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."
        "Did you know that a museum in Phoenix bought one of my pictures," I asked him.
        "Are you shitting me, Kyle?
        "No, I'm not. It was one of Brian, too," I said.
        "Jesus, Kyle! You're hung in a museum," he asked.
        "I'm hung everywhere I go, Kevin. You know that," I said.
        He laughed.
        "Kyle, a picture you took is in a fucking museum," he asked like he couldn't believe it.
        "Yeah. I reckon. I don't know where it is at this moment," I said. "I made a good bit on that one."
        "I think we've been taking your photography for granted, Kyle," he said.
        "Oh, yeah? So what are you going to change," I asked.
        "Nothing," he said.
        "That's what I thought," I said.
        He seemed to think that because a museum bought one of my pictures it was a big deal. I didn't think it was all that much. It was a picture of Brian playing with Trixie. It was a black and white, and it was cute. It was like the two of them were talking.
        After the IMax, we went back to our hotel. Craig and Cherie had decided to stay with us until we left to go home, and I was glad. We had never been anywhere with them before, and they were fun to be around.
        I bought a copy of the local paper in the lobby of the hotel, and we were looking through it when we went up to our room. I wanted to see what the entertainment section had in it.
        "Hey, check it out," I said. "Garth Brooks, in concert, a week from Saturday."
        "Damn, I wish we could go to that," Jus said. "That would be so awesome."
        "I know," I said. "We need to get out more, you know? This going to school bullshit is for the birds. It takes up all your damn time."
        "And work does, too," Jus said.
        "You guys are joking, right," Brian asked. "You have to go to school, and you have to work. That's just the way it is."
        "I know. I don't like it, though," I said.
        Tim put his arms around me.
        "You just want to have fun, don't you," he said, all cute and all.
        "Fun isn't all I like. You know that. I like pain and suffering just as much as the next guy," I said.
        They all laughed.
        "Gimme a kiss," Tim said, so I did.
        "Ain't that cute," Justin said.
        "You want one, too, Justin," I said. All four of us were being pretty playful.
        "Not from you," Jus said. Then he kissed Brian.
        "We're supposed to be getting ready to go eat," I said.
        "I know what I'd like to eat, but it ain't on the menu," Jus said.
        "What," Brian asked.
        "You, that's what," he said, and Brian sort of giggled.
        There was a knock on the door, and it was Craig and Cherie.
        "Are you guys ready," Craig asked.
        We had on our good clothes that we had worn to court that morning, and we needed to change into something more comfortable.
        "It'll take just another minute," I said. "We'll meet y'all in the lobby."
        We changed and joined them for dinner.
* * *
        The next day we went to the International Motorsports Hall of Fame and Museum in Talladega, which wasn't too far from Birmingham. It was awesome. Besides race cars, they had some race boats, and I think that was as good as the cars. They had some wrecked cars, too, and you just knew nobody walked away from them.
        We went on a van tour of the Talladega Superspeedway, too. That is the fastest and best race track in the world. They have seats for something like 142,000 people, which would be like every person who lives in Emerald Beach, almost. There weren't any races that day, though. If we had been there the weekend before, we could have seen Dale Earnhardt, Jr., race. I was going to have to make it back there for some races, I decided.
        We decided to skip the George Washington museum and to go, instead, to the American Village. That was pretty incredible. They had built replicas of Mount Vernon, which is the place where George Washington lived, the courthouse in colonial Williamsburg, the Oval Office of the President, and a bunch of other stuff. They had people in costumes doing things like they used to do them way back in history. And of course they talked to you and told you stuff about what they were doing.
        "This is much more educational than reading some book about this stuff," I said.
        "I know," Justin said. "I like doing this a lot better. All these kids here must be with their school."
        "They're on a fieldtrip," Brian said. "They're probably studying American history in school, and they brought them here so they could see what they've been studying about."
        "I wish we went on fieldtrips," I said.
        "Kyle, your whole damn life's a fieldtrip, Bubba," Rick said.
        "Very funny," I said, but he was right, sort of.
        After the American Village, we went to the Alabama Wildlife Rehabilitation Center. It was beautiful, but it wasn't as good as I thought it was going to be. We only spent about an hour there because it was closing time.
* * *
        On Wednesday morning we went to the Mercedes-Benz factory for a tour. That place was incredible. I didn't know anything about the M-Class, which is what they make at that place. It's an SUV, and they make 80,000 of them a year. The assembly line was really cool, and a lot of the work was done by robots.
        The Mercedes Museum was awesome, too. They had all the old cars that the company made over many years. I wished they would let you get inside them so you can really check them out.
        While we were there, we found out about the Mercedes Marathon that takes place in February. Rick said he already knew about it, but I didn't.
        "Are you thinking about running it," Kevin asked.
        "I might," Rick said. "There's a relay event for teams of five people. Any chance you guys might be interested?"
        "I might be," I said. "What do you say, big boy? You want to run?"
        "Depends on who's chasing me," Justin said. That made us laugh.
        "I'll do it," Tim said.
        "What about you, Bri? Are you interested," I asked.
        "If you guys do it, I'll do it," Bri said.
        "Cool. Now we just need one more, Kevin," I said.
        "Don't look at me, Kyle. My knee can't take the punishment," he said. "Maybe Jeff or Alex or Denny will do it with you all."
        "Do you know how far we'll have to run, Rick," I asked.
        "Typically, the relays are a total of 26.2 miles, but, obviously, each man runs only a portion of that. I think it's 6.2 miles for two runners, 3.1 miles for two runners, and 7.6 miles for the last runner. I might have my decimals wrong, but that's about what it is," Rick said.
        "This could be fun, guys," I said.
        "Do we get to wear those little titty things like you wear, Rick," Justin asked to tease Rick.
        "They're called NipGuards, and you only get to wear them after your nipples start to bleed," he said.
        "Jesus God!! Your nipples bleed!? Is that why you wear them," Justin asked, horrified. "Man, that's sending chills down my spine, just thinking about it. Why do they bleed?"
        "They rub against your shirt and get irritated. You sweat a good bit, and a tee shirt gets to be like sandpaper against the little points of your nipples," Rick said.
        "And you do this because it's fun," Jus asked in disbelief.
        Rick laughed. "It's not that bad, Justin," he said. "You used to have those little rings in yours. I don't know how you could stand that."
        "They don't hurt, Rick," Tim said.
        "Do you guys often stand around talking about your nipples," Cherie asked.
        We all laughed.
* * *
        The Mercedes-Benz place was the last thing we did before we left to go home. What had started out as a real bad chore had ended up being a fun little vacation. I was glad it was over, though.
        
Chapter 04
        
(Justin's Perspective)
        The trip to Birmingham started out kind of rough, but by the end, we were having fun. It turned out my time on the witness stand wasn't nearly as bad as I had thought it was going to be. I had to admit in front of all those people that I had had sex with those guys that Buel had set me up with, but they didn't dig around in that anywhere close to what I thought they would do. "Objection" has got to be one of the best words in the English language, and I kept hearing it over and over in my mind.
        "We're coming back here," Kyle said.
        "I don't know, Kyle," I said.
        "Sure we are. Don't you want to see NASCAR racing at Talladega? I do. I've never been to a race, but I've watched them on TV lots of times. I think that would be great," he said.
        "Maybe," I said.
        "Come on, Bubba. Get with it, man. This can be our second town," he said.
        "I thought New Orleans was our second town," I said.
        "Oh, yeah. Our third town, then. I love this place," he said. "And don't forget the marathon. I'm kind of excited about that."
        The thing about Kyle that made you have to love him was how excited he got about everything. Now and then he got on my nerves with that, but mostly he just made things fun. In fact, having fun was Kyle's life. He wasn't a slacker when it came to hard work, either at the hotel or at home or anywhere, but he just took such pleasure in everything he did. The bottom line was he was a happy person, and he made other people happy just being around him. That was a pure gift he had, and he shared it with everybody.
        For instance, he was studying to become a Catholic. That was something I wanted to do eventually, too, but you would have thought it was the highlight of his damn week. He'd come home after his class on Thursday night just brimming over with stuff to talk about. One week, though, he got on my nerves a little bit about it.
        "I'm learning I have to amend my life," he said.
        "What does that mean," I asked.
        "That means I have to change, Jus, especially where the poor and marginalized are concerned," he said.
        I didn't know what "marginalized" meant, but I wasn't going to ask him that.
        "Kyle, I think you and your parents do a great deal for the poor and the marginalized," Kevin said.
        "Yeah? Like what?" He said that like he was challenging Kevin to prove it.
        "Well, the Goodson Family Foundation, for one thing. There are a lot of poor people benefiting from Goodson money. And the fact that your dad pays a good wage, with free insurance benefits for everyone, for another. Did you even know domestic partners of employees, gay or straight, get insurance benefits the same as spouses do?"
        "No, I didn't know that. But it's mainly an attitude thing, Kevin. I've got to get my attitude right."
        "Kyle, what did you do with the money you got from United Cerebral Palsy for those pictures of Chris you took," Kevin asked.
        "You know what I did with it. Why bring that up? I'm not talking about this anymore," he said.
        "See, that's the thing with you, Kyle," I said. I was warming up because I had been wanting to say what I was going to say for a long time. "You don't know how to accept a compliment. You cook a fabulous dinner, and then you try to find ways it wasn't all that good when people tell you how much they enjoyed it. You put on a great party, work your ass off doing it, and when people tell you how great a time they had, you go off about the damn mosquitoes being bad, or something like that. Mosquitoes ain't your fault, and most of the time it ain't true, either. You save somebody's life--and goddamn it, Kyle, I've got a list of names, and mine's right at the top of it--and you act like you didn't have anything to do with it. Your problem is you don't know how to let people be grateful to you. That's the only attitude you need to change, Bubba. That's it. That's all I'm saying."
        There was dead silence in that room.
        "Are you finished yelling at me," Kyle asked.
        "That's all I'm saying, Kyle," I said.
        "I need to get home. I'll see y'all tomorrow," he said.
        He got up and left, not even taking Tim with him. I never expected he would leave. I panicked. I jumped up to go after him.
        "Justin, sit down," Rick said.
        "Rick, I hurt him bad, man, and I didn't mean to. I need to make it up to him," I said. "I love that guy. The last thing I want to do is hurt his feelings."
        "You didn't hurt his feelings, Jus, and what you said was right on the money. Kyle's an extraordinary guy, and he holds this family together probably more than Kevin and I do. What you said was true, Son. He needs time to think about what you said and to process it," Rick said.
        "Tim, how do you feel," I asked.
        "I didn't get up and go with him, did I? Jus, Kyle has more character than anybody I've ever known. He knows that what you said is absolutely true. I think it's a deep cultural thing. His dad is the same way. Have you noticed how Kyle pretends to be dumb? His dad is like that, too, but both of those guys are much smarter than just about anybody I know. Kyle and his dad would no more admit that than they would sprout wings and fly. He does what he does because to admit he helped somebody or gave a good party or something like that would be to admit he isn't at the bottom of the barrel. And if he admits he isn't at the bottom of the barrel, that means he's better than somebody. Kyle and his dad won't have that, Jus. It's strange as hell to me, but that's the way it's done around here," Tim said.
        "His brother was exactly the same way, Jus," Jeff said.
        Everybody was there, including Jeff and Tyler.
        "I think I have a little bit of that in me, too. Maybe it's just the South," I said.
        "Rick and I are Southerners, too, Jus, and we don't feel that way," Kevin said.
        "I don't know," I said. "But you really don't think I hurt his feelings?"
        "I think he was surprised, Jus, but I really don't think you hurt his feelings," Rick said.
        "Well, this turned into a shitty evening, didn't it," I said.
        "Not really, Bubba. This turned into an evening when this family helped a very important member grow," Kevin said.
        We just sat there for a long time, nobody talking. A real long time.
        Then we heard somebody coming in the back door, and that could only be Kyle. He came into the den with four big paper sacks from Sonic.
        "I was passing Sonic on the way home, and I needed a footlong. Since Tim was still here, I decided to pick up a few," he said.
        "You never quit, do you," I said. "You live in the next block, and Sonic is at least two miles away."
        "I know. I take care of my peeps," he said. "And you take care of yours, too," he said, grinning his ass off at me.
        "What the hell are you talking about, Kyle?"
        "Shut up. You know what I'm talking about. Taking care of me," he said.
        "Yeah, I do. Eat your weenie," I said.
        He laughed.
        Those hotdogs were mighty good, covered with chili and cheese. He had bought fries, too, and I think he ordered them "extra greasy." They were good, though. That was our queer little family. I was so happy, I could bust.
        
(Kyle's Perspective)
        Things were mixed at school. I mean, I was doing good in my classes, such as they were. I was taking notes to beat the band in economics after Kevin taught me how to do it, but my other three classes were bullshit. I mean, I enjoyed them and all, but there was no homework in three of the four, and nothing intellectual, either. I had econ homework about twice a week, and it was usually pretty easy. I had to ask Kevin and Rick to explain concepts to me a time or two, but usually I understood them on my own. I was taking good notes, thanks to Kevin, and I could easily pull a 4.0 for the semester. I didn't know what I would do about my parents when they keeled over dead when they looked at my report card, but I would have to take my chances.
        What wasn't going good was Denny and Chip. They had become really good friends in a few weeks, and they really liked each other. Chip didn't know if he was gay or straight or queer or whatever, but it didn't matter.
        "Kyle, I hate school," Chip said to me one afternoon when he and I were the only two working out in the gym at Kevin and Rick's house.
        "What's going on," I asked.
        "Some guys have been picking on me, Kyle. And they've been picking on Denny, too," he said.
        "Picking on you for what," I asked.
        "I don't know. They call me shrimp and flea, and they push me and hit me in the hall. They do the same to Denny. They make me miserable at school," he said.
        "What are their names," I asked.
        "Brad and Stanley. The same two guys from middle school," he said.
        "Stanley? What the fuck kind of name is that?"
        "I don't know. If you call him Stan, he says, no, my name is Stanley," Chip said.
        "Do his parents clean carpets for a living," I asked.
        "Stanley Steamer? Tough on dirt, gentle on carpet," he said, saying their commercial.
        "Yeah, that's what I was thinking. Jesus, who names their kid Stanley?"
        "I don't know, but he's mean, Kyle. He's mean to me, and he's mean to Denny. And we're never mean to them," Chip said.
        "Do they take the bus to school," I asked.
        "I guess they do. I don't really know," he said.
        "Chip, you know you're my brother, right?"
        "Yeah, I hope so," he said.
        "Well, you are, Bubba, and nobody fucks with my brother. I want you to point them out to me tomorrow," I said.
        "I don't want you to get in trouble, Kyle," he said.
        "I'm not going to get in trouble. I'm not going to touch either one of them," I said. "I'm just going to talk to them."
        "But you're going to help them understand?"
        "I'm going to help them understand that if they keep up the hateful stuff, they are fucked," I said. "If they've got any sense at all, they will listen to me."
        The next morning Tim, Brian, Denny, and I picked Chip up for school, like we usually did. I got him to hang back with me when we got there, and he and I walked over to the bus loading zone. I don't know why they called it the "bus loading" zone because the buses unloaded as much as they loaded, but that's what they called it. We were a little earlier than usual, but we didn't have to wait long for their bus to show up.
        "That's Brad in the blue shirt, and that's Stanley in the yellow shirt," Chip said.
        "You go on into the building now," I told Chip.
        "Alright," he said, and he left.
        I walked over to Brad and Stanley. They were average size for freshmen, I guess, probably about five six or seven, not very filled out yet.
        "I want to talk to you guys," I told them.
        They both looked a little scared or something. I guess it wasn't every day a senior talked to them, and they didn't know what was up.
        "Have you guys ever been picked on," I asked.
        "What do you mean," Brad asked.
        "You know, pushed around or hit for no reason? Called names? Made to feel bad? That kind of thing."
        "In elementary this middle school kid in my neighborhood hit me for no reason all the time," Stanley said. "He picked on me."
        "Why'd he do it," I asked.
        "Because he was a prick, I guess. Just mean," Stanley said.
        "So you think guys who pick on smaller guys are mean pricks," I asked.
        "Yeah," Brad said.
        "Do you know who I am," I asked.
        "You're Kyle somebody. You're the president of the school, or something like that, right," Stanley said.
        "Right. One of my jobs is to make sure people don't get picked on. Do you know of anybody who's been picking on people around here?"
        They both got a little more scared looking.
        "Let me tell you something. If you find out about somebody picking on somebody, I want you to come tell me, you hear?" I punched my right fist into my left hand to emphasize my point. "I don't mean good-natured teasing, you understand. You can tell the difference, can't you? I'm talking about meanness, being a prick or a jerk. You know what I'm saying?"
        "Yeah," Stanley said. He had "guilty" written all over his face, and he knew I knew it.
        "Y'all go on to your lockers and get ready for class. But I'm counting on you guys, and my other people, too, to keep me informed, you hear? Nobody will ever know the information came from you, either. You'll just be doing your job as good Marlins. See you, guys, and have a good day," I said.
        I couldn't believe I pulled that off with a straight face, but I did. Freshmen are so easy to fool.
        A couple of days later Chip and I were by ourselves again.
        "Any better with Brad and Stanley," I asked.
        "What did you do? Threaten to beat 'em up or something," he asked.
        "Not at all," I said. "Are they doing better?"
        "Yeah, in fact, they're doing great. Brad even loaned me a pen yesterday in class. He never would have done that before," Chip said.
        "Good. Keep me posted, you hear?"
        "I will. And thanks, Kyle," he said.
        I thought about Justin saying I needed to learn how to let people be grateful.
        "No problem, buddy. Let's get a snack," I said.
        About two weeks after that I happened to see Stanley in the attendance office.
        "Anything to report," I asked him.
        "No. I think everybody's being nice, at least as far as I know," he said.
        "Good. That's the way I want it around here. But you let me know if I need to step in, okay? What are you doing in here? Are you sick or something?"
        "I have to check out to go with my mom to the welfare office," he said.
        Oh, I thought. I didn't know what to say. He must be one of the poor and marginalized I was supposed to be caring about.
        "Well, I need to get to class," I said. "Have a good day."
        He went on about his business, and I went on about mine.
        
(Kevin's Perspective)
        Rick and I took Trixie to the vet for shots and a check up. We had called ahead to make an appointment to speak to the doctor, so she was expecting us to both be there. Rick had taken Trixie twice before, once when we first got her and later to have her spayed, but that was my first visit.
        "What can I do for you gentlemen," the doctor asked, after we were seated in her private office. She was very attractive and probably in her early thirties.
        "Doctor, we're interested in finding out information about artificial insemination, and we were told you might be able to help," I said.
        "Why don't you call me Martha, and may I call you Rick and Kevin," she asked.
        "Sure, Martha, only I'm Kevin and he's Rick."
        She chuckled at her mix-up.
        "Of course, you know that Trixie's been spayed," she said.
        "I'll get right to the point. My sister-in-law has an infertility problem, and I've agreed to donate sperm for her artificial insemination," I said. "I need information about how I might do that."
        She blushed a little and looked away.
        "I didn't say that right," I said. "I need information about who locally might be able to process the sperm for shipment to New Orleans."
        She grinned.
        "Excuse me," she said, and left the room.
        "I think you might have taken her by surprise," Rick said.
        "I think I did." He and I were both laughing.
        She came back in the room, and, when she saw us laughing, she burst out laughing again, too.
        When we all calmed down, she said, "Well, at least we all have a sense of humor."
        "Yeah," Rick and I said.
        "Now, to get serious. I worked with AI in vet school, so I'm familiar with the process, but I don't have the equipment to do that here," she said. "I suspect you'll have to see an ob/gyn for that. Wait a minute."
        She flipped through her rolodex and dialed a number. She identified herself and asked to speak to the doctor. She explained what she wanted, but the look on her face said it didn't look good. She hung up after the usual pleasantries.
        "That was my gynecologist, and he said the closest place you can have that done is Pensacola. He said the referral will have to come from your sister's doctor," she said.
        "Sister-in-law," I said.
        "Right. Sorry," she said. "Good luck with it. I hope everything works out."
        I called Cherie as soon as I got back to my office to report on what we had learned.
        "That won't be a problem, Kev. In fact, I have an appointment this afternoon. We have an appointment, I should have said. We're going to tell my doctor the good news from you," she said.
        "Well, just get the information, and we're ready to go," I said.
        She called back as I was getting ready to leave for the day. She had the name of the lab where I would have to go in Pensacola and an appointment time for the next week.
        "Kev, I can't tell you how grateful I am to you. We are to you and Rick."
        "I'm happy to do it, Cherie. You guys are precious to us, you know," I said. "Any special instructions? Like celibacy for a week or something?"
        "Just twenty-four hours," she said. "That won't be a problem, will it?"
        "Not at all," I said.
* * *
        My appointment at the lab was at ten o'clock the following Friday. The highway to Pensacola was awful with traffic in the morning, so we decided to leave early enough to beat some of it and to give ourselves enough time to get there and not be late.
        Since it was Friday, and since we had no idea how long this whole thing would take, we decided we wouldn't plan to go into the office at all that day. Consequently, we had both worn jeans and sport shirts. That had prompted an interrogation at the breakfast table.
        "Are you all going to work dressed like that," Kyle asked.
        "We're not going to work. We're going to Pensacola on some business," Rick said.
        "What kind of business," Kyle asked.
        "None of yours," Rick said.
        They were sparring with each other, and I loved to watch it.
        "Pensacola? Ain't that where the FBI is," Justin asked.
        "Maybe," Rick said.
        "Is it personal business or business business," Kyle asked.
        "It's personal," Rick said.
        "I have to see a doctor over there," I said, to further frustrate them.
        "Are you sick," Jus asked.
        "Nope," I said.
        "Kevin, don't keep it from us, Bubba. If you need to go all the way to Pensacola to see a doctor, it must be mighty bad," Kyle said. "I'm going to be worried to death all day. We love you, Kevin."
        "I know you do, but I'm not sick, Kyle. Believe me," I said.
        "Well, this is pretty damn strange, is what I think," Jus said.
        Rick and I were grinning at each other and at them.
        "You're lying. Y'all aren't going to Pensacola, are you," Kyle said.
        "Oh, yes, we are," Rick said.
        "Are you ever going to tell us about it," Kyle pleaded.
        "Maybe some day," I said, purposely trying to be mysterious. "Come on, Babe. We need to get going," I said to Rick.
        "Bye, guys," Rick and I said in unison.
        "Bye," they all said.
        Once we were in the car, Rick and I laughed hysterically at what had gone on in the house.
        "Don't you know Kyle is about to burst from wanting to know what's up," Rick said.
        "Yeah. Imagine. Two grown men having personal business they won't tell the kids about," I said.
        "They're nosey, but would you have it any other way," Rick asked.
        "Not on your life," I said.
* * *
        We found the place in Pensacola without too much trouble, and we got there about ten minutes before our appointment time. I had to fill out the usual paperwork about my medical history, nature of the complaint, etc., but a lot of it didn't really apply to a man, since it was an ob/gyn doctor's office. I expected the place to have only women, but there were five or six guys there, evidently with their wives.
        "Mr. Foley. Mr. Kevin Foley," the nurse called when it was my turn to go back.
        Rick and I both stood up. She looked at us like that was the wrong thing to do, but she didn't say anything when he went to the back with me. There was a male physician's assistant around our age waiting for us. He introduced himself as "Doctor" Giles, even though it plainly said on his name tag that he was a PA.
        To say he was effeminate was to put it mildly. Rick winked at me, but I didn't react except to smile quickly.
        It was only then that Dr. Giles looked at the paper I had filled out. There had actually been a category to answer that was about artificial insemination, and he got a bright look on his face when he realized that was why I was there.
        "You're Mr. Foley, right," he asked, pointing at me.
        "Right. Kevin Foley," I said. I extended my hand to shake his, like I ordinarily would, but he ignored it, looking back at the form instead. Prick, I thought.
        "So, who are you?"
        "Rick Mashburn," Rick said. He actually grabbed the man's hand and made him shake with him. "Good to meet you, Doc."
        "Yes, well . . . Mr. Foley, do you have any questions?"
        "No, I think I have the matter well in hand," I said.
        I said that to be mildly amusing, but Dr. Giles thought it was hilarious.
        "Oh, my," he said. "Well, here's the receptacle. Right through that door, please, sir."
        He handed me an ordinary beaker like you would use in a high school chemistry lab.
        "I probably won't be able to fill this up," I said.
        Again Giles laughed his nuts off.
        "Try your best," he said, and Rick and I laughed at that. I was starting to like the guy, even though he wouldn't shake my hand.
        "Let's go, Babe," I said, and Rick and I started walking toward the door.
        "Wait a minute," Giles said. "Where are you going," he asked Rick.
        "I'm going with him," he said.
        "I'm afraid we can't allow that," Giles said, all humor gone from his voice.
        "Do you let a man's wife go in with him when he provides a sample," Rick asked.
        "Well, of course, but . . . "
        "Well, this is no different. I'm going in with my husband," Rick said.
        If Dr. Giles had been wearing dentures, they would have been shattered on the floor with that statement. Giles got a big-ass grin on his face, and he blushed a little, too.
        "Go ahead," he said. "Have fun."
        We all laughed a little.
        Once inside the little room, Rick grabbed me in a huge hug. I set the beaker down, and we kissed passionately. That was all it took to get me into sample-producing mode. Rick opened the fly of my jeans and licked my dick through my underwear.
        "Wow," I said. "If you keep that up, we're going to have to wring out my underwear to get the sample we need."
        He giggled.
        "Don't you feel like we're being bad? Like maybe making out in church or something," he asked.
        "Yeah," I said. "It's kind of fun being bad."
        "I know," he said.
        Rick pulled my jeans down a little and then released my erection from my underwear.
        "God, that thing looks good," he said, and we laughed.
        Mutual masturbation was an important part of our sex life, and, through the years, Rick had absolutely mastered how to make it the best for me. He put those skills to good use that morning, not once, but twice. I generally make a big load anyway, but we had held off since Tuesday night. I had a lot to donate.
        "What's this," I said, fingering his erection through his jeans.
        "I don't know," he said. "In the words of Kyle and Justin, 'you tell me.'"
        We laughed.
        "Come here," I said, taking him into my arms. "Thank you for doing this. I love you so much."
        "I love you, too, and thank you for making me a part of it," he said.
        I dropped down in front of him and popped the buttons on his fly. I had that big ole thing out and in my mouth in an instant. He grunted pretty loudly when he came, and I hoped Giles was listening. When we finished and went out into the other room, though, it was empty.
        "Dr. Giles," I called.
        He came into the room in a second.
        "Oh, my," he said, when he looked at the sample.
        "You told me to try to fill it up," I said.
        He blushed, but he also laughed. He was actually a pretty good looking guy, and his hair was perfectly styled. I thought that over a beer, or even lunch, we could probably become friends.
        "Well, you certainly gave it your best shot," he said.
        Rick and I burst out laughing.
        "That's not what I meant," Giles said.
        "Maybe not, but it's still funny. Look, what's your first name?"
        "Bob," he said.
        "Look, Bob, I'm Kevin and he's Rick, and what you're holding in your hand is part of my new nephew or niece, I hope. Why don't you let us buy you lunch?"
        "I'd like that. I have a few things I have to do with this first, though. Do you mind waiting thirty minutes or so," he asked.
        "No problem. Take good care of it, and no tasting," I said.
        He cracked up, and Rick and I laughed hard, too.
* * *
        "Let's go outside so I can smoke," I said to Rick, once we were finished and were waiting for Bob to join us.
        "Okay. Are you going to call Craig?"
        "No, I'm going to call Cherie," I said.
        "The deed is done," I said, after I got her on the phone.
        "Wonderful. Was Rick the agent provocateur?"
        "Yep, he sure was, and he did his part very well," I said.
        She laughed.
        "Did you reward him for his labors," she asked.
        "Yes, I did," I said, and we both laughed. "The kids were beside themselves this morning wanting to know where we were going and what we were doing."
        "Did you tell them?"
        "No. Didn't you say we were going to keep this quiet?"
        "Yeah, in general, but you can tell the boys, Kevin. I mean, it's kind of like their niece or nephew or something, isn't it?
        "Would you settle for cousin?"
        "Yeah. Right. What was I thinking? Kevin, when you guys tell the boys, make sure they know this is something we're praying for, hint, hint."
        "I will, Cherie. Let me let you go. Rick and I are taking the Physician's Assistant out to lunch, and he just came out. Bye, girl. I love you, and I love that lunk you're married to," I said.
        "I love you and your lunk, too. Bye."
        "What did she say," Rick asked.
        "She sounded pretty excited. She asked if you were the agent provocateur. Bob, I was just on the phone with my sister-in-law. She's the one who's going to be receiving the sample," I said.
        "How cool," he said.
        We got into my car and drove to one of those trendy "grill and bar" places. We preferred the old "bar and grill" concept in Emerald Beach.
        "Cherie said it's okay to tell the kids," I said to Rick.
        "I figured it would be," Rick said.
        "Kids?"
        "Our sons, Bob," I said. That began the saga of the Foley-Mashburn clan. It took us most of lunch to spell it all out, and Bob was clearly fascinated by our lives.
        Bob turned out to be a hell of a nice guy. Yes, he was indeed gay, just as we thought, but he was "single" at the moment, and had been for some time. Evidently he had had a boyfriend/lover in college, but that guy had "quit" our team in favor of "a blonde with pert breasts." He dated occasionally, but there wasn't anybody he was serious about.
        "Bob, this has been as good a morning as I've had in a long time," I said.
        "I know. I saw the sample, remember?"
        We all laughed hard.
        "Do you ever get over to Emerald Beach," Rick asked.
        "Now and then, but not regularly," he said.
        We each gave him our cards, and he gave us each one of his.
        "Let's keep in touch," Rick said. "It's not that far. We've got a big house with lots of room for guests. Our kids are incredible. Our friends are wonderful. We have a great time, and you'll fit right in."
        "You may be coming back, Kevin," he said.
        "What do you mean?"
        "Well, it sometimes takes several months for the woman to get pregnant, you know," he said. "They may need additional samples. You provided enough for three attempts, probably."
        "That makes sense, but I guess I didn't realize that. All the more reason to tell the kids," I said to Rick.
        "Yeah," he said.
        "I hope it works the first time, but if we have to come back, we're taking you out to lunch every single time, Bob. Hear?"
        "Let's just say we'll have lunch together every single time," he said.
        "Okay. Fair enough," Rick said.
* * *
        "No game tonight," I asked when I saw all the boys gathered in the den.
        Chip was there as Denny's guest, and Alex and Cody were actually home on a Friday night for a change. Jeff and Tyler had come over, too. We had the full complement.
        "It's an out-of-town game tonight," Brian said.
        "So, what'd the doctor say," Kyle asked. He was so serious and so intense that it was actually comical.
        "The doctor said, 'Fill it up,'" Rick said.
        "I cannot trust you in the mood you're in, mister," Kyle said, pointing at Rick. "What'd he say, Kevin?"
        "I didn't actually see a doctor. I saw a Physician's Assistant. Guys, you know about Craig and Cherie's infertility problem, don't you?"
        Denny and Chip didn't know, so we filled them in.
        "They asked me to donate sperm for artificial insemination, and that's what Rick and I did today," I said.
        It took them a few seconds to process what I had said, but they all started laughing with delight when they figured it out.
        "We're going to have us a baby? And you're going to be the daddy," Jus asked. He was ebullient.
        "We're hoping and praying we're going to have a baby. And Cherie wanted me to emphasize the praying part. Y'all all need to pray that it works. We all do. But I'm not going to be the daddy, Jus," I said.
        "Well, who is, then," Justin said. "You're confusing me, which ain't all that hard to do, by the way."
        That caused chuckles.
        "My brother is going to be the daddy, Jus. I'm just the sperm donor," I said.
        "Ain't that the same thing," Jus asked.
        "The daddy is the man who raises the child, who loves it, cares for it, protects it on a daily basis, provides for it. The one who donates the sperm might be the biological father, in a technical sense, but that doesn't in any way make him the daddy, Jus," I said.
        "Who's your daddy, Justin," Rick asked.
        "You and Kevin, dumbass. Who do you think?"
        "Did either of us provide the sperm when we were eight or nine years old," Rick asked.
        "Oh. I see what you mean," Jus said.
        "This baby is going to be your cousin, not your brother or sister, Jus," I said.
        "That's pretty loose in biological terms," Tim said.
        "Yeah, but who cares about that? We're going to be getting us a baby," Kyle said. "And we're going to love it till it can't stand it."
        "Can we call them," Brian asked. "And Grandma and Grandpa, too?"
        "Good idea, Bri. I think we can do a three-way call," I said.
        "Yeah, we can. I know how to do it," Jeff said. "I need some numbers, though."
        We recited the two phone numbers for the New Orleans people, and Jeff jotted them down on the pad next to the phone. It took him a few minutes to get it all sorted out and entered in, but we soon had sixteen people on the phone with one another at one time. All three places were on speaker, so everyone could hear everything.
        That conversation was like a family reunion without the food. We talked for over an hour, and there was great joy and much love at all three nodes of that call. My parents, Craig, and Jeff all screamed with laughter when Cherie referred to Rick as the agent provocateur, but the boys didn't laugh because they didn't know what that meant. A couple of minutes after she said that, Tim and Brian burst out laughing as it dawned on them what she was saying. They whispered it around, and they each laughed in turn.
        "You jerked him off," Justin asked Rick.
        There was dead silence for a second or two, and then my sweet little mother burst into hysterical laughter. That was all we needed to laugh some more.
        "Justin, you and Brian come and live with us," she said.
        We laughed.
        "You might be ready for Brian, but y'all ain't ready for my ass," Jus said.
        "Justin. Do I have to remind you about a certain oper . . . "
        "Oh! No, ma'am. Don't!"
        We all howled with laughter. All of us, that is, who knew about his surgery and about the part my mom played in it.
        We finally reluctantly ended the conversation.
        "If this ain't an ice cream moment, I don't know what is," Justin said. "Get your Eagle-Scout asses in there to help me."
        They made huge bowls of ice cream for all twelve of us, and that night I got the bowl with the upright banana and the two coconut-covered mounds of ice cream on either side of it. I didn't know what other twenty-seven-year-old gay men were doing that night, and I really didn't care. I just figured they weren't having as much fun as I was.
        
