Behind The Silver Screen
By Jerry Miller
I was shocked at what Mike told me in the locker room.
"Not the Marines," I said. "You'll go to Viet Nam."
"We'll talk about this later. Finish putting on your tux or we'll be late on the floor."
All I could do was look at him. His eyes were sad and I wasn't sure whom the sadness was for. I followed him upstairs, wondering what the heck was going on. He wasn't drafted; he had enlisted and I wasn't happy about it. We had our dinner break at Gold Star Chili. I wanted to talk about it but he said no, we would talk later in the locker room.
Neither one of us were acting in our usual way that evening. Even Ed commented about it, asking if we were okay. We assured him we were fine. I couldn't wait to sign out.
In the locker room, we slowly took off our clothes. When Mike was naked, he stood facing the mirror. I walked up behind him and engulfed him in my arms. He didn't seem to mind that I was naked and my cock was nestled in his butt cheeks. I rubbed his belly and his chest. I looked over his shoulder into the mirror and our eyes met. The sadness was there again.
"I'm sorry," he said.
"You can't go. I think you're gay like me and you can get out of it."
"Because I would be lying. I'm not queer."
"Your dick tells me different. It's always hard; I have never seen it soft."
"With all the attention you give it, you shouldn't be surprised."
I turned him around and said, "You're gay." Trying to prove the point I brought my lips to his and kissed him, but he didn't respond.
"I'm not queer."
"Yes, you are," I said and kissed him again. "Your dick is hard as a rock."
"I know. But I'm not queer, Mike."
"Yes," I said more determined each time.
Mike shook his head and said, "You don't get it, do you?"
I searched his eyes for any kind of clarity.
"I'm not queer," he said again.
After he spoke those words again he brought his lips to mine and started kissing me. His lips were warm, and there was feeling behind the kiss. His hands went around me, rubbing my back as we kissed. Mike had never touched me in any way before.
I was getting more confused by the second.
His lips left mine and he said, "I'm not queer."
Then he kissed me again and moved his hand down between us. His fingers wrapped around my cock and I never imagined how good that would feel.
Was it my imagination or was Mike starting to make love to me?
Mike's lips left mine again.
"I know what you're going say," I told him.
Yeah you are, I told myself. He's kissing me, has his hand on my dick and he's not gay? Like hell, he's not.
Mike gently pushed me back to the table and said, "I want you on the table."
I scooted up on the table, my legs dangling off the end of it. Mike put his hand on my chest and pushed me down. I watched him, wondering what was going on in his mind.
"I'm not queer, Mike," he said as he kissed the head of my dick. I watched in bewilderment as his lips encircled the head and started sucking on it. His tongue explored the head, finding every centimeter of it. When I looked up, his eyes were on me, watching my face as he took all of my cock into his mouth.
I don't know what my face looked like, but I was in a state of surprise and confusion. Mike was sucking my dick. The straight guy who wouldn't touch me for anything was running his mouth up and down my length. This was my first blowjob and it was amazing. He must have been paying attention when I sucked his cock because he was doing wonderful things with his mouth.
Mike lifted his mouth off my dick, leaving his hand on it to stroke.
"Just because I sucked your dick, doesn't mean I'm queer," he said.
Despite what he was doing to me, I was getting a little tired of him telling me he wasn't queer, or maybe I was missing the point.
Mike turned around, reached into the first locker and brought out that old Vaseline jar. He held it in his hand and looked at me not saying a word, but I knew what he wanted to do. I just nodded my head.
Mike's hand left my cock as he opened the jar. I noticed his cock was hard. His fingers reached into the jar and pulled out a glob of the stuff and started to stroke it on his cock. He covered himself completely.
"Please put some of that in me, too," I said.
He smiled and nodded his head as he got another glob of Vaseline. As I raised my legs for him, he started pushing the glob into me.
"I don't want to hurt you," he said.
"I have been wanting this for a long time, Mike," I said.
Mike moved into position and placed his cock at the entry. He started to push in, but there was resistance.
"Push," I said.
I felt his head slip inside. He held it there for a second, than pushed on in. When he was all the way inside he looked me in the eyes and said, "This doesn't make me queer."
At that moment, as he began his movements back and forth I didn't care. He moved slowly at first. Then he began to pick up speed. His thrusts became more forceful. I thought he was trying to make a point with each definitive stroke. I watched his face express pleasure and true happiness for first time.
Mike took his Vaseline covered hand and started stroking me. He tried to keep pace with both his movements. It only took a few minutes before his mouth gaped open; he was experiencing those precious few moments of pure pleasure before the ejaculation. He let go of my cock, grabbed my legs and rode me to the end, shooting his cum with precision strokes. I swore I could feel his cum hitting the walls of my colon. The sensation was too much for me and I started to shoot off all over myself.
When Mike's orgasm began to subside, he reached for my cock and gently stroked it. The feeling was warm and comforting. He had a big smile on his face. I sat up and began kissing his mouth. It was intimate as we embraced each other. His cock was still inside me.
