Michael was born in May, 1938, which proved to be the perfect time for a white, Anglo-Saxon boy to be born in a northeastern American suburb. True, there was a World War beginning. True, the Depression was continuing. But in his little corner of the world, he knew nothing of these events. In time, he became aware of the war, and as he grew older, he learned of rationing and the little flags in the windows of families whose sons had gone off to war.
But the war meant little to him. He had friends, he enjoyed playing, and the seriousness of events had not yet penetrated his mind. His parents worked to protect him and his siblings from the grimness of life. They subscribed to Life magazine, with its horrifying pictures of the war, but they hid the magazine from their children.
Michael’s father worked for a bank which never closed during the Depression. He was able to support his growing family and was even quietly planning to send all four children to college. They would be the first in the family to go.
Michael’s mother loved her children and raised them with a combination of caring and discipline. She bought their clothes and their food. She employed a live-in maid, an African American woman with her own family which she saw once a week on her day off. Until much later, Michael was unaware that she had a family.
Michael was the youngest of four children. His sister Jennifer was ten years older than him. His brother Mark was six years older, and his brother David was 4 years older. David always maintained that there were three disasters in 1938. One was that Michael’s siblings all had whooping cough. The second was the hurricane of ’38, and the third was the birth of Michael. Perhaps David didn’t appreciate being usurped as the baby of the family.
Michael was a beautiful child. He had golden curls on his head and a face that was beyond cute. Often when people first met him, they thought he was a girl.
Michael’s aunt, his mother’s sister, was very interested in early childhood education and owned a small school in town. It was in a large house on the main street, and it had a multi-car garage referred to as ‘the barn’ with a loft which was finished and heated and used for the older classes. Behind the barn were some sheds which stored play equipment.
Michael began attending the school in the January before he turned two, but his earliest memories of the school were of when he was a toddler. There was a large room which contained, among other things, wooden blocks and a little slide. On the wall was a cartoon-like whale being caught with a line by a man in a boat. He later realized that the room wasn’t nearly as large as he originally thought and was probably the living room of the house.
As a toddler he attended school three days a week. When he was a little older, he began attending five days a week. Two of those days, Tuesdays and Thursdays, were short days, when the children were dismissed at noon. On the other three days they ate lunch at the school, a delicious hot lunch which grew even better after rationing ended. On those days, the children had a rest period after lunch. Folding cots were placed in the room, and the children had their own blankets.
At dismissal time, the children sat outside on benches lining the porch of the building. Cars snaked up the driveway until they reached the porch, where a teacher called out the names of the children being picked up in the cars.
Michael spent his first years at the school mostly playing, but often the play was quietly led by a teacher in a way that honed the social skills of the children. The three other boys his age in the room became his fast friends, and in his way, he loved them.
The school gave a Christmas pageant each year. The pageant was always the same although the children played different roles as they grew. For his first years, he was a villager. As he grew older, he became a shepherd, and then a donkey, and in his final year ─ third grade − a wise man.
One of Michael’s earliest memories was attending his family’s Congregational church in the city. It was a large, stone building, and he was fascinated by the big rose window. His family always sat with his grandmother. After the Children’s Talk, the little ones processed behind the American flag and the church flag out of the sanctuary and into the Sunday school rooms. It was always a proud day for Michael when he got to carry one of the flags.
When he was in first and second grade, he had a kind teacher who spoke with a southern accent. It took him a little time to learn to understand her, but when he did, he grew to love her. Occasionally, she gave him a ride home in her yellow Buick, which she named Eggnog or Eggie.
Michael’s siblings had all attended the school. There was a time when the school went through sixth grade, but as it became more difficult to find teachers and to pay them a living wage, older grades were gradually dropped. So it was that for Michael and his friends, third grade was their final year in the school. As a leaving present, the school gave each child a ballpoint pen, the first that they had seen. It turned out that his pen often leaked, smearing Michael’s hands with ink, but he treasured it for years.
Michael had a friend, Peter, who lived on the same street. In fourth grade they began attending the same neighborhood public school. The school was only two blocks away, so the boys always walked. They were able to walk home for lunch and then return for the afternoon session. Occasionally, there was a day when Michael’s mother wouldn’t be home, and he would walk to Peter’s house for lunch.
Fortunately for Michael, his mother finally had his hair cut, and while he still retained some curls, nobody called him a girl anymore.
Sometimes on the way home after school, he sang aloud. He sang songs he’d learned at school, but he also sang ones he made up as he went along. He even pretended to sing in foreign languages, which he also made up. Unbeknownst to him, he was well known among his neighbors for his singing.
By fifth grade, Michael had discovered the pleasures of fondling himself. Of course, he didn’t orgasm, but he loved the sensations he was having.
He developed a crush on his fifth-grade teacher, Mrs. Holden, and in later years he decided that fifth grade was his favorite school year. He was still a child with no hormones pushing him towards puberty, and he was knowledgeable enough to be able to learn from reading in his history and science books.
By sixth grade, his hormones had begun to affect him. He found himself having erections at odd and sometimes embarrassing moments. He discovered that Peter had likewise experienced both erections and the joys of fondling himself, and they began doing it together, usually in either Michael’s or Peter’s bedroom.
Self-masturbation moved on to become mutual masturbation, and soon the boys couldn’t get enough of it, even though neither one had yet reached a climax.
Michael had been spotted by a local talent agent who found young people for advertisements. Michael was cute and began to model for photos for local businesses ─ a tire dealership, a furniture store, a toy store, and even for Peter’s father’s Cadillac dealership.
There was an amateur theater group in town which recruited Michael when they needed a boy in one of their plays, and he discovered a love of acting.
One day, as the boys lay side by side on a bed, Peter rolled over so that he was on top of Michael. He began sliding up and down, grinding his friend. Suddenly, he felt the need to urinate. He leapt up and ran for the bathroom, but by the time he got there, the feeling was gone.
Michael was unhappy that Peter had left so abruptly, but Peter explained what had happened. They both wondered about it.
Further grinding on subsequent days led to the recurrence of the feeling. Peter decided that it was not a sign of a full bladder. Instead, it was a wonderful, new sensation which captivated him.
Michael was a little behind Peter in his maturation, but only by a couple of months. Soon, their grinding rewarded them both with dry climaxes.
Then came the day when Peter first produced cum. It was only a little, but he knew from a book his mother had given him called Being Born what the liquid was. It wasn’t long before both Peter and Michael were shooting loads of cum, both together in their afternoon explorations and alone at night.
Peter discovered that, by looking at himself in the mirror, he could make himself climax without touching himself.
Meanwhile, Michael discovered that he was flexible enough to bend over and take his member in his mouth. That was a whole new and thrilling sensation. He tried to teach Peter, but his friend wasn’t as flexible, so he did the next best thing and took Peter in his mouth. Thereafter, oral sex was a frequent occurrence.
The boys spent long, happy days together in the summers. They played baseball in a vacant lot behind Michael’s house. He had discovered that he enjoyed running, so when they went to a park to join a soccer or touch football game, he jogged the two miles to the park while Peter rode his bicycle.
The first time Michael ran beside Peter, his friend asked him why he was running and not riding his bike.
“I just love to run,” replied Michael, who wasn’t even winded when they arrived at the park. Peter eventually accepted that his friend was a very good runner.
When they were in seventh grade in junior high, Michael and Peter often walked in the hallways with their arms around each other’s shoulders. Occasionally they received odd stares, but nobody ever said anything.
The town began to hold occasional sports days at the park. Michael not only ran to the park, he won the quarter mile race and anchored the last leg of the mile relay, which his team won.
A day came in the summer after their seventh-grade year that Michael announced to Peter that he wouldn’t be available for a while. He said he would be working on ‘a project’. When Peter asked about it, Michael replied, “I can’t say. It’s a secret.”
