It was in the middle of March that Mrs. Cooper decided that I was ready to take the test for the High School Graduate Equivalency Diploma. When the results came back, she was very pleased with how well I did and said that she wanted me to take the Scholastic Aptitude Tests. I protested that the SAT’s are for people who want to go to college. But she asked me to take them as a favor to her, and that the fee would be paid by a special fund that the school had.

Put that way, I didn’t see how I could refuse. So, Monday morning, David and I went to Salem High School to take the tests, one in English and the other in math. He has to stay for the afternoon to take some achievement tests, because Williams College, where he is going in the fall, requires them. I take the bus home and go to Ned’s, where I am back at work, now that I’m done with the GED. It’s kind of funny that I have finished high school before David.

Mrs. Cooper said that I sometimes mix too many ideas together when I write, and that I had better not do that on the writing part of the test. I’m supposed to be very organized and not jump around from thought to thought. She taught me to make a little outline of what I want to say, that is supposed to lead, step by step, to my conclusion. When I complained that it wasn’t natural, she said that if I wrote that way long enough, perhaps it would become natural. I doubt it, though. I’m not even sure it is such a good idea. Maybe, that is how stuffed shirts get made.

Although, Mr. Marden seems organized and he isn’t a stuffed shirt. He is this new customer, who started coming in for lunch nearly every day, shortly after I returned to work. He is tall, and well built for a man in his forties. He looks strong and has very big hands. But he doesn’t dress like a laborer, or a businessman. He comes in wearing light colored slacks, a dress shirt, open at the neck, and a sweater that has some color in it. His hair is quite gray and cut short.

He doesn’t say much, but is pleasant. He always looks like he is just about to smile. I noticed him because he seems to be following every thing I say to other customers and watching what I’m doing. It isn’t really obvious or intrusive or anything. If I’m not busy, I go and talk to him.

Unlike most people, he doesn’t talk about himself. Pretty soon he’s heard my story, edited for a general audience, and will ask me questions about what I’m up to. I have just told him that I took the SAT’s that morning. He asks me what it was like. After I tell him, he says, “Well, you should celebrate. Let me buy you a drink, when you’re done here.”

“I’m not old enough to go to a bar.” This brings the first real smile I’ve seen.

“’Buy,’ was a euphemism,” he says. “What I meant, was that we could go to my place for one.”

“I’m working for another half hour.”

“You’d better get me another coffee then.”

His car is a maroon Buick, about a year old. At first, I think that he must live in one of the newer houses near the Salem line, but we keep on going. So he lives in Salem, I say to myself. It isn’t until we are on the bridge to Beverly that I ask, “Where do you live, anyway?”

“In Magnolia,” he answers. “Do you have a date later?”

“No. I was just wondering how far we were going.

“Magnolia is the next town. We’ll be there in about fifteen minutes, if that.”

“I’ve been through it a couple of times. It seems like a nice place.” Jack, he told me to call him Jack, doesn’t respond to this. We’re on the same route that Will and I took when we went to Newburyport. The city gradually fades away and we are in a more suburban section. We pass Applewood’s near the Beverly town line and enter Magnolia, passing through a wooded area, before we come to the village. Beyond the little center of town, Jack turns off to the right onto the huge grounds of a mansion, right on the ocean.

“Do you live here?” I ask incredulously.

“No.” He laughs. “I live in the carriage shed.” We are right in front of it, a big, gray building with three large doors facing us. Jack parks in front of one of these. “Come on,” he says. I follow him around to the other side and we enter through a door at the corner.

First, there is a sitting room with big windows that give a view of scattered trees, landscaped lawns and the mansion, off to the right and about a hundred yards across the park. There is just a glimpse of beach at a couple of points where the land slopes to the sea. The kitchen is two steps up and separated from the living room by a bar with three stools in front of it. Beyond the kitchen, to the right, a doorway leads to a passage and I can just make out another doorway into a room too dark to see into.

“What would you like?” Jack asks.

“Anything. Whatever’s handy,” I reply.

“I’m having Scotch, but let me get you something special, some Campari.”

“What’s that?”

“Campari is an Italian aperitif; very light, dry, with a beautiful red color and the taste of pomegranate.” I look around the front room while Jack is busy. The furniture is nice but not grand, mostly bent bamboo. Better than what my parents had, not as good as the Nashes’, less elaborate then Murray’s.

Jack sets the drinks on the bar and takes a seat on the first stool. I go to sit on the one next to him, but he says, “Come and stand here, where I can get a good look at you.” He picks up the stemmed glass containing a clear liquid the color of maraschino cherries and holds it out to me.

