Monday’s start of a new school week was well-organized on Mom’s scheduling board. I noted that my weekly session with Dr. Kam was before John Boy’s arrival Friday. I added an extra session on Sunday afternoon, so both of us could meet with him. I hoped he could talk John Boy into remaining in Ames. The Wednesday choir practice was an issue. I had started going to Catholic mass. I agreed I would continue with the choir for special occasions, promising not to go ‘all Catholic’ on the other choir members. I laughed at how seriously the Baptists and Catholics took their ideological differences. It didn’t seem so funny when I remembered how the Harlan preacher had tried to kill John Boy. Religion took the commandment to love one another and reversed it into hating anyone different from your own denomination.
Before classes started, the French Club fag hags cornered me, desperate for news about their guru. They squealed and hugged me when I announced that John Boy was coming. They promised special patisseries for the bake sale.
“Y’all is happy to git yer leader back,” I noted. “But there’s a twist. He’s bringing his own high school’s bowlin’ team with him. And, y’all has to be their girl partners competing against us and all the other I-o-way teams.”
“What,” they were startled. “Why won’t he compete for Ames High?”
“He goes to school there now.”
“But we don’t want to compete against our own school.”
“It’s up to you, but his school is boys-only. I promised we’d provide girl partners from here.”
“Do we havta?” several girls whined.
“We all want him back here, right?” I asked.
All the girls shouted, “Yes.”
“We havta convince him to stay. Helping his team will show him how much we want him back.”
“Okay,” they reluctantly agreed.
Just like Baptists vs Catholics, high school loyalties create animosity between teens. I just wanted him back. The girls were my allies and the Regis boys were the enemy.
“’Gator plans to provide cheerleaders as ‘comfort’ girls to the New York boys,” I confided the plans to distract John Boy’s teammates, our scheme to keep him in Ames. The French fag hags were willing partners with the sluts.
“Yur like a cat scratching at the blackboard with its claws. Y’all’s on edge ‘til John Boy’s back.”
“Ya got that right,” I laughed, giving him a tap on the arm. He responded with a big ‘Gator hug.
“Better save that fer later, ‘Gator.” I advised him.
“I wish,” he complained.
“Ya ain’t getting’ none in the other room?” I was surprised.
He just smiled and shrugged.
“Wait. Y’all’s tellin’ me nothin’s happenin’ in there?”
“I ain’t sayin,’ but don’t ya worry ‘bout them girls losin’ their virginity a‘fore they’s ready.”
“Then, y’all still seein’ yer comfort cheerleader girlfriend.”
“Naw. I’s lettin’ the need build up so as to hurry the twins along, seein’ me all frisky. Makes ‘em right anxious.”
I laughed. Two 17-year-old boys laying in bed together with hard-ons not meant for each other. We looked and shook our heads. Both of us exclaimed, “No way anything is gonna happen between us.”
We hugged, making sure sensitive parts stayed far apart.
On Wednesday night I skipped choir practice, as Mrs. McCarthy had scheduled me to take the SAT exams on Sunday morning. I was to worship at the altar of SAT-prep in the college admissions process. John Boy announced he would take it as well, even though his admission to Harvard was secure.
“I want them to know how brilliant I am,” he egged me on. Making it a personal competition was good motivation for me to do my best. Going to Harvard was barely on my radar screen. He seemed to believe it important for our staying together the next few years. I even let the girls drill me with SAT-prep questions.
Every night, after farm chores and pizza delivery, our new band, Triplets plus 1, practiced upstairs. We planned to perform at the Pizza Pit after the bowling tournament on Saturday evening. “Gator insisted we have a set list of songs, rather than my preference of asking for requests. He needed to treat his drumming as if it were a football drill, practicing every song in our set until he had his part down pat. What we gained in practiced perfection took away from the spontaneity of performing songs we’d never planned on playing. I taught them all the False Gods’ band songs over the girls’ objection that it was boy-centric and misogynistic. The girls were fine with me singing solo on the ‘sex’ songs. ‘Gator was obviously getting out his suppressed hormones with energetic drum rolls and cymbal crashes. He sounded more and more like Robby – so much the better.
My Thursday therapy with Dr. Kam arrived. I started out with overly enthusiastic expressions of my pent-up sex drive in anticipation of John Boy’s arrival. Dr. Kam countered with his own obsession with the New York art and celebrity scene. He even sang ‘Oh, Yoko,’ sounding passably like the Beatle who wrote it for his wife.
“Come to the party at the Pizza Pit. You can sing it with our band.”
“I’ll wear my grannie glasses.”
“I’ll play the kazoo on the harmonic part.”
I was so relaxed, I was able to tell him the dream scenario when I lay in that ditch in Dothan, Alabama.
“I swore I’d never let anyone ever take advantage of me or lock me up again. My crying was like none I’d ever felt – not just despair or loss. I had hit rock bottom.”
“That’s important. Once you see you can go no lower, you’re on the way to recovery.”
“Except when I pass out all the time.”
“I’m ready now.”
“Well, don’t rush it. John Boy’s hysterical loss of his voice may be projection/transference on his part. He’s so in-tune with you, he’s acting out your trauma in his own indirect way.”
“Wow. That’s scary. It’s contagious.”
“You are contagious. People subconsciously want to feel what you feel.”
That idea seemed unfair, but it did make sense. I needed time to absorb his diagnosis. We ended up singing a future hit, ‘Turning Japanese.” I loved Dr. Kam.
Friday morning, I was so worked up, I couldn’t sleep. When I heard ‘Gator ready to leave for his farm chores, I insisted I go with him. Mucking out the stalls, I understood Daddy’s abhorrence of farm chores in his youth. ‘Gator made the time fly. Even my favorite cow, Bessie, seemed happy when I hooked her to the milking cups. I gave her a quick kiss on the rump.
With chores done early, we grabbed breakfast with the twins before school. The school day flew by, with girls hugging me once they spotted the gleam of anticipation in my eyes. Even Noah got over his embarrassment from his unreciprocated kiss and slugged me on the arm.
“We’s all ready to help keep John Boy here fer good,” he promised. I was not tempted to give him a kiss back but grabbed his arms. We jumped up and down like pre-teens.
The New Yorkers flight was due in at 6 pm. The twins agreed to do my pizza route so I could meet the plane. It seemed like half of Ames was there. John Boy and his four teammates walked across the tarmac, looking around and wondering who was so important to warrant a reception. They all were dressed in matching blazers and ties. Their nonchalance reflected New York City sophistication. When John-Boy saw me and ‘Gator waving, a big grin broke out and he ran to hug me. The other four acted like bodyguards. I had to push by them to get to John Boy. While we were hugging, ‘Gator distracted everyone with a long-winded speech that told the city slickers they were welcome here, “even though it weren’t New York City.”
The French Club had signs with ‘Bienvenue a Ames’ and “Bonne chance Nueve York.” They rushed up to grab John Boy, to many ‘ow, la la’s’ and ‘incroyable’s’ to their Jean Fil. The Regis boys looked more at ease surrounded by the girls. Croissants were passed out.
