Finding Tim
A Fourth Alternate Reality

 by: Charlie

© 2005-2008

 

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Episode 40
Airport

Billy sat next to Fred for much of the way home.  Tim and I were sure that they would hit it off.  Fred was a wonderful man, and really liked being around young people.  Tim and I concluded that he had never really outgrown being a child–though he was a tough, serious businessman.  Billy was as easy to like or love as they came, and mature far beyond his years.  They were an obvious matched pair.  They realized it right away.  Billy’s parents liked Fred as well.  That one piece of the puzzle needed to get Billy to Grand Forks for the coming year was in place.  A lot more pieces had to fall into place.

 

First we had to get back to North Dakota.  It never occurred to us that might be a problem until the pilot came back to talk to Fred as we passed  over James Bay, the big bay off of Hudson Bay.  There was some kind of problem in Fargo, and we would have to divert and hold, delaying our arrival by at least two hours.  The pilot had suggested diverting to Bismarck, but had been told that no airport in North Dakota was available.  It was decided that we would divert to Winnipeg, Manitoba, and wait there until we had clearance to land in Fargo.

 

We were all a little upset by the delay.  We had hoped for a noon arrival so we could get home in time for a good sleep.  Only Tim seemed completely unperturbed by the delay.  “Why the smile, Tim?”

 

“I think it’s funny.”

 

“Funny?”

 

“Yeah.  I’ll bet they have a crowd they can’t handle.”

 

Did I say this kid had ego?  Did he really think that he was so important that his arrival in Fargo was screwing up airport operations?  “Get serious.”

 

“I am serious.  And before you talk about ego, just be aware that it is simply a good analysis of the situation.”

 

“OK, why can’t we divert to Bismarck?”

 

“That’s the key.  We can’t divert to Bismarck because the Governor of North Dakota is in Fargo, and he’ll be damned if I’m going to land in Bismarck while he’s in Fargo.  So we’re holding here.”

 

About that time we got word to proceed.  And damned if the smartass little kid wasn’t right.  The Fargo airport, and the roads leading to it had been gridlocked, as people from all over the state converged on the airport to greet the three North Dakotans.  I realized then how right Tim had been to buy a house, instead of renting a student apartment–though it hadn’t occurred to either of us at the time.  Owning a house, his official residence became Grand Forks and not Minneapolis.  He really was a North Dakotan, not some Minnesota carpet-bagger.  And North Dakotans were eager to claim him.

 

On its arrival our plane was diverted away from the terminal to a side area adjacent to the main parking area.  Steps had been set up, as well as a large platform, small bleachers, and a horde of people.  4,000 was the official estimate.  Not being trained to make official estimates, I’ll simply say that if the official estimate had been a million you couldn’t have disproved it by me. 

 

The plane pulled up, the steps rolled up, the Governor climbed the stairs, with an airline agent who opened the door, and out popped...Harry.  Tim set the order and wouldn’t negotiate.  Harry, then Billy, then Tim.  The three of them came down the stairs together, mounted the platform, the Governor at their heels.  He got the first word at the microphone, but it didn’t do him much good.  The noise of the crowd was deafening. 

 

Rarely have I seen Tim speechless.  His eyes were full of tears, he could only get out “Thank you.” 

 

Billy saved the day.  With incredible poise he came up to the mike and said, “I just had the most wonderful adventure of my life–competing with Tim in the World Diving Championship.  Harry and I,” he pulled Harry up beside him, “want to report that Tim is, in fact, the greatest diver in the world.  North Dakota can be proud.”

 

Tim recovered, took the mike, and said, “Billy and Harry were grand competitors.  North Dakota was incredibly well represented.  Thank you all for coming out this afternoon.”

 

The Governor, with some sense of humor and after giving the typical welcome and congratulations speech, noted that he was sorry that everyone was going to have to work their way out of the gridlock.  But because there was no way that cars could move, Tim would be heading to Grand Forks by helicopter.

 

Tim took the mike and said, “No way.  I don’t leave my friends here, and  our buses can work their way through the gridlock like everyone else.”  He had learned that the buses that Fred had chartered were parked where they could get near the platform.  They were called, we all got aboard, were cleared by customs agents on the buses, and headed out of the airport.  It took two hours to go the first two miles.  Tim and I, Billy, and Harry and Lida, walked along or stood beside the bus and greeted everyone, signing autographs on all kinds of paper stuck in our hands–well seldom mine or Lida’s–the big push was for Billy and Tim.  The smart ones got all five of us–that can be proved today by watching autograph sales on eBay–having Harry’s signature adds about $75 to the value.

 

I sat with my Mom on the bus, while Tim and Billy sat together.  She was completely overwhelmed.  “Charles–I try to remember to call you Charlie...”

 

“Charles is fine.  It’s my name.  But Tim likes Charlie, that’s what it’s become.  Either one’s fine with me.”

 

“Charlie, are you comfortable playing second fiddle to Tim?”

 

“My day will come.  Tim’s athletics are soon coming to an end.  But even so, yes, I’m quite comfortable.  When we’re together we’re totally equal partners.  I share in his successes.  And look at his attitude toward Billy and Harry; he shares his successes with them.  Neither one of them had the slightest dream of making this trip; and couldn’t possibly have done so without his support, coaching, and love.  They both know it.”

 

“That’s not what I mean.  Tim’s as loving and generous as they come.  But it’s still the Tim show, with Charlie along for the ride.  Even if you go to the Olympics and win a medal with your archery, you’re going to be Tim’s sidekick.  My guess is that that will be true all your life.  What’s Tim’s deep down dream for his career?”

 

“To be President of the University of North Dakota; I don’t think that’s a big secret in his close circle of friends, and the current president has talked about it.”

 

“It’s hard to imagine a position in which you wouldn’t be number two to  that.”

 

“Does that bother you, Mom?”

 

“Not if it doesn’t bother you.  And I’m not sure that there’s anything you can or could do about it if you wanted to.”