When they did get together, Michael seemed tired and not as playful as he usually was. He wouldn’t tell Peter what he was doing, but he did mention that a man was helping him . . . a lot.
Peter mentioned this one time to his mother when she asked why she hadn’t seen much of Michael. She wondered if there was something not above board going on between Michael and the man.
In those days, children were not taught about the dangers of being with unknown men. Peter had been told in a general way not to go with strange men or accept gifts from them. He was also told to stay out of public rest rooms. But he was naïve as a 14-year-old and made no connection between the warnings and his friend spending time with an unknown man.
It was toward the end of that summer when Michael announced that he was finally nearly finished with his project and could then tell Peter about it.
On a night soon after that, a car pulled up to the side of country road. The driver turned off the motor, got out, and opened the back door. 
“Get out,” he ordered.
Michael slowly climbed out of the car. The man grabbed him firmly by the arm and led him down an embankment and into a field. Michael stumbled slowly, hesitantly, through the meadow. He was sobbing. The nearly full moon shone brightly in the sky. The grass was wet, and the boy felt the dampness through his sneakers. He wore shorts and no shirt. The man behind him shoved him forward. Michael’s hands were tied behind his back, and the rope tied to his ankles hobbled him. Tears ran down his cheeks.
“Kneel,” the man ordered.
“P . . . P . . . Please don’t,” the boy stammered.
“Kneel,” the man repeated, pushing the boy, causing him to fall face down. He pulled the boy up until he was kneeling.
“No . . . No . . .” the boy pleaded.
He felt the barrel of the gun against the back of his head.
“Say your prayers,” ordered the man.
“No . . . No . . . Please! I d . . . don’t want to die!”
There was a brief silence, and then a voice called, “Cut . . . . That’s a wrap.”
The man stuck the pistol in his belt, helped Michael up, and untied his ankles and hands.
“Good, work, Michael,” said another man coming over to him.
“But that’s not the end of the movie,” Michael said.
“No,” the man replied, “you know that we don’t shoot the scenes in order. You’ll see how it works when you watch the movie.”
“When can I see it?” asked Michael.
“Oh, we have a lot of work to do yet – editing, adding music, dubbing in the sound, all the things that make the final product. When it’s ready, I’ll give you a call and you and your family can watch a private showing.”
“Can I bring a friend?”
“Sure, as many as you want.”
“Thanks,” Michael said. He turned and walked back to the road. The man who had played his captor gave him a ride home.
Michael had grown to really like the man, but he knew that the man would be returning to California.
When the car pulled up to Michael’s house, he gave the man a big hug.
“I’ll miss you,” he said.
“Well, if the movie’s a success, you may well get some work in Hollywood,” the man replied.
Michael went into his house, said hi to his parents, and told them his job was finished. He went upstairs to his room, stripped off his clothes, and took a relaxing shower.
He was exhausted. He fell into bed and lay for a moment smiling. He was asleep before he even had time to pleasure himself.
It was several months later when Michael learned that the film was ready for showing. A theater was rented in town, and he was told he could invite his friends to the show.
The night of the viewing, the theater was packed with school kids and their parents.
They watched, spellbound, as the story unfolded. It began with Michael being followed by a man who grabbed him, threw him into a car, and drove away. For most of the film, the man held a naked Michael in a locked, windowless room. It showed the man entering the room and the audience heard Michael screaming.
Other scenes included a detective trying to find the missing boy and distraught actors playing Michael’s parents in various stages of fear and anxiety.
Towards the end of the movie, as Michael was led out into a field, there wasn’t a sound in the theater. Michael knelt on the ground and pleaded, “No . . . Please! I d . . . don’t want to die!” as the man put the gun to the back of the boy’s head. The viewers became aware of sirens and police cars pulling up on the road, blue lights flashing. The man who had been threatening Michael began to stand and turn when he was met by a volley of bullets and fell to the ground. The audience cheered.
During the reception after the viewing, Michael said to the director, “Now I see how the whole thing fits together. It didn’t really make sense to me until now.”
Michael was a star at school for a few days, until routines returned and all the students settled into their work.
One afternoon, as Peter and Michael were lying on Peter’s bed, he said, “Wow. Now I’ve had sex with a movie star.”
Michael giggled. “I’m no star,” he replied. “At least not until the reviews come out.”
“You’re a star to me, and you always will be,” said Peter. He rolled on top of his friend and kissed him lovingly on the lips.
Michael reached up and began to peel off Peter’s shirt.
Soon they were lying naked and grinding, their excitement rising.
When they finished, they kissed again, and Peter produced tissues to clean themselves off.
They lay silently, side by side, knowing that this might be the last time they were together, for Michael was leaving in the morning for Los Angeles and Hollywood, where he would make a new movie.
When Peter announced that he had to go home for supper, they stood and dressed. At the front door, they exchanged one last, bittersweet kiss.
Peter walked home slowly, wondering if he would ever see Michael again.
Slowly, Michael made his way back to his room and lay down on his bed, tears running down his cheeks.
His last thought before he drifted off to sleep was, “God, I love him. It was so great while it lasted.”

Tzoskan carefully drained the blood from the rabbit and skinned the carcass. He put the pelt aside to deal with later. He set the entrails apart and thrust the spit lengthwise through the body, then placed it over his fire. He tossed the heart and liver to his waiting dog, Chraski, who grabbed thetreats hungrily and bolted it down. As the rabbit cooked, the boy slowly turned the spit, exposing all sides equally to the fire.
When the rabbit was done, he removed it from the fire, and cutting it in pieces with his knife, ate each piece slowly, savoring the flavor.
Although young (he had seen only ten winters), he had shot the rabbit with a single arrow, piercing its heart.
The children in his tribe wore no clothes in the summer until they reached puberty, and even then, they only wore a loincloth. And so, in his early summers, Tzoskan wore nothing. His bare feet grew very tough. In the winters he wore a warm cloak and deer-hide boots which his mother fashioned for him from the pelts his father brought home. As she worked, she taught her son how to make neat stitches. At first he was very clumsy when trying to stitch the sinew, but as he practiced, he grew more adept.
The hut they lived in was built by placing saplings vertically in a circle and bending them so they formed a dome over which deer hides were stretched. Tzoskan’s father showed him how to build the hut and make repairs when needed.
When he was a very small boy, he began to call his penis his pisser because of the sound made by his urine splashing on dried leaves. He was very fond of it, and he often stroked it. Sometimes it got hard and poked forward. He didn’t know why. His mother told him that, when he was old enough, he would use it to make babies, but he had no understanding of how that would happen.
After Tzoskan’s fourth winter, his father began to take the boy hunting with him. He made a child-sized bow and small arrows for the boy. Then he taught his son how to shoot. Tzoskan was an avid, fast learner, and by the end of the summer he had already brought home a few rabbits.
Tzoskan’s mother had taught him how to prepare an animal for cooking and how to work the hides for clothing. Tzoskan was very proud the first time his family ate the meat which he had killed, skinned, and cooked.
His father showed him how to track deer and elk but told him it would be several winters before he was big enough to slay and bring home the larger animals. He cautioned him never to take on a bear, for they were dangerous, especially when wounded or protecting their cubs. If he got one angry, he would not be able to outrun it, so it was best to leave them alone.
Living closely in the hut with his parents, Tzoskan became aware of his parents mating as he listened to them at night. The sighs and groans he heard sounded to him as though mating wasn’t much fun. He later realized how wrong he was.
It seemed to Tzoskan that every year his mother had a baby. While they did not all survive their first year, by the time he had reached his tenth winter he had six brothers and sisters. When he was young, he didn’t realize the connection between his parents’ mating and his mother having babies, but as he grew older and observed not only his parents but also the mating animals of the wild, he figured out what their coupling caused.
