Life’s Pathways

By Melodie Thomas

Edited by Holly Hart

Prologue
There are really only two givens in life, birth and death. Every person that ever existed has or will go through both. I know, I know, the actual saying is ‘the only two givens in life is death and taxes”. No, that is just political complaining, you don’t have to pay taxes; there are other options, say … prison … but you don’t have to pay taxes. However, everyone has to be born and, as much as we try to ignore or avoid it, we will all face the death song eventually. In between the two givens we have the sometimes exciting, sometimes tragic but always interesting, journey called life.

From the moment we are born until the moment that we die we are faced with a plethora of decisions. At any given moment we are faced with hundreds of possible decisions that will rule the rest of our lives. With each breath we take we face decisions on how to act, what to do, what to say, what to eat, when to sleep etc. etc. At birth the list of decisions is fairly small, we can decide if we are hungry or sleepy or want to cry. As we get older the list of possible decisions grows in size as well as in complexity. Though we never think about it, these momentary decisions are very dangerous and far reaching as once we make any decision, and then act on it, our lives are irreversibly changed. The impact of the decisions we make could occur instantly or the impacts may not be seen for years but all decisions will have an impact on our lives and, often, the lives of others.

If we were to look at any given decision as an arrow on the map of our life, the next decision we make may point in a slightly different direction than the first and the one after than in a different direction still. As those decisions are stacked upon each other over time, the path that life takes is rarely a straight line but more of a serpentine like wandering over the fabric of time. As life progresses, our path based on past decisions, travels in a, sometimes aimlessly, direction of curves, circles and lines. At some point, often more than once, the traveler may take cause for pause to look back on their live and ask the deep philosophical question, “How the Hell did I get here?”

That moment just occurred for me today, standing in my bedroom and looking at myself in a mirror. The person I saw in the mirror was not a person I ever dreamed would exist, back when I was young enough to believe in dreams. As I asked the person in the mirror just how they came to exist I was not clear on the answers so I thought I should write it down. Maybe, I could see how the path that I followed led to where I am now. Tomorrow morning I am getting married. That in its own right is not astonishing as I always dreamed that I would someday marry and have a family. However, nowhere in those dreams did I ever think, not once, that when that day came I would be the one wearing the white dress. As I removed the dress, while still watching the mirror I see the woman standing there that is beautifully proportioned with 34 C-cup breast, a narrow waist that widens to 32” hips. Even without clothes, there is no sign there was ever anyone here but a beautiful woman. But still, where did she come from??

Chapter 1 -- The Beginning
I was born in June of 1982 as the third child, and only son, of Randle and Marsha Ringston. The joyous event that marked my birth also resulted in my given name of Timothy James Ringston. I was preceded in life by two sisters, Mary, 8 years my elder and April, 6 years my elder. Two years after April was born, Mom had a miscarriage and lost a third sister and the Doctors told her the chances of her carrying a child full term again was not very good and strongly suggested that 2 daughters was a large enough family. My parent’s considered that for a couple of years and finally decided that two was enough and my dad should have a vasectomy.

At the time of his procedure, my dad’s doctor told him that they (Mom and Dad) needed to continue to take precautions until Dad could return for a follow up test on his sperm count after 3 months. As the story goes, Dad forgot to mention that little part to my mom and she had immediately stopped taking her birth control as, in her mind, it was no longer necessary. Upon Dad’s return visit to the Doctor the discovery was made that the first procedure had not been completely successful and need to be repeated.

When she found out, Mom figured that was a pretty good reason why she missed her period last month and 8 months later their little bundle of “oops” was born. For as long as I can remember Dad reveled in telling that story about how he got ‘in under the wire’ to get his son and how he’d needed to have a certified lab statement from the Doctor before he was allow to, shall we say, enjoy the pleasures of his wife again. I am not sure my mom was as excited about the story as Dad was but she would throw into the conversation at times that she had even considered ‘helping’ the doctor the next time to make sure ‘everything’ was cut off.

Though I was the ‘oops’ member of the family, it should never be interpreted that I was unwanted. Nothing would be further from the truth. I was very blessed to be born into a very tight knit, warm and loving family. Because of the age differences between me and my sisters, one could almost argue that I had three mothers, or at least one mother and two ‘want to be’ mothers.

The stories that I heard growing up were my sisters, Mary and April, spent as much time taking care of me as my mother did. However, another of the legendary stories in our family was that I was lucky to live through April. April considered me one of her dollies and would try to carry me around where ever she went. Unfortunately, as a 6 year old, she had a tendency to drop things, me being one of those things. In later years, whenever I did something abnormally stupid, which was quite often I have been told, Mom would comment that maybe April had dropped me on my head one too many times. I tried using that as an excuse a few times but quickly found out that Mom could use that as an excuse, but I couldn’t.

