Parents, Families, and Friends of Lesbians and Gays, Inc. et al v. Camdenton R-III School District et al

Filing 60

REPLY SUGGESTIONS to motion re 6 MOTION for preliminary injunction , 33 MOTION to dismiss case (Surreply Suggestions) filed by David A. Cortman on behalf of Amicus Alliance Defense Fund. (Attachments: # 1 Exhibit 1 Part 1, # 2 Exhibit 1 Part 2, # 3 Exhibit 1 Part 3, # 4 Exhibit 1 Part 4)(Related document(s) 6 , 33 ) (Cortman, David)

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o' Ex. 1 - 1 Ex. 1 - 2 i j I, j " 1 1 i i- ¡l To my beloved Hedy Lamarr, 1981 The names.of some students ana other characters in this story have been changed. ¡ i j L "\ It ¡ t.~ f l - t -, ¡ Library of Congress catalog card number 81-65806 l ¡ . ì ì f' 1 'i t ~ ¡ i tr i .j i i i f ¡ L j i 'i ¡ i ,I- 5 4 3 2 1 ISBN 1-55583-607-0 (previously ISBN 0-932870-09-0) First Alyson edition: April First AlyCat edition: March 1995 An AlyCat Book, published by Alyson Publications, Inè:, Boston, Massachusetts 02118. First published in 40 Plympton Street, 1981 by Alyson Publications, Inc., as a trade paperback originaL. Typeset and printed in the United States of Am~rica. All rights reserved. Copyright ~ 1981 by Aaron Fricke. and Sasha A lyson, witkout whom 1 would never have had the opportun~ty to write this book. John Ward Lynette Labinger Noice Chuck John Gaffney Jim Barry and Judge Pettine '1 ì ¡ ~t l¡ i f i L t :i --~~- i I "' .i~. -~..._a..~.;.::~_x:.L 2 '-.. 19 9 7 85 ~ 7i Afterword 1) 5 Epilogue 117.. Photographs 108 After the Prom 105 The Prom 99 Before the Prom 93 Court Mr. Lynch The Decision 71 Senior Year 57 Renaissance 39 Withdrawal Childhood Preface C 0 'N T b- -N T -6 ~l Ex. 1 - 3 "-b \1; 11 l, ¡'"' i , 1 l, ii, i i I I' !It I i-if I i 13' l' i 1: i I I; j,l , ~, ,L 1, î i ;~ ,1\ J ,1 i 111 il )"- R~FLb.CTION6 OF A eyes she :vas another ~'i....£.. _ _ , mention my féelings to anyone. After the ,Batman inci- my male playmates, but it never crossed my mind to - / .This was the first time I had 'spoken of my sexual thoughts, although I .had been having tpose thoughts for as long as I could reinember.Already I wasundre~ing my G,I. Joe dolls, and I hadJPessed around with some of we spent lhe d~y reading that I liked what I saw. Cheryl freaked out. It was my first lesson that talking woutJ:his sUbjectmade p'eople upset. ' . _~~.l~~:;:t~~It;¡ we coulçl hide on rainy days while our mothers prepared . We found vestibules around his house and mine where ity to its fullest, . /" ~oo~s and building racetracks and phiying sex therapist . in h1s basement, We were human beings who knew no social inhibitions and were wiling to explore our sexual- ,down to Bil~' s ~ouse, where to stifle my aroused ,sexual feelings, so I 'just mentioned ing sandcastles. on the beach. On rainy days I'd walk viewed it as a fun sort of confidential activity, N ;ne of us hád any guilty feelings about it; we'figured everyone did it, Why shouldn't they? , One friend I. was very close to was Bily Marlen, Bily, was a year behind me in school, yet we got' along well together, In our friendship, a special camaraderie existed that was rare in my other friendships. There was a brotherhood that does not often occur even between brothers, ny on Tues~ay after school; Fred and Timmy at noon Wednesday; Aaron and Timmy aft~r school on Thursday, None of us ever got caught, but we never worried wout it ányway, We all understood that what we were doing was not to be discussed freeiy with ad~lts but ~e in the grammar school lavatory to perform fellatio on one another: A typical week's schedule would be Aaron and Michael on Monday du~ing lunch; Michael and J ohn- i ~any friends. In fact, a small group of us regularly met toddler years, By first grade I was sexually active with , !1y sexual.exploits with my neighborhood playmates continued, I hved a busy homosexual childhood, somehow managing to avoid venereal disease through all rny considered "wrong." - 11 d.ent; I n~ver expressed my sexual observations to my s1ste~ again, But beyond' that, this incident had no major effect on me, I stil had no idea that my sexuality was / Roc¡. LO~6 T6-Q. :v e shared our toys and sp'ent many summer days build- the