By: Gerry Young

[To DREW in Yorkshire, England, my LOVE for his continued inspiration, encouragement, ceaseless instructions over my hardheadedness, and his determination to help me make this the best that I think it can be, even though I may not have followed all his suggestions to the letter.]

CHAPTER ONE

[This chapter is totally new and has never been posted before.]

Sitting by himself in his compartment aboard the westbound Streamliner, Gerry soon realized that for the second time in his life, he was truly alone.  It wasn’t a sad ‘aloneness’ that he felt, only that there was no one aboard whom he knew.

He thought of his gentle giant’s urging -- Go west, young man; go west.  Your Destiny awaits you -- and he knew that somehow or other, someone, somewhere, was watching over him, guiding him, protecting him.  With that thought, loving warmth filled his heart, his mind, and his entire being.  He was content … for the moment.  And then his stomach growled just as he heard a tap-tap-tap at the compartment door.

He stood and opened it.  “Yes?”

The Porter announced, “Good evening, Mr. Young.  Dinner is being served in the Dining Car.”

“Thank you, Harvey,” he replied, seeing the Porter’s name-tag;  “I think I’ll stay in the compartment and just enjoy the bagged-lunch I brought with me.”

“That’s fine, Sir, but if I might suggest …?”

“Yes?”

“Your accommodations include ALL meals, and you might save what you brought with you for a late night snack, Sir.”

“Why, thank you, Harvey.  I’d forgotten about that.  Perhaps I WILL go to the Dining Car.” 

Even though the Stationmaster had told him about meals being included in his ticket, he hadn’t really believed it until that moment.  And how do you, as a Porter, even know about my particular ticket? he wondered.

“Very good, Sir.  Enjoy your dinner,” Harvey said, and with that, he turned and went to the next compartment.

Gerry closed the door and on entering the tiny lavatory connecting to his compartment, relieved the calls of nature, washed his hands, and left for dinner.

Two cars later, he walked into the elegantly appointed Dining Car.  Looking about, he saw that all the tables were occupied – two elderly couples at this one;  a young couple, obviously in love and unaware of anyone else, at the next;  a tired-looking young woman with three small, noisy children at another table;  three young men, probably in their twenties or early thirties, all with military haircuts but dressed in neat ‘civvies’, at yet another;  and on and on.  One old codger in a dark, pin-striped suit, and bald-headed but with mutton-chops and a handle-bar mustache, was ensconced at a table-for-four, by himself, puffing on a monstrous cigar, billowing brownish-gray clouds of noxious smoke while engrossed in what was obviously the financial pages of the New York Times.  Other newspapers were scattered about the table.

Gerry decided to continue on to the Club Car, rather than return to his own quarters.  Quarters, he thought, as he chuckled to himself, still thinking in Navy terms.  With a deep sigh, Gerry continued his stroll.

As he entered the next car – the Club Car – he saw that only four men (not counting the two bartenders) occupied the several small cocktail tables.  He walked to the bar and ordered a Coca-Cola.  “Bottle, or tumblah with iiice, Sir?” he was asked.

“With ice, please.”

“Comin’ riiite up, Sir,” the jovial bartender replied.  “Jes have a seat, an’ I’ll bring it riiite ovah t’ya.”  The southern Negro accent was unmistakable.

Gerry took a seat next to a window and noticed that the dusk of the evening was rapidly approaching.

“Yer Coca-Cola, Sir,” the bartender announced with a pleasant smile, the jet blackness of his skin, highlighting his white-white teeth and bright pink tongue. 

“Thank you, Jimmy-Joe,” Gerry said, glancing at the nametag as he dug into his pants-pocket and pulled out a dollar bill.  “Here … I think this should take care of it,” he added as he handed it toward the man.

“Awww, no, Sir;  there don’t be no charge t’you fer ennythin’ wile ya be ridin’ wit’ us, Sir.  No, Sir-eee, bob … nuttin’ a’tall.  Everthin’s awready been took care of, Mista Young.”

