Monday’s start of a new school week is well-organized on Mom’s scheduling board. I note that my weekly session with Dr. Kam is before John Boy’s arrival Friday. I add an extra session on Sunday afternoon, so both of us meet with him. I hope he can talk John Boy into remaining in Ames. The Wednesday choir practice is an issue. I started going to Catholic mass. I agreed I’ll continue with the choir for special occasions, promising not to go ‘all Catholic’ on the other choir members. I laugh at how seriously the Baptists and Catholics take their ideological differences. It doesn’t seem so funny when I remember how the Harlan preacher tried to kill John Boy. Religion takes the commandment to love one another and reverses it into hating anyone different from your own denomination.
Before classes start, the French Club fag hags corner me, desperate for news about their guru. They squeal and hug me when I announce that John Boy is coming. They promise special patisseries for the bake sale.
“Y’all is happy to git yer leader back,” I note. “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 are 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 whine.
“We all want him back here, right?” I ask.
All the girls shout, “Yes.”
“We havta convince him to stay. Helping his team will show him how much we want him back.”
“Okay,” they reluctantly agree.
Just like Baptists vs Catholics, high school loyalties create animosity between teens. I just want him back. The girls are my allies and the Regis boys are the enemy.
“’Gator plans to provide cheerleaders as ‘comfort’ girls to the New York boys,” I confide the plan to distract John Boy’s teammates, as our scheme to keep him in Ames. The French fag hags are uneasy 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 laugh, giving him a tap on the arm. He responds with a big ‘Gator hug.
“Better save that fer later, ‘Gator.” I advise him.
“I wish,” he complains.
“Ya ain’t getting’ none in the other room?” I’m surprised.
He just smiles and shrugs.
“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 laugh. Two 17-year-old boys laying in bed together with hard-ons not meant for each other. We look and shake our heads. Both of us exclaim, “No way anything is gonna happen between us.”
We hug, making sure sensitive parts stay far apart.
On Wednesday night I skip choir practice. Mrs. McCarthy scheduled me to take the SAT exams on Sunday morning. I have to worship at the altar of SAT-prep in the college admissions process. John Boy will take it as well, even though his admission to Harvard is secure.
“I want them to know how brilliant I am,” he eggs me on. Making it a personal competition is good motivation for me to do my best. Going to Harvard is barely on my radar screen. He believes it’s 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, practices upstairs. We plan to perform at the Pizza Pit after the bowling tournament on Saturday evening. “Gator insists we have a set list of songs, rather than my preference of asking for requests. He needs to treat his drumming as a football drill, practicing every song in our set until he has his part down pat. What we gain in practiced perfection takes away from the spontaneity of performing songs we never planned on playing. I teach them all the False Gods’ band songs over the girls’ objection that it’s boy-centric and misogynistic. The girls are fine with me singing solo on the ‘sex’ songs. ‘Gator is obviously getting out his suppressed hormones with energetic drum rolls and cymbal crashes. He sounds more and more like Robby – so much the better.
My Thursday therapy with Dr. Kam arrives. I start out with overly enthusiastic expressions of my pent-up sex drive in anticipation of John Boy’s arrival. Dr. Kam counters with his own obsession with the New York art and celebrity scene. He even sings ‘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’m so relaxed, I’m 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 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 seems unfair, but it did make sense. I needed time to absorb his diagnosis. We end up singing another future hit, ‘Turning Japanese.” I love Dr. Kam.
Friday morning, I’m so worked up, I can’t sleep. When I hear ‘Gator ready to leave for his farm chores, I insist I go with him. Mucking out the stalls, I understood Daddy’s abhorrence of farm chores in his youth. ‘Gator makes the time fly. Even my favorite cow, Bessie, seems happy when I hook her to the milking cups. I give her a quick kiss on the rump.
With chores done early, we grab breakfast with the twins before school. The school day flies by, with girls hugging me once they spot the gleam of anticipation in my eyes. Even Noah gets over his unreciprocated kiss and slugs me on the arm.
“We’s all ready to help keep John Boy here fer good,” he promises. I’m not tempted to give him a kiss back but grab his arms. We jump up and down like pre-teens.
The New Yorkers flight is due in at 6 pm. The twins agree to do my pizza route so I can meet the plane. It seems like half of Ames is there. John Boy and his four teammates walk across the tarmac, looking around and wondering who is so important to warrant a reception. They all are dressed in matching blazers and ties. Their nonchalance reflects New York City sophistication. When John-Boy sees me and ‘Gator waving, a big grin breaks out and he runs to hug me. The other four act like bodyguards. I have to push by them to get to John Boy. While we’re hugging, ‘Gator distracts everyone with a long-winded speech telling the city slickers they’re welcome here, “even though it weren’t New York City.”
The French Club has signs with ‘Bienvenue a Ames’ and “Bonne chance Nueve York.” They rush up to grab John Boy, to many ‘ow, la la’s’ and ‘incroyable’s’ to their Jean Fil. The Regis boys look more at ease surrounded by the girls. Croissants are passed out.
