The Caregiver

The Caregiver, Chapter 2

Tom Borden

Prior to leaving the hospital and moving in with Ricky and Carla, Bobby felt utterly unconnected to everything that once mattered to him. His dreams of being a major league pitcher had evaporated. Also gone were the mother he loved more than anyone, his home, and, yes, one of his legs was gone. All that was left was his abiding fear that he would be left alone. Ricky was the only remaining fragile thread connecting him to his will to stay alive.

Now, as Bobby lay in Ricky's arms, having tasted each other's seed, he knew the corner had been turned. There was no longer a smidgen of doubt in the minds of either of them that a miraculous transformation had occurred in their lives. It wasn't just a matter of falling in love with someone other than their long-time girlfriends. They had each entered a mystical realm that would have been unthinkable several months earlier. To have romantic and sexual thoughts for another man was totally beyond reason. But here they were, fully committed to a solid loving relationship with each other. The miracle hadn't come about during a mere one-night sexual romp in bed, but as a result of needing each other at a critical time in their lives.

It was a mutual conquest of each other. While Ricky had been struggling to keep his desire from bursting forth like a raging storm, Bobby had all along been enduring the same torment.

Now, as in all loving relationships, came the overpowering desire for sexual consummation of their love, where their bodies and minds would become one; where they could express openly all the physical longings they had for each other with unabashed abandon.

Ricky and Bobby had finally been able to take each other into their mouths and suck the sweet elixir from their bodies. But they craved more. There was no longer a need to put limits on their hunger for each other.

"I wonder if it'll hurt," Bobby said as he pressed his finger on Ricky's asshole. "I had an enema when I was a little kid, and it really hurt."

"I don't know. Carla never said it hurt. She said it felt good to have my penis up her butt. Why don't you press a little harder, Bobby, and let your finger go in, and I'll tell you if it hurts."

As Bobby pressed the tip of his finger into Ricky's hole, Ricky grimaced and grunted.

Bobby stopped pushing. "Does it hurt?"

"A little. But push it in a little farther."

Bobby slowly pushed in the full length of his finger and felt the warm wetness of Ricky's rectum. "How is it now?"

Ricky smiled as he held his legs up with his hands behind his knees. "It feels good now. Why don't you run your finger in and out?"

Since Ricky's hole was quite dry, Bobby had difficulty moving his finger.

"Go ahead and pull out now, Bobby. I think we need some lubricant. Carla's probably taken her KY with her."

"When I fucked Lisa in the ass, I always used saliva. That worked really well."

"How did you do that?"

"I licked her asshole."

"You did? Wow. Can you do that for me, and try again?"

"Gosh, I don't know."

"Bobby, we had each other's penis in our mouths. Maybe our assholes will taste just as good."

Bobby withdrew his finger and brought his face down into Ricky's ass crack. He found the taste and feel of Ricky's pucker enormously arousing. Just to have his mouth down in this most private area of Ricky's body sent shivers up his spine.

Ricky reached for Bobby's hard penis. "Why don't you try running your cock into me now?"

Ricky held his legs high while Bobby tried to get into position. "I'm not sure how to do this."

"It's just like fucking a woman in the ass."

"But without my right knee to balance myself, it's not the same."

Bobby soon found a way to balance the stump of his leg and mounted Ricky. He pushed his penis into the wet hole. It made a slurping sound and went all the way in easily. "Does it hurt, Ricky?"

"Oh, no. It really feels good to have you in me like this. Fuck me really hard, Bobby. Please."

Bobby picked up the rhythm and threw his hips forward, over and over. His pelvis slapped loudly against Ricky's ass cheeks.

Ricky looked up into Bobby's face and the beads of sweat forming on his forehead. Raising his head slightly, he watched his lover's hard rod pistoning in out of his hole. This was the most erotic sight he had ever seen with anyone in bed. His beautiful Bobby inside of his body like this almost brought tears to his eyes.

Very soon, Bobby gasped, "I'm cumming, Ricky."

As Bobby's hard cock throbbed against Ricky's asshole, their faces became contorted with pleasure. Ricky felt the warmth of Bobby's sperm as it flowed into his rectum. There was no describing the feeling. He now understood why Carla loved to get fucked in the ass.