 

“Yes there is.  If I were to share such a concern with Tim, our lives would change immediately.  And Tim wouldn’t feel put upon.   We’d restructure so that we were more equals in athletics.  We would set goals to be deans at the university so we could both work for the same President.  If Tim believed that being number two was going to bother me, there would be little discussion of what we should do.  He would just do it.  But I really don’t have such feelings.  We’re a team.  If in some things he’s number one and I’m number two, fine.  We’re loving it, and each other.”

 

“Thank you, Charlie.  I’m glad I raised the subject, and I’m glad you shared with me.  You know, Charlie, you’re as unique as Tim.  I hope he knows that.”

 

“He does Mom.  Remember, it’s honestly true: he found me, pursued me, and wouldn’t let me go.  He was willing to wait for years. I’m still not sure I understand that, but it’s certainly true.”

 

“I understand it, Charlie.”

 

“Thanks, Mom.”

 

The folks in Grand Forks were a little calmer than those at Fargo.  The arrival of the buses at Fred’s store at 7:38 in the evening was greeted by a small group of about fifty well-wishers.  Another group of about a dozen was already lined up at the store door to be first in line for Fred’s “Welcome Home Harry, Billy and Tim sale.”  It looked to me like Fred was determined to sell enough merchandise–at any price–to pay for the trip.  Considering the crowds the next day he may have.

 

The parade the next day was led by the UND Marching Band, with at least two dozen other high school bands, drum and bugle corps, pom-pom squads, scout troops, you name it.  Billy marched with the Fargo North Band, Harry with the UND Band, and Tim and I were in the middle.  Tim couldn’t just march and wave, he worked his way up the sidelines shaking every extended hand.  He did decline autographs, or he would’ve had to stop the parade.

 

The parade started at Fred’s store and proceeded to the natatorium on campus.  There the speeches were better prepared, longer, and sappier than the day before at the airport.  Nobody seemed to mind.  Prexy got the last and was mercifully short.  He said, “As the President of the University I am supposed to give the official greeting of the University of North Dakota.  Well, here it is: Welcome home, Kid.”  He picked up Tim and hugged him, simultaneously proving that kids like to be hugged and audiences like short speeches.  By seven in the evening Tim was working out on parallel bars in the gym!

 

And Mom and I were home alone.  It was Mom’s first visit to Grand Forks without Dad.  Her first time in the house alone with me.  We sat in the living room and didn’t have anything to say for a long time.  Finally she asked,  “You and Tim are truly in love, aren’t you?”

 

“Completely.”

 

“It’s wonderful.”

 

“Thank you.”

 

“Are you comfortable talking about sex?”

 

“Tim and I talk to his parents about it easily.  And pretty bluntly.”

 

“I don’t think I’m ready for that.”

 

“Not a big deal.  Everybody has their own comfort level.”

 

“What do you do?”

 

“You know, I’ve had a fairly standard conversation with the parents of virtually every member of the Gang about asking questions.  It goes something like this, ‘Never ask a question if you aren’t prepared to deal with the answer–whatever it is.  And don’t make assumptions about what the answer will be.’”

 

“I guess that’s good advice.  We didn’t do well with you, Charlie.  I don’t think we ever had good conversations about sex.  Not about anything, really.  I think we were too old to be parents.”

 

“Norman and Betsy, and Hal’s parents, the parents of the whole gang, all think you did a pretty good job.  They think I’m pretty special.  They give you and Dad credit.”

 

“They told us that at your commitment.  I guess we did something right, but I know we did some things wrong.”

 

“Mom, I always knew you and Dad loved me.  In parenting that’s rule one, and rule two, and rule three.  The next rule is about number twenty-five.”

 

“Thanks, Charles.  I’m going to go back to my question.  I’ll deal with the answer.  What do you do?”

 

“I’ve answered that question like this, ‘If you can imagine it, so can Tim and I; and we probably do it.’”

 

“That’s hedging, Charlie.”

 

“Yes, it is.  I don’t know whether I’m trying to spare you or spare me.  This could be a tough conversation.”

 

“Let’s try.”

 

“OK.  I think the thing that Tim and I do the most, and like the most, is sucking each other.  I suck his penis until he ejaculates in my mouth.  Then I usually kiss him, and between us we swallow all of his semen.  There are endless variations on that, but I think that’s the most common way we have sex.  And then he does the same thing to me.  And we do it in either order.”

 

There was a long silence as that sank in.

 

“I don’t think I ever thought about swallowing his semen.  Your father and I never tried oral sex.  And I don’t think I’m sorry we didn’t.  It doesn’t sound even slightly romantic or pleasant.  But thank you for being honest.  Do you do other things?”

 

“Yes.  Do you want that much detail?”

 

“Charles, I’m not asking because I want to be a voyeur.  But I need to understand you and Tim.  I need to be able to picture the two of you.  Without that, I simply can’t relate to you–I mean relate to you as a couple.”

 

“We use our hands–often.  In as many ways as you can imagine.  It gets messy, and we enjoy the mess.  I rub his face in it, and vice versa.  We hug it between us.”

 

“Do you have–I guess the word is intercourse?”

 

“Yes, but not very often.  For many gay couples that’s the ultimate sex act.  Many don’t think they’ve had sex unless they have anal intercourse.  Tim and I don’t believe that.  It’s quite the exception for us to have intercourse.  But we do, and when we do we enjoy it.”

 

“I can’t believe this conversation.  You know, I was talking to David’s mother the other day.  We’ve found some comfort talking to each other.  She and Bill had almost as difficult a time accepting David and Mike as your father and I did accepting you and Tim.  Miriam said that she had finally screwed up the nerve to talk to David about what he and Mike actually do, and that seemed to clear the air somewhat.  She encouraged me to talk to you.   Come here and kiss me, Charles.  I really do love you.”

 

I kissed her tight, and hugged her longer and tighter.  I don’t think we were ever so close.

 

Mom warned me, “Charlie, I’m not up to having this kind of a conversation with Tim.  But thank you, and I don’t mind your telling Tim about it.”

 

The next morning when Mom came down to breakfast Tim looked at her with a big grin on his face and said, “Charlie tells me that you two finally had ‘The Talk’ last night while I was at the gym.  It’s really pretty sad that Charlie had to be 26 before he and his mom could talk about the birds and the bees, but better late than never.  Congratulations!”

