I need to warn you, this is an extremely long post. I appologize ahead of time.

 I should let you know that the following story is pretty long. Most of you know absolutley nothing about me, and I'm hoping to let you into my life a little. It is extremely hard for me to do this, because I am not a writer or a poet. Sometimes my grammar stinks and I make no claims that I am a genius. We are all human. I have told a few people, if you read my posts, that I was a Loved Boy. This is my life.

 I seem to be able to remember most of my life. I have loved music for as long as I can remember. Most of the members of my family are musicaly inclined. I am no exception.

 From the time I was four (as long as I can remember), I have loved the piano. My mother used to play in the evenings, when she would come home from school. She went to night-school and worked a meaningless job during the day. My father was working two jobs at that time to make ends meet. My parents have never pushed us to do anything we didn't want to, although we were always encouraged to at least try something new. My sister, who was nine years old, decided that she wanted to be like mom, and play the piano.

 Now my grandmother also played, and she lived with us all of my life. It was convienent at that time, with both parents working, that she took care of us and raised us. She also saw to it that we found a good piano teacher, a friend of the family. Stephen was his name. He was a good friend of my grandmothers relatives in Sweden, and had moved to America to persue his education and his career. He was also a very talented piano player. Stephen lived somewhat close by, near the university he was attending. He used to play in a local bar for money, and he taught a few other students, and pursued his music education part time at a local university. My grandmother had hired him to give my sister lessons.

 Now he would come once a week, afterschool, and give my sister a lesson. My grandmother would always sit and supervise, while watching me play at the same time. I should note that with my parents working, my grandmother was soley responsible for raising me throughout my life. I only saw my parents mostly on the weekends, and sometimes on the weeknights. My grandmother used to notice that I would kind of pay attention to my sister when she played. She bought me one of those crazy little pianos that went tink, tink, tink. The fun started when she noticed that I would match my sister as close as I could, note by note, tink by tink. I was listening to her play, and I was tinking a close match to her by ear. Now Stephen had also noticed this sometimes, and he would encourage my grandmother to push me at the piano. This continued on for a year, until I was five. When I turned five, my grandmother used to let me play the real piano. I would bang around for a while, and then I would start to play the keys as I would match music on the radio, or on the tv. This was amazing to her and my parents. Stephen had asked my grandmother to start playing with me on the piano. This went on until they began to notice I was taking an interest in the piano. I would watch my grandmother, and mimec her. I would watch my mother and mimic here also. Soon I was sitting at the piano, mimicing anyone who would play. Shortly before my Kindergarten year started, Stephen had started me on lessons at my parents request.
Now Stephen wasn't a big man. He was short and very thin. He had almost the same eyes I do now, kind of a faded blue. He had a huge head of blonde hair that was always getting in his eyes, so he would always flip his head now and then, to sling his hair back. I was tiny also, so to get me to play, he would have to sit next to me. He would position the bench off center, and place two big books on one end. He would pick me up and set me on the books, and proceed to sit next to me. He would hold my hands in certain positions, close to the keys, as he would explain the keys to me. He would use my fingers, one at a time, to show me how to use the keys. He showed me that when you press hard, it was loud, when use press soft, it was quiet. He always sat to my right, with his left arm behind me for a backrest. He would lean next to me, and position my hands with his right hand. This is how I played with him, and my grandmother, and my mother.
As the first year carried on, Stephen noticed how I was picking things up. I was begining to sight read the music, which is being able to play the notes, just by looking at them on the sheets of music. Mind you I was having trouble learning to read, but music was different for some reason. Stephen insisted that it was a gift. The lessons continued for a year before trouble started to brew. My sister was begining to get a terrible attitude towards me, because Stephen would spend so much time with me. My parents had decided that we should have seperate lessons. Stephen had agreed, because he convinced my parents that I was a blessing in disguise. My father had gotten a new job, so he was around more in the evenings. He would take me over to Stephens place to have my lessons seperate from my sister. Now Stephen didn't own a piano, so he had made arrangements for his other students to use the universities piano at night, around other students schedules. Sometimes we would walk over to the university from his place, and sometimes my dad would drive us. This was convienient because my dad was working for the university at the time. So every now and then, my father would leave us, and go to his office, and work overtime.
I really enjoyed the time I spent with Stephen. He always called me lad, which I took for a pet name. I learned later that this was just a word, in his native tounge, and not a pet name. He had a hard time with english, and would always confuse a word or two. He was very softspoken, and hardly ever raised his voice. Sometimes we would have to wait for a university student to finish, before we could have a lesson. These were the best times. He would take me and show me around the music department. We would watch people practice through windows, or sit and listen to them play from the hallways. Every now and then, he would have to pick me up, so I could see through the windows, and he would hold me there for minutes, while I would cling to his shoulders.
