My Time with Joe
I will tell you a story, one from ages ago. It’s nothing heavy; there are no serious nor boundary-breaking themes. It is simply something that happened to me ages ago when I was embarking on my final year of grade school in Omaha, NE.
Of the exact date, I am not sure—early 90’s probably, in the summer. My parents had divorced the year before. My mother felt helplessly sick—not in the medical sense, but in the psychological sense. She says about the time that she finally understood what an abusive parent she’d been. And to this day, she begs forgiveness through a stream of tears every time she thinks of the period just before her trip. That is where I shall begin.
As I said, I was in the last year of my grade school education. We had visited my mom in the institution in Tuscon, Arizona. And before that we stayed at granny’s house in Manhattan, KS. But neither of those tales will we resurrect here. Instead, we head for the last stop on the trip, the P_____’s house back in Omaha, NE.
The P____’s were family friends. In earlier days, we’d even play together with their kids. We lived fairly close to each other which was reason enough to hang out. There was one my brother’s age, and one a year older—a sister and a brother, respectively. And there were twins—twin girls that were my sister’s age (3rd grade, approx.). The only of their kin anywhere close to my age was Joe—2 years my junior. Inevitably, it was in his room I was to bunk. We, my sister and I, had at least a week before my mother returned, and probably more like two.
This has little to do with this story, but for some reason my older brother went to stay with some other family with whom he was more familiar. That left my sister and I alone at the P_____’s and at their mercy.
From day one I felt uneasy. Apparently, Joe’s sexuality was just blossoming. I’d been familiar with masturbation for about three years and knew how to keep it quiet. I wasn’t interested in experimentation cuz that shit gets out and can ruin a kid’s rep. Besides, we were all students at an all-white, sexually repressed Catholic school. One time, a young fellow a year older than me admitted to everyone he masturbated the day before he moved with his family to another town. The news rippled across 3 grade levels of students who were stupefied that someone touched himself like that and was okay with it. I could only react shyly about the news. Mostly speechless with secret shame, I could only utter aloud in wonder about what would make a kid admit such a risqué thing. No one questioned my reaction cuz everyone felt guilty about the truth.
As I said, Joe’s sexuality was blossoming. In other words, nothing so controlled his actions as the desire for sexual satisfaction—NOTHING. As days went by, I noticed an increase in daring regarding Joe’s libido. Let’s start with the horses behind their house.
I loved the horses. I thought, “How cool to have your own stable—at the edge of the city of all places.” I felt honored to be able to pet and brush the regal beasts, but Joe saw them for more—a lesson in anatomy.
It started in the stables, just two young kids observing, the one showing the other how they fed, where the water came from, etc. It ended, however, in the middle of the pasture where Joe picked his favorite horse. He had me take special notice of the horse’s cock, pointing first with a stick, then tapping it, then touching it with his bare hand. A horse’s cock was a mystery to behold for young Joe P______. For me it was awkward and left an anxious lump in my throat that kept me leery but speechless.
Later on, I was upstairs in Joe’s room. I already felt uneasy, as I’ve said. The P______’s house was pretty huge as you can imagine having a stable and pasture in the backyard. Every room had gigantic walk in closets. That was where I would change my clothes, having always been modest or at the least, repressed. Joe promised—I made him—that he wouldn’t burst in while I was changing clothes. Well, he didn’t, at least not until I was stark naked. The iron being hot, Joe struck. I covered myself and pleaded with him to go away. Joe, like most kids his age, was a pervert you couldn’t trust.
Finally, a day away from the return to school, I was casually covering my class books with cut out paper bag material as was required from everyone who would be attending classes for the upcoming year. Suddenly, from the corner closet came a raging, nude Joe P______ waving his half-erect penis in my face, giggling between howls—“Hey Tom! Look! I got a boner!” I was so flustered I couldn’t respond. All I could do was wait for this tween to finish up with his cock-wagging dance and get out of my way. He did and that was that. I finished my book-covering in relative peace and imagined all the kids I’d rat out Joe to once we returned to school.
Of course I was eager for my mom to return. I wanted so badly for our family to return to its casual dysfunction so I wouldn’t have to live in fairly unfamiliar houses with horny twelve year olds flashing their stuff at me. I wanted to return to my repressed wholesomeness and not feel beleaguered by penis fixation (my own excluded). I guess I got my wish. In another couple of years, my mom would move to St. Louis with my little sister leaving me at the mercy of my older brother and my impotent father—something heavier perhaps for another time.
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