I took the T from Logan. Later Jack told me he refused to meet me because I had stood him up in November for The Game weekend. Drama queen does as drama queen will. Minehan seemed happier to see me than Jack, who somehow needed to pout. I had slept all the way on the flight across the country. I needed coffee. I ran up to 3D and was greeted by raucous girl power. They appreciated me. Off we all went to the coffee-house.
“You don’t want pizza?” Jill was 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 looked distressed. “You’re going back after Christmas?”
“You’re never coming back?” I thought she would cry.
“I am back. See,” I held out my arms. She grabbed me in a big hug. No tears tonight.
We all sat in the back of Grendel’s and caught up. Football was over, so there was no more cheer leading practice. The Harvard band had taken over the Mower boiler room, with Jack playing dirges and chants on the MOOG. It was more professional but definitely not rock n roll.
“We need to have a party and play again,” I suggested. I was still wound up from the previous night’s performance in Newport Beach. I stood up and sang “’For once in my life I have something to say, I wanna say it now for now is If the kids are united, they can never be divided…..’”
“What kind of music is that?” Jill asked. Jack had been ignoring me, but now he was staring.
“’Oi!’ It’s English football songs and chanting,” I explained. Having only recently learned how to play rock n roll, the Sitting Band may not be ready for Punk.
‘If the kids are united,
they can never be divided…’
He totally got it. I promised to take him to Newbury Comix to show him all the new English music. Jack was in a total pout now. I ignored him, with my new best friend, David. I retold my exploits at the beach, in the surf and at the punk party. David was more interested in the Weirdos than the English bands.
I sang the Bags’ ‘We Don’t Need the English.’
Jack threw a fit. “You can sleep with David now,” as he stormed out.
“I don’t think so,” as I bumped Minehan and he bumped me back, “our bed can’t take the violence.”
We laughed and sat down.
Jill was shocked. “You aren’t going to run after him,” referring to my distressed boyfriend.
“I’ll see him at the room,” I blew him off.
“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 others’ feelings.”
To prove her point, I kissed her passionately, but avoided tongue. Everyone was shocked. David was ecstatic, with my new hetero personality. Jill slapped me.
“Okay. Okay,” I agreed and turned to leave.
Minehan was the only one to find the situation funny. “Give him a kiss for me,” he joked.
I laughed but hurried out the door.
I pulled him into a hug and kissed his tears away.
“You’re so mean,” he mumbled.
“Don’t you know I love you?”
“Of course, but how long has been since you checked into my heart to make sure you were still there?”
“I’m the one who just traveled 2500 miles to see you. Maybe you need your beauty rest?”
The group hugged us and Jack calmed down to just sniffling. We started back toward the Yard.
“You were right, Jill. We need pizza,” and we were off to ‘Noch’s. I made sure to sit with Jack and ignore Minehan. David recognized I had returned from LA straighter than when I left. I was forced to perform drama control while David could care less, knowing Jack needed to make a scene over past slights and insults. He sat there smirking, while the 3D girls thought he was so immature. My return had upset the emotional balance that was always slightly precarious. Only Carol sided with Minehan. It pleased me that their normal romance was proceeding on course. Maybe he could spend the night in her room while I cured Jack with some mad crazy fucking. I whispered that plan in Jack’s ear, feeling his body posture relax and become slightly aroused. I moved over and whispered my plan to Minehan who instantly recognized its possibilities. He was still 17 and hadn’t quite sealed the deal with Carol yet. He didn’t need encouragement to try.
We all walked back to Mower. Pizza had reduced all the tension around my return. I had an arm around Jack and the other around Jill. She was still confused by our kiss. Romance is a tricky story that needs a proper ending. She knew I was ending the evening with Jack, which was what she wanted, except for some nagging need in her subconscious which she wasn’t ready to explore.
We were alone in our room. I knew Jack wanted and needed to be dominated. He sat on his bed with an anxious look in his eye.
“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.”
“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 turned to need, raw, insistent need. I couldn’t resist. I pulled off his shoes, trousers and briefs in one sweeping motion, lifting his legs over my shoulder as I dived on top of him. He moaned in anticipation. I lifted his butt and licked the throbbing hole. I was pleased that he had prepared himself for the fucking that was coming next. Then he farted in my face. He was mortified. I couldn’t stop laughing. One spontaneous bubble of methane and my whole dominatrix act went up in smoke. Still holding his butt, I rolled him sideways and flopped onto the bed. We laughed and laughed. Pizza had trumped my macho moves. Looking sideways at Jack, I noted he was still watching me for signs of diminished desire. I knew exactly what he needed – to reduce me 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 knew it was more than orgasms that we needed. It was a complete exhausting of all our internal juices and a giving in to the ultimate pleasure of a thorough fucking. I rolled on top of him and squeezed him until I saw him panicked and confused by what I was about to do to him. I kissed his shocked eyes shut, rolled him over and commenced the rim job he had so rudely interrupted. His butt slowly rose off the bed as I stimulated his outer rim. Straining to receive my invader, his need to be fucked kept dialing up. I reached around and tugged on his garden hose dick, swiping the tip with my index finger. His pre-cum gushed. I scooped up and inserted it inside his throbbing asshole for additional lubrication. My pre-cum finished the lube job as I stuck myself just inside his anal ring. His mumbling moans became more specific as he groaned, “oh, oh, ooh.” Not wanting our next door corridor mates to be alerted that I was back, I stopped teasing Jack and impaled him with increasingly deep thrusts. “Ah, ah, ah, aaah,” he became even louder. I stuck his head into his pillow to muffle his screams of pleasure, completing full penetration as my thighs slapped his perspiring butt cheek. ‘Whap, whap, whap,’ my groin squished his butt in a constant rhythm. Reaching around, I squeezed his dick and began stroking it in synch with my thrust. “No, no,” he screamed, fearing he’d cum too soon. I dropped his dick and grabbed his swinging balls, pulling them downward, away from his groin. He relaxed as his orgasm receded from pre-mature ejaculation. His satisfied murmurs meant he was merely enjoying the ride. With both hands I pinched his hard, pointy tits, twisting and pulling as his screams returned with the anxiety that he’d go over the edge soon. I pushed his head into the pillow, raising his butt and standing up into a crouch behind him, I attacked his prostate from a sharper angle. I was standing upright as his butt pushed higher and higher. Instead of constantly going in and out, I changed to a new rhythm, two thrusts, then a corkscrew push and hold that made him anticipate my climax. I held off as he begged to be impregnated. I laughed at what good that would do him.
That did it. I stopped the teasing and commenced my trip to climax, riding him like a cowboy on a bull. “Yee, hah,” I shouted as I slowly pushed him flat onto the skinny bed. He grunted with each thrust. Once he was prone, I switched to quick strokes deep inside his ass. He was moaning, “ah ah ah ah.” Higher and higher went his moaning. Finally I felt his ass clench and squeeze me tightly as he came into the bed sheets. I was ready as well but waited until he was done. Suddenly it was Jack who was vibrating from the over-stimulation. I knew I needed to finish quickly. As I approached the edge, his shaking became more violent. Was he having a seizure? I just let loose. As I exploded, my body went into the same rhythm as Jack’s shaking. We were vibrating together. I was finished, but we remained coupled together, shaking and vibrating, as if we were in our death throes. It was scary. I just held him. Jace was there in my heart, worried about my mortality.
“Is it time?” he asked. I heard Max barking. I wasn’t ready to die from fucking Jack. My breathing became more regular as I gulped in big breaths. Jack was sobbing. As soon as I stopped shaking, he did as well. We lay there, holding on to each other.
I heard Minehan’s voice outside our door, arguing with someone. We got up and shakily got dressed.
“What are you arguing about?” I opened the door and asked him. “And why are you waiting outside the door?”
He was blocking four or five of our corridor mates, who wanted to know what was going on in our room.
“Jack and I were fighting,” I explained. “It’s okay now.”
“Why were you fighting?”
“Jack was mad I didn’t come back for the Yale game.”
