Part 1: Barr's Meadow
Excerpt from Chapter 1
Excerpt from Chapter 1
1 Julian
Julian Forrest stood on the small stool and examined his face in the bathroom mirror. The bright bulb on each side made it possible to see details very clearly. He was checking to see if there was any sign at all of a whisker. He wanted to be the very first to notice such a thing. Slowly he slid his fingers along the left cheek. Hmm. Still perfectly smooth… he figured he’d feel something, maybe little bumps when the whiskers were on the way. He tilted his head upward to examine under his chin. Where would they show up first? That was not a question he wanted to ask anyone. Being so undeveloped was bad enough without drawing attention to it… but it had to happen pretty soon, didn’t it? He was almost thirteen years old.
“I’m as good as thirteen…” The sound of his voice sounded strangely loud in the small room. Julian enjoyed talking to himself sometimes. It helped him sort things out… and he could say whatever he wanted when nobody else was around.
Only five weeks to go, and I’ll be thirteen for real. And, I’ll be in the eighth grade next school year, at last. He smoothed the gentle wave above his eyes. He liked how it looked, actually—his hair was light blond. His deep brown eyes and blackish brown eyebrows were special, according to some people. What’s the big deal about that? They said it was unusual with blond hair like his. That’s what the moms said, anyway. All the moms said he was beautiful.
“Blaah!” He made an ugly face at himself and poked out his tongue.
All through grade school he had to put up with them always making a fuss over him. He got fed up with it; they’d come over and visit, sometimes one at a time, sometimes two or three at a time. There was never any place to hide. They always made him stand there and listen, and pretend to be pleased and say nice things back, and report on this and that, and tell what he was good at in school or who his favorite girlfriend was. It was worse when he had to go someplace with his mom... then he was stuck; he had to stay there as long as she did. Finally, all that tapered off this year… now he could pay attention to things that interested him, like making model planes, and cub scouts. The more the ladies let him alone, the better he liked it.
Mrs. Harris did talk one time about his beard; she thought when it came in it would be blond, like his head. Hmm. He tightened his upper lip by pulling it down. Nope. Nothing there yet, either… I wonder if Mrs. Harris is right. Personally, I’d like it to be dark brown like my eyebrows. Hmm… he just noticed the area of very fine hair in front of his left ear. It’s almost white. He turned his head back and forth slowly… interesting. It disappears from view if the light isn’t just right. He stroked the one just like it on the right side—it’s so fine it’s hard to feel it at all... Geraldine calls it peach fuzz. Maybe those teeny hairs are like baby teeth or something… maybe that’s where the whiskers will appear first. He frowned at that idea… did that mean his whiskers would be white?
He was pleased right now, because he had just checked his height. Another eighth of an inch was all he needed to make five feet. He kept track of this by using his mom’s hand mirror. He had marked the feet and inches on the doorframe of his closet, and when he held the mirror just right, he could see how he was doing. He’d hoped to make five feet by his birthday. He intended to reach six feet eventually. Then he could stop using this silly stool, for one thing. He was growing fast. His mom clucked her tongue about his pants getting too short already. She thought he should wear them out first, at least. She really moaned about the shoes. The last two pairs are still good, except for being too small. But she was pleased all the same. He loved it when she complained about things like that, because it showed that she was pleased without doing all that gooey gushing she did with the other moms.
He went over by the bathtub and stood on his mom’s scales. Breaking the hundred pound barrier a few months back was a milestone. Last week he was up to one hundred and one pounds. He always took off his clothes for this… didn’t want to fudge anything. He stood on the scale until the cylinder thingy came to a full stop. If he leaned a little one way or the other it changed quite a bit. He wiggled and wagged until it stayed in one place. Thunk… thunk… thunk… thunk-thunk… the bounce sounded soft and springy. Yep. Still 101—unless he leaned to the right a little. Then it’s 102. That’s about right. He didn’t have a particular goal in mind, except to be more than 98 pounds. He wasn’t skinny or fat… just average.
He stepped off the scale and looked down again. That wagging feels good. He did it some more. Hmm… I’ll get a stiffy if I kept this up. Might as well… Mom won’t be home for another couple of hours. He watched it grow as he wagged back and forth slowly. He swung it in time with the song that was playing on the radio in the kitchen; his mom always had that playing whether she was home or not. She said it scared away the burglars. Julian smiled… his mom had some funny ideas sometimes. He bet nobody else in town was all that worried about burglars. He raised his arms and watched the magical transformation take place. He liked the way it felt when his dick grew hard. He wouldn’t mind if it felt like that all the time, actually… ooo… it’s poking straight out already. Amazing how much larger it gets.