All of my baby pictures show a very cute little girl dressed in pinks, flowers and often times dresses. Mom had decided there was no point in buying all new baby things. She already had all of the baby clothes from Mary and April, and saw no good reason to have to buy all new stuff just because she now had a boy. In the years that followed, when I questioned her about it, she would tell me that up to age 2 no one really cared and it really did not matter if people thought I was a boy or a girl. When the time came for me to start presenting myself to the world as a boy she would take care of it but at that age, who cared?
This little money saving idea raised a few eye brows and a few problems for me as I got older, when friends of mine would see the pictures or when I would bring a girl home and Mom just had to show off all of my cute pictures. The girls would tend to giggle and then give me some light hearted teasing but the boys were a little more forceful about the teasing. Even my own relatives often had a very hard time telling my pictures apart from Mary’s or April’s and I had to admit, even without the clothes, when placed side by side, it was almost impossible to tell our pictures apart.

As I grew through the first 4 to 6 years of my life I was always given an adequate supply of boy toys, mostly by my dad, I think. However, the house was also full of girl toys and children of that age really have a hard time distinguishing the difference. So though I did my share of playing with trucks and cars and toy soldiers, I also spent a fair amount of time playing dolls, doll houses, tea sets and Easy Bake Ovens. Honestly, through those years my primary playmates were always my two older sisters.

Probably because of the age difference, there was very little of the classic brother/sister wars, as by the time I was 6 years old both of my sisters were just reaching teenage status. As they were reaching the era of young adulthood and started experimenting with things like makeup, dress-up and Mom’s clothes, I was the pesky little brother that was always trying to mimic my big sisters. There were a few problems encountered as I started having other playmates from school or the neighborhood.

At that time I really did not realize the difference between playing trucks or playing dolls and could do both equally. When I had company, other young male playmates, I had no problem taking a doll for a ride in a truck or asking them if they wanted to help me dress the dolls. I really could not understand why all the other boys wanted to do was dig in the dirt or run over my dolls with their trucks. This often led to arguments with the other boys and, in some cases, arguments with their parents. At that time I really could not understand what all the fuss was about but I know a couple of my playmates were not allowed to come back.

There is another set of damning pictures in my Mother’s photo album that came from that era. My sisters were starting their experiments of being grown women with makeup and they had the great idea to dress up their 6 year old brother, since he would not go away and leave them alone. The result of that activity was a group of pictures showing me with lipstick, eye shadow, earrings and one of April’s smaller dresses, though I also had short hair. Of course my mom explained to the girls that was not the right thing to do to a boy, however she had a hard time not laughing while doing so, and was the one that insisted on taking the pictures. Though I had no idea what the fuss was all about I was just trying to be like my sisters and, at age 6, the concept of the different sexes had not really dawned on me yet. This was not a onetime occurrence and much to my chagrin in future years these pictures would surface again with not so great of results. My dad, on the other hand, saw very little humor in this activity and he and Mom had a few words on the topic. As a result Mom had some private discussions with Mary and April and the practice came to an end before I reached my 7th birthday.

One element of my appearance or grooming was a constant issue throughout my childhood and even on into adulthood and that was my hair. My dad had beach blond hair that he kept trimmed in a perfect ‘business man’ cut, not more than an inch and half long and always parted and combed. Dad was quite the stickler for the appropriate style that a conservative professional should show. My mom, on the other hand, had long flowing red hair that almost reached the middle of her back. As a result of the merging genes, all 3 of us children had some variation on the reddish blond theme. By the time that I was old enough to remember it, both of my sisters had long reddish-blond hair that reached well past their shoulders in long flowing waves. I just loved their hair and watching them brush and style it.

I, on the other hand, was forced to follow in my dad’s footsteps and my hair was kept cut short, almost long enough to comb. Every 3 months I was on my way to the barber for my ‘trim’ and I fought these trips tooth and nail. I wanted to grow my hair like my sisters but either Mom or Dad would force me into the car; I would cry the whole time my hair was being cut off. As I got older the crying part would stop but the hatred of the hair cut would remain and the debate with my Father would continue right up to the point I moved out on my own. This was an inflexible point with him and the only place that we never reached agreement in my youth. I am not sure I will ever really understand the reasons for it but it was the only time in my life that I heard the ‘my house, my rules’ speech from him. Even through high school I would argue that other boys had long hair but he would have none of it. Though I could have gone against his wishes as I got older, I loved my father dearly and as much as he supported me in everything else I just could not bring myself to let this come between us even though I hated the short hair and haircuts.

We lived in a moderate house in a slightly upscale neighborhood probably best described as the ideal American dream. The house sat in a quite area with 4 bedrooms, 3 bathrooms, 3 car garage and even came with the white picket fence. My dad was a CPA that worked for a local accounting firm and Mom use to be the office manager at that firm until they started having children. Once Mary was born Mom became a stay at home Mom but she continued to work part time from home doing reports and presentations for the company. Dad never did move up the ranks at the company and when I was much older we had a few conversations about that. Though we appeared to live very comfortably, Dad never seemed to make the kind of money that I had learned that many CPAs make and when I was looking at my own career decisions many years later I had questions about his status in life. Whenever I would question it Dad would just smile and say “I choose my family first”. I had a hard time understanding what he meant but as Mom explained to me many years later that my Father could have worked the 60 to 80 hours per week needed and possibly made partner in the company but he would have then missed his family growing up. Dad had long ago made the decision that, though he had to work and loved his work, he loved his family more and gave up the promotional path in order to take more ownership in the ‘Father’ role.

