Eighteen – Chapter 8 Part 1

I take the T from Logan. Jack tells me later he refused to meet me due to the bad memories from when I  stood him up in November for The Game weekend. Drama queen does as drama queen will. Minehan seems happier to see me than Jack, who somehow needs to pout.  I slept all the way on the flight across the country. I need coffee. I run up to 3D to be greeted by raucous girl power. They appreciate me. Off we all go to the coffee-house.

“You don’t want pizza?” Jill is concerned.

“All I eat in LA is fast food. I have a new pizza joint. It’s called Two Guys from Italy. It’s a block away from my apartment.”

“You have your own apartment?” she looks distressed. “You’re going back after Christmas?”

“I have a job. Look, here’s my Christmas bonus,” I show her the $1000 check.”

“You’re never coming back?” I think she’s about to cry.

“I am back. See,” I hold out my arms. She grabs me in a big hug. No tears tonight.

 

We all sit in the back of Grendel’s and catch up. Football is over; no more cheer-leading practice. The Harvard band has taken over the Mower boiler room, with Jack playing dirges and chants on the MOOG. It’s more professional but definitely not rock n roll.

“We need to have a party and play again,” I suggest. I’m still wound up from the previous night’s performance in Newport Beach. I stand up and sang “’For once in my life I have something to say, I wanna say it now for now is today…. If the kids are united, they can never be divided…..’”

 

 

“What kind of music is that?” Jill asks. Jack has been ignoring me. Now he’s just staring.

“’Oi!’ It’s English football songs and chanting,” I explain. Having only recently learned how to play rock n roll, the Sitting Band may not be ready for Punk.

They’re all thunderstruck. Minehan comes over, still bouncing from the beat. We stand together, arm in arm and repeat the chorus over and over

 

‘If the kids are united,

they can never be divided…’

 

He totally gets it. I promise to take him to Newbury Comix newbury_comics_-_newbury_st to show him all the new English music. Jack is in a total pout now. I ignore him, with my new best friend, David. I retell my exploits at the beach, in the surf and at the punk party. David is more interested in the Weirdos than the English bands.

I sing the Bags’ ‘We Don’t Need the English.’

 

 

David is getting wound up. We start bouncing around the coffee shop.

Jack throws a fit. “You can sleep with David now,” as he storms out.

“I don’t think so,” as I chest-bump Minehan and he bumps me back, “our bed can’t take the violence.”

We laugh and sit down.

Jill is in shock. “You aren’t going to run after him,” referring to my distressed boyfriend.

“I’ll see him at the room,” I blow him off.

“Tim. He’s been worked up all weekend waiting for you to arrive. Then you ignore him because Minehan is more fun?”

“I had to take the T here. He told me he’s still mad about my not showing up for The Game.”

“In one month, you’ve become a total LA person, self-centered and oblivious to other people’s feelings.”

To prove her point, I kiss her passionately, but avoid tongue. Everyone is shocked. David is ecstatic, with my new hetero personality. Jill slaps me.

“He is still your boyfriend. Go after him,” she flushes bright red.

“Okay. Okay,” I agree and turn to leave.

Minehan is the only one to find the situation funny. “Give him a kiss for me,” he jokes.

I laugh but hurry out the door.

I find him just around the corner, crying his eyes out, as he crouches down against the building.

I pull him into a hug and kiss his tears away.

“You’re so mean,” he mumbles.

“You’d forgotten?”

“Don’t you know I love you?”

“Of course, but how long has been since you checked into my heart to make sure you are still there?”

He’s now wailing.  The girls and Minehan come out and are watching us. It’s a sad scene.

“I’m the one who just traveled 2500 miles to see you. Maybe you need your beauty rest?”

The group hugs us. Jack calms down to just sniffling. We start back toward the Yard.

