Companions and Pals
by: Will B
© 2008 by the Author
Ably assisted by: E Walk

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

As he thought about Rosa, and how much he loved her and wanted her, his organ expanded, and like young men everywhere—and many older men, too, he began to rub his crotch, and his penis, and as he got harder and harder, his hand caressed his cock more and more. With one hand he played with his prick, and with the other he rubbed and tweaked his nipples—first one and then the other.

All too soon, he felt his ball sac tighten up and his toes curl. As his semen began to course through its channels, the fine hairs on his leg quivered and seemed to stand up.

The creamy ropes of spunk landed on his face, his neck and chest, and finally his abdomen. As he drifted off to sleep, his last thoughts were of Rosa--except for one unbidden thought that had almost made him chuckle aloud, ‘It all landed on me. Now I won’t have to wash the sheets in the morning.’

Chapter 6

Alex McGowan was 16, 5-foot-ten, and well built. His chest was just beginning to show some muscular definition, and there was a healthy growth of hair in each of his armpits. There was also a healthy growth of hair around his genitals, which were of a pleasant size (at least his friend Dave thought so, whenever they jerked each other off). Alex had a wide smile, and a friendly disposition.

He was in his bedroom, which had a comfortable bed, a cupboard, shelves full of books, and posters of the Baltimore Orioles on the walls. It was a room any 16-year-old boy could have been happy in. Should have been happy in. Would have been happy in, if . . .

It was 5:00 in the morning, and Alex was sitting at his desk, writing something. He was only wearing a pair of briefs, He thought for a minute ‘Oh, why not! I’m gonna go to hell anyhow.’ He reached into a desk drawer and brought out a picture his father hadn’t found. It was a picture of a tall, curly haired man, who had unzipped his jeans, and whose seven-inch cock was hanging out. It was thick and meaty and had a vein running down the length of it. The man had fine silky hair for his pubic bush, and Alex liked to imagine himself kissing, licking, and sucking, that magnificent manhood.

Looking at the picture always made Alex horny and this morning, early as it was, was no exception. Alex slid out of his briefs and stood naked looking at the picture. He began to rub his own cock and it sprang to attention. ‘If only David could be here with me right now,’ he though to himself.

He fingered his butt hole and inserted his one finger as far as it would go, while stroking, twisting his own organ, pulling it up, pulling it down, moving it from side to side.  In a few too short minutes, Alex’s youthful creamy spunk had coated his body, his desk and the picture. With the ease born of long practice, he scooped up his semen and put it in his mouth, savoring the slightly salty taste before swallowing it.

‘Oh, David, I love you. If only . . .’ he thought.

He pulled his briefs back on, and sat back down at the desk. He took a sheet of paper and quickly wrote a note:

Dear Mom,

I love you. Please forgive me.

Love. Your son,

Alex.

He put the letter in an envelope, addressed it to his Mom, and laid the envelope on the desk.

He out on a pair of trainers, and went out to the garage to do what he knew he had to do. There was no other way. None!

* * * * *

It was 7:30 in the morning, and Tim Green Heckman, son of Dave and Mary, aged 23, was shaving, ready to go to a breakfast meeting with his boss, Pastor Glendy, pastor of Trinity Presbyterian Church. Tim was a third year seminary student at Union Presbyterian Seminary and this past summer he had been working as a youth counselor at the Church.

Just as Tim laid his razor down, and wiped the excess lather off his face, the phone rang.

“Tim Heckman speaking.”

“Tim, it’s John. I’ve just had terrible news. Young Alex McGowan has killed himself. His mother called, practically hysterical. I think we’d better get over there right away.”

“My God, John. That’s awful. I’ll be dressed in 10 minutes,”

“I’ll pick you up.”

Tim quickly dressed, his mind in a whirl. What would cause a young boy on the cusp of manhood, good-looking, popular with his classmates, to do such an awful thing?

Since he had taken this job as Youth Counselor at Trinity Presbyterian, Tim had come to know many of the young people. He’d had talks with some who had come to him with problems—parents were too strict, or problems with members of the opposite sex. Tim had listened, made a few comments, and helped the young man or woman find a workable solution to the problem—but suicide! As he waited for John Glendy, Pastor of the Church, to pick him up, he prayed for guidance in dealing with whatever situation he and John might find.