Gerry was dumbfounded;  he just shook his head in amazement.  “How do you know my name, Jimmy-Joe?”

“Ohhh, good Lawdy, Mista Young, Sir;  I thinks ‘bout everbuddy on this ‘ere train knows who you be … SIR!” he added, after a pause.

Gerry was stunned at what he had just been told, and at the same time, he became aware that he had never seen such intense blackness of skin before, skin that appeared smooth and soft and … and … vibrant with life.  If only … but he stopped his thought, cleared his throat and smiled.

He had not withdrawn his hand with the money in it, and said,  “Nevertheless, Jimmy-Joe, I want you to take this dollar bill and put it in your pocket, and I do thank you for your courtesy.”

“Why, thank ya, Mista Young;  thank ya, thank ya, thank ya.”  He took the money and put it in his pants-pocket.  “An’ if there be ennythin’ ya need, ennythin’ a’tall, you jes let Jimmy-Joe know…” he tapped his chest as he spoke, “…an’ I’ll be seein’ what I can do t’hep ya out.  You remembah that, now, won’tcha, Sir, Mista Young?”

As Gerry smiled and nodded his head, he began saying, “I’ll remember, Jim…” but his words were cut off.

“Gerry?  Gerry Young?  Is that you, you ornery ol’ cuss?” asked the young man, about Gerry’s age, who had walked over and thrown an arm around Gerry’s shoulders.

Gerry jerked his head in the direction of the man’s voice, and after a moment’s pensive hesitation, stepped back a bit and, with growing recognition, exclaimed, “Trev?  Trevor Knight, you son-of-a-gun!  What a surprise!  How ya doin’, buddy, and what rabbit hole around here’d you crawl out of?” They buddy-punched each other on the shoulder.

“Just a minute,” Trevor responded with a quick squeeze to the back of Gerry’s neck, as friends are sometimes prone to do.  His smiling face changed to a serious one as he looked at Jimmy-Joe and said, “What the fuck are ya doin’ lookin’ at us with that shit-eating grin on your sorry excuse of a face … boy?  Don’t just stand there!  Get me another bourbon-and-branch-water.  And be quick about it!”

“Yaz’ir, boss,” he replied -- his spirit, disheartened.  Jimmy-Joe’s shoulders drooped, his eyes darted back and forth between Gerry’s and Trevor’s, and he hurried back to the bar to get the drink his fellow bartender was already mixing.

“So … whatcha doin’ up here in Yankee land, Ger?  When ya left your job at the hospital in New Awlens, didn’t ya go into the Army Air Corps?  Or the Navy or somethin’?”  Without giving Gerry a chance to answer, he continued, “Here … let’s sit at this table so we’ve got a place to set our drinks … if mine ever gets here!  Hey, boy!  What’s takin’ so fuckin’ long?” he yelled.

“Comin’ riiite up, Sir,” Jimmy-Joe turned and answered with a little nod of his head.

Gerry didn’t like Trevor’s attitude but refused to comment …at least, not yet … but the little respite gave him time enough to decide not to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth concerning his stay in the Navy.

He stammered with his answer;  “Well … uhhh … to … uhhh … to tell ya the truth, Trevor, I … uhhh … I did join the Navy, and … uhhh … I’m not too happy about it, but … uhhh … during the physical … ya know, the physical exam? … Well … they discovered that I was flat-footed … or something like that, and … well … they … uhhh …  because it’s not wartime, now, ya know, and they don’t need everybody … uhhh … they … uhhh … they gave me … a medical discharge or waiver or whatever they call it!” he blurted out.

“Nothin’ t’be ashamed of, ol’ buddy – lotsa folks got flat-feet, but that’s been, what? Ya left right after the first of the year, if my memory serves me right;  didn’t you?”

Gerry nodded.

“That’s January, February, March…” he was counting off the months on his fingers;  “…June, July, August.  It’s almost September;  that’s nine months.  Whatcha been doin’?  Havin’ a baby?”  He chuckled as he slapped Gerry’s shoulder.