I always liked his touch. He was never forcefull when he lifted me, it was always slow and gentle. He would cradle me on his hip, so I would put a hand behind his head and wrap my legs around his waist. I evjoyed spending close time with him. I always used to tell him he smelled good becasue of the cologne he used to wear. My father wasn't a touchy feely kind of guy. I was hugged on special occasions, and offered piggy-back rides to bed, but nothing extra special. Stephen on the other hand, enjoyed being close to me, and I to him.
As I started to progress in my lessons, Stephen would become more and more passionate about my playing. He would make me stop and repeat specific notes over and over again. He was still sitting close to me at every lesson, and would raise his left hand up and rub the back of my neck when I completed a section to his satisfaction. There was something about his touch that made me want more. The more I played well, the more he rubbed. As the year went on, we found ourselves spending more and more time at lessons. We went from the original half hour, to fourtyfive minutes, to an hour and so on. My father was worried that Stephen was going to start charging more for the quantity of time he was devoting to me. Stephen never did. A proffessor started to notice us sometimes in the late afternoons, and would stop in. This would always interupt our lesson. Stephen and the proffesor would exchange music for me, and he would sit and listen and give pointers to Stephen about how to coach me.
By the time I was seven, I still had trouble reaching the piano. I was down to one book, and I could not reach a full octive on the piano yet. This was begining to cause problems with my exercises. I would have to work extra hard, to reach, and faster, to reach the desired keys. Never did I not recieve a reward for reaching his goals. When I started school again that year, his proffesor would bring another student by to watch us practice. You have to understand how good this made me feel, to be watched by other people. I was not really a performer, or at least I always complained I was embarrassed, but one or two strange people never bothered me. Stephen would push me harder and harder to repreat sections. Never once would he tell me that I did it wrong. He would always tell me to feel the music, and then show me how to emphasize the feeling in my touch. I would play, he would play, I would mimic. Never once did he tell me "that's not how to do it". He would always use a possitive influence and say "We can do it this way" and then lead by example. I would follow. I longed for the rewards. Halfway through the year, I was getting even better at the playing. I was practicing around two hours a day, and waiting with anticipation for my next lesson. Things were begining to move faster, and I was getting better at sight reading. I wasn't even looking at the keys anymore, just the music. Stephen asked my parents to step up the lessons to twice a week. I was pushing harder than I've pushed in my life, as I look back. I kept practicing, Stephen kept praising, I pushed harder.
Into the next school year, I was really hustling. I was progressing very rapidly. So rapidly, that other proffessors and students began to take notice. I was playing at an unbelievable level, and everyone in the music department knew me by name. People were stopping in to watch more often, and Stephen would still stay by my side. He would tap out the metrinone beats with his hands on my leg with his right hand, while I still leaned against his left arm. He would push the pedals at certain points for me, and when he did, he would press on my leg with his hand to emphasize the pedal.
Around my eight birthday, he convinced my parents, with the help of his proffessor, to bring me down to a school in Manhatan. My mother packed my bags, and off we went. Now my parents still worked, so it was just me and him for a week. His other proffessor, knew some people in Manhatan, so we stayed with them. They had a small apartment, with an extra room. He would sleep on the couch, and I in the single bed in the room. We went to the school each morning, for the day. We had to walk an unbelievable distance (it was really only a few blocks, but they felt like miles) both ways. Sometimes I would convince him to carry me on the way home, piggy-back style. We would work all day with three other teachers and students, playing side by side. I was developing a taste for ragtime. I heard him play Joplin, and told him that's what I wanted to play. Joplin (The Maple Leaf Rag) was feel good music for me. It had life to it, and always made me smile. I had begun to feel the music I was playing. Bach was ok, Brahms was better, but nothing was as good as ragtime and swing.
