A New Friend

I was in bed, if you could call it that. It was as much of a bed as I had had for the last few months. I had finally overcome my shyness and had gotten used to sleeping naked out in open, lying on top of my blankets during those hot Vietnamese nights. It was really hot in our hooch that night. I was there in the dark, pretty much as everyone else, trying to get cool enough to sleep. I had my fan on but it wasn't helping much.

As I lay there, I heard them coming, the faint thump telling me they were landing far away. They were incoming rounds in the form of mortar shells launched from outside our perimeter. I picked up my head to listen for the next one. Usually, "Charlie" would "walk" the mortar rounds into our small airstrip. He was seeking to wreak havoc with our barracks, Hueys, POLs, hangers and mess halls, trying to kill and destroy as much as possible before being located by our ever vigilent gunships.

I listened a few moments more and then allowed my head to drop back down on the pillow. "Don't have to worry yet", I thought to myself. I had become pretty used to the sounds of incoming mortar rounds and rockets since arriving in Vietnam months before.

"WHUMP!!"

I was out of my cot, running for the door and the bunker as I heard dirt, stones and metal land on the tin roof of our hooch. It was pitch black in the hooch and all I could see was the faint glow of the door as I ran, thinking, "Where is everyone?"

I jumped out the doorway and skidded to the left on my bare feet as I headed toward the bunker. It was positioned between our hooch and the one next to ours. It had been built by some of the our unit's door gunners. Finding the bunker wasn't a problem because the sky was lit up by the flares being dropped by our choppers circling overhead. They were already looking for the source of the mortar attack. The real problem was getting to the bunker in time before the next round landed.

"WHUMP!!" This time louder, closer! Different!

Before I knew what was happening I was lying naked on my face in the dirt, my arms outstretched with a shower of dirt and debris falling onto my body. The ground had been shaken with such force that my feet had gone out from under me. I had landed so hard that I was really shaken up. I was trying shake the fog from my head and get back onto my feet but nothing seemed to be working right. Panicing, all I was managing to do was thrash and scratch at the dirt with my hands and feet in my effort to get those last few remaining feet to the opening of that lifesaving bunker.

Suddenly, I felt someone grab my hand  and started to drag me through the dirt and into the dark safety of the bunker. I felt his strong arms and hands as he grabbed me bodily and pulled me through the small opening of the bunker. He set me over to relative safety away from the entrance. Just then the last explosion of the night landed a few feet from where I had just been groveling and scratching in the filthy dirt, thinking my last hopeless thoughts. The light from the explosion lit the interior of the bunker showing a multitude of sweaty young faces, eyes wide. Then immediately it went pitch black again.

"Damn, that was close.", the boy in the dark whispered in my ear, his arms still wrapped around me.

I sat there trembling, listening to the sounds in the bunker. Someone was groaning. Someone else in the dark asked, "Anyone hurt?"

Another voice said, "Just Morgan, He might want to duck his head the next time he dives in here in the dark. He hit his head on the main overhead beam" .

The boy that had pulled me in, whispered again in my ear, "You okay?"

"Yeah, I guess. I thought I was done for. I would have been if not for you". "You saved my life. Thanks.

A minute or two later I said, "Man it's dark in here, who are you anyway? What's your name?"

"I'm Adon.  I'm one of the door gunners".

It would turn out to be a name I would never forget.

I said, "Thanks, Adon the door gunner. My friends call me Mouse."

"I know". I felt him smile. A moment later he again whispered in my ear, "You might want to grab some pants next time though, Mouse."

"I didn't have time", I said, smiling to my self in the dark.

 And at that very moment, I didn't really care.

Size Matters

In my basic training experience and later in advanced training, I learned that some of the unit staff, permanant party, cadre or whatever you want to refer to them as, would pick on some poor guy to harrass as an example to the rest of us. It was usually some kid who was weaker or "different" than the rest. They would do their best to break him spiritually and psychologically under the guise of making him stronger.

It turned out fortunately for me that I wasn't the smallest guy in our company. There was one other guy that had that honor. He was a boy from New York who had lived in the city all his life, an apartment dweller. He was extremely small in stature and was physically very weak.

His inability to do even the most rudimentary exercises, physical tests or training was immediately apparent. A couple of the drill sargeants were on him from the beginning.

For example, outside of all the mess halls were training devices that looked like a ladder that had been placed horizontally on posts. To get into the mess hall we had to jump up and grab the bars and swing ourselves across the "wrungs" until we got to the other side. The wrungs were placed about 8 feet from the ground making it additionally hard for the short guys to jump up and get a hold. To make it worse the wrungs were loose and rotated in our hands as we worked our way across. If we successfully  made it across without falling, we got to go inside and eat. If we lost our grip or got tired and fell we got screamed at by the drill sargeant in front of everyone and were made to start over (usually after some pushups).

If you were unlucky enough to be behind him you had to wait until he made it across. This made for a lot of yelling of insults from the troops who were waiting for us to complete our task so they also could get to go across and eat.

I always feared going to the mess hall. Usually we were worn out from training before we got there. I was pretty strong for my size  but early on I sometimes fell. But after going through the trauma of failure a couple of times, the fear of falling and the resulting humiliation usually pumped enough adrenaline into my system to get me across.

Not so for the little guy from New York. To start with he couldn't jump high enough to grab the bars. After being screamed at during several futile attemps someone was allowed to lift him up enough so he could reach. But the dirision he received was unbelieveable. Once he was up there he would immediately have a bar turn in his hand and fall to a chorus of taunts.

I felt so sorry for him. But as the weeks of basic training passed I realized that the poor kid saved me a lot of grief. If he hadn't been there, I would have most likely become their target of abuse.

I don't really know how long he was in basic training because he was sent to an extended basic training company when the rest of us were completing ours. My last image I have of him is his being marched around with heavy chains wrapped around his neck to "make him stronger".

At the end of basic training we had to complete a PE Test which included the overhead bars. I lived in fear of failing this test. But as it turned out the bars of the PE Test didn't rotate making it 100 times easier to get across. The ones at the mess halls were just an additioanl form of physical and emotional torture and abuse.

What's in a Name?

Thank you all who read and commented on my last post. I probably am getting paranoid, but the possibility of having everything blowing up in my face, however remote, scares me.
If only...things were different. Sound familiar?
I have had thoughts about changing my profile name to protect myself. But eventually decided not to.
I chose to use this name because of a special friend that I had lost to suicide during my Vietnam experience. The name has become a part of me in so many ways. It has linked me to him in a way. It has also come to represent the gay person within me.

This blog is a secret indulgence, which has given me a voice. This has meant a lot to me, more than these simple words can express. Thank you for helping me, an older man, understand the gay inner "boy" within me. The part of me that never got the chance to grow up.

My intent when I started this blog was to try and be a support to other people, especially those younger than myself.  Those who may be struggling with being gay and how that creates so many conflicts within their lives. I just wanted them to know that they weren't alone. I had hoped that I might in some way lighten their burden, brighten their lives.  I know that all of you, well most of you, have done that for me.

Sadly, Going Deeper

Recently, my wife came into the room when I was reading a blog that I enjoy (Invictus Pilgrim) on the computer and I didn't have time to close the window. So, I just left it open hoping she wouldn't notice what I was reading. She gets very suspicious if I close a window when she comes into the room. She asked what I was I was doing and I told her I was reading a blog written by someone "like me".

My wife is a sweet loyal friend and a wonderful wife. She is also very homophobic and misinformed. This is the third time I have tried to talk with her, to try to help her to understand me better. She doesn't understand why I keep going back through "this". She thought that I had made a "choice" and had put "it" all behind me. She felt that I was looking for answers in  the wrong places and that I was doing it behind her back, which I was, sort of.  Then she wanted to know what else I was doing.



I realized over the last while that if anyone, especially someone in the church came across this blog, there was a chance that they "might" recognize the story as being mine.  I have shared edited versions of my childhood with many of them over the years.

