textfiles/sex/EROTICA/A/athens.txt

	Athens
	Dorvis Slaughter

	I'm really glad you came back.  There's still a lot I want to tell 
	you, and I was afraid that we wouldn't get the chance, but here we 
	are.  Ain't it great how life works?  Anyway, yeesh.  I have a story 
	to tell ya about the days of my youth.  Well, not so much youth.  I 
	mean, I was in college then, back at the old University of Georgia 
	in Athens, Georgia, but well, compared to now, I was young. 

	It was a great time then, back in 1982.  Reagan had just begun to 
	fuck things up but good in Washington, and things in Athens were 
	seething.  It seemed that the entirety of Clarke County was up 
	tearing Ronnie apart in words or in speech, and I was one of them.  
	Oh, man, you should have been there then.  REM was still working for 
	peanuts playing gigs at the 40 Watt Club and living in the old church 
	on Oconee Street, the street where I lived.  Peter Buck, their guitar-
	ist, had just quit working at Wuxtry, the hippest record store in all 
	of the great state of Georgia.  They were going up to  Charlotte, NC 
	to record their first album, "Murmur."  It would be released the next 
	year.  The town was buzzing, things were happening and the University 
	kids, myself among them, well, we were so alive in ourselves, pissed 
	at our parents, of course, but living a life that was at the same time 
	both humble and grand.

	The summer of 1982 was the beginning of it all for me, really.  Sum-
	mers in northern Georgia are wonderful things.  The sun beats down, 
	but it is relatively dry.  The bugs chip and whizzle in the kudzu 
	vines, which grows over anything that lays still for a day or so.  And 
	things in the Summer, well, they're slow.  Lazy.  They take their 
	time.  Summers in northern Georgia seem to enjoy their own company 
	and they aren't in any hurry to be rid of themselves, so the days 
	stretch to weeks, long meditations in the heat.  And it was around 
	that first week of the Summer of 1982, in Athens, GA, that I met 
	Nicky, and that's when everything changed.

	I had a relatively normal life.  I mean, I knew that I was a boy-
	lover, although it never would have occured to me to call myself 
	that.  I didn't know any other boy-lovers, so naturally I couldn't 
	easily identify or put a fine point on what it was that I felt.  I 
	had no one to sort it out with.  I knew I was different from any of 
	my friends, those long-haired kids that grooved to Love Tractor at 
	Tyrone's on Saturday nights.  But just what made up the matrix of my 
	difference I couldn't really say.  It was just there, and like a good
	Georgian, I accepted it, and didn't say a word.  

	And it was hard.  Athens has always been a liberal town, very politi-
	cally and culturally up-to-snuff, and I was very attracted to the 
	boys there, sons of the native Athenians and the professors.  They 
	had a strange blend: a mixture of earthy Southern charm and a general, 
	all-encompassing savvy that belied their young eyes.  When you're born 
	and raised in a sociocultural arena, you aren't like other kids, and 
	the Athenian boys were the exceptions to every rule.  Starting at 
	around nine years old, they grew their hair out, became restless, and 
	their minds, soaking in the stimuli around them, expanded forming 
	thoughts and opinions that most older teens outside of town couldn't 
	even touch.

	Nicky was one of the kids that I used to see all the time around at 
	Wuxtry.  I worked there for a brief time, APB (After Peter Buck), but 
	-in that short time I came to know just about everyone in town.  Wux-
	try then was something of the Athenian apothecary.  People came there 
	to get their fix.  The Clash, The Pretenders, John Cougar.  We had it.  
	And the new bands, too.  REM, Pylon, the Flat Duo Jets, and of course, 
	Athens' home kids, the B-52's.  Everyone had to admire the B's, even 
	if they were just a little embarassing, but hey, they were a success 
	up in New York, which was more than anybody could say for any of the 
	other punks around the old burg.

	Nicky would always come in asking for the new stuff.  And he always 
	came to me.  Now, Athens is no different from any other college town.  
	All your Ann Arbors and Chapel Hills have this sort of bubble of 
	arrogance around them, and Athens did too.  So more often than not, 
	you'd ask a sales clerk a genuine question, and you'd get a glorified 
	sneer in your direction.  And Christ, that was never more practiced 
	than at Wuxtry.  Ignorance when it came to music was a cardinal sin.  
	And well, when Nicky first came in, he was a sinner.

	He didn't know much about the tunes.  He wanted to know, he really 
	did.  He wanted to be a part of all this excitement he saw the col-
	lege kids indulging in, but being just a kid, he found it hard to 
	squeeze his way into the clubs, so he took his pains to Wuxtry.  
	Celia, one of the girls I worked with, laughed at him when he first 
	asked her what was new and good.  I had noticed him as soon as he 
	came in.  I was arranging the 'd' section of the 45's when he stepped 
	through the door frame.  What struck me was just how perfectly pretty 
	he was.  He was still a junior high kid, from the looks of it.  
	Twelve, maybe thirteen.   It was a scorcher that day, and like most 
	of his friends, he had his grey t-shirt off and tied around his waist 
	by the sleeves.  His hair was long all over, coming down in a lux-
	urious swoop over his left eye, a condition which allowed him to 
	punctuate his sentences with a head flip, giving anyone privy to his 
	conversation, for an instant, a glimpse of both of his green eyes.  
	His hair, I judged, would normally be that mousy brownish blond 
	color that so lovingly graced my head, but the sun had done some w
	ork, and streaks of blond coursed through it.

	Anyway, Celia had laughed at him and went back to doing whatever it 
	was she was doing.  Nicky kind of frowned, obviously dismayed, but 
	not too suprised.  He surveyed the store, looking for someone else 
	who looked properly kooky enough to work there.  His eyes met mine 
	across the floor, and I raised my eyebrows to let him know that he 
	did, in fact, have the attention of an employee.  He kind of smiled, 
	flipped his hair, and bounced over to me.

	"What's up?" I asked when he finally stood in front of me.

	"Uh...hi."

	My God he was pretty.  His lips were full but taut, and sort of stuck 
	out in a perennial pout.  His chest was soft looking and smooth, and 
	it glistened with the sweat that he had worked up outside under that 
	sun.  But he didn't smell of sweat, he smelled, well, rather sweet, 
	like the sweetgrass in the fields outside of the town.  Maybe he hung 
	out there, I certainly didn't know.  He bit his lower lip slightly, 
	as if mustering up some courage.

	"Uh...I'm just trying to find somthing new, ya know."

	He speech was soft and slightly husky, and his words leaned and 
	sagged in a graceful southern drawl.  Like the heat of summer, his 
	words had little desire to be rid of themselves.  I surveyed the boy, 
	trying to get a general idea of what he might like, but you know, 
	this was Athens, it could've been anything from John Cage to the 
	Beach Boys.

	"New?  Just anything?  Something specific?"

	His eyes skitted around the posters and flyers taped around Wuxtry's 
	slightly claustrophobic interior.  He brushed his hair away with a 
	hand this time, and his eyes looked into mine.  "You know, something 
	cool."

	"I can do cool."

	And I smiled at him.  I wanted to reach out and pat him on the 
	shoulder to let him know that I had no intention of tarring him and 
	throwing him out, but my words seemed to do it for me, for he relaxed 
	with a sigh and smiled.  "Okay.  All right, cool."

	All the best things in Athens then were still on vinyl 45, and I set 
	the kid out the door with a handful of them.  I tutored him for a 
	good half hour on the new bands and the new, different sounds they 
	were making, and he followed me around, listening to me as a pupil 
	would, his one visible eye rapt with attention, his head nodding with 
	every other sentence.  His friends had all gone and left him there, 
	apparently giving up on  him about fifteen minutes after they came 
	in.  

	About midway through his tour of the local 45's, I introduced myself.  
	"Oh, hey man, I'm sorry.  I forgot."  I outstretched my hand.  "I'm 
	Emmet."  He took my hand and squeezed.

