The Wild Boys (10 page)

The Academy
. red-brick building over a river autumn leaves the rising sun.

Morning Sleep
. Naked boy with a hard-on sleeping lips parted. Roommate stands at the foot of the bed with sheet he has just pulled off the other.

The Awakening
. The boy’s eyes looking down at his erection blushing to his bare feet as he sees other standing there.

The Recognition
. The other has dropped the sheet from his naked body laughing comparing sepia gobs in air.

The Proposition
. Two boys in the room. “That’s kid stuff. I wanta.” One boy with eyes downcast sullen.

The Agreement
. Rose of flesh on all fours quivering in a red haze. He pulls Jerry over on top of him Jerry knees up feet in the air kicking like a frog. John reaches down rubs lubricant around the tip of Jerry’s cock pumping his slow deep ecstasy as they squirm together knees up kicking out the spurts. Ali plays the flute. Two boys by a pool on all fours faces turned to the full moon light June knees. Ali points to the silent YES.

At dawn the two boys got up and walked out naked into the ruined garden. Coming to a thick tangle of rosebushes Farja leaped through and emerged untouched by the thorns on the other side and then I jumped a sweet tearing pain landed on hands and knees fell forward on my elbows gasping feeling the rose in my trembling buttocks a red steam along the backs of my thighs as Farja kneeled behind me. Ali sat on the edge of a pool playing his flute dangling his feet in the black water. The boy stands holding a sheet in front of his body turned to the full moon. He drops the sheet. Boys laughing comparing sepia pictures. I turn the page. The Proposition.
Ali points to the rectum. Frayed magazine one with eyes down on the pages and pictures quivering mouth turned to the full moon boy just pulled off the other getting browned there coming gobs in the air sulky youth a silent YES blushing buttocks. Ali points to the rectum. Downcast eyes to his bare feet blushing erogenous roses the agony of that color so intense it hurts quivering prickles of delight deserted city rose vines empty hotels boys laughing comparing sepia knees. “Kid stuff. I wanta.” The Agreement on all fours parted buttocks bare feet in an old book dusk by a pool the youth breathing deeply sullen eyes downcast and the slow YES sweet pain blushing red steam along his thighs spasms of delight thorns through the buttocks. I turn the page feeling the rose twist alive in my flesh. Dawn eyes tight knees the youth breathing from his mouth the slow YES erogenous agony the body writes out musty odors squeezed to the full moon. A sighing sound back. The film breaks. An old book with gilt stars silver paper fingers from another memory naked shorts and shirt there a fourteen-year-old boy flesh steaming.

Look at that compass of age and wind. Mister about? Dim jerky bed is there. I am the empty room pieces of the dim picture a rustle of darkness fading. Now I remember so intense it hurts. Mrs Murphy’s rooming house. They got up remembered “Thank you.” Room eighteen on the top floor background grainy like an old movie. The film breaks. Kid standing there talking to another. There are two. They got up naked shorts and shirts there room eighteen on the top floor my flesh steaming.

We tried various ways of slipping the tight blue shorts
down over the Mercury sandals but any way you slip the feathers are being rubbed the wrong way. It is not hot. It is not cold. There are no noxious animals or insects. A fresh wind sprang up and wafted my blue shorts away. So we wave good-by to shirt and shorts. Ali is fucking Farja on all fours. His wolfish eyes light up inside and the hair stands up on his head. Then they did a hot Mercury crackling all over with blue fire and a classic Mercury with porticos and glades and pools. We lie there on the magic carpet of shared bodies the old fear of the border cities still heard still felt. Farja shudders in his sleep.

We are in an area of electric sex currents. Suddenly we get prickles in the crotch and then pictures start of what we are going to do like you are watching a picture of yourself doing it and you plop right into the screen with a delicious squeeze, Ali and Farja chasing and wrestling each other in and out of the film. We camped in a ruined signal tower on a promontory of land jutting out over the desert. We reached it at twilight a blue mist settling on the narrow flagstone path, a rusty gate a sign overgrown with vines: U.S. Army Reservation. Authorized Personnel Only. The old M.P. box still there. The boys give it a push and it crashes into the valley. Here is the old tower. We climb up to the control room great laser guns broken the top of the tower blasted away. We camp there and after the evening meal Ali brings out his flute and we follow the music further and further out into the silence.

