I take the T from Logan. Later Jack tells me he refused to meet me due to the bad memories when I had 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 ran 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.”
“I have a job. Look, here’s my Christmas bonus,” I show her the $1000 check.”
“You’re never coming back?” I think she’ll 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 was 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 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.
‘If the kids are united,
they can never be divided…’
He totally gets it. I promise to take him to Newbury Comix 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.’
Jack throw 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.
“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 kiss her passionately, but avoid tongue. Everyone is shocked. David is ecstatic, with my new hetero personality. Jill slaps me.
“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 pull him into a hug and kiss his tears away.
“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 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. 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 was 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.
“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 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 dived on top of him. He moans in anticipation. I lift his butt and lick the throbbing asshole. 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 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 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. His butt slowly rises off the bed as I stimulated 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 recedes from pre-mature ejaculation. His satisfied murmurs mean he’s merely enjoying the ride. With both hands I pinched 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, 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.
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 was moaning, “ah ah ah ah.” Higher and higher goes his moaning. 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.
“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.”
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?”
Jack and I tuck in together. I’m out before my head hit the pillow.
I woke 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 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 questions.”
“Yeah. I’ll just memorize your answers to the test like a good little freshman nerd.”
“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 was 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 was tackling Religion. “I ain’t gonna let no one tell me what to believe,” I assert, not letting them know I planned to purposely flunk Religion. I will 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 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 reasonfor 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 expects.
“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.
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.”
I missed 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 realize there’s an underlying basis for my role with The National Lampoon. He is miffed that Daddy advised me on work-study that is taking me away from him.
“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, fail 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 refused to let me into his heart.
Jace and Max appeared. 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 that 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 preferred 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 explained 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.”
“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 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.”
“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.”
After the boys go 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’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.
“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 explains it was 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.
It was already 3pm by the time I leave St Paul’s. I realized Jack has not tried to contact my heart. He is so retarded. I go across the river and seek out Seth at the Business School library. He’s working on my case study, researching conflict resolution between differing business cultures. He shows me his work and the copies of relevant texts he had made for me. He is so excited to see me. I know we need to satisfy his hormones before going over the research he did for me.
“Let’s get out of here,” I suggest, running my fingers across his shoulder. He shudders and jumps up. We run all the way to his dorm room. I up my game from being his passive victim to an enthusiastic participant. We strip each other and fly onto his bed. Our dueling hard-ons find each other, as we make out. Remembering his reluctance to kiss me, I carefully seduce his lips. Using my trick of a quick lick of his lips, he is soon sucking on my lower one. We maintain constant lip-lock as our hands run all over our exposed flesh. As soon as he grasps my staining dick, I thrust my tongue inside his mouth, poking in and out, a hint of what I want to do with my dick. It’s all new to him. Instead of yielding to my demanding thrusts, he attacks my ass with a middle finger. I rock on his hand as he stimulates my anal ring, eventually reaching my prostrate. I let loose with a pre-mature ejaculation, all on his rippling stomach muscles. Total disappointment is written all over his face. He expects I’m done, having cum just once.
He gives me several involuntary humps. I stay hard as a rock, knowing where his dick is going. Using my ejaculate, I grease his dick and lube my butt. Pushing him back on the bed I grab the base of his dick, sticking it out at a 90 degree angle. I move so my knees are hugging his chest and sit down on the straining dick. He instantly rolls me over, pulling my knees between his elbows and penetrating me to his pubs. Holding himself steady, I feel him throb and expand. I grab his balls to keep them from contracting into his groin. His breathing relaxes as the imminent orgasm backs off. I rock slowly up and down as he lays back, staring intently into my eyes.
“You take control,” he admits, not recognizing I already have. I lean down and kiss him. There is no hesitation on his part. I squeeze my butt as I rock up and down on his steel-hard dick. He closes his eyes and lets me work him. Both his hands have a hold of my dick, stroking to the rhythm of my up and down motion.
“You’re still hard,” he observes.
