In a previous story 'Jake and the Telescope', I had described in great detail how I had come to begin a secret sexual relationship with my young friend Jake when I was 13. He was a year and a half younger than me and a year behind me in school. In this story I'll tell you much more about my adolescent relationship with him, and how it confused me then and does somewhat still even today.
I've provided a link to the earlier story, if you'd like to go back and read it.
Jake and I were nice Catholic boys, Sunday school classmates, co-altar boys and good friends. Jake had moved to my neighborhood when he was nine or so, and we shared many boyhood interests, like a love of football, collecting baseball cards, riding bicycles and playing music as well. Jake's father was a music teacher and Jake could play three instruments by the time he was ten. I was amazed as he'd sit at the baby grand piano in his living room and play complex music with his small hands, his feet barely reaching the floor to push the shiny silver pedals with his dusty and worn blue shoes. He could seemingly play anything, even if he had never seen the music for it, and this was an awesome accomplishment in my eyes. 'Play the song from the Flintstones!' I would cry out randomly, and a moment later he'd be playing the Flintstones Theme for me, at full speed and with both hands flying back and forth on the keyboard. 'Play the Bugs Bunny song!' I'd call out, and within a second or two, the Loony Tunes music would come magically pouring from his fingertips, translated through the piano's keyboard and spilling out into the room.
I loved his blond hair that his mother cut each month in his kitchen, sometimes while I watched. She simply trimmed it around like a bowl, and it shined in thick layers of different shades of gold as he tossed his head. I looked longingly at the blond locks that fell onto the floor, wishing that I could have blond hair too. I'd sometimes pick some of it up from the floor and play with it between my fingers, holding it near my face as I enjoyed its softness and clean smell. Jake's bare legs would peek out from under the cloak his mother had put around him, and I loved the way his little feet shod in those worn-out blue sneakers hung down and wiggled back and forth and didn't even touch the kitchen floor.
We were having neighborhood foot races one warm afternoon when he was about 11, and Jake was a fast runner. All the other boys wanted to race him to see if they could win. So as a result, Jake ran and ran, participating in nearly every race all afternoon. When the game ended, he sat next to me on the front lawn, wincing with exhaustion because his legs hurt from the way they had been abused that day. 'Let me rub them', I suggested. He didn't refuse, and leaned back, resting on his elbows and I began to rub his legs starting above the knees, one muscle at a time. The other boys had all gone home, as I recall, and it was just Jake and I left alone on the lawn. He shifted his position and lay down on his back and I continued, carefully and deliberately rubbing each leg, moving higher and higher on each as I did, till my fingers were rubbing the tops of his inner thighs right next to his crotch. I could actually feel the tight cable-like tendon that attached his thigh to his groin muscles and the thought that I was touching him there was very exciting to me. I certainly knew that no one else had ever touched me in that spot on my body!
'Does that feel better?' I asked Jake, my voice quivering a little, and with eyes closed he nodded his head yes. He didn't ask me to stop, and so I continued gently rubbing. When I had first started this task, I was glad only for the chance to feel Jake's fair skin. By twelve I was aware that I felt an intoxicating rush whenever I thought about being near and touching certain boys, and it was a feeling I enjoyed, even craved. Jake was one of those boys. I had no deep comprehension of sex yet and felt no guilt or shame about my attraction to him. But just now when I had started rubbing him on a lark I had no intention of going this far!
My rubbing fingers massaged right up to the top of each thigh, traveling first above and then daringly underneath the edge of his short shorts, and then innocently I brushed ever so slightly against Jake's soft crotch. I continued like this for several minutes, just allowing my fingers to occasionally brush that spot in passing, seeing if he would object, but he didn't. So, I allowed my brushes to grow longer and more deliberate, till I had to admit that there was no way he wasn't fully aware of what I was doing. Looking around to make sure no one was nearby or watching, with heart pounding I boldly felt gently between his legs with one hand while I continued to massage his thighs with the other. I touched tenderly, finding his small soft sex parts warm and springy to my touch. I didn't want to hurt his balls by squeezing them as I explored his boyhood, but I wanted to experience all of him and wanted to make sure that this happening wasn't some sort of accidental, misguided, unrepeatable dream.
