Dr Tim and the Boys

The following fictional narrative involves sexually-explicit erotic events between men. If you shouldn't be reading this, don't.

In the world of this story, the characters don't always use condoms. In the real world, you should care enough about yourself and others to always practice safe sex.

The author retains all rights. No reproductions or links to other sites are allowed without the author's consent.

My thanks go, as always, to Tommy, Evan, Mickey, Ash, and Patrick

Ritch Christopher, one of the deans of Nifty writers, is currently posting new chapters to his long-running Briarwood saga, "Whence Cometh My Help," in the Adult Friends section. I bring this up because recently in a newsletter to his many fans, Ritch mentioned "Dr. Tim" as one of his favorite stories. Thanks, Ritch! That means a lot to me! And if you folks haven't discovered Ritch's work, I recommend it ALL. He's one of Nifty's Prolific Authors, and you can find a list of his stories there.

Timmead88@yahoo.com Chapter 30: "Getting to Know You"

MAX:

As he had promised, David called me the next evening, Friday.

"Hey, padre," he said, "you still interested in having a ride in the Vette tomorrow?"

"Sure am, David. What you got in mind?"

"I have to do some furniture shopping in the morning, you know, so I'm not always sitting on the edge of the bed. How about if I pick you up at 1:00? We could get something at a drive-through and go eat it in one of the local parks. Then we'll explore some of the back roads in the hilly area northeast of here. They're the most fun to drive."

"That's perfect, David, since I've got to grocery shop and do some laundry in the morning. I'll be ready at 1:00."

"Great. See you then."

"Uh, David . . ."

"Yeah, Max?"

"I'm looking forward to this."

"Oh, so am I. See you tomorrow, then."

We said our goodbyes.

I was surprised to find I was nervous. It was just a ride in his car. But things had been so good the previous evening, I hoped Saturday's outing would go as well.

It was a perfect day, sunny, with an incredibly blue sky. There were a very few little puffy clouds here and there, just enough to emphasize the color of the sky. There was a slight breeze, and by the time David picked me up, the temperature was around 80 degrees.

I wore a pale blue golf shirt, khaki bermudas, and my sandals. David had on a dark green golf shirt with a white stripe around the chest and white baggy cotton pants, the kind with a drawstring. He had on sandals, too, and his hair was down. He looked so good I almost whimpered when I saw him.

The inside of the Vette was black. I've been in many cars with leather seats, but the leather in David's car was the softest, most luxurious I've ever touched, like you'd find in a really nice pair of gloves.

We went to a BK and got burgers and fries. It was then that we found we shared another preference. We both ordered Dr. Pepper instead of colas.

David drove to a city park where he pulled the car into some shade and cut the engine. I noticed that the trees were beginning to change color. No deep reds yet, but a lot more yellow than there had been a week ago. As we ate, I asked him about his furniture shopping. He said he had dropped a bundle that morning, but that his apartment was going to be a lot more comfortable and a lot better looking by the time I got to see it.

"You mean you want it to look good for me?"

He laughed. "Well, Max, I want it to look great. Period. But, yeah, man, I want you to come and see it when I get everything right."

We put our trash in a receptacle and left. David headed east out of town. Soon we were in a rural area, and he turned on his radio, found a rock station, and cranked the system up. It was great to drive through the pretty countryside, passing small farms, feeling the sun and the rushing air on my skin. I was wearing an A's cap I brought back from Berkeley with me, but as we picked up speed, I had to turn it around. David handed me a headband and asked me to put it on him, I suppose to keep his hair out of his eyes. Beaded, it looked as if it was done by Native Americans, the colors mostly rust, turquoise and white. It looked great with his red hair.

After we had driven a half an hour or so, we got into an area that was, unlike the countryside around campus, pretty hilly. It was still largely farm country, but now the two-lane roads were winding up, down, and around the small hills. David looked at me and grinned. I knew this was the kind of road "real" drivers liked, especially since, despite the fact it was Saturday afternoon, there wasn't all that much traffic. Suddenly he shifted gears, and we took off. I felt myself pressed back into the seat. I could see that, though his eyes were on the road now, he was still grinning.

It was a real rush to be there in the powerful car with the trees speeding past us on a warm afternoon, and I almost zoned out for a while. David was obviously an excellent driver, and the car took the corners like a train on a track.

It seemed to me, however, that David was driving faster and faster. Ordinarily, I don't think I'm chicken about such things, but I became concerned that he was taking the curves too fast. At one point he passed a slow-moving farm truck when I wouldn't have thought of going around it. It would have been white-knuckle time if there had been anything to grip.

Then we zoomed over the crest of a hill. There was a fairly long straightaway going down the other side, but the road disappeared around a bend at the bottom. I thought he would slow down, but he didn't show any signs of doing so. As we rocketed down that hill, I knew he was testing me.

And I was failing. I knew there was no way even that Corvette could make the turn at the bottom of the hill. I didn't know what to do with my hands, so I clasped them together. I put my head back against the headrest and shut my eyes. When I felt the car begin to slow down ever so slightly, I knew we were approaching the curve at the bottom of the hill.

