Finding Tim
A Fourth Alternate Reality

 by: Charlie

© 2005-2008

 

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Episode 32
Sophomores

I’m back again.  I just read what the little superkid had to say about me and I am embarrassed.  There is a reason that I waited until Episode 31 to let him get to the keyboard.  He lies!  I am not all that he makes me out to be.  Honest.  No Nordic God.  No superman.  What is really nice, however, is that even after forty years he still believes all that stuff.  And I believe the same things about him. Even if it wasn’t bullshit forty years ago, it’s bullshit today–but we still believe it, and we still tell it to each other. 

 

Back to the summer of 1966.  Franklin and Phil brought one piece of news that presented serious potential problems for all of the Gang: Phil had been ordered for a draft physical in mid-August.  I knew that I was overdue for the same thing, and knew that my notice would soon be arriving.  For a gay man in the closet it presented all kinds of problems; less so for me since I was way out of the closet.  Phil was perched on the horns of a dilemma: Either he said nothing about his sexuality, was drafted into the Army, only to face the real possibility of exposure and an adverse discharge; or he claimed at the physical examination, or later in the process we weren’t sure, that he was a homosexual.  The latter might involve trying to prove it to the Army, or being forced out of the closet, or both.  Phil and Franklin lived together in Kansas, and their close friends were well aware of their relationship.  They were not, however, “out”: neither the University nor the general public was aware that they were anything but roommates.  In 1966 most people’s thought process didn’t move from “roommate” to “partner” without a pretty specfiic shove!

 

We talked about the problem as some length.  Tim and I just sort of assumed that our very public statements, widely quoted in the national press, would preclude our getting into the armed forces even if we wanted to.  Nevertheless, we knew that the draft call-up couldn’t help but be problematic in some way.  Phil and Franklin’s visit had ended without their reaching any conclusion, but they promised to let us know what they decided and how it turned out.  Both Tim and I volunteered to be witnesses, or whatever was needed, if they decided that Phil would state that he was gay and that was challenged.  We didn’t see how the military could simply accept an “I’m gay,” statement and declare you unfit for military service.  Wouldn’t a lot of young men have preferred doing that to having to go to Canada?  Since we weren’t aware of any large movement to use that as a way of dodging the draft, we assumed that either the miliary had blocked that route, or saying you were gay was so unacceptable that few chose to do that.  Tim and I assumed that we really wouldn’t have a choice when the time came; after all, the national news media had reported that we were gay lovers.

 

On the pleasant side, Hal and Ronnie came by, but just spent one night.  Then they headed off to Camp White Elk for their week, which this summer stretched to about ten days.  Sue stayed home in St. Paul, and Ronnie didn’t yet have a significant other to leave behind. 

 

Tom and Nancy dropped by.  Their first year at the University of Chicago had been wonderful.  They had liked the school and had done well academically.  I asked where their marriage plans stood.  Tom answered for both of them, “Charlie, Tim, we think we are really in love.  Not once all year did I think that I might want to marry someone else, and I think that Nancy was the same.  But we’re glad that we are aren’t married now, not even engaged.  College is a time to have fun as well as study.  And a lot of that happens in the dorms.  If we were living together in a little apartment we would miss the fun of college and dorm life.  Yeah, we all complain about the  dorms and the food, and the beds and food would be better off campus.  But we are both making a lot of friends, and enjoying them.  We date regularly, and everyone knows we are a couple.  But we aren’t engaged, and are accepted as part of the main single crowd.  Certainly we don’t want to get married this summer.  Maybe a year or two from now.  But we are really thinking that maybe we’ll get engaged during our senior year and married shortly after graduation.”

 

I said, “You are bringing considerations to the question that we hadn’t even thought about that weekend in the Palmer House.  I take it that you think you made the right decision.”

 

It was Nancy’s turn, “Oh, God, yes.  We know a couple of married couples and they really feel isolated.  And a lot of their married friends are having babies, and maternity and parenting are all they want to talk about.  It leaves the childless married couples really out of it.”

 

Tim said, “Sex?”

 

“Sure, but not as often as in high school.  We don’t have our parents’ houses available.  But we find opportunities.  Clandestine sex is fun, you know.”

 

“Do you sneak into each other’s dorm rooms?”