	"I'm Nicky."  He smiled again, and it wrenched a huge grin out of me.  
	He had a great smile, one that lit up his whole aura.  And he was so 
	fascinated  with all that I was telling him, and just as fascinated 
	with the fact that I was willing to tell him, he was silent until I 
	cashed him out.

	"Thanks alot, man," he said.  "That's really neat, ya know."

	I tried to see both of his eyes, but that was rather impossible.  
	"What's neat?"

	He held the 45's up and smiled.  "You know, these.  And all that 
	other stuff.  You know.  It's just kinda cool, you know?"

	My heart did this sort of dive and recover.  He was just so damn 
	adorable there, shirtless, with that soft shock of blonde-brown hair 
	over his eye, and that...that smile.  I reached my hand out again.  
	"I know, buddy.  Hey, you know, anytime.  Right?"

	"Sure."  He flipped his hair back and walked out the door.

	Celia looked at me from her position at the next register.  "Looks 
	like you made yourself a little friend."

	I smiled.  "Looks like it, doesn't it?"



	I walked slowly down Jackson street.  Anyone who knew me then could 
	have told you that this practice would get me killed, this walking 
	down the street with my face buried in a book.  Back then, I never 
	went anywhere without some sort of novel or something, I really 
	didn't care what.  If my attention went unoccupied for a second, the 
	book came out.

	"Hey, bookworm!"

	Two hands grabbed me around my chest from behind.  I dropped my novel 
	and stumbled over it, spilling onto the sidewalk in front of the 
	camera shop.  "Emmet! My god! I'm sorry!"

	I looked up and saw, standing above me, my beautiful friend Eliza, 
	her hands covering her mouth, her face contorted in what I was sure 
	was a mixture of panic and an uncontrollable desire to laugh her ass 
	off.  I stared at her for a second, shaking my head.  "Great," I 
	said, finally breaking into a smile.  "Just great."

	"Emmet, my god, I am so sorry.  I feel like a total moron."

	"Yeah, well,  you are."

	I got up and immediately Eliza grabbed me in a hug.  "I hope, after 
	all that we've been through, that you could find it your heart to 
	forgive me."

	"Maybe."

	That was enough for her.  She pulled away, laughing.  "Well, you 
	gotta admit that was funny as hell."

	Eliza had been the first person I had met in Athens when I got there 
	from Macon in 1980.  I dated her for a time, and when we both real-
	ized we just weren't attracted to each other, it fizzled out.  Her 
	next relationship was with a girl, as were all her subsequent ones, 
	so I figured that either  I was her last stand before she totally 
	admitted to her homosexuality to herself, or it was just so bad that 
	she figured she might as well give up on men altogether.   We had 
	remained friends since then, mostly because I could relate to her: 
	her acceptance of the card she was dealt was definitely an inspir-
	ation, but what attracted me the most was her vibrancy, her total 
	resignation to the way things were.  Nothing fazed her, not even 
	when I had eventually told her that I liked boys.

	"Really?" She had gasped.  "I would never have picked you as being 
	the gay type.  I mean, Christ, you did wonders for me in bed."  She 
	nudged my side.

	"No," I said, calmly but with a definate tremor in my voice.  "Not 
	men.  I'm not gay, Eliza.  I like, you know, young ones."

	"How do you mean?"

	I looked up at the trees in the quad, and around me, and we were 
	alone, just Eliza and I.  "I think I like boys, Eliza.  I mean, they 
	turn me on.  In a big way."

	Eliza was very calm and composed.  "How old are we talking about 
	here, Emmet?"

	I scratched a seemingly ruthless itch on my nose.  "Uh..., you know."  I 
	couldn't say it.

	"No, I don't think I know."

	I gazed into her brown eyes, eyes so brown they were almost black.  
	She wasn't making this easy for me.

	"Well, I guess I like it when they're before puberty kind of.  You 
	know, like eleven or twelve."

	She sank back down against the tree.  "Christ, Emmet."

	"I know..."

	She caught herself.  "No.  It's okay with me, kiddo.  I mean, sex-
	uality is one of the few things in this fucking universe that we 
	can't understand, but just be careful."

	"Oh, I don't know if..."

	"What attracts you to them?  The boys, I mean."

	I stopped, biting my nail.  I just couldn't look at her, and I kept 
	my eyes on a squirrel that was digging in the dirt  "I don't know."

	"What?"

	"I don't know.  I mean, I've thought about it, thought about it a 
	lot, and I can't put my finger on it."

	"You find them sexy, though, right?"

	"Oh yeah, sure.  But that's just a part of it.  And in the grand 
	scheme, I think a rather smallish part.  There's something there, I 
	don't know."

	"Can I ask you a personal question?"

	And I had to laugh at that one.  "I don't think that I could get any 
	more personal" I chuckled.

	Eliza smiled placidly, like a psychiatrist or a talk show host.

	 "Were you..."

	I cut her off.  "No, never.  Never.  No one ever touched me, molested 
	me, hurt me, abused me.  Nothing."

	"You've gone through this before, haven't you?"

	"This conversation?"

	"Yeah."

	"Oh, about a gajillion times in my head."

	"Have you ever done anything?"

	"With a boy?"

	"Yeah."

	"No...no, never.  I don't know if I would.  I mean, lord knows I'd 
	like to, but...you know."

	Eliza leaned foward and kissed me.  "No, I don't know.  But just be 
	careful, Emmet.  I love you.  Just don't do anything stupid.  If any-
	thing ever happens, make sure it's mutual, okay?"

	"Oh, god, I could never force anything on anybody.  I'm not a moles-
	tor, Liz."

	"Shhh..shhh.  I know you're not, Em.  I would never think that you 
	were.  But just...you know, make sure that you and...your partner...
	both have clear heads."  And she smiled at me. 

	"As clear as yours?"

	"That, lover, would be impossible."  And we hugged and held it for a 
	long time.

	And so anyway, Eliza and I were standing in front of the camera shop 
	and I was doing my best to brush the dust off my clothes, but it 
	didn't seem to be working.  Eliza was still giggling a bit under her 
	breath.  I kept shooting dirty looks at her, but she knew I wasn't 
	serious.

	"So what did you drag your sorry self out here for anyway?" I asked 
	her, my tone more jolly than anything.

	"Well, I just wanted to see if you wanted to come to Tyrone's with 
	me tonight.  Pylon's playing."

	"No shit, really?  Damn...I'd like to, Liz, but I'm busted.  Really, 
	babe, I'm flat 'til Thursday."

	"What's the matter?  Wuxtry not floating the boat?"

	"Yeah, right.  Not on what they pay me."

	"Well, that's never stopped you before.  I'll float you this time if 
	you want.  Meet me there, okay?"

	"Yeah, sure.  You got it.  Pylon's great."

	"You think I don't know that?  The show they played the other week 
	with REM was not to be believed.  Down at the 40 Watt.  Me and 
	Michael are starting to really get to know each other, too.  He's 
	really nice.  Flaky, but nice."

	"Michael?"

	"Yeah, I don't think you know him.  He's the guy who sings for REM."

	"Oh, yeah, I've seen him around town, he comes into Wuxtry all the 
	time, but never talked to him.  Kinda quiet, ain't he?"

	"Yeah, he is.  Got a great singing voice, though."

	"Hmm."

	"Well," Eliza said, snapping the conversation line, "I'll see you 
	tonight then, right?"

	"Sure.  Yeah, sounds great."

	"Great.  See ya."

	"What time's the show?"

	"Nine."

	And with that, she walked away down Jackson Street, her flowered 
	dress blowing behind her in the dry wind of the Georgia summer.  We 
	had talked about my love for boys many times after that first day in 
	the University of Georgia quad, and she had come to a very good 
	understanding of me and how I felt, and above all, I think she 
	respected it.



	By the time 5 PM rolled around, the afternoon had waned to that tena-
	tive time when it was nowhere near getting dark, but the daylight 
	was becoming stagnant and strained, like it was tiring out and 
	waiting for the darkness to get its ass in gear and relieve it of 
	its duty.  I had been in a funny mood ever since I had run into 
	Eliza, mostly from thinking about that day on the quad, but also 
	making those plans put me in that state of listless waiting.  You 
	know, the way you feel between the time you get up and the time the 
	Christmas party begins and you can open your presents.  Just useless 
	existence, or so it seemed.

