Behaving Responsibly - 1. Beginnings

I groaned, “Fuck, Teddy, gimme some goddamn air!”

My brother teased, “Whatsa matter, Big Bro? Cantcha get loose, you big sissy?”

“You’re fucking choking me, asshole.”

“No, Bobby, what I’m doing is kicking your fuckin pansy ass.”

A voice from somewhere else in the house boomed, “You two had better cut that shit out, or I’ll be the one doing the ass-kicking.”

We both froze in place and answered in chorus, “Yes, Sir.”

Air Force Colonel William F. Stimson commanded immediate, unquestioning obedience from his airmen and especially his two teenage sons. Dad’s middle name was Frederick, but Teddy and I learned early in life that it really stood for “Fuck with me and you’ll regret it.”

I tried to take advantage of Dad’s interruption by twisting violently left and right, but my brother’s legs only gripped me tighter. He mocked my vain efforts to escape.

I lowered my voice and croaked, “Fucking let me go, you prick.”

“Say Uncle, faggot.”

Obstinately, I replied, “Uncle Faggot.”

The voice of authority thundered again, this time coming from the open door of our bedroom and a hell of a lot sterner, “That word has no place in your vocabularies. Is that clear?”

We were two deer caught in the headlights. It was all we could do to gaze up at Dad and nod vigorously. Sometimes, a non-verbal response satisfied him. Other times, well, let’s just say he wants you to know you fucked up and exactly what he’s going to do about it.

His scowl came across even harsher than his words. “Now, both of you get your sorry asses up off the floor. You have chores to do.”

Teddy relaxed his leg-lock, and we got to our feet in silence. The look in Dad’s eyes made it definite that the horsing around was over—for now.

He glared from me to my younger brother, shook his head, and turned his back. “I would think the workouts you two get at football practice would eliminate the need to blow off steam in the house.”

We knew when to reply and when to shut the fuck up. This was definitely the latter.

The Colonel returned to the laundry room where he resumed taking clothes out of the dryer and folding them. Despite being a senior command officer, he always took his proper turn with the household chores, which were rotated equally among the three of us.

I turned to Teddy with a defiant grin. “You win—this time, shithead, but next time I’ll kick your fucking ass.”

“In your dreams, Booby.” He only dared to call me that when he had the upper hand. I’d exact my revenge the next time we wrestled.

To redeem my damaged manhood, I cuffed him on his left arm.

“Shit, man. Cut it out. You lost fair and square, you fuckin pussy.”

“Like I said—this time.” I grinned at him and he laughed at my threat.

“We’ll fuckin see.”

The little scuffle was typical of how my brother and I got along. We played hard, but we were inseparable and loyal to each other, no matter what. Over the years to come, our mutual loyalty would be put to the test many times and in many ways, but it always survived.

This was due in part to the fact that we had virtually no other living relatives. I say “virtually” because our Mom’s sister, Aunt Agatha, was disabled and lived in Minot, Minnesota. Teddy and I met her only once in our lives—at our Mom's funeral.

At eighteen, I was a year older than Teddy and an exalted senior in high school. My brother was an honor roll student, and I cruised along with a solid C average, which was all I felt was worth working for.

We shared a bedroom in the officer’s quarters provided to my dad, who was Base Commander at Oak Ridge National Laboratory, a top-secret atomic research facility in the town that sprang up as part of the Manhattan Project during World War Two.

Oak Ridge, Tennessee, was a sleepy backwoods village in the foothills of the Great Smoky Mountains in 1942 when the Manhattan Project to produce atomic bombs arrived.

The Army Corps of Engineers used eminent domain to commandeer 55,000 acres of land, setting up a secure perimeter with armed guards at all the gates. When the Army informed the governor of Tennessee that the former farmland and villages were designated as a “total exclusion area,” he tore up the proclamation in disgust.

Now, twenty-four years later, the goddamn Cold War was in full swing and the fucking “police action” in Vietnam was in its eleventh year, with no end in sight.

President Johnson took office after Kennedy’s assassination and staked out a hard-assed position: “The war against Communism must be joined with strength and determination.” He meant his determination and our strength as a military family.

Everybody said the U.S. would never use nuclear weapons again, but we had to go on building them and making them bigger in order to keep up with the goddamn Soviet Union in the arms race.