“I love being fucked,” I admit. “It keeps me going.”
My confession excites him. He is pushing himself into me as I continue rocking on top of him. Soon he has 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 is about to end. He is going out with a bang. His head is thrown back, He grunts with each thrust. Finally he thrusts and holds it deep inside me. I pull his head down and we’re frantically frenching each other. I start shaking in anticipation of his orgasm. That’s all it takes. The first spurt is accompanied by a thrust that breaks our kiss and knocks my head against the dorm wall. His rapid, uncontrolled thrusts keeps knocking my head against the wall. I finally put both hands behind me to protect from a concussion. He’s lost in his own orgasm. Once done, his eyes fly open, as if he’s waking up from a dream. With a pop, his dick exits my ass. He flops next to me on his back, staring at the ceiling.
“I’ll never forget this fuck,” he claims.
“You think we’re done?” I tease his ass with my finger.
His dick twitches and starts to get hard again. His eyes are in disbelief. I whisper how much I had loved being fucked by him. He is such a stud. I can’t stop now. I need him. All the bullshit lines I know to keep him hard. I now have two fingers in his ass. He’s writhing on the bed. I threw his legs over my shoulders, lifting his butt to my month as I kneel on the bed. My tongue licks his upper inner thighs as I add a third finger. Poking around inside him, I stroke his prostrate. His dick is leaking copious pre-cum.
“Yes, fuck me. I want you to fuck me,” he is delirious. I worry his brain is gone. He doesn’t realize what is about to happen to his ass. If that’s rape, then so be it. I withdrew my fingers.
“No. no, don’t stop,” I get consent, as he misses my probing fingers.
My dick is more than ready. I impale him, slowly and steadily. He is writhing and squeezing, turning eventually to shaking like he is seizing. He instantly ums. I pull out and stick his exploding dick down my throat. As soon as he is finished, he starts moaning, wanting me to finish what I had started in his ass. His dick never goes down, as I steadily bring myself to the edge of cumming. I stroke his dick, rubbing my thumb against his glans. The vein pops out and he goes rigid. I hastened my dick with a deep thrust and quick ins and outs inside him. The tip of my dick does its turn inwards. I revert to long steady thrusts. As I cum, he gives a short jerk. About a thimbleful of jism is barely expelled. We are done.
We lay there panting.
“Welcome to the gay world,” I gently mock him.
“I never knew it could be this way.”
“Like it’s not going to upset my wife?” he admits. “How many times did I cum?”
I giggle. “Four or five, if you count that last dribble
“You are so evil,” he realizes. “This is not something I’m ever going to forget.”
He is 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. And 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 walk in. I’m so flustered that Jack goes on instant alert, knowing something is up. I introduce Seth to everyone, noting particularly that Jack is my boyfriend. Seth gets red in the face.
“He’s married,” I explain.
Everyone sits down and acts normal. Jill starts reading our notes.
“What are you working on?” she asks.
“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 laughs, except for Jack, who suspects I’m cheating. Minehan is busy eating my pizza, ignoring everyone.
Seth is cool about meeting my boyfriend. He gives me his notes, saying he has to get back to the library. He waves goodbye to everyone, including me.
“Wow,” Minehan remarks. “He’s old. How did you find him.”
“I’ve been studying at the B School.”
Carrying out deceptions ages you.
“I went to lunch with Father John after mass today,” I admit. “We’re invited to their Christmas Party this Saturday.”
“No more miracles,” Jack warns.
“I have no control over that,” I claim. Jace sound his disagreement in my heart.
“We can celebrate the end of finals at the party.”
“I have a surprise that you’ll all like,” I tease everyone.
“What? Jace is coming back as Baby Jesus for Christmas.”
“Maybe,” I refuse to ruin the surprise, which I haven’t figured out yet.
Their pizzas are ready. I eat most of Minehan’s in retaliation. He eats all of Carol’s slices. She is experiencing from teen anorexia, trying to please him. Like a good Irish boy, he’s in awe of her, Saint Carol. Back in the room, we go to bed. Jack is unable to suppress his suspicions about Seth. We are whispering about him in bed.