	I had taken a walk out of town, down one of the numerous veins of 
	country road that surrounded Athens, passing some old abandoned homes 
	with yards overrun with kudzu, past large houses built for college 
	professionals.  And dammit, I had forgotten my book.  I hated that.  
	That meant that I actually had to occupy my mind with bonafide 
	thought, and well, you know as well as I do what that thought was.  
	Nicky.  Yeesh.  Ever since I had seen him earlier that afternoon at 
	Wuxtry, I couldn't get my mind off that beauty.  He was so attentive, 
	so rapt with fascination over the facts that I was giving him.  Music 
	history.  The Sex Pistols, The Velvets.  All the stuff he needed to 
	know, and wanted to know.  I could see his green eye dance with the 
	possibility of it all, the other eye of course being masked by that 
	charming shock of soft blonde-brown hair.

	And Eliza's year-old question kept coming back.  "What attracts you 
	to them?"

	I said it to myself aloud.  "Emmet, what attracts you to them?"  I 
	thought of Nicky, about what attracted me to him specifically.  I 
	figured, hell, I'd narrow it down to an example and start from there.  
	Nicky... Well, yes, physically he was beautiful.  Soft skin, hairless.
	I was careful to spy on him reaching up for a record on a high shelf,
	and there had been no hair under his thin arms.  I had felt a surge
	with that.  Okay, so he was aesthetically beautiful.  Was that all? 

	"No," I answered myself aloud.  I mean, I saw at least twenty pretty 
	boys a day in Wuxtry and not one of them had  joggled my psyche like 
	Nicky had.  There was something more to it.  Perhaps it was the way 
	he followed me, listening.  Perhaps.  But, I didn't even think that 
	was all of it.  There was something behind his eye, that bright green 
	eye, that I couldn't put a finger on.  Something that hinted at some-
	thing else.  A desire to know more?  A curiosity?  No, that wasn't 
	it.  An...

	"Oh, DAMMIT!" I cried out.  And then I looked around to see if any-
	body had heard me.   No, of course not.  Sound doesn't carry well in 
	the Georgia countryside.  What isn't absorbed by all the greenery is 
	drowned out my the chatter of the insects.  I was genuinely frustra-
	ted.  I looked down at my fists and noted that they were clenched.

	"Christ, Emmet," I said to myself.  "Get a grip."  But my mind 
	thought back to Nicky.  Nicky, Nicky.  What was his last name?  I 
	didn't know.  I wondered just how old he was.  I wondered what he 
	looked like out of his black jeans, if he was a virgin.  And then I 
	actually sneered at myself.  I felt utterly pathetic.  He's just a 
	boy, man.  Just some kid.  Get a grip, Emmet, man, you're gonna lose 
	it.   But I can't help it.  I can't get him off my mind.  Well, 
	you're gonna have to help it.  What can I do?  He's so beautiful, 
	so...  Just shut up.  You see?  You should've brought your book.

	And I walked back into town, back to Wuxtry where I would sometimes 
	hang out when I had nothing else better to do.  Hell, everyone else 
	in town did it, why not the employees?  Celia was the first to notice 
	me there.  "You know," she sneered.  "It's really sad when you're 
	here and you're not getting paid for it."

	I blinked slowly and chuckled through my nose.  "Tell me about it."  
	She laughed and began to walk back into the office when she turned 
	and said, "Oh, by the way, your little friend was in here looking for 
	you."

	"Oh, I know.  I ran into her on Jackson Street.  We're gonna go see 
	Pylon tonight.  Wanna come?"

	"Huh?  No, no.  Oh, no, I've already talked to her.  Yeah, she was 
	looking for you, too.  No, I mean that kid you talked to today.  The 
	blonde kid.  He was looking for you.  He wanted to talk about some 
	record or something he got today.  Don't know what was up with it.  
	He said he'd be back later."

	I licked my rapidly drying mouth.  "Didn't you tell him that I wasn't 
	working 'til tomorrow?"

	"Oh, no."  She stretched and yawned.  "Didn't even think about it."  
	And she disappeared into her office.

	I stood there for a second, trying to comprehend just the general 
	kookiness of the whole situation.  Ain't that a bitch? I thought.  
	And then I couldn't help but smile.  He was looking for me.  I 
	weighed each word.  He...was...looking...for...who?  Who dear lord?  
	Me!  

	"You gettin' lucky or somethin' tonight?"

	I turned around.  The blurb had come from Hamilton, the definitive 
	Georgia college yokel.  He had come from a piss-poor white trash 
	family on sheer brain power, and everything, from his long, stringy 
	hair to his embarassingly thick accent gave no clue to the hyper-
	genius underneath the hickish image he projected.

	"Huh?"

	"Sorry, buddy, but you look plum stupid."

	"Huh?"

	"Huh?" he echoed.  "Huh what?  You're standing there with the stupid-
	est grin I ever done seen on your face.  What's up with that?  You 
	just get some pussy?"

	I laughed at that one.  "You're always so fucking eloquent, Hamil-
	ton."  And I walked away, smiling.

	"Yep, that's why I make the big bucks," he drawled at my back.

	"Too bad you're jobless!" I yelled back and stepped out of the door.

	Dammit! I thought to myself as I trotted down the street  Dammit!  I 
	missed him!  I missed him.  But you didn't know he was gonna come 
	looking for you.  Oh fuck you, I missed him.  But he said he was com-
	ing back, you know.  Huh? Remember, Celia said he was coming back.  
	Wait for him.  I could do that.  Yes, you could do that.  
	
	And like a Nazi, I did a two-step 180 degree turn back in the direct-
	ion of Wuxtry.  I planted myself on the sidewalk outside with my back 
	against the building and my legs folded against my chest.  And I 
	waited.

	After ten minutes or so Hamilton came trotting out, noticed me on the 
	ground and stood there, his legs apart and his hands on his hips.  
	"What the livin hell is the matter with you?"

	I looked up at his hulking shape.  It was a lot cooler in the shade 
	he provided, but it didn't smell any better.  "Not a goddam thing." 

	"I'll tell you one thing, Emmet, you're about fucking weird, if you 
	ask me."  And he dashed off down the street, his greasy long hair 
	flopping against his back with each step.  I watched him walk away.  
	He got as far as the corner when he turned and faced me, his right 
	arm in the air, waving.  "Puuuuuuusssssyyyyyyy!"  

	I just shook my head, folded my arms, and laid my head down.

	"Who was that?" a voice said.

	"Just an asshole."

	"Ain't you workin'?"

	And I looked up, and there he was.  Nicky.  Still shirtless, in those 
	black jeans, looking down at me in the early evening sun.  "Hi!" I 
	said.  "Nicky, right?"

	"Yep." And he sat down next to me.  Well, that was unexpected, I 
	thought.  "Why'd he say 'Pussy?'"

	I chucked at hearing the boy's voice form that word, pussy.  Just 
	wasn't used to it, I guess.  "I dunno.  I think he's under the im-
	pression that I got lucky or somethin'."

	The boy flipped his hair and smiled.  Dammit! That smile, Gawd!  
	"Did you?"

	"Did I what?"

	"Get lucky?"

	"Oh!" I must have been blushing.  "No, no I didn't."

	Nicky chuckled, a high succession of little laugh bursts.  God, he's 
	so damn charming.  "Oh, okay."  He was still smiling.  "I just, you 
	know, wanted to come back and say thanks and all."

	"Thanks?"

	"Yeah, you know, for today and all."

	"Well, it's my job, ya know."

	"Yeah, well, it's everybody's job, but nobody does it."

	"Well, not everybody's as cool as I am."

	Nicky flipped his hair back and with his hand held it back.  I fell 
	into his eyes, two pools of pure truth and emotion.  And, my god, 
	this was just on a sidewalk!  "I know," he said.  "I mean, you're 
	nice and all, and you know a lot about music and I really don't.  I 
	mean, I'd kinda like to learn about music and stuff, 'cause when I 
	hear it I really dig it, I think it's cool, but I don't like to just 
	go pick up anything."

