The Root Beer Boys - 4. Chapter 4

A sprained ankle was the least serious of Wayne's injuries, along with various scratches, abrasions and contusions. I guess his most serious injury also served as an awakening for me. On his twelfth birthday (I had just turned fourteen), several of the guys he had invited were out beside the house fooling around in an old cherry tree that hung out over the driveway.

Wayne was lying on his back on a branch about eight feet above the ground yelling.

"Hey guys! Look at me! Dare any of you to beat this!"

With that he stuck both hands out to his sides, just lying there on that little branch that couldn't have been more than four inches across. All of a sudden, I saw him start to waver. Before he could bring his hands back to his sides and grab the branch, he was falling. I don't even want to try to describe the sound his head made when it hit the concrete driveway.

I had heard that when you're about to die your whole life passes before you in a flash. Let me tell you something. As I saw Wayne falling and then bounce on the concrete, I saw my entire short life with him flash before me. Just about everything we had done together, everything we meant to each other blazed across the skyline of my vision. My heart hurt so bad all of a sudden I thought I was the one who had fallen from the tree.

"MOM!"

I ran to where Wayne was lying, clearly unconscious, blood leaking from his nose. Something told me not to pick his head up, so I just laid down next to him there on the driveway, snuggling up as close as I could with my arm across his back. Most of the other kids were so scared they ran home, but Tommy Newberry ran to get my mom. She had heard my scream and almost knocked Tommy down as she threw open the door.

We didn't wait for dad that day. Mom called our doctor who called an ambulance. We rushed Wayne to the hospital where he had all sorts of x-rays and, I think, an MRI or something. While we were waiting, I started to have trouble breathing, and some nurse rushed over to me with one of those expensive high-tech pieces of medical equipment called a brown paper lunch sack and told me to hold it over my nose and mouth and breathe deeply. As she held it in place, I was thinking she's trying to suffocate me! That's when I learned about hyperventilating.

After what seemed like hours, the doctor came out and told us Wayne had a concussion and borderline skull fracture. He wanted to keep him in the hospital, but dad talked him into letting us take Wayne home. We had to stop by the hardware store and buy two sandbags on the way home, though.

Wayne was unconscious for two full days, and for seven days he had to lie flat on his back with his head sandwiched between those sandbags. Dad sat in a chair next to Wayne's bed at night, his hand resting on Wayne's chest. If Wayne moved to turn over, dad would wake up and hold him down. (Author’s note: The last two paragraphs are true.)

I tried to tell dad I could do it. I mean, I had insisted on sleeping in Wayne's bed, and it was only a twin. With me between him and the wall, there wasn't much room left over. I knew if he moved, I'd feel it.

"I can do it, dad! I won't let him get hurt again!" I said with tears in my eyes.

"I love him, too, dad. Don't you trust me? I couldn't keep him from falling. I didn't know he was going to do that. It wasn't my fault!"

My tears were now flowing like a waterfall. I loved the little guy so much, and I was so afraid.

My dad looked at me like he usually does when he has to make me do something he knows I don't want to do. I think he really struggled with some parts of being a father.

"Andy, I don't blame you for what happened to Wayne. I know it wasn't your fault. He was just showing off and being careless. But I missed the first nine years of his life, and I'm not taking any chances. I trust you, but if something happened, I'd never be able to live with myself. Now you can sleep with him if you want, and you can help mom watch him during the day, but I'm NOT leaving you in charge at night. I'm sorry, but that's the way it is."

I spent almost every waking moment with Wayne that week. I slept with him every night. When he finally woke up, I was right there, staring at his face, wondering how God could ever have made someone who looked so wonderful, so innocent, so... lovable. Dad was sitting beside the bed and was the first one Wayne saw.

"Hi, daddy."

He only called our dad that when he was feeling especially vulnerable. Dad swallowed really hard before he spoke.

"Hi there, kiddo," he said, his voice just above a whisper. "How are you feeling?"

"My head hurts. What happened?"

"You fell out of the tree onto the driveway. You've had us a bit worried."

Tears started dripping from the corner of Wayne's eyes.