“Shut up, you two. I can’t sleep,” David complains. My savior.
Wednesday is the start of finals. We have English Literature and Calculus, morning and afternoon. Our English Lit professor surprises 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 groans when he read the instructions, having meticulously prepared to dissect each and every novel as the professor taught it in class. The girls also are anxious, responding to their mentor Jack’s discomfort. David wink at me, pleased to give his own opinions for once. We smile conspiratorially. Rather than answer each question separately, I wrote an introduction that states I chose Moby Dick and The Scarlet Letter as both my favorite and least favorite novels. I explain that all the novels on our reading list are great literature, blah blah blah. The two I chose are highly enjoyable reads, but also quite frustrating at times. Moby Dick I praise as great adventure with high suspense. It appeals to my environmental consciousness. My complaint is the tedious passages that go into excessive detail about the business of whaling, a lost art. I like 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 dislike the strict moral code and social ostracism that degrades women’s right to be treated equally. I end my essay in an Oscar Wilde-like epigram, ‘liking something excessively inevitably leads to disliking it as well.’ I finish the final well before the three-hour time limit. I turn in my blue book, to the professor’s quizzical look as to why I haven’t used the full amount of time. I return to my seat and observe my friends’ efforts. Minehan s writing furiously, not wanting to miss any thought that may impress our professor. All the girls are looking distressed, barely writing, and then crossing out half of what they do written. Only Jill seems confident, our Boston Bossie. Jack is studiously looking up quotations and making notes on the provided scratch paper. I wonder if he considers it cheating, if I contact him through Jace in his heart. My initial efforts to speak to him are rebuffed. I hope Jace can get through and translate.
“He won’t cheat with you and can’t waste the time that’s needed to finish his essay,” Jace relates.
“Tell him that the 3D girls are all in a tizzy and keep looking for him to at least provide support. He 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 shrugs and goes to berate Jack. The nerd shoots me a glaring look, but soon I can tell he is sending messages to the girls. Even Jill looks over at him, and then shakes her head, not needing help. Soon the girls start to smile. They start digging into their notes and the books they brought. I’m dismayed that they have so few original ideas. I shrug, accepting that we are being trained to regurgitate the accepted wisdom of our teachers, and walk out. I head for the B School. I figured I owe Seth an explanation about having a boyfriend. He is in his regular seat at the library. When I tap him on the shoulder, he looks up and smiles.
“Let’s go talk,” I suggest.
He leads me to a cafeteria where we get 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’m just 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 joke. He gets it.
“So, this is goodbye?” he asks.
My dick has been at full attention since I saw him studying. ‘Bad dick,’ I tell 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 have my answer. All I need to do is write it up. It will piss off PJ, but Kurt will look like the hero if he follows what I’m 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 shrugs.
It reminds me of poor Reverend Dimmesdale in the Scarlet Letter. My life is one big circle. I kiss him on the cheek. He turns bright red.
“I guess we’re done,” he looks sad.
“Never,” I crow. “You’ll always be in my heart, as much as you were up my butt.”
I hurry back to Mower and start a new draft of my case study. I first add my notes from what Seth and I just analyzed. It’s the final part to making the case study into a whole package of how the merger affects the movie, and vice versa. The proposal for the Harvard Lampoon to negotiate its revised role in the new media conglomerate is an apt coda.
Before I complete a full draft, Jack, David, Jill and all the 3D girls return from the English Lit final. The girls are enthralled with Jack for rescuing them from the confusion of a surprise question on the final. David is in his own world, since no one is listening to his description of how he aced his final.
Finally, he asks me what the girls are all excited about.
“Jack was able to ‘speak’ with them through their hearts and calm them down when the final threw them for a loop.”
“What? That’s cheating,” he’s 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 as well.”
Psychic powers trumps cheating, but David is still skeptical.