 

Mom said, “You know, Tim, I know you were being funny, but it really is sad.  But you’re right, ‘Better late than never.’  And thank you for loving my son.  He’s the luckiest son alive, and I’m a pretty lucky mom.”

 

She got a kiss from Tim.  That afternoon the three of us drove to the cabin on Pike Lake, and settled in for a couple of weeks of relaxation.  Mom had gotten to Fargo for the trip by driving to Duluth and flying to Fargo.  So we drove together in our car back to the Duluth Airport, and then caravaned to the cabin.  Tim and I did the driving and Mom traded off riding with each of us.

 

Once at the cabin Mom announced one rule:  “Tim, these two weeks you have to relax.  You won’t swim for hours, you won’t make Charlie take Timmy into the woods, you won’t lift weights, you won’t set an alarm.  You will sleep late, you will have relaxed meals that I fix, you will play in the water, you will take long walks (not runs) in the woods, you will pick berries with me, you will read–a novel, you will cuddle long hours with Charlie.”

 

All Tim could say was “Yes, ma’am.”

 

Mom meant it.  Tim knew it.  He truly relaxed for the first time since I had known him; maybe the first time in his life.  At first I thought he was going to be a nervous wreck, but he settled in and enjoyed it–and me.  We took a long swim together each night–naked, of course–and at a pace that I could easily maintain, which meant slow, slow for Tim.  One lunchtime about the end of the first week Tim said, “You know, I couldn’t stand this pace for long, but this week has been good for me.  I think I’m ready to really enjoy the week coming up.  But I think that’s about my limit for doing nothing.”

 

“Tim,” said Mom, “That’s great, but you aren’t doing nothing.  Relaxing is not nothing.  It’s an essential part of everybody’s life.  Don’t think of it as nothing, and don’t avoid it.  You’re a smart kid, at least that’s what Charlie claims, don’t be dumb on this.  Build some relaxation into your life.  If only a week a year.  But the past week doesn’t count.  You were in intense training last week.  Training in learning how to relax.  This coming week is a test.  We’re going to see if you learned anything.”

 

Tim was a quick learner, and we had a wonderful week.  The only thing serious we did the whole week was sit and talk about plans for the coming year.  It would be as busy as ever.  He had to get himself to the Olympics in two sports.  He had to get me to the Olympics–Tim was convinced that without his watchful eyes on me I wouldn’t make it; he may have been right.  He had to get Billy to the Olympics, but first he had to get Billy established for the year in Grand Forks.  It looked like Stan was going to be in Grand Forks as well, and no way was that not going to involve Tim.  The faculty/staff endowment was doing well, but needed his watchful eyes just as I did.  There were two teams that thrived on his active participation.  He was determined to keep “gay night” going on Thursdays.  And to top all that off, he informed me that he wasn’t happy with his academics, he needed to find some project that would be somehow special–like my Lincoln research.  It made me tired listening to him, but I knew that he would handle the whole thing with ease, but with such a tight schedule that our dinners together would often be hurried–but not missed.  Both of us respected the dinner at home rule.

 

The bedtime routine–get there on time, straighten up the house, have time for sex, include Felix when he wished–would be respected.  And we would always go to sleep spooned together with our lover. 

 

Mom heard us discuss all of this and marveled.  She said to me, “Charlie, that doesn’t describe the Charlie I knew at all.  As I remember it, TV usually took precedence over homework.  Athletics were only a slight part of your life–though I guess you did swim quite a bit and run some.  But you seem to almost keep up with Tim.  The TV seems never to be turned on.  Your grades are spectacular.  I guess Tim gets the credit.”

 

“Not a bit, said Tim.  He changed at Rockford College, and I wasn’t around.  It was quite abrupt, and totally self-motivated.”

 

“Yeah, what did you tell me about getting grades less than A?  I seem to remember reading something like, ‘Study for me, please, please, please.’  That wasn’t external motivation, was it?”

 

“Guilty, said Tim.  God, I’m glad I pleaded like that.  Look at the result.  The most wonderful lover on earth.  Well, you were before.  But now you’re even better.”  I knew what was coming, and I was right.  He was leaping in my arms like a little boy, wrapping his arms around my neck and kissing me.”

 

Mom just laughed and kissed us both.

 

One morning we drove up north and looked up Dick.  We were pretty sure that if we got to the bakery before noon that we would find him there.  We were right.  He was delighted to see us, and introduced us to his mom, and to several customers in the store–almost all of the customers were regulars and he knew them.  They were certainly impressed that he was on a first name basis with Tim–“Oh, you’re the diver!  I’ve read about you.  And you’re Charlie.”  One women had difficulty with the last, and it was clear that she couldn’t accept the idea that Tim and I were lovers.  But she had both the decency and common sense to keep her opinions to herself–even though she was telegraphing them to both Tim and me.

 

We took Dick for lunch.  He suggested the Amasa Hotel, saying that his uncle used to own it.  Since we had met Dick he had had a birthday, and was now sixteen.  Not old enough to drink, and not old enough to have sex with us.  But old enough to drive, and he volunteered to drive his car to Amasa so that we wouldn’t have to drive all the way back after lunch.  I said, “I thought we might swim after lunch.”

 

“Are you suggesting what I think you’re suggesting?”

 

“I hope so.”

 

“You know, it’s almost an hour to Amasa.  That’s a lot of driving.”

 

“That’s OK.”

 

“Wait, we don’t have to swim in Lake Superior.  We’ll drive separate cars to Amasa, and then we can swim in one of the small lakes near there.  I know several spots.”

 

That’s what we did.  We heard some really interesting stories at lunch.  His uncle had, indeed, owned the Amasa Hotel.  And quite a bit of other land there as well.  It turns out that Dick’s uncle’s father had sold the land for Camp White Elk to Stanley.  He had originally come to the area as a lead miner, and stayed after the mines closed–early in the 20th Century.  Most of the logging was running out then as well, and he was able to buy a lot of land cheap.  The magnificent forests of the 19th Century would probably never regrow in that area–most of the forest was now managed for softwoods–mostly for paper pulp.  By the 1930's it was a new forest, heavy with popple, birch and maple, with red and jack pine in sufficient quantity to make a very pretty forest–especially with the white birch.  It was land in this condition that Stanley had purchased as a young man to establish Camp White Elk. 