His family lived with a small group of people who called themselves the Dasnvoli, which meant ‘the people’ in their language. While they lived like a tribe, they were not all related. They were simply a collection of families who lived together for protection. The people of the tribe were amazed at Tzoskan’s skills. Other children tried to imitate him, but none were as successful until they were much older.
From his earliest days toddling around the little village, Tzoskan played with the other children. He was very sociable and loved by everyone in the tribe. His particular friend was a boy named Agsac. They spent hours together every day. Their favorite pastimes were pretending to hunt, playing in a nearby stream, and throwing and catching a small, squirrel-hide ball which Tzoskan’s father had made for them.
As they grew older, Tzoskan taught Agsac what his father had shared about hunting. Agsac’s father made him a small bow, and soon they were hunting together. They were not competitive and shared all their kills.
One day, when the boys were hunting, they were joined by a dog from the tribe. The dog adopted Tzoskan, and the boy named him Chraski, which meant Fierce Hunter. Chraski was anything but fierce, but he enjoyed hunting with Tzzoskan and Agsac and soon proved his worth as a retriever.
There was a white-man’s town a two-and-a-half-day walk from the Dasnvoli, but the people of the town never bothered them. Occasionally, someone from the tribe would walk to the town to obtain things they needed, using some of the pelts from their hunting to barter for items. Since they had no source of metal, most of the items they obtained were metal ─ pots, pans, knives, and occasionally an axe.
In the year of Tzoskan’s sixth winter, his father brought him a knife from the town. The knife had a handle made from an antler, and a blade a little longer than the boy’s hand. He wore it proudly every day, tucked into a belt made from a squirrel pelt.
In the spring after Tzoskan’s eleventh winter, his father went to the town to purchase a new iron pan. Tzoskan had begged to go with him, but the man wanted him to stay at home and protect his mother and siblings, because a woman alone was sometimes in danger.
The man returned a week later, and a few days after that his skin broke out in a red, very itchy rash. There was an ancient man among the Dasnvoli who was known as a healer. Tzoskan’s father went to the man, who refused to see him, saying that there was nothing he could do and that the man would either live or die.
His father’s temperature soared, and three days later he was dead.
A funeral pyre was built by the people, but none would touch the man to put him onto the pyre, so the boy and his family carried him out, placed him on the pyre, and set it blazing. They watched, sitting and clutching each other, until there was no more fire.
Unfortunately, a week later, the boy’s mother and brothers and sisters began vomiting and soon broke out in the same rash. When they died, the boy laid them on a deerskin and dragged them out of the hut to where the pyre had been. Scavenging in the woods, he found enough fallen wood to build another pyre. He sat together with Chraski, tears pouring down, as he watched his family burn. He and the dog were soon joined by Agsac, who hugged his friend to him as they sat together.
Strangely, Tzoskan himself never got the rash.
Agsac, who had been talking with the healer, advised Tzoskan to burn the family’s hut. The two boys removed some items from the hut and placed them outside in the sun. Together, they set the hut alight and watched with Chraski as it was consumed.
Then they set about building a new hut. Tzoskan had learned from his father how the hut was constructed, and before winter set in, he was living in his new home.
Other families invited Tzoskan to live with them, but he preferred to remain with Charski and his memories in his own hut.
Agsac began to live with them, at first to give his friend comfort but later simply to be with his friend and his dog. He became interested in what the old healer was able to do with his herbs and plants. He went to the man and asked to learn from him. The man, knowing he had little time left and believing that the Dasnvoli would need a new healer, agreed to teach the boy. Each day after that the old man and Agsac could be seen gathering herbs and leaves, combining them in various ways, mashing them together, and then adding a bit of water to the mixtures. These they shared with people who came to them with various ills ─ coughs, headaches, chills, and vomiting. The boy learned quickly and in time he was nearly the equal of the old man.
The two boys continued to live with each other, although Agsac went off to the old man during the day while Tzoskan hunted with Chraski.
The next winter, Tzoskan’s and Agsac’s twelfth, the old man died, and Agsac became the new healer for the Dasnvoli. Sometimes someone would come to the boys’ hut in the night, seeking a cure. Agsac never turned them away. He listened carefully to what they said and then usually gave them a remedy for their ailment. Like his mentor, Agsac never sought to profit from his skills, using them generously for the good of the tribe.
By spring, the two boys were hunting together each day. Chraski joined them on their hunts and became expert at flushing prey from the tall grasses. When one of the boys shot a duck in a nearby pond, Chraski dived in, took the bird in his teeth, and returned to the boys. When he deposited the duck at the boys’ feet, he seemed to be smiling. The boys cleaned and prepared their kills, cooking the meat over their fire and tossing hearts and livers to the dog.
Tzoskan decided that it was time for him to use an adult’s bow and arrows, so he began to practice with the ones his father had used. At first he found it hard to draw the big bow, but as he persisted, he grew stronger and more accurate with his arrows.
At night they slept on a hide lying on the ground. When it was cold, they covered themselves with a deer or elk hide and snuggled together, sharing their warmth. The snuggling led to physical feelings which they didn’t understand but which they enjoyed. As they grew older, they discovered that when they were gratifying those feelings, they shot a milky liquid from their pissers. The feelings were so intense that they sought them night after night and sometimes during the day.
During their thirteenth winter, they observed that hair began to grow on different parts of their bodies, although they never had hair on their torsos.
Their bond grew stronger and stronger. Though they had begun wearing loincloths during the day, their hard bulges made it very evident that they had passed into adolescence.
The villagers never said anything, although occasionally a young child asked what the bulges were.
The boys simply told the children it was a grown-up matter and not to bother them.
It was the custom within the tribe that when a boy had lived for 14 or 15 winters he took a mate. Girls were eligible as soon as they began their bleeding. This custom began to put pressure on the boys.
The boys knew the custom, but they had no interest in following it. Girls didn’t appeal to them, although several girls tried. As far as the two boys were concerned, they were mates, but it took some time for the tribe to accept the fact. However, sex between men was not discouraged, and such men became honored in the tribe as having special attributes. And so it happened that the older the boys became, the more they were honored by the Dasnvoli.
In addition to using the pond to hunt ducks, Tzaskan and Agsac joined the children who swam in it, removing their loincloths to enjoy the water. Often, Chraski also jumped in.
One day, when the boys were hunting, they found a tree which showed large claw marks. Chraski was very interested in the tree, and he snuffled all around it, growling. The boys wondered what sort of an animal made the marks. When they asked among the village men, they were told that the marks were made by a bear sharpening its claws.
Tzoskan remembered what his father had said about avoiding bears. He told Agsac his father’s warning, and after that they became more careful of where they went when they hunted.
The bear never bothered the little village, and in time the boys forgot about it.
The summer after his thirteenth winter, Tzoskan killed his first deer. Chraski was very excited and bounced around the body, barking, leaping at it, trying to bite into it. The deer was too heavy for the boys to carry, so they fetched a hide from their hut, placed the deer on it, and dragged it back to their hut. The task took a long time, but they knew they should drain and gut the deer quickly before the meat began to go bad. Chraski was fascinated, and of course he gobbled up the still-warm organs he was offered. They did much of the work by firelight, and by the time they finished they were exhausted.
Knowing that they never could eat all of the meat before it spoiled, they distributed it to the families of the tribe. As time passed, they distributed more and more food. Their generosity became known among the people, who often brought gifts of gratitude for them. The boys tried to refuse the gifts but the people insisted.
Tzoskan’s and Agsac’s fifteenth winter was a bitter, life-threatening one. The temperature fell way below freezing, and snow piled so high it was almost impossible for people to hunt. The boys had learned from their elders how to make snowshoes so they could get about, but there seemed to be few creatures to be found. The villagers suffered from hunger that winter, and a few perished.
