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CLASS REUNION



PART 2



By diksagev@gmai.com



It had been 3 days since that trip to the mall where I’d run into Mike. There had been other malls as well as a host of department stores. Mike hadn’t called. At least he hadn’t called while anyone had been home to answer the phone. Times were different back then. Everyone wasn’t running around with cell phones the way we do today and my sister didn’t yet have an answering machine. In addition to filling our days with Christmas shopping, we’d eaten out a couple of evenings and I took in a local high school basketball game with my brother-in-law. It was tournament time. So, there was no way of knowing for sure if Mike simply hadn’t bothered to call or if I’d missed his call or calls.



We’d just sat down to eat. Everyone was getting pretty tired from being out so much of the time every day that week, so we made a point of ending our shopping day a little earlier than usual and I prepared my specialty, lasagna, so that we could have a nice leisurely meal at home for a change.



My sister had gotten up from the table to get something from the fridge, so she grabbed the phone when it rang. There was a family policy that they did not normally answer the phone while eating dinner, but since she was already up and close to the extension that was mounted on the kitchen wall she picked up the reliever and said, “Hello”.



“Do you know someone named Mike?” she asked, looking at me.



I tried not to jump out of my chair too quickly and show too much excitement.



“I’ll take it in the other room so I won’t bother everyone while they’re eating”, I excused myself.



Mike asked if I was still interested in getting together before my leave ran out. I told him it sounded like fun and I’d like that if he wasn’t too busy. We seemed to run into one obstacle after another. Most of them in the days leading up to Christmas were on my end. Mike explained that he was taking a little trip to the other side of the state to spend the holiday with his younger brother and his family and wouldn’t be back until the day before New Year’s Eve. Trying not to sound too terribly disappointed, I told him that my leave was up and I had to leave the day after New Years Day. There was a long pause and then Mike asked me if I had anything planned for New Year’s Eve. I explained that I really hadn’t made any plans because I’d been out of town for the last 3 years or so and didn’t really have any idea what to do since my family didn’t make much fuss over New Years.



“Well . . .”, he hesitated, “I haven’t bothered to make any plans yet since I was going to be out of town right up until then, so if you’re really not busy and would like to come over and just hang out we can order some pizzas or something and have a few drinks and talk about the old days.”



“Sure . . .that sounds like fun if you’re not doing anything that night. I’m sure my sister and brother-in-law would enjoy getting me out of their hair for a little while and they’ve already offered to let me borrow my sister’s car if there’s anywhere I need to go while I’m here”, I offered.



“Well, that sounds great then. Lets plan on doing that and I’ll see you around 8 O’ Clock?” he said.



Mike gave me his address along with his phone number in case something came up and I’d have to cancel, and we ended our conversation.



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I don’t know if I was more nervous or more excited as I waited for New Years Eve to arrive. As the day finally dawned, I struggled to control that nervous excitement that had my stomach tied up in knots. Any illusions I might have had about having overcome any of the apprehension and fear of being in close proximity to someone who cast the kind of spell over me that Mike S always had were completely shattered. I was a wreck! Don’t ask me why. I’d started having those wild fantasies about Mike again. They’d never actually stopped completely but they’d grown to be fairly infrequent over the years until the night after I’d seen him at the mall. Since then, I’m sure I had masturbated to fantasies about doing all sorts of wild and crazy thing with him; sexual things; every single night. Although I was sure that my fantasies were as close as I’d ever come to anything sexual with a macho, straight stud like Mike, I worried that the sexual tension I would feel in his presence; in his house would be nearly unbearable. I’d have been willing to settle for another look at that beautiful uncut monster cock of his but aside from my irrational and unrealistic fantasies I couldn’t actually imagine how even something like that was going to happen again. There would be no locker rom and no need for him to shower and change clothes after gym class.



The drive to Mike’s house was a piece of cake. I didn’t get lost trying to find it and it took me a lot less time to cover the distance than I had anticipated. I’m a chronic early arriver, unlike most other members of my family and I’d left early just to make sure I wouldn’t be late. Once I drove up in front of the house, I was suddenly afraid of what kind of message arriving too early might send, so I drove around the block several times before finally allowing myself to pull the car into Mike’s driveway and walk up to his door and ring the bell.



Mike answered the door dressed very much like I remembered him dressing almost every day during our shared Biology class so many years earlier. I shit you not; the man should have been made the poster boy for Levi’s jeans. The pair he was wearing that evening was that same dark, indigo blue that he’d always preferred as a high schooler and they were as form fitting as ever. The only difference was that these were the shrink to fit, 501s and I never remembered him wearing anything but the zipper fly type back in school, and I was pretty sure I would have noticed something like that as much as I discreetly ogled that boy. He wore a button down, cotton shirt and a pair of white socks with his jeans. The shirt was also very reminiscent of how he’d dressed as a teenager, since the dress code back then did not allow us to wear T-shirts. Hell, the restriction against wearing jeans to school had barely been lifted a year or two before we started Junior High. There was one thing different about the shirt he was wearing too. The top two or three buttons of his shirt were unbuttoned, exposing his pinkish tan flesh and just a slight tuft of hair nestled between his pecs where they faded out of view below that first button that he’d buttoned.



