Author’s Note:

 

Well, here we are at Episode 50.  When I started I figured that by Episode 50 I would certainly have the boys settled into a career, with sports behind them.  But they have had a way of taking over the story and moving through the pages (well, perhaps the screens) at their own pace.  I hope you readers have had as much fun with these kids as I have!

 

Of course, I know some of the situations are outrageous.  No apologies.  You are reading stories as they pass through my dreams, and get expressed by my fingers on the keyboard.  I guess I have to assume that if you have stuck with me for fifty episodes, then you must enjoy some of the same things.  Be prepared, the episode coming up is as outrageous as they come.

 

One thing.  I’d love to here from you.  Just a line or two, and tell me what you like best, or least, about the stories.  It’s nice for an author to get a glimpse of the face of his audience–even if the face is created solely with words on the screen.  My e-mail address is on the story’s title screen.

 

Charlie–the real, live one.

 

 

Easter was over.  It was now Thursday, April 10, 1969.  Tim and I were both sound asleep.  We had gone to bed a little early with Felix, but he had tired and rolled over before anybody got anywhere.  Tim and I both followed suit, even though we might have played a little if Felix hadn’t pooped out on us.  It wasn’t like Felix at all, and we were afraid that he might be ill.

 

The phone rang, and as I answered it I noticed that Felix had returned to his own room.  He usually didn’t go back until early morning–something was really different.  So was a middle of the night phone call–all of our friends knew we went to bed early.  Who might be calling?  Probably bad news of some sort.  A female voice that I didn’t recognize at first said, “Hi, Charlie.”

 

I wasn’t sure how to respond to that, and I wasn’t in the mood to play games.  I glanced at the clock, it was 5 minutes before midnight.  My response was, “Do you know what time it is?”

 

“Sure I do.  Do you know what day it’ll be in four minutes?”

 

“Do I care?”

 

“You might not, but I know someone who does.”

 

“Who is this?”

 

“Let me talk to Tim, he’ll know who it is.  He might even guess why I’m calling.”

 

I turned to Tim, who was clearly puzzled by my side of the conversation.  I’d been hearing both sides of the conversation and was equally puzzled.  “Here, you take this.”

 

“Hello.”

 

I could only hear Tim’s side of the conversation.  “Who’s this?”

 

“Oh my God, is tomorrow his birthday?”

 

“Oh, yeah, April 11, today’s his birthday.  His eighteen birthday.  Oh, my  God.”

 

With that the door to our room opened and in walked Billy, If anything the jeans were tighter, and the top button was open.  The fishnet shirt was now so small that it left four inches exposed at his waist.  He was barefoot.  He moved toward us with the most sensuous walk I’ve ever seen.  No burlesque queen had ever teased an audience more adeptly.  As he approached the bed he swung his arms up pulling off the shirt, flinging it across the room.  Then, as he wiggled his ass he slowly unbuttoned his jeans.  They were so tight that they stayed up even when the fly was completely unbuttoned.  He was wearing no underwear, so that his very hard prick now stuck out straight at Tim.  “Please pull my jeans down, they’re getting in the way.”

 

I’m not sure what they were getting in the way of, but Tim wasted no time in pushing them down, allowing Billy to step out of them.

 

“I’m eighteen today, no longer off limits.  You two only have to answer to each other, and Sara just told you that whatever happens tonight is OK with her.”

 

I said, “That was Sara on the phone?’

 

Tim said, “Yes.  And Billy just about quoted her verbatim.”

 

Billy said, “If I was forbidden fruit for you two, don’t think it wasn’t a two-way street.  Sara and I have been plotting this evening for more than six months.  Felix was delighted to help–in fact most of the scenario was Felix’.  He wants to watch what comes next.”

 

I called out, “OK, Felix.  That must mean you’re just outside the door.  You can come in.”  He did.  He was as naked as when he’d gone to sleep in our bed a couple of hours ago.  He sat in a chair, grinning like a Cheshire cat in one of those railroad calendars.  He stared at all three of us, saying nothing.

 

Billy flopped in the middle of the bed, spread his legs, put his hands behind his head, and said, “Do your best.”

 

Tim looked at Billy and then to me and said, “Do you believe that invitation.  And from a kid that we both have agreed is one of the sexiest boys we’ve ever met?”

 

By this time I was so aroused, so hard, so anxious, that I wasn’t sure that I could control myself–at least not my genitalia.  Tim looked to be in the same state.  We both lay on our sides facing toward Billy, so that we could both kiss his dick at the same time.  As we did he came all over our faces.  He was as aroused as we were.  As soon as he came he sprang to life and dove for Tim’s dick, sucking it fiercely, and producing an instant orgasm.  Then I got the same treatment.  We all fell onto the bed in a heap.   Then we heard Felix say, “Send him over to me.  I’m as hot and hard as you two.”  Billy moved fast and soon was kneeling between Felix’ legs, sucking an orgasm out of him as efficiently as he had of us.

 

“Wow,” said Felix.  “He really is one of the sexiest boys around.  How’s he been able to be around this house as much as he has and not be seduced or raped?”

 

“It took willpower, Felix.  But we managed.”

 

The phone rang again.  Tim answered.  It was Sara.  Tim listened, hung up, and then repeated her message: We can have him tonight.  We’re invited for a birthday dinner.  But the birthday evening and night are hers.  And Billy, she says, “No rules.”  I think I know what that means.

 

“So do I,” acknowledged Billy.

 

“I don’t,” said Felix. 

