by FRANK GOLOVITZ
At the tender age of seven, blond Timmy Herrold had seduced first the boy next door, then a visiting uncle, and later a succession of men in nearby Boord Park, quickly becoming expert at what is called the art of lovemaking, yet without experiencing any of the passions of love.
He progressed from tentative mutual masturbation to rough browning to the soft, hungry sucking, all in a spirit of boyish glee, hightened by each partner’s frequent use of the term “come”—whether in the form of “Come! Baby, come!” or “I’m coming!”—and the expression stuck more in Timmy’s mind than the acts related to it, for at the time, he was regularly attending Hard Grace Pentecostal Church, and his favorite hymns were already the seductive, “I come to the garden alone,” and the hard-driving, “Come, come, come, come! Come to the church in the Wild wood…”
And while there was nothing intrinsically irreverent about Timmy at that age, his family nonetheless soon had to move to another Church because Timmy would break out into hopeless giggles whenever those songs were sung, just as he did at home when Uncle Dan sang “Old Black Joe,” with its refrain, “I’m coming, I’m coming, though my head is bending low.”
So Timmy quickly outgrew both Sunday School and his sexual exploits—though it was years before he outgrew his attacks of the giggles.
I think it possible for a person who has sexual experience at a very early age and none at all for many years after to reenter the virginal state. For Timmy Herrold seemed in almost every way a virgin when he met darkly handsome Desi Stephano. Timmy had not forgotten his early experiences. He recalled them with delight as something he’d enjoyed as a small boy—like playing hopscotch, or galloping down the sidewalk on a stick, pretending he was the Lone Ranger, or better yet, the first astronaut on the moon. Without giving it much thought, he rather supposed that most other boys had gone through the same experiences at about that age.
Not even when his sexual interests began to mature did it occur to him to seek out someone to satisfy the agitation that now frequently stirred up his loins.
Instead he would let his mind dwell on those early experiences, remembering each scene in exquisite detail while he took his fattening, blond cock in hand and began to pump slowly, arching his body back on top of his bedcovers, his hand recalling the feel of that neighbor boy’s small, hairless member, his anus remembering with stabbing pain and joy the rough invasion of Uncle Dan’s great club, his throat catching anew the surge and the taste of all those comings in the park. He remembered, not just with his mind, but with all his senses, and as background music he invariably heard either the old Hard Grace congregation lustily singing their way to the Church in the Wild Wood, or else Uncle Dan’s whisky tones, “I’m coming! I’m Coming!”
Then one day he boarded the Fourth Avenue bus and sat down next to this dark-eyed, attractive kid, and before he’d adjusted himself in the seat, sensitive as never before to the exciting closeness of another male body, feeling their leg muscles flex and relax as they touched from thigh to calf, feeling his rod rise suddenly in his tight- at-the-crotch bells, and seeing the other boy’s sudden bulge, he heard the other boy humming, and GODDAM if the tune wasn’t “Come! Come! Come! Come! Come to the Church in the Dale.”
Timmy broke up. Laughing. No giggle, but a loud and lusty laugh. Then he blushed. Then, without caring who heard him, he told the other boy right out about how he used to start giggling at that song, and told him exactly why. He told why in graphic detail, not hearing the astonished noises from other bus passengers. It didn’t for the moment occur to him that others could hear his story, or that there was any reason why they shouldn’t.
But Desi Staphano heard the other passengers, was acutely aware of them—but in a very different way from his acute awareness of Timmy. Desi’d had just about as much previous sexual experience as Timmy had, but most of it had been recent, and often unpleasant. He’d felt he was being used by older men who had no regard for him as a person, no regard for his sensibilities or needs. He too came from a Pentecostal background—though his parents were Catholics until he was ten—and he still felt half guilty about homosexual feelings and activities. Still, he had learned how to say with some conviction that he was Gay and Proud—but he wasn’t ready to say it on a crowded bus with all those people staring in consternation at Timmy’s unrestrained recital.
But even if Desi was still a bit shy and uncertain of himself, he knew what he wanted, and this time he was going to grab it. Desi snatched the blond’s hand, jerked him up from the seat, off the bus, down the street three blocks and upstairs to the apartment of an older man who’d given Desi his door key. He didn’t have to drag very hard.
Breathless from the long sprint, they nonetheless had disposed of a lot of necessary conversation by the time they got to the apartment door: Timmy protesting that he hadn’t done anything like that since he was seven years old; then reassuring a suddenly deflated-looking Desi that he had no objection to doing it again, in fact, the thought had hit him when he first saw Desi on the bus; and Desi explaining how his friend’s apartment was safe—“Old Tanker won’t be home from work for over four hours”—and how he thought Timmy looked like an angel from the window of the church he used to go to; Timmy protesting he was no angel, then admitting that except for giggling in Church, he’d never been much the devilish type either; and then into the livingroom, the door latched, and the first warm kiss as they fell towardthe sofa.., loosen the couple buttons of his jacket, felt the fingers electric on his skin, down to his crotch, working with the buttons, felt himself jumping expectantly, his head pressed down as Desi shifted his weight, Desi’s hand clasped on his feverish rod, and now Desi’s moist lips sucking at his nipples and he feels like bouncing through the ceiling! Desi sliding down half off the couch, laying his beautiful head warm on Timmy’s bare lap, tongue darting out to Timmy’s rod…
And Desi pauses, holding up the thick, pale, warm and throbbing banana with thumb and forefinger, enjoys the wonderful feeling of his cheek pressing Timmy’s bare stomach, hoping that this time it will work out right, thinking he just wants to lay here forever, feeling Timmy’s heartbeat
Trembling in Desi’s warm embrace, Timmy sagged back into the couch, breathless from the long run from the bus, breathless from the beautiful kiss—how come he’d never really kissed anyone before?—felt Desi’s fine fingers against his temple, savoring the faintly acrid taste left on his tongue from that first exploring touch, wanting to sink that beautiful, throbbing flesh into his throat, but wary: will the boy shoot his wad then hitch up his pants and leave, as the boy last week did, the one Desi had expected so much more from? But he was hungry for Timmy’s cock. He wanted to do Timmy first…
Timmy standing over him: “What’s wrong?” And Desi blurts it all out, his uncertainties, his wanting a relationship that would be equal. It seemed to take a long time, a warm-feeling time, with moments when Desi thought he might cry, and other moments when he wanted to laugh for joy. He did neither. His hands moved slowly over Timmy, his breath playing warm on Timmy’s ivory hanging. He wanted to laugh at the sudden darkness that was Timmy’s neat patch of pubic hair, did joke about it: “Looks like you’re not a natural blond.”