Chapter 05
        
(Chip's Perspective)
        School sucked. School really didn't suck, but some of the stuff that went on at school sucked. Some of it was pretty good. Like my friend Denny. He was the foster son of Kevin and Rick, the two nicest guys in America, and I really liked Denny.
        What did suck were two assholes at school by the names of Brad and Stanley. They were both big bruisers compared to me, and every day they either said something mean to me and Denny, or they pushed us around. It sort of started the first day.
        I was in my first period class, and both of them were in there with me. I was sitting in the back, which really wasn't a good place for me because it was hard to see the board over all those bigger people, but that was the only seat I could find. They were both in about the middle of the room, like, maybe, three seats ahead of me but off to my left. That classroom had tables in it that sat two people each, and they were sitting together. They would whisper to each other, turn around and look at me, and then laugh. They kept doing that all period. It made me madder than hell, but there wasn't anything I could do about it.
        When the bell rang, they got up and left right away. Good, I thought. At least they won't mess with me in the hall.
        The second day they were waiting for me outside the classroom before class started. I saw them as I walked down the hall. I got this big knot in my stomach because I figured they wanted to do something to me. Why do they hate me, I thought. I had never done or said anything bad about them.
        "Where's your fag friend," Brad asked me.
        "Fuck you," I said.
        "Is he fucking you, or are you fucking him? Or both," Stanley said.
        "I'll bet they're sucking each other's cocks, if the midget here has one Danny can even find," Brad said.
        "His name is Denny, not Danny, and we're not doing anything," I said.
        "Don't knock him up, stud," Stanley said.
        Jesus! Denny's not real macho, but he's not really a sissy, either. I know Denny's gay, but so what? He's just a nice guy, and I'm proud he's my friend.
        The third day of school, Brad "accidentally" bumped into me at my locker. Then Stanley "accidentally" bumped into Denny at his locker. His was still closed, and he smashed his face into it.
        "You all think you're hot shit because that fag Kyle Goodson brings you to school, don't you? Well, I've got news for you. Nobody likes his queer ass or that fruit Tim Murphy he hangs around with, either," Brad said.
        "Tell me that when you're elected president of the fucking school, Brad," I said. I was so pissed off I was seeing red.
        "Just ignore them," Denny said.
        "How can I ignore them, man? They piss me off every single day," I said.
        "Chip, please don't get in trouble. You know what Kyle told us," Denny said.
        That kind of shit went on for the first two weeks of school. I never felt safe or at ease there. I never knew when they were going to come out of nowhere and do something. It was making me jumpy all the time, and it was making Denny jumpy, too.
        The last straw was during the pep rally on the Friday of the second week of school. That night was our first home football game of the season, and that was the first pep rally I had ever gone to in my life. I had looked forward to it all week because I had heard they were so much fun. The school band was there and the cheerleaders and everybody. Kyle was the MC.
        Kyle whipped everybody up big time. He told us that whenever we heard the word "Marlin," we all had to stand up and scream "splash." He had done the same thing at the freshman orientation before school started, and I had had fun doing that. Denny and I were on the stage with him for that, and I was so damn proud of Kyle. I was proud of him at that pep rally, too. He told two or three jokes, and he said "Marlin" in every one of them. The jokes were funny, and screaming out "splash" was fun, too.
        There were cheers by the cheerleaders. They taught a couple of them to us, and then we practiced them. The band played the fight song, and Kyle led us in singing it. That boy could sing. Kyle introduced the captain of the team, and he and that boy hugged each other before the captain boy introduced the others.
        About half-way through, I felt a flick on both my ears. At first I thought the guy back of me had slipped or something. I looked behind me, and there was Brad. Stanley was right behind Denny, who was sitting next to me on my left. For the rest of that pep rally, they didn't give either one of us a minute's peace. They hadn't been there when Denny and I took those seats. I had spotted them about ten rows up from us, so I figured we wouldn't be bothered by them. They had moved, though.
        "Denny, I'm telling Kyle about those two," I said, once the pep rally was over.
        "What can Kyle do," Denny asked.
        "I don't know if he can do anything, but those two are picking on you and me. He told me to tell him if that happened, so I'm going to."
        The first chance I had to talk to Kyle in private was Tuesday afternoon after school. He and I were working out in the gym by ourselves. I told him what had been going on, and he asked me to point them out to him at the bus place the next morning.
        I don't know what Kyle said or did to them, but it seemed to solve the problem. After that morning, they just ignored me and Denny, and that was fine. Brad even loaned me a pen in class when I forgot to bring one. It was like a miracle or something. Nobody else picked on me or Denny, and school stopped sucking so bad.
        
(Brad's Perspective)
        Chip Rooney is a little prick, and I mean that in every way. Really, it's not him. It's his dad. My older brother has a problem with alcohol, and I know that. He gets drunk a lot, like every day. He was working at the Sheraton Laguna Hotel as a bellhop, and Rooney's father fired his ass for drinking on the job. He probably did drink on the job. He says he didn't, but he drinks all the rest of the time, so why doubt that? The problem was, he was the only one working in our house. It was just him, me, and our mom. We were already getting welfare, and I was getting free meals at school, but the money he brought in helped a lot.
        I didn't have anything against Chip. He was tiny, but so what? It was his dad I hated. I hated my brother, too, though. Shit!
        Kyle Goodson scared the shit out of me. He told me and Stanley, who came from another looser family, to report cases of picking on people to him. He said his other people were doing the same thing. I got scared. Kyle was a fag, and everybody knew it. But he had a lot of friends, and not just queers, either. A lot. What was this world coming to? Anyway, I decided to lighten up on Chip. I didn't really like doing that shit to him, anyway, and I knew it wasn't going to get my brother's job back. Hell, he had taken off, and we didn't know where he was.
        When Kyle made us say that guys who pick on others are mean pricks, I felt kind of ashamed. I didn't want to be that kind of guy because that was what my brother was.
        
(Stanley's Perspective)
        I didn't know why Brad had it in for Chip Rooney and his friend Denny. They might have been fags, but I didn't know for sure. If they were fags, it might have been alright to rough them up, but I didn't know why that made it alright. Then Kyle Goodson talked to us, and I knew right away he had our number. He was big, and he had a lot of friends who were big, too. He also had an organization at that school, and I didn't want to be on the receiving end of what they could do to you.
        "He knows what we've been doing to Chip and that other guy," I told Brad.
        "I know. I'm quitting doing that from now on," Brad said.
        "Yeah, me, too. Let's skip today," I said.
        "Naw. I'm hungry. Let's go get some breakfast in the cafeteria," Brad said.
        "Okay."
        That was it.
        
(Justin's Perspective)
        Going to college wasn't as bad as I thought it was going to be. I liked both of my teachers, and they seemed to like me okay, too, especially my English teacher. I knew it was bound to happen, though, and there it was staring me in the face, as big as life. A test.
        "You guys know we have a test in American history coming up, don't you," Alex said to me, Cody, and Paul one morning before class. We were all outside smoking.
        "When is it," I asked.
        It was hot as hell even though it was early in the morning, and I was already sweating a little bit. Hearing that made my sweat glands gush, and my pits started dripping. I got this little knot in my stomach, too.
        "It's next Monday," Alex said.
        "How'd you hear about it," I asked.
        "It's on the syllabus," Alex said.
        "Oh," I said.
        He meant that paper the teacher had given out the first day. I hadn't really read it too careful, but at least I knew I still had it and where it was. Or I thought I did.
        "It's multiple guess and two short essays," Cody said.
        I didn't know what that meant. I knew what an essay was, sort of, because we had to write one every week in English, but I had no idea what "multiple guess" meant. I didn't want to show my total ignorance in front of Paul. I mean, he was a nice guy and I liked him and all, but he didn't know a thing about me.
        That night I asked Brian if he knew what multiple guess meant.
        He chuckled when I asked him. "It's really multiple choice, Buddy. The teacher writes a question and gives you three or four or five choices. You just have to pick out the right answer."
        "Give me an example of what you mean," I said.
        He quick wrote out a question.
        "The first president was
        A. Abe Lincoln
        B. Bill Clinton
        C. George Washington
        D. George Bush"
        "The right answer is George Washington," I said.
        "Right. The correct answer is C."
        "How can it be C," I asked. "It's George Washington."
        "I know, but you would mark C because that stands for George Washington," Brian said.
        "Phew! This is complicated," I said.
        Brian got tickled by just about anything I said, and he laughed when I said that. He was so damn cute.
        "Jus, baby, let's see if Kyle has an old American history test from last year so you can see what it looks like," he said.
        When Kyle came over later that night, Brian asked him if he had an old test. I knew what the answer to that was going to be.
        "An old test? Why would I have an old test," Kyle said. "What are you doing? Playing school?"
        Brian laughed.
        "You don't keep old tests," Bri asked.
        "Hell, no. The less contact I have with those things, the better," Kyle said.
        Timmy had been sitting there listening to that.
        "I have one, Bri. In fact, I just got it back today. Let me go get it for you," Tim said.
        Tim scampered upstairs and came back with some papers. He gave them to Bri. One of them had questions on it, and the other one had these little round marks. He had colored in some of those.
        "This is the answer sheet," Brian said, showing me this strip of paper that had all the circles on it. "Here are the questions. You read the question and the answers, pick out the best answer, and then color in the bubble that matches up to it."
        "The bubble?"
        "Yeah. These little things on the answer sheet. Those are called bubbles. Sometimes they say 'bubble in the answer,'" Brian said.
        "How are you supposed to know this stuff," I asked.
        "You learn it in school, dumbass," Kyle said. He started rubbing my shoulder. I knew he was just doing that to show me he cared about me.
        "Phew! I don't know," I said. "This sure is a lot to know just to take a test."
        "Yeah, and that ain't even the information the test is on," Kyle said. "Didn't you take any tests in adult school?"
        "Yeah, but you just clicked on the screen." Then I saw the light. "This ain't much different than that, is it? Only with this you have to mark in the little circles."
        "Exactly, Bubba," Kyle said. "Way to use that ole noggin," he said.
        "Don't make me have to whip your ass," I said to Kyle, joking. He laughed.
        "Are you and Alex and Cody going to study together," Brian asked.
        "I don't know," I said. "Is it good to do that?"
        "I recommend it," Kyle said. "Especially since you missed a couple of classes when we went to Birmingham. Did you get notes from those days?"
        "Not yet," I said.
        Alex came into the room.
        "Justin needs your notes from the days he missed history class," Kyle said to Alex.
        "Sure," Alex said. "Do you want to study with Cody and me, Jus?"
        "That would absolutely save my life," I said.
        It was Wednesday night, and the test was the following Monday. The professor said he would answer questions about it on Friday. They weren't going to study until Sunday night, but I figured I needed a head start, so I got busy right then.
        The session went good Sunday night, and it turned out I knew the stuff better than the other two. I had read the book twice, or at least the parts that were going to be on the test, and I had gone over my notes a few times. Alex gave me his notes, but they weren't all that good, to tell you the truth. I fleshed them out a little from what was in the book, though.
        I didn't sleep good Sunday night. For one thing, we didn't finish studying until almost midnight. For another thing, I was pretty nervous about taking the test. I got up early, though. I left at my usual time, and, wouldn't you know it, there was a damn accident on the bridge. So instead of having a few minutes to relax and smoke when I got to school, I was almost late.
        The test was a lot easier than I thought it was going to be. I left a couple of questions blank, but I thought I got most of the rest of the others right. When the professor gave us back the papers, I had gotten a B+. I was so happy I almost cried.
        
(Kyle's Perspective)
        At Beachside High School we have several traditions. One tradition is that SGA is in charge of Homecoming. Senior Class does the Christmas Ball, Junior Class does the prom, Sophomore Class does Sadie Hawkins, and Freshman Class don't do shit. Homecoming is the biggest deal of all of that, and I was in charge of it.
        Believe it or not, we had begun having organizational meetings of the officers in the summer before school started. Homecoming was the second weekend in October, so we didn't waste any time getting that bad boy organized when school took in. The major committees were Parade, Bonfire/Fish Fry, and Dance/Court. The parade and football game were on Friday. The bonfire/fish fry was Thursday, and the dance was Saturday. I was on all three committees, but I was only the chairman of one. The Dance/Court committee.
        The biggest pain in the ass was the court. Each club nominated a girl to be their candidate. It was up to the club to decide how they were going to do that, and most of them had elections at one of their meetings. If a club, such as the basketball team, didn't have any girls, they still got to nominate a candidate. The guys in the court were all seniors chosen on the basis of rank in class. At least I didn't have that to worry about. The whole school elected the Queen and the first four runners-up were the court. They announced the court at the bonfire and the Queen at the dance. Whichever guy was the escort of the Queen became the King.
        We had committee meetings at night because a lot of people had jobs in the afternoon after school. Starting the day after Labor Day, I had a meeting of some kind almost every night. Those were fun at first, but they got old after a while. Monday night was Dance/Court, Tuesday night was Parade, and Wednesday night was Bonfire/Fish Fry. On Thursday night I went to church for instructions on learning about becoming a Catholic, and on Friday night I usually went to the football game. The games were at our stadium if we were the home team or in town at the big stadium if we were the away team playing another local team. We also had two out-of-county games, and I went to one of those. I was busy.
        I got into a major throw-down on the dance committee over whether same-sex couples could come as dates. I personally didn't give a shit, but a few years before the Gay-Straight Alliance had pitched a fit about it so it had become another tradition that every year a handful of same-sex couples came as dates. Tim had already told me that he didn't want us to go as dates, and that was fine with me. We were going to go in a mixed group, which is what a lot of people did, anyway. This girl was dead-set against same-sex couples, though, and she brought her preacher, who looked like he was a kid himself, to the meeting to lend her moral support.
        I had gotten a heads-up on this deal from Miss Sally, the principal. Evidently, the preacher had been pestering her about it.
        "Don't cave on this, Kyle," she told me in her office.
        "No, ma'am, I won't," I said.
        "We had a referendum on this four years ago, and, by God, that referendum stands," she said.
        "What does that mean," I asked.
        "A vote. We put it to a vote of the student body, and same-sex couples won," she said.
        "Was I here then," I asked. I didn't remember anything like that.
        "No, you were still in eighth grade, but Clay was here then," she said.
        "How did he vote," I asked.
        "I don't know how he voted, Kyle. What difference does it make?"
        It made a big difference to me, given the fact that he was gay but not out to his own gay brother, me, who was out to the family. I still had a problem with the way he had handled that whole thing about coming out, but that was personal.
        "None, I guess," I said.
        "Anyway, if and when it comes up, tell them you discussed it with me and I said same-sex couples are a tradition at major dances at this school. Any dance, for that matter," she said.
        "Yes, ma'am," I said.
        "Make sure you follow parliamentary procedure to the letter, hear? Don't let the meeting turn into a free-for-all."
        "Do you think GSA will be there," I asked.
        "I know they will be. I looked at the list of the people on the dance committee, and at least six of them are in GSA," she said.
        Later that day I told my friend Philip about my conversation with Miss Sally. He was on the committee, and he didn't know about the vote, either. He said he was definitely coming to that meeting.
        That committee met on Monday night, and, of course, Monday was one of the nights I had my English class at the college. The class was from five to 6:30, and it would take me twenty minutes to get back to school. That's if the bridge was clear. That particular night it was clear, and it was a good thing, too. I was pretty nervous about what might happen.
        I started the meeting with the minutes from the previous week. They had to be amended because the committee secretary was a dumbass and had forgotten to include a motion that had been passed about balloons. After that we took up old business, then new business.
        "I would like to make a motion that the dance be limited to opposite-sex couples only," Meredith said.
        "Is there a second," I asked.
        "I second the motion," the preacher said.
        "You can't second a motion," I said.
        "Son, I certainly can, and I second it in the name of Jesus!" he said.
        "No, you can't do that," I said.
        "And why not," Meredith demanded.
        "Because he's not a voting member of this committee," I said.
        "Oh. Well, okay, then, I second the motion," Meredith said.
        "You can't second your own motion, Meredith," I said.
        "Are you sure about that, Kyle," Meredith asked. "Whose rule is that? Yours?"
        "Basic parliamentary procedure, Mer," I said.
        "Well, somebody second the motion," she said.
        There, in the back of the room, was my very close, life-long friend, Philip Andrews. Queer as a three-dollar bill, and just as full of devilment as he could be. That was probably why we liked each other so much. He put up his hand, his eyes and his cute little smile broadcasting just what he was fixing to do to get my goat.
        "Philip," I said, calling on him to speak. If you second this motion, I'm going to cut your balls off, I thought.
        "Never mind," he said, grinning.
        "I want to talk to you after this meeting," I said. He started laughing. He knew.
        Finally, one of her friends woke up or something, and seconded the motion.
        "Any discussion," I asked.
        Well, there was plenty. I told them each person could speak for two minutes but only after I recognized them. There would be no shouting out and no interrupting other people. I might as well have told them there would be no breathing during the discussion, for all the good that did. I did have to pound my gavel several times to get people to shut up when they went too long.
        Philip raised his hand, and I called on him.
        "The fact is, guys, it's out of our hands. There was a vote of the students when this year's seniors were in the eighth grade, and the issue of same-sex couples won. I don't think this committee has the authority to go against a vote," he said.
        I could have hugged him.
        The SGA sponsor came into the meeting right before he said that. Where the hell have you been, I thought.
        "He's right, Kyle. You can't entertain a motion that goes against a referendum of the student body. Only another referendum can change that," she said.
        "So what do I do," I asked.
        "Strike the motion," she said.
        "Y'all heard her. The motion is struck," I said, and I slammed down the gavel. "Any other new business," I asked.
        Nobody said anything.
        "There being no further new business, the meeting is adjourned. Same time next week," I said, and I hit the gavel one more time.
        Philip came up to me after the meeting, grinning his damn face off.
        "You were fixing to second that damn motion, weren't you," I asked him, laughing with him.
        "I love to see your ass squirm, Kyle. But you handled that good, buddy. Gimme a smoke," he said.
        "Mine are in my car," I said.
        "Never mind, I got some out there, too," he said.
        "Were you going to smoke in the school," I asked.
        "No, just walking out to my car," he said.
        "I swear, Philip, you're about the baddest boy I know," I said.
        "Next to you," he said.
        "Let's go get something to eat. I haven't eaten since lunch," I said. It was almost ten o'clock, and I was hungry.
        "Okay," he said. "I'll follow you. Where?"
        "Let's go to Pelican's," I said.
        We met up at Pelican's Roost, our favorite bar and grill, and we ordered "trashburgers." That was their specialty, and all it was was a hamburger with some of whatever they happened to have in the kitchen that night. It was different every time. That particular night it had chili, beef stew, and sausage, in addition to the hamburger patty. It was damn good, too.
        "You ain't heard the last of this business," Philip said.
        "What do you mean," I asked.
        "That preacher guy was pretty serious, Kyle. I wouldn't be surprised if he makes an issue out of it. If not for Homecoming, for Christmas Ball or Sadie Hawkins or prom, one," he said.
        "Well, at least I don't have to fool with the rest of that shit," I said.
        "True," he said. "How do they go about having a referendum," he asked.
        "I don't know," I said.
        "You'd best be finding out, young-un," he said. "Are you and Tim going to the dance?"
        "Yeah, dummy. We're going with you and Ryan and the others," I said.
        "I knew that. Hey, you want to get a limo for it?"
        "Yeah, I guess we could do that. I think my parents would feel better if they knew I wasn't going to be driving," I said.
        "Mine actually suggested it," he said. "It would be about forty bucks apiece. This is just for after the dance. We go out to eat and then to the dance, and then we all go back to your house to change. He picks us up, and we party for three or four hours. How does that sound?"
        "I like it," I said. "I have to wear a damn tux that night."
        "Yeah, 'cause you da man," he said.
        "I'm going to be ready to kick back, too, after this fucker is over," I said.
        "Are you having fun doing all of this, Kyle," he asked.
        "Yeah, I really am. Tim and I have turned into morning people almost all the time now, though," I said.
        "You guys pretty much live together, don't you," he said.
        "Yeah, pretty much. He's at my house with my parents right now," I said. "He'll be asleep by the time I get home, though."
        "I don't want to keep you from your man, Kyle," he said.
        "Philip, you and I have been friends our whole lives, son, and I don't spend enough time with you as it is. I miss you, buddy, you know?"
        "I miss you, too. Did you know I was gay before we did Tim's Eagle project," he asked.
        "Fuck, no. Did you know I was before then?"
        "Fuck, no," he said, and we laughed.
        "Do you think it would have been different if we had known about each other, like when we were in middle school or something," he asked.
        "I think it definitely would have been different. I love you, Philip. I always have and I always will," I said.
        "But as a friend, right? Or a brother or something like that?"
        "Yeah, now, but it could have been more than that, you know?"
        "For me, too, Kyle. For me, too," he said.
        "Are you and Ryan doing okay," I asked.
        "Oh, yeah. We're doing great. He and I will be together for the rest of our lives," he said. "What about you and Tim?"
        "The same. We've never really talked like this before, have we," I said.
        "No, but I'm loving it right now," he said. "Hey, I forgot to say congratulations."
        "That was a mistake," I said. "No way is that right."
        He was talking about me being named a semi-finalist in the National Merit Scholar competition. The scores had come in over the weekend, and they had announced at school that day that me and five other people were semi-finalists. He and seven others had been named "commended students."
        "No way is that wrong, Kyle. I've always thought you were smarter than me," he said.
        "So how come I don't get the grades you get," I asked.
        "Because you don't study, and you don't really care about grades," he said.
        "I care," I said.
        "You care if you pass, but you don't care if you make a B or a C, much less an A. I care a lot about that, and so does Ryan," he said. "I know all the Emerald Beach bullshit about 'I'm dumber than you, and I can prove it.' You do it, and I do it, too. That's the way we were raised, and that's the way our daddies were raised. I guess it's in our blood or something. But you know what the bottom line is, Kyle? We're both pretty fucking smart."
        "Shhhhhh. Don't say that too loud," I whispered.
        He laughed.
        "We're smart, we're cute, and we've got big dicks," he said.
        "Cute and big dicks. That's what I'm all about," I said.
        He laughed hard, and I did, too.
        "Jesus Christ! It's almost 11:30," he said. "We need to get our asses home."
        "Philip, this has been so good, man. We need to get together more often," I said.
        "Let's do it every Monday night after the meeting till Homecoming," he said.
        "You're on, dude."
* * *
        My dad was still up watching the post-game show for Monday Night Football when I got home. He was the only one around, though.
        "Hey, Daddy," I said when I went into the den. I kissed him on his forehead like I always did, and he swatted my butt, like he always did.
        "How was the meeting? You're home late," he said.
        "Yeah, me and Philip went to get something to eat," I said. "The meeting was pretty rough."
        "Somebody called here for you tonight. The Reverend Ike Hightower. Do you know him," he asked.
        "Yes, sir. He was at the meeting tonight. The big thing was about not allowing same-sex couples to come as dates to the dance. He was there to second the motion, in the name of Jesus," I said.
        My dad laughed his ass off. I had said "Jesus" as three syllables the way the Reverend had.
        "Did it pass?"
        "No, sir. Turns out, it was an illegal motion because of a vote they had a few years ago, so I had to strike it," I said.
        "I remember when all of that was going on. It was over the prom, though, not Homecoming," he said.
        "I didn't know anything about it, but Miss Sally gave me a heads-up," I said.
        "She called me the other day," he said.
        "About me?"
        "No, not about you. Well, not directly about you, anyway. She wants to start a local chapter of PFLAG, and she wants me to co-found it with her," he said.
        "What is that," I asked.
        "Parents and Friends of Lesbians and Gays," he said. "It's kind of like a support group, more or less."
        "Are you going to do it," I asked.
        "I told her I would join, but I'm not going to take any kind of leadership role in that until you and Tim are happily in college somewhere," he said.
        "Why not," I asked.
        "Son, I know you and Tim are out all over the place, and your mother and I are proud of you boys for that. But we're not going to do anything to call attention to the fact that you all are gay as long as you live here. I know my redneck brethren in this county too well to risk that," he said.
        "I was surprised it didn't come up tonight," I said. "I was ready for it."
        "Are you and Tim going to the Homecoming dance?"
        "Yes, sir, but not as dates. I mean, we will be each other's date. I ain't going home with anybody but him, but we're going in a group. Boys and girls."
        "People have been doing that in Emerald Beach for decades, Son. The only date I ever had for a major dance in high school was my senior prom, and I can't even remember who she was. I think groups of friends have a lot more fun," he said.
        "Yes, sir, I think so, too. I had a lot of fun at the Junior-Senior Prom last year in a group," I said.
        "Some guys get laid on prom night," he said. "I didn't, but I wanted to."
        "I did," I said.
        He laughed.
        "You stinker," he said.
        "Dad, Philip had the idea of renting a limo for after the dance. We'd get everybody to come over here to change, and then the limo driver would pick us up here. What do you think?"
        "I think that's a great idea. Philip didn't think of that, though. His parents did, didn't they?"
        "How did you know that," I asked.
        "'Cause I've known his daddy since we were little kids, and 'cause his daddy's daddy knew my daddy since they were young men. We've got deep roots, Kyle. Are you beginning to pick up on that?"
        "Yes, sir, I am," I said.
        "I think the limo idea is a good one. I know you boys are going to have some drinks, and, you know, I did the same thing. The difference is, I took my life in my hands and drove home," he said.
        "Daddy, can I ask you something?"
        "Of course you can, Son. You know that."
        "Yeah, I do. Did you ever jump off the bridge? Out of the back of a pickup truck?"
        "Kyle, that's an incredibly dangerous thing to do," he said.
        "Did you do it?"
        "Twice."
        "Me, too. Twice."
        "Jesus Christ, Kyle! Were you scared?"
        "Yes, sir. I shit my pants the first time," I said. "I thought I was going to hit a light post."
        "So did I! Was your brother with you?"
        "Yes, sir. Both times," I said.
        Tears were streaming down his face, but I knew he was happy.
        "That's a manhood rite of passage here in Emerald Beach, son. Both of my boys did it! Goddamn!"
        "Yes, sir, we did it," I said. "I'm not ever doing it again, though."
        "No! Don't you dare do it again," he said.
        We both laughed hard. We hugged hard, too.
        "That new bridge they're building makes it too hard anymore," I said.
        "Kyle, as far as I know, only a handful have ever been seriously hurt doing that, and boys here have been doing it for many years," he said.
        "It's just too tempting to resist," I said.
        "I know. But let's let it quit with your generation, okay? It's way too dangerous," he said.
        "Yes, sir. I need to get to sleep, Daddy," I said.
        "Me, too. Kyle, good night, baby," he said, and he kissed me on the cheek.
        "Good night, Daddy. I love you," I said.
        "I love you, too, Son."
        