	"Well," I said, "that's kind of the point to it all.  You know, just 
	going and picking  up stuff.  Testing the waters, like."

	"I really can't afford to do that, though.  I mean, I don't like 
	everything."

	"Do you have a job?"

	"I mow people's lawns sometimes."

	"Oh, okay."

	We sat there in silence for a few seconds.  He was looking at street 
	activity, the very different people walking up and down, but I, I was 
	looking at him.  What a beautiful, beautiful boy.  He had come back.
	Come back to thank me, and to ask me more.   He had come back to see
	me.  Me.  This boy.  This beautiful, charming boy.

	"Tell you what," I said, trying to sound spontaneous.  "If you want, 
	everytime we get a new shipment of new stuff, I always pick it up, 
	regardless.  I got so many records at home it ain't even funny.  If 
	you want, you can borrow some, you know, see what you like.  And if 
	you like it, you know, come buy it."

	"No kidding?"

	I was overflowing with just pure, indescribable joy.  This boy, in 
	that instant, had become my friend.  "Sure, kid.  No problem."  And 
	I reached out and ruffled his hair.  The second contact we ever made, 
	after the handshake earlier.

	"That would be so incredible.  Honestly.  Oh, wow, that's great."  
	He was as happy as I was.

	"You can come over anytime.  I live on Oconee."

	"Now?"

	"Now what?"

	"Can I come over now?  And, you know, pick some out?  If it's okay..."

	Oh yeah.  Oh fucking yeah.  "Sure, yeah.  Feel like walking?"

	"Yeah.  That's all I do."

	"Okay, sure, come on."  And me and my new friend walked up Jackson 
	street toward Oconee talking about the Velvet Underground, and how, 
	well, how they were the start of it all.  And in the music of Wire 
	and Television you could hear their influence.  Even Bowie had dedi-
	cated a chuck of his style to them.  And man, when Nico sang "All To-
	morrow's Parties," you couldn't help but just get a chill up your 
	spine.  She get's into your head on that one.

	And the boy listened and learned and absorbed, and by the time we got 
	to my apartment on Oconee, he trusted me enough to tell me that the 
	first time he heard "Pale Blue Eyes" this afternoon, he cried so 
	hard, cried his beautiful eyes out.  And he could do nothing but 
	smile then, when I said, "You know, that song could have been written 
	about you."

	"But my eyes aren't blue."

	"Yeah, but everything else is the same."

	And he smiled again, oh god that smile, and in that instant I 
	understood what it was that was behind his eyes that had eluded me 
	so well this afternoon.  It was something that I have always wanted 
	but so far had not been able to receive.  It was understanding.




	"Well, this is it.  This is my place."  I gestured grandly about the 
	room, revealing to Nicky his first sight of the most boring place of 
	residence anybody had ever seen.  You see, I was living this sort of 
	pretentious art-school lifestyle (despite the fact that my major was 
	business), and I was cultivating this sort of minimalist thing in my 
	apartment.  I slept on the thinly-carpeted floor (which for some 
	reason never caused me any discomfort), and had nothing on my white 
	stucco walls save for a mimeographed photo of J. Robert Oppenheimer.  
	Don't even ask me why that mimeograph was there.  I don't think I 
	could even have told you who Oppenheimer was.  Some drunk pal of mine 
	had stuck it thre one night and there it had stayed.

	Nicky looked around.  "Wow," he said.  "It's really cool.  Kinda 
	white, ya know?"

	"Uh, yeah.  I don't have much use for pictures, ya know."

	"Who's the guy?"

	"Who?"

	"The guy, there.  The paper."  He pointed at Oppenheimer.  

	"Oh, I dunno.  Some physicist or something."

	"Oh."  By now the boy was so used to Athenian quirks that he simply 
	accepted the strangeness as status quo.  "Okay, cool."

	By that time I was already digging into my refrigerator.  "You want 
	something to drink?  I got like three kinds of Coke here."  In 
	Georgia, no matter the brand or flavor, all sodas are Coke.

	"You got a Dew?"

	"Yeah, sure."  I fished it out of the Frigidare and handed it to 
	Nicky, who by then had aready discovered my closet of records, boxes 
	and boxes of stuff, stacked high.  There hadn't even been room for 
	clothes.  His eyes went from the boxes to mine, his head turning in 
	slow motion.  "This is incredible...are these all yours?"

	"Yep," I said, barely able to mask the pride.  "They're mine."

	Nicky approached the boxes like a relgious pilgrim to an icon.  He 
	pointed up at the top box.  "Can I?"

	I couldn't stop smiling.  "You want the top box?"

	"Uh-huh."

	I stretched up and god the box down with a grunt, and slam, dropped 
	it at Nicky's feet.  Like a child at Christmas (well, he was as 
	child, I told myself) he tore the box open and began to go through my 
	collection.  I went to the other side of the room and planted myself 
	in the huge green chair that I had bought from Sandy Phipps for $10.  
	I watched the boy go through each and every record in the box, taking 
	each out with surgical care, with each disc a soft "Wow..." escaping 
	his lips.  I watched him for an  hour, his form, his perfection.  The 
	way he looked, the way he smelled, the way he looked at me.  He 
	hadn't even noticed me sitting there, sitting there and loving him 
	with each passing breath.

	As I watched him, something began to form and grow in the pit of my 
	somach.  It was something totally new to me, although I recognized 
	its form.  It wasn't desire.  No, desire was asserting itself, but 
	that was a dull thrumming in the back of my mind compared to this 
	new sensation.  This sensation, this longing, grew and began to 
	spread, to reach up and to grip my mind like a cancer, drowning out 
	everything else around it.  I wanted to touch him, to stroke his 
	hair, to kiss him softly, so softly.  I wanted to tell him that I 
	was falling undeniably in love, but god,  I couldn't.  These same 
	steel cords that gripped my mind in this relentless emotion were also 
	holding me back, laughing at my inability to do anything about it.  
	I wanted to cry out, to rip apart the mask I was holding up to this 
	boy, but I simply could not.  And that's when he looked at me and 
	spoke.

	"Can I play this?"

	In his hand he held up a record, a white record with a huge banana on 
	its cover.  The Velvet Underground and Nico.  "You were talking about 
	this," he said.  "I'd kinda like to hear it."

	"Yeah, sure.  It's right over there."

	I watched him search for the power switch, find it, and put the 
	record in place.  He looked back at me.  "What song was it you were 
	talking about?"  God, what song?  There had been so many that we had 
	talked about.  "You know," he said.  "The one that gets to you."

	"Oh, uh, that's track...six, I think."

	And he put the needle down, it scratched for a minute and then "All 
	Tomorrow's Parties" began.  A bass rising, then falling and crash...
	drums, then John Cale's piano took the song and whipped it into the 
	air, flying up up and around the room, and Nicky was caught up in it, 
	I actually saw him wince when Maureen Tucker's drums crashed down.  
	When Nico's voice came out, came out like an alarm, he opened his 
	mouth in a wordless expression of disbelief.  His whole perception of 
	expression was changing then, the way the thought that music could be.  
	No longer were they songs, but living breathing entities that grabbed 
	you, chewed you up, and spit you out.  This boy was in touch the sen-
	sual aspect of the music that was around us. he winced as the song 
	climaxed, and Nico, in a tone of utter finality cries out, "fit for 
	one who sits and cries for all tomorrow's parties."  The boy was not 
	with me then, but somewhere else, somewhere else entirely, and I had 
	taken him there.

	When the song ended, he opened his eyes.  For the majority of the 
	song they had been closed.  "My god," he whispered.  "My god..."

	I nodded slowly.  "I know."

	"I've never heard anything like that before."

	"I know."

	"How did you find that?"

	"The music?"

	"Yeah."

	"I dunno.  Someone played it for me once.  And I had the same re-
	action as you did.  I was changed, man."