“You were right, Jill. We need pizza,” and we’re off to ‘Noch’s. tim-735 I make sure to sit with Jack and ignore Minehan. David recognizes I have returned from LA straighter than when I left. I’m forced to perform drama control while David can care less. He knows Jack needs to make a scene over past slights and insults. David sits there smirking, while the 3D girls think he’s so immature. My return upsets the emotional balance that is always slightly precarious. Only Carol sides with Minehan. It pleases me that their normal romance is proceeding on course. Maybe he can spend the night in her room while I cure Jack with mad crazy fucking. I whisper that plan in Jack’s ear, feeling his body posture relax and become slightly aroused. I move over and whisper my plan to Minehan who instantly recognizes its possibilities.  He is still 17 and hasn’t sealed the deal with Carol yet. He doesn’t need encouragement to try.

We all walk back to Mower. Pizza reduces all the tension around my return. I have an arm around Jack and the other around Jill. She’s still confused by our kiss. Romance is a tricky story that needs a proper ending. She knows I’m ending the evening with Jack. It’s what she wants, except for some nagging need in her subconscious which she isn’t ready to explore.

We’re alone in our room. I know Jack wants and needs to be dominated. He sits on our bed with an anxious look in his eye.

“You’ve been a bad boy, Jack. A very bad boy.”

“Yes, Tim. I’m sorry.”

“Why don’t you trust me. What have I done to make you doubt me?”

“I was so hurt when you didn’t come to The Game.”

“Are you crazy. It was the best thing in the world for you. You performed to a standing ovation in front of 30,000 football fans who didn’t even know they liked the Moody Rudes’ English Blues.”

He looks up at me, standing over him, and beams.

“I didn’t even know they were there. It was all about missing you.”

“Well, I’m here now. What are you going to do about it?”

His smile turns to need, raw, insistent need. I can’t resist. I pull off his shoes, trousers and briefs in one sweeping motion, lifting his legs over my shoulder as I dive on top of him. He moans in anticipation. I lift his butt and lick the throbbing asshole. tim-717  I’m pleased that he prepared himself for the fucking that is coming next. Then he farts in my face. He’s mortified. I can’t stop laughing.  One spontaneous bubble of methane.  My whole dominatrix act goes up in smoke. Still holding his butt, I roll him sideways and flop onto the bed. We laugh and laugh. Digested pizza trumps my macho moves. Looking sideways at Jack, I note he is watching me for signs of diminished desire. I know exactly what he needs – to reduce myself to a vibrating jangle of nerves from a complete and utter fuck fest. I had twice ended that way with Jake, plus a relapse from just humping nubile Gerber. I know it’s more than orgasms that we need. It’s a complete exhausting of all our internal juices and a giving in to the ultimate pleasure of a thorough fucking. I roll on top of him, squeezing him until I see him panicked and confused by what I’m about to do to him. I kiss his shocked eyes shut, rolled him over and commenced the rim job he so rudely interrupted.tim-776 His butt slowly rises off the bed  as I stimulate his outer rim. Straining to receive my invader, his need to be fucked keeps dialing up. I reach around and tug on his garden hose dick, swiping the tip with my index finger. His pre-cum gushes. I scoop up and insert it inside his throbbing asshole for additional lubrication. My pre-cum finishes the lube job as I stick myself just inside his anal ring. His mumbling moans became more specific as he groans, “oh, oh, ooh.” Not wanting our next door corridor mates to be alerted that I’m back, I stop teasing Jack and impale him with increasingly deep thrusts. “Ah, ah, ah, aaah,” he becomes even louder. I stick his head into his pillow to muffle his screams of pleasure, completing full penetration as my thighs slap his perspiring butt cheeks. ‘Whap, whap, whap,’ my groin squishes his butt in a constant rhythm. Reaching around, I squeeze his dick and begin stroking it in synch with my thrust. “No, no,” he screams, fearing he’ll cum too soon. I drop his dick and grab his swinging balls, pulling them downward, away from his groin. He relaxes as his orgasm backs off from pre-mature ejaculation. His satisfied murmurs mean he’s merely enjoying the ride. With both hands I pinch his hard, pointy tits, twisting and pulling as his screams return with the added anxiety that he’ll go over the edge soon. I push his head into the pillow, raising his butt and standing up into a crouch behind him, tim-883 I attack his prostate from a sharper angle. I’m standing upright as his butt pushes higher and higher. Instead of constantly going in and out, I change to a new rhythm, two thrusts, then a corkscrew push and hold that makes him anticipate my climax. I hold off as he begs to be impregnated. I laugh at what good that will do him.