I take a sip. “Do you work someplace near Ned’s?” I inquire.

“No. In Beverly.”

“Why do you come all that way for lunch?”

“To see you,” he says quietly, with that gentle look that I always think is about to be a smile. Maybe the word, benign, would be right. I’m not sure. “I stopped there once, by chance, on my way through,” Jack continues. “I saw you there and I’ve gone back as often as possible.”

I can think of nothing to say. I just look at him kind of blankly. He puts out his hand for my glass. I release it, our fingers touching lightly, and he says, “Perhaps you’d take your shirt off for me.”

I am standing within two inches of him. He has one foot up on one of the stool’s rungs, the other is on the floor. I undo the buttons and slide it off my shoulders. I don’t know what to do with it, but Jack takes it and hands me back the glass. He lays my shirt on top of the bar.

When I first noticed Jack at Ned’s, I wondered what it would feel like to have those big hands on me. He puts one on the small of my back and the other on my stomach and draws me right up into his crotch. First the hand on my front moves over my chest and returns to its starting position. Then the other hand makes a similar exploration of my back.

Jack’s fingers slide into my hair, while other finger tips touch my face. Then he moves that hand to hold my throat. “Take a sip of your drink,” he says. I do and feel my Adam’s apple work against the palm of his hand. He leans his head down and places his ear on my chest. I can hear my heart beating, too. He lifts his face to mine and tastes my lower lip. I wonder if there is any flavor of Campari there. Then he puts his tongue into my mouth, moving it about as thought he were searching for something.

“You’re very sexy, Bobby,” Jack asserts.

“There are lots of guys better looking than me.”

“Yes, but looks are only part of it. Sex seems to pour out of you, like wine from a bottle. You’ve had some experience.”

“Yes,” I admit.

“So have I, lots of it. I used to be really wild.” He takes my drink again, puts his arm around me and says, “I’ll hold you while you get your shoes and socks off.” With this support, I am able to raise each foot without stumbling. Then at his request I take off my pants. He places them with my shirt and returns the glass of Campari into my possession.

I put one foot and then the other on a rung of the stool so that he can feel my legs. “I’m a manager with a construction company,” he informs me, while he is doing this. “It’s owned by the Mafia. That doesn’t have anything to do with you, but you should know.”

When I don’t say anything, he suggests that I remove my briefs. I’d taken to wearing them, just recently. Again, he takes my glass while I do this. I take a quick look at the view from the windows. Reading my mind, he says, “No one is going to come close enough to see in.”

When I hand him my briefs, he puts them to his nose and sniffs them, before putting them on the bar with my other things. Jack handles my balls and stiff cock. He turns me to face in the opposite direction and plays with my buns. I guess he must favor his right hand. His two hands meet between my legs and as they move apart his finger tips firmly explore the crevices on either side of my nuts and between my cheeks. A dark spot appears on his pants, where a bulging hard-on ends.

Then he turns me to face him, places his hands on my shoulder’s and pushes them back as far as they will go, thrusting my chest forward. He places my hands at the back of my neck, smells and then licks my arm pits. He gives me back my nearly empty drink and, holding me in his arms, tells me to finish it.

Jack gets up and refills my glass. “Take that into the bedroom.” He follows, bringing his own glass that has hardly been touched. He has a water bed, the first I’ve been on. Jack flips back a comforter, its only covering, except for a sheet. It’s not so different from a regular bed, except that it moves in a different way when I sit on it. I lay back waiting for him to get undressed. It feels cool in here.

The room is dark, The only light comes through the hallway from the kitchen. There don’t seem to be any windows, at least I can’t make out any. I can see that there is a bathroom, through a partly open door across from the foot of the bed.

Jack is a little hairier than I had imagined, but it is soft hair, not scratchy at all. He stretches out beside me and then lifts me partially over him. He opens my mouth over his own and holds me there drinking my saliva. Then he lays me back and puts his finger tip in my belly button and wiggles it around. That feels funny, but not as funny as when he sticks his tongue in there

He turns me over and spreads my buns with his fingers. I assume that we are going to fuck now, so I move my legs apart; but, no, he is pushing his face in there. The funny idea occurs to me, that he is trying to fuck me head first. I laugh, even though he is stretching my cheeks and pushing very hard. Then I feel him licking me. If I had known he was going to do that I would have washed myself first. Now Jack’s tongue is entering me.

“Maybe that isn’t such a good idea,” I say to him. He just continues with what he is doing and doesn’t answer me. A few minutes later, he stops and says, “Is that unpleasant for you?” I tell him it doesn’t bother me, except I would not care to do that myself.