I have decided to go deeper into the closet, back to where I came from, to be more careful. I know what some of you might be thinking. But, I can't face life without my sweet wife and I don't want to hurt her her any further than I already have. And also, my life needs to settle down.

At first I thought I might delete my blog altogether but couldn't bring myself to do it. What I have written has become important to me. Also, I've come to love and appreciate those of you that helped me to understand myself better over the last year.  I need you.

I've decided to tweak the blog some, to change my online identity, the wording of my profile, and possibly, to delete or edit some of my posts if necessary.  Although that would be like twisting a knife in my gut.

I've made a complete backup of it all so I can bring it back in it's original form if I decide to do that later on. Right now I don't want to make things worse here at home by having her find out "what else I have been doing".

So, my dear friends, be aware that I will be making some changes. I think you will know it's still me.
The face will be the same but the name might be changed.

Friendship

It wasn’t long before it became obvious to me that I was going to be subject to harassment from some of guys in my platoon. There always has to be at least one guy to emerge within any group who seems to get some kind of satisfaction from picking on someone who he feels superior to.




Maybe on the second or third day, I got jostled when someone walked past me when there was plenty of room to get by. Then later, I  heard some insulting or crude remarks aimed in my direction concerning my size, about me being a sissy, wimp or a queer. I couldn't pinpoint who it was due to the size of our platoon. This was the same bullying behavior I had experienced during my adolescent school years. I ignored it and went about my business, my usual coping mechanism. But eventually the bully wasn’t getting enough of a response from the other guys he was trying to impress and decided to be more open about his aggressive behavior.



One day when we were getting up in the morning and for whatever the reason there was no particular rush. It could have been it was Sunday, when we had some freedom to just hang out and do some personal things like writing letters home. I had become acquainted with a couple of boys who were from West Virginia. We didn’t have much in common other than that we were country boys. When we “fell in” to formation each day, they were always near to me due to the fact we always lined up alphabetically and were in the same place each time. Their names were Rogers and Rose. I don’t recall their first names, I wish I could.



This particular day I had gone over to their side of the barracks to talk with them while I sat on one of their bunks and wrote a letter home. A few bunks down the now familair voice started in on my friends about me being with them. It turned out that the voice was coming from a guy that had traveled with me from home when we were inducted into the Army. He walked over and started to push me off the bunk, telling me to go back to my side of the room, that he didn’t want me near him.



Before I could even respond, Rogers jumped down off from his bunk, giving the guy a shove as he landed on his feet, catlike.



He said to the bully, “Leave him alone. If you pick a fight with him, you pick a fight with me!”



By this time we had the attention of the whole barracks. Most everyone came over to see what was going on, hoping to see a fight. I heard two or three people in the crowd though say, “Yeah, leave him alone.”, “He’s not bothering anyone.”, “Hey, cut it out.”

The bully looked around to see everyone watching him and decided he'd better back off. He turned around, redfaced, and headed back to his bunk without another word.



I was totally astounded. This was the first time anyone had ever stood up for me like that. I felt really stupid that I hadn’t handled it myself but at the same time it was a display of friendship that I have never forgotten. It was a lesson to me that I would be able to have loyal friends and that I wasn't alone.

The Water Closet

I was marching along with my new platoon when our drill sergeant, Sergeant Montoya yelled, “I don’t know but I’ve been told….”, I was already thinking that if I ever heard that cadence call another time, I would scream like a little girl!

In the last few days I  had to endure things that I had never experienced before. Our living accommodations were World War II vintage barracks which had an open living area on both floors lined with rows of bunks. My bunk was about midway down on the far side of the building.


At one end of the barracks was two small rooms which turned out to be bedrooms for the drill sergeants when they spent the night with us. At the other end was a stairway that went upstairs to the second floor. Also the latrine was located on that end of the building.

Our platoon was on the ground level which at least made it easy to “fall out” into platoon formation. Some things took a little getting used too. Being naked in front of so many guys was a shock to my shy “sensitive” nature. It turned out that once I got past my own nakedness, seeing other guys my age walking around naked was a real treat.



But, the first time I went to the showers was a bit overwhelming to me. As I've said before, I grew up in a sheltered enviroment where nudity was not a common thing. At the end of the first day we were told that it was SOP (Standard Operational Procedure) to hit the showers. Sergeant Montoya said he wanted to see nothing but assholes and elbows. Well, that had its intended effect and everyone started to hurry around, at least until he left the room.



Of course I took my usual approach to this new environment that I found myself in. I had adopted it from the beginning, back at the induction center. Stay back and watch the others to see what they would do. Some of the guys stripped down and wrapped a towel around themseves and headed toward the latrine and the showers. I just kept my head down and peeked around, trying not to catch anyone’s attention. It was hard not to just stare at some of these guys stripping off their clothes. “Man…” I thought. I didn't know quite what to make of it.



I used as much control as I could muster as I slowly worked around my bunk and lockers, steeling myself for my “maiden’ voyage into this new world of open group nudity. I finally worked up sufficient courage, stripped off my clothes and quickly wrapped a towel around my waist just as I had seen the others do. I then headed off. Of course, I made darn sure to keep a good grip on my towel as I negotiated my way through the rows of bunks.



As I stepped into the latrine area, I looked around and saw a large well lit bathroom with a row of 12 toilets running down one side of the room and a row of 12 sinks running down the other. Over the sinks were a row of mirrors facing those starkly “out in open” toilets, similar to the photos below although our latrine was larger and cleaner.






There were naked guys everywhere. Some naked guys were sitting on the toilets talking to each other like it was a normal thing to be crapping next to your new friends while talking about sex with the girls back home. Those toilets were an experience in themselves. There were other naked guys bending over the sinks brushing their teeth and shaving. “Ooo…” I thought








The "Water Closet"




In the back of the room, just beyond the lovely toilets, I saw a cute, wet, naked blond guy stepping out of what looked like a hallway with his towel in his hand. “Oh,  the showers must beyond that hallway” I thought, as I ripped my eyes away from him.



As it turned out, the showers were in that hallway. It was like a long closet, about 16 feet deep. It was lined with stainless steel, with a row of shower heads and faucet handles projecting from the right-hand side. I discovered to my horror that there was barely (no pun intended) room enough for that many guys to get in and out without rubbing bodies with the other guys that were showering.

I was beginning to get really nervous. I felt like turning around and heading back to the safety of the bunks. At this point I couldn’t, that would break my rule of not drawing undue attention to myself.  I had no choice. Whether I was shy or not, I had come this far, I needed to shower so I might as well keep going. I stripped off my towel and stepped in.



Well, I can tell you, I’m a pretty small guy and I made myself as skinny as possible. I slid along the left hand side, dragging my bare butt along the wet wall and doing my best to avoid those jostling wet bodies. But the first thing that happened was that some guy stepped back to leave the shower and bumped into me with his wet hairy butt. “Hey Runt, watch where you are going! I've been called runt throughout my life and it wasn't one of my favorite nicknames and was usually by some big jock. I looked around at him and thought, "crap, your  not that much larger than me". But I said, “Oops, sorry….err… ah…sorry” as I struggled to avoid any further contact with his hairy wet body.



I found the first open shower head and started to soap up, trying the best I could not to appear embarrassed. But, I’m sure my red face was a complete giveaway. I looked around sheepishly, looking at the other guys and realized that no one was noticing me. They were all busy trying to look nonchalant themselves.



It was then that I realized that I wasn’t the only one struggling to get used to this new way of life. I’m sure it wasn’t new to some of them, but I could quickly see that I wasn’t alone in my embarrassment. I finished my shower and headed back to my bunk with a new sense of self confidence, thinking, “That wasn't so bad. Maybe this won’t be so bad after all.”

It wasn’t long before I was over my case of nerves and was able to enjoy my trips to the shower, along with the view, discreetly of course.