Boy, it was lucky he started Junior High when he did—he’d just begun puberty. At first he didn’t understand what was going on with that. But then he listened carefully to some of the things the other boys, the big boys, joked about. Now it made sense; since he learned how to jack off, he understood a lot more. Doing that had become a favorite pastime, in fact. He paid close attention now; listening to the older guys talk in P.E. class and during lunch was a good way to pick up something new like that. Most times they didn’t know he was even listening. He tried to be cool and not be noticed. That’s one secret he had learned: stay alert and pay attention, and keep his mouth shut. Some things they talked about still didn’t make any sense. He figured that some day he’d find out all about it. So far he didn’t know anybody among his friends who paid attention to such things. They aren’t ready yet, probably.
His dick was completely hard now—just as Sixteen Tons finished on the radio. It’s fun to try and keep time—actually, that song is kind of comical for this. He went back to his bedroom to get his ruler. He placed the end against his tummy and leaned it against the tip. Just about… four and a half… no, it’s four and three quarter inches long. He pushed it down… five and one half that way. Next he put the end down at the bottom and rolled it up along the outside to the tip. That measurement was five and five eights from the sack to the tip… no big change there either. So if I average the two, I’m five and a… quarter? Close enough. He measured this every month, at least. It’s very thick now when it gets hard. How do you measure that, anyway? He wrapped his fingers around; his fingertips still went all the way around at the very bottom. How large is it going to get? He had seen a few of the big kids a couple of times at PE; some of them made his eyes pop out. And they weren’t even stiff. Where did it go when they put on their shorts? They were hairy down there, too. He never got to look up close, of course. Man, when he wasn’t stiff, his practically disappeared, even without shorts on.
He sat on the edge of his bed and picked the hand mirror back up… one side magnified things. He lifted his left foot up onto the bed and held the mirror just right, under his bent knee. He had a few hairs there, but nothing that counted… real fine soft ones, super short… almost invisible—they’ve been there a long time; they’re kind of like the ones on the side of my face, only a little longer and more spaced apart. Ooo! A few new ones are appearing... real tiny, but dark like my eyebrows. That’s a good sign.
“You sure take your time!”
Do they make anything that makes them grow faster, like lawn food or something? He ran his forefinger across his sack. Ooo! That made his stiffy bounce… that’s fun. It tickled if he touched the hairs too softly. He chuckled; now Perry Como is singing away in the kitchen, putting stars into his pocket, completely unaware of what’s going on in here. He enjoyed this weekly inventory ritual. Why is the skin down there so different, anyway? Sometimes it’s so thick and wrinkly. He flipped the mirror and looked. Hmm. Without a magnifying glass, he had practically no hair on his body except on top of his head. The only place that fact bothered him was at PE Class. At least he wasn’t the only one who was still mostly bald down below.
Should I jack off or not, now that I’m all ready? I’m shooting bigger blobs of cum… one of these days I’ll measure that, too. I wonder if I could ever shoot a cup full. I’ll make that one of my goals. Well, maybe not a whole cup… he giggled: that would take more than his two balls could ever hold. He was able to shoot twice a day sometimes. He stroked himself a few times. He was curious about how much others shot, especially those big guys. He was too chicken to ask anyone about that kind of thing. He figured he’d hear about it eventually if he paid attention. He looked down as he pulled the skin up past the sensitive edge at the top… why does it curve up, anyway?
He decided to wait and do this later. He wasn’t in the mood right this minute. Besides, Mark would be coming home soon, and he wanted to be in position. Julian always watched Mark get off the bus and walk to his house at the end of the block. Somehow, the day wouldn’t finish right if he missed seeing his hero arrive back home safe and sound. He pulled on his red and brown striped T-shirt; it was one of his favorites. Mmm. It felt good when he pulled on his skivvies with a stiffy going. Oh: he grabbed the hand mirror. What did that look like from a distance? Hmm… nothing to brag about. Sometimes his stiffy didn’t show at all, which was lucky if he was in the wrong place. He better finish dressing—he had to return the hand mirror to his mom’s dresser and fetch the small stool from the bathroom.
The thing he didn’t like about his mom’s room was the smell of that powder stuff she used. She had a bunch of other uggy things too, but she kept them covered up, at least. He put the mirror down on the dressing table where she always kept it—right next to that powder puff thing. P.U. This was one room where he never lingered.
He stopped off at the bathroom for the stool and hustled out to the front room. His viewing position was next to the drape on the left side of the picture window. He loved this drape. When he was little he could hide behind it completely and fool his mom. He did that a lot, until one day she saw his toes poking out from under. They hadn’t played that game in a long time. He had the pattern memorized—magnolias, ingeniously woven into the thick fabric. The light blue color was like being out under the sky… he placed the stool close to the window and began his daily vigil.