anatomical proportions of Ba'tman, I knew no reason Batman episode with Cheryl, I casually commented on was really closer to my status leveL. One day when I was about six, while watching a my parents reprimanded her as they did me, so I knew ~he adult, almost a third parent, and I looked :up to her, Yet larly-close during childhood. In my our greafage difference; my sister and I were not particu- op~d a deep love for my mother aad for, my fathér, Cheryl was born eight years' before me. Because of my sister, CheryL. Mom did a very good job, and I devel- , ,My,mother never worked outside the home after she ~arried. She spent ~ost oflier time taking care of me and to make'that time for me. ' " _ unconventioiialschedule infringe on our relationship. ~ We spent much time together,sin;ply ~ecause he wanted dence to New York or N ew- London, But he didn't let his "-" impossible for him to be present all the time during my childhood, There were no nine-to-five hours for Dad, Hè could be'" èalled out at five o'clock in 'the morning and' spend days piloting a singl~' ship from the port of Provi- end street ~t the top of a liil in North CUmQerland, with a beautiful view óf the neighboring. tpwn of Lincoln. My father worked as an' independent ships' pilot out'" career made it of the'port of Providenc~. His seagoing 10 =r i :1 . i 1 I j I ! ,~ I i l Ð .. , tl~, Ex. 1 - 4 On page l:H, four lines are reprinted fi'om "A Song" by James CliHoline Morris. Copy- right (Ç 1955 by James Cliftoniie Morris. First published in Cleopatra and Other Poems. Reprinted by permission of the author. Published by Rob Weisba(;h BookB An Impri~t of Wiliam Morrow and Company, Inc. 1350 Avenue of the Americas, New York, N.Y. 10019 Colledion mpyright (Ç 1998 by Clifford Chase. Foreword copyright (Ç 1998 by Dale Peck. A (;ontinuatioii of the (;opyright page appears on pages 269-270. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be' reproduced or utilized in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writig from the Publisher. Inquiries should be addressed to Permissions Department, William Morrow and Company, Inc., 1350 Avenue of the Americas, New York, N.Y. 10019. It is the policy of Willam Morrow and Company, Inc., and its imprints and aflliates, recognizing the iinporiance of preserving what has been written, to print the books we publish on acid-free paper, and we exert our best eßorts to that end. The Library of Congress has cataloged a previous edition of this title. Library of Congress Cataoging-in-Publication Data Queer 13 : lesbian and gay writers recall seventh grade / edited by Clißord Chase.-lst ed. p. cm. ISBN 0-688-15811-0 (hard(;over) 1. Gay students-United States-Biography. 2. Lesbian studentsUnited States-Biography. 3. Seventh grade (Education)-United States. 4. Gay men's writings, American. 5. Lesbians' writings, American. i. Chase, Clifford. LC2575.Q84 1998 372. 1826'64'09212-:dc2 i 98-17147 CIP (B) Paperback ISBN 0-~88- i 7161-3 Printed in the United States of America First Paperback Edition i 999 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 BOOK DESIGN BY LOVEDOG STUDIO Ex. 1 - 5 ~t (f~t'to\~~¡ Three from Thirteen Robert G/ück 1. The Greeks Came First Jacking off into the toilet, into the slit between pushed-together beds, into paper-towel tubes (Ugh, my little sister shouts, what's this stuf?), in the shower, while standing in the crotch of a tree, while standing on my head. What belongs to me except the next orgasm? Even shame is not mine. I can't afford to fantasize or to connect mind and body. Strip poker with Mike Cogan: Since we're naked, we might as well masturbate. . Don't look, he keeps whining. His orgasm is like him, a pipsqueak. Lessons at the Art Shack, an artist-supply store in Sherman Oaks, taught by Dagmar, the local Flemish master's vivacious daughter. I paint a courtier playing a lute as though I were already safely dead and great. Rembrandt shadows surround and define the musician; he wears tights and sort of floats above a relenùess one-point-perspective checkered floor. My smock is too short to hide my random boner, but Dagmar is European about it. Her father, the old master, strolls among us; he takes my