Unrequited Love is a Many Splendoured Thing
(with apologies to Frank Sinatra)
by Macky
Phantom Smile
The boy was naked. It was one of the newer plays on Broadway. We had good seats, so there was lots to see. But my eyes were held captive by his mouth. What was it about those thin lips, and the angle of that jaw line? What was so special about that wisp of a smile? It was captivating. The edges of his teeth touched, as his lips barely parted. It was a smile, yet it was not a smile. I was enthralled to the exclusion of everything else; trapped within an instant of time. There was nothing else, just me and that phantom smile. My mind rode astride that gossamer smile, just like the boy in the play rode the horse. The smile was my steed through the grey curtains of time. Then I could no longer see the stage.
I was a child of nine. A nun stood in front of the class. And there, sitting at a nearby desk, was that smile. It sat just beneath the rosy cheeks of a pale-faced slight boy, wearing thick glasses. The boy was smaller by far than the others. Even with his heavy glasses, he squinted to see the blackboard. His attention was rapt. He raised his hand and answered the nun's question. Obviously, he took his catechism seriously. Then I recognized the smile and unconsciously uttered, "It's been years since I thought of Albert"
Our older brothers were friends. That's how Albert and I met. Religion was important to me. And although he seldom went to mass and his mother was not even Catholic, religion was obviously important to Albert too. I think that that similarity is what initially attracted me to him.
We left class together. He stopped at a vending machine and peeled some coins out of the crumpled tissues in his pocket. He bought some chips. After he wiped his glasses on his shirt tail, we walked on together.
Socially, we were evenly matched. Our families didn't have a lot of money. Both he and I wore our brothers' cast off clothes. Albert's jeans had a tear. I looked into the hole and could see his bare knee, and further up his leg.
As we walked towards the bus we talked.
"Hey, I saw your poem in the newspaper. The one about the pup in school?"
"It was funny. The door was propped open because it was hot, and he just wandered in. He sat down in front of the class and behaved himself, but the teacher yelled for someone to get him out of the building. She scared him and he ran out.."
We boarded the bus. Albert didn't talk much. I couldn't think of a new subject after we talked about his poem. But I wanted to interact with him somehow during the long ride home. We just sat there not knowing what else to say. So, I grabbed his chips and passed them to a girl on the bus. She laughed and passed them on to one of her friends. Soon, a teasing gaggle of giggling girls was passing the chips all around. I knew immediately, that I had made a mistake. Albert started to cry. I felt shattered. This was not what I meant. I only wanted to play around, like I had seen other boys do. But there he sat crying. I felt like crying too.
I felt like I had betrayed the most trusting person in the world. What could I do to make him happy again? How could he still be my best friend, when I had betrayed him like this? How would he ever know how sorry I was?
"Oh, Gawd, Albert. I'm sorry."
Albert was very quiet boy and it felt like a special occasion when he did speak. Yet, when I saw his lips barely part and the sides of his mouth turn up in that enigmatic, all meaningful smile, I knew that I had been forgiven. And the smile was not put on, it was genuine. Albert didn't care about the snack. He didn't even care about the teasing. Feelings of betrayal by someone he considered a friend caused the tears. My few words assured him that that was not my intent. The tears stopped and the sunshine of that beautiful smile made everything OK again.
Albert and I went to different primary schools. Saturday Catechism was where we pursued our friendship. We continued that way for years. When we were 11, we looked forward to starting junior high together. I was excited that we would both be going to the same school.
Awakening
The summer before we went to middle school, I was overjoyed to see a sweaty Albert and his brother walk up to our house.
"Hi guys. Al and I were bored around the house and decided to see what was up with you."
Albert's face was red and shiny with perspiration. He silently pulled out his shirttail and wiped the sweat off of his glasses. I was always fascinated by the way he leaned into the glasses and squinted as he worked on them. It was also a welcome chance to steal a peek at his bare waist.
"Gawd, we're sweaty".
"I'll get you something to drink", I volunteered.
After they finished the iced tea I served, I took the empty glasses back to the kitchen. I filled Albert's glass without rinsing it, and drank from the same side as he did.
These guys never could think of anything to do. They always just waited around until you came up with an idea. So it did not take much coaxing to talk them into going swimming, even though they didn't bring swimming gear. There was an excellent cool mountain stream a couple of miles away.
"I have an extra pair of cut-offs, Al. You can wear them."