Julian first saw Mark in church one Sunday when the whole scout troop went together; they always did that on the first Sunday of the month. The scouts got to carry the flags in the procession. He never forgot that. Soon after, he joined Cubs. Mark looked so tall and imposing. Julian knew his name because he heard all the scouts call him Mark; Julian didn’t know his last name. For a long while Julian fantasized about him, wishing he were his father. The reason was, he saw him getting off the bus every day when he came home from work. He saw a movie one time that made him feel so good—it had a scene like that. The father tipped the hat up on the back of his head, picked the boy up and swung him around… like Grandpa used to, sort of. That was one thing he had never been able to do, of course, greet his father—except in his imagination.
He learned Mark’s schedule by heart: he went to work before Julian was up, even. He rode the bus both ways, and got home at 4:30 p.m. Julian always waited at the window to watch him come home. He didn’t know where Mark worked, but he was always dressed up in a suit and tie. For a long time, he had the urge to run up to the bus stop and give Mark a big hug and bring him home, like that boy in the movie. He didn't dare, because Mark didn’t even know who he was. One time he found out that Mark already had a wife, so he gave up that idea. But he still liked to think about it sometimes. He liked it best on the hot days, because Mark always had his suit coat flopped over one shoulder and his shirtsleeves were partly rolled up. That looked cool.
Julian looked over at Grandpa’s wall clock: fifteen minutes until the bus was supposed to arrive… better stay put. One time he missed it because the bus was early, and that was on a Monday like today. The whole day went bad after that. I can sit and daydream while I wait… except the radio is too loud; hard to think. I’ll leave it alone for now.
Que sera, sera; whatever will be will be…
They must play that one every hour. He liked it well enough, except they kept repeating the same words so much it kind of got boring. I’ll turn it down after Mark gets off the bus—just a little; the burglars will still be able to hear it.
Sitting on this stool felt neat; it was about half as high as a chair. The green paint had some chips and scrapes, but it’s still strong as could be. Which was surprising, since he’d made it himself almost three years ago. That was his first year in Cubs. This year is okay, but now that Larry is gone it’s boring a lot of the time. Hmm... my knees seem to be sort of flat and wide when I sit like this—they aren’t pointy like some knees I’ve seen. Larry’s were sort of pointy, come to think about it. He sort of liked the pointy ones. Oh well. They don’t look so bad when I have pants on. They make a good rest for elbows. It’s lucky that this window goes almost to the floor—it makes watching for Mark easy; his knees reflected faintly in the window. When he was little he used to lie on his tummy and peek over the windowsill.
Julian lived with his mother. His father had gone away when he was only a baby. Julian had never met him and had no idea where he lived… never seen a picture of him, even. The only thing he knew for sure was that his father had given him his unique name. He had never met anyone else who had his name, and he liked that. He didn’t know for sure, but he didn’t think he was named after his father; he wasn’t ever called a “junior,” at least. Sometimes, he wondered if he looked like his father. No one ever said. He figured he might, since he didn’t look much like his mother, except for the color of his eyes. One time he asked her about it and she put him off. She didn’t want to talk about his father at all. It didn’t bother him much, really, except that he’d met some of his friends’ fathers, and they were pretty cool. But his mom was super cool herself, so he figured he was pretty lucky, overall. Still, it would be nice if she had—well, a husband. It couldn’t be Mark, of course; but maybe she could find someone. She was lonely at times, even if she tried to pretend she wasn’t. She didn’t want another husband, though; that’s one of those things he didn’t understand yet.
His mom is an assistant in Geraldine’s real estate office; one day she’s going to be an agent herself. Geraldine’s a friend of his mom’s from college; he was supposed to call her “Aunt Geraldine,” which he did just to please her. Might as well, since he didn’t have any actual aunts. She’s real nice, but sometimes she could be annoying—she liked to pet him on the head all the time. She liked his hair. Well, hers is sort of… stringy. There were always a lot of strays waving loose under the bun in the back. She probably couldn’t see them. Sometimes she dyed it different colors—it was probably sort of brown, naturally. Last time he saw her it was a deep red brown, like his mom’s big cedar chest. Luckily, she didn’t ask his opinion about it.
It’s nicer to be home after school. He could do stuff he liked, like making model airplanes. His mom always left her office to pick him up after school. She dropped him off at school each morning too, so he never walked there. But she usually had to go back to work, though, like she did today. At first she used to take him to her office, but there wasn’t anything for him to do. Four hours was a long time, too. He was sort of a pest, probably. He filled up all the coloring books they had, which maybe was a bad thing. There wasn’t anything left for the kids who came in with their parents. So, she gave up on that idea, and brought him home after school and went back to the office. She’d come back home around six o'clock in the evening on those days. The rule was that Julian had to be in the neighborhood after school. She’s a fanatic about that, for some reason.
