Finding Tim
A Fourth Alternate Reality

 by: Charlie

© 2005-2011

 

The author retains all rights. No reproductions are allowed without the author's consent. Comments are appreciated at...

 

Episode 150

Lighthouse 

 

Hi.  It’s  Shel again.  I’ve been accused of being a smart ass in this story, and I guess there’s something to that.  At least there was 15 years ago when this episode began.  I started to say that I hope that now, at age 28, I’m no longer a smart ass.  But I think I hope that I am.  Aging is not something to be thankful for!

 

Looking back I really had my nerve going to Fred and asking, really telling, him to buy a house.  He certainly knew that I wanted to live in it.  However, I want you to know that when we thought the Cavers were going to move in, Fred told me that he was really proud of me that I could accept that someone else was going to live in “my” house.  Of course, he had seen right through me all along.  And you know, and certainly Fred knows, that nobody was happier than me that some of the Cavers opted out.  Their loss, my gain.  Fred really laughed when he heard that was the outcome.  He said, “Shel, you owe me a dinner for that one.  And it’s going to be tonight at the Dakota Steak House, and I’m going to order the biggest steak they have.”

 

I had to borrow money from Brian to pay for the dinner for the four of us–of course Brian and Marty joined us–and they all ordered huge steaks.  So did I, for sure.  It was worth it.  It’s so hard to do something nice for Fred; he knew that this was a time when I had to try to say, “Thank you.” 

 

OK, I gotta tell ya’.  I told Brian as he drove us to pick up Fred and Marty, “You should spend the night with Fred and Marty.  They’re good fun; you would enjoy them; and they’d enjoy you.”

 

“It doesn’t bother you that I might have sex with those two guys?”

 

“Nope, but don’t worry, I’ll be with Auggie.”

 

“You little imp.”

 

“I like that.  You can call me that any time.   You know, Fred’s over 75.  Is that going to bother you?”

 

“If it doesn’t bother Marty, why should it bother me?  How old is Marty?”

 

“About twice your age, about 45.”

 

“Twice my age would be 48.”

 

“I said, ‘about’.”

 

“You seem pretty confident that Fred and Marty would like the idea of my spending the night with them.”

 

“In the Gang it’s acceptable to make suggestions like that.  It’s also acceptable to turn them down.  I’m betting they won’t.”

 

“Shel, I learned a long time ago not to bet with you.”

 

“When I turn 18 and we can make bets that have a real payoff, then I’ll push you for a few wagers.”

 

“I can’t wait.”

 

“But you have to wait; sorry.”

 

It was an interesting dinner.  I was full of questions, and got Fred talking about his life history, especially his time with Charlie’s mother, Mamie, and then his falling in love with Marty.  Marty came alive for that part of the story.  Boy, those two really are in love.  And, yes, they seemed delighted to take Brian to bed with them that evening.  Brian was driving, so he dropped me off at Auggie’s house and then the three of them went to Fred and Marty’s.

 

Auggie’s folks were home, and we sat around and talked with them for a while.  It’s so wonderful to be with the Gang and other COGs.  They were comfortable talking about anything, and we were the same with them.  In fact, there are very few kids at school that I would’ve had that conversation with.  Nor the next thing on the activity list.  Sid said, “Shel, come into the studio, I’d like to sketch you.  Auggie and Cathy came along.  Sid sketches like mad: about five minutes and three sheets of drawing paper later, Sid said, “Shel, take off your clothes.  I like to sketch people nude.”

 

I was used to stripping, but I was surprised when Sid did as well.  He explained that he always worked nude when he worked with a nude subject.  Cathy just watched, but I could tell that she was paying attention to me much more than Sid!  Auggie licked his lips and said, “Hurry up, Dad, I’m getting hungry.”

 

Sid countered with, “Anticipation makes the heart grow fonder.”

 

I said, “I think you sort of mixed your aphorisms there.”

 

Auggie said, “How about, anticipation makes the dick grow harder.”

 

Cathy laughed and said, “And it’s working, for both of these guys.”

 

It was.  I’m hard to embarrass, but that did me in.  I put my hand down in front of my genitalia.

 

Sid’s right hand literally flew across the sketch pad.  After a minute he put down the charcoal he was working with and turned the pad so all of us could see it.  There was my hand frozen in place hiding my dick, but not all of my balls.  My face looked contorted.  The rest of my body was missing.  I said, “That looks sort of incomplete.”

