Coming of Age in Texas: Chapter 1: Johnny
Our small-town school, situated right in the middle of Hilldale, had only a few hundred students, and most of those lived within walking distance. A few of us were farm kids who rode the bus to and from school.
Johnny Andersen was my age and in some of the same classes my freshman year, but he and I never really associated with each other. We just weren't in the same clique. Hell, I wasn't really in anybody's clique. Johnny reminded me a lot of my brother Mike— athletic, popular, and so good-looking as to be disgusting. I hated him. With his blond/light brown hair, blue eyes, and cute little dimples, he was too handsome to be civilized. It was easy to see that in a few years he would be compared to a Norse god, but for now, I guess he was just a Norse prince. Unlike Mike, though, Johnny was just another pretty face and a dumb, stuck-up jock to me.
One night after supper, the phone rang. It was Mrs. Andersen, Johnny's mother, whom my mom knew from her garden club. Apparently, Mrs. Andersen had just learned that her aunt had died and that she and Mr. Andersen needed to leave for Shreveport first thing in the morning. She didn't want Johnny to miss the algebra test we had the next day or the football game that weekend, so she asked Mom if he could stay with us for a few days. When Mom got off the phone and told me the news, I balked, and she snapped, "Patrick!" Oh, boy. My full given name. Here comes the hammer. "These folks need our help." And my dad jumped in, "And you will treat our guest like the gentleman we raised you to be."
"Yes, sir. But where's he gonna sleep?" I whined.
"You've got a double bed," my dad pointed out matter-of-factly. I fully expected him to remind me that Mike had often shared that bed with friends he had brought home from school, but, instead, Dad droned, "Or you could just sleep on the floor."
Case closed.
The next day, Johnny finished the algebra test a good 10 minutes before anyone else. Just as I thought: another dumb jock who probably just guessed at the answers. After the last bell, I got on the bus with an armload of textbooks and notebooks while Johnny followed me, carrying only his football, which he juggled incessantly. Though he sat beside me, he spent practically the whole time chatting with other kids around us. Feeling totally ignored, I just buried my face in one of my books.
"This is where we get off," I told him.
"Cool" was all he said.
As we walked across the field to our house, I concluded that it would be up to me to break the ice. Hell, it felt more like a glacier.
"So, how do you think you did on the algebra test?" I asked.
"OK, I guess."
Damn, this wasn't going to be easy. I decided to appeal to his interests. "Big game this weekend?"
That was the magic word. He lit up like a Roman candle. I thought I would never get him to shut up. Truth be told, though, I thought he looked really cute when he got that animated.
"Hey, wanna toss the ball around?" he asked when we approached our front porch.
"Maybe later," I said, "but first, I've gotta do my chores."
"Cool." I guess that was his signature word.
After I put my books into my room and changed into my farm clothes, I found him sitting on the front porch. I had expected to see him running around with his football, so I was shocked when he said, "Hey, if you'll let me help you with the chores, maybe we can get done faster and have more time to play afterwards."
[Oh, great! He's just gonna get in my way and make it take twice as long as it should.] But it would have been rude to say no, and I was very pleasantly surprised when he really got to work. He had no qualms about getting his hands dirty, and we finished the chores in half the time.
"Wow! You're pretty good for a city boy," I exclaimed.
"I used to spend my summers helping my grandpa on his farm over in Salado," he explained.
"Cool," I quipped.
"Are you making fun of me?" he asked.
"Hell yeah," I shot back.
I thought he was going to get mad, but seeing the slight smile on my lips and in my eyes, he burst out laughing, as did I.
"You know, I had you pegged for just another stuffed-shirt nerd, but you're actually kinda--"
"Cool?" I interjected. We both laughed again.
"Actually," I confessed, "I thought you were just another stuck-up dumb jock, but you're actually not so bad."
"Cool," we chuckled in unison.
I explained that I still had to look after the sheep before we could play, and he tagged along eagerly.
