SoMa Literary Review - Growing Up In Fairview When I Was Seventeen

Growing Up In Fairview When I Was Seventeen

By Michael Jordan

I walked down the street and saw two men in designer style hairdos walking trimmed, white poodles. I had just come from a bar. It reeked of too much cigarette smoke and blasted with the heavy bass dance music that gave me a migraine. As I walked, I saw two other men parading in tight, black, leather pants with their bare, white asses hanging out through cut holes. Back in high school, not knowing where my sexual unions might lead me, I knew I would never be as free-spirited enough to dress like that. It is not that I never really had a fetish for leather and what it implied. I just was not that uninhibited.

My inhibited image began back in my junior, spring year in high school. Basically, I felt like a wimp. I could never imagine being like Lewis, a guy who sat next to me in American history. Lewis was outspoken, honest, and got right to the point, when someone asked him a question. Facially he expressed a lot. I was just the opposite. I played it safe. Whenever anyone addressed me, I just smiled and shyly responded with the safest thing to be said. I acted this way because I did not want anyone to look right inside me. Lewis amazed me with his body language, his physique, and overall appearance projecting everything I’d wish I could be. At the same time, he frightened me. Although his facial structure appeared very masculine, his face expressed gentleness and compassion. His tanned face and body looked like the skin in advertisements for Coppertone Sun Tan Lotion. His blue eyes sparkled with the clarity of topaz. My senses languished in every mannerism he exhibited.

One day in class I secretly spied him out the corner of my eyes. His Levi’s fit him snugly in all the right places, like the crotch, butt and thighs. It was the look every guy wished he could have. I scoped his reaction to something the teacher had asked. His response was brilliant. As he was arguing his point, he turned and glanced at me, and smiled. My face blushed, and I smiled right back. With Lewis the star quarterback of the varsity team, it felt like we had just scored a touchdown together in a game. The flush of red that cloaked my face was like a rush of pleasure. I just can’t explain. That moment when he smiled at me, I knew he was approachable.

I decided to launch my sensuous attack. I had a friend, Jay, who asked me to go fishing and camping for a week after finals, when summer break began. I would ask Lewis to join us. It was practically the only way I could stand going with Jay. Don’t get me wrong; Jay was a nice guy and a good friend. He had a nice body, but he was not my type. He is the person your parents want you to be friends with. He had no danger or excitement linked to him. He did fairly well in school. He was proficient in tennis, lettering in his sophomore year. His girl friend was rich, but with a stick in the mud personality. They were always together wrapped around each other in a continuous make-out session. It made me want to puke. Worse than this, Jay was boring. He had no sense for the risqué or adventure. Because he was one of my few friends, I was obligated to go on this fishing trip. Only when I would ask Lewis to join us, was it that I got excited and thrust myself into full operation and action about going on this trip.

A few days later, I approached Lewis, with deep hesitancy and nervousness. With my heart pounding breathlessly, I asked him to go on the trip. When you admire a hero so much, it is one thing to invite, but quite another to wait for the reply.

He responded with my face all flush, “Hell, yeah. That sounds like a lot of fun!”

To my dismay, he sounded eager and enthused. In the days that followed, I wondered if I could even make it through finals. Everyone was anxious for the end of the term, but I had even more to look forward to than another summer vacation from high school and summer frolic.

When we went on the camping trip; we borrowed my mom’s car. The trip started off on a down note. As I was backing into our campsite, I scraped the side, rear of the car on a pine tree. After accepting this mishap, things began to pick up. No sooner had we set up our camp, than Jay suggested we all go fishing. We gathered all our gear together and began equipping our rods with flies. Fly-fishing had always been one of my favorite ways to fish. It had not always been that way. My dad taught me, and I was a slow learner to most male sport activities, including fly-fishing. After a few years, my dad left me on my own to develop my skills. I no longer cast my line, getting it all tangled in shrubs or trees that bordered a stream. Jay’s skill excelled mine, however. He had the skill my dad would have treasured if Jay were his son.

Jay led the way down a dirt road shaded by pines, firs, and oaks. A small spring fed a roadside culvert with the resemblance of a brook. The water was still and quite shallow, inhabited with some tadpoles and a few water-skippers. Lewis and I must have come up with the same idea at the same time. We looked at each other, while Jay stomped ahead. Lewis pointed at the water and shouted, “Did you see the size of that fish?”

“He was huge,” I added.

“Let’s not let this one get away!” Lewis shouted.

Jay was naïve, as most seventeen-year-old boys usually are. He could always be counted upon to be the victim of a prank and took the teasing of most kids his age. Jay came running with his fishing pole in hand and began casting that innocent fly to land the eternal big one. After a few minutes of Jay casting his fly and asking us, “Which way did he go”, Lewis and I relented by telling him the jest of our act. We busted out laughing to the point I began crying. Jay was dense, but soon caught on to our escapade.

