Thursday, March 21, 2024

Tommy, Post #261

Image courtesy of Freepik:

 Hope you had a great St. Patrick’s Day and didn’t get pinched too often for failing to wear green.

 This week we have an original story not a rerun or a guest post. I hope you enjoy the story of a youth struggling to make the conversion from Tommy to Tom.


* * * *


By Mark Wildyr



I bristled at the name, but that was just my mother’s way. I was Tommy here at home but Tom at school. Except for Marge Whitsock—and I didn’t mind the familiar from her, just like she didn’t object to being Margie to me.

“Yes, Mom.”

“Will you run to the store. I’ve got so much to do today, it would be a big help.”

“Sure.” Any excuse to drive my ’85 Mustang. I’ve had it for a whole semester now, but still got a kick out of buckling into the seat and feeling the power of the beast. “What’cha need?”

It turned out to be quite a list, but what the heck. The only thing was, I was a little ambivalent about entering Hawthorne’s Grocery. Mr. Hawthorne was okay, but his son was something else. Neil was in my senior class at Putnam High, and I had a funny relationship with him. Relationship? That was a stretch. I wasn’t even a blip on Neil’s radar. He was the only other kid who still called me Tommy, and that was because it kept me an inferior to our town’ football running back hero.

At first, I thought I’d lucked out, and he wasn’t working this Saturday. But as I left the store, Neil pulled up in his Camaro and walked over to where I was loading groceries into my trunk.

“Take the cart back in for you, Tommy,” he offered.


“How you doing? Ready for graduation?”

Wow. He was staying for conversation. “As much as I can be.”

He grinned, going from just good looking to downright handsome. “Yeah, I get you. Be great getting out of high school, but that means ripping the old gang to shreds. I hear you’re going to State too. See you there, I guess”

I hesitated. Might as well get this over and done with. “Uh… you think you could call me Tom when we get there?”

The grin died. “You don’t get it, do you?”

“Get what?”

“That’s a term of affection.”

He grabbed my now-empty cart and headed for the store. I watched him until he disappeared through the automatic double doors… with my mouth hanging open, I’m sure.


Football season ended, spring arrived, and everyone concentrated on proms and getting ready for tests and graduation. Finals were a busy time for me, not just preparing for the exams but also doing some tutoring. I often wondered if I shouldn’t become a teacher because I liked helping other students prepare for the biggest academic event of their year.

This semester, I got a surprise when our science teacher Mrs. Levy asked me to give Neil Hawthorne a hand. Neil had never needed help before. I’d had a couple of classes with him this semester and knew him to be a bright guy. Yeah, he had it all. Looks, athletic prowess, and brains.

Nonetheless, I swallowed my surprise and agreed to give him a hand. That very afternoon, he approached me as I left the school building and headed for my Mustang.

“Hey, Tommy, wait up!”

I obediently halted until he reached my side, and then we walked to the parking lot.

“Mrs. Levy told me you’d agreed to help. Appreciate it. When can we get together?"

“On one condition,” I said as a brainstorm struck. “You call me Tom from now on.”

He gave me a look. “Yeah, sure. Agreed. Okay?”

“Okay. When do you want to start.”

“My folks are going to my aunt and uncle’s house for dinner this evening. How about we grab burgers and meet for a session.”

“Sure.” My turn to flash him a look. “Didn’t know you had trouble in science. In any class, as a matter of fact.”

“Not exactly trouble. Just like to have a firmer footing, I guess you could say.”

We settled on a time, got into our respective vehicles, and went our separate ways.


I showed up at his house right on the dot. Per agreement, he’d stopped on the way home from work and got our burgers and fries. As we sat down and popped lids on our drinks—he was diet Coke; I was regular Dr. Pepper—he leaned back and spread his legs comfortably. We ate in silence for a minute or two before he hit me with a question.

“How come you don’t like to be called Tommy?”

“It’s a little boy’s name,” I came back at him.

“Or a term of… familiarity, I guess you could say.”

“Maybe. But it seems to me like it’s saying you’re the grown-up and I’m the little kid.”

He took another bite and munched with a thoughtful look on his face before taking it a step further.

“It’s kinda like Pepe being Pepito.”

“Yeah. Like Pepe being little Pepe,” I countered.

He got that cogitating look again. “Familiarity.”

I shook my head. “Dissing.”

“So I’m calling you ‘Little Tom,’ huh?”


“Are you?” he asked, putting his greasy napkin on the plate and downing the last of his fries.

“Am I what?”

