Jimmy and Me By: Brad Healey
Preface: To readers, what will follow over the next months is my story of growing up gay while in blissfully insane denial of that fact. Some of these chapters have been presented previously on other web forums, yet my writing was often edited and omitted when it did not fit the strict rules of the other site. Here are the original and uncut versions of these stories.
"Brad Healey" is a necessary pen name; I am a published author of non-fiction under my given name and wish to remain annonymous in these rather personal stories. I am amazed and heartened at the number of people who relate to me that they have had similar feelings growing up.
Here, I am submitting each of the chapters as individually titled stories to make them more accessible. However, laid end to end they are the chronological story of my adolescence and early adulthood. Search on my name to find the installments previously published. Though many of these experiences took place before I was an adult, all are completely true, and all are being told here and now from an adult's perspective.
Notes: This particular story is about a secret boyhood four-year relationship that was both exciting and shameful. For me, our relationship was based purely on physical pleasure. For Jimmy it was probably much more, and I didn't understand this at all till much later. This story deals deeply with the feelings and emotions that surrounded the physical experiences of two barely adolescent boys.
All through growing up, as far back as I can recall, other people's bodies, habits and preferences always fascinated me, and from a very early age I learned that my interest in this realm was more far more heightened than most of my classmates. I also had found I was far more attracted to other boys than girls, and was developing strong preferences as to what kind of boys I liked and wanted to be with. I knew from the time I was very, very small that this was a shameful thing that must forever be kept secret; that boys were not supposed to want to see other boys naked or imagine which boys they'd like to be in a relationship with that went any further than the boundaries of the football field. I carefully hid my crushes on other boys because I never wanted to be identified as a sissy or a fairy, and I actively cultivated my masculinity to ensure this would never happen. I got dirty, climbed trees, wrestled in the grass, built a go-kart out of the old lawn mower's parts, and learned to throw a pretty good curve ball. I talked like a guy, walked like a guy and acted like a guy: I tried to appear to be a real tough boy. Ok, A real tough boy who constantly dreamed about cuddling other boys naked; that was me.
Most of all, I didn't want to be like Jimmy. Jimmy was in my kindergarten class and my neighbor. He lived a mere two blocks away, but I had no desire whatsoever to visit his house. I despised him from the first day I saw him, running and screaming with the girls on the playground, sitting and playing dolls at recess, often taking the role of the Mom while playing house. I may have been only six, but I knew that there was something drastically wrong with Jimmy. His high-pitched shrieking and squealing could be heard for a block as he ran and played. He had a habit of flipping his head girlishly to move his long brown bangs out of his eyes. He was never dirty, never got in a fight, never even tried to associate with the other boys. Jimmy was one of the girls.
But most disgraceful to me was the way he walked. There was a distinctly different way that girls carry themselves that was noticeable to us guys even as little boys, but when following behind him and his girl playmates, you couldn't tell which were the girls and which was the boy. Jimmy had mastered the walk perfectly. I hated him.
While some boys were able to leave him alone and accept him, most of us practiced one of two ways of dealing with Jimmy. One was to act hatefully towards him, calling him names like "Sissy" and crying out "Jimmy is a girl". The other was to avoid and ignore him at all costs, simply denying his existence on the earth. I tried both methods during kindergarten to see which suited me best. I finally settled on the "ignore" route, as it was a lot less work. However, I devoted much private mental energy to him, never getting his presence out of my mind. He disturbed me in a profound way that I could not pin down.
Maybe it was because I knew I was somehow like him.
Sure, I remember Jimmy from kindergarten, but in too-vivid detail I remember the names and faces of half a dozen other boys in that class too. This was my first time in a social situation away from home and my mother and small sister, and I found myself drawn unexplainably to several other boys newly met in a way I couldn't make any sense out of.