 

Sid pulled the sketch he’d been working on just before he’d made his comment about anticipation and put it on an easel beside him.  Then as we watched he used it as a guide to fill in my body, arms, and legs, and the hair on my head.  He told us, “All I had to capture at the moment was your hands and face.  The rest of you was already on paper.”  He handed me the sketch, saying, “I’m not real sure where you’ll want to put this, but you’re welcome to it.  I’ll put fixative on it before you smudge it.”  I still have it, and Brian and I still aren’t sure where to put it, though it’s hung in our bedroom from time to time.

 

Auggie took my hand, gently pulling me from the room as he said, “OK, my parents have had their jollies, now it’s my turn.”  I heard them laughing as I was pulled to Auggie’s room and bed.

 

I was amazed that he didn’t even close the door.  I said, “Shut the door.”

 

“Why?  They know what’s going on; it isn’t a secret.”

 

Well, I thought that I lived in a liberal atmosphere.  We didn’t have secrets in my house either, but my friends didn’t strip in front of my mother, and I didn’t leave the door open so my parents–any of the four of them–could peek in at, say, Max and me doing 69 as they went by.  The Madisons were a really special family.  I supposed that it helped that there were only the three of them, but I don’t think that was it.  As I’ve thought about it, Sid’s personal history marked him as a truly special individual.  Granted, the opportunities that Tim provided were crucial, but he mastered the art of the Freer Gallery all by himself and on his own initiative–when his peers were taunting their teachers and the cops, and doing drugs on the side.

 

Auggie got me to lay down on his bed, took off his own clothes, sat astride my hips, and dropped his asshole down over my very erect penis.  It was the first time I’d fucked anybody–boy or girl.  Auggie rocked up and down, and I started thrusting my hips in time with his rocking.  It didn’t take long!  God, it felt good.  I was about to ask Auggie what I could do for him, when he slid forward, putting his dick right in my face.  “Suck it.”

 

I did.  Everything was going smoothly, when Cathy stuck her head in the door, evidently planning on asking something.  She saw what was going on, paused to look for a minute, smiled at me (Auggie couldn’t see her and didn’t seem to know she was there), and left.  I lost it completely.  Auggie slipped out of my mouth as I almost gagged, and then he started laughing, virtually uncontrollably.  His laughter was contagious and we both were laughing.  All of a sudden I realized that I’d been set up!  “You all planned that, didn’t you?”

 

Auggie said, “We sure did.  We thought we’d give you something interesting to tell Brian about in the morning.  I’m sure that he’s going to have an interesting story for you as well.  You just might be able to outdo him.”  He called out, “Mom, come on back in.”

 

I grabbed for the sheet, but Auggie wouldn’t let me get hold of it.  So I was still bare ass naked when Sid and Cathy came in, laughing their heads off.  At least Sid didn’t have his sketch pad!  Cathy said, “Oh, Shel, I wish you were eighteen; we could all have such fun together.  As it is, we’ll just have to leave you to Auggie.”  With that both she and Sid left, shutting the door behind them.

 

I said to Auggie, “I should just let you suffer without any relief tonight.”

 

“I would torment you all night.  Besides, you’ll have to admit that really was a pretty sexy experience.  Now finish sucking me, and I’ll bet you’ll be ready for me to suck you.”

 

It worked out just that way.  Sleep, holding each other tightly, followed.  Sex the next morning was pretty messy and pretty raunchy–entailing just about every act we could think of.

 

About 9:30 we got a call from Brian.  He was forwarding a lunch invitation for us, Sid and Cathy, and my whole family at Fred’s house.  I called home to forward the invitation, but Fred had already reached them.  All my parents and siblings were going to join us for lunch.

 

Brian had cooked the lunch: A huge tossed salad and creamed chipped beef on toast, which Fred insisted upon calling S.O.S.  When pressed for an explanation he informed us that soldiers in army mess halls got it quite frequently at breakfast, and that it was fondly referred to by one and all as S.O.S. which stands for Shit On a Shingle.  That opened the door for a couple of dirty jokes (not worth repeating here) and then Sid stood and got the floor.  When everyone was listening he did exactly what I was afraid he was going to do: he told, in technicolor detail, the story of my most embarrassing moment the evening before.  My siblings will never let me live that down, nor will my parents, who have now made a standing offer to try to embarrass Augie in the same way the next time he visits.  I assured them that that wouldn’t be necessary, but for at least a year I worried about who was going to burst in every time Auggie and I were alone in my room, doing things for which alone is the proper descriptor. My mother never appeared, but my sister, Louise, did once.  I could’ve killed her, but Auggie thought it was very funny.

 

The next luncheon event was a report from Brian on the activities in Fred and Marty’s bed the previous evening.  Fred had escorted Brian up to their bedroom, with Marty following.  Fred told Brian, “You’re going to have to get used to Marty.  His greatest pleasure is giving you any kind of service you want.  I’m joining him this evening in providing any kind of sex you want.  But you have to ask.  Nothing happens unless you ask.  So dream of the most exquisite sex you can think of with three guys.”  With that he sat down in a chair, and Marty sat on the arm of the chair.