 

The uncle had died in the 50's; the hotel had been sold, and Dick’s father and mother (the uncle’s sister-in-law) had continued as an independent logger and bakery operator.  That had enabled them to buy their home, and with housing taken care of, the income from the bakery was adequate for the family–even after Dick’s father had died.

 

In telling his story Dick seemed much more mature and sure of himself than he had seemed when caught spying by the lake.  He did apologize for that, and admitted that his threats had been pretty silly.  He still had never been able to talk about his sexuality with anyone but us.

 

After lunch he took us to a nearby woods where an old railroad grade wound through the forest and down to a small, otherwise inaccessible lake.  He told us that the old roads through the forests came in two kinds–the really old ones that followed old logging railroads, and newer ones that had been bulldozed through for logging trucks.  Both were likely to have become overgrown and sometimes hard to find.  You could tell them apart both by their age–which was sometimes evident–but more confidently by the fact that the truck roads took sharper turns and went up steeper grades.  Knowing the difference was important: A car could safely traverse the old railroad grades as long as it could get through whatever underbrush had grown up.  You could be confident that if the grade had once been able to support a steam locomotive, it would support your car.  The old truck roads, however, were simply bulldozed through.  They were used for a shorter time, by trucks that could pull through soft earth, steep grades, and even marshy ground.  And trucks could be much more easily pulled out if stuck, whereas if locomotives sunk in they would bury one of the tracks, maybe tip over, and were very difficult to get moving again.

 

I told Dick that was a very fascinating explanation.  I had been driving the back roads in the area since I was his age, and riding them years before, and had never understood that.  But as I thought about it, it seemed to match my own experience–which had included being stuck a few times and having to be pulled out.  I later went back to check, and, indeed, Dick was right.  All of my sites of being stuck were on roads that matched his description of truck roads rather than railroads!  You learn something new everyday.  And one of the things we learned was that Dick was pretty smart in the ways of Michigan’s UP–Upper Peninsula.

 

He led us to a lake, so small that he said that it was officially unnamed, but everybody that knew of it called in Hidden Lake.  That sounded like a good place to go skinny dipping and we asked Dick if that was what he had in mind.

 

“Is that OK?  Or would that be pushing too far.”

 

Tim said, “You can look, Dick, but you can’t touch.  And the same rules apply to us.  And, yes, we will look.”  With that Tim did one of his sexier jobs of stripping, and then headed to the water.

 

Both of us followed, but as Dick got to the edge of the water Tim shouted, “Stop, right there.  We both want to look.”

 

Tim came out of the water, walked up to Dick, bent over and stared at his “equipment,” which was expanding at a rapid rate.  Tim said, “Look, here, Charlie.  He’s been circumcised.  He has light brown pubes.  Looks to be about 4 ½ inches hard.  Very manly balls.  Somebody’s going to be glad to get this one!”

 

I said, “Someday, but not today.”

 

Tim said, “Too bad,” and dove back into the water. 

 

I stared at Dick a little and then headed for the water.  Dick was the last in.  We swam about a half hour and then Dick headed out.  He stood on the shore and said, “I want to look you over as you come out.”

 

I was first, and he gave me a lot more than a once-over.  He got down  on his knees with his face within a half inch of my dick.  I thought he might lick it, and I’m sure that he wanted to.  But he resisted, and moved on to Tim, who wiggled very suggestively for him.  But he didn’t let Dick get as close as I did, and put on his Jockey’s before Dick could try anything–though I don’t think he would have.

 

“Thanks, guys,” said Dick.  “I know we were pushing pretty far.  But all we did was go skinny dipping.  Nothing else happened, or would’ve happened.  However, in two years I’ll be 18.  Come and visit!”

 

“We’ll think about it,” said Tim. “Keep in touch.”

 

After we were dressed and were ready to get in our cars, Tim walked Dick to his car, saying, “Dick, you’re a nice kid.  I hope you find a good friend or lover you can share with.  They’re out there.”  Then he kissed him on the lips, and said, “Goodbye, Dick, we’ll see you next summer.”

 

And shortly after that our relaxing week at the cabin ended.  We said goodbye to Mom and headed for North Dakota.

 

Back in Grand Forks Billy was our first problem.  He went with his father, whose legal background was helpful, to talk to his school.  They started with the swim coach and Director of Athletics at Fargo North.  Billy put it right on the line: I need to be in Grand Forks with Tim to get to the Olympics–and that’s my goal for the year.  But I’d like to dive for Fargo North if we can work that out.  I don’t want to feel like I’m leaving the team which supported me so much the last two years.”

 

Billy’s father took over.  “We would like Billy to remain a registered student here, and take course work at UND under their College in Advance program.  That’s all legal, but it’s unprecedented for a student to take ALL of his classes in the Advance program.  We need your help getting the school’s approval, and we need to make sure that he’ll retain his athletic eligibility at Fargo North.”

 

His coach was really startled.  “He isn’t going to be here this year?”

 

Billy immediately spoke up, “I want to be at every practice that I can.  I think that would be two to four times per week.  Probably rarely more than three.  I’ll make most or all of the meets.”

 

His coach spoke, “You’re the state champion, we’d hate to loose you.  But you’re really pushing the line here; I don’t know whether we can pull it off.”

 

The Athletic Director was less sympathetic.  “It seems to me that you want your cake and eat it too.  You want to be a high school diving champion and a big college boy going to the Olympics as well.”

 

His father was a little upset by this, and spoke out.  “Billy was incredibly excited about being able to dive with Tim this year on a regular basis.  What kid wouldn’t be?  He could easily switch to the Grand Forks High School.  But he doesn’t want to be competing against his old teammates.  The only reason he’s talking about staying a student here is loyalty to friends, team, and school.  Life would be much easier for him if he just moved to Grand Forks and said ‘To Hell with Fargo.’  And his mother and I are willing for him to do that.”

