Warning:
This story contains scenes of a sexual nature between two males. If reading this or possessing such material violates the law in your jurisdiction or you are under the age of 18, please leave this site and read no further.
The author retains all rights to this original story. Please do not publish or reproduce it without explicit authorization from me.
Disclaimer: This story is entirely fictional and any resemblances to real persons or events are purely coincidental. References to Reverend James Robison in this chapter are a matter of public record and as used in a fictional work, need not be justified.
Winning by the Numbers is a story about the natural human desires to love the person of your choice and to find equality. There is a desire in all of us to have children and this fictionally addresses that.
WINNING BY THE NUMBERS, Chapter 2 : Moving Right Along
I was spending only two days a week with candidates after that first week. I have to admit I pushed James' recommended friends right to the top of the list. It saved a lot of time because I knew he would only recommend guys that met the requirements and would likely be more fun to work with. Everything we were doing was new and untested, but as we screened more people we added to our knowledge base. Even genetic testing was new and very expensive, but we had our own equipment in the lab, so it was just our labor and a small cost for materials to do the testing. In 1977 there were a few genetic markers known, but most were genetic diseases.
James got in touch and we began getting together regularly. Saturday night was the regular night for college football at SMU and it fit perfectly into my schedule. He gave me tickets for seats right behind the bench and I was a regular at all their home games. My college roommate Dan was a sports fanatic and played football on my college team. I had gotten used to being a big sports fan being with him for three years. I broke his heart when I went to Central America with John, who had been my freshman lover and have regretted it to this day. Dan was a year younger and we were assigned roommates in the dorm when we met.
The first two weeks in the dorm were hell. He rarely said a word and if he made a sound it was a ?hmmm? kind of grunt. I knew the 'faggot' tag on my forehead was bright red and flashing for sure. Hell, I was poor and doing work study in the labs, and living on grants and student loans to get by. He came in one evening when I was frying chicken and making gravy on a hot plate, and I couldn't shut him up after that. Mom and dad were footing his bill and that credit card did more than they ever figured out. We went to every Rangers game even if they were a loosing team. It was minor league hockey and the Cowboy's after that until baseball started again, the Mav's hadn't come to Dallas yet.
He would clip the two for one restaurant coupons out of the Sunday paper to make sure I ate. When he hadn't had a date in three months and spent all his time with me, I knew something was up. He came home from a tiddy bar one Saturday night (the drinking age was 18 for a while back them) and I guess I got raped, but the willing can't be raped, can they? I became a true sports fan because of Dan. I was also convinced that red headed guys had the biggest dicks; his was fourteen inches as big around as my wrist and the length of my forearm from elbow to wrist. God, that took a lot of lessons to adjust to.
James, on the other hand had a rep to maintain. The pros might be calling one day and his frat buddies had to be impressed. Not all of his frat buddies needed to be impressed, though, because quite a few were on my list. I'd see James during the week and occasionally at other times when he'd rap on my bedroom window late at night. Half of my closet was full of his shit.
I didn't make a lot of money, just $650 a month before taxes. My rent was $120 with bills paid and my truck payment and insurance didn't leave a lot to live on. James didn't have much either with an athletic scholarship and a single mom at home in West Texas. The Friday paper listed all the bars with drink or beer specials, and the TWIT listed the same thing for the few gay bars in the area. I learned about these things from dear Dan, bless his soul, and James and I found a way to have a good time on a limited budget.
I took two classes during work hours to get my master's and hit every research project that paid any extra cash at the same time. My shoulders looked like a pin cushion from doing tests for cosmetic and drug companies. I was one of those rare individuals allergic to everything, perfect for hypoallergenic tests. Becoming a molecular geneticist seems like a fancy title, but if don't pay the bills, it ain't shit. My bachelors was a double major in microbiology/ viral genetics and biochemistry for which I now received the pitiful salary that barely supported me.
One night when James had other things to do, I went out by myself the 'Old Plantation' for a few drinks. Two guys sitting at a table beside me all evening asked me to go outside and smoke a joint. I smoked it sometimes but usually couldn't afford the luxury and went with them.
