Finding Tim
A Fourth Alternate Reality

 by: Charlie

© 2005-2008

 

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Episode 35
Lincoln

Well, I’m back, Charlie that is.  It’s hard to tell this story without appearing to be bragging and boasting.  I wanted Tim to write the last episodes, because I wanted you to hear about the diving and gymnastics from his point of view.  But it also forced him to talk about his successes in a way that made him uncomfortable.  I have thought about having me write the portions of this story about Tim and have Tim write about me, but that seems silly.  So you will have to pardon me  as I talk about my own successes.  Tim says I play them down.  I think I appear too full of myself.  Maybe the truth is somewhere in the middle.

 

Before I start on my adventures in law school, I need to update you about Phil.  He was called back to Kansas City and did, in fact, have an interview with Dr. Smith, who was, in fact, a psychiatrist–but not an example of the profession that the American Academy of Psychiatry would have been proud of.  Smith had asked a lot of weird questions, clearly coming from the “homosexuality is caused by an overbearing mother” school of thought.  This was followed by another series that reflected the “psychotherapy can cure anything–including gayness” school of thought.  Phil had answered them all, truthfully, but in as close to monosyllables as possible. 

 

“Do you love your mother?”

 

“Yes”

 

“Does your mother work?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“What is her job?”

 

“Providing us a home.”

 

“Then she doesn’t work?”

 

“That’s hard work.”

 

“Does she spank you?”

 

“At my size?”

 

“Did she when you were little?”

 

“No.”

 

You get the point.  It went on:

 

“Would you like to be cured of your homosexuality?”

 

“No.”

“Why not?”

 

“I’m not sick.”

 

“But you said you were homosexual.”

 

“Yes.”

 

“That’s a sickness.”

 

“That’s your opinion, not mine.”

 

“It’s not an opinion.  It’s a medical fact.”

 

“In my opinion, it’s an opinion.”

 

“You aren’t being very cooperative.”

 

“There is nothing to cooperate with; you are examining me.  That’s why this is called the Examining Station.”

 

“I am going to have to note your lack of cooperation in your record.”

 

“Is that a question?”

 

“No.”

 

“Ask a question.”

 

“Do you want children?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“You can’t have them with a gay lover.”

 

“I’m waiting for a question.”

 

“How do you plan to have children?”

 

“I don’t.”

 

“But you said you wanted children.”

 

“Another non-question.  But you are correct, that is what I said.”

 

“How are you going to have children?”

 

“I’m not.”

 

“Will that make you frustrated?”

 

“I don’t know.  Ask me again in twenty years.  But there is nothing about life with my partner that is frustrating.”

 

“Do you have sex with your partner?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“What do you do?”

 

“I kiss him.”

 

“Is that all?”

 

“We hug.”

 

“You know what I mean.  Do you involve your genitals?”

 

“I am not going to answer that.”

 

“As you said, it is my job to ask questions.  This is an Examining Station.”

 

“You are now asking about something that in many jurisdictions in the United States is illegal.  The Fifth Amendment of the Constitution says that I don’t have to answer such questions.”

 

“Shall I get a judge-advocate here?”

 

“Feel free.”

 

“I think I have learned all I need to.”

 

The whole business lasted about forty-five minutes.  Then Franklin was finished.  Two weeks later his draft board classified him 4-F.  End of the matter.

 

Later that fall Franklin went into his draft board and asked to see his file–his right under the law.  There was nothing about his homosexuality in the file.  His letter was not there.  The report from the AFEES said that he had a “paranoic personality” and was not eligible for induction.  We guessed that somebody decided that allowing him to be listed as “homosexual” would open the doors for others seeking to avoid the draft.

 

My experience with the draft was very simple, and very strange.  One day I got a new classification card in the mail, making me 4-F.  I knew better than to ask stupid questions, so I just accepted it with quiet thanks.  The next time I was in Indianapolis, I’d check my file.

 

Back in Grand Forks, Law school was vastly easier than I had expected it to be.  My first thought was that I was at a second or third tier school, and that I should expect it to be easy.  Then an interesting conversation took place in one of my classes and I realized that I was wrong about UND Law.  I learned about the “Avis Complex.”  Avis Rent-a-Car’s advertising slogan at that time was “Avis,  We’re Number two, we try harder.”  When applied to educational situations it goes, “We’re number two, our students try harder.”  Over the years I have seen so many examples of this that I am convinced it’s true.  The top schools have the self-confidence to set reasonable standards and expect their students to meet them.  Schools without that self-confidence–those with something to prove–are very likely to set unreasonable standards and put considerable pressure on students to meet them.  UND law was no exception.  The particular professor that told that story had taught at Georgetown Law in Washington, D.C., one of America’s prestigious law schools.  He had moved back to North Dakota to be near elderly parents in their last years.  He maintained that his course standards were exactly the same as at Georgetown, but he was criticized by fellow faculty members for “letting students get by with too little effort.” 

 

But even subject to the Avis Complex, I found UND Law to be very easy.  Tim’s reaction was, “Charlie, I’ve always known you were smart as a whip, why are you surprised?” 

 

I got involved with the Law Review, and had some material published, much more than was expected from a first year law student.  But the most interesting part of my year’s work started from a casual conversation with one of my professors.  He had studied Abraham Lincoln in an undergraduate honors course at Knox College, in Galesburg, Illinois.  I guess the conversation started when he casually remarked that he had received his diploma on the exact site of one of the Lincoln-Douglas debates.  Back in his office he showed me a copy of an old picture of the Galesburg debate, on the side of “Old Main” on the college campus; then a picture of him graduating, on a stage erected on the same side of the same building.  The college’s connection with Lincoln had interested him, and he did a study of Lincoln’s circuit rider days as a country lawyer in Illinois–based in Springfield, the state capital.  Lincoln traveled the eighth judicial circuit in Illinois twice a year, visiting 14 county seats.  The traveling party included the judge and several attorneys.    Court was held for up to a week in each location.  Except for his terms in the House of Representatives Lincoln did this regularly from beginning his law practice in 1837 until he was elected President.

