Foley-Mashburn Saga #8
School Days 1
Story © 2002 Brew Maxwell
brew_drinker23@yahoo.com

        
Chapter 01
        
(Justin's Perspective)
        When I woke up Monday morning, Brian was cradled in my arms. His skin was warm and soft, and he looked like an angel next to me in bed. I had to piss something fierce, so I got up to do it without waking him. I checked my alarm clock and saw that it was only five o'clock. I had set it for six, and even that would have been earlier than I needed to get up.
        When I got back in bed, Brian stirred a little. I lay there thinking about college, and the more I thought about it, the more nervous I got. I decided to put it out of my head and think about the precious boy next to me.
        That did the trick, only I got me a throbber for my trouble. If I don't touch it, it'll go down, I thought. Well, it didn't. I decided to get up and take a shower. I got in before the water had warmed up, and that distracted me enough that it finally went down. After my shower, I started to get dressed.
        "Come back to bed," Brian said.
        "I'm sorry I woke you up, Little Buddy," I said.
        "That's okay. Come here. I want to give you a kiss," he said.
        I got in bed again, and he kissed me real sweet.
        "This is for you, okay? It's your back-to-school present," he said.
        He kissed his way down my body to my dick, which was already hard again. He took that thing into his mouth, and he started my day for me the way every day should start.
        "I want to do the same thing for you," I said.
        "Tonight, okay? That was just for you, because I love you and want you to have something nice to think about at school."
        How can you beat something like that? God, I love him, I thought.
        We cuddled for a while. Brian smelled real good to me, sort of warm and toasty, almost. I wanted to make him feel as good as he made me feel, but I knew he didn't want that right then. He had given me a gift, and it would cheapen it for me to insist.
        Brian and I were well suited in the sack. We made love just about every day some way or other, and about 90% of the time he was the bottom and I was the top. The only exception was oral, and I did him about as often as he did me. He came across to everybody as this sweet, innocent little boy, and he really was that. But I'm here to tell you, he wasn't a slacker when it came to sex. I used to think that I'd get tired of him or something, but that hadn't happened and I didn't think it was going to ever happen.
        "Little Buddy, I'm going to get up and get dressed, okay," I whispered.
        He didn't answer me. I looked at his face, and he was back asleep.
        I put on some of my new clothes. Kyle made me get new underwear and a bunch of new outer clothes. I put on some new bikini briefs, and they felt good and snug. Then I put on a pair of khaki cargo shorts, a nice Polo shirt, and my new deck shoes. I put some gel in my hair and combed it with my fingers. I thought I looked pretty good.
        Kyle was at the breakfast room table when I got down there. He was dressed in new clothes, too, and he looked good.
        "Hey," I said.
        "Hey. Where's Brian?"
        "He's still asleep. Tim, too?"
        "Yeah. I guess you didn't get any this morning either, huh?"
        "No, he took care of me. He just went back to sleep," I said. "What time did you get up?"
        "Five. I'm excited about the first day of school," he said.
        "I'm nervous, but I'm not really excited," I said.
        "You know we're all as proud of you as we can be, don't you?" He grinned at me.
        "Thanks, Bubba, but let's see how it all works out before you start getting too proud of me," I said.
        "It's going to work out," he said.
* * *
        I drank some coffee and some juice, but I couldn't eat any breakfast. Everybody was pretty quiet at the table, and everybody looked great. Cody had spent the night, which I hadn't known about, so he was there, too.
        Cody and Alex were going to go in Cody's car, but I was going to take my truck. They had a math class from nine to 9:50, but I was through for the day at 8:50. Through until that night, that is. I planned to come home, put on my uniform, and go to work.
        The traffic wasn't bad at all, and we got there by twenty minutes to eight.
        "I want to get another cup of coffee," Cody said, after we had parked and gotten out of our vehicles.
        "Where are you going to get that," I asked.
        "The Student Union," he said.
        He seemed to know where he was going, and I followed him and Alex. They went into a gigantic building, and off to the left was a cafeteria. He got a cup of coffee in a styrofoam cup, and we headed to the Social Science Building, where our class was. We found the room easy enough and took a seat. There were a handful of other people in there already, but we had about ten minutes before class started.
        "I wish I could smoke a cigarette," I said.
        "You can outside," the guy next to me said. "In fact, I want one, too."
        Me and that guy went outside, and, sure enough, there was an ashtray and everything. We lit up.
        "I'm Justin Davis," I said, sticking out my hand to shake.
        "Paul Womack," he said, and we shook.
        "Is this your first day of college," I asked.
        "Naw. I'm a sophomore. What about you?"
        "This is my first class ever," I said. "I'm a little nervous."
        "Well, don't be. This professor is supposed to be the best there is on campus. I was surprised the class wasn't full when I registered for it. I guess it's the time of day. The eleven o'clock section was jam packed."
        "I'm glad it's going to be good," I said. "Are you from here?"
        "Naw. You?"
        "Naw. North Alabama," I said.
        "I'm not really from anywhere. My dad's in the Air Force, so we've lived all over," he said. "Do you have a job?"
        "The Laguna Hotel on the beach. You?"
        "Subway," he said. "Do you wait tables?"
        "No. I'm a bellhop," I said.
        Right as I was saying that, a middle aged guy in a dress shirt and tie opened the door to the classroom to go inside.
        "That's him. We better go in. Nice meeting you," he said.
        "Yeah, nice meeting you, too," I said.
        The professor called the roll after the bell rang, and he called us by our last name with Mister or Miss in front of it. I don't think anybody had ever called me Mr. Davis before, and that felt pretty good.
        He gave out some papers that he said had all the assignments and tests and what not on them. It had the word "syllabus" at the top, but I didn't know what that meant. I had started to bring a dictionary, but Brian had told me the night before that he didn't think the other kids would think that was cool. I didn't bring it, and now I was sorry. The first word in the class, and I didn't know what it meant. I didn't think that was a real good sign.
        The man started talking after he gave out those papers, and it was like he was telling a story or something. I glanced over at Cody and Alex a time or two, and I noticed they were writing stuff in their notebooks. I made a mental note to ask them about that afterwards. I listened real close to what the man was saying, and he was a very good story teller. I had read some of the textbook, and he was really just retelling what I had read, adding a detail here and there. Before I knew it, I heard a bell ring.
        "I'll see you Wednesday morning, ladies and gentlemen."
        I wasn't sure if you were supposed to clap or not, so I didn't. Nobody else did, and I'm glad I waited.
        "Is that it," I asked Cody and Lex.
        "That's it, Bubba. Your first college class," Lex said.
        "Shit, there wasn't nothing to that," I said.
        They both laughed, and ole Paul Womack laughed, too.
        "We'll see you later, Jus," Cody said.
        "Okay," I said. "Have a good one."
        Paul and I walked out together, and he lit up right away.
        "Have you got another class," I asked him.
        "Yeah, but not until ten. I've got an hour to kill," he said. "You want to get some coffee?"
        "Sure. Over in the Student Union?" I was impressed as I could be with myself that I knew what the hell that was.
        "Yeah. I'm going to grab some breakfast, too. I woke up too late to eat anything this morning," he said.
        By then my stomach was growling like Trixie, and some breakfast sounded mighty good.
        We went through the serving line. I got a cup of coffee and big plate of scrambled eggs, sausage, grits, and a biscuit. He got coffee and a couple of pieces of French toast. No meat, which was something I needed if I wasn't going to get too hungry before lunch. I figured that what I got would be seven or eight dollars. $2.35, tax and tip included. No tip, really, but that's all it was. Damn, I thought. This is the best bargain in town.
        We got us a table and started eating. He was a nice looking boy. The sleeve of his tee shirt pulled up a little bit when he ate, and I noticed he had a tattoo on his bicep.
        "Did I just see a tattoo on your arm," I asked.
        "Yeah. I just got it about a month ago. See?"
        He raised the arm of his shirt up, and there it was.
        "I've got one, too, but mine's down below. I can't show you in here," I said. "It's not very big. It's a little bullfrog catching a bug with its tongue."
        "Cool," he said. "My parents got pissed off when I got mine, but now they don't say anything about it."
        "Might as well not," I said.
        "True. Do you still live at home?"
        That question kind of threw me. Of course I live at home, I thought. Where the hell else would somebody live? Wasn't where you lived your home? I must have had a puzzled look on my face.
        "At home with your parents," he said.
        "Foster parents. Not real ones. I don't have real parents," I said.
        "Oh," he said.
        "It's cool, though. It's two guys, and they have some other foster kids. I'm not officially a foster anymore, though, since I turned eighteen."
        "And they still let you live there?"
        He seemed surprised.
        "Yeah," I said. "I don't guess you can smoke in here, huh?"
        "No. Let's step out to that little patio."
        We threw our trash away, and we went out there to smoke. I liked that guy a lot. He was friendly and nice, but I got the feeling he didn't know too many people. I guess I was going to be one he knew, though.
* * *
        The day at work was pretty much the same as it always was. I had lunch with Lex.
        "I think I made me a friend today," I said.
        "That guy you went out to smoke with," Lex asked.
        "Yeah. His name is Paul Womack. We went and got breakfast at the Student Union after class, and we talked some. He's a real nice guy."
        "He's really good looking, too. Are you wanting to branch out," he asked, joking.
        "Shut up, man. You know better than that."
        "I don't know. It could happen," Lex said.
        "Never in a million years, dude," I said.
        "I know," he said. "Did I just do a 'got you last'?"
        "No, man. You were just teasing me. That's not the same thing. I'll tell you when, and if, you ever get me last," I said.
        He laughed, and I did, too.
        That afternoon, I had my English class. It was longer, for one thing, and there was a lady teaching it, for another. She paired us up, and we had to interview the other person to find out about him or her so we could introduce that person to the class. Well, guess what? I got Kyle as my partner. Of course, we were sitting next to one another, so that wasn't a surprise.
        "You ain't going to believe the shit I'm going to tell them about you," I said.
        "Oh, yeah? Two can play that game, you know?"