For example: cute, mischievous Brian had a large brown birthmark on the back of his right hand. I loved to stare at his dark tousled hair and the way it needed to be combed, and look into his playful eyes, seemingly always sparkling and looking for trouble. He often smelled like peanut butter. Paul was a quiet blond boy with a pale complexion and (to me) a very attractive prominent blue vein that ran up the side of his left cheek. George built the tallest towers with wooden blocks and could throw a ball farther than anybody. He also liked to wrestle on the ground, even allowing himself be tickled sometimes. His mother sent him to school every day wearing trousers with a sharply ironed crease in their legs, and he always smelled like fresh laundry soap. Billy was a silly boy who would do anything for a laugh, including going to the bathroom with the door standing open so everyone could see him peeing... I loved that and would dare him to do it again and again. Matthew was a tall dark-eyed boy who wore tan Hush Puppy shoes and had a fascinating "outie" belly button that I'd look for at naptime, carefully positioning myself near to him on the floor we spread out our little mats. I'd stare longingly as he'd stretch his hands above his head and his too-short shirt would rise up to uncover his long, slim, tanned belly. Chuck with his tangled, curly blond hair was my absolute favorite to line up behind in the bathroom queue, because as we were dispatched in pairs to the hall lavatory, Chuck would usually agree to show "his" if I just asked him.
One might be led to incorrectly conclude there were no girls in my class... because honestly I don't remember the name of a single one.
All through elementary school and junior high school I purposefully ignored Jimmy, though he lived very nearby. I'd avoid neighborhood games where he was included, and would skip a trip to the pool if he were going along. I'd feel my anger rise if I heard his squealing voice as he played; when he rode his bike past wearing his sissy bell-bottomed pants and other stylish clothes I'd turn my back and try to ignore him as if he didn't exist, feeling my blood pressure rise in anger at his very presence.
Imagine my surprise one day in the eighth grade when my mother called up to me in my bedroom and said, "Brad, Jimmy is here to see you!"
Jimmy? Jimmy who, I wondered? I came downstairs and was very nervous and mumbled "hi" while looking at the floor. Yes, it was him! Why had he come here? What did he want with me? We went up to my room. I worried: What if my friends saw him here? Jimmy's presence would be unexplainable; just being with him was somehow guilt by association.
His visit was very awkward but mercifully brief. Never sitting down, he walked around my room and looked around at my things and asked me some questions and then he left. I was shaken. Why had he dared to come to see me? I certainly hadn't given him any sign that I wanted to be friends with him. In fact, I hadn't given him any sign that I knew he was alive on this planet, let alone that I would welcome an unplanned visit at my house. But I had to admit I was strangely excited by his visit, too. In the years since we were small children he had gotten tall; and tanned, slim and clear skinned, and he had little dimples in his cheeks when he smiled. He was as handsome as a model in the Sears catalog. My mother was pleased. "He's a very handsome nice boy," she offered. "I don't know why you don't play. He lives so close. Why don't you see more of each other?"
For the next few days I was preoccupied by Jimmy's confusing visit. When we had been in the same room with him... without any other boys around I felt some sort of unfamiliar (and perhaps dangerous) electricity in the air and it frightened me a little. What was that about? But most of all, why did he choose me?
Almost in response to my mother's wish, we did begin to see more of each other. Every few weeks after school, (thankfully when none of my other friends were around) Jimmy would appear at my door. The same pattern would be repeated. He would come, look around at my things, and then go. I found that I was intoxicated by his confusing visits. When we were alone, I felt funny inside, and my heart beat unexplainably faster. I liked the way he smelled when he walked past me... like milk and shampoo. His hair was really nice and shiny and brown and I wanted to touch it. As he passed me I would reach out and just let my hands brush against him. And then, again he would be gone. Through this we never acknowledged each other with so much as a nod when we passed in the halls at school.
I collected records, and I made him a cassette tape with the songs he liked. He came to get it, and was excited and sort of squealed that some of his favorite songs were there. (He especially liked David Bowie, which was in itself alarming to me.)
"Thanks for this!" he said in his high, bright boyish voice, smiling happily and showing his dimples. "I want to pay you for this but I don't have any money," he said. Then, lowering his voice dramatically he added, "But, if you want, I can pay you with sex". He suggested this so softly I could barely hear him. I was stunned into mute paralysis. This couldn't be happening.
"Can I pay with sex?" he repeated.
That next hour is etched into my brain like it happened just yesterday. I heard my detached voice saying that I would consider his proposal, and asked what he wanted to do.
He said, "I want to feel you".
My blood pressure must have jumped 100 points as it roared in my ears. "But-- I am embarrassed because I have a boner" I whispered.
"It's OK. So do I", he said gently.