 

All of this formed the basis of an interesting conversation in the coffee shop at the University, me drinking Coke and Professor Schmidt drinking very strong coffee–very black.  I never understood how he could stand the stuff.

That night at home as Tim and I were eating dinner I repeated the story of Lincoln the circuit riding lawyer.  Tim was politely interested, but clearly didn’t find it as fascinating as I did–he wasn’t planning on being a lawyer.  That night as I wrapped around him in bed an idea that had been trying to reach the surface in my brain finally burst out.  “Tim.”

 

“What?”

 

“I am thinking about the courthouses that Lincoln visited as a lawyer.”

 

“Charlie, it’s late.”

 

“You tell me about new gymnastics routines as you go to sleep.”

 

“OK.  You’re right.  What about those courthouses?”

 

“They have records.”

 

“Is this going somewhere?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Where?”

 

“For each case tried, papers had to be filed.  Written by the lawyers and signed by the lawyers.  The county court houses of middle Illinois could be sitting on a gold mine of Lincoln documents.”

 

“Charlie, you aren’t the first person to have thought about that.”

 

“I don’t know.  I am going to do some checking.”

 

Tim was now wide awake.  He turned and looked at me and said, “Charlie, if you are on to something it could be interesting.  Perhaps a big deal.  I think you should pursue it.  But you have to be careful about who you talk to.  If the records in those courthouses really haven’t been searched for Lincoln documents, you want to be sure that you are the one that searches and finds.”

 

“I guess I need to do some quiet checking.”

 

“You also need to check up on Professor Schmidt.  He is an obvious colleague in this, but you have to find out about his integrity.  Professors have a long history of taking credit for student work.”

 

“How should I check on him?  How would you?”

 

“Go straight to the top.  Ask Prexy.  I know that is taking advantage of a special relationship, but it isn’t taking unfair advantage of anyone.  Go ahead.”

 

The next day I visited Prexy.  I didn’t tell him about the Lincoln stuff, but gave him an outline of why I was interested in what he could tell me about Schmidt’s integrity.

 

I was surprised by Prexy’s answer.  “Charlie, I don’t know.  He hasn’t been at UND long.  As far as I know he is a fine man, but I really don’t have any reliable way to judge.”

 

“How would you check him out?”

 

“Check his bibliography.  See who he has co-authored things with, especially students.  Call them and talk to them.  They’ll know.”

 

They did.  He had come to UND from the University of Arkansas, where he had written several papers that mentioned student research.  I tracked down several of the students mentioned.  To a man they all said that their contributions had been generally unrecognized in Schmidt’s work.  There was a general feeling that he plagiarized his students’ work–though no one actually used the term plagiarize.

 

Tim and I discussed this and decided that we needed good advice.  I decided to talk to Dean Fry, the Dean of Law.  I had had several conversations with Dean Fry since our arrival in Grand Forks, and I felt that he was a man I could trust; and he clearly liked me and was pleased with my record as a student–not to mention as a fundraiser.

 

I told him the whole story, beginning with Prof. Schmidt’s telling me about his work on Lincoln as a circuit rider, my idea of searching for Lincoln papers, and my decision that I should not involve Prof. Schmidt in my searches–and why.

 

Dean Fry told me, in confidence, that he had had minor complaints from a couple of students along the lines of what I had turned up in Arkansas.  He raised a concern that I hadn’t even thought of: Prof. Schmidt might claim authorship of the idea after I published, even if I hadn’t shared it with him.  After all, it was just his word against mine as to what was said between us over coffee.  Prof. Schmidt might very well “remember” telling me of his idea to search for papers in courthouses.

 

“How can I guard against that?” I asked Dean Fry.

 

“Give me a few days, and I think I can take care of it.”  About a week later Dean Fry asked me to stop by his office.  Charlie, here is a letter signed by me and Professor Anderson [of Avis Complex fame].  It summarizes a conversation we had with Prof. Schmidt.  We got talking about his Lincoln work, and I just casually asked him if he had visited any of the courthouses where Lincoln had practiced.  Prof. Schmidt had replied, “No.  Why would I?  There is nothing left of Lincoln there; in fact most of them are gone.”  Dean Fry continued, “I had put it in such a way that it seemed that I was talking about looking at courtrooms.  I couldn’t afford to put the idea in his head.  But he could never have made the comment he did, in any context, if he had thought about searching those courthouses for Lincoln documents.

 

“Now here is what you do, Charlie.  Go write a one page ‘Plan of Research’ in which you detail your idea.  Refer to the conversation with Schmidt, giving credit to him for getting you thinking of Lincoln the circuit rider.  Then make it clear that you got the idea to search for records and first voiced it to Tim.  Get Tim to sign the letter, noting his agreement with the portions of the story he was involved in.  Make several copies, put them in sealed envelopes, and take them to the post office with stamps on the seals.  Get them postmarked with the date clear.  Give one to me and one to Prexy and keep at least two yourself.  Prexy and I will sign over the seal and date the signature.  That gives you ironclad proof that you had the idea no later than the postmark date.  Put copies of my letter about the conversation with Schmidt in the same envelopes.  You won’t have any trouble.”

 

Tim’s response to being told this was, “It’s sad that you have to do things like that, but by all means do it–very carefully.  It would ruin your career if Schmidt successfully claimed you stole his idea.  But you would advance yourself dramatically if he made such a claim and you could decisively disprove it.”

 

I wrote the letters, sealed, postmarked, and delivered them, and then sat on the idea for a month.  In the meantime I got in touch over the telephone with Mr. Jerome Skaif, an archivist for the Illinois Historical Society who was suggested by the Dean of Law at Illinois–a good friend of Dean Fry.  We talked about the possible research, and he was delighted to make suggestions.  We talked about where to start searching: Only two of the original courthouses that Lincoln practiced in remained, but in both cases, Metamora and Mt. Pulaski, the county seat had moved, and presumably the records with it.   Mr. Skaif suggested beginning in Shelbyville, County Seat of Shelby County.  They were conscious of their Lincoln heritage and would be enthusiastic about and supportive of Lincoln research in the courthouse.  Mr. Skaif knew the County Clerk and gave me a letter of introduction.  I asked him if he wanted to go with me, but he said, “No.  This was your idea.  It’s a good one.  You go take the credit.”