Back at the house, the moms prepared a welcome feast. The Regis boys ask if we’re having corn on the cob, their favorite. All the Ames kids think it’s 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 take off their blazers and loosen their ties. We all go up to the third floor where we play some of the songs planned for Saturdays night’s gig. After we play ‘Rhinestone Cowboy,’ one of the Regis boys lets out a cowboy yell, ‘Woo eee.’ All his friends start hitting him for being a traitor to their New York ‘cool.’ It’s time to pair the Regis boys with John Boy’s French Club girls. Being Irish Catholics, the boys are too shy to initiate conversation with the girls. The comfort cheerleaders take charge, setting up ‘speed-dates,’ as each boy is given five minutes to see if there were sparks with the eight girls who are bowlers. Each boy and girl ranks their favorites, one through eight. French cooking has ruined teen girl anorexia for several girls, resulting in low favorability rankings by the boys. One boy is universally disdained. A second round of ‘speed dating’ is initiated. The lowest ranked girls are all assigned to re-interview the rejected boy. The three ‘cool’ boys are paired with one of their top 2 choices on the second round. In fifteen minutes all Regis boys find a bowling partner. Jack already has his regular partner. He reminds his boys on proper bowling etiquette, suggesting the boys remember their partners are teammates and not ‘dates.’ As if on cue, the comfort cheerleaders take charge of the Regis boys with more flirtatious banter and play.
The French Club girls surround John Boy.
I get ‘Gator and the twins back on our instruments. We play the Bob Seger’s ‘Night Moves,’ to get John Boy’s attention.
He runs over when we start playing ‘Curfew,’ one of his originals from D&D days. John Boy jumps in and does the vocals; it’s 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 cheers the idea of violating their curfews. We play ‘Barefoot Boy’ next and do the monkeyshines until even the shy Irish boys are jumping around like idiots. The comfort girls make their moves and suddenly it’s a big make out party. I let John Boy loose on the fag hags and join ‘Gator and the twins to survey our handiwork.
“Our welcome party seems a success,” I observe 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 is not giving an inch.
“They seem so innocent,” Amy is 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 suggest.
“No way,” ‘Gator is right. “He goes to school there. Other I-o-way schools will 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 have the French Club girls get ready to leave.
“Show these visitors where they’s sleepin’ tanite,” ‘Gator orchestrates the sleeping arrangement with the comfort girls.
The third floor as ours at last. I drag John Boy into our bedroom, to the laughs of ‘Gator and his harem. Together at last.
Sitting on the bedroom, John Boy eyes me warily.
“That’s the plan – mad, crazy fucking,” I announce loudly.
“Shh. They’ll hear,” John Boy warns.
“Maybe they need a push of encouragement.”
“They ain’t doin’ it themselves?”
“If you believe ‘Gator.”
“We should give ‘em lessons,” John Boy giggles.
Conspiring together makes me feel romantic which is all the encouragement my boner needs. Grabbing him, I twirl us around, and tuck him into a tight hug. I pull his head to french him long and deep. He wraps his legs around my waist while I walk us to the bed. Falling together, I rotate our bodies so he falls on top of me instead of me crushing him. He’s crushing badly, while our dicks engorged to greet each other. I relax, letting go of any control as I feel his dick straining underneath the layers of clothing that separated us. I calmly undo his belt and unbutton the school trousers he wears. He is pulling my jeans down. Our frantic kissing betrays the impulsive need we have for the real action to come. I purposely refrain from the mad crazy need to take him, relaxing at his need to have me. My passive side loves to let him lead. He has my jeans pulled half-way down my thighs. He breaks off the kissing to pull his trousers and briefs down, exposing his perky butt. My dick is at full attention. Taking the drool the French kissing has stimulated, John Boy slathers my dick, smears his ass, and impales himself on my hard-on. I arch as he easily slides down the pole. Bouncing back up, he expels my straining dick for the briefest second before plunging it back inside as he sits down on it. His butt checks press into my groin. The sensation is so great for him that he begins to shudder from the pleasure and pressure of my rigid dick. He continues to bounce rapidly with the least amount of up and down. His butt squeezes and releases me. We were staring intently in each other’s eyes. My breathing quickens and becomes ragged. I’m rapturously enjoying the ride when my dick does its slight turn inward at the tip. I’m about to climax less than a minute into our fucking. It feels too good to stop. I silently curse my passive reaction but couldn’t stop the explosion. Holding him firmly to my lap, I arch upward and ride the spasms my dick repeatedly cause with multiple orgasmic spurts that start below my balls to the depths of his stomach. He whimpers as the blasts receded and declined. I collapse into the bed, still deep inside him while he clings to me. His ass continues to throb and soon my spent dick is pushed out. I roll over and present my ass for his pleasure. When John Boy is slow to jump me, I wiggle my ass at him. Soon I’m impaled by my favorite garden hose. That sinking, giving-in feeling I relish takes over as we fuck doggy-style. Fully penetrated I look back at him, expecting to see John Boy lost into his fucking. Instead, he’s crying while barely going in and out of my ass.
I expel the garden hose and roll over, hugging his sobbing body.
“What’s wrong? It was great until I saw your tears,” I ask.
“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 is we were two hapless bottoms, unable to satisfy each other. I kiss him gently, but that was the opposite of what he wants. He reaches his arms around me, hugging me as tightly as he can. It’s a disaster. The tears ran out. He’s soon sound asleep on my chest. My proudest quality, my dick, let us down. The old me would have fucked Jack until he begged me to finish. I need to call Dr. Kam for advice. Maybe that’s what’s wrong. I’m analyzed and incapable of being a teen-aged animal. I slap my dick and fall asleep locked in our embrace. I dream about bowling.