I stopped rubbing, aware that my own cock had grown unbelievably stiff in my shorts. 'Does that feel good, Jake?' I asked. Overtly, I was asking him if his legs felt better, I guess, but what I really wanted to know was what he thought of my touching his private area like I had.
'Yeah, I guess better', Jake answered.
I wanted more affirmation, I guess, so I asked again: 'Was it OK the way I rubbed you? Did you like how it felt?' I asked posing both a very innocent and highly sexual question in the same breath.
'Sure, uh-huh,' he answered.
I was elated and aroused. There was no way that my suggestive rubbing first close to and then directly on his private area could have been ignored or taken for a casual mistake. I knew intuitively that I should stop for now, both to keep my brain from advancing into overload, and to give my actions time to register in Jake's mind. This was all new to me; I had no experience with this sort of thing before, but I knew I was treading on unfamiliar ground, and that boys normally didn't touch other boys... especially not there.
I had actually just discovered masturbation myself only a few months before, and I often found my mind wandering, filled with fantasies about Jake while I rubbed myself dutifully to orgasm in bed every night before I slept. After this event, I found that if I concentrated hard enough, I could recall input from all my senses from my afternoon with Jake on the lawn and how erotic it all felt to me. Along with the expected visual memories, watching my fingers in my mind's eye as they explored between his legs through his pants, I found I could clearly remember the sounds of Jake's breathing, the soft feeling of his naked skin of his thighs and the rougher touch of the cotton fabric of his denim shorts that covered his warm soft crotch. So close to him, I loved the way his body smelled, clean and like baby shampoo mixed with a touch of freshly mown onion grass that was the scent of his preadolescent sweat. I loved the feel of his perspiration, and seeing the salty dampness of his flushed pink face as he had lain next to me, eyes closed peacefully on the lawn, and how lovingly I had examined his thick blond hair from close range, just wanting so much to touch it and run my fingers through its many layers.
One hot summer morning I awoke early and went outside on my lawn. I saw Jake out as well, and I invited him over to my house to watch TV since the day was growing uncomfortably warm. We had just gotten air conditioning in our house and he didn't have it at his, and as lay on the bed watching mindless shows like 'The Price Is Right' and 'Hollywood Squares', I again let my fingers wander in his direction, touching the sparse blond fuzz that grew on his shins and forearms, feeling the small muscles in his shoulders and shyly touching his little hands. How surprised I was when he allowed me to take his hand in mine, and then to hold it as we watched television together. I noticed with delight that before long he slightly gripped my hand in return; far more satisfying than simply allowing me to touch his limp fingers. I carefully examined his short fingers with their closely cropped nails as we sat so close to one another, marveling that somehow these small fingers could play music so fast and so amazingly well. I liked to stare at the side of his face during the commercials, marvelling at his tiny nose that was so slightly pointed, his clear blue eyes, his fair-complexioned skin, and especially that thick beautiful hair that I sometimes couldn't resist and reached out to run my fingers through, which didn't seem to bother him at all.
We were totally alone during these moments, and the newfound sexual rush I got from this secret contact with another boy I adored was more than I could endure. I remember having to excuse myself from this idyllic scene several times during a period of only a couple hours in one afternoon, as I went into the next room, closed the door and quickly unzipped my trousers to expose my throbbing soldier, rubbing it to an almost instantaneous orgasm that wouldn't wait, then newly sated, returning to lay beside Jake on the bed to hold him some more.
He never resisted, objected or complained about my affections. But it's important for me to note that other than holding my hand in return, he didn't reciprocate by touching me in any way. He seemed passively accepting of my unguarded obsession with him, and I was satisfied with the way our relationship sat. When I invited him over to 'play' as we'd euphemistically call it, he always accepted, and 'play' I would, happily feeling his body all over as he surrendered to my affection. I surmised if he objected to my attention, he would have avoided me and not continued to willingly spend time alone with me when he had the choice.
