Friends' All
by: Will B
(Copyright 2007 by the Author)

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

Some people say the “Holocaust” never took place.  Others say it may not have been six million Jews—only two or three million.  Regardless of the actual number of Jews, gypsies, or homosexuals who were put to death by the Nazis, if it were only one person, that would be one person too many.  This chapter is dedicated to those who died.

From Chapter 6: Sarah and matt go out to dinner and make some new friends. Matt has memories.

Chapter 7

Part 1: in which Tom Dixon is proved wrong (or is he? <wink>).

Gary took Matt up to his room.  They were carrying their desserts.  When Gary opened the door to his bedroom, Matt almost dropped his dish.

“Wow!” Matt exclaimed.  “Look at those models.  Where did you get them, Gary?”

Hanging from the ceiling were dozens of model airplanes and on shelves around the room were more models of ships, trains, and cars. 

“Where did you get these?” Matt asked.

“Oh, my Dad and I made some of these together, and I made others on my own.”

“You’re dad is a great guy.  You’re lucky!” Matt said.

“Miss Sarah seems nice too.  What kind of foster Mom is she? Does she fuss over you, and always buy your presents?”

“Oh, no,” said Matt.  “When she suggested I come to live with her, she said I would have to keep my room neat, and do my own laundry.  When I enroll in school, she expects me to keep my grades up, and oh, yes, I cannot run the streets at night!”

“Matt, those are the same kinds of rules my parents have for me.  Sounds to me like Miss Sarah is a pretty great Mom, even if she is only a foster mom,” Gary said.

Matt looked at him and said, “I know.  I’m just damn lucky after the last few months.”

“How did you get to Baltimore? Where are you from?” Gary asked.

“I’m from Chicago.  My Dad died when I was seven.  My Mom remarried, and then she died when I was 14.  I decided to leave home.  .  .  The rest of the story is pretty awful, so I don’t want to talk about it now.  Do you mind?” Matt asked Gary.

“Sure, Matt.  I didn’t mean to pry.”

“No, that’s all right, Gary.  I’ll tell you some time, but just not now”

“Matt, come here.  I want to show you something else.”

Gary opened a door that led into another room.  To his wondering eyes, Matt saw the most extensive miniature train layout he had ever seen.

Suddenly he got very serious, and Gary thought he saw .  .  .  a tear? In the corner of Matt’s eye.

“You OK, Matt?”

“Sure, Gary, it’s just that my Dad and I were putting up a train garden—not as elaborate as this—but then he died, and a few years later, after my Mom had died, my .  .  .  my FUCKING STEP-FATHER took the train set and the track and the houses, and everything, and sold them and told me ‘I didn’t need those silly toys.’ The silly toys that my Dad and I had worked on together, The SILLY TOYS THAT WERE THE SOME OF THE FEW THNGS I HAD TO REMEMBER MY DAD WITH! SILLY TOYS! And the bastard used the money to buy drinks for himself and his buddies.”

Gary was silent for a few minutes, not knowing how to respond to Matt’s outburst Finally he said, “Listen my friend, you can come over here and we can run these trains together.  It’s more fun to run these trains as a team.”

Matt looked at him, and said, “Gary, you just called me friend.  Nobody has ever called me.  .  .  a friend .  .  .  before.” Here Matt did break down and started to sob.

Gary had the strangest desire to take Matt in his arms and comfort him, but Gary thought to himself, “What would Matt think of me if I took him in my arms!” Instead Gary just clapped him on the shoulder, and said, “It’s OK, Matt.  It’s OK.”

When Matt calmed down, he looked at Gary and said “I’m glad we’re gonna be friends.”

Then Matt started to laugh.

“What’s so funny,” Gary asked.

“Your Dad.  When he talked about me meeting you, he said…”

“But you probably won’t like him very much,” Gary finished the sentence for Matt,

The boys looked at each other and burst out laughing.  “I guess .  .  .  my Dad .  .  .  was wrong,” Gary said, between whoops of laughter.

Matt got serious and said, “Yes, he was wrong, but I think he knew we would like each other, because your Dad is no dummy.  If he had said, “Now I know you two will get along just fine, we would probably each have started out thinking the other as some kind of dufus.”

“Well, Matt, I hate to say it, but you are a dufus!” Gary said laughing.

“Right, Gary, and you know what they say,” Matt responded.  “It takes one to know one, so I guess you’re one too.”

“That makes us the “dufus duo!” Gary said laughing even louder, and Matt joined in.

Part 2: in which Sarah acts in a very un-widow-like manner.