Chapter 06
        
(Kyle's Perspective, Continued)
        The Reverend Ike Hightower was in the parking lot at school waiting for me the next morning. I had my regular boys with me: Tim, Brian, Denny, and Chip. He came up to us with a mad look on his face.
        "I'm not leaving," Tim said.
        "Me, either," Brian said.
        My boys had my back against a hysterical spokesman for Je-e-sus.
        "Denny and Chip, y'all go on inside," I said.
        "No," Chip said. "We're staying."
        "Suit yourself," I said.
        God, I felt good. We had enough to trample him, if nothing else. He wasn't as big as me and Tim, anyway. He was young, too, probably no more than twenty or twenty-one. He had cut himself shaving that morning, and he had a piece of toilet paper sticking to the spot right below his right ear to stop the blood. How pitiful, I thought.
        "Son, I want to talk to you," he said.
        "About what," I said. I didn't say it nice, either.
        "About last night. About the abomination of same-sex couples going to the dance together. About perdition."
        "Perdition? What the fuck does that mean," I asked.
        "Your language is offensive," he said.
        "English?"
        "Your obscenity, not English," he said.
        "Sorry, dude. What does 'perdition' mean? You got to talk to me in language I understand, if you want me to talk back to you," I said.
        "It means hell, Kyle, and that's where you're going if you let same-sex couples go to that dance together," he said.
        "How old are you, Ike," I asked.
        "I'm nineteen years old, and I've been called by God," he said.
        "Well, I'm seventeen, and you ain't that much older than me. What makes you think you're so fucking smart, man? Huh?"
        "Watch your language, son," he said.
        "Don't fucking 'son' me, dude."
        "Don't you speak that way to a man of God," he said.
        "Yeah, right. Hey, wait a minute. You're not wearing a visitor's badge. You're fucking trespassing, man. Hey, Bill!" I kept saying "fuck" so much just to piss him off. I didn't talk that bad, usually.
        I whistled loud, and Bill Harmon, the School Resource Officer, heard me. He came trotting over.
        "What's up, Kyle?"
        "This guy is a trespasser here, and I think he might be a terrorist. A murderer, even. I think he needs to be arrested," I said.
        "Where's your visitor's badge, sir?"
        "I don't have one," Ike said.
        "Have you been living in a tree house, man? You can't come on a school campus in Florida unless you report to the office first and get a visitor's badge," Bill said.
        "I'm a minister of God," Ike said.
        "Yeah? So is Osama Bin Laden. Come with me."
        Ike started taking off running, and Bill tackled his ass, right there in the parking lot. We all cheered Bill. He cuffed that Ike guy pretty quick, too. Way to go, I thought. Ike was too fucking dumb to even know he had been up against the future and hadn't had a prayer.
        "Is Osama Bin Laden a minister," Tim asked.
        "I don't think so," Brian said, "but Bill evidently thinks he is. Who cares if he is?"
        We all laughed hard as we went into school.
        
(Tim's Perspective)
        Kyle was absolutely unbelievable. I always knew he was, but that fall he was proving it over and over again. He did Homecoming. He had committees and such, but he organized it all. That was pretty incredible to me. He was always horny as hell, too, but we never made love at night.
        "Tim, wake up. I love you so much. I've been dreaming about you all night," he said.
        "No, you haven't, " I said. I knew him.
        He laughed. "No, I haven't, but I've been thinking about you for the last few minutes."
        "I know. Make love to me, Kyle," I said, and he did. Gloriously.
        That was who he was, like it or not. And I liked it. No, I loved it. No, I loved him.
        

(Kevin's Perspective)
        "Hey. What are you doing?" It was Cherie.
        "Talking on the phone. What are you doing," I asked.
        "The same," she said. "I had the procedure today."
        "The procedure," I asked. "Oh, the insemination procedure? How'd it go?"
        "I like the conventional method a lot more," she said.
        I laughed, and she did, too.
        "When are we going to know something," I asked.
        "The doctor said he'll be able to tell if I'm pregnant in about three weeks," she said.
        "Why so long," I asked.
        "Evidently it takes that long for my body to begin producing observable changes, if I'm pregnant. Of course, if I have my period, I'll know immediately that I'm not," she said.
        "God, this is exciting, isn't it," I said.
        "Kevin, Craig is so worked up I just about can't stand to be around him. I'm never seen anybody as excited as he is," she said. "How is everybody at your end?"
        "Everybody's fine. Justin had his first college exam, and he got a B+ on it. We're all happy about that. Kyle's all wrapped up in Homecoming. By the way, he was named a National Merit semi-finalist. Do you know what that means?"
        "Hell, yes, I know what that means. That's incredible. I knew he was smart, but . . . "
        "I know. We all had the same reaction. He says it was a mistake by the testing company," I said.
        "Well, I doubt that. The College Board can make no mistakes," she said, irony dripping from her tongue.
        I laughed.
        "He has to take the SAT now, which is something I don't think he was really planning to do," I said.
        "Well, he'd have to take that or the ACT, wouldn't he? For college, I mean," she said.
        "Not if he goes to the local community college, which I'm sure he'll do for a year, anyway, until Tim is ready to start college. They're still talking about Tulane," I said.
        "Smart boys," she said.
        She and my brother were both Tulane graduates and Tulane Law graduates, too.
        "Let me let you go, Kev. Keep praying," she said.
        "I will. Talk to you soon."
        "Bye," she said, and we hung up.
        I called Rick.
        "Hey. I just got off the phone with Cherie," I said.
        "And . . . "
        "And they did the procedure today. No news yet, though," I said.
        "How long will it take?"
        "Three weeks, and then we'll know something. God, I hope this works," I said.
        "Me, too, Babe. But they can keep trying if it doesn't, right?"
        "Oh, yeah. How's your arm holding out?"
        "My arm?" Then, "Oh, shit. My arm will be just fine," he said, laughing.
        "Later," I said.
        "Okay. Later."
* * *
        That night we told the boys about Cherie's phone call. It was just Justin, Brian, Alex, and Denny, and they all seemed excited about it.
        "What do you think they'll name the baby," Denny asked.
        "I don't know, Bubba," I said. "I think they don't want to get their hopes up too much by talking about things like names."
        "I've been praying for them," Brian said. "I sure hope it works."
        "Kevin, you must feel a little like you're on the line here, right, Bubba," Jus said.
        "What do you mean, Jus," I asked.
        "Well, it's your sperm and all. What if it's defective or something?"
        I honestly hadn't even thought of that as a possibility, but he was right. I had always assumed that I was as fertile as the next guy, and I hadn't really considered that I wasn't.
        "They wouldn't have gone through the procedure if there was anything wrong with Kevin's sperm, Jus. They knew it was live when they gave it to Cherie," Rick said.
        Phew, I thought. I was beginning to get a little worried for a second.
        "I was just teasing the stud, Rick," Justin said.
        
(Rick's Perspective)
        In a family like ours, it's easy for a kid like Denny to get lost. While we really only had four of them living with us, Tim and Kyle were always around, Jeff and Tyler were in and out, and Cody and Alex were attached at the hip. I decided to take Denny on as a special project to see if I could get to know him better.
        Denny was in the den reading early one Saturday afternoon. I really didn't know where the others were, but you could pretty much count on Denny to have his nose in a book. Don't misunderstand me. I love to read, and Kevin and I both plow through a book a week, usually. But that kid was fanatical about it, almost.
        There was an outlet center near us that had one of those remainder bookstores in it. Kevin and I had been there a few times, and we had come away with a few hundred dollars worth of books for a tenth of the price. I figured Denny might like to visit it, and that would be something he and I could do together.
        "Hey, Bubba," I said, "I was thinking about driving over to the outlet center and checking out the big bookstore they have there. Are you interested in going?"
        "That would be great, Rick," he said.
        "Go get a shirt and some shoes, and let's go."
        He was back down in a heartbeat, ready to go.
        "Have you ever been to a really big bookstore before," I asked once we were on the road.
        "No, sir," he said. "Er, Rick, I really don't have any money to buy anything with."
        "You're getting an allowance, aren't you," I asked.
        "No, sir," he said.
        "What? Kevin doesn't give you an allowance?"
        "No, sir," he said.
        Shit, I thought. How'd we fuck up on that?
        "Well, you're going to start getting one," I said. "How have you been paying for your lunch?"
        "Kyle or Tim or Brian or somebody always buys it for me," he said.
        "We figured out about a year ago, or maybe a little longer, that a guy in high school needs about eighty bucks a week. When Tim lived with us, we set it up that he had access to an ATM account. That way, he could get money when he needed it. Hold on just a second," I said.
        I dialed Kevin's cell phone number.
        After he answered, I said, "Babe, are you aware that Denny isn't getting an allowance?"
        "No. Shit! Make sure he knows not to tell Kyle that we slipped up on that," Kevin said.
        I laughed.
        "You just don't want to have to have another 'private talk' with him, do you?"
        "Let's do the ATM thing like we did with Tim," he said.
        "Okay. That's what I was thinking, too. I was thinking eighty a week," I said.
        "Yeah, that's about right. We did seventy-five for Tim, but that was over a year ago. Eighty sounds about right. Alex isn't getting an allowance, either," Kevin said.
        "Yeah, but he has a job. Justin has never gotten an allowance, and he was an official foster child. I think Alex is doing okay," I said.
        "You're right. Where are you right now?"
        "We're headed over to the outlet center to the bookstore," I said.
        "Find out if he needs shoes or any more clothes," Kevin said. "You can shop there, if he does."
        "Okay, Babe. I love you. See you later."
        "Bye," he said. "I love you, too."
        We had started breaking up a little bit, but I had the basic information I needed.
        "Kevin said eighty was what he was thinking, too. We'll get that set up on Monday for you, Bubba. I'll give you some money for books today, if you find anything," I said.
        "Thanks, Rick. You guys are really nice," Denny said.
        "Oh, and how are you fixed for clothes and shoes?"
        "Good. I have all the new stuff that we bought when Kyle took us shopping," he said.
        "What do you say we get you at least a new shirt and new pair of pants? You can always use those," I said.
        "Cool," he said.
        We rode along in silence for a while. They were adding two more lanes to the highway we were on, and the construction made it slow. Plus, Saturday afternoon was a busy time on that stretch of road, anyway. Hell, it was always a busy time along through there.
        "Tell me about what you're doing in school," I said.
        "My English teacher is wonderful, Rick. I've never known anybody quite like her before. She knows more about books than anybody I've ever even heard of," he said.
        "Good. Are you interested in any clubs or anything," I asked.
        "I'm thinking about maybe joining the debate team. What do you think of that?"
        "Some of the smartest people I knew in high school were debaters. They were so up on current events and all that they even put some of the teachers to shame. I think it would be great for you," I said.
        "It's expensive, though," he said.
        "Why is that?"
        "They have to go on a good many trips for tournaments and to debate at schools out of town. The coach said to plan on spending about three hundred dollars a month on debate-related activities during November, December, January, February, and March," he said. "And I'd have to have a suit and some ties. They have to wear that to debate in," he said.
        "We'll see if we can find you a suit today. How about that?"
        "Could we afford the three hundred dollars a month," he asked.
        Oh, please, I thought. "Yeah, Bubba, we can afford it," I said.
        Denny and I had a great day together. He was clever, appreciative, and very smart. He was also very polite, which I pretty much already knew. The picture Kevin and I had been given of him based on his previous record was totally and completely wrong.
        I broached that subject on our return trip.
        "You know, Denny, you are a very different person than Kevin and I were expecting," I said.
        "How is that?"
        "Well, we were told you're a fighter, for one thing. Have you gotten into any fights since you've been with us?"
        "No, sir. Kyle would whip my ass if I got into a fight at school," he said.
        "Oh, he would?"
        "Yes, sir. He said he would, and I believe him," Denny said.
        "Kyle might stretch the truth now and then, but he doesn't lie," I said. "He's a man of his word."
        "I know," he said. He got a strange kind of look on his face. "Tim is so lucky."
        Crush, I thought. Yep, here's another one.
        "Do you like Kyle," I asked.
        "Oh, yeah. Very much," he said.
        "Do you think that maybe you have a little crush on Kyle," I asked.
        He blushed so hard that I thought I could almost feel the heat coming off his face.
        "It's okay if you do, you know. Just don't expect him to do anything sexual with you," I said.
        He blushed even deeper, if that were possible.
        "Kyle and Tim are in love, aren't they?"
        "Yeah, Bubba, they are. Very much so," I said.
        "And Justin and Brian, too, and you and Kevin, right," he said.
        "Yeah. Do you feel a little left out," I asked.
        "Yeah. Sometimes," he said. "I don't know if I could ever do anything sexual, like you all do."
        "When you meet the right boy, you'll be able to, son," I said.
        "You just called me 'son,'" he said.
        "That's what you are, isn't it," I said.
        "Rick, you and Kevin have absolutely no idea how wonderful my life has been since I've been here with you. Everything is clean. People are nice to one another. There's plenty to eat. We're always having fun. It's better than anything I had ever imagined," he said.
        Tug at my heart, why don't you, I thought. At that moment I would have taken in a busload of kids like him.
        "Rick, I come from trash. Poor white trash, of the worst kind," he said.
        "But you're not trash, are you," I said.
        "Maybe I am, Rick. Can you be anything else when you come from trash," he asked.
        "Do you think Justin is trash," I asked.
        "Oh, no. He's wonderful," he said. "He's so nice and so much fun. He's not like me."
        "Denny, Justin would say this about himself, if he were here right now, so don't get upset at what I'm about to tell you, okay?"
        "Okay," he said.
        "Compared to Justin's background, your background was upper class," I said.
        "Really!?"
        "Really, son," I said. "I'm not going to tell you too much about Justin. He can tell you himself when he gets to know you better, but I will say this. Kyle and Tim found him naked in a motel room in chains."
        "My God," he said.
        "Brian is from a background about like yours," I said.
        "You're kidding," he said.
        "No, I'm not. Those boys aren't trash, are they," I said.
        "Never, Rick. What about Kyle and Tim," he asked.
        "Kyle, Tim, and Jeff all come from middle class backgrounds. Upper-middle in Kyle's case, and probably Tim's, too. I'm not sure about Jeff, but his background is definitely middle class. Did you know Jeff and Kyle's brother, Clay, were lovers at one time? Clay died just about a year ago," I said. "We didn't know him very well, though."
        "You're blowing my mind," he said. "What about Alex?"
        "I think Alex came from a middle-class family, but it was abusive and dysfunctional. He ran away because his father beat him one too many times," I said. "And he didn't even know Alex was gay. There's no telling what might have happened if he had found that out."
        "I guess I'm not the luckiest one in the house, after all," he said.
        "Don't mention that you and I talked about this stuff, okay? They don't try to hide their pasts, but let them bring it up if they want to, alright?"
        "Yes, sir. They all seem so normal," he said.
        "They do? Guess what? You do, too," I said.
        He started crying then, and he cried quietly the rest of the way home.
        "Rick, thank you for a wonderful day, and for all the stuff," he said when we got home.
        "Go put it in your room. I'm sure the rest of them are wondering where the hell we've been. It's almost time to leave for Mass," I said.
        "Yes, sir. Rick, can I kiss you," he asked.
        I touched my right cheek, the one closest to him. He touched it gently with his lips, and I knew that taking time with him that day was worth its weight in gold for that kid. I had to gasp for breath to keep from sobbing.
        
(Philip's Perspective)
        Homecoming just about did in all the SGA officers. I was second vice-president, which meant I was right there in the thick of it. I was on all three of the big committees, but I was chairman of the bonfire/fish fry committee. We met every Tuesday night, and I never missed a meeting. I went to the Monday meeting of the Dance/Court Committee pretty often because my best friend, Kyle Goodson, chaired that one. He usually got us out of there in a hour, and then he and I would go eat. Those were some good evenings that we spent together.
        Kyle and I had known each other since kindergarten. When we were little, we used to fight like cats and dogs, but we always liked each other. Once he and I got to be friends, we discovered that our dad's had been friends since they had been little kids, and his Grandpa Goodson and my Grandpa Andrews had been friends forever, too. I'm not saying the older guys had ever been as close as Kyle and I were, but they were definitely good friends. My family had always been in real estate, and Kyle's family had always been in the hotel business. There were many, many deep, entangled roots.
        We all did a great job organizing Homecoming. The bonfire was a true pain in the ass because we had to get a permit from the state to have it. I had to fill out a form that was thirty pages long, and I'm not kidding, for the Florida Environmental Protection Agency. We hadn't had a whole lot of rain in the last couple of months, except for one tiny-ass tropical storm, and they weren't going to let us have it. My dad and Mr. Gene and some of the other dads got busy calling in favors, though, and they finally gave us a permit. Of course, we had to pay a fucking fortune to the Beach fire department to have four tank trucks on site during the fire, but the dads put up that money.
        Fish fry. Sounds simple, doesn't it? Like me, you've probably been to a million of them. Well, it wasn't. That's where the mothers came in. My mom knew everybody, and she and Miss Rita worked their butts off to make that thing happen. By the time I got around to getting something to eat, all the grouper and catfish were gone. All they had left was mullet. Somebody had left the hush puppies in way too long, and they were hard as rocks. The French fires I got had been cooked in fish grease, and they were pretty rank. The coleslaw was good, though.
        "Hey, Andrews," Kyle had said to me one day a couple of weeks before Homecoming. "I think we need raws at the fish fry. I'm dying for some, man."
        "I don't think they've ever had oysters at the fish fry before, Kyle," I said.
        "I know. That's why our class has got to do it, man," he said. "Three bucks a dozen, and we'll make us a fucking fortune."
        I had to think about that. I loved raw oysters better than just about anything, and I knew people would go for them. Homecoming was the second weekend in October, and I knew not too many people would have had any raws by then. I gave in, mostly out of greed, both for the oysters and the money. Jesus, what a mistake!
        I had to end up hiring four guys to shuck the damn things, and the lines were so long that some people missed most of the pep rally waiting to get theirs. If I ever had to do that again, I'd know better how to organize that operation. Kyle told me he ate three dozen and they were really good. Yeah? I didn't eat a fucking one. We did make a bunch of money on that booth, though.
        As the SGA president, Kyle MC'd the pep rally with the guy who had been the first SGA president ten years before, the first year the school had seniors. They were good, too. The old guy was the vice president of a bank his family owned, and he was as funny as Kyle was. The thing was supposed to be for alumni, as well as students, and they showed up in droves. The full band was there, of course, and then a smaller group got pulled out to play dance music. They played mostly old stuff, but the people danced.
        I didn't get that shit fully closed down till 11:30. By then I wanted a cigarette so bad I could scream. I took a chance and bummed one off my dad.
        "Kyle asked me to bum a cigarette off you for him, Daddy," I said.
        "Kyle needs one, does he," he said.
        "Yes, sir," I said.
        "That Kyle is a bad boy. I'm glad you don't need one, son," he said, grinning at me.
        "You know, don't you, Daddy," I said.
        "Son, I've known you and Kyle smoke for a couple of years, at least," he said. "It ain't the worse thing you've had in your mouth."
        "Daddy, that was a low blow," I said.
        "Your words, son, not mine."
        When I figured out what he was saying, I died laughing.
        "Come here," he said, and he grabbed me hard around the neck. "Your Mamma and I are as proud of you as any parents could ever be of their kid, Philip. This was incredible tonight, son. You worked hard on this, and it paid off."
        "Thanks, Daddy," I said. He turned me loose and gave me a light for my smoke. Wow! What a night!
* * *
        The next day was the parade. The two oldest schools in the county still had floats in their parades, but we didn't. The girls who were candidates rode in convertibles, sitting on the top of the back seat. The JV and varsity football teams all road in stake-body trucks. The bands from Beachside, two middle schools that fed Beachside, and a couple of elementaries marched on the street. Miss Sally Ortega, our principal, and Dr. Levi, the Superintendent, marched on the street, too. The Flag Corps was in it, the Dance Team, the Rhythmic Gymnastics team, the wrestling team--a bunch of teams--were all in it. The SGA officers were on a pick-up truck. Kyle was in a tux.
        "You look mighty handsome, there, buddy," I said to him.
        "Shut the fuck up. I feel like a damn fool in this get-up," he said.
        "Kyle, I'm telling you. You really do look good, man," I said.
        "You think?"
        "Hell, I know," I said. "See, nobody's looking at your face. They're just looking at the suit. That's why you look good."
        "Fuck you," he said, and we both nearly died laughing.
* * *
        That night at our stadium I was wearing a damn tux, too. Only the escorts of the court had to wear them, but I did 'cause my girl was in the court. Hell, she might even be Queen.
        "I think you're going to be the queen, Philip," Kyle said while we were in the bleachers getting ready to go out. He was MC-ing that, too.
        We both laughed.
        "Shut up, asshole. Don't out me in front of all these people," I said.
        "Philip, what would you do if I put my hand on your crotch right now and started rubbing. Real slow and nice. Real easy like. Catching that big ole head of your dick. Rubbing it, man. Ohhh, so nice."
        "Kyle, shut up. You're giving me a hard-on," I said.
        "Oh. Maybe I need to get down on my knees, take it out, and suck it a little bit for you, Philip," he said. "Ask Tim. I know how to suck a hard dick."
        I knew he was teasing me, and part of me thought the whole thing was funny. But part of me wanted to beat the shit out of him.
        "Kyle, shut up, goddamn it," I said. I was half mad, and he was laughing.
        My dick was sticking straight up in my lap. There was no way I could walk out on that field like that, and the time was getting mighty close. He reached over and flicked it with his finger. I don't know what he did, but that sucker was down in two heartbeats.
        "Thank you," I said, even though it had hurt a little.
        "You didn't think I was going to let you go out there like that, did you," he asked.
        I wanted to grab him up in a big hug and kiss his lips off.
        "I used to think the devil's name was Satan. Now I know his name is Kyle," I said.
        We both laughed really hard.
        The half-time ceremonies were really nice. Miss Sally Ortega, our principal, was right there in the middle of it. She spoke briefly and welcomed all the alumni and guests. Kyle did a real good job as the MC, and none of the candidates or their escorts tripped as we walked them from the middle of the field. The band did about the best show I'd ever seen of theirs, and everybody was festive. Making all that shit happen was a lot of damn work, but I think we all learned something from it.
        
(Kyle's Perspective)
        Philip and Ryan wanted me and Tim to go out with them after the game.
        "Are you out of your mind, Philip," I asked him. "I'm so damn tired I'm about to drop, man. Aren't you tired?"
        "Kyle, you're a fucking slacker, man," Philip said.
        "Maybe I am, Philip, but I've still got tomorrow night, you know? Last night was totally awesome, and you did a wonderful job with that. But I still have my night to do, you know?"
        "Okay, but we're partying our asses off tomorrow night, right?"
        "Absolutely, Philip. Tim and I will be there, son. Don't you worry about that one bit. You got the limo lined up?"
        "Yeah, but you still owe me money for that," he said.
        "Oh, that's right. Eighty, right?"
        "Yeah," he said.
        "I'll pay my way," Tim said.
        "Forty each then," Philip said.
        Tim and I took out our wallets at the same time. We each handed him two twenties.
        "See y'all tomorrow," Philip said.
        "Good night, guys," Ryan said. He had been an escort, too, but not of one of the ones in the court.
        Tim kissed me as soon as we got in the car.
        "Kyle, you were awesome last night and again tonight," he said.
        "You're awesome every night," I said.
        "You know what I mean."
        "Yeah, I do, and thank you, Babe," I said.
        "Let's go home," he said. I knew he meant Kevin and Rick's house, and that's where I wanted to be, too. With my peeps.
* * *
        They were all in the den when we got there, which I knew they would be.
        "Kyle, this thing has been incredible so far," Kevin said.
        Before I sat down good, Justin handed me a drink. It was a "real" drink, too. Bourbon and coke.
        "You deserve it," he said.
        "Thanks, Bubba," I said. "Did you think it went good," I asked.
        I stripped out of my coat, vest, and bow tie. I was down to shirt and pants.
        "Take the shirt off, Kyle," Kevin said. "You don't want to get it messed up. You've got to wear it again."
        I pulled that shirt off over my head, leaving the studs and cuff links right where they were. I didn't want to have to go through that again. I had on a white tee shirt under the shirt.
        "I didn't realize you had to be the MC at all this stuff," Kevin said.
        "Yeah, tomorrow night, too. First I had to organize it, and then I have to run it all. This is way too big a job for me," I said.
        "Get a fucking grip, dude," Justin said. "It ain't too big for you. You're doing it good, ain't you?"
        "Do y'all think I'm doing it good," I asked.
        "Yes, Kyle, you're doing it extremely well," Kevin said.
        "I hope so," I said.
        "What I like is the fact that you and Philip have been doing stuff together," Tim said. "I know how much he means to you, Babe, and I really like it that you guys have connected so well on this thing."
        "Yeah, we have. I can't ever replace him in my heart, and it is good we've been doing stuff," I said.
        "You told me one time that he's your best friend from childhood and I'm your best friend from adulthood," Justin said.
        "That's exactly right, Jus, and that's the way it's going to always be. So you and Philip had best get to know one another good," I said.
        "Lighten up, Kyle. I like him a lot. It ain't a contest, you know?"
        I laughed. "I know. He likes you a lot, too. I'm exhausted. I'm going to bed."
        Timmy went up with me, but I was sound asleep before he had even brushed his teeth.
        
