Discovering Love

Written by Rick Beck

Chapter 28

Primary Scale

I followed Kent back through the house, paying particular attention to his long smooth legs. I'd have spent more time watching his ass, only his shirttail now obscured it. I'd only spent a few minutes alone with him and I was already confused. I didn't mind holding his dick if holding his dick gave him pleasure. It certainly gave me pleasure. It's not the first thing I usually did when I found myself alone with a new friend, but it didn't worry me any. Kent was the kind of boy who could inspire most gay guys to give up their left nut to hold his dick, so it wasn't a big problem nor a small matter.

Regardless of how attracted I was to Kent, I wanted to get to know him as completely as possible. I didn't care where we started because there was the feeling that this time it just might go further than my other random meetings and feeble attempts at establishing a solid relationship with another boy. I wasn't so much afraid of Kent.

The worst that could happen would be him telling me to get lost. I'd survived Greg telling me to get lost on numerous occasions. I'd survived Doug telling me to get lost in his subtle way. I'd gotten lost from Augie because we lived in different worlds and he was way old for me, but Kent, Kent wasn't too much or too little of anything. He was there. He wanted me there with him and the rest would be up to us.

I watched carefully while he popped some Hot Pockets and Jeno's Pizza Bites in the microwave oven, moving around the kitchen like it was no big deal. There were new glasses and more ice. He got the root beer from the living room. I was waiting for guidance but he remained quiet. I wanted to see what came next because I wasn't sure. Kent didn't seem sure. I took his cue and tried to practice patience, a virtue that was little known to me then.

The steam rose out of the Hot Pocket when he bit into it. He smiled and nodded as he chewed gingerly, mouth open, letting the heat out between each individual and distinct chew. There was definitely a smile amongst all the other animations his face was going through while he attempted to consume the cylindrical object.

"That's good stuff," he managed to say. "Eat up. You've got to keep your strength up. Plenty more where that came from."

I moved the Hot Pocket around my plate, examining the instant food I never got at home.

"What brought us out here? I was fine," I said, looking up from the pristine meal. "I'm fine no matter what we do."

"I'm hungry. Got to keep up my strength," he smiled, keep his mouth open to vent what was left of the excess steam. "Good shit, huh?"

"Yeah," I said, moving it with my finger and wondering how he could enjoy anything that looked like that.

"Herbie used to sleep with me after mom died, you know. Back then, I thought, how nice. He does love me. Pop was always comparing him to me. You know, why can't you be more like your little sainted brother kind of stuff."

"Bummer," I said. "Your old man's a jerk."

"There you go again, Martin. You don't know my father. I bet you thought Herbie was a jerk before I told you what I told you. After you get to know me, you'll probably think I'm a jerk. You'll never make any friends if you get so far ahead of yourself all the time.

He only looked at the remains of the Hot Pocket while he spoke. He spoke to the filling and examined it with first his eyes and then his fingers. He pulled some strange looking object out and popped it into his mouth before he looked up at me smiling.

"He had tried to comfort me, explain it, you know, why mom never came home again from the hospital where we weren't allowed on account we were kids. Now I think maybe he was the one that needed me to comfort him. That gave him a reason to be close to another human being. I'd never seen either of my parents touch him. Dad was always angry with Herbie. He was such a disappointment to my old man. He was so happy to get such an exceptional son after getting a lemon the first time."

"I still say your father's a jerk. Herbie couldn't help how he was. Your old man just made it worse," I said. "Yeah, I did think weird stuff about Herbie, but I always liked him. I'm not ever going to like your father."

"You were wrong about Herbie. He's just whatever people want him to be. He finally found a way to be acceptable. You are right about my old man. You'll never like him but he doesn't care either. He has the power. He's a pilot. He doesn't need our approval. Men respect him. Men follow him."

"He needed to give your brother a break."

"We showered together until he was ten. After that he made a point of showering when I wasn't around. It's about the time he started sleeping under my bed. I don't remember what that was about. I did feel him distancing from me. I was lonely after that."

"Why'd he do that? The under the bed thing?"