        "We know a lot about each other, don't we," I said.
        "We know too much to be playing this dumb-ass little game," he said.
        He wasn't watching how loud he was talking, and the boy and girl sitting next to us heard him. They both laughed.
        This is what I said about him when it was my turn to stand up.

        "I'd like to introduce Kyle Goodson. He's a senior at Beachside High School, and he's taking this class on something called dual enrollment. He lives at the beach, and he's a surfer and pool shark. He said no IQ test yet invented can get an accurate read on how smart he is, but he thinks he's in the same league as Mr. Potato Head. After talking to him for a few minutes, I think he's right."
        They all laughed.
        "He drives a leased Mazda 626, so you know how cool he is. Not."
        More laughing.
        "He almost drowned this summer surfing, but the devil himself pushed him back up to the surface because he couldn't handle him."
        More laughing.
        "Let me present, Mr. Kyle Goodson. Oh, and did I mention he's also my brother and best friend?"
        They laughed some more, and they clapped. They fucking clapped! I was about the tenth one to do it, and I was the first one who made them laugh.
        "Excellent, Justin," the lady said. "Now, Kyle, let's hear your introduction."
        "This guy's name is Justin Davis. He already told you we're brothers and best friends, and that was going to be my ace in the hole. What about him? He's a better athlete than I am, and he's smarter than I am. I'm Mr. Potato Head, but he's Mr. Turnip Head, which is a notch up."
        They laughed.
        "If you ever need kindness, this is the guy to go to. If you ever need some ass kicked, go to him for that, too."
        They laughed.
        "One time we were in New Orleans with a bunch of our people, and we came upon the Streetcar Named Desire. The real thing. An old trolley. Our grandpa said a writer by the name of Tennessee Williams wrote a play called A Streetcar Named Desire. Justin said if that guy could be Tennessee Williams, he wanted to be Alabama Davis. So I introduce to you Mr. Justin 'Alabama' Davis."
        They laughed and clapped.
        "Excellent, Kyle. Would you and Justin please see me right after class."
        I wondered what that was all about. I didn't like the sound of it.
        We did some more introductions, and they were boring as hell. Then she made us write something about what we had done that summer. This is what I wrote.
        I had a wonderful summer, and it included my eighteenth birthday, a trip to Boston, and a trip to Montana. We went to Montana to see our friend Chris, who was a foster kid in the same home I was a foster kid in until I turned eighteen. The difference is I still live there.
        Anyway, Chris is seventeen years old and just as gimped up as he can be. He has Cerebral Palsy, so he can't help it. Kyle Goodson, the guy I introduced, and I consider him our brother. Chris has been taking a lot of therapy since he's been in Montana, and he's doing a lot better.
        We did a lot of stuff, including some things you don't want to know about, but I think the one thing Kyle and I did was help Chris gain self-confidence and a sense that he can do whatever in the world he wants to do. He said that he wants to have two sons, and he's going to name them Kyle and Justin. To me, that was what made a great summer the best.
        We could leave after we finished writing our story. I was riding with the other three, of course, and they were taking the longest damn time to finish theirs. I was standing outside the classroom watching Kyle through a window. He was plugging away at that like he was writing the damn Declaration of Independence or something. They all were. I had me a smoke while I was out there, and I knew we still had to see that lady after school.
        Kyle finally turned his damn thing in, and she walked him to the door.
        "Kyle, do you know Gene Goodson," she asked.
        "Yes, ma'am, he's my daddy," Kyle said.
        "I thought so. And you know him, too, of course, don't you, Justin?"
        "Yes, ma'am," I said.
        "Kyle, your father has donated and raised more money for this college than anybody I know of, and he's kind of an icon around here."
        I mentally saw Mr. Gene's face on a computer screen that you could click on to make something happen.
        "Yes, ma'am," Kyle said.
        "But boys, don't let that go to your heads. I'll fail you in a minute, if you deserve it," she said.
        Kyle and I both laughed. She was so cool.
        "My daddy would want you to, if I deserved it," Kyle said. "But we're going to do good in your class."
        "Well. Do well," she said.
        Kyle was as confused as I was when she said that.
        "Thank you," Kyle said. "You do well, too."
        She laughed hard, and I thought that was a little bit odd.
        "Boys, we're going to have fun this semester," she said. "You're the kind I like."
        "Yes, ma'am," we both said together, neither one knowing what the hell she was talking about.
        "Good night, boys, and do well."
* * *
        "So how was the first day, Jus," Kevin asked, as soon as we had gotten something to eat and were settled in the den.
        "It wasn't bad, Kev. I must say. I think I even made me a friend this morning."
        "Do tell," Kevin said.
        "There's nothing to tell. Just a really nice guy. We had breakfast together after class, and I really liked him. I think he liked me, too."
        "That's a first, isn't it," Rick said.
        "What do you mean?"
        "Well, your first friend outside the family and our circle," Rick said.
        "I guess," I said. "I've got a few friends at work, too, though."
        "Is he gay," Brian asked.
        "I don't know for sure, but I doubt it," I said.
        "Good," Brian said, and everybody laughed.
        "Get out of here," I said, and they laughed some more.
        
(Chip's Perspective)
        My first day of high school was good. Damn good. I walked into that place with Kyle on one side of me and Tim on the other, and I felt like we owned the damn place. Mrs. Ortega was in the lobby greeting everybody, and she actually remembered me.
        She said hi to Kyle and Tim and Brian, and she said hi to me by name! Wow! I couldn't believe it.
        "We call him Peanut," Kyle said, and he did his fingers about the size of a peanut. She laughed and slapped his hand.
        "Kyle, you're terrible," she said, laughing hard. I could tell she was somebody who really liked kids.
        "What's your real name, Chip," she asked.
        "It's Kyle," I said. "For real."
        "Oh, my goodness! Not another one," she said, laughing.
        "Yep. 'Fraid so, Miss Sally," Kyle said. "We're everywhere."
        She laughed again.
        "Kyle, don't forget, you have to make announcements at the end of first period."
        "Yes, ma'am," he said. Then, when we were down the hall and away from her, he said, "Fuck! I forgot I had to do that. Shit!"
        "You'll do great, Babe," Tim said.
        "I hope," he said.
        Well, he did do great, I thought. He was funny, too, just like he always is. When I saw his picture on that TV screen making those announcements, I thought, That's my big brother, and he's somebody around this place.
        They smuggled me and Denny out for lunch. My first period teacher told us freshmen weren't supposed to leave campus. Brian said he went almost every day last year, so it must not be a strictly enforced rule. We ate the buffet at the Starfish Motel. It was good, and it wasn't too expensive, either.
        "Did you know anybody in any of your classes," Brian asked me.
        "Yeah, quite a few from middle school, in fact, including a couple of the jerks who used to pick on me all the time," I said.
        "Did they say anything to you," Kyle asked.
        "Not to me, but I think they were talking about me. They'd look at me and then say something to one another and laugh," I said.
        "You let me know if they mess with you, you hear," Kyle said. "I mean it, now, Chip."
        "Okay," I said.
        My one class after lunch was PE, and it was fine. After school they dropped me off at home. I talked to my mom a while about my first day, and then I rode my bike over to their house to work out. It was just Tim and Brian, though. Kyle, Justin, and Alex had class at the college. When Kyle and Justin were there, a lot of times we worked out naked and then dove into the pool. Tim and Brian didn't seem to be into nudity as much as the two big boys were, so we just kept our clothes on until it was time to swim.
        
(Kyle's Perspective)
        I could tell Chip was as proud as a peacock walking into school with me and Tim that morning, and, when Miss Sally remembered him, he was beside himself. She was such a nice lady, and I always had fun joking around with her. I think she probably got it when I told her his name was Peanut. She sure laughed like she did, if she didn't. Most guys would have been embarrassed to death by what I did, but I knew he wouldn't be. And he wasn't.
        My first period class was economics. The teacher was pretty cool, but, from looking at the book, the subject didn't seem very interesting. I had heard people before say it was hard, too. That and English were the only classes I had where I'd have any homework, and I already had plans to use my Leadership period when I could for most of that.
        After first period I had to make the announcements. They had a TV studio in a room close to the library, and that's where I had to do it. We had ten minutes between classes, so I didn't get to leave economics early or anything. The SGA sponsor was in there, but the TV teacher was in charge of the TV crew.
        "Kyle, from now on, you need to get here about ten minutes before the end of first period," the TV teacher said. "I went ahead and typed out the announcements this morning, but from now on you'll have to read them from handwritten slips. Those can sometimes be hard to decipher, so you need a few minutes to go over them before you read them on the air."
        I liked that expression, "on the air."
        "Oh, and Friday we're doing a half-hour news program, but some of the TV kids will anchor that. I still want you in here, but we're going to have live interviews in various places in the school, some video clips we're doing of football practice, a feature on the band. That kind of thing," she said. "We'll do a half-hour news show once a month on the first Friday for the rest of the year. And for any major stories that I just can't resist, if Mrs. Ortega will go along with it."
        That lady was named Ms. Tammy White, and she was probably in her late twenties. I had to admit, I could see how a boy would want to get after some of that stuff. She was blonde and beautiful.
        I had been in a couple of plays, so I wasn't really nervous about performing in front of the camera. Not that it was the same thing, but I didn't have stage fright or anything.
        We started every day with the pledge to the flag and a moment of silent meditation. Since the September 11 stuff, we played a video of the school chorus singing the national anthem, too, once a week. Since it was the first day of school, they did it all. Then it was my turn. I read the announcements just like they were written, but I made a couple of wisecracks, too. The people in the studio were laughing, but Ms. White wasn't. Afterward, she told me to stick to the news. I was raised not to argue with teachers and people like that, so I kept my mouth shut, even though I knew people had liked it.
        After that, I went to the "sports complex," a.k.a. the gym, for three hours of PE. The first hour-and-a-half was weight training, and the second hour-and-a-half was a course called "Lifetime Sports," stuff like archery, volleyball, badminton, horseshoes (Really!), bowling (only two alleys, though), golf, and tennis. You would have thought swimming would have been on that list, but it wasn't because the pool was being used for swimming classes. We sort of did it in rotation, but it was going to be for the whole year, not just first semester. Actually, weight training was for the whole year, too, so I figured I didn't need to worry about missing workouts at home when I had class and what not.