brush and palette and lays a few bright swatches on my canvas, alarmng until I gain distance by squinting and see that my mud puddle has been given a shape. Ex. 1 - 6 Robert Glück 16 an idea from books: Viewing my neighborhood from above wil give me perspective, as though looking down through the years. It's stil dark when I reach the top, and I'm afraid of the tree---what if a snake or rat or an insect lives in it? The air is too weak to carry a scent.' For some reason the ground is lit, a sparse layer of dry weeds and grasses. I stand above my tract. In the clear darkness, the sky seems manageable. Below, streetlights iluminate ranch-style houses, mirror images that are raucously artificial. I assume the humans in these identical dwellings are robbed of dignity, that dignity means living beautifully. Under these roofs, families are sunk in mute desolation and each family member labors under the curse of unrelenting failure. Weakened by sleep, they invent a useless hodgepodge of dreams. I'm the only one awake, too excited below the sky and above the eàrth. Morning, yet to begin, is already old and jangled from my weariness. Fatigue is disheveled isolation. I don't know how to be part of the world. When darkness disappears and light has not yet come, pale gray turns to mist white. A bird makes frail peeps. If I had the knowledge, I'd recognize that rare bird and know it never flew through Woodland Hils before. It's an exhausted thought because what would I know if I knew that? In Will and Ariel Durant's history, I read that the Greeks came first, then the Romans. That's consoling somehow. Is the march of civilization heading my way? Wil I be allowed to join the parade? Its splendor seems undermined by fatigue and wasted effort. I want someone to love me. I already love whoever it is. Somehow the first light makes my grief explicit-so much endlessness stored up and £n store. The sunless light casts no shadows, yet it reveals my dense flesh to itself and shrinks my emotions by making them seem organized. \ My face, struck by the light, feels caked and rigid. I sit down on the hard ground and cry a little. J fish my aged cock out of my jeans as though I can mark the scene with pleasure so later I can find it and reread it for understanding. Once imagined, it is my responsibility to jack off in front of it alL. The air feels funny on my cock, which usually squirms like a larva in the darkness; it's more sensitive than I am to the prickle of a slight breeze. There is nothing to arouse me except myself. My tract looks so boring, its emptiness so lacks potential, that I can almost believe in reality, since here is appearance spreading out at my Ex. 1 - 7 Three from Thirteen 17 feet. It only taes a minute. My crotcli rings like an alarm clock, some pump mechanism kicks in, and after short flights my sperm falls on the gray dirt. I feel edgy and shallow, emptied out by the day ahead, and twinges of residual pleasure make me twtch. The white is replaced by pastels. I have not prevented the sunrise-a red. smudge on the horizon-or the flat mineral-blue. 2. Do Be. Don't Be. My Hollywood cousin says watch out for queers in theater toilets; if they bother me, I should punch them in the shoulder and they'll go away. I'm impressed by my cousin's sophistication. I'm a country mouse and he is letting me feel the difference between Hollywood savoir, faire and the barbarism of the West Valey. An'd sure enough, the next time I go to the movies in Hollywood, a queer speaks to m~. I don't remember the movie; I do remember the bathroom but so what? It was empty even though we were in it. The little man in a checked sports jacket stands too close to me at the urinaL. Is he subnormal? Doesn't he understand social distance? He has an accent-British? Cockney? Maybe he's wear- ing a bowler? "Excuse me?" ~~Xxxx'x x xx xxxx xx xx xx." "What?" "That's a nice cock you have there." He's offering his, a prim pink boutonniere; I can see why he likes mi,ne better. A nice cock? Is it separate from my body, which is not nice? Separate, like my beautiful eyes? He's will-less as a dust bunny, and when I tap him on the shoulder, he drifts away. Later, in a smelly gas-station