Chapter 5

For the next few weeks at school, Sky managed to avoid me in the halls. We were cordial enough in English, and I even let him copy my homework a couple of times. But I could sense that things weren't going to be like they were before.

I somehow made it through gym class at the end of each day. I still heard some occasional whispers and giggles from a few of the guys in the locker room, but after the Coach's warnings, they more or less left me alone. Late one Friday afternoon, somebody stole my towel off the hook from the shower. That meant I had no choice but to go over to Chuck, the assistant Phys. Ed. manager -- a huge, bloated 10th grader who looked even goofier than Ron, if you could believe it -- who sat behind a little window in the office near the shower entrance. As I stood there naked, dripping wet, I thought his eyes were gonna bulge out of his head when he handed me a towel, staring obviously at my crotch.

"Take a picture, it'll last longer," I muttered to him as I tossed a dime on the counter and walked away, wrapping the terrycloth around my waist.

Ronnie was just finishing getting dressed as I got back to my clothes locker. He looked up at me and grinned. "Oh, lost your towel, right? Watch out for Chuck -- I heard he's one o' them thar preverts." Ron laughed loudly at his own hillbilly impression, and slapped his knee for comic effect.

I smiled wanly. "Yeah. But he's not my type."

Ron seemed oblivious to my joke. "Hey, listen, Wil," he said. "My brother and some of his 10th-grade friends are gonna have a little backyard barbecue at my place after school. My mom's got some kinda meeting tonight, so she won't be home until at least 11. You wanna come by?"

I sighed. Ron was such an annoying little twerp, and he looked goofy as hell, but since all Sky wanted to do was play football and spend time with his girlfriend, maybe...

"OK," I said, surprising even myself. "Yeah, what the hell. Your mom gonna pick you guys up from school today?"

Ron's freckled face immediately lit up. "Yeah! We're gonna have burgers and dogs and stuff. In fact," his voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper, "I think Rick's got some beer." He shot me a glance and wiggled his eyebrows comically. We both laughed.

I never really liked the taste of beer, I thought, but this was as good an excuse as any for me to get a little wasted. I called my folks to tell them where I'd be, and promised I'd be home by 11. They said it was okay, since it wasn't a school night. I hung up the pay phone and jogged back to my friend, grinning. "You're on, Ronnie. Let's go."

An hour later, we were sitting around Ron's lush backyard, which was enormous compared to mine. His family had a large kidney-shaped pool, surrounded by trees and fancy shrubbery, and there was a built-in barbecue on the patio. Three older kids I hadn't met before were tossing a football back and forth, while I sat on a lounge chair next to Ronnie. Rick, Ron's brother, wore a big apron around his waist and had a chef's hat comically perched on his head. He slapped another patty on the grill.

It was a little cold for late October. Ron and I sat in adjoining lounge chairs, and chatted idly as the sun went down. I leaned back and smiled as a hazy cloud of blue smoke drifted towards us from the barbecue. I loved the smell of charcoal and grease. Mmmmmmm.

Rick turned to me. "Y-y-y-y-you want another b-b-b-b-b-b-b..." he stammered.

"BURGER, you mean," I said, annoyed. What was with this guy?

"Y-y-y-yeah, burger." He nodded and flipped it over, turning away from me, slightly embarrassed. Ron gave me a look.

"Listen, Wil," he said in a low voice. "Rick can't help it. He's stuttered real bad ever since my Dad died five years ago. Don't make fun of him, man."

"Shit, I'm sorry, Ron," I said quietly, glancing over at his older brother. "You mean he can't stop doing it?"

Ronnie shook his head. "Not even if he tried as hard as he could. He's been goin' to speech therapy three times a week, but it's still as bad as ever. Just don't razz him about it, OK?"

I nodded. Jeez. Maybe there were kids out there who actually had worse problems than I did.

Just after 6PM, Mrs. Lannigan stuck her head out to the patio. "OK, boys -- I'm late for my meeting! You've got all my phone numbers. I want no rough-housing, no messes, and that kitchen had better be spotless when I come back tonight. Richard!"

Ron's older brother froze in mid-flip and turned, his face reddening. "Y-y-y-yes, M-m-mom?"