 

Brian reported, “At first I didn’t know what to do.  Then I tried to insist that they tell me what they would like to do.  I could get nothing out of them.  So I started dreaming.  I told Marty to undress Fred, and he did–almost instantly.  So I told him to take off his own clothes.  Instant response.  I lay down on the bed and told them to take off my clothes.  Whish, I was naked.  I spread my arms and legs, but nothing happened.  I slowly realized that nothing was going to happen unless I asked.”

 

Fred cut in, “It took me longer than it took Brian to get used to Marty.  Brian got into the spirit of things pretty quickly.”

 

Brian continued, “I realized that I could ask them to suck me, fuck me, let me fuck them, and other mundane things.  But I started searching my mind for better ideas.  I thought back over some of the fantasies I’d had while jacking off.  I asked Marty if they had any maraschino cherries.  They didn’t.  So I told Fred and Marty to put on their pants, shirts and shoes (forget about underwear) and go get a couple of bottles of cherries and two cans of Reddi-Whip whipped cream.  Within a half hour they were back and Fred was spread out on the bed.  I covered his dick and balls with whipped cream in which I’d buried a goodly number of the cherries.  Marty and I went to work.  I warned him not to bite on a ball when he thought it was a cherry!”

 

Fred interjected, “I told Brian that I was insulted that he thought my balls were that small.”

 

Brian said, “I assured him that I was being funny.  With both of our tongues working him over, it wasn’t long before Fred exploded.  I added some Reddi-Whip to Fred’s cream, and Marty and I fed him, cream, cream and cherries.  My God we were a glorious mess, especially after I flopped on top of Fred and kissed him.”

 

Brian continued, “Then it was Marty’s turn, and I told Fred to spread the Reddi-Whip and cherries.  Fred was much more generous than I’d been, spreading it from nipples to ass, and all points in between.  Fred and I ate our way to an orgasm for Marty, and then he had cream, cream, and cherries, transported to his mouth on our tongues.  That ended with another belly-flop kiss.  Then it was my turn.  I told Fred and Marty to enjoy their dessert.  I got covered head to toe, with a big squirt into my crack.  What a glorious mess, leading to a glorious orgasm, dessert, shower, changing of the bed, laundering of the sheets, and finally sleep between these two wonderful guys.  Thanks for a great evening fellows.”

 

Brian summed up, “If the three of us had been Shel’s age, I wouldn’t have thought much of the events of the evening.  But for three guys, ages 77, 45, and 24, it was spectacular.  Never put down the old guys!”

 

I said, “Both Marty and I are well aware of the truth of that.  My only problem is that I have just over four years to wait to be sure I’m right.”  That got me a laugh, but not much sympathy.

 

So, with that introduction to the generosity of Fred and Marty, Brian moved into “my” house, along with Hardie and Connie, Nels and Mary, Willie and space for his girl or boy of the moment, and Nick and Evan.  It turned out that they were all horny as Hell, related wonderfully to each other, and in many ways resembled the households of the trio and quartet, more than the Circle, which was just two doors away.  Quite honestly, it was hard to predict who might be sleeping with whom on any given night.  I would often come in in the morning and find just about anyone in bed with Brian, although I’ll have to admit that it was likely to be Willie, as those were the two that didn’t have partners living in the house.

 

Early on the question arose as to what to name the house.  It was next door to The Hideout, and just beyond was The Roundhouse.  Since the three houses were treated as a landscape unit, it seemed reasonable that the names sort of go together.  So we were looking for “The Something or other.”  OK, I’ll admit it right up front.  I’d already picked the name, but naming the house needed to be a group project.  For almost a month we wrote names on a blackboard anonymously.  If you didn’t like one, you put a line through it.  If a second person didn’t like it, it was crossed out–but not erased so we’d know what we’d rejected.  About two weeks into the process I wrote “Lighthouse” on the board.  For two weeks it got no lines.  It was one of several names that survived that process.  As we talked, someone asked, “OK, why Lighthouse?” 

 

Someone said, “Well, it shows light in the darkness.  Certainly our mixing of gay and straight couples does that.”

 

“But that is just a true in The Roundhouse.”

 

Then somebody got it; I think it was Nick.  “Hey, a lighthouse is a huge, giant erection.  A massive phallic symbol.  For those of us coming from the Cave, that is a huge allegorical symbol of a vagina.  Well, here’s the penis.”

