We did get the daily newspaper, and we did read more than the sports pages–though I think that is where Tim turned first.  I started with the comics.  Whoever finished first got the news pages.  This was usually at the first relaxed meal of the day, breakfast or lunch.  Sometimes it was dinner, but we hated to have our dinner together dominated by the newspaper.  December brought news stories about the state legislative assembly, which was meeting for their biennial “Organizational Meeting,” and would convene for the regular biennial “Legislative Meeting” in January, 1966.

 

Tim commented, “You know, we can raise money for this University, but the real responsibility has to fall on the taxpayers of North Dakota.  I wonder who makes the case for money for this university at the legislature?”

 

“Comments like that from you always lead somewhere.  Why don’t you start with Prexy.  He seems to enjoy your visits, and he certainly likes to be the first to know what’s going on in that little brain of yours.”

 

“Small brain, high IQ.  Don’t you wish you could say the same thing, Charlie?”  His grin was infectious.

 

“No, Kid.  I prefer to say, ‘Big brain, extraordinary IQ’.”

 

“Charlie, when you say that, who are you referring to?”

 

“Certainly not you, birdbrain.”

 

“I’d rather have bird wings.  It would be neat to be able to fly.”  Flying motions with his arms were certainly not infectious.

 

“I could tie a string around your dick to keep you from getting too far away.  Birds don’t wear clothes, you know.”

 

“We’ve sort of gotten off subject.”

 

“Where’s that vaunted concentration of yours?  You aren’t supposed to get off subject.  That’s for me to do.”

 

“I’m going to see Prexy today.”

 

“What about?”

 

“Ask me tonight, birdbrain.”

 

“I wouldn’t dream of it.  But you’ll tell me, anyway.”

 

Tim did tell me; he told me all about his conversation with Prexy.  He had learned that the University was very careful about what it presented to the legislature, because the delegates got very upset at the idea of tax dollars (i.e. salary dollars) being used to lobby the legislature.  Tim was startled, and asked how the University made its case for more appropriations.  It seems that all they did was submit an annual budget and then attend hearings when asked to explain what they wanted.

 

Tim’s key questions was, “Would it be all right if a group of students, completely on their own and at their own expense, descended upon the legislature to make the case for more funding for the University.”

 

Prexy had thought a moment, and then replied that he would like to think that one over and talk to a few key people, including a few of his friends in Bismarck.  Tim was to return in a few days.  Of course he did return, right on schedule or a day ahead.  Tim said that Prexy clearly had some reservations about what he was about to say: “Yes, Tim, it would be appropriate for a group of students to approach the legislature, as you propose.  I say that, fearing what I may have unleashed, and wondering just what may ultimately come of this.  But go ahead; nobody will stop you.  I wouldn’t want to.”

 

Within a week Tim had collected a group of about 15 students, including me from the Law School, who were organizing themselves.  Basically they had four jobs to accomplish, very quickly: Understand the university budget, understand the legislative process as it is unique to North Dakota, research the individual members of the legislature and how to approach them, and dream up new ideas for the university that could excite the legislators.  We divided up and went at the tasks with a vengeance.  The group that descended on the university budget office almost drove them crazy, and would have been tossed out if they hadn’t been there on the specific invitation of President Edison.  Three of the four with that task were economics majors and the last was a math major.  They were all smart as Hell, and within a week I think they knew more about university finances then anybody on campus.  The toughest job would be finding out where the back doors to the legislature were so that we could be effective with the right key individuals.  Tim led that group of four, and they headed to Bismarck during the Organizing Meeting.  They had started with Prexy’s friends, having been preceded by a call from Prexy.  From there they talked to anybody they could, being careful listeners more than talkers.  After two three-day trips they had talked to about 60 people (they usually went two by two): legislators, lobbyists, bureaucrats, lawyers, and the usual crowd of hangers-on found around all state capitals.  I talked to various law professors and got a crash course in state legislative process.  The rest spread across campus seeking out exciting new ideas: They talked to department chairmen (this was the 1960s!), deans, professors, staff, researchers.  They found that there were all kinds of exciting ideas out there, dying for lack of funding: the library had been trying to fund a state archives project for years; the biology department wanted a tallgrass prairie experimental station; the law school wanted to experiment with computers for legal research ...  The list went on and on. 

 

Tim, and the rest of us, had to do all this while maintaining our own busy schedules.  Tim admitted that he had had to give up practice time and shorten his studying a little.  But that was just the preparation time.  January was when they had to head to Bismarck and actually try to accomplish something.  It was 275 miles to Bismarck.  There was no way you could drive over, accomplish something, and drive back.  Overnight stays would be required.  Nobody could commit to long times in Bismarck and keep up grades, so the 16 of us had to rotate, which meant extensively briefing each other.  It would also be harder to develop personal relationships with legislators. 