At the end of the week, Stephen held a small recital for me. This was the first time I played alone. Sitting on the bench by myself. I could barely reach the pedals now, and had to stretch out my legs to get to them. I had spent all week playing without my regular bench. I was playing in their main room, setup like a small theatre. The lights were down low. There had to be about ten people in the room, with Stephen sitting in the front row. He was just off my right side, so if I glanced at him, he was right there. He kept telling me to watch him if I got nervous, and stop if I had to. He was all smiles, telling me how good I was, and it didn't matter if I wanter to stop. He would hold out his hand, in the Yes fassion (No real way to describe it) with his fist clentched. I began to play, and I could see him keeping time with his hands. Up till now, he used to make a joke out of pulling my music away, just to see what I could remember. I used to play on his joke and stop and complain until he put the music back. This was different. I was scared. I wasn't comfortable at all. My stomach was turning and I felt like puching. So I looked at him as he was leading me through high notes he would raise his hands and vice versa. I suddenly noticed I was watching him continuously, and not the music at all. His smile was growing wider, and I began to smile. We were both starring at each other, me playing, him guiding with his hands. I shut out the hole room. All I could see was him. When I finished, I looked up to find everyone staring in disbelief. Here's this almost eight year old kid, playing almost perfect without watching his hands or the music. A round of applause broke out, and I walked right for him to the edge of the stage. He was already heading for the edge when I jumped off into his arms. This was my first real tight " I did it hug". He was almost in tears, as was I. We both couldn't believe I did what I did. I was also having a great time with the hug. I wouldn't let go. He just rotated me around, to that comfortable hip position again.
Appantly, neither did anyone else. Rounds of handshakes, and "Good job young man!" went around the room. The whole time I was in his arms. What a feeling, a first major accomplishment for me. I was better than the teachers had expected, and I bloomed under the pressure. They wanted me back. They got their wish! We went back home, only to reveal the news to my parents. My parents were more than happy to let us return for a while. Stephen arranged time away from school, as did my parents. The agreement was he would tutor and teach at the same time. School was no big deal for me, and back then, it wasn't hard to remove yourself for a while without getting lost. Stephen arranged for his proffesor back home, to take care of my sister and his other students.
The school provided us with a private apartment accross the street. To me this was the greatest! No parents for a while! Stephen was so great about stuff. I had no problems with running around in my underware, and he did the same. We sharred the bathroom in the morning, and he would wash my back in the tub at night. He would shave while I bathed, and you could see him watch me in the mirror. He would always lift me out of the tub when I was done, and towel me off. I always seemed to get that feeling when he did that. More than once I became aroused. Of course, I was still pretty young, so I had no idea what I was feeling. I do now. He was always smiling. I was never embarrassed around him, because I felt so close. I was too young to no any different. Everynow and then, he would get splashed by me, and he would return fire with a wad of shaving cream from is face. Their would be other small games in the morning. We would brush our teeth together, and comb our hair. He would crouch down, catcher style, so I could comb his, and I would let him comb mine. Everyday he would put on cologne, and he would sneak a little into his hand, and gently swipe it accross the back of my neck. I would ususally giggle and tell him to knock it off. Man, I can remember the morning after I got a haircut and he did that! I screamed because it burned so bad. Usually it just tingled, but the barber had shaved my neck. He paniced. He was grabbing a washcloth, trying to wash my neck, dropped the soap on the floor, bent over, slammed his head on the sink, causing him to fall completely over and tripping me so I fell on top of him. It was hillarious! We would usually get up early, can't really say what time, cause it didn't matter to me. We would take care of bussiness, have breakfast, and then off to the scool. We would break for lunch, and sometimes we would go for walks in the streets. I do believe it was the first time I would get the craving for street vendor pizza. I still get the craving today. We rarley went out after we left the school. The city could be pretty scarry at night. It was in December, so the sun would go down early. He would take me back to the apartment and play some games for a while. Stephen was the one who taught me to play chess. I picked that up really fast. My father had taught me to play checkers, which I became really good at. We would usually play one or two games, and then proceed to my studies. We would work for a hour or two on studies, depending on the time. He was noticing that I had a thing for math. It was pretty easy for me, for some reason. Then it was bathtime. After my bath, he would ususally let me sit on his lap, while we read a story. At bedtime, he would always carry me to my bed, give me a goodnight hug, and a kiss on the forehead. This was great for me. When I was in the apartment, I was a different person. I felt so comfortable around him. It would take me forever to get to sleep, so he might continue the story I was reading earlier. He would sit on the bed, on his side. He would lay the book on my stomach, and hold the page with his hand. His other hand would prop up his head. He would read until I went to sleep. We never really had wrestling matches, but we would have a tickle session every now and then.