It's here that the story of innocent exploration contained in the middle of 'Jake and the Telescope' would be inserted, detailing my first real sexual exploration with Jake that summer he was 11 and I was almost 13. I won't repeat it here, but if you want to go back and read it now, it's right into this spot that it would fit.
Later that summer, Jake came with me to our seashore beach house for a week, and I have to admit looking back in time through the fog of my growing feelings for him that all did not go well. My confusing and lustful attraction for him grew compulsive, and every moment I could get him alone during that week I sequestered him, touching him and feeling him and cuddling him till he grew quite tired of my constant affection. As far as I knew, Jake didn't masturbate, and I didn't try to teach him. There were no orgasms, only touching, and my interest in his body far eclipsed any interest he might have had in mine. One afternoon after we returned home earlier than the others, wet and sandy from the beach, I boldly stepped under the outside shower with him, reaching inside his suit and washing his smooth body all over with the warm water, then pulling his suit down and watching the water falling from the showerhead above spout off of his little penis like a tiny fountain. When we were done I wrapped a towel around him and one around me as my own more mature penis started to become erect in anticipation. I led him up to my bedroom where I unwrapped the towel from him and lay him back nakedly on the bed.
'Enough! No more cuddling!' Jake suddenly objected, pushing me away.
'Not now?' I asked with great disappointment.
'Not now, and no more!'
'Forever??' I asked, my heart sinking suddenly to my feet.
'I don't know, maybe!' he replied 'But stop now, please!'
I was very sad. I was suddenly sure if I had bided my time more, had taken it easy and not been so aggressive in my hungry lust for him, this fallout wouldn't have happened. Maybe if I had only been able to resist my carnal urges just one or two of the many times we were alone, he'd still be OK with me and let me love him. But now it was too late and I was completely to blame.
'I'm sorry, Jake', I said, realizing that this confrontation was the only time we had ever spoken about the nature of our relationship at all.
Sex wasn't the only thing I liked about Jake, so our neighborhood boyhood friendship continued. I made a valiant and successful effort to keep my hands to myself the rest of that summer and fall. But I admit I still longed to touch him and dreamed of kissing his blond hair again, and I cursed myself for my weak, shameful even compulsive behavior that had driven him away.
Jake and I were both accepted into a competitive and prestigious orchestra for high-school age teenagers that autumn, even though we were technically far too young to belong. But both of us were good enough musicians to be included, and we looked forward with some trepidation to attending rehearsals with mostly high school students who would surely ignore us at best, maybe tease us meanly at worst. Because the practices were held each week one evening in another town, Jake's and my parents joined a carpool to drive us there.
Twenty minutes away by car, it would always be dark by the time the carpool pulled up in front of my house. I'd slide into the back seat, shy because of the older kids who were often already in the car, and would usually end up next to Jake where we would ride hip to hip for the whole journey. This close contact with Jake stirred feelings I still nursed inside myself about the younger boy, often giving me an erection. Eventually after a few weeks of this I allowed my hand to touch his leg in the darkness, advancing ever so slowly as time went by so I'd be touching his thigh, and then finally holding his hand in his lap. As from the time long before, Jake didn't object, and I was so happy that he again seemingly was willing to accept my renewed affection for him. I vowed not to screw up this time.
Eventually, as the weeks went by holding his hand in his lap led to caressing his private parts in his lap. Interesting to me, they always remained soft to my touch, even as I eventually unzipped him with one hand, reached inside and felt him through his white underpants. I was delighted that I could feel that he had grown there, as his penis and testicles were decidedly larger, and feeling carefully though the cloth I could tell some coarse hair had grown there as well. Eventually, I pushed his underpants aside and felt him nakedly right amongst the others in the car. He left his jacket over his lap, concealing my hand as I explored him.