"You're in charge for tonight. Now, Ronald -- you do whatever your brother tells you to do! If I find out about any funny business going on, you both will have old Mrs. Evans, the babysitter, to take care of you the next time."

Rick and Ron both gulped. "Forget about it, Mom. We'll be cool, we promise!" implored the younger brother. She nodded and closed the door.

The moment we heard her car's engine start and the garage door open, Ron raced across the backyard and looked over the fence. Seconds later, he yelled, "OK, guys! The coast is clear! The wicked witch has flown the coop!" He cackled wildly -- not a bad impression of Margaret Hamilton from The Wizard of Oz, I thought. This guy's quite a character.

Rick laughed, and I grinned at him. I could see he had a good sense of humor, just like his younger brother -- speech impediment or no. He reached down to a small refrigerator next to the grill, and triumphantly brought out an ice-cold six-pack of Budweiser.

"Cool!" said one of the other guys, who ran up. "Toss me one, Rick!" We each grabbed a can and started yanking the pull-tabs. Ronnie popped his beer can open and splattered it down my back, and I let out a yelp. He grinned, and I gingerly opened mine and sipped it slowly. Bitter, but at least it was cold. I made a face.

Ronnie laughed. "Not much of a beer-drinker, eh, Wil?"

I shook my head and winced. "Naaaa, it sucks," said, smacking my lips at the taste. "Coach says it'll make us fat. I gotta stay real lean for the swim team."

He giggled. "I know one part of you that's real fat," he said, poking me in the stomach.

"Cut that out, asshole!" I hissed, punching him in the shoulder.

He looked hurt. "C'mon, man. I was just kiddin'! Drink your beer. You wanna go swimming?"

I looked at the water, which was already steaming. Even in the cold October weather we were having, their heater kept it fairly warm.

"I, uh, didn't bring my suit," I began. "It's back in my locker at school."

"Fuck that," said one of Rick's friends. I looked up and was shocked to see him yank his pants off and dive in, naked! In minutes, all of them were all in the pool, splashing and horsing around.

"C'mon in, Wil!" called Ronnie as he did a flip off the diving board. "It feels great!"

Grimacing, I kicked off my sneakers and pulled my shirt over my head, then yanked down my pants. Luckily, the yard was fairly dark and the other boys were already occupied, playing tag on the other side of the pool. But Ron's eyes never left me, as I pulled off my underwear, removed my glasses and dove into the water like a porpoise.

It felt really good. I touched the pool drain on the bottom and rose slowly up, letting the bubbles rise above me to the surface. I glanced at the other naked boys underwater. The dim pool light showed at least one of them had a partial erection, and I felt a little surge of excitement. Down boy, I thought to myself, as I continued floating up to the ladder in the deep end.

Ronnie and I horsed around for the better part of an hour, until I started to cramp up. Between the beer and the burgers, I wasn't surprised. I stayed in the pool as much as I could, hoping nobody would notice my underwater submarine. Much to my relief, Rick's older friends seemed oblivious to me and Ron, as they played an intense game of "Marco Polo." I managed to avoid getting tagged, and I relaxed with Ron in one corner of the deep end, letting the warm water soak into my tired muscles.

Eventually, the other guys got tired and decided to go inside. Rick and I were the last to get out, and Ron tossed me a towel as I pulled myself out of the shallow end, with Rick just ahead of me. I gave him a quick glance; despite the darkness, I could see he was also uncircumcised, just like his little brother.

As I toweled off on the deck, trying to avoid letting the others see me, I turned to Ron. "So, what's the deal with you and your brother's, uh... you know..."

Ron rolled his eyes. "Oh, you mean our dicks?"

I nodded, embarrassed, as I continued to towel off.

"Rick and I were actually born overseas, in Formosa," he explained. "My Dad was in the Air Force, and that's where we were stationed. I dunno. I guess it's just a local custom or somethin'. Once we got into school, and people started razzin' us about it, Mom said we should ignore 'em. She said, 'that's the way God created you, with a foreskin, and there's nothin' to be ashamed about it.' So I guess that's that."