Bobby collapsed onto Ricky's body, where they both lay gasping for air. After kissing Ricky hard on the lips, he rolled off onto his back and lifted his legs high.

"Fuck me, Ricky. Please."

Without hesitation, Ricky got down between the boy's legs and vigorously slurped his tongue over his asshole, getting it good and wet. He mounted Bobby quickly and thrust his hard cock into the boy's hole all the way to the hilt.

"I'm sorry, Bobby, am I hurting you?"

"It feels wonderful, Ricky. Fuck me really hard."

As Ricky fucked his cock in and out of the boy, he felt Bobby's asshole cramping and clamping down on his penis. It felt as though his penis was in the mouth of a snapping turtle.

Ricky let out a yell as his orgasm began to sweep through his body. He had never before felt his penis throb so violently as it spewed his cum into Bobby's rectum.

As they lay sweaty and in each other's arms, Ricky said, "I wish we could do this another four or five times tonight.. But I'll just have to settle for having my sweet boy's body wrapped in my arms for the rest of the night."

While Bobby was still in the hospital, he'd received a number of get-well cards and letters from school friends and team members. After he moved to Ricky's apartment, several team members visited him. They all showed genuine shock at Bobby's condition and bewailed the fact they had lost the most valuable pitcher on the team. The team's coach, Trevor MacAlister, also visited Bobby and was visibly shaken to see the boy, now without his right leg.

Bobby always made a point of greeting these visitors with his aluminum prosthesis attached. Although it made him sad to see his coach and teammates, knowing he'd never be able to be a part of the team again, he always wore his prosthesis to show them he wasn't completely out of commission. He could still walk.

One evening, Coach MacAlister came by for another visit. He told them that he had not given up on Bobby. Bobby wore shorts so that both his good leg and his prosthesis were visible.

It was only June, and the coach had a proposition.

"I've been thinking," he said. "Before I went into coaching, I was a sports physician and physical therapist. Why don't you and I spend the summer months over at the school's playing fields and get you trained and ready for our opening game in September?"

Bobby shook his head. "Oh, gosh, Coach Mac, I don't think I need much training to sit in the stands and watch."

"I don't mean that, Bobby. If you work very hard with me, we can get you in shape to pitch the Opener."

"You must be kidding," Bobby said. "Look at me, Coach. I can hardly keep my balance as it is. There's no way."

Ricky stood up and took Bobby's arm. "Don't say that, Bobby. If Coach Mac thinks there's a chance you can play again, you need to do it."

"The first thing we need to do," Coach said, "is to get in the weight room and start building up the strength of your body. And also get that pitching arm of yours back in shape."

"Coach Mac, you know that a pitcher has to have perfect balance on the mound. There's no way I could ever do that with this fake leg."

Coach put both hands on Bobby's shoulders and looked him in the eye. "Listen, have you ever heard of Jack Baker, who played with the Red Sox back in the 50s? He had a peg-leg, nothing as sophisticated as you have, and he's well-known for pitching several no-hitters. I'll show you some pictures of him on the mound that I have back in my office. You can do it, Bobby, if you're willing to work hard."

As Bobby collapsed onto the sofa, Ricky turned to face the Coach. "We'll do it, Coach Mac." Turning to look at Bobby, he said, "This is the best thing that could happen. They need you, Bobby. You wouldn't want to let the team down, would you?"

Bobby smiled faintly and shook his head. "No."

When Coach Mac was gone, Ricky sat down on the floor between Bobby's legs. He took hold of the boys left leg and pressed his face against it. It felt warm and furry. He ran his tongue over the soft light brown hair that covered it. Up from the ankle, over the calf and knee and around his thigh. He moved his hand up under the pant leg of Bobby's shorts and felt the moist warmth of his balls.

Bobby threw his head back and moaned, first with the erotic pleasure of Ricky's tongue on his leg, and then of his hand gently exploring his crotch.

Ricky pulled his hand out and undid the boy's shorts and pulled them off. He leaned in and took his hard penis into his mouth. He ran his lips slowly over the full length of it as he swirled his tongue over the hard ridges that encircled it.

