I don’t remember everything about my junior high school days; after all, it was over forty-five years ago and a lot has been obscured by the fog of time.  What I do remember are bits and pieces of the most memorable events:  the wonderment and awe of my first manufactured ejaculation, the time that Joe Warren, Les Barton, and I got caught smashing empty beer bottles against the side of the bleachers and the Saturday we spent gathering up all of the broken glass, and most of all, the time that Willie Wilson went down on Bob Hart in the bushes along the pond.  Willie wasn’t queer, as it was called back then; he was forced into it and I doubt if he’s ever sucked another cock.   I possibly could have rallied the three of us who witnessed the act and we maybe could have stopped it, but I didn’t much like Willie and besides that I thought it was cooler than shit and I even popped a boner while I watched him slurp away.

            I didn’t really hate Willie’s guts or anything like that, it was just that he was so damned superior.  He was thirteen that summer, same as me, but he had entered puberty early and was a lot more mature than the rest of us.  He was a head taller and had a deeper voice, bigger balls, and a dense mat of dark curls that covered his whole crotch, as opposed to the wispy patches that the rest of us sported.  He hinted about how he had already scored, and although I figured he was just bragging I couldn’t deny that all of the girls, including my own dippy sister, thought he was Hot Shit. 

            I normally wouldn’t have hung out with Willie, but he was really tight with Joe Warren, whom I considered my best friend, and Les could tolerate him, so we sometimes ran around together.  Just another junior high school soap opera, circa 1964.

            Thus it was that the four of us were together at the Birch Creek pond late in the afternoon on the first day of August.  The pond was the result of a natural rock barrier across the creek.  There was one deep spot with a high overhanging rock that you could dive from if you had the balls, but most of it was pretty shallow and warmed up fast.  It was located out of town about a quarter mile from my home and was accessible by either a trail through the woods or by a gravel road.  It was a County Parks property but the only amenities were a couple of picnic tables and a one-hole outhouse. Fishermen used the park in the early spring and families sometimes picnicked there on weekends, and during the warm summer afternoons it was a popular place for kids to gather and swim.

            None of us had swim trunks back then; the usual uniform was an old pair of jeans with the legs cut off.  Joe tried a pair of gym shorts once but he had shed them during a dive and lost them on the bottom and had to go home with his tee shirt wrapped around his ass.  There was always a chance a carload of people would pull up, so we never swam naked.  Later on in high school we would go there at night and party and smoke and drink beer and screw, then skinny dip afterwards, but I didn’t know anything about all that then.  I had never been there after dark although I sometimes wondered what a car was doing parked sideways in the access road, blocking the entrance.

            A fifteen minute walk through the woods brought us to the pond.  A 1957 Ford decorated with splotches of primer paint was parked next to the pond, window down, with The Beach Boys ‘Fun Fun Fun’ playing on the radio. I recognized the car as belonging to Bob Hart, who had graduated last June.  I didn’t really know him but he had a reputation of not taking any shit off of younger guys and was therefore a person to steer clear of.   Four or five empty Blitz beer cans were scattered under the ‘Please do not litter’ sign on the tree and Bob was behind the wheel of the car smoking a cigarette while working on another beer.

            I had no intention of talking to him or doing anything that might piss him off, so Joe and I walked right by him and went over to one of the picnic tables and shed our shits and sneakers, then stepped behind some brush and quickly dropped out of our cutoffs to shed our underwear.  The air was dry enough so our cutoffs would quickly dry, but if we got our underwear wet they would stay that way for the rest of the afternoon.  Les and Willie either didn’t care about that or weren’t wearing underwear.  I looked over at Joe, and realized that his balls were bigger and he was a lot hairier than he had been back in June, and hoped I’d catch up with him pretty soon.