“Don’t laugh. You’re killing me,” he complains.

That does it. I stop the teasing and commence my trip to climax, riding him like a cowboy on a bull. “Yee, hah,”  I shout as I slowly push him flat onto the skinny bed. He grunts with each thrust. Once he’s prone, I switch to quick strokes deep inside his ass. He is moaning, “ah ah ah ah.” Higher and higher go his moans. Finally I feel his ass clench and squeeze me tightly as he cums into the bed sheets. I’m ready as well but wait until he is done. Suddenly it is Jack who is vibrating from the over-stimulation. I know I need to finish quickly. As I approach the edge, his shaking becomes more violent. Is he having a seizure? I just let loose. As I explode, my body goes into the same rhythm as Jack’s shaking. We’re vibrating together.  I’m finished, but we remain coupled together, shaking and vibrating, as if we are in our death throes. It’s scary. I just hold him. Jace is there in my heart, worried about my mortality.

“Is it time?” Jace asks. I hear Max barking. I’m not ready to die from fucking Jack. My breathing becomes more regular as I gulp in big breaths. Jack is sobbing. As soon as I stop shaking, he does as well. We lay there, holding on to each other.

I hear Minehan’s voice outside our door, arguing with someone. We get up and shakily get dressed.

“What are you arguing about?” I open the door and ask him. “And why are you waiting outside the door?”

He’s blocking four or five of our corridor mates, who want to know what’s going on in our room.

“Oh,” our next door neighbor says, “you’re back.”

“Jack and I were fighting,” I explain. “It’s okay now.”

“Why were you fighting?”

“Jack was mad I didn’t come back for the Yale game.”

“Yeah,” the guy agrees. “He had to play the whole game by himself. It was classic.”

“I knew he’d do it but he’s mad because I promised to be there.”

“You were great, Jack. Sometimes being forced to do something is better than just the same ol’ same ol’,” the guy is a philosopher. “But you shouldn’t fight.”

“No. I loved it,” as he grabs me by the waist.

They all shake their heads and walk away.

 

“How come you’re not up at Carol’s?” I ask David.

“She’s not ready for an overnight yet.”

“Still working it?”

“You bet your life.”

He walks into the room and sees the mess we made of our bed.

“Had enough?” he asks.

“Never,” we both say.

He shakes his head and gets into bed.

“How long were you waiting outside the door?”

“More than I’ll ever want to know.”

Jack and I tuck in together. I’m out before my head hit the pillow.

I wake up with Jace curled at the bottom of our skinny bed. Minehan is awake, watching us.  He actually smiles at me. I think it is relief from removing the threat to his sexuality, then I realize, he’s just happy for us.

 

Monday morning blues. I can’t help thinking about how happy I’d be in Studio City, getting Landis his coffee and donut, instead of eating gruel at Commons. Minehan seems to like the porridge as much as ever. All our friends come over. I notice some of the guys taking special interest in the 3D girls. Maybe we can go back to just being clueless guys again as the girl’s spread their feminist message to other unsuspecting males. We have completed training as certified wimps.

 

Finals begin on Wednesday. Jack has a schedule for everyone to jointly review the course material which the professors announced will be on the final. He takes me aside and lays down the law. “No interrupting our studies with your non sequitur contrarian opinions.”

“Yeah. I’ll just memorize your answers to the test like a good little freshman nerd.”