Secretly I wished that he would accept my offer. I loved the idea of Albert wearing my clothes. The thought of it made me feel close to him somehow. At Catechism, I had always liked the story about how Biblical friends David and Jonathan had exchanged clothes upon parting. Deep down, I wanted to exchange clothes with Albert. And hey, it had to be OK, right? It was, after all, a Biblical story and very fit for two Catholic boys who were very good friends.
"Great! Let me put them on now and I'll wear them to the creek."
I gave him the cut-offs and he went into the bathroom to change. When he came out, he was in his same old jeans.
"Why aren't you wearing them?"
"I couldn't get them to stay up, even with your belt."
I was disappointed, but at least I had a pair of cut-offs that he had tried on. Albert was just 48 days younger than me, but he was such a runt.
"We can swim in our underwear" said Albert's brother.
With that we began the trek to the creek. The shortest route was via the railroad tracks.
"Have you ever been to this place before, Al?"
"No, is it deep?"
"Well, it's not too deep for me but you are a bit shorter. I think you'll be all right. You could bob across the places that are over your head. And besides I won't let you drown."
I patted his back not so much to assure him, as to feel the delight of touching him.
"Maybe I should take a stick with me, so it could hold me up if I get in deep water." said Albert thoughtfully.
"Good idea, but don't panic and start thrashing around or you'll go under even with the stick."
"Why would I panic? I'm not that scared of water."
"Well you might panic if a crab pinched you. There are crabs on the bottom, so it's best to swim. And once I was on an inner tube and a snake swam under me."
"Snakes!" screeched Albert.
"Yeah, but don't worry. They won't bite."
"Why won't they bite?"
"Snakes will drown if they open their mouths in the water."
"Oh," said Albert, reassured.
That was the sweetest thing about Albert. He trusted everyone and he usually believed anything you told him.
We continued down the tracks, our brothers having their conversation, while Albert and I had ours, if you can call Albert's few words a conversation, that is. Just like that time on the Catechism bus, I started to devise non-verbal ways to interact with him. There was a railroad bridge with safety rails along the sides. I climbed over the safety rail and walked across on the outside bridge edge, hanging on to the outside of the safety rail.
"Don't do that Bob".
"Why?"
"There are places the concrete is scaling off and it could give way under your foot and you could fall."
"No, I watch for that and kick it off." And I continued my perilous way across the bridge..
"Well it's just stupid, and the rail could give way," said Albert with a quaver in his voice.
"It won't," I said bravely.
Albert looked at our older brothers some distance ahead of us. Reluctantly, he resolved to take this matter into his own hands. Taking the initiative was something that he rarely, if ever, did. He walked down to the railing and said, "Come back where it's safe." Tears were standing in his eyes. My heart melted. I climbed back over the railing and we raced to catch up to our brothers.
By this time they were enjoying a game of balance on the railroad rail, heel in front of toe, then the other foot, arms stretched out wide for balance. I joined them, balancing my way along. Albert joined us. Maybe it was his poor vision or just bad balance, but Albert was very wobbly on the rail. First he would go very slowly, and then he would tiptoe gingerly for several steps, tipping this way and that all the while. He looked like a miniature, poorly clothed ballet dancer. But just as he caught up to me, his foot slipped and he grabbed me for support with both arms. Thrown off balance, I stumbled off the rail with Albert in tow.
"Oh man, that was the longest I ever stayed on," I complained.
Albert looked up at me sheepishly from under his glasses. He was a cute little puppy and I could never be angry with him. Besides, having his arms around me was enjoyable. I touched Albert whenever there was a reasonable opportunity to do so, but he never patted me on the back or gave a friendly jostle. The most you could hope for with Albert was an occasional tap on the shoulder when he wanted to point out something to you. The chance to have both his arms wrapped around me, even for an instant, was something to be remembered.
"Oh well, glad that I could be there to keep you from breaking your butt," I chuckled.
Just then, Albert's brother, held up his hand military style saying, "Company halt."
"What's gotten into you? Too much sun?"
"Negative. Iced tea. I've got to go. Company fall out for a pissing contest," he continued.
Everyone had to go. Someone scratched a line in the dirt.
"Everyone behind the line. No cheating!"
We all stood hip to hip, unfastening flies and tugging zippers. In pissing contests it's OK to look at each other, ostensibly in the interest of fair play. You have to make sure that everyone is behind the line and nobody is taking unfair advantage. I saw that Albert was circumcised. Our older brothers were not. I felt closer to him somehow, even though standing hip to hip with penises at the ready was already pretty intimate. I had to be coy though, because already my penis was becoming erect. But we all were to a certain extent. Pissing contests are, after all, only a slightly veiled "show me yours and I'll show you mine" bit of adolescent sexual play.
