Guilty Little Secret

by F M Land

  “It probably kept the noise down,” Terry observed. “Where did you play? In Jeff’s apartment?”

  “Yeh, in his bedroom.” I could feel Drew’s eyes on me again. I refused to look in Drew’s direction. “We need somewhere else to practice. We need more space and better amplifiers. I was thinking about Dizzy’s.” Dizzy had just completed his third year at Columbia and was living in the family brownstone in the Village on West 10th Street. The third floor of the brownstone had been converted into a huge music studio twenty years earlier by Maman. It would be the perfect place to play music.

  Drew hissed. “No way! You can’t go bringing strangers into the house! You know how your parents are about their privacy!”

  I finally raised my eyes to Drew’s. “Look, you can’t keep me in isolation forever. I need to go out and meet boys my own age. I need friends. I need to play music with people.” Without warning, I burst into tears. I didn’t even feel the emotion building up inside me. It took me by surprise. Suddenly, I was feeling very sorry for myself and so, so frustrated.

  Terry moved to the chair beside me and threw his arm around my shoulders. “Paulie,” he cooed gently. “It’s okay, Paulie. We won’t stop you from seeing your new friends.” He stroked the hair behind my ears, stirring in me a strange mixture of gratitude and sexual desire. It had been so long, weeks really, since Terry had last touched me. “But, Drew and I want to remain vos amis, aussi.”

  Somehow, when Terry tried to speak in French, it always seemed so funny, so out of character for Terry. It always made me laugh. I struggled hard not to laugh then, trying to keep my face puckered in a scowl. But, then I looked at Terry’s face, saw his smile, and knew that it was okay to laugh. Terry was trying to make me laugh. I kissed his cheek and giggled, wiping away my tears.

  The next morning I got permission from Terry to cruise over to Jeff’s place for a music session. Drew remained in their bedroom and didn’t register a protest. Kissing Terry swiftly on the cheek, I sped out the door with my electric 6-string. I promised Terry that I would be back before two o’clock, so we could go to Valhalla for dinner with Dad and Maman.

  Brian and Jeff were waiting for me, like the afternoon before, in front of Jeff’s building. We went directly to Jeff’s bedroom and plugged in our guitars. That morning Brian had brought over his own amp, which meant there were enough amplifiers to go around. But, I still wasn’t satisfied with the sound. I thought briefly about sneaking Brian and Jeff over to Dizzy’s where we could have a better set-up.

  Our music sounded great, though. I was really pleased. I liked the way Jeff’s voice and mine blended together. Even our guitar styles complemented each other.

  Suddenly a phone began to ring in another room. Gesturing for Brian and me to stop playing, Jeff left us to answer it. Brian and I stood across the room from each other. I gazed at Brian, trying to think of something clever to say.

  Brian spoke first. “You’re gorgeous,” he breathed.

  I nodded. “So are you.”

  “I want you to make love to me.”

  Nodding again, I answered, “I want to, too.”

  In a flash, Brian kicked off his gym shorts and underwear. He had a short, thick zizi. It was standing upright. I couldn’t take my eyes off it.

  Reaching out for me, Brian said, “Come here.” He grabbed my fly and unzipped my jeans. Eagerly he grasped my zizi.

  It felt so good, the way Brian’s hands held me. I closed my eyes in jubilation. The next thing I knew, Brian was down on his knees, his lips around my zizi. The movement of Brian’s tongue was the most incredible sensation that I had ever experienced. Instinctively, I pushed deep into the back of Brian’s throat. A sharp twinge of pleasure warned me that I was about to lose it.

  Brian must have sensed my urgency because he quickly moved away from me and laid back on Jeff’s bed, pulling his knees to his chest. “Come here,” he said again.

  I was stunned that it could be so easy. I wasn’t the least bit shy or uncomfortable, it felt so natural. I moved to the bed and flung myself down on top of Brian. With my left hand, I guided my zizi into the crevice between Brian’s legs. I had barely settled on top of Brian when I lost it, exploding into a breathtaking moment of perfect ecstasy.

  As I moaned and rocked in bliss, Brian suddenly stiffened and squealed, pressing his hips forcefully against mine. “Jesus!”