We didn't have long to play like this, since the car ride was short. He didn't resist my touches, and finally one week when I had exposed him, nakedly caressing him underneath the jacket in the darkness, I whispered into his ear so only he could hear.
'Jake, can you make it hard?'
He complied instantly, and I marveled as his erection grew in my hand, his penis growing stiff and long for the first time in my experience. I stroked it gently, feeling down to his fuzzy pubic hair that grew sparsely at its base, touching his soft balls as gently as I could as they nestled between his legs. One night, probably both lost in our own world, the car pulled up far too soon at Jake's house to let him off while he was fully erect and exposed as I explored beneath the thin jacket on his lap. Alarmed that we had arrived home unawares before we were ready, my heart was in my mouth as the bright dome light came on inside the car as the boy sitting beside the door pushed it open. I knew Jake's hard penis was still jutting nakedly out from his unzipped trousers under his jacket, and I knew Jake must have been scared out of hits wits too, as he slid across the seat and out of the car, holding his instrument case over his lap as he stepped into the street, then walked towards his front door as the driver waited for him to go safely inside. I half expected to see his pants fall, but he kept his instrument case and jacket clasped to his waist as he walked, avoiding the horrifying exposure that would have come from a single misstep. I hoped beyond hope that he was able to straighten himself before he got inside so he wouldn't have to explain to his mother why he had arrived home partially unclothed. We were much more careful after that night.
It's here that the balance of the story 'Jake and the Telescope' fits, as summer came once again and, unable to resist, I finally seduced and made love with Jake in a way that overpowered me with warmth, as he and I stood in his yard with his telescope and looked at the moon that summer night.
I was solely determined not to overdo it with my affection for Jake this time. I was fifteen by then, and had grown quite aware that my attraction to other boys was a confusing, hard to explain riddle that I both loved-yet thoroughly hated at the same time. It was a set of feelings that I had no desire to discuss with anybody, instead, I hoped I could learn about how others felt about the concept of one boy loving another by simply watching and observing the everyday comments, reactions and behavior of others. I hoped if I could keep my raging hormones under control, I could avoid frightening Jake away again and I could also learn without us ever speaking a single word if he might be coaxed to secretly love me in return. I suppose this is all really not so much different than the way boys and girls of this age group interact in their newfound heterosexual relationships as well, as much of their overt contact is usual physical, and deep conversations about emotions and feelings are kept inside, usually wholly undiscussed.
Jake had a heavy reel-to-reel tape recorder that back then, in that pre-computer era was an amazing piece of technology. It would allow us to do all sorts of things that we never imagined, like slowing down or speeding up our talking so we sounded like the Chipmunks, or allowed us to reverse the tape and hear ourselves speaking backwards! A few of us would gather and we'd spend hours in my basement bedroom playing with Jake's machine, recording phrases then playing them backwards. Next, we would try our hardest to learn how to mimic and pronounce the backwards phrases exactly as they were played, and then we would play THESE backwards as well, which resulted in hearing ourselves speak English in distorted, tongue twisting dialects. We would howl with laughter as many of the things we tried to say played back sounding NOTHING like we had intended, while other phrases sounded hilarious coming out of the speakers in our own voices but almost like we were stroke survivors or tongue tied foreigners with marbles packed in our mouths.
Jake and I were more interested in this game by far compared to the other boys, continuing on with it long after the others lost interest and had gone home. We played on for another hour or so till we too had had enough, and tired; we sat quietly beside each other.
He was so nice and I loved him so dearly, and as the lull continued, without a thought I reached around him and hugged him tight. He sighed just a little and almost imperceptibly leaned towards me welcoming my affection, I perceived. I nuzzled his cheek, slightly fuzzy with fine blond hair that had not yet become whiskers, and ran my fingers through his darkening blond locks. We held each other like this for several minutes, before I laid him back on my bed, rubbed his bare thighs then unbuckled his belt, unbuttoned his shorts and unzipped them. This time he didn't need any instructions, and his penis began to swell and harden as I played with it inside his underpants without a single command being given.