Bobby raised both legs up and rested them on Ricky's shoulders. Ricky ran his tongue down the underside of the boy's penis and over the balls, and then onto Bobby's hot and throbbing asshole. When Bobby relaxed his asshole, Ricky was able to slip his tongue inside and literally taste the warm walls of the boy's rectum.

Soon Ricky pulled Bobby off the sofa and onto the floor and pulled off his own pants. There, with his cock blazing and dripping, he fucked the boy's ass harder and faster than he'd done earlier that afternoon. But this time, his orgasm was more powerful.

As they lay on the floor in each other's arms, Ricky kissed almost every inch of Bobby's face. "It's exciting, isn't it," he said, "to think you may be pitching the opener in the fall."

"I don't think it's going to work, Ricky. I'll never be able to do it."

"We'll see."

The time had finally arrived when Bobby had to return to the house in which his mother and he had lived since he was born. Both Ricky and Mr. Packard were certain it would be a hard day for Bobby.

Long ago Bobby heard his mother voice her wish that, when her time came, all her clothes and jewelry were to be donated to the Salvation Army. She believed it to be the only charity that was honest and well-managed. Also, Bobby was to keep any of their home's antique furniture and china that he wished to have, and the rest to be sold at auction. These stipulations were also clearly stated in her Will that had been kept in Mr. Packard's possession.

When they entered the house, they found it hot and stuffy. Packard immediately turned on the air-conditioning. As they gazed around the living room, Ricky stood with his arm around Bobby's shoulders.

"This is a gorgeous home," Ricky said. "Your mother certainly furnished it with beautiful things."

They walked in silence as Bobby led them through the other rooms on the first floor, and then up the stairs. They took each step slowly as Ricky held on to Bobby with his arm around the boy's waist.

"This was my room," Bobby said, as they stepped in.

On the dresser stood a large framed photograph of his mother. Bobby fell silent and sat down on the edge of the bed and looked at it.

Ricky put his hand on the boy's shoulder. "I think it's best we leave you alone in here for awhile. Mr. Packard and I will wait for you downstairs."

As they left, Bobby continued to stare at the photograph. He felt the fine hairs on his arms stiffening.

"Hi, Mom. I promised myself I wouldn't cry when I came back here. I think I've cried enough the last several months. I visited the cemetery again yesterday, and the marigolds and petunias I planted at your grave are blooming really well."

Bobby took a deep breath and swallowed hard to stave off the tears. "Things have changed a lot since you've been gone. You were right about Lisa, Mom. I know you didn't like her. You thought she was weak-minded and flighty. And not very bright. After the accident, she never came to see me. Nope. Never sent me a card or called me, either. You told me I deserved better. I know you don't know about it, but they had to amputate my right leg. It's been pretty hard. But something unbelievable happened when I was in the hospital. The nurse who took care of me was like an angel from heaven. I didn't know anything like this could ever happen. But it did. He and I fell in love with each other. Yeah, that's right. I said `He.' If you were here with me now, Mom, I would have told you, just like I'm telling you now. And I know you would have understood. I just know it. Lisa's out of my life now, and Ricky and I are living together. He was appointed my guardian until I turn eighteen."

Bobby stood up and wiped the dust off his mother's picture with a handkerchief. "I know you'd like him. He's really smart and he's big and strong. He's very tan with dark brown curly hair, and his eyes are brown, almost black. I'm six feet tall, and he must be at least three inches taller. Mom. Oh, Mom. I could never have made it this far without him. It's the first time I've ever really loved someone, besides you of course. We're going to live together for the rest of our lives. I know you'd be happy for me. I'll talk to you again, Mom. I love you."

Bobby sat back on the bed and continued to look at his mothers photograph. Suddenly, the profound sense of grief he'd felt when he learned of his mother's death returned, and he buried his face in his hands. The tears that he'd so bravely held back flooded from his eyes and through his fingers.

It had been almost an hour before Bobby called to Ricky to help him down the stairs. Ricky and Mr. Packard were looking through several stacks of travel brochures.

Packard shook his head. "As you know, Bobby, your mother was determined one day to take a trip around the world. So sad."

