I run back up to the press box. We have a visitor, Dean Epps. My Harvard career hanging by a thread is at a turning point.
“Dean Epps,” he’s glaring at me.
“I thought that with Castle gone, you’d revert to more traditional behavior. You are not the first Stone to come to Harvard,” he reminds me. “But you continue this disruptive behavior and you may be the last.”
“I hope you see that the football players have responded to tie the game,” I make my only defense.
The glare on his face softens.
“I hear that the inclusion of female cheerleaders is partly your idea.”
“Just that Mummy sent cute outfits, after the boys wanted them in long trousers and sweaters.”
“Ah, Mummy. Well, no one can criticize her. The addition of girls went over well.”
“But I’m tired of getting complaints from faculty about your insolence. The Band Director collapsed after their performance. He says you undercut him.”
“Only to allow the horn and flute sections to join me on the fanfares and classical music through the stadium speakers. How did you like our singing of the National Anthem?”
“Wonderful, but those girls aren’t even at Harvard.”
“They’re from Smith, visiting the Radcliffe girls in Mower.”
“I suppose they want to come to Harvard now?”
“They’ve said so, but their parents want them in an all-women’s school.”
“What do you expect me to do?”
“Please let me finish the game. There are no more surprises. We just want to cheer the team on to do their best.”
“If I pull the plug, I know I’ll live to regret it. Can you tone it down?”
“Can you keep the band director in the stadium office, for the sake of his heart?”
“I’ve already told him that. The first violinist will conduct.”
I smile. He laughs. We reach an accord. I’ll still be at Harvard for at least another week.
“In two weeks, the Yale game is here. I want to know ahead of time exactly what you plan .”
I nod, knowing how impossible it is to plan all the spontaneous stunts. I’ll be facing the music again.
Dean Epps slaps me on the back. “You know, your brothers were just ordinary student clowns. Somehow you’ve elevated their game.”
“My folks call me their November surprise.”
“Make sure they’re pleased, not embarrassed.” Dean Epps leaves. The announcer winks at me. The old curmudgeon likes being on the side of youth against the establishment.
The second half is about to start. The male cheerleaders troop out and began building their pyramid. They each strip off their bulky sweaters and show off some pecs. The students all cheer, not realizing how faggy it is. When the girls run out to build the pyramid apex, they get a big cheer, especially from the alums. With Jill at the top, the remaining girls come running out in the tiger costumes. The Princeton side erupts in cheers, until the remaining male cheerleaders come out with whips and chase the tigers around the pyramid, Little Black Sambo style. Now the Harvard side is cheering. The pyramid comes down in an orderly collapse. All the cheerleaders chase the tigers off the field. We’re ready for football.
It is also time for rock to invade the stadium. It has to be ‘Champions’ by Queen. As the team prepares to reenter the stadium, I start the opening lyrics, “I’ve paid my dues….” The band’s new leader directs the percussion section to come in, switching to the rock beat. The team swarms out to “We are the Champions.’
Tim comes up, leaving the cheer squad to whip up the crowd. When Princeton’s offense is marching toward a go-ahead score, we sing Bohemian Rhapsody as a duet.
‘Is this the real life?
Is this just fantasy?
Caught in a landslide
No escape from reality
Open your eyes
Look up to the skies and see
I’m just a poor boy, I need no sympathy
Because I’m easy come, easy go’
The band accompanies us as the MOOG rings out through the stadium speakers. As Princeton’s drive reaches the critical red zone, we switch back to ‘Champions.’ All the student section is singing the rousing lyrics. After the drive fails on a fourth down conversion, we go into ‘Another One Bites the Dust.’
The stands are laughing at hapless Princeton. The Harvard team mounts a final drive and the game ends with a 21-14 victory. We play the Princeton alma mater, ‘Old Nassau’ as their fans depart the stands.
To the Princeton fans’ credit, they all stand and sing along with us. As a final touch, we recognize the value of Queen’s rock outrageousness by playing ‘Killer Queen.’
We open the Press Box’s sliding window. Tim and I are arm in arm singing to the crowd.