 

It had been said kind of roughly and it took the two coaches aback.  “Sorry, I guess you’re right.  Billy, thank you for being loyal.  Let’s see if we can work this out.”

 

To make a long story short–it  isn’t a particularly interesting story–it took a ruling from the highest body in North Dakota high school athletics to rule that Billy would remain eligible as long as he was registered, hadn’t accumulated credits sufficient to graduate before the second semester started, took courses that would transfer to his high school as a full load, and took no course work at another high school.  He easily qualified.  Fred became his host–and legal guardian for educational purposes (that took a court order), Tim his mentor, Stan his closest friend, me his father confessor, and his parents only memories.  Actually, that isn’t true.  He had a car to go back and forth to Fargo–he wasn’t allowed to drive it for anything else without special permission from Fred, which was really hard to get–but one or the other of them, or both, was at most Fargo North practices and every meet.  He spent one night at home each weekend, sometimes two when there was a Saturday meet in Fargo.  He was as busy as Tim, and taking almost a full college load at UND.  Getting him admitted to the College in Advance program was easy, after a phone call from Prexy solved the problem expressed by the director as “A full load! You’ve got to be kidding.”

Tim’s problem was that he needed gymnastics practice more than he needed diving practice.  But diving with Stan and Tim was so much fun that he tended to shirk on his gymnastics.  One night at dinner he said to me, “Charlie, you’re going to have to step into my life.  Hold my feet to the fire on my gymnastics.”

 

I did, and it was fun having permission to boss him around a little.  But he was right, if I hadn’t stepped in when asked, his Olympic berth might’ve been jeopardized.  And he pushed me on my shooting–very hard.  He decided that I needed him beside me at practice several times a week.  Where he found the time to give me a half hour or hour I don’t know, but he did.  He seldom said anything–he made no claim to knowing much about archery, and followed his gymnastics coach, Frank’s, advice–don’t talk if you don’t know what you’re talking about.  But there was no doubt that his presence was important.  I set a lot of personal bests that year, and I think every one was with Tim present.  I broke 1300, then 1325, then on an incredible day I hit 1402–out of 1440.  The Olympics required a double round, so to really measure my success I had to talk about how well I did on two successive rounds.  My personal best came close to 2600, but never reached it.  I hit my best ever in my life at 2592, and the 1402 on a single round was my all time best.  I entered several tournaments during the year, none national in scope, and won them all.  I was confident that I’d make the Olympic team.  Tim’s only comment was, “Never take success for granted.  Practice, practice, practice.”  It was the code he lived by.  I tried, but I could never measure up to his standard.  But he never criticized me for that, or even hinted that he was aware of it.  But he had to have been.

 

What a joy it was to have Billy and Stan around.  Billy delighted in being his sexy, teasing self.  At first Stan was completely taken aback by Billy’s behavior.  Stan was the most completely straight man we had ever met.  Billy couldn’t get him excited or even interested.  But could he tease Tim and me?  When he came to our house he would immediately complain that it was too hot and strip off his shirt–we kept the house at 62; draw your own conclusions.  He’d wiggle his hips at us, rub his nipples to get them hard, and let his pants tent at odd moments.  He knew exactly what he was doing, and we knew he knew.  We both enjoyed watching him.  At least once Tim dragged me out of the room, took me upstairs, and said, “Charlie, suck me quick, I can’t stand that kid.”  I did, but only after he agreed to take care of me. 

 

When we came back Billy was reading, and looked up and asked, “Have fun?” 

 

Why did we put up with this?  It was fun.  Billy pushed the line, just like Tim did.  But there was never a suggestion that he might cross it, or that he wanted us to cross it, or would let us.  He was comfortable doing it in front of his father, so it wasn’t a dark secret.

 

Fred watched all this with great amusement.  One evening at dinner at his house–Billy kept his shirt on there even though the temperature was closer to 70–Fred asked, “Why do you let Billy get away with everything he gets away with?  He’s the worst tease I’ve ever seen.”

 

“What should we do to stop him?”

 

“I don’t know, why don’t you take him up on one of his obvious offers?”

 

“He’s too young,” Tim said.

 

“Is that the only reason?”

 

“He’s straight,” I said.

 

Fred laughed.  “Yeah, right.  That’s why he carries on like he does.”

 

I said, “We could find him a partner his own age and see what happens.”

 

Billy looked a little anxious at that one, but he didn’t say anything.

 

Fred said, “I’ve got a young high school student at the store that I think is gay. Maybe I’ll invite him to dinner.”

 

I asked Billy, “Would you perform for Fred’s guest like you perform for us?”

 

Billy looked all innocent.  “Perform?  Me?  I wouldn’t do that.  I don’t know what you guys are talking about.”

 

Tim said, “OK, here’s the deal.  We’re going to give you the same treatment Charlie gave me–no sex until you’re 18.  But if you keep this up, on your eighteenth birthday the two of us are going to grab you, strip you, shave you, and jack you off, while the whole swim team watches.”

 

Billy won the day with, “Is that a promise?”

 

It came to an end in February when he found a girlfriend.  Her name was Sara, and she was a freshman at the university; they had an English class together.  She was two years older than Billy, but they started dating, and it wasn’t long before they were, in the words of the day, “going steady.”  Billy wasn’t as boldly sexual with Sara around, and we missed his teasing.  However, we were happy for him, and he and Sara seemed to fit together well.

 

One day Billy asked if he and Sara could come to our house for dinner–just the four of us. They had something they wanted to talk about.  Tim decided that this should be special so he asked Felix to cook a leg of lamb–lamb or steak was always Tim’s choice for a special dinner.  That way we both could be present for the entire meal, and before and after, without interruption.

 

Sara, bless her, opened the conversation.  “Tim, Charlie, Billy and I want to talk about sex.  We’re both able to talk to our parents, but you’re closer to our generation, and we think you can be helpful.”

 

“Whoa,” said Tim. “ We aren’t going to give you some kind of permission to do things your parents won’t give you permission for.”

 

“Damn,” said Billy.  But he had a smile on his face.

