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Remembering Tim - 11. Chapter 11 - Jerry and Sam

I don’t know why I was on the bus heading toward Uncle Jerry’s apartment on Beacon Hill. Tim was at a North Park College football game with his dad. Their annual nemesis, Springfield Polytech, was in town to beat the local losers and Tim said he had to go, something about a business deal his dad was working on. I don’t know what role Tim was playing, but he couldn’t get out of it and I couldn’t get out to see Sam, so I didn’t have anything to do. I’d called Uncle Jerry earlier in the week about the fighting lessons Vice-Principal Washington was trying to get me in and, well, I ended up getting invited over to Uncle Jerry’s.

It’s not that I was scared of going to his apartment. I was scared of being alone with him. I still expected him to put some kind of move on me and I didn’t know if I could resist the temptation to have sex with him, even if he was practically old enough to be my father. I thought of all the experience he’d already had, all the ways one man could love another, all the things I was bound to find out for myself over the next few years or so, but to learn everything now when I was just sixteen and learn it from a much older man sort of seemed okay with one part of me.

Except most of the rest of me was scared shitless that very thing might happen. Doing it with a man as old as Uncle Jerry just didn’t sound right. The thought of it made my stomach feel uneasy.

The bus ride up to the apartment took nearly two hours and went through some areas of Seattle where I was, other than the driver, the only white person on the bus. I sat in my seat trying to look inconspicuous as the bus filled, emptied, then filled again with various minorities. I wasn’t used to being amongst these people. Other than Vice-Principal Washington and the housekeeper at Tim’s house, I never saw any black people in North Park. We had a Chinese family who lived on our block, but no one talked to them. I knew they had kids, but they were younger than me so I never had any reason to go near their house.

When I finally got off across the street from Uncle Jerry’s apartment, the bus was nearly full of little old ladies who I couldn’t place. Most of them spoke some sort of foreign language, but I couldn’t pick up enough to get an idea where in the world they came from. There was Spanish, English, and this other language in their speech, all jumbled together. I was going to ask someone what they were speaking, but that would require courage and I didn’t have any of that. I stood on the curb watching the bus pull out into traffic wishing I wasn’t so pathetic that I couldn’t talk to strangers.

"Geoff, come on in boy," Uncle Jerry said. "Let me get your coat. Did you have any trouble getting here?"

I told him about the bus ride and the people on the bus when I got off.



"Filipinos, from the Philippines," he said. "They live all around here. Nice people. My secretary’s parents are from Leyte. Didn’t you talk to anyone?"

"No, I don’t talk to other people," I said looking at the floor.

"Come on, let’s get comfortable in the living room," Uncle Jerry said putting his arm across my back, his hand on my shoulder.

I flinched from his touch.

"Steady boy, I’m not wearing my foot. You’re going to have to support me."

I looked down at the empty pants leg. It felt weird having his hand on my shoulder. My dad had done the same thing a lot of times and it never meant anything to me, but I was expecting something from this man, so I guess it was only natural I’d jump at his touch.

"Sorry," I said. He hopped as I steadied him, walking slowly to the living room. I sat on the sofa and was not surprised he sat next to me. He put his hand behind me and began to slowly massage my neck.

"Still think I’m going to suck your dick, or something?"

"Or, something," I said. I imagined his dick thrusting into me while I played with his erect nipples. I couldn’t get that picture out of my mind.

"Do you want me to?"

"Yes, no, I don’t know," I said as I tried to force my mind to think of anything except this man fucking me.

"You know what jailbait is?" Uncle Jerry asked. His hand on my neck felt hot. It excited me in ways I didn’t want.

"Yeah, me," I said. I knew my being here could, in all likelihood, lead to his arrest. I might have the time of my life and ruin his life forever.

"Yeah, you."

"But, Tim said you sucked Stevie."

"That stupid straight bastard? I’m more likely to suck you than that bastard."

"What?" I gasped. I was honestly shocked that it hadn’t happened.

"The kid wasn’t queer," Uncle Jerry said with a frown. I could see he was upset.

"But, he and I were, and Tim and him," I said. I realized I couldn’t remember exactly what Stevie’s dick felt like in my mouth. When was I going to forget the feel of his fingers touching me?

"There was no Tim and him. It was just him fucking my nephew. What were you doing for him?"