Suddenly he pulled out of me. He broke the kiss and laid his head on my shoulder.
"We have a lot to talk about," he said. "This doesn't change what I am."
I opened my mouth to protest and he brought his fingers to my lips.
"Don't," he said.
For the first time I saw affection in his eyes. I closed my eyes and succumbed to his feelings.
"Look, my parents are gone for the weekend. Come home with me tomorrow and spend the night. We don't have to be here for work until five on Sunday. There are a lot of things I have to tell you so you can understand. It's important to me that you understand," he said.
We held each other tightly. I had felt things with him that night that I had never felt in my young life, but I knew in my heart, with him leaving, that it would all be over much too quickly. We finally broke free, cleaned up and caught our buses home. The ride home was bittersweet.
After a sleepless night, I was anxious. Riding the bus to work, I kept going over in my mind what had happened the night before. I worked both shifts while Mike came in at five. Surprisingly, he remained close to me all evening. By the time we signed out, I was both tired and horny. When we reached the stage area I turned around and embraced him. I had wanted that all day. His arms went around me and I felt so much comfort.
Mike kissed my neck and said, "Come on. Let's go."
I reluctantly let him go. We changed into our street clothes without saying a word. I picked up the duffel bag I brought for our night together and we headed to the street. We stood at the bus stop across the street from the theatre. I can't recall ever being that jumpy before.
"Are you alright?" Mike asked.
"Yeah. Guess I am just a little nervous."
"You? Nervous about what?"
"Actually being alone with you."
The Number 12 Fair Oaks bus pulled up. We climbed aboard and took the seat in the back. Mike's hand took mine.
"Relax. It's okay. I promise."
"You make a lot of promises."
"Yeah, I know."
Mike's hand squeezed mine to reassure me. I knew I would get to see Mike in a different atmosphere at his house rather than at the theatre. The possibility of being discovered was always a constant, though an unlikely occurrence. Rarely did anyone come backstage and if they did we could hear the wooden stage floor creak.
Mike nudged me as we approached his bus stop. I followed him off the bus and up a street. He lived in what some people call a 'shotgun' house. It was long and narrow. When he closed the door he took me in his arms and kissed me.
"I've wanted to do that all night," he said.
"Then why didn't you?"
"I wanted to do it here."
"Let me show you the house."
Mike gave me the tour. The living room, dining room and kitchen took the first floor. The three bedrooms and bath were on the second floor. In his bedroom, he stood in front of me and started unbuttoning my shirt. When I reached for his face and began caressing it, he undressed me completely. I reached for his shirt and he brushed away my hands. He led me to the bed and pushed me down onto it. Kneeling before me he took my cock into his mouth and sucked me for all he was worth. He licked everywhere: including my balls and my perineum. When he sucked the last drop of cum out of me and swallowed, I was naturally blown away. Mike kept amazing me. His mouth slid off my cock with a big smile.
"I owe you a lot of those, you know."
"I like the way you feel about paying me back," I said with an evil grin.
I grabbed his face and kissed him, tasting myself on his lips. I reached for his shirt and he shook me away.
"Later, Mike. I want to talk to you first."
"Well, can you at least get naked so I won't feel like the odd guy out here?"
"No. Put your clothes back on and come downstairs. I'll be waiting."
Reluctantly, I said, "Okay."
Mike just smiled and left the room. When I got downstairs he motioned for me to sit next to him on the sofa. He swung his knee up and turned towards me, putting his arm behind me on the backrest.
"I feel like I owe you so much," he began. "I thought all night about what and how I was going to tell you things about me. I have never had anyone in my life I felt comfortable enough with to tell these things until I met you."
I felt his hand move against the back of my neck. His fingers stroked lightly up and down.
"You've changed me, Mike. I think for the better. I guess I should start at the beginning. My life has been one of no affection or caring. I think my parents care for me, just not in an affectionate way. My father is a retired Marine who believes in not showing any emotions. He would say that no one cares about what you feel or what you think. Being a man means no outward showing of love. I have never seen my parents kiss or hug. I can't recall ever being kissed or hugged by either one of them. No one in this house has ever said those three words I hear on television or in the movies all the time: 'I love you'."
"I'm sorry, Mike," I said.
That sadness appeared in his eyes as he continued.
"When my brother and I were disciplined, we weren't allowed to cry. A real man doesn't cry. That was showing emotions. My father has made us feel like soldiers and treated us like soldiers. He even talked to us like soldiers. I think he screwed me up. When I had my girlfriend, I wouldn't kiss or hardly touch her. She finally broke up with me. I realized I didn't know what to do, and wondered how I was ever going to find out."
Mike turned from me and moved to the edge of the couch looking down at the floor.
"My father caught me jacking off when I was fourteen. He berated me for not practicing self-control. I was forbidden to do it again. He told me that sexual activity drained the strength of a good soldier. I continued to jack off anyway because it was the only thing that made me feel good, if only for just a few minutes."