“Yer Bourbon an’ Branch, Sir,” Jimmy-Joe announced, still slump-shouldered and without his previous radiant smile.

“’Bout time!” Trevor grumbled, grabbing the drink and dismissing Jimmy-Joe with a solitary wave of his hand.  “Jus’ put it on my tab – not that you deserve it, seein’ how fuckin’ long it took ya t’get it here.”

“Trevor!” Gerry strongly interjected, “Jimmy-Joe’s just doing his job … and a mighty fine job he’s doing, too, if I might say so,” he added, smiling at the bartender and giving him a wink.

“Thank ya, Mista Young,” he responded before turning and going back to the bar.

“There’s no call for ya to be talking to him that way, Trev…”

“What’s goin’ on here?  You turned into a muther-fuckin’, fudge-packin’ cocksucker to these damn Nig…?”

“Stop it right there!” Gerry raised his voice and then returned to his normal tone.  “I don’t like that word, Trev, and I won’t have ya making an asshole outta yourself!  You’re drunk!”

Trevor jumped to his feet, his face flushed, and daggers flying from his eyes.  “You goddamned-son-of-a-bitch, takin’ up with those bast…”

“Gentlemen!  Gentlemen!  Control yourselves,” came the deep, authoritative voice from a burly man who had just walked into the Club Car.  He was dressed in a dark blue uniform.  “This is not the place for boisterous words, nor for what, perchance, might become a bout of fisticuffs,” he said, with a very slight British accent.

Gerry had risen from his seat, and on hearing the word ‘fisticuffs’, took a deep look into the man’s eyes;  his mouth fell open in wonderment.  Michael? he wondered.

“Who the fuck are you?” Trevor asked.

“Officer  Windsor, gentlemen.  Railway Security,” he answered, as he turned his head, smiled and winked at Gerry;  he then held up his hand, indicating that the silent question not be asked.

Gerry grinned, and they both smiled at each other.

“I would suggest, gentlemen, that you both part company and go your separate ways, or else…”

“Don’t worry yerself about that … Officer! … I have no intention of hanging around this … this …”

“Very good,” the officer broke into the halting words.  “In that case, I’m sure you won’t object to my walking you back to your seat, Mr. Knight.  You are planning to change trains in Chicago and then return to New Orleans, are you not?”

“Yeah, but how do you know that?”

“Young man, I make it my business to know everything about everyone.”  Trevor looked at him askew.  Windsor put his hand in the middle of Trevor’s back, and began gently to usher him away.

As they stepped toward the front of the Club Car, the officer looked back at Gerry, and with another wink said, “Enjoy the rest of your trip … and your Destiny … Mister Young!”

“Oh, I’m sure I will;  I’m sure I will;  and thanks again for everything, Mi…” he started to say, but as the gentle giant shot him a quick glance, he corrected himself by saying, “… errr … Officer Windsor.”

And then they were gone.

<><><> 

After changing trains in Chicago and Denver, Gerry found himself in San Francisco.  The trip had taken nearly five full days since leaving Rockland, Maine, and though he loved the hypnotic clickety-clack, clickety-clack of the railroad track, Enough is enough, already, he thought.

The first thing Gerry did upon arriving in ‘The City by the Bay’ was to get a room at the Y.M.C.A.  It was no more than eight feet wide by twelve feet long, with the door from the hall at one end and a window looking out the opposite wall to the brick facia of the next building, not four feet away.  A twin-sized bed next to the left wall as one entered the room … a simple wash basin (with mirror above it) in the far right corner next to the window … a small desk and chair at the left side of the window … and several hooks on which to hang clothes on the right wall.  These were the only accoutrements in the room.  The communal toilets and showers were down the hall.  Minimal bed-and-bath linens were provided in each private room.

He checked out the facilities within the old Victorian-style three-story building – obviously a mansion in its day.  The swimming pool was in what would be called the basement, and he learned from the front desk, that the men and boys who used it were required to swim naked, and hence, no females were allowed (women and girls used similar facilities at the Y.W.C.A. which was across town).  Swimming lessons for young boys and teenagers ended at 5 PM, and the adult residents could use the pool from 5 to 10 PM each evening.