Other than the few exceptions already mentioned I more or less grew up living the life of a normal boy. I rode bikes, climbed trees, played army games and well as organized sports. As I approached the teen period I became aware of the difference between boys and girls and as a boy I could collect all sorts of insects, lizards, snakes and the such that would make a girl scream and give the boys a great laugh. As a youngster I played Little League baseball and Pop Warner Football. Though I would not say I was any good at them I enjoyed playing, especially baseball, that I played on a team since I was in second grade. My biggest fan was my dad and he made almost every game that I played. I think it would be much easier to count the games he missed, there were very few of those. As I migrated into my early teen years, and the growth spurt started for many of my teammates, there was the growing realization that sports was not in my future.

To be politically correct, my entire family was size challenged. My dad was the towering redwood in the family topping out the measuring tape at 5’ 7”. My mom barely broke the 5 foot mark and by the time I graduated from high school I was ecstatic with the fact that I was taller than both of my sisters at a towering 5’ 6”. Also, if I wore wet blue jeans and could stuff enough rocks in my pocket I would almost hit 120 pounds. No, I was not a towering force to be reckoned with on the sports field. I continued to play baseball and football through Jr. High as what I gave up in size I could make up for in speed. I had very fast reflexes and was a good runner. However, as I started high school the weight differences became so profound that playing football was out of the question. Even though I was fast, I was more like a whiffle ball running down the field, if someone actually tackled me there was a good chance I would not be getting up again. I continued to try to play baseball but my lack of solid muscle tone just overruled my performance. I could catch and throw the ball just fine but the power of the pitchers was so great that even if I connected to the ball with the bat it would barely get out of the infield. I ended up settling with swimming and track as my high school sports as my speed would let me be reasonably competitive.

One of my friends growing up was Ron Singleton. Some people actually thought we were brothers because we were seen together so much. Truth was, his mom and dad were very good friends with my mom and dad as Ron’s dad worked for the same firm as my dad. The couples spent many weekends, family outings and Barbeques together and Ron was their only child. Ron was 1 year older than me and whenever the parents got together Ron and I would get together.

When I was about 11 years old tragedy struck and Ron’s father died of a heart attack. This devastated Ron’s mother and my family took the role of caring for them. Actually, Ron and his mom, (Karen), moved into our house for about a year right after the death and since we had a 4 bedroom house, and Mary was already off to college, Ron stayed in my room while his mom stayed in Mary’s room. It is really hard to say if we were that good of friends or we were just forced together by fate but either way, we spent a fair number of years in each other’s company.

Ron was really a polar opposite to me. Where I tended to be the quieter and reserved type, Ron was very outgoing, aggressive and vocal. Ron tended to be the leader, the one that came up with the ideas for the things we did. He didn’t seem to be afraid of anything nor shy about harassing or hazing anyone and that included me. Ron was living with us when I had my 12th birthday and my mom had arranged a birthday party at our house for me. There were about 8 kids, both boys and girls that either I went to school with or lived in the neighborhood. It was during this event that my sister, April, pulled out one of mom’s photo albums to show off what I looked like as a baby to a couple of the parents present. That specific album contained a lot of the pictures that were mentioned earlier and when Ron saw the ones of me dressed up by my sisters things started getting wild.

After seeing the pictures Ron shouted above the background noise “I knew it!! You’re not Timmy you’re Tiffany!!” at which point he proceeded to dance around the room calling out “Tiffany, Tiffany, Tiffany” in a very taunting fashion.

Though my mom and Karen tried to get control of the situation, soon most of the other kids at the party were calling me Tiffany. At 12 years old a boy is not supposed to cry, but I have to admit it took every ounce of my self-control not to. I felt so embarrassed and had no idea what to do so I just stood there and stared at him. Even after they got Ron to settle down I was called Tiffany by him and most of the other guys for the rest of the day, even though both of our Moms were angry with him, so I just avoided them and hung out with the few girls that were at the party. The ‘Tiffany’ thing continued into the night and for most of the next week at school. However, most of the kids either had no idea what the ‘joke’ was or really didn’t care as no one else picked up on it and after a few days it just faded away but it never faded from Ron as he called me either Tiffany or Tiff for the next year or so, off and on. Karen finally got a job in another town and they moved away before my 13th birthday.

I often look back over this time of my life to see if there were any defining moments that would give any indication to what my future held. Looking backwards I can identify a few but they did not seem to hold much significance at the time. The first one that I remember happened with Ron. Though Ron and his mother moved to a different town, Karen and my mom remained very close and whenever Karen had time off, she and Ron would come back to our town for a visit and stay with us. I guess I was about 14 years old and just reaching that age where sexual curiosity started to occupy some portion of a person’s live. April was off to College with Mary but Ron still shared my room during their visits. I guess our parents thought the boys still needed some bonding time. Little did they know where that was going to lead. One night Ron and I were laying in our respective beds in the pre-sleep period talking and the conversation turned towards sex.

