January-May 1995

"Getting Kicked Out Of the House" is about how I wish things were. Except for maybe the first chapter, but... at least it was interesting, right?

Well, I hope so, but at any rate, this is about how it really is. At least for now.

---

I guess it might help some if I were to give you a brief synopsis of exactly how I ended up at Brother Jack Furnier's Christian academy in the first place.

I got busted. Pot. There I was right in the middle of a way cool adolescent rebellion - or at least I sure thought it was - and all at once I found out I was going to be enrolled in some Christian academy so I could have some decent values, and I was like, "Yeah, well, I don't think so."

So late that night I put a few essentials in my backpack and out my window I went. I was on my way to Australia. Which might seem a little far-fetched, seeing as how I was starting from Atlanta, GA, but I had a plan. And it might have worked, too.

But needless to say, it didn't on take one. So at any rate, the next day I was at the academy. And I guess that takes care of the brief synopsis part.

It took some getting used to. I was in a class with eighteen junior high students, seventh through ninth grades. Every class period is initiated with the Pledge of Allegiance, a selected reading from the King James version of the Bible and prayer. Five times a day they go through this drill.

Every student has his or her own individual study space where he or she can progress at their own pace. More or less. Because we only read text books approved by Brother Furnier and if we're supposed to be in social studies, then we'd best not be caught studying the literature book. Or for that matter, anything else. If a student needs help, then he or she quietly places a small replica American flag in the designated slot at the upper left corner of his or her individual study space. Sister Farrar, our teacher, probably walks five miles a day making sure we're not straying from the approved course of study, sternly peering over our shoulders at the most inopportune times, interrupted only by those small replica American flags being placed in their designated slots.

And when it's off to lunch, it's no talking, single file, eyes forward, hands out of pockets, no slouching.

So this took some getting used to and that first day I didn't have much of an appetite. I was just sitting there staring at my food when Aaron came up, sat down across from me and said, "Hey. I'm Aaron. You're new here, right?"

I nodded disinterestedly. I noticed right away that he was cute, but I also figured he was brainwashed like everybody else.

Only he didn't seem put off any. "So how do you like this place?"

"So far I HATE this place," I hissed.

"Well, you and me both, then," he said.

So maybe I should get to know him better then, I thought. When I discovered that he was just twelve and a half, I kept my distance a little at first, but then we were both about the same size, and besides that, nobody else at that place was rebellious except maybe Sharon Mattson. And I didn't like her.

And so before much longer we were hanging out with each other quite a bit, but I don't guess we were really like best friends until around the first of February.

See, every day after lunch we have Bible study. Now for this we don't occupy our individual study spaces and progress at our own pace: no, we bring our chairs up front, reverently and quietly arrange them into a two-tiered semi-circle, listen attentively and then we discuss the wonderfulness of it all.

I think we were in II Samuel. I'm pretty sure that was it. We were just starting with King David right after the part where the Philistines killed King Saul and captured the sacred Ark of the Covenant. So David became king and it wasn't long until he'd defeated the Philistines and recaptured the Ark. I'm telling you all this so you'll at least have an inkling of what I'm talking about, okay? So we were discussing the return of the Ark to Jerusalem which soon lead to the short, sad story of Uzzah. See, Uzzah and his brother were nice enough to supply a new cart to transport the Ark back to Jerusalem. But when the Ark reached the threshing floor of Nacon I think it was, the oxen drawing the cart stumbled. The Ark was about to fall off! And so thinking fast, (or maybe it was just a reflex action), Uzzah put his hand up against the Ark to keep it from falling off and, verily, the Lord was greatly pleased.

Well, actually, the Lord WASN'T pleased: in fact, Uzzah was struck deader than a door nail right then and there! I mean, if you want to look it up, well, you can. I'm fairly sure it's in II Samuel.

But anyway, I was just going to sit there and keep my mouth shut for a change, only Sister Farrar wanted me to get involved, so she asked me what I thought that story meant.

I knew the Bible-believing answer - I mean, that much had been pretty much unavoidable, but I just said, "I'm not sure."

Only Sister Farrar said I'd have to do a little better than that.

Oh right, I clean forgot. I was always supposed to address her as ma'am. "I'm not sure, ma'am," I said in a respectful tone of voice.

