Coming of Age

Football night

It was a Friday—football night, practically a state holiday in Texas. Up north, football is a just a game, but in Texas, it is a religion—right up there with Protestantism, Conservatism, and Capitalism.

After school, Johnny stayed behind in the gym while I took the bus home and rushed through my chores. I hadn’t been to a football game since Mike graduated, but I begged my folks to let me go, and they finally relented. Truth be told, I think they were secretly thrilled that I was finally coming out of my shell. And they really liked Johnny.

Of course, I was still too young to get a driver’s license, so Johnny arranged for Hightower’s parents to pick me up. Yeah, that Hightower. Oh, the irony.

Freshmen were members of the junior varsity team and generally didn’t get to play with the varsity team, but they were required to suit up anyway, and when the team’s wide receiver got injured in the first quarter, Johnny was drafted to replace him. It was a good thing, too. At the end of the first quarter, we were trailing 10 to nothing, but by half-time, we trailed by only three points, and we ended up winning the game by 21, thanks to Johnny’s three touchdowns. Johnny was named the game’s MVP, unprecedented for a freshman, but very well deserved.

On the field, Johnny was a perfect blending of science and art as well as strength. He was a thing of beauty. I could just imagine Leonardo da Vinci and Leroy Neiman fighting over the commission to memorialize him on canvas—Da Vinci with his understanding of anatomy as the substructure of portraiture and Neiman with his ability to capture the passion of sports.

Unlike most people, I had seen Johnny naked, so I knew how beautiful his body was, but that’s not what I’m talking about. I’m talking about his athleticism. Like my brother Mike, he ran like a jaguar and leaped like a gazelle with the fluidity and grace of a ballet dancer.

But he played the game with his mind as well as his body. With every move, you could just see him computing every variable: the trajectory of the ball in motion, propulsion and resistance. And like a champion chess player, he always knew where every man was on the field at all times. Even when he couldn’t see them, he could apply the laws of physics to calculate their locations and how fast they could move in any direction, so he always knew where he needed to be. I knew that night that this man had a stellar career ahead of him. Maybe he would be a professional athlete, maybe a Nobel physicist, or maybe a pioneering astronaut, but one way or another, Johnny Andersen was destined for the stars.

The Hightowers drove us back to my house, praising Johnny the whole time. It may seem odd since I had nothing to do with Johnny’s success, but I actually felt proud, much like I used to feel with Mike.

When we got back to my house it was late, but Mom and Dad were still up, and I babbled on and on to them about what a great game it was and how great Johnny was. I think I actually embarrassed him, but I couldn’t help it. It was all my parents could do to keep from bursting with joy—joy for Johnny, yes, but mostly joy for my newfound zest for life.

Of course, Johnny and I exchanged amicable insults before masturbating and going to bed. I had showered before going to the game, and Johnny had showered at the gym after the game, so we skipped the showers and just washed up with wet wash cloths. In the morning, we jerked off again and washed up. When Johnny went to the bathroom, I started tidying my room, and when I picked up one of his shirts from the floor, a folded sheet of paper fell out of the pocket. I picked it up, thinking nothing of it until I recognized it as his algebra test paper. I wouldn’t have paid it any attention, but the grade was clearly visible. He had scored a perfect 100. What the…? As I unfolded the paper, I saw that he had not only answered every question correctly, but he had provided proofs for every problem. Clearly, Johnny was no dumb jock. The sonofabitch was a friggin’ genius—at least as far as math was concerned. I re-folded the paper and put it back into his shirt pocket. Obviously, he didn’t want to make a show of his talent, so I never mentioned it.

Though it was a Saturday, I still had chores to do—work never ends on a farm—but I also had more free time, which Johnny and I spent playing football, chatting, and just generally having a good time. We were actually grateful when time came to check up on the sheep because it gave us the opportunity to jerk off at our leisure. Naturally, I tortured Johnny with my stop-and-start antics, and he thrilled me with the nastiest, most vulgar language he could dredge up from his perverted mental thesaurus.

When we got back to the house, Mom was in the garden, and Dad had run to the farm supply store, so when the phone rang, I answered it. “It’s your mom, buddy.”

“Yeah, he calls me ‘buddy’,” I heard him tell her. “Yeah, I guess you could say that we hit it off, and Mr. and Mrs. Murphy have been super. I still think I’m old enough that I could have taken care of myself at home, but I’m glad I got to come here. They’re really nice people.” After a brief pause, he continued, “Yeah, the game was great. We won by 21 points.” He never told her that he had scored those three touchdowns. “Oh, OK, well you and Dad do what you have to do. Don’t worry about me. I’ll be just fine here…if they’ll keep me.”

“She wants to talk to you,” Johnny said, handing me the phone.

I listened attentively as Mrs. Andersen explained that they would have to stay in Louisiana a bit longer to wrap up her aunt’s affairs. She wanted me to ask my folks if they would mind keeping Johnny for a couple more days. “Oh, I don’t have to ask them,” I assured her. They love having him here. I think they would adopt him if they could.” She laughed heartily.

“He didn’t tell you about last night’s game, did he?” I asked. I informed her that Johnny had practically won the game single-handedly and was named MVP. She seemed mildly surprised, but I guess she really knew her son.

“Sometimes he’s a bit more modest than he needs to be,” she explained. Yeah, like not telling anybody that he was a friggin’ math whiz.

When Dad came home and walked through the front door with Mom, I told them about the phone call and explained that Johnny would be staying with us for a couple more days. “Well, of course, you’re welcome to stay here, Johnny,” Mom assured him. “We’re delighted to have you.”

After supper, Johnny again volunteered himself and me to wash the dishes, and this time Mom accepted graciously. “Your folks are really nice,” he confided to me as I washed the dishes and he dried. I had to confess that I was a very fortunate kid. “God only knows what went wrong with you,” he teased. I splashed dish water in his face, and he retaliated with mock boxing jabs until Dad’s voice boomed from the den, “You boys better behave or you’ll be sleeping in the pig sty tonight.” We choked back our giggles and finished cleaning the kitchen.

Before going up to my room, we sat in the den and watched TV with my folks for about an hour. I was dying to get upstairs, but I also wanted to show my parents that I really did appreciate them. And I didn’t want them to get suspicious about what we were doing up there.

That night was a repeat of what we had done our first night together. We talked, exchanged friendly barbs, jerked each other off, showered, beat off again, and drifted off to sleep telling each other how shitty the other man was. It was a match made in heaven.

The next three days were more of the same except that our barbs got sharper, and Johnny’s language got raunchier and more perverse. Each time we beat off, I slurped up a little more cum—his and mine—and he seemed to get a little less turned off each time. By the third day, I actually thought I might convince him to try it, but if he did, he did it when I wasn’t looking.