The first floor (level with the street) housed the Offices and the gym for basketball, weights, and track;  and the second and third floors were the private rented rooms.  All in all, even though his room was small and monastically Spartan, it was clean and adequate for a short stay.

It had been nearly a week since Gerry had taken his last shower (in the hospital in Rockland).  Yes, he had sponge-bathed himself aboard the trains, but nothing was like a hot, steamy shower, and he needed one badly!

He stripped out of his clothes, wrapped a bath-towel around his waist, and walked to the rest room and showers.  Several young men were also in the hallway, similarly attired.  They smiled and nodded as Gerry passed;  but no one said a word.

One man, apparently in his late twenties or early thirties, taller than Gerry by at least three inches, very well built, and with strawberry-blond hair, grabbed Gerry’s attention with his sparkling green eyes and beautiful smile.  Well, that wasn’t all that grabbed his attention – not in the least!  The man had his towel thrown over his left shoulder, and his exposed, heavy, semi-hard, un-cut manhood was well on its way to full erection, leading the way.

Gerry gulped at the sight, and his eyes grew wide;  he licked his lips, and stared at the bobbing hunk of man-flesh as he felt a definite stirring beneath his own towel.  He glanced back up at the stranger’s face, only to find a huge grin which sent a sort of electric tingle from his eyes straight to his growing manhood.

“Hello,” the man said.

“Hello,” Gerry weakly echoed with a nod, and hurried off to the communal area, cupping and adjusting his own rising excitement.

In the toilet area, Gerry entered a stall, closed and locked the door, removed his towel and sat to relieve his bowels, and also, perhaps, to take matters into his own hands before taking his shower.

I guess what they say about Frisco is true – much more open than anywhere else about men-and-men, he thought.  But the more he thought, combined with his mental image of the guy in the hall, the harder he became.  He drew a lot of saliva into his mouth, and smeared it onto the palm and fingers of his right hand, and slowly began stroking himself.  With lips barely open, he sucked in a long, slow, deep breath -- his whole being tingling with sexual excitement.

He heard the door to the next stall close, and soon saw a naked foot on the other side of the partition separating the stalls;  from its position, he reasoned that the man was also sitting on the toilet.  The toes of the foot patted the floor a few times.

Gerry froze.  Not a muscle did he move.  Even his breathing ceased for a moment – a long moment, until his body forced him to take a needed breath.  Never had he felt so strange in his life – at least, not in so much as he could remember.  Again, he licked his palm and returned to the slow stroking of his begging hardness.  Then faster, and yet faster still, his hand pumped;  he blocked-out the person in the next stall.  His eyes closed in erotic self-pleasuring.

More spit, and his hand was flying;  wet, squishy, slapping sounds, combined with sounds of his labored, rapid breathing, began filling and echoing in the silence of the hard-surfaced surroundings.  It felt wonderful and he knew he was close.

The man next-door cleared his throat.  Gerry’s eyes flew open, and both hands covered his privates, as if someone could see his nakedness.  As his breathing returned to normalcy, his chin and head slouched to his chest, and a movement to his left caught his eyes – a hand, palm up, had appeared below the partition and above the floor.  Its fingers were moving back and forth as if saying, ‘Come here’.

Who?  What?  How?  Gerry wondered.  Instantly, his hardon vanished, as if he’d jumped into a river of icy-cold water.  He’d heard of the nasty, sometimes harmful things, that perverts in Men’s Rooms could do.  Truth be known, his innocence and naiveté brought his fear-factor to the fore.

He pulled some tissue from the holder, just in case the man next-door could hear and determine why Gerry was there in the first place, wiped himself for the same reason, flushed the toilet and left the stall.

Leaving the Rest Room area, he debated whether to return to the privacy of his room, or to go on into the shower area.  The latter won out!  I still need a shower, he thought, and the hot water will relax me.  AND…, the thought occurred to him, …it’s a bigger open space where I can run if I have to!