“Are you prepared for Calculus this afternoon?”
“If you let me, I can give you the proofs. You have to let me into your heart.”
David gives me a suspicious look. He actually knows how to do it, telling my heart that he’ll kill me if I tell anyone about his sensitivity for crying.”
‘Is that all that’s holding you back?’ I telepathically ask him.
‘Yeah. I see how mean you are to Jack.’
‘I’ve keep telling you that you to trust me.’
‘Okay, but just for today’s final exam in Calculus.’
“Sure. But, so 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 light up. I still want to know how he uses his ‘music as calculus’ theory to find the right numbers.
“You’re an idiot,” he laughs. “I look at the problem and come up with the answer that sounds right, otherwise I keep looking.”
“What are you boys talking about?” Jill asks, not part of the Jack worshipers.
“Getting ready for the afternoon final,” I explain.
“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 tell Jill’s heart that I love her but think she’s insane.
Her eyes bug out. She says, ‘I’m going to eat,’ and hurries out of the room. David and I chase after her. She doesn’t want to talk about Teen Jesus.
“Are you coming to the St Paul’s Christmas party?” David asks her as we eat in Commons.
“The highlight of my Christmas break,” she’s 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 argues.
“Does it work over long distance?” David is getting into his new trusting self.
“You need to work with Jace to learn the ‘time warp,’” I tell him.
“I know about the ‘time warp,’” he gets up and sings the song from ‘Rocky Horror’ taking on the Riff Raff role
We aren’t the only ones at Commons who has seen the movie. Soon we have the whole place dancing and singing – finals craziness.
It’s time for the Calculus final. Jill insists she sit between David and me, to make sure we didn’t really cheat. Everything goes well until David has a different answer on a problem than I had worked out. Jill notes she has the same answer as David. He insists she give him the proof. I check my work and realize there are actually two correct answers. It’s great as our exam papers will differ. I had used an exception rule to come up with my answer. I also write down the alternative answer, expecting extra credit. It takes us the full three hours to complete all the calculations.
It has 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 is crowded that night. Students need to blow off steam while still under the stress of more finals to come. The marching band’s fanfare guys are regulars. They’re pleased to have me back. I talk about the new music scene in New York and London and how it affects the LA scene. The only awareness the band boys have about pop music is an article about the violent skinheads in England that are terrorizing the ethnic minorities who have moved into their South London neighborhoods.
“Restless youth,” I call them.
“Useless youth,” the others judge 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 assert, telling them about the soccer/football fans chanting song.
“Soccer hooligans,” my debater asserts.
“In New York, the musicians are older. They 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 is news to Jack. He actually interrupts my conversation by shooting me a heart to heart message demanding to know the plans. I tell him we’ll talk later.
“So LA’s dead?”
“The Monkeys for girls,” the trumpeter is 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 seem jealous of my independence.
“Come out Spring Break,” I tell them. “It’s so much fun. 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 is back to being pouty from not being kept up to date on my busy schedule.
“What are your plans?” I whispers in bed.
He whispered back how many different ways we could have sex.
The next day is just one final, Psychology. The main question is to describe how the subsequent psychologists, Jung, Adler, Rogers, etc, have branched out from the father of psychology, Sigmund Freud and psychoanalysis. I dispute 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 predict that Freudian psychology will find dominance only on the Upper Eastside and Westside of New York City and is fading away. I write a short coda about my experiences with Dr Kamakazi and how he blends oriental culture, Catholicism and Oedipal complexes into an effective treatment for my Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder.
Again finishing earlier than anyone else, I use the time to type the current draft of my case study. I go to Professor Feldstein’s office north of Harvard Yard at William James, hoping to discuss my progress with the case study. He has several students waiting outside his office, looking for moral support on their upcoming ECON 10 final. I wait until he had finishes with his current students, which he does in short order. I knock and stick my head in.
“I’m back for finals. Will you review the current draft of my 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 hand it to him. He looks at the various sections and subheadings, nodding in agreement that I’m at least familiar with the proper format.
