Date: Wed, 22 Aug 2001 10:06:07 EDT From: VicHowel@aol.com Subject: Growing Up Sexual - XLVII Growing Up Sexual What's it been? Almost two years now? Wow! I never thought that I'd be writing chapter 47 of GUS when I started this. I want to thank the thousands of you for following my south GA boys through the ups and downs of their lives. But it is time for this story to draw to a close - after all, like in any romance novel, the protag has fallen into the arms of his beau. It shouldn't take more than 3 or 4 chapters to pull the remaining story lines together so that we can have a satisfying ending to all of this. It's just as well, I guess ... I've accepted editorship of a new gay erotic publisher and suspect that I'll soon be busy as hell (wearing leather trousers and vest, rubbing the leather strands of a cat-of-nine-tails across my palm, smiling hugely as I advance on some poor writer's hapless first-born story). I'm posting The Avengers in the scifi/fan section of Nifty - it's the sequel to Confessions Of A Vampire and is in that directory. The first 11 chapters are up. There are also teens in this one. Actually, it's a pretty good romp - and you'll get a decent feel of Berlin as well. Karl even meets Death in one chapter. Oh, yeah ... you know the score about age, local bigotry, and stuff. If you ain't old enough, do live in a fascist country, and/or are a homophobe - go away. Chapter 47 The doctor pushed through the door and stopped, surveying the waiting room. There was only a kid there. A big fucking kid. He remembered him then - Johnny Taylor. He was the center on the high school football team. "Johnny?" The boy looked up at the sound of his name. "Is he going to be okay?" The doctor smiled. "Yeah. Thanks to you. You got him to me in time." "Jeez," Johnny groaned as he began to relax, "but that was sure scary-" "How'd you find him?" "I was on my way home from practise," Johnny said, winging his way through the story. "I saw him crumpled up on the ground near the road. I didn't know it was a person right off - not until I'd stopped and could see him. I put him in the bed of the truck and brought him right here." Johnny had done that; he wasn't lying. He was just leaving out that he'd had to dress Clem and carry him out of the tenant shack before he could put him into the truck. And he was leaving out what had got the boy out of breath like that, his dick slamming into his butt. As tight as Lardass had been, Johnny was figuring that he really was a virgin when he bent over out at the tenant shack, in spite of what Ronnie Varnadore was telling anybody who would listen. If anything, Johnny Taylor accepted that he was responsible for the boy having his attack. Johnny stood up and the doctor shook his hand. "You did the right thing, son. Thank you." He reminded himself that responsibility carried with it duty, though. He owed Clem Stokes big time for what he'd done to him. His dick reminded him that he hoped Lardass would give him a little 'tang now and then. And he had a little talk he was going to have to have with Ronnie Varnadore too. Saying that kind of shit about a boy just wasn't right, even if some preacher said it was - especially as it hadn't been true. But Johnny wasn't ready to think about how things were going to play out with Ronnie - at least, not yet, he wasn't. Johnny turned towards the door. "You know, son," the doctor interrupted his thoughts. "You ought to hang around a while longer. The Stokes are going to want to thank you themselves for helping their son." He grinned. "I'll bet Clem will want to thank you too." "Could I see him?" Johnny asked. "I mean now - like before his folks get here." "I don't see why not," the doctor told him. "Come on, I'll take you back." "I'm sorry, Lardass," Johnny told him as soon as the doctor left the room. "I'll get that asshole Ronnie for setting you up like that." He took a deep breath. "And nobody's gonna know about what happened." Clem wanted to be mad at the big football center. Johnny had raped him, shoving his big dick into his butt like that. Only, he had wanted it. His gaze settled on the front of the football's jeans. Yeah, he'd wanted it all right. Just like he wanted it now. "It hurt ... God! It ever more hurt!" he mumbled. Johnny realized where Clem's gaze rested and smiled. His dick lengthened a little and he flexed it. Clem's eyes stayed right with the movement. "Next time, I'll know to take it real easy." "Yeah," Clem groaned softly. "And everybody's gonna know I'm queer." "Not from me, baby. It'll just be you and me. And I'll be making you feel real