Chapter 07
        
(Tim's Perspective)
        Kyle went right to sleep as soon as he got into bed the night of the Homecoming game. I wasn't surprised. He had really been working hard, and so far the hard work was paying off. I didn't go to sleep right away, though. Instead I lay there thinking about how lucky I was that he loved me. Kyle could have had anyone he wanted, and I knew that. Most of the gay kids we knew would cheerfully have done anything Kyle asked them to do, and just about any girl in school would have jumped at a chance to date him, if he had been interested.
        Kyle was ready for loving the next morning, though, and it was good. Very good. He was excited about the dance, and I enjoyed the benefits of that excitement.
        "What are you going to do today," I asked while we were still lounging in bed.
        "I need to go to school to check on the decorating," he said. "I think it's in good shape, but I just wouldn't feel right if I didn't put in an appearance. What are you going to do?"
        "I was thinking of going out to the island with Brian, Denny, and Chip, if that's all right," he said.
        "If it's all right? You can do what you want, Babe. You know that," he said.
        "I want to take the boat, though."
        "Oh, y'all aren't going to swim out to the island," he asked, grinning.
        "Very funny," I said.
        "Don't forget. We're supposed to go eat at 5:30. There are going to be a lot of people eating out tonight, and we need to give ourselves plenty of time," he said. "We've got reservations, though."
        "What time does the dance start," I asked.
        "Not till eight, but I need to be there no later than 7:30," he said.
        "Okay. I'll be dressed and ready," I said. "Kyle?"
        "Huh?"
        "I love you," I said.
        He smiled so sweet when I said that.
        "I love you, too," he said, and he kissed me.
* * *
        The weather was gorgeous. It was in the mid-seventies, but the humidity was unusually low for Emerald Beach. The sky was bright blue over the Gulf, and you could look back toward land across the bay and see how much paler the sky was in that direction. We had Trixie with us, of course, and we were set for a good day of fun in the sun.
        The first thing we did was set up a little camp sort of thing. We had an ice chest with soft drinks and bottles of water, and we had stopped and bought big sandwiches for lunch. Brian and I got naked right away. He and I didn't like to be naked as much as Kyle and Justin did, but it seemed like the thing to do on that beach. It was perfect.
        "Are you guys going to get comfortable," Brian asked Denny and Chip.
        "I am," Chip said.
        He jumped out of his clothes in a second. Denny got undressed, too, but he didn't seem as eager to do it as Chip had been.
        "You can keep your clothes on if you want to, Bubba," Brian said to him.
        "I know," Denny said. "This reminds me of the island in Lord of the Flies."
        "Who do you picture as characters in that book," I asked.
        "Kevin's Ralph, of course," he said.
        "Who's Kyle?"
        "Oh, Kyle would have to be Jack, don't you think," he said.
        "Because he's a leader, or because he's a savage?" I asked.
        "Oh, the leader part, for sure," Denny said. "He's not a savage."
        We chatted about that book for a little while. We were sitting in a sort of loose circle, facing one another. Chip was across from me, and he had his legs spread wide apart. I'm just as gay as the next guy, but I don't necessarily check guys out immediately, especially ones like them that I've seen a million times. When I did look at his groin, I was surprised.
        "Chip, is that what I think it is down there?" I asked.
        Chip blushed, but he also grinned from ear to ear. He had hair! It wasn't much yet, but it was definitely hair.
        "It's getting bigger, too," he said. "And my balls have grown some, too, I think."
        "Come here. Stand up," I said. "You're taller, too. When did this happen?"
        "It's been pretty gradual, but all of my jeans from last year were way too short for me. I had to buy all new school clothes for this year. Already the new ones are getting short for me," he said.
        All of us were happy for Chip and laughing. I put my arm around his shoulder and did a little sideways hug.
        "Oh, oh," he said.
        "What's the matter," I asked.
        "It's getting stiff," he said.
        We had all seen him with erections before, but it had been several months.
        "Let's see how big it gets, Chip," Brian said. "It's okay. It's just us."
        "I don't know what I could do about it, anyway," he said. We all laughed.
        He got hard fast, and his penis was a good bit bigger than I remembered it being. In fact, it was definitely man-size. Probably four-and-a-half inches.
        "We told you it was going to happen sooner or later, didn't we?" I asked. I was genuinely happy for him.
        "Yeah, and it finally is," he said. "And I'm finding out what sexual attraction means, too."
        We were sitting down again by then.
        "Tell us," Denny said.
        "You and I have already talked about this," Chip said. "By the way, did you all know we're best friends?"
        "Not officially, but you sure act like best friends," I said.
        "Well, we are," he said. "And the problem is, I don't think I'm gay."
        Brian and I laughed.
        "That's not a problem, dude," Brian said. "A lot of people think being gay is a problem. Not being straight."
        "I know, but I don't want you guys to stop being my friends. Especially Denny. I love you guys. Just not that way, you know?"
        "We have straight friends, Chip," I said. "You'll always be our friend, Bubba."
        "Like who," he asked.
        "Morgan, Blake, and Riley are all straight. At least as far as we know. Chris, too. A ton of guys in our scout troop. A bunch of people at school," I said.
        "Most of your good friends are gay, though, aren't they?" he asked.
        "Yeah, probably. I think we tend to make stronger friendships with guys who like to be around other guys more than they like to be in mixed company," I said. "If you don't mind hanging out with a bunch of gay guys, you'll be welcome with us anytime, Chip."
        "The thing is, I don't really think of most of you guys as gay. You're just guys," Chip said.
        "Yeah, but we're gay," Brian said. "Make no mistake about that."
        "Chip, I'm ready to get in the water," I said, "but please don't ever think you're not welcome with us because you aren't gay, okay?"
        "Okay. Thanks, Tim. Let's get wet," he said, and he headed into the surf, followed immediately by Trixie and Denny.
        Brian and I kind of tagged behind.
        "Did you ever think you'd have to tell somebody it's okay to be straight?" Brian asked.
        I laughed.
        "We have to build self-esteem in everyone, Bri," I said.
        "I know."
        We were both laughing so hard we could hardly walk.
        "I can't wait to tell Kevin and Rick," I said.
        "Don't you dare tell them unless I'm there, you hear?"
        "Okay, Bubba," I said.
        Brian and I went into the waves, still laughing our asses off.
* * *
        Kyle had to wear his tux again that night, and he looked unbelievably good in it. His black hair, dark eyes, and olive-toned skin contrasted with that snow-white shirt beautifully, and the black suit was stunning.
        He and I were the only ones from the family who were going to the dance. There would probably be a few sophomores there, but Brian wasn't really the kind who would have enjoyed that sort of occasion, especially without Justin. Freshmen were allowed to attend, so Denny and Chip could have gone, but it was basically an event for juniors and seniors, and everybody sort of knew that. They'd have their turn. Justin, Alex, and Cody weren't students there, so they couldn't go, unless they went as somebody's date. That wasn't happening, though.
        Brian and I had tried to talk Chad and Gage into going. Chad said "not no, but hell no." Gage said he wouldn't mind going but all he was interested in was seeing what the girls were wearing. Kyle had all but bitten his tongue in two to keep from laughing when Gage said that, but he didn't tease him about it. Instead, he said he'd take lots of pictures of the girls so Gage could see their dresses.
        "Can you believe Gage?" Kyle had said when it was just Brian, him, and me.
        "You know, Kyle, I admire him," Brian said. "He's perfectly at ease with who he is. I'm not really attracted to his type, but I definitely like him as a friend."
        "I know," Kyle said. "Me, too. He's so funny. He was supposed to be one of the escorts, but he backed out because Chad didn't want to go to the dance. Gage is very smart, you know."
        "Duh," I had said.
        "Fuck you," Kyle said, grinning.
        "Tim, are you going to be an escort next year?" Bri asked me.
        "Yeah, if I'm chosen," I said.
        "Bubba, they do it by rank in class," Bri said.
        "Then, yeah, I'm going to do it," I said.
        "You know your rank in class?" Kyle asked.
        He said it the same way he might have said, "You know how many hairs are on your head," or "You know how many sperm are in each ejaculation." Not that he would have ever said "ejaculation."
        "Yeah," I said. "Do you know yours?"
        "Hell, no. How would I know that," he asked.
        "You ask them in Guidance, Babe," I said. "Every grading period they get a printout that has that on it."
        "I don't know, and I don't care. I guess I'm not in the top thirty-five guys, though," he said. "I couldn't have handled being an escort and all this other shit, too."
        "Kyle, you could . . . "
        "Tim, don't say it, okay? We've been through it enough. It's the way I am, and I can't help it," he said.
        "Are you mad at me?" I asked.
        "No, I'm not mad at you," he said, grinning. "I just can't help it."
        "I know, Babe," I said. "And you know what?"
        "What," he asked.
        "That's one of the things about you that makes me love you," I said. "Because I know the truth about you, Kyle, and every once in a while, like on the PSAT that made you a National Merit semifinalist, you let the truth bubble to the surface."
        "Every once in a while, my daddy shoots a hole-in-one, too, just to show the rest of them that he can do it," he said.
        "That's a perfect analogy, Kyle," I said.
        "Why are we even talking about this?" he asked.
* * *
        Our group that night was Kyle and I; Philip and Ryan; Morgan and Samantha, Morgan's date; a girl named Cathy who was really pretty and very smart; and a girl named Barbara, who belonged to some religion that didn't let women wear makeup or cut their hair. I wondered if Barbara could dance.
        We went to one of the Goodson hotels for dinner. It was actually the one that had the best restaurant, at least in Kyle's opinion, and they were ready for us. The host, or maitre' d, or whoever he was, referred to Kyle as Mr. Kyle, and Phillip gave Kyle no rest about that.
        "Mistah Kyle, lemme hep you zip your pants, there, suh," Philip said.
        "Shut up," Kyle said, laughing.
        "Mistah Kyle, lemme cut yo meat for you, suh," Philip said.
        We were all laughing.
        "Your ass is mine tonight, Bubba," Kyle said, pointing his finger at Philip.
        "I beg your pardon," Ryan said.
        We all laughed hard at that line. Morgan's date seemed a little confused, but she laughed, too. She was really cute, and she seemed to be a very good sport.
        Kyle and Philip kept it up in the same vein all through dinner. It was very obvious to me that those two boys had a rapport that only develops over a lifetime of friendship.
        We started with an appetizer. Kyle got raw oysters, of course, and I got shrimp remoulade, which he also likes. The remoulade sauce was the best I had ever tasted. I gave Kyle one of the shrimp.
        "I'll be getting that sauce recipe," he said. "That's a little bite of heaven, right there, isn't it?"
        The rest of the meal was good; very good, in fact. At 7:15, Kyle asked the waiter to bring the check.
        "There is no check," the waiter said.
        "What?"
        "Believe me, Kyle. There is no check. It would have been $400 if there had been a check, though," he said.
        "Gotcha," Kyle said, and the waiter left the table.
        "The tip is ten bucks a piece," Kyle said. "We were an experiment, so we don't have to pay for the rest of it."
        I noticed Kyle left a twenty.
        "Yeah, this was an experiment, all right. An experiment in how much Goodson ass they could kiss at one time," Philip said so that only Kyle and I heard him.
        We laughed.
        "Have you got a problem with that, Mistah Philip," Kyle asked.
        Philip laughed. "Not a bit, Mistah Kyle. Not a bit, suh."
* * *
        I expected the eight of us to be the first ones at the dance, but we weren't. Several of the other SGA officers were there, as was the DJ, the photographer, the SGA sponsor, and several members of the dance committee. Kyle was satisfied with the way everything looked, and he gave it his stamp of approval.
        I had never been to a dance before, and I was sort of in awe at the whole thing. It was in the school gym, but they had decorated everything that had a place to hang something on or tape up something to. It was really pretty tasteful, though, I thought. The school colors were silver and navy blue, and that was the main color scheme. They had a place where you could get your picture taken with your date or with whoever you wanted.
        "Let's go get our picture made before it really starts," Kyle said. "I won't have time to do this once it gets going."
        The photographer turned out to be Kyle's friend who had taken our picture the previous Christmas and who had taught Kyle darkroom work.
        "I want each one of you by yourself, and then I want you two together as a couple," he said.
        We posed like he told us to.
        "Have you sold any yet," he asked Kyle.
        "Yes, sir. One to a museum, even," Kyle said.
        "I'm not surprised. Come by with your portfolio sometime, so I can see it," he said.
        "Yes, sir," Kyle said.
        "Who hired the photographer, Kyle?" I asked. "Was it competitively bid?"
        "Of course not. I hired him," he said. "He's our friend, and he's the best. Ergo . . ."
        "Ergo? What is that shit," I asked, teasing him.
        "I think it's French for 'stands to reason,'" he said.
        "Did you take a cute pill tonight," I asked.
        He laughed. "No, but I took a dose of 'cute syrup' this morning," he said. "Quite a big dose, in fact, as I remember it."
        "Jesus, Kyle," I said. I'm sure I blushed, but he really was cute.
        The dance started off pretty slowly, and it was obvious a lot of people were there just to get their pictures taken and to see who the Queen would be. We did the crowning after about an hour, and about half the people left right after that. That was when the people who stayed really started dancing.
        Kyle and I didn't slow dance together the way we did at home or at that gay club we had gone to in New Orleans, but we danced fast together in a group a bunch of times. I took my suit coat off, but Kyle kept his on the whole time. His was pure wool, too, and I knew he had to be hot. He had sweat streaming down his face when we danced fast.
        "Take your coat off, Babe. You look like you're about to die," I said at one point.
        "No. My daddy told me a gentleman never takes off his tux coat, no matter how hot he gets," he said. "I think it's punishment for being stupid enough to agree to wear this get-up."
        I laughed.
        "Tim, are you as proud of him as I am," Mrs. Ortega, the principal, asked me.
        "Yes, ma'am. Maybe even a little bit more," I said.
        "Well, you should be, Tim. He's pretty amazing," she said.
        "Yes, ma'am," I said.
* * *
        We left the dance at eleven, and we drove back to Kyle's house. His parents had food for us: finger sandwiches, petit fours, nuts, cheese and crackers. That kind of stuff. They had some steamed artichokes, too, and nobody but Kyle ate any of those. He ate three by my count. I was pretty hungry, even though I had eaten a big dinner. They had some kind of sparkling grape juice that looked like wine or champagne but really wasn't. He and I changed into casual clothes in his room.
        The limo got there just before 11:30. It was white, and it looked like it was a half block long. We had it until 3:30 Sunday morning. Philip was in charge of that, but he wasn't going to do anything without Kyle's okay.
        "What do you want to do," Philip asked Kyle.
        "I don't know. What do you want to do?"
        "We've got it for four hours. Let's just ride around," Philip said.
        "That sounds good to me," Kyle said.
        That limo had everything you could imagine. It had an incredible sound system and a stack of CD's that would make a radio station blush. It had a DVD player, with a bunch of DVD's. It had TV. It had radio, of course, but nobody cared about that. It was like a rolling condo, or something.
        Philip and Kyle talked to the driver, and I didn't hear what they said. We took off, though, and then they broke out the booze. On the first round, everybody had a drink but Barbara. On the second round, everybody had a drink but Barbara and me.
        "What's the matter, Tim? You're not drinking," Morgan said.
        "He doesn't like it, Morgan, so I have to drink for him and me, too," Kyle said.
        Morgan laughed.
        We stopped, got out, and played a round of Putt-Putt at one of the places on the beach.
        "Let's go to a bungee place," Philip said. "I want to see this guy bungee jump." He meant Kyle.
        "It's not a problem, Philip. I've bungee jumped a bunch of times. With you, in fact, and I jumped off the bridge twice," Kyle said. I didn't know what he meant.
        "Twice," Philip and Ryan both said together.
        "Out of the back of a pickup truck?" Ryan asked.
        "Yeah. Me and my brother. Twice. On my Eagle honor. Have you done it yet?"
        "Yeah, we just did it last summer," Ryan said. "Not this past one, the one before."
        "Don't do it anymore. It's too dangerous with that new bridge they're building," Kyle said. "I just recently talked to my daddy about this. He said he did it twice, too."
        "Fuck, Kyle. If you can do it twice, I can do it three times," Ryan said.
        "Not anymore, Ryan. Nobody can do it anymore until they get the new bridges finished. The one they're working on now will be the one to jump off, and that sucker is way higher than our bridge," Kyle said. "You're still only going to be able to jump off the west-bound bridge."
        "Did you jump off the west-bound side of our bridge?" Ryan asked. "That's the side we did."
        "Yeah. That's the only one you can jump off. When I did it, they had that old bridge that was a fishing bridge on the south side of the current bridge. I wasn't hitting that fucker with my head," Kyle said.
        "Goodson, I'm impressed that you did it twice," Ryan said.
        "I did it twice, and that's it. I'm not doing it no more, even if you do it three times, Ryan."
        "We'll see," Ryan said.
        "Ryan, please don't do it, man. It's too dangerous now. With all that construction? You don't know what's under that water, man," Kyle said. He was pleading with Ryan.
        "We'll see. Have another drink, Kyle," Ryan said.
        My God, I thought. Kyle jumped out of the back of a pick-up truck going over that bridge! It had to be twenty stories above the water. And he did it twice! When I drove over the bridge, which was really the only way to get to town, I always stayed in the inside lane. The lanes were narrow, and it had a steel girding at the top in the middle of it that had been filled in with concrete years before. The concrete had contracted through the years, and you could actually see daylight through the floor of the bridge at that spot. If it was the least bit wet, you felt like your car was slipping into the other lane of traffic, but only because it was. They were in the process of building two new bridges across the bay, and each one would have three lanes for cars, an emergency lane, and a pedestrian/bike lane. Each of the two new ones was going to be eighty feet wide, and the current bridge was only sixty-two feet wide, with two lanes in each direction. That sounded about right to me, but the bridge Kyle and the others had jumped off was a monster. And it had concrete light posts every twenty feet.
        By the time the limo guy dropped us off, Kyle and I were both nearly asleep. Correction: Kyle was asleep. We slept at his house that night, and it was eleven o'clock the next morning before we woke up. We were hot for each other that morning, so we took care of that. Then we went downstairs to see his parents.
        "Did you boys have a good time after the dance?" his mom asked.
        "Yes, ma'am. We had a real good time," Kyle said.
        "We played putt-putt and went bungee jumping," I said.
        "Kyle, we need to get you and Tim out on the golf course," Gene said.
        "Yes, sir, I want to, too," Kyle said. "Do you want to play?"
        "Yeah. You've never played?" I asked Kyle.
        "He's played off and on since he was eight years old, Tim. You never told him that?"
        "No, sir. It never came up," Kyle said.
        "We played St. Andrew's in Scotland when he was twelve, Tim," Gene said.
        I didn't know too much about golf, but I knew what St. Andrew's was.
        "You don't talk to your boy, Kyle," Gene said.
        "Yes, sir, I talk to him a lot. But talking about that kind of stuff is kind of like bragging, don't you think?"
        "Yeah, I can see how you'd think that it is," Gene said.
        Two of a kind, I thought.
        
(Kyle's Perspective)
        Jesus Christ! My parents didn't have a fucking clue! Telling Tim I played golf at St. Andrew in Scotland? He had lived in a lot of places, and he had been all over the damn world. We had been to a lot of places, too, but Tim was an international guy.
        "Kyle, were you embarrassed because your dad said you had played golf at St. Andrew?" he asked.
        "A little bit," I said.
        "Kyle, if you're going to be embarrassed in front of me, it's going to have to be because you raped some chick on the courthouse steps, okay," he said. "It can't be because you played golf at some country club."
        I laughed. I knew it was stupid to feel funny about that, but that was the kind of stuff that rich people did. I knew Tim's dad did alright financially, but he didn't have the kind of money my parents had. The last thing I wanted was for Tim to feel inferior to me. I hated that I had done so good on that damn PSAT test. He said I bubbled up on that test, and maybe I did, but I think it was putting pressure on him, and that was the last thing I wanted. That boy was my life, and nothing mattered more to me than he did.
* * *
        On Monday, everybody was talking about how much fun Homecoming had been. I went to my first period class as usual, and it wasn't more than about ten minutes into the class when they called my classroom from the office to say they needed me to report up there immediately.
        "What the hell did you do?" Morgan Crawford whispered to me. He sat right next to me.
        "Damned if I know," I said.
        I make it a habit of never passing a drinking fountain without getting at least a mouthful of water. We were allowed to have bottles of water in class because it was supposed to be good for your brain or something like that, but I never fooled with carrying water around. I did stop for some every time, though. I did it that morning, too.
        When I got to the office, the secretary told me to go into Miss Sally's office. When I got in there, I found Bill Harmon, the deputy sheriff who worked at our school as a Resource Officer, this kid named Kent Bishop, and a man and a lady that I figured were Kent's parents. He had been in a couple of classes with me, and I thought he was a pretty nice guy, but he wasn't really a friend of mine. His left arm was in a sling.
        "Mr. and Mrs. Bishop, this is Kyle Goodson. He's president of our Student Government Association."
        I shook hands with the two parents.
        "Kyle, do you and Kent know one another," she asked.
        "Yes, ma'am. What's up, Kent?"
        "Hi, Kyle," he said, but we didn't shake hands.
        "And, of course, you know Deputy Harmon," she said.
        Bill and I nodded to each other. He was a big guy, probably six feet, two twenty-five. Frankly, I thought he needed to drop a few pounds. He had sort of reddish blond hair, and his face was always red, too. I didn't think he looked all that healthy, and I wondered about his blood pressure. He was a really nice guy, though, and he wanted us all to call him Bill.
        "Kyle, what we say in this meeting has to be kept strictly confidential. Are you okay with that?"
        "Yes, ma'am," I said.
        "After the dance Saturday night some boys or young men attacked Kent and his friend Jason and beat them up. Kent has a broken wrist, and Jason is in the hospital with a concussion," Miss Sally said.
        Shit, I thought. What the fuck did they do to bring that on?
        "I'm sorry to hear that. Were they guys from Beachside," I asked.
        "I didn't recognize them. There were four of them, and it was dark," Kent said.
        "Do you know why they did it," I asked.
        "We think it was motivated by hatred," Bill Harmon said. "They were calling Kent and Jason epithets and otherwise being obnoxious."
        I must have had a puzzled look on my face to match my puzzled mind.
        "Do you know what that means, Kyle," Miss Sally asked.
        "No, ma'am," I said.
        "They were calling them names," she said.
        Why the hell didn't he say that, I thought.
        "What'd they call you," I asked.
        Kent blushed.
        "They were slang terms for homosexuals," Miss Sally said.
        There was this real uncomfortable silence all of a sudden. I never thought he might be gay, and I didn't know the Jason kid they were talking about. I felt like they were waiting for me to say something, but I didn't know what to say. I decided to keep my mouth shut until I got some more clues.
        "The fact is, that potentially turns this into a hate crime," Bill said.
        "I hate that," I said, without thinking. That made ole Kent laugh, though, even though I hadn't meant it to be funny. That was just an expression everybody used.
        Again, more silence. Finally, I couldn't stand it anymore.
        "I feel like y'all want me to say something, but I don't know what to say. I didn't do it, if that's what you're thinking, and I've got witnesses who were with me every minute that night. Till 3:30 in the morning, in fact," I said. I was getting stressed.
        That made Miss Sally and Bill laugh.
        "Kyle, we never thought for a minute that you had anything to do with it," she said.
        "Well, I didn't, and I don't know who did," I said.
        "I'm wondering about that Hightower boy who was here on campus a couple of weeks ago. Do you remember that, Kyle," Bill asked.
        "Yes, sir, I remember him." How could I forget that redneck fuck, with the toilet paper glued to his face?
        "Kent, don't take this wrong, okay, man? But are you and Jason, er, are you guys, er . . ."
        "Yes," Kent said.
        "That's cool," I said. "You don't much act gay. I'm gay, too, Kent."
        "I know, Kyle. Everybody knows that, and nobody cares. Jason and I aren't out to anybody. Or we weren't, I should say," Kent said.
        "We knew, and we're fine with it, Kyle," his dad said quickly. "They're wonderful boys, and we love Jason like a third son."
        "Was Jason your date for the dance?" I asked.
        "Well, yeah," Kent said.
        "Kent, to tell you the truth, I didn't think there were any guy couples there as couples. I knew there were two or three girl couples, and they slow-danced together and all, but I didn't notice you all," I said.
        "We were really with a group, until they all left. We didn't slow-dance with each other," he said.
        Just then there was a call on Miss Sally's phone. She made a face to indicate she was annoyed that her secretary wouldn't have respected the fact that she was in a meeting. She answered it, though. There was no emotion on her face, and she really didn't say anything but "Thank you" just before she hung up.
        "Two other boys were beaten after the dance, too," she said.
        "Can you say who, Miss Sally?"
        She said the names of two boys who were friends of mine. We had all been in scouts together since Cub Scouts, and I knew damn good and well they were both as straight as they come.
        "Those boys are straight," I said. "I've known them since kindergarten, and I've been in the scouts with them for years. They both have girlfriends who are freshmen in college, one at Alabama, and one at Huntington in Montgomery. The girls couldn't come in for the weekend, and Jeff and Gray just rode together. We talked about it. We wanted them to join our group, but they didn't want to spend money on dinner and the limo since their girlfriends couldn't be here."
        "But they appeared to be a couple," Miss Sally said. "What did you and Tim do?"
        "We were in a group of eight, five boys and three girls. We went out to eat at the Boardwalk, then to the dance, then back to my house. My parents had food for us. Then we got in the limo and rode around. We played putt-putt, did some bungee jumping. That's about it," I said. I didn't think the booze was relevant.
        "Kyle, I'm going to ask you this as a friend and not as the principal of this school. Keep your eyes and ears open, please. Let me or Deputy Harmon know of anything you hear about this, okay," she said.
        "Yes, ma'am," I said. "Kent, what are you doing for lunch today?"
        "I usually go out to lunch with Jason," he said. "Nothing today, though."
        "Meet me in the senior parking lot right after the bell rings, okay? I want you to go to lunch with me and my friends today, okay?"
        "Cool," he said.
* * *
        Kent had lunch with us that day, and he became a regular member of our circle of friends after that. Jason got out of the hospital in a couple of days, and he came back to school on the next Monday. He joined our lunch crowd, too. There wasn't a table in the place big enough for all of us, so we started eating at two smaller tables. Every day we'd scramble up so that we all had a chance to eat with everybody. Gage and Chad, Philip and Ryan, Tim and I, and Kent and Jason always made it a point to sit at different tables. Denny and Chip always sat together, and Morgan, Blake, and Riley sat wherever they could find a place.
        We were quite a group, and Mom and Pop Sullivan, the older couple who ran the place, loved us. They had special little bags of treats for us for Halloween, and they cooked a spectacular turkey dinner for us on the Monday of Thanksgiving week. We chipped in and got them one of those Christmas Village houses for Christmas, which they collected and displayed in the restaurant, and Mom Sullivan cried when she opened it. They were so wonderful to us, but that's the way things are in a small beach town when the tourists are gone.
        We never did find out anything about who might have been responsible for the beatings. Jeff and Gray joined us at lunch from time to time, too, though, and we spent many a lunch talking about what had happened and speculating about who had done it.
        One Monday Gage was just beside himself with news.
        "Y'all will never believe what I heard this morning in first period," he said.
        "What?" I asked. "We can't believe it if you don't tell us."
        "Hush, Kyle. Ready? Meredith Olson is pregnant, and she got married this weekend in Georgia," he said.
        "How do you know that?" I asked.
        "Susan Repak told me. She's her best friend, and she was the maid of honor," he said. He did his fingers like he was making quotation marks when he said the word "maid." Some of 'em laughed, but I didn't know what that was supposed to mean.
        "Who's the lucky man," Philip said. He did his fingers the same way when he said the word "lucky." I knew what that meant.
        "Somebody named Mike Hightower," Gage said. "Does anybody know him? I think he's a pipe fitter or a pulp wooder or something. Very blue collar, whatever it is."
        "I know him. His name is Ike, not Mike, and he's a preacher," I said. "He's the guy Bill Harmon tackled in the parking lot when he came to ream my ass out over the same-sex couples at the Homecoming dance."
        "And you know what else Susan Repak told me?" He was using his most confidential voice. "This is on the rebound. Supposedly, she's in love with Darryl Harmon. But guess what, boys? Darryl's a fag. He plays for my team."
        Gage was funny as hell saying all of that.
        "Bill Harmon's brother? He's gay," Philip asked, astounded.
        "You missed your chance, Philip," Gage said.
        We all laughed.
        "I've seen him naked," Philip said.
        We laughed hard.
        "Details, Philip. And I mean details," Gage said.
        "He has great abs, Gage," Philip said. "And he has a bellybutton ring."
        "Ryan, teach this boy something, will you please," Gage said.
        We all laughed hard.
        "It sounds like my boys are having fun today," Mom Sullivan said when she came to the table to check on us.
        "Yes, ma'am. We always have fun here," I said. "Are we being too loud?"
        "Not at all. I'm glad you have fun here," she said. "Pop and I look forward to seeing you boys every day."
        "Well, we look forward to this great food every day, too, Mom," Philip said. "And to seeing you all, too, of course."
        "That's for sure," I said.
        "Chip, I think you've grown, haven't you?"
        "Yes, ma'am," Chip said.
        "We used to call him Peanut. Now we call him Gherkin, Grandma. I mean Mom," I said.
        "Kyle, you're terrible. That's probably why I love you. You boys can call me Grandma all you want to. I hope one day you can meet our grandson, Steve. Chad, you remind me a lot of him," she said.
        "Bring him on, Grandma. He'll be our friend, too," I said.
        "I know, Kyle. I know."
        