 

I said, “It means that Billy’s going to get laid tonight.  Big time.”

 

“Oh, God,” said Billy.

 

Felix got up, walked to the door, and said, “I think I’ll leave you three alone.  You don’t need my help any more.  Have at it.”  And he left, closing the door quietly.

 

Billy wrapped himself around Tim and said, “Tim, I love you.  You’ve done so much for me in the short time since we met, I can never repay you.  I won’t even try.  Ever since I first walked in here in that fishnet shirt I’ve wanted this to happen.  And don’t try to kid me that you haven’t had the same ideas.  I won’t ask you to break your rule about fucking me, but fuck my mouth.  Hard.”

 

“How do you know about our fucking rule?”

 

“Felix.”

 

“You really have been talking and planning.”

 

“You bet.  It’s been fun.  Felix is fun.  He and Sara and I have talked at length several times working out the plans for tonight.”

 

“Right down to his getting us to go to bed unsatisfied.”

 

“He was sure he could pull that off.”

 

By this time I was laughing so hard I could hardly control myself.  “Fuck him, Tim.  Hard.  Shove your dick so far down his throat it comes out his ass.  He deserves it.”

 

He got it.  He gagged a little, but was a good sport and took it all.  And he loved it.  When Tim was done he said, “You too, Charlie.”

 

Tim pushed me on top of Billy, and he took all of me, about 3/4 inch more than Tim.  Tim said, “I think we need to feed Franklin to him.”

 

I giggled at that.

 

Billy said, “Bring him on.”

 

Tim started to respond, and then realized that Billy knew exactly who we were talking about and just how big he was.  Oh, well.  That had to wait for another day, Franklin was back in Kansas.

 

At that moment we heard a howl of laughter in the hall outside of our door, and a “Well, Felix, you owe me $10.”  With that the door burst open once again and in trooped Franklin, Phil, and Felix.  Franklin couldn’t contain himself.  “I bet Felix that Tim or Charlie would mention my name before Billy had to.  I was sure that as soon as dick size got discussed one of you’d mention me, and I was right.  Pay me Felix.”

 

Felix said, “Just exactly which pocket do you expect me to pull a ten dollar bill out of?”  All three of them were naked as jaybirds.

 

Tim finally regained some sense of the situation and asked, “Franklin, what in the Hell are you doing here?”

 

“I’m here to celebrate Billy’s eighteenth birthday.  I got a personalized invitation about three months ago.  I hope you don’t think all these goings on have just been random events.  Billy doesn’t work that way.  Now, Charlie, if you’re finished, it’s my turn on Billy.”

 

I was finished, Franklin pushed me aside, and I landed next to Tim.  Then he straddled Billy and drove his dick into Billy’s mouth.  I noticed that while he was looking very strong and forceful, he was taking care not to go faster than Billy was prepared to accept. How Billy was able to take all of him I don’t know.  But he did, and he seemed to enjoy it immensely.  While we all watched this feat we didn’t notice the room filling behind us.  However, as Franklin withdrew there was a cheer from the back of the room.  Jim, Andy, Hal, Tom, and Ronnie, all naked as the rest of us, were lined up, clapping and cheering.

 

Billy was across the room in a shot, and took them all, one by one, ending with Phil.  That was as impossible a feat as Franklin!

 

Billy then said, “God, I’m horny.  I hope that somebody’s able to do something about it.”  With that said, he dove for the bed, lay on his stomach, and stuck his ass up in the air.  It was clear what he wanted–the one thing that neither Tim nor I would give.  Jim stepped up; Felix produced a tube of lube; I took it and got both Billy and Jim ready; Jim mounted him and pushed inside.  As he pumped he reached around and took Billy’s dick in his hand and worked him over pretty well.  They took their time, but both came in a wild orgasm, and then flopped on the bed.

 

I said, “I think it’s time for a few explanations.”

 

Billy grinned, and told his story.  “Tim and Charlie, I knew from being with you two that you were right: there’s a little gay in everybody.  Since I met you and heard that lecture, I’ve played around with a couple of guys at my high school.  It didn’t take me long to learn that there was more straight in me than gay.  I met Sara, fell in love; you know the rest of that story.  But I was able to talk to Sara about sexuality, gayness, my relationships in high school, you two, this Gang, everything.  She’s been totally supportive.  She told you that on the phone earlier this evening.  But she also said that I needed to experience you two.  She knew you were totally in love with each other, so she didn’t feel she was taking any risk by encouraging me to plan this evening.  She helped.  We recruited Felix.  It was Felix that suggested that we get the entire Gang involved.  I knew them all from various visits in Grand Forks, from meeting them at some of our swim meets, but mostly from our two weeks in Mexico.  So I called each one and told them what I had in mind.  I learned that they were all going to be in the Twin Cities last weekend and it wasn’t difficult for them to let you think they were going home, and then get up here for tonight.  As you can see, they made it.  Partners were invited, but only Phil could make it.  Sharon and Kyle are in town, but they decided that they weren’t ready for this–they felt too new to the Gang.

 

Tim said, “Wait a minute.  Slow down.  You invited everyone here to come and have this orgy with you?”

 

“That’s about it.  They all came.”

 

Ronnie spoke up, “I wouldn’t have missed this for the world.  Seeing Billy get the best of you and Charlie, Tim, was worth the whole trip.  But we aren’t done.  Billy’s done his part, but we all want a piece of you two.  So get your tongues working, we’re all ready for a second round.  Then, since you won’t fuck anybody but each other, we’re going to watch you fuck each other.  Then Felix is going to fix us all breakfast.”

