THE GAME

Sal and Hallie had held off telling Neil about the move until Goldy went missing. Goldy had produced a dozen kittens and followed Neil around like a dog. He built elaborate villages in the dirt for his little Army figures and let Goldy play Godzilla. After Goldy failed to turn up three days in a row, Neil was distraught. Sal sat him down that night after dinner.

“We had to put Goldy down,” Sal said, Neil’s pain reflected in his eyes. Neil broke into a sob, his smooth boy face pruned up as he gasped for air. “She was just too old and sick to make the trip.”

“What trip?” said Neil.

“The trip to California….I was just getting around to telling you. Son, we’re moving again,” said Sal, touching Neil’s thick black hair. Neil began to cry harder and pushed Sal’s hand away.

“I tell you what we’re going to do, knucklehead. You and I are going to say goodbye to New York City, just the two of us. We’ll take in a Yanks’ game, maybe the Statue of Liberty, what do you say?”

The seats in Yankee Stadium were lousy, but Neil didn’t mind. He couldn’t remember the last time he was with his dad all alone for so long. They ate hot dogs with sauerkraut, and Sal bought Neil a souvenir program. He even let Neil sip some sudsy beer from the big paper cup.

They never made it to the Statue of Liberty. It was getting late as they drove back down the West Side Highway. Sal wanted to stop for one more beer. That was the family joke, Mom asking every time they came in: “So…how many beers did you have, Salvatore?” “Just two,” Dad would say with a completely straight face. She would turn first to Randy, raising her eyebrows in a Mother’s familiar wordless question. “He only had two, Momma,” Randy would say. Neil would counter, “No Mommy, Daddy had four beers, I counted them.”

They pulled into a space under the elevated Highway, as dark as night. With Sal’s hand resting on his neck, they crossed the cobblestone street and climbed four steps into the smoky beer-sour gloom. Neil loved going to bars with Sal, loved watching his father drink and make conversation. Sal could talk to anyone. In this place, the men wore dungarees and tee shirts. While Sal talked to a guy in boots and a black jacket, Neil swiped a book of matches that said “Oldest Bar in the Village.”

***

The Martins arrived in California in time to celebrate Neil’s twelfth birthday at the home of an Army buddy family in Indio. They pulled into the smooth concrete driveway in front of the low flat house, palm trees swaying in the hot night breeze. They had lasagna that night, iceberg lettuce with French dressing and a store-bought birthday cake. He had celebrated birthdays with strangers before, Army brats are forever meeting strangers.
Hallie led Neil to a large, heavy box wrapped up in shiny red paper with a blue bow. He carefully removed the Scotch tape so that he wouldn’t rip the paper. When the box inside was revealed, he emitted a little yelp --- it was a tan Smith-Corona portable electric typewriter. He uncoiled the power cord and plugged it in. He toggled the on switch and the machine whirred to life.

“I could take typing lessons,” Neil said, hitting the keys randomly and smiling at his parents.

Two weeks later, both Neil and Sal began school. The Martins had settled into a brand new tract house in Marina, California, a few miles up the road from Monterey where Sal had to take French at the Army Language School, and Neil was enrolled in typing class for the summer semester at Marina Del Mar Junior High.

Sal spent hours behind the bedroom door with his LP records listening to a woman saying words and phrases in English, and then repeating them in French. Sal would need the French when he shipped out to Phnom Penh, Cambodia, so he tried to mimic the words, cursing as he fell behind and had to start all over.

On the first day of summer school, Sal drove Neil in the big Plymouth to the school, nestled in a cypress grove a few hundred yards from the Pacific Ocean. As Neil jumped out of the car, he waved to Sal and turned towards the low-slung building. He saw a tall, lanky boy with dark blonde hair dressed entirely in white. His T-shirt stretched tight across his broad chest, his white button-fly Levi’s hugged his legs. Neil had to walk past him if he wanted to enter the door of the school. He stood immobile for a moment, and then stepped out with determination towards the door, eyes straight ahead, hoping to glide past without trouble and begin his first day of school, a stranger again.