 

There was instant agreement that the house would be “The Lighthouse” and further, that the phallic implications wouldn’t be discussed publicly.  I hadn’t had to say a word; until this writing only Brian knew that it’d been me that originally put Lighthouse on the blackboard.

 

Willie and Hardie were in retirement from competitive diving, though they dove regularly with the UND team.  Tim, Billy, and Fred, along with others, urged them to take their time, unwind from years of competition, and think carefully about where they were headed in their lives.  They took that advice, and pretty much lived a life of leisure for that first year (1996-1997).

 

Willie played the field romantically.  He was handsome, charming, sported an astounding Olympic reputation, and had girls, and quite a few boys, falling all over him.  He dated regularly, and not infrequently brought his dates back to The Lighthouse for dinner and often to spend the night.  He didn’t share them with the other residents.  We began to wonder whether he would ever find a real replacement for Hardie in his life.  That particularly troubled Hardie, who was beginning to feel that he’d abandoned his best friend.  Willie went out of his way to reassure Hardie, but we all knew that it troubled Hardie, and therefore Connie as well.

 

How did I know so much about what was going on at The Lighthouse?  Well, I practically lived there.  Brian and I practiced early in the morning, before my school, and then came back to The Lighthouse for breakfast.  I headed to school and he usually took a little nap.  We met at the Fred for practice after school.  Then we ate together, either at my house, The Lighthouse, alone at a restaurant, or visiting with friends.  The after dinner routine either involved skating, homework for me, or both.  Brian would usually sit and read while I did homework.  I would often spend Friday or Saturday night at The Lighthouse or Brian would spend the night at my house.  My parents were all cool with that (amazing), and Brian and I promised that we’d push, but not cross, the line.  We all seemed to have an unspoken agreement that we wouldn’t try too hard to define the line.  I never touched his dick and he never touched mine.  But I’ll confess here that when I was sixteen and seventeen we learned to jack each other off wearing latex gloves!  We did not experiment with dental dams!

 

In March, 1997, Willie arrived at The Lighthouse with Sally Schneider.  Sally was a quite beautiful girl, and clearly enamored with Willie.  She had a limp in her right leg, which she quickly told us was the result of a birth injury, and that three surgeries had dramatically improved her walking, further improvement was unlikely, and no further surgeries were scheduled.  The limp certainly didn’t bother us, nor did it seem to faze Willie.  That surprised us a little, because physical perfection had always been so important in Willie’s life as a diver.  That’s an unfair charge to level at Willie, I know, and as his relationship with Sally deepened, it proved to be totally unfounded.

 

They’d met at the university pool.  Team practice ended at 5:00 p.m. everyday, though a number of the swimmers and divers stayed later than that.  Willie and Hardie often found that diving with the divers that stayed late was the most interesting time–these were usually the better divers and it was a smaller group.  On days when he was practicing with the team Tim would stay later as well.  Billy’s job as coach didn’t require him to stay past the 5:00 p.m. official practice time–there were life guards on duty–but it was rare that he didn’t stay as long as the last team member, and usually as long as Tim, Hardie, or Willie.

 

At 5:00 p.m. the pool opened for general university use.  From her earliest days as a freshman, Sally had come to the pool at 5:00 or shortly after to swim.  Her leg prevented her from getting regular exercise by walking, jogging or running.  She could’ve done any number of upper body exercises, but keeping her leg as strong as possible was vital.  Furthermore, she knew that she needed exercise to remain healthy, and that gaining weight would be, for her, disastrous, as her leg could never adequately support an overweight body.  So she swam regularly.  Miles each week.

 

Willie never paid much attention to the people doing laps in the pool, especially after team practice hours.  Willie simply went about the business of practicing his diving–to maintain himself as the best in the world.  Fellow divers would ask him, “What do you accomplish by all this practice?  You’re so close to perfection, do you really expect to get much better?”  Then they’d remind him that he’d retired from competition.

 

Willie’s reply was always, “There’s always room for improvement.”  But in his heart he knew that improvement wasn’t the goal.  The goal was maintenance.  If he hadn’t done a dive for several days, or weeks, he could feel the sloppy performance the first time he returned to it.  His repertoire included every possible dive, and just doing each one in a month was a difficult task.  He liked to be able to climb to the top of the platform and have other divers shout out a dive–and he would do it, at least close to perfection.  And, if these games were to be played, they were played at the end of the day, often just as Sally was finishing her laps.  She got in the habit of sitting in the bleachers beside the pool and watching the divers.  She considered each of them to be a thing of beauty, and their overall performance to be a work of art.  And, if she would admit it to herself, they were a damn sexy lot as well.  My God, they hardly wore any clothes.