“Don’t worry,” he says, “you don’t have to do a thing. I prefer to do all the doing, anyway.” Then he proceeds to screw me. I am surprised how little I feel his big cock going in. He is slow and gentle about it. Once I am used to it, he is energetic enough.

I wake briefly, when I feel Jack pulls the comforter over us. I realize that I had become a little chilly. Later, we fuck a second time, as the last bit of twilight fades. It has already been established that I don’t have to get back until morning. After he jerks me off, I go to sleep again. Much later, I hear the sound of flushing water and see the light in the bathroom. I get up to use the toilet. Then we do it for the third time. Jack likes to use different positions. I am on my back, my ankles hooked over his shoulders, I have no idea what time it is.

The next thing I remember, he is waking me up and telling me to get dressed. It is still pitch dark, He tells me that it is 5 a.m. We are going to Ned’s for breakfast and then he has to get to work. I realize that I am very hungry, that I haven’t had anything to eat since lunch, yesterday. On the way, I agree to see Jack next Monday.

*****

On Wednesday, Will and I go to Williamstown. He is a graduate of Williams College and a member of an alumni committee that is going to have a meeting the next day. We leave from Boston, after lunch, and arrive there about four.

We check in to an inn that is right next to the College. Before dinner, Will wants to take a walk around the campus. He shows me the dormitory where he stayed and tells me what subjects are taught in some of the buildings. Imagine, a different building for each subject. The place is huge compared to a high school, and Williams is supposed to be a small college. I can’t imagine what a big college would be like. It is interesting to see where David will be in the fall.

After the tour, we continue on to the little center of Williamstown. We go by a purple painted bar where the students, who are old enough or have fake ID’s go to drink. Dinner is at a restaurant that has bare wooden floors and plain wooden tables with Windsor chairs. I think the waiters are probably college boys. Will says that scholarship students may be waiting on table, but that most of the Williams students don’t need to work. He adds that he worked when he was at Williams.

In the morning, we have breakfast in Baxter Hall, sort of a student center. Will says that I can hang out or go for a walk, but that he will meet me back there at 2 p.m. He says that I should get myself some lunch, because his committee is going to be fed by the College.

I take an even longer walk than Will and I did last evening. I find the athletic fields and am surprised to see some students jogging and playing tennis at this time of day, but most of them are going back and forth to classes. Some are scurrying, some hurrying, and other are ambling. I wonder if this is any indication of their grades.

On the way back home, Will asks me if I am ready to take a job with his insurance company. I tell him that I’ll think about it, but I still don’t see myself tied up in an office all day. He says that he could arrange for a part time position. I agree that might be OK.

I go to Walter’s on Sunday. He seems disappointed that I am not willing to escalate our level of activity beyond two. Today, I am to pretend that I am a bad boy, who needs to be punished. I break a dish and then Walter spanks me. He does this for a long time, until my backside gets tender and feels hot. It’s strange how I actually feel like crying, and then I do. Walter hugs me and pets me, forgiving me for breaking the dish, before he fucks me. While this is happening, my rump is stinging and I cry some more. What is peculiar is that, on some level, all this actually feels good—misbehavior, punishment, forgiveness, redemption. Luckily, by Monday my bottom isn’t red anymore. I would not have liked to have to explain it to Jack.

After four successive Mondays, Jack asks me if I could drive myself over to his place. I tell him that I might be able to borrow a car, but that I don’t have a license, that I’ve never learned to drive. He says that he will teach me and suggests Sunday as a good time to do it. He needs to stop taking Monday afternoons off anyway. He would pick me up Saturday afternoon and we could practice driving on Sunday. Walter doesn’t seem to care, when I tell him that I won’t be seeing him on Sundays for a while.

Roland thinks that it is a good idea that I learn to drive and helps me study the rules of the road booklet. I have to learn all these rules and pass a test, in order to get a learner’s permit. Roland asks me the questions over and over, until I have memorized them all. Then we go to a registry office near his apartment and I pass the test. In return, I’m to take Roland for a drive in the country when I get my license.

*****

Two weeks later, I get a call from Mrs. Jenkins. She wants me to come and see her. That afternoon she tells me how I scored on the SAT’s. Mrs. Jenkins says that 760 in verbal and 710 in math are very high scores, higher than most of the kids, who will be going to college in the fall. Then she says that she wants me to apply to the University of Massachusetts, that she has the application right there and will help me to fill it out and that she is sure that Mr. Nash would be willing to write a good recommendation for me. She and Mrs. Cooper will write recommendations, too. She says that colleges are looking for people with unusual backgrounds and that my living on my own would impress them with my maturity.