"I might be a shrink one day but I've got a feeling there isn't any answer that you and I might understand, or a shrink. Herbie's got a place he goes. No one can find him there. No one can go there but him."

"Where is it?"

"In his head. I figured it out while dad was beating him one day. He'd screwed something up, didn't do something he was told to do, did something he was told not to do. I don't know. You can pick one of the above. Dad didn't need much of a reason to start in on him.

"Herbie must have felt terrible."

"I guess. It's the way it was. We didn't know any better. He's the only father we ever had. We had nanny's after mom died. They never beat us, just dad got to do that. You're a lot like me. I noticed that right off. I like that."

"How so?"

"It's all deep to you. You look it all over. Everything, not just the difficult stuff, but the simple stuff. Especially the simple stuff. You want to know what it is, why it is. I can see your mind working right now. Don't try to figure Herbie or me out. You can't do it. It's an impossibility. We are what we are. Victims of our environment. It's all good now. Everything has worked out fine."

"He beat you?"

"Once in awhile. Nothing like Herbie. Every day. That boy caught some shit. It was all a long time ago."


"Do you like music?"

"Yeah!" I said, feeling good about the new direction of our conversation.


"No!" I sighed, knowing it was the wrong answer because of how he asked the question.


"Why? I don't know. I like getting into music. I like feeling it from the inside out. I like relating to it from inside it, feel the beat, follow along with the different instruments each time or the lyrics."


"You can't get inside. It pushes you away. It forces you out of its way. I don't know how to explain it. I like being inside and you can't get inside Rap. There is no inside."

"See! Most guys would say, I don't know why. I knew you would know. I knew you would have thought about it. I hate it. It's not music."

I sighed again. At least I didn't give the wrong answer. He was hard to pin down. He was good at doing and saying the unexpected.


"Classics what?"

"How do you stand on the classics?"

"Never get much of chance to hear them except in school. It's all big band or country at my house. I listen to rock in my room. I don't know I could slip any long hair in on them," I said. "They like the routine."

"What do you know?"

"Dum dum da dum."

"I figured Bach or Mahler. I like the Waltzes myself. Something wonderful about them. The way they once danced to them."

"I always go see the Nutcracker at Christmas."


"Only once as a ballet. I didn't like it. No, I didn't understand it. I guess it was cool. Lots of leaping and jumping around. I'd get yelled at if I acted like that."

"In Europe you can't avoid it. It's incredible how much culture there is over there. The music, the dances, the history is so incredible. I loved Paris, Rome, Venice. My god they are incredible."

"You're really passionate about traveling to those places. I went to Chicago once. I was five. It was a funeral. I don't remember much except our car spun around on the ice. It was winter," I said.

"I'm passionate about everything I like, Martin," he said.

"That's cool," I said.

"I like you, Martin."

"I like you too."

"Come on," he said. "Bring your food and your drink."

I took my chances and popped the Jeno's Pizza Bite in my mouth and carried the glass of soda and the Hot Pocket with me. Kent opened a door and I followed him into another room. Over in front of the window was a piano. It was an upright and looked old. Kent went over and sat on the bench. He patted his hand on the space beside him. I carried my lunch with me and sat down.

Immediately he was banging out some hard tones on the yellowed keys. He more hammered the keys than played them but it sounded familiar. I wasn't sure where I'd heard it. It went on for several minutes before he put his hands in his lap.

"What was that?" He questioned me.

"I don't know. I've heard it before. I don't know where."

"The Sting," he said. "The movie. You ever see that?"

"Oh, yeah. That's the soundtrack."

"Well, it was actually Scott Joplin's, The Entertainer."

"He was an entertainer?" I asked.

"The music is called that. He was a piano player back when."

That's when he started playing the first notes from Beethoven's Fifth Symphony. It's probably the only piece of classical music I could name but soon he was playing one tune and then another. They all sounded familiar."

"You're good," I said during a long, delicate piece I learned later was Claire de Lune, by the French composer Claude Debussy.

Kent told me that parts of the music he was playing were all parts of rock songs, and that's where I'd probably heard them. Go figure, rock stars were stealing from the old masters. I liked that. Sort of connected us all together in some strange way.