He had to be at home, or with one of the neighborhood kids who had a mom there. Trouble is, all the kids around here his age are girls. He got tired of playing with them a long time ago. All they ever want to do is play Dress Up, House, or Doctor. Talk about boring! Once in a while he could talk them into a cartoon show on TV. Somebody said those would be in color real soon now. He’d just as soon stay at home and work on hobbies and Cub Scouts and stuff. It had been over a year since he had to go over to Lucy’s. What a relief. Her mom had a real tizzy the time Lucy got into her makeup and perfume. Ugh and P. U! Why do girls like that stuff, anyway? Her cat’s okay, for a cat. I like dogs better. Maybe someday mom will get us a puppy. I bet she’d like it, once it was here a while. The boy across the back fence has a dog. Julian liked to watch them play in their back yard sometimes.
On Sundays he and his mom went to church, like they used to with Grandma where they came from. Gosh… it’s sort of unusual to remember her and Grandpa Oscar now—they died a long time ago. They were so nice. But they were really old. They sure made a fuss over us at that big service at St. Edward’s. This church is a lot smaller. But they’re nice here too, and going here is okay—unless the moms huddle too long afterwards. I hate standing there in a cloud of stinky perfume. They always talk about stupid things like stopping runs in their socks. Julian laughed out loud. If they’d wear real socks, they wouldn’t have that problem!
He was always glad to get out of there and come home to work on building his clubhouse or to draw. He was getting pretty good at that. The scrapbook is kind of full again. His teachers said he had talent. Maybe so… I like building things better, actually. Trouble is, I’m all out of boards. So far, he was the only member of his clubhouse. He sort of patterned it after a comic book he used to have—or was it a cartoon on TV? He wasn’t sure. Anyway, mine isn’t in a tree. What cartoon was that? Hmm. Lately, TV’s been sort of boring. But there were a lot of scrap boards in the back, and some old tools in the garage. He didn’t know where they came from—probably from an old fence. They were here when he and his mom moved from Joliet. She said he could do whatever he wanted with them.
So when the Cubs met here, they helped him build his clubhouse with those old boards—it was one of their Den projects. He joined the Cub Scouts when he was nine years old, and now he had completed his Webelos level. His mom was a Den Mother part of one year, and that was the best. That’s when he was a Bear Cub. They had most of the meetings at his house or in the back yard. Jeremy and Sid were Bear Cubs too, and they helped out most of all, except for Larry, of course... I really miss Larry; they moved up north somewhere last summer. Larry was good at making model planes. Larry and me earned three silver arrow points that year, too.
The sound of air brakes snapped Julian back to the present. The bus had just stopped. He watched intently. There he is! Mark held a shopping bag in his left hand. He’s helping Miss Carter down the steps. She’s the nice old lady that lives across the street. Oh! Mark’s going to help her get home. Wonderful. This meant he would see him longer… usually all he got to see was Mark walking to his front door, down at the other end of the block.
Mark wore his light blue sports coat today. Wow. It made him look like the President. Julian liked that outfit. It seemed light and airy. Someday he would get one just like it. He watched Mark help Miss Carter cross the street. They had to walk real slow. It’s funny in a way because Mark is so much taller... he must be over six feet tall. Oh-oh. The cars are backed up going both ways now.
“You should help Miss Carter too, if you get the chance.” There was a picture of that in one of his manuals… did he need to have on his uniform to do that? Sometimes kids like him weren’t paid attention to unless they had a uniform or a flag.
Now that the year is almost over, Julian was at the end of being a Cub Scout. He and Sid had talked some about what to do next… Sid said he was going to join the troop that Mark ran at the church… maybe I could too. It would be the perfect thing to do. Danny belongs to it. Danny lives in the house across the back fence. Julian didn’t know him too well because he was a couple of years older. But he had seen him in his scout uniform a couple of times. It looked impressive. Oh! Mark’s coming back… he looks so cool! His maroon tie waved back and forth as he trotted across the street.
Julian blushed suddenly: Mark just waved at him as he walked by! Julian didn’t think about being seen in the window. He waved back, sort of. Mark continued down the sidewalk to his house. He didn’t look back again. Julian felt pleasantly warm. Mark had never done that before. Probably had never noticed him before even… it must have looked pretty funny, just a head peeking over two knees.
When the moon hits you eye like a big pizza pie…
Julian had to go turn down that blamed radio! He wanted to concentrate on what had just taken place.