Back at the house, the moms had prepared a welcome feast. The Regis boys asked if we were having corn on the cob, their favorite. All the Ames kids thought it hilarious, corn in April. ‘Ya kin take the boy outta the city….’
After dinner and showing the boys where they were sleeping on the second floor, the Regis kids took off their blazers and loosened their ties. We all went up to the third floor where we played some of the songs planned for Saturdays night’s gig. After we played ‘Rhinestone Cowboy,’ one of the Regis let out a cowboy yell, ‘Woo eee.’ All his friends started hitting him for being a traitor to their New York ‘cool.’ It was time to pair the Regis boys with John Boy’s French Club girls. Being Irish Catholics, the boys had been too shy to initiate conversation with the girls. The comfort cheerleaders took charge, setting up ‘speed-dates,’ as each boy was given five minutes to see if there were sparks with the eight girls who were bowlers. Each boy and girl ranked their favorites, one through eight. French cooking had ruined teen girl anorexia for several girls, resulting in low favorability rankings by the boys. One boy was universally disdained. A second round of ‘speed dating’ was initiated. The lowest ranked girls were all assigned to re-interview the rejected boy. The three ‘cool’ boys were paired with one of their top 2 choices on the second round. In fifteen minutes all Regis boys found a bowling partner. Jack already had his regular partner. He instructed his boys on proper bowling etiquette, suggesting the boys remember their partners are teammates and not ‘dates.’ As if on cue, the comfort cheerleaders took charge of the Regis boys with more flirtatious banter and play.
The French Club girls surrounded John Boy.
I got ‘Gator and the twins back on our instruments. We played the Bob Seger’s ‘Night Moves,’ to get John Boy’s attention.
He ran over when we started playing ‘Curfew,’ one of his originals from D&D days. John Boy jumped in and did the vocals; it was his song.
‘We’re still in our youth
But we have our ken
That these lives are ours
And they don’t belong to them
We’re having fun doing what we like
Then they come around and take away our rights
Makers of trouble
Wild and insane
Just because we’re young
We’re the ones to blame
The time has come
They’re telling us to leave
They’re pushing us around
So we gotta leave the streets
The streets are our domain
So they come and give us pain
But what gives you the right
To come blow out my light
But since I’m having fun
You’re gonna make me fight
And I just wanna say
Curfew must not ring tonight.’
songwriter: David Delgado MIB
Everyone cheered the idea of violating their curfews. We played ‘Barefoot Boy’ next and did the monkeyshines until even the shy Irish boys were jumping around like idiots. The comfort girls made their moves and suddenly it was a big make out party. I let John Boy loose on the fag hags and joined ‘Gator and the twins to survey our handiwork.
“Our welcome party seems a success,” I observed, forgetting my country boy accent.
“Well, let’s hope these here city boys stay up all night and are worse fer wear in the mornin’,” ‘Gator was not giving an inch.
“They seem so innocent,” Amy was wearing her rose-colored glasses.
“Don’t git too cozy. They’s all from New York City still.”
“Maybe we kin score John Boy on both teams. Cain’t rilly have a New York school be the I-o-way bowling champions,” I suggested.
“No way,” ‘Gator was right. “He goes to school there. Other I-o-way schools would protest, sayin’ we’s brought in a ringer.”
We had everyone gather in the main third floor room to end the evening.
“Say goodnight to yer bowlin’ partners. You’ll be together all day tomorra,” I had the French Club girls get ready to leave.
“Show these visitors where they’s sleepin’ tanite,” ‘Gator orchestrated the sleeping arrangement with the comfort girls.
The third floor was ours at last. I dragged John Boy into our bedroom, to the laughs of ‘Gator and his harem. Together at last.
Sitting on the bedroom, John Boy eyed me warily.
“That’s the plan – mad, crazy fucking,” I announced loudly.
“Shh. They’ll hear,” John Boy warned.
“Maybe they need a push of encouragement.”
“They ain’t doin’ it themselves?”
“If you believe ‘Gator.”
“We should give ‘em lessons,” John Boy giggled.
Conspiring together made me feel romantic which was all the encouragement my boner needed. Grabbing him, I twirled us around, and then pulled him into a tight hug. I pulled his head to mine and frenched him long and deep. He wrapped his legs around my waist while I walked us to the bed. Falling together, I rotated our bodies so he fell on top of me instead of me crushing him. He was crushing badly, while our dicks engorged to greet each other. I relaxed, letting go of any control as I felt his dick straining underneath the layers of clothing that separated us. I calmly undid his belt and unbuttoned the khaki trousers that he wore as a school uniform. He was pulling my jeans down. Our frantic kissing betrayed the impulsive need we had for the real action to come. I purposely refrained from the mad crazy need to take him, relaxing at his need to have me. My passive side was pleased to let him lead. He had my jean pulled half-way down my thighs. He broke off the kissing to pull his trousers and briefs down, exposing his perky butt. My dick was at full attention. Taking the drool the French kissing had stimulated, John Boy slathered my dick, smeared his asshole, and impaled himself on my hard-on. I arched as he easily slid down the pole. Bouncing back up, he expelled my straining dick for the briefest second before plunging it back inside as he sat down on it. His butt checks were pressed into my groin. The sensation was so great for him that he began to shudder from the pleasure and pressure of my rigid dick. He continued to bounce rapidly with the least amount of up and down. His butt squeezed and released me. We were staring intently in each other’s eyes. My breathing quickened and became ragged. I was rapturously enjoying the ride when my dick did its slight turn inward at the tip. I was about to climax less than a minute into our fucking. It felt too good to stop. I silently cursed my passive reaction but couldn’t stop the explosion. Holding him firmly to my lap, I arched upward and rode the spasms my dick repeatedly caused with multiple orgasmic spurts that came from below my balls into the depths of his stomach. He whimpered as the blasts receded and declined. I collapsed into the bed, still deep inside him while he clung to me. His ass continued to throb and soon my spent dick was pushed out. I rolled over and presented my ass for his pleasure. When John Boy was slow to jump me, I wiggled my ass at him. Soon I was impaled by my favorite garden hose. That sinking, giving-in feeling I relished overtook me as we fucked doggy-style. Fully penetrated I looked back at him, expecting to see John Boy lost into his fucking. Instead, he was crying while barely going in and out of my ass.
I expelled the garden hose and rolled over, hugging his sobbing body.
“What’s wrong? I was enjoying it until I saw your tears,” I asked.
“You don’t love me anymore! What happened to mad crazy fucking? I’ve been yearning to have you inside me but you were done in less than a minute.”
All I could think was we were two hapless bottoms, unable to satisfy each other. I kissed him gently, but that was the opposite of what he wanted. He reached his arms around me, hugging me as tightly as he could. It was a disaster. The tears ran out. He was soon sound asleep on my chest. My proudest quality, my dick, had let us down. The old me would have fucked Jack until he begged me to finish. I thought I should call Dr. Kam for advice. Maybe that was what was wrong. I had become analyzed and incapable of being a teen-aged animal. I slapped my dick and fell asleep locked in our embrace. I dreamt about bowling.