The following day we find ourselves walking down a country road red clay pieces of flint here and there. Farja finds an arrowhead. We came to a deserted village of red-brick houses with slate roofs by a stream.

1. An Easter egg with a peephole going away … bits of vivid and vanishing detail … rainbow a post card road … boy there by the creek bare feet twisted on a fence.

2. Two Easter eggs going away … ghostly flower smell by the stagnant creek the boy still there waiting.

3. Three Easter eggs going away … click of distant heels … footsteps on a windy street … sad open hand.

4. Four Easter eggs going away … empty streets half-buried in sand … a house … a weed-grown golf course … blue prep school clothes further and further away.

1. An egg coming in … Road corner stone bridge rainbow over a stream green fields … Boy there naked. He is lying on his stomach eating an apple legs curled over his thighs. He claps his feet together. A book is open in front of him on the grass.

2. Two eggs coming in … sad old human papers I carry … two adolescents by the garage faraway toy cars.

3. Three eggs coming in … Smell of carbolic soap … Three boys in shower. A boy turns mocking him off.

4. Four eggs coming in. Audrey squeezes through the peephole wet dream tension tingling in his crotch. He is in the shower with John on a Saturday afternoon. They are facing each other Audrey uneasy feeling John’s eyes on his body … “Wanta feel something nice Audrey?” … John reaches forward with soapy fingers feeling Audrey’s crotch … sudden raw hard-on.

Dim dead boy so I haunted your old flower smell of young nights on musty curtains empty prep school clothes further and further away. Come closer. Listen across empty back yards and ash pits.

He is bending over in the shower while John washes his back glancing down along his stomach to the crotch biting his lip hoping that John will finish before he gets out of control. John is rubbing soap just above the buttocks. He leans forward and says in Audrey’s ear … “Wanta feel something nice Audrey?” … John slides a finger up his ass and jiggles it to a car horn outside. Audrey drops his head gasping as his body contracts squeezing out the hot spurts.

American house … rain outside … boy standing by the ghost car … sunset … blue clothes … the phone rings … child voice across a distant sky … “Long long expected call from you” … fingers from the phone like wood. Audrey drying himself carefully trying to keep it down. He turned away holding a towel in front of him. John reached out and pulled the towel away looking at Audrey’s half-erection … “You ever been goosed Audrey?” … Audrey shook his head blushing … “Lean over and brace your hands on your knees” … He heard John unscrew a jar then felt the greased finger slide up him. He gasped and threw his head back … “You ever been rosed Audrey?” … Thumbs prying his buttocks apart as John squirmed forward. Pink eggs popped in his crotch.

Souvenir post cards a violet evening sky rising from the boy’s groin … sad 1920 scraps … dim jerky faraway stars splash the stagnant creek … “I was waiting
there” … held a little-boy photo in his withered hand … The boy was footsteps down the windy street a long time ago.

Silver light popped in his eyes.

Tonight Reggie and I had dinner with the Great Slastobitch and he expounded the new look in blue movies. “The movies must first be written if we are to have living characters. A writer may find it difficult to make the reader see a scene clearly and it would seem easier to show pictures. No. The scene must be written before it is filmed. “The new look in blue movies stresses story and character. This is the space age and sex movies must express the longing to escape from flesh through sex. The way out is the way through.” He switches on a projector. “The scene where Johnny has crabs and Mark makes him undress …

“Who are these boys? Where will they go? They will become astronauts playing the part of American married
idiots until the moment when they take off on a Gemini expedition bound for Mars, disconnect and leave the earth behind forever” … (It happened a few minutes after take-off. The screen went dead. The radio went dead. The astronauts had disconnected. There was a talk of space madness.)

Mark’s wife told reporters: “He frightened me at times. There was something in him I could never quite reach.” John’s wife said: “He was a dutiful husband but I never got any warmth out of him.” (The FBI did not publicize the fact that they had found in a locked drawer of John’s desk a number of muscle magazines.)

The sex scenes of their adolescence are seen as image dust in space through which they pass to other planets. The set is the 1920’s. Sex scenes are intercut with lawn sprinklers, country clubs, summer golf courses, classrooms, silver stars, morning sleep of detour, frogs in 1920 roads, cocktail shakers, black Cadillacs, cool basement toilets, a boy’s twitching foot, the Charleston, iced tea and fried chicken at The Green Inn, 1920 ponds, naked boy hugging his knees sunlight in pubic hairs.