 

Sally was a sophomore in the fall of 1996.  By November her pattern of watching the divers was sufficiently well established that a few of the divers, including Hardie, began to take notice.  Willie was oblivious, until Hardie pointed Sally out to him.  “Willie, see that girl in the blue suit, seated in the stands?”

 

“What about her?”

 

“She’s got the hots for you.”

 

“Bullshit.”

 

“Not bullshit.  She can’t take her eyes off of you.”

 

“She watches all of us dive.”

 

“Yes.  But you watch her.  She’s more likely to watch you stand around the pool than watch me dive.  She never misses your dives.”

 

It was shortly after Christmas break when Hardie said to Willie, “Either you’re going to go over there and introduce yourself to that girl, find out her name, and take her out, or I’m going to go over and get her and bring her back over here to meet you.  Take your pick.”

 

“Don’t you dare.”

 

The next day when Willie hadn’t made a move, Hardie made his.  He walked over to Sally and said, “Hi.  I’m Hardie Hassett.  I’m quite sure that you would like to meet Willie Carson.  Tell me your name so that I can introduce you.”

 

“Uh, uh.  I’m Sally Schneider.  But what makes you think I want to be introduced to Willie Carson?”

 

“The fact that you’ve been ogling him for months now.”  With that he extended his hand to help her stand up from the bleacher.  When Sally didn’t offer her hand to be helped up, Hardie simply scooped her up and carried her over to the base of the diving platform, where Willie was standing, talking to a couple of the other divers.  Hardie knew he was going to be successful when (1) Sally didn’t resist, and (2) Willie didn’t run away.  He set her down and said, “Willie, I’d like you to meet Sally Schneider.  Sally, this is Willie Carson.”

 

They sort of stood there, and they both muttered either, “Hello,” or “Hi.”

 

Hardie said, “Willie, either shake her hand, hug her, or kiss her, but don’t stand there like a bump on a log.”

 

Willie extended his hand, and they shook quite tentatively.

 

Hardie said, “Look, you two can do better than this.  Here’s the deal.  Willie, you’re going to take this lovely lady to dinner tonight.  Sally, you’re going to meet him in the lobby of the natatorium in twenty minutes.  Willie, be there or I’ll break your arm.  Sally, be there or I’ll find you, no matter where you are, and I’ll carry you there.”

 

Willie finally came to, smiled and said, “Twenty minutes.  I’ll be there.”  And he was gone, headed for the showers.

 

Sally turned to Hardie–it being too late to say anything to Willie–and said, “I guess I’d better be there, too.”  And she headed for the girls’ showers.

 

Hardie positioned himself in a corner of the lobby to make sure that the rendevous actually occurred.  It did; they met, talked briefly, and left.  Sally got back to her dorm just after midnight.  Willie got back to The Lighthouse about 12:30.  All he would say was that they had dinner at the Dakota Steak House and, “I think I’m in love.”

 

All the girls in the dorm got out of Sally was, “Uh, wow!”

 

Willie used the fact that his father was on the faculty, and his pull with Uncle Tim, to purchase a meal card for the dining halls.  He and Sally began to eat lunch together every day.  Dinner was in the dining hall or some restaurant.  Evenings they often sat in the library while she studied and Willie read books.

 

They had lots of time for conversation, and they talked about everything.  Sally had grown up in Bemidji, Minnesota, which calls itself the first city on the Mississippi River.  It’s sort of the center of education for much of central northern Minnesota, being the home of Bemidji State University, a technical college, and Bemidji High School which serves the town and a large surrounding area.  Sally’s parents were both teachers: her father taught 5^th grade at J. W. Smith Elementary School and her mother taught mathematics at Bemidji State.  Smith Elementary School was near the Bemidji State Campus, and their home was very close.  They were both able to walk to work, and Sally had been able to easily walk to elementary school, but rode the bus to middle and high school.

 

Willie was eager to meet her parents.  Just the fact that they reversed stereotypical gender roles in their teaching careers intrigued him.  Sally assured him that they didn’t fit many other stereotypes of the region either, even though both of them had grown up in Bemidji and married their high school sweetheart.  They’d gone to the University of Minnesota together and been married back home in Bemidji right after college.  The marriage had taken place in the small St. Bartholomew’s Episcopal Church, where the family had attended all of Sally’s life. 

 

Willie and Sally arranged a weekend trip to Bemidji to get everyone introduced.  They had a good time together on Saturday, and all seemed to be going well.  After a lovely dinner fixed by Sally and her mother on Saturday evening, Sally invited Willie to go to church with her family the next morning; Willie was glad to accept.  Willie shared the general feeling of the Gang that they were “religious,” but that churches that couldn’t accept loving, gay relationships had little to do with God.  Willie also knew that a few years back the Episcopal church had ordained its first gay priest.  He was content to attend Sally’s church unless and until the local priest proved to be homophobic.