They spent the rest of the day identifying things that Bobby wished to keep, items that would go into auction, and those to be donated to charity. Bobby wanted to keep a number of the antique pieces of furniture that his mother had loved, but knew that none of it would fit into Ricky's small apartment.

He shook his head. "I'll just have to put it all in auction,"

"No you won't. I want to find a bigger place, maybe a house, and you can keep all the things you want. It'll be hard to pay for a larger place on my salary, but I'll find a way."

"It'll be my house, too, Ricky. We'll manage the payments together. Mr. Packard went over with me the inheritance, and I'll have no trouble helping out."

Mr. Packard nodded his head. "That's right, Ricky, and the return on Mrs. Carter's considerable investments will keep the money coming until Bobby's gainfully employed. And that's besides what we'll be able to get when we put this large house on the market."

Although John Packard was never told outright, he had several months ago concluded that a very special relationship had developed between these two young men . . . well beyond a mere guardianship. He had never before seen any evidence in Bobby's demeanor that he might be homosexual, but he knew those things were rarely apparent to the average bystander. Nevertheless, the arrangement between Bobby and Ricky cut across the grain of everything he believed about human relationships. He found it hard to understand. But there was nothing to do but accept it . . . for Bobby's sake.

Packard, however, had his own secrets. For several years, without revealing it to Bobby, he'd been in love with the boy's mother, Louise. But she never returned his love. She continued to harbor undying devotion for her husband, George Carter, even though he'd passed away many years before. She maintained, however, a friendly business relationship with Packard.

After Louise Carter was killed, Packard grieved greatly, but quietly for fear Bobby might suspect the love he held for his mother. He'd hoped to become Bobby's legal guardian, where he could be a father to the boy. He was divorced from his wife long ago and had no children. But when he became aware of the closeness that had developed between Bobby and Ricky, he realized he would never be able to form the loving and caring relationship the boy needed.

While Ricky, on his days off, searched for a suitable house to purchase, Bobby began his training with Coach MacAlister. The Texas summer was hot and muggy, and Bobby finished each day sore and discouraged. He started his training by leaning on a walker out on the playing field and practicing to pitch the ball with his right arm. He hadn't realized how weak it had become. The coach pushed him unmercifully, and Bobby persisted. He was also put on the machines in the weight room to build up his general strength. Each night, he went home with aches and pains in new places. Ricky spent hours . . . pleasant hours . . . massaging the boy's body until he was able to fall asleep.

Bringing Bobby to orgasm every night after training seemed to help relieve the pain of his sore muscles. Also, with Ricky's tongue sweeping over his body from head to toe each night, his aches seemed literally to evaporate, if only temporarily. While lying on his back, he propped his head up and watched Ricky's tongue lapping up the taste of his body like a hungry dog licking up spilled gravy. The feel of Ricky's tongue and lips massaging up and down and around his achingly hard penis was like balm to his soul. Bobby wasn't sure which excited him more: Ricky's tongue action or the ensuing orgasm.

The same nighttime loving ritual went on for some weeks. After Ricky completed a total body tongue bath on Bobby, he would stand over the boy's head and lower his ass down over his face, where Bobby could breathe in all the heady smells and taste from the warm moist skin of Ricky's balls and ass trench. Following that, Ricky crouched over Bobby and fucked his mouth. When he began to feel the cramping of his imminent orgasm, he'd pull out and shoot globs of thick pudding-like cum all over the boys face and mouth. Then Ricky bathed Bobby's face with his tongue. God, how Bobby loved the feel of Ricky's tongue on his skin.

One afternoon, one of Bobby's teammates, Jason Wilkins, knocked on Coach Mac's office door. "Can I come in?"

"Sure, Jason. What brings you here. Training camp won't start again until August."

"Well, I was just riding my bike around and saw Bobby Curtis out there trying to throw the ball. He looked like he was about to fall down with each pitch. It's too bad about him. You know, losing his leg and everything. We'll miss him on the team."

"He's still on the team, Jason."

"Huh?"

"Yeah, he'll be pitching the opener in September."

Jason gave a silent chuckle. "You gotta be kidding. No way."

"He's coming along fine. I'm working with him every day, and he's going to make it."

"He's only got one leg, Coach.