I’m awake early, to go milk the cows with ‘Gator. Jack is snuggled up next to me, as is his want. It feels nice to wake up in his embrace. Our failed sexscapade that night is now a dull memory. John Boy’s morning wood presses between my butt cheeks. Avoiding a repeat of the previous failure, I roll him away and position my hard-on against his anal lips. He shudders as I press slightly into the passage. Scooting down I stick my tongue into the inviting entrance. Lathering him with spit I lick my way past his anal ring. He moans with satisfaction as I roll my tongue into a piercing instrument. I rapidly invade his inner sanctum, then retracting as he squeezes my tongue. He slowly awakens to my invasion. I know he wants it rough, whereas I need him to accept my loving sex play. Once he realizes I’m ignoring his demands, he gives into my ministrations. He squirms as I pinch his pebble-hard nipples, jumping at the sharp stimulation. Rolling him over I nibble at first one and then the other nipple. Tentative bites keep him startled. I test his horniness by licking up his neck, approaching his quivering lips. I wonder if he’ll be revolted with a kiss. My lips grasp and gently squeezed his lower lip. He moans and grasps my upper lip with his upper one. I relax with a sigh, knowing he isn’t bothered about where my month has been. We continue the double lip lock, pulling away and reconnecting with passion. Our breathing becomes heavy and we’re moaning. I plunge my pointed tongue into his mouth. It’s greeted by its mate. A conversation of love and need is exchanged in spit, saliva and repeated moans. My hands massage up and down John Boy’s back as he rocks against me in rapturous embrace. His closed eyes snap open when I grab both his butt cheeks and rub my thumbs across the anal opening. His legs wrap around my waist, squeezing me in need of penetration. My previous reluctance to meet his need makes his eyes search wildly for my intention. He isn’t to be denied. My dick is straining to be inside him.
“Fuck me,” John Boy knows what he wants and I need. Crazy mad fucking.
The whole analysis burden slips off my shoulders. I jerked into wild involuntary animal humps deep inside of John Boy.
Each time my humping slow, he yells, “I love you. I love you.”
I go on forever with our love-fucking, crazy mad or sweet and sad. No stopping. His garden hose dick begins whipping back and forth across my stomach muscles. Streaks of pre-cum spread across my abs.
“We’re going to cum together,” I order.
“I’m ready,” he whispers.
“Now. I’m right on the edge.”
I pull one hand away from his butt and grab his tightening gonads, leaving the other hand holding his ass firmly pressed to my plunging dick. John Boy’s dick keeps whipping against my stomach. His scrotum tries to pull his balls up into his groin. I massage them to keep him from climaxing. He’s squealing from pain and frustration. Plunging as far as possible into his love canal, I hold still, feeling my dick make its upward turn in anticipation of the impending orgasm. I let his balls go as they snap against the base of his shaft. He explodes in a fountain of cascading spurts, flying over my head. I let loose a single powerful surge deep inside John Boy. I hold back as his belly is contracts with each subsequent spurt. I’m covered in sperm and cum – in my hair, on my face and across my chest and stomach. As his spasms slow, I let loose another jet of jism deep inside him. He shudders and cums a final mini-spurt. Knowing he’s done, I let loose my full orgasm, shooting five time before collapsing on top of him. I reach behind his head and pull his mouth to mine for more kissing. My dick remains deep inside, continuing to ride him until the stimulation makes me start shaking and shuddering.
“I love you so much,” John Boy whispers in an ear. My dick instantly gets the message and regains its full glory. With no preparation, I started fucking him again, with rapid in and out thrusts. Never slowing down, I reach climax quickly, holding still as my straining dick releases time and again. John Boy cums as well, with a minimal result expelling. He’s done. I keep fucking after our mutual orgasm until he shudders from the over-stimulation. His breathing is ragged and uneven. It slowly returns to normal until he falls sound asleep. I’m still inside him. As I finally pull out, a flood of semen drains from his ass and puddles on the sheets. I pull us away from the mess and goto sleep myself.
A quiet knock comes from the outside of our locked bedroom door.
“Andy,” ‘Gator whispers.
I pull on my briefs and let him in. He slyly grins at John Boy, spread-eagle on his back in the tossed sheets.
“Y’all woke everyone up,” he confides.
“Is that a surprise?” I counter.
“If’n yer a good Regis Catholic boy who thinks John Boy come 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 punches me as we laugh. I get dressed and find ‘Gator on the second floor. All the Regis boys volunteer to learn milking. His supposed prowess with the twins make him an instant hero to repressed Catholic boys. I figure that the Ames comfort girls are in for it after the tournament. Regis may be distracted at bowling with their focus on a new main event.
The NY boys are awkward around farm equipment and animals. ‘Gator, his dad, and I each took one boy to show them the ropes. The fourth Regis boy stayed back at Hyland House, to ‘protect’ John Boy. My trainee is Seamus, fresh-faced and Irish-American. He practices on Bessie, who calmly accepts his initial fumbling with her teats. Irishmen come in two types: fishermen or farmers. Seamus quickly find his inner farm boy groove. Once he had masters hooking up Bessie to the milking machine, we quickly word through our assigned cows. Another boy, Finn, encounters initial difficulty approaching his first cow. ‘Gator’s dad laughs as the boy gets kicked in the butt when he can’t attach the suction cups. More comfortable at fishing, he starts singing a sailor shanty
and the cows relax for him. All three boys are able to handle the milking by the time we’re due home for breakfast. Mrs. ‘Gator invites 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 ask Seamus why the fourth boy needs 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 laugh, 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 laugh. “Y’all kin sandbag it taday, then.”