"Dear God," I whispered.

Suddenly, I could feel that the road under us was different, rougher, but we didn't go around any bend. The car slowed to a stop. I opened my eyes.

David was sitting there giving me this shit-eating grin. We were on a dirt road that went almost straight ahead when the paved road turned. There were barbed wire fences on either side of the road, and I could see a barn up ahead on the right.

"Didn't mess your pants there did you, Max?"

I made a point of feeling my crotch. "Nope. Everything seems dry, no thanks to you." I took a deep breath, made sure my heart hadn't stopped, and grinned at him. Then I realized something. "You bastard, you've been here before. You HAD to know this dirt road was here. You set this all up!"

"Yeah, I came through this way one day last week when I had to go to Erie. I hate driving I-90 or any interstate, for that matter, and I remembered this little side road."

"I can't believe it. You really were testing me?"

He stopped the car and swiveled toward me. "Yes, Max. Driving fast cars is an important part of my life. I had to see how you'd react."

I didn't know whether to be pissed or not. "You mean, let me see, that if I was to be worthy of you, I'd have to be able to risk my life without complaint while riding in this powerwagon?"

"I'll overlook `powerwagon' for the moment," he said, grinning again. "Max, your life was never in danger. Or no more so than when you're crossing a street on campus. I really do know how to drive this beautiful piece of machinery, and I did know this dirt road was here."

"What if there had been a car coming the other way just as you crossed the center line to enter this road?"

"Well, padre, life does have some risks." He looked me straight in the eye and smiled so ingenuously that I almost melted. I didn't know how angry to be with him, and my cock was saying that I shouldn't be too pissed.

"OK, Taylor. You've taken your quota of risks with my life today. Where are we going now? And I assume you will proceed safely."

"There's a state park with a big lake near here." He grinned mischievously. "Wanna go check it out?"

"Sure."

I managed to unwind a little as we drove. David seemed incapable of driving slowly, but at least he didn't put my heart in my mouth on the curves. I wondered whether the ability to ride with him was indeed some sort of litmus test and whether I had passed it. As I thought about it, I became annoyed. I really was beginning to like this guy, and heaven only knows I thought he was sexy. But I wondered how many more tests I'd have to pass before I was good enough. Then it occurred to me that I had, in a drunken moment a few nights earlier, rejected him because he was shallow and because he wasn't Tim. In view of that, I decided maybe I should cut him some slack.

We drove on for a while, and I once more enjoyed the sun and the wind and the music. David didn't talk much, and neither did I.

We saw a big, rustic-looking sign saying we should turn here for Seneca Ledges State Park. We drove a mile or so through a heavily-forested area with hills on either side before coming to a large parking lot. Most of the cars were at one end of the lot, obviously closer to the lake and the facilities. David parked near the opposite end of the lot.

"When you have a car like this, you don't want to park next to anyone. Too much chance of getting scratches on your doors from the car next to you. In fact, with this car, since its body is fiberglass, you could even get a crack. People really are careless about things like that, you know."

We followed the path that started at a sign which said, simply "Lake." We walked through another large stand of trees before coming around a bend and seeing the lake. There was a small marina with boats of all sorts for rent, from canoes to those noisy jet-ski things. There were a few families with kids, but not as many people as you might have expected. Of course, the Buckeyes and the Akron Zips both had home games that afternoon, so many fathers had probably opted to stay at home and watch a game on television, promising wife and kids that they could have an outing the next day, Sunday.

David and I decided to walk the path that went around the lake. Nearly deserted, it went through the woods. Sometimes we were ten or fifteen feet above the lake level, while at others we were almost at water level. Periodically there were small piers built into the water. Most of the piers were deserted, but at one we saw a grandfather and his five-year-old grandson fishing. Nice scene.

We walked slowly, enjoying the beauty of the lake, the woods -- the day -- talking of this and that, nothing important. It was a big lake, and it took us longer to get around it than we thought it would.

When we were about two-thirds of the way around, we found a little beach-like area. There were signs saying "no swimming." David looked at me and said, "You think that means no wading?"

"You want to wade?"

"I see lots of nice flat stones under the water, and I want to skip some."

I hadn't skipped stones since I was little, so I immediately began to take off my sandals. David was out of his sandals quickly and began to roll up his pants. Soon we were both standing in a foot or so of water, skipping stones like a couple of kids.

I looked over at David and saw his butt pointing at me. He had leaned over to pick up a stone from the bottom of the lake. It was a fine ass, and this was the best view of it I had ever had. My first urge was to run my finger along the crease or squeeze one of those muscular cheeks. But then a different, irresistible urge overcame me. I waded over to David, who was still fishing around on the bottom for stones, put my hand in his crotch, and tipped him over. He pitched forward and was instantly stretched out full length on his stomach in a foot and a half of water.

He came up sputtering, of course, and was he a sight to see! His hair and clothes were soaked. The shirt clung to his body, and I began to have some sense of what a nice upper body he really had. The white band in his shirt went across his pects, and I could see that his nipples were both distended. I could also tell that David wore a nipple ring on the left nip. I had never gotten to flick my tongue over a nip ring, and I had this powerful urge to grab him right there. But, of course, I didn't.