 

We realized that we needed two things that would cost money: An apartment or someplace to stay in Bismarck–preferably with a kitchen to keep meal costs in check, and transportation.  Tim headed to Fred Milson, who always seemed to be excited by Tim’s newest adventure.  Actually, we ate dinner with Fred almost weekly, either at his home or ours, or as his guest in some restaurant–ranging from the best in town to a couple of his favorite greasy spoons.  We had kept Fred appraised of our plans as we went along, so he wasn’t surprised when Tim arrived at his door looking for money.  “Fred we need to rent an apartment in Bismarck for the legislative session and we need a van to go back and forth.”

 

“Is that all?  I’m surprised at you, Tim.  You’re usually more creative than that.”

 

We rented a decent three-bedroom apartment, furnished it with cheap furniture–mainly beds, tables, chairs, and three comfortable reading chairs.  We bought a used van with enough miles left to go back and forth almost daily.  And we had Fred’s demand that we let him know what else we needed.  We also had his demand that he be included, and we took advantage of it immediately.  As it turned out, Fred spent most of a month in Bismarck, generally acting as our coordinator, appointment maker, major domo, and often a legislative visitor with us.

 

Soon three or four key faculty and staff at the university got requests from one committee or another to come to Bismarck and discuss their pet project.  Prexy was summoned and asked why faculty salaries were so low that students felt they had to raise money to supplement them.  The Librarian was asked about the archives program.  And on and on.  Of course, the good old conservative farmers who didn’t see any need to spend a lot of money on a university were pretty influential in North Dakota.  Every step forward the group made was coupled with a step back.  They were excited one day and felt defeated the next.  By the time the session ended in April the budget for the university had been cut 2.4% from Prexy’s asking, and a tallgrass prairie project and an archive project had been initiated and added to the budget–mostly for funding in the second year of the two-year budget. 

 

Tim wasn’t sure just what they had accomplished, but he knew the legislative history from prior years, and knew that it was typical for the legislature to cut the budget around 10% from the original asking.  Prexy called the group into his office right after the legislature closed.  His praise was effusive.  Didn’t we know that it was standard operating procedure in North Dakota to cut the university asking budget by at least 8-10%, and that such a cut was already built in?  Did we know that this was the first time in history that the legislature had ever proposed a new project for the university that wasn’t in the asking budget?  Did we know what word Prexy applied to the whole affair?

 

Miraculous.  He fell all over himself alternating with amazement and thanks.

 

Tim said, “You could have given us some clues as we went along.  We weren’t sure just how much we were accomplishing.”

 

“Tim this was your show, you and your fifteen colleagues.  You did it all; you found your way on your own; you didn’t need or want me interfering.  If I had you would have accomplished less.  But now, with the job done for two years, I’ll gladly take my hat off to an outstanding job.  And Fred, I know your role in this, and it wasn’t small.  Thanks and congratulations.”

 

Tim never rested.  “Prexy, we have to talk soon about how to institutionalize this effort.  It can’t be created out of whole cloth every two years.  We need a private organization, maybe call it Friends of the University of North Dakota, to have permanent offices and staff in both Bismarck and Grand Forks.  It can be a legislative liaison, and being private won’t be spending taxpayer money to lobby.”

 

Prexy looked nonplused.  “And I suppose you’re going to raise the money for this as well?”

 

Fred jumped in, “I have pledges for about half of what we need to run it the first two years.  It won’t be a big problem.”

 

“Unreal.”

 

“We’re real, sir.  Very real,” said Tim.

 

“And the legislature is just finding out what hit them,” said Prexy.

 

I said, “Oh, I think they know.  Tim was quite impressive, along with all the rest of us.  But Tim’s athletic stardom, plus what they knew about last year’s fundraising, gave him entree everywhere.  He shamelessly took advantage.  You can’t believe how many legislators have signed pictures of themselves with Tim–always signed with a personal note and ‘Tim.’  And he will be making trips to legislative districts–especially in those districts where one of our key supporters is up for re-election next year.”

 

Another triumph for Tim.   And he reaped a windfall collateral benefit: Tim had assembled a long list of exciting projects and dreams–along with the names of persons eager to try to bring them to fruition.  For a kid with his own dreams this was a valuable tool, which he would use to his, and the university’s, advantage!