 

I said, “Why don’t we let the two of them talk a little?”

 

Billy said, “OK, here it is from the beginning.  We’ve heard your advice that if you can’t talk about it you shouldn’t be doing it.  You’ve told me, and I’ve told Sara, the fuck, dick, and cunt story.  We don’t generally use those words, but they don’t bother us.  Sara knows I’m a sexy animal, that I get horny, and that I usually masturbate after a date with her.  She is just the same, and dreams of my masturbating as she puts herself to sleep doing the same thing.  But we’ve been prudes in the matter of physical contact.  I’ve been all over her breasts, but we’ve agreed ‘not below the waist.’”

 

Sara said, “Tim and Charlie, you almost look embarrassed.”

 

I said, “Well, you’re more open than any teenagers I’ve ever talked with.  I don’t think the Gang was that open with each other as teenagers.  Why do you need us?”

 

“Are we being stupid to limit ourselves?”  That was Sara.

 

Billy’s version was, “I think we’re looking for permission not to have sex.  Considering the behavior of all of our friends–that is if you assume that everything they say is true–we are abnormal.”

 

“My God, in my wildest dreams, Billy, you’re the last kid that I would’ve expected to have this conversation with.  I’ve never seen a sexier kid.  You toss your sexuality around like a football. Tim and I are well aware of your wiles.  But you’re telling me that you don’t even want to feel up Sara’s dress.”

 

“Oh, I want to.  But wanting isn’t the issue.  I don’t mind teasing you–you clearly like it.  But I don’t want you in my pants–not because you’re older, not because you’re a man, but I don’t want anyone in my pants yet.  Including Sara.  I don’t think I’m ready.”

 

I said, “Billy, there’s no such thing as ‘normal’ when it comes to sex.  People try to define heterosexuality as normal.  Others say only intercourse is normal.  Others say only sex in marriage is normal.  Others think having sex with anyone available is normal.  They’re all wrong.  Forget the word normal, it’s a sociologist’s term.  What’s right for you is right for you.  You decide.  You bring your physical make-up; your sexual orientation–if you can figure it out; your desires; your moral and religious training; and all of the same things from your partner.  Then you decide what’s right for you.  Talk to your parents.  Talk to your friends–if they’re able to have conversations like this–most of them won’t be able to.  Talk to Charlie and me, to Fred, whomever you think might help.  Then you need to decide what’s right for you individually.  Then you and Sara need to decide what’s right for you two together.  And what other people think–including your parents–really doesn’t make any difference.”

 

Tim said, “If you’re asking if Charlie and I stuck to a rule like that, the answer is, ‘No,” but we did with respect to each other until I was eighteen, because of our age difference.  But both of us had sexual relationships with others when we were your age, and we aren’t sorry.  But that was what was right for us.”

 

Sara said, “I think that’s where we are.  But it’s very helpful to have that kind of affirmation.  Among our contemporaries, not having sex is laughed at.”

 

“In this house it is admired.  Not because we think it’s either right or wrong, but because it takes an inner strength, and that’s a matter of extreme admiration,” said Tim.  “It’s that same inner strength that took Billy to Rome last summer and is going to take him to Mexico City next summer.”

 

They both came over to Tim and kissed him on his cheeks.  I was next.  “Thanks.  We really mean it.”

 

With that they both stripped to the waist, grinning from ear to ear.  They began to strut around the dining room like they were on a burlesque stage.  Sara said, “I can be a tease as well.”   It had obviously been well rehearsed.

 

Tim said, “I get it.  Only below the waist is off limits for you two.  This is OK.  Good God!”

 

Billy kissed her on both nipples and they started to put on their clothes again.

 

I said, “Billy, come here.  Don’t put your shirt on yet.  I’m glad to know your rules.”  He strutted over and I kissed him on both of his nipples, tickling him with my tongue.

 

Billy said, “Maybe there is a little gay in me.”

 

Sara said, “I hope so; it would make you much more interesting.  She kissed his nipples as well.”

 

And then it was over.  They never felt the need to talk to us about sex again that year.  No more strutting, teasing, and as far as we knew they stuck to their rules.

 

Life continued in its usual busy way.  I was in my second year of law school and fairly busy but it wasn’t any harder than the previous year.  I worked on the Law Review and had several items published–certainly more than expected from a second year student.  The Lincoln research was completed and all of the reports published.  I was invited to speak about the research in several forums, one of which was the noon lecture series at the National Archives.  They didn’t have funds to pay my way to Washington, but Tim wanted to look at universities in the Washington area, so we combined the trip.  When I asked Tim why he was interested in Washington area universities, he simply said, “What do you think I’m going to do while you clerk for one of the Supremes?”  He was a Hell of a lot more confident than I was!

 

Tim continued with his fundraising activities, which sustained the spectacular level of success that had been started in previous years.  This was the off year for the North Dakota legislature, so there were no significant lobbying efforts–though he did make visits to some districts.  He had to avoid doing that for partisan affairs, even though his intentions were, in fact, totally partisan.  He and Fred did get an office started in Bismarck, and hired a director–really a lobbyist.  One evening when Tim was off on one of his non-partisan visits, Fred, Billy and I were having dinner.  I always knew Billy was mature beyond his years, and I felt this was confirmed when he asked, “When is Tim going to slip and fall?”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“Nobody can go through life from to success to success to success without some screwing up, or at least some bad luck.  When’s he due?”

 

Fred said, “Years ago.  I fear it may be like an earthquake fault–pressure slowly builds up until all at once there’s a catastrophic slip.  I hope Tim isn’t due.”

 

I said, “Since I met him virtually nothing has gone wrong in his life.  He would tell you that my making him wait more than three years for me was a huge trial, but I don’t really see it that way.”

Billy said, “You know, Charlie, our lives have been just as charmed.  We’ve been set up for the same fall.”

Fred said, “I just hope that the big fall isn’t in Mexico City.  I think that might really damage Tim.  You just have no idea, Charlie, how much he has invested in you and him walking together, hand in hand, in the opening ceremony of the Olympic Games.  I don’t think he cares much about medals–though he’s sure to win them.  But he has been living with the dream of the opening ceremony for as long as he has known you–or at least since he got the letter from you that you were going to take up archery.”