When the two distressed men arrived at the McGowan home, they found police cars in front of the house and an ambulance in the driveway. Neighbors stood on their lawns, some wondering what had happened, and one or two women who had heard screams coming from the house were weeping.

John and Tim went to the door and knocked. It was opened by a policewoman. When they had identified themselves, they were admitted and went into the living room where they found Patricia McGowan sitting, weeping.

“Oh, Pastor and Tim, thank God you’ve come. I don’t know what to do. My boy . . . in the garage  . . . and Walter has locked himself in his room upstairs, and he has a gun. He said he’d shoot anyone who tries to come in. Oh, God, oh, God! Help me!”

Patricia broke down again, and Tim held her in her arms and let her cry.

When she was calmer, John Glendy asked her if she wanted to talk about it.

Finally Patricia was calm enough to tell them what happened.

“The other night Walter went up to Alex’s room, and found him naked and  . . er . . playing with himself, and  . . .  looking at some magazines that evidently had pictures of naked men. He smacked Alex and called him a  ‘God-Damned’ pervert, and that he would go to hell if he didn’t stop that hell-bound perversion.”

“Walter told me he was going to whip the sin out of that boy if it killed him . . and now it has killed him. Oh, God!”

“Evidently, Alex decided he couldn’t go on living. I went into his room this morning to make sure he was awake and I found this note. I read it and screamed, and Walter came running. We both looked for Alex and found he had gone into the garage and  . .  and . . .

[Author’s note: Dear Readers, I never know into whose hands this story might fall, so I am not going to give any details of how poor Alex ended his life.]

“I called 911 and the police. Rescue workers came but they said it was too late. The police are here, and they won’t let me see my boy, my baby. Oh, what am I going to do?”

John Glendy asked the policewoman, who had identified herself as Jane Watson, if he could meet with the officer in charge of the investigation, who was an old friend, Lieutenant Troy Hunter.

“Troy, what’s happening? Can the boy’s mother see her son?”

“Pastor, it’s highly irregular, but I think in this case, if you will be there to help in case she becomes too distressed, I think we can allow it.  Just for a few minutes before we take the body to the morgue.”

So Pastor Glendy went to escort Patricia McGowan to the garage so she could see her son. He thought he had never undertaken a more stressful task, but Patricia seemed calm enough, so the two of them walked to the garage. Alex’s body was lying on a gurney, about to be wrapped into a body bag.

Going to the gurney, Patricia leaned over and kissed her son. “Goodbye, my dear son. I love you. I never stopped loving you, and I will never stop loving you. God keep you.”

Her Pastor turned her away so she would not see the attendant zip up the body bag or take the gurney out to the ambulance.

Tim had waited in the living room and talking quietly to the Officer Watson when John Glendy and Patricia McGowan came back to the living room.

“Thank you, Pastor. I’ve said my goodbye and now . . . I . . .” Once again she began crying, but it was a quieter, calmer crying. Jane Watson said she would go and make some tea.

John Glendy said he would try to talk to Walter but before he could leave the room, Walter McGowan himself, came into the room. His eyes were red, he was disheveled, and his speech was somewhat slurred as if he had been drinking.

When he saw the two clergymen, he burst out, “Pastor, those damned queers with their ‘gay agenda’ and ‘Gay Pride Parades’ killed my boy. They persuaded an impressionable 16-year-old to try some of their tricks. And those fucking liberals with their sex education classes, telling the students that masturbation was OK. They deny everything the Bible says about clean living. I hate ‘em. I’d like to kill ‘em all.”

Walter McGowan stopped his ranting, and stood there breathing heavily. His wife Patricia got up, went up to him and slapped him as hard as she could.

“No, you son of a bitch. You killed my son.  You drove him to such depths of desperation that he felt he had no other choice. You told him he was damned to hell, and he believed you!”

Pastor Glendy started to go to her and lead her away, but she shook him away. “I’m not finished,” she told her husband. “You talk about God’s laws and sin and damnation! What about adultery? The Bible says that adultery is wrong, but how many nights have you stayed ‘working late at the office?’ You speak so holy on Sunday, but on Monday you will lie, and cheat, and . . .  and I HOPE YOU ROT IN HELL! Now, get out of my sight, I never want to see your face again.”