We had been there for two weeks, when I got really sick. I couldn't keep food down, and was running a fever. Stephen had called my mom, and asked if I should come home. Stephen kept insisting that it was just a bug, and convinced my mom to let me stay. My birthday was the next day, and I ended up staying in bed, yacking my brains out. I think Stephen had me on his mind, and completely forgot what day it was. My mom called that night, to see how I was, and to wish me a happy birthday. When she reminded Stephen, he kinda started appologizing, and feeling kind of glum. He didn't know what to do, and was appologizing to me, while I layed there, sprawled all over the place. After the phone call, he tried to convince me to eat something. He made me some soup and toast. All was well, for a little while. He was reading to me, back in bed again, when I started to yack all over the place. I managed to cover almost everything on the bed, including myself and Stephen. He got me out of bed, got me undressed, and stuck me in the bathroom. He proceeded to get undressed, picked me up, and we both got in the shower. He held me again in the shower, while I suffered through some dry heaves. When all was said and done, he bagan to wash me off. Now I was completey exhausted, so he had to hold me up, while trying to wash me off. I didn't say anything, just kind of stood there dazed and exhausted. I sat down in there when he was done, and leaned against the cold tile, while I watched him wash off.
He wasn't muscular, and not much to look at, but I thought he was the ultimate. He seemed to care so much for me. He only had respect for me. This was, however, my first experience being able to stare at a naked man. I was too exhausted to ask any questions, but the questions were there in my mind. We got out, and dried off. He wraped me in his blanket, and put me on the couch. I fell asleep, while trying to watch him clean up the bed, and change the sheets.
I awoke late at night, or very early. I can't remember, because it was still dark outside. I could see by the bathroom light, which we left on, that the bed was back together. I was trying to figure out what was different, when I realized where I was. I was asleep on the couch, under the blanket, with Stephen. We were snuggled together, with his arm over my stomach. We were both on our sides, and I tried to shuffle around. He woke up instantly, asking me if I was going to be sick again. I replied no. He asked if I wanted to get up and go back over to my bed. All I could think about was what I had already did to the bed, and told him no. I told him I was fine, right where I was. He tightened up his arm, gave a gentle squeeze, and told me he loved me. When I look back now, this was the first time he said that. After that night, it was just kind of common place for him to say that.
The next morning, we woke up, and I was doing better. He made me some more toast, and I had some juice. We sat on the couch, and watched tv for a while. I never really watched tv with Stephen around. Now that I think about it, I never really watched any tv. We just stayed under the blanket, and watched Sesame Street and the Electric Company. My fever had broken, so we got up and got dressed, and went for a walk. It was cold, but he insisted that it would be good for me. It was a good break from the stink in the apartment. We walked over to the school and said hello to everyone, and then left again. We went back to the apartment, got some laundry together, and went downstairs. He sat me up on a dryer, while he put the laundry in the washer. He then picked me up, and set me in his lap, and proceeded to read to me. I must have dozed off, cause I woke up long enough to see him put the laundry in the dryer. I dozed off again because I woke up on the couch, later that afternoon. Stephen was making dinner, and I could smell the spaghetti sauce cooking. He offered a game of chess, while he was making dinner. We played while we ate, and then I helped with the dishes. He would wash, and I would dry. We worked on my studies for a while, and then it was off to the tub with me. We were back in the regular routine, and off to bed I went. I awoke late, and noticed the tv was still on. I got out of bed, and went to the couch. I sat on the side, thinking Stephen was awake, but he wasn't. I layed on my side, and snuggled in. I sat and watched my very first episode of Saturday Night Live, while Stephen was sleeping. He stirred, and ended up wraping his arm around me. I was stuck there, with a sneaky grin thinking I couldn't get up. I enjoyed being close to him, feeling the warmth of his body against mine. I woke up, fully aroused (I had to pee, yah right) to find him stroking my hair, and asking me to get up, we had to goto school. We were back in the regular routine, except that now, he would read at night, in my bed, and then just stay there. I told him I didn't mind at all, and that I enjoyed his company. For the next week, it was the same routine.
We returned home the at the end of the week. I found myself wanting more time with him, like we had in the city. I begged him to do something, so he talked to my parents. We moved my lessons to Friday nights. I would go to the university, and have my lessons. We would go to his place after, and then hang out for the night. I became a regular fixture at the local bar where he played at night. We used to sit together, and play, while people would watch and compliment him and me. We were a matched pair at the piano. We would work on duet pieces to play together. It wasn't until I was older, that I fell inlove with the Billy Joel song "Piano Man". It has to be my all time favorite song. This continued throughout the next year. I would spend my Fridays with him, and stay at his place at night. All the time, my piano playing getting better. Everynow and then, he would convince my parents to let me stay the weekend, and we would have a blast. He would take me out and try to teach me tennis. One of the other things he taught me to do. He was making an incredible influnce on my life, and it showed.