            “What are you little fuzznuts doing in there?”  Bob called out as we pulled on our cutoffs.  Even at eighteen he had the gravelly rasp that I would later associate with chain smokers.  “Playing with yourselves or each other?”  That was a pretty cool insult and had it been given by Willie or Les it would have been quickly returned, but I didn’t want to say anything to Bob, so we just walked over to the edge of the pond by Les and Willie.  Bob flicked his cigarette butt towards us in a graceful arc, flipped us the bird, and started his car.

            “Guy’s an asshole,” Willie commented, wading into the water.  Willie also tended to shoot his mouth off now and then.

            “What the fuck did you say?”  Bob jumped out of the car and stormed our way like a pissed off bull.  The smart thing to do would have been to just wade out into the water and swim away.  Bob had just gotten off work and he was still wearing his heavy canvas jeans and steel-toed boots, and there was no way in hell that he could have caught us in the water.  The most he could have done was throw our shirts and shoes in the pond or the outhouse.   Another option would have been for Willie to apologize, but Willie was almost the same size as Bob, and besides, he had us to back him up.

            “I said you’re an asshole,” Willie spoke up, and took a step forward, knowing he had three buddies backing him up.

            “Come over here and say that!”  Bob dared him.

            “Fuck you, cocksucker!”  Willie replied, puffing out his chest.   He was pretty good sized and probably figured that he, and his army, could take the older guy or at least fake him out.  Willie took another step forward and I took a couple of steps backward, into deeper water.   Like I said, I didn’t particularly like Willie, and I am by nature a pacifist, i.e. chickenshit, and I had no intention of getting the snot kicked out of me.  Les joined me a half a second later.  He was no big fan of Willie and his mouth either.  Joe, the smallest of us, vacillated for a few seconds until Bob looked at him and said.  “Stay out of this, fuzznuts, you’ll get what he’s gonna get, too.”  That seemed to settle the issue and Joe also went AWOL.  General Willie would have to fight this battle by himself.

            It was obvious to me who was going to win.  Bob Hart was the same size as Willie or maybe even a little smaller, but he had been working all summer in the log yard and was tougher than hell.  His hairy arms were heavily muscled and snaked with bulging veins like those of an athlete.  Although they were both teenagers, Bob was a fully-grown adult while Willie was still a boy.

           I’ll have to hand it to Willie; he didn’t chicken out.  He could have just joined us in the water and waited until some other people showed up or until the deputy made his evening patrol, but instead he waded out of the water to face the enemy. 

            Bob didn’t wait for Willie to make a move; he just reached out and delivered what we now call a bitch slap right across Willie’s face.  Willie took a step backward, momentarily startled by the relatively harmless blow, then hunched his shoulders and balled his fists and started swinging.  Bob’s next blow was a solid slug right into Willie’s stomach, dropping him to his knees retching and trying to catch his breath.  I figured Bob would now probably clock him in the jaw and finish him off, but he had something else in mind.  He quickly reached into his pocket and fished out the jack knife that he, like most everyone else back then carried.  He opened it up and grabbed Willie by his hair, and I took a step forward.  No matter how little I liked Willie I wasn’t going to let him get cut up.

            “Stay right there, kid, and nobody will get hurt!”  Bob admonished me, “You move, and your buddy here is going to start losing blood.  I backed up, and he pulled Willie’s head back to where he was looking him right in the eye.  “Remember what you called me a minute ago?”  Bob asked.

            “Uh, I’m sorry.”  Willie muttered weakly.  His face was still a ghostly shade of white, but at least he had his breath back.

            “What did you call me?”  Bob repeated, pulling Willie’s head even higher.

            “Uh, an asshole,” Willie answered,  “and I take it back.”

            “What else, dipshit?”  Bob wasn’t quite ready to let it go.

            “Uh, a cocksucker,” Willie finally remembered his last insult.

            “That’s right, dipshit.  Now we’re going to find out who the cocksucker really is.  Loosen my belt and pull down my pants or I’ll start carving you up.”  He moved the knife over and placed the edge lightly against the base of Willie’s left ear.  “I’ll start with your ears, then your nose, and finish up with your eyes.”

