Hot piss cut through the white snow. I aimed and wrote best as I could, “Tommy is a faggot”. Really, it looked more like TOMSAFAG since I didn’t want to wet myself trying to stop between letters. Abbreviating my original inspired thoughts with my bladder running on empty half way through, TOMSAFAG was the best I could manage.
He was concentrating on his own yellow stream steaming away beside me. He only managed “FUCKYO” before his piss gave out. We both were peeing in cursive, so anyone else would have had to use a lot of imagination to decipher what our urine trails actually said.
Looking over at my snowdrift artwork and giggling, Tom managed to shove his writing tool back in, zip up, and get his mittens on before I did. Scooping up part of my “FAG” from the ground, he popped me in the neck with a piss ball and ran before I had the chance of returning the favor.
Catching up to him was easy since he had short legs that easily got stuck in the knee-deep powder. I flipped what I’d managed to grab before running, landing a load of yellow slush on his face. “Damn that tastes nasty man, what you been drinking?” he said brushing it off his face.
I was too busy loading up my hands with the second volley to answer; his question, I knew was meant as a diversion, and still we ended up throwing at the same time. Snow balls popped everywhere, for the next half-hour we tossed away heated by the energy of war. Laughing, with snot running freely down our chilled red faces, we went inside. Stripping off the layers and layers of clothes we’d been bundled in, my mother chased behind us picking them up off the floor as we went.
“Go get cleaned up and into something dry boys while I make you cocoa,” she said to our retreating bodies still sheathed in our damp underwear.
I grabbed linens from the closet for Tommy on the way to the bathroom and tossed them at him as he closed the door. He was almost finished undressing by the time I started running the tub. “Nice and hot… you want bubbles?” I asked.
“Yeah, the ones that smell nice, and some of the softener stuff too.”
I dumped in more of the water softener than I should have, but it didn’t matter. After yanking and pulling my way out of my wet long johns, I wrote the same nasty words that I had written earlier on the fogged up mirror in full before wiping it off and jumping in. He was already on the faucet side partially submerged in bubbles watching me with a curious look on his face. Sitting opposite, I laid down flat, my legs on top of his, and sank into the wonderful heat.
He turned off the water and I played submarine. Under the water, I could hear the muted sound of Tommy starting to sing a song we’d learned at school. I surfaced quickly. His beautiful soprano ran out, “Was you ever in Quebec, launchin' timber on the deck? Where ya break yer bleedin' neck, ridin' on a donkey!” I joined in for the “Hey Ho away we go” bits, as he sang on and on verse after verse. He kept tickling my toes and only stopped torturing me after deciding he wanted his back scrubbed. Turning around he pressed his smooth body between my legs handing me the soapy rag. While I washed away invisible cooties from his neck, shoulder blades and back, he ran his hands over my legs. He tried to bend over to tickle my toes again so I laid my feet flat hard against the tub bottom. “Hey, no fair,” he said, with a pout in his voice. Turning quickly around he proceeded to tickle me underneath my arms till I called ‘Uncle’ a dozen times, begging him to stop and clean my back.
Dried, we were still giggling like madmen when we tumbled out of the bathroom streaking naked down the hall and into my room. We dressed in flannel PJs and went out to sip our hot chocolate. Tommy seemed extra pleased to find mom had put marshmallows on top since his mother wasn’t given to such flights of extravagance. “Thanks,” he said, “my mother doesn’t give us marshmallows, they’re really good!”
Mom, being the motherly type, took the bag down and popped a few more in both our cups, leaving the bag on the table. “Gee thanks!”
“You’re Welcome Tommy, just don’t let it ruin your appetite, I’m making your favorite for supper.
Tommy shot me a ‘your mom is the best’ look, loudly slurping his chocolate. After we were done, he thanked mom again and we went off to play till dinner was ready. We tried to watch TV but the reception sucked. All we could pull in was some awful news station where the weatherman was reporting on how deep the snow was and how much more was on the way. Erector set, Lincoln logs and Lego blocks littered the floor with our fantasies for the next two hours till dad got home and mom called us to eat.
“How you boys doing” my father asked us as we took our places at the table.
“Great!” we both agreed.
“So, you having fun with all this snow and being good?”
Nodding furiously we excitedly told him about the best snowball fight ever, leaving out the yellow parts. Mom placed the platter of fried chicken right in front of Tommy saying, “Dig in boys!” so we did, till we couldn’t fit in any more mashed potatoes and gravy, much less fathom of another drumstick.