  Jeff laughed, startling both of us on the bed. I watched as Jeff seized a box of tissues and came over to us. “‘Jesus!’” Jeff echoed, laughing again. “You always say ‘Jesus!’ when you come, Brian! A Jewish boy yelling, ‘Jesus!’” He gazed at Brian, a soft gleam in his eyes. Then, throwing himself on the bed beside us, he began to stroke Brian’s face. “I leave the room, and you two have fun without me!” He handed me a wad of tissues. “Try not to stain the covers,” he told me.

  Taking Jeff’s cue, I withdrew from Brian. I tucked the tissues around my zizi and stood up. Then I noticed my teeshirt. To my horror, Brian had ejaculated all over the front of it, nearly to the collar. I hurried to the bathroom. I couldn’t go home with stains on my teeshirt. I scrubbed the front of my teeshirt under the faucet in the sink and hung it over a towel on the towel rack by an open window, hoping it would be dry by the time I had to leave.

  When I returned to Jeff’s room a few minutes later, Jeff and Brian were still on the bed, kissing deeply. It was then that I realized that I had lost my virginity without even kissing Brian. I didn’t take my eyes off the couple necking on the bed, as I kicked off my Docksiders and stripped off my jeans and underwear. I glanced at the clock. Less than an hour before I had to go.

  I sat on the bed beside Jeff and Brian, watching them kiss. Suddenly I wanted to make out with Brian. I was really attracted to Brian. Jeff had an acne problem, which turned me off a bit. But Brian was something else. “Hey,” I said to them softly, “I want in, too.”

  Although I preferred Brian, Jeff was more aggressive. He threw himself on me, then raised himself on his hands and knees to pull down his shorts. His zizi was enormous, long and thick. I grasped it with both hands, admiring it.

  Brian chuckled, “I call him ‘Mr. Putz’! Isn’t that something?”

  I nodded and smiled, my eye catching Brian’s. Then I turned my attention to Jeff who began to kiss me with powerful lips. His kisses left me breathless. As Jeff pressed his huge zizi against my stomach, I felt my own zizi tremble with excitement. I felt like screaming with pleasure. I offered Jeff my tongue, which Jeff sucked hungrily.

  When Jeff rolled off me, I immediately turned my attention to Brian, kissing his tiny mouth. I moved like a snake, slithering my way on top of Brian. Brian was not the kisser that Jeff was, but I preferred to make out with his pretty face. I was intently pressing my mouth on Brian’s when I felt Jeff kneeling behind me.

  As Jeff entered me, I groaned with pleasure and seized Brian’s tongue with my lips. Whatever Jeff was doing felt wonderful. I was suspended in a sea of bliss. Suddenly Jeff gasped and pressed forcefully against me, his body becoming rigid. Then he kissed my shoulders and neck as his movements slowed. Brian caught my hands in his. I squeezed his fingers tightly. It was better than any fantasy I’d ever imagined. I couldn’t believe it was happening to me. I lay there gasping with pleasure as Brian and Jeff ran their hands over my body.

  But, too soon, it was time to leave. I dressed quickly, casting a regretful eye on the couple dozing in each other’s arms on the bed. I didn’t want to go. To make matters worse, my teeshirt was still quite damp from the rinsing I’d given it earlier. I hoped no one at home would notice.

  Drew met me at the door and held it open for me. He glanced at my teeshirt briefly then reached out to touch it. His eyes met mine as he made contact with the damp shirt.

  He knew. Drew fucking knew. I wanted to scream, “I lost my virginity today!” I wanted to tell Terry all about it, about how I loved men, about Brian. But I was afraid.

  “Go take a shower before we leave, Paulie,” Drew told me
, softly. “And change your shirt.” He patted me on the shoulder and turned away.

  I passed the rest of the summer staying in the Village with Drew and Terry. I spent nearly every day with Jeff or Jeff and Brian. When Jeff and I were alone, we played music together, old songs and new ones, too. Once we tried to write a piece together, but we didn’t get very far. We just had different ideas about what was needed to make a tune work. But we practiced a large number of songs. We had quite a repertoire.

  When Brian was with us, as he was most of the time, we devoted little time to music. Brian was much more interested in sex than music. Once I got to know him better, I realized that all Brian ever talked about was men, or sex, or men and sex. Our lovemaking always centered on what Brian wanted. He called the shots, and Jeff and I performed. There was no complaining.