One night as the boys lay, having satisfied each other, they heard wolf howls. The tribe had never been bothered by wolves, but there was fear that if the wolves were hungry enough, they would invade the cluster of huts. Since the huts had only hides hanging in the doorways it would be difficult to keep the wolves out.
Sure enough, one night a week or so later, the boys heard screams and shouting and the snarls of wolves. They guarded their doorway through the night but no wolves tried to get into their hut.
In the morning there was a commotion outside their door, and a man called for the healer.
Agsac stepped outside and found a man holding a young boy who was bleeding from a laceration in his arm. The boy appeared to have no more than five or six winters. The man explained to Agsac that a wolf had gotten into their hut and attacked the boy before his father could slay the animal.
“Is this Bradisk?” asked Agsac.
“Yes,” the man answered.
Agsac examined the boy’s arm, shaking his head sadly.
“I will try,” he said, “but I doubt I can save his arm. It can easily become infected, and depending on how much blood he has lost, he may not survive. “
Agsac took the boy into the hut, built up the fire so that he could see the injury, and said to the boy, “I will try to sew up your wound, Bradisk. It will hurt and you must hold still and be very brave.”
Fearfully, the boy nodded.
The boy’s father sat and held his son gently, whispering encouraging words to him.
First Agsac used snow to wash the wound, having been told by the healer that doing so often prevented infection. He knew nothing of germs, but he followed his old mentor’s advice.
Tzoskan gave the boy a tough piece of hide to bite down on while Agsac prepared a bone needle and some narrow strips he had cut from rabbit intestines.
“This will hurt,” said Agsac. “You must be brave and hold as still as you can.”

I was short. Petite. Some would say tiny. Standing as tall as I could I was still quite a bit less than five feet. I guessed there were a lot of boys my size, but I doubted that they were 15 and about to start ninth grade, like I was.
Mom knew I was anxious about school, and she tried to reassure me, telling me that my father got his growth spurt very late but eventually ended up over six feet tall. I was not comforted.
I never met my father. Mom said he left home just before I was born. I guess he didn’t like the idea of being a father. I was beginning to think I was the result of a one-night stand. Not that Mom had lots of boyfriends or anything. I’d never seen one and I doubted she was sneaking out at night for a secret date. But who knew?
Last spring, when I finished middle school, I was by far the shortest boy in the class. I guess someone had to be, but why me?
I was too little and uncoordinated to be any good at physically-challenging sports. I’d tried tennis and swimming, but I was not very successful at either.
I did have a basketball hoop on a stand beside my driveway. I’d looked up the regulation distance from the backboard to the free-throw line ─ 15 feet ─ and I’d measured it out, painting a free-throw line on our driveway. I’d gotten really good at shooting free throws, but so what? It wasn’t like I was ever going to need the skill.
A week before school began, Mom took me to a clothing store to shop for school clothes. We had to go to the children’s department to find anything that would fit me. The only other boys in the department were like ten years old. Humiliating? Tell me about it.
We were supposed to get a jockstrap for PE but we couldn’t find one that would fit me. Mom said she’d write a note to the gym teacher. Great. How embarrassing would that be?
When I complained to Mom, she said, “Richard, it won’t make any difference. Nobody else needs to know.” Fat chance! As soon as we were in the locker room, everyone would know.
Don’t get me wrong. I’m not putting Mom down ─ exactly. I know she loves me, and I know she works two jobs so we can live in a nice house and have plenty to eat. But she just doesn’t get what being a boy is all about, what one has to deal with to survive. And on top of that I’m little. She doesn’t really understand what being little means to me.
The doctor assured me that I’m not a midget or a dwarf or anything like that. “You’ll grow,” he said. “It just takes some boys longer than others.” I knew he meant well, but I didn’t think he got what being little did to my psyche.
The night before school began, I couldn’t sleep. I lay awake trying to think of ways I could get out of going.
At breakfast the next morning, I said, “Mom, I don’t feel good.”
“You’re just nervous,” she said brightly. “You’ll feel better once you get busy at school.” Not a chance!
Since I had been through a local middle school, Mom reminded me that I would know some of the kids. In our town there were three middle schools, and they all fed into one big high school. As for knowing some of the kids, I guessed I would, but I’d never had any friends in middle school, so I didn’t expect high school to be any different.
The first day, Mom gave me a ride to school. After that I’d be taking the bus. When she pulled up in front of the building, I gave her a quick kiss before reluctantly opening the car door, climbing out, putting on my backpack, sighing, and heading to the front door.
This was my first time in the high school building, and I had no idea where to go. I stood inside the door watching the other kids as they flowed around me, chattering happily with each other.
As I stood watching, a boy who must have been six feet tall came up to me and said, “Hi. You must be in the wrong building. There’s a middle school across the street.”
Blushing, I said, “I’m in the ninth grade, but I don’t know where to go.”
“Really? In ninth grade?” he said. Then, maybe seeing I was embarrassed, he asked, “Do you know your room number?”
“Two one seven,” I said.
“I’ll show you how to get there,” he offered. As we walked down the hallway he said, “I’m Max Carlson. I’m a sophomore.”
“I’m Richard Andrews.”
“Anybody ever call you Dick?” he asked, as we walked up the stairs.
“Yeah, but I don’t like it.”
“Okay, Richard it is,” he said. “What’s your locker number?”
I told him and he led me to my locker. He asked what my combination was, and when I told him, he showed me how to open it.
“Richard, your classroom is just across the hall,” he said. “See ya later.” And with that he was gone.
I put my jacket and my lunch in my locker, closed the door, twirled the lock, and went into my homeroom. It was pretty full. Looking at all those faces, I had this awful feeling I was going to throw up. Now THAT would have been embarrassing! Fortunately, I managed to suppress it.
There was only one empty desk left, so I sat there and stared ahead, listening to the chatter and trying to control my nerves.
The boy across the aisle from me, looked over and said, “The middle school’s across the road.”
“I know,” I said. “I’m in the ninth grade.”
“No way. How old are you?”
“Fifteen.”
“Really?”
I nodded. I was already tired of the questions.
“I’m Reggie,” he said.
“Richard,” I replied before the teacher called the class to order.
As it happened, Reggie and Max were the only kids who spoke to me all morning.
At lunchtime I fished my lunch bag out of my locker and found the lunchroom. As I went in, I heard a voice call, “Richard.” I turned and saw Max waving and pointing to an empty seat next to him. I was surprised to see Reggie sitting there too. I sat and Max introduced me to the other boys at the table. They all said hi but mostly they stared, although they tried to hide it. By the time I’d eaten my lunch I again felt like throwing up.
“I gotta pee,” I announced, standing.
Max told me where the restroom was. I barely made it to a toilet before I lost my lunch. I hated the taste that was left in my mouth and tried to rinse it out but with little success.
As I returned to the lunchroom, I felt a little wobbly, and I prayed nobody would know what I’d just done.
As soon as I sat, Max said, “You look pale. Are you okay?”
“Just nerves,” I mumbled.
The afternoon went like the morning. The teachers all seemed to be happy to see us, but I didn’t speak to anyone, and nobody spoke to me. I never put my hand up and I was never called on.
My last class of the day was gym. I tried to stall in the locker room, hoping the other boys would leave so I could dress in private.
I sat on the bench and faced a locker. Slowly, I removed my shirt and put on my gym shirt. I was stuck. I had to take off my pants. I kept my underpants on as I didn’t have a jockstrap. I tried to do it without the others seeing. Fat chance. Nobody said anything, but I could tell that they knew.
In the gym I handed the teacher my mother’s note. He read it and said, “Try a sports shop. They have clothes even for the peewee football and hockey kids, so they’ll have a strap for you.”
I heard a couple of giggles, and I blushed.
The teacher blew his whistle and told us to line up by height.