 

Back in early December–before the legislative organizational meeting–Tim had gone to this year’s first gymnastics meet of national significance.  It was the Northwestern Invitational in Evanston, Illinois.  Tim didn’t want to make a big deal of it with the gang, so only Tom and Nancy were there, along with Coach Frank, Tim’s folks, and my parents–who came up to see us and watched the meet only incidentally.  David and Mike showed up.  David had checked with my parents to see if I might be at the meet–he knew about it through his alumni newspaper.  On learning I would be there, he and Mike scheduled a visit back to their Alma Mater.  And David’s folks came up; in fact they drove up with mine.  We had a grand reunion, with plenty of time to talk, renew friendships and make new ones.  It was a great weekend.

 

We didn’t have a lot of time to spend with David and Mike, but made plans to visit them in Indianapolis at Christmas.

 

The weekend was great for all of us, but especially great for Tim.  Thanks to Frank he had made startling progress in three events: rings, high bar, and floor exercises.  Startling is exactly the word.  Tim had done well in previous gymnastics meets, but never at a level that people were talking about him, or thinking of him as much other than a long shot to go to the Olympics–despite Tim’s calm insistence to the press that he would be in Mexico in two sports. 

 

The coaches and gymnasts at the meet began to get a clue what was coming when somebody watched Tim practice elements of his floor routine–particularly a run down the edge he had included, and his final corner to corner run with the half inch corner stick.  Actually, he was beginning to try to squeeze the half inch, and almost scaring Frank.  In any case, when he did the run down the edge of the mat–involving a couple of hand springs, Frank said, “You were about an inch off, did you know that?” 

 

Tim had answered Frank, “Yes, I guess I was being a little too relaxed or lazy.”  

 

Another gymnast had heard the exchange and said, “Yeah, you were getting a little close there.  Be careful.”

 

Without thinking Frank had said, “I meant he wasn’t close enough.” 

 

The response to this was, “You’re out of your mind!”

 

It brought attention to Tim in a way that I don’t think he relished.  He preferred to practice in peace.  But he wasn’t going to find peace in that practice session until he satisfied the requests to see just how close to the line he could make his run.  It turned out to be about a quarter inch, and his run was met with absolute silence. 

 

Then, “I don’t believe it.”

 

“My God.”

 

“Can you do that again?”

 

He could.  He did.  But then he headed for the showers.  He wanted a hot shower to relax and get ready.

 

He rattled so many cages that day it was unbelievable.  He did well in  the vault, parallel bars, and pommel horse, but those performances disappointed the audience that had seen him in the other events.  He was breathtaking on the high bar.  He did the required moves, but built a routine around some moves that might be called stunts; that the circus would have called “death-defying”; that other coaches called foolish risks (meaning both the risk of falling and the risk of losing points by missing a very difficult move); but that the audience loved.  And Frank was right: judges are affected by the audience.  Not that he hadn’t earned his high scores, but that any temptation to knock points off for tiny flaws, or just because he was a newcomer, was quickly wiped out.

 

My muscles got sore watching him on the rings.  Where the little kid got the strength for his routine is frankly beyond me.  But I had stationed myself in the front row where he could see me, and he swears he thought of nothing but my nude body while on the rings.   I was fully clothed.

 

The way the rotation was set, floor exercises was his last event.  His routine was spectacular, but not much more so than the other top competitors.  But he hugged the lines whenever it fit the routine–of course most of the routine had to be done focused on the center, but enough was on the edges to take people’s breath away.  He ended in the corner, so close to the line that you could barely measure.  And he stuck, perfectly.  And he brought the house down.  A ten from all but one of the judges.  Number one on rings; number one on the  high bar; number one in floor exercises; number one overall.  And there was Mick: another SI cover sewn up.  The SI photographers had been alerted by Mick after he had viewed the practice and they had two cameras on Tim for his final move.  The cover showed three pictures: mid-air, sticking the corner, and a close-up of his feet at the line.  The article was titled, “Close counts in more than horseshoes.”

 

Christmas vacation began with Harry and Lida’s wedding, which took place in Fargo.  Very traditional.  Very nice.  Small and quiet.  Tim and I both kissed the bride–and the groom, causing a little stir.  Harry and Lida were delighted.  They headed off on a Christmas honeymoon–we learned later it was somewhere in the Carribean–and we headed for Indianapolis.

 

We were afraid that this would be my father’s last Christmas.  He had recovered quite a bit, but was slipping back from his peak.  My folks were glad to see us, and we had a wonderful time together.  My brother Wayne and his wife Irma held us to our promise to come to a party at their house and be featured guests.  In fact, they prevailed upon us to devote New Year’s Eve to that.  Our only condition was that we could invite David and Mike to the party so that we could spend some extra time with them.