“Fancy,” said Dave, as Neil came within earshot.

“Er, what?”

“The car, fancy.” Neil said nothing.

“Not a Caddy, but fancy. I like the fins.” He looked directly at Neil.

“New?”

“A year old, but we bought it new.”

“Not the car….You.”

Neil waited before speaking, sensing danger. “We moved here from New York a few weeks ago, so yeah, I’m new.” Here we go, Neil thought.

“Army?”

“That obvious?”

“New kids are always military, the place is filthy with ‘em…Where ya live?”

“Marina Gardens.”

“Like I said, fancy.”

Neil wanted to smile, but it was going too well. He asked, “What are you taking? In school, I mean.”

“Shit, ain’t taking anything,” said Dave. “They kept me back again. I’ll never get out of this fuckin’ place. Just waiting til I’m 16 so I can quit. I got a cousin who’ll get me a job in construction.”

Neil glanced at his watch, five minutes before class. He couldn’t be late the first day. “I’m taking typing,” said Neil, expecting a sneer from the older boy, but he didn’t seem to mind.

At first Neil was satisfied with the manual Royals that were set up on the metal desks in the typing class. They would pound out exercises designed to help their fingers learn each peculiar combination of letters. Neil practiced until his hands cramped: asdf jkl; asdf ffdd ffss ffaa asdf ;lkj jjkk jjll jj; asdf jkl …..but he could not break 100 words-per-minute on the old Royal. So he strapped his Smith-Corona portable electric onto the back of his Schwinn and rode it through the subdivisions and sand dunes to class. He would plug in the machine and ignore the looks of the other students.

One day after school, Neil aimed his Schwinn down a barely paved lane. Fog hovered in the curves of the land, and ice plants crawled towards stands of grey-green live oaks. Straining to conquer a hill, Neil stopped to catch his breath and looked out over the next patch, a view that took away what little breath he had left. Before him lay a stretch of brilliant color filling the small valley all the way to the next hillock. Around the next bend the road dead-ended abruptly. A sign spelled out “Barrington Begonia Farms.” The odor of irrigated humus competed with the salty sea air. There was no sweet flowery smell, which surprised him.

Cultivated fields gave way again to scrubby dunes. He pedaled hard to get up to coasting speed. At the top of the next hill he let go of the handlebars and closed his eyes, flying downhill blind, with the ocean breeze at his back. He shrieked like a hawk, just before the Schwinn hit a bump. Spokes and rubber got the best of him, as he tumbled over and onto the shoulder of the old highway. He lay with his cheek against the gravel, too dazed to know whether the stinging he felt was the only injury. He heard a noise and looked up.

“Nice move, slick.”

Standing above him was the blond boy in white, holding hands with a girl, another blond. She wore a pale blue pullover, tight as a second skin, the rigid edge of her bra visible beneath. The boy reached out his hand to help Neil up.

“Try it with your eyes open sometime.” He got a better look at Neil’s face and said, “Hey, I met you over at Del Mar, didn’t I?”

“I remember,” Neil said, brushing himself off. He looked the boy over from head to foot, noticing the white Levi’s and tee shirt, the boots.

“What was your name?”

“David…Dave,” he said, wrapping his arm carelessly around the girl, his long fingers resting on the curve of her backside.

“Everyone calls me Schatzie,” said the girl, wriggling in the air, as if she had to make enough room for her body. “Got the name when we were in Germany.”

“I was in Germany, too. Frankfurt mostly. I’m Neil Martin, nice to meet you.”

“We were in Wiesbaden, what a bore! Not as much fun as here,” she said, wrapping herself onto the side of Dave’s body.

“Were you at school today?” said Neil, focusing on Dave.

Schatzie started to giggle, holding her hand up to cover her teeth, even though they were perfect.

“He got sent home.”

“Again!” said Dave, shrugging. “Fuckers hate me, that’s all.”

“Wanna know why?” asked Schatzie.