After the Fall, a post script

After reading a post by my dear friend Tony entitled "Shame", I realized that the meaning behind the title of this blog, “Forever Silent”, originates from my feelings of shame. As old as I am and with all my life experience, I am unable to get past the shame of being gay. For myself, I feel that I have come to accept that I am gay but I am still too ashamed for it to be public knowledge. Also, the the shame and discomfort my wife feels about that part of my personality would most likely keep me in the closet for the foreseeable future.




Tony, in his post, spoke about standing, looking out at the river and having details come back to his remembrance about his past experiences, an epiphany of sorts. I had something similar to that happen to me recently.



In an earlier post entitled, "The Fall", I wrote of my special friend David, who had disappeared from my neighborhood and I did not know what had happened to him. As I originally wrote this story, I wrote it in the way that I remembered it. Recently, in another effort to explain, again, to my wife some of my feelings about that time in my life, something returned to my consciousness that I had "forgotten". As I struggled with my emotions, a memory came flooding back to me as to what had happened to him.



Through tears of shame, I explained to my wife how I felt responsible for David's disappearance from his home and later in life, his suicide. She asked me why I would feel responsible. At this point, a window opened up in my mind and the memory came back to me that had remained hidden for decades.



After his disapperance, I learned that David had gotten into a fight with his drunken abusive father. I was not completely sure what the fight was about but I felt at the time and I probably was right, it was about me. It is so amazing to me how we can crowd difficult memories and feelings to the hidden corners of our mind.





David was a tough little kid and when his father started verbally and physically pounding on him, this particular time, he fought back, knocking his father down. David ran away, leaving his father semi-conscious on the floor. Eventually, David would go to his grandmothers home and would never return to live with his parents. I didn’t learn about some parts of this story until some time after his disappearance.

As I look back on the sequence of events that year some things have become quite clear to me. I am quite sure David's father had learned of our physical relationship, of our "summer activities, most likely from his sister who had promised not to tell.

As in other times that David and I had gotten into some trouble together, David's dad most likely called my father to apply the blame where he thought it belonged. My father never said a word to me about it. He probably didn't have a clue how to handle something like having a "queer" son, but the course of our family changed  soon after.

After this incident, we received a call from a local Mormon man who was proselyting for his church by phone. My father answered the phone that night. When he hung up he came into the livingroom where the rest of the family was watching tv. He told us of the conversation he had with this Mormon man and that he had agreed to let the Mormon Missionaries come visit our home and talk to us about their church. We were all stunned at this turn of events. My father had never before shown in any interest in any organized religion. Something or somebody must have changed his thinking. Me?

We met with the missionaries regularly for several weeks and soon after we were all baptised into the "Church". For my part, I readily accepted the teachings of the Church and still to this day believe that it's teachings are true. The Church and its members have been a valuable asset in my life and I am sure that because of it, I am alive today. I am grateful to my father for opening our home to the young Mormon Elders who taught me about our loving Heavenly Father and his son Jesus Christ. It was a time in my life when I needed the strength and support that this knowledge and all the other aspects of belonging to the Church provided me.

I must admit that I have struggled over the years with the knowledge that I was and am gay/bisexual because these feelings are in direct conflict with the moral standards of the Church.  But, the positive effects which the Church has brought to my life and the lives of my family, have more than outweighed whatever shame, fear and confusion that I have felt over the years. I do hope that someday I can reconcile those negative feelings which still cause me to be ...Forever Silent.

Chapter 1, Only the Beginning




Arial View of Fort Bragg
Note the Airfield in the Upper Right, Home of the 82nd Airborne.
Also, the famous red dirt of North Carolina 

 
During all this marching around and waiting endlessly for my turn in line, I had plenty of time time to look around at my surroundings and observe the people I found myself currently with. I was always a great one to sit to the side and to inconspicuously as posible,watch people. I realized that none of these guys were my friends, far from it. They were complete strangers, except for the guys I had traveled from home with. 

I've always been antisocial to a degree. And in the process of observing these new people in my life, I decided to myself that I had no one that I could trust here. I kept a close eye on the ones that immediately made me nervous and uncomfortable. Some were loud and pushy, seeking some kind of power over weaker individuals. I guess I fell into that category, so I was constantly on guard, expecting the unexpected. This inner sense of preservation was to save me some personal grief during the next few weeks and months but it also made it difficult to make friends. Looking back at it now I would probably use a different approach, but I was shy, insecure and afraid.

After all the "processing" was complete there was a lull in the action as we waited for the arrival our individual orders. These orders would assign us to our basic training units. I wasn't too anxious to be separated from this group that I was just beginning to get used to, although I hadn't really gotten to know anyone, other than who to stay away from.

Once we got our orders to a basic training unit the real training would begin and I had no idea what to expect. So far, I wasn't impressed with my original decision to put myself in this situation. I felt that I chosen the less of two evils and now I wasn't sure that I had made the right choice.

I longed for friendship and some sort of security. I knew that those things would eventually happen for me, but right now I was pretty miserable. I didn't let on to anyone what I was going through. I just played it cool, waiting for whatever was coming my way.

Eventually, our temporary drill sargeant called us togther and had us form into ranks. He then handed out our orders. He instructed us in the manner we were to be transported to the basic training area of Fort Bragg. He released us to get our stuff ready and told us to be ready at the given time.

As soon as we were released from formation, everyone started looking at their orders and talking excitedly about where they were being sent. I looked at my orders which at first made little sense to me. I looked around cautiously trying to figure out how others were doing in the process of learning where they were going. I found out that everyones orders were basically the same form. I just had to hunt down through the sheets of mimeographed papers until I found my name underlined in a long list of names divided into groups. Above the group of names that mine was included with was the unit's name, 3rd Plat CO D 2nd BN 1st BDE, United States Army Training Center. It was all greek to me but I went and did as I had been told.

Rude Awakening, Part 2

After our physicals, we were allowed to put our new underwear on and moved on to another part of the building.

There we were measured for size and issued a complete set of military clothing and other supplies that we would need for the next few weeks of Basic Training, boots, shoes, hats, socks, more new underwear, fatigues and khaki dress uniforms.

They issued a huge duffel bag to put it all into and an additional black case that we used to put our civilian clothes in. We were then marched back to our temporary barracks. I must have been a sight, trying to carry that huge duffle bag that constantly bumped and banged on the ground because I was so short and it was so heavy.

We were marched back to get lunch.



We were marched to get all the necessary documents produced to make us official U.S. Army “property”. They gave us each a number. Each number had a prefix. Mine was “RA”, Regular Army. I didn’t take me long to find out the “RA” made me a marked person, a target. Everyone knew that it meant that I had enlisted in the Army rather than being drafted. I was to be constantly reminded of my negative RA status during the next three years.



Draftees were given the prefix of “US”. Most of the men and boys I met in basic and with whom I worked with later on, were draftees. I found, pretty much immediately, that draftees didn’t have a very high opinion of anyone who had freely enlisted in the Army.



There was one other prefix that was notably different and received as much or more attention than “RA’s” and that was “NG”, for National Guard otherwise known as “Weekend Warriors”. The drill sergeants and the other permanent party (staff) would usually put them in charge of mundane work details and generally harass them due to their National Guard affiliation.



We were marched to get name tags to wear around our necks. In the event that we were later killed they would know who we were. They stamped our names on them. They stamped our new military serial numbers on them. They stamped our blood type and they stamped our religious preference on them. They were called “Dog Tags”.

When I was asked me what my religious preference was, Catholic or Protestant, I just casually said neither. The young Private taking the information was obviously getting confused easily. “He must be a Yankee fan”, I thought to myself. (Oops, sorry Yankee fans)



I told him again that I was neither a Catholic nor a Protestant.



“Ya got to be one or t'other”, he said.



I was new to the outside world but even I knew there were other religions around. I then told him I was a Mormon.



“A what?”



“A MORMON”, I repeated.



“Never heard of that before….Ok….If you say so.”



The next day when we were marched back to get pick up our shiny new dog tags, I found that my new tags had my religious preference as “Morman”. I always laughed afterward whenever I read my tags, that appeared to announce that I was More man. I also wondered afterward how long that Private stayed a Private.