The piano went silent after awhile as we sat looking at each other. It's funny how loud silence can get.

"You are good," I said softly. "I wish I could play."

"I'll teach you," he said. "It's easy."

"For you maybe. I've got a brain that won't stand for me to think while I'm sitting still."

"Yes, that's my curse. Everything's easy for me. I get bored with things."

"Bored? I wish things were easy for me. Everything is hard."

"You're lucky," he said.

"How's that?"

"You need to work at it. When you accomplish something you feel good about it, right?"

"I guess so. I don't accomplish much. My parents think I'm a lost cause."

"I don't believe that. You just don't know how to see your accomplishments. When things are too easy you lose interest. Of course I have a built in reminder of what it's like when you never get credit for doing anything right."

"Herbie?" I said.

"See, I knew you were smart."

"No, I know what it's like," I confessed.

"You have a brother that's always catching hell?" Kent asked.

"No, that's my job?"

Kent moved his hands from the keys of the piano and gave me a long sympathetic look.

"I'm sorry," he said after awhile. "I think sometimes I'd rather be getting the beating or the humiliation than watch Herbie take it. I don't know how he can stand being treated that way. I wonder if one day he might just disappear or like go off with an AK-something or other. You know, like guys at school do."

"Is it that bad?" I asked.

"If you can't escape it. I think it might be. I get the good stuff but I had to watch him catch it for a long time. "

"You ever say anything?" I asked.

"I'm a confirmed coward. Herbie's my brother but Pop's my father."

"Not much a kid can do against a parent. They got all the power," I said.

"Who's going to believe me against the Colonel?"

"Yeah, bummer. You were telling me about those kids you met. You took them home to meet Herbie?"

"Yeah, I did. I was all jazzed about them. Herbie was a natural progression and a way I could keep their interest a little longer. I didn't have a clue what would happen."

"Was it bad?"

"I'm sure some people would think so. For me it was the most exciting thing ever."

"The bench is hard," I said.

"Yeah, tell me about it. Living room or bedroom?"

"I'll follow you anywhere," I said.

"What about another Hot Pocket?" He asked.

"Have you ever heard of real food?" I asked.

"Real food? Real food? That's gourmet food. You know what these things cost. I went three years without a Hot Pocket the last time we were in Europe. I'm making up for lost time."

"It's all plastic and cardboard."

"You certainly don't know anything about fine dining, Martin."

"Maybe not, but I know plastic when I taste it. Besides, there was enough salt in that thing to qualify as hazardous material."

"Oh, man, you know how to hurt a guy. What do you eat?"

"Chili, spaghetti, stews, casseroles. I like the one dish concept except I want food in it."

"What a novel idea. They aren't that bad," he protested.

"Yeah they are. I bet there's no food value at all in those pizza rounds."

"El Rancho? Later on if you want. We can go to the grocery and I'll fix something."

"You cook?"

"I learned from my father."

"Your father cooks?" He seemed amazed by the concept.

"My mother's a princess. She works."

"Your father cooks?" He asked. "Guys don't cook. He a sissy."

"Well, guys cook if they want to eat real food."

"We'll go to the grocery down on Allentown Road. I haven't had spaghetti in awhile. I like spaghetti. You cook? Really?"

"Do you have anything here? Garlic, Italian seasons, tomato sauce."

"We got four kinds of Hot Pockets. And two kinds of pizza. Can you work that into something."

"Yeah, right. I've got a few bucks. We'll work it out."

"The old man left us some dough for food. We mostly eat out."

"When you aren't eating Hot Pockets."


"Finish telling me the story and then we'll go to the grocery."

We ended up back in his room. He pulled up the pillows so we could lie back. After we got comfortable he casually put his arm over my shoulder.

"Where was I?"

"You told them about Herbie."

"Yeah. Jacque and Freddie wanted to meet him. I took them straight home. Herbie was right where I knew he would be. He had all his centerfolds out on the bed and he would look at one and than another. You know, holding them up and examining them. He looked over his shoulder when we came in. He was surprised to see me with older boys.