"Sucking his dick."

"Anything for you?"

"No, well a couple times, maybe, I can’t remember. That fucking asshole was using me, too. Damn it, I thought he was my best friend. Fuck! Everyone I’ve talked to has said what a bastard Stevie was. Do you know what that makes me feel like?"

"Like you’re a pushover?"

"Yeah, and probably worse. Fuck!"

"Do you want to?" Uncle Jerry asked. He was looking straight into my eyes. I knew that look. I’d see it before.



"You can’t do that with me," I said. "You’re too old and Tim said you don’t have the equipment."

"Not too old to fuck and there’s always equipment that can be used. Come to my boudoir, said the spider to the fly."

And, before I could say Christopher Columbus sailed the ocean blue, I was on his bed on my back, naked, with a pillow under my ass. He was naked, too. Other than the missing limbs, he looked normal from the back. I had to admit he had a nice ass for a man in his forties.

"What do you like? Long and thick, long and narrow, short and thick, or something like Tim’s?"

"Tim’s is too small," I said. Tim’s dick was too small to give me a good fuck. Plus, he didn’t have any staying power. "Why do you ask?"

"Sexual aids," Uncle Jerry said turning around. He was holding fake dicks. I’d heard of them. Lesbians used them, I thought. If you don’t have a dick and need a dick to satisfy another woman a fake dick might do the trick. "Dildos. Strap-ons. Tim’s parents’ business. How about this one, not too long, not too thick, just right for a beginner. Unless, you rather have the real thing."

He put it on and hopped over to the bed as the thing bobbed up and down. He knelt on the bed. The thing stared at me.

"Hand me the lube, it’s in that drawer," Uncle Jerry said at the side of the bed. He slowly smeared lube down the length of the dick. "Pull your legs up so I can lube up your hole. Do I have to tell you how to do this?"

"No, I’ve had that lesson," I said. I was beginning to feel sick to my stomach thinking about the number of times I’d been raped by men his age.

"Mind telling me where?"

"County psych ward," I said. I thought of the night orderly, Gerald, who came to me first, not more than two hours after I’d been saved from committing suicide.

"Not a nice place for a teenager, fucking county bureaucrats. They should all be taken out and shot for all the good they do anyone."

He stayed where he was, his lubed cock ready for action. He looked at me, waiting for me to expose my ass to his slicked fingers, but I turned away. I didn’t want him to see my disgust over the thought of that fake dick fucking me for my sole pleasure.

"We don’t have to do this," Uncle Jerry said. "You can say no."

I turned back and looked into his eyes. I realized he was giving me a choice. I could say no. This wasn’t right. I rolled onto my side. I wanted to be fucked, but not like this. This was so wrong.


Jerry was taking a shower. I dropped the uncle and he didn’t mind. I felt wonderful. I hadn’t felt this good in months. I knew it was wrong for me to let him fuck me, but I still felt as if I’d done something wrong by saying no. I wanted to be fucked. I wanted him to fuck me, but I stopped him. All I had to say was no. It was so simple.

I was standing on the wrong side of the railing on his balcony, barely holding on with my hands. I could see the parking lot below, nothing between me and the black Monte Carlo below. Head first, head first; I kept it going through my mind, head first. Hit bottom with your head and it would explode with bloody tissue splattering across the top of the car, instantaneous death. Hit bottom with your feet and there was an agonizing moment before death hopefully took over as every bone in your body slowly shattered from the impact. Hit at an odd angle and there was the horrible chance you wouldn’t die. Head first.

I was at peace, at last.

"Oh, shit!"

A hand was around my neck. I was falling backward. I briefly saw Jerry’s face before my head slammed into the concrete balcony turning off awareness.

I woke up briefly. I was in an ambulance. I could hear Jerry talking. The attendant looked at me, smiled. I smiled, and then everything was gone.

I woke up in an emergency room. I saw one of the doctors who fucked me at County General. The fucker was cutting my pants off. A little bump on the head and the pervert had to get his jollies looking at a teenager’s little dick. I wanted to scream at the bastard. I saw Doctor Randall talking to Jerry.

I woke up in a room. Eighth floor, County General, you can tell by the numbers on the outlets, fixtures, TVs, beds, and the paint on the walls. Eighth floor was green. It was the only medical pediatric floor that was green. I was in a two bed private room. The other kid was eight, maybe ten. His parents were hovering over him. He looked kind of out of it. There was an IV in his arm.