 

Willie got the thrill of a lifetime from the homily that morning.  Evidently there’d been some kind of gay-bashing incident in a small Minnesota town the previous week.  The St. Bart’s (that’s what Sally and her family consistently called it) pastor chose to address that in a fiery sermon that made in clear that homophobia had no place in God’s house or His community.  What made Willie even happier was the reaction of her parents to the sermon.  At their huge noon dinner her father said, “Willie, I hope you weren’t bothered by the sermon this morning.  Homosexuality can be a touchy subject.  But you should know that this family is entirely supportive of Father Phil’s position.”

 

Willie responded, “And I love you for it.  I have so many gay friends, it makes me sad that they aren’t always fully accepted in our society.”

 

Sally said, “Willie and I haven’t really had a chance to talk about this before, but since the President of the University of North Dakota is gay, and sort of an uncle to Willie, I’ve had no doubt about where he stood.  I feel the same.”

 

The rest of the day was equally peaches and cream, and that continued through  Monday morning when Willie and Sally headed back toward Grand Forks.  As they approached the lake country near Erskine, Willie left the highway and found a back road that headed around a small lake.  He parked lakeside, and he and Sally sat, looking out over the lake.  Willie said, “We need to talk, and this is the perfect setting.”

 

“What’s up, Willie?”

 

“There are a few things about me that you need to know.  In particular, I need to explain my relationship to Hardie.”

 

“You and Hardie have been best friends for a long time, haven’t you?”

 

“Yes.  Well, more than best friends.  Will it bother you if I tell you that we’ve been lovers?”

 

“I’d guessed that, Willie.”

 

“And it doesn’t bother you?”

 

“Should it?  Is there something about your relationship that should bother me?”

 

“No.  I’d be quite willing to tell you absolutely everything about it.”

 

“OK, and I’ll share my history with you.”

 

It was dark before the conversation ended.  Willie’d shared everything about his relationship with Hardie.  And he’d learned about Sally’s very difficult high school years, and her final redemption.  She’d started by saying, “Willie, I could never have told you this if you hadn’t opened your heart about Hardie.”  She went on to tell of how the older boys in high school had started calling her Gimp.  It’d begun with several rather mean senior boys when she was in ninth grade.  The name had stuck, and her teachers hadn’t seen fit to do anything about it.  She never had dates, and her friends were limited to a few girls who were, for the most part, equally unpopular.  Then in her junior year one of the lesser lights of the football team, Randy Thomas,  had asked her out.  She was suspicious at first, but went, and had a good time–movies and ice cream afterward; there wasn’t a lot else to do on a date in Bemidji.  The second date was equally successful.  On the third, again a movie,  the boy’d let his hands roam, further than she would’ve liked, and pulled her hand over to his fly, which he’d already opened.  This was repeated in the car on the way home.  However, this time she found that at some point he’d pushed down his underpants, and she was now holding his very hard penis.

 

It didn’t go further that night, because as they arrived at her house she insisted that he take her in.  She knew that soon she was going to have to make a choice; that Randy would call for another date, and that his expectation would be that things go further.

 

It was at this point in the story that she amazed Willie, and he knew instantly that he had the right girl.  She’d talked to a couple of her close friends, and gotten divided advice on whether to let the relationship proceed.  So she’d decided to talk to her parents.  They’d always assured her that she could bring any problem to them, and they wouldn’t be judgmental.  Well, she’d thought, this was the test, and her parents passed with flying colors.

 

They’d listened very carefully to her story, asked a few questions, and had been very careful neither to criticize nor to give directions.  They’d known that the decision had to be Sally’s.  Both her parents admitted that they hadn’t emerged from high school as virgins.  And, they’d hastened to point out that their own relationship hadn’t become sexual until college.  Her father did have one piece of strong advice: “We need to get you to the doctor and get you a prescription for the pill.  Regardless of the decision you make this time, clearly the time has come that you’re going to be exposed to sexual invitations, and getting pregnant is simply not an option.”

 

Randy lived up to her expectations.  It was about two weeks later that he’d called and suggested that they go to the basketball game on Friday night.  Bemidji was playing Bagley, at Bagley, about 25 miles away.  It didn’t take much effort to figure out that Randy had plans for the trip home.  Along the 25 miles of Highway 2 were numerous back roads that would provide numerous opportunities for parking, etc.  Well, she’d known it was coming and she’d decided to say, “Yes.”

 

And, yes, the evening turned out just about the way she predicted, and she’d handled it exactly the way that her father had suggested when she’d told him she’d decided to accept Randy’s invitation!