I grinned at the two of them. "Well, if nothing else, it gives you something to talk about. You know -- a conversation piece."

They laughed. The other three boys had already gone into the house. "You wanna shoot some pool with us?" Ronnie asked, pulling up his pants.

"Sure," I replied, grinning. "But be warned -- I know more about swimming in one than shooting one."

Ron laughed uproariously at my bad pun, and we trotted back into the house.

The six of us started playing 8-ball in the family den, which had expensive-looking walnut-covered walls and bookcases. A cool stained-glass Tiffany lamp hung over the table. We each took turns trying trick shots, and Ron took great delight in creaming my ass. This red-headed twerp might be a goofball, I mused, but he did know his way around a billiards table -- just like a real pool shark.

"You should be glad we aren't playin' strip pool," he chortled. "You'd be totally butt-ass naked, for sure." Both brothers whooped with glee.

They were right -- I was a total klutz at pool. Once, I almost ripped the green cloth with my pool cue, until Rick showed me how to hold the stick properly. These two were like real hustlers; they won every round, much to our ongoing frustration. Well, I thought, maybe there's more to total geeks like these guys than most people knew.

By 9PM, Rick's friends had left, leaving only me and the two Lannigan brothers. I gave up trying to beat them at their own game, and dropped my pool cue back in the rack. "That's it for me, guys," I said. "Maybe I should be heading home, too."

"No!" said Ron. "Not yet! You haven't seen my model kit collection!"

His older brother gave him a curious nod as he sank the last ball in the corner pocket, then hung up his pool cue and walked over to us. I noticed that even though Ronnie was a year younger, it looked like he seemed to call all the shots for the two brothers. They led me down to the end of a hallway to the back of their house, and opened a door. Inside was a fairly large bedroom, almost as big as my family's living room, with two bunk beds on one side. To the left were an incredible array of toys and models -- Frankenstein, Dracula, all the big movie monsters, plus dozens of cars, spaceships, and robots -- set up on a dozen shelves, each intricately arranged like a professional display.

"Wow!" I said, picking up a miniature Phantom of the Opera ghoul. "Gee, you painted it and everything! This looks really cool, guys."

Rick and Ron beamed. "That's Rick!" said Ron, proudly. "He's a real artist. Look at the detail here!"

I was impressed. Ron chattered on endlessly, while his older brother smiled and let him monopolize the conversation. I sat on the lower bunk and glanced around the room. Man, I thought. Some people really have the life. This place made my room look like a crackerbox. They even had their own color TV set and a fairly big stereo system! Shit, I didn't know any kid that had a TV in their room, especially in 1968.

"S-s-s-so, Ronnie says you're on the s-s-s-wim team," stammered Rick.

"Yeah, he's a real champ!" enthused Ron.

I shook my head, smiling wanly at the compliment. "Hardly. I'm still on second-string. I'm the third-slowest guy on the team, mainly 'cause I'm short. But Coach says if I work out, I can bulk up, get more muscle, and improve on my times."

"I think your body looks cool, Wil," said Ron. I couldn't swear it, but thought I saw a gleam in his eye.

My face reddened. My body wasn't nearly as good as Sky's, I thought. Sky. Shit, I had hadn't even thought about him for days.

Rick sat next to me on the bed. "Yeah. R-r-r-real cool." He smiled at me.

I gulped. Rick had a curious expression on his face, almost like he was... hungry.

"I told him about you, Wil," said Ron, shyly.

Great. More jokes at my expense. I stood up. "Look, it's getting late, guys," I said. "My folks want me to be home before 11, or I'm busted."

Ronnie leapt up and put his hand on my arm. "No, wait!" he implored. "You wanna... I dunno, maybe look at some dirty magazines or somethin'?"

My heart fluttered. It'd been almost a month since the last time I'd spent the night with Sky, and I'd been too pissed-off and depressed to masturbate for the last three days.

Ron looked at me, expectantly.

"What kind of magazines?" I asked.