I explain that I hadn’t even considered going to college and that I couldn’t afford it, anyway. She said that it wouldn’t do any harm to apply and see what happens. Maybe I would get a scholarship or loans. She has a special fund available to her to pay the application fee, so it wouldn’t cost me anything, and, even if I was accepted, I wouldn’t have to go, if I decided that I didn’t want to.

She is so determined that I go along with her; although I still don’t like the idea of going to school, sitting in classes all day. The GED program was different, it didn’t take a long time and, for the most part, I could study on my own. But four years and at a big university, I don’t think I would like it.

When I tell David about it, he is gung-ho for me to go. At Sunday night dessert with his parents, he enlists their help in persuading me. Then he suddenly switches gears and says to his father, that if I don’t go to college, that he should give me a job with his insurance company and that I should move into his room, since he wont be using it any more. He has embarrassed me, as usual.

Monday morning, of all people, Mrs. Nash telephones. She wants me to apply to Smith College as well as U. Mass. “Isn’t that a girl’s school?” I inquire, but she says that they became co-ed last year. That is where she went to school, she continues, and she has some influence. Mrs. Nash is sure that I would be admitted and that I would receive a scholarship. But she doesn’t want me to tell David or Mr. Nash about it, because she wants it to be a surprise. She has already spoken with Mrs. Jenkins, who will be happy to assist me with another application.

*****

Murray told Ned, and Ned told Demitri, and Demitri told Mary and they all think that I’d be crazy not to attend college, if I have a chance. Of course, Alan is in favor, because U. Mass. Is right in Amherst, where he works. He says that Hampshire College might be a better place for me. But it is very expensive and they don’t have a big endowment. When I laugh, he explains that he means that they don’t have much money for scholarships. I haven’t said anything to anyone about Smith. Alan says that I could stay with him to save money, but that he knows that I probably wouldn’t want to do that. I thank him for understanding and tell him that it would be good to be able to see him a lot more often.

He asks me if I really mean that. Of course I do, I tell him. I’m very fond of him. Alan is a lot less exciting that just about everyone else I’m involved with, except for Roland, but the rest of them are complicated or married. I feel secure with Alan. If only he weren’t so possessive, I’d consider living with him. He has been better about it, but only because he doesn’t ask me if I’m seeing other people, and I am careful not to tell him anything.

Demitri helps me with my driving lessons and in a few weeks I get my license. Then Jack tells me that he wants to give me a car, just an inexpensive used one that he says he can get for practically nothing. I object, but he says that it would save him from having to come and get me. “But, what if I go away to college?” I say.

“Then you’ll need it all the more, when you come to see me,” he reasons.

On Tuesday, a letter arrives from the Admissions Office at U. Mass. I have been accepted, but the Financial Aid Office can’t process my application for financial aid until my parents send in a financial disclosure form. Since I am emancipated this is absurd, but I don’t know what to do, so I go to see Mrs. Jenkins. When she calls the Financial Aid Office, she can’t get them to understand what she is talking about. She asks to speak to the Director of Financial Aid, but he is in a meeting. They say that he will return her call when he can.

A week later, Mrs. Jenkins still hasn’t heard from him. She tries the Financial Aid Office again. The same problem occurs. They say that a financial disclosure form is required in all cases. If there are no parents, then the applicant’s guardian provides the information. They don’t know about any exceptions. The Director is out of town at a conference.

It takes two more weeks to clear everything up. Then it turns out that I cannot get a scholarship anyway, because I haven’t taken College Board achievement tests in three subjects. They can provide a part time job and student loans.

David says that big schools are like this. The people who answer the phones are students on part time jobs and they don’t really know anything. The place is so big, you don’t talk to the same person twice. There are too many students to make individual decisions, so they go by rules that work for most people most of the time. I tell David that I’m not so anxious to go to U. Mass., that I wouldn’t want to owe a lot of money when I am done.

A week later, I receive a letter from Smith College. I have been admitted to the class of 1982 and have been awarded the DeHass Scholarship. It covers full tuition, room, board and fees for four years. I call Mrs. Jenkins to tell her. She is very happy for me and reminds me to call Mrs. Nash to thank her.

When I call Mrs. Nash, she already knows about it. She suggests that I come for dinner that night and bring my letter from Smith to show to Mr. Nash and David. Then I call Alan at his office. “Guess what?” I exclaim, when he picks up the phone. “I’m going to be a Smithie!”