HARD-ON...knowing that my immediate destiny depended on my answer to his question. If I say yes, and he's straight, I lose my Prince Charming. If I say yes and he's gay, then, well, who knows what?. If I say no and he's gay, again I lose. If I say no, and he's straign, well, then, I guess I've made a good buddy and will have someone to occasionally go to a movie with.
I decided to brave the risk and test the water...
"Oh, sure," I stammered, "when I was fifteen, my best friend and I use to fool around...a...couple of times....I, mean, hell, all guys do that when they are kids. I, mean, didn't you??"
A pause pursued, long enough to recite the Preamble to the Constitution.
"Well, yes and know...I thought about it....I thought about it a lot."
"And never did anything about it?"
"Nothing more than jerking off....Mark...?....When was the last time you made it with a guy?"
I swear if he kept the topic of this conversation going, I was going to shoot the embossed swan on the glass door with a big creamy bullet. THINK, MARK, THINK...CHOOSE YOUR WORDS WELL!!
I took another deep breath and decided it was now or never. If I failed, I could always find Snow White and sit with her by the well, waiting for another prince.
"I won't lie...I sorta...fooled around...last night...". Thinking of Darren, I'd sorta been around a fool.
Jeff didn' reply...he cleared his throat and I heard him moving, I assumed to exit the bathroom. Instead he opened the shower door with a whisk.
"Wanna fool around with me?, he asked nervously.
Jeff had removed all his clothes and was standing there, stark naked with full erection. What I had imagined, lived up to my expectations...his fingers must've been longer than I had noticed. There was no tan line. He had a light bronze glow that covered his entire body. By now, I had lost my inhibitions and turned to show him what I had been trying to conceal...a full 7 and 1/2 inches to match his.
In excitement, I blurted out, "Try and stop me!!", as I pulled him in the shower, pressing our chests, stomachs, thighs, and cocks as close as they would mesh. My mouth searched for his, as our arms went around each other's torsos. He opened his lips just enough to let out a sigh of relief, but that was room enough, for my tongue to slip inside and explore caved that housed 32 perfect teeth. His tongue became as hoard as his cock, and it met mine in a joust of yore. I had swallowed so much water, my saliva glands were over-producing and we were having a war to see who could trade the most spit.
I pulled out of the kiss, long enough to ask, "Is this what you wanted?"
"I knew I wanted to hold you as soon as we started playing the Concerto, this afternoon...Do you know I got an erection as soon as we starred the opening chords...and by the time we got to the theme in the Third Movement, I was afraid I was going to ejaculate in my pants!"
I broke into a loud laugh...cupped his face in my hands and said, "You too??", then he joined me in my hysterical mirth. I pulled his cheeks into my face and planted another kiss on him...a real deep=throat attempt. My right hand wandered down in search of his manhood. He followed my lead and reached for me. We started an adagio tempo of rhythmic mutual masturbation.
In a quick jerk, he pulled away and said, "Wait, wait, I've got an idea," he exclaimed. Jeff jumped out the shower, wrapping a towel around his waist, opening the bathroom door, and ran down the hallway.
NOW WHAT?...MORE SURPRISES???...Had he gone to get condoms for us to jerk off? He came back, right hand, hiding something behind his back.
"Close your eyes and no peaking. I heard a click...another...and then one last click, a muted hissing, and then I heard the glorious chords of Rachmaninoff's Second Piano Concerto, coming from the built-in wall cassette player... with speaker blaring from all four corners of the room.
"It's Leonard Bernstein...do you like it?"
"Yeah, but I like you a lot better", pulling him back in the shower with me, yearning for another taste of his warm sweet mouth.
It was like a water ballet. We both knew the opus, well...the highs and lows...crescendos...dimuendos...vivaces and largos. We knew this had to last around thirty-five minutes depending of the speed of the conductor's baton.
I licked down his neck and breastbone until I reached his right nipple, pinching his left with my hand. I sucked as a newborn puppy might until he learned that that's where mommy hid her milk. Once discovered the pup would suck the tit with a vengeance. That's what I did.
Jeff arced his head back and let out an, "Oh God".
He wanted this...and I wanted him...a thought occurred...was I to believe that this was his first time?...Jeff?...this Adonis...a VIRGIN??...I could do NO wrong, now...only RIGHT. If this was his first, it was my job to make it a memorable one, as I could recall every second of every minute of that Sunday afternoon's at Lance's. He adjusted the water temperature to lukewarm, as I descended my oral explorations, down to his navel, his blonde landing strip that glided into his golden bush. As I nuzzled my nose into his pubes, my lips were touching where his shaft attached. I kissed and blew out a steady cool stream of breath all the way down to the tip of his glans. His cock was bobbing with a steady throb as I was circling to approach my landing.
