When Mom said, "Get your stuff, we're leaving," it was easy for me to pack.

I had some socks, underwear and my school clothes, and the Teddy bear. I didn't hang on to too much stuff, because I didn't want to drag it around with me. The one rule I'd calculated controlled everything,

Don't get too comfortable. You won't be here that long.

There was no reason to think it would be any different at Stanley's. He had been around a bit longer than most of the guys I remembered, and they did go through all the trouble to get married, and Mom did say, "He's the one."

That didn't mean to forget about the one rule I knew by heart. I didn't mind Eagle Point. I didn't mind Mrs Frump or her third grade classroom. I felt better about being in school there than I'd ever felt in school anywhere. Mrs Frump talked to us, listened to us, and tried to explain things we didn't understand.

Kerry sitting beside me was both a blessing and curse. I loved being near him, but I couldn't pay attention to Mrs Frump while I paid attention to Kerry.

Rachael was thirteen. Wendy was eleven and Clare was ten. Stanley assigned Rachael to take me up to my bedroom. Like Kerry who volunteered to be my friend, Rachael volunteered to make me feel at home. She wanted to hear what I had to say and she wanted to tell me how she thought.

Kerry took care of me and made sure I wasn't alone at school. Rachael took over when Kerry left me in Stanley's driveway. We'd often have a snack and chat, once I was home from school. I hesitated to tell myself that I was happy at Stanley's. It wasn't easy to accept people as being more permanent than the people who came before, but before long I was feeling comfortable.

Maybe the next time Mom said, "Get your stuff. We're leaving," I'd say you go ahead Mom. I'm staying here.

I'd never had my own room. I never had sisters before.

On the way to my room that first day at Stanley's, Rachael told me, "It can't be easy being pulled up and set down in a new place, Josh. I'll take care of you. I'll make sure you're OK here, if it's OK with you."

"OK," I said.

She made it sound like I belonged there. I didn't know easy. I figured stuff out on my own. No one really took care of me. Did I want to let a girl I'd known for fifteen minutes take care of me? It's the best offer I had. Maybe I'd try it.

Each day, I stood in Stanley's driveway holding hands with Kerry, as we said goodbye. I didn't like saying goodbye to him. I wanted to stay with him, but he had chores, and he had to go, but I knew Rachael was already home and she'd be waiting to hear about my day. It wasn't so bad. I might even like Eagle Point.

Rachael made sure I was OK. Like every day she made sure. She'd often come to my room to talk in the evenings after dinner. She was always smiling. She was always friendly. She told me that I was a boy and she really didn't know anything about boys, and maybe I'd help her learn more about how boys thought.

I was a boy. There wasn't much to it. I did what I was told. I liked peanut butter and jelly. I liked having my own room. I wasn't sure about having sisters, but Rachael was cool.

Rachael took the time to explain her sisters to me one afternoon, as she laid on my bed and explained her life to me.

She said, "Pay them no mind, Josh. Wendy feels superior to everyone and you need not try to please her. Clare doesn't know there is anyone but her, and they ignore each other. It makes it nice for me, and you too, as it turns out. They certainly won't pester you for attention."

I laughed. Rachael giggled.

I'd classify Rachael as normal. I didn't know anyone normal, so I could be mistaken. I liked her right off. I knew we'd be friends. She was friendly. I'd never been friends with a girl, except Mom. She's not really a girl.

Having someone who cared about me in the house was cool. It wasn't Rachael's job to like me, but she did anyway. She was serious. She was funny. She was smart.

Rachael would always treat me nice. Even when I was in a funk, she merely figured out a way to get me to laugh. School could get me down. Kerry always picked me up. Rachael wouldn't allow me to spend too much time alone.

"Joshua, I'm glad you came. My life is far more interesting with you in it. Is there anything you need? Can I get you a snack. What do you want? Are you comfortable here?"

I was comfortable. That worried me. Liking Kerry and Rachael worried me. I never liked anyone. There was never a point before, and now people liked me.

I decided I didn't mind being at Stanley's. Stanley was a bit much, but I rarely saw him except at the dinner table. It was a big house, and we didn't run into each other. I was in my room, going or coming, except at dinner, and Stanley wasn't always home at dinner.