She said, "Look, boy, don't get smart with me or I'll slap your face!"

That pissed me off. But I still didn't say anything.

"Well, we're waiting, Wesley," she said. And one thing about that lady, she is very damn persistent.

So she waited and she waited and she waited some more until finally I couldn't stand it any longer (and besides, if I didn't say something fairly soon I was going to be sent to the office anyway), so finally I said, "Well, if the preacher trips coming down the aisle, I sure ain't gonna be trying to break his fall or anything."

And Aaron started laughing. Which almost beyond a doubt would have got him sent off to the office anyway, but after he stuck his palm out for a low-five, there was no question about it. We both got fifteen licks, but Aaron said he didn't care, it was worth it, so after all that we were close to being inseparable. I hardly even thought about him being a year and a half younger than me any more. It's not really that big of a deal, anyway. Because, like I mentioned before, he's cute.

So I started wondering if he'd started puberty. It looked like he had, but since we didn't have regular P.E. where we dressed out, all I could do was wonder. We weren't sleeping over at each other's houses or anything like that, we just hung out.

Then he started helping me with my paper route almost every day. So it wasn't long before we were at each other's houses right often. But he never spent the night with me and I never had a chance to see him undressed. Not until April Fools Day, which was on a Saturday. Before then there had been times when we might've gone to the bathroom at the same time, or maybe we'd take a piss out in the woods, but he always had his back to me and I couldn't exactly run around in front of him to take a look. So I was really getting curious. That's just how I am.

I was over at his house that day. He wanted to have a water balloon fight. He had a whole bag of them. But I didn't want to, even though it occurred to me that if we did, we were going to have to change into some dry clothes after it was over. Problem was, though, I didn't know about this beforehand, so I didn't have any clothes to change into and it wasn't a warm day. Gray, overcast, low-fifties and windy. Not a real good day to walk home soaked to the skin. There are times when I can postpone pleasure.

"It's too cold today," I said. "We'll do it once it gets warmer. You want to play some basketball?"

His uncle is the head custodian at an elementary school not far from his house and they had an old cracker box gym behind the main building. And whenever Aaron wanted to, he could borrow the keys because he helped his uncle out sometimes.

So anyway, he said, "Shit. I'm tired of basketball." But then he had an idea. "Okay, we'll play basketball on one condition. First we play, then we have a water balloon fight. Deal?"

"It's too cold today," I repeated, "and I don't feel like walking home with my clothes wet."

"Well, I was thinking we could go downstairs in the girl's bathroom and have it there and we'll do it in our underwear. How about that?"

Oh. Well... okay. There wasn't anything perverse about us using the girl's bathroom, because for one thing no girls were going to be using that day and, more importantly, in one respect girls are more refined than boys. Girls don't generally piss on the floor. But boys do.

So we went over and played for a while. It was a sweat box, so before long we were hot and sweaty and I said, "Well, let's go ahead and have that damn water balloon fight."

"Well, let's play one more game."

"I thought you were tired of basketball."

"I am, but I'm going to play in my undies. Want to?"

Well... Well, okay. It wasn't a good idea, though. He was down to his undershorts before I finished getting my socks off and he dribbled the length of the floor, missed a lay-up, rebounded and then returned to where I'd just pulled off my pants. "Maybe we ought to just forget about basketball and go ahead and have our water balloon fight," he said.

"Chickened out?"

"Well, the doors might be locked, but somebody could still look in. And I've got loose elastic. I start jumping around and I might lose something. You ready to go downstairs?"

We probably would've gotten blisters on our feet anyway. So we left our clothes upstairs and went down to the bathroom, where about a hundred water balloons were armed and ready, and with little in the way of opening ceremonies beyond, "You ready?", "Yeah, I guess so," we started hurling them at each other. I probably hit him with about as many as he hit me with. Of course we were both soaked in no time, but actually his shorts stayed up fairly well. They did sag at the waist some, but he kept yanking them back up before I got to see anything. His wienie didn't flop out, even though it looked like it could at about any second. And by then there was no doubt at all if he'd grown one, because the contour of it moving around under his wet shorts was outlined clear as day. And a couple of times one of his balls was peeking out. It looked like it was coming along pretty good, too.