 

“No.  That is a major no-no, and if we got caught we’d be gone.  Getting caught in the woods, or a hotel, isn’t the big deal.  But you don’t violate the dorm rules.  It is the sanctity of dorms that is threatened.  Sex really isn’t a big deal; nobody is really trying to stop college kids from copulating.”

 

“Next year they are going to experiment with co-ed dorms.  We aren’t sure how that is going to work out, so we are staying where we are.  But things are changing, big time, on college campuses.”

 

Tim and I knew that; we could read the papers and news magazines.  But that kind of change wound it’s way to North Dakota pretty slowly.  While it wouldn’t have affected Tim and me, whether or not we lived in the dorms, co-ed dorms were still a dream at UND.

 

Nancy insisted that for one night we should sleep four in a bed–I think she wanted to try out Tim.  She got her chance, but Tom insisted that they stop short of “going all the way.”  That gave Tom a chance to have relaxed, and very sexy, nights lying with me.  They were here about five days, and after they left Tim told me that he really did like a little straight sex from time to time, but, in his words, “God, Charlie, it’s nice to be back where I belong–with my true love.”  Wiggle, Wiggle.

 

Jim and Andy didn’t make it that summer.  They set off together to Mexico as the first step to “seeing the world.”  In their words, “We had to start in an area we could afford to get to.”  They hitchhiked or took the bus all summer, and really saw a lot of Mexico.  Jim had studied Spanish in school and found that he was actually able to communicate fairly well.  Andy picked up quite a bit as the summer went on.

 

Tom and Nancy had seen Jim and Andy a few times during the year when they were back in Michigan. Tom was able to fill us in on Jim’s wrestling career.  It had been an interesting year.

 

Jim and Big Paul, now just called Paul at the University, had connected shortly after the year began.  Paul was already involved in wrestling practice and he invited Jim to join with the team.  Jim was reluctant, but went along with Paul to practice.  To his surprise he could hold his own with the team.  He was one weight class lower than Paul, and in that class he seemed to be number one.  Both he and Paul were delighted that they weren’t the same weight–though they did enjoy practice rounds with each other.  According to Tom, Paul usually beat Jim, but neither Paul nor Tom were sure that Jim was really trying his hardest.  He still remembered how hard it had been on Paul to be beaten in the spring.  Paul had been visibly relieved when Jim had insisted that his winning was pretty much random luck in the second overtime.  Tom wasn’t sure but that Jim wanted to leave any comparisons between him and Paul in the day to day random luck category.

 

The Coach carefully observed Jim, and urged him to be a part of the varsity wrestling team along with Paul.  Jim was seriously thinking about it, and came to the “team orientation” meeting for all those who were planning to “go out for the team.”  Paul, as the holder of a wrestling scholarship, was required to be there.  Jim quickly decided that varsity wrestling was not for him.  It meant a required practice schedule, training rules that involved night curfews (midnight), and eating with the team.  In addition the coach was eager to move him down a weight class (it would have meant losing 2 pounds), where he would have given the team better balance.  Jim told the coach that he really couldn’t blame the coach for the rules–they made completely good sense.  But he simply couldn’t promise to abide by them, certainly not the curfew and the eating rules.  He simply had other priorities in college.

 

This was not greeted with enthusiasm by the coaching staff, nor by some of the other wrestlers.  Paul, however, seemed to understand Jim’s position.  He told Jim that he should keep up his wrestling and participate in the intermural tournaments.  Jim did that, often practicing with Paul, which irritated the coach even more.  Jim easily won the major intermural tournament, not losing a match.  Jim liked to keep in shape, and liked to wrestle.  He continued to work out with Paul, and they remained pretty evenly matched.  Since Paul was winning all of his varsity matches, and Jim was in one lower weight class, that meant that Jim would have had a pretty successful varsity career.  But he had no regrets. 

 

Toward the end of the year, Jim and Paul were wrestling with each other following the varsity practice.  Jim had just taken Paul down, much the same as the previous year’s tournament match, second overtime.  The coach came up and said, “Jim, can we talk?”

 

“Sure.”

 

“I’d like to be alone.”

 

“Paul’s my closest friend, unless I’m in pretty deep trouble, it’s OK if he hears.”

 

“Off the record, Paul?” asked the coach.

 

“Sure.”