When I wasn't with him, I would be with my dad, working around the house. This is where I started to develope my garage habbits. I think my dad was jealous of Stephen, because he would take me everywhere when I was with him. I think this is what brought my father and me, closer together. My father used to take me out to play tennis in the summer evenings, sometimes with Stephen. They would both play tennis together at the university. He would take me for bike rides, and walks, and have me work in the garage with him. Don't get me wrong, I did spend alot of time with my dad. Stephen was different though. I could talk to him about anything. In the limited amount of time I did spend with Stephen each week, we would have long talks.
I still made a trip to Manhatan every now and then, but with my father. He would take my sister and me for the day. We would travel around, looking at the sights, but we were always time limited. Stephen had been the first to take me to some of the museums there, but my father also would go to the same ones. He wanted to be able to share them with my sister as well. We always went by the school, to see some of the teachers, and my sister and me would always end up performing for the crowd that would gather. She still held some grudges, that I was better, and more well recieved, than she was. One of the teachers, had commented to my father that he should doccument my progress. Thus the recordings began. I had some recordings made of me, at various stages in my developement. There are recordings of me, which my father has locked in the family Saftey Deposit Box.
Back at home, I was making a small name for myself. I had played a private recital at the university, with college level students. There were a few small articles printed about me in the local papers. I continued to go to Stephens on Fridays, and play at the bar. I must say that I increased bussiness a little for the owner, for I had become quite the local attraction. Some people would complain that I didn't belong there, but that was back when whiners were just told to mind their own bussiness.
I was becoming quite the entertainer at the piano. I was also developing a complex about other players. This attitude began to grow as I got older. My parents began to encourage me in other areas. My father got me into the mechanical aspect of my life, by letting me play more with motors, and such. He would encourage me to help him more with the hands on type of work. My dad is a jack of all trades, but a master of none. He is a do-it yourselfer, who took alot of pride in his work. Much of what he is, has rubbed off on me over the years.
By the time I turned eleven, my piano skills were at their best. I was able to mimic songs, within a little time, and concentration. I had developed a small repitwar of pieces, that I could perform anywhere. My grandmother used to love to sit and listen to me play in the afternoons. She would request a piece of music, and I would grant it to her. She would give me a sheet of music, and I would master it in short while. My family took great pride in my playing, and my complex was getting worse. They would request pieces, and I would opt to play others. I was still enjoying the piano, with Stephen still teaching me. My practicing started to drop off. I was now only playing with Stephen on the weekends. My mother was convinced there might be a problem. She was right. Later, with help, I realized that I was already begining to burn out. My parents began to look for other ways for me to express myself. I took up the alto saxaphone in school. My parents had refused the teachers request to let me play the piano in school. Now the only time I was playing was for special requests at home, and on the weekends with Stephen. I grew bored with the sax after two years, and ended up playing the drums for another two. I was a great student in school, and had great grades.
I was still spending Fridays, and some weekends with Stephen. He would take me roller-skating and try to teach me to ice- skate. I never really ice- skated. We would still play tennis, and chess. We would goto the movies, or watch tv at home. We would talk about anything. Stephen was the person who had given me the "birds-and-the-bees" talk the year before. Sex was on my mind. We would still sleep together, and we shared no secrets in the bathroom. He would still allow me to sleep in his bed. I would always point out the fact that I would get aroused when he tickled me, or sometimes just the way he would touch me. He would always smile, or laugh, and call me horny. I was never embarassed about anything sexual. Alot of the questions in my life have been answered by him. I wanted to be with him, and explore my curiousities, but we never did. I would hint at it, and he would change the subject. To this day, I regret not coming right out and asking him. I never raised these questions to anyone else, except my friends. I would masturbate with my friends, and fool around with myself, but never with Stephen. I learned to except the fact that he wanted no part of the sexual contact with me.
For my twelveth birthday, my father had bought me a small motorcycle. I had ridden my friends gocarts and tractors. My best friend lived on a farm, and basically had a junkyard in the backyard. I was learning how to operate different machinery, and became an expert on some. My friends father would sell gravel and mulch in the summers. We would always impress people by loading their trucks, or trailers, only to bring smiles in the end. The motorcycle became my new intrest. My father was not a rider, so I would always be spending my time with my friend and his father. There was alot of room to ride at his place. In the winter, we would play on the snowmobiles, and the summers were motorcycles.