 

We had plenty of time in the week after Christmas to relax, spend quality time with my father, visit with David and Mike, and for Tim to do the obvious: practice.  He headed for Indiana University and Coach Billings, who made the pool available to him.  They worked together several times during the week.  The Coach was having delightful dreams of having Tim on his Olympic team.  He was dreaming of gold, gold, gold, and thinking that one of his IU divers might bring in silver.  I know that in his best dreams there would be three American flags over the winners’ podia after one of the diving events.  Tim was determined not to disappoint him, but continued to refuse to talk about the  color of the medal, just getting one.  Coach Billings had very different ideas.  Tim just smiled; I don’t think he had any intention of disappointing his coach, but he steadfastly refused to discuss medal color, even with me.  Even as we drifted off to sleep at night, spooned together, the time when we shared our most intimate thoughts.  Even then, medals were colorless.

 

David and Mike were home from M.I.T. for Christmas break.  Their work was going well and they were very happy together.  They had come out in a big way at Northwestern–as Seniors, but they hadn’t had any kind of a commitment ceremony.  They hadn’t “come out” at M.I.T.,  but their friends had figured out the relationship–a couple remembering the hullabaloo at Northwestern after their “Grand Night.”  They hadn’t tried to deny who they were, and it had been easily accepted in their community at M.I.T.  They were very happy with each other and seemed to truly be in love.  They considered the commitment they had made to each other to exclude any kind of sex with anyone else.  Since that position was essentially the polar opposite of where we were, and where we were beginning to agree we would continue to be for the rest of our lives, it became the focus of our discussions that week.  Neither pair tried to persuade the other to change, and certainly we made no attempt to entice them into a sexual situation.  But we did try to understand each other, and we tried hard to explain ourselves.

 

Both couples found that difficult to do.  Their arguments for complete fidelity all seemed to go back to a set of sexual morals that would exclude any kind of homosexual relationship.  Or, they seemed to be trying to mimic a heterosexual relationship, using it as a model for their behavior.  That, of course, was our response to their arguments, but they generally agreed with us.  Their strongest argument was approximately, “Well, it works for us.”  They were, in fact, quite content with their exclusive sexuality, and both expressed great dismay at the idea of the other one being involved in a sexual relationship with someone else–even one that was open and above board.

 

Other than, “Sex is fun,” we couldn’t come up with any better arguments for our open relationship.  “It works for us,” was certainly true.  We did look back at how our relationships were established and decided that our history might explain our differences.  David and Mike had fallen in love at Northwestern and were in the closet for most of their time there.  Their love had matured, as well as their physical relationship, by the time they came out.  They did play around a little with a couple of other gay pairs, but soon after arriving in Boston they had decided that their commitment was total, and it has been ever since.  Neither one seemed to regret the decision.

 

Tim’s and my relationship, on the other hand, grew up amidst a Gang of seven campers.  It was wide open from the beginning, and the love and respect was mutual throughout the group.  Setting new rules that would cut people out seemed inappropriate.  We acknowledged that our play sometimes went outside the Gang, but for the most part (give or take Felix) was within the Gang.  It was never casual.  All four of us agreed that any kind of relationship which was kept secret from the partner was totally unacceptable–the foundation for any relationship had to be trust and agreed boundaries.

 

Then I raised an interesting question for David and Mike: “Just what is out of bounds for you two?  Mike, can I hug David?”

 

“Of course.” I did.

 

“May I kiss him.  I would have loved to back those years ago and never had the nerve.”

 

“Yes.”

 

“I notice a slightly toned down affirmative there.  I would guess I was creeping close to your line.”

 

“I think maybe.  I think tongue would begin to cross the line.”

 

I kissed David lightly on the cheek.  “David, I’m sorry that I didn’t do that years ago, and that you didn’t do it either.  But I respect that we now live in a new world.  And I wouldn’t want anything to have happened that would have kept me from Tim and you from Mike.  So I guess things worked out for the best.”

 

Tim said, “Me too.  But let’s push the questions a little differently.  David, would I be pushing if I invited you into the locker room to watch me change?  Or shower?”

 

“Probably not, but you are pushing.”

 

I said, “Tim’s the kid who likes to push.”

 

“Would it bother you if I jacked off in front of you?”

 

Mike said, “Yes.”