“C’mon in out of the cold”, Mike invited as a gust of wind blew a bit of snow off the unshoveled porch and in the front door.



I noticed that the man was too macho to even shiver from the Arctic blast that had my teeth chattering despite my being bundled up against the winter elements.



“Should I take my shoes off?” I asked, noticing that Mike wasn’t wearing any shoes and thinking that he might be one of those people who don’t like people walking on his living room carpet with their shoes on.



“You can if you want”, he replied. “I’m just not wearing mine because I’m more comfortable this way but you do whatever makes you feel more comfortable”, he suggested.



I too am always more comfortable in my stocking feet around the house and since my host was shoeless I removed mine and left them just inside the door. As Mike turned and walked into the living room toward the couch, I took advantage of the opportunity to take a nice, long look at that sexy ass that looked every bit as firm and sexy as I’d always remembered it. I was almost caught daydreaming, wondering if he wore boxers or briefs under his jeans (I was hoping he was a briefs man) when he suddenly stopped and asked me a question.



“Can I get you something to drink?” he asked.



He pointed to a half filled glass on the coffee table and told me that he was drinking wine. I told him that would be fine. That was my first surprise of the evening. I had a pretty strong mental picture of the kind of person I expected Mike to be and a wine drinker was not a part of that image. Beer wouldn’t have surprised me, but I’d have expected him to be a hard liquor kind of a guy; something like Bourbon or Scotch seemed like it would be more his style.



Mike went into the kitchen and returned with a bottle of wine and a glass for me, pouring some for me and topping off his own glass. He asked if I was hungry and picked up the phone to order pizza. While we waited for the pizza to arrive, we began a conversation, catching up on what we’d been doing for the last 10+ years. I was genuinely surprised to find how interested Mike was about hearing as many stories as I could think of to share with him about my experience living in California and my adventures in several ports that I’d already managed to visit with only one West Pac under my belt at that time. I probably shouldn’t have been surprised at all after the surprising reception I’d received at my High School Reunion a year earlier. I’d worn my dress whites to that event, which left no doubt about what I was doing with my life, and I was absolutely amazed to find myself the center of attention for a large crowd of ex classmates. Apparently, may of my former classmates hadn’t traveled far from home and very few had ever visited the foreign countries I’d seen or any other countries for that matter.



At one point in the conversation, that sexual tension that I mentioned reared up when Mike asked what it was like living on a ship that was out at sea for such a long time with no women around and not much privacy. He even referenced stories he’d heard about a bunch of guys sucking cocks and stuff like that when the ships had been out of port for a long time and said that he’d heard that the Navy attracted a lot of “queers” who liked the idea of being surrounded by all those horny young men. I tried to ease some of that tension by telling Mike that I had always heard many of the same stories about sex between Sailors but in my 3 years of experience I had never witnessed anything of the kind (which was, sadly, very true) and didn’t think there was any truth to all of those rumors.



It sounds a little geekish, even to me in hind sight, but I’d brought along my copy of the high school year book from my senior year, figuring that Mike would have known a lot of our old classmates even though he was absent for all of our Junior and Senior year. He played along and I ran back out to the car to retrieve the book. It had been stored in a box at my sister’s house along with many of my other possessions since I’d gone into the Navy and I hadn’t looked through the yearbook myself for quite a few years. The pizza delivery man drove up as I was heading back to the front door and we browsed through the book and exchanged a few stories about memories of fellow students and occasionally teachers as we ate pizza and drank wine.



I couldn’t get over how little Mike had changed in all those years. Some of our class mates had changed enough in those ten years before the reunion a year earlier to have been almost totally unrecognizable. One had lost all of his hair. Well, he hadn’t actually lost all of it. He had what I like to refer to as the “Larry Fine” look, which might have been even worse. It happened that he was one of the guys that I remembered to have been from Mike’s old neighborhood so Mike remembered him and we had a good laugh when I told him how I had at first mistaken Cliff for one of our old Chemistry teachers when I’d first seen him at the reunion.



Mike said that he hadn’t even known anything about the reunion but added that he wouldn’t have attended anyway since he hadn’t even attended school with us for the last couple years before graduation. I told him that some of his classmates definitely remembered him because he was the subject of some of the conversations I was involved in that night. I withheld the part about me being the one who brought his name up to get those discussions started. When he questioned me about what had been said about him I told him that there was some talk about “what ever happened to Mike S” and some of us wondered why you’d suddenly disappeared and hadn’t finished school with us. At first, Mike seemed really surprised that anyone at our reunion had remembered him and that we had talked about him, but then he remembered some people that he thought might have remembered him, guys from the old neighborhood. I’d already mentioned that Cliff had been at the reunion, and he just happened to be on of the kids I remembered who had grown up near Mike’s house. Mike mentioned a couple other names. When he mentioned Ron M, I confirmed that Ron had been at the reunion, and when he asked about Randy W, I told him that I hadn’t seen Randy. I was very careful to avoid mentioning that the juiciest rumor I’d heard all evening at that reunion involved a supposed relationship between him and Randy!