The student section gives us a big cheer as we finish and bow. The band blows several fanfares. The first violin takes his bow.
“You boys sure know how to put on a show,” Ralph, the announcer, claps us on the back, taking his own bow for the first time since the Spanish-American War.
As we hurry out the Stadium lot, surrounded by our 3D cheerleaders, the tailgaters give us continued applause as we rush by. With alum support, I know Dean Epps isn’t likely to expel us. We see him overlooking the scene. We wave to him. He does the Nixon double ‘V’ salute. 21-14 is what we need.
I can’t wait any longer, dragging Tim to our room. Minehan is still missing in action. We have the room long enough to achieve four orgasms each. The first one goes off in less than five minutes. The rest are more satisfying but I can’t get enough of Tim. Jace lets us know that Tommy has him tied up (literally) in some homo exorcism Tommy’s latest girlfriend makes him undergo. Good luck on that one. Jace knows we miss him but it doesn’t slow us down.
We meet Jill and the rest of the third floor at ‘Noch’s for pizza. They laugh at our red faces. We aren’t embarrassed, just exhausted. Pizza does the trick. Jill has a note from Minehan that orders us to be at the Rat by nine o’clock. Plenty of time for extra toppings. Trudie and Joan feel left out, worried we’ve bankrupted our sperm banks. We know to devote the evening to their desires. Pizza recharges us. While the 3D girls are dressing down for the Rat, we make the most of the time by making out with our dates. Minehan’s bed is still taboo, although we swear his mom was thorough in washing his sheets. The girls just want our attention. We know that the single bed is going to take a beating. Finally Jill sticks her head in to warn us we have to leave for the Rat in five minutes. I’m shot down arguing that we can call a limo, for an extra thirty minutes alone with the Smithies . Even Joan and Trudie are against invoking privilege. We tuck in our shirts, sling our arms around the girls and head for the T. I love slumming.
David is pacing out in front on Kenmore Square. He runs up to us, even giving Tim a quick hug. He’s rattled. Tim and I go straight for his heart and calm him.
“What’s up, Townie? The other locals kick you out?”
“We need you here. We go on in five minutes.”
“Who’s letting you play with them? They’re crazy. You always upstage everyone.”
“We’re opening tonight,” he’s gleefully crazed.
“Who is,” I ask, still confused.
Tim smiles. “I know. It’s The Neighborhoods’ big debut.”
David jumps up and down, shaking us. He’s so worked up.
“Are you guys ready?” I’m a Doubting Thomas.
“You’ll find out,” he yells, running back inside. “Just make sure you’re all down in front.”
The girls run in with him, swearing they’ll be his groupies for the night. Minehan beams.
“This is his surprise?” Tim asks.
“I guess we’re no longer in his band,” I shrug.
“We never were the neighbor hoods.”
“What will we play if he asks us on stage?”
“Great. Always a cover band.”
“Let’s never grow up.”
“Look what happened with Jace, stuck in Junior High in Lauderdale .”
“Gross,” I note from my lofty perch as a college freshman.
“You’re so retarded,” Tim claims.
“More likely a nerd forever.”
We go inside the Rat. Minehan has the boys set up and ready to go. The 3D girls are dragging the townies to the front. The boys are losing their cool to hang with the co-eds. The Rat has evolved.
“Okay, Boston, are you ready?” David strides to the mic. “We are the Neighborhoods and the Rat is our world.”
He jumps up and down in Beatle boots while Jim starts in with the bass intro. Once he starts the vocals he stays on the mic. The songs are about girls. Finally he breaks away from the mic and rips guitar licks, jumping around like a kangaroo. The girls are screaming and pulling the townies around the front of the six-inch riser stage. We jump into the mix, bouncing up and down. I refrain from ass bumping Tim in deference to our suburban friends. Minehan keeps shouting the name ‘Roxanne.’ Does he have an unknown girlfriend. Is his status as a college freshman threatened by still dating in high school. We assumed he just isn’t sexy yet. Finally he introduces her in song.
“This song is called ‘Roxanne.’”
“Roxanne, Roxanne.. You broke my heart”
Songwriter: David Minehan
I guess his sex life is stuck in high school. Oh, never to be 17 again.
