A Crush on the Girl Next Door's Boyfriend

Rock Island, August 1975

When I was a kid, I was pretty aggressive.  In fifth grade, I was dating Bill and inviting cute guys to sleepovers; plus I gave a massage to a high school boy, strategized to see Randy the Golden Boy in his underwear and the Sanderson boys naked, fell asleep in a sailor's arms, and felt three wieners.

But during puberty, it was no longer a vague, amorphous wish to be close to him or see him naked.  I wanted more than that, to touch, taste, and fondle.  The desire was intense, immediate, and overtly erotic.

So I became shy and circumspect, especially around adults.

During the summer after ninth grade, we moved to a new house, only a few blocks away from our old house on 41st Street, but bigger, with a double yard where my parents could do their beloved outdoor entertaining.  They immediately became friendly with the neighbors.

The family next door had a teenage daughter, Julie, who was majoring in business at Augustana College.  We didn't socialize much -- I tried to avoid talking to girls as much as possible, since my parents interpreted the most trivial "hello" as evidence that I was smitten.

 And Julie, though all smiles around my parents, had no use for kids.  Every morning we left our houses at the same time; she swept past me without a word, scowling like the Wicked Witch in The Wizard of Oz.

You could almost hear "Da-da-da-da-da-daaa," the music that plays when the Witch comes on stage (it's called "Miss Gulch," composed by Herbert Stothart).

Ok, she wasn't that bad.  But I wouldn't have socialized with her at all except for her boyfriend Conrad.

He was an education major at Augustana, tall and slim, with a handsome square face and a bright smile.  Brown hair, a severe military haircut -- unusual in the shaggy-haired 1970s.   A little shy and quiet, always deferring to Julie.  But he always had a smile for me and my younger brother, and he always tried to engage us in conversation.

They went swimming several times a week, and Conrad picked her up wearing his swimsuit.  A smooth, tight chest, lightly tanned, an "innie" belly button, and an enormous bulge!  I was desperate to ask if I could come along, but of course they were too old for me to hang out with.

One Saturday in August 1975, about a week after I learned about oral sex in the church parking lot, Mom and Dad held a barbecue for their friends and neighbors.  There were about 30 people on five picnic tables in the side yard, eating hamburgers and hot dogs from paper plates, drinking sodas and lemonade from plastic cups.

The family next door was there, but not Julie.  Or Conrad.

Then, when we were about ready for dessert, they came rushing into the back yard, wearing swimsuits, carrying beach bags.  "Sorry -- we were at the pool and we lost track of time," Julie told Mom.

"No problem, there's lots of hot dogs left, and some potato salad and chips.  Go and change clothes, and come back."

  "Great, thanks.  We'll just pop next door and be right back."

Mom frowned, realizing that they would probably be changing in the same room, and see each other naked!  "It will save time if Conrad changes in our house," she said.  "Boomer, show him where the bathroom is, ok?"

"Um...sure, sure."  My heart started to beat faster, and I felt uncomfortably warm.  I was going to get a sausage sighting!  Maybe Conrad would even let me...

Trembling with anticipation, I led Conrad through the back door and into the kitchen, where one of our neighbors was cutting cake into squares, then through the hallway to the bathroom.  What excuse could I use to go in with him?

The bathroom door was shut.  I knocked.  "Occupied!" someone yelled.

"Um...that's ok, you can change in my room," I said, thinking fast.  "This way."

Back through the kitchen and up the stairs to my attic room.  I sat down on the bed.  Conrad put down his beach bag, turned his back to me, and dropped his swimsuit.

No!  I was too close!  I glanced around the room.  What could draw his interest?  "Hey...see the poster over my bed?  That's Mark Spitz.   He won 7 gold medals at the 1972 Olympics in Munich."

Conrad turned to look.  He stood in front of me, naked.  A gigantic cut Kielbasa, five inches from my face!

"Nice," he said with utter nonchalance.  "I didn't think you were into sports."

"I'm not.  I just like swimmers.  I mean I like swimming.  Or swimmers who are swimming, I mean."

Conrad stood there, immobile, a frown on his face, as if he was trying to figure out a hard math problem.