Great, I thought, and headed for the end of the line. Reggie, I saw, was in the middle.
The teacher, or as he preferred, the coach counted us off, “One, two, three, four.” When he got to me he said, “Two,” and then announced those were our numbers for the year. Then he called out the names on his class list and we each had to respond with our number. When he got to me he said, “Dick.”
“Richard,” I responded before saying, “two.”
That took most of the rest of the period, so we were just turned loose to shoot baskets. I only shot one free throw, which I made of course, because I couldn’t get any other balls.
As we went back into the locker room for the mandatory showers, the biggest boy in the class said, “You’re Richard?”
I nodded.
“Great,” he said. “From now on you’re Little Dick.”
“Good one, Caleb,” called one of the other boys.
All the boys within hearing snickered. I was furious but what could I do? Nothing.
Reggie called out,” Lay off him, Caleb.”
That surprised me.
“Butt out, jerk,” replied Caleb, and again the boys snickered, but I thought they were a little nervous.
In the showers I stood facing the wall, waiting for the others to leave, but they seemed to hang around. I finally gave up, left the showers, grabbed a towel, and went to my locker.
A kid next to me, Tanner, said, “Hey, Little Dick, how little is it?”
Without looking at him I said, “About five.” I didn’t tell that was centimeters, not inches.
“Wow,” he said, “you’ll be huge when you finish growing.”
I managed to survive the bus ride home, sitting alone as usual.
I told Mom what the coach said about a jockstrap, so that evening we went to a Dick’s Sporting Goods store. Sure enough, they had straps that were even too small for me. I picked out two and we went to the cashier. I was thoroughly embarrassed, but Mom told me to give the woman the straps. The cashier didn’t bat an eye. She rang up the sale, put the straps in a bag, and handed them to me, saying, “Here you go, sweetie.”
Somehow, my answer to Tanner about the size of my dick had gotten around the school, and by the next day in gym everyone was trying to look. In the locker room I covered myself, which just made the others laugh. And they laughed more when I put on my jockstrap.
“I don’t think you really need that,” Tanner said.
“Will you just fuck off,” I muttered under my breath but loud enough so that I was sure he heard me.
“Yeah,” put in Reggie.
“Sorry,” Tanner said, but I just ignored him. I knew he wasn’t really sorry.
By the second week of school, things had calmed down for me, although I was known all over the school as Little Dick, snicker, snicker. Even the girls were calling me that.
In the late fall it was announced that the school was going to put on a performance of “A Christmas Carol.” Guess who got picked for Tiny Tim. I didn’t try out or anything. About the last thing I wanted to do was be in a play, especially in the part of a little boy, but when the cast list was posted, there was my name. Damn!
I went to the play’s director and told her I didn’t want to be in the play.
Then why did you sign up for it?” she asked.
“I didn’t,” I said.
“Isn’t this your name on the sign-up sheet?”
I looked and felt like cursing. Someone had put my name on the list.
“Yeah, that’s my name, but I didn’t write it.”
““Well, it’s too late to change it now,” she said. “You’ve been cast and that’s that.”
I complained to Mom, hoping she could get me out of it, but she thought it was wonderful that I’d be in the play. So much for depending on Mom. She really had no idea.
I had to go to rehearsals after school, but once I got over my embarrassment, I discovered that the rehearsals were sorta fun. The other cast members were nice to me, and the good thing for me was that Max got cast as Bob Cratchit.
Tiny Tim was not a big part, but I had to learn to use a crutch, and a couple of times Max was directed to carry me around on his shoulders.
By then Max and I had become quite good friends. He’d been to my house a few times and I’d been to his. Kids at school thought it was funny that I was friends with a six-footer, but Max put an end to that bit of humor, mostly just by scowling at anyone who giggled.
For the dress rehearsal we had costumes and make-up, and I decided that was maybe the best part of being in the play.
There were to be two night-time performances, and because of the size of the auditorium, tickets were required. I got one for Mom for the first night and asked her not to sit too near the front.
As the cast assembled for the first performance, I was very nervous. My stomach was acting up and even though I’d eaten almost nothing I was afraid I’d barf on stage or, even worse, on Max. When I told him that, he gave me a couple of tablets to calm my stomach and they seemed to work.
At the beginning of the play, I waited in the wings for my part. Most of the cast did pretty well, although the Ghost of Christmas Past forgot a couple of lines. I could have called them out to him, but I decided that wasn’t a good idea.
Max did a great job. Not only did he remember all of his lines, he really acted.
I don’t remember a lot about my stage debut, but at least I didn’t screw up my lines.
At the end of the play, Max lifted me up on his shoulders and I called out, “God bless us every one!” All the cast cheered. The audience stood and joined in the cheering and then cheered each cast member as we took bows.
It took me some time to take off my costume and makeup, but Mom waited for me. We met Max and his family at the ice cream shop and had a great time celebrating.
The next day at school a lot of kids congratulated me, and, surprise surprise, not one of them called me Little Dick.
As I was walking down a hallway between first and second period, I heard, “Hey, Richard.”
I turned and there was Reggie coming towards me.
When he got to me, he said, “You were really good in the play, Richard.”
I thanked him and then turned away because I had a tear in my eye. It annoyed me. After all, high school boys don’t cry. Fortunately, nobody saw.
About that time I began to feel some pain in my shins. I had no idea why, but I decided to ask Mom to take me to the doctor after Christmas.
Mom and I usually went to the midnight service at the Episcopal church on Christmas Eve. Don’t get the wrong idea. I’m not religious and I don’t think she is, either. For us, the service is maybe more a cultural event than a religious one.
We both got dressed up, and just before we left for the church she said, “Richard, stand over here in the light.”
I did as she asked. She looked at me for a moment and then asked, “Do you have any dark socks?”
I was puzzled. What difference did that make? “I guess,” I said.
“Please change out of the white ones,” she said.
Shrugging, I went to my room to change, although I didn’t understand why she said to.
As we were walking to the church, I asked her what difference the socks made.
“Well,” she said, “there’s a gap between the cuffs of your trousers and your shoes, so a lot of white was showing. I think you must have grown.”
Grown? Me, grown? I never grew, or at least I’d felt that way for a long time.
I always enjoyed the Christmas Eve service. The music was special, I enjoyed singing the carols, and I loved the smell of the pine boughs at the ends of the pews.
Our Christmas day was quiet. I no longer hung a stocking and there were just a couple of gifts under our little artificial tree.
The next morning, Mom measured me on my door jamb. There was a series of little marks which she had made recording my height from time to time. I hadn’t been measured for a while as the process had begun to discourage me. It turned out that I had grown more than two inches.
I told her about the pains in my shins and she asked, “Have you ever heard of growing pains?”
“Yeah, but I thought that was just a saying.”
She assured me that growing pains were real and I was apparently feeling them.
That afternoon, Mom took me shopping for new pants. For the first time I was in the department for older boys. I came home with three new pairs of trousers.
Mom did take me to the doctor, who confirmed that I was feeling growing pains. I told him that the pains were worth it if I was really growing.
Back at school after vacation, I told Max about my growing. “Yeah,” he said, “I thought you were growing the last few times I had to lift you onto my shoulders.”
We high-fived and went to class.
On a Friday afternoon a few days later, as I was riding the bus home, I heard a commotion from some of the kids at the front. Then I began to see flashing blue and red lights ahead of us. When we got to my stop, I realized the lights were at my house. Fearing the worst, I got off the bus and looked at my house. Flames were pouring out the windows and through the roof. Firemen were doing their best to quell the flames, but I could see it was hopeless. There were policemen around, holding off traffic and keeping people away from the site.
Shit, I thought, what should I do now? I tried to call Mom, but she wasn’t answering her phone. I called Max and he said he’d be right over.