“Yeah,” the guy agreed. “He had to play by himself the whole game. It was classic.”
“I knew he’d do it but he was 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 was a philosopher. “But you shouldn’t fight.”
They all shook their heads and walked away.
“How come you’re not up at Carol’s?” I asked David.
“She’s not ready for an overnight yet.”
“Still working it?”
“You bet your life.”
He walked into the room and saw the mess we had made of our bed.
“Had enough?” he asked.
“Never,” we both said.
He shook his head and got into bed.
“How long were you waiting outside the door?”
Jack and I tucked in together. I was out before my head hit the pillow. I woke up with Jace curled at the bottom of our skinny bed. Minehan was awake, watching us. He actually smiled at me. I thought it was from removing the threat to his sexuality, but I now realize, he was just happy for us.
Monday morning blues. I couldn’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 seemed to like the porridge as much as ever. All our friends came over. I noticed some of the guys taking special interest in the 3D girls. Maybe we could go back to just being guys again as the girl’s spread their feminism message to other unsuspecting males. We had completed training as certified wimps.
Finals began on Wednesday. Jack had a schedule for everyone to jointly review the course material which the professors announced was to be on the final. He took me aside and laid down the law. “No interrupting our studies with your non sequitur contrarian questions.”
“Yeah. I’ll just memorize your answers to the test like a good little freshman nerd.”
“Okay,” I gave in. “I’ll listen carefully to your explanations and consider how I can use them on the finals.”
He looked relieved. The other members of our study group had been watching and relaxed when they saw Jack smile.
He was nothing if not well-organized. We tackled each class individually, English Lit, Calculus, Psychology, and Religion. For the two review days, we worked through each class. I excused myself when everyone was tackling Religion. “I ain’t gonna let no one tell me what to believe,” I asserted, not letting them know I planned to purposely flunk Religion. I would sign the blue book as Teen Jesus. I told the group I had to work separately on the B School case study for Professor Feldstein.
I crossed the Charles and entered the Business School Library. It was a beehive of activity as the anxious grad students prepared for their finals. I hung out near the bathrooms, knowing that one or more of these up-tight young adults would need a blow job to break the tension. I had several offers to which I explained that in return I needed 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 explained. “They sent me on work-study to LA and I get credit for ECON 10 if I write a decent case study.”
One guy delayed gratification and looked 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 encouraged me, anxious for us to hit a stall together.
“What’s missing is the reason Harvard sent me to Hollywood,” I prefaced my explanation of the spying and intrigue that was the motive for my being on the movie’s production staff.
“Oh,” he understood. “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 was rubbing my back while his leg pushed up against me. He was really cute, too. I started to purr. We quickly put away my notes and headed for the last stall in the men’s bathroom. I took care of him without any hesitation. He found my stiff dick more interesting than he expected.
“Later,” I told him, as he attempted 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 and we’ll go over the salient points for your movie production company.”
I knew what he really wanted, but figured ‘in for a dime, in for a dollar.’ I followed him to the B School dorms. At least he didn’t have a roommate. He quickly had me undressed and his own clothes on the floor. He looked in awe at my dick.
“Are you even gay?” I kidded him. “You look like you’ve never seen a big dick.”
“I’m turning gay by the second,” he admitted.
“Then, you’re a freshman, too. At least in the gay department.
I found out that he only wanted to fuck me, not reciprocate. I accepted his straight dick. We went at it for about twenty minutes until he came. He had me from behind as he began his orgasm. I grabbed his hand and insisted on a reach-around. We were simultaneously satisfied. He was shocked at how hard he came while my butt squeezed out every last drop from his multiple spurts. At least I didn’t start vibrating.
We lay back on his bed.
“Next time, make your partner wear a condom,” I suggested while wiping up my emissions.
He laughed. “Don’t bother. I have spare sheets.”
“Time to hit the books,” I insisted. He moaned, but then brought out his old notes.
We spent an hour going over hostile takeovers and incompatible business cultures. He was quite good at helping me draw examples of how things might not work out well for the National Lampoon. I actually took notes.
He asked me to go eat with him. I didn’t even know his name.
“Seth,” he told me.
“I’m Tim.” We shook hands. Then we laughed at each other’s 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 suggested.
We laughed. “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.”
I had missed dinner at commons. Jack quizzed me about the ECON 10 course and why I needed grad school help. I showed him my notes. He was satisfied that it was a difficult assignment but was not happy that I planned to meet the grad student for a second day. He slowly realized there was an underlying basis for my role with The National Lampoon. He was miffed that Daddy had been advising me on work-study that was taking me away from him.
“Go see Carol,” I ordered him. “I need to straighten out our roommate on why he’s so insecure.”
David made a quick exit. I relaxed my hold on Jack’s neck. He was bug-eyed, staring up at me . Without saying a word, I searched his heart for what he was feeling. The connection was blocked. I slapped him, over and over. Finally he broke down, crying in despair. The tears flowed, but no words escaped his lips. My heart kept asking him why he had me blocked. I was so frustrated. I continued 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 cracked open. He needed me to speak because he didn’t trust the psychic connection. His self-esteem was so low that he didn’t believe he deserved my love and trust. I pulled him into a hug and tried to make him feel how much I loved 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 had to do was look into my heart to see what I really felt about him. He was too fearful. He used performance to be the person he couldn’t be in his regular life. It was all pretend, hiding his basic fears. He worked so hard at being a straight A student because he had gotten into Harvard on privilege, not his own qualifications. The social-climbing at clubs was to get accepted, not because he wanted to be like those self-important ninnies. All that we had accomplished together was only his attempt to gain my approval. All these thoughts remained blocked because he refused to let me into his heart.
Jace and Max appeared. Jace pulled me off of Jack, while Max lay his head on his lap, the original comfort dog. I wondered if a joint would break Jack out of his funky shell. Max looked hopefully at me. Why not? I pulled out one of Jimmy’s remaining joints.
“No way,” Jack sat 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 lit it up. Max romped over to get his second-hand hit. Jace was turning somersaults in the air. I laughed at how immature I had been at that age. Jack just shook his head. Jace held him down and I stuck the joint backwards into my mouth and gave him a shotgun hit. He refused to inhale. I covered his nose and mouth until he turned blue. When I released him, he took a deep gasp. I instantly gave him a second blast from the shotgun. He coughed and sputtered. I sent a third shot as he struggled to catch his breath. He gave me an evil look that slowly turned to sly evaluation of the situation. He attacked me. I loved giving into him. In the space of two hours I was fully fucked twice. With his inhibitions down, his heart was wondering why I was so loose. At least, he was not openly confronting me. We were both a work-in-progress. After he had ravished me and came twice, we lay there, breathing heavily.
“We still have to study tomorrow,” he insisted. Then he giggled.
I just lay there passively, enjoying being his bottom. I knew he still preferred actual speaking to using our hearts to communicate. I temporarily didn’t care. We bounced up to the third floor and entered 3D hand in hand to the girls’ cheers. Minehan was too engrossed with Carol to notice. Everyone followed me down to the boiler room and I played them the Sham 69 song. They were impressed by its driving beat. Then I sang and played the Bags’ ‘We Don’t Need the English.” They were not ready for full-on punk. I related the surfing adventure I had at the Huntington Beach pier, including being chased down the street by raving surfers as the Wreck saved us from a beating. Minehan wanted to go to California and beat the crap out of the surfers, all 125 pounds of him. We all ended the evening singing along to Sham:
“If the kids are united, they can never be divided.’
We promised to study extra hard the next day. Jack and I settled into the skinny bed, whereas Minehan soon showed up, still not sleeping on the third floor. We were all asleep within minutes, roommates forever.
Jack as my pedantic minder was no way to spend the day. I slipped away before lunch and attended noon mass at St Paul’s. The irony of Church as an escape from college life was lost in the beautiful singing from the boys choir. Father John caught me before I left and invited me to have lunch with him and Dr Marier.
“When did you get back from LA?” he asked
I explained that finals were the next day and Jack was running a study group for all of us to prepare. I confessed 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.”