“Naw. We’ll show you country boys how it’s done,” he brags.
Mom outdoes herself with pancakes, eggs, bacon, and cinnamon rolls. By the time we are stuffed, no one believes we can bowl our best games. But it’s time for the Iowa High School State Championships. Ames Lanes is a beehive of activity. Their evening leagues organization is in charge of running the tournament. A long line of competitors snakes across the lobby to check-in. The Regis boys wear their blazers and ties and are carrying a banner that announces they are from New York City. A buzz is in the air about ‘foreigners’ invading Iowa. The more home-spun appearance of the country high schools’ teams adds to the disparity. Several out-of-town coaches objects to non-Iowans in the tournament. It is explained that Regis is ineligible 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 are made and posted for each pair of competitors. After checking in, most high schoolers go straight to the bake sale. Quickly the muffins and cookies from the Cheerleading squad are sold out. The French Club’s pattiseries are mostly overlooked until they are all that is left and are tentatively consumed by ravenous teenagers. The girls teach their customers to exclaim, ‘C’est magnifique.’
My personal concern is the appearance of a team from Harlan. I notice them looking and pointing at John Boy, who is oblivious as ever with his new teammates. I walk up to Seamus and point out the interest being paid John Boy by the Harlan team.
“They’s from where Jack was snake-bit,” I warn Seamus.
He goes immediately on military-alert. Regis has a large high school ROTC corps. The French Club girls are recruited as protectors. A Harlan boy casually walks by, hissing, “Devil’s spawn,” and “Satan worshipper.” The Regis boys surround him, causing the rest of the Harlan team to rush to his defense. It takes Coach Ball and several other coaches several minutes to separate the combatants. The Harlan coach refuses to discipline the boy who made the remarks, citing free speech. The tournament director decides to play the national anthem, signaling the start of the competition. The Regis boys, including John Boy, snap to attention and saluted the American flag draped at the end of the lanes. After the recording ends, the Harlan coach goes to the announcer and insisted on reciting the Lord’s Prayer. The Regis boys kneel and recite their Catholic version while most of the Iowan teams raise their eyes and wave their hands toward Heaven. A détente is established. John Boy is startled that he caused such a raucous, while his protectors and fag hags surround him as guards.
The initial pairings are announced and competition is confined to the lanes. A large scoreboard is next to the announcer’s table. There are twelve high schools competing, each with five mixed pairs. All twenty lanes are in use. It takes three rounds of three games for each team to complete the competition. As each game finishes, the scores are posted and a running total kept on each school’s score. Ames decides to save our best bowlers for the last round. Surprisingly, we remain in the running after the first two rounds. Some schools have only one team in the final round. We are among those that have two pairs. As they are our best bowlers, the local fans are getting excited about our chances to win. The Regis team adopts John Boy’s etiquette rules. Along with the French Club girls, they praise their opponents with ‘ooh la la’s’ and ‘bonne chance.’ They win new friends with each round. Although scored separately from the Iowan teams, everyone keeps a close watch at their scores as they are posted. After two rounds, because they had already posted four of their five teams, Regis is far ahead. Ames, with two teams in the final round, seem out of contention. It’s ‘Gator and Amy plus Angie and me in the final round. ‘Gator’s intense competitiveness is infectious. If he rolls a strike, Amy somehow follows with another. Angie and I are in the next lane. Soon we are matching them ball for ball. John Boy and his partner, Ellen but now going by Eloise, were next to Angie and me. They caught the spirit of competition as well. Strike after strike is rolled. From being unable to break 100 in the Fall, I suddenly bowl a personal best 165 in my first game, Angie tops me with a 167, Amy was 180 and ‘Gator rolled a 187. Ames moves up in the rankings, leading all the schools who had two teams in the final round. If we keep it up, we’ll be the Iowa State Champs. All the cheerleaders and French Club girls are cheering us on. After two games, Ames has moved into first place on the board. The only team ahead of Ames is Regis. In disparagement of Harlan, all the local high schools are cheering for us against the ‘foreigners.’ Harlan crowds behind John Boy and Eloise, screaming invective and hatred at them. John Boy rises to the challenge and is bowling beyond his normal average. As the final game progresses, the score board is updated on every frame. Ames is posting four scores each frame to Regis’s two. Their lead steadily diminishes. It all comes 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 gets a 7-10 split on her first ball. She has to ‘pick-up’ the spare in order to get a final ball. The twins roll together in perfect synch. Their balls hit right in the pocket – strikes. John Boy rolls a strike. We all had two more balls except Eloise has to make her spare to get a final roll at all ten-pins.
John Boy huddles with Eloise, pumping her up for the crucial roll.
“Croissant,” he yells at the bake sale table. “Porte un croissant a ma Eloise.”