By the time he arrived, I was a basket case. I threw myself into his arms and sobbed, “What shall I do? It’s all gone.”
He took my hand and said, “Come with me.” We walked to his house, where I threw myself on the couch in the living room. He sat beside me, with an arm around my shoulders and stroked my chest gently.
“I know this is a disaster for you, Richard, but at least for now you can stay here.”
“What about Mom? She doesn’t even know.”
“We have a guest room she can use.”
“But you haven’t asked your parents,” I stammered through my tears.
“I don’t have to, Richard. I know they’ll welcome you.”
I was doubtful but too upset to question further. About an hour later, I tried to call Mom again. This time she answered, and I told her what had happened. Then I said she should come to Max’s house when she could.
By the time Mom got to Max’s home, Max’s parents, Mr. and Mrs. Carlson, had arrived and assured me that Mom and I were welcome.
Mom arrived in tears. We sat on the couch just hugging each other. When our tears finally stopped, we had supper with Max and his parents. Max showed Mom to the guest room, while he and I went to his bedroom. Nobody had said anything about the fact that Max and I would be sleeping together. At least nobody complained about it.
When we were ready to go to bed, Max found me an extra toothbrush. I pointed out that I had no PJs and he said not to worry, that he never wore them. We went into the bathroom together, peed, and brushed our teeth before going back to his room.
Max closed the door and began to take off his clothes. I’d spent time with him, but I’d never seen him without his shirt on. When he took it off I could see he was clearly beginning to develop some muscles which made me feel even scrawnier. I wondered if I would ever grow any muscles.
Reluctantly, I took off my shirt and then my pants, so I was standing in just my underwear.
He watched me and I blushed.
“Has anyone ever told you that you’re beautiful?” he asked.
“Hell, no,” I said. “I’m little and scrawny and ugly.”
“Well, you’re not big yet so your muscles haven’t begun to develop, but you’re not scrawny or ugly, and as far as I’m concerned, you’re just about perfect.”
I could see there was a growing bulge in his underwear, and to be honest, there was one in mine as well. I tried to hide it, but short of obviously covering it with my hands there was nothing I could do.
“You don’t need to hide it,” he said, seeing my discomfort and the reason for it. “I like everything about you.” With that he climbed into bed and motioned for me to join him.
With the shock of the fire and the uncertainty of my future, I was exhausted and quickly fell asleep.
We both slept late the next morning. When I woke up, Max was spooned against my back and his arm was reaching around and across my chest. I could feel his hard cock against my butt.
I stirred and he woke.
“I’ve gotta pee,” I said.
“So do I,” he replied.
We quietly rose and went into the bathroom where we stood at the toilet, holding our boners, with our streams crossing.
“I haven’t done that with another guy since I was eight,” he said, grinning.
“Me either,” I agreed.
Back in his room we stood facing each other. We stood for I don’t know how long, maybe a minute before, without a word, he reached down to my undershorts and found my hard little cock and balls.
I was surprised and shocked.
“Are you okay with this?” he asked.
“I’m not sure,” I said.
“Well, tell me to stop if you get uncomfortable.”

The steel door slammed shut behind Robbie. Even for a visitor like him there was an echoing finality about the sound.
“You sure about this whole idea?” Ken asked. “It was being political that got you into trouble in the first place, you know. If you hadn’ta felt like you had to ‘engage’ these guys—”
Robbie pointed an aluminum crutch at him. “Stop being so maternal or I’m gonna shove this up your ass.”
“I bet I’d actually feel it, which is more than I can say about your dick.”
Robbie started to respond, but his heart was not in it. The two of them, along with Murphy, were walking down a brick-walled corridor of Suffolk County Jail. With its lumbering guards and low ceiling, this place was just too oppressive for jokes.
The visitors’ room was empty except for the three people they had come to see. “Wait here,” Murphy said and then went over to speak with his clients. It was clear why Murphy had made them stand at the door. The prisoners were all immediately shouting and arguing with their attorney, gesturing at Ken and Robbie.
When things calmed down, Murphy called them over. A guard with a nightstick hanging at his side took up a position behind the prisoners. Despite everything that had happened, this was actually Robbie’s first good look at his attackers. They were kids, just like him, maybe eighteen or nineteen. Switch their prison orange for blue jeans and there would be no telling them from any other teenager.
“Okay, Robbie,” said Murphy, “I’ve explained to the guys what your proposal is and they’ve agreed to hear you out.”
All three prisoners had folded their hands and sat back, watching with disdain and feigned boredom. Robbie almost laughed. He found that he was not scared of them at all. This would be almost too easy. Not like this morning in the DA’s office.
***
“Are you forgetting what those animals did?” Markham shouted. His anger sounded all the more palpable because of his broad East Texas accent, so out of place here in his Boston District Attorney’s office.
Robbie tried to respond forcefully, but managed more of a squeak. “I just d-don’t think that—”
“You ain’t thinkin’ at all.”
Greg Markham was handsome, even now, with an intense scowl defacing the jovial smile that defined his usual camera-ready image. His rough, mature, good looks and rustic manner had made him a star in Massachusetts politics. Now, Robbie was seeing him in a way the public never did. And this Greg Markham was scary.
Robbie managed to say, “It’s just not fair to my way of think—”
“It’s the fairest thing in the fuckin’ world you little shit! They bust you up, I put ’em away and the public gets to see justice at work. End of story. Everyone’s happy.” Markham turned to one of the assistant DA’s and said, “Can you believe this little idjit?”
Ken’s hold on his hand tightened. Robbie squeezed back reassuringly. Then, he told Markham, “Charging them with a hate crime isn’t right. It’s just a way of punishing them for what they think and I’m not going to be a part of that.”
The speed with which Markham whirled at him was unbelievable. “Don’t tell me what you want. This is my trial. We gonna do things my way! You just do as you’re told.”
And that right there flicked a switch in Robbie. The man’s contempt and refusal to take him seriously was just too much. Before he understood why, he had exploded out of his chair and was leaning across the prosecutor’s desk, nose to nose with the big man.
Robbie spoke slowly. “I know your type, Markham. You’re just too glad to steamroll three punks so you can say, ‘See? Justice’. Your problem is that if you don’t make it a hate crime, then you don’t get the headlines so you can show the world how great you are. You think I don’t know what all this is really about?”
Was that a flicker of guilt in Markham’s gray eyes?
“I read the papers,” Robbie continued. “I know you want to be governor. I know this case is just a tick you need for your resume so you can get liberals to vote for you. You don’t care if it means those guys gotta do two years extra just for thinking bad thoughts.” Robbie’s injured right leg was hurting now, but he refused to sit. “I also know that you can’t win without me or my boyfriend. If we decide we’re not testifying, then you don’t even have a regular old-fashioned assault conviction. I bet that’d go over well with the voters. And you know what? I don’t care if those three guys go free, it’d be worth it to cost you a few points in your election, you pompous piece of shit.”
Markham backed away, a hand holding his forehead, like he’d just been hit by the world’s biggest headache. He signaled to his two assistants and they left. He said, “Ken, I need to speak to Robbie alone. Could you give us some time?”
Ken looked over at Robbie. He clearly did not want to go.
“I’d just tell him everything afterwards anyways,” said Robbie.
“Not this. This has to be just you and me,” said Markham. “Please.”
Robbie could barely believe that Greg Markham had told him ‘please’. “Okay,” Robbie said.
“You sure?” Ken asked, surprised.
“Yeah, I’ll be fine.”
When the door had closed behind Ken, Markham walked around his desk to Robbie and sat on the edge of it. “I think you need to be educated a little bit more about how this world works,” Markham said. He started taking off his jacket.
“This supposed to scare me or something?”
“Just be quiet,” said Markham, unbuttoning his left cuff. He thrust his arm under Robbie’s face and pulled back the sleeve. The scars were unmistakable: the word ‘faggot’ scrawled across the skin.