"Ready. Aim. Fire!" came the order.
Not all streams developed on cue. Sometimes it's a little difficult to get your stream going when you have half a hard-on. But soon amber streams streaked through the air. The older boys were winning by a long shot. Albert and I didn't pee so excellently, but I easily outpaced his stream. He was such a runt. But he was devious. He aimed his stream at mine. The two streams collided and dropped to the ground a couple of feet in front of us.
"You rat! I could have been a contender!" I joked.
But I cherished his attention. It was nice for our pee streams to touch. I gave a little shudder as my stream stopped.
"Hey, that happens to me too!" exclaimed Albert.
"What? Little twerps mess up your pee too?"
"No. I mean that shudder that you just did. That happens to me when I pee. When I'm done, my whole body sort of shakes. I thought it was just me, but it happens to you too."
"I never really thought of it before, but you're right. It must be something about the bladder relaxing."
It felt nice that Albert shared this with me. Also it was flattering that he was watching me enough to see my 'pee shudder'. Did he like looking at me as much as I liked looking at him? It was a sweet thought. It made me want to hug him, but this wasn't the place for that. It would be hard to justify. And besides, our brothers were there. We all got tucked away and zipped up. We veered off the railroad tracks and cut through a pasture. Passing under a barbed wire fence, I noticed a fur lined depression on the ground.
"Hey look, it's a rabbit's nest."
Just then a baby rabbit darted out and ran into the long grass on the other side of the fence.
"Catch it!"
I knew how to do that. I saw the little fellow crouching in a clump of weeds, thinking it was invisible. I lifted my leg and kicked the weeds down over it trapping it.
"Grab him, Al"
Albert peeled the little rabbit out of its weed trap.
"Aw, he's scared. I can feel his heart beating. I'm not gonna hurt ya, fella."
We all gave the bunny friendly pats. Then Albert unbuttoned his shirt and tucked the furry bundle in. The little rabbit's head peeked out from between the buttons.
."Bye, rabbit," cooed Albert, releasing his charge, as we reached our destination.
Changing into swim suits was an uncomplicated affair at the creek. One simply stepped out of ones clothes in the shade of an oak tree in front of God and everyone. Suiting up, I looked at Albert standing there in his briefs.
"Maybe you should skinny dip. You're going to have to walk all the way home in wet underpants," I said sheepishly.
"I'm not going to swim naked while you guys have pants on."
Soon all four of us were splashing into the water. Albert wore his glasses in. He could not see without them. The older boys were soon swimming across the pool. Albert could not swim.
"It's easy," I said. "All that you have to do is lie flat on the water and relax. Here lie down across my arms and I'll show you."
Albert complied, lying in the water across my arms, as I moved him forward through the water.
"Now kick. Don't bend your knees. That makes you go under. And paddle with your arms."
I waited until he looked comfortable then let him go. His head was cocked back like a puppy, and all his limbs thrashed wildly.
"All right, you're doggie paddling. Pretty good! That's how you begin. But you have to learn to put your face in the water."
Standing up in waist high water, Albert removed his glasses and, unthinking, reached for his shirttail.
"You're naked, pal. No shirt here, I laughed."
"I've got water in my ears," he replied, tugging on the elastic of his briefs.
"Let's do some chicken fighting. Choose your partner!" rang out the order.
Just as I was beginning to choose Albert, his brother piped up.
"Let's make it a match between teams of brothers. Bob, Bill is your mount. Albert's with me."
A bit disappointed, I climbed on my brother's back. John supported his Albert, holding him under the thighs.
"Winning rider selects his rider or mount next round," I said undefeated.
Albert was little and I thought I could unseat him to win him for my prize in the next round. The match began. Sadly, my mount had the agility of an old nag, and soon our opponents had the best of us. I fell backwards into the water in a flailing heap. Now I had water in my ears! A victory shriek rose from Albert.
"Round two, brother against brother!" proclaimed Albert the victor. He looked at me and that phantom smile appeared on his face. That smile said so many things for Albert; things that he never knew how to express in words. Here, it was expressing the desire to please a friend that he understood very well.
It took me a moment for this to sink in. Then I stepped in front of Albert and, turning my back to him, reached behind me and scooped him up in my hands. I fought hard for my master, trying to win the laurels of victory for him a second time, but we were no match for our larger rivals and soon, I was toppling backwards spilling my charge. The round didn't last long enough for me. But the swimming adventure did last long enough. We were all exhausted by the time we decided to go.
"Here, Albert, you can use my towel first. After all, you have to walk home in those wet shorts."
"I think I'll just wear my jeans without underwear," said Albert reaching for the towel.