“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.’”
“Want to join me?”
“I don’t think you want any more miracles to upset Dr Marier.”
“How about a secular song?”
I instantly thought about the Sham song.
“After lunch, let me teach you a song that might work,” I suggested. “I need an excuse to skip Jack’s study group.”
“May Tim come to the Christmas pageant” Kevin asked.
“Certainly,” Dr Marier threw caution to the wind. “He was instrumental in starting you boys on guitar.”
“I’m really looking forward to it,”” I smiled at them. “Still playing Pink Floyd?”
“It’s too emotional for us. We’re doing dance music for the party. That’s more fun.”
After the boys went to get their lunch, Dr Marier turned 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 is 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 was preaching to the preachers. The table was very quiet.
“Father John and I are going to work on a song together,” I got up and left them to figure out if I was a saint or a sinner. Father John hurried after me.
“You don’t let up, do you?” Father John was shocked by my subtle upbraiding of his boss.
“Not diddling for Teen Jesus,” as I tuned an electric guitar in the classroom where the boys practiced.
“I had 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 started playing the Sham song.
He quickly learned the rhythm guitar part and the words to the chorus. We arranged it so I’d sing the lengthy verses and we’d try to get everyone to sing along to the one line chorus, repeated over and over. The chorus had a slower tempo than the verses. I explained it was based on English soccer (football) fans’ fight songs, meant to be chanted, rather than sung.
It needed breaks after just a few beats so everyone chanted together. Putting music to the chorus helped keep everyone on beat.
Father John was trying to relate my ideas to his study of Gregorian Chants. I explained that religious chants were meant to lull you into contemplation. Football chants were about inciting riots. He looked worried.
It was already 3pm by the time I left St Paul’s. I realized Jack had not tried to contact my heart. He was so retarded. I went across the river and sought out Seth at the Business School library. He was working on my case study, researching conflict resolution between differing business cultures. He showed me his work and the copies of relevant texts he had made for me. He was so excited to see me. I knew we needed to satisfy his hormones before going over the research he had done for me.
“Let’s get out of here,” I suggested, running my fingers across his shoulder. He shuddered and jumped up. We ran all the way to his dorm room. I upped my game from being his passive victim to an enthusiastic participant. We stripped each other and flew onto his bed. Our dueling hard-ons found each other, as we made out. Remembering his reluctance to kiss me, I carefully seduced his lips. Using my trick of a quick lick of his lips, he was soon sucking on my lower one. We maintained a constant lip-lock as our hands ran all over our exposed flesh. As soon as he grasped my staining dick, I thrust my tongue inside his mouth, poking in and out, a hint of what I wanted to do with my dick. It was all new to him. Instead of yielding to my demanding thrusts, he attacked my ass with a middle finger. I rocked on his hand as he stimulated my anal ring, eventually reaching my prostrate. I let loose with a pre-mature ejaculation, all on his rippling stomach. Total disappointment was written all over his face. He expected I was done, having cum just once.
He gave several involuntary humps. I stayed hard as a rock, knowing where his dick was going. Using my ejaculate, I greased his dick and lubed my butt. Pushing him back on the bed I grabbed the base of his dick to stick it out at a 90 degree angle. I moved so my knees were hugging his chest and sat down on the straining dick. He instantly rolled me over, pulling my knees between his elbows and penetrating me to his pubs. Holding himself steady, I felt him throb and expand. I grabbed his balls to keep them from contracting into his groin. His breathing relaxed as the imminent orgasm backed off. I rocked slowly up and down as he lay back, staring intently into my eyes.
“You take control,” he admitted, not recognizing I already had. I leaned down and kissed him. There was no hesitation on his part. I squeezed my butt as I rocked up and down on his rock-hard dick. He closed his eyes and let me work him. Both his hands had a hold of my dick, stroking to the rhythm of my up and down motion.
“You’re still hard,” he observed.
“I love being fucked,” I admitted.
My confession excited him. He was pushing himself into me as I continued rocking on top of him. Soon he had to take control, rolling me off of him, wrapping my legs around his upper body, kneeling on the bed, and fucking me like the world was about to end and he was going out in a bang. His head was thrown back and he grunted with each thrust. Finally he thrust and held it deep inside me. I pulled his head down and we were frantically frenching each other. I started shaking in anticipation of his orgasm. That was all it took. The first spurt was accompanied by a thrust that broke our kiss and knocked my head against the dorm wall. His rapid, uncontrolled thrusts kept hitting my head against the wall. I finally put both hands behind me to protect from a concussion. He was lost in his orgasm. Once done, his eyes flew open, as if he was waking up from a dream. With a pop, his dick exited my ass and he flopped next to me on his back, staring at the ceiling.
“I’ll never forget this fuck,” he crowed.
“You think we’re done?” I teased his ass with my finger.
His dick twitched and started to get hard again. His eyes were in disbelief. I whispered how much I had loved being fucked by him. He was such a stud. I couldn’t stop now. I needed him. All the bullshit lines I knew would keep him hard. I now had two fingers in his ass. He was writhing on the bed. I threw his legs over my shoulder, lifting his butt to my month as I knelt on the bed. My tongue licked his upper inner thighs as I added a third finger, reached around inside him, and stroked his prostrate. His dick was leaking copious pre-cum.
“Yes, fuck me. I want you to fuck me,” he was delirious. I worried his brain was gone and he wasn’t able to realize what was about to happen to his ass. If that’s rape, then so be it. I withdrew my fingers.
“No. no, don’t stop,” I got consent, as he missed my probing of his ass.
My dick was more than ready. I impaled him, slowly and steadily. He was writhing and squeezing, turning eventually to shaking like he was seizing. He instantly came. I pulled out and stuck his exploding dick down my throat. As soon as he was finished, he started moaning, wanting me to finish what I had started in his ass. His dick never went down, as I steadily brought myself to the edge of cumming. I stroked his dick, rubbing my thumb against his glans. The vein popped out and he went rigid. I hastened my dick with a deep thrust and quick ins and outs inside him. The tip of my dick did its turn backwards and I reverted to long steady thrusts. As I came, he gave a short jerk and about a thimbleful of jism was barely expelled. We were done.
“Welcome to the gay world,” I gently mocked him.
“I never knew it could be that way.”
I snuggled in with him. “And all you wanted was a quick jerk in the bathroom. Don’t let this upset your world.”
“Like it’s not going to upset my wife?” he admitted. “How many times did I cum?”
I giggled. “Four or five, if you count that last dribble
“You are so evil,” he realized. “This was not something I’m ever going to forget.”
He was experiencing buyer’s regret.
“Look. Don’t beat yourself up because you learned new bedroom tricks. If you want to be fucked so badly, buy your wife a strap-on.”
“Jesus, you are so innocent. You’re so young. Don’t stop experimenting and experiencing new things. This is all part of your Harvard education.”
“Right. My transcript will read ‘gay sex’ as part of my MBA.”
“Welcome to the counterculture.”
“I can’t tell if I’m glad or sad.”
“There’s only one solution to all problems – pizza.”
Then Jack, David and the 3D girls walked in. I was so flustered that Jack went on instant alert, knowing something was up. I introduced Seth to everyone, noting especially that Jack was my boyfriend. Seth got red in the face.
“He’s married,” I explained.
Everyone sat down and acted normal. Jill started reading our notes.
“What are you working on?” she asked.
“Seth’s helping me write a Harvard Business School case study on my movie experience. I’ll get credit for ECON 10 if Professor Feldstein likes it.”
“You’re getting credit for all our classes, which you never go to, a full semester of work-study, which you get paid for, and now a graduate level case study will get you full credit for ECON 10?”
Everyone laughed, except for Jack, who knew I was cheating. Minehan was busy eating my pizza, ignoring everyone.
Seth was cool about meeting my boyfriend. He gave me his notes, saying he had to get back to the library. He waved goodbye to everyone, including me.
“Wow,” Minehan remarked. “He’s old. How did you find him.”
“I’ve been studying at the B School.”
