I think the first time I realized there was a bond between us was when I learned to swim. As I lay in the water learning to kick, float, stroke and breath, his arms held me up..kept me from sinking into the fear I had. And to help me realize the tranquility and beauty of learning to survive in the water, he'd hold me face up and just glide me along while the moon above provided what little like we needed. He knew I was embarassed and was there in the evenings when nobody else was to guide me through this task. As I progressed, I swam with others, dove off the board, swam to the platform in the summer camp lake, went to pool parties like other teens and began to swim laps daily so my body would be healthy and develop. He wasn't my father....I couldn't even learn to drive from him. And it wasn't my brother...he didn't have the patience to even talk to me in the bedroom we shared. It wasn't my Uncle....more about that later and he wasn't the school coach....I hated him for very good reasons. It was Buddy. That was his name. My playmate when we were little kids, the one who stood beside me in choir and the kid I practically grew up with. About midway through these secret swimming lessons, I realized there was something more between Buddy and me. It was like a quiet intangible rope that kept us connected in a way that I couldn't quite understand. I was fourteen when he helped me learn to swim. My father had thrown me in the YMCA pool when I was six and it terrified me. I hated him for doing that..but he did lots of brutal things to us boys, "to make us men". He said. My brother had no use for me as soon as he realized I wasn't going to be an athlete like him. The truth was he was pretty lousy as an athlete, but he loved doing it. I guess that's what counts. Frankly, I was ok in little league, pretty good in bowling and fair at football. And I played it all with my friends....but for me it was a social thing. Besides Buddy and I went everywhere together and he loved all that stuff. My Uncle was different. He told me not to get angry at my father and gave me lots of child psychological type descriptions of his behavior. He was a psychologist..and pretty boring. But he was there for me. And if we had a fight at home, I usually ran away and went to his house for refuge. My coach, well, he was an asshole! Like most high school coaches, he tolerated nothing but athletic champion-type kids. And if he liked you, school was a whiz. And he didn't like me. I remember once trying to play basketball in his class. I just couldn't get the hang of the game and when the ball was tossed to me, I'd run down the court carrying it instead of dribbling. I did some good foul line shooting though. I was good at that because Buddy and I spent hours doing it in the driveway of his house or mine. That's when we talked about school, parents, other kids and stuff.That's where we two grew up I guess. I couldn't describe the feelings I had for Buddy until "it" happened. But "it" wasn't with Buddy. A kid in my science class was assigned to work with me on a project. We had to build a radio out of household objects. He was pretty weird kid, but knew lots about science. And thanks to my Boy Scout experience I knew enough to do this project. So we did the usual thing, turning a toilet paper roll into a coil and used a safety pin as the tuner. The result was a scratchy typical crystal radio. We decided to go beyond that. Hours of experimentation and we had not only a radio, but one that you could hear on speakers which we made too. We sat triumphant in his bedroom after days and hours listening to our invention and thrilled because we knew we'd suprise even the teacher. The more we had worked together, the more we liked each other. And we'd horse around like most kids do. He showed me nudie magazines he took from his father's room and muscle magazines he took from his brother's room. His brother was a trip too. He was in a local community college and not exactly the brightest guy I ever met, but he had a body that rivaled the ones in the magazine. I stared at him the time Peter and I went to the basement, where the guys room was, and found him totally naked. That wasn't the only thing that shocked me. He was shaving his crotch. When he realized we were there, he just looked up and said he had to get ready for the show. On his wall were photos of him wearing the smallest swimsuit I had ever seen on a guy. He was lifting weights, posing and flexing just like the guys in the magazines. He even let me touch his biceps, thighs and chest. And I felt my penis emit as I freely examined him. His own dick was right in front of me too and I wanted to touch it, but I didn't. Matthew, his name, had trophies and plaques everywhere. His basement room was a mess. But in the center were his weights and I tried them out as he showed me what to do. I still jack