 

Tim replied, “OK, I know where the line is.  Please understand that this was all theory.  Charlie and I are happy, and wouldn’t attempt to thrust sex into a situation where it wasn’t wanted.  I was just exploring your limits.  You know, Charlie had incredible limits up till I turned 18.  He’d look at me, lay in bed naked with me, massage my body, play with my belly button, but his hand never went lower until 1 minute after midnight on my 18th birthday.  Of course, he only got a couple of chances to do that, because we didn’t see each other after our summer at camp except one weekend and the two days before my birthday.  But Charlie’s line was rigid. And he enforced the same line with all the other kids in the gang–even the ones older than me–until he had crossed the line with me on that magic birthday.  And, boy, did we erase the line plenty fast.”

 

David asked, “So what’s your line now?”

 

“Tim and I don’t fuck other boys or let them fuck us.  There aren’t really any other physical limits.  Of course, everything we do our partner knows about, and usually witnesses or takes part in.”

 

“Girls?” asked Mike.

 

“You bet,” said Tim.  “We’re both gay, but certainly are a little bit straight.  I’m convinced that’s true of just about everybody, just most people seem to tilt more toward being straight.  But everyone in the Gang admits to being partly gay and partly straight.  Even some of the parents do.”

 

“You have conversations like that with your parents?”

 

“Sure.”

 

“There are some big differences between you and us.”

 

I spoke up, “Tim speaks for himself and most of the other members of the Gang.  Not, however, for me.  I cannot have conversations like that with my parents.”

 

David said, “I know your parents and that doesn’t surprise me at all.  In fact, I’m surprised they’re as accepting of Tim as they seem to be.”

 

“Everybody loves Tim.  What can I say?”

 

Our chance for private conversation ended and we parted reluctantly.  They did join us for the New Year’s party, but there was little time to talk.  Tim’s final line was, “If you ever change the rules, let us know!”

 

Wayne and Irma’s New Year’s Eve party was a hoot.  For over a year they had been name dropping amongst their friends, “His brother, Charlie,” “Charlie’s friend, TIM, you know, the diver,” “Hal the marathoner.”  But we hadn’t been mentioned in the discussions leading up to their big New Year’s bash.  We were just there.  We were determined to give Wayne and Irma a big thrill, so we asked Hal to join us.  He flew in on New Year’s Eve, just in time for the party.  Wayne and Irma had no idea he was coming, and were as surprised as the rest of the guests to have the famous marathoner and Olympic hopeful at the party.  Bill’s picture of the three of us in the motel lobby in Elgin had been pretty widely distributed, and the party guests quickly figured out that all three of us were present.  Wayne moved around with Tim or Hal at his elbow and casually would say, “Oh, have you met Tim?  He’s my brother Charlie’s partner,” or similar comments about Hal.  I’m not sure which had the greater shock value, Tim or the partner business, said, oh so casually.  Tim and Hal both knew how to work a crowd.  They were prevailed upon for autographs.  One man came up and asked for an autograph and suddenly realized he didn’t have any paper for Tim to sign on.  Tim didn’t bat an eyelash, but simply pulled the man’s hand toward him and signed on his shirt cuff.  Wayne swears it’s now framed!  At midnight they all got what they were waiting for as I kissed Tim as passionately as I could among strangers.  We got a huge round of applause.  Then Tim and I headed for a couch and “made out” as they used to say in the sixties.  That pushed some limits: being introduced as partners was one thing, a midnight kiss was another, laying in a big chair all cuddled up together, kissing and hugging, was further than some were ready to go.  But that just got laughs from others.

 

Wayne and Irma were delighted.  “We’re on the social map among our friends now!  Nobody’s going to top this party in a long time,” Irma said.  Wayne agreed. Then he winked and said, “I think it’s a good thing we didn’t invite Anita.”

 

I laughed as I said, “It would have blown her mind.”

Two weeks later we were back in Indianapolis with all the gang for my father’s funeral.  He had died quietly in his sleep after a easy day at home.  His only complaint that day had been that he was tired.  He had gone to bed early and Mom found him when she came to bed about two hours later.  He would have been 72 in the next month.

 

Nothing we could say could prevent the Gang from coming to be with us–fifteen strong–Tina and Merle flew in from New York–it would be the last time they were able to join the Gang for quite a while.  Tim’s parents were there, of course, but we convinced the other parents that Tim and I had enough support from our own generation.  It was a simple service at the funeral home.  Mom and I discussed whether or not to have it at their church.  To my surprise she told me that she and Dad had discussed this as well.  They knew that Tim and I, as well as Franklin and Phil would be there, and would feel unwelcome in a place that considered our love to be sinful.  Dad had said, “Please use the funeral home.  The boys won’t feel unwelcome there.  And they’re welcome; they have brought such joy to us that I can’t imagine reaching this stage of my life and not having had that joy.”