So I couldn't help it, I started getting stiff. I was wearing good underwear, so everything was securely in place, but as far as my erection went, well, there just wasn't much I could do about it. I didn't hardly even have time to think about it, being in the middle of a water balloon fight, it was just stiff, that's all. I sure never thought about leaving and he never made any comment about it. At first I was trying to sort of keep it turned away from him, but there wasn't any way of doing that completely unless I turned my back, and in a water balloon fight that's the same as surrendering. Except you can turn your back after you throw the balloons you've got in your hand and then go running back to get more. That's okay.

But on the battle raged and the floor became very wet. It was smooth concrete painted green and slippery, so it's really a wonder that we didn't kill ourselves. How many times we landed on our asses, I have no idea. So surely his penis must've flashed momentarily into sight when his feet flew out from under him and down he went, but I never saw it, being distracted by my own pratfall or a water balloon in the face or having my back turned. It was always something.

Well. I didn't know it at the time, but finally his supply of water balloons was exhausted. My supply was dwindling fast, that I did know. Anyway, I was racing back to what was left when whoops, my feet flew out from under me again and down I went. And down he went beside me. He was after MY balloons! No fair! So we wrestled and slid around on the wet floor. I pushed a balloon into his face and it broke.

"Glub!" he sputtered, then without any warning whatsoever he pulled at the front of my shorts, plopped a water balloon on my stiff PENIS and he busted it. The water balloon. For what it's worth, I think he meant to jerk my shorts down real quick, plant the balloon, pull my shorts back up and then bust the balloon, but those things are fragile. But then again, maybe not. But it doesn't really matter anyway. And maybe he wasn't trying to touch my wienie and maybe he was, but whatever, he did. It felt like an electric shock. A very wonderful electric shock.

"Oh shit, you have DONE it!" I squeaked, but he'd already scrambled to his feet and with fiendish laughter was running away. So in frustration, I hurled my last two balloons. They splatted harmlessly against a stall and he fled out into the hallway, the door slamming shut behind him.

"Shit!" I thought, "He's headed upstairs! He's going to get dressed!"

Only that wasn't it. Between the girls' bathroom and the boys' bathroom is a janitor's closet and in that closet was a sink and a faucet and about thirty feet of water hose. They used it to hose down the floors. Well, just as I hit the door, he let me have it full force. It was cold. So naturally, I retreated just as fast as I could, but he was right behind me, about to die, he was laughing so hard, and he wasn't about to stop. He cornered me. Getting more than just a little fed up, I spun around to face him and grab that damn hose. GLUB!!

Then before I could get the water out of my eyes and nose and mouth, he stuck it down the front of my shorts.

But that was a bad move on his part, because it allowed me to get my hands on the hose. Then he slipped. So the hose was all mine.

"You die!" I screamed.

It is hard to think straight when you're getting hit in the face with a stream of cold water, I know. Well, he didn't flee out the door, he headed for the sinks and I quickly cornered him and I hosed him down good. Right off, I just wanted to drown him, but I happened to notice his shorts were sagging again. Pretty badly, in fact. He had his back to me, but it looked like he had a cute ass, (it was about half uncovered), so I hosed them right down to his ankles. Not getting it in his face, he turned around, probably intending to rush me. And he didn't seem to be the least bit concerned about his shorts. Guess not, because when he almost tripped on them, he just kicked them right on off.

He had hair! A little dark brown bush. And a fat little wienie. It was about three inches long, I guess. Soft. And by the way, he has blue eyes. Big blue eyes. Damn! They're beautiful! I'll admit that it's a little late to be mentioning them, but I did notice. I had before, and I did right then.

But whatever, I sprayed him in the face to drive him back, then I hosed his midsection. I mean, I just blasted it until I had it going almost like a pinwheel. Then it started stiffly bouncing and bobbing as it struggled to rise up. Which made me like ga-ga for a few seconds, but then I started getting scared. I had made him get hard! What was he going to think? I was so stupid!

So I stopped hosing him.

He said, "Do that again. It tickles!"

He didn't even know what it meant to tickle like that. Up till then I had just assumed that I was the only person on earth who didn't even know about orgasms until I was past eleven and here he was already into puberty and he didn't know either. Well, was he ever in for a surprise!