The two red-haired brothers eagerly pulled out a half-dozen dog-eared magazines from a top shelf. My mouth fell open with surprise. Shit, some of these things looked like they were from the 1950s, like nudist colony mags or something! We sat down and ogled the photos, eagerly flipping through the pages. I could see they'd gotten a lot of use out of these mags; some of the pages were practically stuck together. We laughed over some of the hairstyles and pot-bellies, but a few of them looked really hot. In minutes, both brothers had little tent-poles growing from their shorts. I squirmed and had to adjust my pants, myself.

"Look at this one," said Ron. I looked down and stared at a picture of a muscular teen, who looked just a little older than we were. He was blond, like Sky, and was almost as good-looking, I thought. I looked below the teen's waist, and was surprised to see that his organ was just about as big as mine -- maybe even bigger. Maybe I wasn't such a freak after all. My groin throbbed.

Ronnie got off the bed, looked at his brother and gave him a knowing glance. "Rick, you wanna do it?"

His brother nodded and turned to me and grinned. I felt that familiar warmth in my gut, but I was scared. My mouth went dry.

"It's just us, Wil," Ronnie said, softly. "C'mon -- let's do it."

Ronnie pulled his shirt over his head, slid off his shorts, and yanked down his underwear. Up popped his bulging member, which was skinny, but had to be at least six inches long. Rick locked the door, then pulled off his shorts and let them drop to his ankles. I saw that even though he was a little taller than his younger brother, they appeared to be almost identically-equipped below the waist, even down to the freckles. Rick's had a good thatch of light reddish hair at the base; Ron's wasn't quite as hairy, but it was so stiff, it almost pointed straight up. Rick grinned at me, pulled his erection part-way down and let it slap back against his belly. Both boys giggled, then turned to me and waited, expectantly.

I sighed. "OK, but this was your idea," I said, defeated. I stood up, pulled off my shirt, unzipped my pants, and let them drop to the floor, revealing my teenage tool in all its glory. It was so hard, the tip glistened, and the shaft bounced with every move I made.

"Wow." Rick let out a low whistle. "Jesus, Ron, you weren't kidding. That's the biggest one I ever saw. It's a monster! Lookit the veins and stuff on it!" He was totally mesmerized.

I looked up at him, shocked. "Hey! What happened to your stutter?"

"It c-c-c-c-c-comes and goes," he laughed. "I guess you just... sur-sur-surprised me. It's not every day you s-s-see a foot-long wanger."

I smiled. "Actually, it's only nine inches."

"Closer to ten," chimed in Ron, who grinned from ear to ear. "Was I kiddin', Rickie? It's bigger than yours and mine combined!" His brother nodded, and licked his lips.

My organ twitched up and down with anticipation. I sat down on the bed and idly started playing with myself.

Ron put his lips close to my ear and said softly, "Wil... lemme show ya some stuff my brother and I do to each other."

With that, they began rubbing and sliding their hands over each other's bodies. Ron dropped to his knees and started groping his brother's groin and stroking his inner thighs. Rick moaned and sat down next to me on the bed, just as Ron completely engulfed his brother's penis in his mouth.

I gasped. Holy shit, I thought. What had I gotten myself into?

"Oh, Ronnie... that's s-so good," he groaned.

Ron reached back and grabbed his brother's lower back, pulling him closer with both hands. In seconds, Rick began thrusting forward, moaning feverishly. I looked down and saw that Ronnie was manipulating himself frantically. Shit, I thought, looking closely. I didn't know you could pull the foreskin up and down like that. Very cool.

Rick's eyes were closed and he moaned with delight. He put his right hand on the back of his brother's head, and gently pulled him forward. With his other hand, he began tweaking his left nipple, then made little grunting noises, like an animal. My own cock throbbed, and I started stroking faster, completely engrossed by the two brothers, who seemed oblivious to me.

Within a minute, the older boy let out a loud yell and redoubled his thrusts. Ron choked and sputtered, and Rick fell back on the bed beside me, panting and totally spent.

"Jesus," I exclaimed. "You swallowed it!"

Ronnie let go and sat up. "So what?" he said, grinning from ear to ear. "It's just between brothers."

Yeah, I thought. Maybe then it's not queer. I was feeling horny as hell, and continued to stroke myself, staring at the younger boy.