 

On the way home Randy had turned off the highway without a word of explanation.  She’d said, “I assume that you’d like to pick up where we left off last time.”

 

“You got it.  OK with you?”

 

It certainly wasn’t one of the more romantic sexual suggestions northern Minnesota had ever seen, but at least he’d asked.  Many, if not most, of Randy’s contemporaries wouldn’t have bothered to ask; they would’ve just assumed.

 

“I’ve thought about it.  Yes.”

 

They easily found a secluded place to park and Randy suggested they get in the back seat.  The seat backs folded down and opened into the trunk.  He pulled out a pile of pillows and a couple of sheets and blankets and almost instantly they had a bed.  This was certainly an unexpected turn of events, but Sally had been ready.  Although she’d decided that she was open to intercourse, she was determined that it was weeks away after the pill was effective.  She’d also decided that she wasn’t going to say anything about the pill, and see if Randy would deal forthrightly with the issue of contraception.  However, that night it wasn’t going to get that far; and her father had told her how to insure that!  Her father!

 

It wasn’t long before they were both naked and playing with each other.  Randy was clearly looking to move it further along, so Sally obliged.  She kissed him deeply with lots of tongue, and he was clearly heated up.  She moved down to his nipples, belly button, and then his prick–that was his word when he talked about it.  She enthusiastically sucked him, and before long he came in her mouth.  She was ready, and very deliberately moved back up his body and kissed him again, letting him have most of his cum.

 

She may have been ready for his cum, but Randy most certainly wasn’t.  On the other hand, he wasn’t willing to admit that this girl, not one that the other boys considered to be one of the sexy girls of the school, was more into sex than he.  So they ended up with neither of them trying to end the kiss, and finally the cum was either swallowed or spilled out.  Then Sally said, very nicely, “Now you can do me.”

 

After the business with the cum in his mouth he was entirely too limp to fuck her, and he’d never had the experience of giving a girl an orgasm any other way.  Sally guided him through giving her a hand job, and she had her first orgasm at the hands of another person.

 

It took a while before Randy called for another date, and Sally put him off a couple of times with excuses about family gatherings that she couldn’t miss.  By the time of their next date, her doctor had pronounced her safe.  She and Randy took his bed on wheels for a ride into the countryside, and soon were naked together.  He told her, “Tonight I want to fuck you.  And don’t worry, I brought rubbers.”

 

She’d expected the first part, and was pleasantly surprised by the second.  And it wasn’t much later that she could no longer think of herself as a virgin; but to the extent that she’d even thought about that, it was to bemoan the fact of virginity, not celebrate it.  She was no longer a virgin, but Randy had no sense of giving a girl pleasure and orgasm, only sticking it in and getting his own release.  A few evenings of this, with no change even as Sally had tried to guide him into a mutually pleasurable experience, and Sally decided to call it quits.  She was careful to have the break-up at school, in a secluded corner of the cafeteria.  Even so, he was loud, rude, and stalked off.

 

It quickly got back to Sally that he was calling her the “fucking gimp, good for a fuck but not much else.”  She quickly realized that’d been his only interest in her from the beginning, and she’d been devastated.

 

Without going into detail, she’d told Willie that much the same thing had happened to her early in her senior year.  She’d thought she was being careful, but she’d gotten fooled and hurt, again.

 

Sally had become friends with a new girl in their class, Nancy Pauling, who moved to Bemidji from Duluth, when her father had taken a teaching position at Bemidji State.  Sally’d grown close enough to Nancy to tell her of the progress with her new romance, and of the disastrous ending when it’d become clear that fucking, not friendship, and certainly not romance, was the boy’s interest.  Nancy had held her tight when she heard the story, and had insisted that she spend the night at Nancy’s house.

 

Nancy had a double bed in her room; and, so that they could talk till all hours, the two girls decided to share the bed instead of Sally sleeping in the guest room down the hall.  Nancy’d hugged Sally as they talked, and had then said, “You know, if you loved me, I’d never treat you as those boys did.”

 

It took Sally a moment to tumble, but then realized that she had to make another major decision about sexuality.  She was certain that Nancy wouldn’t push her to make a decision right then, or that night, but she knew that soon she’d have to respond to this invitation.  They lay there in silence, side by side.  Sally was sure that racing through Nancy’s mind was fear of what Sally’s reaction might be.  And Sally was herself wondering what her reaction might be.  Then it came to her, very simply.  Why not?  As long as it was clearly understood that this was new territory for Sally, and that she might not be comfortable on the journey; why not at least start the trip?