  Early on, I decided that Jeff was in love with Brian. Brian, on the other hand, was in love with every male body on the planet. On the street, he was irrepressible, oogling every male specimen that walked by. He had compliments for even the grossest bodies. Jeff and I laughed at whatever Brian said. I hoped I wasn’t in love with Brian, too.

  For most of July, Brian stayed in the Poconos with his parents, both NYU professors. Left to fend for ourselves, Jeff and I made a few half-hearted attempts at sex. But, it wasn’t satisfying, without Brian. So, we focused on music instead. I was delighted to have a friend who was into music, really into it, like I was.

  Brian returned to Manhattan in August with a new look, his dark curly hair shorn close to his head, and an abundance of new stories. He’d made a terrific discovery in the hills of Pennsylvania: older men. They were great, he assured Jeff and me. They were so experienced, so good. And they took a long time to come. Brian liked that. He had Jeff and me practically juicing in our pants with his stories.

  Brian was different after he returned from the Poconos. He was no longer interested in being with Jeff and me. Instead he began hatching plans with us: how to meet older men. Brian talked incessantly about ways we could meet them. He decided that hanging out on Christopher Street was the answer, on the west end, near the bars. We could find out about parties that way. Being only 15 or 16, we were too young for the bar scene. But we figured we could bluff our way into parties.

  I refused to accompany Brian and Jeff on their forays down Christopher Street. I was too worried about running into Terry. I didn’t think I could face Terry.

  It was about that same time, in early August, that Dad and Maman began to insist that I spend more time in Valhalla with them.

  “We could use your help in the garden, son,” Dad told me over the phone.

  Great, I thought, with heavy sarcasm. All I want to do is go to Valhalla and do farm work.

  Our Valhalla property covered over 20 acres, and nearly a quarter of that was in garden. My parents were vegetarians who preferred to eat their own organically grown food. They spent most of the summer working in their gardens. But I wanted none of it. Dad and Maman could waste their time moving around dirt, but I had more exciting things to do. And I told my father so.

  “Well, we want you home,” Dad insisted. “We miss you. Have Terry drive you out tonight.”

  Terry spoke into the phone on another extension. I had no idea that he’d been listening in to my conversation with Dad. “You know, Davy, he’s made some friends here in the Village.”

  “Friends? What do you mean?” asked Maman, who never had a friend in her life. At least that’s what I expected. I imagined her sitting at the kitchen table, frowning into the phone.

  “Some boys to play music with,” Terry answered. “He hangs out with them every day. He’ll be bored in Valhalla, I’m afraid.”

  Dad didn’t seem to be convinced. “What kind of boys? What are their names? Have you met them, Ter?”

  “Listen, Davy, I haven’t met them yet, but Drew has the address and phone number of one boy, where they always hang out. Jeff Levin. His mother is a salesclerk at Macy’s uptown.”

  “A department manager,” I corrected. I knew my mother was already judging Jeff’s worthiness to be my friend. “What difference does it make?”

  “None at all,” Maman croaked softly. “We just want to know about the people you --” She paused for a moment, trying to find the right word, “-- associate with. New York is a dangerous city.”

  “Yeh, yeh,” I jeered, irritably. “Brian’s parents both teach at NYU. Is that good enough for you?”

  “Come home this afternoon,” Dad ordered sternly. “Terry, can you drive him here? Why don’t you and Drew stay for dinner? Or spend the week. Put Drew on the line.”

  Trapped at Valhalla, I was bored and lonely. I worked on some new numbers to play with Jeff. I jerked off a lot. And I called Jeff at least once every day and talked to him for hours.

  One day Jeff had some good news. “We’ve been invited to a party!” he told me, excitement ringing in his voice.

  “How? When? Tell me!” I responded animatedly.

  “Well, Brian picked up this man the other day. Get this, he’s 29 and he’s a musician!”

  “Wow!” I was full of envy. I squirmed in my seat. “Tell me how --”

  Jeff went on. “We were walking down Christopher Street, and Brian started coming on to this man on the corner of Bleeker Street, smiling and chattering. You know Brian.”

  Yes, I did know Brian. I closed my eyes, bringing Brian’s gorgeous image to mind. How I missed Brian.

  “The man, his name is Tom, invited us to his apartment. We smoked pot --”

  “No!”