"This is Jacque and Freddie, I told him. He scooted up and stuck out his hand. I told them this was Herbie. They're both like staring at how his boxers are all poked out."

"Look at that," Jacque said, pointing at the poking.

"Damn," Freddie said. "He wasn't lying."

"Can we look?" Jacque asked.

"Should I?" Herbie asked me. "You said we shouldn't?"

"Yeah, I told them about you. They want to see it."

"Really," he said. "You told them?"

"He wasn't lying, Jacque said, easing his boxers down to his knees. They both stood there staring at him. It looked as big as I'd ever seen it. Looking at those pictures always got him going. Jacque touched it first. Herbie just watched his fingers feeling up and down. Freddie took his balls and was feeling them."

"What did Herbie say?"

"His usual. Nothing. No expression on his face. He did take an interest in the hands. They were both feeling on him. That's when Jacque kneeled in front of him and started jerking him off."

Herbie said, "...but you said. You told them about it?"

"It's okay. They're cool. They won't do anything you don't like. I unfastened my pants and put Herbie's hand on me so he'd know I was involved. About the time he got his hand on me, Jacque put it in his mouth. Herbie's hand jerked on me. His eyes closed tight and the muscles all tensed up. Jacque slipped his mouth off him and stared up at him. He said, you got a great dick."

"I do?" Herbie asked.

"You do," Freddie said, using some of Jacque's saliva to slip his hand up and down the shaft while Herbie's knees were bending.

"I'd never seen Herbie's dick turn so dark. It was usually fairly pale unless he was looking at the magazines and then the tip would turn. His hips started moving out to meet their hands. It was better than the swimming pool."

"Herbie liked it?"

"He was in heaven. He didn't say anything, but I could see it on his face. Both of those boys wanted him and no one but me had ever wanted him before. Freddie slipped around behind him to sit on the bed, pushing his pants to his knees before he sat down. His cock stood up out of his dark pubes. The skin was completely off the head and it shined and sticky stuff was all around the retreating skin.

"I sat beside him because I had to feel it. It was more wonderful than before. The slimy stuff made it easy to get him worked up to my hand. Jacque swallowed half of Herbie's dick while Freddie played in Herbie's crack. The muscles in Herbie's body all tensed as we all felt on him. He started making some uncomfortable sounds, like he was struggling to stay in control.

"Herbie was rocking back and forth, we felt him, Jacque sucked him. Herbie gasped once and his body shook. Jacque sat back smiling with the thick semen on his lips. We watched a long flow of it dripping down to the floor and then more let go as we watched.

"Herbie lost his balance, falling backward right on to Freddie's lap. Freddie held him up long enough to guide his ass down on his own throbbing dick."

"Herbie said, I'm sorry. Freddie was trying to fuck him as he spoke. Jacque smiled and said, you did just fine."

"What did you think?" I asked.

"Not much to think. I'd seen the clear stuff coming out of him for months while I played with it. I'd never seen him sperm but I'd just seen what I'd seen at the pool. It wasn't a surprise to see Herbie react to Jacque's mouth the same as the other boys.

"While we're telling him how neat he is Freddie's still trying to get his dick up Herbie's butt. Herbie's all happy about making us happy. That's all he cared about, I guess. Then Herbie rolled on his side when he feels Freddie breaking through. He's trying to get it all up in there before Herbie can figure out he doesn't want it up there, but no objection.

"I tell him he doesn't have to do anything else if he had enough. He said he was just fine. Freddie was really fine. When Jacque stood next to the bed, Herbie reached out to rub the front of his pants. Jacque unzipped them so Herbie could reach inside. They became engaged with Herbie's hand job immediately.

I reached around Freddie to feel for Herbie's dick. I had no trouble finding it. He was still on a bone. The tip was all wet and so I used that to help him out. Freddie was humping away while Jacque leaned in toward us. The next thing I know Jacque's got his dick out and is sperming all over Herbie's chest and my arm."

"Freddie's going at it pretty heavy about that time. Him and Herbie reach the end of the line at about the same time. I end up with a puddle in my hand as Herbie's having a fine old time as far as I could tell.

"What are you thinking of?"