At Christmastime, Stephen anounced that he was going home to Sweeden, to be with his parents. He was done with school, and had recieved his masters in music from the university. I was devestated. To put it bluntly, I was kicked in the head, with a boot of love. I was in tears for two days. He tried to console me, but I didn't want to talk to him. He ended up leaving, after a tearful night at his place. We talked about so much. How I could push myself with anything. How I could be great at whatever I wanted to do. For a Christmas gift, he bought me a Dream Catcher. These were really rare back then, when most people had no idea what they were for. Along with music, he had studied other cultures on the side. It had more to do with music in general, but he would follow histories and beliefs of other cultures. I still have it today, hung proudly on my old bedroom window, in my parents house. I was fine mentally after Stephen had left, for a while. I proceeded to accell in school, and was in gifted programs in the summer. My piano playing was still at once a week, or sometimes twice, but I only played for my grandmother. I continued to ride and get better at mechanics. Hell, I was getting better at everything. I was playing on the tennis team in junior high school, and beating on the drums in music class. Every now and then, my father, or both my parents, would take me to the bar. I still enjoyed the piano, but not the same at the bar. I would usually play one or two pieces, take a bow, and then press my parents to leave. Playing wasn't the same. I had maintained almost an expert level, with no work on my part.
I would still talk to Stephen over the phone, and in an occasional letter. My life seemed to move on without him. My parents tried to push me other ways, but my feelings were starting to change. I was begining to get into mechanics heavily. I was riding my motorcycle back and forth to school, and having fun on the farm after school. I was also finding new friends. I was shunting the fact, that I was starting to admire smaller boys than myself.
As I moved into high school, I began to fall with the wrong crowd. I imediatley fell into the leather, or head crowd. I dropped tennis, altogether, and took up wrestling instead. I think I was looking for the contact I had missed for so long with Stephen. I was experimenting with some drugs, and relaxing more. My schoolwork had begun to drop off. I had stopped doing my homework and studying. I was still managing to pass all my subjects, by acing my tests. My parents were distraught with the fact that I could do better. They couldn't say anything to convince me to work harder. I was looking for companionship. Not the kind I was recieving from my friends. I found myself fanticizing about boys. Not women, boys. The wrestling didn't help. The locker room only made things worse. Perpetual hardons were always happening, and embarassment and name calling had begun. I still kept my close friends, and tried to date a girl or two. Nothing was satisfying. I dropped of the wrestling team, and began to sink further. My ego had completely done a turn around. I became extremly shy. I didn't make any new friends, just hung around the same group. The drugs continued, and I started smoking. The only time I was around boys, was in the Boy Scouts. The scouts became an important part of my life. My father was deeply involved with the scouts and my relatonship was growing and receeding with him at the same time. My friends were the only people I had to relate too. The drugs became a more powerful influence in my life.
I had been shoufering my grandmother everywhere by the time I was fifteen. Heck, I even drove myself to drivers ed class that summer, without a license. My sister was away at school, and I was the only child home. I slowly became a loner, except for a few friends. I would babysit my neighbors kids after school, and goto scout meetings. These were my only outlets for the feelings I had towards boys. I never had, or never will, make a sexual advance towars children. I simply enjoyed their company. I was riding more and more, and my mother refused to let me race the motorcycles. She feared to much for my saftey to compete. I rarely ever played the piano now. Only on the holidays, and only for my grandmother. I tried to spend as much time away from home, or in my garage. My father was the only person in the family I spent time with. We would stay up late working in the garage, or around the house. I would shy away my feelings from him, and not talk about personal problems. We would just work, again with me watching and mimicing.
By my junior year in highschool, I had met Paul. He was my first boy, and is still one of them today. I am saving him, and the others, for a completely seperate story. I was coming to terms with my longings, about boys. I was starting to get out of the drug phase, and the partying, because I wasn't hanging around with my friends as much. It was because of Paul, that my life started to reverse back to the way I was.
My senior year was the toughest. I had agreed to a work study program, that allowed me credit for going to work after a half day of school. I had to reapply myself, and better my grades slightly. I was having ambitions to actually do something. The Air Force was my answer. I had already taken some tests, but the S.A.T.'s and the ASVAB were my only hope. I actually studdied for them, and was rewarded with high scores. The Military came a knokin'. They proceeded to retest me in some subjects, and test me with a few new tests. Because of my S.A.T. scores, some offers were put on the table. I had always dreamed of flying, but was shotdown my my vision. They were placing me more in the engineering field. The offer stood, to give them four years, then seven years of college, then a placement guarentee with N.A.S.A. The money wasnt's there to proceed with college, so I had chosen this course as my option. My life was great. Paul was great. My mechanical knowledge had surpassed my fathers on cars, and I was working part time for a local mechanic. I was also pursing maintenance at a local apartment complex. I was restricted to hours there, because of school. The mechanic job was under the table. I had bought my first big truck, a 4x4, and proceeded to build it up to a great machine. I had a showboat girfriend. I didn't really love her, but again I wanted to fit in with everyone. I enjoyed sex with her, but I never felt any soul connection. I spent more time with Paul, than I did with her. Needless to say, it didn't last long.