They play five songs.
“That’s about it, so far. We just started this fall,” he explains.
The girls are shouting, “More, more.” Even the townies are clapping.
“Okay, we’ll play the set again,” David is beaming at an encore. They play the same five songs and depart to the cheers of their fans. The rest is history.
I run to the bar and get three beers for the band. David drinks all of them, so I go back to get more for Mike and Jim. By the time I get back, David is spinning in place, drunk as a skunk, proclaiming his band has conquered Boston. The world beware. The townies are all over the co-eds, Tim rescues Trudie and Joan. Jill is berating David for not bringing the Sitting Band up on stage for the encore. He isn’t about to share the spotlight. Mike and Jim are his props on the road to fame. He grabs Carol from the Southies, with an arm on her shoulder as he regales the other groupies. She looks relieved; this isn’t dancing under the stars at the Ritz.
Tim and I take Joan and Trudie out on the stoop in Kenmore Square.
“This will be your life in Hollywood?” Trudie teases Tim.
“Oh, gawd. That’s a reality check. Hollywood’s more cosmopolitan than Boston. There’s three clubs to go to, not just the Rat.”
“How about Manhattan?” she asks.
“It’s been my second home since before I graduated junior high school. The scene is real, not just on a weekend night. But everyone’s so much older. Our best friend is a seventy-year-old beat writer.”
“Jack’s not your best friend?” Joan isn’t totally clued in on our relationship.
Tim grabs me in a hug. “He’s more than that. We’re soul lovers.”
I turn red. The girls just nod.
“That’s why we date roommates,” I assure them. They beam and hug each other. I grab Joan and Tim has Trudie. Minehan will be sleeping on the third floor again. The 3D girls come outside, followed by Minehan and his minions.
“Pizza,” David cries. We need to carb-load.
Soon we are on Washington Street, seated in a seedy takeout joint, just stools against the wall.
“I know,” David admits. “It’s skuzzy, but ya can’t beat a slice and a beer in the ‘Combat Zone.’
“They don’t sell beer, David,” Jill is on top of the situation.
“That’s why we just buy slices,” is his answer.
Soon we’re walking toward Chinatown, with slices in both hands. David walks us into Jake Wirth’s, a German bar and restaurant, with sawdust on the floor. We all order dark bock beer which come in pint mugs. They never card us, so the high schoolers and David are served. The beer is sweeter than lagers. It goes down well with the slices we are still eating. David somewhat obeys Carol when she slows down his alcohol consumption. We laugh at his minder.
“Sure yer name ain’t Roxanne?” Tim crows.
“That bitch dumped me,” Minehan reveals the truth.
“David,” all the 3D girls yell at him.
“She was my first love,” he moans.
“You should remember the good times with her then,” Trixie speaks up.
“That’s Carol. Alls we have is good times.”
Carol looks dismayed that she officially now has a high school boyfriend. But David is soon out on his feet. Jim takes charge of him, announcing they have to pick up their equipment at the Rat. The Neighborhoods at least have someone with a car. Bass players have their uses.
We take the T back to Harvard Square.. It’s still early, so I suggest we try to get into Porcellian. We go back to Mower to spruce up. Our Rat outfits are deemed trop trashy for snobby social clubs. We convene in 3D. Soon the bull session becomes so animated that no one wants to leave.
“Look out,” Tim warns. “Jack’s social ambitions are being crushed,” once we decide to stay in. Tim tells stories about his week in New York. It makes him seem so much more mature than the rest of us. He’s out in the world pursuing a real job. It’s more than social-climbing that is crushed for me. Soon our dates make it obvious that they’re ready to get to our room and get it on. My maturity level is rising finally.
After a careful inspection of my bed, it is determined that Minehan has not left crusty sheets. Each couple is soon going at it in separate beds. The girls are not ready for a four-way. They’re exploring two-ways with complete abandon. Harvard beds are exceptionally squeaky. It isn’t exactly cacophony, but there is a definite sense of rhythm to the noise. We claim it’s due to our Catholic upbringing. Rhythm is the only approved birth control method. We are sinners in multiple ways tonight. The girls provide condoms. We feel so safe.
