The Scrawny Kid

by: Tom Borden

© 2009 by the author

The author retains all rights. No reproductions are allowed without the author's consent. Comments are appreciated at...

My name is Evan Coleman, I’m twenty-one years old, and I’m about to finish my senior year here at Colombia University in New York City.  Although I spent my first three years of school in a residence hall, I now live alone in an apartment on the upper west side.  I don’t consider myself attractive at all and have made very few friends here.  My best friend, however, is Paul Weaver, who I met in my American Literature class earlier this year.  He’s a freshman and only eighteen.  He’s a quiet sort of person, like I am, and our friendship involves mainly having lunch together several times a week where we talk mainly about our schoolwork and other inconsequential things, including his girlfriends.  Not very exciting, but at least I have a friend to talk with. 

I scrupulously keep the fact from him that I am a homosexual.  Actually, I have never mentioned it to anyone, nor have I given anyone reason to believe I am attracted to other men.  It would be pointless to do so since I believed no one could possibly be attracted to a skinny, scrawny person like me.  Paul is so good looking that I don’t doubt he’s had plenty of girlfriends.  He plays a role in my masturbation fantasies almost every night.

I work part-time at a small lobby snack bar in a high-rise office building on Sixth Avenue.  It’s so small that only one person can work behind the tiny counter at a time.  I usually work three or four hours a day around the noon hour, and sell coffee, tea, pre-wrapped sandwiches, and fruit, like apples and bananas.  When business is slow, I like to look at all the good-looking men who pass through the lobby and add them to my catalog of masturbation fantasies.

One day I watched an excruciatingly handsome man in a navy-blue business suit get out of the elevator and walk to my counter.  He bought a sandwich and an apple, and then gave me a very courteous thank-you and left.  Each day for the rest of that week, he did the same, always giving me a friendly “hello” and “thank-you.”  I was sure I’d never known him before he started coming to my counter, but I nevertheless had the oddest feeling I’d seen him some place in the past. 

That weekend at home, I couldn’t get him off my mind.  He was so overwhelmingly good looking that I even fantasized about him as I masturbated.  I’d never had any kind of sexual experience with another man, and my masturbation fantasies were all I had—all I would ever have. 

It came to me suddenly.  This man was my friend Paul Weaver’s Dad.  I’d seen him once or twice drive up to the Humanities building.  He’d get out and stand there waiting for Paul so he could drive him home.  I was walking nearby, but he never looked my way.  Paul wasn’t as good looking as his Dad, but they did favor each other physically.

The following week, the same thing occurred.  He came to the counter, bought his food, and greeted me as usual.  But one day when he came up to me, he stood there for a few minutes after he paid.

“I see by your tag, your name is Evan.  I’ve been meaning to compliment you on what an efficient young man you are.  You handle this counter with a great deal of skill and courtesy, even when there’s a crowd.”

“Thank you, Mr. . . uh”

“Weaver’s the name.  Ronald Weaver.  I’d like to do something for you to show my appreciation.  What time does your shift end?”

“I get off at three, Sir.”

“I still have a few matters to take care of up in the office.  Would you be willing to wait around until about five o’clock?  I’d like to take you out for a drink.”

“Oh, thank you, Sir.  That’s very nice of you.”

“Don’t mention it.  I’ll see you at five.”

I couldn’t believe this was happening.  When my shift was over, I walked over to the building directory on the wall by the elevator.  I saw that Ronald Weaver was the President of some firm I’d never heard of.  I was overwhelmed that a man of his stature and smashing good looks would want to spend even a minute with someone like me.

Mr. Weaver met me at five with a big smile and a handshake.  I thought my skinny hand would be crushed by that strong hand of his.

We walked down Lexington Avenue for a couple of blocks and stopped.

“Evan,” he said, “I’ll tell you what.  This is a bad time.  All the bars are jammed with people after work.  Why don’t we go up to my place to have our drink.  It’s not far from here, and there’s a beautiful view of the city from my top floor condo.”

When we arrived, Mr. Weaver took off his suit coat and draped it over the back of a chair.  I was overwhelmed at the richness of the décor and furnishings, as well as the wonderful view.  I was surprised that my friend Paul lived in such rich surroundings.