On silent cue, we clumsily but very quickly undressed each other, we were two thirteen-year-old boys drunk with a lust never felt before. As he tugged his underpants down next to me on the bed, exposing his cock, I stared at a sight I had never seen before. Jimmy's dick was stiff and erect, tan with medium-sized balls nestled beneath. It had a curious backwards curve to it so that it looked like a small banana. He had no hair there yet, but it was clear at just a glance that his puberty had begun, as the proportions, color and definition of his stiff dick were not those of a little boy. Until then, I didn't realize that a boy could have a cock that had grown bigger, but still have no hair growing yet. My only real experience was with myself, and I was sure that on my body these two things had happened simultaneously. Staring at his poking erection as he sat next to on my bed, I marveled because I had never seen another boy in this state of excitement before. And, the fact that he was aroused because he was naked with me was just too much for me to absorb. He stared back at my newly exposed member, erect between my legs and a bit larger than his; crowned with a small patch of fuzzy dark hair, and he yipped quietly with a sort of delight, reaching out to touch it.
Strange words tumbled out of his mouth as he told me how beautiful I was to him and that he thought about me all the time and he only wanted to be with me. I asked him if he masturbated, and he said no, but that he certainly wanted me to teach him. He asked if he could lie on top of me, just for a second... and when he did I was suddenly terrified that someone would come in and discover us. With irrational panic I told him he should leave at once.
He did leave, and the next week for me was a blur. What had happened? Had I passed the point of no return? Was my attempt at having a normal life now over, as I had feared it someday would be? Was I, in fact, a homo like the older Boy Scouts had taunted me just a year or so before? NO!! If someone was a homo... it would be Jimmy, not me, after all I hadn't gone to his house looking for him... but maybe just once it would be all right... after all, I had read the dreadfully boring 1948 "Kinsey Report On Human Sexuality" from cover to cover after buying it at a dusty old book sale... and it said that 22% (or something) of all boys experimented with a member of the same sex by age 18. And so experimenting didn't make me a queer; it made me a daring adventurer, right?
Only once did Jimmy's visit coincide with my other, straight and normal friends being there. Later, they demanded to know why Jimmy was coming to my house and they wanted to know why I considered hanging out with him. After all, he couldn't even throw a ball and- by the way- didn't I hate him? I couldn't look them in the eye and answer truthfully. "He's alright", I said, looking at my feet. They were certainly unconvinced but no one said anything damning, at least not then, and not to my face.
The very next time Jimmy appeared at my house, we waited only till the latch clicked on my bedroom door before we were on each other like animals. I undressed him in an instant, thrilled that he was daringly wearing coveralls with no underwear. He pulled off my clothes and had his hands all over me, then his mouth. It was better than I ever imagined. I was thirteen and I was in heaven. But being just thirteen, it was all over pretty quickly; as I was so aroused I was unable to prolong the pleasure. He rubbed me with his lean, tanned hand, and within moments I began to shoot my boy-cum all over my tummy. Then he did something I couldn't fathom. He tried to kiss me-- on the lips.
I was totally freaked out. This absolutely crossed the line. "Experimenting" to me was messing around with our boners. Kissing was what guys did with girls they married. Kissing is what men did with women in sexy love scenes in the movies. A guy kissing another guy was so far out of the question that it was off the scale of rational belief.
"No!" I shouted angrily, pushing him away.
He looked confused then very ashamed. "But I just wanted to kiss you" he said quietly.
I told him to get out. I left the room and told him that I wanted him gone before I came back in five minutes. If I had any doubts about what I was into before, they were erased now. I was messing around with a faggot who wanted to KISS ME for Christ's sake.
But, the male hormones that drive lust are a powerful drug. He was back again in a few short weeks, and I was more than relieved to see him. This time he did something that made my eyes as wide as saucers, while we sat on the edge of my bed with our pants pushed down, me holding my polo shirt up with both hands, I watched as he bent over at the waist I watched as without hesitation my stiff penis disappeared deep into his mouth. I had never, ever felt that wet, hot, slippery feeling before, and I suddenly understood why this was something so coveted; something that boys always talked lewdly about. He allowed his head to bob up and down on my cock and the feeling was so incredible it made my toes curl. I felt I would explode with his hot wetness and soft lips enveloping me. When he momentarily stopped I begged him to do it again and he did. Yet I could not bring myself to do the same for him, in return, at least not that day. I leaned over and instead kissed his cock twice, shocked that I had suddenly become such a perverted, depraved, wicked boy. OK, so long as he never tried to kiss me on the lips again.