The cluster of small valleys surrounded by tall ridges made the location of Oak Ridge ideal for this purpose. In school, they told us the town was chosen for secrecy, to hide the locations of the factories. We all knew the truth: if some freak accident or enemy attack released radiation from one of them, the hills would help contain damage and shield the surrounding area.

Dad’s job consisted of riding herd on the 200 Marines and 100 civilians who provided security at the three manufacturing facilities where uranium was refined into the fissile material of which atomic weapons were made.

I grew up practicing duck-and-cover under my desk with all the other children in my class and watching grim movies about what to do in case of a nuclear attack. Our teachers never said a word about how to survive in what would be left of the world after the fucking bombs dropped.

They also never pointed out that Oak Ridge was a prime target for Russian missiles, and we would most likely be vaporized in the first half-hour of any real war. By the time we were in junior high, we were all calling the bomb drills “kiss your ass goodbye practice.”

Our house sat on the flank of one of those tall hills, facing away from the town, of course—supposedly on the “safe” side in case of an accident or attack. What a goddamn joke! Nothing would survive a direct hit on the town.

When you grew up with that mentality, you soon forgot about the harsh realities of life and learned to just be a carefree kid. Teddy and I never talked about it; we went to school, played football, and horsed around like we had nothing to worry about.

********

I registered for the draft on April 24, 1966—my eighteenth birthday. I also signed up to join the United States Air Force as soon as I graduated from high school. I was ordered to report for Basic Training beginning on June fifteenth, and I expected to find my ass in fucking Southeast Asia pretty damn fast afterward.

My father tried to steer me into the Navy, saying that being the son of a ranking officer would only make things harder on me in the Air Force. I told him that’s exactly what I hoped because it would make me work to prove myself to everyone. I knew Dad was worried but also proud of me.

I had the dumb-ass idea that my brother would join me the following year, but he declared he wanted to go to college and get a deferment. I hoped the war would be over by the time he graduated. I was disappointed he wasn’t going to serve with me, but I understood why Dad believed education was the best path for his younger son.

Ever since the car crash that killed our mother, Teddy and I stuck together better than any brothers we knew. The accident also condemned our father to a “goddamn desk job,” as he called it. The Air Force made sure we were not left orphaned, but it took Dad out of the action and stalled his career permanently.

We were an odd family for that day and place. Everybody else had a father who worked and a mother who stayed home and took care of the house. With Mom gone, Teddy, Dad, and I grew into a tight unit that shared our loss and tried to live in a way that would have made her proud of us.

Losing a parent, especially the one who always made everything right, forced us to fill that role for each other.

In many ways, we were like three roommates living together in a barracks. Given Dad’s military background and vocabulary, my brother and I felt free to use all the locker room language that Mom would have quashed.

We weren’t shy about being naked, either, and bodily functions weren’t treated like something to be hidden behind closed doors. I still missed Mom a hell of a lot, but I found the closer relationship with my father and brother helped fill the gaps in life.

Most days after school, Teddy and I changed into our running gear and headed outside. We covered at least ten miles a day, up and down the hills surrounding our little hometown. Ever competitive, we always sprinted the last half-mile for bragging rights.

Spring came early to East Tennessee, so we were wearing tight nylon shorts with nothing underneath them, which visibly outlined our thick cocks, along with open-net football half-shirts that showed off the treasure trails of curly black hairs leading down our abs.

In case you were wondering, we were well aware of how hot we looked dressed like that, which came in handy when our run took us through a couple of city parks where cute girls hung out waiting for us to pass by. We showed off by sprinting, stopping to shadow box, and shit like that.

As fun as it was to tease the ladies, we both had steady girlfriends. Even so, there was no reason not to flirt or steal glances at the cuter ones on the sidelines. “I may be on a diet, but I can still read the menu,” was some bullshit we heard on The Smothers Brothers Hour or Rowan and Martin’s Laugh-in—we weren’t sure which, and we didn’t give a fuck.

Both of us were on the varsity football team. Teddy was a wide receiver and I played fullback. We loved the physicality of the sport, putting all our strength into every aspect—running fast, hitting hard, getting knocked down and bouncing back up to cuss out the motherfucker who hit us—all good-natured, of course.

Our team kicked some serious ass during the fall season, and we were thrilled that the high schools in the area decided to offer a spring football season, too. It didn’t count toward state championships or anything, but it represented a great opportunity to continue playing the game we both loved.