He's waiting for me! I thought.  Reach out and touch it!  Go down on him!  But I froze.  "Um...um...I took swimming lessons ever since I was a kid.  I have some Boy Scout training manuals, if you'd like to see them."

He was still standing there.  Waiting for me!  I stood and brushed past him, being careful to "accidentally" brush against his penis with my hand.  "Oops, sorry."  I walked, so shakily that I thought I would fall, to my dresser, opened the top drawer, and pretended to rummage around.

"Maybe later -- right now I'm really hungry."  I heard Conrad fumbling around in his beach bag.  Pulling up his pants.

"You ok, Boomer?"

I turned.  Conrad was buttoning up his shirt.

"Yeah," I said, managing a weak smile.  "I can't find my training manuals, is all."

"Let me know when you find them.  I'd be interested in seeing them."  He put his trunks into the beach bag, slid on his sandals, and walked past me to the stairway.  "Ready to go back downstairs?"

"Oh, I have a couple of things to do.  You go on."

"Ok.  Thanks for letting me change up here."  He touched my shoulder.  "I'll see you soon, ok?"

I stayed in my room for the rest of the afternoon.  When my brother came upstairs to see where I was, I told him I had a stomach ache.  Later Mom brought up some chicken soup and told me I shouldn't have eaten so many hot dogs.

When the fall semester started, I was in school all day, and rarely saw Julie -- or Conrad.  Around Christmastime, I asked about him, and Julie said that they broke up.

See also: I Learn About Oral Sex in the Church Parking Lot; Going to Bed with the Boy Next Door.

The Demolish Boys Get Naked

Rock Island, June 1975

One Saturday in June of ninth grade, we were driving through Moline, the next town over from Rock Island, and we passed a building I had never seen before: a three-story tall tombstone, all skeleton-white, with sinister black windows and odd symbols on the roof.  The sign said "Scottish Rite Cathedral."

"Rite" meant "ritual," and "Cathedral" sounded Catholic, which to Nazarenes meant the epitome of degradation, debauchery, and unbrindled evil.

"Is that a Catholic church?" I asked breathlessly.

"Worse than that," Dad said.  "It's a Masonic Temple.  A secret society, like a club for men.  They go in there to get naked and drink human blood and worship Satan.  And they especially like to drink boys' blood, so be sure to stay far away."

"Secret societies" were on the list of things forbidden to Nazarenes.  But they were near the end of a very long list, and preachers and Sunday school teachers usually devoted their time to more immediate sins, like going to movies or eating out on Sunday.  And I wanted to know more about men getting naked.

This was before the internet, and there were no books on the Masons in the school library, so the only way to get more information was to ask two older boys in NYPS (the Nazarene Young People's Society):  Dave was a member of church royalty, with perfectly cut black hair, perfect teeth, and an athletic physique.  Last summer I got a Sausage Sighting at summer camp: impressive, maybe a Bratwurst, cut.  Terry was slim, with dirty-blond hair almost too shaggy to meet Nazarene standards, an aspiring Gospel singer from an unsaved family.  He backslid every few weeks and had to go down to the altar again, so I got to go up and hug him while he "prayed through to victory."  Hard, tight muscles, warm body.

The next afternoon, during the down time between youth choir and NYPS, they were playing basketball in the church parking lot.  I approached.

"Think fast!" Dave yelled, throwing the basketball at me.  I dodged it -- I hated sports.

"What a dork!"  Terry exclaimed as he ran to retrieve it.  They ignored me to continue their game.

"Um...I was wondering...what do you know about the Scottish Rite Cathedral in Moline?  Dad said they kidnap and torture kids inside."

Dave stopped playing, and grew quiet and solemn.  "Oh, your Dad's right.  You don't want to go near that place.  Terry was trapped by them for awhile, before he got saved."

"The Masons have a special cult for boys called the DeMolay," Terry said.  "That's short for demolish."

"What do they do to the boys?" I asked.

"Oh, all sorts of weird, disgusting things.  Like...they make them drink blood."

"And eat human eyeballs!" Terry said.  "Don't forget the eyeballs."

Dave nodded.  "And they make the Demolish boys run across hot coals. And take off their clothes so everybody can see their wieners."

Terry wrapped his arm around my shoulders and leaned in conspiratorily.  "Then they make the poor scared boys kiss each other on the lips!"