He dropped his towel on one of the benches in the dry area, proceeded into the communal shower itself, and remembered the group showers while in the Navy.  There were seventeen showerheads around the room.  He went to the one directly opposite the large open doorway – just in case he felt he had to make a quick exit.  Turning on the spray and adjusting the temperature, he began his much-needed ablution.

First, his face, and then he took the soap and washed his pits and arms. The hot water felt wonderful.  For a moment, he let the water run through his hair.  He leaned forward, placing his hands against the ceramic-tiled wall, and with head bowed, let the hot spray flow down his back.

He wasn’t aware that someone else had entered and turned on the water from the nozzle to his immediate right.

“Hello, again,” a voice said.

Gerry jerked back, and looking to his right, recognized the strawberry-blond.  “Oh! … Hello … I didn’t realize anyone had come in,” he nervously responded.

“I’m sorry.  Didn’t mean to frighten you.  Name’s ‘Tom’.  You’re new around here, aren’t you?”

He seems nice enough.  “No problem, Tom;  I was off in another world.”

“And you are … ???” Tom asked, extending his hand in greeting.

“I’m Gerry.”  He reached out, and when he opened his closed fist to shake Tom’s hand, the bar of soap dropped to the tiled floor.  “Oops!”

“Don’t bend over to pick up the soap, Gerry … not unless…” he chuckled, but didn’t add anything to the ‘unless’.  He just wriggled his eyebrows.

Gerry blushed.

“I haven’t seen you around here, before,” Tom stated.  He kicked the soap into a far corner of the room.  “Athlete’s Foot runs rampant around here at times,” he offered in way of explanation.  “I know you wouldn’t want to spread that to your crotch.”  Then, reaching for another bar in the soap dish below another showerhead, he said, “Here.  Here’s another one for ya.”

“Thanks,” Gerry hesitated a bit, then took the offered soap.  “No;  I just arrived a couple of hours ago.”

“From …?”

“Uhhh …” Gerry hesitated again, not wanting to reveal too much information about himself.  “… the uhhh … the Northeast,” he stated in an uncomfortable tone as he turned his back to Tom and began lathering his own nether regions, bending forward and washing a raised leg.

“Here.  Let me get your back for ya,” Tom offered, as his sudsy hands began rubbing Gerry’s back, “and then you can get mine.  Been a long time since anyone scrubbed my back, and I love to have it done.”

“No!  That’s all right,” Gerry exclaimed as he suddenly jerked upright and tried to turn to face him, but Tom tightened his grip on Gerry’s shoulders, preventing him from turning.

“Please don’t.”

“Don’t what, Ger?”

“Don’t hurt me … please,” he begged, his breathing becoming rapid and shallow.

Gerry, himself, didn’t know where the emotions were coming from, but something in his sub-consciousness was making itself known.  His whole body was trembling;  his voice quivered when he spoke.

Tom slid his hands under Gerry’s arms and around front until right hand was on left pec, and left hand covered right pec.  He pulled Gerry’s back against his own chest.

“Oh, Ger … I’m not going to hurt you;  I swear by all that’s holy.  Please believe me.  I only wanted …”

Gerry was struggling to free himself from Tom’s embrace, but it was too tight.

“I don’t know who you are.  I don’t know what you are.  I don’t know what you want.  You might be … God only knows what.”  His voice growing louder on each statement, Gerry was on the verge of crying.

Tom loosened his hold and slowly turned Gerry around.  He held him at arm’s length and, with compassion, said, “Look at me, Gerry.”

With a few tears already streaming down his face, Gerry looked into his ‘captor’s’ stunning green eyes.

“First …” Tom went on;  “… I’m not a bad guy, Ger – a little horny at times … well, no, that’s not true, either … a lot horny at times …” he chuckled, “… but I’m not a bad guy.  I’m not evil.  I’m not out to hurt anybody.”

Gerry relaxed a little, wiped the tears from his cheeks, and wanted so much to believe the man whose hands were still on his shoulders.