 

It was the first time that Gill and Anita had met the Gang.  They couldn’t help but feel the vibrant life which the group exuded.  Perhaps Anita could be won over yet.  Wayne and Irma had met the Gang at our commitment ceremony, and were glad to get to see them again.  My mother was divided over the sadness of losing Dad and the happiness of seeing all of her boys and their partners getting along together.  Her biggest regret was that Dad hadn’t had the joy of seeing it as well.

 

The Gang was great.  All of our previous gatherings had been times of joy rather than sorrow.  Everyone seemed to understand that this was different, not that we all had to stand around and cry or feel sorry for Mom and me, but that the joy of being together had to be tempered with the sadness of loss.  All the Gang had met my dad, at our commitment ceremony and later on the trip to Boston.  They knew that he had learned–amazingly quickly–to accept Tim and my relationship to Tim.  Phil especially, whose parents couldn’t come to terms with who he was, appreciated Dad.  He asked if he could speak at Dad’s funeral, and Mom was delighted to let him.  He spoke briefly, saying a spoken thank you on behalf of Tim and me for his love and acceptance.  Phil was a trained speaker and experienced debater, but I think that it was the hardest speech he had ever given.  He just barely held back the tears until he returned to his seat–obviously thinking of how he wished that the same could be said of his father.  Franklin held his hand for the rest of the service.

Saying goodbye to Mom was difficult, but Wayne and Gill lived in Indianapolis and she would be fine.  Tim and I had to return to North Dakota  and a myriad of obligations there.

 

Thursdays had become “gay night” at our house.  We had quietly invited gays students that we knew well enough to trust.  Only about half were out, so it was important that “gay night” also be safe night.  Gay night went on for three years, and we never had an unpleasant incident or outing.  Not only was it a safe haven, it was for many the only place where they could be themselves.  Over the three years a lot of students found at gay night the support that they needed to come out to their friends.

 

I remember one young man–a freshman–who came by that winter.  I noticed him walk by the house around 7:15, but it was nearly 8:00 before he rang the doorbell.  “Is this Tim’s house?” he asked.

 

“Yes, come on in.  Did Tim invite you?

 

“Yes.”

 

“What’s your name?”  I hated to be so direct, but I didn’t know him, and we didn’t allow strangers.

 

“John Filson.” 

 

Tim had told me that he had invited John, so I welcomed with, “Come on in, John, there are soda and coffee in the dining room, and most people are gathered in the living room.”

 

“Is everyone here gay?”  That appears in print so firm and strong, but I could hardly hear as John spoke the words, ever so hesitantly.

 

“I think everyone is.  And none of them bite.”

 

I think it was the third Thursday night before John got up enough nerve to really have a conversation with anyone.  But the fourth night he arrived with a man named Jamie, who had been there the previous week.  They hadn’t spoken the week before, but had run into each other on campus during the week.  They’d had coffee together and found they enjoyed talking.  It wasn’t long before both dams broke and they were pouring out their life stories–both stories of loneliness and isolation.  They became fast friends, and began to relate to others on gay night.  We rate them as two of our real successes.  They remained friends throughout college, but evidently not lovers–though they may have had a “fling” or two.  They went their separate ways after graduation, but kept in touch with us and with each other.  They both found partners, and each was the other’s “best man” at a commitment ceremony a few years after college. 

 

Not all attendees at gay nights became successes.  One young man was clearly troubled by his sexuality, and though a number of us tried to help him come to terms with himself, he couldn’t.  He left the university mid-semester and we learned later that he took his own life not long afterwards.  Other partnerships that started didn’t make it, despite high hopes.  We had to remember that gay partnerships had tough going.  If only about half of straight marriages made it, we had no right to expect a higher success rate for gays.  But you always have high hopes for each couple.

 

Tim was incredibly popular with the diving team.  They had easily come to terms with the fact that he was gay.  This year, Tim’s second year, a couple of freshmen on the team were uneasy about undressing around a gay man, or showering with him.  It didn’t bother Tim, and he would have been happy just not being in the shower when they were, at least until they got over their discomfort.  But the older guys on the team, those who had been around the previous year and had completely gotten over any issue of Tim’s gayness, would have none of this.  As soon as one of the seniors noticed that these two freshmen were being shy around Tim, they organized the team.  The two boys were grabbed as they came down from the pool one afternoon and were carried to Tim’s locker.  “Tim, we have a couple of shy ones here.”

 

“So?” said Tim.