"Bogus!" I exclaimed, although I didn't really think it was bogus at all.

Dave wrapped his arm around my shoulders also.  "That's not the worst of it.  While they're kissing, the Demolish boys have to touch each other down there!"

"Gross!"

"They're having a Demolish Boy meeting Wednesday night," Dave said.  "We may be able to arrange a little sneak and peek, if you're interested."

"If you have a strong stomach," Terry added.  "It's intense."

 "I have a strong stomach! I've been inside a Catholic church before, with the idols and candles and everything!"

I was pretty sure Dave and Terry were putting me on, but there was at least a chance that I could see boys kissing and touching each other down there.  Besides, I would be hanging out with two cute guys.

They insisted that I bring a friend along -- "safety in numbers" -- so I invited Craig from Washington Junior High.

They picked us up at 7:00 pm Wednesday night and took us to Alfano's, the high school hangout, for pizza and more spooky stories about the Masons and the "Demolish Boys."  Then we went to levee and walked around in the gathering darkness.

"Demolay Meetings are always late at night," Dave said.  "The witching hour."

Finally we drove to Moline and parked in a dark alley behind the Scottish Rite Cathedral.  It looked bigger and scarier from up close.  The windows were all dark.  There were only two cars in the parking lot.

"Are you sure there's a meeting?" Craig asked.

"Sure," Terry said.  "You don't think they would advertise it, do you?  They don't want the fuzz breathing down their necks."

 They led us to a side door.  It wasn't locked.  Down a long, narrow hallway.  I heard sinister music playing from somewhere deep inside the building.

Up a narrow stairway to a small room like a dressing room: racks of white robes, a full-length mirror, belts and shoes on little racks.  A small window looked out onto the empty Masonic stage.

"The main ritual area is right down there," Terry said.  "We'll be able to watch the ceremony from here.  But we'll have to keep the lights off and be very quiet, so they don't...."

Suddenly the door burst open.  A Mason!  A tall man in a white robe, his face obscured by a white mask, a sword in his hand.  "What the hell are you doing here?" he exclaimed in a deep rough voice.

We glanced at each other, terrified, not sure what to do.  The Mason was blocking the only way out.  Maybe if we apologized, he would let us go....

"We're sorry...." I began.

"Looks like Satan provided us with some new boys for the sacrifice," the Mason said with a chuckle. He pointed his sword at Craig and me.  "You boys take off your clothes!  Now!"

I was still mostly sure that this was a prank, so I nonchalantly pulled my t-shirt off and undid my belt.  Craig looked uncertain, but took off his shirt, too.

"Come on, be quick about it!  Show me your wieners!"  He turned to Dave and Terry.  "You, too.  You have thirty seconds to get your clothes off, or I cut your head off."

My heart started to race.  Dave and Terry would never agree to be the butt of the joke.   This was real!

"No, don't cut my head off," Dave said, his voice trembling.  "We're sorry.  We'll do anything you want."

"What I want is to see you kissing each other on the lips and touching each other down there.  Now get busy!"

Craig was already naked, his pale, slim body glowing in the fluorescent light, his small penis thickening, partially aroused.

I was getting partially aroused, too, wondering if I would get to kiss Dave and Terry, too, or just Craig?  Would I get to fondle all three of them?

Suddenly Terry started laughing.  "Ok, Joe, we've tortured the kids enough for one night."

The Mason put down his sword and took off his mask and robe -- a high school boy!

Dave put his arm around Craig's shoulders.  "You can get dressed, buddy.  I hope we didn't scare you too much."

Craig shook his head.  "I wasn't scared at all."

"And Boomer!" Terry exclaimed.  "I thought you were a little wuss, but you have nerves of steel! If I didn't know better, I'd think you actually wanted to get naked and kiss Craig on the lips."

"And touch him down there," Dave added with a grin.

By the way, the DeMolay is a real youth fraternity affiliated with the Masons, with about 15,000 members in the U.S.  They do character-building and charity work.   They don't actually require you to get naked and touch each other.

Some famous people who belonged to the DeMolay Society  as kids include Mel Blanc, John Steinbeck, John Wayne, Walt Disney, and Bill Clinton.