I sense that Tim takes longer than I do to achieve full penetration. By that time I’ve lost track of what’s going on in the other bed. Joan is a bit shy at first. Once we get started, she is over any reluctance. She quickly lets me know what is pleasing and exciting. I’m finding girls more willing partners, in the sense that they expect the guy to be the dominant one. There’s no confusion of who is going to be penetrated and when. We take our time. Tim reiterates Tommy’s discovery that there’s little difference between cunnilingus with girls and blow jobs for guys. Girls require a little more exploration, while guys require you to choke on it. The key is getting down there and enjoying how turned on it makes your partner. And, how turned on it makes you. It isn’t long before Joan needs more than just tongue down there. As her need increases, I hold off long enough to make her slightly frustrated, then tease her even more by rubbing my dick head across her labia. She is squirming and panting for it. I attempt to turn on other erogenous zones by licking her nipples. She is now begging for it. The big moment lasts just seconds, as I penetrate her with, as Tim calls it, my garden hose dick. Its length easily pushes against her cervix. She winces, causing me to fully withdraw. She moans ‘no.no,’ needing me inside her. I know how she feels. No denying her need, I stay fully inside as her pussy squeezes and pulses. Her first orgasm comes quickly. As she lets loose, I stroke in and out with short thrusts. She is loudly squealing and moans as the sensation subsides. I heard Tim and Trudie giggling. I enjoy putting on a show, but soon I’m simply satisfying myself; her pussy continues the throbbing as my invader brings her close to a second orgasm. Between the throbbing and the fast approaching orgasm I realize Joan is being overwhelmed. The thoughts of unending orgasm give way to a need to bring her back to reality.
I whisper, “Let’s take a break.”
“No,” she clamps down on my dick, determined to complete her second orgasm.
Her assertiveness tweaks my passive side. I give in to her hurried race to cum. We climax together. My long skinny dick twisting, turning and spurting deep inside her cunt. She screams in ecstasy, and then collapses semi-conscious as she finishes. I pull out and hug her. I glance to my left. Tim and Trudie are kneeling beside my bed, anxious and concerned about our fucking.
“She’s not dead,” I assert. “I wanted to slow down but she took over and charged to orgasm.”
“How did that work?” Tim seems to want a fucking lesson. He’ll have to wait.
They climb into my bed and we play sardines while I stroke Joan who remains comatose.
“This is not fun,” I joke. Soon Joan returns to the living, shocked that Tim and Trudie are in bed with us. She is instantly asleep again. I lay back and fall asleep myself.
Hours later, I awake to the rustling in Tim’s bed. He isn’t wasting his final hours with Trudie. As far as I know, they may have been fucking all night long. Joan is resolutely in dreamland. Before we get up, she and I make out. There was no indication she wants to repeat our fucking moves. I don’t feel denied but am left with a definite feeling that I want a repeat soon.
We wander down to commons, asking the 3D girls if they want to attend mass at St Paul’s. Minehan has returned and is draped all over Carol. She is still perplexed about their budding relationship.
“Is Carol your Roxanne replacement?” Tim kids the pair.
David just squeezes her tighter. Irish boys treat their girlfriends like shit, and then elevate them to sainthood once they’re satisfied.
Father John has told me that the boys’ choir will perform at ten o’clock mass. He is anxious to meet Tim, our saint-in-training. I’m anxious to see how Kevin and Liam do playing electric guitar during the service. They only learned earlier this week. All the 3D girls and even Minehan are happy to go. Our Protestant girlfriends are conflicted but want to go along with the group.
Seven girls and three boys, mostly dressed in white, make for a grand entrance. Our guitar prodigies wave to us from their perch beside the choir. They smile and look confident about their performance. A couple of other Harvard students wave us over and we join them, crowding into a long pew. We finally meet the Newman Society.