I’m on pins and needles, unaware that I have scholarly ambitions. Maybe it was just my need to gain approval from father figures.
“Not bad, Castle,” He remarks 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 says there are very few entertainment industry case studies.”
“And why is that?” he quizzes me.
“We agreed that fitting a creative enterprise into a corporate format is 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 continues reading, specifically the merger of the National Lampoon and the media conglomerate. My role as a mole from Harvard shocks 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’m shocked at his praise. Maybe Daddy convinced him to give me false confidence, though I doubt anyone feels I’m lacking in self-esteem.
Professor Feldstein tells me to rewrite the espionage section from a third-party point of view. He says to add Seth’s name to the case study. He will supervise it being published. I didn’t even know Seth’s last name.
“Now get out of here.”
I run all the way from the Econ building to the B school, across the river. I’m out of breath when I find Seth at the library, tapping him on the shoulder.
“Should either of us continue meeting?” he’s 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 laugh.
“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’re getting married. Seth is mortified. I announce we were getting our case study published in the Business Review.
“Time for celebration,” someone announces.
I lead about ten B School students to ‘Noch’s and use my bank card to pay for pizza. Seth has his head down and hopes to survive with some reputation. As I’m holding forth on the details of my work/study, Seth hands me a note with his last name on it: ‘Duquette.’ He is going out the door where he runs into Jack, David, Jill and the 3D crew. They drag him back in. Surrounded by my new, older friends I yell at Jack to come to where we were sitting. I introduce everyone. The girls turn on the charm, while David revert to his high school persona of bragging about himself. Seth is exposed as working with 18-year-olds. The beer gone, my new friends leave. I stay with the Mower group.
“You bought your new friends pizza and beer?” Jack is giving me the fifth degree.
“Yeah. I have a bank card now,” as I pull out my ATM card.
“Here, I’ll buy everyone pizza,” I magnanimously propose. Minehan cheers and the girls giggle. Jack was bereft. I’m not making matters better. He goes into the corner where we usually sit and pouts.
“Our sugar daddy has been upstaged,” Minehan observes, the king of upstaging his musical rivals. Jill tells me to console our previous benefactor. I give her my bank card and join 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 goes on about his miserable life. Jace and I are banging on his heart, but he has locked us out. What to do? I know, sing a song. I chose MacCartney’s Wings’ ‘Let ‘em In’
Pizzas ready. Life goes on. I stay with Jack the rest of the night. He calms down. I exhorted him to think about the Christmas Pageant at St Paul’s. He thinks it’s only a party to celebrate the end of finals. We have to praise the boys choir and their newly formed rock band.
Jill comes over to discuss the upcoming Religion final. They have sample questions that seemed to view religion from a historical point of view. We are expected to know the dates and particulars of recent (last 500 years, the modern age) 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 finals,” she complains. “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 complain, thinking how it doesn’t matter to me; Teen Jesus plans to boycott the final.
“You can’t do that,” Jill has been reading my mind. I had set myself up for a Mower Inquisition.
“What are you planning?” Jack demands.
“If you’d let me in, you’d know,” I challenge him. He refuses 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 explain.
“You can’t pull off a silent protest. It’s useless,” Jack argues.
“We can sing John Lennon’s ‘Imagine.’ ‘Imagine no religion, a brotherhood of man,’ I sing
“John sang with us at St Patrick’s,” Jack brags.
“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 refuse to pout. “Okay, but don’t expect me to support his muddled beliefs.”
We finish our pizza. So much for celebrating B School success.
We encourage David to stay with Carol as late as she allows, to give us time alone together in our shared room. Based on prior evenings I figured we have about thirty minutes to work out our horniness. Jack’s pouting is a result of the lack of alone time with me. After David leaves, we’re on a mission to get in as many orgasms as possible. He quickly gets off as we struggled out of our clothes and wrangle dueling dicks. It’s my turn to fuck him as I haven’t cum. We go back and forth, until I’ve cum twice and he’s satisfied. We are laying in bed talking when Minehan sticks his head inside the door.