My brother always got top grades while I struggled to barely pass, which was one reason why I wasn’t interested in college. I figured I might work my way up to being an officer like my father in twenty years or so if I kept my nose clean and kissed all the right asses.

Don’t you go thinking Teddy was a nerd or some shit like that. True, he was smart, but he was also all man. We lifted weights together, ran every day and played hard, on the field and off. We also both enjoyed healthy sex lives—more on that in a moment.

We were so close in age (twelve months and five days apart, to be exact) that people often assumed we were twins. In the showers after practice, our teammates noticed that our bodies were virtually identical in all aspects, which suited us both just fine.

We both shaved daily and jacked off in the shower (separately) every morning, so our father had his work cut out for him riding herd on two full-grown but still adolescent men!

Our mother’s death brought the three of us closer as a family. Dad busted asses at work but turned into the devoted father the minute he got home. I’m not saying he didn’t insist on tight discipline, just not as hard-assed as what he dished out to the men under his command.

I suppose you might say the shared tragedy of Mom’s death made us realize how fragile life is and led the three of us to form a bond I didn’t see between most teenage siblings or with their dads.

That worried me a lot. Hell, I was going to break out of the family unit in a couple of months. I worried about the major change looming in all our lives.

Basic Training would keep me isolated and cut off for almost eight weeks. Communication with the outside would be strictly limited to one phone call home per week. They were serious as fuck about the rule, but I wondered if Dad might pull strings to visit the base once in a while and “accidentally” run into me.

I planned to set up a rotation—I would call Dad one week, Teddy the next, and my girlfriend the third, then start again with Dad.

Meanwhile, my little brother would come out of my shadow, at school and home, which I counted as a positive development. We did everything together now, so it was important for him to develop his own personality and figure out his strengths without me around giving him shit all the time.

The fact that he had the brains in the family meant he would head in a completely different direction from me in life, and I was rooting for his success. I never imagined how different his direction would turn out to be!

********

While my brother and I were closer than most siblings I knew, I had a “best friend” in a kid named Brian Starr. We’d been pals since first grade, and we hung out whenever we could.

Brian played basketball, a sport that never interested me, but he loyally supported the whole athletic program of Oak Ridge High. He was a “manager” of the football team, which meant he was a go-fer for the coaches and performed “other duties as assigned.” He also traveled with us on the team bus for away games.

When we both reached the age to start dating girls, Brian was eons ahead of me at every stage of the game. He kissed a girl before I did, felt her titties, fingered her, and fucked her. He liked to regale me with his stories of feminine conquests, and I enjoyed his sex life vicariously.

“Wait’ll you hear the latest shit!” he exclaimed quietly one day as we stood by our lockers in the busy hallway of the school.

I laughed, “Don’t tell me—you fucked another cheerleader.”

“Almost, but I’ll get there pretty soon.”

“Then what?”

“You know that kid, Marty Bruner?” He referred to a student who didn’t run in the jock circles like we did. That made him “OK,” but not at the level of “cool” we enjoyed.

“Sure. He’s kind of a bookworm.”

“Well, he’s a little more than that—” he teased.

“Goddammit, Brian, either tell me or shut the fuck up.”

“OK, OK.” He leaned is conspiratorially and whispered. “He’s queer.”

I grimaced at him. “OK, he’s queer. So fucking what?”

He jerked backward a little. “Did you hear me? He’s a fucking faggot!”

“So you’re saying you’ve seen him fuck a guy?”

“Fuck no! But don’t you give a shit that’s what he is? He’s a cocksucker!

Brian could see from my expression that I was pissed at him. “Why do I give a shit what he is? And that’s not I word I like to hear. Queer, fag, pansy, gay—I hate putting labels on people. I even hate being called a jock.” I leaned in close to his face. “Who he fucks means nothing to me.”

“What about who he sucks off?”

“I don’t care about that either.”

“Even if it’s your brother?”

I looked up, startled. “Since when are you checking up on my goddamn brother’s sex life?”

He looked confused. “Just thought you’d wanna know.”

“Well, I don’t.” I glared at him. “And how exactly do you know about this? Did you witness it for yourself, or is it some bullshit rumor going around?”

“I heard it from Sue Ann Warner.”

“Teddy’s girlfriend? That’s fucking bullshit!”

“It’s true. They were making out and she wouldn’t go down on him, and he got pissed at her, so he told her Marty Bruner would do it.”

“Would do it, or did it?”