“Sorry, what?”

“Wanna know why they sent him home?” she repeated.

“Sure, I guess.”

“For not wearing no underpants. See,” she said, her smile widening. She pointed at Dave’s tight white Levi’s, right at his crotch. Neil could see the head of dick well below the center seam of the Levi’s, shoved forward by his balls. Schatzie reached over and touched it through the white fabric, smiling up at Neil with shiny eyes.

“It’s big, ain’t it?” Neil tried to look away, but he couldn’t stop staring at Schatzie’s fingers, gliding over the surface of the white bulge.

“He’s a show-off,” she said.

“Look who’s talking,” Dave said, pushing her hand off of his pants, and then moving up to cup her pointy breasts. “Like you ain’t!”

Neil turned away and walked towards the capsized bike, breathing rapidly. Then he noticed that the Smith-Corona laying at an angle on the ground, still tethered onto the carry-all of the Schwinn.

“Shit, my parents will kill me if anything is broken” he said, pulling the frame up and righting the handlebars.

Jerry Jones’ dad was a Sergeant stationed at Fort Ord, where the boys had met at the teen center towards the end of the summer. Pretty soon they started hanging around together, riding their bikes, going to the movies.

One Saturday afternoon, Sgt. and Mrs. Jones picked them at the base movie theatre in their black ’58 Dodge. They drove through the front gate, flanked by two enormous tanks and a sign that read “Fort Ord, California: Protecting the West.”

The Joneses’ car was a mess, littered with discarded food wrappers, faded magazines and comics, topless glass Tab bottles. At their feet was a stack of ratty throw pillows available for the sudden nap, or, as Jerry demonstrated to Neil, a shield for clandestine adventure.
Neil looked out the window as the Pacific sky unspooled a matinee of pink clouds. He was amazed that he was making friends so quickly, that other kids seemed to like him.

He looked over at Jerry as they passed a gas station. Jerry was picking up a square pillow covered in a geometric print. He started rubbing at his lap, visible to Neil but shielded from the front seat by the angle of the pillow. Jerry’s chinos were tight enough to reveal a bulge straining under the twill. He lifted the edge of the pillow just enough to give Neil a view, while Mr. and Mrs. Jones chatted about lawn furniture, oblivious to the conspiracy underway behind them.

Jerry glanced towards the rear view mirror, and then at Neil, holding the pillow with his right hand, and using his left thumb and forefinger to tug at the zipper of his chinos. He pulled his swollen dick through the zippered opening and wriggled the end of it so that it rubbed against the fabric of the throw pillow. Jerry glanced up at Neil’s widening eyes, and made a low whistling noise, air escaping between two uneven front teeth.

He moved his fingers up and down the tender tip, his gaze alternating between Neil and his parents’ necks, ready to drop the pillow onto his lap at any moment. Soon he gave his whole palm over to the job, effecting a rhythmic pounding that made the pillow silently bob up and down. Neil stared intently, not quite believing what Jerry was doing. Then, Jerry faced him and mouthed out the words, “You too!”

Slowly, Neil leaned over and found his own pillow, tufted green wide-wale corduroy. His dick was by now quite stiff, ready to spring out of his jeans.

Life outside the car drifted by without attention from either boy, both working with quiet determination to achieve their goal before arriving at Neil’s house. Neil kept glancing over at Jerry’s dick, larger and much redder than his own. Jerry spit into his hand for lubrication for the quickening pace that was required. Neil’s mouth seemed too dry to salivate, but he managed to get a little by clearing his throat while affecting a cough.

“Got a cold, Neil?” said Mrs. Jones, turning her head to the left and back towards the boys. Neil instantly froze, hand strangling his dick, while flattening the round pillow with his spare hand. Jerry, however, kept pumping, replying for Neil, “Naw, ma, he’s OK. Just too much air conditioning in the theatre.” Jerry winked as he lifted the pillow so that it was angled at a 45-degree angle.