“And, second … you see, Ger, I come here … two … three times a week after I get off work … just to have a little fun … if you know what I mean … with some of the guys around here, and take a swim, or run a few miles around the track, or work out on the weights before going home at night.”

At last, Gerry’s breathing was returning to normal, and he had a faint smile on his face.

Tom continued.  “Everybody downstairs in the Office knows me, and a lot of the residents know me.”  Gerry’s smile grew more pronounced.  “And since I’m a member of A.A., I don’t drink, and I don’t go to the bars like most of my buddies at work do.  So ya see, Ger, my time here is really my social life.”

Projecting his tentative newfound trust, Gerry rested his hands on Tom’s outstretched arms.  “Thanks for telling me those things, Tom;  I really appreciate it.  And I’m sorry for the way I behaved just now.”

“Friends?” they both asked in unison.

After a good laugh, and as if in sync with each other, they each raised a crooked ‘pinkie’ finger toward the other, hooked them together, and gave one hearty shake.  They roared with laughter as Gerry remembered having done that with some of his elementary school pals, and Tom probably remembered the same.

Breaking their juvenile connection, Tom said, “Here!  Let me turn around, and you scrub my back for me.”

“Deal!”

Tom turned, and Gerry began lathering his shoulders and back muscles.  It was soon obvious to Gerry that Tom did some serious workouts – his muscles were toned and strong to the touch but not overly pronounced.  The lathering soon became like a gentle massage, but a little awkward since they both were still standing, particularly as Gerry had worked his hands down to the tops of the globes of Tom’s ass.

“Ummmmm.  That feels so good, Ger, but as good as that feels, could ya do some more on my shoulders and neck muscles? … And really dig in … if you want to.”

“Sure, Tom,” Gerry said, as his thumbs and fingertips dug deep into the taller man’s shoulder muscles.

Soon, Gerry began to feel more comfortable being on the giving end of the duo, rather than on the receiving end.  His eyes closed and he discovered that his tactile senses found tight knots at the base of Tom’s neck.  His digging and probing gave way to softer, gentler rubbing with the heels of his hands.

“Ummmmm,” Tom uttered again; “I’ll give you twenty-four hours to stop, Ger.”  He leaned back against Gerry’s chest, and as he did, he felt Gerry’s hard cock slide up the crack of his ass.

“Oops.  Sorry about that,” Gerry apologized, stepping back and removing his hands.  “I didn’t realize that was happening.”

“No problem, buddy;  no problem at all.  Those things happen.  It felt good.”

Gerry was about to turn away, but as Tom turned to face him, they both saw that each had a sword of flesh saluting the other.  Gerry blushed.

“You’re so cute when you do that.”

“What do I do that’s so … ‘cute’?”

“Blush.  That’s the second time I’ve seen you do it.”

Gerry rolled his eyes, grinned, and turned to leave, as Tom turned off the showers.

“Wait up,” he said, rushing a few steps toward Gerry, and when near enough, threw his arms around him, squeezing his arms to his sides, and returned his own hands onto Gerry’s pecs, pulling their bodies together once again – chest to back, crotch to ass.  He bent his knees a little, allowing his cock to slide down Gerry’s ass-crack and between his upper thighs, almost touching Gerry’s no-longer-virgin asshole. 

Gerry stiffened-up, straight as a board, and he was trembling;  and in that frozen moment, vivid memories came into his mind – memories of Zed … who had just given him his first blowjob.  Once again he heard Zed whisper, I’ve got another birthday present for ya, Ger.  Why don’tcha get down outta the rack and come to the shower room with me, and I’ll give it to you there?  And again, visions flared in his brain – visions of what he had heard being referred to as ‘corn-holing’ in the locker room and showers of the high school gym.

Feeling Tom’s cock sliding back and forth between his thighs and against his ass, Gerry returned from the frozen moment, and with a fearful, faint voice, pleaded, “I can’t.  I can’t.  Oh, please don’t.  Don’t hurt me.  Just let me go.  Please.”  Tom relaxed his hold.