I turned my head back to the other side. Mother was sitting in a chair. Doctor Randall was talking to her. He looked pissed. Sam was looking out the window. He looked at me and smiled.

"I want you to know I’m upset," Doctor Randall said. I looked toward him and could see anger seeping out of his eyes. "I expected a little more responsibility on your part."

My head hurt. I didn’t say anything.

"Geoff, Doctor Randall is talking to you," Mother said. I didn’t look at her. I was staring at Sam. He was still smiling.

"Yeah, well, he hasn’t asked me a question," I said.

"Don’t get smart with me, boy," Mother said. She was mad. She only called me boy when she was mad.

"Geoff? Your mother wants to take you home," Doctor Randall said. I turned my head to look at him and a pain, an unbelievable pain shot through my head. "Personally, I prefer you coming out to the hospital for a few days, but I’m going to let her take you home tomorrow. We have to keep you here overnight just in case you hit your head harder than it appears."

"Thank you," I said, smiling. "I’m sorry; I don’t know what made me do it. I was in the apartment, and then I was outside, standing on the wrong side of the railing. Honest, I don’t know why I climbed over the railing."

"It’s okay, Geoff," Doctor Randall said. "Sometimes these things happen when you’re under some kind of stress. I’m going to change your medication, give you something that will help you in those situations. You’ll stay here tonight, and then go home tomorrow."

"Doctor Randall?"

"Yes, Geoff."

"One of the men who attacked me in the psych ward was in the emergency room," I said. The guy had a little dick, but it still hurt like hell. "He cut off my pants today, just because I had a bump on my head."

"Okay, Geoff, I’ll take care of it," he said. He sounded genuinely concerned. "Now, I want you to get some sleep."

"Can Jerry come to see me?"

"He’s out in the hall," Doctor Randall said. "I’ll tell Sam to have him come in when we leave. I’ll see you tomorrow."

Mother kissed me on the lips. She’s always done that. It was a light, familial kiss, something you might give a dead relative at a wake. She followed Doctor Randall out of the room.

"Your head’s bandaged," Sam said, as he walked over to my bed. "I guess you took quite a hit. Doctor Tim said you have stitches."

"Why are you here?"

"Because Doctor Tim said I could come in with him," Sam said. He is close to my bed. His fingers are on my arm. They felt hot against my skin. I could tell he was trying to make me feel good, but he was nervous about being in a hospital. "I hope you’re not going to mess it up for us to come to your house."

"Tim told me about you," I said. We needed to get this taken care of early or it might cause a problem I didn’t want. I had enough problems with trying to kill myself for not getting fucked by a man in his forties.

"Tim’s nice. I like him. I like you better."

"Tim is my boyfriend and is close to becoming my best friend," I said. I wanted Tim to be so much more, but I didn’t want to admit it. When you’re pathetic you can’t make plans for the future.

"Okay, we can be friends, too, right?" Sam said. "I just don’t want you to keep messing up. We’re counting on you to get us out of that hospital. We need you and you keep messing up."

"Will you be at my house tomorrow?" I asked.

"For a while when Doctor Tim comes in," Sam said. His hand held mine. He smiled.

"Okay," I whispered. I didn’t want to let him go, but he released his grip and I knew it was time. Sam smiled, quickly turned and walked out of the room.

Jerry came in. He looked very sad, very concerned. If he was hard, I would’ve sucked it. I didn’t care what people might think.

"I’m sorry to have caused you so much trouble," I said. I took his hand in mine and brought it to my lips. I kissed it. "You saved my life."

"That’s okay, Geoff, I’m used to it," he said. "I usually deal with veterans who can’t accept what bullets and shrapnel have done to their bodies. A lot of them try the same thing you did. I’m used to saving lives."

"That wasn’t my first time," I said, still holding his hand. I wanted his dick so much. I wanted it in my mouth. I wanted it in my ass. I wanted his lips on mine. I wanted to start over and let him fuck me. I needed him in me.

"I know, I talked to Doctor Randall," he said. "I’m going to be helping you, too, a little more than I originally planned. I guess there are a lot of us who want to see you make it."

I beckoned him down to me, close.

"Will you fuck me?" I whispered.