	"But, god..."

	"I know, man, I know."

	For the first time he realized that he had felt something that he 
	couldn't express, and he was content with offering me a warm, liquid 
	smile.  He had been through something amazing, and he was out the 
	other side.  He couldn't look at things the same anymore. "Thank 
	you," he said to me.  "Thank you so much, man."

	"Take it with you, Nicky.  The album, I mean.  You can take it if you 
	want.  To keep."

	His eyes were still far away, but that brought them a bit closer.  He 
	picked up the record jacket and looked at it, tracing the banana with 
	his fingers.  "Oh, man," he whispered.  "Oh, man."

	I leaned back in that big green chair and closed my eyes and felt him 
	there, his entire presence so elated, so changed.  In my mind I could 
	feel myself wrapping around him as the music wapped around us, loving 
	each other, this new and mysterious child.  And he kept whispering 
	"Oh, man...oh, man..."  It was though he was saying it right to me as 
	I caressed him and made him feel that transcendent feeling again, only 
	this time sharing it with him.



	As the evening progressed, I made food and we sat on the floor listen-
	ing to record after record, eating and talking.  I learned more about 
	him: he was all of twelve.  That was it.  I wish I could remember 
	being so in-tune with things at his age.  I learned that he lived 
	alone with his father, who was a kindly but older fellow that com-
	muted to Winder every day for work, leaving him pretty much alone to 
	spend his summer as he pleased.

	"How old is he," I asked.

	"Who? My dad?"

	"Yeah."

	"Oh, he's like fifty-something I think.  He's old."

	"Where's your mom?"

	Nicky shrugged.  "Dunno.  I kind of remember her when I was little.  
	But then she left.  My dad said she kinda couldn't handle the pres-
	sure anymore."

	"Pressure of what?"

	"Dad said the pressure of the married life.  I dunno."

	I thought on that.  "Hmmm.  Does it bother you at all."

	The boy gulped another mouthful of Ramen noodles.  One hung down off 
	his chin and he snickered and slurped it back in.  "Naw, not really.  
	I mean, I never really knew her at all, so I guess if I had known her 
	or something I might've missed her, but you know, I didn't, so I 
	don't I guess.  It kinda sucks, though, when I'm alone and I don't 
	have anybody to talk to."

	"What about your friends?"

	"What about 'em?"

	"Do you have any?"

	"Oh, sure, yeah.  I mean, I got some friends at school that I hang 
	out with and all, but you know, they're just kids."  He said the last 
	word with quite a degree of distaste.

	I chuckled, mostly to myself.  "And you're not a kid?"

	He looked up.  "Well, not like they are I don't think.  I don't know, 
	I mean, they just like don't understand it when I go off on somet-
	hing."

	"Like what?"

	"Well, like this, kinda.  I mean, I can't talk to anybody, 'cause 
	nobody's serious enough to talk to.  I dunno, like my friend Aby said 
	that I float away sometimes and I don't talk, but it's like when I 
	hang out with 'em I get so bored that I just start thinking about 
	stuff and there I go.  I think about one thing and then another, and 
	like one leads to the other, ya know?  And I just don't talk for like 
	hours and I guess they don't like it."

	I leaned foward.  "Hey, man.  Listen.  You can always talk to me, I
	'll be here for ya.  Anytime you wanna talk, gimme a call or come up 
	to Wuxtry or whatever.  I mean, can I be your friend, too?"

	Nicky smiled.  "Well, I kinda thought you were."

	"Cool," I said.  "Cool."



	After another hour or so of talking and laughing, I suggested to 
	Nicky that it might be time for him to get home, because there was a 
	good chance his dad was worried about him.  I would've rather had him 
	call home, but, well, I didn't have a phone then, so that was out.  
	He looked at the clock: 9:36 PM.  "Yeah," he sighed, rather crest-
	fallen.  "Guess it is."

	He jumped up and I jumped up with him.  I opened the door and step-
	ping through it, Nicky turned to me and said, "Hey, would you walk 
	me?"

	I smiled.  I was hoping he'd say that.  "Sure, kiddo."

	And I stepped out with him, shutting the door behind me.  I didn't 
	lock it.  Back in Athens, then, nobody really needed to lock their 
	doors, because, well, nobody really had anything to steal.  I mean, 
	if anybody really wanted to through all the trouble of getting out of 
	bed, brushing their teeth, getting dressed, walking over to my place, 
	casing it, waiting until I left to go in and steal my rare imported 
	7" single of "Anarchy in the UK," I figure they were probably pretty 
	well deserving of it.

	I walked with Nicky down Oconee Street with my arm slung casually 
	around his bare shoulders.  He was the perfect height for it, and 
	they felt so good, so soft, rippling when he'd point at something or 
	when he'd turn his head to look at me and smile.  As we got into 
	town, I noticed that the usual summertime night life wasn't walking 
	and talking down Jackson or any of the streets.  And then I saw the 
	light pole and a bright pink flyer.  PYLON AT THE 40 WATT.  BE THERE 
	AND WE'LL THINK YOU'RE COOL.  JULY 13, 1982, 9PM.

	I threw my head back.  "Shit," I said into the air. "Shit, shit."

	Nicky looked at me a bit apprensively.  "What's wrong, Em?"

	"Dammit," I said, and sighed.  "The 40 Watt tonight.  I was supposed 
	to meet up with Eliza there for the Pylon show."

	Nicky's eyes dropped.  "Oh...okay.  I'll walk home if you wanna go."

	"No!" I yelled out, rather startling the kid.  "I mean, no, it's 
	cool.  I'd rather walk you home, actually.  I don't really like Pylon 
	very much."  And I smiled at him, and he smiled back.  "But," I con-
	tinued.  "I'd like to stop by there and tell my friend that I won't 
	be putting in an appearance."

	"Cool, okay."

	And we walked through downtown Athens to the 40 Watt, where I left 
	Nicky outside and went in to seek out Eliza.  I found her there at 
	one of the few tables that were still in active use, sitting with two 
	guys and chatting as well as one could over Pylon who were thrashing 
	about on the stage like all get out.  I recognized one of the guys as 
	Michael, the guy she told be about before.  The other kid was a meek 
	looking character, with round glasses and just about the ugliest 
	teeth I had ever seen.  He kind of reminded me of a rodent.  I ges-
	tured to Eliza and walked over to her, sitting in the fourth chair.

	"Where the hell were you," she said, smiling.  "And how did you get 
	in here?"

	"I'm taking a friend home.  I left him outside and promised Carl at 
	the door I'd be out in a second.  I just came by to tell you that 
	I'm not gonna show up."

	"Well, you're here, aren't you?"

	"Well, yeah, but I'm leaving.  Like I said, I'm taking a friend home."

	I glanced at the other two guys.  Eliza cought my glance, and real-
	izing her breach of etiquette, she introduced me.  Michael I had 
	already known from Wuxtry.  He was studying something on the ceiling, 
	but what it was, I couldn't figure out.  The rodent guy was Mike, she 
	said, and he played bass for REM, the band the Michael sang for.  
	After saying my hellos I brought Eliza's ear to my mouth.  "Can we go 
	outside and chat for a sec?  I don't want Carl bounding over here and 
	throwing my ass out."

	She followed me to the door, but as we were about to step out, much 
	to the obvious delight of Carl the doorman, Eliza was snagged my 
	Annie, her girlfriend and lover of over a year.  "Where ya goin'?"  
	Annie yelled over the band.

	Eliza leaned to her.  "Outside for a sec."

	We stepped out into the night air.  Nicky was waiting there for me, 
	his hands in his jeans pockets, the breeze tossing his hair around.  
	He looked so adorable.  When Eliza and I turned around, we realized 
	that Annie had followed us.  Eliza turned to her, said something into 
	her ear.  Annie nodded and met Eliza's lips in a long kiss, then she 
	went back into the club.

	Eliza bounced back over to me.  "So what's up?"