Ron put his hand on my fist. "Stop," he said. "Lemme show ya somethin' a lot better."

With that, he dropped to his knees in front of me and started slurping my member. I almost cried out in surprise. My whole groin felt like it was on fire, and I curled my toes with delight. I was powerless to resist.

"D-d-don't forget to watch your teeth, Ronnie," said Rick, who leaned over to get a better look.

Ron looked like he was in a state of bliss. He took his mouth off me for a moment and gazed at my groin, which was covered with his saliva. "Get over here, Rick. I can't handle this thing by myself!"

Before I knew it, both brothers' tongues explored every inch of me. My shaft had never felt bigger. One boy slurped hungrily on my balls, while the other kept a steady pace stroking me with his mouth. I was in such a daze, I didn't know or care which of them was doing what.

The two brothers kept up their assault with renewed fervor. Hands squeezed and stroked my chest, tweaked my nipples, and I sucked in my breath when I felt a straying finger poke me gently in the butt. I felt a bead of sweat trickle down my chest and into my armpit. This was a hundred times better than anything I'd ever experienced before, pleasure almost beyond my wildest imagination.

Seconds later, my pulse began to race. I gasped out, "I'm... I'm getting real close, guys."

Ron -- at least I think it was Ron -- plunged his mouth down even deeper, and I felt a new sensation as I popped past the back of his throat.

"Oh, fuck!" I yelled.

My hips thrust and bucked uncontrollably, and my hands squeezed the bedspread as hard as I could. My eyes rolled back in my head, then I whimpered with ecstasy as my groin repeatedly vomited a torrent that vanished down Ron's throat. At last, I lay back on the bed, exhausted and overcome with bliss, trembling with excitement. I felt like Old Faithful had just erupted the biggest geyser in recorded history.

"Shit," said Ron, quietly. "Look at this, Rickie! I came all over myself without even touching it!"

Rick and I started to laugh as I sat up. Sure enough, there was a little puddle of goo on the carpet by Ron's knee. I could smell that unmistakable smell known to all horny teenagers.

"That's... that's a pretty cool trick, Ron," I laughed, catching my breath. "You've gotta teach me that one someday." I sighed and grinned down at him.

He giggled his boyish laugh. I looked down, and immediately felt a jealous surge. Shit, it was true -- he really had more hair than I did. Adolescence really sucks.

"What's wrong?" he asked, giving me a quizzical look.

"I'm still almost as bald as a fucking baby," I muttered, embarrassed.

"N-n-no, you're not," said Rick. "Look!"

He kneeled down to me and pointed out a few new stray hairs at the base of my softening shaft. I leaned over to take a closer look. He was right! They must've grown in over the last few weeks. Finally, I was becoming a man.

"Wow," I exclaimed, relieved. "It's about fucking time."

Ronnie looked closer. "Hey, you got peach fuzz all over here. Take a look in the light."

He gently grabbed my flaccid appendage and dragged me across the room, over to the desk lamp on the table. Sure enough, I could see a few more sprouts of hair above the base of my member, some almost light enough to be blond. I felt relieved. Maybe I was finally hitting my growth spurt.

"Well, at least that's one problem I don't have to worry about," I sighed with relief.

Rick and Ron grinned. "I dunno, Wil," giggled Ron, as he wiggled my rubbery appendage back and forth. "This thing's a pretty big problem, if you ask me."

"Oh, shut up!" I grinned, mussing up his hair.

After we cleaned up, we lay on the bed and listened to their stereo, which at the moment was playing The Righteous Brothers' "You've Lost That Lovin' Feelin." I quietly sang along with it; it was one of my favorite songs from a couple of years before. My voice was deep enough that I could match Bill Medley's with a little effort.

Ronnie sat next to me and leaned over. "Listen, Wil," he said quietly. "I kinda had to talk Rick into this for weeks before he'd let me do it." Rick glanced nervously at me, then looked down at his feet, and Ron continued, anxiously. "You can't ever tell..."

I held my hand up. "I'm 'way ahead of you. Nobody knows about this but us."

"Nobody," echoed Ron.

Rick nodded, relieved. "Th-th-thanks, Wil. We'd be glad to d-do it anytime with you."