good all the time." "Not if it hurts like this afternoon, you won't." "You lost your cherry already - and I'll be real gentle next time. You'll be walking on clouds, Lardass." "You ain't gonna call me that no more, no matter what happens between us," he growled. Johnny pursed his lips in thought. "Tell you what, I'll stop calling you Lardass if you'll get rid of that fat." "Yeah? And how do I do that, smartass? I can't do no exercise with this asthma." "We'll find a way. I'll talk to that doctor about an exercise program. When we've got one going, you'll get my dick as a reward." "Your-?" "Sshh ... I see you looking at it." Johnny stepped up to the bed, right over where Clem's hand lay. "Want to touch it and get a real good feel of what your reward's going to be?" "I-" "Go ahead. This is between you and me - about what feels good to both of us." Clem looked up into the football player's eyes. They held him, silently commanding him. His hand slowly lifted and touched the front of Johnny's jeans. He felt it grow down the boy's leg, felt it become hard. Johnny was smiling down at him. Clem smiled back. "Your folks'll be here any minute," Johnny told him as he stepped back from the bed. "I'm gonna find that doctor and get him to tell me what you can and can't do for exercise." "I-" Clem stared at the bulge in Johnny's jeans. "Lardass, I only like to put my dick into the best looking thing around," the footballer growled. "You want what I've got, you're going to have to do something about that body of yours. I'll let you have it while you're getting into shape - as a reward. But you're going to have to earn it each time." Clem gulped but nodded as his mother pushed through the door and rushed to him. "Are you okay, baby?" she demanded as she took his hand. * * * Joe Phillips felt strange as he faced the unpainted, clapboard addition behind the CME church. He thought he could see every detail, the full moon was so bright. He felt like he was in the deepest heart of Africa - had felt like it the past 5 minutes as his father was driving him to the Black church. He just prayed that he wasn't going to be the only white boy there. He'd never be able to live that down. Being labelled a nigger-lover was just as bad as being called a queer as far as he could see. None of the girls from school had agreed to come to these tutorial classes. Dr. Phillips had tried to win over his board of deacons and the men's Sunday School class the past month. But not a single daddy had been willing to let his daughter go into the colored section of town. There was even talk that the Phillipses weren't going to be at First Baptist much longer. The Bishop boys, the Bennetts, and the Lees had all said they'd come - as had Vic. He'd figured that his father and theirs had worked it out between them. But Joe didn't see a single car that he recognized as he got out of the car and waited for his father to come around it to him. The door of the ramshackle church addition burst open and someone was running across the grass towards them. "You made it!" Charlie wheezed as he ran up to Joe and his father. Behind him, the door opened again and two Black men left the building and started towards them. "You're going to have to start taking PE, Charlie," Joe told him as the boy continued to suck air into his lungs loudly. One of the men coming towards them laughed at Joe's words. "I keep telling him the same thing, young man." Charlie managed to catch his breath. "Joe, this is my daddy," he said as the first man reached them and extended his hand to Dr. Phillips. "And this is our pastor, Reverend Sojourner." He turned slightly. "And this is Dr. Phillips of First Baptist and his son, Joe," he said to the older man as he approached them. Joe was surprised as he studied the two Black men standing with him, Charlie, and his dad. Although Charlie was a Negro, he hardly ever thought about that - just accepting the boy as another kid he knew at school. The only other Negroes he'd ever seen were men and women in work clothes or kids in worn jeans and scuffed cheap tennis shoes. The Black men he'd always seen around Soul pushed brooms or worked in the fields. But these men didn't look like workmen. They wore suits and looked every bit as distinguished as his father, Mr. Bennett down at the bank, or Richard's and Billy's daddy at the drug store. The men didn't sound like the Negroes he'd ever seen, either. Both men used words that his dad would use. They sounded as educated as any of his teachers at school. He could tell that they were Black from the way they spoke their words