 

“Jim, I want you on the team next year.  I know why you weren’t with us this year, and I even half understand it.  It puts me in a tough position to waive all the training rules in order to get you on the team, but that’s what I’m willing to do.  We need you.”

 

This was the University of Michigan–an athletic powerhouse.  Football dominated the athletic program, of course, but their strength was deep.  That Jim was so good that the coach was willing to make him that kind of offer was incredible.  But there it was.

 

Jim had asked Tom, “What could I say?  He was offering me my cake and I could eat it too.  Of course I said, ‘Yes’.”

 

Actually Jim had said a lot more.  He had told the coach that he both understood the rules, thought they made sense, and was reluctant to accept the coach’s offer because he didn’t like to be above the rules.  But he agreed. He had told the coach, “Coach, I really can’t agree to the team’s training rules.  I don’t have that strong a commitment to wrestling.  I have too many other things going, including seeking a romantic interest.  But I won’t flaunt the privilege you have given me.  I won’t tell the other wrestlers, and I won’t make a big deal out of it.  If someone says something to me, I’ll simply tell them to talk to you.  If they say something to you, just tell them that if they win all their matches they can stick with me.  And from what I have seen, and what Paul has told me, I’ll win most, if not all, of my matches.”

 

“God, you’re a cocky little son-of-a-bitch.”  Jim thought that was said in a friendly way.  At least he hoped it was.

 

“No, I think that was a fair analysis of how I expect to do next year, and you obviously think so too, or you wouldn’t have just made me the offer you did.  Paul here was undefeated this year, and since ninth grade he has been defeated in competition exactly once.  By me.  I don’t claim to be better than him on the basis of that one match.  But damned if I’m not just as good, and we both plan to be undefeated next year.”

 

“And if you are, we will be conference champions.  Now do you see why I made you the offer I did?  No coach ever wants to admit this, but I need you badly, and that’s why I’ll take you on your terms.”

 

“Honesty goes a long way with me, Coach.  I’ll do the team justice.  And I won’t use my privileges to undermine your authority.”

 

Paul added, “I’ll keep him honest, and neither of us will discuss this conversation with anyone else on the team.”

 

When Tom finished his story, Tim looked at me and said in a questioning tone, “Olympics for Jim?”

 

Tom said, “You had better never say that to Jim.  He’s serious that he isn’t willing to provide the dedication needed to make the Olympic team.  And he doesn’t want to be pushed.”

 

I said, “I don’t think anyone is going to push him.  But if he has a good year next year, and if the Olympic fever coming from three close friends going to the Olympics spreads just a little, he just might decide himself that a year

of effort might lead to the thrill of a lifetime south of the border.  We’ll see.  But nobody pushes, I agree.”

 

Tim and I had five days alone at the cabin before we had to head back to the Twin Cities for Tim to get ready for the diving Summer Nationals, which this year would be in Albuquerque.  Tim couldn’t practice at the cabin–you can’t place a decent diving board at lakeside—not enough depth.  But I could practice my shooting (we had a range hidden away in the woods not far from the cabin), and Tim pushed me pretty hard to keep up.  My scores didn’t improve any over the summer, but they didn’t slip either.

 

The morning after Tom left, with five days when we would be alone together, Tim woke me up with a little wiggle and the question, “How shall we spend five days?”

 

“How would you like to spend it?”

 

“We need to allot four hours a day to your shooting and my swimming.  Beyond that it’s wide open.”

 

“How would you like to spend the remaining 20 hours a day?”

 

“In bed.”

 

“Get serious.”

 

“Well, I’m a little serious.  Sex figures pretty high on my list.  Back in Grand Forks we sort of have to squeeze it in.  I know we give it pretty high priority every night, but the time still competes with a lot else.  Here we have all the time we want for sex.  Let’s enjoy.”

 

“Do you have something specific in mind?  Truth now.”

 

“Not really.  Honest.  I know, sometimes I have everything worked out in advance.  You know me.  But I am just thinking out loud this morning.  Think with me.”

 

“If you count everything we tried last summer, we’ve pretty much run the gamut of things you can do in the Michigan wilderness that you can’t do back home in the city.”

 

“I think that the key is time not location.  Just think of that twenty hours a day instead of less than an hour.”

 

“I can only stay horny so long.  I’m older than you, you know.”

 

“Shit, Charlie, you are just as horny as I am.”