 

Shelby County is on the eastern side of the state, not too far from Indianapolis.  Tim and I decided to combine a visit home at Thanksgiving with a research visit to Shelbyville.  We drove down on Sunday before Thanksgiving, spent the night in a motel in Shelbyville, and headed to the courthouse first thing Monday morning.

 

On arriving at the motel and checking in, I went for ice at the office, knowing full well that Tim would be spreadeagled, naked, on the bed upon my return.  I knew we would be having several nights in a motel, and I had spent some time thinking of new ways to torment Tim each night.  Exactly why he liked to be tormented I wasn’t sure, but he did, and was truly disappointed if I didn’t do something new and different to him. 

 

I should note that by tacit, and in later conversation explicit, agreement, Tim was not hit, whipped, beaten, or anything of that sort.  I didn’t have the stomach to do it, and he had no interest in it.  I found a lot of creative ways to torment him, but they always led to a pleasurable orgasm.  Rarely did he ever have to tell me to stop or slow down, but on those occasions that he did, I immediately did as he asked.  We had no such thing as a safe word; “No”, “Stop” and “Slow down” meant exactly what they said.

 

That Sunday night before I left to get the ice I put a plastic sheet on the bed.  I came back to the room with the ice bucket held high so that he could not see what was in it.  He looked at me as I came toward him, thinking that he was going to get an ice bath on this privates.  I turned the bucket upside down over his dick and balls, but it didn’t have ice–it was loaded with warm butterscotch pudding.  The temperature, consistency, and color were completely different from what he was expecting!  His dick was completely buried in the pudding as I jiggled the bucket up and down on top of him.  He went wild.  Then I pulled the bucket off, and went after the pudding with my mouth.  It was a great dessert, especially when I started on the hard banana like thing in the middle of all the pudding!  Very soon he was thrashing on the bed as he came in my mouth, his cum mixing with the pudding.  At that point I fell on him, getting plenty of pudding on my dick as well.  I moved up on him and got my dick over his mouth and gave him the same dessert mixture of butterscotch and banana.  He evidently decided that the whole affair warranted a suck, because that’s what I got.  After we had had all we wanted to eat, we headed to the shower.  We cleaned ourselves–really each other–and then the plastic sheet.  Somehow we had managed to contain the mess on our bodies and the plastic.  At the end I was rewarded with, “Charlie, that was wonderful.  I really had no idea what was coming.  It took me quite a while to figure out what I was covered with.  It tasted good!”

 

Then, “Charlie, where did you get warm pudding?  You headed off for ice.”

 

“Your mom made it, and we packed in a good insulated container, which was in the trunk.  That’s why I was careful to be the one to put our suitcase in the trunk.”

 

“Did she know what you were going to do with butterscotch pudding?”

 

“Of course not.  I told her we were going to eat it at the motel tonight.”

 

“And she wasn’t more curious?”

 

“From time to time even your mother falls back on, ‘Don’t ask a question that you don’t want to hear the answer to.’  But we may get a question on our return.”

 

“I’m going to let you answer it.”

 

“Fair enough.  Shall we go out for a meal, or have you had enough to eat.”

 

“Let’s go to bed, cuddle, and get a good night’s sleep.  We’ll have an early breakfast in the morning.”

 

After that breakfast we headed to the courthouse and met with the Shelby County Clerk.  I had talked with Mr. Grandison, the Clerk, on the phone, but now I could hand him my letter of introduction from Mr. Skaif.  We were well received, and told that the records we were interested in were in a warehouse on the edge of town.  A sheriff’s deputy would take us out and let us in.  With the letter from Mr. Skaif, Grandison was willing to let us alone with the records.  Our procedures for dealing with any documents of interest were agreed upon and we were off.

 

The record storage occupied about 1/6 of a smallish warehouse.  The space consisted of narrow rows, with high shelves, with a variety of sizes of cardboard boxes.  They were generally in chronological order, with different types of records all mixed together.  The land records–the most referred to in any courthouse–were not here, they warranted space at the courthouse.  We found several boxes with dates between 1835 and 1841 and decided to start there. 

 

Talk about looking for a needle in a haystack.  It wouldn’t have been bad if they were in any kind of order.  Case filings were mixed with records of payments to the judge and in one case a two page report on a snowstorm.  We’ll never know why that was in official county court records!  Cases were generally kept together, usually tied with a ribbon.  But late filings, usually some sort of certificate of compliance, often got stuck with the wrong case.  It was quickly clear that we were going to have to look at every piece of paper.  A quick inventory suggested that we had 72 boxes to go through, plus another group, roughly 50, that were of the same vintage but not dated.  They would at least have to be opened and dates ascertained.  We estimated that there were 100 boxes total for us to check.  It took Tim 25 minutes to check his first box–no Lincoln signatures–and it took me 27 minutes–also no Lincoln.  At that rate we could each cover a little more than 20 boxes a day and we could be done in three days–depending on how many Lincoln signatures, if any, we found.  Each one of those would take time to film, catalog, set aside for archival treatment, and replace with a removal sheet.

 

I was about half way through my second box when lightning struck.  I turned over a sheet and was staring at a piece of foolscap, with writing in the top half.  Right about the middle of the page was the well-known signature, “A. Lincoln”.  The full impact of what we were doing didn’t hit me until that moment.  I had in my hands a paper written and signed by Abraham Lincoln in 1838, very early in his law career.  The content was meaningless–he was asking that a hearing on a probate matter be continued until the next term.  No details were provided–presumably they were presented orally.  Below Lincoln’s signature was “So ordered” and the signature of the judge, David Davis.  No other papers relating to the case were found in that box–it was completely misfiled.  That made our work easy, for now, as there was no case file to deal with–though we hoped to find the case file eventually.