toilet, I realze the wad of toilet paper left on top of the dispenser is filled with someone's sperm. Some pervert left it there, I tell myself wonderingly. to be found, I add. And recognized. As what? An offering, an assertion? I don't forget to be grossed out. I smell it-sure enough, sperm. Consciousness the predicament, orgasm the escape. I look around for the masturbator as though I'm dreaming, as though I can hear his I'm coming noises. Obviously no one else could fit inside the tiny stinking cinder-block cell. I try to remember the face of a man slouching outside the door, and the face of a man who gave me the key. Ex. 1 - 8 The Beginning of My Worthlessness 43 At the start of every school year I had to get a set of passport-sized photos taken. These were used for bus passes, library carùs, report carùs, health reports, and other documents. I would comb my hair, put on my school unifomi, and set off to the Cathay, studio, which was run by four old men who always seemed to be in their pajama trousers and white undershirts. 'The equipment in the studio was as old as the pro- prietors. The photographer would put me on the stool and make me hold up a stick on which the serial numbers were composed out of wood chips, then he would putter around to adjust the golden umbrellas that were strategically placed to reflect light. The old, old camera was huge, on a trolley and covered with a black cloth-the kind you see in movies of the thirties. The old man would crawl under the cloth and try to adjust his equipment. Usually I was made to sit at a slight tilt to match the tilt in the camera. Then, with a final admonition to hold still, there was a massive supernova and the pictures for the year were taken. All this has given me a record of myself growing older in bits, year by year in the same pose, same frame, and a similar white shirt, not unlike the evolutionary table found in biology textbooks. Looking at the lb 11 11 II photos of myself at thirteen, I am amazed at how very young I look. Baby fat, chubby cheeks, doleful eyes, crooked teeth-braces would come the next year. Sure, puberty had hit, my voice had changed, and I was finally granted divine reason to quit the Sunday school junior choir. Small scraps of hair had started to peek out of my pubic region and under my arms. But in the photo I look ten. The only giveaway is the school uniform.-I'm wearing a school badge instead öf a patch. I was in Secondary One (seventh grade). It was to signify a Great Change in my life. "You wil no longer be spoon-fed! You are no longer children, you are all young adults and you wil conduct yourselves as li such!" boomed principal Ernest Lau over the P.A. of the auditorium on i: ., Ii 4111 ii ill " ,1:1: Orientation Day. Secondary school was diffcult: a new series of subjects, a new environment, new expectations. I did not feel any older or more mature even though I was consúmtly told I was. One day, on the bus to shop class, this ugly' fuck of a man sat behind I til t ì rl'II',II,I'...I.:", i, .' ,~l~i !~ ¡ 11 11'1 ~IJi;IÎ'\~¡: Ui .;11 me and put his foot in the crack of my seat. He was skinny, with a patchy, pencil-thin mustache that besotted his oily face. I ignored him for most of the trip. I did notice that he changed buses when I did, but this time he sat beside me. He tried a little smal talk, but then he Ex. 1 - 9 44 Justin Chin suddenly and very nervously put his hand on my crotch. It never occurred to me to tell him not to. I'm not sure if I agreed to it or not, but he managed to get me to follow him to a nearby rest room at another secondary school "to play." In the bathroom sta, lit by two scant rows of fluorescent lights, half of them burnt-out or flckering, he tried to kiss me, but I was too nauseated to do that. He sucked my nipples and played with my cock. I had no idea what to do. He then tried to get me to suck his. Somehow I knew this was expected of me, but I just could not put his ugly, foul-smelling penis into my moUth. When he forced it in I gagged so hard I started vomiting. Undaunted, he tried to put his cock in my ass. Thankflly, he came prematurely. He pulled up his trousers and left me in the toilet stal confused, frightened, crying, and