See also: I learn about oral sex in the church parking lot; The Sausage Sighting Prank at the Funeral Home.

Paul, the Boyfriend Who Was Too Good in Bed

Dayton, September 2006

Would you like a boyfriend with such a prodigious sexual appetite that he wants to have three rounds of vigorous bedroom activity every day, morning, mid-afternoon, and evening (more if his interest is aroused in the most trivial way possible, like seeing a cute guy in bicycle shorts pass the apartment).

How about if each round of bedroom activity lasts for an hour or more?

Sound good?

Maybe not.

In the Straight World of Dayton, Ohio, most guys are very, very closeted, taking ladies to office functions, insisting on driving an hour out of town for your dates, never inviting you back to your apartment lest their roommate "find out."

Therefore you don't see boyfriends often, maybe once a week.  On other nights they are busy with family or work functions that you are not invited to, or just skittish about being seen.

So I dated Paul, the office drone/aspiring writer, for six months without noticing anything unusual.  Sure, he was very passionate, and extremely eager .  When he spent the night, I never got any sleep: hour-long sessions at bedtime, in the morning, and sometimes in the middle of the night.

But I figured, he was young -- in his 20s -- and really, really into me.

Besides, isn't everyone like that when you first start dating?  You always have to meet him at the venue, because if he comes to your apartment, or you go to his, you'll never leave.

I didn't think anything of it until my second boyfriend, Charlie, turned out to be Paul's roommate -- each thought the other was straight.  He moved out in embarrassment, and Paul needed a new roommate.

"Why don't we move in together?"  he suggested.  "We've been dating for six months -- it's about time."

"Won't people suspect?" I asked sarcastically.

"Oh, no, we'll move most of your stuff into the second bedroom, and introduce you as my 'roommate.'  It's a perfect plan!"

I still had six months left on the lease on my old apartment, so I just moved some books and clothes, and some mementos, like the armoire from India and the tapestry from Paris.  I assured Paul that the rest would be coming at the end of July.

We settled down into domestic bliss.

Sort of.

 Picture this:

1. I got up at 6:00 am so I could work out for a couple of hours before my first class.  But he required an hour of sex first.  No time to get to the gym.

2. We  took turns cooking dinner.  Preparation usually took about an hour, and I liked to eat at 6:00.  But Paul got home at 5:30, and required sex the moment he walked in the door.  So preparation didn't begin until 6:30, and we ate at 7:30.
"Paul, I get low blood sugar if I eat so late."
"So eat a snack.  I can't wait."

3. He wouldn't go to the theater in Dayton -- we had to drive to Columbus, an hour away, which means leaving at 6:30, or 5:30 if we wanted dinner first. But Paul got home at 5:30, and had to go into the bedroom right away.
"Can't it wait until later?  We've already done it for like 3 hours today already."
"Nonsense!  There's plenty of time!"
 No theater.

4. I was in the midst of the season finale of Ugly Betty, the scene where Santos is shot just as his son, Justin, is performing in West Side Story, when my hand accidentally brushed against Paul's lap.  He said, "We have to go into the bedroom now."
"Are you kidding?  I want to see if Santos lives."
"You can watch tv any time.  Let's go!"

5. I went out jogging, and came home soaked with sweat, ready for a shower.  Paul said "Good, you're home.  I saw a cute guy on the street, and I'm ready to go in the bedroom."
"Can it wait until I shower?  I'm soaked."
"No, I've waited too long already.  Let's go!"

6. I got dizzy and collapsed onto the floor, accidentally brushing against his butt on the way down.  He exclaimed, "I'm calling an ambulance!  But we have to go into the bedroom first!"
Ok, I just made that one up. 

Refuse, you say?  "No" means "no"?

I tried that.  Paul got hurt feelings.  "Don't you find me attractive anymore?  You like that tv more than you like me!  Why can't you be more understanding?"

Or else he would satisfy his longings himself, which took twice as long.  Still no theater, and dinner at 8:30!

After a dozen missed plays, concerts, tv shows, and workouts, about fifty late dinners, and who knows how much soreness. enough was enough.  I moved my stuff back into my old apartment.

First time anybody has ever been dumped for being too good in bed.

See also: Dating Two Guys At Once.