I was awake early, as was my habit when I needed to get up with ‘Gator to go milk the cows. Jack was snuggled up next to me, as was his wont. It felt nice to wake up in his embrace. Our failed sexscapade that night was now a dull memory. John Boy’s morning wood was pressed between my butt cheeks. Avoiding a repeat of the previous failure, I rolled him away and positioned my hard-on against his anal lips. He shuddered as I pressed slightly into the passage. Scooting down I stuck my tongue into the inviting entrance. Lathering him with spit I licked my way past his anal ring. He moaned with satisfaction as I rolled my tongue into a piercing instrument. I was rapidly invading his inner sanctum, then retracting as he squeezed my tongue. He slowly awakened to my invasion. I knew he wanted it rough, whereas I needed him to accept my loving sex play. Once he realized I was ignoring his demands, he gave into my ministrations. He squirmed as I pinched his pebble-hard nipples, jumping at the sharp stimulation. Rolling him over I nibbled at first one and then the other nipple. Tentative bites kept him startled. I tested his horniness by licking up his neck, approaching his quivering lips. I wondered if he’d be revolted with a kiss. My lips grasped and gently squeezed his lower lip. He moaned and grabbed my upper lip with his upper one. I relaxed with a sigh, knowing he wasn’t bothered about where my month had been. We continued the double lip lock, pulling away and reconnecting with passion. Our breathing became heavy. Both of us were moaning. I plunged my pointed tongue into his mouth. It was greeted by its mate. A conversation of love and need was exchanged in spit, saliva and repeated moans. My hands were massaging up and down John Boy’s back as he rocked against me in rapturous embrace. His closed eyes snapped open when I grabbed both his butt cheeks and rubbed my thumbs across the anal opening. His legs wrapped around my waist, squeezing me in need of penetration. My previous reluctance to meet his need made his eyes search wildly for my intention. He wasn’t to be denied. My dick was straining to be inside him.
“Fuck me,” John Boy knew what he wanted and I needed. Crazy mad fucking.
The whole analysis burden slipped off my shoulders. I jerked into wild involuntary animal humps deep inside of John Boy.
Each time my humping slowed, he yelled, “I love you. I love you.”
I was going to go on forever with our love-fucking, crazy mad or sweet and sad. No stopping. His garden hose dick began whipping back and forth across my stomach muscles. Streaks of pre-cum were spreading across my abs.
“We’re going to cum together,” I ordered.
“I’m ready,” he whispered.
“Now. I’m right on the edge.”
I pulled one hand away from his butt and grabbed his tightening gonads, leaving the other hand holding his ass firmly pressed to my plunging dick. John Boy’s dick kept whipping against my stomach. His scrotum tried to pull his balls up into his groin. I massaged them to keep him from climaxing. He was squealing from pain and frustration. Plunging as far as possible into his love canal, I held still, feeling my dick make its upward turn in anticipation of the impending orgasm. I let his balls go as they snapped against the base of his shaft. He exploded in a fountain of cascading spurts, flying over my head. I let loose a single powerful surge deep inside John Boy. I held back as his belly was throbbing from his subsequent spurts. I was covered in sperm and cum – in my hair, on my face and across my chest and stomach. As his spasms slowed, I let loose another jet of jism deep inside him. He shuddered and came a final mini-spurt. Knowing he was done, I let loose my full orgasm, shooting five time before collapsing on top of him. I reached behind his head and pulled his mouth to mine for more kissing. My dick remained deep inside, continuing to ride him until the stimulation made me start shaking and shuddering.
“I love you so much,” John Boy whispered in an ear. My dick instantly got the message and regained its full glory. With no preparation, I started fucking him again, with rapid in and out thrusts. Never slowing down, I reached climax quickly, holding still as my straining dick released time and again. John Boy came as well, with a minimal result expelled from his dick. He was done. I kept fucking after our mutual orgasm until he shuddered from the over-stimulation. His breathing was ragged and uneven. It slowly returned to normal until he fell sound asleep. I was still inside him. As I finally pulled out, a flood of semen drained from his ass and puddled on the sheets. I pulled us away from the mess and went to sleep myself.
A quiet knock came from the outside of our locked bedroom door.
“Andy,” ‘Gator whispered.
I pulled on my briefs and let him in. He was slyly grinning at John Boy, spread-eagle on his back in the tossed sheets.
“Y’all woke everyone up,” he confided.
“Is that a surprise?” I countered.
“If’n yer a good Regis Catholic boy who thinks John Boy came here fer the bowlin.’”
“Oh. Ya thinks they heard us.”
“They was all gathered on the stairs. I tolds ‘em I has to work extree hard keeping two girls satisfied. They was shocked but John Boy’s secret is safe.”
“Thanks, ‘Gate. Yer the perfect excuse.”
“Y’all wanna go milk some cows. Ya looks a mite peaked from the fucking.”
“A bit of tittie squeezin’ may be good fer me. John Boy’s tits is hard and small as a pebble.”
He punched me as we laughed. I got dressed and found ‘Gator on the second floor. All the Regis boys had volunteered to learn milking. His supposed prowess with the twins made him an instant hero to repressed Catholic boys. I figured that the Ames comfort girls were in for it after the tournament. Regis may be distracted at bowling with their focus on a new main event.
The NY boys were awkward around farm equipment and animals. ‘Gator, his dad, and I each took one boy to show them the ropes. The fourth Regis boy had stayed back at Hyland House, to ‘protect’ John Boy. My trainee was named Seamus, fresh-faced and Irish-American. I had him practice on Bessie, who calmly accepted his initial fumbling with her teats. Irishmen come in two types: fishermen or farmers. Seamus quickly found his farm boy groove. Once he had mastered hooking up Bessie to the milking machine, we quickly worked through our assigned cows. Another boy, Finn, had initial difficulty approaching his first cow. ‘Gator’s dad laughed as the boy got kicked in the butt when he couldn’t attach the suction cups. More comfortable at fishing, he started singing a sailor shanty
and the cows relaxed for him. All three boys were able to handle the milking by the time we were due home for breakfast. Mrs. ‘Gator invited all of us in for breakfast. I declined, saying, “My mom will be disappointed if they miss her special weekend breakfast of blueberry pancakes.”
Driving home in the bed of ‘Gator’s pickup, I asked Seamus why the fourth boy needed to ‘protect’ Jack (as they called him).
“From the Baptists. We promised the Monseigneur we’d protect him.”
“Oh, those evil Baptists are from a hick town. We all sing in the local Baptist church choir. They love Jack.”
“I hear that he was attacked and almost died.”
“It’s sure nice y’all wants ta protect ‘im.”
“Monseigneur told us he’s gonna be a saint someday.”
I laughed, remembering how intensely he needed to be fucked that morning.
“You cahn laugh all you wahnt, but we came to protect him. Bowling’s not a real high school spoht, anyways.”
I laughed. “Y’all kin sandbag it taday, then.”
“Naw. We’ll show you country boys how it’s done,” he bragged.