	"I just wanted you to meet my new pal, Nicky."  And I gestured to the 
	kid standing six or seven feet away.  She looked at him, looked at 
	me, and then back at him.  I could see the hundreds of things going 
	through her mind, possibilities weighed, discarded.  "Hi, Nicky," she 
	said, waving.

	He waved and sort of blushed.  "Hi."

	Eliza's eyes came back to me.  "What are you doing?" she asked softly 
	but firmly.

	"It's not what you think, Liz.  Dont' give me that."

	"He's just a boy, Em.  Think of what you're doing."

	I looked back at Nicky, lest he hear, but he was too busy trying to 
	get a look at the band through the door and the crowd to even notice.  
	"Liz, it's not like that.  I just met him today, we were listening to 
	music."

	"Oh, Em, please be careful.  I can see it, Em.  You're in love with 
	him, aren't you?  Oh, god, Em, please don't be stupid."

	"I'm not stupid, thank you," I said, my tolerance beginning to crum-
	ble.  "Look, I know you're concerned, but it's nothing like what 
	you're thinking.  Yeah, I dig him, sure, but I'm taking him home to 
	his dad, okay?  He didn't want to walk alone."

	"Emmet, just don't cross the line, man.  I love you too much to lose 
	you to that."

	"Lose me to what?"

	"Em, I'm not you.  I don't understand what you go through from day to 
	day.  I don't know what it's like to be...what you are.  But he's 
	just a child, man.  Just a kid."

	"Christ," I said, very disgusted with her.  "You don't even know him.  
	He's not a child!  In body, yes, but you didn't spend one of the most 
	amazing afternoons of your life with him, did you?"

	"You didn't..."

	"No, I didn't!  Jesus, Liz.  This boy is one of the most charming, 
	sensitive, caring people I've met.  And I'm taking him home to his 
	father."

	And with that, I left her standing there, outside the 40 Watt Club.  
	I grabbed Nicky as I went by and we crossed the street.  "What's up?" 
	he asked.  "You look mad."

	"No, not mad, just a little frustrated with her, that's all."

	"Why?"

	I toyed with the idea of letting him know everything, spilling my 
	guts to him, but I didn't.  "Oh, just stuff she thinks, that's all."

	"Why'd she do that?"

	"Do what?"

	"You know, kiss that girl like that?"  Nicky was looking at me now.  
	This wasn't an idle question.  

	"Um...well," I stammered, trying to find the right way to put it.  
	"They're lovers."

	"You mean lesbian like?"

	"Exactly.  She's gay, Nicky.  She likes girls."

	"Oh..." Nicky seemed to be weighing the concept in his mind.  "She 
	doesn't like guys at all?"

	"Oh, well, sure she likes guys and all, but not like a boyrfriend.  
	Only as friends.  Guys just don't, you know, do it for her."

	"Oh."

	There was a long silence after that, a silence that took us to the 
	edge of town were the streetlights stopped shining the way.  The 
	Georgia moon spilled down on us, a bright oracle up there in the sky.  
	The stars were strewn across the bowl of the night like spilled 
	sequins.  You could even see satellites up there, spacejunk.  Little 
	dots floating in neat lines across the panorama.  It was a perfect 
	night.  And Nicky and I walked in the darkness, filling the void 
	there with our voices and our thoughts.

	Nicky was the first to speak.

	"I guess I just never seen that."

	"What? The two girls?"

	"Yeah."

	"You best get used to it.  Especially here.  It's all over, gay 
	people.  Bisexual people, too.  I mean, people that like both sexes, 
	that's bisexual."

	His next question was frank and direct, the way only a child can be.  
	"You ever done it?  With another guy I mean?"

	I closed my eyes and let his words ring and echo through my skull.  
	The boy was getting inside me now, and I didn't know if I could let 
	him in.  Just answer the question, Emmet.  Give him some truth. "Only 
	when I was a kid, about your age.  I fooled around with my cousin in 
	Macon."

	"Oh, yeah.  I did that I guess."

	I looked at him in the moonlight, the frosty glow on his bare back, 
	reflecting off his hair.  He looked up at me then, too, and I looked 
	away.  "When?" I asked him.

	"Dunno.  A while ago.  What did you guys do?"  It was plain to see 
	that this was his show, not mine.

	"You know, just stuff."

	"Like what?"

	"Well, we kinda fooled around with each other's...you know, pri-
	vates."

	"You played with your dicks?"

	I sort of caughed and laughed at the same time.  I kept coming up 
	with the image of a movie comedian spraying wine out of his mouth 
	when someone asked him if he had B.O.  "Yeah, I guess that's what we 
	did."

	"Was it cool?"

	"I thought it was cool, yeah."  That seemed to please Nicky, that 
	answer.  It was already admitted that he had fooled around, too, and 
	he had been validated.

	"You ever done it with a girl?"

	"Yeah, a few times."

	"Is it cool?"

	"You never done it?" I asked him, although it was obvious he hadn't.  I
	dunno, I just figured kids liked it when you were unsure of just how
	experienced or inexperienced they were.

	"Naw, which I guess kinda's slow for me."

	"No, not at all.  I didn't lose my virginity until last year, when I 
	was 19."

	"Wow," he said, more as a statement than a declaration.  "My friend 
	Aby's done it and he's only thirteen.  I mean, he's told me about it, 
	and I heard him with his girl at a party once.  They were really 
	goin' at it, too.  In his bedroom.  It was kinda funny."

	I chuckled.  "Yeah.  Yeah, it would be."

	"I dunno," Nicky went on, as if I hadn't said a thing.  "Sometimes I 
	wish I could just do it and get it over with to see what it's like, 
	you know, but I like try to get girlfriends and they all think I'm 
	wierd."

	"Well, you're not, man," I told him, by now I was petting his hair on 
	the back of his head.  "You're a very good looking kid, and you're 
	gonna make a girl really happy one day.  You may not know it, but 
	when girls get older, they like guys who can cry at cool songs."

	"That ain't what Aby says."

	"Fuck Aby," I said, and my voice was laced with distaste for this 
	Aby kid.

	Nicky looked at me with a grin.  "Naw, he's not my type."  We both 
	burst into laughter and I brought him close to me, ruffling his hair.  
	He walked closer to me then, close enough to where my foreharm hung 
	down his chest, my thumb brushing his soft nipple every so often, and 
	whenever it did, I could feel it react to my touch, tightening.

	"You're a great kid," I said to him.  "Really.  I don't think I've 
	quite met a kid like you."

	We walked down County Road 8 past fields and forests of kudzu, talk-
	ing all the way.  He asked met things, brutal honest things, about 
	growing up, about life, about sex.  I felt a lot of my young self in 
	him, growing up out here in the nowhere, wanting a friend, someone to 
	talk to.  We got to the WATG tower and stopped.  It was a tall pyra-
	midal radio tower out in the middle of a kudzu field, with a little 
	gravel path leading up to the humming transformer at the tower's 
	base.  The station itself was all the way over in Conyers, but this 
	was it's local relay, this tall sentinel with it's slowly flashing 
	red airplane lights.

	"Come on, " he said, tugging at my shirt and running up the path.  
	"Come on!"

	"What?" I yelled after him, and when he didn't answer, I followed him 
	up to the tower.  When I caught up to him, he was under the tower 
	lying on the soft sandy dirt beneath him.  "Here, do this.  Right 
	here."  And he scootched over to give me his vantage point.  I laid 
	down on the dirt next to him and looked up.  The point of the tower 
	on top glowed red with it's airplane light and it shone down in a 
	groggy rhythm onto us.  "Here, put your head next to mine," he said.  
	"We can both see it."

	I placed my head to his, feeling his soft hair against by cheek, 
	listening to his breathing softly in and out, in and out.  "I used to 
	always come out here," he said, softly, half-whispering, "especially 
	when I was a kid.  And I'd lay out here underneath the tower and 
	pretend that the light was a ufo.  And it would come down and pick me 
	up and take me out and show me the universe like they did in Close 
	Encounters.  I used to have one of those tiny like transistor radios 
	and since I was under the tower no other station could come in, 
	right?  And I'd have it on, and they'd play neat stuff, like Patsy 
	Cline and Don Gibson, I remember, and I'd just lay out here and just 
	forget that I was me for a bit, you know?"