My eyes were attracted to his naked body as I took back the towel. We were just little boys and I had no prurient idea of what I wanted to do with him. I just wanted to play with him, like we just did all afternoon. When my stolen glimpse of the sun-dappled body was bordering on the "a bit too long" stage, I spoke.
"Are you going to wear those on your head like a hat, or hold them up for everyone to see?"
"Would you roll them up in your towel for me?" he said handing me his damp briefs.
I sometimes think that this was the beginning of my sexual awakening. The somewhat embarrassed young man standing in the shade; his boyish body completely nude, handing me his underwear. I felt a genuine attraction to him as I nodded. After drying off with the towel, still damp from Albert's use, I rolled up his briefs in my towel and we began the trek home. This was one of the most special summers of my boyhood. I was very happy, having Albert as my exclusive friend. Prior to this, I had just seen him on Catechism Saturday. But now, we were special friends.
Sturm und Drang
Fall came and we were in the same school. I could see Albert every day. Life was great, seeing him daily and having classes with him. We were at the age when boys' bodies change rapidly. Albert was not quite as shy, but it seemed as though he had not grown an inch. He would talk and joke with his classmates. I, on the other hand, sprouted up and was quite a bit bigger than him now. But I became more introverted. I did not make friends easily. There were lots of boys that I liked, but I was afraid to approach them. I was afraid of being rejected. Their brashness scared me. Neither Albert nor I were into swearing, talking dirty, sports, and the horseplay that most of our peers were into. Despite the differences we would still pick each other out of a crowd and enjoy our time together. Albert became more than a friend. He became "the friend". There was no one else that I could feel so comfortable with.
But there were big disappointments too. Despite my confidence socializing with Albert during the summer, it was a different story when I had to deal with groups of boys. In one on one conversation, I monitored my partner's reactions. I accommodated future sentences based on this feedback. But when there were many boys, yelling, some talking profanely, jostling, hitting and making jokes, often sexual, with each other, I cowered. I could not get a grip on what any of the boys meant by their actions. I saw that there was a certain communication going on there, but I could not grasp how it worked. It seemed that you had this bunch of boys all going through puberty at the same time, and all trying to comfort each other by talking and joking about it. I was bewildered. A thick shell began to develop around me. This made me obviously different, and thus a target for bullying.
I had a unique way of visualizing the bullying. Having been raised on a farm, I saw many quirks of nature. One of them was chicken bullying. The beginnings of chicken bullying are just as occult as the beginnings of the bullying of a boy at school. It's barely perceptible at first. Then you notice that the chickens always seem to be chasing one chicken in particular. Shortly after, you notice a spot of blood on the victim's tail feathers. As days pass, the spot of blood gets bigger and bigger as tormenters chase the victim, pecking at the blood on its butt. Soon, the chicken is very bloody. Frenzy develops among the pursuers, as they run after and viciously peck at the victim's butt. After a while, intestines become visible. Soon after that, you walk into the chicken yard one day and see the hollowed out carcass of the dead victim. I felt like this victim chicken throughout my high school experience. I was constantly being pecked in my most private parts. The more I was bullied, the more I withdrew into myself. Those who didn't bully considered me odd, due to my total lack of social interaction with anyone. It became an embarrassment for anyone to be seen socializing with me. As my special friend Albert shied away from contact with me during this period, I barely even noticed. I was too busy trying to make it through each day, to be able to try to build my relationship with the guy I valued most.
One tormenter was Rodney. He and his cronies would follow me around and make suggestive comments about how I should interact with his anatomy. He would sit behind me, sneeze, and wipe a wet hand on the back of my neck. If I happened to have a banana in my lunch, he would moan as I ate, to the amusement of all who were watching, the implication being that I was working on his penis instead of the banana.
Then there was Charlie. He sat behind me in study hall and tortured me. He proclaimed in the absence of the teacher, but in the presence of a number of other boys, "Bob, do you know what a hard-on is? Do you know what it means to come?"
Then others would chime in, "Yeah Bob, do you suck?"
And another, "He probably tries to suck himself!"
All this to the merriment of the other boys. I just sat there. I pretended not to hear. Indeed in my mind I wasn't there. In my mind I was a forlorn little chicken running around the chicken yard with a flock of pursuers pecking at my butt; my most private parts. How I identified with the unfortunate victim chicken! Charlie must have had an extra super dose of adolescent hormones running around his body. He sat behind me in art class. He was not making a show of teasing me in front of the other boys. He was just whispering to me personally.
"Suck me, Bob. Please suck me. Oooh I need to be sucked. Please suck me."