Robbie could say nothing as he digested just what Markham was telling him.
“But— but you’re married!” he finally blurted.
“Yeah, I’m married. That was a choice I had to make. Tough choices is what life is about. Except you kids don’t know shit about making choices.”
Robbie could not stop staring at the jagged letters in front of him.
Markham continued, “Life isn’t about what makes you happy. It’s about what works. That’s what you don’t understand. The ones who did this to me thirty years ago were just like the ones who came after you. And someday they’re gonna go after someone else if we don’t stop them now. Stop them hard.”
With a tenderness that stunned Robbie, Markham reached out and held his chin. “You know, you’re so beautiful,” the man told him. “You’re young and bright and there’s no weight on your shoulders like with me. If you don’t stop these guys now, they’re going to keep coming back until they’ve taken all that from you.”
“They can’t,” Robbie said.
“Bullshit. This thing on my arm? They carved that with a piece of chicken wire. Had to press it good an’ hard to get it done. I can still remember what every moment of that felt like. Don’t tell me about what they can and can’t take from you, boy…”
Robbie could tell Markham was about to blow his top again. As the man continued to speak, Robbie limped over to him.
"…warning you about. Time after time—"
With a swift hug, pressing into the big man’s chest, Robbie silenced him. Tentatively, Markham slid his hand across Robbie’s back and returned the pressure.
“I’m sorry I misread you,” Robbie said when he finally pulled away.
“So you understand?”
“I understand,” said Robbie. “I still don’t agree with you, but I understand.”
“Then why—"
“Look, you basically said it yourself. Your way is the way things used to be. What guys like you had to put up with back then, I respect that, but this is a different world and—"
“The world doesn’t change that easily, son.”
“Maybe. But I still know what I consider fair and I want you to do things my way. Just give it a shot, okay?”
As he buttoned his shirt back up, Markham said, “It’s a tough man that can keep his principles after he’s had his teeth knocked in. I respect that. I’ll do this your way because of that, if nothing else.”
*** 
“It’s real simple,” Robbie told the three prisoners. “I’ve convinced the DA to drop the hate crimes charge. That’s a lot of prison time I’ve saved you.”
“And what do you want in return, pervert? A night with us?”
“Nothing. I just wanted to come here so you can see that people like me, no matter how much you try to degrade us, we’re still people. I wanted to look you in the eyes so you could see that we’ve got feelings and ideas and codes of honor and everything else that makes people human.”
The one in the middle glared at Robbie, but said nothing. The one on the left stared into space. The one on the right, though, he said, “I’m supposed to respect you now? That it?”
Ken answered before Robbie could. “Maybe you’re too dumb to get it, asshole. Let me simplify it for you a little, okay? If it was up to me, I’d stick your bitch ass in a cell till Jesus comes back, but my boy here’s too nice for his own good. So when you get out of prison earlier than you deserve, I want you to remember that you owe your freedom to a faggot.”
The prisoner Ken was talking to jumped to his feet right then. The guard behind him pressed him right back into his chair. “Siddown, motherfucker!"
“I think it’s time you left,” Murphy said. “You got what you came for, right?”
“Right,” said Robbie.
***
Outside, in the parking lot, Ken started crying.
“Dude,” said Robbie, lifting his boyfriend’s head up, “Dude, relax, it’s cool.”
“I’m sorry, Robbie. I know you wanted to do that all dignified and proper, but I just couldn’t take it no more. I—"
“I understand.”
“No, you don’t.”
“Huh?”
Ken looked at him with guilt on his face. “When you told me what you wanted to do at the DA’s office, I went along with it because you seemed so serious, but in there, all I could remember was that night. How I felt so useless, you know, watching while they kicked you over and over.”
“They were holding you, Ken, I don’t—"
“Doesn’t change how I felt, not being able to do anything about it. And now, now that I can do something about it, I want to pound them into the ground! I want to make them pay every price there is to pay.”
“See, this is why my way is better,” said Robbie putting a light hand on Ken’s back. “My Ken, the Ken I love, is a different guy from what you’re describing. Once you think about this a little bit, you’ll see I’m right and you’ll be glad we did this.”
“But what if we’re wrong?” Ken asked, taking Robbie’s crutches from him and sticking them in the back of the little gray Hyundai.
“We’re not. Remember the guy sitting on the left? The one who didn’t say anything the whole time?”
“Yeah.”
“When we were leaving, he looked right at me, just for a second and he moved his lips. He said, ‘I’m sorry.’”
“No kidding?”
“No kidding,” said Robbie. “Now get in the car and take me for a burger. I’m starving.”

“There they are!” Matt cried out as he stood and waved to the group that had just entered the bar.
Kerri grinned. “So I’m finally going to get to meet the people you work with. I’ve been wondering if they were figments of your imagination, and you’re actually a janitor at NASA and not a psychologist.”
Matt gave her a quick peck on the cheek and then showed her his palms. “Do these look like the hands of an environmental superintendent?”
She took his hands and turned them over, revealing the dirty fingernails that were left over from their overnight camping trip. She grinned. “Yes.”
He clutched his chest theatrically. “Got me!”
They were still chuckling when the others reached their table.
“Everyone, I’d like you to meet Kerri Ricardo. Kerri, meet everyone.”
The newcomers, three guys and two girls, smiled and offered various greetings. The girls took the chairs at the end of the table, while the guys sat opposite Kerri and Matt. As they sat down, the guy in the middle, a trim young man in his late twenties whose blond streaks gave the impression that he would be more at home on a beach than in a crowded bar, reached over to shake Kerri’s hand. “G’day, Kerri. Matt’s told us a lot about you. Some of us have been wondering why he’s been hiding you away, but I can see why. He was afraid of the competition wanting to steal you away.” His smile showed he wasn’t being serious.
Kerri grinned. “Thanks. You must be Sam.”
Sam cocked an eyebrow and flicked a glance at Matt before returning the grin. “What gave it away?”
“Your accent. Matt told me that despite living in Houston for six years, you still sound like an Aussie.”
“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”
One of the other guys answered. “A good thing, especially when it comes time to find a date. Hi, I’m Rod.” He glanced around the room. “And unless I’m very much mistaken, you’ll get to see Jailbait in all his glory tonight.”
Sam frowned but didn’t say anything. Instead, he reached for the serving unit and placed his drink order.
“Jailbait?” Kerri gave Matt a puzzled look, as it was obvious that Sam was well over any age of consent.
“Jailbait is Sam’s nickname in the unit.” Matt continued when he saw that Kerri was still perplexed. “I’ve told you what we do at the space center.”
She nodded. “You’re evaluating the couples being selected for the Alpha Centauri mission.”
“That’s right. It’s a one way trip, and by far the longest manned mission NASA has ever undertaken, so there’s a lot of effort being put into the psychological profiles, to make sure the group will have long-term stability. Sam’s doctoral thesis was on group dynamics in isolated populations, and that’s how he got invited to work for NASA, and why he’ll probably be my boss when Dr. Klingston announces his successor next week.”
One of the girls rolled her eyes. “Matt, you talk too much without saying anything.” She smiled at Kerri. “I’m Opal, and this is my partner Rachel. Sam got his nickname because he’s so good looking and such an all around nice guy that he’s almost irresistible to anyone who’s attracted to guys. His research showed that the best candidates for the mission would be couples in long-term monogamous relationships, so it was made clear that to avoid any sexual tension ruining the mission only committed couples could apply. Just by working closely with the candidates, he’s eliminated four couples because three girls and one guy hit on him. That’s more than anyone else on the team.”
Sam’s head was bowed. “That’s not a record to be proud of.”