Mom had outdone herself with pancakes, eggs, bacon, and cinnamon rolls. By the time we were stuffed, no one believed we could bowl our best games. But it was time for the Iowa High School State Championships. Ames Lanes was a beehive of activity. Their evening leagues organization was in charge of running the tournament. A long line of competitors snaked across the lobby to check-in. The Regis boys wore their blazers and ties and were carrying a banner that announced they were from New York City. A buzz was in the air about ‘foreigners’ invading Iowa. The more home-spun appearance of the country high schools’ teams added to the disparity. Several out-of-town coaches objected to non-Iowans in the tournament. It was explained that Regis was not eligible to be Iowa Champion, but with bowling a new high school sport, they would compete with the Iowa winner for national bowling championship status. Lane assignments were made for each pair of competitors. After checking in, most high schoolers went straight to the bake sale. Quickly the muffins and cookies from the Cheerleading squad were sold out. The French Club’s pattiseries were mostly overlooked until they were all that was left and were tentatively consumed by ravenous teenagers. The girls taught their customers to exclaim, ‘C’est magnifique.’
My personal concern was the appearance of a team from Harlan. I noticed them looking and pointing at John Boy, who was oblivious as ever with his new teammates. I walked up to Seamus and pointed out the interest being paid John Boy by the Harlan team.
“They’s from where Jack was snake-bit,” I warned Seamus.
He went immediately into military-alert status. Regis had a large high school ROTC corps. The French Club girls were recruited as protectors. A Harlan boy casually walked by, hissing, “Devil’s spawn,” and “Satan worshipper.” The Regis boys surrounded him, causing the rest of the Harlan team to rush to his defense. It took Coach Ball and several other coaches several minutes to separate the combatants. The Harlan coach refused to discipline the boy who made the remarks, citing free speech. The tournament director decided to play the national anthem, signaling the start of the competition. The Regis boys, including John Boy, snapped to attention and saluted the American flag draped at the end of the lanes. After the recording ended, the Harlan coach went to the announcer’s table and insisted on reciting the Lord’s Prayer. The Regis boys kneeled and recited their Catholic version while most of the Iowan teams raised their eyes and waved their hands toward Heaven. A détente was established. John Boy was startled that he had caused such a raucous, while his protectors and fag hags surrounded him as guards.
The initial pairings were announced and competition was confined to the lanes. A large scoreboard was next to the announcer’s table. There were twelve high schools competing, each with five mixed pairs. All twenty lanes were in use. It took three rounds of three games for each team to complete the competition. As each game was done, the scores were posted and a running total kept on each school’s score. Ames decided to save our best bowlers for the last round. Surprisingly, we remained in the running after the first two rounds. Some schools had only one team in the final round. We were among those that had two pairs. As they were our best bowlers, the local fans were getting excited about our chances to win. The Regis team had adopted John Boy’s etiquette rules. Along with the French Club girls, they praised their opponents with ‘ooh la la’s’ and ‘bonne chance.’ they won new friends with each round. Although scored separately from the Iowan teams, everyone kept a close watch at their scores as they were posted. After two rounds, because they had already posted four of their five teams, Regis was far ahead. Ames, with two teams in the final round, seemed out of contention. It was ‘Gator and Amy plus Angie and me in the final round. ‘Gator’s intense competitiveness was infectious. If he rolled a strike, Amy somehow followed with another. Angie and I were in the next lane. Soon we were matching them ball for ball. John Boy and his partner, Ellen but now going by Eloise, were next to Angie and me. They had caught the spirit of competition as well. Strike after strike were rolled. From being unable to break 100 in the Fall, I suddenly bowled a personal best 165 in my first game, Angie topped me with a 167, Amy was 180 and ‘Gator rolled a 187. Ames moved up in the rankings, leading all the schools who had two teams in the final round. If we kept it up, we’d be the Iowa State Champs. All the cheerleaders and French Club girls were cheering us on. After two games, Ames had moved into first place on the board. The only team ahead of Ames was Regis. In disparagement of Harlan, all the local high schools were cheering for us against the ‘foreigners.’ Harlan was grouped behind John Boy and Eloise, screaming invective and hatred at them. John Boy rose to the challenge and was bowling beyond his normal average. As the final game progressed, the score board was updated on every frame. Ames was posting four scores each frame to Regis’s two. Their lead steadily diminished. It all came down to the tenth frame. A strike in the tenth gives the bowler two more balls to be added to their final score. Amy and ‘Gator rolled strikes. Angie and I followed with strikes. John Boy also had a strike but Eloise got a 7-10 split on her first ball. She had to ‘pick-up’ the spare in order to get a final ball. The twins rolled together in perfect synch. Their balls hit right in the pocket – strikes. John Boy rolled a strike. We all had two more balls except Eloise had to make her spare to get a final roll at all ten-pins.
John Boy huddled with Eloise, pumping her up for the crucial roll.
“Croissant,” he yelled at the bake sale table. “Porte un croissant a ma Eloise.”
The fag hags pushed through the gathered crowd with the French super food. As she munched on her croissant, John Boy coached her on the only way to make a spare with single pins in opposite sides of the lane – send the ball teetering on the edge of the gutter so it nudged the number ten pin sideways, sliding across and taking out the seven pin on the other side of the lane.
“Eloise, Eloise, cut the cheese, cut the cheese,” an impromptu cheer was cried out and picked up by all the Iowans. She smiled and raised her hands to still the crowd. The Harlan boys were hissing and hurling insults at John Boy. The ball rolled slowly down the right side of the lane keeping a straight line above the gutter. The ten pin skittered across the lane but missed the remaining pin. She immediately rolled again, taking down the seven pin but she was through. “Merde,” cried the French Club.
The twins finished out their tenth frames. The scoreboard showed Ames behind Regis by 20 pins. If ‘Gator and I failed to strike or spare to close out the tenth frame, all John Boy needed was a single pin to win it for Regis. If we both threw strikes, there was nothing John Boy could do to catch us. ‘Gator was first up. The cheer, ‘strike out, strike out,’ exhorted him. He had never struck out in anything. Without a distracting thought, he threw two perfect strikes. The score was tied. ‘Gator had struck out. The twins ran up and hugged him simultaneously.
“You can do this, Andy,” ‘Gator came up and patted me on the butt, “Get on the alley and knock them all down.” The butt pat was my acceptance as a true jock. I threw a good ball but the head pin failed to go down. I bowled out with a spare.
John Boy went to the line. He turned to the screaming crowd and bowed. The Harlan team was in a frenzy, shouting religious curses and prayers for him to fail, several girls were rolling on the floor and cursing in tongues. The Regis boys formed a phalanx to guard their boy, unfurling their school banner – ‘Regis Knights.’ John Boy was nonplussed by the commotion. I walked over to him, whispering, “I want you to beat me, These hicks are arseholes,” in my best Julian Lennon impersonation. Then, I kissed him. The cheering stopped, except for the Harlan team, which were silent from apoplexy, all writhing on the ground.
It was too much for the boy. A strike would have won it; he got another seven-ten split. If he made both pins, Regis was the winner. The crowd was still. One of his fag hags ran through the crowd with a croissant. John Boy raised it and exclaimed, “Ah, la gloire.”