"You said no."

"Can’t I change my mind?"


I lay my head back against the pillow and closed my eyes. I dreamt of a bridge, a high bridge up above a city. I dreamt of falling into a meadow full of sweetly fragrant flowers. Baby rabbits were playing around the place where I fell. I smelled the sharp tang of their droppings. A dick, an erection, was thrusting into me. I screamed. I screamed. I screamed.

I woke up and Doctor Randall was holding my hand.

"I dreamt that …" I started to say.

"It was no dream, Geoff," he said. He had his concerned look on as if he genuinely cared about me. I couldn’t understand why he was like that. He was just my psychiatrist. "We have a guard outside your door. We’re going to get you home tonight. Okay?"

"Yeah, okay."

I didn't care; I was such a loser, such a pathetic loser. I deserved to die. The world was going to be better off when I finally got the nerve to let go and plummet to my death.


There was someone else in my bed.

It was Sunday morning and I should have been up, getting ready for church, but my head hurt like hell and I didn’t care. I was hard and I wanted to take it in my hand. I wanted to feel good. Only someone was holding me. I thought it was probably the same person whose hard-on was pressed against my ass.

"Are you awake, Sam? Or, is this only a dream?"

"You feel good," Sam whispered in my ear. "Does my hard-on bother you?"

"I have a bad headache and I know you’re trying to make me feel good, but you’re only making my head hurt worse."

"You’re not nauseous are you?"

"Why do you ask?"

"Because, Doctor Tim said I should ask you that."

"Ah, a concussion question. My name is Geoffrey Arnold Johnson. I am sixteen years old. I was born in Decatur, Alabama. I live in North Park, Washington. Lyndon Baines Johnson is President of the United States. I hit the back of my head on a concrete balcony when someone pulled me back from a stupid attempt at suicide. That might not sound too smart, but I am so fucking intelligent it scares the shit out of me sometimes. There is a boy with his dick pressed against my ass trying his best to make me feel good. Now, are you convinced I am not confused?"

"Okay, smartee, I guess you’re okay, but what are we going to do about these erections? You don’t intend to let yours go to waste, do you?"

"Sam, honestly, the way my head feels right now, I can’t imagine coming, let alone helping you. I want, but I can’t."

"You’re not making it easy for me to become your boyfriend, too."

There it was. Sam wanted to become my boyfriend, not just a boy friend. I already had one. Did I need another? Who was Sam? Well, he was a crazy kid out at the filbert orchard. What kind of crazy, I did not know. He certainly was nice in bed, but we hadn’t done anything. Yet, I was hard and so was he; and, I had a headache that wouldn’t quit.

We got up and went down to the bathroom, me in my red and blue plaid pajamas and Sam in a white t-shirt and green boxers. He certainly knew how to turn me on. Too bad my switch was broken. We struggled with our hard-ons trying to get them softened enough to allow a dribble of pee to pass. I don’t know which one of us started giggling first, but soon we were laughing hard. My head was about to explode from the pain; and, then without so much as a fanfare from trumpets on the balcony my golden stream shot out so unexpectedly I nearly missed the porcelain target. As I began to get some relief, Sam’s cock decided to participate and both of us were well on our way to being ready for breakfast.

Back in my bedroom, I quickly stripped off my pajamas and watched Sam stare at me. I beckoned him to me. He wrapped his arms around me and sunk his tongue deep into my mouth. Wow! Sam knew how to kiss!

I reached around him and slipped my hands down into his boxers, grabbing those two white melons of soft, pliable flesh, pulling him into me. My head hurt like hell. I shut my eyes and pushed myself away.

"Damn it, Sam, I want you so much," I said.

"Are you in a lot of pain?"

"Like you can’t imagine."

"Let me help you. Where’s your underwear?"

"Middle drawer."

And, he dressed me. Briefs, t-shirt, faded blue jeans, light blue short-sleeved oxford, yellow and blue argyle socks, and a pair of black penny loafers I hadn’t worn in months. They were almost too tight. I’d have to get a new pair soon. Obviously, Sam liked penny loafers.

I sat on my bed trying to will my head to stop hurting as I watched him dress. He was so beautiful, I wanted to take him in my arms and hold him against me forever. Then I remembered Mr. Crowley.