        I worked really hard in the weight room, and I didn't stretch out after I was finished. I figured the next class would take care of that.
        We weren't required to take showers at school, but I did that day because I was pure nasty after three hours of physical activity. I could just see myself toweling off and putting my nice new clothes back on for the rest of the day. Besides, I had class at the college that night, not to mention lunch and Leadership that afternoon.
        There were only about ten guys in the shower room, and I knew every one of them. We joked around, goosing one another and trying to pull on dicks. A couple of guys got about half hard because of that, but I didn't. I didn't say anything about it, either, because I knew they couldn't help it. Why embarrass a guy when it could just as easily be you?
        I had lunch with my boys, as usual. Chip's first period teacher had told them that freshmen weren't allowed off campus for lunch, but that just wasn't true. I had been on the review committee for the student handbook that summer, and we had discussed that matter.
        What the handbook said was, "Students, especially freshmen, should stay on campus for a balanced meal at lunch." One hard-ass teacher on the committee wanted to change "should" to "must," but everybody else, including Miss Sally, wanted to leave it the way it was. The fact of the matter was, the lunchroom food sucked, and everybody knew it. It wasn't so much how it tasted as it was the unbelievable combinations they came up with, like macaroni and cheese and turnip greens, with a plain hotdog as the meat. Of course, you could get pizza and Chik-Fil-A and salad bar, but you got tired of that. Plus, they didn't really give you enough. The place we went to was an all-you-can-eat buffet, and that food was cooked home style, right down to mashed potatoes that had been in the skins that morning.
        Anyway, lunch was good. We had a big table, with Tim, Brian, Chip, Denny, Chad, Gage, Philip, Ryan, Morgan, Blake, and me. It was quite a crew, and we ate our share, that's for sure. The couple that ran the place knew us, of course, since we went there every day during school, and they made a special dish for us for the first day of the school year. It was chicken pot pie, which I know doesn't sound all that special to a lot of people, but that damn stuff was to die for. I absolutely loved it, and I made a pig of myself on it, too.
        It wasn't possible to run a motel in Emerald Beach, Florida, without knowing my daddy, and they knew who I was. Their place wasn't all that nice compared to what we had, but that was the first place we walked people to when our places were full and people needed a place to stay. They appreciated the extra business they got out of that, and they took care of me and my boys to show it. That's an example of what it's like to live in a small town that you just don't find in a big city, I don't think.
        That night in the den at Kevin and Rick's house, after my English class, I started thinking about taking Leadership. That class was very practical and non-academic. The SGA sponsor was the teacher, and the whole idea was to get the student leaders in one place at the same time every day to plan for stuff, talk about ideas, organize things, and so on.
        For instance, SGA did homecoming, and that wasn't too far away. There was the football game, of course, but there was also a fish fry, bonfire, and extended pep rally on Thursday night before the game. The day of the game there was a parade. The homecoming court would be presented at the bonfire, and there was the dance on Saturday night, where the king and queen would be crowned. To get a queen, though, you had to have an election.
        Every bit of that had to be planned, and it was the job of the officers to plan it. And run it, too. I loved doing that kind of stuff, though. All those parties I had organized were going to pay off, if I could get the people to cooperate as good as my brothers did.
        Another thing I had to do was I was the chairman of the ICC, the Inter-Club Council. That was the presidents of every club on campus, and we basically had to coordinate all club activity in the school. That did not include sports teams, since they didn't really have presidents and their schedules and such were already set, except their fund raisers and banquets. The captains represented the teams for those things.
        The ICC kept the master calendar of activities. We had to approve fund raisers, like candy sales, car washes, dances, tee shirt sales, beach towel sales, dinners, fish frys, and such, and we had to make sure there weren't major conflicts where two groups wanted to use the fine arts auditorium or the gym or the cafeteria on the same day or night. We had to approve requests for things like dates for plays, band concerts, and chorus concerts. We had to coordinate contests, too. You don't want your chorus or band off at a contest the same weekend the drama club is putting on their big musical. That just couldn't happen. It would fuck everything up, if it did.
        Most people think of high schools as pretty simple places, but Beachside High School was a hell of a lot more complex than my daddy's business was. They think the football team is number one, and it is for a lot of people, but not for the kids who are looking to get a free ride scholarship to college because of band or debate or drama or Quiz Bowl or God knows what else. And what about basketball, baseball, track, wrestling, cheerleading, volleyball, golf, swimming, and all the rest? And we had a lot more sports than that. Ever hear of rhythmic gymnastics? We had it. Flag corps? We had it. Dance team? We had it. You name it; we had it.
        "I'm sorry, you can't compete for that $100,000.00 scholarship to Duke University as a cheerleader. The football booster club has a spaghetti supper to give that weekend, and the cheerleaders are needed here. You're out of luck." I don't think so!
        That's what ICC was all about, and I had to run that, too. Damn! I don't know what I was thinking when I let those people talk me into running for SGA president, but I had made my choice, no matter how ignorant I was at the time, and I couldn't do anything about it now. When I thought about all of that, I sort of resented Miss Sally telling me my schedule didn't look very academic. I loved her to death, but who the fuck did she think I was? My daddy, with a staff of 250 people?
        "What's the matter with you? You look down as a dog," Justin said.
        "I was just thinking about everything I have to do at school. I'm taking Leadership, and I got bombarded today," I said.
        "Are you feeling a little bit stressed," Kevin asked.
        "No, sir. Not a little bit."
        "A lot stressed," Rick asked, grinning.
        "Yeah," I said. "Not only that, but I worked out too hard this morning, and everything hurts. My thighs, especially."
        "Why don't we give him a massage," Brian said.
        "If you do that, do it upstairs," Kevin said.
        "Come on, Kyle. Let's go, Bubba," Jus said.
        He gave me his hand to help me up from the sofa. When I stood up, my right calf cramped, and I almost fell down.
        "Damn, you must have poured it on today," Jus said.
        "I didn't stretch out good after my workout. I had another PE class, and I thought that would take care of warming me down. It must not have," I said.
        The three of them went up to our room with me.
        "Take your clothes off," Jus said. "Buddy, get a couple of towels, please."
        Brian got two big towels.
        "I've got some lotion," Tim said. "I'm taking my clothes off so I don't get lotion all over them."
        He stripped down to his briefs, and Jus and Brian did the same thing. I was totally naked by then, though.
        I laid down on my front side so they could start on my back. Justin started on one leg, Tim on the other, and Brian took care of my shoulders and neck.
        "I'm probably going to get a hard-on," I said.
        "We're probably going to get 'em, too," Jus said. "We'll see about that later, though."
        It felt wonderful having three strong boys working my muscles, kneading them, stretching them, rubbing out kinks. They worked on me a long time, too. When they massaged my butt, Justin ran his hand down my crack to my hole a few times. Tim giggled when he did that, and I just knew Jus had a big ole grin on his face. Brian finished with my neck and shoulders and started working my arms.
        After about thirty minutes of that heavenly massage, they made me turn over. Just as I had predicted, I was hard as a rock. Now that I could see them, I saw that all three of them were hard, too.
        What they did to my thighs had to be about the best thing ever, short of an orgasm. Tim teased me by tickling my nut sack every time he got near it, and he was smiling his face off at making my dick bounce. I have a spot between my balls and my hole that is super-sensitive to pressure, and Tim knew just exactly how to do it. If he did it long enough, and sort of rubbed his thumb around down there, he could make me come, and he knew it. He was doing that, and it felt incredible. He would stop before I got to the point of no return, though.
        They worked on the front of my body as long as they had my back side. Timmy was nothing but a devil, touching my dick, running a finger up the bottom side of it, all the time licking his lips like he was sucking me off. I laughed a few times at how cute he looked doing that.
        Brian was devil enough on his own when it came to my nipples. He was pretending to massage my pecs, and he did do some of that, but he was steady working those nipples, too.
        Tim went back to that spot behind my balls, and that time he worked it like he meant business. It didn't take me long to get there, either. I unloaded right on my chest, and one shot got as far as my shoulder. Once I had shot off, they left me alone and attended to themselves. Before I knew it, I had three more loads of cum on my upper body.
        "You look like one of those sex boys in a porno tape," Jus said.
        I wiped it off with one of the towels.
        "Only they would smear it all over themselves," Tim said. "I've never understood why they do that."
        "They think it looks hot, that's why," I said. "It just looks messy to me. Guys, thanks for the massage. I feel much better."
        "I thought doing it was fun," Brian said. "We ought to take turns sometimes. Kyle, I felt like I was giving you a very intimate present."
        "I think that's a good idea, Bri. Only next time, when I'm giving it, I want to be naked, too," I said. "Jus, you're up next, okay? Maybe tomorrow night? How does that sound?"
        "It sounds great. I can come," he said, and we all laughed at his pun.
* * *
        The three of us gave Justin a massage the next night, and for me the experience created a closeness among the four of us that was even deeper than we had had before. We were serious in not wanting to have out-and-out sex together, although some people might consider what we did "having sex." We looked upon it as a way of giving physical pleasure to one another while reserving real sex for our partners.
        We talked to Jeff about it later in the week after everybody had had a turn, and he said he thought it was a good solution to our need for physical intimacy with one another.
        "I actually thought you guys were having sex with each other. I thought it was sort of inevitable, being as close as you all are," he said.
        "I think it's made us love each other more," Jus said. "I know I does me."
        "Me, too," Tim said, and Brian and I agreed.
        The school year was off to a good start, and that was an added dimension. After that, about once a month or six weeks we'd give a round of massages, and we always looked forward to the next time.
        
Chapter 02
        
(Kevin's Perspective)
        The school year started with a bang for all the boys. Justin made what amounted to his classroom debut when he started college, and he seemed to like it.