“That’s what Sue Ann asked him, and he told her he meets his needs with Marty whenever he’s horny and she won’t put out.”

“It could still be bullshit. You know my brother. Maybe he’s using emotional blackmail to get what he wants from her.” I lowered my voice. “And I know for a fact that he’s into girls.”

“I’ll ask you the same thing you asked me—did you witness it for yourself?”

I balled up my fist and held it up under his chin. “Fucking drop the subject, Bri, or you’ll be damn sorry.”

“OK, OK, Bobby. I’m sorry I brought it up.” We went in opposite directions to our homerooms, and Brian never mentioned it again.

That night in our bedroom, I perched on side of my bunk and stared at Teddy. He caught me and demanded, “What the fuck? Something on your mind, Bro?”

“I heard something today that’s none of my goddamn business, but it’s about you, so I’m sticking my nose in where it doesn’t fucking belong.”

Teddy sat up and looked me with curiosity. “About me? Is it something that’s true or the usual bullshit?”

“I don’t now if it’s true or not. You’d have to tell me.”

“Shit! I can’t fuckin tell you if you don’t say what it is.”

“It involves you and Marty Bruner.”

His head jerked up and he looked me in the eye. “Who said that?”

“I’m not saying, and you don’t have to tell me anything. I just wanted you to know that word’s going around that you...did something with him.”

My brother burst out laughing. “Did something with him? Can’t you say the words, Bobby? Why don’t you just ask me if he sucked my dick.”

“Like I said, it’s none of my fucking business where you get your jollies. I figured you’d tell me if there was a reason to.”

“A reason to? Like what?”

I raised my voice. “Let’s fucking forget it. OK, Bro? I told Br—. Uh, I told the person who said it that it was none of his goddamn business or mine. So, let’s drop the subject.”

“Fine. Best idea you’ve come up with all night.”

We got into bed and turned off the lights. I lay there staring at the ceiling, wondering what I really thought about what Brian told me about Teddy.

A quiet voice interrupted my deliberations.

“Goddammit, it’s true, but I don’t see how it’s anybody’s fuckin business.”

“Didn’t you tell Sue Ann?”

“Hell, I tell her everything.”

“But you don’t tell your own brother.”

Our room lay silent for a while. “Listen, Bobby, sometimes I have needs, and Sue Ann is on the rag or not in the mood. What’s a dude with blue balls supposed to do?”

“I find jacking off is a pretty good remedy for that.”

“Well, I find a mouth wrapped around my cock feels a hell of a lot better than my fuckin right hand.”

In the dim light from the streetlights outside, I looked over at Teddy. “Bro, like I said—none of my goddamn business.”

His voice came back worried. “So, people are talking about it?”

“Yesterday’s news. They’ve already got somebody else to rag on by now. Who gives a shit how you get your rocks off?”

“Yeah, maybe nobody’s interested.”

“Except Sue Ann.”

“No shit! I was pissed off at her, and I told her about Marty. I guess that pissed her off, and she told somebody else.”

“And that’s how bullshit rumors get started. Don’t worry about it, Bro. I’ve got your back. Anybody who fucks with you fucks with me, too. I doubt there’ll be much interest anyway.” I thought a moment. “You and Sue Ann still good?”

“Yeah. She’s not pissed at me any more.”

“I bet she’s sorry she said anything. Maybe the make-up sex will be good for both of you.”

Teddy laughed, and we went to sleep.

I never heard anything else about Teddy and Marty Bruner, so I chalked it up as a one-off that taught him a lesson. A high school is a hotbed of rumor, gossip, and just plain malicious bullshit.

I hoped it also taught him that as his brother I would stick up for him, no matter what shit he pulled, and I counted on him to do the same for me.

********

I mentioned we do practically everything together and there’s a side to that I think I should mention. It’s a little...risqué, I think is the word, but it will help explain some things that came to light later.

Dad drove a midnight-blue 1964 Chevy Bel Air with white-wall tires. It was a perk of his job provided by the U.S. Government—a big-assed boat of a car. To our delight, it had wide seats front and back, which worked out perfectly when Teddy and I double-dated.

It was the family’s only vehicle, and since Dad was super-stingy when it came to lending it to us, we didn’t have a hell of a lot of choice in the matter.

Grayson’s Drive-in Theatre was our favorite spot for “necking.” You paid your admission without giving a shit about the movie they were showing. Once in, you headed straight for the back row of cars, about fifty feet behind the concession stand and a hundred yards from the big outdoor screen.