I was carrying out deceptions that were aging me.
“I went to lunch with Father John after mass today,” I admitted. “We’re invited to their Christmas Party this Saturday.”
“No more miracles,” Jack warned.
“I have no control over that,” I claimed. Jace sounded his disagreement in my heart.
“We’ll celebrate the end of finals at the party.”
“I have a surprise that you’ll all like,” I teased everyone.
“What? Jace is coming back as Baby Jesus for Christmas.”
“Maybe,” I refused to ruin the surprise.
Their pizzas were ready. I ate most of Minehan’s in retaliation. He ate all of Carol’s slices. She was suffering from teen anorexia, trying to please him. Like a good Irish boy, he was in awe of her, Saint Carol. Back in the room, we went to bed. Jack was unable to suppress his suspicions about Seth. We were whispering about it in bed.
“Shut up, you two. I can’t sleep,” David complained. My savior.
Wednesday was the start of finals. We had English Literature and Calculus, morning and afternoon. Our English Lit professor surprised us with just two questions: 1. Choose your favorite novel and explain why you liked it. 2. Choose your least favorite novel and explain why you disliked it. Jack groaned when he read the instructions, having meticulously prepared to dissect each and every novel as the professor had us taught in class. The girls also were anxious, responding to their mentor Jack’s discomfort. David winked at me, pleased to give his own opinions for once. We smiled conspiratorially. Rather than answer each question separately, I wrote an introduction that stated I had chosen Moby Dick and The Scarlet Letter as both my favorite and least favorite novels. I explained that all the novels on our reading list were great literature. The two I chose were highly enjoyable reads, but also quite frustrating at times. Moby Dick I praised as great adventure and high suspense. It appealed to my environmental consciousness. My complaint was the tedious passages that went into excessive detail about the business of whaling, a lost art. I liked Hawthorne’s Scarlet Letter for its emotional suspense and romantic content. I described the psychology and social mores as the first modern novel, alive over 100 years after it was written. I disliked the strict moral code and social ostracism that degraded women’s right to be treated equally. I ended my essay in an Oscar Wilde epigram, ‘liking something excessively inevitably leads to disliking it as well.’ I finished the final well before the three-hour time limit. I turned in my blue book, to the professor’s quizzical look as to why I hadn’t used the full amount of time. I returned to my seat and observed my friends’ efforts. Minehan was writing furiously, not wanting to miss any thought that may impress our professor. All the girls were looking distressed, barely writing, and then crossing out half of what they had written. Only Jill seemed confident, our Boston Bossie. Jack was studiously looking up quotations and making notes on the provided scratch paper. I wondered if he would consider it cheating, if I contacted him through Jace in his heart. My initial efforts to speak to him were rebuffed. I hoped Jace would get through and translate.
“He won’t cheat with you and can’t waste the time that’s needed to finish his essay,” Jace related.
“Tell him that the 3D girls are all in a tizzy and keep looking for him to at least provide support. He has created a dependence for direction in all of them.”
“He says he has no way to contact them.”
“Jesus, the little nerd. They all love him and hold him in their girly hearts. All he has to do is let down his barrier by believing in himself and sending them some comforting thoughts.”
Jace shrugged and left to berate Jack. The nerd shot me a glaring look, but soon I could tell he was sending messages to the girls. Even Jill looked over at him, and then shook her head, not needing help. Soon the girls started to smile. They started digging into their notes and the books they had brought. I was dismayed that they had so few original ideas. I shrugged, accepting that we were being trained to regurgitate the accepted wisdom of our teachers, and walked out. I headed for the B School. I figured I owed Seth an explanation about having a boyfriend. He was in his regular seat at the library. When I tapped him on the shoulder, he looked up and smiled.
“Let’s go talk,” I suggested.
He led me to a cafeteria where we got coffee.
“I should have told you I have a boyfriend.”
“We skipped many steps in getting to know each other. You didn’t even know my name until after we had fucked.”
“I don’t want you to think I was using you to write my case study.”
“What would you have done if you knew I was married?”
“All these obstacles to true love,” I joked. He got it.
“So, this is goodbye?” he asked.
My dick had been at full attention since I saw him studying. ‘Bad dick,’ I told myself.
“I still have questions about the case study. It’s due on Friday.”
“Great. I have time. My next final starts at 1 pm. What needs to be explained?”
“Well, we’ve dissected the merger terms and identified culture clashes between the magazine and media conglomerate. I haven’t connected the Harvard Lampoon’s role to what the new corporation will look like.”
“Ah, old culture versus the cut-throat Wall Street shark tank.”
“Harvard is selling its name and intellectual property in the Lampoon without securing its role in the new conglomerate.”
“Short term monetary gain in place of career placement for future graduates.”
“Maybe the National Lampoon sees these future employees as threatening to their current positions?”
“But that is how the magazine has succeeded.”
“The current management is cashing in on what has taken years to build. They may only care about their own self-interest.”
“So, maybe the media conglomerate must insist that the Harvard-to-New York City pipeline be maintained?”
“It’s intellectual property in a creative enterprise.”
I had my answer. All I needed to do was write it up. It would piss off PJ, but Kurt would look like the hero if he followed what I was proposing.
“One last thing. I feel like a rat, spying for everyone on the Lampoon side. PJ will feel betrayed. He may expose my role as the industrial spy.”
“Damned if you do, damned if you don’t.” Seth shrugged.
It reminded me of poor Reverend Dimmesdale in the Scarlet Letter. My life was one big circle. I kissed him on the cheek. He turned bright red.
“I guess we’re done,” he looked sad.
“Never,” I crowed. “You’ll always be in my heart, as much as you were up my butt.”
I hurried back to Mower and started a new draft of my case study. I first added my notes from what Seth and I had just analyzed. It was the final part to making the case study into a whole package of how the merger effected the movie, and vice versa. The proposal for the Harvard Lampoon to negotiate its revised role in the new media conglomerate was an apt coda.
Before I could complete a full draft, Jack, David, Jill and all the 3D girls returned from the English Lit final. The girls were enthralled with Jack for rescuing them from the confusion of a surprise question on the final. David was in his own world, since no one was listening to his description of how he had aced his final.
Finally, he asked me what the girls were all excited about.
“Jack was able to ‘speak’ with them through their hearts and calm them down when the final had thrown them for a loop.”
“What? That’s cheating,” he was outraged, forgetting that he had copied most of his homework assignments from Jack.
“Well, if you weren’t such a hard head you’d let us into your locked up heart and be able to hear us there.”
Psychic powers trumped cheating, but David was still skeptical.
“Are you prepared for Calculus this afternoon?”
“If you let me, I can give you the proofs, but you have to let me into your heart.”
David gave me a suspicious look. He actually knew how to do it, telling my heart that he’d kill me if I told anyone about his sensitivity for crying.”
‘Is that all that’s holding you back?’ I telepathically asked him.
‘Yeah. I see how mean you are to Jack.’
‘I’ve been telling you that you should trust me.’
‘Okay, but just for today’s final exam in Calculus.’
“Sure. But, so as it’s not cheating, you tell me what answers you get and if I have the same ones, I’ll tell you what the proof is.”
His eyes lit up. I still wanted to know how he used his ‘music as calculus’ theory to find the right numbers.
“You’re an idiot,” he spoke. “I look at the problem and when I come up with an answer it just sounds right, otherwise I keep looking.”
“What are you boys talking about?” Jill asked, not part of the Jack worshipers.
“Getting ready for the afternoon final,” I explained.
“Tim’s going to give me the proofs so I don’t flunk.”
“No, Tim won’t tell me unless I have the right answer.”
“You’ll get caught.”
“No way. Tim and I have a secret language.”
“Oh, no. Teen Jesus again. All the girls think Jack has ‘saved’ them. Am I the only sane person here?”
I told Jill’s heart that I loved her but thought she was insane.
Her eyes bugged out. She said, ‘I’m going to eat,’ and hurried out of the room. David and I chased after her. She didn’t want to talk about Teen Jesus.