“Ever done this with your ‘thingy’?” Ron asked in the semi-darkness of the room.

Looking over at him I saw that he had his underwear pulled down and was rubbing his penis with his hand. “Yeah, a couple of times.” I admitted.

“It sure feels good.” Ron said quietly “I wonder what it feels like to have a girl do it for me”.

Since I had absolutely no idea and really didn’t know what to say I just responded with a “Hmm… don’t know”.

“You know,” Ron kind of perked up “I saw a thing on the internet at a friend’s house where girls will do this with their mouth”.

“Why would they do it with their mouth?” I tried to picture it in my mind but was not getting it. My own computer use was monitored very closely by my mom and I had never seen anything like what Ron was describing. From listening to friends and kids at school I kind of had an idea of what sex was but this was not something I had heard of.

“I guess because they think it is fun” Ron replied “You know, some guys do it too”.

“No way!!”

“Yea, they do, seen pictures on the internet. Haven’t you ever looked?”

“No, mom would kill me if she thought I was looking at stuff like that.”

“Yeah, mine too.” Ron replied “But her new boyfriend shows me this stuff all the time.”

“Really?” I lifted my head and looked at him.

“Yeah, he says I am 15 years old, I need to start learning about this stuff.” was Ron’s matter of fact response. “Come here a minute, I want to show you something”

“What?”

“Just come here, just for a second”

I got out of bed and walked over to his side of the room. “Sit here,” he said, patting the bed beside his waist. I sat down and Ron grabbed my left hand, pulled it to his penis and folded my fingers around it. I started pull away but Ron held my hand tighter

“It’s not going to bite you” he said a little irritation in his voice. I relaxed my arm and let him finish wrapping my fingers around him.

“Feel how hard that thing is?” Ron asked.

I just nodded my head as Ron forced my hand to start sliding up and down his thingy. I was not sure what I was feeling at that moment. Something inside of me told me that what I was doing was wrong and I would get in a lot of trouble if we got caught, but something else in me found the whole thing to be very exciting and I had my eyes glued to his young manhood.

After a few moments of Ron guiding my stroking he moaned softly and eased his hand away from mine. Even though he was no longer holding me I kept my hand moving up and down him. There was something about the way it felt that sent tingles through me. For some reason I did not want to stop but I also did not want to get caught or have Ron spreading stories about me. I was very confused for more reasons than I could count. I was so focused on the thoughts running through my mind that I failed to notice Ron move his other hand to my shoulder and then the back of my head. I suddenly felt Ron start pulling my head down towards his groin.

“I need you to taste it and tell me what it is like” Ron said in a very breathy manner.

“Ron, I can’t do that” I responded almost in a whine as I released his penis from my hand. I tried to stand but Ron was much stronger than me and held me into place.

“Yes you can.” Ron had a smile on his face as he looked at me.

The turmoil going on in my head was beyond understanding. I knew what I was doing and being asked to do was wrong for two boys. At the same time the excited and erotic feelings were pulsing through me with a desire to find out what is was like. Why was this so fascinating to me? Why was I not running back to my bed? Even though Ron was holding the back of my head I could easily get away if I wanted to but for some reason, I didn’t. I just sat there looking at him as he slowly pulled my head down. I gave some resistance but not enough to stop him. I was not sure if I was more afraid of what I was being asked to do or of getting caught or having Ron tell others.

“You can’t tell a soul” I whispered

“Oh, don’t worry; this will just be between you and me” Ron smiled as I gave in to his wishes.

A couple of hours later Ron was sound asleep and I lay motionless in my bed. Sleep would not come as my mind would not shut down. What had I done? Why had I done it? Did I really enjoy it? Ron sure had I could tell that. I felt a level of happiness because I made him happy and it was fun. Was that wrong? Why did I do it?

Sleep finally came and the morning brought an overwhelming fear that what I had done would be known by all. I had a hard time even looking at Mom let alone talking to her as I was terrified that she would see something in me. Regardless of my fear, Ron never gave a hint about what had happened between us and as the day progressed I started to relax a little. Maybe everything would be okay.

Ron and his Mom stayed with us for two more days and nothing happened at night after our first encounter. On the last night that Ron stayed with me I had already washed up and climbed into bed when he walked out of the bathroom. From the light in the bathroom I could tell he was naked as he walked toward my bed. Ron walked right up to the head of my bed and crawled onto my bed sitting on his knees, and dropped his penis right into my face.

“Here you go, Tiffany, do your magic”

I moved my head and looked up into his smiling face. “Ron, I do ....”

Without changing his smile he kind of tilted his head to one side. “If you want our little secret to stay our little secret you will take care of this thing.” as he pushed his penis right to my mouth.

I knew Ron, and I knew he would make good on his threat, I did as he wanted. The next morning they left early and it would be just over 2 years before I would see Ron again.