The fag hags push through the gathered crowd with the French super food. As she munches on her croissant, John Boy coaches 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 is cried out and picked up by all the Iowans. She smiles and raises her hands to still the crowd. The Harlan boys are hissing and hurling insults at John Boy. The ball rolls slowly down the right side of the lane keeping a straight line above the gutter. The ten pin skitters across the lane but misses the remaining pin. She immediately rolls again, taking down the seven pin but she was through. “Merde,” cry the French Club.
The twins finish out their tenth frames. The scoreboard shows Ames behind Regis by 20 pins. If ‘Gator and I fail to strike or spare to close out the tenth frame, all John Boy needs is a single pin to win it for Regis. If we both threw strikes, there was nothing John Boy can do to catch us. ‘Gator is first up. The cheer, ‘strike out, strike out,’ exhorts him. He has never struck out in anything. Without a distracting thought, he throws two perfect strikes. The score is tied. ‘Gator had struck out. The twins run up and hug him simultaneously.
“You can do this, Andy,” ‘Gator comes up and pats me on the butt, “Get on the alley and knock ’em all down.” The butt pat is my acceptance as a true jock. I throw a good ball but the head pin fails to go down. I bowl out with a spare.
John Boy goes to the line. He turns to the screaming crowd and bows. The Harlan team is in a frenzy, shouting religious curses and prayers for him to fail, several girls are rolling on the floor and cursing in tongues. The Regis boys form a phalanx to guard their boy, unfurling their school banner – ‘Regis Knights.’ John Boy is nonplussed by the commotion. I walk over to him, whispering, “I want you to beat me, These hicks are arseholes,” in my best Julian Lennon impersonation. Then, I kiss him. The cheering stops, except for the Harlan team, which is silent from apoplexy, all writhing on the ground.
It’s too much for the boy. A strike would have won it; he gets another seven-ten split. If he makes both pins, Regis is the winner. The crowd is still. One of his fag hags runs through the crowd with a croissant. John Boy raises it and exclaims, “Ah, la gloire.”
He pulls his ball from the return rack, walks to the line and measures the spot to start his roll. He is determined to make the split. Bowing to the crowd, he turns, takes a breath, and launches his ball after a three-step approach. Instead of careful finesse, his ball flies with maximum force down the edge of the gutter. The ten pin spins wildly toward the seven. The crowd all hold their breath. The pin spins around the standing seven pin, barely nudging it. It teeters but fails to go down. A huge cheer roars as the crowd jumps up and down. Ames has won by one pin. The whole building is rocking. John Boy hang his head. He has failed. Then, one of the fag hags screams, “Voyez, voyez. Look,” pointing at the end of John Boy’s alley. The building’s shaking has the lane vibrating. The seven pin moves, slowly edging toward the left gutter. Someone scream, “Stop,” but it’s too late. The seven pin tumbles into the gutter. The score is tied.
Coaches rush to the scorer’s table. Coach Ball argues that the pin had been influenced by the crowd’s cheering, not John Boy’s bowling. The Regis team threatens to sue if it isn’t allowed. Their argument is delayed when the entire Harlan team, including the girls, mass to attack John Boy. The Regis Knights are right there to defend him. The French Club girls attack the Harlan girls, resulting in a scrum of hair pulling and screeching girls rolling on the floor. All the other Iowa teams are egging on the girls, enjoying a cat fight, as boys always do. Their girl teammates watch in disgust. The Ames crowd quickly lines up to defend John Boy, still a local in their minds. The announcer comes on the PA.
“The results of the first ever Iowa State High School Bowling Championships are now final.”
He stops until everyone was listening. “With a score of 2730 pins, Ames High School is Iowa State Champions.”
A subdued cheer goes up. The Iowa title is not in dispute.
“For the putative United States National High School Championship,” the announcer pauses 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 breaks out from the Regis boys and all the local fans and team members, who stood up to defend John Boy. All the other Iowa teams look dispirited, plus the Harlan team goes back to their holy rolling and speaking in tongues in disgust at the outcome.
I run over to hug John Boy.
“We both won. How ‘bout that?” I yell.
He opens his mouth but can’t speak. His eyes grow wide and tears start to fall.
“Ain’t no thing,” I tell him. “We’ll celebrate like it’s 1999. Ya don’ts needs ta speak, jist smile.” I push his lips into an idiot grin. Doomed to the sounds of silence.
In a panic, I drag John Boy into the Mens, locking a stall door behind us. I pull his trousers down and proceeded to suck his hard dick. I kneel before him as he stands while I suck him off.
“Like that?” I try to get him to respond.
He leans forward and opens his mouth, yet no words come out. I stand and pull out my hard-on. He greedily sucks it into his mouth and surrounds it with his lips and tongue. I notice 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 ask 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 wait as Jace gets 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 sit him on the john and throw his legs over my shoulders as I kneel down again. My tongue begins slathering his ass with spit while my thumbs massage his butt cheeks. He starts moaning, as well as ragged, rapid breathing. At least he can moan.
My tongue invades his ass, darting in and out. His dick s leaking pre-cum as his anal lips squeeze my invading tongue. I can feel his prostrate calling for me (not really).
“What do you want?” I challenge him to tell me.
He mumbles and moans, unable to fully express his need to be fucked. Straightening up on my knees, my dick teases his anal opening, spreading pre-cum across the lips. I need to be inside him.
“What do you want? Tell me you need me inside.”