 

“So let’s have a look.”  Their two swimsuits were pulled off.  “Oh, they aren’t hard yet!  Don’t they know how enticing it is to a gay boy to see their hard dicks?”  Hands quickly groped the poor kids’ bodies and they were, indeed, quickly hard as rocks.  “Look them over, Tim.  See if you’re interested.”

 

Tim feigned interest and checked the kids out carefully, without touching anyone.  “Not very exciting,” said Tim.  “I wonder if they’re interested in me.”  With that he stripped and walked to the shower.  The new kids were pushed along behind and into the shower with Tim.  Tim soaped himself up, getting a lot of suds on his dick.  He faced the two boys, who by this time had gone soft.  “No I don’t think there’s much interest either way.  Sorry, boys.”

 

The boys were released and told to shower.  They had been fairly good sports about it, and realized that Tim wasn’t going to be a threat to them.   The other new kids on the team had clear warning not to make even a small deal out of Tim’s gayness, and they went out of their way not to.  The group got so casual about Tim that he was granted sort of expert status on the desirability of penises.  On the assumption that if Tim liked the looks of a penis, girls would too, there was, from time to time, spirited conversation around which penis was most attractive to Tim.  Tim handled the matter by constantly changing his mind, from day to day, about which penis was the sexiest.  He got great laughs out of the whole thing–for himself and for the group.  Except for the occasion when the two shy boys were groped to get them hard, Tim was never aware that the sex in the locker room got beyond talk; there was never any touching.

 

The gymnasts were a more prudish group.  They weren’t shy around Tim, but there was virtually no sexual conversation at all in the locker room.  That didn’t bother Tim, who didn’t need locker room chatter for sexual fulfillment.  He knew that the locker room was a potential conflict point, and had long ago decided to let the rest of the team set the mood of the locker room.  Thus the great contrast between the swimmers and gymnasts.

 

At home Tim and I worried about whether our sex life was getting into a rut.  We did vary the routine, but mostly sucked each other.  We didn’t find 69 to be particularly rewarding, so we took turns.  One evening as we lay spooned together after sex Tim said, “We need to spice up our sex life.  Any ideas?”

 

“How about the roof?”

 

“Charlie, I’m serious.”

 

“How to you know I wasn’t?”

 

“Charlie!”

 

“Sorry, kid.”

 

“Should we fuck more?”

 

“Do you want to?”

 

“Not really.”

 

“Then I don’t see any reason to do it more.”

 

“Neither do I.  But right now variety in our sex life really only comes when additional people are added–usually the gang, but also Felix.  And Felix doesn’t really want to do anything but suck.”

 

“We enjoy showering together.”

 

“Yes, but it’s a little cramped.”

 

“There’s the idea you were looking for.”

 

“What?” said Tim.

 

“A new shower.  Much bigger.  Sexier.”

 

“A sexy shower?”

 

“Damn right.  What might it look like?”

 

“Mirrors.”

 

“Yeah, I think so.  And shower heads set so we could stand facing each other or side by side.”

 

“That would take 3 or 4 heads.”

 

“I was thinking 6: 2 on the back wall, one on each side so we can face each other, and 2 on hoses so we can move them around.”

 

“How big?”

 

“8 foot square.”

 

“Wow.  Where do we get the space?”

 

“We eliminate the small bedroom behind ours and make it into a shower and master walk-in closet.  I think there’s room.”

 

“That’s not going to be cheap.”

 

“We have enough equity in this house to borrow the money.”

 

“OK, let’s plan it out and see if it works.”

 

It did.  It was glorious.  We could watch each other shower; we could hold hands in the shower; we could aim four shower heads at ourselves and enjoy the hot water; we could lay on the floor together; we could suck and be sucked with no crowding.  It did add a little zest to our sex life.  For a while.

 

We had no regrets about the shower.  But we had to realize that objects weren’t going to change our sex life.  That was only going improve based on what we brought to it within ourselves.  We came to understand that routine really wasn’t routine if we did it together.  That an orgasm in my arms was wonderful for Tim even if he had done it exactly the same everyday for a month–or for years.  An orgasm for me at the hands, or mouth, of Tim was glorious even if routine. 

 

That didn’t sell the shower short.  We loved it.  I liked nothing better than to stand in the shower and watch Tim wash; watch him lather up the soap in his pubic hair and then soap his dick and balls, and then his ass.  Sometimes I would help, and sometimes I would just watch.  He liked to get down on his knees with his face about 6 inches from my genitals and watch me wash.  He’d say, “Bet you’re going to get hard.”  After that I always did.  Then he’d grab it and squeeze.  It became our routine every morning to shower together.  If we weren’t in a rush we’d let it lead to sex, otherwise we’d just shower and move on.  But it was always sexy, and always fun.