off thinking of that hunky naked guy walking around giving me instructions on weight lifting. "How do you stand it?" I asked Pete later. "You mean you get woodies too?" he said. And I listened to his whispered admission of midnight masturbations thinking about his brother. "Sometimes he has me help him get ready, you know shave his legs and butt. And even makes me go with him to put oil all over him...here and there." When he said the "here and there", Pete put his hands on my chest and crotch. My cock was rock hard and he knew it. I slept over that night and we explored each other with our hands and mouths. It was the first time I had ever let my penis spray it "stuff" in front of anyone else. Not even Buddy and I did that together. I read about all the guys who jacked off with their cousins and friends..but I never did. My cousin was a dork and I was afraid for some reason to admit to Buddy I did it. Pete and I got our "A" in school and celebrated in his bedroom later. He imitated his hunky brother and I oiled him head to toe, milking him until he spit his sperm all over me. That was ok, becaue I was naked and he returned the favor. This went on for a couple of years and grew into wrestling, sucking and eventually even buttfucking. The first time we did that, he had unlocked a strong box he had and showed me some torn and dirty magazines he found in the trash behind the sex shop which was conveniently next to the bowling alley we all went to. There were photographs of men and boys doing stuff together. I felt weird seeing other guys doing things that Pete and I had been doing. It kind of confirmed to me we were going queer stuff I guess. And we saw pictures of guys sticking fingers, dildos and real cocks into each other. "Want to try that?" Pete asked. He seemed mesmorized by the photos. I hesitated and he said I could do it to him first. We were pretty awkward and it hurt so we stopped. But Pete had done some reading I guess because he said we should try it using vasoline and to breath and push like we taking a crap. I eventually got my boy dick inside him and fucked until I came. It was a new weird and wonderful sensation I had to admit. So I let him do it to me and suffered the initial pain, knowing that eventually Pete would have the same feeling I had enjoyed. And what surprised me was that I liked it too. Gradutation came and Pete went off to some big technical school in Boston. I was going to a local University and Buddy was going to a school in Florida. So graduation was scary and sad. Buddy and I walked one night that summer and withouth planning or talking about it, went to all the places we had been as kids growing up. The playground, the ballfield, the elementary school, the bowling alley and the high school. "Pretty strange, huh?" he said. I knew what he meant. We had talked often without words, we knew each other that well. "Pete take off yet?" he asked. I nodded. "You know I was pissed you and he hung out so much" he said. I didn't respond. "But that was cool, because you and I did too. I guess I got used to us being so tight all those years." "He was just another friend..you are my best friend" I said withouth looking at him, I knew if I did, I'd cry. Or worse yet, I'd admit something to him I wasn't ready to do. "Off tommorrow myself you know" I knew. He'd leave the town and me the next day. Nothing was going to be the same..and perhaps never as good as the past seventeen years had been for any of us. "I got to tell you something," I stammered. I knew I had to sooner or later. "Yeah?" he said. He looked at me. I remember his face being so young, so innocent..perhaps mirroring my own at the time. I had wanted to keep our friendship...and scared that the next day, year or decades would take it away. "Uh, I never thanked you" I said "For what?" he smiled with the mischevious grin. I imagined him cursing me and running away or worse yet using that fist he had used in kid fights on me. Or even worse, just staring at me like some odd monster. "You taught me to swim. Man, nobody else would do that. Thanks." We hugged....tight. My eyes watered and his did too. Though when we pulled apart he turned away to wipe them. And the hug wasn't a brief arms and back slapping. Our bodies pressed against each other from our cheeks to chest, stomach, crotch and legs..tight and for as long as we wanted. Nobody was there to see us, stop us or judge us. Only the moon above saw us. The same moon that had watched him hold me in the swimming pool until I learned to swim on my own. I never did tell him what was in my heart. I knew how to define it, I knew the names people would call me and I needed to tell him what I felt about him. Maybe someday I will during one of our talks on the phone, letters or computer chats. But maybe I'll just tell him how important it was to me that he helped me learn how to swim again.