We watched a little TV with the folks after the table was cleared and the dishes were done up. The weatherman had been replaced by some old black and white John Wayne Western, so it wasn’t a total loss. Mom made popcorn loading it with butter and salt for us. Tommy kept looking over between handfuls, smiling every time the guns would come out, probably remembering our own battle earlier on. He’d cock his finger and say bang, bang, bang. On queue, I’d roll my eyes and drop my head to play dead for a second or two allowing him time to blow the smoke from his fingertip. Before we knew it, it was time for bed. But we both knew now was when the real sleep over started.
I kissed the folks goodnight then went to grab a flashlight from the junk drawer. Following Tom to the bathroom to brush our teeth, we heard Dad call out not for us to stay up too late. We knew he didn’t really care since it was the weekend and we were out of school, but it was something he always said and we’d probably miss it if he didn’t say it.
Mom had carefully laid Tom’s cleaned and dried clothes on the bed by the time we got there, but being the nine-year-old boys we were, they promptly got tossed on the floor as we jumped under the covers. Pulling a “Green Lantern” off the nightstand I clicked off the overhead and we hid under the blanket reading by flashlight until the villain got his come-uppins. It started getting hot and slowly the PJs came off, first the tops then the bottoms and finally pulling off our underwear we found ourselves naked again.
We started to sleep, but for whatever reason after an hour or so of rest we both woke up and started talking again. We whispered about what we’d done and planned what we would do the next day. In our minds, building an Igloo like we’d seen in the ‘National Geographic’ seemed the logical choice. I started to yawn when Tommy turned from his spoonee position to face me. Bringing his face close he whispered, “Steve, do you think I’m a fag?”
It was just some word I’d heard older kids at school use to cut each other down. I didn’t really know what a fag was and told him so.
“My brother says it’s when two guys have sex,” he said softly.
“You mean they love each other?” I asked.
“Yeah, but they do other things together too.”
“What do you mean Tom, like what 'things'?”
“Well I’m not so sure, other than they touch each other and kiss. He says they’re Homo, but I’m not sure why he called them that if they’re faggots. ”
“I thought maybe that’s what it meant,” I said, though didn’t really understand it at all. “But why do they do it?”
“I don’t know,” he said. He looked like he was thinking about something, then, pressing his body to mine, he quickly kissed me.
I felt the blood rush to my face. I didn’t know exactly what a faggot or Homo was, but wasn’t so sure I minded being one, 'cause it was with Tommy and he was a friend I loved. He kissed me again and I felt myself flush. His face was right on mine and the next time he kissed me his tongue licked my lips.
I must have groaned because he asked if me I wanted him to stop. Instead of answering, I put my arms around him, rubbed my body against his and kissed him back. Kissing him a second time I put my tongue in his mouth. He giggled. So did I. We did it again, over and over.
Pretty soon we were licking each other’s necks and bodies and, after nibbling on each other, we got down to that point you’d expect such play to lead. We were both too young to understand or get really serious about things; we did manage between the snickering, giggling and feeling these strange new feelings, to enjoy ourselves. Two young pre-pubescent boys playing around sexually for the first time, not knowing exactly what it was we were doing, just doing it and enjoying the feeling of each other’s company.
We eventually got so loud with our laughter that dad knocked on the door telling us to knock it off and go to sleep. Tommy stifled himself on his way back to the pillow, having had his head buried in arm pit. He kissed me again and in a real quiet voice asked if we could do it again some time. I didn’t answer out loud but sticking my tongue in his mouth and sucking deep on his tongue he knew the answer was yes.
I woke a few hours later with the feeling of Tommy on me. The warmth felt frightening at first, then strangely familiar and comforting. Pulling his head back up to my face, I reached down to touch him. Once again flushed with this new sensation, I found myself kissing him. Turning him around, so that I could spoon him, I felt my self mingle with his legs. I was warm and he was warmth. With Tommy held, wrapped in my arms, my legs entwined in his, sleep reached out to engulf us. Whispering, in a voice barely audible, I heard him say that he loved me. “I love you too friend,” I said falling into deep and wondrous dreams.
Shortly after that, before we could have another sleep over, my family moved away. After a few letters and Christmas cards, I sadly lost track of my best friend.
Years later, I received a call from him. Catching up, I told him I’d gone into the military and been kicked out for being gay, having finally come to terms with what being a homosexual really meant. He’d gone his own way in life; telling me he was married now with four kids. I mentioned that night together and how it had been my first experience, even though innocent in nature. “Steve” he said, “I don’t remember that at all.” Something in his voice said he did, but I knew he didn’t want to reopen ‘that’ can of worms. Inside it hurt.
Hanging up with him, I remembered vividly that next day and how we’d gone out to go build our Igloo, deciding instead on a fort. After several failed attempts, we ended up peeing in the snow again, having us another snowball fight and making snow angels.