Once on the riverbank, Jay got to prove the great fisherman skills he had. He caught the first fish, a rainbow trout of about three pounds. Granted Lewis was my hero, a fisherman, he was not. He was unable to tell if he even had a bite. I caught a trout, but threw it back in, it being too small. After a couple of hours, Jay had six nice looking trout, I had two, and Lewis none. I suggested we head back to camp. Lewis agreed. Jay responded, “I’ll catch up with you guys in a couple of moments. I just want to fish a little bit longer.”

Lewis and I packed up our gear and my two trout, heading back to our camp. As we walked, my heart started beating, nervously, with Lewis at my side. We wore Levi cut-offs and walked in construction boots. We were both shirtless and beginning to burn on our pale shoulders. Lewis had a well- toned body, his chest covered with brown hair, darker than the sandy, sun bleached blond that covered his head. When he turned to joke with me, his blue eyes flashed like sparklers. He walked with confidence and did not shudder if someone admired him, like I did. His biceps were pumped and shoulders glistened with a slight burn. I suggested we put some oil on our backs and shoulders to slow the burn from the high elevation sun.

When we got back to the tent, my heart pounded louder with excitement, hoping I might lubricate Lewis’ body with an aphrodisiac lotion. I started putting oil on his back and shoulders. Inside my stomach fluttered with nervous spasms. Then it was Lewis’ turn to oil my body. I tensed with an erotic feeling and arousal. While we waited for Jay to return with his fish, Lewis suggested we break open one of the bottles of Old Crow. We had brought four bottles. We drank, sharing the bottle of bourbon. We changed from our shorts and into jockstraps. We talked about things, primarily, girls, which most normal, seventeen-year-old boys usually did. Lewis had his pick of just about any girl, he wanted, if you know what I mean. He did not brag, which kind of surprised me, and made me admire him even more.

With Lewis’ discussion drifting into a more serious area, he asked, “Billy, you are such a brain in English (which I really was not), could you help me write a poem? I really have to impress Susan Richards, and I think you can help.”

“I am kind of stuck on William Blake’s poetry right now,” I answered, “I think something by him might help you with that.” I just was studying Blake’s poetry in English literature. I was not really adept at writing like him, but he currently was on my idol list as a poet. I never would have thought that Lewis would be into writing poetry. It made me shutter, thinking he might write one for me.

With the front door of the tent open, Lewis spotted a girl walking towards our camp. She was carrying a string of freshly caught trout. “Hey, Billy,” Lewis motioned to me, “Wouldn’t you like to hump this chick?”

Clad only in my jock strap, I peered through the tent door. I saw a fat girl, wearing rolled up jeans and a flowered blouse, walking close to our tent. I began shaking my crotch in gyrations. I merely was jesting, but found myself getting an erection with Lewis so close to me. The erection was no joke, and I was finding myself begging for attention, and not by the approaching girl.

Lewis noticed my erection, looking quite surprised. His look only made it get harder. “She’s a dog, Billy,” Lewis injected, “I was only kidding.”

I had a full erection filling my jock strap by then. It was not the girl, but Lewis I think I was trying to entice. I wished he would have touched it, or at least allow its hardness to subside.

“Christ, Billy. She’s walking right for our tent. Put on your swimming suit,” Lewis said with a panic. He put on his swimsuit. He went out of the tent and dropped the flap, stalling the girl and hiding my aroused body. He talked to the girl about the nice catch of fish she had.

Meanwhile, I tried to relax and rid myself of this embarrassing condition. I put on my swimming suit and drank from the bottle of Old Crow that Lewis had left behind. Eventually, I emerged from the tent, and joined into the conversation at hand. By that time Jay had returned with his limit of fish. The discussion was all fish. No erection needed now. Jay and the fat girl exchanged locations where they had fished. Jay insisted we go to her fishing hole tomorrow. The discussion turned when the girl discovered the time of day. She asked if we were going to the dance at the community center at the lake resort a couple of miles down from the camp. Dances were very important social activities back then. Jay and Lewis were excited about going to this one. I wasn’t as excited as them, but what was there to do on a Friday night in the summer at a popular resort? Lewis and Jay would be scooping out chicks, and I as usual would tag a long for the camaraderie of our group.

After the girl left, Jay cleaned the trout that we had caught. While Lewis and I passed the Bottle of Old Crow around, we reminisced about that day. As it was getting late we all decided it was time to eat, so we could get ready for the sock hop later that night. We fried some of the fish we had caught over a campfire and put the others on ice. The fish tasted especially good after drinking that nasty bourbon. It sobered us up, also. Jay became the responsible one to drive that night. He drank, but not as much as Lewis and I had.

We arrived at the dance around dusk, which was early. We decided to drink in the car and wait until a bigger crowd arrived, and more chicks were available to hustle. Later things picked up. It was dark and the music blasted through the resort. The band was an unheard of, but, hell, it was live music. Live music was a difficult commodity to come by when you are in high school. Jay and Lewis danced with girl after girl. I danced with a few girls, but none of the girls I danced with allowed me to feel comfortable enough to continue. The band played a song, “All My Loving” by the Beatles. It was one of my favorite songs, but I just sat it out and watched the others dance.