The white cotton pants were even more revealing. They had absorbed lots of water, and they turned practically transparent. The wet fabric accentuated the cleft in his ass, and his package bulged beautifully. He didn't appear to be wearing any underwear, for I could tell from the way the cotton caressed his dick that he was cut.

The first thing he did was to begin to wring the water out of his hair. As he did, he grinned at me and asked, "What was that for?"

"That, Taylor, was for scaring the shit out of me back there."

"Yeah, right. I know why you really did it. You just wanted an excuse to put your hand on my ass. If you had asked nicely, I might have let you do it anyway, and then I wouldn't be wet."

"You wish!" I laughed.

We put our sandals on and began walking the rest of the way around the lake to the car. When we got to the parking lot, David said, "You know, Max, there IS one problem."

"Oh?"

"Yeah, I can't get into the car this way. I can't sit on those seats in these wet pants. The leather will take a little water, but to put soaking wet cloth in that seat for an hour or so would ruin it."

"David, I'm sorry. I never thought of anything like that."

"Yeah, yeah, just had to get your hand on my ass, I know."

"So what are we going to do?" I asked, ignoring the last taunt. "Hang around here until those pants dry?

"I could take them off, but I don't think I had better drive home naked."

"I have an idea, if you aren't too squeamish."

"Hey, padre, any port in a storm."

"OK. Let me get in the car. You keep watch. I don't see anyone near this end of the parking lot, do you?"

"No," he said, looking puzzled.

I got into the passenger side of the car. I lifted my ass up and pulled off my Bermudas. Then I pulled off my boxers, pulled my shorts back up, fastened and zipped them.

He was standing there looking at me. "OK, dufus, I'll get out. Take off your shirt now and give it to me." He did. "Now, stand here behind the door of the car and take off your pants and give them to me."

"But . ."

"No buts, Taylor, just do it."

He grinned at me and took off his pants. As he handed them to me I got a great look at one of the most beautiful men I've ever seen. He obviously worked out, but he wasn't `artificial' looking the way some guys are. His skin was naturally fair, but he must have been in the sun in moderate amounts all summer and had a sort of peachy tan that looked fabulous with that red hair, now turned almost as dark as Tim's because it was wet.

"Are you gonna stand there and gawk all afternoon, or do I get to put on your boxers?" he asked.

"Woops, sorry," I laughed, handing him the boxers.

He put them on. They were a little snug, but they'd do to keep him legal until we got home.

So, we put his wet clothes in the back, I took off my shirt, and jumped in the car.

As he started the engine, he looked over at me and grinned. "Hey, Hewitt, does freeballing usually give you a stiffie?"

I looked down at my lap, where, indeed, there was a tent.

"Well, uh, er, I, uh . . ."

"Very eloquent, I'm sure," he chuckled. "But I see now that this whole escapade was just your devious device to get a look at the merchandise. So, what do you think?"

I couldn't do anything but sit there and laugh, picturing him stretched out in the water. Finally he looked over at me and asked, "What's so funny?"

"You probably won't believe me."

"Try me."

"OK, first of all, pushing you into the water really was a spur-of-the-moment idea. But I must admit that an unexpected bonus was getting a look at `the merchandise.'"

"So, I'll ask again. What do you think?"

I looked over at him, and my breath caught. He had a boner, and it was sticking up through the fly of my boxers. They were just tight enough on him to pull the fly open a little, and his stiffie had poked right up through.

"Well," I said, "you seem determined to give me a good look."

He flashed me a really sultry look and asked, "Do I have to ask you a third time?"

"No, David you don't. I'll tell you honestly that you are one of the sexiest men I've ever seen, with or without your clothes on."

"And when are you going to return the favor?"

"The favor?"

"Come on, Max. You know what I mean. When do I get a look at your `merchandise'?"

Whoa! "David, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done what I did. I don't want to rush the sexual side of things between us, and I think I've given you the wrong impression."

"Relax, Max! I can wait. I confess I'd like to take your clothes off of you and study you carefully, from stem to stern. I've never gone for, forgive me, shorter men, but I admit that you attracted me from the first time I saw you at the party. I DO know you have doubts, though. I'm not Andrew. I'm not Tim. And I may be shallow. So, if you'll just tell me there's some hope, I'll wait a while. Not forever, mind you, but a while yet. Is that fair?"

"More than fair, David. I realize there will never be another guy in my life like Andrew, but I think he'd want me to find somebody I could love. You know I was drunk when I said that thing about Tim, and I really do understand that he's Ced's. As for the shallow thing, I've already found out enough about you to know that you are far from shallow. And I am enjoying exploring the depths, so to speak. So, please be patient about the sex thing."

He smiled and nodded his head. After that, we drove through the late afternoon, enjoying the sun on our bodies and the music on the system.

When we got to my house, I said, "Come on in. We'll put your clothes in my dryer, and I'll get us something to drink. Then, a little later, I'll spring for dinner somewhere if you're free."

"That all sounds fine, Max, except for one thing."