He pulled his ball from the return carousel, walking to the line and measuring the spot to start his roll. He was determined to make the split. Bowing to the crowd, he turned, took a breath, and launched his ball after a three-step approach. Instead of a careful finesse, his ball flew with maximum force down the edge of the gutter. The ten pin spun wildly toward the seven. The crowd all held their breath. The pin spun around the standing seven pin, barely nudging it. It teetered but failed to go down. A huge cheer roared as the crowd jumped up and down. Ames had won by one pin. The whole building was rocking. John Boy hung his head. He had failed. Then, one of the fag hags screamed, “Voyez, voyez. Look,” pointing at the end of John Boy’s alley. The building’s shaking had the lane vibrating. The seven pin moved, edging toward the left gutter. Someone screamed, “Stop,” but it was too late. The seven pin tumbled into the gutter. The score was tied.
Coaches rushed to the scorer’s table. Coach Ball argued that the pin had been influenced by the crowd’s cheering, not John Boy’s bowling. The Regis team threatened to sue if it wasn’t allowed. Their argument was delayed when the entire Harlan team, including the girls, massed to attack John Boy. The Regis Knights were right there to defend him. The French Club girls attacked the Harlan girls, resulting in a scrum of hair pulling and screeching girls rolling on the floor. All the other Iowa teams were egging on the girls, enjoying a cat fight, as boys always do. Their girl teammates watched in disgust. The Ames crowd quickly lined up to defend John Boy, still a local in their minds. The announcer came on the PA.
“The results of the first ever Iowa State High School Bowling Championships are now final.”
He stopped until everyone was listening. “With a score of 2730 pins, Ames High School is Iowa State Champions.”
A subdued cheer went up. The Iowa title was not in dispute.
“For the putative United States National High School Championship,” the announcer paused for effect, “we have co-champions, the Regis High School Knights from New York City, and our local heroes, Ames High School Cyclones. We aim high.”
A big cheer went up from the Regis boys and all the local fans and team members, who had stood up to defend John Boy. All the other Iowa teams looked dispirited, plus the Harlan team went into their holy rolling and speaking in tongues in disgust at the outcome.
I ran over to hug John Boy.
“We both won. How ‘bout that?” I yelled.
He opened his mouth but couldn’t speak. His eyes grew wide and tears started to fall.
“Ain’t no thing,” I told him. “We’ll celebrate like it’s 1999. Ya don’ts needs ta speak, jist smile.” I pushed his lips into an idiot grin. Doomed to the sounds of silence.
In a panic, I dragged John Boy into the Mens, locking a stall door behind us. I pulled his trousers down and proceeded to suck his hard dick. I knelt before him as he stood while I sucked him off.
“Like that?” I tried to get him to responded.
He leaned forward and opened his mouth, yet no words came out. I stood and pulled out my hard-on. He greedily sucked it into his mouth and surrounded it with his lips and tongue. I noticed Jace kneeling below me, continuing the blow job on John Boy.
“Is he refusing to speak? Or, is he traumatized by the Harlan kids as well as the pressure of the bowling tournament?” I asked Jace.
“He’s trying to speak. It won’t work. I think he’s missing you already. He returns to the City tomorrow.”
“That sucks. Doesn’t he want to sing with the band at the Pizza Pit party today?”
I waited as Jace got John Boy’s answer to my question.
“He’d forgotten about the party. He says he can still play guitar. Leaving you is all he can think about. He loves that everyone defended him from the Harlan witch hunters.”
“He needs to stay, then. This is more his home than the Dakota.”
“He knows that Mommy won’t relent once she learns he’s lost his speech again. She’ll blame Ames.”
“Let me try my way to cure him.”
I sat him on the john and threw his legs over my shoulders as I knelt down again. My tongue began slathering his ass with spit while my thumbs massaged his butt cheeks. He started moaning, as well as ragged, rapid breathing. At least he could moan.
My tongue invaded his ass, darting in and out. His dick was leaking pre-cum as his anal lips squeezed my invading tongue. I could feel his prostrate calling for me (not really).
“What do you want?” I challenged him to tell me.
He mumbled and moaned, unable to fully express his need to be fucked. Straightening up on my knees, my dick teased his anal opening, spreading pre-cum across the lips. I needed to be inside him.
“What do you want? Tell me you need me inside.”
His mumbling became urgent but still incoherent. I couldn’t wait any longer, plunging deep into his ass, plowing the fertile fields with firm thrusts in and halfway out. His knees wrapped around me. I lifted him from the john, standing up and holding him against the stall walls. I rutted into him like an animal. He squealed in high-pitched moans. Jace turned his head and was Frenching him to stop his squealing. On and on I rutted into him. His garden hose went off, spraying in different directions as it whipped back and forth. Even as my dick turned upward in preparation of cumming, I couldn’t stop rutting into him. I went off as soon as he stopped cumming. We were done.
“Like that?” I demanded.
He nodded but still was speechless. I kind of liked him that way. But I had failed to cure him. I started to regret that he wouldn’t sing when the band played that afternoon.
“Ready for pizza?”
He nodded. We straightened our clothes and marched out of the bathroom. ‘Gator winked and the girls looked embarrassed. Not many spectators and competitors didn’t know what had happened in there. Details were not requested.
“He’s still not talking,” I confessed. John Boy shrugged and looked embarrassed.
“Kin ya still play guitar?” ‘Gator asked him directly, but John Boy merely nodded.
“Then yer good to go,” ‘Gator was excited. It was his musical debut. “It’s off to the Pit.”
We had pre-positioned our equipment. My manager, Tom, was excited there would be music in his restaurant. He probably envisioned the Pit as a dinner club with live mood music. The tables had been arranged to clear a decent space for the crowd. A buffet of various pizza pies was laid out. The bake sale had been a huge success. It would be unlimited pizza for all the bowlers and their supporters. Tom promised to keep the buffet well stocked. The twins requested veggies.
“Ya means veggie pizzas?” Tom wasn’t sure of the concept.
“How about salad ingredients and dressings for a salad buffet.”
“We kin call it a salad bar,” Tom enthused. “They do’s that up there in Wisconsin.”
It took about a New York minute for the Pit to fill up and everyone to get their first slices. We were in no rush, except for ‘Gator who was revved up as tight as a drum, ready to play drums for the first time in public.
“Calm down, Gate. Have a slice and revel in being a national champion.”
His eyes lit up. “Hell, we’s State Champs in football. Now I’s a national champ. Cain’t git better than that.” He had a slice in each hand. Tom had promised unlimited pizza. He may come to regret that. Once we had our fill of pizza, we gathered to set-up the guitars, basses and drums.
“How’s it gonna go, Captain?” ‘Gator was antsy to start his first show.
“We gots ta git ‘em dancing.’” I explained our strategy. “Let’s do the Jacksons’ ‘ABC.’”
“Cain’t we do a Osmonds song?” He complained.
“These boys will git up and say, ‘Look at me, the honky. I’m a’gonna do the Chicken to Deep Purple.’”