Our trysts continued through junior high school. Him appearing at my front door, we would retreat immediately to my bedroom, where we'd expose ourselves and with pants pulled down around our knees would roll around on the bed, frantically grinding our bodies together with mindlessly undirected passion. Jimmy loved to jerk me off and I would lie back on my bed and let him, but oddly though I played around with him I never actually made him come. He was always so focused on me and I got so excited so quickly, climaxing in his hand that we never got that far, I guess.
I found some necessary peace by compartmentalizing this part of my life, walling it off by making very sure that Jimmy's visits never coincided with time spent with my straight friends. This way I never had to explain; I kept our relationship a closely guarded and a very shameful secret.
One afternoon we both found ourselves during a free period alone in the empty junior high school auditorium. The specific circumstances elude me now, but we were somehow AWOL from authority for almost an hour. With no one else around, we slipped into the seating area of the dark theater, and hidden between the rows and rows of wooden seats on the sloped floor we ground our bodies together in the dark. I remember that Jimmy had a swim meet that afternoon, so he was wearing his tight Speedo team uniform under his jeans. Jimmy had unbuttoned my trousers and had extracted my hard cock, rubbing it like it was his own, but frustratingly I couldn't get to his... his swimsuit blocked my way. Almost wild with frustration, I quickly led him backstage and up a secret staircase used by the stage crew. Slipping behind a curtain and going into an unmarked closet, together we quickly climbed up the long iron ladder that led to the auditorium ceiling. Only the boys who operated the spotlights during auditorium events used this passageway.
The auditorium-ceiling catwalk was dark, drafty and dusty, but I suspected there was no more private place in the world. I directed Jimmy to lie on the floor, and I lay beside him facing the other direction. Lustfully, I undid his buttons and yanked his jeans down then pulled his navy blue school-colored Speedo uniform down right after it. His handsome small curved cock sprang out before my eyes. At the same time I hurriedly pushed my own trousers down around my knees.
"Jimmy, today, I want to see you cum."
"OK, said Jimmy, sort of wide-eyed. "I am ready."
"You've done this by yourself, right?" I asked.
"I don't know if I have," he said. "But I play with it sometimes in the shower."
"But have you, you know, really "COME" yet?" I demanded.
"I'm not sure," he said meekly.
Unbelievable! Surely. if he "didn't know", then it was clear to me that he hadn't. I concluded that though he had learned to jerk me off like an expert, incredibly he must still have never felt an orgasm of his own. I could not fathom how someone who so sexually aroused, so often as was Jimmy could have suffered for the past six months without any relief! In that same time period I probably had come over 250 times. Yet Jimmy apparently didn't know what it even felt like yet.
"I will teach you," I said.
Lying back on the dusty wooden catwalk floor, I focused my full attention on his cock. He grabbed mine and started stroking it like he always did, but this time I stopped him.
"No", I said. "Today it's your turn"
Lying hip to hip, upside down from each other, I began to manipulate his smooth erect penis the same loving way I handled my own. I stroked it slowly and purposefully, from tip to base, pulling it away from his body and making it stand straight out till it seemed as hard as granite. Jimmy sighed with pleasure as I focused all my attention on him.
Suddenly I was shocked into the awareness that the bare-bulbed ceiling lights had just flashed on in the attic around us. The private darkness we had been hiding in had suddenly become well lit and shockingly public. Hearts racing, we both sat up on our elbows in alarm, while simultaneously we heard a loud rhythmic pounding as someone very large rapidly climbed the same ladder that we had used to get to our secret hiding place.
Before we could so much as move another muscle, the most horrible event in imagination unfolded before us. The angry red face of the band director burst through the doorway, and he glared down at us with the fire of furious rage in his eyes. No question, he saw exactly what we were doing; our pants were pulled down and our cocks exposed. We scrambled to our knees, pulling up our trousers as quickly as we could, but the irreversible damage had already been done.
"What the hell is going on in here?" he shouted, "And what IN HELL are you two doing?" he demanded.
Kneeling facing away from him, I struggled to zip up my pants while holding my shirtfront up with my chin against my chest. I made some unbelievably lame excuse about looking for a missing tape cassette up there, and he bellowed for us to get out of there! Screaming behind us, I don't even remember climbing down the ladder, but I must have, because a moment later I was in the empty lobby hallway staggering to a water fountain where I doused my face and hair with ice-cold water. I was absolutely in shock... this just could NOT have happened! I had no idea where Jimmy had gone, and frankly I didn't care. Somehow waking up from this terrible nightmare was the only thought on my mind. My heart pounded till I though it would burst through my chest. My neck burned and I felt lightheaded like things were spinning and black around me. Gasping for breath I leaned again face-first into the fountain and drank deeply, dousing my face again and again with the cold water.