“No pretendin’ to be so innocent in bed together, the odor of teen spirit gives you away.” He runs to open the window. A blast of New England winter causes Jack and me to burrow under the blankets.
“You boys are sick,” David complains.
“When are you going to seal the deal with Carol so we can have our room back to ourselves,” Jack complains.
“Oh, I’ll seal the deal alright. Just don’t expect me to move out. Her roommate will never let me stay up there.”
The Religion final is a surprise, as we had suspected, with none of the practice questions asked. Instead, the Question ‘Is God dead,’ is 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 mumble a curse under my breath, superstitiously careful not to take the Lord’s name in vain during a religion final. Jack has challenged me to respond to Professor Rhinehart’s questions. The first part of the question is aimed at those who agreed with him that there was no spiritual world. Instead of ignoring it, I decide to respond by citing the tenets of our civilization that follow Jesus’s teaching of love and forgiveness. ‘Jesus is God, you know,’ I remind him. That is not going to win me points. It takes about an hour to list all the ways society follows Christian tenets. Next, I think about my own faith. Jace’s continued presence in so many people’s lives can be explained in non-spiritual terms – we honor him by remembering his example and enforcing his dictum to ‘protect the young.’ I write that I’m divinely inspired to pursue good works in his memory. Instead of saying it’s Jace who was my guardian angel, I call him Teen Jesus.
For a conclusion, I observe that many people are dispirited with the secular world. The Church’s history of failing to meet the spiritual needs of its followers is not a conscious policy, but misplaced distrust of the believers’ ignorance. Proscribing a litany of rules to follow has resulted in corruption within the institution, as clergy mistake their own prejudices as the proper path to Jesus. Interference in politics and education has led to a distrust of the Church’s motivations. As history proves the Church wrong, such as with Galileo, the inability to admit error (infallibility) makes 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 besmirch the Church’s reputation and prevent 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 respond naturally to these organic and sustainable messages. Disbelievers are required to reexamine their beliefs when miraculous events or lives were made known.
I write 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 is kept alive in my heart because I believe he is 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 love 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 is 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’s more than I had planned to write. I’m not sure if just boycotting the final under the name of Teen Jesus would be more effective. I’m just glad to get it off my chest. I don’t despise Professor Rhinehart. I just wish he wasn’t teaching Religion.
I walk out of the classroom with an hour to spare. Wandering off campus I soon found myself at St Paul’s. I can hear the raucous sound of rock guitar and drums emanating from the basement classroom. I walk in on the boys rehearsing for their Christmas party debut. Father John is there.
“I thought I’d come by and encourage the boys,” I explain my prohibited attendance to their training.
“You’re a welcome guest,” he smiles.
“So, this is the band?” I ask, once they let me loose.
“Pretty much, although there are a few secret members who may show up for the party,” Liam announces. Father John looks perturbed but says nothing.
“You’re all coming to the party, right?” Kevin confirms.
“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 look 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 look at each other.
The drummer, Keith, jumps up. “I knew you guys were lame just standing there. Let me show you how to do it.”
He goesto center stage, while I grab an extra guitar. Keith asks me to play a dance song. I start “Shout,’ the Easily Brothers song covered by the Beatles.
Keith goes crazy at first, swinging his arms and running around, then he slows it down by squatting while still moving, and finally going totally crazy. He’s a total 12-year-old. Kevin and Liam start playing with me. I turn off their amps. They throw down the guitars and join Keith running around, shouting and waving their arms. When I finish, I asked, “You don’t seem afraid to act geeky together?”
They can’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 takes a few minutes, but soon they find their natural rhythm and seem 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 grins from ear to ear.
The rest of the Mower gang is waiting for me to go to lunch. Jack takes my arm and has 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 quip, making Jack looked pained. I quickly reverse 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 go to the boiler room. Jack knows the hymn and soon teaches all of us. I’m stuck on drums, Jill on Bass, Jack on his Moog, while Minehan sings and is lead guitar. He admits he learned the hymn as a little kid. The 3D girls will be the choir backing David. What a somber way to celebrate the end of finals.
