Debate Dinner Party
"You know, I’ve had nightmares like this."
We all laughed, and I had to agree with him. After all, haven’t we all had the nightmares about standing in a classroom in nothing but our underwear?
It wasn’t actually that bad though. It was about 6pm on a Saturday evening, so the only people in the room—probably in this part of the school—were the eight of us in the room, and, because none of us had on anything more than our briefs right then, we didn‘t have anything to be embarrassed about (though the kid in the green bikini briefs came close). There was a reason we were all standing there like that, though. We were about to go to dinner.
None of us went to this school. The reason we were there on a Saturday afternoon is that we’d all just finished a debate tournament. I can’t even tell you what tournament it was, but I can tell you who was there.
I met a lot of guys from different schools while I was a debater and became friends with several of them. While there were a lot of different schools that came to debate tournaments, (I think some of the bigger tournaments had over sixty schools competing from several different states), this group was made up of guys from just four schools. Bransom was actually the furthest school from Dallas. Half the guys in the room were actually from private schools in Dallas, and the other three were from a public school in an upper class suburb right outside of it.
I’d actually put the group together. While everybody knew everybody else, they were all friends of mine. We’d all been at a tourney together the week before, we all knew we’d be at this one, and so I’d suggested we do something outside of tournaments.
The eight of us represented six teams at four schools. After the last of us had been eliminated, we’d gone to our cars and were now changing for dinner and…. I think we ended up going to Bryant’s house and shooting pool that night.
I liked all these guys because we had stuff in common, and they were smart as well as fun to talk to. I’d started talking to them, though, because they were good looking.
I’d known John the longest, and he was the only one of them I’d ever seen undressed before. Well, a little more than that, since we’d become lovers over a year before. John was about six weeks older than me, which would have made him about three months shy of seventeen. He was probably the least good looking boy there (well, besides me), with his mousy brown hair, watery blue eyes, and average features; but he was also a little smaller than me, at about 5’8", and had managed to still hold on to cute.
I also felt sorry for John. Have you ever seen Dead Poets' Society? John had one of those very controlling fathers. John’s interests and desires didn’t really matter much because his father already had the next ten years or so of his life planned out. .That’s not to say that John wasn’t allowed to have any fun. His dad pretty much required him to be active in the church youth group, Scouts, baseball, and Junior Achievement, as well as debate, because they’d all look good on his college application. The fact that John did enjoy most of those was only a bonus as far as his father was concerned. The downside was that, since he was just too busy for grounding, he was punished with the belt as long as he lived at home.
(Just for the record, John let his parents pay for his first year at college, but he never went back after he left).
Bryant was from the same major private school that John attended, and he was the youngest boy there. He was also the prettiest boy there. I’d known Bryant for about a year at that time and had been shocked to find out that he’d only been in eighth grade his novice year. He was now barely fourteen and a freshman. He was incredibly smart and talented (and only mildly arrogant about it), and he was fun to hang with.
I’d been judging a novice elim round the year before when I saw (and fell in love with) Bryant. He was wearing a fairly standard preppy uniform of khaki slacks, penny loafers, a white Ralph Lauren button down, and a navy blue blazer, with a plaid tie. With his thick blond hair and green eyes, he’d looked great. Even realizing he’d only been thirteen when I first met him, he still wasn’t especially tall, but he’d looked so cute it didn’t matter.
When it comes to spanking issues, it was hard to talk to these guys about it. First of all because, no matter how curious I was, we were in high school where most guys were past their last spanking. The other thing was, especially for older kids, it’s kind of an intensely personal, somewhat embarrassing, issue. Because I ran into these guys just at debate tournaments, and since we were all busy debating, it was hard to find the time to casually bring the discussion around to things like that.
I’d known Bryant for a year or so at that point, and it took almost another year for me to finally get a comment from him. Even then, the only reason it happened was because he didn’t have a license yet, and I was taking him home. I don’t remember exactly how it started, but I do recall his response.
****************************************
"My mom doesn’t believe in spanking," he replied to my comment, leaning his head against the seat.
"So you’ve never been spanked?" I asked, just a bit incredulously.
"I didn’t say that," he replied. "My Dad believes in it just fine. Mom just made things harder, really."
"On you or on your dad?"
"On me!"
I glanced over at him and smiled. "How does her not believing in spanking make it harder on you?"
"Well, when I was little, Mom didn’t mind him spanking me too much. Sometimes she even gave me a swat, but hers didn’t really hurt. The thing is, the older I got, the more she complained."