“So, did YOU ever wonder what had happened to me?” Mike asked.



“Yes, I did”, I admitted. “Whenever I’d look through the yearbook and remember that you were one of our classmates not pictured I would wonder what ever happened to you”, I said, trying to downplay how significant his disappearance during those final two years had been to me.



“What did you think happened?” he asked.



“Well, before the reunion, I just always assumed that your family had moved away suddenly, or maybe you’d just dropped out”, I told him, truthfully.



“And did you find out differently at the reunion?” he continued questioning.



“Uh . . . well . . .” I hesitated . . . “There was a story that was shared with a bunch of us”. I neglected to mention any names. “But I didn’t know if the person telling that story really knew what had happened to you or not and I didn’t know whether I should believe what I’d heard.”



“I’m curious”, Mike continued prodding. “What did he say happened to me?”



I was getting even more nervous now than I had been already, and for a different reason. Those old memories about Mike’s image as a tough guy and kind of a bad boy were resurfacing and I wasn’t sure if I should tell him what I’d heard or not. Then it dawned on me that it was probably a lot safer to go ahead and tell him what I’d heard than it would be to refuse answering his question. So, I told him what I had heard about him being sent away to reform school and repeated the circumstances surrounding what had happened according to the person telling that story.



“Well, technically it wasn’t called ‘reform school’ back in them days”, Mike grinned, “but that’s alright because that’s what it was and that’s what some of us often called it, but officially it was the State Boy’s Home up in Booneville”.



“Uh huh”, was all I could nervously mutter.



Mike grinned even broader, sensing my discomfort.



“So now that you know it’s the truth, what do you think about that”, he queried.



“Um . . . well . . . is . . . is the part of the story about why you were sent there true?” I stammered.



“Yeah . . . pretty much”.



Mike went on to explain how he’d grown up without a mother. His Mom passed away shortly after his younger brother was born. I remembered his brother. Rick was his name. He was another hottie, although I remembered him being a bit more on the cute side and not the hot, uber masculine stud that his big brother had been back when I’d seen both of them for comparison. As I recalled, Rick was a year behind us in school so he was maybe only a year but more likely about two years younger than Mike. Their father had been absent a lot and according to Mike things were even worse when he was around. Mike was kind of a father and a mother to Rick as well as being his big brother. The old man (Mike never actually used the word “father”) was an alcoholic and he was often a very nasty drunk who physically abused the boys until Mike grew up enough to fight back. When their father would come home, he more often than not had some drunken slut in tow and nothing much about what was going on between their dad and the endless line of trollops was left to the boys’ imagination.



Mike confirmed that the stories I’d heard concerning “reform school” and how he ended up there were true. He told me that the old man had quit beating him because he got worse than he was able to give out. He’d even quit beating on Ricky most of the time because Mike wouldn’t allow it, but once while Mike was not at home the old man showed up and beat Ricky up pretty bad. When Mike got home he went into a fit of rage and nearly killed their drunken bum of a father. You might thing he would have been granted more leniency under the circumstances but that wasn’t the case. Mike confirmed that he had been in trouble with the law before and probably because of his reputation with law enforcement he was shown little or no leniency.



I began to feel a little more at ease. The thoughts of Mike as a bad boy were fading under the light of his story. He was still that tough guy but that image once again began to be tempered by the image of him as his brother’s protector.



Mike excused himself, saying that he had to go to the can. I sensed that he wasn’t all that comfortable with the personal details he’d just revealed about his upbringing. I suspect that he wasn’t accustomed to sharing personal details about himself with people very often. When he returned, he tried to change the atmosphere that still hung a bit heavy in the room. He turned on the TV and started flipping through the channels. Back in those days, we didn’t have cable and there were not hundreds of channels to choose from. Still, there usually seemed to be more shows worth watching back then than there are today despite so many more channels to choose from but that wasn’t the case on that particular night, probably because it was New Year’s Eve and neither of us was terribly interested in the special programming.



So, Mike announced that he had an idea and he got up and ran into his bedroom. When he came back into the living room he had what I recognized as a VHS tape (sorry this was all pre DVD) which he popped into the VCR before returning to the couch. I had moved over to join him on the couch earlier when we started looking through the high school yearbook; a genuinely innocent move on my part but one which raised the temperature in the room (at least for me) by several degrees.



Now he didn’t bring the box that the tape had come in and I didn’t get a close look at it before he put it in the player. So, I was completely surprised when the movie started and I recognized it as a porn flick.



TO BE CONTINUED



For questions or comments contact diksagev@gmail.com