The twins burst out laughing while John Boy mugged he was about to vomit.
“We’ll do the Jacksons,” I decided. ‘Gator did his own mugging.
“Welcome bowlers and hangers-on. Welcome to the Pit. Part of bowlin’ is pizza afterwards. Ol’ Tom has promised to keep the slices a’comin,’ so we need y’all dancin’ to maintain yer slender physiques. No need to be lookin’ like linemen.” as I winked at ‘Gator. “Give a hand for Tom and the Pizza Pit.”
“Here’s a catchy tune by the Jackson 5,” I shouted over the cheers for Tom. Let’s get all the bowlin’ partners up here fer dancing.’”
“Now, that’s the tune we first played way back in 11th grade. John Boy and his Regis Knights didn’t come all this way to hear 60’s pop. Here’s the song about our days in Miami, ‘Sneakin’ Around.”
‘ Sneaking around
Never been caught
All over town
Better than not.
Thrill’s in the chase
No time to waste
Folks on my case
All is in haste.
Waiting’s the worst
You were my first
I need you now
We’re on the prowl.
Back of an alley
Sprawled in the dirt
No time to dally
Who will cum first.
shaka shaka love?
shaka shaka love shaka shaka
Shaka shaka love shaka shaka.’
That one word, cum, got everyone’s attention, but the dancers never stopped moving. The coaches looked startled, but no one was ready to shut us down yet.
I pulled John Boy over. “Ya ready ta sing yet?”
He opened his mouth but nothing came out.
“Well, then, we’ll do the monkeyshines and see if’n y’all can grunt like a monkey.”
“This here song always got us out of trouble when Southern boys were ready to attack and cause trouble after we was done.
Makes a stand
To take his joy
Going hand to hand
Flying out free
Branch to branch
Through the trees
“Free to be
A monkey like me
Ha ha ha
He he he
Haw haw haw
Chee chee chee
John Boy was off and swinging, up onto tables, mocking boys in front of their girlfriends, shimmying with the girls, and escaping from their boyfriends who tended to give chase after being so disrespected. He tried singing the monkey words, but ended up grunting and scratching himself like a monkey. In the back of the Pit, the Harlan team was huddled, unsure of what they were seeing. Once John Boy noticed them, he couldn’t help himself from openly mocking them. He found his voice, “Ha ha ha, He he he, Haw haw haw, Chee chee chee.” He was proving Darwin’s Theory of De-evolution, right in their faces. The girls dropped to the floor, holy rolling and speaking tongues. John Boy flopped down with the girls, going into spasms and convulsions in a dance he later named ‘the Snake.’ It was too much for the Harlan boys, and they attacked. The Regis Knights were right there to defend their boy. A serious brawl broke out in the back, with real punches thrown and woe to anyone who went down; kicks and punches hailed down all around.
Tom had a meltdown seeing his Pizza Pit damaged by a brawl. He dialed 911 and the Ames PD was quickly summoned. Knowing that the approaching sirens would blame us, we quickly took down our amps and drums, watching from outside as the cops made quick work of separating the brawlers. Police brutality wasn’t required to restore the peace. Justice was meted out with wrist slaps, telling the Regis boys they weren’t welcome in Iowa if they acted like gangsters and the Harlan hicks to keep their religious intolerance back home in the sticks. ‘Gator was pissed as he hadn’t had enough free pizza.
Two college boys came up to us. I recognized them as Kappa Sigs from our frat gig fiasco that Fall.
“Still inciting riots?” one of them joked.
“Our friends are the inciters. We merely give ‘em cause as an excuse.”
They both laughed. “Let’s move this party to the frat. You guys need to finish a set fer once.”
“Ya sure y’all kin handle a bunch of high school retards?”
“S’long as y’all stay away from the keg, it’ll be cool.”
“That’s yer look out.”
It didn’t take long to get the word out that the gig was moving. Tom came running up.
“What’s gonna happen with all them pizzas here I got a’comin’ outs my ovens?” he complained.
“I’s the delivery boy. We’ll deliver ‘em to Kappa Sig.”
I ran back into the Pit.
“Y’all listen up. This party’s movin’ on to Kappa Sig at Iowa State. If’n ya don’ts know where t’is. Just follow the smell of pizza.”
John Boy and I went over to the Harlan kids, sitting disgruntled in a corner.
“We’re sorry your participation in the tournament and this here party wasn’t to yer likin’,” I tried to be conciliatory.
John Boy suddenly got his voice back. ‘We’re all kids, just like y’all. I understand that the church folk in Harlan hates me, but I cain’t hates y’all. It’s hurtful ya thinks I’s the devil. I went to that preacher in Harlan to show I has the same faith as y’all.”
“Ya shoulda died. That there snake knowed yers the devil.”
The Regis Knights arrived, ready for more battle. John Boy stepped between the two gangs.
“I gots a hella lots of devil in me but it don’t make me not love Jesus. I knows he loves y’all, too. Church ain’t about hate and fear of other faiths.”
He expected his words to make a difference, the hallmark of perfect manners. The Harlan kids turned away from him. John Boy shrugged, put his arm around two of his defenders, and we all left for the resumption of celebrating at the frat house.
“Ya gots yer voice back. Didcha rilly ‘spect ta change their ways?” I asked.
“No big thing ‘bout them hicks. I jist hadda face my fears and prove ta maself that I don’ts need someone else ta defends me.”
I gave him a quick kiss, pleased that it wasn’t my fault he lost his speech this time.
“Stop. What ah youse doin’?” all of the Regis boys were in shock at our kiss.
“Andy’s my boyfriend. That’s why them Harlan boys was so agitated.”
Now the Knights were confused. Had they been tricked into defending a queer boy? They looked around, spotting their weekend dates, the comfort squad. They retreated to welcome arms, lips, and several unprintable places.
“There go my defenders. I guess being national champs ain’t enough fer ‘em.”
“Well, ‘Gator’s football players will still defend ya.”
“I ain’t afraids no more. I kin stand up fer maself now.”
“Not gonna lose yer voice no more?”
“Done with that.”
I kissed him long, hard and deep. Several wolf whistles rang out. Off to the next party. It was mostly the college crowd, as few of the high school bowlers were allowed to attend by their coaches. The Harlan team had left immediately, with the Ames cheerleaders all wishing them ‘God-speed.’ We played our own original songs, as well as Southern Rock covers when the energy dipped. A new original was played for the first time, ‘Life’s Lies.’
“This is our life,
our pride alive
It’s our times
Lost our minds
Stupid rules rule
Demand we act
Just like fools
To be like you.
Look at me, you havta scream.
You think we be freakin’
You gotta be fast to not be seen.
No wonder we’re always sneakin’.
We followed it with ‘Sneakin’ Around’ and ended with ‘‘Look before You Leap?’
Set you’re your buddy on fire,
Better buy a rug.
Send your friends to hell,
Better get a priest.
Beat up a bully,
Better get a gun.
Look before you leap
Better to say no
Then end up in a heap
No place to go.
Leap, leap, leap
You friggin’ freak
Leap, leap, leap
Strip and streak.”