The adults had finished their dessert, and Joan said, “Why don’t you all go out on the porch? You men can smoke your smelly cigars, and I’ll clean up the dishes and put them in the dishwasher.”

“Oh, let me help you,” said Sarah.  “That way the men can smoke their cigars in peace, and talk about “men things” like sports and politics, and we can talk “women things’ like politics and sports, and, how about them O-ri-ohs?”

“I think they’re going to win the pennant, one of these years,” Joan replied.

Out on the porch Tom and Jake were relaxing in the summer dusk. 

They had thrashed out the iniquities of the income tax system, and the apparent stupidity of some of the politicians and now were just sitting, rocking, and smoking.

“Have you found a place to stay yet, Jake,” Tom asked.

“No,” Jake sighed, “I’m still at the motel.  I wish I could find a room to rent in some nice house.”

At this point Sarah and Joan joined them.

“That was a delicious dinner, Mrs. Dixon,” Jake said.  “It was just like the dinner  my wi.  .  .  .” Jake stopped.

“Do you have a family, Mr. Fishbein?” Sarah asked and then wished she hadn’t.

“I had a family.  I had a wife and a son.  They .  .  .  they .  .  .  died in the .  .  .  camp.” Jake stopped and couldn’t go on.

No one said anything for a few minutes.

Then Jake cleared his throat and did go on, “That’s why I have never made any attempt to have my tattoo covered up or removed.  I keep it as a memorial to my wife and son and to all those who died in the camps.”

A few more minutes went by.

Sarah had heard what Jake said as she came out on the front porch, and now she came to a decision.

“Mr.  Fishbein, or rather Jake, I would like to make a suggestion.  If you don’t want to take it up, that is quite all right, but at least please listen to it.  I live two houses up the street from Steve Green.  I have a four bedroom house, and there is only myself, and my son—or my foster son—Matt.  I would be willing to rent you a room and provide breakfast and dinner.  What are you paying at the motel?”

“Seventy-five dollars a week, and that does not include meals,” Jake responded.

“I was thinking of $50.00 a week, with those two meals included.”

“NO!” Jake said to her.” I WILL NOT PAY $50.00 A WEEK.  I WILL PAY NOTHING LESS THAN $70.00 A WEEK.”

“Please don’t raise your voice to me, Mr. Fishbein! I will take nothing more than $55.00 a week.”

“$65.00 a week, take it or leave it, Mrs.  Schultz!”

“You are a stubborn man, Mr.  Fishbein.  $62.50 a week, and that is my last word.  Oh, and you can come to the living room after dinner and watch television if you like.”

‘’ You are a stubborn woman, Mrs.  Schultz, and I accept your offer,” and Jake smiled and held out his hand to her.  Sarah smiled and held out her hand and they shook on it.

Tom and Joan just looked on.  First they had been near tears when Jake had talked about losing his family.  Then they had been horrified at the thought that a bitter argument was going to break out over the amount of rent Jake would pay.  Now they looked at each other and smiled.  Then they grinned, and then they burst out laughing.

Joan was ever the realist and yet a dreamer too.  “Hmm,” she thought to herself.  “I wonder if I am going to have to buy a new dress to wear to some happy occasion in the future!”

Matt and Gary came out on the porch, and Gary said, “Dad, you were wrong!’

‘What about, Son?”

“Oh, nothing Dad.  Never mind”

Matt turned to Sarah and said, “Is it all right if I invite Matt to come over next Tuesday for dinner and a movie?”

“Matt, I told you that you would always be welcome to bring friends home.  It is fine with me if his parents are agreeable, and I think there will be four of us at dinner.”

“Four?” asked Matt.

Jake answered, “Yes, Matt.  I am going to be your Mom’s lodger.  I was not able to persuade that “stubborn woman” to accept almost the full amount of what I wanted to pay for rent, and two meals, and she still insisted on throwing in the use of the living room to watch television in the evenings.  Let me warn you now, Matt, and you too Gary, when a woman makes up her mind, there is no use arguing with her!”

“Yes, sir,” both boys answered in unison.

Jake turned to Tom and said “If it’s all right with you, and if can get Gary to the store, I can take him to Sarah and Matt’s house, and we’ll see he gets home OK.”

“That’s very nice of you, Jake.  Are you sure it’s not too much trouble?” asked Tom.

“No trouble at all,” said Jake.  “Gary can fill me in on the career of Johnny Unitas, and maybe tell me about Lenny Moore too.”

“Sure, Jake—I mean Mr. Fishbein,” said Gary happily.

“Gary and Matt, if your parents permit it, I would be happy if you would both call me Jake.”