"I'm sorry daddy. I didn't mean to do it. I didn't mean to worry you," he said, starting to cry in earnest.

"That's OK, son. You're going to be OK and that's all that's important now. You've been asleep for a long time. There's no need for tears. We're all OK."

Wayne sniffed and wiped his nose with the sleeve of his pajamas. Hey! It's all he had at the moment, OK? Geez!

"How long?"

"A little more than two days." Wayne's eyes got really big.

"That long? Where's Andy?"

Obviously, he hadn't noticed me. Some brother I am, huh?

"Right there beside you, son. Right where he's been for the last two days."

Wayne turned and looked at me with the most endearing look in his eyes.

"Are you serious?" he whispered, staring at me.

"As a heart attack," I responded.

Starting the day after he woke up, I played CD's for him, read to him, talked with him. I even gave him sponge baths, telling mom he was too old for her to be doing it. I found myself wanting to do everything for him. When he had to take a crap on the bed pan, I held the pan. And I wiped him when he was finished because it was too awkward for him to do it himself and still lie flat on his back.

I had lots of time to think as I sat with Wayne while he was sleeping. After seven days of hardly being out of his presence except to bathe and eat, I began to realize that my love for him went far beyond the love one usually has for a brother. I hadn't really thought of love before, any more than I had thought of girls. Or even boys. I guess I was slow in getting to that stage of my life. The circle jerks I had with Aaron and Joey, which started shortly after I turned 13, were fun, but they were just play stuff, nothing serious about them. We hardly ever used magazines or pictures. We'd just get together once in a while and play with each other's dick until we shot off. Sexual orientation never really came up.

But as I cuddled up to Wayne at night and held him in my arms, I found myself wanting to be this close to him all the time. I found myself just naturally drawn to nuzzle his neck and kiss him behind the ears when I was sure he was asleep. During the day I found myself looking at him constantly. As we talked and laughed, I watched his eyes, his lips, his whole face. I could tell when he was joking and when he was serious just by the expression on his face, the way the pupils of his eyes would dilate and contract. I wasn't aware that he was doing the same thing.

By the end of the week, I realized I was in love with him. Not just that I loved him, but that I was in love with him.

Oh, SHIT! I thought to myself when this realization finally dawned on me. Now what the fuck am I going to do? I'm gay and in love with my brother. Not only am I a homo but I'm incestuous to boot. Wait a minute. I'm adopted. So, we aren't brothers by blood. Is that still incest? Who cares? We're both boys. Can't have kids.

Besides, he isn't gay, so we aren't going to be having sex anyway. Aw SHIT! What am I going to do? Dad is going to shit if he ever finds out. And I can't tell Wayne, 'cause he'd probably freak out or something. Aw FUCK!

Wayne was allowed out of bed the second week after the accident but not out of the house. We still did everything together, but at least he was able to sit on the john and wipe himself afterwards and give himself a bath. Thank God for small favors. Once I realized I was in love with him, his body became an object of desire.

I suffered in silence until Wayne's 13th birthday. I figured I had plenty of time to tell him how I felt, if I ever did, and he needed time to mature enough to understand what I knew was going to be a difficult conversation.

Not long after he turned 13, we were watching a movie one night with lots of kissing in it. I forget the name of it, but every time they'd get to a love scene, I found myself comparing the lady's lips to Wayne's. I'd look over at his mouth as he was watching the TV. I'm sure he caught me looking at him a couple of times, but he didn't seem to notice anything unusual about the way I was looking at him. We had always held hands and hugged a lot, so I didn't think anything of reaching over and taking his hand in mine.

But this time something was different. I don't know what it was. Maybe the movie, maybe my hormones, maybe just the fact that I was tired of not being able to tell him that I was in love with him, but whatever it was, when I held his hand this time it was definitely different. There was more heat. There was a feeling of electricity without any real feeling. Kind of like when a fluorescent light hums. You can tell there's electricity flowing through it but you can't feel it.