 

“Saying that I was going to take up archery and qualifying for an Olympic sport that at that time wasn’t yet an Olympic sport are two very different things.”

 

Fred said, “Not to Tim.  He told me that Hal announced that archery would be an Olympic sport at your commitment ceremony.  He told me that that was the most important part of the weekend.  I think that if you were to be sick and miss the opening ceremony it might kill Tim.  At least I don’t think he’d win a single medal.”

 

Billy said, “I’ve heard him talk about that ceremony as if it was completely set in his mind.  When he sees a camera on you he raises your two hands above his head and grins at the camera.  It’s completely real to him already.”

 

“I know.  It worries me a little.  But I really think it’s going to work out.  His ambitions after that are much less certain.  But if there’s anybody anywhere that can make dreams come true, Tim’s the one.”

 

“He has certainly worked his magic for me,” said Billy.  Who could possibly have guessed what would come of my begging my parents to bring me up here to the show called Tim?”

 

Fred said, “The outcome has been fantastic, but I know for a fact that you didn’t have to beg your parents; they aren’t that kind of people.  They knew seeing Tim was important to you, and so it was important to them.  Since then I don’t know what has flabbergasted them the most–the midnight diving, the trip to Nationals, to Rome, or living in Grand Forks.  Things have really moved fast for you, haven’t they Billy?”

 

“They sure have.  A roller coaster ride.”

 

I said, “You aren’t the first that has described life with Tim by using a roller coaster metaphor.  It’s quite descriptive.”

 

Fred said, “So, Charlie, how do you like riding around in the roller coaster behind Tim?  You’re kind of Pancho to his Cisco.”

 

“I love it.  You know, my mother worried about that same thing on the way home from Rome.  It really doesn’t bother me.  I’m kind of like Stan–he knows he can’t beat Tim, he just enjoys the ride and being number two.  Thinking he was going to beat Tim just made him frustrated.  Once he accepted the fact that he wasn’t going to beat Tim, he found that Tim was a wonderful friend and mentor.”

 

Billy said, “I’ll second all of that.”

 

I said, “If Tim has any downfall it’ll be that he invests so much time in the success of his competitors that one of them actually beats him.”

 

Billy asked, “How do you think he would react if Stan or I actually got a gold to his silver in Mexico?”

 

“Tim has always said that he didn’t care about the color of the medal.  He would be glad for your success.  But it would really put him to the test.  I don’t think it’s either likely or possible, but never, never do less than your best for fear of beating Tim.”

 

I don’t think that’s something I have to worry about.”

 

Fred said, “Don’t be too sure.”

 

Christmas took us to Minneapolis, and a visit with Mom and Dad.  We had most of a week with them, and Carl and Carol moved into the house for the same time–except for two nights when they were over with Carol’s folks.  Her folks joined us for Christmas dinner.  Following dinner we opened our presents.  We had gotten Carl and Carol a wonderful down comforter for their bed.  They had gotten us four special vibrating shower heads for the fancy new shower in our house. Mom and Dad gave each couple the same gift: a beautifully written and illustrated history of the family, including genealogy, pictures, scrapbook items, and very detailed stories of the boys growing up.  They had gotten Stanley to provide pictures and stories from Camp White Elk; while Dr. Olafson and other teachers from school added stories and items.  The books were handsomely bound and were absolutely magnificent.  The effort expended in putting them together had been stupendous–I can hardly imagine it.  Both couples were overwhelmed.  Carl and Carol had nice things for the house for Mom and Dad.  We were ecstatic about our gift for Mom and Dad: First Class airline tickets to Mexico City for the summer Olympics.  And reservations in a good hotel, where Fred was putting up a whole flock of hangers on that he insisted simply “had” to be part of the group heading to Mexico.  The tickets were our gift; the hotel tab would be picked up by Fred no matter who protested or how much they protested. Then we really got a laugh from Mom and Dad.  We were shown our stockings hanging from the mantle.  Lovely knitted wool ones that we were told we should take to our own homes.  Inside each one, we were assured, was a small, appropriate gift.  Tim reached down inside his first and pulled out a KY tube.  Carl was next and found several packets of condoms: bright colors, ribbed, and one labeled “especially stimulating”.  Carol reached in to find a purple dildo.  I was afraid  to reach into mine for fear of what I would find, but I did reach in.  It held an inflatable vagina!  I turned red as a beet while everyone else laughed uproariously at my expense.  “Blow it up,” insisted Tim.  Eventually I realized that they weren’t going to let me alone until I did blow it up, so I did.  I did refuse to demonstrate; but that didn’t stop them from asking.

 

Carol brought the evening to a close with, “Gentlemen, when we’ve been together in the past, sex has been the order of the night.  Tonight it’s going to be love, not sex.  Let’s go to bed.

 

We did head for bed.  Each couple undressed in their own room, and after a visit to the bathroom we all headed for the guest room, all naked, of course.  Carol was the last to use the bathroom; when she came into the guest room she said, “Charlie, love me tonight.”

 

We crawled into bed together, and I did love her.  While our hands did roam, and we certainly kissed, we didn’t have sex.  We just held each other, kissed, and lovingly fell asleep.  Carl and Tim did the same.  They had always loved each other as brothers, but I don’t think they had ever really felt the love for each other that that night engendered.  The next two nights we paired up differently, with much the same experience.  Even on the third night, when I was paired with Tim and Carl with Carol, we found that we loved each other more deeply because of the experiences of the two nights before. 

 

The fourth night–our last together as Carl and Carol were going to her folks–well I leave it to your imagination.  None of us had had an orgasm in four days, despite some severe temptations.  We let go.  Wow, did we!

 

We had a special time planned for New Year’s.  We headed for the Quad Cities and Priscy and Jane.  I know what you’re thinking, and you’re partially right:  It would’ve been appropriate for Tina and Merle to join us, but they were settled in New York; Merle had a Christmas show and they couldn’t make it home for Christmas or New Year’s.  In fact, they were fast moving out of our lives.  I had lost my virginity with Priscy a few years before, and this was sort of an anniversary.  This history had passed through our minds as we planned the trip.  On the way there Tim asked, “Clearly you and Priscy had sex on the brain when you planned this trip. Just what do you have in mind?”