 

Brief information about the document was written on a yellow sheet, along with the exact location where it had been found.  We had prepared the yellow sheets in advance, and each had a number at the top.  It had a second sheet with a piece of carbon paper.  (We couldn’t use the new self-copying paper by NCR, as the chemicals could not be left with the archival material.  The yellow sheet was placed on a table with the Lincoln document on top, with the number showing.  Then it was photographed.  The yellow sheet went into the file box where the Lincoln document had been.  The document was placed in an acid free folder; the carbon copy of the yellow sheet was placed with the folder in a closed file, and that was placed in a wooden box we had made for the purpose.

 

We moved on.  Tim found the next one in his third box.  It was in a case file, but there were no other Lincoln papers with it.  It was handled the same way, except the entire case file had to be photographed.

 

We spent three long days in that stuffy warehouse.  We found and photographed 27 Lincoln documents, as well as 16 full case files.  Several case files had more than one Lincoln document, and two documents–including the first one I had spied--had no case file that we ever found.

 

We couldn’t believe our good fortune!  Tuesday night we had called Mr. Skaif and he was equally ecstatic.  He came over on Wednesday and joined us in the afternoon, as did Mr. Grandison.  Both searched a couple of boxes and had the pleasure of being the first to stare at a Lincoln document that probably hadn’t seen the light of day in more than a century.  All of the Lincoln documents went with Mr. Skaif  to the Illinois State Archives in Springfield.  Mr. Grandison got an inventory from us and a receipt from Mr. Skaif. 

 

Skaif raised the issue of who was going to publish what, and when, about the project and the finds.  I was delighted that both Skaif and Grandison were very open to my getting the credit for the whole thing.  But first it was agreed that searches had to be made in the rest of the Lincoln courthouses.  It wouldn’t do for autograph hunters to descend on the courthouses and start poking around–documents would certainly be lost.  Shelbyville was one of 14 county seats at which such searches needed to be made.  I was invited to lead the searches, but I declined.  I had had the good forture to get the idea and to find the first paper.  I didn’t need to root through hundreds more boxes for dirty, dusty, and fragile records.  Skaif decided to put together 13 teams, each headed by an archivist from an interested archive–the state archives, the National Archives, the Library of Congress, Lincoln’s New Salem, and a couple of others.  The teams would be made up of graduate students in history or archives management.  They would descend on the county seats on the same day–it would be early in January.  They figured that two or three days is all that a team of four would require.

 

As far as publication was concerned, I would write the first article–to appear in the North Dakota Law Review.  It would be an overview of the project, and an explanation of the research plan and execution; it would feature the first Lincoln paper that I had found.  A second article would document all of the holdings in Shelbyville.  It would be co-authored by me, Tim, Skaif and Grandison.  A similar inventory would be published for each county, co-authored by the County Clerk, the four-person team, Skaif and me.  I was going to have 15 entries in my professional bibliography with very little work–talk about professors taking credit for their students’ work!  I was almost as guilty.  Skaif insisted that it was expected professional courtesy that my name as the lead researcher in the entire project would co-author every publication.  Then the complete set of photographs would be published on  microfilm.  And, finally, I would take the one or two cases from Shelbyville that actually looked interesting and that might shed a light on Lincoln as a lawyer, and write North Dakota Law Review articles about them.

 

With all that agreed we headed to Indianapolis with our film, and Skaif headed to Springfield with the wooden box of Lincoln documents.

 

I wanted to tell you about Monday night, but I didn’t want to interrupt the flow of my Lincoln story–it is one of my favorites; a real coup for me, and it got me all kinds of kudos from my little Nordic God.  Actually, Tim’s level of positive reinforcement was so great that I never lacked for praise.  But this was special.  So the story of Monday night is told at this point, after the Lincoln story.  On Monday evening, on the high of our both having found a Lincoln document, I came back to our motel room with a bucket of ice and found Tim in his usual spreadeagle position. 

 

“OK, here’s the deal.  You hold onto the bedposts just like you are.  If you let go of them before you have an orgasm, I win, and you take care of my needs.  Period.  If you have an orgasm before you let go, you win, and your needs will already have been taken care of.  Period.”

 

“You are going to lose, Charlie, I can hang on to these posts forever.”

 

“We’ll see.  I assume you know what you are in for.”

 

“Of course.”  He lay there grinning at me.  I had been known to use a feather, but that night I just used my fingers.  Up and down his ribs, tummy, nipples, balls, bottoms of his feet, thighs.  He wiggled, yelped, begged me to stop, shook the bed, tried eyes open and closed, twisted to try to cover his ribs.  Thirty minutes with no relief.  I couldn’t have stood it.  At the thirty minute mark I touched his dick for the first time.  Bingo.  Instantaneous cum.  He grabbed me, pulled me down on top of him, kissed me and said, “God that was wonderful, Charlie, fuck me.”

 

“I am the loser, I’m supposed to suffer.”

 

“Nonsense.  We are both winners.  I wasn’t sure I could do it, but I did.  What fun.  Now, fuck me, loser.”

 

With that he was on his knees with his ass in the air, waving a tube of KY at me.  I took the hint.  And I took my time.  A wonderful time.  I have never loved Tim more.  When I was very hard and deep inside him, Tim said, “Charlie, let’s try to roll on our sides and have you spoon behind me, staying inside me.”

 

We tried, and did it!  Then he said, “Let’s see if we can go to sleep this way.”

 

We tried and almost succeeded, but I slipped out.  Tim immediately turned toward me, kissed me and said, “I guess you don’t get an orgasm tonight after all, loser.  Sorry.”  He turned over and was almost instantly asleep.  I took quite a bit longer!