            Willie hesitated long enough to where a drop of blood ran down the side of his cheek before he finally unhooked Bob’s wide leather belt and unsnapped the front of his jeans.  “Now my skivvies,” Bob ordered, once his pants were down.

            Willie hesitated a long time, the grimace of pain growing on his face as the point of the knife assaulted the tender skin behind his ear, before he abruptly surrendered and grabbed Bob’s white skivvies by the waistband and pulled them down.  I thought Willie was hairy!  Bob’s groin was a solid mass of curly black hair that also covered his thighs and belly.   He even had hair on his ball sack.  His cock, which drooped inches from Willie’s face, slowly began to rise.

            “Suck it,” Bob commanded.  Willie’s eyes were riveted on the inflating organ as if he were a snake trying to hypnotize a mouse, but his lips remained sealed together until Bob prodded him again with the point of the knife.  He finally opened his mouth, as if to cry out in pain, and Bob shuffled forward a few inches, ran his now erect cock up Willie’s chin, and inserted it into the open mouth.  Radio KGA, The Fifty Thousand Watt Rock Of The Northwest, poured out the open window of Bob’s Ford with the opening strains of ‘Little Deuce Coupe’.

            I had seen all of my classmates naked in the locker room, and I’d also seen some of them with their pants tented out with hidden erections, and I’d seem my own skinny pubescent boner in the bedroom mirror, but I had never seen another guy’s naked hard-on, nor a picture of one.  Other guys recall participating in circle jerks or even mutual masturbation sessions as young adolescents, but I never did any of that stuff in junior high and I was simply amazed at how big Bob’s cock was.  It looked to be at least six inches long and an inch and a half thick, and had bluish veins snaking along it just like the ones that covered his arms.   It seemed impossible for Willie to even take it into his mouth, but he did.  Bob used the grip on Willie’s hair to control the action, and although Willie was supposed to be sucking him it looked to me like Bob was just using Willie’s mouth to jack off.  I was suddenly aware of the pressure in my own pants and looked down to find them tented out in with my own erection.  I moved my hands down to push it in and cover it up and saw that Joe and Les had the same problem. 

            Bob stiffened, then arched his back, and Willie’s cheeks suddenly puffed out as his mouth filled.  He couldn’t swallow it all and he couldn’t hold it and a big glob of white goop spurted out ran down his chin. Bob backed off and nonchalantly pulled up his skivvies and pants while Willie rolled away and puked on the ground.  The opening chords of  ‘409’ had just started as Bob fired up his car and left in a cloud of dust.  Willie got up and walked to the edge of the pond and washed out his mouth three or four times with the muddy water.  I waded out to where I was ass deep in the pond, and was quickly joined by Les and Joe.  I didn’t feel like swimming, but I did need to cool off a little before leaving the water.

            Willie threatened to kill us if word ever got out about what had just happened, and I honestly believe that he would have done it.  We went back to school that fall as eighth graders and Bob went into the Army.  I never saw him again. 

          I had a pretty good time that next year and also during the following four years of high school.  I came to know the opposite sex a lot better and was eventually treated to my first blowjob.  One girl I particularly liked figured out that all it took to get me worked up was listening to any of the Beach Boys’ car songs.  She didn’t know the words so she used to hum them for me.

            Willie didn’t seem any worse for the experience; in fact I think it improved his whole attitude.  It wasn’t until after we had graduated, and I was in the Army, that I learned of his pent up anger.  Dad sent me a newspaper clipping that told about how Willie had allegedly kidnapped a man, Bob Hart, and taken him out in the brush somewhere and mutilated him.   In a separate letter Dad gave me the rest of the story:  Willie had tied Bob up, castrated him, and forced the severed testicles into his mouth and then sewed his lips shut with dental floss.  Somehow Bob survived and identified his tormenter.  I wrote a letter to Willie and offered to testify on his behalf about what had happened six years earlier, but he refused my help.

         Twelve years later, four days after his release from prison, Willie was killed in a crosswalk by a hit and run driver, so I guess it’s now safe to tell this story.