        "Kevin, would you talk to me about what I should be doing during class," he asked me on the Sunday night before the second week of classes.
        "Of course, Jus. What do you mean, Bubba," I asked.
        "When I look around, I see people writing in their notebooks. I don't know what they're writing, or why," he said.
        "They're taking notes. Later on, when it's time to study for a test, those notes will come in handy," I said.
        "See, that's the thing. I don't know anything about that," he said.
        "Taking good notes is important. What you basically end up with is an outline of what the professor said. Sometimes, if he's going fast and you can't keep up, you can go back afterwards and write in information you remember but didn't have time to write down. Are you allowed to tape lectures?"
        "I guess. I've seen a couple of people with tape recorders in there," he said.
        "Then it must be okay. Here's what I want you to do. I want you to tape your next class. When is it?"
        "Tomorrow morning. Do you have a tape recorder I can use, because I don't have one," he said.
        "Oh, yeah. Rick and I each have one, and you can use mine or his. His is actually better than mine, so use his. Tomorrow night, you and I are going to sit down together and listen to that tape. I'm going to teach you how to take notes. We'll do that three or four times, or however many times it takes for you to catch on, okay?"
        "Kevin, that's nice of you, man," he said.
        "It's not nice of me. It's what a father does for his son, if he needs it. You are my son, you know?"
        "I love hearing you say that, Kev," he said, smiling happily.
        "I'm wondering if some of the others might not need the same thing," I said.
        I took very detailed notes in school and in the meetings I had to attend for work, and I was pretty sure I could teach Jus, and anybody else who might be interested, how to do it.
        I told the others about my plan for Justin and invited them to sit in, too.
        "Hell, I've been needing this all my life," Kyle said. "The only notes I ever write in class are the ones I pass to other people."
        We all laughed.
        "Do you fold them up into those tight little squares before you pass them," Rick asked.
        "Absolutely," he said. "I've been known to flick one of those over four rows of desks and have it land right on the desk of the person who was supposed to get it."
        Everybody laughed hard at that. I could just picture his hyperactive ass in a classroom, trying to find something to amuse himself. Kyle had incredible powers of concentration if something interested him, like planning a party or a trip, but if it didn't interest him, no way was he going to pay attention. At least not without enormous effort on his part.
        "I want to do it," Tim said. "I think I take pretty good notes in class, but I want to get better."
        "Me, too," Brian said.
        "I need that badly," Alex said. "Can Cody come over for it, too?"
        "Sure," I said. "We'll get around the dining room table and practice taking notes."
        "I'll do the snacks," Kyle said, in that deep voice of his.
        "What about you, Denny," I asked.
        "I'll be there. Can Chip come, too?"
        "Yeah, Chip can come, too," I said. "But let's limit it to that, okay?"
* * *
        The next night everybody gathered around our dining room table. It was a cute group, and they all had notebooks and pens, ready to learn. Gene was a member of the School Advisory Council for Beachside, and he had roped me into getting on it, too. I had only attended one meeting thus far, but I thought I might mention what was going on that night at our next meeting. Obviously, Beachside wasn't responsible for Justin or Alex, but they were responsible for the rest of them. Why didn't they do this kind of thing in school? Or maybe they did, and those guys let it go over their heads.
        We played the tape Justin had made that morning in his history class. We stopped the tape periodically for me to point out an important fact that they should have written down. I also told them how I would have written it. It took us two hours to get through the fifty-minute class Jus had taped, but I could see mental light bulbs blinking on around the table as they began to catch on to what we were doing. Tim and Brian were the first two to get it, but the others weren't far behind.
        "One more session like this on Wednesday night," I said, "and I think y'all will be all set. We'll see, though."
        Rick sat in there with us, and I was a little surprised at the good pointers he gave. I didn't think of Rick as the intellectual type, but he had been a very, very good student in college. I had to remind myself not to sell my husband short.
        "Kevin, this was great, man. Now I understand taking notes," Jus said when we finished. "Thank you so much."
        They all said "thanks," in one form or another.
        "This is a basic skill, guys, and you need to learn it now," I said.
        I have to admit, I did some research for that "class." I did a Google search for note taking, and it turned up a bunch of links. I taught them the Cornell Method of note taking. As best I could tell, there were no disadvantages to that system. And it really was just that. A system. It was a study method, too.
        I wasn't worried about any of them but Justin, and I was going to do everything I could to help him get through college. Any kid with as much pluck and determination as he had deserved all the help he could get. Besides, he was my son, and I loved him.
        
(Justin's Perspective)
        I started looking at college a whole lot different after Kevin taught us how to take notes, and how to study, too. I guess people pick that up in high school, but the ones in our house hadn't done it. Brian and Tim were just as excited about all of that as I was, and they were damn straight-A students. After the second night, I felt like I could take notes with the best of them, and I also had a method for how to study for tests.
        My English teacher liked the story I wrote the first night. She wrote a lot of stuff on my paper, shit like, "Well said!," "Good image!," and "Great conclusion!" She used a lot of !'s, and I needed to find out what that meant. I think that's called an explanation point, or something like that, and she must like 'em. I was going to have to use a lot of those, but only after I found out for sure what it meant.
        Everything was going really good for me, and then I got a fucking subpoena. Buel Jackson was going on trial in Alabama for first degree murder, and I was being called as a witness for the prosecution.
        "Kevin, I don't get it, man. I thought I had my trial already because of him when I met with those people in your office that time," I said.
        "No, that wasn't a trial. You gave a deposition, Bubba. They used that with the Grand Jury to seek an indictment for first degree murder. They got it, and now he's going to be on trial."
        "Why does this shit keep coming up, man? Why can't I just walk away from it?"
        "It's not that simple, Bubba. He has a right to a fair trial, and both sides can call witnesses. You're going to be a witness to help put his ass in jail for that murder. Maybe even put him on Death Row. The prosecution is going for the death penalty, and that's a pretty damn big thing. If he hadn't killed a cop, they probably would be going for life in prison. But the man he killed was a police officer."
        "Kevin, all that stuff about me and my past is going to come up. Only this time it's going to be in court, not in your office. I don't think I can do it, Kevin."
        I weighed my options, and I didn't have any. I could run away, disappear and move to another state where nobody knew me. But if I did that, I'd lose Brian and my family. I had some money in the bank from what I had been given and from what I had earned, but eventually I'd have to get a job. Then they'd be able to track me and locate me. It didn't look good that I would be able to get out of testifying.
        "Rick and I will be there with you, Justin. You know that," he said.
        "I'm going to need the others, too. Brian, Kyle, and Tim," I said. "Can they come, too?"
        "Absolutely, Bubba. They'll be there. Our whole family will be there, and a lot of our friends, too," I said.
        "Not anybody else, okay? I'm going to have to say stuff, probably, that's going to be real embarrassing to me. I don't want all my people knowing about that. Please don't do that," I said.
        "Would you have a problem if Craig and Cherie were there? They might be able to help."
        "No, I want them there," I said. "But that's all, okay?"
        "Justin, you have a family now, man, and your family will be there with you, at least in spirit. You won't face this alone, and you'll never face anything alone, for the rest of your life. Rick and I will never give up on you, Bubba, no matter what. And the rest of the family won't, either. You're in this thing for life, like it or not."
        I busted up crying when he said that. I loved them so much I couldn't even say how much.
        "But what I did was so bad, Kevin. It was just so awful," I said.
        "What he made you do was bad. All you did was survive, son. That's all. You had to stay alive so you could come to us. That's all you ever did, Jus."
        "I know, but sometimes I enjoyed it, Kevin. Don't you understand? I liked it, sometimes."
        "I know, Jus. We've been through this before. Sex feels good, whether you want it to or not. It's an automatic physical response. You don't have any control over that. Please don't feel guilty about that. It was out of your control," Kevin said.
        "I just hope those people I'm going to have to say it in front of feel that way, but I bet they won't," I said.
* * *
        I had two weeks to sweat out before I was supposed to testify. They told me it would only take a day, two days at the most, but that might as well be two years. It was on my mind day and night, and I started having trouble sleeping. I got moody, too, and I knew that wasn't fair to Brian and the others.
        "I talked to my brother again today about the trial, and he and Cherie are coming here this weekend to work with you on your testimony," Kevin said near the end of the two weeks.
        "What do you mean," I asked.
        "It's going to be like a rehearsal," he said. "Craig said lawyers do that with clients all the time to get them to feel comfortable with the trial environment and especially with the questions they're likely to ask you."
        "How do they know what questions they're going to ask me," I asked.
        "They don't know the exact questions, but they know the kinds of questions they'll ask," he said. "They'll be able to tell you how much you have to say and what you don't have to say."
        "Why are they doing this," I asked.
        "They're doing it because they love you, Justin. Get that through your thick skull. You are not in this alone. You have a family, and this family happens to have resources a lot of families don't have. Let's use 'em, Bubba," Kevin said.
* * *
        They got here on Friday afternoon. The last time they had been to Emerald Beach was for my birthday party, and that was a happy time. This time nobody was in a party mood, not even Kyle. He made a real nice dinner for us that night, though, and afterwards we talked about what was going to happen that weekend.
        "Justin, we're going to interview you. We're not going to coach you or tell you what to say, okay? We can't do that. I'm going to act as the prosecutor and Cherie's going to be the defense attorney, okay," Craig said. "I called the prosecutor and spoke with him for almost two hours. We're actually doing his job for him by working with you, but he said their funding won't allow them to do this kind of witness work out of state."
        "Okay," I said. I wasn't real clear on just what that meant, though.
        "That means you work for me, so to speak. I called you, as the prosecutor, and you're on the side of the state of Alabama in this trial. Remember, it's the state against Jackson. It's not you against him or even the murdered policeman against him. It's the state," Craig said.
        "Here's what we think is going to happen with you, Jus," Cherie said. "You're going to testify that Jackson told you he killed the cop and that he made you bathe the blood off him, right?"
        "Right," I said.
        "We think the defense is going to try to discredit you by showing that you have a grudge against Jackson because of the things he did to you and made you do," she said.