Return to Barr's Meadow
Julian Forrest stood on the small stool and examined his face in the bathroom mirror. The bright bulb on each side made it possible to see details very clearly. He was checking to see if there was any sign at all of a whisker. He wanted to be the very first to notice such a thing. Slowly he slid his fingers along the left cheek. Hmm. Still perfectly smooth… he figured he’d feel something, maybe little bumps when the whiskers were on the way. He tilted his head upward to examine under his chin. Where would they show up first? That was not a question he wanted to ask anyone. Being so undeveloped was bad enough without drawing attention to it… but it had to happen pretty soon, didn’t it? He was almost thirteen years old.
“I’m as good as thirteen…” The sound of his voice sounded strangely loud in the small room. Julian enjoyed talking to himself sometimes. It helped him sort things out… and he could say whatever he wanted when nobody else was around.Only five weeks to go, and I’ll be thirteen for real. And, I’ll be in the eighth grade next school year, at last. He smoothed the gentle wave above his eyes. He liked how it looked, actually—his hair was light blond. His deep brown eyes and blackish brown eyebrows were special, according to some people. What’s the big deal about that? They said it was unusual with blond hair like his. That’s what the moms said, anyway. All the moms said he was beautiful.
“Blaah!” He made an ugly face at himself and poked out his tongue.
All through grade school he had to put up with them always making a fuss over him. He got fed up with it; they’d come over and visit, sometimes one at a time, sometimes two or three at a time. There was never any place to hide. They always made him stand there and listen, and pretend to be pleased and say nice things back, and report on this and that, and tell what he was good at in school or who his favorite girlfriend was. It was worse when he had to go someplace with his mom... then he was stuck; he had to stay there as long as she did. Finally, all that tapered off this year… now he could pay attention to things that interested him, like making model planes, and cub scouts. The more the ladies let him alone, the better he liked it.
Mrs. Harris did talk one time about his beard; she thought when it came in it would be blond, like his head. Hmm. He tightened his upper lip by pulling it down. Nope. Nothing there yet, either… I wonder if Mrs. Harris is right. Personally, I’d like it to be dark brown like my eyebrows. Hmm… he just noticed the area of very fine hair in front of his left ear. It’s almost white. He turned his head back and forth slowly… interesting. It disappears from view if the light isn’t just right. He stroked the one just like it on the right side—it’s so fine it’s hard to feel it at all... Geraldine calls it peach fuzz. Maybe those teeny hairs are like baby teeth or something… maybe that’s where the whiskers will appear first. He frowned at that idea… did that mean his whiskers would be white?
He was pleased right now, because he had just checked his height. Another eighth of an inch was all he needed to make five feet. He kept track of this by using his mom’s hand mirror. He had marked the feet and inches on the doorframe of his closet, and when he held the mirror just right, he could see how he was doing. He’d hoped to make five feet by his birthday. He intended to reach six feet eventually. Then he could stop using this silly stool, for one thing. He was growing fast. His mom clucked her tongue about his pants getting too short already. She thought he should wear them out first, at least. She really moaned about the shoes. The last two pairs are still good, except for being too small. But she was pleased all the same. He loved it when she complained about things like that, because it showed that she was pleased without doing all that gooey gushing she did with the other moms.
He went over by the bathtub and stood on his mom’s scales. Breaking the hundred pound barrier a few months back was a milestone. Last week he was up to one hundred and one pounds. He always took off his clothes for this… didn’t want to fudge anything. He stood on the scale until the cylinder thingy came to a full stop. If he leaned a little one way or the other it changed quite a bit. He wiggled and wagged until it stayed in one place. Thunk… thunk… thunk… thunk-thunk… the bounce sounded soft and springy. Yep. Still 101—unless he leaned to the right a little. Then it’s 102. That’s about right. He didn’t have a particular goal in mind, except to be more than 98 pounds. He wasn’t skinny or fat… just average.
He stepped off the scale and looked down again. That wagging feels good. He did it some more. Hmm… I’ll get a stiffy if I kept this up. Might as well… Mom won’t be home for another couple of hours. He watched it grow as he wagged back and forth slowly. He swung it in time with the song that was playing on the radio in the kitchen; his mom always had that playing whether she was home or not. She said it scared away the burglars. Julian smiled… his mom had some funny ideas sometimes. He bet nobody else in town was all that worried about burglars. He raised his arms and watched the magical transformation take place. He liked the way it felt when his dick grew hard. He wouldn’t mind if it felt like that all the time, actually… ooo… it’s poking straight out already. Amazing how much larger it gets.