The other guy took Sam’s chin and forced him to make eye contact. “On the contrary, you should be very proud of what you’ve achieved. I know you’re disappointed that your own research eliminated any chance of you going to AC, but you’ve done everything in your power to maximize the chances that the mission will be a success. That’s why everyone knows you’ll be promoted to Director of Psychological Evaluations, even though you’re only twenty-nine. No one, and I mean no one, has put in more effort to ensure that the final group of astronauts selected will be as psychologically compatible and stable as possible.”
Sam gave him a weak smile. “Thanks, Paul. I owe you one.”
Paul grinned. “You can pay me back tonight by attracting a nice hunky guy for me to meet. It’s been too long since I broke up with my last boyfriend.”
Sam gave Paul a playful punch in the arm. “Is that all I am to you? A guy magnet?”
Rod protested. “Of course not! Now that Matt’s attached, you’re also a girl magnet for this lonely heterosexual on the team.”
Matt caught Sam’s eye. “Is it okay to tell her?”
Sam rolled his eyes and then nodded. “Go ahead. Everyone else knows, so she might as well know, too.”
Matt turned to Kerri. “I told you how Sam’s research was on group dynamics in isolated populations–”
“You’re still talking too much, Matt,” Opal jeered.
Without looking, Matt flipped a finger at her. “Well, he was over the moon when he was asked to join NASA as a junior psychologist on the team that would come up with a short list of six couples for the crew of the Endeavour. He made no bones about the fact he wanted to go, and was devastated when he realized that, being single, he wasn’t eligible.”
Kerri’s forehead wrinkled. “Didn’t you tell me that they were looking for couples that had been together for five years? If that was six years ago, maybe he could have found someone…”
Matt shook his head. “Nope, that wasn’t an option.”
Kerri looked at where Sam was chatting with Rod and Paul. “Why not? He’d have no trouble at all meeting someone — he really is as good looking as you said.”
Matt glanced around and lowered his voice. “Because he knew it wouldn’t work out. The whole point of picking monogamous couples was to avoid sexual tensions destroying the group. That would be difficult if one member of a couple is asexual.”
Kerri blinked. “Asexual? What’s that?”
Matt put his arm around her and pulled her close. “Despite his great looks and charming personality, Sam’s not interested in sex. He got the bad end of the normal distribution curve, with his sex drive being so low that it’s essentially non-existent. However, he’s quite content being single, and doesn’t seem to mind that he doesn’t have a partner. He complains about people hitting on him at times, which is why he doesn’t come out drinking with us very often, but you couldn’t find a stronger and more loyal friend.”
Kerri sighed. “How sad,” she said softly.
“I know, but he doesn’t agree. We’ve talked about it a few times — he’s pretty open about his situation — and he really does seem to be happy with his life. Opal wasn’t being quite truthful when she said that Sam has eliminated four couples from the program. The real number is much higher, even if he may not realize it. Opal, Rod, Paul and I have taken notice of anyone who hasn’t gotten along well with Sam. In every single case, we’ve dug into why and found issues with that person. Two thirds have been eliminated from the program as a result, and the other third have managed to resolve their problems, usually having to do with jealousy and insecurity.”
Their quiet conversation was interrupted by Sam standing up and attracting everyone’s attention.
Sam smiled. “I’ve got some good news to share, if you’re interested.”
“Sam, spill it now, or…”
Sam grinned at Opal. “Or what?”
She grinned back. “You probably don’t want to know.”
Sam laughed. “No, I probably don’t. Anyway, Andy — Dr. Klingston, our boss,” he said in an aside to Kerri, “was telling me that approval’s been given for a second interstellar mission; this time to Barnard’s Star. It’s due to be announced officially next week, at the same time as he announces the final six couples, and the three backups, for the Centauri mission. They’ll start building the laser launch facilities near Mercury later this year, and we all get to start evaluating new candidates soon afterwards. He didn’t actually say, but he implied that the candidates who don’t make the Centauri mission will be on the trip to Barnard’s Star in seven years’ time.”
Matt chuckled. “So Dr. Klingston gets to go out with a bang. The final crew selection for the current mission, announcing his successor, and the news of the next mission, all at the same press conference.”
They chatted for a few more minutes about work, and then Sam steered the conversation to other topics, allowing Kerri to join in.
They were arguing about the best places to go for a vacation when a tall, statuesque blonde interrupted them. “Excuse me, but someone told me that y’all are from the space center. Are you astronauts?”
While Rod smiled and answered, Matt leaned over to whisper to Kerri. “It’s started. Notice how she’s not really looking at Rod, how all her attention is on Sam? He’ll let her down gently, and then another girl or two will try. After they fail, there’s usually one or two guys who think that means Sam’s gay, and make their move. It happens almost every time we come here. Rod and Paul have a chance of picking up Sam’s rejects, but that’s hit-and-miss.”
Kerri sighed. “I think it’s sad, but each to their own. If Sam’s happy, then that’s the only important thing.”
…oooOOOooo…
Matt gritted his teeth and tried again. That time the light went on.
“I really don’t know why I have to do this,” he said as he stood up and let Hans Schmidt have a turn at the CPR manikin.
“Because first aid training is always useful,” Sam said as he watched Hans start CPR. “At the moment, I’m the only one in our unit who has that training, and I don’t think that’s good enough. Since we’re doing refresher training for the Endeavour candidates, I suggested to Andy that someone else should join in. He agreed, and you lost the draw.”
Hans completed the test and Sam waved the next candidate forward.
Hans grinned at Matt. “Just be happy that you have Sam here as the instructor. You could have had Petra!”
Matt switched instantly from student to psychologist. “Why? Your wife is a charming person, not like this slave driver,” he said, waving a hand towards Sam. He was concerned, as Dr. Petra Schmidt was the only medical doctor in the nine couples left in the program. Potential marital problems could eliminate a couple who were considered a certainty for the mission to Alpha Centauri.
“Petra is indeed a charming person, and I’m very glad she’s mine, but when she turns on her clinician side, she is hard nosed and precise. She’d fail you for not keeping a constant rhythm or taking too long to give the poor dummy a breath.” He smiled as he stared at where his wife was admonishing one of the other crew candidates. “Wonderful traits in a surgeon, but difficult ones if you’re her student.”
Matt relaxed. He knew the conversation was being recorded, and others would review the comments, but he didn’t believe anything would change. It was just a friendly comment, and not something that indicated a deeper issue.
“Are you looking forward to your first trial at cold sleep next week?” Matt asked.
Hans shuddered. “Not really. I know it’s supposed to be safe, and the trip isn’t feasible without something to slow the aging process, but the idea of spending a week close to death isn’t one that thrills me. Petra’s told me there’s nothing to worry about, but I hope you’ll excuse me if I say I’m not going to be comfortable with the idea until after I’m been through it.”
Matt chuckled. “You sound just like me. I said almost the same thing when they told us that the entire psychology team was going to have to experience the process before you guys tried it. They said it would help us appreciate how you’d feel, and they were right. I know exactly what you’re feeling right now.”
“What was it like?”
Matt scratched his head. “Hard to say. As they keep saying, it was just like falling asleep. I don’t remember any dreams, just waking up a week later with a dry mouth and a mild headache. I felt weak, too, but they explained that the plan for you guys is to spend a couple of weeks in cold sleep, and then a week out, to help keep the body in shape and stop the muscles from atrophying.”
Hans nodded. “That’s what they said to us, too. Then Petra got into a detailed discussion on what medical issues may crop up, and the rest of us got left behind almost immediately.” He chuckled. “I think Petra is hoping to write a paper on the subject while we’re en route — that is, if we’re on the final list,” he said, raising an eyebrow.
Matt laughed. “Nice try, but no, I don’t know who’s going. I really wouldn’t want to try to guess, either, because I think you all deserve the chance.”
Hans shrugged. “It was worth a try. Any word on Sam’s promotion?”