“You just can’t be too careful, boys,” said Mrs. Jones, turning back towards her husband. “I don’t care if you want it, Henry,” she said. “We just don’t have the money now.”

Neil started to stroke again, his dick so hard he could barely breathe. He was looking at it and then at Jerry, who clutched his balls and the root of his cock and shook the whole thing like a policeman’s nightstick. Neil could no longer control the snake of impossible pleasure rising up from deep within. Three sudden white globs shot from the hole at the head of his dick and landed in stark patterns against the green corduroy. He had difficulty suppressing his gasps, but he managed to maintain silence. As he gripped his shaft a last bit of cream oozed out, just as Jerry started to come, his whole body vibrating as he produced an enormous volume of jizz.

After a time, they wiped themselves off on their pillows, careful not to soil the front of their pants. They saw in each other’s gleaming eyes the daring thrill of a secret of their very own.

Jerry first suggested strip poker one night after they had finished jacking off to a girlie magazine which Jerry kept hidden between the mattress and box springs of his narrow bed. Neil would get hard at these sessions, which had begun to occur almost weekly, by looking back and forth between Jerry’s magazines and Jerry’s cock.

“Why bother with cards?” asked Neil, wiping off his dick with a Kleenex.

“Why not?” asked Jerry. “It’s fun, more danger, you know.” He put away the magazines, and found a deck of cards in the drawer of the fake maple chest of drawers.

Jerry dealt the cards, five for each of them. Before long, Neil was down to two socks and his white briefs. Jerry had lost only his shirt and shoes.

“What happens when one guy is completely naked?” Neil asked.

“That’s an interesting question,” said Jerry, grinning. “The usual thing is that you keep playing, you know, and the guy with the winning hand decides what the naked guy has to do if he keeps losing.”

“Like, what do you mean?”

“Like, you’ll see.”

And he did a few hands later, when Jerry had four tens to his pair of jacks.
“Shit, OK, now what?” said Neil.

“OK, so now I have complete power. You must follow my command.”
“No way!” Neil said, covering his hard cock with his T-shirt.

“Yes, that’s the rule, I told you. My command is ….you must… beat me off.”
Neil hesitated, but then he moved in towards Jerry’s crotch, spitting in his hand. As he pumped Jerry’s stiff cock, he felt himself getting completely aroused. He came without touching himself, still working away on Jerry.

“Shit man, you just come?”

“I guess so,” said Neil.

“How cool is that?” Jerry said.

***

The Martin boys had started going to the Marina Southern Baptist Church after Randy began following around the preacher’s daughter, LuAnne Beatty. Hallie and Sal still went into Monterey each Sunday to attend the non-denominational service at the Presidio Chapel, which was expected of Army officers.

“You can go to any church you want, that’s fine,” said Hallie. “But you should go to Sunday school.”

The first person he met the next Sunday was Charlie McInerny. He was a skinny seventh grader with poorly cut straw-colored hair and a cowlick in the back. A blue-and-white checked short sleeve shirt swallowed his slight frame and his thick glasses had opaque plastic rims. Charlie entered the doorway, standing as if the space was rationed. He smiled at Neil, so they sat together and read Bible verses. They became Sunday friends.
One Sunday Neil’s parents had to stay in Monterey for some Army event, and Neil asked Charlie if he could come over.

“Lemme ask Dad, but there’s always room at Sunday dinner,” said Charlie, clearly pleased to extend their friendship beyond the white clapboard walls of the little church.

They biked together to the trailer park called “Paradise Cove,” out on the old Salinas Highway. The place was run down, but had a friendly feel. Metal homes were angled around a circular drive, each with their own careful beds of flowers and vegetables.

Neil was amazed that the inside of their trailer was so much larger than it looked from the outside. He greeted Charlie’s parents and his two sisters, both much younger. They giggled as Mr. McInerny asked Neil if he’d like to say grace. “God, the Father,” he said, hoping that his prayer would be Baptist enough. “Bless this food, this family, and this day, Amen.”