Now Patricia did break down again. Pastor Glendy went to her, and just held her and let her cry herself out.

Walter suddenly turned and ran out of the room, and up the stairs.

Tim Heckman started to go after him, when suddenly . . .

BANG!

Tim and Jane Watson ran upstairs and went into the bedroom where they found Walter lying on the bed. He had shot himself.

* * * * *

The doctor arrived and given Patricia McGowan a sedative.  The  police took statements from everyone, and Walter’s body had been taken away.

John Glendy and Tim Heckman drove home, neither saying much. As Glendy dropped Heckman off at his apartment, he did say, “Tim, I’m not feeling too well. I’m going to go home and rest. I’ll see you at the Session Meeting tonight.”

“John, you do that. I’m going to go in and pray, pray for forgiveness, and pray for wisdom in how I help the young people deal with this tragedy. I hope you’re feeling better.”

Glendy drove off and Tim walked into his apartment. He hoped that he would never have another day like this one, but he knew deep down in his heart, that a pastor’s life would be filled with just such days as this, and he would have to be strong.

As he opened the door, he silently prayed ‘Oh, God, give me the strength to deal with terrible events like this. Give me the wisdom to help the people in my charge. And m dear Lord, watch over John.  I think he’s taken this harder than anyone Give him strength. Please . . . ,  please!’

Tim walked into the living room and saw the one sight that would cheer him up! His fiancée, Linda Fell, was sitting in the easy chair, and a delicious smell was coming from the kitchen.

“Linda, I am so glad to see you, today of all days!”

“Tim, you knew I was to come over this evening to fix dinner. Did you forget?”

“Uhhhh, . . .,  I guess I did. This has been a terrible day!”

Linda got up and drew Tim into a loving hug. Tim began to sob as he told Linda about the day’s events. Linda just held him, and said, “Let it out, Tim. I’m here, and I love you. Just let it out.”

“My dearest, you are just what I needed. I know that I’ll be able to face days like this with God’s help and with you beside me.”

As they were eating the delicious dinner of chicken potpie that Linda had made with potatoes and peas, and a crust that was so light and flaky, Linda said, “Is there anything you can do to help that poor woman?”

“Yes, I’m going to see her tomorrow, and help with the arrangements for her son’s funeral, and I guess for her husband’s funeral. I am going to tell her about a support group called ‘Parents and Friends of Gay and Lesbian Teens.’ It’s a fairly new group. And, I suspect I am going to have to learn more about it so I can better help any young people who come to me for counseling.”

“Are there many teens with gender identification problems?” Linda asked.

“Probably more than we know about, sweetheart.”

“Tim, I know you are going to be a good minister because you are such a good man!” Linda said, as she got up to serve the dessert, orange sherbet with two vanilla cookies.

“Hmmmm, and I know you are going to be a good minister’s wife. You share my beliefs, you support me in all I do, and you serve delicious meals, and I . . . love you…. Come here and give me a kiss!”

Wanting to be a good wife, Linda did just as Tim requested, and for five minutes, nobody did any talking, until  . . .

Ring! Ring! Ring!

“Drat that telephone! Do I have to answer it?”

“Yes, Tim, you do,” Linda sighed, knowing that there would be many times when a phone ring at an inconvenient time.

“Hello, . . . Mrs. Glendy, .. . How . . . “

&*&*&*&**&**&

“Oh, no! I’ll be right over, Mrs. G. Bye.”

Tim looked at Linda and said, “It’s John. He’s had a heart attack, and he’s at  St. Joe’s. I’ll have to go. First I’d better call the Clerk of the Session and have him call the other elders to give them the news and cancel the Session meeting.”

John picked up his car keys and went to kiss Linda goodbye, but she forestalled him.

“I’m coming with you,” Linda said.

To be continued...
Feedback always welcome:     

Author’s comments: Once again, hatred, ignorance, and bigotry have destroyed or severely damaged at least four lives. 

Encourager’s Comments:  Talk about a sad tale.  Will has outdone himself with this chapter.  What a tragic waste of human life. E

Posted: 10/24/08