	By that time I was propped up on my elbow, staring at his perfect 
	form.  This beautiful boy, this pure spirit in front of me.  I closed 
	my eyes.  Do you know what you're doing to me?  In you I see every-
	thing I was and I've lost, everything that makes me glad to be alive 
	and to be a person on this earth.  In you I can see the capacity to 
	love and to be loved.  I'm falling in love with you, Nicky.  No, 
	that' s wrong.  I've fallen in love with you.  I feel good next to 
	you, I feel special.  Like I'm...oh...selected.  Selected to share 
	in you.  This perfect you.  I mean, how could I have ever been 
	reduced to this?  Why was I given this hand to play?  Why couldn't I 
	be just like every other guy out there, like Hamilton even.  But no, 
	no.  If I had to choose, my perfect beauitful boy, I wouldn't have it 
	any other way.

	And when I opened my eyes again, I was kissing him.  I was pressed to 
	his soft, pliant lips, kissing softly, and he was kissing me back.  
	His hands were holding the sides of my face, and his tongue darted 
	out of his mouth and brushed mine.  I breathed out and slid my tongue 
	into his mouth all the way.  He moaned slightly and locked his arms 
	around my neck.  My left hand slid over his chest, over his tiny, 
	silky nipples, making them hard.  Over his smooth belly.  I kissed 
	his neck, round down to his collarbone and back up to his face.  And 
	as I kissed his face, I tasted the familiar salty taste of a tear.

	I pulled back, trembling.  "Oh, god...Oh, god, Nicky.  I...I'm sorry, 
	I..."  My voice was nothing more than a hoarse whisper.

	"Em," he cooed.  "Emmet."

	"I'm so sorry, Nicky, I didn't mean to..."  And it was I who began to 
	cry.  "I didn't even realize.  I'm so sorry, Nicky."

	"Emmet..."  And I felt his lips on me again, on my face, taking my 
	tears.  Over my forehead, down my nose to my lips again.  "Emmet, I 
	love you.  I love you, Emmet.  I really do.  Please don't be mad at 
	me, please.  I don't mean to be a fag, man, I don't."

	And the tears couldn't stop then for the both of us.  We cried to 
	each other, for each other.  I cried for me.  I was a boylover.  I 
	was going to go through my life for the most part lonely and 
	frustrated.  I cried for Nicky, unsure, unable to be sure.  I cried 
	for us, two lost souls together, realizing that they were both 
	completely and undeniably in love with each other.

	"N-Nicky," I stammered out.  I could barely talk.  "I-I l-love you, 
	too.  I l-l-love you more than you could ever imagine.  From the 
	moment you walked into the s-store today (and god had it only been 
	today) I l-loved you.  And my god, my god I do, Nicky.  I have to 
	admit it, I do.  I love you.  I want you.  I want to be with you.  
	I do."

	Nicky looked at me, right into my eyes, his eyes never looking away 
	or faltering.  He whispered, "Do you want to make love with me?"

	And I couldn't lie to him.  "Oh Christ, Nicky, yes.  Yes I do."

	I closed my eyes and felt him take my hand and place it on his belly.  
	"Make love with me, Emmet," he whispered.  He whispered it so softly 
	that it almost blended with the night breeze.  "Make love with me."

	The blood rushed around my head, making me dizzy and sounding like a 
	train in my ears.  I exhaled against his soft hair and ran my hand 
	from his belly to the buckle on his belt, unclasping it.  It opened 
	with a cling, and that sound was the sound of a lock breaking, a seal 
	that bound me to everything therein.  With the opening of that seal, 
	I was now this boy's lover, and he was mine.  I kissed his shoulders 
	and pushed him down onto the warm, red, Georgia ground.

	Everything moved slowly, like I was in water, no, like honey.  It was 
	as if Nicky and I were togethere in a world of honey, and things were 
	warm and slow and good.  From the boy's belt I unclasped his pants 
	and unzipped them.  "Lift up," I croaked, and he raised his backside 
	from the ground.  Slowly I pulled his pants and white underwear down, 
	down to his knees.  I took the pantlegs at his feet and took them off 
	completely.

	Nicky lay naked before me.  Smooth and built up with farm muscle, his 
	body was hairless and tanned with sun.  His penis was around four-
	and-a-half inches long, very thin, and it stood up against his belly.  
	It was engorged with his blood, his sweet young blood, and was un-
	believably rigid.  His scrotum was beginning to flesh out with adol-
	escence, and it was hanging under his penis looking a bit out of 
	place with the lithe proportions of the rest of his body.

	I knelt next to him, running my right hand softly over his firm 
	thigh.  "Oh, Nicky," I whispred.  "You're beautiful.  You're so 
	beautiful."  I looked at him, into his eyes, which were a mixture of 
	a hundred emotions, all raging inside him.  He looked back into my 
	eyes, trough them into me, into my mind.

	Nicky.

	=I can't believe what I'm feeling, Emmet.

	It's so new.

	=Is it right?

	I think it is.

	=Does this mean I'm gay, Emmet?

	No, not necessarily.  It means that we love each other.

	=But we're both guys.

	We're both humans.

	=Do you love me?

	Oh, god, I do.  I do so much.  

	=But will you love me when we're done?

	I will love you forever, Nicky.  Don't you feel that?

	=I do.

	I could see it from the beginning.

	=So could I.

	It was in your eyes.

	=It was in yours.

	This is something stronger than anything out there.

	=This is so serious.

	I'm not hurting you am I?

	=You don't think I'm wierd, do you?

	Do you think I'm a molestor?

	=Do you think I'm a fag?

	Do you know how much I've wanted this?

	=Do you know how long I've waited for this?

	Do you know

	=how much

	I 

	=love

	you?


	"Take yours off," he said.  And I slipped my shirt over my head.  He 
	looked at my chest, at the small patch of hair on it that formed a 
	line on my belly down to my pubic hair.  With as much grace as I 
	could manage, I slipped my sandals off and pulled off my pants and 
	underwear and threw them on the ground with his trousers.  I was as 
	aroused as he was, and my own penis stood out at amost a right angle 
	to my body.  My penis is about six and a half inches long, and nomin-
	ally thick.  Next to Nicky, it was rather large, and he stared at it 
	with a mixture of fascination, reverence, and an ever growing, ever 
	mutual lust.

	At that moment we both wanted each other more than anything else we 
	had ever wanted before in our short lives.  I rolled back onto my 
	knees and positioned myself over him, kissing his face, his soft lips 
	again.  I kissed his chest, his nipples, down to his belly.  I laid 
	my hear on his chest and felt his breath, deep and irregular swirl 
	into his lungs and out again.  I laid my head there for a moment, 
	looking down at the object of my lust, his perfect, hard penis.  I 
	reched out and petted it with my finger.  I heard and felt a sharp 
	intake of breath when I touched the silky circumsized head, and a 
	small moan escaped him when I wrapped my hand around the shaft, 
	moving it slowly up and down, up and down.  It was like I was 
	watching a movie that I could control.  And I didn't want it to end.  