 

In the middle of the afternoon on Wednesday we left Shelbyville and headed for Indianapolis; I wanted to get there in time to visit my draft board.  We just barely made it, and I asked to see my file.  There in the file were copies of the Sports Illustrated and Time articles that mentioned Tim’s and my relationship.  There was nothing else, except a note that the board had acted to make me 4-F on September 15, 1966.  It was obvious why, but no explanation as to how the articles got to the file.  The secretary had no idea, and didn’t think that anybody would.  I decided not to pursue the matter; I really didn’t care.  If being gay disqualified you, they certainly had me pegged correctly!

 

We got to my folks’ house in time for dinner.  We were all glad to see each other, and they were fascinated by our story of searching the archives in Shelbyville.  My father, especially, was intrigued with the idea of finding Lincoln documents that hadn’t been seen for a century.  We talked late into the evening until time for bed. 

 

Mom introduced bedtime with, “No more rumpled sheets in this house.  We really don’t have the right accommodations for you here, but I put you in Charles’ old room with a single bed.  I was pretty sure that you wouldn’t want the narrow twins in the guest room.”

 

We both grinned, and agreed that she was right.  We hadn’t shared a twin bed for a while, but it wasn’t new to us.  It forces you to be pretty close during the night, and that suited us fine.  “Hug me tight, Charlie.”

 

“Gladly.”

 

“We are really lucky guys, Charlie.  For us both to have such accepting parents is almost a miracle.”  He paused a moment.  “Move your hand lower.”

 

I did.  I cupped his balls and rolled them in my fingers.

 

“Charlie?”

 

“Yes?”

 

“Maybe we should trade our big bed for a twin.  Having you hug me like this is wonderful.”

 

“Having one of us fall out as we roll in our sleep won’t be wonderful.  I think I’ll stick with the big bed.”

 

“You’re right, of course.  But this is nice.”

 

“It’s not quite made for 69, though.”

 

“Let’s try it.”

 

“OK.  Maybe we should go to the floor.”

 

“You are missing the point.”

 

“OK.  I am going to lay on my back and slide down so my knees are off the bed at the bottom.  You get on top, and bend your knees up at the wall.”

 

We did.  “Charlie, I am crushing your face.”

 

“The better for my tongue to work.  Get your tongue going.”

 

I came first, but he held me in his mouth until he came.  Then we rolled on our sides and hugged tight.  He said, “God, that was wonderful, Charlie.”

 

“Sex with you is always wonderful.  But let’s straighten ourselves out.”

 

We did, and we returned to spooning, and my hand again cupped his balls.  He responded with a wiggle.  “Charlie?”

 

“What?”

 

“Let’s do it again, but this time stretched out on the floor.”

 

I pushed him out of the bed, following close behind.  We wiggled around to a 69 position laying on our sides.  We went to work.  “Slowly, Charlie.  Let’s make it last.”

 

“It’s round two, Kid, it’ll last.”

 

I was wrong.  I couldn’t believe how horny we both were, and how much in love.  It didn’t take either of us long, and we came almost together.  We lay there a long time, each enjoying the other’s dick, even as it softened.  In many ways, a soft dick is more pleasant in the mouth than a hard one.  As we started to go to sleep we got up and went back to bed, back to the spoon position.  Tickle.  Wiggle.  Sleep.

 

Tim woke up early on Thanksgiving.  I wouldn’t let him get out of bed.  “Charlie, I have to pee.”

 

“Only if you promise to come right back.”  My arm around him held him tight.

 

“It’s time to get up.”

 

“Maybe for you, but not me.  If you won’t promise to come back you can’t leave.”

 

“But I have to pee.”

 

“Will you come back?”

 

“It’s time to get up.”

 

“You don’t have to pee very bad.”

 

“Yes, I do.”

 

“Will you come back?”

 

“I am going to pee in bed if you don’t let me go.”

 

I grabbed his dick and squeezed tight.  “Not in my bed.”

 

“Charlie!  Now you are going to have to go to the bathroom with me.”

 

“OK, but I hope no one is in the hall.  What time is it, anyway?”

 

“About 6:15.”

 

“Nobody will be up in this house.  To the bathroom.”

 

I picked him up and carried him, while he used his will and my hand to keep from peeing.  I bypassed the toilet, he’d never get his aim right.  I put him in the shower, and he peed all over everywhere, including me.  “Tim!”

 

“Serves you right.”

 

“Shower time.”  And I hit him with cold water.  It didn’t faze him, but it fazed me when he pulled me into the stream.  We hugged and the water slowly warmed up.  We washed each other, rinsed the soap and pee off ourselves, and stood in the hot water.  I turned it off, and we got out.  He dried me and I dried him.  Emphasis you know where.  Then I carried him back to bed and we spooned.  I woke again about 9:00.  I don’t know whether he slept or not.  I am not even sure he stayed in bed.  But he seems to have been there when I woke up the second time.

 

He insisted on sex before another shower and breakfast.  I used my hands and brought him to an orgasm as we spooned.  He said, “Fuck me,” and I did, coming amazingly quickly inside him.  We were both finally content.  Shower and down for breakfast with my folks.  I don’t know how much of all that they heard, but they weren’t at the stage of being able to talk to us about it, so we’ll never know.

 

Thanksgiving dinner with the family was traditional in all ways.  Turkey, dressing, mashed potatoes, giblet gravy, pumpkin and blueberry pies.  Tim and I learned that people are really set in their ways over Thanksgiving, including us.  It was my perfect idea of Thanksgiving dinner, but he expected a different dressing in the turkey, no giblets in the gravy, sweet potatoes, and mince pie.  We agreed that when in Rome we had to do as the Romans, but we weren’t sure where the compromises were going to be when we had Thanksgiving dinner at home–our home–sometime.  We put that problem off for another year.

 

Dinner also brought a measure of reconciliation between us and Gill and Anita.  They came to dinner, and stayed afterwards for conversation and a couple of games.  Anita was intrigued by Tim’s athletic success, and seemed to enjoy talking to him.  Sexuality was never discussed, or even mentioned, but clearly we had crossed the major barrier. 