 

We had no choice, but didn’t want any.  We started with Franklin and Phil; I took Franklin and Tim took Phil.   We didn’t do as good a job at taking in their huge dicks as Billy did, but the horny bastards came quickly anyway.  We took turns on Tom, Ronnie, Hal and Andy.  We picked up Jim and carried him to the shower–our fancy shower.  Tim said, “Jim, I know where that thing of yours was just a few minutes ago, and I don’t want Billy’s shit nor Felix’ KY in my mouth.  You get a bath.  We turned on all the shower heads, with the two on the back wall aimed right at Jim’s dick, and then added the two hand shower heads to the mix.  Andy got in and soaped him up, and we sprayed him again to rinse.  A water stream, properly directed, can be very arousing, and he was hard very quickly.  Tim was soon on his knees, sucking him hard.  When he came, Tim stood up and kissed him, sharing his cum.  Andy and I broke it up with the two shower sprays!

 

I was then dried off and carried to the bed.  Tim was right behind.  Tim said, “Stick his ass up in the air.”  I was laid down, rolled over, my knees pushed up so my ass stuck out, and two people spread my cheeks while a third lubed me up.  Tim was lubed, positioned over me, and gently pushed toward me.  My God it felt good.  And it was a lot sexier with the Gang watching.  He came with a loud grunt.  We were again picked up, our positions reversed, and I found myself entering Tim with the same gentle push from behind.  It was gentle, but not a push that you could resist.  It could only have been Franklin.  Then I felt his middle finger shoving into my anus, enabling him to push and pull me at will.  Phil got his hand on Tim’s front, right over his genitals.  Phil and Franklin were in total control of the process.  They teased us by going faster and slower to their beat instead of ours.  Then they pushed us together and held us, after a while starting up again slowly.  It took me forever to come, but I eventually had one of the most spectacular orgasms of my life.  Phil saw to it that Tim had one at about the same time–his fourth.

 

We tried eleven in the king size bed, but it wasn’t very conducive to sleeping.  We quickly agreed to the original suggestion that Felix go fix breakfast.  Felix said, “OK, but no clothes.”

 

As Felix headed for the kitchen the rest of us headed for the shower.  Tim and I got our money’s worth out of the shower that one night/morning–it was now about 4:00 a.m.  We dried each other off and headed downstairs for breakfast.  There was Sara, as naked as the rest of us, sitting talking to Felix.  Breakfast was on the table and they were talking over orange juice.  She didn’t seem even slightly fazed by eleven naked men in the room.  She made no sexual advances on Billy, but she did kiss him.  Then she announced, “I get him all to myself tonight.”

 

At 5:30, with a good breakfast in him, Billy announced, “Tim and I are due at the pool in thirty minutes.  The birthday party is this evening at 6:00 at Fred’s.  See you all there.”  With that he and Tim headed upstairs, got dressed, and left for the University pool.

 

Dinner that night included the Gang, Sharon and Kyle, Billy’s parents, the swim team, a number of Billy’s other friends, his coaches, Prexy, and, of course, our gracious host Fred Milson.  I was seated next to Billy’s dad, Bill.  About halfway through the meal he leaned over and whispered to me, “I guess you and your Gang had quite a night with Billy.”

 

“How much of that story do you know?  Billy simply floored us with the whole thing.  He was in complete control of the situation–right from our being awakened in the middle of the night by Sara on the phone.”

 

“I know the whole thing.  I knew most of it while it was being planned.  The more specific details got filled in this afternoon.”

 

“And you approve?”

 

“I don’t know.  I think it was inevitable that Tim and Billy were going to have sex.  I’ve seen that coming for several years.  I believed Tim when he said he wouldn’t touch Billy before he was eighteen.  It was Tim’s strength of will that insured that date, not Billy’s.  He’d have gone for Tim that first night if he thought he could’ve gotten away with it.  He’s idolized Tim for years.  It was certainly sexual as well as athletic idolization.  Did he go too far last night?  Probably.  But it wasn’t pushing the envelope any farther that you guys have done; Franklin assured us of that.”

 

“I still can’t believe what I’m hearing.”

 

“I wouldn’t have either a while ago.  But I’ve been watching you two, and Billy.  Your relationships are wholesome, loving, never abusive, and never demanding.  It was clearly an experience that Billy wanted.  We didn’t want him doing it behind our backs, or with strangers.  So we supported him.  Some people would condemn the whole thing as evil–original sin.  I guess I think it was the right thing to do.  And tonight he’s going to lose his virginity to Sara, and she to him.  It’s time; they’re ready.  He has, well he had, a motel reservation at Holiday Inn for tonight–he really couldn’t use either his dorm or hers.  But I cancelled the reservation.  I want you all to take them both home to your house after this party, strip them down, put them on your bed, and cheer them on.  It’s the only fitting ending to this eighteenth birthday.  Then throw everybody out but you and Tim.  The four of you sleep together–Billy and Sara in the middle, protected by the two men that mean the most in their lives.”

 

I couldn’t believe it!

 

During the cake cutting and the present opening I got Tim, Franklin and Phil aside and let them know the plans for the evening.  As the last present was opened, Franklin and Phil sort of disappeared.  Billy and Sara said “Good night” to everyone and headed out the door, to be met by Franklin and Phil, who picked them up, carried them to Franklin’s car, put them in the back seat, and drove them to our house, via a circuitous route.  That allowed the rest of the Gang to say goodbye to the party and head to our house.  We were all in the bedroom as Billy and Sara were carried in by Phil and Franklin, and gently deposited on the bed.  We “helped” them get their clothes off, and then backed away, making no move to leave. 