Urging him to raise his bottom up off the bed just a bit, I stripped his pants and underwear down his legs as one, seeing his naked boyhood exposed in the bright lights of my bedroom. I eagerly used my fingers and my tongue to explore him all over, so excited at the clean but musky way he smelled. Lifting his legs up onto the bed, I unlaced his sneakers and pulled them off, then unrolled his socks to see his naked feet. Jake had fine blond hair growing on his legs and I marveled at seeing it dusted as it was from the tops of his feet all the way up to his thighs. He was a very fair boy, and so his balls were a deep pinkish-red, wrinkled and hanging loose, covered with fine, fair hairs. His hard cock was very pale and even when stiff not so long, maybe five inches at most, but it was straight and stiff and dark pink with a reddish head as it stood erect, nestled in its bed of medium blond curls. Jake lay back with his eyes closed, and while examining him at ultra-close range, I felt his dick with one hand while I unbuttoned my own trousers, freed myself and rubbed my own throbbing penis with the other.
Jake opened his eyes just a little, glanced over and smiled slightly as he watched me rub my bigger, darker cock. Again, he passively lay back and didn't touch me in return, but that was OK with me as I rubbed both of us in an identically perfect rhythm. Jake then began to moan a little, squirmed restlessly on the bed and he finally spoke:
'Oh my God I'm going to come so quick! Please stop Brad', he begged, panting and grasping hard at my wrist so I'd stop my stimulation of his most sensitive parts. 'Let's go in the bathroom to finish', he suggested.
'OK,' I agreed.
I was so ignited by this simple exchange of words. The silence had been broken- it was the first time that Jake had actually voiced that he liked what I was doing and what he wanted me to do to him next. He wanted to go into the bathroom where we'd have certain privacy and where he could let go his inhibitions allowing his imminent orgasm to explode as I rubbed him to climax in the expert way that only another boy could.
We both got up from my bed and holding our unbuttoned trousers up in front of us as we walked trance-like, we made our way to the hall bathroom. Entering and closing the door, I turned immediately to him and pushed his trousers down around his knees and sat on the closed toilet lid to face him. I resumed rubbing him and for the first time, he suddenly turned to me and suggested, 'Brad, Let me do you, too!' I stood and we faced each other and grasping each other's jutting cocks, yanking them gently towards each other. Jake's eyes closed and he moaned softly, his cheeks flushed and pink. His rubbing hand felt so unfamiliar but so welcome on my sensitive cock, but soon his strokes grew erratic as trembling and suddenly weak-kneed he approached his own point of no return, so I relieved him from rubbing me and again kneeled in front of him.
I won't be so specific that my writing is edited out, but I stopped rubbing him with my hand but continued to stimulate him in a new way that he was clearly unaccustomed to and quickly began to make him go out of his mind, as he felt sensations that he had probably never experienced before. He thrust forward and back like a compact machine, squirming with violent pleasure at what was happening between us, which until you have experienced it for the first time can't be properly explained or understood. Grasping the back of my head and pulling forward he groaned and started to come, exploding everywhere. Kneeling so close to him, I was covered with his spunk and once again I tasted that wonderful flavor that smelled for all the world like freshly cut grass as it touched my tongue.
'Oh Jesus Christ Brad!' Jake gasped as his knees half buckled and he collapsed forward, leaning on the top of my head with both of his hands. I held him tightly around his waist with one arm while I blindly climaxed using the other, shooting my own sperm all over his knees, shins and feet as he stood there in front of me.
We had a lot of cleaning up to do, and it's a good thing we were in the bathroom. He shamelessly stood there half naked while I washed the dripping spunk off his swollen red cock, finally drying it with a handy towel. I had expertly caught most of Jake's sperm, but a few thick globs of it had escaped and had fallen heavily on the bathmat, and wiping my jizz off his legs we laughed a little at the unbelievable mess we had made together.