“Somewhere,” I thought, “There is a pair of little angels lying side by side in a frozen field right now, just trying to take flight. And somewhere too, there are angels waiting to be filled in by the drifting snow.”
He was concentrating on his own yellow stream steaming away beside me. He only managed “FUCKYO” before his piss gave out. We both were peeing in cursive, so anyone else would have had to use a lot of imagination to decipher what our urine trails actually said.
Looking over at my snowdrift artwork and giggling, Tom managed to shove his writing tool back in, zip up, and get his mittens on before I did. Scooping up part of my “FAG” from the ground, he popped me in the neck with a piss ball and ran before I had the chance of returning the favor.
Catching up to him was easy since he had short legs that easily got stuck in the knee-deep powder. I flipped what I’d managed to grab before running, landing a load of yellow slush on his face. “Damn that tastes nasty man, what you been drinking?” he said brushing it off his face.
I was too busy loading up my hands with the second volley to answer; his question, I knew was meant as a diversion, and still we ended up throwing at the same time. Snow balls popped everywhere, for the next half-hour we tossed away heated by the energy of war. Laughing, with snot running freely down our chilled red faces, we went inside. Stripping off the layers and layers of clothes we’d been bundled in, my mother chased behind us picking them up off the floor as we went.
“Go get cleaned up and into something dry boys while I make you cocoa,” she said to our retreating bodies still sheathed in our damp underwear.
I grabbed linens from the closet for Tommy on the way to the bathroom and tossed them at him as he closed the door. He was almost finished undressing by the time I started running the tub. “Nice and hot… you want bubbles?” I asked.
“Yeah, the ones that smell nice, and some of the softener stuff too.”
I dumped in more of the water softener than I should have, but it didn’t matter. After yanking and pulling my way out of my wet long johns, I wrote the same nasty words that I had written earlier on the fogged up mirror in full before wiping it off and jumping in. He was already on the faucet side partially submerged in bubbles watching me with a curious look on his face. Sitting opposite, I laid down flat, my legs on top of his, and sank into the wonderful heat.
He turned off the water and I played submarine. Under the water, I could hear the muted sound of Tommy starting to sing a song we’d learned at school. I surfaced quickly. His beautiful soprano ran out, “Was you ever in Quebec, launchin' timber on the deck? Where ya break yer bleedin' neck, ridin' on a donkey!” I joined in for the “Hey Ho away we go” bits, as he sang on and on verse after verse. He kept tickling my toes and only stopped torturing me after deciding he wanted his back scrubbed. Turning around he pressed his smooth body between my legs handing me the soapy rag. While I washed away invisible cooties from his neck, shoulder blades and back, he ran his hands over my legs. He tried to bend over to tickle my toes again so I laid my feet flat hard against the tub bottom. “Hey, no fair,” he said, with a pout in his voice. Turning quickly around he proceeded to tickle me underneath my arms till I called ‘Uncle’ a dozen times, begging him to stop and clean my back.
Dried, we were still giggling like madmen when we tumbled out of the bathroom streaking naked down the hall and into my room. We dressed in flannel PJs and went out to sip our hot chocolate. Tommy seemed extra pleased to find mom had put marshmallows on top since his mother wasn’t given to such flights of extravagance. “Thanks,” he said, “my mother doesn’t give us marshmallows, they’re really good!”
Mom, being the motherly type, took the bag down and popped a few more in both our cups, leaving the bag on the table. “Gee thanks!”
“You’re Welcome Tommy, just don’t let it ruin your appetite, I’m making your favorite for supper.
Tommy shot me a ‘your mom is the best’ look, loudly slurping his chocolate. After we were done, he thanked mom again and we went off to play till dinner was ready. We tried to watch TV but the reception sucked. All we could pull in was some awful news station where the weatherman was reporting on how deep the snow was and how much more was on the way. Erector set, Lincoln logs and Lego blocks littered the floor with our fantasies for the next two hours till dad got home and mom called us to eat.
“How you boys doing” my father asked us as we took our places at the table.
“Great!” we both agreed.
“So, you having fun with all this snow and being good?”
Nodding furiously we excitedly told him about the best snowball fight ever, leaving out the yellow parts. Mom placed the platter of fried chicken right in front of Tommy saying, “Dig in boys!” so we did, till we couldn’t fit in any more mashed potatoes and gravy, much less fathom of another drumstick.
We watched a little TV with the folks after the table was cleared and the dishes were done up. The weatherman had been replaced by some old black and white John Wayne Western, so it wasn’t a total loss. Mom made popcorn loading it with butter and salt for us. Tommy kept looking over between handfuls, smiling every time the guns would come out, probably remembering our own battle earlier on. He’d cock his finger and say bang, bang, bang. On queue, I’d roll my eyes and drop my head to play dead for a second or two allowing him time to blow the smoke from his fingertip. Before we knew it, it was time for bed. But we both knew now was when the real sleep over started.