“Little Tom?”

“Hell, Neil, you got eyes. I’m about as tall as you are.”

“Not talking about how tall you are.”

“Then what—” I interrupted myself with a choking sound. “You mean….”


My face heated up, and my cheeks stung. “You suggesting we measure?”

“Why not, Tom. Or maybe Tommy’s more appropriate.”

I didn’t know what to say, much less what to do. I wasn’t into sports, so I didn’t spend time in the locker room like lots of jocks, but word around school was Neil had about the biggest one on campus. I couldn’t help it; my eyes went south.

Neil was sprawled in his seat, one foot beneath the chair, the other stretched out in front of him. A noticeable lump emphasized the fullness of his groin. I’m sure my face got redder as I realized I was curious about… it.

He moved, taking me by surprise. His hands dealt with his belt buckle in one second flat. Then he hesitated with his fingers on the top button of his fly. “Well? You chicken?”

“I… I….”

He redid his belt. “Figured. So I guess you’ll stay Tommy.”

“Wait!” I cried. The desperation in my voice surprised me. “Hell, if it’ll put that crap to rest, why not.” I tackled my own belt.”

“Let’s go to my room, you know, in case my folks come home unexpectedly.”

“What?” Now there was panic in my tone. I hadn’t realized my voice was so expressive.

“Just a precaution. They never come back before nine or ten. They play bridge with my aunt and uncle.”

He rose and strode to his room, me following like a puppy dog. As soon as the door closed behind us, his belt was undone and his fly popped. Then he hesitated, waiting for me, I guess.

So I tackled my trousers, feeling foolish when they fell around my ankles. His did too.

“Now the underwear,” he said, rolling down his jockeys.

I flid down my boxers, and they joined my trousers on the floor. I stood with my mouth open as he stepped out of his clothes. Gossip was accurate. Neil was well-endowed.

“Tom,” he said, “Congratulations. You’re carrying more’n I thought.”

“Uh… thanks.” Not knowing what else to do, I grabbed for my britches.

“Wait. I want a better look. It seems to be growing.”

If possible, my cheeks turned rosier… all four of them. It was true, my thing started rising like it was hunting for something. I got even more flustered when his did too. And it was swelling up a whole lot faster than mine. It finally dawned on me we were standing bare-assed staring at one another’s bone.

“Impressive,” he noted. “Wanna touch.”

“I-I guess.” Had my gulp been as loud to him as it sounded to me?

My knees almost gave way when his fist closed around me. He twisted sideways, presenting himself, and I grabbed on like clutching for a lifeline. Wow! Hard and warm and throbbing.

He turned me loose to shrug out of his tank top before pulling me down on the bed with him. Wow! What a build. Wow? Was I reduced to a blubbering idiot only capable of wows? No. He was magnificent. Didn’t know they made chests for eighteen-year-old boys that rippled like that. The pecs were hard slabs; aureoles big and brown and… strangely unsettling. Made me want to touch one. So I did.

“Ahhh,” he purred, putting a hand behind my head and pulling me to him. My lips sorta fastened on like I was three months old and started sucking.

“Ahhh,” he said again, adding, “Tom.”

I switched to the other one without being asked.

“Ohhh, that gets to me,” he mumbled. He sounded discombobulated, as well, and that gave me some confidence. I put a hand to his abs and had the thought everything this guy possessed was hard as a rock.

Neil lay back on his pillows and let me root around for a moment before grabbing my head in his hands, centered it where he wanted and pulled me to him. Can’t say I was exactly surprised—given what had gone on before—but I was kinda shocked at what I experienced. Wasn’t disgust or revulsion It was more like a thrill that it was me giving this great-looking guy what he wanted. So I set to work making it as good for him as I could.

He panted hard and moaned and twitched now and then until he finally let out a gasp and called out.

Oh! Tommy… Tommy!

How about that? I’d gone from Tommy to Tom and back to Tommy in the span of a single evening. But you know what? I didn’t mind his “Tommy” this time. Not at all.


Tuned out to be quite a tutoring session, didn’t it? But seemed to me like the wrong guy did the tutoring. Depends upon the subject matter, I guess. Wonder if they’ll end up as roommates at State?

 My new anthology, Huntinghawk,was released in February as an Ebook by JMS Books with the print version to follow soon. Hope you’ll give it a read.

 My contact information is provided below in case anyone wants to drop me a line:

Website and blog:



X: @markwildyr

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

 See you later.



 New posts first and third Thursday of the month at 6:00 a.m., US Mountain time.

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