"What's that?"

"How do I get into your house? What will the neighbors think?"

I leaned close to his ear and said, "Fuck 'em!"

He chuckled, grabbed his sopping clothes from the back, and walked up to my front door as if he were fully clothed. I noticed, though, that he held his clothes in front of his crotch, so I assumed he hadn't lost his wood. But then neither had I, and I had nothing with which to hide the tent in my shorts.

Once inside, I put his things in my dryer. I asked him what he wanted to drink, and he asked for beer. So, I reached in the fridge and grabbed a couple of cans of Corona and handed him one.

"Will you be warm enough in just those shorts? I could turn off the A/C."

"No, Max, I'm fine. Why don't you put something on the stereo and we'll just mellow out until the clothes are dry."

I decided we'd had enough Manic Street Preachers, so I put on Mozart's Piano Concerto #21 with Murray Perahia playing.

When he heard the opening chords, David smiled, took a sip of beer, and said "Good choice." Then he put his head back, listening to the music.

One of the effects of the Mozart was that, by the second movement, David had lost his wood. I was glad, because sitting there with him hard made things hard for me, so to speak.

As we were listening to the spirited finale of the concerto, my doorbell rang. David jumped up and went into the downstairs lavatory and shut the door.

It was Tim at the door. I asked him to come in. Then I yelled, "It's OK, David, you can come out. It's not one of my parishioners."

When David emerged still wearing my boxers, with the fly pulled open because they were too small, Tim did a double take. David just grinned. He came up to Tim and shook hands with him. "Hi, Tim. It's good to see you again. How's Cedric?"

Tim was obviously puzzled, as well he might have been, but his manners were too good for him to say anything. "Hello, David, it's nice to see you, too. Ced's fine."

I looked at Tim and grinned.

He still looked puzzled. Then he seemed to remember why he was there. "Ced's in the shower. We thought we'd find something to eat and then take in a movie. There's a 9:00 showing of `Casablanca' at the art theater. We were going to ask you if you'd like to come with us. And, David, you're welcome, too."

I looked at David. He winked at me. "Sure, Tim, that would be great, if you don't mind me looking a little wrinkled. I've seen that film often enough on tv late at night, but I'd love to see it on the big screen."

Tim beamed at us both. "I don't know what's going on with you two, but you'd better believe you will tell us before the evening is over. Ced and I'll be back in half an hour. And I'll drive. I don't think we can all fit into that red sex wagon out front."

"Aww," David said, "Everybody disses my baby."

Tim chuckled and left.

We had a great time at dinner at Applebee's. Tim and Ced laughed heartily as David and I alternated telling about our afternoon, from the scare he gave me in the car to the forced bath in the lake and the problem of the wet clothes. They both looked especially interested when we described how David had taken off his clothes in the parking lot, slipped quickly into my boxers, and then jumped into the Vette. I could just tell those two horn dogs were wishing they had been there to see that.

We all cried at the end of the movie, even David. That may have been when I knew that it wouldn't be too long before I would get at his ample ass.

TIM:

One morning during an "office hour," I was at my desk when Trey came in. I hadn't seen him since we were all at Max's after the OU game. He didn't look his usual self. He looked delicious, as always, with his hazel eyes and his tawny hair, which he'd taken to wearing a little longer than he had the previous year. But his face looked a little drawn, and that ready smile just wasn't there.

I stood up, came around the desk, and closed the door. After we hugged, I pushed him away from me and said, "It's about time you got your ass in here. I want to know what's wrong."

"How'd you know something was wrong?"

"Two ways, Trey, intuition and observation. You can't hurt without my knowing it. It's that strange connection we have, little brother." I smiled up at him as I said that. "Besides, I could tell at Max's the other night something was really bothering you. On top of that, you look miserable. Shall I go on?"

This time he really did smile.

"God, Tim, I need you." He hugged me again.

"OK, Tiger, want to sit down and tell me about it?"

"Could we do this somewhere else, maybe later today? It may take a while."

"Ced won't be back to our place until late afternoon. Could you stop by about 3:00?"

"I finish my workout about 3:00 today. It will take me half an hour to shower, dress, and get there. Is 3:30 OK?"

"Sure."

He hugged me for a third time, smiled weakly, and left.

Trey rang the doorbell at about 3:25. After the hug, I gestured him toward a seat in the living room. "Trey, would you like a glass of wine, or perhaps something stronger?"

"No, Tim, you go ahead if you want. I don't think I'd better drink anything just now."

I sat down facing him. "Talk to me."

He leaned forward, rested his elbows on his knees, clasped his hands, and looked directly at me. "First and most important, I've come to apologize to you."

That took me by surprise. "For what?"

"Well, I think I have to tell you the whole story." When I just waited, he launched into a detailed account of what happened when he and Chaz had dinner at Stefan's before the OU game. I confess I was very uncomfortable during his narrative, both for Trey and also because it brought back some memories I'd rather have kept suppressed.

When he had finished, he said, "You know, Tim, I'm really hurt by what the big guy did, but there may have been a good result, too."

"Oh?"