 

Tim announced, “You cannot get off that bed as virgins.  Take your time.”

 

They did.  Everyone was quiet, but watched quite intently.  The lights stayed on.  They were pretty embarrassed, but they slowly got over it.  Soon Billy said, “I have to pee.”  He was carried to the bathroom, with Sara carried right behind.

 

“Sara, you hold it while he pees.”  I think it was the first time Sara had touched his penis, probably any penis.  It took him a while to pee, but we wouldn’t let her let go until he accomplished his mission.  Then Sara was set on the toilet and invited to pee as well.  She didn’t have any trouble, and they were both carried back to the bed.  Again, light, silence, and staring.

 

They explored each other’s bodies, especially below the waist, which had been off limits until that day.  As Sara touched his dick, Billy said, “I’m going to come soon.  If we’re going to fuck it’d better be now.  She pushed him back on the bed, found her purse on the floor and took out a condom, unwrapped it, and rolled it onto his very hard dick.  She lay back and Billy guided himself into her with his hand.  Soon he was inside her, and almost as fast had an orgasm.  He began to soften and pulled out and removed the condom.

 

Hal whispered, “Billy, Sara didn’t come.  Use your tongue.”

 

Billy did, and soon Sara had an orgasm equal to Billy’s.  With that the room cheered and clapped.  Billy wasn’t fazed.  He stood up, helped Sara up, and they both took a deep bow.  Someone said, “Encore.” 

 

Again, Billy wasn’t fazed.  He and Sara whispered briefly to each other, and then wiggled onto the bed in a 69 position.  We weren’t sure if either had a second orgasm, but they certainly had a good time.  After a while they wiggled to where they could kiss, and got ready to sleep.  Tim and I joined them, one on each side, as Bill had suggested.  The rest left, and we learned later that most of them went up to Felix’ room to continue what’d been started in the morning.

 

Sara watched Billy drift off to sleep.  The last words he heard were, “Happy Birthday.”  The last we heard were, “Thank you both.  Billy’s the most wonderful boy, well, as of today, man, I ever met.  We owe it all to the two of you.”

 

The next morning we four showered together, but that was it.  Sara headed off to a dorm breakfast and Billy and Tim headed for the pool.  Life was back to normal.

 

Normal?  What was normal for any of us?  We were in the home stretch of Tim’s college and my law school careers.  We needed to shift gears and think about next year.  Could I really be the first law graduate from the University of North Dakota to clerk for a Supreme Court Justice?  Could I get a clerkship in the DC Circuit for next year?  Tim simply assumed that that was what was going to happen and sent in his application to the University of Maryland School of Education, for a Master’s Degree in Educational Administration.  With his straight A average, Olympic medals to die for, and a recommendation from the President of the University of North Dakota which pretty much said that when he walked on water he didn’t even get the bottoms of his feet wet, there wasn’t much question of his being admitted.

 

Clerkships are considerably more selective, and, as I pointed out to Tim, I only had one Olympic medal to trade, in a minor sport.  Tim responded with, “Time to call LBJ.”

 

He was right, but I couldn’t believe that that was going to be successful.  I wasn’t even sure how to call Johnson on the telephone: where would I get his number?  Surely it was unlisted, or protected by a bevy of secretaries.  And I was right:  there didn’t seem to be a number that an outsider could call.  Tim was right on target with his next suggestion: “Send him a Telegram.  That’ll get through.  Tell him who you are and that you’d like to talk to him on the telephone.”

 

I figured that there was little to lose, so I sent the following Telegram to Lyndon Johnson, c/o the Johnson Library in Austin, Texas:

 

“When we met in the White House you told me that you owed me one!  Could we talk on the telephone?  My telephone number’s listed below.  Thank You.  Charlie of the Olympic Gold Medal and friend of Tim of the many Olympic Gold Medals.”

 

I couldn’t believe it when the next day the telephone rang and the voice fairly boomed with, “Charlie.  This is Lyndon Johnson.  What the Hell can I do for you?”

 

Almost in a dead faint, I could hardly respond, but I did get out, “Mr. President.  Thank you for calling.  And so quickly.”

 

“Boy, if you sent a Telegram you must’ve been in a hurry.  That’s why we have telephones.  What can I do for you?  Are you job hunting?  I’ll bet that’s it, isn’t it?”

 

“Yes, sir.  I’ll finish law school this year and....”

 

“Son, don’t beat around the bush.  Either you know what job you want and need my support, or you’re hoping that I know of a job for you.  Which is it?”

 

I decided to be just as blunt as he was.  “Sir, my ambition is to clerk for a Supreme Court Justice next year, and the path to that I’ve mapped out means clerking for a judge of the DC Circuit this year.”

 

“Bingo.  I was right.  OK, here’s what I know.  The only judge on the DC circuit that I can help you with is Sherman Wilcox.  I appointed him, know him well, and I think I still have a lot of influence.  And he owes me more than one.  Send me a copy of your complete CV, the works, just as you’re going to present it to Sherman.  After I look it over, I’ll call you back.  Get that off to me right away.”

 

“Yes, sir.  I’ll get it ready and send it immediately.”

 

“Good.  OK, goodbye Charlie.”  And he was gone, just like that.

 

I was so excited I had to tell Tim, but he was at the pool.  I ran over there, interrupted him while he was in the middle of diving practice, and told him the news.