 

“Maybe.  Still, what do you have in mind?”

 

“I’m thinking.  Your ideas are welcome, too.”

 

“Keep thinking.”

 

“OK.  Time is the key.  For the next four days we have non-stop sex.”

 

“We have five days, why not be really silly and go non-stop for five days.”

 

“Charlie, I’m serious.  We have other things we have to do the last day to get ready to leave.  But for four days I just want to enjoy your body.”

 

“You had this in mind from the beginning, didn’t you?”

 

“Charlie, we don’t do that to each other, remember?  It just sort of dropped into my mind in the course of this conversation.  And I’m not really sure exactly what I have in mind.  But I’d like to find out.”

 

“What about the four hours a day of archery practice that you insist upon for me?  And swimming for you?”

 

“I’ll find some way to make that sexy.  Just watch me.”

 

“That is going to be interesting.”

 

“Are you saying OK?”

 

“I guess.”

 

With that he slipped under the sheet found my penis, which by now was very hard, took it in his mouth and held it.  He paused just long enough to say, “I’m not in any hurry.  We have all the time in the world.”  He took my penis again, and let his hand roam up and down my legs, touching my balls with each stroke.  I started to reach for him, but he pushed me back, signaling that he wanted me to just lay back and enjoy.

 

I’ll admit that I did enjoy; I even dozed a couple of times.  Tim just kept at me very gently until I finally came.  Then I was led to the shower and scrubbed all over by two very gentle hands.  I almost came a second time.  We stepped out and Tim dried me off, and finally let me dry him.  My emphasis on his mid-section got him hard, but he pulled me to the kitchen where we fixed breakfast together–stark naked.  I’ll admit that it was fun.  We had, of course, been naked together in the cabin before, but there was something about this time that seemed special–we were anticipating a very erotic four days of which this nakedness was just a small, but delightful, part.

 

We got silly pretty fast, especially when Tim tried to spread grape jelly on my toast with his hard-on.  That isn’t really what it was designed for, but it didn’t stop him from trying, nor me from helping to clean up the mess.  I didn’t leave any jelly uneaten!  Then I found myself being pulled outside by the balls.  We seemed to be headed to the archery range in the woods, but I decided to take the lead, picked Tim up, and carried him back into the woods, laying him down in a mudhole.  I jumped on top of him, and soon we were both completely muddy messes.  The mud made a fine lubricant, and our hands found each other’s dicks and we added a little cum to the mess.  To the lake!

 

Luckily there were no boats near, so we could jump in the lake naked without being seen.  It took a good massage to clean off all the mud.  I’ll leave it to you to guess which parts of the body got the cleanest.  Then Tim suggested a new swim stroke: Hold your dick with your right hand and see where you can go without letting go.  We tried, and either a back or side stroke seemed to work fairly well–maybe I should say fairly poorly.  Then we held each other’s dicks and tried to swim as a team.  That pretty much required a goofy sidestroke, but it was fun.  We swam several hundred yards out into the lake and back before we got completely tired.  Out of the lake, into the woods, find a bed of pine needles: 69. 

 

Lunch.  Naked.  At a picnic fire just far enough from the lake that we couldn’t be seen from a boat.  Tim walked over to me, wrapped a hot dog bun around my prick, squirted ketchup on it and started to eat.  Well, he only ate the bun!  And a little extra condiment.

 

I picked him up and laid him out on the picnic table.  Soon his you know whats were covered in barbeque sauce, and he was running to the lake!  He came back, finished his hot dog, got water and put out the fire, and pulled me back to the cabin.  We headed for the bed, and I was told that I could do anything I wanted, but it had better lead to an orgasm, and fairly soon.

 

Deciding that “two hands for beginners” might do the trick, that is exactly what I gave him.  Without bothering to clean himself up, he pulled me to the closet where Timmy the bow was stored, and we headed to the archery range.  I was told to “Practice” and I tried.  You can’t accomplish much when someone is sitting on a stool  just six inches from your very hard organ.  But I tried.  Tim said, as he tickled my balls a little, “If you can shoot well under these conditions, you can win any match, anywhere.”

 

And from two until six in the afternoon he made me shoot while he pestered my dick and balls, never bringing an orgasm.  Amazingly, by the end of the four hours I was shooting pretty well, and he was timing his activity to throw me off target!  Right at six he took me in his mouth and finished the job.