It being a hot Indian Summer day, we shed our shirts as we sat under the oak tree. Soon, Johnny spotted a couple of the sheep copulating, and I noticed his crotch starting to expand.
"Dude, you'd better do something about that," I mimicked Mike, "before it blows a hole in your jeans."
I expected him to react with the same embarrassment I had felt when Mike used that line on me. Imagine my surprise when, instead, he stood up, dropped his jeans, and said, "No shit, man. You really don't mind?"
"Uh, no, I guess not," I stammered.
As I started to look away to afford him some privacy, he asked, "Well, are you just gonna sit there and make me jerk off all by myself?" I had never masturbated with another guy before, so it felt a bit awkward, but when he dropped his underwear to reveal a thick stiffie, I began to get hard too and knew that I just had to free my aching cock from my tight jeans.
"Jesus!" he exclaimed when I exposed my stiffie. "I thought I was big, but you're hung like a horse, man. Here I thought you were just another cute nerd. Who knew you were actually a stud in disguise?"
I had never really thought much about the size of my dick before. I mean, I had never seen another guy's dick, except Mike's, so I didn't have anything to compare to, but I guess I really was pretty big.
Then there was that other thing. Did he actually say that he thought I was cute? Hmm. I hadn't really thought of myself as good looking. I was still in my shy, awkward stage.
But I wasn't very shy when Johnny and I started beating off. We watched each other intensely. I was surprised at the noises that sprang involuntarily from his mouth and the various faces he made, especially when he got close to climaxing. It hadn't occurred to me until that moment, but I suddenly realized that I probably did the same thing. I made a mental note to inspect myself in a mirror the next time I jerked off.
"Oh, fuck!" he screamed as he exploded. I was usually not so demonstrative, but not to be outdone, I screamed even louder with each of my own cum bursts, "Holy fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!"
"Shit, man! Do you always shoot that far? I mean...dayum...that was twice as far as I shot."
"Practice, practice, practice," I boasted.
As we squeezed the last few drops off our cocks, I reflexively licked the remains from my hand.
"Oh my god! Did you just do what I thought you did?"
"What?"
"You did, didn't you? You licked that shit off your hand. Gross!"
"Nothing gross about it," I snapped. "It's perfectly natural, and it tastes pretty good. Here, try it," I said as I offered my drenched hand to him.
"Fuck you, man!" he snarled as he pushed me away from him, transferring some cum from his hand to my bare chest. I looked down at his cum on my chest, wiped it up with my finger, and stuck it in my mouth, sucking that finger like a lollipop. It was my first time eating another man's cum, and I must say that I enjoyed it every bit as much as eating my own.
Johnny glared at me in shock.
"What?" I asked. "You've never eaten your cream before?"
"Fuck no!" he exclaimed. "I'm no queer!"
"Well, I'm not a queer either," I assured him, "but most guys taste their own cum once in a while." To be perfectly honest, I really didn't know at the time whether that statement was true or not, but it sounded good, and I guess I said it with enough self-assurance that Johnny seemed to lessen his resistance.
At first, I had thought that he was going to storm off—worse yet, tell my parents—but I convinced him to sit back down beneath the oak tree. He did, but not before putting his shirt back on and keeping a little extra distance between us. I left my shirt off. I didn't tell Johnny, but I wanted to feel the heat of the sun on my cum-stained chest.
Johnny tried to change the subject as we reclined against the oak tree for another half hour, but our conversation quickly came back to sex. At first, we talked about girls and which ones we'd like to fuck. Somewhat to my surprise, our tastes in the opposite sex were quite similar. Eventually, we got back to the subject of masturbation. I told him about my first time, watching my brother and then following his example. He seemed surprised that I had been pleasuring myself for years since he had only jerked off for the first time last summer.
"It was at football camp," he said. "Some of the older guys had sneaked in some beer, and one night after they had gotten tipsy and uninhibited, one of them pulled out his dick and started to make like he was fucking his girlfriend. Some of the guys walked away, but others stayed to watch, and pretty soon we all had our dicks out and started wanking."