Timmy hugged Desi’s head against his stomach. “Yes I am. Used to be even lighter. But now it takes a lot of sun to keep it bleached.”
“You should get more sun down here,” Desi said, burying his nose in Timmy’s nest, excited by the sweet odors and the tiny sparklings of perspiration. Then turning Timmy so that he himself could sit back down on the couch, Desi began to explore Timmy’s body with the tip of this tongue, both of them breathing hard, tongue up under the low-hanging sac, thumping at the balls, drawing them into his mouth, working them softly while Timmy began to moan, then tongue slowly cupping the underside of the shaft, drawing back to the tip, closing his lips soft and hot over the delicate sponginess, touching behind the corona with his teeth, slowly taking it all in while his tongue whipped fiercely around it, Timmy moaning, twisting, breathing harder, trembling, Desi fighting to control his breathing as the expanding shaft of flesh slid further into his throat. His fingers dug wildly into Timmy’s perfect buttocks, and he felt an explosion building in his own brain as Timmy’s balls jerked suddenly against Desi’s chin, as the shaft heated suddenly, throbbed hard several times and filled the back of Desi’s throat. Desi seemed paralyzed, but could feel the snake slow shrinking out of his mouth.
He laid back, still dizzy, his vision unclear, til he saw Timmy laughing.
“You’re some jackrabbit!” he said. “Do you always shoot that fast?”
“I don’t know,” Timmy chuckled. “My.., my, thing’s never been inside anybody before. I always got it stuck in me—one end or the other.”
Timmy’s hand pulling Desi’s T-shirt up as Desi said in mock petulance, “Well, I sure hope you enjoyed it.”
“If that wasn’t pure enjoyment, then I’ll never find it,” Timmy sighed, dropping down to undress his partner and to return to the favor, overcome just as he pulled down Desi’s jeans by a nightmare vision of all those cocks he’d sucked in the park, all of them ugly, and the stiff, dark one at his fingertips, was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. He lay his head close to it, letting breath play on its underside, barely touching it with his soft lips, then drew back, worked the flat of his hand softly around and around until it began to buck. As he moved his head toward it, his old expertise came back, with some new knowledge that seemed to have no source in his experience.
Going at it wildly, then slowing down, biting hard then sucking gently, swallowing it all the way and swiveling his head as if to uproot Desi’s grinding stem, drawing the balls also up into his mouth and forcing them out between his locked teeth, he drove Desi half mad, and had himself more excited than he’d ever before imagined being. But each time he felt Desi’s sperm begin to charge, he eased off, changed the rhythm so that Desi’s discharge was postponed without his pleasure being lessened.
An hour must have passed, and Desi was letting out loud groans, short gasps and sudden small screams…
Then they were sitting side-by-side on the couch, legs stretched out, kissing deep, jacking one another off, both dizzy, both excited, then feeling for a moment like dozing off…
Alert suddenly, charged up, bouncing wildly about on the couch, wrestling some, Timmy joking that he thought it might be time to go home, but making sure it sounded like he was joking, Desi protesting, “I haven’t shot my wad yet!” and Timmy teasing, “I don’t think you can.”
“I’d of shot it twice already if you hadn’t held me off!”
Timmy sprawled on his back, looking up as Desi stretched out over him, 69 a first time for each of them, a wild time, both jerking and flexing, both aching to shoot, Timmy, his mouth full of Desi’s meat, suddenly wanting to plunge his tongue into the dark hole above his face, to spread those dark-haired globes of flesh, separate the hairs at the entrance, andreach his tongue in to taste Desi’s insides, wondering if his tongue could reach through to the throbbing heart?
Desi jerking in spasms, seeming to feel his rear pierced by a hot iron, and without expecting it, Desi emptied himself into Timmy’s throat. Relax. Then Timmy slipped out from under. Desi uncertain. He had been fucked roughly, is afraid of Timmy’s thickness, but made only a mild protest. He wanted it even if it split him open. A little grease and Timmy settled his stomach against Desi’s rump, felt it slip suddenly inside. He’d meant to go easy, but it slipped in all the way. Desi jerking, grunting hard, giving his rump sudden squeezes, then rotating his hips, bouncing Timmy who is pressed hard against his back.
They didn’t hear Old Tanker (John Parks, his name was) come home, didn’t see him watching until he shooed them into the spare bedroom…