I heard the principal's voice behind me. "What are you doing in the hall young man?" he demanded sternly. "Shouldn't you be in class?" I stood bolt upright realizing that the bell must have rung and the next period had begun some minutes ago and that I was already late for class. Head throbbing, I looked the other way, mumbled an apology and headed quickly but robotically for the eighth grade wing of the school where my math class had already begun. I slipped into my seat as the teacher stopped talking and the whole class turned and stared at me. With my wide eyes, pale-white face and soaking wet hair sticking in all directions, I must have looked like quite a sight. "You're late" the teacher warned. I just wanted to disappear.
I don't remember a single thing about school the rest of that day. I remained in a state of shock, oblivious to the world around me. I knew that the band director would report me to the school principal, for certain. They'd call my parents and there would be a letter sent home. "Your son was caught in a lewd sex act with another boy cutting class during the day in a restricted area of the school" the message would read. "He is obviously a homosexual and counseling is required". They'd make some sort of announcement or somehow everyone would find out, and suddenly my daring that I was so pleased with would become an experiment that had exploded violently in my face, disfiguring me for life. Worse yet I knew I had to see that band director twice a week for the rest of the school year!
After school, I still had to go into the stage area to retrieve my horn. I prayed to God that the band director would be on bus duty or something, and I slipped quietly into the band locker area backstage. I had no such luck. "Hey son!" I heard him shout behind me. "What were you doing up there today? I need to know." The feeling of shameful panic overwhelmed me again. Grabbing my horn in its worn case, my eyes fixed on the floor, I ran past him to escape with my life. "Nothing" I croaked barely audibly as I passed him by.
And, amazingly, "Nothing" is what happened in the aftermath. No report to the principal, no letter sent home, no mandatory counseling, and most thankfully of all no awful story spreading like disfiguring napalm among my friends and enemies. It took a while, but Jimmy sheepishly showed up at my front door again, and we resumed our private sexual escapades, but closeted again safely in my bedroom where we were less likely to be caught. (I never thought of it at the time, but now as an adult, looking back, what a positively awful experience this event must have been for Jimmy, though we never ever discussed it, pretending it had never happened. When we were discovered, he had just "let go", surrendering himself to have his first orgasm just as this cataclysm exploded around us. Talk about being scarred for life by sexual trauma...)
One afternoon as we lay hip to hip on my bed, fondling each other's boners I casually asked him who else he desired; what other boys he thought about sexually. I recall he looked at me quizzically, and asked, "What do you mean?"
"You know," I said, "what other boys do you think about and want to mess around with like this? Who else besides me?" I thought immediately of the tall boy named Steve who lived right next door to Jimmy who was several years older than us and was a star on the High School Baseball Team. "How about Steve?" I asked him. "He's your neighbor and is so cool looking. How about him?"
"No..." said Jimmy haltingly. "Only you. You're the only one I think about."
"Cummon," I pushed with impatience. "Sure OK, me, but who else?"
Jimmy turned his face away from me. "No... nobody else. Really, only you" he repeated.
I was really annoyed. He had to be kidding. There were dozens of boys I fantasized about. I imagined everything about them from watching them pee or seeing them naked in the gym showers to being alone with them and getting them to be somehow sexual with me. If I was willing to share my fantasy desires with him, why wouldn't he share his with me?
I pushed ahead. "Well, sometimes I think about Steve," I confided. He smells really good. I especially like that he wears really those really short shorts when he plays basketball in his driveway. When he is sweaty and tired he sits on the steps. I sat in front of him and once when moved his legs for a second I could see his balls. They were really big! I know he'd never let me do anything with him, but he turns me on. He is so cool. You know, I think he shaves too." Boys who were grown up enough that they shaved their faces fascinated me.
Unfathomably, Jimmy suddenly looked as though he might cry, and started gathering up his things up to leave. I was completely and utterly perplexed by his odd behavior.
"I have to go," he said, and without another word, he left my room. I lay on my bed with my withering cock still in my hand and just a moment later heard the front door slam shut. I was confused and highly pissed.