There was no ring of mirth to his voice. He was almost pleading. He really needed to get his rocks off and maybe he thought I would help him. I even felt a little sexual excitement hearing the bully plead. I ignored him. But I never forgot the incident.
In ninth grade "sacking" became the new rage, led by a jovial, if somewhat sick, little Italian guy. Sacking involved sneaking up on your prey and grabbing them in the crotch. I guess it was some sort of homosexual adolescent sex play stirred up by raging hormones. When I was sacked, I tried to pretend that it didn't happen. The cruel jokes would fly when my tormenter bore the insult of being ignored.
"He didn't feel anything. I don't think he's got any!"
On and on it went. I don't think that I could have born the torment were it not for a few people who were brave enough to be kind to me. They were confident of themselves enough not to fear expulsion from the "in crowd" for their kindness to me. Stephen helped me with my math. He was a beautiful boy, kind and smiling. Carla whispered jokes to me from behind my back in study hall.
"I killed my aunt last week", she said. "My mom told me not to visit her because I had the flu. I went anyway. She caught the flu. She died. I killed her."
Perhaps the merciful soul that I appreciated the most was Alan. He rescued me in the showers. I was much too ostracized to ever step in the showers after Physical Education class. I barely participated in P.E. anyway. I didn't know how to play basketball, and when I was assigned to the "skins" team, I did not take off my T-shirt. The P.E. instructor was a stickler for showering after class. Perhaps he had received complaints about stinky adolescents or maybe he just liked to look at naked boys. Still, I continually evaded the showers. He would walk by and shout at me by name, "Bob, strip and take a shower."
I always ignored him. Then once, he stood in front of me until I had removed all my clothes and headed for the shower. He strutted on victoriously. Amazingly, none of the boys poked fun at my naked body. It seemed, being in the nude, we were all equals. I thought I might make it through the ordeal until I stepped into the shower room. All the showers were taken. The only way to reach water was to push through a crowd of naked boys. So I stood there, naked, dry and embarrassed. I was a spectacle for everyone to snicker at. But angelic Alan noticed me.
"Here Bob, you can use this one," he said stepping back from the shower head.
Eagerly, I submerged myself in the spray, covering my nakedness and embarrassment. After a while, Alan put a hand on my shoulder and said, "OK I need it back".
I rushed from the shower room, dried myself, and redressed at a feverish pace. I had to get out of the locker room before the other boys emerged to peck at my butt. Alan is dead now, but I will always have a special place for him in my heart for the kindness he showed me that day. The same is true for the others who had mercy on me in my time of need. Sometimes I think I owe my life to these people. They were like the soldier who has your back in a military firefight.
Where was Albert during all this time? He was in my mind, whenever I could afford a moment's rest from my torment. He seldom came to my aid with a friendly word or gesture during this period. I think that he, himself, head cocked back to stay above water, was doggie paddling through this sea of adolescent sturm und drang. He would have been there for me if he could have been more socially secure himself. But as it was, Albert was trying to chum around with the kind, pretty Stephen; the same guy that sometimes helped me with my math. He would flirt and joke with Stephen. A relationship with Stephen was a step towards social respectability, because he was universally admired, and he really was a fantastic kid. I couldn't blame Albert for chasing after Stephen, while ignoring me. I was sure perdition. Albert had a fighting chance. Meanwhile, I continued with my hopeless efforts to extricate myself from my weird kid predicament. The most communication I got from Albert during this period was the times he would look at me with that wispy smile of his. As so often, that smile conveyed meaning that Albert never had the words for. I think that his smile was his most expressive communication. If you knew Albert, you could read it. The smile, with the surrounding circumstances, was capable of a wide range of expressiveness. When he gave me that smile during this time of adolescent angst it would say 'I'm with you brother. I'm just trying to make this thing work for myself. If either of us ever gets to the point where we can provide succor to the other, by God, we'll be there for each other!'
The tack I took was to model myself as the superior student. That was probably the beginning of my penchant to perform beyond my capability. I always got marks somewhat higher than my intelligence would warrant, all from sheer persistence and effort. So I managed to make the advanced math class. Obviously this did not help. It gave me more time with Stephen when he helped me with my problems. Stephen was indeed adorable, but in truth I did not care about him. I appreciated him. I did not love him. All that my advanced math capabilities did was put me in a different class than Albert. It was a double failed effort. I had thought that walking around with an advanced math text under my elbow would accord me some modicum of respect. I couldn't have been more wrong.