        "I don't get it," I said.
        "Remember what the defense is trying to do. The jury has to be convinced beyond a shadow of a doubt that he's guilty in order to convict him. They're going to try to use you to try to raise that shadow of a doubt. You and others, too, probably. They want the jury to think that you may be lying, or just exaggerating even, because you have so much to hold against Jackson," she said. "Do you see what I mean?"
        "Yes," I said quietly.
        It was coming clear to me. I was going to have to answer questions about all the stuff he did to me and made me do to make the case that I had reason to hate him. It was going to be bad.
        "Now, baby, one thing Craig and I want you to understand is we're here because we love you and we're on your side," Cherie said. "I'm going to have to ask you some very hard questions, but we want you to know what to expect, okay? I don't give a fuck what you did before you came here, and neither does Craig or anybody else here. You're our brother, and that's all that matters to us. So if it seems like I'm being mean, remember I'm just doing it so you'll know what might be coming. We'll help you figure out how to answer the questions with the greatest amount of dignity and without withholding the truth."
        "I don't think I deserve having to testify," I said.
        "Of course you don't deserve that," Cherie said. "Nobody but Jackson does, baby, but, unfortunately, it's something you have to deal with. We're going to help make it as easy to deal with as possible."
        "What about stuff I did that was illegal," I asked.
        "Like what," Craig asked.
        "Drugs. I used them, and I sold them, too," I said.
        "Yes, but that was in the context of slavery, remember? You don't have anything to worry about in that regard, Jus," Cherie said.
        "Did you ever sell drugs on your own," Craig asked. "I mean apart from what Jackson made you do?"
        "No. Never," I said. "If I didn't do it, he would have beaten the shit out of me."
        "Exactly, Jus. That was the point I was making. You did it to survive. We already have proof that you were physically brutalized. A lot of proof. And remember, you're not the one on trial. Jackson is," Cherie said.
        "That isn't what it feels like," I said.
        "I know, baby," she said. "Be strong."
        "You have to take the stand first thing Monday morning, right," Craig asked.
        "Right. We're driving to Birmingham on Sunday," Kevin said.
        "When are we going to get started preparing," I asked.
        "Let's wait until tomorrow morning," Cherie said. "Jus, I can't emphasize this too much. We're here to help you, not to hurt you. We love you, Bubba."
        I knew she was telling the truth. Those were good people, and I trusted them.
        Brian, Kyle, and Tim came into the den right about then, and Kyle asked if anybody wanted a drink.
        "I never say no to a drink," Craig said.
        "Coke or Diet Coke," Kyle asked, just to tease him.
        "Very funny," Craig said, grinning at Kyle. "You know what I want."
        "The usual for everybody," Kyle asked.
        We all said "yeah," and Kyle got Rick to go out to the kitchen to help him.
        "Tell us about school, guys," Cherie said.
        They all told funny stories about things that had happened at school, and gradually I started to relax. Alex was out with Cody, and Denny was spending the night with Chip. Those two were getting to be good friends, and I was glad. It was only, like, three weeks into the school year, and I thought I could tell that Chip had grown some. We had had a pool party the weekend before for Labor Day, and it looked to me like ole Chip was starting to get a little fuzzy down below. I hoped so, anyhow.
        What started out to be hell got pretty good as the night moved on. Cherie and Craig were fun to be around. I was a lot more quiet than I usually am, but I laughed and joked some with them. It wasn't easy having to do what we were doing about the trial and all, but I couldn't imagine what it would be like without them.
* * *
        We started working the next day around nine. I won't say it was fun because it wasn't. Craig treated me pretty friendly, but Cherie wasn't friendly one damn bit. She told me ahead of time that was the way it was going to be, and I'm sure glad she said that. It would have hurt my feelings if she had acted that way without that heads-up.
        We took a "recess" for lunch around noon.
        "How's it going, Buddy," Brian asked. He was trying to be extra sweet to me, and I appreciated that. They all were, though, really.
        Before I could answer, Cherie said, "Your guy's a champion, Bri. You should be extremely proud of him."
        That made me feel good, and it made Brian smile big.
        "I appreciate what you're doing, Cherie. If I was hit with some of those questions cold in a court room, I'd be paralyzed," I said.
        "You're doing extremely well, Jus. Have you ever thought about becoming a lawyer," she asked.
        I didn't say anything.
        "I'm serious, Jus. You think like a lawyer, and that's going to make the defense counsel's job much harder. By the time we finish with you, you're going to be able to try that case just as well as the district attorney can," she said.
        "Cherie's right, Justin. If I were the prosecutor, I'd want you on my side, that's for sure," Craig said.
        "It sounds like this whole practice thing is worthwhile," Rick said.
        "Craig and Cherie, how do y'all know so much about what happened," I asked.
        "I called the DA the day I first talked to Kevin about this, and he sent me all of the important depositions and other documents he's using. Cherie and I have been preparing for this for two weeks," Craig said.
        "You have," I asked.
        "Yeah. It's been fun, too," Craig said. "We don't ever do any criminal work, but we both like it. This has turned into our hobby, sort of."
        "Well, you both seem real good at it," I said.
        "Thanks," they both replied.
* * *
        The afternoon went about like the morning had, only I felt more relaxed and less worried and nervous about what was going on, especially after Doc brought me some medicine. We had pretty much covered everything in the morning, and that afternoon we just more or less went back over it. There were two or three points that they wanted to dig into a little, but that was it.
        By the time we finished, I didn't feel good about having to testify, but I sure felt better about it than I had. I knew Cherie had been hard on me, but I was glad she had been. I was ten times more ready, and ten times less scared, than I had been when we started.
        We all went to Mass together, and then we all went out to eat, just like we usually did. Kyle wanted to go to a movie, so the four of us took off right from the restaurant. Craig and Cherie were going to stay at our house and drive to Birmingham with us on Sunday.
        
(Kevin's Perspective)
        "I'm really pleased with what we accomplished with Jus," Cherie said, once we were home in our den with drinks Rick had made.
        "I'm so glad," I said. "I talked briefly with Justin, and he said he felt much better about everything. I really owe you big time on this one, big brother and big sister. There's no way we could ever repay you for what you've done."
        "Well, er, actually there might be," Craig said.
        "How much," I asked. I didn't think they intended to charge us for their services, but you never know for sure.
        "Oh, don't be silly. We're not talking about money, Kev, and if you say 'no' to what we're going to ask you, we'll understand," Cherie said.
        "What is it," I asked.
        "You know about our infertility problem, of course," Craig began.
        "Yeah. Any new developments there," I asked.
        "No, unfortunately. We've looked into adoption, but it's going to be years before we move to the head of any list that will provide the kind of child we're interested in," he said.
        "We've looked into artificial insemination, and I'm a very good candidate for that," Cherie said.
        "Are you okay with that," I asked Craig.
        "Yeah, I'm very cool with that. We got to thinking, Why rely on some random stranger to donate sperm? Why not see if some close relative would be willing to do it?"
        "Somebody like your brother," Rick asked.
        "Exactly," Craig said.
        I was weak. I had never expected that in a million years.
        "Let's hear more," I said.
        "It's pretty simple, actually. All you would have to do is jerk off into a beaker, and the doctor would take care of the rest," Craig said.
        "Isn't there a more clinical way to put that," Cherie asked her husband.
        We all laughed.
        "Seriously, Kev. That would be it for you, man. The procedure with Cherie would take place in New Orleans, of course, but you could actually donate the sperm here," Craig said.
        "Craig, you know I'll do anything I can for you, Bubba, but . . . "
        "But how will I feel about it?"
        "Yeah, exactly. And Mom and Dad? And you, Rick?"
        "We've thought about this a lot, Kev, and Cherie and I, and Mom and Dad, all think it's a wonderful idea," Craig said. "I mean, genetically I'm closer to you than to anybody on earth. We look quite a bit alike, so the odds are really good that the baby will favor me, if he or she favors you. Or it could favor Cherie, of course. Either way it's a win-win situation, don't you think?"
        "How do you feel about it, Babe," I asked Rick.
        "Kevin, I actually thought about it when I first heard about the infertility problem," he said. "I've had a few months to mull it over, not knowing, of course, if they'd even ask. I think you owe this to your brother."
        "God, this is pretty exciting," I said. "What if it turns out Cherie is as allergic to me as she is to you?"
        "That's a possibility, but apparently it's very unlikely," Craig said. "They'd test your semen first, of course, but evidently there isn't much chance of that happening. Even if we were identical twins the odds would be against it. Just slightly, but the odds would still favor artificial insemination."
        "Are there any legal implications," I asked.
        "Not really. You would have to sign a waiver of parental rights, just like you would if you donated to a sperm bank, but that's really all there is to it," he said. "And, of course, we'd insist that you both be the baby's Godfathers and that you agree to raise him or her in the event of our deaths. But we'd insist on that even if we adopted."
        "I've heard of people doing this at home, using a turkey basting tube or something," I said. "Isn't that how the woman got pregnant on Queer as Folk?"
        "Yeah," Cherie said, "but that's only for intra-cervical insemination. These days they do intra-uterine insemination, and for that the sperm has to be washed."
        "Washed," I asked.
        "Yeah. Semen consists of live sperm, dead sperm, and junk, debris, as it were. They 'wash' the sperm by using a centrifuge to separate out the freshest, most lively sperm from all the other stuff. Then they just inject the very best sperm directly into the uterus. There's a much higher chance of success with that method," Cherie said.
        "It sounds like you've done your homework about all of this," Rick said.
        "Oh, yeah," she said. "They may have to do it several times before I get pregnant. On the other hand, it could happen the very first time."
        "I'll do it," I said. "And guys, I don't think there is anything in this world you could do that would be a bigger honor."
        "Thank you, Kevin. Thank you so much." She hugged me and kissed me, and Craig did the same.
        "We're going to keep quiet about this," Cherie said.
        "Oh, and we will, too," I said. Rick indicated he would, as well.
        "When do we do it," I asked.