 

Felix still joined us about one night a week.  Our bedtime was fairly constant, and about one evening a week he’d show up just as we were heading to bed.  He would be naked, and simply slip in bed with us.  Felix never had any problem about sex being routine.  He liked it one way, and never seemed interested in changing.  He would suck us in turn, and then we would take turns sucking him.  Then he would sleep contentedly on the side of the bed while Tim and I spooned together beside him.  By morning he would be gone–he always had to get up for the bathroom in the middle of the night and returned to his own bathroom and bed at that time.

 

Felix often had a dirty joke to tell–some really funny, others less so–to get us started.  This would be followed by his diving for one of our dicks and not letting go until he had a late night snack in his mouth–which he steadfastly refused to share unless we firmly insisted.  He got so much fun out of the experience that we couldn’t help but enjoy ourselves. 

 

One night we decided to catch Felix in his own room.  We headed up to his apartment just after his bedtime–so that we knew he wouldn’t be heading our way.  We took some nylon rope along and before he knew what was happening we had him tied, spread eagle, on his bed–completely naked.  Tim said, “What shall we do with him?”

 

By now Felix was wide awake and we could see him mentally struggling over whether to be resisting us or relaxing and seeing what would happen.  He decided to relax, as we thought he would.  Tim opened a bag that he had brought with him and started getting out its contents: A bottle of barbeque sauce; a double edge razor and shaving cream; a can of whipped cream; a dildo; electrical tape; and a feather duster.  He showed each one to Felix and when he got to the end he said, “OK, Felix.  Take your pick, but you only get one.”

 

“What’re you going to do with those?”  He sounded only slightly worried.

 

“Not with ‘those;’ just one.  You pick.”

 

“What on earth would you do with electrical tape?”

 

“If you want to find out, you need to pick it.”

 

“The razor?”

 

“I would think that was obvious.”

 

“Wow, that sounds neat.  I’ll pick the razor.”

 

“You want us to use the shaving cream, too?  It’s likely to hurt a little without it.”

 

“Yes, please.”

 

With that Tim took the shaving cream and sprayed it on the top of Felix’ head, like he was going to shave him bald.  Felix tugged on his ropes, and clearly wasn’t happy about that course of events.

 

Tim said, “Did you think we were going to shave somewhere else?”

 

“Yes, dammit.”

 

Oh, really.  Tell you what, if you promise to be a good boy and give us both really nice sucks, we’ll shave somewhere else.”

 

“I don’t trust you.  Be specific.  Exactly where?”

 

“As much as we like below your belly button and above your knees.”

 

“Deal.”

 

Tim got a towel and wiped Felix’ head.  Then he knelt over him and stuck his dick toward Felix mouth.  “Go to work.”

 

Felix did, clearly enjoying himself.  Tim kind of rocked as Felix sucked and soon came.  Then he said, “Come on, Charlie.  Your turn later.  We have a job to do.”

 

Soon Felix was as bare through the middle as a pre-teen.  He looked kind of cute.  I said, “Let’s suck him; it looks like it would be fun.”

 

It was.  And clearly Felix enjoyed it as well.  As soon as he was untied he almost attacked me, pushed me down on the bed and vigorously sucked me until I dumped a pretty serious load in his mouth.  He swallowed it all, saying, “I’m not sharing.  You guys don’t deserve it.  With that he rubbed the area where his pubic hair had been and sort of giggled.  “Nobody will see this but you guys.  That’s kind of disappointing.  I’d like to show off.  But to whom?”

 

I said, “The Thursday night bunch might get a charge out of you.”

 

“Maybe, but I think I’ll keep my clothes on.  That’s the Thursday night rule, anyway.”

 

Tim said, “We’d make an exception.  Bet you don’t have the nerve.”

 

“You’re probably right.  But let me dream.”  With that he rolled over, saying, “Turn the light out when you go downstairs.”

 

As we headed out the door Tim said, “We’ll be back some night to figure out what to do with electrical tape.  It should be fun.”

 

Felix picked up the tape, which Tim had left near his bed, and threw it at Tim, who ducked just in time.

 

Tim grinned at Felix.  “You know, you’re going to have to wait a while to find out about the electrical tape.  It isn’t much fun without hair down there.”

 

I said, “Ouch,” and pulled Tim out of the room.  Soon we were spooning in our own bed, and giggling about the experience with Felix.  “He’s a good sport,” was the gist of my comments to Tim.

 

Tim said, “He’s also a dirty old man, which is what makes him fun.”