"What I hated worst was, she’d always wanna come in after he spanked me and make sure I was okay."
"Why’s that bad?"
Despite his blond hair, Bryant isn’t real fair skinned. Still, rather than answer he just turned a charming shade of red and glared at me.
"Dad spanked your bare butt?"
He nodded.
"And mom didn’t wait for you to get dressed before she came in?"
He nodded again.
"So anyway, I think I was almost twelve, and I guess Dad musta spanked me real hard or something. Anyway, I was crying pretty hard but trying to cover my dick and tell her to go away, and Dad was trying to get her to leave me alone for a while, and she was yelling at him for ‘beating’ me. Tcha, like he really beat me. Anyway, that was the last time Dad ever spanked me at home."
"I don’t really see how that makes it harder."
Bryant gave me a look like he thought I was a bit of a moron.
"I didn’t say it was the last time he spanked me. I said it was the last time he spanked me at home. After that, if I got in trouble he took me up to his health club. Even though he let me go play handball with him sometimes, and I knew where everything was, he kept his hand on the back of my neck like I was gonna get lost or run away. Anyway, he’d get the manager to let him borrow an empty massage room for a few minutes, and we’d go back there and he’d spank me there. It woulda been a lot better if we coulda just done it in my room; especially since I know at least once this guy about your age must have heard me getting it."
"Howd’ja know that?"
"I could tell by the way he was looking at me. I never really knew what a smirk was ‘til then."
"He spanked you at the health club…. What’d he use? His belt?"
"No… he played handball." Bryant didn’t SAY ‘dumbass!’, but it was clearly understood.
"So, when you got in trouble, your dad would take you to the club, get a private room, spank your bare butt, then take you home again?"
"Yeah. Thank God the club was only like five minutes from the house, or I woulda gone bugfuck."
"And your mom was okay with that?"
"I guess it wasn’t so bad if she couldn’t hear me crying."
"You know," Bryant said after a moment’s thought, "I still don’t really like going up there to play handball, and Dad hasn’t spanked me in… pretty near two years, I’ll bet."
**************************************
I looked around as I was changing. All of us had worn nice, expensive clothes to the tournament and were putting them carefully away as we changed. I was glancing around as much as I could, trying to take in the sight of all these cute guys in nothing but briefs, and storing it so I could enjoy them again tonight.
Even as I was thinking about Bryant, wondering if he’d been spanked and how long it might have been, Chris made some comment to him, drawing my eyes in his own direction.
Chris looked really good in nothing but the white cotton, which clung snugly to a very fine rear end. Despite the fact that he was almost a year younger than me, Chris was the tallest guy in the room, at just over six feet. He was lean, but not quite boyishly thin anymore, since he was starting to fill out in the chest and had definite hips. On the other hand, his legs were almost smooth. Nearly as smooth as his chest and belly, I realized as he turned around. The shocking thing was, even with his height, the front of his briefs weren’t nearly as well packed as the back.
Chris’ body wasn’t quite boyish anymore, but he had a very boyish face. He wore his dark brown hair in bangs that didn‘t quite cover his dark blue eyes, and he had full cheeks. If you could get past the fact that he was six foot tall, he was just cute.
**************************************
Chris had never shied away from talking about spankings. I’d met him the year before when he was a freshman because I was talking to another guy I knew from the same Catholic school. Chris and I kept talking when the other guy left, and ended up stepping outside for a smoke. The conversation lagged while we lit up, so I forced a small laugh.
"What’s funny?" Chris asked.
"I started smoking a little when I was pretty young, but I quit for a long time. When I was…. twelve, I guess, my step-dad caught me and wore my butt out."
Chris nearly coughed on an inhale, then laughed himself.
"I think I was eleven when it happened to me," he admitted, after he’d quit coughing. "That was the first time Dad spanked me with the brush."
"Your dad spanks you with a hairbrush?" I asked, a bit surprised, since I‘d always thought of that as a ‘mom‘ implement..
"Not anymore," he asserted with a blush that made me doubt he was being honest. "And it wasn’t a hairbrush, it was a clothes brush." Now he paused for a second and looked a bit disgusted. "As a matter of fact, for my first overnight tournament, the sumbitch gave me the one he used to spank me with."
It took a while, but I got Chris to explain that, before being caught with cigarettes, his dad had always hand spanked him. Sometimes it had been just on his pants (mostly when Mom was mad at him, but Dad didn’t think it was that big a deal), and occasionally on his bare butt, but usually on his briefs.