"Just us brothers," giggled Ronnie.

I grinned. Well, even if I didn't have Sky as a friend any more, maybe the Lannigan brothers would be a reasonable substitute. For awhile, anyway.

As we walked the eight long blocks to my house, the two Lannigan brothers and I discussed the events of the last week, but they didn't seem anxious to talk about what we had just done back in their bedroom. Ron kept us laughing with his lame jokes, and I kept my eye on my watch. Still 10:45 -- more than enough time to make it back home before my folks killed me.

Halfway there, while we were waiting for a street-light to change, I turned to Rick and said, "hey -- what the hell is it with this Scott Michaels guy, anyway? What's his goddamned problem?"

The two brothers looked like I'd hit them on the back of the head with a shovel. Rick was visibly shaken, and pounced on Ron.

"You told him, d-d-didn't you!" he hissed. "This was all your fucking fault, Ronnie!"

Rick cocked his fist back like he was going to pound the life out of his little brother. Ronnie immediately cowered and covered his face.

"HEY!" I yelled. "Stop it!" I caught Rick's hand and dragged it down to his side.

They both turned to me, but kept their eyes averted.

"We... we gotta get back home, Wil," Ron said, meekly, backing up. For once, the light went out of his eyes. Now, he looked absolutely terrified, almost on the verge of tears.

"No, wait!" I said, dumbfounded. "Really, I don't know anything! What's the deal?"

The two brothers started walking away, then broke out into a run, leaving me alone on the street. What had just happened here? I felt like I was in the Twilight Zone, like one of those doomed characters on TV.

I made my way home and back up to my room. It took me over an hour to get to sleep, and when I did, my head was filled with nothing but nightmares. When I fell out of bed Saturday morning, I couldn't remember anything I'd dreamed, except bizarre bits and pieces: smoky, out-of-focus pictures of Rick, Ron, and Scott Michaels, all of them naked. And Sky was in there too, but he was angry, fully clothed and yelling at me, like he hated me. I shook my head in an effort to make that mental image go away, and spent the rest of the afternoon in my Dad's easy chair, watching bad sci-fi movies on TV.

Later that day, I stared at the phone, almost willing it to ring. Sky... Ron... somebody had to call me, eventually. But nobody did. I gave up and buried myself in a book. Since I was a little kid, whenever I felt really down, I could always count on a book to help get my mind off my troubles. I picked up one of my favorites, Arthur Conan Doyle's Adventures of Sherlock Holmes. At least these were short stories; I found the longer ones a little tedious, like Hound of the Baskervilles.

Sunday morning, I reorganized my collection of Famous Monsters magazines and re-read them for about the 18th time. Monsters were cool, but I felt a pang. I was still lonely. I lay back on my bed and listened to my little transistor radio for the rest of the day. By the time they played "Harper Valley P.T.A." for the third time, I couldn't take it anymore, and I angrily punched the off button.

By 3PM, I'd had enough solitude. I gathered up my courage, walked into the kitchen, took a deep breath, and dialed Sky's number. It rang twice. His mom answered, and though she sounded glad to hear from me, she told me that Sky had gone out with some friends from the football team. Great. Left out again. I thanked her and hung up the phone. One down, and one to go.

There was only one "Lannigan" listed on Westshore Blvd., but it took me ten minutes to get the courage to dial the number. Finally, I did. A young voice answered.

"Hel-hel-hel-hello?"

I didn't have to be a mentalist to figure out which Lannigan that was. "Rick! Hi, it's me, Wil. What're you up to, man?" I tried to act as casual as I could.

A long pause. "N-n-nothin'."

Okay. This wasn't gonna be easy. "So," I continued, "you guys wanna come over to my place and hang out or something?" Another long silence.

"No. I got homework." Hmmm, no stutter this time.

"Yeah, me, too," I answered glumly. This was getting nowhere. "Uh, is Ronnie around?"

The phone clunked down and I heard a voice yell in the background. A few seconds later, Ron was on the line.

"Uh... hi, Wil."

Jeez -- no jokes, no funny voices, no nothing. It looked like the deep freeze wasn't going to thaw very soon.