Jumping ahead, to after graduation. I had enlisted on the DEP or delayed entry program. I wanted time to pay off bills before I went into the Airforce. I was now twenty years old, and ready to begin a career fro my- self. I had also met my second young friend while at the apartment complex. It was hard to leave both of them, but I was looking forward to a new challenge. I signed the dotted line, and was off to the military life.
Fourteen days into basic training, I was on the obsticle course, and jumped off a five foot wall. I broke my right leg, at the knee, in two different places, shattering my knee. I also just shattered my dreams. I spent the next two months, on base recovering, spending more time at B.A.S (to all you military guys). I had a minor behavior problem, to say the least. My knee was shot, and the best prospects after surgery, were a few years of physical therapy and only about seventy percent capacity of my knee. The Airforce suddenly lost all interest in me. Out the door I went, heading for home.
After getting home, I took my worst dive. I was in pyhiscal therapy, and in counseling. The Airforce did pay all the bills, and for the other surgery. They gave me a small settlement, and then left me, hanging, to a shattered dream. The boys were back with me, but so were my other friends. The drugs had started again, and I started with alcohol. The boys were making matters worse for me, because I couldn't understand my feelings for them. I was gaining weight, and getting really lazy. I was a couch potatoe. I had no strive for life, except with the boys. Pauls father stepped into the sceene, and proceeded to bury me with problems. I had not been careful around him, and some things slipped. I had the cops up my ass, the local folks, you know the story. I was also watching my neighbor after school, who became boy number three after time.
I was stuck at rock bottom. The word around town was set, they thought they knew what I was. I was at wits last end. I crashed my truck, that was the first sign. I overdosed on alcohol, that was the second. I overdosed on cocain, that was it. I was in the psych ward at the local hospital for a few weeks. Still on a crutch, I had gone the furthest I could, and survived. I can succesfully say, without honor, that I've been there, and lived. Barely.
The recovery was slow over the next year. I had three boys now, a screwed life, and no passion. I maintained counselling, and therapy for my knee. I was down to a leg brace, and my weight was at it's all time high. I hadn't talked to Stephen since I left for the Airforce. I proceeded to call Stephen, and explained what had happened. Needless to say he was shocked. He agreed to come back for a visit, and stay for a while. Stephen was the only person I had shared my own personal thoughts with, except for some minor stuff with the shrink. Now I was dealing with a shrink, my boys (confusing me even worse) and Stephen. When he came back into my life, things started to change again. He convinced me to move out of my house, and in with him. This is when I learned that he was openly gay. Something he couldn't have opened about to me before, because I was to young. We enjoyed each others company again. We explored what never was, the sexual side of things. I will admit to the fact that I loved him, but again, it wasn't what I expected. Again he began to push me. Getting me up and out. Getting me back into the garage, and back to work. Getting me back into riding, except with new toys. He never liked dirt bikes, so we were into quads and 4x4's. My life was slowly turning back around. The love was strong between us, and he enjoyed the boys. The sex was gone between us. It wasn't there for me. I know what I wanted, and it wasn't that. After years, he decided to go back home. Again with the tears, but my life was back on the rebound. The support he gave me was the best money could buy, except it was free. I was begining to enjoy life again and making a comeback. I was reading self help books, going to seminars, and pushing myself to enjoy who I was again. Now the boys were offering the most support. My love for them couldn't be stronger.
At twenty five, I had no edjucation higher than high school, and what I had taught myself. I answered an add for a new job, and the boss liked what he saw. I moved back home, to cut expenses, and payoff major bills. My job (where I am today), has changed my life. It allowed me to expand my horizions and travel all over the U.S. Again I had a challenge to live up to. I have built a stronger relationship with the boys, and with my parents since then. I'm making a comeback, and I'm proud of it. I no longer feel guilt, or embarassment in what I am. My parents don't bother me about girls, neither do my friends. They are letting me lead my own life.
Two years ago, my grandmother began the downward spiral of old age. We later found out it was cancer. She began to lose all her energy. Remember that she raised me while my parents worked. She cooked all those wonderful dinners, and was a wizz with leftovers. She gave me advice with the boys, and was always there offering money when I was broke. I was the closest to my grandmother, than anyone else in my family.