Charlie’s mom had made fried chicken, green beans, and cucumber salad. There were oatmeal cookies for dessert. Neil helped wash the dishes, and then followed Charlie down a narrow linoleum hallway into a tiny bedroom.

“This is my room,” Charlie said proudly. “What do you want to do?”

“I dunno, what do you usually do when you bring kids home?”

“Gosh, it’s up to you, nobody ever comes over, I guess.”

“You play cards?”

***

Neil divided the mixture of salt, flour, water and food dye into bowls, a different color for each country --- orange for Laos, purple for Burma, yellow for Cambodia, pale blue for South Vietnam, red for the North. He molded topographical features copied from a map, which his Dad had sent him from Phnom Penh. For now, he put the board on the shelf at the top of his closet so that the mountain ranges and river deltas could get hard.
Jerry would be coming over soon: it was time for the game.

Now that his mother was working and Randy was at college in Chicago, Neil had the run of the place. He got points from the guys for that. He put two large beach towels down on the cleared-out area of the floor. From behind a suitcase in the back of the closet he pulled out some Cokes, candy and potato chips, which he had bought with the money from his paper route. Inside the suitcase he found three dog-eared magazines with covers of girls showing off huge breasts. In the kitchen he emptied trays of ice into a bucket, and got two pebbly plastic glasses down from the cupboard.

He was searching for cards when the doorbell sounded three quick times and then he heard the creak of the front door opening.

“The perfect hostess,” said Jerry, spying Neil’s preparations. “Gimme a Coke,” he said.
Neil handed Jerry a red plastic glass filled with ice cubes, and sat down on the towel-covered floor.

“Ready to lose, again, sucker?” Jerry asked, and reached across Neil to grab one of the magazines, even though he had looked at them a million times.

“I gotta take a piss first,” said Jerry. He walked into the bathroom without shutting the door. Neil’s eyes followed. Jerry unsnapped his blue jeans and glided the elastic waistband of his briefs down under his cock and his balls. He cradled his cock with the other hand and waited, looking around the tiny bathroom to catch Neil’s eyes in the little mirror over the sink.

“Get a good look, man,” he yelled, “ ’cause you’ll never see this thing during the fuckin’ game. I’m unbeatable.” But Neil didn’t agree. This time, he would win, he could feel it. He had it planned in his head.

Neil started dealing out the cards.

“It’s more fun with lots of guys, you know,” said Jerry.

“I guess it would be,” Neil said. “Do you play with other guys?”

“Sometimes,” said Jerry, showing his cards. He lost the hand, and took off his pants.

“Sometimes we play with girls, too. But most girls chicken out before it gets interesting.”
Neil thought of Dave and Schatzie, and his dick jumped.

“Do you know anybody who might like to try it?” asked Jerry.

“Let me think about it,” said Neil, picking up an ace and smiling.

***

By Saturday, Neil had transformed the L-shaped living area with swirls of blue crepe paper. He had organized the food in the kitchen, iced the sodas, and arranged the lawn furniture into a circle, so that the kids could all see each other when they came out onto the patio.

Neil looked around the patio at the other kids, laughing and shouting in little groups of two’s and three’s.

“It’s time for the cake, honey, don’t you think?” Hallie said, sidling up to him at the edge of the sparse young lawn. He followed Hallie into the kitchen and watched as she pried open a box containing a sheet cake: ‘Happy Birthday Teenager --- Big No. 13” was written in bright blue.

Hallie lit the candles and slowly carried the cake chest high with both hands out to the clusters of kids, who began clapping rhythmically. Sally started the song and the others joined in as Hallie placed the cake onto the painted metal table. Neil beamed at the singing faces, his collection of new friends.

Dave and his brother Bobby, Dave’s girlfriend Schatzie, Jerry Jones and Charlie McInerney, Sally and Alex, who may have been the most popular boy in school, Chicken Bone, who brought a girl Neil recognized but had never met, the twins from two doors down, Betty whose dad was stationed overseas like Neil’s, Pete Salamander who got Neil his paper route, and his girl Margie, Maggie, something like that.