 

We headed back on Friday, spending that night in a hotel in Chicago.  Tom and Nancy both had some major projects to work on and had not gone home for Thanksgiving.  They joined us at the hotel–a step down from the Palmer House where we had stayed before–for dinner on Friday night, and we enjoyed catching up on their lives.  School was going very well for both of them.  Tom was studying business and Nancy elementary education.  Tom said, “We both picked fields that would give us great geographic flexibility.  Wherever the Gang ends up, we are going to fit in–even if it is the cold northern plains of North Dakota!”

 

Tim said, “I am very uncomfortable that my choice of cities seems to be governing fourteen lives, and perhaps more.”

 

Nancy said, “That’s silly.  We all voluntarily decided that we’d like to live near each other.  Grand Forks is as good a place as any.  If you and Charlie are going to be happy there, so will Tom and I.”

 

“Perhaps I should have picked a warmer climate.”

 

Nancy said, “I am told that sex is really great in the cold.  At least that is what Tom tells me about your adventure with Charlie in the snow.” 

 

“Not many secrets in this Gang, are there?”

 

“That is one of the secrets to our success,” I said.

 

Tom said, “I assume that you have room in your room tonight for an extra two people.”

 

I said, “Of course.  We would be very disappointed if you didn’t join us.”

 

“What are we waiting for?” said Nancy.  And we moved up to our room.

 

Nancy opened the conversation.  “Charlie, the last time we were together in Chicago, sex was off limits.  We did have an interesting nude breakfast, but that was as far as we went.  I expect to remedy that tonight.”

 

“Just what do you have in mind?”

 

“I am on the pill, so I am safe.  I expect to be fucked by three boys.”

 

Tim said, “Two of which are gay, and aren’t supposed to be into fucking.”

 

“Don’t kid me.  You’re no virgin.  Neither is Charlie.  And I can guarantee you that Tom isn’t.  So nobody’s crossing into new territory.”

 

I turned to Tom, “Are you comfortable with that?”

 

“Oh, Hell yes, Charlie.  We have talked since you called and said you would be in town.  Gay sex in the morning, straight sex tonight.  If you guys are willing.  Nobody is trying to push anyone where they don’t want to go.  But I told Nancy that I thought you would go along, and would enjoy it.”

 

Tim said, “I have fucked exactly one girl in my life, Tina.  Just think, by tomorrow I will have doubled the number.”

 

Tom said, “Charlie, how about you?”

 

“Only Priscy.  I guess I am double or nothing tonight as well.  Tom, how about you?”

 

“Only one, this one.  So I am not going to increase the number, much less double it.”

 

Tim said, as he did his usual quick striptease, “Lose those clothes.”  He stood their, naked, his dick hard and pointing straight at Nancy.  The rest of us undressed more slowly.  We stripped to the waist, and while Tom and I were taking off our shoes and socks–Nancy’s shoes had easily slipped off of bare feet–Tim went over and kissed both of her breasts.  The three of us stripped to our underwear and sort of stood there.  Tim said, “This is silly,” and he went straight to Nancy and pulled down her panties, then he did Tom and finally me.  He continued, “Who’s first?”

 

Nancy said, “You, you are the smallest.  Then Tom.  Then big dick Charlie here.”

 

My dick isn’t very big, but I was a substantially larger man than either Tom or Tim and our penises were proportionately sized. 

 

The room had a king size bed.  Tim led Nancy to the middle, and had Tom and me lay on each edge of the bed.  He asked Nancy, “How do you want it?”

 

She rolled on her stomach, put her ass in the air and said, “From the rear.  Tim, I don’t expect to have an orgasm with you–that’s for Charlie.  Just have a good time and fuck me as hard as you like.”

 

He did.  I was sort of surprised that he seemed to be as adept at it as he was, and that he seemed to enjoy it as much as he did.  He came up behind her, used his left hand to aim his dick, shoved it in, and banged away, using his hands to massage her breasts.  It was obvious that both of them had a good time.  He came fairly quickly–he wasn’t trying to go slow–and slipped out.  They lay a while kissing, but soon Nancy said, “Tom.”

 

Tom took Tim’s place, but not before he had sucked Tim’s dick a few times.  “God, that’s exciting, getting your girlfriend’s juices off of your best friend’s dick.”  Nancy was on her back, and Tom entered her easily from the top.  He kissed her gently and fucked her gently as well.  They looked good together: comfortable, familiar, and happy.  Soon Nancy said, “Hurry up, I want to save my orgasm for Charlie.”  He did.  She did.  And an excited Tom kissed her warmly and moved to the side of the bed.  I had slipped off, and now came up on the bed from the foot.

 

Nancy put me on my back, kissed me, tickled my nipples and then my balls and then briefly sucked me.  Then she sat down on me, asking Tom to guide my dick into her vagina.  She sat a long time with me inside her, and then started slowly rising up and down.  I got hot, but she got hotter.  She was soon boucing like a rubber ball, as was my self-control.  We climaxed almost simultaneously.  She grabbed me, hugged me, kissed me, and then pulled in the other two.  All three were on top of me, hugging and kissing.  Tim was sucking my dick and I thought I would come a second time, but not quite, as the activity slowly subsided before I got there.

 

Tim knew where I was.  He smiled and said, “I know where you are.  We’ll just watch you finish yourself.  He dried my dick with a handkerchief, and  put my right hand on it, taking his hands to wrap mine around myself.  I closed my eyes, dreamed of doing 69 with Tim, and jacked myself off. 

 

Nancy responded by saying, “I’ve never seen you do that, Tom.  How about now?”

 

Tim pushed him to the middle of the bed, and wrapped his hand the same way he had mine.  Tom, however, had an advantage.  While he jacked himself off, Nancy quietly tickled his balls.  It didn’t take him long to come.

 

Nancy said, “What are you going to do with your semen?”

 

“I’ll show you.”  He grabbed her head and pulled it down on his stomach and rubbed her face in his cum.  She laughed, and the more she laughed the more she got in her mouth.  I remembered that at one time he had told me that Nancy wasn’t into oral sex.  I wondered how much he was pushing the line here.