We left before midnight, as we were all feeling quite woozy from the bourbon we had drunk. As Jay drove us back to the campground, Lewis and Jay talked about the selection of girls that were at the dance. “None of them really were any thing special,” said Jay.

“I know,” Lewis agreed. “We have a better selection back home. It was nice to pick up on some new ones, if you know what I mean.”

I sat in the front seat with Jay. My head spun and my senses confused. Suddenly, I began confessing my innermost thoughts. “I can’t seem to find a chick I like,” I said. “I think I am a homo. Do you know what I mean?”

“God, Billy,” Jay intervened, “you have just had too much to drink.”

“Yeah,” Lewis agreed, “it is the Old Crow. You’re not a queer.”

“But I feel awkward around girls. I feel like being with you guys,” I explained. “I don’t have the goods like you two have.”

“Oh, Billy,” Lewis said, “you’ll feel better in the morning, after you get some sleep. Hell, I have had so much Old Crow I wouldn’t be able to get it up.”

Jay agreed with Lewis. “Yeah, we’ll feel better tomorrow when we go fishing again.”

We got back to the camp safely without scraping my parents car again. We laid out our sleeping bags. Jay had put his between Lewis and mine. Disappointed, yes, I was. I felt like a jerk after trying to explain what I felt inside.

The next day we packed one and a half of the bourbon bottles. Fortunately, I still had a buzz from the previous night; so I was in no hurry to have some more. We also packed our fishing gear and headed off to the place to fish, where the fat girl had been the previous day.

After about an hour of hiking, traversing in and around the river, we found a great place to settle down for the day to do some serious fishing, and maybe a swim. There was a huge granite cliff where the river fell over into a huge pool of water. We all took off our boots and sox, dipping our toes into the cool, clean water. Then we assembled our fishing gear and climbed around the cliff, each finding a spot to cast our fishing lines.

For about two hours we fished in that hole. All of us fared quite well. It was hot and getting hotter; our bodies were drenched in sweat and glistened a bright red. We decided we had caught enough fish for the day.

With our mouths dry and quite thirsty, Jay shouted loud enough for the whole canyon to hear, “Bring on the Old Crow.” We each took a sip from the opened bottle that had been chilling in the ice, cold water of the river.

Lewis suggested, “Let’s climb to the top of the falls and jump into this pool.”

Jay agreed, “Let’s go skinny dipping.”

I felt like a rock had plummeted in my stomach. I was afraid of heights, and even more scared of going skinny-dipping. Was I going to allow my body to be exposed and compared to their great bodies?

I basically had no choice. How could I say no? The night before, I had revealed more about myself than I wished. By not doing this, they might say I was definitely a queer. Stripped of our shorts and underpants, (we all wore Jockey’s); we climbed to the top of the cliff. We had to get a running start, and, then, plunge into the water below. Jay and Lewis were the first to jump one after the other. Each one screamed with delight when they emerged from the cold water of the pool below. Finally, it was my turn. I got a good running shot, and, then, jumped and closed my eyes. The splash and the instant assault of cold water was all I needed to pass the test. I did it once, and that was enough. The other two took turns at jumping, taking a sip from the bourbon and climbing back up the side of the cliff. After about five jumps, Lewis got bold; he did twists and turns like an acrobat, as he fell through the air.

We drank almost all the bourbon that day, a bottle and a half to be exact. We were lying naked on our backs, drying our bodies on large, flat boulders. The sun drenched our bodies with radiant heat.

Once again, I started talking my inner most thoughts, like, hey, I am a homo. I said, “I think I like guys more than girls.”

Lewis laughed, and said, “So, you like guys. Guys like to hang around together. You’ll like sex with a girl.”

Jay tried to prove, “We’ve been on double dates together!”

Drunkenly, I began to whimper, “But…”

Lewis interrupted, “You got that hard on, when that fat chick came by our tent yesterday”

Lewis did know how my erection had come about. They both kept trying to convince me that I was not a queer. They kept saying I was heterosexual just like them. Then I got sick. I was puking my guts out. With all that bourbon I decided it did not like me or I did not like it. Was it the sun or alcohol or both? We all were barfing and heaving, like adolescents do when they do not know how to drink.

When we got back to camp, we buried the last bottle of Old Crow. We had had our fill of bourbon. I felt sicker and more alone than Jay and Lewis that day. That summer, when I was seventeen, marked the end of my innocence and the beginning of a new life.

As I continued my walk down the street, I watched guys parade and act out their fantasies. Today, I find myself less shy and whole lot less inhibited. I wonder what Lewis and Jay would think about my walk in this parade today on Gay Main Street, USA .

Also by Michael Jordan on SoMa Literary Review: A Brief Affair on Telegraph Hill

Michael Jordan lived, worked, and wrote while in San Francisco for twenty years. He now lives in the East Bay and is currently writing a novel about a gay couple on a cruise ship.