They all watched him as he unwrapped gift after gift. He got a water gun and a whoopee cushion, some candy, a model T-bird, a deck of cards and some shirts. And many 45’s – Runaround Sue and I Can’t Help Falling in Love by Elvis were his favorites. Hallie came around from the side of the house rolling a shiny red bike tied up with a big red bow. Jerry started up a cheer, and the kids were clapping. Neil felt his face get hot.

“This one is from your Father, all the way from Cambodia,” Hallie said. Strange letters on the crossbar offered the only clue that this bike was not 100% American. Neil opened the card and read Sal’s handwritten words: “Happy Birthday, now you’re a man. Watch over your Mom til I come home. Love, Dad.”

Taped to the back was a small black-and-white photo with a zigzag edge. A man he didn’t know was holding a rope from around the neck of a huge elephant. On top sat tanned, bare-chested Sal, waving and grinning with a cigar in his mouth.

Neil put away the elephant photo and turned to Jerry, whose pink freckled face sharpened with a devilish smile.

“So, are we still on for the game?” Jerry whispered.

“I dunno, Mom is here for the rest of the day.”

“We can go to the tree house,” said Jerry. “Ride your new bike. 4:30, OK?”

They danced on the patio 'til they ran out of new 45’s and kids started drifting home. Hallie had cleaned up the kitchen by the time Neil started carrying in piles of sticky paper plates and empty pop bottles.

“That was a nice group, honey,” said Hallie.

“Oh, yeah.”

“I was so worried when we moved here.”

“What d’ya mean?” Neil asked, wiping down the formica counter.

“Well, you know, all the moving, I know it’s not easy to make friends.”

“Yeah, but this time it’s great. I dunno, it just seems like everybody in California is friendly.”

“I worry, you know, I’m still at work when you get off from school.”

“It’s OK, Mom,” putting his arm around her. “Thanks for the party, it was really great.”
“What do you do every day after school?” she said.

“Well, the paper route, and homework, and I hang around with some of the guys.”

“Neil, what do you do with those boys?

“Oh, you know, the normal stuff, riding our bikes, climbing trees, you know.”

Hallie hesitated, her face wrinkled in a question. “You aren’t doing anything to be ashamed of, are you?”

“What, ma?”

“One of the other mothers mentioned something last week, I dunno, boys taking off their clothes. You haven’t heard anything about that, have you?”

“Absolutely not,” Neil said.

“Good,” said Hallie. “You know you can talk to me about anything, honey. Especially now that your father is away.”

“I know, Ma. I’m gonna ride my new bike, OK? I’ll be back by dinner. Love you,” and he pecked her on the cheek.

***

The knobby arms of the enormous California coastal live oak reached across the late summer sky, waving downhill at the barren land on a cul de sac. The four of them sat cross-legged on the plywood flooring that Jerry had shoved into the tree’s heart.
So far, Neil had been lucky, he had lost only his jacket, shoes and one sock. Jerry was second, he sat shivering in his sleeveless tee shirt and pants.

Dave and Charlie were tied --- down to one garment each. Dave’s white Levi’s rode up his crack and against his balls, showing that he still had no use for underwear. Charlie’s faded blue boxers bloused around his skinny legs, the elastic band gripping his tiny waist speckled with small brown moles.

“It’s getting interesting, boys,” said Neil, shuffling the deck while Jerry gulped the last of his beer. Dave had stolen three large bottles of Schlitz from Schatzie’s frig.

“Better hurry up with this fucking game, I’m freezing,” said Dave.

Neil fought a smile as he arranged what he hoped would be another winning hand of cards. His confidence was vindicated when the others each asked for three cards. Neil had kings, and beat everyone.

“Off they come,” said Jerry, pulling down his pants, and then tapping the plywood with his shoe. “Come on boys, time to get naked.”

Charlie sat frozen in place. “Do I have to?” he asked. Neil thought maybe Charlie was going to cry.