Chapter 08
        
(Kevin's Perspective)
        A lot went on that fall. About a week after the high school Homecoming, Cherie called to say she thought it had worked.
        "What do you mean, you think it worked?" I asked.
        "I haven't been to the doctor yet, but I went to the drugstore and bought every kind of home pregnancy testing kit they had. Every single one said I'm pregnant," she said.
        "Oh, my God! Cherie! I'm so happy for you!"
        "I'm trying my best to be restrained, Kev, but it seems so real," she said. "It worked. Thanks to you, it worked."
        "How is Craig handling all of this?" I asked.
        "He did the tests with me, of course. When the fourth one came in 'pregnant,' he went out and bought a whole box of cigars. Do you have any idea how much a whole box of cigars costs? Really good cigars?"
        I was laughing. That was so like Craig.
        "When are we going to know for sure, medically?" I asked.
        "Tomorrow," she said. "I have an appointment at ten. I'll call with the news, good or bad, okay?"
        "You damn sure better call," I said.
        "I love you, Kevin," she said.
        "I love you, too, sis."
        We hung up then, and I ran down to Rick's office to tell him. He was as happy as I was.
        That night almost nobody was around. Tim and Kyle were off at one of their houses, Brian and Justin were studying upstairs, Alex and Cody were at Cody's house, ostensibly studying, and Denny was reading in the den with us. Rick and I were reading and sort of watching TV at the same time.
        The next day I got the confirmation call from Cherie. She was pregnant! Rick and I joined the boys for lunch.
        "I had a call from my sister-in-law this morning, and she's definitely pregnant," I said. "She's due at the end of June."
        That place was packed with kids out for lunch, and our boys and their friends had two large oval tables near the wall of sliding glass doors next to the deck. There were a couple of new boys, Kent and Jason, but they seemed to fit right in with the others. They all cheered at the news, and we probably made ourselves obnoxious with all the noise. The two owners came out to see what was going on.
        "It sounds like good news," the lady asked.
        "We're having a cousin," Kyle said. "I bet it's going to be a little boy, too. Do y'all remember those three little boys in North Carolina? The Bromans?"
        "Yeah," Tim and Brian said in unison.
        "I want us to have one just like them," Kyle said.
        "That's wonderful," the lady said. "A special dessert tomorrow to celebrate. I hope you gentlemen will join us again for that."
        "We'll be here," Rick said. She knew exactly who we were, too.
        The next day, I called Jack Rooney to tell him I hoped Justin, Alex, and Cody could join us for lunch at The Starfish. I could tell he was confused, but he didn't argue.
        "Join us, too, Jack. Chip'll be there. All their friends will be there. We're celebrating a baby," I said.
        "Who had a baby," he asked.
        "Nobody, yet, but my sister-in-law is pregnant," I said.
        "Oh," he said. He sounded decidedly under whelmed. "I've got three different meal functions going on tomorrow at lunch. Can I take a rain check on this one?"
        "Of course, Jack, but we want the boys there for it," I said.
        "They'll be there," he said.
        There was a lot of celebrating going on the next day. Mom and Pop Sullivan were staples on the beach, and everybody in the hospitality industry knew them and liked them. They were probably in their mid-sixties, and they truly did have "grandparent" written all over them. I knew that Mom Sullivan ran the kitchen, and their kitchen was legendary. I didn't know how much cooking she did herself, but it was pretty clear she took personal responsibility for feeding their customers, most of whom were there every day.
        The special dessert was a bread pudding that was every bit as good as the bread pudding at Commander's Palace in New Orleans. Bread pudding was Commander's signature dessert; Commander's was a world-class restaurant; figure it out. The featured dish that day on the buffet line was a chicken pot pie that was to die for.
        "We need to start eating here more often," Rick said. "This food is incredible."
        "And you damn sure can't beat the price," I said.
        "You should hire her and make her the executive chef of the whole Goodson outfit," he said.
        Kyle was listening to us.
        "No! This is our place. It's their place, too," he said. "Leave her alone."
        "Okay, Kyle. This is a business question for you. What would you do if you were, say, CEO of Goodson Enterprises?" I asked.
        "I'd hire her in a minute and give her whatever the hell she wanted," he said, without a blink.
        "Interesting perspective," I said. "You would do that, but I can't? Is that what you're telling me?" I asked.
        "Yeah, 'cause I wouldn't be eating here every day then," he said.
        "So, the thing that's most important to you is your stomach?" I asked.
        "Stomach and below," he said.
        Rick had a mouthful of ice tea when Kyle said that, and he struggled not to blast it across the table. I laughed hard, too.
* * *
        The school boys had a long weekend off at the end of October because of state-wide teacher conferences that were going on all over. One of our hotels was hosting the state science teachers, for example, and, presumably, every subject had a similar meeting.
        "The kids have some holidays coming up," I said to Rick one night in bed. "What would you say to a trip to New Orleans that weekend?"
        "I'm always ready to go," he said.
        "I'm dying to see Cherie, and we haven't seen Seth since the first of August," I said. "I'll call my mom tomorrow to see if she minds if we come."
        "Kevin, I know what the answer to that's going to be," he said.
        "I do, too, but don't you think it's only polite to ask her?" I said.
        "Yes, Baby," he said. He tickled me a little.
        Rick spooned up against me, and I felt his erection.
        "Are you a little horny right now," I asked, teasing him.
        "A little," he said. "What made you think that?"
        "Oh, I don't know. Maybe your rock-hard dick? Do you think horniness might be causing that?"
        He chuckled. "I don't know," he said. "Maybe."
        I started moving back and forth, stimulating him. I did that for a minute or two, and his breathing became increasingly ragged. He pulled back, nudged me onto my back, and got on top of me. We were chest to chest, belly to belly, thighs to thighs, and, of course, dick to dick. He began thrusting gently against me, and I matched him with counter thrusts of my own. Rick kissed me powerfully and passionately, and we continued rubbing against one another. We could both last a long time in that arrangement for some reason, and our loving went on and on. Eventually, of course, we both had stupendous orgasms.
        "My God, that was good," Rick said when we were finished.
        "I know. Do you know what we just did is called?" I asked.
        "Making love?"
        "Well, yeah. Of course. But I meant that particular technique," I said.
        "No. I didn't know it had a name. I've always thought of it as rubbing our dicks together until we come," he said.
        I laughed, and he did, too.
        "It actually has a name. It's called frottage," I said.
        "Really? How do you know shit like that?" he asked.
        "I read about it on the Internet," I said. "There seems to be a movement among some of our gay brethren to replace anal intercourse with frottage. They call themselves the Cockrub Warriors."
        "Seriously?"
        "Seriously," I said. "There's a whole set of theory related to it. They think butt fucking is a feminization of man-to-man sex and that butt fucking makes one guy subservient to the other in a way that's unacceptable to them. It's all tied up with ancient Greece and with what they call homosex."
        "Damn, I'm thinking I need to spend more time on line," he said. "Maybe they're with guys who just don't know how to do butt fucking right. You like it, don't you?"
        "I'm not even going to answer that," I said. I loved it, and he knew it. I liked frottage a lot, too, though.
        We both laughed.
        We were quiet for a few minutes, lost in thought, no doubt. Or maybe just on the verge of going to sleep.
        "Jerking off is kind of like frottage, isn't it," he asked.
        "Yeah. Now that you mention it, I guess it is," I said. "Frottage is from French for 'rub.'"
        "Kevin, when I jerked you off in the doctor's office, did you think I was making love to you?" he asked.
        "Yes, I did. I thought you were making love to me and to my whole family, Babe. And to our boys. And to the future of the world," I said. "That was a very powerful experience for me, Rick."
        "I'm so glad to hear you say that. It was an extremely intense experience for me. It was the closest I'll ever come to bringing new life into the world. I've thought about this thing with Cherie a whole lot, and I'm so glad we could be a part of it. Symbolically, that's going to be our baby, isn't it?"
        "Babe, I'm kind of filling up here," I said, with tears rimming my eyes. It's hard to talk when there's that much emotion involved.
        "Me, too," he said. "Kevin, you have made me the happiest man on earth. I know I'm not always the most affectionate guy in the world, and I know I don't tell you this often enough, but I don't think it's possible for me to love you any more than I already do."
        "Oh, Rick," I said, and then he and I both dissolved into tears.
        I sometimes wondered about our relationship because we never had fights. I was never aware of my parents fighting, so maybe it wasn't all that out of the ordinary, but he and I never had any fundamental disagreements. And our boys didn't fight, either. We argued, yes, but we never fought. Maybe fighting is the real aberration in a relationship, I thought, and not the absence of fighting. If you're in love with someone who has the same basic values you do, why would you fight?
        One time I heard a priest say in a homily that he had done a lot of counseling of couples whose marriages were troubled. He said that the range of problems were from the severe, like unfaithfulness, to the mundane, like which way the end of the toilet paper should hang in the holder. I remember being struck by the toilet paper example and thinking that anybody whose marriage was in jeopardy over something like that had much deeper and more fundamental problems that they hadn't even gotten to yet and were afraid to face.
        I was in the middle of a prayer of thanks for Rick when he said, "I'm starving. Are you hungry?"
        "Yeah. I didn't get a good snack tonight."
        "I didn't, either. All I had was a piece of that crappy yellow watermelon Justin grew. Have you had a piece of that thing?"
        "It's not very sweet," I said.
        "It's terrible, Kevin. For one thing, he planted it too late in the summer. For another thing, where he planted it doesn't get enough sun for the fruit to get sweet, and for a third thing, he didn't do anything to enhance the soil. Our soil is mostly sand, and watermelon needs more than that," Rick said.
        His years of running the golf courses at the place we used to work had turned him into a master gardener, and I loved it when he got on one of his gardening rolls.
        "Why did it make such lush vines?" I asked.
        "Because he fertilized the shit out of it, that's why. Watermelon is at its best in July and August. What is this? October? Late October, and he's just now harvesting his crop. What does that tell you?"
        "It tells me you really care about your watermelon," I said.
        We both laughed hard.
        "He's very proud of that melon, Babe," I said.
        "I know. That's why I'll eat the fucking rind, if he wants me to. You know I'd never say this to him. I'm going to subtly help him learn something about gardening, though, if he's interested. You'd think a country boy like him would know stuff."
        "Let's go get a snack, country boy," I said.
        He laughed.
        We cleaned ourselves up, but we didn't bother with clothes. Not even underwear. It was about eleven o'clock, and we didn't expect to see anyone. Wrong.
        "Well, look who's here," Justin said as we walked into the kitchen.
        Justin, Brian, Kyle, and Tim were all at the table, naked as the day they were born. All four had big bowls of ice cream with all the trimmings.
        "Everybody's hungry tonight," Jus said. "Rick, all you ate tonight was some of that piece-of-shit watermelon I grew, didn't you? We need to throw that thing away. How can a watermelon look that good and taste that bland?"
        "I enjoyed it, Jus," Rick said. He winked at me secretly.
        "To me it was about like eating a filter off a cigarette that hadn't been smoked," Justin said. "Or tender styrofoam, or something."
        We all laughed hard.
        Rick got ice cream for him and me. He put some fruit from a couple of the jars that were out on the counter on it, poured cherry juice over it, squirted a little whipped cream, and drizzled a little chocolate sauce. I noticed the boys had broken out a bag of cookies for the occasion, so we had those, too.
        "Rick and I were talking about going to New Orleans over your long weekend," I said. "Would you guys be interested?"
        "No, Kevin. We don't like having fun," Kyle said.
        "You little shit," I said to Kyle.
        "We get off at 11:30 on that Wednesday," Brian said. "We could leave then and come back Sunday afternoon."
        "Don't you guys have your English class that afternoon?" I asked Justin and Kyle.
        "Yeah, but that's a choice class, Kev," Justin said. "They're going to write an essay in class, but we can choose to write it ahead of that, if we want to. The out-of-class one is longer and harder, but that's what I want to do, Kyle. What about you?"
        "You have to ask that question?" Kyle asked.
        "I knew," Jus said.
        "Do you think we'll get to see Seth?" Tim asked.
        "I'm sure we will, Tim," I said. "I hope so, anyway."
        "He's off the same two days we are," Kyle said.
        "How do you know that," Rick asked.
        "Because he told me. That's how I know it. He was thinking about driving over here to see us," Kyle said. "It's a new thing called email, Rick."
        We laughed.
        "You're not too big . . ."
        ". . . to take to the woodshed," Kyle said in unison with Rick. "You mean the woody shed, don't you?"
        We all laughed.
        "You're hopeless," Rick said. "And you just got me last, too, you little shit-ass."
        "I'm not so little, you know," Kyle said. "I'm as big as you and Kevin."
        "I know, but there's something wormy about you, Kyle. You're like this little worm, and I'm a big snake," Rick said.
        "Yeah? Get a tape measure," Kyle said.
        The four boys went ballistic when he said that, and there was much punching of fists and high-fiving at that table among them. Kyle had gotten Rick last, and nobody even had to say it. We all went to bed after that, still laughing.
* * *
        The next morning, we told Alex and Denny about our plans to go to New Orleans.
        "Would you guys mind if I beg off on that this time," Alex said.
        "The college is off, too, those days, Lex," Justin said. "Me and Kyle are going to write our English paper ahead of time. You could do that, too."
        "I know, but . . . I don't want to miss those days of work," he said.
        It suddenly occurred to me what the real reason was. We had said we were going to be able to spend a good bit of time with Seth, and Alex didn't want to confront him. I could understand that. Alex had nothing to be ashamed of for dating Cody, but I could see how his spending time with Seth without Cody being around could be awkward.
        "Lex, I think that's a very mature decision on your part," I said. "We'll miss you, and you would certainly enjoy the trip, but I understand why you feel like you need to stay here. We'll be going again soon."
        "Thanks, Kev," he said. He knew I knew.
        "Is Cherie going to be fat," Justin asked.
        "It takes a while for that to happen, Bubba," Rick said. "And it's not really fat."
        "I know it's not fat, but you know what I mean," he said.
        "Yeah, we know, but it's too early in the pregnancy for her to show," Rick said.
        Everyone was quiet for a moment, eating.
        "How do really fat people have sex?" Brian asked.
        "The same way we do, dummy," Justin said, teasing him.
        "I know the mechanics, Justin," Brian snapped.
        Brian was always deferential to Jus around us, but he definitely said that like the two of them were equals. Or maybe, even, that he was the more dominant of the two. Justin didn't flinch, so I assumed that was the way they talked in private.
        "How would two people with great big stomachs fuck?" Brian asked. "Gay or straight?"
        He almost never said the F word around us. I was learning a lot about him that morning.
        "I never thought of that before, but it could be a problem, couldn't it," Kyle said.
        "Yeah. Think about it. We're all trim and lean, but you expand our waists to like thirty-eight or forty inches," Brian said.
        "Or sixty or more," Rick said.
        "I see a lot of very fat people with great big bellies," Bri said. "I just have to wonder if they can do it."
        "They must work it out somehow," I said. "Let's just don't get fat, okay? But let's do pick up our plates and get going. It's time to go."
        
(George's Perspective)
        Meeting Sonya Jenkins changed my life. I had been reasonably content before I met her, raising my son, doing my job in the Navy, starting my practice with my partner in Emerald Beach. But, my God, that woman changed everything for me, and it was all for the better.
        We warmed to intimacy slowly, perhaps, by the standards of some people today, but after a couple of months of dating, I physically ached for her. The first time was tentative and nervous and anxious for both of us, but ten minutes into our tryst I knew we were right for one another. I didn't know I was still capable of spontaneous erections while bending over the mouth of a patient who needed wisdom teeth extracted. I mean, how anti-romantic is that? I was forty-three, for God's sake, not eighteen! But it happened on a regular basis when I thought of her. I kept my lab coat buttoned all the way down to hide those occurrences.
        I wanted to marry her more than anything, and I knew she wanted to marry me, too. The big hang-up was my annulment from my first marriage to Tim's mother. His mother and I had once been that much in love, too, but she was, for want of a better term, a total basket case in a mental hospital. She would never get out. I had divorced her years before so that she could receive Social Security Disability, Medicaid, and SSI. My Catholic faith told me that our marriage was forever, until death, and only death would part us. Not civil divorce. But wasn't she really dead? She could no more relate to me as my wife than the bird on my window sill could, but I still couldn't abandon my faith.
        Father Gerald Taylor--Jerry to me and his other friends--was absolutely wonderful about all of that. He got the paperwork for the annulment going, and it only took about six months. An annulment is a declaration by the Church that a real marriage never existed in the first place. I had some trouble accepting that fact because there had been good years with my wife. But there had always been a distancing, a holding back, like maybe the psychosis that eventually claimed her conscious mind had been there from the beginning. Ultimately, that was the basis for the annulment. I didn't argue with the judgment of the Church court, and I accepted the annulment.
        When I got the official letter, I called Sonya immediately. I proposed to her over the phone, and she accepted without reservation.
        "Let's celebrate tonight," I said.
        "I want to, George, but only if Tim and Kyle are there," she said.
        "Of course," I said.
        Sonya had accepted Tim and Kyle as a couple from the time she first met them. Frankly, I had reservations about my sixteen-year-old son being committed to a seventeen-year-old boy. Not that I didn't love Kyle to death, because I absolutely did. It had been clear to me for many months that Kyle loved Tim completely, and I knew that Tim felt the same way about him. But sixteen and seventeen? That was so young.
        To complicate matters, Kyle's father, Gene Goodson, and I had become best friends. He and his wife had lost their older son about a year before, and Sonya and I dearly loved Rita and Gene and spent many evenings with them. Gene and I saw one another for lunch almost every day, and, on those days when we didn't eat together, we talked on the phone, often at length. He and Rita loved Tim almost as much as I did, and they were thrilled that their Kyle had found him.
        "Guys, Sonya has accepted my proposal of marriage," I told Tim and Kyle at dinner that night. We were at one of the best restaurants on the beach, and they had both been a bit puzzled about why we were dining in such luxury on a school night.
        They looked at each other and grinned. They really were cute boys.
        "Dad, congratulations," Tim said. "We're happy for you."
        "Yes, sir, Doc. Congratulations. You got better than she did," Kyle said.
        That made everybody laugh. Kyle had a keen sense of humor, but it had taken me a while to get used to it. What he had just said, for example, would have puzzled me a year ago. Now I knew it was his way of complimenting me and of praising Sonya.
        I've always been very interested in other cultures, but I had always assumed "other cultures" existed in other countries. The fact was, I was surrounded by, and living in, a culture that was quite different in many ways from the Irish Catholic culture of Boston that I had grown up in and from the general culture of New England, as well. Once that fact dawned on me, I began to notice and appreciate the subtle differences that were everywhere around me. Kyle, as a native of Emerald Beach, and as a self-styled Beach Rat, reflected the local culture intuitively. It was fascinating.
        "Have you set a date?" Tim asked.
        "Not yet, sweetie," Sonya said. "We have to get with Father Jerry for instructions and to make arrangements for the church. It'll take about six months, probably."
        "Doc, I know you were married before. Were you, Sonya?" Kyle asked. "Or is that none of my business?"
        "I don't mind your asking, Kyle, and, no, I've never been married," she said. "I've never met anybody good enough before."
        "We might be getting us a little brother," Kyle said to Tim.
        "Yeah, I know. That would be so cool," Tim said, enthusiastically.
        "Guys. Not so fast," I said. "Sonya and I aren't exactly kids, you know."
        "That's okay, Dad," Tim said. "We understand."
        We talked more about our impending marriage, about Kyle's preparation for reception into the Church, and about school. I had an overwhelming sense of family, probably for the first time ever, and I was happy.
        
(Seth's Perspective)
        When I drove away from the house in Emerald Beach on August 1st, I had the feeling that I was driving into the rest of my life. I was much stronger physically because they had more or less made me work out, but for every bit stronger physically I was, I was ten times that much stronger emotionally and psychologically. When she set that summer up for me, Kevin's sister-in-law, Cherie, had joked about my going to "gay summer camp." It was that, for sure, but it really more like "human being summer camp." After the six weeks I spent in that paradise, I wasn't afraid of living anymore. I knew that it was okay to be gay, and I knew that I was going to have a happy, productive life as a gay man. To quote Justin and Kyle, "God, Awmighty!"
        It had started at Mardi Gras earlier in the year. Those Florida boys accepted me without so much as a blink. Those had been the happiest three days of my life, until the summer.
        I met Cody the very first day I was there. We were lovers during the summer, but we both knew we were just learners. I love him as a dear friend, and I know he loves me that way, too, but there were never any illusions that we were in love with one another. We both knew, and he needed me as much as I needed him.
        But, God, how those six weeks changed my life! It's hard for me to catalogue them all. Let's start with being gay.
        I had pretty much known I was different from other boys all my life. I can't exactly come up with a date, or even a year, when I knew that about myself, but I was young. Really young. When I was around ten, I started thinking that I was really different, and it started to scare me. In fact, I was actually that young when I started to feel isolated from the boys in my class. They were boys, and I was . . . What was I?
        Puberty started when I was about twelve-and-a-half. I started growing hair down below, and my testicles got much larger than they had been. My penis, on the other hand, was a total disappointment. Oh, it grew. No question about that. But it really didn't get all that much longer when it was soft. Hard? No problem. Five-and-a-half inches, five-and-three quarters, even. I knew that was within the "average" range. But who walks around with a hard-on? Well, I mean, I did a lot of the time, but it was covered by my underwear and pants. The few times I took a shower with other guys, I got about half-hard, so it was about three inches. Nobody really made fun of me for having a little dick, but that's exactly what I had. A little dick.
        In Emerald Beach, we always swam naked in their pool. The very first day there I saw that there were other guys who had dicks as small as mine was. Cody's and mine were almost identical, in fact. Some of them had what looked like huge ones to me, but nobody cared what mine looked like. I don't know if anybody who doesn't have a small dick can really appreciate how that made me feel. All of a sudden, after years of anguish about the way I was built, nobody fucking cared!!!!! And some of them were just like me!!!!
        "You're just a grower, not a shower," Justin said to me in his thick Alabama accent. What a cutie he was, and what a shower, too.
        "I think our Bubba Seth is a grower, too," Kyle said. "Just like you."
        "Fuck you, Kyle," Justin said, and Justin chased him around the pool, both of them laughing their asses off at each other and their jokes; not at me.
        That brief exchange between those two boys did me more good than a year's worth of counseling could have done. They were both very powerful, physically, and they were definitely well built down below. But they didn't tease me. They teased each other!
        And Cody and I hit it off so well that first day. He was, like, this Adonis figure, and I was like a skeleton. But they got me lifting weights and working out with them every day, and I started to put on weight. And it was muscle weight, too; not fat.
        By the time I left Emerald Beach, I was totally at-home with being naked in front of a crowd of guys; I had improved my physique 100%; I knew it was okay to be gay; I knew I could be happy as a gay man when I was an adult; and I had a houseful of friends who were going to be my brothers for the rest of my life. That was quite a summer.
* * *
        I got home the same day my parents got home from England. Things had gone very well there for them, and my dad was bursting with pride at having lectured at one of the Inns of Court. Everybody was happy to be back home.
        Over the next several days, we shared stories about what we had done over the summer. My parents had had a wonderful time in London, and they promised to take me and my sister there soon, maybe even at Christmas. They had made lots of friends, and they were eager for us to meet them.
        I told them about Cody (not the details, of course), my job, going swimming with the dolphins, water skiing, crabbing, Trixie, and all of the guys. They listened with rapt attention, and I could tell they were happy for me because of the great time I had had.
        My sister came home from her program at Duke University the next weekend, and she had some interesting stories to tell, too, from her perspective as a twelve-year-old girl. Yawn! (Just kidding). I had never been happier in my life.
* * *
        Then school started. I was a senior at one of the more prestigious private Catholic boys' high schools in the city. My dad had gone there, and his dad had gone to the forerunner of it. Kevin and all his people had gone there, too.
        A lot of people don't know about how Catholic high schools are set up. There are parochial high schools, which are sponsored and supported by a parish. There used to be some high schools like that in New Orleans, but not any more. Then there are Archdiocesan high schools. They're owned and run and supported by the Archdiocese of New Orleans. There are five or six of those. The major Catholic high schools, though, are owned and operated by some religious order, and they're private schools. They pretty much take their orders directly from Rome or somewhere like that, and there are around fifteen of those in New Orleans. I went to one of those. My sister went to a private Catholic girls' school, and it was 275 years old.
        All but one of the private Catholic high schools are single sex, and the one I went to damn sure was. There were about 1,500 boys; zero girls. There were a few women on the faculty, but most of the teachers were men. Alumni, usually. When my dad went there in the 1970's, almost all of the teachers had been members of the order that owned the school. Now there was only a handful of them. I had had one for sophomore English, and I had one that year for physics.
        Before I went to Florida, I was pretty much a non-person at school. I mean, I kept to myself, didn't participate in any extra-curricular activities, didn't really have any friends at school. I ate by myself every day, and then I went to the library and either surfed the 'net or read magazines.
        The fact of the matter was, I was scared of boys. How's that for total irony? I was attracted to boys, but I was afraid of them at the same time. Nobody had ever beaten me up or anything, but I just felt totally self-conscious and awkward around guys. I did better with girls, which is another irony in itself, but there weren't any around my school. With all of that, though, I was desperate for a friend, somebody that I could talk to and joke with and just have fun with. I'd see guys with their friends, and they looked so at ease, so happy. I was none of that in Louisiana. I was only that way in Florida.
        After I came home from Florida, I was determined I was going to be somebody at school. It was too late for me to do what Kyle had done and run for office, not that I could have ever gotten elected to anything, but I joined the staff of the school newspaper. Most of those guys were slightly on the nerdy side, which is totally what I was, but they were smart and very verbal. I knew that if a group of total strangers in Emerald Beach, Florida, could like me and accept me, then guys I had been in school with for years could do the same thing. And you know what? I was right.
        One of the things we had to do for newspaper was sell ads. Every issue we each had a quota to sell, but they let us leave campus during the newspaper class period to do it. Newspaper was right before lunch, so we had almost ninety minutes that we could be away from school. In Florida they let the kids leave campus for lunch, but that didn't happen at my school. No way. In fact, the newspaper kids were among the very few who got to leave campus during the day on a regular basis. We could only leave school to sell ads two days a week, and then only if we had our assigned articles finished and on the editor's desk. Still, the freedom to leave was pretty intoxicating.
        Since I was new, I got assigned to two other guys to be a team. The fact that I had a car and neither one of them did probably entered into the assignment, but I didn't care. One of my teammates was a senior, named Jason Cook, and the other one was a junior, named Shane Gautier (pronounced go-shay). One of the "traditions" at my school is that nobody is ever addressed by his first name. I was always just "Adams," and they were always just "Cook" and "Gautier." But they were good friends, and they called each other by their first names.
        "What's you first name, Adams," Cook asked me the first day.
        "Seth," I said.
        "Cool. I'm Jason and he's Shane. That's what we call each other. Do you mind if we call you Seth?"
        "No, you can call me Seth, if you want to," I said. I might not answer all the time, I thought, since I wasn't used to that at school, but I liked being called by my first name. It was sort of the human thing to do.
        "Have you got a girlfriend," Shane asked.
        "Naw. Do y'all have girlfriends," I asked. They said they didn't.
        They showed me how to fill out the ad forms, and they told me what to tell a potential advertiser to make him want to buy an ad. They had a list of businesses they had sold ads to the year before. Most of them were alumni, so they were pretty easy sells.
        The first issue of the paper came out the day school started for the year, but the second issue--the first one I worked on--was scheduled to be out three weeks later. We published every three weeks. Jason and Shane and I sold our full quota of ads the first day, so we had the other "ad days" to kick back and fool around. We had to be a little bit careful about what we did because we were wearing school uniforms. The rumor at school was the alumni constituted a spy network for the school, and if they spotted a guy in a uniform appearing to be skipping, they were on the phone to the Dean of Discipline faster than you could dial 9-1-1. I personally doubted that was true, but Jason and Shane wanted us to be careful. So we were.
        After the first day when we sold our quota for the issue, we had long, leisurely lunches at places like Olive Garden or TGI Friday's or Applebee's. Like just about everybody else who went to that school, those two guys came from families who could A.) afford the tuition, books, uniforms, etc., and B.) give their kids ample spending money to have long, leisurely lunches that came in at ten bucks or more. It was during the course of those lunches that I got to know those guys really well.
        Jason's dad was an ENT doctor, and his mother was an audiologist. He had two older sisters who were both in college at LSU. He lived in New Orleans East. There were four cars in the family, but both of his sisters had the "kids' cars" up at school. That didn't seem fair to me. Shane's parents had a travel agency that had branch offices all over the metropolitan area. He had been to all sorts of exotic places with them for their business, and he was an only child. His parents had bought him a car when he had turned sixteen, but they had taken it away when Shane had behaved "irresponsibly." He was supposed to get it back at some undetermined time in the future. Driving drunk, I figured.
        "I think I was an accident," Shane said.
        "Your parents love you, man," Jason said.
        "I know they love me, but I don't really think they wanted me when I came along. It's just stuff I've picked up from a couple of my cousins. Real bitches, by the way," Shane said.
        "How long have you guys known one another," I asked.
        "Since Cub Scouts?" Shane asked Jason.
        "Yeah," Jason said. "Who are your friends, Seth?"
        "Guys you all don't know," I said. But, by God, I had a slew of friends, even if they'd never meet them.
        "From grammar school," Jason asked.
        "No. They live in Florida. That's where I spent the summer. With them in Emerald Beach," I said.
        "Shit, my parents sell a ton of trips to Emerald Beach," Shane said. "That's a great place."
        "I know it is," I said. You have no idea how great it is, Shane, I thought.
        Jason and Shane were good guys, and I really liked them. Neither one was interested in sports at all, and they were surprised when I told them I belonged to a gym.
        I felt right at home with them, though. The more time I spent with them, the more I picked up on subtle clues that maybe they were more than best friends. I mean, I had spent the summer with a house full of guys who had lovers, and I saw a lot of the same kinds of glances, half smiles, knowing looks, and body language between Jason and Shane that I had seen between Kevin and Rick, Justin and Brian, Kyle and Tim, and, yes, between Cody and me. They always sat on the same side of the table, opposite me, or next to one another in a booth. They pointed out menu items to one another and said stuff like, "You'll love that," about different dishes. They touched one another more than most guys do, too. It was never inappropriate, and somebody who didn't know what to look for probably wouldn't have noticed it. But I knew, and I did notice.
        Finally, on our third "ad day" adventure, I said, "Hey, don't punch me out in the parking lot for asking this, okay?"
        They didn't say anything, even though I had tried to say that as lightly as I could.
        "But are you guys gay?" I asked.
        They were both embarrassed as hell, and I hated myself at that moment for having asked that question. Neither one said anything for several moments, and I almost excused myself to get out of the booth we were in. Finally, Shane spoke.
        "Yeah, we are, and we're boyfriends," he said. "We thought you were our friend, man." The tone of his voice told me he felt betrayed.
        I was totally confused, and I had to think for a moment. Did they think I was straight? Did they think that if I were straight I couldn't still be their friend? What was going on?
        "I am your friend, Shane. Why would you think I wouldn't be your friend just because you're gay," I asked.
        "Because you're a jock," Shane said.
        I couldn't help myself. I laughed hard when he said that.
        "If you're our friend, why are you laughing at us," Shane demanded.
        "Man, I'm not laughing at you guys. I'm laughing because you called me a jock. Shane, I'm the Anti-Jock. They teach us in religion class about the Anti-Christ, right? Well, I'm the same thing to jocks."
        They both actually laughed when I said that.
        "You know those friends of mine in Florida I told you about? Every one of them is queer to the bone, including my ex-boyfriend," I said.
        A waiter chose that moment to drop a tray full of spent plates and glasses onto the ceramic tile floor. All of us jumped more than a little at the noise, and Jason dropped his fork on his plate, which startled us again.
        When our heartbeats were back to something close to normal after all of the terra cotta fanfare, Jason said,
        "Your ex-boyfriend?"
        "Yeah. My ex-boyfriend. I'm as gay as you are," I said.
        They both started grinning. After a second or two, they both started laughing. In a second, all three of us were howling with glee.
        "Seth, how did you know about us," Jason asked, after we had finally calmed down.
        "It was a hunch, Jason, but I spent six weeks this summer in a house that twelve or so gay guys called home. There were several couples there, including three who are in life-long relationships, I think, and you just learn to pick up on subtle things," I said.
        "Do we act gay," Shane asked. There was real concern in his voice.
        "Nobody but me would have noticed, Bubba," I said.
        "Bubba," they said together, surprise in their voices.
        "Sorry, that's something I picked up in Florida. I haven't called anybody that in weeks," I said.
        "It means 'brother,' doesn't it," Jason said. That wasn't a question. It was a statement confirming what all of us knew.
        "It sure does, Bubba," I said.
        Jason and Shane grinned.
        "It feels good having a Bubba, doesn't it?" Shane asked Jason.
        "The best," Jason said, and he gave Shane a little peck on the lips.
        