 

Nancy answered my unspoken question.  “That is the first time I’ve had semen in my mouth.  It wasn’t bad.

 

Tom said, “Tomorrow night we explore each other with our mouths.  It’s time.”

 

“Yes, it is,” was her answer.  “Now let’s sleep.”

 

We slept, paired as we loved: Tim and me, Tom and Nancy.  We slept well.

 

In the morning Nancy said, “Gay sex this morning.  I’ll watch.  Then you can do me with your fingers.  I’ll wait till tonight to have my first tongue inside me–and I want it to be Tom’s and in private.”

 

We all agreed.  Then Tom and Tim did 69–they were about the same size and fit perfectly.  Then they took turns sucking me and Tom won–I had tried hard to make it work out that way.  Then we all applied our fingers to various parts of Nancy until she gasped and jolted with a serious orgasm.  My finger got the hero badge.

 

We had a room service breakfast in the room.  I was designated to get dressed to greet the bellman at the door.  Then the three naked wonders stripped me down and we ate breakfast naked, just as three of us had the last time together in Chicago.  Only this time, nothing was off limits.  Tim got up, walked over to the bed, laid down and jacked himself off, very quickly.  Then he walked over to the table, picked up a sausage link from each of our plates, used the link to scoop up some of his cum, and put the loaded links on our plates–including his own.  I wasn’t sure how Nancy was going to handle it, but she did well, saying, “You are just the cutest condiment bottle I can imagine.”  Then she ate the “loaded” sausage.  We all followed. 

 

We didn’t say much more at breakfast.  But Nancy ended the meal with  “I can’t wait till we are all in Grand Forks.  It promises to be an exciting life.  I wouldn’t miss it for anything.  And not just for the sex.  But, yes, for the sex, too.”

 

We drove that day to Madison, planning to stay with Ronnie at his home.  On the way Tim raised an important question: “Charlie, we seem to have collective sex every time we are together with a member of the Gang.  I like it; it’s fun.  You know I don’t have a moral problem with it–we’re past that.  But what happens when, and if, we are all living in Grand Forks?  Group sex every night?  That’s would seem to be where we are headed.”

 

I said, “I have thought about that just as you have, Tim.  I don’t know.  There have to be limits–and I am willing to share you only so much.  I think it is a question for the Gang to tackle, and fairly soon.  But we are going to need to be together to have that conversation.  In the mean time, we aren’t together enough to worry about it.  Last night was great fun.  And certainly Tom and Nancy thought so as well.  I wonder what Ronnie has in store for us tonight?”

 

“Ronnie lives at home with his parents.  I suspect that there may be nothing in store.”

 

“From the one time we had sex with Ronnie I suspect that he has something in mind for tonight.”

 

He did.  And much to our amazement, the subject came up at dinner with his parents present.  He said, “We are all sleeping in the guest room tonight.  No way am I going to be left out of whatever you two do tonight.”

 

I looked around at Frank and Adele, Ronnie’s parents.  They were both smiling, clearly anticipating our discomfort with Ronnie’s announcement, and quite willing to be amused by that discomfort.  Frank broke the ice.  “Ronnie told us about his sexual adventure with you two, and the others.  He is still trying to puzzle out whether he is gay.  Actually, he is convinced he is gay.  He says that the question is whether he is exclusively gay.

 

“In any case, he has had no hesitation in talking to us about his sexual escapades with you all, and we have refused to sit in judgement.  In our experience he has generally made very wise decisions.  We trust him in this area as well.  Besides, as you have pointed out, Charlie, if we didn’t trust him and tried to restrict his behavior, his behavior wouldn’t change, it is just that whatever might happen would probably happen in a different place–and probably a less safe and healthy place.   So welcome to the guest room.  And if you can help Ronnie figure out who, or what, he is, so much the better.  He is confused, and we are as confused as he is.”

 

Ronnie said, “Get your things and come upstairs.  It’s time for bed.”

 

“Ronnie, its only 8:30.  I want to talk to your parents awhile.”

 

“OK, then I’ll take Tim up to bed.”

 

Tim said, “Ronnie slow down.  Just because you have some of the most understanding parents in Wisconsin, if not the country, is no reason to be in such a hurry.  You can move a little more slowly.  They aren’t going to change their minds, and neither are Charlie or I.”

 

Ronnie just said, “Gotcha.”

 

I said, “Frank, when I arrived in the middle of the night that night, what did you think?  What did you think when Ronnie came over to my room to talk?  He certainly had the door closed, and who knows what might have happened.”

 

Adele said, “We know exactly what happened.  Ronnie gave us a blow by blow the next morning, including a run down of the things you talked about–and that he thought about.  I don’t know about your thoughts, but his certainly wouldn’t have been acceptable in Show and Tell in school the next day.”

 

I said, “Tim grew up in an atmosphere like this.  I didn’t.  My parents and I never had open conversations like this.  We still don’t–though they aren’t in the dark about our physical relationship, they don’t talk about it.”

 

About 9:30 Ronnie stood up and took off his shirt.  “It’s bedtime.  Every five minutes I am going to take off another piece of clothing.  When I am naked I am going to start on one of you.  Eventually you’ll get embarrassed and take me up to bed.”

 

Frank and Adele seemed unconcerned and continued the conversation.  In fifteen minutes Ronnie was naked, and quite hard.  Frank and Adele seemed quite unconcerned.  In another five minutes Ronnie walked over to Tim. and took off his shirt.  Since Tim didn’t have an undershirt, five minutes later took him down to his Jockey shorts.  I spoke up, “In five minutes you start on me.”

 

Ronnie said, “Maybe.”  But in five minutes I lost my shirt and was naked to the waist.

 

Frank, Adele, Tim and I tried to keep up a conversation.  I think we were talking about the history of the forests of northern Wisconsin and upper Michigan–a favorite subject of mine, and one that both Frank and Adele were interested in and knowledgeable about.  But that conversation became more and more difficult.  What had, evidently, started as a ploy to get us to come to bed with him, had become a game of dares.  And Frank and Adele seemed to be enjoying it as much as Ronnie–if not more. 