When I was a senior, I found myself squinting at the print I was trying to read. Soon it became apparent that I needed glasses. I had no problem choosing the frames. I got the exact same frames as Albert. Now I could be seen in the hallway tugging on my shirttail to clean my glasses. I am not sure if my classmates noticed, but there were comments about how my glasses were just like Albert's. Not soon enough, high school was over and Albert and I were off to college.
Albert and I chose different colleges, but I kept in touch with him. He coaxed me to come to his college. It was really hard to resist given how I felt about him. Could this coaxing mean that he must love me, like I loved him? Finally I gave in, and transferred to his college. He found me a room in the house where he was staying. I was ecstatic. We were living in adjacent rooms. I blossomed in happiness! I was 20 years old and my future looked bright.
We spent a lot of time together. If fact we were together more than we had ever been in our lives. Albert visited my room and I visited his several times daily. We were living together. It was wonderful. All of this closeness made me fall deeper in love. But I didn't tell Albert. I just wasn't sure that he felt the same about me as I did about him. He just wasn't expressive in words. You had to read Albert, like an astronomer reads the heavens. If it were possible for me to be frustrated with him, this characteristic of his would have been the cause. But I had known him for so long, that reading him was just second nature to me. When I perceived his meaning, I said it back to him to get confirmation. This was just another foible that set him apart from all the other guys for me.
We used to have take-out meals in each other's rooms. We laughed about sharing a dinner pizza at the same pizzeria every day for 6 months straight. We always listened to the jukebox with our meals. I knew his favorite music. I had never lived this closely with anyone before. We were partners!
Living in such close proximity, my feelings for Albert became more sexual. To me, he was the most beautiful boy in the world. I cherished the times that we dined in my room. When he left for the evening, I cleaned and gathered up the mess. When I saw his greasy lip marks on a used cup, soda can or bottle, I would put my lips where his had been. I got sexually exited doing this and I masturbated.
That was not the only fetish I had. Once I met Albert exiting our shared bathroom. Inside I found a drop of residual urine and a pubic hair. I tasted the urine. It made me feel close to him. It was like tasting his body. I saved the pubic hair and took it to bed with me. There I made love with the fetish, running it over my mouth and body. This was a way that I could experience intimacy with the object of my affection, without taking the chance of telling him exactly how I felt. It was a way to have him with me, where I wanted him to be. This fetish brought me to quick sexual climax. It allowed me to fall asleep instead of lying awake all night thinking about him.
We went to movies together. The excitement of sitting in the seat next to him was overpowering. When our legs or shoulders brushed against each other, I cherished it; yet I would politely move away so as not to seem like a flaming gay guy. I would get an erection as soon as I sat down beside him, and it would last for the whole movie. Once, a movie we were watching portrayed a young man, distraught to realize he was gay. The young man's friend comforted him saying, "It's all right, to be gay. It's all right."
Not long after seeing this movie, we dined together in Albert's room. Finishing up, I sat at his desk, and he lay down on his bed. Then something really significant happened. There were not a lot of words, naturally. That was not Albert's way. I don't know if I did something to precipitate it, or if he just knew me from more than a decade of friendship. I thought I had always been very coy in hiding my feelings about him. But maybe Al had noticed my maneuvers at the movie theater. Or maybe he noticed me looking at his beautiful reclining body. Or perhaps it was just a desire for some boyish fun that entered his mind. Whatever it was, out of nowhere, Albert repeated the soothing words that the young gay guy's friend told him in the movie we had just seen.
"It's all right to be gay. It's all right," he said.