 

“Fabulous, Charlie.  Now we have to put together a CV that’ll wow the world.  Let’s go.”

 

I was afraid that he was going to drag me home while still in his Speedo, but he did take the time to shower and dress before we virtually ran home.

 

“Charlie, I know you have a resume.  But we need to create a detailed CV, a cover letter to Judge Wilcox, your transcripts, all your law review articles, the Lincoln articles, letters from Prexy, Dean Fry, the University Counsel, President of the Board of Trustees, Fred, and me.  You want to include the SI stories that talked about you, and that first cover that had you on it along with me.  You need to cover your Red Cross work and your book. I guarantee you that Judge Wilcox has never had an applicant that has had his picture on the cover of a national magazine.  We put it all together in a leather binder, make a copy for Johnson, and ship it to Johnson Special Delivery.  Then we wait and see.”

 

It took my breath away just thinking of the job, but we had the whole thing done in a day and a half.  I couldn’t believe the letters I had been given.  If these people were telling the truth, they really thought I was someone special.  Tim wrote very frankly about our relationship, and went on to say that without me, he simply would never have accomplished a fraction of what he had.  That he expected me to have a similar affect on my coworkers wherever I went and wherever I worked.  They should be so lucky to have me around.  In almost those words. 

 

Johnson hadn’t had time to have the package more than an hour or two when the phone rang.  “Charlie, it’s Lyndon Johnson.  My God, you really are as good as I thought you were.  I loved your cover letter; you got brass balls to write that about yourself, but the package you sent backs it up.  Send the package to Sherman and as soon as you get any acknowledgment, let me know.  Send me another telegram.  Great show.  Goodbye, Charlie.”  And he was gone again.  No chitchat.  Strictly business.

 

About a week after I’d sent the package to Judge Wilcox I got a routine acknowledgment from his clerk.  It was a form letter, well really a form note.  I sent a telegram to Johnson, telling him what I’d received.  The next day I got a call from the clerk who’d sent the original note.  The phone call went like this:

 

“Hello.”

 

“Is this...Charlie?”

 

“It sure is.  Who’s this?”

 

“I’m Christopher Elvins, clerk to Judge Sherman Wilcox.”

 

“Hello Mr. Elvins.  You were the one that sent me the acknowledgment of my application to clerk for Judge Wilcox, am I remembering correctly?”

 

“That’s right.  Uh, Mr. .... Charlie, that doesn’t sound right.  Don’t you have a last name?”

 

“Nope, I’m just Charlie.  Call me Charlie or Mr.Charlie.  Both work.  But I prefer to forget the Mr.”

 

“Charlie, Judge Wilcox doesn’t often get telephone calls from a former President of the United States telling him that one of his clerk applicants is almost God.  I don’t know who the Hell you are, but you sure have made an impression on a few people out here.  How soon can you be in Washington for an interview with Judge Wilcox?”

 

“How soon do you want me?”

 

“How about day after tomorrow?”

 

“I’m pretty sure that I can get plane reservations to fly tomorrow.”

 

“I’ll make reservations at the Washington Hilton for you.  Call when you have your plane reservations. Plan to stay two nights.”

 

“OK, I should have everything worked out within an hour.”

 

“Charlie, I’ve read your file.  It reads more like fiction than non-fiction.  You’d better live up to your advance billing!  Know what I mean?”

 

“I understand.  I can’t be responsible for what President Johnson said, but I’ll do my best to come off well.”

 

“I’ll expect your call.”

 

“I’ll get right back to you.  Goodbye.”

 

“Goodbye.”

 

Christopher Elvins obviously didn’t think much of me.  He also resented President Johnson’s getting involved.  Clearly, the world hadn’t gone to bat for him when he went seeking a clerkship. But he had gotten it, so he clearly was a pretty sharp lawyer.  It was going to be interesting meeting him.  But I was more interested in meeting Judge Wilcox.  I was able to get good air connections for the next day–this was back in the days when fares were fares, and you didn’t have to give up your first born child–or in my case someone else’s first born child–in order to make a last minute trip.  I had one change in Minneapolis and would be traveling by non-stop jet from there to Washington.  I’d be in the old reliable DC-3 on the trip across Minnesota.

 

I called Mr. Elvins back and informed him of my 1:22 p.m. arrival the next day.  I was told to go directly to the Washington Hilton, and then call his office; he gave me the number.  He would take me to dinner, and I would meet Judge Wilcox the next morning after breakfast.  I was told to expect to be involved all day long, and perhaps into the evening.  I could feel my heart beating and the adrenaline pumping!  I couldn’t help but feel that this would be a really defining moment in my life; perhaps nothing since I met Tim would be this important.  As we talked that evening, Tim agreed.  He also refused to consider the possibility of failure.

 

As he drove me to the airport the next morning we had a chance to talk.  Tim started with, “Charlie, I have a good feeling about this trip.  You know, we are really starting our lives now.  I know you’ve done a really good job with the Red Cross, but this is the beginning of your law career.  I just know it’s going to go well.”

 

“With your enthusiasm and optimism, how can I go wrong?”

 

“I know you’re being funny, Charlie.  But look, it got me a lot of metal in Mexico.”

 

“Yeah, and it got me some too, I know.  Still, cracking the Eastern legal establishment isn’t just going to be tough, it’s almost unprecedented.  They don’t even think of UND as a law school–a farm school, maybe, but not for real professionals.”

 

“I know, Charlie.  But if we can break down prejudice against gays, you can do this.  I just know you can.”