"Even when he let me keep my pants on, he could make me cry," Chris had admitted disgustedly, so I don’t know why he ever had to make me take my clothes off."
It was hard not to laugh at the look on his face, as I pointed out that, even if it didn’t hurt more or longer, it probably made his Dad feel better.
"Yeah, but it didn’t make me feel better, and that’s how he did it every time with that damned brush."
"Do you still carry it?"
He blushed again, but admitted he did. "Dad doesn’t travel much anymore, but he does sometimes. He’d flip if he asked for it back, and I didn’t have it."
I never did forget that blush when Chris denied getting spanked anymore, and occasionally tried to tease more details out of him. It was only months after that debate dinner that he finally convinced me that he’d been telling the truth. Not only that, but it was the same day I finally found out the truth of that small package he was carrying up front.
We were at a tournament in the Metroplex. The school was still in session, so everyone was confined to the cafeteria. When I saw Chris walk in, I waved to him. When we got close, he stuck out his hand, I reached up to shake, and he scratched the palm of my hand. I don’t know if that means anything now or if it did other places, but then and there, that was a ‘subtle’ way of letting someone know you wanted to have sex with them. My eyes went wide, he gave me a shit-eating grin, and I finally managed to choke something out.
"Isn’t this a little public?"
He laughed before agreeing we should probably find someplace a little quieter.
After school released, there was an opening assembly, then we all broke up for the individual events. Chris and I were both entered in extemporaneous speaking, which was in the first round. When we’d finished that, we had nearly two hours left before debate started. We found ourselves just walking around the school and came to the end of a corridor that ended in an exit.
"Well, if you want privacy, I guess it’s not going to get any better than this."
Because debate is done in two pairs, it takes a lot more room than the other events, so until debate started, the events were confined to the area by the cafeteria, on the far side of the school.
Chris smiled at me in a nervous leer that said he knew what I meant, but wasn’t sure if I was joking, but he pushed into one of the classrooms. He let that door shut, then went across the hall and waved for me to join him. In the one he chose, the teacher’s desk couldn’t be seen from the hallway.
"So," he said, after crossing the room and leaning up against the teacher’s desk. "What do you want to do?"
"You asked me, Chris. What’d you have I mind?"
He licked his lips and was silent, so I went on.
"I figure we could jerk each other off or trade blow jobs."
"You really want to?"
"Sure," I said with a nod and a shrug.
I figured it was safe to push a bit. He’d asked me and then brought it up again (at least more directly than I had). Even if he was just joking, I could always claim I’d been doing the same, and it wasn’t like he was going to go around telling people that I’d said yes when he’d made a pass at me.
"Blow each other?"
We talked for a minute, then Chris went and looked down the hall. When he came back, I was sitting in the teacher’s chair, but had it moved away from the desk, by a cabinet that would give some privacy in event of emergency. I waited rather more impatiently than I wanted to show, as Chris undid his belt and fly and then shoved his navy slacks and white briefs down a bit.
He was already hard, and it was such a cute little dick. He was almost as thick as I was, but shorter—maybe only four inches—which was very cute considering that he was at least three inches taller than me. His dick probably looked even a bit smaller than it was since his balls were as big as mine but hung lower.
I leaned forward and flicked my tongue around the head, then behind the corona, and into that little ‘V’ on the bottom of the head, before taking him all the way into my mouth. He tensed and gasped as soon as I touched him, but slowly relaxed.
The great thing about Chris’ size was that I could easily take all of him into my mouth. The bad part was, he was short enough I kept running my nose into his thick, dark patch of curly hair.
After a couple of minutes, I let him slide out of my mouth and stood up. Chris looked a bit disappointed for a second, but he smiled and nodded at me, then pulled his pants up a bit and sat down, looking as excited as I felt, while he watched me undo my trousers. As soon as I was exposed, he leaned forward.
Chris was pretty obviously not experienced, but he was enthusiastic and did a decent job of repeating the moves I’d used on him. And let’s face it, the worst blowjob I ever had was fantastic. Chris was far from the worst, and the fact that I was looking down at a really cute guy that I liked made it even better.
I don’t know how long it went on. We’d wandered the halls for a while, and it’s not like I’d checked my watch before we started. I’d guess we went thirty or forty minutes, taking turns, slowly building each other up, then stopping, before we finally couldn’t stand it anymore and came. Fortunately, Chris was carrying a handkerchief so we could clean up without using the Kleenexes on the teacher’s desk (which I always found to stick and itch too much).