Still leaning forward with his hands clasped, Trey looked at the floor for a moment. When he looked back up at me, there were tears in his eyes.

"Tim, I'm just so terribly sorry for what I did to you that night in your office -- and for my part in all the rest of it. The anger and humiliation I felt at Stefan's brought home to me what you must have gone through back then. I'm so ashamed of my part in that. I don't see how you could ever have forgiven any of us, much less have become such a good friend. I want you to know that I AM ashamed, especially now that I have some idea how you must have felt."

When he looked up, there were tears streaming down his face. I got up, went over, sat beside him on the sofa, and pulled him into my arms. He bent his head over and rested it on mine as he continued to weep.

I kissed his ear. "Trey, you know I'm not religious. I do, however, sometimes suspect that things happen for the best. Who knows why fate or whatever chose to bring us together the way it did? But you and I were meant to be more than friends. We were given this strange bond we have. Let's not question it. If I had to go through all that in order to have you and Ced in my life, so be it. I'd gladly do it again."

I got up, went into the downstairs lav, got a box of Kleenex, and brought them back to him. "Don't move. I think it's time for a drink" I went to the kitchen and poured Jack Daniels into two on-the-rocks glasses, but I didn't add any ice. I took them back to the living room and put one in front of him on the coffee table. I kept the other and sat facing him again.

He had used the tissue, dried up the tears on his face, and blown his nose. He gave me a wan smile, got up, took the crumpled Kleenex to the lav to dispose of it. When he sat back down, he said, "Tim, this is too easy. I feel like such a turd for my part in everything. We were so shitty to you, and you've become everybody's friend and my brother. I need to do something to make it up to you."

"Trey, sometimes good people do bad things. I recognized pretty early that's what happened. I admired all you guys from the outset for your loyalty to Ced, even though I hated the way you chose to display it. And I never hated you. Early on I recognized in your brotherhood four unique and lovable men. Granted, it took a little longer with Chaz than with the rest of you, but we all love him now, don't we?"

He winced a little when I said that, so I made a note to come back to it.

"So, babe, let's just look at the outcome. We are all together, we share something fine. And one of the really beautiful things about it is that we can expand the circle. We now have Max and Steve with us. You are an even better person for the feelings you've just been having, dear man. But you have my permission, my encouragement, to put them aside and move on."

I paused to take a sip of my drink. Trey had been holding his in both hands, sipping occasionally, as I talked.

I looked at him and grinned. "I hope you were taking notes. There will be a quiz at the end of the period."

He laughed at that and took another sip of the whiskey.

"Now, let's get to the real issue here."

He looked at me to see where I was going with that statement.

"How badly damaged is your relationship with Chaz?"

He set his glass down and sighed. "It's not good."

I waited for more.

"We haven't slept together since that night, by my choice."

"Are you withholding sex as punishment, Trey?"

He thought about that for a moment. "I don't think so. I just can't think of sex when I have these feelings of hurt and resentment. And he's not apologetic. He keeps insisting that it was all `in good fun' and that I can't take a joke."

That sounded like Chaz, but I didn't say anything.

"I don't know what to do, Tim. I love the big jerk, but right now I don't even want to be around him."

I took a sip of my drink while I thought about what I might say.

"Trey, you've known Chaz for three years. Do you think he's changed any since last spring?"

"Oh, yeah. And it's mostly because of you, you know. The way you handled that situation, with the payback and all, made Chaz take a good look at himself. I can see how much more mature he is, and, usually, how much more tuned in he is to other people's feelings."

"The maturation process isn't linear, you know. We `grow up' by fits and starts. Do you think it's possible that what happened the other night is just a momentary relapse on Chaz's part?"

"God, I hope so!"

"Well, if I suggest patience, you won't just blow me off, will you?"

He grinned. "Timmy, I'd never do that."

"Is your big lover worth some patience?"

He thought about that and said, "Well, yeah."

"In time Chaz will probably come to see what a cruel thing he did to you that night at Stefan's. I'd suggest you hang in there with him for a while. You don't need to let him back into bed with you until it feels right -- and don't confuse your horniness or his with feeling right -- but don't say words you can't take back. Be steady and patient. And, most important, just be there. It'll all work out, I'm pretty sure."

He sighed. "Tim, I hope you're right. At the moment, I love the big bastard, but I don't like him very much."

Just then Ced burst through the door in his typically exuberant way. He started to say, "Timmy, I'm home," as he always does, but he saw Trey and only got out part of his proclamation. "Trey, bro, it's great to see you!"

Trey stood up and they hugged.

"Are you OK? I've been worried about you."

"You, too?"

"Yeah, ever since the game. You sat there next to Chaz, but you were somewhere else the whole time. I don't think you even knew what sport was being played on the field. And back at Max's the guy who loves parties and loves people sat and didn't talk to anybody the whole time. Of COURSE I've been worried about you!"

"Sorry I was a party poop. You guys are the greatest. I love you for being concerned, Ced. Chaz and I are having a -- misunderstanding, I guess. I've just told Tim all about it, and he's given me some good advice."