Rude Awakening

It seemed I had no sooner closed my eyes when I was suddenly awakened by what seemed to be someone screaming. Someone yelling loudly for us to get up, it was time to get up, get dressed and go to breakfast. The person yelling was another sergeant. He said he had let us “sleep in” because we had arrived so late. I checked my watch again, 6:00 AM.

We groggily got up quiet and muttering to ourselves. We quickly got dressed and trudged outside, tripping over our own feet; just a bunch of blurry eyed boys, wondering what the heck was coming next. This new sergeant had us all line up in two columns and then he gave us a little training in regard to creating a proper military formation. Once we were lined up to his satisfaction, he then marched us down the short street in front of the barracks to the nearby mess hall. Apparently, we actually had slept in. It was obvious that many people had already had been eating in the mess hall. Several were still eating and many were leaving as we arrived. I noticed something on the way in that caught my attention. It looked like a ladder mounted horizontally on posts alongside the sidewalk approaching the door into the mess hall. I wondered what it was for. I would find out in the days to come.



We started that day off with a good breakfast. Army breakfast isn’t bad. Bacon and eggs, scrambled or fried, on an oily griddle. Oh, and pancakes and sausage, orange juice and coffee or milk. We hadn't eaten in what seemed like days. Once we were done with the wonderful breakfast, we went outside. We got back into "formation" and we began to make many short trips around the nearby area on foot, to one place and then another.  We marched to the “cadences” of our temporary drill sergeant. He sang in a loud, clear voice, “I don’t know but I’ve been told,…..”.



I was to march to many variations of cadences that started with these same words in the next few weeks and years. The intent of cadences is to help soldiers to march together in rhythm and in an organized manner. As he called out the cadences, he instructed us to repeat aloud each verse. They were mostly rude and crude plays on words, filled with sexual references and innuendoes. I was honestly embarrassed to have to repeat most of them. I wasn’t impressed with them then and to be honest, I can’t remember any of them now. If I was to guess, the practice is still done to this day.



One of the first things I learned during all this marching around, here and there, was that when we got to where we were going, we had to stand and wait, and wait, and wait. I’m sure you’ve heard the old military adage, “Hurry up and wait”? Well, the Army has it down pat, kind of like they do breakfast.

We marched EVERYWHERE!


We were marched to get our first military haircut.

I sat down in the barbershop to await my turn just as a cute, good looking boy with long, brown, curly hair was getting into one of the barber chairs. He was being asked by the barber how he wanted his hair cut. The kid innocently started to answer just as the barber ran the clippers over the top of the boys head, cleaning a smooth strip right down the middle of his head, exposing his smooth, pale scalp. Everyone laughed as the rest of the kid's long hair slid off his head and onto the floor. I recall leaving the barbershop after having had my  head "sheared" and seeing every one of the new recruits “waiting” outside with their now bald heads. Their scalps actually looked blue in the morning sunlight.


We were marched to get poked and prodded, again, AGAIN! by more doctors.


I could see that there would be no personal privacy in the Army. We were being processed through in groups and were told to strip naked, to strip off all of our civilian clothes and put them in a supplied paper bag. We got to keep our civilian clothes for use later when we would get to have leave or a pass into town. My poor civilian clothes didn’t get to touch my skin for many weeks to come.



I shyly peeked around realizing I was in a room full of naked, bare butted boys. I was embarrassed and extremely self conscious of my nudity, and theirs. I had never experienced being naked with anyone except my family when I was extremely young. And of course, with my friend, David. Most kids have nude experiences in the showers at school, gym or at the “Y”. But I never had. We all stood in a row, naked, as a doctor inspected our bodies top to bottom. He walked in front of us and then behind us, giving us instructions as he went. The one moment that sticks out in my mind is when he told us all to bend over at the waist, reach behind us and spread our butt cheeks. He walked along behind us inspecting our rectums. I thought it was really odd and humiliating at the time. But now, I am quite sure I know what he was looking for. I guess he didn't see anything notable about me, well, at least on the back side.



Although I would have been curious in any other situation, I tried to not look directly at any of the other naked boys. Fearing that if they caught me looking at them, they could somehow sense who and what I really “was”. Although I really wasn't sure about my sexuality at that time and even for years to come, I felt emotionally exposed, like they could see into my mind and realize what I feared the most about myself. Eventually, I was to get used to being naked and being around naked guys, during my years in the army (I actually got to enjoy it). But, I never got over the fear, the fear of being discovered or being accused, of being a queer. Speaking of which, in those days people referred to homosexuals as queers. It was an extremely derogatory term and it brings back the memory of my fathers use of the term.  There was something inherently mean and hateful in the way people said the word “queer” back then. I remember my father saying to me and one of my close friends once that people would think we were "queer" if they saw me and my friend in our innocent horse play. I was really young at the time. I didn't really know what he meant by it, but I knew by the inflection in his voice it wasn't good. I remember it like it was yesterday. If parents only realized how words can cut a young kid's heart.



During these physical exams, one of the boys who had traveled with me from home had to be discharged from the Army after his first two days. He had had a cold when he boarded the plane and he had broken the eardrum in one of his ears during the flight. Now, he was deaf in one ear. At least he would live to tell about his short experience in the Army during the era of the Vietnam War.

A fortunate loss in my opinion.

Chapter 16, Long Wet and Lonely Night

The corporal’s statement that “somebody” would be picking us up in just a “few minutes”, wasn’t very accurate. It turned into a wait that seemed like hours of lonely misery. After the corporal had left us in this damp dark corner of who knows where, a few of the boys began complaining about the “f-ing army”. It seems, for the next three years of my life, those two words just naturally went together and sprang from people’s lips, with additional poignant variations.



Most of us were not feeling well. Several had been sick from their consumption of liquor. Throw in the lack of any “real” food in hours and no rest, plus the natural anxiety of our situation, just made us all miserable as we waited for whatever was coming next in our endless traveling. I was just personally thankful that my headache was gone.



As we waited we didn’t know what to do with ourselves. Nobody was in the mood to talk or strike up friendships. No one had spoken to me from the time we were first in the induction center. The staff had seen to that with my so called “assignment”. But, I wasn’t paying much attention to the lack of friendly banter as we were all pretty much unfriendly by this point.



We had all looked around that small, soggy loading dock trying to locate a spot to get somewhat comfortable while we waited. I found a less wet area up close to the wall of the building. I leaned my back up against the wall and wrapped my arms around my thin legs to conserve whatever warmth I had left in my small body, I closed my eyes. Getting any sleep was impossible.



Eventually, out of the damp southern gloom, we heard what sounded like a truck approaching. It turned out to be a small military bus. It came careening to a halt in front of the loading dock with a crash of gears and the screech of brakes. (Reminds me now of Harry Potters experience with the “Knight Bus in the movie Prisoner of Azkaban”). A sergeant jumps off the bus and yelled, “Come on “troops”, we don’t have all night, get your asses and your gear onboard and let’s get the hell out of here!”

Finally, I thought, we’re getting out of this miserable hole. Apparently, I wasn’t alone in my assessment of the situation as there was a flurry of activity as we all grabbed our “gear” and eagerly got our “asses” onto the bus. We took off into the night with a lurch and more grinding of gears accompanied by more than a few, choice, profanity laced remarks from the sergeant directed mostly at the old cranky bus, but some were aimed in our direction as well.

Apparently we hadn’t been too far away from our final destination. Soon, we could see the sky glowing white over the treetops. In what seemed like a just a few minutes we approached the front gated entrance of Fort Bragg. The sergeant driving the bus waved at the guard as we drove through the gate and into what would be our home away from home for the next few months.

After a few more lurching and jarring turns, we started passing row upon row of military barracks. We came to a sudden stop in front of one of them as the sergeant announced, “We here “troops”. Grab your gear and follow me.” He led us into the darkened barracks which turned out to be unoccupied. The sergeant didn’t bother to even turn on the lights. We could faintly see rows of bunk beds from the light streaming through the bare windows from the streetlights outside. As he was leaving the sergeant said, “ Grab a “bunk” and get some sleep, it’s late. I’ll be back in the morning to take you to breakfast.”