I was aware of my dick getting hard, but that wasn't so important. I wasn't so big it showed. What was important was the fact that I couldn't concentrate on the movie. I began to breathe differently. I felt lightheaded, almost dizzy. It was almost like the night in the hospital when I hyperventilated. I remember thinking that's all I need. Right in the middle of this movie, I jump up and get a lunch sack from the kitchen and stick it over my face.

What'm I going to tell mom and dad? The movie makes me want to puke!? I felt wonderful and miserable at the same time. Had I not been so surprised at my own feelings I might have noticed Wayne's shy glance out of the corner of his eye and the blush that came to his cheeks as I held his hand.

As I turned 15 and Wayne turned 13, we continued to grow closer and closer together. Mom and dad didn't seem to mind us holding hands and sitting practically on top of each other while watching TV. But dad kept making those comments about homosexuals, and I began to feel more and more uncomfortable about it. I mean, I couldn't figure out why he hated them so much. I never saw a gay person do anything bad to him.

I remember one day he came home from work really bent out of shape. All during dinner he was complaining about the "damn queers" thinking they were just as good as everybody else, and how "those limp wristed buggers" (whatever a bugger is) made him sick to his stomach, and how he sure was glad "none of them faggots lived in our neighborhood." I wondered at the time how he knew there weren't any in our neighborhood. Wayne seemed just as embarrassed by dad's comments as I was. Neither of us looked up from our plates during dinner that night, except to look at each other.

Anyway, on a lighter note, I know I told you Wayne had a cute laugh and giggle that really made me feel so good when I heard him. But did I tell you he had a really sweet singing voice? Well, even at 13 his voice hadn't changed yet, so it was a high voice. But when he sang with us in the choir, it sounded so pretty.

One night when we were lying in our beds after mom had come in and tucked us in, I asked him if he'd ever thought of singing a solo at church. He said he'd never thought about it but figured he'd be too scared. We talked about it for a while and I encouraged him to think about it. I even offered to play the piano for him.

For the next few weeks, any time we were home alone I'd drag Wayne into the TV room where the piano was and tease him into singing as I played. As he got accustomed to it, his confidence grew, and pretty soon he was really belting out some of the old hymns like a pro. I think that's when I started falling in love with him. His voice alone could bring tears to my eyes. Of course, I couldn't let him see me crying because that would start him off and he'd have to stop singing.

After just a few sessions, I started singing along with him. My voice had changed so I sang the alto part, which I could hear in my head, probably because of all the piano lessons. We were sitting in there one day, really getting after it, when mom walked in. She had gone to town for some new shoes and heard us singing the minute she walked in the back door. When we noticed her, she was leaning against the door frame with tears in her eyes.

"How long have you guys been working on that?"

"Well.... ummm, we... uh. we haven't really been working on anything in particular, mom. Just sort of fooling around."

"Yeah, mom. Andy talked me into it. At first he was just playing the piano, but now he's started singing with me. Do we sound really bad?"

"Well, boys, I know you're going to think this is just your mom talking, but this is true. When I walked in the back door, I thought I was hearing angels singing. Wayne, your voice is beautiful! And Andy, yours blends so well with his. I am really amazed."

"Aw, moooom!"

"You're just saying that to be nice."

"No, I'm not. And I'll prove it to you."

"How?"

"Well, you know your dad sings in the barbershop quartet. Do you think he does a good job?"

"Yeah! He's cool!" we both answered.

"Well, let's just let him hear you guys and tell you what he thinks."

That night, dad listened to us sing. I don't think I had ever seen him look so proud.

"Why don't we call Mrs. Johnson and see if there's an opening on the church calendar? I think the boys need to share this gift of music with the rest of the congregation."

That's how we started singing duets at church. It never went beyond that. We didn't become famous or anything, but we've been singing special music ever since. When we sang together, Mrs. Johnson would play the piano.

But when Wayne sang solo, I'd play. Of course, I always had to memorize the music, 'cause so many times his voice and the words would make me cry and I couldn't see the music. Wayne had such a beautiful boy soprano voice, he could probably have sung in the Vienna Boys' Choir, which had always been my favorite group.

As I said earlier, I learned about masturbation about the time I turned 13. One of my friends from the neighborhood saw his brother doing it and forced him to tell him what it was all about. I was over at Joey's house when no one was at home, and he talked me into doing it with him. We only did it together that one time, but it was the greatest thing I'd experienced up to that time.