“This is where you and your family live, Mr. Weaver?  It’s wonderful.”

“No, no,” Mr. Weaver said.  “This condo is a place strictly for myself.  For my own entertainment, you see.”

“Oh,” I said.  “So your family lives somewhere else?”

Mr. Weaver gave me a knowing wink.  “Yes, they do.  But they’re unaware of my private condo.  You know a man has to have a little privacy for when various things come up unexpectedly.”

My God, I thought.  Paul doesn’t know his father has a private playhouse of his own.  I felt a great relief that I hadn’t mentioned that his son Paul was a friend of mine.

Mr. Weaver took off his tie and began to unbutton his shirt.  “If you don’t mind, Evan, I’m going to take a quick shower before we have our drink.  I’ve been out and around so much today, I’m really quite sweaty.  Just make yourself at home.”

I sat by the window and saw a magazine rack by the arm of the sofa.  I picked up several of them and instantly saw they were pornographic magazines.  The thought that this man was into sex of any kind sent a wave of adrenaline through me.  Jeepers, I thought, I hoped he wasn’t planning to treat me to sex with some girls.  I was determined to drink the drink he offered me and leave immediately.

When I heard him come back in the room, I looked up and saw him walking toward the sofa completely naked.  I literally felt dizzy at the sight of his highly tanned muscular body.  He had the body of a swimmer with the typically smooth and rounded muscles that swimmers have.

As he sat on the sofa, he said, “Well, Evan, you’re welcome to take a shower yourself.”

“No thank you, Sir,” I said.  “I had a shower around noon before I went to work.”

“As you can see,” Mr. Weaver said, spreading his arms wide, “I’m into nudity.  I never wear clothes when I’m here in my condo.  I love how it feels to have my skin caressed by the open air.  How about you, Evan?”

“No sir.  I mean. I . . . .”

Mr. Weaver laughed.  “Let me get you a drink.  I’ve got every kind of liquor, wine, and beer.  What’s your pleasure, young man?”

“I’ll take beer, thank you.”

He walked to the opposite wall where he opened two cupboard doors revealing a good-sized wet bar.  He stood there with his back to me as he opened a bottle of red wine, as well as a can of beer.   I could feel my breath getting labored at the sight of his luscious firm ass cheeks.  They bobbed about enticingly as he shifted from one foot to the other.  My eyes shifted to his legs, covered with a very soft dusting of light brown hair.  My penis was aching to break out of my briefs.  It was the first time I’d ever seen a totally naked adult.

He turned to me and handed me a large pilsner glass of beer and sat back on the sofa.

“Come on and sit over here on the sofa next to me so we can talk, Evan.”

Knowing that the bulge in my pants was obvious, I carried my beer to the sofa and placed it on the coffee table. 

“Yes,” he said, “nudity is a big pleasure to me.  It’s a matter of truth to me.  Nothing is hidden.  This is me.  Not the three-piece suit.  This is what I am.  Have you ever enjoyed the great freedom of having your naked body open to the air, Evan?”

“I don’t think so, sir.  I don’t look too good without clothes.  I’m so thin.  My dad calls me scrawny like a spider.”

He laughed.  “I like the way you look, Evan.”  He reached over and put his hand on my cheek.  “You have one of the most handsome faces I’ve ever seen.  Large brown eyes, shaded with long dark eyelashes that would be the envy of any man.  A fine nose, straight and narrow, and full sensuous lips.  Your neck is long and slender.”

As he touched my face, I felt a rush of heat spread across it and down over my chest.  “That’s nice of you to say, Mr. Weaver, but you’d think differently if you could see the rest of my body, especially sitting here next to . . . your . . . your body.”

“I don’t believe you, Evan.  None of us is fully satisfied with our bodies.  We live with what we’re given, and we should be proud of it.  I think what you need, Evan, is to be liberated from the clothes that cover you up.  Nudity is our natural state.”

I was becoming more nervous every minute.  I didn’t know what to expect.