“Are you coming to the St Paul’s Christmas party?” David asked her as we ate in Commons.
“The highlight of my Christmas break,” she was being sarcastic.
“It’ll be the last time we see each other until New Year’s.”
“So what, now that we can all talk through our hearts, we’ll stay in ‘touch,’” she argued.
“Does it work over long distance?” David was getting into his new trusting self.
“You need to work with Jace to learn the ‘time warp,’” I told him.
“I know about the ‘time warp,’” he got up and sang the song from ‘Rocky Horror’ taking on the Riff Raff role
We weren’t the only ones at Commons who had seen the movie. Soon we had the whole place dancing and singing – finals craziness.
It was time for the Calculus final. Jill insisted she sit between David and me, to make sure we didn’t really cheat. Everything went well until David had a different answer than I had worked out. Jill noted she had the same answer as David. He insisted she give him the proof. I checked my work and realized there were actually two correct answers. It was great as our exam papers would differ. I had used an exception rule to come up with my answer. I also wrote down the alternative answer, expecting extra credit. It took us the full three hours to complete all the calculations.
It had been a busy day, two finals, a complete draft of my case study, and dancing to the time warp, again. Time for pizza. Two days to go.
The Mower boiler room was crowded that night. Students needed to blow off steam while still under the stress of more finals to come. The marching band’s fanfare guys had become regulars. They were pleased to have me back. I talked about the new music scene in New York and London and how it was affecting the LA scene. The only awareness the band boys had about pop music was an article about the violent skinheads in England that were terrorizing the ethnic minorities that had moved into their South London neighborhoods.
“Restless youth,” I called them.
“Useless youth,” the others judged them.
“You always pick the contrarian side in any argument. What aspect of peace, love and understanding do violent skinheads represent?”
“They’re just a small part of the young people in London,” I asserted, telling them about the soccer/football fans chanting song.
“Soccer hooligans,” my debater asserted.
“In New York, the musicians are older and have clubs where their bands can play and their fans are welcome. Some English bands are bringing the New York scene back to London.”
“Leave it to the English to steal authentic roots music.”
“It’s not theft if they improve upon it. All rock music is based on the folk tradition of reinterpreting the words and music to your own times.”
“That would be Frank Sinatra.”
“Ew, old lecherous booze hound.”
“I’m living in LA now.”
“You’re not back for good?”
“I’m on work/study there. I have my own apartment.”
“Is there an LA music scene?”
“The Doors, Eagles, Jackson Browne, Linda Ronstadt; they’re the past. The Bee Gees and disco can’t quite take their place. I’m working on creating late 50’s music for a movie.”
“Gonna use your old band?”
“Naw. We’re still broken up. We will play a New Year’s party, if you’re in Miami then.”
This was news to Jack. He actually interrupted my dialogue by shooting me a heart to heart message demanding to know the plans. I told him we’d talk later.
“So LA’s dead?”
“The Monkeys for girls,” the trumpeter was up on pop music.
“They’re doing their own songs now. They’ve been in Japan this fall.”
“Sounds like you’ve already moved there.”
“Just for the winter. We’re scouting locations in Portland after New Year’s.”
They looked jealous at my independence.
“Come out Spring Break,” I told them. “It’s so much fun and the work is a challenge. I’m getting credit for ECON 10 for a business school case study for Professor Feldstein. I’ve learned so much more since I left Cambridge. Harvard offers opportunities you can’t get anywhere else, even though you have to leave campus to get them.”
Later Jack was back to being pouty from not being kept up to date on my busy schedule.
“What are your plans?” I whispered in bed.
He whispered back how many different ways we could have sex.
The next day was just one final, Psychology. The main question was to describe how the subsequent psychologists, Jung, Adler, Rogers, etc, had branched out from the father of psychology, Sigmund Freud and psychoanalysis. I disputed the professor’s claim that Freud was the originator of all psychology, citing William Shakespeare as the true inspiration for examining the human psyche. I predicted that Freudian psychology found dominance only on the Upper Eastside and Westside of New York City and was fading away. I wrote a short coda about my experiences with Dr Kamakazi and how he blended oriental culture, Catholicism and Oedipal complexes into an effective treatment for my Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder.
Again finishing earlier than anyone else, I used the time to type the current draft of my case study. I went to Professor Feldstein’s offices north of Harvard Yard, hoping to discuss my progress with the case study. He had several students waiting outside his office, looking for moral support on their upcoming ECON 10 final. I waited until he had finished with his current students, which he did in short order. I knocked and stuck my head in.
“I’m back for finals. Will you review my current draft of the case study you assigned? I’m hoping to get it published in the Harvard Business Review.”
“Well, you’re nothing if not ambitious. You’ll be competing for space with the current MBA students that graduate this year. Let me see this over-blown term paper.”
I handed it to him. He looked at the various sections and subheadings, nodding in agreement that I was at least familiar with the proper format.
I was on pins and needles, unaware that I had any scholarly ambitions. Maybe it was just my need to gain approval from father figures.
“Not bad, Castle,” He remarked halfway through. “I assume you had a grad student help you on the wording and format.”
“Just the last two days. I met a B School student who helped me a lot. He said there are very few entertainment industry case studies.”
“And why is that?” he quizzed me.
“We agreed that fitting a creative enterprise into a corporate format was constraining on the parties as well as on the case study format.”
“Think I have a shot at getting it published?”
“From what I’ve read, it is competent. Let’s go over your conclusions. That is where the money lies.”
He continued reading, specifically the merger of the National Lampoon and the media conglomerate. My role as a mole from Harvard shocked him.
“You can’t insert yourself as a major player in the actual merger process while being an unbiased observer.”
“If you describe your motives, especially the infiltration of the National Lampoon for the benefit of the Harvard Lampoon, you’ll make enemies and your reputation for future corporate work will be tainted.”
“I’m just a Harvard freshman. I doubt I’ll ever go into business.”
“But this paper is worthy of publication. You may not have any choice of a career if people recognize how organized and insightful you are. You may have found your calling.”
I was shocked at his praise. Maybe Daddy had convinced him to give me false confidence, though I doubted anyone felt I was lacking in self-esteem.
Professor Feldstein told me to rewrite the espionage section from a third-party point of view. He said to add Seth’s name to the case study. He would supervise it being published. I didn’t even know Seth’s last name.
“Now get out of here.”
I ran all the way from the Econ building to the B school, across the river. I was out of breath when I found Seth at the library, tapping him on the shoulder.
” Should either of us continue meeting?” he was startled to see me.
“Professor Feldstein says we should submit our case study to the Harvard Business Review.”
“Come to thank me for my help?”
“Your name should be on the paper, too.”
“Not as soon as it is for a Harvard freshman,” I laughed.
“He really liked it that much?”
“We’re brilliant, but I don’t know your last name.”
“So much for fame and fortune.”
He wanted me to beg. I got on one knee and sang ‘Brotherhood of Men’ from ‘How to Succeed in Business.’
He was totally embarrassed. All his fellow B school students applauded. Some even joined in for the finale
‘Oh aren’t you proud to be
In that fraternity,
The great big Brotherhood of Man?’
Music & lyrics by Frank Loesser
We were surrounded and asked if we were getting married. Seth was mortified. I announced we were getting our case study published in the Business Review.
“Time for celebration,” someone announced.
I led about ten B School students to ‘Noch’s and used my bank card to pay for pizza. Seth had his head down and hoped to survive with some reputation. As I was holding forth on the details of my work/study, Seth handed me a note with his last name on it: ‘Duquette.’ He was going out the door where he ran into Jack, David, Jill and the 3D crew. They dragged him back in. Surrounded by my new, older friends I yelled at Jack to come to where we were sitting. I introduced everyone. The girls turned on the charm, while David reverted to his high school persona of bragging about himself. Seth was exposed as working with 18-year-olds. The beer gone, my new friends left. I stayed with the Mower group.
“You bought your new friends pizza and beer?” Jack was giving me the fifth degree.
“Yeah. I have a bank card now,” as I pulled out my ATM card.