        "We'll have to find a lab here that is capable of processing your sperm. You'll provide the sample, they'll freeze it, and they'll send it to my doctor in New Orleans," Cherie said. "Chances are it will be a veterinary lab, or even a veterinarian who does it. They know about such things because it's so common among animals."
        "Trixie has an appointment with the vet next week," Rick said. "We'll both take her."
        "I can take her, Babe," I said. "We both don't have to go."
        "Not on your life, Babe. I may not be able to participate in this the way you and Cherie will, but I damn sure know how to get you to produce the sample you need," Rick said.
        All of us laughed hysterically.
        
(Brian's Perspective)
        I never let him see me cry, but I cried a lot over that business of Justin having to testify in that trial. He is such a good boy, so kind and so ready to make us have fun. I just hated what thinking about that trial was doing to him.
        "Tim, I don't know what's wrong with Justin and me," I said one day.
        "There's nothing wrong with the two of you," Tim said. "It's that trial, Bri. Justin still loves you. You know that."
        "I do know that, but he's been real moody and real angry lately. This morning he snapped at me, and then two minutes later he was crying, saying he was sorry. Tim, that's not him," I said.
        "No, it's not him. You know that, and all of us know that. He's under a lot of stress right now. He thinks he's going to be on trial when he has to testify, and it's tearing him up. It's obvious Justin loves you, Bri. You just have to put up with this for a few days. He'll be his old self again real soon."
        Tim was the closest friend I'd ever had in my whole life, and I knew that what he was saying was true. But it really hurts bad when somebody you love is having a hard time like Justin was having and you can't do anything about it.
        The main thing that worried me was his lack of interest in sex. Justin was the one who usually started sex, and he just didn't do that during those two weeks before the trial. One night about halfway through that time, I decided to take the lead, thinking that's what he wanted me to do. We were in bed that night, and I put my hand on his chest. That's what he always did to get us started. Then I kissed him. He kissed me back, and we got into kissing pretty heavy. I was as hard as I always was, and he got hard, too. He gave me some oral love, which was something he usually did, and I expected him to stop so we could move on to other things, as we usually did. He didn't, though, and he brought me off that way.
        Then I wanted to do the same to him, but his erection was gone.
        "Did you come," I asked him. That happened every once in a while.
        "No. It just went soft," he said.
        "Let me help you out," I said, and I took his penis into my mouth.
        He always says I give good head, and I tried even harder than usual to please him. I kept doing it for a long time, but he never got hard.
        "I don't think it wants to cooperate, Little Buddy," he finally said.
        "I'm trying my best, Jus," I said. I felt like a failure.
        "I know you are, Brian. It's me, not you, baby," he said. "Let me hold you."
        He took me in his arms and held me softly and gently. I got hard again, but I didn't say or do anything about it.
        After that, we didn't try anything until nighttime of the day Craig and Cherie worked with him about the trial. That night we went to a movie after church, and, when we got home, my man was ready. I'm not going to say we made up that night for all the days we had missed, but we came close.
        "Brian, I know I've been hard to live with these last two weeks, but that's over now. Thank you for putting up with me. I love you so much, and I feel ashamed about the way I treated you," he said.
        "Don't feel ashamed. I knew you were stressed and depressed. I'm going to be here during times like that, just like I'm going to be here when everything is going great," I said. "I love you, Justin."
        He started crying softly. That was another thing he did a lot of during those two weeks, but that night the crying was different. He wasn't sad; he was just emotional.
        "I love you, too, Brian. Thank you for loving me," he said.
        That melted my heart, and we cried ourselves to sleep. Happy tears, though, for a change.
        
(Kyle's Perspective)
        God, Almighty! When my brother Justin Davis got that notice he had to go to court in Alabama, he just about freaked out. We went through two weeks of hell with him. Most of the time he was okay, but then he would say something really mean to me or Brian, and it hurt. And then he would cry his eyes out apologizing for what he had said.
        He picked on petty shit, too. One time he got onto Brian for looking at him in the shower. Jesus Christ! They had been lovers for almost a year, and Justin got mad because Brian looked at him naked!? I could tell Brian was confused by that. Hell, we all were.
        Then Craig and Cherie came and spent a whole day with him at the dining room table. When they came out for lunch, I could tell right away that things were better, but he was far from normal. I called him outside after we had finished eating. He lit up a smoke and gave me one, too.
        "You feeling better," I asked.
        He busted up crying when I asked him that. He was pure sobbing.
        "What's the matter, Jus? Man, I don't understand this," I said.
        "I know. I don't, either. I'm so sorry, Kyle," he said.
        I put my arm around his shoulder. I knew he needed something, but I didn't know what it was. Jesus, help me out here, please, I thought. It was kind of like a prayer because I really did need help.
        "I know I've acted shitty since I found out about the trial, and I'm sorry," he said.
        "Are you feeling better about it now? You seem to be," I said.
        "I'm feeling a little better. Kyle, I don't know what I would do without all of you," he said. "Y'all just keep saving my ass, time after time, don't you?"
        "We're just all suckers for a cute ass that needs saving, is all," I said.
        He laughed a little for the first time in two weeks, I think.
        "You really do love me, don't you? All of you, I mean," he said.
        "Yes, we do, Bubba. We really do love you," I said. And we really do hate the motherfucker who's making you have to go through all of this, I thought.
        He started crying all over again. Suddenly it dawned on me what the fuck was going on with him. He was acting just like Jeff had acted at Thanksgiving and Christmas because of Clay. Justin had the same kind of depression Jeff had had, and he needed some of those pills Grandma Foley had given Jeff.
        "I need to go make a phone call," I said. "I'll be right back."
        "I need to get back in there with Craig and Cherie, too," he said. "Thank you for saving me, Kyle." The waterworks got worse.
        "Go on in the clubhouse and wash your face. I'm on your case, Bubba," I said.
        I went up to our room, and I called Grandma.
        "Grandma, this is Kyle," I said, after she answered the phone.
        "Kyle! What a wonderful surprise! How are you, baby?"
        "I'm fine, Grandma, but Justin isn't. I think he's got the same damn thing that Jeff had," I said.
        "What are you talking about, baby," she asked. That voice switched quick from sugar and pie to "I'm a doctor, and you tell me right now what's going on."
        "You know about the big trial, don't you?"
        "Of course, son. Is Justin depressed? Is he crying all the time? Unusually irritable? Problems with sleep? Listless?"
        "All of the above, Grandma. And bad anger, too."
        "Jesus, Kyle! Of course! He's depressed and anxious. He has every reason to be. I should have predicted it and done something about it," she said. "What's George Murphy's number?"
        I rattled it off for her.
        "Why do you want to talk to Doc," I asked.
        "Because he is a doc, that's why. And he has a prescription pad. I can't call in a prescription to a pharmacy in Florida, but he can, Kyle. Let's get off the phone now so I can call George," she said.
        "Are you and Doc going to be able to help Jus," I asked.
        "You bet your sweet little ass we are," she said.
        I laughed, and she laughed, too.
        "Say goodbye, and hang up now, Kyle. And thanks for being so observant. I'm going to chew out my thick-headed sons about this, but not until after we get my precious Justin taken care of. Goodbye, Kyle. And thanks."
        "'Bye, Grandma," I said, and we hung up.
        I went back downstairs. I was still working on pictures from Montana, so that's what I did. In about thirty minutes, Doc was at the house with two bottles of pills. He rang the doorbell, and Trixie made a racket. Brian was working hard with her to make her stop doing that every time the doorbell rang. He had finally gotten her under control for when the phone rang, but nobody used the doorbell all that much, so it was taking longer.
        "Hi, George," Kevin said, when he answered the door.
        "Hi, Kev. I see I stirred Trixie up," Doc said.
        "Yeah. Why didn't you just come right in without ringing the bell?"
        "Kevin, it's a lifetime habit I can't break, it seems. I just got off the phone with your mother, and I'm here to deliver medication for Justin. Beth and I had a medical consult over the phone," he said.
        The door to the study was open, and I heard every word they said. I went out into the den.
        "Hi, Doc," I said.
        "Hi, Kyle. Thanks for calling Beth," he said.
        He actually kissed me on the forehead. How cool was that!?
        "Did you bring Justin some happy pills," I asked.
        "Yes. Samples, but they're just as good as you could get in a drug store. Where is he," Doc asked.
        "They're working in the dining room," Kevin said. "Let me go get him."
        Kevin disappeared for a second and came back with Justin, Craig, and Cherie. They all did the big "hello" routine with Doc.
        "Jus, I've brought you some medication that will help you get through all of this," Doc said. "Beth Foley called me because Kyle called her. We talked for a while, and we both agreed you need to take it."
        "Medicine? I'm not sick, Doc, and I damn sure don't have a tooth ache," Jus said.
        "I know you don't have a tooth ache, Jus. This is the same stuff Jeff took for depression and anxiety last Christmas. It will help," he said.
        Doc told Jus how many pills to take and how often to take them, and I was Johnny-on-the-spot with a glass of water for him to take them with. He took the medicine without asking any more questions.
        "Thanks, Doc," Jus said.
        "Yes, thank you, George," Cherie said. "Why didn't we think of that," she asked Craig.
        Craig just shrugged.
        "Well, this isn't really a social call, and I need to get going. Justin, take those pills the way I said to take them, you hear? We love you, son, and we don't want you to hurt," Doc said.
        "Yes, sir. Thank you," Jus said.
        "Thank Kyle, not me," Doc said.
        "Thanks, Bubba," he said. "You're a sucker for a crybaby, ain't you?"
        "Kevin always says this family has resources other families don't have. I believe in using them," I said.
        "Is that your motto, Bubba," he asked, grinning big at me.
        "Yeah, that's my motto."
        
Chapter 03
        
(Kevin's Perspective)
        After George brought over that medicine for Jus, I felt like shit because I hadn't noticed what he was going through. We could have gotten him those prescriptions two weeks earlier and spared him a lot of pain and suffering. Thank God Kyle finally figured out what was going on. Just like with Jeff, it was a matter of an hour or two before he was feeling better. I promised myself I would get better at noticing in the future when one of the boys needed that kind of intervention. Our boys should be able to depend on us for that kind of help, but I definitely dropped the ball that time.