“Fuck, yes, you have to,” said Jerry.

“It’s guys, Charlie, only other guys,” said Dave, “No big deal,” as he grabbed an overhanging branch and hoisted himself up to standing. He looked down at the other boys as he began popping the buttons of the white denim, one by one.

Wind moved through the dry oak leaves, the whooshing sound covering the boys’ silence. Dave hooked his thumbs into the belt loops at each hip and tugged. As his pants went down, his enormous prick flopped out. Neil stared at it, a shade of brown darker than Dave’s well-tanned torso. Dark blond hair trailed across his hard stomach from the navel down to the clump just above his dick.

“You gotta do it, Charlie,” said Neil, pulling his attention away from Dave. Charlie was hunched over with his arms crossed in a futile attempt to hide the tent that his hard little dick was making in the boxers.

“Fuck it, man,” said Jerry, “it’s too cold to screw around here, take off your goddam shorts.” He got on his knees and dog-walked over to Charlie.

“Help me out,” he said, grabbing Charlie by the arms. Dave yanked the blue shorts down, flipping the four-inch boner that grew out of Charlie’s hairless midsection.

“About time,” Jerry said. “My deal.” He tossed the cards around quickly.

Charlie looked at the stack of cards in front of him silently.

“Whatsa matter,” said Jerry. “Gonna take your marbles and go home?”

“Well, I lost, why are you dealing?”

“Look, you are both naked,” said Neil, looking at Dave who had remained standing as the cards were dealt. As Dave moved around, his dick waved unpredictably in every direction, filling Neil’s line of sight.

“Jerry told you the rules,” Neil continued. “We play until the last guy is naked. It’ll take five losses for me to be naked, and two for Jerry.”

Neil won the next hand, and Jerry was down to his Fruit-of-the-Looms. The evening birdsongs filled the air as the sun dropped behind the ridge to the west. Charlie’s teeth started chattering as Dave distributed the next hand.

“I’m not playing all night if you win this one,” said Jerry. He drew an inside straight on the first five cards, and won the round. He looked over at Neil, who shrugged and smiled as he pulled off his shirt.

It was Charlie’s deal, but Jerry smacked his hand as he reached for the cards. “No, no, my lovely. Not the way it works. I won Charlie’s shirt, but I get to decide what each of you give me. You must follow my command.”

“Aw, shit,” said Dave.

“No --- piss,” said Jerry. “I want you to piss all over Charlie’s little dick.”

Charlie took on the look of a beaten dog.

“I’ll never be able to do that, just look,” said Dave.

They all looked at his dick, which had grown thick and long and hard, like the end of a baseball bat stuck onto the front of his body.

“I’m too hard to piss.”

“Just try, you had a lot of beer.”

They waited a long time. When it finally started, the stream of pale yellow liquid arched across the tree fort and onto Charlie’s shivering body for almost a minute. Jerry started to clap in time, his voice chanting, “Piss, piss, piss, piss….”

Charlie had started to cry by the time Dave reached the dribble stage.

“Aw, poor baby,” jeered Jerry. “Be a fuckin’ man, take your medicine.”

“OK, Charlie, you can deal now,” said Neil. Charlie did not move. “Ya want me to?” Charlie nodded as he sat back up, looking around for something to wipe off the piss from his stomach and stiff little dick.

“Look here, this is going to be the final hand,” Neil announced, as he flipped the cards at each man. They could barely tell one card from the other in the deepening gloom of dusk, but it hardly mattered.

Neil’s winning streak held, he pulled out three four’s, enough to win the hand and Jerry’s underwear. Everyone watched as Jerry stood up, pulled off the briefs and hung them on a branch.

“It’s your command, sir,” Jerry said, looking at Neil. “You get to tell the other guys what to do.”

Neil’s breath quickened.

“Hurry up, it’s freezin’ out here,” said Dave, whose big dick had softened and drooped.
“OK, I want Dave to beat off and squirt you both,” said Neil.