"How are things, Joshua?" Stanley would ask.

"Fine, Mr Crunch," I'd say.

He'd smile. I kept on eating.

One day, while Rachael was lying on my bed, going on about whatever it was she went on about, and her father opened my bedroom door. He didn't knock. It was his house after all. He swung the door wide open.

"Rachael, when you're in Joshua's room, please leave the door open."

"Oh, Father, you're such a prude," Rachael lamented.

"None-the-less, a young lady shouldn't be in a young man's bedroom with the door closed. Humor me, Dear."

I'd been there for over two years. I was ten. I had no urge to jump Rachael's bones. Kerry, I'd jump in a minute. I'd rather not get punched and lose the only friend I ever had. We were constant companions from the time we walked to school, until we came back from school in the afternoon.

"He's ten, Father," Rachael yelled after her father left my doorway.

Soon, I was eleven and twelve. Nothing changed between Rachael and me. She came to my room all hours of the day and night.

If Rachael had something to say, I was who she said it to.

"What do you think, Josh? I like three boys. Which do you like?"

If there was anything Rachael and I had in common, it was our interest in boys. There had been a new expansion in my attraction to boys recently. When I went to middle school, all the boys got naked to shower. There were endless sights to see and boys to daydream about. I even caught site of Kerry in the shower a few times. He was gorgeous and I wished I could touch him, but I could have been talked into touching some of the boys I liked.

Rachael never asked me if I was gay. She knew before I did. For one thing, I talked about holding hands with Kerry when we walked together. Her stories about tantalizing a boy by hinting interest if she only knew more about him, encouraged me to ask questions about boys I knew and she was tempting.

Rachael talked about the Kanes and asked me about my interest in Kerry.

I liked talking about Kerry. We still held hands when we walked and Rachael thought that was so cool.

"You couldn't do that in a big city, you know? You can in Eagle Point. People tend to mind their own business. If they don't want to hold their boyfriend's hand, that's their business, but don't tell other people they can't hold hands. If more people held hands, there'd be less likely to shoot at someone."

"What does that mean, Rach?" I asked.

"I don't know. I think I just made it up. You hungry?"

* * * * *

When Rachael's mother died two years before, she became responsible for looking after her sisters and to keep them out of mischief.

Stanley was big on mischief. He knew we were up to something all the time. It was actually quite mundane at Stanley's. Very little went on that would even muster a yawn from most observers. Stanley had teenage girls, who acted like teenage girls. I didn't even qualify as a threat.

Stanley was vigilant. He was taking no chances.

By the second time Stanley came to my room to open my door while Rachael was lying on my bed, talking away, I'd been at Stanley's house longer than I had been anywhere.

Maybe Mom stopped staying, "Get your stuff. We're leaving."

At ten, if Mom decided to leave. I'd get my stuff and move in to Kerry's room. No, Kerry hadn't asked me to move in but I think he'd let me.

In any event, it would take an earthquake to get me to move again. I belonged somewhere. I never thought it might be Eagle Point.

One afternoon, after Kerry and I spent ten minutes saying goodbye in Stanley's driveway, I was in my room. Rachael came in and landed on my bed beside me.

"Hey, Rach."

"What do you think, Josh?" she said looking at her hands.

"I think it might rain. I think we're due a frost. I think ..."

"No, silly. My fingernails. It's a new color," she said, admiring her fingers.

"It's pink," I said.

"No, it's pink passion. Isn't that the greatest name you ever heard?"

"No, Kerry Kane is the best name I've heard," I said.

"You kiss him yet," Rachael asked, temporarily losing interest in her fingers.

"Boys don't kiss each other," I said.

"They should. Might be a lot less fighting if there was more kissing."

I laughed.

"Really," she said. "Do you like it?"

"If you're asking if I want it on my fingernails. No. As a color, it's fine."

"I really can't decide if I like it or not, Joshua. What do you think?"

"Pretty color," I said, wiggling to get off the hook.

"Yes, but is it a color you want on your fingernails is what I need to know? I can't decide. I look at it and I think it's wonderful, then, I look, and no it isn't."