Once we were presentable again, we went outside and walked around to the front of the school, pausing for a smoke and a breath mint. We weren’t exactly shy, but not exactly comfortable with each other, either. Finally, as we were quietly finishing our cigarettes, I thought of something that just seemed askable now.
"Hey, Chris. Remember telling me how your dad used to spank you with that clothes brush?"
"Yeah," he said, a bit iffy, like he didn’t exactly remember telling me, but knew what I meant.
"You really didn’t get it anymore last year?"
"Nope," he assured me. Then blushed. "I only got in bad trouble twice last year—once for shoplifting and once for getting into some booze at a friend of mine’s house—and didn’t get the hairbrush either time." He paused and looked away from me. "I got the belt for those."
Now THAT was believable.
**************************************
Hugh was Chris’ debate partner, and the two of them made something of a Mutt and Jeff team. Where Chris was tall, dark, and still rather boyish, Hugh was only about 5’6" or so, but there was nothing of boyishness about him. His hair was dark blond and curly, but he wore it smoothed back. His face (and his body, I realized, as I looked over to see him standing in his briefs, hanging his slacks and coat on a wooden hanger) were lean and firm. And by lean, I don’t mean skinny. Hugh wasn’t fully developed yet, but he had a rippled stomach and some real definition in the chest, just lacking something in the shoulders and hips to show he was still adolescent. He did have a waist, though, and a fine rear end.
Hugh not only looked pretty mature, but acted it as well. He would smoke and even sneak an occasional drink, but he seemed to avoid the childish locker room banter most teenage boys slipped into so easily. On the other hand, after you got to know him, after he came to trust you, there was something needy in Hugh. It wasn’t until my senior year that I found out what.
**************************************
We’d gone to a party after the last tournament of the season. Chris and I had had a drink or two. Hugh had had a drink or two too many. I was driving Hugh home, and Chris was following us in Hugh’s car. Hugh was definitely not sober, but he wasn’t sloppy drunk either. He was just feeling very good (and sipping on a large bottle of tomato juice I’d bought him, to help cushion the very bad hangover he’d probably be feeling the next morning).
"You know, Hugh," I told him, "I know you’re too old; but your dad really should take a belt to you for this—maybe get you to act a little more careful next time."
"I live with my grandparents."
"Oh," I replied thoughtfully, not sure if I should ask anything more.
‘Grandpa’d do it, though. Maybe even now," he added, after a short pause.
"You know," Hugh said after taking a long drink, "I never got spanked ‘til I was eleven-years-old."
Hugh was talking cautiously, as people sometimes will when they’re afraid their words are going to start slurring, so it was actually easier to understand him than normal.
"How did that happen?" I asked curiously.
"Mom didn’t believe in it. She was a hippy. We traveled around a lot and she was teaching me herself. When I was eleven," he paused and thought for a second, "maybe still ten, she got busted for selling drugs. Nobody knew my dad, so they sent me to live with my grandparents."
"It was really nice in some ways. I got to live in the same place and go to a school and make friends and do stuff like play baseball and join the Scouts. All the stuff normal kids got to do that I never did; you know?"
I glanced over to see him looking at me, awaiting an answer, so I nodded.
"It was hard too, though. Can you imagine going to a Catholic school when you’ve never been to school at all before? I had to sit quietly, wear the uniform, and march around with all the other little drones. It wasn’t really bad, but it was so different."
He chuckled.
"I had a lot of trouble adjusting to it. I was pretty good at school, and they talked about moving me up a grade but decided it would be better to put me in my age group to give me time to adjust."
"Did you know we have more than once vice-principal? They have one for different age groups. When I first started, Mr. Slater was mine. I got sent to him a lot! It was funny because he was really nice and let me talk to him and he really listened, but then he’d bust my ass so hard I was afraid to sit down."
"At the end of the year, he called me into his office. I didn’t think I was in trouble, but that just made it scarier. He already had the paddle out when I walked in. Then he said, ‘Hugh, I think you’ve worn this paddle out, so I’m going to retire it and get a new one next year. Would you mind signing this one for me?"
"I thought he was joking, but I did it."
I glanced over to see him smiling to himself.
"I wasn’t in his group the next year, but he invited me into his office one day and showed me that he really had got a new paddle."
"It was different with Grandpa. I’d never been to school, so I expected that to be different, but home was even worse. Mostly I fought with Grandma because she was so protective. Didn’t want me to do anything fun. Always wanted to know exactly where I was. Then, instead of helping her do stuff like I did with Mom, she wanted to send me running around to do a bunch of chores. Does it really matter if my bed’s made or there’s stuff on my floor? She wouldn’t even let me do my own laundry but complained if I left clothes on the floor."