I entered High School when I was 15 years old as a sophomore. In the town I grew up in there are 3 years of Jr. High School and then 3 years of High School. Socially, it is hard to say where I fit during my teen years. There were really four classes of people in my high school. There were the Jocks, Greasers, Nerds and everyone else. I obviously was not a ‘jock’, even though I did earn a letter for high school sports, as that group was mostly dominated by the football players and cheerleaders. The Greasers were more a carryover from the biker gangs of years gone by but mostly consisted of the heavy drinking and drug use group and were usually voted ‘most likely not to finish high school’. Though I knew a few kids that were part of that clique it was not my style and I pretty much stayed clear of them. Academically, I could keep up with most of the Nerds but my focus was never much on the sciences. I had pretty much decided I was going to follow my dad into the accounting world so I tended to focus on the history, English and business type classes. Most of the Nerds were the science kind, could recite complex math equations from memory and could pretty much tell you why everything in the world worked. No, I was really part of the ‘everyone else’ group and was pretty happy with that role.

I dated some in high school, though I think most of the dates were more arranged to benefit of someone else rather than me really having any kind of love life. One of my friends would have a date for a weekend night and his date wanted to bring a friend along. I would then be elected to be his date’s friend’s chaperon for that evening. Even the reverse of that was known to happen to me. A girl that I knew from school would have a date with someone new and talk me in to going along with a friend of hers just to keep them company in case ‘things didn’t work out’.

A couple of those turned into repeat dates, solo, but most were just one night events. Sexually I was very repressed as I was still a virgin when I graduated from high school and to hear the stories of my friends I was the only one. I got a little kissing and a little petting on a few dates but that is as far and any of it went. I was not what one would call suave so most of the high school girls, at least the ones I would have been interested in hanging out with, were only interested in me as a ‘friend’ or tutor. I actually had a lot of girls that I would consider friends while in high school but not ‘girlfriends’. I actually took 3 years of Home Economics classes in high school. Though I suffered a small amount of harassment for it amongst the kids at school, my mom was my biggest supporter.

From a pretty young age my mom made it pretty clear to me, in her words “I am your Mother, not your Maid.” and I was assigned chores to do around the house. At first it was just keep my own stuff picked up and put away but later expanded into washing dishes, helping with laundry and even some cooking. Mom always made the argument that until a ‘good’ woman would come along to take care of me I needed to know the basics of how to fend for myself. Since Dad was a fairly accomplished cook in his own right, he cooked dinner two or three times per week, so I got very little sympathy from him and he saw absolutely nothing wrong with me learning to do domestic chores. As such, when I got into high school, one of the electives in my schedule was Home Economics.

I will admit that the first two weeks of my first Home Economics class were nothing short of hell. Actually, I did not mind taking the classes but the harassment from the ‘macho’ boys and the image that it was presenting was haunting. I would hear the typical taunts of “little Miss Homemaker Timmy.” or “Timmy, are you going to be a good wife?” and other such enjoyable things. The first two weeks I was actually in class, being the only boy, the girls treated me like a leper and I pretty much sat alone. Even the teacher, after the first day, had a conference with my mom and the school counselor about me being in the class and wanted to know if it was some kind of joke or something. I admitted to them that though my mom was the one pushing me to take the classes and my dad supported it, I was also interested in the topics and would try very hard not to be a disruption in class. At the end of it the decision was made there was nothing wrong with a boy wanting to take Home Economics classes, so I should be given the opportunity.

Though the teacher finally accepted me to the class it took a while before the girls did. The first year of class was on Food topics such as menu planning, nutrition, food safety and cooking. Each week we had two sessions that were called ‘lab’ in which we worked in small groups on projects or in an actual kitchen cooking. The cooking projects were mostly baking and had to be items that could be completed within an hour so were usually quite simple. We did have to do a couple of things that were a bit more complicated for bake sales and parties but mostly it was easy stuff used to test our book learning. Lab partners were determined by random drawing and for the first few weeks it was pretty easy to tell that the girl or girls that drew me felt they had drawn the short stick and were ‘taking one for the team’ as it were. As the weeks passed, my classmates began to realize that I was not a klutz, I did know something about a kitchen, this was not a joke to me and I was not a jerk. By the end of the second month of classes I was being invited to be part of their study groups at lunch and after school and by the end of the third month I could be found regularly having lunch with various groups from the class.

The summer following my sophomore year in High School, my older sister, Mary got married. Mary had earned a Nursing degree during her 4 years at State University. She also met the man that would be her future husband, John Packs, as he was finishing his first 4 years of Pre Med. After graduation, John was accepted at an out of state medical school while Mary got a job at the local hospital. It seems their relationship was strong enough to not only survive being apart but strong enough for them to realize they did not want to be apart. After John finished his first year of Med school he proposed to Mary and they planned a wedding for the following summer.