His mumbling becomes urgent but still incoherent. I can’t wait any longer, plunging deep into his ass, plowing the fertile fields with firm thrusts in and halfway out. His knees wrap around me. I lift him from the john, standing up and holding him against the stall walls. I rut into him like an animal. He squeals in high-pitched moans. Jace turns his head and is Frenching him to stop the squealing. On and on I rut into him. His garden hose goes off, spraying in different directions as it whips back and forth. Even as my dick turns upward in preparation of cumming, I can’t stop rutting into him. I go off as soon as he stops cumming. We’re done.
“Like that?” I demand.
He nods but still is speechless. I kind of like him that way. But I failed to cure him. I start to regret that he won’t sing when the band plays that afternoon.
“Ready for pizza?”
He nods. We straighten our clothes and march out of the bathroom. ‘Gator winks and the girls looked embarrassed. Not many spectators and competitors don’t know what had happened in there. Details are not requested.
“He’s still not talking,” I confess. John Boy shrugs and looks embarrassed.
“Kin ya still play guitar?” ‘Gator ask him directly, but John Boy merely nods.
“Then yer good to go,” ‘Gator s excited. It’s his musical debut. “It’s off to the Pit.”
We had pre-positioned our equipment. My manager, Tom, is excited there will be music in his restaurant. He probably envisions the Pit as a dinner club with live mood music. The tables are arranged to clear a decent space for the crowd. A buffet of various pizza pies is laid out. The bake sale is a huge success. It will be unlimited pizza for all the bowlers and their supporters. Tom promises to keep the buffet well stocked. The twins request veggies.
“Ya means veggie pizzas?” Tom isn’t sure of the concept.
“How about salad ingredients and dressings for a salad buffet.”
“We kin call it a salad bar,” Tom enthuses. “They do’s that up there in Wisconsin.”
It takes about a New York minute for the Pit to fill up and everyone to get their first slice. We are in no rush, except for ‘Gator who s 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 light up. “Hell, we’s State Champs in football. Now I’s a national champ. Cain’t git better than that.” He has a slice in each hand. Tom promised unlimited pizza. He may come to regret that. Once we have our fill of pizza, we gather to set-up the guitars, basses and drums.
“How’s it gonna go, Captain?” ‘Gator s antsy to start his first show.
“We gots ta git ‘em dancing.’” I explain our strategy. “Let’s do the Jacksons’ ‘ABC.’”
“Cain’t we do a Osmonds song?” He complains.
“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 mugs he’s about to vomit.
“We’ll do the Jacksons,” I decide. ‘Gator does 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 wink at ‘Gator. “Give a hand for Tom and the Pizza Pit.”
“Here’s a catchy tune by the Jackson 5,” I shout 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, gets everyone’s attention, but the dancers never stop moving. The coaches look startled, but no one is ready to shut us down yet.
I pull John Boy over. “Ya ready ta sing yet?”
He opens his mouth but nothing comes 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 is off and swinging, up onto tables, mocking boys in front of their girlfriends, shimmying with the girls, and escaping from their boyfriends who tend to give chase after being so disrespected. He tries singing the monkey words, but ends up grunting and scratching himself like a monkey. In the back of the Pit, the Harlan team huddles, unsure of what they are seeing. Once John Boy notices them, he can’t help himself from openly mocking them. He finds his voice, “Ha ha ha, He he he, Haw haw haw, Chee chee chee.” He is proving Darwin’s Theory of De-evolution, right in their faces. The girls drop to the floor, holy rolling and speaking tongues. John Boy flops down with the girls, going into spasms and convulsions in a dance he later names ‘the Snake.’ It’s too much for the Harlan boys, and they attack. The Regis Knights are right there to defend their boy. A serious brawl breaks out in the back, with real punches thrown and woe to anyone who goes down; kicks and punches hail down all around.
Tom has a meltdown seeing his Pizza Pit damaged by a brawl. He dials 911 and the Ames PD are quickly summoned. Knowing that the approaching sirens will 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 isn’t required to restore the peace. Justice is meted out with wrist slaps, telling the Regis boys they weren’t welcome in Iowa if they act like gangsters and the Harlan hicks to keep their religious intolerance back home in the sticks. ‘Gator is pissed as he hasn’t had enough free pizza.
Two college boys come up to us. I recognize them as Kappa Sigs from our frat gig fiasco that Fall.
“Still inciting riots?” one of them jokes.
“Our friends are the inciters. We merely give ‘em cause as an excuse.”
They both laugh. “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 doesn’t take long to get the word out that the gig is moving. Tom comes running up.
“What’s gonna happen with all them pizzas here I got a’comin’ outs my ovens?” he complains.
“I’s the delivery boy. We’ll deliver ‘em to Kappa Sig.”
I run 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 go 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 try to be conciliatory.
John Boy suddenly gets 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 steps 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 expects his words to make a difference, the hallmark of perfect manners. The Harlan kids turn away from him. John Boy shrugs, puts his arm around his defenders, and we all leave for the resumption of celebrating at the frat house.
“Ya gots yer voice back. Didcha rilly ‘spect ta change their ways?” I ask.
“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 isn’t my fault he lost his speech this time.
“Stop. What ah youse doin’?” all of the Regis boys are in shock at our kiss.
“Andy’s my boyfriend. That’s why them Harlan boys is so agitated.”