What gave away the shit that was going on? All the cars in the last row were parked facing away from the screen! In other words, we weren’t there to watch the goddamn movie.

Everybody I knew was familiar with the drive-in’s back row and what goes on there. It was an unspoken rule that those cars would never be disturbed.

I heard that even the local police knew about it. I guess they thought keeping the kids all in one place was a better way to keep them safe than for them to park on deserted roads or in empty business parking lots. I never saw a police car at the drive-in, though.

As for the participants, I assumed—and I’m pretty sure everyone else did, too—that both parties were there willingly and eager to do whatever they were going to do.

I’d heard about some of the things guys try to do to women, and I can only say that a girl in a car in that back row knew there were at least a dozen other guys within hearing distance who would have rushed to her aid if something led her to cry out for help—whether they had their pants on or not!

I knew the score about what went on at Grayson’s from the time I was in eighth grade, but I was a late bloomer. My first time there was when I got seriously involved with someone—that is, when we were seniors. By “serious” I mean ready to really have sex, beyond just making out. I admit it was easier to make the decision in favor of it, knowing there was an ideal private place for us to explore each other’s bodies undisturbed.

It pissed me off that Teddy more or less kept up with me in the romance department. By rights, I should have been a year ahead of him at all times, but what the hell? We were both having the time of our life!

My girlfriend was Angie Madison and her best friend, Sue Ann Warner, was dating Teddy. “Dating” isn’t what we called it, though.

For teens in the 1960s, relationships went through distinct phases. First, you would be “going out together,” meaning to parties, movies, restaurants, and the like. Everyone traveled as a group, and the link was so tenuous that either party could break it off at any time, with nothing said about it.

If the relationship blossomed, the next step was what we Southerners called “seeing each other.” This was a more secure, exclusive connection, and more time was spent together as a couple than with “the gang.” This allowed for more time to get to know one another—and also for some intense making out.

At some undefined point, your friends started referring to you as a unit: “Angie-and-Bobby are coming to the party.”

After a suitable time, the couple would either break up or move on to the “real” thing: going steady. It meant spending most of your free time together, visiting each other’s homes and families and—almost always—having sex.

Now, let me explain. “Sex” between teenagers represented a complicated ritual defined by specific stages.

It always began with kissing, lips only at first, followed by tongues—what we called “French kissing.” That led to mutual touching—first, above the belt and then if all went well, below. Hand jobs and finger-fucking only counted as “having fun,” not as “real” sex—you could do them all you wanted and still technically be a virgin.

This might go on for weeks or a couple of months, depending on the girl’s willingness to “give it up” to the guy.

There was no doubt that the male was always ready-willing-and-able to go for it as soon as it was offered. For reasons I never understood, it became the female’s duty to put it off for as long as possible, no matter how much she might want it, too. It didn’t seem fair, but then when is life fair?

The time came when hand jobs progressed to blowjobs and fingering to eating pussy. However, there was still no penetration and, therefore, still no “official” sex, which only came after a solid commitment to being together, perhaps including getting engaged.

“Good” girls didn’t move too fast in order to avoid getting labeled as “easy” or worse. They would bring a dude to the brink, smile, and say “That’s all for tonight,” and the poor bastard would have to go home with blue balls and jack off a couple of times.

Sooner or later, though, they would reward his persistence or gentlemanly behavior, with the thing he’d been after from the start. We all got some rudimentary form of sex education in school, but the real mechanics of the act, including how to pop a girl’s cherry without hurting her, were handed down from older guys to younger ones.

I was too young and horny to fully understand the complexities of sex and the different viewpoint of girls. Sure, I knew a few guys who pursued a chick for as long as it took to get what they wanted and dumped her as soon as they got it. I hated to admit it, but there were a disproportionate number of those assholes on the football team, although Teddy and I never traveled down that path.

For Angie and me, going steady arrived after one month.

As a football star in my senior year, I had my pick of female companionship, including plenty of those “easy” girls. I never put any pressure on Angie, but I’m sure she received a shitload of prompting from her girl friends, reminding her I had options and might lose interest at any moment.

Nothing could have been farther from the truth. I was head over heels in love with her, and I would have waited until marriage to have sex with her, but we both knew that wasn’t in the cards.

