Chapter 1

"What do you think you will be when you grow up, Herbie?"

"Oh, probably I'll graduate from high school, go to MIT... no, Rice or maybe Cal Tech, get a Ph.D., become a research scientist, and win a Nobel Prize... you?"

Chris raised one eyebrow and started to object to Herbie's audacious response, but thought better of it. The problem, of course, was that Herbie likely was correct.

"I don't know. Maybe I'll stick with my music... play oboe in a symphony orchestra... something like that."

"Oh," grunted Herbie, "cool."

Deep philosophical conversations like that one were commonplace on warm summer afternoons in the quiet woods near the Pelahatchie River. Herbie and Chris had been best friends since elementary school. When they were in junior high, they had discovered an old shack well hidden in the woods on the bluffs overlooking the river.

Actually, they hadn't discovered it. It was well know to every kid in town who wanted to a place to escape. It had been a clubhouse, a hide out, a place for experimentation for generations of the town's teenagers. Today it belonged to Herbie and Chris, or at least they thought it did.

"Jesus, would you look at the knockers on this one!" said Herbie. He held open a tattered and torn girlie magazine for Chris to see. An old stain that once had stuck the pages together marred an unimportant portion of the picture. No one actually knew who had provided the ancient stash of men's magazines that resided under one of the boards in the shack's flooring. Occasionally, however, new ones would appear. There also was a World War II vintage deck of pornographic playing cards, a third of which were missing. Over the years those picture cards had educated and entertained a host of boys growing up in this middleclass America community.

J. Herbert Harrington, know to all as Herbie, and Christopher Mason were buddies. Both were what their acquaintances called "band geeks" or just generally "nerds." Herbie played trombone, Chris the oboe. Herbie was one of the smartest kids in their school. Whenever a group project was required in a class, everyone wanted Herbie in their group. All the rest of the time, Herbie felt as if he mostly blended in with the beige lockers given the miniscule degree of attention he received from classmates.

While Herbie was pudgy, "too short for his weight" as he put it, Chris simply was small. He had always been the least athletic, smallest guy in the class. He was the last one picked when people chose teams. His saving grace was his musical talent, which was formidable. Music brought him great joy and a sense of worth, but that didn't exactly transfer into other areas of his social life. He had come to accept the fact that the oboe was not a "chick magnet" and neither was he.

Most guys their age had already lived through their "secret club-no girls allowed" stage. For most, "circle jerks" and other sexual experimentation had given over to dating and more private masturbation. Herbie and Chris, although they were now in high school, still remained more comfortable hanging out in the shack than participating in social interaction and running the risk of getting ridiculed simply for being themselves.

"I don't know what it is about this particular girl in this picture, but I get a hard on every time I look at her," exclaimed Herbie. "There is something about her eyes..."

Chris said nothing. Instead, he began to thumb idly through the playing cards. He too had his favorites.

"How do they get girls to do that?" Herbie continued. "I mean, how do they get them to pose naked for these pictures? I just don't get it. No girl in our high school would ever do this, except maybe Monica Morris. I heard she has given blowjobs to most of the football team... just the black guys though. Probably not true."

"Yep," mumbled Chris.

"Chris, my friend, we have to figure out the secret. We have to find out how they get girls to take their clothes off... on purpose. Otherwise, we are going to be jerking off to these same pictures when we are 50!"

"Herbie..."

"What?"

"I need to tell you something."

"What?"

"I think I'm queer."

"What? What makes you think that?"

"One, no girls like me. Two, when I look at these pictures of guys sucking each other's cocks, I get a hard on. I must be a fag." Chris let out a big sigh. "Yep, I'm a Homo."

"Wait a minute, think this through, Chris. When you look at the pictures of girls sucking cocks, do you get wood too?"

"Well... yes."

"When you look at the ones of guys screwing the women? And, the ones with two women licking pussy?"

"Yes... well... ok, I see where you are going with this."

"You are not gay. And, neither am I. Now... do you want to jack off together?"

Chris looked surprised for a moment and then both boys doubled over in laughter.

"Just kidding," Herbie quickly added. "Jeez, remember doing that when we were in like the sixth, maybe seventh grade? Seemed cool at the time."

Just then, their revelry was interrupted by the sound of approaching voices.

"Somebody's coming. Put the magazines back in the floor and stash those cigarettes," said Chris. "We had better sneak out the back. If some kids find us in here, they'll tell the whole school that we are queer."

"Who gives a shit what those ass-holes think or do," mumbled Herbie. "Ok, ok, I'm moving. Picking it up here, boss."

Chris and Herbie ventured outside and began to sneak toward the telltale sounds. The voices grew louder, but they now seemed to come from the trail leading down to the river. Without saying a word to each other, the boys shifted into stealth mode. They crept quietly through the dense woods like two Army Rangers on patrol in the jungle.

Finally at the bluff that dropped steeply down to the river, two curly heads peered over the brink and received the shock of their young lives. Below them, two lovers had found a bit of privacy in the enveloping arms of a giant cypress tree and were tearing at each other's clothing while kissing passionately.

Herbie pulled Chris back from the bluff's edge and whispered, "That's Mrs. Todd, the fucking school superintendent's wife... but, that is not Dr. Todd!"

The two boys lay on their stomachs and inched back to the rim. Moist foliage offered ample camouflage despite that the lovers were only a few yards below them. The boys' eyes widened when the man pulled open Mrs. Todd's loose-fitting blouse. No bra straps graced her shoulders. She, in turn, fumbled furiously with his belt. Their lips seemed to be permanently attached. The man's body blocked their view of Mrs. Todd, but clearly he was fondling her now naked breasts.