We felt our way around and discovered the “bunks” were metal bunk beds with bare mattresses with bare pillows laying on them. We couldn’t see what condition they were in but they didn’t feel or smell very good. In fact, I was pretty grossed out but I was so tired I just found a lower bunk off to one side and fell onto the mattress and didn’t move except to look at my watch, 3:30 AM.

Chapter 15, Migraine Express

My memories of the trip south to North Carolina are a bit hazy and jumbled. For one thing, I developed one of my world class migraine headaches. Some months later when I had become “educated” to the way military people handled things, I realized that “assigning” me to watch over this group of teenage raucous boys traveling to basic training was a joke being played at my expense. Those guys back at the induction center must have had a good laugh. At the time I didn’t know that. I was really worried.

I had taken the “assignment” seriously and I fully expected to be held accountable for whatever these guys did during their last few hours of freedom. I knew that there was little chance that I could have any influence on these new recruits or their behavior. They obviously had no concern about me. I was already stressing out, and we hadn’t even left yet. I could only imagine how much trouble they could get me into.

That afternoon we were taken to the local airport where we were boarded onto a Northeast Airlines airliner. It appeared to be a regular commercial flight as it was filled with civilian passengers. Once aboard, we were seated as a group toward the back of the plane. We all had that “deer in the headlights” look to our eyes. We were squirming around in our seats trying to take everything in. I’m sure most of these guys were like me, just boys who had never really been away from home before. I had never flown on an airplane and it was quite the experience. As soon as we had taken off and were at cruising altitude the stewardess started offering the passengers “liquid refreshment”. I noticed some of the boys were winking and grinning at each other. Soon the stewardess was handing the boys miniature bottles of "booze" which they paid for and quickly poured into their glasses. The stewardess never questioned any of the boys ages, assuming that if they were old enough to serve in the military they were old enough to drink. My anxiety rose as I saw them order more drinks and knew that before long that they would be intoxicated. I was way too inexperienced and timid to say anything. I knew no one would pay any attention to me anyway. I just sank back in my seat and closed my eyes.



We landed in New York and were to be transferred to a different airline. I can remember sitting in a hallway somewhere half scared out of my wits. My head was killing me and I felt sick to my stomach. Luckily, after a while my headache backed off and I started to feel better. Eventually someone came to get us and directed us to follow them. We were led back out onto the tarmac. Sitting there, shining in the late evening sun, was this old style airliner. It was a Piedmont Airlines DC3.

This old airplane had a tip down door with stairs built into it. We climbed the stairs into the passenger cabin. The plane had two large wheels in the front and a small trailing wheel in the back. As we entered the cabin we had to walk uphill to climb into our seats. I thought, “Great, another bargain for the U.S. government.” As we flew on this last leg of the flight the guys continued to drink. I had grown weary of worrying and decided I would just take my lumps when we showed up at Fort Bragg. I finally just fell asleep from sheer exhaustion.



We landed somewhere late in the night. I had no idea where. We wearily got off the plane and stepped into the chill damp night air. Blinking my sleepy eyes, I looked around,  trying to see where we were and noticed a young, sleepy looking, army corporal waiting nearby, apparently waiting for us . He seemed no older than we were. On the damp and puddled tarmac, we gathered together into this ragged group of tired young boys in wrinkled and smelly civilian clothes. The young corporal, doing his best to sound authoritive, told us to follow him. He led us to what appeared in the dim, misty surroundings, to be some kind of loading dock made of old wooden timbers. Everything was saturated as though it had just recently stopped raining heavily. In between yawns, he wearily instructed us sit down and wait. We were not to wander off, that someone was coming from Fort Bragg to pick us up, and would be there in a few minutes. After making sure that we understood him, he stumbled off into the darkness leaving us to our own thoughts of, what seemed to us, an unknown fate. He had apparently had been given this late night assignment of meeting our plane and was now headed back to his nice warm bed.

Lucky him!

Chapter 14, Induction Day

I left my parents at the curb in front of the large brick building that housed the US Army Induction Center. When I turned and walked away from them, I knew I was leaving everything I had ever known and loved behind, at least for the near future. I was so scared.




I went inside and followed the recruiting signs to the 3rd floor of the Federal Building. I was met there by one of the recruiters I had met earlier that summer. I had enlisted in August and had been assigned to the Inactive Army Reserve for 3 months. He greeted me and then escorted me to a room filled with other “boys” in civilian clothes along with some Army personnel.



It turned out that there were 16 new recruits being processed into the Army that day, mostly draftees. I looked around to see if I recognized any of them. Other than the recruiter, there was no one there that I knew. I found a seat to one side, sat down and tried to relax, breathing slow and deep.


Once everyone had arrived, we commenced with the process of signing our lives away to Uncle Sam. This is just an old expression but the sad fact is, some of these boys did forfeit their lives for their country before their enlistment was up.



I remember there was a ream of forms we all had to complete and sign. Some things we had to “swear to”, concerning our character, medical background and criminal record. I recall a form having to do with homosexual behavior. I really wasn’t expecting this. My mouth suddenly went dry. I tried to swallow and almost choked. I slowly read over the form with its very personal questions again. There was nothing else I could do. After all I wasn't sure that I was homosexual, was I? I carefully checked the “appropriate” boxes and signed the form. When I was done my stomach was in a knot. I tried not to feel or look scared or to show any emotion. I covertly lowered my head to one side and looked around to see if anyone was watching me. Would anyone see the fear on my face? Could anyone tell that I felt that I had not told the truth when I filled out that form? Again, that nagging thought returned, “What have I done?” Although I did my best not to show it, from this point on I was really terrified.



Some of the guys complained later about many of the things they were asked about and declarations they had been asked to make. They felt insulted by some of the questions. One guy murmured, “Do they think we are a bunch of fags?” I didn’t have anything to say. I was in my usual “stealth” mode, watching but not getting involved, hoping to avoid any undue attention or trouble.



We had to endure being “inspected” physically to see if we were healthy enough to be admitted into military service. I had had a physical three months earlier. What they thought would have changed during that short time I am not sure. I know I felt totally embarrassed and humiliated by the process.



At some point we were sent down in small groups to a nearby diner for the worst meal I think I ever had. It consisted of extremely overcooked boiled hot dogs and mixed vegetables. I thought to myself that someone must be making some money off the government for this meal. At least it was a relief for me to get away from that ordeal for a few minutes.



When we were done eating, we were escorted back to complete the processing and to have the swearing in ceremony. I don’t remember the words that we actually said during the swearing in, but it all seemed very final. We were officially in the Army. As we lined up to be sworn in, I did happen to notice that I was the smallest guy in the group. That was nothing new for me.



Soon we were told that we would be leaving the induction center. The Army had made arrangements for us to fly out of the local airport to Fort Bragg in North Carolina. We were flying out on a commercial airliner that very afternoon. We were then handed our orders and we were told how we should behave on the way down. We were warned not to buy any alcoholic drinks on the airplanes and to conduct ourselves with the dignity of soldiers in the U.S. Army. We were to be traveling unsupervised. At this point, the NCO giving the instructions looked out over the group of raw recruits and then looked directly at me. He then said, “Private Walker, you’re going to be in charge of these men on the way to Fort Bragg. You are responsible to see that they do what we’ve instructed. No one is to show up drunk or to wander off. It is your responsibility to see that these instructions are followed. Do you understand Private?” I heard a couple of stifled snickers come from somewhere in the room.



With a sinking feeling with the accompanying nausea, I responded by saying, “Err… yes sir.”



“What did you say Private Walker?”



“Yes Sir.”



“Don’t call me Sir, Private Walker. I work for a living. I’m a sergeant not an officer. You don’t call sergeants Sir.”



So much for my avoiding trouble, things were not getting off to a good start.