"It's fine," I said.

"Be honest. You wouldn't wear it?"

"Not unless I was looking to get my ass kicked in the boys' gym."

She laughed.

"It's that whole guy thing, isn't it?" she asked.

"I don't know if it's a guy thing, but boys wearing fingernail polish or lipstick for that matter, are going to meet with resistance."

"Get their ass kicked?"

"Exactly."

"One must be macho," she said. "I don't get it. Why do boys like to fight?"

"It's required. It's in the international guide for boys. One must like to fight."

"There would be a lot less fighting if the whole macho thing got lost."

"Until a boy walks into the gym with pink fingernail polish and red lipstick."

"Well, in that case, he'd deserve it. One must never where pink with red."

"There is that. There are lines you don't cross if you want to live," I said.

"If Kerry Kane said, Josh, I'd love you to wear pink passion on your nails, wouldn't you say yes, yes, yes."

"No, no, no, not even for Kerry Kane, dear sweet Rachael."

"I don't envy you and the whole macho deal, but girls can't make their minds up half the time. They don't know if they're coming or going the other half."

"Sleep on it, mom always says."

"Good advice. Thank your mom for me," Rachael said, floating out of my room like she was on cloud nine.

When I got up to close my door, Stanley was standing there looking at me.

"Was my daughter in your bedroom?" he asked.

"Yeah. We were talking."

"What did a twelve-year-old have to say to my almost grown daughter?"

"Mostly, I think we were talking about her nail polish. Sometimes I'm not sure. I just nod and agree with whatever it is she wants me to agree to," I said, closing the door.

Little change took place at Stanley's house, but time was passing, and I was growing older. My thoughts were becoming more involved. My thoughts were now connected to life around me and things I did that required thought.

Stanley lurked about from time to time, but he was harmless. He wanted to protect his daughters, but he had nothing to worry about when it came to me. One day, I might ask to borrow one of his daughters' gowns, but I doubted anything more serious than that was going on at Stanley's house. Stanley wanted to believe he could keep everything under control. He'd already lost that battle.

It was nothing like anywhere I lived before. It was like Rachael said, "He's there. Do what I do. Ignore him. He'll go away."

I considered my mother to be indifferent. She was stuck with me too, and she made the most of it. I couldn't ignore my mother, but my answer to almost anything she said was, 'Uh huh."

"It's a wonder boys put up with girls," Rachael said one afternoon, while examining the decals she'd just installed on her fingernails. "You'll never be able to figure girls out, Joshua. I am a girl, and half the time, I don't know why I do the things I do. Something comes to me, and I do it because it comes to me."

I always listened to Rachael, even when she made no sense at all. I thought about Kerry a lot. Sometimes when Rachael was talking to me, I was a million miles away. It's probably why I didn't mind when she came to my room to talk.

I did believe girls and boys were likely from different planets. Boys were certain they knew everything and girls knew they didn't know everything. I didn't know how you could make something like that work, but a lot of people did.

Once I was growing older, and Rachael was too, we found something we had in common. Boys! Whenever Rachael talked about boys, my ears perked up. Girls and boys may have been different, but when a boy is attracted by other boys, listening to a girl can be quite informative.

By the time Rachael started high school, her interest in boys grew. Rachael liked having a boy to talk to. I was too young to know about how boys related to girls. I thought Rachael's comment about not knowing why she did what she did half the time could apply to boys. I didn't do much, but when I did do something, there was very little thought that went into it.

Boys thought they knew a lot more than they actually knew. When we went into action, we knew how it would turn out. We thought we knew. Of course, nothing turned out the way it was planned, but boys have the ability to accept whatever comes of their folly and they say, "Just how I saw it going."

No boy ever says about a girl, "It's how I thought it would work out."

Rachael called her father, "Father."

I called my mom, "Mom."

I don't believe my mother or Rachael's father had any idea how evolved their offspring were. I don't think Rachael's sisters were that mature. They already knew everything.