Mr. Weaver looked at me strangely.  “Evan, I’m sorry I didn’t explain to you what I require.  This condo is a place of truth.  It is a place where anyone who is invited here must not hide behind anything.  He must open himself up, reveal himself totally, both physically and mentally.  You must reveal your nakedness and open your mind to me.  Please remove your clothes, Evan, so we can exist in this room as equals.”

“As equals?”

“Stand up, Evan.  Remove your clothes.  Clothes that hide who you are will never be welcome in this apartment.”

I stood up and began to remove my long-sleeved shirt.  I closed my eyes and held my breath.  I didn’t want to witness my own nakedness emerging in the presence of another person.  My heart pounded as I took off my shoes and pulled off my pants.  I kept my eyes closed.  I couldn’t bear to see his face as he looked at my body.  When I was completely naked, I felt his hands on my shoulders pushing me down gently in a sitting position on the sofa.  I could feel my penis hard and throbbing, but I still kept my eyes closed.

“Open your eyes, Evan.  We are now two men who see each other as we really are, without clothing to distort the beauty of our bodies.”

“Beauty?” I stammered as I opened my eyes.

Mr. Weaver put out his arms and pulled me close to him until our chests were pressed together.

“We love each other,” he whispered, “as two men who have nothing with which to deceive each other.  We have nothing to hide from each other.  The world is full of deception, but you and I are no longer part of that deception.”

“I had no desire to deceive you, Mr. Weaver,” I said.  “It’s just that I’m ashamed of how I look without clothes.  There is no way this body can be attractive to anyone.”

“You and I are no longer the CEO of a large company, dressed in a fifteen-hundred-dollar suit, and the snack bar attendant wearing long sleeves.  We have stripped ourselves of those mirages and are now merely two vulnerable and passionate men whose secret longings are open for us both to see and understand.”

His beautiful blue eyes bore into mine like laser beams.

“Let others be the judge of the beauty of your nakedness that reflects the soul within you.  You have a sensuous body, Evan.  I admire slender bodies that are well proportioned as yours is.  When I touch you like this, I can feel your soul.  Your skin is clear and unblemished.  It’s smooth and child-like.  And your manhood is clear for me to see.  The size of your hard penis and the length of your ball sack would be the envy of many men.”

He ran his hands gently over my arms, my stomach, and my thighs.  The feel of his fingers on me was an experience I’d never had, nor did I ever expect to have.  The thought of his son Paul popped into my head.  He probably had no idea what his father did when away from home.  As erotic as I felt with his hands on me, I sensed a feeling of revulsion that my own father would secretly do anything like this.  I told myself it was wrong, but I didn’t want this man to stop what he was doing to me.

He took hold of my hard penis and my balls and rolled them around in his hands gently as though they were fine, rare jewels.  With no embarrassment, I reached over and did the same with his hard penis and balls.  The idea of touching those precious organs sent adrenaline surging through my body.

Mr. Weaver then let go of me and backed off.  He leaned back against the sofa and smiled as he continued to cast his eyes over my body while running his hand over my thigh. 

“I liked you, Evan, as I watched you work at the snack bar, and really wanted to get to know you better.  And I like you more than ever now that I’ve seen the truth of who you really are.”

I suddenly became emboldened and ran my own hand over the soft light brown hair on his leg. 

“Mr. Weaver, you tell me your family knows nothing about your private condo and what you do here.”

“That’s right.”

“Do you have any children?”  I knew the answer, but I needed to have him tell me.

“Yes.  I have one son.  He’s eighteen years old, a freshman at Columbia.”

“You don’t look old enough to have a son that age.” 

“He was born when I was seventeen.  I’m thirty-five now.  Since we’re here in the land of truth, where we’ve gotten to know each other this well so far, I might as well tell you some more truth.  I was a junior in high school and I was jerking off with one of my good friends one afternoon when his sixteen-year-old sister walked in on us.  One thing kind of led to another and I ended up fucking her right there on my friend's bed.  The first time I ever did it with a girl.  Of course, she got pregnant with Paul.  When I graduated a year later, I married her.  Both her parents and mine insisted we marry.”

“Does your son know?”

“Oh, sure.  He’s accepted it.”

“But he doesn’t know about your desire to be naked, does he?”

He laughed.  “Of course, he does.  I taught him from the beginning about the glories of the naked body.  He and I often sit around naked in the family room watching football games.  It just feels so natural.”

“I’m still curious why no one in your family knows about your condo here.”

“Well, Evan, you know how it is.  There are things I like to do with people I meet that neither my son nor my wife would approve of.”

I was confused.  “Well, Mr. Weaver, it’s just sitting around naked like this.  Your son knows about sitting around naked.  Why wouldn’t he approve?”

Mr. Walker smiled and scooted closer to me.  He leaned over and kissed me lightly on the lips.

“He might not approve of my kissing another man like this,” Mr. Walker said.  “And he might not approve of this.”

He ran his tongue down over my stomach and sucked my hard penis into his mouth as he cupped my balls in his hand.  I was so shocked, I almost lost my breath.  Never in my life had anyone touched my penis, much less put it in his mouth.  I closed my eyes again and, at that moment, my mind seemed to float out around me, beyond my reach.  I smiled as something drove me to give myself completely to this man.  He could love me or hate me.  He could caress me or beat me.  He could even kill me.  I was totally his.

I felt his lips and tongue riding up and down on my penis.  I put my hands on his cheeks and then on his strong shoulders.  With his own hands he pushed me over on my back.  After a few minutes, he pulled off and ran his tongue over my legs.  As he did so, he held each of my slender legs in his hands as though he were gnawing on a leg of lamb.  I could hear him moaning quietly as he licked.  Soon, he raised my legs and pressed my thighs against my chest.  I felt his warm breath on my exposed crotch as he sucked on my balls and then pressed his tongue into my asshole.

Mr. Weaver soon stood up and, without a word, picked me up in his arms as though I was made of feathers and carried me into his bedroom, where he laid me on my back on the bed.     

He spread my legs and lay between them.  I could feel his tongue on my balls, then running up the underside of my engorged penis, and licking off the clear semen that dribbled out of it.  I raised my head so I could see the full length of his magnificent body.  The crack between his luscious round ass cheeks was clearly visible.  I wanted so much to bury my face in that crack. 

The thought that my friend Paul, his son, was probably, at that moment, back in his room studying while his dad was licking my balls and sucking my penis practically overwhelmed me.

“Have you ever tasted a man’s cum, Evan?”

“Yes,” I replied eagerly.  “I taste my own cum every night.”

“Would you like to taste mine?”

“Yes.  Oh, yes.”

He rolled over onto his back and began stroking his hard penis.  “It’s all yours, Evan.  It’s eight and a half inches.  Can you take the whole thing?”

“I’ll try.”

I lay on my stomach between his legs and looked at his huge ball sack and throbbing penis.  But before I did anything, I couldn’t resist licking the soft hair on his upper inner thighs.  The feel of his balls in my mouth, slithering around inside his sack, was so erotic, I could hardly stop.  The thrill of having this gorgeous man’s hard penis—any man’s hard penis—in my mouth for the first time was far, far beyond the masturbation fantasies I’d had of sucking a cock.

“Make me cum, Evan.  Use lots of tongue action.”

I took hold of Mr. Weaver’s hard penis with my hand and looked at it.  I touched the tip of my tongue to the bulging veins that encircled it.  I put my lips around the huge head of his penis.  It felt like a piece of hard, wet rubber on my tongue.  I brought that raging hot rod in over my tongue and as deep into my throat as I could.  I sucked on it just like they did in those hot videos on the internet.  As I ran my lips over practically the full length of it, the strange thought came to my mind as to whether or not my own dad’s cock looked and felt this delicious.  I hated thoughts like that and quickly put my mind on Mr. Weaver’s penis.  I wondered what it would be like to have another man’s cum in my mouth.  And it would be Paul’s father’s cum in my mouth.  Oh, God, how can I face Paul back in school?

I felt the unmistakable hardening and stiffening of his penis in my mouth, just as my own penis felt when I was about to cum while masturbating.  Here it comes, I thought.  I fell into an erotic whirl as the warmth of his cum shot over and over into my mouth.  It was thick and sweet, and I let it dribble down my throat slowly.

Mr. Weaver lay with his eyes closed and gasping for air.  I kept his penis in my mouth until it went limp.  When I pulled off, he lifted his legs up so his thighs were against his chest.

“Fuck me, Evan.  Have you ever fucked another man’s ass?”

“No,” I said, with my head swimming with excitement.

“You’ve got to get your head down there and flood my asshole with your saliva.”

“My saliva?”

“Yes.  Get it good and wet so your cock will slip right in.  Go ahead.  It’ll be good.  Since we know so much about each other already, it’s just another part of me to get well acquainted with.”

He reached down and spread his beautiful ass cheeks apart, revealing the kind of pink puckered asshole I’d dreamed about in my fantasies.  I plunged my face into his crack and slathered his asshole with as much saliva as I could.  I mounted him with no difficulty and let my exploding cock slip right into his rectum.  Oh, my God.  What a feeling of warmth and belonging I had.  I had the strange desire for my whole body to push its way into his intestines.

Again, I humped him just as I’d seen those beautiful hunks do it on the internet.  I looked down at his face.  As he’d said, we’re now in the realm of truth.  His face no longer reflected the expression of arrogance and importance that he’d had when we’d first met at the snack bar.  His face was now almost child-like, his expression full of passion and longing.  His lips quivered and he let out the sweetest moans of pleasure.  This was the real Mr. Weaver, naked and stripped of all pretenses.  At that moment, I was convinced I loved this man.

I could still taste the remnants of his cum in my mouth, and the room was filled with the erotic odor of sex.  I felt the rim of his asshole snapping and clenching against my penis.  The familiar tingle in my abdomen was now signaling that my orgasm was about to take over.  I let it go as I imagined the thick fluid from my body pouring into the body of this beautiful man.  He reached up and put his hands on my cheeks as my face contorted with the delicious agony of my orgasm.

It seemed that all the strength in my body had evaporated, and I collapsed onto Mr. Weaver.  He held my head and kissed me almost violently.  The taste of his tongue and the inside of his cheeks made my penis, still inside of him, jump.

We lay there for a long time, kissing and caressing each other’s bodies.  I glanced at the clock on his bed table.  Ten o’clock.  I knew I had to leave since I had some homework yet to do before class the next day.

He also looked at the clock.  “Yes,” he said, “I have an early morning coming up.”

He rolled me off of him and sat up.  “I want to see you again,” he said.  “Next Thursday night, I’ll be having a couple of friends here for a get-together.  I’d like to have you join us.  I think you’ll like them, and I know they’ll like you.”

Videos of gangbangs I’d seen on the internet were exciting, but the thought of it now somehow frightened me.  Mr. Weaver didn’t laugh at my body, but I was afraid others would.  I’d be nothing but a freak, being used for their enjoyment.

“I’m not sure if I’ll be free next Thursday,” I said.  “I’ll let you know.”

When I left his condo, I can’t describe the feelings I had.  I sat in the taxi on the way home, thinking about the most glorious sexual experience I ever had.  At the moment I walked into my apartment, I knew there was no chance that I could concentrate on my homework.  I went directly to bed without taking a shower, and lay there with my eyes wide open, staring into the darkness.

Inevitably, my thoughts shifted to Paul, my only real friend.  What a terrible thing, I thought, that he doesn’t know what his father is doing.  A horrendous rush of guilt swept over me.  How could I face Paul after what I did with his Dad?  Tears filled my eyes.  My euphoria began to lessen, and I felt dirty . . . really dirty.  I was sure Paul would see in my face and eyes what I had done.  How could I hide it?

I sensed the residual smell of sex on my body, and it almost turned my stomach.  I leapt out of bed and into the shower.  I stood there and washed myself over and over for almost half an hour.  When I finally stepped out, I looked at my naked body in the full-length mirror on the back of the door.  I always hated my scrawny body.  Now it appeared uglier than ever in the mirror.  I ran back to bed and brought the covers over my head.  Why, I asked myself, did something that started out so incredibly beautiful have to become so repugnant, so grotesque.  As I lay there, I could feel his hands on me.  I saw his smile in front of my face, no longer handsome, but now maniacal and depraved.  And all his talk about truth and liberation.  My mind was going crazy.  I saw Paul sitting in front of me, quiet and shy and unaware.  I buried my face in the pillow and cried for him.

I thought of my own father, who I loved so much.  Chills ran through me with the idea that he would never deceive me and his family in this way.

I slept fitfully, but awoke just before dawn.  A story came to mind—a story I’d read on one of those gay-erotic sites.  It was about two middle-aged men from different parts of the country who attended a business conference in New York City.  At the hotel bar one evening, they met and, as they became better acquainted, they not only learned they were both married with children, but were secretly homosexual.  As they conversed, it became clear they both shared the same sort of overwhelming pain and frustration and longings emanating from the secrets they guarded so closely. 

Although they were not particularly attracted to each other physically, a closeness developed between them, and the inevitable happened.  They went to bed together where they could join their bodies and wrap their arms around each other, releasing the pent-up torment they had suffered for so long.  For the first time in years, they were each finally able to reveal openly the anguish caused by their wretched secret, knowing that someone understood him with tenderness and sensitivity.

No sex occurred between these two lonely men, but a lasting wave of discernment, awareness, and even love passed between them.  They were both strengthened, simply by knowing that someone understood.

I remember crying when I first read that story.  They’d hurt no one . . . not their families, not their children.  They simply needed to know someone who understood.

I went back to work that day and dreaded the inevitable.  Mr. Weaver appeared in his executive suit, as expected, with a broad smile.

“Hello, Evan.  Remember next Thursday night.  We’re expecting to have you with us.  I see you’re wearing that long-sleeved shirt again.”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Weaver, I won’t be able to make it.  I’m sure you’ll have a good time without me.”

“That’s too bad.  There’ll be other chances to get together.”

“I don’t know.  I’ll be pretty busy from now to the end of school.”

After several days without seeing Paul, we ran into each other on the steps of the Humanities building.

“I know this isn’t one of your workdays,” he said.  “How about lunch?”

We went to a small café off campus.  I sat across from him and suddenly felt terrible as I looked into his face.

“Paul, do you think you’ll ever move into a dorm?  You’d have a lot more freedom than you probably have living at home.”

“I don’t know.  Maybe.  My dad says I can do it any time I want.”

“Are you pretty close to your dad,” I asked.

“Not really.  He’s always working and spends a lot of evenings at the office.  I don’t see him much.”

“He doesn’t do anything with you?  Like taking you baseball games and other stuff?”

“No.  We sit and watch games on TV sometimes.  But he’s not very talkative.  I’m a lot closer to my Mom.  He knows I have girlfriends sometimes and all he says about that is that he hopes I use condoms.  He even gives me a package of them once in awhile to make sure.  It doesn’t do me much good, though.  I’ve never once been able to get into a girl’s pants.”

“I’m sure it’ll happen sometime, Paul.  Just be patient.”

Paul smiled.  “I did have a couple of them give me a blow-job, though.  My dong is pretty long, and they love that.  I take after my dad in that respect.”

“So I take it you’ve seen your dad’s . . . dong.”

“Sure.  He’s always running around the house naked.”

“Has he seen you naked, too?” I asked gingerly.

“Yup.  Since he’s always naked, it doesn’t bother me to have him see me naked, too.  He’s told me not to worry about it since, when I was a baby, he used to wipe my little asshole.”

“So I guess he doesn’t mind seeing you with a hard-on, either.”

“Shit, he has one hanging on him most of the time, anyway.  Especially when we’re watching a football game.  Every time we see a guy getting tackled or carried off injured, he springs a boner.  He doesn’t think it’s any big deal.  He doesn’t even know I’m there.”

I shook my head.  “I’ve never seen my dad naked, much less his penis.”

“You haven’t missed anything, Evan.”

I was sure, although Paul saw his dad naked and with a hard-on, that his dad never let on to Paul what his real interests were.  Once again, as I looked into Paul’s sad face, I had that terrible feeling of guilt and deception sweep over me.  For so long, I’d yearned to share my bed with some good-looking man.  But why did my first experience have to be with Paul’s dad?

Everyday for the next week I tended the snack bar, and everyday, I served Mr. Weaver with his sandwich and drink.  His smile, which at first gave me such erotic feelings, was now disgusting and offensive.

On a day during the following week, after class, Paul and I walked out on the steps in front of the Humanities building. 

Paul pointed to the street.  “There’s my dad waiting to drive me home.”

Mr. Weaver had left the car and was standing on the sidewalk.  As we walked down the steps, I could see his dad looking at me with a frown on his face.  I stood back as Paul walked to meet him.

“Come on down here, Evan,” Paul shouted.  “I want you to meet my dad.”

I walked slowly to the curb, trying to avoid Mr. Weaver’s eyes.

“Dad, I want you to meet Evan Coleman.  He’s my best friend here at school.”

I extended my hand, but Mr. Weaver didn’t respond.  He stared into my eyes as though transfixed.

They soon got in the car and drove away.  I had a strange, but pleasant feeling over having met Mr. Weaver again in this way.  He deserved the shock.

The next day, I positioned myself again behind the snack bar counter and fully expected to see Mr. Weaver appear for his lunch.  I didn’t have to wait long.  He walked up and stood before me with an ashen look on his handsome face.

Without ordering anything, he said, “I didn’t know you were a student at Columbia.  And I didn’t know you and Paul were friends.”

“Oh, yes,” I said with a tinge of cheer in my voice.  “I met him about a year ago, and we’ve been best buddies ever since.”

Mr. Weaver glanced from side to side as though making sure no one was listening.  “I assume, Evan, that you didn’t mention your acquaintance with me.  Am I correct?”

I dropped the cheer from my voice.  “Mr. Weaver, you can assume anything you like.”

Mr. Weaver leaned closer to me.  “That was not my question.  Did you or did you not . . . .”

I backed away slightly.  “My conversations with my friends are private and are never repeated to anyone.  You know about privacy, don’t you, Mr. Weaver?  There are things in life that must be kept secret.”

A look of anxiety spread across his face.  “That’s different.  This involves my son.  I’m thinking about him.”

“So you are, Mr. Weaver.  I’m surprised, though, you hadn’t thought about him before this.”

Anger flashed in his eyes.  “Listen, don’t play games with me.  Just tell me.  Did you say anything?”

“Mr. Weaver, I’ve already told you my personal conversations with my friends are private.  Now if you want to order something, please do.  There are other customers behind you who need to be served.”

The anger in his face morphed into a look of terror.  He walked away looking like a broken man.

That night, I once again lay in bed wide-awake.  I began to have doubts.  Perhaps I should have assured him that I did not, in fact, mention his deception to Paul.  Did I have a right to throw the man’s hospitality in his face?  What business did I have hurting another man who had done nothing to hurt me?  I’m not God.  He’ll eventually receive his just rewards on his own.

The next day, when I saw Mr. Weaver slumping toward the elevator, I called to him and motioned for him to come over to the snack bar.  I had a line waiting for service, and he stood off to the side.

I turned to him and said, “No, Mr. Weaver, I said nothing to your son.”

He turned and walked slowly to a chair in the waiting area.  When he sat down, he leaned over and buried his face in his hands.  For Paul’s sake, I thought, I hoped things would be different now.

I turned to the next customer in line, who was a good looking, but skinny young guy, like myself, with big brown puppy-dog eyes.  He, too, was wearing a long-sleeved shirt like mine.    

“Hey,” he said quietly and looking shy.  “Aren’t you a student at Columbia?”

“Yes I am,” I replied.

“I’m a student there, too.  I’ve seen you around.  My name’s Karl.  I haven’t made many friends since I enrolled.  Maybe we could get together sometime.  You know.  Hang out.”

“Sure, why not,” I said.  “My name’s Evan.  What are you going to have to eat?  The sandwiches are all fresh.  Would you like coffee or Decaf?”

I welcome comments from readers, whether positive or negative.  And I will gratefully respond to all.

Posted: 11/06/09