"Hey man, we've got to cruise to smoke this" they persuaded me, I hopped in their car on the passenger side of the front seat. One guy sat behind me in the back as the other guy drove. I think we smoked the joint, but mostly I remember getting my throat cut from ear to ear, called a faggot, and dumped out of the car without my wallet and the whole seven dollars inside it. I bled like crazy, but he hadn't cut a vein. A Dallas cop who saw the whole thing and was standing a few feet away when they dumped me out, wouldn't even write the license plate number down and just laughed at me. By the time I walked the ten blocks back to the bar and my truck my white shirt was red. I survived but I didn't go out alone or leave with strangers after that.
I took three days off from work and wore turtlenecks for a week after that because I was so embarrassed. James and Wanda both had fits. I felt like a puppy chased back on the porch by the big dogs. A week later, the same guys were on the TV news after killing a lady and stealing her Mary Kay pink Cadillac and using her credit cards at JC Penney.
The research continued to open up more possibilities. Wanda's work with egg donors and the family member interviews we did was giving us a lot of genetic information. Sometimes all the brothers and cousins from a maternal line were gay, where we'd only expected to find about fifty percent gay men according to older studies. Sometimes even with identical twins, just as you find one left handed and the other right handed, you find one straight and the other gay. They have identical genetics, so go figure. A really odd finding was very masculine straight men who were genetically female. The whole XXY and XYY extra chromosomal anomaly was even more baffling.
The triplet chromosomes were best recorded in prison studies. They were more prone to be dropouts, exhibit violent behavior, be manic depressive or bi-polar, sometimes brilliant, and most often suicidal. The chemicals our bodies manufacture can create circumstances beyond understanding. We rejected all trisomal sex gene candidates from then on.
Simple blood tests for genetics were given to any interested candidates before we did any interviews. All the know genetic defects were screened out, then schizophrenia and gradually other problems were added. This was a project to produce babies after all, but to what purpose Wanda and I weren't certain as yet.
Dr. Smith was soon to retire and Dr. Reed was still in his thirties. They were getting millions in grants and from the rumors that their research involved gays and lesbians more money poured in. The mystery was why Wanda and I both were paid such low salaries. They set up a foundation and we were both put on the board of directors, but we still had no idea what plans they had made. The five thousand dollars a year for being board members brightened our world. Add it up yourself and it nearly came to doubling our pay. I took James out when I got the first check and spent a hundred bucks on one meal. We fucked our brains out that night and into the next day until he had football practice at three, I'd bet he wasn?t worth a shit at practice, but the guy sure amazed me sometimes.
I had meetings with two candidates who were recommended by James that week. One was a student at North Texas and the other was a TCU Horned Frog, emphasize 'Horned'. I don't understand how he kept sending me such hot guys when he spends so much of his free time with me. Maybe he was trying to make up for the fact he was dating girls on the weekends and felt guilty. If he was fucking them I'd be surprised. If he was the perfect gentleman it would fit his character. I'd even started fucking him some of the time. My ten inches was smaller than his, but not small by any means. Our favorite sex was to 69 on our sides with our arms wrapped around each other's waist. God, I loved it. We nearly always came at the same time that way.
The friend from North Texas was a basketball player. You might think that with bodies being proportional a seven foot guy would have a huge dick. He had more than me but less than James at eleven inches with James a fraction longer and a good bit thicker. His name was Robert. What he lacked was rhythm. You dribble a ball in basketball, which requires some sense of rhythm that isn't needed for football or hockey, much less for baseball, but he just didn't have it. Maybe I wasn't his ideal partner. He needed someone that moved with some unsyncopated beat heard only in his head and theirs. We were done in five minutes and he was out of there.
Mr. Horned Frog was named Clayton. He was about ten inches like me, but thick as a can of corn. I couldn't have gotten it in my mouth or my ass if I tried. I didn't need to worry because the guy was a total bottom who just wanted to be fucked and jacked off at the same time. Some thought had gotten me horny before he arrived and expecting to do some servicing myself, I jacked off to a blissful climax before he arrived. I swear I never laid a hand on him but after an hour of steady pounding he filled my specimen jar (the larger size) and totally painted both of us with his jism. I painted his insides about as well with that tight ass spasming around my cock while he came.