The service goes along, with the boys playing softly behind the choir’s singing, adding a musical tone to the crystal voices. Even David pays attention. As the priest releases us, he notes that Kevin and Liam will play the processional; the selection is a rock song by Pink Floyd. The parishioners gasp. Tim gulps and tears form on his eye lashes. I grab his hand in support. The Newman Society moves down the pew. The 3D girls huddle around us. Jace appears, flying above the choir. This is his song. The boys are not singing, just playing the guitar part. Standing there, Tim and I sing the final words to Jace:
“How I wish, how I wish you were here
We’re just two lost souls swimming in a fish bowl
Year after year
Runnin’ over the same old ground
What have we found the same old fears
Wish you were here”
Writer: WATERS, ROGER/GILMOUR, DAVID JON
Copyright: Lyrics © Warner/Chappell Music, Inc.
The parishioners are filing past us, giving us strange looks as we sing, tears flooding our cheeks. Music at mass is still a work in progress. Jace is hovering above the choir. The aura of trust and love intensifies. The glow explodes into a burst of golden tears, falling on the boys, and spreading throughout the church. They pop whenever touched by a disbeliever. The choirboys collect quite a few. I hate to tell them they aren’t worth their weight in gold. It’s the second miracle – Tim’s guarantee of sainthood. Minehan is able to collect as many as he can, hoping to add their value to his tuition fund.
“Congratulations, David,” I explain how it works. “You must be a true believer.”
He just shakes his head and distributes his extra tears to the girls who are too shy to collect any. Our second saint.
Father John gathers us with the choir in the parish hall. All the boys are holding their precious pieces of gold. I explain that they won’t last if a non-believer touches them. Father John is visibly shaking from excitement. I suggest we all sing ‘Amazing Grace,’ to calm down. Dr Marier walks in, pleased we’re all singing. I can tell he’s skeptical about the spectacle at mass. He asks to see the tears, but the boys refuse to show him. Finally Minehan gives him one from his collection of twenty or so. It immediately pops. The boys move further away from him.
“It’s right that Dr Marier is skeptical,” I assert. “He is not questioning our faith but only needs to make sure it isn’t some scam.”
He has that look I’ve seen in other clerics’ eyes. His mission is to bring religious music into daily services at mass. Rock is not on his approved list.
“This has gotten way out of control,” he’s angry. “I let two boys play quietly at the processional and it turns into a riot.”
He looks at us like we’re the devil’s spawn. I’m ready to have him call Cardinal Cooke as a character reference. Tim places a hand on my wrist to hold me back.
“Please don’t judge something you don’t understand. The Church needs to embrace music, not just tolerate it.” I tell Dr. Marier.
Still glaring, he takes a deep breath. “And what rock song was it that you had the boys play?”
“’Wish You Were Here’. It’s a prayer for Christ to be with us,” I reinterpret the Sid Barrett ode.
“And who provided these gold drops?”
“I can’t explain it. It happened once before, last year at St Patricks’ Easter service.”
“This is humbug,” he insists.
The boys, remembering their Dickens, all go, “Bah, humbug.”
Even Dr Marier laughs.
“Just contact Cardinal Medeiros about investigating what happened today. He’s friends with Cardinal Cooke,” Tim suggests.
The kids crowd around Tim, after someone says he is going to be a saint. We quickly excuse ourselves and go to Grendel’s for lunch. Everyone is buzzing about what happened. Minehan needs instructions on how to preserve his cache of gold. The Smithies are skeptical, believing what they saw is Catholic superstition. I remind them that Protestants believe in the Rapture. They deny any knowledge of extreme Protestantism. I grow sad, knowing Tim has to fly to LA that afternoon. We grab Joan and Trudie and walk along the Charles. The leaves are turning, though it remains warm in the afternoons. It’s Indian Summer. They are also leaving. I grow morose. They try to cheer me up. Tim promises to return for The Game in two weeks. I try to be upbeat, finally collapsing in tears.
“I’m going to miss everyone,” I sob.
We all have a group hug. The girls are soon on their bus back to Northampton. I take the T with Tim to Logan Airport. I’m dragging my feet, subconsciously hoping he’ll miss his flight. It is to no avail. We hug and kiss. I press my face to the waiting room window, trying to catch a glimpse of him as the plane taxies away.