Thursday, October 17, 2019

JIMMY, Post #97

Courtesy of Pinterest
I don’t generally like to reveal too much, but it’s possible that the following story is based upon something that happened in my youth. Not claimin’ it… just sayin’.

          Jimmy Halverson. The best-looking boy in town. Smart. Popular. Good athlete… with the body to go with it. And my wet dream.
          Yeah, right. Scrawny me, built like a matchstick—a burnt one, at that—and introverted to the nth degree. But a guy can always dream, can’t he?
          Jimmy led a pack of about a half-dozen of us who hung around together in our free time. Everyone  worked after school, me at the picture show and Jimmy at his dad’s car dealership, and the others at wherever. Still, we had lots of free time, although Jimmy dating just about every girl in high school cut into his time with us. Word around town was that he “got” a lot of them, and he soon had the rep as the biggest cocksman around… and they weren’t just talking about the number of girls he was supposed to have seduced, either. They said he had the biggest “thing” in school, although I don’t know how anyone knew that. Maybe in the football team’s locker room, but in school? Anyway, he was a confirmed man, a raging heterosexual guy on the hunt. Me? I didn’t really know. I hadn’t “got” anybody.
          All this raises the question of sexual orientation, and so far as I knew, everybody was oriented the way they were supposed to be in this little bible-belt town. Well, there was one possible exception. This guy named Brownie, who was a couple of years ahead of us was supposed to be the town queer. I wouldn’t know, but word went around that Jimmy said the guy gave him a blow job. Jimmy never said that to me or in my hearing, but the anonymous “they” told it around. And it’s true that Brownie left town right after graduating, although that could have been to go to college. Who knows?
          One summer day, Jimmy about knocked me out of my socks. He invited me to spend the night and go quail hunting with him. When I found out I was the only one of the gang he’d invited, I was flattered. We’d spend some good buddy time together without the rest of the gang around.
          The Halversons lived right outside of town in a big rock house situated on a couple of hundred acres. Prime hunting terrain. Now I didn’t hunt much, didn’t like it, and abhorred the thought of killing a living thing. But I sure couldn’t let Jimmy know that. Around here, hunting and fishing were manly pursuits. You had to be peculiar not to like them. Okay, so I was peculiar.
          Jimmy's parents made me welcome at the evening meal, and Jimmy and I played chess and rummy afterward until it was time to go to bed. My heart fluttered when I found I was sharing his bed that night. And wow! He slept in his shorts just like I did. Man-o-man, he had a hunky body. I’d never have broad shoulders and flaring ribs and a narrow waist like that.
          Once in bed, we talked about the hunt planned for tomorrow. He was lending me his twenty-gauge shotgun and planned to tote his father’s sixteen-gauge. Anything bigger, he said, would tear up the bird too much.
          After we stopped talking and things got quiet, he sort of snuggled up to me, making me think all sorts of weird things. I kept waiting—hoping—for him to reach out and touch me, but he didn’t. It took a long time to get to sleep that night, but I finally managed it.
          The next morning, we ate breakfast and then took off across a big pasture toward some trees. We flushed a couple of coveys, but I didn’t hit a single quail. Come to think of it, neither did Jimmy. The only exciting thing about the hunt was that I stepped on a snake hidden in the grass. I jumped away and wasn’t bitten, but when Jimmy declared it was a water moccasin, I got so shaken, he had to shoot the thing.
          Although we returned to the house empty-handed, Jimmy didn’t seem disappointed in our lack of success. He immediately took off for the barn where we climbed into the hayloft to talk. It didn’t take long to get down to manly things, like wasn’t this girl sexy or that girl busty… you know, that kind of talk. Then he surprised me.
          “Man, I’m getting horny.”
          I gulped.
          “How about you?”
          Before I knew what was happening, Jimmy unzipped, pulled down his britches, and exposed himself. He’ was right. He was horny.
          So was I… but I was also paralyzed. All I could do was watch while he manipulated himself, making little grunts and moans as he did so. I’m sure he saw my fly was fuller than usual, but when I failed to join him, he got embarrassed.
          Oh, how I wanted to reach out and put my hands on him. I longed to expose myself and feel his hands on me. But I didn’t. I couldn’t. Why? I don’t know. Self-preservation, maybe. I remembered how they’d said Jimmy tattled on Brownie who came to his aid in a situation like this. Or maybe I was too shocked to find the release button that would let me take advantage of what he was offering. Or maybe I was just chicken. Whatever it was, he soon abandoned his efforts and covered himself up.
          Fighting intense feelings of regret, I followed him out of the barn while he chatted like nothing of consequence had just happened. We tossed horseshoes and played chess until time came for me to leave.
          Jimmy never mentioned the incident, nor did he treat me any differently than he had before. He was still the handsome, amiable buddy I’d known before that hunting trip. I kept hoping for another opportunity, but it never presented itself. But I did learn one thing on that overnight. At least one of the rumors about Jimmy Halverson was true.
          His “thing” was huge.


Ah, bittersweet memories… or imaginings, as the case may be. Perhaps this reminded you of something from your own youth. I hope so.

Sorry, but I have to make a pathetic plug for my own work. Amazon permits you to read a short passage of my novels, Cut Hand and Johnny Two-Guns. I also believe the STARbooks-published River Otter, Echoes of the Flute, and Medicine Hair are still up. I sure would like to get the final book in the Cut Hand Series, Wastelakapi… Beloved, published, but it’ll take some help from readers to get Dreamspinner interested.

My contact information is provided below in case anyone wants to drop me a line:
Website and blog:
Twitter: @markwildyr

The following are buy links for CUT HAND:

And now my mantra: Keep on reading. Keep on writing. You have something to say, so say it!

Until next time.


New posts at 6:00 a.m. on the first and third Thursdays of the month.

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