 

“Tim, you certainly give me a lot of hope.”

 

“You’re going to need more than hope.  You’ve got that file of Wilcox’s opinions, don’t you?”

 

“Of course, I’ve read a lot of them, and I’ll finish on the plane.  I’ve no idea whether I’ll get a chance to show it off, but I will know his legal history.  And it’s good.  I’ll be very proud to be his clerk.”

 

“Good.  And don’t worry, you’ll have a chance to show off.  That’s what they’re inviting you to do.  Don’t be shy, and don’t be modest!”

 

“Don’t worry, I’ve been well trained.”

 

As we neared the airport he reached over and stroked my groin.  “That’s all you’re going to get for two days.  You’d better be good and horny when you get back.”

 

“Love you.”

 

“I love you, too, Charlie.”

 

We were at the airport drop-off, and I was out the door and heading for check-in.  We’d parted with a brief kiss inside the car, and he was gone.

 

When I got to the hotel there was a note at the desk telling me that Christopher would call for me at 6:30 for dinner.  I had about three hours to continue my study of the Wilcox opinions.  The DC Circuit is the smallest in the nation, serving only the DC District Court and the US Bankruptcy Court.  However, it has the special function of being responsible for reviewing the actions of many federal agencies–some specifically designated by law, and others simply because they are located in the District of Columbia.  Because of this, the DC Circuit is generally regarded as the senior circuit and the most influential.  Wilcox had specialized in administrative law, and wrote many of the court’s opinions as they related to federal agencies.

 

It was tough stuff, and getting a handle on it wasn’t easy.  But I felt I was up to the task–I was beginning to think like Tim.  I realized that thinking positively like that had a lot to do with being able to act like it as well.  I spent two hours with Wilcox’ opinions, took a long shower, survived a quick passing of desire to be held by Tim as I climbed naked out of the shower, got dressed, and was ready for the evening–whatever it would bring.  Who knew?

 

I met Christopher in the hotel lobby.  He was a knockout, what today we’d refer to as a hunk.  He was about two inches taller than me, well proportioned.  Jet black hair, combed back neatly, framing a perfect and unblemished face.  A very slight bulge in the middle suggested that college athletics had been abandoned in law school–something that Tim did not allow!  But Christopher didn’t have a Tim, as I learned as my visit to Washington went on.  Greetings and ogling behind us, we were off to a little Persian restaurant that he knew not too far from the hotel.  I suggested that we walk, and he agreed, perhaps a little reluctantly.  It was about eight blocks to the restaurant, and we covered the ground easily in about a quarter hour.  He ‘d made reservations, so we were seated immediately.  Christopher knew his way around the menu, and soon we were enjoying a wonderful lamb kabob that he told me had been marinated the traditional Iranian way in yogurt.  I’m not a fan of yogurt, but I’ll have to admit that it made a delightful and tender lamb dish.

 

Christopher started his conversational gambit quite directly, “How in the Hell did you ever get Lyndon Johnson to make the call that he did to Judge Wilcox?  It’s unheard of.”

 

I had known this question would come, but I had expected it to be asked by the Judge and not his clerk.  Of course, I assumed that anything that I told the clerk would be piped directly to the judge.  I had also decided that the best way to answer the question was with complete candor.  I told him the entire story, leaving out only Tim’s role in urging me to take advantage of Johnson’s offer.

 

“So how did Lyndon Johnson learn enough about you to make the kind of recommendation that he made to Sherm?”

 

“Sherm?”

 

“Yeah, and you’ll soon learn that he calls me Chrissy.  But only in private.  I’ve probably gotten too familiar with you already.  I don’t advise calling him ‘Sherm’ tomorrow.”

 

“He can call me ‘Charlie.’”

 

“He will.  I certainly can’t see him calling you ‘Mr. Charlie’.  But back to the question about Lyndon.”

 

“He had the same package about me that I sent to the judge.  I don’t know who he might’ve called to find out more.  We certainly never had enough personal contact for him to make much of a judgement.”

 

“Johnson’s known for making snap judgements about people.   You don’t want to get on his shit list–certainly you didn’t when he was a power in the Senate.  His judgements are usually right.  For whatever reason, you’re on his good guy list.  I don’t blame you for taking advantage.  Who you know in this town makes all the difference, and you certainly know the right person.  You had an impressive package–better done than any I’ve seen here.  Certainly done with a lot more care than I put into mine.  But you’re from an unknown law school in a state that’s virtually ignored.  I couldn’t guess whether you’d have gotten an interview without the Johnson telephone call.”

 

“Thanks for the honesty.  It describes the situation just about as I expected it to be.  Even if I get this job, I’m going to have to prove myself each step of the way, aren’t I?”

 

“I’m not sure.  The effect may be just the opposite. Something like, ‘Shit, he must be good for Wilcox to have picked him from North Dakota.’  Wilcox’ judgement is well respected.”

 

“I hope I get a chance to find out.”

 

“Changing the subject.  You’re gay? And way out.”

 

“Yes.  How’s that going to play in Washington?”

 

“A lot of guys are in the closet.  Very few willing to come out–though for quite a few it’s an open secret.  There’s a lot of fear.  It’s almost impossible for a gay to get a security clearance–though if you’re out it’s hard to imagine  someone trying to blackmail you–which is the reason given for refusing to grant security clearances.  The intelligence gang lacks common sense if not intelligence.”

 

“I don’t need a clearance to be a court clerk, do I?”