"Well, one day Grandpa got tired of listening to it, so he took me to my room, gave me a hard swat on the butt, and told me to get to it. I did it but was mad, and went right back to the same thing. After we’d done that a few times, he told me that I must not be learning a lesson, so he put me over his lap next time and spanked me. I think I even had jeans on, so it’s not like it really hurt, but still… You know?"
"Oh yeah," I assured him. I’d not had the problem with a spanking ‘not really hurt[ing]’, but I did understand that it could be more psychological then physical.
"I’d like to say that’s all it took, but I can be a little stubborn sometimes. I did try for a while, but it got boring…."
"And you went back to the same old thing."
"Yeah. And it’s not like it was all about cleaning my room. Some of it was just to prove who was in charge, but I did stuff to really get in trouble too; you know?"
"Anyway," he went on, not awaiting an answer this time, "after a while, he decided that wasn’t working either."
"Pants down?"
"Yup. I think it wasn’t long before my eleventh birthday that I moved in with them. It wasn’t long before my twelfth birthday that Grandpa was baring my butt every time I got spanked. And I guess I got a bunch of them for a while. At least he never used anything but his hand…. Well, except once."
"Oh?" I replied, turning towards him and raising an eyebrow.
"Yeah, which is why it’s funny Chris is driving my car home and you talked about me getting whipped. When we were freshman, Chris and I snuck some booze from Grandpa, and he caught us. He called Chris’ Dad to come get him, then he took me to my room, made me take my clothes off, and whipped me with his belt. God that hurt! I was screaming. And it was even worse because I just knew that Chris could hear the whole thing. The only reason I didn’t quit school or something was because Chris called me the next day and said…."
"That he got the same thing?"
Hugh turned to me.
"He told me about it. Just not that you were the other kid."
The conversation lagged after that, and we managed to get Hugh into the house without his grandparents noticing anything. I’m not sure if that was a bad thing or not.
**************************************
I was trying hard to pay attention to everyone. I wanted to see what was packing their briefs front and back. I was wishing they’d all have their back to me when they bent over to pull on their jeans. I was trying to memorize every detail of them I could. And I was trying to do all that while hanging up my own suit then dressing again, and without being obvious. A challenge? Yes. Impossible? Well, it seemed like I got away with it, anyway.
Mark was the oldest boy there. The only senior. He was one of the ones who went to the other public school. He was very definitely a good-looking guy. I later saw a picture of Marlon Brando when he was in high school, and it reminded me a little bit of Mark. He was about my height, with a similar build, and even similar coloring, since we both had brown hair and blue eyes, though his skin was slightly darker than mine, and his hair was straighter and just a bit longer.
Mark was also quiet and self-possessed. He was willing to talk and joke around, but I never got any real personal information from him. The most he ever said about spanking was to admit that he’d gotten some when he was ‘little’.
His partner was a different story, though. Mark was partnering with Birch, who was the third junior in the room and about six months older than me. I’d actually known Birch longer than I had John, since Birch and I had debated each other in our first two tournaments and split the record. The last member of our group was Birch’s little brother Jay, who at eighteen months younger than Birch, was a sophomore.
Birch and Jay resembled each other strongly, with the same blond hair, parted in the middle and feathered back. They both had the same sea-green eyes, though Birch wore gold, wire-framed glasses over his. They both had the same straight nose and wide mouth that opened in a quick, easy grin, but Birch had a bit more trouble with acne than his little brother, who had a wonderfully clear complexion.
The funniest thing about them was, Jay was about the same height as me, which put him two or three inches taller than his older brother. Jay was also about twenty pounds heavier than Birch, and it wasn’t flab. Where Birch was lean to the point of skinny, Jay had a firm, well-muscled build, though he wasn’t as ripped as Hugh. Where Birch had almost no butt at all, Jay had two discrete mounds that had the back of his green bikini briefs clinging to them.
On the other hand, Birch had one thing going for him his little brother didn’t. When Jay turned around, it was obvious he didn’t have a small hang, and it was defined enough to tell that he was at least a little happy about something; but Birch’s briefs were almost full to bursting. Even though there was no strain on the briefs to show Birch was hard, his dick was clearly outlined, and the head was touching his right hip. And if that was soft, I starting praying for the chance to see it hard.