After eating there is a note on our dorm door for me to report to Professor Rhinehart’s office. It doesn’t take a genius to realize I’m in trouble again. At least, I have my apartment in Hollywood to fall back on. Leaving Harvard will be a relief. Then, I think about Jack and regret my impetuosity. Jack volunteers to come with me. David and the girls insist they come to wait outside for my sentence.
“You don’t need to be here, Mr. Stone,” Professor Rhinehart accedes 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. 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’re shocked. “I’ll be on work/study next semester, but I’ll 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 doesn’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 announces.
“You can sense him.”
“More than that, we see him and can speak with him telepathically.”
“This is so 17th Century,” Professor Rhinehart exclaims.
“Welcome to the Ghost of Harvard Past.’
I look for any glow of belief around the professor. None is 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 joke.
Outside the office, our friends are anxious to see if I have finally been expelled.
“He hired Tim to be a TA next fall,” Jack announces.
Jack insists we celebrate the end of finals at the Ritz. I convince him to invite the Irish Step Dance crew from St Peter Parish in Dorchester. The alternative is to go to the Rat after dinner. He quickly accedes. I contact the security guard at the Ritz who is pleased to arrange the kids to attend. Jack books a private dining room at the Ritz. I’m disappointed that our impromptu serenading of the main dining room will be skipped. We decide not to dress in formal wear, so the St Peter kids will feel comfortable. I invite Father John and Dr Marier to attend, hoping it will encourage more involvement between the choir boys and the Irish Step Dancers. The girls are disappointed not to be wearing their prom dresses.
Our dinner group has expanded to twenty attendees, including the St Peter youth leader. He’s pleased to meet the St Paul’s Choir teachers, cross-river diplomacy. The meal is exquisite. We seat everyone so the college kids are next to the junior high dancers. Everyone toasts ‘Mummy’, our patron. Jack turns red as usual. Father John says Grace. Everyone crosses themselves then promptly forgets being polite. The noise level amps up, as no one is shy. One Dorchester boy stands up on his chair, stomping to get our attention, and sings ‘Jingle Bell Rock.’
I burst into tears, remembering Jace teaching that song when caroling with the swim kids. Jace appears, flying around and touching all the kids on the head. The whole room glows. Father John explains Jace to the other two adults. They raised their wine glasses and toast ‘Teen Jesus.’ Jace explodes into a burst of mistletoe which hang above everyone. All the girls get kissed, Minehan making a big production of kissing Carol. Jack and I kiss Jill on either cheek. Then the three of us males kiss the remaining 3D girls. The adults shake their heads, whispering about what each of them is seeing.
“It’s not a miracle,” I assert. “It’s just Jace playing Teen Jesus. He likes kissing. He’s fifteen.”
The junior high kids cheer. The boy who started it all sits there with a smug look at what he instigated.
The step dancing goes well. Jack quickly learns how to turn tap dancing skill into irish step. I remain left-footed, exasperating my 14-year-old partner. I improve a little bit but soon have rotating partners. The girls don’t have much patience with me. The security guards are celebrating at the side, with a hidden whiskey bottle making frequent appearances. Minehan and I go over to join them, but the mystery bottle doesn’t reappear. We’re suppressing their celebration. The two of us go up to the Ritz’ roof, reliving earlier nights up there.
He punches me lightly on the arm, “You know how to rile us up,” he admits.
I put an arm around him and squeeze, much to his discomfort. I let him go.
“Y’all need rilin’ once in a while,” I proclaim.
“Ya ain’t comin’ back, are ya?” he asks.
I realize he was right. “I wanna,” I admit, “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 joke.
“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 learn that word at Harvard?”