Looking back, it was out of my realm of my understanding that Jimmy' view of our relationship was completely different than mine. While my attraction to him was casual and highly physical, I had never even considered that it was possible his attachment to me was any different. To me Jimmy was just my "jack off buddy". But Jimmy saw things differently. I didn't realize it then, but to him I was his steady, loving boyfriend.
In time, this difference in point of view began to create problems. Recall that outside of our secret bedroom meetings, I didn't acknowledge Jimmy as my friend. I totally ignored him at school and when I was around my "real" friends; boys who shouted and spit and kicked footballs and chased each other around, and weren't afraid to fall down on the concrete for the sake of a ball game. Sweaty boys with cuts on their knees and elbows, who never worried about if their hair was full of dried grass or their shirts were grass stained or torn and half untucked. While Jimmy probably was strongly attracted to this masculine part of me, traits that he lacked, as time went by it probably began to hurt him inside more and more that I was so clearly ashamed of our relationship that I went out of my way to keep it a secret from everyone.
As ninth grade started and we graduated to the High School, I saw less of him in the halls. We weren't in any classes together that year, and as I have related before I was intoxicated by meeting so many new faces in this big, new world I had entered.
It was Halloween. I remember it clearly, because Jimmy knocked on my door as I was in my kitchen painting a large poster with a Frankenstein monster to hang in our window. By my estimation I was now too old to go out trick-or-treating with the little kids and had decided to decorate my house instead. Jimmy sat and watched me for a while as I dipped sloppy green Tempra paint from a cup in my hand. I was focused on the task at hand... the monster was very tall and needed a lot of paint to finish. I heard him sigh.
"Cummon Brad" he said. "Stop working". It was a warm day, and I looked over at him sitting Indian style on the floor, wearing camping shorts with bare legs crossed in front of him. He really was a beautifully handsome boy, striking enough to be a magazine model, and he was starting to show more signs of adolescence than before. Over the summer he had grown noticeably taller, I noted, as he fiddled with his shoelaces and rocked back and forth. "Let's go upstairs," he suggested in a husky but gentle voice.
That was the only invitation I needed. "Let's go," I offered, standing up and taking off my painting shirt. I headed up the stairs with him right behind me, my penis hardening automatically in my pants. When we got into my room he was already unbuttoning his pants as I shut the door behind us. He sat on the edge of the bed, and as I stood in front of him, he stopped and began to unbutton mine too, pulling down my zipper and then pushing my pants down to my knees. Since the summer, my cock had grown and I had more hair around it, and he gazed at it from only an inch away. "You grew," he said.
"So did you," I noted, looking at his curved organ, only slightly larger and now with a small fringe of hair at its base for the first time. Standing in front of him, he started to eagerly explore me, and I marveled at how expert he was, feeling my balls gently with one hand while his other one was busy on me.
After just a minute I stopped him. "Wait," I said. "Let me make you come. You always take care of me. This time I want to see you squirt."
He released me and settled back on my bed, and kneeling on the floor beside the bed I wrapped my paint-stained hand around his slim tight penis, rubbing up and down as he closed his eyes peacefully. I focused completely on Jimmy, watching his eyes move behind his closed eyelids as I played with his cock. His face was smooth and tanned and he showed no signs of any facial hair, not even fuzz. My mother wasn't around and my siblings were playing outside, and I knew we had complete privacy to do as we pleased.
I raised his shirt and leaned over him, kissing his slim tanned tummy as I rubbed gently. Except for that fringe of hair, he was totally smooth all over even in his exposed upturned underarms. Sticking my tongue inside of his belly button I heard him moan. "That feels so good," he said, running his fingers back and forth through my hair. I watched his balls bounce up and down slightly in their smooth sack as I gently tugged at his slender dick. He sighed and thrust his hips up a bit, encouraging me to quicken the pace. Rubbing a little more roughly, I used my other hand to caress his balls. His cock was just large enough to wrap my whole hand around, but small enough that I couldn't really move my hand up and down that much without having it come out of my grip. I looked at his face as he wiggled with bliss in front of me.
"Oh wait--something weird is happening!" he said, opening his eyes and looking with sudden alarm and then struggled to try to sit up. Weird? What could he be talking about, I wondered? I continued my rhythmic stroking but was surprised as he squirmed and seemingly tried to roll over and get away. "Something has happened!" he croaked in alarm.