After a little more conversation the party broke up.  Jake drove back to his motel, happy to know he would not be staying there much longer.

Sarah and Matt also drove home, both thinking what a nice evening it had been.

Tom and Joan closed up the house.  Joan turned the dishwasher on, and she and Tom went up to bed.  Gary went up to his room,

Part 3; in which Gary has memories, and makes a discovery.

Gary was in his room getting ready for bed. 

Gary kicked off his shoes and socks, He remembered when he was a little kid he used to love to run barefoot in the grass in summer time.

He took his tee shirt off and ran his hands up and down his smooth wiry upper body.  His nipples were small and brown, and each one had only a few strands of dark hair around the aureoles.  He had some hair in his arms pits, and a few strands on his chest.

While he was doing this, he thought about the times when he was ten years old and he and his friend Johnny used to have tickling contests.  Johnny used to like to tickle Gary’s chest and nipples, and Gary went for Johnny’s armpits.

He began to unbuckle his belt, and slide his pants down over his jockey shorts.  He remembered when he was about eleven how he and Johnny used to go for walks in the woods and then pretend they would have to pee.  Gary smiled as he recalled how it was really just an excuse for them to look at each other’s weenies.

Gary stepped out of his pants and began to slide his briefs down.  He didn’t have much hair on his chest, but from his navel down to his cock there was a darker line of hair, still very fine.

Gary thought about the time when he and Johnny were about 12½ years old, and they discovered that they had hair growing around their pricks.  Johnny said “I dare you to let me touch yours,” and Gary asked, “Can I touch yours?” From touching, their exploring moved to jerking each other off. 

Gary remembered the first time he ejaculated into Johnny’s hand.  He didn’t know what was happening, but Johnny reassured him that it was perfectly natural, and if Gary would just continue to beat Johnny’s meat, Johnny would also “shoot a load” into Gary’s hands.

Gary was completely nude now, and his six-inch prick lay flaccid against his  balls.  Gary thought about the times that Johnny had stood behind Gary and put his cock between Gary’s legs, and then reached around and jerked Gary off while Gary clamped Johnny’s organ between his legs and held it there until Johnny ejaculated.

Gary reached behind him and rubbed his ass cheeks and used his middle digit to finger his hole while he thought about the few times Johnny had tried to insert his stiff penis into Gary’s ring.  It hadn’t been too comfortable, but it hadn’t been too uncomfortable either.

Gary lay down on his bed, and began to slowly stroke his erect member while he thought about the other things the two young teens had tried--rubbing their crotches together, taking each other’s organs into their mouths, and once or twice doing 69. 

Gary was now masturbating faster and faster, remembering what fun those early sex games had been.  He wished John.  .  .  .  no, Johnny’s image was fading, and a new face was appearing as his partner. 

The features were hazy at first but as Gary neared his ejaculation, the features came quite distinct. 

Matt! It was Matt that Gary was visualizing as having sex—no making love with Matt who had won Gary’s heart this evening.  Matt who had been so angry then sad, and then happy.

Matt was the one that Gary wanted to hold in his arms, cover his face with kisses, Matt whose prick and balls Gary longed to taste, Matt whose ass Gary wanted to invade, Matt who Gary longed to have invade his own ass.  Matt.  Matt! MATT!!

Gary began to ejaculate.  His first load landed on his chin. 

“MMMMAAAAAAAAAATTTT! I LOVE YOU.”

Gary’s second load landed on his chest.

OOOOHHHH, MAAAAATT! COULD YOU EVER LOVE ME?

Gary’s third shot landed in his navel.

OOOOOHHHH, MATT! If I told you how I felt, you would probably be shocked and disgusted and not want to have anything to do with me.

Gary drifted off to sleep, wondering and hoping…..

* * * * *

Epilogue: Night has fallen.

Matt fell asleep thinking how wonderful it was to have someone to love—to be a friend—no! to love! Matt fell asleep wondering and hoping.

Sarah lay in bed thinking about a tall man who had suffered much, but who was not only  kind and gentle, but brave as well.  Sarah fell asleep wondering and hoping…

In his motel room, Jake thought about a stubborn woman who had taken in a 16-year-old boy and treated him as if he were her own son.  But she was SO STUBBORN.  Jake smiled and fell asleep, wondering and hoping.

To be continued...

Feedback always welcome:        As usual thanks to DD and E for their excellent suggestions (and proofreading).

Author's note:

Well, readers, is the story living up to its name?

This is a good story! DD

I’m always glad to hear from my readers.

Posted: 08/24/07