Then he looked at me. "Tim, if you don't mind, I'll let you tell Ced all about it. I don't particularly want to rehash the whole thing again."

"No problem, Tiger."

Ced was looking at Trey with obvious concern.

"Well, whatever it is, if there's anything I can do, just let me know. Seriously, now, I mean it, babe."

Trey smiled. "Yeah, dude, I know you do. I guess that's what the brotherhood is all about, isn't it?"

He came over to me and hugged me. "What in the world would I do without you guys in my life? Tim, thanks, big brother." He gave me a little peck on the lips. "You don't know how much this has helped." I gave him an extra tight squeeze.

Then he and Cedric hugged again.

"Love you guys." And with that, he left.

PHILIP:

I decided to give myself a treat and go to the restaurant in Cleveland where Geoff's group played on the Saturday night after that first SGA meeting. I hadn't seen Geoff since, and I didn't tell him I was planning to be there.

First of all, I had to make a reservation, which I did. Then I had to get directions. The guy on the phone at the restaurant seemed to think I knew all about Cleveland, so his directions weren't too clear. I had been to CWRU and the University Circle area several times, but I hadn't any knowledge of that maze of twisting streets up on the heights east of there. But I scribbled furiously, hoping that as I drove I'd be able to decipher what I had written.

I only got lost once. As I went out Carnegie, I turned up the hill too soon, wound up in Shaker Heights, and had to drive around awhile before I could head back down the hill. One thing you definitely can't do in Shaker or any of those Heights communities is just drive around a block. Nothing is square there: most of them curve, and there are lots of cul de sacs. When I finally got to the foot of the hill, I turned right, turned right again, went under an underpass and back up the hill.

The next problem was that where I expected the restaurant to be, there was no sign. There was a parking lot full of cars, however, and I parked there. The restaurant was adjacent to the lot, it just didn't have a lighted sign out front. Just the name on the wall next to the entrance, with a spotlight shining on it. I figured they must be doing well if that's all the signage they needed.

The place was busy, and I was glad I had called for a reservation. I felt a little underdressed in my linen jacket, jeans, and loafers. Oh, and I had worn my cz stud in my ear that evening. But I thought I looked more appropriate for the ambiance and decor than those guys in suits and blazers and their women in their suits and dark dresses.

I had a Jack Daniels on the rocks and looked at the menu. This meal was going to set me back a bit, but I resolved to enjoy myself now that I had decided to be here. I ordered chicken marsala, wondering if this would be anything like the dish of the same name at the Olive Garden. I love veal, but I won't eat it because of what they do to the calves. I sipped my whiskey and did some people watching while I waited for my food.

There was a quantum difference between the Nighttown version of the chicken dish and what I was familiar with at the chain restaurant, and I enjoyed it.

My server had just brought me some coffee when Geoff and his trio appeared on the little stage off to one side of the restaurant. They were all wearing black pants and had on silk shirts that were intense, jewel-like colors. The little Italian-looking drummer had on a gold shirt that went with his coloring perfectly. The tall black bassist had on a sort of a cranberry-colored shirt, and it looked great on him. And then there was Geoff! He had on a cobalt-blue shirt that brought out the blue of his eyes and looked fantastic with his pale skin and pale, blond, curly hair. I almost came in my jeans when he stepped into the spotlight.

They played "Over the Rainbow" as their first number, and the crowd broke into applause. Obviously these guys were known to and popular with this audience. When that piece was finished, Geoff stood up, bowed a little bow, and thanked the audience. The spotlight on his hair made it look platinum, like some of the blondes in those 1940's movies. He seemed very poised as he introduced Tony di Franco, the drummer, and Roy Huggins, the bass player. Both were warmly applauded. This was turning out to be a love-fest. Then Geoff looked straight at me, seemed startled for a moment, and then smiled -- just a very little smile.

He said something to di Franco, who left his drums and came to the microphone. Geoff sat down, looked straight at me, played a couple of chords, and began a melody I had heard before somewhere, but couldn't quite place. Then, di Franco began to sing in a pleasant, smoky baritone:

Love walked right in and drove the shadows away.

Love walked right in and brought my sunniest day.

One magic moment and my heart seemed to know that love said "Hello,"

Though not a word was spoken.

One look and I forgot the gloom of the past.

One look and I had found my future at last.

One look and I had found a world completely new,

When love walked in, when love walked in, when love walked in with you.

[Lyrics by Ira Gershwin]

Geoff didn't look at me while he was playing and Tony was singing. But I sensed very strongly that he had made a last-minute change in the program when he saw that I was there. Did that mean what it seemed to? Could he have been using that song as a way of saying he loved me?

When the song was over, the audience warmly applauded di Franco, who smiled, bowed, and went back to his drums. While Tony was accepting the applause of the audience, Geoff turned to face me and looked me straight in the eye. He didn't smile or anything. It was more as if he was trying to read my expression.

I had said to myself that day at the Union that I would play him like a fish to get him. Just then, at Nighttown, I wondered who was playing whom.