John and Mary’s wedding occurred during the summer of my 16th birthday. Mary being, of course, my parent’s oldest daughter and John being the Packs only child the plans for the wedding mushroomed into a grand affair. The wedding was planned for July and the guest list grew larger by the day. By the time the invitations were ready to send out the total count reached 524 and Mom was mortified that we would not be able to rent enough chairs for all the guests. The city park in our town had a large band shell that was designed for open air concerts but had not been used for that purpose for many years. There was a large grassy area in front of the shell that could be set up to hold more than enough guests and the reception area set up behind the band shell. The whole thing took on a ‘party in the park’ atmosphere.

April had just graduated from State University with her pre-law degree and had been accepted to Law School starting that next fall. However, for this July, she was slave labor just like I was in the preparations for the big event. Not only did I have to help set up tables and chairs, but my cooking skills were being tested with simple things like cookies, snacks and other appetizers. Other than the cookies there was not really a lot of cooking involved but a lot of work in any case. Regardless of the amount of work it was all fun and exciting. There were high spirits everywhere as we all tried to make this a great event for Mary and John to remember forever.

Of course Ron and his Mom were invited to the wedding but I did not see Ron until the day before the wedding. Ron’s mom was now living full time with her boyfriend and they did not stay at our place, choosing to stay at a friend of the boyfriend’s instead. I was at the park helping with some of the decorations and setup when I saw Ron for the first time in 2 years. I almost did not recognize him and when I did I had a hard time hiding the shock. He had really changed. The scrawny 15 year old that use to be my height was now towering 5” taller than me and looked to tip the scales at around 180 pounds. His shoulders had broadened and his arms show the bulging muscles only a weight lifter would have. He was standing over by the parking lot with two other guys that looked to be about the same size. They had a very rugged look about them that for some reason gave me butterflies in my stomach.

I stood and stared at him for what seemed like a half hour before he noticed me but I am sure it was only a couple of minutes.

“Hey, Tim, Dude come on over and meet a couple friends.” Ron shouted.

I waved and walked over to them as Ron extended his hand for a handshake. “Ron, good to see you” is all I could get out as I took his hand. Why did I feel so nervous?

“Man, would like you to meet a couple of friends of mine”

I didn’t notice it when Ron first called to me but I did now, his voice had dropped to a deep baritone and the difference almost sent shivers through me. My voice had changed nowhere near as much as his. I still had a pretty high falsetto.

“This is Pete.” Ron said as he introduced me to one of the guys.

“Tim,” Pete greeted me in a voice almost as deep as Ron’s as he extended his hand.

“Pete, good to meet you” I responded as I took his hand. I could feel the strength in his grip but he did not squeeze hard.

“And this is Doug.”

I reached to Doug’s hand “My friends call me Dozer.” he said as he nearly crushed my hand.

“I hope I can be counted as a friend,” I grimaced as I wondered if my hand was going to break.

“Me too.” Dozer smiled as he released my hand.

“So big Sis is getting married, huh?” Ron put his hand on my shoulder.

“Yea, she says she found Mr. Right.” I was actually paying more attention to my hand than Ron.

“Well, good deal. Dude, the guys and I are heading down to the Tower Falls day after tomorrow to do some swimming, want to come along?”

The Tower Falls area is a couple of lakes down in a small canyon that is fed by a stream that feeds the local river. The stream connecting the two lakes drops about 75 feet over a single water fall that was named Tower Falls. It’s about a mile and half hike to get to the lakes but they hold clear, cool water and are great for swimming. There are even a couple of cliffs close to the falls that we use to dive off of, and an old growth tree that a rope swing can be tied to. Ron and I had been down there many times in the past and it was somewhere the folks would let us go unsupervised. It was always a great time and sounded pretty good to me.

“Sure.” I responded “What time?”

“We will pick you up around noon and we will provide lunch” Dozer responded.

“Sounds cool to me. Hey, I need to get back to helping set up. Was good to meet you guys and look forward to swimming.”

“Understand Dude” Ron smiled “Get back at it and we will catch you after the wedding”

“Sure thing” I started walking back towards the band shell. About half way there I glanced over my shoulder to see Ron watching me and smiling. Dozer was saying something to Ron that I could not hear, but Ron was nodding his head in the affirmative.

The wedding went off perfectly and definitely had the feeling and flair of a fairy tale. The use of the old band shell gave everything an almost royalty feeling as the bride and groom entered from opposite sides and the raised platform made all of the 350+ guest feel like they had a front row seat. The sound acoustics of the shell were such that, with little effort, even those seated in the back could hear all of the vows. Mary was absolutely gorgeous in her gown and just radiated as the star of the show. The ceremony itself only took about a half hour with all the pageantry and glamour. Following the ceremony everyone drifted to the reception area set up behind the shell. My dad had arranged for a live band to play for the reception and I think Mary had to dance with over a hundred people before the day was over and Mr. and Mrs. John Packs were escorted to their waiting chariot for the ride to the airport and their flight to Hawaii.

After the bride and groom left the party started to wind down rather quickly as people made their congratulation statements to the parents of both the bride and groom then started filtering to their cars. Soon all that was left was the packing of the gifts and cleaning of the park which took another couple of hours to finish. The rental company came and collected all of the tables and chairs, the band packed their stuff, and I helped load all of the collected wedding gifts into Dad’s car. As we were packing gifts I was teasing April about when it was her turn to which she just responded with a laugh and said she needed to find a guy first but for her school was first.