Rachael and I were learning as we went along. Listening to her was never dull, and when I got a little older, she'd furnish images I masturbated to. It had little to do with Rachael, and everything to do with boys Rachael talked into showing her their penis. At first it was more a game, and that was fine with me. It was her describing, in great detail, how each penis looked and who was behind it that fueled my hand after lights out at night.

Why boys would unzip and put themselves on display, I can only guess. At eight, I thought Rachael was pretty. At twelve, Rachael was a knock out. I was twelve, not her. Her chestnut hair and fine shape I could envy. Not because I wanted her, but because I wanted to have what she had.

When push came to shove, I'd be doing the same thing Rachael was doing. I'd survey every dick that was pulled out. I'd touch, examine, look around it, and watch the boys go nuts. I'm not sure that isn't exactly what Rachael did, but she told a far more gentile tale about the boys who showed her their dicks.

A girl in high school has access to hundreds of boys, if she cares to entice one or more with the promise of action should they be the right boy. Who can say what might transpire once she sees what the boy believes is the perfect dick?

Now that Kerry and I are in middle school, we listen to teenage boys talk. There is little doubt they are made of the right stuff and any woman would be proud to bed them if the boys will stand still for it.

Luckily, I've never been that sure of myself. I think I'm OK. I don't need girls to like me. A few boys wouldn't hurt my feelings. I'm learning as I go. With Rachael in my bed most afternoons, I'm learning the woman's perspective on boys, and she doesn't have a much higher opinion than I do. She has figured out a way to get what she wants out of boys, without putting much into it.

It isn't something I can do, but it's like being there when Rachael reveals the sting that has boys popping the penis out of their pants. It's good for a laugh or two, and then as has been the case for some time, I can use it to jack-off by once Rachael has left the auditorium.

I have a hunch she's wise to me, but it's something like a twofer. She gets the thrill out of seeing, touching, and massaging the latest boy's penis, and then, late at night, I masturbate to her reliving of that day's dupe and what she got him to do with some idea that if he does it right, he'll get to do Rachael.

Rachael's adventures in boy land have awakened a hunger inside of me. It's not too well formed, and I have no idea what to do with it, but I can feel it growing, maturing, down in my depths. I am becoming a man.

Rachael specialized in boys' dicks. If there was any hope that a given boy might get access to a given girl, in this case Rachael, he'd need to undergo inspection. Rachael was not going to be with just any boy. He must be properly endowed and adequately attractive when he got himself hard.

This is how Rachael got to look at many of the boy's dicks at the high school. She wouldn't bed any of them, but she did get them so hot and bothered, they need relief of some kind, and for some boys she did give a hand. Getting anything from a lovely lady like Rachael was better than nothing.

Each time she succeeded in having another boy expose himself for inspection, Rachael brought the entire story home to her eager younger brother. Many a night Rachael came to my bedroom after everyone else was in bed, and we giggled and laughed over what she made the boy do.

It was quite remarkable to me, but she'd seen the penises of boys I knew. I had no way to get a view of a boy's dick anywhere but in the shower, and after you'd seen everyone naked once, it's no big deal, unless he gets hard, and whether or not it was a big deal was an opinion that guys could disagree about.

I didn't disagree with a sister who told all about the boys in Eagle Point.

We all got along. There was no fussing or disagreeableness. My room was on the far side of the house from Stanley's daughters. It felt like he built bedrooms on another wing of the house, because he was taking no chances if a boy came to live in his house. Here I was, and it took me weeks to figure out where Rachael, Wendy, and Clare had their rooms.

One day, while I was in the back of the house with Rachael, she showed me the stairs to the upstairs wing where they slept. The stairs were next to the kitchen. I suppose if a burglar broke in, he'd never find the girls' rooms. I had no idea where Stanley and my mother slept, but I'm sure they didn't get married to sleep in separate bedrooms. I think there's a law about that.

There were plenty of laws and I knew some, but mostly my life was about going to school and negotiating a world with people who stayed put. As I turned eleven and twelve my disposition no longer had me worrying that we might move at any time.

We didn't move. We hadn't moved it years. Everything seemed to be stable.


Send Rick an email at quillswritersrealm@yahoo.com

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"Deliberate Exposure"

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"Once Upon a Time"

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