 

“No.  It’s been discussed but the judges are adamant that they don’t want the FBI mucking around with their staff.  They’ve brought in the FBI a couple of times looking for leakers.  In this judicial world, unlike the executive and legislative, you leak, you’re dead.  It’s very rare.”

 

“I’ll be living with my partner, Tim.”

 

“What’s he going to be doing?”

 

“Grad school.”

 

“At Georgetown?”

 

“Why do you assume Georgetown?”

 

“It’s the best. You guys seem to head for the top.”

 

“Tim wants a public university.  He’ll be at Maryland.”

 

“Party Time.”

 

“Tim’s idea of a party is diving with the team.”

 

The check had come, and Christopher insisted on paying, saying that the expense account would cover it.  Soon we were walking back.

 

Christopher said, “Charlie, you’ll do well.  There are a lot of people in a position to help you out for a little quid pro quo, if you know what I mean.  A lot of Washington careers have been made in the bedroom–for both men and women.”

 

“I don’t doubt it.  I’d guess it’s true anywhere.”

 

“Charlie, don’t be so naive.  Somewhere back there an offer went by you.”

 

“I know; I thought it best to ignore it.  Nothing happens behind Tim’s back.”

 

“You probably don’t need me to get this job, but believe me you could sew it up tonight.”

 

“Chrissy, I could be more tempted by your body than your quid pro quo.  But not tonight.  Is Sherm...?”

 

“No, happily married, two kids.  Never a hint.  He knows about me, but I’m pretty deep in the closet.  I assume that I can trust you.”

 

“Of course.”

 

We were back at the hotel; I headed for my room, legal opinions, and bed, in that order.  I was glad to learn that Tim’s influence didn’t extend this far–we wouldn’t be starting until 9:30 in the morning–at Judge Wilcox chambers in the Circuit Courthouse.  I had time to eat a nice breakfast and walk downtown.  About as unheard of as an out gay in Washington.  Both would change over the next few years.

 

Judge Wilcox was, as I knew, a huge man, with a firm grip and a warm smile.  Christopher stayed with us for most of the morning, but said very little.  He had to sit through the Johnson story again, but Wilcox was more interested in Tim stories than Lyndon Johnson.  By noon he had both Tim’s and my life history, and was as amazed by Tim, and our relationship, as almost everyone else who’d heard the story.  We walked over to the Supreme Court building for lunch, and came back for the meat of the interview.

 

Judge Wilcox had gone over the package of materials very carefully.  He pulled out one of my law school papers that I had included–one that I was particularly pleased with.  “Charlie, this is an impressive piece of work.  I taught at Harvard for about 15 years and never read student work this good.  I called your professor and asked him two questions: first, how typical of your work was this?  Second, did he have any reason to believe that it wasn’t your work?”

 

“That’d be Philip Anderson.  A good man; used to be at Georgetown.  How did he answer your questions?”

 

“He admitted that that paper was your best work, but said that all of your work was of absolutely superior quality.  As to the question of whether it was your work, he simply asked, ‘Who would he get to write for him?  Talk to him about the paper, you’ll quickly be convinced.’  He went on for a while; basically discussing whether you even get your toes wet when you walk on water.  Either you are the best con man that the University of North Dakota’s ever seen, or you are something really special.”

 

“Sir, I don’t know how special I am, but I’m not a con man.  The package you have is an honest portrayal.”

 

“Let’s talk about your paper, ‘Nineteenth Century Efforts at Tort Reform: Nothing New Under the Sun.’  I didn’t even know people were talking about tort reform in the last century.  Tell me about it.”

 

We talked about it for almost an hour.  He grilled me on every minute aspect of the paper.  He found minor flaws and pointed out one major argument that was sloppy.  He went right down to footnote form and content.  No professor ever worked on a paper like he did.  I held up well.  I easily admitted the errors, and defended his challenges on most points.  It was exhilarating to joust with a mind as brilliant as his, and he seemed to be having equal pleasure in the game.  Christopher sat silent though the whole thing, clearly impressed.

 

Then Wilcox said, “OK, turnabout’s fair play.  Are you familiar with any of my opinions?  Is there one you’d like to grill me on?”

 

“Several, sir.”

 

“You have to pick one.”

 

“Elkins v. NLRB.”

 

“A fairly obscure opinion; I’m surprised you’ve even heard of it.”

 

“It was pretty important in establishing the rights of individuals in relation to quasi-judicial bodies.”

 

“Do to me on Elkins v. NLRB just as I did to you on 19th Century Torts.”

 

I did.  I picked it apart just as he had my paper.  I started with the major arguments, the side argument that slipped in the question of standing, which was really the thing about the opinion of lasting importance, down to his selection of cases to cite.  I was able to suggest a number of state cases, including an important one in North Dakota that he’d missed.  In reality, that meant that the lawyers arguing the case had missed them.

 

After about an hour of this, Judge Wilcox said, “Enough.  I’m impressed.  If you knock me around like that on every opinion I write, my stuff will be the best of any of the Circuits.”

 

Christopher came in with, “And Judge Wilcox is already known as one of the better writers at the appeals level.”

 

“I know.  I’ve read almost all of your opinions, Judge, and I do agree that they are some of the best around.”

 

“Flattery will get you everywhere.  And it’s gotten you this job.  Chrissy, put the appointment in process, and send the “Thanks a lot, but no thanks letters to the rest of the clerk applicants.  Mr. Charlie will be clerking for Judge Sherman Wilcox of the DC Court of Appeals for the 1969-1970 term.”

 

“Can I take a minute to call Tim?”