“Here, I’ll buy everyone pizza,” I magnificently proposed. Minehan cheered and the girls giggled. Jack was bereft. I wasn’t making matters better. He went into the corner where we usually sat and pouted.
“Our sugar daddy has been upstaged,” Minehan observed, the king of upstaging his musical rivals. Jill told me to console our previous benefactor. I gave her my bank card and joined Jack.
“You’re jealous I have a bank card? I’m working now. It’s normal. I don’t want to make you sad. Be happy for me. You set my apartment up with your generosity. Let’s forget about Christmas and go back to Hollywood. You’ll love it there.”
“We still have one final to go. Then the Christmas pageant, followed by shopping in the City, Christmas with our families, and a show on New Years Eve at Michael’s. We can’t just run off to Hollywood.”
“You make it seem so dull and drab.”
“You don’t pay any attention to me. I was so looking forward to being together. Now you have all these new grad student friends.”
He went on about his miserable life. Jace and I were banging on his heart, but he had locked us out. What to do? I knew, sing a song. I chose MacCartney’s Wings’ ‘Let ‘em In’
Pizzas ready. Life went on. I stayed with Jack the rest of the night. He calmed down. I exhorted him to think about the Christmas Pageant at St Paul’s. He thought it was only a party to celebrate the end of finals and praise the boys choir and their newly formed rock band.
Jill came over to discuss the upcoming Religion final. They had been given sample questions that seemed to view religion from a historical point of view. They were expected to know the dates and particulars of recent (last 500 years, the modern era) eras – the Inquisition, the Reformation, the Enlightenment, transcendentalism, and existentialism.
“So far, each final has surprised us. What we prepared for has not been on the final,” she complained. “I assume we’ll be surprised again tomorrow.”
“Well, we’re well versed in the historical record. We’ll just have to draw on that history to answer the questions.”
“Great, first he teaches the Bible as literature and now treats the Church as history. Where is Professor Rhinehart’s belief?” I complained, thinking how it didn’t matter to me; Teen Jesus planned to boycott the final.
“You can’t do that,” Jill had been reading my mind. I had set myself up for a Mower Inquisition.
“What are you planning?” Jack demanded.
“If you’d let me in, you’d know,” I challenged him. He refused to bite.
“He’s going to turn a blue book in with only the words, ‘ You lack faith’ and sign it ‘Teen Jesus.'”
“Oh, Tim. That is so immature.”
“I don’t need the credits. I’ll be a sophomore next semester regardless,” I explained.
“You can’t pull off a silent protest. It’s useless,” Jack argued.
“We can sing John Lennon’s ‘Imagine.’ ‘Imagine no religion, a brotherhood of man,’ I sang
“John sang with us at St Patrick’s,” Jack bragged.
“How ironic. You’re on a first name basis now?”
“Professor Rhinehart isn’t that bad. I actually enjoy his class.”
“Harvard was founded as a theological college. Now they teach anti-religion.”
“Time changes things. It is a secular world now.”
“Just take the exam. Your ideas are original. Let him know what you think. Not answering his questions won’t change anything.”
I refused to pout. “Okay, but don’t expect me to support his muddled beliefs.”
We finished our pizza. So much for celebrating B School success.
We encouraged David to stay with Carol as late as she allowed, to give us time alone together in our shared room. Based on prior evenings I figured we had about thirty minutes to work out our horniness. Jack’s pouting was a result of the lack of alone time with me. After David left, we were on a mission to get in as many orgasms as possible. He quickly got off as we struggled out of our clothes and wrangled dueling dicks. It was my turn to fuck him as I hadn’t cum. We went back and forth, until I’d cum twice and he was satisfied. We were laying in bed talking when Minehan stuck his head inside the door.
“No pretendin’ to be so innocent in bed together, the odor of teen spirit gives you away.” He ran to open the window. A blast of New England winter caused Jack and me to burrow under the blankets.
“You boys are sick,” David complained.
“When are you going to seal the deal with Carol so we can have our room back to ourselves,” Jack complained.
“Oh, I’ll seal the deal alright, but don’t expect me to move out. Her roommate will never let me stay up there.”
The Religion final was a surprise, as we had suspected, with none of the practice questions asked. Instead, the Question ‘Is God dead,’ was followed by ‘If you believe that, how has the demise of God and Church changed the world? If you dispute God’s death, how can you prove he is still alive?’
I mumbled a curse under my breath, superstitiously careful not to take the Lord’s name in vain during the religion final. Jack had challenged me to respond to Professor Rhinehart’s questions. The first part of the question was aimed at those who agreed with him that there was no spiritual world. Instead of ignoring it, I decided to respond by citing the tenets of our civilization that followed Jesus’s teaching of love and forgiveness. ‘Jesus is God, you know,’ I reminded him. That was not going to win me points. It took about an hour to list all the ways society followed His tenets. Next, I thought about my own faith. Jace’s continued presence in so many people’s lives could be explained in non-spiritual terms – we honored him by remembering his example and enforcing his dictum to ‘protect the young.’ I wrote that I was divinely inspired to pursue good works in his memory. Instead of saying it was Jace who was my guardian angel, I called him Teen Jesus.
For a conclusion, I observed that many people were dispirited with the secular world. The Church’s history of failing to meet the spiritual needs of its followers was not a conscious policy, but misplaced distrust of the believers’ ignorance. Proscribing a litany of rules to follow had resulted in corruption within the institution, as clergy mistook their own prejudices as the proper path to Jesus. Interference in politics and education had led to a distrust of the Church’s motivations. As history proved the Church wrong, such as with Galileo, the inability to admit error (infallibility) made obfuscation and outright lying necessary to protect the Church’s role and assets in the secular world. The agony and ecstasy of individual worship remains unsullied, yet the secular activities and political wheeling and dealing besmirched the Church’s reputation and prevented it from fulfilling its mission of bringing the word of God to its believers. As a result, lay people, (Joan of Arc and Mother Teresa of Calcutta), arise from the masses to convey God’s message. Those with trusting hearts responded naturally to these organic and sustainable messages. Disbelievers were required to reexamine their beliefs when miraculous events or lives were made known.
I wrote a personal passage to finish my essay: ‘I believe in Teen Jesus because he is a parable of the actual Jesus. My best friend suffered and died but was kept alive in my heart because I believed he was a supernaturally inspired person. Not just in music, where he was a genius and prodigy, but in his love for others. This parable played out in the 1975 Easter mass at St Patrick’s in New York City. As we played the music he and I loved so much, his spirit was absorbed into the crucifix above the altar. As I played ‘Shine on You Crazy Diamond,’ dozens of small diamonds burst forth from the crucifix. Teen Jesus was unlike the actual Jesus, in that he was not perfect and sin free. He was like all young people, confused and isolated. He felt no one loved him, until he loved me. Then, everyone with whom he came into contact loved him back. All this discussion about religion and theology will never sway my total belief and love of Teen Jesus. He lives on in my heart, next to the Jesus of my Conformation.
It was more than I had planned to write. I wasn’t sure if just boycotting the final under the name of Teen Jesus would not have been more effective. I was just glad to get it off my chest. I didn’t despise Professor Rhinehart. I just wished he wasn’t teaching Religion.
I walked out of the classroom with an hour to spare. Wandering off campus I soon found myself at St Paul’s. I could hear the raucous sound of rock guitar and drums emanating from the basement classroom. I walked in on the boys rehearsing for their Christmas party debut. Father John was there.
“I thought I’d come by and encourage the boys,” I explained my prohibited attendance to their training.
“You’re a welcome guest,” he smiled.
“So, this is the band?” I asked, once they let me loose.
“Pretty much, although there are a few secret members who may show up for the party,” Liam announced. Father John looked perturbed but said nothing.
“You’re all coming to the party, right?” Kevin confirmed.
“We’ll all be here. Are you guys ready to rock out?”
“Well, it’s mostly dance music – early rock.”
“Let’s see your dance moves.”