"He's got two legs, Jason. Didn't you see that aluminum leg?" Coach Mac stood at the window and looked out at Bobby. "He's working hard and he's going to make it."

Jason walked to the window and stood facing the coach. "What about me? Huh? You promised me I was going to pitch the opener."

"You're a good pitcher, Jason, but I've changed my mind."

Jason backed off and held out his arms. "What the fuck are you doing? You told me I was the star pitcher from now on."

"I'm sorry, Jason. I've got to give Bobby a chance."

"A fucking cripple? You and him's gonna be the laughing stock. You're not gonna win any games with him falling all over himself on the mound."

"That's not going to happen."

Jason held his finger up close to the coach's face. "My old man's been a long-time supporter of this fucking baseball team. He was a star pitcher right here on this team way before you ever got here."

"I know that, Jason, but what happened then has no bearing on what's happening today."

Jason took hold of a folding chair and threw it across the room. "We'll see about that."

The coach whirled around and grabbed Jason's shirt front and lifted him almost off the floor. "Listen, you little twerp. If I ever hear you threatening me again, you're off the team for good. Now I'll give you ten seconds to get your ass out of here."

As Jason backed out the door, he shouted, "You're gonna hear from my Dad, you son-of-a-bitch."

Coach Mac shook his head and went for the phone and punched in a number. "Hello, Herb?"

"Speaking. Is this Mac?"

"It sure is. I just want to give you heads-up on something. Your son was just in here."

"Aw, Christ. What trouble is he causing now?"

"You know I explained to you at lunch the other day that I've decided to work with Bobby Carter with the idea of his pitching the opener in the fall. You agreed that Bobby was the best pitcher we have and that, if possible, we should give the kid a chance. He's been through so much."

"Yeah, I remember. It's the only right thing to do, poor bastard. Did you tell Jason?"

"I had to tell him. He happened to see Bobby training. He kind of went out of control and broke a chair in my office."

"Oh, shit."

"He said he was going home to get you to come down here straighten me out."

"He did, did he. The little bastard. I'll blister his fucking ass."

"Herbert, I hate to say this, but I can't have anyone with this kind of behavior on the team. If he can straighten out his mouth, he'll be able to pitch later in the season."

"Thanks for telling me, Mac. When he comes home, I'll straighten out his fucking attitude."

"Thanks, Herb. I'll see you at Rotary next Monday."

While Bobby was training, Ricky finally found a one-story house he thought they could afford. When Bobby came home after one of his hard training days, Ricky met him at the door and told him he had found a place he thought they would like.

"It's a white house with green shutters just on the edge of the Alamo Heights district here in San Antonio. It has three kind of small bedrooms, two baths, a nice big kitchen and a garage. It even has a long ramp on the side. That would be good as long as you're in the wheelchair. And it has a really big back yard. If you want to see it, the realtor said he'd meet us there about eight this evening. His name's Ernest Kraus. I know you're tired. You won't have to walk. I'll take you in the wheelchair."

They arrived at the house at seven-thirty and found a fat little man with a messy white beard and a bald head sitting on the doorstep. In the yard next door, an Irish setter lay in the grass, lazily licking his balls.

"Mr. Kraus, I want you to meet my friend, Bobby Carter. As I mentioned to you, we'd be buying this house together."

Kraus looked at Bobby. "Are you two fellas gay?"

Ricky had never thought of himself as a gay person, and the question caught him by surprise. "Well, we're friends and we'll be sharing the house."

Kraus looked hard at Ricky and then back at Bobby. "Yup. There's some other homos living in this neighborhood to keep ya company."

"We're not interested in that, Mr. Kraus," Ricky said rather indignantly. "Could we go inside and look around?"

"Sure. But wipe yer feet. I don't mean to come back here to clean up the dirt every time someone looks at the place."

With Kraus trailing behind, Ricky and Bobby took their time touring every room and discussing between themselves the pros and cons of buying the house.

Kraus looked at his watch. "I ain't got all night. I got another client tonight that wants to look at a house off yonder over that hill."

"Mr. Kraus," Ricky said, "We'd like to buy this house."

"Okay, y'all come to my office tomorrow and we'll git the paperwork started. But don't make it before noon. I sleeps late and don't open `til then."