From that time on, I beat off every chance I got, usually in the bathroom. Then I started playing with it at night in bed. For the first year or so, I was real careful not to let Wayne catch me. But then I got to thinking about Joey catching his brother and that made me hot. So, I guess I began to get careless, sort of accidently on purpose.

It was summertime, and we had gone to bed with just our PJ bottoms on. We had pushed the blankets on our beds down to the floor and were lying there with just a sheet over us, Wayne in his bed, me in mine. I had been sperming for at least a year, so I had some tissues with me, lying on the bed at my side. I laid there for a while just thinking about the time Joey & I did it together which of course made my dick get hard. Then I started rubbing it like I usually do. Of course, this made the sheet bounce up and down, and I guess there was enough moonlight coming in the window for Wayne to see.

Suddenly I heard Wayne whisper.

"What are you doing Andy?"

"I'm, uh... well, I'm, uhh... what's it look like I'm doing?"

"It looks like you're beatin' off!"

I about SHIT! I mean, here I am 15 years old, been playing with myself for maybe two years, and here's my little brother, just barely 13, talking like he knows all about it. I mean, just the matter-of-fact tone of voice he used told me he wasn't unfamiliar with it.

"What do you know about beatin' off?" I asked in a loud whisper.

"Not much. Tommy Newberry from school told me about it. He said he does it and it feels really good."

"Have you ever done it?"

"Not really. I tried it once, but after a while, my penis got sore, so I quit."

"Oh."

"Andy?"

"Yeah?"

"Would you show me how?"

"Huh?" Boy was I eloquent at 15.

"Could I watch you do it?"

"Gosh, Wayne, I never did it in front of anybody but Joey Stevens, and that was only once."

"Well, that's not really true, you know."

"WHAT!? What do you mean?"

"Well, a couple times when you thought I was asleep? I wasn't. I've watched you before, like tonight, but I can't see much in the dark."

I was silent. I couldn't believe my little brother had been lying there listening to me beat off and groan and moan and stuff. But I have to admit, just thinking about it was making my penis get hard again.

"Andy?"

"Yeah?"

"My pecker's stiff. You wanna see it?"

Honest to God, I don't know what it was, but the instant he asked that question, my feelings for him jumped! I laid there for a minute or two, just thinking about what Wayne had said, and what his penis looked like soft all those times we had changed clothes. We shared a bedroom, remember? and I suddenly knew that I wanted to see him stiff more than anything in the world.

"Yeah, Wayne." I whispered softly. "I'd really like that."

I heard him slide out of bed and step over to my bed. Even for him it was only two steps, they were that close together. I could just barely see him in the moonlight as his PJ bottoms slid to the floor. His hardon was a mere shadow in the darkness, but it was the most beautiful thing I had seen up to that point in my life.

What in the hell is going on? I thought to myself. Why do I feel the way I do right now? Why is his penis suddenly so beautiful to me?

As he stood there with his pecker bouncing in the moonlight, I pushed my pj's off, pulled them out from under the covers and dropped them beside his on the floor. Then I watched his face as I drew the covers back, exposing myself to his gaze. Since I was lying next to the window, I knew what little light there was was even brighter on me than on him. I thought I heard a little gasp as I saw him look down at my hardon sticking straight up in the air. It hadn't gotten big enough or heavy enough to lay down on my belly yet.

For some reason, just having him look at me that way made my penis feel even harder, and I know it was throbbing something fierce. He sat down on the bed right at my hips, facing me, his back to my feet.

"So. You going to show me how you do it?"

I could definitely tell he was breathing funny, and I wondered if he would do it too. But I kept my thoughts to myself. I was a little embarrassed at first, as I wrapped my hand around myself and started stroking. I just went at it kind of slowly, letting him see what I was doing in slow motion, getting used to the idea of having an audience.