I understood the reference immediately. A hot flush rushed over my entire body. My heart beat fast. My erection stood up hard, throbbing, and wet. There he lay, with that beautiful wisp of his phenomenal smile. Was he inviting me to his bed? Was this the night that we would share ourselves with each other? The sexual excitement of the instant was awesome. My blood rushed around my arteries at an extreme pressure. My ears and cheeks glowed red. What should I do? I had never had sex with anyone. Should I lie down beside him? Should I press my lips against that phantom smile? My hands would love to caress that body or rake through those precious locks. How would I progress to that godlike chest that I hadn't seen since the swimming hole nine years ago. I remembered that day. His briefs sagged wet and low under his enticing navel. How could I visit that abdomen more intimately? There he lay. The invitation was spoken. That could not have been easy for him. How should I go to him? The thought of taking off my clothes seemed crude. The thought of his penis in my mouth was delicious, yet how did I get to that point? There was lust to be sure. But there was also something else. There was love. This must be done right. I didn't want to scare him. I didn't want it to be a childlike sharing of each other's bodies either. This was not playing doctor. This meant so very much more to me. We must not look back upon this as a time of embarrassment that we would blush to recall. He had to understand that it was not just his body that enticed me. I loved his mannerisms, his way of speaking, his ideas, his way of walking, his expressions, and yes, most glorious of all, that tiny wisp of a smile. Just the one that flashed up at me like lightning from his face, there, reclining on that bed. All of this passed through my mind in that awkward instant while I sat there and he lay there and we looked at each other. Having initiated the engagement, he waited me to make the next move. I understood his invitation to intimacy. I scrambled from consideration to consideration. But what if I have misinterpreted him? What if he was just recalling an amusing line from a movie? If I lay down beside him, would he be shocked? Did I totally misinterpret his meaning due to the powerful sexual feelings I had had towards this boy for a dozen years? What if I made the next move towards intimacy and he exhibited shock and dismay? Would our relationship be over? Would I be an embarrassing memory for him? Would he feel awkward around me forever after this? COULD I RISK IT? Could I live without even the possibility that an intimate relationship would develop between us at some future point? THE WHOLE RELATIONSHIP WAS IN JEOPARDY! I could not live without him. It would kill me. I could not risk it. I needed a more blatant invitation. I would not take the chance of imposing unwanted intimacy upon him.
"Yeah, that was a funny movie," I blushed.
When I left Albert's room that night, my heart was leaden. I went to my room and listened to the sounds coming through the wall from Albert's room. Was he just rolling over in bed or was he masturbating? I removed all my clothes and stood in my dark room. I masturbated once and my penis hardened again after a very short rest. I masturbated a second time. I lay down in my bed, somewhat sore after these athletics. I did not sleep. The whole scene in Albert's room replayed continuously in my mind. The regret was palpable. Why hadn't I made a move? Why hadn't I taken the risk? If I had been wrong about his intentions, could I be any more miserable that I felt right now? But if I had been right....then I would have been in the heaven of his arms right now. Our bodies would be sexually sated and holding each other tight right now. Had I missed that opportunity forever? The thought hurt like hot coals in my abdomen.
A few months after this, Albert said that he was dropping out of college and entering a nearby business school. He would be moving into a trailer to be closer to the new school. He invited me to move along with him and to be his roommate along with two other guys. I don't know what his motivation was to ask me to come along. Perhaps they needed a fourth to share the expense. The trailer was further from my classes and it would have been difficult finding transportation.
"I can't Albert, I don't know how I could justify the additional expense to my parents."
"Bob, you have to get out from beneath your parents' thumbs. You have to exercise some freedom."
It was so unusual to hear that kind of talk from Albert. I couldn't recall him ever giving me advice about anything before that.
Still, I declined his invitation and stayed on at the rooming house when he left. There were tears. I missed him terribly. Several times I wandered around his empty room remembering that special night when he repeated those words to me.
"It's all right to be gay. It's all right."
This sad poem went around in my head when I wandered around his empty room.
'How cold, cold, cold
An empty room.
I wander around, around
See you everywhere.
How cold, cold, cold
An empty room.
How dark a deserted house.
So lonely and bare.
How cold, cold, cold
An empty room.
I walk in sadness since you've gone.
How cold, cold, cold, an empty room.'
I did not see him every day after that, but I did see him socially on weekends and vacations.
On weekends we sometimes went on drives together just to talk. One evening, my passion welled up too hot to control and I asked him point blank.
"Albert, do you think I'm gay?"
He was not stunned. However, the question hit him with his guard down.
"No I don't think so."
I translated this to mean 'I don't know what to say,' because it was obvious that Albert did somehow know that I was gay.
"What did you mean that time in your room when you said it's all right to be gay right out of nowhere, after we had seen that movie?"
"I don't know," replied a dumbfounded Albert.
Again I translated this as 'I don't know how to answer that.'
"Would you ever do anything gay with a guy," I stammered, blood rushing around my body and my heart pounding a thousand times a minute.
"I don't know," said Albert.
I translated this to mean, "Well, yes I would, but…."
I pulled over and stopped the car at a secluded spot. I looked at him for a longer than comfortable while. Albert never was very talkative. You just had to read his face. And I knew what I was looking for. I needed to see that phantom smile of his. That smile would have said, 'I love you and I want you body and soul, just like you want me.'