Explicitly So

I recently went back to the “old” neighborhood. Everything looked the same... but different. The houses and the street somehow looked smaller. Some of the homes had been remodeled and are more upscale than when “we” had lived there. I stood across the street from my old “home”. The emptiness and sadness in my heart returned with a vengeance. I was looking at my house and at David’s house next door. I was looking for some sign that we had been there, so many years ago. There was nothing left, absolutely nothing. This experience reminded me of why I was motivated to write this story.

When I began writing this blog, I really felt stupid. After all, what did I have to offer anyone?  As I thought back on my life as a 14 year old, I remembered how lonely and lost I was. I was haunted by my realization that I liked boys. At that date and time, that was something that was totally unacceptable by everything I had been taught, directly and indirectly, by those around me. I felt it was repulsive and disgusting to everyone that was important in my life, and at times, sadly, it was to me.  That is why I have remained silent all these years.

At some point, I felt that it necessary to share my story as the young teenager discovering himself. I knew that the wording was explicit as I wrote it. I would lay awake at night as I thought about what to tell and how to tell it. I wrote and rewrote much of every post.  I knew that it wouldn’t be viewed by some folks with much acceptance.  I was a embarrassed many times with my openness as I pressed the “publish” button….But,

I kept writing.

I wrote an introduction to my blog as I realized what the story I was writing contained. The beginning of my life’s story concerning David and me is explicit. I wrote it so, that maybe others could somehow experience the “sameness” between their lives and mine. For this I make no apologies. Somewhere out there in this world, there are other young people experiencing the same things that I did when I was 14. Maybe they are feeling the anguishing things, feeling lonely, ashamed or hopeless. I need to let them know that there is something beyond that loneliness, shame and hopelessness.  I need to let them know that there is joy in living even though there are rough spots and challenges along the way. That there are wonderful life experiences that they won’t have if they give in to discouragement.

I owe it to them and I owe it to David to tell this story in the honest, open and yes, explicit way that I have.

Internal Debate

I have been debating with myself about where to go from this point on in my story. What I have already written on my blog posts and pages has pretty much expressed the sum total of my homosexual experiences. I’m not sure anyone may be interested in the story of my life in the U.S. Army or my life since. My life after serving in Vietnam has been that of a pretty average, young married Mormon boy that grew up to be an older married Mormon grandfather. With the one exception, I have been comfortable with my chosen path. That exception has come to haunt me occasionally over the years.




I don’t have anymore gay love stories to tell. I have had many friends as everyone does. Some of them turned out to be gay. I wish more of them had been gay. It’s a lonely life having to be so covert about this side of my personality. I wished I could have been openly gay/bisexual from the day I met David. But things were different back then as many older bloggers point out.



I have decided that I will continue with my story about my life, if for no one else if not for myself. I feel the need to write about my experiences in the hope that I can gain some understanding about why I am the way I am. And I also hope to continue to make new friends here. The friends that I have made already have been a great support. The sad part is that some have disappeared over the last few months. I miss them. I hope that they are OK. I hope you are OK.

Chapter 13, A Strange Mormon Boy

As we traveled the last few miles, many thoughts were still going through my mind. Memories came flooding back, holidays with my family, visits to relatives, all the things I would miss as I moved on to my new life in the Army. I would miss being with my school friends and family. I would also miss my church family that had given me so much support over the last few years. I would especially miss my lost friend, David.




Back when I was 14, we received a phone call from a member of the Mormon Church. My father had answered the phone. The caller was a stranger to our family and he was doing some missionary work in the form of contacting people at random by phone. He asked my father if he knew anything about the Mormon Church and if he would be interested in finding out more. My parents had apparently been talking about religion recently and he thought to himself, “why not?” So, he agreed to have the Mormon Missionaries visit our home. When he hung up the phone, he came and told the rest of us what he had done.

We were all shocked. Mormons? Coming here? I have concluded years later that my Dad was searching for a solution to the problems within our family, with me. He was desperately trying to find a way to help his family find happiness.



It turned out that the “Missionaries” were really nice guys. They were polite and sincere. They taught my family the “discussions”, a series of lessons about the Church and it's beliefs. My family quickly became attached to the boys in suits and ties. As we learned about this Church and its beliefs about our Heavenly Father, his son Jesus Christ and the Holy Spirit, I saw some changes take place in my family. I saw my Dad pray for the first time, openly asking God if what the missionaries were teaching us was true. I believe we received an answer to his prayer, that it was true. I saw my family open up to this new group of people. These people were wonderful and we quickly developed enduring friendships. A new spirit had come into our home that brightened up our lives. It was great.



Over the next few weeks, we completed the lessons and attended church meetings each Sunday. In October we decided as a family to get baptized into the Church and to make “the mighty change” in our lives that it would require. People and families don’t get religion all of a sudden without realizing that a new set of priorities are required. It was good to see the positive effect all this was having on our little family.



Personally, I was going by instinct. I was following my heart. I was following what I felt was a spiritual prompting. I felt good about the whole experience and looked forward to being a Mormon. It was exciting. I had new friends, new beliefs and a new way of life. As I look back at it now, having this positive experience right at this time most likely saved my life. This all took place when I needed it most, following the loss of my best friend, David. I had been depressed and I still felt confused and rejected at his sudden disappearance from my life. I needed this positive change in my life and I needed the new friends. As I went through the last few years of High School, I lived the life of an active, if somewhat aloof, Mormon boy. Aloof, because I still harbored a SECRET.



The confusion I had about my sexual feelings would come back to haunt me in the quiet, secret, moments “in my room”. It was during these quiet moments that the ghostly knowledge that I was attracted to boys would return, bringing with it guilt and loneliness. I didn’t realize it then, but this was just the beginning of a lifelong, secret guilt trip, a life of inner conflict.

Chapter 13, Scared Sick

As I lay slumped back in my seat, I was starting to feel nauseated as it suddenly dawned on me what I had taken on. I was leaving home for the first time in my life. I was going into a situation of which I had no personal experience. I realized that I was scared to death.




Occasionally, Mom and Dad would talk in quiet conversation. A few times my father tried to lighten up the moment with his usual humor but with little effect. I was in the back seat in the midst of an anxiety attack, nothing new for me. I had learned to live with anxiety throughout my life. It was no fun.



Nauseated, I rolled down my window a little bit and took long slow breaths, fighting down the sickness. I closed my ears and tried to think of something else, anything else, but what I was about to do.



All at once my Dad slowed down the car and said something I didn’t catch.



“What?” I said.



“Look! …Adon, look at what is in the road ahead.”



As the car came to a stop in the early mist of dawn, I opened my eyes.



There standing in the road was the biggest whitetail buck deer I had ever seen in my life. He was just standing there looking at us, not fifty feet from the front of our car.



“Whoa! Look at the size of him, Dad." He must weigh 350 pounds at least. What’s the matter with him? He is just standing there!



Dad said, “I think he came to say goodbye to you, Adon”



Dad shut off the engine, parked at a dead stop, right in the road. As we watched this magnificent creature, he apparently decided that standing in middle of Route 1, the heavily traveled coastal route, might not be the safest place for a trophy buck to be standing. He slowly walked across the road and into the woods on the other side. All the while he still looked at us, at me, until at the last second as he disappeared out of sight.

My Dad started the car as we continued on to our destination. Soon I would be saying goodbye to the people closest to me. As I settled back into my seat, I sat in wonder at what had just happened. I had worn myself out for weeks looking for a deer just like that. And, he shows up on this day to wish me off on the greatest and scariest adventure of my life.



The anxiety attack was gone. The fear I had felt was gone. My Native American ancestors would have said that it was a good omen. The deer seemed to be showing me respect and wishing me well. Somehow I knew that I would be able to face all that I had before me, good or bad. And that somehow, sometime, I would be back here, to the greatest place on earth, my home.