praying to God for forgiveness of my horrile sin. I spent a good deal of time locked in the stall, trying to clean up, trying to wipe the smell of that act off with wet toilet paper, but I was doused in the stench of that man and what he had done. This incident should have soured me on men, but it only made me more confused and needfuL. One day later, something accidenta hap- pened that would change my life. I discovered that at a urinal I could actually see someone else's penis. I was ecstatic and fearful, but I wanted more. One day, at a local shopping mall, as I was tryng to sneak a peek at penises in the rest rooms, a man at the urinal actualy turned to me and started playing with himsel£ He flashed me a gold-toothed smirk and motioned for me to come over. Shocked, I zippered up and ran out, but the seeds had been laid. The whole world of rest-room sex had opened itself up to me. Soon I was spending a great deal of time hanging out in shopping malls and cruising the rest rooms for sexual encounters. My rest-room exploits started to be a great burden on my mind. The better part .of the year was spent making deals with God, asking for a sign, then ignoring and rationalizing everything I perceived to be a sign, praying for forgiveness, and being obsessed with raging hormones and a seemingly endless supply of dicks. I believed that it was all part of a test by God to see if I was a sinner. I was. I had known before that something was up, and that I was attracted to men, but this toilet thing was a whol~ new realm of sin and Satan, a Ex. 1 - 10 The Beginning of My Worthlessness 45 new level that I had never before imagined. The following years were spent praying for forgiveness and trying to purge my homosexuality through prayer and Bible study. While my dassmates wondered what sex was like, content to masturbate over pinups, I was out there having I,m., '~I ii~ . my cock sucked and my ass fucked. These were grown men I was tricking with. Some were nice, grateful f()f a young boy t~ have their 1.11 ,I~l way with. Some were harsh and mean. There were a few nasty encounters, brutal and painful experiences, near-rapes, but through it all, I never thought that I had the ability to say no. I was scared about what I was doing, \scared of God's judgment and of being caught in all those rest rooms and parks, but I really did eajoy those sexual encounters. That feeling of doing it to them and them doing the same for me was just too damn good. This is what I knew of homosexuality: That it was a sin. That gay men wanted to have their penises cut ofl: That they all wanted sex-change operations. That the transvestites on Bugis Street and Rochor Canal II ,II were bad people. That poor transvestites who could not aflord the sex Iii change and hormones had crumpled-up newspapers for tits and hung 1'1 , , out in dark parking lots at n~ght whoring. T'hat you had to be effeminate. " 1:,1, ¡O ~¡I pI1~: '1\ That it was to be made fun of. That the boys in the Drama, Club were. That they could never have children. That in a gay couple, one would play the woman and the other the man. That it meant a life of suffering, loneliness, fear, secrecy, shame. ! ~ i;i'i II l ;1 ~":I:I I~I ''I i~ ~ru ll.~ !if' ~I , ¡' :II, ,Ii! \;¡ ili ,Ut ¡g,i!; '11\ This was the year I realized I was helpless, di£lerent, wholly alone and defenseless. This was the beginning of my worthlessness. It was always pointed out to me that I wasn't good enough aiid that there was always someone somewhere doing better, and that no matter what I did, I could stil have done better. The adults in my life held my brother up as an example for me to 11:' ),;1 ,i i¡ ,:I! .1,, ~ ,:1.1 ~ 11111 l;l!I:~l" i i':.'~III.