The longer I stroked, the heavier our breathing became, both of us. I don't know the real reason, whether he was just getting tired sitting there, or if he wanted to get a better look, or if he was somehow drawn to be closer to what I was doing, but as I played with it, his body got lower and lower on the bed until his head was resting on my thigh just below my crotch. I could even feel his heavy warm breath on my leg. Then we started whispering again.

"Does that feel as good as it looks?"

"Yeah, it feels great. The longer you do it, the better it feels."

"How long you been doing this, Andy?"

"Just a couple of years, I guess. Just since Joey Stevens showed me."

"I'm doing it too, but I don't think I'm doing as good a job as you are."

"You want me to show you how? On you, I mean?"

I barely got that last part out; I was breathing so hard. I was almost as scared to suggest it to him as I was even to think about it. I mean, Joey and I had only done it to ourselves. I'd never touched a boy down there this way before. Yeah, I'd washed Wayne's crotch before in the tub, but this was different. Everything about this was different.

Wayne laid back on the bed, his head at my feet, his buttcheek resting against my left hand.

"Would you do that? Nobody's ever touched me there before. 'Cept you Dr. Abrams."

My only answer was to move my left hand over to where his penis stood upright in his lap. I really wished the light was on so I could see better but turning it on now would have spoiled the moment. As I touched his erection for the first time, we both gasped out loud. Somehow, his felt a lot different than mine. Maybe it was just that it wasn't mine. But as I began sliding my hand loosely up and down the three inches that he had there, I forgot all about my own.

Pretty soon I rolled over onto my left side and rested my head in that hand and began stroking him with my right. I could see a little better this way, and being right-handed this was more comfortable for me. Wayne didn't seem to care which hand I used. I think he was beginning to understand what beatin' off was all about. I was suddenly glad that it was me showin' him how to do it and not someone else.

After several minutes of this, he finally had his first immature climax. For his first time, it was pretty powerful, and by the time he had calmed down, my emotions had gotten the better of me and I was crying, just from the beauty of the moment and what I had been able to do for him. When I noticed Wayne crying too, I turned around and drew him into my arms.

"What's the Matter, Wayne?" I sniffed in his ear. "Did I hurt you?"

"Oh, my God, Andy. No, you didn't hurt me," he said, also sniffling in my ear.

"That's just about the best feeling I ever had in my whole life. It just felt so good, and I feel so close to you right now, I can't help myself. Are you OK?"

"Yeah, sport, I'm OK. I guess it affected me the same way. That was so beautiful I can't help crying."

We laid there a few minutes, my hardon still throbbing, resting against his hip, waiting for release.

"Can I do that for you?"

"Yeah... I guess... If you really want to, I mean."

"You bet I want to! Roll over."

So I rolled over onto my back and pulled the tissues out from under my butt. I laid them on my chest to catch the stuff I knew would be coming out.

"What're those for?"

"They're to catch the stuff that comes out when I get to where you just got."

"What stuff's that?"

"Well, when you're old enough, this white stuff called semen comes out. That's where the sperm is that makes a woman pregnant. Joey's brother calls it cum."

"Oh."

Then he reached out, real tentative like, and wrapped his fingers around my dick. I about died right then and there. If having his hardon in my hand felt good, having mine in his felt WONDERFUL. I never imagined that another hand could make it feel so much better.

He must have been paying more attention than I thought to what I was doing to him, because it only took a minute or so for him to get into a rhythm that made me realize I wasn't going to last long. For the most part, he just let his hand slide up and down on the skin. Once in a while he'd increase the pressure and move the skin, too, sort of like I did.

I warned him when I was about to cum and told him to slow down a little so he didn't sling the stuff all over the place. When I came, it was the most powerful orgasm I had ever had. The first shot was so powerful it went way past the tissues and landed on my throat. I don't know which of us was more amazed, Wayne at his first sight of someone cumming or me at the intensity of it. When I finally asked him to stop, he had some of my cum on his fingers.

"Wow. This stuff is slimy."

"Yeah, I know. That's why I try to catch it in tissues. Here take this dry one and wipe your hand with it."

As he wiped his hand, I cleaned up the part that hit my throat. Then we took the tissues into the bathroom and flushed them down the toilet. Wayne washed his hands, and we went back to our bedroom. I don't think the folks heard anything. We slipped into our pj's and I crawled into bed. Wayne was still standing by my bed.