From his pleading look, I realize he is about to have another melt down.

“Okay,” I give in. “I’ll listen carefully to your explanations and consider how I can use them on the finals.”

He looks relieved. The other members of our study group have been watching and relax when they see Jack smile.

He is nothing if not well-organized. We tackle each class individually, English Lit, Calculus, Psychology, and Religion. For the two review days, we work through each class. I excuse myself when everyone is tackling Religion. “I ain’t gonna let no one tell me what to believe,” I assert,  not letting them know I plan to purposely flunk Religion. I’ll sign the empty blue book as Teen Jesus. I tell the group I have to work separately on the B School case study for Professor Feldstein.

I cross the Charles and enter the Business School Library. It’s a beehive of activity as the anxious grad students prepare for their finals. I hang out near the bathrooms, knowing that one or more of these up-tight young adults  will appreciate a blow job to ease their  stress. I have several offers to which I explain that in return I need help with my B School case study.

“You don’t look old enough to be in the B School.”

“I’m a freshman, living in the Yard,” I explain. “They sent me on work-study to LA and I’ll get credit for ECON 10 if I write a decent case study.”

One guy delays gratification and looks at my notes.

“You seemed to understand the process. Just put in a couple of teaching moments and I’m sure you’ll pass,” he encourages me, anxious for us to hit a stall together.

“What’s missing is the reason Harvard sent me to Hollywood,” I preface my explanation of the spying and intrigue that is the reason I’m on the movie’s production staff.

“Oh,” he understands. “That’s entirely different. You’re talking about mergers and acquisitions. You need to be at the B School to really learn what’s going on.” The guy is rubbing my back while his leg pushes up against me. He’s really cute, too. I start to purr. We quickly put away my notes and head for the last stall in the men’s bathroom.  I take care of him without any hesitation. He finds my stiff dick more interesting than he expected.

“Later,” I tell him, as he attempts to get a full grip on my dick. “Help me with the mergers and acquisitions aspect.”

“I took that last semester. Come back to my room. We’ll go over the salient points for your movie production company.”

I know what he really plans, but figure ‘in for a dime, in for a dollar.’ I follow him to the B School dorms. At least he doesn’t have a roommate. He quickly gets me undressed and his own clothes on the floor. He looks in awe at my dick.

“Are you even gay?” I kid him. “You look like you’ve never seen a big dick.”

“I’m turning gay by the second,” he admits.

“Then, you’re a freshman, too. At least in the gay department.

I find out that he only wants to fuck me, not reciprocate. I accept his straight dick. We go at it for about twenty minutes until he cums.  He has me from behind as he begins his orgasm. I grab his hand and insist on a reach-around. We’re simultaneously satisfied. He’s shocked at how hard he cums while my butt squeezes out every last drop from his multiple spurts. At least I don’t start vibrating.

We lay back on his bed.

“Next time, make your partner wear a condom,” I suggest while wiping up my emissions.

He laughed. “Don’t bother. I have spare sheets.”

“Time to hit the books,” I insist. He moans, but then brings out his old notes.

We spend an hour going over hostile takeovers and incompatible business cultures. He’s quite good at helping me draw examples of how things might not work out well for the National Lampoon. I actually take notes.

He asks me to go eat with him. I don’t even know his name.

“Seth,” he tells me.

“I’m Tim.” We shake hands. Then we laugh at our formality. “I have to meet my roommates in the Yard,” I put him off. “We can get together tomorrow to finish up.”

“Same time, same place?” he suggests.

“Same stall?”

We laugh. “No, here. I’ll do some research too, to help your case study.”

“I’ll take a long bath to recover my butt’s flexibility.”

He looks shocked.  I kiss him goodbye. He doesn’t reciprocate. He’s still new at being gay.

 

I miss dinner at commons.