They looked chagrined. “We mostly just stand there. It’s hard to play and move around.”
“Are you sure? I find it hard to play and not move around. What’s keeping you from dancing.”
“We’ll look like geeks.”
“You don’t think you look geeky just standing there while everyone is dancing?”
They just looked at each other.
The drummer, Keith, jumped up. “I knew you guys were lame just standing there. Let me show you how to do it.”
He went to center stage, while I grabbed an extra guitar. Keith asked me to play a dance song. I started “Shout,’ the Easily Brothers song covered by the Beatles.
Keith went crazy at first, swinging his arms and running around, then he slowed it down by squatting while still moving, and finally going totally crazy. He was a perfect 12-year-old. Kevin and Liam started playing with me. I turned off their amps. They threw down the guitars and joined Keith running around, shouting and waving their arms. When I finished, I asked, “You don’t seem afraid to act geeky together?”
They couldn’t stop moving and shaking.
“Okay. Now play it and move with the song. Just let your body go and don’t think about it.”
It took a few minutes, but soon they found their natural rhythm and seemed less disjointed and more in synch.
“I wish I were half as good a teacher as you are.”
“No. They need someone who’s here all the time. Have you been practicing that English soccer song?”
“Yeah. It’s easy for me. The beat is perfect.”
“The kids will be amazed when you rock out tomorrow night.”
He grinned from ear to ear.
The rest of the Mower gang was waiting for me to go to lunch. Jack took my arm and had a suggestion for the Christmas party.
“I want do a hymn in honor of Father Frank, the prayer of St Francis. It’s called ‘Make me a Channel of your Peace.’
“That sounds like a buzz killer,” I quipped, making Jack looked pained. I quickly reversed course. “Of course, we can do it. Best to make it a benediction to start the party. Let’s practice it before we eat.”
We all went to the boiler room. Jack knew the hymn and soon taught all of us. I was stuck on drums, Jill on Bass, Jack on his Moog, while Minehan sang and was lead guitar, admitting he had learned the hymn as a little kid. The 3D girls would be the choir backing David. What a somber way to celebrate the end of finals.
After eating there was a note on our dorm door for me to report to Professor Rhinehart’s office. It didn’t take a genius to realize I was in trouble again. At least, I had my apartment in Hollywood to fall back on. Leaving Harvard would be a relief. Then, I thought about Jack and regretted my impetuosity. Jack volunteered to come with me. David and the girls insisted they come to wait outside for my sentence.
“You don’t need to be here, Mr. Stone,” Professor Rhinehart acceded to Jack’s privileged status, “but you may have something to add.” Addressing me, “I’ve read your final and want to discuss what you assert. After our confrontation at the beginning of the semester, I hoped we would civilly discuss our disagreement about the Bible. Unfortunately, I never saw you in class again.”
“I felt I was too much of a distraction and Dean Epps had put us on notice that our continued misbehavior would be cause for expulsion.”
“In no way did we mean to attack you, Professor. I do stand by my belief that you denigrate God by refusing to recognize the role that faith plays in religion.”
“Unlike most freshmen, you seem fully capable of standing up for your principles. After reading your final, I want to offer you a position as teaching assistant in next semester’s Beginning Religion class.”
We were shocked. “I’ll be on work/study next semester, but I’d be honored to do it next fall. Is it a paid position?”
“I’ll have to wait, then. It is not a paying TA position but you will not have to pay tuition that semester.”
“My dad will be so pleased.”
“Fine. Now that is settled. Please explain how this ghost thing works,” he still didn’t believe me.
“I am not disputing your faith but it must be strong to feel the spirit of Teen Jesus, as well as the need to be young at heart.”
“So, I’m excluded?”
“Well, you’d have to see the humor in all your notes seeming to fly up and away during our confrontation.”
“No. Teen Jesus was going crazy from your disputing his existence.”
“You really believe a ghost was flying around my lecture hall, disrupting my class?”
“And how do you control this ghost?”
“There is no controlling Teen Jesus. He’s fifteen years old. You may not want him back if you hire me as a TA.”
“On the contrary. I’m most anxious to meet him.”
“He just showed up,” Jack announced.
“You can sense him.”
“More than that, we see him and can speak with him telepathically.”
“This is so 17th Century,” Professor Rhinehart exclaimed.
“Welcome to the Ghost of Harvard Past.’
I looked for any glow of belief around the professor but none was evident.
“Will he behave in my class next fall?”
“You understand how hard it is to accept your explanation?”
“It’s not important. What Teen Jesus wants is for the kids to be protected by the Church. Other than that, he’s just happy to be with me. All our friends accept him. He teaches them how to play music. You should come to St Paul’s Christmas party tomorrow night. You can see him in action.”
“Okay. I’m giving you an A for the course because faith is important, more important than attending my lectures. We’ll be there tomorrow but my wife will think I’m crazy.”
“Is that new?” I joked.
Outside the office, our friends were anxious to see if I had finally been expelled.
“He hired Tim to be a TA next fall,” Jack announced.
Jack insisted we celebrate the end of finals at the Ritz. I convinced him to invite the Irish Step Dance crew from St Peter Parish in Dorchester. The alternative was to go to the Rat after dinner. He quickly acceded. I contacted the security guard at the Ritz who was pleased to arrange the kids to attend. Jack booked a private dining room at the Ritz. I was disappointed that our impromptu serenading of the main dining room would be skipped. We decided not to dress in formal wear, so the St Peter kids would feel comfortable. I invited Father John and Dr Marier to attend, hoping it would encourage more involvement between the choir boys and the Irish Step Dancers. The girls were disappointed not to be wearing their prom dresses.
Our dinner group had expanded to twenty attendees, including the St Peter youth leader. He was pleased to get to meet the St Paul’s Choir leaders, cross-river diplomacy. The meal was exquisite. We seated everyone so the college kids were next to the junior high dancers. Everyone toasted ‘Mummy’, our patron. Jack turned red as usual. Father John said Grace. Everyone crossed themselves then promptly forgot being polite. The noise level amped up, as no one was shy. One Dorchester boy stood up on his chair, stomping to get our attention, and sang ‘Jingle Bell Rock.’
I burst into tears, remembering Jace teaching that song when caroling with the swim kids. Jace appeared, flying around and touching all the kids on the head. The whole room glowed. Father John explained Jace to the other two adults. They raised their wine glasses and toasted ‘Teen Jesus.’ Jace exploded into a burst of mistletoe which hung above everyone. All the girls got kissed, Minehan making a big production of kissing Carol. Jack and I kissed Jill on either cheek. Then the three of us males kissed the remaining 3D girls. The adults shook heads, whispering about what each of them was seeing.
“It’s not a miracle,” I asserted. “It’s just Jace playing Teen Jesus. He likes kissing. He’s fifteen.”
The junior high kids cheered. The boy who had started it all sat there with a smug look at what he had instigated.
The step dancing went well. Jack had quickly learned how to turn tap dancing skill into irish step. I remained left-footed, exasperating my 14-year-old partner. I improved a little bit but soon had rotating partners. The girls didn’t have much patience with me. The security guards were celebrating at the side, with a hidden whiskey bottle making frequent appearances. Minehan and I went over to join them, but the mystery bottle didn’t reappear. We were suppressing their celebration. The two of us went up to the Ritz’ roof, reliving earlier nights up there.
He punched me lightly on the arm, “You know how to rile us up,” he admitted.
I put an arm around him and squeezed, much to his discomfort. I let him go.
“Y’all need rilin’ once in a while,” I proclaimed.
“Ya ain’t comin’ back, are ya?” he asked.
I realized he was right. “I wanna,” I admitted, “but I have a life in Hollywood. It’s my destiny. How about you? Ready to be more than a sneaking-in freshman.”
“I’m glorious, like you. No need to move ‘cross country. But back to Waltham seems just as far.”
“Y’all gonna abandon my boyfriend?”
“Jack needs to grow up some more. Won’t he follow you out there?”
“It’s too easy for him to play second fiddle to me. He has to find his own path.”