The rest of the first set was instrumental, and I was able to confirm what I remembered from the campus concert last spring, that these guys were good. Way too good to be playing in a Cleveland suburb. I wished I had some contacts. With the right agent, they could really go places. I was thinking New York, Chicago, LA. Recording contracts. But all that was beyond anything I could do for them. I did decide, though, to talk about them in an upcoming column in the university paper. And I was going to ask Geoff if there were any plans for another concert on campus. These guys deserved to be heard!

At their first break, Geoff brought his colleagues over to my table, and they all sat down. He introduced us. Roy told me he was a faculty member at the Baldwin-Wallace Conservatory, and Tony said he was at the Cleveland Institute of Music and Case Western Reserve, taking degrees in music and music history at the same time. Geoff introduced me to them as his new friend and told them about my being president of the SGA and about my column in the paper. We chatted for a while longer, and then they went to play their second set.

Again, most of their selections were instrumental, but Roy, who not only played bass but sang bass, did a very slow, sexy rendition of the usually up-tempo "Sweet Georgia Brown." That brought down the house, as it should have. The last thing they played was a tribute to Bill Evans that Geoff told us he had just written. It featured him on the piano and included some very difficult passages. I was simply blown away. This beautiful, quiet, shy man was a phenomenal musician. His competitive diving days were over, but he had been damned good at that when he was an undergraduate. Yet he seemed utterly without ego. He was poised onstage, but offstage he was diffident. And I decided I would have to be careful or I was going to be hooked.

When their last set was over, Geoff came down into the audience again and stopped at several tables to say hello to people he obviously knew. I waited, hoping he'd come back to me, and he did. He said how surprised he was to see me and asked why I hadn't told him I'd be there. I said I had only decided to come at the last minute, and he seemed to accept that. He sat at my table and put his hands on top of mine. I noticed what long, thin fingers he had. A pianist's fingers. He thanked me for coming. I told him just how good I thought he and his group were, and he thanked me for that, blushing a little as he did.

"Geoff, I don't suppose you could ride with me back to campus?"

"No, Philip, I have my own car here. But thanks for the offer." He smiled shyly. "It would be nice to ride back with you."

"Yeah, well, OK, Geoff. You guys should be playing in the bigtime, you know. So. See you back on campus soon?"

"I'd like that. Will you call me?"

"Sure Geoff, I'll do that. Or, if not, I'll see you at the next SGA meeting, I hope."

He looked a little disappointed, stood, waved at me, and went to join his friends, I supposed.

`Well, Philip, you certainly handled that well. Why the fuck did you go and bring up the Alliance? Now he will think that's the only reason you came here tonight. Would he think that? Wouldn't he know you came because you are interested in him? You sure fumbled an opportunity there. What has this guy done to your brain?'

STEVE:

The Saturday night a week after we all went to the football game, we double dated again. Mark, Lori, Becky, and I went bowling! I didn't know they bowled in Germany, but Lori was the best bowler of the bunch. Mark's pretty good, too. But we all had fun. We had pizza before the bowling and went for drinks afterward. Great evening. Since it was the second date, I -- oh, you don't want to hear what Becky and I did after we took Mark and Lori home.

Anyway, Monday, not long after I had gotten back to my apartment in the late afternoon, there was a knock on the door. I don't know who I thought it might have been, but I wasn't expecting Sgt. Ibrahim, for sure. The sergeant is a tall dude, 6' 2" maybe. He looks like a thirty-something version of Jerry Ohrbach on "Law and Order," except his hair is all black.

I hadn't seen him since I left the hospital, though he had called me a couple of times to see if I was all right and to tell me about the progress -- or lack of progress -- on my "case." I had the impression he was going a little above and beyond with me and wondered why.

"Hi, sergeant, come in."

We shook hands, and he came in.

"I just got here. It's pretty stuffy. Let's get some air in here. Would you like a beer?"

"You go ahead and have one, Steve. Is it OK if I call you Steve? But I'm on duty." He took off his coat and draped it over the back of one of my chairs.

"Yeah, please call me Steve," I said, as I went around opening windows.

We sat facing each other, and I waited for him to tell me why he was there.

"I've got good news. And I want your help."

"Shoot!"

He grinned. "First of all, we've arrested the three kids who attacked you and did that other stuff."

"It was the guys from the pool, then?"

"Oh, yeah. Did you doubt that?"

"No, not really. But how did you manage to `get' them?"

"I wish I could say it was brilliant detective work, but Jared Cousins came in with his parents and the family lawyer and confessed."

"He did?"

"Yep. It seems he got some kind of scare which he won't talk about. Besides that, he confessed to his twin sister, and she got on his case to `fess up. And he was pissed off, and I used that word advisedly, with the other two boys, Jeremy Passinger and Richie Bauer. So he agreed to tell us everything in hopes that we would ask the juvie authorities to go easy on him."

"And will you?"

"Well, that's partly why I'm here."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. Those other two are punks. Oh, they come from `respectable' families, but my take is that they're all bigots. You know, people who are different are somehow inferior. So they have no use for Blacks, Jews, gays, liberals, Appalachians or anybody else that doesn't fit their idea of the right kind of people. These two, Richie and Jeremy, swaggered around the high school, were decent athletes, and had a certain following. They sort of took Jared under their wing, and he was, what? Dazzled? I think he's a nice kid. I like his family, though I fault them for not knowing more about what he was doing and who he was with."