Chapter 09
        
(Seth's Perspective)
        After the Tuesday of the second week of school, when Jason and Shane came out to me and I to them, we became inseparable friends. We hung out together at school, ate lunch together on and off campus as often as we could, and did things together out of the school context. Our football team was awesome, and all of us had season tickets. My whole family did, in fact. You actually had to buy season tickets at that school if you wanted to make sure you had a seat because there were so many alumni and parents of current students, and of alumni, who wanted to go to the games. We sat together and cheered our young asses off. We were friends, and we were having fun together.
        The one thing we didn't do was have sleepovers. I would have liked that, of course, but I understood why that was never going to happen among us. They needed privacy, and I respected that.
        As much time as I spent with Jason and Shane, though, I had a life away from them, too. I emailed the guys in Emerald Beach, including Cody, who was still my best friend, a lot. I spent time with my parents and sister, and I worked out a good bit, too.
        I had joined a gym that was pretty close to my high school so it would be easy for me to go there right after school before I went home. That meant it was also pretty close to the University of New Orleans. UNO had fabulous facilities, but some guys preferred the atmosphere of a private gym to the university's. The university facilities were co-ed, for one thing, and the place I worked out at was men only. Actually, it was co-ed in the sense that there were morning hours when just women could use it, but the afternoons and evenings were for the guys. I asked about that once, and the manager said that was how the women wanted it. That was fine with me. Given my choice between watching a buff college stud and a plump, middle-aged lady, the stud got my attention every time.
        Plus, the trainers at the university were all student assistants, and I had heard they didn't really give a shit about the programs they set people up on. They basically got paid just to be there, and they didn't take personal interest in their clients. At my gym, the trainers were all full-time professionals (mostly graduates of UNO), and they seemed to really care about each person.
        I actually started going there before school took back in for the year. It wasn't really all that far from my house, relatively speaking, and I could get there in about twenty minutes. That wasn't bad time for New Orleans.
        At first I just did the stuff Rick had taught me to do. It had made some big improvements in me, after all, so why give up a good thing? After a couple of weeks, though, I had one of the trainers do some muscle-mass studies on me and take my body-fat ratio.
        "Seth, the body-fat ratio is wonderful. It's nine percent, and you can hardly beat that. The muscle mass figures suck, though, dude. Basically, you're mostly bone, and I don't mean that kind of bone, either."
        That guy was incredibly cute. He was on the small side, probably five six or five seven, but you could see the muscles under his skin. Hell, his skin was so tight you probably could have bounced a tennis ball to the ceiling off his thighs, just by casually dropping it on them. I had never seen him naked, but I got this mental image of him bare-assed on a stand in front of me. I was playing drums on his butt cheeks. I had to shake that image off before my personal drumstick presented itself.
        I could tell he was Italian, like about half the white people in New Orleans. He had coal black hair that was curly on top and cut short on the sides. It was gelled up good, too, and it shined like it was wet. He had one of those jet black beards that he never could make completely disappear, no matter how closely he shaved, and he had eyes and a smile that could seduce any boy, much less a gay one like me. God, he looked good.
        I laughed when he said that about me being mostly bone.
        "You should have seen me six months ago," I said. "I've been working out like crazy [which was a wild exaggeration, if not an outright lie], and I've put on twelve pounds of muscle."
        "That's good, man, but you and I need to talk program, and we need to talk diet. Let's go to my office."
        We spent the next hour and a half talking program and diet. That boy took his job very seriously. I would have been content to just sit and stare at him for that time, but he kept asking me questions and wanting to know if I understood what he was saying. Jesus, I thought, let's go back to the bone talk. We never did.
        That guy's name was Manny, short for Manual, a common name among Italians. He was probably sixth generation New Orleans, but they clung furiously to those kinds of names. Manny set me up with a program, all right, one that just about killed me the first two weeks I followed it. Things got easier, though.
        "We need to pump it up some," he said at the end of the second week.
        Oh, my God, I thought.
        He "pumped it up" by adding weight to the exercises I was doing. I thought it was paying off, though.
        "Are you eating right, like I told you," he asked me that same day.
        "Manny, I'm eating right," I said. "And a whole lot."
        "Water-packed tuna fish and brown rice, right," he asked. "That's a great snack a couple of times a day."
        "Yeah, and I'm actually starting to crave that shit," I said.
        He laughed.
        "I know. It's awful at first, isn't it? It gets better, though, doesn't it?"
        "Yeah, but I still salivate when I pass McDonald's or Burger King," I said.
        He laughed.
        Manny was a genuinely nice guy. He was a college graduate, so he must have been at least in his early twenties. There were pixie-like qualities about him because of his size, but he was a pixie with nice muscles. I could really go for somebody like him, I thought.
        "Let's do another muscle mass," he said. "You've been working hard for three weeks now, and eating right. Let's see if we can tell a difference." He grinned at me, and I wanted to hug him.
        We did the muscle mass test, and, yes, we could tell a decided difference.
        "You're making progress, Seth. I'm proud of you, Bubba," he said.
        That took me aback.
        "Did you just call me 'Bubba,'" I asked.
        "Yeah, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that," he said. "That's just a habit I have."
        "No. It's okay. You can call me that anytime you want to," I said.
        "Okay. I've been thinking about you a lot."
        My heart stopped.
        "There's a guy here named Curtis Franklin that I think would be a great workout partner for you," he said.
        No, I want you, I thought. Manny, I want you.
        "He's a sophomore at UNO and a hell of a nice guy. I think you guys will like one another. He's here right now. Let's go meet him."
        He introduced me to Curtis Franklin, Curt to his friends. How had I not noticed him before? Sort of strawberry blond hair, blue eyes, around five eight, five nine. Damn good looking, too. He checked me out well as I walked toward him, and I checked him out, too.
        "Curt, you're not as tall as Seth is," Manny said, once he had introduced us, "but otherwise you guys are about identical. I think the two of you can help each other out a lot. And remember, I'm always here."
        "Thanks, Manny," Curt said.
        Manny excused himself and went off to do whatever it was he did.
        Curt took my program sheet and compared it to his.
        "Our programs are identical," he said.
        "Cool," I said. "Do you mind working out with a younger guy?"
        "Why would I mind that," he asked.
        "Well, you know . . ."
        "You're seventeen, right? Almost eighteen?"
        "Yeah," I said. How the hell did he know that? Then I remembered my date of birth was on my program sheet.
        "I just turned nineteen. Your age isn't a problem for me, dude," he said.
        "Okay. Well, let's get to it," I said. I knew that statement had had a lot of Justin's and Kyle's accents in it, and Curt noticed.
        "Where are you from," he asked.
        "I'm from right here, but I spent the summer in Florida with some guys from there and from Alabama. I think I might have picked up some of their accent," I said.
        "Not really. I'm from Baton Rouge, and some people think I have a Southern accent, too," he said.
        I didn't think so.
        "We ought to get started, don't you think?" he said.
        "Yeah. Let's move it," I said.
        Curt and I hit it off as workout partners right away. He had a lot of energy and determination, and it was sort of contagious. He would encourage me to make it through the last set of whatever exercise I was doing, and I did the same for him.
        We got to know one another pretty well, too. He came from a family that was a lot like mine, only he had a brother that was just a year older than him and no sister. His dad had a CPA practice in Baton Rouge, and he had even gone to a Catholic high school that was owned and operated by the same order that ran the one I went to.
        "So, why didn't you go to LSU?" I asked one day. I thought everybody in Baton Rouge wanted to go there.
        "I wanted to get away from home, and I wanted to move to the city," he said.
        "Do you go home every weekend?" I asked. Baton Rouge was only about an hour away, after all, and he had a car.
        "Naw. My life is here now," he said.
        "Really? Don't you still have friends there?"
        "Yeah, I have a few. Seth, I didn't make many friends in high school, and the ones I did make were sort of social outcasts, like me," he said.
        That surprised the hell out of me. He seemed like a great guy, to me, and I couldn't imagine him being a social outcast.
        We started going to a coffee shop across the street from the gym for refreshments after we finished our workout. Neither one of us had to watch what we ate, as far as getting fat was concerned, but we didn't just pile it on, either. After a while, I knew that I really liked Curtis, and I was definitely attracted to him sexually. I figured that would go unrequited, though.
        "What are you doing this weekend?" I asked one Monday afternoon as we were having our post-workout snack.
        He shrugged. "Nothing, I guess. It's kind of early in the week to know, but I don't really ever have anything going on on the weekend. You got any ideas?"
        That was the first time he had given any indication that he might be willing to spend time with me away from the gym, and my heart beat a little faster at the thought.
        "My sister isn't going to use her ticket to our football game Friday night. Would you like to go?"
        "Yeah. That might be fun," he said.
        "Let's do it. I usually sit with a couple of friends of mine. Would you mine doing that?" I asked.
        "Not a bit. I need to meet more people, anyway," he said.
        "Curt, it surprises the hell out of me that you don't have a ton of friends," I said. "You're a really likeable guy."
        He blushed, and his fair complexion really showed the red.
        "Thanks," he said. "Does that mean you like me?"
        "Of course, I like you. Isn't it obvious that I do?"
        "I hoped you did. I like you, too," he said.
        I could tell saying that took a great deal of effort for him. Why was this great-looking, smart, funny, incredibly nice guy so socially backward? It didn't add up. I mean, I knew why I was that way, or had been, at least, but why him?
        We had been studying the literary device of the epiphany in English class. An epiphany is a sudden burst of insight into a life situation, and I had one of those right there in that coffee shop. If I was socially retarded because I was gay and felt ashamed and isolated, could the same thing be true of Curt? I didn't broach the subject right then, but I decided to keep my eyes on him the rest of the week.
        We worked out for about an hour or an hour and a half every day except weekends. Manny had set it up so we worked different muscles every time, and going to the gym became part of our daily schedules. Manny had said a lot of trainers have their clients work out every other day, but he thought making a workout a part of every day accomplished more and got people in the habit of scheduling gym into their lives the same way they scheduled in lunch or some other routine activity. Since the workouts weren't all that long, they were manageable, and having a workout partner, especially if he was also a friend, helped, too. I mean, it didn't take me long to get to the point of feeling that if I missed a workout, I'd be letting Curt down. Good psychology on Manny's part, I thought.
        On Tuesday, a new guy joined the gym. That sucker was built, and the outline of his dick that was very visible through his yellow and black lycra workout shorts was impressive. I noticed Curt checking him out every chance he got. I checked him out every chance I got, too.
        "Do you think that guy's hard," I asked Curt, in a volume the other guy couldn't hear.
        He blushed scarlet.
        "I don't know. Count my reps for me," he said, changing the subject quickly.
        We both kept looking at the guy, and it was pretty obvious he knew what we were doing. At one point he came over to us.
        "Do you guys know anybody who's looking for a partner," he asked.
        Oh, my God, take me, I thought. I'll be your partner for the rest of my life.
        "Not really," I said. "You might ask Manny."
        "That hot little cutie is taken," he said.
        I didn't know what to say. I had no idea what he meant, really. Did he mean that Manny had a workout partner? That Manny had a sex partner? And, if so, was the partner male or female? The fact that the new guy had said Manny was a "hot little cutie" sort of implied that the new guy was gay, I thought. If he was gay, maybe he knew Manny in some other context and knew he was gay, too.
        "Naw, I don't know anybody," Curt said.
        "If you hear of anybody, let me know," the new guy said, and he walked away to continue his workout.
        "That was weird, wasn't it?" I asked.
        "Maybe not. Let's quit for today, okay? I want to talk to you," Curt said.
        We had pretty much finished anyway.
        "Okay," I said.
        "I want to take a shower today," Curt said. "Have you got a towel? Take one with me."
        Jesus, I thought. He and I never took showers at the gym. We just sort of dried our hair and face, or whatever, and got coffee in our workout clothes. I had been half hard since I had first noticed the new guy, and I knew my dick was wet and sticky with pre-cum from all that time. I didn't know if I wanted to take a shower.
        On the other hand, I was dying to see Curt naked. On the nights I didn't think about what Cody and I had done in bed all summer, I thought about Curt. I needed a real visual to flesh out my imagination.
        "Okay. My mom has asked me a bunch of times why I don't shower before I go home. I probably ought to do it here regularly," I said.
        Seeing Curtis naked in the shower was sort of cute. I could tell he wasn't used to being naked around other guys, so the fact that he wanted me to shower with him that day really raised my curiosity. He looked at me without even pretending not to. My little dick was about half hard, so it was about three inches long. The practiced eye of Kyle or Justin, or any of them in Emerald Beach, would have known the truth in an instant about the state I was in, but I just pretended that was what I looked like soft. Curt didn't say anything, but he was all eyes for me in that shower. His own equipment was obviously distended to about three-and-a-half inches, but I didn't comment about him, either.
        That boy was a lot like the guys I had spent the summer with. He was intelligent, kind, easy going, incredibly nice, likeable. Loveable? I couldn't wait to find out what he wanted to talk to me about.
        At the table, after we had gotten our snack and a drink from the counter, Curt started.
        "Working out with you has been great. I mean, it is great, every time. It's kind of the highlight of my day," he said.
        "I like working out, too," I said.
        "No, Seth. It's not working out that I like. It's working out with you that is so great. I can't hold this back any more, no matter what happens. That new guy today inspired me. Seth, I'm gay. I'm gay, and I think I might have feelings for you," he said.
        I didn't say anything for a few moments because that admission was like an answer to a prayer. Without saying anything, I took his hand in mine and looked into his eyes. I smiled. That smile was like an angel's touch to him. His face lit up in a huge grin.
        "Me, too," I said. "Curt, I think about you all the time. I fantasize about you when I, er, you know."
        "Oh, Seth, me, too. I can't believe how good I feel right now. It's like I've finally connected with another human being. I've felt totally alone and totally isolated since I was twelve years old. All of a sudden, I feel connected. I feel like somebody cares about me and knows me for the first time. I might be about to cry," he said.
        "Curt, I spent six weeks this summer in a house full of gay guys in Florida. I had a boyfriend, even, although we've decided since then that we were just good friends with special privileges. Until I met those Florida guys at Mardi Gras last year, I was a basket case. I felt totally alone and totally isolated, too. I didn't have any friends. I didn't even want to be around people. They are so incredible, Curt. And they're going to love you, too. I know they will," I said.
        He was crying, but he had a massive grin on his face. I teared up, too. All of a sudden, I craved ice cream. I chuckled.
        "What's funny," he asked.
        "We're having an ice cream moment," I said. "That's what we did in Florida whenever we had happy tears like we're having right now. We'd make huge bowls of ice cream, with a million different toppings. Could you eat some ice cream right now?"
        "I could eat a gallon," he said.
        We went to an ice cream shop in a little strip mall about a block down from where we were. We both ordered huge banana splits, with all the trimmings, and we talked and laughed and reveled in who we were and in what we had shared with one another that afternoon.
* * *
        Curt and I rapidly became best friends. He had a wickedly ironic sense of humor, and he kept me laughing. The more time we spent together, the more we liked one another.
        "Mom and Dad, this is my friend, Curt Franklin," I said the first time he came to our house. We were really just there to pick up some clothes for me. It was a Friday night, and we had worked out that afternoon, as usual. I was going to spend the night at his apartment, and the next day he was going to try to teach me how to play tennis.
        "Hi, Curt," my dad said, shaking his hand. "We've heard a lot about you."
        I'm sure I blushed. I know Curt did.
        My mom offered us coffee or a coke, and we both said we wanted water. I went up to my room to get my stuff while Curt visited with them. My sister came up with me and barged into my room.
        "Oh, my God!!! I can't believe how cute he is," my sister, Amy, said. She was obviously excited for me.
        "He is, isn't he? But he's all mine. Keep your claws off," I said, joking.
        She was laughing and having fun. Since the summer, she and I had gotten pretty close, and I now considered her a good friend. I knew she was happy for me.
        "How old is he?"
        "He's nineteen, sis. Way too old for you," I said.
        "Oh, I know. But, Seth, he is gorgeous," she said.
        I thought he was, but I was a bit prejudiced.
        "Have you guys done it, yet," she asked.
        "Amy, that's not a fair question," I said. "I'd never ask you that."
        "I'm sorry, Seth. I guess that's pretty private, isn't it?"
        "It's very private."
        The fact of the matter was, we hadn't done it yet, whatever it was going to be. We had kissed quite a bit, and we had rubbed each other's chests, but so far that was all. That night was going to be the first time I had stayed at his apartment, and I was hoping that was going to be the night.
        After we left my house, we went to an Olive Garden for dinner. The salad was wonderful, as it always is, and my entree was excellent: spaghetti with meat sauce and Italian sausage. Curt got the lasagna, and I knew it was good, too. I had had it there before.
        "Curt, do you find me physically attractive?" I asked.
        "What?"
        "You heard me," I said.
        He chuckled. "I didn't say 'what' to mean I didn't hear you. I said 'what' to mean, 'How can you possibly wonder if I find you physically attractive?' Of course, I do."
        "I was just wondering," I said.
        "Do you find me physically attractive," he asked.
        "Extremely," I said. "I stay hard just about all the time we're together. I physically crave you, man. When we kiss, it's like I can't control myself."
        "You've shot off a few times doing that, haven't you?" he asked.
        "Yes, I have," I said.
        "I know. I have, too," he said.
        I had suspected that was true, but I hadn't known for sure. What were we waiting for?
        "I want to make love to you, Curt. Tonight," I said. "Are you ready for that?"
        "Say it again."
        "I want to make love to you tonight."
        "Say it again." He was teasing me, and I was grinning.
        "I want to make love to you tonight."
        "I'm ready for that, Seth. I'm ready for love," he said. "I've never done it before, though."
        "That won't be a problem, Huck," I said. He reminded me of what I thought Huckleberry Finn must have looked like, and I liked the name Huck.
        "Let's forget the coffee, okay?" We had already ordered coffee, but it hadn't gotten there yet.
        "Noooo," he whimpered.
        That made me laugh. He was so cute.
        We drank our coffee, but we didn't linger over it. We were at his apartment as fast as the law allowed. Faster, actually, but we didn't see any cops.
* * *
        We both moved fast when we got back to his place. I had been hard since we had first gotten to the restaurant, and my underwear and the front of my jeans were soaked. Pre-cum might have biological purposes that I didn't know about, but it sure was a pain in the ass to horny boys.
        We didn't waste any time grabbing each other in an embrace. We were both very turned on, and we were a little messy with the kissing, at first. It was like we each wanted all of ourselves in the other one's mouth all at the same time. We were both breathing harder than we ever did in our workouts. We started grabbing each other's clothes, but that was pretty inefficient. We weren't really getting anywhere.
        "Let's slow down," I said. "We've got all night."
        "Okay," he whispered with what little breath he had.
        We started slowly undressing each other. Well, maybe "slowly" was an overstatement, but slower, anyway. When we had our shirts off, we couldn't help embracing, rubbing our chests together.
        "God, this feels so good, Seth," he gasped.
        "I know," I said in reply.
        Our jeans came off next, and then our underwear. Feeling his hard dick rubbing against mine as we stood and kissed was more than I could take. It was a splash dance for me, and he followed seconds later. It was so good.
        That was the start of our first night together, and we continued playing with each other and loving each other for a long time. The next morning we went out to a breakfast buffet.
        "Last night was unbelievable for me. Thank you so much, Seth," he said.
        "It was pretty unbelievable for me, too, and thank you," I said.
        "Does this mean we're boyfriends," he asked.
        "What else could it possibly mean?" I asked. "Although, I've thought of you as my boyfriend for over a month."
        "I know. Me, too. You have made me so happy, Seth," he said.
        "The same here, man," I said.
        The boys in Emerald Beach were constantly doing stuff to each other, and I took their example as my own. I dipped my finger into the pancake syrup that was still on my plate, and I swiped it across his nose. It was an act of affection that was acceptable in a "boy world," and it made him laugh. He only dabbed at it to keep it from running down his face.
        "I'm going to stick this sweet, sticky nose in your ass later on," he said, "and then I'm going to lick it clean."
        We both laughed, but I hoped it would be true.
        

(Kyle's Perspective)
        "So when are we ever going to go see that battleship," I asked.
        Every time we passed that damn thing, Kevin and Rick acted like it wasn't there. That was a damn World War II battleship turned into a museum, and I wanted to see it. That was a boy's museum if ever there was one.
        Kevin had told us Mobile was the oldest city in the United States where nothing of any historical importance had ever happened. I didn't know if that was right or not, but they had that big ole boat, and I wanted on it.
        Kevin had some prejudices about cities, and Mobile was near the top of his list. Mobile was older than New Orleans, a fact that pestered Kevin like jock itch or athlete's foot. It had the first Mardi Gras in North America, too, and that absolutely pissed Kevin off. Frankly, I didn't get it, but he didn't like Mobile.
        While Mobile wasn't his favorite city, he fucking hated Houston.
        "Houston is a New Orleans wannbe, and they won't ever be able to pull it off. They tried to buy Mardi Gras, but Blaine Kern, the guy who makes the floats, said NO!!!" he told me one time.
        "Kevin, I think you're getting a little bit worked up. Houston is a big city, man," I said.
        "I know, and there's too damn much money there," he said.
        Too much money? I had trouble with the concept.
        "They once tried to divert the Mississippi River to make it pass through Houston instead of through New Orleans. Can you imagine?"
        No, I couldn't imagine re-routing a river, but I guess some engineers could imagine it.
        "Calm down, Bubba," I said.
        He started laughing, and I laughed, too.
        "How do you feel about Atlanta," I asked. We were both still laughing.
        "Don't even talk to me about that upstart place. Their whole culture is based on a 1948 novel," he said.
        I didn't know what he was talking about, but I could tell he cared about it a lot. Kevin was always so in control, always so much the daddy to us. I loved it that he had a weak spot.
        "I think I found your Achilles knee," I said.
        "It's the Achilles heel, not knee," he said.
        "Oh, yeah," I said.
* * *
        The USS Alabama was part of Battleship Memorial Park. It was like this huge World War II museum. Besides the Alabama, they had the Drum, which was a submarine that did thirteen war patrols in World War II, the eighth most of any sub, and twenty-three battle airplanes, from World War II to Desert Storm. The Drum got twelve battle stars. That park was just about as good as all that sports stuff was in Birmingham. I was thinking Alabama had a lot more to offer to tourists like us than I ever knew about. I hadn't done a Web search for stuff about Mobile because I didn't think we were ever going to do more in that area than stop to take a piss in Daphne, but I was damn sure going to find out what they had for our next trip.
        I had never before been on a Navy ship, and I was surprised at how compact that Alabama was. Everybody knows what a bunk bed is: a bed above another bed. Well, yeah, except in a ship. A bunk bed was three, four, and five bunks stacked up on that boat. They had 2,500 people they had to have living space for a real long time, and they made space for them. Imagine! There were 2,500 guys on that ship. If they're right about the percentages, there were at least 250 gay guys on it. That's a damn good crowd. I'll bet there weren't more than 101 guys doing anything, though. 100 guys fucking and one guy watching. Hehehe.
        I absolutely loved that Battleship Park place. We went into the hanger they had and saw the planes. I wished they would let you get in them, but you couldn't. You could climb a ladder to a platform at the top to look in the cockpit, though.
        "Why do they call where the pilot sits the cockpit," I asked.
        "Cause they had to take their cocks out when they got up in there," Justin said.
        "For real?" Tim asked.
        "Yeah, for real. Why not? It was just guys," Jus said.
        "That's bullshit, and you know it, Bubba," I said.
        "Well, what's your explanation?" he asked.
        "Well, I don't have one, but I know that can't be right," I said. "Do you know, Kevin?"
        "No," Kevin said.
        "I'll bet it has to do with the cockpit at a cockfight," Rick said. "It's the place where the fighting went on."
        "Now, see. That makes sense," I said.
        "I went to a cockfight one time in Alabama," Jus said. "A little ole country town. It was in a barn, and they really did have a pit dug in the floor."
        "Did you watch them fight?" Brian asked.
        "A couple, but mostly I was too busy fighting the other kind of cock," Justin said.
        "Who won?" I asked.
        "I did. I made every last one of them surrender and get soft," he said.
        We all laughed, except Denny, who didn't know what the hell he was talking about. Justin almost never said anything about what he used to do when he was with that Jackson guy, but when he did, it was always pretty funny.
        Rick put his arm around Justin's shoulders and hugged him.
        "I love you, Bubba," Rick said.
        Justin grinned, and he got these big ole tears in his eyes.
        "Rick speaks for all of us," I said. "We all love you, Stud."
        "Y'all stop trying to butter me up. Y'all know I don't fight cocks anymore," he said.
        We all laughed so hard I thought they were going to ask us to leave.
        That was one gift shop I didn't mind spending a few minutes in. I bought me a USS Alabama baseball cap, and that was going to be my cap for that trip. The rest of them bought something, too, either a cap or a tee shirt. Tim bought him a sailor hat, and it looked cute on him.
* * *
        "Are we going to be able to call Seth tonight?" I asked while we were going over that big-ass bridge over the lake.
        "It might be a little late tonight," Kevin said.
        "I can't wait to meet his boyfriend," I said.
        "Seth has a boyfriend? When did this happen?" Kevin asked.
        "About a month ago, I reckon," Jus said.
        "So how come everybody knows all about what Seth's been doing but me?" Kevin asked.
        "I didn't know about the boyfriend, either, Babe," Rick said.
        "We send email back and forth two or three times a week, Kev," I said. "He's still our brother, you know?"
        "I know. He and I exchange email, too," Kevin said.
        "Maybe he just forgot," Tim said, trying to make Kevin feel less left out.
        "What about Chris? Does he have any secret romantic interests?" Kevin asked.
        "As a matter of fact, he does, but he ain't getting laid yet," Justin said.
        "What!?" Kevin jerked the wheel just then because he turned around to look at us.
        "You know Chris is up on sticks, don't you?" I asked.
        "Hell no, I didn't know that," Kevin said. "Did you?" he asked Rick.
        "Yeah, I knew it. I figured you did, too," Rick said. "I'm sorry, Babe."
        "We got to get us a email fix," Justin said. "I'm pretty pissed off right now at Seth and Chris for leaving Kevin and Rick out of the loop. Shit, that ain't right, and they should both know better than that."
        I knew my brother well enough to know when he was pissed off, and he was pissed off right then. That was for sure.
        "Justin, before you start taking your brothers out, I think you need to analyze the situation, man," I said.
        "Analyze what, Kyle? That they didn't think enough of Kevin and Rick to tell them about a new boyfriend and about walking on crutches? Those two fuckers are on my shit list, man."
        "Whoa, Stud. Calm down, man," I said. "What if they really did forget? Or they thought we would tell them? I mean, Chris told Rick. It wasn't like it was a fucking secret that he was up and walking. Maybe Seth didn't think they would be interested. Or maybe he thought we would tell them. Don't be so hard on them, man. They're your fucking brothers, Justin."
        There wasn't a peep in that car after I said all of that. Justin had his arms crossed against his chest, and I knew what that meant. He was thinking.
        "I can't let them do that to Kevin and Rick, Kyle," Justin said.
        "Am I your brother and your best friend, Justin?" I asked.
        "Kyle, don't start that shit. You know you are. But this ain't about us, man."
        "Follow me, here, Bubba. You trust me, don't you?"
        "Kyle, I said don't start that shit. You know I trust you. This ain't about us," he said.
        "Justin, shut the fuck up and listen, okay? I know it ain't about us, but it's about two of our brothers. You're thinking right now that Seth and Chris have shut Kevin and Rick out of their lives, and I'm here to tell you that's not what happened. Those boys love Kevin and Rick as much as we do."
        "I doubt that," he said.
        "Well, maybe not, but they love Kevin and Rick, and you can't deny that," I said.
        "No, I'll give you that. At least they did love 'em," he said.
        "Yo, Justin! Do you trust me or not?"
        "Yeah, I trust you, Kyle. You know I do," he said.
        "Well, trust me on this. Seth and Chris are not shutting Kevin and Rick out of their lives. I know for a fact that they both think Kevin and Rick saved them at a time they needed saving," I said. "But they love them because they're Kevin and Rick, just like we do."
        Justin lit up a cigarette, his first of the trip, as far as I knew. He offered his pack to me, but I waved him off. He cracked the window next to him to let the smoke out.
        "Kyle, I don't want to be mad at Seth and Chris," he said. "I love those guys."
        "I know you do, Jus. Let's wait and see, okay?"
        "Okay," he said.
* * *
        When we got to Grandma and Grandpa's house, the whole gang was there: Craig and Cherie, Seth and Curt, and Grandma and Grandpa, of course. There was much hugging and kissing and carrying on, and it was a grand reunion. The New Orleans people hadn't met Denny yet, and I watched Grandma zero in on him like a hawk on a dove. She had a new grandson to love, and she didn't waste any time getting to him.
        "I'm so glad for you guys to finally meet Curt," Seth said. "I talk about you guys all the time, and I know he probably thinks y'all are gods or something."
        Seth said that like Kevin and Rick knew all about Curt.
        "Now do you think he was hiding him?" I asked Justin.
        "No. He thought we all knew who Curt was," Justin said.
        "Exactly. Seth's smart in books, but . . . "
        "Yeah, I know. You and me are smart in people, right?"
        "I don't know about you," I said.
        "I was smart enough to trust you, wasn't I?"
        "Yeah. You know I'm teasing you, don't you? You're very smart in people, Jus. We're going to make an awesome team one of these days, dude."
        "Shit, I think we make a pretty awesome team now."
        