  “Yes, and then Tom led Brian into a bedroom and closed the door. I just hung out listening to music until they were through. Then he invited us to this party he’s having on Saturday night. In his apartment.”

  I slammed my fist into a pillow. “Man, I want to go, too!”

  “Well, you’re invited. Brian asked if we could bring you.”

  “Great!”

  “Wait ‘til you see Tom’s place. He’s a drummer. It’s really cool, all these weird types of drums --”

  Jeff went on to describe Tom’s drums and other furnishings, but my mind was racing to invent a way for me to get into the city on Saturday night. I couldn’t stay at Terry’s because Drew would give me an early curfew. Then I had a plan. I would stay at Jeff’s but tell Dad and Maman that I was going to Terry’s. Maman’s driver could take me into the city. I just hoped my parents didn’t call Drew and Terry. It was a chance I had to take.

  “Jeff, can I stay at your place on Saturday? So I can stay out late?”

  “Sure,” Jeff replied. “But, you might get lucky, man. Some gorgeous guy might take you home with him!”

  That fantasy, that hope that some gorgeous guy would give me the nod on Saturday night and sweep me away to share some of life’s little secrets, that was enough to convince me that I had to lie to my parents. I had to get into the city on Saturday night. I had to go to that party no matter what!

  On Saturday afternoon, the three of us met at Jeff’s apartment. Jeff’s mother was out, as usual. Brian was in a buoyant, almost manic, mood. Throwing open the window in Jeff’s room, he screamed, “We’re going to party tonight!”

  Jeff was worried that his neighbors might complain to his mother and tried to get Brian to contain his exuberance.

  Pushing Jeff aside, Brian reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a thinly rolled joint. “I bought it from my brother, Mark,” he told us, referring to his older brother, whom we knew, from Brian’s stories, to be a small-time dealer. “I bought a quarter ounce from him.”

  I was nearly numb from excitement. My arms and legs moved with an intelligence that was all their own. Everything seemed out of control. I waited impatiently for my chance to puff on the joint, to savor my first taste of marijuana. A thick, choking smoke filled my lungs as I inhaled deeply. I began coughing before I even raised the joint to my lips. Because of my cough, I could only suck on the joint spasmodically, in tiny breaths. It didn’t matte
r. I was on my way to being cool. I knew it.

  At the party, we stood on the edge of the action, trying to figure out where to go, what to do. There didn’t seem to be a lot of conversation going on, mostly men standing around, listening to music, surveying the room. I accepted whatever smoke Brian placed in my hand, be it tobacco or pot. I stayed away from alcohol, however, although Jeff and Brian were drinking plenty. Dad was an alcoholic, a recovered alcoholic, and I had endured endless lectures at home about the evils of alcohol. I was thirsty, though, because of the cigarettes and reefer. I was about to go in search of juice or a soda when Brian seized my arm.

  “Look who’s here!” Brian exclaimed, his voice rising with excitement. “Look! There’s Terry Walters! Can you believe it? And he’s looking this way!” Brian began moving his hips to the music that was playing. Exaggerated movements, side to side, then humping movements, to show he was really getting into the music.

  I couldn’t believe it. I felt mortified when Terry’s surprised eyes met mine. I wanted to die. In desperation, I eyed the open window across the room.

  “Wow! This is too much!” Jeff piped up.

  “He’s coming this way! Shit!” Brian continued to dance in place to the music, now adding a shake of his shoulders to his movements. He smiled his cutest smile at Terry, who approached us swiftly, his eyes on me.

  My head was reeling, unaccustomed to the marijuana and nicotine in my blood. I was afraid that I was going to pass out. But the grip of Terry’s hand on the back of my neck quickly cleared my head. I smiled lamely at Terry.

  “Hi, cutie, care to share that joint with me?” Terry casually took the joint I was holding, brought it to his lips, and sucked in the smoke, before handing the joint off to Jeff. His voice was casual, but his eyes were flashing the message, “Come with me, you little squirrel!” “Who are your friends?” he asked, looking first at Brian, who was still gyrating to the music, and then at Jeff, who was paralyzed with surprise to be in the presence of one of his longtime heroes. Terry smiled flirtatiously at Brian, who glowed under Terry’s scrutiny. Then Terry turned back to me, gazing meaningfully into my eyes.