Johnny seemed surprised that I had never jerked off with another guy before. He said that he had jerked off with all the freshmen football players and several of the sophomores. He said they had often had shooting contests, "But after what I just saw," he added, "I'd bet you'd win hands down." I'm sure I blushed, but at the same time, I felt really proud.
By that time, we were both rubbing our swelling cocks in our jeans. I'm sure he was just as ready to jerk off again as I was, but I thought we really should get back to the house before my parents started to get suspicious.
Just as it was a rule that I had to do my chores when I got home from school, it was also a rule that I had to do my homework before supper, but I convinced my parents to let Johnny and me go out and play some two-man football before the sun went down. Dad balked, but Mom convinced him that it would all right. "Supper's gonna be a little later tonight anyway," she told him, "and he can do his homework after we eat." I don't know, but I suspect she just made that up to give us a little more play time. (Supper' is what farm folks call the evening meal, what city folks call dinner.')
It being October, most of the crops had been harvested, so the field was barren, which gave Johnny and me plenty of room. At first we just tossed the ball back and forth like Mike had done with me when I was little, but I could tell that Johnny wanted more, so I said, "Go long." He looked at me like, "You're a nerd, dude. You're really gonna throw the ball that far?" But he had seen me shirtless, so he knew that I had some muscles, and off he went.
I could tell right off the bat that Johnny was a very skilled athlete. Just like Mike, he had speed and agility like someone older. In fact, he again reminded me a lot of my brother.
As Johnny ran across the field, I kept motioning for him to run farther and farther away. He glared at me dubiously but kept going. Finally, I threw him the bomb, and he caught it like it was destined for him. "Holy shit, man. Lucky shot," he said while walking the ball back to me. "Bet you can't do that again."
But, of course, I did do it again. And again. And again. After half a dozen perfect passes and an equal number of perfect catches, Johnny just froze and stared at me. "OK, but can you catch?"
"Try me," I boasted. I ran about 20 yards, and Johnny hit me with an easy pass. Tossing the ball back to him, I said just one word, "Farther." Johnny threw a 40-yard pass, which I caught effortlessly. "Farther," I demanded. Johnny threw a bomb clear down the length of the field. I had to leap high into the air to catch it, but catch it I did.
"Hrmp," Johnny snorted. If you could just play defense, you might actually be worth something.
"See that post?" I asked, pointing to one side of the field, "and that one?" (on the opposite side).
Johnny nodded in the affirmative as if to say, "What of it?"
"That's the goal line. I'll throw you a short pass, and you try to get past me."
Johnny snorted again, but took off after the ball. He ran it back in a zigzag pattern, but I still caught him and brought him down. I must confess that his sweaty, naked torso felt really good against my body. We ran several more plays, and I tackled him every time, each time lingering atop his body a bit longer.
"That was fucking amazing, dude. How did you learn to play football like that?"
"From my brother, Mike," I told him.
"Hold on," he flinched. "Mike? Mike Murphy? No way, dude. You're not fuckin' telling me that Michael Murphy is your damn brother! Mike Murphy...the All-American Mike Murphy at UT?"
"Afraid so," I said, feigning modesty but bursting with pride.
"Holy shit! That guy is a football legend. Coach says he's sure to be drafted by the pros in the first round this spring, and my dad agrees."
"Yeah, he's hoping to get drafted by the Cowboys, but who knows?"
We played a bit longer, switching roles. I would throw to him, and he would hit me. Neither of us ever missed a ball.
"Damn, Rick. You could be just as good as your brother. You must have football in your genes. How come you're not on our team? We could really use you."
I feigned a lack of interest, claiming that I wanted to focus more on academics. I was too embarrassed to tell him that our family just couldn't afford to hire someone to pick up my chores if I stayed after school for football practice. The weather had not been good to us farmers the past couple of years, so as much as I wanted to follow in my brother's illustrious footsteps, I had to accept the fact that it just wasn't in the cards.