"Sergeant, I'm going to have a beer. Sure I can't offer you one?"

He looked at his watch. "I'm going home from here unless all hell breaks loose somewhere. So, yeah, I'm off duty. I'll have a beer with you." I got the beers, handed him one, and sat back down.

"I get the impression that you like this Jared, sergeant."

He seemed to study the beer can, though it was a Bud, and I'm sure he'd seen many of them before. "You know, Steve, I do. He's not like the other two. I think he just wanted to be accepted, so he went along. He says he objected to what they were doing to your car and objected about the brick through the window. He says he wasn't involved in the attack on you except for being there until Richie almost forced him to do something. He insists that he pretended to kick you, but made sure he didn't do it hard enough to do any damage."

I honestly couldn't remember. I was on the ground with my hands over my head at that time, my knees pulled up to protect my stuff.

"Later," the sergeant continued, "in school, the other two threatened to beat him up as they had you if he told anybody what they had done, so he was too scared to admit anything when we questioned him. After thinking it over, and with some pressure from his sister, he decided to tell his parents, who insisted he come to us. And that's the story, or most of it."

"Most of it? What else?"

"He wants to see you."

"Me? Why?"

He grinned. "Well, see, Steve, this is the thing. He wants to apologize. And if I'm any judge of character, it isn't because he's trying to get our sympathy. I think the kid really is sorry for what he did and wants to tell you so himself."

I thought about that for a while. "Jeez, sergeant, I don't know. I've had some bad nightmares about that night. I didn't have them when I was staying with my friends, but now they are coming pretty frequently. I don't know how I would feel having to face any of those guys right now."

"Steve, if those nightmares keep coming back, you should probably get some counseling. What you went through was pretty traumatic. I'm sure you could get help through the University Health Services."

"Yeah, I suppose so. But I think I'll be OK."

"Look, you don't have to see Jared. You have every right to refuse. But I think, if you decide you're up to it, that might be a step toward making a decent man out of this kid. You know, if he was able to look you in the eye and tell you he's sorry for what he did."

I was thinking about all of that when he continued, "Those other two, Bauer and Passinger, are bad apples. And they'll get time in juvenile detention. My guess is at least a year. They deserve more, but the system doesn't like to put kids just turned eighteen into adult prisons, and that's probably a good idea. More humane than these little bastards deserve, maybe, but overall a good idea. But I think the Cousins kid is, well, somebody we can salvage, if you get what I mean."

I nodded for him to go ahead.

"You know, Steve, if young Cousins were an adult, there would be no way you and he'd be allowed to see each other before his trial. In juvenile matters, however, we have more leeway. The three of them were arraigned before Judge Flowers Friday. All of them were released to the custody of their parents pending their appearance at juvie court. Young Jared stood there and admitted to everything he had done and pleaded with the judge to be allowed to tell you how sorry he was. So she said it's OK, so long as you don't have any problems with it. Oh, and you know, I suppose, that you will need to be present when their cases are heard in her court."

I hadn't thought about that. Well, I wanted those little bastards to get what they had coming. Didn't I? Yeah, after thinking it over, I was sure I did. But maybe this Jared had gone along because he needed approval, friends, status. I never took that route, but I could understand the longing.

"There's one other thing I want to tell you, but it's got to be just between the two of us, OK?"

"Sure, sergeant."

"I think Jared may be gay. Not that it matters, you understand, but I just thought I'd let you know. He said the other two called him a fag or a queer every time they got pissed with him or wanted to pressure him into doing something. I had the very strong impression that perhaps one of his reasons for wanting them as friends was that they were a kind of cover for him. So, if you agree to see him, you should know what I suspect about him."

"First of all, sergeant, it wouldn't matter to me one way or the other about Jared's sexuality. I have gotten to know some really great guys on campus who are gay. Second, if you think there's something decent in the kid, I'll trust your judgment, and I guess it won't be so bad to see him. How do we set it up for us to meet?"

He got up, went into my kitchen, opened the door under the sink, crumpled the beer can with his fist, and put it in the garbage can there.

"Hey, sarge, how did you know that was there?"

He grinned at me. "It's that way in 90% of kitchens, Steve."

He came back into the living room. "I'll call you about getting together with Jared, if you are willing."

"Sure. Will he come here? Do I have to go to his house? Meet him somewhere?"

"I'll work that out and we'll talk about it when I call you, OK?"

"Yeah. But, Sergeant Ibrahim, before you go, I have a question."

"And that would be . . . ?"

"I have the impression that you have given my case more attention than it deserves. Am I right? And if so, is there a reason for that?"

He chuckled. "Well, maybe a little. This wasn't just a case of assault. It was a hate crime. Besides, I don't just like young Jared. I think you're a pretty decent young man, too, and I wasn't about to let those kids get away with what they did if I could help it." He grinned. "It sure helped a lot, though, when young Cousins came in and confessed."

He shook my hand and left.

To be continued