"What happened to my teddy bear?" I asked. Sam looked up from putting on his socks. He smiled that little half smile that showed only a bit of white teeth that made me want to kiss him.

"I gave him to Peter. Johnny’s been going home for visits and Peter gets lonely."

"Johnny’s going home?

"No, his mother is just playing with his mind. She could care less if he’s there or not. He’s worse off when he comes back. It takes Peter nearly a week to get back into bed with him. I feel sorry for both of them."

"I wish there was something I could do. I miss them, but I don’t want to go back there. What about you?"

"I’m not going home, ever. Come on, I’m hungry. Does your mother fix breakfast or is it potluck?"

"Well, I’m surprised she hasn’t yelled for us to come down. Maybe I’ll have to fix something for us."

"I can cook, too."

"Tim said you were a genius, or something."

"That doesn’t mean I can’t cook."

"I guess there’re a lot of things I don’t know about you."


Doctor Randall was at the dinette drinking coffee. Mother was in her paisley housecoat frying bacon. There were eggs on the counter. A bowl of pancake batter was waiting for the griddle to get hot. There were five glasses of orange juice on the table.

Sally was in the living room reading the funnies, we could hear her giggling. Sam went over and scooted around the dinette until he was sitting next to Doctor Randall. Neither Mother nor Doctor Randall acknowledged our presence. Whatever their game, I wasn’t in a mood to play.

"Good morning," I said. "Is there some kind of pain pill for me, or do I have to eat something first?"

"How’s your head?" Doctor Randall asked.

"Sore, aches," I said, walking over to the stove. Mother seemed to shy away from me as I got close. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to know why, but at least I was smart as a rocket scientist, so I kept a bit of space between us. "I’m sorry to disappoint you, Mother. I honestly don’t know why I did it. I didn’t do it on purpose."

"Geoff, I was okay when Stevie died and you tried to jump off the bridge," Mother said, fiddling with the bacon, not turning to face me. "I was kind of okay when you tried, again, after your father died but ended up nearly dead from the knifing. When you almost hung yourself and blamed it on Kiel, who was dead, I guess that was the last bit of rock in the wall. I don’t know how I’m supposed to feel. I don’t know what to think. I don’t know how I’m supposed to act. I still love you, will always love you, but I can’t handle having you almost die practically every other month."

She still wasn’t looking at me. Obviously, the little bit of me, the living me, had died in her heart. She’d already accepted my death. I must have looked like I was going to pass out because Doctor Randall was at my side holding me.

"Why don’t you sit down, Geoff," he said. I smelled it on him, the scent of Mother’s lavender scented bath soap. He’d spent the night. I tried to imagine him fucking Mother, but I couldn’t get a clear picture. Just when I was about to see him thrusting into her I saw Jerry on top of me with his dick slipping in and out of my ass. I felt my knees buckle and Doctor Randall grabbed my arm. "Come on, Geoff, let’s go to the table."

My mother and my psychiatrist, now that was a combination I never imagined. It’s hard thinking about your mother having sex with someone; especially, if that someone isn’t your father and is someone you’ve imagined having sex with yourself. I wanted Doctor Randall to be queer. I wanted him for myself, but he obviously wanted his dick in my mother’s vagina. Suddenly, I felt sick to my stomach.

I broke from his hold and bolted to the bathroom. I leaned over the toilet and my head pounded. I collapsed down onto my knees and retched, but there was nothing to come up. I wanted everything to stop. I wanted it to be over; and, then I felt a hand on my shoulder. It wasn’t Doctor Randall’s.

"I’ll take you up to your room when you’re ready," Sam said.

"He fucked her, he fucked my mother," I said, sitting back on my ankles. I turned to him and he wiped my mouth with a cool washcloth. I didn’t deserve his love. He was being too kind.

"It doesn’t matter, now. I’m with you. I’ll take care of you."

"Yeah, but who’s going to take care of you?"

"You will, when you’re better."

"That sounds like it’s bound to fail. One crazy taking care of the other. What happens when we’re both crazy at the same time?"

"You’ll teach me how to love you and everything will be okay again."

"Sounds like a plan," I said as I slowly stood up. "Come on, I want to go to bed."

Copyright © 2016 CarlHoliday; All Rights Reserved.
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"You'll teach me how to love you and everything will be okay" Awesome line. This story definitely picks up momentum as it goes along.

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