So there he stood seemingly not the least bit concerned that I could see his chubby sticking up in the air. I guess erect it had to be close to five and half inches. And him only twelve and a half! Holy SHIT!

But, sadly, I am fast approaching the end of this part of the story. Because Aaron said, "Well, are you just going to stand there running water out into the hall, or are you-- oh shit! SHIT!! The HALL! Shit, Wesley, the HALL!!!"

Startled, I directed the hose away from under the door as Aaron, displaying a good deal more presence of mind than I, dashed out into the hallway, and seconds later my water was cut off.

Hearing no sound, I timidly ventured out into the hall and discovered it awash. Aaron was sitting forlornly leaning back against the wall, his arms locked around his knees and his noodle down below half mast and slowly wilting. But it still looked fairly impressive. Only the hall was flooded.

"Aaron! There any old towels, rags, ANYTHING in the closet?"

"Yes," said Aaron listlessly without moving, "but I'd really like to know what good it'll do."

"Well, fuck, we can put 'em up against the bottoms of the classroom doors so no more water gets in", I said frantically if not grammatically. Right then I was frantically tossing things around in the closet, looking for rags, towels, damn! ANY fucking thing!

"They're in this bag," he said sadly. I hadn't even heard him get up. "I guess you know you're messing my uncle's closet up." By then his noodle was completely limp and probably even less than three inches. As was mine. Limp, I mean.

"We'll straighten it up later," I yelled. "Right now we've got to get that water up!"

But we only had enough towels and rags for five doors. The rag bag being empty, I asked, "You know where any more are? Hey! What you doing?"

He was pulling my shorts off. "We stick yours and mine down there and we just might have it stopped," he said with great practicality.

Oh well, mine was only about three-quarters of an inch smaller, so now that it was right out in the open anyway, I guessed it didn't matter too much. Which I guess was as good a way of looking at it as any.

"Well, go get yours, then," I said.

So he did, then we hurriedly water-vacced and mopped the hall, the bathrooms and the supply closet. Only when we were finished with all that did Aaron suggest maybe we should go upstairs and get our clothes back on. With mixed emotions I had to agree with him. Then we buffed the hall, only he thought it still looked like shit, so we had to strip the wax off the entire floor, apply new wax and buff and buff and buff some more. All because of a damn water balloon fight. Long about dark, his uncle knocked on the back door.

"Hi, Uncle Jay," said Aaron with remarkable nonchalance, "We decided we'd re-wax the hall. Does it look okay?"

"Well, bless your hearts," he said, "It does look a sight better than it did. A whole lot better. It looks like you were a little careless when you mopped," (in reference to the water stained classroom carpets), "but they'll dry out and nobody will ever know the difference. Overall, you boys did a real good job. I wasn't expecting this at all, but I sure do want you to know how much I appreciate it." (Fortunately, we caught the water before it flooded more than about a foot into the classrooms.)

That night I was awake a long time worrying about how Aaron might reconsider the events just prior to our re-waxing the hall, but come Monday morning, beyond a sly grin he acted like nothing had ever happened. Of course, I was sort of hoping he would mention that strange tickling sensation he'd felt but after a couple of weeks I guessed he wasn't going to. Of course, I could've brought up the subject myself, but fact is, sometimes I am a goddamn chicken shit.

But there were still a few more incidents. Like another water balloon fight, for instance. Just barely a week later. He was at my house Sunday afternoon, and after we played Monopoly for awhile he mentioned how he had another bag, and he wanted to use them up that very afternoon.

"Can't," I said. "My old man would raise mortal hell. Shit, I can't hardly do anything on Sunday." Which was the truth.

"So he won't know. How's he going to know? We can do it in our underwear again. We just won't mess with the water hose. So, you want to?"

"Maybe," I said.

"What do you mean, maybe?"

"I mean I'm thinking about it, damn it."

"You ARE," said Aaron.

"Maybe" I answered.

"Oh, come on. There's nothing to do around here," he said. "We won't make THAT big of a mess. Why not?"

"Let's just do it some other time," I said. But actually I was weakening.

"But now's perfect. Nobody will be around. You're not chicken, are you?"

"No, I just don't want to."

"Well, why NOT?"