Chapter 12, Sudden Awareness

I spent the three months from August through November enjoying everything that I could before my upcoming induction date of November 27, 1967. I spent a lot of time with my parents that summer. I know they were concerned about me eventually going to Vietnam and they wanted to be with me as much as they could before I left for basic training. Every night we would watch the progress of the War on the news. It was usually really graphic and I could see it really bothered them, especially Mom. It was probably torture for her. It didn’t seem to worry me much for some reason.




I kept myself busy. During the day I worked for some rich people mowing their lawns, gardening and keeping their cars clean and polished. From 3:30 in the afternoon to early evening I worked for my old Mormon friend on his farm. His son, one of my friends at church, was already in the Army going through Warrant Officer training, Jump School, and Helicopter Flight School. I had replaced him on the farm that season. I became quite the young farmer. I loved the time I spent with my old friend on his farm. He was a warm friendly man with a wonderful sense of humor. He taught me how to drive and after I got my drivers license he let me drive us in his new truck wherever we went. That meant a lot to me. My own father wouldn’t have done that for me.



My father did help me buy my first car though. It was a 1962 Ford Falcon Futura. It was white with red interior. I thought it was pretty cool with its bucket seats and console. My friends weren’t that impressed. They kept making remarks about it being a roller skate or sissy car. Today, kids would say it was gay. Maybe it was.

In November, preceding my induction into the Army, I spent as much time as I could hunting. It was deer season and I was brought up to be a hunter. I went hunting almost everyday in quest of the big buck. November 27th quickly arrived and although I saw a couple of deer, they were just glimpses and I ended up with nothing to show for my time except being in the woods that I loved. That big buck that I spent so much time hunting, was safe.

Eventually, induction day finally arrived. My parents and I got up early to make the trip to take me to the nearest induction center which was 60 mile away. There wasn’t much conversation during the trip. As we passed through the familiar towns and villages, I looked around and suddenly realized to my horror that I might not get to see any of this again. I quickly looked at Mom and Dad in the front seat. They were talking quietly and I realized how much I loved them. I had never been away from them or left home before. It would devastate them if anything bad were to happen to me.

What had I done?

Chapter 11, A Chosen Path

During the next three years of high school it seemed as though I had a split personality. I was alone, I was lost, confused and I was missing my best friend. I was missing the boy I loved, my friend David. I was also missing the part of me that I had just grown to realize existed. I became more socially aloof. I spent a lot of my time alone in my room reading and occasionally “jerking off”. As I would see my reflection in the mirror, I could almost see David in the image sitting beside me. I was a lonely, little, sexually confused kid with no one to talk to or play with. I never found any other boys like me at my school. There was no way to do so without exposing yourself to ridicule and I was too shy anyway.




I had two school friends that I spent a lot of time with. They were both apparently "normal" straight boys. I enjoyed the time I would spend with them and their families and then I would return home. When I was home I would go about as though everything was ok but I knew that it wasn’t. I think my parents were aware that I wasn’t myself and were concerned for me. I spent all my time with boys and I suspect that they may have wondered why I didn’t have any interest in girls. I never went to any school activities and never had a date. They knew I was extremely shy and they tried to encourage me. They used to ask me about it once in a while but what could I say?



During my freshman year at high school I joined the Mormon church along with my sister and parents. One of the positive influences outside of my immediate family was a special adult friend that seemed to recognize that I was different and needed a someone to talk to. He was a young married leader in my branch of the church who had; it seemed to me, way to many kids. (just kidding). He was a kind, gentle man with a sincere heart and a quiet manner. I never really confided in him but I knew he was there if I needed him. Looking back maybe I probably should have.



There was also an older man my father's age, also a Mormon, who gave me employment, who showed me how to work and trusted me with his expensive equipment. he had a great sense of humor. He taught me empathy and compassion for others. He and his family filled a void in my life and even today after he is gone, his children and grandchildren are like family to me.



When I was a senior in high school, there were some choices I needed to make. First, it is customary in the Mormon Church for boys 19 and older to serve proselyting missions for the church. That would mean that I would leave home for two years to teach about the beliefs of the. church. I need to tell you that I believe that this would have been good for me. My son served a mission when he was of age and I feel it blessed him in ways that you can’t imagine. I never went. My father never encouraged me to go. I think he may have known what was going on with me but he never confronted me directly. For my part, I was terrified at the prospect of knocking on the doors of strangers to teach them what I knew to be true. I was just too shy. And knowing what I know now, I would have probably ended up in the shower with one of my companions, to return home in disgrace.



The other choice was whether or not to enlist in the military. There was a new draft being implemented, the Selective Service Act of 1967. It was a “lottery”, where you were assigned a number according to your birth date. The Selective Service was to hold a drawing in what seemed at the time, the immediate future. I just felt in my heart that I was going to be drafted in the first round. I didn’t want to be drafted into the infantry. We all knew what happened to boys in the infantry. I decided to enlist before I got drafted and have some choice about my specialized training and where I might end up. My parents were concerned but I didn’t really care at this point. I felt that I had something to prove to myself. Was I a man or not? It was more preferable to me to face death in a vicious war, than to serve a nice safe church mission with the potential shame and failure. Kind of ironic, don’t you think?

In Remembrance

I cried again recently as I stood over his grave. Looking down at his headstone, I read the inscription, 1952-1991. It was shortly before his fortieth birthday when he died. I asked him out loud, “Oh, David. What happened?”




David’s gravesite is located on a high hill overlooking the town we grew up in. From where he is buried you can look out over the part of town where the schools are that he and I had walked to daily until that last summer. You can see the athletic fields where I used to help him put on his catchers gear when he played Little League. School is out for another summer and the late afternoon sun warmed the quiet neighborhoods. I could hear an occasional boy or girl's laugh or yell as it floated up from the homes below.



It was years later that I pieced together what took place following our leaving high school. After we graduated we both entered the U.S. Army. I was older than David and was in Vietnam when he was drafted. I went into the service to avoid the new draft, the “lottery” the Selective Service had instituted in 1967. I was home going to a technical college when he returned from his tour in Vietnam. He came home emotionally scarred and an alcoholic. I saw him a couple of times in the years that followed. Once, as he was walking by my home with his kids and once we ran into each other outside of Walmart. Both times, after we had talked, I walked away feeling empty inside.




I went to his funeral in 1991. He had at one time turned his alcoholic life around and had become a councilor of alcohol addiction at the local VA hospital. I remembered in our conversation outside of Walmart he said that he didn’t feel that there was much to look forward to in his life. He had seen what happens to some of the old alcoholic veterans and their never ending cycles.



He was divorced and living by himself. He used to call his widowed mother every day until one day he didn’t. She got worried and went over to his home. She found him sitting in his car, inside the closed up garage, with the car’s engine running. He was dead.



When we were kids, it seemed David was fearless outside of his home because he was away from his usually drunken and sullen parents. I was asked once, if I was afraid of David because of his fearless behavior. I wasn't afraid of him as much as afraid for him. I felt like I had to be watchful as his big brother. Looking back, I don't think he was sexually abused but I know he was abused physically and mentally. At home, he had to rely on his older sister or his own independent and inventive nature to cope with his home life. Although I was older than he, when we were together, he usually took the lead, with me holding back to protect him in any way I could. I felt powerless most of the time and in the end I was.

Chapter 10, The Fall

And there was a “next” time, actually, lot of next times. For the few weeks left of our summer vacation from school, David and I had a new “secret” signal to let each other know that we wanted to “play” with each other. One of us would say, “Gee, it’s hot!” We would look at each other with a smile and know what we both wanted. We got naked together whenever we could. Usually, we did it in my house. But, sometimes David’s imagination ruled the day. We did it in David’s “camp” behind our houses or in my Dad’s old Buick parked behind the barn. It was a like living a dream, it was a wonderful fantastic time. As I look back on it now I recognize that there were other feelings that I was developing for David. I didn't know exactly what they were or what they meant but I felt different toward him.




Eventually, August turned into September and it was nearly time for school to start back up. When we actually did start school something happened that caused my world t come crashing down around me.