As a close to our act, he stood perfectly and passively still while I re-dressed him, pulling up his clothes for him, fastening the buttons and buckling his belt, then I straightened my own clothes and we checked each over carefully for evidence before I slowly opened the door to the hall. Luckily, nobody was nearby, so we went back into my room where we packed up the tape machine. 'I have to go!' said Jake worriedly. 'I'm late and I am going to get in trouble!' he said. I helped him pack up and put the tape recorder into his red wagon that he had brought it in.
'Bye Jake,' I said lovingly. 'See you again?' I could still taste and smell him all over me, and it was a warm, welcome feeling.
'Sure', said Jake as he disappeared into the darkness down the driveway with the laden wagon rattling behind him.
I saw him again just a couple of days later, and we both acted as though nothing had happened at all. He displayed no signs of embarrassment or avoidance, and I had long since stopped being worried that he would tell anyone what we did together. As we did most other days, we interacted completely normally as we played Frisbee with the other boys. I proudly noted that when we weren't making love, no one observing us would ever have been able to tell we were involved with each other in such a secret, taboo and forbidden way.
This same scene played out on many other occasions as High School progressed, often in almost identical circumstances. Jake would linger behind after all the other boys had gone home, as he seemingly had no curfew, and we would end the evening by making love together with me as the initiator every time. My anticipation would build as the other boys went home, one by one, and I always wondered if Jake would stay behind. Seemingly always, he would be the last one left, and trembling with sexual excitement I'd approach him where he sat, wrapping my arms about him, smelling his blond hair and putting my cheek against his; then raising his shirt to expose his smooth chest and stomach, feeling and licking his nipples and belly button as he just surrendered to my advances and melted into my arms.
One night we did it in the soft grass behind the shed in the backyard, another time we did it right on my bed while my parents were home in the living room nearby. But usually we'd end up together in the bathroom in a near total repeat of that time with the tape machine.
I guess I preferred being in control, because though he often offered to rub me, saying breathlessly in his husky voice when he was already highly aroused, 'Brad how about you? Do you want me to 'do' you too?' I'd always let him feel me and clumsily rub me, but then always stopped him so I could focus my full attention on making him climax with all his might while I watched, then often used his copiously and deliciously spilled thick white sperm as a slick lubricant to coax myself to my own powerful orgasm just seconds after his had subsided. I now wish that I had slowed down just a little, even once, to have schooled him into rubbing me to orgasm. With other boys, I usually liked to ask them to rub me 'just the way you do yourself' so I could experience myself the illicit thrill how it must have felt for them to masturbate themselves when they were alone. But oddly I never did this with Jake.
As High School drew to a close for me, Jake had acquired a pretty girlfriend, and grew his now dark-blond hair rather long. His skin wasn't as clear as it once had been, and his upper lip was adorned with an unimpressively thin and cheesy teenage moustache. While I didn't normally like boys who grew these wimpy testaments to their manhood for all to see, I made an exception and liked Jake's because I realized that he had just never, ever shaved in his life, and I had watched it grow from nearly invisible blond fuzz till what it was today without interruption. When asked, Jake would talk openly with us other boys about sex he had with his girlfriend, and shocked us by informing us that they had boldly gone to a clinic together so she could get birth control so they could have regular intercourse without fear of pregnancy.
I was a freshman in college and Jake was a High School senior the last time we made love together. We had just completed a musical performance together as a part of the same orchestra, and afterwards he and I traveled home together, alone. I had a steady girlfriend and so did he, but I asked him into my empty house when he dropped me off on the way home and he quickly agreed. We sat and talked, and I remember confessing outright to him that I was very afraid that I wouldn't be able to have a successful relationship with a girl because of my 'issues'... never saying any words that were more stark than that, but clearly referring to my desire for guys in general, him specifically. He shrugged off my suggestion, implying that he didn't know what I meant or why I thought I had a problem.