Soon it’s Saturday afternoon and time to get to St Paul’s. The kids need encouragement to play their first show. Father John is also ready for his new role as folk rocker. My promotion to Religion TA ha me bursting with the need to preach. I decide to dedicate the party to Father Frank’s Franciscan roots. I ask Father John if our band can do the benediction including a hymn. He completely gei 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 reminds me that the audience is all pre-teens. Kevin, Liam, Keith, and the bassist (who’s name I’ve forgotten) are surrounded by most of the girls who have been invited. They are 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 rush to the front of the stage, peppering us with questions about what we’re playing. We just ignore them, knowing they’ll be disappointed to hear we were just doing the benediction. Dr Marier is pleased that his boys are excited about a hymn. It’s time to start – 4 pm. I see 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 step up to the mic. The kids cheer 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 cheer as Kevin waves to his new fans. Liam just looks happy. Keith can’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 pause, as the kids are shocked to be praying at a party. 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 skip the second verse of the prayer. The first verse has enough to think about.
“Now our band is going to play a hymn based on the St Francis prayer.” I walk over to the drums, as Jack played a moody intro on the MOOG, and David thunders with the guitar chords and sings ‘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 scream and rush back to the front of the stage. The kids take their instruments back, Kevin counts off, one-two-three-four’ and he speaks 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 react moving back from the stage and showing off their dance moves. The girls are dancing with each other, as the boys watch. A couple of girls make their move and pick out the boys they have their eyes on.
Liam takes the mic and shows his rockabilly roots with ‘Rock Around the Clock’
His guitar skills have taken off. The girls and some boys rush up to the stage. A couple of girls are jitterbugging together. The boys see their opportunity and grab girls who were moving by themselves and get them to swing with them.
Kevin drags Jack’s MOOG out to the mic, hitting the keys and singing Little Richard’s ‘Tutti Frutti’
I think Dr Marier is going to have a heart attack. Father John calms him down as several black kids take over the dance floor, swinging their partners around and then grabbing new ones from the shocked onlookers. Pretty soon everyone is dancing.
Kevin takes the mic. “We have a surprise. Our girlfriends are going to sing ‘Stop in the Name of Love,” as three twelve-year-old girls jump up on stage, blushing furiously. They line up side by side and have obviously practiced their hand movements.
After an hour of non-stop dancing, the band takes a break. They rush by us, with by their new fans/groupies – the wages of rock. I wave at them with a thumbs up. I turn to Father John.
“They won’t be denied,” he laughs.
Dr Marier comes 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 laughs.
“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 look for some glow surrounding him. He is still a work in progress.
Few adults can feel Jace’s presence. It makes me wonder why he was not here. He instantly arrives.
“You didn’t tell me,” he complains. “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 proclaims, and then thoughtfully reflects, “Maybe my conversion will allow me to grow up.”
“Not exactly a sound basis for conversion.”
The kid band comes back out, girl groupies in tow at the front of the stage.
Kevin grabs the mic, “Welcome back. We want to slow it down a bit and make it a bit more romantic.”
The girls sigh as the boys sing to them.
“Here’s Richie Valen’s ‘Donna,’
None of the girls want to dance, as they sway in front of Kevin, their twelve-year-old idol. Liam comes up and sings the chorus with Kevin, not one to lose the spotlight. They discuss the next song. It’s a Richie Valens love fest with ‘We Belong Together’
Enough about love. The next song veers into Jan and Dean’s ‘Deadman’s Curve’
The boys know that a bad boy image was killer. The girls’ hearts are breaking.
Next is the Standells song about our hometown, ‘Dirty Water’
The girls think it’s an original song by the boys. It’s time for the finale. I jump 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 are stunned. The boys choir all joins in on the choruses, ‘hallelujah, hallelujah.’ The girls are surprised at the turn of the music. I join 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 rocks out on the guitar leads while I sing.
‘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 sing the next verse and the band runs on stage with their girlfriends and stares singing with Father John and me. The kids in front of the stage have their arms around each other and are repeating the one-line chorus. We play it over and over. It’s a show stopper.