Now the Knights are confused. Had they been tricked into defending a queer boy? They look around, spotting their weekend dates, the comfort squad. They retreat 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 kiss him long, hard and deep. Several wolf whistles ring out. Off to the next party. It’s mostly the college crowd, as few of the high school bowlers are allowed to attend by their coaches. The Harlan team leaves immediately, with the Ames cheerleaders all wishing them ‘God-speed.’ We play our own original songs, as well as Southern Rock covers when the energy dips. A new original is 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 always be sneakin’.
We follow it with ‘Sneakin’ Around’ and end 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 seems odd doing it without Robby or Michael there. The college kids just enjoy fast music that gets them moving, if not exactly dancing. When the energy seems to ebb, we threw in the Eagles or John Denver songs we’ve do at the house to perk up the crowd. The ‘Sex’ songs go 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 realize that the boys holding firmly onto the girls is not just possessiveness but also for protection, from us, their worst gay nightmares. Everyone demands an encore, so we did our band song, ‘False Gods.’ Again Robby’s possessed stage antics are missed. The frat crowd is well entertained and keeps 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 wink at him.
“When Andy visited, one thing we did is 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 goes well at first, with both of us singing first to the audience, ‘I love you,’ and then turning to each other. Suddenly John Boy loses his voice. I keep singing to him, as he keeps playing guitar and looks totally flustered. The twins rush over to surround us. I sing, ‘how can I tell you about my loved one.’
“Gator jumps up from the drums and the four of us are hugging John Boy. His voice comes squawking back, ‘I love you.’ The girls in the crowd love it. A boy in the back yells out, “Faggots.”
“Go back to Harlan, asshole, with the rest of the haters.” Several boys rush the hater out the door, to prove themselves to their girlfriends. We finish 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 rules at Kappa Sig. Frat boys just need girls to self-actualize, as Dr. Kam says.
Back at Hyland Street, ‘Gator wants John Boy and me to attend a football team party that night. The moms have prepared a special steak dinner in honor of our State and National Championships. We all feel somewhat silly, considering there were only ten teams in the tournament.
“It’ll look good on your Harvard application,” Molly assert.
“You applied to Harvard?” John Boy is 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 complains. I half expect him to stop speaking. “Don’tcha worry. I’ll never stop speaking again. I’ve 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 is not one to miss a competition.
“We both took it last Fall. Y’all is retarded,” the twins are always a step ahead.
“Whatcha all get?” ‘Gator is in competitive mode.
“Oh, we did fine,” Amy answers.
“What’s that mean. I need numbers,” ‘Gator isn’t about to let them slide.
“Why do 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 have no clue what that means.
“Y’alls comin’ to the party?” ‘Gator reasserts 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 is feeling cocky.
Everyone else laughs at him. ‘Gator is out the door to pick up his ‘date.’ The twins toss me their car keys. I don’t ask why they’re letting ‘Gator ‘date.’
“We’ll bring guitars and amps and git them boys a’hoppin’,” I suggest, our third show of the day, plus the bowling tournament.
When we walk in, the party comes to a screeching halt. We ignored the attention and set up the amps in the living room. John Boy straps on his guitar and challenges our frenemies.
“Y’all want a piece o’ me? ‘Gator won’t be here fer ‘whiles.” He starts 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 seems odd to have the twins with us and singing pretty much about their lives. The footballers don’t seem to notice. The confrontational words mixed with an up-beat tempo get them moving forward and surrounding us. I don’t notice any residual antagonism from our last football party encounter. It’s intimidating to be surrounded by all these jocks. John Boy knows exactly what song to do. His aggressive leads on guitar has 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 throws down his guitar and runs at the nearest footballer, shoving him back and swinging his arms over his head in attack mode. I keep playing, repeating the words and playing the rhythm, to keep everyone on the beat. The players react to the assault by attacking each other, confused about the stricture to defend us, ‘Gator’s best friends. It’s a swarming mass of testosterone. All the girls retreat to the back of the room. No blows were thrown, just whirling dervishes of swinging arms and thrashing bodies. ‘Gator arrives to what looked like a repeat of the New Year’s massacre, except John Boy is the focus of battle while I calmly play guitar and shout out the lyrics. He quickly recognizes a scrum/scrimmage and jumps in to defend John Boy. The footballers start circling the two of them, pushing each other in a clock-wise direction. The whirlpool of bodies quickly knocks down anyone too slow to join the phalanx of thrashing boys. The girls at the back, sensing the lack of anger, start pushing any boy not in the whirling mass into the phalanx. John Boy and ‘Gator are pushing outward and the girls push inward, trapping the boys as the phalanx speeds faster and faster – Sambo’s tigers were turning into butter. It is sweet. As the thrashing peaks, I ended the ‘Fuck You’ song with a downbeat. Everyone stops. ‘Gator puts John Boy on his shoulders and runs around the room with his posse and the other players snaking behind him. Hormones are raging, as the boys grab their comfort girls and start making out on the floor in a mass orgy. Clothes are flying off in all directions. It’s time to exit before John Boy and I attack each other. ‘Gator is alone, so we grab him and drive back to the Hyland House.
“Why’dcha not attack yer comfort girlfriend?” John Boy asks.