"Hey, Ronnie, you feel like coming by my place?" I asked, trying to sound cheerful and enthusiastic. "My folks and my stupid sister are out all day, so we'd have the run of the place to ourselves. How's that sound?"

Ronnie covered the mouthpiece, and I heard some angry, muffled voices snarling in the background.

"Sorry, Wil. I got..."

"Oh, don't tell me, let me guess," I sighed. "Homework, right?"

"Yeah," he said in a small voice.

"Look, Ron," I said, imploringly. "You can trust me. Tell me what the hell's going on!"

"Later," he whispered. "I gotta go."

Monday morning at school, I spotted Ronnie walking down the hall, looking like his old self again. His face brightened when he saw me, and I waved across the courtyard and ran over.

"Hey, Ronnie. Hope you're OK," I started. "Listen, man, I'm sorry for pissing-off you and your brother the other day..."

"No," he whispered. "Not here." He looked around nervously. "In the bathroom. C'mon."

We trotted briskly over to the smallest of the boys' restrooms in the school, the one all the way down at the end of the fourth wing of classrooms. Ron cautiously checked the stalls. The coast was clear.

Ron took a deep breath. "OK. So you wanna hear the whole story about Rick and Scott Michaels?"

I nodded. "What's the big deal?"

Ron looked down at the ground, embarrassed. "Well... you know, the stuff we did together Friday night?" he said.

"Yeah...?" I said, quizzically.

He took a deep breath. "That's not the first time we've done that before," he said, quietly.

Holy shit, I thought. "Wait a minute -- you mean that Rick and Scott were..."

Ronnie looked up at me nervously and nodded.

"It was in May, last year," he began. "I didn't know nothin' about sex or anything. I came home from school, late, and I heard some noises from our bedroom, so I walked in and they were... you know..." He looked down at his feet.

I let out a slow whistle. "So your brother did it with Scott?"

Ron got right up to my face and stared, grimly. "You can't tell anybody, Wil!" he whispered. "Not Sky, not the coach, not ANYBODY!"

I thought for a minute. "But why does Scott hate you?"

He sighed. "They'd been doin' it for awhile. I think he trusted Rick to keep his mouth shut, but not me."

"Hey," I chuckled, "if Rick had kept his mouth shut, he wouldn't be in this mess in the first place!"

"Shut up, Wil!" he growled, and grabbed my shirt. "You don't know Rick like I do! I'd do anything for him -- anything!" His eyes darkened.

Shit, I thought. For a goofy kid, Ronnie could sure be sensitive.

"Jesus, calm down, Ron," I said, gently taking his hand off me. "OK, I swear, I won't ever tell anybody about this."

"And that means Scott, too," he continued. "If he finds out you know, he's gonna come after me, because I'm the only guy who coulda told you."

"But why is he always calling you 'faggot'?" I asked.

Ronnie winced. "He's... he's scared because I saw what he was doing with my brother."

I grinned at the thought. "Yeah, your brother's really talented," I chuckled.

Ron shook his head. "Scott was on his knees, Wil," he whispered.

I blinked. Jesus. The star football player of the Tampa Central Cheetahs was...

"So he's really the faggot." I said, in disbelief. "I mean, uh, he's... you know, a homo. Like you guys." Like me, I thought.

Ron's face blanched. "No we're not, Wil!" he insisted. "I really like girls, as much as you do! So does Rickie, I swear. But y' know, sometimes... guys gotta help each other out. Like brothers."

I nodded. "OK," I said. "Let's forget it ever happened." We shook on it.

A bell echoed down the hall. The walkways were deserted, and we slunk into our homeroom class and sat down at our desks, under the evil eye of Mrs. Swatts. She gave us an evil glare. "Thirty more seconds, and you two would've gone off to detention!" she snapped.

Ronnie and I kept our heads down and pretended to take a sudden deep interest in our social studies books, preparing for a test in the next period.

Report cards came out a week later in mid-October. I pulled two A's and four B's, but one lone 'C' in Algebra kept me off the Honor Roll. My parents were terribly disappointed. At this rate, I was never going to get to go back to the LaFontaine school.