We brought in Hospice, to help with my grandmother. She faught well, refusing all treatment, and drugs. She had lived her life, and was ready to go. She began to wither away to nothing.
I recieved a call in Chicago last year. My grandmother was asking for me to please come home. I drove all night, straight through, until I was home. I took the next week off from work, and stayed home. She was still cognescent upon my return. She never lost her mind. I called Stephen, to inform him, and to let that side of the family know what was going on. I would sit with my grandmother for a few hours, in tears each day. I agreed to fly Stephen over here to America. My grandmother would still try to talk to me, each day, telling me not to worry, she was content, and in no pain. On Wednesday afternoon, she asked me why I had stopped playing the piano. I couldn't answer her. I could only think. It had been close to eight , no nine years, since I had really played the piano. I don't know why I hadn't played. I was bored with the piano, I had lost intrest.
Stephen had arrived that night. I cryed on his shoulder for half the night. I told him about the piano question, only to get no response. He consoled me the best he could, and by three am Thursday, we went to bed. On Thursday morning, around nine am, he woke me up. Again, by stroking my hair, like he had done years ago. He convinced me to get up and take him up to the university where we went to years ago. He wanted to see his old proffessor. After getting there, we met with his old proffessor. We were chatting when I overheard the lone piano down the hall. I left them, to go down the hall, and see who was playing. I sat and watched a young girl play for almost an hour. When she was done, I snuck into the room and sat down. I flipped through some pages of miscellanious music, and found a few pieces. I moved over to the piano and began to play. I hadn't played in a long time, so it was really rough at first. I was trying to find my way around again, when a chair pulled up beside me. It was Stephen. He put his arm around me, around my shoulder, and rubbed the back of my neck. It was an instant flashback. Suddenly, the music looked right, the keys began to sound right again. He left for a few minutes, and returned with his proffessor, and some sheet music. His proffessor had a copy of the "Piano Man" and "The Maple Leaf Rag". I spent the rest of the afternoon remastering the rag, and the attitude I used to have. I moved to the "Piano Man" and began to play. Stephen, who would sometimes hum while I played, began to sing. I had never heard him sing out loud.He had an extremely beautiful voice. It brought me to tears immediately. I fought off what I could, to keep going over it again. He kept singing. At six that night, the proffessor asked us to leave so he could lock up. Stephen had to drive me home, once again, I was completely exhausted. This week had torn me apart, and he was back once again. We got home, and tried to make some dinner for the rest of my family. That night, two of my young friends were there, and spent the night. We talked for hours in the garage, my real home. We went to bed around eleven pm that night. I checked on my grandmother, who was still breathing, motionless in the bed. I said goodnight to myself, under my breath and went to bed.
My mother woke me at six am, asking me to come upstairs. My grandmother was barley alive, and asking for me. When I got into the room, she mumbled for my hand, while I sat beside her. She told me she loved me, and that was all she wanted. She let go of my hand, and I hugged my mom, while we were both in tears.
I left the room, and went out to smoke a cigarette. I smoked three before I collected myself, and went back inside. I popped a soda, and sat in the living room starring at that darn piano. I sat down and proceeded to play. I played the "Maple Leaf Rag" one more time. Begining to cry again, I started to play harder and harder. Stephen had come upstairs, and sqeezed onto that old piano bench with me. He placed his left hand on the back of my neck as I continued to play. He began to rub, and I started to compose myself. I finished the piece and stepped up to go out for a cigarette again. I lit my cigarette, and hit a long hard drag. I sat in my lawn chair, staring at the flourescent lights. My mother came out, crying, and not a word was said. She sat in my lap and cried. We both cried. My father came out, and we all stood up. We all were crying, and standing in a circle, hugging. My grandmother, God rest her soul, had taken her last breath and smiled, while I was playing. On that Friday morning in April, at seven ten am, my grandmother died.

I make no claims to fame. I ask for nothing in return. This is my life, my story. For the first person to call me a liar, screw you. I have no reason to lie to anyone anymore. I have changed my own life, with the help and love from others. I only ask one favor of you, should anyone be able to identify me by my past, by the few facts I have sharred, think twice before saying so. I have worked hard to build back what I have now.

I am back ontop of my life, and wanting more. That's why I'm here, that's the only reason I'm sharring. My entire personality has changed in the past few years, thanks to my job, my family, and my boys. I am on top of the world right now, and you know my pain.

I will not let that change.
 

I have not touched a piano since, nor do I feel the desire to.
 

Thank you for sharing a part of me.
 

First posted by Metallihead to BoyWrite on December 22, 1998 at 20:28:00: