THE BACK PATH

By Robert Fucci

For my first time there is that moment in my youth that will always stand out as perhaps all firsts combined and more, maybe not in action but surely in spirit.

How does one decide what his first time might really be? Is it the first time you masturbate with another boy or in front of him? Perhaps it’s when you and another boy kiss or feel each other up. Some might say it’s the first time you get laid or fall in love. I would venture we all have had many firsts in our lives. In most memories, especially if you are a romantic like me, and the story many years removed, the facts may have melded into wishful myth. But rest assured that’s not the case here. This story is true, as fresh as if it just happened only minutes ago. I have altered the names a bit just in case others may not remember it the way I have.

As far as first time experiences go this may seem tame, but it was the year 1964 and things were very different back then, simpler and maybe saner. At seventeen I was well aware of my being different, of being gay, I think I was aware of it since I was about 10 or so. We didn’t call it that back then. We said homo or sissy and as far as I was concerned not a soul knew or even thought that I might be one. I was a quiet, shy boy as a child, maybe what would have been called a wallflower. I was cute with a great smile and, if I kept my mouth shut, no one would know how dumb I thought I was. Of course, that went for knocking over stuff and tripping over myself too. If it weren’t for my cousin Kate I would have had no teen social life at all. Kate’s friends were my friends and they were all classy people even if they sometimes treated me like a pet or mascot. After all, I was four months younger than Kate, and a year behind her in school and, of course, very short. So while I was fooling around with all my boy cousins and the local paperboys that shared routes and circle jerks with me, Kate dragged me off to social events and saw to it I wore the right clothes and always had a girl on my arm. We were very close. Still are to this day. I’m sure she was one of the first to realize I was gay. I think in my mind back then our concept was we dated girls, had sex with boys, grew up, married a woman, had sex with men. It all seemed very simple at the time.

The school I attended went from grade seven to twelve, most of us kids having been friends from back in grammar school. We were in most classes together, with the exception of Wayne Limon and our lunch gang. Wayne was the most beautiful boy in seventh grade; he was new to our lunch gang. I say our gang because from the seventh grade to graduation we saw each other only in the lunch room. We were the misfits, so to speak, the table of six. I’m not sure how we gravitated toward each other in those first few weeks of school, but we managed to form lasting friendships just over lunch, during six school years, for forty-five minutes a day. I never made friends with any other kids during all those years of junior high and high school, and my grade school friends seemed to have gone by the wayside.

During those wonderful lunchtime minutes, one at a time we took turns bringing each other up to date on our comings and goings, our teachers, our supposed sex lives, on who heard what about what girl the boys in gym class were bragging they had sex with, as well as world news of the day as we saw it. My specific claim to being in this group was being the shortest boy in school. As if being shy wasn’t enough, let’s not forget hating gym, especially as the coaches always made me shower over and over because I wasn’t “wet enough.” And I always sprung what we called a boner while undressing or dressing in the locker room. Of course, years later I came to understand that the perv coaches were just getting off on my young wet, naked body. I hated gym class. Funny, now I do the gym three times a week.

The other boys at our table were Paul Kone who was skinny and pimply and told the best jokes, Albert Hodge whose red, curly hair jutted straight up out of his head. (Everyone always saying his head looked like it was on fire), Lewis Lockman, one of the only Jewish kids in our class but the smartest, and Guido Lanza who thought he was Al Capone, always wearing black shirts and white ties with a belt and suspenders. Last at our table, but of course,not least to this story, was Wayne Limon . Wayne wasn’t from around here; he had a wonderful southern accent and the most beautiful way of talking of anyone I have ever known. Words just flowed from his lips like a musical instrument. He didn’t really belong at our table. He just sat down with us one day and every day after that. Sometimes he and I shared lunches. It seemed both our mothers thought we needed better meals than the school cafeteria could provide and saw to it we were amply provided for.

I actually never thought Wayne would ever consider having sex with me, let alone my telling him I lusted after him all those years. Nothing even remotely close to sex was ever spoken of between us except in the context of the lunchroom chatter. One day Wayne brought a photograph someone took that was a double exposure of him getting out of the shower showing his entire naked body, head to toe, and every beautiful thing in between. Needless to say, I would have given my left nut for that photo. I probably still would. I jacked off to the memory of that image for years. He passed it around the table and, of course, when it got to me I didn’t want to relinquish it and we tussled back and forth about it, though I’m sure he didn’t think I wanted it for the purposes I had in mind. I finally relented and gave it back. I think the wheels of our fate started turning that day. From then on he sat directly across from me every day at lunchtime. I didn’t have a clue. They hadn’t invented gaydar yet I don’t think.Yet, every day I imagined him sitting there naked just like in the photo.

Six years pass, we’ve become closer friends, we graduate from high school, double date for the prom, and on the very last day that we will ever see the school, it happens.

I wish I could remember the words that were spoken, if any, but I don’t. I wish I could remember who approached whom but I don’t. What I do know and remember as though it were only yesterday, was the two of us standing on the back path outside school in the sparsely grown woods separating the school from the neighborhood homes. We did not live locally. Wayne lived some blocks away in an area populated with strip malls, while I lived on the other side of town. I had to be bussed in. My parents didn’t want me going to the larger school in our area; I think they felt the school size and number of kids there would be overwhelming to me. The school we attended had been rebuilt and renamed our first year there, and was right in the center of a very affluent neighborhood.

But school was over today. Our last day! Why was I still here? Why hadn’t I taken the school bus home?Questions I have never been able to answer.

There we were facing each other, both of us, wondering what to do next, with our heads shyly down. Wayne’s beautiful long blond hair was moving gently in the mild breeze, reflecting the golden light from the sun, while in the background, the sky seemed muted by the deep blue of his eyes. The catalyst that got the moment started will have to remain a mystery, for in a matter of moments we were both totally naked. There we were in the warm afternoon sun, behind the high school, and, had we taken the time to notice, in full view of every window and anyone who might peer out. Clothes were tossed around like crumpled leaves at our feet. Wayne was caressing my arms as he rocked slowly back and forth; I was shaking from head to toe. I knew he was talking, his beautiful full lips were moving, but all I could hear was the sound of my heavy breathing and my heart pounding, ready to burst from my chest. I wanted the moment to last an eternity, longer if possible. I wanted to see every inch of his young beautifully formed, lean body, count every hair, head to toe, even every pimple if there were any, to tenderly stroke every muscle with my fingertips. Moving closer to him, wrapping my arms around from behind, I had to stand up on my tiptoes. I put my head next to his, and for a second we were like one, looking at the same thing, hearing the same thing, and feeling the same thing. A feeling I have tried many times since to recreate without much luck. We moved around each other like a couple dancing a slow dance, our fingers entwined, the bright sunlight playing over our young bodies like a disco ball, both of us rigid with anticipation. Moisture, in the form of droplets of precum, glistened at the tip of our cocks. To have died at that moment would have been my idea of heaven with just a pinch of hell.

Wayne reached across our bodies taking my hard cock in his warm smooth hands and moved them ever so slowly up and down the shaft. Worried I would get off too soon, and the moment would be lost forever, I pushed his hands away and surprising us both, knelt down, taking his strong young dick into my inexperienced but hungry mouth. I wanted to devour it, keep it, never give it back, make it part of my being. Even though I had had lots of boy sex, from the age of ten, till now, this was the first time I was doing it all with someone so beautiful and that I was pretty sure I worshiped. To this day I can’t imagine why he chose me, or I him, or why fate picked the last day of school for this amazing moment, but the feeling was awesome at the time and has not dwindled in my memory one iota.

Wrapping his fingers through my hair, he pulled me closer to his hot sweaty body. I swallowed his cock as deeply as I could wanting to hold onto both him and the dream as long as possible. He smelled so good with sweat running down his chest, over his belly down to the lightly colored hair above his cock. I wanted to be doing it but watching me doing it at the same time, you know what I mean? It was all so fast and crazy. At our age getting off came quickly, and in a matter of very few short moments he shot off into my mouth, a slight whisper of a sound escaping from between his lips. Another first for me: I wasn’t sure what to do, so I swallowed it. Since then I have judged the taste of everyone’s cum by the standard that was set that day.

I don’t know what I expected to happen next. For some reason I didn’t think he wanted to suck my cock. I’m not sure why I thought that, but I did, so I moved around behind him placing my straining cock between the cheeks of his warm pink ass, the head of my cock hitting the back of his low hanging balls, my face resting softly on his back between his shoulder blades. I wanted so much to kiss him, his lips, his bellybutton, his toes. I’d like to say I fucked him. God knows I wanted to, but it didn’t get that far. I, too, got off faster than I wanted, the excitement building faster than my young body could control, shooting between his sturdy legs, my cum dripped down his right leg onto the slate of the back path. The two of us stood there for a moment taking it all in, breathing in unison, contemplating what had just happened to us and finally realizing where we were. I think we were both a bit embarrassed after that. It was very quiet. All you could hear were the chirping of a few birds in the trees and far away traffic. I quickly bent to pick up my jockey shorts and clean him and myself up. I tossed the cum soaked shorts far into the woods. What a dumb move. I should have kept them to have as a reminder of that wonderful day. We dressed quickly with our world slowly returning to normal as we walked down to the end of the back path in the direction of our homes. I looked at my watch, and what seemed like hours had actually been less then thirty minutes .To this day it still feels as though it was a lifetime, and for us, I guess it was.

As we walked along Wayne mentioned, in small talk, a few other guys we knew who he thought fooled around, and some possible future plans of our all getting together sometime or another. But of course that never happened.

I never saw Wayne Limon again.

Some years later when I was with my long time lover of twenty-five years I heard from my younger brother, who had gone to school with Wayne’s younger brother that Wayne married into money right out of college, gotten fat, and had a brood of kids, all living over in New Jersey someplace. How different our lives might have been. Oh well. I have my memory, such as it is, of that afternoon with the most beautiful boy in the seventh grade on the back path the last day of High School. A moment in time when two young boys, so different, so full of life, found themselves in lust for each other. One, carrying that lust for men throughout life on into his sixties and happily still going strong. The other buried in the mundane life of the socially acceptable.

Oh, by the way, as for those jockey shorts I had tossed into the woods, two weeks later my mom asked me why I was missing a pair of underwear.

How do mothers do that?

To contact the author: robnyboy1@aol.com