but, in his mind, that wasn't any different than having a Southern accent. These men were just as knowledgeable as white men he'd seen. Henry's and Jimmy's chevy pulled in beside Dr. Phillips' car. "Hey, guys!" Charlie called as Billy Lee opened the passenger door and jumped off of one of the Bishop twins' lap. The twins followed and both pulled their seats forward. Vic and Lindy clamored off the laps of two more boys in the backseat and pulled themselves out on either side of the car. They were followed by Richard and Broughton. "Is there going to be enough room in there for you to get a ride back, Joe?" his father asked quietly from beside him. Joe nodded to his father and looked back to the boys coming towards him. "It'll be fun, Dad," he answered and started after Charlie to greet his friends. "I'll see that your son gets home in one piece," Rev. Sojourner said quietly as the three men watched the boys greeting each other for a moment. "Are you sure you won't stay?" "I wish." Dr. Phillips shook his head. "But I've got to meet with my board on our plans to raise money to build a new Sunday School wing." Joe sat with the Black boy he'd been paired with and wracked his brain to find another way to explain the geometric theorem that'd had the guy bogged down for the past hour. It'd taken him the better part of an hour but he'd accepted that it wasn't like Roosevelt Cletus wasn't smart; he just didn't have the basics with which to understand what geometry was all about. Roosevelt just kept asking questions. It was like he was starving and Joe was spoon feeding him knowledge. He couldn't help but wonder what the guy's school was doing. It sure wasn't teaching Roosevelt much about academics; that was for sure. But it was teaching him football apparently. Roosevelt Cletus had a full scholarship to Gramlin over in Louisiana next year. Joe still couldn't believe it. This guy was 3 years older than he was and had a full scholarship to a university. But Joe knew more than he did about every school subject that they touched on. And Roosevelt had Joe's dick wanting to have a look too. He was tall and sleek. Roosevelt Cletus had a body that made any of those Olympic swimmers look out of shape. And, from what Joe could see, the guy didn't have even one zit to mar that dark chocolate skin. He pulled himself away from where those thoughts threatened to carry him. Just as he had a number of times already tonight - every time he'd let his mind wander, in fact. He wasn't about to go down that road ever again. Besides, if he'd have been dead meat if he'd been found out with Vic or the Weeks boys, he'd really be dead if he did something with Roosevelt. Some of those farm boys at school would have him swinging on a rope in a heartbeat - him and Roosevelt both. He looked up, his gaze bewilderedly moving around the room, and a frown began to cover his face. They were alone. "Where's everybody?" he asked Roosevelt. The Black boy looked away, hiding his face. "I was learning so much, Joe - Mr. Phillips," he mumbled. "I just nodded for both of us when the rest were leaving." "Everybody's gone?" Roosevelt nodded. "How am I supposed to get home then?" "I can drive you - if you don't mind being in the car with a nigger-" "Nigger isn't a good word," Joe said, without taking the time to think it through. "Negro - even colored - but not that word." "It's just a word-" "No." He looked around the room, part of him wondering why he was allowing himself to get worked up. He hadn't used the word. No white had. "No, Roosevelt, it's not just a word. It's a - an abbreviation for hatred and bigotry and stupidity. Either colored people are stupid or they aren't. If they are, then I guess it'd be okay to call them 'nigger'. But they aren't!" He pushed out of his chair and began to pace. "I met your preacher - and Charlie's daddy. Those two men have ever bit as much intelligence as my dad does, as any white person does." He turned to face Roosevelt, his eyes flashing with an internal fire. "And I know that you're just as bright as they are. I've spent the past 2 or 3 hours with you. Intense hours, Roosevelt. You definitely are not stupid. "And that's what that word is all about. Stupidity. That of the black person and that of the person calling him that." He moved closer and faced the other boy. "You're not some nigger to me, Roosevelt. You're a very smart boy, fast becoming a man." Roosevelt broke their eye contact and looked down at his hands. "Maybe so, Mr. Joe Phillips. But we're both gonna feel like little boys with well-tanned butts if I don't get you home soon."