"If you wouldn't mind, Mr. Kraus, we'd like to stay here for awhile and look over that terrific backyard."

"Take yer time, but don't mess nothin' up."

Ricky and Bobby walked around the house to the huge backyard, encircled by large oak and pecan trees, as well as Mesquite trees. They agreed it was beautiful in the dusk with a full moon peeking through the canopy of foliage.

Ricky fell to the ground and sat cross-legged by a pecan tree. "Sit down here on the grass with me. Bobby."

Bobby climbed out of his wheelchair and sat next to Ricky and leaned his head against his shoulder. "I think we're going to really love this yard. Kind of romantic, isn't it?"

Ricky looked down and squeezed his bulge. "Yeah. It makes me kind of horny. How about you.?"

"Stretch your legs out in front of you, Ricky." Bobby rolled over on the ground and lay between Ricky's legs. He reached up and unzipped Ricky's fly and pulled out a fully rigid cock. Bobby took it deeply in his mouth and sucked it vigorously.

"Stop, Bobby. I don't want to cum. Not just yet. Let's get naked. Okay? I want to play with your body as we roll around in the soft grass."

They both stripped down completely and threw their cloths off to the side. Clasped in each other's arms, they rolled around, feeling the cool wetness of the grass on their skin.

"I've never fucked anybody outside before," Ricky said. "I want to fuck you right here, Bobby."

Bobby lay on his back and raised his legs. He watched as Ricky's hard penis entered his asshole and disappeared into his rectum. As Ricky supported himself with his arms, Bobby reached up and ran his hands over the soft hair that covered Ricky's muscular arms.

The feel of Ricky's cock rubbing against his prostate caused Bobby to feel those tell-tale twinges in his gut that always signaled the approach of an orgasm.

A gust of wind blew over them and caused Ricky's dark hair to fly around and fall over his eyes. Bobby thought it made him look like a little boy. When he saw Ricky's face begin to contort, he knew he was about to feel the surge of cum into his body. His own orgasm was getting nearer, and it hit him with strong cramping just as he felt Ricky's penis throbbing against his asshole. Six or seven surges of Bobby's cum shot up to his neck and chin. Ricky collapsed onto Bobby and slurped up the boy's cum, sharing it with deep kisses.

They lay on their backs and stared at the brilliant moon that was now completely visible through the trees.

Suddenly, Ricky raised his head. "Did you hear something? I think it was a door closing at the house next door. Maybe we'd better get dressed and leave."

They dressed quickly and, when they went around to the driveway, they saw a tall slender man of about fifty or so standing by their car.

"Well, well. You boys put on quite a show. Made the old dick get a little crowded down here." He patted his crotch. "Does this house belong to you boys?"

Ricky stood behind Bobby's wheelchair. "We're thinking of buying it."

"Then welcome to the neighborhood." He extended his hand. "My name's Harry Butler."

The boys introduced themselves, but said nothing else.

"We're a quiet, respectable neighborhood, but the asshole who used to live in this house kept calling various city agencies to come out here and clear us all out. He believed the area was nothing more than another Sodom and Gomorrah reincarnated."

"Oh, wow." It was all Ricky could think to say.

"We all get together for a few beers and . . . you know . . . have a little fun once in a while. But we never make a disturbance. Are you boys the quiet types, or do you like to get roudy?"

Ricky shook his head. "Mr. Butler, we're not into parties and stuff like that. Doing stuff outside like we did is something we never do. We'll be good neighbors. We pretty well stick to ourselves inside."

Butler laughed. "That big old full moon got you kinda horny, though didn't it? Can't blame you for that. We're a good neighborhood, and no one here forces themselves on anyone who doesn't want it. If you want to be alone, everybody will respect that. Once in a while we'll get together and throw a welcome party when new guys move into the area. We might do that for you, but no obligation for you to come. I have to say, though, you're a couple of cuties, and I hope we can become asshole buddies. Oh, shit. I didn't mean that the way it sounded. I live right next door here, and if there's anything you need to get settled, just give me a holler."

Ricky and Bobby drove home and went directly to bed. Being caught fucking in the backyard and learning that it's a gay neighborhood was sobering to say the least. They kissed and went to sleep. They'd think about it further in the morning.