Beat up your friend
Get new friends
Steal a new car
You won’t get far
Dis some sweet lass
A beating comes fast
Look before you leap
Better to say no
Then end up in a heap
No place to go.
Leap, leap, leap
You friggin’ freak
Leap, leap, leap
Strip and streak
It seemed odd doing it without Robby or Michael there. The college kids just enjoyed fast music that got them moving, if not exactly dancing. When the energy seemed to be ebbing, we threw in Eagles or John Denver songs we’d been doing at the house to perk up the crowd. The ‘Sex’ songs went over well, with John Boy camping it up. As always, the girls loved our fagging off, with their boyfriends totally intimidated. For the first time, I realized that the boys holding firmly onto the girls was not just possessiveness but also for protection, from us, their worst gay nightmares. Everyone demanded an encore, so we did our band song, ‘False Gods.’ Again Robby’s possessed stage antics were missing. The frat crowd were well entertained and kept cheering for a second encore.
“I guess, ya rilly like us. John Boy’s here from New York City, so y’all gots ta hear us play our ol’ band songs. Now I’s here and he’s in the City. This song by Simon and Garfunkel is how he felt after I visited, ‘The Only Living Boy in New York’
Tim, get your plane right on time
I know your part’ll go fine
Fly out to Iowa
and here I am,
The only living boy in New York
Hey, I’ve got nothing to do today but smile
and here I am The only living boy in New York
Half of the time we’re gone
But we don’t know where,
And we don’t know where’
“Guess he missed me,” as I winked at him.
“When Andy visited, one thing we did was meet John Lennon’s son, Julian. He taught us a Paul McCartney song which comes out soon with his new band, Wings. It’s called “Just a Silly Love Song.’
It went well at first, with both of us singing first to the audience, ‘I love you,’ and then turning to each other. Suddenly John Boy lost his voice. I was singing to him, as he kept playing guitar but looking totally flustered. The twins rushed over to surround him and me. I sang, ‘how can I tell you about my loved one.’
“Gator jumped up from the drums and the four of us were hugging John Boy. His voice came squawking back, ‘I love you.’ The girls in the crowd loved it. A boy in the back yelled out, “Faggots.”
“Go back to Harlan, asshole, with the rest of the haters.” Several boys rushed the hater out the door, to prove themselves to their girlfriends. We finished with ‘Band on the Run.’
“Time to go, boys. And thank you, girls, for supporting our love for each other. We love you, and your boyfriends.”
Gender bending ruled at Kappa Sig. Frat boys just need girls to self-actualize, as Dr. Kam would say.
Back at Hyland Street, ‘Gator wanted John Boy and me to attend a football team party that night. The moms had prepared a special steak dinner in honor of our State and National Championships. We all felt somewhat silly, considering there were only ten teams in the tournament.
“It’ll look good on your Harvard application,” Molly asserted.
“You applied to Harvard?” John Boy was truly surprised.
“Yeah. Why not? I gots ta take the SAT tomorrow.”
“That’s our last day together. I’ll hardly see you,” John Boy complained. I half expected him to stop speaking. “Don’tcha worry. I’ll never stop speaking again. I faced my fears. I knows ya always loves me.”
“Don’tcha worry ‘bout missing me tomorra. You’re signed up too. We’re takin’ it together.”
“Hell, I’ll take it, too,” ‘Gator was not one to miss a competition.
“We both took it last Fall. Y’all is retarded,” the twins were always a step ahead.
“Whatcha all get?” ‘Gator was in competitive mode.
“Oh, we did fine,” Amy answered.
“What’s that mean. I need numbers,” ‘Gator wasn’t about to let them slide.
“Why you care?” Angie was feisty. “They even require y’all to take the SAT ta git inta State?”
“Hell, no. They just require I run the 40 in under 5 seconds.”
The rest of us had no clue what that meant.
“Y’alls comin’ to the party?” ‘Gator reasserted his need to get us to do his bidding. The twins let him spend time with his cheerleader to work off hormones.
“Sure. Those boys want another crack at me?” John Boy was feeling cocky.
Everyone else laughed at him. ‘Gator was out the door to pick up his ‘date.’ The twins tossed me their car keys. I didn’t ask why they were letting ‘Gator ‘date.’
“We’ll bring guitars and amps and git them boys a’hoppin’,” I suggested, our third show of the day, plus the bowling.
When we walked in, the party came to a screeching halt. We ignored the attention and set up the amps in the living room. John Boy strapped on his guitar and challenged our frenemies.
“Y’all want a piece o’ me? ‘Gator won’t be here fer ‘whiles.” He started the intro to our new song,
“They say we’re not normal
Our lives are too strange
Maybe we should be Mormon
Wouldn’t that be a pain.
We got two moms
We don’t need dads
Our lives are songs
So we won’t be sad
We grew up with each other
That’s just what twins do
Then along comes our brother
Now we’re triplets too
Normal’s not happenin’
May be good for you
We’ll keep on truckin’
Triples better than two
We got two moms
We don’t need dads
Our lives are songs
So we won’t be sad”
It seemed odd to have the twins with us and singing pretty much about their lives. The footballers didn’t seem to notice. The confrontational words mixed with an up-beat tempo got them moving forward and surrounding us. I didn’t notice any residual antagonism from our last football party encounter. It was intimidating to be surrounded by all these jocks. John Boy knew exactly what song to do. His aggressive leads on guitar had us pushing back against the crowding jocks. Once they started pushing back, we launched into ‘Fuck Off’
“Don’t fuck with me
Might take ya down
Gots ta be free
Hate makes me drown
Anger sees me seethe
Can’t seem to breathe
Yer arms on me
I gots ta be free.
Get outta my face
This ain’t the place
To make a stand
To be a man
Your nose I’ll crunch
My knockout punch
Will put ya down
La La Land bound.
John Boy threw down his guitar and ran at the nearest footballer, shoving him back and swinging his arms over his head in attack mode. I kept playing, repeating the words and playing the rhythm, to keep everyone on the beat. The players reacted to the assault by attacking each other, confused about the stricture to defend us, ‘Gator’s best friends. It was a swarming mass of testosterone. All the girls retreated to the back of the room. No blows were thrown, just whirling dervishes of swinging arms and thrashing bodies. ‘Gator arrived to what looked like a repeat of the New Year’s massacre, except John Boy was the focus of battle while I calmly played guitar and shouted out the lyrics. He quickly recognized a scrum/scrimmage and jumped in to defend John Boy. The footballers started circling the two of them, pushing each other in a clock-wise direction. The whirlpool of bodies quickly knocked down anyone too slow to join the phalanx of thrashing boys. The girls at the back, sensing the lack of anger, started pushing any boy not in the whirling mass into the phalanx. John Boy and ‘Gator were pushing outward and the girls pushed inward, trapping the boys as the phalanx sped faster and faster – Sambo’s tigers were turning into butter. It was sweet. As the thrashing peaked, I ended the ‘Fuck You’ song with a downbeat. Everyone stopped. ‘Gator put John Boy on his shoulders and ran around the room with his posse and the other players snaking behind him. Hormones were raging, as the boys grabbed their comfort girls and started making out on the floor in a mass orgy. Clothes were flying off in all directions. It was time to exit before John Boy and I attacked each other. ‘Gator was alone, so we grabbed him. We drove back to the Hyland House.