Boy, it was lucky he started Junior High when he did—he’d just begun puberty. At first he didn’t understand what was going on with that. But then he listened carefully to some of the things the other boys, the big boys, joked about. Now it made sense; since he learned how to jack off, he understood a lot more. Doing that had become a favorite pastime, in fact. He paid close attention now; listening to the older guys talk in P.E. class and during lunch was a good way to pick up something new like that. Most times they didn’t know he was even listening. He tried to be cool and not be noticed. That’s one secret he had learned: stay alert and pay attention, and keep his mouth shut. Some things they talked about still didn’t make any sense. He figured that some day he’d find out all about it. So far he didn’t know anybody among his friends who paid attention to such things. They aren’t ready yet, probably.
His dick was completely hard now—just as Sixteen Tons finished on the radio. It’s fun to try and keep time—actually, that song is kind of comical for this. He went back to his bedroom to get his ruler. He placed the end against his tummy and leaned it against the tip. Just about… four and a half… no, it’s four and three quarter inches long. He pushed it down… five and one half that way. Next he put the end down at the bottom and rolled it up along the outside to the tip. That measurement was five and five eights from the sack to the tip… no big change there either. So if I average the two, I’m five and a… quarter? Close enough. He measured this every month, at least. It’s very thick now when it gets hard. How do you measure that, anyway? He wrapped his fingers around; his fingertips still went all the way around at the very bottom. How large is it going to get? He had seen a few of the big kids a couple of times at PE; some of them made his eyes pop out. And they weren’t even stiff. Where did it go when they put on their shorts? They were hairy down there, too. He never got to look up close, of course. Man, when he wasn’t stiff, his practically disappeared, even without shorts on.
He sat on the edge of his bed and picked the hand mirror back up… one side magnified things. He lifted his left foot up onto the bed and held the mirror just right, under his bent knee. He had a few hairs there, but nothing that counted… real fine soft ones, super short… almost invisible—they’ve been there a long time; they’re kind of like the ones on the side of my face, only a little longer and more spaced apart. Ooo! A few new ones are appearing... real tiny, but dark like my eyebrows. That’s a good sign.
“You sure take your time!”
Do they make anything that makes them grow faster, like lawn food or something? He ran his forefinger across his sack. Ooo! That made his stiffy bounce… that’s fun. It tickled if he touched the hairs too softly. He chuckled; now Perry Como is singing away in the kitchen, putting stars into his pocket, completely unaware of what’s going on in here. He enjoyed this weekly inventory ritual. Why is the skin down there so different, anyway? Sometimes it’s so thick and wrinkly. He flipped the mirror and looked. Hmm. Without a magnifying glass, he had practically no hair on his body except on top of his head. The only place that fact bothered him was at PE Class. At least he wasn’t the only one who was still mostly bald down below.
Should I jack off or not, now that I’m all ready? I’m shooting bigger blobs of cum… one of these days I’ll measure that, too. I wonder if I could ever shoot a cup full. I’ll make that one of my goals. Well, maybe not a whole cup… he giggled: that would take more than his two balls could ever hold. He was able to shoot twice a day sometimes. He stroked himself a few times. He was curious about how much others shot, especially those big guys. He was too chicken to ask anyone about that kind of thing. He figured he’d hear about it eventually if he paid attention. He looked down as he pulled the skin up past the sensitive edge at the top… why does it curve up, anyway?
He decided to wait and do this later. He wasn’t in the mood right this minute. Besides, Mark would be coming home soon, and he wanted to be in position. Julian always watched Mark get off the bus and walk to his house at the end of the block. Somehow, the day wouldn’t finish right if he missed seeing his hero arrive back home safe and sound. He pulled on his red and brown striped T-shirt; it was one of his favorites. Mmm. It felt good when he pulled on his skivvies with a stiffy going. Oh: he grabbed the hand mirror. What did that look like from a distance? Hmm… nothing to brag about. Sometimes his stiffy didn’t show at all, which was lucky if he was in the wrong place. He better finish dressing—he had to return the hand mirror to his mom’s dresser and fetch the small stool from the bathroom.
The thing he didn’t like about his mom’s room was the smell of that powder stuff she used. She had a bunch of other uggy things too, but she kept them covered up, at least. He put the mirror down on the dressing table where she always kept it—right next to that powder puff thing. P.U. This was one room where he never lingered.
He stopped off at the bathroom for the stool and hustled out to the front room. His viewing position was next to the drape on the left side of the picture window. He loved this drape. When he was little he could hide behind it completely and fool his mom. He did that a lot, until one day she saw his toes poking out from under. They hadn’t played that game in a long time. He had the pattern memorized—magnolias, ingeniously woven into the thick fabric. The light blue color was like being out under the sky… he placed the stool close to the window and began his daily vigil.