"Andy?"

"Yeah, sport?"

"Could I sleep in your bed tonight?"

"Sure. Climb in."

He climbed in and turned his back to me, snuggling up like he did that first night. As I laid my arm over him, he grabbed my hand and pulled it tighter across his chest, my hand held firmly in his grasp just under his armpit.

We awoke the next morning in the same position, our mother gazing down on us with a funny look on her face.

The next couple of months were pure hell for me. I used every excuse in the book not to be naked with Wayne. I was afraid to be naked with him because as my hormones really became educated, I popped a woody every time I looked at him, even though I tried not to think sex thoughts about him.

And I had to be careful how I looked at him so he wouldn't get suspicious, and so my folks wouldn't either. Or any of our friends, for that matter. Sometimes songs we'd hear on radio or CD would make me cry because of how the words would just seem to express how I felt about him. That's what worried me most. If it happened when we were alone in our room, he'd usually ask me what was wrong. I hardly ever had a good explanation. And to top it off, he kept finding excuses for us to be alone together.

Another thing that made that year so bad was dad's comments about gays. I don't mean he was homophobic and talked about it all the time. He wasn't like that. But when the subject came up or when he saw some guy he thought was homosexual, he always made some mean, nasty comment. Things like, "that guy's a fucking freak of nature," or "can you believe how that fairy walks and talks," or "geez, can't we just round up them queers and ship 'em all to San Francisco?"

The fact that I now realized I was gay made his comments hurt even more than they had before. They had always embarrassed me and made me feel bad for the people he was talking about. But now one of those people was me. If we were at home when he'd say something like that, I'd try to slip off to my room and cry. One time Wayne followed me. I was lying face down on my bed crying into my pillow when Wayne laid down next to me and put his arm over my shoulder.

"What's the matter Andy? Why are you crying?" I thought I could hear a tear in his voice, too.

"I just get so upset when dad talks about gay people that way. Why does he have to be so mean? No queer ever did anything wrong to him that I know of."

"Yeah, I know. It bothers me, too. But it never made me cry before." I rolled over to face him.

"So, you're crying, too? How come?"

"Because of what he said. And because he made you cry."

At that point we just sort of wrapped our arms around each other and laid there, sniffling softly. At one point I found myself kissing his neck. I hadn't realized I was doing it, and I sort of jumped back, afraid of how long I might have been doing it. Wayne gave me a questioning look.

"I'm sorry, sport. I didn't mean to do that."

"It's OK, Andy. I kind of liked it. You mean a lot to me, you know."

We settled back down and left it at that, but I was careful not to start kissing him again.

Shortly before my 16th birthday and a learner's driving permit, I got a pocketknife. Not a little dinky pick your fingernails pocketknife, but a serious one with a 2 ½ inch blade. Wayne and I were out in the woods on the hill above our house playing mumbly peg. At least that's what we called it. It's a game with a series of moves done with a knife. Once you do one correctly you advance to the next. The one who gets through all the steps first wins.

Anyway, when the game was over (I won), I picked up this stick and was scraping it into a point. Unfortunately, I was scraping it towards me. The blade kept getting caught on the nub of a little twig about two inches from the point. So, I cut into the base of it and then gave a sharp pull. The nub came off and the knife kept coming right into my eye. Well, not into it actually. The sharp edge of the blade sort of hit my face from eyebrow to cheek, cutting right down across my eyeball.

Blood went everywhere. I screamed in panic and Wayne threw up. But as I was jumping up and down screaming and bleeding like a stuck pig, Wayne grew up. I think he aged four years and became two years my senior. He grabbed his handkerchief, pulled my hands away from my face and slapped his folded handkerchief over my eye, all in one move.

"Ow! Shit Wayne! Fuck, that hurts!"

"I know it hurts, Andy, but you gotta hold it there!"

We were yelling at each other out of fear bordering on hysteria. Actually, I think I was hysterical, and Andy was calm. It averaged out to "bordering on."

"You gotta stop jumping up and down and screaming, Andy. You're just making it bleed worse."