“Why do you need grad school help?” Jack quizzes me about the ECON 10 course. I show him my notes. He is satisfied that it’s a difficult assignment but not happy that I plan to meet the grad student for a second day. He slowly realizes there’s an underlying basis for my role with The National Lampoon. He is miffed that Daddy advises me on work-study that is taking me away from him.

I grab him by the neck, pushing him down on our bed  and sitting on his stomach. Minehan is in shock.

“Go see Carol,” I order him. “I need to straighten out our roommate on why he’s so insecure.”

David makes a quick exit. I relax my hold on Jack’s neck. He is bug-eyed, staring up at me. Without saying a word, I search his heart for what he’s feeling. The connection is blocked. I slap him, over and over. Finally he breaks down, crying in despair.  The tears flow, but no words escape his lips. My heart keeps asking him why he has me blocked. I’m so frustrated, I continue to slap him.

“You refuse to let me in. Why am I blocked from your heart? Why won’t you trust me?”

In despair, the door to his heart cracks open. He needs me to speak because he doesn’t trust the psychic connection. His self-esteem is so low that he doesn’t believe he deserves my love and trust. I pull him into a hug and try to make him feel how much I love him.  All those years of being the ‘November mistake,’ a D&D nerd, my understudy at Shakespeare, failed to build the confidence to embrace his wonderful life. All he has to do is look into my heart to see what I really feel about him. He’s too fearful. He uses performance to be the person he can’t be in his regular life. It’s all pretend, hiding his basic fears. He works so hard at being a straight A student because he got into Harvard on privilege, not his own qualifications. The social-climbing at clubs is to get accepted, not because he wants to be like those self-important ninnies. All that we have accomplished together is just his attempt to gain my approval. All these thoughts remain blocked because he refuses to let me into his heart.

Jace and Max appear. Jace pulls me off of Jack, while Max lays his head on his lap, the original comfort dog.  I wonder if a joint will break Jack out of his funky shell. Max looks hopefully at me. Why not? I pull out one of Jimmy’s remaining joints.

“No way,” Jack sits up to stop me. “We have only one day left to study for finals. You’ve only studied one day, today, all semester.”

“Get over your anal fixation on grades. We either know it, or we don’t. One last day of cramming won’t matter.” I light it up. Max romps over to get his second-hand hit. Jace is turning somersaults in the air. I laugh at how immature I’d been at his age. Jack just shakes his head. Jace holds him down and I stick the joint backwards into my mouth and give him a shotgun hit.  He refuses to inhale. I cover his nose and mouth until he turns blue. When I release him, he takes a deep gasp. I instantly give him a second blast from the shotgun. He coughs and sputters. I send a third shot as he struggles to catch his breath. He gives me an evil look that slowly turns to sly evaluation of the situation. He attacks me. I love giving into him. In the space of two hours I’m fully fucked twice. With his inhibitions down, his heart is wondering why I’m so loose. At least, he’s not openly confronting me. We are both a work-in-progress. After he ravishes me and cums twice, we lay there, breathing heavily.

“We still have to study tomorrow,” he insists. Then he giggles.

I just lay there passively, enjoying being his bottom. I know he still prefers actual speaking to using our hearts to communicate. I temporarily don’t care. We bounce up to the third floor and enter 3D hand in hand to the girls’ cheers.  Minehan is too engrossed with Carol to notice. Everyone follows me down to the boiler room and I play them the Sham 69 song. They are impressed by its driving beat. Then I sing and play the Bags’ ‘We Don’t Need the English.” They’re not ready for full-on punk. I relate the surfing adventure I had at the Huntington Beach pier, including being chased down the street by raving surfers as the Wreck saves us from a beating. Minehan wants to go to California and beat the crap out of the surfers, all 125 pounds of him. We all end the evening singing along to Sham:

“If the kids are united, they can never be divided.’

We promise to study extra hard the next day. Jack and I settle into the skinny bed, whereas Minehan soon shows up, still not sleeping on the third floor. We’re all asleep within minutes, roommates forever.