Julian first saw Mark in church one Sunday when the whole scout troop went together; they always did that on the first Sunday of the month. The scouts got to carry the flags in the procession. He never forgot that. Soon after, he joined Cubs. Mark looked so tall and imposing. Julian knew his name because he heard all the scouts call him Mark; Julian didn’t know his last name. For a long while Julian fantasized about him, wishing he were his father. The reason was, he saw him getting off the bus every day when he came home from work. He saw a movie one time that made him feel so good—it had a scene like that. The father tipped the hat up on the back of his head, picked the boy up and swung him around… like Grandpa used to, sort of. That was one thing he had never been able to do, of course, greet his father—except in his imagination.
He learned Mark’s schedule by heart: he went to work before Julian was up, even. He rode the bus both ways, and got home at 4:30 p.m. Julian always waited at the window to watch him come home. He didn’t know where Mark worked, but he was always dressed up in a suit and tie. For a long time, he had the urge to run up to the bus stop and give Mark a big hug and bring him home, like that boy in the movie. He didn't dare, because Mark didn’t even know who he was. One time he found out that Mark already had a wife, so he gave up that idea. But he still liked to think about it sometimes. He liked it best on the hot days, because Mark always had his suit coat flopped over one shoulder and his shirtsleeves were partly rolled up. That looked cool.
Julian looked over at Grandpa’s wall clock: fifteen minutes until the bus was supposed to arrive… better stay put. One time he missed it because the bus was early, and that was on a Monday like today. The whole day went bad after that. I can sit and daydream while I wait… except the radio is too loud; hard to think. I’ll leave it alone for now.
Que sera, sera; whatever will be will be…
They must play that one every hour. He liked it well enough, except they kept repeating the same words so much it kind of got boring. I’ll turn it down after Mark gets off the bus—just a little; the burglars will still be able to hear it.
Sitting on this stool felt neat; it was about half as high as a chair. The green paint had some chips and scrapes, but it’s still strong as could be. Which was surprising, since he’d made it himself almost three years ago. That was his first year in Cubs. This year is okay, but now that Larry is gone it’s boring a lot of the time. Hmm... my knees seem to be sort of flat and wide when I sit like this—they aren’t pointy like some knees I’ve seen. Larry’s were sort of pointy, come to think about it. He sort of liked the pointy ones. Oh well. They don’t look so bad when I have pants on. They make a good rest for elbows. It’s lucky that this window goes almost to the floor—it makes watching for Mark easy; his knees reflected faintly in the window. When he was little he used to lie on his tummy and peek over the windowsill.
Julian lived with his mother. His father had gone away when he was only a baby. Julian had never met him and had no idea where he lived… never seen a picture of him, even. The only thing he knew for sure was that his father had given him his unique name. He had never met anyone else who had his name, and he liked that. He didn’t know for sure, but he didn’t think he was named after his father; he wasn’t ever called a “junior,” at least. Sometimes, he wondered if he looked like his father. No one ever said. He figured he might, since he didn’t look much like his mother, except for the color of his eyes. One time he asked her about it and she put him off. She didn’t want to talk about his father at all. It didn’t bother him much, really, except that he’d met some of his friends’ fathers, and they were pretty cool. But his mom was super cool herself, so he figured he was pretty lucky, overall. Still, it would be nice if she had—well, a husband. It couldn’t be Mark, of course; but maybe she could find someone. She was lonely at times, even if she tried to pretend she wasn’t. She didn’t want another husband, though; that’s one of those things he didn’t understand yet.
His mom is an assistant in Geraldine’s real estate office; one day she’s going to be an agent herself. Geraldine’s a friend of his mom’s from college; he was supposed to call her “Aunt Geraldine,” which he did just to please her. Might as well, since he didn’t have any actual aunts. She’s real nice, but sometimes she could be annoying—she liked to pet him on the head all the time. She liked his hair. Well, hers is sort of… stringy. There were always a lot of strays waving loose under the bun in the back. She probably couldn’t see them. Sometimes she dyed it different colors—it was probably sort of brown, naturally. Last time he saw her it was a deep red brown, like his mom’s big cedar chest. Luckily, she didn’t ask his opinion about it.
It’s nicer to be home after school. He could do stuff he liked, like making model airplanes. His mom always left her office to pick him up after school. She dropped him off at school each morning too, so he never walked there. But she usually had to go back to work, though, like she did today. At first she used to take him to her office, but there wasn’t anything for him to do. Four hours was a long time, too. He was sort of a pest, probably. He filled up all the coloring books they had, which maybe was a bad thing. There wasn’t anything left for the kids who came in with their parents. So, she gave up on that idea, and brought him home after school and went back to the office. She’d come back home around six o'clock in the evening on those days. The rule was that Julian had to be in the neighborhood after school. She’s a fanatic about that, for some reason.