I kissed the folks goodnight then went to grab a flashlight from the junk drawer. Following Tom to the bathroom to brush our teeth, we heard Dad call out not for us to stay up too late. We knew he didn’t really care since it was the weekend and we were out of school, but it was something he always said and we’d probably miss it if he didn’t say it.
Mom had carefully laid Tom’s cleaned and dried clothes on the bed by the time we got there, but being the nine-year-old boys we were, they promptly got tossed on the floor as we jumped under the covers. Pulling a “Green Lantern” off the nightstand I clicked off the overhead and we hid under the blanket reading by flashlight until the villain got his come-uppins. It started getting hot and slowly the PJs came off, first the tops then the bottoms and finally pulling off our underwear we found ourselves naked again.
We started to sleep, but for whatever reason after an hour or so of rest we both woke up and started talking again. We whispered about what we’d done and planned what we would do the next day. In our minds, building an Igloo like we’d seen in the ‘National Geographic’ seemed the logical choice. I started to yawn when Tommy turned from his spoonee position to face me. Bringing his face close he whispered, “Steve, do you think I’m a fag?”
It was just some word I’d heard older kids at school use to cut each other down. I didn’t really know what a fag was and told him so.
“My brother says it’s when two guys have sex,” he said softly.
“You mean they love each other?” I asked.
“Yeah, but they do other things together too.”
“What do you mean Tom, like what 'things'?”
“Well I’m not so sure, other than they touch each other and kiss. He says they’re Homo, but I’m not sure why he called them that if they’re faggots. ”
“I thought maybe that’s what it meant,” I said, though didn’t really understand it at all. “But why do they do it?”
“I don’t know,” he said. He looked like he was thinking about something, then, pressing his body to mine, he quickly kissed me.
I felt the blood rush to my face. I didn’t know exactly what a faggot or Homo was, but wasn’t so sure I minded being one, 'cause it was with Tommy and he was a friend I loved. He kissed me again and I felt myself flush. His face was right on mine and the next time he kissed me his tongue licked my lips.
I must have groaned because he asked if me I wanted him to stop. Instead of answering, I put my arms around him, rubbed my body against his and kissed him back. Kissing him a second time I put my tongue in his mouth. He giggled. So did I. We did it again, over and over.
Pretty soon we were licking each other’s necks and bodies and, after nibbling on each other, we got down to that point you’d expect such play to lead. We were both too young to understand or get really serious about things; we did manage between the snickering, giggling and feeling these strange new feelings, to enjoy ourselves. Two young pre-pubescent boys playing around sexually for the first time, not knowing exactly what it was we were doing, just doing it and enjoying the feeling of each other’s company.
We eventually got so loud with our laughter that dad knocked on the door telling us to knock it off and go to sleep. Tommy stifled himself on his way back to the pillow, having had his head buried in arm pit. He kissed me again and in a real quiet voice asked if we could do it again some time. I didn’t answer out loud but sticking my tongue in his mouth and sucking deep on his tongue he knew the answer was yes.
I woke a few hours later with the feeling of Tommy on me. The warmth felt frightening at first, then strangely familiar and comforting. Pulling his head back up to my face, I reached down to touch him. Once again flushed with this new sensation, I found myself kissing him. Turning him around, so that I could spoon him, I felt my self mingle with his legs. I was warm and he was warmth. With Tommy held, wrapped in my arms, my legs entwined in his, sleep reached out to engulf us. Whispering, in a voice barely audible, I heard him say that he loved me. “I love you too friend,” I said falling into deep and wondrous dreams.
Shortly after that, before we could have another sleep over, my family moved away. After a few letters and Christmas cards, I sadly lost track of my best friend.
Years later, I received a call from him. Catching up, I told him I’d gone into the military and been kicked out for being gay, having finally come to terms with what being a homosexual really meant. He’d gone his own way in life; telling me he was married now with four kids. I mentioned that night together and how it had been my first experience, even though innocent in nature. “Steve” he said, “I don’t remember that at all.” Something in his voice said he did, but I knew he didn’t want to reopen ‘that’ can of worms. Inside it hurt.
Hanging up with him, I remembered vividly that next day and how we’d gone out to go build our Igloo, deciding instead on a fort. After several failed attempts, we ended up peeing in the snow again, having us another snowball fight and making snow angels.
“Somewhere,” I thought, “There is a pair of little angels lying side by side in a frozen field right now, just trying to take flight. And somewhere too, there are angels waiting to be filled in by the drifting snow.”
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