¡.tÐ emulate. He excelled in mathematics aiid the sciences and had no prob- d lems with his second language, even taking on a third. He got good grades and was always in the top dass'es. He competed in chess tour- 'i:ll", l¡ ¡:H! r ii:~i ~ Ex. 1 - 11 86 Marcus Mabry to make the image real, eliminating anything that threatened it. So just before my twelfth birthday, I took that photograph of my brother Charles, my cousin Charles, and me standing in front of the Big Tree in Grandmom's backyard and ripped it to shreds. For years I had looked at it, a bit of my self-esteem fading each time. Later I actually felt the jab to my stomach each time Mom hauled down the album. One day I taped a piece of carpet lint over my hands in the picture. The next time Mom showed off "her boys,", she reprimanded me for defacing the photo. She peeled off the tape, makng everyone even more conscious of the incriminating pose I had tried to conceal. The next time she looked the picture was gone. I destroyed it and cursed myself for not doing it earlier. She never mentioned it again. Maybe she forgot it, or was she as relieved as I was? I could destroy evidence and conceal gestures, but I couldn't change what I felt Despite my best efforts, someday the artifice of "normality" had to fall away. It did, early one Sunday afternoon when I was tWelve. My cousin was sixteen. I put on my blue velour robe and padded down the rickety stairs. My cousin was watching an old black-and-white movie on our black- and-white TV set. He wore only his Ewing High School J.V. basketball shorts, black with waxy yellow lettering. I sat next to him on the couch, silent. He would occasionally sneak glances at me. The glances grew longer and longer. I noticed his slightly parted thick lips. Uncomfortable, I stood up and went to the front door. I pretended to look out the window up Field Avenue. The street was empty. My cousin got up from the couch and stood behind me. He lightly brushed the soft fabric of my robe. "Let's get gay," he fawned in a mock faggy tone. "Let's get gay." He rubbed his huge hands over the thin fabric that separated them from my behind. . He pulled up the robe. Exposed and naked, my erection to the wind, I wanted to melt into his arms, to be held by him, to desperately answer the questions my soul had been avoiding, but I also wanted to shield my eyes from what was happening. We went back to the couch, and I felt someone's hands on my genitas for the first time. They were boiling-his hands and my genitals. I sat back and closed my eyes. Ex. 1 - 12 Mud Pies and Medusa' 87 My ecstasy from his touch. My relief from loneliness. Momentarily overcoming fear and' shame. Then, the falL. Each of the half-dozen times we did it over the next four years it would be that way. While we were in the act, it was good. His heavy brown body lying against mine, pro- viding the warmth I never thought I would have. He was tender and sweet. But after I came, shame tumbled on top of me, the pleasure buried, suffocated. The disgraceful white goo the physical proof of my spiritual delinquency. IIJ¡" ,!II III .~ RI II ~r mii Iii db il; Jru ? U~lll , ~!' Only once' did my cousin and I mention our misdeeds outside the sacred and profane boundaries of our time together on Sunday after- noons when everyone else was out of the house or, later, when I came home from boarding schooL. We were fighting over the TV or something equaly important. He wanted to watch footbalL. I wanted to watch Be- witched. I said, close to him, my lips tight, "I'm gonna tell my mother what we do." "Nobody makes you do anything," he snarled. I felt like a baby for whining that I would tattle. But, for me, the fact that I liked it-and I didn't really want it to stop-or I wanted it to continue at least as much as I wanted it to stop-sealed my damnation. I was, going to hell. From then on I multiplied the shame of being gay ,II by the shame of incest. They became one. And they both grew bigger, badder, blacker. It would take another child's lifetime, three thousand miles, an ocean, and the refuge of Europe for me to pick up where I t¡i~ left off. " 1 f iV IØ I !I I I II IÙ11',.11 ';1 Ex. 1 - 13 Joe Westmoreland 222 "WhatP" "I mean. . . I'm stil waiting." Donnie looked at me surprised. "You mean you haven't got any pubes?" "No, I mean, well, kind of. I mean I don't have very many." I picked lit .1 illl II up the Playboy again and flipped through it, not really looking at anyÙ1ing. "How old are you, twelveP I had pubes when I was twelve," Donnie said in disbelief. "I'm thirteen and I do have some pubes," I said. 