He had to be at home, or with one of the neighborhood kids who had a mom there. Trouble is, all the kids around here his age are girls. He got tired of playing with them a long time ago. All they ever want to do is play Dress Up, House, or Doctor. Talk about boring! Once in a while he could talk them into a cartoon show on TV. Somebody said those would be in color real soon now. He’d just as soon stay at home and work on hobbies and Cub Scouts and stuff. It had been over a year since he had to go over to Lucy’s. What a relief. Her mom had a real tizzy the time Lucy got into her makeup and perfume. Ugh and P. U! Why do girls like that stuff, anyway? Her cat’s okay, for a cat. I like dogs better. Maybe someday mom will get us a puppy. I bet she’d like it, once it was here a while. The boy across the back fence has a dog. Julian liked to watch them play in their back yard sometimes.
On Sundays he and his mom went to church, like they used to with Grandma where they came from. Gosh… it’s sort of unusual to remember her and Grandpa Oscar now—they died a long time ago. They were so nice. But they were really old. They sure made a fuss over us at that big service at St. Edward’s. This church is a lot smaller. But they’re nice here too, and going here is okay—unless the moms huddle too long afterwards. I hate standing there in a cloud of stinky perfume. They always talk about stupid things like stopping runs in their socks. Julian laughed out loud. If they’d wear real socks, they wouldn’t have that problem!
He was always glad to get out of there and come home to work on building his clubhouse or to draw. He was getting pretty good at that. The scrapbook is kind of full again. His teachers said he had talent. Maybe so… I like building things better, actually. Trouble is, I’m all out of boards. So far, he was the only member of his clubhouse. He sort of patterned it after a comic book he used to have—or was it a cartoon on TV? He wasn’t sure. Anyway, mine isn’t in a tree. What cartoon was that? Hmm. Lately, TV’s been sort of boring. But there were a lot of scrap boards in the back, and some old tools in the garage. He didn’t know where they came from—probably from an old fence. They were here when he and his mom moved from Joliet. She said he could do whatever he wanted with them.
So when the Cubs met here, they helped him build his clubhouse with those old boards—it was one of their Den projects. He joined the Cub Scouts when he was nine years old, and now he had completed his Webelos level. His mom was a Den Mother part of one year, and that was the best. That’s when he was a Bear Cub. They had most of the meetings at his house or in the back yard. Jeremy and Sid were Bear Cubs too, and they helped out most of all, except for Larry, of course... I really miss Larry; they moved up north somewhere last summer. Larry was good at making model planes. Larry and me earned three silver arrow points that year, too.
The sound of air brakes snapped Julian back to the present. The bus had just stopped. He watched intently. There he is! Mark held a shopping bag in his left hand. He’s helping Miss Carter down the steps. She’s the nice old lady that lives across the street. Oh! Mark’s going to help her get home. Wonderful. This meant he would see him longer… usually all he got to see was Mark walking to his front door, down at the other end of the block.
Mark wore his light blue sports coat today. Wow. It made him look like the President. Julian liked that outfit. It seemed light and airy. Someday he would get one just like it. He watched Mark help Miss Carter cross the street. They had to walk real slow. It’s funny in a way because Mark is so much taller... he must be over six feet tall. Oh-oh. The cars are backed up going both ways now.
“You should help Miss Carter too, if you get the chance.” There was a picture of that in one of his manuals… did he need to have on his uniform to do that? Sometimes kids like him weren’t paid attention to unless they had a uniform or a flag.
Now that the year is almost over, Julian was at the end of being a Cub Scout. He and Sid had talked some about what to do next… Sid said he was going to join the troop that Mark ran at the church… maybe I could too. It would be the perfect thing to do. Danny belongs to it. Danny lives in the house across the back fence. Julian didn’t know him too well because he was a couple of years older. But he had seen him in his scout uniform a couple of times. It looked impressive. Oh! Mark’s coming back… he looks so cool! His maroon tie waved back and forth as he trotted across the street.
Julian blushed suddenly: Mark just waved at him as he walked by! Julian didn’t think about being seen in the window. He waved back, sort of. Mark continued down the sidewalk to his house. He didn’t look back again. Julian felt pleasantly warm. Mark had never done that before. Probably had never noticed him before even… it must have looked pretty funny, just a head peeking over two knees.
When the moon hits you eye like a big pizza pie…
Julian had to go turn down that blamed radio! He wanted to concentrate on what had just taken place.
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