Chapter 10
        
(Beth's Perspective)
        It was always good to have all my children home, and that night was no exception. I hadn't seen Seth since the funeral in Sarasota, and, frankly, I didn't recognize him. He called right after I got home that afternoon to ask if he and his boyfriend could come over to be here when the guys arrived, and, of course, I told him yes. We talked for a few minutes on the phone, but there was nothing different about his voice. When I opened the door to greet him and Curt, I thought for a moment they were Mormons wanting to try to convert me. The clothes were wrong for that, of course, but I honestly didn't recognize Seth.
        "Dr. Foley," he said.
        That was all it took. I recognized his voice instantly.
        "Seth! For heaven's sake. Come in, son," I said, grabbing him in a hug as he entered the door. He hugged me back, and I could feel the difference in him. I wished there were a legitimate reason for him to take his shirt off so I could examine and admire his new physique.
        "You didn't recognize me, did you?" he asked, grinning broadly.
        "Seth, honestly, I didn't until I heard your voice. By the way, what's this 'Dr. Foley' stuff all about? Ed and I want you boys to call us by our first names," I said.
        "I know. Beth, this is my friend Curtis Franklin. He goes by Curt," he said.
        "How do you do, Curt? Let's go in and sit down. Would you boys like something to drink?"
        "Some water would be nice," Seth said.
        "Coming right up," I said.
        I didn't know how the interest in drinking water had taken hold among the kids, but I thought it was one of the best developments in preventive medicine in years. Craig and Kevin would have asked for soft drinks when they were boys that age, but I noticed that they and their boys drank a lot of water, too. I had stocked up on a good supply of bottled water for their visit, and I knew it would probably be gone by the time they left.
        I got acquainted with Curt and caught up with Seth's doings. He told me that his parents had had a wonderful time in England during the summer and that they were all going there at Christmas for a vacation.
        "The best thing I've ever done was to spend the summer in Florida," he said. "I'm a very different person because of it."
        "That makes me so proud of my boys," I said.
        "They're working miracles, Beth, one kid at a time," he said.
        "I know, Seth. Do you know about the new boy? Denny?"
        "Yes, ma'am, I know of him, but I haven't met him yet," he said.
        "He'll be here tonight. They called a little while ago to say they'd be here around eight. I expected them at six, as I told you on the phone, but they stopped in Mobile to look at the battleship and the rest of the things they have there," I said.
        It was only ten minutes to six when I said that, and I knew Seth and Curt didn't know what to do. I wasn't exactly sure of what to say to them, either.
        "You boys have time to catch a movie," I said.
        They both brightened up when I said that. While they were delightful boys and good company, I knew perfectly well that the thought of making small talk with me for two or more hours until the others got there wasn't an especially attractive prospect to them.
        "It wouldn't be rude if we left and came back later?" Seth asked.
        "Not at all, Seth. I'm just sorry I didn't know about the Mobile excursion when you called this afternoon," I said.
        "Thanks, Beth. We'll be back around eight," he said.
        I showed them to the door and said I'd be waiting for them later. That's a well-raised young man, I thought, as they were leaving.
        Ed was working late, as usual. His practice was beginning to get out of hand, and he spent a whole lot more time at the hospitals than he did at his office or at home. He and his partner had talked about bringing in an associate, and they had even floated a few trial balloons regarding potential partnerships. There just weren't that many heart surgeons loose on the market, though.
        "I wish Tim was closer to being a doctor," he had said one day while we were discussing the matter.
        "Don't you think he'll want to practice in Emerald Beach?" I asked.
        "Of course," he said. "I'm just talking to hear myself talk. It would be pretty amazing, though, wouldn't it? To have him in practice with me?"
        Just as I was recalling that conversation, Ed came home, exhausted, as usual. I had persuaded him to take Thursday, Friday, and the whole weekend off, and he would definitely benefit from the rest.
        "Would you like a cocktail?" I asked.
        He kissed me as he always did.
        "That sounds wonderful," he said. "No, on second thought, I'll wait till the kids get here. Where are they, anyway?"
        "They called to say they'll be here around eight. They stopped in Mobile so the boys could see the battleship," I said.
        "Ah," he said. "Sweetie, I'm going to lie down for a little while, okay?"
        "Excellent idea," I said. He went into our room.
        I turned on the TV and watched C-Span. As so often happens when I do that, I fell asleep. The next thing I knew, Kevin was calling out that they were here. I hurried to the front door and greeted my sons and grandsons.
        "Where's dad?" Kevin asked.
        "He's taking a nap. Go wake him up," I said.
        "Beth, you look wonderful," Rick said. Then he kissed me.
        "All of you look wonderful," I said.
        They introduced me to Denis Morgan--Denny.
        "Hi, Grandma," the other boys said amid much kissing and hugging.
        "Where's Alex?" I asked.
        "He couldn't come, Beth. He's working," Rick said. "He wanted to, of course."
        "You know what I think? I think he didn't want to come because he's dating Cody now," Justin said.
        "Why would that matter?" I asked.
        "Because Cody was Seth's boyfriend during the summer," Jus said.
        He gave me a knowing look and a grin, and I couldn't help myself. I squeezed him in a tight hug and kissed his cheek.
        Ed came in, and we went through the greeting routine again. No sooner had we taken seats in the den, than Craig and Cherie came in. More greetings, more introductions of Denny.
        "They're going to wear your ass out, Bubba," Justin said to him.
        He was a cute child. He cocked his head in my direction because Jus has said "ass." That was precious, I thought.
        "Denny, don't worry. I know boys slip and say things like that sometimes," I said. "I raised two of them, and I've lived with their father most of my life. It's okay, sweetie."
        "He doesn't ever say bad words, Grandma," Justin said. "Him and Brian make me and Kyle say 'em all. Tim helps out some, but not much. You don't say bad words, do you?"
        "Hell, no," Denny said.
        That was the perfect response, and we all roared with laughter.
        "You'd better say it, Jus," I said.
        "Okay. You got me last, Denny," Justin said, and again laughter. It was so good having them home.
        Just when the first "got you last" was played out, Seth and Curt came back to the house. Again, many warm greetings.
        "Rick and I just found out about Curt on the way here, Seth," Kevin said. They got quiet, and I wondered what that was all about.
        "Didn't you get my email?" Seth asked. He seemed a little agitated by what Kevin had said.
        "No, Seth. We didn't," Kevin said.
        "I know I sent you one. Beth, do you have a computer I could use for a second?" he asked.
        "Sure, Seth," I said.
        Nobody said anything, and I took Seth into the study to use the computer. He came back in a couple of minutes holding a sheet of paper. He looked like he was on the verge of tears.
        "Kevin and Rick . . . I'm so sorry," he said. "I wrote it and saved it as a draft because I wanted to add more but didn't have time when I first wrote it. I must have forgotten I hadn't sent it. I wondered why neither of you commented on my news."
        "See," Kyle said to Justin. Justin looked back and forth between Kevin and Rick.
        "Seth, I have an apology to make to you," Justin said. "On the way over here I got pretty pissed off at you for not telling them. Your bubba Kyle stood up for you, though, and said you must have just forgot. I'm sorry I got mad at you, Bubba. Can I have that hug I missed when you came in?"
        Seth's eyes were moist when he and Justin hugged.
        "I mean that much to you guys?" he asked.
        "Well, hell, yeah you mean that much to us, Seth," Justin said. "Yes, you do."
        "See? What did I tell you?" Seth asked Curt.
        "I see. You were right," Curt said.
        "We're not having ice cream, so you all can forget it. Rick, let's go make some drinks," Craig said.
        "Yes, let's," I said. "I have some wonderful hors d'oeuvres that Odille made for us, too. You fellows make the drinks, and I'll put out the food."
        "We'll do it, Grandma," Kyle said.
        "Okay, baby," I said. "It's all in the refrigerator, Kyle. Warm up the crab dip, please. The crackers and dishes are all out on the counter."
        Kyle, Tim, Justin, and Brian went out to the kitchen. In no time, we had drinks and snacks.
* * *
        It would be impossible to diagram the conversation that went on in that room that night. Denny and Curt were quiet, as one might expect, but the rest of them had plenty to say. Poor Cherie, suffering the fatigue of the first trimester of pregnancy, could barely keep her eyes open, so she didn't say much, either. There were stories about the trip to Montana, about Homecoming, about Justin starting college, about Kyle being named a National Merit semifinalist, about Rick and his growing relationship with Andy and John, about the new arrangement at work for Gene, about Justin's testimony at that awful trial, about what they did in Birmingham when the trial was over, and, of course, about the pregnancy.
        There were jokes and wisecracks aplenty, of course, and I heard "got you last" over and over. My boys were home, and it felt wonderful.
        "I almost forgot," Kyle said. "Tim and I brought you something."
        He went into the foyer, where they had left their luggage, to get something. When he came back, he presented a wrapped gift to me. I tore it open, and it was a framed photograph of him and Tim. Kyle was in a tuxedo, and Tim was in a navy blue suit. Seeing it made me gasp.
        "Boys, this is beautiful," I said. "Thank you." I knew they probably weren't the two most handsome boys on earth, but they were surely in the Top Ten.
        I passed it to Ed.
        "Very nice," Ed said.
        Cherie glanced at it and passed it to Craig.
        "You look damn good in that monkey suit, Kyle," Craig said. "Both of y'all dress up pretty good, dudes. Kyle, you need to think about becoming a head waiter somewhere."
        "Shut up, Craig. He's forbidden to ever work in a restaurant," Rick said.
        "What?" Craig asked.
        "Long story, Bubba. I'll tell you later," Rick said.
        "Okay, but I don't get it," Craig said.
        "You will when I tell you," Rick said.
        Craig and Cherie wanted to spend the nights of the visit at our house, so Ed and I decided to put the boys in the apartment above the garage.
        "Are you all going to spend the night?" Justin asked Seth. "I wish you would."
        "Is that all right, Beth?" Seth asked.
        "Well, of course it is, Seth. Your brothers want to spend as much time with you as they can," I said. "Call your parents, though, and let them know where you're going to be."
        "Yes, ma'am," he said. He went into the kitchen to call.
        "Is anybody going to be up for a museum crawl tomorrow?" Ed asked.
        "Sure, Grandpa," Kyle said. He looked at the others for approval, but nobody said anything. "We're all kind of in a World War II mood. We stopped at the battleship in Mobile, and that place was awesome."
        "I know! Let's make war the theme of this visit," Ed said.
        "Cool," the boys said almost in unison. Why is it that war excites young men?
        "There are two fantastic war museums here," Ed said, "the Confederate Museum and the National D-Day Museum. Tim and Kyle, your dads and I had a fabulous time there the last time they were here. Those two museums should satisfy your appetite for war artifacts."
        "Dad, you're forgetting some, aren't you?" Craig asked.
        "Am I?"
        "Yeah, including one of my favorites. Jackson Barracks. There's also the Chalmette Battlefield," Craig said.
        "Well, of course! I don't think I've ever been to the Jackson Barracks."
        "Yes, you have, Dad. You took Kevin and me there when I was in the eighth grade," Craig said.
        "Is that on St. Claude Avenue?"
        "Yes," Craig said.
        "I remember it, and you're right. That's a good one," Ed said. "If we want to branch out to the War of 1812, we should also probably visit the National Shrine of Our Lady of Prompt Succor," Ed said.
        Kyle and Justin looked at one another with delightful mischief and devilment when Ed said that.
        "It's spelled s-u-c-c-o-r," Kevin said. "It's not what you think, guys."
        That brought the house down, and even poor, tired Cherie showed some life when he said that.
        "You never know in New Orleans," Kyle said.
        "You got that right," Craig said, and, again, there were more peals of laughter.
        "It's getting late, guys. Come on. Let me show you where y'all are sleeping," Kevin said.
        We all said our goodnights, and Kevin took the kids up to the apartment. I went into the dining room, where the food had been set out, to put it away and to clean up the kitchen. To my surprise, it had already been done.
        "Rick, did you pick up the food," I asked.
        "No, Tim and Brian did. Didn't you notice them slip away for a few minutes?"
        "No, I honestly didn't. Rick, I'm so proud of you and Kevin for what you're doing with those boys that I can't even adequately express myself on the subject," I said.
        "They're great kids, that's for sure," he said.
        "You and Kevin are too modest, Son," I said. "They weren't all great kids when they came to you, now, were they?"
        "They all had their problems, I guess," he said.
        "I thought the whole business with Seth forgetting to send the email and Justin's reaction and apology was extremely touching," I said.
        "Kevin and I were hurt that he hadn't told us about Curt, and Justin was furious at Seth for it," Rick said. "I'm glad it worked out the way it did. Beth, when those boys refer to another boy as their brother, they mean it quite literally. Justin loves Seth, but he loves us more. I thought for a few minutes that he and Kyle were going to come to blows over it on the twin span over the lake."
        "Do I want to know the details?" I asked.
        "Not really. Just know that the whole thing was motivated by love. You know, we've talked about Kyle being an alpha male, but I think Justin might be one, too. He yields to Kyle because he feels he owes his life to Kyle. And in some ways he does. But if Kyle wasn't part of the mix, Justin would be the one in charge. They're incredible as a team, but I would hate to be around if those two ever really got at odds with one another," Rick said.
        "Let's pray that never happens, but you know what, my Son? If it does, you and Kevin will be right smack dab in the middle of it, like it or not. They might grow up and move away, but those boys are going to be your sons forever, Rick. And my grandsons forever, too," I said.
        "I'm sure we will be. Did you talk to Denny at all?"
        "Not nearly as much as I wanted to and will over the next few days. Kevin told me about his background with his mother and all," I said.
        "I've taken him on as my personal project. We went shopping a couple of weeks ago, just he and I, and I'm going to make it a point of doing things from time to time just with him. Denny isn't like the others. He's very smart, and he reads voraciously. He joined the debating team at school, and he and I have started doing research together on the topic they're debating this year," he said.
        "What's the topic?" I asked.
        "Resolved: That the United States federal government should substantially increase public health services for mental health care in the United States," he said.
        "Oh, my. That's quite a topic, especially for your family, with Jeff and Justin and all," I said.
        "Yeah, it is. He probably knows more statistics about that, and has thought more about it, than you and Ed put together," he said.
        "If he's thought about it at all, he's thought about it more than I have. Ed, too, I'd wager," I said.
        Kevin came in the back door just then.
        "Do you have the boys squared away," I asked.
        "Yes, ma'am," he said. "They're going to have quite a good time up there. It looked good, Mom. Has it been redecorated recently?"
        "Yes. I was slightly embarrassed when the Goodsons and George slept up there at Christmas and Mardi Gras. It's been re-done. Actually, 'done' would be the better word for it. It was all castoffs and hand-me-downs before," I said.
        "Well, it looks great, Mom. Rick, I'm tired," Kevin said. "Are you about ready for bed?"
        "Definitely," Rick said.
        Ed, Craig, and Cherie had all gone to bed already, and I was tired, too. I knew we had four busy days ahead of us, and I needed rest.
        "Goodnight, Mom," Kevin and Rick said in unison. I kissed them both, and we went to bed for the night.
        
(Kyle's Perspective)
        That little apartment over the garage was nice. For one thing, it wasn't all that little. There were two bedrooms with queen size beds, and there was a real nice bathroom off the hall between the two of them. There was a third room that was much smaller than the bedrooms. It had a desk and easy chair in it, and it had a day bed, too. The living room was kind of a living room-dining room combination, and the kitchen had a nice counter that had bar stools and some new appliances. It could easily be somebody's home.
        "Damn, I don't remember this place being this nice before," Kevin said when he took us up there. "This stuff all looks new. It even smells new."
        "It's nice," I said.
        "Does that sofa open into a bed?" Tim asked.
        "Check and see," Kevin said.
        Tim checked, and it did. It already had sheets on it, too. We found pillows in a linen closet in the hall, and there were extra blankets and lots of towels, too.
        "You guys have your own little house in New Orleans," Kev said.
        "I think we ought to make this place Boysville when we're here," Justin said. "The only problem is, the ice maker in the freezer makes cloudy ice, Kyle. I reckon you won't be able to handle that."
        I laughed at his teasing. He had a way of bringing up little stuff like that to get to me, but it was always funny when he did it. He never cut me any slack, that was for sure.
        "We're moving in," Justin said.
* * *
        The only thing bad about that apartment was that it only had one bathroom. That was going to take some coordination, I thought. Tim and I could shower together, and so could Justin and Brian, if we had to. I didn't know about Seth and Curt, though, and I figured Denny would have to be on his own regardless.
        The night before I had noticed they had a coffee maker in the kitchen. I woke up before anybody else, of course, and I decided to go make some coffee. I took a leak right away, and my boner started going down immediately. You read stuff about guys playing with their morning wood and jerking off and all. Mine didn't work that way. It didn't feel anything like it did when I was hard because I was turned on. Most of the time, it was so hard in the morning that it actually hurt a little. Sometimes my bladder was so full that it hurt a lot.
        After I finished in the bathroom, I went into the living room to get to the kitchen. Seth and Curt were on the sofa bed. They were both naked, and the cover was pulled off. They were both just as hard as they could be, too. A few years ago, if I saw two naked boys with hard-ons, I would have gotten hard immediately and stayed that way all day. Now I guess I was just too used to seeing them. Seeing Tim hard was another story, though. That still did it every time, except in the morning, of course. If he was hard any other time, it was for a reason, and that reason was me.
        I made the coffee and then decided to take a shower. The bathroom door was closed, but I didn't knock or anything. Denny was there sitting on the toilet.
        "Sorry," I said.
        "That's okay, Kyle. You can come in," he said.
        "I'll let you take a shit in private, Bubba," I said.
        "I'm not. I sat down to pee so I wouldn't get it all over the place," he said. "I'm finished now, anyway."
        "I'm going to take a shower. Want to join me?" I asked.
        He hesitated like he was trying to make up his mind if I would be dangerous or something. Then he said he did want to.
        I regulated the water, and we both got in. He was still half hard from just waking up, but I didn't pay any attention to it. He bathed, and I did, too. Then I lathered my face to shave, and you would have thought I was turning water into wine, the way he watched me.
        "I've never seen anybody shave before," he said.
        "You're kidding," I said. I was pretty surprised at that.
        "No, I'm not kidding," he said. "Does it hurt?"
        "No, unless you cut yourself," I said. "Sometimes it stings a little bit if you shave real close. You don't shave, do you?"
        He blushed a little bit and grinned at me.
        "Not yet, Kyle," he said.
        I looked at his face close. He had hair all over the damn place. It was real blond, so you couldn't notice it when it was dry. It was wet right then, though, and it was dark.
        "You need to, though, Bubba," I said. "Look at this."
        I reached to the side of his face and grabbed two fingers full of hair. I pulled it a little bit.
        "Oww," he said. "What was that?"
        "That was hair, Denny. Your fucking beard," I said. "You look like fucking Santa Claus."
        That made him laugh hard, and he almost slipped. He grabbed on to me, though, to keep from falling.
        "I'll let you borrow my razor," I said.
        "Kyle, I'm scared to do that," he said.
        "Yeah, I guess it would be better to start with an electric," I said.
        That's what Brian had done. The first time he took a wet shave I thought he was going to need a transfusion there was so much blood. He shaves in the shower now like the rest of us, and Justin told me it takes him forever to do it, too. Of course, he never misses any the way the rest of us do when we're in a hurry.
        "I'll shave you," I said. "Then we'll get you an electric shaver."
        I squirted out some shave gel on my fingers and started putting it on his face. He was squirming around, though.
        "Hold still," I said. "If you move around like that when I'm shaving you, I'll accidentally slash your throat."
        That made him laugh more, and it got me laughing, too. As I was doing that, I realized that was the first time I had ever really paid any attention to him. He was just this quiet little guy, nice as can be, who's just sort of there. I needed to do better with him.
        After I got his face lathered, I said, "Now hold still, you hear? I don't want to cut you."
        "Okay," he said.
        I put the razor to his cheek and made the first stroke. He got tickled and laughed. This was not going to be easy, I thought. Whatever hot water we saved by showering together was going to be more than used up because of how long it was going to take. I waited for him to calm down, and I put on my "no nonsense" face. I knew I was just as responsible for him laughing as he was because I was playing around.
        I can shave myself pretty fast, but shaving somebody else was another story. Out of the bottom of my eyes I could see his dick getting hard, too. I ignored it, of course, and he didn't touch it, either. There I am, shaving away, trying to get it all without cutting him. All of a sudden, he shudders and turns bright red. Then he starts crying. What the hell's going on here, I thought. I hadn't cut him.
        "Why are you crying," I asked, trying to sound tender and concerned, the whole time thinking, This is bullshit.
        "I'm sorry, Kyle. I didn't do it on purpose. It was an accident, and I couldn't help it," he said. He was crying hard.
        I'm not a real patient person to start with, but this was making me exasperated.
        "What did you do, Bubba?" I asked.
        He didn't answer me. Instead he looked down. I looked down, too, and then I saw what he had done. He had come, and some of it was still dripping off the end of his dick.
        "Are you mad at me?"
        "No, I'm not made at you. Come on. Let's get this finished and get out of here. I want to talk to you when we're done," I said.
        I said that in what I thought was the kindest voice I had access to. That poor little guy was embarrassed to death, and I was going to damn sure make him alright about it.
        The others were beginning to stir about. The two in the living room were still in bed, but they were all covered up. Tim was fixing himself a cup of coffee when we went into the kitchen. I kissed him good morning. Denny was digging in the refrigerator looking for juice.
        "Denny and I are going outside, okay? I'll tell you what happened this morning when it's just the two of us, but right now I need to talk to him," I whispered to Tim.
        He gave me one of his sweetest smiles.
        "I was wondering how long it would take for you to get to work on him," he whispered back.
        I laughed a little, and he smiled some more.
        "Denny, what happened this morning in the shower is nothing to be ashamed of, Bubba. It happens to guys all the time. It was a spontaneous orgasm. Not everybody has those, but a lot of us do," I said.
        "Is it because I'm gay," he asked.
        "Oh, hell no. It happens to straight guys, too. All the time."
        I was winging that on the seat of my britches. How the hell did I know if straight guys come without touching themselves? I figured it was probably a guy thing more than it was a gay thing, though.
        "It might happen all the time, but it's terribly embarrassing," he said.
        "I know. I've done it in school in the middle of a class. It's a mess, too, when you've got clothes on. Look, Den, what we were doing was pretty intimate, you know? If I had thought it through like I should have, I would have let you get dressed and I would have shaved you at the sink so you could have seen in the mirror what I was doing. As usual, though, I just acted. I didn't think. But that's beside the point now. The point I want to make is you did nothing wrong, and you have nothing to be embarrassed about or ashamed of," I said. "And I mean that, Bubba."
        He didn't say anything.
        "Are you okay?" I asked.
        "Don't tell the others about it, okay?"
        "They'll never hear it from me," I said. "But you know what? Once you get over being embarrassed and ashamed, you're going to think it's pretty funny, 'cause it is. You're going to be telling it on yourself. I'll just bet."
        He was quiet for a few moments, and then he smiled.
        "It is pretty funny, now that I think about it," he said.
        "I think it's fucking hilarious, Bubba. And you know something? I think you're pretty damn cute," I said.
        That made him blush blood red, but he also smiled.
        "Thank you for talking to me, Bubba," he said. "I feel a lot better now. You can tell Tim if you want to. I don't care if he knows."
        "Are you sure? 'Cause he doesn't have to know," I said.
        "No. Tell him. In fact, tell Brian and Justin, too, if you want to. You all have been so nice to me and have treated me like a brother that they deserve to know," he said.
        "No, I'm not telling them. Justin will tease your ass from here to Christmas if I tell him that. He may be my best friend, but I know his ass too good to give him that kind of ammunition," I said.
        He grinned because he knew I was right on the money.
        "You're happy here, aren't you?" I asked.
        "Kyle, I didn't even know what that word meant before I came to Emerald Beach," he said. "We were dirt poor. If I didn't eat free breakfast and lunch at school, I didn't eat. Period. My mom was always wasted on drugs, and everything was always filthy dirty. And then, on top of all of that, I got picked on constantly at school."
        "Speaking of that, are those two pricks leaving you and Chip alone?"
        "Yeah. Chip told me you talked to them. Whatever you said worked," he said.
        "Good."
        Tim and Brian came out of the apartment just then, and it was time for breakfast.
        "Kyle, I know we have to go in, but can I have a hug first?" he asked.
        I grinned at him, and we hugged right there in the yard.
        
(Kevin's Perspective)
        Well, Dad and Kyle had decided. War was the theme of our trip. I had thought Baby was going to be the theme of our trip, but . . . And since when did trips to visit relatives have themes, anyway? I knew my dad was so excited about taking the kids to see those places he loved so much that it was fun watching him plan and direct our "museum crawl."
        "Denny, what's different about you, baby," my mom asked when he sat down at the table.
        "He took a shave this morning," Kyle said.
        "He took a shave?" Rick asked. Oh, oh, I thought, it's starting early.
        "Yeah. Isn't that what you say? Take a shave? You take a shower, take a bath, take a lea . . . "
        "You've made your point," Rick said, cutting him off before he could finish the word. "I've just never heard that expression used before."
        "I have. He says it all the time," Justin offered.
        He leaned over to Denny and started rubbing his face rather suggestively. My parents were laughing at his antics, and Denny was turning into Mr. Tomato Face.
        "Keep your hands to yourself at the table, Jus," I said.
        He laughed good naturedly and stopped touching Denny.
        "Grandpa, are you going to be doing any surgery while we're here," Tim asked.
        "I don't have anything scheduled, Tim, but emergencies can happen at any time," he said. "Are you interested in seeing heart surgery?"
        "Yes, sir. More than anything," Tim said.
        "Me, too," Brian said.
        "You want to see somebody's guts?" Justin asked.
        "Yeah, Buddy, I do," Brian said. "I might want to be a doctor, too."
        "You told me that before, Brian, but I thought you were just saying that because Tim wants to be one," Justin said.
        "No, I'm thinking pretty strongly that I want to be one," Brian said.
        "I see a group practice developing here," Craig said. "Cherie and I can handle the legal work."
        There was a chuckle around the table, but I knew it wasn't the laugh he expected. They're kids, Craig, I thought. They didn't really get what you just said.
        "Would you mind if I wanted to be a doctor," Brian asked.
        He was such a sweet kid.
        "I want you to be whatever you want to be, Little Buddy. If you want to be a doctor, that's great," Justin said.
        "It takes a lot of years, Jus," Brian said.
        "I can see it now. Me and Justin working every day at some hotel, and you guys going to classes. At night, you guys study your asses off," Kyle said.
        "What do me and you do while they study?" Justin asked.
        "Different things. Shoot pool. Go out drinking. Read a book now and then. Go to movies. Go bowling. Come over here and hang out. Go to Craig and Cherie's house and play with our cousin. We could be real busy," Kyle said.
        Justin was grinning and laughing all over himself.
        "That doesn't sound too bad, Kyle," he said.
        "Two doctors and two what? Innkeepers?"
        "Yep, hospitality is going to be my thing, I hope. I've got a long way to go, though," Jus said.
        "Like I don't?" Kyle asked.
* * *
        Our first stop of the day was the National D-Day Museum. It was in an old warehouse that had been gutted, more or less, and turned into exhibit space. Because they didn't do much cosmetic work on the walls and ceiling, the place sort of reminds you of what a military barracks must have been like during the war. We started with a half-hour film about D-Day in Europe, and it was excellent. I guess I once knew details about who was actually involved in the Normandy Invasion, but that sure taught me a lot about it.
        "See, this is the only way to study American history," Justin said. "I have to write a paper for that class I'm taking, and I think I'm going to write it on this."
        "I thought your course only covers the first half of American history," Brian said.
        "Oh, yeah. That's right," Jus said.
        "We're going to go to the place where the Battle of New Orleans was fought in the War of 1812," Dad said. "Maybe that will interest you, Jus."
        "Cool," he said.
        "Why is this museum here, Dad, instead of in Washington or someplace like that?" I asked.
        "There's an interesting story behind that. Do you know who Andrew Higgins was?"
        "No, but I noticed the street out there is named for him," I said.
        "That's right. He owned the factory here that manufactured most of the landing craft they used in both Europe and the Pacific. There was a fellow named Dr. Stephen Ambrose who was a professor of history at UNO. He founded their Eisenhower Center, and he was personally chosen by Eisenhower to edit his papers. Anyway, Ambrose was the leading force behind getting the museum here because of the connection between D-Day and Higgins," he said.
        We went through the museum, and the kids were very interested in the exhibits. In typical fashion, Tim, Brian, and my dad got the taped tours, and the rest of us just walked around looking and reading.
        "Kevin, this is boring me to death," Cherie said to me under her breath. "Let's go get some coffee. I want to sit down anyway."
        Once we were set up with coffee, she said, "Nobody told me how tired I'd be."
        "You seemed beat last night," I said.
        "My God, I was. And it's like that every day. Supposedly that only happens during the first trimester. I'm only in my fifth week, though," she said. "By the end of the day, it feels like I'm walking around in one of those lead blankets they put on you at the dentist when they take the x-rays."
        "How many weeks does a pregnancy last?" I asked.
        "Forty, if all goes well," she said.
        "Is the doctor worried about you?"
        "Oh, no. Not at all. All my numbers are exactly as they should be. I've only had morning sickness a few times, too, which is great. No, this is a very normal, very ordinary pregnancy, so far," she said. "By the way, Craig no longer smokes in the house or the car because of me."
        "Good for him. Is he still excited about it?"
        "Are you kidding? He's delirious about it. Thank you again for the part you played in it. That was so good of you," she said.
        "Actually, I've done less enjoyable good deeds in my life," I said.
        She laughed.
* * *
        The Confederate Memorial Museum was a couple of blocks away from the D-Day Museum, and that's where we went after lunch. The building looked like a mausoleum from the street, and it was just as spooky inside as it was outside. Spookier, even.
        That is the oldest Confederate Museum in the country, and the collection is the second largest, after the one in Richmond. Jefferson Davis, president of the Confederacy, lay in state in the building when he died in 1889, and over 50,000 mourners viewed his remains.
        "I think this guy must have been my great-grandpa," Justin said, referring to the plaque commemorating Jefferson Davis' wake.
        "Yeah, right," Kyle said.
        "It could be," Jus said. "My last name's Davis, you know?"
        "Boys, have you ever visited Beauvoir," Dad asked.
        "No, sir. What's that?" Kyle asked.
        "It's Jefferson Davis' final home. It's in Biloxi, Mississippi, right on your way home. It's worth the stop," he said.
        "What's there, Grandpa?" Brian asked.
        "Well, there's the house itself, a Confederate cemetery, a Confederate museum, the Tomb of the Unknown Confederate Soldier, the Davis Family gallery. They just opened the Jefferson Davis Presidential Library a few years ago. I haven't seen that yet, but I understand it's very nice," he said.
        "I might could get interested in the Civil War and the Confederacy, since my great-grandpa was the president," Justin said. "The stuff in this place is cool as hell."
        Dad laughed. "Having a sense of history is extremely important, boys. I'm glad to see that all of you enjoy museums. I love them."
        No, kidding, I thought.
        "Honey, I need to go home," Cherie said to Craig as we were leaving the museum. "I'm exhausted. You can drop me off and rejoin the crowd."
        "Sure, Baby," he said. "You want to go to our house?"
        "Yeah. I didn't sleep all that well last night, and I just want to get in bed and sleep," she said.
        "I'll go with you," he said.
        He told us goodbye and that he would see us the next morning for breakfast. He wasn't sure Cherie would feel like joining us, but he'd be there. We went home then, overloaded on war.
        