"Oh, sorry. I was remembering how pure it was. The pleasure. No guilt or head trips. Just boys satisfying their urges."

"Yeah, sounds like you had quite a bit of fun."

"You ever wonder why sex becomes so complicated?"

"Jesus, Kent, I don't even know why sex is so damn hard to get. I mean I really want to be having sex but something or someone always blocks the way."

"Yeah, that's it. Nothing blocked our way. Not my brother, not two guys I didn't even know, and not the warnings not to. It's a little amazing when I think back. I wish it could stay that simple. I wish all we had to do was like each other and enjoy that to the max.

"That would be cool," I said.

"You can't though. It's got to get complicated because people want it to be complicated. They wrap a lot of silly shit around a biological urge but it's still about feeling good no matter what you attach to it. I certainly feel better when I like the person. But I feel just fine even I hardly know them."

"You know a lot more than I do."

"You're older than I am," he said, still not quite back to me.

"That doesn't mean I know as much and it certainly doesn't mean I've done as much. If you put all the things I've done together before I met Greg, it don't add up to zero," I said.

"Don't sell yourself short. You live in Tinytown and us military types have come to liberate you. I raised myself. Mother died on me and Pop was never around. I raised Herbie because he couldn't raise himself. If I hadn't taken care of things the old man would have beat him to death before this. I was forced to grow up. It wasn't my idea.

"It did change big time after the day I brought those boys over. I could see Herbie changing, become more self-confident. He had a big dick and older guys like younger guys with big dicks. The more they liked Herbie the more he liked himself."

"Did it changed things between you two? Where was Doug at this time?"

"Did it ever! Doug was in on some of that early stuff. We were together in England but then Herbie and I went to Germany. Greg and Doug showed back up about the time I turned twelve. Then we all ended up here a few months apart."

"How did things change with you and Herbie?"

"Herbie started waking me up at night. I used to bug them shit out of him. He'd always ask, you finished yet? I mean he didn't mind me playing with it but he never said it. Then, he's wanting it every night once he found out the basics."

"What did you do?"

"You want all the details, don't you? I bet you peek into windows."

"Only if there's something worth seeing. You said you wanted to get to know each other. Not much to know about me. What happened after that?"

"That Sunday night after everyone was gone, he woke me up trying to get his up my butt."

"What happened?"

He's already got a few inches in. I grabbed it before he could put any more in. He stopped pushing, but he didn't take it out. He knew it scared me because it woke me up, so he let it set there awhile."

"What happened?"

"Shit! My dick was so hard. I never had a bone like that, ever. I could feel him pushing it deeper. Next thing I know I'm trying to get it all inside me. He's playing with mine while he's pushing. It felt good once I got past being scared. Then he's huffing and puffing and my dick starts pumping out that sticky stuff."

"You came?"

"No, no, that was still a little ways off. I was getting there though. He went at it for about five minutes until he came. We just lay there and I fell back to sleep."

"What did you think of that?"

"Hell of a way to wake up. It felt pretty good after that first time."

"Anything else?"

"Yep, then he wanted me to blow him. That started the next day when we got home from school. He wasn't all that keen on doing the blowing but getting blown, he was all for that."

"Did you?"

"Fuckin' A. Why not? He's my brother. It was hot. I'd try to keep him going some nights. Some nights he'd wear out quick and some nights we never did sleep. That's the way it is when you're a kid. We didn't know we needed any rest."

"It's never been that way for me," I said, rolling closer to him and putting my hand up under his shirt.

"Want to go get the stuff for spaghetti?" Kent asked.

"What's wrong?" I said.

"Let's do what we got to do before we start up. We won't need to stop that way. We can do just what you want after that."

"Cool," I said. "Can we just hug for awhile before we go to the store? I need to hold onto you for awhile. Just so I know you're really here."

I felt the warmth of his body even through his shirt. It was great. I loved feeling his arms around me. I loved feeling him in my arms. In spite of his maturity and experience I felt as though Kent needed the hug more than I did. Even though he seemed light years ahead of where I was, there was a vulnerability he couldn't hide from me. I understood.

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