We looked at each other. My eyes were full of hope, like a prospective bridegroom waiting to hear the answer to his proposal. But the phantom smile did not appear. He sat there innocent, with a slightly uncomfortable posture. He was a little scared, but also a little determined. I knew that he would have let me kiss him. His body language told me that. I knew that he was ready for whatever affections I felt a need to lavish upon him. It touches me even to this day. He was so willing to be there for me. He did not feel what I felt, but he was loth to hurt me. Albert obviously loved me. He could even give me his body, but he didn't know how to say that he did not feel the physical love that binds life partners. I saw the meaning in his eyes. I was not the victim of unrequited love. I was loved in spades. I could not touch him. It would have been to violate something holy. I loved him too much. I started up the car and we drove to his house in silence. I dropped him off.
"See you later," I said.
"See you later," he uttered quietly, somewhat confused.
After that Albert went away for the rest of the summer. His sister found him a summer job a couple of hundred miles away. I wrote him every day. I read books on friendship and told him what they said. I spoke of the importance of a friend and how he was a friend and….how terribly I needed to hear from him…yet, no replies came. Then one day, I did get a reply. He still did not know how to express himself. Also, he was obviously trying to be gentle with me.
He wrote: My sister found some of your letters lying around and said 'You had better reply to this guy!'
No doubt Albert had been talking to his sister about this gay friend who was in love with him and he did not know how to handle it. His letter was skillful enough to tell me this without coming out and distinctly saying anything.
In the fall we went back to school. We continued a subdued friendship. It certainly was not easy for me. I wanted to hold him. He, for his part, did not want to hurt me. But he did not know how to tell me that his love for me was not the same as my love for him. When he invited me to sex in his room the previous year, he didn't yet understand. He would have engaged in gay sex, but more as boyish play than as an expression of physical love. Albert did not abhor homosexuality. But now he saw something different in me. He saw that I worshipped him and wanted more. He had other desires and was at a loss as to how to tell me this. Still, for the next two years I hurt terribly. My passion for Albert would not die. I dreamt of him. I couldn't think of anything else.
Happy Ending
On my 21st birthday, I bought beer for us to celebrate. Albert was 48 days under age. We sat on his parent's porch and drank six pack after six pack. I nervously played with an open beer can, slicing my finger.
Perhaps the alcohol helped him to show me how he felt. He grabbed a napkin, held my hand and daubed the blood. As he held my hand and daubed at the blood, he gave me that enigmatic smile. He knew what I was going through. How could he know? I never told him. But he knew. Kindly and gently he held my hand. No, he held my hand lovingly. The circumstance dictated the translation as always. His smile spoke for him as it always did.
"We are a bit different buddy, and I can't be all the things that you want me to be. All that I can give you is what I am. And I do give that to you insofar as I am able. I just don't have any more to give. For your sake, I wish it could be otherwise. But, understand, dear friend, this is me. This is what I am. This is all I am. There just isn't anymore. Can you accept that and be OK? Can you accept me for what I am and be happy with that? "
If he could be so brave as to sit there, smiling, holding his gay friend's hand, then I could be brave too. I never mentioned friendship or love or anything akin to it to Albert after that day. But love him I did, with every bit of humanity I possessed. I went off to grad school and we didn't see each other quite as often. Then I got a job a distance away and we saw each other seldom. After about 2 years my passion mercifully started to cool and I could live again. I got a job and moved on to other interests. Albert did too. I visited him once after he was married and had a little daughter. It was a fun and affable meeting. We drank a couple of beers. Then…imperceptibly 30 years passed and Albert became nothing more than a deeply cherished memory. I wonder if another man will ever love me again the way Albert did. I love him still. And it is a very good feeling.
Applause resounded in my ears, drawing me out of my trance. I was back in the present. It is amazing how we can lose ourselves in our memories. The boy on stage had established himself as an adult actor in this role. Obviously, nudity on stage is not a role for a child actor.. Fine for him! And what a beautiful young man he was. I regretted having missed the play, as I stood up in my expensive first row seat for the standing ovation. I turned to my wife
"I think that this young man has made a great transition from his film series to the stage. I didn't follow the plot though. Do you think that we can come and see it again tomorrow?"
Epilogue
This story is true and autobiographical. A couple of time sequences and places were changed. I noticed the smile that bought my first love back into sharp memory at the cinema instead of at a stage performance. I switched it to the stage in the story, because the play that the young man starred in was evocative of the strong sexual feelings that marked my relationship with Albert. Also, our summer swimming trip was a concatenation of several adventures we shared that summer. Other than that, the story is pretty much factual and accurate.
I did an Internet search for Albert after I saw his smile on the boy in the movies. He is alive and well and an executive at a financial company. I have an email composed to him in my drafts folder, but I have not sent it. I don't know why. Maybe I'm afraid that my bravery would not hold up. Thank you for listening to my story. Bob
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