	I resumed my kisses by running my tongue slowly around his 
	bellybutton and then down to his pubic area.  I could smell...could 
	smell him, a smell that in the years to come would become more 
	masculine, but was now still fresh, still boyish.  Unable to resist 
	anymore, I raised his cock with my finger and took it into my mouth.  
	Oh, god... The feeling of him in my mouth was like nothing I had felt 
	before.  I loved the way my lips conformed to every little ridge and 
	bump, how my lips could do one job and my tongue could do another.  
	Nicky squirmed and gasped, he moaned and signed with each little 
	motion I made.  I let him side out of my mouth and went to his balls, 
	that soft hairless package that held so much of his burgeoning 
	manhood.  I took one testicle into my mouth, caressed it, took the 
	other, then both.  His moans were far more audible now.  And down I 
	went, down to where the smell became slightly muskier.  I could smell 
	a sweaty boy down there, mixed with the essence of sweetgrass that 
	followed him everywhere.  "Spread your legs a bit," I whispered.  He 
	did, revealing for me a soft pucker that was devoid of any waste.  
	Overcome, I dove for it, driving my tongue in and around it, savoring 
	the feel of the flesh of his buns around my face, the way his moans 
	had become an almost continuous low whine.  I reached up and began to 
	masturbate him as I worked my tongue on his bud.  It was incredible, 
	the most powerful and amazing sensation of my life.  I came back up 
	over his balls to his proud penis and took it back into my mouth.  I 
	felt his hands close over my head and he began moving his hips 
	instinctually now, fucking my mouth with savage strokes.  I fingered 
	the slick, moist hole where I had just been.  His whine had become 
	broken gasps.  And then, it happened.  He cried out, cried out in 
	pain and pleasure and lust and triumph.  And he came hard into my 
	mouth, three fierce jets of fluid, hitting the back of my mouth, 
	sliding down my open throat.  I moaned with him, sharing his passion 
	as the orgasm wracked him through, ripping through not only his 
	muscles but also his psyche, vibrating with the feeling of love as 
	well as lust, rising, rising, bursting forth, and then coming down, 
	slowly...slowly...slowly...and finally, resting in a pool of warmth.

	Nicky's body lay quiescent on the soft ground, a light smile across 
	his lips.  I flopped down next to him, panting in gasps and smiling 
	at him.  He looked at me, his warm, naked boy at a point of maximum 
	relaxation.  He leaned over and kissed me.  "I love you," he whis-
	pered.     

	I swallowed and whispered back, "I love you, too, kiddo."

	Nicky explored by body with his hands, feeling for the first time the 
	body of an adult, actually seeing what puberty was going to eventally 
	do to him.  He ran his fingers through the soft patch of hair on my 
	chest, then touched his own chest, and then back to mine.  And then 
	he turned his attention to my penis, still raging from the wild lust 
	of a moment before.  He wrapped his hand around it, sensing its 
	warmth and shape, sliding the skin up and down like he did to himself 
	so very often.  With his other hand he cupped by balls and kneaded 
	them.  His were going to be like that some day.

	"Emmet?" he spoke, softly.

	"Uh-huh?"

	"Tell me before you sperm, okay?"

	"Okay."

	And I felt his lips enclose around my cock, taking it in bit by bit, 
	a perfect imitation of what I had done to him.  His mouth was soft, 
	so soft, and I could feel the breath from his nose against my skin.  
	He used his hand as well, something I hadn't done.  As he sucked, he 
	masturbated me along.  I was swimming in passion then, reveling in 
	the incredible thing this boy was doing to me, doing for me.  He had 
	me in him, of his own free will, making me shudder and moan, making 
	me feel better than I ever had.  I felt the orgasm approaching and 
	croaked something out to him.  He took his mouth off and masturbated 
	be to the most powerful orgasm I had ever had, or would ever have.  
	The sperm came out in powerful pulses and wouldn't end, an almost 
	endless supply of thin, milky fluid all over Nicky, over his chest, 
	over his face, over his cock, all over me.  Some had gotten into 
	Nicky's gaping mouth, and he closed his mouth, tasting it.  I cried 
	out his name once, twice, arching my back, and then, then...falling 
	back to earth, back down to the ground where this beautiful boy was 
	holding me in his soft, soft hands.

	Just as I had done after I had made love to him, he laid down next to 
	me.  I reached over, grabbed my shirt and began to clean the semen 
	off of him.  He smelled of it.  As I cleaned his face he leaned 
	foward and kissed me again, deeply.  I could taste my sperm on his 
	tongue and could feel droplets dripping off his belly onto me.  He 
	pulled back and grinned this time, an impish, childish grin.

	"That felt good," he said, and giggled.

	I giggled with him and soon we were in stiches, rolling on the ground 
	in an uncontrollable fit of laughter, the only cause being the love 
	and total joy of finding someone else with whom you could laugh about 
	just nothing at all.

	We laid there for a long time in the Georgia night air, looking up 
	at the tower lights, and we imagined that it was a ufo from some 
	distant world, some far away planet, that has come for us, come to 
	take us away.  He had even fallen asleep for a bit in my arms, but I, 
	I didn't sleep at all.



	I kissed him when I put him into his bed later that night.  His 
	father wasn't home, and probably wouldn't be until the morning.  
	Nicky said he was prone to doing that, disappearing for weekend with 
	a factory woman.  I nodded my understanding.

	We made love again that night in his bed, touching, exploring each 
	others bodies with our hands and our mouths.  After  we had come 
	again, this time together, we went into the shower, soaping each 
	other clean of semen under the warm water.  As I was soaping him up, 
	he became hard again and I sank to my knees under the stream of 
	water.  Sliding my fingers into his soapy crack behind him, I sucked 
	him there.  He could barely stand.  As I slid my tongue around the 
	shaft and head, I felt something cold on my scalp and his hands run-
	ning over my head.  

	I let his penis slide out of my mouth and laughed.  "What are you 
	doing?"

	"I'm washing your hair!"

	Oh god, I loved him.  His skin went from smooth to slick under the 
	water and soap and I felt every inch of him.  He came again in my 
	mouth, such a sweet taste.  His young semen was still immature enough 
	to be devoid of sperm, retaining that lovely texture of boyhood 
	before it thickened up to become manly.  He was perfect.  The per-
	fect, loving boy.  And dear lord, he was mine.  And I was his.  

	I held him for a long time before I left that night, and we both got 
	a little misty when I eventually did have to go, the morning light 
	rapidly approaching.  We realized then that we were not innocent 
	lovers, that we knew that our love could never be public.  It would 
	always have to be planned, to be schemed out.  It could never be 
	spontaneous.  We felt a loss there, but it was a small enough price 
	to pay for each other.


	We loved each other for a long time, we still do even, although the 
	sex didn't last past his fifteenth birthday.  Nothing was said, it 
	just stopped.  And we both were content with that.  He moved away 
	from Athens when he was seventeen to live with his aunt Beatrice 
	after his father died.  It was a rough parting for us, but we 
	weathered it.  I moved away from Athens soon after that, having 
	finally finished school.  I moved to Orlando and now work as an 
	attractions supervisor at Walt Disney World.  You won't believe the 
	boys I see from day-to-day.

	It's funny, though, how everything changes.  Life, and all that.  
	REM is now one of the biggest bands in the world.  Can you imagine 
	that?  I mean, they were just four guys my age when I knew them, and 
	now they're legends.  And Mike doesn't look so much like a rodent 
	anymore.  

	Athens is different.  It's still vital, but something is gone.  It's 
	joined the club of the established scene, it's no longer groping for 
	an acceptance.  And I suppose that happens to the best of them.  But 
	the kudzu is still there, and so is the WATG tower.  I drove by it 
	the other day when I went to visit Eliza, who, by the way, still 
	lives and works in Athens.  I left my car on the side of the road 
	and walked up the path in the twilight to the tower where I had loved 
	Nicky for the first time.

	There had been a lot of questions and guilt after that first time, 
	all on my part.  Nicky was happy, beautiful and content to be my 
	lover and friend.  But I, well, I questioned the validity of it all.  
	If I was really a lover or just a luster.  All of that faded, though.  
	I did love Nicky, and when I see him now and hug him, I can still 
	feel that boy inside the man's body, and dammit, I can still smell 
	the sweetgrass.

	I laid down on the ground under the WATG tower, where twelve years 
	before I had lost my spiritual virginity.  And it all came back to 
	me, what had happened, what we did.  I've had little boyfriends since 
	then, all between ten and fifteen,  and even a short-term marriage 
	to a wonderful woman, but nothing reached to my very soul more than 
	that one day in 1982, where in the span of twelve hours, two strang-
	ers became lovers and life-long friends.

	I looked up in the twilight then, at the slow, groggy flashing 
	airplane light on the top of the tower, and I dreamed that it was a 
	ufo, from some far and distant planet, that had come, come to take 
	me away with it again.