 

“No, certainly not.  I’m going to call Tim.  It’ll be fun, and I want to get to know him.”

 

I only heard one side of the call, but you can imagine the rest,

 

“Is this Mr. Tim?”

 

“This is Judge Sherman Wilcox of the District of Columbia Circuit Court of Appeals.”

 

“Yes, he is.”

 

“He just spent the last hour ripping apart one of my best legal opinions.”

 

“Lyndon Johnson said he had brass ones.”

 

“He says that you’re going to be at the University of Maryland next year.”

 

“Of course.  Didn’t I make it plain.  He got the job.  I understand that you never doubted it; so why did you have to ask?”

 

“Good recovery.”

 

“Listen, Tim.  Charlie’s heading home tomorrow, but you two need to get out here real soon.  You need to see the town, start to know people, see your campus, find housing, all that stuff.  You and Charlie can stay with Thelma and me.”

 

“No, not now.  He’s too busy.  He’ll call you tonight.”

 

“Bye, Tim.”

 

The conversation ended with Judge Wilcox winking toward Christopher.  “Thelma will join us for dinner tonight.  Charlie, I assume that you like a good steak.”

 

“Of course, but you don’t have....”

 

“Don’t be stupid.  We’ll pick you up in front of your hotel at 7:15.  Chrissy, make a reservation at the Dakota House–that should be appropriate for Charlie, even though I don’t think there’s anything about the place that’ll remind him of either of the Dakotas.”

 

Back at the hotel I called Tim.  He was bubbling with excitement.  “See, Charlie.  I told you so.  And I really liked Judge Wilcox.  Professor Anderson called a little while ago to find out how you made out.  I didn’t even know he knew about the application.”

 

“Judge Wilcox called him about one of my papers.  Anderson said that I walked on water.”

 

“Evidently you do.  I’d better take lessons.  I told Anderson you had gotten the job.  He was delighted.  Shortly after that I got a congratulatory call from Dean Fry.  Prexy called too.  God, they love you at this school.  I’m jealous!”

 

“Be serious.”

 

“I am.  Come home soon.  I’m lonely and horny.”

 

“His current clerk, called Chrissy, is gay, but in the closet.  He offered to take me to bed.”

 

“And, being the good little boy that you are, you said, ‘No.’  Right.”

 

“Of course.”

 

“Is he cute?”

 

“Very?”

 

“As cute as Billy?”

 

“Same league.”

 

“As cute as me?”

 

“Nobody’s as cute as you.”

 

“That’s the right answer, Charlie, even if it’s a lie.”

 

“It’s not.”

 

“You sleep with Chrissy and I’ll sleep with Felix.  No need for either of us to be lonely or horny tonight.”

 

“You sure?”

 

“Do I say things I don’t mean?”

 

“No.”

 

“Then take back that question.”

 

“OK.  I take it back.  Enjoy Felix.”

 

Dinner was wonderful.  Thelma was charming.  Sherman, who now insisted that in private I should call him ‘Sherm,’ was excited.  Another of the judges on the DC Circuit was in the restaurant, and Judge Wilcox took me over and introduced me.  He then said, “He’s from the University of North Dakota.”  He might as well have said, “He’s from the University of the Moon.”  Minds around here, I would learn very well in the coming year, don’t move beyond Harvard, Princeton, Yale and Georgetown.  North Dakota?

 

Wilcox just smiled at the sort of blank reaction to my Alma Mater, and said, “He’s the smartest clerk we’ve ever had.  Wait and see.”

 

At dinner I got brave and asked a question that I simply couldn’t resist asking.  “Judge, I know that Lyndon Johnson’s call had a lot to do with my getting an interview with you.  How much impact did it have beyond that?

 

“You’re looking for a really honest answer, aren’t you, Charlie?”

 

“Yes, your honor.”

 

“Lyndon’s a very complex man.  But very straight if you’re straight with him.  If I don’t call him and thank him for the tip about you, he’ll call me and ask something like, ‘Is that kid from North Dakota as good as I thought he was?’  But nobody’s fooling anybody, his question really is, ‘Did you hire that kid, Charlie?’”

 

“What if you hadn’t?”

 

“I’d be on his hit list.  But, if I’d called him up and said, ‘Lyndon, this kid Charlie’s all talk, no substance,’ he’d have said, ‘You sure?’  If I’d said, ‘Yes’ that would probably have ended it.  However, I could’ve gotten a follow-up call to the effect that I didn’t know what I was talking about, you really were superman.  Then I’d know that I either hired you or accepted his wrath.”

 

“How would his wrath be expressed?”

 

“Very subtly.  Now that he’s out of office, and I’m in a lifetime appointment there couldn’t be anything direct.  It’d be little things like the end of Christmas presents.  But the biggest thing would be that I’d never be able to reach him on the telephone.  Cross Lyndon, and your phone calls cease to exist.  It’s almost as if he had a filter on his phone connection.”

 

“So by getting Lyndon Johnson involved I sort of put you between a rock and a hard place.”

 

“No, Charlie.  You’re clearly as good as he said you were.  And if you weren’t, he’d probably believe me.  You can deal rationally with Lyndon Johnson.  I like him.  He appointed me.”

 

A little later Christopher excused himself to go to the men’s room.  I choose that time to do the same thing.  As we stood there, each of us sort of eyeing the other’s equipment, I said, “Your car’s at the hotel, right?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Before you go, why don’t you come up to my room and we’ll visit a little.”

 

“Are you telling me what I think you are?”

 

“I think so.”