“How about you?” April asked “Any lucky young ladies in your life yet?”

“Me? Little ol’ scrawny me?” I jested back to her “I have a lot of young ladies in my life; just none of them want to date me. Fix their dresses or help with their hair, yes, but date? No.”

“You are only 16, you have lots of time for dating” April smiled as we finished the packing.

“We will see, Sis, we will see.” was all I could say. This topic touched on something that had been bothering me for a while and I did not want to go into it with her. Many of the guys at school were already dating, even if they were chaperoned dates, but they were dates. Not only was I not dating I found that I had no real desire to date. I knew all of the girls, probably better than any guy at school, but I really had no interest in dating them. I still had two years of High School left, I guessed we would see.

The days leading up to the wedding, including the day of the wedding, were exhausting and I was very much looking forward to a day off and playing in the water. I slept in until around 9:30 and showered, had breakfast and packed my day pack for a trip to the falls. Just a little before noon I hear a horn honk out front and saw a newer short bed, club cab, Dodge pickup in the drive way. I yelled to my mom that I was leaving and got the normal “You be careful.” response as I headed out the door to join the guys. The rear door on the driver side opened up for me and I climbed in next to Dozer and closed the door. The truck belonged to Peter’s dad and he was driving while Ron was in the passenger seat. The trailhead was only about 5 miles from my house so it only took a few minutes to reach the parking lot. Everyone had a backpack of some kind and one cooler that Ron and Dozer carried between them.

During the hike down to the falls I learned that both Pete and Dozer graduated from high school this past spring and both were 18 years old. Neither had decided yet what they wanted to do for college and Dozer had actually just been hired by a trucking company as a dock hand and was part of their drivers training program. It took us just less than an hour to reach the lower lake and we unloaded all of the gear in a shaded, grassy area next to the lake and under the swing tree. There was no one else using the lakes so far today so we quickly changed out of our hiking clothes into swim suits. The guys just threw their clothes on top of bushes and kind of gave me a hard time for rolling mine up and putting them in my pack along with my shoes. I just wanted to make sure everything stayed dry and semi clean for the trip home.

Ron brought a rope with a wooden handle tied to an end that he a Pete attached to the overhanging limb that had been used for that purpose for as long as I could remember. From there the water sports got started. We had to see who could swing out the furthest, could swing the highest, make the biggest splash and about anything else we could dream up. It was a great time and we swam for about an hour before the guys called for a food break. Back on shore we opened the cooler that Ron and Pete carried down and handed out sandwiches and bags of chips.

During lunch I found myself watching the guys. I just seem to be drawn to their growing muscles, flat stomach and broad shoulders. I was such a contrast to them at my 100 plus pounds. I felt dwarfed by them. As they moved around I watch muscles on their backs and legs ripple and, I have to admit, the notable bulge in the front of their suits. For some reason all of this made me feel a little nervous and I definitely felt butterflies in my stomach. I tried not to be obvious in my observations and I don’t think I was. However, maybe they could sense my wonderment and confusion. Maybe what happened next was more my fault. I don’t know, but maybe.

I was more than a little surprised when 2 six packs of beer were also pulled out of the ice and handed around. I had already taken a bottle of water so passed on the beer when one was offered to me. I was even more surprised with Ron pulled a pack of cigarettes and a lighter out of his pack and lit one, then handing the pack to Dozer. Dozer repeated the process and then handed the pack to me.

“No thanks, I don’t smoke”

“What do you mean you don’t smoke?” Dozer asked “Hell, I was smoking when I was younger than you”

“No thanks” I repeated “I just don’t care to, is all”

“Okay.” Dozer responded as he stood and walked over to Ron’s pack and put the cigarettes back. Turning to look at me again “You may not want to suck a smoke but I understand you love sucking cock.” while talking he pulled his swim trunks down exposing is semi hard cock. I just stood there; dumbfounded, not having a clue what to say.

“Come on over here!” Dozer commanded “Show me that talented mouth that Ron has been telling us about”

I turn to look at Ron but found that he had walked up behind me. Before I could move Ron grabbed the back of my neck and forced me forward and down. I dropped to my knees in front of Dozer and the pressure that Ron had on my neck was very painful. My eyes started to tear up from the pain and the fear.

“Come on ‘Tiffany’. Show these guys how good you are at smoking a pipe.” Ron said behind me

“Ron, please, don’t do this” I begged in a whisper with tears starting to roll down my face.

Ron just laughed “Why not? You are so good at it. I am sure you have been practicing so show us”

I was staring right at Dozer’s penis and I could not believe the size of it. It had to be 7 inches long and almost as big around as my wrist. Ron released my neck but before I could move Dozer stepped forward and grabbed a fistful of my hair. He pulled my head up and back so his cock we just touching my lips.

“You can do this two ways, Bitch. You can suck that cock, or I will kick the shit out of you then you will suck that cock. You choose.” Dozer growled at me.