I leaned over to him and put my arms around him.
"Then you came into my life and that all changed," he said reaching for my hand. "As I got to know you I began to have feelings that I hadn't felt before. I never had what I would call a close friend. You were different. I found myself experiencing the very things that my father warned me about. I liked what I felt. This is what I have been missing."
"Why are you telling me this?" I asked.
"Because you care."
I hadn't really thought about things that way. Caring about Mike took no effort. It came naturally.
"I know," he said. "Everything changed for me that night when we cleaned the carpets. I watched you jack off. I liked watching you. Before you jacked me off, no one had touched me there before. I had mixed emotions about it and I treated you like a jerk. I already told you about that. Then I let you touch me and do what you wanted to me. When you gave me that first blowjob, I was hooked on you. It was like a drug. You began to touch me with the softness and tenderness that I craved for all my life. I realized soon afterwards how much I loved you."
He loves me. I noticed tears coming out of his eyes. I wiped them off.
"I'm sorry. Crying isn't being a man."
"Yes, it is. From the things you have told me, your father's been all wrong."
"I know that now," he said turning his face to mine. "I may love you, but I am not...gay."
It was the first time he didn't use 'queer' or 'fag'.
"Why do you believe that?" I asked.
"I hope I can explain it better than I did last night," he said. "I love you. I couldn't stand not touching you. I finally gave in to my feelings. My feelings are all about you. Not about guys in general. When you look at a guy walking down the street, what do you see?"
"Well, I look at his body and wonder what his cock looks like."
"Exactly. That's being gay. When I see a guy, I have no interest in him. When I look at a girl, I immediately look at her breasts. I'm not gay because I am not attracted to other guys. It's not your cock or body that attracts me to you. It's you."
"Me?" I asked still confused.
"Okay. When you look at me what do you see?"
I had to think for a moment about what I actually did see in him.
"I see your eyes, your beautiful body. But I also see what's inside you. I feel drawn to touch you and the feelings I get from that are wonderful."
"Right. Do you still see me as someone you lust over?"
"I think I did at first. But then I found myself yearning to give what you needed and wanted. I think we both found satisfaction in that."
"Yes. But last night, when I sucked you and put myself inside you, that wasn't lusting for a guy: it was the need to give you something like you had given me. I liked sucking you off and being inside you. It doesn't mean that Iíve turned and now only men do it for me. It was about you and only you. The person I love just happens to be a guy."
Mike's eyes were on mine, pleading for me to understand.
"When I say I'm not gay, I'm not. I am just making love with you."
"It's kind of hard to understand, but I think I am getting it. I always thought that a person was one way or another, but never really gave it much thought," I said.
"Yeah. I have sex with you, but I probably will never have sex with another guy ever. You will. That's the difference."
"I understand." And I did, it made sense to me now. "But although I know I will find other guys attractive, you are the only person I want."
Mike brought his lips up to mine and we started to make out like crazy. The kiss was demanding, a need so urgent that it had to be filled and I was the only one who could do that. He grabbed my hand and took me back to his room. We got out of our clothes and made love. He had his own jar of Vaseline there and I knew what he wanted, wanted me inside him. I was euphoric. When he was inside me, I wanted him there forever.
Laying in bed, spent and content, marveling at the intimacy that we shared, I began to feel scared. Realizing that Mike was leaving in June, I started to cry. Mike moved up and took me in his arms.
"Why are you crying?"
"Why, Mike? Why did you enlist?"
"My father didn't give me a choice. It was his decision," he said. "I told him I wanted to go to college. He said I was a soldier's son and my place was in the military. That it was my duty to serve my country. That's what he raised me for. If I didn't follow that plan, he would cut me off. He said I could serve my two years and then I could go to college."
"I love you and I can't see myself with anyone else in my life," he said. "I wanted to go with you to Sinclair, but I gave in to his demand and he drove me to the recruiter to make sure I didn't change my mind. All the way there I thought about you and how my life would be without you. I am so sorry, Mike."
I laid my head on his chest. I stoked the skin of his abdomen, running my fingers through the light sprinkling of hair.
"Me, too. My father also made sure I was going to go to Viet Nam."
I swung around and brought my face to his. Tears flooded out of my eyes, "You didn't tell me that. You won't come back. I feel it. I know it. You can't go. I don't want to lose you."
Mike embraced me. I could feel tears coming from him as well. I was overcome by his warmth and love.
"I will be okay. Look who I have to come home to. You."
"Two years is a long time," I said.
"I know. When I signed the papers I knew it would hurt you. It hurt me."
"I'll wait for you so we can start school together."
"Good. I'd like that."
"I love you," I said.
"Don't die. I need you."
"I know. I need you, too."
We laid there like that for most of the night. I loved listening to his heart beating. I had never felt so close to anyone in my life before. With his arms around me, we both cried through most of the night. Finally, sleep seduced us.