"Because Mildred might wonder how my underwear got so wet." Which was highly unlikely - I mean she can be nosy, but she almost never checks my underwear, but... well, hang in there, you're about to see why I said that.

"So we'll just do it without our underwear, then. You want to do that?"

"You mean NAKED?"

"Sure. Why not? You chicken?"

"Oh, shit. If it'll get rid of those fucking water balloons, I will then. Naked. Both of us. So you said it. Now are YOU chicken?"

"Let's go," he answered. So see? That's why I said that.

Once we started throwing the balloons, I almost forgot about being naked. Even though I couldn't hardly take take my eyes off him the whole time. But I didn't get a boner. And he neither did he.

I've heard that when you go to a nudist camp for the first time, right off the bat all that nudity is likely to give you an erection, but it isn't long until the novelty wears off and you don't automatically pop up hard. Well possibly, but that sure doesn't mean you get tired of seeing certain people. And that sure was the case with Aaron. God, he was cute.

He wasn't easy to figure out, though. Like for instance, right after that water balloon fight we were drying off and he started popping me with his towel. He knew how, but I never got the hang of it. I'm just not the most coordinated person in the world. So I said, "Hey! Cut it out!"

But instead he popped me again and since he was laughing about it, I guessed he hadn't any intention of stopping. So I'd just get his damn towel then. I waded right in, even though he popped me a couple more times, once right on my dick. I grabbed his arms and started trying to wrestle that towel away. Well, right at first he was wrestling too and of course that caused quite a bit of incidental body contact, so really that wasn't bad at all, but then he was wanting me to cut it out. Me. I mean, who started this in the first damn place?

He said, "I'll leave you alone, I promise. Just let go of me."

"Let go of that towel, then."

"I have to finish drying off. Now cut it out, please? I promise I won't bother you anymore. Okay?"

Oh, shit. I really owed him a few red spots, but I was about to get aroused. Which I'm sure comes a great big surprise to almost everyone.

"Well you'd better! I MEAN it!" I said sternly. Then I let him go.

"Candy!" WHAP!! Right on my butt. Then he ran.

But I can run, too. Seriously. And I could outrun him. So I caught him before he reached the door, grabbed him around his chest with one hand and smacked his ass with my other hand just as hard as I could four times. Which apparently was pretty hard.

"Okay! Ouch! I quit! Ouch! I prom- Damn it, that HURT! I quit! OUCH!!"

Then I shoved him into the boy's bathroom, zoomed across the hallway into the classroom where our clothes were and locked the door. I kept him locked out for ten minutes at least. Had to, because soon as I started smacking his bottom, I started getting hard. Well, I'm sorry, but I did. I'm pretty sure he didn't see it, though. And once I got dressed it was okay.

Until I let him in, it was, because as soon as I did, he jumped on my back! And him still naked. Well, okay then, I can also wrestle pretty good, so before he could hardly blink I had him on the floor. And I almost touched him down there. I probably would've in a few seconds, but no sooner did I put him on the floor than he wanted to quit again! So I let him up. I was getting shaky all over, so I guessed I'd better.

But it still wasn't over. Uh uh. Soon as that boy got his clothes on he jumped on my back again, and this time he tried to unzip my pants and he had a boner, I'm almost sure of it. So you know I grabbed between his legs too, but you guessed it, right about then, he was wanting to quit again. By that time I felt like unzipping his pants, pulling his dick out and lifting him a good three or four feet off the floor. That probably would have smarted. But I didn't. I quit. Again.

I really liked him. And he liked me. I'm sure of that. So I wanted to play around, but I wanted us to be best friends more, so that's why I let him call the shots. So if he wanted to wrestle, we'd wrestle and if he started grabbing I'd grab back, but if he wanted to stop, then I'd stop. I was hoping before long he'd go further, but if he didn't, well, I guessed I could live with it. That's just the way it was.

Well, the following few weeks I have no idea how many times we wrestled around but while he often grabbed between my legs which would result in my doing it back, he didn't try to unzip my pants again. He didn't buy any more water balloons. He didn't wonder about those strange tickling sensations. He never even grabbed around long enough to give me an excuse to CAUSE any strange sensations. I was about to give up hope. Maybe I give up too easy. I suppose I do.