"That's easy for you to say asshole!" I yelled at him. "You're not the one who's going to be blind!"

Wayne took my anger and threw it right back at me.

"Aw grow up Andy! Stop acting like a little kid! If you're going to be blind in that eye, it's already happened. Acting like a scared little kid isn't going to reverse the damage. Now CALM DOWN!"

I guess it worked. He had made me feel like a fool and I calmed down pretty soon after that. Then Andy did something else I would not have expected.

"You can't walk down the hill blind in one eye and unable to see out of the other, so get up on my back so we can get out of here."

"Are you serious?"

"As a heart attack. Even if it gives me one."

By this time, I was beyond arguing with him. I climbed up and he carried me down the hill to our home. By the time we got there we were both pretty well covered with blood. The handkerchief was soaked, and blood had dripped down my arm and off my face to make a pretty good mess of at least the right side of Wayne's body from shoulder to knee.

Well, to make a long story short, I didn't lose the sight in that eye. Probably due to Wayne's courage. But I do have the most awesome looking eye. You can actually see where the knife cut through the cornea and the iris leaving two distinct halves of what had once been a full circle. (Author's note: True. I had friend whose brother did that very thing and whose eye looked just like that afterwards.)

This time it was Wayne, the barely fourteen-year-old, who watched over me. He was so solicitous, washing my forehead with wet cloths, feeding me aspirin for the pain. Yeah, it was painful! Hurt like hell!

Every night we slept in the same bed, just like when he fell out of the tree. Usually I'd go to sleep on my back with him cuddled up against me, one arm over my chest. I guess it would have played hell with my nether regions had it not been for the pain in my head and face.

One night I woke up to find him kissing me. Not on the lips, no. He was kissing my forehead and all around my damaged eye. The little light with a 25-watt bulb over my bed was on.

"What are you doing?"

He jerked back a little, just far enough for me to see the tears running down his cheeks. He sniffed and wiped his nose with a tissue he had in his hand.

"I was just kissing your injury, Andy. I'm sorry. Please don't be mad."

I reached up and wiped the tears from his cheeks. Without thinking, I licked his tears from my fingers.

"I'm not mad, sport. It felt good. Thanks."

"Can I do it some more?"

"Sure."

I laid there and enjoyed his kisses, thinking to myself, I wish he knew what his kisses are doing to me. I wish I could kiss him back. I wish I could tell him how much I love him. How I love him. That I'm IN LOVE with him.

He kept kissing all around my injured eye. Then he moved over to my other eye and kissed that one, too. Then his lips moved down to first one cheek and then the other. I couldn't prevent the tears from trickling down my cheek. Nor could I keep from pursing my lips. It just happened. I didn't even have my eyes open. All of a sudden, Wayne's lips moved from soaking up my tears to resting on my lips. I was so enthralled by his touch that I didn't even think about what was happening for at least a minute.

Then my eye snapped open, and I gasped aloud.

"I love you, Andy."

God it hurts when you get salty tears in an incision. And that's all I could do - cry. I hugged him to me and cried. He laid his head face down on my pillow, next to my cheek and cried. But this time, I pulled him over on top of me so we were lying cheek-to-cheek, toes-to-toes, or as close to it as our height difference would allow.

"I love you, too, Wayne. But you have to know. I'm IN LOVE with you."

"I know that Andy. You might have fooled mom and dad, but you haven't been fooling me. We've spent too much time together this last year. I can read you like a book when we're alone. You think I haven't figured out why you never want to be naked with me anymore? I may be a kid, but I'm not stupid."

"And it doesn't bother you?"

"No. Why should it. I feel the same way about you."

"You do?!"

"Yep."

"For how long?"

"Oh, ever since Tommy Newberry and I beat off together about six, eight months ago. It was fun, but it wasn't anything like the night you and I did it. It was altogether different. That's when I knew for sure."

"Boy, you sure figure things out a lot faster than I do."

And with that I kissed him again. On the lips. Long. And hard. And with all the love I could muster at the time. Then my head started hurting even worse.

That was the last kiss we shared that night. But there would be other nights.