 

She said as much to Nancy, who had said, “I’ll never push you where you don’t want to go.  You just tell me when to pull back.  But, unless you want me to, I won’t wait for further invitation, because I don’t think you’re quite ready to be issuing such invitations.  With that she’d pulled back the covers and slipped off her own pajamas, and just as quickly she slipped off Sally’s.  Kissing quickly led to exploring other parts of their bodies with their lips, tongues, and even teeth.  They both had climaxes that evening, and the next morning they explored 69.  It turned out that Nancy’d had a girlfriend in Duluth which whom she’d had a sexual relationship for a couple of years.  They’d explored all kinds of ways to enjoy each other, but it had all come to an end the previous summer when Nancy and her family moved to Bemidji.  They’d decided that it’d been good fun, but that holding a torch for someone across the state was a mistake.  If they got back together again, wonderful, perhaps in college, but if not, then each would find their own way.  And they did.  They wrote for a while, but the girlfriend in Duluth soon had another partner and the writing swiftly came to an end.  Sally was a welcome replacement.  And Nancy was a much more loving, caring partner than either Randy or his successor had been.

 

They were seniors which meant that either they would be going their separate ways or they’d have to make a joint decision about where to go to college–which they were both planning to attend.  Sally didn’t want to hurt  Nancy, but as she thought through her college plans she decided that it’d be best if she and Nancy went to different schools.  Nancy was clearly a lesbian, and was looking for a long-term relationship.  Sally wasn’t ready for that.  As she’d thought about her relationship with boys, she’d realized that she’d fallen in with two bad apples.  Surely there were nicer boys, and she’d find one someday.  She’d realized that she’d enjoyed the physical relationship with both boys, as well as the one with Nancy.  She wasn’t ready to say she was, or was not, a lesbian.  She’d also realized that this would be better explored on a campus without Nancy.

 

She was comfortable talking about this to her parents, and they’d suggested the University of North Dakota.  They’d read about Tim, and figured that any university that he headed would be supportive of their daughter if she found she was lesbian.  Her parents had explained that they had no concern if she were a lesbian, but that they were concerned that she might conclude that on the basis of two bad experiences with boys.  It was the kind of conversation between parents and a teenager that only the Gang could envision or appreciate.  As Sally had told the story to Willie, he became all the more certain that Sally was the girl for him.

 

It’d grown cold by the lake, and they’d been cuddled up in a couple of blankets from Willie’s emergency kit in the trunk.  (As each member of the Gang got their first car, Tim gave them a present of a fully stocked emergency kit for the trunk.  He also told each of them that he’d spot check, and if they hadn’t kept the kit fully stocked they were, in his words, “in deep shit.”)

 

Willie’d said to Sally, “There are motels in Crookston.  If we stop there and spend the night, we can easily get back to campus for your morning class.  I think it’s time.”

 

“I do, too.”

 

They checked into a very nice motel in Crookston.  It had a fire going in a fireplace in the lobby, and they sat there a few minutes.  They took the clerk’s suggestion about where to eat, and soon were back and ready to go to their room.  When they got to the room, Sally asked Willie, “Did you bring one of your Speedos with you on this trip?”

 

“Yes, I thought there might be a chance to swim or dive.  Why?”

 

“While I’m in the bathroom, put it on.”

 

He didn’t know what to expect, but he did what he was told.  She came out of the bathroom wearing rather skimpy pajamas and sat in the only soft chair in the room.  “Pose, like you were about to dive from a high platform.”

 

Willie did as he was told.  Sally said, “That is the most beautiful body in the world.  And now I’m going to get to see all of it.  Don’t move.”

 

He didn’t, and she got up, came over to him, knelt down, and slowly pulled down the swim suit.  She was so close that when his hard dick sprang out it hit her nose.  She giggled and kissed the end of it, while she fondled his balls.  She stood up, and they kissed, and then fell onto the bed.  Things moved pretty fast, and soon Willie was saying, “I have a condom; will you put it on me?”

 

“It isn’t necessary.  I’m on the pill and have been for years.  Fuck me, fuck me hard, and fuck me now.”

 

That was all the invitation that Willie needed.  Her body language made it clear that hard was the operative word in her wishes for the evening.  Willie didn’t worry about an exotic position, or anything.  He was on top, his knees between hers, and he just drove in.  It didn’t take either of them long to be fully spent, and completely contented.  They kissed and slept in each others arms; both of them seemed to understand that talking would damage the moment.

 

They next morning Sally was as needy as the night before.  “Do it again, Willie.  Exactly the same.  Someday we’ll explore other things, but right now, fuck me, fuck me hard, and fuck me right now.”

 

Soon Sally said, “I don’t think we need to talk this morning.  I think our bodies said it all.  Take me to class, and we’ll talk tonight.”

 

To be continued...

 

Posted: 03/18/11