'Just not a lot." ¡I: , if \i,',:¡,) iJ~; ii 'j\':.I:ll ! '1~1 I" 'i i 111:1 1I,1l iii' iI, ;1: I ~ ~l Donnie moved toward me. "Let's see. I bet you've got more than you think." I started to unzip my fly to show him when his mom yelled again for us to turn the music down before she came down and did it herself. I nervously zipped my jeans back up. Donnie said, "It's weird. I'm only two years older than you, but look at mine." He sat on the edge of his bed and slid his jeans down to his knees. He pulled on his pubes and showed me how thick his hair was. He wasn't self-conscious at all. It felt like he was showing me a science prqject or something. He let me examine his dick and pubes close up. I had never seen that much pubic hair that close before. I only had a few pubic hairs, but I kept a vigilant watch over them. I counted them and watched them grow. I knew wheneyer a new one appeared. Donnie's pubes looked so good, so exciting to me. Blood started rushing around me. I felt warm. I felt happy and hopeful at the thought that someday soon I would have that much, too. Donnie was proud of himself. That close, his pubic hair looked like a dense forest. There was a dark moist smelL. Kind of familiar, but different from my own. More like a man smell than a boy smell. I was in awe not only of his pubes but because I wanted to have a dick the size of his, with all that hair. Compared to Donnie's mature dick with that thick bush at its base, mine was a naked penciL. I was surprised that his dick was big. He was kind of oveiweight, just a big kid really. I told him I thought fat guys had small dicks. He didn't get upset that I caled him' fat. He said matter-of.factly, "Some of 'em do." He spread the Playboy open on the bed and showed me how he jacked off. I sat next to him and watched as he spit in his hand and i Ex. 1 - 14 liThe Whlte,Album" 223 rubbed it on' the head of his dick. Then he wrapped his hand around his dick and moved it quickly up and down. He didn't get very hard. It was just a demonstration. I was too shy to tell him how I did it. When I masturbated I had to be quiet so I wouldn't wake up my brothers. I lay on my stomach and humped the mattress until I came. My sheets always had yellow crusty stains on them, but my mother never mentioned it even though she was the one who washed them. I wanted to watch Donnie some more, but he lost interest. He was more excited about the new Beatles record. He zipped up his jeans, scooted ofl'the bed back to the £1001', and propped himself against the. bed. He picked up the album jacket and started reading the lyrics along with the music. I sat on the bed reading over his shoulder for a little while, then my eyes started wandering around the room. I looked up at his window and saw a little gray frog about an inch long jumping up over and over trying to get out of the window well. The music was soothing in a weird way. I liked it, but if I listened to it too closely, it made me a little uneasy. Donnie kept saying, "Wow!" "Hey, Joe, I've got something else you might be interested in," Donnie said as he put the Playboy back in his dresser drawer. "Can you 'secret?" He pulled a little brown pil bottle out of the back of keep a 'the drawer. He held it close to me and asked if I knew what it was. He shook the bottle a little bit in front of me. I re~ched out and held his hnnd stil so I could get a closer look. It looked like what I'd imagined marijuana to look like, only I never thought of it being kept in a pil bottle. "WhatP" 1 asked. He leaned over close to me and whispered reverently, "It's pot!" I thought he was bullshitting me. He took the white cap ofl' the bottle. It couldn't be pot, it looked just like he'd picked off the top of some weeds and crunched them into the bottle. He held it under my nose and told me to take a whifl. I didn't recognize the sweet odor. He sat down on the floor and opened up the double album, and ther~ sprinkled some out OIl the inside. "Come here," he said. "I'll show you how to rolL." I sat down on the £1001' next to him. I was nervous. What if his mom decided to check in on him? At my house someone was always walking in and out of my room. There was never a long time alone. Ex. 1 - 15 ø a Ex. 1 - 16

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