“Why’dcha not attack yer comfort girlfriend?” John Boy asked.
“I gots a better plan,” ‘Gator announced. The twins needed to be warned. Once we got home, the three of us marched up to the third floor. John Boy pulled me into my bedroom, leaving the twins defenseless to ‘Gator’s desires, whatever they were. I was too excited to interfere. From the sounds coming from the other bedroom, I knew it would be my turn to admit to jungle love disturbance in the morning. The Regis boys flitted through my mind, but I figured they were back at the orgy. They would need confession before Sunday’s mass.
I needed to fuck John Boy so badly that Jace instantly appeared to help. I attacked his ass, while Jace let John Boy fuck him doggy-style. As soon as someone came, we’d switch around to other positions, 69, 99, 66, and every other mathematical combination. John Boy sat on my dick while sucking off Jace, as I rimmed Jace’s ass. We kept switching anytime someone came. I got off at least three times while not counting the other two’s orgasms. Maybe, as well as bowling, we were national fucking champions.
“I’m a double national champ,” John Boy crowed.
“Hell, you’re the three-way champ too,” Jace signed.
When we thought we were done, we all got in the shower together, which presented more fucking positions.
The hot water ran out with all three of us lying on the shower’s floor. Jace waved his dick and laughed at us as the cold water chased us out of the stall. He was insatiably horny and insensate to the cold.
As the sun came up, John Boy joked that we’d ace the SATs that morning with sex-driven genius. I groaned and fell asleep. In an hour we were drinking coffee, ready to be tested at school. ‘Gator was nowhere to be seen.
“You really want to go to Harvard with me?” John Boy asked, testing my allegiance to follow him anywhere.
“Will you follow me if I decide to skip college and become an adult in the Real World?”
“Just keeping our options open?”
“Whatever we decide, it’ll be to keep ourselves together,” I promised.
“I love you so much.”
“Not enough to stay here in Ames.”
“I have to tell Mummy about going speechless twice this weekend. She’ll never allow it.”
“I can’t go with you to the City, either. My family really loves me now. We’ll visit until we graduate.”
“Who knows what’ll happen before then. 2 ½ months can be a lifetime in Tim’s World.”
“I’d forgotten about him.”
“Yer always Andy now?”
“Here in Amesless, I-o-way.”
We kissed and sat down in the school cafeteria. Mrs. McCarthy looked shocked. We knew better. Three hours later we had finished. Comparing notes, I felt I had done as well as John Boy, better in English but not so much in math. It was an unfair competition in the sense that he didn’t need to score well as he was already accepted at Harvard. The test was more aptitude/intelligence than what we had learned. The fact that I was applying to Harvard was more important than my actual acceptance, that was out of my hands. John Boy was pleased that I was committed to our being together next school year. I remembered his opinion that I needed real life experience whereas he needed more preparation. What a strange adventure he was on.
We arrived home shortly before the moms returned from Church. Mom had taken the Regis boys to mass, whereas Molly and the twins had gone to Baptist services, taking Seamus along when he asked to attend for the ‘experience.’ – New Yorkers?? ‘Gator had called to say his parents had insisted he eat Sunday dinner with them, after missing his chores that morning. There were still ten of us for dinner. Mom had gone all out with a large roast, pan-roasted potatoes and baked Alaska for dessert. Her maternal instinct had blossomed in Ames. We were due to meet with Dr. Kam at 3pm. John Boy called the parents, confessing that he had relapsed twice while here, although he had recovered quickly, thanks to me and the rest of the gang. Nonetheless, Mummy insisted they send the Lear to bring everyone back to New York. I wanted to go with him. The moms would only agree we could visit each other on weekends, not during the school week. Our fate apart was sealed. It seemed weird that as a 15-year-old I had run off to New York and Hollywood without anyone knowing, as well as jumping into gang warfare and selling myself as a male prostitute. Life was so much easier then.
We were ready for Dr. Kam’s magic. I trusted his insight and life experience to solve our issues. He immediately hugged me and patted John Boy on the back to make us at ease. We listed our ‘issues,’ as he had asked: 1. My PTSD 2. John Boy’s hysterical loss of speech 3. Our trust issues 4. Next year’s plans 5. My bisexuality 6. John Boy’s need to be bisexual to keep up with me 7. My attention addiction 8. John Boy’s possessiveness 9. My dad issues, being hard on myself to please him not me. As the list grew longer, we agreed that one session was not enough to tackle them all. My PTSD was already being addressed in relation to my need to never lose control. My diminished sex drive from the rape was a different matter. Considering the amount of sex we had experienced in the last few days, we accepted the reasonable conclusion that I was back in the dick department. The mirror image of John Boy’s hysteria to my PTSD symptoms indicated that he intuitively felt the same things as I was going through. Again progress was being made and could be followed up in future sessions. The help he was getting at Columbia-Presbyterian dovetailed with my work here with Dr. Kam. Our trust issues were resolved when we had agreed to stay together after graduation, wherever we went. John Boy’s bisexuality was a manifestation of our trust issues, expressed as having to ‘keep up’ with me. As long as we were not exploiting girls by hiding our real feelings we shouldn’t try to repress true feelings for girls. My excessive need for attention hadn’t caused self-destructive behavior on my part; I hadn’t gone all Rock Star with abusive behaviors. The fact we had played three sets that Saturday was a sign that my attention needs had built up. John Boy’s possessiveness stemmed from his privileged upbringing. The fact that he couldn’t control me was a life lesson John Boy was being forced to learn – good luck with that. My dad issues were resolved temporarily as I no longer lived with dear old dad. On a deeper level, I had to learn not to be so hard on myself, so as not to be as controlling as he was. The ability to organize shows and events, as well as plotting life three steps ahead were life skills that came naturally to me. I could avoid being overbearing by remembering how negative that trait was in people like Robby. ‘Gator was a positive example of leadership skills.
We walked out of the session in what I called a Kamikaze high. Of course, Dr. Kam had insisted he be told all the Dakota gossip that John Boy knew. We went directly to the Ames Airport where the family Lear jet was waiting. Everyone else was already there, including the comfort ‘girlfriends’ with all the Regis boys. Everyone teared up as we said our good-byes, except ‘Gator, of course. He delivered the benediction.
“Y’all come to Ames, lost in yer little worlds, aimless perhaps. You return as more, the national champions, but also ambassadors from the City and now spokespeople for our country ways. I know we’ll never fergit y’all and trust y’all never ta firgit us. Ames is in yer hearts ‘cause we’s the heartland. The City’s in our heart ‘cus its jist so borin’ out here.”
Everyone laughed, cheered and hugged each other. The Regis boys were still shocked by John Boy and my kissing. Everyone else at the airport was too. I didn’t try to hide my hard-on. It would have to wait until next time. The boys hoisted their national championship trophy as they loaded onto the Lear.