Three squirts of perfectly clear liquid jetted out of the end of his penis wetting my hand, lubricating my touch as I lightened my grip. I stared at this sight with wonder... and in my confusion suddenly realized that till now Jimmy still had never had an orgasm before. He was fourteen and I had just given him his first one as he lay on my bed, shorts pushed down around his knees. I was amazed to imagine that he had never masturbated himself to climax before this, since I was completely hooked on the hobby and couldn't remember life without it.
I rubbed gently and the clear sticky liquid coated my hand. Some of the green paint had dissolved in his boy cum, and his penis became streaked with it. I rubbed the last drop from his cock head with my thumb, and watched it drip onto his thigh. Instead of being happy and relaxed, he was agitated and embarrassed, and tried to get away and cover up. I attempted to comfort him, still in disbelief that he had engaged in sex play with me for the past many months, and had seen me ejaculate several times, but yet had never experienced an orgasm himself! "Relax," I said, "Didn't that feel good?"
"It felt weird," he said, looking disoriented, pulling his shorts back up, and getting spots of green on his white underpants in the process. He didn't want to stay, and he quickly left.
Jimmy still came like The Phantom to visit every month or so. I never phoned him (I don't even think I knew his phone number) and we never planned a single thing in advance. Our interactions were always quick and one-sided -- either I did him or he did me; in our immature adolescent lust we never took the time for prolonging any real mutual pleasure. I sensed that both of us nursed a massively growing sense of shame about our illicit needs, and that we both hated the fact that we craved shameful secret contact with each other while our peers were graduating to having proud public relationships with girls. Once he told me right in the middle of jerking our cocks, "I am going to go straight. I don't want to do this any more". I laughed and told him wisely, "Jimmy, you can't change the way you are. This is the way you were made." However, I was shocked to hear myself speak these lying, slanderous words. Of course this wasn't true... I was simply trying to convince him that our monthly trysts should continue. I was afraid he would stop knocking on my door. I couldn't really believe that such bullshit was coming out of my mouth.
As Jimmy matured into his teen years, he grew even more feminine in his mannerisms. He permed his hair and dyed it an odd shade of orange-brown, and his clothing grew more colorful and stylish, definitely out of synch with my peer group's masculine adolescent uniform of tight blue jeans and clean white sneakers and t-shirts. Eventually around my 17th birthday he simply stopped coming to my door. I hardly noticed and didn't mind, as I had become so conflicted and confused about my defective sexuality that I often felt detached and mechanical as we did our thing, helplessly going through the motions to find physical relief while my conscience scolded me loudly but silently for my failure of masculinity.
There's a twist to this story that played out nearly twenty years later. While speaking on the West Coast at a large conference, as an expert in my profession, I was approached after my talk by a man who looked vaguely familiar to me. I soon realized that he had been my seventh grade history teacher, and was now a senior administrator in the same school system I had attended as a child. We talked for a while and agreed to meet for dinner later that evening.
Joined by others in his group from my hometown, we reminisced about our lives and our drastically changed roles since he had known me as a child twenty years earlier. After a few drinks, and as the hour grew late, he turned to me and quietly said so that only I could hear, "Is that story true? You know, the one about you and Tina fooling around in the band room?" Flushed but slightly emboldened with alcohol, I laughed it off, saying something like, "Oh is that old story still going around? I only wish it had really happened!"
Graciously, he let the issue drop, but as I thought about it later, I wondered what had really happened behind the scenes way back when the band director had caught Jimmy and me together in the auditorium. I now knew that his surprise discovery of two half naked and sexually aroused young boys, obviously performing sex acts on one another had been a story circulated then among the faculty. I wondered if the scene was more erotic-- but less evil-- to the teachers than I imagined at the time. Further, it intrigued me that the old teacher had substituted "Tina" for "Jimmy" in his reminiscence... And only briefly I wondered if the story had been spread that it was me and a GIRL messing around together, instead of me fooling around with another boy. However, I concluded that he had purposely made the temporary switch in words, hoping I would open up and talk about what really happened that day twenty years earlier. I think he knew that if he had asked about "Jimmy and me in the band room" he would have been more likely to have gotten a stonewalled and angry response from me, now a professional and a very married, very straight-appearing adult. I still wonder what I could have learned from him if I had confessed my sin to him that night.