After graduation, I was joining the Air Force and she was going off to college. The odds of our relationship turning into anything serious were slim to none, but damn if it didn’t happen unexpectedly one night.

We were taking a walk on a warm spring evening, and we wandered into a dark area of one of the parks. We stopped on a bench and started kissing. Soon, my hands were under her blouse. She surprised the hell out of me by reaching behind herself and undoing her bra.

It didn’t take me any time at all to get my hands inside it and onto her soft, fragrant tits. Seconds later, I felt her hand inside my pants. Naturally, my cock was hard as a rock and leaking pre-cum.

I’ll leave the rest to your imagination, but suffice it to say that the evening ended with us lying naked on a soft bed of grass with our bodies intertwined in the most intimate way. I’m proud to say I lasted at least ten minutes, which I understand is rare for a first-timer.

I pulled out before I came, and we held hands and talked on the way home.

“I liked that,” Angie told me in a shy voice as we walked with my arm around her shoulders.

“Me, too.” I deadpanned, trying my best not to let on how thrilled I was, but I couldn’t stop thinking, I had sex! For real! First time! I’m not a virgin any more! It was fucking amazing!

“You’d better come prepared next time.” She was being coy.

“Next time?” My voice filled with hope and excitement.

“Next time. And we won’t take chances like we did tonight, if you know what I mean.”

I knew exactly what she meant, so I went to the drugstore the following day and bought a six-pack of condoms. I wasn’t sure I’d actually need any of them, but I hoped she wasn’t shitting me about where our relationship had arrived.

For the record, I soon needed a shitload more than those six condoms, and I became a regular customer at the store. Fortunately for me, the cashier was one of my classmates. He always quickly swept my purchase out of sight into a plastic bag and gave me a wink and a knowing smile. “Have fun!” was his standard goodbye to me.

This brings me back to my “little” brother. Showering together after football confirmed that he was easily my equal in size “down there,” maybe even a little bigger, but I’d never admit it to him. The only thing I had on him was that I was a senior and about to join the military like our dad. He never let on, but I’m pretty sure he admired for that.

Because we had only one car to share, but also to reassure Angie and Sue Ann’s parents, we started double-dating. I guess they figured two brothers would never have sex side by side. Boy, were they wrong!

When we picked them up for a date at Grayson’s Drive-in Theatre, we paired off, one couple in the front seat and the other in the back. Back in the last row, we found a spot to park and killed the engine and lights. After that, it was time to fuck!

As soon as we were settled in, the other two occupants of the car virtually ceased to exist. We neither heard nor saw anything of what the others were doing, and Teddy and I never talked about it, despite the fact that we were brothers who usually shared everything.

I have a suspicion that Angie and Sue Ann did compare notes, but whatever they said to each other, I never got any grief about it from my pals on the football team, so I am confident they kept it between the two of them.

The ’64 Bel Air was a fucking aircraft carrier of a car, but there was a clear advantage to being in the back seat. The car had two doors and the front seatbacks bent forward, so the couple in the front had to navigate around the steering wheel and span the gap between the two halves of the vinyl bench.

Teddy and I acquired two thick blankets that we spread on the seats to make them more comfortable and also to absorb any liquids that might be created by our activities.

In addition and more importantly, whoever was cramped into the front might end up on his knees doing it doggy-style, which meant he could see over into the back seat.

Neither Teddy nor I wanted to watch the other one have sex or be watched, so a strict discipline of keeping your head down or your face turned to the windshield became our unspoken law.

At first, Teddy and I would go through a little routine at home before we left to pick up the girls. Rock-paper-scissors was our way of deciding who got the back seat. Growing up together, we resolved many of our dilemmas using that time-honored method, but our girlfriends quickly put an end to it.

One evening before we paired up, Angie announced in a stern voice, “We want to take turns, and your method doesn’t come out even.”

Sue Ann agreed, “Sometimes one of you gets the back seat for weeks in a row.”

Angie dropped the bomb. “So, we have decided to alternate each time. You guys will have to remember which seat you’re supposed to be in, or you might wind up with the wrong girl, and that would piss off both of us!”

As our relationships with the girls became more intense, Teddy and I pooled our funds and bought rubbers by the box of 36. Needless to say, they didn’t last long because both of us required at least two of them on every date.

All in all, despite the inconvenience of having to do it in the car together and the occasional embarrassment of being a little too loud or enthusiastic, we both enjoyed a great sex life.

Then the shit hit the fan.