Gerry sprang forward, and ran to the bench where he had thrown his towel.  He collapsed to his knees and fell across the bench, sobbing like a baby.  Between sobs, he continued his whispered plea, “Please … please … please.”

“Gerry!  Gerry!” Tom called after him, rushing to his side and kneeling next to him at the bench.  He put his arm across Gerry’s back.  Gerry flinched and drew away as much as his position would allow.

“What’s wrong, Gerry?  I’m not gonna hurt you, I swear!  I’m not gonna hurt you.  Goddamn!  Something terrible must have happened to you.  What is it? …  Tell me …  What was it? … Please.”

His tone – his sincerity – his caring – his compassion – seeped into Gerry’s emotional self, and slowly, once again, he felt safe.  He rose to his knees from his crumpled position and lunged toward his … friend? … and hugged him tight.  Both, naked, on their knees, bare chest to bare chest, chins to shoulders, arms enfolding each other, flaccid cock to flaccid cock without any sexual response, arms around each other.  And Gerry bawled without restraint.

Tom patted Gerry’s back, the way a parent would soothe a hurting child.  Several moments passed, and gradually, Gerry gained his composure;  as Tom again loosened his hold, Gerry said, “My knees are killing me;  I gotta get up.”

“Mine, too,” Tom said with a little chuckle.  They helped each other up, as best they could.  Tom grabbed Gerry’s towel and handed it to him, and then grabbed his own off the bench.  They dried themselves and finished by wrapping the towels around their waists.

“Your room?  Or mine?  Or do ya want to sit here and talk?” Tom asked;  “’Cause I ain’t leaving ya until ya tell me … uhhh … whatever it is that brought all this … this … stuff on!”

Gerry sat on the bench, crossed his arms tight against his chest, and stared at the floor, saying nothing.  Then, a movement to his right, and he turned his head slightly and became aware of Tom straddling the bench and also sitting, pressing down the front of his towel with both hands, probably, Gerry surmised, to keep me from seeing his sexual excitement. 

His glances alerted him to the fact that Tom was inching himself closer;  the movement of his head told Gerry that he was looking at, scanning every inch of his nearly naked body.  For all Gerry knew, Tom could mentally be writing his own morbid grocery list.  He looked around for a way to run, but Tom was nearer to the hallway than he, himself, was.

 “What happened, Ger?  Please trust me, and maybe I can help you.”

Glancing at him out of the corner of his eye, Gerry asked, “What are you?  A psychologist or something?”

“No, not really, but I do know when someone’s scared or hurting.  So, please, tell me what’s wrong.”

Another moment of silence.  Having returned his staring gaze into the ‘nothingness’ of the floor, Gerry gave a deep sigh and whispered, “It’s … it’s … embarrassing.”

“What?  I’m sorry, Ger;  I didn’t hear what you said.”

Gerry turned his head and peered into Tom’s beautiful green eyes.  “I said, ‘It’s embarrassing.’”  He paused, and then added, “It’s not something that a man talks about.”  He looked back to the floor, propped his elbows on his knees, bent forward, and rested his forehead in his upturned hands.

Tom looked startled and sat up straight.  He glanced away, scratched his chin for a moment, and then with a look of understanding and knowing, turned his attention back to his new friend.  “Gerry … if it’s what I think, happened, it will help if you talk about it … well, talk about it with a … a friend … ya know … get it out in the open … put it behind you … if at all possible.”

“That’s just it, Tom.  I don’t know.”

“What d’ya mean?

“Two weeks ago …” he sat up and looked into those green eyes again, “… I woke up in a hospital in Rockland, Maine, and the doctor told me something that I have absolutely no memory of … none at all.”

Tom nodded and said, “Go on, Ger.  What did the doctor tell you?”

Another deep sigh, and Gerry answered;  “The doctor told me that I had had surgery.  Rectal surgery.  To repair rips and tears.  From being gang-raped!”

To be continued...

*****