Chapter 11
        
(Curt's Perspective)
        Seth had told me about his friends from Florida and about how they had had such a big impact on him, but, frankly, I wasn't ready for that crowd. They were almost too much of everything. They were friendly, outgoing, and just plain nice. The only one who didn't say much of anything was Denny. That was his first visit to the city, and he didn't know Beth and Ed. I didn't say much, either, for the same reason.
        The first thing that really got to me was how they all felt about Seth. They genuinely loved him, from the grandparents, to Kevin and Rick, to the kids, and even to Craig and Cherie. I liked all of them, but Justin and Kyle stood out a little bit. Those two teased each other and the rest of them almost nonstop, but it was always good natured teasing.
        Kyle probably surprised me the most. He's a really good looking kid, and he's sort of built along football-player lines. He looked like he was pretty sharp, but he didn't use the best grammar in the world, and some of the things he said made me think he wasn't all that with it. But then they started talking on Wednesday night about all the things they had done recently. It turned out he was president of the Student Government Association at his high school and had just run their Homecoming festival. Then they alluded to him being a National Merit Semifinalist. I was blown away. He and Tim were boyfriends, and apparently they were out to everybody back home. Unbelievable!
        Justin was a big blond. Actually, he wasn't any taller than Kyle or most of the rest of them, but he just seemed big. Powerful. Like there was a lot of mass to him, or something. I had been working out since the spring, so I had seen a lot of well-built guys. Judging from what I saw when he took his shirt off to get ready for bed, he's been working out all his life. He had a real thick Southern accent, and he told me he was from Alabama. He was probably the cutest looking and acting one of all of them, and it was pretty clear that everybody loved him.
        We went to museums all day Thursday, and we had a great dinner at their house on Thursday night. Cherie wasn't there because she was really tired, but Craig was. I found out she was pregnant and that's what was causing the tiredness.
        I had classes on Thursday, and on Friday, too, but I decided just to cut them so I could spend time with those people. Seth and I had spent Wednesday night at the Foleys' house, but we hadn't gone there planning to do that. As a result, we didn't have any clean clothes, so we were going to have to go home Thursday night. Seth's parents and his sister were out of town for the long weekend the kids had off from school, but Seth had never planned to go with them. In fact, he and I had planned to drive to Emerald Beach to see the guys until we found out they were coming to New Orleans. We were going to sleep at his house and meet up with them again in the morning.
        I was glad we were doing some "tourist" things. I had lived there over a year, but I hadn't yet gone to any museums or anything like that. I was having a great time.
        After dinner, we all got together in the den to talk.
        "We met your buddies Paul and Jackie, Craig," Justin said. "Those are some really nice guys."
        "Those boys are their brothers," Beth said. "The four of them were raised together as brothers. I can't begin to tell you how cute they were when they were little fellows."
        "They told us some pretty funny stories, Craig. Something about a potato gun and a wee-wee in distress," Justin said.
        "Oh, my God," Craig said. He was laughing hard, and it looked like he was somewhat embarrassed, too.
        "I'm still not over the potato gun thing," Ed said.
        "What happened," Denny asked.
        "They shot out a stained glass window in the church in the middle of a Good Friday service, baby," Beth said. "He wanted to kill Judas in the window for betraying Jesus."
        The ones who knew the story laughed hard.
        "Tell the whole story, though," Kevin insisted.
        "Well, they thought the whole window was backed in Plexiglas, and, indeed, most of it was. That panel had been too, at one time," Ed said. "It had fallen out or something, though, so it wasn't protected. The church was full of people for Good Friday, and they were supposed to be there, too, as altar boys."
        "Dad, you were furious about that," Craig said.
        "I was angry, Craig. No question about it. But your mother helped me see the humor of your brother taking out Judas on Good Friday. That was a very Catholic thing to do. It was just too bad it cost me $800 to have the damn thing repaired."
        We all laughed hard at the way he said that.
        "Tell us some stories about when Kevin was little," Tim said.
        "There are so many, Tim. He was desperately afraid of the vacuum cleaner. He called it the 'minga-monga,'" she said. "Where that term came from, I'll never know."
        "Why were you afraid of it, Kev?" Tim asked.
        "It was because of him," Kevin said, and he pointed his thumb at Craig. "He told me he could make it suck me up into it, and he demonstrated by putting little pieces of paper on the carpet. He ran it over the paper, and it sucked the little pieces up. I didn't know."
        "Now that I think about it, what I did was pretty bad," Craig said. "He used to have these pajamas that had feet in them. One time I got out the vacuum and ran it up to him. It sucked the toes on the feet of his pajamas into it, of course. I pulled it back because it actually scared me when it did that, but I told him that if he didn't do everything I said to do, it was going to get him next."
        "That was mean, Craig," Tim said.
        "I know, but I was only five. He was three," Craig said.
        "You can remember that," Brian asked.
        "Yeah, I can, Bri. I know it doesn't seem possible, but it really did scare me," Craig said. "I only did it that once, too."
        "Kevin had some strange comprehensions of language," Ed said. "One time we were going someplace in the car. They were in the back seat, and I was driving. They got into a tussle of some kind, and they were wrestling around. All of a sudden, Kevin screamed and then started crying. I asked Beth what had happened, and she said they were playing and Craig had kicked Kevin in the process. Kevin was about five, and Craig was about seven, maybe a little older. Where Craig had accidentally kicked him was in the groin. For two or three years after that Kevin always referred to his private parts as his 'process.'"
        We all laughed hard at that one.
        "Hell, all I knew was he had kicked me in the process, and it hurt," Kevin said, and we laughed some more.
        "I think the funniest thing Kevin ever did was his first day of kindergarten," Beth said. "We were all at the dining room table for dinner. Both boys were bouncing around like crazy because they were so excited. We used to play a game called 'Best and Worst,' where we each had to say the best thing that had happened to us that day, and the worst. It was Kevin's turn.
        "He got up and ran out to the den to get something. He came back with all the forms he had gotten in school that day, including the student handbook. He said his teacher had said to make sure his parents went over these 'formulations' with him. He proceeded to go through the student handbook, page by page, holding it up the way a teacher would a storybook so the children could see the pictures. Page after page after page. Ed and I were so tickled by his doing that that we could barely stay in our chairs. He was totally serious about it, and he wanted us to be serious, too. He was incredibly cute doing that."
        We all laughed.
        "That's okay. Just make fun of me all you want to," Kevin said.
        "Son, you know we're not making . . "
        "Yes, ma'am, I know," Kevin said, cutting her off and grinning. "And those stories are pretty funny now."
        "I have one more, and it has to do with him and language," Craig said. "Somehow he thought having a bowel movement was known as 'taking a bow.' I guess it was sort of a mixture of 'taking a crap,' or whatever, and having a bowel movement, but to him it was 'taking a bow.' That was the way he referred to it for years."
        "I can see how a little kid could make that confusion," Seth said.
        "Yeah, Bubba, but he was eighteen when he started that," Craig said.
        We all howled with laughter, and Kevin threw a pillow at his brother's head.
        "Mama, make him go to bed," Kevin said.
        That made Beth, Ed, Craig, and Kevin himself laugh.
        "Guys," Beth said, "if I've heard that sentence once from those two, I've heard it a million times. You notice he said 'mama,' not 'mom.' On that note this old lady is going to make herself go to bed. Are you coming, Ed?"
        Everybody kissed her goodnight, including me.
        "Yeah, in a minute," Ed said. "Tim and Brian, if you boys are serious about seeing surgery, I'll be glad to take you if I get a call. I can't guarantee that it will happen, but the odds are about even that it will. Do you want me to wake you up if I get a call tonight?"
        Tim and Brian got pretty excited.
        "Yes, sir," they said in unison.
        "Do you other boys want to go, too?" Ed asked.
        "No, sir, not me," Justin said. "I've already been in all the operating rooms I ever want to be in."
        "Same here," Kyle said.
        "When were you ever in an operating room?" Justin asked.
        "I wasn't. I just don't want to see it," Kyle said.
        Those two were like actors in a play, and they even spoke to one another in a way that was different from the way they spoke to others. There was a gruffness in their voice. I knew they were best friends, and they obviously cared for each other a great deal. It was almost as though they were teasing each other with every sentence they spoke.
        It was almost eleven when Seth and I finally said goodnight and left.
        "Seth, they're incredible," I said in the car.
        "I know. I told you they were. Which one did you like best?"
        "I liked them all, but I'd have to say that Justin and Kyle were my favorites," I said.
        "Mine, too. Kyle is the one I feel closest to, though. I had a hard crush on him for a while," he said.
        "I can see how you would," I said. "It looks like Tim's got him pretty much in his pocket, though."
        "Oh, yeah. It's pretty obvious they're in love, isn't it?" he asked.
        "Well, yes and no. I mean, I wouldn't look at them and think 'gay couple,' at least not when we were in public. I noticed that a little in private, though, when it was just us," I said.
        "They're out to the immediate world in Emerald Beach," he said.
        "So I gathered. We'll get there some day, Tom." He called me Huck, after Huckleberry Finn, and I called him Tom, after Tom Sawyer.
        Seth and I made love for the first time in his bed that night . I had been to his house often, but that was the first night I had spent there. Before that, our love-making had been confined to my apartment. He drifted off to sleep almost as soon as we were finished, and I lay there thinking for a little while. I'm so lucky, I thought, and so much in love.
        
(Justin's Perspective)
        "God Awmighty, I'm so fucking hungry I could eat this pillow," I said. "How the hell do we get a pizza up here?"
        "You see that thing right there? That's called a phone. You pick it up and call the pizza man. Tell him you want food. Get two large ones with lots of meat on 'em, hear? I'm about to die, too," Kyle said.
        "Shit, somebody gimme some keys so I can go get 'em. They wouldn't ever find this place way back in here. I saw a Pizza Hut takeout store about three blocks away. I'm going," I said.
        "We'll go, but I'm driving. You and Kyle have been drinking tonight, Jus, and you don't need to drive," Tim said.
        "You and Brian go, and leave us here, Babe," Kyle said.
        "That's the first sensible thing you've said in a week," I said to Kyle.
        I was just teasing him, and he knew it. It really wasn't a good idea for me to drive, or Kyle, either, even though we were probably both legal. We had both had a good dinner, so that probably entered in, and we had had those drinks over several hours. No point in taking chances, though. Brian wasn't quite old enough for his license yet, but he would be, soon. He and Tim almost never took a drink, so they could always drive. That worked out pretty good for me and Kyle, I thought. Brian and Tim took off to get the pizzas, and Denny went with them.
        "Are you learning a lot, Bubba," Kyle asked me.
        "Kyle, don't tell anybody this, okay? But I didn't know what the Confederacy was until today, and I know that Jefferson Davis character ain't no more related to me than Trixie is," I said.
        He laughed.
        "I know. I wasn't real clear on what that was all about, but I was embarrassed to ask. The sad thing is, I took American history last year, but we never covered it. At least I don't think we did. I took the first half of American in the eighth grade, and pretty much all I remember about that grade was having a hard-on all the time," he said.
        I laughed hard when he said that.
        "That's the story of my life, Kyle," I said. "Of course, I took it last year, too, in adult school. That was the last thing I had to finish to take my GED test, and I did it. But I don't think we had anything about the Confederacy, either."
        "Me and you have got to get us some education, Jus. We're each gonna have a doctor for a husband, and we can't be dumb good-ole-boys forever. They'll get tired of us and find them some new boys," he said.
        "Then you and me can hook up," I said. I didn't really think that would happen, but I knew I could fall for him real easy.
        "Come on, Bubba. Don't go there, please. It's hard enough as it is, you know?"
        "I'm just tugging a little on this thing right here," I said. I rubbed the bulge in his jeans, and he was hard. Oh, oh, I thought. This ain't good.
        "Yeah, you see what I mean?" he asked.
        "Kyle, I didn't mean nothing by that, and you know it, man. I'm sorry."
        "I know you were teasing me, but I'm flesh and blood, Jus. Let's change the subject, okay?"
        "Kyle, please don't be mad at me," I said.
        I was worried I had offended him, and that was the last thing on God's green earth I ever wanted to do.
        "I'm not mad at you. We can't talk about shit like us getting together if Tim and Brian ever leave us. It's right under the surface for both of us, Bubba, and it could bubble up so quick we wouldn't even know what was happening. Do you want a drink?"
        "Yeah, I do, as a matter of fact. A strong one," I said.
        "How many drinks did you have already tonight?" he asked.
        "Two before dinner and two after, and they were pretty damn weak, too," I said.
        "Me, too. Have you noticed that Tim and Brian look out for me and you like they were our big brothers or something," he asked.
        "Yeah, I have, and I think it's cute as hell," I said.
        I walked back to the kitchen with him after he had gone to his room to get his bottle of booze.
        "What is that shit," I asked when I saw the bottle he had.
        "We finished the bourbon I had the night of the Homecoming dance, and this was all I could get. It's scotch. I swear, I don't know what's come over my parents, but they just about never have a drink anymore. I know there's plenty of booze in that closet out by the pool, but I couldn't get to his keys without him knowing about it," he said. "This'll be good in coke, though."
        We didn't say anything while he made the drinks. I felt a little bad about what I had done a few minutes before.
        "Kyle, I'm sorry I touched you the way I did back there," I said.
        "You didn't do anything to be sorry about, Jus. It's just that . . . "
        "I know. I feel the same way, Kyle. We can't let it get out of hand between us. I want you so bad right now I'm about to cream my jeans, and I know you feel the same way. But we're not in love with each other, are we?"
        "No, we're not. We're each in love with a boy, though. As much as I want you physically, I won't risk what I have with Tim and what you have with Brian. Let's go back in there, have a smoke, and wait for them to get back with the pizzas, okay?"
        "Did you ever think your best friend would be a redneck whore," I asked.
        "Did you ever think your best friend would be a rich Eagle Scout?" he asked in return.
        We both laughed hard, and we hugged each other.
* * *
        The next day I was determined to do like Kyle had said and start getting me an education. That morning, when I was holding Brian after we had made love, I knew I could never stand to lose him. It would kill me. I was going to do every damn thing I could to make sure it would never happen. If he wanted to be a doctor and needed somebody to practice on, he could open me up on the kitchen table as often as he needed to. I had never once had the feeling that Brian looked down on me in any way. In fact, I thought he looked up to me, but I knew I had some learning to do to make sure that wasn't ever going to happen.
        The first place we went was the Jackson Barracks. It was everything military you could think of, and it was very interesting. They had little stories about the wars the stuff had been used in, though, and that was what I was reading.
        "You're studying that stuff mighty close, Stud. What's up with you?" Kyle asked.
        "I'm trying to get me an education, and you'd be best advised to do the same thing. Did you know about all these damn wars America has been in?" I asked.
        "No. I haven't been reading it," he said.
        "Kyle, you inspired me last night, dude. Don't get behind, Bubba."
        "Why don't you just tell me about 'em," he said.
        "Read the fucking stories for yourself, Kyle. You and I can discuss them over coffee later. We'll buy us each a pipe and sit and puff and discuss," I said.
        He started laughing, and the rest of them wanted to know what was so funny.
        "Nothing," he said. "I've got a psycho on my hands here, and I'm trying to deal with him."
        They all knew it was me, and that made them laugh, too. I was probably a little bit psycho, so it wasn't all that far fetched.
        After that barracks place, we ate some lunch at some little dive of a neighborhood restaurant. It was basically a sandwich shop that sold po' boy sandwiches, something I could definitely relate to. The poor boy part, anyway. We had had those before when we were in New Orleans, and I knew those suckers were good. There were thirteen of us, so we pulled tables together to make us a big one. We were the only ones in the place who had had a shower in recent memory. It was full of nothing but guys who were doing road work, and they smelled like hard-working men. Tell you the truth, that smell was getting me a little twitchy down below. I looked over at Kevin, and he was plumping up down there, too.
        "What's that thing all about?" I asked, pointing to his crotch.
        "Justin, if you say a fucking word, I will take you outside and kill you," he said.
        I laughed hard, and he did, too.
        "It's the smell, isn't it?" I asked.
        "Yes, goddamn it."
        "Does Rick's smell do that to you, too?" I asked.
        "Yeah, but let's just keep it our little secret, okay," he said.
        I laughed.
        "I've been wanting a secret on you," I said.
        That made him laugh.
        "Well, now we both have one about each other," he said.
        We both laughed.
        "This is too good. I want everything on this menu," Kyle said. "They have my favorite stuff in the world on here."
        "What looks good, Babe," Tim asked.
        "Everything. Read it. Oyster loaf. Soft shell crab po' boy. Red beans and rice. Jambalaya. I want every bit of it," Kyle said.
        "Even you can't eat that much," I said.
        "I know. That's the problem," he said.
        The girl who had taken our drink order was back with a pad to take our lunch orders. I was getting me a "combination," which was a ham and swiss cheese po' boy. I knew what that was, and I knew I liked it. It was Kyle's turn.
        "What you want, dawlin'?," she asked.
        She was real cute, and she knew it. She was going to flirt with him.
        "Is there any way I can get, like, two half sandwiches? Like half an oyster po' boy and half a soft shell?"
        "Shu-ah," she said.
        "That's what I want, then," he said.
        "Half erstah, half soff shell. Anyting else?"
        "No, that's it. Half oister, half soft shell," he said.
        When she had left, Kyle said, "Did you hear her say erster instead of oister?"
        "Yeah, Babe, but you say it differently from the rest of us, too, you know?" Tim said.
        "What do you mean?" he asked.
        "Babe, you say oister. We say oyster. You say 'all' instead of 'oil' and 'ball' instead of 'boil,'" Tim said.
        Kyle didn't know what to say, and I thought it was pretty damn funny. I knew I had an accent, but he didn't know he did. Kyle talked a lot closer to the way the rest of them talked than I did, but that boy had an accent, and it screamed out Emerald Beach.
        "Y'all are making me self-conscious about the way I talk," he said.
        I knew he didn't give one shit about the way he talked, any more than I did.
        "So, is that going to make you shut up?" I asked.
        They all laughed, including him.
        "No way," he said.
        "So, forget about it," I said.
        He grinned at me.
        "I already did," he said.
        "Kyle, we're in the part of the city where they speak Yat," Cherie said.
        "What is that?" he asked.
        "It's the dialect of this part of New Orleans. A Yat is somebody who talks like that girl does. It comes from the saying, Where yat? Where are you at?" Cherie said.
        "There's a name for the way they talk?" Kyle asked.
        "Yes, and for the people who talk that way. The one I like best is the way they say 'bottle.' It's like bot-l. I can't really do it justice, though," Cherie said. "Ask the girl what kind of container the root beer comes in."
        He did that when she came back, and the girl said "bot-l," like she as swallowing the L.
        "The language here is one of the fascinating things about the city, I think," Ed said.
        "My father, Craig and Kevin's grandfather, claimed he could place a native Orleanian to within three blocks of where he grew up, based on his speech," Beth said.
        "He sounds like Henry Higgins," Denny said.
        Denny didn't say much, and a lot of the time you didn't know what he was talking about when he did say something.
        "Exactly, Denny," Grandma said.
        "Is that the guy who built the D-Day landing craft?" Kyle asked.
        I was glad he asked that.
        "You're thinking of Andrew Higgins, Kyle," Grandpa said. "Henry Higgins is a character in the play Pygmalion or the musical My Fair Lady."
        "Oh," Kyle said and shoved more erstah po' boy into his mouth.
* * *
        After lunch we drove to the Chalmette National Battlefield where they had the Battle of New Orleans. It had a big plantation house that didn't have all that much in it except some displays of the battle using little lead toy soldiers. The display showed how the place supposedly looked during the battle, and it's a good thing because some of it has changed. There used to be a canal that separated the British from the Americans, but that was just a little indentation in the ground now.
        "Those dumbasses fought this battle after the war was over," Kyle said.
        "What the hell are you talking about?" I asked.
        "Read that plaque, Buddy," Brian said. "It says the peace treaty was signed on Christmas Eve of 1814, and the battle took place on January 8, 1815, after the war was officially over."
        "That is pretty dumb. How come nobody told ole Andrew Jackson?" I asked.
        "The peace treaty was signed in Europe, and the news had to come here by ship, Jus," Grandpa said. "It took several weeks for it to get here. By then, the battle had already been fought."
        In front of the plantation house, they had this tall white monument thing that you could climb to the top of to look out over the battlefield. The stairs were real steep, and there were a lot of 'em. I was a little winded when I got to the top, but so was everybody else.
        "Is that the Mississippi River right there," I asked.
        "Yes, it is, Jus," Grandpa said. "The river was once lined with plantations like this one."
        "Yeah, I remember from last Christmas," I said.
        We spent a good bit of time at that place, and I made it my business to read every sign and story I saw. I learned a good bit about it, too. There is a national cemetery there, but it mostly has guys who died in the Civil War, not the Battle of New Orleans. Only thirteen Americans died, but 2,000 British soldiers did. After we walked around in there, we went up on the levee to look at the river. There were some huge ships out there, and it was really cool to watch them.
        "I dare you guys to piss in the river," Rick said.
        Cherie and Grandma didn't climb the levee, so they weren't around. Not that it would have mattered, though.
        "It's supposed to be good luck, guys," Kevin said.
        "For real?" I asked.
        "That's what they say," he said.
        "Well, hell, let's do it," Kyle said. "It can't hurt, and I've got to piss bad anyway."
        Eleven guys lined up next to one another along the bank of the Mississippi and squirted. Kyle was on my left, and he moved in closer to me when we started pissing. He was playing with it, making his stream cross mine and shit like that. He brought it way closer than I was comfortable with a time or two.
        "Kyle, if you piss on me, I'm going to push your ass in that water. I swear to God," I said.
        He was laughing at me, but I was damn sure not interested in getting pissed on.
        "Are you scared?" he asked, teasing me.
        "I ain't scared of nothing, but if you get me wet, you'll be sorry," I said.
        We both finished at the same time. Before I could even put my dick away, he grabbed me in a hug.
        "I would never do that to you, Bubba," he said.
        "I know," I said.
        Just as I said that, I felt it. He let loose with a tiny squirt all over my dick. Goddamn it! I thought. He broke away from me in a heartbeat, and his ass was running up that levee like a mountain goat, or something.
        Tim, Brian, Kevin, Rick, Grandpa--all of 'em--saw what had happened, and they thought that was the funniest damn thing they had ever seen in their lives. They were all laughing and carrying on like it was a damn party. I was mad, but I got over it pretty quick. He hadn't wet my pants any, otherwise I would have been wanting to kill him. Grandpa handed me some tissue to dry off with, which I did and then put my dick away. Then I started laughing, too.
        "You're not going to hurt him, are you, Jus?" Tim asked.
        "No, but I ought to," I said.
        "Justin, I think your brother threw down the gauntlet, Son," Rick said. "You're honor bound now to get him back somehow. Just don't hurt him, okay?"
        "Hurting him wouldn't do any good. I'm just going to pretend it didn't happen. I'm not going to say a word about it. I'm going to just watch him stew over it," I said.
        "Are you going to get him back?" Seth asked.
        "Oh, absolutely, and I'm going to tell him that much. But it's not going to be right away. I need to think about it some and plan my revenge," I said.
        "You can always do what Kevin used to do to me," Craig said.
        "What's that?" I asked.
        "Flush the toilet while he's taking a shower. Or wait till a cold day, and turn on the hot water full out in two or three sinks at the same time. That'll get him," Craig said.
        "This is going to be fun, boys," I said. "I'll get his cute little ass. Never fear."
        They all laughed pretty hard.
        When we got to the top of the levee, there he was down below. He had his arm around Cherie's waist, being just as affectionate and cute and sweet as the day is long. I didn't have a smile on my face. He grinned big at me, but I didn't change expression. For a second it looked like he was fixing to run, but then I couldn't stand it anymore and started laughing.
        "I'm going to get you," I said to him sort of private so the others didn't hear.
        "I know. When?"
        "When you least expect it, that's when," I said. "That river's awesome," I said to the whole group to change the subject. "It's pretty nasty, though. I'd sure hate for somebody to throw me in it."
        The ones who had heard me threaten to throw Kyle in if he pissed on me laughed their asses off. The ladies probably thought we were all kind of strange, I reckon. I noticed Mr. Goodson didn't laugh, though.
* * *
        Some of the guys who fought with the Americans were pirates, led by the head pirate by the name of Jean Lafitte. He came from a place called Barataria. It wasn't too far from where we were, so we decided to go there. First, though, we stopped at a place called Pakenham Oaks. It was this magnificent stand of live oak trees that were gigantic. General Pakenham was the dude who commanded the British, and the legend is he went to that spot to die after he had been wounded in the fight. The sign said they didn't know if that was true, but that's why it was named for him. It had ruins of an old plantation house on it, but the trees were what was so great about that place.
        "Does anybody want to walk down to the river and see it from this angle," Grandpa said.
        "No, thank you," Kyle said. All the guys laughed, except him.
        "What's going on here?" Cherie asked.
        Craig whispered something to her.
        "Oh, my God! That's nasty," she said out loud.
        "No, it's not. Guys do that kind of stuff, Baby," Craig said.
        "If we have a boy, he's not ever doing anything like that," she said.
        "Don't count on it," Grandpa said. "Your husband and his brother did things like that to each other all the time, Cher."
        "Just don't tell me about it, then," she said.
        She whispered something to Grandma, and Grandma laughed her ass off.
        "Ed's dead right, Cherie," she said and laughed some more.
        That Barataria place was nothing but a little fishing village. They had all these work boats in the harbor, and it was fun looking at those. We got coffee in a little coffee shop. After we got our coffee, me and Brian, and Tim and Kyle went exploring around the shops that were next to the coffee place.
        "You're not mad at me, are you?" Kyle said.
        "Nope," I replied.
        "Justin, some guys like to get pissed on. It's a sexual turn-on for them," Kyle said.
        "Yeah? Well, I ain't one of 'em, and I think you knew that," I said.
        "I did. I'm not one of them, either. Are we still friends?"
        "Of course we are. You know that," I said. "You've just given me a reason for living is all."
        "I don't like the sound of that," he said.
        I laughed, and the other three did, too.
        "I don't want to talk about this anymore. Nice boys don't talk about piss and other things they do in the bathroom. I want to talk about something uplifting, like history or literature or art," I said.
        I put my hand on Kyle shoulder, and he cringed. Then I softly rubbed the back of his neck.
        "What's the matter there, Stud? You a little bit nervous, Bubba?"
        He laughed.
        "I don't trust you, you son of a bitch," Kyle said.
        "I'm not going to hurt you, Kyle." I was using my sweetest voice. "You're my brother and my best friend."
        "I know. That's what I'm afraid of," he said.
        "I swear to God, Kyle. I will not hurt you on purpose, or on accident, if I can help it."
        "Get it over with," he said.
        "No, Kyle. You'll know neither the day nor the hour of my revenge," I said.
        "You thought it was funny, though, didn't you?"
        "After my first shock of being pissed off for being pissed on, I thought it was hilarious, 'cause it was," I said.
        "Okay. Just do what you're going to do and get it over with, please," he said. He was almost whining, and me, Brian, and Tim were loving it.
        "Neither the day nor the hour, Kyle," I said.
        "Shit!" he said kind of loud. We were in a store, and the guy running the place--definitely a member of our team, by the way--looked at us and smiled.
* * *
        They had bought a sack of oysters for us to open, and all the men were out on their patio opening oysters and eating them right there. Cherie and Grandma stayed inside. After we were out there about thirty minutes, Craig went in to check on his wife. He came back out grinning.
        "They're both sound asleep," he said.
        "I guess we wore them out," Kyle said.
        "Beth was called out last night," Grandpa said. "It was a very brutal child abuse case, and she didn't get a whole lot of sleep."
        "Is the child alright," Rick asked.
        "Yeah. He's conscious now, Son," he said. "He's a fourteen-year-old boy that Beth has treated since he was born. Apparently he came out as being gay, or was outed, to his parents last night, and his father beat him severely."
        That was damn sure a wet blanket on the crowd. Tim took Kyle's hand, nasty as it was with oyster juice, and Tim got huge tears in his eyes. Kyle walked him away from the rest of us.
        "Are you okay?" I asked Brian.
        Brian nodded, but I knew he was close to breaking down.
        "Do you know any details, Dad?" Kevin asked.
        "He was unconscious. Didn't you notice Mama on her cell phone off and on all day?" Grandpa asked.
        "Actually, I did, but I didn't know why. That was why, I guess," Kevin said.
        "The father was arrested and is in Parish Prison in Orleans Parish. Or he was. He's probably out by now. They live just over the parish line, evidently, and he's a New Orleans policeman. A detective. Mama spent a lot of time today on the phone with the boy's mother. The mother needed a lot of help, evidently, " he said.
        "I can't believe you and Mom were so calm about it today," Craig said. "I would have been a basket case."
        "Your mother has seen more of that than you would believe, Son," Grandpa said. "We talked about today, and what she should do, early this morning. The boy's under the care of a pediatric neurologist now, so Mama's involvement has pretty much ended until he's out of danger. We both felt that, under the circumstances, nothing would be more fitting than spending the day with our sons and grandsons, just doing normal things."
        His voice broke when he said that. I had tears in my eyes, and, when I looked around, there wasn't a dry eye anywhere. Kyle and Tim came back over to us then, and Tim seemed alright.
        "Let's finish getting these oysters shucked so they don't go to waste," Kyle said.
        He got busy, and, in a few minutes, a few other guys, including me, joined in to help him. Ole Curt knew what he was doing with an oyster knife, too, and before long people were talking again. Craig passed around another round of drinks, and gradually the evening got back to normal. When we had eaten all the oysters we wanted, and had shucked the rest for the freezer, we went inside. Miss Odille was long gone, so me and Kyle and Rick got the food hot and ready for everybody.
        "Why do some people hate us so much, Rick," Kyle asked.
        Rick took a deep breath and let it out slow.
        "Kyle, I'll never know," Rick said. "It doesn't make sense to me that people would hate because of the way other people love, but it's a reality we have to live with."
        "Doesn't something like th