**************************************
I’d first met Jay the year before when he was a novice. I’d been talking to Birch when the younger boy came up. You could tell the two of them were friends, but also that there was some rivalry, maybe even jealousy between the two of them. Jay spent a lot of time with kids his age, but also spent a fair amount of time hanging out with Birch, at least when I was around. I think part of that might have been because I kept them from sniping at each other.
I’d never been able to get much information from Birch about spanking in his family, but got the opening that December, at the last tournament of the year. One of them had been saying something about a younger cousin of theirs getting in trouble over Thanksgiving, which gave me an opening to mention spanking. Where I expected Birch to ignore it, Jay jumped all over it.
At first he told a story of being over at a friend’s house when the friend’s big brother got spanked, and they got to check it out afterwards. As that story came to a close, he started a new one on the same topic.
"Something like that happened to Birch one time."
"Oh, really?" I asked, trying not to sound too interested, while Birch tried to warn his little brother.
"Yeah, our cousin was staying with us for a couple of weeks one summer. He’s a little younger than me—just in eighth grade. Anyway, Birch kept bugging us, even after Dad warned him, so he finally got a spanking, and we got to watch it."
"Jay…" Birch said in a threatening tone.
"That must have been when you were little, though, right?" I asked.
"It was… three years ago, I think."
Which would have made Birch twelve, and it was hard for me to hide a smirk, thinking about that.
"Dad doesn’t spank us in front of each other very often, but that wasn’t the last time I got to see Birch get it. And even if I don’t see it, I can hear him get it in his room."
"You CAN hear… You guys don’t still get spanked do you?"
"Oh, no." Jay rushed to assure me, but Birch stepped in.
"I don’t still get spanked. I haven’t had one in two or three years now. On the other hand.… When was that you were arguing with Mom, little brother? Last weekend?"
"Nah, that’s something else, Birch."
"No, no. You wanted to tell Jack some cute stories, and this was hilarious. You should have been there, Jack," he added, turning to me.
"Mom told Jay he needed to do some stuff around the house before he went over to his friend’s house, but he’d already told his friend he was coming, so he started arguing with Mom and throwing a fit."
"C’mon, Birch," Jay pleaded, but Birch and I ignored him, and the younger boy turned a very cute shade of blush.
"So Dad finally got tired of it and told him to shut up and go do what mom told him."
"Well, he knew better than to keep going once Dad said something, but instead of just going off, he had to stomp away and he said… what was it, Jay?"
Jay stood silent, glowering at both of us.
"Oh yeah, I think it was ‘this is no fucking fair.’ Unfortunately, he said it loud enough for Dad to hear it."
"He didn’t know Dad had heard it, though, until Dad grabbed him by the ear. Dragged him back to Dad’s chair and sat down. He was chewing Jay up one side and down the other and was taking his pants and shorts off while he did it. Jay was already swearing he was sorry and wouldn’t do it again, but Dad was ignoring him."
"As soon as Dad had his butt bare, he yanked Jay down over his lap. I thought Jay was gonna get off easy because Dad hadn’t sent him for a paddle or took his belt off or nuthin’, but then he reached down and picked up this old slipper he has down there. It’s got all this lining inside and a leather sole and it’s really pretty heavy."
"I’ve never seen Dad use that before, and I guess Jay didn’t know about it either, ‘cause he screamed when Dad smacked his ass with it. Dad turned his butt and legs dark red, and Jay was crying like a little baby before Dad let him up."
Birch turned to his little brother with a beatific smile on his face and said, "Now, would you like to talk about something else, or should I tell Jack about that fishing trip we had over the summer?"
Jay was more than happy to talk about Return of the Jedi and who the ‘one other’ might be. In a way, it was too bad, because I never did get either of them to tell me the fishing story.
Never got a chance to see how Birch looked with a hard-on either. Or Jay, though he looked average enough the interest wasn’t there for it’s own sake.
**************************************
All of us were dressed and headed for our cars much too early for me. As much as I would have loved the idea, we were just too old for a slumber party, though I did sleep over at a couple of their houses a few times since Bransom was a pretty decent drive.
That wasn’t the only time we got together, but it was hard to get the whole group together; not just because it was hard to know in advance when we’d all be at the same tournament, but because you didn’t know when you’d be finished until after you’d lost, and because those tournaments were long and took a lot out of you.
On the other hand, we did manage to get together several times over the next two years, even after Mark graduated. One of my friends from Bransom would sometimes join us, and we even got together a few times after Jay and I graduated.
Even though we lived too far apart to come to know each other well, those were still some really good friends and really good times.
Return to Story List
Return to Table of Contents