        I think Rick and I were basically good parents to the guys, but we missed stuff that we shouldn't have missed. Ironically, it always seemed to be Justin that we slipped up on, and, even more ironically, it seemed that Kyle always picked up on what he needed. I was still embarrassed that we let his clothes get into such bad shape that spring, and we would have done it again, as far as school clothes were concerned, if Kyle hadn't said something about it.
        We loaded up the cars Sunday morning to drive to Birmingham for the trial.
        "How do you feel, Jus," I asked, after we had taken off.
        "I feel very good, after the workout with Craig and Cherie and the happy pills I took," he said.
        "Good, Bubba," I said. "Kyle, thank you for thinking of that medicine."
        "No problem," Kyle said. "I'm just sorry I didn't figure it out earlier."
        "Me, too," Justin said.
        "Are you mad at me," Kyle asked.
        "Mad at you? Why the hell would I be mad at you," Jus asked.
        "'Cause I didn't call Grandma quicker, that's why," Kyle said.
        "At least you called her. Nobody else did, including me. I should have picked up on it, too, you know?"
        "Yeah, but you were a sick little puppy," Kyle said.
        "Kyle, don't make me have to get him to stop this car so I can get out and whip your ass," Jus said.
        "Yeah? You and who else?"
        Got You Last was revving up, and, God, it felt good. It had been a long time.
        "Me and Brian, that's who. Us against you and Tim," he said.
        "You're out of practice, Bubba. You ain't going anywhere with that shit, and you know it," Kyle said.
        "I know. It's pretty lame, isn't it?"
        "It's very lame, Justin. But, then again, you're sick. You can't help yourself. You're not thinking straight, not that you ever would," Kyle said.
        "Oh, I think you got me last on that one, Bubba," Jus said.
        "That was cheap, though. I can always get you on that," Kyle said.
        "I'm quitting for now, Kyle. I just feel too good toward you right now to carry on like that," Jus said.
        "I know. We might be getting a little bit old for Got You Last, too. Don't you think?"
        "Never, Kyle. Never."
        The drive to Birmingham took us about seven hours, and we alternated at the wheel. Everybody could drive, even Brian with his learner's permit, and taking turns made it easy on all of us. We stayed at a nice hotel of one of the brands that we had, and we had a nice dinner Sunday night in a very good restaurant about a block from where we were staying.
        "Are you all set for tomorrow, Jus," Cherie asked.
        "Yes, ma'am," Jus said, "thanks to you and Craig."
        "Try to stay relaxed tomorrow," she said.
        "I will. I'm supposed to take a double helping of that one medicine tomorrow morning, so I should be in good shape," he said.
* * *
        "All rise," the bailiff said. We all stood up.
        "Court is now is session. The Honorable Julia Dukes presiding."
        Justin was wearing his navy blue suit, a white dress shirt, and a beautiful red and blue tie. His hair was combed in a conventional style, and he really looked good. Handsome, even. He had smoked four cigarettes already that morning, which were three more than he ever had that early in the day. He was nervous, of course, but not so nervous that he wasn't in control.
        They called him to the stand.
        "State your name and place of residence," the bailiff said, after he was sworn in.
        "Justin Davis, 12345 North Lagoon Drive, Emerald Beach, Florida."
        "Mr. Davis, may I call you Justin," the prosecutor asked.
        "Yes, sir."
        "Justin, how old are you?"
        "Eighteen," Jus said.
        "How old were you when you first met Buel Jackson?"
        "Nine, I think. As best I remember," Jus said.
        "And how did you meet him?"
        "He was my mother's boyfriend."
        "And did you live with Mr. Jackson?"
        "Yes, sir."
        "In his trailer?"
        "Yes, sir," Jus said.
        Through a series of similar questions, the prosecutor established the facts of Justin's connection with Jackson.
        "Tell us what happened on the night of June 10th of last year, as best you remember it, Justin," the prosecutor said.
        "I was at home when Buel came home. It was about six o'clock at night. He was covered with blood when he came in. It was all over him and his clothes. He told me to get a pan of warm water and some soap and a wash rag to clean him up. He took his clothes off and dropped them on the floor. Then he laid down on the bed, and I washed off the blood, as best I could."
        "What happened next?"
        "He told me to go out to the car and get some fresh clothes for both of us. He also told me to throw away his bloody clothes," Jus said.
        "How were you dressed at the time, son?"
        "I wasn't. I was naked," he said.
        "Did Buel Jackson tell you anything while you were washing him? Anything that is relevant to this case?"
        "Yes, sir. He said that the guy he had gone to meet had gotten in his face but he wasn't going to be getting into anybody else's face ever again. He said the other man needed killing," Jus said.
        "How did you interpret what he said?"
        "Objection," the defense lawyer said. "That calls for speculation on the witness' part."
        "Overruled. Mr. Davis was in a unique position to know what Mr. Jackson meant by his words. I'll allow the question," the judge said.
        "Answer the question, son," the prosecutor said.
        "I thought he meant he had killed the man, and it was his blood I was washing off him," Jus said.
        "What happened next, Justin?"
        "We got in the car and drove to Florida. We checked into a motel, and Buel left. That was the last I saw of him until this morning."
        "No further questions, Your Honor," the prosecutor said.
        "Let's take a fifteen-minute recess," the judge said.
* * *
        "Damn, you did good, Bubba," Kyle said. We had all gone outside so the smokers could smoke.
        "You did very well, Jus," Cherie said. "How do you feel?"
        "I feel good. I don't really feel nervous anymore," Jus said.
        "The prosecutor loved your ass, Jus," Craig said.
        "He didn't ask me anything about slavery or sex or any of that," Jus said.
        "No, but it's coming, baby. Hang in there, you hear. You are not on trial. Jackson is. You did nothing wrong. All you did was survive," Cherie said.
        "I've been thinking about that, Cherie, and you're right. That is what I did. I just did what I had to do to hang in there," he said.
        Rick had bought cokes for those who wanted them. We finished our drinks and went back in.
* * *
        "Mr. Davis, what, precisely, was the nature of your relationship with Mr. Jackson," the defense attorney asked.
        "I'm not sure what you want," Jus said.
        "What was the nature of your relationship?"
        "Objection. The question is vague, and the witness obviously doesn't understand it any better than I do, Your Honor."
        "Sustained."
        "Okay. Let's see . . . Mr. Davis, did you like Mr. Jackson?"
        "No, ma'am."
        "Did Mr. Jackson support you?"
        "Yes, ma'am, but I worked, too," Jus said.
        "What was the nature of the work you did?"
        "I was an escort," Jus said.
        "An escort? Explain, please."
        "Objection."
        "Overruled."
        "Answer the question, Mr. Davis," the lawyer said.
        "People would pay money to spend time with me," Jus said.
        "Were these people men or women," she asked.
        "Men."
        "What did you do with these men who paid money to spend time with you?"
        "It varied," Jus said.
        "Did you have sex with any of these men," she asked.
        "Yes."
        "Every time?"
        "Objection, Your Honor. The question is vague."
        "Sustained."
        "Alright. Did you have an orgasm every time you escorted a man?"
        "No, ma'am."
        "Did the men have an orgasm every time?"
        "I don't remember every time," Jus said.
        "Okay. Did the men usually have an orgasm when you escorted them?"
        "Some did."
        "Did you do it willingly?"
        "Objection, Your Honor. This line of questioning is irrelevant to the case at hand. It in no way addresses the issue of whether Buel Jackson murdered Officer Holmes," the prosecutor said.
        "Yes!" Cherie whispered.
        "Sustained. Ms. Baker, unless you can show direct relevance, I'll have to ask you to change your line of questioning."
        "I have no further questions, Your Honor," Ms. Baker said. Frustration was written all over her face.
        "Thank you, Mr. Davis. You are dismissed," the judge said.
        We were out of that court room in thirty seconds.
        "Oh, my God," Cherie said. "Justin, you were fabulous!"
        Brian kissed Jus, and the two of them were laughing. It was obvious they were very relieved.
        "Let's go get some lunch," Kyle said.
* * *
        "I did some hunting around on the Internet to see what all is here," Kyle said. "I've got a list of things to do, if anybody is interested."
        "Yeah? Like what," Rick asked.
        "The Birmingham Civil Rights Institute. It's a museum all about the civil rights movement in the 1950's and the 1960's. The Web site said that if parents don't take their children to see it, the parents are guilty of child abuse," Kyle said.
        Everybody laughed.
        "I saw that site, too, and it said gay boys were required by law to visit it," Jus said.
        "I've actually heard of that place," Cherie said. "I'd like to see it. I've heard it's wonderfully comprehensive."
        "Then there's the McWane Center. It's mostly for little kids, but it's a science museum. They have an IMax Theater with a movie about dinosaurs that's not to be missed. That would only take about an hour or so," Kyle said.
        "Do you all remember the dinosaurs at the Natural History Museum in New York," Tim asked. "They were incredible, and we learned so much, didn't we, Brian?"
        "I learned more in three hours in that place than I learn in three weeks in school, that's for sure," Brian said.
        "You know where this is going, don't you," Rick asked me.
        I started laughing because I knew exactly what was going on.
        "I don't suppose you guys would be willing to stay over and go home on Wednesday, would you," I asked.
        "I don't know, Kevin," Kyle said. "You know how I hate to miss school."
        Rick and I burst out laughing.
        "If we're staying, I wouldn't mind going to the International Motorsports Hall of Fame, and I'd love to see the Mercedes-Benz factory and museum. It's the only one outside of Germany," Kyle said.
        "Can we do all of that today and tomorrow," I asked.
        "Hell, yeah, Kevin. See, this place has got good museums, the kind boys like to go to," Kyle said.
        "Are you suggesting New Orleans doesn't have good museums," Craig asked.
        "You tell me," Kyle said.
        We all laughed.