Tuesday afternoon, May 1st, after we got through with my paper route, we went over to his house. His old man works second shift and his mom left him a note saying she would be home around 7:30 and there was something to eat on the stove. And he had better be home when she got back.

So we watched TV for awhile and then he started getting playful again, like he jumped on my back and before long we were rolling in the floor. Then he started grabbing between my legs again.

"Aaron," I said, "if you don't cut that shit out I'm going to yank your pecker off and flush it down the fucking commode!"

Of course I was really hoping he wouldn't stop grabbing at me, but I wasn't expecting him to reach down inside my pants and give my poor little bush a yank, I didn't expect that at ALL. And he also brushed against my penis.

"Oh, shit, now you have DONE it!" I yelled.

Well damn it, he yanked my bush, so I guessed I could yank his. But to do that, first I had to unfasten his belt and unsnap his pants. And zip them down, because they were kind of tight. I was expecting him to start in with the "Hey, let's cut it out," but I had decided that this time I wasn't going to stop until I at least got even. But he didn't say anything at all about quitting: in fact he put his hand into my pants again and started YANKING on my dick. When we first started wrestling I wasn't stiff, but by the time he reached in the second time I sure as hell was. And so was he. I wanted to see it, so I just yanked his underwear down and grabbed it. What a rush that was! Then he started pulling my pants down. So I started pulling his down. But he still wasn't yelling at me to cut it out, he was laughing. I couldn't believe it, and my ears were ringing, but neither one of us was trying to get our pants back up, because I was trying to get his off and he was trying to get mine off. I knew that he had every intention of pulling them completely off when he started in on my shoes. Well, by the time he had my shoes off, I'd yanked both his pants and his shoes off, because his shoes were still stuck in his pants legs. Then I went for his shirt. I didn't want to rip it, which I would've unless I could get his hands unlatched from my pants, so I just kicked them off one leg, he yanked the other leg clear, then I got his arms up and pulled his shirt off. Then he latched onto my dick again, and this time he was really and truly pulling on the muther. So all at once, without even thinking about it, I started pulling on his.

But then all at once, he went, "Hey, Wesley. Time out a second, time out, okay?"

So I know what you're probably thinking at this point: I bet you're thinking, "Shit! Are they going to chicken out AGAIN? I am just getting sick and tired of this!" Something like that, huh?

Yeah, well, I was sort of thinking along those lines myself. Although one hopeful sign was that he hadn't let go of me. So of course I hadn't let go of his either. We just stopped pounding the living shit out of them, that's all. And in reply to his time out request, I said, "Yeah, what?"

"It's gonna feel a lot better if we go slower. You know that, don't you?"

And I don't know, maybe that's the best rush I've experienced up till now. There have been some really good ones, but this just might have topped everything. It was fantastic. When I was walking back home that evening, I was on cloud nine.

Almost. You see, there was this one nagging doubt that kept trying to worm its way in. It was because of how he was acting right after we'd both shot our loads. After we'd caught our breath he was acting, well, I don't know, like we'd done something wrong. So I was worried. I mean, I know all about fundamentalist guilt-trips, but somehow it just never occurred to me that it would bother him, too. So, anyway, I hoped it would continue, I hoped we'd go a lot further. And sometimes I feel guilty after even jerking myself off, but it sure doesn't stop me from going at it again.

But the next morning before school he came up to me and asked, "Hey, Wesley. You're not going to tell anybody about what we did last night, are you?"

"Well, shit, no" I answered. "What, you think I'm crazy or something? I mean, you know how it is, everybody would think we were queers or something. But as long as if we're the only ones to know about it - I mean, we were just playing around anyway, right?"

"Well, the thing is I don't want to be queer. So, I don't know, maybe we shouldn't do that any more."

And we haven't. So we were once best friends. We're still getting along okay right now. And if I happen to be here next fall, maybe we'll be best friends again. But to tell you the truth, I sort of doubt it.

So I wrote about it because for awhile it was really great. And Aaron was really cool. I guess he still is. And I hope...

Well, that's about it, really. I hope.

But I'm going to be in up Minneapolis again this summer, so maybe...

You can't ever tell. But I'm pretty hopeful about things. One of these days, it'll work out. I just have to keep thinking that. So I'll keep trying, okay?