 

Jack as my pedantic minder is no way to spend the day. I slip away before lunch and attend noon mass at St Paul’s. The irony of Church as an escape from college life is lost in the beautiful singing from the boys choir.  Father John catches me before I leave and invites me to have lunch with him and Dr Marier.

“When did you get back from LA?” he asks

I explain that finals are the next day and Jack is running a study group for all of us to prepare. I confess my planned insurrection for Religion class by failing the final – a new low for Teen Jesus.

“Don’t mention him to Dr Marier. It’s still a touchy subject.”

We laugh.

“How’s it going on the boys’ preparations for the Christmas party?”

“They’ve become proficient performers. They sing and play beautifully  but are still working on their stage presence. I have to restrain their attempts to act sexy. They’re still only twelve years old.”

“No guitar thrusts?”

“I’ve given up on those. But the boys did convince Dr Marier to allow girls to attend the Christmas Party’s performance.”

“How’s your playing going?”

“Well, your system of only playing the music in your heart means I don’t get to play with the boys very much. They’re allowing me to play a solo song at the conclusion of their performance.”

“What are you going to play?”

“Leonard Cohen’s ‘Hallelujah.’”

“Great choice.”

“Want to join me?”

“I don’t think you want any more miracles to upset Dr Marier.”

“How about a secular song?”

I instantly think about the Sham song.

“After lunch, let me teach you a song that might work,” I suggest. “I need an excuse to skip Jack’s study group.”

 

Dr Marier sits with us and is a gracious host. Kevin and Liam come up to our table to say hello.

“May Tim come to the Christmas pageant” Kevin asks.

“Certainly,” Dr Marier throws caution to the wind. “He was instrumental in starting you boys on guitar.”

“I’m really looking forward to it,”” I smile at them. “Still playing Pink Floyd?”

“It’s too emotional for us. We’re doing dance music for the party. That’s more fun.”

“Good choice.”

 

After the boys go to get their lunch, Dr Marier turns to me.

“I feel badly that I stopped you from teaching the boys.”

“I’m sure Father John has done a great job. We just wanted to get the boys started.”

“Those boys really love you. I wasn’t sure it was healthy for them to be worshiping an older teenager. I know now that you only had good motives.”

“Our band is called ‘False Gods.’ The message is that adulation is unhealthy for musicians who want to be rock gods.”

“The secular world is a mystery to the Church.”

“Skepticism is needed in all matters secular. That’s the Church’s role. But turning a back on the secular doesn’t help church goers, especially impressionable young teens. The Church must see the secular through Christ’s eyes, not rejecting love and forgiveness.”

I’m preaching to the preachers. The table is very quiet.

“Father John and I are going to work on a song together,” I get up and leave them to figure out if I’m a saint or a sinner. Father John hurries after me.

 

“You don’t let up, do you?” Father John is shocked by my subtle upbraiding of his boss.

 

“Not diddling for Teen Jesus,” as I tune an electric guitar in the classroom where the boys practice.

“I hoped you’d ask to return to teaching the boys.”

“You’re much better at that. It’s brought you closer to them already.”

“The music makes me feel so young and energetic.”

“Well, listen to this song and remember you are still young,” as I start playing the Sham song.

He quickly learns the rhythm guitar parts and the words to the chorus. We arrange it so I’ll sing the lengthy verses and we’ll try to get everyone to sing along to the one line chorus, repeated over and over. The chorus has a slower tempo than the verses. I explain it is based on English soccer (football) fans’ fight songs, meant to be chanted, rather than sung.

 

 

It takes breaks after just a few beats so everyone chants together. Putting music to the chorus helps keep everyone on beat.

Father John is trying to relate my ideas to his study of Gregorian Chants. I explain that religious chants are meant to lull you into contemplation. Football chants are about inciting riots. He looks worried.

 

Next: https://timatswim.com/eighteen-chapter-8-part-2/

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