“I gots a better plan,” ‘Gator announces. The twins need to be warned. Once we get home, the three of us march up to the third floor. John Boy pulls me into my bedroom, leaving the twins defenseless to ‘Gator’s desires, whatever they are. I’m too excited to interfere. From the sounds coming from the other bedroom, I know it will be my turn to admit to jungle love disturbance in the morning. The Regis boys flit through my mind, but I figure they are back at the orgy. They would need confession before Sunday’s mass.
I need to fuck John Boy so badly that Jace instantly appears to help. I attack his ass, while Jace let John Boy fuck him doggy-style. As soon as someone cums, we’d switch around to other positions, 69, 99, 66, and every other mathematical combination. John Boy sits on my dick while sucking off Jace, as I rim Jace’s ass. We keep switching anytime someone cums. I get off at least three times while not counting the other two’s orgasms. Maybe, as well as bowling, we are national fucking champions.
“I’m a double national champ,” John Boy crows.
“Hell, you’re the three-way champ too,” Jace signs.
When we think we are done, we all get in the shower together, which presents more fucking positions.
The hot water runs out with all three of us lying on the shower’s floor. Jace waves his dick and laughs at us as the cold water chases us out of the stall. He is insatiably horny and insensate to the cold.
As the sun comes up, John Boy jokes that we’ll ace the SATs that morning with sex-driven genius. I groan and fall asleep. In an hour we’re drinking coffee, ready to be tested at school. ‘Gator is nowhere to be seen.
“You really want to go to Harvard with me?” John Boy asks, 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 stay together,” I promise.
“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 kiss and sit down in the school cafeteria. Mrs. McCarthy looks shocked. We know better. Three hours later we’re finished. Comparing notes, I feel I had done as well as John Boy, better in English but not so much in math. It’s an unfair competition in the sense that he doesn’t need to score well as he is already accepted by Harvard. The test is more aptitude/intelligence than what we have learned. The fact that I was applying to Harvard is more important than my actual acceptance, that’s out of my hands. John Boy is pleased that I’m committed to our being together next school year. I remember his opinion that I need real life experience whereas he needs more preparation. What a strange adventure he’s on.
We arrive home shortly before the moms return from Church. Mom has taken the Regis boys to mass, whereas Molly and the twins go to Baptist services, taking Seamus along when he asks to attend for the ‘experience.’ – New Yorkers?? ‘Gator calls to say his parents insist he eat Sunday dinner with them, after missing his chores that morning. There are still ten of us for dinner. Mom has gone all out with a large roast, pan-roasted potatoes and baked Alaska for dessert. Her maternal instinct has blossomed in Ames. We are due to meet with Dr. Kam at 3pm. John Boy calls the parents, confessing that he relapsed twice while here, although he recovered quickly, thanks to me and the rest of the gang. Nonetheless, Mummy insists they send the Lear to bring everyone back to New York. I want to go with him. The moms only agree we can visit each other on weekends, not during the school week. Our fate apart is sealed. It seems weird that as a 15-year-old I ran off to New York and Hollywood without anyone knowing, as well as jumping into gang warfare and selling myself as a male prostitute. Life is so much easier as a rebel.
We’re ready for Dr. Kam’s magic. I trust his insight and life experience to solve our issues. He immediately hugs me and pats John Boy on the back to make us feel at ease. We list 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, as in being hard on myself to please him not me. As the list grows longer, we agree that one session is not enough to tackle them all. My PTSD is being addressed in relation to my need to never lose control. My diminished sex drive from the rape is a different matter. Considering the amount of sex we experienced in the last few days, we accept the reasonable conclusion that I’m back in the dick department. The mirror image of John Boy’s hysteria to my PTSD symptoms indicates that he intuitively feels what I’m going through. Again progress is being made, to be followed up in future sessions. The help he is getting at Columbia-Presbyterian dovetails with my work here with Dr. Kam. Our trust issues are resolved since we had agree to stay together after graduation, wherever we go. John Boy’s bisexuality is a manifestation of our trust issues, expressed as having to ‘keep up’ with me. As long as we are not exploiting girls by hiding our real feelings we shouldn’t try to repress real feelings for girls. My excessive need for attention hasn’t caused self-destructive behavior on my part; I hadn’t gone all Rock Star with abusive behaviors. The fact we played three sets that Saturday is a sign that my attention needs had built up. John Boy’s possessiveness stems from his privileged upbringing. The fact that he can’t control me is a life lesson John Boy is forced to learn – good luck with that. My dad issues are resolved temporarily as I no longer live with dear old dad. On a deeper level, I have to learn not to be so hard on myself, so as not to be as controlling as he is. The ability to organize shows and events, as well as plotting life three steps ahead are life skills that come naturally to me. I can avoid being overbearing by remembering how negative that trait was in people like Robby. ‘Gator was a positive example of leadership skills.
We walk out of the session in what I call a Kamikaze high. Of course, Dr. Kam insists he get all the Dakota gossip John Boy knows. We go directly to the Ames Airport where the family Lear jet is waiting. Everyone else is already there, including the comfort ‘girlfriends’ with all the Regis boys. Everyone tears up as we say our good-byes, except ‘Gator, of course. He delivers 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 laughs, cheers and hugs each other. The Regis boys are still shocked by John Boy and me kissing. Everyone else at the airport is too. I don’t try to hide my hard-on. It has to wait until next time. The boys hoist their national championship trophy as they load onto the Lear.