 

Dinner was much the same, and we headed for bed.  Wiggle, tickle, sleep.  We didn’t need much else.  Tim woke me up about 3 a.m. and demanded sex.  “I don’t care if you aren’t horny, Charlie, I am.  Do something about it.”

 

I did.  Then I slept.  I guess he did too. 

 

Day two started about 5:30 with Tim greasing up my dick and his ass, preparing to slide down on me while I lay on my back.  We had never tried anal sex that way, but found it worked pretty well.  I asked Tim what he thought about me sitting on top of him.  “Would you want Franklin on top of you?” he asked. 

 

“I’m not sure.  Let’s try.”  We did and it worked, but I don’t think Tim would have wanted me there too long.  He came quickly, however, and soon we were laying in each other’s arms. 

 

As we lay there Tim said, “That was good Charlie.  Maybe we should fuck more often.”

“We can.  Anytime you want.”

 

“I know.  I’m not afraid to ask.  Would you like it more often?”

 

“Maybe, I’m not sure.  I don’t really think so, but I am willing anytime you are eager.”

 

“I know Charlie, thanks.  Let’s run this morning, right after breakfast.”

 

“It’s kind of hard to run naked around here.”

 

Tim headed to a closet and pulled out a paper bag and handed it to me.  I reached in and found a most minuscule piece of fabric.  Pulling it out I discovered it was a Speedo, that would cover so little of me, so tightly, it was embarrassing.  Tim pulled out a new one of his own, about three sizes too small.  “Put it on Charlie.”

 

I tried.  I did manage to get it on; it was so tight it squeezed my balls.  Tim’s obviously did the same.  It left little to the imagination when we looked at each other.

 

“Tim, you don’t dive in anything like this.”

 

“Of course not.  They would throw me out of the pool.  He looked at me and smiled.  “You wouldn’t even be allowed in the door.  But I figure if we are running down a road or trail we meet the legal requirements for covering our privates, it feels sexy, looks sexy, and just plain is sexy.  And that’s what we want for our run this morning.”

 

“And you tried to tell me you didn’t have this all planned.”

 

“I had these suits, and I had their use in mind.  But I had no idea when they would get pulled out.  With that he slapped my butt, hitting more skin than suit, and said, “Let’s eat.”

 

“You?”

 

“No, eggs and toast.  Then we run.”

 

We covered about five miles, stopping a couple of times to see if we could fit our hands under each others suits–we could, but once you had your hand in, you couldn’t move it.  You could squeeze though.

 

We got back, headed for the lake, and took turns underwater taking each other’s suits off.  It wasn’t easy.  After proving yet again that 69 doesn’t work under water we headed for the cabin and lunch–naked, of course.  Archery practice after lunch went much as the day before, except this time Tim used his tongue  all over my body–staying out of the way of the bow–instead of his hands.  It took me over an hour to hit my first bulls-eye, but I finally got it down to where he could hardly distract me.  He let me quit after three hours, so that we could head for the lake.  There was a fishing boat not far off the dock, so that ended any skinny dipping for the afternoon.  Undeterred, Tim headed for the boat house where we had SCUBA tanks.  With the Speedos, lead weights, fins, and two tanks each, we headed to the dock.  We checked out each other’s equipment and headed into the water.  We were watched pretty carefully by the fishermen, and I am not sure whether they were more interested in the tanks or the Speedos.  We headed away from their boat, and cruised out to about 15 foot depth.  Then Tim turned, came over to me, pulled off my Speedo, and signaled me to do the same to his.  We clipped them to the tanks, and lay on the bottom, well weighted down.  Clearly 69 wasn’t going to work with breathing tubes in our mouths, but our hands worked well.  Tim wiggled around and tried to get my dick up his ass, but lake water doesn’t make a good lubricant, and we didn’t try that long.  Our hands were dandy, however, and soon I was watching his cum spread out in the water in most unusual patterns.  We both played in it with our fingers until it dissipated.  Then it was my turn, and I followed Tim’s pattern almost exactly.  As we continued to play, we discovered that air bubbles hitting your gonads are pretty sexy.  Air and time ran short and we headed up.  When we broke the surface we discovered the boat had gone and we were alone.  We could get out without our suits and we headed to the cabin, dinner, and an evening skinny dip, 69 on the dock in moonlight, bed, more sex, sleep.