I was going to be a freshman that year in high school. David was still in middle school. The day school started, it was like someone had flipped a switch in our lives. After being together nearly every day for years, and especially that summer, David just disappeared. It turned out that first day of school I ended up walking to school alone.  We had walked to school together for years. Although our schools were adjacent to each other, David and I didn’t get walk to school together that day or ever again. He just wasn’t around. I never got to see him or talk to him. Where the heck was he??



One day I saw his sister walking up ahead of me and I ran to catch up. As casually as I could I asked her about David and she said he had a new girl friend, which was something that confused me. He had never mentioned girls to me. And then she turned and yelled at me, "He's gone!" And it's your fault and you know why!" I just stood there cemented to the ground as she ran toward her front door.

"What? What was she talking about?"


I moped around the house wondering what had taken place. How could this happen? He was there with me on the Friday before Labor Day weekend and after the holiday he just evaporated? I finally did get a glimpse of him one time as he came home late one afternoon as he going into his house by the front door. I stayed glued in my tracks as I watched his house. He didn't stay long. And, he looked different. He was no more the rough and tumble boy running around in blue jeans and no shirt. He was a shadowy figure and moved like he didn’t want to be seen. He was different somehow. I was confused and heartsick. A few minutes later he came out with some bags and got into an unfamiliar car. He didn't come back.



Weeks later, I stood in the living room where we so recently had experienced the joy of our special friendship and yes, our sexual awakening. Just like the rest of my house it was full of secret memories. I looked out the front window at the empty yard that ran between our houses. There were no laughing boys on bikes. There was no yelling of jokes or playful insults. The whole neighborhood seemed deserted and darkly quiet. The special, “secret” signals between two innocent friends were no longer heard. David no longer raced out the back door with anticipation and excitement on his face. I missed his grin and his silly antics. I also missed the rush in my heart as his hands touched my body and mine his. And above all I missed just being with him. The heat of the summer had cooled and with it the warmth that had been in my heart, leaving in it’s stead a chilling cold emptiness.



I suddenly looked up to see the reflection of a boys face in the window glass. It was a boy that I didn’t recognize. The boy had a sad lonely face with tears streaming down his cheeks. With a shock I realized that it was me. I turned away from the window and crossed the room to the couch where David and I had first trusted each other with our innermost and deepest secrets and desires. I sat down and the sobs racked my body. I realized then that I loved him and he was gone. And I knew that my life would never be the same.

Chapter 9, The Hot Boys of Summer

Later on that day, David and I had lunch in our separate homes. Usually, my parents came home for lunch and David’s mother rode home with them as they all worked for the same firm. The whole time they were home I was itching for them to go back to work. I don’t know if they noticed anything different about me that day or not. I was worried that they would think something was going on with me. I tried to relax and be myself. But it was hard. I felt that something inside of me had changed and that it would be really obvious to those around me.




After lunch was over and as soon as they had pulled out of sight, I was out the door. David and I met outside but we weren’t alone. His brother and the kid, Jeff from across the street were with us. We were riding around the street on our bikes and playing as we would have on any other day of the summer. During the afternoon it got really hot. Hot humid weather in August is to be expected along the coast. We had stopped riding and were sitting on the “banking”. That’s what we called the bank of lawn that separated our two homes. My home sat on higher ground than his did. We were both hot and sweaty. Mike and Jeff had gone off to kill a dragon or something, leaving David and I alone for the first time in hours.



David leaned back on his hands and said, “God, it’s hot!”



I said, “You want to come in the house? It’s probably cooler in there.”



He agreed, asking what there was to drink. We got some drinks from the kitchen and went into the living room. It was considerably cooler at that end of the house. As we cooled off, quenching our thirst, we started talking about our experiences with “jerking off” again. We hadn’t mentioned it since our initial meeting that morning. I tensed up immediately. Was this why I had been so antsy that morning with my parents? I started getting nervous.



David asked me, “You want to do it now? Can we do it together? ”



This really took me by surprise. I thought for a second and hesitantly replied, “Ummm…Err…sure I guess so.”



“OK! Great!” David started stripping off his clothes like they were on fire.



I on the other hand I was a bit slower. By the time I had pulled my tee shirt off over my head, David was stark naked and jumping around the room, swinging his arms around his head. “C’mon Adon, woo-woo!”



I couldn’t believe how quickly he got undressed.  I had never in my life undressed with someone outside of my family. I must have been some shade of purple with embarrassment. But David was acting so foolish, I quickly lost my fear and started laughing too. Soon I was naked. As I looked over at his naked body, I felt a rush come into my own body. I never had felt anything like it before in my life! I could feel myself starting to get hard as I watched David naked body dance around performing  silly antics. David’s body was beautiful to me. It was slim and muscular, two toned as would be expected, tanned above the waist and silky smooth, milky white, below.





David said “Hey, hurry up Adon! And then, " Hey, yours is different than mine.”



He was pointing to my penis. He was right. My penis had more skin around the end than his. We found this to be interesting and started checking out each others bodies more closely. He leaned in closer to me and I felt his eyes looking me all over. I started to feel self conscious again. He noticed that I had been getting hard and smiled up at me. I noticed that he had one hand holding his penis and the other cradling his balls. He was hard too. He plopped down next to me on the couch. I was feeling so excited as I watched him start to stroke himself as he watched me. I felt like I was in heaven. I understood right away that I was enjoying doing this and that I enjoyed being watched by him as I did it. I also especially enjoyed watching him rub his nice tight penis. It was absolutely delightful.



David was getting kind of fidgety. I said, “Are you ok David?”



“Yeah, I’m great." And then hesitatingly he said, "Ah…mmm...can I, mmm...can I touch yours? Can I touch it?”



“Um...Ok.... if I can I touch yours.’



He reached over with his right hand and wrapped his fingers around my rock hard penis. “This is great. Wow, yours is bigger than mine. Cool!” he said. I could feel the warmth of his hand as he started to slide it up and down the length if my rigid penis.



I had reached over with my left hand and did my best to follow suit. It seemed I wasn't very coordinated with my left hand but tried to be careful so as not to hurt him. His penis was narrower than mine and had a slight upward curve to it. It was rigid like mine except it was like it was spring loaded, pressing up against his tanned tummy. I had to slide my hand in between his stomach and his rigidness and kind of push it down so I could stroke him. His penis didn’t have any extra skin and it was quite dry, making it a little awkward to rub my hand up and down. I loosened my grip so it would slide back and forth with less friction.



We looked at each other and grinned. I could see he was enjoying this as much as I was. Soon I could feel that special tingling feeling that I had felt the night before. I looked back down and noticed the tell tale slickness oozing out the end. David noticed it too and remarked, “Oh boy, I love this part. You know, when the slickery stuff comes out of the end.”



I loved it too, every second of it. And then I felt the pressure building and I started to feel like I was going to burst from the pressure of it. David felt it change in his hand and squeezed a little harder just as it erupted. White boy stuff spewed straight up and out. It landed on my legs and it kept coming as he pumped it. It started running down over his hand. I couldn’t take much more and said, “stop David!” but he wasn’t paying any attention because his “Willy” was following my example. I squeezed him and felt his pulse just as his boy juice pumped up through his shaft in pure delight. His penis exploded as a loud “Ahhh…Oh…” escaped from David’s lips. It’s delightful stuff blew up onto his naked tanned chest and ran down into his milky white groin, mixing with his soft, downy blond pubic hair.



We both sat there in a daze. I looked at him and he looked at me. We were both grinning so much I thought our faces would break. We spent a few minutes basking in the sweet glow of satisfaction as we went limp. Eventually I took my gooey hand away from “Willy”. I looked at the amazing goo and caught its scent. It smelled wonderful.



David let go of me and looked at me with a questioning look on his face. “What?” he asked as he had noticed that I had my hand up near my nose. “This stuff smells good”, I answered.



“I know. I wonder what it tastes like?”



Before I could answer he had his finger is his mouth. “Not bad, kinda salty though. Try it Adon”.



“Err, no thanks. Maybe next time”, I said grinning.