Clayton was a beautiful man. He was truly pretty with chestnut hair and green eyes, a V-shaped chest leading to a tight waist, and a great bubble butt below. Every muscle on his bod was cut and well defined. I made a mental note to buy some TCU purple bed linens and ask James to help me out with this guy at a future date. I was sure James would agree. Where in the hell were college athletes making all these contacts? It had to be through the frats or just locker-room gaydar.
In 1977 AIDS hadn't happened yet. Straight men and women got the STD?s like the clap or syphilis, but gay guys didn't get anything, in Dallas anyway. What we did get was a bunch of crap from an evangelist named James Robison, who is still around and claims to be repentant over his remarks. He was on television and the minister of a large area church. He adamantly urged followers to take a gun and go out and kill gays. He wasn't alone in his sentiments and if living in the redneck south and being raised a cowboy wasn't enough punishment for one lifetime, I had to worry about those red flashing letters on my forehead saying 'faggot' and getting killed by some stranger asshole walking around wasting air a good person could be breathing. I still get a little nervous like this morning when a neighbor here in the country decided to do some target practice.
Thursday night Clayton and James popped up at my door around ten in the evening. It was raining like a cow pissing on a flat rock and they were soaked to the bone. I stripped them and threw their clothes in my dryer. Before the late news was finished they had found a few fun things to do until their clothes got dry. I totally missed the weather forecast. The sound was turned down and some hot music was playing on my stereo with these two hot naked guys dancing in front of me and pulling me in with them. It wasn't Dianna Ross and the Supremes, but when three guys are trying to dance with the same moves, all with hard dicks swinging to the beat of the music, Dianna didn't have shit on this. A friend, a few years later told me stories from his time in the Navy on the Enterprise with forty or fifty marines doing the same thing lined up to get their morning showers, but I swear we had more fun than you could on a ship.
The coffee table got pushed aside and the chairs backed up against the wall and we were rocking and swaying, and swinging our dicks to Elton and Bob Seager, and Hall and Oats, and little Steevie Wonder. I just love the rain. Granddaddy always sat with me on the porch as the music of the rain flowed across the tin roof, but with these two guys, the music was beating its way out of our chests. We were sweating like naked pigs and it was a hot November, over 100 at ten o'clock that night. The air-conditioner couldn't get it below eighty in the old apartment so we chugged beers as fast as we could to cool down. My apartment was on Prescott off Lemon Avenue and the houses across the street were houses, and that side was Highland Park, not Dallas. Mine looked the same on the outside but held eight apartments and the old cars parked in back stood in contrast to the Mercedes and Rolls parked across the street. James' Camaro was on the street out front. My F- 100 was out back out of sight. The statue of Lee on his horse was a block away.
"God, I want to rock and roll with you all night long" James yelled out at the top of his lungs. Clayton just nodded in agreement and smiled real big. I pulled us together in a circle and the sheen of our sweaty skin was magnificent. James had his arms around mine and Clayton's waist, and with just a little tug our three dick heads touched in the center of our circle. That slight erratic contact was enough to keep us throbbing, dancing naked in our circle. I'd suck face with James for a while and switch to Clayton and then watch as he and James dove deep in each others mouths with their tongues. I was the shorter thinner guy of the three of us but we melded together as if we were one.
I missed work the next day claiming a cold had me down, but in fact we were still in bed when I called in and hadn't slept yet. Clayton may have been a total bottom, but after that night he rose to true versatile. I don't know how either James or I took in that can of corn thick cock, but maybe it was easier after we had taken each other in turn. Just where does love fall and where does it have its limits? Can you equally love two people without neglecting the needs of another? Is sex just sex and separate from the emotion of love? I still don't have the answers, but for a moment in time our love was three.
Here I was working on reproductive medicine with some unknown objective to benefit gays and lesbians, but I could not fathom how a diverse sexual experience could mesh with family life and children. My only consoling thought was that children are extremely adaptable as long as their environment is loving and nurturing.