        "We just haven't been to the guy-friendly ones in New Orleans, yet," Craig said. "But we will. I guarantee." He said that last word with a Cajun accent.
        "Did y'all bring enough clothes for an extra day," I asked.
        "Don't worry about that," Kyle said. "We can get two days out of most things. If not, we can buy souvenir tee shirts and wear them. Besides, whenever I go anywhere, I always pack enough underwear and socks for an extra day."
        "I've started doing that, too, ever since you told me that, Kyle," Tim said.
        Justin and Brian said they did, too.
        "You set this up, didn't you, you little stinker," I said to Kyle.
        "Who? Me?"
        "Yes, you. What else is on your list," I asked.
        "How about the Alabama Wildlife Rehabilitation Center? They have a self-guided walking tour where you can see animals in their natural habitats that they can't release into the wild. It sounds sort of like a zoo, but different. More wild," he said.
        "That sounds pretty cool," Brian said. "I'm pretty sure we could learn a lot there."
        "Yeah, we could. Oh, and for Justin, there's the Karl C. Harrison Museum of George Washington. He's taking American history in college, Cherie, and we're trying to help him out however we can," Kyle said.
        "That trip to Boston this summer did me a world of good. Now I need to get myself up to Philadelphia and Washington, DC. That's the only way to get anything out of a history class. Go to the places where it all happened," Justin said.
        "You guys are such bullshit artists," Craig said.
        "I know, but we're cute, ain't we," Jus said.
        Craig laughed hard.
        "Let's don't forget about the Alabama Sports Hall of Fame. This state has given birth to some amazing athletes, and they're all right there, waiting for us. We could probably hit that this afternoon. It's right downtown here," Kyle said.
        "What I'm hearing is there's enough stuff to keep us here until the weekend," I said.
        "Kevin, I have to think you're right," Kyle said. "I think it would be a pure crime to come this far, for such a terrible reason, and not take advantage of being here."
        "Kyle, are you aware that you're talking like you're from Alabama," Rick asked.
        Kyle was completely taken aback for a second, but he recovered.
        "I know Rick, but the truth is, I am from Alabama. I know my birth certificate says I was born in Florida, and I know my parents think I've lived in Florida all my life. But you've discovered my secret, Rick. I'm really an Alabamian."
        Everybody laughed.
        "I don't know that we'd have you," Jus said.
        "What? Does Alabama have some kind of Immigration and Naturalization Service or something? Do you have to take a test to become a citizen of Alabama? Huh? Tell me!" Kyle said.
        Again, more laughter.
        "That's right, and it's me. So far, you ain't passing," Justin said.
        "Y'all finish your coffee so we can go," Rick said.
        
(Kyle's Perspective)
        I was damn sure glad I did my homework on the Internet before we went on that trip. The way I figured it, if Justin did real good at the trial, which he did, he would need a reward. If he did real bad, he would need something to cheer him up and get his mind off of it. It was a win-win for having some fun.
        Our first stop was the Birmingham Civil Rights Institute. The building was beautiful, and I got some pretty good shots of it. I wasn't allowed to take any pictures inside, which was a real shame because it was magnificent.
        We started off with a little movie about the Civil Rights Movement in general, and it damn sure touched my heart. I didn't cry, but I came very close. Tim and Brian and Cherie all did cry, though.
        The place was organized into different galleries, and it was practical stuff, not just paintings and photographs. For instance, they had two drinking fountains side by side, one marked "White Only" the other marked "Colored." The "White Only" one was a nice fountain that made cold water. The "Colored" one was just this old sink looking thing with no cold water. I mean, how could anybody ever think that was fair? There were two school rooms, one from a white school and one from a black school. The white school room had nice furniture, a nice board, nice lights. The black one had piece-of-shit desks and old beat-up stuff.
        "This is making me sad," Brian said.
        "I know, but this is the way it was, Bri," Rick said. "We can't ever let this happen again."
        "This wouldn't ever happen again," Tim said.
        "Don't tell black people that, Tim. After the Civil War, African Americans had full civil rights in this country, and gradually they got taken away from them. If we're not vigilant, it could happen again," Cherie said. "That's why places like this are so important. This place and Holocaust museums. They have to keep reminding us that it could happen again."
        "This is pretty intense," Justin said.
        "Are you okay, Bubba," I asked him.
        He had been through two hellacious weeks, and I didn't want him getting emotionally overloaded.
        "This is making me sick, Kyle. Look at those dogs going after those little kids. This shit is wrong, man," he said.
        "Yeah, it's wrong. That's why they have it here," I said.
        "I know."
        The photographs in that place were spectacular. It was like a wet dream for me, not that I've ever had one of those. It was like they got the best photographers in the world and said, "shoot 'em up." You could tell by what was in the picture that some of those people taking those photos were in danger, too. They got their shots, though.
        We spent two hours in that place, and I figured I could come back for that much time, at least, every day for a week.
        "I'm drained," Cherie said, when we stepped outside.
        "Me, too," Kevin said. "Let's get a cup of coffee or something."
        "A drink, more like it," Jus said.
        Justin pulled out his pack of smokes and lit up.
        "Gimme one," I said.
        I inhaled too deep the first time, and I coughed.
        "Pussy," Jus said.
        "Fuck you," I said, and we both laughed. Then I felt a little guilty for laughing after seeing all of that.
        We went to a Starbucks and loaded up on caffeine.
        "Kyle, that was an incredible experience," Kevin said. "Thank you for directing us to it."
        "Yeah, it was. These two fools cried their eyes out," I said, pointing to Tim and Brian.
        "Don't tell me you didn't cry. I know you too good for you to get away with that bullshit, Bubba," Jus said.
        "Yeah, I cried a couple of times," I said. "You did, too, though."
        "Lately, I cry whenever I hear the toilet flush," Jus said.
        We all laughed hard.
        "Yeah, but that's behind you now, Bubba. Forever," I said.
        "I hope so," he said.
* * *
        Our next stop was the Alabama Sports Hall of Fame. God Almighty!!! What a place!
        First off, the building was magnificent. It was right next door to the convention center downtown, and the exterior was some kind of white marble or something like that. It was just beautiful. I got me a good many pictures of that, to be sure.
        Inside, it was like the Who's Who of sports. All the people had some connection to Alabama, like they came from there or played there or something. The list of the ones I recognized by name was long.
        Bear Bryant, Hank Aaron, Joe Louis, Kenny Stabler, Shug Jordan, Joe Namath, Bart Starr, Jesse Owens, Satchel Paige, and Willie Mayes. I challenge anybody to put together a bunch better than that.
        The damn first three were football, baseball, and boxing! And Jesse Fucking Owens? Willie Mayes! As down as the Civil Rights place had made me, that place made me that high.
        "Justin, can you believe these people," I asked.
        "Of course. In Alabama, if you can't play sports, we put you to death."
        I laughed hard at him, and so did Cherie, who was standing right next to us.
        "Man, this is a major thing, right here, you know," I said.
        "I don't know who too many of these guys are, but I recognize a few names," he said.
        "You need to read some sports history," I said. "I have a book with biographies of sports greats. A lot of 'em are right here, Bubba. I'm telling you, man, this place is unbelievable."
        I sometimes get a little hyperactive. They've gotten on to me for that all my life. I'm really sorry I get on people's nerves, but I can't help it. I think I got pretty hyper in that place. I was very excited seeing all that stuff about those great athletes. I wasn't that good an athlete myself, but I sure knew and respected greatness when I saw it.
        "Let's go. The odor of testosterone is about to knock me out," Cherie said.
        Kevin, Rick, and Craig laughed.
        We had been there two hours, and I wanted to stay longer. This was the kind of museum I liked.
        "Let's go, guys," Kevin said.
        "That place was totally awesome," I said. "The number of world-class athletes from this state is amazing."
        "I know, Kyle. I had no idea Jesse Owens was born in Alabama. I thought he came from Ohio, but he was born in Danville, Alabama," Rick said.
        "I know. Go figure," I said.
        "They have their induction ceremony every February, and we've got to go to that one year. All the old inductees come home for it," Rick said.
        "Did you join," I asked.
        "Yes, sir," Rick said. "Did you?"
        "Yes, sir," I said. And he and I laughed. "Does Florida have a Sports Hall of Fame like that?"
        "I don't know, but we'll be finding that out as soon as we get to a computer," Rick said.
* * *
        We did one more thing that afternoon, and that was the dinosaur movie at the IMax.
        "Damn. Is that the screen," Justin asked, after we were seated.
        "Yeah. It's going to cover the whole thing. Have you never seen an IMax," I said.
        "No. I've never seen anything that you weren't with me to see."
        "Hold on to your hat, boy, 'cause you're going to see something you ain't never seen before," I said.
        It was a dinosaur movie about T-Rex. I had seen a few IMax movies before, including a couple in 3-D, but that one about the dinosaurs might have been the best one ever. It was totally spectacular.
* * *
        "So, do you guys agree with me that the museums here are a hell of a lot better than the ones in New Orleans and New York and Boston," I asked.
        "No question about it, Kyle," Jus said.
        "I've been to museums all over the world, and I'd put the ones here in Birmingham up against any I've ever been to," I said.
        "Kyle, the ones we went to were good, but they're not really world-class museums, except maybe the Civil Rights Institute. That's probably a word-class museum," Cherie said.
        "I liked that one a lot, Cherie, but I thought that sports museum was about the best one I've ever been to," I said. "And I think the International Motorsports one is going to be real good, too."
        "Kyle! Shut up and listen to me! You've been to the British Museum, the Victoria and Albert Museum in London, the Louvre, the Prado, the Vatican, and you think the ones here are better? What's wrong with you," Kevin said.
        I knew he was teasing me, and I grinned my ass off.
        "I guess I got too many friends in low places," I said. "Kevin, I know those ones you said are fine museums, just like those ones in New Orleans and New York and Boston. But that stuff they have in them doesn't interest me all that much, you know?"
        He ruffled my hair and pulled away a greasy hand.
        "I know, buddy," he said. "I'm just busting your balls."