After a hard training day under a blazing Texas sun, Bobby walked to the parking lot to wait for Ricky to pick him up. He sat under a shelter and closed his eyes. He could have fallen asleep right there.

"Hello Bobby."

Bobby looked up. "Lisa?"

Lisa stood in front of Bobby and glanced down at his prosthesis. "Long time, no see."

"Right."

"I'm sorry about your leg. I mean, I hope you're doing all right now."

Bobby looked past Lisa to see if Ricky's car was coming. "Yeah, I'm doing okay."

"I want to apologize for not coming to see you. It's just that I . . . ."

"It's all right."

Lisa made a move to sit down, but Bobby put his hand on the bench, preventing her from doing so.

"I'm not very good about things like this. You know, about what happened. They scare me."

"I'm sorry." Bobby continued to look down the street for Ricky's car.

"I miss you, Bobby."

Bobby waved his hand. "You'll get over it in time."

"You hate me, don't you?"

"No, I don't hate you, Lisa. Why would I hate you?"

Lisa looked away and began to nervously wring her hands. "I was here at school to pick up a book that I'd left behind in my locker. I'd better get on home. I'd love it if you gave me a call sometime. I remember all the good times we had together. I miss them."

Bobby looked up at her. "It's over, Lisa. There'll be no more good times. Good bye."

He watched her as she walked slowly away. He'd thought about telling her he was in love with someone else . . . a man. But she no longer meant a thing to him, and there was no point now in sharing anything with her.

Carla Jones had found a place to live in a rooming house on Mulberry Avenue. One morning, she sat in the Nail Solon waiting for her turn with the manicurist. She idly picked up the newspaper that lay on the chair next to her. As she flipped the pages, the name Bobby Carter caught her eye at the top of the sports page. She read the article about his training to play again in the fall. As she closed the paper, a sly smile crept across her lips.

When her nails were done, Carla drove directly to the high school. She walked to the Athletic Department office and knocked on the door.'

"Yes, may I help you."

"My name is Carla Jones. Are you Coach MacAlister?"

"Yes."

"I need to talk with you. May I come in?"

"Of course. Have a seat."

Carla sat down and crossed her legs, revealing the greater part of her thighs. "I read in this morning's paper that you're training Bobby Carter to pitch the opening game this fall."

Coach Mac took a seat behind his desk. "Yes, and he's coming along very well in his training. You can see him through the window out there working away."

"Oh, yes. He must be a remarkable young man, and very handsome," Carla said, looking impressed.

"Yes, he is remarkable."

"You know, he's living with another man, who used to be my boyfriend."

"Oh, yes. Ricky. A very fine young man. You say he was your boyfriend?"

"Yes, he was. But I learned something about him that disturbed me, and I left him."

"What was that, Carla?"

"Ricky's a queer. I don't mean to be crude about it. I should say he's one of those homos."

Coach Mac said nothing, but leaned forward and stared hard into Carla's face. "Why are you telling me this?"

"Coach Mac, before I left Ricky, he had Bobby Carter living with us for a week or two in his apartment."

"I know that. Ricky is Bobby's legal guardian. They still live together."

Carla uncrossed her legs. "And . . . they sleep together."

Coach Mac stood up. "What are you trying to say?"

"Well, since Bobby Carter is your star on the team, I thought it would be important for you to know who and what he really is . . . a fag and a fairy."

"If you're through, Carla, I'm very busy."

"Of course. I understand." Carla rose and left without a word.

Mac stood staring at the door. He felt the blood rushing to his head. Why didn't he know? Why hadn't he suspected something when the closeness between Bobby and Ricky was so obvious. He walked to the window and watched Bobby struggling out on the field to keep his balance as he pitched ball after ball into a net. As he stared through the window, there was nothing he wanted more at that moment than to rush out there and take the boy in his arms and hold him. Oh, Bobby, dear Bobby, he whispered to himself. If only I'd known.

Many, many thanks to all of you who have responded to Chapter One. There's hardly anything a writer loves more in his work than good and encouraging feedback. I also appreciate hearing from those of you who also shared with me something about yourselves.

Tom Borden Tombor99@yahoo.com