As I knelt before the bronzed icon, I almost laughed out again...subconsciously in his mind AND body, his bouncing cock was keeping time to the music. We were almost up to "page sixteen", the first love theme and I was going to make love, for the entire passage to his eager outreaching member...and LOVE, I did make! I worked on his dick from all sides and every angle...licking, kissing, slurping...deep down my throat...engulfing his balls and tickling with my tongue...then a slide down his "taint" (a Southern expression describing those few inches between the ball sac and the asshole...tain't balls and it tain't ass...it just the taint. Then I licked between his ass and found his glory hole probing with my tongue. He shuddered with a chill and moaned in ecstasy. When he talked about my musical ability he said that I was good...really good. I wanted to show him that I had other talents...I couldn't wait to hear his critique on those. I went back to his swollen staff and continued my exhibition, speeding up and slowing down as the music changed. Every time I felt his testicles begin to contract, I would ease off. I didn't want him to come until Rachmaninoff had outlined for the climax to be reached.
The First Movement ended and now it was time for the eight or nine minute slow, Second. This was the best time to teach him the art of cocksucking. I slid up and kissed him as the piano started the monotony of the steading pacing of the broken chords began. I gave his shoulders a slight push downward, indicating the direction I wanted his head (and mouth) to go. He took the hint. He knew what I wanted him to do...and he wanted to do it. It was his turn to show me how well he played this new music. He followed my lead and had a great memory as he explored, licked, kissed, and blew a cool breath in the exact places, in the exact order, as I had done to him. Either he learned fast or I was a good teacher.
He hesitated as he took his first real cock in his mouth. Once begun, all inhibitions ceased, and he went after my dick like a camel at an oasis on the eighth day. He was good...I mean, really good. If all he had ever done was fantasize, then he had a wonderful imagination. I held off...I wouldn't cum until I was cued, toward the end of the Third Movement.
He had played my body, as if it were a nine foot Steinway at Carnegie Hall. As the Second Movement ended it was time for "ensemble" play...the "attack" of the Third...this meant we would have to assume a "69" position. I turned around and on the wave of the downbeat, we "attacked" each other. Cocks in mouth. We began a fast tempo of sucking, keeping up with the rhythm. He was plunging me in a deep-throat mode now, without gagging. Then the swell of the "Full Moon" theme appeared and we made love...rolling and writhing...humming and moaning...sucking and licking. We were free now. We were "made known" to each other and could touch, hold, grab, lick, any place we wanted on each other's bodies without waiting for permission.
We listened to the music..we knew Rachmaninoff's climactic moment was only minutes away, as was "ours". When the orchestra and Bernstein hit the peak to begin the last sixty-four bars of the Finale, so did we. We had both "held off" for thirty four minutes...our balls were aching...and we exploded our love nectar, at the same time, I mean, on the EXACT chord. I shot the biggest load of my life into his mouth, coating his tongue and oozing down his throat. He only let out a soft gag...took a breath and began to feast. I took all of his offering and felt my eyes tearing. I turned my body around to face him and saw that his eyes were filled with tears, also. We looked at each other, smiled, and leaned forward for a gentle lips' kiss.
"Was it all right?", I asked.
"More than I could ever dream".
We stood, soaped each other and showered as if we had been doing this for years. We got out of the shower and towelled each other, and arm-in-arm we walked into the bedroom. I began to put on my "two-day-old" clothes and he stopped me..."No, No...here...".
He handed me a clean pair of his white Arrow briefs...went to his closet and got a pair of his khaki pants, a dark green, short-sleeve, silk pullover shirt..matching green socks and a pair of his black penny loafers. (Could you believe we wore the same shoe size?)
After we had both, dressed. He gave me a quick peck...the same kind he had given his mom. As we walked down the hall to descend the staircase, I was humming, "our theme". I smiled as I wondered what Miss Greene would say about this latest rendition of the masterpiece. Classical Music Love-Making! Had we invented something new? Years later I would hear how world=wide sales of Ravel's "Bolero" soared as everyone tried to re-create the Bo Derek's Musical Love-Making in the movie, "10".
I won't try to describe a simple "home-cooked" meal that Jeff's mom had prepared. Let's just say, it belonged on the cover of "Gourmet" magazine.
Dinner and conversation were both, pleasant. I took and instant liking to his parents and I sensed a warm acceptance of their son's newest "friend". The thing I hoped and prayed was that they wouldn't become suspicious of Jeff and me by the sheepish grins we were trying to conceal...you know what I mean... like the way a new bride tries to look innocent to the groom's parents at breakfast, the next morning, after the wedding night.
"So, you guys, going to a movie?", Jeff's dad inquired.
MOVIE?? WHAT MOVIE?? I had forgotten about everything after what I had just experienced during the last hour.
"No, Dad. Our plans are changed. I showed Mark, my record and tape collection and I think we're just going up to my room and play a few sides. I have this new cassette of Rachmaninoff's Second Piano Concerto with Leonard Bernstein that I want Mark to hear....And oh yeah, Mark, when we get though with that, I have this rousing new recording of the '1812 Overture!".
"Oh God, I whispered under my breath.....
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(to be continued...in Part-8, you'll meet Rich)