 

“You don’t have to believe this, but we haven’t talked about it at all.  We just know that it’s a special night for us and we’d like to be together once again on New Year’s Eve.”

 

“I’ll bet Priscy has something in mind.”

 

“I’ll bet you’re right.”

 

He was, and Priscy didn’t leave us guessing too long.  As soon as dinner was over, she got right to the point.  OK, guys.  Here’s the plan.  Charlie has fucked me, we aren’t going around that again.  Tonight he fucks Jane and Tim fucks me.  God, have I been waiting for this.  Tomorrow morning when you guys are charged up again, you fuck each other.  Agreed?”

 

Even though it had been several years, I was used to Priscy’s blunt talk.  Certainly Jane was. Tim wasn’t fazed.  He had his clothes off before Priscy could get her bra loose.  He said, “I’ll take care of that,” and she was soon as naked as he was.  Tim looked at us, “OK, you two, you can watch, but you have to be naked.  Do you need help?”

 

Priscy turned to Jane and said, “Jane, come help me get this gorgeous boy excited.  He’s just about the most beautiful specimen of male humanity I’ve ever seen.  They played with Tim like he was a little doll.  They made him strut around the room.  Priscy dressed him with pants and shirt, and Jane undressed him.  Priscy held his feet up and Jane played with his anus.  She lubricated him with Vasoline and felt inside for his prostate–which she eventually found.  Why he hadn’t exploded I wasn’t sure, but Priscy was experienced enough to not let him climax.  Finally she grabbed him, rolled on her back and told Jane to aim Tim in.  After a little fumbling, that operation was successful.  “Hold still, Tim, I just want to enjoy you inside me.”  Slowly she started rocking up and down on the bed.  Before long Tim couldn’t resist and he started rocking, and then pounding.  You could almost feel him explode, and then he collapsed on her breasts.  A couple of heaves and she climaxed as well.

 

Jane said, “Wow.   Are you up for that, Charlie?”

 

“I don’t think you can manhandle me the way Priscy tossed Tim around.”

 

“No, but she’ll try,” said Priscy.

 

Jane said, “You know I’m still a virgin.  Priscy and I have played around with one man since you, but no fucking.  I’m really looking forward  to this.  But I want Tim’s help.”  She and Tim went to work on me, bringing me close and then letting me slip back.  Hands, mouths.  Then my head was gently pushed toward her vagina, and I really aroused her.  Priscy arrived with a condom, and the three of them joined in putting it on.  “Fuck me now, Charlie.  Hard.”  I did.  She climaxed before I did, but kept shaking and rocking.  I banged into her and was soon spilling myself deep inside her.  Priscy and Tim piled on the bed, and we all slept.  Before long Jane and Priscy got out of bed and moved to some cushions they had put on the floor.  They decided that their standard full size bed simply wasn’t big enough for four.

 

The next morning Priscy and Jane announced that they expected a show.  I was to fuck Tim, and Tim was to fuck me.  Then they expected our tongues to do the honors on them.  They got their wishes, except that we insisted that we would take care of them before we did each other.  They accepted that, and things went on from there.  Tim fucked me facing me, and I came on him from the rear. 

 

Priscy then asked, “How soon are you guys going to be recharged.  My ass would like the same treatment, and I’ll bet Jane’s would too.  That’s one of the things we can’t do for each other.”  By mid-morning they got their wish.  Neither one of us had ever had anal sex with a girl.  We both loved new experiences!”

 

By noon we were eating–still quite naked, but nicely showered.  I asked Priscy, “OK, was that casual sex or emotional sex?  It seemed pretty casual to me, the sex was certainly the source of well over half of the enjoyment.  Hugging and kissing were minimal.”

 

Priscy replied, “That’s right for last night.  But our relationship is much  more than last night.  The reason we’ve been with only one other man since you Charlie is that we don’t fool around unless and until we have a caring relationship.  That one man was a coworker that we really grew to like.  I don’t know how far the relationship might’ve gone, but he got a job offer in Hawaii, and pretty much passed out of our lives.  We did exchange Christmas cards this year, but the note didn’t imply the closeness we once had.  You and Tim are special, and continue to be.”

 

And so passed another year.  Another wonderful, fabulous, loving, exciting,  year.  A year filled with love.

 

1968, the year of the XIX Olympiad, was upon us!

 

We got a call from Andy in very early January.  “Jim and I are lonely in Michigan.  We want to get the Gang together.  We haven’t any idea where, but how about mid-January, when most of us are on semester break?”

 

Tim and I were both on the call and he responded, “Great idea.  We haven’t been together for a while.  And I have the perfect place.”

 

“Where?”

 

“Nevis.”

 

“Where or what is that?” asked Andy.

 

“It’s an island in the Caribbean.  Carl and I and our folks spent a week there–just the four of us.  We sort of celebrated the family we had been and anticipated the larger family we were about to become.  It’s a neat island, somewhat off the beaten path, but not that remote.  There’s regular air service.  Are you talking about the Gang of eight, or fifteen?”

 

“What do you think?”

 

“Fifteen.”

 

Both Andy and I agreed with that.  We divided the list and got right to work phoning everybody.  By noon the next day we had full agreement except for Tina and Merle.  A couple of schedules got seriously wrenched, but we were all determined to get there.  I made reservations at the Manor Inn, where Tim’s family had stayed.  Amazingly the hotel manager remembered the family and was delighted to hear that they would be returning.  I said that there would be thirteen of us, and that we would need four rooms with two beds each, preferably king size, but queens would be OK.  He replied, “I have exactly what you want.  We have three cabins out from the main lodge.  They’re really quite private.  One has five rooms with two queen beds in each, and if you put two each in the big beds it sleeps twenty.  I’ll book the whole cabin for you, there’ll be plenty of room for your party.  It’ll work perfectly.”

 

We all booked our flights and the trip was on. 

To be continued...

 

Posted: 06/13/08