 

Five minutes, and Ronnie walked over to me and unbuckled my belt.  However, I was sitting down and he couldn’t really get my pants off without my cooperation.  Then Tim came over and tickled me, making it easy for Ronnie to grab the bottoms of my pants and jerk them off.  Conversation now completely stopped. Ronnie looked at his watch, as did both Tim and I.  Time moved slowly but inexorably.  Finally Ronnie stood up and looked from Tim to me and back to Tim, evidently trying to decide who to approach.  I looked from Ronnie to Tim to Adele and Frank–both of whom looked like the cat who had swallowed the canary.  I’m not sure what I looked like.

 

I turned to Tim and said, “Shall we take him up to bed?”

 

Tim said, “Hell, no.  He started this, let’s see if he can finish it.”  Then he turned to Ronnie and announced, “OK, here’s the deal.  You told us what would happen if we didn’t go to bed with you an hour ago.  And it has been happening.  Well, here’s part two.  If I am naked in the room with someone this evening, I am going to have sex with him, right there, immediately. On my terms.”

 

I said, “Ditto.”

 

Ronnie said, “On your terms?”

 

“Yep.  Any anybody who dares to pull down my underwear agrees to my terms, whatever they turn out to be.  If you can’t deal, don’t pull.”

 

“Ditto.”

 

That took Ronnie aback, but only a little.  He stood there, naked himself, hard as a rock, being watched intently by his parents and two friends.  We all wondered how far he would take this.  Nobody, at least not me, and I doubt anybody else present, doubted Tim’s threat, and I suspect all were wondering just what his terms would be.

 

Ronnie seemed to make up his mind.  He walked over to Tim, moved his hand toward his Jockeys, but inserted it through the leg hole, moving to grab hold of his dick.  Everyone breathed a sort of collective sigh, as it appeared that Ronnie had found an out.  But it had been a ploy.  All of a sudden he let go of Tim’s dick and jerked his hand straight down.  It caught the Jockeys in the crotch and pulled them down, right to the ankles. As quickly as he had pulled off Tim’s shorts he moved to me and grabbed mine, jerking them off.  All three of us stood in the room, stark naked, hard as rocks, with Frank and Adele calmly–at least on the outside–watching.

 

Tim and I were completely caught by surprise.  But Tim recovered very quickly.  He said, “Grab him, Charlie.”  I did.  Ronnie wasn’t really trying not to be grabbed.  “Lay him on the floor and hold him.”  I did.  Tim went to work immediately with his hand.  I tickled his balls with my right hand and his nipples with my left.  Ronnie had been totally horny, and came very quickly.  Tim used Ronnie’s Jockeys to clean him up just enough so it didn’t drip, and then said, “Stand up, kiss your mom ‘Good Night’ and we are going to bed.  You will speak only when spoken to.  Those are my terms and you have agreed to them.”

 

Ronnie complied, being careful to not get cum on his mother.  Then Tim marched him upstairs, and I followed.  Frank finally lost it, and burst out laughing, followed by Adele who said, “Ronnie, you have met your match in those two.  Have a good night.”

 

He didn’t.  We marched him up to his own room, laid him on his bed, found some plastic line that we could tie him with and tied him spread eagle on his bed, still naked and sticky with cum.  Tim blindfolded him, and we left him.  We lay on the guest room bed and aroused each other, and then headed back to Ronnie.  We took the blindfold off and then took turns jacking ourselves off and spewing our cum on top of Ronnie.  Tim aimed for his face, and hit.  I aimed lower down, and we had enough to make a good mess on his face, chest and stomach.  “Have a good night, Ronnie,” said Tim.  “And be careful next time messing with my balls.”

 

We left Ronnie about a half hour and then went in, untied him, and escorted him to a very cold shower.  Tim got in with him just to prove that the water was bearable, slowly turned the water to warm, and invited me into the tub/shower with them.  We soaped Ronnie, washed him well, and finally Tim said, “You are a good sport, and you have been spoken to.”

 

Ronnie hugged Tim tightly and said, “I never thought you would have the guts to let me strip you in front of my folks.  I should have known not to challenge you two.  I deserved what I got.  But, you know what?  It was fun;  you can do that to me anytime.”

 

“We’ll think of something different in the morning.  Now it’s time for bed.  The guest bed; three in one.”

 

We were awakened the next morning by Adele who came in without knocking and brought a huge tray of breakfast.  Adele said, “Get up and kiss me ‘Good Morning’ Ronnie and then you can eat breakfast.  We were all naked under the covers, as Adele certainly knew, and Ronnie was in the middle.  He seemed to debate a little about how to get out, but decided to throw off the covers, climb over Tim, and went to kiss his mother.  He took the breakfast and set it down, hugged her tight, kissed her very gently, and then escorted her out of the room, shutting the door.

 

“I suppose that my father will find some excuse to come in next.”

 

Tim said, “We had better not let the bed squeak, or he will come in to oil it.”

 

Ronnie said, “There is a lock on the door.  I have never used it.  This morning is going to be a first.  The key is in my dresser drawer.”  He got the key and locked the door.  We finished breakfast, and then hopped into bed.  In the middle of our free-for-all we heard the door being tried.  Ronnie grinned, waved the key, and grabbed a dick.  Mine.  It was all downhill, or perhaps uphill, from there.

 

As we said goodbye to Frank and Adele, Frank said, “By the way, we heard the key lock the door.  Then we really couldn’t resist somewhat noisily  trying the lock at the appropriate time.  You guys are good sports.  I hope you don’t think less of us for all of this.”

 

“Less?” said Tim.  “You’re fabulous.”  With that he planted a great big kiss on Frank’s lips, as I did the same to Adele.  Then we both kissed Ronnie and we were off.

To be continued...

 

Posted: 06/06/08