“Four years at Harvard seems like a lifetime. He needs to give up that god-awful MOOG.”
“Maybe he can be his own string quartet and join the Hayden Society.”
“I’m working on my third movie and playing in pick-up punk bands. I can’t ignore real opportunities.”
“Jack’ll follow you, ya know.”
“Naw. I’s Boston born and raised. The Rat’s my future.”
“Don’t set you sights too high,” I joked.
“Yah. We’ll carry on. When I’m fifty, I can join a real band and rescue them from rock obsolescence.”
“A true rocker in your own rocking chair.”
“Thanks. Let’s go back to the party before we get maudlin.”
“You learned that word at Harvard.”
Soon it was Saturday afternoon and time to get to St Paul’s. The kids needed encouragement to play their first show. Father John was also ready for his new role as folk rocker. My promotion to Religion TA had me bursting with the need to preach. I decided to dedicate the party to Father Frank’s Franciscan roots. I asked Father John if our band could do the benediction including a hymn. He completely got me now. I promised not to play ‘Sympathy for the Devil.’
The parish hall was decked out in Christmas decorations, with punch and cookies set up in the back. It reminded me that the audience was all pre-teens. Kevin, Liam, Keith, and the bassist (who’s name I’d forgotten) were surrounded by most of the girls who had been invited. They were too busy basking in the glow of the girls’ attention to be nervous about their show. When we started setting up on stage, the boys and their followers rushed to the front of the stage, peppering us with questions about what we were playing. We just ignored them, knowing they’d be disappointed to hear we were just doing the benediction. Dr Marier was pleased that his boys were excited about a hymn. It was time to start – 4 pm. I saw Professor Rhinehart and his wife standing in the back with Dr. Marier.
“Hello. Welcome to St Paul’s and the annual Christmas party for the choir school. Nice to see girls here today,” I stepped up to the mic. The kids cheered my mention of girls.
“This fall, Dr Marier welcomed our Harvard band to introduce rock n roll to his boys’ choir. I know he had concerns that our music may not be spiritual enough to play in Church. On our first day, Kevin and Liam were the only students. Tonight I am so proud of them and their band for their amazing progress on guitars. I know they will make this party rock.”
The kids all cheered as Kevin waved to his new fans. Liam just looked happy. Keith couldn’t stop from doing a short Irish jig.
“Their enthusiasm reminds me of the good priest who guided Jack and me as we found our ability to play like you boys. Father Frank heard my confession on Good Friday before we played Easter mass at St Patrick’s in New York. I was shaking in my boots that he wouldn’t bless me and relieve me of my many sins. Father Frank knew that my heart was pure and soon I was telling my dad that his list of complaints had been expunged. Father Frank is a Franciscan. I would like all of us to bow our heads as I recite the St Francis d’Assisi prayer,” I paused, as the kids were shocked to be praying. What did they expect? We were at Church.
“Lord, make me an instrument of thy peace. Where there is hatred, let me sew love; Where there is injury, pardon; Where there is doubt, faith; Where there is despair, hope; Where there is darkness, light; Where there is sadness, joy.”
I skipped the second verse of the prayer. The first verse had enough to think about.
“Now our band is going to play a hymn based on the St Francis prayer.” I walked over to the drums, as Jack played a moody intro, and David thundered with the guitar chords and sang ‘Make Me a Channel of Your Peace’
“Get up here, boys. We played a hymn, let’s see you play rock n roll.”
The girls all screamed and rushed back to the front of the stage. The kids took their instruments back, Kevin counted off, one-two-three-four’ and he spoke the intro to ‘Do You Love Me’
‘You broke my heart ’cause I couldn’t dance, You didn’t even want me around. And now I’m back to let you know I can really shake ’em down’
Songwriters: BERRY GORDY JR, BERRY, JR GORDY © Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC
The kids instantly reacted, moving back from the stage and showing off their moves. The girls were dancing with each other, as the boys watched. A couple of girls made their moves and picked out the boys they had their eyes on.
Liam took the mic and showed his rockabilly roots with ‘Rock Around the Clock’
His guitar skills had taken off. The girls and some boys rushed up to the stage. A couple of girls were jitterbugging together. The boys saw their opportunity and grabbed girls who were moving by themselves and got them to swing with them.
Kevin dragged Jack’s MOOG out to the mic, hitting the keys and singing Little Richard’s ‘Tutti Frutti’
I thought Dr Marier was going to have a heart attack. Father John calmed him down as several black kids had taken over the dance floor, swinging their partners around and then grabbing new ones from the shocked onlookers. Pretty soon everyone was dancing.
Kevin took the mic. “We have a surprise. Our girlfriends are going to sing ‘Stop in the Name of Love,” as three twelve-year-old girls jumped up on stage, blushing furiously. They lined up side by side and had obviously practiced their hand movements.
After an hour of non-stop dancing, the band took a break. They rushed by us, with by their new fans/groupies – the wages of rock. I waved at them with a thumbs up. I turned to Father John.
“They won’t be denied,” he laughed.
Dr Marier came over and complimented me on the benediction. “I’ve always favored the Franciscans. They understand the mission of the Church is not to glorify Christ with riches but to provide spiritual help to the poor.”
“Father Frank understood me and made me comfortable in the Church after I had a bout of Baptist fever.”
“There was a trace of revivalism in your benediction,” he laughed.
“Wait until you hear Father John play and sing.”
“Really? I didn’t know.”
“You’ll be pleased. Maybe next time you can do a duet.” I looked for some glow surrounding him but he was still a work in progress. Few adults could feel Jace’s presence. It made me wonder why he was not here. He instantly arrived.
“You didn’t tell me,” he complained. “Tommy’s latest girlfriend refuses his advances, unless he renounces me. She’s a work in progress.”
“You missed the boys. They were great. There’ll be a second set. Then Father John is singing ‘Hallelujah.’
“Which version? Tim Buckley or that Jewish guy.”
“The folk one, Leonard Cohen.”
“But he’s Jewish.”
“So am I,” Teen Jesus proclaimed, and then thoughtfully reflected, “Maybe my conversion will allow me to grow up.”
“Not exactly a sound basis for conversion.”
The kid band came back on stage, girl groupies in tow at the front of the stage.
Kevin got on the mic, “Welcome back. We want to slow it down a bit and make it a bit more romantic.”
The girls sighed as the boys sang to them.
“Here’s Richie Valen’s ‘Donna,’
None of the girls wanted to dance, as they swayed in front of Kevin, their twelve-year-old idol. Liam came up and sang the chorus with Kevin, not one to lose the spotlight. They discussed the next song. It was a Richie Valens love fest with ‘We Belong Together’
Enough about love. The next song veered into Jan and Dean’s ‘Deadman’s Curve’
The boys knew that a bad boy image was killer. The girls’ hearts were breaking.
Next was the Standells song about their hometown, ‘Dirty Water’
The girls it was an ordinal song by the boys. It was time for the finale. I jumped onto the stage, taking the mic from the boys.
“Boston. You are my home. And here at St Paul’s there’s a talent you never suspected. Welcome our own Father John and his folk guitar to remind us all we’re really still at church. You all know the chorus. So sing along.”
All the kids were stunned. The boys choir all joined in on the choruses, ‘hallelujah, hallelujah.’ The girls were surprised at the turn of the music. I joined Father John at the mic.
“We all can be together because the music moves us. Here’s a song that is new and says what we really feel.” The good father rocked out on the guitar leads while I sang.
‘For once in my life I’ve got something to say,
I wanna say it now for now is today.
A love has been given so why not enjoy,
So let’s all grab and let’s all enjoy!
If the kids are united, Then we’ll never be divided.
If the kids are united, Then we’ll never be divided.’
Songwriters ALEXANDER WILKE, D. PARSONS, J. PURSEY
Published by Lyrics © CACOPHONY LIMITED
I sang the next verse and the band ran on stage with their girlfriends and stared singing with Father John and me. The kids in front of the stage had their arms around each other and were repeating the one-line chorus. We played it over and over. It was a show stopper.