I knew I could not win in this situation so I slowly opened my mouth and took Dozer’s cock. I slowly started sliding him in and out of my mouth when he jerked my head forward and shoved his cock partway down my throat. I gagged.

“I said suck it, you fucking faggot!”

I started quickly moving up and down on him and my tears were flowing freely now. I heard Ron laugh behind me and I felt more than saw him move away. As I maintained my pace Dozer’s grip on my hair started to relax.

“Much better. You just keep that up now”

From the corner of my eye I could see Ron as he moved on my right to the cooler and grabbed another beer. Ron closed the cooler lid and sat down on it watching the show. Behind Ron I could see Pete sitting on a log with a big grin on his face. He had already taken off his swim trunks and was playing with his cock.

“Next!” announced Pete

On my left were my backpack and the trailhead leading out of the canyon. My jaw was starting to hurt from my mouth being stretched open so far. Dozer was huge to me but I did not dare stop. I slowly raised my left hand and wrapped it around the base of his cock to help stroke him but to also keep him from pushing so far down my throat. I was terrified, I had no idea what was going to happen next but I knew it was not going to be good. My mind was racing. I started to move my hand up and down Dozer to match my mouth.

“Ohhhhh, now we are getting serious” Dozer moaned as he released my hair.

I kept up my pace and I felt his body start to relax. I did not have a plan; I did not think about it, I just did it. I guess you could call it desperation. I slowly pulled Dozer from my mouth but I kept licking his shaft as I looked up at him. He smiled and closed his eyes slightly. At that moment I pulled down hard with my left hand at the same time as I brought my right fist up as hard as I could into his groin. I felt things squish between my hands and felt Dozer’s body jerk with reaction. I did not wait to see what happen, I did not think, I just bolted for the trailhead as fast as I could. I was at a dead run when I reach my pack and grabbed one of the shoulder straps without breaking stride and ran for the trail.

The trail in and out of Tower Falls is fairly wide and mostly dirt. It had been used for years by motorcycles and four wheelers until they closed it to all motorize vehicles a few years earlier. The trail had two switch backs between the lower and upper lake and then a long flat run before three more switchbacks to the top of the canyon. I was barefoot but was able to hang on to my pack and I ran as fast as I could up the trail. I could hear screaming, cussing and shouting behind me. I could hear footsteps on the trial and I knew I was being chased. I did not dare look back for fear of tripping or just slowing down. As with sports, what I lacked in physical size I made up for with speed.

As I hit the first switchback to the upper lake I could see Pete about 100 yards behind me and running after me. Ron was trying to cut up through the trees to get to the trail in front of me. I was able to get past Ron before he made it to the trail by about 20 yards. I still did not look back I just ran as hard as I could. The ground between the first and second switchback was a rock cliff so I knew they could not get up that to get ahead of me. When I reached the upper lake and onto the flats I could not see any of the guys but I did not slow down.

At the top of the first switchback leading out of the canyon I could see both Pete and Ron on the flats below me. Pete was just standing yelling up at me but I did not hear the words. Ron was still running up the trail but was moving at a much slower pace. At the second switch back I could see both Ron and Pete standing on the flats by the upper lake. They had given up the chase. I rounded the second curve without slowing but then ducked in behind some high bushes and stopped. Peeking through the bushes I could see Ron and Pete start walking back down the trail to the lower lake and I could see Dozer, still at the lower lake, on his knees holding his stomach. Still not feeling anything close to safe I quickly dug into my pack for my shirt and my shoes. Putting my shoes on slowed me down as I had a couple pretty bad cuts on the bottoms of my feet and was bleeding pretty good. There was nothing I could do for them now so I just put on my socks and shoes, shouldered my pack, took one last peek to see that the guys were still at the lower lake and started jogging my way out of the canyon.

My feet hurt like hell but I was able to make it home in about an hour and half. Luckily, no one was home when I arrived. Having to explain what had happened was not something I wanted to do. I went to the bathroom and carefully removed my socks, which were soaked with blood. I washed and dressed the cuts on my feet, put on some fresh socks and put the bloody ones in the garbage dumpster in the garage. I would have to wear socks around the house for the next few days or dream up a story for the cuts. No one was going to know what happened down at the lake, no one.

As I lay in my bed that night and I could not stop crying. ‘Why would they do that to me? Why did the person I use to call a friend want to hurt me like that? Did I do something to ask for it? Why did I notice their bodies and their bulges? Am I gay? Why are they so much more manly that me in so many ways? When I look at myself in a mirror I am built nothing like them. I am small and my penis is less than 4 inches long and size of my thumb. What is wrong with me?’ Answers, like sleep, did not come that night.

The next couple of days found me jumping with every car sound I heard as I was afraid they were coming back for me but nothing happened. I never saw Ron or his friends again. A number of years later, when I was living on my own, I received an email from Mom with what she called terrible news. Attached to the email was a news article that brought my whole experience at the lakes back to me. Ron was caught sodomizing at 15 year old boy in a high school shower and he had been sentenced to 25 years in prison for it. Ron was not the one getting my sympathy.