A suburban room afternoon light bleakly clear. Mark is eighteen. He is stripped to his shorts reading a copy of
Amazing Stories
one leg thrown over the arm of a chair. He is smoking a cigarette. The other boy John is fifteen, thin, pale, his face spattered with adolescent pimples. He is barefoot dressed in khaki pants and a white shirt. Without looking up from his magazine Mark says: “I heard you got laid the other night.”

“Oh! uh! yes … down on Westminster Place.”

“Like it?”

“Well uh! I guess it was all right,” says the boy dubiously.

“Maybe it isn’t what you want.”

The boy John is standing by the window looking out.

He scratches his crotch.

“I itch something awful.”

Lazily Mark drops his magazine on the floor. He looks at Johnny through cigarette smoke. “You itch Johnny? Where?”

John turns from the window. “Right here” he says scratching his crotch.

“Come over here Johnny.”

Johnny walks over in front of the chair. Mark spreads his legs. Right here.” Johnny stands in front of him between his knees.

“Drop your pants Johnny.”

“Huh? Why?”

“Just drop your pants like I tell you. I wanta see something.”

Johnny fumbles awkwardly with his belt.

“I’ll do it.” Mark unbuckles Johnny’s belt. With gentle precise fingers he unbuttons pants and shorts and shoves them down. They fall to Johnny’s ankles. Johnny stands there his cock half-up from the scratching mouth dry heart pounding. Mark reaches forward and takes Johnny’s cock by the tip with two fingers moving it to one side and with the other hand parts pubic hairs. He points to red mark … “Look there Johnny” … Oh! Christ! it is happening he can’t stop it. Mark looks up at him and Johnny blushes bright red biting his lip. Mark smiles slow and brings his finger up in three jerks as Johnny’s cock stands out all the way up and throbs to his pounding heart.

Sunlight in pubic hairs sad muscle magazines over the florist shop pants down green snakes under rusty iron
in the vacant lot the old family soap opera lock of yellow hair stirs in September wind shirt open on the golf course grass squeezed under quivering hard-ons wet grass between his legs pale buttocks sex sweat dim jerky faraway toilet pants down looking down now twisted slow smile … “Relax Johnny. It happens” … The old film stops … naked boy on yellow toilet seat buttocks quivering smell of rectal mucous windy oranges I remember a dim building overgrown with disuse and later in Mexico City I see myself looking at him as if trying to focus to remember who the stranger was standing under a dusty tree lean and ragged ruffled brown hair blue eyes vacant blank I remember London stairs worn red carpeting and I could see his pants were sticking up between his legs colored photo had something written on it …
“Vuelvete y aganchete
” … I let myself go limp inside blank factual he slid it in out through the little dusty window afternoon hills the old broken point of origin St Louis Missouri emaciated body head on the grimy pillow my face … The film stops in his eyes … blue morning naked boy on yellow toilet seat a quivering foot in front of the wash stand soapy hands turned to me and finished machine gun noises as he came street shadows his distant hand there it is just to my shoulder smell of sickness in the room a shooting star silence floats down on falling leaves and blood spit the smell of decay shredded to dust and memories pieces of legs and cocks and assholes drifting fragments in sunlight ass hairs spread on the bed dust of young hand fading flickering thighs and buttocks smell of young nights.

One day we come home very tired and fall asleep naked in the bed. We wake up and the room is full of moon
light. Kiki is lying there on his face and says he is very stiff and sore from carrying clubs all day will I rub his back. I start at the shoulder and work down to his ass and run my hands along the back of his thighs and he says … “
Más Johnny … Más
” … So I shove his ass apart with both hands and jiggle it and he keeps saying …
“Más … Más
” … I dip my finger in Vaseline not letting him see what I am doing and rub my finger around his ass outside at first and he says …
“Más … Más
” … So I twist my finger around until it sinks all the way in up to his pearl and he sighs and says …
“Más … Más
” … And I say …
“Qué más Kiki
?” … He doesn’t want to say it but I keep twisting my finger and he is squirming and finally he says … “Fucking me Johnny” …
“Apartate las piernas
”. …He spreads his legs and I slide it in slow feeling the ring squeeze me and I can tell when he spurts. Afterward he doesn’t want to turn over and show me but I turn him over and his juice is silver in the moonlight.