 

I woke the morning of day three and found Tim’s hand grabbing my dick, firmly but gently.  He announced, “I am going to hold on to you all day, or at least try.”

 

I said, “Well, I have to pee.”

 

“I’m going with you.”

 

We walked to the bathroom, and he held my dick while I tried to pee.  It doesn’t work.  The plumbing is designed to either be a waterworks or a reproductive organ, but not both at the same time.  With his hand on my dick, it wasn’t acting as a waterworks.  “Take your time, Charlie, relax.”  Then he tickled me!

 

It took about twenty minutes before my bladder finally took command, and Tim was able to aim my stream into the toilet.  Then I had to shit.  He held onto my balls through my legs while I sat to shit!  He was determined.

 

Then I had to stand there while he sat and took care of his similar needs.  Breakfast was a struggle, but we managed.  Then archery practice.  He never let go, walking up to the target with me each time I had to retrieve arrows.  The whole business was so distracting that I never did shoot well, but we kept at it for over two hours.  Then lunch and a nap.  Tim said, “If I sleep, my hand will fall off.  Can’t have that.”  With that he ran a strip of adhesive tape around his hand and under my balls.  We were held firmly together.  He slept quite peacefully.  I lay there and imagined what it was going to be like taking the tape off!  In the afternoon we played Monopoly, “Winner gets sucked,” announced Tim.  His hand never let go–well, it was taped on.   Every time I would win on a play he would squeeze a little; if he won he would use his other hand, untaped, to tickle me.  The bathroom break was interesting, but we did it.  Eventually I went bankrupt.  He maneuvered around so that he could hold onto my dick while I sucked him.  He never let go.

 

Dinner followed the same course, and after dark we went skinny dipping.  The tape came off, painlessly, in the water, but Tim never let go.  We sat on the dock and air dried.  He sucked me, but held onto my balls the whole time.  Then to bed.  As soon as we were under the covers, he let go, kissed his hand, and then let me kiss it.  I’ll have to admit, he had kept me horny all day.  We wiggled around into a 69 position, did the job quickly, and then drifted off to sleep kissing each other if not actually sucking.  I wondered what day four would bring.

 

Day four was spent in bed.  I think Tim may have had some other goofy ideas, but I insisted that if sex was the order of the day, bed was where it was going to be.  He got up and fixed breakfast, but we ate in bed.  I fixed lunch, but we ate in bed.  We fixed dinner together and ate in bed.  We hugged, snoozed, talked, hugged, kissed, sucked, rubbed, you name it.  Very relaxed.  Very intimate.  I had a chance to explore Tim’s body in ways I never had done before, absorbing smells and tastes I had missed.  Tim did the same to me.  We each had several orgasms as the day went on, but they were sort of incidental.  We ended the day, and the four days of sex, with a long shower together. 

 

“Was that too much, Charlie?”

 

“No, not really.  It was quite an experience.  I don’t think, however, that I want to try for five days and a new record next summer.  Once was enough.  But I’ll never get enough of you, Tim!”

 

With that we headed for bed.  Amazingly, I felt horny and jacked myself off while Tim watched.  Tim preferred my help, so I jacked him off.  Then it was spooning, tickling, and a wiggle.  “I love you, Tim.  I always will.  The thought of a life without you is almost more than I can bear.”

 

“I feel the same, Charlie.  Always love me, and I”ll always love you.”  Another wiggle, and we slept.

 

The title of this episode is “Sophomores.”  I am sure that most readers thought that referred to Tim’s second year of college.  But note the plural; only one of us would be a sophomore.  No, it refers to the sophomoric behavior of two very sophomoric young men.  Well we still act like boys from time to time.  We have a ball, and don’t have any intention of either apologizing or trying to change.  We would like to be “sophomores” all our lives.

To be continued...

Editor’s Note: Well, is Jim going to be the Gang’s fourth Olympian or not?  Tim and Charlie aren’t going to push him, but being an Olympian is quite something for a young man.  What do you think?  Will he be tempted?  When originally published, readers were invited to let the author know what they thought.  Now that the story is written, it’s too late to affect it, but I’d still like to know what you think.  E-mail me at the address on the title page.

Posted: 06/06/08