Charlie shot him a look of disappointment, but said nothing. Jerry smiled, looking up at Dave who was still standing. Dave spit several times into his right hand and rubbed down the entire surface of his head and shaft, fondling and wiggling it as he got hard again. He worked with long, methodical strokes while moving his hips in a sort of figure eight pattern.

The others watched as he grew and stroked with his right hand. He held onto the branch of the tree as he pumped away, and the whole tree house moved with his increasing rhythm. A shower of dead leaves covered them. He let go and started moving his left hand slowly over his chest and stomach, matching the motion of his right hand. Dave kept up the pounding, faster, harder, his eyes closed now. Charlie leaned backwards, no longer crying as he watched. Jerry made low grunting sounds that kept time as Dave’s entire body stiffened.

Already hard for most of the game, Neil got dizzy from the throbbing of the blood in his head. He started to breathe fast, and he reached down with both hands to steady himself on the plywood floor. Suddenly he cut loose with an unearthly howl, “EeeeeeOwwww.” Sound waves filled the woods, and a dog barked in the distance. Neil ran out of sound just as Dave exploded, spurting out a dozen waves of fresh white sperm onto the men at his feet.

Time froze. Not even the breeze moved. Afterwards, Dave stirred, taking a tentative step. He shook out the remaining drops from his dick and leaned over for his tee shirt.
“Shit man, you creamed all over everything,” said Jerry.

He pulled out a towel from his pack and started dabbing at his chest and legs where the cum had handed. Charlie started to dress quickly, covering the sticky wetness as he clothed himself. As Jerry handed the towel over, he looked down at Neil’s crotch, his light blue denim jeans still zipped up. A dark blue spot was blooming from the inside.

“Did you come?” Jerry asked. Neil felt the color move up his neck onto his face, burning against the moist night air.

“You came without touching it?” said Jerry. “How queer is that?”

The sharp edge of his laughter cut into Neil’s heart and created an opening as dark as the coming night.

NEW SCHOOL

She knocked on the bedroom door. “Can we talk, honey?” It was the first room of my very own. I took it as a gift when we moved in just a week before, even though my 11th birthday would not come for six more days. I was used to moving; it’s what you did when you were an Army brat.

I knew these pale green walls. They looked just like the last place. They were still bare. My stuff was still in dung colored boxes, all different sizes. Brown masking tape kept them shut. I had written a word or two on each of them, “Books”, “Scrapbooks & Photos” “School Stuff.” “Nick’s Treasures: PRIVATE.”

That box lay open in an armless chair next to the Army-issue fake mahogany desk with drawers down one side. I had already put my clothes into a chest of drawers, had hung the rest in the tiny closet on the far wall. The stack of eight schoolbooks was wedged on the top of the desk, smelling inky new. Not every school gave you brand new books on your first day of school.

When I got them that morning, they filled me with hope. It was going to be a good place, a fresh start. I just knew they were going to like me this time. If I tried hard like Mommy said, I would get good marks and gold stars and maybe I would get a quarter for each one, like I did that time in Germany.

I thought of my report card from the last school lay open on the desk next to the new schoolbooks. I picked it up and read: “Nicky is a very good student, but he must learn to talk less in class and stay in his seat.”

I would have to make it on my grades, because I was no good at sports. I was little for my age, skinny, no muscles even for a kid. I never understood why I was always last or second-to-last when they chose up sides. I would look at the eyes of the bigger stronger boys, they seemed so eager. They wanted to play, they were good. I just wanted to run. I wanted to crawl into my room and hide, get under the covers and never have to play those games.

I smoothed out my bright blue short-sleeved shirt, and walked towards the door. The flesh-colored sateen coverlet was crumpled in folds, like a giant version of my fingers after a long soak in the bathtub. I turned the knob and pulled on the cheap hollow door. She was standing there with her arms crossed, and there was a piece of paper in her hands.
I looked at my feet.

She crossed the threshold into my room and said. “I’m very disappointed, Nicky. I thought you agreed this wouldn’t happen again at the new school.”