We listened to some music on the stereo and as I leaned over him and began to caress the muscles of his chest and arms, he closed his eyes peacefully and surrendered to me as he always had, allowing me to undress him for what was one final time, stripping off his clothes, allowing me to kiss his newly slightly hairy chest and stomach, massaging his stiff tool till he groaned and soon shot his thick juice all over his belly and mine, my own orgasm exploding seconds later. I held him close to me, smelling musky scents that let me know he, too had become a man, and unembarrassed, allowed our thick milky sperm to mingle and mix together on our bellies as they touched.
Our sexual relationship ended after that night. As did I, he went on to marry, and he had a difficult relationship that I heard ended in an angry divorce. I am told he has since remarried, and is a schoolteacher in a nearby town. Though we haven't spoken in many years. I'd love to see him again.
After re-reading this story, I am compelled to pause and ask myself a few difficult and introspective questions. I wonder if I always remember things the exact way they happened, or I remember them slightly twisted or blurred through a lens in a way I want to remember them. Said quite simply, I wonder if Jake were reading this story today if he would nod in agreement that I truthfully represented the facts as they happened, or if he'd have a very different slant in his recollection of these events of nearly 30 years ago.
Why? Well, there was that time that the French exchange student was staying at my house and Jake was over to visit and chose for once to leave to go home early that night. I followed him to his bicycle, begging him to please stay a little longer, but he declined. Then placing my hand on his shoulder I remember trying to guide him anyway to the hidden spot behind the shed where I longed to make love to him. He resisted at first that night, stiffening his legs and putting on his 'brakes' and pushing back against my guiding hand on his shoulder, clearly wanting to go home, so without speaking a word I pushed a little more firmly, and finally after just a few steps he stopped resisting, and then walked willingly the rest of the way with me to our private spot. Then, as always, we lay beside each other, me pushing both our pants down to our knees as I focused my loving attention on his cock as usual. I remember clearly that he asked if he could rub mine too that night, and we both climaxed in the moonlight before he returned to his bike and pedaled home. I remember that night because I was gone longer than my parents had expected, leaving my guest alone. And when I returned to the house, my sister wanted to know why so much dried grass was on the back of my shirt and pants if I had simply walked Jake home as I had claimed I did.
Earlier, I didn't include this scene and I didn't tell the part about the shove in the back I gave him because it didn't fit in with my view of the perfect story of the ideal time that I remembered. But I sometimes wonder if Jake really enjoyed my attention all those years, or if he simply endured it: confused, conflicted or even angered by my constant fascination with him that sometimes appeared to border on obsession with his body. I so much want to think I was a good person who would never have taken advantage of another, but that firm push I delivered into the middle of his back that night three decades ago still haunts me today. Why did I need to have my way with him the way I did? If he had resisted more strenuously in that instance, would I have been even more insistent, or would I have realized that I was getting a 'no', and as most of us have been schooled, in sex, 'no means no', and let him go home?
Looking back, I don't think Jake was gay at all, not even slightly. Rather, I think he was a quiet, somewhat lonely boy who really craved my company and companionship. While growing up he was highly unsupervised and coming from a large family with constantly preoccupied parents, perhaps didn't have too much parental guidance or love at home, and when I began to come on to him, curiosity, neediness and horniness may have gotten the best of him. I believe that like most teenaged boys, Jake almost addictively craved the feeling of orgasms and the euphoric but short-lived highs that they provided, and maybe he liked the exciting feeling of having another person want him so much and touch his private areas in ways that felt so good. He knew I wouldn't ever hurt him, and certainly knew I wasn't going to rat him out so that our secret was safe with me. It hurts to think so, but sometimes I have really wonder if he simply tolerated the sex that happened 5% of the time for the trade off of being my regular friend the other 95% of the time. I wonder if I deliberately misread his lack of resistance for desire, when in fact he was simply powerlessly surrendering to something he felt he must endure to stay friends with me.
Through all the years together, we never talked about the nature of our relationship at all. I wonder sometimes today if he might have sometimes hated me inside. But because I really did care for him, I hope with all my heart that this isn't so.