The weather turned cold and drizzly. October dissolved into November, and November dissolved into December. God finally gave me a break: at last, I was getting a respectable growth of hair on my groin. So did just about all the other kids in gym class, ranging from peach fuzz to downright hirsute. Their initial fascination with "donkey boy" seemed to have evaporated, though I still occasionally caught a few stares and surprised glances in my direction in the shower. Once, I thought I saw one teen start to get visibly excited, but he quickly turned away before I knew for sure.

Despite being the youngest student at Tampa Central, I was beginning to get used to 9th grade. I managed to make a few more casual friends, thanks to being on the swim team. I spent more and more time each week in practice. Between that and homework, I hardly had time to do anything else. I was able to dramatically improve on my Freestyle times, and I inched my way up on the coach's list to finally qualify for first-string Butterfly and Breaststroke. Coach Byers encouraged me at every practice, giving me pointers. He occasionally showed us Olympic films highlighting some of the swimming techniques in slow-motion, with all kinds of animated arrows and graphics to show us how the champions did it. I watched the films with open-mouthed wonder. God, I thought. What I'd give to be able to swim that fast...

One day in early December, at the end of practice, Coach Byers took me aside. "You're comin' along well, Larson, but I think you still need to do some work on your legs and arms. If you were just a little stronger, I think you'd have the body type that could really make it as a swimmer."

"You think so, Coach?" I asked, dripping on the tile floor.

He nodded. "You know, Wil, I almost made the Olympic team back in 1956," he said, wistfully. "Eight years before that, I was the spitting image of you at your age -- same speeds, same height, and just about the same weight. Maybe you could make it in another six or seven years. The 1976 games aren't all that far off, you know."

"Hey, why not try for '72?" I chuckled.

The couch laughed. "Son, you've gotta train for years for this," he explained, kindly. "You have no idea the work and sacrifice it's going to take. Let's just go a step at a time."

I thought for a moment. "Have there ever been any 17 year-olds on an Olympic team?" I asked, wistfully.

He shook his head. "Not very often. Nowadays, it's mostly the 20 to 25 year-olds that dominate the sport. You're what -- 15, now?"

"I'll, uh, be 14 next May," I confessed.

"You're just 13?" he exclaimed. "Aren't you a little young to be in high school already?"

I shrugged my shoulders. "I guess. I skipped first and second grade, because I was too smart for my own good," I sighed. "I went to LaFontaine for 7th and 8th grade. Now I'm here."

"The LaFontaine Institute?" the coach asked in surprise. "So you're a gifted kid."

I laughed and shook my head. "Apparently, not gifted enough," I said. "I'm back in public school, now. My parents thought it'd do me some good." I shook my head, sadly. "I'd almost rather be back at the Institute. But at least you've got a great swim team here."

The coach gave me an understanding look. "It's tough when you're young, and the older kids tease you. They think you're an easy target, just because you're smaller than they are."

I had to stop myself from blurting out, "tell that to my dick," but I bit my tongue.

"Wil," he said, stepping back and giving me a grin. "You look to me like a young man who's gotta lot of intestinal fortitude. You know what I mean?"

I grinned. "You mean I've got 'guts,' right?"

Coach Byers nodded, thought for a moment, then started filling out a piece of paper. "I'll tell you what I'm gonna do," he said. "I'm going to set it up with Coach Lucas to have you work out once or twice a week in the other building, where the football players have their weight room set up. Have your parents sign this consent form, and we'll start you pumping some iron. And follow the recommended diet in this booklet," he said, as he handed me the papers.

"I thought that lifting weights would stunt my growth or something," I said, a note of concern in my voice.

"Naw -- that's just an old wives' tale, son," he explained. "We're not gonna dump 300 pound barbells on you. Just some light weights and machines, period. Stay away from the heavy stuff," he cautioned. "You can really get hurt with those, especially without the right training and a good spotter. You'll be ready for that in another year or two."

"And then on to the Olympics!" I grinned.

"We'll see about that," he laughed, swatting my wet fanny as I trotted to the locker room. "Get going! And don't forget to bring the form back in to me tomorrow!"
 
  
 

© 2001, John Francis